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The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent itre film6s A des taux de rMuction diffdrents. Lor^que ie document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA, il est fiimi A partir de I'angle supirieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas. en prenant ie nombre d'images ntcessaire. les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithnde. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 SIMON HOLMES. • I-- •mams^ I I ) " She clasped hev thin white hands . . . and softly prayed, ' Father in heaven ! Grant it in Thy mercy, for my Saviour's sake.' ' — Pane 36. Front! sj'iece. ] SIMON HOLMES, THE CARPENTER OF ASP EN DALE. ■Y J. JACKSON WRAY, AUTHOR OF "nKSTI.ETON magna," "MATTHt-TW MEI.I.OWKK W." " Lir.MT KKOM TMK OI.I) LAMP," " HONEST JOHN S T A LI.IIIK ASS," 'TUS HAN V;iTU THK KNAPSACK," " WIDOW WlNPIUiNY'& WATCUWOOO/ STC. BTC. BTCi TORONTO WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST a W. COATES, MOMTMAL, Qua. s. F. HUESTIS, Uaufai, N.S. r ?3 Entered, aooordlnjf to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, In the year one thousand e'^ht hundred and eifchty-six, by William Brioos, Book Steward, Methodist Book and Publishing Uouse, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. rAQB Gives the reader a view of Asperdale at sunsei ; and a glimpse of Thui pe Aspen after nightfall ...... I CHAPTER n. Simon Holmes the Carpenter receives a message ; and Peter Prout the Miller receives a rebuke CHAPTER HI. Robert Atheling makes a solemn promise; and Simon Holmes pays a visit to Aspen Garth IS CHAPTER IV. Jacob Benson the Gamekeeper plays with edged tools ; and Sir Godwin SpofTorth meets with his superior . , . , 23 CHAPTER V. Ethel Godwin finds sunlight in the shadow ; and Simon Holmes expresses his opinion . ^1 ,,^..-*, CONTliNrS. ciiAiTKu vr. PAr:R Alfred Allielin{» i^'ocs in piiiMiit of jilensmc ; ami IVilicfinaii Tuijwell cumcs in piirhuit of him .... 39 B CIIAITKK VII. Police Constable Tuinvfll fj^ts into ililTu:iiilios; aivl Ncl Sallinor acts the part uf n Guuil Samaiii. ill . . . . . 47 CHAPTER VIII. Harold SpofToiiIi sirilnit has a word to say on (luating cufTms . . . 190 CnAPTER XXIV. Kphraim Hartgold has an adventure ; and his daughter Ruth receives a mild rebuke ........ 198 CHAPTER XXV. Jacob Benson and his young mistress begin their journey ; and Don Antonio de Diaz becomes a friemi in need . . . 206 CHAPTER XXVI. Ethel Spoflforth receives an astoumling revelation ; and Jiicob Benson finds an unexpected ally 214 CHAPTER XXVII. Sam Vause the Blacksmith indulges in a ride ; and Peter Prout the Miller raises a hot discussion 222 CHAPTER XXVIII. Clai-a Atheling takes the Baronet in charge ; and Simon Holmes spends an evening at Aspen Garth ... . 231 J f t \ CHAPTER XXIX. Tne maiden Inez sorrows over a prospective loss ; and Alfred Atheling is taken captive by a picture . . • ^ . 240 CONTENTS. ix CHAPTER XXX. PACK Alfred Atheling turns his steps lo Aspendale ; and Tim Crouch the Cobl'er "cheats the ninepenny " ..... 248 CHAPTER XXXI. Ruth Hnrtgold is in threat peril ; and Robert Aiheling takes a desperate leap . . . 256 CHAITER XXXH. Joss comes in for a stroke of good fortune ; and Ned Saltmer consults his wife on a subject of importance. . . . 264 CHAPTER XXXHI. Blackheaid falls a victim to the wine-flask ; and the plans of Dun Antonio de Diaz are suddenly inteiiupted . , , 273 CHAPTER XXXIV. Alfred Athclinf; reads the newspaper with alarm ; and Simon Holmes takes an unexpected journey ..... 282 CHAPTER XXXV. Ephraim Hartgold goes on board the Good Intent ; and Maiden Inez goes to Sliaron Lodj^e 2)i CHAPTER XXXVI, Robert Atheling receives a visit from an old friend ; and Sefior Bonanza finds life to be worth living 290 CHAPTER XXXVII. Alfred Athelincr is the subject of strong emotions ; and Hudson Harvey, Esq., M. P., gives his verdict , , . 308 CONTENTS. CHAITER XXXV I IT. PA'.K Ephiaim IlartgoUl fiiuls himself in a quandary; and Robert Atheling thinks himself in Paradise 316 CHAPTER XXXIX. Harold Spofforth makes a painful discovery ; and Inez Bonanza becomes a guest at Aspen Towers 323 CHAPTER XL. Robert Atheling speaks in • broad Yorkshire ;' ami Simon Holmes takes up a favourite topic . 