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•tvn^mmto

^>-4i.

i i

'■^■^C>iU^.t^^i>OcJ\_^

BEGGARS ALL

'iSttf

-j^

( .

~ ■ ■" nt^yw^^gmf^m^

A WOMAN MODERNIST.

DEATH OF MISS DOUGALL.

" E. W. B." writes : — The unexpected death
of Miss Lily Dougall, announced in The Times,
will be mourned by many friends and is a
serious loss to liberal theology. She had
reached the age of 50, and had written a
number of novels before she produced any
theological work. It was not until sonrtfe
fifteen years ago that her religious interests
began to find literary exprepsion ; then some
half-dozen volumes followed tKe book, " Pro
Christo et Ecdesia," with which her name
was for some time associa^^d. These volumes
found an appreciative public because in them
shrewdness, religious earnestness, and no
little knowledge were happily blended. She
lacked the discipline necessary to make a
trained theologian ; but she had read Widely
and combined independent judgment with
a flair for good scholarship.

She best deserves to be remembered, how-
ever, for the skill and sympathy with which
she gathered in her house at Cumnor, near
Oxford, groiips of men and women interested
in religious problems. These gatherings had
a quality peculiar to themselves, because
of Miss Dougall's personal charm and religious
insight. Frail in physique and a little hesi-
tant in speech, she was none the less the uni-
fying centre of her various conferences. They
were stimulating and strenuous, because
conversation, argument, illustration, and
repartee went on unceasingly. The gravest
issues were discussed with sincerity and
frankness ; and the hostess was ever ready
to prevent over-seriousness or ennui by flashes
of subacid fun. These Cumnor gatherings
were the source of three important books,
" Concerning Prayer," " Immortality," and
" The Spirit." Each has already taken rank
among the best collections of theological
essays of recent years. They are written
from the standpoint of liberal orthodoxy
and are singularly free from polemical bitter-
ness. To each scholars of weight contri-
buted ; and not infrequently the reader comes
upon passages of great religious depth and
beauty. IVo of Miss Dougall's clo8»5st
associates in religious writing have already
passed away prematurely. A. W. Turner
was killed in the war ; and Cyril Emmet,
whose development was of exceptional worth
and promise, died while on a visit to New
York three months ago.

In spite of bodily weakness, Miss Dougall
had great energy, mental and physical. Her
sense of humour fortified her spiritual serenity.
It prevented her from worrying over hostile
criticism, and gave piquancy to her own
iConlinentH on sophistry and humbug. With
|her Modernist sympathies there went a
liznple, almost childlike faith. Perhaps for
"^Lia reason she had a great love of children,
she herself said : — Religion can never

Fely lose touch with the simplA' things o{
le.

ALL

wherein thou even now

tL\LE

EN, & CO.

;6th STREET

II I ■! M n iiiw

,i»i: .'sr.'i' '^r?^..:

■ t

BEGGARS ALL

a Botiel

L. DOUGALL

"Yes, here in this poor hampered Actual wherein thou
staiidtst, here or nowhere is thy ideal."— Carl\xe

even bow

LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.

AND NEW YORK : ,5 EAST i6th STREET
1891

' '-

\ L

^'i

PZ^. l'bV:>

i^'\

BOOK I.

5:/

110730

iAib

n 11 ummmw^^fwmi'ifmr

BEGGARS ALL.

►^ ' CHAPTER I.

In one of the western counties of England there is a
flat-topped hill. It rises to west and north with
precipitate sides from the plain, whose tilled land is
dappled with the habitations of men. On this plain, as
far as eye can see, are larger and smaller collections of
roofs, from farmstead to city ; b at the top of the hill is
a lonesome moorland. A long, white road stretches
across it, leading from the village of Croom, on the
eastern slope, to a town at the western base.

The wind was wild on a dull March afternoon when
a man walked on this road from Croom and came to
the brink of the hill overlooking the town. On this
edge of the moor a line of stunted larches, gray and
one-sided, bent with the gale; and below, where the
road dipped, was a niggardly fir wood, which swayed
with a sound like rushing water. Some rocks on a
beetling brow further over had slipped and fallen ;
beneath them there was a quarry which laid bare the
stony heart of earth.

Underneath stood an old town, with a new town
added to it. The old town was on a ridge which was a

■

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

low spur of the hill ; its parish church and old-world
roofs, thus raised, were conspicuous. Beyond then a
new town had spread itself and crept all round, circl ng
the older part with an arm of newer houses. It seemed
a prosperous place, and the time-worn lines of the
buildings on the ridge gave it stateliness of aspect.

Far and wide the plain stretched cold, swept by the
wind. White smoke, rising from chimneys, was chased
this way and that. The town lay like a thing which
God had helped man to build, so much a part of nature
it seemed, grouped according to the contour of the
land, matched in colour to the leaden sky and the
scarred face of the rocky hill.

When one looks down upon a busy centre of life
from a solitary place the situation gives objective
reality to the attitude the spirit of man must often take
as it looks out upon the haunts and doings of himself
and his fellows. The man who had now crossed the
hill loitered in a mood of contemplation. He was
middle-aged, stout, and of common appearance.

Here in the fir wood the road divided and a sign-
post, giving insufficient explanation of the division,
stood with extended arms, like a white cross. The
stranger stood with his fat hands clasped behind his
ample back and almost a beseeching look upon his
broad, uncomely face. He looked at the town, the
sky, at the perplexing division of his road — one could
hardly tell at what he was looking. There was strength
underlying the entreaty on his face : entreaty is not
necessarily weak.

He evidently thought himself quite alone as far as
his kind were concerned, for there came from him an

POOK I.l

BEGGARS ALL.

as
an

audible breathing of the emotion within him. It
seemed to take the form of a psalm or prayer ; at least,
there was something about the greatness of God's pity
and power in his whispered monotone, the spasmodic
utterance of which seemed to give him relief and
refreshment.

He was not alone. Among the firs above the quarry
there were two shanties, habitable, but looking, at first
sight, like the rest of the place, deserted. In the door-
way of one a young man stood, and from that niche of
observation watched the newcomer with that minute
interest which an alert mind in idle moments often
bestows upon a novel object. His interest, or a feeling
of honour in making his observation apparent, -drew
him out on the road. He was young ; lighter, quicker
everyway, than the other. As he emerged his face wore
that curious mask of impenetrability which sensitive
men can assume when they wish to hide that they have
caugrht another in what to them would have been a
mortifying lapse of self-control.

They were strangers, and they talked as strangers
do, beginning with desultory remarks, entering into
dialogue of question and answer.

It was a couple of miles to the town, the young man
said, by either road round the hill, but there was a
short, steep path through the quarry. He was rambling
for pleasure ; he did not mind going home now and
showing that way. It was a beastly day, anyway — this
as a further blast of the wild, cold wind struck the hill
and the men and the fir trees — not a good day for a
walk, but what else could a fellow do on such a
holiday ?

6 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

" Is it a holiday ? " asked the other absently.

The reply was laconic. " Good Friday."

"Ah, so it is." The stout man seemed still more
absent for a minute ; his mind seemed to wander with
his glance beyond the old post, with its cross piece, to
the distant sky. He recalled himself and spoke. The
voice was pleasant ; there was a ring of simple honesty
in it. " I have been travelling for some days."

" A walking tour ? " There was something in the i

question which indicated disbelief in the suggestion — f

a swift, curious glance from the young man's eyes which '^

was past before the man of heavier make would have ' I

had time to begin to meet it.

" I am not in a position to take a pleasure tour. I
have only walked from Croom Junction. I am looking
for a poor woman whom I have traced here from
London."

" I am in the news line. I am a reporter for the
Evening Journal. My name is Kent."

" My name is Gilchrist. I am going to try to get
a situation in some gentleman's service."

The extreme simplicity of this reply caused Kent to
look with more open curiosity.

"I told you my name and what I do because I
thought I might help you to find whoever you want.
About things that go on, you know, I know — well,
almost everything."

It was not an exultant boast, if boast it was. The
weather and the place were not such as to inspire high
spirits. All was dull and bleak. Gilchrist made as if
to sit down by the roadside. His movements were
those of a very tired man. His face looked heavy witli

Book L]

BEGGARS ALL.

it.

Ihe

ftre
til

fatigi' J. Kent glanced at him with a light, good-natured
pity.

"Come into this cabin. It belongs to a friend of
mine."

He did not look as if he would be on intimate terms
with the inhabit/ant of such a shanty ; he seemed almost
a gentleman — this young townsman ; but a man seeks
a rude cabin as shelter from weather almost involun-
tarily and without much question of invitation. Gil-
christ went in at the open door to which he was pointed.

He found himself in a one-roomed dwelling, fitted
up with tolerable comfort. That which surprised him
was that, after he had seated himself near the fire at
Kent's invitation, he discovered the friend alluded to,
stretched on a low pallet, asleep. He looked like a
young man somewhat withered and prematurely grey.
He slept on like a baby.

Kent stood between them and introduced the sleeping
to the waking man. There was veiled comedy in his
manner. Perhaps he had been amused at the simplicity
of Gilchrist's self-introduction, and supposed him too
stupid to perceive his mockery.

" My friend whom you see asleep is called Montagu
the lamplighter. Montagu was, for unknown reasons,
entered as his name on the Orphanage register when he
was a baby, and he was there brought up to the task
of lighting street lamps. He sleeps by day because,
what with lighting the lamps and putting them out,
he runs about half the night."

" He has faith in humanity to sleep with his door
open."

Kent was blowing the embers of the fire. He gave

)'1VH»'W"IV'^

BEGGARS ALLJ

[Book I.

■
.■V..'#

again a furtive glance of curiosity. The form of words
struck him as unnatural in a servant. Yet he would
have staked his reputation for shrewdness on the asser-
tion that Gilchrist was truthful.

" He doesn't leave it open, but he lets me open it
from th(^ outside. He and I are old chums ; we began
life in the same orphanage together." He coaxed the
fire into flame, and began searching for means to make
tea. " He and I are the products of modern philan-
thropy. He was half-witted, so they trained him to
light lamps ; I was sharp, and they gave me schooling."
Kent made tea without milk. He was deft with his
hands. " We will each leave a penny on the table ; that
will pay," he said.

Gilchrist rose and went to the bed, looking down
with kind curiosity in his expression.

" I was sharp and they gave me schooling," repeated
Kent. " They put me through the Board School, and
I got on. There is just one thing in all the Christian
philanthropy nowadays that is worth giving and re-
ceiving — that is education."

" Yes, if it is the right sort."

When they came out Kent shut the door behind
him. Putting a bit of twisted wire into the rude lock,
he tried to push back the bolt. Gilchrist asked further
questions about the lamplighter as he watched the
operation with interest.

" Bother it ! " Kent was poking with his wire, and
could not make the bolt slide. " A professional house-
breaker would do it with dexterity, I suppose, or
have better implements." Then, succeeding at last, he
answered the questions in better humour. "Oh yes,

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

,her
the

or
he

'■es,

he'll wake when the sun goes down and it's time to go
his rounds, as sure as a church clock, and he'll sleep
till then unless the crack o' doom wakes him. He goes
by habit as a clock by springs — he goes, he doesn't live.
He is a character."

They clambered down by the edge of the quarry -pit
to the broad, beaten surface of a high road running into
the town from the south. An old house, labelled " Or-
phanage," stood in trim, uninteresting grounds. Gilchrist
was surprised to come upon it so suddenly.

" Is this the place you spoke of ? "

Kent's regard turned on the place to which the ques-
tion directed his attention with the look a man might
bestow upon some monster which, in spite of familiarity,
had power to excite wonder as well as disgust.

" The same," he said ; " and they trained Montagu to
go from here t* ■ his lamps, and from his lamps here, till
he couldn't get out of the habit, so he lives above there."

" They were kind, I suppose. Authorized cruelty is
out of date."

" Kind ? " He shrugged his arms. " As kind as one
can be to a batch of anything. They brought us up in
batches ; but Montagu had the worst of it, for he had
to stay a long time before he was sufficiently wound up
to go by himself."

They walked between fields where garden stuff was
grown in summer. Further on, the side of a small park,
which belonged to a private house, skirted the road.
That passed, the town began by an outstanding row of
small, brick cottages.

Kent gave information idly when he felt inclined.
The land, he said, gi'ew remarkably good strawberries.

i, \.

10 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I

i»

The house in the park had been empty for years ; it was
said to be haunted by the ghost of a baby.

" A baby ! "

" Yes ; floats through the air in long clothes, I be-
lieve, and yells." The tone implied great contempt for
such supeistitions. " It is said some one left a foundling
at the door, mistaking the house for the Orphanage.
The owner wouldn't take it in, so it died. The ghost ;

resulted." Some paces further along the road he added,
" An old man named Gower, from India, is f ,-x..g to buy
the place, they say."

Gilchrist straightened himself. " I am going to see ' I

an invalid gentleman of that name."

" Just come home from India, gouty, has a daughter
unmarried — not young, rather pretty, arranges penny
readings, and that sort of thing ? " Kent's items of
interest were a long interrogation.

" There is one lady in the house — a niece, I believe."
I " ' Miss Marian Gower ' is the name on the charity

lists. She's been taking a header into benevolence since
they came here. You may depend it's the same people."

When they came to the first tavern a blue omnibus

stood before it, just about to start on its route further

into the town. Gilchrist caught it by hastening his

.;, steps. As the heavy vehicle jolted away, Kent walked

/ up the pavement in the same direction. He tried not

!to follow Gilchrist's bulky form with too evident
curiosity in his eyes. He was conscious of that awk-
ward sensation which a naturalist feels when some new
I specimen escapes him before it is classified, and he,

remembering its peculiarities, fails entirely to imagine
to what class it may belong.

Cook I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

The omnibus went on to the end of its journey. The
stopping place was at the old parish church. There
Gilchrist, alighting, looked about him as strangers look
at such old town centres. On all sides there were stone
pavements, old walls, high antique roofs. Gilchrist,
turning instinctively from the thoroughfare, sought a
square pavement, upon which the main door of the
church opened — a lounging place, where old elm trees
stood up in the flagstones and horses and wheels might
not come. Opposite the church stood a block of build-
ings, put up by some ambitious merchant of a past
generation who had built his own name, in the pos-
sessive case, in large stone letters upon its upper wall.
" Babbit's " was the name of this building ; but Babbit
was dead and his business had vanished, and, like a
sign of the timerf, his place of merchandise had been
rebuilt inside and converted into a Board school. Ugly,
<lingy, and square its walls looked; the March wind
shrieked as its blast fell against it. The elm trees
also rattled, and the church tower seemed to shiver
with cokl The wind had full sweep here, as on the
hill, for the third side of the pavement ended only with
a railing and the top of a stone stair which descended to
the streets of the lower level.

By this staircase the stranger went down into the
more fashionable squares and road« of the new town.

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

CHAPTER II.

Marian Gcwer aat in an overhanging window that
looked out on the parade. The waxen flowers of Easter
week had come up in the little garden strip ; snowdrop
and crocus seemed to sleep, folded in their own cool
breath. It was that hour when we notice that spring
days have grown long because twilight does not come
when we look for it. In all the air there was the
wonderful impulse of life that holds the promise of
budding leaves and nesting birds. Here even, on the
fashionable parade, the impulse of the spring pervaded,
giving birth in young minds to new thoughts, new
hopes, and in older hearts reviving dreams of time gone
by. The ladies on the pavement wore new bonnets,
and the men had something fresh in their attire. Earth
was keeping holiday, and the people felt it and talked
in neighbourly fashion. The World and his wife walked
home arm in arm to dinner, their daughters wore violets,
and their sons came near to inhale the fragrance. Some-
thing stirred within Marian's heart. Marian was forty,
and she sat alone,

A woman, with a baby in her arms, stood under the
window to beg. She was ragged, dirty, and had an
ignoble face.

" For God's sake, help me, dear lady," she moaned.

Marian sighed, turned away, and forgot the beggar.

That which stirred in her heart with the movement
of the spring was a great longing, an overwhelming

Book L]

BEGGARS ALL.

the
an

rgar.
lent
ling

desire for some mind with whom she could have fellow-
ship; with whom she could exchange her thoughts,
saying, " That girl has a pretty face ; " " These flowers
ai e fair ; " " The air is sweet ; " for what pleasure is there
in noting beauty unless there is some other to see it with
us, some oue who can see exactly wherein beauty consists
for us ?

Yet this feeling of loneliness in Marian's heart was
not mingled with visions of any past love story. She
was too nice-minded to have imagined romance where it
had not existed. Lovely, intelligent, and well-bred, this
lady had passed her youth without once coming into such
sympathy with any man that the steadfast fire which
burns on the altar of every good woman's heart could
leap up and glow, even for a transient moment, in her
eyes as she looked into his. She sympathized with
women, not with men ; she did not like men. She had
known some kinds of friendship. In that woman's
school-world where women teach and girls are taught she
had laboured for years and known varied companionships;
that had its pleasures, but now

" Marian." A nervous invalid spoke in fretful tones
from the inner part of the room. " Who or what is that
whining ? "

She rose instantly, with that involuntary gesture of
service that becomes habitual to one living as an atten-
dant.

" A beggar woman, uncle."

" Send her away."

" I have shaken my head at her."

" Give her sixpence."

." It is wrong to give to beggars. Do you want me to

14 BEGGARS ALL, [Book L

be haunted by the fear that in the next world this poor
creature may come and accuse me of helping her in a
downward course ? "

" I don't want anything of the sort." He spoke with
a suppressed rage, as if she had seriously accused him. •
" Shut the window, and tuck my rug round me."

"Lady, sweet lady, be kind, for God's dear sake," |

moaned the beggar beneath the window. |

Marian, putting down the sash, arranged the rug |

more gently and more efficiently because of the words |

she had heard. ■?

The fretful old man looked at her with strange
impatience in his eyes.

" I'd like you a great deal better if you had a bit of
the devil in you," he said.

" You think so."

" I tell you I should."

" I think not. You are always turning away your
servants, and, according to you, they have all some of
that ingredient in them. I should not like to be turned
away."

He gave a lurch, disarranging the rug. " Being ill-
tempered to you is just like sticking pins in a pin-
cushion, i;han which nothing is more aggravating; it
receives them without emitting a shriek, like St. Sebastian
in the pictures."

Marian had lived long enough to observe that con-
scious kindness is only the imitation of love. She did
not pride herself on her patience.

" And yet," she said, " if people will spend their time
sticking pins, I do not see but that, for the good of
society, they must be supplied with something to receive

Book I.l

BEGGARS ALL.

ill-
)in-
it
bian

[on-
Idid

ime

live

them noiselessly. If the man of the pins were furnished
with a live pig, for instance, the neighbours might object."

The uncle laughed hoarsely. The idea of the pig's
objections gave him a moment's distraction,

" What business is it of yours if I do change my
8er^■ants ? " he gi'owled.

" None."

" But you think it is. You think that because I sent
that fellow away at a day's notice I was cruel — eh ? But
1 wasn't, as it happens, for he got a quarter's pay for
nothing."

" Your last choice seems to me a very curious one,"
she replied, with anxious lingering on the words. " He
does not act as servants do. Do you think he is quite in
his right mind ? "

She knew by the knowledge that comes of long habit
that the mere fact of making the suggestion would
be enough to provoke its contradiction, but she was sur-
prised at the sudden strength of the answer.

" I don't know, I'm sure, but I know this — he's more
in his right mind than I am."

In the dusk of the room the dissipated old man lay,
stretched out in a sort of gaudy magnificence, under
Eastern rugs, and the slight woman, in white evening
dress, bent over him.

Just then Gower's new servant came into the room,
walking clumsily. He brought Marian a letter, and lit
a lamp that she might read it.

Gower fretted. " You needn't do this sort of thing,
Gilchrist, you know ; it isn't your work."

The servant stood to listen, his hand on the door.

" No," he agreed ; " but I thought I might as well."

16 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

He went out.

Marian stcxKl near the li^ht to read her letter. A
written chat from a governess friend was the most lively
communication she had reason to expect. But the enter-
tainment might be less — the letter might prove an
advertisement or a bill.

" What is it ? " asked the uncle. Perhaps one of his
most provoking habits was a constant curiosity about
affairs in which he took not the slightest interest when
they were explained to him.

" I don't understand." Marian stood with a puzzled
face,

"Eh ? " sharply, as if her perplexity were an offence.

"The envelope is from some shipping company in
Liverpool ; it has the company's stamp on the back."

" Well, isn't the letter from the same place ? "

" No — yes ; that is, there is a note from a clerk. He
says, ' The enclosed letter was not received at our office
in time to be delivered on board the ship as requested,'
and here is a letter addressed to ' B. Tod, Esq., Passenger
from New York to Liverpool by ss. Delaware' "

" And who is ' B. Tod ' ? " asked the old man, with a
disagreeable elevation of his eyebrows. But his atten-
tion was alrep dy returning to his gouty legs. With a bad
pain in one's legs, and an habitual selfishness in one's
heart, it is difficult to keep up more than a momentary
interest in anything.

Marian had lifted her head with an evident sentiment
of indignation.

" I never heard the name of Tod. I never knew there
was such a ship, or such a line of ships."

" Send it back, and say it's a mistake."

Book I.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

er. A

lively

enter-
)ve an

of his

about

b when

puzzled

fence,
lany in
:k."

k. He
ir office
nested,'
ssenger

with a
atten-
h a bad
n one's
lentary

itiment

w there

" But why have they sent it to me ? Where have they
^ot my address ? It is addressed to my full name, and to
your care."

Some minutes elapsed — he suffering, tliinking only of
his pain ; she twisting the letter in her hands, striving to
get hold of some clue of thought which might afford a
possible explanation.

At length he turned again with some reviving interest.
" What does Tod's correspondent say ? "
, " The letter is not open."

A flicker of deeper '' uriosity crossed his face. " Open
it, and see what is in it."

" I will not open it. It is no aflGa-ir of mine." There
was a certain scorn in her decision.

Gilchrist came into the room again with his master's
medicine. He seemed uneasy and shuffled about, draw-
ing down the window blinds.

" I am going out," he said to Marian, without using
any title of respect that would have seemed natural to
her ear. " If you have letters I will take them."

She went to her desk. Enclosing the letter to the
unknown Tod in a fresh envelope, she directed it to the
office whence it came. She wrote a line with it quickly,
haughtily, as if the supposed acquaintance were an insult.
" Miss Gower knows nothing of the enclosed letter or of
the Mr. Tod to whom it is addressed."

When he was gone she felt the reaction from the
momentary excitement. The weariness of the friendless
monotony of her life rushed back on her consciousness
like a current of cold air where the atmosphere has been
heated. She almost wished she had read the letter ; it
might, at least, have supplied a bit of human interest

I' ^

18 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

coming nearer than the printed page, and offering more
entertainment than the practical page of daily life. In
her idleness she walked again to the window and looked
through the blind.

" It must have been a mere mistake. Perhaps they
meant to send us some advertisement, and the clerk
enclosed the wrong thing." She said this a little vaguely
to her uncle.

" Clerks invariably do the wrong thing," he assented.
For a moment Marian was beguiled into an amusing
reverie as to what the state of affairs would be in the
world if this statement \ 3re true.

The Easter moon was rising in the twilight over the
gray town. Trees in the square across the parade formed
a screen of budding twigs, so that she could only dimly
see the parish church on the old town hill which rose
beyond. There was a lull in the passing ; the World and
nis family had gone in to dinner ; the parade was quiet.
Gilchrist went out with the letter, and she watched him,
idly wondering what good this spring-time, or other
spring-times, could bring to her — to her who had every-
thing she wanted except the impulse of joy of which
the spring air told. She felt at that moment that she
would gladly have gone about begging for it from door
to door, as the ragged woman begged, if she could have
hoped any one would give it to her.

That same woman stood, still whining, some way
down the pavement. Marian knew her cant so well she
almost fancied she heard her words.

" Ah, dear heart, be kind, for the dear Lord's
sake."

She saw Gilchrist stop and speak to the woman.

\ ■«< .

>:i

Book L]

BEGGARS ALL.

Marian watched, and did not feel kindly toward him.
A certain determination of suspicion was born in her
lieart toward the new servant.

CHAPTER III.

way

m she

jord's

When Gilchrist stopped by the beggar-woman she was
standing with her back to him. He laid a light iinger
for an instant on her shoulder.

" Whose baby is that ? "

She turned with a start. Her whine ceased. " Is
it you ? " she gasped in an awed whisper.

" Yes. Whose baby is that ? "

" Where did you come from ? " Her dazed wits
seemed incapable of the effort she was making to collect
her ideas. Instead of answering him, or waiting for his
answer, she broke again into her habitual whimper.
" For the love of heaven, don't be hard on me, Tom."

" Don't," he said. " I found you had come here, and
I have followed you. I know that you picked up the
child on the way."

" I borrowed it from a woman I met ; she had six, and
a drunken man. It helps to keep me warm as I carry
it, and it's a sight better for it to be with me, and,"
whimpering again, '' I kind of like to hug and kiss it,
Tom ; it comforts me best, next to the drink."

Her gray hair blew untidily over her unlovely face.
She did not look womanly ; the dignity of her soul
seemed soiled and tattered like her garments, yet she

-j-rr-

. ilJJJIVVBJI.

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

had this left — that, when he brushed aside the shawl to
look at the child, she strained the little head to her
breast and kissed it fondly. They stood in mingled
moonlight and gaslight. Gilchrist watched her narrowly.
Strange to say, the child looked healthy enough and
not wholly uncared for.

" You never give it a drop ? " he asked.

She steadied her voice to answer. " On your honour,
nc, Tom."

" Nor let it fall when you can't walk straight ? "

" It v«rould be worse off at home, Tom ; on your honour,
it would." Again she broke into her whine.

" Don't take it from me, Tom ; it's all the bit of love
I've got, and I walked from London just to see "

He lowered his voice, but spoke steadily, " To see
Gower."

She stood stupidly, crying a little, as if from habit.
" I only wanted just to look at him."

"Silvia."

" Yes, Tom."

" I don't know what you may have wanted of Gower,
but you will get nothing from him. I have told him
that you are provided for, I am going to stay with him
as his servant in order to be near you if you need help.
Do you hear ? do you understand ? "

" I'll never come and disgrace you, Tom, I'm sure ;
I bless you every day of my life. For the love of
God "

" Stop."

She stopped so suddenly that the whine, the sound
of which he had checked, was still written on her
features.

Book L]

BEGGARS ALL.

" You got my message ? " he said. " You are in the
room I arranged for you to have, and you get good food
every day ? "

" Yes, thank you, Tom." But her face spoke an un-
speakable discontent.

" I'll let you have milk ior the child if you want to
keep it a few weeks."

" I can make enough to get it that."

" Is it no use, even yet, my entreating you to give up
this begging ? "

" I'd just break out again, Tom ; you know I would."

" Well," he said, as we say, " well," meaning to denote
our helplessness to alter ill. Then, in a minute, " I am
in Mr. Gower's house ; you can come there if you want
me ; remember that." He spoke kindly, but with
authority.

He was not young, but he looked younger than she
did by a good many years.

" Good night," he said.

He went on, and she followed him down the pave-
ment and across the square. When he reached a letter-
box he put in Marian's letter and returned. The beggar
stepped aside, making way humbly for him to pass. She
went on toward the old part of the town.

Between the hill on which the old town stood and the
fashionable square laj'' a number of short streets of
intermediate respectability. Into one of these the
beggar turned, and, entering a tenement house, she
knocked at a room on the ground floor.

" I'm cold and tired, dear lady." She began her whine
almost before the door was opened. " For the love of
Heaven, let me in to sit down a bit."

mmitmtmtm i ■><■■

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

The woman who opened the door was elderly and
very feeble, with the blight of some fatal disease upon
her, a motherly woman of quiet aspect.

The beggar came into the yellow gaslight and shut
the door.

There are many good women who preserve a certain
sternness of dignity toward all except their own dear
ones and little children. The mistress of this room was
one of these. Standing bowed feebly, as if with the
weight of her own weakness upon her shoulders, she
looked at the beggar with grave benevolence, The in-
tent to do good was evident on the saintly face, but not
the passion of love. The beggar used no words, but
lifted the baby from beneath her shawl and held it
towards the other. Then the flash of love leaped out of
the faded eyes.

The baby made up a face to cry. With all the tender
wiles that only one whose vocation in life has been
motherhood knows, the elder woman took it in her arms
and comforted its fears.

It was not very easily pacified. The fresh air and
motion of walking had kept it quiet fbr hours, but now
the light and heat of the room roused it thoroughly.

One gas-jet lit the room, which was fairly large but
very bare, unless the atmosphere of love and spiritual
beauty, which was apparent to those capable of seeing,
might be said to furnish the space within the blank
walls. A meagre fire fl^icked its light on some cooking
utensils. Near it was a couch, on which a bedridden
girl lay helpless. A larger bed in the corner, a table,
some chairs, and travelling boxes, were all else that the
room contained.

T<(

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

The maudlin beggar sat near the door, feeling stupe-
fied by heat and rest. The girl on the couch watched
with bright, restless eyes, as her mother exerted all her
feeble strength to dandle the crying child.

" Mother," she said, " at your age you really ought
to be able to see a baby without wanting to nurse it.
You ought to have got over your weakness for babies."

She did not say, " You are too ill to waste your
strenofth in such work." Illness was one of the sad
facts of daily life which was never mentioned between
these two.

The mother made a little mess of bread, hot water,
and sugar, and fed the baby till it cooed with satis-
faction.

" Such a tiny morsel of bread. It cannot be wrong
to give it away," she said in an undertone. The baby
evidently did not thuik it wrong.

" If I thought Star would not come for a while I'd
wash it," she said, again looking at the bab^-, while she
spoke, with a coaxing smile.

" Star cannot come till nine, mother ; it is not long
after eight."

The operation of the baby's bath was commenced.
With slow and feeble step the delicate lady made sundry
journeys across the room. A basin, a towel, a rag, were
brought to the fore. Warm water was supplied from the
kettle. She seemed to become quite blithe in her work.

" The soap can hardly be said to cost anything," she
remarked to her daughter.

The beggar still sat stupidly by the door. The
mother seated herself very near her daughter's couch,
and they exchanged low confidences with each other

BEGaAES ALL.

[Boor I.

. /

over the baby's toilet. They agreed that the beggar
kept the child more carefully than she kept herself ;
that it was not very dirty ; that it was a healthy,
well made babe; that the beggar was not so tipsy as
she had been on a former visit ; and that her speech
betrayed the fact that she had seen better days.
Then they forgot to talk, and the mother occupied her-
self only with that language of cooing smiles in which
babies and their lovers converse with one another.

The little naked boy sprawled upon her knee, play-
ing with his own freshly washed limbs, crowing at the
firelight and at his nurse's smiles. This woman was
nearly sixty ; she might have been much older, so worn
and feeble she looked. She had never possessed beauty's
physical part ; yet, whoever had once seen the soul of
beauty, wo aid have recognized it again in her face. It
did not lie in the smooth silver hair; nor in the loving
deptb. of faded gra,y eyes; nor in the lines of the
withered face, which spoke of purpose, love, and con-
stancy ; nor yet in the smile that came, like the reflec-
tion of long, inward joy, to greet the baby's new-born
laughter. Not in any of these, although they were
pleasant to see ; but pervading them all there was some-
thing — something which men, seeing long ago in the
faces of some of their fellows, tried to portray on
canvas by a golden glory round the head.

The cripple girl watched them both with shining,
observant eyes.

"Oh, mother," she exclaimed suddenly, "the baby
has just begun to live in this weary world, and you
have gone through all the sorrow that heart can feel,
yet your smile is brighter."

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

the

con-

reflec-

born

were

ome-

the

ining,

baby
you
feel,

" What are you saying, love ? " The mother looked
up from the baby, having taken in nothing of what
the girl had said.

" Nothing ; it does not matter."

The interruption reminded her to dress the baby,
and, with many sweet words and little nursery chants,
this feat was accomplished. She took it back to the
sleepy beggar, her face growing grave as she drew
near.

" I hope you are rested," she said with gentle dignity.
" I wish I could offer you a cup of tea, but " — here a
slight pause and an inward sigh — "I am as poor a
woman as yourself, inasmuch as I am obliged to live
on the charity of others. I have no right to give any-
thing away."

Some dormant sense of righteousness struggled to
the surface of the besotted mind.

" Heaven bless you, ma'am. I don't know what's
given me the habit of coming here, unless it's to let
the child see your sweet face. It's not to ask for food
or money I came, and I don't know why you let the
like of me inside your door."

The other hesitated. She felt that some word of
exhortation or comfort ought to be given here ; but,
although she belonged to that class of religious people
who believe verbal preaching to be a part of every
one's duty, it was a part which always came as a trial
to her.

At last she said, but with exceeding diffidence and
modesty, "You asked to come in for the love of Heaven."

The words represented nothing to the beggar's mind
except the memory of her own cant, and at that she

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

began to whimper and cant again as, taking the baby,
she shuffled out.

The towel and the rag that were used for the baby's
bath were washed out with tired, trembling hands.
When the room was put in order again it was a very
weary woman who sat down by her daughter's couch.

They clasped their hands together and seemed wait-
ing for some one's advent. Many steps passed the
window, of which they took no notice. At last they
both stirred with certain expectation. There was one
footfall that they knew a long way off.

" Star is coming," they said to each other, and smiled.

CHAPTER IV.

Esther Thompson came into the low room where her
mother and crippled sister waited. Esther worked in
a shop. She was just such a young woman as one might
pass in the street without notice ; but every human soul
has individuality, and she had hers.

" How is my mother ? " There was a pretty import-
ance in her tone. " Star wants to know how her mother
is. Here have I been thirteen mortal hours without
hearing how she is."

She had tripped now into the room, shutting out all
melancholy as she shut the door upon the night air,
bringing with her the ease of mirth. If it cost her an
effort, no one could have seen it. Coming to where the
two were together, she touched the mother's chin lightly

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

her

soul

with her hands, turning the thin face up so that she
could read its tale.

All signs of mind weariness vanished from the two
invalids. The mother lifted her eyes with fervour of
satistied love in them ; the cripple raised herself a little
on the couch, and seemed to prepare for the pleasure
of the day.

" Mother is tired," said Star, reading the worn face.
" And how is Cripple Dick ? "

Richarda Thompson, thus grotesquely addressed, did
not answer for herself.

" Mother has been washinof babies."

" Babies ! Where did she get them ? "

" There was only one ; it belonged to that beggar.
I hadn't the heart to stop her doing it, for it amused
her."

Star was still caressing her mother's face with her
liand. " Oh, fie ! " she said playfully, looking down into
her eyes with inexpressible love and respect ; " oh, fie !
to wash a beggar-baby ! Star does not allow such
doings." Then she knelt down for her evening's kiss.

" Mother," she said.

" Daughter."

In long, close embrace they fondled one another.

" Star," said the cripple, " talk to us. It is so much
nicer to talk than have supper. Say to us something
quite new, that we have never thought of before. You
always can." Oh, the weariness, to an active mind, of
long days without any income of fresh experience, with
only misfortune to think upon ! The cripple looked to
her active sister as to one who had creative power.
" You can always invent something new," she repeated.

BEQGABS ALL.

[Book I.

"So I can." Star rose with perfect adaptation to
her sister's mood. "This evening," she announced,
" there is a topic of the utmost interest to be discussed."

"Oh, Star, what is it?" Richarda's eyes glistened
with interest.

" Ah ! well, just wait until I can decide ; but, in the
mean time, there is going to be a treat for supper."

She had brought some fish, which she proceeded to
fry. She went about her work with many flourishes
of her pan, while she descanted on the freshness of the
fish. She did not tell them that she had begged it very
cheap of a kind fishmonger on the plea that it was
Saturday night. Her face burned now as she thought
of her hardihood, but she made great pretence that the
tiny fire was too hot for her complexion.

Very delicate the fish was when it was cooked.
There was a tiny scrap of parsley to lay on each piece.
There was no butter for the bread, but it was cut thin
as paper and toasted. A cup of cocoa without milk was
supplied to each.

What a fine feast it was ! They all said so many
times, trying to cheat themselves and each other. The
cripple could not sit up ; the mother was too tired to
leave her low chair. Star, attending to their wants, ate
her supper sitting on the floor at her mother's feet. She
said it was the pleasantest way to take supper.

" Now ! " Richarda spoke again.

Star was putting away the dishes. "Yes, there is
a very important subject to discuss this evening, if I

could only think what it is Oh," as if she had

suddenly remembered, " it is matrimonial advertise-
ments."

/ j

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

: was

nany
The
d to
ate
She

re IS
if I
had

'tise-

The mother became grave. Mothers are so quick to
dread evil. The cripple put out her hand and touched
her arm, as if begging sympathy in her own pleasure.

" Isn't she funny, mother ? Isn't it wonderful how
she always says the very most unexpected things ?
Well, Star, go on. I never thought of it before, but
I perceive now that it is very important that we should
all give our opinion on matrimonial advertisements this
eve '"ng."

" \Vhat put such a curious subject into your head,
Esther?" This was the mother, hardly beguiled into
a smile.

" Don't you know, dearest, that when you have fish,
and then cocoa, you always think of matrimony and
advertisements next ? It is natural association."

" Of course, mother," Richarda laughed.

" I don't see the connection."

" Don't you, mothery ? " said Star soothingly. " In
our shop Miss Sims trimmed a bonnet to-day that she
said was lovely; and, when the girls asked her what
was so lovely about it, she said that when people were
not born to feel such things there was no use attempting
to explain them."

"The mother-bird ruffles her feathers at anything
that suggests marriage," said Richarda ; " but it needn't,
for, you know, I am off the list, and Star "

Star took up the word. " And Star, as you know,
never has the chance of speaking to a man from one
month's end to another. Although, to be sure," she added,
with a little laugh, " that would make the resort to
advertisement all the more necessary. How should we
word it ? — 'A yoimg and penniless woman, so domesticated

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

that she would never think of leaving her mother and
sister (both invalids), desires to correspond with a rich
and good gentleman with a view to matrimony."

" Dear child ! " said the mother. Then she fell into a
reverie, in which the sorrows and joys of the past gave
shape to possible events of the future.

Richarda put out her hand again, and pulled her
sleeve. " Listen, mother ; we are discussing. It opens
new vistas to one's thoughts. Don't muse now, mother ;
be amused instead."

" My opinion is,"^ said Star, " that there is no reason
to consider it disgraceful. A moment ago we just
happened by accident , as it were, upon a case of a very
respectable young woman who would have no other way
of becoming acquainted with men who might want to
marry her,"

" But would your young woman not cease to be
respect-worthy the moment she advertised for lovers ? "
the mother asked in clear, quiet tones.

" Let us waive that point. Women don't make offers
of marriage any way. But suppose a young man in
the same friendless situation. Let us consider the case
of a young man called X. X. knows no young women,
except those of inferior sort. He has no friends to
introduce him to any. He has to work day and even-
ing, or he would lose his situation. He is lonely, and
has just enough salary to support a thrifty wife. Why
should he not advertise ? Wouldn't many a nice girl
be happier as his wife than toiling in some shop ? "

" No nice girl would answer him," said the mother.

" But consider the case of X.," said Richarda. " It is
interesting. I can shut my eyes and see him in his

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

lonely room. He blushes and trembles as he writes out
the advertisement."

"It is more likely that he is sitting in a public-
house, laughing over his supposed dupe with his boon
companions."

" Hear the mother-bird ! " exclaimed Star gaily.
She sat down, and wound her arms round her mother.
" She will fiirht it out to the end — won't she ? — even if
she is tired. She won't leave the wicked people who
make such advertisements an atom of virtue to lean on
— will she ? "

" Not one in a hundred of such advertisements arc
genuine," said the mother.

" But," said Richarda slowly, " supposing that X." —
and here it turned out that Richarda, lying with her
eyes shut, had thought out the circumstances of X.
minutely. It was clear from her account that, if he
remained true to duty and honour, X. could do nothing
else than advertise for a wife.

It was with zest that Richarda entered into the
pleasures of the imagination in connection with the
theme her sister had chosen for her, presumably at
hazard. Esther's mind, although more fertile in sugges-
tion, was never equal to such sustained flights of fancy.
They had not been bred to the monotony of trouble which
now formed their daily life. They must find some relief.
Richarda found hers in fantastic words and thoughts.

After her mother had been carefully helped to bed
and had fallen into the first light sleep, Esther crept
back to her sister's couch.

" Dicksie," she whispered, " did the man from the
chapel come to-day ? What did he say ? "

;'W

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

" He said it all over again about putting mother in
the Incurables Home and me in the Hospital."

" Oh, Dicksie."

" Yes ; and mother said she had begged them before
to leave us together, and "

" Well ? "

" I suppose we ought to feel grateful to them, but it
was so hard to hear her entreating that stolid man.
She had to tell him all over again about our coming
from California, and father's death, and the bank failing.
He seemed to have forgotten it. At last I think the
dignity of her misery had some effect on him ; and he
said we could go on having the five shillings from them,
if we could make that do with your salary. She told
him "

" What did she tell him ? "

"That she knew she would not live through the
summer."

Then in the dark room there was silence a minute.

" Star," said Richarda, " this damp, low room and
anxiety about us is killing her fast — fast. Star ;
and if they take us away from her she will die at
once."

There was no further word spoken. The last ember of
the fire fell into the ashes, and left the room in complete
darkness, except for what glimmer from the Easter
moon could find its way down the narrow street and
through the window curtain.

Esther went back and lay down beside her mother.
There are some so poor that they have no place or time
for weeping.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

CHAPTER V.

The next day was Sunday, and Esther went to morn-
ing service at a Nonconformist Chapel with which her
mother had formed some connection.

She prized each moment of this one day at home,
yet, for her mother's sake, she went to service ; and,
with a great longing for solitude, which was to her
[Unattainable, she turned on her way from chapel into
[the public square to sit by herself for a little while.

Birds were chirping ; buds were swelling ; clouds

jwere softly passing overhead in voluminous veils of

[white. People thronged in the principal paths, but

[Esther found a lonely bench by a side railing. What

she had come for she hardly knew. Her brain was

scalded with unshed tears, but she had no thought of

reeping. She certainly had not come with thought of

raining comfort from the sweetness of the season. She

gat with her back to the concourse of people ; her eyes

rere turned where the roofs of the town dipped with

|ihe slope of the land, and a clear cold strip of blue sky

ly under the edge of the cloud.

"There is no help," whispered the girl defiantly,
Dking into that heavenly region of perfect blue.
The pink buds of the sycamore near her hung down
|,nd made a fretted frame to her glimpse of celestial
)eauty.

She had keen anxiety in her heart that she dared

f^l

i i;

■ i

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

not share with her mother and sister. The money she
earned seemed the only means of securing to the dying
mother the comfort of love in her children's companion-
ship. So precious did the mother's last days seem to
the daughter that they covered just then the whole of
her life's horizon. And yesterday at the shop she had
been threatened with dismissal.

" And it will come," she said to herself. " They will
surely dismiss me. If I did my best for a hundred
years I should not do as well as the chits of girls who
have been brought up to the work."

The words seemed to rise up within her and say
themselves, not audibly, but with passionate distinctness,
in her mind.

Then there was a lull, and she seemed to have calm
and time to consider what had been said. Again the
passion arose, as of some spirit weeping within her and
breaking forth into lamentations, not grandiloquent, but
in the simple language of girl-life.

" Father always called me his home-bird. I am
only fit for that. Oh, father, father, why did you die
and leave us ? Where are you now ? "

Her face wore that coolid look which betokens
trouble too deep for observation of its surroundings,
but now she did turn her head and scan, with absent
glance, the moving people. Was there, in all that town,
no man, loving and strong, to whom she could turn for
help — she who felt herself unable to stagger further
beneath the burden she had to bear ? The daughter of
a truly good man will turn so naturally to manhood for
help and comfort.

Her eyes fell back disconsolate to the path at her

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

feet. Then the moan rose within her again, " Oh, father,
father!"

When it was past she sat some time and seemed
to think of nothing. She watched the sparrows on
the railing before her, and felt her heart numb and
dead.

No one came very near her. Her mind recovered
itself from its momentary torpor, and she made a little
movement to rouse herself to (practical thought. Think
she must, for there was no one to think for her or for
those she loved far more than life.

But first she looked again into the infinite (distance
of the blue above the plain. "There is no help," she
said again. This time her lips formed the words, as if
challenging an answer.

On the path, not far off, an elderly lady came slowly

by in the full sail of silk robes, and after her the im-

[portunate beggar-woman. The beggar was repulsed, so

[she fell back, canting loud enough for others who were

approaching to hear her virtuous complaint.

" Oh, well-? -day, my lady ; but it's a sorrowful world,
[and if it wasn't for our trust in Heaven, there'd be little
bo keep us from sin."

Esther looked at the woman, hardly aware that she
heard her. She waited until these people had gone by
ind her corner was quiet again. Her hand stole guiltily
bo her pocket and brought out a sheet of folded news-
)aper.

It was the advertisement sheet of yesterday's paper.
Esther had read it before ; she read it again, glancing
leedfully over the closely printed page at a multitude of
situations declared vacant in various phrase.

, I

..;,-,, ..r-

i
-

i !

BEGGAES ALL.

[Book I.

There was not one, or at least only one, that offered
a ray of hope to her discouraged heart. She had noticed
it the day before ; her eyes came back and back to it
with fascination.

It was not by idle chance that she had chosen the
topic of last evening's talk. Under the mask of comedy
she had tried to find some vent to the burden of her
heart. This advertisement — the only one that seemed
to offer a situation she could fill — was among some others
under the head of " Matrimony ; " but it was distin-
guished from the others by a certain particularity as to
the mental qualities of the wife desired, which seemed to
her to give it tone of superior feeling.

" A young man, able to meet expenses of married
life, wishes to make the acquaintance of a lady, educated,
courageous, and gentle, who would devote herself to
making his home happy if she became his wife. — Ad-
dress, ' Honour,' Office of this Paper."

" Courageous," " gentle," " to making his home happy,"
" Honour." Esther emphasized the words that gave her
a gleam of hope. She was but young, and had lived the
sheltered home life that prolongs the trustfulness of
childhood.

She thought long. At length the wave of her reverie
swelled and broke into resolution. She spoke half aloud
as she rose. "If he has a spark of honour in him he
will know that it is an honour to take care of mother ;
and it is not begging — I will repay it with my whole
life."

Esther went home, and repeated the sermon to her
mother, like a child repeating a lesson.

They had tea together. It was so cheerful to have

[Book I.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

offered

noticed

cjk to it

Dsen the
; comedy
n of her
b seemed
ne others
1,8 distin-
rity as to
ieemed to

t married

educated,

aerself to

afe.— Ad-

le happy,"
gave her
lived the

'ulness of

ler reverie
lalf aloud
In him he
If mother;
Imy whole

Ion to her

ll to have

Star at home. They talked a little of the old home —
the big, hospitable house on the other side of the world,
where they had dispensed such loving hospitality. They
could not speak much of that past life and the dear
father now dead. They each hastened to change the
conversation when it glanced on any subject suggesting
tears; they each knew that they dared not begin the
weeping of which they could not foresee an end.

Star would write to one of their friends in the old
place. She took her paper to a far comer of the room,
and sat over it a long time. When she brought it back
it was only half written, but it could be finished next
Sunday. They all agreed that it must be a very good,
long letter to be worth the stamp. They did not know
that, when she ran out for a breath of evening air, she
posted another letter, written secretly as she sat apart.

Poor child ! she had been obliged to fling, as it were,
her words on the paper ; the secrecy of her act deprived
her of place or time for consideration. She had written —

" I venture to answer your advertisement. Nothing
would induce me to answer it if I were not in great
[trouble. I am twenty-four, and have good health. I
have had no education that is worth anything in earn-
ing money, but I have been brought up as a lady, and
i have read a good many books. I believe I am gentle
[and courageous. I know I could make a house cosy
and comfortable. I love to make people happy. I never
J failed in that at home.

" My mother, sister, and I came from California a

I year ago. My father had died. He had a large fruit

farm near San Francisco, and we sold it and put all the

money in the bank till mother decided where to invest

i^^^

'J'.r I

•*

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

it. My mother and sister were both ill, and, as this is
my mother's native place, we came here to see a doctor
about my sister. When we got here we heard the bank
had failed. Nearly all our friends there had lost money
too, so they could not help us much, and mother's friends
here are all gone. We could not go back, for mother and
Richarda were too ill. Our lawyer at home thinks that
by-and-by we may possibly recover a little of the
money, and that would be something for Richarda ; but
mother is dying now, and I cannot support them. It is
horrible to live on charity.

" What I want to say is this. If, when we meet, you
want to marry me, and if you will take care of my
mother and sister while they need it, I will be so grate-
ful to you ; I will marry you and be devoted to you all
my life. They would not need much. If I could have
a small house for them to live in, where they could see
something better than narrow streets, I would be glad to
do all the work and have no servant. I am very clever
at housework. I am not pretty ; but most people think
I am very nice. I have not known many men, because
we lived in the country ; but I know my father, or any
of his friends, would have thought it an honour to take
care of women like my mother and sister — they are so
good. None of the people we have met at the chapel
here seem to think so.

" I dare say you won't want to answer this letter ;
but if you still want to meet me, you must write first
and promise to take care of my mother and sister."

Her true sentiments showed all the more clearly
through the disordered haste of her words. Her strong
young pride consorted ill with her need. She had re-

[Book I.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

this is
I doctor
le bank
i money
, friends
)her and
aks that

of the
•da; but
Q. It is

leet, you
e of my
30 grate-
o you all
uld have
;ould see
e glad to
ry clever
fie think
because
Ir, or any
|r to take
sy are so
lc chapel

IS letter:

rrite first
»

clearly

jr strong

had re-

solved, and threw her poor little fishing-line out boldly
into the sea of fate. She did not see how poorly it was
baited. She waited the result.

She did not throw herself after her line. She knew
she had no proof that the advertisement was genuine.
She did not lack common sense and resource. She asked
her unknown correspondent to write to initials (not her
own) at the address of a small shop, whose mistress, a
religious woman, neither curious nor communicative,
could be trusted to keep that much of her secret.

Star had a further plan. Should the answer prove
satisfactory, she determined to appoint a meeting in the
old parish church between the Sunday services. The
church was large and of such architectural interest that
whispering parties of sight-seers were always to be seen
in its dim interior, when, as on Sunday, the doors were
open free of cost. As it stood on the hill, she thought
she might, when she reached it, rest for a few minutes.
Then, if the man whom she was to meet should accost
her, and should not look honest (she hr.d a high opinion
of her own judgment), she would walk away without
speaking.

" I cannot tell a lie," she said to herself. " I can't
deny that I made the appointment ; but if I refuse to
speak and walk away, he can never be sure that it was
I who made it."

So reasoned Star, and she put her letter in the box.

- • ' *J., ■!,■..•

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

CHAPTER VI.

' I .'

Star called on Monday evening for her answer, but
there was none. On Tuesday evening she found it
awaiting her.

"You are thinking of changing your situation,"
remarked her friend the shopkeeper, noticing her flushed
face.

After that Star was afraid to read the letter there.
She took it, and walking a bit homeward in the gas-
lit street, turned into a book-shop where she knew
no one.

Her hands trembled so that she could hardly open the
letter. The words danced before her eyes, yet they were
written in clear, manly hand.

" Dear Madam " (it began),

" I thank you for your letter. I honour you
for your sentiments, as far as I understand them. I
think, however, we cannot tell whether we respect
one another till we meet. If I may call upon your
mother, and see you in her presence, I shall be happy
to do so.

" Awaiting your instructions,

" Faithfully yours,

"Hubert Kent."

He gave what might easily be a genuine address.

It is natural, when we feel ourselves to be wandering

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

from the beaten path, that we should be aroused to try to
detect the slightest sign of danger. In the two days
that had elapsed since she had written, Star had been
representing to herself numberless ways in which the
answer might seek to impose upon her. She was ready
and anxious to cast aside the communication upon
perceiving the slightest hint of presumption or double-
dealing, but what was there here to claim suspicion ?

It is true that the letter did not contain the promise
of help she had required, but the desire to be made
known to her mother was praiseworthy. The letter was
at once better than she had feared, and less than she had
hoped. There was nothing to justify her in retiring from
the offer she had voluntarily made ; still less was there
in it any of that spontaneous outpouring of a sympa-
thetic heart which, in her more childish moments, she
had dreamed might possibly be elicited by her own frank
letter.

Perhaps the greatest deprivations of poverty are the
lack of solitude and leisure. Star had a momentous
resolution to take, an important letter to write : yet she
dared not linger long on her way home ; dared not trust
to an opportunity to answer the letter at home ; and she
felt that, even then, her presence was an intrusion in the
little book-shop, which was about to be closed for the
night. What was to be done must be done quickly. She
bought a sheet of paper and envelope, feeling guilty in
, the expenditure of her penny, and, begging grace from
I the stationer, she answered her letter at the counter.

" I cannot ask you to come and see my mother," she
wrote, " because she would be very much displeased if
she knew I had written to you. She is so delicate I

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

'■ 1

cannot tell her all that troubles me. I co<nnot get out of
the shop except on Sunday. I am going to see the inside
of the parish church about an hour before the after-
noon service next Sunday. You may come and speak
to me there if you choose. I am wearing black for my
father."

Even then, she did not sign her name. She felt her-
self on the brink of a precipice of unknown depth. She
tried to cling to any semblance of safety.

Never had days seemed so full of excitement, so empty
of thought, as those which intervened before the next
Sunday. Star did her work at the shop with a straining
effort to bend her mind to it each moment and give no
occasion for the threatened dismissal. At home her
whole energy was turned to deceiving those she loved
best, and appearing to be her old, natural self when she
felt that she had left that old self far behind. All
practical and useful thought was for the time suspended.

What use to think of ways and means of life when,
after next Sunday, the whole course of one's life — even
the very basis of living — might be changed ?

There is one story of Psyche in which it is told that,
to avert calamity, she walked up to a cliff whence
Zephyr was to waft her to the unknown land of an
unknown monster. It is likely that when Psyche was
thus climbing the cliff she was almost incapable of the
function of thought.

Poor Star ! the Zephyr whose power she already felt
upon her seemed to take away her breath. She felt all
the pain of mental breathlessness. She indulged in no
soft dreams of the possibility of the monster turning out
a Cupid. She was prepared like Psyche, not for love,

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

but for sacrifice. Yet there was, after all, an element of
inconsistent hope that was stronger than fear — hope for
relief, if not for more positive good ; hope that was born
of mere youth and vigour, and fed by that glamour
which, to young eyes, mercifully covers the unknown.

It never occurred to her not to keep her appoint-
ment. "I have a little headache, mother mine," she
said truly, when two o'clock was past on Sunday
afternoon.

" You are looking white and nervous, my child," said
the mother tenderly, and sighed a deep, silent, inward
sigh. Her trust was in God, but Esther's good health
vas her only earthly ground of comfort.

" I will go out for a little in the wind. It will blow
some colour into my cheeks," said Star.

She kissed them both tenderly. She looked to see
that her toilet was as neat as she could make it.
She would have scorned extra adornment on this day,
even if she had possessed it. When she went out and
shut the door, it seemed to her that she shut off p^ace
behind her ; yet, inconsistently, she told herself that no
one would be at the appointed place to meet her ; that
she would come back and enter there and take up the
weary roi ad of her life again without the excitement
of adventure, and that the mortification of having dis-
turbed herself for nothing would be the only trace of
I that feverish week.

The clock of the old church struck the quarter past
[the hour of Esther's appointment from above the hill
1 while she was still walking along the street at its base.
I She had no wish to be early there. She would not ascend
jtl^e hill by any of the graded roads. She would, as she

■..\.

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

had planned, run up the steps at the steepest part, and b
gain the pavement before the door with evident excuse
to pause for rest.

It was a stormy day. Great, inky clouds, in folds
and fringes of illimitable depth, were passing over the
town, chased before the west wind. Only where the
plain sloped there was light visible under the edge of
the low cloud fringes — not the light of clear sky that had
been there the preceding week, but that of a whiter, more
distant sea of cloud, which had a faint, lurid glow
mingled with its brightness.

Star was not seeking the sky with her eyes. She
ascended the stone staircase quickly in the wind, with
her back to the brighter plain. The top gained, it was no
feint that she must rest some moments. She had no
strength to move forward ; she had no courage to look
with examining eye at the few people who were about
the church door. She turned her back to them all, and
leaned on the railing above the stair, trying to catch
breath and still the beating of her heart.

She had not been more than a minute there, although
it seemed to her like many, when, in spite of her feeling
of weakness and struggle, she turned round with nervous
suddenness with the sense of some one near her.

The young man who had approached was of very
respectable appearance. He had a dark, earnest face — a
face that was evidently the index to a clearly defined
character; just as hieroglyphics are evidently the
characters of some intelligible language. It does not
follow that we are the wiser for looking at them, and
knowing that they contain a meaning. Star looked
this young man full in the face, and knew no more

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

whether she trusted him or not than before she had
turned.

He took off his hat gravely, courteously, regarding
her all the time with observant eyes.

And now Star knew, as one remembers dimly the
knowledge of some past time, that it was yet possible for
her to walk on in proud silence, as any lady would who
had been accosted through impudence or mistake. She
was not conscious of deciding to recognize the man, but,
with a fierce effort of courage, she restrained herself
from running away from mere fear. The opportunity
for ignoring her appointment was gone.

" Thank you for asking me to come here," he said.
" Look at those clouds. I have been admiring their
procession while I was waiting. This is a fine view of
the town."

If his words suggested finery of manner put on for
the occasion, there was tact in them. Star looked off,
both from him and from herself, as she was bidden, and,
although she did not view the prospect with receptive
eyes, she felt the impersonal object of attention an
intense relief.

The town lay beneath — that is, all its newer and
[better part. The spires and towers of churches and
chapels rose above the roofs, as gray and inky as the
jsoft cloud masses that swung so quickly over them.
1 Beyond, the flat fields took some light from the further,
lighter clouds on the horizon. It was blank daylight,
[dull and cold.

The girl and the young man stood near the great
I Norman doorway of the church. The boles of the elms,
whose mossy branches rattled above them, were encased

\'-\ #

46 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

in flagstones of the pavement. Sparrows hopped about
the ground, chirping sharply. The wind whistled
about the old church roofs, and seemed to blow the
starlings in and out of nooks in the steeple.

" The wind is too strong for you," he said. " Will
you come in ? "

Star be^'an to walk at his side. She had not looked
at him a second time.

" May I ask," he said again, " if you know many
people in town ? "

" Oh no," she said, eager to disabuse his mind of any
idea that might give her a false importance in his eyes.
" We know no one at all, except that the people at the
chapel that mother went to when we first came, when
we lost all our money got me my situation, and now
they give us five shillings a week."

It was not at all like the composed reply she would
have conned had she known that he was going to ask
the question.

Psyche, landing on the enchanted ground, may have
felt confused, and may have used ill-chosen language.

" I only meant to ask," said he with hesitation, " if
you would be likely to meet accjuaintances, and so be
compromised by being seen with a stranger. I would
like you to know me better before you commit yourself
to — " (he stopped a moment) " anything that looks like
friendship." His voice lowered as they entered the
building.

" I have no friends, either to criticize or protect me,"
she said, looking half sullenly up the nave towards the
distant altar. The vista was cold enough ; there was no
emblem of warmth or light.

[Book I.

Book L]

BEGGABS ALL.

ed about
whistled
ij.ow the

. "Will

it looked

w many

d of any
his eyes.
le at the
ne, when
and now

lie would
Q to ask

lay have
juage.
ition, "if
id so be
II would
yourself
)oks like
ked the

tect me,"
lards the
was no

They took the conventional round of the aisles. He
said —

" I am very sorry about your mother and sister —

and for you " (this was added more diffidently) ; " for I

can imagine, although I have no relatives myself, that

[you may suflfer more in their pain than they do

I themselves."

" Thank you," she said. Her excited nerves made

jher unreasonably exacting. She had come full of the

idef.- that she was going to offer to sacrifice herself to

this man as payment for a definite promise of help. It

made her feel like a beggar to hear the expressions of

kindly pity without any hint that he wanted anything

[from her. She shut her lips over the " thank you "

(with a sort of sullen determination to say no more of

Iher own troubles.

" You came here to consult a doctor about your
sister's health — was his opinion discouraging ? "

" We never consulted him. We had only just got
^lere when the telegram came to say that the bank our
inoney was in had failed,"
" Ah, that was very hard."

She did not answer. She wondered why he was

lying these aimless things to her. He was perhaps

lerely amusing himself, and had no thought of any

lirect and serious aim in making friends with her. She

lad no time to spend in idle talk. She only wished to

:now from this man what he would do for her beloved

)nes; what he would exact from her in return.

Perhaps" — the thought came to her with sarcastic

lumour — "he has several girls on his list, and wants

lime to compare and choose."

BEOOABS ALL,

[Book I.

" Had you other answers to your advertisement ? "
The words were said before she was aware, and the
instant they were uttered she was bitterly ashamed.
Ke had treated her with all consideration, and the
expression of her curiosity seemed so prying, so vulgar.
It seemed to degrade her to the level of girls who might
be supposed to answer such advertisements. She did
not think definitely what class that might be, yet
blushed with shame.

Perhaps he had no sujh keen sense of refinement, or
perhaps the bitter tone of her words and the fierce
blush gave him a clue to the true feeling that prompted
them. He only answered quietly —

"No, no other; at least — " (with hesitation) "no
other that I did not put into the fire."

There was a little pause. They stood before a
carved tablet on the wall which told the virtues of a
country squire of some past generation. They had
stopped before it of one accord, but neither read the
epitaph.

" I want to say to you " He broke off" and began

again slowly — words did not come profusely to him, " I
think you must always have known good people ; your
father and his friends, whom you spoke of, must have
been good men." (He had evidently pondered her
letter.)

" Oh, father was very, very good," she said earnestly.
" We lived a little way out of San Francisco, and
every one that passed on our road used to stop at the
house, and no one ever stopped without being offered
something, and if they were in trouble he helped
them."

[Book I.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

jment ? "
and the
eishamed.
and the
10 vulgar,
ho might
She did
, be, yet

lement, or
the fierce
prompted

ition)

before

irtues of a

They had

r read the

• and began
to him, " 1
.pie ; your
must have
tdered her

earnestly.

icisco, and
itop at the
[ing offered

he helped

" Yes," he said, " that was generous ; but I think,
from what you say, that your people are also religious.
You spoke of your mother going to chapel."

" Yes," she assented, wondering.

" Well, I want to tell you, at the outset, that I am

not good like that. I do not mean " (he hurried the

explanation) " that any one who knows me could tell you

# anything against my character. My reputation is, I

i^pbelieve, blameless ; but I — well, for instance, I do not go

to church."

IShe looked up at him. Her mind was now working
with large thoughts so that she could look at him.
■'* " I think I understand Before we left home I
should have thought it very wrong of any one not to go
|i0 church, but since we came here — oh, it is different,
hate these people who have given us charity. I
go and hear the sermon to tell mother about it, but it
l^oes not seem real to me. We should be kinder to
the veriest paupers at home than they are to us, although
fjee brought letters of introduction to them."
|| They walked on slowly up the aisle, talking with
)w voices.

" Yes," he answered, " no doubt ; but that difference

lay arise from circumstances. In places where there is

)t the same competition for a living, where money is

sily made, and where all, at the outset, have known

ie pinch of hardships, openhandedness comes more

iturally than in our overcrowded England." His mind

TRis evidently brimming with thought and theory, but

hb stopped, feeling that a theoretical explanation of facta

s out of place here, as it could not alter them.

Star was hardly listening. She spoke as out of some

BEGGABS ALL.

[Book I.

'!',

deep experience of her own. " It is easier, much easier,
to believe in what they say about Providence when we
see the best and dearest people having some comfort and
some pleasure. But when all is taken from them — I
can understand " (this eagerly) " what you mean about
not going to church."

He saw that she had just begun to venture upon the
([uicksand of religious disquietude, and the first step had
the intense interest of novelty to her. To him it had no
novelty.

" The difficulty of the apparent injustice of circum-
stances has, I believe, many answers," he said. "Any
one learned in religious argument can refute it. If I
were you, I would trj^ in spite of difficulties, to hold on
to the religion of your parents. I think you would be
liappier." The words were spoken in a tone of gentle
consideration rather than admonition.

Star's eagerness died out for want of encouragement.

He pursued his intended speech.

" I am not the man your father would have wished
you to" — he seemed to leave out some word and to
substitute — " make friends with. I know nothing about
my parents. I feel myself, as I walk about the world,
to be the effect of an unknown cause."

She looked puzzled, but did not long consider his
phrase. His way of putting it gave her the impression
that he was clever.

" I was brought up in an orphanage, and did well at
school. I began running with proofs in a newspaper
office, and now I am on the staff of the evening paper
here. I have paid the Orphanage all it cost them to
bring me up, so I am quits with its charity. I get one

Book I.]

BEGGAKS ALL.

iragement.

ive wished
rd and to
hing about
the world,

insider his
impression

lid well at

J newspaper

Ining paper

1st them to

I get one

hundred and fifty pounds a year as salary, and I some-
times make extra money " (she thought the tone of his
voice changed unconsciously as he hesitated here for a
word) "in various odd ways. I have no relatives; I
have never made any friends."

Not knowing what to reply, she grasped the last
word. " Why not ? Don't you like friends ? "

"I mean by 'friends' people who have more hold
upon you than mere acquaintances."

" Yes. Don't you like to have such friends ? "

" I do not know ; it is not my nature to make them."
In a minute he said, "I will give you the address of
the editor who employs me, and of my landlady. I
have lived in the same rooms for four years. My land-
lady is a good woman, I believe. You can make any
inquiries about me that you wish."

He stopped, and, taking out his pocket-book, wrote
[the address on a leaf, which he tore out and gave her.

Star did not refuse the paper. She put it care-
Ifully away, as if for future use. She had a feeling of
;oing through some uncomfortable farce. It appeared
bo her so impossible ever to make the inquiry he sug-
rested.

They moved on across the chancel and down the

)ther side. Star began to wonder, as if she were some

impartial third person, what would come of it all, and,

iivS a more pressing consideration, whether he expected

her to speak next, and, if so, what she could say.

"You say my father would not have liked me to
niake friends with you. I am not sure of that, because
f do not Know you. Father was not ambitious ; he
Valued a kind heart. But, for that matter, would he

< Hi/ '

1; I

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

have liked my mother to be confined in a low, ugly
room, where she never sees a bit of sky or a spring
flower ? — and I dare not spend a penny to buy one for
her, because we live partly on charity. Oh, you don't
know what it is to see them suffering, dying, for want
of the comfort, pleasure, and freedom that father would
have given them. How would he have borne to see
them as they are now, and such a little would make
such a u ' (Terence ! " Her voice had a shrill touch in it,
as if her vocal cords were strained by suffering. It
broke and trembled just before she stopped.

He seemed to wonder. " Is there no friend to whom
you could apply ? Is there no other employment that
would suit you better and be more lucrative, that you
could get ? "

" If there were, would we be living on charity ? "
Her words and expression were proud and despairing,

" That's true ; I needn't have asked."

They neared the north-west corner, where a group
of ringers were about to make a great clanging among
the bells of the tower.

Star stood still. " I think I had better go home," she
said drearily.

" If you feel that to accept assistance from me would
be &3 bitter to you as the assistance you are now
accepting "

" I could not, and mother would not, take anything
from you unless — unless " She stopped.

He lifted his eyebrows a little as he looked at her.
She did not look at him, but stood irresolute, the picture
of trouble.

" I understand," he said quietly.

[Book I.

W, Ugly
1 spring
one for
ou don't
for want
er would
le to see
lid make
iich in it,
3ring. It

to whom
naent that
, that you

charity ? "
ipairing.

e a group
ling among

Ihome," she

me would
are now

|e anything

:ed at her.
1 the picture

Book 1,1

BEGGARS ALL.

" I do not know what you understand," she said ; " I
only know that I cannot support them alone, and that
I would do anything for any one who would take care
of them."

" I am sure you would not do anything wrong, even
for such a noble object. Tell me" (there was, for the
first time, a slight agitation in his voice), " do you think
you could really love any one only because he was
tjenerous to them ? "

" I could love that creature over there if he would
make them happy."

He followed the slight gesture she made with her
eyes, and through the open doorway he saw a ragged,
blear-eyed man halting on the lounging place under the
elm trees.

For the first time a look of something lighter than
intense gravity came over Kent's face. There was a
[gleam of humour in his eye, but it passed away.

" Well then," he said. " Accept me as that wretched
[fellow, and I will do my utmost for you and yours."

The bells began. The church was almost empty, so
that they two could stand together without attracting
lotice. The verger walked past and looked at them
shrewdly, but never had he seen a graver couple.

In a few minutes they sauntered out, walking me-
shanically in mutual silence. They crossed the stone
)avement under the trees. It had begun to rain, but
)tar hardly heeded it. Kent had an umbrella, which he
)ut up and held over her. He did not do it with any
Mr of gallantry. There was nothing of that sort about
■lim ; but there was something in his manner that sug-
gested an aptitude (which, she afterwards learned, the

n-.

«:»»/_i',|->».»'. .'

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

best men do not always possess) for taking initiative in
the protection of those under his care.

A narrow street, that went crookedly down the hill
between ancient houses, was the nearest way home.
Star's pace grew quicker, so that Kent had some ado to
keep up with her. The rain fell heavily, and the wind
drove it ajrainst them.

" I could shelter you better," said he, " if you took
iny arm."

So she took his arm, feeling that to refuse would be
absurd. She was still unconscious of the pace at which
she was hastening him along. She felt desirous of
making some apology, also of thanking him — she felt
thanks were his due. She began to wonder at the same
moment, with feverish suspicion, if he were in earnest,
and, if so, what motive prompted him. In her tumult
of thought, in her surprise and bashfulness at finding
her hand in his arm, she could get no words — none, at
least, that she could speak with composure. At length
she faltered —

" Why do you promise me this ? Why should you
care ?

It was a moment before he answered.

" Partly because one thing you told me in your
letter was untrue."

" What ? "

" You said you were not pretty."

" I am not."

" I may not be a good judge " — he spoke quietly —
" but / think you are very pretty."

" Oh," said Star, and caught her breath. Her sensa-
tion was not of pleasure.

Book I]

BEGGARS ALL.

" When may I see your mother and sister?" he asked.
" Oh, I do not know " — with troubled gesture—" what
I can tell mother. She must never, never know how I
met you."

" Will you let me tell her as much of the truth as she
needs to know ? "

" You ? " she exclaimed. It seemed so strange to
think of this stranjjor communicatinjj to her mother
anything about herself.

They stood at the end of the short street in which
was the room that was her home. She said —

" We live there — that third house from the other
end, and it is the first door to the left as you go in.
But you must not come till I can think how you can
come."

The storm drove against her. Flustered, unable to
collect her thoughts, she would have run from him ; but
she felt that his arm detained her under the shelter of
the umbrella.

" You have not told me vour name." He looked
down at her, and his glance was ^ ery kind.

" Esther Thompson," she answered, like a child
answering the catechism.

" Take my umbrella, and, when you get home, tell
your mother you were caught in the storm ; that a man
offered you his umbrella, and said he would call for it.
You can truthfully tell her that it was offered most
respectfully."

He put the umbrella in her hand, clasping her fingers
over the handle, for she could not make up her mind
to take it from him.

She went down the street, almost blown along by

l^ff

; i'

LJ.

BEQGABS ALL.

[Book I.

the wind ; but as she went in at her own door she cast
one look back. Hubert Kent was walking rapidly
away in the driving rain, his coat collar turned up, his
head bowed to protect his face from the storm. The
whole street — fronts of houses and paving stones —
glistened, as water glistens under the moving lights of
tiying clouds. Every moveable fragment on wall or
pavement was hustled by the wind. Other foot-pas-
sengers — there were but few — seemed hustled by it
also ; but, as she went hastily in, she received a distinct
impression that the man who was bearing the beat of
the storm for the sake of giving her some protection
from it, was walking on in his own way, and with his
own gait, unmoved either by gust or lull. His was a
dark figure in the glistening rain.

CHAPTER VII.

" Mother, I was caught in the rain, and a man came
and held his umbrella over me, and then he made me
bring it home. He said he would call for it."

Esther sat down as far as possible from her mother
and sister, to guard them from the damp of her clothes.
She was flushed and excited, but that was natural in
escaping from the wind and from a stranger.

" And did you think it wise to take it from him, my
dear ? " the mother asked reproachfully and in surprise.

"It was offered — he offered it very respectfully," she
faltered.

[Book I.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

she cast
rapidly
i up, his
m. The
stones —
lights of
wall or
foot-pas-
jd by it
a, distinct
} beat of
>rotection
with his
[is was a

lan came
lade me

mother
clothes,
itural in

I him, my
mrprise.
Illy," she

" Esther can't afford to spoil her frocks now, mother,"
said Richarda. " Besides, I consider the incident in-
teresting and romantic. Was he a nice man, Star ? "

Richarda was interested, but the mother looked in
real alarm for the answer.

" He was — at least, I think he was kind," pleaded
poor Star. " He did Qot mean it ill, mother, I think.
I can't tell you what he was like, Richarda; I hardly
know."

That night Star could not altogether maintain the
assumed light-heartedness which characterized her
manner at home.

" Mother, mother ! " she said, sinking down on her
knees and encircling her mother's feeble form with
loving arms, " would it not be a grand thing if some-
thing should happen, and I could take you and Dicksie
out to live in the country and see the flowers, and
have fresh eggs and milk ? Ever such a little house,
with Star always at home with you vvould be like
paradise ; wouldn't it ? "

They had talked of many things since Star came
in with the borrowed umbrella ; the mother had for-
gotten it.

"Foolish child! " she said playfully. "Why build
air castles that cannot be realized ? " Then, more
seriously, " We have done all we can for ourselves,
and we shall have everything in God's good time, dear
heart ; till then, it is our privilege to be content."

" Are you contented, mother ? "

" I hope I am, and that my Star is also. She ought
to be; she has health, and a mother to love her, and
a very kind, patient sister."

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

" Oh, mother, it is for you I am discontented."

A wonderful light came into the mother's eyes ; the
light that still shines in earth's noblest souls, the reflec-
tion of radiance that shone first so long ago, when the
angel host hover-^d over the pasture of Bethlehem.

" You have no right to he discontented for me, dear,
for I have great happiness."

At night, when sleep and darkness had fallen on the
room, Star left her mother's side and went, as she had
done before, to sit between the dying fire and her
sister's couch. A faint, red glow fell on her face, on her
nightdress, and the old shawl she had wrapped about
her. Richarda awoke with a start.

Star, sitting on the floor, leaned her head on her
sister's pillow. " I want to ask you," she said, " is
mother really happy — think, hajypy — here in this room,
living on charity, having us live on charity, you lying
here without one beautiful thing to look at, I working
in a common shop and coming home at night alone ?
You know she would give her life to save us from
what we have to bear. She can do nothing. Is she
happy ? "

" But she is happy. Star. It is mother's way. It's
the * joy of God,' you know." She spoke as if alluding
to an ordinary quality.

" And you, Richarda ? "

" Sometimes I am wretched ; but if I want anything
most, it is not so much to have things diflerent as to
be what she is. When I lie here I sometimes think
that is the only real peace."

Star put her sister to sleep again as she would have
soothed a little child.

■!:!• (
.111

iill

[Book I.

2yes ; the

he reflec-

when the

em.

me, dear,

en on the
i she had
; and her
ICQ, on her
ped about

fid on her
said, " is
this room,
you lyin^^
I working
ht alone ?
us from
Is she

vN'^ay. It's
alluding

anything
ent as to
nes think

>"^

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

She herself did not sleep, but sat there trying to
realize the events of the day. Had she done wrong or
right ? She hardly knew. Looking inward, all things
seemed uncertain. Was it only pride and wickedness
in her that made her present way of life intolerable ?
Was it wrong to be maddened by the thought that all
the beauty of the spring might pass, and her dying
mother feel none of its reviving force, and her sister
die too, perhaps, for lack of it? Ought she to school
herself to let them bear all that other poor, not know-
ing that of which they were deprived, could bear more
easily ? Did virtue lic^ in letting them endure and die,
and perhaps be wrenched from one another's love before
the end by a cold system of charity, or was she right to
rescue them from that at any cost ? At any cost .? Her
face set sternly over the question — it had no answer.
And what of Hubert Kent ? But on this (question her
mind refused even to deliberate. Her faltering answer
to " Was the man nice ? " had been, indeed, the mirror of
her own mind. She did not know. She dared not
think. One detail concerning him, however, her con-
fused thoughts grasped as the nearest practical necessity.
She must pave the way for his first interview with her
mother. She burdened herself with this task. She did
not know how to perform it.

Duld have

fli

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

CHAPTER VIII.

ill

Star had no sooner opened the door on her return from
work the next evening than she perceived that all was
not as usual. There was an air of pleasure unusual to
the place and its inmates. Another glance showed her
flowers on the table near Richarda. That young lady
was laughing. Even her mother laughed a little at Star's
anticipated surprise.

" Star, Star, aren't they lovely ? Keep away. They
are all mine and nother's, not yours at all. We have a
young man who comes to see us — mother and I."

They were indeed lovely, but not expensive ; such
things as might be gathered on an early morning walk,
if one knew where to find them — primroses, violets,
anemones, with cool moss and bits of ivy. Her mother
was still busy taking the remainder from the basket,
setting the thirsty little stalks to drink in every avail-
able receptacle, taking deep pleasure in touching the tiny
messengers of spring with loving fingers. Her mother's
pleasure in the flowers was so evident, so tender, that
Star was stung to the quick by the pathos of the former
deprivation which such pleasure betokened. During the
day she had relapsed into a half remorseful feeling con-
cerning her action of yesterday ; now, she held up her
head, rejoicing in what she had done, and nerved to act
her part in the little scene here awaiting her.

Her sister was regarding her still with laughing eyes.

Book I.J

BEGGARS ALL.

(

eyes.

" She won't ask where they came from, or whether they
were exchanged for an umbrella or not. Oh no, she will
not stoop to be curious."

Poor Star felt more intensely curious than they could
suspect, if not in the anticipated way. She knew too
well that only one could have brought the flowers. She
did not know how to shape her inquiries about the
interview.

Yes, the visit she dreaded was past. That which had
seemed the greatest difficulty in her way, her mother's
reluctance to friendly intercourse with a stranger, had
been surmounted without her aid, and the manner in
which it had been accomplished gave her a feeling of her
own feebleness compared with another's strength.

It appeared, when she was able to draw the full
account from the laughing Richarda, that the suitor had
come armed with no persuasions but what appeared to be
the very simplicity of boyish straightforwardness and
manly reserve. He had given an account of the Sunday
interview, as far as strict truth and the omission of all
that would inculpate her in her mother's eyes would
allow. Their pact of marriage of course he did not
mention. He stated that he, like themselves, v/as friend-
less, but he made it clear that he had never been
otherwise ; he confessed that he had been a foundling,
brought up on charity. He even seemed to have again
reiterated that he did not come up to their standard of
excellence. He said that he was quite unworthy of tiieir
friendsliip, yet he would esteem it an honour to be
allowed to serve them as a friend. He implied that
Esther was his object, yet he distinctly implied that he
was not a fit suitor for her. And, withal, he had not

r r

j ji

BEGGAKS ALL.

[Book I.

appeared to be plausible in manner or speech ; what he
said seemed to have been prompted by strong sentiments
of truth, and eagerness to be of use. All that he did
not say seemed withheld by natural modesty and reserve.
In short, a young man less anxious to recommend himself,
and more anxious to be of direct and immediate service
to his lady-love, had never made an appeal to a parent's
heart.

