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MICROCOPY RESOIUTION TEST CHART 
 
 (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
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' m SaVKRHAMPTOM MARKCT-PLACK BHI WAS BDMT AUVl. 
 
F 
 
 UEL OF FIRE 
 
 By ELLEN THORNEYCROFT 
 FOWLER, Author of Concermn^ 
 
 Isabel Carnaby, Z^V Argument^ Srius, etc. 
 
 With Eight Illustrations by Fred. Pegnun 
 
 MONTREAL , 
 
 THE MONTREAL NEWS COHTFANY, Lmnrno 
 190a 
 

 Enttrtd according to Act of ths Pvliammt of CtiuuU, la tka year om 
 thouiand nint hundrod and two, by William Brigos, ^ the Dcparc- 
 mcnt of Acrkultun. 
 
dedication 
 
 For stick as take my taie a read it through 
 (Unlike the unregenerale reader, who, 
 
 By furtive glances at the final pag- 
 Aniictpates the where/ore and the why. 
 Spoiling his pleasure and my work thereby) 
 
 1 wriu thii book, and beg their patronage. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 VAOI 
 
 Pbologui 1 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Thi Bdbtohs 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 BiXKBDALE Hall S9 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Ladbince Baxendale 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Mb8. Casdx E6 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Arthohy'b Suogestion 74 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Rdfdi Webb 88 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 A WoHAM Tehfts 102 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Codbse of Tboe Love 118 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Amotheb Woman Tehfts 131 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Hbi. Cahdt'b Bolidat 14S 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAOB 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THX BonNIHO OF BAXENDAr.B 159 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Suspicion 172 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The Losihq of the Kevs ISx 
 
 CHAPTFR XIV. 
 The Findinq of the Kevs 199 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 IH THE Lakes 213 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Mbs. Cahdy's Opinion . . 227 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Vaih Oblations 24* 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Wedding Bells 258 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Winter Days 274 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 To What Pobpose? .281 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 IiADY Alicia 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 The Lanes Aqair 3Qy 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Th« PaOFESSOR's Visit .... .... 816 
 
i 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 First b; the King, and then by the State, 
 And thirdly by that which Is thrice as great 
 As these, and a thousandfold stronger and higher. 
 Shall Baxendale Hall be made fuel of fire. 
 
 It fell upon a day (so the ancient chronicles tell us), 
 before men had discovered that Mershire was a land 
 whose stones were of iron and her foundations of coal, 
 that Guy, the eldest son of Sir Stephen de Baxendale, 
 went out hunting in the merry greenwood which lay 
 between Baxendale Hall and Silverhampton town. And 
 because Guy was too young to take such heed to his 
 own steps and the steps of his steed, as an older and 
 wiser huntsman would have done, the horse put his 
 foot into a rabbit-hole, thereby bringing himself end 
 his rider to the ground. In much fear and trembling 
 the retainers picked up the unconscious form of their 
 young master and bore him to Gorsty Hayes, a forester's 
 lodge in the heart of the wood, which is standing to 
 this day. There he was nursed back to consciou.sne.ss by 
 Vivien of the Glade, the forester's fair daughter, much 
 famed in those parts for her skill in discovering healing 
 herbs and distilling soothing potions from the same. 
 
 It was many a long day before Guy of Baxendale 
 was sufficiently recovered to be taken home to the Hall, 
 for his leg was broken and his body badly bruised. And 
 
2 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 when at last he did go back, he left his heart behind 
 him in the safe keeping of Vivien of the Glade : for 
 oven in those far-off times love flew where he listed and 
 no man ordered his goings, just as he does unto this day, 
 and will do as long as this round world of ours shall 
 run its course in the light of the sun. 
 
 T!ien was there war in the house of Baxendale. Guy 
 had made up his mind to wed the fair dansrhter of the 
 forester; while Sir Stephen and Dame Alice his wife 
 had made up their minds— with equal firmness— that 
 no son of their noble name should mate with a daughter 
 of the peopla 
 
 Long before William the Norman planted his in- 
 domitable foot upon English soil, the Baxendales had 
 taken up their abode in the heart of the Mershire forests, 
 and there had builded themselves a stronghold against 
 their enemies. It was rumoured that one of them had 
 fought on the side of Ethelfleda, Queen of Mercia, in 
 the great battle between the Danes and the Saxons; 
 and that the Queen had delighted to honour him for 
 his bravery on that day of blood. Be that as it may, the 
 family had long ruled over their own fair lands in the 
 centre of Mershire; and had accounted themselves as being 
 made of different flesh and blood from the common people. 
 
 Therefore it was a bitter thing to Sir Stephen and 
 Dame Alice his wife when their first-bom set his heart 
 upon Vivien, the forester's daughter. But Guy clave 
 unto the woman, and refused to let her go; for the 
 which should all succeeding Baxendales honour him ; as 
 a man who is not ready to leave his father and mother 
 in order to cleave to his wife is not the clay out of 
 which the best husbands and fathers are fashioned by 
 the Hands of the great Potter. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 3 
 
 While the battle was raging fierce and stronc— Guv 
 swearing that he should wed the girl whether or no 
 and his parents swearing that he should not-a rumour 
 got wind in the neighbourhood (started, men said, in 
 
 ,■„ .,?..'* ^y °*"^ ^^'"^ ''^'■^elO that the healing 
 skill of Vivien of the Glade had its origin in the sin of 
 witchcraft. Then alas, and alas, for Guy of Baxendale 
 and his il -fated love ! The rumour grew apace until 
 women refused so much as to look at Vivien's fair face 
 and even brave men crossed themselves if they had to 
 ride by Gorsty Hayes after nightfall. And at last it 
 came to pass that the girl was seized by soldiers and 
 carried to Baxendale Hall, where she was condemned 
 by several worthy Justices of the Peace to be burnt 
 aUve m S.vrhampton market-place as a punishment 
 for her evil deeds, and a warning to any like-minded 
 
 Cr '°'^''' ^ ^"'^^^^ *° ^""""^ '° ''^ ""''"'^ 
 
 So in Silverhampton market-place she was burnt 
 ahve, close to the strange old DruidicaV pillar whereof 
 no man knows the history. And just as the fag<rots 
 were beginning to crackle, she broke through the rope 
 whidi bound her right arm, and pointed to the thickly 
 wooded hill on the other side of the valley, where 
 Baxendale Hall nestled among the trees-the home of 
 the great family who had done her to death for the sole 
 crime of being lowly bora And as she pointed to their 
 house she raised her voice and cursed them as they had 
 cureed her — ^ 
 
 "First by the King, and then by the State 
 And thirdly by that which is thrice as great 
 As these, and a thousandfold stronger and higher 
 Shall Baxendale Hall be made fuel of fire " 
 
4 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Then the tongues of flame leaped up and fawned 
 upon her, like dogs of war let loose by fiendish hands ; 
 higher and higher they leaped, until the voice of cursing 
 faded into a shriek of agony, and then died away into 
 the silence of the etemitiea And the people stood 
 
 round and gazed upon the awful sight, thanking Ood 
 
 in their blindness and ignorance— that they were not 
 as this woman was ; while the old church of S. Peter 
 uplifted its ancient tower above their heads, an un- 
 heeded wit:^<!88 to Him Who would fain have gathered 
 them all under His Wings as a hen gathereth her 
 chickens, but they would not; and Who would fain 
 have taught them, in this His temple madt with hands, 
 the things that belonged to their peace, but which as 
 yet Were hid from their eyes. 
 
 Thus perished Vivien of the Glade, because she had 
 succeeded in winning the love of Guy of Baxendale. 
 But her curse lived on and was fulfilled to the letter. 
 
 As for Guy, he forgot his sorrow in the fierce joy of 
 fighting in the Wars of the Roses, the love of war being 
 stronger in some men than even the love of womea 
 Then late in life — when he was alike too old to fight 
 or to love any more — he took to wife a well-bom damsel 
 some thirty years younger than himself, who bor? him 
 a large family of sons and daughters. In a ripe but 
 cheerless old age he was gathered to his fathers, and 
 Hugh his son reigned in his stead. But until the day 
 of his death Guy of Baxendale never again entered 
 Silverhampton town. He turned on his heel and shook 
 the dust of the place off his feet on the day when the 
 woman he loved was martyred underneath the old stone 
 pillar, in the very shadow of the church which brought 
 — to those who had ears to hear it — the message of 
 
PROLOGUE 5 
 
 peace upon earth and .{oodwiU towards mea And he 
 never set foot therein agaia 
 
 But his children and his grandchildren married in 
 tl.e.r own class, and lived happily ever after-at least 
 until they were removed to that strange world where 
 rank and wealth count for less than nothing, and love 
 and duty for so much. If they found it possible to 
 live happily in a place where it was accounted better to 
 be a saint than a Baxendale, no one knows; but it is 
 somewhat difficult for even a chronicler '.o imagine 
 
 Nevertheless, because human nature is stronp-er than 
 pride of birth or social ambition-is stronger in fact 
 than anything else on earth except the grace nf God 
 (and someUmes for a while apparently even stronger 
 than that)— It came to pass, when Henry the Eighth 
 was king, that again a Baxendale lost his heart to a 
 daughter of the people. Once more, as of old his 
 parents interfered between him and the soul that God 
 had given him, for the sake of the glory of their 
 ancient house. And because Richard Baxendale— like 
 his ancestor Guy-swore that he would marry the girl 
 he loved though she was only Agnes Tyler, daughter 
 of a wool-merchant in Silverhampton. Agnes was sent 
 to the convent of Greyladies, and there compelled by 
 her father to take the veil: for how could a plain 
 Mercian wool-merchant defy the wishes of the great Sir 
 Wilfred Baxendale ? 
 
 So Agnes possessed her sweet soul in patience within 
 the thick stone walls of Greyladies, and passed her time 
 m praying for Richard Baxendale, that he mi<rht do 
 honour to his knighthood on earth and finally "obtain 
 the heavenly crown which is promised to him that over- 
 cometh. There, year after year, she watched the dafibdilj 
 
■ FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 toge her ; and «he saw the wild hyacinths ca^t the 
 
 hir fL u "^ *''''■'"'• ^ '"^ 'he wool-morchant 
 her father, he commended him.self in that he had at the 
 same , me pleased God and Sir Wilfred, by Lkinrhis 
 daughter from the one in order to iri ve her to f h» nfv. 
 
 El^^- I ' ^'"'^rs which neither of them could 
 hghtly discharge. It is always so satisfactory to a 
 man when he can serve God and Mammon a7once" 
 There was no dc. bt that the wool-merchant of SiW 
 hampon was an excellent man of business; and tWe 
 was also no Joubt that two of the parties nvolved 
 
 Sd tr 1^°' "'• ^'"-^-were c^Ieti; 
 Mtisfaed with the arrangement Whether the Third 
 Power conceriied in the transaction concurred in the 
 approval manifested by the other two U a 
 doubtful matter, and onf whereof tie chrL erknT^: 
 nothing; but Will Tyler himself knows all atut it W 
 hia time, and probably realizes at last the Sd van! 
 tages of a divided service. "'saavan- 
 
 When Agnes was safely out of his reach, Richard 
 took to w,ie the Lady Anne, daughter of the Earf 
 of Mershire; and by her had three fine sons and four 
 fair daughter. But his heart was always in the Z 
 vent of Greyladies. some five mile,, from Baxendale 
 
 It was when Sir Richard's hair was thimiing and 
 
PROLOGUE J 
 
 hnrl.- n- u . ^''^ ^"°« ""'^ her children escaned • 
 but Sir Richard stayed with the nnna „i, u P^' 
 
 defending, like the^brave kntl that h^w ' ^1 
 
 perished with them in the fiXalh " "'"' """^ 
 
 TVadition says that just at the end-when all h„^ 
 
 or chance of life was over and H^InT • • "°P® 
 
 Baxendale andliSramp ^^^^ ''^'-- 
 
 saw it save the God Wh^S de th" ''^r^ ^ °" 
 before they were knight and nu T ? """"^ 
 
 not go back upon His'o^land. " ric and tr "°"',' 
 are jn His keeping until this day ' ^^''' ^"^^ 
 
 Thus perished Sir Richard and the woman he ia.J 
 
8 
 
 FUEL OP nRE 
 
 loved : and thus was fulfilled the first part of the curse 
 of Vivien of the Qlade. 
 
 A third time it came to pass— since history has a 
 labit of repeating itself— that a Baxendale sought a 
 
 w-bom bride. The Hall had been rebuilt for close 
 upon a century when Walter Baxendale, one e!" the 
 most lOyal subjects of King Charles, set his heart upon 
 Charity Freemantle, a pretty Puritan maid. But now 
 it was the lady's father who objected— not the swain's 
 —for Walter had lost both his parents while he was 
 yet a boy. Joshua Freemantle swore a great oath 
 that none of his household should touch the accursed 
 thing: whereby he meant that none of his pretty 
 daughters should be joined in wedlock with a sup- 
 porter of the Royalist cause. 
 
 Again as of yore, there were sweet stolen meetings 
 in the woodlands lyint; west of Silverhampton town- 
 meetings which turned the mossy paths into veritable 
 highways of paradise, and the sun-dappled glades into 
 fair -land itself; when the shouting of the captains 
 was drrwned for a while in the hush and the hum of 
 summer, and the sound of war could no longer be heard 
 because of the murmur of lovers' vows and lovers' 
 kisses. 
 
 Then came the battle of Worcester an! the triumph 
 of the Parliamentary army, when Charles fled for 
 safety to Boscobel, and there was hid in an oak-tree 
 from his would-be murderera Cromwell's men sus- 
 pected that the fugitive monarch was in hiding at 
 Baxendale Hall, and they commanded the master 
 thereof to deliver into their hands the King to whom 
 he had sworn allegiance ; a thing which Walter Baxen- 
 dale would not have done if he could, since he was a 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 9 
 
 loyal man and true— and oould not if he would, as 
 the King was not at Baxendale at all, but had ridden 
 on to Boscobel. 
 
 But in the midst of the vain search for King Charles, 
 Joshua Frecmantle— one of Cromwell's most fanatical 
 followers— came upon his daughter Charity, in Baxen- 
 dale Woods, folded in the arms of her devoted cavalier, 
 who had just come back to her alive and unhurt from' 
 the field of Worcester. In a moment of frenzy 
 Freemantle fired at the man he hated as men never 
 hate save in the throes of civil warfare ; but Charity, 
 seeing what was coming, flung herself between her 
 father and her lover, and so was slain in her lover's 
 stead. 
 
 Then the two mon engaged in a ha; U to -hand 
 struggle, the one being inspired by the love of woman 
 -tnd the other by the love of religion— two of the 
 strongest forces that ever impelled men to shed blood 
 like water. 
 
 For many minutes the deadly combat lasted, first the 
 one seeming to get the upper hand and then the other 
 But Walter's heart was broken, and it is hard work 
 fighting with a broken heart; so it camo to pass that 
 the fanatic proved too strong for the soldier and 
 finally overthrew him, running him straight through 
 the body with his sword. Thus the lovers lay dead 
 together in the woodland where they had so often 
 phghted their vows; and who shall dare to say that 
 those vows were not fulfilled in that paradise whereof 
 the forest of Baxendale had been but a foretaste and 
 a type ? 
 
 Joshua Freemantle then rode on to the Hall, followed 
 by a small company of Roundheads and filled' with the 
 
10 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 passion of war and the frenzy of religious zeal. With 
 the soldiers' help he burnt the house down to the ground, 
 thinking (poor misguided soul ') that he was thereby 
 doing God service ; just as he thought he had saved his 
 daughter's soul alive by slaying her in Baxendale Woods 
 rather thar. let her mate with a son of Belial — as he con- 
 sidered all who were not supporters of Cromwell. 
 
 It WPS not until after Cromwell's death and the re- 
 stora, -x to the throne of King Charles the Second, that 
 the property was given back to Hubert Baxendale, 
 Walter's younger brother. In the meanwhile it lay— 
 a desolate and neglected ruin — silent save for the caw- 
 ing of the rooks by day and the screeching of the owls 
 by night. But then Hubert claimed it as his brother's 
 heir-at-law; and the King for once recognized his 
 claims, and restored the large estate of Baxendale to its 
 rightful owner. 
 
 For some years Hubert Baxendale saved up his 
 revenues in order to rebuild the Hall ; and by the time 
 that James the Second was sitting upon his brother's 
 throne, a fine red-brick house had grown up on the old 
 site— a house which was destined to be enlivened by the 
 laughter of several generations of Baxendales before 
 the third part of the ancient prophecy came true. 
 
 Thus perished Walter Baxendale and the woman of 
 his choice: and thus was fulfilled the second part of 
 the curse of Vivien of the Glade. 
 
CHAPTER I, 
 
 THE BURTONS. 
 
 " A motry heart goes all the way," 
 
 As Shakespeare once was pleased to say. 
 
 "It strikes me, Nancy," remarked Anthony Burton 
 looking critically at his cousin, " that Laurence Baxen- 
 dale is inclined to admire you. I wonder at the fact, 
 I confess ; but my eagle eye cannot help perceiving it." 
 "I doubt if he has the sense," replied Nancy; "biit 
 it would do him all the good in the world." 
 
 Anthony tilted his straw hat still farther over his 
 eyes. " Your lack of humility, my dear child, is only 
 equalled by your lack of justification to be anything 
 else but humble. What there is in you to induce any 
 man, not bound to you by the ties of relationship, to 
 think about you twice, I fail to imagine; but the fact 
 remains that our friend Baxendale does think about 
 you twice ; and facts have to be reckoned with." 
 " Twice ?— and the rest," said Nancy laconically. 
 "Now, if he thought twice about Nora, I should find 
 more excuse for him," con^ ued Anthony, turning his 
 attention to his younger cousin; "Nora— though far 
 from being all that I could wish— has certain claims to 
 good looks." 
 
 " Thank you," responded Nora. 
 Nancy's good humour remained unruffled "Yes- 
 (H) 
 
12 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 there is no doubt that Nora is much better looking 
 than I am. I've discovered that it is a universal law 
 of nature that of two sisters the second is always the 
 better looking and the taller, from the days of Leah and 
 Rachel downwards. If there are any brains going 
 about, the elder sister generally fixes upon them ; but 
 as there are no brains going about in our family, this 
 doesn't affect us." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, my dear," demurred Anthony ; 
 " Nora and I are simply bursting with brain power. 
 But we do not despise you for your inferiority in this 
 respect ; we merely pity." 
 
 But Nancy was not attending. "I'm very glad 
 you've noticed that Mr. Baxendale is rather taken with 
 me, for I'd got an idea that way myself ; and it is a 
 comfort to find it confirmed even by such an idiot as 
 you, Tony." 
 
 " Allow me to tender you a hearty vote of thanks 
 for the kind — the too kind — terms in which you are 
 pleased to refer to my intellectual endowments," mur- 
 mured Anthony. 
 
 " But he tries dreadfully hard not to admire me — 
 that's the best of the joke. It entertains me most 
 enormously to see him struggling to defend himself 
 against my charms." 
 
 " I know exactly what you mean. Nan," cried Nora ; 
 " when you say anything funny he tries all he knows 
 not to laugh, but to be properly shocked." 
 
 " Yes ; doesn't he ? And that makes me try to be all 
 the funnier. And it is a pity it takes him like that ; 
 for he really has a very nice sense of humour if he'd 
 give it its head, and not curb it with proprieties." 
 
 " Still, I don't see why he shouldn't admire you if he 
 
THE BURTONS 13 
 
 wanfB," Anthony continued; "as I remarked before 
 I should never want to admire you myself ; but if I did 
 feel any inclination in that extraordinary direction, I 
 should have no conscientious scruples against indulsins 
 it to the full." ^ ^ 
 
 "I once knew a man," said Nancy, " who divided the 
 girls he mac. ive to into those he made love to on 
 Sundays and 'loae he made love to on week-days ; and 
 A.e said nothing would induce him to make love to me 
 on a Sunday— his mother wouldn't like it— though he'd 
 devote the six other days entirely to the pursuit with 
 pleasure." 
 
 ■'Then I shouldn't have let him," interrupted Nora; 
 "I'd have been made love to by him on Sundays or 
 not at all. I wouldn't let a man pick and choose his 
 times and seasons in that rude way." 
 
 " I didn't ; and the result was he didn't do it at all." 
 
 "I expect that is generally the result vhen you are 
 concerned," sighed Tony. 
 
 Nancy laughed. "Is it? That's all you know about 
 
 " But why doesn't : iendale want to admire you ? 
 That's what I can't see." 
 
 " I suppose because he couldn't afford to marry," re- 
 plied Nora wisely, "unless he married a much richer 
 girl than one of us." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think it's that," objected Nancy. " Mr. 
 Baxendale is just the sort of man to marry the most 
 unsuitable woman he could find. You see he is high- 
 principled and honourable and conscientious; and 
 honourable, conscientious people always have scruples 
 against knowing the right men or marrying the right 
 women." 
 
14 
 
 FUEL OF FIEE 
 
 " Then what is his objection to you ? " persisted Tony. 
 " If you aren't rich enough, aren't you poor enough ? " 
 "I don't believe it is money at all; money would 
 never enter into the counsels of such a man as Laurence 
 Baxendale. He thinks I'm common ; that's where the 
 shoe pinches." 
 
 " Confound his cheek ! Where does the commonness 
 come in, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he thinks it is very low not to have strolled 
 into England with William the Conqueror, and sat still 
 here ever since. He is the sort of man who expects you 
 to be always taking your ancestors about with you, and 
 getting them to give you letters of introduction. He 
 never moves without taking a lot of ancestors about 
 with him, just as some people never move without 
 taking a lot of servants." 
 " I know the fiort." 
 
 " I thought he'd have had a flt the other day whon I 
 said that somehow we'd mislaid our great-great-grand- 
 father ; and though we'd searched for him diligently in 
 the rag-bag and the wastepaper-basket, we couldn't lay 
 our hands on him anywhere. He didn't in the least see 
 that it was funny." 
 
 Nora shook her pretty head. " How tirosome of him ! 
 I can't bear people who don't see when things are funny." 
 " Well, he generally does see when things are funny— 
 that is one of his principal charms in a>y eyes ; but he 
 regards family and birth and blood and all that sort of 
 thing as far too sacred to be trifled with or lightly 
 spoken of. I'm thankful that I belong- to a new family 
 that has no curse, but gas and water laid on." 
 
 " There is good reason for your Te Beum," agreed 
 Anthony. 
 
 1 «» Jft. -^ 
 
THE BURTONS 
 
 16 
 
 "Now Mr. Baxendale has a curse and everything 
 else that is correct and uncomfortable and aristocratic; 
 and he thinks it dreadfully plebeian of us to be making 
 iron. In fact he is one of the people who think it is 
 dreadfully vulgar to make anything but mistakes; and 
 of those they make plenty." 
 
 " Oh ! I've heard a good deal about him from Faith 
 Fairfax," said Nora. " Mr. Baxendale is tremendously 
 clever, and went to Oxford with a sort of scholarship 
 which they called a post-office-order of Merton, or 
 something like that." 
 
 " I believe that Faith Fairfax is in love with him," 
 Nancy remarked. 
 The other two looked up with interest. 
 " What makes you think that ? " asked Nora. 
 " Because she always knows where he is, and always 
 pretends that she doesn't." 
 
 "Now Faith would be a suitable match for our 
 friend," Tony remarked ; " she'd have property enough 
 to set Baxendale Hall on its legs again ; and propriety 
 enough not to knock Laurence off his." 
 
 Nancy nodded. "I know that; and that would be 
 just the rea.son why he would never fall in love with 
 her. Trust him for invariably going against his own 
 interests when he has the chance." 
 
 " I think it would be rather dull to be in love with 
 Mr. Baxendale," said Nora ; " it would be like going to 
 an oratorio every day of one's life, or having board and 
 lodging in a cathr 'ral." 
 
 "What rubb Nancy exclaimed. "Besides, ora- 
 
 torios and catht r are very nice in their way." 
 
 " Of course they are, Nancy dear ; I only said it would 
 oe rather dull to be married to one." 
 
16 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " Well, I don't agree with you. Mr. Baxendale is an 
 ideal sort of per-^on, with high aims and sound principles 
 and everything else en suite. And though it would be 
 horrid to have ideal people for one's relations, I think 
 they are the most satisfactorj sort to fall in love with." 
 
 Nora looked doubtful. " But why ? " 
 
 " Well, you see," explained Nancy, " falling in love is 
 an ideal sort of thing ; and if you fell in love with a 
 person, and then found he was sordid and commonplace, 
 it would be like seeing an angel and then finding the 
 angelic robes were made of cheap calico. Now Mr. 
 Baxendale is tiresome and trying and absurdly fastidi- 
 ous; but he .v'ould always be more or less ideal. I 
 don't mean he is ideal in the sense of being faultless — 
 but that he is ideal in the sense of always seeing the 
 right course and, as far as in him lies, of following it." 
 
 " Faith is ideal too," said Nora softly. 
 
 " Faith is an angel," Nancy agreed emphatically. 
 
 " And not an angel in cheap calico either," added her 
 cousin. 
 
 " No ; Faith is just perfect," Nancy continued ; " but 
 all the same it would do Mr. Baxendale far more good 
 to fall in love with me than with her." 
 
 " I should have thought ideal people ought to fall in 
 love with ideal people," suggested Tony, "on the ap- 
 proved principle of ' a hair of the dos: that bit you ' ; 
 and in that case Baxendale and Miss Fairfax seem made 
 to order for each other. It would be a match, not only 
 striking on the box, but striking from every possible 
 point of view." 
 
 Nancy shrugged her shoulders. " ' A hair of the dog 
 that bit you ' is supposed to bo curative, you silly ; and 
 love is the one disease that is the worse for being cured. 
 
THE BURTONS 
 
 17 
 
 I think that Laurence and Faith would cure each other 
 of perfection by their own perfectness ; and then where 
 would they be, stupid ? " 
 
 " Goodness — or badness — only knows ! " 
 
 " Now it is an education for any one to tall in love 
 with one of us Burtons," Nancy went on ; " I'vb often 
 noticed it." 
 
 " So have I," her cousin agreed ; " and that has led 
 me to make the educational process as easy and pleasant 
 as possible to such young ladies as appeared to me 
 worthy of the training and likely to do it justice." 
 
 " You see we are so healthy-minded that we cure any 
 tendency to morbidness at once ; and we are so natural 
 that affectation cannot exist within our borders. Then 
 we are funny ; and, as a rule, the curse of love is serious- 
 ness. Love as a tragedy is a bore ; but love as a 
 comedy is a delight to the actors, and is worth ten-and- 
 six a stall to the audience. Now no one could regard 
 a love-affair with one of us in the light of a tragedy, 
 could they?" 
 
 " Thsy certainly covdd not," replied Anthony ; " unless, 
 of course, we accepted them." 
 
 " Still I'm not sure that this is altogether a virtue," 
 Nora remarked sadly. " I believe people enjoy a love- 
 affair more if they can cry over it ; and we never can." 
 
 " That's the worst of us," 'said Nancy with a sigh ; 
 " we spoil half the fun of life by laughing at it. If we 
 could only cry over things, and not see that they are 
 funny, we should enjoy them a million times more. 
 I'm sure we should. It spoils a love-affair to see the 
 funny side of it ; and yet I always do." 
 
 "Mr. Baxendale wouldn't see the funny side of a 
 love-affair," said Nora. 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 Oh ! yes he would-thafs just the sort of thine he 
 would see the joke of. It is only solemn things-such 
 as truth and honour and the Church and the Baxen- 
 dales-that he takes so seriously. As a matter of fact 
 1 believe he is too superior a person to fall in love at 
 all; he would think it infra dig. tor a Baxendale to 
 love an ordinary woman; and that is why it would do 
 him such a world of good to fall in love with me. It is 
 extremely good for people to be obliged to do what 
 they consider tn/radi^.; it knocks the nonsense out 
 or tbem. 
 
 " It seems to me," remarked Anthony, « that there is 
 
 a good deal of nonsense to be knocked out of Mr 
 
 Laurence Baxendale; and that our beloved Nancy 
 
 would enjoy the job." ^ 
 
 "I really believe I should," agreed Nancy 
 
 "The worst of Mr. Baxendale is that he is so 
 
 thC^""^' ^'^ ^°"'' "^' ""y" """•' '«'«'«"'' 
 
 • "■?^- ^n"'."^ ^"S''*«"«<J of J>''n>." replied her sister 
 airily. (But she was.) 
 
 "I always feel he is despising us and making fun 
 of us, Nora went on; "he has such a dreadfully 
 sneering way with him." 
 
 "I don-t care whether he sneers or not," Nancy 
 persisted. ' 
 
 " But I thought you wero under the impression that 
 he admired you," suggested her cousin 
 
 alUh: 5£:;e •• ' '^ '''"'^' "^^-^"^^ "^ -'■' '^'^ 
 "I wonder if he ever laughs at his mother." re- 
 marked Nora; "she is so delicious'-- vague that 
 It must indeed be a privation to be prevented by 
 
THE BURTONS 
 
 19 
 
 the Fifth Commandment from th roughly enjoying 
 
 Nancy shook her head. " No, I feel sure he doesn't 
 Mr. Baxendale is the sort of man that the Command- 
 menU would have great weight with. And, by the 
 way. here he comes in the flesh round the corner of the 
 terrace, so I can begin the knocking-out process at 
 once. And the three young Burtons hoisted them- 
 selves up out of the garden chairs in which they were 
 oungmg. and went to meet a slight, fair, aristocratic- 
 looking man who was being piloted by a footman 
 across the lawn. 
 
 It was a summer's afternoon, and Anthony and his 
 Musins were sitting in the garden of Wayside, the 
 Burtons house, about three miles from the raanu- 
 facturing town of Silverhampton. Mr. Burton, the 
 girls tather, was an iron-master, as his father had 
 been before him; and he and Anthony drove every 
 day to the Works in the dark valley on the other 
 side of that ridge which divides, as by a straight line 
 the Black Country of the Mic'lands from the woods and 
 hills and meadowlands of West Mershire. 
 
 Mr. Burton had married a Miss Farrintrdon— a 
 distant cousin of the Farringdons of Sedgeh7ll-and 
 they were blessed with two sons and two dauc^hters- 
 Nancy who had wit and Nora who had beauty" 
 respectively aged twenty-two and eighteen; and two 
 small boys-Arthur and Ambrose-who were enjoying 
 schod "^^ '"- *''"''■ e'lucation at a preparatory 
 
 Anthony, the only child of Mr. Burton's late brother 
 had inherited his father's share in the Works and was 
 now his uncle's solo partner. His mother died when 
 
 
to 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 he was oorn; and since the death of hi. father, when 
 Anthony was only ten years old, the latter had made 
 Wayside his home, and had been treated by Mr. and 
 Mrs^ Burton exactly as if he were a son of their own. 
 To Nancy and Nora he had always been as the kindest 
 of brothers; and, although he teased them in brotherly 
 fashion, he was-also in brotherly fashion— ready to 
 fight their battles to the death, and to knock down any 
 other man who should ever venture to tease them as he 
 did. 
 
 The Burtons were a light-hearted race who had 
 never known either great riches or uncomfortable 
 'X)yerty, and so were innocent alike of the responsi- 
 bilities of the one and the anxieties of the other. 
 They had never been rich enough to be economical 
 nor poor enough to be extravagant; so they took life' 
 easily, and extracted pleasure from the most unpromis- 
 ing sources ; and— as is the custom in this too sorrowful 
 world— were popular in proportion to their cheerfulness. 
 Mankind, as at present constituted, dearly loves the 
 people who make it laugh. 
 
 Wayside, the local habitation of the Burtons, was a 
 red-bnck house on the high road leading from Silver- 
 hampton to S .!' pshire and thence to the western sea 
 It was approached from the road by a long, solemn 
 dnve, bordered by specimen shrubs, which Nancy said 
 had a depressing appearance, because evergreens always 
 gave her the blues; but the house itself was cheerful 
 and comfortable enough; and the garden at the back 
 faded away into fields, which in their turn ended in 
 some of the prettiest lanes in England. As a child 
 Nancy thought that these lanes led straight into fairy- 
 land; as a woman she knew that they did; but this 
 
THE BURTONS 
 
 21 
 
 fuller knowledge only came after she had trodden 
 those green and mysterious ways in company with 
 the man of her choice— and sundry others. There was 
 nothing narrow or exclusive about Nancy: her power 
 of making friends was only equalled by her capacity 
 of turning these friends into lovers on the slightest 
 provocation; and if the friends declined to be thus 
 transformed, no bitterness was excitiid in Nancy's 
 breast, as it might have been in the breast of a more 
 sentimental and serious-minded young woman. Every- 
 thing was fish that came to her net ; and if it was not 
 fish it was fowl or good red herring, which did quite 
 as well as far as she was concerned. If men fell in 
 love with her, she enjoyed their love ; if they were only 
 friends with her, she enjoyed their friendship ; and she 
 regarded either as the best joke in *,he world for the 
 time being. Nora to a great extent moulded herself 
 upon Nancy; for if Nora was the beauty, Nancy had 
 the stronger personality. 
 
 Nora Burton really was extremely pretty, with dark 
 brown hair, large blue eyes, and a bright pink colour ; 
 she was tall and slender, and carried herself like a 
 queea Nancy always described herself— and with 
 much truth— as " a Colonial edition of Nora " ; she was 
 shorter and paler, with darker hair; and her eyes were 
 smaller than her sister's, though quite as blue. The 
 boys were more like Nora— a merry, good-looking, little 
 couple. All the Burtons were endowed with a' very 
 saving f^. !i in themselves and a very sincere admira- 
 tion for each other, and— which is the secret of all true 
 family (and conjugal) happiness— they appreciated and 
 apf'auded one another's jokes to the full. Even the 
 love whita beareth and believeth all things staggers 
 
" FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 now and then when its attempts at wit are greeted with 
 the stony sUre of the unamused ; but the fiS^nVkllw 
 beUer than to put their family affection ioT^Z 
 
 Nancy crossed the lawn to greet Laurence Bax6nH»l« • 
 
 " Come and sit down " sh« luM ■ •< t u , . ■ 
 Frederick to bring out tea'anJlSat Jnc Tl 1 
 '"m '■ r """I ^ ^^"« '"' °°« o' *e other!^' 
 
 jnv.d.ou.s.-wou.dn-t it ,-to point out whicJ wT£ th^T 
 
 "We have just been tallcing about you," Nanev 
 observed, as the four young people seatedLmselves^ 
 
 Laurence wmced ; he was one of the few people who 
 
 djs hke bemg talked about. But this of cour^fwas ine^? 
 
 p .cable to Nancy, who would rather have been abled 
 
 ban not mentioned at all. "Indeed! what have you 
 
 lound to say about me ? " he asked ^ 
 
 " We have agreed that you are rather like a cathedral 
 or^an^oratono; and that we are decidedly fngh£ 
 
 "I should not have thought that you would be 
 frightened of me," replied Laurence, who was mXLTa 
 out of his wits at Miss Burton, and b>e terbleToubt ^ 
 to what she might choose to say next-for whatever sh^ 
 chose, that would she say. "I am a mlfK , 
 creature." ^ * '"°^' harmless 
 
 "Oh! yes. you're harmless enough; but you ar« 
 
THE BURTONS 23 
 
 dreadfully truthful and upright; and that is what 
 makes you so eathedrally." 
 
 "I never feel like a cathedral," Mr. Baxendale pro- 
 tested. *^ 
 
 "And you don't look like one. Elephants always 
 look like walking cathedrals, don't you think ?— when 
 you see them strolling about at the Zoo ; just as if they 
 were built of grey stone, which had been exposed to 
 the elements for centuries." 
 
 "I can't say. Miss Burton; I don't know that I have 
 ever seen a walking cathedral" 
 
 "But you've seen a circulating library; and that's 
 something of the same sort. But, as I was saying you 
 don t look like a cathedral-you only shed a gentle and 
 eathedrally sort of influence; and that is because you 
 are so truthful and upright" 
 
 " It is goiierally supposed to be the hrst policy, isn't 
 It ? So at least I have always been told." 
 
 "Then you have been brought up on proverbs," said 
 JNora, joining in the conversation; "and they are 
 invariably misleading." 
 
 "Of course they are," added Nancy; "if you let 
 yourself be guided by proverbs you will believe that 
 the better you behave the bcttcr-Iooking you will be- 
 come; which-as Euclid wisely remarked-is absurd " 
 "Then aren't you truthful and uprij,dit?" asked 
 Laurence, endeavouring to divert the conversation from 
 himself and his moral excellencies. 
 
 Nancy laughed. "Not we! We never tell the truth 
 unless we are convinced that it is funnier than fiction • 
 and we always take what doesn't belong to us if we 
 happen to fancy it." 
 
 "From hearts down to postage stamps," added 
 Anthony under his breath. 
 
24 
 
 FUEL OF FIEE 
 
 But none of us has ever stolen on a large scale 
 oxcep motlier," Nancy went on. " Did you ever hear 
 
 It °f,"'°">«'' '" 'he boot-shop. Mr. Baxendale ? " 
 iNo; please tell it me." 
 
 " Well, one day at the seaside I went with mother to 
 buy a new pa,r of boots. She tried on several pain, in the 
 ortiiodox asluon, and finally settled upon a pair that 
 were faintly less uncomfortable than the others where- 
 upon we left the shop. All the way home we saw 
 people looking at us and giggling; and, though we feel 
 we are worthy of all notice, we see nothing in our ao- 
 pearance to excite mirth. Therefore we wondered " 
 " Naturally," said Laurence. 
 
 "At last one woman, braver than the rest, stopped us 
 and said to mother, between paroxysms of laughter' 
 Areyou aware, madam, that you have a bunch of 
 babys shoes hanging behind you?' It turned out- 
 would you believe it?_that when mother sat down to 
 be tried on, a bunch of children's shoes had cau<rht on 
 the fringe of her mantle; and she had walked with 
 them dangling behind her all up the street. You know 
 the sort; ankle-straps in every conceivable shade of 
 leather. Of course we nearly died of laughing; and 
 that IS the only time any one of us has ever been 
 actually convicted of shop-lifting But here is the 
 thiet herself. 
 
 Tea and Mrs. Burton arrived simultaneously ; and the 
 former was dispensed by Nancy with much enlivening 
 conversation wherein the others joined, and which 
 Mr. Baxendale-in spite of his efforts to the contrarv 
 -enjoyed to the full. And when a man has to make 
 an eHort not to enjoy the conversation of one particular 
 woman, things are pretty bad with him. 
 
^^^sra^ 
 
 TrE BURTONS 
 
 25 
 
 : wor/ler what o'clock it is. I 
 an ur'.onscionable time, like 
 
 At last he ror 
 seem to be sU > 
 
 Charles the Seen.; ; but to me it has appeared short 
 as I daresay it die m iiim." 
 
 Nancy looked at her watch-bracelet. " I am not a 
 very good guide as to time, because my watch is always 
 either ten minutes too slow or three-quarters of an hour 
 too fast, and you never can be quite sure which." 
 
 "There must be something wrong with its internal 
 arrangements," said Mrs. Burton with her pleasant 
 laugh; "which perhaps accounts for your always being 
 late for everything, Nancy dear." 
 
 "Maybe; anyway I must admit that punctuality is 
 the one virtue which I don't happen to possess." 
 
 " Can I do anything towards the watch's recovery ? " 
 asked Laurence, holding out his hand for the pretty 
 
 " No, thank you. When it is worse than usual I just 
 give it a stir up inside with a hairpia" 
 
 Laurence smiled. " That's a bit diastic, isn't it ? " 
 
 "But it always does it good. For at least a week 
 after the hairpin treatment it never loses more than 
 five minutes in the day, or gains more than thirty • but 
 after that it drops back into its old evil ways again 
 just as we all do the next week but one after a really 
 stirring sermon." 
 
 "I am afraid sermons never stir me up at all, what- 
 ever hairpins might do," said Laurence. 
 
 " Oh ! but they stir up Nancy," cried Nora : " sermons 
 I mean of course — not hairpins." 
 
 Nancy nodded. " I should just think they do They 
 give me thrills all down my back, and make me really 
 an exquisite character for about four days. Once for 
 
26 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 a week after Mr. Arbuthnot had preached about un- 
 selhslmess, I went for a walk with Nora every day • and 
 another time after he'd preached agair.st vanity and 
 ove ot dress. I let Tony go for a whole afternoon with 
 h.s tie wngghng up over the back of his collar, and 
 never told him of it" 
 
 "And I was not behind you in virtuous behaviour" 
 added Anthony; "that very same sermon led me to 
 leave a smut, which had settled upon our dear Nancy's 
 ineffecfve nose, unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung for 
 at least four good hours by Shrewsbury clock And 
 
 Nancy tossed her head. "What a goose you are 
 lony ! AH the same I wonder how you could resist 
 the pleasure of finding fault widi me when there was 
 any just ground for such fault finding" 
 
 "I admit it was difficult, my dear young cousin; a 
 ess self-denying man could not have withstood the 
 temptation. There are some things which are abso- 
 lutely necessary to a man's wellbeing and peace of 
 mind, and one of them is pointing out the faults of 
 his female relations." 
 
 .ir/"°.!^ru\P°^°"°^ °"*' '° * photograph of any 
 
 fo str-' ' H V "' ""'''^' '''' ^°''^ "•>«'« he happened 
 to stay, said Nancy ; " no normal human being-either 
 man or woman— can help doing that." 
 
 "And if we can put a cross opposite our own par- 
 ticular bedroom window, delight reaches the point of 
 ecstasy," added Laurence. 
 
 Anthony gazed at Nancy in mock admiration " Mv 
 dear young friend, you are too clever by half; if you 
 get much sharper you'll cut yourself" ^ 
 
THE BURTONS 
 
 27 
 
 "Well, I haven't yet, anyhow; though I've often 
 been tempted to cut you" 
 
 "There you are, at it again," sighed Anthony. 
 " When shall I persuade you to be good, sweet maid, 
 and let who will be clever ? It would be such a pleasant 
 change if you would ! And, besides, you'll never get a 
 husband if you go on scintillating like this ; men don't 
 want a blaze of fireworks on their own hearthstones." 
 
 "They'll want me right enough, whether I heart'i- 
 stone or whether I firework," retorted Nancy, who 
 never could resist squabbling with Tony when she had 
 the chance. 
 
 " In that case," replied her cousin, " they'll soon find 
 out their mistake — at least the fortunate (or rather the 
 unfortunate) one whom you select will. The beauteous 
 firework, so fiercely sought, will become an intolerable 
 nuisance by being confined to its domestic hearthstone. 
 I'm sure I pity the poor fellow, whoever he may be. 
 When I meet him I shall hug my single-blessedness, 
 feeling how far my high failure overleaps the bounds 
 of his low success." 
 
 Mr. Baxendale turned to Nancy. " Do you know, I 
 think your cousin is rather wasting his sympathy ? " 
 
 " No, I'm not," persisted Anthony. " You don't know 
 her as well as I do." 
 
 " Which is my misfortune rather than my fault." 
 
 " That may be ; but it is a most fortunate misfortune 
 for you. She'll make a strict wife, won't she, Nora ? " 
 
 " Not she," replied the younger Miss Burton. " Of 
 course she'll expect the man to do things her way 
 instead of his own, but that will only be good for him." 
 
 "And though I shall expect the man to do things 
 my way instead of his own, I shall never expect him 
 
28 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 to say, or even to think, that it is a better way than 
 his own; that's where lots of women make such a 
 mistake. 
 
 " ^Jse Nancy ! " exclaimed Mrs. Burton. 
 
 "Well, all the same I return to my point," said 
 Anthony, "and that is that Nancy is becoming too 
 clever to get a husband at all." 
 
 Nancy merely made a face at him. without takin<r 
 tne trouble to reply. " 
 
 "You silly children!" said Mrs. Burton rising from 
 
 her chair, and shaking Laurence's outstretched hand. 
 
 Well, ,f you must go, good-bye, Mr. Baxendaie. I 
 
 famil " ^°" ""'" '""'^"'^ ''*'" ^ ^^^^ ^ """"^ ^"^"l""' 
 
 " I shan't think any the worse of them on that score " 
 Laurence politely expostulated. 
 
 But he did-in those days before Nancy had taught 
 him how wise it is to be silly sometimes, and how dull 
 It 18 (when once one has been silly) to become wise 
 SkQ&tn, 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 BAXENDALE HALL. 
 
 Upon a hill the old house stood, 
 Commanding stream and field and wood. 
 
 Baxendale Hall, which was built for the third time- 
 having been twice destroyed by fire— in the reign of 
 James the Second, was a fine, square house of red 
 brick, with stone facings. It stood in the centre of an 
 undulating park, on the borders of Mershire and Salop- 
 shire, about a mile from a small hamlet known as The 
 Ways; and the house was situated upon such an 
 eminence that its cellars were on a line with the tower 
 of Silverhampton Church. Thus Silverhampton Church 
 and Baxendale Hall looked at each other, from their 
 respective hills, across a fruitful and well-populated 
 valley — a pleasant land of maadows and orchards and 
 comfortable houses, made happy by the money that 
 was coined in the murky coal-fields on the other side 
 of the town. 
 
 The Baxendales were one of the oldest families in Mer- 
 shire, and they had lived at Baxendale Hall ever since 
 Doomsday Book was compiled, and probably before 
 that But of late years their prosperity had dwindled, 
 as is the way of all prosperity which has its being 
 solely in land; and when the late Mr. Baxendale died 
 of a broken hea ', owing to the pecuniary difficulties 
 (29) 
 
so 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 which besot him, it was found that the rents of the 
 estate were so reduced, and the mortgages upon it so 
 heavy, that his son came into an income of a very few 
 hundreds a year; and those few hundreds were made 
 still fewer by the enormous fire insurance which all 
 the owners of Baxendale were bound to pay, in con- 
 sideration of the family curse which foretold that 
 Baxendale Hall should once more— for the third time 
 — " be made fuel of fire ". 
 
 The late Mr. Baxendale had married for love and 
 not for money— a peculiarity of his race— the Lady 
 Alicia Moate, daughter of the Earl of Portcullis ; and 
 by her had one child, a son, Laurence. Her ladyship 
 possessed as little wit as money, but she had beauty in 
 excess; and for her beauty Alwyn Baxendale loved 
 wooed and married her, and lived beyond his income- 
 and finally died broken-hearted because that income 
 was insufficient to supply her somewhat exorbitant 
 daily needa 
 
 The Ways was probably so culled because five ways 
 met there : one went eastward past the Burtons' house 
 and through the pretty village of Tetleigh, straight to 
 Silverhampton; another took the opposite direction 
 and led the traveller, by the hills of Salopshire and 
 Wales, to the coast of the western sea; a third went 
 northward down a shady lane, past Ways Hall the 
 home of the Fairfax family, to Codswell-a picturesque 
 village whose cobble-paved street climbed bravely up 
 a church-crowned hill, which stood as high as Baxen- 
 dale or Silverhampton; a fourth lay through the 
 well-wooded glades of Baxendale Park, and finally 
 by slow ascents, reached the Hall itself; and the fifth 
 went due south into a green maze of lanes, which 
 
BAXENDALE HALL 
 
 31 
 
 wandered on and on until they finally lost themselves 
 in fairyland— as Enfflish lanes have a habit of doing, if 
 only they are taken in the right way. 
 
 There are few things more beautiful than a Mershire 
 lane. It is beautiful in the winter, when the elm- 
 trees that overshadow it are transforuied into coral- 
 reefs by the magic touch of the hoar-frost; it is 
 beautiful in the spring, when its hedges are white 
 with May-blossom, and its ditches fringed with the 
 lace-like hemlock ; and it is beautiful in the autumn, 
 when the climbing bramble adorns it on either side 
 with crimson and gold ; but it is most beautiful of all 
 on a summer's evening, when the low-lying shafts of 
 light touch the bents and the feathery grasses, tind 
 turn the pathway into a golden pavement encircled by 
 a veritable rainbow of emerald, until the traveller feels 
 that he is treading a ladder worthy of the feat of 
 angels, leading him— as the beauty of nature is meant 
 to lead men — straight from earth to heaven. 
 
 The spot where these five ways met Was marked by 
 a groUp of fine old elm-trees, growing upon a grassy 
 mound ; and round about it were clustered a farm or 
 two and findry cottages, a picturesque post-offite and 
 a blacksmith's forge. It was a pretty hamlet Ih the 
 typical English style ; and its quaint little ina, The 
 Crown, slumbered in a cosy bed of blossom, with a 
 coverlet of climbing roses. 
 
 Ways Hall was a long, low, white house, clothed 
 with Virginia creeper, which made it as a green bower 
 in summer, while in autumn it appeared as a house 
 which was enveloped by crimson flames, and vet not 
 consumed. It was set in the centre Of velvet lawns 
 which — like the famous lawns of Oxford had been 
 
32 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 rolled for five hundred years, and which sloped down 
 to a large sheet of water inhabited— and defended to 
 the best of their ability— by a family of swans. The 
 banks of this lake were covered every spring with 
 daffodils and periwinkles, which looked at their re- 
 flection in the water and danced with pleasure at the 
 sight. At least the daffodils did ; the periwinkles only 
 nodded and said to themselves, "What pretty blue 
 eyes we have ! " 
 
 The Fairfaxes of The Ways were an ancient family, 
 which had dwindled down to two— namely, Mrs.' 
 Fairfax and her daughter Faith. Mrs. Fairfax was 
 one of those rare women, replete with charm, whom 
 age cannot wither and whose infinite variety custom 
 cannot stale; and Faith was the raw material out of 
 which saints and angels are manufactured. She had 
 soft fair hair, and a Madonna-like face; and in her 
 eyes was that look which dwells in the eyes of all those 
 chosen ones who see beyond this present world. Un- 
 selfish was an adjective not applicable to Faith 
 Fairfax; selfless was the only description available 
 for her. Had she lived in earlier times Faith would 
 mevitably have taken the veil, for she was one of the 
 women who have a special vocation for religion, and 
 seem made for the cloister rather than the hearth.' As 
 it was, she devoted herself to her mother and the poor- 
 and the human side of her— as far as anything about 
 Faith Fairfax was purely human— fell in love with 
 Laurence Baxendale, and loved him in the ideal 
 worshipping way in which only such nun-like women 
 can love. The high-minded, inflexible part of his 
 character, which stirred up opposition in Nancy Burton 
 fitted exactly into Faith's more saintly nature; and,' 
 
BAXENDALE HALL 
 
 8S 
 
 while Nancy was slightly defiant and greatly afraid, 
 Faith was) humbly adoring. 
 
 As a boy, whenever anything went wrong, Laurence 
 turned to Faith to set it right again ; as^a man lie 
 pui«ucd very much the same course. She was a year 
 or two older than he, and filled in his life the place 
 which his mother had left empty ; for motherliness 
 was the last attribute which could be laid to the cliar<re 
 of pretty, foolish Lady Alicia. " 
 
 It is strange how, in the give and take of life, men 
 take from the angelic and give to the purely human 
 women with whom they are brought into contact. 
 They make demands— excessive demands—upon the 
 patience and forbearance and unselfishne.ss of the women 
 who love them ; but it is the women who make excessive 
 demands upon them that they love the best. Women 
 who behave well rather than wisely take credit to 
 themselves for carrying their own cloaks, and climbin.' 
 over their own stiles, and generally saving trouble for 
 the men who are treading life's paths by their side. 
 Foolish creatures ! The men want to carry their cloaks 
 and help them over the stiles, if only they will let 
 them. Which shows that the proverbial selfishness of 
 man is as effete and worn out a bogey as the dodo or 
 the sea-serpent or religious disability. 
 
 But to return to Baxendale Hall, with which— rather 
 than with ITie Ways— this story has to do. The most 
 interesting feature of the house was a large library 
 filled with all manner of rare old books and fine" 
 pictures, and containing many priceless manuscripts 
 and valuable prints. It occupied the whole length 
 of the front of the house upon the first floor, and 
 was exactly over the great entrance hall Behind it 
 3 
 
34 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 and over the reception rooms, was the suite of rooms 
 always occupied by the master and mistress of the 
 house ; and next to these the nurseries and schoolroom, 
 where generations of little Baxondales had played their 
 games and learned their lessons. The guest-chambers 
 were in one wing of the house, over the justice-room 
 and the munimont-room, and the rooms where the men 
 smoked, played billiards and managed thi state; the 
 opposite wing was devoted to the kitchens and offices, 
 and over them were the servants' apartments. The 
 fro Df the H-.U looked east, to where the old churches 
 of Silverhampton and Sedgehill stood as landmarks to 
 the surrounding country; and the gardens at the back 
 borrowed much of their glory from the sun which set 
 behind the distant W ''sh hills. 
 
 "I wish, mother, if i wouldn't bother you, that you 
 would see rather more of the Burton girls," Laurence 
 Baxendale said to Lady Alicia, the day after he had 
 been to tea at Wayside. " I know they aren't exactly 
 your style; but I should be extremely glad if you 
 would be kind to them, as they are always very kind 
 to me, and I enjoy going there immensely." 
 
 "Certainly, dear Laurence, certainly. Mrs. Burton 
 called on me and I have returned the call, but there is 
 no real friendship in conventionalities such as these ; 
 and real friendship is so beautiful between neighbours! 
 I think— so very beautiful ; and makes everyday life 
 such a touching and exquis':e thing." 
 
 "Yes; it is a good thing to be on friendly terms 
 with the people about you." 
 
 "As you say, dear Laurence, they are not exactly 
 my style or in our set ; their father makes iron, and I 
 think it is beautiful to make iron— it must teach men 
 
BAXENDALE HALL 
 
 85 
 
 to be 80 frrea,t and strong. And then it ia so sweet and 
 Christian, I always think, to show kindness to persona 
 not quite in one's own rank of society ; because I dare- 
 say one can do one's duty in an ironworks as well as 
 on a landed property. In fact ono can do one's duty 
 in almost any rank of life; that is such a com- 
 forting thought, because it is always so nice for 
 everybody to do their duty if they can. There is some- 
 thing very soothing in doing one's duty, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 "Soothing isn't exactly the word I should have 
 used," said Laurence dryly. 
 
 " And then the Burton girls are so charming, too- 
 such sweet, simple, unsophisticated creatures !" 
 
 Lady Alicia had an amiable habit of praising all the 
 people with whom she was brought into contact; but 
 she slightly took the edge off her own commendation 
 by invariably praising them for the qualities which 
 they did not happen to po.sses.s. 
 
 The next afternoon she walked up to Wayside, and 
 found the girls and their mother at home. 
 
 " I am so glad you are in, dear Mrs. Burton," she 
 began in her usual gushing manner; "it always seems 
 so insincere and hollow to call upon people when they 
 are not at home ; and insincerity and hollowness are 
 such terrible things, don't yo- think ?— such very 
 terrible things." 
 
 "They are certainly not lovable qualities," agreed 
 Mrs. Burton; and Nancy winked at Nora behind Lady 
 Alicia's elegant back. 
 
 " I want to see more of you and your dear girls. I 
 was only saying to my son yesterday how beautiful it 
 is to be neighbourly with the people who live near one 
 
36 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 — 80 sweet and C^rixtian — even if they don't happen 
 to be the sort of people one would choose." 
 
 " It is very i<ind of you to say so, Lady Alicia," 
 replied Mrs. Burton, manfully repressinjr her natural 
 desire to smile. 
 
 " And what are your dear girls' Christian names ? I 
 am always so much interested in people's Christian 
 names and the months m which their birthdays are. 
 I think one can learn so much from these, don't you ? 
 They are so interesting and suggestive, and often such 
 a key to character." 
 
 " Do you mean to the characters of the people them- 
 .selves, or of their godfathers and godmothers?" asked 
 Nancy with ominous demurcness. 
 
 " Oh ! dear child, of the people themselves, of course ; 
 how could it be a key to the character of their god- 
 fathers and godmothers, when we never know who 
 their godfathers and godmothers are ? Tliey are not 
 given in the Peerage, you know ; though I am not at 
 all sure that they ought not to be. It would be rather 
 nice and orthodox if they were, don't you think ?" 
 
 " It would be rather interesting," said Nancy, " as 
 showing from whom they expected to inherit fortunes." 
 
 " And there is so much in names. I always think it 
 was such a mistake of dear Shakespeare to say that a 
 rose would smell as sweet if you called it something 
 else ; it couldn't, you know. And what are your dear 
 girls' names, Mrs. Burton ? " 
 
 " Nancy and Nora." 
 
 " Oh, how sweet ! How very sweet, for them both 
 to begin with the same letter ! I always think there is 
 so much sympathy between people whose names begin 
 with the same letter. It was such a comfort to me that 
 
BAXENDALE HALL 
 
 m 
 
 my de«r husband's name bewail with A, like mine Do 
 you know, I .lout think I could ever have loved a man 
 whose Christian nnmo began with B ? Hu would have 
 seemed so far off; almost as if he were living in imotlior 
 planet. I remember once meeting a man and liis wife 
 who were called Francis and Frances. I thought il so 
 very touching and beautiful." 
 
 "It will be rather a bore if Nancy and I have to 
 marry men whose names begin with N," said Nora • 
 "because there are so few nice men's names beginning 
 with N.' ** ** 
 
 " And it would be horrid to marry men who weren't 
 nice, added Nancy. 
 
 Lady Alicia took it all in solemn earnest " Oh ■ 
 dear children, there is Nathai.iel-not exactly a pretty 
 name, but so Biblical and suggestive. I think it mu.st 
 be lovely to have a Bible name, especially on Sundays • 
 It must make one feel in such perfect harmony wit^ 
 the day." 
 
 "But we can't both marry men who are called 
 Nafhan.pl, persisted Nancy; " it would be so very 
 c<-'im)'=u,„-, and we should get them all mixed up " 
 
 J So you would, my dear; but I feel sure there are 
 other nice names beginning with N if only one could 
 recall them." 
 
 "But you didn't call your son by a name beginning 
 with A," suggested Nora. ^ 
 
 " Ah ! no. Dear Laurence was called after an ances- 
 tor of his who did something very heroic and touching- 
 I forget exactly what it was. And I think it is so en- 
 nobling to call one's children by names which remind 
 one of heroic deeds, don't you ? It seems to elevate 
 the tone of everyday life by beautiful memories- and 
 
88 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 there is nothing more refining, I find, than beautiful 
 memones. Ah ! what a priceless gift memory is ! What 
 should we do without it, I wonder ? " 
 
 K Tit ^'l? *'>°"g'>* ^^^ I^dy Alicia ought to know; 
 but they did not say so. 
 
 Her ladyship ambled on as usual, without givin<r any 
 one else a chance to speak. "I do hope, dear M.s 
 iJurton that your girls are cultured. I think it is so 
 sweet for young people to be cultured, and to read nice 
 poetry. I remember when I was a girl I used to read 
 all the poetry I could lay my hands on, except Lord 
 Byron 8 Bon Quixote; dear papa never would allow 
 
 "Ah! we have not been allowed to read it either" 
 remarked Nancy. ' 
 
 "Haven't you? How very interesting ! I think it is 
 so very beautiful when parents overlook their children's 
 reading ; it seems to bring the Fifth Commandment into 
 everyday life^ And it is so sweet and Christian to keep 
 the Commandments when one caa I think one should 
 alwa^ try to do so for the sake of setting the servants 
 a good example, if not for one's own." 
 
 J ' !v°^ t ^ "^h ^"^ P*''«°t« ^ take an interest in 
 everything that their children do," said Mrs. Burton. 
 
 It IS indeed, dear Mra Burton. And I do hope your 
 young people are fond of culture. I am devoted to 
 reading myself; but unfortunately the minute I begin 
 to read my thoughts begin to wander, so unfortunattly 
 I am unable to indulge my literary tastes as I should 
 wish. It IS a great deprivation!" 
 
 «n"'^"f IZ^''^'' '^' P'"^""^ °f y°"' °^° thoughts" 
 suggested Nora; "and that is far greater. I'd luch 
 rather think my own thoughts than read other peopTeV^ 
 
BAXENDALE HALL gg 
 
 Lady Alicia sighed "Ah i mv dp»r ♦»,=♦ • u 
 youarenoUiterary; if you had mv fim "" """'' 
 would live upon b«,ks I « k P'™™'°' y"" 
 Shakespeareradin Jstictv wheTT'' '""V''^''-^ "^ 
 -y dear brother, LfrSuHi^L^rh "T • "'"^ 
 
 thaUhe had done what I had asked her ■' """"'' 
 
 The two girls coughed violently in order to .tiff 
 their laughter, and their mother mana^dTn^ • 
 
40 
 
 tTJEL OF FIRE 
 
 plays— to allow for changing the scenery or the actors' 
 clothes, I suppose; so I took it as a matter of course 
 But It was annoying all the same. It made people 
 laugh; though what there was to laugh at I cannot 
 imagine. But that is a growing evil of the present 
 day People treat everything as a joke, and speak 
 lightly of quite serious things." 
 
 "It is a virtue of the present day, I think." argued 
 Nancy, " to laugh instead of to cry, whenever it is 
 possible. My heart is like Beatrice's-' poor fool it 
 keeps on the windy side of care ' ; and I'm thankful for 
 it." 
 
 Lady Alicia sighed her dainty little sigh. " Ah ' my 
 poor dear husband was like that, and so is Laurence 
 Ihey both of them have always laughed at things that 
 seem to me quite pathetic. But then I am extremely 
 sensitive, and my poor husband was not, nor is Laurence 
 'They could not of course help being so unlike me, nor 
 do I in any way blame them for it; but it has been to 
 me a matter of regret." 
 
 " What sort of things does Mr. Baxendale laugh at ? " 
 asked Nancy, who was athirst for any form of know- 
 ledge concerning Laurence. 
 
 " Just the things his poor dear father used to laugh 
 at— things that you would have expected them to be 
 quite sorry about instead Our poverty, for instance 
 and the way we have come down in the world- and 
 his own shyness and unpopularity; and the fact' that 
 he cant afford to marry; and lots of really quite sad 
 thmgs hke that. 
 " I see." And Nancy's voice was very low 
 "I often say to him what a pity it is that he can't 
 afford to marry, because a charming wife is such a nice 
 
BAXENDALE HALL 41 
 
 thing for a man to have. In fact, I should quito pity 
 h.m about :t, poor boy! if only he would let n>e. slt 
 
 into a joke, and never seems to take it seriously at all 
 so my sympathy is wasted. And I am such a sym- 
 pathejc creature, that Laurence's callousness pains m"" 
 
 .. AK^u . t"" '* "'"^■" '^'"^ ^^''- Burton gently 
 Ah ! but I am so tender-hearted ; I shrivel up like a 
 sens.t.ve jJant when my feelings are hurt, and Lau ence 
 ^always hurt.ng them. I am sure he d..s not mean 
 to do so; but he is so thick-skinned that he doeHo" 
 understand a sensitive nature like mine. hTs p^o' 
 father was just the same." ^ 
 
 "What sort of things did he laugh at?" repeated 
 Nancy with unslaked curiosity repeated 
 
 "Oh! he used to laugh at our poverty too, and at 
 what a wretched match he had turned out for me Of 
 course I ought to have done much better, and I 'used 
 to ^y so; but he just treated it as a joke Audit 
 really was no joke at all for me who had\n 
 really good offers when I was your'" ° """^ 
 
 Nancy's lip curled with .scorn, and she judged Ladv 
 Ahcna w>th the merciless judgment of those who have 
 pLTr'l T ^'^.P '^'-PP-"ted in marriage 
 People used to say," her ladyship continued " that 
 Alwyn d,ed of a broken heart when he found ha h. 
 would be obliged to turn out of Baxenda" But h, 
 was quite a mistake, and merely show« L , 
 
 ought not to talk ai>out thT^ VhiTthey do"' ^ 
 undei^tand. That is another'^of thf fjf, J S 
 nsing generation, dear Mrs. Burton. People L' 
 prone-so sadly prone-to talk about maTte™ Iv T 
 are quite beyond their comprehensioa" "^ 
 
48 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " And not only of the rising generation," said Mrs. 
 Burton dryly. 
 