33;^ i CHAPTER XLI. Clara Athelinj; unwittingly reveals a secret ; and ScTur Bonanza finda sterling gold 340 CHAPTER XLI I. Ethel Spofforth leaves her song unfinished ; and Sir Jarvis M.iin- waiing again opines that it is " Singular, very singular indeed 1" 348 SIMON HOLMES. CHAPTER I. GIVES THK RKADER A VIEW OF ASPENDAI.E AT SUNSET ; AND A GLIMPSE OF THORPE ASPEN AFTER NIGHTFALL. J ^ '* See where the falling day In silence steals away, Behind the western hills withdrawn ; Her fires are quenched, her beauty fled. While blushes all her face o'erspread, As conscious she had ill fulfilled The promise of the dawn." Anna Letitia Barbauld. Y Story opens in 'canny' Yorkshire; for in the hill country of that biggest, and as I may be forgiven for thinking, that bonniest of English shires lies the valley of Aspendale. The season is autumn, and the time is evening. The red sun, after lingering awhile on the distant wold as if to fling a valediction on the vale beneath, is setting amid attendant clouds, which receive, as courtiers do, the reflected glory of their royal lord. Blush- ing with a proud content, they wear their purple garments A ;.''] I a SIMON HOLMES. and golden fringes in stately fashion, but only to doff them by-and-bye as courtiers have to do when their god with- draws his countenance and transfers his favours otherwhere. The soft twilight broods above the quiet beauties of Aspcndale. The landscape is limited but lovely, and the eye rests upon it with 'a soothing sense of pleasure.' It is like a vignette, which is all the more a masterpiece because the eye and the mind can take it in at one view ; can print it on the memory and reproduce it at will ; not by degrees as in a panorama, but at one bright glance : a photograph with the added charm of colour, which at present the photograph fails to give. Yonder at the head of the valley stands an ancient castle- like mansion known through many a changeful century as Aspen Towers. Its turrets, covered with ivy to the very top, are the most conspicuous objects in the picture, always excepting the remarkably tall and slender spire of Thorpe Aspen Church, which is said to be the most perfect specimen of its kind. Aspen Chase, amid whose wealth of timber the mansion stands, is of large dimensions, and at one time could vie as a deer-forest with any in the king's domains. The village of Thorpe Aspen, snugly laid in the centre of the valley, is composed of two or three clusters of neat cottages, besprinkled here and there with farmsteads, and the roomier premises of the village carpenter, blacksmith, and general shopkeeper. Around the most of these, the humbler kinds of climbing shrubs and creepers pursue their wilful way, and in such abundance that it is not easy to tell of what material the walls are built. Each cottage has its rood or two of garden ground, and each plot, thanks to the laws and usages of Aspendale, is kept fairly trim and tidy, some of them bright and beautiful all round the year. Near the bottom of the valley stands a mill which can perform its grinding operations either by the power of SIMON HOLMES. It wind or water, and its four broad sails and its big wide mill-pool give I ippy touches to the rural picture. The pool is fed by a brook of clear water that has its rise miles away beyond the distant woods of Aspen Chase. After flowing through the paric and skirting the village, it broadens and deepens into a spacious sheet of water. Then it pours its waters across the sluice or upon Peter Front's undershot water-wheel, and wanders away to 'join the brimming river' a few miles beyond the valley, where the thriving town of Chilworth lies hidden in a valley of its own. In order to make this brief picture of bonny Aspendale and bonnier Thorpe Aspen complete, the reader must commission his imagination to fill in the sketch with green fields, snug farmsteads, shady paddocks, orchards, bush and coppice, clumps of beeches, smr.ll plantations of fir, and the ' Chase ' in the distance, whose foliage is already beginning to show those charming tints which only autumr can supply. Here and there the eye falls on a field of turnips, green and flourishing, waiting the advent of the sheep, v«rho will have happy times there by-and-bye. One or two late corn-fields too, are dotted with golden stooks of barley, which are also waiting, — waiting for the Widow Atheling's waggons to come and bear them away to the spacious stackyards of Aspen Garth. I tell you that you cannot very well paint the landscape lovelier or fairer than it really is as it gleams in the soft twilight, or rather in the mild radiance of the harvest moon, which is now sailing across the heavens with patches of fi'.ecy clouds around it, — white-robed nymphs attendant on Diana, queen of night. Even while we look, however, the bright vision begins to pass, as all bright visions in this world do pass; all the more reason why we should rejoice in them while we may, and cultivate the while the inner vision of Faith and Hope which can look upon and claim still brighter things that never pass. The autumn 4 SIMON HOLMES. mnd blowing from the south-west is bringing up a broad bank of cloud. Like a heavy curtain it gradually drapes the sky — swallows up the lighter cloudlets and puts the moon under strong eclipse. The darkness gathers round. The night falls upon the ivy-covered turrets