Simple and direct as his method of putting himself
on a friendly footing with the family was, he had done
nothing to startle the invalids; he had shown himself
gentle and retiring. He had spent half an hour with
these two women, both shy with the shyness that comes
inevitably with suffering and confinement, and left them
the happier and more light-hearted for his visit. Star
blessed him in her heart.

" Of course," concluded Richarda, " our ideas con-
cerning him are very nebulous as yet. Do you think he
really means to come a-courting ? We entirely agree
with him that he is not good enough to be an admirer
of yours ; but then, you know, when a man affirms his
own inferiority, you can't make any further reference
to it. I am inclined to think that mother sanctioned the
affair."

" I gave no sanction to anything," said her mother,
growing troubled.

" You only opened your motherly heart when you
heard he was friendless, and looked hospitably upon him ;
didn't you, dear ? " asked Star.

" It is quite true that you did not give your sanction,"
continued Richarda, " but I think he has it, for all that.
He stole it from you by a sort of highhanded robbery."

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

" There is abundance of time to consider whether we
can make a friend of him or not," the mother said.

The thought of time restored her composure, which
had been ruffled by Richarda's words. To hearts in
middle life the thought of time to consider brings tran-
({uillity, as surely as it brings impatience to youth.

The word grated on Esther. The flowers her mother
was handling so lovingly would soon fade, and whence
should they get more ? How was she to obtain for these
two ailing ones the health, comfort, and pleasure-giving
influences of spring and summer, if time must be given
to consider this man's claim to rescue them ? Time ! —
and her mother was dying !

CHAPTER IX.

Hubert Kent came again twice that same week. The
flrst evening Star was detained at the shop, and did not
see him. He had talked to Richarda on the subject of her
favourite books. He had insisted upon Mrs. Thompson's
acceptance of a basket of fresh eggs, packed in a handful
of the first, sweet clover from some happ^' spring
meadow.

" This must not be," said the elder lady gently ; " you
must not bring us — " she hesitated a moment, and
then said " eggs," for want of a more general term to
denote what he had brought and what he might bring.

He took back the gift instantly and put it beside
his hat.

BE6GABS ALL.

[Book I.

The two women looked at it and at his disappointed
countenance. They both knew that the contents of the
basket would give the other much-needed nourishment.
Each was willing to sacrifice her own pride for the other,
but Star must not be compromised.

" It is very hard on me," said Hubert Kent. A strong
distress marked his face. " What is the good of work-
ing from Monday morning to Saturday night if people
whom I like are none the better for it ? Am I not
to have pleasures like other people because I have
been set in the world without any special relation to
anybody ? "

" There are other pleasures and uses in life besides
giving away eggs," suggested Richarda playfully.

" No ; I have no relations, no friends. If you will not
let me do anything for you my life has neither pleasure
nor use."

Was this only a strong will that knew how to get its
own way, or was there real desire to do them good in his
chagrin ? Perhaps both ; but they only saw the distress
on his face, and were touched. Richarda held out her
hand for the basket.

"I will take it if mother will not, but you must
remember it is I who take it, not — not Star."

Hubert was all good humour in a moment. He put
the basket near Richarda, anu nlaced a sprig of flowering
clover in her hand.

" Why do you call her Star ? " he asked confidentially.

Then followed a glowing account of Esther's perfec-
tions ; all that she had been in the old home, and the
thousandfold more that she had proved herself to be
since they had fallen into trouble in a land of strangers.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

must

[o put
rering

Itially.

ierfec-

id the

to be

Ingers.

Richarda had not meant to talk about her sister or praise
her, but Hubert listened with an attention which w as
irresistible to sisterly love and pride. Yet after this
conversation there had been, or seemed to have been,
an implication that he had a right to be interested in
Star.

" He has stolen my consent too," said Richarda. " He
is a terrible thief."

Still the mother reposed on that restful feeling of
time, the more so that Star expressed no opinion to
them concerning the new friend. Her silence seemed
to them light-hearted indifference.

" She will not take it seriously," said Richarda to
her mother ; " but she ought, for he is certainly in
earnest. To us Americans his lack of ' family,' which
may be said to be entire, ought not to be an insuperable
objection. He is evidently able to rise. It is wonderful
how well he has educated himself."

One distinct benefit Hubert had conferred already ;
he formed an inexhaustible subject for thought and
conversation to Richarda through the long, suffering
days which she was forced to spend in that low room,
from which, as Star had said, not even the sky (that
part of nature most accessible to the poorest) was
visible.

The invalid girl, like many w! o are set aside from
active participation in the incidents of romance, formed
definite theories concerning them, and classified each
with an air of authority. " This is evidently a case of
love at fii*st sight," she said. At another time she said,
" Mr. Kent's plan of lending an umbrella to a girl whose
face he liked in a church, and then calling on her people,

be:ggars all.

[Book I.

is at least simpler than advertising for a wife,
mother."

" Yes, better than that," said the gentle mother ; " he
would never have found our Star that way."

So transparent had the family intercourse been, that
to suspect her child of an unavowed course of action did
not enter the mother's mind.

When Kent came again on the Friday night Star
was at home. The low, bare room, which heretofore
liad always had a certain grace in her eyes because of
the privacy of love, now seemed to her more than ever
an unsuitable abode for her mother. How the fact of
having to receive him there bespoke their abject
poverty ! She could see that her mother felt it also.
Habits of a lifetime of dignity and ease are not easily
bent to the yoke of such necessity. Star pleaded
fatigue, and sat very silent, her hands folded listlessly
on her lap. Kent talked to Richarda, and again about
books.

When he rose to go Star went to show him out, and,
shutting their own door, stood witli him at the foot of
the common stair. The outer door was open to the
lamp-lit street. The soft spring air came in and
tantalized her ; it had none of the freshness of growing
green here. Above the roofs of the opposite houses
a planet trembled ; behind them was the unsteady
light of a gas-jet, flaring half way up the stair.

Star stood with her back to her mother's door ; one
hand behind lier still clasped the handle. She turned
her face to the young man, half beseeching, half defiant.

" How are things at the shop ? " he asked ; " getting
on better ^ "

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

one
lurned
jfiant.
itting

" No."

He seemed to consider. "I went to see a row of
small houses out on the South Road," he said. " They
are small, and not genteel ; but they are new, and seem
well built and comfortable."

He stopped again, and Star said, " Oh ! " in a hope-
less sort of way.

" I have decided to take one and furnish it. The
houses are mere cottages ; one is already taken by a
working man ; but better furniture would make a
difference. There are fields opposite, and a meadow and
a grove belonging to a big house not far off. I think
you would like it ; at any rate, this place is not liealthy."
He spoke in a decided, slow way, as if anxious that she
should follow him. " Now, look here," he went on, and
paused to dig his thumb-nail into a crack in the wooden
banister (they were neither of them at ease). " Look
here, if you will take them out to that house, it won't
cost you any more to live than it does here. I can have
it ready in a week."

" How could we ? " asked Star. " There would be
the rent and the furniture."

" That's my business."

" We couldn't," she said hopelessly.

" You could if you would. You would be quite free ;
you would not be bound in any way. And then, at the
end of the summer, if you still thought as you did on

Sunday, then " His voice grew softer with the last

word.

" Mother wouldn't," she said again ; " and besides, I
should be absolutely bound." Her words trembled
perhaps more with excitement than feeling, although

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

she was touched by what seemed to her his great kind-
ness. Recovering herself after a moment, she added,
" I thank you from my heart, but we must just stay
here for the present."

" That is just what you must not do," he said.
" The hot weather is coming on. The drainage in tliis
street I find is bad. To your mother and sister,
accustomed to fresh air, this room is slow death. You
were quite right in estimating it as that when you
spoke on Sunday. I wish you would accept my plan ;
there is only one other."

" And if," said Star wearily, " and if, at the end of
the summer, you did not think as you did on Sunday,
how should I find money to repay you ? "

He gave her a quick, respectful glance. " There is
no fear of that," he said. " My mind is made up."

" Why ? "

No attitude, no face, no word, could have seemed
further removed from the idle dalliance of love than
hers were. It was a young girl's face, growing visibly
older each moment under the strain of deep emotion
and anxiety.

" I follow my fate," he said. " I have this peculiarity
which distinguishes me from other men — I always know
my fate when I see it. You constitute all the happiness
of life for me. I knew it when I first saw you ; I know
it now.

" That would seem to me a foolish way of talking in
any one else," she said deliberately, " but you are
different."

" You may believe me."

They stood and listened to the footsteps on the stone

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

()9

of the street ; every minute some one passed the
doorway, giving no heed to them, receiving no attention.

" Then," said Kent, as if they had had an argument
and concluded it, "the only way will be to be asked
in church next Sunday — that would give three weeks."

" Is that what you want ? "

" That is what I want — very much,"

" Then do that," she said. The words came with
a nervous gasp ; she could not find voice to utter them.
She opened the door behind her to enter hurriedly.

" Are you sure, Star ? "

His tone was almost like a cry ; he was so fearful
that she would be gone before she heard him, and it
came to her like some echo from outer darkness, her
brain was reeling. At the narrow opening of the door
she turned back a white face and looked out at him.

" Quito sure," she said.

CHAPTER X.

mgm
are

stone

Star looked so very weary that it was not until the
next evening that her mother took an opportunity to
chide her gently for this colloquy.

" Did you think it quite wise, my child, to stand so
long at the door with the young man ? "

The tenderness of the maternal reproach arrested
Star in a train of anxious thought which she was pur-
suing as she washed the supper dishes. That day she
had met Kent to ratify her consent of the previous

70 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

evening. She was now trying to decide how she would
make the communication to her mother which she knew
she must make. She had no thought of telling tho
whole truth at once ; but part of it must be told. Hero
was the opening. How much deceit lies in half tho
truth she realized sadly as she spoke.

" But, mother, I had hardly spoken to him all the
evening. I did not wish him to think I was unkind,"

" That you were insensible of his kindness — I under-
stand that ; but would not a word, a moment, have been
sufficient ? I do not wish to find fault, dear child " (tho
mother's heart was quickly sensitive to pain she might
be giving), " only to let you know that you remained
longer perhaps than you were aware of."

Little did the mother know how far her daughter
had gone beyond the reach of pain at such gentle admo-
nition. Her mother's pain was all she thought of.

" I did not mean to stay so long, but " — Star moved
at her work with nervous celerity — " the fact is, he — he
asked me to marry him."

" Asked you to marry him ! " The withered face
flushed with indignation ; the faded eye kindled. " So
soon ! This shows he is no suitable acquaintance
for us."

Star struggled to argue with apparent calmness.
" Circumstances alter cases. He must perceive that it
is not very comfortable to receive frequent visits from
him here."

" He confessed of his own accord that he was not
a gentleman," said Mrs. Thompson, with an unwonted
touch of sarcasm in her tone. " This certainly proves it."

** When he said that he referred to his position, not

not
toted
Is it.
I, not

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

to his character. But, mother, what position have we
here ? "

Mrs. Tliompson si<:^hed deeply.

Star's artniment diverted her attention for tlie moment
from Hubert Kent's personal (jualities. The future
of her daughters often occupied her thoughts. She
could not hope much for release from poverty for them
in England ; her constant hope was that they miglit
return whence they came, when she was passed away,
and money enough could be gathered to defray the
expense of medical treatment for the suttering Richarda,
and for the return journey. But, even then, she knew
too much of the fluctuating population of a western city
to hope that they would be met by many steadfast
friends in their native place. She knew, too, that even
there the attention due to penniless girls was different
to that given to the daughters of a hospitable house. It
was indeed difficult to say what position they could
hope to regain. But the heavenly disposition to hope
and trust was strong in the mother's heart. She found
no words with which to answer her daughter ; none the
less was she confident in that old idea, which has ruled
the conduct of so many of earth's best minds, that they
who love God will not be left long by Him in degrada-
tion.

Star, seeing there was no answer, followed up her
advantage, but went too fast.

"Mammy" — with a sweet attempt at playfulness —
" there is a little house on the edge of the town, where
there is a meadow and a grove. When I marry him,
you and Richarda and I are all to go there. Don't you
want to go soon ? "

»*_ ^T(jwe)«"Wia***»~~« ■wAefcv-*» >~

■■•• !»•■■»** • «- ■* ~ fc«.

72 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

But the mother heard nothing but that word
" when," and the confident tone in which marriage was
spoken of.

" Oh, my daughter ! " she whispered in shocked
tones ; and tlien again, " My daughter ! my Esther ! "
With a gesticulation unusual to a serene nature, she
rose from her chair and stood with clasped hands, the
strength of her heart's sorrow shining through the veil
of her physical feebleness. " Esther " — with parental
sternness as unusual as the demonstration of grief —
" Esther, you did not pledge your word to him ? "

" Oh, mother "

" You did not, you could not, encourage the advances
of a man whom you only met by chance, and who could
show himself so devoid of all delicacy as to hint at
marriage before a week was out."

" Mother, dearest mother, I think he is a man who
makes you feel confidence in him."

" Confidence ! — in a man of whom you know nothing,
who could take advantage of your helpless position to
speak of marriage so early ? "

" Indeed, I have told my story badly ; I am letting
you think unfairly of him. He asked — what he
really would like is, that you should take possession of
this little house of his, so as to have more air, more
comfort for yourself and Richarda ; and then, at the end
of the summer — he said distinctly 'at the end of the
summer ' — he thought I might know him enough to judge
whether I could marry him or not. He expressly said
that he would hold me under no obligation. Could I
help being touched by such kindness, mother ? "

" It was not kind ; it was insulting."

.«Kv.,.

Book M

BEGGARS ALL.

7;j

:ting
he

)11 of

nore

end

the

idge

said

lid I

" You forget how poor we arc. An offer of help is
not insulting. He was straightforward ; he meant what
he said."

" But you refused it — you said at once that you
could not accept it ? "

"Yes; but "

" Esther, have you promised to marry this man, of
whom you know so little ? "

" Yes, mother."

" And you have done it for our sakes, my child ? "
Tlie eye of love pierced instantly beneath that which
appeared untilial, but her pain was unabated. No sorrow
in which a young woman might indulge could compare
in piteousness with this mother's grief.

The searching question, " You have done it for our
sakes ? " the turning away of the tottering form ; the
involuntary, audible whisper, " Never till now have I
felt the bitterness of poverty ; " — all these told Esther
that the little arts of love and caressing, the playfulness
with which she was prepared to soften her mother's
surprise and dispel her opposition, would now be quite
useless. She stood frightened and irresolute. She had
never before seen her mother in this abandonment of
grief.

Richarda lifted herself on the couch. Her nerves
were little able to bear the strain ; she was becoming
alarmed.

" Say that you will give it up, Star. Tell mother that
you will write to him and take back what you promised."

The advice, although it did not move Star's resolu-
tion, Lad the effect of bringing some ray of comfort to
her mother. She sat down now, looking white and

•V^'

vwwr

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

faint, Imt f^azinjir at Esther, not so much with clisplease<l
as with ('nti'»'»itinf( eyes.

" Motlici-, mother," sai<l tlie ^irl, torn with conflicting
t'lnotions ; and then, startled by fear of ilhiess, she
hrou^ht sn(;h simple restoratives »x.s they had in use, and
bathed her mother's palli«l brow tenderly and chafed
the blo(i.lless hands.

Star had no thou<(ht of giving up her point. The
shock to her mother upon tin; first hint of her marriage
liad been greater than she feared — greater, indeed, than
she was ablo to uiulerstand ; but, that being over, the
worst was ove: She would hav«^ gone through very
much to luive saved her mother this pain, but the worst
of all would be to have inflicted the i)ain for nothing.

All gentle arguments tliat slu; couhl use, all pleading
words that slu> dan-d to utter, were brought forward
that night on behalf of her purpose. Hei* argument
was not, " Jf I do this, you will reap the beneHt." That
was hi'V tru(^ motive, but she knew it would not serve
her as a plea. Sh(^ nnist maki; the most of her reganl
for her lover and of his kindness. Never had she felt
how gi'eat his gene'visity was until she now perforce
<lwelt upon it to lier mother. She truly experienced a
warmer regai'd for him when she attempted to declan;
the most that siu; felt. She began to marvel at liis
goodness when slie trit'd to make her mother marvel at
it. What L ;r *nan would have acted as he had done ?
she asked, an«l realiz<'«l, as slie asked it, that th«^ whole
facts were more; to his cre«lit than the half she had tohl,
for he s(!enied to have been actuated from the first
rather Ijy ft- chivalrous wlilingness to help than by an
involuntary emotion of love as her mother supposed.

Book I.J

BEGGAU8 ALL.

felt
orce
'«'<1 a
Iclart;
his
lel ftt
lone i
'h<)l«'
I told,

first
ail

The evening was not a happy one. In thoir oM,
home life of careless ease, these girls and tlnnr mother
had no douht experienced those Mttle clouds of diHereneo
which come in all human homes. These; had long been
forgotten. Since the father's death an<l their suhsequent
journey and loss of fortimc, the three had heeii l>ound
together in perfect union of heart and mind. Now
there was a false note in the hai'inony. Had any othei*
grief than her own conduct trouhhsd her mother, Star
wouM have s(H)thed it l»y a thousand pretty caresses;
now, gentle and entreating as lu^r mother was, there was
a majesty in wounded motherhood, felt rather than seen,
which pr<'vente<l the ottering of a single kiss. To-
uiorrow, perhaps to-morrow, wouhl see them perfectly
at one again. Star said the words wearily over as,
long after the accustonuMl hour, slu; tenderly ])ut her
mother t^o bed. She would not yield ; for her mother's
sake she thought she dared not ; but tlie decision was
dreary pain.

Her wi<le-open eyes ached as she lay in the darkness.
She heard the small hours of the night strike, and hoped
that her mother's gentle breathing betokened sleep.

CHAPTER XI.

Star was roused from the beginning r/f sleep l)y tlu;
knowledge that her mother was ill. The remedies she;
applied with all the ten.se activity of alarm were of
little use, and pain and faintness increased. She had lit

76 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

the fire and provided a hot cordial in vain, when Richarda,
lifting her shoulders from her pillow, and looking on
ill nervous impatience, spoke for almost the first
time.

" You must leave us and go for the doctor, Star."

Star turned to her with a face ful' of trouble, as she
stood bathing her mother's hands.

" I thought you said the doctor the chapel people sent
was a rich, fashionable man. He will make some excuse ;
he will not come to us at this time of night."

" He was very kind when he came before. He said
we might send for him any time. We must send across
the square, he said, and up to the west end of the parade,
then along a road of villas in gardens, and his was the
fifth to the left hand."

Richarda's voice came across the room clear and
sharp in every syllable. The room had all that comfort-
less look which gaslight at an unseasonable hour can
give to eyes heavy with fear and broken sleep. Star
looked r md it as she considered. She could not meet
her sister's excited eyes. Could she leave her mother,
perhaps to die in her absence, and Richarda unable to
cross the room to her ? Could she traverse the town
alone at that most lonely hour of night ? She had
never been out alone after ten o'clock and, in ignorance,
she exaggerated the dangers of deserted streets. And
then the errand might V)e fruitless !

" You say he was kind ? "

" Very kind," cried Richarda. " An old man who
looked as if he had seen trouble and could feel for it.
Run, Star; I rm sure he would come."

To ask a neighbour from an upper room to stay with

Book l]

BEGGARS ALL.

4 i

Iwho
)r it

ith

them in her absence, to throw on her cloak and run out
into the streets, was only the work of a few minutes,
but to the troubled girl it seemed to take an hour. The
neighbour did not come without making some sleepy and
ungracious remarks. She said strength was money to
her, and that if she did not get her sleep at night she
was not tit for work the next day. Star hardly heard
her, but when she found herself running breathless down
the street she thought over the remark, and acknowledged
its justice. Among the poor nothing is given without
cost, thought Star. In her old life of ease and leisure
how little she had ever done for any one ; yet doing then
would have cost her little. She thought of this in a
dim, far-off way, as if it were a second self in some
other sphere who was meditating on social problems. Her
own immediate self was conscious of nothing but hurrying
on, seeming to find the pavements difficult to pass over
and the very air an impediment, her throat dry and sore
with breathless haste in the night air, her eyes alert on
every side for the unknown dangers that might arise
anywhere in the blank, cold streets. She was conscious
also of one absorbing fear — that lier mother might di'? ;
one absorbing regret — that she had grieved her. As she
dashed along in almost a nightmare of effort it seeme*!
to soothe her to whisper to herself, with painful breath,
" Mother, mother ! "

She went down the street and across the square. A
man crossed her patli ; he also was in haste. The tramp
of a policeman was heard in another street ; she heard
other footsteps like echoes of her own. No one molested
her ; no one even seemed to take notice of her lone-
liness. When she was turning from the parade into the

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

road Richarda had described she began to feel more
secure. Her safe passage so far had dispelled that
part of her terroi-s which was imaginary ; she realized
that even in the depth of night the law and order of the
town was protection for her.

If there is in reality a darkest hour that precedes
the dawn, it seeme<l to be tha\ hour. Tliere was hardly
a glimm ^r in the sky ; no stare were to be seen.

Star looked eagerly down the avenue of lighted
lamps that lined this road. The houses were well back
from the street ; the shrubs and trees of their gardens
were black and confused in outline. She hoped to come
to the fifth house with a few hasty steps ; but the garden
spaces were large. She seemed to walk a long way and
only pass two houses.

She kept on peering into the darkness of the
shrubberies to see where each house stood. She had a
curious impression, as she glanced at the avenue of
lamps, that its end was coming near her faster than she
was walking. She saw a policeman going away from
her on the other side of the road. She saw him pass
under one lamp, and as he begjin to be visible in the
light of the next, it went out, and his form was lost in
ilarkness. A man with a la<lder came running into the
light of the next lamp on the nearer side. He was
evidently putting out the lamps in anticipation of the
(hxwn. He fixed his ladder to each post and ran up to
rejich the old-fashionetl glass lantern. His movements
were incredibly swift. As the lamps were on alternate
sides of the street he must make his way down it l)y zig-
zag runs. Proceeding thus, he had passed the policeman
»it a wide angle, but a few minutes later he emerged

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL,

the
d a
of
she
:'om
asa
tlie
It in
the
as
the
to
nts
ate

bed

from darkness, coming straight towards Star as she came
under the lamp he was about to extinguish.

Star had noticed his movements enough to expect
him as he came rapidly in a slant line toward the light,
but when he was near she was startled, partly by his
rapidity, but chiefly because it struck her that there
was something familiar about his gait and figure. It
certainly seemed to her, for one brief moment, that he
drew in his bivath and hun<; back at siffht of her
the next she knew it must have i)een the merest fancy.
He fixed his lad<ler to the post and ran up as she passed
under. Before the flame went out .she had time to
notice that on his track came a gray dog, not large, Imt
very powerful and fierce looking. The animal had been
eating something on the opposite pavement; he came
forward in a hungry way and was looking at the lamp-
lighter as if expecting more food. Hardly realizing
what she saw. Star turned into the gate of the house
she sought. The strain of her anxiety was so great
upon her mind that all she remembered of the incident
the next ipoment was a wonder, already growing faint,
that she could not recollect w^ho it was that she had
ever known who resembled this lamplighte..

" Mother, mother," whispered poor Star to herself.
Her breath came now in painful gasps, for she had
quickened her pace for a final effort. She pas.sed between
black shrubs to the dark house and rang the bell once,
twice, not waiting long.

A tall, dignified-looking man opened the door. He
had no light. Star could only speak in short, breathless
clauses, but she made him understand her errand, an<l
gathered from him, in return, that he was himself the

80 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

doctor, that he would come with her at once. He took
his cloak and hat from a rack behiiyi the door, and was
with her in a moment.

A feeling of gratitude began to swell in her heart
towards him for his promptness. It was great relief to
feel that she was going back, that she was bringing
help. At first he did not speak to her, observing that
she was out of breath. Confined to his steady gait, she
found that she seemed to pa.ss over the ground as
(juickly, and with much less effort than in her former
excited running. Compasure and power of quiet breath-
ing gradually returned to her.

In this way they walked side by side till they came
to be passing the first villa, whose pleasure-ground
formed the corner of the road and the parade.

" Ha ! " cried the doctor, pausing. " What's that ? "

Star also stopped slun-t with startled ears.

A great crash, as of breaking glass, suddenly re-
sounded through the stillness of the night. There was
a moment's intense quiet, and then a fierce barking
and howling as of dogs setting upon some intruder or
fighting among themselves.

" Well," cried the doctor again. " Well, we have no
time to be stopping."

They walked on again at steady speed.

"It sounded to me," said Star (because it was a
relief to her to speak), "as if some one had broken
a large window."

" Yes, it did ; it sounded uncommonly like that,"
said the doctor, but he spoke in a preoccupied tone.

She soon found, to her increasing gratitude, that the
subject claiming his mind was her mother's illness. He

Hook I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

:ing

bis a
)ken

at,"

the
He

asked her some questions about the attack, which showed
a recollection of the case.

" What brought on this seizure ? " They were cross-
ing the square together.

" Distressing intelligence." Star gave this informa-
tion after a moment's thought. In her effort to keep
up with his long strides she never looked at him.

" Can the cause of distress be removed ? "

" I — I hardly know — lessened, perhaps."

"In your mother's case everything depends upon
keeping the mind easy," he said. " Medicine can do
little except to alleviate the more painful symptoms.
In a general way I would say that, as far as possible,
it would be well to conceal anything of an unhappy nature
from her."

" I know that. I have done my best." Star spoke
almost angi'ily ; her heart was swelling with pain.

"I am sure you have," he muttered politely. He
seemed again preoccupied ; perhaps his mind had
wandered to some other patient.

But to Star the reproach he had appeared to convey
was intolerable, and the more so because this man was
one of those in charge of the charity doled out to
them.

•' Oh," she burst out, " it is living in that low, sun-
less room that is killing them both. Would it not be
the best thing to get them both into an airy, cheerful
house, and give them more comfort ? Could anything
be worse than staying where they are ? "

The doctor seemed a little at a loss. " You are right
in saying that her present situation is not the best for
your mother's health."

82 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

It occurre<l to Star that his hesitation arose from
supposiii<5 her to be begging for more aid. She tried
proudly to say something to contradict that impres-
sion.

" If," she began, " by vexing my mother, I could get
her into a nicer place ? "

" Can you explain more clearly ? "

" An old man, who seemed to have seen trouble
liimself." Star remembered llicliarda's words. Her
nature i*ecoiled from telling her dilemma, but her
mother's life seemed to hang in the balance. This
doctor must be able to advise. In her great fear
and pressing perplexity she resolved on confidence.

But how begin such a confidence ? Ordinary
thought is indefinite. Star looked within, to be con-
fronted with a host of surging emotions and a know-
ledge of facts, about which she felt incapable of
beginning any intelligible account. They turned into
the last street, and she knew there wore but a few
minutes in which to speak.

" I want to get married," she began. The words were
untrue, the exact opposite of truth — had they been
true she could not, perhaps, have said them — but they
seemed to her to convey tersely the point at issue.

" And the man " She stopped. " The young

man " His name would carry no information to

her listener ; she was not familiar enough with it her-
self to use it from habit, but when she stopped to find
herself faltering about " the man, the young man," she
could get no further. " Why not say ' my young man '
at once ? " she thought to herself, with that acrid
humour that often attends shame.

were
been
they
Issue.

,ung
m to

her-

find
she
an '

.crid

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

Nothing could

" I understand " — the doctor spoke in judicial tone,
inclining his head slightly towards her — " your lover."

" He would be very generous to them. He would
take them to a house on the South Road, and I
could be with them all day instead of going to the
shop."

" Good ! " said the doctor heartily,
be better than that."

" But I only met him lately, and we do not know
much about him, and mother doesn't like me to marry
because I have only known him a week."

In spite of their haste and the comparative dark-
ness, the doctor turned his head and looked at Star
narrowly.

Her words rushed on now like a stream through
broken barriers.

" But how can I wait ? That room is killing them,
and I can't get on at my work thinking of them. They
threaten to dismiss me at the shop. You said yourself
it would be the best thing for mother to get into a better
room."

" Your motive is simply to secure their comfort ? "

His tone seemed so much to expect an affirmative
answer, that she gave it without thought.

" Oh, entirely ; and if I wait, the heat of summer
will come, and this street "

" Yes. Is the — ah — the young man well-to-do ? "

" He has ore hundred and tifty pounds a year, and he
makes more in odd ways. We live here on a pound
a week."

" I see, I see. Then if, by making inquiries, it would
be possible to set your mother's mind at rest as to the

DEOQARS ALL.

[Ooos I.

excellence and constancy of his character — ah, could
anything be done in that way ? Nothing is more de-
sirable, certainly, for your mother than such a change
of residence as you describe. If I could do anything by
making imiuiries "

He spoke in a cheerful, quick, professional way, as if,
Star thought, he had been accustomed to be on st)me
charital)le board an<l dispose of each case as it came u])
in humane, but very business-like style. Yet she was
grateful. If her mother lived, this offer was perhaps
the best thing that could come to them.

" Yes," she said, assenting to his thought rather than
to the form of his words.

Then they passed hastily into the sick-room.

Star saw that her mother still lived. In blind
thankfulness of relief she stocxl holding to the foot of
the bed, unconscious for a moment of all else. The
doctor stepped with silent stritles to the bedside, and
taking the sick lady's cold hand, looked down at her
with calm but eager scrutiny. His action was very
gentle, his mien full of respectful solicitude. Star col-
lected herself again, to see him in this attitude, and to
see that he was a young man — with a dignified bearing
certainly, but still, a young and very handsome man.
She saw this; she experienced the shock of a great
surprise, while she was conscious of seeing and thinking
of nothing but her mother.

" She will get better, I think," said the doctor cheer-
fully. He was looking into the sufferer's face, trying
to bring the meaning of these reassuring words to her
dimmed intelligence. Under his skilful handling and
strong encouraging presence her mind seemed to come

Book I.]

DEGGABS ALL.

leer-

her
land
)me

slowly bock from some other world whither it had gone,
and to sliine again in her eyes.

The young doctor had worked over her mother for
half an hour, Star had been out to the chemist's and
l»ack again, the neighbour had been sent back to bed,
and liicharda had l>een soothed ; all this had happened
before Star reverted mentally to the conversation that
had passed, and to her first astonishment at perceiving
that her oomtmnicm was not nnuiy years her senior.

He was still holding the reviving pulse of the invalid
between his shapely fingers.

" You will do nicely now." He smiled to the invalid,
who smiled in return. Star knew that the half-caressing
cheerfulness of Iiis tone was probably a professional
mannerism. She felt that it was pleasant.

" You," she })egan, " you are not Dr. Bramwell ? "

" Yes, I aui," he said ; " at least, my name is Charles
Bramwell. But I am not my father, if you mean that ;
I am my father's assistant."

" Oh," said Star faintly, " it was the elder Dr. Bram-
well who was here before."

" Yes ; but he told me about the case. He was in-
terestinl. We often have cases in connnon — my father
and I." He still spoke with unvarying cheerfulness. He
rose and took his hat and gloves, which were lying on
the bare floor, where he had put them on entering.
" My father is excessively busy just now. I will come
back in the morning about eleven."

" Thank you," faltered Star.

He was gone. Star took his place at the bedside,
Soon her mother slept. The gray morning crept in at the
window. Star had many thoughts.

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86 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

CHAPTER XII

Whex the doctor came the next morning, Mrs. Thompson
had the transient strength of slight fever upon her.
She was distressed and restless — the feeble, undemon-
strative restlessness of one accustomed to suffer. Star
did not know whether what had transpired yesterday
was preying upon her mind or not. She rather thought
that the physical weakness might prevent anxious
thoughts, but there was such subdued pathos in the
sufferer's expression that she did not wonder the doctor
should think of the trouble of which he had heard, and
suppose that it was uppermost in the patient's mind.
Perhaps, too, with a physician's instinct, he was anxious
to rouse again that interest in earth which might so
easily flag in the weary spirit that seemed so meet for
heaven. Star was sitting some way from the bed, pre-
paring something for her mother's use. She heard him,
as he sat with his finger on the pulse, lean forward and
speak to her mother in tones of kind confidence. She
was not meant to hear ; perhaps other words she would
not have heard, but now each syllable seemed to force
itself upon her perception, so that she could not choose
but follow with painful attention.

"Your daughter was kind enough to tell me last
night the circumstances which, by distressing you,
brought on this attack. I want to say that you must
not think you are quite friendless in this country. My
father feels, as I do, that we have a duty in helping you.

Book L]

BEGGAES ALL.

last
you,
nust
My
you.

I understand your apprehension in not having known
the young man longer ; but inquiry can be made — strict
inquiry. If you will authorize me to do this for you, I
will do it."

Star could easily believe here that he was answered
by some look of gratitude, but also of hesitation. He
went on in the same low tone.

" If it should turn out that the young man's disposi-
tion is as worthy as — his taste is evndently superior, this
change could not fail to be beneficial to you all ; and if it
can be found that in any way he falls short of an honour-
able standard, I am sure that Miss Thompson only
needs to know the truth to acquiesce in your opinion."

" I am surprised that she told you," was the feeble
answer from the bed.

Star rose and came to the foot of the bed. Before,
when she had tried to praise Hubert Kent to her mother,
she had felt a new warmth of regard for him. Now,
when another man, and a young man, was proposing to
test his reputation, she experienced a feeling of loyalty
to her betrothed which was wholly new. She drew her-
self up, with a consciousness of womanly dignity,
because she felt her own dignity allied to his.

" Mother, Dr. Charles Bramwell's offer to make these
inquiries on your behalf is exceedingly kind. We have
no friends here, and you are ill. I think you ought to
accept it. It was Mr. Kert's own wish — his first wish —
that you should inquire about him, and he gave the
addresses of people who know him. I have no wish to
ask any questions — I am satisfied; but if you will do it,
you will be happier." All the time she looked only at
her mother.

V,7

88 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

"I think you will feel more satisfied, Mrs. Thomp-
son," said the young doctor in his cheerful tone of
strong decision. He had been looking at Star while she
spoke, and, if the degree of his interest was greater than
it would have been becoming to show, he was too well
bred to betray it.

Star wt the paper Hubert Kent had given her. She
came and gave it to her mother, still speaking only
to her,

"If you give it to Dr. Bramwell, and he is kind
enough to use it, I shall be glad, for there is no one else
to do it for you. At the same time, I should like to say"
(her words, though gentle, took on additional distinct-
ness) " that I only told him about our trouble because, in
the dark, I supposed him to be the elder Dr. Bramwell."

Star went back to her work again.

" Oh, I did not know I could be taken for my father.
I am not like him." The voice betrayed, perhaps, greater
surprise than he cared to show.

"I never saw Dr. Bramwell," said Star, without
lifting her eyes. " Richarda told me that he was
elderly."

" I am very sorry that I am not elderly for the occa-
sion." He said it w^ith pleasantry, in the tone of a
professional man who feels it a point of etiquette to pass
over an awkward place wath ease. " But I do assure you,
Mrs. Thompson, I will try to serve you with what pru-
dence and discretion I possess."

He took the little folded paper from his patient's
hand, and shook hands with her and with Richarda in a
cheerful, decided way. It was noticeable that he felt so
sure himself that inquiry must be made concerning

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

3a-
a

LSS
)U,

I'U-

It's
a

ISO

Hubert Kent, that he had not waited for any actual
commission.

While he was giving final directions to Star, they
went to the outer door. No sooner was the room door
closed upon them than he turned upon her with —

" Did you see a dog last night ? "

Star felt dazed. " I beg your pardon — a dog ? "

" Yes. Did you notice one in our road last night ; or
a man, or anything that attracted your attention ? "

He seemed so fully occupied with a sharply defined
idea of what he wanted to know that the abrupt form of
this question did not strike him.

" I saw several people on my way from here to your
house. I hardly remember — Yes, I saw a dog. It was
on your road."

Her recollections of the successive impressions made
upon her during the anguish of her night walk were like
the spirits called up by magicians which gather them-
selves slowly into form from formless mist.

" Ha ! What was it like ? Was it with a man ? "

" No, it was not with a man. It was near a man, but,
I think, not with him."

" Perhaps he had a chain or a cord that you did
not see. The dog might lag some way behind and yet
be led."

" Oh no, there was no chain. The man I saw could
not have been holding the dog, for he had a ladder and
was putting out the lamps. The dog came from the other
side of the street."

" Putting out lamps ! " — in disappointment.

" Yes ; he went up each lamp on a ladder in the old-
fashioned way."

T*"

90 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

" What was the dog like ? "

" Hairy, I think ; about the size of a bull-dog — not
a bull-dog."

" Exactly ! " — with excited interest. " And you say it
was alone — no one leadine: it ? "

" It came across the street alone."

"Most extraordinary!" These words were uttered
with energy, as he looked thoughtfully out at the door-
way and smoothed his yellow bbc.rd. " And there was no
one near but tho lamplighter ? Why was he putting out
the lamps so early ? "

As Star could not be supposed to answer this ques-
tion, she said nothing.

" Ah well ; thank you. Good morning."

But Star's curiosity resented his departure at that
moment.

" Will you not tell me why you ask ? "

"I beg your pardon! I ought to have explained."
His preoccupied air vanished, and he turned towards
her with the natural pleasure of telling an interesting
story to an interested listener.

" You remember that crash of breaking glass we
heard as we passed the corner house ? "

"Yes."

" And the dogs fighting ? "

" Yes."

" Well, it seems that the crash was the breaking of
a window in the basement of Mr. Allan's house. W^hen
the servant heard it he went to the room with their
own house-dog. He found this other dog eating a large
piece of meat. The two dogs began a desperate fight.
Mr. Allan came down, his two sons, and another servant ;

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

len

leir

^rge

rht.

Lnt ;

but this stranore dofj was so fierce that it was some minutes
before they could get their own dog away, and then
they had to shoot the other. It belonged to the mews
at the end of the road and must have got loose from
its chain. But the queer part of it is this. The dog
couldn't have broken the plate-glass window in the way
it was broken, and some one must have given him the
meat which he brought in with him. It looks as if
somebody had broken the window and then put him
in from wanton mischief."

" What could have been the object ? " said Star.

" Devilry, I suppose — pure devilry."

" The dog I saw looked very fierce ; he might have
been mad."

"He is dead now, any way;" and, with this con-
clusion, the young doctor went away.

All that morning, as she nursed her mother, Star
seemed to hear the clergjmian's voice in the old parish
church upon the hill ; the solemn words of the banns
of matrimony had her name in them, and that other.
She seemed to hear them mutter again reund echoing
chancel and nave, although she was half a mile away.
And this was again the peaceful Sunday ! Last Sunday
morning she had never seen Hubert Kent, and last
evening she had met him for the third time, to give
formal sanction to that reading which would couple their
names for ever. That yesterday evening seemed now a
month away — the night, the morning, had held so much.

Hubert came to call that afternoon. Star was
obliged to meet him at the door, explain her mother's
illness and its cause, and dismiss him as quickly as
possible. She spoke and acted hastily and awkwardly.

92 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

He gave her flowers for her mother, spoke some
appropriate words of sympathy, and left immediately
at her request.

As soon as he was gone she thought that she ought
to have told him of the inquiry about to be made.
After his generosity and considerate conduct, was it fair
to leave him to find out for himself that some one had
been sent to pry into his private affairs — a man, too,
younger than himself, and one who, though respectful
to them as women, might easily, Star thought, act
brusquely towards another man of inferior social
position ?

At this other considerations arose. Would Dr.
Bramwell, in pursuing his inquiry, discover the truth
about the advertisement ? Would he hear that the
names had already been read in church ? Star, in her
ignorance of Kent's circumstances or of Bramwell's
mode of procedure, could not answer these questions ;
but it was absolutely essential that whatever informa-
tion Bramwell might gain on these points should not be
conveyed to her mother. The first fact her mother
must never know ; the second she ought not to hear
until she should have become familiarized with the idea
of the marriage. Must Star, then, intercept the doctor
when he came to tell the result of his efforts, and let
him know that he must not mention these matters ?
No, she would not do that. Trouble might drive her
to much, but not to that. Her heart refused the task.

It was a curious thinor that her mortification at
having unwittingly confided her brief love-story to this
young doctor became a force stronger than any other
to drive her nearer to the man she had resolved to

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

marry. Her distress at having spoken too frankly to
the one man made her feel the need of the other's pro-
tection ; tlic interference of the one drove her into new
sympathy with the other. She was not aware of reasons ;
she felt the force, and obeyed it blindly.

She fell into thoufjht concerninfj Bramwell. How
young he was ! how very handsome ! Why did these
qualities make his service in the matter appear the more
impertinent as regarded Hubert Kent ? The two men
stood so wholly apart, belonging to such different spheres
of life, that it seemed unreasonable that comparison of
their age and appearance should come into the question.
So Star's reason decided, and in another moment some-
thing other than her reason was musing upon the doctor's
qualities again, as if they were vital to the question.
He was such a — such a gentletnan. Yes, that was the
word that described, but did not define, the noticeable
characteristic of the son of the rich doctor in comparison
with Hubert Kent. It was not that Star did not think
Kent a gentleman — her western definition of that word
was vague — but about the other there was a clinging
atmosphere of a world in which manner was always
consciously right, the elegancies of life always at com-
mand ; in which energy in a profession and benevolence
toward others were entirely spontaneous, not compelled
by personal necessity and close contact with the need
of others. And this gentlemaA in speaking to her
mother concerning Kent, had saia, "If it should turn
out that the young man's disposition is as worthy as his
taste is evidently superior." She remembered the low,
confidential tone, the emphasis of slight pause which he
laid on the last phrase. Fer face flushed with ,an an-

94 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

noyance she could not analyze. Passing the little look-
ing-glass, she glanced in it curiously. Did Dr. Bramwell
also think her pretty ?

All the remainder of that day Star was restless and
miserable. It still remained to make sure that Bram-
well would not betray her secret to her mother. The
uncertainty of what he might learn and what he might
say was dreadful to her. If she would not beg secrecy
from him, how secure his silence ? She felt she had
walked into some horrid trap. And how could she
atone to Hubert Kent for not haviue: her wits about
her when he called, to warn him of the proposed in-
quiry ? At last, and it was actually at last, after every
other course had been considered and rejected, it occurred
to her to find Kent and explain the whole difficulty to
him. Although she had always been so uncomfortable
in his presence, her worry of spirits was now such that
the thought of seeing him again was a relief.

She would try to see him before he went to work
the next day.

CHAPTER XIII.

Oh, the freshness of a sunny April morning, when the
day and the summer seem coming to us, a new creation,
untarnished from the imagination of God !

Even in the narrow streets the mornings of spring
have sweetness, and in the suburban roads the town-
accustomed eye can find no flaw in them.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

the
)n,

|ng

The trees arc busy preparing to cast a shadow once
more, each like a sinner of ancient fable, who, havint^
lost his shadow by contact with evil, regained it by
virtuous toil. The birds and the boys are whistling
concerning their own pleasures, and the sky is blue,
beyond the dream of earthly blueness, between its
floating clouds.

On such a morning Star walked up the hill to the
old church, and out to the southern suburb of the town
beyond. She believed that a man of Kent's energy
would go to his day's work early. She had .started at
seven o'clock, and, after the weary night of broken rest
and watchfulness in the close room, her morning walk
seemed like passing out of Hades into the Elysian fields.
Flowers from more southerly places were at the doors
of many of the shops ; flower-sellers passed her with big
bunches of hyacinth and daffodil. The elm trees on the
pavement before the old church held up their shining
buds against the sunlit heaven. When she got further
on there were garden patches. The houses stood further
back from the street, and the expanse of sky open to
view was wide and satisfying. Star did not altogether
like her errand; although she felt that to speak to
Hubert would be a relief, she did not like the appear-
ance of visiting him. Had the morning been gloomy
she would have felt increasing objections ; as it was, she
tripped along, buoyant with the mere joy of living.
The lambs leap in the springtime ; and a young woman,
however tragic her situation, if she be healthy, will feel
happy in spite of herself at seven o'clock on a sunny
April morning.

Star was not familiar with this part of the town.

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

When she came to the name of the road Kent had
given her, she glanced up and down it with some
curiosity. In what sort of a place would she find the
man who was so soon to be her husband ? Never was
a street more commonplace and, at the same time, more
pleasant. There were long rows of comfortable, unpre-
tending brick dwellings, with that space of garden in
front of them which denoted that Dame Fashion did not
pass that way to put up the price of ground by sweep-
ing it with her silken skirts. The houses were not
smart ; the gardens themselves, when in order, had an
appearance of being home-made, and when not in order
looked well trodden by children's feet. The little maids
that scrubbed the doorsteps were not models of prim
servants, yet they, too, looked happy in the sunshine.
The whole street seemed to bustle into a smile. Families
at breakfast sat with open windows; shop girls and
school-children began to set out for the day ; milkmen
whistled, and joked with the shabby servant girls, and
had exactly as good a reason for doing so as the pansies
in the tended gardens had for smiling all across their
faces at the sunshine.

Star looked for her number with a lightness of
heart that astonished herself. The house, when found,
had little to distinguish it from the others — a lilac
bush at the gate, very early in leaf ; a little flagstone
path between grass plots ; a bed of ragged wallflower
close by the door. Star gathered these impressions as
she walked up to the door. It was wide open, and the
sun flooded the entrance. Star stood and looked at the
worn wax cloth upon the floor of the narrow lobby and
the worn carpet on the stair. Very respectable, very

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

lac
ine
rer
I as

he
Ihe

fry

commonplace, looked the interior, as far as she could
inspect it. She felt in no hurry ; for now, if Hubert
Kent were in the house, there was no fear of missing
hi 1, In a minute she put out her hand rather reluc-
tantly and raised the knocker,

" Yes — oh, I'm coming — yes." Various murmurs of
tranquil tone seemed to respond to the light knock, and
proceed from the room near the door. There was a
rustling of skirts also, and at length a goodly personage
a woman somewhat past middle life and wonderfully
stout, stood in the lobby and smiled at Star.

" Mrs. Couples ? " Star spoke in interrogation, for
" Couples " was the name of the landlady who, she had
heard, was a " good woman."

The smile broadened, if that were possible. " Yes,
dear — yes ; I am Mrs. Couples."

The voice had an inward sound and was just slight)}'
spasmodic, as if its owner was always a little out of
breath with the effort of the last movement. The im-
pression she gave as she stood was that she could not

move again.

" Mr. Kent, I think, lives with you ? "

" Yes, dear ; yes, he does that." The epithet ap-
plied to her did not give Star to understand that she
appeared to be acting a childish or timid part, but that
Mrs. Couples would have said "dear" to the Queen,
had her Majesty stood at the door. It was thus im-
possible to resent it " Yes ; he's taking his breakfast,
upstairs in the front room, at this present time."

The speech cooed on continuously, as if it was satis-
faction to her to prove that she was not too fat to
talk.

■^
.s^.

BEGGAES ALL.

[Book L

" I should like to see him," said Star, perceiving that
this further information was necessary.

" Just go right up, dear — right past me and up the
stair. He's taking his breakfast in the front "

" I would rather see him here, if you would be
kind en'^ugh to tell him that I would like to speak
to him."

An expression of extraordinary good-will came over
Mrs. Couples's fat countenance.

" Yes, dear " (as if with surprised delight at her own
prowess), " I will go up and fetch him down."

She then turned, or rather began to turn, for the
revolution itself seemed to take some time, while the
journey to the stair and up it took so long, that many
and various murmurs had time to float back to Star as
she watched the wide skirts and big, comfortably shod
feet mount the steps by slow degrees. The murmurs
became more breathless towards the top, and when she
ceased to see and hear Mrs. Couples, Star's own breath
came quickly, and her heart beat with nervous expecta-
tion.

There was a quick movement in the room above, a
strong, light step on the upper landing and at the head
of the stair. From the sound of the step Star felt sure
that Kent had come down the first part of the stair rather
with curiosity to know who was there, than with any
intention of hurrying. She could not look up; she
dreaded the moment that he should recognize her.

Had she looked up, she would have seen Hubert
Kent dressed in a well-fitting but eminently useful suit
of gray tweed. There was something analogous in this
tweed to the man. His slight but firmly knit figure.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

jit

his dark face framed in short, black hair, suggested a
thing made for use, but useful because of a certain
fineness of fibre and texture. In the dark -gray eyes,
too ; in the regular but strong features, there would
seem to be that same inscrutable mixture of good and
evil of character as there was of white and black which
made the grayness of the tweed — for who, looking at
such a, fabric with unskilled eye, can tell in what pro-
portion the colours are woven ?

Star had read the footsteps aright. Kent walked
to the head of the stair and three steps down with
only the intention of seeing who was there. Then, had
she looked up, she would have seen a new light come
suddenly across his face, as if some reflecting facet in
the sunshine had flashed light up the narrow stair.
Then, had she been able to look nearer, she would have
seen in the dark eye a tiny picture — tiny, but so perfect
— of a maiden whose cheeks blushed rosily, and whose
hair was touched by the sunshine to golden brown ; and
outside the door which framed her form the bed of
wallflower took up again the gold and brown and the
blush of the cheek, and seemed to play with the hues,
intensifying them and throwing them about from petal
to petal and flower to flower ; beyond, the spiky form of
the lilac bush seemed to burn with lambent green as it
cast a broken shadow on the path. All this was in the
picture ; all this, if she could have known it, lay on the
retina of the young man's memory long, long after
it had passed from that of his eye.

Star did not look up. She had no notion of the
picture. All that she knew was that she felt ashamed
of being there until she could explain the necessity of

100

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

her errand, and beyond that, if she had a thought, it was
that her gown and hat were shabby. So little we know !

She did, however, attend to the language of the
footsteps, and knew that the instant their owner came
low enough to see her, they broke into a light run
and Hubert Kent was at her side.

He asked after her mother with some anxiety ; he
seemed truly glad that she was better.

Mrs. Couples toiled down the stair after him, and,
planting herself in the narrow lobby, regarded Star
with a look of kindly triumph, as one who has scaled an
alp to oblige a friend.

" Yes, dear," she murmured, smiling, " I went up and
fetched him down."

Hubert took his hat and walked out with Star.

Very tersely and hastily slie told him that the
doctor who was attending her mother had inquired the
cause of her mental distress, and had offered to make
inquiry about him.

" I am very glad of that," said he quietly.

" I thought it was only fair to let you know."

" Thank you."

" I thought, perhaps, you would not like it, because
— well, because he is only a young man, you know. I
thought — You see, I spoke to him at night, and it was
dark, and I thought it was his father who had come
before."

Whatever Kent might have thought of this not very
lucid explanation, he only said —

" As long as your mother trusts him, that is all that is
necessary. If it makes her feel more comfortable about
it, that will make you happier ; won't it ? "

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

101

jry

" Yes," said Star. She had evidently something more
to say. "Will he — will he hear about the— about the
advertisement ? "

" Certainly not. There are only two people now who
know anything about it, and, unless you tell of it, no one
else will ever know."

" I did not know whether it was possible to manage
those things with perfect secrecy."

" If one knows how to do it, it is."

" Will he hear about the — alx)ut the church yester-
day ? " Star dropped her voice, she never looked at him.

" That I cannot tell. It is probable that some one
who knows me, if not you, will have been to the church.
It will get about among those who know me soon, cer-
tainly. If he is asking questions, I should think he is
likely to hear about it."

" You see, mother must not know it for a week or ten
days yet. She does not know much about how things
are done in this country. She will not need to know
how soon it was begun."

" Yes, I understand ; it would startle her, in her weak
condition, to hear you had taken this step without her
knowledge."

" Exactly. He must not tell her."

" When he comes, then, could you not see him first,
and tell him that is not to be mentioned."

" I would rather not. You see — well, I don't like to
ask him not to tell mother things about myself ; it does
not seem nice."

Kent looked at her, but she did not notice it.

" I think, then " (quietly), " the lietter way would be
for me to call upon him, if you will give me his address.

1 r

102 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

I will go this evening. I can help him about his inquiry
perhaps better than any one else. I will see that he does
not buntjle matters. Will that do ? "

Star gave a sigh of relief. That would do excellently
well. She expressed her satisfaction, and gave the
address in the same breath.

They took a few more steps on the sunny pavement
in silence. Kent had led down a side stree b ; it was one
way back to town.

" I told them, you know," said Star, "that you parti-
cularly wished that inquiry should be made. I said I di<l
not wish it, but that you did."

" Why did not you wish it ? "

He looked at her again, knowing that she was not
aware of his glance. Ekch time he looked he seemed to
like to look longer. His eyes rested on her with great
satisfaction, but not without solicitude.

" Shall I tell you why ? " he went on, as Star, walk-
ing hastily and looking embarrassed, gave no answer.
" Because this whole affair is so disagreeable to you that
if I should turn out more or less of a blackguard, you
could not have greater aversion to marrying me than you
have now."

" Oh no, not that — not at all," Star said, and seemed
to belie her words by an evident desire to escape from
him that instant. She said " good-bye," and that she
must hurry home now, and would he please go back to hi;?
breakfast ? He did not press her, but let her go.

In a few minutes, however, she heard his quick step
coming after her. On second thoughts he had something-
more to say. He did not run, but caught her up by
quick, steady walking.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

103

" Excuse me, Miss Thompson " (he said the name a
little shyly). " I have been thinking that your mother's
illness will cause expense. She ought to have every-
thing she could use." He took out his pocket-book as he
spoke.

" Oh, I can't," said Star, drawing back.

"Yes, you can if you will. Consider, it is for her
sake ; and, between us, what does it matter whether it is
now or three weeks hence ? "

He had opened the pocket-book and taken out a five-
pound note. It was not a full purse by any means ; this
was the only note in it.

" I can't," said Star. " But you are too kind."

" That is nonsense," he said almost sharply. " It is
only you who are kind. I am asking a favour."

" I don't think you can afford it," she said simply.

" You must not think that I would do what I cannot
afford. Every man with any sense who expects to
marry, puts by something to spend as he likes then. It is
for your mother's sake," he urged again. " She must
have medicine and the best food, and you cannot
go to work this week and leave her. If you do not
take this from me you must accept help from some one."

Star thought of Bramwell, and supposed Hubert did
also. In her perplexity she raised her eyes full to his
for the first time.

" Ought I to take it ? "

His urgency became suddenly timid. He seemed not
only touched by the appeal, but surprised at his own
emotion.

" You know far better what you ought to do than I
can tell you," he said. It seemed to take him some

104 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

little time to regain the balance of his feelings. " Will
it help you to think whether your scruple comos from
a sense of duty, or from a conventional rule which does
not apply to us ? "

He had always the newspaper's flow of phrases at
command ; in this case his words seemed to Star to ^liow
discrimination. In a moment she put out her hand for
the note, which he had been nervously folding up into
the smallest possible fold.

" Thank you," was said in heartfelt tones, as the
fingers of her worn gloves had closed upon it, but it was
he, not she, who said it, and before she could speak he
was gone.

Star tripped homeward with the note folded tightly
in her palm. Her heart felt astonishingly light. She
could not scold herself into any proper misery at what
she termed her degradation. He was very kind —
" awfully kind," so she phrased it to herself. He had
left his breakfast ; he had entered into her trouble and
helped her ; he had given her five pounds. Never mind !
She would make it up to him by being a thrifty wife,
and she would always help him in his troubles, and
would make him such nice breakfasts. Then she fell to
wondering how he liked his coffee, and whether he would
like American cake for breakfast. Star had but one idea
of marriage — a long vista of cosy meals and cosier
evenings, for which the wife provided all the pleasure.
" I can cook very well," thought Star, " and I know I can
make myself very delightful."

It was, no doubt, the present sunshine that helped to
gild the future, but it was very pleasant to change the
note for gold and silver, and rashly spend a shilling on a

Book I]

BEGGARS ALL.

105

pot of pansies, as well as get other necessaries, to take
home with her. It was also pleasant to be going home
instead of to the shop.

CHAPTER XIV.

lo
[e
la

When Star opened their own door, there was a baby
crying inside — crj^ng, nay, roaring. It was wrapped up
in an old, gray shawl, and lay by her mother on the bed.
There was no other sti-unger there. Richarda, raised on
one elbow, looked excited. Her mother was feebly
patting the baby with one hand.

" That beggar woman has been here," said Richarda,
" exceedingly drunk. She was evidently going otf on the
spree for another day, and mother made her leave the
baby — it would have been killed else. She could not
walk straight."

" I'd rather have somebody else's baby killed than my
mother made ill again," said Star, speaking the natural
prompting of her heart ; but this sentiment so distressed
and shocked her mother that she was obliged to
retract it.

She took the screaming bundle from the bed, an<l
looked round the room hopelessly for a place to put it.

" I know it's adding to your burdens, daughter," the
mother apologized faintly, " but I could not let her go out
with it. She was reeling in this room, and going to reel
into the next public-house."

Star held the baby at arm's length with a discom-

106

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

forted face ; but even in that position the feeling of the
little thing's helplessness won upon her. She movcl it
up and down as if testing its weight. "It is fat. It
might just as well be a little squealing piggie," she said ;
but, even as she spoke, she drew it involuaiarily nearer
her bosom,

" Oh, my love, don't speak so ; it is wrong." The
sick lady moved restlessly on her bed as she spoke.

" Well, well, mother " (good-naturedly), " anything
for peace. Let us call it a squealing immortal soul."

" It can't be the soul that squeals, for feeding usually
stops it," suggested Richarda.

" How I wish we had something to give it ! " said
Mrs. Thompson piteously. " We never feel the want of
milk so much as when that little hungry mouth comes
to the door."

Then Star remembered her purchases on the way
home.

" Somebody has provided milk, mother."

" W^ho ? "

" Somebody," said Star significantly, " who would be
very kind, even to the beggar baby, if he were here."

There fell a silence in ./he roon It was the first
time Star's strange lover had been familiarly spoken
' of in connection with their own affairs. The mother
shrank back within herself. But Star's spirits were
high ; she could hope that to bring the baby and the
milk together would be a powerful, if not logical,
argument.

" See how he takes it, mother ! Poor little thing, it
was hungry, then."

The milk had been warmed, and the baby, unrolled

Book J.]

BEGGARS^ ALL.

107

from its shawl, lay on Star's lap. It gave a short cr}'
yet between every spoonful, but these cries were be-
coming gradually more subdued. Star was seated in
full view of her mother's bed that her argument might
have full force.

" It is very rich milk," she remarked ; " the baby
likes it."

There was no answer.

It was thus that the young Bramwell found them.
Coming three steps into the room, he stopped short in
surprise.

" How ! a baby ? "

" A very fine baby," said Star, struck partly by the
humour of the situation, but aiming to make light of
her burden for her mother's sake.

" Remarkably fine," he said, eyeing it with pro-
fessional criticism.

Then followed the little history of their acquaintance
with the child — all that the mother and Richarda could
tell about it, for Star knew nothing, and had nothing
to say. When the baby's meal was finished and it grew
still, she almost forgot to notice what the others were
saying, and, so interesting was the crisis of her life, chat,
leaning back in her chair, she fell into absence, with her
eyes on the pot of pansies.

The young man stood with his back to the window ;
they could not see the expression of his face, because
the light was behind. Something fascinated him into
forgetting his professional haste. He seemed to show
interest in the tale.

" We think the poor woman may perhaps be its
grandmother," Richarda was saying ; " and although she

T ;

108 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

was so intoxicated to-day, she was more communieativMi
than before. She told us — but she charged us not to
tell. Ought one to respect a drunken confidence ? "

" Oh, I should think there is no necessity." He
spoke in his cheerful, encouraging way ; but if he was
interested in the beggar's confidence, he was glancing at
Star. He was also wonderinjj what meant the dream
that lay visibly in her eyes. Whence had the flowers
come ?

" She said that she was married to a real rich gentle-
man, but that he had deserted her, and she had not seen
him for years. She declared that he lives here now,
in the parade. Do you think that can possibly be
true ? "

" A falsehood, no doubt," he replied, disposing of
Richarda's question easily. " Very likely she is slander-
ing some one who has tried to befriend her. That is
the way with these beggars."

" It is a dear child," said Mrs. Thompson wistfully.
" Can nothing be done to save it from ruin ? "

" That is a very difficult question, Mrs. Thompson,"
replied the young man with an important air. " My
father has always devoted a part of his time to charitable
work, and now, in his old age, he is inclined to think he
has done as much harm as good. I don't agree with
him. I think all that sort of thing must be purely
good ; it must tell in the long run. Much can be done
for people in their own homes and otherwise. The
town is pretty well off for institutions, although we
must enlarge some of them. This child, for instance,
can go to the Infants' Home, and then, if the woman
does not claim it, to the Orphanage.

DouK 1.1

BEGGARS ALL.

109

His younp; energy of benevolence would have enlisted
their sympathy more if they had not had an awkward
consciousness tliat they, too, were objects of that activity
about which tlie fatlier felt so hopeless and he so hopeful.

" I always think a liaby must be lost in an institu-
tion," said Mrs. Thompson. " Among so many, whom
have they to love them ? They live on love."

" Oh, I re<5ret to say," he laughed, " that they live on
milk. The milk bill at that Home is sometiiing enormous.
I wish they did live on love ; it could be got cheaper."
He spoke confidently, as if from a larger knowledge
of the question than she could possess. " I agree with
you, however, sa far," he added, " that I believe that in
<lealing with adult wretches like this drunken woman
one must try to show personal sympathy. There is no
use trying to put them through a mill. I think that is
just where my fatlier and men of his generation failed ;
they were too afraid of coming into close personal
vsympathy. Personal contact is needed. Don't you
tliink so, Mrs. Thompson ? "

Whatever she thought she did not say. She was
hardly prepared to follow his energetic conversation ;
but his appeal to her as one interested with him in
work for others soothed the feeling of ruffled pride that
had come to her daughters at his first mention of
charity. Star had been roused ; she lifted her eyes
toward him now with a kindlier look than he had yet
seen. It was time for him to go ; he was not entirely
conscious why he remained. He gave it out, on his
authority as a doctor, that the baby must not remain
there. As there was prospect that the woman would
not be fit to care for it for some days, he promised to

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

try to send some one for it from the Home he liad men-
tioned. Even tlien he did not ^o.

" Have you lieard," he asked Star, " the extraordinary
sequel to the story of t)ie dog ? "

No; Star had not read tlie morning papers. Her
eyes brightened now with curiosity, and he, in return,
told the story well,

" You know, I suppose, that Mr. Allan, who lives in
that house, is the mayor. It seems there was an odd
bequest made lately wliich provided that he should give
a certain sum in gold to the people in the county alms-
houses. He had arranged to do it yesterday, and had
two hundred pounds in gold sovereigns and half-sove-
reigns in the house on Saturday night, and it was stolen."

" Dear me ! " said Star, because she must say some-
thing. " Who took it ? "

" That is just what the police would give a good deal
to know. It is the last house burglars would want to
attempt, for there were four able-bodied men in it and
a large dog ; but, of course, while they were all engaged
with the dog-fight in the basement, the thief, if he came
in with the strange dog, could go up and find the money
and walk quietly out at one of the upper doors. If
that's what he did it was a tremendously clever trick."
^ "I saw a policeman near the place," said Star.

" Yes, one came on the scene when the dogs were
fighting, and jumped in at the window. He helped to
separate them. He saw no one who looked suspicious.
He saw the lamplighter, just as you did ; and he has
been questioned since, but he can tell nothing. It seems
he is a half-witted creature, does his work mechanically,
and doesn't know one day from another."

Book I.]

BKOGARS ALL.

Ill

Thoy all said it was very strange and a f^'roat pity.
Braniwcll ha<l grown interested in his recital and made
further remarks.

" Coin ! — a thief wlio gets coin and leaves no trace
behind him is as safe as a gentleman."

Mrs. Thompson was chieHy anxious to know that
the poor pensicmers had not lost their dole, and relieved
to hear tliat Mr. Allan would make good the money.

Bramwell went away then briskly. His call had
not been long; all that could be said of it was that it
might have been shorter. He left them with a cheerful
feeling that they had been in interesting contact with
the world outside.

" Upon my word," said Richarda, " he is a most
V)eneyolent young man ; but as his father before him
took to visiting the poor, I suppose he was born with
his hand in."

" It is the fashion now," said Star. There was the
slightest scorn in the word.

Star mused, and was vexed with the perversity of
circumstances. Why .should this young man wax
friendly just when she had risked so much to obtain
another friend ? And yet what mattered it ? The
few visits the doctor would pay while her mother must
remain in bed offered no real help. It is not those
things which we can reasonably say are important
which vex most, yet pei'haps their importance is known
in some unreasoning stratum of mind.

Star trotted the baby, and played with it. A baby
is a pretty plaything.

Before Richarda had ceased her lively comments on
the doctor, certainly before Bramwell could have had

112

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

time to send his messenger, a knock came to the door,
and a man, in the apparent haste of anxiety, opened it
and looked round. His eye fell on the baby with great
relief.

" You are very kind to have kept it," he said, as Star
rose with the child in her arms.

He was a middle-aged man, and he held out large,
stout hands, and took the child without awkwardness.

" I will take your burden from you," he said.

He did not seem to move very quickly, altliough he
acted without loss of time. They noticed that he looked
at and seemed to observe them all in a very kindly way,
to bestow on each of them the sort of apology and
greeting that can be conveyed in a look. They thought
he was going to speak, but he took the child and was
gone, Star standing the while surprised and irresolute.
She felt that she had lost a toy that was pleasant to
hold, that she had no right to keep.

Her mother and Richarda were both speaking. Who
was the man ? Where had he taken the child ? Why
had she given it ?

Star ran into the street, only to see a cab driving
away. Some children told her that " the gentleman "
had got into it.

She could only return to wonder with the others at
her own precipitation, to surmise with her mother that
a respectable-looking, middle-aged man was not likely
to have a sinister motive in wanting a beggar's baby,
while she also agreed with Richarda that the incident
was stranjje and romantic. But her own life was too

strange to her just then to follow the lost child with
many thoughts.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

113

Richarda, indeed, had food for conjecture to a very-
unusual extent.

"Only a few days ago," she said, "life seemed in-
tolerably dull, and now I can't get enough time to form
opinions about the things that occur."

Richarda, like most people, thought it important to
form opinions.

CHAPTER XV.

Marian Gower spent the afternoon of the preceding
Saturday in the dingy Board School, familiarly known
as " Babbits," which stood, on the other side of the elms,
opposite the entrance of the old church.

In the large room of this building there had been a
winter series of entertainments, on the broad basis of
general culture, given to the scholars and their parents.
ISIiss Gower was on the committee of arranijement.
She considered it a good work, and so, perhaps, it was.

This afternoon gathering was the closing meeting of
the series for that winter, and it had been distinguished
by the extra festivity of buns and tea. The audience
were at last seated to enjoy what they were told wa.s a
feast of a higher sort ; and Marian, weary with helping
tea, stood at one side and leaned against the wall. The
place was full ; rough men, who, like her, couhl not find
seats, stood in front and overshadowed her.

It was a fairly large hall for such a place, but bare
and dingy. The floor was filled with sitting people.

• \

114 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

Round three sides of the lofty walls a little iron gallerj''
ran, on which the schoolboys stood. For economy of
space there was an open circular stair of iron twisting
up from one corner of the platform to the galler}\ On
this also little boys sat and stood ; some were ruddy and
impish ; some were fat and dull ; some had white,
pathetic facee, as though they had been brought into
the world to suffer in expiation of some one's sin. They
were never quite still — not when prayer was read or
music played ; there was a rustling and a shuffling
among them all the time, sometimes the sharp sound of
a kick or an hysterical snigger. The hall was lit by
high windows on the outer side, through which, looking
up, one might see the mossy arms of the budding elms,
the church tower, and the moving April clouds. Marian
leaned by the wall that was opposite the windows.
That which she saw beyond them — the swinging censer
of white cloud, the wind in giant branches, the perfect
art of the ancient tower — that, in contrast to the ill-
ventilated room, the buns and tea, seemed strangely of
a piece with the high beauty of idea and fancy which
she and her fellows were trying to bring down to the
rough throng. If beauty could elevate, was it not there
for them any and every day ? She did not pursue the
thouofht ; to tired senses thoujjhts are vague.

There was music. A young girl, who looked as if
she had always lived in such surroundings as are seen
in the portraits of young girls in picture-galleries, played
on a violin. She looked a picture, even there, standing
on the dust-coloured platform, and when one looked
away from her there was music in the air, as if a pure
spirit had somehow got entangled in the close material

•-'- - ■

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

115

if
en
ed

ial

atmosphere, and was wailing, entreating, coaxing even
with smilcp, for its whilom freedom. Even the little
boys climbing on the twisted stair — even the ruddy and
impish ones — looked different for the moment, less
tricksy, more earnest, while they heard the wordless
song that was about them everywhere. Over the
attitudes of the older people there came a perceptible
relaxation ; the tired workers could rest now without
feeling their fatigue, while the fat mayor, who sat on
the platform, and had been cross a minute befo^-e at
the giggling of the boys, looked for the nonce as if in
fancy he were sipping good wine or talking to a pretty
woman.

When the music stopped the mayor made a speech.
He explained to the pupils what exceeding good fortune
was theiis to have been bom in that nick of time and
space when and where so many advantages were be-
stowed upon them. He asserted that by this happy
chance they were being made into much nobler creatures
than they would otherwise have been. He explained to
the parents that the town in which they lived was most
advanced in the art of raising its poor, a fact of which
these periodical gatherings were abundant proof. Then,
without explanation of what it was to be raised or made
a much nobler creature, he slid into compliment to the
ladies and gentlemen who, with " indefatigable labour "
and "abounding generosity," had combined to aid in
this special work.

Marian did not feel complimented. She winced a
little for the self-respect of some manly fellows who
stood near her ; but they seemed pleased with the speech,
so perhaps she was too sensitive for them.

116 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

After that a young medical man called Bramwell
read a selection from one of the simpler poets. Marian
knew Bramwell slightly in his capacity as a doctor ;
she knew him to be zealous in good works. The girl
who had played the violin was his cousin; it was no
matter for remark that he should read a poem next.

Yet she did notice him now as she had never done
before. He read w^ell, he looked well — very well — as he
stood at the side of the platform with the open stair-caso
full of boyish faces just above his head. He was a
beautiful, majestic-looking man, in the full vigour of
youth, and he read rhythmic verses about courage,
honour, and love in heartfelt tones.

Marian moved her feet, slightly changing her position.
Weariness and close air made her thought grow dim.
Upon the high windows in the opposite wall the shadow
of the knotted branches fell suddenly clear, for above
them the fleece of April sky had parted so as to let tlie
sunshine fall, pale, but glad. It seemed fitting that it
should fall in a long, dusty shaft upon the young man,
as he read so strongly of the most beautiful things of
earth ; but, above him, the fidgetting, giggling boys on
the stair and gallery were still in shadow. Marian fell
to wondering whether, by help and effort, they could
ever come out of their shade into his light. Again she
shifted her feet ; her wonder grew less clear, her eyes
closed to shut out the light ; then suddenly, by one of
those tricks which tired nerves sometimes play, the
young doctor's face started again into her vision against
the reddish blank which closed eyelids create. It w^as
there only a moment ; she wondered at it only a
moment longer. Had his face really made more im-

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

117

on
fell
uld
she
eyes
e of
the
inst
was

y a
im-

pression on her than all things else that she had been
looking at ? She scorned the idea. Marian did not like
men.

Behind the seats at the back of the room was
i;(athered a little crowd of some twenty people, who
seemed to have looked in from mere curiosity. Marian
turned, with some interest, to see who were there. She
noticed one or two clergymen. In front was a young
man writing in a note-book, presumably for the benefit
of some newspaper. She was rather short-sighted, she
did not see these people clearly ; but, as she was looking,
her attention was called to a face in the corner furthest
back of all. It struck her as an odd face, noticeable
among its dark surroundings for the very light hair
that framed it, noticeable, also, because its owner seemed
to be standing on tiptoe in a very strained position. It
was so odd that Marian moved a .step that way, and,
being still obscured by her neighlx)urs so that she did
not dream of being seen, put up her glasses and looked
hard ; but she did not see more, for just then the head
v.'ent down suddenly, and there was a noise in that part,
as of some one stumbling forward.

The reading was finished, and there was applause.
Then came more music. Marian, feeling that her part
of the work was finished, slipped through a side door
and went out into the spring winds.

She did not know that before she went out there
was a little disturbance at the back of the hall. The
tall, tow-headed man, who had actually been standing
on tip-toe, lost balance and came forward on those in
front of him. It is not quite fair, in a crowd, that one
man should stand on his toes and then fall upon his

118

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

fellows. They evidently knew him, and showed temper.
" Look out, Tod," said one. " Take care, Tod," said
another. The young reporter looked up from his notes
and stepped back to the offender's side.

" What are you doing, Tod ? " he asked, with tlie air
of a mentor.

" I— I— I fell, Kent."

Kent did not know that his friend had been standing
on his toes, but he did not look vastly surprised that he
should fall, even when standing on level floor ; his face
said as much. He did not waste another glance or word,
but went on with his scribbling.

CHAPTER XVI.

Marian went down the hill, passed out of the narrower
streets, and sauntered up the parade, warm now witli
the full glow of sunshine. She looked what she was —
a lady, well-dressed, well-bred, maintaining that entire
reserve of demeanour which civilization demands from
each individual in a crowded street. She was much
more than she looked — a woman of strong natural
feelings, in whose heart these emotions, by reason of
having no outlet, warred with one another and with
overruling reason, producing strange fancies and morbid
hopes and fears.

She was conscious of a womanlike and perfect
pleasure in the bright faces and gay dresses she saw.
She experienced a strong desire to purchase clothes as

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

119

rfect
5aw.
as

bright as any and deck herself therewith, yet she knew
she would never do it, for what, thought she, is the use
of new feathers when no one is to be pleased ? She was
accustomed to go through the world desiring, checking
her own desires, and remaining unsatisfied. Here was
a mortified young mother trying to coax her sturdy
three-year-old to stop crying and walk with her.
Marian would have liked to aid her in the task, but she
passed on, not knowing how such aid would be accepted.
An aged lady, with peace upon her face, tottered up and
down in the sunlight. Marian longed to offer her arm
as support ; she would gladly have shared thoughts with
one who had passed the conflict of life ; but no — on a
fashionable thoroughfare, who speaks without intro-
duction ? Thus she went on, passing scores of people,
akin v.o her in rank, habit, and opinion ; her heart
leaped out to one and another with eager speculation,
and came back to her, called in like a chidden child.
To some she gave the greeting of acquaintance, in a
manner reserved and punctilious ; she felt no nearer to
these than to those whom she had not greeted. Marian
was a lonely woman, eager and sensitive to excess
because all the force of social instinct within her sweet,
womanly heart was doing damage there, as a flood of
water will spoil the comeliness of the fairest valley if it
find no legitimate channel.

When she neared her own door a spasmodic little
lady came up and gave her a tract.

" I have prayed to know which would suit you," said
the tract-giver, thrusting it at her in a frightened way.

Marian had long passed that superficial stage which
resents the effort of another to make us better; she

120 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

accepted the tract with the ready politeness of good
will, but, because she was surprised, she appeared
frigid to the little missionary, who went on, feeling
chilled.

Marian entered the narrow, fashionable house in
which she lived. The prim, unbending housemaid kept
her waiting before answering the door, and Marian felt
irritated, but it was against her principles to be cross,
so she spoke with kind propriety instead. Perhaps the
maid was happier for her mistress's forbearance, per-
haps not ; she did not look impressionable.

As for Marian, she went up into the drawing-room,
and sat down to read her tract. It was a relief to her
to find the room cool and unoccupied. In the luxury of
unaccustomed freedom from restraint, she dropped her
hat and reclined in the ov'erhanging window. The
window was open to the warm spring air ; the Venetian
blind was dropped to shield the sun. Sounds from the
street rose with wonderful clearness to that window,
and, thus sitting, in the green glow of the blind, she was
roused by hearing her own name.

The lady of the next house stood at her own door
with her daughter ; a glance through the slats showed
Marian that they were arrayed in their best, evidently
waiting for some one to take them for a walk. The
daughter was fresh from school.

" Mamma," said she, " who is that lady who went in
next door ? "

Then came her own name, which struck on Marian's
ear.

" She is just one of the very numerous old maids in
our class of life," said the lady. " She leads an unsatis-

Book I.)

BEGGARS ALL.

121

lin

t'actory life, I fancy, because she has no natural cares or
satisfactions."

" Why didn't she get married ? "

"Probably she had no chance. She taught school,
I believe, for many years. School-governesses have
little opportunity of meeting men, for they must either
l)oard with the girls or live in their own lodgings. Her
health broke down, and she came as a companion to her
uncle here. He is a selfish man. I don't suppose she
dares to call her soul her own ; women who are de-
pendent on their relations rarely do. And that is the
reason, May," continued the mother, pointing a moral
to adorn the tale, " that I shall expect you to do what
you can to get settled as soon as possible. It is so diffi-
cult for women to marry nowadays in the upper middle
classes, and when a girl loses bloom it is almost
impossible."

" I don't care, I'm sure " — the pretty May tossed her
words. " I think old maids are good and nice."

"They are so common now that a sentiment has
risen up in favour of the state, and I would not dis-
parage it ; but a lady's health rarely stands the strain
ot self-supporting labour, and dependence on the whims
and fancies of others is not enviable. Romantic stories
about maiden ladies doing good are pleasant reading ;
but unless they have means, they are not at liberty to
do much ; and, depend upon it, the most useful lives
are those whose family ties compel them to be useful.
So be a good child, my daughter, and don't think there
is anything particularly delicate in the feeling that
makes you resolve to make no special effort to please
in society. True refinement consists in recognizing the

122 BEC SARS ALL. [Book L

facts of life, and making the best of them for ourselves
and others. With so many children, your father can't
give you an independence."

But here the father alluded to came out — a portly
man, who wore a fine coat — and the trio went down
the garden path to mingle with the walkers on the
pavement.

Marian rose and watched them through the blind.
It did not occur to her that she had perhaps done wrong
to listen. She did not despise the elder woman's coun-
sel, nor did she envy the young girl's bloom. She
watched them because she felt interested, and when her
attention returned, she had an odd feeling that she \

really did not need to bestow consideration upon herself
any more, because she and her emotions had been
labelled and classified by a competent judge. After all,
is not the thinking we give to ourselves always an effort
to find out what we are in relation to what is around
us ? And if this is suddenly done for us, in a concise
and correct way, what further need is there of another
introspective glance ? With some such impulse as this,
Marian turned from the window to seek a quieter seat
in which to read her tract ; but she had not taken more
steps than would bring her to the centre of the room
when the pathos of it all arrested her. She stood still,
lost in a passionate regret for something she could not
define.

Yes, it was true; she knew it — had long known it
in the way in which we know truths which grow upon
us with the years, and which we never sum up in words
for our own benefit. Her youth had slipped from her
without the joyous excitement of any overmastering

(

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

123

In it

^pon
)rds
her

nn^

friondsliip ; slipped from her in arduous toil for herself
and others, leaving her, not with the nuxlest independ-
ence that the same toil and economy would have given
a man, hut without means of support. The years that
were passed had been happy and useful ; she had no
cause for self- upbraiding; she could not say, "Ha" I
chosen differently ," for she had nia<le the best of what
choice life had opened to her. What was there to
regret ? Yet she stood, held and possessed by a regret
which seemed to cover everything. Something, in what-
ever form it might come, which might be described as
the natural joy of youth — that she had missed. And
now youth was gone ! An hour before she would have
said " almost gone," reserving to herself great comfort
in the indefinite hope that remained ; now, enlightened
by her neighbour, she knew it was gone.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes ; unbidden sorrow
swelled within her breast ; she clenched her hands and
stamped her foot to keep it back. She struck the
pretty little foot into the soft rug on which she stood.