 " Ah ! no ; it was a fault of my poor dear Alwyn's. 
 He never in the least understood my finer perceptions, 
 and yet he was always talking about them in a slightly 
 sarcastic way ; and he had none of his own., poor dear ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " interpolated Nancy. 
 
 " And as for dyin" because he could not afford to live 
 at Baxendale," Lady Alicia continued, " it was all non- 
 sense. He never really felt it at all, but made jokes 
 about 'ji'inging me to the workhouse till the hour of his 
 death. Now I did feel it, who had been brought up 
 in such luxury, and always expected to make such a 
 brilliant match." 
 
 "I have no doubt that you did," said Mrs. Burton 
 kindly, endeavouring— as was her custom— to make the 
 best of everybody. "Both you and Mr. Baxendale 
 must have felt leaving such a beautiful home." 
 
 "But he didn't feel it; that was the remarkable 
 thing. He just laughed at it as he did at everything 
 else— a sad habit, as I remarked a few minutes ago, 
 and one which I grieve to say dear Laurence inherits! 
 Almost the last thing he said to me, about an hour 
 before his death, was to make a half -laughing apology 
 for having given me only a heart full of love instead 
 of a purse full of money ; but adding that he was about 
 to make the only reparation in his power." 
 
 " Poor Mr. Baxendale ! " And Mrs. Burton's eyes were 
 full of tears. 
 
 "Oh! do you think so? For my part, it quite 
 shocked me to hear him speaking sarcastically at such 
 a time. I cannot think that a deathbed is the place 
 for sarcasm, xt seems to me so sweet to read the 
 
BAXENDALE HALL 43 
 
 Bible and speak lovingly to all your friends at a time 
 like that, so as to leave a nice impression behind you " 
 _ Isancy tossed her head. " It is a pity that a trifling 
 mcident, such as death, should divert the minds of some 
 people from the importance of making an effective exit" 
 bhe was very impertinent-there was no doubt of that • 
 but perhaps there was some excuse for her. ' 
 
 Her ii. .pertinence, however, was lost upon Lf ^- Alicia. 
 1 hat lady would as soon have expected a girl Nancy's 
 rank to be pert to her, as she would have expected a 
 polyanthus to jump up and bite her. So she innocently 
 contmued : " In death as in life my poor dear husband 
 never cared about what sort of impression he was 
 making upon anybody; ne was far too thick-skinned 
 for that, and Laurence is just like him. Which is really 
 very hard upon me, as I always think it would have 
 been so nice to live with people who really underatood 
 one and sympathized with one, and who were alive to 
 the higher traits of a really refined nature. But I sup- 
 pose such crosses are intentional, and so must be borne 
 uncomplainingly, as patience under misconception is 
 such a beautiful thing." And Lady Alicia again sighed 
 her dainty sigh as she rose to take her leave. havin<. 
 effectually 8ucceeded_as was her wont-in preventing 
 those with whom she was conversing from taking any 
 part m the conversation. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LAUBBMCE BAXENDALB. 
 
 The pride that goes beioie a (all 
 Had ruled the master of the Hall. 
 
 SoMEVtTHERE in the middle of the maze of lanes which 
 lay between The Wajrs and Tetleigh Wood stood an 
 old, red farmhouse, sentinelled by a row of poplar-trees. 
 From its front windows one could see the stretch of 
 green fields that lay between it and the wood, and 
 beyond them the distant mountains which hid from 
 the casual observer the wonderful doings of the setting 
 sun ; and from its back windows one could see Baxen- 
 dale Hall, standing on the top of a green hill and 
 supported by regiments of trees on either side. 
 
 It was at this old, red house — called Poplar Farm 
 — that Laurence and his mother took up their abode 
 when the second marriage of Lord Portcullis made that 
 nobleman's castle too full (and some people said too 
 warm) to hold them. It belonged to them, being 
 situated on the Baxendale property ; and, though small, 
 was quite as large an abode as their very limited means 
 permitted. 
 
 Poplar Farm was about five minutes' walk from 
 
 Wayside; and propinquity did all that even the late 
 
 Arthur Hugh Clough himself could reasonably have 
 
 expected of it for Laurence Baxendale and Nancy 
 
 (44) 
 
LAURENCE BAXENDALE 45 
 
 Burton. It 80 happened that they had never become 
 fnends until the Baxendalea took up their abode at the 
 
 It^xj ,, XT "^^ ^y^' '^^^'^ *•»« Baxendales lived at 
 the HaU, Nancy had been a small girl whom Laurence 
 may have known by sight, but to whom, so far as he 
 remembered, he had never spokea In those far-off 
 days-they seemed far-off to him, though in fact it was 
 but a short time ago-Laurence had been a quiet boy 
 reserved and sensitive to a degree, with few acquaint" 
 ances among boys of his own age. and no friends. 
 Jiven then he gave evidence of a pride which seemed 
 to have been his by birth-pride in the long line of 
 Baxendales. stretching back until it was lost in the 
 dim mist of bygone centuries; pride in the ancestral 
 Hall whose red bricks and square windows he so much 
 loved; pride even in the family curse, which filled him 
 when a child with a most delightful dread, a most 
 fearful joy. As he grew older and found that, despite 
 this terrible curse, no one seemed one penny the worse, 
 he would look back with a smile at the time when 
 h^ feared to go to bed at night, fully expecting to 
 be burnt ahve before morning; yet, for all that, he 
 Hugged the ancestral imprecation to his breast as a most 
 chenshed possession. But as a boy he chiefly showed 
 his pnde to the outside worid in what seemed a studied 
 r^erve. Part of this was no doubt shyness; but in 
 addition, he intentionally held aloof from companions 
 of his own aga The Baxendales. even then, could not 
 afford to mix much in society ; so that, except when he 
 paid a rare visit to Drawbridge Castle, he did not come 
 across boys who by birth were his equala Yet in 
 spite of his pride and reserve, in spite of his unsociable 
 reticence, he was a refined, well-bred boy, with great 
 
 I 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
4A 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 '•■f 
 
 love and devotion; and ,t was his father who chiefly 
 mfluenced his early years. Lady Alicia was fond of 
 her chid proud of his good looks and distinguished 
 air; but she paid far more attention to his clothes than 
 to hia character. She was one of those women who 
 only look on the outward appearance of their darlinw 
 and who never win, nor even care to win, their children's 
 twn «r^- /T ^^ ^"'^"^ ^""^^''X'^ '^^d inherited 
 IriT ^^^'-.l •1"''='^ ^^^""S^°' *•>« humorous 
 and a strong sense of honour. He seemed instinctively 
 to shrink from anything mean and underhand A 
 hat^r of cruelty, and naturally disposed to be lenient 
 m h« judgments, in any matter touching honour he 
 was pitiless in condemnation, and never would allow 
 mercy to temper justice. Having no companon" 
 of his own age, he would have lound time hang 
 heavily on his hands, but for his love of books: houf 
 
 he Hall R ' '^f '" ''"' '"''""°'«°«"' ''»>«'y 
 dLS !: , ' '"""^'^ P''°''='"y have turned into a 
 desultory bookworm, as his father could not aflbrd t^ 
 
 T«H T^ " """f" "'^""- ""^^ -' the then viclr ot 
 Tetleigh happened to be an admirable scholar. When 
 Wencegrew too advanced for his father, he was sen" 
 for three or four hours every day to the vicXe to 
 be instructed in Latin and Greek'and other 3L1 
 things. He was a clever boy, and the vicar tool, thl 
 
 ESe f '^t ? ^\-'-^-- His iZ n^ofo ?; 
 aid he foundation of accurate scholarship, but also 
 instilled into him a love for the English clas^ cs culti 
 vated his naturally good taste until it becam! 'ali^os; 
 fastidious; and not only taught him the knack o 
 producing passable Latin and Greek verses, bual^ 
 
LAURENCE BAXENDALE 47 
 
 the art of writing excellent English prose. Neverthe- 
 less Laurence did not grow up a milksop. He had a 
 peat love of fresh air, and rode his pony daily, and 
 took long walks m Baxendale Park and the maze of 
 adjacent lanes. Moreover he had boxing and fencing 
 lessons from the retired sergeant who was engaged 
 at the Grammar School of the neighbouring town of 
 Silverhampton. Wherefore, though slight, i.e was 
 strong, healthy and active. He had his faults no 
 loubt, as so many of us have; his pride in his race 
 bred m him a certain tolerant scorn for those of humbler 
 birth; his pride in his intellect was accompanied by 
 something like contempt for his le.ss gifted brethren 
 his finished culture shrank from contact with people' 
 whose manners were less perfect than his own Again 
 his delicate sensitiveness in all matters affecting honour 
 gradually developed into an excessive scrupulousness 
 In h,8 anxiety to avoid anything to which the most 
 exacting moralist could take exception, he invented 
 scruples where none could fairly be said to exist He 
 was an adept in finding a lion in the path in all matters 
 afiecting his own pleasure or advantage ; and he elevated 
 conscience to a position of such eminence that it became 
 almost a bogey. With all this he was not a prig ■ he 
 was saved from that by the quickness with which he 
 saw the ridiculous side of things; and it is only fair 
 to acknowledge that he was as ready to laugh at him 
 self as at another. From the humorous to the pathetic 
 It IS but a step ; and Laurence had a vein of tenderness 
 and sympathy which he strove manfully and not un- 
 successfully to conceal, but which was evident enough 
 to the few who knew him well. He loved dumb animals, 
 especially horses and dogs; but he was never much at 
 
 
48 
 
 FUEL OF nRE 
 
 w 
 
 home w.th cV Jrea An only child himself, and avoid 
 .ng both through pride and shyness the companion^ 
 
 and knew httleand understood less of children S 
 perhaps, accounts for the fact that he quite ijmored the 
 «hort.froeked Nancy and her sister when he^eUh m 
 takmg their walks abroad under the protecting w2 
 and vgilant oversight of their governess; and waf 
 quite unconscious that their eyes were not'on^y bC 
 but uncommonly bright and pretty. He had a ouS 
 eye for the flight of a bird or a Lcket b^ll but n 
 
 a ^ f "' TT ^'""■"*'* '^*°* *° Oxford, having won 
 a postmastersh.p at Merton. thanks to the adXable 
 coaching of the vicar. His father was only Tb e to 
 make him a scanty allowance, so that even with hS 
 scholarship he had to lead a very quiet life and to 
 indulge in few luxuries. Yet he e Joyed his coHe^^ 
 days, better perhaps than if he had been'lbl^ t^ 3 
 expensive testes, and to frequent frivolous (if not row M 
 
 of friends of a quiet sort. He had not much difficulty 
 m securing a Fi«t in both Moden»tions rnd Great. 
 Moreover he won the Ga" 'ord Prize for Greek W 
 a_feat which greatly delig..oed his quondam tutor, The 
 
 During his last year at Oxford Laurence made his 
 first real acquaintance with sorrow. His father, whose 
 finances had been straitened for some yea« owW 
 to agricultural depression and the extravagance of 
 Lady A icia. found that he could no longer mailL 
 his position at Baxendale Hall. Ho decided to move 
 
UURENCE BAXENDALE 49 
 
 to a small house-but this decision was never carried 
 into effect: grief at leaving his ancestral home broke 
 his heart; and his last days were rendered even more 
 wretched than they need have been by the selfishness 
 of his foolish wife, who was continually bemoaning 
 her hard fate m having to resign the position in the 
 county which was her due. Thus a narrower homo 
 than even the one he had contemplated claimed the 
 broken-hearted man-a home of quietness and peace 
 where he found rest for his soul. 
 
 Mr. Baxendale's death was a terrible blow to Lau- 
 renca He had always been devoted to his father who 
 had made himself a companion and friend to his son 
 Ihat a time would ever come when that companion and 
 friend should be no more had never occurred t« Lau- 
 rence ; and when the blow fell it crushed him. He did 
 not believe at first that it was true; it seemed to him 
 as though his father had gone on a journey, and would 
 soon come back. Then, as he began to realize that it 
 really was true, that never again on this earth would 
 he see his father's smile or clasp his father's hand 
 his faith was staggered. Was God indeed a loving 
 Father if He could thus deal with His children ? How 
 could He (so Laurence cried in his anguish) permit His 
 creatures to be thus tormented ? Why should He have 
 thus cruelly deprived him of his father, in the plenitude 
 oUhat fathers powers, with so much good left undone 
 which he alone, it seemed, could accomplish-so much 
 duty neglected which he alone could fulfil 1 If God 
 were really pitiful and compassionate, why did He 
 permit such misery and unhappiness to innocent men 
 and women? Where was the justice, where was the 
 love, of the Creator ? 
 
60 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 For a time the mystery of pain and grief overwhelmed 
 Laurence's soul. But he faced his doubts, and came 
 through the darkness into light at last; and it was the 
 remembrance of the father he had lost that ^as his 
 sheet-anchor in this time of storm-tossed doubt and 
 sorrow. 
 
 Shortly after his father's death, Laurence took his 
 degree. Meanwhile his mother had gone to her brother. 
 Lord Portcullis (whose wife had recently died) and had 
 taken charge of his household. As a tutor was' required 
 to teach the rising . .rawbridge how to shoot, it occurred 
 to the heads of the family that Laurence Baxendale 
 might t,i Vp f I , post. He was not specially attracted by 
 the prospc;i ; but his pockets were so empty that there 
 was room in them for his inclinations as well as his 
 salary; so he was compelled to pocket both. 
 
 Meanwhile the Baxendale estates were mana<red by 
 an agent ; but when the agent had been paid his^Iary 
 and the heavy fire insurance which the owner was bound 
 to maintain had been discharged, there was not very 
 much left from the diminished rent-roll. The residue 
 such as it was, was given to Lady Alioia by her son for 
 her apparel, which was always of a most expensive and 
 effective style. 
 
 So time rolled on until Drawbridge was ready for 
 Eton, and as a consequence his cousin's services were no 
 longer required. It so happened that about this time 
 it occurred to Drawbridge's father that Lady Sarah 
 Sassenach had a pretty face and a charming manner 
 On pursuing the train of thought thus suggested he 
 began to speculate how the same face would look at 
 the head of his own table. On the whole, he came to 
 the conclusion that he should prefer it to his sister's. 
 
LAURENCE BAXENDALE 
 
 SI 
 In his OMe. for once, the course of true love ran smooth • 
 88 a consequence, Udy Alicia, as well as her son found 
 ner occupation gone. 
 
 It would have been well for Laurence Baxendale if ho 
 had withstood the allurements of the immediate income 
 he secured by becoming his cousin's tutor ; and, instead 
 of devotingsuch money as he possessed to the decoration 
 of his mothers person, he had spent it on the prepara- 
 tion of himself for the learned profession of the law 
 
 This at the time had to his scrupulous conscience 
 savoured too much of selfishness; whereas, if he had 
 only used common sense, he would have seen that in 
 the long run his mother would have benefited by a 
 temporary restriction iu the number and expensiveness 
 of her gowns But it is so difficult to use a sense that 
 one does not happen to possess; and few of us care to 
 borrow another person's for the occasion-to which 
 minority Laurence did not happen to belon-r As 
 things were now, he had lost precious yeara. More- 
 over he had to find a home for his mother, whose 
 exodus from Drawbridge Castle was necessitated by 
 the advent of the new countesa His opportunity was 
 therefo.^ ost ; and, as the idea of another tutorship was 
 distasteful to him, he determined to dispense with the 
 ^rvices of an agent, and manage his estate himself 
 So he betook h.mself and his mother to Poplar Farm 
 which happened to be vacant at the time, and-havin- 
 learat much while he was at Drawbridge from his 
 uncles agent-found himself quite competent to 
 manage his own property. With the salary saved 
 
 *^L f '!°* °^ *^' ^"""'^ °<='="P'«'^ by former agents' 
 added to his assets, his income was brought up to a 
 few hundreds a year-sufficient for the needs of him- 
 
62 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 its being leC it ^a noS rP'*'°^'"''^»''«t 
 
 > ? a^ount^f feet I »^,::^3f r^""'''''. "'' 
 
 ' country is as dark as Frphn. ilT . ^® sorrounding 
 
 li much maligned countv is_lit= = „ ^ • Z ** ™® 
 
 are apparently some grounds forlhT!? ~ ""^ *^*" 
 the power of finding ^ZlionfS. •^rr'f-^'*'' 
 potentate has many bS a^el ^■'^*^* ™» 
 
 .boM Mta Burton; i, |,^ L» il. *"«'^«- 
 .»l too,.., t> h, ™„5l„ Wh?,;;f »» no oood. 
 to b. «ldri to h.r d,Md«,d^ Ti, r™"*""* 
 
LAURENCE BAXENDALE 
 
 53 
 
 Te to l^^h ^ ^' ?°'' ^'""^ '^*'- «he defied any 
 one to be shy wh^n in her company. Wherefore a« 
 
 the man apart NAnov A{^ ^^t- ^i ""'"Kgieson 
 
54 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 that her ^r.ln'L^'^l'T^Lr:^':^'''--^ ^ 
 consciousness, her easy to eran^tLip?"" °f ''"" 
 manner. From this he Zdl' Dro^ . f" °^ ^'^ 
 nition of the bri.rhtness nf h ^ Progressed to a recog- 
 of her st„3„. peiSv aV """* '^' fascination 
 
 feetly aware of the fact of hif ^- ^' ^ '^'^ ^'• 
 equally conscious of ^ l^L^""^ '''''"^- «»d 
 himself knew, but he tL unate' ^^^iy ^r^ 
 natural curiosity. In short hn hoJ^^ V *** fi^^s 
 Nancy, and his seiStiv«ln • ^""^^ ^ '"^^ with 
 him L n^ention ZZ ^^Z'^'H'tj"'^ ''"ow 
 noWy would have been more Turpld tS t" ''■ 
 
 Ba?V7ay^rhet:i:;^tif"^ 
 
 He realized that, sof^^Jt^''^''^*^ "»« ^ila 
 
 wastheonlywoJnin Cwtld'^r'r™'*'' '"'"'"'^ 
 elementary truth without a mtTu^ '^r/f-^ "^ 
 science tod him that hn mni/^ "* ^' "^n- 
 
 -as a girl accustomed ^waikTer 77^ ',"• ^''^ 
 luxurious ways of life he wTh ^ ^'^ "'""^ "»« 
 pride of racelhad nitrto ^ffer^ ''"rf ''''^^ ""^ 
 mansion, with a superb K/^hi^^''" " """^ling 
 grandfathers will had mad! i^ • ^.t **™'' »' ^ 
 
 sell; and a large eSe^t o'u'Km if "^ ^^ 
 -come, made scantier by the fA^2J.Z:r^^ 
 
LAURENCE BAXENDALE 
 
 55 
 stipulated that both Laurence and his father could 
 
 S TZ fi *'•' P"'"^'^ "-^ «'''<^'«- that They 
 paid a heavy fire insurance to protect the Hall from 
 
 mntr'"^r.T' °^ '''' °'^ ''^'- Moreover he had^ 
 moth r. w.th by no means inexpensive tastes, to support 
 So .t came to pass that in his relations with nLcv 
 he was a man of many moods. Sometimes he woJd 
 yield to the seductive charm of her bright talk At 
 such moments he would unbend, and befome his own 
 natural self; he would allow his pleasant vein of 
 
 rZZ T^V"'' "^'"'""^^^ °f J^-^ f"» play 
 
 Then would Nancy regard him as the most delightfu 
 o mea But all at once he would freeze up^ and 
 become st.ff and affected, to Nancy's great astomS 
 2 k a f ^°"l'i,'*«k-and ask with reason-what 
 she had done or said to justify such a change. But to 
 
 th^f «rrT7°"''^ only reply with much stateliness 
 that she had done and said nothing, and would even 
 
 SZpk''w7 ""^'"^ '*" °°' ^«" """'^ «'«>°gJy than 
 himself. When he was in this mood. xVancy thought 
 w:th some justice that Laurence was most di8ag;ee 
 able, and determined that she would drop hTat 
 quaintance. Slie would perhaps have passed a gentb^ 
 judgment on the unhappy prisoner at her barTshI 
 had only known that these sudden fits of chiuS 
 reserve were simply signs of a devotion and a lov! 
 which Laurence felt were getting beyond his powera 
 
 almost beyond measure, it is equally true that the man 
 whom she regarded as absolutely devoid of human 
 feelings was suffering the tortures of a self-Zde 
 inquisition, which would have put to shame moTto 
 the mventions of medieval Spain. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MBS. CANDY. 
 
 A hmband, evan though he be a fool 
 Teaches far more than any boarding-whool. 
 
 The post of caretakers of Baxendale Hall was filled bv 
 
 serhaS V".' 1 '''' '"-^ °^ Candy. Candy S 
 self had been head-gardener, while the house was vet 
 
 « tfe fT,; ^^^ ^"^ ^u" '"""^ ^'"^ -^^ " weed there 
 M the fancy moved him. His better-half was a 
 Norfolk woman; and had been wooed and Zn "t 
 
 «.at await the great Awakening within s^^nd of Z 
 Northern Se. At least she had^eft SfThertei^' 
 there; the other half was filled to overflowing J^i^ 
 respectful admiration of her lord and mLtr ^ wS 
 
 ™i;^^eZL-aif^£ 
 rrca^^-r^i^rr- ^^-^=- 
 
 (56) 
 
MRS. CANDY 5^ 
 
 hedges, that m^slt ''"'*" ?'l^'^ f«»» off the 
 
 theWofwSerd^rtThtuY;^^^ 
 
 into the lanes. T„ T 7 "''^"gh the iron gate 
 
 shomd she S th?re but t^'^^'i ''^^^^' -^om 
 strange to say-hid Lm"""'"'" ^"^^°'''^«- ^l'(>- 
 
 eomnfon wrth^eldt mL"b ^^ f ''''^"' ^ 
 lating-nominally in selrl^f " ' °^ ^"''^^''■ 
 lanes. "^ "^"^ °^ exercise-those said 
 
 took twieelS' 'r""iif 'Tf "^"* **■=* '''''^ it 
 high-road. *^ ^ *'"'"'' ''y '1>« '""es as by the 
 
 'he?,Ji;;i;;itt1atrarhe"'^^^^- t^^^ 
 
 precisely the Tntrary d^^ctit B„r .""f '^"^ ''' 
 
 who has learnt anytZg at all has not di** °J "'' 
 very often the shortest onf T' , •^^W'^ered that 
 
 miles in an opZlf 1", ^* P'*"* *^«« «« several 
 
 compute distlS toraLS:?th''°'".f ^ """^'^ 
 
 tW measured by co^panirlL^Xf^^ 
 
 were really aiming at the nit offli T *° •^°' '^' ^' 
 
58 
 
 he 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 continued. "Won't you come with me? It is a 
 perfect afternoon for a wait" 
 
 " All right," agreed Nancy, who was a very obliging 
 young woman. " I am always glad of an excuse to 
 cultivate Mrs. Candy— or rather to let Mrs. Candy 
 cultivate me." 
 " Mrs. Candy certainly repays research." 
 "Doesn't she ? And I make it my duty and my 
 delight to research her." 
 
 "To dig for knowledge out of Mrs. Candy's stores 
 is not an elaborate mining operation," said Laurence 
 dryly. " I never met a woman who found it so easy to 
 begin talking, and so difficult to stop." 
 
 "I never try to stop her; I feed upon every word 
 she says." 
 
 "But don't you want to put your own oar in some- 
 times, Miss Burton ? I should have imagined— from the 
 superficial estimate I have formed of your character- 
 that silence was not your favourite r61e." 
 " Oh ! I'm not a great talker." 
 "Ah! how appearances sometimes deceive," murmured 
 Laurence under his breath. 
 
 Nancy laughed. " WeU, not such a very great talker ; 
 at least I've met greater ones — once or twice." 
 
 "So have I; my dear mother, for instance, and the 
 aforesaid Mrs. Candy; but that doesn't entirely ex- 
 onerate you from the charge." 
 " You are very rude ! " 
 
 "Indeed I'm not; I'm exactly the reverse. I don't 
 know which is the greater— my pleasure in the feats 
 of great talkers, or my wonder at how the dickens 
 they do it." 
 
 " Then don't you find it 
 
 i easy to talk ? ' 
 
MRS. CANDY 59 
 
 ^^ !so I Should have supposed. " 
 "Every drawer and cuDboard in «.„ • j. 
 of remarks that it sim^"/ won' shuT^rfh" ^ '""'l 
 try to empty it by makfng the rema;k3 ^^^^^^^ 
 seems to get." remarks, the fuller it 
 
 '•BntTlnlrT'' '"'P'"^^ ""y admiration." 
 
 ™LVa::;tro4ai'"'.iL'^f-" ^ ^^•■ 
 
 so,^.ve,andUrveVa;o4«^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 N:;j;:2^he:^r^r-nS^^^s^^ 
 
 It your besetting sia" and i consider 
 
 co^Sv^u;^;^^^ 
 
 I tell everybody evtXg I tS TnTri'''""] "^^ 
 .akes everybody com^f orta^lV^? ^ 1^ S Jl^^ 
 
 "Ir^'-r*T"^ " ''""'•^ ^"^^ tJ^at effect" 
 servt^; added'Na^^^;£t°!rh " ^°"^ "- 
 Reserved people ar^^ne^ p^uL'TLSS ''"' 
 
 ^:rH'""*^^y°"'«--t^leetualBamrde^fc^ 
 the dishes and olates a™ t«,* «„ iu ^ '""»«=iae s teast 
 
 onthem.andyofh^eT^r^^it'^.-^l-'^. 
 
 When 
 
 you 
 
60 
 
 FUEL OF FIEE 
 
 talk to reserved people there is all the outward show of 
 an actual conversation ; but the dishes and plates are 
 really empty, and it Ls all a sham." 
 
 " That sounds very pretty. But it depends, doesn't 
 it, a little on the nature of your thoughts and feelings 
 as to whether their publication would add to your 
 popularity ? In your case, no doubt, it would ; but not 
 in mine. Indeed I put down any little popularity I may 
 possess (small enough it is, goodness knows !) to the 
 fact that people know so little of me. The more they 
 knew my sentiments, the more they would dislike me, 
 I take it. Wherefore my reserve is perchance as clever 
 as your unreserve. Miss Burton. I can't pay it a higher 
 compliment, can I ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! That just shows how ignorant you 
 are. If you are an angel and hide it, nobody will be 
 really fond of you ; I don't believe any one ever was 
 really fond of an angel unawarea Angels unawares 
 are esteemed but never loved; and it is a most unin- 
 teresting part to play." 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 These short answers of Mr. Baxendale always irri- 
 tated Nancy, as much as so good-tempered a young 
 woman was capable of being irritated. She was never 
 quite sure whether he was laughing at her or with 
 her— a most disquieting do.>I)t. Neither, as a matter 
 of fact, was he ; so she could hardly be blamed for not 
 understanding him, when as yet he did not understand 
 himself. 
 
 " Now, on the contrary, if you are a devil and say 
 so," she continued, " everybody will be charmed with 
 you, and say it is so sweet and dear of you to be so 
 outspoken." 
 
MRS. CANDY „ 
 
 "Possibly." " 
 
 «7JhlurS,'i7;r'''\-. people would only 
 fitted; but if I ff itl W°">'"^'»y'='°th^ 
 everybody would smile a„d n! t "1 '"'"* '»'*'°ot. 
 «nd if I went on to put wvtlt^ T^^'" ^'^^ *>''"»« 
 would end by thinking, thl-?" ^^' ^^^'- *he world 
 tees w Id en^tirei;Z:';„"?Sr*'^' ""^ ^^ted 
 
 "eaauS'^'C o5l S\-f « -'^-no longer 
 house-in an unliied i„^""?, ^^^ned on to ev^y 
 works. What an enliSten? ^~''^ . "^^^"'"^ water- 
 thankful we ought to t to ttr "^ ''"*' '° ■■ '^^ how 
 which smiled u^n our bi^ tfT''"'*' """^ ">« gra<» 
 humour ! " ^ "' '"'^ '^''h so subtle a sewe ot 
 
 Again that sense of i™-* *• 
 But she refused rb^^Clke/bvT T' ^-''^• 
 bravely: "All English peoSEf^ '* *'"' '^''"''•'ed 
 principal national fault^ ^ '^"''^ i »* « the 
 
 4tpP" ^-^«»'-«ons have more attractive 
 
 English'' Ji, ^" to teikTwh '^ T"^''y '«ffi««i' 
 
 troduced?" ^ *° '^hen first you are in- 
 
 " Even you ? " 
 
68 
 
 BT'EL OF FIRE 
 
 "Tes; even me. It fell to my lot to talk to the 
 daughter, a very handsome girl ; so I began by asking, 
 ' Have you any sisters ? ' A feeble opening, but the 
 best I could think of on the spur of the moment ! " 
 
 " And what did she say ? " 
 
 " Oh ! she was delightful" And Nancy bubbled over 
 with laughter at the remembrance. " She said, ' Tes ; 
 I have two sisters; and I will tell you all our love- 
 affairs, and then you will feel that you know us 
 thoroughly.' Wasn't it killing ? " 
 
 " Charmingly so. And what did she tell you ? " In 
 spite of all his resolutions not to grow too fond of her, 
 Laurence never could resist the temptation to bring the 
 laughter into Nancy's blue eye& 
 
 " She said, ' In England you do not know how to love ; 
 you are too cold, and you have too much to interest you. 
 In Mexico a woman has nothing to amuse her but to go 
 to Mass and to get married ; but in England you have 
 so much to amuse you that ybu have not time to do 
 either of these.' " 
 
 " There is some truth in that," declared Laurence. 
 
 " There is. Then she went on, ' Now in Mexico we 
 do know how to love ; and we do always love a man 
 who has no money '. I said I had known cases of that 
 kind even in England." And Nancy looked slily at 
 Laurence through her long eyelashes to see what effect 
 this announcement had upon him. 
 
 But Laurence's heart was not within measurable 
 distance of his sleeve, so he inquired stolidly : " Well ; 
 and what did the Mexican lady say to that ? " 
 
 " She said, ' Oh ! but we are very bad in Mexico ; and 
 when we find that the man is so poor that we cannot 
 marry him, we fret and fret till we are quite ill, and 
 
MRS. CANDY gg 
 
 the doctor aays to our parenta " Sh« -Jii j • 
 rfo give her the mone^^^ * Jwrmi'-'^'r ^ 
 
 fashion?" ^ *" suffered m thia 
 
 "No; but her sister had. She tnU „.« .« . 
 was like that, till my parents did a^ u' ^^ ™**' 
 to marry the man she C and n^ow sJ" ^'t """"^ 
 that she used to have nainTli? xT ^ '^'** *° »« 
 now she has not '"ISr^Jn" ^nTny Il^h'^' f^' 
 
 seema" "l""' *° *^e glance. "So it 
 
 tJti:r;ttrt s 1^""^ f ^^2 1^ 
 
 get on without T^Z^Tr ""'"^ '^''' ^^^^ 
 
 I thfnk itlrb^Sr ^^*.^-*-' <-/ Venice 
 King I ha"ety d^ubte." '^'"^ ''^ '^^'^ "/ '^^ 
 "He is a stupid idiot," said Nancy to herself 
 
04 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 silont meditation upon tho density of men in general 
 and of Laurence Baxendale in particular. 
 
 " Of course we had ; what a happy idea ! And now 
 we can go straight to the Hall by the lanes and up tho 
 park, without getting the dust of the high-road on our 
 feet at all." 
 
 So the young people threaded their way along the 
 groen by-roads and then across the undulating park, 
 until they reached the imposing front door which was 
 crowned by the arms of the Baxendales; and as they 
 went they talked by the way of all the trifling matters 
 which are of no moment in themselves, but are of such 
 absorbing importance in the mouth of the one person 
 whose prerogative it is to turn life's smaUest coins into 
 gold, and earth's commonest comers into paradise. 
 
 Mrs. Candy gave them a hearty welcome. It was 
 somewhat lonely up at Baxendale HaU, and the worthy 
 matron was truly thankful when any listenera chanced 
 to come her way. But her replies to their kind in- 
 quiries after her health were by no means satisfactory. 
 "Thank yew, sir, but I be but dowly— very dowly 
 indeed." ' 
 
 " Why, how is that ? " asked Laurence politely. 
 " Well, yew see, sir, we've just lost our pig— the one 
 as we bought off neighbour Simpkins; when we'd 
 only had it a week, it died. And I'm that put out 
 about it as niver was ; it du seem such a thing to have 
 lost it, havin' only had it just a week in the sty ! " 
 
 "It certainly is most provoking in every way; and 
 a considerable loss, too." 
 
 "It is that, sir, and no mistake; and just at first 
 I was that upset that I thought I'd niver get over it 
 But this very momin' while I was a-feedin' the 
 
^^. CANDY 
 chickens and fretfrn- u . ** 
 
 »-«' •« of . .X,£l°"f.^' ■•'■ -»- into n.v 
 
 I have,' I gays, 'and if'. ' ^^ ^ ^''.^^ »<> myself ' ^ 
 
 yew may say." ** '""-qmie n,y,„,f ^^^^ J 
 
 ^"*".e« with hi, hJi^-!^-- ''•d tXid hj 
 to be having a good timet''^' '^""^^''^ ^"" «>emed 
 
 «-^-^ &oir s,r ^ ^'>' -^ - 
 
 voice and with the dearo,!? ' "P"<"* ^ ^he roCd 
 wS 1 '' ^* ^n" W-'^te^t^ - <^^- 
 
 j^oirsx^tSr^-^^ ■ 
 
 ^■r-eiy.,,; ;7'^"^°'^"--- 
 
 le<«t knowing ;£ JP^'^'^ ^"^ Candy, not in fh 
 ^- a,i the«fjJ:*4 "%r1," -^e2g\ f,* 
 
 ka ;ii T •'^ ' ■'he Lord's Wni u > ™' -^ Mys 
 
 "e "J, I must' So T * I , '" oe done- if t », 7 
 
 " And how ■ **^^ ^'h." ® ' '" """St 
 
 saJf"" ^"dy shook 
 M% It's wind • 
 
 Mdl-Utellyewhc 
 
 -ead, miss, wind in the hea7 
 ^j^appened. I waa a-taSn.' 
 
66 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 on Mw. Betts down at The Ways, two years ago come 
 Michaelmas; and she was a paraletic, if yew remember 
 miss. ' 
 
 "I remember her quite well- and I am bound to 
 confess I never knew any one get so much pleasure out 
 of paralysis as she did. She enjoyed to the full the 
 minute recitation of every symptom." 
 
 "Well, miss, I was a-waitin' on her; and when she 
 was a-corain' downstairs and a-leanin' on me, her feet 
 slipped, and she drove her elba' inta my side, and that 
 druve the wind inta my head. So when I went to see 
 t doctor he says to me, says he, ' My good wumraan ' 
 he says, 'yew should ha' come to me when that furst 
 happened ; now,' says he, ' I can't du nothin' '.at there 
 wind ha' got inta your head,' he says, 'and .t'll niver 
 come down, no niver no more.' That's what t' doctor 
 says, miss, and that's what's t' matter wi' me." 
 
 Nancy endeavoured to look as sympathetic as she 
 was expected to feel. " I am very sorry, Mrs. Candy • 
 it must be a most uncomfortable feeling." ' 
 
 " It is indeed, miss ; and my poor father was just the 
 same. Wind in the head is in our family, it is, from 
 livin' so near the sea, and all them terrible gales. ' And 
 Uncle Willum was just the same, tew. I remember 
 when Uncle Willum was bad. Aunt Selina she says to 
 me, ' Lizzie,' says she, ' I du wish as yewr unde wud go 
 one way or t'other ; he du burn such a sight o' candle, 
 and me lubbin' him up and down all the night wi' them' 
 imprecationa" 
 " Did he finally recover ? " asked Mr. Baiendale. 
 " Not he, sir, not he : recoverin' L« not in our family " 
 replied Mrs. Candy with slightly ruffled dignity; and 
 LanreL.ce felt that he had made a mistake. " At t' end 
 
MBS. CANDV gy 
 
 I w.»t to h,lp Anal S.II1,, to nun. him J ,ri„ i.- 
 h;. m^id„ M te„ 0'd.ofc. „d hTlSTtt .ft „•"" 
 him k,, „rf|,i„ „ ,4,^ o'clock .njl, 5^' •^^" 
 
 «"S„;'L'j^:i"S'r;;;ror'ri;r 
 
 c«ndy. .pou„ .h<;,.d„7tr" ""'=/?'■ 
 
 wonnerful man Can.lv ;». t • , ^"- ''^^ a 
 
 wi' him." "* ^ *•*"* ^^ep- company 
 
68 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " And a not inexplicable taste," said Laurence. 
 
 " I remember onst he was iver so much put out at a 
 village dinner in Tetleigh schoolroom, twenty years 
 ago come next Christmas. There was a roley-poley 
 pudden', and Candy got a good slice. But — wud yew 
 believe it, sir ? — they give him his slice stark naked, wi' 
 not a scrap o' jam, nor even o' syrup, to cover it Oh ! 
 he was put out. Candy was, and no mistaka" 
 
 " Where did you first meet him ? " Nancy asked. 
 
 " Well, he was a gardener at Cromer Hall while I 
 was in service at Overstrand. I had lots o' lovers in 
 those days, bein' as I was tall, wi' a nice pink colour; 
 and Candy he come a-courtin' me." 
 
 " And I suppose of all your lovers yoq liked him the 
 best?" 
 
 " Well, miss, I can't ezactly say that ; there was 
 several as I liked quite as well as he, him niver havin' 
 been much of a one to look at." 
 
 " Then why did you finally choose him ? " 
 
 " Well, miss, though Candy was niver much of a one 
 to look at, I heard as he was notable at cookin' ; the 
 uotablest man at cookin' in all them parts. So I 
 picked him ; and I keeps him up to it, miss, I can tell 
 yew." 
 
 Laurence smiled. " A most wise choice, Mrs. Candy ! 
 I think of selecting a wife along the same lines. But 
 what did the rejected lovers do ? Did they fling them- 
 selves and their broken hearts wholesale into the sea ? " 
 
 Mrs. Candy bridled. " Well, sir, only tew days after 
 I'd fixed on Candy, who should come a-courtin' me 
 but Fison, him that was coachman up at t' Hall 1 And 
 a much finer man he wa-s than Candy, bein' better set 
 up all round." 
 
MRS. CANDY gg 
 
 "Then I suppose, in true feminine fashion, you 
 
 • ZT ^r "'^ n "'- """^ '^P'^«««'' yo"-- readines^ to 
 exchange the small bird already in your hand for the 
 larger one just emerging from the bush " 
 
 " Well, sir, I says to Fison, ■ Fison.' says I ■ I'm r<-,il 
 sorry as I can't keep company wi" ye^, yew bein' such 
 a fine, wel -set-up man all round But yewVe come a 
 day too late; I'm bespoke." 
 
 " And how did Fison bear the blow ? " 
 " Well, sir, Fison says, says he, ' Lizzie,' he says ' I'm 
 n.|-e sorry a« Ive come too late; but there's as good 
 
 won t mind lookm' out for a nice girl for me, as th e's 
 no one knows as well as yew ezactly what wud suit 
 
 " Did you look out for one ? " asked Nancy. " I don't 
 beheve I should have done so in your place. I think 
 It IS horrid when one's lovers fall in love with some one 
 else, even if one hasn't cared for them " 
 
 But Mrs. Candy was not made of such slight elements 
 
 Zl I\ ■ t °°71: ^ ''•^' ""^ ^°"°<^ °^« J"«' to his 
 taste. A bright girl she was, Peggy Postern by name, 
 
 our sextons daughter, and one as had been the life o' 
 
 many a funeral in our parta Eh ! but she was a 
 
 merry girl Peggy was; and she attended every one o' 
 
 the funerals in Overstrand Churchyard. I niver knew 
 
 such a girl for pleasure ; if there was anythin' goin' on 
 
 sh. must be in It, must Peggy; and she'd go to the 
 
 poorest funeral rather than stay quietly It home. 
 
 Half a loa • better than no bread,' she'd used to 
 
 say, when I passed the remark that a funeral wi' no 
 
 moumin coaches wasn't no better than no funeral 
 
 mmmmm^mmm 
 
70 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 "Miss Postern seems to have been somewhat of a 
 philosopher," remarked Mr. Baxendale. 
 
 " Eh ! but she was a merry girl and no mistake ; 
 and then Overstrand was a pretty place for fanerals. 
 I remember onst when old Mrs. Parkinson died up in 
 Lunnon, she left it in her last will and testament as 
 she must be buried in Overstrand where she was bom. 
 I always think it seems more cheerful to be buried 
 where yew was bom, and takes away all the strange- 
 ness like." 
 
 " Much more cheerful," said Nancy ; and she had no 
 time to say any more before Mrs. Candy went on. " But 
 I was a-tellin' yew about Candy when he come courtin' 
 me. He niver wud walk intimate wi' me — arm in arm, 
 yew know — because he said as it looked soft-like to 
 show as yew was that gone on a wumman; and I 
 thought it looked soft-like for a wumman to keep 
 company wi' a man as wasn't that gone on her. But 
 I just made no fuss and bided my time. It niver will 
 du no good to make a fuss wi' a man ; if yew just 
 waits and lets him have his own way, he'll punish his- 
 self i' the end." 
 
 " And did Candy punish himself ? " 
 
 " He did, miss. For when we comes to a stile wi' 
 nobody a-lookin' on, Candy he says, says he, ' My lass ! ' 
 he says, 'I'll help yew over this'. 'No,' says I, 'if 
 yew won't walk intimate when folks is a-lookin' and 
 there's some credit in it, yew shan't help me over stiles 
 when there's nobody by ! ' And I niver let him — not 
 onst — till we was married ; though he went on his 
 bended knees he did about it. Eh ! but he's a notable 
 man is Candy for hidin' his feelin's when folks, is by, 
 and showin' 'em when they're no credit to nobody," 
 
 HP 
 
MRS. CANDY 
 
 71 
 
 Nancy thoroughly sympathized with the speaker. 
 " How very trying ! It would makfi me simply furious 
 if I'd a husband who behaved like that." 
 
 "It's tryin', as yew say, miss; but most things is 
 tryin' i' this warld, and so they're meant to be, for some 
 wise purpose which we don't understand now, and may- 
 ba niver shall. But it's the queer ways o' men that 
 give yew somethin' to think about, when it's bad 
 weather and yew've no neighbours droppin' in whiles. 
 Why I'd as soon be an old maid wi' a stuffed canary- 
 bird, as have a husband as was as easy to see threw as 
 another wummaa That's the bewty o' married life ; 
 yew can niver te'l what yewr man'U do next nor what 
 mischief he'll be up tu — no, not it yew lives wi' him till 
 Doomsday. But if yew've got such a man as Candy to 
 deal wi', yew know as whativer he does it'll turn out 
 for the best" 
 
 " Yes," said Nancy ; " I quite agree with you that 
 on the whole married women have a jollier time than 
 single ones." 
 
 " Well, miss, I thought so, and I married in eonse- 
 kence, but it wean't on account of any complaint as 
 I'd got agen my last place; though the kitchen-stairs 
 wean't as convenient as might be. But that wean't my 
 reason for gettin' married." 
 
 " What was your reason, Mrs. Candy ? " 
 
 "My reason, miss, was this; that if yew don't get 
 married when yew've the chance, yew grow inta an 
 old maid; and if yew're an old maid, yewr married 
 sisters think nothin' of yew, and yewr brothers' wives 
 think lesa And that's what I wudna and cudna abear 
 — no, not if yew was to crown mo for it." 
 
 " Come upstairs," said Laurence to Nancy, " and have 
 
 
72 
 
 PUEL OP FIRB 
 
 a look at the library. I happen to have the key in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "Do you always keep it locked up?" she asked, as 
 she followed him up the wide oak staircase. 
 
 " Yes ; always. I don't want to have good Mra Candy 
 pottering about with a candle among all those priceless 
 old books. The house is insured for a hundred thousand 
 pounds, and the value lies chiefly in the library ; the 
 rest of the furniture isn't worth much." 
 
 " A hundred thousand pounds ? What a lot of money ! " 
 
 " Oh ! the library is worth far more ; in fact some of 
 the prints and first editions are practically priceless. I 
 am strictly forbidden by my grandfather's will to sell 
 a single book or print, or to lessen the amount of the 
 insurance. But it seems a lot, as you say ; and especially 
 when I have to pay for it out of an already very limited 
 income." 
 
 And then Laurence unlocked the massive oak door, 
 and spent a delightful hour in showing Nancy some of 
 his rare treasures. 
 
 " I did not know you were so fond of old books," he 
 said, as they walked home together. 
 
 " Oh ! I simply revel in them. I should like to spend 
 a month in that library, and never put my nose out of 
 doors the whole time." 
 
 " If you would really like it, I could let you have a 
 key to the library, and then you could go and sit there 
 whenever you wished," 
 
 Nancy's eyes sparkled with pleasure. " How sweet 
 of you ! I should simply adore it." 
 
 " Then you shall have it with pleasure ; and I'll lend 
 you a key to the house as well, so that if Mrs. Candy 
 happens to be out and the house locked up, you can still 
 
MRS. CANDY 
 
 78 
 
 go in and np to the library. Only be careful to lock it 
 all np agaia" 
 
 " Oh ! I'll be very careful, I promise." 
 
 "Then that's all right," replied Laurence, experienc- 
 ing a thrill of delight at having it in his power to give 
 Nancy pleaaore. 
 
 And he ddivered the two keys into her hands that 
 very d^. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ANTHONY'S SUGGESTION. 
 
 What is greater than the King 7~ 
 Perleot knowledge of a thing. 
 
 What than State is more immenu } 
 
 Of a surety, common sense. 
 
 All the next day Nancy went about singing and 
 making melody in her heart. 
 
 There is something strangely delightful in the be- 
 ginning of anything— in that early dawn of a fresh 
 joy, while the newborn interest is as yet too nebulous 
 to have attached to itself the inevitable cares and 
 responsibilities which cannot fail to come later ; when 
 the object of our regard is already daar enough to 
 make us happy by being present, but not yet sufficiently 
 dear to make us miserable by going away. A land 
 where "everlasting spring abides" means something 
 far more than eternally green fields and budding trees ; 
 it means a land where disillusionment can never brush 
 away the dew of the morning, and where the pearly 
 liaze of dawn shall never be dispersed. "Behold, I 
 make all things new," does not prophesy that once and 
 forallthe house not made with hands shall be refurnished 
 accordinfr to the latest improvements; nay, it rather 
 foretells that the mystic gladness of spring and of 
 morning shall no longer be the transient delight wliich 
 (74) 
 
 f\.' 3*iBr\iicH»r *=iw 
 
 >fi\ \ I r . 
 
ANTHONY'S SUGGESTION 
 
 76 
 
 now it is; but shall become a part of that everlasting 
 
 joy which shall one day crown the heads of those who 
 
 are counted worthy to attain unto it 
 
 The first dawn of love was just now transfigurinff 
 
 caLTi i" ^r'^ ^"'■''"- ^"'^'"'-''^ the Stow 
 came, wh ch r. »,he inseparable companion of all earthly 
 bliss; but at present Laurence appeared to her the 
 embodiment of human perfection. In later days she 
 aughed bitterly at the remembrance of how marvel! 
 lously happy she believed she was going to be before 
 disappointment had taught her how little it is'wTse to 
 expect from hfe; but as yet all things were he« 
 because she was gradually making the wonderful dis-' 
 rZ'^rf "^T^ "^'"'^y *^« ""^t ordinary 
 
 s^diwT ? *^'"■ '"' ^"^^"^ Columbus into Z 
 shade-that she loved and was loved in return 
 
 a nZfli *•"* i^Tl"' Christopher had penetrate,) 
 a little f^her into the future-if he had foreseen the 
 
 T«^r ft ^"'^t ^""'"""^ ^"' ^°' ^hich he was 
 I«ving the way-he would have turned his ^alleon 
 round, and gone ingloriously home again; and°in the 
 same way. if all the women who make%he other ^ a 
 discovery could perceive what heart-burnings and hTart- 
 rendings they were thereby preparing for^hemselves 
 
 But If Columbus had seen farther still-if he had seen 
 the mighty kingdom which was to grow up on the 
 further shore of that sea of blood, filling the earth 
 with Its knowledge and glory, he would have gone on 
 rejoicing a,d unafraid; and, likewise, if thofe fond 
 souls, who ax. preparing for their own footsteps the 
 sorrowful way. coulu .see to the very end of thj^old 
 they too would go hopefully forward, k.owng that 
 
 \ 
 
76 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 only such as have sown in tears shall reap the full joy 
 of the eternal harvest. 
 
 Nancy was too happy to stay indoors, so she walked 
 down in the morning to Ways Hall to see Faith ; and 
 on her way she met Lady Alicia. 
 
 " Good-moming, dear Miss Burton," said her ladyship, 
 in whom the neighbourly spirit had not yet evaporated ; 
 " may I turn and walk with you ? I am taking my 
 daily constitutional, which I always think is so very, 
 very necessary, if one wishes to be kept in health ; and 
 health is so very beautiful, don't you think ? " 
 
 " I don't know about its being beautiful ; but it is 
 very jolly," Nancy replied, trying hard to remember 
 that Lady Alicia was Laurence's mother, and therefore 
 not meet to be laughed at 
 
 " And illness is very beautiful, too," Lady Alicia went 
 on; "I often think that thinness and a hectic flush 
 suggest such touching and elevating thoughta I always 
 wish that it had been my lot to be thrown with people 
 whose illnesses were beautiful and improving to the 
 character ; but my poor dear husband's were quite the 
 reverse." 
 
 "Tell me about him," besoaght Nancy, whose thirst 
 for information regarding the house of Baxendale was 
 hourly increasing. 
 
 " Oh ! there is nothing to tell you, my dear ; he was 
 quite a prosaic and commonplace character, so different 
 from me, who am simply overflowing with poetry and 
 romance. I often think what a pathetic picture it must 
 have been to see a highly-strung, sensitive young girl 
 like myself, tied to a hard-headed, hard-hearted man, 
 such as Mr. Baxendale." 
 " But are you sure that he was as hard-hearted as he 
 
ANTHONY'S SUaOESTION 
 
 i^dy Alicia drew herself un. •- Mv dl»»r ^e 
 am suTfi T» if 1,1, 1 it. / '^ y ^^^' °f course I 
 
 very easy person ,o u„3 «S So illt' T " 
 I an.^ but just straightforward anJ^.r .0^?^ « 
 -I^«n^ sorr, to say-a sad habit of .akin/f'un of 
 
 re^SS^tlSy"""^'"-^^"-"^™--" 
 
 ^--Si^5sr-r"" 
 srfirr^Tftri—--^^^^^ 
 
 better." ^' Laurence « not much 
 
 Lau^^re-stSf S a" d LS^Ar "V^^ ""''"-•« ^ 
 door of Ways Harbut all t>/« ? u ''^'^"^ *^« 
 
 make up to him in some ta; o TtLfhTh"."'^'^ ^° 
 in life. Suddenly she undeLL-W^S "'"'k' 
 
 Baxendale. '*® '"® ''^ Laurence 
 
 When women of the Nancy Burton type admire a 
 
MOOCOPY RESMUTION TEST CHART 
 
 (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
 1.0 ^^ ^ 
 
 ^ APPLIED IM/IGE In 
 
 ^^- 1653 East Moin Street 
 
 5^« Rochester, New York 14609 USA 
 
 "-= (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone 
 
 ^^ (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 
 
78 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 man they are fairly safe ; it is only when they begin 
 to pity him that their hearts are in real jeopardy. 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax and Faith were sitting out on the 
 verandah at the back of the house; and their visitors 
 joined them there. The verandah at Ways Hall was 
 quite an institution; Faith and her mother princi- 
 pally lived in it for the greater part of the year. It 
 occupied the whole length of the house on the south side, 
 and had a stone roof supported by massive pillara Each 
 end was of glass, lined with rows of rare plants in pots; 
 so that there was no admittance to any manner of wind 
 save a south one; while all the sunshine in the garden 
 collected itself in the verandah, as cream collects itself 
 at the top of a can of milk. Therefore, there were few 
 days in the year when the verandah at Ways Hall was 
 not suitable for habitation. 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax and Faith loved their garden; and in 
 return their garden educated them, as only well-loved 
 gardens can educate men and women. The cares of 
 this world and the deceitf ulness of riches find a powerful 
 antidote in a garden ; for those who abide near the heart 
 of Nature learn from her lessons of peace and patience 
 which she does not teach to her more bustling children. 
 Now, as of old, the Lord God walks in the garden in 
 the cool of the day ; and well for those who hearken 
 tinto His Voice as It speaks to them, through the trees 
 of the garden and the flowers of the field, of laws that 
 cannot be broken and of promises that must be fulfilled ! 
 
 "I have made a new fernery," said Mra Fairfax, 
 after she had greeted her visitors in her gracious 
 manner, and Faith had carried Nancy ofT for a girlish 
 confabulation ; " and I wish you to see it, Alicia, when 
 you have rested awhile." 
 
ANTHONY'S SUGGESTION 
 
 7d 
 
 "Oh, how delightful!" exclaimed Lady Alicia; "to 
 my mind there are few things more beautiful and 
 suggestive than ferns. They always seem to me like 
 graceful women, who have charm rather than actual 
 beauty; and there is nothing more interesting than 
 charm, don't you think? — so attractive and yet so 
 elusive." 
 
 " I have arranged that all the water from the garden 
 shoulc" drain into the fernery and so run into the 
 lake; continued Mrs. Fairfax. 
 
 Lady Alicia and the mistress of Ways Hall always 
 enjoyed a conversation with one another — for the good 
 reason that each talked of her own concerns, utterly 
 regardless of what the other was saying; which re- 
 sulted in the equal satisfaction of both. 
 
 " And flowers are suggestive, too," Lady Alicia went 
 on ; "I once had a beautiful idea that it would be so 
 sweet for people to try and copy the flowers which 
 grow in the month when their birthdays are." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax went on in that wonderfully musical 
 voice of hers : " It has the same effect as a dropping- 
 well ; the water trickles down a rockery, covered with 
 ferns, and forms itself into a stream at the bottom ". 
 
 "That is why I am always so much interested to 
 find out in what month people's birthdays fall ; then 
 I know what type of character they should aim at. 
 And it is so sweet to have an aim in life; it gives 
 one something to think of in the winter evenings and 
 on Sundays." 
 
 " And over the stream I have built a rustic wooden 
 bridge ; it is extremely pretty now, and will be far 
 more so when the creepers which I have trained over 
 it are fully grown." 
 
80 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Lady Alicia pursued the even tenor of her way: 
 people rarely listened to her when she talked, so she 
 had ceased to expect it. " My birthday, you see, is in 
 October ; and I have always tried to copy chrysanthe- 
 mums, by dressing in those sweet art-shades, and by 
 showing myself a friend for dark and cold days 
 rather than for sunny ones. That is so touching in 
 chrysanthemums, I think; they come just when one is 
 sad and lonely, and the bedding-out plants are all 
 gone. And that is such a beautiful allegory of friend- 
 ship — to visit people when they are in trouble rather 
 than in their prosperous days." 
 
 "I am not sure whether I shall be able to keep 
 some of the ferns out of doors all the winter; I fear 
 it would be a risk for those that I brought from 
 abroad, and even for some of those that came from 
 Devonshire. You see the frosts here are somewhat 
 severe." 
 
 " I remember whon dear Mildred Swain married her 
 curate — such a sweet young man, with a lovely com- 
 plexion and no money, just like a girl ! — I proposed a 
 month's visit to ihem immediately in their dear little 
 home; and I took my maid with me to show that 
 their being poor made no difference to me." 
 
 " Exactly what a chrysanthemum would have done 
 in the circumstances," remarked Mra Fairfax, for the 
 first time paying attention to what her companion was 
 saying. 
 
 Her ladyship smiled complacently : jokes were things 
 undreamed of in her philosophy. " My dear Emilia, 
 how quickly you grasp an idea 1 You and I always 
 have 80 much La common 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax laughed. In her day she had been a 
 
ANTHONY'S SUGGESTION 
 
 81 
 
 greater beauty than her friend, and Lady Alicia's little 
 elegancies were completely lost upon her. 
 
 "Then," continued the latter, "I think it is so nice 
 for people whose birthdays are in April to cultivate 
 humility, and try to copy the dear little modest violet." 
 
 "What nonsense, Alicia! If there is one virtue 
 more objectionable than another, that virtue is humility. 
 It is a most tiresome and aggravating attribute." 
 
 Lady Alicia fairly gasped. " My dear Emilia ! " 
 
 "I mean what I say. There are no people who 
 give so much trouble in the world as the unassuming, 
 deprecating people ; their humility is far more aggres- 
 sive in reality than the conceit of the most conceited." 
 
 " But, dear, dear Emilia, tiink how beautiful humility 
 is, and how altogether sweet and Christian." 
 
 "I don't care; I simply detest it. The conceited 
 person calls upon you, and comes in, and bores you for 
 a quarter of an hour, and that is the end of him ; but 
 the deprecating person rings ♦' bell and won't come 
 in, and so you have to go and .ik to him in the hall ; 
 which is always a most wearisome thing to do." 
 
 " But don't you think Me should rather look at the 
 spirit which prompts an action than at the action 
 itself? I always endeavour to do so; it seems to 
 make life so much more beautiful and full of mean- 
 ing." 
 
 " My dear Alicia, it is the actions and not the mean- 
 ings that give trouble to other people." 
 
 "Still, we should always endeavour to enter into 
 another person's feelings, and to look at things from 
 another's point of view." 
 
 " Then the other person should likewise try to enter 
 into our feelings, and look at things from our point of 
 6 
 
82 
 
 FUEL OF FIhE 
 
 view; and if he did he would quickly discover that 
 his humility ,s not a matter of sufficient importance to 
 entail any trouble on the part of persons to whom his 
 spiritual vicissitudes are incidents of supreme indiffer- 
 ence." 
 
 Lady Alicia sighed profoundly. "Alas ! how hard 
 you are! Had you my delicate and refined nature 
 you would enter into the feelings of those dear, human 
 sensitive-plants, and admire instead of abusinff their 
 modesty." ^ 
 
 "Extremely humble people always have a little 
 tickling cough, you will notice; and if there is one 
 thing that irritates me more than another it is a little 
 tickhng cough. Yet I never met a truly unassuming 
 person without one." * 
 
 Lady Alicia was busy preparing a suitable platitude 
 whereby to silence the doubting spirit of her friend 
 when the two girls joined their eldere. 
 
 "Faith and I are regretting tha;. to-morrow is 
 bunday, exclaimed Nancy, sinking into a seat " We 
 were planning a picnic without thinking and suddenly 
 the babbath rose up and hit us full in the face." 
 
 " Ah ! I too find Sunday rather a dull and depress- 
 ing day, said Lady A'.icia plaintively; "but I always 
 try to observe it for the servants' sake. It is so bad 
 for theui to see people of our class enjoying themselves 
 upon a Sunday; so I always stretch a point in order 
 to make the day as dull as possible. And, after all 
 there is something very English and suggestive in a 
 dull Sunday; it makes one feel like a Radical or a 
 Roman Catholic or something dreadful of that sort if 
 one does anything amusing on a Sunday afternoon."' 
 "I heard of a lovely new Sunday game the other 
 
ANTHONY'S SUGGESTION 
 
 83 
 
 day," remarked Nancy with dangerous demureness, 
 her love of mischief exorcising for the moment her 
 sense of the relationship between Lady Alicia and 
 Laurence. 
 
 " What was that, my dear ? " asked Mrs. Fairfax, 
 who enjoyed Nancy's jokes only one degree less than 
 Lady Alicia's reception of them. The proverbial duck's 
 back, clothed in a mackintosh to make assura.ice 
 doubly sure, would be less impervious to water than 
 was Lady Alicia's consciousness to anything in the 
 shape of humour. 
 
 " First all the men went to one end of the room, and 
 all the girls to the other ; and the girls were Christians 
 and the men were heathens." 
 
 " That sounds Sunday enough," said Faith. 
 
 " It is beautiful, dear child, quite beautiful," agreed 
 Lady Alicia; "to my mind there is something very 
 touching and picturesque about heathens and people of 
 that sort I always think of them standing under 
 palm-trees on the edge of a river, looking as if they 
 were just going to bathe. I remember once saying 
 to Laurence that the Serpentine on a summer's evening 
 reminded me of missionary magazines. I thought it a 
 most beautiful and poetical simile, but Laurence merely 
 laughed, though I had not the least intention of being 
 amusing; but he has unfortunately no eye for the 
 allegorical and suggestive." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax's bright eyes twinkled. " Go on about 
 the Sunday game, my dear," she said. 
 
 "Well, the object of the game was to induce the 
 heathens to embrace Christianity." 
 
 " Good gracious, child, what will you say next ? " ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Fairfax. But she laughed all the same. 
 
84 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Not 80 Lady Alicia. '• Ah ! how sweet and beautiful 
 —and just what should be done in everyday life. I 
 think it would be so nice if all the nations-even the 
 Boers and the Chinese and dreadful people of that kind 
 —were to embrace Christianity. It might steady them 
 down a bit, don't you know ? and make war quite a 
 pleasure instead of a paia There is nothing so really 
 soothing and improving as Christianity. I know for 
 my part it makes me feel so contented and pleased with 
 myaelt all Monday and Tuesday if I have made an 
 effort and walked to church and back on Sunday 
 morning." ' 
 
 At tea that afternoon Nancy regaled her always ap- 
 preciative family circle with a graphic account, which 
 did not lose anything in the telling (Nancy's tales never 
 did) of how Lady Alicia had received the story of the 
 Sunday gama 
 
 "After aU," remarked Anthony when their laughter 
 had subsided, "it must be rathar a tight fit for Baxen- 
 dale to be always obliged to keep a tame mother like 
 that hanging about the premises. If I'd a mother of 
 that kind I should try to get her received into an 
 Orphan Home or a Shoeblack Brigade or some other 
 similar charitoble institution, which would take the 
 sweet creature off my handa" 
 
 " She must be a trial to him," added Nora, " because 
 Mr. Baxendale is so clever himself. Mr. Arbuthnot was 
 saying only yesterday that he thought, taking him all 
 round, Laurence Baxendale was the cleverest person he 
 had ever met." 
 
 Anthony sat upright in his chair, and gazed thou 'ht- 
 fuUy at his cousin. "So our dear young vicar is 
 beginning to take people aU round, is he ? I shaU have 
 
I 
 
 k 
 
 •III', ji f.;., 
 
 ^3!p^ 
 
 
 'amhiinv s\r ri'iMciiT l\ Hl-i rnvn;, \M) i:\/Ki) tihh'cutki'i.i.y at 
 
 Ills tmi'^iN-." 
 