of Aspen Towers. Night has fallen on creepei -covered cottage, gabled farmstead, and silent mill. A chill autumn fog comes down to make the scene more gloomy, and we who have sketched the scene are willing enough to turn away, and seek shelter and warmth beneath some hospitable roof and beside some cheerful hearth. However pleasant it may be to ' take mine ease in mine inn,' it cannot be done so far as the village of Thorpe Aspen is concerned. For that kind of accommodation you must trudge up the valley to the 'Royal George,' or down the valley to the 'Chequers.' Both of them are beyond the parish bounds, for by almost common consent the Thorpe Aspeners say of the pLblic-house, that its room is better than its company. There are a few who hold a different opinion and who grumble at this high-handed interference with the rights of an Englishman ; but these few would have been vastly benefited, poor bibulous mortals, if the veto had been in force full fifty miles around. As for 'good accommoda- tion for travellers,' however, there is no lack, Alipost every house in the village is aii open house of call ; from Sir Godwin SpofTorth's castellated mansion at the upper end of the valley, to the whitewashed dwelling of Miller Prout at the lower, each is upon occasion a 'Traveller's Rest.' Shall we try our fortune at Aspen Towers ? Nay, alas ! It is night, dark night there too, for the sorrows and the shadows of life know no partiality. They invade the threshold of hall and hut with equally resistless power, and leave both the one and the other at an equally laggard pace. The proud baronet's son and heir, self-willed and SIMON HOLMES. ) a broad ly drapes puts the upon the fallen on lent mill, ene more •e willing I beneath irth. ; in mine pe Aspen rou must :he valley le parish Aspeners than its opinion with the ive been lad been )mmoda- Alrrost ill ; from le upper )f Miller raveller's ay, alas ! and the 'ade the wer, and laggard lied and self-deluded, is far away from home, running a wild and reckless course ; sowing such seeds of sin as are sure to produce, and are already producing for him and others a harvest of thorns. It is night, chill night at Aspen Towers. For within the luxurious chambers, Death has sent his stern process server, dire Disease, and the fair young lady Ethel, sole daughter of the great man's house and heart, lies at this moment pale and helpless beneath the reading of the writ. Shall we cast ourselves on the hospitality of the kindly household at Aspen Garth ? Nay, alas ! It is night, dark night in the home of the .Athelings. The husband and the father has only just been laid in his grave beneath the yew- trees of Thorpe Aspen churchyard, and there is sorrow for his loss. It is night ; for by the chimney-nook whereon the faggots crackle and sparkle all unnoted, a comely matron, with much silver in her hair and much sadness in her face, sits rocking herself in restless and silent ache of hei-.l, the subject of a grief too deep for tears. ** A iTiotlier's love I If there he one thing p'ire, That can endure Wlien all else pass away { If lliere he .nuyht Surpassinti iiuman deed or thoughtt It is a moiher's love I " And this mother, this widowed mother's bright and treasured boy, her youngest-born, her Benjamm, 'the son of her right hand,' has become her Benoni, ' the son of her sorrow.' j He is a wanderer, lost, lost among the dark mountains: [gone, gone from home and from God ; no, not from God ; lot from his mother's heart. These will not be left. They jfoUow, follow. But will their call bring the wanderer back ;ain ? O dark night ! dark, chill night ! brooding over lowers and Garth ! O sorrowful widow and mother ! O sad SIMON HOLMES. father with a bitter grief at the heart and black care on the brow ! Will the sun ever rise again ? Will the Valley of Shadows ever greet the morn again? That is what Widow Atheling asks, as she bows her silvery hair and rocks herself in the ingle nook. That is what the haggard baronet says as he sits in the shadows of his library, oblivious to the lowering light of the lamp upon the table ; lowering and lessening, like the life upstairs, for lack of plenishment. Will the day dawn and the shadows flee away ? Widow Atheling ! Sir Godwin Spofforth ! " Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion ; that turneth the shadow of death into morning ; that maketh the day dark with night." ** There came the Day and Night, Riding together both with equal pace ; But one on palfrey black, the other white ; But Night had cove.cd her uncomely face With a black veil, and held in hand a mace, On top whereof the moon and stars were pight, And sleep and darkness round about did trace ; But Day did bear upon his sceptre's height The goodly sun encompassed all with beames bright," :are on the : Valley of hat Widow >cks herself )net says as le lowering . lessening, »^ill the day leling ! Sir seven stars morning ; ^1 t ,:,| :.