" I, Marian Gower, am " She was going to use

strong language in her self-scorn, and say " a fool," but
she was stopped by calmer reason. Was she foolish
to weep because youth had gone by without giving her
a chance to be nearest to one human being, without
showing her one who could be dearer to her than to
the rest ? A little child would have been enough ; one
constant woman friend would have lit her neutral-
tinted days with sunshine, as a man's love might have
flushed them into roseate glow. Was she a fool to weep
because fate had led her quite aside from such comfort,
and bidden her take to her heart Benevolence instead

124 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

of Love ? Or was there anything better, worth the
transient passion of a flood of tears ?

Yet the flood did not come. Some tears swam in the
beautiful eyes; a sob was choked back. So habitual
is self-control to such women, that it is harder to weep
than to check the tears. She stood almost tranquil, lost
in conflicting feeling — pride, that scorned to admit the
desire for what it had not ; discontent, which dilated on
the beauty of what was lacking ; strong sense, which
said, " Yes, this is a true sorrow, it would be self-
deceiving and ignoble to refuse its recognition : " imagina-
tion touched lightly upon the ideal love, (for it is
always the ideal that we miss,) and memory showed
what had been — all this as she stood, stilling her heart
and wiping her tears, there alone in the centre of the
richly furnished room.

In a sudden flash of pathos she looked at her own
hand — such a pretty, pink little hand, which no one had
ever praised or held reverently or kissed ; nay, and
most likely no one ever would. Why had God made it
soft and exquisitely moulded ? If it were only for the
use of general benevolence, surely a rougher, stronger
hand would have been better. Such a pity to think of
its missing its use ! Would its Creator be disappointed ?
She -ook it up gently with the other, and raised it to her
own lips and kissed it, smiling a little at her own foolish-
ness, smiling with lips that twitched with the tremble
of tears. She stood a minute longer, her pretty dewy
eyes striving after some infinite strength that would
compel resignation ; then she put it all aside and took
up her actual life just where she had forgotten it for a
moment, and went on across the room to a quieter seat
in which to read.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

125

iger
of
bed?
her
lish-
ible
iwy
)uld
book
lor a
Iseat

Tlio tract was on the duty of Christian love. It was
one of those compositions which contain no idea which
has not ah'eady become an integral part of the w()rkin<if
motive of the average mind, and it was expresse<l in
religious binguage at once trite and figurative. Marian
thouglit she could have written better herself. Her ideas
began to shape tliemselves accordingly, beginning in
didactic, schoolmistress fashion —

" If you have no one about you whom you love spon-
taneously, it is none the less your duty to love. There
are two ways of setting about this : you can, if you have
opportunity, set yourself to some good work, and let
your atlection <^or your kind flow into the energy with
which you perform it ; or you can address yourself to
loving as much as you can all who come in your way,
so that the circle of your opportunity will widen as
their hearts expand under the influence of your love."

Thus far she got, and began to argue with her
imaginary sermon. " But — but if you are not endowed
with winning manners, your efl'orts become unnatural,
and your circle does not widen." She was coming all
too perilously near the tears that a few minutes before
she had set aside resolutely. Oh, it was true, what the
practical neighbour had implied, that the most loving
lives are those whose natural ties oblige them to love ; and
yet it remains true always that " love is the fulfilling of
the law."

Marian put the tract from her, as she constantly put
aside temptations to self-centred thought.

126

BEGGAKS ALL.

[Book L

CHAPTER XVII.

^,1

On Monday Marian again sat in that s.ame room alone.
Her uncle had seized on the alleviation of pain which the
fine weather brouf;ht him to be much out at his club
and elsewhere. Marian's uncle was a dissinated old man.

Marian sat and read the paper whicli that dny gave
publicity to the tale of the dog-tight and the theft of the
gold coin in the mayor's house hard by. She read with
some excitement and grew nervous ; a crime so near came
home to her fears as the same event at a distance would
not have done.

The report was dramatically given ; then followed
interesting conmients. It was stated that suspicion had
fallen on the owner of the dog, a coachman in the
neighbouring mews, but the man had be ;ii completely
exonerated. The writer next inveighed against the
popular habit, too common in such cases, of carelessly
expressing suspicion of household servants and others
who might seem to have an obvious opportunity to
commit the theft. In this case it was said that not only
was there no real ground of suspicion found as yet
against any one, but there was no proof tha^ the intro-
duction of the strange dog to the basement had any
connection with the theft. Burglars, it was observed,
did not usually take watch-dogs with them, or enter
houses in the way to make the most noise and attract
the most attention.

Marian, because she liad been told not to do it,

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

127

instantly fell tvi suspecting Mr, Allan's servants, and from
suspecting them fell into suspicion of her own. Her
vague fear and dislike of her uncle's new man-servant,
which until now had been undefined, leaped suddenly
into form. So peculiar, so different from other servants !
Might he not be the accomplice of a gang of thieves who
had now begun work ? Conjecture ran on, scorning
evidence as a companion.

Just then the man himself came into the room, but
Marian, avoiding her favourite window-seat, which had
brought her so nuicli pain yesterday, had seated herself
in the alcove near her uncle's lounge, and Gilchrist, not
seeing her in the accustomed place, supposed the room to
he empty.

He put some letters on the table in an absent way,
then, instead of leaving the room, stood lost in thougiit,
very near the place where Marian had stood to stamp
out her passion yesterday. Had he been a professional
man, or one immersed in family and business cares, he
could not have fallen more naturally into an attitude
of absence. His hands were clasped behind him, his
head bent slightly forward ; he seemed, from the slight
play of his brows, to be forming plans, to be rejecting
some and approving others.

Marian watched, and felt positively frightened. She
made a nervous movement.

" I beg your pardon," he said. " I thought you were
not here." He spoke very much as a gentleman might
have spoken to a lady. He did not seem to have that
sense of the strangeness of his conduct that she could
have wished.

He gave her one of the letters, and set about making

128

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

some little arrangements in the room for his master's
arrival. She remembered that, more than two weeks
before, he had brought her a letter and turned, as he now
did, to arrange the window-blinds ; the recollection came
indistinctly, as when the sensation floats over us that all
that is happening to us at the moment has happened in
precisely the same way at some former time.

The letter she received this time was encased in the
ominous brown envelope of the Dead-letter Office, and,
as she tore it with some curiosity, she was startled to find
the same letter in her hand that had been sent to her
from the Liverpool shipping office on that previous <x?ca-
sion. The envelope addressed to " B. Tod " had the
familiar appearance of an old friend. It was open now,
and Marian, glancing over the pages, was astonished to
find her own address legibly written at the date, and her
own name signed at the end.

She was conscious that she made some indefinite sound
of ejaculation. Gilchrist came toward her with an
expression of concern.

" It is nothing," she said with stifTness. She folde<l
her hand over the letter, and sat motionless till he should
be gone.

But he did not go.

" There are two sick ladies," he said abruptly, " who
seem to be in ver^ poor circumstances."

"Indeed!"

Marian's manner was very forbidding. He stoppefl
awkwardly, and went on more awkwardly still, but
with a certain dignity.

Yes, and you — I have noticed that you have such a
desire to be doing good "

i^i

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

129

lut

" ' Desire to be doing' — was that all ? " thought Marian.
Did he suppose that she, who was so busy in good works,
really did no good ? He had not said that, but possibly
his manner betrayed his mind.

" I thought, perhaps " he went on.

But here Marian's surprise -at his unexpected address
gave way to evident disapproval. Her nervous prejudice
against men had made her keep this serving-man at an
extreme distance, and now it seemed to her that his
presumption was as great as the subject of his talk was
surprising.

Her air was inquisitorial. " Yes, Gilchrist ; and how
have you heard of these ladies ? "

" I happened to go into their room this morning. I
have heard of them as being kind to a poor woman."

" What was your errand to their room ? "

" I " — a pause — " had rather not go into that now."
He took up his words where she had interrupted him.
" I thought, perhaps, you might be willing to visit them."

" I am sorry, Gilchrist, that my time is entirely occu-
pied with my own district. I cannot do more than I do."

Manner added, "You may leave me," and he went.
As he clumsily opened and shut the door, she heard him
sigh quietly. The irritating idea remained with her that
he had wished to do good to her, rather than to others.
That this was inconsistent with the fear that he was
a hypocrite and a disguised criminal she partly recog-
nized, and yet, with fine inconsistency, she cherished
both grievances against him. It was what she called
her " cross," to live in the same house with this servant
and her uncle.

Now, when the door was shut, she unfolded the letter

130

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

again, with curiosity not unfearful. It was not in her
handwriting, nor in any imitation of it, but, from the
minuteness of the address and name, it was evident
it purported to be from no one but herself; and,
moreover, it was a sort of love-letter, for it began,
" Beloved Tod."

Marian eyed these words askance, and plunged on
into a rather long letter, written in a song-like style, as
if some one had been making a werk attempt at blank
verse and written it down as picse. It was an ecstatic
strain of welcome to a young man supposed to be coming
from New York, and, although diffuse and silly, it showed
some appreciation of the charm of nature and the beauty
of figurative language. Toward the end it described the
entrance into harbour of the home-coming ship. " And,"
said the letter, " the sun will shine and the waves sparkle
to greet you. Think then that, could I be there, my
eyes would sparkle with truer joy and my smile would
beam more brightly to see thee, beloved, once more. Yet
to me is given no such gracious opportunity to welcome
you home — neither at the ship nor at the poverty-
stricken abode of Mrs. Couples, in the South Road (a
worthy woman, but without soul). There you must live
alone in your poverty, while I dwell alone in my wealth,
and 'never, never' is written upon our earthly years.
This one line I write to greet you on your lonely way
and say welcome, thrice welcome home again, dear
Tod."

Marian laughed, in spite of her dismay. The letter
was written in clerkly style, her own name in the signa-
ture most legible of all.

She read it again, and wondered more and laughed

Book I.]

BEGGABS ALL.

131

Yet

letter
signa-

,ughed

less. So curious a mixture of that which was poetical
and that which was absurd, that which showed educa-
tion and that which betrayed ignorance, could not come
under her eye, even in the bewildering and offensive
form of a love letter which she had never written, and
yet which claimed her as its author, without exciting
an interest in the writer beyond the mere indignation
which the impudence evoked.

Who had written it ? and if the post had not delayed
and it had, according to intention, been delivered to this
man called Tod on the in-coming ship, what would have
been the result ? Who was this Tod ? Who had desired
to mislead him by such a letter ? Who was the worthy,
but soulless, Mrs. Couples ? At one moment Marian's
eyes brightened with amusement, the next her cheek
flushed with annoyance. Some one was clearly mad ;
but who ? And what mischief might this madness
<lo ? The first time she had received the letter she
had sent it back with a certain feeling of displeasure,
although not knowing how much reason she had for
offence ; now that it had come back like a fate, it was
necessary to do more than scorn it. Marian was too
energetic, too long accustomed to manage her own
affairs, to dream for a moment of letting this impudence
pass unchallenged if she could help it. She was sitting
thus, thinking how she might try to trace the writer,
when there was the noise of arrival in the hall below.

She could think no longer. She went to the head
of the stair to watch her uncle's slow ascent, as he was
painfully helped up by his men.

Often as she had watched the proceeding, it never
before struck her as so sad in its lack of all nobler

;5cc=»=

..'.•.i..."..;,.u-:.-i.. ,...-.'

132

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book 1.

elements of life. The irascible and profane old sufferer
was being half-dragged, half-lifted up step by step by
Gilchrist and the coachman. His lawyer, a frequent
attendant, walked behind.

What beauty lies in the mystery of pain when the
suffering spirit has no thought of patience or resigna-
tion ? when the aid that it compels is fee'd with gold,
evoking neither pity on the one side, nor gratitude on
the other ?

The light fell softly through the tinted skylight down
the well of the narrow house. Tall flowers in costly
pots ornamented the ascent. As Marian looked down
she was conscious of a harmony which pleased the sense
of sight in the motion and figures of the men as they
made slow way up the curving stair — the two strong,
common men in strenuous action ; the invalid, with his
elegant, dissipated air, the white hanging hands, the face
flushed with fever, distorted with pain and impatience,
but handsome still ; and the keen, polite man of the
world behind. It was a picture interesting and pleasing
to the realistic and undidactic eye ; but higher harmony
was lacking. As for some hint of moral beauty, of the
use of suftering, of the honesty of labour, even of the
pleasure of fancy, as well might this woman, whose
heart still fe^* very young within her, and full of long-
ing after the higher happiness, look for roses on a snow-
covered moor as look for it here; at least, so she thought.
She only perceived now that an additional element of
baseness was added to the oft-rehearsed scene. Her
uncle, m celebration of his outing, had indulged in the
forbidden excess of wine. A certain tinge of good-
humoured jocularity was added to his usual complaints.

TT"

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

133

" Ho, Marian," on seeing her above, " I've bought my
house." Then came an interval of groans and angiy
ejaculations. "Yes, completed the purchase, bought it
out and out. No haggling. You'll play the fine lady,
walking in your own park, now ! Ha ! "

" It is not far out of town," said the lawyer. Perhaps
he pitied her, if his pity for her uncle was feigned.
" You will not be sequestered ; one can drive out in ten
minutes by the South Road."

" ' South Road," repeated Marian. The v ords seemed
an echo of something in her mind. " I don't think I
have ever been on that road," she said to the lawyer.

"Ah," said he, "you are destined to know it well !"

CHAPTER XVIII.

long-

mow-

>ught.

nt of

Her

n the

orood-

ints.

To be energetic and business-like in pursuance of a
certain end does not always (in a woman at least) pre-
clude a large amount of agitation in the matter. Marian
never thought of shirking the duty of investigating, if
possible, the mystery of the letter ; she did not like the
investigation.

A glance at the Directory showed her that there was
truly a Mrs. Couples on the South Road, who let " apart-
ments." Her next step was to find the Church district-
visitor in that region, and make inquiries as to the
standing, religious and otherwise, of the house and its
inmates. The information she thus gained, although
not large, satisfied her that there was a young man

'r^mmm - #* ..

134

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

called Tod living there, and that she would risk nothing
in seeking a personal interview with him. She saw no
other way of proceeding further. She waited an oppor-
tunity to make her visit at such time as she might find
him.

Before she found this opportunity Marian had twici?
been out to inspect the furnishing of her uncle's new
house, and four times she had driven up and down the
dusty suburban road that led to it. This road assumed
a very difFerenH ««pect to Marian from what it had done
to Esther Thompson. Star, coming from low-roofed,
gloomy quartevs, her eyes enamoured of the April morn-
ing, her heart beating with the excitement of her risky
little venture on the sea of fate, her pulses full witli
the health of youth, had seen much to attract in a
road which seemed so good-naturedly to lend its width
and length to give room and air and light to humble
dwellings. Her glance had naturedly sought the garden-
plots trim with flowers, rather than those which were
neglected, and rested longer on windows which showed
clean curtains than on those where dirty blinds hung
askew. Coming as far as Mrs. Couples' door, she had
thence turned back, thus traversing only that beginning
of the road built up like a street. She had hardly dared
to glance beyond, where, in the level distance, her eye
might have caught the dim outline of trees and fields,
where she knew that cottage stood which Hubert Kent
had taken. Because she had not dared to look very
nearly at this open end of the road it continued to wear
a much more rural aspect in her idea than in the reality.
Marian, driving in the afternoon sun, looked at the
houses through the dust raised by horses and wheels,

'■'"-'■■' - '*

Book I.]

BEQGAES ALL.

135

twice
1 new
n the
iumed
[ done
oofed,
morn-
risky
I with
, in a
width
mmble
arden-
were
owed
hung
le had
inning-
dared
er eye
fields,
Kent
very
lo wear
eality.
lat the
heels,

and noticed, with quiet disgust, all the untidiness and
inelegance of the place and its inhabitants. She watched,
with a sort of annoyed fascination, for the number of
Mrs. Couples' house ; but her uncle was with her, and,
with all the constraint of close companionship in whicli
there is no confidence, she feared to let her eyes rest on
the house a moment lest he should remark it. To her
hasty glance even the carefully tended wallflower and
the lilac so early in leaf appeared vulgar and common.
Further on she looked at the small row of insignificant
houses which formed the end of town in that direction,
and remarked to her uncle that whoever lived in them
would, in future, be their nearest neighbours.

" Neighbours I " he said, elevating his eyebrows ; " not
till we or they fall among thieves."

" It is nice," she pursued, taking no notice of his
loftiness, " to see that nowadays they are building
even working-men's cottages with an attempt at good
taste. See, the windows are latticed, and there is a
little cornice above each door."

But before she had finished they had got beyond this
little brick row, and in a minute more were rolling up
the short avenue that led to the old house in the park,
so soon to be her home.

A few days after Marian sought the South Road
again on foot, at about seven in the bright spring even-
ing. Her mind was perturbed by dislike of her errand.
The boys and girls playing about were rude and noisy ;
the whole population had come to their windows and
doors to enjoy the fine weather, and it seemed to her
sensitive nerves that they were there partly to gaze
at her.

136 BEGGARS ALL. [Book I.

When, at last, she stood at Mrs. Couples's gate, she
was particularly distressed at wiiat seemed a lack of
privacy in the position of the household. There was a
young man sowing annuals in the front border; he
worked as one at home who was working for pleasure.
Outside the doorstep a very stout woman was sitting
on a broad wooden chair, having a curious look as
though she and the chair had been planted and were
immovable.

Marian hesitated at the gate. She had come fully
aware that the course she pursued must depend some-
what on circumstances, and circumstances seemed
strangely unpropitious for performing her mission with-
out attracting remark. But, though her nervous heart
was hesitant, her attitude was decisive in the extreme ;
and, moreover, she had donned her most dignified gar-
ments, for, like other sensible people, she knew that
there is a language of dress. She observed that the
young man gardening had a dark, rather attractive
face and firmly knit figure. He came toward her in-
quiringly.

" There is some one of the name of Tod living here ? "
Marian appeared to refer to an envelope she carried in
her hand to give her the name. It was a nervous feint.

" Yes." He set the gate open.

" Are you " she began. " Is that your name ? "

"Oh no," cheerfully, and with evident interest in
her and her errand. Then he signified that the man
wanted was indoors, and that he would be willing to
bring him out.

There was that in his face which made her feel that
to have him as an onlooker in the coming interview

- *^r*'^^t!«>rT>vAMr•

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

187

the

iive

in-

it in
man
tg to

that
view

would be unendurable. She refused hi.s aid, and pushed
on to speak to the woman at the door. The young man
went back to his flower-beds with a good-humoured
indifference to her apparent haughtiness, and the woman
did not stir, but looked at her, as she came close, with a
satisfied smile.

" Mr. Tod ? Yes, he's in ; he's after having his tea —
yes."

Mrs. Couples was more communicative and less
breathless when sitting than when standing. She had
the same inward way of going on with whai9ver she
said in a happy murmur behind the smile until she sai<l
the next thing, and her voice and smile were caressing.
To her Marian tried to speak more affably. She was
anxious to obtain as much information as might be
about this Tod before coming to a personal dealing with
him ; but, more willing to be told than to ask, she
showed no impatience at the even flow of talk.

" He's got the back rooms, being less able to pay.
Yes, I'm blessed in my lodgers ; yes, that's him playing
music now ; you'll hear if you listen."

Amid the confused sounds of the street Marian
began to distinguish the notes of some stringed instru-
ment going tink-a-tink to the time, rather than tune, of
some melody.

" I am speaking to Mrs. Couples ? " said Marian, to
encourage loquacity ; but it ran in the wrong direction.

" Yes, I'm Mrs. Couples ; yes. And that's Mr. Kent —
a very nice young man, too." But, having thus directed
Marian's glance again toward Hubert, she added in what
was, or what seemed to Marian's excited fancy to be, a
tone of hasty caution, " But he's going to be married

138

B EGG Alls ALL.

[Book I.

quite soon ; he was asked in church hist Sunchiy. Yes,
and I never knew. And the girl coming to see him at
the door, so pretty — just very much as you are coming
now, m'am; and me never knowing what's up. Well,
well — a pretty young thing, too — yes, yes."

Poor Marian ! Slie hail no ill-feeling toward these
people, because they were below her in station ; but any
one, to have seen her, would have thought her the im-
personation of pride, so rigid and frigid <lid her maimer
grow under Mrs. Couples's soft murmuring,

" Has Mr. Tod been long with you ? "

But the speeches of Mrs. Couples overlapped one
another, and it was some time before the last question
found its way into the tenor of her thought, " Not
but what Mr. Tod is as good in liis own way ; yes, in
his own way. Fond of the harts, he is — very fond, yes.
But Mr. Kent leaving, I'm in wants now of a nice young
gentleman to take his place, the house being rather
copious for me alone — yes, rather copious, yes. He's
been with me more than a twelve-month, dear ; that was
what you wanted to know — over a twelve-month — yes."

" I wish to speak to Mr. Tod a few minutes on a
mere matter of business. I am rather in haste."

" Yes ; you wish to speak to him — yes. Would you
like Mr. Kent to step in with you ? "

" It is not necessary." Marian put the unconscious
emphasis of fMght into the words.

" Yes. W3II, you wouldn't like Mr. Kent to step in
with you, dear ? I'm not lively ; I'm not as spry as I
was when thinner. Yes, then perhaps yv^u would go in
yourself, dear, the door at the end of the lobby — yes,
you'll know by the music."

"-'"■'•• '

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

130

was

ip in
as I

Marian moved into the house with alacrity. She
had only a few steps to take from the open door, but
the back of the lobby was dark and, had it not been for
the suggesti<m that she would know where Totl was
by tiie music, Marian would have been at a loss which
inner door to choose. As it was, the steady tink-a-tink
of a cheap banjo left her in no doubt, and she knocked.

There was no cessation in that which by courtesy
might be called a melody.

" Come in," said a voice in rapt tones, and the music
continued.

Marian stood still, indignant, irresolute. Then she
knocked again in more peremptory fashion.

" Come in," bawled the same voice, and still the notes
tinkled on.

Marian opened the door, giving it a sharp push so
that it swung wide. She took no step in advance, but
stood still in the lobby, now well lighted from the west
window of the room.

It was a small room, containing only humble sitting-
room furniture, and there was the disorder of a dressing-
room about it ; but the most conspicuous object was a
slight, fair-haired man, coat and shoes off, sitting on the
side of a high box, playing upon the instrument to
which she had been listening, or, at least, he had been
playing ; for when she swung the door with impatient
push, he stopped his music and gazed at her, his fingers
still upon the strings, his blue eyes wide and his full
baby mouth slightly open.

"Oh, my! ""said he.

As for Marian, she could not, for a moment, find even
two short w^ords to say. She put up her eyeglasses and,

140

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

with her stiffest expression, regarded this apparition of
a young man in deshabille, seated with stockinged feet
tucked up under the side of the uncomfortable -looking
seat, so that his knees might come high enough to form
a rest for the banjo he was caressing.

" Oh ! " said Tod again. This time it was a sort of
groan. He did not rise, but glanced hopelessly at his
boots and coat, which were lying a little way from him :
for how could a man with a taste for the beautiful
put on coat and boots with any grace while a lady is
looking on ?

" I beg your pardon," she began severely ; " I came
to inquire — ah, is your name " — here she weakly feigned
again to refer to the envelope — " is your name ' B.
Tod'?"

But when she had had the relief of speaking
severely, when her eyes had had the instant's rest of
looking down at the familiar envelope and she raised
them again, she saw more in the scene than had at first
presented itself. Out of the window whence came the
glow of light, there were green fields and a leafing plane
tree to be Sv^en, and, beyond the further roofs, the ex-
quisite calm of the fading sunset. It was to this scene
that the weak-faced man had turned himself. Pre-
ferring it to the easy sociability of the street, and
perched on his high seat that he might have a better
view, he was paying the tribute of melody to the dying
day as nobly, perhaps, if not as musically, as the most
venerable priest of Apollo could have done. It flashed
across her that in this scene there was an odd likeness
to the letter she held ; here again was that same con-
fusion of discordant elements, and surely here, however

— ■'^ ^■■'>"^ --—■*— "

»-^ t^t-yr**"** ■

DOOK I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

141

king
t of
ised
first
the
lane
ex-
ene
re-
and
tter
ing
ost
hed
less
on-
ver

absurd the confusion might be, there was effort after
something not all ignoble. She only felt this in-
distinctly, yet, in that moment, the humanity in her
was touched and brought into play ; she was no longer
a woman merely defending her right, no longer merely
a cultured mind looking down, critical and displeased
at minds beneath her. She began to forget herself, her
dignity, and her discomfort ; and, in the first beginning
t)f this oblivion, she was conscious of a nervous tendency
to inward laughter, so very ridiculous was the effort the
3'oung man was evidently making to decide whether it
would be more elegant to continue without his boots, or
to put them on before her. But Marian could not stoop
to consider this problem with him. She spoke quickly.

" Did you make a voyage from America lately ? Is
this envelope addressed to you ? "

He came towards her now slowly, as if drawn by a
sj^ell which caused him to forget the problem concerning
the boots in a deeper source of concern. He stood
humbly a pace from her and craned his neck over to
look at the letter.

" Beg pardon, 'pon my life," he whispered earnestly ;
and, suddenly taking the letter, he concealed it in his
pocket, as if very anxious to put something he was
ashamed of out of her sight.

Marian could only look her astonishment at his word
and manner, and, above all, at this rapid disappearance
of a document about which she had intended to make
leisurely judicial inquiry. But, receiving no intelligible
answer to her glance, she went on severely with the
words she had prepared.

" It was sent to me first from the shipping-office, to

[jmmt f

il;

142 BEGGARS ALL. [Book L

whose care it is directed, whither I returned it, dis-
claiming all knowledge of it. Now it has come to me
from the Dead-lettv^r Oflfice."

" Very sorry, 'pon my life," he said again, looking at
her so seriously the while that she almost wished he
would relax into an appearance of less intense concern.

" I saw, to my extreme surprise and displeasure, that
the letter bears my own address and signature," she
continued, " and, as it also conta.'ned some indication of
where you were to be found, I thought it better to ask
if you could explain it instead of putting such a foolish
matter in the hands of a lawyer. Of course, if you can-
not explain it, that will be my only course."

She had all the talking to herself; he seemed too
distressed to speak.

" Do you know something about the letter ? Did
you expect to receive it ? Are you aware that I never
wrote it ? "

"Deeply, painfully aware." The words came with
such an energy of trouble that, in spite of herself, she
felt sorry for him, although she did not know on what
grounds.

"Who did write it?"

He came half a step nearer, and put his head a
Iji f little nearer still.

" I did," he whispered.

" You wrote it ! " — in astonishment. " To yourself ? "

" I wrote it to myself " — still in a whisper, and with
a fearful look down the lobby, lest the words might go
outward in return for the cheerful street sounds that
were entering.

" Why did you do it ? " asked Marian. She spoke

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

143

If?"
rith

go
that

)ke

now as in old days she had spoken to the delinquents of
the schoolroom, not angrily, but with displeased authority.

"There's a table on the ship, you know" — he was
speaking now in a mild, explanatory way — "in the
saloon near the captain's table, and when the ship
touches Queenstown, the letters that have come to meet
the passengers — it is so awfully jolly, you know, to
see a letter lying there addressed to one's self; but I
never did," with a sigh. " Many of the fellows in the
travelling line like myself, get them" — here another
sigh.

"And so," with sudden scorn, "you wrote a letter
that you might show to your companions and deceive
them into supposing that a lady living on the parade
had written to you."

" Ton my life," looking at her with weak sincerity,
" I never meant that living soul should see it."

" You could not have hoped to deceive yourself."

" It w^as a melancholy attempt," he said,

" At self-deception ? " She was too absorbed to
notice how pitiless was her authoritative catechism.

" At self-deception." The words came like an echo
that had caught the trick of human sorrow.

It is the habit of the enlightened schoolmistress to
invariably administer encouragement with punishment.
From mere habit now, having probed the depth of the
sinner's wickedness, her manner took a more benevolent
tone.

" Does no one ever write to you ? Have you no
friends ? "

He glanced, perhaps unconsciously, but pathetically
enough, at the cheap, old banjo, and at the sunset.

■7^w»- ■.-. "WJIlil vif'<n»Ji|H 'I t ll"l|lll»"..'ifl 191

!;:

144

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

" None I could have a taste in common with."

He was certainly a very melancholy object. Marian
began automatically to administer advice as if she had
come there to benefit him.

" I think no one in the world is so placed that they
can find no congenial friends ; but you ought to try to
sympathize with their tastes as well as expect them to
have tastes in common with you. It is extremely foolish
to write letters to yourself ; people will think you mad
if you do. Where did you get my name and address ?"

" At Babbits. I have seen you often at Babbits."

He turned his face slightly to the wall as he stood
by the door lintel. Some recollection or feeling seemed
to be too much for him, but she had not the most
distant suspicion what it was. She paused a moment
to consider how she should conclude ; it was hardly a
case in which to threaten the law ; it seemed almost too
slight to provoke severe language.

" You must never do it again," she said.

He turned towards her again with a shamefaced, but
anxious air.

" There was no thought — 'pon my life, there wasn't —
of anything matrimonial."

" Of course not," said Marian slightly. She did not
allow herself to feel angry as the meaning of his words
entered her mind, because she scorned them so utterly.
In a moment she continued, " Give me the letter. I will
burn it."

He gave it slowly, compelled by invisible force.

" Now, you must promise, on your honour, not to do
it again. If anything of the sort happened again, I
should be obliged to take legal advice."

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

145

She went back to the door feeling that he was
earnestly watching her retreating figure with the same
serious, blue eyes in whose regard there had been that
degree of trouble and shame that had won from her, on
the whole, the credence that their owner was not mad
but only foolish. She felt pity for him, but it came with
a gush of amusement also, so, before she emerged upon
the scene of Mrs. Couples's evening airing, and Kent's
gardening, there was an ominous twitching about her
mouth, a very roguish and pretty twitching it was, and
made her look ten years younger : for laughter that rises
unbidden, forbidden, to eyes and lips, comes, as true
tears come, from the real life, and betrays the presence
of that inner personality to which years make no
difference.

She had the impression, as she passed, that Mrs.
Couples said " Good evening," and went on saying it in a
quiet way till she was out of hearing. Kent opened the
gate again for her, and Marian supposed that this episode
in her life was finished.

not
[^ords
(erly.

will

bo do
lin, I

CHAPTER XIX.

Young Dr. Bramwell sat by Mi-s. Thompson's bedside.
He toyed with his gloves as he talked, and his shining
boots moved now and then on the bare floor. There was
the colourlessness of poverty and age about the bed
and its occupant ; everything was worn and faded,
light in colour only because it was clean. There was

■^

' I

i\'-

I.'. 1

146

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

nothing colourless about the young doctor ; there was
richness of colour in the ruddy brown of his beard ; there
was the gloss of opulence on his clothes ; there was the
full tide of strength and manly purpose in his voice and
manner.

" Thank you," said Mrs. Thompson. She spoke as if
weary of an unpleasant subject. She was propped up
with pillows. There was beauty and strength in her face
also, as she looked at the young man kindly, but it was of
a sort which could not be compared — as the beauty of a
prophet's message could not be compared to the physical
beauty of the land to which it is sent.

" He came to see me himself, as I told you, and that was
so very straightforv/ard." Bramwell spoke as if urging
a rejected plea, although the only answer to his report
about Hubert Kent had been that quiet " Thank you."
" And really, everything that I heard about him was most
unexceptionable. Our Orphanage, our town, has reason to
be proud of a lad who can push his way as he has done."

There was a pause, filled up by an expression of
wistful pain on the invalid's face.

" And I need not say to you, Mrs. Thompson," he con-
tinued, but stopped diffidently, " with your experience of
the world, I need not say to you that the young man —
that Kent, in his devotion to your daughter, has shown —
is showing, I should say, perhaps — is showing a degree —
that is, a generosity — not altogether common."

Why was it so difficult for him to hint to this poor
woman that the young man who offered to take her and
her crippled daughter home with his wife was benevolent
in doing so ?

A curious smile came over her face, as if she had

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

147

was
lere

the

and

as ii .

d up
: face
/as of
r of a
ysical

it was
arging
report
: you."
IS most
ason to

done."

ion of

[he con-
ience of
man —
Lown —
jgree —

^is poor
lier and
^evolent

she had

some hidden thought as to who it was wlio was really
showing generosity, but she said —

" You are right ; he has made generous promises."

" I should not feel the least doubt, from what I have
seen of him, that he will fulfil them — not that he
attempted to recommend himself to me, or, in fact, spoke
of the matter at all."

He stopped as if he might have said more, but she
made a slight gesture with her hand as if putting aside
the subject.

He rose and, before taking leave, went over to the
other side of the room where Richarda lay silent,
listening and watching.

" Well, and how are you to-day ? " His eyes lit up
with a light that seemed to betoken great personal
interest ; but perhaps it was his habit to let it come there
when he spoke kindly. He certainly became interested
in her or her illness as he looked down at the pale,
intelligent face, for he held the hand she had extended to
him, and sat down to feel the pulse. It was the first
time he had talked with Richarda, as they both remarked
when he left.

" He is really kind," said the girl, as if pondering.

The mother answered with a sicfh that was almost a

groan.

" You feel, mamma, that he is more like what Star's
lover ought to be."

The mother did not answer, yet the daughter who
knew her best seemed to know what the answer would
have been.

" But, you see, mamma, he has not made love to Star,
and the other one has."

148

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

There was silence again, only broken by the mother's
sigh. Bereavement, illness, poverty, she had borne
meekly, bending with humble cheerfulness to the will of
Heaven ; but now she felt, and knew not why, that she
must muster her forces to oppose the trouble that was
threatening.

Afterwards Star came in, and brought a pennyworth of
violets. She sat where the doctor had sat by the bedside.

" Oh, my daughter," the mother entreated, opening
her mouth for the first time on the all-important issue
between them, " My daughter, I wish you would give
this up."

" Has the doctor been here ? " asked Star, startled.
" Did he tell you whf * he had heard ? "

"Yes."

Star paled visibly. " And he says something
against "

" No, nothing against him ; everything in his favour ;
but, my daughter, such inquiry only touches the most
outward part of a man's life."

" Of course ; but it was you who had it made, mother,
to Sf.tisfy yourself. I was content before."

" Why were you content ? " The mother looked
keenly.

Star coloured and dropped her eyes beneath the
glance. Had she been actuated in her choice of Hubert
only by motives of love, she could not now have acted
otherwise. She was not thinking of deceit, yet the
deception was complete.

"I cannot understand it," — the mother spoke in
reproachful astonishment — "how you could yield so
quickly to a stranger's wooing."

icl.

er's

rne

lof

she

was

thof
iside.
jiiing
issue
give

tied.

ething

ivour ;
most

h other,

hooked

Ith the
[ubert
acted
let the

)ke in
leld so

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

149

" Oh, mother-

She stopped in distress.

"What is it?"

No answer.

" My Esther, if you think to benefit me and Richarda
by this marriage, we were far happier before. IS^o
advantage of a better house and greater comfort could
help us if we were not happy about you. We have
been well off together here, my darling. It is a hard-
ship, I know, to have you always at work all day, and
there is much that we would like changed ; but, my
dear, if we go on doing what is right, and patiently
bearing our little difficulties, God will provide for us in
His own time."

" Oh," she cried, passionately, " I can't let you stay
here ; it will kill you, and I can't get on at the shop."

" I know the hardest part of the trial falls on you " —
she ignored the first part of the sentence, and spoke
pityingly ; " but you have always said you liked the
work."

" Yes, I said so," she said bitterly. " While it was
necessary, I tried to make you think I liked it, and I
tried to make my words true by forcing myself to make
the best of it."

" Has it been so hard, love ? "

" Oh, you don't know. I can't do it. I keep for-
getting and making mistakes in the figures. I can't do
the work smartly enough; and then they speak so rudely
to me."

" Have they been rude to you ? " The tone of dismay
betrayed how little the mother, in the warmth of her
own tenderness, knew of the chilly world.

" Yes — no — at least, not what they call rude, but I

150

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book 1.

cannot get accustomed to it; and girls much youngei*
than I am can do the work much better. I can never
learn the business, I know I can't."

The mother waited, perhaps, to seek some heavenly
direction before she answered.

" Have you not allowed a number of little grievances
to accumulate and rankle in your mind until you are
discourage<l, dear child ? To the Christian there should
be no such word as discouragement."

Star did not answer.

" You will think, perhaps, it is easy for me lying
here helpless to encourage you to work for us."

" I don't." She spoke tersely, hoarsely, in her dis-
tress. " I know quite well the worst falls on you."

" Perhaps, dearie, we could get some other work you
would like better."

" Oh, mother, mother ! " she burst out, " don't you
see you cannot undo what is done. All my life you and
father have trained me to live at home, to do the home
work ; now I can do that, but nothing else. I am not
unwilling to work, but it would take years for me to
learn any trade well enough to earn sufficient to keep
you. At the shop they give me my salary partly out
of pity for you and Richarda ; but why should I get more
than girls who have been with them to learn the busi-
ness, and are worth far more to them than I am ? It
is just a way of taking charity, and they have a right
to scold when I make mistakes. The other girls have a
right to dislike me."

" I had no idea of this."

" There was no use telling you when there was no
way out of it ; but now there is a way." The girl spoke

.■■»-i— ^

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

151

you

and

home

in not

me to

keep
Ay out
tmore

busi-
H? It

right
have a

r&H no
spoke

resohitely, though her words came brokenly, and her
broaili was quick with emotion. " We must look at
things as they are, not as they ought to be. Here we
are placed so that I must — ab.solutely must — earn a
living for myself and you and Richarda, if we are not
to be separated and put in different charity homes — you
admit that, mother ? And I have no wonderful genius
for doing anything suddenly when I have had no train-
ing for it." There was interrogation in her voice, as if
each statement claimed admission before she went on.
" And there is but one thing that I have been trained
for. You know you and father always called me a
home-bird. You were proud because I liked house-
work better than fine accomplishments. You did not
approve of girls leaving home and pushing into inde-
pendent positions. You thought that woman's work
was at home. I have heard father say so scores of
times."

" My daughter " — oh, the sadness of the gentle face !
— " we did our best according to our knowledge ; we
could not know what was in the future."

" I am not reproaching you, mother- ^ow could I ?
but what I say is true. There is only one way in which
I know how to be really useful. You have trained me
to be a good wife. Let me be a wife, and I shall feel
that, by being more to my husband than any other
girl he would be likely to get could be, I earn the
right to have you and Richarda with me."

Star had done ; she was not given to argument ; her
putting of the case welled up from that inner part of
her where thought had been working, perforce, during
the troublous experience of their poverty. Her words

152

BEGGARS ALL.

[BuOK L

liad come in a little torrent. Now slie moved forward,
and would have caressed her mother in silence. But the
mother turned her face to the wall, and Star saw her
tremble witli grief, and knew that, in having no con-
tradiction to give, her mother was drinking the bitterest
dregs of her cup of life's sorrow.

" Mother, mother," she said, breathing her heart's love
in the words ; but they seemed to return to her, shut
out from a struggle of soul of which she was too young
to realize the depth. Her mother's life was in touch
with a spiritual world, of which she had little cog-
nizance, but she knew that this struggle was not be-
tween earthly wishes and opposing circumstances, but
between an agonized spirit and the cloud of sorrow that
shut out the face of God. With her heart, rather than
with her ears, she seemed to hejir the involuntary cry,
" My God, why hast Thou forsaken me ? "

She sat appalled and frightened. Would death,
which was always hovering so near the frail, physical
part of the mother she loved so passionately, intervene
now, and, snatching the sorrow-stricken spirit from the
earthly side of the cloud, deprive her for ever of the
consent and blessing she had been trying to obtain ?
The fear seemed to make all the material good which
her young, healthy life coveted turn to ashes before her
sight, so dearly she loved her mother. But, in the
passionate desire to give the comfort which only could
avail to heal the wound she had made, she became
oblivious to the voice of truth in her own heart. She
vsaid what she did not believe, without realizing whether
she believed it or not.

" Mother " — because she was completely carried away

)K I.

Book I.]

BEaGARS ALL.

153

ard,

the

her
con-
Brest

love

shut
ouiig
touch

cog-
)t be-
3, but
V that
: than
•y cry,

death,
lysical
lervene
»m the
of the
ibtain ?
which
)re her
in the
could
lecame
She'
rhether

by the subtle psychical force of her mother's struggle,
her tones seemed to rise from the triumph of a spiritual
faith — " you said Ood would provide — I tliink He has
provided. Just when we needed it most, the help came.
I was nearly in despair the tirst day I saw Hubert,
and he has been kinder to me than I could have be-
lieved. Why won't you accept Hubert's love and kind-
ness as God's way of helping us, and thank Him for
it?"

Mrs. Thompson slowly turned to her daughter, a look
of new comfort dawning on her face.

" If I thought you really felt about it in that way.
Star " — doubtfully, but with hope.

" I do, mother, indeed I do." We are so little the
masters of our own minds that, at the moment, she
fully believed her words. " How else could it all come
about so wonderfully ? "

Gradually Star realized that the only obstacle that
lay in the way of her marriage was removed. Her
mother, although not glad, was reconciled. Star was
not happier. Hitherto she had felt herself to be lean-
ing upon a barrier, and, although the attitude of leaning
had been the effort to push it down, the barrier had still
been a support ; now it had fallen.

away

154,

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

CHAPTER XX.

Hubert came again on Sunday afternoon. Mrs. Thomp-
son was able to be up and receive him. Afterwards he
took Star out for a walk. It seemed right that she
should go with him, and she went mechanically ; but
when they were out in the sweet May weather she felt,
not happy, but wretched. Her mother's reception of
Hubert as a son-in-law had had a note of solemnity in
it which, coming in addition to its train of attendant
circumstance, had unintended force to bruise the daugh-
ter's heart, A mood of nameless, wordless misery, the
result, no doubt, partly of physical reaction from ex-
citement, oppressed her. She walked by his side,
answering hin as she could on common topics, turning
aside her face to hide the tears that, in spite of every
effort, lay in her eyes. It was one of those moods
when all the future looks colourless, all the present
worthless, all the past pathetic. It came upon her
like a fog ; she could not control its passage over her
heart, but she tried to hide it from him.

After walking in this melancholy way for half
an hour, they sat down in a lonely corner of the
square. It chanced to be the same bench on which
Star had sat the day that she answered the advertise-
ment, and a vivid recollection of that time, a forced
acknowledgment that her daring experiment had turned
out better than she might have expected, served to
turn the tide of her mood; she began to feel more

tl.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

155

reasonable. She looked before her at the young, un-
folding sycamore leaves and their shadow on the path.
The sparrows were chirping on the railing, as they had
chirped that April day only three weeks before.

" Well," she said, with a sigh, " I suppo.se we may
as well try to be happy."

"If you could try to be rather happier," he said,
" it would be pleasanter for me." He said it in a quiet,
practical way, without tone of reproach.

She felt reproached. " I did not mean to be dis-
agreeable. I — I was trying to be nice."

" Oh, it does not matter," he said hastily.

He was not given to love-making evidently. His
manner had always practical, business-like quiet that
sujjfjested sense rather than sentiment. He .said no
more for a little while, apparently because he <lid not
know what to say. The little cock-sparrow, Vnckering
with its mate on the dusty edge of the road, seemed
better able to conduct a love affair.

Star sao a little way from him, nervously moving her
shabbily gloved hands as they lay on her lap. But, as
she sat, the tale of the gracious young summer made its
way into her heart, and the gloom was gradually dis-
pelled.

" I am sorry I seemed unhappy," she said in sincere
apology. " I do not know why I felt so ; I could not
help it."

" Oh, it did not signify in the least," he said, — " at
least, I mean as far as I am concerned." He moved a
little nearer, but kept his eye on the sparrows.

Each was a little afraid of the coming conversation,
for they both knew that the how and when of their

156

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book L

: f

marriage must be discussed and settled, and the arrange-
ments of the home that they were to possess together.
Yet he was too practical to hesitate long.

" I have told Mrs. Couples that I should be leaving
her a week from next Wednesday," he remai'ked casually.

"Yes," she faltered.

" I thought, you know, that we might be married
that day."

" Oh, indeed," she said faintly.

Then he plunged on bravely to explain to her all
about the cottajje he had taken and was furnishinoj. He
had the whole plan of its arrangement very clearly in
his mind, and he told her how the rooms were placed,
and how they were to be occupietl — all the details.

In speaking of this cottage, they had widely different
pictures in their minds ; he though' of one house in a
row of humble brick dwellings ; in her mind, the very
word " cottage " raised an indefinite notion of all that was
rural and picturesque. Perhaps, as they talked on,
there was much the same discrepancy in their interpre-
tation of other words and phrases. The coinage of
words has not a fixed value ; our language is to us just
what habit and association have made it ; and these two
waifs might almost as well, had they but known it,
have come suddenly together with different languages,
so few were tne ideas that had common quality in their
minds.

As he talked. Star had jealous ear for one element
in his arrangements — the comfort of her mother and
sister, and she could not but be pleased and touched to
find, although he laid no stress upon the fact, that their
comfort was considered first in everything. It seemed

llii

K L

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

157

ige-
her.

aUy.
rried

jr all
. He
rly in
)laced,

fferent

e in a

e very

latwas

ed on,

terpre-
lage of
as just
jse two
>wn it,
lages,
In their

llement

ler and

;bed to

it their

Iseemed

only natural to her that he should be generous to them.
Had she been in his place she would have done the same.
Still, human nature is so constituted that it feels far
more grateful for what is spontaneous and natural than
for what evinces effort.

" You are very good, HuV)ert," she said.

When he understood to what she referred, he ex-
plained, in a matter-of-fact way, that a bargain was a
bargain, that he hoped he would not be guilty of
breaking one, that to do all that was in his power for
the two invalids was the condition on which he got her
for a wife. " And you are very pretty," he added with
hesitation.

" I don't think I am," said Star, and then she looked
down, and her fingers began to fidget themselves to-
gether. Her cheeks were very rosy ; her chestnut hair
caressed their roses with its breeze-blown disorder. Her
black gown was rusty ; her hat had been negligently put
on in the unhappy mood in which she had come out with
him. Hubert looked at her critically. She was aware
of nothing but a great bashfulness. The sparrows
hopped on the railing, and ruffled their little feathers in
the dust of the path. The young leaves of the tree
hung bright green over all.

" You see," said he, " you are more of a lady —
altogether more of a girl, than I could have got any
other way."

" Yes," said Star, in the involuntary way in which
one says something to a tone that seems to demand
assent. She felt too confused by the first sudden re-
ference to herself to notice his further words.

He seemed satisfied with the agreement that ap-

158

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

peared to have been reached on the point, and lounged
a little nearer to her on the bench.

" I took for granted," he said after a bit, " that your
prejudices would make you want to have the ceremony
in church."

" The wedding, you mean ? Very often in America
we have them in the house ; but I supposed here one had
to go to church."

" Yes ; but you want a clergyman — to have it done
religiously ? "

" How else ? " — with eyes of distressed wonder.

" Oh, we could have gone to the registrar, you know.
It would have been less trouble."

She did not know. He had to explain to her what
a registrar's office was, and she was distressed even to
know that any one had ever been married in such a
way, pained with a vague fear she could not express
that he should think such a thing possible for himself,
although, in deference to her, he had chosen otherwise.

He went on to arrange that they should go to the
parish church together on the Wednesday in question,
and then drive her mother and Richarda and all the
family possessions to the new house.

" I could have got a holiday, and taken you out of
town for a week," he said ; " but I know you would not
want to leave them, and would rather spend the money
some other way,"

She made no answer. She was so appalled by this
near view of her marriage that she sat trembling under
the excitement it gave her.

i at he had much more to say. He wanted her to go
with him the next Saturday evening to choose some of

)ur
)ny

L-ica
had

lone

now.

what

en to

ach a

ipress

mself,

ivise.
bo the
3stion,
III the

)Ut of

not

loney

ky this
1 under

to go
bme of

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

159

the piincipal articles for their house ; and when that
was settled, he wanted to persuade her to buy some
wedding clothes for herself ; but he felt delicate about
suggesting this.

" I told you one day," he began, " that a man always
saved up a little money for pleasure and that sort of
thine: at the time of his weddinjj."

" Yes," she said, sad ideas floating over her that a
man wlio would be willing to be married without
religion might wish to have a di'inking-party or a
rowdy dance to celebrate the day.

" Well," he said awkwanlly, " would you mind going
and getting some new clothes, and letting me pay the
bill ? " Then he went on in haste to cover up this idea
with others, so that it might seem less offensive to her.
" I don't think there's much use in going to cheap shops,
you know ; a few things that are gootl are better than
a lot that are cheap. You would like them better."

Star was looking grave. " For my own pleasure, I
would rather not have any new clothes, as mother
cannot buy them for me, but I see that it would be
pleasanter for you ; it would look more respectable to
your frienf^s."

" It wo. Id look more respectable," he said, not
intending to be rude in any way, but only to encourage
her to take his money.

Her lips tightened. "What sort of things would
you like me to get ? "

She began to feel the yoke under which, for the sake
of others, she had put her giHish neck. She did not
shrink from it ; it was rather a comfort to her to feel it
settle painfully, it helped to calm the perturbation of

Ilf

160

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

1 ;|.

her mind ; but his next words were so easily kind that
the pressure eased for the moment.

" I don't want you to stop wearing black for your
father, if you had rather not ; you will always look
prettiest in what you like best to wear. I meant to
give you twelve pounds a year to dress on, and this year
I should like to add another twelve pounds to it, and I
thought if you spent that extra sum before we were
married it would be better. It isn't much, I know."

" It is more than enough. I am rather clever at
sewing. I will dress as well as I can, for your sake."

" Now, dear girl," he began brusquely, " don't let us
have the goody-goody of self-denial and doing things
for other people's sake. If we both do what seems
natural and pleasant, we shall get on much better. You
like new clothes, like every one else ; you can wear
them because you like them." Then he perceived that
she was not accustomed to be spoken to in that way,
and abated his tone. " I believe that what people do
is always done because, under the circumstances, that
is what they like best to do. It seems to me better to
recognize that as we go along. It is natural, now, that
you should want to please me a little, just as I want to
please you ; but I don't try to please you for your sake,
but for my own."

Star made no answer.

" I have read a little philosophy, and that is the gist
of my philosophy," he explained.

" I don't know anything about philosophy," she said.

" Well, don't be angry because I speak plainly,"

She gathered from what he said, not any idea of his
theory of motive in general, but that he did not want

■ I

BCK)K I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

161

her to have an oppressive feeling of duty towards liim ;
and she felt that, if he spoke more roughly than she had
expected, he was more generous than she had expected
too. The young summer lay about her, and Hubert had
said again that she was pretty. After all, even though
there was some discrepancy between his words and
manner and her own, it was still a pleasanter prospect to
have ten or twelve pounds at once to spend on new
clothes than to work all the week to earn fifteen
shillings. She had a very natural heart, and it grew
more cheerful as they talked on.

CHAPTER XXL

When they got home that afternoon, Hubert stayed to
tea with them. They took tea picnic fashion, round the
fire, where the kettle boiled. He talked chieflj^ with
Richardjk The conversation flagged sometimes from
restraint, and she, eager to be sociable, spoke of the
burglary. That, she thought, must be in a newspaper
man's line.

" Do you think it will be found out ? " she asked.
" No," he said, " I think not ; there is no clue."
He leant forward as he spoke, one arm on his knee,
and looked thoughtfully into the fire. His attitude was
not such as a polished man would have assumed among
ladies, but then he could not know that. He seemed
Intensely meditative, as if considering all possible way
by which the burglar might be traced. The light of the
May evening had not waned, but in the low rooi-> it a

'i!t'

162

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I.

dim, and the dimness was a screen for the negligence of
his behaviour, so that he seemed less boorish than inter-
esting, and his face had a curious beauty upon it as it
dropped into serious thought.

" What do you think about it ? " pursued Richarda.

" That the person who did it was a genius."

" Ah, you only mean he was uncommonly sharp,
are taught nowadays to look upon genius as something
more than cleverness — a sort of enlargement of mind
which only two or three men in a generation can
possess."

" Yes, that is what I mean. I think when a man has
genius for anything, he has an inclination to do that
thing so strong that neither he nor any one else can resist
it. He must do it or die. The things that are done that
way are done by a master hand."

" Yes," said she, reflectively assenting, " but, in that
case, it has nothing to do with stealing."

" Why not ? Stradivarius " — his education was
evidently self-made ; he did not pronounce the name
rightly — " had genius for making fiddles. Another man
may have a genius for breaking into houses."

Richarda loved to have a new idea to play with. She
instantly fondled this one. She drew a long breath of
pleased interest, during which many new combinations
of thought seemed to dance past and elude her grasp ;
then she settled back to the immediate subject.

" You think that in thieving there may be talent and
genius. Some will bungle at it ; many will do it cleverly ;
but, here and there, there is a genius at work — a king
among thieves. Then what makes you think you trace
his footsteps here ? "

.^jutmit

iMMiMiMiiMi

OOK I.

Book L]

BEGGARS ALL.

1G3

ice of

nter-

as it

[•da.

I. We

ething
; mind
)n can

lan has
io that
,n resist
)ne that

that

Ion was
e name
ler man

bh. She
[•eath of
iinations
grasp;

lent and
[leverly ;
-a king
[ou trace

He had Hftcd his head while she spoke with a gesture
which gave Star, as she sat half inattentively watching
him, the curious impression that a man triumphant in
some struggle, and receiving adulation, would have roused
himself from reverie in the same way.

" First, because no one can trace his footsteps," he
replied. " Secondly, because he took the money from
under the nose of four strong men and a watch-dog.
Thirdly, because "

" What thirdly ? " asked Richarda.

" I was only going to say that if the dog was used
as a blind — a sort of counter-irritant for the energies of
the men in the house — it was a bold and original design ;
but we have not a shadow of proof for that."

" He has thought it all out," thought Star. " He is
very clever at writing up such things, and if he knows it
and is proud, it is only natural."

But Hubert seemed to have said all that it interested
him to say about his theory of the theft. Richarda
talked on about it, telling how Star had seen the dog and
the half-witted lamplighter, and he answered her, telling
them some tales of this lamplighter, who was, in his way,
a public character about the town. Hubert explained
that he knew all about him because they two were old
chums, and that he had worked up the burglary and the
items of interest connected with it for his paper. He
knew, he said, all that was to be known, and he seemed
to tell them all he knew. His own first interest
appeared to have relapsed into professional indifference
to facts which he had " already converted into bread and
butter," as he said.

" How curious to make one's bread and butter out of

164

BEGGARS ALL.

[Boon I,

crimes ! " said Richarda, her mind, as usual, flitting with
ease on the track of a fresh suggestion.

" It does not need a genius to do that," he answered.

" Do you always report the crimes ? "

" That is my department. I am rather a dab at it."

" It seems terrible," said the mother, " that any one
shouM make profit out of crime." She did not like the
craft ; her dislike was in her tone.

" But, mammy," Star joined in hastily, " policemen,
lawyers, judges — they all live by it."

" Newspapers are splendid public servants," said
Hubert good-naturedly. " I heard a curious idea once
about them in connection with the millennium."

" What was it ? ' asked Star, because no one else did.
She felt uncomfortable to notice that he used the word
" millennium " exactly like an ordinary word. To her
mind, there should have been a little reverential modu-
lation of the voice upon it. What would her mother
think ?

" A preacher was speaking about the text which says
the coming of the Son of Man shall be as the lightning
flashing from one end of heaven to the other."

Again Star would fain have stopped him. There was
something terribly bald to hei ear, sensitive for her
mother's approval, in the way he spoke the sacred
Name.

" He said there were two sorts of light — physical
light and knowledge. Crime of all sorts throve where
there was a lack of either kind. In old times the rich
man could perpetrate all sorts of tyranny in his secret
chambers and dungeons — no one knew. And the poor,
huddled together in squalid streets and houses, robbed

Boon I.
r with

jred.

it it."
ly one
ike the

icemen,

i," said
ea once

else did.
he word

To her
i\ modu-

niother

tich says
ightning

lere was
for her
sacred

[physical
\q where
[the rich
lis secret
iie poor,
I robbed

Book I]

BEGGARS ALL.

165

their neighbours, and beat their chihlren and wives to
death, and no one knew ; there was little said about it,
and no record made. His idea was that in this century
the electric telegi'aph and the electric light were ordained
by Providence to cast such glare of light upon all crime
that it would diminisli and cease. The electric light is
still very much a thing of the future, although, I must
say, it would be difficult to do much that was unlawful if
there were no darkness in towns ; but alx)ut the light
that the telegraph throws on ciime, I can speak posi-
tively. Why, a horse can't be very barlly treated, a child
can't be brutally whipped, but the public opinion of the
whole civilized world is focussed upon the case within
twenty-four hours. And that is through the agency of
newspapers. People cry out about the quantity of crime !
If there were a tenth part as much as there used to be,
the papers would not be big enough to hold the reports ;
what is more — they would not report it, for they can
only afford to print what is interesting. The fact that
brutality interests the majority shows that it is com-
paratively a novelty to them, and that it rouses their
indignation shows that it must continue to diminish. The
telegraph also brings nations nearer together, creates
sympathy between them ; it is making one mind and one
heart of the whole world by sprea^ling the same know-
ledge everywhere. It is an immense factor in the educa-
tion of the race."

" What has that to do with the text ? " Star spoke in
a discouraging tone. She began to perceive that Hubert
and her mother could not discuss serious subject* without
friction, expressed or felt.

" Don't you catch the idea ? Lightning is electricity.

1G6

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book I

I believe the text represents Jesus Christ coming as
lij^htning to put a quick end to days of tyranny and
war. I suppose the clergyman thought the physical
forces were used by God just as the body is used by
the soul. Well, here you have electricity inducing
morality; why should it not be the body of God for
the time being, as much as Hesh and blood could be ? "

" I don't understand," said Star. She was not trying
to understand. The attention of both girls was absorbed
by the fear that their mother would assume the tone of
reproving argument — an argument for which she had
no strength, nervous or mental, of the sort to match
Hubert's. That such an argument would be the natural
outcome of their mother's notions of duty they knew-
They did not know — who does ? — the strength of that
wisdom that lies below and above the mere conscious
thought of the Heaven-taught mind. Perhaps Mrs.
Thompson herself felt that she would have acted a
nobler part if she had reproved the young man for
words that to her, in her ignorance of the reconciliations
of modern thought, seemed profane. Her mind was
filled with sadness that the circumstances were such
that reproof did not come to her lips. She let the idea
he had given out drop in the silence of that quiet
Sunday hour, only saying in gentle comment —

"You said there were two kinds of light which
opposed wickedness — the light we see with our eyes
and the knowledge that enlightens our minds. Did not
the preacher speak of a third — the Holy Spirit who
instructs our spirits ? "

" No," said Hubert frankly, " I don't remember that
he did."

Book I.

Book I.]

BEGGARS ALL.

167

ng as
y and
lysical
^ed by
ducing
lod tor
)e ?

trying
jsorbed
tone of
he had
match
natural
J knew-
o£ that
msciouH
pa Mrs.
acted a
an for
liations
Ind was
[re such
)he idea
It quiet

which

ir eyes

)id not

[it who

31 that

" It is the most important." She spoke with gentle
authority, and said no more.

After a while the young man rose to go. He had no
thought that he had given pain, and he was content with
himself — perhaps a trifle wistful — why, he did not know.
He said good-bye to the mother and sister soberly. He
took Stiir with him outside the door. They stood again
in that same mean entry where, so short a time ago, she
had almost fainted in assenting to the marriage which
was now close upon them, where, not many days before,
she had stood to watch him as he trudged through the
rain after their first meeting. No gas was lit on the
stair now. The calm, shadowless light of evening came
in with mild air at the street-door. At the foot of the
dirty stair he stood a few steps from her, and she looked
up to see what he had brought her out to say. No one
happened to come up or down the stair. Hubert waited
ji moment to listen for steps.

"Star, don't you think we had better kiss each
other ? "

" Oh ! " she exclaimed, and drew back.

He looked at her a minute, and perceiving — it seemed
rather by common sense than gallantry — that she
would make no advance, he came up to her with kind
intent.

" Oh, wait a minute," she gasped, putting out both
hands as a shield. " Give me a minute — I can't yet."

She seemed summoning her forces to sustain some
shock, and he waited, not so much hurt as if he had
been more versed in the way of women and kisses.

" You needn't if you don't like," he went on, with an
awful deliberateness, as if a kiss might be a matter of

168

BEGGARS ALL,

[Book I.

tirae and space. " But I thought it might be better,
you know."

" Yes," said Star, impatiently stopping his words
with a gesture of repulse.

"Oh, well," he said, more hurt now, "you needn't il'
you wouKl rather not ; only I never kissed any one, and
if I don't begin to learn "

" Never kissed any one ! " There was the utmost
wonder in her tone, rather that he should tell such a
barefaced falsehood than at the possibility that his
words were true.

But th ;y were true, and in a minute she compre-
hended thi.t.

" The matron in the Orphanage, when I was a little
chap, used to kiss some of the boys. I don't remember
that she ever kissed me — I was not that sort — and there
was no one else to do it. I never got on kissing terms
with any girl. I suppose you would not want that 1
should have ? " This last with a slight detiance thrown
at her reluctance and incredulity.

And Star, who had been fed on kisses all her life,
who could not imagine life without them, felt suddenly
such a rush of pity for this young man who had be-
friended her, that she slipped her arms round his neck
without more ado, and kissed him tenderly.

He certainly did need, as he had suggested, "to
learn," for he »:ook the unexpected embrace without
much apparent graciousness. But Star noticed nothing.
She was overwhelmed by the thought of his former
loneliness and hor present temerity.

Another mcinent jf mutual awkwardness and the)
j^arted.

the>

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

Star had no sen-ant in her new home. Hubert had
tliought they could afford a cheap one, but on this point
Star was determined. Her American life had taught
her every kind of house-work. She longed to be doing,
and prove that her boast was true that she could repay
all he did for her by the thrift and charm of her manage-
ment. This fact — that they had no servant — made it
impossil>le that they should have an outing on their
wedding-day. After going to church on that eventful
Wednesday, they took Mrs. Thompson and Richarda to
the new house, and then all Star's energies were required
to sooth away their fatigue, to guard them from all pos-
sible danger of cold, and surround them with the com-
fort and brightness needful to calm their fluttered
spirits. Hubert, like a wise man, interested himself for
the rest of the day in doing some deft handiwork about
the house and garden, whistling as he worked alone
with philosophic calm. He was clever v:ith his hands,
and liked manual work. The tiny place was like a new
toy both to him and Star, and, by the time three days
had fled, they seemed to have become a part of it and
it a part of them, so much of mind and heart they had
put into its fittings.

They were so busy that they had very little time to

~^=^>T

172

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

talk to one another. When Hubert passed his mother-
in-law's door nioniinjj and evening, he would take oeca-
sion to heap up her fire, in spite of the May sun. When
he went and came, he would say to Htar, " Are they
comfortable ? " " Have they got all they want ? " —
"they" always meaning the invalids. By the third
afternoon, Hubert and Star could go for a half -day into
the country without fear for those at home.

" Mother says I niiLst go," said Star, when Hubert
made the proposal.

" How could she, when I never spoke of it till this
moment ? " It was Saturday, and he had a half-
holiday.

" I mean," said Star,l<x^king the other way, " she said
if you wanted me to go anywhere, I must go."

" Oh ! Well— come along then."

They went half an hour's journey by train to the
village of Crooni, which lay on the other side of the liill
that stood near the town. An old castle stood on the
slope above Croom, but they had not come solely to see
the castle, for Hul>ert had an expert way of combining
business with anything he did. On the other side of
the village there was a factory where toys were made,
and he took Star to see this first, making notes of all
that he saw, for an article he must write. Work was
not going on vigorously because of the half-holiday, but
an energetic foreman, gla<l to have his place advertised,
showed them everything with eager politeness. The
toys were ingenious ; there were dolls that talked, dolls
that walked, animals of all sorts that made such un-
earthly noises that any proper-minded child would have
been afraid of them ; th^re were baby dolls also, who

Book II]

BEG6ABS ALL.

173

winked in a ghastly way, and cried in a rather natural
manner.

"These imitate tlie real sound the best," said Star
to the foreman, when they came to these waxen infants.
She V as much interested to have their internal organs
taken out and explained to her. She was interested and
tired at the same time — tired of going up and down
stairs, and through long work-rooms, and smelling the
oil of the machines. Hul>ert seemed neither interested
nor tired ; to him it was all in the day's work.

" When you have liveil a while with me," he said to
Star, "you will have seen the inside of all sorts of places.
It is a large part of my business to get at the insides of
things — talking-dolls, factories of all sorts, men's minds
— and sketch what I see there for the public benefit."

This was while they were mounting the rising ground
to the castle, and Star began to feel a new sense of
comradeship with him.

She was too shy to own her fatigue, but when they
had taken the conventional round of the ruin and come
out again on the fields that formed the slope of ground
between it and the village, she sat down to enjoy the
scene and let him go on alone to search among the
cottages for one in which they couM have tea.

Was she happy as she sat there ?

She began to drink in the beauty of the place as she
had not done while huiTying along in her efibrt to keep
pace with her light-footed husband. She touched with
her bare hand the warm grass on which she sat. How
different it was horn American s(k1 ! This was half
composed of moss and tiny flower-roots. Two daisies
and a violet blossomed under the space that her small

174

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

111:

hand covered, hardly lifting themselves above the sur-
face of the warm, dry moss. Her eyes swept the lovely
spring landscape with a sense of comfort and delight.
Her pasture-field, open to the sky, swept treeless half-way
down to the village, and met a tangle of green-hedged
lanes and hedgerow elms not yet very green, that edged
about some straggling houses whose gardens sloped to
the street of red-tiled cottages. She could see the stony
pavement of this principal street leading to the church,
whose gray Norman tower stood up in the sunshine.
On the top of the tower St. Peter's cock swung on a
vane right against the fleecy gray of the sky. No —
was it gray ? was it blue ? How diflferent from the skies
at home ! The sun was hot ; the sky was clear ; yet
there, where the horizon lay beyond the vane of the
tower, she did not, at the first glance, see if it were sky
or cloud. She looked again, trying to penetrate with
strong glance into the softness of lighted atmosphere,
and she saw it was cloud, but so light, so far, it suggested
sunshine more than rain. There was layer upon layer of
it — gray film, across which a procession of dun-coloured
cloud-pieces came floating — shark -shaped, whale-shaped,
pretty, graceful things. They moved slowly, one before
the other; and, nearer, there were white streaks hanging.
All the hues melted together in the warm-tinted air.
When Star ceased to knit her brows and look with
effort, she saw only what might be changeful light in
brown sea-shell transferred to the air above the furthest
blue rim of the land. She looked up the hill on whose
gentle slope she was sitting, and below its top she saw
the ivied battlements of the castle against the misty
violet of the central sky. The sun poured down with

D<»K II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

175

Ting,
air.
with
it in
hest
hose
saw
listy
Iwith

such brightness that the Httle holes round the top of
the castle wall, which Hubert had saitl were used for
pouring boiling lea<^l upon assaulting armies, were black
with sharp shadow. Just below them, in the comer
nearest her, there was a window in the form of a slender
cross that was very dark in the sunny wall. The green
ivy, too, in which the starlings flitted and chatted, ha<l
its black nooks of shadow, and every projecting bit of
turret and roof and gateway was thrown out bright
against the dark shadow it cast. Trees stood about
the castle at the top of her fieM — ash and oak, still gray
as winter, and the bi*anching, bushy elms hardly yet
seemed to have leaves, but looked as if they stood in
a shower of falling flakes of emerald light. Star lookeil
upward, downward, and felt satisfied.

Her fitful attention was soon turned to considering;
the points of the compass. Where was the town from
which she had come ? In what direction lay her home ?
Home ! A month ago she would have looked at thes*;
English fields and skies without a thought of possession
in them. Now it was very different ; all she saw was
hers in a sense, for it lay in the vicinity of a place
which claimed her as its own, which she had reason to
suppose would always claim her.

She was not given to musing in methodical an<l
conscious fashion, bui, impeded by this last idea, she
began to search with her eyes tike paths and lanes that
led from the village, to see if Hubert was coming back
to her. Was she gla«l that he would soon be back to
take her home with him ? She hardly asked herself
the question, but it floated in her mind, and as soon as
she descried him coming, she dropped her eyes upon

176

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

,1.1

her wedding-ring, and, twisting it about on her finger,
smiled a little to herself. Yes, she was glad ; she liked
Hubert. She was a little afraid of him, far too shy yet
to speak to him when it was not necessary, or even to
look at him ; yet she liked to be near him. The cottage
he had taken her to had not been tlu^ sylvan retreat she
had expected; but already Star like*! the one small
liouse of the humble brick row which had fallen to her
share better than any other house that could have been
built. She knew, as an admitted fact, that a man who
was richer and more polishe*! in habit and manner would
have made her a better husband, according to an ideal
scale of better and worse ; but then, he wouhl not bo
Hubert, and, of real men, Star had begun to like Hubert
as she could not conceive of liking any other. She
watched him coming on an open path near the village,
lost him V)etween the close hedges of a lane, and saw
him emerge on the footpath across her own field, with
great complacency ; but when he struck out from the
path to cross the grass to where she sat, her complacency
vanished, she drew her glove over her ring, and began
to look awkward and feel shy.

Hubert stumbled in climbing the little knoll where
she sat, and, like a practical fellow, utilized the impetus
to throw himself on the grass at her feet.

" Well," he began, " I found a clean place where
they will make us tea for sevenpence apiece — fresh
eggs and watercresses. It is to be ready in half an hour."

" Shall we go then ? " she tisked.

" No. Why should we ? It won't take you five
minutes to walk down."

So she sat still and he tidgeted until he was com-

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

177

fortable on tlic grassy bank, one elbow on the ground
and his licad upon his hand.

The place was quiet, but occasionally some one passe«l
on the path through their field, A soldier and a girl
came by. They were walking in close colloquy, he
embracing her waist, and she leaning upon him, vulgarly
negligent of all the world but themselves. Hubert
watched them till the soldier's bright red coat dis-
appeared ill the lane below.

" That is not our way," he remarked.

" I certainly hope not," responded Star with asperity.

He gave a little laugh, and, putting out his hand,
clasped it over the instep of her foot with a doubtful
caress. Her foot was the only part of her near enough
for him to touch, and he seemed to expect her to draw
it away. She diil not. He had a right to hold her foot
in his hand if he chose, she said to herself.

" Star, are you happy ? "

He usually made a pronoun serve for her name, so
she felt that this was a particular occasion.

" To have an egg and cress for tea ? " she asked.

" No ; you know what I mean. Newly married
people are supposed to be very happy. Are you ? "

" I will tell you the truth," she said in a low voice.
She flushed and her voice trembled. " I should be
happy, quite happy, if " — he waited — " if I could be
sure tliat I had done right to answer that " — a lower
whisper — " that advertisement."

He had listened, catching her words evidently with
intense interest, but he did not seem to imderstand.

" How right ? ' he asked. " The proof of the pudding

is in the eating."

178

nEOOARS ALL.

[Book II.

" I (li«l not SCO tluit it was exactly wronnj at tho
time," Kho ai'fjurd. "ami I <l(>n't soo it now ; l>ut, when T
(li«l it, I (li<ln't think it wjls right; I thouglit I ctmldn't
help it."

"According to the books of morals, if yon thonght it
wasn't right, it wa.sn't right to you ; but what has that
to do with your being hap])y now ?"

"If tho beginning of it all was wrong, how could T
expect happiness?" After a moment slu? aiMed, more
insistantly, " I could not be happy if I knew I had got
all we have now by <loing wrong, you know."

" I don't know — at least, not by (jxperience — but T
suppose 1 know what you mean. I knew a woman
once who had seen the moon over her left shoulder the
night befoie her son was boi-n, and she nevtu' had any
real comfort in him, for she knew he w(mld be unlucky.
It was impossible to shake her belief in the bad omen."

" That is not the same thing. That was a silly
superstitiim."

" It seems to mc yours is very like it. What has
the right and wrong of what you did a month ago to do
with your circumstances to-day ? They are what they
are, and what you <li«l then cannf)t make them more or
less satisfactory, unless it does .so by preying upon your
mind as the moon preyed on that woujan's mind. Look
at that ca.stle," he went on; "think how many genera-
ti(ms of men have fought over its ohl walls. Some of
them <lied in secure possession, leaving their families
well provided for ; others died womided outside its walls
or in its dungeons, leaving their families to hunger and
shame. I think the men who did well did right ; those
who did poorly did wrong. The only right nature

DooK ri]

BEOOARS AM..

170

bnera-

Hiie of

imilics

walls

fcr and

those

lature

ruco^uizoH is tlio course of action which survives and
triuniplis."

Star looked at him as a hird looks who is thinking:
of rntHiiif( up its feathors and making a sbmd to its
opponent, hut is not quite tlecided.

Iluhcrt turned his jrljmce to her, and there w»is a
svvi'cter look on his face than she had yet seen. She
felt his hand strong, warm, and tender, round the instep
of her foot.

" It makes me happy," he s^iid, " that you should
admit that you would he happy if you had done right.
I feel (juite easy ahout the rightnes.s. I am sure you
have never done wrong."

Star sat still on the seat of rock she had found, and
looked ott'at th(> view.

" TluM'e is not room for me on the top of your stone,"
he urge<l ; " come down heside me."

She moved, undecidedly at first, but in a minute she
came down to his level.

He sat up and put his arm round her waist.

" That is nicer," he said. " Isn't it nicer, my dear ? "

Star smiled a little.

He looked all round. " No one is looking," he said,
and he kis.sed her.

A little while after they went down to tea right
blithely.

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180

BEGGAES ALL.

[Look II.

CHAPTER 11.

Marian had not been many days in her uncle's new
house before the eyes of her benevolence were turned to
the row of cottages nearest to their own gates. She
had been obliged to give up the district she had had
during her winter in town, and the humble houses of
this new neighbourhood seemed a natural substitute.
She set apart one afternoon in the week on which she
intended to call upon each family in turn in a methodical
and orthodox manner, but before the first time came she
was deterred from her purpose by nothing less trifling
than a hint from her uncle's servant, Gilchrist, to do
piocisely the thing she had herself planned, or, at least,
it seemed to her that his suggestion poin .ed in precisely
the direction of her own intention, and no sooner had
he spoken than it seemed wiser to her to wait for
direction from the parish clergyman before choosing
her field of charitable enterprise. It struck her as a
su£.picious circumstance that this man should be anxious
to get her cut of the house on the plea of visiting the
poor. Perhaps it would be wiser never to be out at
stated times, so that he might not depend on her
absence. Her suspicion of him was large and vague ;
it embraced almost every possibility of evil, but none
definitely.

Marian was very unhappy in those days. In her
old life of school-work, if she had not experienced great
pleasures, she had not noticed their lack^ for she had

Book II.]

BEGGAES ALL.

181

liad

as a

none

lier
great
liad

had constant occupation, constant and varied companion-
ship. In the first winter she had passed with her uncle
she had expended as much energy as she possessed in
becoming attached to organized forms of work in the
centre of the town. Now, once more, she found herself
uprooted, and she felt indeed like a plant whose roots
are left to wither without kindly covering of soil, for
she was lonesome in the large, isolated house, to which
they had come. She had not now even the consolation
of feeling herself to be useful, for her uncle had bidden
his old friends to come and admire his new possession,
and, as there was usually one or other of them available,
her services as companion were dispensed with.

In this mood of unfeigned and self-acknowledged
discontent, Marian walked much in the pleasure-grounds,
which, if not very extensive, were ample enough for
solitary rambles. These grounds had been left so long
locked up and untended that Nature had run wild ir
them in her own beautiful way, and May came now to
keep festival there with her train of blossoms. The
great beauty touched Marian's heart with an aching
longing for some one to enjoy it with her.

Thus one day she rested on a bench that stood
fronting a copse which hid it from the high-road, or at
least almost hid it, and would do so quite when the
leaves came. At present passers on the road might
look in, and the copse, composed chiefly of young beech
and ald(ir, showed nothing but a haze of gray and
reddish twigs. Wonderfully soft was the form and
colour of the million young twigs interlacing, through
each of which the sap of spring was coursing, giving
warmth to its separate hue, and, massed together, they

it —

182

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

looked like the beautiful mist which, in old tales,
gathers before the Spirit of the place appears. Here a
tint of palest, faintest green where some buds were
swelling, here the rose pink of young limes, mingled
with the prevailing red of beech buds, the brown of
alder, and the branching gray stems of all. Blended
like the hues of a rainbow, more sombre, less orderly, as
a rainbow born of earth, not heaven, the hues of this
copse stood back as groundwork for the more forward
painting of Spring. In an open bit of turf between
Marian and the young trees wild hyacinths were in
flower, like a blue flame creeping in the long grass, and
nearer her seat a huge wych elm stood hanging out
mossy tufts on every twig with quaint and magnificent
grace. It was this tree which had attracted her to the
seat. Only after she had admired it long did she
notice the colour of the copse, for the elm stood out
against it as lace would show on velvet, as an illuminated
palace would show against the neutral tint of evening.
Marian's soul became absorbed in the tree. Its winsred
seeds adorned all its hanfjinfj branches and seemed to
have imprisoned the sunshine in their golden green.
There was no sun and shadow that day ; there was
enough dampness on leaf and branch to enrich the
colour. The great tree's bole and trunk were dressed in
ivy ; its branches were gnarled and rough, and its twigs
clothed it all over as only elm twigs can ; they stood
out from its trunk ; they waved and drooped from its
giant arms, and everywhere they were covered with
their tufted seeds of half golden green. Behind her the
sycamores had quite big leaves, and the horse-chestnut
had already opened its fans of generouS green ; but

— >«-

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

183

green.

twigs

Marian was in love with her ehn seeds and her copse.
She had found in them a sudden accession of wealth, but
wealth which, like the gold her uncle gave her, she did
not know how to enjoy alone.

Opportunity is God's handmaiden.

Marian looked up and saw a pretty and prettily
dressed young woman coming towards her from the
gate on the high-road, smiling a little as she came, as if
to forestall any lack of welcome which might await her.

" I know," the intruder said, " I ought not to have
come in, but I have passed on the road twice, and it
looked so very beautiful that when I saw you through
the trees, I thought I might ask if you would let me
walk round,"

There was a distinctly strange accent, which went
far to excuse the idiom and the intrusion, but, as the
accent was not that of the Eastern States, Marian did
not at once recognize it as American. She looked, and
wondered, as she rose, instinctively but with reserve, to
do the honours of her wild flowers. She walked a step
or two in a stately way to show the path, and soon
found herself takinfj keen delifjht in directing her
visitor's enchanted eyes to nooks and vistas in the
blossoming shrubbery. Why should she not thus please
herself when it was also kindness to a stranger ?

" You are not English," she said, with gentle inter-
rogation.

" No, I am American ; but mother was brought up
near here. That was partly why we came ; but all her
friends are dead or gone."

" Have you walked out from town ? "

" We live quite near you, in the first row of cottages ;

!\ . r "^^^ '^.

184

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

but I dare say you have never noticed them, they are
so small."

And here Marian was left to her unaided wondering
for the time, for Star could only exclaim in ecstasy at
drifts of white pear and cherry bloom.

The hostess soon betrayed the turn of her thoughts.
After a few preliminary remarks, she ventured to ask,
with hesitation —

" Is your husband a socialist or a reformer ? Does he
think living among poor people the way to raise them ? "

" No, he is a newspaper reporter."

" Oh ! " — a moment's hesitation — " But I thought he
might have those ideas ; they are getting fashionable
now."

" No," —with sweet indifference — " we live thei'e
because we are poor. Mother's money was lost in a
bank, last summer. .It was very sad for us, but now
that I am married, my husband takes care of us all, so
we do not mind so much."

" It was very sad to lose the money," said Marian
sympathetically.