ANTHONY'S SUOQESTION 
 
 86 
 
 to keep my paternal eye open, or else he will be taking 
 you all round, my beloved Vora ; and then what will 
 mamma and the parish say '« " 
 
 " Tony, don't be an id!ot ! " And Nora blushed so 
 becomii.gly that it was a pity there was ?o man but 
 a relation to see it. 
 
 "Can't help it, my love: we are all idiots in our 
 family ; it is too late to change, as the man said when 
 he got home and found he had received twenty shillings 
 for half a sovereign." 
 
 " Well, anyhow I wish you wouldn't start foolish 
 gossip about me and the vicar," expostulated Nora. 
 
 " Mens ionscia recti, a mind conscious of the rector 
 (only in this case it is the vicar, but the principle is the 
 same) is independent of, because superior to, parochial 
 gossip," murmured Anthony. 
 
 Nora changed the subject, returning to her original 
 muttons. "Mr. Baxendale was considered a tremendous 
 swell up at Oxi'ord, Faith says ; he passed all his exam- 
 inations splendidly." 
 
 " Examinations," remarked Anthony pensively, " are 
 considered by the uninitiated to be a method of dis- 
 covering the ignorances of the examined : but the initi- 
 ated recognize them as a means of displaying the 
 pedantries of the examiner." 
 
 " Mr. Baxendale has lots of things to bother him," 
 said Nancy. " Of coursf lis mother is a trial ; and then 
 he is so frightfully poor. I think it is having to pay 
 such a" enormous fire insurance that pinches them so." 
 
 " Dl .hey nay such a big insurance ? " Nora asked. 
 "How horrid! " 
 
 " Yes," replied Nanyy ; " they have insured the house 
 and the books and tie whole concern for a hundred 
 
86 
 
 FUEL OF FIBK 
 
 thousand pounda How much a year would they have 
 to pay for that, Tony ? " 
 
 "I can't toll, exactly, as they'd insure the house and 
 the furniture and the books and the pictures separately; 
 but I should think it would tot up to something close 
 on a hundred and fifty a year." 
 
 " That's a great deal for people who have only about 
 five hundred a year to begin with, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It is, my dear Nancy. If I were friend Baxendale 
 I'd chuck the whole concern, and pocket my entire in- 
 come myself, such as it is." 
 
 " But ho can't, you see," Nancy explained ; " it is put 
 in the entail, or something of that kind, that the library 
 is part of the estate, and may not be broken up or sold • 
 and that every Baxendale who inherits the property shall 
 go on with the full fire insurance, because of that old pro- 
 phecy. The tradition said that Baxendale Hall should be 
 burnt down ' first by the King and then by the State ' ; 
 and so it has been. And the last part is sure to come true' 
 also, so the Baxendales have to be prepared for that." 
 
 " And it has got to be burnt the third time by some- 
 thing ' which is thrice as great ' as the King and the 
 State, and 'a thousandfold stronger and higher'; I 
 wonder what that can be ? " said Nora. 
 
 " Common sense, I should think," replied her cousin. 
 " If I were Baxendale I should quietly put a match to 
 the family roof-tree when nobody was looking, and so 
 save the annual hundred and fifty ; and pocket the hun- 
 dred thousand pounds in addition." 
 
 Nora laughed. " Oh, Tony, what an idea I " 
 
 " It is a very good one." 
 
 " But if Mr. Baxendale did such a thing he'd be sent 
 to prison," persisted Nora. 
 
 - 0. 
 
ANTHONY'S flGGESTION 
 
 87 
 
 " Of course he would if he was found out, my good 
 child ; but that would be a mista: on his part. Ho 
 should just light a cigarette in the charming old libniry, 
 and throw away the match ; and the thing is done." 
 ^ "Really, Tony, what non^-nse you do talk!" ex- 
 claimed Nancy. 
 
 " Ard if his maternal parent were included in the 
 ruins thereof, it would be a beneBt to the whole neigh- 
 bourhood," added Vnthony; "excepting that burnt 
 goose-quills make such a horrid smell." 
 
 And then he went on to talk-equally foolishly— of 
 other things, forgetting his suggsstion of arson as soon 
 as it was uttered. 
 
 But Nancy did not forget: le was not cast in the 
 forgetful mould. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 BUPUS WEBB. 
 
 O Loid, I knev Thou wert autan ; 
 And to my heart was fillod with fear, 
 And dared not count Thy creatures dear 
 
 In awe of Thy great Name. 
 And if the terror of Thy Bod 
 Eai left my heart a lifeless clod, 
 Untouched by love for man or Qod, 
 
 Dread Lord, am I to blame ? 
 
 "I HAVE no patience with Alicia Bazendale," said Mrs. 
 Fairfax to her daughter that same aftemooa 
 
 "Why not, mother?" 
 
 " She talks so much nonsense." 
 
 " She does ; but if it is any pleasure to her, I don't 
 see why she shouldn't She has very little pleasure 
 in her life, poor thing!" 
 
 " Not at all. She has a good soii, and that is pleasure 
 enough for any woman," argued Mrs. Fairfax, who had 
 never quite forgiven Faith for having been bom a girl 
 instead of a boy: a mistake which it is di£Scult to 
 rectify in after life, even by a woman as obliging and 
 unselfish as Faith Fairfax. 
 
 " But, mother, think of coming to live in that little 
 farmhouse after being mistress of Baxendale Hall and 
 of Drawbridge Castle ! " 
 
 " Humph 1 That was a come-down, I admit." 
 (88) 
 
RUFUS WEBB 89 
 
 "And she really bears it beautifuUy. It is always 
 disagreeable to be poor; and most especially for such a 
 woman as Lady Alicia." 
 
 " Well, it is a great deal her own fault that she and 
 Laurence are so poor now. If she had been less 
 extravagant when she was first married, Alwyn would 
 not have lived beyond his income as he did." 
 
 "Still it wasn't altogether her own fault that she 
 was extravagant. Remember the way in which she 
 was brought up." 
 
 " Really, Faith, the way you have of always defend- 
 ing the absent is most aggravating ! I believe if any 
 one said that the devil himself was not altogether a 
 nice character, you'd find sMne excuse for him in the 
 way he was brought up." 
 
 " But as a matter of fact he was brought up among 
 the angels; so I'm afraid I couldn't find much excu^ 
 for him on that score." 
 
 " WeU, then, you'd say he had been too weU brought 
 up, which comes to the same thing nowadays. By the 
 way, what are you going to do this afternoon ? " 
 
 '■ I'm going to see Mr. Webb, and to take him some 
 nowersL 
 
 " You are a wonderful woman. Faith ; you are always 
 doing something for somebody else's happiness. I 
 wonder if you ever think of your own, my child." 
 
 "It doesn't do much good thinking of one's own" 
 repLed Faith rather wistfully. She did not consider it 
 necessary to add that hers was bound up in Laurence 
 Baxendale; and that the truth was slcwly dawning 
 upon her that his, in turn, was bound up in Nancv 
 Burton. ' 
 
 " Yon would make an ideal clergyman's wife," con- 
 
90 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 tinued her mother reflectively; "you are energetic and 
 capable and amiable and unselfish ; and you have not 
 the ghost of an idea how to dress yourself or to do 
 your hair." 
 
 Faith only laughed. 
 
 "Unmarried women with energy," Mrs. Fairfax 
 went on, "remind me of those terrible motor-cars, 
 which, when some unforeseen obstacle stops their career, 
 have no power of standing still, but plough up the 
 earth all around them, and dig their own graves. 
 There are scores of single women in England digging 
 their own graves with wasted and unappropriated 
 energy." 
 
 "I am afraid there are, mother; but it isn't alto- 
 gether their own fault, poor things ! " And Faith left 
 the room with a sigh. 
 
 Rufus Webb, for whom Faith had designed her 
 flowers, lived alone in a little white-gabled house in 
 the lanes leading from The Ways to fairyland ; but 
 the gates of this latter were for ever closed to him. 
 Those who have once heard these gat«s shut behind 
 them can never enter that magic territory again ; but 
 for them, as for all of us, there is still prepared some 
 better country, which shall cast fairyland into the 
 shade ; a country of green pastures and living waters 
 and cities whose foundations are of jasper and gold ■ 
 in short, a country whereof fairyland at its best is but 
 a type and an image, where we shall find as abiding 
 realities the things of which in fairyland we only dream. 
 Rufus was a big, red-haired and red-bearded man of 
 about fifty. Originally he had been a missionary; 
 but the great tragedy which spoilt his life had likewise 
 cut short his career ; and now he lived in the cottage 
 
RUFUS WEBB 
 
 91 
 
 at The Ways, as guide, philosopher and friend to all 
 the poor people for miles round. He had a certain 
 knowledge of medicine, which he had studied in his 
 missionary days, and which he had practised success- 
 fully among his Chinese converts; and this knowledge 
 he exercised for the benefit of all the cottagers in the 
 neighbourhood, who were too poor to employ a doctor 
 on their own account, and too proud to do so at the 
 expense of the parish. But he never preached now 
 nor had done since he left China twenty years ago' 
 He had passed condemnation upon himself as unfit 
 for Gods ministry; and no arguments could induce 
 him to take up his sacred office again. 
 
 He was a man subject to terrible fits of reli<rious 
 depression and spuitual anguish, when he believed'that 
 the heavens were closed against him and the Face of 
 God was turned away; but through it all he was 
 faithful to the God Whom he maligned. " Thou<Th He 
 slay me, yet will I trust in Him," was his cry • a'nd he 
 beheved that God would indeed slay him were it 
 desirable, and would have no pity. "I am willin<r to 
 be eternally damned, should my damnation redound to 
 the glory of God," was his heartfelt confession; and 
 he knew not as yet that such a conception of Divine 
 Power was an injustice towards Divine Love 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Mr. Webb; I have brought vou 
 some flowers,' said Faith, as Rufus opened the door to 
 her and showed her into his bare little sitting-room 
 'I know you are fond of them." 
 
 "Thank you. Miss Fairfax. I am," replied he, taking 
 from her the bouquet which she had prepared for him 
 and sniffing Its scent with the epicurean delight of the 
 bom flower-lover. For a moment his stern face softened 
 
92 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 as he gazed into the hearts of the roses; then suddenly 
 It hardened again, as he threw the posy upon the floor 
 and trampled its soft petals beneath his feet "And 
 because I am fond of them I destroy them," he cried, 
 his voice metallic with suppressed suffering. " Is this' 
 a time to be gathering flowers, and going down mto 
 the garden of spices to see whether the pomegranates 
 have budded ? Nay, ic is rather a time to be girding 
 oneself with sackcloth and covering one's head with 
 ashes; for the day of the Lord is at nand; and who 
 shall abide the day of His coming ? " 
 
 Faith looked pitifully at the bruised roses, and at the 
 man who was yet more cruelly bruised. "And even 
 if His day is at hand, is that any reason why we 
 should despise His gifts ?" she asked gently. 
 
 " He brings no wreath of flowers but rather a crown 
 of thorns; and in His Hand is a sword which shall 
 pierce us to the quick. Child, be not deceived; it is 
 only by self-repression and self-renunciation that men 
 can attain unto salvation; and not all of them even 
 then." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Webb, self -repression and self-renunciation 
 for another's sake, by all means; but not merely for 
 the pain's sake. I can see that God would be pleased 
 if you, who love flowers so much, gave them up to some 
 one who needed them more ; but I cannot see that you 
 will please Him by trampling them under your feet 
 and so spoiling them for yourself and for everybody 
 
 " Child, blind not yourself by vain words : the God 
 Whom you serve is a jealous God, and He will brook 
 no rival in the hearts of sinful men. Remember that 
 those who love houses or lands, gardens or flowers 
 
RUFUS WEBB 
 
 93 
 
 more than Him, are not worthy of Him • and frr^m 
 
 such He shall hide His Face in anger" ' ^ 
 
 Faith looked up with sweet severity. "No one 
 
 ^v^s _tbe g,ft-and the more so the more one loves 
 
 moved for His sake I have put away from me al 
 pleasant things, and have abjured the world wUh t 
 
 an J i ^X' ", '^' ^°P« ^^''^ ^^^- He sees my 
 angu sh and humiliation, He may turn again t^ me 
 and forgive me my sia" 
 
 "You do Him an injustice, believe me: He did not 
 make the world so beautiful only in order to tTrtur^ 
 ^ with unsatisfied longings: He'^ives ufev^rrg"! 
 g^^ft in order that we, in our gratitude, may love ffim 
 all the mora And it is because we loVe ffim Ihat C 
 find His gifts so fair. I do not think that we eJIr 
 properly enjoy a fair landscape or a beautifuHun et 
 u^til we realize that He is in it all, and throughTa j 
 and beyond ,t all just as we never enjoy any other 
 bcKjks and picture as much as we eijoy thc^e tC 
 are written and painted by the hands we fove " 
 
 Eufus was silent; so Faith-being a wise woman- 
 changed the subject. "man— 
 
 aTtSihe^"^^ "°"'' """^ ^""^ ""-^--^ -* you 
 "I read no book but my Bible : that is enough for 
 
 me ; and it ought to be enough for all " 
 " We ought not to read other books instead of our 
 
94 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Bibles," persisted Faith; "but I don't see why we 
 shouldn't read them as well" 
 
 " What sort of books would you wish me to read ? " 
 asked Rufus, and his voice was very stem. 
 
 But it took more than sternness to fn^hten Faith. 
 " I would advise you to read novels," aua calmly replied ; 
 " I think there are few things which rest one's mind 
 and divert one's thoughts as much as reading good 
 novels ; and I am sure that just now you are sorely 
 in need of 3uch rest and diversion." 
 
 Again Rufus began t» .stride up and down the small 
 room, like some caged wild animal. 
 
 " Read novels, do you say ? Why, I would rather 
 pluck out my right eye than it should offend by 
 reading such trash as novels." 
 
 " But I would advise you to read such novels as are 
 not trash," persisted Faith. 
 
 " Ail novels are trash— and, what is worse, they are 
 vanity and lies. Child, do you not know that whoso- 
 ever loveth and maketh a lie shall have part in the 
 lake which bumetu v-ith fire and brimstone ? Those 
 who write novels make and love a lie; and those who 
 read what they hava written are like unto them." 
 
 " Then would you call all form.^i of art vanity and 
 lies too— pictures and statues and poems for instance ? " 
 
 " I would ; and if I had my way I would bum them 
 all, so that they should not lure the souls of men to 
 destruction." 
 
 " Bum books and pictures i" gasped Faith. 
 
 " Yea, every one of them on which I could lay my 
 hand ; for they are indeed the false gods and graven 
 images which we are forbidden to worship. And is it 
 not better that they should be destroyed by earthly 
 
RUFUS WEBB 
 
 96 
 
 fire, than that men's souls should be destroyed by the 
 fire which is never quenched ? " 
 
 " But art would never destroy men's soub ; it is a 
 revelation, or rather an interpretation, of truth; and 
 so is meant lo bring men nearer to God instead of 
 driving them away from Him." 
 
 "Child, child, do not prophesy vain things. All 
 false gods shall be destroyed, and likewise those who 
 have set them up and worshipped them," persisted 
 Rufus, growing more and more excited. "Look at 
 that fine house yonder," he continued, pointing to the 
 top of the hi", where Baxendale Hall gleamed red 
 among the trees ; " is it not written that it shall once 
 more be made fuel of fire ? And blessed shall be the 
 day that sees it reduced to ashes, and blessed shall be 
 the hand that sets it alight ! Rase it, rase it even to 
 the ground, until not one stone shall be left upon 
 another ! " 
 
 " Mr. Webb, you don't mean what you say. Think of 
 the sorrow it would be to Mr. Baxendale if the home 
 of his fathers, which is so dear to him, were to be burnt 
 to the ground; and surely he has had sorrow and 
 disappointment enough in his life already, without 
 your wishing this final blow to fall on him." 
 
 "I do wish it My soul yearns over the soul of 
 Laurence Baxendale ; and I pray that whatever comes 
 between his soul and God may perish for ever. Have 
 you forgotten that other young man who went away 
 sorrowful because he had great possessions? And 
 shall I sit still and see this young man also condemn 
 himself to the outer darkness, because he loves houses 
 and lands better than the God Who made him ? No; 
 Baxendale has once more to be made fuel of fire by 
 
96 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 something which is greater and stronger and higher 
 than King or State; and that I hold to be the fear of 
 UocL 
 
 "I think there is no need for Baxendale Hall to be 
 burnt in order to teach Laurence to fear God and to 
 keep His Commandments; he has learnt that lesson 
 already from God Himself, and from his dead father " 
 
 "May-be; but science falsely so called, and pleasant 
 pictures and the sorcerer's spells which men call novels 
 are fast blinding his eyes to the hidden things of God's 
 Uw and are making him of the earth earthy; never- 
 theless the Lord shall destroy them in His displeasure 
 and the fire shall consume them." ' 
 
 "You have no right to say such things of Mr 
 Baxendale. replied Faith, for the first time showing 
 signs of a weak spot in her almost perfect temper • « he 
 18 the best and noblest and most unselfish man I ever 
 met. 
 
 "The young man in the Gospels had kept every 
 Commandment from his youth up, yet his great pos- 
 sessions were the undoing of him. Child, listen to 
 me: I love Laurence Baxendale, though I had sworn 
 never to love mortal man or woman again. To mv 
 everlasting shame I love him-I, who had abjured 
 human love as a snare of the evil one; and I pray that 
 his house and his books and his pictures may be 
 destroyed by fire before he has offended past for- 
 giveness that God Who hath said, ' Ye shail have none 
 other gods but Me '." 
 
 "There is no possibility of offending that God past 
 forgiveneas," said Faith softly. 
 
 "So I thought when I was your age," groaned the 
 fanatic, smkmg exhausted into a chair and burying 
 
RUFUS WEBB 
 
 97 
 
 his face in his hands; "but I fell away from my high 
 calling-I lovcl tl,e creature rather than the Creator- 
 and now outer darkness is reserved for mo for ever 
 And because I lova Laurence Baxendale-iove him 
 against my will and against n.y vows and against mv 
 conscience-I would destroy my soul again, were it 
 possible, to save him from the pit wherein I have 
 fallen myself." 
 
 " You are unjust to Laurence, but you are still more 
 unjust to God." 
 
 "Child, you know not what you say; did you ever 
 hear my story ? " asked Rufus, looking up ; and Faith's 
 anger agamst him died down before the abject misery 
 of his face. 
 
 "No; please tell it to me," she said gently, seeing 
 that silence and loneliness had well-nigh thrown Webb's 
 bram off the balance, and believing that confession- 
 even to her— would be good for his soul. 
 
 "I was the child of stern and godly parents- and 
 was brought up by them in the fear of God, and in the 
 knowledge that His All-seeing Eye vas ever upon me 
 to mark iniquity should I do amiss. With all my heart 
 I stiove to obey His word and to fulfil His precepts 
 and to keep His lawa Like the infant Sa^ud I had 
 been dedicated to His service from my birth ; and when 
 I was old enough I took Holy Orders, and offered myself 
 as a missionary, so that I might go forth and make 
 known His word among the heathen, and among the 
 kingdoms that had not called upon His Name." 
 
 " Yes, I understand," said Faith : and, encouraged by 
 her evident sympathy, Rufus proceeded :— 
 
 "But a few montlis before I started for China— the 
 spot to which the Church had seen fit to appoint me— 
 
98 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 I met a woman— a j,oung and beautiful woman ; and I 
 —the man set apart by God to bear upon the mountains 
 Hi8 tidings of peace— turned away from my high call- 
 ing, and loved this one woman with all my heart and 
 with aU my soul and with r.il my mind and with all 
 my strength; loved her as I ought to have loved mv 
 God." ' 
 
 "And as you ^^ ould have loved Him, if men had not 
 hed to you about Him," added Faith softly-so softly 
 that Rufus did not hear her, but went on :— 
 
 "So I married her, and took her out with me to 
 Chma. And I loved her— my God ! how I loved my 
 httle Lettice; I, who had given up all human love for 
 the sake t the Cross, having put my hand to the plough 
 turned back because of the beauty of a woman. Yes • 
 I loved the curls at the back of her neck, and the dimple' 
 on one side of her mouth, and the way her eyelashes 
 turned backwards making stars of her pretty eyes. 
 And, to my shame, I remember all these things and 
 love them still; for which God will bring me to judg- 
 ment" 
 
 " Again I say you are doing Him an injustice. Your 
 love for her ought to have taught you something of 
 His love for you ; instead of which you turned His good 
 gft into one of the nails whereby you have crucified 
 Hun afresh— for surely Annas and Caiaphas did not 
 misjudge Him more terribly than you have done." 
 
 " But He punished me," Kufus went on, heedless of 
 the interruption; "our God is indeed a jealous God- 
 the idols which we worship instead of Him shall be cut 
 down and cast into the fire; and wherewithal a man 
 Binneth, by the same also shall he be punished. I let 
 her deck herself with fine garments, though I ought to 
 
RUFUS WEBB 
 
 99 
 
 have known that a meek and quiet spirit is the only 
 adornment which becomes a woman; I let her read 
 nov< is, though I ought to have known that she who 
 lo' oth a lie is no whit better than he who maketh a 
 lie ; and I let her laugh and sing all over my house, 
 though I ought to have said of laughter, It is mad; 
 and of mirth, What doeth it 1 And for this also will 
 God bring me to judgmenu" 
 
 " Then what became of this beautifiU woman whom 
 you loved and married ? " 
 
 " Listen, and I will tell you ; and then you will see 
 what a terrible thing it is to fight against the living 
 God." 
 
 " But you are fighting against Him still." 
 
 Bufus did not seem to hear what Faith was saying. 
 The memory of the past was so strong upon him that 
 for the time being it efiaced the present 
 
 " I took Lettice out with me to China, and for a year 
 we were perfectly happy together— so happy that God 
 was wroth with us for letting mere human bliss fill the 
 place in our hearts which ought to have been filled by 
 Him. Then there was a rising out there against the 
 missionaries, and the mission-house was besieged. I 
 and my brethren held out for as long as we could ; but 
 our adversaries were too many and too strong for us, 
 and at last we were overpowered and taken prisoners." 
 
 " And your wife 1 What became of her ? Was she 
 taken prisoner too ? " 
 
 " Do you think I was going t^ jr fall into the 
 
 hands of those yellow devils ? ^ x. When I heard 
 the walls crash in, and knew that our enemies were 
 upon lis, I shot her dead with my own hand ; shot tLo 
 i uder heart which had lain upon my own, and dabbled 
 
1^ — J' 
 
 100 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 the pretty hair .n blood. For love of her, and to wve 
 her fron. a ate which I could not bear to contemplate. 
 
 °'^!'«Q«J 8 Commandment which saith, 'Thou shalt 
 not kill ; and ao lost my own soul in order to save her 
 body from torture. And for love of her I would do 
 the same again-yea. even were my punishment ten 
 times greater than it is." 
 
 Faith was almost breathless with interest: "And 
 you did not try to kill yourself as well ? " 
 
 niyself fro„ the consequences of my disobedience to 
 Gods word. The Chinese made me -uid my comrade- 
 prisoners, intending to torture us to death- and 
 welcomed their tortures as some meet punishment for 
 «f / 1 committed. But God, in His justice 
 Mu' ht to make my punishment even greater than a 
 lingering death ..t the hands of the Chinese : when two 
 of us were dead, and two dying-we were four in all- 
 relief came, and we two survivors were rescued. And 
 since then my soul has suffered agonies, compared with 
 wlich my bodily sufferings in that Chinese prison were 
 as nothing. 
 
 Faith-8 grey eyes were full of tears. "Poor Mr 
 Webb! I am 80 sorry for yoa I don't wonder, after 
 all that you have suffered, that you have formed false 
 Ideas of God; and I am sure that He doesn't wonder 
 eitner. ' 
 
 But Rufus did not hear her; his eyes had grown 
 dreamy, and his thoughts were far away "Shi had 
 such pretty eyes," he murmured, half to himself; "and 
 when she smiled she nearly shut them, which gave her 
 a dreamy look, as if she were smiling at something 
 which other people could not see. And she never cwld 
 
RUFUS WEBB 
 
 101 
 
 ve 
 
 to, 
 lit 
 er 
 io 
 in 
 
 td 
 
 'e 
 
 keep her hair neat, though sh« uaed to laugh and say 
 that a clergyman's wife ought at any rate to be tidy • 
 but how could I blame her when it went into such dear 
 little curls at the back of her neck, as soft as silk and 
 
 c'hee^k— "'" '''°''^' ^""^ " ^°' "*' ^™P''' '" '>'"■ 
 But Faith did not stay to hear any more; she felt 
 that she was treading on holy ground, not intended for 
 any feet save those of the woman who was dead. So 
 she slipped out of the room and out of ti.e house; and 
 Kufus Webb never heard her go, being lost for the time 
 m the memory of a dimple which had been dust for 
 twenty years. 
 
CHAPTER VH 
 
 A WOMAN TEMPTS. 
 
 Yon took my life, and filled it all ; 
 Then turned its sweetness into gall, 
 
 And doomed me to despair, dear. 
 The life you spoiled is nearly done j 
 And if there be another one 
 In some strange land beyond the sun, 
 1 hope you won't be there, dear. 
 
 That summer was a wonderful time for Laurence and 
 Nancy ; so wonderful that it would always stand out in 
 their minds' eyes, as long as they both should live, in 
 a sort of bas-relief against the ordinary winters and 
 summers and seed-times and harvests of everyday 
 existence. 
 
 For a while Laurence forgot his anxieties and his 
 poverty and the many trials which beset him, and 
 gave himself up to the enjoyment of those repeated 
 coincidences which so often brought himself and Nancy 
 together. He deliberately shut his eyes, for the time 
 being, to the lions in his way — of which there were 
 a veritable menagerie— and made the most of the 
 beauty of Nancy's eyes and the music of her laughter. 
 And it is but fair to Nancy to add that she in no 
 way stinted his opportunities of enjoying these simple 
 pleasures, but promoted the frequent recurrence of 
 them by every means in her power. 
 (102) 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 108 
 
 As for her, she was radiantly happy ; happier than 
 she would ever be again, in the same irresponsible, 
 light-hearted way. Locked up in a remote cupboard, 
 at the very back of her mind, was the certainty that 
 Laurence loved her, although he had not told her so ; 
 and she was never weary of weaving, for her own 
 discomfiture, doubts of him and of his honourable inten- 
 tions, which she enjoyed to the full, supported as they 
 were by that locked-up cupboard in the background. 
 
 She and Laurence talked a great deal about their 
 friendship, and pretended boih to each other and to 
 themselves that this was the correct name for the thing. 
 But they would have been terribly disappointed in their 
 own cases, and extremely disgusted in each other's, if 
 the pseudonym had finally proved itself to be anything 
 but the flimsiest nom de plume. 
 
 Laurence found it so easy to talk to Nancy. He had 
 not found it easy to talk to anyone since his father 
 died ; and there is a luxury in the rare unreserve of 
 reserved natures, which the habitually outspoken find 
 it impossible to appreciate. Nancy, on the contrary, 
 felt more shy with Laurence than she had ever felt 
 with anybody ; in fact he was the only person she had 
 ever met who could give her an inkling of what the 
 sensation called shyness really is; and the naturally 
 shy person has no idea how ■ quisite is a faint soupfon 
 of that sensation to the person who has hitherto but 
 known it as a name. 
 
 " Isn't it funny," Nancy remarked confidentially to 
 Laurence, when he and she were walking in the lanes, 
 " that it is so easy to say you are glad to see people 
 unless you really are glad to see them ; and that then 
 it is impossible ? " 
 
 P 
 
104 
 
 f UEL OF PIRE 
 
 "Is it? " he replied with a smile. "Then I am to 
 conduce that you are always glad to se^ me'av^ 
 when you happen to mention the fact, and that then 
 you are distinctly annoyed " 
 
 though in going over the convention afterwards in 
 his own mind (as he had a knack of going over aU 
 convemtions wherein Nancy had takfn a ° rtj he 
 Wed that particular remark as if it had Cth 
 utterance of an inspired sibyl. But at the time he 
 nierely said, "I thought that you prided youS on 
 never making inane and conventional speecheT M.ss 
 Burton; although of course I am aware," he Idd d 
 that to pride oneself upon not doing a thing is by no 
 means the same as leaving it undone." 
 
 " Tbat'8 true," agreed Nancy with a laugh « Do vou 
 know^I pride myself upon being a good iLner ?•' ^ 
 
 i; And upon never saying indiscreet things ? " 
 bo Ishould have supposed " 
 
 and ttCes^r '"" *°° ^^'^ °' ""' ''^^ '*•'"»« 
 " I can quite believe it." 
 " You are very rude, Mr. Baxendale." 
 
 .„ "f ^' ^f°"" '\ } """ ""'^'y ''^°''J'"g the rudeness of 
 contradicting a lady." 
 
 ^ f^uJ^T ^^^y *'°"' '""g'''^''' ^ith the careless and 
 delightful laughter of *i"- ' ' - . ""^^ ^^'^ 
 
 'But 
 
 young and foolish 
 you are right in thinking that I can't stand the 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 105 
 
 civil and obvious in the way of conversation," Nancy 
 said; "there is a class of people who always make 
 certain stereotyped remarks which almost drive me 
 mad." 
 
 " As for instar. ■"" 
 
 " Well, when 'ju have been away from home for 
 a Week or two, they invariably call you 'a bird of 
 passage '. It is a most ridiculous expression ; but that 
 type of conversationalist revels in it. And then they 
 say, 'How the days are closing in,' and 'Christmas 
 will soon be upon us ' ; as if Christmas were a movable 
 feast, and as if the days hadn't closed in and length- 
 ened out at the same rate since the time of Adam." 
 
 "And even before then, if science is to be believed." 
 
 " Exactly. Do you know it is such a comfort to talk 
 to you, Mr. Baxendale, because you have what the 
 Psalmist calls an understanding heart" 
 
 " You mean that I understand you pretty well ? Per- 
 haps I do. But I don't kD'-w that that presupposes any 
 unusual perspicacity on r part" 
 
 " Because I am so prone to say what I think ? " sug- 
 gested Nancy. 
 
 " Not altogether. As a matter of fact it is when you 
 don't say what you think — when you go out of your 
 way to say the exact opposite— that you are most en- 
 lightening and instructive." 
 
 " Then why doesn't the understanding of me prove 
 your abnormal cleverness ? " Nancy persisted. 
 
 " Because even a fool can generally master one sub- 
 ject, when that subject occupies the whole of his 
 thoughts and attention to the exclusion of everything 
 else," was Laurence's reply. 
 
 Whereupon Nancy was seized with one of her de- 
 
106 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 ^^; "^irntir T^ -^ »■ 
 
 sweet scenta and the sweetTr ! ^ T' """^ ''^ tJ^« 
 the air, which was Lvt vT"? "''"""^^ ^'^^ 
 l««ghter, Laurence felt thrthrt\7 ""''^ ^"""^'^ 
 good, a,, ,,„^ waVabldXt;^ ^ f T 
 
 ofhving. But Ladv Ai;„io •',.'^°"'» the trouble 
 
 thoughts as thr';i'tfrr;nT'""^^^"^ 
 
 perhaps, th. sound of a band 1^"^? . "^^ "''^'^^P'' 
 days ago there was a Flower sLowIftr^ ^ ^'^ 
 and as the wind was iniZ7}^ Z ^^'^^'^^^ ^ood: 
 band as I sat in thrglrden »'""*""' ' '^^'^ ^^^ the' 
 
 8wt:?ti£,riSu^:?^^'^^f«^^-er 
 
 in a voice from which aUthlKu'""^ ^""'•«"<=«. 
 8U,Idenly eliminatrd ^"^''^ ''"^ ^^<^ been 
 
 romantic things around vou W t ^^ '^^^' "^^ 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 107 
 
 ^^^e most unpoetical and unromantic creature that ever 
 
 "What sort of beautiful visions did this particular 
 
 asked Laurence wincing-as he always did-at his 
 mothers way of speaking of the father'whomTe had 
 
 "Oh! it made me feel so tender and softened and 
 chastened (:t was playing Tv,o Lovely Black Eyes tfl 
 remember nghtly; or else The Girl I left BeZdMe 
 Im not sure now which), that I felt I quite Wav; 
 your poor dear father for all the trouble\nd Z^l 
 and economy that he had entailed on me by hk^ mS 
 
 ir^in".'' '"' "*"-*" ^°""^' "^'-^ ^ J^-- her 
 
 Laurence did not speak. However trying Lady 
 
 Ahciamight be he never forgot thatshe was hismothe? 
 and his remembrance often obliged him to take reful' 
 m silence so that he might not offend with h^tonZ 
 against that Commandment which makes no ex' enZ! 
 m favour of those who have no sympathy wTthl 
 
 Lady Alicia placidly continued: "The power of as 
 sociation IS very strong in poetical nat^es such as 
 mine and that is why sounds and scent, affect Te so 
 much I remember ^^ar Wordsworth spoke ve^ 
 sweetly about sometl -I forget what it was but^ 
 fancy it was a pet lat . a daisy-which made you 
 t^k of _things . too deep for tearB '. I ^ ,Z feel 
 
 "Indeed." Laurence knew he was ungracious, but 
 
108 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 for the life of him he could not help it when his mother 
 talked in this way. 
 
 "For instance," she went on, "I never smell mint- 
 sauce without tliinking of the day when dear Lord 
 Watercress proposed to me. We were at a dinner- 
 party at the time, and the lamb was just being handed 
 round; and even yet, after all these years, the smell. of 
 mint-sauce always recalls poor dear Watercress -how 
 beautifully he spoke, and how heart-broken he was 
 when I refused him. Ah ! I had such.good offers when 
 I was young; and it was the knowledge of how much 
 better I migb.; have done that made it so hard for me 
 to forgive your poor father when I discovered that he 
 was not as well off as I had been led to expect." 
 
 Then Laurence felt constrained to expostulate "I 
 am sure my father never deceived you as to his income. 
 He was the most single-minded and upright and honour- 
 able man I ever came across. He was incapable of 
 deceiving anybody-least of all the woman he loved." 
 " Well, he didn't exactly deceive me in so many words ■ 
 and even if he had, my dear father would have ferreted 
 out the truth about his prospects." 
 
 " Then what do you mean by saying that father was 
 not as well off as you had been led to expect ? " 
 
 "I was such an unsophisticated romantic youncr 
 creature, full of love and fire and poetry and things of 
 that kind, don't you know ? that when he told me he 
 was poor, I imagined I loved him all Cie more for it 
 Even now, and although I am speaking of myself I 
 cannot help feeling that there was something very 
 beautiful and touching in a young giri, who had been 
 brought up as I had been, being ready to sacrifice the 
 world for love. It is the ,ort of thing that one 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 109 
 
 would read about in a novel, and think, so very, very 
 sweet." 
 
 " But like the celebrated sacrifice to Baal on Mount 
 Carmel, the fire from heaven was apparently wanting 
 in your case," remarked Laurence somewhat bitterly. 
 
 Bitterness, like humour, was however lost upon Lady 
 Alicia. "Yes," she went on in her well-bred, expres- 
 sionless voice, "I can see now how unspoiled and 
 unsophisticated my nature was; and such simplicity 
 was indeed beautiful in a girl who had never done her 
 hair herself, or put on a dress worth less than twenty 
 guineas since she was born. I can remember now how 
 beautifully I spoke to Alwyn about caring more for 
 him than for wealth or rank or any of the other 
 necessaries of life; and how the tears came into his 
 eyes when he kissed me, and said he hoped to Qod that 
 he should prove himself in some measure worthy of 
 such love. Oh ! it was all so very, very touching and 
 pathetic." 
 
 " But if you said all that to him how can you blame 
 him for believing you ? " 
 
 L»'ly Alicia sighed plaintively. " Ah ! he was older 
 than I was, and knew more of the world and of how 
 very unpleasant it is to be poor ; and he ought not to 
 have taken advantage of my nobility and generosity. 
 I blame him for taking me at my word ; and I always 
 shall consider it showed a sad selfishness on his part" 
 
 " Did you ever tell him that you blamed him ? " 
 asked Laurence quietly. 
 
 " Of course I did, over and over again. I think it 
 is such false kindness to keep from people the con- 
 sequences of their own folly and selfishness. We are 
 put into this world to help other people ; and how can 
 
no 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 feulto a*n?.^- ''*!•!" ^"^ pointing out to them their 
 
 " Ah I " murmured Laurence. His mother's loquacitv 
 threw most .nstructive lights upon his father's cha^ 
 
 f^l^v ^^^r^. ^ ^'' *'"'' yo"' poor father never 
 took his chastenings in the right spirit When I u^j 
 to teU hzm what a bitter disappointment my ma rSe 
 had been to me, and how I regretted thfl t^ "! 
 sacrifice which he had demandedTt my hlnds^^S 
 
 elTl°^''"^ "^ ^' ""«''' '-^ h''^^ done fo; havt^ 
 exposed a woman of my rank to such inconvenLnce 
 he used to become quite sarcastic, and say thing^ w 2 
 he apparently intended to be funny thought lever 
 could see the point of them." ^ ' 
 
 "I wonder if all women end by jiatinc- tKo- 
 husbands, unless those husbands happCobe S '' 
 said Laurence, meditating as to whether-should he 
 succeed m attaining his heart's desire and w^i„' 
 Nancy's love-she would finally break that hZZ 
 hm mother had broken his father's 
 
 "Of course they do-all nice-minded women, that is 
 tosay, who are too delicate and sensitive to put up 
 with a hugger-mugger home, and to do without th« 
 refinements of lifa It is very beautiful tol Heve tS 
 love .s every hing when one is quite young-verv 
 
 Zi r^:^f7T^. '' """''^ P'''^ -"« inexpresIS 
 to think that I had not believed it in my in^ei^ 
 girhsh days ; but as one grows older-and one doeTnot 
 mmd growing older when one thinks of how beautifu 
 he autumn tints and flowez. are, and how aS tv" 
 It IS to grow old gracefully-one cannot but realize 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 HI 
 
 that a thoroughly capable butler makes a house more 
 comfortable than the mast devoted of husbands ; and 
 that one cannot really get enough to eai, unless one 
 has a cook who can make good entries and savouries ; 
 the young may digest plain joints, but not the middle- 
 aged." 
 
 A flood of pity for his poor silly mother rushed into 
 Laurence's heart. He had not understood before how 
 much she minded being poor. Like his father, Laurence 
 would have believed that a man could make a woman 
 happy, quite apart from the question of money, if only 
 they loved each other enough. And so he could, were 
 the said woman's heart of the best quality. But many 
 women have hearts not of the best quality ; and these 
 also have to be reckoned with. If a man build his 
 house upon the sand, the plea that he mistook that 
 sand for rock will in no wise avail him when the rains 
 descend, and the floods come, and the winds blow, and 
 the house falls. 
 
 " I'm afraid our present circumstances are a bit rough 
 on you, mother," Laurence said very gently ; " I wonder 
 if there is anything that I could do which would make 
 things easier for you." 
 
 " Dear Laurence, what a dutiful son you are ! You 
 are more unselPih than your poor father after all. I 
 suppose it is the Portcullis strain in your blood which 
 makes you superior to him and more like me and my 
 people. The Moates are all peculiarly sensitive; and 
 this poor Alwyn could never understand." 
 
 " Still my father's family is a considerably older one 
 than yours, if you come to that." Laurence had made 
 up his mind to keep his temper whatever his mother 
 might say; but it was no easy matter. 
 
1x2 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 "Yes; there is no doubt of that. Your ancestors 
 were owners of Baxondale while mine, poor dears! 
 were soiling wool or leather or something equally un- 
 pleasant Nevertheless there is a refinement and 
 delicacy of perception among the Moates which is sadly 
 lacking in the Baxcndales." 
 
 " Then, my dear mother, considering that— according 
 to your own showing— my density is rather my mis- 
 fortune than my fault, won't you take the trouble to 
 point out to me, more clearly than would be necessary 
 were I a Jloate, how I can make life easier for you ? " 
 
 " Ah : now you are reasonable, and remind me of my 
 dear father, who was ever the most sensible and trust- 
 worthy of men. Well, you see, poor as we are to 
 begin with, this horrid fire insurance makes us still 
 poorer A hundred and fifty pounds a year is a large 
 sura to pay out of an income of barely five hundred." 
 
 " It is, mother ; confoundedly large I No one knows 
 that better than I do." 
 
 " Then, dear Laurence, couldn't you leave off paying 
 it ? We should be much better off if you did." 
 
 "I know we should; and to tell you the truth 
 
 were I free to follow my own judgment— I should 
 leave off paying it, and should take the risk of Baxen- 
 dale being burnt down for the third time. More than 
 a quarter of one's entire income is a good deal to pay 
 to insure oneself against an off-chance ; for it is only 
 an off-chance that the Hall should be burnt down a^ain 
 at any rate in our time." 
 
 " Dear Laurence, you are a Moate at heart, though 
 outwardly you resemble poor dear Alwyn. Then why 
 not leave off paying that tiresome insurance money ? " 
 
 " Because, unfortunately, I can't. It was st 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 113 
 
 my grandfather's will that my father and his sou only 
 inherited the property on condition that we insured the 
 house and the books and the pictures for a hundred 
 thousand pounds. And if I fail to fulfil this condition, 
 I forfeit my claim to the estate, which then goes to the 
 Hampshire Baxcndales." 
 
 " You are sure of this, dear Laurence ? " 
 
 " Perfectly certain. You don't suppose I should pay 
 all that money without assuring niy.selt that I was 
 bound to pay it, do you ? But I grant you it is a con- 
 founded i.uisance." 
 
 " Then why not sell some of the books ? There are 
 lots of clever, interesting people who wouM only be 
 ioo glad to buy some of the dear, dirty, old things." 
 
 " Because that tiresome old grandfather of mine only 
 left his library to my father and his heirs in trust ; wo 
 have no right to part with a single volume." 
 
 Lady Alicia was silent for a moment. So was 
 Laurence, while his thoughts ran riot on what he would 
 say to Nancy if only he were not so horribly poor. 
 He did not believe that his mother was right, and that 
 Nancy's love would be measured accoifling to his riches; 
 nevertheless Lady Alicia's remark had conjured up an 
 uncomfortable doubt in his mind as to how far Nancy 
 was actually superior to the ordinary run of girls ; and 
 he ground his teeth as he realized that his poverty 
 made it impossible for him to set this detestable doubt 
 at rest, once and for ever, by putting a single question 
 to her and reading the answer in her pretty blue eyes. 
 
 Then Lady Alicia began to speak again, in her 
 
 sweetest and most ingratiating manner — that manner 
 
 in which she ed to clothe herself for the opening of 
 
 bazaars and the giving away of prizes and such-like 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 d.ellcir. in ooler d«tkn«™ » b^ „, „i„v«l ih. » ° ■ 
 
 « .«, >b\u,„,„nLat„"^ritr ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 all her sentimentality, the snirit of ho, • 
 
 aneesto. etil. lived a^d n^ovE L ad'lur Sn 
 
A WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 115 
 
 after dear old Mrs. Candy. I have often heard you 
 caution the good soul against carryinj; a li>;hted candle 
 into the library. Now, why shouldn't she, if she wants 
 to ? — and if a sparl: did fall amongst tli ' old books and 
 manuscripts, all the better for us ! " 
 
 " Oh ! mother, you are not thinking what you are say- 
 ing." 
 
 " Yes, love, I am ; and I have often thought it. Some- 
 times, when I recall the old legend, it seems to me that 
 it would be a positive duty, instead of a sin, to bum 
 the Hall down for the third time and so fulfil the 
 prophecy. It is really a duty to fulfil prophecy if one 
 can ; see how anxious Daniel and Isaiah and people of 
 that kind were to do so ; and they were remarkably 
 good men, and have always been considered so." 
 
 " Nevertheless those who do evil that good may come 
 are not considered remarkably good men — or at any 
 rate were not by S. Paul," replied Laurence, his lips 
 tightening into a grim smile. 
 
 " Ah ! dear child, it does not do to dwell too much upon 
 S. Paul's sayings ; I often think he was a little hard 
 and narrow, especially where women were concerned." 
 
 Laurence thought that the Apostle to the Gentiles 
 had some excuse for his opinions, even if Lady Alicia's 
 strictures upon him were correct ; but he did not say 
 so, and his mother went on : — 
 
 " For my part, I think you would be quite justified 
 in lighting your pipe in the library at Bnxendale, or in 
 insisting upon Mrs. Candy's keeping up big fires, or in 
 putting up hayricks close to the house." 
 
 " Oh ! mother, don't ; I can't bear it," cried Laurence, 
 an almost physical spasm of pain clutching his heart 
 He had always wondered why his father had been so 
 
116 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 glad to die— 30 glad to say good-bye to the red earth 
 and the green woods and the sunset glories of the 
 western hills. Now he knew. 
 
 " You see, dear Laurence, the Hall has got to be burnt 
 down once again; we all know that; and it would be 
 so much nicer if it happened in our time, while we were 
 still able to enjoy the benefit of it. It isn't as if the 
 Hall needn't be burnt again; it that were so, I should 
 say it was very, very wrong to do anything that could 
 occasion the slightest danger; and you know I am the 
 last person to countenance what I consider really wronf. 
 But the Hall is obliged to be burnt once again by some- 
 thing which is stronger than King or State. I so often 
 wonder what that can mean." 
 
 '-Avarice, according to you, mother," was Laurence's 
 bitter rejoinder. 
 
 " Oh ! no, dear child— something much more poetical 
 and beautiful than that; perhaps the love of a son for 
 a mother, or a mother for a son, or some other of those 
 delightful and touching emotions which are so refining 
 to the character. In fact it seems to me that it would 
 not only not be wrong— it would be actLmlly right— to 
 help to fulfil that strange old prophecy, and show one's 
 faith in the supernatural ; for there is nothing that 
 elevates one's own mind, and has such a good influence 
 on the servants, as belief in the supernatural. It keeps 
 one from growing sordid or mean or commonplace." 
 
 Laurence fairly groaned. Never had the gulf which 
 separated his mother and himself yawned so widely as it 
 did now. And he knew it would be useless— worse than 
 useless— to argue with her: he and she spoke different 
 languages, and moved on different planes. 
 " And then," she went on cheerfully, " think how nice 
 
•*AMD UK KNEW IT WtjUr.I) UK VsKLKs:^ \MJI!?^K 'IHAN I.>KI.K>S — 
 TO AILUUK WITH UKll." 
 
!Hli 
 
A W(1MAN TEMPTS 
 
 117 
 
 it would be for you, dear Laurence, to have an income 
 of two or three thousand a year. You might marry 
 some nice girl, who would cure you of the somewhat 
 morose and unsocial habits which are fast growmg upon 
 vou. There is nothing like a charming wife tor making 
 a man sociable and unselBsh; though, alas!" with a 
 sitrh " his mirriage never had that effect upon your poor 
 fa'ther I'm sure it wasn't my fault ; I was always as 
 agreeable and well dressed as it was possible to be on 
 our limited income; but he never seemed to appreciate 
 my efforts to make his home attractive to other people 
 —which I hold to be one of the chief duties of a wile. 
 
 Still Laurence was silent. A darkness which might 
 be felt was enveloping his soul : it was all so hopeless 
 His mother continued: "I sometimes think that 
 Nancy Burton is attracted by you; and I don't know 
 that she would be a bad wife for you, though you ought 
 to do better. She is always well dressed, and has quite 
 nice manners for a person of that class. I feel sure she 
 would jump at you, as people like that are alwa^^jo 
 glad to ally themselves with us; and no doubt Mr. 
 Burton— dear sensible creature that he is '.—would allow 
 his daughter a handsome sum in consideration of her 
 making such a brilliant match. But I don't think his 
 allowance would be sufficient to marry on, as of course 
 you would have to keep up a separate home for me; 
 you will understand that I— with my sensitive percep- 
 tions-could not possibly live in the same house with 
 
 a girl whom " 
 
 But this was too much for Laurence. " Excuse me, 
 mother, but I would rather not discuss Miss Burton even 
 with you," he said as he bounced out of the room and 
 banged the door behind him. 
 
 f I 
 
 H 
 
CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 THE COURSE OP TRUE LOVE. 
 
 " The course of true love never ran 
 Quite easily since time began: " 
 So said our wisest Englishman. 
 
 Michael Arbuthnot. the vicar of Tetleigh. was a man 
 of about five-and-forty, endowed with exceptional gifts. 
 In the first place he was extremely good-looking 
 having brown hair and eyes, excellent features, and a 
 pale complexion ; in the second place he was undeniably 
 clever, owning an admirable knack in the composing of 
 sermons ; and in the third and most important place he 
 was a very good man, being distinguished by unusual 
 keenness of spiritual insight. He also possessed in full 
 measure that uncommon sense known as common sense ; 
 but in one of the most important decisions of his life 
 this sense had signally failed him. Fate and circum- 
 stance and the general fitness of things— and all such 
 powers as go to the shaping of the ends of men- 
 deemed that Faith Fairfax was the proper wife for 
 Michael Arbuthnot She was made and fashioned 
 specially to fill the r61e of a clergyman's wife; she had 
 sufficient intellect to appr-ciate his powers and attain- 
 ments, and sufficient grace to help instead of hindering 
 him m his duties as a parish priest. True, she was in 
 love with Laurence Basendale; but her affection was a 
 (118) 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 119 
 
 very early growth and was not returned ; and love- 
 whatever poets may say to the contrary— is not a. 
 flower which flourishes in arctic regions. 
 
 Although the course of the truest love may be a 
 stony channel with countless rocks ahead, the stream 
 of interior quality, which runs smoothly along neat 
 and artificial canals, is not without its compensations. 
 Real romance has its moments, compared with which 
 commonplace attachments become flat, stale and un- 
 profitable ; it opens the gate into a fairyland which must 
 for ever put into the shade all the ordinary comforts of 
 the dusty highway. Who that has once danced in a 
 lairy-riiig, \i'ants to jingle up and down the road in a 
 tram-car ? And who that has once been dazzled by the 
 light that never was on sea or land, can go into ecstasies 
 over incandescent gas? Nevertheless, tram-cars and 
 incandesceut gas have their uses ; and for those people 
 who have never caught glimpses of some better thing, 
 they are very excellent inventions indeed. It is not to 
 be denied that when the world has been well lost for 
 love, they who have thus lost it gain their own souls 
 in exchange, and enter into life's Holy of Holies ; but 
 when love has been well lost for the world, there are 
 compensations likewise. The Parisian style of the 
 urousseau and the solid nature of the wedding presents 
 are capable of affording a joy which more romantic 
 lovers could in no way enter into or appreciate. So 
 that the wise and the foolish are both happy after 
 their kind; and which of thorn is wise and which 
 foolish, each man must decide for himself, and each 
 woman also. 
 
 But Mr. Arbuthnot (either fortunately or unfortu- 
 citely— that is a moot point) was of the romantic 
 
120 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 of hr^ol L toVih"' "^" ""^"^'"^ '^^ ~ 
 
 chosen for h^r c^l Z^'l ^'^°" '»''" '^"^'^ has 
 
 Faith Fairfax- anH wlul u"^ *°^ "<" '""'a'ds 
 Miehae] hSf lliowei'" '" '"■■' ''''="°«'^' *''- 
 
 thaTrfoetTn: trr '« ^- '---^ ^- 
 
 always does seem worse to do 1^.' Tv''' °^ ^^•='' '* 
 not to have done. Z lertlv t L ''""^;"^ ""^"^^ 
 things one ou<rhf \n h , ^ '^^''^ "n'^o"* those 
 Confssion puf the tw "'' ""'"°"«'' '""^ ««'^-«l 
 
 his world went evel ? T "". '^' ^^""^ '«-«'• And 
 Arbuthnotlust so far f "■; u- '^""^'^ '''*' '^ ^r. 
 calling as to fa fn Inv f.' ^T'^^ """^ •»'« ^^O'-ed 
 ratWthanVt;; ^aiZe offo^ ht^°'^ " ^"' ^^^ 
 
 ungrSti pretrof "^''°"^'^ '* ~ ^t^* 
 sibility, when we Z7 T"" *° '"^^^^' «"«1» "^ P^- 
 our fri;nds and nTh J ""^ ^"""^""^ ^""^ ""^Pa^ng 
 
 condemnatLruponi ;:" t^ '"'^ T ""^""^ °"' 
 to our future actions fffM fl'"''' "^'"^ '^^ard 
 own business'bet * ''^ ''''■ ^'•''"'''"°* ''^^ 1^- 
 
 Now it may be taken as an axiom that if « n, • 
 good son— and still mr.,.^ , , * ™an is a 
 
 will be a 2d husbZ ' r^ l'«'t''«r-that man 
 
 necessarily maki a I^/ /*"f '''" """^ «'«'«•• ^ 
 
 not. In facTveV oC The V '• """^ °"' ^"^^ '"''y 
 
 «a«on for this L ' th« T' "^ ''^''^'•^- '^« 
 
 fiia lies m the deep-rooted difference 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 121 
 
 between a ruling and a subject race. If a man has 
 learnt to govern wisely and kindly the women of his 
 father's household, he will wisely and kindly govern 
 the women of his own ; but if a woman had submitted 
 herself with all meekness for the first term of her 
 natural life, she grows weary of subjection and wants 
 to reign in her turn. Therefore, in all probability, the 
 most dutiful daughter will make the most wilful wife ; 
 while the revolting daughter, who has implicitly r'is- 
 obeyed all her father's commands, will be as tired of 
 rebellion as her gentler sister is of subjection, and will 
 settle down quite meekly into double harness. In the 
 same way it is a noticeable fact that the naturally bad- 
 tempered woman is an^iable towai-ds nobody except the 
 man she loves, while the naturally good-tempered 
 woman is amiable towards everybody except the man 
 she loves; which proves that to the normal woman the 
 world is divided into two unequal parts, to which she 
 shows the two directly opposite sides of herself— the 
 man she loves being the larger half, and everybody 
 and everything else the other. But, after marriage, 
 the real nature of the woman reasserts itself; thence- 
 forward the naturally good-tempered woman is 'good- 
 tempered, and the naturally bad-tempered woman 
 bad-tempered, to the end of the chapter. Wherefore 
 it behoves the man who is wooing to walk circum- 
 spectly and with wide-open eyes. 
 
 Although Nancy was the more amiable and adapt- 
 able sister in the home life, Nora was the easier to get 
 on with from a lover's point of view. As far as in lier 
 li*y, Nora provided that the course of true love should 
 run smooth; but Nancy amused herself by making 
 artificial little rapids and shallows, in case nature had 
 
 
l' ? 
 
 12S 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 not supplied sufficient excitement for her in this 
 espect. She loved to tease Laurence in and out o^ 
 season, and to rouse his jealousy; she was always 
 inventing some excuse for a quarrel and making it up 
 again ; and he never delivered himself of the simplest 
 statement that she did not openly dispute. Norf. on 
 
 Arbuthnot laid down; and contented herself and him 
 by letting him make up her clever little mind for her 
 He had not yet told her that he loved her, but she wai 
 perfectlycognizantofthefact;and.havingonce grasped 
 
 donrfifiT"" ''^'!r ^°"^' ''• ^' N''"<=y ^°«ld hLe 
 done fifty times a day-and would thoroughly have 
 enjoyed the doubts, too. No, Nancy was not fltogethlr 
 easy saihng; but she was great fun, and there are men 
 who enjoy amusement more than ease 
 
 "What are you thinking about, Mr. Arbuthnot?" 
 Nora inquired of the vicar one afternoon, as he and she 
 were walking together from Tetleigh to Wayside. 
 
 Well, to ten the truth, I was wondering how far 
 short of our ideal we may fall without beifg in any 
 way to blame. One cannot always be at one's best 
 that IS impossible; but I wonder how far below one's 
 best one s daily walk and conversation may lie » 
 
 '■ I understand what you mean. You are wondering 
 how many half-holidays we may take from the idea! 
 without playing truant." 
 
 "Exactly," agreed the vicar with a smile 
 the'l"*^ ''*""^°"^*y' '"■« absolutely necessary, aren't 
 
 "They are; but. on the other hand, the ideal ought 
 to tinge our half-holidays; if we have once seen the 
 heavenly vision, we must never be disobedient to it" 
 
THE COURSE OP TRUE LOVE 
 
 123 
 
 Nora was quick to catch his idea. " You menn 
 that though wo can't always be looking at the vision, 
 we mustn't forget that we have once seen it," she said. 
 
 " Yes ; that is exactly what I do mean. And I think 
 it is a little difficult to hit upon the happy medium 
 between disobeying the heavenly vision on the one 
 hand, and dwelling i poa it to the exclusion of our 
 daily duties on the other." 
 
 " Which of the two evils do you think the least ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly the latter. If one has ever seen the 
 best of anything, in love or life or art as well as in 
 religion' (for I believe the heavenly vision comes to us 
 in innumerable ways), it is sin for us not to obey it. 
 We need not be always thinking about it; but we 
 must never be disobedient to it. Therefore, it seems 
 to me that the few amongst us to whom it is granted 
 to see the best in any walk of life have duties entailed 
 upon us from which ordinary men and women are 
 exempt" 
 
 " Then we have to pay even for our heavenly 
 visions," said Nora with a sigh. 
 
 " We have. There is n old heathen saying that the 
 gods give nothing — they only sell ; and I believe there 
 is some truth in it. We can get nothing for nothing 
 in this world ; and I think it is a very good thing that 
 we can't." 
 
 Thus Michael taught and Nora learned ; and in the 
 process they grew to know and love each other better 
 every day. 
 
 It happened that while these two were holding 
 sweet converse on the road from Tetleigh to Wayside, 
 Laurence and Nancy were holding anything but sweet 
 converse on their way back from Baxendale Hall ; and 
 
 ir 
 
124 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 been spending a few'dav, at VV^^^ ^ ""'""• '"^'' 
 Anthony, hut actZwZith 11^'^'^'^^^^^^^^ -"'^ 
 ■•« no use di.sg„;si„/thT fact fh ?^' "°"''°- '^^«'"« 
 outra^reou^ly^ith this vonn ^"""^ '^"'^ ^''-'ed 
 
 nmke life pleasant to herself "^an l""',,*^''""'^ '^ 
 equally natural if les., CdTble ' f"""'^'^' ^^ ""» 
 pleasant to Laurence BlxonM *°'i ° '"'''^' '* »«- 
 «he had succeeded bevond?- f"""^ '" '^"' '''«?«<='« 
 the flirtation had amused her"/ '""' "anticipations: 
 more t.. she had Tr!J ^ u '^ *''°°^'''^ ^"^nce 
 was in high spint '^ '"P"' consequently she 
 
 shJL'dTirhri^rr'" t'^ -<='--d, after 
 
 -she with an extrtiT ' T"^ °'^'' '''' '^« I^'k 
 
 to be unpleasant a'rhe^ Tan ? "'"'' ""^ •»-"* 
 
 which was intended to b rtd" "Ttir! ^'''""^ 
 hundredande^^ ^,^^-Je.^^;t^.s^ 
 
 LauJLl^e St ffl;tho"t:w '^b f " ^"^<' -P'-'l 
 three hou« and 'twentvfivT *!''"/^«<=t'y f°"r days, 
 he last set eyes on Na!fey ^^ ""'"'^^ ^''^ «Ved since 
 ^ J How are you . " she inquired with engaging sweet- 
 
 swSe^'^atS' *'^°' ^' "■" '^^^ '"^^ -Po-e, with no 
 
 ioo*i^;:rCarij;:L''l.„,lf ? '^•^-■^^ ^^'^ •^-•* 
 
 too much this hoTwetbf t[ Z""'^" ^^^"^ <l°«ff 
 
 it takes it olft of ole " ' ''""^"^ '* '« ^^^ J«"y 
 
 "Tte weather seems to me perfect; and I can assure 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 
 
 125 
 
 you, Miss Burtoi, that your anxiety as to my health is 
 entirely misplaced —I never felt letter in my life." He 
 really was very disanreeablo, but then what ri},'lit had a 
 girl to go about with an ass of a fellow such as Craw- 
 shay for three days, and behave as if she liked it ? lie 
 asked himself in excuse. 
 
 " You mean you never felt worse," Miss Nancy said 
 under her breath ; but aloud she merely remarked with 
 the utmost suavity, " It is so nice to see you again ! Do 
 you know we hadn't met for such centuries that I had 
 forgotten the colour of your hair and the shape of your 
 nose ? I really had." 
 
 " I am flattered to find that you waste time in striving 
 to recall my uninteresting features. But, believe ire, 
 you make a mistake ; they are not worth remembering." 
 
 Nancy was delighted. Laurence was even angrier 
 than she had expected him to be. " Oh ! your nose is 
 well worth remembering, it is such a nice shape. You 
 don't do it justice. Its loveliness increases, and it will 
 never pass into nothingness, according to Keata But 
 though I did forget the shape of your nose, I didn't for- 
 get you, because I have been telling Bertie Crawshay 
 all about you, and that has served to keep my memory 
 green." 
 
 Laurence bowed. " Thank you ; I am however as 
 unworthy of Mr. Crawshay 's notice as of j ours. I'm 
 sorry you and he could not find i more interesting 
 subject of conversation than myself." 
 
 " Oh ! but we could — heaps upon heaps, and much 
 more interesting ; but you happened to crop up now and 
 then among the rest." 
 
 " Then I have no more to say." Laurence was highly 
 indignant. He had held Nancy too sacred to be dis- 
 
186 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 of masculine i„te„tio„;"^ ^° '""'='' ^°' '*>" ^""'^'J^ 
 
 pe«on r I exited v^f Jh" "'''' " ^'^' ^'-PPointing 
 me after this C^'araetl;-" 
 
 he that expocteth nothing, for he ahlu L ^^ " 
 pomted-: that is „.y fa J^Hte Wtti " "''"^ 
 
 Yes Laurence was right; sheUJ wLrnpfrdoS 
 be sr^uct W er S ^^T!?^ ^^" •" 
 
 much from people." » «x)i aa to expect 
 
 "How very interesting and clever of vn.,f n ij .. 
 you find it rather dull?" <='«^«'' ^^ you ! But don't 
 
 " Not disagreeably so. I do not i;i,» 
 people who have nLeen «e f^r^Tiee/toVr'^f 
 to greet me with an accumulation of k •,,• ^""^^ 
 
 they have been storin^uX me attml T 7'^''' 
 m my absence; on L^Z?""' T^Z^^^'^'T 
 have forgotten my vervex,«t^n.«- ,, ^""P*.** '^em to 
 
 I admit I am rarely disappointed." "^^you- 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 
 
 127 
 
 They walked on in silence for a minute or two, until 
 they came to the ;jate wiiich separated Baxomlalo I'ark 
 from the lanes. Then Nancy uskeil in hor niewt airy 
 manner, "Shall we go home the long or the short 
 way ? " 
 
 Laurence looked at his watch without in the least 
 sceinjj what time it was. " You must of course please 
 yourself, Miss Burton. I must get back home as quickly 
 as possible, as I am rather busy to-day." 
 
 Then came another silence ; and Nancy — knowing to 
 an inch how short was now the disttance to the turning 
 where the way to Poplar Farm branched off from the 
 way to Wayside, and having an instinctive knowledge 
 that Laurence would say good-bye at that turning and 
 not walk home with her— began to think it was time 
 for a change in the tactics of her warfare. " You soem 
 rather cross to-day," she said quite meekly, looking up 
 at Laurence with a face out of which the mischief had 
 died. 
 