| CHAPTER II. SIMON HOLMES THE CARPENTER RECEIVES A MESSAGE ; AND PETER PKOUT THE MILLER RECEIVES A REBUKE. " F/av. Speak, what trade art thou? ist at. Why, sir, a carpenter. Mar, Where, then, is thy apron and thy rule ? What dost thou with ihy best apparel on ?'* Shakespeare, EAR the centre of Thorpe Aspen, and at some short distance from the stately entrance to the park of Aspen Towers, stood the homestead of Simon Holmes the village carpenter. The house itself, though low and humble in its architecture, and thatched like the rest of the cottages, was more spacious and commodious than its neighbours. Its large diamond-paned windows were of Gothic shape, and had some small amount of ornamentation in their framework. Over its latticed porch roses and clematis and honeysuckle luxuriously intertwined. Altogether Simon's home gave evidence alike of comfort and good taste. The house was surrounded by a large and well-kept gar- den, except at one point, the point of juncture between the cottage and the shop. The shop itself, in which were two * 8 SIMON HOLMES. long carpenters' benches, and all the necessary tools and tokens of the owner's trade, was flanked by a good-sized shed or two for the storage of dry and seasoned timber, and these again abutted on a spacious yard. In this was placed the saw^pit, and a moderate pile of timber, all of which in turn was destined to feel the tooth of the saw, and like Proteus to change its shape under the manipulation of Simon and his journeyman and apprentice, who called him ' Maister,' and who, together with thei" industrious employer, did carpenter's, wheelwright's, and general jobbing work among the farmers for many a mile around. In the yard, too, were carts, waggons, drills and other implements pertaining to farming operations. All these were, so to speak, in hos^pital, and were waiting for skilful treatment at the hands of Simon and his assistants. Taken altogether, Simon's house, garden, sheds and yard were quite a feature in Thorpe Aspen ; and so, for that matter, was Simon himself. He was 'quite a character,' and his name, fame, and credit stood high through all the region of Aspendale. I will at once avow that the quaint and intelligent old carpenter is a special favourite of mine, and as I intend that he shall stand in the same relationship to my readers, I desire to draw his portrait with some degree of precision and with whatever amount of skill I can command. Picture to yourself, then, a rather tall and yet stoutish man of vigorous build, whose sixty years sit lightly on him, owing to the blended influence of a good constitution, a good character, and a well-ordered life. He is clean shaven alike on cheek and chin, with the exception of short halt- length whiskers, almost as narrow as they are short, and whos'; presence has so little to do with his general appear- ance, that you are led to wonder why they should be there at all. His small and somewhat humorous grey eyes are arched by a pair of bushy eyebrows, whose colour, like ^'^A- .:*. ry tools and a good-sized 1 timber, and s was placed of which in iw, and like lipulation of ) called him us employer, )bbing work s and other All these g for skilful nts. Taken i yard were that matter, ler,' and his le region of elligent old intend that readers, I ecision and ^et stoutish tly on him, stitution, a ean shaven short hall- short, and ral appear- d be there y eyes are olour, like SIMON HOLMES. 9 his hair, is brown with a tendency to become as grey as his eyes, and surmounted by a well-developed and intelligent- looking brow. His nose is prominent and slightly bulbous, and answers well to the twinkling eye as an evidence of a kindly and humorous disposition. There is that, however, in the shape of his mouth and the set of his chin which indicates an ability to have and to hold an opinion of his own. His hair is worn rather longer than is usual with his kind, a fashion which is probabiy owing to his notable poetic faculty and turn of mind. His nether garments for week-day wear are invariably of fustian, and generally bear evidence that he united the painter's craft with that which is more legitimately his own. Supply him with a sleeved waistcoat of some dark-coloured cloth, and occasionally, if the weather is cold, with a sort of half coat, half jacket of the same material, with a low felt hat, never forgetting the indispensable white apron, sign and token of his profession, and you have a true portrait of honest, genial, quaint, poetic Simon Holmes as I knew him in dear old Thorpe Aspen, I will not say how many years ago. Simon and his wife Rebecca — a stirring, comely, motherly body, whose stout figure was invested in a print gown, and whose whitening hair