She was no snob at heart, but her ideas were con-
ventional. She was, in truth, unconsciously considering
whether she might follow the inclination she felt to make
friends with this lady on the strength of the money that
had been possessed, or whether her attitude towards
her ought to be that best described by the verb, " to
district." It was with a sort of medley of the two that
she went on asking questions which the other, in her
ignorance of the world, did not perceive to be patro-
nizing. Star told the story of death and illness, travel
and poverty, very simply but without reluctance ; and.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

185

re\
id.

when «he had finished, the choice between patronage
and friendship, which Marian had been considering, was
scarcely hers any longer. Her heart went out to the
impulsive girl at her side as to something fairer an<i
nobler than herself, as it had gone out to the beauty
of the spring. Beauty, like a broken Venus, has no
arms in which to take our offerings, while Love has
eager hands. It was not only because Star was more
fjuscinating than the W3'^ch elm that Marian's action in
admirino^ and likinof her was more irrevocable. There
was subtle response, a taking of what was given, a
giving something in return, a psj'^chical transaction that
passed without their observation as they talked on in
gentle, womanly fashion.

The elm tree was more beautiful when they came
back to the seat beside it, but in the mean time they
had only talked of common things, and Marian could
not but smile at the calm content with which Star
brought her story of trouble to its conclusion, ending
where she had begun — " Yes, it was very bad to be poor,
because we were not accustomed to it ; but now I am
married, we are very happy."

" It sounds like a fairy-tale — the prince arriving
just at the right time."

In response to this there came a shadow in the young
wife's eyes; but no word was said ; the shadow was unseen.

To Marian it was all fairy tale, for Star slipped
easily from great events to small, and, in discussing the
neighbourhood which was new to them both, it came out
that Star viewed it chiefly as a good place to do one's
own housework in. She told with pretty earnestness
Jiow fortunate it was that the town water-cart came out

186

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

twice a week over the road, for she had less dusting to
do in consequence, and liow the butclier and the green-
grocer were not too far away for her to walk to their
shof)s between the time that she made tlie beds and
the time that she must set about preparing the early
dinner. From that she fell to telling how well her
kitchen stove worked now that Hubert had cleverly
altered one of the dampers, and how good the recipes
were in a certain cookery book.

" I feel sorry now," said she, " for any one who
hasn't the work of a house to do. It is so interesting to
see how a cake bakes or how a fire burns up. I nevei*
get tired of managing fires ; it is like having a livnng
thing to play with — and then, fires are so pretty."

"But" — with diffidence — "isn't it hard on your
hands ? "

" It is only stupid servants who put their hands into
things. I am very clever. I manage the fires with the
tongs. Some people wear gloves, but I think that's
very clumsy. But Hubert says Englishwomen are very
seldom taught to do everything in a house. You see,
in California servants very often left at a day's notice,
and of course we had to learn to do everything."

" I think it is wonderfully clever of you " — Marian
spoke with still a lingering tinge of patronage — " I
don't see how you get time to go out." She gave an
admiring look at Star's pretty clothes.

" That is because you are accustomed to servants, and
don't consider that they make almost as much work as
the people they work for. Servants have to make their
own beds, get ready, eat, and clear away their own meals,
wash their own clothes, wipe up all they spill, dust off

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

187

ariau
,0 an

the dust they make in their clumsy way of doing things
— all that besides working for you. Naturally they have
not much time to spare. Then one can plan so as to
save one's self a world of trouble in a way that they
cannot. By two o'clock I am generally ready to put on
a nice frock, and I have nothing more to do till my
husband comes in to tea."

Marian was greatly iaterested. " May I come and
see your house ? " she asked.

Star gave the required invitation, and rose to go.
" But first I must tell you what I really came to say. I
was too shy to say it at first. Mrs. Couples asked me to
tell yoa that Mr. Tod is ill."

" Mr. Tod ! " gasped Marian faintly. A ghost could
not have startled her more than the words.

" Oh, I am sorry. I did not know it mattered to you,
or I would not have told you so abruptly."

" It doesn't matter to me," exclaimed Marian in-
humanly ; " but I did not know that you knew "

She was going to say, " Mrs. Couples," or " Mr. Tod,"
but she stopped feebly at the word " knew," full of
astonishment that this young matron, whom she had
never seen before, should know anything connected
with that uncomfortable incident.

" Mrs. Couples didn't know whether you would care
or not, and neither did I, of course ; but it seems so sad
for the young fellow to be ill, and no one in the w^orld
to care for him, that when my husband told Mrs. Couples
that you lived here, she came up to see if I would tell
you." After a moment, " My husband lived with Mrs.
Couples. He saw you, you know, the evening you went
to see Mr. Tod."

188 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IL

And now Star said again tliat she must go, and,
taking leave, she tripped away as lightly, as happily, as
she came.

Poor Marian ! The name of Tod resolved itself into
a bugbear to her shrinking feelings. She watched her
guest depart, wishing that she had had the good sense
to explain her connection with Tod, or, rather, that she
had no connection with him.

She had set the man and the incident wholly aside,
but now that his name was cast at her again, his rela-
tion to her assumed a different aspect. Illness might be
no more painful to Tod than his former disconsolate
yearning after an unknown sympathy, but the con-
ventional mind cannot slight physical suffering with the
easy contempt which it throws upon romantic vagaries.
Illness is pain, and the human heart, when not entirely
selfish, must wish to relieve it. And it appeared to
Marian that, in this case, some one expected something
— unjustly, certainly — nothing could be more unjust
than to imagine that Tod had any claim on her ! She
repeated that to herself at intervals with some in-
dignation. Nothing could be more annoying to her
than to find that her visit to Tod had been marked, and
she herself traced, not by one, but by several people.
f And, moreover, it seemed especially hard that, just when
she had taken a fancy to cultivate the acquaintance
of a charming stranger, who had presumably dropped
from the clouds of distance and disconnection, the
shadow of this silly travelling clerk should fall be-
tween them.

I "*mB>,

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

189

CHAPTER III.

Ince
)ed

Ithe
be-

Marian argued a good deal in her own mind against
her liking for her new acquaintance. She tried to tell
herself that the American had shown an unreserve
which was undignified, and a pitiful ignorance of pro-
priety ; on the other hand, she was evidently refined
and educated to a certain degree, apparently true and
good. This was the analysis, but it omitted that per-
sonality which is the sum of every one's qualities, and
which repels or attracts other personalities, why or how
we cannot tell. Such attraction begins as invisible seed,
which waits for circumstances to nourish it.

It seemed, however, quite clear to Marian that,
having formerly thought of visiting these cottages with-
out knowledge of their inmates, it was the more incum-
bent to go nov to one of them to inquire after the two
invalids of whom she had heard, and she determined to
go soon, that she might repair her foolish mistake in not
having answ^ered the message about Tod more incisively.

So it happened that Miss Gower, after walking from
her uncle's gate, stood on Hubert Kent's doorstep, and
knocked.

There was a feeble step, a feeble hand on the door,
and, when it was open, Marian stood before an elderly
woman, whose delicate shoulders drooped under an old
shawl, whose hand, transparently white, seemed scarce
strong enough to hold the door, and whose face was

190

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

filled witli both sufferinf^r and cheerful patience. Marian
felt that the fijlancc of the faded eyes, as it fell upon her,
was a benediction, yet their owner was thinking of
nothinfj but the business on hand.

" My daughter is not in, but I think she will be here
very soon ; will you come in and wait for her ? "

Marian was taken into the small front room. She
rose again from the largest chair which at first she had
taken.

" Won't you sit here instead ? " she begged.

Her voice and manner were full of impetuous solici-
tude, but the elder lady had a quiet bearing which
stilled the overflow of zeal on her behalf. She answered
inquiries about her health gently. She was better, she
said. The doctor considered her much better since they
had left the town. Then she went on to say, brightly,
that the spring was backward, that she and her daugh-
ters noticed its slow progress especially, because the
American spring always progressed much faster. She
gave one or two interesting details about her western
home, speaking of its scenery and seasons with a quiet,
deep afl[ection, implied in the interest with which she
described it, not expressed otherwise. Did she realize
that she could never see the beloved place again with
earthly eyes ? Marian wondered, longed to suggest her
sympathy, longed to know more of the tale the suffering
face told, to know much more of the joy and cheer that
was there.

"I see several more of these cottages are taken
already. Don't you dread having them filled up ? The
children will make a great noise."

A very bright smile came in answer.

-^^kk.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

191

mg
Ihat

:en

" Noise does not trouble mc as it docs some people."

" You like children ? "

" There is very often sonietliing tliat can bo done for
a chihl, and kindness to a child often opens the way to
tlie motlicr's lieart. The people wlio will live about
here will not be above needing occasional help,"

Marian spoke with hesitation, making earnest answer
to the feeling she perceived beneath tlie words.

" Do you really feel anticipation of pleasure in help-
ing your neighbours ? Is it pleasure to you to help
people ? It is not to me,"

The lady addressed had no answer to give. She
had not been in the habit of askinir herself what was
pleasure and what not. Hers was a mind that dea^t
only wath circumstances as they arose — with the ex-
ception, indeed, of some moral and theological theories.
Had nlie been asked if she thought it right to help
people, she would have had an answer ; but whether it
gave her pleasure — the last thing she was likely to dis-
cover was the great strength and beauty of her own
heart. She looked at Marian bending forward, intense
in her questioning, as a soul desiring heaven must be
when it recognizes a priest of God, and evaded the
((uestion, hardly comprehending it,

" Sometimes when poor people are in trouble, a little
advice and encouragement goes a long way, I do not
know that I should have chosen this locality for my
daughter, but it certainly will have its privileges as well
as drawbacks."

" And you — you will like to go out and in among
these people like a sister of mercy ? I can understttnd
any one doing that from a sense of duty, becoming

192

BEGGAIIS ALL.

[Hook II.

Ri >

interested mul not disliking it, but I cannot faney look-
ing upon it as a pleasiu'e, something to be looked for-
ward to, like meeting a friend, for instance. Do you
look on it that way ? That seems to me the highest."

Again the point was passed over.

" I shall not go among our neighbours much, perhaps.
I may not be here very long; but 1 an» sure my daughtei-
will make friends with them."

The words, " I may not be here very long," spoken
with cheerful, matter-of-fact accent, conveyed to Marian
their precise meaning, that she thought of death as the
only exit from that place — that she expected to tind it
soon. So Marian got no answer to her question in
words; none the less did she know that its answer, and
the answer to the far tU'eper one, " How may I, too, tind
this joy (" were to be found in this woman's inmost lib'.
if she could but tind them. She ceasod hor nuestions,
and soon iK'gan instead to tell her own troubles in an
idle way, ilrawn on by the magic of motherly sympathy.

" No, 1 do not like our new house very nmch. I like
it for some things. I like the grounds, and T was ghul
to leave the house on the parade ; but — oh, I know you
will laugh at me — the fact is, I dislike the reputation it
has of being haunted. 1 think it was dishonest to sell
it to uncle without letting us know."

*' If," began Mrs. Thompson, " it could be regarded as
a defect."

" I know you will wiy that a ghost is nothing, and 1
quite agree with you in theory, but I wouUl rather not
be nnich alone in a house that is said to be haunted. I
think it Iti a defect."

Here came Star, The click of her latchkey, the

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

103

(1 as

Mul I
not
II. I

the

trip of lier feet, brou^lit i,'aii>ty. liefore they saw her
her sweet voice was ca!Hii<;-. ■ Where are you, inotlier
mine ? Wliere are you, sweetest of niotliers ^ " As she
reached the room she became sedate.

What had been sjiid to tlie mother must be repeateil
to tlie dauij^liter. SUir had no sooner cauglit an i(h'a of
what they were saying than slie became })crfeetly
interested. iMarian was ctnifcssini;' hei- nervous tremors
to them as she had never confessed them to herself.

" It is so romantic," nr^^cd Star, her healthy nerves
and practical mind ii)clininjjf her ti) jeer at the tale.

" If the tradition were of a ladv iu white I should
admit that it was pictures(jue, or a man in clh^ins, or
even a skelet^Hi ; but a baby that is not seen, but only
heard to cry, that is neither romantic nor picturesque —
it is horrible."

" But it is a mere idle servant's tale ! "

" I believe it is true that in the tijiie of the last
occupant a poor baby whom no one wanted was left at
the door in the ni<ijht. The people who left it intended
to leave it at the Orphanage further up the road. How-
ever, the master of the house would not have it taken in
or touched ; it was left there till morning, and then it
was dead."

" What a shame ! " cried Star naturally.

Marian went on wistfully ; her overcharijjed mind
relieved itself in uninteudeil confidence. If to be
suddenly, unpremeditatedly contidential to newly made
frienils outside our own circle of life on matters which
are carefully concealed from those whom we meet daily
is an extraonlinary thing, then Marian was iloing that
whicli was extraordinary.

194

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

<
u ,
1 1

(

" Yes, it was a shameful thing ; but I suppose there
were reasons against taking in the child which he
allowed to weigh with him. My uncle's servant said a
curious thing. He is a very peculiar man. I am almost
afraid of him."

"What did he say?"

" I was obliged to speak to him on the subject, for,
although he came first only as a nurse and personal
servant, since we came out here uncle has given a good
deal of the charge of the place into his hands. So when
I was afraid that the tale would frighten the maids I
had to speak to him. I made sure that he would
express indignation at leaving a child in the cold like
that, for he is, or else pretends to be, excessively kind ;
but, though he took occasion to give his opinion, he said
that most people would have done the same thing under
slightly different circumstances. He spoke of the
ghostly cry, too, as if it really existed, and when I
taxed him with believing such a foolish thing, he said
that the same ghost haunted every house in the kingdom
where there was superfluous wealth, if people had only
the perception to hear and see it. I sometimes think
the man is mad ; he is so very odd ; he alarms me."

" What did he mean ? "

" From what he said, I gathered that he thought the
rich were in some way responsible for the degraded
condition of the poor. He seems to think the children
at least of the poor might be saved. But I can't tell
what he really believes ; it may be all hypocritical cant.
I am afraid of him, and I am really afraid of th
ghost."

They comforted her as well as they could. They did

II.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

105

the
ided
Iclren

tell
;ant.

did

not know her well enough to say what was uppermast
in their minds. The mother would fain have said, " God
is everywhere ; in His loving presence what can harm
you ? " and the daughter, " You are too much alone, poor
tiling ; if you had a good husband and a mother and
sister always with you, you would not have a chance to
feel afraid." Afterwards, when their speech was more
peremptorily called for, they said these things, but now
they could only beat round the subject, as strangers
may, and glided from it to another.

They told her about Tod. He had taken a fever of
rheumatic nature.

" I know nothing about him," said Marian fretfully.
" It was the merest chance I had occasion to speak to
him ; but if he is in need " She fingered her purse.

" No," said Star ; " my husband says he can pay if
lie is not ill so long that he loses his situation. He is
of some value as a draper's buyer, because he has really
an exceptionally good eye for colour; but, if he can't
travel, it would be difficult for him to get into new sort
of work. He isn't clever."

" I should suppose not," said Marian with slight
sarcasm. " But it is one of the surprising things in life
how silly people manage to get a living."

They said that people who seemed weak in many
ways had often some special talent. They instanced
Mrs. Couples, telling how truly kind and careful she
was, so that, although her house seemed ill-managed,
lier rooms were never vacant and her lodgers had a
great regard for her. Star explained with satisfaction
that her husband still had the habit of dropping in on
his way home for a word with his former landlady.

196

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

When Marian left them she knew that she had been
gossiping, and she was the better for it.

Whether Mrs. Thompson's opinion, that if Marian
had had a more gracious confidence in the Divine Being
in whom she believed she would not have distressed
herself about the haunting of the house, was correct or
not, Star's conclusion was certainly correct, that family
life would have banished her morbid fears. But who
that is morbid knows it ? Marian, with all her intelli-
gence, only half guessed that it was she herself, rather
than the house, that was haunted. Whatever happened
to arrest her emotions in any way recurred again and
again to her thoughts, often gathering importance with
time, rather than losing it in the natural, wholesome
way. She was habitually gracious to the servants,
attentive to her uncle, and not neglectful of the new
social obligations his wealth created for her ; yet there
were manj^ g^ps to be filled by self-subsisting existence.
She had no one else to live in and to — she lived for
others ; but all the blank that was left by the lack of
what those who loved her would have given was filled
up by restless, uneasy feelings. If she made a call on
neighbouring gentry, some supposed blunder or awk-
wardness of her own would dog her path for days. She
was uneasy about her uncle's man, Gilchrist. His
peculiarities persistently attracted her notice, and the
thought that all was not right preyed on her mind. She
was haunted by the thought of the ghost story, and now
she was followed, too, by the remembrance of Tod lying
ill and the doubt if, after all, she was bound in any way
to feel concern for him. Now, too, she was shadowed
by the thought of Star, but that was a happy haunting.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

197

Tlie bright face, the gay air, the tiny home, that seemed
to her filled only with perfect love, grew upon her heart
with stronger and stronger attraction. Why did she care
so much to see Star again ? The freshly tinted cheek,
the prettily turned chin, the j^oung eyes so full of
interest external, so lacking in all thought of self, —
these, no doubt, were the primary cause. Star was a
young person of great attraction when attention was
once drawn to her charms. Hubert had seen this at a
glance ; Dr. Bramwell hatl discovered it more slowly ;
Marian was learning it now, but in a more selfless and
perfect way, as the true love of a woman for a woman
must usually be more selfless, more perfect, than that
which a man bestows on her.

The buds in the beech copse swelled and broke into
leaf; the hyacinths faded in the gi*ass ; laburnums
bloomed.

" ' Go and return Miss Gower's call ! ' " exclaimed
Hubert to his wife, repeating her words to him.

" Why not ? She came to call first on me, you
know."

"The devil she did!"

" Hubert, I have often told you you must not say
such words. If one slipped out before mother ! "

He sat, his day's work done, looking at his wife with
a glance of undisguised curiosity and admiration.

" I decline to give any advice on the subject of your
acquaintances. I told you you'd be turned out if you
went into old Gower's grounds, but, instead of that,
you've got the lady to call on you. It seems you can
pilot your own course, so by all means go on in your
own way."

198 BEGGARS ALL. [Book II

" I shall go because I like her," said Star. " I take a
fancy to her."

She was folding the supper cloth, and stood with the
white folds in her hands and looked cat of the window.
It seemed that she meditated something for a .noment,
for her face softened, and a warm light came into her
eyes. She stood erect, as only women with strong, well-
knit muscles stand ; her hands looked firm and skilful
to finish the work that for a moment was suspended.

Hubert crossed the room to her.

" Like her as much as you choose, my girl, but don't
like her better than me." He put his hand, not roughly,
under her chin, and turned the face for a hasty kiss. He
went to his carpenter's bench, at which he loved to
work.

Not that night, but another, Marian told about her
new acquaintance as she sat at her uncle's dinner table.
She sat in jewels and lace. At her right hand was a
worn-out colonel — worn out, but not with work or ill
health honestly come by. Opposite her was that red-
eyed, white-faced man who was her uncle. His puflfy
hand lay by the stem of a wine-glass, his gouty feet
were stretched on a cushioned rest. And Marian spoke
about Star ; not any one word of what she thought or
" felt did she tell, but the bare facts, that must be told
some time if she ever wished to treat Star as an equal
in her uncle's house.

" American ladies, and lost their fortunes ! The deuce
they did. How do you know they ever had it to lose ? "

" She told me so."

" And now she's married a newspaper fellow. They're
a stupid lot, invariably write things wrong ; and he's of a

■

Book IIJ

BEGGARS ALL.

199

low grade. But it might be worse. Scribes from ancient
times have the right to ' Esquire.' "

" You said she was young and pretty." The colonel
stroked his moustache. There was a drawl on the words,
not prolonged enough to be rude, in his tone. " I should
say, then, it didn't matter much about the husband or the
fortune either — eh, Gower ? "

Gower laughed, or made a.i apology for a laugh, to
acknowledge his friend's wit.

" Have her here, by all means," he said.

The laburnum hung out its blossoms and shed them ;
the ground under the apple trees had a fleece of white
and pink ; leaves grew big.

Star seemed in no hurry to pay her call. Some
instinct taught her the value of time to crescent love.

CHAPTER rV^

Star's married life had just begun to w^ork itself out in
the plain pattern of working days, when there began to
be woven through it a new thread of jet, black with
anxiety and the thought of suffering, glistening with
hope. She began to desire greatly that the surgical
treatment which promised to restore the use of Richarda's
crippled limb might now be procured.

At first she did not think of it as a near possibility,
but thoughts shape themselves by the course of daily
events.

Young Dr. Bramwell came to see the invalids in their

200 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IL

new home. Hubert had made him understand he was
to be paid for his visits, so he did not come so often ; but
no one who walked on the brink of the precipice of
death, as Mrs. Thompson did, ought, in his opinion, to be
^eft entirely without a doctor's care. He madr up his
mind to make his fees nominal.

On this, his first visit there, he said, " And then, there
is your sister — what of her ? "

He spoke to Star as she stood, with new matronly
dignity, at her house door to show him out.

" Oh — Richarda," she said with hesitation. She did
not immediately say more. It gave her some slight un-
easiness that Bramwell had found them again so soon,
and should urge the continuance of his visits. She could
not at once collect her thoughts to know what was
best to say about Richarda.

So Bramwell left the question to work its own way.

Star's attention was turned once more to her sister's
constant suffering, and to the only way of its relief. She
did not speak her thoughts ; to the minds of these women,
inexperienced in surgical matters, the idea of the
necessary operation was fraught with black horror.
They had once pr ared themselves to meet it, but mis-
fortune had turned them back, and now Star would not
'' bring forward again what, as yet, she saw no way of
accomplishing.

As to Bramwell, her sentiment toward him and his
kind ofSoiousness was as inconsistent as human sentiment
when complex invariably is. Personal liking, gratitude
for his genuine kindness, an undefined fear that he might
be finding in his liking for her an incentive to this kind-
ness unconfessed to himself — these were mingled with a

iv...

300K II.]

BEGGAKS ALL.

201

sore grudge against liim for having received her confi-
dence on that distracted night of her n" other's sudden
increase of illness. She knew she had cc^f 'ssed tx) him
that love was not the foremost reason of her mnrriage.
Her new loyalty to Hubert rebelled against this memory ;
the rebellion emphasized the memory, and a feeling of
offence toward Bramwell was the unreasonable result.
She could have forgiven a thousand faults in a man who
showed such unflagging attention to her mother, but
she could not forgive him this, which was no fault of
his, that she had happened to speak imprudently to him.

Yet there was nothing in Bramwell's manner to
suggest that he had given a second thought to that
unlooked-for confidence. He had a cheerful, busy way
with him always, as if he basked in a continual
present, like a willing horse to which one does not
naturally attribute memories. Star's nature was, more-
over, too sweet to dwell on a grudge or make much of
it. Without consideration, she tried instinctively to
forget and live it down, to forget also that idea that his
manner to her betokened admiration.

Bramwell came again, not too soon.

" Your sister ought to go into the hospital for that
operation," he said.

Star clasped her hands nervously. The thought of
herself or of Bramwell went utterly from her.

" I know," she said slowly, " that it seems so to you ;
but to be a private patient in the hospital would cost
more than we can possibly afford. And then, mother has
old-fashioned ideas ; she could not think of a hospital
ward as a comfortable place to any one accustomed to
comfort. We have been rich, you know." She looked

202

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

up to hini pleadingly. Her last sentence was simply
pathetic; there was not a hint of pride or vanity.
" Richarda would not be separated from mother, you
know. She would rather ^o on sufferinf^."

" I know," he said. He was moved to see for the
moment only as she saw. Although he really believed
the hospital to be safer than the home for Richarda, he
did not urge his belief. " My father, I think, spoke to
Mrs. Thompson about it before, and so did one of the
deacons of the chapel," he remarked, as if to admit that
the matter was settled.

That day it happened that Bramwell went on down
the road to call on Mr. Gower in his father's stead. It
also happened that he was shown for a few minutes into
Marian's drawing-room, and that he mentioned to her
his visit to Kent's cottajje.

" You know them ? " His face brightened as he
looked at Marian in answer to her appreciative words.

It was natural that these two should begin their talk
about Kent's household in the light of their mutual
labours for the culture of the lower classes at " Babbits."
They both entered a protest against such beginning.

" I felt that I could make a real friend of Mrs.
Kent."

" Oh," cried he, " she is a lady. So is the mother ; so
are they all. I don't know when my interest has been
so awakened. I confess I entertain a very high admira-
tion for Mrs. Kent."

Marian remembered the sunbeam that had fallen
upon him as he read about love and honour in the dingy
schoolroom. The memory only came because it was
there, in that ray of light, that she had happened to see

ii^

Book IL]

BEGGARS ALL.

2or>

him last, yet he had brou<^ht witli him now, into her
somewhat gloomy drawing-room, something more than
the mere memory of the sunljeam, something akin to it.
His healthy, handsome countenance, with its rich colour-
ing of ruddy l)eard and bright blue eyes, gave forth a
certain light of itself; but the tlash of frank, out-leaping
sympathy seemed more than sunshine to Marian, who in
that house found none of it.

" We Tcnew something of them before the marriage,"
he siiid. " My fatlier, as you know, always keeps a
number of such unfortunate people on his list."

" His work among the poor is well known," inter-
rupted Marian, murmuring her knowledge and approba-
tion in the same breath.

" I was going to say that I had reason to believe that
this young Mrs. Kent is not only a charming woman,
but has elements of real heroism in her character ; in-
deed, I may say that I know her to be capable of the
utmost self-sacrifice." He went no further. He would
have thought it dishonourable to suggest the form
he believed Star's sacrifice to have taken. " You
may smile at my vehemence. Miss Gower, but I
get greatly interested in some of the humbler people
my father and I visit. I believe in enthusiasm. My
father does not ; he is systematically benevolent on
principle, and I often tell him I think that is where he
sometimes fails in accomplishing that which he would
be glad to see accomplished — the drawing of different
classes nearer together for mutual help and benefit.
When you speak of making friends with Mrs. Kent, I
think you strike the keynote of the only true way of
helping any one,"

204 BEOOARS ALL. [B»>ok M

" But when I said tliat I only meant to say that I <liil
not feel any (lifforence of claHH between Mrs. Kent and
myself. She impressed me decidedly an belongings to
the more gentle and retired class of Americans, and
these, when they come to us in the pride of wealth, are
received everywhere."

" Exactly what I feel. Indeed, Mi*s. Thompson is a
woman whom, if she were starving, one could not
I)atronize. Still, of course, this marriage has stamped
them now with Kent's class in life."

He looked at Marian with expectancy, as if wonder-
ing if she would stand to her guns and again proclaim
her desire for friendship.

" What seems to me so perfectly refined about Mrs.
Kent is, that she accepts the situation so entirely ; there
is no harping on what she has been accustomed to, and
no apologizing for what she has not ; she finds nothing
beneath her."

He lifted his eyes to Marian's in a smile of perfect
comprehension ; his soul seemed to beam upon hers for
the moment, yet the occasion was trifling.

" Exactly," he said again. " A superficial refinement
feels itself above everything that does not appear fine."

It was a small thing on which they had agreed ; the

" sentiment was almost trite, but the agreement was so

perfect, it seemed to give him a certain glow of pleased

interest in her. Marian could not but feel the reflex of

the glow.

" Yes," she went on, " a lady's-maid, when she marries
a man of plainer manners than her own, feels above
him; but I notice Mrs. Kent speaks always as if she
looked up to her husband."

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

205

Bramwell dropped his glance to the gloves he lield in
his hands.

" Kent is a fine follow," he said thoughtfully. " He
has been uncommonly generous for a man in his position.
I feel no doubt that the marriage was quite the best
thing that could come to them ; they were practically
starving. It seem« a pity, though " — here he looked up,
seeking her assent — " whatever caste is worth, she has
lost it."

It did seem a pity. Marian thought of Star — her
prettiness, her charms — and perfectly; agreed again with
his wistful comment. Her uncle never agreed with her
on any subject. This was luxury.

" Therefore," he said, " I admire you the more for
making a friend of her — I do, indeed, Miss Gower — and
I don't think it the less a good work because you feel
little dissimilarity of tastes. We need that the classes
should become more friendly with one another, but it
is absurd to expect the extremes of upper and lower to
embrace and find anything in common ; it is on the
borderland that amalgamation ought to begin, and /
think it begins more nobly there. Many a fine lady
will try to do good in the slums, and moan over her
failure, and yet refuse to shake hands with her dress-
maker."

His eyes brightened and lightened as his speech went
on, until, at the end, his soul seemed again to beam in his
face straight upon her own. She had never thought
before of what he had just said, but again she agreed,
and, in the perfect agreement, she felt that her soul had
somehow been looked at too closely, and she experienced
the need of interposing conventionality as a screen.

20f)

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

" I am afraid you are a socialist." She laufjhod an
unmeaning little laugh.

He too drew back a little. He was earnest, if he
was anything, and he felt some jar he did not pause to
understand. Gilchrist came to answer his inijuiries, and
he rose to go in his best professional manner, but paused
to sav —

" No, I do not claim to be a socialist, except in so far
as I believe in brotlierly love between all men. Take
care of the brotherly love, and society will take care of
itself, I slKHild sa3^ But love between fellow men im-
plies trust, and trust needs understanding, and it comes
back to tlie same thing — that the classes must shake
hands, and be what you call ' really friends.' "

" You have thought deeply on these subjects," said
Marian, standing. His vvord.s appeared to her the words
of wisdom, but possibly that was because he was so
handsome.

Bramwell went out of the room with Gilchrist.

When they were gone, Marian paced up and down
the room. Some ancients thought that pleasure was a
slow motion of the brain ; if so, Marian's brain was then
in motion. The young man had brought happiness into
the rooiA with him, as he might have brought a perfume.
/i little while after he left, it passed away again. It is
a great gift thus to be able to carry happiness.

Gilchrist, perceiving the gift, used influence to liave
tiie Junior rather than the senior physician in his
master's sitting-room as often as might be. Youth has
a power of its own to lift age out of its self -conscious-
ness. Gilchrist was kind to his master in wishing for
the young man's visits, but Charles Bramwell did not

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

207

jippreciate the preferonco ; lie went as seldom as niiiifht
be ; lie grudged the time given. The gold of the old
man's fee was nothing to him in his young enthusiasm
for humanity, and, among human beings, he discriminated
as to which should have his enthusiasm.

CHAPTER V.

That night I^tarian retii-ed to her own room feeling glad,
as she always did, that her solitary evening in the
drawing-room had come to an end. Her uncle and his
friend the colonel were lounging in an upper billiard-
room ; the house was not yet shut for the night, although
most of the servants were gone to beil.

IMarian felt nnich less lonely in the quiet and ilark-
ness of her own beilroom than in the lai'ger rooms.
The light put out, she opened the window to the dewy
warmth of the June night, and, white-robed, glided to
her place among the pillows.

Eleven o'clock struck from the spire of the nearest
church. Marian was almost dozing. She thought, as
she always did think when alone in darkness, of the
ghost tale ; but she had never heard the haunting cry,
and gradually she had grown accustomed to the idea of
the tale and its contradicting silence.

She had almost slept, when suildeidy all her nerves
were thrilled. Surely that was a baby crying ! A little
wail of lioarse, short cries it gave. " I couhl not have
imagined it, for I did not remember that babies cried in

208

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

that way." Marian spoke with quiet dignity to herself
as she sat up, very much as she would have spoken to
an incredulous friend. She sat amid the fine linen of
her bed ; the large room was undisturbed, the furniture
showed like stately shadows here and there in the almost
darkness, but there was nothing in its well-known
modern shape to suggest terror.

Again that cry — certainly a wailing infant's cry,
coming she could not tell whence.

Marian was not a girl ; she was not panic-stricken.
She disliked it very much. In that house any other
sound would have made her less nervous. Yet, now that
she really heard the sound that had so long been the
object of her aversion, she braced herself to endure and
consider it intelligently.

There was silence for a few minutes ; what she had
heard seemed like a dream. But again she heard it. In
that hour and place, a wailing baby ! Could it be of
flesh and blood ?

She made herself get up and go to the window, for,
if the sound were physical, it must come from thence.
On any other side of the house it would have seemed
more possible, but her window looked out on a thicket
of laurels surrounded on all sides by a thorn hedge ;
.beyond was a short bit of covered yew walk, seldom
traversed by any one, not leading to the house except by
a roundabout path. If Marian's window had not been
well above the laurels it would have let in but little
light ; as it was, it looked down in the day-time upon
their glistening tops, and at night upon their impene-
trable darkness. From the back of the house a long
line of unused and locked conservatories extended and

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

209

3en

glimmered white, but they were too far away to form a
hiding-place for the child who gave this cry, if child it
were.

She stood at the window now, to reassure her judg-
ment that that was the last place any human baby was
likely to be in, carried by whomsoever. The servants'
rooms and entrances were at the other side of the house ;
in a room beneath hers, whose window was darkened by
the laurels, Gilchrist slept.

Again came the cry. Such a pitiful weak wailing !
Her heart forgot all fear; it was wrung by only one
desire — to get the baby in her arms and comfort it. She
looked about wildly, leant out of the window to listen,
drew back to the centre of the room and listened. She
could not tell where the sound came from, whether from
the window or floor or walls ; but one thing heartened
and strengthened her — it certainly came from some
definite place, for it grew less as she retreated ; it was
not mysteriously around her in the room, as a ghostly
cry might be.

She began hastily dressing l.erself. It seemed to her,
although she was pitifully inexperienced, that the cry
was not that of a very young infant. The voice sounded
weak, either through long wailing or illness, but she
thought it was not like that of a babe in the first w^eeks
of its life.

She paused in reaching for her dressing-gown,
arrested by Laaring the murmur of speech amid the
cries — such a curious murmur of sound, a sort of whis-
pered whine. She was confused for a moment with the
strong idea that she had some time heard a voice like it
in cadence. Now she knew ! It was a beggar woman

210 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IF.

who used to stand on the parade whose voice she had
thought of ; but that could have no connection here.

The murmur stopped. The baby still cried.

Surely, surely if she" could get it into her own warm
arms and stop its little mouth with kisses and pace her
room with it, if need be, it would cease wailing and be
comforted. She thought this instinctively, not with her
reasonable mind.

She threw her dress upon her with breathless speed,
then paused again to listen.

The cry was distinctly lessening, as if smothered by
a cloak or carried to a greater distance. She listened
several moments, standing alert, ready to run. Losing
the sound, she tarried no longer, but ran along the upper
hall, down the central staircase. She stopped, uncertain
which way to turn, under the swinging lantern at the
foot of the stair. The front door was before her, the
drawing-rooms on either side. Should she explore fii*st
the interior, or the laurels and bushes in the warm black
night without ?

The quiet, familiar aspect of the stairs and hall made
her waver in her quest. It struck her as absurd to begin
rushing about to find a child in precincts where children
were not.

Just then she noticed that the front door was ajar.
In a moment Gilclirist entered. He started slightly at
seeing her, as was not unnatural, for she looked excited,
and was not in her ordinary garb,

" Where have you been, Gilchrist ? "

He stooped to bolt the door as he answered. " I went
out on the steps before fastening the door for the night.
It's a fine night, but dark."

Book II.]

BEGGAKS ALL.

211

lade

rent
[ght.

He had not well finished what he said before she,
roused to her first purpose by seeing the bolt slip, signed
hastily to him to unfasten it again, and walked out into
the night. She stood a moment on the top of the wide
stone steps and descended them to the carriage drive.
She glided round by a narrower path toward that side
of the house where her window was. She paused in
sight of the black laurels and turned again. Every-
where she listened and peered into the darkness, across
the lawn and under the trees. The air was thick with
perfume of flowers and sweet foliage. A gi-eat sycamore
not far off" hung out its leaves in rounded clouds of
blackness. Silence and darkness seemed to be wooing
one another undisturbed. Marian, in her trailing light
gown, came back across the chive, looking like a slight,
helpless thing, baffled by the vastness of the night.

Gilchrist stood upon the steps, looking down upon
her, surprise and concern manifest in his attitude and
face. So disappointed and foolish did she feel, so wistful
with that gi'eat feeling of pity which the babe's cry had
aroused in her, that she would fain have confided some-
thing of her troubled feeling to him, if not by words,
by allowing a natural expression of face and tone. Had
she been able for one moment to consider him as a
human being, she might have acted naturally and pro-
perly ; but Marian was conventional ^vith that conven-
tionality which tortures noble principles into mean
rules of action. Gilchrist was a man, and he was a
servant.

" Gilchrist," she began (the word itself said, " I am
quite indifferent to what has occurred, but, although j'ou
are only a servant, I may as well explain to you why I

212

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

went out"), "I thought I heard a child crying. I
thought possibly some one had brought one about."

" I am sorry you have heard anything that troubled
you."

The remark appeared to be aimed more at her real
state of feeling than she liked.

" I suppose there can't be a child anywhere," siie said
coldly, but still looking about with a puzzled air at the
hall and the various doors round it.

" There are certainly none in the house or near it
now," he said.

"Oh, very well. If you are sure of that there is
nothing more to be said. Mr. Gower trusts you entirely
to close the house, Gilchrist." Had she made the
suspicious addition, " I hope you are trustworthy," she
could not have conveyed an unkind meaning more clearly.

She really walked up the stairs very grandly, her
head erect, and a magnificent indifference in every line
of her trailing gown ; and it was all completely thrown
away, for the man at the bottom of the stair was not
thinking of her airs in the least. His expression was
I'ather that of a brave man, weary at heart, ready to
crave help from the true, kind, woman's heart which he
knew she possessed.

He watched her up the stair. He put his hand on
the railing with an impulse to follow and speak to her.
Then he turned uneasily to his responsible work of
examining the fastenings of the house.

There was nothing romantic-looking about this man.
His features were plain, his whiskers bushy, his form
stout. Yet he held within him a heroic purpose and a
brave heart.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

213

As for Marian, slie was puzzled and worried. When
she lay down again she perceived, going over the thing
in memory, the equivocal nature of Gilchrist's replies.
She tossed about, full of suspicious imaginings.

CHAPTER VI.

ler.

d a

Next day Star made her first formal call on Miss Gower,
Never once did it occur to her to feel out of place in the
drawing-room of the big house, or to suppose that her
hostess had been obliged to ask permission to receive her
there. If Miss Gower had not happened to have a rich
uncle, would she not be worse off than Star ; nay, would
she not be much better off than she was even now if
she had a humbler home and a husband as kind as
Hubert ? That was the way Star looked at it. She did
not suspect patronage because she did not expect it.
She greeted her hostess with simple kindness.

Marian did not patronize, but she felt a certain
elation of heroism, an elation bom of Bramwell's sym-
pathy and a,dmiration. In all that is true there is some-
thing false ; in the music of the truest friendship there
are some false notes, and they sometimes come thick at
the beginning. Marian's natural liking for Star was a
much nobler thing than her conscious generosity, but
they mingled in the warmth of her kindness.

The incident of the preceding night had this bearing
on Star's visit, that Marian ^ as really overwrought,
troubled, and nervous ; and again, under the influence of

214

BEGGARS ALL.

[B<X)K IT.

SO frank a sympathy, she told her tale and sought
advice. Star had not much remark to make or counsel
to give, but she listened, and that was much. Then she,
in turn, spoke of anxiety in a general way, and began to
particularize, as gossips do, upon her own case, and told
of her desire for Richarda, what Bramwell had said,
what she feared and wished.

The confidence was in neither case complete, nor did
it profess to be ; it was only going round the outside of
things.

They talked of hospitals, agreed that the one in town
was not of the best. They could talk with unreserve
about that external theme.

Ah, well, such talking lightens the heart and is a real
good, but it does not alter circumstances. Marian felt
relieved in spirits, but her cause of uneasiness remained.
When Star went home it remained true, as before, that
Richarda was suffering, that the only way of relief was
painful enough at the best, and that its pain would be
increased a thousandfold to her sensitive, imaginative
nature, by being obliged to enter the common ward of a
hospital. This increase might be all in the idea ; but
ideas were real to Eicharda, and to her mother for her
sake.

Bramwell came again to the cottage. He was un-
doubtedly officious ; perhaps his officiousness was right,
perhaps not ; he was evidently true-hearted, bent, upon
all things, on doing good.

" I have only come in for a friendly chat ; this is not
a professional visit," he said, meaning that he would not
put it in his bill, and they understood.

He spoke to Mrs. Thompson. He was sitting in the

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

215

lie

front room, talking to her. Richarda's lounge was in the
room that day. Star was there.

" The fact is, I have come to talk about this opera-
tion."

They each felt the heart tremor of the othei-s. They
looked at him solemnly.

" We all know that it ought to be done. You decided
that before you came half across the world to attend to
it. My father has no doubt about the expediency of
it, nor have I ; and Bloom is the man to do it." (Bloom
was the surgeon whose name had made the name of the
town more famous.) " You don't want Miss Thompson
to go into the hospital," he continued cheerily, although,
indeed, he was speaking to an awful barrier of troubled
fear. " Well, what I have come to say is, have it done
here. The upper room is light enough and large enough.
My father knows Bloom, and so do I ; he will come and
do it if we ask him, and he need not come more than
perhaps twice. I will attend the recovery, and report, to
him."

" No," said Star ; " my husband would not let us take
any part of it as a charity, and "

" There would be some expense involved — you would
need a trained nurse for at least a week — but not the
expense you imagine ; and as for my time, you know,
it's not so very valuable yet. People won't trust me
when they can get my father."

How bright his blue eyes were, how honest his laugh !
How like an electric flash relieving the overcharged
atmosphere his little pleasantry about his fees! They
smiled in answer to his smile, and felt their hearts — that
were, oh, so heavy on this terrible subject — lighter.

216

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

If i

" We could not add in the slightest to my son-in-law's
expenses." The mother spoke with firm dignity. " He
has " (a slight pause), " as you know, been more than
generous already."

" This is not an ordinary thing." He leaned toward
Star. " There is no doubt that it will save your sister
great suffering, and in all probability restore her power
of walking."

There was an eagerness in Richarda's eyes that told
what suffering better than aught else could. One suffers
much before one is eager to bear the surgeon's knife.

He lookcjd for a moment at Richarda's eyes. "I
think it must be managed," he said ; and ^hen he bent
forward to examine and admire a fitting Hubert had
put on the grate. It was a narrow pane of glass sus-
pended as a blower above the upper part of the opening
to prevent the chimney smoking and act as a screen to
the eyes. He had never seen anything more ingenious,
he said. He looked at it, handled it, asked questions
about it. He was quite absorbed in it till he rose to go.
Surely the operation in question could not be such an
awful thing if the man who took the responsibility of
urging it could, a moment after, become so much in-
terested in a fire-blower ! Hitherto it had seemed some-
thing which, even if it could be compassed, was too
dreadful to be freely discussed. Their hearts were much
lightened. Now, at least, he had accomplished this, that
they could talk of it cheerfully among themselves.

Star attended him to the door. When one is one's
own maid-of -all-work, what else can be done ? It was
afternoon, and the young lime trees up and down the
road were casting light gi'een shadows. Star was dressed

B<»K II.]

BEGQARS ALL.

217

as ladies dress. Slie stocid at leisure in the little brick
portal, considering his words. She felt a glow of gi-ati-
tude for his delicate kindness which she could not try
to repress.

He looked at her with undisguised admii-ation. He
knew no other woman who could have lit tires, washed,
cooked, and served, as this one had thj ' day, and yet
have remained so imperturbable in her pretcy ladyism.

" I thank you very much," said Star. Her voice
would not come with clear dignity ; it faltered on such
a momentous theme. " But I hardly think my husband
would submit to — to taking anything that was not "

" I understand " — hastily. " I honoui* his feeling,
and also Mrs. Thompson's scruple alx)ut adding to his
expense ; but the end to be gained is so givat. You
cannot, at least, object to my asking Bloom what, as a
mere matter of business, is the lowest figure he would do
it for?"

" Could you ask that ? " She raised doubtful eyes to
him. " If I knew what he said, I should perhaps have
a clearer idea as to whether it would be possible."

" Well, if you wish to know, I am not sure but that
I can tell you pretty nearly without asking him. He
would do it for you for twenty -five or thirty pounds ;
and the nurse, my fees, medicine, and all attendant
expenses would be another fifteen pounds. Now, it is
not much to ask of a fellow like Bloom, who bowls in
guineas by the thousand from rich folk, that he would
remit his fee, and there you have the whole expenses
down to fifteen pounds. Consider the gain." He took
his driving whip from the lintel of the door against
which he had leaned it, and signed to the urchin in tiny

218

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

livery who was guardedly exercisingf tlio horse in his trap.
" I feel tlmt it ouglit to be done, Mrs. Kent. I think
in Bloom's hands there is no fenr but that it will be
most successful. I will watch her afterwards most care-
fully. I will come three times a day if need be." At
that, without looking at her again, he went away ; he
had shaken hands in the room.

Star did not stand to watch him drive off, but she
did go into the kitchen and stand a few minutes by
herself. She loved her sister; her heart beat high at
the thought of this physical salvation for her. But it
was not of Richarda that it seemed necessary for her to
think at that moment ; something else was more instant
— a thought which had troubled her before rose again in
her mind. Why should Bramwell be so ardent in bring-
ing this salvation ? Was he in this only devoting him-
self to the high duties of his profession, or Here

thought paused, abashed. She remembered Miss Gower's
remark about her marriage, that the fairy prince had
come just in time. No ; she knew that was not true of
Hubert. He was no fairy prince, nor could he be said
to have come as such princes do. But if — if she had not
answered that advertisement, if she had not marrie<l
Hubert, would a prince have come ? Had he been on
his way when she had rashly forestalled him ?

But then she had married Hubert.

It is difficult indeed for any one on earth to penetrate
the secret of the might-have-been. Star, standing in her
clean kitchen, looking out at the few green things in her
little back garden, certainly could not attempt to do it.
She left the question, as her simple mind left many
questions, as a bee leaves a flower when, after working

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

219

a golden path down its chalice, it finds no lioney there.
She had another flower of petalled circuniKtance to
investigate — the immediate future rather than the past.
This held the honey of scope for virtuous decision.

Bramwell might have become her prince — who could
tell ? But she had married Hubert, and now this other
was urging a plan which would bring him a constant
visitor to the house. He said he would come three times
a day if need be. Slie did not doubt it. He had proved
his readiness and power of service. Ought she to let
him come ? Her mind had worked itself down now to
the bottom of the flower-bell — her problem. It sucked
the honey without delay. She was very fond of Hubert
— far too happy with him to let it be a matter of moment
to her whether she ever saw another man or not. It
was Richarda's good only that she must consider. She
would speak to Hubert and urge Bramwell's proposal.

Her conscience told her she had thought rightly.
Her honey was pure, and, bee-like, she flitted off" to put
the treasure to use.

She flitted first to kiss Richarda and her mother,
although why such kisses should have been bestowed at
that moment she could have shown no logical reason.
Those concerned received them as a propitious omen.
She cracked jokes with Richarda as she sat sewing for
an hour. They had fallen back into their long habit of
joking together, which the solemn suddenness of Star's
marriage had, for a time, interrupted. Their mother
was no humourist, but she laughed to see them laugh —
laughed usually when they laughed, understood their
homely wit, although no other wit would have greatly
moved her.

220 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IL

They were in gay, though not in lighthearted
humour ; the excitement of Bramwell's words had been
as a stimulant to them. Thus they were chatting all
together when Marian paid another visit. She had
come half thirsting for, half fearing, the renewal of the
fascination which Star exercised over her. She found
the small room full — Rieharda on her couch, the mother
with her darning-basket, Star at a dainty sewing. They
all welcomed her — Star with a loving glance, Rieharda
with a critical one.

Before Marian had well finished her first speeches,
Rieharda had challenged li.>r on a theme which had
come up before her entrance. Long confinement had
made Rieharda odd. When she had begun to talk few
things could stop her — not a gentle-1 poking visitor like
Miss Gower.

" Did you ever think of the difference between beggars
and paupers ? " she asked. " If you beg, you live by
chance ; but if you paup, you "

" I beg your pardon."

" ' Paup.' It is tht3 verb from the noun. ' To paup '
is to live on a regular dole of some sort. Since we lost
our money, mother and I paup on Star ; but the woman
who comes round with the baby, asking for pennies, only
begs. It is a more free and independent life. It seems
to me to have mary noble attributes which the other
has not."

There was such brightness in her words, her clear
eye and intelligent face showed such an evident pleasure
in the fantastic for the mere sake of fantasy, that
Marian, used only to the ordinary in mental exercise,
followed her meandering without distaste.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

221

"It does not follow," said Star, "that, because beggars

beg, paupers must paup, because mendicants don't mend."

Mrs. Thompson was darning Hubert's socks. She

ran in the needle skilfully and laughed softly. " They

certainly don't," she said.

Richarda was searching the visitor's face with swift,
invisible glances. She seemed to perceive there a sur-
prise that they could make their dependant position a
matter of joke. Opening her clear eyes large on Marian,
she said —

" We do not distress ourselves about it, you know,
because, firstly, we cannot help it ; and, secondly, Star's
husband is so very nice. And, even if anything is dis-
tressing, it is better to laugh at it than not."

Thus taken into confidence as if she were an old
friend, Marian drew her chair nearer the couch with
pleasant sense of having some share in their sentiments.
" I am sure he is very nice."

" Have you seen him ? " Richarda seemed a little
surprised at the tone of assurance.

" I am sure from what you and Mrs. Kent have said."
Feeling that she had perhaps claimed a knowledge
to which she appeared to have no right, she looked
slightly toward Star, expecting her to admit that she
had told much about her husband ; but Star was un-
consciously occupied with thought or feeling not wholly
at ease. Marian swiftly became aware of something on
the young wife's face which suggested rather intent
consideration of her husband than entire satisfaction in
him. It was only for a moment, only the faint reflection
of an inward wonder that seemed scarcely to pause in
its passage through the mind. Yet it had its counter-

222

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book 1L

part in the mother's face — yes, and in Richarda's too,
while she answered —

" Oh, he is exceedingly kind, with quite that best
sort of kindness which does not seem to be much aware
of itself."

The words were honest and warm ; all that they
lacked was pause at the end, which a sentence which
fears no challenge naturally gives itself. Richarda's
sentence about Hubert seemed to trip at the end and
run forward, as if with the impetus of a stumble, into
the next subject.

" Do you know," she said cosily, still turning full
toward Marian, " I am very glad you came while my
couch is in this room. Star has told me about you, and
other people have spoken of you. As I lie here I picture
everj/body and everything I hear of, and I have woven
quite a romance about you."

" I am sure my appearance contradicts it."

" No ; you look just as I thought, because I don't
think I put many details into your image. To tell the
truth, you were not the principal figure in the tale, only
the pivot of it."

" What was the tale ? "

" I cannot tell you, for it is not distinct at all, only a
nebulous confusion. There is a baby that people seem
to play ball with, and I am convinced he must be the
heir to some grand estate or something."

" A baby ! " — in astonishment. It was a word at
wnich Marian was nervous.

" Richarda," said Star, " you ought not to begin in
the middle of things in that absurd way. It is enough
to confuse any one."

Book II,]

BEGGARS ALL.

223

Richarda began again. " There was an old woman,
a poor wretched creature, used to come to our room
where we lived before Star married. She carried a
baby. One day she was very drunk, and she told mother
she had a husband who rolled in riches and lived on the
parade. She was so drunk that mother took the child
from her. She went away. Then a mysterious man
came and took away the child. He just came in and
held out his arms, and Star gave it him, and he took a
cab and drove away. Now, who that ever read a novel
would not perceive in an instant that that baby was
wanted to be got rid of because it was an heir, or
wanted to personate an heir who had been got rid of, or
something ? "

Richarda stopped so gi'avely at the end of the ques-
tioning inflection, that Marian was almost beguiled into
saying doubtfully that she did not see the proof was
complete. She just saved herself from this literalism,

" Let that be set down in the tale as an ascertained
fact — that a child, who is suddenly taken away by a
middle-aged, business-like man, is evidently of great
importance to some one's self-interest, legally or other-
wise. Then, to proceed, Star meets Hubert, and he
lends her an umbrella, whereupon she marries him."

" My love," expostulated the mother. A sore spot
had been touched.

" Dear mammy mine, let me tell the truth. Star
herself cannot give a more rational account of her pro-
ceedings, which were eminently suitable to the situa-
tion."

" And so successful," urged Star.

It would seem that the mother's wince of pain must

224

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

be soothed before the tale of which Marian was the
pivot could go on. When she smiled again, Richarda
went on ; but Marian, wondering what the full meaning
of the tiny interlude was, lost the beginning.

Standing near was a large bowl of celandine ; the
flowers filled the bowl to running over. There was
grass amongst them ; they smelt of cool woodlands.
This bowl seemed the most conspicuous thing in the
little room — that nnd the women. The mother plied
her needle. St.'^r had forgotten herself ; she leaned back
idle in her chair. It seemed to Marian that she would
have done her share of making joy for the world if she
had always leaned back idle, considering, with dimpled
cheeks and abstracted eyes, something which was not
before her. There is much in a dimple that shows
where a glance is directed, much in the line of the cheek,
the contour of the chin — Star's glance was not directed
at anything in the room, yet, so lightly had it taken
flight, so brightly did it come again, she did not seem to
neglect her friend, and Richarda was entertaining Marian.

" He lived with Mrs. Couples, on this road further in,
and there you went to see Mr. Tod."

Marian was completely recalled. She hated the
name of Tod.

" We came to live here, and you came to live in the
nearest fine residence. That, you will admit, was a very
remarkable coincidence. In a novel it would mean
much."

" Would it ? " said Marian. " But it was not so very
strange, because people tend to come out of town in
spring, as birds to fly northward. And there was a
reason in both cases why we could not go far. My

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

225

uncle finds the railway too painful, and Mr. Kent has
his business. Besides, we had almost chosen this house
last year,"

Richarda waved her hand. " I am telling you a
tale. Real life is inconsequent, I have observed ; but in
a tale everything means something. You visited at
Mrs. Couples's; then you came to live near us. That
was strange ; but the strangest thing of all is, that Mr.
Gower's valet — that stoutish man who often drives with
him — is the man who helped to play ball with the
baby."

Marian fairly started now. An uneasy feeling came
over her as at a weird t^le, but the peace of the summer
afternoon was too evident in the little room. The half-
drawn window-blinds revealed the shadow of the low
low of houses as it fell half across the sunny road, which
had many passers. Inside the women held their cheer-
ful court.

" We first recognized him a few daj^^s after you told
Star you had heard the child's ghost, and naturally we
wanted to ask him what he had done with the baby ;
l>ut it seems that infant is used for rounders, for yester-
day the old woman came to mother begging again, and
in her arms was the very baby."

" It is very ill, poor lamb," said Mrs. Thompson,
shaking her head. " It was quite pitiful to see its little
limbs all wasted."

" Mother would like to take it in. If she had a
liouse of her own I am quite sure she would steal it."

" A few days' good nursing might save its life," Mrs.
Thompson said wistfully.

"Don't you think," said Marian with hesitation.

226 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IL

" that the happiest fate for children in that class of life
is to die in infancy ? "

" Maybe ; but one never thinks that when one sees
them ailing — poor, wee things."

" That you think it had better die just proves what
you told us the valet had said," went on Richarda,
"that we all ought to be haunted by them, because
under different circumstances we let them die just as
the man who lived in your house did."

Marian did not argue. She was aware she was
speaking to ward off for a few minutes the surprised
train of thought the story forced upon her.

" Are you sure," she asked doubtfully, turning to
Richarda, " that Gilchrist took the child ? You may
have been mistaken."

" We may," said Star, " but we do not think so."

Star drew Miss Gower away. She wanted to show
her house. It was very neat. Star showed its appoint-
ments from garret to cellar with genuine interest —
showed it all but half the tiny attic, which was walled
off and locked.

" My husband keeps his tools and carpenter's bencli
in there. He likes to keep it locked. We call it the
Blue-beard room."

" Is he fond of such work ? " asked Marian mechanic-
ally, her mind on the beggar-woman.

" Oh, very fond ; and he is so clever. He made
half the small conveniences in the house. Did you
notice the fire-blower in the parlour ? Dr. Bramwell
said " Here in wifely pride she repeated all Bram-
well had said. .

Marian only half listened. Star, boasting sweetly of

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

227

her husband and displaying the home he had given her,
was a very sweet sight, very lovable to Marian, but
the details escaped her. They came down and stood in
the tiny lobby, the door to the parlour shut, that to the
street unopened.

" Do you think Gilchrist can have had this child at
our house that night I heard it ? " But her mind was
really more troubled with another item of Richarda's
story. She remembered having heard some vague report
that her own uncle had once been married, and that his
wife had disgraced him. She could not speak of this,
but said, "That old woman certainly cannot be the
child's mother. Is it possible she is Gilchrist's wife ?
Is that what she means by her tale of a rich hus-
band ? "

" Oh, you must not heed Richarda's nonsense," said
Star. " Please excuse it."

Marian made a gesture of trouble. The sudden con-
trast of her own life with Star's nest-like circumstances
struck her painfully. For once she must make com-
plaint.

And Star did what was natural to Star. She per-
ceived a troubled, restless state of mind and heart,
which words could not mend, and she put her arms
round Marian's neck and kissed her. She was not
repulsed.

So it came to pass that these two women loved one
another.

228

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

CHAPTER VII.

Star had resolved to tell Hubert what Bramwell had
said as soon as he came in that night. Hitherto she had
not spoken to him about the means of curing Richarda,
but it cost her no effort to break this silence. It was
ilways easier to her to tell anything — whatsoever to
whomsoever — than not to tell it. She felt sufficiently
identified with her husband to speak even of further
expense for her sister without effort. This said more
for the truth of her marriage than she knew.

Yet that night, although she had fully intended to
speak at once, she did not do so. Wlien Hubert came
he brought a surprise witli him in the shape of a piano ;
indeed, he came driving in the van which brought the
piano. It was a cottage instrument, and bought second-
hand — not a fine one by any means, but still it was
meant as a rare pleasure for them all, and when they
saw it at the door they hailed it as such.

And Hubert drove with the van in order to help in
with it. He looked quite like a drayman at the moment
himself, more like that than like that undefined thing,
a gentleman — at least, the mother and Richarda felt this
as they watched him dismounting and tugging the thing
in. They glanced in mind to Bramwell and to the
possibility which it seemed to them might so easily
have been. They did not speak, even to one another.
They could not tell what Star thought.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

229

was
they

She was lovely just then in her animation, flushed
with pleasure and elate. Music in the home would l>e
far more to her mother and sister than to herself, and,
for that reason, Star had no alloy in her joy in receiving
the gift. She bustled about to make room. "Oh,
Hubert ! " she cried, and, " Oh. Hubert ! " When the old
drayman was kneeling to set a castor right she came
behind Hubert and gave him a soft little unexpected
kiss below one ear. He took the caress quite steadily,
as he took everything that came to him ; but either the
sibilant sound was more distinct than she thought, or
the polished surface of the old rosewood reflected more
than could have been supposed, for the workman growled
out approbation.

" Ay, and if he'd not got the pianny such a bargain,
he'd a' bought that cheap."

" That's so," said Hubert heartily.

But when Star had retreated, laughing, confused,
and the man was gone, and Hubert came into the kitchen
to wash his hands, he told her the gift was not for her.

" That old fellow's a sharp one," he remarked in
commendation. He had enjoyed the incident hugely
in his own unmoved way. " All the s&,me. Star, the
piano's not for you."

" Not for me ? " She turned, making a comic gesture
with the coffee-pot in her hand. " How now, sir ? "

" No," imperturbably ; " it's for mother. I heard
you say it's her birthday to-morrow, and one day she
told me how much she missed music on Sundays."

Star put down the empty coflfee-pot on the stove, at
the risk of burning the bottom out, and came across to
him where he was splashing at the sink.

230

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

1 1

" Hubert ! " slie said. All that she could say was in
the word. It meant that if he had deserved a kiss
before, he now deserved a more ecstatic blessing.

" Well, don't ' Hubert ' me. She makes an uncom-
monly kind mother-in-law to me."

Star ran, in a sort of whirlwind of rapture. " Mother,
mother; it is for you. He brought it as a birthday
present for you." She clasped the feeble mother in her
arms and laid her head on the dear familiar breast, and
shed a few tears there, so happy she was.

Where one gives much perforce, to give a little more
is to make all the gift lovely to the recipient, to make
the giver irresistibly dear. To perceive this truth, not
when stated, but in the experience of life, needs either
the grace of a loving heart or an acute mind. By which
avenue did Hubert come at it ? If he wanted to provide
a musical instrument for his house it cost him no more
to call it a birthday gift to Star's mother, cost him
nothing to call her " mother," when, without ostentation,
he presented it. By doing so he certainly won more
respect for himself than by any other way. He was a
clever man, but like other men. Men have not unmixed
motives. One may set self-interest first, but when the
smile of pleased surprise in aged eyes gives real pleasure,
the pleasure is not, however we may theorize, wholly
selfish.

Star had periods in which the attitude of her mind
towards her husband was that of intent eftbrt to
estimate his worth, but these were broken by times
when she simply loved him without thought of how or
why. So new was this husband to her that perhaps in
any case mere newness would have made much critical

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

231

observation necessary. Yet it was more natural for
Star to take for granted tlian to consider, and that her
interludes of unperplexed devotion were shorter than
those of consideration showed that she was instinctively
puzzled, puzzled more than she knew, much more than
she cared to own.

To-night, however, she looked in his clear, steady,
gray eyes, in his dark face, with its small but almost
regular features, and found nothing inscrutable in it.
She loved, and was perfectly satisfied — till — till the next
afternoon.

They could not try the music of the gift that even-
ing. By the time Hubert had wedged the legs steady
and Star had struck a few chords it was late, too late
for the invalids to have the unwonted excitement of
music. Hubert went without the tune he had asked
for with a very good grace, and Star did not make the
little speech she had planned telling of Bi*amwell and
his suggestions.

The next day was Sunday, and when they were
gathered in the front room in the early afternoon the
piano was to be tried.

" Play and sing, Star," said Hubert, expectant. He
had never seen his wife display her accomplishment
He watched with some curious pride in her, and with
the expectation of a merry or pathetic song. How
could he know what they were accustomed to sing on
Sunday ?

Star could not touch the keys without emotion.
The old home Sundays came before her eyes.

" I will play, and we will all sing," she said. " Which
shaU it be, mother ? "

232

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[B(X)K 11.

I ; r

I '

" We always used to sing ' Heaven here ' first on
Sundays," said Richarda.

" What's that ? " Hubert asked.

" Father used to call it that," explained Star. " He
thought it a good one for us always to begin with ; "
and, while she was speaking, she touched the keys into
an old familiar hymn-tune.

They all sang. Star's rich young voice, Richarda's
weak one, blended with the mother's thin, quivering
strain. No exact science of song was theirs.

" Wliat though thino earthly heart be sad,
AHhained of self and sin,
God bids thee find an entrance glad
/ The heavenly courts within.

" Not far removed in time and space
God's realm of glory is ;
One tear for sin, one sigh for grace,
And thou art vyholly His.

" And thine is His sufl3cient strength
The conqueror to prove,
And thine tiie breadth and depth and length
Of God, thy Saviour's love."

The little triumphant tune came to an end as sud-
denly as it had commenced. Hubert had listened with
the close attention one gives to any novelty. He began
to feel a sense of intolerable discomfort, as though the
coating of his mind had been rubbed the wrong way.
Star was turning over the leaves of an old hymn-book
to find another hymn.

Hubert's sense of discomfort was the same that the
sound of wind moaning will arouse in some places and
times, or that comes with the tolling of the passing bell,
or with the distant sound of military music when the
atmosphere is charged with rumour of war ; that feeling

i^^ ^^

Book TI.]

BE( AR8 ALL.

23n

— perhaps the foreboding of a danger over which we
have no control — which takes strong men unaware
and make tliem, not reasonably sad, but unreasonably-
irritable.

He felt that he had no reason to complain. That
the sound of sacred music should proceed from the
windows of his house on Sunday was a very respectable
thing, and he had reasons for wishing to be very re-
spectable. His mother-in-law, sitting by the window,
her chastened face expressive of enjoyment in the music,
her worn Bible open on her knee — she, too, was very
respectable.

Star struck into another tune, but the key did not
suit her. She stopped again.

" Isn't it wonderful to think of the bigness of
things?" exclaimed Richarda inconsequently. Ri-
charda's mind was off on an excursion. She turned
her face upward on the couch, and said out what she
was thinking in her abrupt, humourous way, " If the
sun were hollow, and this world revolved in the centre,
the moon could revolve round it at its natural distance,
and yet be thousands of miles from the surface of the
sun. And our system is surrounded by systems on
systems so much larger that they dwarf it."

" Isn't it absurd to suppose that the Creator of it all
should notice us much ? " said Hubert ill-naturedly.

Richarda did not notice the argument or attempt to
answer it. " He takes care of the sparrows," she affirmed.
" As we live for ever, of course His way of taking care
of us will be to make us perfect. Think of going on
from sun to sun and star to star, being made perfect.
That is, of course, if we try to do good. In the psalm

234

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

t /

where David tells about all the loveliness of creation —
God riding on the cloutls, the moon and stars, the
streams running under the trees where the birds build,
and rabbits sitting up on their hind legs looking at one
from the rocks "

" Conies, dear," said Mrs. Thompson.

" I translate it rabbits," said the girl wilfully. " I
know what they look like, and if David had lived in
the New World he would have said ' rabbits.' Rabbits
scuttling away to cover are in the picture for me, and
father coming home at cvenins: from his work in the
vines. David tells how God made it all just so, and the
point of it is that, because it is so nearly perfect, there
will come a time when sin shall be no more."

The meandering inflection of Richarda's voice showed
that now, as usual, she was talking more to amuse
herself than to please any one. And Hubert, seeing
her lie helpless without other means of variety than this
mental one, did not have it in his natural heart to annoy
her, any more than he wished, as a usual thing, to
deprive his mother-in-law of her Bible and hymns ; but
at that time he was worse than it was his nature to be.
He felt that if he remained sitting there he should vent
some savage sarcasm upon them. He rose to go, but he
could not go without one word of lightly disguised
contempt.

" What is sin ? " he asked.

" Sin," said Richarda dreamily. " What is it exactly,
mother ? "

Hubert looked to the mother, his hand on the door.
He always remembered — one remembei's such trifling
things — that, as she essayed to answer, she gazed before

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

235

her with a look of effort and laid her hand upon the
margin of her open Bible. The book was a thick one,
and the worn, gilt edges of the leaves sloped in a thick
brown slant to the rim of black binding. The hand she
laid on it was withered, with heavy veins — a thin,
trembling old hand.

" Sin," she began, " is a coming short of the glory of
God."

Perhaps it was only a beginning. Perhaps she was
going on to say much more. She stopped to adjust her
words, and he, a good deal astonished at the answer,
went out of the room.

" Hubert, where are you going ? " cried Star.

" To my work-room," called he.

Hubert sat on his carpenter's bench making a box.
The hymns went on downstairs, and although he shut
the door and opened the window, he heard the sound
faintly. Again he felt as one feels when hearing the
lirst moaning of a storm, and he did not know why.

After about an hour Star came up the garret stair
and into his low room rather disconsolately. She sat on
the window-sill.

" You don't like hymns, Hubert ? "

" No, I don't care about that sort of music ; but if
you do, it's all right "

" I didn't care for them much to-day," confessed Star.

She looked out from under the projecting angle of a
small gable. To his vision she was set against the blue
of sky and framed in the brown beams of the gable.
He remembered how he had once seen her in the sun-
light-Hooded door by the golden green of young lilac
leaves and golden red of walltlcwer. The colours of

2'3G

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

jl.

this picture were sombre compared to that. The tint
of sun-brown, natural to her skin, tlie brown red of lier
cheek, tlie wave of her chestnut hair were the same
n>w as then, but less in hue as in light, and the setting
was colder, duller. To perceive this, although vaguel}',
brought him toward a better mood.

" I used to like our Sunday hymns very much,"
observed Star restlessly.

He was cutting a piece of wood with a knife.

" Hubert " — an unrestful pause. " Do you remember
a tale — it seems to me I read one somewhere — of a girl
who — she had something to do with an evil spii'it in
order to get her own way ; and afterwards, when she
went to church, she couldn't pronounce the name of
God. Do you know the tale ? "

" I've read several like it."

" Well, of course it's a strong way of putting it, but
I thought of it. Somehow I felt a little like that girl.
I used to like to sing with mother on Sundays, but
to-day I feel more at home up here with you."

" And you wish you didn't," said he bluntly.

He had perfectly translated her mood. She sat,
turned half sideways in the window, and watched his
busy hands without dissenting.

Then in a few minutes, because she felt very restless
and he did not talk, she told him all that Bramwell had
said and suggested. Her account took some time. Hubort
made up his mouth and whistled a little as he worked.

She turned her face again to the window. He saw
her only against the blue, but she looked down on the
top of a young lime tree. It was very backward for
some reason, some weeks behind the season ; its leaves

Book IL]

BEGGAES ALL.

237

had not been long enougli out of the curl-paper buds to
liave quite lost their crimp. They were not yet full-
size, and hung a little limp with edge curling. Their
green was light and bright and fresh. Men make green
by mixing blue and yellow pigments, but this had been
made by the mingled influence of sunbeam and effulg-
ence of azure in the open above. Not blue and yellow,
but light and sky, had created this pale, living gi'een.
How closely, how thickly encircling, they nestled to
their dark gray twigs, those new, half-curling leaves.
Above each hung the tiny red shell of the bud that
had impriscmod it — rod like ladybirds' wings, ready like
them soon to Hit away in the warm air.

A sparrow from the homely dust below had come up
to the tree, and on a branch among the leaves it sat
pluming its little puffy self, twisting its short neck with
every movement. Gray and brown was it ? All soft
warm shades of bark and stone seemed to be mixe<l in
its wings, so well set forth it was against the pale green
leaves with their tips of red.

Elsewhere sunlight lay ; but on this side of the house
was the calm, light shadow of afternoon. Star watched
the sparrow,

" Why didn't you tell me before that an operation
was necessary ? " asked Hubert.

She made no answer,

" I am awfully sorry for her," he said, " It nuist be
dreadful to think one has to go through that sort of
thing or be in pain all one's life. It would kill your
mother," he went on, " You know the doctor said any
shock would do it ; and the anxiety of this "

" Oh, you don't know mother. As long as she can

238

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

1 ,':

be near Rieharda and know that she is comfortable, she
would be sflad to have it done. It wears her much more
to feel that the best thing is not being done. She would
like to see Rieharda better before she leaves her."

" Leaves ? " he said. " Oh ! "

" I suppose mother can't live very long " — unsteadily.
"I would like this to be done for Dicksie before she
dies, if — if it were possible."

" In that case it shall be done."

" It would cost so much — fifteen pounds at the least."
Star still looked at the sparrow, who seemed to have a
great deal of pluming to do.

" It would cost fifty pounds," said he stubbornly ;
" but you surely know, Star, that I would not refuse to
do anything that was needed for your family."

She looked round now. " But, Hubert, the money ! "

" I told you I had a few hundreds laid away."

He had never told her just that ; but it seemed to
her that he must have done so.

" It is far too good of you " — she was overcome —
" far too good. You work hard for every shilling ; and
if you have put it in the bank instead of spending it,
it is not right that you should take it out for us in
this way."

" I didn't work hard for every shilling of it ; if I
had I should not have so much. Hard work in this
world earns much less than chance. I told you I had
some odd ways of getting money besides my salary."

"Yes."

" Well, I don't care to talk about it because one is
never sure of doing it again ; but if you'll be a wise
woman and not tell "

II .

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

239

" I won't tell."

" Well, I made three hundred pounds some time
since, by designing an advertisement for a soap manu-
facturer. It was just a fluke. He offered a prize, and
my design suited him."

" You are very clever."

" I can do that sort of thing occasionally." In a
minute, " I'll speak to Bramwell myself and settle it."

She came over to him and wound her arms round
his neck and kissed his eyes and mouth. " You are
good ; you are good," she said.

He looked down at her, patted her cheek lightly.

She looked up at him, into his quiet face. She hated
herself for it, yet, while she was looking, the thought
came, Was he good ?

He seemed quite satisfied with her praise. That of
itself, she felt, instinctively felt, was — not goodness.

CHAPTER VIII.

Star could not help being surprised to observe now and
then a certain secret exultation in her husband's mood
concerning this money to l>e spent on Richarda. At
moments when she would least expect it, when perhaps
she least seemed to be observing him, *here would be
elation in the gleam of his eye and in cne suppressed
satisfaction of his manner. It natui*ally did not dis-
please her; she was too much preoccupied to ponder
upon its cause; it struck her only as passing events

)

240

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

i! .

V I

1 1

strike us, which we do not remember till some after
circumstance gives them significance.

Hubert never complained that during the six weeks
of Richarda's illness his new-made wife was able to give
him little, almost no attention. His mother-in-law
grieved over it for him ; she knew that he liad not his
rights; and Star made pretty apology by finding a
minute now and then in which to condole witii him on
his loneliness. He behaved very well, setting himself
entirely aside on the domestic scene. He contentedly
occupied himself with the duties of his somewhat
arduous profession, and spent his spare evenings — he
could not always be at home in the evening — alone in
his carpenter's attic. " Few husbands would be so
unselfish, my daugliter," Mrs. Thompson said to Star ;
and she, pleased at the praise, resolved to make it up
to that unselfish husband in time to come. Now her
lieart was all absorbed in Richarda. Her mother, unable
to help much in the sick-room, had more time for
observation than she. Star hardly noticed at the time
how much Hubert was left alone.

The great surgeon came and did his important work.
Bramwell was with him. Bramwell had said he would
come three times a day, and he kept his word. For
days there was scarcely a whisper in the tiny house.
Hubert crept up and down stairs with such noiseless
step, his own wife, waiting at the door of the darkened
room to serve the professional nurse, hardly heard him
sometimes when he passed her in the narrow passage.

After a week. Star could take the nurse's place, and
there was more light and more cheer in the house.

Marian came every day to inquire about the sufferer.

Book II.]

BEGGABS ALL.

241

lie

L'k.
lid

3SS

Each clay she seemed to find reason to stay longer. She
brought flowers often. She would sit with Mrs.
Thompson, who was much alone and grew friendly with
Marian. Sometimes Miss Gower with her own hands
would perform some trifling service for Star in the
house downstairs — prepare Mrs. Thompson's tea or, with
inexperienced hand, dust the little parlour. She grew
to feel more at home in Star's house than she had
done anywhere since she left the two small rooms in
which she had lived as a school teacher. Sometimes,
when she came on Sunday or in the long summer
evenings, she met Hubert. She Ijegan to feel for him
the friendliness of custom. Oftener she met Dr. Bram-
well ; for she was more likely to be there at the hours
of his visits than when Hubert was at home.

It was one day, almost three weeks after the
operation, when Richarda's state was no longer so
critical, that Star, in the new freedom of being able to
leave the patient sometimes to her mother's gentle
watching, came down into the little sitting-room with
Dr. Bramwell to find Miss Gower waiting there.

Bramwell had turned into the sitting-room to
examine a parcel from the chemist's. Star was a good
deal struck with the cordiality of his greeting to Miss
Gower. Cordiality was, perhaps, not precisely the
word; there was a brightness, a sjTnpathy, in the
dignified mien with which he shook hands with her.
He was always dignified. He never lingered long over
anything he did; but he had a capacity for speaking
with face and eyes in a moment of time, and to
Marian his face spoke, as it did to Star, of sympathetic
liking.

242

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

A young woman whose horizon has not the width
which public interests and a wide grasp of life can give,
is apt to notice such small things and consider them.
Bramwell's manner to herself had, from the first, given
Star the impression that he regarded her with a degree
of admiration which, if she had not married, might
easily have ripened into something more. She knew
also that it was only lately that he had begun to go
frequently to Mr. Gower's house. Now she observed in
his manner to Miss Gower the same element which had
given her some uneasinesr when directed to herself.
The idea fell like a seed into good soil — the soil of a
mind predisposed to consider marriage the first con-
sidcratio in every one's life. It occurred to her that
Bramwell, having perhaps suffered more disappointment
than she was aware of with regard to herself, had been
in the mood to be specially attracted by Miss Gower's
sweet face and gentle manner. Here was a possible
love-story, one in which Star could not fail to take
interest and delight.

The seed of the idea germinated and came up near
the surface of her mind in one of the rare hours she
could then spare to Hubert. They went out after tea
for a walk on the hill.

She had felt some little surprise before this that
Hubert had seemed so wholly indifferent to Bramwell's
constant attendance, to his attractiveness, and to his
special kindness.

Desiring to find what stuff this indifference was made
of, she began with perfect directness.

" Hubert, what do you think of the doctor ? "

" The ubiquitous Bramwell ? I should think he was

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

243

Iwas

clever enough at his trade. Why ? Are you not
satisfied ? "

" Oh yes — in that way ; but I meant about himself.
Why do you call him ubi(|uitous ? "

" I see him in all sorts of places and situations, or
rather, in all sorts of benevolently pleasant situations.
He is one of those people, you know, who imagine that
it is heroic to run various good works, public and px-ivate,
when, in reality, that is just their way of pleasing them-
selves."

A tinge of trouble came across Star's mind. She was
befjinninjj to realize that Hubert never trusted to un-
selfish motives in any one.

" You wrong him, I believe." She spoke with some
heat. " I think he tries to do good for right's sake."

" If he had the choice of doing more good to some
poor, dirty, old creature, or less good in a house where
he meets you and your mother and Richarda (who are, if
I say it who shouldn't, three very fetching women), which
do you think he would choose ? "

Star did not answer. Her attention was divei-ted
from the question by perceiving that Hubert had
observed that Bramwell found attraction in the house,
and wondering how particular his observation had been
She was also pleased, in spite of herself, at her husband's
good-natured compliment, all the sweeter to her because
it embraced the three.

" It doesn't matter." Hubert relio d the silence.
" Think him a hero if you will, as long as I pay him at
an ordinary rate for his heroism. If he does his duty
by Richarda and makes his bill honestly, that's all I
care."

244

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

rH'

i! If

That evidently was all his care. Star wondered at it
a little, and then tried to probe his mind on the easier
subject of Miss Gower. She confessed that she had
fancied she saw indications of a liking in that direction.
She asked him if he thought it a possible match.

" I should think Miss Gower miles too old," said
Hubert practically.

Without analyzing or criticizing either. Star in-
stinctively held the woman she loved far superior to the
man for whom she felt mere good-will. But she felt her
admiration for Miss Gower was too strong to be expressed
in any words that would seem rational to Hubert. She
only said —

" Age doesn't matter to real love."

"If old Gower is going to leave her his money,
Bramwell may fall in love — not unless, I should say."

" Oh, Hubert."

" Well."

" He would not marry for money."

"Why not?"

" It's a very wicked thing to do."

The words were spoken innocently, sincerely, before
she noticed their application to her own marriage. Her
own case had always seemed to her to be lifted by
necessity beyond the application of law, and yet (it is
a rare mind which always views its own actions in the
same light) Strr's heart sank now with quite new shame
to perceive thai she could not uphold high principle in
this matter to Hubert.

She felt convinced that he saw her inconsistency, but
he did not question the sentiment she had expressed, or
remark upon it or look at her. He snapped the top of

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

245

it'ore
Her

it is
the
lame
He in

but
[sd, or
)p of

some weeds with his cane as they walked up the hill by
the old quarry. In a minute he suggested visiting the
lamplighter's cabin. She believed that in changing the
subject he had wished to save her from seeing the self-
application which she had seen. He was kind, he was
forbearing, he did not believe in goodness ; and she, who
felt vexed that he did not believe as she did, what was
she that she should argue with him ?

A few days, nay, a few minutes, before she had been
full of enthusiasm about Hubert's unselfishness. Now
she felt displeased, out of touch with him. She did not
enjoy her walk, although it was the first she had had
with him for weeks.