 Laurence raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise. 
 " I — cross ? What do you mean. Miss Burton ? I am 
 (if raid I must be very bad mannered to give you such 
 an idea; for which bad manners please accept my 
 humljie ipivoirus." 
 
 " '1 htu a,ruu i you cross ? " Nancy's voice was meeker 
 than ever. 
 
 " Not in the least What ever put such an idea into 
 your head 1 " 
 
 Nancy began to feel rather frightened. It is one 
 thing to play with fire, and quite another (and a much 
 less agreeable one) to bum one's own fingers. "I 
 thought perhaps you were vexed with me about some- 
 thing." 
 
128 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " ^— ^e^ed with you ? Impossible. I am afraid that 
 too brilliant ima2'.nation of yours is leading you astray. 
 You are inventing offences on my part for the express 
 purpose of showing resentment on your owa I fancy 
 you will find that both offence and resentment are 
 mythical." 
 
 Nancy felt it was time to play trumps if she did not 
 wish to lose the game altogether. " I thought you were 
 vexed with me about Bertie Crawshay," she blurted out. 
 It was a most feminine card. 
 
 But Laurence held trumps in his hand, too, and took 
 her queen with his king. " My dear Miss Burton, what 
 earthly right have I to dictate to you who shall be, and 
 who shall not be, your friends ? It would be a gross 
 impertinence on my part to express annoyance at any- 
 thing which you might think fit to do ; an impertinence 
 of which I hope I am incapable." 
 
 Nancy looked at him sideways with an expression in 
 which fear and shame and curiosity were equally 
 blended. Laurence happened to turn round at that 
 moment and caught the look. He wished he had not 
 seen it, as it somewhat weakened his intention to main- 
 tain his superiority over this most insolent and unfeeling 
 young woman. Nevertheless he continued : " As I said 
 before, I extremely regret that anything in my unfor- 
 tunate manner should have led you to believe me guilty 
 of the unpardonable liberty of criticising or even dis- 
 cussing your conduct; but, if you will overlook it this 
 time,. I can promise you that for the future I will take 
 care to avoid even the appearance of such an evil" 
 
 Nancy had nearly lost the game, and she knew it; 
 but still sher held the ace. The question was, should' 
 she play it, or should she uphold her dignity as high a^ 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 
 
 129 
 
 Laurence was now upholding his, and throw down the 
 cards, refusing to play any longer against so determined 
 an adversary. She hesitated a minute, and looked round 
 They wore in the most secluded of the lanes, and nobody 
 — not even a scarecrow — was in sight Yes ; the ace 
 would have to go ; there was no doubt of that. As far 
 as it was in Nancy to be shy of anything, she was shy 
 of the strength of her own feelings ; she generally kept 
 them resolutely out of sight, and 
 
 made a curtain 
 Out of her laughter to hide her love. 
 
 But now she laid an entreating little hand on her com- 
 panion's arm, and — for the first time in her twenty-two 
 years — she allowed her whole heart to well up into her 
 eyes as she raised them to his and whispered : — 
 
 " Laurence, I know I've been a brute. Won't you 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 And then and there, in spite of his praisev, -^rthy 
 desire to uphold his own dignity — in spite of his justi- 
 fiable intention properly to punish her unbecoming 
 behaviour — in spite of his laudable decision to tell no 
 woman of his love until he was in a position to marry 
 her — Laurence Baxendale suddenly took Nancy in his 
 arms and covered her face with kis ses. 
 
 " My darling," he murmured, " I love you, I love you ! 
 It was I who was the brute ; but I shouldn't have been 
 if I had not cared for you so much, and been so con- 
 foundedly jealous." 
 
 Nancy laughed as well as she could in the circum- 
 stances. " You silly boy, were you very jealous ? " 
 
 " Rather ! Couldn't you see it ? " 
 
 " Distinctly ; a blind bat could have seen it with his 
 9 
 
130 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 eyes shui And, do you know, I think jealousy is my 
 favourite virtue in a man ? " 
 
 " And I'm a brute to make love to you now, consider- 
 ing that I'm such a poor beggar I shan't be able to ask 
 you to marry me for years and years, probably ; but I 
 simply couldn't help it when you looked at me like 
 that" 
 
 " Then do you love me very much ? " 
 
 " My darling, I adore you," 
 
 After another hiatus in the conversation, Laurence 
 said: "You haven't told me yet that you love me, 
 sweetheart. Nancy, do you love me ? " 
 
 Then Nancy put her two hands on his shoulders and 
 pushed him away from her, looking him full in the face 
 with her heart still in her eyes. " I love you with all 
 my heart and soul and strength, and I always shall 
 love you ; and there never has been and never will be 
 any man in the world for me except you ; and now let 
 us be funny again, and forget that we're so badly in 
 love." 
 
 So the ace won the trick after aU. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS. 
 
 " The woman tempted me and I did eat : " 
 Suoh the apology once made by Adam, 
 
 Who paved a way more trodden by men's feet 
 Than any fashioned by the great Macadam. 
 
 One afternoon not long after this, Nancy was sileL with 
 the silence which accompanies excessive happiness even 
 m the most loquacious people. When one has just 
 been treading the highways to Zion and beholding 
 visions of angels, it is difficult to bring oneself down to 
 the level of ordinary conversation with one's fellow- 
 creatures— particularly when those fellow-creatures 
 happen to be relations. And so Nancy found it. 
 
 Anthony, in true cousinly fashion, was not slow 
 to observe this unusual reticence on the part of his 
 generally talkative kinswoman. 
 
 " What is the matter with our beloved Nancy?" he 
 asked of Nora, in a stage whisper loud enough to have 
 pierced ears much more remote than Nancy's " Is it 
 her liver or her lover that is out of order, and so pro- 
 duces this distressing and unnatural depression ?" 
 
 "You must ask her," replied Nora; but Nancy did 
 not take any notice. She found Laurence's past re- 
 marks much more nourishing food for meditation than 
 Anthony^g present ones. 
 
 (131) 
 
132 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Tony gazed at her pensively ; then murmured, 
 
 " Oh, that those lips had language 1 Life has passed 
 But slowly with me and Nora since we heard thee last." 
 
 Then the mystic roused herself sufiSciently to speak ; 
 and her speech was to the point. " Don't be an ass," 
 was all she said. 
 
 " I will try not— indeed I will ; but, as I have re- 
 marked before, it runs in the Burton family as it did 
 in Balaam's; the only difference being that Balaam 
 was amazed when his asfe „poke ; we, on the contrary, 
 marvel when ours is silent." 
 
 Nora laughed, and Nancy tried not to do so. 
 
 " But the .-ason for the upset is the same in both 
 cases," AntLouy went on ; " the ass saw an angel in the 
 way." 
 
 " I'd rather hold my tongue till Doomsday than talk 
 as much nonsense as you do," said Nancy. 
 
 "Nevertheless your daily walk and conversation 
 give the lie to this statement." And Anthony sighed. 
 " Would that it were not so ! " 
 
 " What are you going to do after tea, Tony ? " asked 
 Nora, who naturally did not take an absorbing interest 
 in this accurate diagnosis of her sister's amatory con- 
 dition. 
 
 " I shall go for a stroll in the lanes, I think, in order 
 that my always delicate digestion may recuperate itself 
 between the efforts of tea and dinner. I always find, if 
 I don't take exercise at this particular hour, that I am 
 incontinently launched upon my dinner before I have 
 duly forgotten my tea. And there is something rather 
 indecent in that— like marrying again before one's first 
 wife is sufficiently dead, don't you know ? " 
 
 L-. 
 
ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS 133 
 
 Whereupon Nancy woke up thoroughly. "You can't 
 go for a stroll in the lanes, then-I am Lupyi^X 
 anes myself th,s evening," she said, as if she wie re! 
 ferring to a bathroom which was used in turns 
 
 Anthony fairly gloated over her discomfiture " Ah t 
 now we have hit the nail-that is to say our 'beloved 
 Nancy-upon the head. Then how are Nora and I to 
 get such exercise as the state of our digestions and the 
 size of our teas demand, I should like to know ? " 
 
 "You cari go for a walk along the road. The hijrh- 
 road IS good enough for relations," replied N- in 
 differently. 
 
 jLnthony clasped his hands in mock admiration 
 Oh, wise young judge, how I do honour thee ! Where 
 did you learn all these truisms, my dear young friend ?" 
 In vanous places." 
 
 Eyes, said Tony. " It will be about a good little girl 
 who never made eyes, and so the high-road was as 
 unmterestmg and uninstructive to her as the loveliest 
 lane ; and about a naughty little girl who always made 
 eyes wherever she went, so long as there was somebody 
 (It didnt matter who) to make eyes to; and in conse- 
 quence the dullest field-paths to her were full of delight- 
 ful and sentimental memories; and the less frequented 
 a road by ordmary traflSc, the more pleasure she got out 
 
 Oi it). 
 
 "It will be a very nice story," applauded Nora, to 
 whom also the lanes at the back of Wayside were not 
 altogether untrodden ground. 
 
 _ Anthony sighed. " Then do you agree with Nancy 
 in preventing yourself and me from keeping the even 
 tenor of our way along the cool sequester'd lanes of 
 
 I 
 
184 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 life; and condemning our tottering foot-teps to the 
 ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer of the 'ard 'igh-road ? " 
 
 Nora nodded. " Nancy and I always play fair about 
 the lanes. We never enter them when they are beincr 
 occupied by the other; and we keep the rest of the 
 family away, too." 
 
 " How do you keep my esteemed uncle and aunt away 
 on these interesting occasions ? " 
 
 Nora smiled demurely. " We tell mother that there 
 are tramps about, and father that it is damp under 
 foot." 
 
 Anthony shouted with laughter. « Well, you and 
 Nan are two for a pair, as my old nurse used to say " 
 "We certainly are intelligent young women," said 
 Nora with complacency. 
 
 Then Anthony again turned his attention to his elder 
 cousm. "If I were you I should learn a lesson from 
 the sermons in stones— those stones which are laid down 
 for the prevention of traffic by the County Council- 
 and I should station at the entrance to your particular 
 lane a youth with a red banner bearing the strange 
 device, ' This road is closed for repairs without the re' 
 Now I call that a distinctly neat idea." 
 
 Nancy could not help laughing, although she was in 
 love. - Really, Tony, you are killing ! Your bitterest 
 enemy couldn't deny that you are convulsing at times " 
 " With which compliment let me withdraw, lest you 
 should think better of it and add a codicil or a post- 
 script which might give me pain, and undermine that 
 absolute self-appreciation which is the keystone to my 
 interesting and complex character," replied Anthony 
 getting up from the easy chair where he had been 
 lounging and going out of the room. "Come along 
 
ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS 135 
 
 Nora, and well get the dogs, and leave our dear Nan 
 to derive what intellectual pleasure she can from the 
 soc.ety of one who is a man but not a brother" " 
 
 \Vh "it *.. 'I ^"^^ "b-^diently followed him. 
 
 When the others had started for their walk Nancv 
 i:ZS:il -d wandered through the orchkSj 
 across the field to the iron gate which led straight into 
 fairyland; and as she strolled along the grS r^d 
 witlMts high green hedges on eithef sideSuroff 
 tite common workaday world, she wondered how fny 
 
 as this. She had always been susceptible to the beauties 
 
 sort of indefinable craving-she did not know for what 
 
 -asortofunconsciousquestioning.towhichapSreItrv 
 there was no answer. Sometime^ there had sS to 
 
 old e"a^h\"fT°'r'''^ "' "^^'y- - 'f t'' "ol' 
 herseTwith h/ T f" ^'""""^ ''^^''' ^^ decked 
 SI J'*^''^•• J«^«l« f°' a gala day which never came 
 Surely s.^pier gannents would have been sufficien^l; 
 
 J^sh d w"°t "" *'^ '^'""°'' "^"^^ -'»ch do no 
 
 toTsk 1 """^ '^ '^'y ^""^'^ "» we ought 
 to ask-when we are on the sunny side of thirtv R„t 
 now at last Nancy understood why the earth Le!th 
 her was paved with emerald, and the heavens above her 
 
 flowl ""^ ""''^ " ""PP^''^ dome-why each wild 
 flower was a marvel of delicate workmanship and whv 
 
 Totwhos: S^^J— ^hadits place in t^^Zt^^ 
 cnoir Whose Te Deum was begun in the dawn of creation 
 
 her l^^hTd cf ""^l; '' """ " ''^^-^ '^^ "^Sy of 
 f W K '^^'^ f^-^e-because her love had come to her "- 
 
 beautiful. For Laurence's feet the emerald pave- 
 
136 
 
 FUEL JF FIRE 
 
 ment had been laid down; over Laurence's head the 
 canopy of sapphire had been unrolled ; and now, be- 
 cause Laurence loved her and had told her so, the 
 mountains and the hills brake forth before her into 
 singing, and all the trees of the field clapped their 
 hands. 
 
 Nancy's friends — with the singular blindness of those 
 who have known us from uur youth up — would have 
 said (in fact did say) that she was too shallow and light- 
 hearted to fall in love in the ordinary accepted use of 
 the term. Because she continually laughed and hardly 
 ever cried, they decided that the deeper things of life 
 were a closed book to her merry blue eyes ; and because 
 she chose to wear upon her sleeve such selections from 
 her heart as she considered suitable for publication, 
 they made up their minds that these selections con- 
 stituted her whole property in that line; and that — 
 because she talked freely about some of her feelings — 
 such feelings as she did not talk about were non- 
 existent. 
 
 There are no people so sorely misjudged in this world 
 as the people who go through life as laughing philo- 
 sophers ; just as there is no figure in nursery lore so 
 pathetic as that of the jolly miller who lived by the 
 river Dee. Does any one imagine that the man of meal 
 would have troubled to inform his world that he cared 
 for nobody and nobody cared for him, if such a state- 
 ment had indeed been true ? Not he! He would rather 
 have made affecting speeches at Charity Organisation 
 meetings, and wept copiously at the imaginary woes 
 pourtrayed in theatres, and told pathetic stories of his 
 early love-affaira, and generally conducted himself as all 
 such elderly gentlemen conduct themselves who are 
 
ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS 
 
 187 
 
 actually what the (so-called) jolly miller pretended to 
 be. It was because he cared so much that he pretended 
 to care so little. Nevertheless he thereby deceived all 
 children both of smaller and of larger growth ; which, 
 after all, is what he desired and intended to do. 
 
 Nancy had not wandered far along the lane, when she 
 saw a well-known figure in a light tweed suit coming 
 towards her from the direction of Poplar Farm. For a 
 second she was possessed by an insane desire to rim 
 away and hide herself where that tweed-clad figure 
 could not find her; and yet she was fully aware that 
 —1 r the rest of her days— all roads that did not lead 
 to tiiat figure would be unfit for traffic as far as her 
 feet were concerned. Such is the contrariety of the 
 feminine mind. 
 
 There was a look in Laurence's grey eyes as he 
 greeted her which made her want more than ever to 
 run away from him at once, and never to nm away 
 from him again as long as she lived— two desires which 
 
 naturally were incompatible. So she gave herself 
 
 and him — the benefit of the doubt, and remained. 
 
 After they had strolled together right into the heart 
 of fairyland, using by the way such fond talk as lovers 
 are wont to use when no reporter happens to be present, 
 they finally arrived at a stile, set in the middle of an 
 unfrequented field, as far from the madding crowd as 
 it is possible to be in Mershire. And upon this stile 
 they sat, side by side, after the approved fashion of 
 the ballad-monger and his Mary. 
 
 Why tradition has assigned a stile as the seemly 
 resting place for lovers is an interesting problem. 
 Taken as a seat, qua seat, it is indefensible, combining 
 as it does the minimum of comfort in remaining on, 
 
h ■' 
 
 188 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 with the maximum of danger in falling off ; and, even 
 patting so commonplace a consideration as comfort out 
 of the question, f . diflSculty of balancing oneself for 
 any length of time on so limited a space, must always 
 in some degree interfere with the fluency of the con- 
 versation of persons thus delicately balanced. Never- 
 thelesH a stile always has been, and always will be, the 
 regulation throne of King Cupid ; and any attempt to 
 substitute for it a more convenient and less uncomfort- 
 able resting place would be on a par with reorganising 
 a Monarchy or disestablishing a State Church 
 
 " And you are quite sure you love me, sweetheart ? " 
 asked Laurence, with his heart in his eyes. 
 
 Nancy nodded. "Absolutely certain. I'd take an 
 oath to that effect before a magistrate's clerk or a 
 coroner's jury, without running the slightest risk of 
 seven years for perjury." 
 
 " You silly little child, what nice nonsense you talk ! " 
 
 " So do you. Do you know you really have been 
 frightfully silly this afternoon ? " 
 
 " I know that, baby. I like being silly. Anybody 
 can be clever — in fact I was clever myself, long before 
 I'd ever seen yoa But it takes a man who is absolutely 
 and devotedly in love to be becomingly silly ; and there 
 are precious few of that sort in this wicked world, I 
 can assure you. Miss Burton." 
 
 " How much do you love ; j ? " asked Nancy. 
 
 " As much as I can ; and tnat's a jolly lot." 
 
 " But how much can you ? " 
 
 " As much as this," replied Laurence, covering her 
 face with kisses. 
 
 " That's no answer ; it's like saying ' as big as a lump 
 of chalk '. You're as bad as I was when I once wrote 
 
ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS 139 
 
 to a bookseller's shop and ordered a prayer-book the 
 same size aa a birthday-text-book. You cau in-avine 
 now father and Tony roared at me " 
 " I can." 
 
 "_I want you to tell me exactly how much you love 
 me, Nancy persisted. 
 
 " A little bit more than you love me." 
 
 "Then how much do I love you ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that is your business. You can't expect me to 
 give an accurate diagnosis of your symptoms.my darline 
 when I am so culpably ignorant of my own. Now I 
 must confess that I should have thought a devor girl 
 
 likeC'^ ^""^ "^'""'^ ""'""P'" "*"« 'l"^""" 
 
 "And I should have thought that a clever man like 
 
 you could have answered it." 
 "But I don't set up as being clever, and you do " 
 Nancy smiled. " You were considered very clever at 
 
 Oxford, weren t you ? " j ou 
 
 " I was ; but I'm not responsible for all the traditions 
 to which so antique and interesting a city gives birth " 
 ^^ And mathematics were your stroig point, weren't 
 
 " I always prided myself upon being able to put two 
 and two together. 
 
 "Well, then," and Nancy nodded her head trium- 
 phantly, "a good mathematician ought to be able to 
 measure so simple a thing as his own love for a girl " 
 
 "Excuse me; but the very best mathematicians can- 
 no. mewure infinity." And Laurence kissed her again 
 But I d spend the rest of my days in trying to show 
 you how much I love you," Le continued more seriously 
 If only I wasn t so confoundedly poor." ' 
 
140 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " It is a nuisance," and Nancy sighed, thereby cutting 
 Laurence to the heart. It was intolerable to him to 
 think that he — who desired nothing so much as her 
 happiness — should be the one to bring that pathetic 
 note into her voice and that sad look into her eyes 
 
 " But never mind," he said, after a moment's pause, 
 trying to take a more encouraging vie%7 . ■! things ; " the 
 luck is sure to turn soon, and then 1 can jpeak to your 
 father, and we can be properly engaged. Probably I 
 shall succeed in letting some of the farms thatju.st now 
 are empty — I might 'en be able to let the Hall — and 
 then you'll soon see how much I love you, sweetheart" 
 
 " I suppose t,' i*t fire insurance hampers you a good 
 deal," remariic-l Nancy thoughtfully. 
 
 " It does ; confound the beastly thing ! " 
 
 " And you couldn't leave olf paying it ? " 
 
 " Not without forfeiting the property, according to 
 my grandfather's will." 
 
 " And you couldn't sell the old library ? " 
 
 " Not without the same disastrous result." 
 
 " I think it is very unfair of people to make wills 
 like that." 
 
 " So do I ; but when they have made them, there is 
 no use in defying them." 
 
 " I wish the prophecy would come true and the Hall be 
 burnt down again," remarked Nancy with another sigh. 
 
 " So do I, for some things ; but the misfortunes that 
 we desire are invariably the misfortunes from which 
 we are preserved." 
 
 " I suppose if it did come true, you would have plenty 
 of money ? " 
 
 " Plenty, my darling ; but it won't come true, so it's 
 no use thinking about it." 
 
ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS ui 
 
 After a minute's silence Nancy said : " I wish wo 
 Muld call down fire from heaven to consume Baxendalo 
 Hall ; and be happy ever afterwards." 
 "But you see, we can't, dr.i love." 
 "Couldn't you light your pipe thero-or have a bon- 
 fire on Guy Fawkes' day-or something of that kind ? " 
 Laurence was stmck-as we all are struck now and 
 again— by the strangeness of that unwritten Uw which 
 rules that history, even in the smallest things, shall re- 
 peat .tself We hear the name of a place or a person 
 which we have never heard before, and during the next 
 day or two that place or person is again mentioned in our 
 heanng ; we come upon a word that is entirely new to 
 us and m the next book we open that particular word 
 hits us full m the face. We are all familiar with this 
 phenomenon, yet it never ceases to surprise us; there- 
 fore it came as a shock to Laurence when-in accordance 
 with this remarkable law of chance— Nancy said the 
 very same thing which his mother had said to him so 
 short a time before. 
 
 " My darling, don't say such things even in jest It 
 hurts me to hear you say them." 
 
 "But I can't help wishing them. Oh ! Laurence, you 
 don t know how much I love you, and how horrid every- 
 thing 13 without you." And Nancy's lip quivered 
 
 Laurence took her in his arms and tried to comfort 
 her. "Don't fret, sweetheart. Things will take a 
 turn for the better soon, I know they will. And then 
 think what lovely times we will have together i" 
 
 " But not until we are too old to enjoy them," argued 
 Nancy disconsolately. "It won't be much fun goinff 
 about together, if we have to go in two bath chaira 
 with the glass down." 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
r 
 
 142 
 
 FUEL OF FIEE 
 
 " We shan't do that, my pet" 
 
 " Yes, we shall ; and I shall look at you through blue 
 spectacles, and you will make love to me down an ear- 
 trumpet, and everything will be simply detestable." 
 
 " Dear little child, don't fret," repeated Laurence. 
 
 " But I must fret — I can't help fretting — ^you should 
 never have kissed me if you hadn't wanted me to fret. 
 And we might have such fun if only you'd made a bonfire 
 of the silly old place. I hate the sight of it ! " 
 
 "Oh, Nancy!" 
 
 " Tes, I do ; and it has got to be burnt down a third 
 time by something which is greater and higher than 
 King or State — and what can that be, I should like to 
 know, but love ? I don't believe you're really in love 
 with me at all, or else you'd be only too pleased to 
 bum down your house in order that I might warm my 
 hands at the blaza In fact that is what you would do, 
 if you were a really nice, obliging, chivalrous. Sir 
 Walter Raleigh kind of a man." 
 
 " Perhaps I might, if it wasn't insured ; that makes 
 all the ditfea jnce, don't you see ? " 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 " Don't you see that it would have taken the shine 
 out of old Raleigh's cloak-trick if he'd covered the 
 puddle with a borrowed mantle, knowing that he 
 should get a bran-new one out of the transaction?" 
 
 " I can't think why you don't fire Mrs. Candy with 
 a desire to read some of tne old manuscripts, s* that 
 she might study them by candle-light, and in her turn 
 fire the Hall." 
 
 Laurence believed that Nancy was talking the 
 broadest nonsense and did not mean a word she said; 
 nevertheless it hurt him that her suggestions should so 
 
ANOTHER WOMAN TEMPTS 143 
 
 exactly coincide with his mother's. « My darlins " he 
 entreated, " don't make life harder than it already is bv 
 saymg things that cut me to the heart " 
 
 But Nancy only laughed. "You see the HaU has 
 got to be burnt down a third time-everybody who 
 knows anything at all knows that-and it would be so 
 lovely If only it would happen now. Nobody wiU 
 ever get as much fun out of the money as you and I 
 should, Laurence dear." j' auu 1 
 
 "Perhaps not, my sweet. You know I mind it all 
 as much as you do, don't you ? " 
 
 "I suppose you do," rather doubtfully; "but vou 
 remmd me of the old Scotchwoman who went for the 
 fcrst time to a Eomaa CathoKc church and said 'Na 
 doot they love the Lord; but. s kes! they've a f^nny 
 way o showing it '. You've a funny way of showing 
 
 But Laurence's face was too sad to smile. " I'm sure 
 brN^ncy r ""* "*' *° ^ '°°'' ""''"PP^ *'"«' ^ •'^'1 
 
 thats what I keep proving, if you'd only attend to 
 what I say I want us both to be happy-perfectly 
 glonously fnghtfuUy happy-until every week seems' 
 like a cncket week, and every day like a bank holiday." 
 So do I, sweetheart; and we will be some day 
 iJut m the meantime don't break my heart 
 
 " Certainly not. I'm not such a goose as to go about 
 smashing my own property." 
 
 thZ'l^r "''^^^'^''^ •' « y°» go about saying 
 thm^ which you don't mean in the very least, but 
 which somehow lower my ideal of you " 
 Nancy made a face. " Now we shall hear something 
 
144 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 really improving. The preacher for this afternoon will 
 be the Reverend Laurence Baxendale, some time Post- 
 master of Merton. His subject will be the follies of 
 young women in general, exemplified by largely exag- 
 gerated magic-lantern slides of the peculiar negligences 
 and ignorances of Miss Nancy Burton." 
 
 But Laurence would not be put off by her jokes. 
 " My dear, you don't want really to hurt me, do you ? " 
 
 " You silly old boy, of course I don't. Do you think 
 that my usual way of annoying a man is to tell him 
 that I love him ? Because, if you do, it isn't particularly 
 complimentary to me." 
 
 "Then promise me you will never say anything 
 again, even in jest, about burning down the Hall." 
 
 "All right; you shall make out an Index Expur- 
 gatoriua of the things I mustn't make jokes about. It 
 will include everything that begins with a B — Baxen- 
 dales and Burning and Burtons and Beatitudes, and so 
 on and so on." 
 
 " Give me a kiss to seal your promise." 
 
 And she kissed him full on the lips. 
 
 Nevertheless it was many a long day before either 
 Laurence or Nancy forgot that conversatioa They 
 imagined, in the blindness of their hearts, that they 
 had cancelled it with kisses ; but no kisses, nor tears, 
 nor even death itself, can ever wipe out the effects of 
 the spoken word whereof it is written that men and 
 women shall give account in the Day of Judgment. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MBS. CANDY'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 With mine own people I awhile must dwell, 
 JuBt to find out if they are strong and well ' 
 And hear the things which they alone can tell. 
 
 "I'M just thinkin', sir, as I should like a holiday" MrsL 
 Candy said to Laurence the next time he was up at the 
 Hall. " I was sayin' to her leddyship only t'other day 
 that It was many a long year since I'd had a sight o' my 
 own people ; and though yewr own people may try yew 
 sore when they're with yew, there's no doubt as yew 
 want to see 'em now and then-just as camomile tea is 
 as bitter as bitter when yew are drinkin' it, and yet yew 
 cant get on without a dose of it from time to time " 
 "I suppose not" 
 
 "So I says to her leddyship, says I, 'I'm wantin' to 
 go back to Norfolk for a spell,' I says ; and she says to 
 me. Why don t you ask Mr. Baxendale for a holiday ' 
 says she; 'I'm sure as he'd give it yew this bewtiful 
 summer weather.' And Candy he says as her leddyship 
 had ng:ht on her side to his thinkin '; so I've made bold 
 to ask if I may go away for a bit." 
 
 Laurence could not help wishing that his mother had 
 
 not furthered the evacuation of the Hall so soon after 
 
 her unpleasant suggestions to him ; but he immediately 
 
 put away the thought as an insult to Lady Alicia and 
 
 10 (145) •' '""" 
 
rT""' 
 
 146 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 said quite agreeal.ly, " Of course I shall be glad to give 
 you a holiday, Mra. Candy, if you wish it But how 
 will Candy mauago to get on without you ? " 
 
 " He won't manage, sir. Bless yew, Candy couldn't 
 got along without me to look after him, and sl.ive for 
 him, and wash his clothes and listen to his grumblin's, 
 no not if it was iver so ; he's a good husband is Candy. 
 But her leddyship says as may-be yew'd give him a 
 holiday tew ; and we thought as it would be a good 
 time to go back to Overstrand and see as the family 
 grave is in good order, ready for me when it's my turn 
 to lie within it," explained Mrs. Cindy cheerfully. 
 
 " A strange fashion of spending a holiday ! But people 
 must enjoy themselves in their own way, I presume." 
 
 " And there'd not only be the pleasure o' puttin' the 
 grave in good order, sir ; but my niece, Maria Jane, she's 
 just had twins, she has, poor soul ! — twins, like mis- 
 fortunes, niver comin' singly, as they say. And what 
 time I had to spare from weedin' i' the churchyard, I 
 could be lookin' after Maria Jane and the twins. Oh ! 
 there'd be plenty to pass the time, Mr. Baxendale ; so 
 that Candy and me need niver have a dull minit." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " And Candy 'ud take a few cuttin's o' different sorts 
 o' flowers to plant on the grave, so as to make it look 
 more cheerful-like when my time comes. He said, if 
 I'd no objection, he'd try a bit o' carpet-gardenin' on 
 it, carpet-gardenin' bein' so hardy and lookin' well 
 nearly all the year round. 'And yew'U want it all 
 the year round,' he says with a laugh, ' it ain't only a 
 summer residence,' says he as peart as peart. Oh! 
 he's one for his joke, is Candy." 
 
 "You already seem to have provided yourselves 
 
MRS. CANDY'S HOLIDAY 
 
 147 
 
 with a full and interesting programme," remarked 
 Mr. Baxendale. 
 
 " Well, yew see, sir, that's the bewty o' goin' among 
 yewr own people— there's always somethin' to du and 
 to talk about, be it christenin's or funerals. And I du 
 say as next to a death there's nothin' like a birth for 
 cheerin' a family up a bit." 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 "That's the worst o' bein' but a stranger and a 
 sojourner, as yew may say, as I have been iver since 
 I left Norfolk. Folks die and folks are buried all the 
 world over ; but I deny as yew iver enjoys findin' fault 
 as to how they have left their bit o' money, as much 
 as yew du when it's yewr own flesh and blood as is 
 to blame." 
 
 " That is true, Mrs. Candy." And Laurence laughed. 
 
 " Now there was my Uncle Willum— him as I've so 
 often told yew about; bless yew, sir, we niver got 
 tired o' talkin' of his bit o' money and how unfairly 
 he'd left it— niver. If iver we'd a family party. Uncle 
 Willum's bit o' money 'ud come up as sure as fate; 
 and then there'd be plenty to talk about, niver fear, 
 howiver late it might be afore the party broke up. 
 Afore his death we'd talk of how he ought to leave it, 
 no tew bein' o' one mind on the subject, which kept the 
 ball a-roUin' and gave the men somethin' pleasant and 
 interestin' to argufy about ; and after his death we'd 
 all abuse him for the way he had left it, and that was 
 more pleasant, if less excitin'. Oh ! I am sure I dunno 
 what we should have found to talk about many a 
 time if it hadn't been for Uncle Willum and his bit o' 
 money." 
 
 Laurence sighed. "Money— or the want of it— 
 
r-ns 
 
 I !■ 
 
 148 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 certainly does seem to be the root of most evils: at 
 least if one is to judge from history." 
 
 " Oh ! don't yew worry yewrself over history, Mr. 
 Baxendale," said Mrs. Candy in a soothing voice; 
 "Candy's no opinion of history, hasn't Candy; and 
 he's no patience wi' learnin' children about it at schula 
 ' What's the good o' learnin' 'em all about past and 
 gone Kings and Queens ? ' he says, ' they're dead and 
 buried, and let 'em lay ; ' says he. That's what Candy 
 thinks about history." And Candy's better-half nodded 
 her head triumphantly at this unanswerable refutation 
 of the testimony of all living or dead historiansL 
 
 " I didn't know that Candy was such an authority 
 on education." 
 
 Mrs. Candy fairly bridled. " He is, though— and on 
 most things else. There ain't much in this warld as 
 Candy hasn't got to the bottom of — I can tell yew 
 that, sir. And he don't hold wi' schules, Candy don't, 
 niver havin' had much schulin' himself." 
 
 "A most natural disapprobation," murmured Lau- 
 rence. 
 
 "And he don't hold wi' scholards, neither. I re- 
 member, i' the late Mr. Baxendale's time. Candy got a 
 new gardener's boy which was a perfect scholard. 
 ' How du the new boy get on. Candy ? ' says the late 
 Mr. Baxendale. ' Get on, sir ? ' says Candy, ' why he 
 don't get on at all ; he don't know nothin' o' nothin'. 
 And how shud he, sir, he havin' been at schule all his 
 life ? ' Oh ! he isn't one for much schulin', isn't Candy." 
 
 " Obviously not." 
 
 " He says it's aU very well for the gentry as haven't 
 got nothin' else to du bat to turn their heads inta 
 pottin' sheds and rubbish heaps ; but them as has got 
 
> I 
 
 MRS. CANDY'S HOLIDAY 
 
 149 
 
 their own livin' to get can't afford to waste their time 
 over such stuff as book-Iearnin'." 
 
 Laurence smiled. "I am afraid then that Candy 
 doesn't share my late grandfather's weakness for books, 
 as shown in the library upstairs." 
 
 " Not he, sir; yew don't find any nonsense o' that 
 sort about Candy. And he says if he had been in 
 yewr place, beggin' your pardon, sir, he'd sune have 
 sold all that waste-paper upstairs for what he could 
 get for it, grandfather's will or no grandfather's will." 
 
 "But, you see, my grandfather's will made it not 
 only impossible for me to sell his library, but also 
 obliged me to preserve it at great expense." 
 
 " Well, it's a good thing as yewr grandfather's will 
 has yew to deal wi', sir, instead o' Candy ; for Candy 
 wud ha' stood no nonsense o' that kind. He'd ha' sold 
 
 the whole bag o' tricks for what he cud get for it 
 
 that he wud, if all the grandfathers in Christendom 
 had tried to stop him, and all the grandmothers, tew." 
 
 " Then I am afraid the law would have stepped in 
 and prevented him." 
 
 " Oh I he don't hold wi' the law any more than he 
 du wi' schulin', don't Candy. He says as the law is 
 all very well for poachers and criminals and the like o' 
 them, but that it hasn't no right to come interferin' 
 wi' honest men; and if it iver dares to interfere 
 wi' him, he'll sune show it its place, says he. And so 
 he wud ; I should like to see the law as dare interfere 
 wi' Candy when onst his spirit's up." 
 
 " I suppose when you were living in Norfolk you 
 sometimes saw the King on his way to and from 
 Sandringham," suggested Laurence, who always en- 
 joyed drawing Mrs. Candy out. 
 
w 
 
 150 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 But Mrs. Candy seemed to be shocked at the 
 suggestion. " No, no, sir ; I ain't as warldly as all that, 
 though His Majesty did pass through the station of 
 the village where my brother Jacob Henery lived. 
 ' Come and see the Prince o' Wales go threw, Lizzie,| 
 says Jacob Henery to me one day, when I was a-stayin' 
 wi' him. (He was the Prince o' Wales in those days, 
 yew see.) ' No, Jacob Henery,' says I, ' I'm not so 
 warldly,' says I; 'now if it had been Abraham wi' 
 Lazarus in his bosom, a-sittin' in a first-class carriage, 
 I might 'a gone,' I says ; ' but not for all the Kings 
 o' the earth,' says I, 'will I run half a mile as hard as 
 I can, just on the top o' my dinner'. And no more I 
 wud." 
 
 " You were most sensible, Mra Candy, not to allow 
 that feeling of loyalty, which is so apt to run riot in 
 England, to lead you into indigestion." 
 
 "Just what I thought, Mr. Baxendale, sir. What 
 wud the Prince o' Wales and all the crowned heads o' 
 Europe have cared if my dinner that day had lain on 
 my chest like a lump o' lead ? Not they ; it wud have 
 made no difierence to them whatsoiver. But it wud 
 ha' made all the difference to me, I can tell yew; and 
 I wudn't ha' risked it, no not for the Emperor o' China 
 or the Pope o' Rome." 
 
 "By the way, Mrs. Candy," Laurence said more 
 seriously, " I suppose you wouldn't go for your holiday 
 by yourself, and leave Candy to look after the Hall ? " 
 "Laws a mercy, Mr. Baxendale, what be yew a- 
 thinkin' of ? Why T wudna go on a journey without 
 Candy to tell me which way I was a-goin', no, not if 
 yew was to crown me. Do yew think I'm a-goin' to 
 set up a lot o' guards and porters and engine-drivers 
 
 LL. 
 
MRS. CANDY'S HOODAY I5i 
 
 and such, above my own wedded husband, and take 
 their word instead of his? No, sir, I trust I knows 
 my dewty as a wife better than that" 
 
 " You see, Candy could take your ticket at Silver- 
 hampton and put you into the train; and your own 
 relations could meet you at the other end." 
 
 But Mrs. Candy stood firm. " No, sir, I took him for 
 better and for worse, and for better and for worse I'll 
 stick to him. And if for worse don't mean for them 
 homd screechin' railway journeys, I 'm sure I don't 
 know what it du mean. No, sir; unless Candy goes 
 wi me to Norfolk, to Norfolk I don't go." 
 
 Like all sensitive people, Laurence could not 
 bear to give pain; and the disappointment which 
 his suggestion had called into Mrs. Candy's ruddy 
 countenance was too much for him. "Well then I 
 suppose Candy must go too. Do you know anybody 
 who will come and take care of the Hall in yoii 
 absence ? " 
 
 " Well, sir. it's not for the likes of me to go teachin' 
 the gentry, and passin' my remarks on what they may 
 please to du," said Mrs. Candy in the tone of those who 
 are about to do the very thing they deprecate Did 
 the apology, " Far be it from me to speak -Vreverently " 
 ever precede anything save the most startling irrever- 
 ence-or the prefatory clause, « I never repeat malicious 
 gossip, ever introduce any item of information which 
 was not in direct opposition to the Ninth Command- 
 ment ? And Mrs. Candy was but as her fellows-and 
 her betters. " But if yew ask my opinion, I think as 
 It will do more harm than good to bring strangere 
 mta the Hall, pokin' their noses inta where they've no 
 business, and their fingers inta where they've less " 
 
 f i 
 
 I I 
 
h 11 
 
 162 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " You mean it would be better to shut the place up 
 altogether for a week or two, than to trust any 
 temporary caretakers?" 
 
 " I du, sir. Yew see, me and Candy has known yew 
 from a baby, sir, and the family afore that ; and so 
 we've patience with all that nonsense about takin' 
 such care o' that old rubbish heap upstairs. But 
 strangers wud have no patience with it— how cud 
 they? — seein' as waste-paper is waste-paper all the 
 warld over. So if they didn't take proper care of all 
 the rummage that this old house contains, who cud 
 blame 'em ? Certainly not me nor Candy," continued 
 the worthy matron, feeling that if suspected persons 
 passed successfully the ordeal by Candy they were 
 innocent indeed. " Why, last week's newspaper ain't 
 no good; much less them old books as has been writ 
 iver BO much afore last week, or the week afore that." 
 
 " Then you would just lock up the house and leave it?" 
 
 "I shud, sir. Yew see, nobody has a key to it 
 except yew and her leddyship, so nobody cud get in to 
 du any mischief, for there's shutters to all the down- 
 stair windas; and yew cud look in ivery tew or three 
 days to see as all was goin' on well. And there wudn't 
 be any need o' fires this weather to keep the place 
 aired, for I'd draw up the blinds to the upstair windas 
 so as the sun cud get in and keep the damp out o' them 
 old books; and there is no damp to speak of at this 
 time o' year. If I was yew, sir, I'd rather leave the 
 place empty, than have folks a-runnin' all over it as I 
 didn't know." 
 
 "There's Williamson and his wife at the Home 
 Farm. They would come up and stay here while you 
 and Candy were away," suggested Laurence. 
 
MRS. CANDY'S HOUDAY 
 
 163 
 
 "Well, Mr. Baxendale, yew knows yewr own 
 business best," replied Mrs. Candy, in a tone of voice 
 which implied that if there was one person on 
 earth who did not know anything at all about Mr. 
 Baxendale's business, that person was Mr. Baxendalu 
 himself. " If yew can trust Mrs. Williamson, yew can 
 trust her; and that's an end o' that." 
 
 " Oh ! of course I should be guided by you," Laurence 
 hastened to say with culpable weakness; "but Mrs. 
 Williamson always seems to me to be a tidy woman 
 with plenty of work in her." 
 
 " Well, sir, if yew thinks so, yew thinks so ; and if 
 yew du believe in her, yew du." Mrs. Candy was 
 evidently of opinion that faith in a myth is better 
 than no faith at all. 
 'I But what is your objection to Mrs. Williamson ? " 
 "I hasn't no objection to her, sir; far from it. But 
 IVe looked inta her house, I have ; and what I've seen 
 I've seea" Fatima herself could not have spoken 
 more mysteriously of Bluebeard's locke:-up room, 
 than did Mrs. Candy of the interior of the William- 
 sons'. 
 
 Laurence owned to considerable curiosity. "But 
 what did you see, Mrs. Candy ? " 
 
 The lady thus urged shook her h%ad and pursed up 
 her lips with the usual firmness of those who. have 
 decided not to say a thing, and intend to say it at all 
 costs. " It's not for me to speak evil o' my neighbours 
 one wi' another, even if she du sit in her best parlour 
 on a weekday, and wear out the albums and the anti- 
 macassars in a way as is neither decent nor respect- 
 able." 
 
 " You must tell me more, please, Mrs. Candy. I really 
 
 i ! 
 
 n;| 
 
164 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 don't quite graap the full meaning of Mrs. Williamson's 
 behaviour at present" 
 
 Mrs. Candy extenuated nothing, nor set down aught 
 in malice. " Yew see it's this way, sir," she began in a 
 calm and judicial voice; "our best parlour is given up 
 to the Sabbath, so as Sunday shall be different from the 
 days o" the week, as it ought to be. And I hold that to 
 sit in the best parlour on any other day but Sunday, is 
 nothin" more nor less than Sabbath-breakin'. Why, sir, 
 I'd as sune think o" readin' the Bible on a weekday as 
 o' lookin' at the family albums. Only t'other day Candy 
 says to me, 'Lizzie,' he says, ' there's some talk i' the 
 papers o' openin' museums and picter galleries and 
 the like on Sundays, but I don't hold wi' it,' he says; 
 ■ if yew begin makin' Sunday as cheerful-like as a 
 weekday, what'll become o' the religion of England ?_ 
 he says. Oh! ho doesn't hold wi' Sabbath-breakin, 
 doesn't Candy." . „ 
 
 " Still there are two sides to the question, Laurence 
 feebly expostulated, "as there aie to most questions, 
 
 I suppose." -, 
 
 But such sophUtry was not for the like of Mrs. 
 
 '^"'"Yea sir, so there be— a right side and a wrong side ; 
 and yew can't have tew right sides to anythin', any 
 more than yew can have tew right-hand boots or tew 
 right-hand breeches; leastways so Candy says, and hcs 
 ■jot to the root o' moat things, has Candy." 
 
 Laurence knew when he was beaten, so held his 
 
 ^'^ Yew see sir," Mrs. Candy reverted to her former 
 subject "Candy and me wud be back from our holiday 
 in a fortnit at most— that vrud give us plenty o time 
 
MRS. CANDY'S HOLIDAY 155 
 
 to neat^n the grave up, and to give a start to Maria 
 Janc.s twu,,; and there cudn't much harm come to ci,« 
 Hall 1 that time, perticularly at tins season o' the yeni 
 when there 8 no fires needed, and oonsiderin' as no «ne' 
 has a key to it save her leddyHhip and yowrself " 
 
 Laurence was silent He did not think it, nocessanr 
 to men^on before Mrs. Candy those keys which he had 
 lent to Naney Burton. That he felt was his l.usiness- 
 not Jllra Candy's nor another'a 
 
 leava You and your husband shall have yo-. • h<,lida v 
 at once; and 111 make a point of comin-up r,o (l,«Hail 
 every two or three days to see that all is goin- on ri.rht 
 in your absence." " 
 
 So it was arranged that Mw. Candy should go to 
 »ojourn among her own people for a fortnight, ano that 
 Mr. Candy should accompany his better-half in the tr,,in 
 for fear she should fall out by the way. 
 
 On his way home from Baxendale Hall by the lanes 
 Laurence caught «ght of a blue-robed figure (it waa' 
 one of Nancys whmis always to wear blue) in the 
 distance ; aiid he accordingly quickened his steps until 
 
 fact that If two lovers go to a particular place, with the 
 express and sole purpose of meeting each other, tliev 
 are m a mutual agony of fear lest they should mi.^i 
 
 .ll r^u^T'^ °°'°°^^'" *'>« °°>y remarkable thinjr 
 about th« fear IS its utter groundlessness. In any 
 
 he knew B was bound to be there, he would conclude 
 for a certainty that he would meet B, and would suffer 
 
 oll"l 7 1^^ "P"" *''' •1"««"°'' ■' '^ »>« knew, more- 
 over, that B was going to that place for the especial 
 
 
158 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 purpose of meetinf^ him, his doubts as to their eventually 
 seeing each other face to face would be still more com- 
 pletely set at rest. But not so with lovers. Oh dear, 
 no ! He knows, and she knows — with a certainty 
 which no mere friendly or business-like relation would 
 justify — that the object of meeting one another is the 
 sole consideration which, for the time being, guides their 
 respective steps; nevertheless they are both tortured 
 with agonizing doubts as to whether — in a space prob- 
 ably of some dozen yards or so, totally uninhabited 
 save by their two selves — they shall succeed in catching 
 sight of each other; and whether, having so caught 
 sight, they shall succeed in exchanging those few words 
 which are as daily bread to their starving hearts. It 
 never seems to occur to them that nothing short of a 
 miracle could keep them apart in the circumstances; 
 nor to wonder why the natural laws which govern the 
 universe are likely to be suspended for their ■ ial 
 discomfiture. If they go to the same place at the same 
 hour they are bound to meet, unless gravitation be 
 nothing but a passing whim, or the shadow on the i jal 
 be as liable to be turned back as it was in the reign of 
 Hezekiah ; any one in his senses would understand as 
 much as that But who is in love and in his senses at 
 the same time ? And if he were, who would care to be 
 in love at all ? Love stiffened by sense is as unwhole- 
 some as cream tinctured by boracic acid ; and both are 
 the signs and thj product of an over-civilized state of 
 society. 
 
 As no natural law was suspended and no miracle 
 wrought in order to keep them apart, Laurence and 
 Nancy met each other in the lanes on that particular 
 summer afternoon; and Laurence — after i;ertain im- 
 
MRS. CANDY'S HOLIDAY 
 
 157 
 
 promised holiday enrichin.r fl,„ . , J Mrs. Candy's 
 
 pardon." ""• ^ '"'got , 1 beg your 
 
 _" ^"'■go' what, my darling ? " 
 
 "A promise I once made to you. Thaf ;« fK 
 of making promises— vn„ « ^ ^^'^ ^°'"»* 
 
 their existence?^' ^ "" '^ y°" ''*^« forgotten 
 
 ^■•Do_yo„ mean to say you forget promises? Oh, 
 
 "Forget them ?-I should just think I do T 
 promised father never to read 7oJT.- I , } °°"^ 
 IVe forgotten the name of the book hi '!"' ^^ 
 I keep my promise 7 And T 1 ' "^ ""^"^ '^''^ 
 
 promis ng you thaf T ™^„v i 11!,^^ *'^"a, because 
 that I shan't tllthpJ. *'''"^' '*°^«°'' "e"" 
 
 make the people I tSlTh"/"'^ ""^'"^ **"* ^ «'>''" 
 that I've to^d " "" *° P'"°'"'«^ "°* *° tell you 
 
 ^. Wence laughed. "Nancy, you really are incor- 
 
 sco^LrdsSsoahintt'T'" r'^ ■"« p--- 
 
 thing, and never 1 1 ^ ^es'des-always to be some- 
 ng, ana never to be something els^and always to 
 
158 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 think this, and never to think that — and hundreds of 
 other things, which for the life of me I can't remember." 
 
 " You naughty, unkind child ! " 
 Well, that's the truth. So if I break my promises 
 to you, don't be touchy and think it is rudeness on 
 my part. If I remember them, I'll keep them fast 
 enough ; but I'm sure not to, so there's an end of it." 
 
 When Laurence arrived at the Poplar Farm, having 
 parted with Nancy at the iron gate which barred the 
 field path to Wayside, he explained to his mother as 
 briefly as he could the arrangement he had made with 
 Mrs. Candy. He hated having to mention the subject 
 to Lady Alicia ; and he hated himself for hating it. 
 
 But it never occurred to him to regret having spoken 
 of the matter to Nancy Buitoa 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE BURNING OF BAXENDALB. 
 
 Higher the flames rose, higher and higher. 
 When Baxendale Hall was made fuel of fire. 
 
 Two days after the Candys started on their holiday 
 the weather broke. Up to that time-the middle of 
 Augast-it had been a wonderful summer; one of those 
 summers which stand out in men's memories as a type 
 of all that a summer ought to be. But suddenly the 
 face of the heavens changed; the rain fell, and there 
 blew a tremendous gale. For several years past there 
 had not been such a storm of wind in Mershire- it 
 tore the tiles off the roofs, and made merry with the 
 slates, and opened the doors without knocking and 
 broke the windows, until Silverhampton presented the 
 appearance of a city which had been besieged rather 
 than of a comfortable manufacturing town In the 
 country the wind behaved no better It tossed the 
 big trees about, tearing them up by their roots, until it 
 looked as if some giant hand was plajang a monster 
 game of spilikins in the woods; and as the ground 
 heaved and shook with the efforts of the tree-roots to 
 escape from their prison at the bidding of the storm- 
 faend It seemed as if an earthquake were following 
 in the track of the wind. As it was summer, the 
 trees stiU had all their leaves; and that made them 
 (159) 
 
 Hcme^satsaiiiK. 
 
160 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 less able to bow before the gale, and more liable to be 
 overthrown by it 
 
 Right opposite the west front of Baxendale Hall there 
 stood a huge old elm-tree, which was known as " The 
 Luck of the Baxendales," because there was a tradition to 
 the effect that whenever it fell, ill-luck would overtake 
 the house of Baxendale ; but as it had cheerfully re- 
 mained upright, clapping its hands and tossing its long 
 arms about, while poverty drove the Baxendales out of 
 their home and left their habitation desolate, their luck 
 and it seemed to have parted company, and the tradition 
 was now held to be of no effect. But the great gale 
 accomplished what the poverty of the Baxendales had 
 failed to bring about ; it tore up the roots of the old elm- 
 tree, and laid its proud head in the dust. 
 
 " What do you think ? the old elm-tree at the back 
 of the Hall has been blown down," shouted Laurence, 
 on the morning after the gale, to Nancy, whom, by 
 some strange accident, he had come across in the 
 lanes. 
 
 But the wind, which though less violent than it had 
 been, was still inimical to conversation, carried his 
 words eastward into Silverhampton, instead of to the 
 little pink ear for which they were intended. 
 
 " What ? " shouted Nancy in response, holding her 
 hat, while the gale played havoc with her dress till she 
 looked like a little blue flag. " I can't hear a word that 
 you say in this awful wind." 
 
 Laurence came nearer and repeated the piece of 
 information in a still louder key. This time it reached 
 its destination. 
 
 " The tree that is called ' The Luck of the Baxea- 
 dales ' ? " asked Nancy. 
 
THE BURNING OF BAXENDALE 161 
 
 Her lover nodded It waa the weather for signs and 
 signals rather than for spoken worda 
 
 if l^\ "^"^^ " P",^ '" ^""""y ^^Ja^ed. "I do hope 
 it won t spoil your luck." ^ 
 
 The man smiled somewhat grimly. "It can't very 
 
 fall now seems to me a little behindhand, considering 
 hat we ve been about as unlucky as we could be for 
 the last twenty years." 
 
 "It does seem the wrong way about," gaspe.?. Nancv 
 
 trugghng against the wind; "like wagging a dogS 
 
 to make him good tempered." "ogstail 
 
 "Come up to the Hall and have a look at the tree " 
 
 Laurence begged when again the wind gave him 'a 
 
 chance of being heard. 
 
 ..I'it" "^""V , -^"""^ '^''' '^'^"ys ^hat Anthonr 
 called " a good plucked one ". -^"lony 
 
 "I'll take care of you, and see that no branches fall 
 on your pretty head," said Laurence with as much 
 tenderness in h« voice as such a gale permitted. 
 
 It isn t a pretty head just now, as it happens • I've 
 put on an ugly hat on purpose, so that the wind'shall 
 not spoil more beauty than is absolutely needful " 
 f.nm f? *° *^' windward of the trees and as far away 
 from them as possible," Laurence cried; "I daren^ 
 -Jk^ with Amaryllis in the shade on su'ch a day as 
 
 "And the wind is so busy with the tangks of 
 
 STi'lC""" '-■'""""""- ^""^ 
 
 "I say, darling, you aren't frightened at crossintr thn 
 are, 1 11 take you home before I go," said Laurence, after 
 
 5^S5rijfei*-:»- 
 
162 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 the next gust had subsided, and the very wind itself 
 was stopping to take breath. 
 
 Nancy pouted " I believe you are tired of me and 
 want to get rid of me." 
 
 " Do you, my baby ? Well, if you believe that, you'll 
 believe anything." 
 
 " I do. I believe that you've seen somebody you like 
 better than me, and that another woman's eyes have 
 put my nose out of joint." 
 
 " Silly darling ! You know that for me there never 
 has been, and never will be, any woman in the world 
 but yoa But are you sure you're not frightened of 
 this awful storm ? " 
 
 Nancy looked up at him with fearless eyes. " Good 
 gracious, no ! I couldn't be frightened at anything when 
 I am with yoa • That's the beauty of being in love— it 
 makes fear impossible ; and fear is such a horrid thing. 
 Why, if you were with me, I dare drive down Piccadilly 
 in a Victoria, and merely smile when I felt a reckless 
 hansom in my pocket and a blood-curdling omnibus 
 in my back hair; and, if you were there too, I shouldn't 
 mind going through a whole battle, with nothing but 
 a waterproof and an umbrella to keep the bullets 
 off." 
 
 " My sweet, what a dear foolish little child you are ! " 
 
 And so these two fearless ycung people ploughed 
 their way in the teeth of the westerly gale right up to 
 the Hall, and stood together by the ruins of the old elm- 
 tree. And with Nancy at his side, Laurence felt as 
 unafraid of ill-luck, and as ready to meet and overcome 
 it, as Nancy felt with regard to the congested traffic of 
 London or the perils of war ; which showed that as yet 
 he underrated the strength of those mysterious prind- 
 
THE BURNING OF BAXENDALE 163 
 
 pulities against which men have to wrestle rather than 
 against flesh and blood. 
 
 While Laurence and Nancy were fighting their way 
 up to the Hall, Mr. Arbuthnot called to see Rufus Webb • 
 and found that the disturbance of the elements had 
 worked the fanatic into a state of semi-insane enthusiasm. 
 
 "It IS a tremendous gale," the vicar remarked after 
 the usual greetings, "and will do a lot of damage I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 Rufus had a rmpt look upon his face. " • A great strong 
 wmd rent the miounMins,'" he murmured, "'but the 
 Lord was not in the wind ; and after the wind was an 
 earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake • 
 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not 
 in the fire ; and after the fee a still small Voice.' " 
 
 Michael, being a man of much tact, fell in with Webb's 
 mood. " And what did the still small Voice say ? Did 
 It encourage the prophet to shut himself out from 
 sympathy and communion with his fellows > No It 
 asked, 'What vJoest thou here, Elijah?'— a question 
 which that same small Voice is asking every one of us, 
 and waiting for our answer" 
 
 "Well, God knows that I— vile as I am— can still 
 say truthfully with Elijah, 'I have been very iealous 
 for the Lord God of Hosts ' ; that at least I can answer " 
 '• I know you can ; and do you think that that .inswer 
 will satisfy God now, any more than it satisfied Him '-n 
 Elijah's time ? Certainly not. lie will send you awav 
 from the mountains, as Ho sent His prophet of old back 
 through the wilderness of Damascus to the anointing 
 of earthly rulers and the choosing of human frienda" 
 
 " You mean that I shut myself up too much from mv 
 kind ? " ' 
 
164 
 
 FUEL OF FIRB 
 
 " I do. I kuow that when once one has stood upon 
 the mountain cl' Transfiguration, the mole-hills of the 
 valley seem contemptibly small and petty in comparison ; 
 nevertheless it is among Ihe mole-hills of the valley 
 that our daily tasks lie. And I do not believe that it 
 is only in order to make us despise and chafe against 
 these mole-hills that we aro "Uowed to stand upon the 
 mountain top now and agn'n ; I believe that it is rather 
 in order that we may th-.r'L.ay learn that the mole-hills 
 are but mole-hills after ai , and are but for a momout; 
 while the mountains stand fast for ever." 
 
 But Bufus shook his head. "I am not upon the 
 mountain top ; I am down in the deep waters." 
 
 " So we all are now and then. But the path of duty 
 lies no more permanently through the deep waters than 
 upon the mountain top." 
 
 Just then a sudden gust of wind seemed as if it were 
 going to blow tho cottage down. 
 
 " What a gale it is ! " exclaimed the vicar ; " I don't 
 remember such a wind as this since I first came into 
 Mershire." 
 
 "'And after the wind an earthquake,'" repeated 
 Bufus, with the rapt look again upon his face. 
 
 " Well, there does actually seem to be an earthquake 
 going on, if you see how the ground is shaking and 
 quivering with the upheaval of the trees. That is the 
 worst of elms ; their roots lie so near the surface and 
 are so widespread, that they fall sooner than any other 
 tree, and in their fall do more damage." Mr. Arbuthnot 
 tried to bring the soothsayer back into everyday life. 
 
 " ' And after the earthquake a fire," " continued Bufus, 
 in the monotonous voice of one who is speaking with 
 strange tongues. 
 
THE BURNING OF BAXENDALE 165 
 
 "Well. I only hope there won't be a fire anywhere 
 for this wind would fan it into an uncontrollable flame 
 m no time. If once a fire were lighted, there would 
 be no putting it out in such a gale as this." 
 
 •''And after the fire a still small Voice.' It was not 
 until the hre had done its worst that the still small 
 Voice was heard. Mark that! It is not until our 
 possessions have been destroyed and our souls pur-red 
 80 as by fire, that the still small Voice speaks to w- 
 and. speaking, ci.i induce men to listen to it " 
 
 As Rufus Webb sat with this mystic look upon his 
 face, the vicar was able to notice how sadly lined with 
 care and want that haggard face was. In spite of all 
 his eccentricity, Rufus was still a gentleman; and it is 
 very difficult for one gentleman to intimate to another 
 that the former does not believe the latter has enough 
 to eat. Nevertheless that was the idea which struck 
 Mr Arbuthnot, and which filled his warm heart with 
 distress^istress all the more poignant because he saw 
 no way of setting things right. There was something 
 about Rufus Webl>-some trace of inborn gentlehood 
 and former culture-which forbade any one to take 
 the shadow of a liberty with him. be his behaviour and 
 conversation never so insane. 
 
 Knowing that a religious train of thought was apt 
 so quickly to degenerate into frenzy in the mind of the 
 ex-missionary, Michael endeavoured to turn the talk 
 into less exciting channels. " By the wav, have you 
 heard that this wind has brought down the huc^e 
 ^m-tree that stood on the other side of Bazendale 
 
 He had touched a responsive chord; Webb turned 
 to him at once with awakened interest "The great 
 
166 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 ;t 
 
 elm-tree which was named 'The Luck of the Baxen- 
 dales,' do you mean ? " 
 
 "Yes. It must have stood there for two or three 
 hundred years." 
 
 " And I am glad, glad that it has fallen, and that 
 ill-luck will henceforth dog the footsteps of Laurence 
 Bazendale. Is it well for that young man to find rest 
 in the house of his fathers, and to marry the woman of 
 his choice, and to have children at his desire, and to 
 leave the rest of his substance to his babes ? Nay ; 
 better for him that his house shall be left unto him 
 desolate, and that sorrow and poverty shall drive him 
 to the one Refuge whore true help is to be found! 
 ' For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole 
 world and lose his own soul V ' " 
 
 So Rufus Webb rambled on ; and 5fv. A.rbuthnot — 
 having in vain tried to reduce the hermit to a more 
 reasonable state of mind — took his leave ; but as he 
 went away his heart was heavy within him, because of 
 that actual want which he felt sure was undermining 
 the health of Rufus, and yet which no ono dared take 
 the liberty of recognizing and relieving. 
 
 During all that day the gale continued ; but at sunset 
 the wind fell, and was succeeded by a great calm. The 
 next morning dawned beautifully fine and hot, but 
 with a stillness which seemed almost oppressive after 
 the boisterous weather of the last few days. There was 
 not a cloud to be seen ; and although those Jeremiahs 
 amongst men, who cannot feel warm without pro- 
 phesying thunder, or cold without foretelling snow, 
 did predict a thunderstorm, no thunder came, for the 
 simple reason that the sky was so clear there was no- 
 where for it to come from. It was one of those days 
 
 lL_ 
 
"SINKING Uu\V:. ON" ,\ IVIIKV TT!^^: \\ ' h H T.W HV THi: UiiUi-llL." 
 
MIMOCOfY DISOIUTION TEST CHART 
 
 (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
 A APPLIED IM/IGE Inc 
 
 ^— r,; 1653 East Main Street 
 
 S'JS Rochester, New York 14509 USA 
 
 '-Sg (716) 482 - 0300 ~ Phone 
 
 ^S (^ '6) 288 - 5989 - Fok 
 
THE BURNING OP BAXENDALE 16? 
 
 when even to the hale and hearty the grasshopper 
 becomes for the time being a burden; there was no 
 hie m the air, and effort seemed unendurable if not 
 impossible. Even the wings of love himself could not 
 fly tar afield in such an atmosphere; so in the after- 
 noon Laurence and Nancy betook themselves to those 
 untrodden ways which lay nearest to Wayside and 
 Poplar Farm. 
 
 " It's too hot to walk in, to the Hall this afternoon " 
 Nancy said, sinking down on a fallen tree which lay 
 by the roadside. "Arthur and Ambrose have gone 
 as they wished to investigate the fall of the tree more 
 minutely; and it never seems too hot for boys to do 
 things. But it is too hot for us." 
 
 " Much too hot, sweetheart. Besides there is no need 
 to go ; I was up there before breakfast this morning to 
 see if the gale had done any more damage." 
 
 "And I was up there just after breakfast to see if 
 I could find a missing light in The Queen acrostic for 
 this week." 
 
 "Oh! were you? What a pity you didn't tell me 
 you were going, darling, and we'd have gone together" 
 
 " It didn't occur to me till this morning that I might 
 find that particular light in a particular book. I did 
 look out for you at the cross-roads; but I only saw 
 your mother starting for her daily constitutional up to 
 Baxendale Hall and back: so, as she unfortunately 
 didn t happen to be you, I went on by myself. It was 
 too hot to go far in search of anybody or anything, the 
 hnding of which did not involve a prize." 
 
 "How cruel to think more of an acrostic prize than 
 ot me ! Did you succeed in finding your missing light 
 —tor you certainly didn't deserve to?" 
 
168 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " Of course I found it. I always get everything and 
 deserve nothing ; it is such a much more satisfactory 
 plan than getting nothing and deserving everything, as 
 you do. But the whole place is rather in a mess after 
 the gale, isn't it?" 
 
 " There are a good few tiles lying about, but no more 
 trees are down near to the house ; and no windows are 
 broken, although the glass roof of one of the greenhouses 
 is smashed in. But that won't matter ; there were no 
 plants of much value in that particular greenhouse ; and 
 those that were there I have moved into a potting shed 
 until Candy's return." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you removed them with your 
 own ? cinds in this heat ? excellent young man ! " 
 
 " Certainly : I'm not made of sugar and salt, dear 
 heart, or any such melting material." 
 
 "Well, I couldn't have carried pots about when I 
 reached Baxendale this morning ; it was as much as I 
 could do to walk so far on sucq a day as this," said 
 Nancy. 
 
 "Poor little thing, did it feel the heat?" whispered 
 Laurence, kissing her. 
 
 " Yes, it did ; and, what is more, the heat takes its 
 fringe out of curl, which annoys it very much and spoils 
 its good looks," replied Nancy, submitting to the em- 
 brace. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind ! I won't allow you or anybody 
 else to find fault with the fringe or the good looks of 
 my young woman; so please remember that, Miss 
 Burton." 
 
 After a few minutes' silence Laurence remarked: 
 " You are very q liet this afternoon, my pet ; is any- 
 thing worrying you ? " 
 
THE BURNING OF BAXENDALE 169 
 
 " Oh, dear no ! things never do worry me. But it is 
 too hot to be brilliant, or even to be affectionate," she 
 added with a laugh, edging away from her lover. ' 
 
 " You unkind child to throw back a nice young man's 
 affection in his teeth, when according to Shakespeare you 
 ought to be down on your knees thanking heaven fast- 
 ing for his devotion. You aren't half grateful enough 
 ior having such a well-set-up young man all round, as 
 Mrs. Candy would say." 
 
 " Yes, I am ; but it doesn't seem to me exactly the 
 weather for rehearsing The Huguenots every three 
 minutes, as a tableau vivant." 
 
 "Then let's change it for The Black Brunswicker 
 It would suit me every bit as well," suggested Laureuce' 
 Nancy looked at him through her long eyelashes 
 "You really are rather nice," she said, "when one 
 doesn't consider you too closely." 
 
 " That's a nice thing to say to a fellow ! It would 
 serve you right if I kept you at a distance anc" ..ked 
 to you about the political situation, and the decay of 
 poesy, and things of that kind." 
 
 " I shouldn't mind it half as much as you would." 
 " So if I am such a fool as to amputate my own nose 
 in order to spite your pretty little face, you won't pre- 
 vent me ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Besides, I'm jealous of your nose- 
 it is such a much better shape than mine," said Nancy 
 stroking her own offending feature thoughtfully ; " and 
 I really don't see what you have done to deserve a' better 
 nose than I." 
 
 " I haven't— I really haven't; my conscience is quite 
 clear on that score." 
 " Then why is your nose so superior to mine ? " 
 
170 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " I'll |,'ive it up ; ask another." 
 
 "Your eyes aren't as nice as mine, though," said 
 Nancy more cheerfully. 
 
 "Nothing like; and as you've two superior eyes 
 and I've only one superior nose, you are twice as well 
 off as I am after all. Two to one is a good working 
 majority, don't you know?" 
 
 ind so these two- young people went on talking 
 nonsense, little dreaming how short-lived such nonsense 
 was doomed to be. 
 
 At sunset that evening the wind rose again, and for 
 the whole of the night the westerly gale was more 
 boisterous than ever. The wind had evidently been 
 scotched, not killed; and it now awoke, as a giant 
 refreshed with wine, and rushed to and fro across the 
 heavens like some devastating fiend. 
 
 At about three o'clock in the morning Laurence was 
 awakened by the violence of the gale, and roused 
 himself sufficiently to look out of his window in order 
 to see whether that ghastly game of spilikins wr,s 
 again going on in Baxendale Woods. He was struck 
 by perceiving a rosy light opposite his window, which 
 at first sight he mistook for the first flush of dawn ; 
 but as he grew more wide awake, he realized that the 
 sun does not rise in the west, and that therefore there 
 must be some other reason for this phenomenon ; and 
 by the time he was thoroughly awake the awful truth 
 dawned upon his drowsy brain that Baxendale Hall 
 was iu flames. 
 
 Even while he stood spell-bound at the first horror 
 of the aight, tongues of flame darted up into the 
 summer sky, and clouds of smoke rose up and blotted 
 out the stars which hung low over the horizon line. 
 
THE BURNING OF BAXENDALE 171 
 
 Yes Baxendale Hall was on fire, and the ancient 
 prophecy had once more come true. There was no 
 doubt ot it. For a second, which seemed like an 
 eternity, Laurence stood still, feeling-as we all feel 
 under the first shock of some great calamity-that the 
 terrible thing which was now happening had been 
 happening ever since the foundation of the world 
 There seemed no prehistoric time when Baxendale Hall 
 had not been on fire-no half-forgotten date when the 
 tnird part ot the ancient doom was as yet unfulfilled 
 Then with a great effort he roused himself and 
 wakened his household ; and, hastily dressing, he made 
 his way, as well as he could in the teeth of the wind 
 up to the scene of the disaster, followed by such 
 servants and labourers as he had been able to waken 
 on the road. But it was too late. In such a gale as 
 this the fire ran on apace; and no human agency 
 could extinguish it after it had once taken hold 
 The old library, with its reams of dried-up parchment 
 and paper, acted as fuel to the flames; and althou<rh 
 Laurence and his followers did all in their pow°er 
 to extinguish it, their efforts were utterly futile 
 
 The fire, however, had only touched the first and 
 upper storeys; the ground floor was still intact So 
 as the news of the disaster spread wider and more 
 help came, the men succeeded in saving the downstairs 
 rooms and their contents-which contents were after 
 ail nothing save ordinary furniture. 
 
 But when the day broke and the full extent of the 
 catastrophe was revealed, it was found that the upper 
 part of Baxendale Hall-including the fine old pictures 
 and the still finer old library-was reduced to a heao 
 of ashes. ^ 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SUSPICION. 
 
 To give a dog &n unrespeoted name* 
 As hanging seems to be about the same. 
 
 The burning of Baxendale Hall caused a great sensation, 
 not only in Mershire but throughout all England. In 
 the first place people were genuinely sorry that a house 
 containing such fine pictures and so magnificent a 
 library should be destroyed — it was a loss to the whole 
 country as well as to the possessor ; and in the second 
 place they were devoured by curiosity as to the 
 identity of the culprit who had actually set the Hall 
 on fire. Somebody must have done it — on that point 
 all were agreed ; but there was much discussion — and 
 for many a day — as to who that somebody could 
 be. Some said one, some said another ; and none were 
 weary of going over the question again and again, sift- 
 ing and resifting the evidence. The temptation to 
 transfigure mole-hills into mountains, and to discover 
 mares' nests — to find something new to talk about, and 
 to pluck the mote out of a brother's eye — in short to 
 relieve the tedium of life in a manner which would not 
 have found favour in the eyes of the first Bishop of 
 Jerusalem — proved too much for the British public; 
 they discussed the matter until they gradually lost 
 their power of discrimination between what actually, 
 (172) 
 
SUSPICION 
 
 173 
 
 and what they supposed, had happened ; they revelled 
 in guesses as to whether A or B could possibly have set 
 fire to the Hall, until they believed that A or B really 
 had done so; and they hoped that C or D had not 
 been guilty of the crime, until C and D stood red- 
 handed in their mind's eyes. As for the curse, it was 
 meat and drink to them ; and they tried to find out 
 what was thrice as great as King or State, with an 
 energy which was worthy of a weightier problem. 
 And all this, be it noted, not from any enmity against 
 the present owner of Baxendale Hall, nor from any 
 wish to work him harm ; but merely from a passionate 
 thirst for excitement, and an unthinking intention to 
 slake that thirst at all costs. Of course if the Hall had 
 not been insured, or had only been insured for a modest 
 sum, non- of this gossip would have arisen ; the catas- 
 trophe would have been a nine days' wonder, and that 
 would have been the end cf it. But a hundred thousand 
 pounds was too big a sum to be lightly passed over ; 
 and it also provided, in the minds of the really well- 
 meaning though actually mischief-making public, a 
 motive why Laurence Baxendale should have burnt 
 down the house of his fathers and placed himsell in 
 danger of the law; for human nature, alas! is such 
 that in all courts of justice a motive for a crime on 
 behalf of a certain person is strong evidence in favour 
 of that particular person's having committed that 
 particular cri-je. Wherefore we daily pray, "Lead 
 us mt into temptation ". 
 
 When the news of the disaster was brought to the 
 Burtons' breakfast-table by the servants the following 
 morning, there was great excitement; and there 
 were wide differences of opinion with regard to the 
 
174 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 
 I i 
 
 t 
 
 i! 
 
 origin of the catastrophe. Mr. Burton and Anthony 
 were convinceJ that the Hall had been burnt of net 
 purpose by some person or persons unknown ; Mrs. 
 Burton and Nora were equally sure that tl j occurrence 
 was purely accidental, and that the culprit — whoever 
 that m'},'ht be — was actually innocent in intention if 
 not in fact ; and Nancy thought — well, nobody knew 
 exactly what Nancy did think, because Nancy did not 
 choose to say. 
 
 She and Nora walked up to the Hall immediately 
 after breakfast to see what damage had actually bten 
 wrought, accompanied by their two brothers, who 
 regarded the burning of Baxendale as a treat especially 
 prepared for their greater enjoyment of the summer 
 holidays. The rooms on the ground floor were still 
 standing; and though their contents had been sadly 
 spoiled by the water which had been throw.i upon 
 ther.. they were not destroyed. But the ground floor 
 was all that was left of Baxendale Hall; ajd even 
 these rooms had been i-obbed of thjir ceilings, and 
 stooJ open to the ravages of wind and weather. The 
 fire had evidently begun in the library, and ascended, 
 devouring everything that barred its upward course. 
 The old books and manuscripts had been as tinder to 
 the flames, and the pictures had not been much better. 
 Then, the wind being so high, when once the flames 
 had a start they literally travelled ^is wild-fire ; there 
 was no possibility of quenching them ; thus, in a few 
 hours, the upper part of the fine old house had com- 
 pletely vanished. 
 
 Mr. Baxendale was upon the scene of the ruin when 
 the Burtons arrived there; and Nancy wa-s shocked 
 to perceive how he had changed in that one night: 
 
SUSPICION 
 
 175 
 
 lie looked ten years older than when she parted from 
 him the precedin},' afternoon ; his face was white and 
 set, and there was a stern look alwut hio mouth which 
 she had never seen before. It seemed stran^je, she 
 tho ,'ht, that an event which ha(' suddenly brought 
 their marriage ito the ref;ion of practical politics 
 should have turned Laurence into an old man ; sl.o 
 had expected him to be so glad that he could marry 
 her, that all regret at the loss of his home would be 
 swallowed up; instead of which he seemed so pre- 
 occupied that he had hardly time to notice her at all. 
 
 The two girls did not si-y long upon the scene of 
 the ruins. They saw that Laurence was really too 
 busy to attend to them ; so when they had gazed their 
 fill on the wreck they turned away, leaving their small 
 brothers to that fuller enjoyment of the disaster which 
 only the immature male mind could adequately appre- 
 ciate. For a short time Nancy felt rather depressed 
 by her lover's apparent indifference ; but her natural 
 high spirits soon reasieiiid themselves, and comforted 
 her with assurances of how happy she and he were 
 going to be in the good time coming. And during the 
 rest of that day, and for several days afterwards, she 
 built most delightful castles in the airfor the occupation 
 of herself and him. She did not see him again fo>- nearly 
 a week ; but she easily accounted for this, since his time 
 was naturally occupied with saving what he could out 
 of the wreckage of his house, ai 1. getting the place 
 into something like order again. The fire had not 
 touched any of the stables or outhouses; it was only 
 the Hall itself t had suffered. 
 
 What Laurence himself was enduring at that ci:ne 
 Nancy had not the ghost of ai. idea. It would have 
 
176 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 been impossible for her to understand, even had she 
 been told, how he was simultaneously trying to harden 
 his heart a^rainst her, and longing to take her into his 
 arms — how he was making up his mind to tell her 
 that henceforward everything must be at an end 
 between them, and at the same moment dsciding that, 
 come what might, he would marry her on the income 
 ot' the insurance money, and defy the world and 
 wl atever the world might choose to say. Nancy was 
 one of those natures to whom conflict is an unknown 
 quantity: S. Paul's testimony to the flesh lusting 
 ajjainst the spirit was to her as the original Greek 
 in which it was written. She might succumb to a 
 temptation on Tuesday which she had safely resisted 
 on Monday; that was quite possible; but she would 
 never feel the full power of the temptation, and the 
 passionate desire to resist it, at one and the same 
 time. She might change her Government with startling 
 rapidity ; but as long as the Government was in power 
 it was unanimous. Like the rest of us, she presumably 
 had her guardian angel and her tempting demon in 
 attendance, to guide her feet respectively in the narrow 
 way that leads upwards to lite, and the broad path 
 that goes downwards to destruction; but in Nancy's 
 case these two opposing influences made a sort of 
 spiritual Box-and-Cox arrangement, and were never 
 upon the ground at the same time. Therefore she 
 was spared the wear and tear of conflict, though not 
 the agony of remorse. 
 
 " People are all wondering whether Baxendale burnt 
 down the Hall himself for the sake of the insurance 
 money," remarked Anthony Burton to his uncle. 
 
 Nancy started up in amazement. " Then I'm certain 
 
SUSPICION 
 
 177 
 
 ho didn't. It's a horrid lie! Laurence is 'he last 
 man to do that sort of a thii.,;." That her lover 
 himself should be suspected of the crime was a pos- 
 sibility that had never occurred to her. 
 
 But Anthony took no notice of her indignation. 
 " What do you think, Uncle Richard ? " he asked. 
 
 Mr. Burton laid down his newspaper and >■' )ok his 
 head. "It is a queer business; I don't know what to 
 think." 
 
 Nancy again rushed in. "Surelv you don't think 
 that Laurence did it ? " 
 
 "Gently, my child, gently," her father replied; "I 
 say I don't know what to think — I did not give any 
 opinion on the matter." 
 
 " The world in general seems coming to that t inclu- 
 sion," said Anthony. " I've heard it from no id of 
 people to-d*y." 
 
 "That is just like people!" exclaimed Nancy; "nasty 
 things ! " 
 
 " No," expostulated Mr. Burton judicially ; " I do not 
 think one can altogether blame the public for suspecting 
 Mr. Baxendale, when you remember how much he had 
 to gain by the accident ; and also when you consider that 
 the public do not know the man as we know him. I am 
 bound to say that if I had not met Baxendale person- 
 ally — if I knew nothing either in his favour or against 
 him — I should need to be convinced of his innocence." 
 
 " You think things look rather black against him ? " 
 said Anthony. 
 
 " Yes, my boy, I am sorry to say I do. Mind you, 
 I don't say that I think Baxendale burnt down his 
 own house ; I only say that I am not surprised at the 
 world in general suspecting that he did." 
 12 
 
■ ■ -i '^TVV' ''•V'J ^ 
 
 178 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Nancy looked frightened. " But why, father ? " 
 
 " First, because it was his interest to do so. Not only 
 does he come into a large sum through the burning down 
 of the Hall, but he also is relieved from paying a yearly 
 tax which there is no doubt was often a great strain 
 upon his slender resources In short, the accident turns 
 Baxendale from a poor man into a comparatively rich 
 one." 
 
 Anthony nodded. "Yes, that's true enough; and 
 there is no doubt that this is a consummation devoutly 
 wished by others than our friend Baxendale." 
 
 " So much for a motive for the crime," continued Mr. 
 Burton ; " now let us look at the evidence. The care- 
 takers of the Hall were sent away on a holiday by 
 Baxendale, and no one waa put there in their place ; 
 thus the house was quite uninhabited. Further, the 
 fire obviously started upon the first floor and travelled 
 upwards ; the ground floor is untouched ; this indubi- 
 tably proves that the fire began from the inside, and 
 also Tx-om the upper storey, for no one could have set 
 it on fire from the outside, unless they had begun from 
 the ground. The key of the outer door, and, mark you, 
 the key of the upstairs library, were in Laurence Baxen- 
 dale'a possession, Mrs. Candy having given up all the 
 kijys into his hands before she left home. The above 
 f Mcts are public property ; and can you blame the public 
 for arriving at an obvious conclusion ? " 
 
 " It does look rather queer," Anthony allowed ; " and 
 you think it impossible for the fire to have been lighted 
 from without ? " 
 
 " Utterly impossible, I should say. All the windows 
 were carefully fastened, and there were no ladders any- 
 where about ; therefore, if the house had been fired from 
 
'IIU YOU .MEAN THAT HE WON T GKT THK HUSDUED THOUSAND I'uUNDS?' " 
 
 it'll jucepufjt 17s. 
 
' !i : ' 
 
SUSPICION 179 
 
 outside, it would have been fired from the ground and 
 not from upstairs." 
 
 Nancy waa very angry. "It is rank lunacy to 
 imagine for a moment that Laurence was capable of 
 doing such a thing," she said. 
 
 Her father took no notice. •■ Baxendale admits that 
 he went all over the house on the very morning before 
 It was burnt, to see whether any windows had been 
 broken by the gale. In that case-had the fire already 
 been smouldering— he must have discovered it " 
 
 "Besides, it couldn't very well have been smouldering 
 in the summer," added Anthony, "because probably 
 there hadnt been any fire in the place for months." 
 There had not. Baxendale says that no fire, except 
 the one in the kitchen for the Candys to cook by, had 
 been lighted for many weeks ; and that particular fire 
 could not have been responsible for the mischief, as the 
 kitchens are practically untouched." 
 
 " And of course the Candys hadn't been cooking there 
 for over a week." 
 
 "Exactly. Had they left any live coals behind 
 them, the place would have been burnt down a week or 
 more ago. Yes," Mr. Burton looked very serious "I 
 am bound to say the case seems very black against 
 Baxendale, and I am afraid he will have a good deal of 
 trouble with the insurance people about it; they won't 
 be very likely to pay up until things are made to look 
 a little less suspicions." 
 
 Nancy's face grew very whita " Do you mean that 
 he wont get the hundred thousand pounds?" Her 
 heart seemed to stand still; surely this thing had not 
 been done for nothing ! 
 
 " I should doubt it," replied Mr. Buri»n ; " the whole 
 
180 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 I I 
 
 business has a very suspicious flavour. Even putting 
 upon it the most favourable construction, Baxendale 
 has been extremely unlucky ; for everything— even to 
 the smallest trifle — bears witness against him." 
 
 "Where did you get hold of all these details?" 
 Anthony asked. 
 
 "From Baxendale himself at the Club. He was 
 talking to half a dozen men, including myself, and 
 told us all that I have told you about the incidents of 
 the fire. He made no secret of the facts of the case." 
 
 There was a long silence. Mr. Burton drew his 
 brows together and went over all the evidence again 
 in his own mind ; he hated to think evil of his neigh- 
 bour, but the case against Laurence certainly stood 
 out in somewhat dark colours. Anthony drummed 
 witi; his fingers upon the table, and said to himself 
 what an unlucky dog Baxendale was, and how sorry 
 he felt for him. And Nancy sat still, her air-castle 
 tumbling about her ears, and wished that she had 
 never been born, or else that Baxendale Hall had never 
 been burnt — she did not much mind which. 
 
 I 
 
 II * 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LOSING OF THE KEYS. 
 
 Like Bluebeard's wife I lost the key ; 
 ThenceJortli it was not well with me. 
 
 " I SAY, Nora," said Nancy to her sister one afternoon, 
 a day or two after the foregoing conversation, " have 
 you seen my keys tumbling about anywhere ? " 
 
 " Your keys ? no ; have you lost them ? " 
 
 " I must have done so ; but goodness knows where ! " 
 
 " Which keys are they ? " 
 
 " Oh ! there is the key of my jewel-case, and the 
 key of my cash-box, and the key of the box where all 
 my old love-letters are kept, and — and — one or two 
 others." 
 
 With the strange and sudden reserve which now 
 and again attacks outspoken people, Nancy did not 
 mention that the other two keys on the lost bunch 
 were those of the front door and the library at 
 Baxendale Hall. There is no secret so well kept as 
 the secret which is guarded by the occasional reserve of 
 habitually unreserved natures. If a man is naturally 
 secretive, we expect him to keep back something, and 
 allow for the fact; but it never occurs to us that the 
 usually outspoken are capable of keeping back anything, 
 and so we conclude that the thing which they do not 
 tell us does not exist. Hence the unreserved have 
 (181) 
 
 I 
 
182 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 powers of concealment which are denied to the naturally 
 
 "How inconvenient!" exclaimed Nora. 
 
 "It is ; most frightfully inconvenient ! And it isn't 
 a bit my own fault, because I distinctly remember 
 tak ng them out o the pocket of one frock, and putting 
 them into the pocket of another." 
 
 for thin'''^'^ °°^' ^^""^ '*"'* ''^"^" "^^y **f* P''"'^ 
 "Yes, it is; the safest place in the world, because 
 the things are always in one's own keeping, don't you 
 see ?— and other people can't get at them." 
 " Perhaps there was a hole in your pocket Nan " 
 " Well,__if there was, it wasn't my fault; it was 
 Pearsons. (Pearson was the Miss Burtons' maid.) 
 It a maid can t mend a hole in one's pocket, what is 
 the good '-.' having a maid at all ? " 
 
 "Or perhaps you pulled them out with your pocket- 
 handkerchief, Nora suggested further. 
 
 ''Well, if I did, that wasn't my fault either. What 
 18 the use of a pocket-handkerchief that you never take 
 out of your pocket ? It would be worse than a chained 
 «ib e, or a captive balloon, or an army that never 
 leaves the country except in cases of invasion " 
 
 " Never mind. Nan. I can lend you ny pearl-beads 
 till your jewel-case is opened again, or anything else 
 that you need. ' Nora was a very good sister. 
 
 " Oh ! the jewel-case doesn't matter, because it doesn't 
 happen to be locked." 
 
 "Then it it is the cash-box, I can lend you as much 
 money as you want til) the keys are found again." 
 
 "That doesn't matter either, because I've spent all 
 this quarter's allowance already, and the cash-b-x is 
 empty." 
 
THE LOSING OF THE KEYS 183 
 
 " Then if it is only Cho old love-letters, I can lend you 
 plenty of them, too. heaps upon heaps; and they're all 
 pretty much the same, whoever they happen to be 
 addressed to, so one set is as good as another" 
 
 " Good gracious ! It isn't the love-letters that matter 
 
 because the lock of that box is broken ; so that anybody 
 
 can get at : hem. and as well without the key as with it." 
 
 Then why bother about the keys at all?" asked 
 
 sensible Nora. 
 
 "I wasn't bothering about them." replied Nancy 
 hastily ; " only it is stupid to lose thinga" 
 
 " Never mind ; they are bound to turn up : our thincrs 
 always do. " 
 
 And with that scanty comfort Nancy had to be 
 content; and the conversation drifted into its wonted 
 channel— namely, the Baxendale c tastrophe 
 
 "I wonder how Laurence will bear all these horrid 
 suspicions about him." remarked Nora thoughtfully 
 he s the sort of person to take them to heart." 
 "I know he is; that's just the bother." 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh !_ I mean that's just the-the-bother. don't you 
 know ? As shown in the matter of the keys, a reserve 
 contrary to her nature seized Miss Burton when dis 
 cussing anything connected with Mr. Baxendale Until 
 now she had been the most transparent person 
 .maginable. only too glad to retail her innermost 
 houghts and feelings to any one who had patience to 
 listen to them ; but a new shyness, born of her love for 
 Laurence, made her shrink from talking openly about 
 her feelings towards him; and a new loyalty to him 
 and everything concerning him. made her shrink still 
 more from talking openly of his feelings towards her 
 
rr 
 
 184 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " Do you mean that you think he'll die of a broken 
 heart, or anything thrilling of that kind ? " persisted 
 Nora, who liked to sift a matter to its dregs. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! But I'm afraid he'll mind dreadfully ; 
 land that he won't laugh it ofi' as we should, if people 
 said we'd done anything queer." 
 
 '' Yes ; lie's much more sensitive than we are ; and 
 that's a pity." 
 
 " It isn't a pity at all," Nancy fired up ; " it only shows 
 what tremendously fine material he is made of, and how 
 immensely superior he is to us." 
 
 " He may be superior to us, but he isn't superior to 
 Mr. Arbuihnot; and Mr. Ai\,athnotsays it is enervating 
 to care as much for the censure of other people as 
 Laurence Baxendale cares." 
 
 " Mr. Arbuthnot should mind his own business and 
 not interfere with things that don't concern him ! " 
 
 " He doesn't interfti e. He told me he was longing 
 to tell Laurence how much he sympathized with him, 
 and what a pity he thought it was that Ijaurence was 
 taking the matter in the way he is taking it ; but that 
 he didn't ventv.;-e to do so for fear Laurence should 
 think he was taking a liberty." 
 
 "Then he ought to have spoken to Laurence and 
 lihown his sympathy with him, and advised him not to 
 take idle gossip so much to heart. It was his duty as 
 a parish priest to do so, and I think it has shown great 
 neglect on his part to leave poor Laurence so much to 
 himself," cried Nancy, with fine disregard of her last 
 remark. 
 
 " But it is difficult not to leave people to themselves, 
 when they persist in keeping to themselves : and you 
 can't deny that Laurence Baxendale is doing that. He 
 
THE LOSING OP THE KEYS 185 
 
 hasn't been near us since the Hall was burnt down ; and 
 he used to drop in nearly every day." 
 
 A woman will always endeavour to prove a satis- 
 factory alibi on the part of a man who has no., been to 
 see her as often as she thinks— and would rather die 
 than own she thinks— he ought; and the more clearly 
 she sees that he could have come if he had wished to do 
 so, the more conclusively does she demonstrate that his 
 advent would have entailed a suspension of all tlio 
 laws of nature. Wherefore Nancy quickly replied: 
 "He coulf^n't possibly have come; he's been much too 
 busy, put jng his own fire out and consuming his own 
 smoke, to pay calls. He's had no end of things to do 
 since the Hall was burnt down." 
 
 " I daresay he has ; but, all the same, he might have 
 looked in, just for five minutes, if only to tell us that 
 he hadn't time to do so. However busy a person is, be 
 has always time to write and say that he hasn't time 
 to write; at least that has been my experience; and 
 the principle is the same with calls as with letters." 
 
 " How silly you are, Nora ! He has been up at the 
 Hall every day, looking after things." 
 
 "I know that; but he might have come here before 
 he went or after he came back, so that we might have 
 told him how sony we are for him." 
 
 " But that is just what Laurence would hate— to feel 
 that people were sorry for him." 
 
 " That's what 1 call so stand-offish and unneighbourly. 
 I always likj people to be „orry for me, even if they've 
 no cause to be. I love to be pitied; it makes people 
 so fend of one." 
 
 "And I hate to be pitied— there's the difference 
 between you and me, my dear Nora. I adore admira- 
 
186 
 
 FUEL OP nRE 
 
 tion and I hate pity. Whatever I had to suffer I 
 
 nobody. Nancy siopped just in time. 
 
 Nora gazed thoughtfully at her sister. "You "and 
 Mr. Baxendale aren't really so very different, after all 
 I believe you are as proud underneath your outspoken " 
 ness as he is underneath his stiffness; rjid you woul.l 
 hate to be pitied every bit as much as he would " 
 
 " ^«f' I should, I should ; and that's why I under- 
 stand the reason of his not wanting to come and see 
 us, explained J,anry, forgetting that she had just 
 proved that there wis no such reason, nor any n-,ed 
 for one; "he feels that we should pity him, and that 
 we should show It; and that's just what he couldn't 
 stand. 
 
 " Well, I Mn't grasp the idea. Do you mean to say, 
 JVau that if ,ou were unhappy.it wouldn't comfort 
 you to know that other people were sorry ? " 
 
 "Good gracious, no! It would make everything a 
 thousand times worse. I wish people to envy me I 
 don t even mind their disliking me ; and I enjoy their 
 disapproving of me. But all the time I insist on their 
 regardmg me as a brilUant young woman, and admir- 
 ing me even while they detest." 
 
 "Well, you are funny! I'm not made a bit like 
 that. 
 
 " I am ; and it's a very good make, too." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you would rather be admired 
 
 than loved ? " asked Nora. 
 
 "Much rather. Admiration without love I delight 
 
 in; but love without admiration would make me 
 
 positively ill." 
 
 "I expect that is why you and Laurence get on so 
 
THE LOSING OF THE KEYS 187 
 
 well together; you are >Kjth proud, though in guch 
 <lmorent waya" 
 
 "Ves; we are alike in some things, but not in 
 others — I only wish we were!" 
 
 5fou mean you wish he was more like us." 
 
 "Oh, dear no I I wish I was more like hini." 
 
 Nora was silent for a moment ; then she said : " You 
 admire him very much, don't you, Nancy ? " 
 
 " I should just think I do. More than any one else 
 I ever saw-or ever dreamed of." Nancy's reserve 
 was beginning to thaw in the warm atmosphere of 
 sisterly communion. 
 
 ■ I wonder if you admire him as much as I admire 
 Michael Arbuthnot. 
 
 Nancy laughed the laugh of the scornful '< I should 
 rather think so! There's so much more in him to 
 admira 
 
 But her sister was not going to stand that. " Oh ' 
 no there isn't. In the first place, he is a layman ; and 
 m the second, he hasn't half so much to say for him- 
 
 .:;.f ?!^^ "^"^^ '"^■"^^ '*•'" "" '^"Ch as the vicar " 
 Well, I can-and do." Nancy could be obstinate 
 when occasion demanded it. 
 
 Nora's pretty forehead was wrinkled with thou-rht 
 "Do you feel that you thoroughly understand Laurence 
 Baxendale ? she asked ; " I often wonder if you do " 
 
 Nancy paused for a second before replying: " Yes— 
 and no," she said slowly. 
 
 "Oh! how very interesting; do explain, Nan" 
 
 "I always know what he wil' ■ in any jriven 
 circumstances, but I don't alwa , jw why he will 
 do ,t Just as I always know wh.u I have hurt him 
 but hardly ever how I have hurt him." 
 
188 
 
 PUEL OF HRE 
 
 "I aee; you know exactly where ho will get to, but 
 you don't know by what road." 
 
 "Yes; that's it For instance, I understand that 
 because he ,s hurt and sore he will not come near to 
 any of us for fear we should pity him ; but why the idle 
 gOMipof the people about here should make him so sore 
 " Id hurt him so much I haven't the ghost of an idea. If 
 
 knew I hadn't done a thing, I shouldn't care who 
 said I had. 
 
 "He evidently is tremendously cut up about it or 
 ek« he wouldn't shut himself up in the way he is 
 
 "Yes; and I'll tell you more," exclaimed Nancy in a 
 sudden burst of sisterly confidence. « I knew he'd go 
 hke this the minute I heard what nonsense people 
 were talking; though why he should take it sThard 
 1 can t conceive." 
 
 "And it's such a mistake; because, as father says 
 It makes people think that their suspicions against 
 nim are correct" 
 
 Nancy wrung her hands. " I know, I know ; that is 
 where ho is such a good, noble, stupid darling. He 
 has no idea of taking the courae most advantageous to 
 himself. * 
 
 "It is a pity," sighed preity Nora, with the not 
 altogether unbearable sorrow which even the best of 
 women feel over the follies of a brother-in-law 'either 
 vn ease or %n posse); "heaps of men would have turned 
 this misfortune to their own account and made quite 
 a piece of good luck out of it" 
 
 ■Do you think I don't know that?" And poor 
 Wancy fairly groaned. 
 
 " But your dear Laurence never will. Now, if only 
 
THE LOSING OF THE KEYS 189 
 
 ho'd monago things the right way," continued Nora 
 "the whole affair would turn out for his good He 
 would bo saved for the future from paying that tire- 
 some insurance money; and would pocket a fortune of 
 a hundred thousand pounds into the bargain. But 
 NOme people have a knack of taking occasion by the 
 hand ; and others haven't" 
 
 " That's true. King Canute, for instance, was built 
 after the Baxendale pattern when he rebuked his 
 courtiers for saying that he could rule the waves d la 
 Britannia ; and then had his throne put where he knew 
 the sea would wash over him, after he had specially 
 lorbidden it to do so." 
 
 "Yes; that's exactly what Laurence would have 
 done." 
 
 " Now had I been in Canute's place," Nancy went 
 on, "I should have placed my throne just half a yard 
 above high-water mark ; and I shouii! have ordered 
 the sea not to touch my feet ; and of course it wrr dn't 
 Then I should have turned to my courtiers and said 
 ' Right you were ! ' " ' 
 
 "But they wouldn't have believed either you or 
 themselves; they'd have seen through your little 
 dodge, and have known that the sea didn't really 
 obey you." •' 
 
 "Of course they would; but they'd have winked 
 behind my back to one another and said, 'She knows 
 a thing or two. does Mrs. Canute ! ' Now it seems to 
 me that great men are like Canute; they .show to the 
 world how small a thing is their own greatness com- 
 pared with the greatness of abstract truth. But clever 
 men are like me: they adapt the greatness of abstract 
 truth to increase their own greatness ; and the world 
 
190 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 isn't always quite sure where the one ends and the 
 other begins." 
 
 "I wonder which feels the nicest — to be great or 
 to be clever." 
 
 "It depends on the sort of things that you enjoy 
 most If you want your biography to be read on 
 Sunday afternoons by the next generation, be great ; 
 but if you want a Peerage or Westminster Abbey, be 
 clever." 
 
 " B- ' I don't want either, as it happens," Nora 
 explained. 
 
 " Then if you don't know what you want, what's 
 the use of asking me how to get it, silly ? " 
 
 " I do know what I want, though." 
 
 " Oh ! if you only want a sweetheart for youth, and 
 a husband for middle-age, and a widower to plant 
 forget-me-nots on your grave — which is all that most 
 women want — you needn't trouble to be either great or 
 clever; it will be quite enough if you do your hair 
 nicely, and wear your best clothes when there's an 
 off-chance of seeing him," said Nancy. 
 
 "Oh! Nancy, how wise you are — about always 
 wearing one's best clothes, I mean ; but, all the same, 
 it comes rather expensive." 
 
 "It does; I know that from experience. I don't 
 mind telling you as a secret that the return of the 
 Baxendales from Drawbridge Castle has taken three 
 months off the average life of a new hat, as far as I am 
 concerned." 
 
 " I know ; and yet it doesn't do to go out in an old 
 one when there's a chance of meeting anybody." And 
 Nora looked very serious. 
 
 "Of course it doesn't Why, my dear, I once heard 
 
THE LOSING OF THE KEYS 191 
 
 a dreadful tale— and it was quite true, too— of a man 
 who was very fond of a girl, and was just going to 
 propose to her ; but he happened' to meet her at a party 
 where she wore her last year's hat; and she looked so 
 dowdy that it fairly choked him off." 
 
 "Then do you think men always like us less when 
 we don't look nice, Nancy ? " 
 
 "I think they always like us better when we do, 
 which comes to pretty much the same thing. And 
 why strain their affection, poor dears ! to the breaking 
 point ? They are bound to love and cherish us in sick- 
 ness and poverty, and all sorts of similar unpleasant- 
 nesses; but there is no absolute necessity for them to 
 love and cherish us in shabby hats ; and I should never 
 worry them for an extra such as that " 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "After all," continued Nancy, "love— like a canal 
 bridge— ought not to be expected to carry more than 
 the ordinary traffic of the district; and I consider a 
 last year's hat on a par with a traction-engine— greatly 
 in excess of the ordinary traffic, and to be feared 
 accordingly." 
 
 "Yes, Nan, you are right; it doesn't do to strain 
 even love too far." 
 
 There was a few minutes' pause, and then Nancy 
 suddenly asked, d. propos of nothing: "Do you think 
 that the end generally justifies the means, when you 
 want any particular thing ? " 
 
 "Mr. Arbuthnotsays it dor ,/t." 
 
 •' Still, you see, he is a clergyman, and so would take 
 stricter views of things than ordinary people. Being 
 a clergyman must make every day like Sunday, don't 
 you think ? " 
 
192 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " Then should you say that being a clergyman's wife 
 would make every day like Sunday, too ? " Nora's face 
 was quite anxious as she put this question. 
 
 "Not quite; more like Saints' days and Harvest- 
 festivals and Christmas — neither one thing nor another. 
 But don't you think that with an ordinary man or 
 woman the end would justify the means ? " 
 
 " I really don't know. Do you think it would ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Nancy sen", lasly, " I do. I think that 
 if you want a thing with all your heart — and are con- 
 vinced that the thing will do you good and not harm 
 if you get it — ^you are justified in leaving no stone 
 unturned in trying to get that particular thing." 
 
 " But you wouldn't do anything that was actually 
 wrong in trying to get it, would you. Nan ? " 
 
 " Ah ! there's my diflSculty : it's so hard for me to 
 know what is actually wrong and what isn't. I'm sure 
 that different people have different kinds of consciences, 
 just as they have different kinds of ears and eyes." 
 
 Nora looked puzzled. " How do you mean ? I don't 
 quite understand." 
 
 " I tnean that one man has a sensitive ear, so that he 
 can tell at once if a note is out of tune ; and another 
 man hasn't. And one man has a sensitive eye, so that 
 he can tell at once whether colours harmonize with each 
 other or not ; and another man hasn't. And one man 
 has a sensitive conscience, so that he can tell at once if 
 a thing is wrong ; and another man hasn't." 
 
 "Then haven't you got a sensitive conscience, 
 Nancy ? " 
 
 "No, I haven't; I can't tell instinctively whether a 
 thing is right or wrong, as some people can. If any 
 one proved to my entire satisfaction that a thing was 
 
 r.' Jl Vi' 
 
THE LOSING OF THE KEYS 193 
 
 actually wrong, I wouldn't do that thing for worlds; 
 but I have no power of finding out for myself whethe; 
 things are right or wrong." 
 
 " Haven't you ? How funny ! " 
 
 " Well, I can't help it if I'm made like that, any more 
 than unmusical people or colour-blind people can help 
 
 N^a looked .oubtful. "I don't know; I'm afraid 
 It rather wicked of you. 
 
 " No. it isn't ; it really isn't. Things that you can't 
 help cant be wicked. You might jusfas welUay tha 
 It s wicked to be deaf, or blind, or lame. It is better 
 thtn" '''^'■''' ''° ^'^^kedness about the 
 
 "Then do you mean to say, Nancy, that your 
 conscience never acts at ail-neither backwards nor 
 forwards ? If it doesn't keep you from doing thinZ 
 doesn t It make you miserable after youVe do-^e themi "' 
 
 ou^htlf T\ " °'^"' P^°P'^ P^°^^ *° ">« that I 
 oughtn t to have done something that I have done, then 
 of course I m dreadfully so^y that I did it. But I can't 
 find ou for myself that oughtn't to have done ic." 
 Well, remarked Nora, "you can't say that you 
 and Laurence are alike in this respect, if Vou are in 
 others; for a more active conscience than his I never 
 came across. 
 
 "Active ?-it'8 more than active ! It's always in a 
 state of eruption, like Vesuvius." 
 
 "And I should think you find it very difficult to 
 understand this part of his character" 
 
 "I find It more than difficult," replied Nancy "I 
 find It utterly impossible. One thing, however, I have 
 learned from observation and experience; and that is, 
 
 id 
 
194 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 I 
 
 however incomprehensible a man may be, it is always 
 a mistake for a woman to try to translate him for the 
 benefit of the audience. She only makes matters 
 worse. Her translation doesn't render him an atom 
 easier to be understood; but it has such an irritating 
 effect upon him, that he makes himself more trouble- 
 some and obscure on purpose. If a woman wants to 
 study men, she must do so in the original ; it is useless 
 attempting to publish them in one's own mother 
 tongue." 
 
 " Men are, like poetry, aren't they ? If you attempt 
 to translate them, all the rhyme and most of the 
 reason are lost in the process." 
 
 " What ever brings you girls stuffed up in the house 
 this lovely afternoon?" exclaimed Anthony Burton 
 bursting into the room where the two sisters were 
 sitting. 
 
 " I'm going out almost at once," replied Nancy ; " but 
 I thought the longer I waited the cooler it would get." 
 
 " I imagined that our beloved Nora would be attend- 
 ing evensong," remarked Nora's cousin, witii a malicious 
 twinkle m his eye; "but evidently I exaggerated that 
 young woman's devotional tendencies." 
 
 "I am going to evensong," Nora demurely replied- 
 "I always go on Wednesdays and Fridays But it 
 isn't time to start yet," she add».d, looking at the 
 clock; "It is only a quarter past four." 
 
 " Only a quarter past four by this clock," Anthony 
 retorted; "but other clocks tell a very different 
 
 Nora started up from her seat aghast. "Do you 
 mean to say that this clock isn't right ? What a nui- 
 sance! I was depending upon it, and thought I had 
 
THE LOSING OP THE KEYS 195 
 
 Nora stamped impatiently. " Don't be silly but t<.II 
 me what time it is by your watch " ^' ^" 
 
 four^''' '""' "' ''^^°"'' '^°'^' «^^*««° «"•«"'«« past 
 
 oth.l"" ^°" '"■'t*''"' *•*'■' '='°'=^ ^«« different from the 
 others, argued Nancy with a frown ^^ ine 
 
 A,ilf°,'' >■«; quite different from all the clocks in 
 Austraha and America and Africa, and even on fh! 
 o her s,de of Europe. But I neve'r safd that it was 
 
 The two girls burst out laughing 
 
 "What a goose you are!" exclaimed Nora- "you 
 did give me a fright." ' ^ 
 
 •'That, my dear child, was my intention.' 
 Well at any rate I shall .t=rt now," she added '• so 
 as to be .n church by five o'clock, as I don't ttt Z 
 
 lef't^he^^o^ ?*■ '*?•" '"■'^ ^'""^y-' ""-l '•>« two girls 
 lelt the room together, and then went their several 
 
 J^ora as to where she remembered seeing them last. 
 
r^ 
 
 196 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Nancy had never told her sister about Laurence's loan 
 of the keys of Baxendale ; and now she did not wish 
 to mention the fact to anybody. She was clever 
 enough to know that— in the present unpleasant state 
 of affairs — the less that was said about any one's 
 having access to the Hall the better. She did re- 
 member putting the keys into the pocket of a clean 
 blue muslin dress the morning before the fire ; but she 
 further remembered going up to Baxendale Hall that 
 very day, and using both the key of the front door 
 and the key of the library. But from that time she 
 had no rjcoUection of seeing the bunch of keys at 
 all. She had only just discovered her loss. It had 
 occurred to i er that as she had no further use for the 
 keys she had better return them to Laurence ; and on 
 looking for them in order to give them back to him, lo ! 
 they were nowhere to be found. 
 
 She had been searching for them all the morning in 
 the house and garden of Wayside ; and now she thought 
 she would walk up to Baxendale, by her accustomed 
 path, and see if she could find them either on the way 
 or there. But though her eyes were busy peering in 
 every possible spot for the missing keys, her thoughts 
 were filled with Laurence. In accordance with her 
 usual light-heartedness, she resolutely put from her the 
 thought that the burning of Baxendale Hall could be 
 anything but a blessing ordained for the special pur- 
 poES of putting her lover and herself in a position to 
 marry; nevertheless she could not quite banish the 
 consciousness that hitherto the catastrophe, instead of 
 bringing her and Laurence together, had served to drive 
 them apart. It was very strange, she thought, that 
 Laurence did not come to her in his trouble, as she 
 
THE LOSING OF THE KEYS 197 
 
 would liave gone to him had t.he trouble been here ; 
 but there was a certain ghastly ."imiliarity in the' 
 strangeness— a certain cruel convincingness in the 
 impossibility— which men and women experience when 
 they realize that the incredible has come to pass, and 
 that the unbearable has to be borne. 
 
 Also there clutched at the heart of Nancy the first 
 pangs of that world-old agony which comes to all of us 
 when we first understand that there are limitations to 
 our gift of consolation towards those whom we love best 
 —that our power to love and our power to console are by 
 no means synonymous. It is when our best-beloved 
 are writhing from the effects of a wound which no 
 touch of ours can heal or even soothe, that we arc 
 brought face to face with the incapacities of human 
 aflfection. We would gladly give our very lives if this 
 pain could be in any way diminished— but it cannot; 
 our powerlessness is as complete as is our sympathy.' 
 As we go through the world, we love and are loved by 
 many; we cheer and are cheered by many; we help 
 and are helped by many ; but if, in the whole course of 
 a lifetime, we find one human heart which we are able 
 perfectly to heal and to comfort— one human hand 
 which is able perfectly to heal and to comfort us— we 
 may of a truth consider ourselves blessed ; for this is 
 the greatest and the rarest gift vouchsafed to the sons 
 and daughters of men. 
 
 As Nancy was struggling against the conviction that 
 Laurence had gone down into the shades of the prison- 
 house, and had shut the door in her face in spite of all 
 her longing to follow him, she suddenly raised her eyes 
 and saw lier beloved coming towards her along the 
 grassy lane. She had looked for him at the cross-roads, 
 
198 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 and he was nowhere to be seen ; so she had gone on 
 her way with that heart-sickness which is the invariable 
 result of not finding the expected person at the ac- 
 customed place. But now she met him at another 
 point of the road, on his way from Baxendale to the 
 Poplar Farm— not, £s she was quick to perceive, on his 
 way from Poplar Farm to Wayside ; and the perception 
 cut her like a knife. 
 
 :H- 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE J-INDINQ OF THE KEYS. 
 
 Sometimes the finding of a thing 
 More sorrow than the loss doth bring. 
 
 Nancy's first impulse, on meeting her lover in the lane 
 was to rush into his arms and tell him straight out how 
 her hear was overflowing with love and pity for him 
 and ask h,m why he had not come to her for comfort.' 
 But the sight of his face as he drew nearer nipped thi., 
 inclination in the bud. ^^ 
 
 There was something about Laurence Baxendale-^ 
 something jntangible and indescribable, yet nevertheless 
 to be felt by all who were brought into contact with 
 him-which impressed other people in spite of them- 
 selves, and forbade them to take the shadow of a 
 liberty w. h him. or even to treat him with the "hail 
 fellow well met ' of common familiarity. It may have 
 been the innate distinction born of a long line of noble 
 ancestry; ,t may have been the still higher dignity 
 conferred by an honourable and single-minded chai^ 
 acter; but, whatever it was, nobody who came within 
 the sphere of Laurence's influence could be unconscious 
 of Its presence, or could fail to perceive that in some 
 subtle and indefinable way, this man was made of finer 
 material than his fellowa It did not make men love 
 him any the better-rather, perhaps, it made the 
 (199) 
 
200 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 111 
 1 1 
 
 majority of them love him somewhat the lesfi; but 
 it made them one and all respect, even if they feared, 
 him; and it caused all sordid thoughts and mean 
 aspirations to shrivel up in his presence, as flowers 
 in a frost. 
 
 Nancy had always been conscious of this character- 
 istic in her lover, and now and then it had frightened 
 her; frightened her with the thought that some day 
 she should do 80methin<; not in accordance with the 
 strict and honourable code of Laurence Baxendale ; and 
 that then there would be found for her, in his merciless 
 judgment, no place of repentance, even though she 
 sought it carefully and with tears. She felt that 
 Laurence's own truthfulness and consistency would 
 only serve to make him all the harder in his condemna- 
 tion of those who were neither true nor consistent; and 
 that he would say, with the Apostle, that those' who 
 offended in one matter oflendod in all. 
 
 She had often said to herself that if ever she did 
 what he considered wrong, she should never have the 
 courage to confess her fault to him and beg for his 
 forgiveness. No; she should have to deceive him as 
 to her deficiencies as long as she could; and, when 
 deceit was no longer possible, she should have' to go 
 out of his life altogether; for the well-bred disdain 
 which he meted out to all whom he considered unworthy 
 of his respect was more, Nancy felt, than she could 
 bear. 
 
 She was by nature a woman of quick perceptions; 
 and there is no such sharpener of natural perceptions 
 as love; therefore her first sight of Laurence's face 
 told her that he was in one of the moods when he was 
 most terrible to, and unattainable by, his inferior fellow- 
 
THE FINDING OP THE KEYS 201 
 
 creaturea She had moant to tell him about the loss 
 of the keys; but the way in which he greeted her 
 showed her that this was not the occasion for enlighten- 
 ing her lover as to any of her shortcomings; so she 
 decided on this matter to hold her peace until a more 
 opportune moment presented itself. 
 
 But although Nancy was a woman of quick, she was 
 not a woman of deep, penetration. She saw that on 
 the surface Laurence was severe in his strictures and 
 stem m his judgments; and there she stopped She 
 did not go below the outer crust of the man, and fathom 
 the depths of tenderness hidden beneath the apparent 
 coldness and hauteur of his demeanour. At present 
 she had nothing to draw with, and the well was deep 
 In tmeit might be that her own love for him would 
 teach her fully to comprehend his love for her ; but love 
 IS a slow— though a competent— schoolmaster, and his 
 plan of education is by no means a rapid one • the 
 cramming system is not his. And wherefore need he 
 hurry, seeing that he is indeed immortal, anJ that his 
 pupils will be through all eternity his pupils still ? 
 
 But in the learning process men and women make sad 
 and many mistakes; and Nancy was making one now 
 m allowing Laurence's chilly greeting of her— a chilli' 
 ne^ arising solely from the shyness which found it 
 difficult for him to express deep feeling, and the 
 sensitivene,- which feared that any such expression 
 should be mi.,anderstood-to blind her eyes to the real 
 anguish of the man's soul, and to deafen her ears to his 
 silent cry for her help and sympathy in his hour of 
 need. 
 
 So it came about tliat poor, foolish little Nancy met 
 Laurence with a half-jesting manner which put him 
 
SM 
 
 FUEL OF HRE 
 
 farther away from her than the coldest stiffness would 
 have done ; and added greatly to the weight of that 
 burden which he already felt was almost greater than 
 he could bear. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, is it?" she remarked airily, as if his 
 appearance (which she had vainly looked for at the 
 cross-roads) was a complete surprise. " Where are you 
 going to, my pretty sir ? " 
 
 " I'm going home," replied Laurence ; and the misery 
 in his eyes almost broke through Nancy's flippancy ; 
 but not quite. 
 
 " I haven't seen you for ages and ages — four hundred 
 years at least, if not five. It is so long since you have 
 been to Wayside that I concluded you'd forgotten where 
 the place was situated ; and I meant to send you » •Df.:. 
 with the spot marked specially on it in red ink, as if it 
 were a station for a projected railway." If Laurence 
 could be indifferent, so could she, Nancy remarked to 
 herself ; as if indifference and the look in Laurence's 
 eyes were on speaking terms with each other! But 
 there is no one so blind a.s the woman who has made up 
 her mind beforehand to see something else. 
 
 "I have been very busy for one thing; and for 
 another, I didn't feel much in the humour for paying 
 calla" 
 
 It was an inadequate speech, and Laurence knew 
 and regretted it ; but for the life of him he could not 
 think of any less lame excuse. 
 
 Nancy tossed her head. " Oh ! you needn't apologize 
 to me for not coming, if you didn't want to coma 
 There's nothing bores me so much as apologies. If 
 people want to come and see you, they'll come and see 
 you ; and if they don't want, wnat's the use of telling 
 
'/^f 
 
 THE FINDING OF THE KEYS 203 
 
 fibs .bout it? It isn't one of the -even deadly Bins 
 not to yearn to call upon tho Burtons every other 
 afternoon. Its merely a matter of taste " 
 
 Laurence felt himself visibly freezing under this 
 treatmentof Nancys. There is no barrier which! com! 
 pletely estranges man from man-«„d, still more man 
 from woman-as flippancy, whether real or assumed; 
 t w a l.tto matter which indeed separateth very 
 frienda-and lovers even more effectually 
 
 dumfrnt:;!"' ''' "°' "p'^- ""* '""'^^ '' ^"-j' - 
 
 '■I never quarrel with people for not coming to see 
 me, any more than I quarrel with them for not writintt 
 to me, she went on in her most nonchalant style 
 because a quarrel .s no fun when there's some ground 
 for ,t. It ,s when there is absolutely no excuse for it 
 that a quarrel is pure joy. Just as there's no pleasure 
 .n saying nasty things that you really mean- the 
 pleasure ,s m saying nasty things that you don't mean. 
 I make a pomt of never making sharp speeches to people 
 who deserve them, because I find if I do the culprits 
 are so pa.ned by the accurate fit of the cap that they 
 
 ZtVlo? " " " ^"^'""'^ '''"°"''^- °°" 'y°" 'hink 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Nancy stamped her foot. "I wish you wouldn't 
 always say, 'I don't know.' when I ask you thin" i 
 .8 a habit o yours which aggravates me almost to di 
 tracfon. What do I care what you know, as long as 
 there is somethmg you can find to say ? I'm „ot ^ 
 Cambridge Local Examiner, or a Bishop Veparinrvou 
 
 or Orcl>nat,on. that you need be so careful to treat me 
 to nothing but accurate knowledge." 
 
204 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Again Laurence was silent. Was this heartless 
 coquette the woman ho had clasped in his arms just one 
 week— a long eternity of one week— ago ? And if so, 
 which was the real Nancy ? he wondered. Was this 
 flippancy merely a cloak to hide her warmer and deeper 
 feelings ; or had she been playing with him all along ? 
 Perhaps he ought to have known her better than to 
 suspect her of this latter insincerity ; but when a man's 
 heart is bleeding from the effects of Fortune's buffets 
 and his neighbours' sneers, he is not always capable of 
 judging righteous judgment. 
 
 " You are very dull this afternoon," the girl continued, 
 HI defiance of the tugs at her heartstrings which the 
 tone of Laurence's voice produced. The woman who 
 can hear the sound of pain in her lover's voice unmoved 
 has yet to be born ; but the women who can hear that 
 sound without showing that they are moved are by 
 name Legion. " And dulness is the one thing that my 
 soul abhors," she added; "it is bad enough to say, 'I 
 don't know ' ; but it is ten times worse to say nothing 
 at all ; and you've been guilty of both enormities during 
 the last five minutes. Think of committing two un- 
 pardonable sins in less than five minutes ! I am down- 
 right ashamed of you, Mr. Baxendale. Here is a nice 
 rule-of-three sum for you to work out : if a man com- 
 mits two unpardonable sins in five minutes, how many 
 unpardonable sins will he commit in seventy years ? " 
 
 Laurence raised his hat. His spirit was so sorely 
 wounded that Nancy's cruelly careless touch upontheraw 
 was more than he could bear just now. " I cannot help 
 being dull, Nancy, but I can help inflicting that dulness 
 upon other people ; so I will wish you good-afternoon." 
 And before the girl could reply he had passed oa 
 
THE FINPTNO OF THE KEYS 205 
 
 was to Diame. So s.xe waiKed on, with her chin in the 
 a.r repeating to herself the uncomforting fornmla tJafc 
 f he was too proud to ask for her sympathv she w 
 too proud to nffo- ;* a j ■ ''•'""P*"''iy she was 
 
 daily constitutional ? 'g irom ner 
 
 "Oh, my dear Miss Burton," exclaimed her ladvshin 
 as soon as she was within earshot; "howSd I IT! 
 
 trophe, and ,t is so necessary to have some one with 
 whom one can talk one's troubles over-some olhr 
 
 iixactly, dear child; what a sweet anH nt, ■ 
 
 Perhaps so; and it certainly adds tr, th^ <.■ 
 
 it when one realizes that it k a11 - '''"^ °^ 
 
 "*'' mat It IS all ones own fault" 
 
m ,""W^---'^ •"""• 
 
 206 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 It 
 
 " Oh ! I daresay it does ; but as none of my troubles 
 were my own fault, I have been spared that pang ; and 
 that has always been so nice for me. But Laurence 
 never seemed to understand how his poor dear father 
 spoiled my life ; and so he never blamed his father and 
 sympathized with me, as a dear, sweet daughter would 
 have done. Dear girl, how I should have loved her ! 
 And I am sure she would have been good-looking, 
 because all my family are. No Moate could have borne 
 the disgrace of having a plain daughter, because we 
 had done nothing to deserve it ; and it is so hard to 
 bear troubles that you feel you do not deserve, isn't it, 
 dear Miss Burton ? " 
 
 "Horrid," agreed Nancy; "and even worse if you 
 feel you do. If a disagreeable i 'ling happens to you 
 which you don't deserve, you have an idea that some 
 day it will be made up to you. But if you do deserve 
 it, you feel you are only paying your own bills, and 
 that is a most wearisome occupation." 
 
 "Yes, dear child; and now I want to talk to you 
 about this sad, shocking, dreadful fire! Were you 
 ever so surprised in your life as when you found dear 
 Baxendale burnt do-vn, and so quickly too ? " 
 
 "It was an awful thing to happen," Nancy said, 
 trying to speak as lightly as she could of the matter 
 whereof her heart was full; "but I don't think one 
 can be altogether surprised when one recollects how 
 inflammable all those books and pictures and parch- 
 ments must have been ; and how violent the wind was 
 that night." 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course ; so very violent, as you say, and 
 there is nothing that spreads a fire so quickly as wind. 
 Just see what a pair of blow-bellows will do when you 
 
THE FINDING OF THE KEYS 
 
 207 
 
 think the drawing-room fire has actually gone out, and 
 that you will have to ring for a servant to relight it ; 
 and it always annoys servants to have to relight a 
 fire in the middle of the day, though I'm sure I don't 
 know why it should. But, as you say, dear child, the 
 fire at Baxendale, though very sad and shocking, was 
 what we might have expected." Lady Alicia appeared 
 to be much pleased by this opinion of Nancy's. 
 
 " And I really cannot see why people should be in 
 such a state of curiosity as to how it began," continued 
 Nancy ; " the merest accident — which in a newer house 
 on a less windy day would have had no effect at all, 
 and would never have been even heard of or known 
 about — would be quite enough, in the circumstances, 
 to account for the whole thing." 
 
 " Of course it would, my dear Miss Burton or may 
 
 I call you Nancy ? It is so nice and friendly to call 
 people you really like by their Christian nam"es, don't 
 you think? How very wise and sensible you are! 
 So much common sense is quite remarkable in such a 
 young girl ; perhaps the fact that your father is such 
 a clever business man has something to do with it As 
 you say, the fire at Baxendale was not at all to be 
 wondered at, considering all the circumstances of the 
 case ; it was, in fact, quite the natural consequence " 
 "So I think." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, and you are quite right. And would 
 you mind mentioning this view of yours to dear 
 Laurence— just in casual conversation, you know, for 
 I think so much real good is often done by casual 
 conversation— as it may not have struck him quite in 
 the same light ? Common sense is not his forte, you 
 see, my dear, any more than it was the forte of his 
 
208 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 poor father. But just a word from you to him upon 
 t ie subject might do him a world of good " It is 
 always more or less of a tragedy when the time comes 
 tor a mother to influence her own son through the 
 medium of another woman's newer and stronger power • 
 and especially when she does so openly. It is the 
 public acknowledgment of a Queen Regent that her 
 term of office is over, and that the Queen Regnant 
 has entered into her kingdom. 
 
 Nancy understood the situation, and recognized the 
 pathos of It She was clear-sighted enough when not 
 blinded by her own passions. 
 
 "I'll say it to him if you wish, Lady Alicia," she 
 replied very gently, "and if he gives me the oppor- 
 tunity ; but It IS not always easy to speak to him about 
 things that he doesn't want you to speak to him about 
 you know. ' 
 
 Laurence's mother sighed. "Ah! ye.s, dear Miss 
 Uurton-Nancy, I should say-how wise and far- 
 seeing you are, and what quick perceptions you have < 
 I always think it is so nice for a young girl to have 
 quick perceptions ; it keeps her from making such a lot 
 of social mistakes, even if she marries above her But 
 in a matter like this I think one should make a little 
 effort, dont you know? Because it would be such a 
 pity-such a sad, sad pity-if dear Laurence, throur^h 
 any morbid sensitiveness as to how the fire arose were 
 to have any scruples a'xjut accepting the insurance 
 money. 
 
 The two women looked each other full in the face 
 and the same fear was in the eyes of both-namely' 
 that the longed-for conflagration h.d been all in vain 
 Xt would be a great mistake, too," said Nancy 
 
THE FINDING OF THE KEYS 209 
 
 slowly, "because it would suggest to outsiders that 
 tliere was something queer about the fire after all 
 which of course there wasn't. It was the most natural 
 thing in the world." 
 
 " Yes, yes— most natural, as anybody who gave five 
 minutes' consideration to the matter could see for him- 
 self. But Laurence is like his poor dear father, and is 
 a ways longing for an occasion to sacrifice himself and 
 all his family for the sake of some sentimental scruple " 
 " xt 13 very noble and good of him," exclaimed Nancy 
 loyally ; " but I don't know that it is always wise." 
 
 " I'm not so sure about its being either noble or good 
 Of course it is very beautiful and touching for men who 
 are monks and hermits and anchorites, and sweet wpird 
 things like that, to sacrifice themselves for sentimental 
 scruples, because they have only themselves to consider 
 iind It will be so nice for them to have such a high place 
 in heaven when they get there; but I think that men 
 with mothers and wives, and people of that kind, ought 
 not to coDiider only themselves and their heavenly 
 crowns-they ought to have a little consideration for 
 the women belonging to them. You see, poverty is 
 much more inconvenient and sad for us than it is for 
 men, because-if the worst comes to the worst-they 
 can wear one dress-suit for two or three years, and can 
 take all their meals at the Club." In spite of all h^r 
 silliness, Lady Alicia knew what strings to pull when 
 she gave her mind to the pulling of strings. 
 