They stood together on the hillside, in the fresh
summer evening. The fir wood by which Hubert had
fii'st met Gilchrist sang them a song, not of sadness and
rough weather, as it hud then sung, but of warm, fragi'ant
airs and of love. Yet it made Star sad, and that part
of the hill, with its steep cliff and quarried side, seemed
to her barren and unlovely. Beneath them \&y the town
and the plain, in the soft, purple haze which the
departing day had left behii. .' The warmth and glow
were more attractive ; that part of the hill had none of
them.

" Let us go down," said Star pensively.

" I brought you up to get the good air ; there's no
use in going down at once. If you're tired come into
Montagu's place."

" No, I don't want to."

So Hubert went alone, not to see Montagu (he was
down at his lamps), but to see that the cabin was all
right and to leave some tea. Star stood a little way

246

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

from the door and looked in. She saw Hubert replenish
the lampli^liter's stock of tea.

Star came nearer and leaned against the lintei of
the door, still looking in. The other cabin was shut and
empty, and this one looked what it was — the abode of
a half-witted creature. The whole place seemed to her
weird and lonely. She felt the need of drawing nearer
to her husband.

" You are good, Hubert," she remarked, still some-
what moody, " You are always bringing Montagu
things and looking after him."

"I took him under my protection when I was six
and he was ten. It's not likely I should give up looking
after him now."

" And Tod too," observed Star. " You are always
doing something for him now he is ill."

" It's my way of amusing myself."

The tone, the fact that he believed it mere amuse-
ment, grated on her. Such were the little solicitudes of
her married love, and yet she was (except sometimes in
some pensive evening hour like this) gratefully happy,
joyful in her husband's good deeds, in his kindness and
cleverness.

CHAPTER IX.

In some way the story of the infant's ghost became
popular at this time. It had died down some years
before Mr. Gower took the place. The new inmates of
the house were the only people to take much note of it

It 'i

Book II.]

BEGGATIS ALL.

247

Ime

irs

when they hoard it after arrival, Imt now it was talked
about. Some poor noi^dibours of Star's got hold of and
exaggerated the tale. Then it appeared in a news-
paper, not the principal one of the town, on whose staff
Hubert was, but a frivolous journal. The story was
written out in sensational fashion, Hubert brought it
home for Star to read, as he frecjuently brought her
papers with items of interest. On this piece of writing,
however, he poured great contempt. He said any fellow
with a donkey's head and a pen could have made more
of such a tale if he stooped to deal in such rubbish.

Star was rather proud of her husband's literary
powers. Although his business was to reconl only terse
fact, she was sure he could write very prettily if he tried.

" You could have done it much better," she said.

" Yes, If he had not exaggerated so ridiculously
about the brat squalling about the neighbouring roads
and fields ; if he had stuck to the simple tale and told
it in simple words, it would have been far more effective.
You'd have everybody's hair standing on end then when
they passed the place after dark ; as it is, people will
only laugh."

" "Which will be a better result."

" A long way better ; but the fellow who wrote it
was no doubt trying his hand at horrors,"

Star, however, had reason to suppose, from the com-
ments of the neighbours, that the bit in the paper had
more effect than Hubert had supposed possible. There
was a little eeriness resting on the neighbourhood for
a while. It came like a mental mist at night-fall, each
night thinner.

Star did not participate in this, A steady, puritan

-%W^1

248

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

trainin<]j against believing in a fantastic supernatural
had made her as invuhierahle to supei-stition as any
well-regulated human being can be. That is, perhaps,
not saying nuich.

Certainly she was distinctly astonished a few nights
afterward, when lying awake by llicharda's side, to
hear two sounds like a child's cry — faint, only repeated
twice. She had no doubt whatever as to the truth of
her hearing, and it certainly seemed to her in the house.
She listened. There was silence. She got up.

She was still nursing Richarda at night. Through
the whole of the illness Hubert had insisted upon giving
up his room to his mother-in-law and sleeping jh an
improvised bed in the attic.

Star listened now to the regular br(>athing in each
room and then crept up the attic stair, from which the
sound had seemed to proceed. It was well on in the
niirht, and althouixh Hubert was often out late and
working late, she was surprised now to see light under
his door. He had been so ([uiet she hatl thought he
was asleep.

Her step, barefooteil as she was, instantly brought
him to the door. She had often noticed how acute his
power of hearing was.

She sat down on the top step and spoke to him in
whispers.

" Hubert, such an odd thing ; I feel certain I heard
a baby cry twice."

" Twice," he said.

" Yes, that was the oddest thing about it. They
generally go straight on without any stop, but this was
just like two breathings of a baby when it is crying

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

249

very hard. There was an instant's pause between — just
the two and no more. It sounded as though it were in
the house."

" Don't you think you liave been dreamino; ? " There
was a slinhtly comical raising of his features.

" I was wide awake."

" Was it tlie ghost ( "

" Don't be absurd, dear. I am cold and sleepy. If
you didn't liear anything, say so."

" Well, to tell the truth, now that you mention it,
I do recollect hearing something of the sort, but I can't
explain it. If you are frightened I'll look through the
house."

No, she was not exactly frightened, she saitl. It
did not seem worth troubling about. "And, Hubert
dear, don't sit up. Mother says she is sure you ha\e
been working too hard lately."

He saiil he was just going to bed ; indeed, he was in
the act of taking ott' his coat as he spoke.

Star crept back to Kicharda. So niany things crowd
the canvas of daily life, even of the humblest sort, that
the little incident got overlaid, and she did not think to
speak of it again.

Mrs, Couples came to pay her a second call. Mrs.
Couples's calls were of importance, for she came in a
cab, was put down by the driver, pretty much as a
bundle would have been taken from cab to lu)use dt)or.
The cab waited mid took her away again. This being
the order of her goings in and out, she did not usually
leave her own gate except on imjiortant occasions. A
wedding call on Star Inul been one. Hubert told her
the old lady would come again when there was a

250

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

baptism or a funeral. It was a distinguishing mark of
the fancy she had taken to Star that she came now
without such necessity.

" Mr. Tod is getting worse helpless," said she. " Well,
well — so many are ill, and some recover. Your sister's
recovering, ain't she, poor dear ? but Mr. Tod's getting
worse helpless."

The contrast suggested enlisted the warm sympathy
of Star and Mrs. Thompson both for Tod and his land-
lady. Mrs. Couples did not seem to feel now that Tod
was a burden to her, although he could no longer pay
his rent, and there was no immediate prospect of his
leaving his bed. She turned from the subject of his
case cheerfully when she had stated it, having com-
miserated him, not herself.

She was, indet a kind creature, and, what was as
much in her vocation, an enthusiastic cook. She twitted
Star now on Hubert's praise of his wife.

" Yes, well, but Mr. Kent's brought you to a nice
little house, and he says — yes, he does say you're smart
at keeping it tidy ; and as to coftee, he says mine doesn't
come up to it. He did, my dear, and I make about the
best coffee / ever tasted, for I often say I'm a cook, if
I'm anything ; having to sit, you know, to watch and
stir things on the fire, I never let therii be a liair too
much or too little done. I say to the slavey, ' Bring
this,' and ' Bring that,' but I sit and stir and move the
pots about. Warm ? — yes, dear, that's true, it is ; but I
wear something airy, like a cotton gown. Yes, he did
say your coffee was better, yes. I wasn't offended — oh
dear, no — offended, no ; no, dear, no." Her negatives
merged themselves into the next subject which came up.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

251

lie
if

lie

les

It was clear that Tod would lack neither care nor
nourislunent while he remained witli her, but it became
an interesting question to Kent's household how long
Mrs. Couples could afford to keep him. The illness,
which had begun l)y some foolish exposure of himself
on a cold, wet day, had ended in serious affection oi the
heart. Hubert, who went in frequently to give him a
word of cheer, seemed to despair of such frion<ls as Tod
possessed doing much for him. Yet perhaps it was
partly from curiosity, as well as from benevolence, that
he urged Star to ask Miss Gower what degree of
acquaintance she had with him.

Star put her question with tact, and, on the whole,
Marian told the truth willingly enough, and in few
words.

"How odd!" cried Richarda. The incident did not
strike them as having any pathos in it, or much mean-
ing oi any sort. " Circumstances are so inconse(|Uent ! "
This was an habitual complaint of Richarda's ; she lovetl
a good tale. " I don't like things that have no sustained
bearing on anything. If you think of our lives as l>eing
all planned and working out in a perfect pattern, what
are you to make of an episode like this ? Is it a knot,
a flaw, a mistake, a dash of colour with no repetition to
complete the pattern ? or somewhere, in some other star,
will Tod cross Miss Gower's path again, and the sense
of things be indicated ? "

" You might as well ask the same about every person
to whom we speak in the most casual way," replied
Marian.

She was glad to see Richarda again strong enough
to chat, glad that the theme thus chanced upon amused

252

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

her. Yet the idea Richarda had suggested was not
pleasant.

As she walked home she mused idly, but her musings
were wilful, not what she could have wished. Nowa-
days Charles Bramwell often found occasion to chat
with her, and she had accepted his frank friendship.
But possibly there was to be no sequence to this episode
either, " All the world isn't a stage, for if it were, the
players would do something more interesting," Richai'da
had said.

CHAPTER X.

A FEW days after. Dr. Bramwell came in on his return
from an early morning call on. Mr. Gower. He looked
excited.

" They have had a burglary up there," he said ;
" three hundred and seventy pounds in bank-notes gone."

Star exclaimed.

" Do you remember, Mrs. Kent, you and I first made
acquaintance over a burglary ? "

She remembered they had made acquaintance over
something which annoyed her much more, but she
admitted his assertion.

" Well, unaccountable and extraordinary as that one
was, this matches it. I'm inclined to think it the more
remarkable of the two."

He went on to give a brief account. About nine in
the evening, just after the night had closed in dark,
some one in the house had heard a child cry in or neai

I V

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

253

luo

leal

the laurels at the side of the house. Firet one had srone
out, and then another, till at last all the household were
gathered there ; even Mr. Gower himself insisted on
hobbling out. They heard the child continue crying
for a considerable length of time. When they went in
again, some one had been in Mr. Gower's dressing-room
and taken the money.

" And they never found the infant ? " cried Star,
shocked.

" Upon my word, I don't think there could have been
a child there," he returned, " I can't make anything out
of it. Half a dozen people, you know, must have found
it if it had been there. But the hopeless thing," he
went on — he was young and excited ; he would have
talked to any one who evinced interest — " the hopeless
feature of it is, that half the men in town knew the
money was in the house last night, so the fact of the
thief knowing is no clue to him. It's been rather a
scandal, and I would not care for Miss Gower to hear of
it. It seems this old Colonel Parker, who has been
living there, had been gaming with Gower, and owed him
this money for some weeks past, and Gower would
neither take promise nor cheque — at least, that's the tale
circulated — and he has been borrowing money to get it
paid. He had just collected it, and went away
yesterday."

" They are not a very honourable pair," observed
Star.

Star just then heard her husband's unexpected step
at the door. He liad gone to town as usual, a couple
of hours before. He too had come with tidings of the
theft. He was on his way to interview Mr. Gower if

254

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

possible ; if not, the servants, in the ordinary exercise of
his profession. He came in only for a moment in
passing to say what his errand was and advise Star to
go and see Miss Gower.

" She may want you," he said ; " she's been un-
commonly kind to us."

" I will come with you."

" No " — he pushed her gently back — " no ; I am going
on business, my dear ; newspaper men are sometimes
hustled about in fine houses. You can come alone."

Star ran for her hat. All her wifely loyalty was
roused. If he had to be treated with incivility, she
would stand by his side. But when she was ready, he
was gone far along the road, and, although she walked
fast, he gained in distance.

When she entered the house and asked for Miss
Gower, the servant led her past a room in which she
saw her husband through the open door. He stood in
the plain working suit of iron-gray tweed in which she
had first seen him. His hat was placed on the floor
beside him with some papers in it, and, with note-book
and pencil in hand, he was interrogating some one. Star
slackened her pace ; beyond Hubert she saw the
luxurious trappings of the room and Mr. Gower seated,
excited, restless, white-faced, with rims of red round his
dull eyes.

" You have not the number of any of the notes ? "

" I tell you I have not, nor has Colonel Parker."

" He wired you this morning to that effect ? "

" Of course the men he sharked up the money from
may or may not have taken the numbers."

" That's the first thing to find out," said Hubert.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

265

lis

As she went on she heard their voices in subdued
alternation — cahn, concise (|uestion, irritable reply.

Marian was in an upper sitting-room. She received
Star with suppressed excitement of manner. She was
glad to see any one she could talk to.

" What have you heard ? " she asked. " I hardly know
what to think, I am so perplexed. I have had a pre-
sentiment something would hapj^en. I felt convinced
of it. Who told you ? "
" Dr. Bramwell."

" Oh; we had to send for him, uncle was made so
ill ; he came in early when the detective was here.
Gilchrist telegraphed for a detective last night as soon
as he found the money gone."

" Then of course he had nothing to do with it. I
think he has an honest face."

" I do not wish to suspect any one unjustly, even in
thought."

" But you do suspect him ? "

Marian gave a hasty glance round, as if she were
afraid of her environs. " I have always suspected him
more or less, yet I do not know that I have any reason.
No one else suspects him, and I shall not suggest it. If
he is guilty he certainly has managed not to appear
to be."

" Was he outside when you thought you heard "

" Oh, don't speak of it." She covered her face with
her hands. " I don't know whether to laugh or shudder
when I think of it ; it seems absurd or horrible, I don't
know which."

" But what happened ? Tell me."

"It was a most unnatural cry. The servants all

256

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

< I

i 5

declare that it was exactly like an infant's voice, and
certainly it was more like that than anything else ; but
it sounded to me most unnatural, as if the child were
beinff frijjlitened to death or something. It went on
and on, in an even, intolerable way, and then it grew
hoarser, and suddenly it seemed to choke ; we heard it
choking for a few seconds, then it stopped."
" How shocking ! But where was it ? "
" We could not find anything ; we had three stable
lanterns."

" But I mean where and how did you hear it ? "
" One of the maids heard it first. It seemed, although
I did not know it, that she was in the habit of meeting
her lover in the yew arch, beyond the laurels, and he
was frightened away by this crying. She came in too
frightened not to tell about it. Then the others went to
listen, and they told Gilchrist ; he was with uncle. I
had gcme out before he came, and when the boy went
for him and he came up and heard it, I must say I think
he thought it was a real child at first ; he called out to
see if any one would answer, and then, so promptly, sent
for the stalde lanterns and began looking under the
laurels in a business-like way. We were all standing at
the corner of the house that is nearest my window."

" But you must have been able to tell where the
sound was."

" You }iave no idea how hard it is to tell where a
sound is ; I never had before last night. Sometimes it
seemed to me to come from the house wall behind the
tops of the trees just above where one could reach, and
it other times to come from the ground in the middle of
the laurels."

Book TI.]

BEGGARS ALL.

257

the

re a.
is it
the
land
le of

" And yon arc sure no one was tliore ? "

" Yes, I tliink we may say we are quite sure. The
groom broufi^ht three lanterns and some candle-ends,
Gilchrist went at once through the hedge with one of
the lanterns. You know there is a hedge round the
laurels which block up his window, which is under
mine."

" That is just about the place where you heard tht;
child last time. We thought it might have been that
beggar's child. Do you think that now ?"

" I don't know what to think."

There was a moment's pause. Miss Gower con-
tinued inconse(juently. " Do you know, one of the
things that struck me most was the expression of that
man's face when the lantern was first lit and he was
just going to push through the hedge. I saw the light
glare suddenly on his face. It was almost beautiful, yet
almost haggard with anxiety. It reminded me of
pictures of martyrs."

"The man is such a commonplace man," object(;d
Star, wondering ; " a little fat, a little sad-looking,
perhaps."

" I only tell you what I saw."

"Well?"

" Well, he went right through the hedge ; he got
badly scratched. In a minute he said, in rather a tone
of relief, that no one was there. The groom got in wliere
the hedge was thin against the wall. They both had
lights, and they looked about to be sure. We could see
under the bushes through gaps in the hedge. There was
really no one there. Then they looked in the yew arch
and on the lawn under all the trees and in the empty

258

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

I-

I' \

glass-houses. We can't be positive tliere was no one
about. There was a slight wind, and the candle-ends
Ijlew out sometimes. The muids kept lighting matches,
and, what with the glaring lights making the darkness
far darker and two of the girls crying, we could neither
sec nor hear very distinctly. I think if we had had no
light we might have done better ; it was not perfectly
dark."

" Was it Gilchrist who looked in the other places as
well ? "

"No; when he was in the laurels we heard uncle's
bell ringing funously. He was offended at being left
alone ; Gilchrist had to go to him. Then he insisted on
coming out, so of course Gilchrist had to help him and
stand with him. All the other servants trooped round
that part of the place. The grooms were very energetic.
I think if any one had been there they would have been
seen."

" And all the time the whole house was left exposed
for any one to ransack."

" Yes ; the doors and windows were all open ; it was
so warm, and we are so far from the road ; besides,
when we came out we didn't intend to stay a minute."

"The whole thing was a hoax, to distract your
attention."

" But how was it done ? Gilchrist says he does not
think any ventriloquist could have kept it up so long.
Besides, they say such illusions are always greatly
helped by the way the man has of appearing to look at
the place the voice is supposed to come from."

" And in this case," said Star, " at least eight people,
for about half an hour, felt convinced that there was a

Book It.]

BEGGARS ALL.

259

"ople,
ras a

real child cryinf]^ in a place whore no child was. Tell
n»e one thing, Miss Gower — do you think it was a
tjfhost ? "

" No, I do not think so. It did not sound to me the
least spiritual. But what can one say ? All the servants
think that, you know. Three have given warning."

" What does your uncle think ? "

" I can't tell. He swore horrihly when he was
listening last night, especially when it seemed to choke
and stop. I think he was frightened. I really think
he was more annoyed by hearing that than by his
losses."

" How was it that the money was so easily found ? "

" Oh, the burglar opened everything. It seems " —
Marian sighed — " my uncle had got it from Colonel
Parker for a gambling debt. I never knew before that
he gambled. I sometimes think he has every vice and
no virtue ; and he is my uncle." Marian wept. " I
have tried to influence him ; indeed, I have. I came to
him hoping so much from my own influence, and I
have done nothing. I am quite in despair. I can do
nothing."

Star did not know what comfort to give. They
went back to the interesting theme.

" Mr. Gower's rooms are quite at the other side of
the house ? "

" Yes ; quite."

Star had a thought; she asked if Colonel Parker
could have returned and taken his own money again.
But Marian could not bring herself to believe that of a
man who had sat at their dinner-table so long.

"It doesn't seem to me that it's a bit worse than

260

BEGGARS ALL.

[Hook IL

ffambling to that oxtcnt — payinpf away money that he
had to borrow to give. I had as lief steal as either lo.se
or win money like that." Star spoke hotly.

" You think my uncle is as bad as a thief, then ? "

" I was speakinj? of Colonel Parker."

" But you said, ' to lose or win.' " Her voice trembled
a little.

" It isn't my business to jud^e."

" I am very unhappy," said Marian. " I feel this
morninf^ as if it were a very wicked world."

" When one feels that way I suppose one ought to
try to make it better."

" What can I do ? Such efforts surely begin at
home, and my uncle — I have not lialf so much in-
fluence over him as his servant has."

They had come back to the place for Marian's tears.
This morning they flowed freely.

CHAPTER XI.

" It is just as I suspected," said Hubert, after he had come
in from his day's work that evening. " All these fellows
between them have only the numbers of four of the
notes, and they are not sure of one of these. It seems
that half a dozen of the men at the club lent it to
Parker because he trumped up the story that old Gower
was treating him shamefully in threatening to sue him
for another debt if he left the house without paying
this."

UUUK II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

2()1

jme

)WS

the

to
iwer
lini

" Do you suppose that Mr. Gower really pressed him
for it ? "

" / don't know, I'm sure."

" Do you think Colonel Parker could have stolen or
pai<l some one to steal the money back again ? "

" Parker went to London last night. Oh no ; these
fellows, like all moralists, draw the most absurd lino
between right and wrong. The colonel will borrow and
never pay ; game away his own money, and live on his
relations ; cause all sorts of misery to men and women
wherever he goes ; but I've no doubt he's too virtuous
to steal. That would hurt his conscience and make him
uncomfortable."

There was a sneer in Hubert's tone, which Star
winced at a little. His words came too readily, as
though some excitement made him glib. It was not
very noticeable. He did not raise his voice, or say too
much. No doubt he was merely excite<l by reporting
such a mysterious atiair.

He was speaking to her then in the kitchen whence,
ill a minute, he helped her carry his own tea into the
little parlour. He was rather late, and their meal was
finished, so he ate alone. The lamp was on the table,
with a pink shade on it, which Star had just made
out of some bits of a pink silk frock that dated from
better days. Hubert was called upon to admire it
before he might eat.

" The old rags look remarkably well, ' he said.

" I ironed them ; covered with lace, it does not show
that they are old. The light comes so softly through,"

" You might have bought a bit of new if you had
wanted," he said.

■^IT

■ (

262

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

* :

" No, I might not ; you are far too extravagant.
Besides, I like this better ; I was very hjippy wearing
that frock before father died. I like it here ; it seems
to piece things on. It is sad to live among everything
new."

Richarda was with them again. She couM walk
now with a crutch.

When Hubert began to take his tea, with the soft
pink light glowing on him and his dishes, Ricliarda
began —

" Well, Hubert, is this new burglary the work of
your genius ?"

"How — my genius!" He had laid down his knife
very composedly, and looked at her a little surprised.

" Yes. You know you said the man who did the
other with his dog was a genius. Do you perceive his
track again here ? "

" Oh " — he took up his knife again — " did I say he
was a genius ? "

"Yes. Do you think this was the same man ? "

** I've put most of my ideas on pa])er," he said.
" There are two columns of them here." He handed her
the new.spai)er. " My dear," he said, " I think I should
like a little more sugar."

He did not often use terms of endearmenu in oi'dinary
cimversation. Star smiled as she took the cup. She
put the tongs m the sugar-basin with the other hand,
and made him just wait a moment coquettishly while
she smiled at him round the lamp.

" Do you think you deserve a'^other lump ? " she
asked, arching her eyebrows. Her smile was like a pink
rosebud in the lamp's soft light.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALT*

263

lary

IShe

md,

\h\\v

aho
)ink

" Certainly," he answered with audacity. Ho smiled
back at hor, and his clear gray eyes j^^ave her a glance
more emotional, more suggestive of love of pleasure in
his love of her, than she had yet seen.

She gave back the cuj). For some momenta the
quiet sounds of his knife and fork, the click of the mother's
knitting-needles, the rustle of Richarda's paper, filled
the room. The voices of children at play on the roa<l
gave only a setting of cheerful neighbourhood to the
little room, with its pink light and happy inmates.
Star, looking at her lampshade with the loving eye
of an artist towards his creation, felt consciously,
supremely blessed. Her home, her dear ones ! Slu'
looked round the room in this sudden flush of con-
scious feeling that had come up and over the surface
of her mind, but after an inKtruit observed, like a t'"'e
house- wife, that the teapot wanted replenishing. She
took it up, yet waited in easy attitude, holding it in
her hand to hear something Richarda began to say.

" You make very little indeed of the best part of
the tale. You say, ' They thought they heard an infant
wailing.' Miss Gower told Star a much better story
than that."

*' What was it ? " He looked up at his young wife.

" Oh, she said it went on crying for about twenty
minutes in a hard, even, unendurable way, which struck
her as most unnatural ; but at last they heard it grow
hoarse, and then it actually choked, she said. She
heard it quite distinctly, as if there were a gurgle in
its throat ; then it stopped."

Hubert burst out laughing. He did not usupJly
laugh aloud, but this laugh seemed to well up from

264

BEGGARS ALL.

[uooR n.

Ir i: I

within him and overflow in a long chuckle of irresistible
amusenient.

" It is funny," said Richarda, " seeing there was not
a real child to he found. But it sounds horrible too."

Star bore off her teapot to go to the kettle at the
kitchen fire. She went lightly out of the little room,
as human beings go so often on practical errands without
particular thought of anything uppermost in the min<l.
A half mechanical intention of what is to be done, a
iteneral contentment with the world — that is all.

It is probable, if we but knew it, that the region of
our thought is like the ocean, of whicli the surface only
is our consciousness, while currents work their silent
way underneath, jn'oduciug only at times some change
upon the surface.

It was but a step past thii foot of the stair, through
the narrow entry, to the kitchen door. The entry was
only lit by the July twilight. The k' jhen gas was
turned low. Star went with the teapot, and, as she
went, a thought struck her —

It tvas Jliilxirt who had coimiiitlcd thw theft — this
and that other !

She did not know how she knew ; probably a thou-
sand tiny cii'cumstances had been informing her <piick
mind and ([uieker sympathies for months. They were
all summed up now in a flash of the truth.

She stooil stunned a moment at the thresliold of the
tidy little kitchen. Its low light, its (piiet hues of bare
wooil and stone, seemed to receive her secret from her
and become instinct with it. She stumbleil forward,
not to do her errand, but to sit by the deal table, to put
her elbow on it and lean her head on her hand.

B(K)K II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

265

the
icr
kit

The little kitchen clock ticked, ticked, ticket!.

In about five niinutcH Hubert came. " Star ! " he
called. He came to the dour. " What's the matter ? "
He came over be.side her. '* What's the matter ? Aje
yon ill?"

" I — yes, I feel ill." She did not take her hand
Irom before her eyes.

He stooped a little. " Are you in any pain ? Tell me."

He stood in a helpless way, as men are apt to do
before illness. He was not usually caressin;^ in hw
manner ; it did not occur to him to touch her.

She .said at last, " 1 am a little faint. I think I .shall
be better "

She was goin^jj to say "soon," but the word appalled
her with a (juestion of its truth. Better when ? What
betterness couhl there be for her? She did not think;
she only dindy felt the thought.

He went back to the parlour.

" Mother," he said — he had chosen of his own accoril
to call Star's mother by that name on occasions ; this was
one of them — " Star says she feels faint ; will you come
and see her ? "

He j^ave the feeble step the support of his arm. .Star
niovetl her hand for the first time to see them enter thu
door thu.s. The bare kitchen Hoor reeled as she looked.
Then she knew that .she really was feelin«( ill.

They came and spoke wisely and kindly. She had
better go to bed. Was there anything that she could
take f

She roused her.self Yes, she would go up and lie
''.own on the bed. She had put the teapot carelessly near
the edge of the table : she pushed it Iwick mechanically

ift

266

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

and went to escape from them. Hubert followed up-
stairs. He carefully covered her up on the bed.

" What is it you feel ? " he asked.

" Only leave me alone," she said.

So he left her, shutting the door.

What seemed her most acute distress at that i loment
was the knowledge that he would soon Cume back to see
how she was. Or her mother would come creeping in
tenderly, strong with the strength of passionate mother
love, to wait on the child who had so long waited on
her. Or Richarda would come, with her newly found
power of walking with a crutch, proud to display her
power, making her little jokes and odd quaint .sayings
serve as familiar expression of sister love. They would
come, one or all ; they would open the door again soon.
She did not think ; she realized nothing, nothing but
that she was in some misery. She moved on the bed ;
she put her arms up under her head ; she opened her
eyes, straining them to look in the dark.

She saw nothing, only visions of the old happy home
among the Californian vineyards. She seemed to remem-
ber that she had seen some other happy scene sine*'
then. She remembered the room downstairs. She went
back again then, with aching brain, to the other scene.
" Oh mother ! " she whispered ; " Oh my sister ! " " Oh
father, father ! " The sound of her own voice ju.st
breathing on the air seemed to comfort her ; it was some-
thing to listen to, to observe in the darkness. " Oh
father, father ! " she vhispered again. She seemed to play
with her own whispers, as with a harmless toy, for a
little. " Father, father ! " Then remembering herself,
tjhe groaned, " Oh God ! "

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALI^

267

•If,

Her mother and Richarda did both soon come. For
their sakes she undressed hei*self and crept into the bed.
They came to the conclusion that she had had some
little quarrel with Hubert. They would not cjuestion
her much. Her mother left her with fervent kissea
She promised them to be well in the morning. She
knew she must keep the promise. She believed by this
time that in fact she was quite well, though she
shammed illness, and hated herself for it.

She heard them go to bed in their own room, next to
hers.

She lay there, only dreading one thing — that Hubert
should come and question her again. She felt wretched
only because she knew he would come. She thought
if it had not been for that she could have settled her
mind to think. Perhaps, if she could think it all out, it
would not seem so strange, so sad, so bad, that Hubert
should be a thief.

He did not come for a long time. At length she
heard his step. She had often noticed how quiet he
could be — was the word stealthy, not quiet ?

He came and stood beside her. She did not feign
sleep. Then he turned up the light deliberately, and
brought a chair so that he could sit down, his face
looking into hers.

" Now," he said, " what is the matter ? "

He spoke quite quietly, but she thought that he sus-
pected her suspicion. When she looked at his familiar
face a great hope came over her for the first time that
she was mistaken.

She glanced at the door. He had shut and locked it,.

•' Hubert, did you steal Mr. Gower's money ? "

208

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

/j),

" Yes."

He said it so quietly. She felt that his quiet kept
her from being excessively shocked.

"And that other, too — the money the mayor had to
give the almshouses ? "

" Yes."

" You are a burglar ? "

" Yes."

She looked at him. She wondered that she did not
faint or scream or — die. She did not feel in the least
like any such demonstration or change. His calm calmed
her. The wonder seemed to be, not that he had said
'yes,' but that the room, and they two in it, seemed
so familiar, quiet and cosy. She turned her head from
him wearily on the pillow.

" How did you find out ? "

" I just thought of it ; then I knew."

" Nothing special made you guess i "

" No."

*' Well, I always intended you to know some time.
There is no use in having a secret from you. You are
my wife, you know."

" You meant me to know ? " There was some faint
surprise in her voice now.

" Yes. When I advertised, you know " He

stopped.

" Well ? " She was interested in spite of herself

" I didn't intend to marry a wife I could not tell.
I meant at first that she should help me, but I shouldn't
want you to do that. However, I don't mind you
knowing. When you've thought it over it won't seem
so bad as it does now."

I:l«

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

2C9

11.
't
)ii
in

" Why not ? " she asked, almost as a child would.

" Because there are many mitigating circumstances.
I have my principles, an<l keep to them, although they
are not the same as people ordinarily have."

" I like ordinary principles best" She felt that she
was speaking childishly.

"The men from whom I have taken money made it
abominably. Mr. Allan, the mayor, made his by sweating ;
coined it out of the wretchedness of men and women ;
did it deliberately too, knowing all about his own
trade. He got it by insolently grinding down people by
the power his father's trade happened to leave in his
hand ; / got it from him — by skill that was the outcome
of weeks of thought. He used it only for his own
pleasure ; I did good with it. Am I worse than he ? I
hold myself better. This Gower made his money by
being an idle partner in an Indian house that grew rich
by cheating the natives and trading on their ignorance.
How he got this special sum you know ; and he would
have used it gaming with the next di.ssipated wretch
who visited him. Isn't it doing better service paying
Richarda's doctor's bill.

She had no answer.

" Why did you marry me, Hubert ? " she asked very
wearily.

" I liked you. I was glad to do what you asked for
v-hem. I Vvani/uJ to get married mostly for the respect-
able look of the thing, and of course they add to that.
Besides," half shyly, " I liked you, Star, you know."

She felt astonished that he should add that last
remark. It surely could not be true. Cool, calculating
self-interest and love could not blend this way. She

•w ^ ■'■».,

270

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

knew his 8hj% " I liked you, Star," was equivalent to
another man's, " I loved,"

Yep, and she perceived that he would have leaned
down and kissed her in another minute.

" I think we will not talk any more to-night," she
said ; " I feel very tired."

She did turn to him, however, while he was preparing
for bed.

" Does any one help you, Hubert ? "

"No."

" Does any other person in the world know ? "

" No ; only you and I ; and we are one, you know."

CHAPTER XII.

It is difficult for any one young and healthy to lie the
whole night long in darkness and silence without sleep,
however great be the sorrow.

For an hour, perhaps for three or four. Star lay still,
wrapped in the endeavour to conform her thoughts to
the reality of her husband's crime. It still seemed to lie
upon the confines of her mind, as a hideous spectacle
before which all her natural and ordinary ideas stood
stunned and affrighted. Yet there was nothing she knew
more clearly than this, that this ghastly thing, at which
they stared, must be taken in to live with these other
ideas, must become an intimate part of her life. She
could not fly from it ; she must decide how she would
deal with it.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

271

ill.
to
lie
;le
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iia

Could she not fly from him, from Hubert ? — rise up
ill the darkness, there and then, and take her mother and
sister, and run far and swiftly anywhere where darkness
and distance should divide her and her loved ones from
the thief who now was peacefully sleeping by her side ?
This was the first cry of her heart. It came to relieve
her, like those wild, sweet notions which serve as walls
for the air castles of youth — walls which need not stand
the test of the measuring rule and plunmiet of possibility.
But no air castle could serve her purpose now. To leave
him then and there was impossible. Could she ever leave
him ^

The question of ever or never did not confront her
now with much urgency. Had she been a woman of
higher ideality she might have exhausted herself that night
in the attempt to mapout her whole futureon linesof heroic
suffering and passionate protest. Star was concerned
first and most witli the immediate present. Her mother,
to whom a very slight shock or change might be death,
who could not under any circumstances live long, had
found a home of peace in Hubert's protection. Richarda,
who, just recovering from the serious operation, had been
told by the doctors that for a year at least to attempt
any employment would be to destroy her hope of recovery,
had now the care and comfort she needed in Hubert's
house ; not only that, but she owed to him the measure
of health she now had, and all her hope of health. Star
thought of them — of one and of the other. How could
she, Hubert's wufe, rise up in the strength of her injured
innocence and tell him that she would have neither part
nor lot in his dishonest career ? If to-morrow they all
three went out of his door in absolute poverty, slw. she

I ti

^1,

272

BEGGARS ALL.

[Hook IL

with the (liagraco upon her which must always attend
the separation of married couples, what would come next ?

She supposed she could force him to let her go. She
liad an indistinct idea that legally her testimony would
not avail airainst her husband, even if she had had
evidence beyond his own confession, but she knew that
she had it in her power to disgrace him by speaking ; she
knew also that he would not brook disgrace — his reputa-
tion, if not his pet delight, was at least his stock-in-trade.
For some time she wondered how she could use this
power over him without any compunction as to his
suffering. Then she remembered how easily, how lightly,
he had trusted her with his secret. She listened to his
light breathing as he slept, and twisted the wedding ring
on her finger. If she did buy her liberty at the price of
her silence and go out from his house, with her mother
and sister, to face utmost poverty rather than share his
gains, could she challenge God to her aid ? would she
leave no duty Ixjhind her undone ?

And as she thought, and tried to think more clearly,
sleep came upon her. She never thought of sleep, but it
stole her senses unawares, and when she next knew her-
self the sun was streaming in with all its morning bright-
ness, and she knew, by the place of its beams in the
room, that her little day was beginning too late.

" Star," — Hubert stood at the door apparently intent
only upon thoughts of breakfast — "I have lit the fire
and got the water boiling ; I can make some breakfast
if you'll tell mo where to find the things."

This was the first time in that little toy house of
theirs that she had failed to get his breakfast.

She started in all the pretty importance and bustle of

Rook II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

273

luf

lof

a belated young housekeeper. Poor girl, a stray sun-
beam was upon lior tumbled hair when she remembered
the preceding night and, in the midst of her happy haste,
8topi)ed to look at him with piteous eyes.

He knew as well as she did what had arrested her ;
he only said —

" Don't get up if you are tired. Tell me where the
things are and what to do."

He spoke with all the cheerfulness of the common-
place in his air and words, and after the nightmare of
the thoughts which had come before sleep, this plan his
air suggested, which she had not before thought of, of
going on for at least one day more as if nothing hail hap-
pened, came to her as an inexpressible relief. Then, too,
she must hasten all she did until he was gone. The relief
of work — work that must be done in haste, that left not
a moment's time to consider — was like shelter from a
storm. After that one piteous glance she gave him, he
had no other from her. It was not long before he had
his breakfast and was ready to go. She did not eat hers
with him, but she had tea to take upstairs ; that was an
excuse. He came before he went out to the kitchen, and
found her there, busy with her fire and her cookery. He
spoke with more than usual affection.

"Good-bye; and, look here, you mustn't worry
about anything, you know. I can explain ever^'^thing
to you that you want to know when I come to-night."

He went away lighthearted. She felt quite certain
that his lightheartedness was no pretence. He trusted
her as absolutely as he trusted himself He had no fear
of anything. It was not his nature to disturb himself
with fears. He was at ease.

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[Book II.

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She sat down in her disordered kitchen, for the first
time in her life content to sit in the midst of confusion
without the least effort toward cleanliness and order.
Hubert's breakfast-table in the other room was left
uncleared ; in this, except that he himself had made the
fire tidily, everything had been laid down where it had
been used. She had taken satisfaction in working care-
lessly that she might be compelled to work the longer in
rearranging her small domain. It had not occurred to
her that she could leave work undone till she heard his
receding footstep and sat down to listen to it and return
to her undisturbed thoughts, as even a diligent person
may wilfully take time from duty to peruse a tale which
has cast a spell. She could hear Richarda talking
with her mother over their breakfast-tray in the room
above. The street door was open, as it often stood while
she worked about from room to room ; she could hear the
play of the children, the noise of passing carts. At the
kitchen window sounds entered of birds in her own yard,
and neighbours chattering in theirs. The summer day had
opened cheerfully uponthe suburban interests of the place.

In a little while she took her purse from her pocket
and opened it. It was Friday, and there were some odd
shillings and pence ovei' from the pound that Hubert
gave her weekly for current expenses. There was also,
in the small middle compartment, a sovereign which, at
the beginning of their housekeeping, he had put in there,
telling her to keep it in case of an emergency. She
remembered exactly how he looked when his neat, deft
fingers had shut this small compartment ; how, at this
time and at others, she had taken his practical, consid-
erate kindness in place of the caressing humour she had

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

275

expected as proof of love. She had told herself often
that the real thought he had displayed in kindnesses,
especially to her mother, far more than compensated for
the lack of tenderness which had sometimes piqued her.
She had learned to realize that this was Hubert's way of
love ; nov} her heart complained bitterly that there had
l>een nothing; in it but cleverest self-interest.

In taking out the purse she had no idea of calculating
the value of her store with thought of using it for flight.
The idea of flight had passed with the vapours of night.
Her impulse was to look with curiosity upon money that
had been stolen, and for this purpose she pushed aside the
coins she had received in change, and held the sovereign
in her palm. Was it one of that three hundred which
the old mayor had had ready to give to the poor in pur-
suance of the strange bequest ? It could not have been
taken from Mr. Gower's pocket, for she had had it a long
time, and that last theft only occurred two days before.
Was it two, only two, days before ? Time, circumstances,
seemed confused. But perhaps she was destined to spend
Mr. Gower's money, as she had, no doubt, been steadily
spending the gold the mayor had been obliged to make
good — she, Esther Thompson, who had been so quietly
and well brought up. It was very strange !

That was the main tenor of her thought — that it
was very strange. She had supposed all crime to belong
to a sphere of life wholly apart from domestic peace. To
reconcile her experience and belief, she tried to suppose
all Hubert's homely ways a mere farce and blind for a real
life he lived elsewhere. Yet her imacfination failed to
serve her in considering where and what that other life
might be.

276

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

So she sat baffled, wondering if she could arrange with
him and her little public to leave him and take back her
mother and Richarda to that poverty whence he had
rescued them. She could not realize the full sadness of
her situation. She was not accustomed to analyze
thought or circumstance. To such a mind time only can
bring full realization.

There was a tap at an outer door, a light, strong step
in the entry, a slight hesitation in its walk,, and then,
a pace within the door of the untidy kitchen, stood
Charles Bramwell.

" Oh, Dr. Bramwell ! " cried Star. She rose suddenly
with the vague impression that she had much to tell any
friend whom she saw. Then instantly she perceived that
she had nothing to tell — that all that had happened to
change her life and reverse her whole thought of life
must never be told to him or any other friend. In that
moment, in which she felt herself grow wise as though
with age, she stood in untidy dress, which was wholly
unusual to her, in the midst of a clutter of pots and dishes.
She looked pale and ill; she was evidently rendered
speechless by some occasion of dismay. He looked at
her, at the purse and money which lay on the table by
her. He was young, and his sympathetic kindness
was as undisciplined as it was strong. He strode
across the bare floor to her side with an expression of
concern.

" You are ill, Mrs. Kent. Has anything happened ?

Mrs. Thompson is not " He knew well the calamity

most likely to befall ; his thoughts jumped to the con-
clusion that Mrs. Thompson was dying or dead. " Why
did you not send for me ? " he asked, in a graver tone of

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

277

[hy

kindest reproach. "This was surely not treating iri
as a friend ? "

Believing her to be suffering from the greatest grief
a loving daughter can have, he took her hand to lead
her from a place so evidently unsuitable.

" Come into the front room with me," he said with
gentle authority.

Seeing that she was trembling and faint, he passed
his arm round her waist to bring her to the sofa in the
front room, and Star, her brain reeling with physical
faintness, raised her troubled eyes to his and felt, for
one short moment, what it was to rest on the strength
of a man who was as honest as he was strong. She
could not reason about character as many can ; she
knew, with unerring instinct, that this doctor's young
blue eyes had always told her of an honest heart, just
as she knew that she had never been able to fathom the
look of her husband's eyes.

" I think I am fainting," she said in toneu of
astonishment. She sat down again.

He gave her water ; he entreated her to tell him of
Mrs. Thompson : and Star, drinking the water, began to
deride herself to him, as her native wit taught her was
the best form of concealment.

" It's a fuss about nothing," she cried. " I only felt
faint for a minute. I have, it is true, been anxious
about mother for a day or two. She is eating nothing ;
but I hope that when she sees you she will be better
again."

His manner grew more composed the moment he
found that the worst he had assumed was not realized-

"Can you not get some one to do this work for

278

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

you ? " He glanced at the disorder. " You are not fit.
I am sure if Mr. Kent were here he would agree with
me.

He always spoke of Hubert with that guarded re-
spect which made Star aware that he remembered each
time that he was below him in station. His manner,
which grew more friendly to the rest of them, became
formal when he took Hubert's name on his lips. It
came to her like some distant mental echo that in the
past, all the past up to a few hours ago, she had resente(]
this with the unreasonable resentment which such cir-
cumstances are apt to raise ; now —

He never knew, he never guessed, how to-day her
heart ached under the habitual little air of pride which
she put on in speaking of Hubert.

" My husband is always anxious that I should have
help. It is my own choice to do the work."

Then, for appearance sake, she promised to have
help that day. He turned at once to go to her mother's
room, and she begged him, with apparent interest, to
shut his eyes to disorder.

When he came down again she was already at the
door, bargaining with a neighbour to come in for half a
day. The neighbour drew into her house, as a snail into
a shell, when the doctor appeared, probably from an
awkward consciousness of dirt and curlpapers.

" There are advantages," said Star archly, *' in living
but one door removed from a charwoman."

Hubert had estimated his wife perfectly when he
chose her to share his secret. Except in one moment
of surprise and physical laintness, she did not feel the
slightest temptation to betray her husband. She was so

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lent
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Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

279

intent now on wiping away from Bramwell's mind the
recollection of her obvious distress, that she had for-
gotten, for once, that tremor of apprehension that his
errand to her mother's room usually caused her. It was
as well for her purpose of concealment that he took for
granted the tremor was there. Her gaiety was too
evidently forced.

" You have been more anxious about Mrs. Thompson
than you would own." He spoke with real concern.
" You have reason, I regret to say."

Star put both hands behind her and leaned against
the lintel of the door. It seemed to her at the moment
that she must clear away all between her eyes and his
inmost thought that she might read it through and
through. She did read that thought with large startled
gaze; it said to her, though his lips did not move,
" Your mother will die soon." All other interest, even
the newest and saddest her life had developed, faded
from her ; only this one thought filled her — the mother's
smile, the mother's love, that was the light of her life,
was to be taken away from her.

" How soon ? " Her lips formed the words as she
looked at him.

" Oh, I hope it may not be for many days yet. I
only know that — that it cannot be long now."

Bramwell was truly concerned. He had a warm
regard for Mrs. Thompson. It was he who spoke un-
availing words of regret as they stood there, not she.
There was at least this relief in her sorrow, that she
need not dissemble any more. It calmed her to feel
that she might be sad now if she chose without any
curious questions.

. -../»n.^»i-:ji— ''•.-' •^.-- ■

■ ■

280

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

CHAPTER XIII.

There was not much to be done for Mrs. Thompson
that had not been done daily for a long time. She was
not much more ill than she had been in the preceding
weeks, except that the heart, like a delicate instrument,
was beating with less strength ; and they all knew, for
Bramwell had made no concealment of the fact to any
of them, that its strength would be less and less. Star
let her neighbour work her awkward, slovenly will with
the household treasures, and sat through most of the
hours of the day passively holding the dear withered
hand in her own, seeming to care neither for speech nor
movement.

" You are not like yourself, love," the mother said.
" Why should you be so distressed to-day ? We have
known a long time that I must leave you soon." She
went on, in her gentle, thoughtful way, to speak of their
affairs — how grateful she felt to Hubert for defraying
the expenses of Kicharda's illness ; how thankful she
was that Divine Providence had permitted her to see
her child, so long a cripple, in a fair way to recover the
use of her natural powers. "And, Star," she said, " al-
though I was greatly averse to your marriage, and
although it has been a hard trial to my faith to see you
married to a man who makes no profession of religion,
yet I have been brought to see that we may judge too
hastily on external grounds, and I can die and leave you
in his care, my darling, with more security than I could

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

281

see
,he
al-
,nd
ou
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ou
Id

have believed possible. It is not for us to judge, yet it
seems to me that a young man so unselfish, so upright,
canno*' be far from the kingdom of God."

Star sat with averted face.

" Nor do I feel distressed," the quiet voice went on,
" to leave Richarda to you and him. In a year or two
now she will be able to do something to support herself
If Hubert had been less kind the thought of that time
of dependence must have troubled us ; but, dear, we have
much to be thankful for. Hubert has shown himself
very, very kind."

She could not speak very continuously, but all that
day, when she did speak, it was in the same strain,
the strain of quiet thankfulness and submission of her
own theories and judgment to the higher knowledge
and mercy of God. " His ways are very mysterious to
us sometimes," she said, harping with gentle repetition
on the theme which most possessed her mind. " He
teaches us by experience that He can bring the greatest
blessing out of what seems the greatest trouble. I felt,
dear, that trouble could not be greater when your father
died ; and afterwards, when I thought that I must die,
leaving you both strangers and penniless in a strange
land, that seemed worse ; yet your marriage with a man
whom we knew so *little seemed to me worse than all.
If you had not felt so sure that you were providentially
led to it, I could not have yielded as I did. Now I have
been taught that God's ways are higher than mine. I
am sure, dear, that He has a plan for your life — a plan
for greater usefulness and blessing than I could have
devised. I can die happily, and leave you and Richarda
and Hubert in your heavenly Father's care."

. _.- ■ -•^■^-•S'-

282

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

Star was silent and listened to it all.

When evening approached the mother smiled. " Are
you not going to prepare your husband's supper, lassie ?
You must not neglect him for me."

Then Star got up and resumed her work.

She did not make more preparation for Hubert than
she could help. She put sweet flowers in her mother's
room. She made it bright with> little ornaments from
the parlour.

"Richarda shall sit here and have a supper-party
with you," she said, " while I attend to my husband."

This w^as the order of things when Hubert came
home. He was late. The windows were shut and the
lamp lit when he sat down to read his paper. The
lamp glared at him unpleasantly without the shade,
which had been taken upstairs. The room had not all
the daintiness to which he had grown accustomed. Star
made no feint ; the front she turned to him was gloomy.

" Hubert, I have something to say to you."

" Come and sit down and say it then." He was
tired and sat in her mother's chair near the window.
He drew a small chair near him with one arm as he
spoke.

" I won't sit down." She stood not far from him,
about the middle of the small room. The door was shut.
" Hubert."

He raised his eyes interrogatively.

" Why did you tell me ? What makes you suppose
that I shall not tell my mother and sister, and blaze it
abroad everywhere ? "

" What would you gain by doing that ? and how
much would you lose ? "

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Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

283

" Gain or lose ! " — with contempt. " Do you suppose
that everybody is actuated by low motives of self-
interest as you are ? "

" Upon my word, I never saw you look half so hand-
some in my lifo ! Are you going to box my ears, or
what ? " He was not laughing ; there was a little genuine
apprehension in his manner, but only of immediate
violence, not of any disaster to his reputation.

" No, I won't strike you, because I will never
degrade myself by touching you when I can help it."

He sprung to his feet, stung into great anger.
" What do you take me for, to think I will let you
speak to me that way ? " His face had turned very
colourless ; his dark eyes were peering out of it at her.

" I will speak to you as I choose, and I take you for
what you are; I needn't repeat the word — it is well
enough known to us both."

He tried to reason down his own anger. He had the
rare sense which sees that uncontrolled anger is never
wise.

" I am," he said slowly, " a newspaper reporter. " If
I were only that "

"Well?"

" Richarda would not be learning to walk, and your
mother would not have the comforts she needs."

What an intellect this man had — to perceive that if
he boasted in the slightest of what he had done for her
the value of his kindness would instantly be less — to
perceive this, not by native delicacy of feeling, but by
clear thought on a subject that was all-important to him.

He hastened to go on, speaking in a calmer voice.
" Not that we should not have been glad to do all that

284

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

we could for thorn in any case, but that we could not
have afforded it on my salary. Have they not a right,
the right of helpless <^oodness, to all that any one can
do for them ? If you believe in a heavenly arranging of
things here you must believe that they have far more
right to the value of the money than men who got it in
a bad way and would spend it in a worse. Oh," as she
made an impatient movement, " I am not trying to hood-
wink you by hypocritical words. I told you from the
first that I was not virtuous. I don't believe in your
notions of right and wrong. I only want to show you
that I am not worse, even by your morals, than men
whom good people tolerate with respect. If you are
going to fly out at me in this way, why don't you put
Miss Gower up to scolding her uncle because he gambles
with men he knows can't afltbrd to pay him ? "

He was using many words to try to pacify her by
time, if not by conflicting ideas. He partially succeeded,
for, net knowing exactly what to say first, she leaned
herself against the dining table in a less threatening
attitude.

In a minute, " It's very wrong of you, Hubert, to say
you told me you were not good : you know as well as
I do that nothing on earth would have induced me to
marry you if I had known. You did a mean, dis-
honourable thing in marrying me, just as much as if you
had boasted of your own excellence."

He did not speak for a minute or two.

"There are several things I could say, Star, in
answer to that unkind speech, but I do not wish to say
what will hurt you, even though you don't seem to mind
hurting me."

Rook II.]

BEGGARS ALT-

285

say

lia-

in
Isay

iind

" Say them. Do yo'i think anything can make me
more miserable ? "

" Well " — with some diffidence — " you know I would
rather not have married you so soon ; I wanted you to
know me better and judge for yourself."

" Go on ; tell me that it was I who proposed, I who
made love, I who urged haste." She spoke with a hard
misery in her young voice which ho could not help
pitying. " Go on ; say all that. It is true ; I won't
deny it."

" No, it isn't true ; it's as false as a half truth
usually is. You didn't ask me to many you ; the most
that you did in that line was to tell me that, for the
sake of your mother and sister, you could love an old
wreck of a drunkard, if he would be kind to them.
You pointed him out to me ; do you remember the
man f

She covered her face with her hands. " I was a
headstrong, passionate child, but you did wrong to take
me at my word."

" Most men in my place would think I had great
excuse in your pretty face. You cannot expect all the
world to live up to the exalted standard of an invalid
lady like your mother. I don't say I did right to take
you at your word ; but did I take you at your word ?
At the time I did, but afterwards, when I had seen
you all, and saw what you were, I asked you to put
it off till the end of the summer. I would have done all
that I have done for you and the others, and left you
free to decide at the end."

"That is idle talking. I should not have been
free."

..L

286

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IL

"You would, so far as any claim on my part was
concerned. Do you think I take no satisfaction in doing
a good action?"

" I see you have entangled me in a net of words so
that it may appear that you are not open to my reproach.
You have taken care to make the marriaare all my

marriage

doing.'

** It is you who say that, not I. I know that you
did not want to marry me ; you preferred it only to
seeing your mother die in a hole that was not fit for her,
or to letting me find a better place for her before we
married. How can you think I am taunting you with
making love to me when I keep telling you that I saw
all along that you only sacrified yourself to save them ?
No one else would dare to say before me what you
have said — that you made love."

If he had taunted her, her anger would have known
no bounds, but his eagerness to assert the propriety of
her motives puzzled and distracted her. When one is
giving battle of fixed purpose it is confusing if the
enemy comes over to help. She wanted to get him back
to his own side.

" I did hurry the wedding and make love to you too,"
she repeated sullenly. " I remember, perfectly, kissing
you when you didn't "

"Don't, Star!" — with impatience. "How can you
twist things so ? I can't bear to hear you speak of
things like that when — when I can see you are angry
with me. Abuse me as much as you like" — standing
up. — "I'll hear everything you have to say; but don't
abuse yourself — I can't stand it."

Was his emotion genuine, or was it a masterstroke

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

287

of
is
le

of policy ? Her faith in him was so shaken that she
looked at him entirely perplexed. He sat down again,
as if ashamed of the feeling he had displayed.

" Go ahead ; let's ha ve it out."

"You know that when you said at first that you
were not good, we took it as a proof of humility, which
is the foundation of all goodness. You knew that quite
well at the time,"

"Well, I thought then of warning you that the
simple truth is often the worst lie ; but you had such a
good illustration of it in your own conduct that I
thought you couldn't avoid seeing it. You told your
mother that I had offered you an umbrella that rainji^
day. It was perfectly true ; but you know it was
equivalent to saying that we had not met by appoint-
ment, which was — a lie. Mind, I don't blame you ; it
was the best you could do."

" It was not the best I could do. When I answered
your advertisement — and all that time, until I was
married — I was a foolish, wicked girl. I had lost all
faith in God just because, after making us happy all our
lives. He seemed to desert us for a little while. I
wouldn't wait with patience to see what He would do —
I went to you for help ; and now I am punished. But
you were dishonourable, because you knew that if I had
known the whole truth I should never have married
you."

" I'm aware that you would not. I didn't salve my
conscience by supposing that all I said made the trans-
action quite above board ; but you must remember that
I didn't, and don't, believe that a miracle was going to
be worked on your behalf, any more than you did.

288

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II.

Your mother would have died in that hole, and Richarda

too, sooner or later; and as for you " He looked at her

a minute, and broke off with a change of voice. " You
may think I am talking to you like a grandfather, when
I am not much older than you ; but I was brought up
for some time in the streets. When you came to me,
thinking yourself so well able to take care of yourself;
when you applied to me so impulsively, and trusted me
so easily, was I to blame for thinking if I didn't deceive
you in this business, some other man would in a
worse ? "

She felt more angry and more softened at the same
moment — angry at the sketch of herself, because it was
true ; softened by the thought of his protection.

"There could hardly have been a worse," she said
sadly, drearily, "You have made me the wife of a
common thief"

" What cause have you to insult me ? "

"If the truth insults you, I can't help it." Her
passion was rising again, like a wind that had lulled
and again gathered force.

He answered with a quiet anger that would have
frightened her at a less troubled time.

" In the first place, there is a great deal that is true
that is insulting to say. If I say tc you that I pay
for everything your mother eats and wears, I insult you,
simply by saying it. It is not my business to make that
remark to you. I should be a beast if I did. Have I
ever done such a thing ? "

" No," she agreed, after a moment's reflection.

"In the second place, it is not true. I am not a
common thief; I am a very uncommon one."

Book U]

BEG GARS ALL.

289

It seemed extraordinary to her that he should be
able to say such a thing, speaking, as he did, out of the
still, white heat of anger. Yet he did say it proudly,
earnestly. Her woman's sense of humour, that could
recognize absurdity even when it came gi'inning from
behind her own worst woes, was sorely put to it not to
smile.

" What is the difference ? " she asked scornfully.

" A common thief makes thieving a business, so that
he is forced to steal on all occasions or starve. He gets
compromised with other thieves, and is dragged into all
their villainous schemes as well as his own. Whether
owners of property are honest or dishonest, whether they
spend their money on good objects or bad, whether they
are helpless or ill, or even if they are women, an ordinary
thief is compelled to take whatever he can get from
them. He cannot choose his victims, or limit the
amount he takes from them."

Star listened with great surprise. She was weary,
and seated herself absently on the edge of the dining-
table against which she had been leaning. Her feet did
not quite touch the ground, and she swung them a little,

" Go on," she said.

"Well, / don't live by stealing. I have a regular
occupation, which uses most of my time and supports
me. I have no accomplices, and I have not lost my
reputation. Consequently, I can afford to have principles
in stealing, just as you have principles in other things.
I never yet took money from a man who got it honestly,
or who wasn't in a position to protect it if he had the
foresight to do so ; and as to frightening lonely women
at night, or suffocating people with chloroform — bah ! "

■'"

S90

BEGGAKS ALL.

[Book TI.

He did not raise his voice as he spoke, hut there
was an excited note in it which assured her that, for the
first time, he was talking to her freely on the subject
nearest his heart. A machinist might have spoken thus
of the dream of his inventive genius, or an artist of
the joys of his profession. Hubert Kent was talking of
theft.

"A common thief," he went on, "runs the risk of
being arrested and seat to prison ; if it's the fear of that
that makes it so distasteful to you, you needn't be afraid
— I will never be caught."

" It is impossible to do what you do and not risk
that," she whispered.

" No, it isn't, when a man has more wits than other
people — at least, the risk is almost nil; but if some
chance works against the best plans, there is always one
sure way out."

"What way?"

" Death," he said. " A man, unless he's a fool, ought
to prefer death to disgrace."

An old memory rose within her, as memories evoked
by similar ideas will sometimes come. First, like some
phantom of the present that has been preacted by us in
some former state, then more clearly, she knew what she
remembered — how, when she was a little child, she had
heard her father talk with his friends about an incident
of the civil war then in progress; they too had said
something like this. She saw herself a little, wondering
child, looking up to them as they spoke, burning with
sympathy for the heroic sentiment but half understood.
She put the memory from her, hardly noticing the
contrast.

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

291

nth.
)od.

" Do you mean you would prefer your own death, or
some one else's ? "

She did not mean to sneer. The question rose in-
voluntarily out of her practical wit as an important one
to be asked just then.

He looked at her sharply, "I don't intend to kill
any one under any circumstances," he said. " Killing
is nasty work, even if I hadn't any principle, which
you seem to think."

She did think it.

"Do you mean to say, Hubert, that if you were
wrestling with a pursuer in the dark alone, and had to
choose between your life and his, you wouldn't choose
his?"

" Why do you speak so scornfully ? " he asked angrily,
but not loudly. " Would you rather kill or be killed ? "

" I ?— but I don't steal."

" Well, I do, on certain occasions ; and when I tell you
that I never carried arms of any sort, and never will,
you will see that I shall not kill any one. I outwit men,
I don't fight them ; and I shan't fail in outwitting them.
But if I did, if the worst came, they would take me
dead, not alive. I don't carry arms; I'll show you
something I do carry." He took a small purse from an
inner pocket, and showed her some tiny packets of poison
in it. " One would kill a man in about a minute," he
observed. " And I'll tell you another thing while we are
on a disagreeable subject; if that did happen, they would
find my affairs in a state that would entirely exonerate
you. I settled that when I married you."

She did not feel so much affected by the sight of the
poison, or touched by the provision suggested for her-

292

BEGGAES ALL.

[Book II.

self, as she felt might seem fitting. She felt strangely
contemptuous, as if it were some schoolboy braggadocio
«iie was listening to ; yet she knew there was thii
ditfcrence, that schoolboys talk and do not do, and this
man had committed the crimes and made the prepara-
iions of which he now spoke so sparingly and quietly.
She knew it, yet she could not realize it. She sat on
the edge of the table and swung* one foot with restless
impatience. Her mind was working, flitting from one
part of the subject to another.

" Well," he said, " I don't think I have anything more
to say. I match my wits against rich scoundrels, and I
take my life in my hand when I do it. I don't do it
often ; when I do, I consider the money I make that way
rightfully mine, I run very little risk, and you none.
I am sorry you dislike it so much, and yet I'm not,
either. I'd rather have you just as you are than
anything else. Keep your own principles what they
are, and don't be troubled about mine. We can drop
the subject."

" Drop the subject!" — in indignation. "Do you suppose
I am going to go on spending stolen money, and letting
you go and get more whenever^you like ? "

" How can you help it ? "

" I don't know ; but one thing I do know, and that is,
I wUl help it and hinder it too." She nodded her head
at him with no small degree of decision.

He looked at her intently, seeming to take the
measure of her will and power.

" Very well. When you have found out how, you
can tell me.'

" Hubert," she began again, a little curiosity getting

Book II.]

BEGGARS ALL.

293

Ihe

lou

the better of her contempt, " did T see you, dressed in
Montagu's clothes, putting out those lamps the night of
the dog affair ? "

"Yes."

" And did you know me ? "

" Yes ; and I nearly gave up the job, although I had
been planning it for months, that I might find out what
was the matter with you. As it was, I risked going
slow till I saw you safe in at the doctor's gate."

" And did you take the dog in at the window with "

She stopped. She had come there to reprove his sin;
she perceived that there was no virtuous dignity in the
idle curiosity she was displaying. She ceased to feel
the curiosity as the dreary wretchedness of her situa-
tion came over her. She noticed for the first time
that she was sitting on the edge of the table, and she
got down feeling that that attitude alone marked her
denunciation of him as an entire failure. The little
room looked untidy and garish. She felt undignified.
It struck her how commonplace life was compared with
what it might be expected to be — common and dis-
agi'eeable — and this the most commonplace fact of all,
that the husband sitting so familiarly near her was the
thief whose unknown identity was the theme of every
one's talk.

She turned in silence to go out of the room, not with
the feeling that it was worth while to go into any other,
but because it was no use to stay there. But when he
saw her intention he slipped past her and stood before
her, with his back to the door.
" Star ! "
She made a futile gesture to wave him away.

■JTTJK

294

BEGGARS ALL.

[Bojiv 11.

"There is one thing you have said that you must
take back befoi<.i you leave this room."

There was a gleam in his eyes that she could not
construe. She itood stubborn, supposing him to be
trying to exact some promise of future compliance or
apology for what he termed her insults.

" You must take it back," he repeated, but almost
gently.

"Which?"

" What you said when I asked you if you were going
to box my ears. You remember ? "

It was some moments before she did remember.

" I am not going to quarrel with you," he urged ; " at
least, not if I can help it. I own the whole affair is
rather rough on you. I can see that. I don't mind your
scolding a bit at first; but I am a man, in my own
house, and you are my wife,
spoken to as if I were a dog.
Star ; that will take it back."

" You pretty fury ! " he went on indulgently, looking
at the anger of her aspect. " You look as if you would
rather thrash me. Well, do it ; I won't retaliate. I'll be
as meek as Moses. But I won't have you drawing up
your skirts from me in contempt ; you must understand
that now, once for all." He continued after a minute.
" Come, one little kiss, Star, and I'll let you pass. You
have some hazy notion that you ought not to give it to
me because I am a sinner, but surely you can set it down
to a past account, and let it stand against the many times
I might have teased you for kisses and didn't. Think
of all those weeks you did nothing but nurse Richarda ;
even your mother thought I was badly neglected."

I am not going to be
Come, give me a kiss,

Book n.]

BEGGARS ALL.

295

She turned at her mother's name, throwing herself
into a, chfiir by the table, and burying her head in her
arms.

" What is it i " he asked, coming nearer.

She told him, with broken voice, what Bramwell had
said, that the time of her mother's death was certainly
drawing very near. Fhe did not look up. She threw the
information at him as if he were un worth/ to hear it.
She could not see the real concern in his face, but she
was surprised into looking up by the hearty trouble of
his voice.

" I am very sorry."

" Sorry ! " she exclaimed, looking at him. She felt
as if the gloom of her own sorrow in this matter had
been dispersed by another idea concerning it, as a strong
wind will scatter a storm. " Sorry ! yes, I suppose you
are. My mother's presence certainly adds much to the
respectability you covet."

" You are hard on me," he said.

She went on without heeding. " But I am glad — yes,
glad ; for she at least will not have to livt much longer
upon your money."

Her words were flung out upon absolute silence.
He stood looking at her so gravely that she grew
frightened at the absence of all reply.

But when she rose nervously he moved too. He
took her in strong arms, in spite of her resistance, and
kissed her. It was only after that he let her go.

lteKr-.-at^~i-~J'»7«^a> ff^^- ^^ ~ ^^ Arr ''*LLj>^

"^Hti

BOOK III.

--. v-->_-

'--9Mpmi

< m — I'-' "' 1 • ■- - ■ i iiip tiiiilliiii'

CHAPTER I.

August was upon the land with its shortening days and
heavy, darkened leaves. The end of the town where
Kent and Mr. Gower lived was not entirely out of reach
of harvest fields, but most of those within sight were not
filled with grain. There were great squares, showing
high rows of flowering beans or the flat, brown foliage
of strawberry plants. These were interspersed with
odd-shaped bits of pasture land, across which there was
right of footway to neighbouring villages. This was
mainly the character of the land

It was Star's great pain in hose days that every-
thing appeared, everything was, just the same, in itself
and to others, as it had been before the knowledge came
to her that her husband was a criminal. She, too, like
a work-horse in the harness of circumstance, must go on
in the daily round that, such a little while before, had
seemed sweet to her. It is only a very strong or very
weak nature that can stop, like a watch whose works
have gone wrong, in the midst of life's running, and
mark an epoch of inward experience by suspension of
habit.

One thing became clear to her — that, till her mother
died, no revolution in their household was possible.
How strong, she asked herself, was her own honesty.

J..

K1»*M>M»:4-

300

BEGGAES ALL.

[Book III.

when she felt compelled to buy delicacies for the invalid,
even though the money she used had been stolen ?
Even she had not the sternness of principle that could
make her omit small comforts that might make the
dying bed easier, and the last days upon earth more
bright. Her little excesses were in pence, not shillings,
yet she spent those pence knowing that they were not
hers. Her heart bled as she paid them, wondering
drearily whether, while she found it needful to be thus
dishonest, Hubert could be blamed for the part he
played. She felt the full force of his defence and his
excuses. The clear line which she had always supposed
to lie between right and wrong vanished as she walked
up to it. She was like one wandering in a wilderness
whose path suddenly becomes merged in sand and weeds.

But towards Hubert she showed nothing of this —
neither relenting nor perplexity — because she felt that
to do so would be to be lost. There lay at once the
cause and the proof of her weakness ; the eternal right
seemed to her to be wavering before his argument, and
she must prop it up by obstinacy. She went about
before him a changed creature, not neglectful of her
work or slovenly in her dress, but in both her work and
dress was lacking all that exquisite freshness and per-
fection which had characterized them when she was
happy. She looked to him as a tree in August would
look if set beside its perfect self in June ; and Hubert,
urging to himself that to display irritation was his most
foolish course, grew more and more irritated day by day.

Mrs. Thompson was undoubtedly dying; her feeble
life ebbed lower imperceptibly hour by hour. Since the
slight shock that Brara well's fatal verdict had given her

, KtfKo. mm'it,.0 M gg, ,^»..^«»

»--.*•—»-• -t* *w „*

^■'->«J^^^ *' irM* ,

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

301

it had not been thought wise for her to leave her room.
Yet she had no agony. Richarda sat by her constantly.
They could all only wait and try to live as if the shadow
of death were not upon the house. A shadow certainly
was on Star's face which Richarda naturally thought
was this shadow, and she reproved her sister gently for
sorrowing, she said, as those who have no hope.

" It distresses mother to see you this way," she said.
" It is so unlike you, Star."

Richarda's own face was bright with reflection of her
mother's cheery smi^e.

" Very well," said Star meekly ; and after that she
was more like her old self in the sick-room.

One regulation she had made — that Hubert should
not enter her mother's presence. No one knew of this
resolve — she made excuses to her mother when he was
asked for ; she gave him to understand that he was not
wanted at the bedside — but her heart had the desperate
attitude of a watch-dog who would rather die than allow
an enemy to touch the guarded treasure.

A few days after Star's first sad quarrel with him,
Hubert came home one evening bringing an urgent
request from Mrs. Couples that Star would, if possible,
come and see Tod, who was worse rather than better.
Hubert told Richarda, who was downstairs on an en-and.

" I will take Star down this evening if she will go," he
said. " There is no sense in her staying in the house
all the time ; she will make herself ill."

Richarda had her own sentiments about Star's duty
to Hubert. She left her sister with no excuse. Hubert
overheard her ur<dnfj his cause.

" Mother frets so that you should neglect him, Star ;

•^\jr. -nfHm' i

302

BEGGAES ALL.

[Book HI.

and you know vexation is the worst thing for her. I
am sure she will rest better this evening if she knows
you have spent an hour or two out with him,"

Rieharda laboured up the narrow stair, her crutches
thumping on the steps. Hubert felt an impulse to go
after and lift her and her crutches to the top, but he had
not sufficient aptitude for touching other people to feel
able to follow it. He stood still awkwardly, and
drummed on the table. In a little time Star came,
ready to go out, but with that averted, restless glance
that meant absence of all union with liim.

They took their seats on the top of the little omnibus.
During Richarda's convalescence it had been Star's
favourite diversion to be jolted into town on the top of
this vehicle along with Hubert on a summer evening.
Hubert would set her at the end, if possible, and sit by
her, with his arm on the back of the seat, and she, thus
secure, would sit quite upright and scan her fellow
passengers and the surrounding street with the delight
which a vivacious mind takes in simple pleasures. The
feeling of interest and delight revived in her now as
they climbed up and Hubert paid his pennies. She
crushed it down, in the belief that any comfort for her
was sinful in the present circumstance. The wine of
her natural gaiety was being turned into vinegar by the
conscientious scruple which oppressed her.

Hubert had brought her out, however, as much with
intent to win her back to himself as to fulfil Mrs.
Couples's request. He began by telling her a little
incident of newspaper life, how a wealthy tradesman,
who had been issuing advertising pictures with their
journal, having entitled a print of a countryman in town,

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

303

" Rus in Urbe," had wished to label a representation of
a townsman in the country " Urbe in Rus." Hubert
rarely laughed ; his lips curled over the joke, as he told
it, with quiet satisfaction, and he felt, rather than saw,
that Star would have liked to smile, and didn't. He
next tried to comfort her in respect to her mother, telling
her it was unreasonable to grieve too .sadly in face of an
event which they had long anticipated with resignation.
He only got half his words said ; he might as well have
talked to a stone on the subject of that grief as to Star.

They got down at Mrs. Couples's gate, to find that
lady seated, as was her custom in summer, upon a chair
outside her own front door. The lilac bush, that had
worn its spring green when Star first pas.sed it, was gray
and dusty now. The wallflowers had long been gone.
The asters, that should have replaced them, needed
tending. The voice from the chair began before they
were inside the gate.

" Don't look at them asters, Mrs. Kent. No, dear ;
it's your husband they're needing. Yes, Mr. Quigley's
a very decent gentleman. Yes ; but he's not your
husband, my dear ; he's not indeed ; no, not your
hus "

" He certainly isn't, and for which I am thankful."
Hubert flicked his comment at her with an alacrity
which almost disconcerted her — not quite.

" — band — no, dear, no — not for taking care of the
garden and turning a neat hand to all things — yes."

The door stood open as usual, and Hubert dived with
familiar ease into the recess of open entry and the
mistress's own sitting-room and brought out a chair for
Star.

304

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book HI.

" Yes, a neat hand — yes. And Mr. Tod, dear, 's not as
well as could be wished, and I'm really, as one may say,
at my wit's end with him — yes, I might say so ; for
what with his not liking the same constitution of dishes
as Mr. Quigley, so that I have to spend most of my time
sitting by the fire stirring and taking oflf just at the
right moment — for you know that a moment too much
is disastrous — yes, and what with Tod having grown so
soft-hearted of late, weeping and wanting me always by
to hear his sighs, and having something evidently on his
mind— yes, and him in a very suffering way."

" I am sure you must have a great deal to do," said
Star with sweet brevity. She felt the assurance she
gave, although she could not help remembering that she
had never seen Mrs. Couples do anything.

Hubert sat on the low doorstep and began to tie up
an aster to a small stick he had found.

" Well, dear, I am sure, although I have so much to
do, what with sitting in Tod's room, a-listening to his
sighs and waiting on Quigley every touch and turn, I
won't say but what you've had more yourself — yes, with
your sister's getting well, and Mr. Kent telling me the
sad way your mother's in — dear, yes, I said to him that
for a bride your heart's burdened. Yes, I'm sure I'm
very sorry about your mother — sorry, yes ; but one can
see she's prepared to go ; it's in her face — yes, yes, yes."

Mrs. Couples's affirmatives seemed to be going mildly
off into some aerial region of her theological ideas. Star
recalled her gently.

" Thank you, I am too unhappy not to be thankful
for any sympathy ; but please do not talk about my
mother — I cannot bear it."

Book IU.] BEGGARS ALL. 305

"No, dear; well, but as to being unhappy" — even
she, unthinking and unceasing in her tranquil flow of
words, seemed to pause a moment in contemplation of
this word — " no, I wouldn't just say ' unhappy/ being so
well settled, and your ma herself pleased, I'm sure, to
leave you with such an excellent husband ; yes, I wouldn't
say ' unhappy,' although it's a grief, yes, but not so bad
as to be alone in the world. There's poor Mr. Tod — well,
yes, one might say alone in the world, with some trouble
on his mind. That was why I said to Mr. Kent when he
kindly stepped in to inquire, I said maybe you would
come, what with your bright young face and pretty
ways — yes, he might unburden his mind to you. It's a
terrible thing to hear him a-sighing, and he doesn't seem
able to explain to me, though liking me to sit and listen
and a- wanting to tell mc ; but he says — yes — that without
he feels the infinity he can't — no, and it seems he really
can't — no ; for I'm sure I've sat a-listeniug honrs — yes,
dear, hours ; but he can't without the infinity."

Mrs. Couples gave benign and credulous utterance to
her tale, her expressionless eyes gazing, not at the faces
of her listeners, but at some misty object of middle
distance, from the sight of which she seemed to derive
endless store of placidity.

"I shouldn't care for him to feel too much of an
affinity for mj wife," said Hubert, chiefly by way of
explanation to Star.

" No — no, dear, no," murmured Mrs, Couples sooth-
ingly. Her voice was like the sleeping murmur or a
mother to a child fretting in its sleep, so far removed
did it seem from any intelligent grasp of the words she
used. " No, dear ; but I wouldn't like him to lie tb'^re

306

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

long, which I hope and pray not, with anything private
and confidential on his mind — like a last will and testa-
ment, for instance — no, dear. And he said maybe if I'd
be patient an' sit long enough he might speak out,
finding what he needs to speak with ; but la, dear, I've
sat and sat, and the cooking to do, yes, and him in such
a suffering way ; and when I've been talking to him
about this thing and that, and often mentioned you — yes,
dear — for a cheery subject for the poor young man — able,
as you are, to make good cofifee — and I said, ' Yes, you
should get well, Mr. Tod, and get a pretty young wife,
like Mr. Kent ; ' but he neither said hump nor grump,
often as I mentioned the subject. So I says, ' She'd
connect you with grand folks, too, making friends so
easy with that sweet Miss Gower, that called to see you,
and driving in a carriage.' Yes, so I talked to hearten
him up a bit, and^ I caught him holding his breath to
that extent he nearly choked — yes, poor young man, and
since then he's seemed to like quite regular to hear about

you and Mr. Kent. So — yes, dear — I thought " She

went on in placid repetition of what she had thought
and what she had said to Hubert concernins: the office
she still wished Star to perform.

Whether or not the suspicion which instantly occurred
to Star that Miss Gower had some connection with the
sufferer's depression of spirits had occurred to her
motherly mind Star could not tell. Perhaps Mrs.
Couples was stupid ; perhaps a real delicacy prompted
her to say no more. Star felt convinced that Hubert
shared her suspicion and enjoyed it.

" I'll go up and see if the chap's fit to see her," he said.

He came back and escorted Star up the stair, but left

X.L

Book III.] BEGGARS ALL. 307

her upon the threshold of a small back room upon the
landing to go in alone, -left her with a penetrating glance
of such deep amusement that she, stand.' "ig for a moment
to collect her thought, could not keep in mind either Tod
or the object of her visit, she was so filled with wonder
to see that a mind freighted with crime could so easily
lend itself to the spirit of a passing episode. He went
lightly down the familiar stair, with apparently no other
thought than of diverting himself with Mrs. Couples and
delighting her by tending the asters.

Star went in to see Tod, trying to realize that the
visit might be a work of mercy and ought to be accept-
ably performed.

This little room of Tod's, being just above his sitting-
room, was, like it, penetrated by the last daylight. Its
window, bald of curtains, looked comfortlessly out on a
lonely expanse of sky. It was growing late, but the
room was still quite light. The young man lay, with
his head pillowless at the foot of the bed, steadily gazing
in dejection at the open sky. There was little else
noticeable in the room but a table of medicine-bottles.

The patient, who either did not observe her entrance
at first or aflfected not to do so, gave her a civil and
grateful greeting when she came between him and the
light. He was not able to raise himself far, poor fellow ;
he was terribly emaciated and weak.

"Wouldn't you like a pillow?" she asked. She
noticed that there were two that had been kicked or
cufied into odd places on the bed. The thick patchwork
quilt was rolled round the man as if hy much wriggling
he had swathed himself like a. mummy.

"No," he replied, putting his head down sideways,

308

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

" I like it better without ; it's a change. If you had to
lie here month after month, doing nothing, seeing
nothing, you'd like a change." He sighed deeply. The
sighs struck Star as of artificial make, but as having
become almost natural through long habit.

" Yes, so I should." Then she was chiefly conscious
that she could think of nothing else to say.

He looked at her with a long and melancholy stare.
" There's the district visitor, and Mother Couples, and
Kent sometimes, and the doctor, who come to see me,"
he whispered, "and now you've come — that's all." If
his sighs were affected, the weak faltering of his voice
was not.

" Is the district visitor nice ? " asked Star.

" A worthy lady, I suppose," he sighed. " She tries
to do me good ; she never will."

There was a sort of sing-song rhythm about his
whispers, as if he were accustomed to make poetry to
himself

" Oh, why not ? " asked Star with conventional
cheerfulness. " You surely are not so good, Mr. Tod, but
what you, like all the rest of us, might be made a little
' better."

"I'm either too good or too bad," he whispered
earnestly. " I live in another sphere. She comes ; she
sits ; she smiles ; she talks ; she reads ; she prays ; she
goes. Her smile, her thought, looks out of her eyes;
but it doesn't look into mine."

" I'm afraid you do not try to meet her half way."

"I'm no infidel. I believe what she says," he
whispered still more eai'nestly ; " but she might as well
not say it."

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

309

There was another pause.

Star felt that anything she could say might as well
not be said. The pause began to be filled up with an
intention to speak on his part. He sighed and rolled a
little over, so that one side of his face was hidden in the
arm on which it lay, and he looked at her only with one
eye. His intention to speak seemed so large that it
swelled within him and heaved the quilt. Star waited,
almost suspending her breath ; but no word came, only at
last a profound sigh. She began to perceive in what
Mrs. Couples's listening had consisted.