 Nancy's mouth grew very firm, not to say hard ■ a 
 woman is capable of being jealous of anythin<r which 
 a man puts before his love for her, even if it be an 
 abstract principle. " I don't think, either, that a man 
 IS justified m pure-: .sing a heavenly crown, and then 
 14 
 
210 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 i.: 
 
 pensive on the women ! " 
 
 "Indeed, it does, my dear child. Not that I Hnn'* 
 agree with Laurence that it is all ver^ nice and ste 
 to be good and npright if one can. witLu intcriS 
 with other people too much; but, like everyttn. e "e 
 It can be carried too far." J' """a else, 
 
 .~-"^i'"f^ ^°' P'°P'' "^ ^' g°°d «t their own 
 expense, agreed Nancy; "but it is sometimes a little 
 trying when they are good at yours. AnTes 'la Iv 
 when, although you have shared the cost w th tTeif 
 
 liziiz^' '''''-'' ^'^'-''^ °^ '^"^"^^ :^o":' 
 
 Lady Alicia sighed again. " And it does seem to me 
 such a pity-quite wrong in fact-not to get a 1 tl 
 good one can out of one's misfortunes. I remember 
 dear Shakespeare once said something about adve^st 
 being like a frog, because there is always some good to 
 be got out of everything if only one will lookX i 
 and I do so agree with him. If this sad affair o? the 
 fire can be turned into a blessing by everybody beW 
 made so much more happy and comfortable beLse o^ 
 the insurance money. I do think it would be really 
 wicked o Laurence not to avail himself of the Iv r 
 hning which IS hidden in the frogs head ; don't you ." 
 Not wicked. Lady Alicia; certainly not wicked 
 Mr. Bazendale couldn't do anything that was wicked 
 
 ve^-'m^idS^.^*^'"^^^--'^^^-^-^-"^^^^^^^ 
 " So do I, dear child ; and, after all, we are sent into 
 
THE FINDING OF THE KEYS 211 
 
 this world to turn our sorrows to good account, aren't 
 we ?— so that it is flying in the face of Providence not 
 to let everything work for our good, as far as we can. 
 I mustn't keep you any longer now ; but I know you 
 will say something nice and convincing to Laurence 
 on the subject— just in casual conversation — won't 
 you ? " 
 
 And with that her ladyship pressed Nancy Burton's 
 hand and went on her way to Poplar Farm, whilst 
 Nancy walked on towards the Hall, her mind aflame 
 with the desire to punish Laurence for treating what 
 she considered a ridiculous scruple as of more import- 
 ance than her future happiness. Yet only yesterday 
 she had been possessed by an, equally intense longing 
 to fall at his feet and tell him that she worshipped 
 him for setting his conception of honour and duty 
 before every other earthly consideration ! 
 
 All the way across the park she looked in vain for 
 her bunch of keys ; and, as she had failed to find them 
 there, she peered about the ruins with a wild hope that 
 she might come across them among the debris. As she 
 
 was continuing her search, a voice suddenly said : 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Burton, but are you seeking for 
 anything ? In the fall of this house, which was great, 
 is there any treasure of yours lying buried ? " And' 
 looking up, Nancy found herself face to face with 
 Rufus Webb. 
 
 " Oh, is it you, Mr. Webb ? Good-aflemoon. Yes, 
 I sm looking for something, namely, a bunch of keys' 
 which I lost some days ago." 
 
 Rufus put his hand into hia pocket and drew out the 
 missing bunch. " Are these thev ? " 
 
 "Yes, these are mine," cried Nancy, seizing them 
 
iirt ;,=S2 
 
 812 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 with a little shriek of thankfulnesa " Where did you 
 find them ? " 
 
 " I picked them up, just outside the front door here, 
 on the afternoon of the day of the fire, exactly eight 
 hours before the judgment of God descended upon 
 Baxendale Hall." 
 
 ! 1 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE LANES. 
 
 " I could not love thee, Dear, so much 
 
 Loved I Dot Honour more " ; 
 A noble precept this: but such 
 
 Make hearts of women sore. 
 
 Even as Lady Alicia and Miss Burton had foretold, 
 so it turned out. Their worst fears were realized: 
 Laurence took no steps whatever to obtain the insur- 
 ance money to which he was legally entitled. It was 
 no hasty decision on his part ; he had many a mental 
 struggle before he came to the conclusion that he could 
 not take the money. TI temptation was indeed great. 
 Could he only overcome his scruples — his absurd 
 scruples, as the world would call them — how easy 
 would life be for him ! He would be enabled to place 
 his mother in a position suited to her birth, and thus 
 free himself from the constant irritation of her com- 
 plaints against men in general, and her late husband 
 and her living son in particular. He would be able to 
 repair the damage wrought by the fire to the Hall, and 
 to live once again in his ancestral home. Best of all, 
 he would h.ive a sufiBcient if a moderate income, and 
 could offer a home to the woman he loved — ah, how he 
 loved her! — he never knew how much until he had 
 convinced himself that honour bade him give her up. 
 Yet, for all this, he felt that he could not take the 
 (213) 
 
214 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 money. Ho was a man who mi{,'ht possibly, in a fit of 
 impulse, commit a };reat crime ; but who would shrink 
 from availing himself of any advantage, pecuniary cr 
 other, which might result to himself. And that he 
 had committed a great crime, the world in which he 
 dwelt— as expressed by the majority of its voicls— had 
 no manner of doubt. With the verdict of society 
 Laurence was fully acquainted. Naturally, no one 
 directly ..lade such an accusation in his presence : the 
 Jaw of libel is specially constructed to meet such cases 
 Few men care to face an action for defamation of 
 character; even if the unfortunate defendant wins his 
 case— which is a rare oci. ■/ rence— he is saddled with a 
 lawyer's bill, which no ho oalled costs, even if wrung 
 from the unsuccessful plaintiff, will satisfy. Wherefore 
 Mr. Baxendale had no direct accusation to face. But 
 he knew well enough the meaning of the shakings of 
 head, the suggestive glances, and the innuendoes wliieh 
 prevailed wherever men and women congregated. He 
 had often professed the profoundest contempt for 
 public opinion; he had looked down with scornful 
 eyes on those men and women who play pitch-and- 
 toss with the Ninth Commandment; yet now the 
 iron entered into his soul, and all his philosophy was 
 insufficient to enable him to be careless of the idle 
 chatter of the village. It was sufficient, indeed, for out- 
 ward show ; he held up his head bravely enough, and 
 even careful observers were unable to discover the pain 
 he was too proud not to conceal. He knew in his heart 
 of hearts that his best friends were right when they 
 counselled him that the surest way of crushing mali- 
 cious gossip was to take the money, and fat the world 
 with an unruffled brow. This indeed he would have 
 
IN THE LANES 
 
 21;: 
 
 done, 
 stifle. 
 
 but for a terrible doubt whicli he could not 
 
 It must not be supposed that Lady Alicia permitted 
 her son to have his way in this matter without a 
 struffgle. Many a time and oft she combated his pride, 
 and strove manfully to overcome his scruples. It was 
 all in vain; Laurence listened with exemplary patience 
 to the maternal homilies; yet steadfastly declined to 
 
 discuss the matter with her. He was very sorry he 
 
 would willingly do anything he could to give her tho 
 luxuries for which she pined— but duty was duty, and 
 he could not oblige her in this matter. 
 
 But Lady Alicia's persistence was an additional 
 trouble to her son ; her arguments that it was fore- 
 told that the Hall should a third time be destroyed, 
 and that the person who set fire to it was one deserving 
 of all credit as the instrument of an overruling Pro- 
 vidence, hurt him more than he would admit. 
 
 As far as the world was concerned, he might just as 
 well have taken the money. Those who had oveitly 
 or covertly insinuated that ho had set fire to the library 
 for the sake of the insurance money, now said that the 
 Insurance Office declined to pay 'he money in so 
 suspicious a case ; and that Mr. Baxendale dared not 
 prosecute his claim by legal proceedings, for fear of 
 having tosubmit to cross-examination in the witness-box. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the Insurance Company, as was 
 only natural, had sent down one of their officials to 
 inquire into the particulars of the fire; and had 
 privately informed Mr. Baxendale that, strange and 
 mysterious as were the "ircumstances, nothing had 
 been discovered which would justify them in refusinif 
 to pay the money. This fact was pretty well known 
 
216 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 f : 
 
 ( i 
 
 among hw friends; but the pride, which prevented 
 him trom claiming the money, iiiccwiso forbade his 
 publishing this intimation upon the house-tops. If 
 he had done so it would hardly have made a diderence 
 There are some people so constituted that, when engaged 
 in the fascinating occupation of gossiping away an- 
 other's character, they are not so much unwilling as 
 unable to pay heed to the clearest evidence. 
 
 Those who acquitted the young squire were much 
 exercised as to how the firo arose. As there is no 
 smoke without fire, so it is unusual for there to be fire 
 without hands to kindle the flame. Whose were the 
 hands ? To this very natural question there seemed 
 no reasonable answer; and if Mr. Baxendale waited 
 until a reasonable answer was forthcoming before claim- 
 ing the money, it seemed as if a considerable interval 
 of patience were before him. This idea occurred to 
 the unfortunate man himself; and, after much self- 
 communing, he decided that it was only fair to let 
 Nancy know the state of affairs. He could not marry 
 her so long as there was a cloud of suspicion han<ring 
 over him, even if she were willing to share his modest 
 income— with a mother-in-law thrown in ! And as a dis- 
 persal of the said clouds was exceedingly problematical, 
 there seemed no course but a termination of their hopea 
 Having come to this conclusion it only remainec" to 
 carry it into effect This was a hard task-far harder 
 than the resigning of a handsome fortune. He was 
 no coxcomb, but he fully believed that he had won 
 Nancy's love— that her heart was completely his. How 
 could he deliberately wound that dear heart ? How 
 could he steel himself to deal that fatal blow, when all 
 the time his own heart was overflowing with love and 
 
IN THE LANES 
 
 217 
 
 tenderness? He thou{,'ht he had sufBcicnt stoicism to 
 bear any pain himself; but it was another thin}; to 
 inflict with his own hand misery and suffering upon 
 the woman whom, despite that torturing doubt which 
 he could not stiHe, he still loved so dearly. Still, 
 horrible as was the situation, it had to be faced ; cruel 
 as was the deed, it had to be done. Postponement, he 
 felt, would make the task no lijjhter. So he set out to 
 call at Wayside, and bring matters to a climax. 
 
 As he walked along the lanes— thase lanes filled with 
 memories once so dear but now so bitter— he tried to 
 find comfort in the thought that Nancy might possibly 
 have fallen in with the current belief, and iniglit regard 
 him as guilty. That would make things easier; for 
 she would be ready, nay anxious, for an end to be put 
 to their relation. He told himself that Nancy was 
 always ready to fall in with the latest opinion ; yet all 
 ,he time he knew that he was doing her an injustice, 
 and that no amount of gossip would ever shake her 
 belitx (. liiio. And again the hideous doubt arose in 
 his owa incivi. " If that is so," he muttered to himself, 
 "she will know the truth about me." And then he 
 bitterly rebuked himself as unworthy for admitting a 
 doubt, which lie knew Nancy was incapable of enter- 
 taining in his case. 
 
 Then he wondered whether she would be at home — 
 whether he would find her alone. He half hoped that 
 he should discover the whole family assembled, in order 
 to have a reasonable excuse for a postponement. Do 
 not we all know what a relief it is when circumstances 
 render impossible the thing which we would not and 
 yet know we ought to do ? Yet he had a feverish 
 desire to get this thing done at any cost as soon as 
 
■^ zmrnmptgtfrmetv*-' 
 
 218 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 inL LTii \«^°'^ distance from the gate leading 
 
 into the fields at the back of Wayside 
 Nancys heart began to beat loudly when she saw 
 
 her lover com.ng towards her; but she managed to 
 
 assume a fine affectation of indifference 
 
 "Is that really Mr. Baxendale?" she asked with 
 apparent surpnse. "What can you be doing walking 
 .n the anes in an afternoon ? Are you sure that you 
 are not a wra.th like Jamie in Auld Robin Grey 
 and that I oughtn't,to be dreadfully frightened of you' 
 and wear my hair d la -fretful porpentine' in c2 
 sequence? Every one says you have determined to 
 become a saintly hermit on account of your lordlv 
 disdam for the unworthy persons who inhabit the e 
 regions. I must say there seems some foundation for 
 these rumours, for we haven't seen you at Wayside for 
 a month of Sundays." wayside tor 
 
 Nancy rattled on in this fashion in order to conceal 
 
 ,umnT.'^'.f ""• /* '^^^^S^^ot Laurence sle had 
 jumped to the conclusion that her belief in her ,^wer 
 over him was now about to be justified. He hXTed 
 to keep away from her. and had failed; now he wa^ 
 commg to tell her so, and to make it up Wheref^ 
 
 up as long as possible; and nothing was more caicu 
 
 h,-^"if\'"?"'''.*°"^'' "' * '■"'« ••« ^^ not shown 
 himsdf backward in playing the game, on this occasbn 
 proved to be unaccountably remiss The old La~ 
 r^tori^ stiffness and shyness, seemed as by mag^' 
 
IN THE LANES 
 
 219 
 
 "I am afraid you are right," he said; "I must have 
 seemed sadly negligent of social duties." 
 
 "Don't be silly, Laurence," cried Nancy; "fancy 
 talking of -social duties '! What I want to know is 
 why haven't you been to see me ? Do you call me a 
 ' social duty ' ? " 
 
 "I haven't been to see you because it would have 
 been painful to us both," said the young man, thinking 
 that he had never seen Nancy look so pretty as she did 
 now. "However I was intending to call this afternoon 
 Indeed I am now on my way." 
 
 "Mother will be very pleased to see you," replied 
 Nancy thmking that Laurence had never looked so 
 stiff and unapproachable. " We had better go in at o-ce 
 You will have some difficulty in making your peace i 
 can tell you. 
 
 "No, don't let us go in. I will call on Mrs. Burton 
 another day. It is you I want to see." 
 
 "Thank you for the compliment," said Nancy with 
 a little curtsy. "After your behaviour lately you 
 dont deserve it; still I don't mind going for a walk 
 with you, If you like. In what direction will you ' turn 
 gentle hermit of the dale ' ? " 
 
 abluUhX"*" ^^"°''"^- ' ^'-'^ *" '^^"^ ^ ^- 
 Nancy assented silently, and they set off in the direc- 
 tion of the Hall. For some minutes neither of them 
 spoke. The man was too full of what he had to say ■ 
 moreover he dreaded beginning. The girl for her 
 part, was not particularly pleased with Laurence for 
 his silence and his stiffness. He did not seem she 
 thought, in any especial hurry to begin the process of 
 makmg it up. However it was not her nature to 
 
220 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 
 keep silence for long; wherefore she soon began to 
 speak. 
 
 "So people are right when they say you propose 
 becoming a hermit, are they ? " she asked. " I am sorry 
 because I don't like hermits; they are generally so 
 dirty and disagreeable." 
 
 Laurence answered her question with another. " Do 
 you believe everything that people say of me 
 Nancy ? " ' 
 
 "It is only right for a properly brought-up young 
 woman to believe what people say, isn't it ? " she asked, 
 with a swift glance ,from her blue eyes. She was rather 
 frightened at the sight of her lover's face. 
 
 " I am not jesting," said Laurence. " You must have 
 heard the common talk that I set fire to my own house 
 in order to secure the insurance money." 
 
 "Yes, of course I have heard aU that," remarked 
 Nancy cheerfully. 
 
 Laurence's heart sank at the tone of her voice. He 
 thought that she beHeved him guilty, and that she was 
 glad so to think. He had only just been hoping that 
 she would think him guilty— but it was to be accom- 
 panied with a proper revulsion from one who could 
 commit such a crime. Yet she seemed rather to be 
 rejoicing at iniquity. 
 
 " So you believe this report ? " he said at last, with a 
 touch of resentment in his voice. 
 
 "Believe it? You silly boy! You don't suppose that 
 I could ever think that you would do such a thing, do 
 you ? Why you are far too proper a person to do any- 
 thing so sensible! You would have scruples and con- 
 scientious objections and searchings of heart at the bare 
 idea I Oh I no, Mr. Baxendale, I know you far too well 
 
IN THE LANES 
 
 221 
 
 to suspect you of common sensa" And Nancy shook 
 her head with the most profound conviction. 
 
 " Then you don't think I did it ? " persisted Laurence, 
 with an eagerness he could not suppress. 
 
 " I know you did not do it," replied Nancy emphati- 
 cally. 
 
 " You know I did not do it ? " 
 
 Nancy nodded with renewed emphasis. 
 
 "But how can you be so certain — unless indeed 
 you know the real culprit ? But that is impossible ? " 
 Laurence could not help the last sentence becomir ' a 
 question instead of a statement. 
 
 " If you are so silly as not to be able to guess how 
 I know, I am not going to tell you," replied Nancy. 
 
 For the second time that afternoon Laurence's heart 
 sank. It was true, then, his horrible suspicion ! No, 
 he would not go so far as that; yet it looked as if it 
 might be true. 
 
 " It does not matter a straw to me," went on Nancy, 
 " what stupid people say. But isn't it lovely that the 
 old curse is fulfilled at last ? Now you will have a good 
 income, and all your money troubles will be over, and 
 
 " Then Miss Burton stopped, as it seemed to her 
 
 only reasonable that her lover should finish the sentence. 
 But this expectation, like many other reasonable ex- 
 pectations, was not fulfilled. 
 
 " That is just what I want to speak to you about," 
 began Laurence, and then he paused. 
 
 Nancy looked at him, but made no efTort to help him 
 on. To tell the truth she was by no means satisfied by 
 what she saw in his face. Love was there, and passion, 
 too ; but the passion was kept in restraint, nor was the 
 Jove of the kind which casteth out fear. Something 
 
222 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 1 K'i 
 
 
 of this she saw ; but she did not know what it cost him 
 to refrain from clasping her in his arms and defying 
 the world. Yet he did it; more than that, he spoke 
 calmly, almost coldly : — 
 
 " You know that I love you, don't you, Nancy ? " 
 
 " I thought so once," replied the girl, piqued by his 
 tone—" but you are behaving so queerly that I shall 
 soon begin to have my doubts." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " It is very evident w? : I mean. A month ago you 
 not only professed to love me, but you seemed' eager to 
 see me as often as you possibly could, and appeared 
 glad when v ju did see me. Ever since the fire you 
 have avoid 3_ me as if I, instead of the Hall, had had 
 scarlet fever ! And now we have met, yon behave as if 
 I were a mad dog or a poor relation, so persistently do 
 you keep me at a distance. A month ago you told me 
 that in all your joys and in all your troubles you would 
 come to me for sympathy. Since the fire, every joy and 
 every trouble has driven you at least five miles in an 
 opposite direction." 
 
 Nancy was fast coming to the conclusion that her 
 original idea as to Mr. Baxendale's intention was 
 erroneous; as a natural consequence her temper was 
 sorely tried. 
 
 " Why don't you answer ? " she cried with a stamp of 
 her foot. " Have you lost your tongue, as they say to 
 children ? " 
 
 " I hesitate to speak," said Laurence gently, " because 
 I know what I have to say will pain me, and I fear it 
 will also pain you." 
 
 " In that case the sooner you speak the better. When 
 one visits the dentist, one doesn't care for much time to 
 
 liiSi 
 
IN THE LANES 
 
 223 
 
 bo spent in the dreary waiting-room furnished with 
 superannuated magazinea" 
 
 " Nancy, I hate to say it ; yet I r lUst — no other course 
 is possible. I love you, my darling, I love you ; and 
 ye we must never see one another again." 
 
 " Never see one another again ? How can you be so 
 ridiculous, Laurence ? This is really absurd ! You 
 say you love me, and I have told you that I love you. 
 What is to prevent our continually seeing one another 
 and being hapjiv ever afterwards, as they are in fair-' 
 tales ? " 
 
 They were now in Baxendale Park, slowly walking 
 towards the ruins. Laurence pointed to the Hall as he 
 said, "The reason is there. The old curse has come 
 true ; and the blow falls upon me. I cannot in honour 
 marry you." 
 
 " It seems to me that it is quite the other way. You 
 have won my love, and I should say you were in honour 
 bound to marry me. As for the curse, it is really a 
 blessing. You might have had scruples about marry- 
 ing before; but the fire has provided you with an 
 adequate income." 
 
 " No, it has not," muttered Laurence gloomily. 
 
 " You seem to have exalted ideas as to adequacy. 
 Anyway the interest on a hundred thousand pounds is 
 enough for me; so don't be silly, there's a dear, and 
 compel me to say that the fire at Baxendale has cooked 
 my goose for me. You are a goose, you know — and 
 mine — but I'll take you uncooked, if you don't mind." 
 
 " Nancy, cannot you understand that I am unable to 
 claim the insurance money ? " 
 
 " Most certainly I cannot. I never heard anything 
 more ridiculous ! What are insurance companies for. 
 
I 
 
 '!' 'I 
 
 224 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 except to make it worth people's while to die or marry 
 or be burnt to death ? They made no difficulty about 
 taking your money as long as there was no fire ; and 
 now that there has been a fire it is your turn to take 
 their money. I don't see why, as the Irishman said, 
 the reciprocity should be all on one side." 
 
 " But people say it was no accident." 
 
 " What does it matter what people say, as long as 
 they don't speak the truth ? And that they hardly 
 ever do, it they are women— which the majority of 
 people are, in England, according to the last census 
 worse luck ! " , 
 
 " But how can I take this money, when it is said 
 that I set my own house on fire in order to get it ? " 
 
 "But you didn't," replied Nancy; "and, as a matter 
 of fact, your declining to take the money will be re- 
 garded as a proof that you did ; just as conscientious 
 scruples against supporting any Nonconformist charity 
 prove that people were brought up as thorough-paced 
 Dissenters, and innocent questions about the habits 
 of the middle-class prove that the anxious inquirers 
 were born and bred in Tottenham Court Road. 
 Nobody apparently knows so little about a thing 
 as those who really know too much." 
 
 " I can't do it, Nancy, I can't do it," cried Laurence. 
 " Don't ask me to do it. It's hard enough as it is to 
 do what I know to be right." 
 
 " I suppose you think it very fine to sacrifice your 
 own interests for the good of the Insurance Company. 
 That is all very well. But you have no right to sacri- 
 fice me on the altar of your absurd scruples. I never 
 set myself up as being an Iphigenia or a, Jephthah'a 
 daughter up to date." 
 
IN THE LANES 
 
 225 
 
 Laurence made no reply. They weie now standing 
 close by the Hall, looking at the ravages made by the 
 fire. For a few minutes neither of them spoke ; then 
 he felt a soft hand steal gently into his own. 
 
 " Laurence darling," whispered Nancy, " you don't 
 mean what you say. Tell me it was all a mistake. 
 Just think of what it means to me. Oh! my love, 
 why can't we be happy together, now that the difficulty 
 of your poverty has been removed ? Not that it was 
 ever a difficulty to me: poverty always seems to me a 
 nice, cheerful, picnicky sort of thing, with a man one 
 really likes. But you made a silly fuss about it while 
 it was here ; and you seem to make a still sillier fuss 
 about it now that it has disappeared." 
 
 " Don't tempt me, sweetheart; don't tempt me ! " 
 
 " Surely you were in earnest when you told me you 
 loved me better than anything on earth ? " 
 
 " You know I meant it, Nancy. Oh ! my darling, 
 don't make it harder for me than it is. I love you 
 better than life itself. But it is a question of honour. 
 I cannot let you marry me so long as saspicion rests 
 upon me. Nor can I take the money." 
 
 Nancy turned to her lover with a look he had 
 never before seen in her blue eyes — love and pride, 
 offended dignity and spurned affection mingled there 
 with a misery that cut him like a knife. 
 
 "Then you prefer your scruples to me? Having 
 won my heart you weigh it in the balances with your 
 conscience, and find that the latter is by far the 
 heavier of the two. Then you scribble Mene tekel all 
 over my heart, and pitch it out of the window as being 
 light weight. But you hug your own conscience in 
 an ecstasy of appreciation. As for what becomes of 
 15 
 
i^^^m 
 
 feTj?f^ . =r'-?^^^mwSiimiMa^ 
 
 SS6 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 II B: 
 
 my rejected heart— whether some ether man picks it 
 up, or whether it is trampled to death in the dust— is 
 a matter of no moment to you. You have your own 
 dear, large, honourable, superfine, extra-weight con- 
 science in its place, and that is enough for you." 
 
 Laurence could only sa;-, "You do not understand 
 me now ; some day you will ". 
 
 " Then all is over between us ? " 
 
 Laurencu literally could not speak : he could only 
 bow in silent misery. 
 
 Nancy drew herself up, and with a scornful " Good- 
 bye, Mr. Baxendale," turned away. 
 
 Baxendale for a few seconds stood rooted to the spot. 
 Then all his love rushed over him with overwhelming 
 force, and he felt he could not let her go. 
 
 " Nancy," he cried, as he started to follow her. 
 
 But she shook her head, and walked proudly on. 
 
 !l) 
 
Wl' 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MRS. CANDY'S OPINION. 
 
 Som. Mtion., which could aevei havo bMn munt 
 Ate brought aboul by purest aooideot, 
 
 ^^y^^ '^""'"I *? J""1 '•'*' ^"""y ^"'">" had to break 
 off the thread of her hfe and begin all over again minus 
 the pr.nc.pal element-a tisk the stupendous difficulty 
 of which 18 not understood save by those who have tried 
 it in person. 
 
 Laurence Baxendale had so completely permeated 
 all her thoughts, words and works, that it seemed 
 well-nigh impossible to eliminate him from every hour 
 of the day and from every event of life, including the 
 most tnvial and the most sublime. The beauties of 
 "!/"? literature and nature owed half their raison 
 detre, m Nancys philosophy, to the fact that she loved 
 J^urence; the passing irritations of the trivial round 
 and the common task lost half their sting in the con- 
 sciousness that Laurence loved her. And now she had 
 to face a world where there was no longer, as far as she 
 was concerned, a Laurence to add glamour and intensity 
 to her scul s most exalted moments, to relieve the weari- 
 ness of Its most uninteresting duties. The prospect of 
 the dreary path which lay before her was almost more 
 than she could face with equanimity; yet it had to be 
 borne, and borne with a brave front, as Nancy was the 
 
SS8 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 !ii- 
 
 , t 
 
 type of woman to whom pity in an insult. Her 
 only comfort in tho matter was that her en^jngement 
 with Laurence had never been made public — had not 
 been so much un actual en;ra};cment as an arrangement 
 between their two selves that they would become en- 
 gaged at some future time if fortune favoured thcr. ; 
 so that she had to suffer none of the unpleasantness 
 attendant upon an openly broken-offcnga; > inont. This 
 she felt she really could not have endured. Of course all 
 the world knew that Mr. Baxendale and Miss Burton 
 had " walked out toj;ether " and " kept company," so to 
 speak ; but a laxity isal' wed to mere company-keepers 
 and walkers-together which is not permitted to those 
 whose betrothal h: s been advertised by letters of con- 
 gratulation anr. n diamond ring. The former bond can 
 be broken at the will of the parties concerned, for no 
 better reason than that they are tired of it and want a 
 change : at least their world would be satisfied with 
 this. But an actual jilting must be justified by a 
 difference over the settlements, or the discovery of some 
 disgraceful family secret; or else all the gossips of the 
 neighbourhood will know — or will invent — the reason 
 why. 
 
 Mrs. Burton was very good to her daughter just then. 
 She showed her no open .sympathy — she knew Nancy 
 too well for that ; but in a thousand little ways, too 
 jainute to be described, she comforted Nancy as only a 
 mother can comfort. 
 
 Nora, too, was kind to her sister; but her own love- 
 affair with Mr. Arbuthnot was just then proceeding 
 along such smooth and pleasant lines, that Nancy's 
 sore heart was inclined to be restive under Nora's 
 tenderest touch. And then Nora agreed with Nancy 
 in blaming Laurence ! 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 
 
 229 
 
 The only people who can really help us when we are 
 in great trouble are those who have suffered more than 
 we are suffering, and those who love us better than we 
 love ourselves; and although Faith Fairfax could not 
 lay claim to the latter qualification, as far as Nancy 
 was concerned, she could to the former; so Nancy 
 found a certain consolation in Faith's society just then. 
 She knew that Faith had loved Laurence and had loved 
 him in vain; therefore she recognized that Faith's 
 burden was a heavier one than hers; for, however 
 desolate the rest of her cxiMtence was doomed to be 
 she had once lain in Laurence's arms and had felt his 
 kisses on her face, and nothing could ever rob her of 
 the bitter-sweetness of that memory. 
 
 The woman who has never been in love has no 
 power to help the woinan whose love is a sorrow to 
 her ; the woman who has found nothing but happiness 
 in love has even less; for they live in a different 
 atmosphere and move along a different plane from 
 their less fortunate sister. The former talks a language 
 foreign to her ; the latter, though acquainted with the 
 same language, is read in a widely diverse lore ; there- 
 fore she and they have but little in commoa But Faith 
 knew what it was to be in love — knew even what it 
 was to be in love with Laurence Baxendale ; and there- 
 fore Nancy called at Ways Hall far oftener than was 
 absolutely necessary for the mere maintaining of neigh- 
 bourly relations. Finally — mostimportantof all — Faith 
 did not agree with Nancy in the latter's condemnation 
 of Laurence's refusal to accept the insurance money. 
 
 While we are as yet young and inexperienced (which 
 comes to the same thing), when a woman confides in 
 us her grievances again.st the man of her choice, our 
 
230 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 I 
 
 natural inclination— should we desire to please the 
 woman— is to take her part against him, and to tell 
 her so. But as we grow older and learn better to 
 know our world, we do nothing of the kind; we 
 understand that to tell her that she is right and that 
 he is wrong, and that we unanimously second all her 
 votes of censure upon him, is to make her our enemy 
 for life ; while to put it plainly before her what a fool 
 she is compared with him, and how utterly he is in 
 the right and she is in the wrong with regard to the 
 matter in dispute, is to earn her undying friendship. 
 It may be taken as an axiom that a woman is never 
 more bitter towards any one than towards those well- 
 meaning but misguided persons who take her part 
 against her lover. Therefore the more Nancy worked 
 herself up into a state of righteous indignation with 
 Laurence for throwing away his happiness and her 
 own for the sake of a (to her) absurd scruple, the more 
 did she love Faith for defending the course he had 
 elected to pursue; and the more (which really was 
 unjust and unjustifiable) did she blame Lady Alicia 
 and Nora for taking exactly the same view of the 
 matter as she took herself. 
 
 " I can approve of people who sacrifice their lives for 
 a principle," she said to Faith, when the two girls were 
 discussing — as all Mershire was discussing— Laurence's 
 action with reference to the insurance money ; " but I 
 really haven't patience with those who sacrifice every- 
 thing for a mere scruple, such as Laurence Baxendale ; 
 have you ? " 
 
 "Somehow he is different from other people; one 
 cannot judge him by the same standards; and he 
 seems to elevate a scruple into a principle." 
 
 iS^^ja 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 
 
 231 
 
 " But don't you think it is stupid of him to choose to 
 go on being poor, when he might now be rich ? " per- 
 sisted Nancy. 
 
 " No ; I can't say that I do. I think it is simply 
 splendid of him to sacrifice everything, in the way he 
 is doing, to what he considers right." 
 
 " But the world in general doesn't consider that it is 
 right ; it condemns him as absurdly quixotic. Of course 
 I should admire his action as much as you do if it was 
 actual wrong-doing that he was so firmly set against, 
 and if he deliberately chose poverty rather than dis- 
 honour. But it isn't He is sacrificing himself and his 
 mother for the sake of a ; >ntimental scruple, which 
 everybody except himself thinks ridiculous as well as 
 sentimental." 
 
 " That, I think, is where he is behaving so nobly. If 
 all the world agreed with him that the only alternative 
 to poverty was something wrong or dishonourable, he 
 would have no choice in the matter ; any man would 
 prefer poverty to what other men condemned as dis- 
 honourable and despised accordingly ; but to be poor 
 rather than do what be himself considers dishonourable, 
 although nobody else agrees with him, seems to me 
 a splendid sort of thing, and just what any one who 
 knows Laurence would expect of him." 
 
 Faith certainly took a higher and more ideal view of 
 the matter than did Nancy ; but then Faith's life had 
 not been included in Laurence's holocaust, and Nancy's 
 had — ^which makes all the difference in an abstract 
 discussion on sacrifice as a fine art. 
 
 "Let us look in and see Mrs. Candy," suggested 
 Nancy, as the two girls had by that time reached the 
 cottage where that worthy matron was, for the present, 
 
Fuel of fire 
 
 !'■ 
 
 f. 
 
 pitching her moving tent. She and her husband had 
 incontinently fled from their holiday as soon as the 
 news reached them of the catastrophe at Baxendale; 
 and Laurence had felt himself bound to provide them 
 with a cottage at once, and remove thereto all their 
 Lares and Penates, which, fortunately having been 
 upon the ground floor at the Hall, were practically none 
 the worse for the fire. A vacant lodge at one of the 
 park gates exactly suited them ; and there good Mrs. 
 Candy took up her abode, and discussed with every 
 passer-by the accident which had driven her and her 
 husband out of their former home. 
 
 " Yes, dear," agreed Faith, " she is always delightful 
 company." So the girls entered the little garden gate, 
 and found Mrs. Candy shelling peas in the porch. 
 
 " Well, it du seem good of yew young ladies to come 
 and see me," remarked the good woman when the 
 customary greetings had been exchanged, and her guests 
 had found themselves fairly comfortable resting-places 
 upon two upturned flower-pots; "for what with the 
 fire, and our holiday, and the trains, and all we've been 
 threw i' the last fortnit, I've got such a lot to say that 
 I don't know how to keep it in, I don't ; and yet there's 
 nobody to say it tu when Candy goes to his work; 
 and it's sorry work, it is, to keep yewr words back when 
 yew are fairly burstin' with 'em." 
 
 " I know that feeling, Mrs. Candy," said Nancy. But 
 Faith kept silence, because she did not know it. 
 
 "It du seem an upset to come back after such a 
 pleasant holiday-time as me and Candy has just had, 
 and to find no home to come tu," continued Mrs. Candy. 
 "I haven't felt so upset as I did when Mr. Baxendale 
 wrote with his own hand to tell us that the Hall was 
 
I i 
 
 ' 1 
 
 V 
 
 lis, ' 
 
 i' \' 
 
 I* i 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 233 
 
 burnt down, no, not since all the red currants fomented 
 1 the preservm-pot three summer ago, and had to 
 be given to the pigs instead o' makin' jelly for the 
 gentry roundabouts. I was put out that tune, and no 
 mistake ■Candy,' I says, ' I've treated the red iurrants 
 this year the ^me as I've always treated them, and yet 
 they niyer before turned agen me in this way; then 
 whats the reason of it, I wants to know?' I says 
 Missis, says he, ' there's some reason, yew may be sure 
 o that, or such a thing niver would ha' come to pass.' 
 Oh he s a wise man is Candy ; there ain't much i' this 
 warld as puzzles him." 
 
 "I knew you'd be immensely surprised to hear of 
 auch a catastrophe," exclaimed Nancy: "as we all 
 were, she added as an afterthought 
 
 " I was indeed, misa When the letter came we was 
 
 havm tea wi my sister, who is housekeeper up at 
 
 Cromer Hal; and-wud yew believe it?-there wL 
 
 sangwiches for tea made out o' hard-boiled e-rgs. ' Well ' 
 
 says I, when I seed 'em. 'I thought as I'd been ivery- 
 
 where and seed iverythin',' I says; 'but sangwiches 
 
 made put o eggs is news to me.' And afore I'd done 
 
 a-bein astonished at the sangwiches, the letter come 
 
 bringin word as Baxendale Hall was burnt down Yew 
 
 see the postman knew we was havin' tea wi' my sister- 
 
 and knowing a letter generally means bad news, he 
 
 thought wed be pleased to get it at onst And then 
 
 on the top o them egg-sangwiches comes the downfall 
 
 o Baxenda e; and I feels how trew it is as wunnera 
 
 mver cease. »*^oid 
 
 "I am sure you grieve, as we all do. that such a blow 
 should fall on your master," said Faith. 
 Mrs. Candy placed a hand on either knee, and looked 
 
S34 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 if 
 
 Miss Fairfax full in the face. " Waal, miss, I wean't 
 deceive yew; it wadn't be right, and I wean't du it. 
 When wed read Mr. Baxendale's letter. Candy says to 
 me, he says, "Lizzie, this'il be a blow for the master 
 and no mistake '. But I shakes ray head. ■ Candy ' I 
 says, 'there's good to be got out of iverythin'. as we 
 can all learn from nettle tea ; and it's my opinion ' says 
 I, 'that Providence has taken thisopportewnity o'gettin' 
 the better of old Mr. Baxendale's wi!l.* That's what I 
 says." 
 
 ■ ^f°»? ^"^^"^ "P '^''^^^y- "-^""^ yo" '"ere quite 
 right, Mrs. Candy." ^ 
 
 "So Candy said. 'Lizzie,' says he, ' I doubt but there's 
 somethin' in what yew say.' Til be bound there is' 
 says I, ' or I shudn't ha' said it : du ye w suppose as folks 
 are goin to be allowed to make them foolish wills like 
 the master's grandfather did, and that Providence'ain't 
 a-gom to be even wi' them? Not they! And that is 
 just what I should have expected o' Providence, seein' 
 that the master's grandfather was such a fule (beffdn' 
 his pardon) that he bound the present Mr. Baxendale to 
 pay goodness knows what ivery year to keep a lot o' 
 rubbish from bein' burnt, as any sensible man cud see 
 wasnt worth the burnin'.' That's what I said and 
 what I thought. And to my mind Providence has 
 behaved very sensible in the matter, seein' that there'd 
 be no peace and no plenty for nobody, as long as them 
 rubbishy old books was above ground." 
 
 "You never did approve of the Baxendale library I 
 remember," remarked Faith with a smile. 
 
 "No more I did, miss, and why shud I, seein' that it 
 cost such a lot to them as cud ill afford it, and brought 
 no good to nobody ? Yew see, miss, Candy don't hold 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 
 
 235 
 
 wi' books, don't Candy; and it seems to me as if 
 Providence was o' Candy's opinion, seein' as how all 
 that old rubbish-heap was burnt up in a night, as yew 
 may say. If Providence had had any patience wi' all 
 old Mr. Baxendale's nonsense, that there library had 
 niver ha' been burnt ; yew may take my word for that," 
 said Mrs. Candy, giving good reason for the hope that 
 was in her. ■ 
 
 Nancy nodded. " Yes, yes, Mrs. Candy ; there's some- 
 thing in that. After all, if things ought not to happen, 
 they would not be allowed to happea" Her logic was 
 consolatory if unsound. 
 
 "Yes, miss, that's what me and Candy thinks; and 
 we can't hold wi' Mr. Laurence goin' agen Providence, 
 as yew may say, in not takin' all that money as is his 
 right and his dew, and which was Providence's makin' 
 up to him for all that rubbish in his grandfather's will." 
 
 Faith drew herself up rather haughtily. "Surely 
 Mr. Baxendale has a right to take what he considers 
 the honourable course, without consulting the whole 
 neighbourhood." 
 
 "Not he, miss; we can none of us du without the 
 advice of our neighbours; and it's a wunnerful help 
 sometimes hearin' what they say of us, though we 
 mayn't enjoy it at the time. Now he's got a regular 
 bee in his bonnet, Mr. Baxendale has ; and the suner 
 folks can teach him to take it out, the better for him. 
 He shud just hear what Candy says of his behaviour; 
 that wud open his eyes, that wud." 
 
 Nancy laughed ruefully. " I am afraid I agree with 
 Candy." 
 
 "Yew see, miss, there's nothin' so troublesome as 
 when folks get werriting about what's right and what's 
 
S86 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 wrong. 'Let W do what's right/ Candy says, 'and 
 think no more about it;' and he's a wunnerful know- 
 ledgeable man, is Candy. But always thinkin' about 
 one s dewty, and dwellin' upon it, is more than anybody 
 can stand ; and that's the bad habit as Mr. Baxendale 
 has got inta, as his poor father did before him." 
 
 "Yes; it is a pity, of course, to grow morbid upon 
 the subject of one's duty," said Faith. 
 
 " So it be, miss, so it be ; and when oust yew get 
 doubtin' about things, there's no more rest for nobody 
 —neither for yewrself nor for them that lives wi' yew 
 I remember old Mrs. Phillipson, as I lived with 
 afore I was married. She was one o* the werritin' 
 sort. And when I lived wi' her she'd wake me up 
 i' the night and say: 'Lizzie, I doubt if the front 
 door's locked; will yew just run down to make 
 sure •. So off I had to go i' the cold. Then no suner 
 was I safe back in bed and dozin' off, than she'd begin 
 sgen: 'Lizzie, I don't remember if we douted the 
 candles in the drawing-room ; will yew just run down 
 and make sure '. And off I had to go agen. And that's 
 how folks get, who are full o' conscience and scruples, 
 and things o' that sort; a trouble to theirselves, and 
 worse than a trouble to them as lives wi' them." 
 
 "Still a sense of duty is a fine thing, and so is a 
 tender conscience. I had rather have a conscience that 
 was too tender than one that was too tough." 
 
 •• May-be, Miss Fairfax, may-be ; bit Candy don't hold 
 wi' folks as make a god o' their conscience, Candy don't 
 I remember onst Mr. Arbuthnot preached a sermon 
 about a saint— I forgit his right name, but I know he 
 were a saint— who spent all his life o' the top of a 
 pillar, just for the sake o' his conscience; and Candy 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 
 
 237 
 
 was that set agen him as niver was. He said, Candy 
 did, that if folks was meant to live at the top o' pillars 
 and posts, they'd ha' been made to grow up 'em, like 
 peas and kidney-beans; and he didn't hold wi' such 
 Jack-and-the-Beanstalk ways, didn't Candy." 
 
 "Simon Stylites was the name of the saint," said 
 Faith. 
 
 " And Mr. Baxendale was made on the same last," 
 added Nancy. 
 
 " So he was, Miss Burton, so he was ; yew niver spoke 
 a trewer word. But I make bold to say as that there 
 saint didn't stick his lady mother on the top o' the 
 pillar alongside of him, because there wudn't ha' been 
 room for her; and yet that's what Mr. Baxendale does 
 with her leddyship, beggin' his pardon." 
 
 Again the proud look crept over Faith's aristocratic 
 face ; but Nancy said bitterly, " Yes, it's dull for women 
 on the tops of pillars, Mrs. Candy ". 
 
 " So it be, miss, so it be ; and most perticlar for a 
 leddy brought up as Leddy Alicia was. I remember 
 her when she was livin' at the Hall in old Mr. Baxen- 
 dale's time — Mr. Laurence's father that is to say — and 
 he worshipped the very ground she trod on, and thought 
 nothin' too good for her ; which it wasn't, considerin' 
 what a pretty face she had in those days, and a figure 
 i; ea willa-wand." 
 
 She must have been very handsome," Nancy ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " She was, miss — a perfect picter ; and a sight hand- 
 somer than all them old picters at the Hall, which Mr. 
 Baxendale's grandfather set such store by. She was 
 one o' the sort as seem made to be waited on, blesa 
 her!" 
 
m 
 
 FUEL OP PIRE 
 
 I 
 
 lii^i 
 
 " She hasn't had much waiting on in ]at« years, poor 
 lady ! said Faith with a sigh. 
 
 "No more she has, miss; and it don't seem beeomin' 
 somehow. I shall niver forgit the first time I saw her 
 come inta the kitchen at Poplar Farm to give an order 
 herself, instead o' ringin' the bell for the footman to 
 take It, as she used to du up at the Hall. I remember 
 onst when I was in service it give me such a turn as 
 niver was when I see the kitchenmaid mix the mustard 
 in one o' the room tea-cups. ■ Yew must always use 
 a kitchen tea-cup for mixing the mustard in yew care 
 less hussy' I says; 'and niver let me see yew speak 
 disrespectfully o' one of the room tea-cups agen.' And 
 It give me just such another turn when I see her leddy- 
 ship come inta the kitchen at Poplar Farm." 
 
 "Yes; life has been hard for Lady Alicia,"Faith agreed. 
 
 "So it has, miss; and therefor* I hold it is Mr 
 
 Laurence's bounden dewty to spend all that there 
 
 insurance money in makin' his poor mother comfortable 
 
 in her old age, instead o' sittin' all by himself up on 
 
 the top of a pillar, as yew may say I don't deny as 
 
 conscience is an invention o' Providence, and shud be 
 
 respected as such; but Candy says to me, 'Lizzie,' he 
 
 says, 'the same Providence as invented Mr. Laurence's 
 
 conscience invented the Fifth Commandment- and it 
 
 ain't honourin' the Fifth Commandment to 'keep a 
 
 leddy o' that quality in a farm house, without so much 
 
 as a single-handed footman to answer the bell '. That's 
 
 what Candy said; and he's one to stick to what he's 
 
 said, is Candy." 
 
 "I wonder how the house did catch fire after all 
 and whether the mystery ever will be cleared up'' 
 said Faith dreamily. 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 
 
 239 
 
 "WeJl, mis8, he's got his ideas on that matter, has 
 Candy; and so have I, beggin' your pardon." 
 
 Nancy looked up, her face alive with interest " Let 
 us hear your explanation of the matter, Mrs. Candy " 
 she begged. 
 
 Mrs. Candy, nothing loth, replied: "Well, miss it 
 aint for poor folks like me and Candy to set our 
 opinion above the gentry; but what we thinks we 
 says, and what we says we sticks ta Now I wean't 
 deceive yew by sayin' as I believe Mr. Baxendale 
 burnt down his own house on purpose, as some folks 
 say he did; but they aren.'t them as knows him " 
 
 "I should think not!" Faith exclaimed under her 
 breath. 
 
 "But I think as he did it hisself, all the same 
 though he's no more knowledge of it than the babe 
 unborn." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Nancy. 
 
 "Well, miss, I think as Mr. Baxendale burnt down 
 the Hall hisself, but he did it by accident First 
 nob«ly but hisself cud ha' done it when me and 
 Candy was away, because nobody but hisself had the 
 keys. He had three sets of his own, and I give our set 
 up to him afcre I went away; and all the folks say 
 as the Hall was set afire from the inside o' the library 
 Then he's tu fond o' smokin' is Mr. Laurence-sadiy 
 tu fond. Why men shud make a chimbley o* their 
 mouths IS more than I can say; but Mr. Laurence is 
 terrible fond o' doin' it, and many a time he's give me a 
 fright for fear the sparks and matches shud get amona 
 them rubbishy old book^ Why, he'd light his pipe up 
 at the Hall, and throw the match away, and laugh at 
 me when I said it was enough to burn the house down 
 
*wrt 
 
 240 
 
 FUEL OF nRE 
 
 iJ 
 
 I! ■! I J' 
 
 i 
 
 r i 
 
 IUig[ 
 
 over our heads. 'Yew needn't be afeard o' me, Mm 
 Candy,' he'd say as peart as peart; 'if yew are as 
 careful as me.' says he, ' the Hall won't be burnt down 
 agen in our time.' As if any man— even Candy his- 
 self— cud be as careful as a woman! But poor Mr. 
 Laurence, bein' but a single man, didn't know no better." 
 Nancy's face was positively pale with excitement. 
 " Then yon really believe that that is the explanation 
 of the fire, Mrs. Candy?" 
 
 "I du, miss; not a doubt on it As soon as we 
 heard on it, Candy says to me, ' Liaie,' says he, ' mark 
 my words ; this comes o' tl)e master bein* so fond o' 
 smokin", and lightin' his pipe all over the placa* (He 
 don't smoke hisself , Candy don't) ' I make no doubt,' 
 he says, ' as he's lighted his pipe onst too often in that 
 rubbishy old library.' Yew see, miss, he'd throw the 
 match away, as he was so fond o' doin', and go away, 
 and lock up the house, and forgit all about it And 
 the match wud smoulder and smoulder till it got to 
 them rubbishy old books; and then the whole place 
 wud be in a blaze like one o'clock, and nobody cud put 
 it out agen ; perticularly as the wind happened to be 
 so high that night, which made it bum the quicker." 
 
 But Faith laughed this suggestion to scora " What 
 an absurd idea, Mrs. Candy! As if Mr. Baxendale 
 would be so careless as to bum down his own house." 
 "Yew aren't married, miss, beggin' your pardon, 
 
 and so yew don't know how careless men can be even 
 
 the best o' them. Why, even Candy hisself 'II leave 
 his boots dryin' at the fire till the toes is burnt out, 
 unless I happen to be handy to take 'em away as sune 
 as they begin to smell. But he'd niver notice it, bless 
 yew I not till the smell o' burnt leather had got on your 
 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 241 
 
 atomaeh til), it was enough to bring the house down. 
 That's a man all over!" And Mrs. Candy fairly 
 bridled with pride at the extreme virility of her lord 
 and master. 
 
 Faith was silent, and smiled the smile of thn un- 
 convinced. 
 
 "But what puts me about," the garrulous matron 
 continued, " is that it was all my fault. J f I'd lia' been 
 content to stay at home and not got wtrritiii;T,-,ver our 
 grave and Sarah Maria's twins, Baxendale Hai: nud 
 niver ha' been burnt. Candy wud ha' se on to „h.it. 
 Don't gotellin'me as the Hall wud ever ha ia..-lu 
 fire if Candy had been here to look after it, beriiusJ it 
 wudn't. But that comes o' carin" too much for this vile 
 body and for other folk's babies, which are made to be 
 cut down like grass. Yew see, Candy niver fashed hissul ( 
 about the grave nor the twins ; and why shud he, seein' 
 as they was neither o" them his flesh and blood ? " 
 
 "But they were yours," suggested Faith, " and you 
 and he are one." 
 
 Mrs. Candy shook her head decidedly. " Now, Miss 
 Fairfax, when yew've got a husband o' your own, don't 
 yew go believin' no rubbish as to his relations bein' the 
 same as yours, or t'other way round ; because they ain't. 
 Why, things as wud only make him have a merry lau^h 
 if his relations did 'em, wud fairly turn his stomach^if 
 they was done by yours. And it'll be the same wi' yew. 
 I remember when my sister Carrie was a bit flirty I 
 thought it a rare bit o' fun ; but when Candy's sister 
 Jennie carried on wi' a young man, she fairly turned 
 me sick, the forward hussy ! I niver did get on wi' 
 Jennie ; her tongue was too sharp for my taste, and I 
 niver cud abear a sharp tongue." 
 I'' 
 
242 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 i ■ 
 1 
 
 i' 
 
 I ii 
 
 J ! 
 
 I ' 
 
 "Then wasn't Game's tongue ever sharp?" asked 
 
 Nancy slily. 
 
 " Oh ! Carrie was different. Her tongue was a bit 
 sharp sometimes, I don't deny ; now and agen she'd be 
 as peart as peart and have an answer for anybody. 
 But somehow she didn't rile yew as Jennie did. When 
 Carrie laughed at yew, she just set yew a-laughin' at 
 
 yewrself ; but when Jennie laughed at yew, oh my ! 
 
 she just made yew all agog to slap her. She was always 
 a-gettin' the better of yew, Jennie was. I remember 
 when my childem died and hers lived, she was that 
 lordin' it over me as niver was; as if anybody wud 
 want childem to live as had got noses like Jennie's 
 childem ! And such bad behaviour too, just like tueir 
 mother. No, I wean't deceive yew ; there niver was 
 anythin' genteel about Jennie, nor niver will be, no, i i 
 if she lives to be a hunderd." 
 
 There was a moment's pause while Mrs. Candy's mind 
 revelled in the memory of the unsatisfactory manners 
 and profiles of her sister-in-law's offspring ; then less 
 soothing thoughts intervened, and she went on more 
 seriously : '■ No, young ladies, I shall niver cease to 
 blame myself for havin' been the cause o' the Hall bein' 
 burnt down. If I'd stopped at home, as Candy wanted 
 to, it wuil niver ha' come to pass. So let it be a lesson 
 to yew — if ever yew get husbands o' your own— to du 
 what they want yew, whether yew see the sense of it 
 or not. The Prayer-book tells us as we are to obey our 
 husbands ; and them as wrote the Prayer-book knew 
 what they was a-talkin' about, unless I'm much mis- 
 taken. Ani if I'd ha' given lieed to Candy's words, 
 instead o' to my o\Yn sinful heart coupled with the 
 grave and Sarah Maria's twins, Baxcndale Hall 
 
 
MRS. CANDY'S OPINION 243 
 
 wud ha' been standin' on ita own legs to this blessed 
 day." 
 
 And Mrs. Candy looked round her with the dignified 
 despair of one who has sinned greatly and has been 
 greatly punished. 
 
 
f If^ 
 
 w 
 
 1. 
 
 'J 
 
 m 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 VAIN OBLATIONS. 
 
 To gods both hiss and true I'll humbly pray, 
 If only they will give me my own way. 
 
 Great was the interest felt and expressed all round 
 Tetleigh when the vicar's engagement to Nora Burton 
 was announced ; which announcement occurred about 
 three weeks after the burning of Baxendale, and for a 
 time threw that catastrophe into the shade. 
 
 It is strange how the fact that a man loves a woman, 
 at once raises that woman in the estimation of her 
 fellows. One might naturally suppose that women 
 would reserve their admiration and affection for the 
 woman who is unloved by man, and therefore has time 
 to exhaust and gratitude to expend upon the less in- 
 toxicating brand of devotion supplied by the weaker 
 vessels. But not they ! As a rule women waste their 
 affection upon the woman who has won a man's, and 
 therefore does not thank them for it ; and reserve but 
 little for those lonelier sisters who, being shut out from 
 the feast, gladly accept such crumbs as fall from the 
 tables of the more blessed among women. Therefore 
 her world spoke well of Nora, because she was so 
 happy in the acknowledged love of Mr. Arbuthnot 
 as to be independent of and indifferent to its ap- 
 proval; and at the same time it turned a somewhat 
 (244) 
 
VAIN OBLATIONS 
 
 245 
 
 tepid shoulder towards Faith Fairfax, because for the 
 second time a man, obviously fore-ordained for her, had 
 slipped through her fingers and had gone openly over to 
 the Burtons' camp, leaving Faith in need of friendship 
 and sympathy to supply in some measure the place of 
 the deeper happiness which Fate had so sternly denied 
 her. 
 
 In a measure, too, this same world shook its head 
 over Nancy's affairs. It was kinder to her than to 
 Faith, because she had obviously turned the man's 
 head; but apparently she had not secured his heart, 
 and so — though superior to Faith in the esteem of a 
 world which judges effort entirely by result, and en- 
 deavour entirely by success — she was distinctly inferior 
 to Nora, and was treated accordingly. Faith was 
 utterly unconscious of the judgment and condemnation 
 which her world had passed upon her ; and, had she 
 known of it, would have been profoundly indifferent. 
 But not so Nancy ; she knew to a grain how much 
 Nora now outweighed her in society's balance; and 
 she raged in her heart against Laurence accord- 
 ingly- 
 
 As a rule sisters are alike in physical and mental 
 attributes, and diflerent in the deeper matters of char- 
 acter and disposition — which difference is not generally 
 perceptible until they leave the garden paths which 
 they have trodden together, and go out either into 
 the Valley of Humiliation or on to the Delectable 
 Mountains — whichever the case may be — by falling in 
 love. Until now Nancy and Nora had been regarded 
 as convertible terms; in fact they had so regarded 
 themselves ; but ' t last they had come to the partino- 
 of the ways. Nora, who had hitherto been the spoilt 
 
1 
 
 ■ ( 
 
 lii 
 
 ||: 
 
 246 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 i i' 
 
 
 i 
 ( 
 
 ■ 
 
 1^ 
 
 
 if ■'■' 
 
 I] i 1 
 
 i|,^ 
 
 and wayward one, was so softened and elevated by her 
 lover's influence upon her that her character mellowed 
 and sweetened day by day ; but poor Nancy, who had 
 always been regarded as the embodiment of easy-going 
 good-nature, was fighting such a battle and kicking so 
 violently against the pricks, that her scars could not 
 help being more or less perceptible She was very 
 angry with Laurence for so persistently putting his 
 own scruples before her happiness; and she was all the 
 more angry in that she did not in the least understand 
 the motives that guided him. That the very depth and 
 purity of his love for her made it all the more im- 
 possible to him to gain her by any save the highest 
 means, was simply incomprehensible to her ; she had no 
 idea that, had he idealized her less, it would have been 
 easier for him to subordinate his conscience to the 
 winning of her. 
 
 She was also angry with him for having so utterly 
 transformed her character — for having taken away 
 the light-hearted, irresponsible Nancy of old, and put 
 this passionate, tempest-tossed creature in her place. 
 Love, like genius, is not an integral part of char- 
 acter ; it is a gift, an inspiration, direct from heaven. 
 Sometimes it is in harmony with the natural man or 
 woman to whom it is sent ; sometimes it is in direct 
 opposition to each one of his or her inborn character- 
 istics, Yet none the less is it of God, and so must in 
 the end prevail. 
 
 One afternoon, not long after the announcement of 
 her engagement, as Nora was starting for evensong, 
 Nancy joined her. 
 
 "I'll walk with you as far as Tetleigh," the latter 
 said. "There are so many things I want to talk to 
 
VAIN OBLATIONS 
 
 247 
 
 you about ; but when a girl has a lover, her own family- 
 get crowded out somehow." 
 
 " I don't want my own people to get crowded out, 
 Nan ; I think it is horrid of a girl not to find room in 
 her heart for the old interests as well as the new ones." 
 
 " I want to have a talk with you about mjrself." 
 
 " All right ; I'm listening," said Nora, who had leamt 
 that when a girl says she wants to talk about herself 
 it means she wants to talk about her lover. "I am 
 afraid you are worrying over Laurence Baxendale and 
 his stupidity." 
 
 " I am, and that's a fact ; he really is very trying ! " 
 
 " He is, Nancy." And the sisters sighed in sympathy. 
 
 " You are in luck to be properly engaged to a man 
 without a conscience ! " 
 
 But this was more than Nora could stand. " Oh, 
 Nancy, what a story! Michael has got a splendid 
 conscience, and one in capital working order, too. 
 Clergymen always have." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I know that. I didn't intend to say 
 anything disrespectful about Michael — in fact I meant 
 it as a compliment. But you don't know what it is to 
 be in love with a man who is everlastingly arranging 
 a sort of spiritual steeple-chase for his conscience, and 
 making the jumps so high that it bucks at every one." 
 
 " Yes, that must be tiresome ! " 
 
 " It is ; most frightfully tiresome. I've the fjio.itest 
 respect for the Ten Commandments and the Tliirty-iiine 
 Articles, and old-fashioned things like that; but I really 
 can't get up any reverence for a lot of home-made 
 Commandments and amateur Articles of Faith and 
 fancy-work of that kind; and it's no use pretending 
 that I can." 
 
248 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 i I 
 
 fli 
 
 I 
 
 -J' 
 
 1 
 
 j 
 
 
 1 
 
 fl ■' 
 
 
 u 
 
 
 " Poor old Nancy ! And you really are in love with 
 Laurence, aren't you ? " 
 
 " Yea ; that's the nuisance. If I wasn't, I should just 
 laugh at him and his scruples, and think of something 
 else. But I can't, though I've tried my hardest. How- 
 ever much I try to forget him, he jnsi gets into every- 
 thing and flavours everything, like the taste of turnips 
 in the winter ; and there is no getting away from him." 
 
 " I can't think why he doesn't quietly take the in- 
 surance money, and marry on it, and live happy ever 
 after," said Nora. 
 
 " No more can anybody else ; it is rank lunacy on 
 his part" 
 
 "Still I suppose a man has the right to sacrifice 
 himself to his own conscience if he wants to." 
 
 "But he hasn't the right to sacrifice a woman as 
 well; that's my point If Laurence hadn't made me 
 love him, he could have played S. Simon Stylites to 
 his heart's content But a man has no right to sit alone 
 on the top of a pillar all the week, and on a stile with 
 a young woman on his Sundays out The two r61es 
 aren't compatible. He can go in for the stile or the 
 pillar — whichever he prefers ; but he can't have both." 
 
 "I wonder if you really would be happy with 
 Laurence Baxendale ? " said Nora thoughtfully. 
 
 " I don't know that ; but I do know one thing — and 
 that is that I shall always be miserable without him. 
 Oh dear, oh dear ! I wish he'd never made me love him. 
 I used to be so happy in the old days when love was a 
 game instead of a martyrdom." 
 
 " And games are much more in your line than mar- 
 tyrdoma" 
 
 "Of course they are. Now some women — such as 
 
 ^:iN^ 
 
VAIN OBLATIONS 
 
 249 
 
 Faith, for instance— really relish a martyrdom, and get 
 the full flavour out of it But it is as much thrown 
 away upon me as is caviare upon the general." 
 
 " I'm not sure that you would be happy if you were 
 married," psrsisted Nora; "you might find it rather 
 dull, you are so fond of change and variety and excite- 
 ment Mrs. Fairfax says that marriage is a luxury to 
 a rich woman, but a necesaty to a poor ona It is 
 certainly not a necessity to you ; and I expect if you 
 were to marry Laureiace, you'd say afterwards that 
 you would have had a jollier time if you had married 
 somebody else." 
 
 " Pooh ! that's nothing ; it wouldn't mean I wasn't 
 happy if I did say that Did you ever in your life 
 know a day's shooting, however good, that wouldn't 
 have been better if the birds had done something, or 
 the dogs had done something else? Men invariably 
 tell you that after the uoat enormous bag. But it 
 doesn't mean they haven't enjoyed themselves, bless 
 you ! It's part of the game." 
 
 " You can't deny that Laurence has been very weary- 
 ing, Nancy; those conscientious, over-scrupulous men 
 always are." 
 
 "Nevertheless," demurred Nancy, "a certain amount 
 of conscience is a comfort— in a husband I mean ; not 
 of course, in oneself. I can't help feeling that in the 
 medium stage— after a husband had ceased to be a treat 
 and before he had begun to be a habit— it wouk' be 
 nice to regard him in the light of a religious service. 
 It would make one feel so good and happy, like sing- 
 ing hymns on a Sunday evening." 
 
 " It does ; it is a most lovely feeling, I can assure 
 you." 
 
250 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 i I 
 
 T 
 
 |i' ! 
 
 3 : 
 
 " And youll have it all your life ; that's just your 
 luck." And poor Nancy looked with envy at her more 
 fortunate sister. 
 
 " Yet you used to be quite as lucky as I." 
 
 "I know; that is the funny part -^f it. I believe 
 that in falling in love with Laurcrff I resigned my 
 good-luck, and took the ill-luck o!' '.'ue Baxendales in- 
 stead. They have been renown'; i as an unlucky 
 family, you know, ever since the witch pronounced 
 the curse on Baxendale Hall ; and especially so when- 
 ever one of them fell in love with a daughter of the 
 people." 
 
 " And you wish that you had never fallen in love 
 with him then ? " 
 
 "Sometimes I do; and sometimes I feel glad that 
 I have given up everything for him— even my good- 
 luck." 
 
 " I believe you were happier when you and Laurence 
 were only friends and not lovers," said Nora. 
 
 '■ No, I wasn't. I dare say I should have been, it he 
 had let me ; but he was troublesome even then. He 
 was always constrained and queer because he was so 
 poor— as if there were a duty on friendship as there is 
 on tobacco ! " 
 
 " But how did his poverty interfere with his being 
 friends ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know. He was in love all the time, I 
 suppose, and was afraid of its showing." 
 
 " And of course it showed in the end. Those over- 
 scrupulous people always do the thing that they have 
 sacrificed themselves in avoiding ; but not till it is too 
 late to be of any use. " 
 
 Nansy jp-oaned. "That's Laurence all over, wlitn 
 
VAIN OBLATIONS 
 
 251 
 
 we were friends he was always trying not to be lovers, 
 and now we are lovers he is always trying not to be 
 friends. He is wearing me to a thread. Oh ! how I 
 wish I could induce him to see the matter in a sensible 
 light, and let us both be happy on the income of the 
 insurance money ! " 
 
 " Here we are at the church ; I suppose you are 
 going on to Silverhampton ? ' 
 
 " No, I'm not ; I'm going to church with you." 
 
 Nora opened her pretty blue eyes wide in astonish- 
 ment. Nancy was not much of a church-goer as a rule, 
 except on Sundays. " Coming to church with me ? " 
 
 " Yes. Wlien I have set my heart on having any- 
 thing, I leave no stone unturned in trying to get my 
 own way," replied Nancy, with praiseworthy fixity of 
 purpose, though lamentable ignorance of theology. And 
 the two sisters entered the church together. 
 