She sat wondering if he had had any intimation of
the hope with which she was sent, and whether he would
be more or less likely to open his heart if she informed
him that she was there for the purpose of receiving his
confidence. She had come into the room supposing that
possibly his untold tale consisted in some nonsense about
the absurd letter Marian Gower had received, had come
pushed by a request and caring very little whether her
mission was successful or not ; but it was impossible to
be with this man, affected and absurd as he was, without
feeling an increase of sympathy. It was certainly
impossible to see him on the verge of a communication
and not feel curiosity as to what it might be.

Again the quilt seemed to inflate with impending
confession. He buried his brow further in his arm.

" In my youth I hoped for joy," he began in muffled
accent, "hoped for all bright things that life can give."

" Yes," said Star interrogatively.

He moved a little so that one melancholy blue eye
was full upon her.

"I was disappointed," he responded briefly. "Life

310 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

is not joyful, Mrs. Kent." That seemed to be all he had
to say.

"Oh," said Star earnestly, "I know what that is,
Mr. Tod. I always expected to be very, very happy, till
I found — that it was no use expecting."

The low dreariness of her tone seemed to touch him,
not with surprise that she should be sad, but with plea-
sure in hearing of a kindred experience,

" I do not know in what your sorrow lies," he whis-
pered huskily, " but mine lay in finding no soul congenial
to my own. When I grew to years of discretion I
perceived that in my grade of life to hope for such was
folly. There was none, nor could be, and I said, 'I will
live in the pleasures of a refined mind.' I took music ;
I took poetry ; I took imagination." He sighed.

" And you were disappointed in them ? " Star
tapped her foot with the feeling that her attention
began to revert from his affliction to his affectation.

" No, not in them, not in them — never in them."

It again appeared that he had nothing further to
say. He moved his arm from under his head and lay
with one temple resting on the mattress, looking very
dejected.

Star wondered whether it was at the period when
the pleasures of the imagination had been in the ascen-
dant that he had pleased himself with the self-deception
of Miss Gower's letter. Perhaps the sick man's nervous
condition was susceptible to his companion's thought, or
perhaps it was mere coincidence that just then he raised
himself slightly and, with a hasty glance round the
room, whispered —

" She told you ? "

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

311

She hardly knew why she would rather have been
able to assure him that MIhs Gower had kept his secret.
She could not even pretend that she did not know to
whom and to what he referred.

" Yes."

" I am deeply disgraced," he said, with a sigh.

" '\ come, Mr. Tod ; you cannot be so foolish as to
let such a small thing as that dwell on your mind. Miss
Gower would never think of it again, I am sure. She
mentioned it only in confidence to us."

"And why should she not think of it? If her dog
or cat had done such a thing she would have thought it
worth some attention."

Star, with hasty movement, dropped her glove and
stooped to pick it up, thus hiding her face.

But he, all melancholy, asked her why she smiled.

" Such a feat performed by either of them would be
worthy of attention," she said.

"She would be angry with them if they insulted
her," he pursued, without a perception of humour.

" You would not want her anger, would you, Mr.
Tod ? "

" I should feel it the greatest privilege to have it."

When he had meekly said this he relapsed into an
untalkative humour. The darkness was gathering, even
in that western chamber, and Star felt that, for all that
had been said, nothing had passed that could be supposed
to have relieved Tod of any particular secret.

" After all, Mr. Tod, what is Miss Gower to you ?
Why should you care what she thinks of you ? "

He turned his face from her and made not the
slightest reply.

■ IIIIIP>< -^^^y^^^

312

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

" I will take any apology to her if you wish to send
one."

Still no answer.

" Mrs. Couples thought you had some distress on your
mind. I hope it is not connected with Miss Gower." A
pause. " But whether or not, if I can be of any service
to you concerning it, I should be glad." Silence. " I
hope you will believe me when I say so, for — I have
great trouble of my own. I can feel for any one else
who is in trouble."

Her voice died away in eloquent faintness, and he
stirred and turned in the waning light.

" You ask me what she is to me," he said. " I love
her."

There was a solemn intensity in his words. She saw
his eyes shining in the grayness, like a wounded
animal's.

She found no words for the cheerful rebuke or stem
advice which she had been prepared to administer.

" Can I not love as well as another man ? " he
whispered with pathetic dignity. " Tell her " — his
weak hand touched Star's dross in trembling eagerness
— " tell her that if I am going to die I would be willing
to die if she would come and sit one hour beside me
then."

Star had risen and was standing beside him.

" I hardly understand."

"Ask her" — he was hasty and excited now — "if I
were dying, if she would come and see me then. I could
not ask her till then."

" I cannot think it would be necessary to die to
obtain such a slight favour from a kindhearted lady like

<L^

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

313

Miss Gower." She spoke dubiously. She could not
decide how much she might safely promise.

" I could not ask her to come till then," he repeated.

" Star ! " called Hubert from the stair.

She went down to catch the returning omnibus.

CHAPTER II.

" What did you make of Tod ? " asked Hubert. His
face was again kindling with amusement. They were
jolting homeward on the top of the omnibus.

Star was just on the point of relating all that had
occurred. Hubert and she had so often talked about
Tod, and the self-addressed letter had been the cream of
the subject. Hubert's sense of humour matched hers,
although stronger and rougher; they saw the same fun
and pathos in life. This was a great tie, perhaps the
greatest between them ; but now, instead of telling her
tale, she remembered that she was not on good terms
with her husband and checked herself.

This was not comfortable. She felt the misery of it.
What Hubert felt she could not tell ; he was evidently
determined to ignore her ill-humour and crush it, if
possible, by that good-nature which he called kindness.
This was plain, but she perceived also that a more
natural impulse of impatience was struggling within.

He could not altogether control this iiTitation. "VMien
they alighted he put her hand in his arm roughly. They
were walking thus past the remaining houses when he

314 BEGGAES ALL. [Book IIL

dropped it again cavalierly to dart out and separate two
lads who were fighting in the middle of the road. A
group of boys were already attempting the separation ;
one or two people had stopped curiously on the side
walk. Star stood exactly as she had been left, and
waited. She felt wholly indifferent to the angry passions
of the boys ; angrily, discontentedly indifferent to any-
thing. As she stood the voices of two women at a
window penetrated into her mind through the noise of
the street.

" Not particularly good looking, to my mind" — scorn-
fully; " and they say that he took them from starvation,
that the three of them hadn't a penny to bless themselves
with. He's got the old lady and that crippled girl on
his hands, and paid a sight of money for their doctoring,
and he paid back all the chapel had given them. Father
heard that at chapel."

" That's what I call gen'rous." This last was spoken
'vith enthusiasm.

Hubert came back, and Star put her hand in his arm,
this time without compulsion.

When thev had left other houses behind and came to

ft/

their own row, the three-quarter moon was hanging
bright over the fields. Without it the night would have
grown dark. In its light the high road, which ran long
and white between the dark verdure on either side,
assumed a look of mysterious interest, as if it might
have strange wayfarers upon it and be used for errands
unfit for clearer light.

Beautiful as the night was Star would have turned
in at her own door with a sense of relief, but Richarda
lay in wait for them at the upper window.

...ttJMi

'^-'- -'-•- A Ji_

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

315

" There is no use knocking, for I won'^ open the door
yet," she whispered, her head out of the sash. " Mother
sends her love, and says she is resting very comfortably,
and is so pleased that you are out. Miss Gower's been
here, and she said we were to ask you to go on up there.
Her uncle's ill again, and she is alone."

It was evidently a friendly conspiracy to enforce on
Star more air and exercise, more of her husband's com-
panionship. She felt full of angry objections, but she
could not reveal them to Richarda.

She turner! silently, drawn by Hubert. It was the
first time he had been invited to fro to see Miss Gower.
He evidently felt inclined for the visit.

They went on, arm in arm, to the lonely parts of the
moonlit road.

They had gradually become silent, but now their
silence was no longer on Star's part the result of the
mental paralysis that had held her for days. The mes-
sage from Miss Gower had roused her into clearer thought.

A man was walking on the dark grass of the roadside.
They neither heard nor saw him till they were very
near, and then the suddenness of his appearance made
him seem to Star a suspicious creature. She started
involuntarily and shrank close to Hubert for protection.

He was too alert to miss the chance ; her movement
was warmly met by his sheltering arm.

He spoke lovingly. "It is only a very decent
labouring man."

A few steps more and they came to a stile by which
there was a short cut through Mr. Gower's park. Star
released herself from her husband's arm and sat upon
the bar.

•^■y.C-^i^j

316

BEGGARS ALL.

[]BooK m.

" Do you want to rest ? " he asked.

" I want to talk a little. I was afraid of that man be-
cause I did not know what he might be doing, and it is the
night in which men do the worst things ; so I drew back
because I hadn't time to think that it is not for me to
be frightened of such people. Why should I, when there
is probably not on all this road between here and I-ondon
a man who uses darkness for worse deeds than you use
it for?"

" You have a better opinion of the world than facts
would warrant," he laughed; "but what's the use of
saying this to me ? "

" Not to make you angry, or because I am angry.
I am your wife. We must come to some understanding."

He gave a cautious look round as if sounding the
grayness about them, and, assured that there was no
covert within sound of their low voices for a listener,
folded his arms and leaned against the post of the stile.

" You seem to expect me to go and see Miss Gower
to-night and meet her as I last met her before I
knew."

I suppose you're not going to tell her what you
know as a matter of gossip."

" What would you do if I did tell her ? "

" What would I do if the moon fell into the earth ?
You won't tell."

" I don't know where you get all this confidence
in me."

" I know that the chances are nine hundred and
ninety-nine in a thousand that every one will obey the
laws of their own character, and I risk the thousandth
chance. It's only a fool who imagines that anybody Lay

- 't^**"**- ^** !*•• •*'-*^^l*- '

• .._ -*-•.' L

Book IU.] BEGGABS ALL. 317

do anything. Give me a chance to observe a person's
character and habits, and I'll tell you, within an ace,
what they'll do in any given circumstances. How did I
know that old Allan and his sons would go down to that
dog-light ? How did I know that old Gower would insist
on hobbling out to hear the youngster roar, and hold on
to Gilchrist, who was the only man worth fearing in the
place ? I didn't know it, but I risked everything on the
knowledge that they almost certainly would, and life
wouldn't be worth living if there wasn't a risk."

She paused, almost fascinated by his way of regard-
ing things — a way so new to her and carrying with it
all the personal magnetism of his likeableness. She
wrenched herself back from the quicksand of
acquiescence into which she felt her feet sinking.

" I do not know by w^hat mysterious methods ;7ou
worked in either case, or what instruments you used,
and I don't want to. You went into my friend's house,
and you stole, and you expect me to go there and meet
her as if that hadn't happened, to go there with you as
if I thought you a reliable man." She looked fearfully
round at the blackness in the grove of trees under which
they must pass. " How do I know what you may do in
the dark now? — what means you may have at your
disposal for frightening and deceiving people in order to
steal from them ? " She was so anxious to speak in a
whisper that her words came almost with a hissing
sound. Then, a little more distinctly, she added, " I will
not do it. I will not go with you there. I can never
look Miss Gower in the face again and pretend to be her
friend."

He made a visible effort to control anger. He kicked

t I

" y.— i#rr/-w«

ivm ■•t?,"."*-^' ?

318

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

the ground contemptuously, as if he would have liked to
kick her.

" You are a fool," he said coarsely.

She was very much frightened at his anger ; she
thought she had no plummet by which to measure its
limits. Because she had sailed out of her bearings she
fancied, like the ignorant mariners of old, that the
unknown sea was bottomless. Yet, frightened at him as
she was, she was conscious also of an unusual fear of
the black space under the heavy August foliage of the
grove which stood a stone's throw from them. Her
nerves, all racked by what had passed, cast up unnamed
tremors into the region of her mind.

" I knew a girl once," he said sneeringly, " who had
been brought up among teetotallers, and I found that she
actually thought the average man could not take a glass
of wine without running very great risk of becoming
a drunkard. That of course was sheer ignorance, both
of wine and of men."

" Some men are like that," said Star. She was too
nervous to wonder much at the subject,

"t^ome men are; but she had been trained on total
abstinence tracts till she imagined alcohol to be some
ambrosia of devils too sweet and delicious to be resisted
by mortal man. That, I say, was well meant ignorance ;
and it didn't do any one any good, for it overshot the
mark. Now the modern moralist has exactly the same
view about stealing and lying, and you, brought up upon
it, like all other religious people, have inherited that
feeling. You think that, because I hold it right to steal
and lie in moderation, I shall soon begin to do it
immoderately."

\ .

Book III.] BEGGARS ALL. 319

He had quite an heroic pose as he spoke because he
was so intensely in earnest. As for her, although she
understood better than she appeared to do, she had not
the wit to answer him quickly or well.

" Your squeamishness about not wanting me to go up
to the Gowers to-night is as silly as if, because I often
take a glass of beer, you would not ask me to go to our
little cellar and bring up a bottle, for fear I should sit
there and drink a dozen. I never happened to want
a dozen bottles of beer, and if I did, I am not beast
enough to drink them. You believe that I have possession
of my faculties, I suppose ? "

" I should never be afraid of your drinking too
much, Hubert," she protested ; " that's not your
temptation." \ |

The pathos of her unconscious irrelevancy touched
him, just as a swordsman might hesitate to push an
antagonist who was using the wrong fence : he stopped
his flow of talk. " Don't you see that your injustice is
insulting ? "

" Did you ever say what was not true to me ? "

"Yes ; but I told you as few lies as I could. I told
you, for instance, when I wanted you to have Bloom for
Richarda, that I had got the money by inventing an
advertisement. I don't remember any other just now.
I didn't like it, but I couldn't very well help it at the
time ; could I ? "

" How can I ever trust you when I know you could
tell a falsehood ? "

"That's just the argument " — his irritation was again
apparent — " that I am telling you is so silly. A
sensible man can exercise moderation in lies as well as

r»*J«1'.»W7!i««¥PV^P^ -.*,'•• ^n^"}''

320

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

in anything else. For my own part, I dislike them, and
I am glad ,to feel that they will never be necessary
between us any more. You don't seem to realize, Star,"
he went on in a tone of forbearance, " that I am really
very fond of you. Come, set your heart at rest" (he
spoke encouragingly now) ; " I have no schemes on hand
that even your saintly mother could object to. I shan't
want to do anything naughty again for the next few
years, for it's my interest to lie by a while. I'll pledge
you my honour, if you like (although I don't think you
should require it), that I'll be what you call honest and
truthful until I give you fair warning that I am going to
do another little bit of juggling for the sake of
distributing the wealth of the nation in a more righteous
way."

A bat flitted in the misty moonlight above them,
flitted nearer and nearer, and when Star shrank with a
low cry he jumped and flapped his hat to frighten it
away, and watched it indignantly as, in its darting
flight, it passed and repassed the black form of a low
holly bush not far from them. He thought it was the
bat that had frightened her. Then, leaning nearer her,
he took up his speech.

" You will be satisfied with that ? You know that
what I promise I will perform."

There was a pause.

" My darling," he said, as if he were telling her some-
thing by the words. Never in all their mutual ex-
perience had he spoken to her with half such tender
emotion.

Up and down the hedgerows of the moonlit fields
the fragrance of summer air seemed to course with

(
1
1

I
]

^rr-

■m^

Book 111] BEGGARS ALL. 321

wanton softness. The moonlight hung in the himinous
thickness of the air, giving that illusive beauty to
common things which that sort of liking he called love
will give even to sin and shame.

He seemed to feel too much to speak. Again his
emotion mastered him ; he knelt on the ground, circling
her with his arms. She could not help seeing the j)lay
of feeling on his sensitive face as he turned it upwards
on her breast.

In another moment she had recoiled from him and,
with a moan, torn herself from his grasp. She stood a "^^^

few paces off on the short grass of the field, and he,
gathering himself up as well as he might, stood as if a
dangerous devil had taken possession of him.

" Do you not see, Hubert, that there can be nothing-
like love between us ?

" Indeed ; and why ? "

She was somewhat put to it to answer concisely.
" Because " — passionately — " you are a bad man."

" I am a bad man, am I ? " He came near. He
folded his arms and spoke through his teeth, the ver^'
stillness of his attitude evincing passion of a very
different sort from that she had repulsed. " I am a
man who, having been given nothing by the world
but cruel and taunting charity, has endeavoured to
give it more good than harm. I grew up moral by
my own choice, no thanks to the cant teaching I heard.
I made my own way. I found men of the highest
reputation everywhere making money by overreaching
the poor, spending that money in ways that are sheer
waste and worse. I have overreached the rich and
spent the money well I am a bad man, am I ? " He

J^JI "•JJPn^Wir"

322

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

came a step nearer. There was a threat in his voice
that struck terror to her inmost soul. She could not
imagine what his menace was going to be ; she knew in
advance that it would be worse than she could think.
" I am a bad man — in your sense of the word, I am.
T never made pretence of being other; but I tell you,
Star, such as I am, you have it in your power to make
me a million times worse." He stopped a moment, as
if to think out a curse he was going to lay upon her.
" When I advertised for a wife, I did not think it
was in the power of any woman to move me from the
course I had chosen ; but you, with your pretty face, and
your — your " — he stammered, passion impeding both
thought and utterance — " and your " — it seemed as if he
tried to use a bad word, but another came out of him —
" angel ways, you have it in your power to make me a
devil. And you'll do it if you go on like this." He had
come very close. The breath of his still anger was
hot on her cheek. He stepped a little back. He seemed
to draw in his breath as one does when feeling a certain
elation of conscious power. " I have it in me to be a
magnificent villain," he sneered, nodding at her with
bitter emphasis.

He stamped his heel in the tender sod, and, turning
upon it, moved away. She stood motionless upon the
spot she had reached in the short frenzied run she had
made to escape his embrace.

He looked back to see if she followed him, and when
she did not, he sat and waited where she had first sat on
the stile.

" You can come now," he called moodily, " and let me
make love to you or not, just as you please."

.- .1

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

323

What use had she for movement ? She felt as if
she might as well stand there for ever, until she died.
The blessed dew fell round her under the warm summer
sky. The summer grasses stirred here and there with
insect life. The moonlight lay in the stillness of the
air. She knew it all with that intensity of observation
which comes upon us when, in moments of some sudden
terror by night, the muscles are all chained by fear and
the mind is abnormally active to detect its cause.

No movement would come to her. She hardly
breathed. What use was there in movement or
breath ?

Where could she go ? To the dear shelter of the
mother's arms which, till now, had been her habitual
refuge, which, weak as they had been in earthly strength,
were still a mighty stronghold to the wounded spirit ?
Had her mother been dead she might have cast herself
down on the grass there and besought her comfort. She
might have at least fancied her near ; she would have
known that somewhere, either near her or near through
nearness to the Eternal Centre of the great human Soul,
there was a spirit whose love and sympathy was
peculiarly hers. But her mother was not dead, and
while she lingered in earth's fragile tenement no moan
or sob from her daughter must reveal this sorrow. It
was a curious path for Star's thought to take just then.
It was but a momentary darting glance at truth which
she caught sight of by the shifting of the mists of her
material ideas in this shock — at that moment she saw
the value of death.

To whom could she go ? Not to the dying mother,
nor could she lean on the sister who was herself making

324

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IH.

SO brave a fight for health against the pains of weakness.
She looked across the bit of moonlit grass to the dark
form of her husband sitting upon the stile ; he had
become her enemy.

With a OTeat turning of her soul to all that was
beautiful and loving, her thought turned to Marian
Gower, and she knew, as she had never known before,
how dearly she had learned to love this sweet woman in
those brief days of her happiness — and she, the wife of a
thief, could no longer in common honesty claim her
friendship. She had not even the relief of flying before
an angel's sword ; she must shut herself out from this
paradise. She looked up where the dim outlines of
luminous clouds were moving above the moonlit haze.

" Oh, God," she said, " that I had never seen her ! "

" What did you say ? " called Hubert.

" I did not speak," she replied, unconscious that she
had spoken.

Then she did, as we all sometimes do, the thing
that she least expected or was conscious of intending
to do. She went close to him and spoke gently, reason-
ably.

" Hubert ! It is not such a very large amount that
you have taken, and you have part of it yet. If, after
mother dies, we economize very much — you have no
idea how careful I could be or how happy I could make
you on a very little — perhaps, in a few years, you could
pay it all back anonymously, and then, if you would
neffer do it again, we could be happy. Will you do that,
Hubert ? "

" No." The word was very surly.

" Why not ? "

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

325

" Because I won't. Now understand that, once for
all."

From his brutal tone she began to perceive that his
former tolerance and good nature had had root in self-
satisfaction — a satisfaction which nothing had been able
to shake till she rudely recoiled from his softer mood.
But she gained no encouragement from the fact that it
could be thus shaken. She supposed that the brute
which was now revealed had been not created by her
scorn, but lying concealed within him always. Yet she
went on with the courage of despair, not knowing why
she spoke, for she had no hope.

" It is very hard, Hubert — isn't it ? — to tell me that
I have so much power to make you worse, and no power
to make you better ? "

He seemed struck by that. The chief force of his
nature was that of reason.

" I didn't say that." He spoke hoarsely,
to say no more because ashamed of his
ance.

" j3ut that is what it comes to, Hubert."

There was nothing of romance about their colloquy —
he sitting boorishly ; she, without dignity or brightness,
standing, as women of the lower classes stand beside
their men, wearily, hopelessly parrying words because
she could do nothing else. Star had quickness of eye
enough to feel it, to feel that he and she were putting on
rapidly the stamp of degradation. When he put aside
enough of his passion to begin to argue again — angrily,
scornfully, but still to argue — she did not gather hope
from that. It seemed to her then, and all thrc jgh the
interview, that she might as well not have spoken, that

He seemed
thick utter-

»*^^.>-**fl*— '*"»*•'»»■**■ — *W<'T*>H

326 BEGGARS ALL. [Book in.

the words passed her lips only because they were more
tolerable than silence. She did not know, poor f^ii-l,
that, having given the most of her life joyously to what
was good, the Good did not now desert her in her hour
of need, but impelled her to plead, that at least she might
not ht',ve the bitter self-reproach, in days that followed,
that she had not pleaded with him.

As for him, ho argued because his anger was begin-
ning again to take the form of self-assertion.

He had not said that she could do him no gootl.
On the contrary, if she accepted the life he offered her,
she would have a very humanizing and civilizing influ-
ence upon him. (He had all the phrases of modern
journalism on his lips, and all his thought was interwoven
with its most vapid arguments.) He was a rough fellow,
he knew ; she had made him better already. When he
had written his advertisement for a wife he had hoped
it would attract a girl who would be a valuable accom-
plice in his schemes. But now he had given up that ;
he saw it was better for a woman to keep her hands
clean of that work. H'^ would rather, now, have a wife
who didn't do it. As to giving up the business of
thieving, she knew very little of how labour was valued
if she supposed any degree of comfort or pleasure could
be assured to them by what she called honesty. He was
clever — granted ; did she suppose that by mere work
and ability he could rise in the only business in which
he had been able to make a start. She little knew (this
with a sneer) the wire-pulling that went on behind a
provincial newspaper if she supposed that a man too
honest to sell his opinions to a party could rise to a place
of any responsibility. He, unable to tell who his father

Book 111]

BEGGARS ALL.

327

was, without inoncy and without influence, would be loft
at the foot of tlie ladder long before he would be given
a chance to get on its steps; but even if the chance
came, did she think he wanted it ? He was too honest
to bow down before the god of Party. There were
different ways of thieving she would know if she knew
anything of the world, and the editor who bamboozled
a herd of men into thinking wrong was right by the
flash of rhetoric and a one-sided statement of facts stole
from them something much more valuable than money,
and did it in a far meaner way than by breaking into
their houses at night. He had no respect for the moral
value of law which protected the deceits of newspapers
and the infamous tricks of trade, the sweating which
most capitalists practised in some form or other, and the
gambling of rich idlers ; such law might have practical
utility, but it had no moral force. He thought a thief
who risked his life by breaking it was a nobler fellow
than men who sneaked behind it to do their thieving.

" Hubert," she said, " the men who do these things do
wrong, bat you are doing wrong too."

" I do what is unlawful."

" You do what is wicked."

" You think it wicked because you have been brought
up to think so."

" All good men think so."

At that he laughed out. " There was a time when
all good men thought the earth stood still. You are
behind the time if you wish to bow down to other
people's opinion. That is stale, even in theology. It is
the glory of the English race that her sons think for
themselves and say, ' I do what I think right, whatever

;f;^flppi»iy"»ifj!«ifl.»»"w*»^'"jjwi

*».'1|»T-W"»P«W»W».",«-

328

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

any man may say.' That is the cry of the modern
hero." Then, with more real thought, he went on, " And
it's a very good cry. In other countries you see systems
of paternal government by which men are told what to
do and what to think, and when they are too ill to work
they are decently supported. The result is average
torpor. Here a man thinks out his own morals and his
own creed, and, if he doesn't support himself and his
family, starves like an ownerless dog ; on the whole, it
produces a better sort of men." He had almost lost his
sneer in his eager play of mind ; it came back when he
remembered his quarrel with her. " So set your mind at
rest, my dear ; I'm a ver}'^ model man, doing what I think
right in spite of anybody, and I'll give you pocket money
by it that you won't get any other way "

" I will tell you what I think," she said. " The man
who sets himself up to think differently from the wisest
and best men who have lived is very silly."

" That is what you think, is it ? " He drummed with ,
his foot on the stile. " Have you anything more to say ? "

" I am your wife. I shall be far, far happier if you
will give back the mon^y you have stolen and never
take any more, although we should live in the cheapest,
poorest way always. Will you do this to please me ? "

" Do that ? — no. Why " He stopped and in-
flated his breast. " Why, girl, you don't know what you
ask. Am I to give up a scheme I have given my life to
think out ? "

" You are only twenty-five, Hubert."

" What of that ? Many a man has put a notch in the
world's history before being more than my age ; and I
tell you, I tell you, Star, b}' this simple plan of mine of

-'"->— ^" -■'

UMMili

immtt

Book III.] BEGGARS ALL. 329

distracting people's attention I can hoodwink the whole
force of law in this country. Men are a simple set of
idiots if you set anything uncommon before their eyes
and ears and then question them as to what they have
seen or heard. Make them look in one direction, you
can take anything they possess and run in the other ;
and next day they'll swear to the most wonderful stories
about what never happened."

He was growing eagur and confidential though he
still spoke in defiant tone. He would have said jaore ;
she interrupted him.

"If you will not give back what you have taken
and give up stealing, then " — she weighed her words —
" I can never be at peace with you."

She expected for a moment that he would strike her,
so maliornant did his attitude become. What he miijht
have done she never knew. Just then a noise startled
them, a distant crying like that of a sick child, and it
came across the open space from the black of darkness
under the sycamore trees of the grove.

The time, the traditions of the place, the crime which,
by mysterious means, her husband had so lately com-
mitted — these made the sound peculiarly appalling to Star.

Hubert himself seemed startled ; he slipped to his
feet with an exclamation, looking towards the grove.

Excited as she was, it surprised Star that anything
should surprise or alarm him. A child's presence at
that place and time betokened evil, and she had grown, , i

in those few miserable days, accustomed to sup})ose him
to be the instigator of all mischief that she would be apt
to come in contact with.

Hubert looked inquiringly towards the trees, but >.

330

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book II L

perceived nothing at that distance to satisfy his evident
curiosity. He took Star's arm suddenly, clutching it
rudely in his strong fingers, and began to push her
hastily before him as he walked in the direction of the
sounds.

She tried to draw back. Unable to collect ber
thoughts, she was terrified at the idea of going into the
ghostly precinct of the grove. His fingers only tight-
ened with brutal force upon her arm until she screamed
faintly with the pain. He was in no mood to relent
towards her, but continued to push her on at a rapid
pace by his side, lessening only the pain of his grip upon
her arm as she walked faster. Without speaking, they
tramped, with a quick measured step, up the dewy path
which led from the stile, through park and grove, towafd
the house.

They had not left the moonlight of the open many
yards behind before they perceived that the voice of the
crying child was receding from them among the trees to
the side of the path nearer the high road. As there was
no means of communication with the road except by the
path they had taken it seemed that whoever was there
must have turned aside to hide in the deep covert until
the path by the stile should be left free. Hubert stood
for a moment considering the sound, and, without further
hesitation, began his tramp again over moss, ferns, and
raised roots, following the sound straight under the
deepest shadow of the trees.

Star had become so wrought up with interest, so
excited by Hubert's evident interest, that it seemed to
her that they must certainly be upon the brink of some
important discovery. Yet, in the few minutes which it

ItA-.-^*/.^.!^-.,^ .L.«^..^-.,> —^-^M

gtm^

iifeiiiiiiik

■liiiiam— w» 1 I

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

'iiSl

took them to pass under the trees, she could not help
observing that their shadow, which had seemed so black,
looked at from the open, was, in fact, only lesser light,
that she could discern things pretty distinctly in it, and
the familiar outline of tree and fern took away from her
fear. When they came upon what they sought she felt
how foolish her expectation of some mysterious event
had been. There stood a poor woman, holding a wailing
child in her arms, and Mr, Gower's servant- man stood
a few paces from her.

That this woman was the gray-haired beggnr whom
they all knew Star did not doubt for a moment. She
felt shocked to have this positive proof that Gilchrist
had clandestine dealings with her. What surprised her
w^as that Hubert was neither shocked nor surprised.
He spoke out at once, in a frank, relieved tone, saying
respectfully to Gilchrist —

" I did not know you were here, Mr. Gilchrist. We
were passing up to the house, and, hearing the youngster,
we came to see if anything was wrong." Then he drew
Star away back under the trees to the path that led to
the house.

" What has he to do with that woman ? " gasped Sta^
breathlessly. She was interested in spite of herself.

" I don't know, and I don't care. All I know is that
he has something to do with her; he has never made
a secret of it."

Star thought of the cry at the robbery, of the ghost
tale belonging to the place, of this child that had ap-
parently nothing to do with either ; her thoughts were
eager and perplexed ; curiosity struggled with the dignity
of injured wifehood.

i^y . ...jS* wni^-ai"

332

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

Our life is so complex that majestic Sorrow often
wears tawdry garments.

Star felt her curiosity trivial, yet it had come upper-
most. She repressed it, and her silence seemed to her
sullen and ignoble. She had thought just before that
the turning-point of her life had come, that all the future
hung on the immediate issue of this quarrel, and now
there seemed to be no issue. Mere time has much
power to assauge wrath. Since the fierce climax of
their quarrel they had been walking arm in arm about
ten minutes in the dewy night, and now, as they came
onward approaching the terrace and saw, through the
framing foliage, soft lights falling through the glass
doors upon the entrance steps, they were ready to
discuss the question of entering more calmly.

"I do not wish to go in," said Star, "but if you
insist, I will go for the sake of peace."

And Hubert answered in his ordinary tone. " Come
along ; it's not late yet ; we will stay a few minutes."

CHAPTER III.

Their visit to Miss Gower was not long, nor was it
important in any way.

They had no sooner entered the softly lighted hall
than Charles Bramwell came toward the door from the
drawing-room on his way out. Of the soft light and
rich furniture the young doctor seemed a part. Every-
thing in here suggested the strength and glow of the

riMlMBMk«lllHIIMilMei

■aMMMU

Mmim/mmmmt I « * ii m > j ii iiiiii h iw k

Book III.] BEGGARS ALL. 333

sunny side of life. What a contrast to the dark wood
and sombre figures from which they bad come! Star
felt dully as if she had been walking in a troubled
dream in which the outer works of darkness were en-
acted. She would gladly have accepted the change to
this familiar house-interior as an awakening to reality.
But no — the other was her destiny now.

Bramwell seemed in great good humour, and gave
them a most friendly greeting as he passed. They were
shown into the drawing-room from which they had seen
him emerge. It was a long room, and the mistress of
the house sat at the other end.

In Star's eyes Miss Gower had never looked so lovely
as when she came down that room to greet them. There
was a glow of pleasurable excitement upon her sweet
face ; she seemed to walk on happiness lightlj', as a god-
dess might tread on air. In her rich evening garment,
with that glow upon her face, she was a pretty young
woman ; but if she had not been pretty, if the silver
sheen already upon the hair that rolled back softly from
her forehead had displayed an uglier track of time than
it did, if the roundness of her figure had been less even
than it was, and the bloom of the face more completely
gone, it would still have seemed to Star that night that
no one could see the young man who had gone out and
this sweet woman together without perceiving that she
was his superior. How could mere youth and health
and the good nature that comes of ordinary wit and
prosperity compare with the true elegance of mind, the
cha.jtened sweetness of soul, that beamed from Marian
Gower's gentle face ? Now that this love affair which
she had been suspecting seemed to have come to pass —

334.

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

menied, for to Star's swift thought the circumstances had
that seeming — she felt indignant that the young man
should get so much and the woman so little. She had
not realized before how unequal the union would be.
Her heart cried out for justice to her friend who must
be her friend no more.

Yet it came upon her in a flash of sad thought, as
they trod the soft carpet approaching each other, that if
Marian had indeed found this other source of happiness
she would hardly notice, perhaps, the breaking of that
bond of friendship the severance of which was now
breaking her own heart.

Star sat still and let her husband talk. She looked
at him with curiosity to see how well he could adapt
himself to this drawing-room and its mistress, how well
he could talk to her with that simple, quiet manner of
his that seemed always to be guided aright by sterling
sense rather than by a desire to appear well. It was
Hubert's first introduction to Miss Gower's rooms, and a
week ago Star's every nerve would have quivered with
the small ambition that her husband should produce the
best possible impression ; now — When we walk at the
peril of our lives across rugged mountain districts we
feel strangely to remember that we have distressed our-
selves at the inequality of some garden path. Hubert
played the gentleman very well indeed, as well as any
self-taught man could. Marian was evidently pleased
with him, but as for Star, if a widow's veil had dropped
before her face she could not have seen more dimly,
could not have felt further removed from this young
husband to whom all her bright young nature had been
.so loyal only a week before. With the two before her, it

BPl^^ "'"■"' -■ ■ P » »■ • '

Book III.] BEGGARS ALL. 335

was Miss Gower's voice seemed most to touch the chords
of her heart that night, it was toward her that her spirit
leaned with an affection which she was determined never
again to betray.

She began to notice their talk when Hubert was
saying, " We have just been hearing your ghostly child,
Miss Gower."

Marian's happy mood, which was that of gaslight
and evening dress, suffered evident chill.

Hubert explained. " I don't think it will rob you
this time," he laughed. He told what they had just
seen.

" Gilchrist with her ! " Marian cried. She looked at
Star, then at Kent. Her long suspicion of Gilchrist
escaped her in spite of discretion. " Do you not think
that, considering the circumstances of the robbery, this
looks very suspicious ? "

She was surprised at the quietude with which each
received her question. It is well known that the
frivolous and hysterical love the excitement of a mystery,
but who does not ? When one asks such a question as
Mariam's about a fellow-creature, there is a fine flavour
about life, the vanishing of which does not bring that
sense of relief that might be expected. Marian thought
it would be a relief to her to know that there was
nothing in her suspicion, but she was human.

" For that matter," Star spoke, " we knew long ago
that he had something to do with this woman and the
child."

" When I first met Gilchrist," said Kent, " before he
came to Mr. Gower, he told me he had come from
London looking for the poor woman. I happen to know

336 BEGGARS ALL. [Book TIL

that since then he has provided a lodging for her in
town. He seems to me to be a benevolent and pious
person. The woman is old and not strong."

" I told Mrs. Kent once that I had heard the child
crying one night long before the burglary." Marian
began telling Hubert the incident she had once told
Star. " Do you suppose," — with a little excitement she
thus ended — " that it could have been this child I heard
then ? that Gilchrist could have had the beggar about
the house ? "

" I should think that a very probable explanation of
what you heard," said Hubert ; " but I don't know any-
thing about it."

" Then of course the child must have been here the
niiiht of the theft. It miisf have been the same — and
yet I don't know." Her sentence broke off as she
recalled the occurrences of that evening — Gilchrist's
earnestness ; the hoarse, metallic cry.

" The danger of the detective business always is that
of jumping to conclusions," said Hubert coolly.

Star did not move uneasilj'- in her easy chair. She
wondered at her own composure. She herself had
related to Hubert all Miss Gower's innocent confidence
concerning this first alarm about the child. She could
not doubt now that he had used this knowledge for his
own purposes. Yet there he sat, grave and attentive,
and Marian was prettily talkative to him for Star's sake.
It was very strange ! When she listened again their
conversation had drifted on.

"As Gilchrist had taken the child once from my
mother-in-law I asked him about it. He knows nothing
about it ; the woman picked it up somewhere," Hubert

Book III] BEGGARS ALL. 337

was saying. " I should think his woid was to be
trusted. Why should you doubt him ? "

" I — I hardly know. He is so different from other
servants."

" Better or worse ? "

" Oh, better — much better. He is always doing
things for other people as well as his own work; he
never seems to consider his position as other servants
do ; he is willing to do anything for anybody."

Again Star's attention wandered, and again she heard
them saying —

" Richarda thought there must be some romance con-
nected with the child."

" I have no doubt there is, Miss Gower, but only the
saddest and commonest sort. A child left destitute upon
the world is a wailing conundrum. Some people would
answer by killing it, and some by putting it in a
charitable institution. I don't know which is best. I
was such a child myself"

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. Marian looked
at him and could not tell whether he spoke in bitterness
or jest. Star's expression did not help her ; she looked
as if she had not heard.

" Surely charity is best."

" Yes, such as my wife's mother would offer to all
the kids she sees ; but children that are brought up in

batches " He broke off. " I will not trouble you

by telling you what I think of it."

" Nay," said Marian ; " tell me."

Then Hubert explained what he thought. He spoke
out of a deep, life-long indignation, not temperately or
wisely, yet, as he spoke, Star could not help feeling

338

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

[■-.

sympathy with hiui. His interest could hardly be self-
interest, and yet — and yet — he was a thief ! Was his
talk, his interest, his indignation on the cliildren's
account, all put on? Or was his thieving a wild
fantastic mania, not a part of himself? Then she
remembered his cruel grip of her arm and the bad words
he had uttered a few minutes before. Her arm still
ached.

"Whenever children are brought up on public
money," said Hubert, "there is, as far as I know, a
matron, and a committee to see that she does her duty,
or what is equivalent to that. Who is the matron ?
Take the best mother who ever lived, and set her to
bring up her family in obedience to the dictates of a
dozen self-important aunts and uncles, who visit fre-
quently and are at liberty to criticize and alter whatever
they please, and tell her to keep her house open for an
hour or two every week that the public may go through
and write letters about it to the newspapers — how do
you think it would work ? " He paused a moment,
letting his question sink into her mind. " Would that
be a position that any true mother on this earth wou. "
choose ? "

" No," said Marian, wonderingly, " I think not."
" No ; and the women who choose to hold that position
toward other people's children are shallow, or callous,
or base, or a mixture of all three. But, whatever their
character may be, they and the children must live a life
in which the look of things is everything, for it is by the
look of things they are judged, and all that is mean in
human nature is developed by it. You can't mend the
matter. Give the matron more power and ten to one she

"^^

aoK III.

e Belf-
as his
Idren's
i wild
3n she
words
m still

public
now, a
v duty,
latron ?

her to
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sit fre-
hatever
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dd that
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t."

position
callous,
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e a life
5 by the
nean in
end the
one she

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

339

abuses it. All I say is this — take the most motherly
woman in the world, she can't fill the position as it is ;
alter the position, and you run the risk of getting the
worst women in the world into it. The system is bad."

" But you, Mr. Kent — you have come out of the
ordeal unscathed." Marian smiled. Her tone su<xjxosted
that he must exaggerate the evil. " You are a contra-
diction to your words."

Hubert laughed, and, on the whole, his laugh was
self-satisfied.

" They didn't take me off* the streets till I was six,
and the Jesuits say that the first six years are final, so
my sins and virtues need not be set down to charity.
But I tell you. Miss Gower, one thing that saved me
from beinjj a knave was the honest indifjnation that was
roused in me every day at the Orphanage. The rich
folks had given their money to buy the satisfaction of
feeling charitable. How they enjoyed their purchase !
And the machine they were so busy oiling and polishing
was grinding out dullards and sneaks. I fought for the
dullards, and worked off my badness that way, and I
resolved that I would fight against the class that
patronized us ; and I'll do it as long as I live. I'd rather
stand to-day before the world with Montagu the lamp-
lighter as my friend than go dining with any of the
managers of that Orphanage."

Marian's hands dropped on her lap. Her prettj' <^yes
looked absently upon the floor. She was not disposed to
feel oflfended.

" It is very sad," she said"; " very sad, Mr. Kent."

" It is only what / think," he said, relapsing into cool-
ness. " You asked me. Others may think differently."

.■-U„.'.i'.V.

340

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

" When I subscribe to the Orphanage I think that I
am doing a good . hing. How can I do better ? "

" / don't know. The time will come, I sup])08e,
when the world will be so educated that there will be no
unfortunate children. Till then it must struggle on
as best it can."

They two had more talk, and then Star essayed to
give Miss Gower Tod's message. She made no softening
comment ; she repeated the words baldly. Coming from
the blank weariness of her expression they lacked even
the little eloquence and pathos his condition had given
them. Yet it did not occur to her that she had not been
faithful to her trust.

CHAPTER IV.

Left to herself, Marian sat lost in a rosy dream. She
took up again the mood in which her last visitors had
found her. She forgot, for the moment, Star's weary
face or any other subject of uneasiness the visit had
brought before her.

Bramwell had not proposed marriage — no, he had
done nothing of that kind, for every one knows that
there are many kindred things which may be put forth
as premonitions of the final act. Star's suspicion was
wrong if she suspected that he had committed himself
thus. Yet he had called on Marian only to discuss the
next winter's series of entertainments at " Babbits,"
a subject which was not actually pressing in August,

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

841

and ho had remained somewhat longer than the dis-
cussion required. His manner, moreover, had been
singularly pleasant, singularly kind. Therefore Marian
had that happy dream which had for rational base some
such considerations as these — that she had not expected
or desired this man's admiration, yet it seemed to b(;
given ; that it is the unexpected that hajipens ; that such
attachments defy probability ; and then, there was the
fortune she would inherit ! Marian had so lowly an
opinion of herself that it seemed to her no insult if that
were added to the sum of her attractions. The dream,
tempered by the wisdom and moderation of forty years,
was still sweet.

It is a pity to relate such dreams or their interpreta-
tion.

Gilchrist soon came into the room. He came and
stood not far from Marian.

" I would like to ask you," he said, "
would be the best thing: to do with
whose parents are gone away and not to be found, an<l
which is now ailinor and in the hands of some one who is
not able to take care of it very well."

Marian felt that the mystery which had been like a
pet grievance to her was vanishing, so matter-of-fact was
his tone.

" There is the Infants' Home," she said.

" I had it there for a few days when I took it from
Mrs. Thompson. Perhaps Mrs. Thompson has told
you that she befriended the child at one time ? "

" She told me the wretched woman was too drunk
to hold the child in her arms, and when it was left you
came and took it without explanation."

^hat you think
a young child

342

BEGGAKS ALL.

[Book IIL

"Just so. I put it in the Home then, but she
discovered where it was and claimed it again. I don't
know that they would take the child back again, even
if that were the best thing that could be done with it."

" Who is this poor woman ? "

" She is my sister —or, at least, my half-sister ; her
mother was not mine."

" It is hardly the thing to have her on the streets
like that."

" I have tried to make her give up that sort of life.
I can't control her. It is the love of drink that is her
temptation now."

" Can she not be put in some asylum ? There are
places where "

" I have p'. t her in several such places. She will
not stay. I have no power to make her stay. The
only thing I can do now is to watch over her as well as
I can."

He did not disagree with any comment Marian made
upon the beggar whose affairs they were discussing, but
there was all the difference between love and apathy,
between the attitude of heaven and that of earth, in the
tones they used. Marian had spoken callously, with
perhaps a tinge of indignant scorn. They both felt the
difference. She softened a little.

" This must be a great trial to you," she said.

He did not reply but said, " It seems that this child
was taken from a family she met tramping on the
road when she came here from London. I have made
every inquiry, but I can find no trace of the parents."

"Did you come here, then, at the same time she
did ? " Marian began to feel curious.

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

343

" I came to look after her. I can see that she has
lodging and food. I do not see that to restrain her
against her will is of real help to her or any one. It is
often thought good, but I have come to believe it is no
real good. It is not God's way with us."

There was sometimec a little gap between one
sentence and another in his speeches. He seldom used
the small connecting words by which most people oil the
joints of their talk.

"And you came here for the purpose of watching
over her ? " Marian said again. She felt puzzled.
" You must have had a home and occupation else-
where ? "

" For a good many years I have moved from place to
place where she went, by taking a situation in some
family. I can always pick up a living that is enough
for her too."

" Surely that is an exaggerated idea of duty ? "

" You could not let any one you had loved go about
in that way, and leave them to themselves and to all
that might befall them."

He spoke with such confidence that, for a moment,
she felt convinced too ; yet she argued.

" If any one had spoiled my life, as she must have
spoiled yours, I think I would go as far as I could from
them."

" I do not think you would if you could help them."

" But you can do so little to help her."

He passed his hand across his brow. "Almost
nothing. Still she might need my help at any time.
Her right mind might come to her, and she would turn
to me then for the help she will not have now."

,'^-

.L&.

344 BEGGARS ALL. [Book III.

" And in the faint hope of that you spoil your own
life?"

"Oh no; we find our lives by losing them, you
know. Life is full of work and happiness. It would be
wrong to let one shadow darken one's life."

She did not answer. She felt much confused. He
looked down at her.

" I am not unhappy here," he said. He seemed to
be giving her some information which he wished her to
know and comprehend, and Marian, who for months had
been chafing at her uncle's extraordinary indulgence to
this man, felt puzzled to know why he should tell her
that he was not unhappy with them.

" You were not brought up to be a servant ? "

" I was a Baptist minister. You do not know
much about dissenting bodies perhaps. There are
many ministers who come of poor parents and who
do not receive very much education before they are
ordained."

" Still," she stammered, " the position."

She blushed. All her conduct toward this man, all
her thoughts of him, seemed to have been wrong and
foolish. She had just that morbid, sensitive mind that
overrates the wrong of its own follies. ^

He was not looking at her. He clasped his hands
behind him in the absent manner not uncommon to him.
He spoke with visionary look.

" Where I last lived as a minister my poor sister
came to live with me. I knew her life had not been
right, but she was then homeless, so I got her to be
mistress of my house. The people to whom I preached
would not have that ; it was a scandal to them. It

•'

I
X

Book HI.]

BEG6ABS ALL.

345

did not matter much, as far as she was concerned,
for she would not stay with me any way. She was
still young and handsome then. She went away
with an unprincipled man. It was this way with ma
then : I had been pastor to those pi 3ple for eight
years, and they were still so unspiritual as to place out-
ward respectability before the desire to save. I had
been trying to bring salvation to many; real result I
could not estimate — perhaps there was little or none. I
thought I would try to go after the one sheep I knew
was lost, and be sure that it was found before I tried
again to benefit many. I gave up my position there and
went to seek my poor sister. I went full of hope. It
seemed an easy thing to save cme life if I was willing to
give my life till it was done." He stopped a moment.
" That was twelve years ago." Again he paused. " I
have learned that it is of no use to try to save people
unless we give ourselves to them. You think I have
been foolish to give so many years to follow and help
her. Jesus Christ gave nearly all the time of His
ministry to a few disciples."

He went on again in a minute. "I believe I shall
still prevail, Miss Gower ; but I am troubled about this
child. She took it first because she liked it, and it aided
her in begging. She has shown love for it, and I hoped
she might begin to do right. Now it is ill, and as she
does not seem able to keep it well, it seems murder to
leave it with her." In a few moments he said again,
" I wish that I need not take the child from her."

He spoke with such strong wistfulness that she,
hardly deciding yet whether to think him mad or heroic,
could not help inquiring further into the cause of his

346 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

desire and hope. It seemed to her that he wanted
something from her.

" Tell me about your sister," she said gently enough.

" When she was young we lived in London. She
was good looking. She was religiously brought up, but
I think she did not inherit good impulses from her
mother. We were not in prosperous circumstances, and
marriage was the object of her life. She expected the
man she married to supply her with pleasures. She fell
in with a young gentleman — an inexperienced boy. He
ought not to have thought of anything but business or
study, but he thought of her, and she married him. She
ran from us. I was young at the time and did not under-
stand it. Her husband had good intentions. He could
not tell his friends of this marriage, but they had already
got him a place in India, with a salary that sounded
more to him than it was. He meant to go out and send
money to support his wife till the first child came, and
then to send for her to come out to him. I think he tried
to do this ; I think he lived poor and worked hard and
sent her all he could. What I am telling you is not
what either has said, but this seems to have been the
truth."

The echo of family hints and suspicions came to her
mind as it had come before. " Can you be speaking of
my uncle ? " she said.

" Yes."

" How can you — how can you endure to be in the same
house with him if he deserted her ? " She broke off.

" If he had ruined her life I could not, but it was the
other way — she ruined his."

"Ruined it!"

_ajl:

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

347

" Yes — for all good uses ; for he loved her and trusted
her, and she railed at him for not sending her more
money, and when the baby was bom and dead she wrote
to him that it was his fault. Then she ceased to write
to him, and his letters were returned by a man called
Curtis. She left London with Curtis.*'

" And my uncle ? "

" He was young, you know ; he had feeling, and she
killed it. He does not seem to have made any remon-
strance. What could he do in India ? I think he had
really tried to do right before that, but after "

Neither spoke for some minutes.

" She lived with Curtis some years," he went on.
"After that she came to me. She was only weak and
pleasure-loving ; that is her character, but it led her into
as great evil as the worst disposition. After she left me
the second time her life fell very low, for she began
drinking too much. I tried living with her, but it is
hard for a man trained to no trade to get work to support
a home. Then, too, when I tried to restrain her by force
it made her hate me."

" I do not understand why she came here, or you."

" Mr. Gower had lost sight of his wife entirely. He
did not know whether she was dead or alive, but she, by
some curious chance, saw his name in a newspaper and
saw that he had come to live here. We were both in
London then. She could get no money to travel, so she
set off walking. It was some weeks before I could find
out where she had gone or why. I thought I should find
her somewhere on the road ; I did not think she would
get so far. But she held to her purpose and got here
before me. The only safeguard for her is to get her a

348 BEGGARS ALL. [Book III.

room wherever she is, and have her supplied with food
every day. The worst thing that can befall her is to get
money or anything she can sell."

" But she never came to my uncle ; she never made
herself known to him."

" Her poor mind is dull with drinking. She lacks
purpose and courage to carry out any intention, and I
don't know whether she ever had any definite intention
of making herself known to him. She was tired of
London, so she wandered to the place she heard he was
in. It is impossible to know what passes in a poor, dull
brain like hers. But if she ever intended to beg of him
I came in time to prevent his giving her money. That
is what he would have done, and I had a right to forbid
him."

" He would never have done anything more than
that," Marian burst out, with a sudden sense of contrast.
"He would never have spoken a kind word to her or
given her true advice or seen that she was housed
and fed."

" He did more than you would perhaps have expected
from him. When I told him, he did not call me a
fool."

" Did he not ? " It was actually the first good thing
she had heard of her uncle.

" He did more than I asked. He gave me my present
work, and leisure with it to look after her. I could not
have found a situation easily in a town where I was
not known."

" And by this generosity secured to himself the best
servant he has ever had."

" If it is so — and it would be a pity if a man who has

Book III.] BEGGARS ALL. 349

had some education could not be a better servant than
men who have had less — he did not expect that when he
engaged me. I think he acted from a better impulse
than self-interest."

He stopped here as if he had said some very inter-
esting and important thing.

" I hope he did," said Marian wearily. " When I
came to my uncle I came with high hopes of influencing
his way of life." A pause, and then she went on, " And
you speak as if it were hopeful that he should have
offered you a situation to wait on him. He ought to
have been only too glad to have supplied you with means
for your " — she was going to say, " noble work," but she
said — "effort to rescue her." It was all so new to her
that she could not yet feel quite sure whether this man
was wise or unwise.

" You wrong him. He would, no doubt, have much
preferred to give me a large sum of money to have got rid
of me and of her. I wouldn't take money, and he was not
unkind enough to offer it, which, for a gentleman of his
stamp, was something, and showed a warmer heart than
he usually shows. I told him I was looking for a situ-
ation as servait. He did the most he could do by
making room for me in his own house. It was the only
thing he could do for me, the best thing that he could do
for her through me, and I was glad for his sake to come ;
I thought I might help him."

" Why do you choose this manner of life ? "

" As I said, it was very difficult to find work I was

fit for. In this line of life one can " He hesitated a

moment, and she thought he was going to say, " do much
good," but he did not. " I have found it a very beautiful

350 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

kind of life," he said, and in a minute he recited quietly,
" ' If I, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye
also ousfht to wash one another's feet.' "

Marian felt uncomfortable. " But the child ? " she
said. " Can you find no trace of the parents ? "

He went on to explain that he did not believe the
parents would ever claim the child. " Such children,"
he said, "are murdered by mothers every day, simply
because they are in the way."

Marian exclaimed.

"You do not believe that. Neither would I have
believed it once — in the days when I preached to people's
souls, and saw only the outside of their lives. I have
gone down into the depth in following this poor
woman."

Marian could not speak ; she was full of conflicting
thought. The happy little dream to which she had been
giving up her whole soul a few minutes ago seemed
a flimsy thing and already overlaid with terrible reality.

" I have not told you this story before, Miss Gower,
because I wanted your help so much that I hesitated to
ask it."

" What can I do ? " she said despondently.

" I do not know, but a woman must know better how
to deal with a woman and a child than a man can. I
think my poor sister will not live many years longer.
I should like to draw her to good ways through the
child while she lives. I should like to see some good
provision made for the child while she lives, and after,
for it would not be right to sacrifice its good to hers.
Mrs. Thompson is dying," he went on. " My poor
sister blesses her name when she speaks of her. Mrs.

Book III,]

BEGGARS ALL.

353

Yet the question came to her — was it worth the cost ?
The whole of this man's time, service, thought, and
prayer was being given in the effort to shift the drunken,
degraded wife and the rich man besotted in selfishness
from the downward to the upward track. It was all
that even Heaven through him could do, perhaps, to set
them on the beginning of self-denial in this world. Was
it worth what he was giving, what she herself must give,
if she set her seal to the hackneyed form of promise ?
Marian's faith in all goodness and all effort reeled in her
endeavour to estimate comparative values ; but when
she ceased her attempt to compute and compare the
worth of what was devoted and the worth of the
gain desired, her faith steadied itself and answered,
" What is devoted is measured ; the gain is without
measure."

With morning the other interests of her life reasserted
themselves. Not knowing precisely what to do or think
about her new obligation, she gladly let the tumult of
her mind subside into the large intention to do what she
ought, and was glad also to postpone on any pretence
the definition of this duty, A happy thought came to
her; she would ask Bramwell's advice concerning the
ailing child on the first opportunity, and decide nothing
till she saw what he should suggest.

An excuse for a talk with the young doctor was
pleasant, she hardly knew how pleasant. It was largely
because Marian did not like men and was unaccustomed
to them that this one man, having won her liking,
appeared to her, for the time, more separated from others,
more like a fabled hero or young god, than he really was.

It was not many days before he called on Mr, Gower.

2 A

354

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

It was in the morning. Marian waited and waylaid him
on his return downstairs.

She stood just inside the door of a long dining
parlour. The severe furniture and heavy curtains, drawn
to keep out the sun, made a good background to the
lady's slight figure in summer dress. She felt a little
timid at accosting him, and Bramwell looked down at
her very kindly.

She wasted no words. " There is a poor woman," she
began, " who has a baby in her charge. The parents
have deserted it. The child is not thriving." She went
on telling what was not personal — that the care of the
child was an incentive to steadiness in the woman, that
it was feared that if the child was put in a hospital or
" home " she would sink to a lower way of life.

Bramwell shook his head. " A hard case," he said.
'* She ought to take it to the Dispensary on Tuesdays.
I would offer to see it, of course, as you take an interest
in it ; but, really, she will get as good advice at the
Dispensary."

She told him, with the beginning of a feeling of
weariness, that the child had been taken to the Dis-
pensary, that it was feared the woman could not remember
to carry out the directions she received.

" I am afraid I can't advise you," he said. " It's a
common case. Such children die by the thousand."

" I am sure I don't know what to do," said Marian.
" You saw the child once in that poor Mrs. Thompson's
room."

" Oh, I think I recollect. It was a very fine child —
looked as if it had a good constitution. It's a pity to let
such a sturdy boy pine. Why don't you adopt it, Miss

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

355

Gower ? " He spoke laughingly, of course. "If its
parents are really coiiipletoly lost to it I should almost
feel tempted to ado[»t it, if I were you."

"I had not thought of tliat," said Marian quietly.
The sun, that had been shining in brick-red chinks of
the curtains, did not retire and leave the room gray,
yet Marian, looking into it as she had looked before
Bramwell spoke, felt that its colour seemed less warm
and rich. She knew now that Bramwell had not thought
of maiTying her. " It would not obviate the difficulty
of having to take it from the woman."

" Unless, like Pharaoh's daughter, you let her take
care of it," he said, and smiled down at her a very bright
kindly smile, as if in apology for his jest, in which there
had been flavour of earnestness. " Indeed, I am afraid
you will perceive that I have no advice worth anything."

He took his leave then, in his own good-natured way.
Marian stood a few minutes till his trap had gone down
the avenue. Then she went out in her garden hat, and
■^/andered aimlessly round the terrace surrounding the
house.

It stood somewhat grim, with its big, echoing, four-
square walls, just as she had seen and disliked it when,
in the loneliness of her arrival, she had heard first the
story of the haunting. The trees, that then had rattled
their branches like bare bones, were dense now with
leaves. Some stretched their boughs near the house,
so that the light that fell on the gray stone seemed itself
green. Marian walked all round, past the kitchen and
outhouses, to a bit where the lawn skirted blank wall,
and then came to the long glass houses that sej)arated
her from the laurels under her own window. She looked

356

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

into the conservatory. No plants had been put in it ; it
was utterly bare, and its bareness suited her mood. She
went in and sauntered tlirough it. Dusty and blank
was this })lace which imagination furnislied so naturally
with ex(|uisite grouping of dower and palm. Marian felt
her life akin to the place and sat down on a stool that
happened to stand there.

It was a (pieer place to sit in. She had been alone
there half an hour when she started to hear the door at
the other end open. Gilchrist came through in a
hurried manner before she could get away or even rise
and pretend she had not been sitting there.

He had something in his hand in which he seemed
more interested than in Marian's choice of a resting-place.

" Look ! " he said.

It appeared to her to be a small machine, very old
and rusted. She gazed at it with ignorant eyes,
surprised that he seemed excited.

" Isn't it part of a clock ? "

" That's clockwork," he said, pointing to part of it ;
"and this thing, with valves that open and shut, is, unless
I am very much mistaken, the thing that made the
noise like a child's cry the night we were robbed."

She looked at it incredulously.

He was growing more calm. "I make no doubt
this was it. I can't make it give a sound now, but it's
been in the pipe that runs down the side of the wall,
and of course the first rain spoiled it. The water ran
through the machine at first, but lately it has got clogged
and choked the pipe. That is the way we found it."

" Are you sure ? " she asked in dazed fashion. " Are
you sure this could have deluded us so ? "

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

857

"A length of the pipe had been taken out and this
put in, and tlie pipe put together again behind the
laurels. The pipe is a thin one, an<l the metal would
carry the sound so that we never knew exactly where it
was. It is wonderfully ingenious. See how it's muffled
with this rag to make the sound soft. It is not long
since there was something in the paper about the toy
factory at Croom. It is sai<l to be celebrated for its
imitation of the noises of animals and children. It looks
as if the fellow who did this was some workman from a
place where he would learn such things. It would
evidently go for a certain time when wound up and then
stop, as many of those toys do,"

Then she raised her eyes and looked at him, " You
have really no idea who did it ? You suspect no one ? "

" I can't even find any clue to a reasonable sus-
picion."

And, as he said this, Marian knew that he had read
her suspicion of him — read it and forgiven it completely.

" These wires and valves are so rusted," he said,
" that I doubt if it could be proved that they were made
at that factory, even if they are worked on the same
principle." He went on talking, "I am going now to
show it to Mr. Govver. He ahva3's believed that — ray
poor sister had in some way had the child here. It is
natural that he should have a morbid fear of her coming
about and perhaps talking to the servants alone. I have
always thought that the thief may have known Mr.
Uower was likely to fear her, even if he didn't fear the
ghost tale. The thief may have counted on one or the
other — or both, if he knew of them."

Marian made some inane reply. She had been in-

358

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

terested to know what Gilchrist surmised about the
theft ; she felt little interest just then concerning the
theft itself. He was about to move away, but, as he had
mentioned his sister, she felt constrained to detain him
and ask if he had seen her again. She spoke looking
straight before her. She felt conscience-stricken that
three days had elapsed and she had done nothing.

" I wanted to tell you," he said, " that I am sure Mr.
Gower will not object to your helping my sister Silvia,
or should you wish to make some arrangement for the
child afterwards."

" How uo you know ? "

" He will ignore what you do, but he will not hinder.
His heart is larger than you think."

She did not ask him again how he knew. It seemed
little to rejoice in, yet she felt glad, for her uncle's sake,
that he could affirm this.

Then she said feverishly, " I may as well begin at
once ; I may as well begin to-day to take care of your
poor sister and the child."

" Have you any plan ? **

" No," she rmswered. How little she had tried to
think out any plan !

"You see," he said diffidently, "one must just try
one thing and then another, and hope that at last some
way m: -' help her a little. She won't be grateful for any-
thing you dt , Miss Gower, and she won't fall in easily
with any plan we try." He was speaking again with
quiet passion, forgetting himself and all his surround-
ings. He stood looking down at her, his broad face lit
with feeling, his hands behind him. " She's no more
anxious to be made respectable than the world was to be

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

359

saved when God'r, Son 'came untc His own, and His
own received Him not.' She won't like our helping
her, any more than w like it when God, with His
angel of circumstance, stops us walking in one path
and turns us into another. And if you should charore
yourself with the bringing up of this child, do what you
will for it, it's more than likely that it won't be a pride
and a pleasure to you when it grows to be a lad and man,
any more than we, -rowing in the Christian life, are
much of a pride to the Master who is training us. We
bring shame on His Name often, and this boy will, like
enough, do the same to you. The question is, will they
be a bit better for our help than they would have been
without it ? And what would we be if God deserted us ? "

Marian sat on her stool, her eyes dropped, her cheeks
pale.

An ! thus he left her in the flower-house in which
there were no flowers.

CHAPTER VI.

Mrs. Thompson still lay suft'ering. Dust and heat were
upon the high road, and the drought of lingering summer
upon the flelds around.

The dying woman, so far away from ever}' scene in
which her eyes had been wont to delight, lay peacefully
in an upper room of Hubert Kent's cottage, folded her
hands each day and thanked God that He had provided
80 good a place for her and her children.

360 BEGGARS ALL. [Booe in.

Into tliis back room Star, witli a reckless indifference
to her own comfort, brouj;ht everything from the other
parts of the liouse which could j^ive rest or pleasure.
Here, while her mother was tended l>y Ricliarda's
constant watchfulness, Star would come, leaving; house-
hold work half done, and sit lor h »urs at a time, talking
softly of all that was good and cheerful, telling trivial
news of the cliildren in the street, of the new l>aby
which had come two doors off, and of the mother's well-
doing. The dying woman could laugh gently with
Richarda at the humorous side of tliese incidents, could
grieve at the troubles of little children, could form
earnest wishes and breathe prayers for their go«*d. So
of all the interests of the many-sided life which came
before her Star talked, and they three laughed ami
sighed together. Of sacred things, discussed at such
times by people who depend for comfort in death upon a
mental frame or transient mood, they did not talk very
muc' , and of her own misery, of the future which
stared her in the face with ceaseless interrogation and
no hope, Star never spoke.

Into her mother's room, to which Star had carried ail
the brightness- of his house, Hubert did not enter. Every
day, when her mother would ask for him, Star had her
excuse : Hubert had gone to town early, or he had come
home late, or he was tired.

"Ah, well," thought the mother-in-law sadly, "he
does not want to come." And in her humility slie felt
it but natural that the young man should find no attrac-
tion at her bedside.

Yet Hubert had asked to come more than once, until
Star had hurt his sensitive vanity by letting him think

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

361

that he was not wanted. It never occurred to her that
there was duplicity in thi.s. There are times when wu
are so bent on attaining a goal that we never notice the
path we take, and Star flung down her honesty, as she
would have as willingly flung down her life, at the door
of her mother's dying ehamljer, to prevent the entrance
of a desecrating footstep.

Thus some days went by, till, on a Sunday afternoon,
when the western window was full of slant sunbeams,
the hour of death came. It came, as it seemed to them,
unexpcictedly, though they had done little but ex])ect for
many days. It was that lazy time on a summer Sunday
afternoon when all the world .seems .sleepy, and it would
seem that death itself oujjlit not to walk abroa<l. Star
sat by her mother's pillow.s, the dear hand clasped in
her own. With no apprehension of innnediate danger,
she had leaned back her hfsul, and her young eyes,
heavy with healthy sleep, liad dropped their lids.
Richarda sat at the window, singing hymns softly, her
dreamy voice rippling over old-fa-shioned trills and turns
with the half-mechanical ease of long habit. It was just
then that Mrs. Thompson stirred from her sleep, and
they, looking up, knew tliat death was very near.

They had no doctor and no priest. They knew no
use for either.

" Mother, oh, mother," said Star, bending over, " can
you look at us ? can you .speak to us, mother ? "

For answer the old smile came brightly, and the
faded, gray eyes were opened wide, showing clear depths
of motherly tenderness. The heart of flesh might have
almost ceased to beat, but the heart of the spirit, the
mother's love, was strong to hear the daughter's cry.

362 BEGGAUS ALL. [Book III.

It came to Star then — the sin against Hubert which
she had committed. Her heart did not soften toward
him, but she felt that sometliing she might have done
towards her husband's reformation had not been done;
now she was panic-strioken in the hope that it might
not yet be too late.

" Mother, mother " — she sank on her knees — "mother,
if I bring Hubert will you say something to him ? Oh,
I mother, Hubert is not good ; he does not believe in God

and heaven ; he does not try to be good. Can you say
something ? He may believe it if you say it now."
Indistinct ideas, associated with death-bed scenes, were
floating in her half-frenzied mind. " If I bring him
will you try to say something to warn him, something
to show him how wronjj it is to do wronjx ? " she
besought incoherently. "Can you try, will you try,
mother ? "

She looked to see her mothers unfailing pity greet
this first hint of her marriage tragedy, l)ut it was
scarcely pity that was in the dying eye.s — not, at least,
what we call pity. There was rest and comfort in the
glance that met hers, as the glance of an angel, who
might say, "It matters little that we are feeble to cope
with sin. God is great."

" I will try," said the mother gently.

The voice reassured her; it was her own mother's
voice — her mother who had never failed her.
IH Star dashed downstairs, to find Hubert lounging with

a novel in the deserted parlour.

" Come up," she commanded peremptorily. " Mother
is — is dying."

Hubert rose up, looking, as he felt, shocked.

-rr

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

363

" Come up." She jerked out the words in an agony
of impatience,

" I ? Oh — what can I do. Star ? I am very sorry,
but I can't do anything upstairs. Til go for Brain well."

At any time in the previous days he would have been
very glad, for the seemliness of the thing, to have gone
in and bid his mother-in-law ijood ni^rht or good morning,
but he had strongly the natural di.<like to seeing any one
die; and besides, he had heard Richarda singing hynms.
The iiWO ideas of religion and death formed a picture in
his fancy most repulsive.

But Star could be imperious, and Hul3ert was too
humane to oppose her violently jiLst then. She hustled
him upstairs and into the room.

It is the lot of man to form an incorrect notion of
anything of which he is ignorant. Hubert had been
shut out from this chamber, and he supposed it to be
filled with gloom, or, at least, with a sickly religious
atmosphere which would seem to him gloom. When he
stood within the door he was quite unprepared for the
flood of sunshine there. Richarda smiled as she spoke
low words. He stood for a moment as if he had come
out of darkness and his eves were dazzled.

Star sank again by her mother. " Oh, mother, mother,
speak to Hubert, Don't go without speaking to him.
Teach him something ; try to teach him."

So, as Hubert came nearer, his wife's mother turned
to him. Perhaps her failing mind had forgotten Star's
entreaty ; perhaps her natural shxTiess triumphed over
her effort to fulfil ;t; or, again, it raaj' have been that
seeing him for the first time after so many days she
could only contemplate his goodness, for eyes that are

Vl^f"*^ " ","". .1' f\l>' t^' '—'J — •'J— — -^ ^-7

364 BEGGABS ALL. [Book IIL

very pure see virtue more quickly than sin. Whatever
tlie iininediatc cause, then, as before, there was a deeper
wisdom in her than that wliich she could have reasoned,
and when Star clasped her hand over his she looked to
him only with the familiar smile with which she had
greeted him many a morning and evening — only an old
woman's smile, but it was full of love and light.

" God bless you, my son. You have been very good
to me and mine. God will repay you."

" Oh, mother ! " sobbed Star, in agony almost of re-
proach.

Some troubled look came over the dying face, as if
she tried to recall something she had loft undone ; then
the loving smile was given again, as though she would
ask Hubert to let the atiection witli which she regarded
him atone for something she could not remember. Her
last loving look, the last pressure of her hand, were for
him. Before she could turn her eyes again to her
daughters the soul had died out of them ; her breath
became laboured ; in a little while she was dead.

Hubert stood awkward, irresolute, feeling the natural
desire to do something suitable and kind. He saw
Richarda stand calm, hanging on her crutches, her sharp-
featured face touched into contemplative tenderness.
Star, with more healthy impulse, knelt burying her sobs
in the lifeless breast. The evening sunlight lit the
room just as if death had not been there, and ineti'able
peace spread itself over the face of the dead. Hubert
slunk away. Ho was fully aware that he went out of
that presence-chamber with no dignity, real or aj^parent.
Richarda had looked to him to lift up his wife, but he
slunk away.

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

365

"Oh, mother, mother," sobbed Star, when she had
persuaded Richarda to leave her alone with the dea<l, —
" oh, mother, mother, I am glad you are dead — glad,
glad, glad ; yes, darling, glad." All the passion of her
long-pent-up sorrow seemed to lind vent in the trem-
bling whisper of the words, "glad, my darling, glad,
glad."

There is great comfort in tears. When the evening
planet darted its fair, uncertain ray in uj)on her as she,
still weej»ing, performed the last service for her mother,
she was stronger than she had been for many days.

" We cannot stop spending the money until mother
dies," she had said to herself She had despised herself
for this degree of dishonesty, but had not had the
courage to mar the last precious days of that dear life tm
earth. Now she knew without doubting that that life
was best honoured by the apparent dishonour of a mean
burial. Richarda might tliink her mad ; Hubert might
oppose his strength to hers ; she felt strong to brave
them both, determined that not one unnecessary farthing
should l>e spent on the rites of this death.

Over the dark fields in the quivering depth of distant
blue — blue such as is seen in harebell flowers — the
planet of love grew brighter, till its clear, gold light
beamed steadily into the open window, where, in the
calm twilight. Star sat a little while by the corpse she
had wa.shed and dressed. All her tears were shed, an«l
there was a new prayer in her heart which seemed to
give birth to a new life. Hitherto her aim had been the
happiness of love, happiness for those she loved more
than for herself, but still, hapi)inoss. For a few days
there had been the cessation of all aim in the despair of

366 • BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

defeat. Now arose a new aim — not joy, but righteous-
ness, A true life goes through many such changes, and
that which makes each real and vivid is that, when it
comes, it seems the final stronghold, the consummation
of experience.

CHAPTER VII.

When Star came down she confronted the undertaker
whom Hubert had brought. He spoke soothingly, with
that upward inflection of tone which one uses to spoiled
children. It was evidently his habit to speak thus to
mourners. Hubert also spoke caressingly, as if reason-
ableness could not be expected from her and her fancies
must be humoured. Star took advantage of their
intended indulgence. In vain they affected to misunder-
stand her directions or gently to set aside her wishes.
She gave her orders with an intensity of determination
that they found it impossible to gainsay. The glib
undertaker was silenced ; even Hubert shrugged his
shoulders at last and turned away.

When the man was gone it was their usual hour for
bed. Star went about putting out lights, and closing
the house. She had no other thought than that they
should sleep as usual. Her mother had never less need
of lights and watching than now.

" Shall I put this out ? " she said to Hubert, her hand
upon the screw of the parlour lamp.

He had not spoken to or looked at her since she had

Book III.j

BEGGARS ALL.

367

crossed his wishes with respect to the undertaker's order.
He turned now, looking up from a newspaper which lay
untidily on the table.

" No," he answered ; " I will stay here."

She did not question him further. She went upstairs,
undressed, and lay down. Richarda had already fallen
into exhausted sleep. Star also went to sleep, but her
slumber was light and easily broken. She did not know
how long it was — it might have been an hour, it might
have been hours — when she awoke, hearing an almost
noiseless step upon the stair. She saw a beam of light
coming through the crack of the door, which moved,
showing that a candle was carried past.

No doubt Hubert was coming to bed. No ; he
walked as if he did not want to be heard, and his steps
paused at her mother's door. She heard him go in and
shut it again. What could he have gone there for ?
She started half up, disposed to go at once and show
that she resented his intrusion in that holy place. But a
second thought detained her again — perhaps he had gone
to see that all was right before he slept, or rain might
have come on, and he had gone to adjust the window.

She rested on her elbow, listening to hear him come
out again. There was no further sound. At first she
chid herself for impatience, for, having no means of
measuring time, she supposed that what seemed long to
her might, in reality, be but a minute ; then, when that
could no longer satisfy, it seemed in the silence and
darkness almost more easy to count what she had heard
a dream than to suppose that Hubert could have gone
there to remain. Could he (horrid thought) know of
anything in her mother's possession that it was worth

noS nE(j(;vus all. rn..oK iil

Ills wliilo to Mtcal ? or fi»r his evil jturposcs coiiM lie
luive any use lor what ini;^Iit I to Icanictl or stolen IVoin
a c »r|M(! i All awful, unrcasonin:; fear of his wicki'duess
caiiio over h(!r and, eoiiHictin;,' with it, tho supposition
that siu! mii^'ht not really have heard him enter.

With tho ind(M;ision of exhausted nerves, slio Imlted
|on<r. The niiiht seemed at its deadest. There was no
hreath nor rustic to recall her e.xeited fancy to reality.
At len;^'tli, tre'iiihlinL,' with fear, half of supernatural
horror, half of unnatural iniipiity, she dragged herself to
her mother's door and ojtened it.

Whatever we may expect, that which wo see at any
given time is usually that which is most natural. The
room in its profound ropos»; was just as sh(> had left it.
The stars and the intinite sky of night looke(| in
through the open upper part of tin; window upon tlio
dark room and tho wliito hod. The oidy chang(! was
that a candle (she noticed it was tin; kitchen candle)
■was sot, shado<l horn tho room and the window, so that
its ray fell on tho bed, and lluhert, with tlu^ face cloth
in his hand, stood with folded arms gazing at tho
mother's face.

lie 'dance*! at Star as slio stood in tho door, but <lid
not seem to care to move, his glance falling back again
where it was before.

She: never scaimed lier husband .so keenly as at that
moment, yet she gained little, lie stood with anus
crossed, his scMisitive face bont forward slightly. Ho
looked profoundly iniorested, profoundly contemplative,
even curious. She could not road the slightest trace of
sinister design or troubled emotion. Her eyes were
irresistibly drawn froni him to the dead face that he

n<H*K iir ]

hkooars ali,.

.'KID

was lookin;^ at, as tlioiii^h licr inin<l vvcro coinpclled liy
his. On tlic jiillow lay the i\rnv face which a;^'<> and
pain luul scMlpturccl with their eternal j^t'niiis. 'l'h»;
face horo no tiaei-s of their work to which these two
youn<,' creatures had not heen accustonie(l while it had
been lit hy the smile of life ; Imt, now that it lay in
(h?ath tlicro was sometliin'' new in it hev«)nd tho
ahsonco of life, wuiiethin^' that another Artist had a<lded,
a pi'ace that was beyond all description, a stian;^e lieanty
that Hoeined almost to shed li^dit.

"Star, I never saw anything,' like this." Hiihert
spoke, forj^ettiiii,' all canst- of dithn-nce between them,
spoke slowly, as if he must speak and as if it were
natural that he an<l she should stand there to^'ether and
exchan"'e soh'uni words.

Star couM not fori^et. She came in, lookin<' un-
beautiful, as even youn;_f and pretty women will look
when the face is disordered by weeping and a disoidered
niifhtixown is half hidden in an old shawl. She took
the candle and took him by tho arm, and brought them
both out of the room.

*' What is the matter ? " asked Hubert, yielding in Ids
surpri.se. " Is llieharda ill ? Sjx-ak — tell me."

Star, shutting the door close behind hei", was
speechless with excess of feeling. She made only a
gesture towards him of such indignation that his face
darkened.

" Do you mean," he asked in the simplicity ofsurpri.se,
" that I am not gootl enough to go there i "
1 es.

She left lilm alone in the narrow stair-way, holding
the candle aslant and looking after her darkly.

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370 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

But by the next morning Hubert seemeJl to have
forgotten any personal ill-will which he might have felt.
He went to his work early, and Star did not meet him
when he came home in the afternoon.

" Hubert has come," said Richard a, bending over her
work in the cool shadow of the front room, where the
blinds were down.

" Where is he ? " asked Star, halting on her way from
the kitchen.

It was such a little house that Hubert could not be
lost in it and be anywhere but in the one room. It was
enough for Star that Richarda could not tell where he
was. She pursued him to the room of death.

She found him there as before. The plain, white
sheet, on which she had laid a knot of dust-stunted
pinks gathered from their own small plot, was covered
now with fragrant white blossoms, rich flowers such as
money can buy, and the young man who had just laid
them there was standing, not regarding his tribute with
any attention, but looking, as in the night he had looked,
at the dead woman's face.

Star uttered an exclamation of anger, and laid a
quick, ruthless grasp upon a spray of white lilies.

He caught her hand. " Stop ! What are you doing ?
I thought 3rou would be pleased. She liked flowers.
Oh, as t<j that," divining her thought, and answering,
" I did not buy them with that money. I bought them
with my last week's wages, just to please you."

She wrenched her hand from him; she was palpitating
with wrath. " What does that matter ? All that you
can earn for years is owing to the men you have robbed ;
there is not a farthing of it yours." Her voice broke

Bock III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

371

into a hard, angry sob. " Do you think I will have my
mother dishonoured by — by you i^ "

She gathered the flowers from the white pall, not, as
we lift flowers, by their stalks, but grasping them rudely
by blossom and bud, like polluted things.

He watched her. He could not prevent her without
an unseemly struggle. Then, perceiving the full force of
her determination, he again laid his hand strongly upon
her arm.

She had seized all the flowers she could hold in both
ha,nds, and there were still many more. In her young,
dimpled beauty and fierce eagerness to get hold of them
all, she looked baflled, not altogether unlike a child who
must drop some of its woodland spoils in order to reach
after more ; but different, for she was like a man in
strength, possessed by the indignation of right against
wrong. It was just then he laid a stern hand upon her.
Kven in her rage she stopped to look in his face, and
their two faces confronted one another as they leaned,
hot with the strength of their young passions, over the
broken flowers and the dead form.

Oh, the unutterable stillness and silence of death !
We seldom feel it to the uttermost, for we enter its
presence stilling ourselves to meet the sight. Only
yesterday this poor weak woman would have spoken
words of wisdom, would have met their emotion with
([uick tears of pity and warning; now, in the fiercest
culmination of their strife, her face near them, set in the
stillness of death, reflected nothing but infinite peace.