 When evensong was over Nancy paid some calls in 
 Tetleigh, while Nora and her lover walked back to 
 Wayssde together ; and as they walked they talked of 
 their love for each other. 
 
 " Isn't it difficult to believe," said Nora, " that you 
 and I can ever leave off loving one another, even after 
 we are dead ? " 
 
 " Not difficult, my child, but impossible ; for love 
 carries in himself the proofs of his own immortality. 
 None who have truly and deeply loved can doubt that 
 their beloved are theirs for ever ; for there is something 
 in the very essence of love which defies death and brings 
 immortality to light." 
 
 " You mean that when we really l'<ve another person 
 we f 2el that our love is stronger than death ? " 
 
 It was noteworthy that, while Tjiurence Bazendale 
 
252 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 
 i i 
 
 Hi 
 
 devoted himself to the interpretation of Nancy, Nora 
 spent her time in interpreting the thoughts of Michael 
 Arbuthnot. 
 
 " We know that it is, from its own internal evidence, 
 quite apart from any Divine revelation. Roughly 
 speaking, I should say that those men and women who 
 doubt their own immortality have never experienced 
 deep and passionate devotion. They may refuse to 
 accept the Christian doctrine of immortality — that is 
 a different thing; but a human being, who has once 
 absorbingly loved another human being, can never doubt 
 that his love — and therefore himself — is immortal ; he 
 is conscious that it is too strong and too godlike an 
 emotion ever to see death." 
 
 " I wish Nancy were as happy in her love as I am," 
 said Nora with a sigh. 
 
 " Poor little Nancy ! I am afraid she has much to go 
 through before she is perfected ; and yet she is the sort 
 of person that one feels is only suited to success and 
 sunshine. It is difficult to think of Nancy as anything 
 but Nancy Victrix." 
 
 " Yes ; pity and Nancy don't dovetail into one another 
 somehow." 
 
 " No, they don't," agreed the vicar ; " I can think of 
 you as ill and sorrowful, and yet yourself — your dear, 
 sweet, lovable self ; but Nancy ill or unhappy would 
 not be Nancy at all." 
 
 " Come and walk round the wood," said Nora when 
 the lovers reached Wayside ; so they crossed the lawn 
 and entered the little coppice on the farther side of it. 
 
 " Hullo ! what's that ? " exclaimed Michael, spying a 
 small, dark object under one of the treee' 
 
 " That's uur idol. Haven't you seen il before, Michael ? " 
 
VAIN OBLATIONS 
 
 253 
 
 " No," replied the vicar, standing still in front of a 
 little stone image. " What a quaint object ! Where 
 did it come from ? " 
 
 "I don't know. It has been here ever since I can 
 remember; and when we were children Nancy and 
 Tony and I used to burn sacrifices before it." 
 
 Michael laughed. "You little heathens! On what 
 occasions did you offer up these vain oblations ? " 
 
 " When we wanted anything. We used to think that 
 the idol would help us to get our way, if only we bribed 
 him with burnt offerings. It was rather shocking of 
 us, wasn't it ? " 
 
 "I don't know that you were worse than many 
 scores of so-called religious people, who treat God 
 very much as you treated your graven image. But 
 look here, what's this ? Somebody has been offering 
 up sacrifices lately." And the vicar turned ovei- with 
 his stick a little heap of ashes in front of the stone 
 image. 
 
 " It must have been the boys," said Nora with interest 
 " We'll ask them. Boys," she called to her two small 
 brothers, who were just then in the middle of the wood, 
 busily engaged in digging a short cut through the earth 
 to Australia. 
 
 Arthur and Ambrose rushed up to the lovers. " Yes 
 what's up ? " inquired Arthur, as spokesman. 
 
 " Have you and Ambrose been offering up sacrifices 
 here ? " their sister asked. 
 
 The two children knelt upon the ground and ex- 
 amined the heap of ashes with interest. " No," reph'ed 
 Arthur; "somebody's been sacrificing here, but it wasn't 
 us ; was it, Amby ? " 
 
 Ambrose shook his head. " We haven't ofiered up a 
 
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254 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 sacrifice for a long time — not since the day at Baxendale 
 Hall, when the big tree was blown down." 
 
 " Why did you do it then ? " asked the vicar. 
 
 " Because we wanted to please the tree-spirit," Arthur 
 replied ; " we thought the tree-spirit would be very 
 angry at having his tree blown down ; so we tried to 
 put him into a good temper by offering up a sacrifice to 
 him in the roots of the tree." 
 
 " And did you succeed in pacifying him, I wonder ? " 
 continued Michael. 
 
 Both little heads shook violently. " No, we didn't ; 
 he was so angry that that very night he burnt down 
 Baxendale Hall. We knew he'd be in a wax, but we 
 never thought he'd do anything as bad as that." And 
 then the boys rushed back to continue their underland 
 route. 
 
 " I -wonder who did offer up the sacrifice ? " mused 
 Michael, absently stirring up the ashes with his stick. 
 
 Nora looked up with a solemn expression in her eyes. 
 " I know ; it was Nancy. I see now what she meant 
 by saying that she never left a stone unturned when 
 she wanted very badly to get her own way." 
 
CHAPTER XVIIl. 
 
 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 You came : then undiscovered lands 
 
 Spiang straightway into view; 
 You toolc my lite within your bands, 
 
 And ail things were made new. 
 
 " So you, too, have taken to yourself idols, and made 
 merry, and have forgotten the living God," said Rufus 
 Webb to Michael Arbuthnot once when the vicar was 
 calling upon his weird parishioner. 
 
 " No, Mr. Webb, I have done none of these things. 
 I have merely believed God's statement that He is 
 love; and have ruled my life accordingly." 
 
 " And do you think that He will permit His chosen 
 servant and minister to put the love of women before 
 the love of God ? " 
 
 " He will not have to permit it, as far as I am con- 
 cerned," replied Michael with unruffled patience ; " and 
 there is one thing He knows as well as— nay, better 
 than — I do ; and that is that my love for a woman has 
 taught me more than I ever learnt before of His love 
 for me. It is only by loving one another that we learn 
 anything of God's love for us." 
 
 "Beware lest you are crying peace where there is 
 no peace, and are imagining vain things." 
 (255) 
 
256 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 " I have imagined plenty of vain things in \ny time, 
 goodness knows ! But this one thing does not happen 
 to be vain, neither is it of my own imaginin"-. I 
 maintain that of all God's revelations of Himself to 
 sinful man, there is none that teaches us so much about 
 Him as our love for one another." 
 
 " How can our love for anything besides Himself bo 
 reckoned as other than idolatry ? " asked Rufus. 
 
 "Because our love for each other is not separate 
 from our love for Him, but is a part of it ; just as the 
 sparkle of a running brook does not detract from the 
 glory of the sunshine but rather adds to it, because 
 they are really one and the same thing." 
 
 Rufus merely shook his head, and the vicar con- 
 tinued : " Besides, loving another person with a deep 
 and sincere love gives ua so much larger views of 
 God's love for us. When we feel how tender is our 
 own love — how we would rather die than cause the 
 beloved one pain, and what we would sacrifice to 
 ensure the beloved one's happiness — all our petty 
 doubts and questionings regarding God's dealings with 
 us disappear. We know that we — faulty and imper- 
 fect as we are — are nevertheless incapable of leaving 
 anything undone which would ensure the happiness of 
 that one living creature ; and is it conceivable that our 
 love is a more perfect thing than God's love— that He 
 created beings superior to Himself ? Nay, we rather 
 see that as we are each capable of caring for one 
 other human being and one only, so He is capable of 
 caring for the whole human race. Otherwise we 
 should be greater than He." 
 
 "I fear you are comforting yourself with false 
 doctrines." 
 
WEDDING BELLS 
 
 257 
 
 But the vicar stood firm. " I think not. To my mind 
 the mediaeval ascetics and the Puritans, who in turn 
 taught that human love was an evil thing, did more 
 than any other heretics in placinj; false barriers between 
 man and God, and in giving men incorrect ideas of 
 Him." 
 
 " I cannot agree with you ; I only wish I could. But 
 how can you still go on cherishing these delusive dreams 
 when you see the ruin which overtook that young man, 
 known to both of us, who had great possessions and 
 loved them too well ?" And Rufus pointed out of his 
 window to the spot where the ruins of Baxendale Hall 
 gleamed red among the trees. " He loved houses and 
 lands more than God— I loved my wife more than God— 
 and it pleased God to take from each of us the desire of 
 our eyes at a stroke. Then learn wisdom from our afflic- 
 tions, and take care that a like thing does not happen 
 unto you ; for cursed is he that put*?th his trust in 
 man, and taketh man for his defe. , and his heart 
 goeth from the Lord ! " 
 
 "I think, Mr. Webb, you are unjust in saying that 
 Baxendale loved his house and lands inordinately ; per- 
 sonally I never met a young man who, to my mind, 
 put so true a value upon worldly possessions. Like his 
 father before him, he has one of the most refined nature , 
 I ever met with. The word gentleman, even in its most 
 restricted and subtle sense, would always be descriptive 
 of Laurence Baxendale ; and that most perfect and ex- 
 haustive portrait of a gentleman, the fifteenth psalm, is 
 entirely applicable to him." 
 
 " Yet the wrath of God came upon him, and burnt 
 down his house before his eyes." 
 "I admit that his house was burnt down Mr Webb- 
 17 
 
258 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 !.!t;;;Tp'!i^7i''' *" '•«^«'-«°ce-I do not see that the 
 
 wrath of God had anything to do with it. I have no 
 
 patience with people who put down to Gods account 
 
 all the ev.ls wn.ch most distinctly are wrought by man." 
 
 Then do you deny that the burning of Baxendale 
 
 was a judgment upon Laurence Baxendale-or rather 
 
 a disciphne necessary to the saving of his soul i " Rufu.s 
 
 Webbs excitement, never much under control was 
 
 rapidly gettmg the better of him ; he began to walk up 
 
 and down the small room, thrusting his hands the while 
 
 through his masses of unkempt hair. 
 
 "I do not believe it was anything of the kind," said 
 the v,car; "thqugh I hold that all afflictions by 
 whatever agency they may be wrought, will do good to 
 our souls, if taken in a proper spirit. But I say that if 
 any human being-whatever the motive may have been 
 -set hre to Baxendale Hall on purpose that human 
 being was guilty of actual sin, and ought to make con- 
 fession of the same." 
 
 the'rS"' '•°' °° ' °°' '^ ^*""''"«=^ Baxendale's soul is saved 
 
 "It cost more than the burning of Baxendale Hall to 
 redeem his soul ; we must let that alone for ever And 
 we have no right to do evil that good may come " 
 
 " But It IS not doing evil to burn the accursed thin^- 
 It 18 not doing evil to destroy false gods and to cut down 
 their groves." 
 
 " It is doing evil to devote ourselves so exclusively to 
 our brothers mote that we have no time for the extir- 
 pation of our own beam." said the vicar rising to 
 depart; for he knew that argument was worse than 
 useless when Rufus was, as now, in one of his fanatical 
 moods. " Good-morning, Mr, Webb ; come up and have 
 
WEDDING BELLS 259 
 
 a chat with me at the vicarage whenever you feci in- 
 clined." 
 
 And with that they parted. 
 
 Nora meanwhile was holding a very different sort of 
 conversation upon her prospects with Mrs. Candy whom 
 she had elected to go and see while Michael was callin.r 
 upon Rufus Webb. " 
 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. Candy," she began; "I hope 
 you are very well." 
 
 "Thank yew, Miss Nora, I am as well as cud be ex- 
 pected, seein' as I had to get up extra early this 
 momin." ' 
 
 " Why was that ? " 
 
 , . ".^.®'^'^® Candy's got a busy momin' before him 
 kilhn a sheep." ' 
 
 " Oh ! can he kill a sheep ? How clever of him ' " 
 " Yes, miss, he can kill a sheep all right. Candy can • 
 there isn't much as Candy can't du ; but he doesn't 
 get the pleasure out of it he does out o" killin' a pig 
 and it's no use pretendin' that he du." 
 
 "Of course there are degrees of pleasure in every, 
 thing; no two treats are quite the same," said Nora 
 taking a seat upon the chair which her hostess had just 
 dusted with her apron for that purpose. 
 
 "And so yew be a-goin' to be married afore Miss 
 Nancy," said Mrs. Candy as soon as her visitor was 
 seated; "well, to be sure, it da seem the wrong way 
 about for the youngest to be married first; I niver cud 
 abide it. I was always so glad as my sister Carrie was 
 safely married when Candy come a-courtin' me as I 
 wudna ha' married afore her, her bein' sixteen months 
 older than me, for anythin'; and yet it wud ha' gone 
 agen the gram wi' me to give Candy the pass-by " 
 
■.* 
 
 260 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Well I am very sorry, but I don't see how I can help 
 It, sa.d Nora penitently; "and-as you say-it is a 
 mistake to give really nice men, such as Mr. Arbuthnot 
 and Landy for instance, the ' pass-by ' " 
 _ "It is miss, and I wcan't deceive yew ; and her that 
 will not when she may,' ten to one dies an old maid 
 or else has to put up wi' a widower wi' a family I'm 
 sure I don't know what I shud ha' done, if I'd ha' let 
 Oandy s ,p threw my fingers ; it wud ha' been the death 
 o me, I doubt ! Even now I sometimes dreams as Candy 
 .s marned to Polly Postern, and I'm still in service a^ 
 Ovcratrand; and it gives me such a turn, yew can't 
 
 " I'm sure it must." 
 
 •' Yes, miss, it be a fine thing for a wumman to have 
 a man of her own to make up her mind for her. and 
 keep her clear of fallals and the like. I don't hoW w^ 
 wummen keepin' single. I don't; they git all sorts o' 
 notions .' their heads wi' no man to swee^ away a 1 the 
 nonsense out o' them. There was my aunt MehelLw 
 as n.ver marned and she took it inta her head to be an 
 mvahd, ,f yew please always enjoyin' some fresh com" 
 plamt. as no sensible folks had ever heard so much as 
 he name of, and drinkin' medicine by the Son 
 Why, no husband wud ha' stood such nonsenst "n" 
 quite right tu. ' ' 
 
 "That is true, Mrs. Candy; men do keep us out of all 
 sorts ot silhness. ""uiaii 
 
 "Then there was my aunt Hephzibah-she ni ^r 
 marned neither; but with her it didn't run to health' 
 
 rc;tp7.:fr-'^'^"^^^"^'°--^^'-'^«'>«io'^^^^^ 
 
 "Well, there wasn't much harm in that." said Nora 
 
WEDDING BELLS 261 
 
 ■ ■ H.°!. ""■f^"''' l-l'-l «*». .nd .hook he, h..d 
 
 «ki„.4:r,.t3*:/K-ro'"r,r 
 thioj; h„ c2". • ■ • ""°™""' "•" ">■ »■ p-^i"' 
 
 wh.u....d.^;°o;r.s;rk:on.rp'E„"H?d° 
 
 .««. te,oh ■.„ ,hM ,o,, .Jj cmdy.- * ""' 
 
 „„?" •'"• '•»'" '« 1» «"-Lib.„l or Co..„v.. 
 
 ^^l^lt^'-S^dlXSKr.'^-; 
 
 own way, is Candy; there's nothin' double-faced or 
 reasonable about him-he don't hold wi' it." 
 
 ^hen I don t expect he'd have consented to wait till 
 your s.ster had been married first," suggeste^S 
 
 pridf •whe^'^^'T.'^''' ''"'''" Ws better-half with 
 pride when Candy's onst set his mind upon a ihi^^ 
 yew might as well try to turn the way o' S ^iS^' 
 lum. He ain't the shilly-shallying sort, as will listen to 
 

 I 
 
 I'i 
 
 262 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 reason-not he! So I was thankful as Carrie was safely 
 wedded afore Candy come .-courtin' me." 
 " And whom did Carrie marry ? " 
 
 P»rw!" Tr'f " ""*" ^'°"' °"' P*''' °* ^^^ """-e o' 
 l-arker. If when yew marry yew live all among yewr 
 
 own people, marriage don't seem q.nte so bad, said she • 
 
 so she took up wi' Parker." ' 
 
 "She doesn't appear to have been as much i- Ic -e as 
 you were, Mrs. Candy; for you came far enough away 
 from home when you married. ' 
 
 "She wasn't, miss, and I'm the last to deceive yew- 
 hut who cud h^' thought she wud be, seein' as it was' 
 only Parker as she was a-marryin'? Parker was a 
 -ecent man and a regular church-goer, wi' twenty-two 
 shdlinsaweek; but he wasn't Candy, and it's no use 
 pretendm as he was." 
 
 , " ''''1? ''''^"'' y°" ™'"<^ co^'ife such a long way from 
 home ?" L.ke all wom^n who ...re truly in love N^r" 
 
 was interested m the loves of all other women 
 
 "Not wi- Candy, miss ; I'd ha' gone to the veiy ends 
 o the earth w. h>m. And yet, till I see him, I'd niver 
 been ten r.nles away from Overstrand; and I darena' 
 ha gone as far as Yarmouth-no. not if yew'd ha' 
 crowned me." ' 
 
 ••ButCandymadeall t^edifferencejlunderetandthat " 
 111 be bound yew du. Miss Nora, havin' been took 
 that way yewrsel^ Eh ! but it's wunnerful how a man 
 du make all the difference ; after onst he's come across 
 yewr v/ay, nothin' iver looks the same agen, nor iver 
 will. He seems to get inta iverythin', as yew may say 
 and to turn it all topsy-turvy." ■'J'- 
 
 Nora laughed. " You are not very complimentary to 
 the man, to say he turns things topsy-turvy." 
 
WEDDING BELLS 
 
 263 
 
 "Bless yew, miss, yew c -n't think as it's topsy-turvy • 
 .t seems tc yew as if it was all topsy-turvy afore, and 
 that !ie s just turned it the right way up." 
 
 " L, ke a dream seems topsy-turvy, and - i.e awo ..enina 
 turns things the right way up," Nora suggested. 
 
 ' Thats just It, mi.ss; and yew laugh at the dream 
 when yew remember how contra iry it all was, and how 
 right iveryihm" is now that yew are wide awake " 
 
 " Yes Mrs. Candy, falling in love is just like' that- 
 the past is the dream, and this is the awakening " 
 
 "Apd It seems to me, miss, as dyin' will be like 
 k7'-.?;?u i t«™ things topsy-tuivy, I don't deny; 
 but It 11 be the right way up as it'll turn 'em, and we 
 shall laugh when we remember the top.sy-turvynes8 o' 
 this warld, and wunner how we put up wi' it as con- 
 tented as we did. I m sure I wunner now how I cud bear 
 myself afo'-> I'd met Candy ; =t seems as if there cud ha' 
 been nothm' tu du and nothin' to think about- and I 
 don t doubt as we shall feel like that when we wake up 
 m heaven, miss, and see what bewtiful things Provi- 
 dence has pervided for us up ther«." 
 
 "But don't you often think it is strange that we 
 haven t been told more about tho next world and 
 what it will be like ? " said Nora. " I do." 
 
 "Oh! don't yew go werritin' yewrael'f about that" 
 replied Mrs. Candy so.hingly; "it i.sn't done out o' 
 disagreeableness, as yew may say, I feel sure We 
 aren t old more about it, because we cudn't understand 
 It If vv« were. Why, miss, it's the same i' this warld 
 It Id been told, when I was a litD'.a gell what 
 happiness was i' store for me in workin' hand and 
 toot to make Candy comfortable, and bein' ready to 
 lay down my very Lie at hi- feet if he wanted it 
 
264 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 H 
 
 1 p 
 
 I 
 
 b)e» him! I shudna' ha' knowed what they was 
 a-talkin' about I thoujjht what I shud want, when 
 I was ({rowed up, wud be to have my own way and 
 enjoy myself; instead o' which my happiness is in 
 lettin' Candy have his own way and enjoy hisself. But 
 it wud all ha' been Greek and Latin to me if they'd ha' 
 told me that when I was a little gell and tew young and 
 soft to undersUnd it. And I hold that it's like that 
 wi' the next warld, I du ; we're tew young and soft to 
 understand it yet, even if we was to be told ; so where 
 wud be the sense o' tellin' us 7 " 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Candy, I believe you are right ; and 
 now I must be going," said Nora, rising from her seat 
 " Good-morning." 
 
 " Good-morning tu yew, miss; and may yew be as 
 happy in yewr wedded life as I've been in mine— and 
 I can't say nothin' stronger than that; the gentry 
 theirselves cudna' ha' been happier than Candy and I 
 ha* been. I can't deny as sometimes I wish as the 
 childem had lived ; it wud ha' been pretty to hear 'em 
 call Candy 'Daddy,' and to see 'em a-climbin' over 
 his kneea But the Lord knows best what is good for 
 us, so we must jnst submit ourselves to His Hand. 
 May-be if they'd ha' lived, they might ha' come between 
 me and Candy, and I cudna' ha' stood that" 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Candy, for all your good wishes ; 
 and if only I make as excellent a wife as you have 
 been I shall 1 e quite content; and so will the vicar, 
 or he ought to be." 
 
 " Bless yew, miss, who cud ha' helped bein' a good 
 wife to such a husband as Candy— one in a hundord, as 
 I often tell him ? And, when all's said and done, them 
 as has husbands are happier than them as has none ; 
 
 - #, 
 
WEDDING BEL'^ 
 
 265 
 
 it's dull work bciu' an old maid, Miss Xora, say what 
 yew will. It's every wuniinaa's ri^ht U. have a man 
 o' her own; and Ihein as has missed that, has missed 
 the best i' this warld. Why, if yew've ff)t a man o' 
 your own, there's always somebod lo bo sorry when 
 yew are sick, and pleased when yew are about and 
 busy; and tiiere's always somebody to linlen to what 
 yew say, and to show yfw what a fule yew was for 
 sayin' it; and there's a ays somebody to find fault 
 wi' all your little fads and fancies, and yet to like yew 
 all the better for 'em. Mark my words. Miss Nora , 
 there's no love i' this warld like the love o' the man 
 who loves yew as bis own flesh ; and hem as pretends 
 that there is talks nonsense." 
 
 "They do, Mrs. Candy; I haven't patience with 
 people who try to make out that parents and brothers 
 and sisters can ever make up to a woman for not 
 having known what the love of a husband means. 
 
 " Well it don't, whativer them old bachelors chewiie to 
 say. Why, Miss Nora, when ray first baby come, and 
 I'd got the baby and Candy, I felt as no leddy in the 
 land cud be happier than me ; because, yew see, there 
 cudn't be anythin' better in the whole warld than a 
 husband like Candy, and a little baby as well. In fact 
 it was tu much happiness for this sinful warld, so the 
 good Lord took the baby, and is savin' her up for me 
 when I gets to heaven. Yes, miss, I sees it all now, 
 as plain as plain; Candy and the childern was tew 
 much happiness for this life, so the Lord is savin' up 
 the childern for the next; just as we don't let our 
 childem have all their cakes and toys on one day, but 
 we put some by till to-morrow." 
 
 And then Nora completed her farewells, and went 
 
266 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 out into the Janes, where she found her lover awaiting 
 
 Early in October Michael Arbuthnot took Nora 
 Burton as his wedded wife; and great were the re- 
 jo.c.ngs m Tetleigh accordingly. The bridesmaids wore 
 soft olue dresses, the colour of Nancy's eyes; and no 
 one, to see her, could have guessed how heavy with 
 unshed tears were those apparently laughing orbs. 
 Nancy really played htr part very well ; and it was 
 by no means an easy part to play. To a proud 
 woman the knowledge that her world regards her 
 with pity IS a^wut as unpleasant a branch of in- 
 struction as she will ever have to master; and Nancy 
 was fully cognizant of that particular fact just then 
 Though people in general did not know exactly what 
 had happened, they were aware that Laurence and 
 Nancy had once walked and talked together, and now 
 walked and talked together no longer; and they drew 
 their own conclusions accordingly; which conclusions 
 it must be admitted, were not altogether wide of the 
 mark. As a rule the public blamed Laurence as a 
 fool for not taking the insurance money and marryin<r 
 upon it ; for the fact that— owing to malicious reports- 
 he had declined to accept the compensat; m to which 
 his loss entitled him had become public property by 
 this time. Nancy was quite aware of this; there was 
 not much that that young lady was not quite aware 
 of; but It is not a source of any solid comfort to a 
 woman to know that her world condemns as a fool 
 the man to whom she has given her life's devotion 
 
 And yet, do what .she would, she could not rid 
 herself of her overmastering love for Laurence Baxen- 
 dale. She did not clutch her misery and make much of 
 
WEDDING BELLS 267 
 
 it, as a more sentimental girl would have done ; on the 
 contrary, she hated it so much that she would have 
 Reaped from it at any price. It was no pleasure to 
 Nancy to be unhappy, as it is to so many women • 
 success was her role in life, and she sorely resented 
 having to play a part so sadly out of character with 
 her preconceived notions of herself. Nevertheless <ro 
 where she might, she was all the while conscious' of 
 an under-lying homesickness for Laurence, which time 
 did not cure nor diversion allay. "I want him so' 
 I want him so!" she kept saying to herself; and 
 nothing else in any way appeased that consuminfr 
 need. *" 
 
 Yet Nancy Burton was a girl whom other girls 
 condemned as heartless and shallow, and whom the 
 world in general envied rather than pitied, and laughed 
 with rather than cried over. So penetrating and fore- 
 seeing as a rule is the judgment of a woman's world 
 and especially of her female friends ! 
 
 But she bore herself with a brave front, and no one 
 noticed that she was gradually growing thinner and 
 paler. Laurence would have noticed it fast enough 
 If he had seen her; but he went with Lady AliSa 
 to stay at his uncle's, soon after the bumin<' of 
 Baxendale, and did not return until the middfe of 
 the winter. He had been so sorely wounded by the 
 gossip about himself and the cause of the lire, that for 
 a time life in the neighbourhood of Baxendale was 
 insupportable to his proud and sensitive spirit And 
 Mr. and Mrs, Burton were so full of their hocond 
 daughter's affairs, and the new life upon which she 
 was entering, that they did not give much attention to 
 their elder for a while. 
 
268 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 noficed^r^ \^"^ '^"^ ^"y ^y ^'^y-' ""d "0 one 
 noticed, no one knew. 
 
 One afternoon not long after Nora's marriage, M«. 
 
 rarwifl f ^J'^'" ^ « time. And an ideal hall it 
 was, with 2ts carved oak chimney-corner, and its arch- 
 ways hung with costly curtains, and i[s walls liSd 
 with the portraits of dead and gone Fairfaxes. At no 
 .season of the year was Ways Hall without flowers- 
 flowers m the rooms and in the hall and on the stair- 
 case, and :n evfery available space. Certainly in this 
 case when Mahomet could not go to the mountain the 
 mountain cameto Mahomet; when Mrs. Fairfax could not 
 go to her garden, her garden came to her ; so that it was 
 always spring ms.de Ways Hall, whatever ridiculo^ 
 tncks ttie weather might be playing outside. lasd 
 nating Mrs. Fairfax had grasped the truth, which so few 
 gardeners seem able to master, that a greenhouse is a 
 means and not an end. In the autumn tnd winter her 
 flowers were born and bred in her numerous hothouses ; 
 but that was merely lor educational purposes ; as soon as 
 
 tte mil r d T:'""''Z "V^^ ""''' ^^°"S''' -' ""-^^ into 
 the Hall, and there made happier, by their beauty and 
 
 freshness, the lives of Mrs. Fairfax and Faith. And bv 
 
 always living with flowers these two women imbibed 
 
 some of the nature of the flowers by which they were 
 
 constantly surrounded; the brightness and freshness of 
 
 the p ants entered into the human being.s, and made thorn 
 
 thereby betterand truer women for time and foreternity 
 
 My dear, Mrs. Fairfax remarked after a few 
 
 minutes silence, d propos of nothing but her own 
 
 meditations, "Laurence Baxendale is a fool " 
 
 itt 
 
WEDDING BELLS 269 
 
 " Oh, mother, what a thing to say i " 
 
 buIS f'\u"''^r- ""'^ ^^^ ^^°'^ '"^*'>- ^^d nothing 
 but the truth. Laurence and his father were alwayf 
 fools; nice, well-mannered, lovable fools. I will admit; 
 but stm fools of the finest water; the sort of fools 
 whosefolly IS always getting between their own feet 
 and tripping them up." 
 
 takes always tell against himself more than against 
 any one. b"^"" 
 
 always on the debtor side of the account, and never 
 on the creditor side; they forget what they owe 
 to other people, but never what other people owe 
 
 selves " "" ^ invariably tell against them- 
 
 "And their undertakings always seem to turn out 
 badly, somehow. 
 
 "Yes; the gift of success was withheld when the 
 fames presided at the Baxendale christenings As a 
 rule there are two means by which a man may attain 
 success-his own competence or the incompetence of 
 his fellows; but neither of these means h^ been of 
 any use to the Baxendale men." 
 
 "And yet they are splendid men in their way " 
 Mrs. Fairfax shrugged her beautiful shouldeiB 
 Z^u [ ^ '"PP°'^ ^^^y ^'e cast in a somewhat heroic 
 mould, but they are the sort of men who always put 
 
 their money on the wrong horse, and identify themselves 
 with the losing cause. In the time of the Reformation 
 the Baxendales were Romanists; in the time of the 
 Commonwealth they were Royalists; in the days of 
 
msssss 
 
 270 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 the Georges they were Jacobites ; and I feel sure that 
 in medisBval times they were often nearly converted to 
 Hebraism by the frequent persecutions of the Jews." 
 
 "But all that merely goes to prove their glorious 
 courage and loyalty." Faith had a strong strain of 
 obstinacy in her composition. 
 
 "I think it often goes to prove their stupidity. 
 Baxendale Hall, like Oxford, has always been the home 
 of lost causes and impossible beliefs ; and personally I'd 
 rather live in the homes of governing majorities and 
 established churches ; it is more comfortable zjid less 
 draughty." -, 
 
 " But men must have their ideals, mother." 
 
 "And servants must have their beer; but there is 
 such a thing as beer-money, my dear child, which does 
 instead, and is often both more convenient and more 
 profitable to all parties concerned." 
 
 "And then tne Baxendales are all so truthful and 
 honourable," persisted Faith. 
 
 " Far too much so ; they tell you truths that you'd 
 rather not hear. I don't like people who always tell 
 me the truth. Who wants to hear the truth ? I'm 
 sure I don't, it is always so humbling ; and humility 
 is the most depressing of virtues ; though all virtues 
 are more or less lowering unless taken in very small 
 quantities." 
 
 Faith smiled. " Dear mother, what things you say ! " 
 
 " Well, I mean them— at least some of them now and 
 then. But the Baxendale trick of truth-speaking really 
 does depress me, and makes the perpetrators of it so 
 unpopular, too. If you want people to be in love with 
 you, you must begin by making them in love with 
 themselves, and then the desired result will soon 
 
WEDDING BELLS 
 
 271 
 
 ■ 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 follow. But few people have learnt this elementary 
 truth — least of all the Baxendales." 
 
 "Still there are people who love even the Baxen- 
 dales." 
 
 " My dear, there are people who eat coal and slate- 
 pencils and enjoy them ; I never legislate for excep- 
 tions. But I own I sometimes wonder if little Nancy 
 Burton isn't one of the exceptions who love Laurence 
 Baxendale." 
 
 Faith shook her head. " She may and does, I think, 
 like him ; but it isn't in her to love anybody. Nancy 
 is a dear girl, full of life and high spirits, and is a 
 most delightful companion ; I always feel that a sight 
 of her is like a breath of mountain air on a stuffy day ; 
 but hers is not a nature capable of deep affection." 
 
 Yet Faith had got over her love for Laurence 
 Baxendale, and Nancy was slowly dying of hers ! So 
 do the saints of the earth sit in judgment upon their 
 more human sisters. 
 
 " Well, I hope you are right, for any woman who 
 loves Laurence will find life a perpetual Lent, both as 
 regards doctrines and dinners. Trust a Baxendale for 
 finding out an altar on which to immolate himself and 
 everybody belonging to him ; all the Baxendales have 
 keen noses for a sacrifice. And then, as I said before, 
 I can't stand their way of putting one out of love with 
 oneself." And the quondam beauty tossed her head in 
 disgust. 
 
 Faith was amused. " Poor Laurence seems to have 
 annoyed you." 
 
 "Certain plain-speaking I am accustomed to, and 
 can stand. For instance, no man ever went to another 
 man's house without saying that the shrubs wanted 
 
m 
 
 FUEL 01* FIRE 
 
 I 
 if 
 
 thinning, and that there was too much window-room- 
 everybody 13 prepared for plain-speaking of that kind' 
 and nobody resents it. But what I can't stand is when 
 people show up all your little ignorances. What does 
 It matter whether a woman is ignorant or not, as long 
 as 8hj has pretty manners and is well-dressed ? Yet 
 Laurence once corrected me for not knowing the 
 difference between Addison and Pope. As if there 
 really were any difference that mattered!" 
 
 "It is a pity that Laurence has taken to heart the 
 absurd gossip about his burning down his own house • 
 for it was very absurd," said Faith. 
 
 "I should thinlc it was, and showed an utter absence 
 of knowledge of the merits of the case. As if any 
 Baxendale would ever do anything, either wrong or • 
 right, that in any way redounded to his own ad- 
 vantage! It isn't in the blood." 
 
 "I wouldn't breathe a word to any one but yon 
 mother; but I always suspect poor old Rufus W,;bb of 
 having set fire to the Hall in a fit of religious frenzy 
 though how he managed to do it from the upper 
 storey I never can conceive. He would imagine that 
 by doing so he was saving Laurence's soul." 
 
 "I know you think so, my deal'; but I don't think 
 anything of the kind. I have my own ideas as to how 
 Baxendale Hall was fired." 
 
 Faith looked surprised. " Who ever do you suspect 
 mother dear ? " 
 
 " For goodness' sake don't go repeating what I say 
 and sending your mother to prison for libel; but my 
 impression is that no one did it on purpose." 
 
 " Then do you agree with Mrs. Candy that Laurence 
 himself did it by accident ? " 
 
WEDDING BELLS 
 
 273 
 
 "No, my dear; but I think that those tiresome little 
 Burton boys did." Mrs. Fairfax could never quite 
 forgive any other woman for having borne sons, while 
 she herself had only had a daughter. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! How could Arthur and Ambrose 
 have set fire to Baxendale Hall ? " 
 
 " Mischievous boys will find a way of doing anything 
 that is troublesome and naughty. I don't know how 
 they did it ; but that they did do it I have no doubt, 
 with their nasty bonfires and sacrifices and things. I 
 found them ofl'ering up a .sacrifice one day in the lanes, 
 and it at once struck me how Baxendale had been 
 burnt." 
 
 " But it is proved tnat the fire began from the in- 
 side ; and the boys couldn't get into a locked-up house," 
 said Faith. 
 
 " They could do so as well as that Webb man could, 
 and you suspect him." 
 
 " It is only an instinctive .sort of suspicion ; I cannot 
 for the life of me see how he could do it — much less 
 how those little boys could." 
 
 "They might have climbed through a window," 
 suggested Mrs. Fairfax. 
 
 " But the windows were all shut and the shutters 
 fastened." 
 
 "Then perhaps they stole the keys and let them- 
 selves in. My dear, I don't pretend to say how they 
 did it; but that those boys aid it, I repeat I haven't 
 the shadow of a doubt." 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 WINTER DAYS. 
 
 The d5 ing year Is covered o'er with leavm, 
 And weoping Nature for hor children grieves. 
 
 The vicar and his bride went to Italy for their honey- 
 moon, and did not come back until the beginnine of 
 December. On their return they found that winter 
 had begun earlier than usual and also with unrronted 
 severity, and that it was finding out all the delicate 
 people, and numbering them with an accuracy which 
 would have put the strictest census-paper to shame 
 
 By this time Mr. and Mrs. Burton had discovered 
 tb'.. all was not well with their elder daughter, in spite 
 of the apparently high spirits she so persistently main- 
 tained; the same depressing conviction had also been 
 borne m upon Anthony, and the trio were deeply 
 concerned thereat. Not only was Nancy thinner and 
 paler than she was at the time of Nora's wedding but 
 the cold weather had endowed her with a hacking 
 little cough which went through the hearts of those 
 who loved her. Nora and her husband were shocked 
 to see the change that two short (to them, extraordinarily 
 short) months had wrought in the once radiant Nancy • 
 and Mrs. Arbuthnot seconded her parents' fear that 
 there was something very wrong indeed with her sister 
 Nancy carried her head as high as ever, and was as 
 (274) 
 
WINTER DAYS 
 
 276 
 
 independent as of old of sympathy or pity; but the 
 vulpine gnawing must tell in the long run, however 
 great be the fortitude of the Spartan boy, or his equi- 
 valent ; and it was getting near to the end of the run, 
 as far as Nancy's particular fox was concerned. She 
 had staked her all on one cast of the dice, and had 
 lost; bereft of the one love of her life, she was indeed 
 bereft. She simply could not live without Laurence 
 Baxendale : that was the long and the short of it. 
 
 Some women are made after this pattern. Thev 
 not only put all their eggs into one basket — a most 
 unscientific mode of packing ! — they also find It impos- 
 siWe to sustain life without an adequate suppl}' of eggs, 
 eggs being absolutely indispensable to their existence ; 
 hence when the one basket breaks down, as those single 
 baskets are so prone to do, there is nothing left to keep 
 the starving creatures alive. Heaven help such poor 
 fond souls, for earth is apt to be too hard for them 1 
 
 It is but fair to add that Laurence himself had no 
 idea how hardly things were going with Nancy. If 
 he had guessed that she was slowly dying for want of 
 him, nothing could have kept him away from her ; for 
 underneath his somewhat strained scrupulousness the 
 man was a true man, and his love for Nancy was of the 
 finest quality. But he was so little of a coxcomb that 
 the notion that a -woman could die for love of him never 
 once entered into his head, and he would have scorned 
 it as an absurdity had any one suggested it to him. 
 
 There was another reason why he dared not yet 
 return to Poplar Farm, and that was his undying love 
 for the said Nancy, and his fear that if he were brought 
 face to face with her again all his scruples against mrr- 
 rying her while he was under a cloud would avail him 
 
S76 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 take her to h.s heart, swearing that he would never let 
 
 her go. And this he was not yet prepared to do Le 
 
 other people say what they would, Laurence was fully 
 
 persuaded .n h,s own mind that Baxendale Hall had 
 
 been set on fire by one of two persons-either by h' s 
 
 mother or by Nancy. These were the only two (eTcep 
 
 h.m,se ) who had any motive fo. doing thif thin, these 
 
 were the only two (as far as he knew) who had ace L 
 
 to the keys of the front door and the library, and th^ 
 
 house had evidently been fi,. d from the inside and from 
 
 the upper storey; and thesa were the only two who 
 
 the crime'"'''^'''^'' ^ ''™ ^''" ^'^^'^^ °^ committing 
 His doubts upon this point formed in his eyes an in- 
 surmountable barrier between himself and Nancy If 
 Lady Ahca were gui.ty, then his mothers shame was 
 h,s. and he felt he had no right to ask any .ther woma^ 
 to share his dishonour; if, on the contrary, Nancy were 
 gu.lty, then he was ready to lay down his life to shield 
 her good name; nay, more, he was even prepared to 
 exchange >t for h.s own as soon as his pecuniary^ircum! 
 stances would permit of his so doing; but first he must 
 know the truth Which shows tha't ' time a^d Wy 
 together were playing sad havoc with Mr. Baxendale's 
 prmcples. He had not even yet ganged the overwhelm- 
 ing force of human love in general, and of his own 
 m particular; but he had gauged it sufficiently not 
 to want to be brought into contact with Miss Burton 
 just then. So he kept out of temptation's way 
 
 There is no doubt that he was sorsiy to be pifad. 
 To feel certain that either one's mother or the woman 
 whom one loves has been guilty of a dishonourable 
 
WINTER DAYS 
 
 277 
 
 act— of a crime, in fact, in thu cyos of the law — is not 
 H conviction beionjjin^j to the peace any man's soul, 
 oven of the most sallous and unscrupulous; and Laurence 
 Baxendalo was neither unscrupulous nor callous, no 
 that the bittfi less of this conviction was to him as the 
 very bitter ss of death. If his mother were the 
 criminal, then Nancy was indeed separated from him 
 for ever : if Nancy were the culprit, then honour no 
 longer forbade him to renew his old relations with her ; 
 but he felt that she could never agaiii be to him the old 
 Nancy of clean hands and unstained record, though he 
 still loved her for old Nancy's sake. Ho could not yet 
 forgive her for having fallen short of his ideal of her. 
 He had still to learn the omnipotence of love, and the 
 completeness of love's forgiveness. 
 
 When the vicar and hi.s wife were sitting at break- 
 fast one morning, not long after their return to 
 Tetleigh, the maid brought in the card of Dr. Arrow- 
 smith, one of the Silverhampton doctors. 
 
 " What on the earth can he want ? " said Michael, 
 looking at the card. 
 
 " Let's have him in and ask him," Nora suggested ; 
 "it will be the simplest way of finding out; just as 
 opening one's letters is so much simpler than trying to 
 guess from the post-mark who they come from — yet 
 nearly everj'body tries the latter method first." 
 
 "Shall we have him in here?" asked the vicar 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Of course ; I want to hear what he's got to say." 
 
 "Still, darling, he may not wi.sh you to heir what 
 he has got to say." 
 
 "Oh, Michael, what a fussy old maid j ■ <»re! I 
 can't think what induced mc to marry an old maid," 
 
278 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 1 1 
 
 ».n I k,.o,, but ,„ old,, „id- Ji r. ,'„^y 
 
 -" l^; .„d I .„■, k»p J„ „, Jl i 
 othii,., have done it besides n ^ .? ^ 
 
 trtek lb.1 He, f.|l i„^. " "»"• "■ ■M-'Mi.'. 
 
 Michael did as he was bid, kbsing his wife as h« 
 
 how h.8 wife's chair came between him and he Zr 
 considering that his chair was just in front o? tS 
 
 difficult to unJerstand. Still, it was only on a par 
 wivh h.8 having maintained, in former days that ^l 
 nearest way from the church to the vica«I at Js 
 gates was by Wayside, a mile and a quarKisL^t 
 Evidently Mr. Arbuthnot had not the bLp of iZSy 
 
 tZZ"^ t''"""^ ^"""^^ ""^^ "^ similarlrik: 
 mg, he was by no means peculiar 
 
 As Nora had bidden him. her husband brought Dr 
 Arrowsmith at once into the dining-room 
 
 " I am so sorry to trouble the vicar thus early in the 
 morning M«. Arbuthnot," began the latter, s^h^k n. 
 R f W kJ°™' "b»'I an, aware that a man 3 
 
 ar;rn:So"''^"^'^°''^'°^''^-^"-'^--^ 
 
WINTER DAYS 
 
 279 
 
 " I hope you do not bring bad news of him," added 
 her husband. 
 
 " I do, Mr. Arbuthaot — the very worst, I fear, that 
 I could bring. Webb has been knocked down and run 
 over by a heavy dray, and is now dying in Silver- 
 hampton Hospital, where he was taken immediately 
 after the accident" 
 
 Nora's pretty eyes filled with tears. " Oh, how sad ! 
 —how dreadfully sad ! When did it happen ? " 
 
 " Yesterday aftemooiL At first wo lioped that we 
 should pull him through ; but this morning it is quite 
 ovident that there is no hope of his recovery." 
 
 "How came a dray to run over him?" asked the 
 vicar; "the streets of Silverhampton are not generally 
 80 crowded— especially in an afternoon— that there 
 need be any danger in crossing them." 
 
 " He sajrs he was so dizzy that he did not see the 
 dray coming till it was upon him." 
 
 "Dizzy?— what made him dizzy? A big, strong 
 man like that ought not to have been feeling dizzy," 
 said Nora ; " was he :il, do you think ? " 
 
 " No, Mrs. Ai-buthnot, he wasn't ill ; but I am afraid he 
 was hungry." And the doctor's voice was a trifle husky. 
 
 "Hungry?" cried Michael ; " Ruf us Webb hungry 
 I knew that he was poor, but I hadn't an idea that 
 things were as bad with him as that." 
 
 " He was dying of hunger," said Dr. Arrowsmith. 
 
 The vicar's lip trembled "Good heavens! and I 
 never knew. What a blind fool I have been ! " 
 
 ■" He has evidently been starving for some weeks " 
 continued the doctor, "and that is why he has no 
 strength to rally from the accident. A man in better 
 condition would soon have recovered from such Injuries 
 
280 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 as Mr. Webb has received ; but he is so sadly weakened 
 by want of proper nourishment— I might say by want 
 of any nourishment— that there is not the sUghtest 
 chance of his recovery." 
 
 "Poor Mr. Webb ! Poor, poor Mr. Webb!" exclaimed 
 Nora, who was fairly crying by this time. 
 
 " He cannot hve many hours ; and as he particularly 
 desires to see Mr. Arbuthnot I came at once to fetch 
 your hu-hand. I gather that he has some sort of 
 confession .o make, as he keeps saying that he cannot 
 die with an unconfessed sin upon his soul." 
 
 The same thought flashed simultaneously through 
 the minds of Miehael and his wife, as the same thought 
 so often flashes simultaneously through the minds of 
 two people who perfectly love and understand one 
 another— the thought that the mystery of the burning 
 of Baxendale Hall was about to be solved, and that at 
 last Laurence would feel himself free from any shadow 
 o" suspicion, and be at liberty to take the money and 
 marry Nancy. And the thought filled them with joy ; 
 for the sight of Nancy's pinched face, upon which time 
 was ah-eady beginning to write lines which told a sad 
 stoiy of faith disappointed and hope deferred and love 
 unsatisfied, was a sight which cut both the vicar and 
 his wife to the heart. 
 
 But aloud they only said how grieved they were for 
 Rufus Webb's misfortune; and Michael made himself 
 ready with all speed to accompany Dr. Arrowsmith to 
 the hospital. 
 
 " It is as much as we shall do to get there before he 
 dies, the doctor said. 
 
 "God grant that I may be in time to hear his con- 
 fession, ' murmured the vicar, as he started on his way. 
 
 ill 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TC WHAT PURPOSE? 
 
 It sarely would have been but common sense 
 To sell this ointment for throe hundred peuce, 
 And give to those nho cannot food aSord ; 
 Say, to what purpose was this waste, Lord 7 
 
 When they an-ived at Silverhampton Hospital Rufua 
 Webb's sun had well-nigh gone down. But he knew 
 Michael, and evinced a wish to speak to him alone; 
 so the doctor went away, leaving the t./o together. 
 
 "I am so thankful you have come," the sick man 
 gasped ; " I was afraid you would not arrive in time, 
 and I cannot die in peace until I have extracted a 
 promise from you to do something for me after I am 
 gone." 
 
 " I will do anything in my power for you, Webb," 
 replied Michael. 
 
 Rufus drew a key from a ribbon which was tied 
 round his neck. " This is the key of a tin box which 
 you will find in my cottage at The Ways. Promise 
 me faithfully that you will burn t*-- contents of that 
 box — that you will destroy them utterly, and let them 
 be consumed by the fire that may be quenched, lest 
 the fire that never can be quenched shall consume my 
 soul." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 (281) 
 
282 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 Promise also that no one shaU read the contents of 
 that box save youreelf-and, may-be. your wife, since 
 those whom God hath joined together man may not put 
 asunder. ^ 
 
 "I promise," repeated the vicar. 
 
 "I meant to burn them myself, so that other men 
 shoud not see my iniquity and glory in my shame; 
 but the God of vengeance has ordered it diHerently 
 ^or He has orda.nod that what is done in secret shall 
 be proclaimed on the house-tops, and that what is 
 hidden shall be made manifest." 
 
 "I faithfully promise that I will burn whatever I 
 find in that tin b6x, and that no one .shall ever look 
 upon its contents save my wife and I." 
 ^ An expression of peace stole over Webbs white face. 
 " I knew I could trust you," he murmured. 
 
 " Yes, you knew you could trust me, a mere sinful 
 man such as yourself; but you could not trust the God 
 Whose minister I am. And why should you believe' 
 that the God you worship is inferior to His Own 
 servants ? " 
 
 "I have served Him and feared Him with all mv 
 heart." •' 
 
 "That may be; but you have neither loved Him nor 
 trusted Him." 
 
 The dying man lay silent for a few minutes with 
 closed eyes , then he opened them again and said ■ " I 
 wonder if you are right, and if I have misjudged Him 
 all these years ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " And do you think He will pardon me that also 
 m addition to my many other sins— for I am beginning 
 to hope that there is mercy reserved even for me ? " 
 
 :-:---»5-f.^:j« '. 
 
TO WHAT PURPOSE 
 
 283 
 
 " I am sure of it," repeated the vicar ; " although it is 
 hard, even for Him, to be misjudged by those whom He 
 loves; there are few things harder." 
 
 There was another pause and then Bufus roused 
 himself again and rambled on: "I have a sin on my 
 conscience which I fain would confess. I have made 
 idols to myself with m ; iwn hands and worshipped 
 them. You will find th' n in the tin box." 
 
 "Have j^-U nothing on your conscience also with 
 regard to the burning of Baxendale Hall ? " Michael 
 spoke very distinctly; he saw that the time was 
 growing short, and he longed for Laurence to be 
 cleared by Rufus before Rufus died. 
 
 " Yes, yes — that is it. I was so busy watching for 
 Lettice to come and meet me that I forgot Avhat I was 
 saying. She always meets me when I come home in 
 the evening, you know, but to-night she is late. And it 
 is growing dark, too. Ah ! there is her white dress 
 among the poppies ; and there are such a number J 
 poppies this year, and they are so red — so red. Red 
 like crimson, and white as — as " 
 
 " As wool ; " the vicar finished j sentence ; " though 
 your sins be red like crimson they shall be made white 
 as wool ; you know that, Webb." 
 
 But Rufus was wandering. " Yes, the poppies are 
 red — see how red they are — and Lettice 's dress is quite 
 white — white as her own sweet soul. And the flames 
 of Baxendale Hall are red, too — like tongues of fire — 
 look how red!" 
 
 Michael made another eflbrt to recall the sick man's 
 senses. " Listen, Webb ; answer me one question ; had 
 you anything to do with the burning of Baxen- 
 dale ? " 
 
284 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 The fading intelligence flickered up a^ain - v t 
 
 that he would UCn firS he '"'. ""' °''^''' 
 Baxendale Hall. And^he l' , Z'''''^''" *° '""^"'"^ 
 He was God." ^^ ^^° answered by fire, 
 
 aake'Sll'ifeS tZV'T T^-^ ^^ ^^^^'^ 
 depends upon ^Ir a„t T" tI^ ."^^ «^ --'^ 
 perate: it was so har77 . ^ ''"^'' "^^ des- 
 of Webb in hs present conir ' ""J""^ '^^'^ -* 
 to press for one vet ^1^. •f'.*"'' '' ^^^'"^d <=™el 
 
 'natter at issue.' fnd nS tf "''^''fl' "P°" ^'^^ 
 possible. "^^ ^'^^ •"■•»«' be saved if 
 
 " Speak, Webb," the vicar nr™^ « j ■ j 
 
 possessed the key." Webb was f„n ^' °"'^ '^^ 
 "Yes; go on; Ll me aU qu^:kly" ^ """""^ "°- 
 I prayed for an occasion, and yet none came " 
 
 get on!" said Michael nZl "^ , "f-^""" heaven's sake 
 
 cordial which iLttto^ZVu wUh'lim ^"' ''' ■' 
 was needed. '" h'"" "« case it 
 
 The cordial did its work wpH- j 
 
TO WHAT PURPOSE 285 
 
 I prayed that the Lord would rase it even to the 
 ground, so that the soul of Laurence Baxendaie miffht 
 be saved." " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and what happened then ? " 
 "My prayer was not answered; the great and 
 strong wind passed by, and Baxendaie Hall stood 6rm 
 The next day there was a great calm ; and I stood 
 belore the Lord and prayed Him again that Baxendaie 
 should be destroyed lor Laurence's sake; and as I 
 prayed 1 looked down to the ground, and beheld lyino- 
 at my feet a bunch of keys—among others the keyso'f 
 the Hall and the library. And I .said, 'God has 
 delivered the Hall into my hand; I will go in and do 
 with it even as I will ' ' " 
 
 Michael's heart beat fast, and he prayed that Webb's 
 lile might be spared until he had made a full con- 
 fession. "And so you went into the house?" he 
 prompted. 
 
 The dying man's eyes were bright with unnatural 
 excitement; it was the last flicker before the light 
 went out. "No; just as I was going to open the 
 front door I heard a Voice say in my ear, ' What doest 
 thou here, Rufus?' And I answered, 'I have been 
 very jealous for the Lord God of Hosts, because Thy 
 children have forsaken Thy covenant and torn down 
 Thy altars, and have followed after false gods; but 
 now I will destroy their idols, and cause their images 
 to cease out of the land. ' " 
 
 For a few seconds Rufus -^ruggled for breath and 
 Michael's heart stood stil fear that even now 
 
 Webb would die before l v hole story was told- 
 but the unnatural exaltation still upheld him, and he 
 went on „^Jn : " Then the Voice said unto me, ' Son of 
 
286 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 i 
 
 
 Him belo;geth vengeance InH '^' '"'•" "^o 
 
 that mj.j'^!ZT::Lirz'''TV' '- "^ 
 
 create and He alone can ^1 "® *'""« =»" 
 
 that can deliver out „? m7^J''''r'' *^''- ->' 
 Voice had done apeakin/ ^tf „" " j tatfd"'" *'^ 
 from Baxendale Hall, L I knew tW 1 "' ""^^^ 
 counted worthy to savn tL ,''^J'^^^ ^ was not 
 dale, nor to o£ untuw . °"' f ^"^''"'=« ^^en- 
 the Lord of Hoste^ I ^^ \"''^'<^'^^ "' " '''"<^<'^ to 
 offer up burnt offerings an? '" '''""'^ """ <=»« 
 blood-the blood .rmforwi?' "^'^ '^"^ ^'^ 
 
 you'Td'X?«rtV;, ^°" r'' *° -^ *•>-* 
 
 "Nav fK k ® P'*''^ after all?" 
 
 woman." "envered it into the hand of a 
 
 thl/^umTtS' Sr-^ T- -'^ -^ a -n 
 
 -rrtnrwd? -5- -o-r;7pid" 
 
 -ne to hinder he^ orlat ^fAir^'^fS/''^ 
 among women shall she be-.bleLdS,, f ^/'^d 
 V'omen in the tent! For toTer t ^ "^^^ 
 
 save the soul of Laurence R..O i^ , "^^^ ^'^«° to 
 iinages with fire andto H * - '^ ''"™ "^'^ 
 
 within his house'" """^ ^'^^ ""'"^^^ thing 
 
 Arfot^iSL^anTsttittdtn^^^ -' "^• 
 nearly over now," he whl^r^'"' ^'•''""'-'- "I* ""^ 
 
TO WHAT PURPOSE 287 
 
 Michael put his mouth close to the dyin^ man's ear. 
 "The name of the woman— for heaven 'i sake ►eil me 
 the name of the woman," he entreated. 
 
 Webbs voice was so weak as to be scarcely audible, 
 " The name— of— the woman— do you say ? There is 
 but one woman's name— in the— whole world— and 
 that is Lettice— my Lettice— my wife. See— there 
 she is coming— to meet me— through the field of 
 poppies— the red poppies. Don't you see her— in 
 her— white dress— and the little curls— on her neck— 
 and the dimple— in her cheek ? I knew— she would 
 come ; she never keeps me waiting. Look, how the 
 wind— is blowing— the little curls— across— L» 
 
 But Rufus never finished the sentence on earth- 
 Lettice herself heard the end of it. ' 
 
 " It is all over," said the doctor softly. 
 Michael stood as a man stunned ; one thought and 
 one only possessed his mind, and branded itself into 
 his very soul. "It must have been Lady Alicia," he 
 kept saying over and over again to himself; "it must 
 have been Lady Alicia." 
 
 He now felt no doubt in his own mind that Lady 
 Ahcia was the culprit, since (so far as he knew) she 
 was the only woman who had access to the keys of 
 Baxendale Hall ; but the discovery of her guilt would 
 make matters worse instead of better for Laurence. 
 No honourable man would touch money obtained by 
 his own mother's crime; and his misery would be in- 
 creased tenfold if that mother were publicly convicted 
 of arson. So the vicar was thankful that Webb's 
 confession was locked in his own breast, never to be 
 revealed to anybody. 
 The following day he and his wife went together to 
 
288 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 .o 'h»T.'.t.T '""' "»"-"*'■ "0,. .hi.p.M 
 
 At the top of the box was the following paper - 
 
 I die o7; ""°° '^ ^""-^ *••««« "an4rip^ before 
 1 die, so that my secret may nerish with «,-> 7 
 
 sin be covered; but if God in hL • *"^ "^ 
 
 brain would have burst had I ",.''°"'S- I believe my 
 
TO WHAT PURPOSE 289 
 
 part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone- 
 and I would rather die for lack of bread than earn' 
 money by such a means as this. I will never endan"er 
 the souls of others by letting them read that which I^'in 
 my folly, have written ; but may-be (I speak as a fwl) 
 the mere writin^j of it may be forgiven me, if the 
 memorial of it perish with me, and it be destroyed 
 for evermore. 
 
 (Signed) " RuFOS Webr" 
 
 Before burning them Michael and his wife read 
 Webb's manuscripts, as he had given them permission; 
 and they were astonished at the brilliance of the novels.' 
 Admirable in elegance of style, masterly in delineation 
 of character, powerful in pourtrayal of feeling, they bore 
 the rare hall-mark of genius; and might have ranked 
 —had they been published— among the most popular 
 novels of the day. 
 
 When they had finished reading the books the vicar 
 said that he must burn them at once. Nora besought 
 him not to do so. " It seems a sin," she said, " to bum 
 books which might give pleasure to hundreds and thou- 
 sands of people, and do them a lot of good, too, besides 
 winning fame for the author." 
 
 But Michael was as adamant "Can I break a promise 
 made to a man who is dead ? " he asked. 
 
 " But, Michael dear, it seems such an awful pity that 
 all that genius should be utterly wasted." 
 
 " To what purpose is this waste ? Is that what you 
 would ask, my Nora ? " 
 
 " Yes, it ia Think what a great deal of money these 
 manuscripts would fetch from any publisher, and what 
 an immense amount of srood mitrht be 
 
 I 
 
 ■ good 
 19 
 
 I with the 
 
200 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 {•"-I keel. ^sZz^',zrj^LT'' :"'''■ 
 
 W you when probably h^ w^l^ut ' "'"'*' 
 iti "* ^"«n ' delirious Nora • J,« ,. 
 
 II «ciou, when he asked L rn,'ake ZrT^^"''' ~"- 
 
 " enjo „ed on the paper in thrbS: " ''""""' """^ '' 
 
 pe JtedXr' '"' ""■«" '^ '^-^ -•'»' 'he money," 
 
 " nevertheless, dear hi d I ' ^T'^ ^'^ ''"«^»d : 
 Webb knew whaThe L;a„t wf ^'^^ "^ P'-°'"'««' 
 n>ake,t Doesn't it strike vlw ^' ""^"^ ""« to 
 -hen you realij LttifSi'd-Vr''^ '■'■'"■ 
 rather than earn what h/Jn-?^.'^'^ °^ starvation 
 sin ; though tr rur. p° ''''■"' '''^^ 'he wages of 
 that bo. a1, thi^iXLler ll5'.f ^^''^ ''^ '^ 
 
 good man." '«' ^^^^ to thmk about ; but he was a 
 
 .e:%^tS\lftrl:i?°^-"-^«^ehae. 
 
 •■i:rr:het;°"'^'' ''-'''--•• 
 wt:':LtrtX^oftriT"->^ 
 
 Nora said throu.ir ^ ea^'-'ot-'r r^'""^'^ 
 terrible it is to think that al th«^ **"''"*'• how 
 
 and strength and capa 1 L f T"" """"'^ «^'''"« 
 wasted." '^^ '^ '""^ 'eel.ng were utterjy 
 
 in Godliroi^r '• 'here is „o such thing as waste 
 
TO WHAT purpose: 291 
 
 The following Sunday the vicar of Tetleigh preached 
 a sermon on the success of failure from the text "To 
 wha purpose ,s this waste ? " He showed that futile 
 iorts, disappointed hopes, unrequited loves, unlulfil d 
 .deals, unrealized ambitions, misplaced trusts-r^rof 
 these are really wasted; that it was only when the 
 money had be.„ spent, and the alabaster box had b^en 
 broken, and the spikenard had been spilled that the 
 house was fil ed with the odour of the ofntmenr 
 People sa>d that it was the best sermon he had ever 
 
 Rufus Webb had ever preached, and perchance he v^as 
 
 All this time Laurence Baxendale was keeping awav 
 
 want of hira. Anthony saw what was wron-r with his 
 avourjte cous.n, and for a while held his p^ace upon 
 the sabjec but after a bit silence was unendurable 
 to him, and he felt constrained to speak. 
 
 "I say. Nan," he airily remarked, "you don't «o.™ 
 '-n especially good spirits " ^ * **'*'" 
 
 ai^T? '^"''^,^V"^°°'' 'P'"*^ '"'^ weather as this?" 
 asked Nancy, Jookmg at the rain which was drearilv 
 running down the window. trearily 
 
 "I admit it would be difficulU-and then it would bp 
 only sp,nt« and water. By the way. why doJsn" our 
 fnend Baxendale come back home^ain ? He has 
 been away an uncon onable time " 
 
 Nancys pale face Hushed. '• How can he come back 
 
 "My dear child, ser xiveness as to the remarks of 
 our neighbours is a sure symptom that our nZ^:^t 
 
 •i^k::' <\!l-&.., ^aam:^ 
 
89S 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 ii; 
 
 i 
 
 attending to. No healthy animal cares a rap what its 
 neighbours do or do not say about it Therefore I 
 shoul.l strongly advise Iriund Baxendale to drown his 
 woes in calomel, and return to rest in the house of his 
 fathers; by which I mean the farm of his mother " 
 
 Nancy did not reply, and there was silence for a 
 moment. Then Anthony suddenly blurted cut- "I 
 say, I wish you wouldn't fret after that brute ; he isn't 
 worth It, Nancy; he really isn't." 
 
 "I suppose nobody is really worth fretting after" 
 replied Nancy ruefully, "when you come to that; bu't 
 that doesn't prevent you from doing it, if you are that 
 way inclined." 
 
 "Still I wish you wouldn't do it, Nancy ; and especi- 
 ally about such a prig as Ba.xendale." 
 
 "I know I'm an idiot for doing it— nobody knows 
 that better than I do; but I can no more help fretting 
 after Laurence than I can help breathing. And it is so 
 unlike me, too; I used to enjoy things so, and never to 
 mind about anything; but after he came into my life 
 everything became diflTerent, and now I can no more 
 put him out of my life again than the leopard can 
 change his spots " 
 
 "Confound the fellow!" said Anthony under his 
 breath. 
 
 "It is no use blaming him, Tony; he can no more 
 help it than I can." 
 
 " You are the last girl that I should have expected to 
 sacrifice her life to a brute of H man, after the fashion 
 of a suttee and rot of that kind" 
 
 Nancy laughed a sad little laugh, out of which all the 
 merriment had departed. " I couldn't have sacrificed 
 myself on a common altar— not on an altar that hadn't 
 
TO WHAT PURPOSE 
 
 298 
 
 been passed by an inspector and licensed by the local 
 authorities— but I^urence happened to be all that He 
 is the best, and the mast honourable, and tho highest- 
 minded man I ever met. I couldn't help loving him, 
 nor could I ever leave oH' when once I had begun." 
 
 " I say, Nan, I wish you'd marry me, and forget all 
 that Baxendale stuHl" 
 
 Nancy looked up in amazement " Marry you, Tony ? 
 What an idea ! Why, I thought you were cut out to bo 
 an old bachelor." 
 
 " The ancients remarked, ' Call no man single till he is 
 dead," or words to that effect; and they were intelligent 
 people." 
 
 " But, Tony " 
 
 "Oh! you needn't say yiu don't love me — I know 
 that well enough, bless you ! But I don't mind admit- 
 ting you to my confidence to the extent of confiding 'n 
 you that I do love you— little as your own conscience 
 will tell you that you deserve such an honour; and 
 I think I could cure you of that Baxendale rot if 
 you'd let me try. Do let me try, Naney, there's a 
 darling ! " 
 
 Nancy shook her head. "No, Tony; I once gave 
 myself heart and soul to Laurence Baxendale; and, 
 whether he values the gift or not, I cannot take it back 
 again. I am his for time and for eternity, even if he 
 doesn't know it" 
 
 " Confound him ! " repeated Anthony. 
 
 " And there is another reason why I couldn't marry 
 you, Tony, even if I would. Can't you see that I am 
 dying, and shall never marry anybody now ? " 
 
 " Rubbish ! " said Tony roughly. 
 
 " It isn't rubbi.'jh, dear. I am dying, simply because 
 
 I 
 
,! f 
 
 N 
 
 294 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 I cant live without Laurence-just as other people die 
 because they can't live without food or air or water 
 And even m dying I only care about him. I know it's 
 wicked of me, but the whole point of goinj; to heaven 
 at all seems to me to be that Laurence will be there 
 and that I shall walk in unending lanes with him' 
 through all eternity. That is all I care for. If the 
 angels say to me when I get there, as people say in 
 banks, • How will you take it. Miss Burton ? '-I shall 
 say, -One Laurence Baxendale, and the rest in lanes' 
 ihats my idea of heaven." And Nancy went out of 
 the room, shutting the door behind her 
 
 "Confound the brute!" said Anthony under his 
 breath once more. Only this time he did not use the 
 word " confound ". 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 LADY ALICIA. 
 
 I£ sin performed is worthy blame, 
 Is sin intended just the same? 
 
 After the New Year came in the weather was so 
 severe and Nancy so l'ra;;ile that Mr. and Mrs. Burton 
 decided to take her to Mentone for a time, in order to 
 see what a warmer climate would do for their darlinc ; 
 and simultaneously Lord and Lady Portcullis— with 
 Lady Alicia Baxendale as their guest— likewise found 
 refuge from the ferocity of an English spring in the 
 south of France. 
 
 On his relations' departure from Drawbridge Castle 
 Mr. Baxendale returned to Poplar Farm ; which return 
 occurred just a week before the Burtons fled, on the 
 wings of the winter wind, to where they hoped the 
 winter wind could not reach them. 
 
 Poor Nancy never walked in the lanes now, for to 
 her they were as one huge, green cemetery of buried 
 hopes and joys ; and not being the kind of woman who 
 haunts burying-grounds, she wisely avoided them. 
 
 There are some natures that cling to the last resting, 
 places of what they have loved, and delight to plant 
 flowers there, watering these flowers with tears ; and 
 there are others that cannot bear the agony which the 
 mere sight of such sepulchres aroi" es, and who would 
 (295) 
 
296 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 t.i 
 
 r 
 
 II 
 
 therefore fam h.de their dead away out of their sight 
 and let them be as though they had never been. God 
 pity those bereaved hearts, whose sole happiness lies in 
 remembrance; for their sorrow is indeed great' But 
 Ood help those more sorely afflicted ones, whose sole 
 happiness J.es in forgetfulness ; for their misery is in- 
 tnitely greater ! ' 
 
 Therefore it never came to pass that Laurence met 
 Nancy walking in the lanes, as they used so often to 
 meet in the happy, far-oflT days; but on Sunday he 
 saw her face to face, coming out of TetJeigh Church 
 and the sight cut him to the heart. Was that thin pale' 
 careworn woman his sunny little Nancy ? And .v^s his' 
 the hand that had wiped the sunshine out of that wan 
 lace, and written sorrow, in capital letters, all over it? 
 
 As his heart went out silently, in an agony of pity 
 towards the girl whose life he had deliberately spoiled 
 a fierce hope took hold of Laurence that his mother 
 was mnocent after all, and Nancy the real culprit If 
 this were so matters might after all be put straight 
 between himself and the girl he loved. He could not 
 ask her to condone a crime committed by his mother 
 and so m a way entailed upon himself; but he could 
 condone— nay, now he felt he could fully and freely 
 forgive-wrong-doing perpetrated by Nancy out of too 
 great love for him. His shame he could not allow her 
 to share; but he would willingly take hers upon his 
 shoulders, and bear its consequences if possible in her 
 stead. 
 
 If Nancy was heartsick for Laurence, he was none 
 the less heartsick for her. The agony of separation 
 was not killing him as it was killing her, because a 
 man's physique is made of stronger elements than a 
 
LADY ALICIA 
 
 297 
 
 ivoraan's ; but he hmigorod and thirsted and prayed and 
 agonized not one whit less than she. She was the one 
 human being to whom he had shown all that was in 
 his heart — before whom he had poured out the hidden 
 treasures of his soul ; and — having once broken down 
 the hedge of l.s reserve — the longing to do it again was 
 almost uncontrollable. At the first sight of her altered 
 face he knew that he could forgive — nay, that he already 
 had forgiven — her, whatever she might have done: 
 love had once and for ever blotted out all her oflTences, 
 and he yearned to take her in his arms and defend her 
 against the whole world : yet honour made this im- 
 possible until his mother's innocence was proved. 
 
 While Laurence's pride was melting away in the heat 
 of his love for Nancy, and his soul was hourly crying 
 out for her, the Burtons and their daughter started for 
 Mentone; and he looked in vain in all the familiar 
 places for the pale little face which had become the centie 
 of his universe. Nancy was now out of his reach. 
 
 But that did not put her out of his thoughts ; in fact 
 it had a precisely opposite eflfect. All that early spring 
 
 when the roads were swept clean by the east wind, 
 
 and the fields smelt of the daisies that were yet to be 
 (for there is always a smell of future daisies in the air 
 on the first spring days) — Laurence's heart went out to 
 Nancy, and cried for her as thirsty men cry for water 
 in a barren and dry land where no water is. Neverthe- 
 less the more he thought about it the more fully he 
 became convinced that it was his mother who had set 
 fire to Baxendale Hall ; his poor, foolish mother, who 
 had never been able in all her life to discover the dis- 
 tinction between good and evil — much less to choose 
 the one and refuse the other. He remembered how she 
 
298 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 
 I 
 
 fet 
 
 had bef.ged him to do the deed himself, and how 
 utterly futile had been his efforts to convince her 
 that such a suggestion was of the nature of sin ; and 
 he knew her well enough to understand how she could 
 succeed in convincing herself that she was actually 
 performing a righteous act in fulfilling the old pro- 
 phecy, as well as in making her son (as she thought) a 
 rich man for the rest of his life. And if this were so, 
 then, alas ! Nancy could never be his ; for though pride 
 was disappearing, honour stood firm as ever. 
 
 The warmer climate of the sunny south did not do 
 as much for Nancy as her parents had hoped. She 
 lost her cough, and the doctors could find nothing 
 organically wrong with her; but neither climate nor 
 medicine can do much in the way of ministering to a 
 mind diseased. Had the last miserable six months been 
 blotted out, Nancy would speedily have become as 
 strong and well as she had ever been in her life; but 
 she could not forget, and the memory of what in one 
 short year she had won and lost was killing her as 
 surely as, if more slowly than, any disease defined by 
 the faculty. 
 
 And yet she prayed to forget — she hated to re- 
 member; that was the hard par\, of it There are 
 sweet-natured women who can cherish their sorrow 
 until it becomes to them a familiar friend on earth and 
 a guide to heaven; who ordir their harmonious goings 
 by the thought of what their loved ones would have 
 wished, until upon these gentle souls those loved ones 
 exercise a stronger influence than they ever exercised 
 in the days of their flesh; and such women are tried 
 by sorrow as by a refiner's fire, and come out of it as 
 burnished gold. But Nancy was not after this kind. 
 
LADY ALICIA 
 
 299 
 
 She was passionate rather than tender, and so the 
 " grace of a day that is dead " had no hold upon her. 
 On the contrary she chafed against it, and longed 
 to blot it for ever out of the book of her remem- 
 brance. She wanted no tender memories of Laurence 
 to occupy the place he liad left vacant in her heart ; 
 she desired not that grief should fill the room 
 up of her absent love, and remind her of all his 
 gracious parts ; gentler women would have wished 
 this, but not jXancy. She wanted the man himself, 
 just as he was, with all his overscrupulousness and 
 impracticability and unreasonableness, to have and to 
 hold, for better for worse, till death should them part. 
 Failing this, she prayed for I'orgetfulness — prayed that 
 he might depart out of her existence altogether and 
 the memory of him might not trouble her again — that 
 he would leave her free to live her own life, unvexed 
 by the haunting shadows of what might have been. 
 And yet she was so fashioned that oblivion was im- 
 possible to her ; the boon she craved was strictly denied 
 to her by the peculiarities of her own nature ; the more 
 she stro''e to hate and to forget, the more passionately 
 did she love and the more vividly did she remember. 
 For the which surely heaven pitied her. 
 
 Spring had fully dawned when Lady Alicia came 
 back to England and to Poplar Farm. -Her son was 
 delighted to see the change which the journey had 
 wrought in her ; she looked younger and happier (and 
 consequently handsomer) than she had looked for years. 
 
 "I am so gifld to see you so well, mother," said 
 Laurence aflTectionately. 
 
 " Yes, dear Laurence, I know I look well ; I noticed 
 it myself in the looking-glasr which so often tells us 
 
300 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 :!'' 
 
 ly 
 
 ■i. 
 ft 
 
 anythintj but a flattering tale, as dear Somebody—I 
 forget his name — lemarked." 
 " The warm weather suited yoa" 
 "Ah! it was not only the climate, dear Laurence, 
 that renewed my youth, though I confess sunshine ia 
 very sweet and soothing, even if somewhat trying to 
 the complexion; but it does no real damage if one 
 always wears a gauze veil. Your dear aunt's maid 
 would not permit me— positively would not permit me 
 — to step out-of-doorr. without a white gauze veil, and 
 I felt most grateful to her for her forethought. ' She 
 is an excellent person^quite excellent ; I don't know 
 what I should have done without her." 
 
 Laurence sighed. " I wish I could afford for you to 
 have a maid of your own, mother." 
 
 " Well, dear child, I cannot deny that a maid has a 
 very beneficial effect upon a woman's character. It 
 is quite impossible to find any leisure for cultivating 
 one's higher nature, if one has to do one's own hair 
 and look after one's own wardrobe; and yet it is 
 so sweet to cultivate one's higher nature if one can 
 find time — almost a duty in fact." 
 
 " I suppose it is." Laurence with difficulty repressed 
 a smile. 
 
 " I always think dear S. Peter's— or was it S. Paul's 
 —remark (I invariably confuse the two) about a 
 woman's not plaiting her hair or putting on gold and 
 apparel, but having a meek and quiet spirit instead, is 
 so very beautiful and appropriate. But it is only those 
 women who have a maid to see to the plaiting of their 
 hair and the putting on of their apparel that get the 
 time to attend to the dLvelopment of meek and 
 quiet spirits. One woman really cannot undertake 
 
LADY ALICIA 
 
 301 
 
 both departments herself ; and yet it is so sad for 
 either to be neglected." 
 
 " I suppose if you had only time for one you would 
 consider the former the more important ? " said Laurence 
 
 " Of course, dear child, of course ; because one losefi 
 caste if one's hair is badly done or one's clothes are 
 shabby, while nobody thinks any the worse of one for 
 not having a meek and quiet spirit. Not that I don't 
 think it is very sweet and Christian to do both — I do 
 indeed ; but of course the things that show are always 
 of more importance than the things that don't show. 
 Anybody can see that." 
 
 " Of course." Laurence's tone was dry. 
 
 "And now I have a confession to make to you, dear 
 Laurence ; a most serious confession. I am afraid you 
 will be very angry with me — you have a somewhat 
 unreasonable temper, as your poor dear father had — 
 but I feel sure you will pardon me in the end." 
 
 Laurence's heart stood still for a second, and then 
 went on at double-quick speed. So the confession he 
 dreaded to hear was coming at last, and his darling 
 and he were to be separated for ever. " Well, what is 
 it, mother ? " 
 
 " You see, dear child, poverty is peculiarly repellent 
 to any one of my refined and sensitive nature ; and not 
 only repellent — it is also positively injurious. It creates 
 faults — or rather, I should say, weaknesse.s — which 
 otherwise would not exist, and which have never dis- 
 tinguisheJ any of the Moates before; and it pre-.ents 
 the full development of virtues which properly belong 
 to my character." 
 
 "Ye-i, yes; I hear," L,nurence was impatient, but 
 his mother was not going to be hurried. 
 
302 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 "Therefore I feel it to be my duty to myself, and to 
 all around me, to escape from a state which is so injurious 
 to my higher nature. You see it is the duty of us all 
 to cultivate our higher natures— dear S. Paul says 
 something about working out our own salvation, and I 
 am sure he means by this that we must avoid all things 
 which are not profitable to us— in fact he uses those 
 exact words, if I remember rightly." 
 
 " And poverty is not profitable to your salvation. Is 
 that what you mean, mother ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear child; how quickly you comprehend 
 thmgs ! If only your poor dear father had understood 
 me as well as you do, what a much better i;nd happier 
 woman I might have been." 
 
 Laurence hpd his doubts as to the accuracy of the 
 deduction ; but he wisely refrained from putting them 
 into words. 
 
 " Therefore I have felt for some time that it was my 
 duty at all costs to escape from poverty. I was not 
 doing myself or my higher instincts anything like 
 justice; and it is so beautiful to do justice to one's 
 highest and best self, whatever sacrifice it may involve ' " 
 
 "Even if it be Baxendale Hall itself that happens to 
 be the burnt offering." 
 
 Lady Alicia sighed. " But that sacrifice was wasted 
 you see, owing to your unfortunate wrong-headed ness 
 and obstinacy." 
 
 " Then what is the second sacrifice involved in this 
 moral regeneration ? " 
 
 "It is hardly a sacrifice, dear Laurence; thouc^h I 
 shall always believe that Baxendale Hall was burn't by 
 a miracle in order to give my higher nature a chance 
 of fuller development. I remember once coming upon 
 
LADY ALICIA 
 
 808 
 
 I beautiful littlD poem about something ' for which I 
 pant,' and ' fuller something else I want,' which exactly 
 expresses all that I feel." 
 
 Laurence could hardly control his impatience to hear 
 the worst and have done with it. " As I unfortun- 
 ately spoiled sacrifice ncimber one, for goodness' sake 
 tell me what sacrifice number two is; and be quick 
 about it." 
 
 " It is not a sacrifice, as I have told you, dear 
 Laurence ; it is only a sweet, beautiful change and 
 development. Dear Lord Watercress, with whom at 
 Cannes I renewed my former friendship, has again 
 asked me to be his wife ; and I have accepted him." 
 
 Laurence was dumfounded. He had never dreamed 
 of his mother's marrying again. 
 
 " I think it is so touching and beautiful," continued 
 Lady Alicia, " that I should be given another chance of 
 happiness, after having been so foolish as to refuse him 
 for the sake of your father all those years ago. As 
 dear Shakespeare says, tliere is a divinity which puts 
 things straight again, however much we may make a 
 mull of them ourselves." 
 
 Then Laurence found words : " I hope Lord Water- 
 cress will make you very happy, mother," he said gently. 
 
 "I am sure he will, dear child; he has twenty 
 thousand a year, and two most charming places. He 
 says we must each go our own way, and neither be 
 bothered witTi the other, as there is money enough for 
 both. So diff'erent from your poor dear father, who 
 was always wanting me to be with him, and never 
 could be happy without me ! Ah, dear Lord Watercress 
 could have given him a lesson in unselfishness ! " 
 
 " We'll leave my father out of the conversation alto- 
 
804 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 gether, if you don't mind, mother, and devote our 
 attention to — his successor." 
 
 " You see, dear Laurence, I am sure it is ray duty to 
 n arry a rich man if I can ; and it is very sweet of you 
 to take it so nicely. You don't seem a bit angry, and 
 I was so afraid you would be." 
 
 " No, I am not angry. I've no right to be." 
 " And I want to tell you something else just to show 
 you how much harm poverty was doing to my char- 
 acter ; and i..- *• necessary it is for me to be rich if 1 am 
 to be as good as I should like to be— and as I ought to 
 be, for it is everybody's duty to be good, don't you 
 think ? " 
 " I suppose so ; but it's a pi • !y hard job sometimes ! " 
 " Of course you will keep v. .ut I am going to tell you 
 quite a secret, won't you ? " 
 
 " Mother, is it necessary to ask me that ? " 
 " Well then," said Lady Alicia in a nervous, depre- 
 cating maaner, totally unlike her usual calm serenity, 
 "would you believe it of me, dear Laurence?— I so 
 hated being poor that I made up my mind to set fire 
 to Baxendale Hall on purpose to get the insurance 
 money! I did indeed! Isn't it awful to think that 
 poverty could bring a ge; tlewoman and a Moate to 
 such a strait as this?" And her ladyship began to 
 cry. 
 
 " Don't cry, mother dear ; but tell me all about it." 
 Laurence was putting a tremendous restraint upon him- 
 self. 
 
 " That IS all ; and it is bad enough, goodness knows ! 
 I see now how wicked of me it would have been ; but 
 at that time I wanted money so dreadfully that I didn't 
 care what sin I committed to get it." 
 
LADY ALICIA 
 
 305 
 
 " Then didn't you carry out your intention after all ? " 
 asked Laurence, with a strange, tight feeling round his 
 heart 
 
 " No, no," sobbed Lady Alicia ; " but that was no credit 
 to me. ' It was when I was contemplating this wicked 
 step that somebody forestalled me— goodness knows 
 who!— and actually did what I had intended to do. 
 And then— when I heard what people said and thought 
 about the crime— I realized what a lucky woman I had 
 been to have just escaped committing it. I never 
 knew how wrong it was till I heard other people 
 
 say so." 
 
 Laurence fell on his knees at his mothers feet. 
 " Mother, swear to me that you are speaking the truth— 
 that you did not carry out your intention Remember, 
 even if you did, I would freely forgive you, and keep 
 the secret with my life." _ 
 
 "But I didn't no it, Laurence; indeed I didnt. 
 Though I don't see that I am really much better than if 
 I had. It was not my fault that I didn't carry out my 
 sinful intention. Oh, it is dreadful to think that I— a 
 Moate— could have sunk so low ' " 
 
 Laurence stretched out a trembling hand and seized a 
 Bible that was lying on his mother's work-table. " Will 
 you kiss this, and swear that it wasn't vou who set fire 
 
 to the Hall ? " 
 
 Lady AUcia kissed the Book. " I swear that it was 
 not I," she said solemnly ;" though I feel my guilt is 
 the same as if it were." 
 
 Laurence rose from his knees with a look of exulta- 
 tion in his eyes, for he knew that his mother was 
 
 speaking the truth. 
 
 20 
 
I 
 
 8M 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 She rose also. " I think I will go to bed now. Of 
 course you will never mention to dear Lord Watercress 
 what I have just told you." 
 
 " I swear I will never mention it to anybody as long 
 as I live," replied Laurence, kissing her. " Good-night, 
 mother; I hope you will be very happy." 
 
 When Lady Alicia had left the room he sank into a 
 chair and buried his face in his hands. " Thank God, 
 Nancy did it after all," he murmured; "and I love her 
 M I love my own soul." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE LANES AGAIN. 
 
 In tpite of all the wtjn you tried 
 
 To Mifla him with T&in endeavour, 
 Love never (or a moment died 
 But livei for ever. 
 
 Laurence Baxendale wa.s rejoiced to find that his 
 suspicions were incorrect so far as Lady Alicia was 
 concerned, but none the less he repented him of having' 
 done his mother an injustice in .simpecting Iilt — 
 although Lady Alicia's confession of her unlawful 
 intention robbed this inju.stice of most of its gross- 
 ness ; and he tried in every way to make up to her 
 for the •jifiLMr,."Jion of his heart by an unwonted 
 tendemr^s. 
 
 He had just been through a time of storm and stress 
 which left a lasting impress upon his character. He 
 had done his best to tear Nancy from his heart ; but 
 it was all in vain. It may be possible — indeed it 
 is sometimes necessary — for a man to pluck out his 
 offending eye or cut off his offending right hand ; 
 but to eradicate from his heart tlie woman who has 
 firmly ensconced herself therein is an operation which 
 a certain type of man cannot perform and yet live 
 of which type was Laurence Baxendale. The memories 
 — bitter memories they were — of her lovely eyes and 
 (307) 
 
808 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 I Bl 
 
 her bnght wit, of her sweet temper and cheerful 
 etoicisni, of her tolerant good nature and tender sym- 
 pathy, would come back and flood his soul with an 
 agony of regret, making forgetfulnes,s impossible. 
 At such times his passions would rise superior to his 
 reason and he would swear to himself that, whether 
 
 km from Nancy. Then would come the reaction of 
 better feelings; and he knew that for him such dis- 
 Honour was impossible. 
 
 Throughout all this turmoil of doubt and despair 
 he loved her still ; nay, he loved her better than ever, in 
 spite of the sin which he suspected her of having com- 
 mitted. He seemed possessed by an overmastering 
 passion, which he strove in vain to control. There waa 
 a constant struggle in his heart between his love and his 
 pnde: pride demanding the sacrifice of Nancy on the 
 altar of stained ancestry and outraged family propriety- 
 love putting in a plea for happiness at all co^ts, which 
 fie telt had no justification whatsoever. Thus the 
 conflict went on_a conflict which was none the less 
 severe because silent, and which told on the man 
 more than he would have cared to own. He shunned 
 society more than ever; he became irritable and 
 moody; he carried out all the routine work of the 
 estate with exemplary care, but he had plenty of time 
 on his hands. As he abjured any companionship, he 
 devoted this spare time to wandering about and think- 
 ing of Nancy, holding the balance between his passions 
 and his pride. But he never went into the lanes 
 where he and Nancy used to walk in the golden days 
 ot old ; that, he felt, was more than he could bear 
 Now, however, the long struggle was overlthe 
 
THE LANES AGAIN 
 
 309 
 
 weary warfare accomplished. Love and honour had 
 met together at last, and he was free to indulge in the 
 one without sacrificing the other — free to take upon 
 himself the fighting of Nancy's battles and the expiating 
 of Nancy's sins — free to give in full measure where he 
 had been too proud only to receive. 
 
 Matters also had been going very hardly with Nancy. 
 She was onepf those women who are like thorough- 
 bred horses ; she would go on until she dropped. But it 
 was borne in upon her that the time of dropping was 
 near at hand. Although she likewise had hitherto 
 studiously avoided the lanes, one afternoon, when she 
 was feeling specially low, a curious idea came to her that 
 she would go to the stile where Laurence had first kissed 
 her, and there bid farewell to her brief spell of perfect 
 bliss. 
 
 By some subtle action of that force which men in 
 their ignorance call Chance — though it may be the 
 Providence which shapes our ends — Laurence Baxen- 
 dale became possessed of a similar notion on that same 
 afternoon ; and found himself, almost to his own 
 surprise, wandering down the winding lanes where he 
 and Nancy had passed such happy hours. The sweet 
 memories of those days of bliss came back to him, and 
 with them a passionate desire to see that dear face 
 again, — ah ! how sad it was when he last saw it — to 
 kiss again a look of happinesc into those blue eyes, to 
 bring back the old brightness, the old mirth. What 
 mattered conventional standards, what mattered his 
 own pride of race, compared with Nancy ? Had not his 
 mother meditated the very deed of which he suspected 
 the girl ? It was for no mercenary motives he knew 
 that she had done the deed ; in a moment of thought- 
 
310 
 
 FUEL OF FISE 
 
 n 
 
 :l . 
 
 Wss she had done it for love. For love- Y«, 
 
 passionate love; but with h^ lov! tT '^'''^ " 
 
 feeling hun^ilii,. WrenoLtrd^^X':;!^ 
 he condemned himself for his Pharisaiam-Kw S 
 
 My darling," he said softly. 
 Nancy looked up with a startled cry 
 
 spoiled n.y life; cannot you leav^ „.« L dtr^ee"^ 
 
 Laurence was stricken with remorse at hSZ^^, 
 stiU more at the sight of her face. ""'"^■ 
 
 "Nancy," he whispered gently, "can you ever for 
 K.ve me? 1 have come to teU you thaf I am o^" 
 I was mad when I said that we must part I^^t 
 hve without yoa Sweetheart, I love you Jlove 3' 
 Nancy stUl looked at him with dilated eZ^gh^ 
 seemed not to have heard a word he satd 
 
THE LANES AGAIN 
 
 311 
 
 " So you have come to gloat upon the ruin you have 
 wrought; to see what a wreck a woman can become 
 who has been fool enough to love a man ! Truly, a 
 kind thought, a manly action ! " 
 
 " How can you speak so bitterly, my own love ? I 
 am here to own my fault, and to beg your forgivenesa 
 Can you not understand that I adore you; that I 
 cannot live without you ? " 
 
 Nancy shook her head sadly. " You should have 
 considered that before. It is your own doing. You 
 
 said that we must see one another no more you 
 
 threw me aside without a thought. If you now see 
 that it was all a mistake, you have only yourself to 
 blame." 
 
 Laurence found this reception a rude shock. He had 
 looked at the matter from his own point of view alone ; 
 and had supposed, now that he was ready to overlook 
 Nancy's crime, he had only to propose a restoration of 
 their old relations to be received with open arms. He 
 was not prepared to find any reluctance on the girl's 
 part to a renewal of their lease of love. He was 
 so consumed by his conviction of Nancy's guilt that 
 he had taken for granted that she was aware that he 
 knew. It had never occurred to him to look at the matter 
 from her side, or to imagine that he had failed in any way 
 in what was due from him to her ; so that her attitude 
 came upon him with a shock of surprise. He was in 
 a diflScult position ; he was anxious, nay eager, to take 
 her again to himself; he had a passionate desire to 
 clasp her in his arms, and swear that nothing in heaven 
 or on earth should separate them agaia But he could 
 hardly say to her, "My dear, I know you are a 
 criminal, but I am prepared to overlook the fact". 
 
812 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 ''It has been ah -our own doing." 
 
 "I know it, but tnat onlv makpo ;f tu "^ 
 
 «- fo,, nj .£ n.rr;L; *:.r* "*"' "• 
 
 "You had a strange way of showing it." 
 I hoped and thought you would forget zne when 
 
 k. A 
 
THE LANES AGAIN 
 
 313 
 
 you were in fresh scenes, and saw new faces. No one 
 knows how cut to the heart I was when I saw your 
 face on your return, and recognized how much you had 
 suffered." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me so ? " asked Nancy. 
 
 " Why did I not?" replied her lover; "I cannot tell 
 you; you must not ask me. But believe me, my 
 darling, that I love you more than life itself. I am 
 filled with remorse for all the suffering I have caused 
 you, and if you will only forgive me I will have but 
 one object for the future — your happiness." 
 
 Nancy did not speak, so he went on: "I cannot 
 offer you a luxurious home such as you are accus- 
 tomed to, but I can at least offer you reasonable 
 comforts. My mother, you may have heard, is about 
 to marry agaia For the future I shall not have her 
 to support, nor " — here Laurence. winced — "have I to 
 pay the premiums on the insurance. I do not wish 
 there to be any mistake— so I will say at once that I 
 cannot — it is not I will not, but I cannot — take the 
 insurance money. But my income, though small, will 
 enable me to maintain you without that." 
 
 He paused after this lengthy and somewhat un- 
 loverlike speech. On the whole he might have 
 done worse. During the recitation of these prosaic 
 details Nancy had time to recover herself, and the 
 subtle influence of the man began to make itself felt 
 When Laurence paused, Nancy said : — 
 
 "You don't 8uppo.se I care a straw about your 
 money or your comforts or your luxuries, do you ? " 
 
 Laurence was quick to perceive a change in her 
 tona 
 
 "Nancy darling," he whispered, "don't you know 
 
314 
 
 FUEL OP FIRE 
 
 «n"^ T.u'V ^""'^ y°" '«'»«•»''«'• the dear old 
 We. and the lovely times we used to anticipate U 
 cannot be all over. You will fr.,^;,.» , 
 
 ~, », d„,i.,; „, ^.. ,„ .^/i,-^^^. Jo. -. 
 
 JI"."" 1°'. '' "" ■""" "" " *-" ». on. 
 
 "If I did, Hied." 
 
 " You preferred your pride to me " 
 
 in silence. When they reached it T *'''"'' 
 
 whispered. "Nancy_m^ oZT'.^,^.:!^::^"' 
 
 love me just a little?" ^ °' y°" 
 
 And Nancy looked up with swimming eves SI,. 
 
 was at an end ^ ' ^^ estrangement 
 
I 'i<jjtiKCinfje.fH. 
 

 
 i 
 
THE LANES AGAIN 315 
 
 brancft As for Nancy, the bloom already began to 
 come back to her pale cheeks, and her blue eyes were 
 bright with her deep love. 
 
 " Laurence dear," she said, "you have made me very 
 miserable in the past But I am almost glad of it 
 because now it makes the new happiness all the 
 greater." 
 
 " And you forgive me, my own ? " 
 "I forgive you— but on one condition, that you 
 never refer to all this horridness again. Let it be as 
 if it had never b. an. We won't remember the miser- 
 able time; we will be happy in the future! When 
 Nora and I were little, and the games went wron<r 
 and we quarrelled over them, we used to say 'Letts' 
 pretend it didn't happen'; and then we began the 
 pme all over again in peace. It was such a good plan 
 because it didn't leave any sore placea And now I 
 say again, 'Let's pretend it didn't happen'; and we'll 
 begin the game aU over again, and leave no sore 
 placea 
 
 They went on, hand in hand, wrapped up in their 
 present bliss. And, in spite of all her cleverness it never 
 once entered Nancy's head that her lover had ever sus- 
 pected her: indeed his present behaviour seemed 
 satisfactorily to prove the contrary. 
 
 So little may men and women-even when they are 
 in love with one another-read each other's inmost 
 tbougnta 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE PROFESSORS VISIT. 
 
 Love evotmote is Iresh and young : 
 
 So may it please your Royal Highnesi 
 To banish from your mother tongue 
 Such words as Finis ; 
 
 There was great delight throughout Tetleigh and the 
 neighbourhood when the engagement of Mr. Baxendale 
 to Miss Burton was announced. An engagement which 
 we have seen coming on is always so much more flatter- 
 ing to our .self-esteem (and therefore more pop.,lar in 
 proportion) than an engagement which suddenly jumps 
 out upon us and takes us completely by surprise. The 
 former shows us how wise and far-seeing we on- 
 ookers have been; while the latter proves (or. rather 
 tries to prove) that we can see only what is under our 
 own noses and no farther through a stone wall than 
 other people; which deduction is, of course, ah'^urd. 
 
 Although it might be a good match for NancT 
 socially, It was by no means a brilli t marriage froili 
 a pecuniary point of view ; and to this fact Mr Burton 
 could not close his paternal eyes; but now that Lady 
 Ahcia was provided for, Laurence could just afford to 
 keep a wife. Moreover Nancy s mind was made up to 
 marry him or die; and she had shown such unmistok- 
 able signs of actually fulfilling the latter alternative 
 (316) 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 317 
 
 if the former were denied her, that her father decided 
 in his own mind that, as a livinj; married daughter 
 is better than a dead single one, he would not with- 
 hold his consent from Nancy's becoming the wife of 
 Laurence Baxendalc. 
 
 As for the two lovers themselves, words could not 
 describe th ;ir happiness. It is true tliat there is no 
 heart-sickness harder to bear than that of hope de- 
 ferred ; but, on the other hand, there is no tree of life 
 whereof the fruit is sweeter than tliat of the long- 
 delerred desire at last fulfilled ; and now Laurence and 
 Nancy were enjoying this fruit to the fullest extent of 
 their by no means limited powers. Compensation is 
 one of the great laws of life ; and those people whose 
 hearts' desires have been given to them at the mere 
 request of their lips, have no idea of the ecstasy of bliss 
 vouchsafed to those whose happiness arrives late, after 
 having tarried long upon the way. 
 
 In the whole course of true love there are few 
 things more conducive to pleasure than the mutual 
 contemplation and discussion of those varied obstacles 
 and diiBculties which at one time prevented the stream 
 from running with unorthodox smoothness, and even 
 threatened its eventual dispersion. And the worse 
 these have been in the past, the more agreeable they 
 are in the present as subjects of conversation. Never- 
 theless it must be admitted that this is not the sort of 
 conversation that best lends itself to reproduction for 
 the benefit of such persons as have not the privilege of 
 hearing it first-hand ; therefore the dialogue of these 
 lovers at this particular point of their career is best 
 left unchronicled. 
 In the sunshine of her restored happiness Nancy 
 
318 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 |i 
 
 won beg^an to grow strong and well again; while 
 Laurence resulutely put away from him all remem- 
 brance of the crime which had once well-nigh wrecked 
 his life, and decided that as he had forgiven so he would 
 forget. 
 
 Lady Alicia was married very quietly to her old lover 
 in London on the 12th of June ; Nancy's marriage • js 
 fixed to take place at Tetleigh Church on the 10th 
 of September; and in the interval it luppened that 
 Professor Gottfried— a most distinguished scientist 
 with whom the Arbuthnots had made friends on their 
 honeymoon— came to stay at the vicarage. 
 
 The professor was not one of those clever people 
 whose noses are always, in the air; he was one of those 
 men of genius who icnow that nothing ig beneath the 
 notice of mar. f; : . ,e nothing is beneath the notice of God ; 
 so he was immensely interested in everything that was 
 going on around him, and— having learned much— was 
 always longing to learn more. While he was staying 
 at TetU;igh he heard the story of the burning of Baxen- 
 dale Hall and the mystery connected with it ; and his 
 attention was immediately aroused thereby. 
 
 Over and over again he made Michael and Nora 
 describe every detail of the incident, with all the 
 evidence that told so strongly against Laurence, until 
 they grew quite tired of the recital ; and then Nora 
 •suggested that they should take him up to the ruins of 
 the Hall so that he might study the question more 
 minutely upon the very scene of the tragedy. Con- 
 sequently, one glorious afternoon in August the 
 Arbuthnots, Professor Gottfried, Laurence, Nancy, and 
 Nancy's two small brothers strolled up to examine all 
 that was left of Baxendale Hall. 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 319 
 
 It was a lovely day— just such another day as that 
 which had preceded the catastrophe exactly a year ago, 
 only there was no gale this August as there had been 
 last; one of those perfect sunimor afternoons when 
 Nature seems to be at a standstill, simply because there 
 is nothing better to do than she has already done — 
 she is at her wits' end how to find miuther treat for her 
 already spoilt children. 
 
 They walked slowly through the lanes — those lanes 
 which were as holy ground to at least two of the party, 
 who considered the others guilty of sacrilege in daring 
 to walk there at all — until they reached the park ; and 
 then across the velvet grass to the ruins, which stood 
 gaunt and grim and blackened, the one inharmonious 
 touch in the idyllic picture of English summer time. 
 
 " Isn't it pushing and impertinent for them all to 
 come bothering into our lanes?" said Nancy by the 
 way to Laurence, who — with her — had dropped behind 
 the rest of the party. 
 
 " It is decidedly intrusive, I must confess." 
 
 " They are as bad as some people who once, when we 
 were staying at an hotel, mistook our private sitting- 
 room for the public drawing-room. I wish you'd been 
 there, Laurence ; you'd have roared." 
 
 " I'm sure I should. What did they do ? " 
 
 "They strolled in, in a most leisurely and airy 
 fashion ; looked over all our books and papers and 
 letters which were lying on the table; and finally 
 ensconced themselves in the two most comfortable 
 chairs they could find. We were all simply shaking 
 with laughter. It was such a natural mistake, and 
 yet seemed so frightfully impertinent." 
 
 " It was distinctly funny, and distinctly uucomf ort- 
 
320 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 able for the people themselves when they found out 
 what they had done." 
 
 Nancy bubbled over with laughter at the remem- 
 brance "Oh! yes, they were in a tremendous agony 
 then but of course we laughed and said it didn't 
 matter in the least. But these people aren't in a 
 tremendous agony at being found in our lanes- they 
 dont seem a bit ashamed of themselves, do they?" 
 " Not a bit ; that is what is so objectionable in them 
 Ihere d be some hope of them if they did." 
 
 When the party reached the deserted house Laurence 
 
 took the professor all over it, pointing out, as well as 
 
 he could, where the fire broke out and how it travelled 
 
 The man of science followed him with absorbing interest 
 
 " It 13 most strange, most strange ! " he kept sayine • 
 
 I cannot it at all find out." 
 
 "It never will be found out now, I expect," replied 
 Laurence— addmg under his breath, "and hope" 
 
 But Professor Gottfried had no such wish It was 
 his busmess to solve problems and to make discoveries 
 and he did not like to be beaten. 
 
 "It mus: haf been on fire from the inside set," he 
 continued ; " there is of that no doubt. A house on fire 
 from the outside to set, and on the upper storey to 
 tegm. IS a most impossible and not-to-be-believed-in 
 thing. Yet the ground floor by the fire quite untouched 
 has been. But why did you not the floor again roof- 
 over before anything spoilt was ? " 
 
 "Because I couldn't aftbrd to do so," said Laurence 
 simply. 
 
 ;; Ach ! it is a bother not things to be able to afford." 
 
 of R««'/T' u°/°"''' °^ *•'*''" And the master 
 Of Baxenda'a laughed somewhat bitterly. 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 321 
 
 " And there was no one in the house living, you tell 
 me, at the time ; even the caretaker for a short holiday 
 gone away had : was that not so ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And they had all the keys into their hands before 
 going given ? So did Arbuthnot tell me." 
 
 " That is so." Laurence hated this endeavour to dis- 
 cover a secret which his chief desire now was to keep 
 inviolate. He had forgiven Nancy with all his heart ; 
 but he was by no means sure that the world — if it found 
 out her guilt — would be equally ready to forgive her; 
 and he was quite certain that he did not wish the world 
 ever to have the chance. So he tried to divert the 
 professor's attention. "T you will come with me 
 across the lawn to that clump of beech-trees on the 
 other side, I will give you a glimpse mto five counties," 
 he said. 
 
 But it required a stronger man than Laurence to 
 divert the professorial mind when once it had set it- 
 self to the solution of a particular problem. 
 
 " I do not want five counties to see — no, nor fifty coun- 
 ties ; I do want the mystery of this house to solve." 
 
 " It's no good trying to do that, professor. We've 
 all tried, and have given it up as a bad job ; and you'll 
 be compelled to do the same." 
 
 "Ach what nonsense you yovmg men do talk and 
 how idle you are! 'A bad job' indeed ! Whoever heard 
 of in mathematics ' a bad job ' ? To every question there 
 an answer is, if only one it can find ; and I mean this 
 one before I go to find out." 
 
 " It's no good, professor ; you'd better take my advice 
 and give it upw" 
 
 But the professor was not to be baulked. He pottered 
 21 
 
322 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 about the ruins for another hour, with poor Laurence 
 at his heels ; and then was so hot and tired that he was 
 obliged to join the group sitting under the beech-trees 
 and partake of tea which Mra. Candy had carried up 
 trom her cottage in a basket. 
 
 "What a perfect afternoon it is!" exclaimed Nora 
 with a sigh of absolute content, laying her hand upon 
 her husband s and looking at her sister, from whose face 
 joy was already beginning to play the part of india- 
 rubber and rub out sorrow's handwriting. " Nancy 
 dear, do you ever wonder what you have done to de- 
 serve such happiness ? " 
 
 Nancy shook her head. "No; but I sometimes 
 wonder what Laurenpe has." 
 
 No one laughed louder than Laurence himself at this 
 saUy; it was so exactly like Nancy. 
 
 "Isn't it funny that food always tastes so much 
 mcer out-of-doors than it does indoora?" remarked 
 that young lady when the meal was well under weigh • 
 "I beheve that even boiled mutton and rice pudding 
 would seem regular delicacies in the open air " 
 
 "Food eaten out of doors is nice even to read about 
 m books," said Nora. 
 
 Her sister agreed. " Yes, isn't it ? Now when you 
 read about Robin Hood and people of that sort feastins 
 on venison-pasties and stoups of claret in the 'merrie 
 green-wood- (spelt with ie instead of y) it sounds the 
 most delicious fare; yet I'm certain that claret handed 
 round in stoups (whatever a stoup may be) would taste 
 extremely sour in a modern dining-room; and as for 
 venison ! " 
 
 "Well, what's wrong with venison » " asked Laurence 
 with a smile M Nancy paused. He was already un- 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 323 
 
 conscioasly acquiring the manner peculiar to those men 
 who are blessed with brilliant wives ; he led up to her 
 best stories, played up to her smartest repartees, and — 
 when she was in full swing — his lips moved slightly, as 
 do the lips of prompters in amateur theatricals. 
 
 " Oh ! venison is nothing but mutton with its head 
 turned ; and it's as troublesome as are all the people 
 whose heads have been turned. You never can catch 
 it at the right moment — like a pear or an eclipse, don't 
 you know ? It has either not been kept long enough, 
 when it is mutton too high to eat ; or else it has been 
 kept too long, in which case either it or you has to leave 
 the house at once in favour of the other ; and then to 
 return to your mutton is dangerous to life, from a 
 sanitary point of view." 
 
 While Nancy was rattling on in her old, airy, inconse- 
 quent fashion, v, ith nobody but Laurence paying much 
 attention to what she said Professor Gottfried was 
 showing the little boys some grass and flowers through 
 a powerful magnifying-glass which he produced from 
 his pocket. 
 
 Suddenly Arthur raised the glass, and regarded the 
 surrounding landscape through it " I say, Amby," he 
 cried, " do come here and see how funny all the trees 
 and everything look through this ! " 
 
 Ambrose flew to his brother's side and gazed throuiTli 
 the glass with one blue eye, puckering up the other 
 until every muscle on that side of his small face was 
 taut. " It is awfully queer ! " he exclaimed ; " every- 
 thing looks so big and wobbly, doesn't it ?— as if the 
 world was full of water, and we were at the bottom 
 of the sea, and the trees were made of seaweed ! " 
 " Let me look," said Nancy, whose fingers were never 
 
324 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 for long out of any p;e. She could not bear to be out- 
 side of things. 
 
 After she had ga^ed her fill — which was a very short 
 one — Laurence took the glass from her (more for tlie 
 pleasure of touching her fingers, it must be admittod, 
 than from any desire to behold the phenomena which 
 it presented), and idly raised it to his eyes. 
 
 " It makes me feel like a child again," he remarked 
 after a moment ; " there used to be a flaw in the nursery- 
 window here, which magnified things when you lool-.ed 
 through it, and — as Ambrose said — made everything 
 wobbly and watery. I likewise remember imagining 
 that the world was the bottom of the sea in those days, 
 when I looked through that particular pane in the old 
 nursery-window." 
 
 " Eh ! what is that ? what is that ? " cried the pro- 
 fessor, with suddenly awakened interest. 
 
 " I was only saying that looking through your glass 
 at this view reminded me of looking through my old 
 nursery-window, as there was a flaw in one of the 
 panes that magnified everything," replied Laurence 
 languidly. The professor's almost childish interest in 
 trifles, and curiosity regarding the same, bored him 
 considerably. 
 
 Professor Gottfried started to his feet and clapped 
 his hands in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, thereby upsetting 
 his tea and bread-and-butter in one fell crash. " I have 
 it, I have it ! " he cried ; " the mystery of the fire at last 
 is cleared ! The never-to-be-solved problem is solved ! 
 The bad job is not any more given up to be, but is a 
 very good job after all ! " 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, professor ? " asked the 
 vicar in amazement ; while the others looked on, imagin- 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 325 
 
 ing that too much learning had made the little German 
 mad. 
 
 "I mean that to me it has been given the great 
 mystery ot' this house to solve ; I mean that I do know 
 how Baxeadalo Hall by accident burnt was; that is 
 what I do mean ! " And the professor fairly skipped 
 with excitement. 
 
 Laurence's face turned as white as a sheet. "For 
 heaven's sake tell us what you are driving at," he said 
 between his teeth. 
 
 "Listen, pay attention, and I will all tell," cried the 
 professor ; " see, the thing is quite simple. But tell me 
 first ; was the nursery to the library at all near ? " 
 
 "It was next to it," replied Laurence; "and on the 
 same floor." 
 
 " And for what was it, after the Hall was shut-up 
 used?" 
 
 "As a sort of overflow-meeting for the library," 
 Laurence answered ; " some books and papers, for which 
 there wasn't room in the library, were stored there." 
 He kept himself well in hand ; but he could not quite 
 hide the trembling of the fingers that twirled his 
 moustache in a vaia show of indifference. 
 
 " Then it is all as child's play simple," fairly shouted 
 Professor Gottfried ; " when the sun upon the able-to- 
 magnify flaw in the window did shine, the flaw a fire- 
 glass did become ; and so the great sun himself did thus 
 to the books and papers in the room set fire. See here ! " 
 And while they all f tood breathless with surprise at the 
 professor's discovery, he held his magnif ying-glass where 
 the hot August sunlight could fall upon it, and quickly 
 burnt a large hole in Mrs. Candy's best table-cloth. 
 
 Nancy was the first to find worda " Then you believe 
 
826 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 it was the sun that set fire to Baxendale Hall ? And, 
 if so, the old prophecy was actually fulfilled; for the 
 sun IS thrice as great as King or State, and a thousand- 
 fold stronger and higher ! " 
 
 " I make no doubt, dear young lady, that it was none 
 other than the great sun himself that did the crime 
 commit. Who else could have the library entered 
 without first opening the door and walking up the stairs ? 
 The fire would in the afternoon begin, when the sun at 
 the south-west windows was shining in ; and for some 
 hours it would smoulder ; and then the strong wind 
 would fan it, and the books and the papers would like 
 so much tinder bum." 
 
 Nancys face was pale with excitement, and her eyes 
 were dim with joyful tears. " Yes, yes ; I'm sure you 
 are right. And oh, I'm so glad that the secret has 
 been found out at last ! " 
 
 Suddenly the prof essor's jaw fell. "But stop; I do 
 not see; why did the sun that particular aftem^n to 
 Baxendale HaU set fire, when for two hundred years or 
 more he on that very window shining every day had 
 been ? " 
 
 There was a pause— a brief yet interminable silence 
 —and then Nancy cried : " I know why ; the great tree 
 which stood at the back of the Hall, was blown down by 
 the gale the day before ; so that the sun shone for the 
 first time on the nursery-window that particular after- 
 noon." 
 
 Professor Gottfried positively flung his arms round 
 Nancy in his excitement. " That is it, that is it, clever, 
 clever girl ! That does everything most clearly explain.' 
 The tree, which had always that window shaded, did 
 fall; the sun on the flaw in the glass did shine;' the 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 327 
 
 flaw in the window did as a sun-glass act, and did to 
 the books set fire ; the books and the papers did so 
 quickly bum that the fire to the house itself did extend ; 
 the strong wind did fan the flames so fast that they 
 like wild-fire did travel ; and so in one day and one 
 night Baxendale Hall was down burnt." 
 
 " Then no one entered the Hall that afternoon." It 
 was Laurence that spoke, but the voice was not his own. 
 
 "No one, no one; if they had, the fire discovered 
 would have been. When you, as you told me, in the 
 morning of that day were here, the sun had not on the 
 window shone, and the fire had not begun. It was when 
 the sun on the west front of the house was shining that 
 the flaw in the pane of glass to the Hall did set fire ; 
 and then no one ever into the house again did come." 
 
 "And this explains why the fire started from the 
 upper storey," continued Laurence in the same unnatural 
 voice. 
 
 " It does all things connected with this matter ex- 
 plain," replied the professor ; " it does explain how the 
 fire from inside and from upstairs did begin ; and how 
 it did begin though all the doors were locked, for the 
 sun can without any keys enter." 
 
 Professor Gottfried's words brought full conviction 
 to the minds of all his hearers ; and the sudden enormous 
 relief was almost more than Laurence could bear. So 
 he turned away in silence and went alone into the 
 beech-wood that fringed the lawn of his old home, and 
 there struggled to regain that control over his feelings 
 of which the unexpected joy produced by the professor's 
 discovery had almost robbed him. 
 
 After a few minutes Nancy left the group that were 
 so busily engaged in discussing Professor Gottfried's 
 
s» 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 solution of the Baxendale mjrstery — finding fresh 
 proofs of its truth in every new aspect of consideration 
 — and followed her lover into the wood. 
 
 "Darling," she said, laying a caressing hand upon 
 his arm, which was still trembling, "I am so glad." 
 But she was not as glad as he was. Conscious all the 
 time of her own innocance, she had naturally never 
 suspected herself. 
 
 Laurence could not speak ; but he raised the little 
 hand to his lips and covered it with kisses. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that the mystery of Baxendale 
 Hall was solved by the ingenuity of Professor Gottfried. 
 All the false suspicions, and the heart-burnings which 
 they had caused, were over for ever; and everybody 
 was heartily ashamed of having suspected everybody 
 else. The professor's discovery caused a considerable 
 sensation both socially and scientifically; and for a 
 time people were almost as much afraid of magnifying- 
 glasses as they were of gunpowder and dynamite. 
 The Insurance Company were so thoroughly satisfied 
 with the professor's explanation of the otherwise in- 
 explicable mystery, that they again expressed their 
 willingness to pay Mr. Baxendale the sum to which 
 he was entitled ; and this time he had no option — and 
 no desire— but to avail himself of his rights. After 
 much consultation and discussion, he and Nancy de- 
 cided that they would invest eighty thousand pounds 
 and live upon the income of it, settling the capital upon 
 the estate ; and that they would spend the other twenty 
 thousand in building a new house upon the old found- 
 ations — a house not too large for their present means, 
 and yet capable of being enlarged should prosperity 
 shine in the future upon the Baxendale family. 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 829 
 
 One sunny September afternoon — about a fortnight 
 before their marriage — Laurence and Nancy were sit- 
 ting together upon the old stile which had proved such 
 an important stage-property in the drama of their 
 lives ; and they were going over — for the two hundred 
 and fiftieth time — the story of the burning of Baxen- 
 dale. They had just gone over — for the two thousand 
 and fiftieth time — the story of their love for one another, 
 and the peculiar unsmoothness of its course; so they 
 turned their attention to the fire as a slight diversion, 
 before beginning the two thousand and fifty-first re- 
 cital of the more interesting narrative. 
 
 " Darling, are you happy ? " Laurence asked in con- 
 clusion. 
 
 "I should just think I am; simply bursting with 
 happiness." 
 
 " And you like being engaged to me ? " 
 
 " Adore it. Life is like a game ; and as long as you 
 live with your own people you have to wait for your 
 turn to play, and let them all take their turns in due 
 order. But when you are engaged, it is alwajrs your 
 turn to play; and you never have to wait for the 
 others, because the only other player is the best part 
 of yourself. It's just like being a child again ; and — 
 still better — a child who is always out to tea. Oh ! I 
 think it is simply lovely ! " 
 
 Laurence put his arm round her. " My sweet," he said. 
 
 " Everything seems different since I became engaged," 
 Nancy went on ; " it is just as if I had gone through 
 the looking-glass into the room on the other side. 
 The things are the same as in the old room, but they 
 are all in different places; and I look at everything 
 from the opposite point of view." 
 
1^: 
 
 330 
 
 FUEL OF FIEE 
 
 "And is it as nice as the old room ? " 
 
 " A million billion trillion times nicer." 
 
 " My darling, my own darling," murmured Laurence. 
 
 "Ill tell you somethii ;; else about being engaged," 
 said Nancy; "namely, that it is extremely early- 
 Victorian." 
 
 " How so, my sweet ? " 
 
 "It is so old-fashioned and feminine and conven- 
 tional and altogether correct; and makes one have 
 such sweet, meek, womanly, enrly-Victorian feelings. 
 Of course I know that I look like a fashion-plate 
 in this week's Queen ; but all the time I am feeling 
 like Agnes Copperfield and Amelia Sedley and Mrs. 
 Barrett-Browning." 
 
 Laurence laughed as he kissed her. 
 
 " I assure you," she went on, " that every time I look 
 in the glass I expect to see myself with bunches of 
 ringlets on either side, like a water- spaniel or a great- 
 aunt ; and yet before I was engaged I used to be the 
 very essence of the thing which present-day writers 
 call modernity." 
 
 " A horrid word ! " murmured Laurence under his 
 breath. 
 
 " But rather a nice thing in its way, all the same ; 
 and a thing which has completely fallen away from 
 me. You can't think, Laurence dear, how funny it is 
 to watch oneself growing early-Victorian. I feel like 
 a motor-car that is gradually developing into a ma- 
 hogany sideboard ; or an embroidered art-needlewoi k 
 ■portiere that is slowly evolving into a pair of rep 
 curtains." 
 " But you like it, don't you, my own ? " 
 "I adore it; that's where the early- Victorianiam 
 
THE PROFESSORS VISIT 331 
 
 comes in. I know that you are ray master, and I am 
 80 degraded as to enjoy knocking umlor to you. Isn't 
 it antiquated ? Each day that I live sends me long 
 strides farther back into the last century." 
 
 " And yet you are happy ? " 
 
 "Ideally so— in a nice, comfortable, respectable, rep- 
 and-mahogany, early- Victorian way. I am an advanced 
 young woman ; but I am bound to admit that of all 
 delicious sensations the most delicious is steady retro- 
 gressioa It is really divine; and the more modem 
 one has been, the more exquisite is the tumbling back 
 again— on the same principle as a toboggan-slide or 
 a switch-back railway, don't you know ? I used to 
 laugh at Mrs. Candy; but now— in the matter of 
 imbecile, unreasoning, abject, idiotic devotion— I c*)uld 
 give her points. The only difference between us is 
 that I know it's funny, and she doesn't Here- but 
 for my saving humour— goes Mrs. Candy ! " 
 
 "Thank heaven for that same saving humour!" 
 quoth Laurence piously. 
 
 "And yet not being engaged was very nice ioo," 
 continued Nancy; "all that secret-society-in-the-lanes 
 business was great fun. Being openly engaged is like 
 belonging to a State Church; and being secretly in 
 love is like belonging to persecuted Nonconformity ; 
 and I must confess that persecuted Nonconformity 
 is not without its compensations." 
 
 "Cruel little child, I believe you are getting tired of 
 me already." 
 
 "I say, I wonder which really will be master— you 
 or I ? " remarked Nancy after a pause. 
 
 "Ah ! that is a nice question. At present you alwaj-s 
 maintain that you are." 
 
882 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 knlf "I"!'*''' ""'^ ^"""'' ^ ''"°'' ^'^ »<>*■ " I didn't 
 
 pretend that you were. But there'- one thing that 
 rather worries me. * 
 
 " What's that, baby ? " 
 
 "I'm 80 afraid you've left oflT being jealous- and if 
 theres one thing that entertains and interests ie more 
 
 !u« J™ K "' tii*^'""" "'"°- ^' ''««°'« »»"" being 
 cW "'''*'* ^°" "^ y°" "««* compelling 
 
 " Not it ! No fear of that, my sweet " 
 "But you're not as jealous as you were before we 
 were engaged, persisted Nanoy regretfully : "and it's 
 no use pretending that you are." ana iis 
 
 " j^e^' } 7 ; bnt in a different way. There are two 
 fands of jealousy-the one inspired by a thief and the 
 o her by a trespasser; and though I trust you too com- 
 pletely ever again to feel the former variety, I can 
 plead guilty to the latter to any extent" 
 
 Nancy was appeased; and the talk wandered back 
 to the burning of Baxendale and all that it had involved. 
 You wore dreadfully silly to mind all the stuff that 
 stupid people talked about your having done it your- 
 self," remarked Nancy. ' 
 
 "I daresay I was; I often am dreadfully silly, you 
 know-It .8 a way I have. But I did mind it «,n- 
 foundedly, nevertheless." 
 
 "Foolish boy ! As if anybody, who had ever had as 
 much as a birds eye view of you, could sincerely sus- 
 pect you of doing anything that Sir Richard Lovelace 
 or^t^e Chevalier Bayard hadn't done every day of their 
 
 " But they did suspect me, my sweetheart-and those 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 833 
 
 who bad enjoyed considerably more than a bird's eye 
 view of me ; and example speaks louder than precept, 
 you know." 
 
 " They didn't really suspect yon ; they only pretended 
 they did just for the fun of the thing, because it's 
 always so interesting to suspect people of doing what 
 you know they couldn't possibly have done. Hall tho 
 fun of being good is that it gives such flavour and 
 point to your few lapses, which the lapses of hnhitnuliy 
 faulty people entirely lack." 
 
 Laurence stroked Nancy's cheek with his foreiiji^er. 
 " What shockingly immoral teaching I" 
 
 "Well, it's quite tniei Think how glorious iv, is 
 when mother upsets her tea or father his claret or. the 
 table-cloth ; yet if I or the boys do such a thing thti o 
 is no real joy in it at all And that is why people 
 pretended that they thought you had set fire to the Hall ; 
 if you'd been less sans-peui-and-sans-reproachy,there'd 
 have been no point in even suggesting such a thing." 
 
 "My darling," said Laurence after a pause, still 
 fondling the cheek that he had made so pale, " did you 
 ever think I had done it ? " 
 
 Nancy's blue eyes grew round with amazement. " // 
 —good gracious, no ! I'm not such a goose as all that. 
 Though I was so foolish as to fall in love with you, I 
 have still sense enough left not to suspect you of any 
 redeeming fallibility, and honesty enough not to pre- 
 tend that I do. Let my folly stand out in its true 
 colours. Having discovered a man who is absolutely 
 perfect, I have been idiotic enough to promise to marry 
 him ; although he never attempted to conceal any of his 
 virtues, nor assume faults which he was not so for- 
 tunate as actuaUy to possess." 
 
 d 
 
334 
 
 FUEL OF FIRE 
 
 '& ;: :^1 
 
 .■t;-;:i 
 
 "My dearest, I've something horrible to confess to 
 you ; I wonder if you can ever forgive me." 
 
 "Of course I can; I'm silly enough for anything 
 where you are concerned What is it ? Fire away " 
 Laurence knelt on the ground and hid his face in 
 Nancys lap. "I know I was a brute; you can't be 
 more disgusted with me than I am with myself- and 
 if you refuse to marry me after you hear what I 
 am going to say, I cannot blame yoa My darlin<r I 
 ; actually believed all the time that it was you who had 
 set fire to the Hall, more shame to me ! Now, can you 
 ever bring yourself to forgive me ? " 
 
 There was a pause; then Nancy said slowly, " You 
 believed that it was me all the time ? " 
 Laurence groaned , - Yes ; curse my blind folly i " 
 " When did you find out it wasn't me after all ? " 
 "When old Gottfried found out how it reaUy had 
 been dona" 
 " Not tiU then?" 
 "No; not till thea" 
 
 "And you asked me to marry you, believing that T 
 was the guilty person ? " 
 
 "I couldn't help it. I loved you so dearly that I 
 meant to marry you whatever you had dona Guilty 
 or not guilty, you were the only woman in the world 
 for ma But I shaU never forgive myself for thinking 
 you guilty ; and I feel I cannot ask you to forgive na 
 Oh, my darling, what a brute I've been to you ! And 
 although I was so vile aa to suspect you, my own 
 innocent angel, you were believing in me aU the time! 
 My sweetheart, I am not fit to touch the hem of your 
 garment" And poor Laurence groaned once more in 
 his anguish. 
 
 i 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S VISIT 
 
 333 
 
 But Nancy did not groan ; she laid her hand on her 
 lover's head while her eyes shone like stars! "My 
 dear, I've nothing to forgive; you have made me 
 prouder than I ever was in my life before. I don't 
 blame you for suspecting me, because I'd once suggested 
 that you should burn the Hall yourself, if you re- 
 member, though I only said it in fun ; and besides, I'd 
 got the keys. So there was nothing in that But 
 what makes me so proud and happy is that your love 
 
 for me was great enough to overcome all obstacles 
 
 even your suspicion that I had done the thing which 
 you abhorred Oh ! my darling, my darling, I know 
 now how much you love me. God grant that I may 
 prove myself worthy of such love!" And Nancy 
 took the bowed head into her arms, and covered it 
 with passionate kissea 
 
 A new house now stands on the site of old Baxendale 
 Hall — a picturesque, red-brick house, designed after 
 the fashion of the Elizabethans, but with every modem 
 comfort and convenience It smiles across the valley 
 at Silverhampton Church on the opposite hill, as its 
 three predecessors smiled before it ; but now there is 
 no shadow on its smile — no shadow of a curse as yet 
 unfulfilled And to those who have eyes to see and 
 ears to hear, the new house and the old church brinw 
 the same message— the jiessage that good is stronger 
 than evil, and therefore is bound to conquer in the 
 end, be the warfare never so long and the battle never 
 so hard. To all who possess their souls in patience it 
 is given to see that morning joy which is the sure 
 successor of the night of weeping — to behold that 
 marvellous light which must finally disperee all clouds 
 and darkness; either here and now, where there fall 
 
FUEL (fP FIRE 
 
 
 other shadows and where fresh clouds return after the 
 raiu — cT else in that fairer country, where there is no 
 need of the sun to lighten it, and where the winter 
 is over and past for evermore. 
 
 So the story of the Bazendales ends well — as all 
 stories must inevitably end, if we will only wait long 
 enough ; but the end is not always yet, and we are in 
 such a hurry. Since good is stronger than evil, and 
 truth than falsehood, and blessing than cursing, no 
 story can possibly end badly; while it is going on 
 badly we know that this is not the end ; just as we 
 know that the end of anything is only the beginning 
 of something better — and always must be as long as 
 "God's in His heaven," and "all's right with the 
 world ". 
 
 Once more — (us before the days of Vivien of the 
 Glade — the Bazendales dwell at ease under their own 
 roof -tree and till their lands in peace, unhampered by 
 the haunting dread that yet again their home will be 
 destroyed by fire and their house left unto them 
 desolate; that yet again their pride, which exalted 
 itself to heaven, must be abased, and their sin, which 
 was the sin of Lucifer, expiated. That age-long fear 
 is over and past; the old cuise has exhausted itself, 
 and the ancient prophecy has been fulfilled to the 
 letter; for 
 
 Fint by the King, and then b; the State, 
 And thirdly by that which is thrice ae great 
 A> these, and a thoosandiold stronger and higher, 
 Has Bazendale Ball been made foal of fir*. 
 
PiM 
 
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 FURL OF 
 FIRE 
 
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