And, strange to say, it was Hubert who seemed more
under this influence of ''he dead face. His features
softened as Star darted indignant glances at him ; his

ilt'

372

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

eyes gained a calm which calmed her and made her
ashamed. It was many years before she looked again
in her husband's eyes as she looked then, and after-
ward, in lonely years, she thanked God for that memory ;
but now their form, their dark, gray light, their first
anger and after sadness, seemed burnt in, branded with
pain upon her brain. She could not remember after-
wards how it was that she dropped what she had taken
in her hands, but she knew that he gathered up all the
flowers. He did it neatly, as he did everything, leaving
not a trace of all their wealth behind. Then she was
alone, crouching, trembling, by the bare, coarse sheet
and the posy of stunted pinks.

She thought afterwards that he must have dug a hole
and buried those flowers, for she came upon no remains
of them. Poor Richarda, repining at Star's sternness
and the poverty of their mother's burial, never knew of
their existence.

CHAPTER VIII.

Three days after her mother was buried Star stood on
the little grass plot waiting for Hubert to return from
his day's work. She had finished getting ready his
supper, and, although she was not on amicable terms
with him, the action of stepping to the little gate to see
if he were coming seemed too natural to be resisted.

Only half the other cottages in the row had as yet
been let. A thrifty gardener, whose wife it was who

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

373

was not above a day's charing, lived next on the left
hand, but the house on the right was empty. The
cottages which were let were neat enough, but Hubert's
was conspicuous for its well-kept appearance. Only that
morning he had risen early and trimmed the grass in front
and rear ; not a blade was in the ^vrong place, and the
tinj' flower border was in as perfect condition as care
could produce upon indifferent soil in August drought.

Star noticed all this with the approving eye of &
housekeeper. Habit made her take satisfaction in the
neat appointments of her little domain ; the same habit
made her look with interest down the road to see if
Hubert were among the distant comers, even though she
felt her life to be at a deadlock, and she knew not how
to live a day or an hour without tmnsgressing the law
of common honesty. Save as she would, the household
expenses must go on to a certain extent. She could not
voluntarily cease to live; her very life and Richanla's
seemed to her a sin against the community. The protest
that was strong in her against Hubert's dishonesty, and
the strong effort she was making to think how best to
circumvent him, for the time crushed all feeling of love
for him out of her heart ; yet external habit is very strong,
and she came out, like a dutiful wife, to look for her
husband.

Who has not felt the fascination of watching the
passers on any road in the assured expectation of a
familiar form ? Townward, about as far away as she
could see men walking, the first cross street cut the
highroad ; and here many figures came in view, some of
which held straight on down to the cottages. Here !
now Hubert was coming — that figure in gray. No ; in

W^wH^»>l#lMii|

374 BEGGARS ALL. [Book III.

a KiDment that was perceived to be a woman. But this
one, this was surely he. No ; this was an elderly man —
she could tell that by his gait as he approached. The
next figure was too short ; it was a boy's. Here came
a young man. Now this was Hubert. But with longer
scrutiny it was not Hubert. A while she looked, idly
noticing what she saw, losing interest in each passer as

jlj he or she came near enough to be seen plainly, just as

'^ hours of the future coming to meet us so often lose their

interest as they come close.

Star was still gazing at the comers from the distant
crossways, when her fate came to meet her by an un-

|> expected hand.

I i , ' The boy who had passed the place to which her eyes

were directed and come on unnoticed stopped close to
her, scanning the numbers of the cottages.

" Are you Mrs. Kent ? " He was a freckled boy of
about fourteen, in a broad-brimmed hat. He did not
look like the finger of fate. Star did not fear him.

She took a letter which he gave her, and while she
was looking at the address and the envelope the messenger
went back toward town.

The letter was from Hubert, and seemed more formally
addressed and sealed than any scraps of notes about
business engagements which he had hitherto sent her.
She tore the envelope with curiosity.

&^'

"My dear Wife,

" I do not often change my course, for chang
proves one has made a mistake, and I do not often make
mistakes. I see, however, that I have made one in
marrying into a pious family. I certainly thought you

L^^sai

LUa.t r' ' -. ^'■ i-"^ '' . ' . ' i«. '« L" '

Book UI.l

BEGGARS ALL.

375

were the girl for me, but your early prejudices are
stronger than I supposed. / could overcome your ap-
position in time if I chose. I am not running away
from your anger or any of your tantrums ; but, for your
mother's sake, I'll leave you undisturbed in your own
religion and principles. She loved and trusted me, if
you do not. I have taken a situation in America. There
is no use in you and Richarda coming out there ; you
have no near friends or relatives and you are better and
safer where you are. So we shall be separated ; that is
the best that I can do now to make you happy.

" I put the key of my work-room in your drawer,
and with it a savings-bank book, which represents thirty
pounds to be drawn by you. When that is done, go to
Mr. Laurie, 2, Cramond Street. His rooms are on the
third flour up. I have arranged to supply you through
him. You need not be afraid that I shall not do it. I
do not think I have failed to perform any promise I have
made you. Now I have only one request to make — if
ever you have had any affection for me, if you have anj'
regard for me, or feel that you owe me any duty as a
wife, use the money I give you and live quietly with
Richarda. Do not go about trying to find me or attempt-
ing to get a situation- Live as we have lived since our
marriage. You and she are fond of one another, and
Miss Gower is near you ; you ought to be happy. If you
make a fuss about my going, and seem to be deserted,
you will injure my character. Say to neighbours and
friends that I have an uncommonly good job on hand,
and had to leave at once. I shall know what you do
Mid how you are, but we needn't meet again. When I
die you shall know it ; in the mean time, I set you free

376 BEGGARS ALL. [Book III.

from all duty to me as far as I can, and of course I take
back the promise I made that night at the stile. I am
all right ; don't worry about me. Good-bye.

" Yours faithfully,

" Hubert Kent."

Star read rapidly as she stood at the gate. When

she had finished the boy who brought the letter was

a good way off upon the road. The neighbour who went

! out charing came out to her front door with a curly-

,' headed child holding to her gown.

" You're looking for Mr. Kent," she remarked.

Star nodded absently. She folded the letter and was
about to put it in her pocket mechanically ; then, realizing
that it was an important document, she put it in the
breast of her dress.

" Well," said the woman, with a sigh, " it's nice, too,
to see a young man so reg'lar as Mr. Kent is."

The remarks of people whose post of observation and
experience is far removed from our own are often difficult
to understand. This woman's husband was, in a dry
clocklike way, much more regular than Hubert had ever
been. Star could but assume that " reg'lar " in her
neighbour's vocabulary stood for manly virtue of all
sorts, and that Hubert's considerate kindness to the
women of his house had won respect not wholly unmixed
with envy ; hence the sigh,

"He was very kind to my mother and sister when
they were ill," she answered.

"Yes, one might say that he was," said the neighbour,
which guarded reply was intended to give hearty assent
to the proposition.

Book III.]

BEGGABS ALL.

377

Star went in and sat down to supper,

" Isn't Hubert coming ? " asked Richarda.

" Not to supper. He doesn't think he'll be home
to-night."

Star's uppermost feeling with regard to Hubert's
letter was incredulity.

The rude shock she had received in first seeing the
hidden evil in him rendered her still incapable of trusting
him in anything ; and was it likely that Hubert, with
all his plans laid for this country, was going away to live
in America at an hour's notice ? " Star took that asser-
tion calmly, for she did not believe it. He wanted to
take back his promise not to lie to her, not to steal. He
had " an uncommonly good job on hand," no doubt, and
of an infamous sort. He wanted to secure his own
absence, to blind her to his real whereabouts, to frighten
her, to test her loyalty.

" You are eating nothing ; you are looking ill," said
Richarda.

" Dixie, do you ever wish that j^ou and mother and
I were back in that room in Grove Street, where we were
live months ago ? "

" For the sake of having mother back again ? "
Richarda spoke slowly. "No, not even for that, Star.
How could we have borne to have her there longer ? "

Star could not answer this question, even to herself.
She sat, with the pretty dignity of a young matron,
at the head of her own cheerful little table, and saw
her sister relieved from helplessness and suffering,
able to enjoy the comfort of life with her. If time
could be made to shift back could she make a different
choice ?

378 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

Is there in heaven an Eye which sees what might
have been had we not done this or that ? Or is there
any other way possible than that we have taken ? It
was not Star's nature to muse much on such problems.

Richarda was tired ; she was yet only convalescent.
Star helped her to bed, and when the good-night kiss
had been given and her sister slept, Star came down to
the little sitting-room. Perhaps the letter was only a
lover's hoax to dispel her ill-will, and Hubert would come,
f after all.

She made her little house fast ; she sat down in her
mother's chair. How often she had waited for him just
thus, when he had been detained to report some late
meeting or entertainment ! She listened to the footsteps
that now and then broke the silence on the road ; she
could not divest her mind of the thought that, in spite
of everything, he might still come.

She took the letter, and read it over and over. What
did it all mean ? It could not be true that he had
given her up as his wife, once for all. She did not in
the least comprehend why her mind rose up in such
strong revolt against believing this ; she only knew that
she found it easier to believe anything than this.

All likelihood seemed against it. Only those few
written words to convince her ! They had not even the
force of speech, and his words, spoken or written, were
not necessarily true.

It was not likely he would abandon all he cared for.
Hubert liked his home. How he had nailed and
trimmed and fashioned it to suit himself! He liked it,
and he liked his wife. Star's thought paused and her
cheeks burned as confirmation of this last welled up in

Book III.J

BEGGARS ALL,

379

her knowleflge. She knew, she knew beyond all desire
for proof, beyond all power to question, that he liked her
well. He had not Ejrown tired of her; the opposition
she had shown him had not wearied him to the extent
of affecting his liking for her. Was it likely that
Hubert, strong-willed, consta t, as he was, would throw
away for ever all that he liked, because — and then she
looked again at the reason he had given her in the first
and most serious part of the letter. It was chiefly her
shocked distrust of him that made her suspect it of being
a clever trick or deceit ; but it was hard for her, any
way, to believe in so sudden a change. She read the
reason given, " for your mother's sake," and the rej)roach,
" she loved and trusted me, if you do not." " That is
paltry," thought Star, " there is nothing in that ; she
knew no ground of distrust."

Star could not, would not, set her mind working on
the supposition that his letter was simply true. A.t fii'st
she thought, in her self-ignorance, tnat it was too good
to be true.

The letter was very clever ; it was intended to be
believed and relied on. All that Hubert did was clever.
He had strong reasons, evidently, for writing it : first,
probably, that he wanted his promise back without let-
ting her know that he had immediate use for his freedom.
He wanted also, no doubt, absence from her, to plan and
commit some crime. Then, when that was over, he
would count on time, distance, and silence to do more
than all argument toward dispelling her antagonism to
him. He would come back ; he would explain that he
had changed his course again. Her heart bridged over
the distance and suddenly leaped at this thought, the

;

380 BEGGARS ALL. [Book II L

thought of his return. When — how would he come ?
Would he let her know before he came ?

In spite of the desperate antagonism between them,
she began to realize that she wanted lim to come back,
and she knew that he wanted to come. He did then, at
that moment, love her, want to come to her and to his
home. She knew it, and therefore she believed if
Hubert stayed away it was only for the excitement of
some daring crime and that he would not stay away
lonor.

The determination came upon her to hinder this crime.
She must find him to prevent his wrongdoing. But
how ? If she went and presented herself before his
employers or any of his friends, how could she form any
inquiry that would not compromise his respectability ?
The husband gone, and the wife not knowing where or
when or how ! Her own pride revolted against exposing
the fact ; she could have trampled on her pride, but not
on his good name. If he had gone away anywhere she
was sure he had made it right with those who knew
him. Hubert always took care of appearances. If he
had not gone, it would be still more embarrassing that
she should make inquiries about him. And the one
request that he made was, that she should be still. Was
the request only on account of his own selfish interest, or
was it partly for her sake ? If she had " any regard "
for him, the letter said. How much regard had she for
him?

And if she could not find him he would steal again.
However strong his purpose, she had felt sure that she
could prevent actual crime if he was with her ; but novj
he had taken himself awaj'^, and he might do anything.

■iiHi&iili&IWii^fliiaittiib

UnuR III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

381

The thought marie her nearly frantic. She rose up as if
with the immediate intention of going somewhere, of
doing something. She stretched out her arms wildly,
vaguely, in her helplessness and they fell down again
beside her. She could do nothing.

It was midnight. The cheap American clock in her
little kitchen ticked, loudly. All footsteps had ceased.
Hubert might at that moment be busy doing wrong not
liar away. Little as she knew of his plans of operation,
her mind pictured many horrible possibilities. She
remembered how calmly he had boasted that he would
choose death rather than capture. If in some extremity
he should take the poison he had shown her, would they
know whither to take him home ? She wondered if
they would let her have him dead.

It had seemed bitter to her a few days before to live
on the proceeds of crime, to share her daily life wi^h the
criminal. Now she knew that the worst pain lay in the
love she bore him : to have him in her arms again — that
was the cry her heart made now, to have him back,
living not dead. Oh, to be able to speak to him once
again, to hold him back from his temptation by the
warmth of her embrace, to cover his very feet with tears
and kisses in the attempt to persuade him to keep them
in the right paths ! This, this had been her privilege —
had been ; and she had cas: it away.

382

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

CHAPTER IX.

Next morning Star put on her neat bonnet and went in
the town to the newspaper office in which Hubert
worked. She knew the place, for she had several times
met him there.

Just within the door there was a counter, behind
which two young women were selling papers and taking
advertisements. Star had been taught to go past this
counter and up a narrow stair when she wanted to find
Hubert at his desk. She did so now. She almost
expected to sec him as she went up. The desk stood in
a large room where there were other desks, and where
about a dozen men of various ages were at work. The
])lace was photographed on Star's mind only with
Hubert at his accustouicd post. She felt startled at
seeing it without him, as one would be at seeing a picture
with the principal figure obliterated. She stood on the
threshold. A young man looked up, put his pen behind
his ear, and finally came forward to see what she
wanted. He probably recognized her as Hubert's wife ;
she thought of that as she fornudated her ([uestion.

" Did Mr. Kent leave anything here for me ? "

He went back without a word, spoke to several of
the men, who hardly looked up from their work as they
answered. He went to Hubert's desk, and Star knew it
must be empty from the hasty glance which satisfied
him that there was nothing there.

" He does not seem to have left anything," he said,
again approaching Star.

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

383

" Thank you ; I am very sorry to have troubled
you."

She tried to s{)eak in cheerful tones to match the
cheerful look she put on. She hesitated on the words,
however, to give herself excuse for one more searching
glance round. Was Hubert gone out for an hour, or for
ever ? She dared not ask. Probably any one of these
men knew when, and why, and perhaps where, Hubert
had gone. No doubt they would gladly tell her all they
knew, and she, who was most thirsting for their know-
ledge, was the only one who would disgrace him if she
gave a (piestioning look.

Just as she was turning one of the older men looked
at her through his s[)ectacles and came to her kindly.

" Mr. Kent does not seem to have left anything. Did
you expect a parcel or any such thing ? "

It was a hard question to answer.

" Oh, it does not matter ; I thought perhaps I

am sorry to disturb you."

The young man went to his work. The older man
liad a short grizzled beard ; he rubbed his hands together
in a kindly, nervous way.

" We are sorry Mr. Kent has left us. We wish him
all success, I am sure."

Poor old proof-reader ! It did not seem, from his
shabby coat and nervous ways, that he had found much
of what is called success.

Star thanked him ; but he volunteered no further
information, and she, terrified lest lie miglit ask a
question that would expose her ignorance, turned away.

When she was out again in the narrow, bustling
street she felt loneliness as she had never felt it before.

384

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

Tliere was no longer any one in that busy part of the
world who belonged to lier. And he who had connected
her with the cheerful bustle of this life — where was he ?
Clearly he had left his situation, left it with the pretext
of befirinnincT something else — that was all the informa-
tion she had gained. She thought of his letter. He
had said " I shall know what you do and how you are,
but we need not meet again." Was he spying upon her
movements ? If so, he was still in town.

She threaded her way through alleys and courts to
the address Hubert had given of that Mr. Laurie who
was to supply her in the future with money. It was her
last resource ; she knew of no one else at all likely to be
in Hubert's confidence. She might, at least, see who
and what this Mr. Laurie was.

The place which she came to was very respectable.
It was a collection of offices, and Star, reading the door-
plates, gathered the idea that their owners had to do
with law in various ways. She found the room she
wanted without difficulty, but the man slie sought was
out of town — an office-boy with a superior air explained
to her that Mr. Laurie was always out of town in
August.

Star went to the place where the omnibus started,
and was jolted home. It was warm and close inside,
but she had not energy to ride on the top. When slie
got home she examined the bank-book afresh. It
represented the sum that Hubert had said. She took
the key of Hubert's work-room and looked through it.
There was nothing to arrest her attention. She searched
in all the receptacles, fearing to find some disguise of
dress or some unlawful implement, but there was

•ms

owt

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

385

nothing but carpenter's tools and the bits of things with
which he had been working.

This room, just under the roof, was dry and hot in
the midday sun. She would not have heeded that, she
wanted to sit down on the floor and cry, but two angry-
looking wasps came in at the little window when she
opened it, and by these small things Star, in the midst
of her large misery, was driven from the only retreat
where she might have given way to sorrow unobserved.
She went down and sat at her sewing. There seemed
to be no housework to do now that Hubert was
gone.

Marian came down the road and in at the door.
She saw Star through the window, and found her way
into the sitting-room without knocking. Richarda was
lying down upstairs. Star would rather Miss Gower
had not come. She had seen her several times since she
had known Hubert's secret, and each time, compelled by
instinct of honour, she had tried to set a greater
distance between them.

This was weary work, and now she needed sympathy
and counsel, ah, so sadly !

Miss Gower sat a little way from her. Her face was
animated.

" Ycu are not yourself to me," she said; "you have
not been since the night you brought Mr. Kent to see
me. But I will not tease you about it ; your real self
will come back to me some time, won't it ? " She spoke
coaxingly.

Star's mother had died since the evening spoken of ;
it was no cause for wonder that Star stooped over her
work and tears dropped upon it.

2 c

386

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book in.

[ 1 , >
I-

Marian's own eyes filled with tears.

Instead of talking, they sat quiet for a little. The
tears dried.

" I have something to tell you," said Miss Gower.
" If you do not know it already, I think you will be
interested."

Star could not conceive that she would feel any
interest in it. She answered as best she could.

" Perhaps you do know it," continued Miss Gower.
" Have you heard that Dr. Charles Bramwell is going to
be married ? "

Star dropped her work and looked intently.

Marian looked away ; she affected to notice some-
thing on the table. " He has been engaged to his cousin
for some years. I did not happen to know it, but it
seems that in his own set it has been no secret. They
are quite devoted to one another, and are to be married
this winter."

Star did not make any exclamation, but she felt
intense surprise. All her acquaintance with Bramwell
seemed in some way discordant with this report of his
exclusive devotion to another. The fact that she had
been mistaken in thinking that had she not, in the
bitterness of poverty, sought help elsewhere, Bramwell
might have offered himself as a rescuing prince was not
a matter now to affect her either for happiness or
unhappiness, except that it seemed to her despondent
mood to prove that there was no such thing as romance
in reality, that princely lovers were all in fiction, and life
seemed a little more dreary. And yet, her thought
confessed swiftly, how very natural it was that Bram-
well should marry a girl connected with his home life ;

fjH

Book III.]

BEGGABS ALL.

387

how unnatural that he should seek a lady-love in the
accidents of his practice !

*' Well," she said slowly, " if that is so, I think he
must be somewhat of a flirt."

She said this thinking more of his conduct to Marian
than to herself. Both these women knew, to a certain
extent, what the other was thinking;, but there are
degrees of thought and emotion which are not easily
translated into words.

"Yes, I think his manner is unguarded," said Miss
Gower composedly. "I certainly thought, seeing him
with you, for instance, that if he had happened to know
you before your engagement — that, in short, he admired

you."

The words " for instance" touched Star's sympathy ;
they implied so much, reserved so luuch. ^liss Gower
could say, " I thought he admired you," when she could
not say, " I thought he admired me."

" I suppose," went on Marian with hesitation, " he
enjoys talking to women he likes, and does not know
how attentive he appears."

" He ought to know. His character gives weight to
what would not be thought of twice in other young
men."

" He is warm-hearted by nature, and it is a principle
with him to try to do good by being s^'mpathetic"

Star looked at Miss Gower, and was struck with a
new sweetness, a new dignity, upon her face. She was
always sweet, but here was something more, as of a nun
in the inspiration of recent vows, as of a fair woman who
had newly found life's satisfaction. Star could not quite
interpret the change. She did not care to pry into it.

388

BEGGARS ALL.

[bOOK III.

She felt a 'sersible increase of her own affection for her
friend ; she foJt that friend's refining force. The easy
self-confidence of youth and western training, which
hitherto had kept her from a thought of inequality,
suffered its first shock. "I am vulgar beside her,"
thought poor Star. It was a new slip down the side of
the valley of Humiliation, into which Star was surely
falling. The grass of that happy valley was not yet
beneath her feet, so each step was painful ; but she hardly
felt the pain now, because her attention was not on
herself.

Marian Gower, unconscious of scrutiny, was absently
toying with a red rose which she wore in the front of her
bodice. Her gown and bonnet were silver gray, and
the laces that decked them were like gossamers at dawn,
before sunlight strikes them. The rose was red — the
good, old-fashioned, pinkish red. It was a perfect rose,
though perhaps a little faded, and the woman's face that
bent above it was perfect too in its feminine prettiness
and grace.

"Surely," thought Star, "the men of the world have
been great fools not even to try for such a prize." Yet
she could not say that any particular man was a fool,
not Bramwell if he were pledged to his cousin; and
yet

" If he fell in with silly women, he'd get into trouble,"
said Star. "He may mean to be kind, but he ends in
flirting."

"He does mean to be kind. It is quite as easy to
make mistakes in kindness as in unkindness, and perhaps
more harmful."

'* Is it ? " cried Star. The idea came to her with the

Book IIL]

BEGGARS ALL.

389

force of a criticism on her own conduct. " We think that
as long as we mean well we must be ])retty nearly right.
Can well-meant mistakes do as much harm as others ? "

" Don't they often seem to do more ? It is Pke a false
stroke with a sharper implement. Self-seeking is a
clumsy tool compared with seeking to do good."

" Then it is better not to live if, when we try our
utmost, we do harm." The echo of a world's dis-
couragement was in her tone.

Marian ceased playing with her rose. " It is not
doing our utmost to blunder on when God's wisdom
is there for our seeking."

"There is no use to say that. I know the Bible says
it. One can believe it only till one tries."

"You mean, till one begins to try, expecting the
beginning to touch the end ; but if you tried to use a
sculptor's finest chisel without a long apprenticeship to
his way of working, would you cry out that nature was
unjust because you cut yourself or broke the marble ?
Would you expect the teacher to be pleased, because your
effort w as earnest, when you had not waited to be taught ?"

There was no reply.

" Star," said Marian. It was the first time she had
called her by her name, and it sounded sweetly loving
and familiar, but Star's face dropped. She could give no
reply. " Star, we try to fashion men into angels in our
spare hours, and feel that God is honoured by our
excellent intentions. We have to learn that the honour
of Lv'ing taught such work is worth every preliminary
sacrifice of long effort and patience."

Marian was speaking out of some new insight of her
own, and of work that was not as yet tangled with the

390

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

fibres of her heart. Her own words seemed to her fall of
power, but Star, feeling that her very life depended upon
finding lome HeOiVenly guiuance and that instantly,
gained little from them.

"If we try in God's wa^ we have all His power
behind us," said Marian. " There is no such thing as
failure then ; it is worth giving one's life to learn."

" Yes," said Star. She hardly knew to what she
assented.

Stitch, stitch ; Star bent over her work. It is not
when we are most in need of instruction that we are
best able to take it in. The intolerable pain at her heart
seemed more soothed by mechanical work, by an almost
frivolous interest in Dr. Bramwell, than by words of
wisdom.

As she worked she said, " There is one thing that
makes me think that perhaps we took our ideas of Dr.
Bramwell too much from what happens in tales, and that

we might have been wiser; and that is that Hubert "

As she came to the name .she stopped an instant. Her
own voice, as she uttered it, seemed to have a far-ofi"
sound as of something that had passed away.

" Yes ? "

Star roused herself '* Hubert, you know, saw Dr.
Bramwell's very attentive manners, and never thought
anything of it. I wondered sometimes that he didn't.
I am often surprised to find how much more of the world
he knew in many ways than I." She finished by drawing
in her breath quickly. It shocked her to find that she
had used the past tense.

Marian did not notice. " Well, let it be," she said.
" I have come to tell you something else to-day."

Dr.

she

B(X)K III.]

BEGGABS ALL.

391

Tlien she toll al! about Gilchrist, and the beggar
called Silvia, and the ba'>y,as much, at least, of the story
as she could rightly tell. Again, to her own surprise.
Star's attention was arrested.

" And Gilchrist was so good all the time," she ex-
claimed simply. " He is truly good."

" Yes," said Marian, " what he has done has been like
a vision of higher things to me. H( himself is just the
same clumsy, ungainly man as ever, but his way of
looking at things, his way of life, is to me the sort of
thing, that, when we see, we know we shall be wicked
if we do not try to be better for seeing it."

" Oh," said Star, Marian spoke fervently and Star
respected the fervour, but she did not comprehend much.
It so seldom happens that one spirit can share its reve-
lations with another.

" I no longer wonder," said Marian, " at the influence
he has over my uncle. I can only rejoice in it."

" The poor baby ! " sighed Star. " It doesn't belong
to Richarda's romance, after all ; but it is the baby that
mother nursed sometimes. She would have liked to do
something for it. She wouM have liked to keep the poor
woman."

" And we i^re going to help them as she would have
done," said Marian, — " you and Richarda and I."

" We ? " said Star faintly. How little Miss Gower, in
her new enthusiasm, knew of the trouble that was crush-
ing her ! Then she listened .stonily' to what was to be said.

" Yes ; we are going to help them. Gilchrist says
if each well-to-do person would help along one poor one
there would be no 'masses.' I have felt all my life
that it was useless to try to do very much for any one,

392

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

because there were multitudes who needed the help just
as much. What does that matter to me ? The multitude
belongs to God ; the one or two that I can give part of
my life for He has given to me."

She went on to say that she wished to rent the
cottage next to Kent's, and put Silvia and the baby
in it. " We will give them the house ; we will give
them food and clothes. We must count all that as just
nothing ; but you and Richarda and I are going to give
her part of ourselves — friendliness, patience. Your
mother would have done it. She wants to try again for
the baby's sake. If we all help her to take care of it, to

love it, and be proud of it " There was no latter part

to that sentence. " This man's prayers and sacrifice for
her mus^. be of some use in the end. And then," said
Marian gaily, " we are going to help some one else, too.
You will laugh when I tell you who. It is Mr. Tod."

Star did not laugh.

" It is a real question in this life, * Who is my neigh-
bour ? ' — isn't it ? " pursued Miss Gower. She spoke a
little diffidently ; she feared ridicule. " It seems to me
when a fellow-being comes across my path, and shows a
dog-like affection for me, that I, who ought to feel a duty
to all men, have some special duty to him. It would
usually be difficult to define that duty. In most cases
it would remain undefined ; but in this case, when the
man concerned is deprived of health and also of the
means of livelihood, we might make some effort to define
it. It would surely be a vulgar interpretation of life
that would make his pathetic fancy a reason for not
helping him,"

Just then Richarda wakened from her noonday nap

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

393

and came downstairs with clattering step. She halted
on her crutches at the threshold of the little parlour and
Star looked at her with loving eyes. How different she
was from the wan, suffering creature of two months
before ! The returning glow of vigour was transforming
all her frame ; it gave increasing merriment to her eyes,
increasing flush to her cheek. Her eyes twinkled now
at the two sitting there, for Richarda, having been well
fed and well rested, was in a frolicsome mood.

The little parlour looked as pretty as when Star had
first arranged it in the high hope of happiness. She
looked about it now with a frantic feeling of imprisoned
sorrow. Was happiness, after all, not meant to be
sought ? and something cried out within her, " God must
mean us to seek so fair a thing." Miss Gower sat in her
summer robes ; the young house mistress sewed on with
apparent contentment ; Richarda came into the pretty
parlour. She had no idea concerning the death that
had come so recently there, that should cause her gloom.
Tender regret there was, but with it Richarda's heart
was as light as the steps of the boy who went whistling
by upon the road, as the summer wind that flirted with
the plants in the window.

And Marian unfolded her plan further. Mrs. Couples
could not attbrd to keep Tod much longer. The two
upper rooms in the cottage to be rented would serve for
a lodger of Tod's status very well. Gilchrist said that
Silvia at her best was perfectly capable of cooking for
Tod. If her own first child had lived he would be about
Tod's age now, and now she was growing into an old
woman the motherly instinct, which she had so long
lacked, was returning to her.

394

BEGGARS ALL.

[Tk)OK nt.

All this Marian explained, giving details which made
the plan seem feasible. " We can but try," she said, " and
if we fpil entirely we shall know better how to try again."

Richarda's eyes dilated and her face rippled over with
laughter. " We," she cried ; " we — Star, and I, and the
elegant ^liss Gower, and Mr. Gower's fat valet — are to
train them in the way thej'^ should go — the wretched
beggar, the poetic Tod, and the squalling baby. They
are all mere babies, so to speak, and we will judiciously
bring them up. It will be delightfully funny. Will
Tod hold the infant occasionally, and Mr. Gilchrist read
good books to him meantime ? And when you pass the
window you can, according to the instruction of all goo<l
books, create happiness by gracefully presenting him
with a .smile or a rose. Star will labour the while with
the beggar to persuade her to keep her house in order,
and I will sit and lauorh."

"It is something of that sort I had in my mind,"
said Marian unabashed.

" I'm in," said Richarda inelegantly.

" You will do more than laugh, because," Marian
spoke shyly, " because you are your mother's daughter.
You may think I am rude to take your help for granted,
but she would have liked to do it, you know. And then
I have an air castle in my mind. If we succeed, we
will get uncle to buy all these cottages — Gilchrist, I think,
can make him — and get people fate gives us by degrees
into them, and then we could call them by your mother's
name, for we are trying to imitate her."

There was a short silence.

" A.nd," Marian continued, " Star shall be queen of
them all, because it is the exquisite way she has kept

Book TIL]

BEGGAIIS ALL.

395

this house which has made it seem so much worth
while to put any one near her. Other women must
long to imitate her, and Mr. Kent will take an interest
in our people for her sake."

Star rose up suddenly. " I cannot listen to what you
say," she said. " I am very miserable. Hubert has gone
away for a while, and — and we have quarrelled." She
stood, such a picture of young strong misery, that they
looked at her startled but incredulous. "I would not
tell you if I could help it ; we shall make it up again,
but just now I am miserable."

She had borne her silence like a burning thing that
she could hold no longer. She crept upstairs now,
and, going to Hubert's pillow, she knelt and choked out
great heartsick sobs upon it.

Marian walked away. She could not fathom the
extent of the trouble. She walked home, thinking
sorrow that had so unwillingly revealed itself would
shrink from even a friend's eye. No soonei home than
she wondered if she had deserted her frieiid, and she
walked back. She found Richarda frightenel. Star
was pacing her own room. Her heart within her was
crying out against any appearance of ease. Hubert's
letter had said, " I shall know how you are and what
you do." Her heart made answer, " Let him know this
then, that I cannot endure it,'

"Oh, Dixie, Dixie," she said, looking down at the
trembling Richarda with pitying eyes, " only do not
mind me, only let me not feel that I am harming you,
and that, at least, will be relief."

Marian stretched out loving hands to her. " Tell me,
where has he gone ? When will he come back ? "

396 BEGGARS ALL. [Book III.

Star recoiled fiom her. " I can't tell you," she said
hoarsely.

And the misery of it was that her words were true
in a sense Marian could not guess.

Poor Star !

CHAPTER X.

" It is of no use to pretend ; if Hubert knows what I do,
and how I am, let him know that my heart is breaking."
So thought Star the next day and the next.

She had, at first, a vaofue faith in her husband's power
of gaining knowledge of her in mysterious ways that she
could not even imagine. It was a faith born of her lack
of power to understand him, akin to that by which the
ignorant used to attribute supernatural power to the
wise. But in these miserable days, as a truer compre-
hension of his character was borne in upon her by the
strength of her pain, her idea of mystery in connection

rwith him dwindled. If he really knew how she accepted
^ his departure he must have some means of informing him-

self. She tried soberly, patiently, to think what this
I means might be ; it might serve as a guide for trying to

find him ; but she had no clue for thought to work on,

Marian came each day, receiving no encouragement
for her visits, but gently persisting. As Star seemed to
have little to do, she tried innocently to force distraction
on her by talking of the project of which she herself was
so full.

• «

1
1

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

397

Gilchrist had been to consult Mrs. Couples on the
subject of Tod's removal. Mrs. Couples warmly ap-
plauded the scheme, but pleaded that Miss Gower herself
should broach it to the invalid.

" For he's peevisher, sir, than you would believe,
talking of doing himself a mischief with taking too
much of his medicine, because he can't pay, and has no
friends but the mother's sister's husband who got him
the place he's lost." Such had been Mrs. Couples's pre-
amble, without beginning, without '^nd. Marian, making
up her mind to go, asked for Star's companionship.

And Star went, because Mrs. Couples and her lodger
had been fond of Hubert. She felt that it would be a
comfort to sit in their presence. She was willing to go
anywhere where there was a chance of hearing the
music of his name.

Mrs. Couples, good soul, had for some weeks kept her
troublesome lodger in her own sitting-room, having been
obliged to let his to another tenant.

Tod, who was left a mere wreck by the rheumatic
fever, sat, gaunt and mild, in a reclining chair, his hands
muffled in woollen mittens, his shoulders draped in Mrs.
Couples's old shawl.

She sat by her table, cheerfully working in her ac-
count book at sums that were the harder to do on
account of Tod's arrears of payment.

It was not to be expected that either would rise
when Star and Marian entered, nor did they.

"Well, I'm sure," said Mrs. Couples blandly; "yes,
I'm sure — yes, dear, he's rather dilapid since he was ill ;
Mr. Tod is rather dilapid. Miss Gower. He'll be able to
speak to you soon, yes, soon."

398 BEGGARS ALL. [Book UL

Indeed, whether Mrs. Couples correctly described
Tod's condition or not, his state when he suddenly saw
Marian was not one that admitted of formal greetings.
He stared, and seemed to collapse into a sunken attitude,
almost under the shawl that had lain on his blioulders
a moment before.

" Oh, come, Mr. Tod," said Star encouragingly.

He struggled up, leaning towards them over his
elbow, which rested on the arm of the chair. He gazed
only at Marian. His eyes were round and very blue;
his weak mouth trembled. Marian, looking at him,
experienced a shock of discouragement. Was it possible
to make this fool's life really happier, and thereby nobler ?

She always spoke to the point. It was a trick she
had learned in school

She began by telling him that she had been sorry to
learn that he had been so ill, and that, being unable to
work, he was now without means of support.

He wriggled as she spoke, but never took his bright
blue gaze from her face. "Yes," he said, with some
dignity, "any one would be sorry, Miss Gower, to see
how I have fallen away and become a beggar."

" I have come to propose a plan by which you will
cease to be dependent on others. There is a poor old
woman and a young child, whom I am trying to befriend;
I have taken a house for them next to Mrs. Kent's. We
have come to ask you if you will come and live in two
rooms of it for a while, and help to look after them and
the house a bit."

She felt that her plan, hard to explain at any time,
was almost too difficult to translate into words now,
when Tod thus silently stared at her. All her words

^*I"JV*'#''*'' " ' ",••",' -

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

399

sounded like a monotonous song, sung to an accompani-
ment of Mrs. Couples's attentive murmurings.

" Well now — 3^es, yes ; " these words filled up the
pauses.

" It is so cheerful a situation," said Marian. " The
cottages are so particularly dry and sunny, and Mr.
Gilchrist can get you some work, in making hand-made
rugs, which you can do without great exertion. We
hope, in a year or so of such rest, you will be much
stronger, Mr. Tod."

Something of more manliness that they had ever yet
seen in him was evident, produced perhaps by the
stimulus of her presence.

" I am afraid I shall never be stronger."

" Oh, come, Mr. Tod ! " said Star again. She meant
merely to remonstrate.

" Yes," he answered, " I'll come. I'll make the rugs.
It's a new trade ; I didn't know before anything about
rugs, or how they were made ; but I'll do whatever you
like. Miss Gower."

Marian received this quick surrender with a certain
consternation. " I am afraid we have taken you very
much by surprise. You see, what I have told you now
in a few words has been the result of long and careful
consideration on my part and Mr. Gilchrist's. Mr. Gil-
christ is very clever in finding out ways to help people.
I hope in course of time to help others as well as your-
self, Mr. Tod."

"Yes," he answered resignedly. "I am but a drop
in the ocean ; I am aware of that."

" The main thing is that you will come," she con-
tinued simply ; " and you will do what you can to

400

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

' /

occupy and interest this poor woman. I will tell you
about her. Her name is Silvia."

" It is a lovely name," he said.

" Yes ; but she is not lovely now. She is fifty years
old; her hair is gray, her face all wrinkled with ex-
posure and trouble. She has been going about the
streets begging, and has often been drunk ; but, in spite
of this, she has some virtues. We have all of us mixed
qualities ; have we not, Mr. Tod ? "

He did not answer. For the first time he seemed to
have some doubts as to the assent he had given. He
was not a clever man, but he knew that a woman who
was a drunkard and a beggar did not belong to his
station in life.

Marian hastened on. "She has virtues: she is kind-
hearted, and never rude or ill-tempered. She has been
really kind to this child, whose own mother deserted
it. You will not be confused with her in any wa}-,
Mr. Tod. You will have your own rooms and live like
a gentleman. All that I am asking you is, that you
will aid me in befriending Silvia and her adopted child,'"

He sighed. " Who am I that I should befriend any
one ? " he asked.

She answered cheerfully. They all answered in a
cheerful, encouraging way. When Richarda was told
about it she said it was like a chorus in a comic opera.
But it had its effect ; by degrees he brightened into an
almost hysterical delight. (He was terribly weak with
illness.) He would have vowed eternal friendship for
all Marian's 'proteges, if she had let him.

Mrs. Couples, who had ever and anon interjected
appropriate words, now grew more insistant. As yet

Book III]

BEGGARS ALL.

401

none of the substance of the talk had been her own.
She would not be defrauded of a loved right to speak.
Her words rivetted Star's attention as nothing had
done since she had last heard Hubert's name,

" You're looking but poorly," said she. " It's no
wonder, no, thinking of your 'eavenly ma, and Mr. Kent's
going to America too. Yes, I knew you'd feel it, so
sudden ; an' I said to him, it wa.s too sudden to leave you,
but he seemed to think that sudden was as good as slow
when he must go, and of course it was a great accommoda-
tion to Mr. Tod, taking the ticket and all, for he never
thought to write about the ticket ami the firm he serves
being hard on him."

Star moved her chair near Mrs. Couples*

" Did he take a ticket from Mr. Tod I I did not hear
about it : tell me."

How wearily long the answer seemed, yet, for the
speaker, it was concise, for, although Star strove to
appear not too curious, something in her intense desire
to hear communicated itself.

It seemed that here, where Star had never thought
of inquiring about her husband, she could receive some
real information, as reliable, at least, as his own report
of himself.

Hubert had made no secret of his departure. He
had said good-bye here ; he had, at all events, appeared
to be quite frank about his plans, and the ostensible
occasion of the suddenness of his departure had been
Tod's ticket. Tod's passage and berth were booked by
a ship sailing that week, and, as he had forgotten to give
t.^em up in time, some of the passage-money which his
employers had paid was forfeit if the ticket could not be

2 D

402

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

used. The money thus lost was not much truly, but it
was much to Tod. " So," said Mrs. Couples, " we told
Mr. Kent about it, quite unsuspecting that he was going
away, or so far, and, says he, in his quiet way like, * I'll
take it,' and he whips out the money for it to me,
Mr. Tod being in arrears. So surprised we was, I declare
it clean took my breath away — yes, away — yes, away."

Her tone lingered on these syllables while she collected
her thoughts to give further report. It seemed that her
idea was uncertain whether the adverb she was repeating
referred to Kent or her own respiration.

Star's heart was palpitating with questions she could
not ask.

" He said good-bye there aud then, as he had to get
his outfit in London. And I said, couldn't he take you
with him for the few days in London ; and he explaining
you couldn't leave your sister, and saying he'd made it
all right with you, and telling us he'd had such a good
opening and how sorry he was to leave you ; yes — yes,
dear — yes. I hope he'll come back soon, for I assure
you it came on me so sudden I shed tears — yes, dear, yes
— and Tod shed tears too."

She showed exactly how this feat had been ac-
complished by squeezing bright tears out of her small,
fat eyes now ; they rolled over, plain to be seen and un-
mopped. Tod, beginning to feel reaction from excitement,
in his great physical weakness might have played his
part again also, but Star got herself out of the room and
out of the house. The shortest farewell she could make
seemed to her to risk the exposure of the ignorance of
her husband's plans which she felt to be her greatest
shame.

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

403

When they had walked out of sight of the house Star
turned to Miss Gower. She gave no explanation, no
excuse for her request ; it seemed to her that her mis-
fortune gave her a right to command.

" Will you go back now ? will 3'ou find out, without
(exposing my ignorance, what is the name of the ship
and where she sails from ? Will you pretend that you
want to know yourself without wishing to ask me ; or
make some excuse ? Can you ? will you ? "

Her voice grew more questioning toward the end.
Marian, astonished as she was to realize that Star knew
so little, turned without comment to do her behest.

Star, moving on, quickened her pace. It seemed to
her important, for some reason, to get home quickly.
She could not endure to think of wasting a moment ;
slie felt foolishly that if she kept on hurrying in all that
she did from this Monday afternoon until the Saturday
on which Hubert was to sail, she might have the better
chance of seeing him. She had walked herself breathless
and weary before she realized how futile was her haste.
She perceived now that to get home sooner or later
would make but little difference. She slackened, and
her arms dropped as she walked up the dusty road on
that warm September afternoon. The sky overhead
was an endless, dull, gray-blue. The strawberry plants
lay withering in the brown looking fields. The trees of
the park were touched with yellow and brown. Star
looked at her home, and could not endure to enter.
Richarda was looking over Silvia's new house. Star
sauntered on the road, waiting for Marian.

When she came. Star was seized with a sudden fear
lest some word should be overheard. She made Miss

404

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book HI

I ■ '

Gower walk swiftly on to the isolated stile at which
she and Hubert had quarrelled when the last moon was
full.

Marian humoured her mood. " I can tell you more
than the name of the ship," she said pitj'ingly. "It
seems that Mr. Tod gave him the address of the inn in
Liverpool to which he goes, and your husband spoke as
if he would go there."

She went on to explain that the ship would sail on
Saturday morning, so it seemed probable that Kent
would spend the night before there ; but he had given
them to understand that he had business that would
keep him up to the last moment in London.

That was all the information that Marian had to
give. The London address they did not know.

Marian would gladly have made some amends for the
meagreness of her tale by some demonstrations of love
and sympathy for the bereaved wife, but Star's whole
manner had for some time repelled her.

" What is the matter ? " she asked ; and they both
knew that the question referred to this coldness.

" Matter ! " echoed Star, as if a voice of mocking at
her own horrible situation came from her unbidden.

She sat on the bar of the stile. The pasture field
and hedgerows, that had been lovely in the glamour of
the moon, now looked scrubby and coarse. Star looked
about her, comparing that scene and this ; but her misery
in each had been little diflferent. That was the be-
ginning ; what would be the end ?

She might as well speak now as at any other time.

" Miss Gower, you have been very kind to me."

" Oh no," said Marian gently.

Book III

Book III]

BEGGARS ALL.

405

t which
oon was

ou more
y. "It
e inn in
ipoke as

sail on
it Kent
,d given
t would

had to

i for the
of love
whole

3y both

king at

en. ^

re field

nour of
looked
misery
;he be-
rime.

Marian
do not
It is of
is only
Words

" Yes," Star persisted in a hard, dull way. " I am
not worth ^our friendship, yet we have been real friends,
and I love you." The word " love " seemed strange to
her ; she repeated it wonderingly — " love you. You
were so good to mother and to Richarda, and I never
met any one I liked so well as you." Never was declara-
tion of affection so coldly made.

" Why do you say this to me ? " asked
reproachfully. " I, too, love you ; indeed, you
know how much happier you have made me.
no use, I think, to talk about friendship. It
when we feel how much it means that we know,
seem to mean nothing."

" Yes," said Star. There seemed to come a spasm in
her throat which she choked away. Two tears came.
She dashed them away too.

It is said that in moments of great suffering or danger
visions of the past in a new light often arise uncalled for
in men's minds. Just at this moment, when Marian stood
by her in all her lovely ladyhood, confessing her love
and friendship, the thing she had done in answering a
marriage advertisement came verj^ clearly before Star.
Her mind pondered it a moment. She actually stopped
in the midst of her renunciation to pass judgment on
her former self " It might have been right for some
girls," she said to herself, " but it was unwomanly
in me." Then she went on aloud with what she had
to say.

" I only ask you to believe what I say. You mustn't
be friends with me ; there is a reason why which I
cannot tell you. There is a reason why I must never
associate with you any more. I don't know that I can

406

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

go on living here ;
of me and Richarda

I don't know what will become
I must try to find my husband."
Her words came with quick, disjointed phrases. She
gave Marian no chance to reply. She ran from her.

CHAPTER XL

Star went home and tried to take up her daily work,
tried to be to Richarda what Richarda in her con-
valescence most needed — a calm and cheerful com-
panion. It is certainly not the sorrow which can
wear weeds and weep behind a veil which is the most
maddening.

At the end of the week Hubert would be in Liver-
pool, if what he had said was true. Till then she could
do nothing ; then and there she might hope to see him,
if what he had said was true. It was these last words
that sounded over and over again in her brain, like the
sound of the beating wave to one who fears tidings of a
wreck.

She believed that he had gone to London at first.
So well as he was known in the town it was not possible
that he could give out that he had gone to one place and
start for another. All his acquaintance would know
what Tod knew. Hubert was too clever to spread
conflicting reports, or to leave with any appearance of
mystery.

But, once in London, how easy it would be to him to
lose himself and come back to his own town, or any
other, to accomplish the bad purpose he might have

Book III]

BEGGARS ALL.

407

formed ! Even if he meant to sail from Liverpool and
she could meet him there, the intervening time was the
region in which Star's darkest fears flitted hither and
thither and found no resting-place.

Yet she tried to put Hubert's probable crimes and
dangers out of her m d, and face the question of her
own duty. If Hubert intended to keep to the plan
sketched in his letter she could not perform her part
of it. She and Kicharda could not live on his monev.
She could not fulfil this his last request, even though she
loved him more than he could know.

Then Star remembered her former weary attempts t<>
get a situation, and her incapacity to fill the only one
she had found. The problem, always so easy to solve in
theory, so terribly difticult in practice, of earning a live-
lihood, stared her in the face, and it would be a year or
two yet before Richarda could work without danger of a
relapse into illness.

The difficulties which beset her in living where she
was applied equally to returning to California. Richarda
could not take that long journey for months yet — not
then without luxuries for which they could not pay.
Indeed, the cheapest journey they could make must be
made on money stolen or begged ; and when once there
it seemed that their friends would be burdened indeed
to find them the means of living — she a deserted wife
with no plausible account to give of her husband, and
Richarda on crutches.

To every side she turned, and the outlook seemed
barren. Educated only for household work, and with
a frame too slight to endure drudgery, she felt like a
soldier set down on a battle-field without an implement

408

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book HI.

of war. She saw the truth of what Hubert had said —
that the mere willingness to work honestly was not
enough to win bread from the civilized world. A special
education, or a great natural aptitude for some sort of
marketable work, might possibly have detracted from
some charm of her young womanhood ; but it would have
saved her much in the past ; it could even yet save her.
She was only the dear daughter of a home, left homeless ;
a young woman tenderly, yet sensibly, reared to habits
of diligence, thrift, good sense, and goud temper. These,
with fair health and a comely person, were the extent of
her fortune ; but the fortune was not enough to feed,
clothe, and lodge her and the sister fate still left in her
charge. The one task she felt she could perform well
was that of a household servant ; and, supposing that she
should dare that and manage to endure the toil, she could
not, out of the earnings, clothe herself and support
Richarda.

She turned back now with a sort of wistfulness to the
charity, cold as it had been, which before her marriage
had afforded them some protection. It would have been
indeed a difficult choice for a proud and honest heart
between the help of charity coldly, somewhat ostenta-
tiously, given, and an income from secret theft ; but that
choice was not Star's. No one would help her now ;
they would all point to her husband, and ask why she
did not claim support from him ; and she could not deny
that that support was given.

But, after all, this dark shadow of the future did not
occupy her so much as the more immediate possibility of
seeing Hubert. That interview, if she found him, would
shape the afterwards, and her thoughts sustained them-

Book ill.]

BEGGARS ALL.

409

selves in expectation of it, and, gathering for the efTort,
grew big with intense anxiety, unformulated fears, and
fearful hope.

She was determined to beg Hubert to oome back, to
beg him again to save money to repay what he had
stolon, and to steal no more. She had proffered the
entreaty to reform before, and she had no reasonable
hope that it would meet with more favour now ; yet she
could not help having some faint hope of this, which
was her only conceivable good.

She tried to think what she could say to make
honesty seem desirable to him. She mustered her
mental strength to con weighty arguments against all his
arguments. She found herself growing indignant and
wroth in the imaginary discussion, so righteous seemed
her words, so wicked his. But out of her prayers an
instinct was born which warned her that that was not
the path to his true weal or hers. She sought, then,
how to present poverty, monotony, and honesty, with
her love, as something more lovely than money, excite-
ment, and crime without it ; and her representation failed
to charm even herself, for she had ceased to be lovely in
her own eyes.

It is the nature of undisciplined love to begin by
pulling the mote out of another's eye. The sneer which
the world has read into its denunciation is only in the
world's coarse reading. It is solely in the light of
Heaven's conviction, V)y which saints can see themselves
sinners, that such effort is hypocrisy. Hate laughs at
the mote ; Selfishness lets it lie ; but even Love, longing
to cast it out, has an apprenticeship to serve before she
may try.

i; , ^1

r !i

410

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

Star had begun to serve this apprenticeship. She
did not know that she had entered a state which
theologians call " repentance " — that death to one's own
worthiness out of which alone is born true worth. She
only knew that, with the incessant and almost faithless
prayer for help that rose like weak smoke from her
heart's smouldering religion, came also the clamorous
question, Who am I that I should dare to pray ? But
repentance is a long work ; it seldom has a climax ; it
has no conclusion. Star reached no exciting point at
which the gloom of repentance vanished and its light
was all unveiled.

The week dragged on. She knew she had no in-
spiration out of which to speak to Hubert, yet the time
of seeing him was coming nearer hour by hour. The
fact was like a cruel slave-driver, and she the driven
wretch.

It was a<lditional pain to her to suspect that Miss
Govver, her one friend, thought her foolish, almost
demented. There was no time to be lost in getting
Silvia and the ailing baby into their cottage. It was
furnished for them very quickly. It was next door to
Star's, and Marian was obliged to come to it. Richarda
ii ust take an interest in it and be out and in. Star
<;50uld not avoid being party to the preparation. She
thought that Miss Gower treated her request that they
shoula avoid one another with the same pitiful indul-
gence that one grants to delirious fancies. She felt that
she had seemed to behave more like a passionate child
than like a true woman, and that the temper of gentle
tolerance with which she was met was a just punish-
ment. Yet she saw no better course. She would not,

Book III.]

BKGGARS ALL.

411

the
look

mornincrs

she
was not

When the morning

could not, clasp Miss Gower's hand day by day, as if
her husband had not robbed her.

When the sunlight woke Star
remembered how bright it used
bright now, only hot and garish.
was dull and rain fell she remembered how sweet the
moist earth used to smell ; now the falling weather-glass
yeeraed to have dragijed her heart down with it. The
day's work was weary ; the sunset hour brought her no
calm or recreation ; the night gave her no rest. Even
though we meet mental pain with fortitude, the physical
havoc it works cannot be long ignored ; and Star,
striving to seem calm, loathed the daily round of break-
fast, dinner, and tea, and, forcing herself to eat, found
herself none the better for the food, but rather woree ;
for, idealize life as we will, the stomach has nerves
over which the brain presides, and Star felt sick with
sorrow, and all natural delight faded, and she found no
relief.

The first thing that brought her a little rest from
herself was the beggar's baby. Silvia and the child
had been brought to the cottage as soon as it was ready.
Gilchrist brought them and went away. Richarda went
in to welcome them, and brought a droll rej)ort. Mis.s
Gower came and spent the afternoon with them an<l
went home again. Star did not think of going in until,
in the quiet of the summer evening, she heard the baby
crying through the thin wall.

" I am sure she doesn't know how to manage that
child," said Richarda. " Mother would have stoppe<l it
crying in no time."

" I suppose mother's babies cried sometimes," said

412

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

Star. "I remember her saying that you cried a great
deal."

" I am sure it must have been merely for the fun of
the thinor — not like that!'

The manner of the cry in the next house, indicated
by Richarda's last word, was weak and irritating.

" I can't do anything if I go," said Star ; but in a
little while went.

The advent of Mr. Tod was not to be for a week or
two yet. A suitable person had been engaged to live
with Silvia. She was a sensible-looking matron, in a
large brown apron. Star found the two women sitting,
as poor women often sit at leisure times, without the
pretence of books, work, or occupation of any sort.
Silvia, it was true, was at the time mechanically hushing
the baby. She would not let Star hold it till it had
stopped crying, which it did gradually.

" You are glad to come here," said Star gently, when
she was allowed to hold the child, and Silvia had sat
down in a weary and hopeless way.

" I don't know."

She was quite clean and well-dressed. Everything
on her and about her was new for the new start. Star
could see traces of her original beauty, but they were
faint and overlaid by the flabbiness of ill-health and the
stupid look of sin. Star had come vaguely expecting
some sudden transformation in the beggar, but there
was none.

" I am glad you have come," she said simply.

Silvia wiped her eyes in the old maudlin way, but
she said nothing.

The baby, which was about nine months old now,

lV.

Book III]

BEGGARS ALL.

413

was wasted by illness. It put down its little weak
head on Star's shoulder, and, with a thin hand, pulled at
the buttons on her gown. It seemed contented. Star
caressed it and paced the little room.

" What is its name ? " she asked.

" There ! " said the companion. " She says she doesn't

know whether it has one or not. SJie don't know what

H' >>
IS.

Silvia sniffed sadly. She seemed to feel that some
slur had been cast on the object of her cares.

" It's as nice a baby as any if it had its health," she
added hopelessly ; " but I can't talk."

"She can't talk," the companion explained to Star.
" She says how Mr. Gilchrist told her she mustn't
talk the words she's used to, and she can't talk
without."

Star looked to one and the other, perplexed.

" He said," whined Silvia, " I mustn't say about ' the
good Lord,' and 'the dear Saviour'— him as talks him-
self about them. And if I'm not all I ought to be, I like
talking good ; it's a sort of a comfort to me, and I don't
know any other way to talk." She wiped her eyes.
She evidently felt ill used.

The matron in the apron plainly sympathized. " He
came before we left the old room, and asked her to begin
here by not talking like that, and went down of his
knees and prayed she mightn't. He said it was because
she didn't know what the words meant she shouldn't
use 'em. He means well ; but, lor, would you stop a
baby crowing to you because it had no sense ? and I
reckon God Almighty's as good to us as we are to the
brats."

i m !

414 BEGGARS ALL. [Book in.

" Tom Gilchrist always wouldn't have it," sniffed
Silvia. " He's hard on me, Tom is."

" She says she'd not have come if it hadn't been the
child ailed so ; and they've promised to give it doctoring
and everything if she'll stay here."

Silvia held out her arms for the child. Her self-
indnlgent nature, always craving some sensation to
."omfort itself with, caused her now to want the child in
her own arms.

" Do let me have it a little longer," said Star,
hugging it.

" Well," said Silvia, acquiescing, '* Tom says I'm not
to be selfish about it when ladies want it a bit."

" It's queer to me," said the other woman, " how
some likes to hold brats. Most ladies is selfish and
don't like 'em."

" Many of them do," said Star gently, thinking of
her mother. Her own musical voice sounded strangely
against the husky chatting of these women. The child
that lay on her bosom — clean now and nicely dressed —
seemed to belong more to her than to them. For it
there was unlimited hope ; no common or stupid habit
of mind or body had as yet laid hands upon it.

" It's queer to me," said the companion again, " why
every lady that wants can't take a brat, for, lor, there's
orphans enough. They sa}\" she added in a moment
reflectively, " that thieves' children turn thievish, no
matter how they're reared ; that's what prevents the
gentry adopting."

Star pressed the child in her arms. She felt a new
and more tender relationship towards it. " Even then,"
she thought, " I could love it."

Look III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

415

" I would like to come in sometimes and play with
it, if you'll let me," she said, giv^ing it to Silvia. " I am
very lonely just now, for my husband's gone away for
a bit."

" It's lonesome, isn't it ? " said Silvia appreciatively.

Star recoiled from the sympathy and checked her
recoil. This woman, who was not grateful for kindness,
could yet be kind.

" Yes. Please say I may have it sometimes."

" That you may, for I know what it is to be lonesome.
The dear Lord knows " She stopped with a gasp.

Star went home. On the whole her glimpse of new
beginning in the next cottage added to her sense of
general discouragement. Nothing but the prophet's
vision of the dry bones could suggest much hope for
Silvia certainly ; and Star was in the mood to see only
the disease of the world, and not it's cure.

Yet she went in next door several times when she
knew Miss Gower was not there, and sat with Silvia and
the baby. It comforted her merely to hold the child. She
echoed the sighs of the woman ; she tried to smile to the
little one. She did not suppose that she was doing good.

CHAPTER XII.

The days came on till it was Thursday. Elarly on
Saturday the ship would sail. In all her life Star never
forgot the hours of those three days ; they brought
much.

416

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

Richarda, anxious and loving, hovered about her
sister, trying to beguile, trying not to appear to notice
a grief that was at once sacred and incomprehensible.
She found perplexity in her ministry, as, for example,
when the newspaper came in the evenings. It was the
paper for which Hubert had worked and written. Till
now it had been their play each evening to pick out
his paragraphs at sight. Now Richarda hardly knew
whether to otter it for Star's perusal or to hide it away.

On this Thursday evening, undecided and taking
a middle course, she sat reading it quietly, until part of
its contents made her exclaim. This, thought she, was
surely something that would distract without distressing.

" That genius of a burglar is at work again," she
said.

Star stirred ; then she was quiet again. " Well ? "
was the only word her tightening throat could utter.

" It is not much. He has not done anything yet.
only says, ' Suspicious circumstances have occurred at
Croom which make the police think that the thief or
thieves who lately made such successful raids on the
houses of two of our citizens, have designs on one of the
larger houses of that place."

Richarda read in the rapid, parenthetical way in
which one so often reads a news item. Stai' felt as if
the trump of doom had sounded as a mere parenthesis.

" I wonder what can have happened ? " cried Richarda,
in interested speculation. " Just as if the burglar would
be so silly as to give the police warning I Yet he may
have been arranging some of his traps in advance. Miss
Gower believes that he gulled them with the inside of a
French doll, plus a ghost story, plus their own imagina-

Book III.]

BEGGABS ALL.

417

she

the

bf the

tion. The time before it was a dog-ficrht under the
noses of several sporting men. Perhaps this time it will

be " She shut her eyes, trying to think ; even her

imagination failed.

" I wonder what it will be ? " echoed Star. She felt
like a talking doll herself, to sit there and speak thu&

" It's so silly to advertise the clue if they really want
to catch him. I hope they will ; it will be so exciting ! "

An inward shudder ran throusfh Star.

When she was alone in her bedroom, she sat at the
window. The night darkened ; cold rain began to fall.
She had nothing to look at ; in the dim night she coidd
see but little. Yet, some way, there was relief in looking
from the house that was familiar into the shadow of the
world that was large and unknown. There was no light
in her room. She sat in the dark, looking into the night.

She saw several people pass at intervals. It was late.
Then she saw her husband's friend, daft Montagu the
lamplighter, go home after his work. His ladder was
on his shoulder. He looked up at the house. She felt
kindly towards him, for she supposed that, in his poor
daft way, he was thinking of Hubert. Had Hubert said
good-bye to him too ? — to him, to every one, except to
her! Perhaps the lamplighter desciied her at the
window. She thought he did, for he looked away and
walked faster. Then something flashed dully upon her
— was that poor Montagu ? Was it not rather the man
she had seen in the dawning hour when she had first
met Dr. Bramwell ? She started ; she strained her eyes.
The figure was gone past the range of the window. She
sat a long time, stunned by the thought that Hubert
might have passed near her and she had not run out and

2 £

■ I

■

■\

i K

418

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

followed him. Yet she did not move. She felt almost
convinced that she had deceived herself by a freak of
fancy. She thought she could be sure if the figure
passed again. If it were Hubert, surely he would pass
again to look at his home and at her ! She sat long
looking for him.

Hers was not a self-contained nature. The secretness
of her trouble was eating away her courage and strength
of character like an inward disease. Of this secret, that
so burdened her, she could speak to no one but Hubert.
She had not realized how much she wanted to speak —
merely to talk, if nothing were gained by it — until she
fancied that Hubert had been near her and gone again.
It is said that the wife of Midas would have gone mad
unless she had whispered her secret to the reeds — weak,
silly woman ! But when the secret involves the change
of a life, and the change involves perplexity — in such an
hour it is not strength, but inhumanity, that is content
to be alone. Star felt the want of a human listener, a
human voice to meet hers. She hardly knew what she
wanted; she only felt that the madness of despair
would settle down upon her if some one did not come
to whom she could speak. She strained her eyes to
look into the dim, black rain, to see if a figure like
Montagu's did not come again within sight of the house.
She sat thus long after the lamplighter, if he had gone
on up to the hill, must have reached his hut.

At length two figures came near. They were muffled
from the rain. They stopped in front of her house.
How singular ! They looked up at her windows. They
made signs to her to come down.

Star sat stonily. Who could they be ? She could

Book IU.]

BEGGARS ALL.

419

not go down and let them in. Then suddenly she per-
ceived that one was Miss Gower. It was late in the
evening and very stormy. Star crept to her front door,
afraid and wondering.

Miss Gower came in. The burly man who had
escorted her was Gilchrist. Star's doorstep was sheltered
from rain.

" I will wait here," he said. He pulled the door shut
on himself, and left them alone in the small house, with
Richarda sleeping upstairs.

Marian threw off her cloak and hood. Her face was
full of relief, but fuU, too, of serious concern. She put
one hand on each of Stai-'s shoulders.

" You could not tell me, but I know now."

Star grew very pale and cold. " How do you
know ? "

" No one else knows — only I ; and I will bear it and
share it with you."

" How do you know ?"

" I think Mr. Kent told me. Whatever he may be to
others, I think he must understand and love you, for he
saw you were breaking your heart."

•' You think he told you — what do you mean ? Who
did tell you ? What have you been told ? "

" You remember the silly letter I got this spring
which Mr. Tod had written to himself from me ? "

" Yes. Why speak of that < "

" Your husband knew about it, didn't he ? "

" Yes. We made a joke about it ; we always called
him 'the beloved Tod ' after." She s])oke drearily. The
remembrance of their little household jokes seemed so
unspeakably sad.

lil

420

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

, I

" Yes, Suppose Mr. Kent wanted me to know what
you know — wanted me to know for your sake — how
could he let me know, so that, if I were false to you and
him, or if the letter fell into other hands, not a shadow
of proof would exist against him, so well as by another
such letter ? At any rate, I have received another letter,
written like that to Mr. Tod from myself, and returned
to me from the shipping office because there was no one
of that name to receive it. It came by the last delivery
this evening. No name is mentioned ; nothing is clearly
told. Look ! — read it."

Star took the letter in fingers that trembled like
poplar leaves in the wind. The outer envelope, with
Liverpool postmark, she cast aside. The inner envelope
was addressed to Tod, on board a certain ship, but it had
the ostensible sender's address on the outside, so that it
could be returned unopened. The address was in dis-
guised hand.

" I do not think it has really been sent to that office,"
said Marian. " I think the inner postmarks are imi-
tated. Mr. Kent was to be in Liverpool ; he may have
gone sooner and have posted this."

The letter was in strict conformity with that foolish
letter of poor Tod's, over which they had made merry.
It was dated from Miss Gower's house, and signed with
her name, although in no imitation of her hand. It was
also addressed to Tod. The sentimental style made it
particularly easy to say much without saying anything
definitely. No name was mentioned ; no explanation
given.

Star read it with feverish speed, glancing from line to
line, hardly reading, looking for some startling revelation.

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

421

" I don't see any sense in it," she said, when her eyes
had come to the last line.

"That is just what I thought at first; but when I
read it again — I grant you it is obscure — and yet I am
not wrong, am I ? "

She looked questioningly, but Star was reading again.
In the letter Marian Gower purported to ^ell Mr. Tod,
speaking of some one unnamed and undescribed, "I
thought her deranged, for she eschewed my kindness;
yes, when she most needed it she turned from me ; but
now I know her honourable scruple, for some one to
whom she is bound had indeed done us an injury, acting
like the thief in the night. My astonishment knew no
bounds when I heard it, but it is true. And now she is
alone and needing a friend." There was a sort of rhythm
in the lines. Poor Tod's model had given license for little
apparent sense and much sentiment. The letter, which
began with allusion to Tod's concerns and ended with
it, was not long, and the pith of it in these middle lines
was evident to Marian's nuick woman's heart, which for
days had been pondering Star's distraught condition, her
sudden stern niggardliness, her refusal to be friendly.
Yet as she now looked questioningly at Star, she wavered
in her assurance.

Star sat, her eyes glued to the written page. She
saw clearly that there was nothing there to incriminate
Hubert. She had no wish to admit his guilt. Her
cheeks were aflame, however, with fear. Whoever had
written the letter must have either known or guessed
the truth.

" I see no reason for supposing that Hubert wrote
this crazy letter," she said.

422

BEGGARS ALL.

TBooK in.

The moment she had said it reasons for the supposi-
tion crowded upon her. No one but he knew of her
intention to estrange herself from Miss Gower. He also
knew of Tod's letter and of his own crime. Unless it
•were pos.sible to imagine — and fear is imaginative — some
invisible detective ac(iuainted with all their concerns,
no one but Hubert/ could have worded the letter to hit
the situation so well. What object could any one else
have in thus writing ?

Miss Gower took the letter gently from her hand.
" If I have made a mistake," she said with gentle dignity,
" I ask your forgiveness ; if not, you know that you may
trust me. See," she went on, " no one will ever see it."
She had folded it as she spoke; now she tore it into
many shreds.

Star gave a faint cry. It seemed as if some link to
Hubert were being broken. The letter that might have
been in his hands so recently was destroyed. She longed
to pore upon every word.

She held out her hand impulsively. "Hubert may
have written it," she murmured.

Then Marian was reassured. She turned away her
head as .she spoke ; " I don't, of course, wish to ask you
any question, only to say that my uncle need never
know ; by-and-by probably all that he has will be mine,

and then I could give " Her companion's shame

might have been her own ; she seemed ashamed to speak.

" No- -no — no," moaned poor Star. " Nothing could
restore his honour but to earn the money and give
it back." Then she went on, "You will think him
terribly wicked ; you will despise him, I know. And
indeed, indeed, he is not wicked ; he is dear and kind

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

423

You don't know how kind he was to

may

" began Marian ; but the torrent was

and good,
mother."

" Indeed-
not to be stopped.

" He did do it, and it was a bad thing to do ; but he
doesn't think of it tliat way. It isn't worse than gamb-
ling, or making money by paying poor work-people

badly, or " Hubert's own arguments came from

her with all the eloquence of excusing love. All that
he had urged for himself she urged now, and more, for
she added, "And no one ever loved him, no one ever
kissed him, till I did ; and I have not been good. When
I found he had done this I despised him. I ought to
have loved him, and I acted as if I hated him. He has
had no chance. But it is no use talking; you will never
believe that he is good if he could do this." She buried
her face in her hands.

" Star ! If that poor, disgraceful Silvia can still have
so much good in her that she can cleave to this trouble-
some baby as she does, and love it so that the man who
knows her best thinks that by her love for it she may
become a true woman again, we may surely believe that
your husband's noble qualities will triumph over this
one weakness, terrible as it is. 'Star, I felt almost
stunned when I realiz'.d what this letter meant. I don't
know how I might have thought about this if I had
heard of it before I heard the story of Gilchrist and

Silvia, but now " She broke off. "I want to be

your friend."

Star shrank from the hand extended to lier. " You
do not know me." She spoke incoherently. '* I am not
better than he. I don't Avant a friend who can't be his

424 BEGGARS ALL. [Book III.

friend too. I am no better. I sold myself when I
married him. I am glad I did now, because I got
Hubert ; but it was a horrid thing to do. Oh, 1 didn't
know what I was doing. I thought we should starve,
and I stifled down every serious thought. I thought I
could do what others did — /, with my mother ! " She
stopped breathless with her self-scorn, and went on again
in a pauseless speech. " Oh, Miss Gower, if you want
to do good, take care of Richarda. She is sweet and
good. Comfort her if I go away, and help her. But I
am disgraced. I have done what was as wrong for me
as Hubert has for him. I am a thief's wife, and I am
not any better. I love him. I will go and find him
and stay with him; or, if he will not have me, I will
live only to work and pray for him."

Marian had not come too soon. Star's loneliness had
wrought in her a morbid horror of evil that had none
of hope's best wisdom.

Marian saw that she was needed. It gave her great
pleasure to be just there where she was needed.

'• What about your marriage ? I do not understand
— tell me."

So Star told all the story — told the worst, not the
best of it ; and it wfts like a confession, for the witness
of truth in her heart stood by like a priest ; and perhaps
in the unseen world the absolution was pronounced, for
comfort came to her with the telling. And when she
was weeping like a tired child, Marian gathered her to
her breast. She did not say that the sin was not so
black after all; whatever she might have thought she
knew that wr " not comfort. She did not presume to com-
ment, still less to pronounce upon it. She spoke of Hubert.

Book IIL]

BEGGARS ALL.

425

" I am sure he wrote the letter," she said. " He must
love you very much to be able to understand that you
needed me. And he must have felt sure you would
never tell me. Think what trust in you that shows !
Then it must have been against all his natural instincts
to let me know about it. To break through his secrecy
to any one but you was great self-denial. If he is
capable of such feeling for you— ^feeling of a kind that
many men would neither understand nor admire — ^j-ou
have no earthly reason for despair." For Star had
said she despaired of persuading Hubert. "No earthly
reason," whispered Marian, smiling, giving new emphasis
to the common phrase, " and there is never a heavenly
reason for despair."

Star smiled i>hrough her tears as if struck by a sun-
beam.

" Never ? " she asked like a child.

" Never ; never," said Marian.

426 BEGGAR8 ALL. [Book UL

CHAPTER XIII.

Mariax was gone. Star could now think more clearly.

There was much that she had not told Marian — the
fact that Hubert had committed other thefts than
one, and the belief that he would steal again. Nor had
she spoken of her fancy that he had passed in Mon-
tagu's clothes. A thought crossed her mind, and she
took up the outer envelope of the letter Marian had
destroyed Marian had surmised that the inner part
liad not really been to any shipping office. Star, holding
this one to the light and closely examining the stamp,
felt convinced that it had never been through the post
at all. It had, no doubt, been put in Mr. Gower's box at
the time of the last letter delivery, and Star felt sure
Hubert himself had put it there. Then it occurred to
her how easy it would be to reach the village of Croom
by a dark walk across the hill from Montagu's cabin.
It was there the paper said the thief was expected.
Would he go there and be taken ?

How mad she had been not to think he might be on
his way to Croom when she thought she saw him pass !
She might have run out and stopped him then.

It was perhaps the hopeless feeling of having had
one last opportunity and lost it that made her beseech
Heaven, as much for herself as for him, that he might
be hindered, that she might be given knowledge to know
what to do for him.

She began to see the strength of God's help like the

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

427

man who saw trees walkinof. Her own crude desire
stretched its shadow upon the heavenly promise. She
laid claim to the wisdom that is promised only to the
life that abides in God, expecting some spasmodic
enlightenment as to where and how to find her husband.

Her prayer itself was spasmodic. The saints that
complain of their distractions in prayer have, perhaps,
less excuse than she had. Every now and then her
mind seemed to flash over the dark hill road to Groom,
piercing the darkness as lightning would, allowing her
her husband walking on his guilty errand along the
lonely hill-top, creeping down the hillside by the castle,
pausing, perhaps, where he and she had sat and kissed
each other that May evening.

Then tears brought back the sense of Heaven's pity.

" Oh God, save him ! Keep him from doing wrong ;
keep him from danger ! Have mercy ; have mercy ;
for Thy mercy's sake."

And then again her litany died away, for she seemed
to hear the sharp sound of a shot and see Hubert fall
before the house he attempted to enter, or to follow him
in deadly chase or struggle.

She paced the room, praying thus as she could not
pray on her knees, " Good Lord, take care of him, and
show me what to do."

On the whole, when dawn came she felt more hope.

In the early morning she stole out to the nearest
news vendor's shop to see the bulletin of the night's
news. There was no word in it of any burglary. That
was great comfort. Hubert had not lost himself in that
past night. Her courage rose now, like a bird on the
wing.

428 BEGGARS ALL. • [Book III.

From the belief that Hubert had passed up the hill
disguised as Montagu she, however, still inferred that
the report of the intended bui^lary was true. It was
only a question of last night or the next. It had not
happened last night, and now she had all the hours of
the day to prevent the deed. She did not at firet ask
herself how ; she felt that her prayer and her determina-
tion ensured the end.

If Hubert was now in Montagu's cabin he would
probably stay there all day.

" I will go for a walk on the hill," she said to
Richarda when the day began to advance. " Do not try
to prevent me, Dixie. I shall rest better in the train
i: this afternoon if I ma}'' have exercise now."

I . It was a siorn of sad disorder in their little household

when Star roved in the morning.

She walked in the sunshine, on their own road, past

i Mr. Gower's park, and, just past the red walls of the

' Orphanage, she turned up the footpath by the quarrj-

where Hubert had often led her. It was hot ; the g-i*ass

and foliage were dusty. Star climbed under overhanging

trees till she came out where the quarried walls and

floor of blue and fawn-coloured rock were glaring in the

sun. A man and boy were working at one side w^ith an

old horse to draw the trucks on a narrow tram-track.

A dog sat near them. Star had never seen any work

^ - going on in the deserted place before, and she wondered

a little at the small way in which it was now begun.

I Three children and a governess came up under the trees

behind her. They passed merrily by and went aside to

take another path. Star essayed the steep footing in

the rock that led to the hill road and Montagu s cabin.

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALI*.

429

It was not a frequented path. She had never tried it
without Hubert'.s helping hand. She almost bounded up
its turning now. In a minute she was before the two
shanties among the tir trees.

She was surprised to find that cabin which had
hitherto been unoccupied was now very much inhabited
by a swarm of little children and their young mother.
Star looked in blank discomfort, and the woman, with
ill-mannered countenance, took up her position at the
door with a baby in her arms. It was evident that her
bright eyes would lose nothing of Star's movements.

Montagu's cabin was shut, and Star stepped near and
tried the door gently ; but there was no response.

She had come hoping to find Hubert there, and, in
that lonely place, to talk with him at leisure. She had
before only seen the place on cool afternoons, when the
shadow of the hill was upon it and Solitude sat there
contemplating the town below. Now, in the sunshine,
with the sounds from the quarry rising clear, and this
other cabin full of inquisitive eyes, she saw that it was
no place in which to meet Hubert quietly. What excuse
had she to give to the staring neighbour for having come
there at all ?

" Do you know whether the poor lamplighter is in
his house ? "

The mother of the children was perhaps more ill-
mannered than ill-ni 'ired. She answered with loquacity
that her husband had only lately come to work in the
quarry, and she had only lived there three days, but, as
far as she had noticed, the " dafty " (she nodded towards
Montagu's cottage) generally came home in the early
morning, and locked himself in and slept till afternoon.

430 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

" 'E moight be there now or 'e moightent." What miglit
Star want of him ?

" My husband has always been kind to him," said
Star, " I came to see if I could see him now."

" Mebbe if you batter* 'l the door," suggested the
woman.

Star knocked again, but gently. She had raised her
voice when she spoke, so that if Hubert were there he
must know she stood without. Again there was no
response.

She would do no more. If he were there she could
not betray him by insisting upon opening the cabin to
this woman's inspection. If he were not there it was
useless to enter.

The neighbour, meanwhile, less scrupulous as to
methods of gaining the information apparently desired,
put down her child and set a chair of her own under the
lamplighter's small window,

" Ye'U not waiike him, but if it's to see 'e's there ye

want " At that, having put one foot on the chair

while she talked, she stepped upon it and applied her
eyes to the upper part of the pane.

To Star the whole scene seemed to swim and cfrow
dim, so horrible did it seem to her that Hubert might
thus be spied upon. The hot, meagre-looking fir trees,
the parched grass, the weather-beaten cabins, the hatless
children, and the woman standing with untidily shod
feet on the old chair — all seemed as in a slowly moving
mirror, or as when one puts one's head upside down and
sees the familiar view, in new guise, slowly grow dim as
the blood rushes to the brain. It was only a moment,
then a bare-legged child fell over a tin bucket half full

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

431

light

of water and set up a cry so sharp that it acted on Star
like the shock of a pungent drug.

The mother, unmoved by this accident, was sa^dng,
" It's to-day 'e's put another cloth to the top of the
window, for yeiisterday I stood up and saw 'im lying on
the bed." Her apology to Star was for her lack of
success, not for her attempt. " If you came to see if e's
in 'ealth loike, I thought mebbe you'd loike to know that

I saw him lately, but it's to-day he's put " and so

followed a repetition of her former words with that
facility for rei^etition that her class displays.

" Thank you," said Star briefly, and, tired at heart,
she went back the way she came.

Star's lips were set liimly as she walked homeward.
The brightness of her first morning hope had vanished,
but she had no thought of desponding, no thought of
giving up. Why should the lamplighter have put up
an extra curtain that day ? She felt more sure that
Hubert was hidinjj in the cabin. She felt a sort of

had

inward assurance that she
thought he could have no reason
all unless he intended the

been near him. She
for beinfr there at

theft at Croom. Had the
place been as lonely as before she thought he would not
have quitted it till night, but now that inquisitive eyes
surrounded it she felt certain he could not.

It was possible to start for Liverpool from Croom
Junction at several times in the afternoon, but the only
night train left Croom soon after midnight. If, then,
her surmise was correct, and if Hubert was really .^ailing
on Saturday morning, between nightfall and midnight
he must go to Croom and perform his errand there. At
dusk, then, she would go again to the cabin, and in some

432

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book III.

way contrive to wait and watch and intercept him. If
lie were not there she could still take the midnight train
and seek him in Liverpool.

It was well for her desire not to betray her purpose
that both Richarda and Miss Gower took for granted
that she would go by a fast train that left the town
about four. Marian came to walk with her to the
station. Star said good-bye to Richarda and started
with her.

When they had gone half way to the station Star
stopped and tried to dismiss her companion. Her face
was full of eloquent pleading, but Marian could not turn
from her easily.

Why should she turn back ? Would Star secure her
own comfort in the train ? Would she go to the inn
without delay on her arrival ? Was she sure she would
be safe ?

" Safe ! " Star's heart echoed the word. She looked
down the street. How many people there were coming
and going, meeting and crossing. They were all safe,
and she — What was before her ?

" I believe I am doing right," she said slowly.
" Please leave me because I have reason to think it just
possible I may see Hubert before I take the train. Do
not tell Richarda,"

Her face was not one to be questioned. She went on
alone. They never knew that she did not take that
safe, comfortable, afternoon train.

When Star was out of Marian's view she turned, by
cross streets, back again in the direction of the hill.
The nearest graded road that ascended it ran out of the
town about a mile from Star's house. To this she went.

Book III.]

BEGOABS ALL.

4.']n

It was a winding way. Star walked slowly and
rested often. She wanted to put away time until

evening.

She had very little idea how she could elude the
vigilant eyes of Montagu's neighbours anl catch Hubert
upon the threshold of his flight. She thought she was
doing right, and she thought (as those who begin to
seek the heavenly light are apt to think) that Heaven
would guide her to do just what she set forth to do.

She looked from one side to the other to find some
safe retreat where she might wait an hour or two
without attracting any one's notice. None offered. The
l)alings and grounds of large villas lined the road about
a third of the way up the hill. Then there were planta-
tions of trees where the slope grew barer. All that was
not precipitous was given up to sheep. It was not a
high hill; the steepness made it bare. Star had not
managed to lose more than an hour in walking and
resting when she saw the signpost of the two ways a
little above her, and knew that just beyond it the cabins
stood under the firs. She had not intended to pass the
place yet, for fear of attracting notice, j^et, now that
there seemed nothing else to do, she straightened her
gait to walk past as any one walking for pleasure might.

The shadow of the hill was on the place now. The
road was dusty ; the reeze was warm and hardly talked
with the stunted trees.

There was noise coming from the cabins. She
supposed at first the children were quarrelling. She
passed the guide-post Then all her attention became
rivetted by an object at the side of the road. She forgot
to walk, and looked at it. It looked like a boiled leg of

2 F

434

BEOOABS ALL.

[Book IIL

'vM

t'.'.

, '

pork of good proportions, but it was blue — very bright
blue. There it lay, as if some gnome, who lived in a
world in which boiled pork was blue, had laid his dinner
on the stones by the roadside and would be back anon
to feast greedily. There was no one in sight. Montagu's
cabin was shut, as it was in the morning. The over-
flowing family of the other seemed to have got itself all
within doors. The noise, which was muffled by the
shut door, grew more loud each instant. It was a noise
of screams and sobs, of blows and pushing and angry
oaths, all so mingled that one could not say what one
heard. Star stood arrested between her wonder at what
had occurred and her natural desire to avert a catastrophe
which such a noise seemed to portend. Forgetting to
think of moving on, she listened, frightened, horrified.
She stooped down and touched the blue dinner with a
little stick. It not only looked, but felt and smelt, like
boiled pork; yet it was blue — bone and fat and lean,
one bright intense blue.

Then the uproar in the cabin came to a height and
burst forth from the door. The woman came first — a
wild, moaning thing — cowering as she ran. A man
came after, striking at her with a stick, missing his aim
sometimes, through the blindness of rage or drunkenness.
The children overflowed the door, screaming or staring.
They halted, but the woman went past Star like a
wounded animal, the man coming headlong after.

" Stop ! How dare you ! "

He never saw Star until, instead of his wife under
his hand, he saw this bright, firm, upright figure con-
fronting him. A moment he seemed startled, as if at a
miraculous transformation ; then, catching sight of the

I 'k

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL,

435

nmning, cowering figure further on, he swerved aside to
get round Star and follow. She sprang in front. She
could not think of any suitable words that seemed
sufficiently severe or threatening. She only held to the
first that had risen to her lips. " Stop ! How dare you !
Stop ! Stand still this instant." She danced in his
path. She stamped her little feet in a rage equal to his
own. Then, suddenly, hardly knowing what she did,
she swung her furled umbrella by its upper end and,
with its knobbed handle, dealt him a blow on the side
of the head. She felt frightened when she heard the
crack of the blow.

He was not mad. He did not strike her. He put
his hand to rub his head and growled, in clownish
language, that he would beat his wife if he chose.

"Not while I'm here." Star uttered these words
with an emphatic stamp of the foot and movement of
the head.

Her blow had this effect, that he was stopped. He
moved a few steps back to be out of the reach of her
umbrella The wife fled on across the road toward the
roughest part of the hill.

It is familiarity that breeds in men the temper to
strike a woman. Very few men can strike a woman
whose dress and manner are foreign to their daily lives.
It was probably nothing higher than this feeling of
impossibility which withheld Star's adversary from
beating her. He was a base, ignorant creature. He fell
back, rubbing his temple with his hand, more disposed
to grumble than to fight. His speech was of such a
thick sort that she could hardly understand the drift of
his growling profanity.

'.I

436

BEGGARS ALL.

l&JUK III.

-• "Go back." She lowered her umbrella with a
threatening upward swing. " Go back." He moved
backwards. " Go back ; go further back."

He got to his house at last, and as the children
wi3ely drew off* at his approach, he stepped backward
into the doorway without doing further injury to any
one.

Star looked round, to see the poor wife's gray gown
slipping past the thin line of larch trees that formed the
western crown of the hill.

The man began to make some explanation. He
evidently supposed that she understood, and she, fearing
he was saving that as soon as she was gone he would
run after his wife, still mounted guard.

She came near. " Light your pipe," she commanded.
" Light your pipe, I say."

He stood irresolute on the threshold. There was
a steam and heat of cooking issuing from the door, and
Star saw in the disordered interior an old iron pot
half full of bb'e water.

" Take your pipe," she again commanded.

Perhaps his anger was short-lived, perhaps he was
touched by what he may have thought an attention to
his comfort ; at any rate he grumblingly got his pipe from
within. While he filled and lit it Star watched the
wife disappear over the hill. She was looking too very
steadfastly at the other cabin. It was as it had been in
the morning ; she could see no alteration. She believed
that Hubert was there. Tiiis made her perfectly brave.
Hubert might not risk his own safety by showing
himself, but he would never let her be hurt.

Was he there or was he not ? Her eyes seemed to

Hook III,]

BEGGARS ALr,.

437

devour the dwelling with their queation, but the humble "^
exterior gave no answer.

When the quieting fumes of the quarryman's pipe
had had time to mount to his brain Star went on up the
road.

CHAPTER XIV.

An hour later Star was sittinfj amonjx the furze on the
lull's north-western edge, with the poor beaten woman
beside her.

She had wandered upon the flat top of the hill, seeing
her own shadow grow very long. The road that led to
Crooui stretched white across the treeless upland. She
kept a jealous eye upon each figure that ascended from
the shadow where the ground dipped to the fir wood and
came on into the broad sunlight of the top. Few came ;
no one of interest to her.

At last she had found the wretched wife in her
hiding, and sat down beside her.

" Did he hurt you very much ? " she asked. She
hardly knew how to begin to offer consolation in what
seemed to her so ghastly a sorrow.

The woman moved herself nearer. " That 'e did,"
she moaned, — "the beastly beast." She rubbed her
arms and rocked herself

Star was satisfied by the way she moved that none
of her bones were injured. So inadequate to her ottice
<lid Star feel that she did not speak, but put out her
hand and patted the woman as she would have stroked
an animal.

438 BEGGARS ALL. [Boor IIL

The poor creature came still nearer, bemoaning her
bruises and reviling her husband. The tenour of her
broken talk related to the cause of the quarrel.

" 'E got 'is half-week's pay — us having nothing to go
on with." While Star was receiving the information,
that came to her in scraps, half her mind was alert
upon her own quest. She watched for Hubert as she sat.
" 'E brought the pork at dinner-toime — he did ; it was
the first bit o' meat we 'ad 'ad, and I boiled it."

A light broke over Star's mind. " And you dropped
the blue-bag in the pot ? "

" Noa, I didn't ; us 'adn't any ; but the meat came
out blue. An' when 'e came 'e threw it out on the road.
Oa— oa ! "

Star patted her and drew the poor thing's head on to
her lap, letting her rest there awhile.

Star did not rest. Her eyes roved in unceasing
watchfulness. She thought it likely that Hubert would
wait for twilight, but she dare not depend on that. She
dare not hover near Montagu's cabin, for now that
the excitement of anger was over, she was afraid of the
incensed quarryman. She could not be sure that
Hubert was there to protect her; she could only guard
the way between his supposed hiding-place and the
crime he might be going to commit.

All the place was gilt with the sunset. As her eyes
wandered round she hardly knew that in the vast sky and
[ broad tableland of sun-seared grass and purpling heather

there was beauty. She looked at the road that lay like
a white ribbon, and wondered if Hubert would come or
if she would be forced to pass along it alone in darkness.

Some sheep moved about. Here and there were

iS.

Book UI.]

BEGGARS ALL,

439

light-coloured

roeks and

groups of flowerless furze.
Everything was bathed in level, yellow light, that
touched the shadows into brown, the green to bronze,
the crimson flowers to earthen shades of red. The sky
hung, like a blue dust-cloud, far above. She could not
see the sides of the hill or the plain, but she heard the
evening bells ring in the town and the evening trains
run round the hill's base like roaring monsters. A
bramble bush near where she sat hung down its long
spray of flowers and half ripe berries ; it was not a rich
cluster, for the place was sterile ; still it was prett3\
She counted a flower disc — six petals, each of white at
the heart, and at the edge tinged with puq:)le — the
purple of rock amethyst held in the sun. Inside the
petals was the delicate green rosette of stamens and out-
side was the calyx of silver green ; the buds were silver
green, and the stem also, until, further up the spray, the
stalk, like the young berries, was turning from green to
red. The sun was on the plant. The leaves looked
half-transparent, bronze and yellow green. Star looked
at it, hardly knowing that she looked, but afterwards
she remembered that she had learnt exactly what a
bramble bush was like.

Then the sun went down. The bramble looked a
more common thing. All the long, sharp shadows of
stone and furze went out, as flames can go out suddenly.
All warmth of colour died, and the sterile scene looked
as life looks to a heart in which the hope of pleasure is
crushed down.

" Are you going home ? " Star asked the woman.

She felt that, in her rdle of comforter, she ought to
have something helpful to say, but she had nothing.

440

BEGGARS ALL.

rBooK m.

The only thought that came to her was, " Who am I that
it should seem a strange thing that I should share the
lot of so many women, and bear my husband's sins as
well as his sorrows ? am I worth more than they that I
should shrink from taking part in this large degrada-
tion ?"

She made out that the woman's plan was to remain
where she was till her husband should be gone to the
nearest tavern or else fallen asleep. Star asked what
would become of her baby, and at that the mother
moaned afresh, but expressed the opinion that it would
be "crawlin' about," which she seemed to think, on the
whole, satisfactory.

Star did not presume to give advice, but, when she
ob-served that she could see the objects about her less
(distinctly, she stroked the poor creature with a farewell
g<,sture.

" I am in trouble about my husband too," she said
.sadly. The woman stared. " Will you pray for me ?
I will pray for you."

" Yes," the woman replied with great heartiness ;
but whether she knew what prayer was Star could not
tell.

Star moved away over heather and grass to the road.
The evening had grown more chill. With the sunlight
had gone much of her hope. She would carry out her
.scheme to the end, but she began to anticipate its
futility and to feel her own helplessness.

Every figure which came that way she must examine
in order to be sure it was not Hubert. He might personate
one character or another. She was bound to suspect
each, bat in the gathering twilight she did not know

B(X>K III.]

BEGGARS ALT.

441

how to test her suspicion. If Hubert chose knowingly
to avoid her how could her eye detect him ? The
impossibility of speaking to strange men at this hour
and place came upon her as an unlooked-for difficulty.
She sat by the roadside for a long while. No one came
by. At length a noisy party of young men came shout-
ing and rollicking from Croom towards the town. Star
was frightened to sit, and began walking on the road.
They passed without more than a glance at her, but, for
fear they should turn and watch her, she walked on a
good way. She had turned now towards Croom, and it
was getting quite dark.

She began to think that her better plan was to go
on walking at moderate pace. If Hubert came he must
catch her up, and she was sure she should know if he
were passing. The stars came out. The place was very
lonely. She heard steps behind, and saw a man and
woman coming. She was afraid of them. In front an
old man, who looked like a shepherd or farm labourer,
came into the road from a side path. He had a good-
looking dog at his heels. Star stepped quickly and kept
pace with him.

She told him that she was obliged to go to Croom on
account of some trouble that had befallen her, and if he
were going she would be much obliged if he would let
her walk beside him.

The old man looked at her, and signified his assent.
They plodded on without many words. The stars grew
bright. The road glimmered whiter in the surrounding
blackness. Star walked all the way to Croom, and
Hubert did not come.

Her companion took leave of her below the castle,

442

BEGGARS ALL.

[Book IIL

< >.

just above the village. The i-ail way-station was more
than a mile on the other side of the place. He directed
her how to find it. She saw him turn in at a farm gate,
and she stood where he had left her on the hillroad above
the lanes and houses.

Somewhere among the glimmering forms of roof, wall,
and gable, of fruit tree and ivied chimney, there wa-s a
spot where some household treasure lay, which, if report
were true, was being guarded from her husband's dis-
honest hands. But how could she stand by it to avert
what she most feared ? She said to herself that she had
been a foolish woman to come where she now was.

Yet she could not stop in the darkness to contemplate
her folly. She walked on down the sloping road. A few-
lamps marked out the line of the principal street. The
church clock struck half-past ten.

Star thought the street of the lamps the most unlikely
place in which to find that which she sought. She
directed her steps half mechanically to the darkest roads,
resolved to traverse the lanes on the side of which some
better houses stood. She had very little hope of success
now, but at least she would do what she had planneil to
do. There were still almost two hours before her train
went.

She began now to be somewhat alarmc ' for her own
safety, having an idea that to walk as she proposed
walking at that hour involved great peril. When, how-
ever, she had trudged for half an hour, she grew ac-
customed, and lost her fear. No one noticed her as long
as she walked steadily.

When she saw a policeman standing by the grounds
i)f one of the larger houses she loitered near it, in her

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

443

anxiety, to look over the low garden walL This seemed
more likely than any other to be the place she sought ;
but as soon as she hesitated in her walk the policeman
and a groom who talked to him looked at her curiously,
and Star walked briskly on. How could she stay ? Yet
as she went away she felt that she must come back to
this place at any risk. She made a circuit, and came
by again, always walking as if she had some place to
go to. This little feint and her appearance were her
safeguard.

The policeman had gone when she passed again. The
groom still lounged by the gate and gave a long, low
whistle as she passed Star's pulses stopped at the
sound. She thought at first he was watching for the
thief, and this might be a signal to fellow-watchers that
something suspicious was seen. A moment later she
knew that the sound had merely been an impudent
attempt to attmct her own attention. Again she had no
resource but to hurry away from the spot she wished
most to watch.

Deep night had settled on the place. The household
lights, which had shone in the windows like the warm
glow of humanity, were in most places gone. Star passed
by one shadowy aboiJe after another — pretentious villa
and humble cot — and, although to her, in her excitement,
mysterious forms and sounds were rife, she saw nothing
that really seemed to call for her attention so much as
the place from which she had twice Ijeen driven by fear.
She mustered courage, and by the main street returned to
it a third time. Now all was silent She stood by the
paling and looked in at the dimly discerned shapes of
lawn, shrubbery, and house, it was probably a comfort-

444 BEGGARS AIX. [Book IH.

able family home, and the dark precincts its pleasure
ground. How removed from all region of pleasure it
appeared to her — black, mysterious, chill with the mid-
night air! Something rustled near her. It was only
the wind in a climbing rose bush, and the heavily scented,
dewy flowers waved near her face. She recognized them
as roses by that sense which often seems more potent
than any other to stir a sleeping memory and bring back
other scenes. All the happy hours in which heretofore
she had smelt roses seemed to join hands, like sad, sweet
spirits, and dance around her. The pathos of their
presence brought hot tears to her eyes for the first time
that day.

The church clock, for which she was listening with
nervous care, struck twelve. And now, wherever Hubert
might be — at that house or another, or away from Groom
altogether — she must travel to Liverpool if she did not
wish to lose that other hope of seeing him there. She
had almost lost all faith in her own power to divine his
plans or search him out, yet, as she walked the lonely
road to the station, she looked mechanically on all sides
to see if Hubert might not be coming to travel with her.

She was astonished that the men about the station
regarded her with so little interest and suspicion. She
did not know that it is more by what a woman is than
by what she does that the world at large judges. When
the train was signalled the porter in charge was assiduous
to find her a carriage. Star was only anxious to see
who else might be getting in ; it was possible, even yet,
that Hubert might come in guilty flight. She tarried to
the last, looking up and down the lighted platform into
the darkness at either end. A person did come — a man

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

445

in a heavy coat and turned-up collar — and her heart beat
quick. She felt sure, the one moment she had to act in,
that it was Hubert She was very brave and left the
door the porter held open and followed the stranger into
his carriage. The man was not Hubert. Both he and
the porter looked with surprise at her. Then she shrank
overwhelmed by shame and fear. She felt that a
merciful Providence had preserved her thus far, and that
now, by an act of foll}^ she had compromised herself — as
if, poor child, her best wisdom were so much above her
folly that Providence would change in attitude for that.

The porter was left behind by the hastening train,
and Star's fellow-traveller got out at the next station.
She was alone, to be rattled through the chill, small hours
of the night — alone in the dimly lit carriage, alone with
her hopelessness and despondency.

In the morning, when her courage was fresh and the
sun shone, she had been sure that God was her guide ;
now it seemed to her that God was callous, or she too
weak and silly to find His favour.

She would go on to the bitter end ; she would search
the hotel and the ship ; but she felt sure that she
should not find Hubert now. All that she had done had
been worse than futile ; she was convinced that what she
would yet attempt would be in vain.

It is well for us that heaven is not a thing of our
moods.

446 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IIL

CHAPTER XV.

The train was a slow one. It was morning when Star
reached Liverpool. The great station was half-deserted ;
tlie wind blew through it coldly. Star found a waiting-
room at one end where she might stay until the outside
light and the rumble of many wheels should make it
safer for her to set out in the strange city.

When that time came she inquired her way, and
walked to the small inn to which Tod had directed her.
It was a long way, and she twi^e took the wrong turn-
ing, so she was not there too early. Her teeth were
almost chattering with cold. All her life seemed at a
low ebb ; she expected little. It was rainy and cold.

She went into the bar of the inn and asked if her
husband was there.

Yes, the waiter she addressed thought there was
such a visitor. He referred to a slate hanging on the
wall.

" Mr. H. Kent," had she said ?

All Star's pulses jumped into full life again — the
full, trembling, excited life of a girl in love.

" He is my husband," she said simply. " Please show
me to his room."

The man called through a speaking tube to somebody
to take a lady to number thirty-four, and to tell the
gentleman that the 'bus that would take him to the
docks started in an hour.

Star went up the staircase and found a boy waiting

Book III.]

BEGGABS ALL.

447

iting

for her. He led through a long passage. The meaning
of the message about the omnibus came to her.

" Does the ship sail so early ? " she asked.

" They got a message downstairs that she'd go early,"
the boy replied. " I've called the gen'i'man already."

Star's heart beat again.st her side. Only one hour
in which to try to turn Hubert's purpose ! But that
thought was lost in the other — he had, then, really
intended to desert her ; would he be pleased to see her
now ? A great bashfulness came over her, greater than
all else except this — the joy that she had found him.

The boy thumped on a door. Hubert's voice replied
sharply that he had been called, that he had ordered
breakfast.

" A lady wants to see you," called the boy.

Hubert opened the door and looked out crossly.
When he saw Star he was evidently moved.

" Hubert, let me in."

He let her come in, and the boy went away. It was
a small, bare room, dull and chiUy. Hubert was nearly
dressed.

"Oh, Hubert!" said Star.

" Well ? " he said, surveying her.

Yet, as he said it, she felt that, under this well-known
cool manner of his, unusual feeling was stirring. She
did not know what feeling; she did not know how to
meet what she could not estimate. They stood for a
few minutes awkward, uncertain, as children or animals
stand, without manners or power of expression.

She had thought when she had been alone at home
that she should fall at his feet and lavish caresses upon
them as she besought him. For some reason now that

448 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IH.

became impossible. It seemed to her at first impossible
to make any advance; then, as she waited, she remem-
bered the cheerful outset of their married love, and she
put her arms round his neck.

" Oh, Hubert, Hubert," she sobbed, " I love you."

He looked down distressed, inquiring.

She leaned her face against him. " I love you — I love
you, Hubert."

" But," he said, " not so much that you would be
willing to live peaceably in my way, and let me do as
I like?"

She felt, as she clasped him in that large embrace,
that, while meeting her passion with quiet question, his
words came out of an emotion as strong as her own.

" Come back and stay with me, Hubert. I have
scolded you when I had better have implored you. I
have tried to hate you when I only love you. Stay
with me now."

" What is the use of all this ? " he asked half sullenly,
putting her from him. He did not look at her, but
averted his face. " Do you think it was easy to leave
you, that you come and make it worse ? "

" Why did you leave me, Hubert ? " Her voice was
very pathetic.

" I told you why," he said.

She looked her blank perplexity.

He explained a little further, but gruffly. "Your
mother had more of a pull over me than I calculated
on." He paused a moment, as if taking time for sur-
prise that, in the matter of his marriage, his reckoning
should have failed in the slightest. "I'll leave you to
be pious her way."

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

449

It was all the explanation she could get from him.
He had, in very truth then, run away from all he liked
best out of favour to the dead. She did not take in all
the bearings of the fact at the time ; in a conversation
one so often misses the force of what is revealed in the
hurry of talk.

She only said, in great depression of heart, " I will
be religious in mother's way, Hubert. Let me try to
earn my own living and Richarda's, and we will live
with you and love you all the same ; and then, if you
get into trouble, I can share it."

" You would never cease to tease me about it."

" No, I would never cease to beg you to give it up —
never, never. I would love you always."

" Don't you see, Star, we should never be comfortable.
It is better to be away from each other." He spoke a
little hoarsely. " Si<^ down," he said ; and she sat down
on a cane chair by the wall.

" Won't you stay with me ? " Her sad voice trembled.

He did not answer at once. Perhaps he wanted to
clear his voice ; perhaps he wanted time to think. He
put his foot up on another chair and laced his shoe.

" I am not a brute," he began. " I feel that this is a
sad business. You think I don't care ; but I do."

" I don't think that."

" Yes, you do. You think that, because I do certain
things you think wrong, I am fit to do anything. That's
the way with all you religious people, and it's the way
to make me worse than I am." That was his gi'ievance.
When he had expressed it, he went on in a less aggrieved
tone. "I shall be better away; and you won't be
further contaminated. Of course I can't stay now. I

2 a

450 BEGGARS ALL. [Book HI.

have got my passage. I've got the promise of a situation
on a newspaper in New York. I've given up all I had
to do at homa"

" May I come with you ? "

** Na You can't leave Richarda, and she's not fit to
iraveL I don't know how I shall get on in New York
yet You might starve if I took you ; and besides, for
what I've said already, it's better we should separate."

" And you thought of going without saying good-bye
to me, Hubert ? "

"Oh, hang it!" he said. He was lacing his other
shoe by this time, and the lace had broken. Perhaps
that caused the words. In a minute he answered her
reproach, "If I must go — and I've told you why — why
should I give you the trouble of saying good-bye. It's
no use talking. Besides, how was I to know you cared
particularly ? " He moved to the looking-glass to put
on his collar.

" Hubert," she cried, " I know I behaved unkindly.
Two wrongs cannot make a right. I am sorry. You
believe me when I say I love you. I love you, Hubert"

She felt he would despise her for senselessly repeating
the same thing. She thought she would have shown
greater goodness had she argued cleverly. Our ideals
are often false. She saw^ in the glass that his face was
white, as if he were suffering. She was going to beg
him to stop dressing and talk to her, when she saw him
take up his watch to look at it. Then again the com-
parison between that which is real and that which may
be dreamed of came over her, as it had sometimes come
before, showing the greater pathos of the reality. For
she would have thought that, after coming so far with

Book UI.]

BEOOARS ALL.

451

such a burden of love and a message of righteousness
given her to deliver, she would have had some (^uiet,
some suitable surroundings in which to reason, to en-
treat, and to caress the man she wished to move. And
now the bald reality, the cold, dingy room, the need to
dress and eat and take the journey to the docks, the
pressing fact that time and tide wait not!

"I suppose you must make haste if you are to get
any breakfast ? " she said.

" I don't want breakfast, but I may as well get
ready."

She saw he did not want to turn towards her. Her
own eyes grew dim with tears. She sat wiping them
away quietly. She tried not to tease him by weeping.

In a minute he said, " But have yoif. had breakfast ?
Where have you come from ? Who told you I was here ?
When did you come ? "

She knew now that all her effort had been in the
wrong direction. When thinking she followed the
heavenly light she had followed only the will-o'-the-
wisp of her own fancy. If she was there to influence
him to accept her faith, to act as she judged best, surely
to tell him all she had done would be to tell a tale with
the wrong lesson ; yet now, sitting there crying weakly
in the presence of the husband she loved, she felt that it
would be a relief to her to tell him.

So she began from the time when he left her, and
told him all that she had thought and felt and done — how
she had prayed tr know what to do, and of the alarm in
the paper which had seemed like a clear direction ; told
him tearfully with what hope and confidence she had set
out the previous day, and how meaningless the day's

452 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IH.

occurrences had been ; she told about the bhie pork, her
contest with the wife-beater, her powerlessness to console
or help the unfortunate wife ; she told him of her daring
walk across the hill, of her futile watch in Crooni, and
the troubles of her night journey. She told it all in
short, weak sentences, keeping down her eyes, which
were blurred with tears. And Hubert st.ood staring at
her, hair-brush in hand. She could not see him for her
slow-dropping tears.

" You did not go to Croon at all, Hubert ?"

He slowly changed the position of preoccupied aston-
ishment in which he regarded her, but did not bring his
attention to a prompt answer,

" Did you ? " she repeated.

" No ; I had nothing to do at Croom."

" But the paper said "

" People are idiots," cried he. " It's the third or fourth
false alarm the police have got up, and if they let this
get into the papers you might have been sure there was
nothing in it."

"Were you in London all the time till you came
here ? " she (juestioned in perfect despondency. What
use to try to defend herself?

"No."

" Where were you ? "

" I hope you've given up the nonsensical idea of not
being friends with Miss Gower ? "

She looked up with clearer eyes now, but he had
turned.

" She understood your letter. She came to me and
destroyed it. She f id it would be as if it had not been
written. Hubert, did you do it because you did not

Book IIL]

BEGGARS ALL.

453

want \Aj leave me without comfort ? Did you \:.ow my
heart was breaking and that I would not tell any one ? "

" Oh," he said — it was a vague sort of " oh," dis-
claiming any strong feeling — "it was easy to see how
much you set by Miss Gower, and, as you live near her,
you might as well be chummy. I did not do anything to
endanger myself. She couldn't have made aujrthing
against me out of the letter if she'd tried."

"I think it was wonderfully thoughtful of vou,
dear."

Something in the attitude of Hubert's shoulders
made her repeat her remark. A tiny gleam of hope she
could not understand was instilled into her heart.

" I will say this, Star, you're the sort of girl I took
you for at finst, after all. You'v^ pluck enough to do any-
thing and lie low about it too. It seems I didn't giiess
wrong that far. I hate to thiuA. I've ever made a
mistake."

The pathetic egotism of it !

" Oh, Hubert," was all she could say.

" And 1 don't mind telling you you weren't altogether
off the scent. I did spend a night with IMontagu on my
way from London. I didn't mean to, but I found I
couldn't quite get on without setting eyes on you again."

" Did you do it just on purpose to see me ? " Her
swollen eyelids opened a little wider.

'* Well — yes ; that was the reason. I saw you twic »,
and when I found you were taking it to heart I wrote
that nonsense to Miss Gower. It was weak of me, I dare
say; but, at least, you can t say I haven't done all I could
to leave you comfortable."

She felt a flutter of joy in the midst of her misery.

454 BEOOAItS ALL. [Book III.

snch as a maiden feels when she sees with siir|mse that
a man will do much merely for her sweet sake.

" You saw me ! Did you pass in his clothes, Hubert ? "

" Never miml what I did. If I occasionally give
Montagu a sleeping cup and light his lamps for h'm it
would not do for any one to know it"

" No " Star agreed.

" I was there yesterday morning when that idiot of a
woman looked in the window for you. I thought you
smelt the trick then, and that it was pretty sharp of you,
so I made a business of getting ott* as fast as I coukl"

She asked him how he could go out and in at
Montagu's cabin with the new neighbours there.

" I went in at night, but when I wanted to come out
yesterday it was rather more ticklish. When she was
outside with the chihlnm I managed to get on the back
side of Montagu's roof, and, by squinting down her
chimne>', I .shied some ashing blue he had into her pot.
I calculateil that the dismal surprise of finding it ther<3
would come about the time I wanted to walk off. I'm
sorry he beat her, but I had to get away. It's my
principle, you know, that you can do anything under
people's noses if you only distract their attention." He
paused, packing his handbag, and stood up as a man
stands upright to think a great thought. " That's my
theory of work, and a grand one it is too. There's
nothing one couldn't do in this world by using it
cleverly."

The flickering flame of Star's hope died down. It
seemed to her to go black out, but in a moment it
kindled faintly.

"It's more in the cleverness than in the theory.

Book TIT.]

BEOGARS ALL.

455

You are very clever, Hubert, and you are very young.
You might do wonderful things in otlior ways with your
cleverness, or you might go on using it to help you
steal " (she was going to add, " and that might get you
into the worst trouble," but she knew the risk was half
the sweetness of the temptation, so she left that out) ;
" but you must give that up."

"Indeed! Why?"

She took breath, choosing her words. " Because,
whatever you gained that way, you would lose your soul."

"Haven't any," he replied flippantly; "but I'll lose
you, and that's what weighs with me a good deal more.
If I've made up my mind to that you may be sure I
won't change."

"No, you can't lose me; whatever you do I will
belong to you and love you. You can make me miser-
able, or you can make me happy; but you can't lose
me, Hubert."

" Oh, you'd soon forget me," he said. " It's human
nature."

" Yes ; but mother believed that to love people rightly
we had to ])ray for GoiVn nature every day to make us
love them more ; and I will do that. You don't dare to
say that He won't answer me. Mother used to say that,
when the Bible says we should not do wrong because of
vexing God, it does not mean that He would desert us,
but it is because He never would, never could, stop
loving us that it is important not to grieve Uim. You
<ion't care whether God loves you or not, Hubert ; but
you don't dare to say He won't make me love you the
way He loves."

She stopped, out of breath with her ardour. Her

456 BEGGARS ALL. [Book IU.

words had been suddenly bom within her ; she did not
know that she was going to give them birth. She had
learnt more than she was aware of in her days of
sorrow.

Hubert had snapped the lock of his bag, and having
grazed his finger slightly, he stood now wiih part of it in
his mouth.

" Come," he said in a minute, " I'm ready, and as you
haven't had any breakfast, you'd better come down and
have some with me now."

He took up his heavy bag and ti-aps with one hand ;
with the other he took hold of her hand, and, hanging
his arm in a rather shamefaced way so that no one could
see he held her, he led her out of the room and down the
j)assage.

" There's no use talking," he said as they went.
" Your mother and her sort may be in the right of it,
and that's more than I would have said before I knew
her, but I can't change now."

When past and future are too great to grapple with
it is wonderful how the moment's contents press. The
breakfast was not dainty. They sat down at the end of
a long table. The cloth was soiled, the butter cheap,
the eggs and tea cold. Her great distaste of the place,
her instinctive effort to make this last meal not wholly
uncomfortable to him, seemed to Star all she thought of
just then. It seemed truly of little u.se to think, when
all she had said seemed to her feeble, and be, she thought,
had taken no notice.

He made her eat something. He was kind and quiet.
They were obliged to make a hurried exit from the inn
to take the omnibus down to the dock. There was a

Book III.l

BEGGARS ALI>.

45*;

man, his wife, and their small family in it The children,
disposed to fret, had their mouths stopped with ginger-
bread. Hubert, not pleased with the interior view, tried,
out of the low window, to point out to Star some of the
principal streets. The rain had ceased, but the morning
was still chill and damp.

When they reached the dock there was some waiting
and standing about. The family who ate gingerbread
had intermediate tickets. Star discovered that Hubert
belonged to the first cabin. There was not much luxury
in that, for it was a small ship of one of the cheaper
lines. Among the lirst-class pa-ssengei-s there were some
young ladies, and a clerical relative was seeing them otf.
There were some commercial travellers, and a variety of
nondescript individuals of both sexes. When they were
at last gathered on the tender that was to take them to
the ship Hubert and Star .sat down side by side on
the narrow bench that skirts the deck of such small
boats.

The ship la}' oni}^ a short distance away. There
were many vessels of all sorts about. The sea was gray ;
the sky was gray. The granite docks, with tiieir lonfr
lines of shed roofs, were almost colourless. I'he red
funnels of the steamboats scarce repeated their hue in
the heaving, oily water. White sea birds circled and
mewed ; sailors shouted at each other. The luggage was
put down on the deck of their tender with dull thuds
of sound. The young ladies chattered to each other
with some enthusiasm ; the clerg3*man made jokes.
Star and Hubert sat quite near them, lliere was no
place where they could sit apart

Then the boat moved away from the dock. Every

458 BKGGARS ALL. [Book ITT.

moment now was brinfyin^ them nearer the ship, nearer
the near moment of parting. Hubert looked at his wife
by hasty, unnoticed glances. The dumb misery of her
sweet face went to his heart as no speech wouhl have
done. Slie had not obtruded upon him any thought of
her own comfort or well-being in his absence, but he
thought of the strange tale she had told him, of her
search in the previous night. He could not withhold
his compassion.

" I'll tell you what," he said — he spoke low, he was
obliged also to pretend by his manner not to be saying
anything particular — " I'll promise you this, that all I
send you will be got as you like, and, since Miss Gower's
your friend, I'll pay back old Gower anonymously and
with interest."

There was a pause. The sea breeze blew dull upon
them. They both looked before them at the pile of
luggage.

" So you can know that what you have is — well,
all you want it to be. That certainly ought to satisfy
you. Will you promise in return to do as I asked you in
my letter ? "

" Yes."

" Let's be a little cheerful then."

She spoke slowly. Her voice seemed to her to have
no expression; she felt obliged to speak wiih Jiueh
guarded indifference of manner to avoid attention. " Now
that you have said that, 1 will live exactly as you want ;
but that can't satisfy me ; you must promise either to
send for me soon to come out and live with you or come
back to me."

"What earthly use is it to go over and over

Boor III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

459

things ? " ho asked. " I said I had given up drajijging
you to my way of thinking."

She heard him grind his finn, white teeth against
one another. She looked in some surprise to see how
very hagganl his face was.

" You would not drag me down," she said, " if you
would j)ay back all the money with interest and would
live the right way. Won't you, Hubert ? I can never
be happy till you do. Won't you promise ? "

He muttered a profane word. " I shall have to
slave like a nigger to do what I've said alrca^ly."

He got up and stood in another part of the boat,
looking out on the water. She tliought he would come
back, but he did not. At last she went to him.

" Hubert," she said, " Miss Gower can get me some
work to do at home, that will at least help in saving the
money. We will both work, and God will give you
patience, and perhaps He will give you gootl luck in
America, if you ask Him. Won't you promise to \)ay
it all back, Hubert, and give up that way ? If you do
I shall be happy working near Mi::s Gower and Richarda ;
and you will be happy to know that you arc coming
back, and when you come it will be so joyful."

" I can't," he said impatiently. " I'll think about it,
if you like, but I can't promise."

" Yes, you can. It only depends on yourself Please
promise."

" Oh," he said, " you don't know how hard it would
be. There would Iw the wanting to gull people tugging
at me all the time."

As he said this he looked suddenly younger, more
like the frank boy he had sometimes appeared in the

460

BEGGARS ALL,

[Book III.

first scenes of his courtship, when her sweetness liad
Hurpriscd him with the knowledge that there was some-
thing more in the cold worM tlian he had hitlierto
known. She felt the change. She pressed closer to
him, her hands cro.ssed on her hreast like a suppliant.
Above her self-consciousness the sj)irit of her suppli-
cation was supreme, dominating all else in her. She
had but one moment, and yet she could not find words
at first ; her eyes, her whole attitude, spoke her entreaty.

Poor child, perhaps all her agonized i)rayer for help,
which had not seemed to bo answered in her foolish
wanderings of the day before, was answered now, for
she spoke not knowing what she would say.

" Oh, Hubert, motlier would say you must get hold
of God's help to overcome wrong. Promiso me, Hubert,
that you will find .some way of getting hold of His help
and doing wliat I ask."

She looked so piteous, so lovable, in her passionate
love for him, that ju.st at that moment he found he could
not withstand her longer, and, not realizing till after he
had spoken that .she had changed the form of her recjuest,
he yielded. He suppcsed that it was not the stnmgest,
noblest part of him that yielded, but only a husl)and's
natural .softness to the wite he loved in the moment of
her extreme distress. Yet ho gave the promise — this
man who had an iron will and prided himself that he
had never yet broken a proniisc.

The gangway had been laid from the boat to the
ship. The luggage had been shifted. The ship was in
haste because of the tide. The hands of the sailors were
already on the rope of her anchor.

They gave each other one hasty kiss — those two,

Book III.]

BEGGARS ALL.

461

with strained faces an«l coW lips. They dare not look
in each otlier's eyes, or they couhl not liavo parted.
Only when the boat and .ship luul .separated, across the
last- widen in<^ space of water they looked again for one
another's faces, and she gave him a smile of hopeful
love. It reminded him of her mother's dying .smile, and
he knew that it was some new life in him that struggled
bravely to smile in answer.

Star went home. The train which carried her out
of the murky city ran afterwards through fields of
ripening grain ; the sun shone out upon her home-

coming.

Marian never heard the story of Star's parting from
her husband, but with affection, touched into purest
sympathy by the light of her new vision of life, she was
able to guide Star's love of work to the awakening of
hope in the hearts of those to wliom life had hitherto
brought little of its highest.

And Star loved Hubert, and waited.

TIIE END.

PRINTBU BY WILLIAM CLOWIS AJID SOK», t MITBO, LONDON AND BECCLBS.

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II vols. Crown Bvo. xs, each,

^RE

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MSTKUNG.

UR, M.P.,

lustrations.

and C. G.
With 79

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ENGLISH
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&c.
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BECKER (Professor).— CALLUS; or, Roman Scenes in the Time of Ausiis-
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Post 8vo. 75. 6cL

BELL (Mrs. Hugh).— WILL O' THE WISP : a Story. Crown Bvo. 3s. 6d.
CHAMBER COMEDIES. Crown Bvo. 6s.

BLAKE (J.).— TABLES FOR THE CONVERSION OF 5 PER CENT. IN-
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BOOK (THE) OF WEDDING DAYS. Arranged on the Plan of a Birthday Book.
With 96 Illustrated Borders, Frontispiece, and 'I'itle-i)age by Weaker ( rane ;
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M.\Y Ross, and Mabel Bamfield. 410. 21.?.

BRASSEY (Lady). -A VOYAGE IN IHE 'SUNHlvAM,' OUR HOME
UN THE0CI:AN FOR ELF:VEN MONTHS.

Library ICdition. With 8 Maps and ("harts, and ii8 Illustrations, 8vo. 215."
Cabinet Edition. With Map and 66 Illustrations, Crown 8vo. 7J. 6d.
Cheap Edition. With 66 I'iuslrations, Crown 8vo. y. 6d.
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SLNSHINE AND STORM IN THE EAST.

Library Edition. With 2 Maps and 114 Illustrations, 8vo. 2T.r.

Cabinet Edition. With 2 Maps and 114 Illustrations, Crown 8vo. ys. 6d.

Popular Edition. With 103 llJustratiotis, 4to. 6d. sewed, is. cloth.

IN THE TR.\DIi.s, THE TROPICS, AND THE 'ROARING

FORTIES'.

Cabinet Edition. With Map and 220 Illustrations, Crow n 8vo. 75. 6d.
Popular Edition. With 183 Illustrations, 4to. bd. sewed, is. cloth.

THE LAST VOYAGE TO INDIA AND AU.STRALIA IN THE

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THREE VOY.\GES IN THE ' SUNBEAM '. Popular Edition. With

346 Illustrations, 410. zs. 6d.
BRAY (Charles).— THE PHILOSOPHY OF NECESSITY ; or, Law in

Mind as in Matter.

Crown Svo. y.

BRIGHT (Rev. J. Pranck).— A 1 1 ISTOR Y OF ENGLAND. 4 vols. Cr. Svo.
Period I. — Medireval Monarchy: The Dep.arture of the Romans to Richard III.

From A.u. 449 to 1485. 4.^. 6d.
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Period III. — Constitutional Monarchy : William and Mary to William IV.

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Period IV. — The Growth of Democracy : Victoria. From 1837 to 1880. 6j.

BRYDEN (H. A.).— KLOOF AND KARROO : Sport, Legend, and Natural
History in Cape Colony. With 17 lllustratiuns. Svo. 10s. bd.

BUCKLE (Henry Thomas). -HISTORY OF CIVILISATION IN ENG-
LAND AND FRANXE, SPAl N AND SCOTLAND. 3 vols. Cr. Svo. 24J.

6 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE

BULL (Thomas).— HINTS TO MOTHERS ON THE MANAGEMENT

OF THEIR HEALTH during the rcriod of Pregnancy. Fcp. 8vo. \s. 6d.

THE MATERNAL MANAGEMENT OF CHILDREN IN HEALTH

AND DISEASE. Fcp. 8vo. is. 6d.

BUTLER (Samuel).— EREWHON. Crown 8vo. 55.

THE FAIR HAVEN. A Work in Defence of the Miraculous Element

in our Lord's Ministry. Crown 8vo. 75. 6*/.

LIFE AND HABIT. An l':ssay after a Completer View of Evolulion.

Cr. 8vo. 75. 6(i.
EVOLUTION, OLD AND NEW. Crown Bvo. loj. 6d.

UNCONSCIOUS MEMORY. Crown Bvo. 75. 6d.

ALPS AND SANCTUARIES OF PIEDMONT AND THE

CANTON TICINO. Illustrated. Pott 4to. los. (h/.

SELECTIONS FROM WORKS. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6if.

LUCK, OR CUNNING, AS THE MAIN MEANS OF ORGANIC

MODIFICATION? Crown 8vo. ys. 6d.

EX VOTO. An Account of the Sacro Monte or New Jerusalem at

Varallo-Sosia. Crown 8vo. los. 6d.
HOLBEIN'S 'LA DANSE'. y.

CARLYLE (Thomas).— THOMAS CARLYLE: a History of his Life. By
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CASE (Thomas).— PHYSICAL REALISM: being an Analytical Philosophy
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CHETWYND (Sir George).-RACING REMINISCENCES AND EX-
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CHILD (Gilbert W.).— CHURCH AND STATE UNDER THE

TUDORS. 8vo. is-f,

CHISHOLM (G. G.).— HANDBOOK OF COMMERCIAL GEOGRAPHY.
With 29 Maps. 8vo. i6j.

CHURCH (Sir Richard).— Commander-in-Chief of the Greeks in the War
of Independence: a Memoir. By Stanlkv Lane-Poolk. 8vo. 55.

CLIVE (Mrs. Archer).— POEMS. Including the IX. Poems. Fcp. 8vo. 6s.

CLODD (Edward).— THE STORY OF CREATION : a Plain Account of
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CLUTTERBUCK (W. J.).— THE SKIPPER IN ARCTIC SEAS. With
39 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. los. 6d.

COLENSO (J. W.).— THE PENTATEUCH AND BOOK OF JOSHUA
CRITICALLY EXAMINED. Crown 8vo. 65.

COLMORE (G.).— -A. LIVING EPITAPH : a Novel. Crown 8vo. 6s.

COMYN (L. N.).— ATHERSTONE PRIORY: a Tale. Crown 8vo. zs. 6d.

CONINGTON (John).— THE ^ENEID OF VIRGIL. Translated into

English Verse. Crow n 8vo. 6s.
THE POEMS OF VIRGIL. Translated into English Prose. Cr.8vo.6j-.

COX (Rev. Sir G. W.).— A HISTORY OF GREECE, from the Earliest
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PUBLISHED BY MESSkS. LONGMANS, GREEN, &> CO.

CRAKE (Rev. A. D.)— H ISTOP ''^
Edwy the Fair; or, The First Chronicle

of /Escendune.
Alfgar the Dane; or. The Second

Clironicle of A*".scendune.
The Rival Heirs : being the Third and

Last Chronicle of A^cendune.

AL TALES. Cr. 8vo. 5 vol>;. 2.c. 6(f. each.
The House of Walderne. A Tale of

the Cloister and the I'orest in the

Days of the Rarons' Wars.
Brain Fitz-Count. A Story of W'al-

liii,t;forcl Castle and Uorchester

Abi)ey.

HISTORY' OF THE CHURCH UNDER THE ROMAN EMPIRE,

A.D. 30-476. Crown 8vo. js. 6d.

CREIGHTON (Mandell, I>.D.)— HISTORY OF THE PAPACY DUR-
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III. and IV., 1464- 1518, 24.C.

CRUMP (A.).— A SHORT ENQUIRY INTO Till': FORMATION OF

POLITICAL OPINION, from the Reign of the (Jrcat I'arnilios to the Advent

of Democracy. 8vo. 75. 6d.
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FALL IN PRICES which took place coincidently with the Demonetisation

of Silver by Germany. 8vo. 6j.

CURZON" (Hon. George N.).— RUSSIA IN CENTRAL ASIA IN 1889
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DANTE.— LA COMMEDIA DI DANTE. A New Text, carefully Revised
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DELAND (Mrs.).— JOHN WARD, PREACHER. Cr. 8vo. 2i. bds,, 2^.6./. cl.

SIDNEY: a Novel. Crown Svo. 6s.

THE OLD GARDEN, and other Verses. I\p. Svo. 5.?.

DE REDCIjIFPE.— THE LIFE OF THE RTGHT HON. STRATFORD
CANNING : VISCOUNT S'l RATFORD DE RiaJCLI FFE. By Si am.ey
Lane-Pooi.E. With 3 Portraits. Crown 8vo. ys. 6d.

DE SAIiIS (Mrs.).-Works by :

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Entries k la Mode. Fcp. 8vo. is. 6d.
Soups and Dressed Fisb a la Mode.

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Svo. I.f. 61/.
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Fcp. Svo. IS. bd.

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Svo. I.f. 6d.

Cakes and Confections a la Mode.
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Drinks k la Mode. Fcp. Svo. is. 6d.

Tempting Dishes for Small Incomer.
Fcp. Svo. IS. 6d.

Floral Decorations. Fcp. Bvo. js. 6d.

Wrinkles and Notions for every House-
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DE TOCQUEVILIjE (Alexis).— DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA. Trans-
lated by Hki.ky Reeve, C.B. 2 vols. Crown Svo. i6s.

DOWELIi (Stephen).— A HISTORY OF TAXATION AND TAXES IN
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Vols. HI. and IV., The History of Taxes, 2Ij.

DOYLE (A. Conan).— MICAH CLARKE -. a Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion.

With Frontispiece .and Vi^ette. Crown Svo. 35. 6d.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE POLESTAR ; and other Tales. Cr. Svo. 6j.

A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE

DRANE (Augusta T.).— THE HISTORY OF ST. DOMINIC, FOUNDER
OK IHE FRIAR PREACHERS. W iili 32 Illustrations. 8vo. 151.

DUBLIN UNIVERSITY PRESS SERIES (The) : a Series of Works
undertiikcn by the rrovost and Senior Fellows of Trinity College, Dublin.

Abbot's (T. K.) Codex Rescriptus
Dublinensis of St.Matthew. 410. 21.$.

— Evangeliorum Versio Ante-

hleronymiana ex Codico Usseriano
(Dublinensi). 2 vols. Cr. 8vo. 2.\s.

AUman's (G. J.) Greek Geometry from
Thales to Euclid. 8vo. ioj. 61/.

Burnside (W. S.) and Panton's (A. W.)
Theory of Equations. 8vo. i2j. bd.

Casey's (John) Sequel to Euclid's Ele-
ments. Crown 8vo. 3.V. bd.

Analytical Geometry of the

Conic Sections. Crown 8vo. 75. 6d.

Davies' (J. F.) Eumenides of .ffischylus,
With Metrical English Translation.
8vo. 7.f.

Dublin Translations Into Greek and
Latin Verse. Edited by R. Y.
Tyrrell. 8vo. bs.

Graves' (R. P.) Life of Sir William
Hamilton. 3 vols. 155, each.

Qriffln (R. W.) on Parabola, Ellipse,
and Hyperbola. Crown 8vo. 6.f.

Hobart's (W. K.) Medical Language of
St. Luke. Bvo. i6.r.

Leslie's (T. E. ClifTe) Essays in Politi-
cal Economy. 8vo. \os. 6d.

Macalister's (A.) Zoology and Morpho-
logy of Vertebrata. 8vo. lof. 6d.

MacCullagh's (James) Mathematical
and other Tracts. 8vo. 155.

Maguire's (T.) Parmenides of Plato,
Tevt with Introduction, Analysis,
&"c. 8vo. 75. 6d.

Honck's (W. H. S.) Introduction to
Logic. Crown 8vo. 5^.

Robert's (R. A.) Examples on the
Analytic Geometry of Plane Conies.
Crown 8vo. 55.

Southey's (R.) Correspondence with
Caroline Bowles. Edited by E.
Dowden. 8vo. 14J.

Stubbs' (J. W.) History of the Univer-
sity of Dublin, from its Foundation
to the End of the Eighteenth Cen-
tury. 8vO. I2.f. 6d.

ThornhiU's (W. J.) The iEneid of
Virgil, freely translated into linglish
Blank Verse. Crown 8vo. 7.V. bJ.

Tyrell's (R. Y.) Cicero's Correspond-
ence.
Vols. I., II. and III. 8vo. each I2J.

The Acharnians of Aristo-
phanes, translated into English
Verse. Crown 8vo. 15.

Webb's (T. E.) Goethe's Faust, Trans-
lation and Notes. 8vo. \2s. bd.

— The Veil of Isis ; a Series

of Essays on Idealism. 8vo. los. bd.

Wilkin's (G.) The Growth of the
Homeric Poems. 8vo. bs.

EWALD (Heinrieh).— THE ANTIQUITIES OF ISRAEL. 8vo. i2.t. 6rf.
THE HISTORY OF ISRAEL. 8vo. Vols. I. and II. 24J. Vols. III.

and IV. 21J. Vol. V. 185. Vol. VI. ibs. Vol. VII. 21J. Vol. VIII. i8j.

FARNELL (G. S.).-THE GREEK LYRIC POETS. 8vo. ibs.

FARRAR (F. W.).— LANGUAGE AND LANGUAGES. Crown Bvo. 6s.

FIRTH (J. C.).— NATION MAKING: a Story of New Zealand Savageism
and Civilisation. Crown 8vo, bs.

FITZWYGRAM (Major-General Sir P.).— HORSES AND STABLES.

With ig pages of Illustrations. 8vo. 55.

FORD (Horace).— THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF ARCHERY.
New Edition, thoroughly Revised and Re-written by W. Butt. 8vo. 14J.

FOUARD (Abbe Constant).-THECHRISTTHESONOFGOD. With
Introduction by Cardinal Manning. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 14J.

PUBl.tSHRD BY MESSRS. LONGMANS, GREEN, 6* CO.

1 8 J.

lagcism
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Willi

FOX (C. J.).-'niK KARLV HISTORY OF CHARLKS ]^^\\■<^ FOX.

the Rifjht Hon. Sir. G. O. Trkvelyan, Riirt.
Library Edition. 8vo. i8.f. | C': 'linet lulition. Crown 8vo. 6i.

FRANCIS (Francis).

Lists of Salmon I'lies.

-.\ BOOK ON ANGLLNG
Post 8vo. i5.f.

including full Illustrated

FREEMAN (E. A.).— THE HISTORICAL GEOGRAPHY OF EUROPE.

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FROUDE (James A.).— THE HI.STORV OF ENGLAND, from the Fall of
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THE ENGLISH IN IRELAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CEN-
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THE ENGLISH IN THE WI£ST INDIES; or. tl^e Bow of Ulysses.

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THE TWO CHli:i\S OF DUN150Y; an Irish Romance of the Last

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t'hO.VI.\S C.\RLVLE, a History of his Life. 1795 to 1835. 2 vols.

Crown 8vo. 7.?. 1834 to 1881. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 75.

GAIiLWEY(SirRalphPayne-).— LI':irERSTOVOUN(^.SHOOTERS.

(First Series.) On the Choice and Use of a (iun. Crown 8vo. 7J. bd.

GARDINER (Samuel Rawson). -HISTORY OF ENGLAND, 1603-

1642. 10 vols. Crown 8vo. price 65. each.

A HISTORY OF THE GREAT CIVIL WAR, 1642-1649. (3 vols.)

V'ol. I. 1642-1644. With 24 Maps. Z\o. zis. (citf 0/ prin/). Vol.11. 1644-
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THE STUDENT S HISTORY OF liNGLAND. Vol. I. B.C. 55-A.D.

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GIBERNE (Agnes).-MISS DEVEREUX, SPINSTER. 2 vols. Crown
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RALPH HARDCASTLES WILL. With Frontispiece. Cr. Bvo. 55.

NIGEL BROWNING. Crown 8vo. 5^.

GOETHE.— FAUST. A New Translation chiefly in Blank V^erse; with Intro-
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F.\UST. The Second Part. A New Translation in Verse. By jAMh:s

Ai5EY Biuns. Crown 8vo. 6s.

GREEN (T. H.)— THE WORKS OF THOMAS HILL GREEN,

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THE WITNESS OF GOD AND FAITH : Two Lav Sermons

8vo. 2S.

(3 Vols.)
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GREVILIiE (C. C. F.).— A JOURNAL OF THE REIGNS OF KING
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lo A CATALOCiUF. OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE

aWILT (Joseph).— AN ENCYCLOP.IiDIA OV ARCHITECTURE.
With more ihan 1700 Engravint's on Wood. 8vo. 52^. 6</.

HAGGARD (Ella).— LIFE AND ITS AUTHOR : an Essay in Verse.
W'itii ;i Memoir liy II. Rifli-r Haggard, and Portrait. I"cp. 8vo. y. bJ.

HAGGARD (H. Rider).— SHE. With 32 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3.V. 6d.
ALLAN QUATERMAIN. With 31 Illustrations. Crown Bvo. 35. 6d.

M.MWA'S REVENGE. Crown Bvo. 2.t. Iwards, 2.1. 6J. cloth.

COLONEL QUARITCH. V.C. Crown 8vo. 35. 6d.

CLEOP A TR.A : With 29 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3^. 6(i.

HE.ATRIf E. Crown 8vo. 6j.

ERIC HRIGHTEYES. With 51 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6j.

HAGGARD (H. Rider) and LANG ( Andre w).-T HE WORLD'S

UESIRE Crown 8vo. 6s.

HAI.IiIWELL-PHILLIPPS(J.O.)-ACALENlJ.\ROFTHEH ALLI-

WELL-PH ILLIPPS COLLECTION OF SHAKi:si'EAREANRARlTIi:.'>:.
Sc'coiid Ivlilion. linhiri^cd Ijy Ernest E. Baker. 8vo. lo.v. 6<J'.

OUTLINE OF THE LIFE OF SHAKESI'IL\RE. 2 vols. Royal

Bvo. 2 1 J.

HARRISON (Jane E.).— ^tVTHS OF THE ODYSSEY IN ART AND
LITFRATURE. Illustrated with Outline Drawings. 8vo. iSs.

HARRISON (F. Eavfovd). -THE CONTEMl'ORARY HISTORY OF
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Crown Bvo. y. 6</.

HARTE (Bret). -IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS. Fop. Bvo. is. bds..
IS. 6(/. cloth.

BY SI lOR E AND SEDGE. i6mo. is.

ON THE FRONTIER. i6nio. is.

HARTWIG (Dr.).— THE SEA AND ITS LIVING WONDERS. With 12

Plates and 303 Woodcuts. Bvo. lOf. 6(/.
THE TR0PK:.\L WORLD. With 8 Plates and 172 Woodcuts. 8vo. 105. 6(/.
THE POLAR WORLD. With 3 Maps. 8 Plates and 85 Woodcuts. Bvo. io.v. 61/.
THE SUBTERRANEAN WORLD. With 3 MapsandSo Woodcuts. Bvo. ios.6d.
THE AERIAL WORLD. With Map, 8 Plates and 60 Woodcuts. Bvo. 10s. 6<l

HA VELOCK.— MEMOIRS OF SIR HENRY HAVELOCK. K.C.B. By
John Clark Marshman. Crown 8vo. 3.5. 6d.

HEARN (W. Edward).-THE GOVERNMENT OF ENGLAND: its
Structure and its Development. 8vo. i6.f.

THE ARYAN HOUSEHOLD: its Stnicture and ts Development.

An Introduction to Comparative Jurisprudence. 8vo. 16s.

HISTORIC TOWNS. Edited by E. A. Freeman and Rev. Wiluam Hunt.
With Maps and Plans. Crown 8vo. y. 6d. each.

Bristol. By Rev. W. Hunt.
Carlisle. By Dr. Mandell Creiqliton.
Cinque Ports. By Moiitan;U Burrows.
Colchester. By Rev. E. L. Cutts.
Exeter. By E. A. Freeman.
London. Bv Rev. W. I. Loftie.
Oxford. By Rev. C. W. Bo.ise.

Wincliester. By Rev. G. W. Kitchin.
Hew York. By Theodore Roosevelt.
Boston (U.S.). By Henry Cabot

Lodge.
Yorli. By Rev. James Raine.

\_ln prcj'uralion.

PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. I.OSCMANS, GREEN, f CO. ii

HODGSON (Shadworth H.).— TIMK AND SPACE: a Metaphysical

Essay. 8vo. i6.f.

THE THEORY OK rr^ACTICK: an Ethical Etu|iiify. avols. 8vo. a+f.

THE PHH.OSOl'HY OF KEFLEi TION. 2 vols. 8vo. au.

OUTCAST ESSAYS AND \EUSE TKANSL^VTIONS. Crown 8vo.

8i. td.

HOWITT (William).— VISITS TO RE^TARKA^l,E ITJVCES. 80 Illus-
trations. Crown 8vo. 3?. bd.

HULLAH (John).— COURSE OF LECTURES ON THE HISTORY OF
MODERN MUSIC. Svo. 8,. 6J.

COURSE OF LECTURES ON THE TRANSITION PERIOD OF

MUSICAL HISTORY. Svo. icf. (xi.

HUMK— THE PIIILO.SOPHICAL WORKS OF D.WID HUME. Edited
by T. II. Gri£i;n and T. II. Grose. 4 vols. Svo. 561.

'ith 12

HUTCHINSON (Horace).- CRi:.\TURE.S OF CIRCUMSTANCE: a

No\c'l. 3 vols, ('iiiwn Svo. 25.?. dd.

CRICKETING S.WVS AND STORIES. With rectilinear Illustrations

by the .\r.lhor. i6mo. li.

FAMOUS GOLF LINKS. Hy IIoK.vcF. G. Hutchinson. Andrkw

L.\NG, H. S. C. i:vi;i<.\Ki), T. RuTiir.KiOKi) Clark, &c. With nunnrous
Illustrations by F. P. Ilopkiiis, T. Hodges, H. S. King, &c. Crown Svo. 61.

HUTH (Alfred H.).— THE MARRIAGE OF NEAR KIN. Royal Svo. 2U.

INGELOW (Jean). -POETICAL WORKS. Vols. I. and II. Fcp. Svo.
i2j. \'oI. hi. Fcp. £\o. ^s.

LYRICAL AND OTHER POEMS. Selected from the Writings of
Jean Ingei.ow. Fcp. Svo. 2J. dd. cloth plain, 35. cloth gilt.

VERY YOUNG and QUITE ANO'iHER SI DRY: Two Stories.

Crown Svo. bs.

aiion.

JAMESON (Mrs.).-SACRED AND LEGENDARY ART. With 19 Etch-
ings and 187 Woodcuts. 2 vols. Svo. 20J. net.

LEGENDS OF THE MADONNA, the Virgin Mary .as rej n-scnted in

Sacred and Legendary Art. With 27 Etchings and 165 Wooiicuts. Svo. loj. net.

LEGENDS OF THE MONASTIC ORDERS. With 11 Etchings and

88 Woodcuts. Svo. 10s. v:*.

H I STORY OF OU R LORD. His Types and Precursors. Completed by

Lady Eastlake. With 31 Etchings and 281 Woodcuts. 2 vols. Svo. 20s. net.

JEPPERIES (Richard).— FIELD AND HEDGEROW. Last Essays.

Crown Svo. 3.?. bd.
THE STORY OF MY HEART : My Autobiography. Crown Svo. 31. bd

JENNINGS (Rev. A. C.).-ECCLESIA .VNCiL J.ANA. A History of the
Church of Christ in England. Crown Svo. "js. bd.

12 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IS GENERAL LITERATURE

JESSOP (a. H.).-JLrrx;K LYNXM: a Tale of the California Vineyards.
Oown 8vo. 6.f.

GERALD FFREXCH'SFRIKXDS. down 8vo. 6j.

JOHNSON (J. & J. H.).— THF: PATENTEES MANUAL; a Treatise on
the Law and Practice of letters Patent. 8vo. lo.f, {nl.

JORDAN(WilliamLeighton).— THE STANDARD OF VALUE. 8vo.6j.

JUSTINIAN.-THE INSTITUTES OF JUSTINIAN ; Latin Text, with
English Introduction, &c. By Thomas C. San».\k.s. 8vo. i8j.

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14 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE

MACAULAY (Lord).-ESSAYS (amfhmcd).
■ CRITICAL AM) HISTORICAL ESSAYS.

Tre;velyan Edition, ovols. Crown 8 vo.gj.
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i6 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE

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' i

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EEK PHILO-

6(ir,

Translated by

mslated by the

1 by Sarah F.

ek Philosophy
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IILOSOPHY.
'o. 10s. 6d.

three weeki the fint edition wm exhaoeted.
The Anti Jacobin of London eayi th«t the
author U to be congratoUted npon a flret
book in which the work b both airong
and delicate, with no intmaion of ama«
teoriihreaa, and continue* :—" The novel
opene with a vigoroaaly oonoeiTed * land-
scape with figoree' and to the laat chap-
ter it fulfilla the proml«e of its opening. The
book li fall of delicate work, wh«le it has
finnneaa aa well as fineness of delineation.
Hubert Kent is a m<aterly piece of portrai-
ture ; bat, indeed, ' Beggars AH' is an anusaal-
lysttongand impressive story thronghout."
In the last nomber of th - British Weekly the
Rot. Marcos Dodds, D. D., says :—

" ' Beggars AH ' i« a book worth buying. But If
any one grudgefl baying a '^ovel, let him. at any latc, be
snrc to read it. It is thoroughly original, full of flne
Insight and of moLi delicate and artistic handling of
difficult situations: inteni<e!y interesting, without one
word of pudding, and not too long. It is a story of
married life, and of t<trainod relations between hus-
band and wife arising out of the oddest circumstances,
as well a? ont of a radical difference in nature. There
are no vagrant aflectioux or anything of that hackney-
ed type. Miss Dongall is too original, as well as too fine
in the grain, to be found in that galley. Her heroine
is a lady through and through; ih«> man to whom she
Bacri&ces herself is a foundling, a-"^ bears the brand
of the orphanage in a sclf-centrea .vilfulnebs and an
outlaw's ruthless antagonism to society. The manner
in which these features are allowed tu appear in a
character otherwise not unattractiTe, and the way in
wtuch they. baffle the loving wife and breed alienation,
conld not be better represented. The contest between
the evil in the man and the goodness of the woman is
finely exhibited in a story piquant and full of inci-
dent. The wealth of the author's mind is illustrated
by the freedom with which numerous other characters
are introduced, and the touch of originality with which
«ach is made to stand out clear and solid. The
humorous and fanciful crippled sister, the saintly
mother, the parson turned valet, the fantastic and
pathetic Tod, all tell of the creative hand of the bom
novelist."

Other prominent papers have noticed the
took with unmixed prAise, analyzing the
plot at considerable leggth. Beggar* AU \b
to \» published also in the Tanchiiftz editioiL^
for the continent of Europe. The author i^
Miss Lily Dougall, of this city. (W. Dr^
dale & Co.) ■'

LITERARY REVIEW.

BEOENT FICTIOX.

RtfjTvr* AU, a Novel, by L. DougaU, is pab
Ibhed toy LoBgmftoa, Green & Co. , Londua and
N«ir York. 7 he •ceae ia laid in one of the
wectcm oooaties of Engl&nd and the niotbo m
the book i» from Cirlyle — " Yea, here ia this
poor banpervd Actual wherein thou even
now •Sao'sjevt, here or nowhere is thy idei.1."
Ob its appeAnsoe in England the papera no-
ticed tLe book so favorably that in leas than
thno vc*k« the fint edition was exhausted.
The Amti Jaoobm of London says th»t the
aathor §• to be congratulated upon a first
hook ia wkich the work is both strong
ddicatr, with no intrusion of ama-
aad continues : — " The novel
opene witk • Tigorously conceived 'land-
■cape witk &gart»' and to the last chap-
ter it faifiDe tiie promise of its opening. The
book !• fan of delioate work, while it has
fimuMH ■• widl as fineness of delineation.
Hubert Keat ie » masterly piece of portrai-
tae ; b«it,iadeed, * Beggars AU' is an unusual-
ly sirongaad impressive story throughout."
IntbelMtnmberof the Briliah Weekly the
Rer. Maveaai Dodds, D. D., says : —

" ' Be^gns All * ie a book worth buying. But if
any one gmi^w tAjing a novel, let him, at any rate, be
sure to Rsd it. It is thoroughly original, full of flue
insight aad off anBrt delicate and artistic handling of
difficnit sfmUnte: intensely interesting, without one
word of piMfaig, and not too long. It is a story of
married Kfiev and of Btraine<^. relations l>etween hns-
baad xbA wifeaRsmg out of the oddest circumstances,
as w«a as am of a radical difference in nature. There
are no via^raEBii aSt^-lioim or anything of that hackney-
ed type. lOsB DrngsJi is too original, as well as too fine
ia the graia. t*be fotind in that galley. Her heroine
is a lady i;fci!09ipfc axtd tlirough; the man to whom she
sacrifices ierstrif is a foundling, and Ixiars the brand
of the orpJioosrit^ in s eelf-centred wilfulness and an
oittlsw'» lafiUew antagoDism to society. The manner
in which Acstr features are allowed to appear in a
ciiaracter «j«fcerwifie not unattractive, and the way in
which tii*»7 ihiBjJBt the loving wife and breed alienation,
coold nor. oe bener represented. The contest Initween
the evil fa Oe ana and tJie goodness of the woman is
finely 'I rfclMlnJ ia a story piquant and full of inci-
dent. YkewaUkat the author's mind is illustrated
by tke fraedasa wilh which numerous other characters
are lati a dane J, aad the touch of originality with which
each is BMfe to eta&d out clear and dolid. The
homorooa aaA fsa^iful cripplcl sister, the saintly
mottier, tkt fanoo turned valet, the fantcstic and
patltetie Tlod, aU fteU of the creative hand of the bom
noTelist-"

Other nraaiBMit papers have noticed the
look with ancixed pr«!se, analyzing the
plot at rsiMiitrsiili leggtfa. Beggars AU la
to be pttbTJAid alw) in the Tanchnitz editio)
for the fii M li i Msit of Europe. The autlwr

lia.

■ ^ \

(The Academy )

No more startlingly originiil story has been published
within recent years tliaii Beggars All. . . . There is
flo much power of various kinds— especially of character
description— in this book, that its author may V)e wel-
comed as a most promising addition to the ranks of
writers of fiction.

<Froni 37ie Qveen, London, with portrait of the author.)

Have you read Beggars All? is the question that has
lately flown from one to another with the rapidity of
influenza. If you had not read it, the conversation
would lapse. Your companion might possibly add "a
remarkable book," but hf) would not tell you in what
way remarkable, and this silence would Anally so whet
your curiosity ihat you would ask for it at Mudie's, and
«ee it taken away by your neighbour tinder yonr very
nose; ask for it again, and not be happy until you
get it.

(The Anti-Jacobin, London.)

Miss Dougall is to be heartily congratulated upon a
first book in which the wofli is both strong and delicate,
with no intrusion of amateurishness. . . . '• It's a
poor thing," said Mrs. Poyser, "when the flavour of
the vittles is in the cruets," and though the writer of
Beggars All is not afraid to spice her story, she does not
■depend upon condiment for the piquancy of the dish.
The merely ovtre is at the command of the commonest
order of invt;ntions ; it needs the forming and control-
ling instinct of the artist so to introduce it into an
apparently ordinary life as to make it seem natural, if
not inevitable. . . . The character and the deed,
which is apparently so foreign to it, are subjected to the
action of imaginative chemistry, by the introduction of
a third elcuiCnt of controlling circumstances, which
puts them in perfectly natural combination. . . .
Hubert Kent is a masterly piece of portraiture ; but,
indeed. Beggars All is an unusually strong and impres-
sive story throughout.

(Saturday Review.)
It is the liistory of mortal combat l)etween a soul of
good and a soul of evil, and till the last moment one
<;annot .say which is going to win the day. Mortal
combat between a soul of good and a soul of evil sounds
heroical, but the best of it is that there are no heroics
whatever. Tliere are scenes of passionate intensity of
feeling, clothed in the words, gestures, accessories of
the simplest work-a-d.ay life of to-day. Two souls more
"domesticated," in the servants' registry-ofllce sense,
than those of Esther Thompson and Hubert Kent,
could not be found, anri yet the stwfe between them is
that of the eternal force^ embodied in angel and demon.
Esther is beautifully nicknamed Star in her humble
liome, where the veritable peace of God reigns over the
sharpest poverty- poverty polished to its acutest edge
by cliarity. A star sh$ is and radiates sweetness and
gaiety. The way in which Star and Hubert are brought
into each other's s'plieres is such that broadly stated
would shock, but it is nianaged with a delicacy nothing
short of exquisite ; antl from tli.'\t t>x\, the action and
reaction, the mutual ])lay of spirit upon spirit, the
homely grace of the sweet little woman, and the crude,
kind roughness ot the untrained, niilawful man, are
followed with interest, which deepens as it goes on.
The story has tragical jwssibilities. The scene in which
the two reach the height of their avowed contest, ** ' I
have it in me to be a magniflcent villain,' he sneered,
nodding at her with bitter emphasis," is sufficiently
strong for the deejtest tragedy, yet the book is all round
vivacious and bright. Nothing that is comical in people
of ortlinary life escapes the writer, and it is noted with
quiet humor and no exaggeration. The two chief
character-! engross interest in themselves, but they do
not all absorb it. Gilchri.st is a difficult i)er8onage
admirably presenteil. Ilicharda, who might easily fall
into the worn comic cripple gii)ove, is always amusing:
the beloved ?' 1 is just humourously hinted into the
scene ; the sweet old maid of forty, who has a fleeting
dream anpnt the young doctor, ftn<l sees it pass without
bitterness, iii to.uclr«d with duaint urace (we are told

the bel<>ve<l Tod is just humourously hinted into the
scene ; the sweet old maid of forty, who has a fleeting
dream anpnt the young doctor, and sees it i)ass without
bitternes-i, is touclred with (piaint grace (we are told
of her " true elegance of mind "), and the saintly
mother of Esther and Ilicharda is as njuch of a saint as
modernity will allow, and niore than it frequently sees.
. . We call the present work distinctly a success.

.__ (The Spect4itor. J ■

jgutmjwiaroTraiTCJBmiiMifflimyiiiffiM

tlie J)el(>ve(l Tod ih just lininourously liinte<l into tlie
sneiie ; tlie sweet old maid of forty, wlio has a Heetiiig
dream anpiit the young doctor, a)id wees it jmss without
bitterness, is toticlted with (|uaint grace (we are told
of her " true elegance of mind "), and the saintly
mother of Esther and Richarda is as much of a saint as
modernity will allow, and more than it frequently sees.
. . We call the present work distinctly a success.

(The Spectator. J

Beggars All is a simple but exceptionally strong story
by a new writer, from whom good things may contl-
dently be expected, and by whom great things may
be achieved. The i>lan of the book has a refreshing
novelty of invention, and v^Hiat is of more coiisequence,
the invention does not stand alone, but is throughout
reinforced by an imaginative realism, which gives the
impressiveness of vividly conceived fact to incidents
and situaticms, whicli in the hands of an inferior writer
would almost certainly seem fantastic or incredible.
. . . The nature of the situation, which is the key-
stone of the story, it would >)e unfair to disclose ; but
it has a dramatic force which impresses the imagina-
tion as it can only be impressed l)y the adequate
rendering of a conception that is intrinsically rich in
strong and simi)le human interest. To this crisis all
the preceding i>oition of the story has been leading, as
out of it by inevitable sequence comes everything that
follows, and the whole is a drama with the one essential
unity, the unity of life, growth and organic develop-
ment. It is long since we had a first book so rich in
both peiformance and promise.

(The Literary Wnrhl, London.)

It is a book altogether sans fu^nn in the matter of
form, but that does not diminisli the sense of easy
power which it creates, and we lay it down with the
feeling that a new thing, and a very considerable thing,
has been here given us in literature.

(The Athenxevm.J

No mere sordid narrative of poverty and crime, but a
distinctly clever handling of sundry difficult subjects.

(T]ie Sjiealcer, London.)

In the best sense realistic, — undeniably interesting
and in parts enthralling. *

(Marcus Dods in British Weekly.)
Beggars All is a book worth Imying. But if anyone
grudges buying a novel, let him, at any rate, be sure to
read it. It is thoroxighly original, full of fine insight,
and of mo.st delicate ami artistic handling of difficult
situations; inteiisely interesting, wi^iout one word of
padding, and not too ld\ig. It is a story of married life,
and of strainetl relations between husband and wife,
arising out of the oddest circumstances, as well as out
of a radical difference in nature. There are no vagrant
affections or anything of that hackneyed type. Miss
Dougall is too original, as well as too fine in the grain,
to be found in that galley. The heroine is a lady through
and through ; the man to whom she sacrifices herself is
a foundling, and bears the brand of the orphanage in a
self-centred wilfulness and an outlaw's rutliless antag-
onism to society. The manner in which these features
are allowed to ai>])ear in a character otherwise not unat-
tractive, and the way in which they baffle the loving
wife and breed alienation, could not be better repre-
sented. The contest between the evil in the man and
the goodness of the woman is finely exhibited in a story
))iquant and full of incident. The wealth of the author's
mind is illustrated by the freedom with which numerous
other characters are introd^iced, and the touch of origin-
ality with which each is made to stand out clear and
solid. The humorous and fanciful crippled sister, the
saintly mother, the ,. arson turned valet, the fantastic
and pathetic Tod, all tell of the creative hand of the
born novelist.

(Coj»»i«rciaZ Advertiser, New York )

Beggars All is a very unusual quality of novel. It is
written with ability. It tells a strong story with elabo-
rate analysis of character and motive.

(Illustrated London News.)

Miss Lily Dougall's Beggars All (Longmans) has
already reached a third editjon, and it deserves its suc-
cess, if only for the letter in which the heroine, driven
to extremity by imverty, answers a matrimonial adver-
tisement. That is one of the most natural letters that
fiction has given us since Richardson. There is much
in the book that is unreal enough, but the author has
undoubtedly a future.

f Illustrated Graphic.)

Beggars All, by L. Dougall, would be noticeable for
the singularity of its plot, even if it had no other claims

the singularity of its plot, even if it liad no other claims

nlrendy reaclicd a third eilitjon, and it deserves its suc-
cess, if only for the letter in which the heroint , driven
to extremity V)y jioverty, answers a matrimonial adver-
tisement. That is one of tlie most natural letters that
liction lias given us since Kichardson. There is much
in the book that is unreal enougli, but the author has
tindoubtedly a futtire,

(Ulnstmte.O Graphic.)

Beggars All, by L, Dongall, would be noticeable for
the singularity of its plot, even if it had no other claims
to attention— and it hns many. A burglar who burgles
on high moral prinnijde, and by way of effecting, in a
practical manner, a more equitable redistribution of
wealth, is certainly a novelty at present, whatever he
may be in the course of a few generations more. It is
tine that Robin Homl robbe«l the rich and gave to the
poor ; but then lie was tlie victim of circumstances,
which was not the (lase with Mr. Hubert Kent ; and,
somehow, less sophistry seems required to justify tlie
outlaw of romance than the liighly respectable and
philosophic thief whom 1.. Dongall makes argue so
plausibly— so plausibly as to make his acquaintance a
matter of some real danger for impressionable minds.
He is certainly too much, iji the matter of logic, for
poor Star, the first heroine, so far as we are aware, who
seriously answered a matrimonial advertisement. On
the whole, tlierefore, and under the circumstances, she
•was not so unfortunate as she might have beeti in get-
ting a Iitisband whose sole fault, nay, whose sole blem-
ish, was burglary ; whereas lie might have dmnk, or
gambled, or flirted, (fr done a hundred other things that
not even logic can recovcilo-with virtue. This curiously
imagined story is interesting for other reasons than
eccentricity ; and the various characters are made to
seem very much more IJke actual men and women tlian
they really are. ' •

(SU James's Gazette.)

Hubert Kent, tlie hero of this curious novel, is im-
mistakeably a ja-oduct of the age.

(Christian WorM, I>ondon.)

A strong situation is here created, which is admirably
worked out. There is a .sen.se of power in reserve, ever
and anon breaking vividly forth, wliich is not the least
charm of this book. We congratulate the author on her
«uc(!essful (lehnt in literature, and shall look with
interest for more from lier pen.

(Daily Chronicle.)

Exhibits tuiusnal promise. The author has an observ-
ant eye both for scenerj' and charact- r. . . . All
the characters are well drawn and the work is powerfully
written.

(Aberdeen Free Press.)

The book raises problems of great ethical complexity
and deals with them in an adequate way. In fact the
great modern ]>roblem of the conflict between Egoism
and Altruism— to use the somewhat barbarous phrase-
ology of our time— is raised in a concrete form by Miss
Dougall, and is dealt with in a way which is at once
tnie to nature, and which has elements in it of a liopeful
solution for the future. . . . The ordinary reader
gets what he wants, a story told clearly, brightly and
well, characters intelligible and well defined, while more
thoughtful readers, who desire to look deeper, get ethics
and philosophy into the bargain.

{The StandftnJ, London. )

The book is worth reading for its original plot, as well
as for the unflinching delineittion of the husband and
wife. Nothing is^sacriHced to prettiness, and the whole
story, improbable, nay impossible, as it is, reads like a
true one.

(Literary World, Boston.)

One of the strongest ns well as most original romances
of the year— a masterpiece of restrained and legitimate
dramatic Action.

(The Week, Toronto.)

This handsome l>ook comes to us with the double
recommendation of Canadian authorship and of the
great puljlishing house of Longman, which seldom con-
descends to the putting forth of novels, and when it
does, takes care that they are of the best. . . . One
of the most remarkable figures is the ex-Baptist minis-
ter, Gilchrist, who had given up every earthly hope and
pro8i>ect, and almost his spiritual work, to watch over
a drunken half-sister. A very prosaic kind of martyr,
some readers will think. Yes, but one far more real
and Cliriatlike than many which will impress the ordin-
ary imagination more powerfully. We have said enough
to show that we have here a book of no ordinary
interest