was smoothly imprisoned in a white muslin cap with a double frill for either cheek — had just finished their morning meal, and Simon was about to return to his duties at the bench, when Sir Godwin Spofiforth rode up to t» e garden gate. " Hallo, there, Simon ! " shouted he, and forthwith the carpenter let down his white apron which had been folded round his waist during breakfast, and made haste to receive the baronet's commands. " Good mornin', Sir Godwin," said Simon, touching his hat, " I'se hopin' Miss Godwin is better this mornin' ? " " I would to God she were, Simon," replied the baronet, to SIMON HOLMES. and there was that in his tone which told clearly enough how dec|)ly he felt and how much he feared. The fare of the sympathetic Simon clouded over in a moment, as he said in a lower tone, " I do hoj)c that the young lady isn't ony woss." " I fear she is, Simon, I — greatly — fear — she — is." There was a quaking in the speaker's voice and a quiver about his lips which told that his soul was being stirred to its inmost depths. "The physician from London is coming again to-day," said the baronet, " and Ethel says that she would like to see you before he arrives." "I'll be at the Towers directly," said the carpenter, " but, excuse my freedom. Sir Godwin. You hev a big 'oad o' your own to carry. There's scarce a soul i Aspendale 'at wouldn't help yo' to carry it if they could. We can't, Sir Godwin, but there's One that can. I couldn't help thinkin' o' you when I was read in' this mornin's psalm. * Cast thy burden on the Lord.' It's wonderful easy when you're used to it." " I daresay it is, Simon, I daresay it is," said the baronet m a tone which showed that however easy it might become, it was to him an unfamiliar doctrine now. " Come as soon as you can," he continued, and so saying he turned his horse around and pursued his morning ride. Simon Holmes paced the garden-path in silence, but in his heart he said, "God help her, and God help him!" Simon's aspirations of that kind generally gained a hearing, and not seldom an evident answer from Him whom the godly carpenter had long been accustomed to call "a prayer-hearin' an' a prayer-answerin' God." " Rebecca, my lass," said Simon to his wife, " the big shadow up at the Hall is settlin' doon, ah fancy, thick an' dark. Sir Godwin, poor man, 's in a parlous state o' mind. Miss Ethel's sent for me, so I'm goin' directly." SntON HOLMES. II " Aye, go your ways, Simon," replied Rebecca feelingly. " I doot the poor gel! isn't long for this world. She's ower good for it, I'm thinkin'. I do pity Sir Godwin, his 'art's fair wrapped up in her. He looks a'most as pale as a ghost." "Hey, poor man," said the carpenter, "he's well-nigh hrokken-hearted, an' the worst on't is, he hezn't a grip on Him 'at can mend it. But, 'Becca, somehoo or another, I nivver feel as though Miss Ethel won't pull through. Nothing's ower hard for the Lord. Mortal man soon comes to the end of his tether; but wi' Him it's different. Who knows but " " Hey, hey, Simon. Bless your hopeful heart ! you could always pictur' things bright anuff, an' I don't say 'at it isn't best, but you kno ." " But, but ! bother the * buts,' Becky," interposed Simon cheerily, " I wish the wod wasn't i' the dictionary. * Buts * '11 nivve mak' butter hoo ivver hard yo' chon 'em. The promises o' God hev a way o' knockin' 'em on the head, one doon an' t'other come on." The honest dame smiled as usual at the ready answer of her warm-hearted and sanguine spouse, and proceeded to prepare him his Sunday suit that he might be made suffi- ciently presentable to pass the imposing portals of Aspen Towers. While Simon was pursuing a process of ablution with the same end in view, the door opened and admitted the rotund, short-statured miller, Peter Prout, whitened even to the hair and eyebrows with the powdery tokens of his calling. " Mornin', Mrs. Holmes," said he in a shrill and squeaking voice not at all in proportion to his size. " Is t' maister in?" " Yis, he's in," said Rebecca, " but he's just gettin' tidied up a bit. He hez to go up to the Hall." " The Hall : " said the miller, drawling out the word f I ,13 SIMON HOLMES. sarcastically. "Sceanis te me 'at it's alius 'the 'All' wi' him. What a strange man he is ! He was te cum this mornin' an' put some floorin' booards doon i' mah mill. But ah reckon it matters nowt te him if ah brek me leg an' gan tummlin' through atop o' t'mill-wheel. The 'All, eh ? J/e knoas which side 'is bread's buttered on." Mrs. Holmes was half minded to hail the suggested cata- strophe with a sentence of cheerful submission, for Miller Prout was a * nagger ' according to the verdict of Thorpe Aspen, which might not be very well gainsaid. The miller's tongue was wont to wag almost as fast as his hopper and with quite as much clack. Becky Holmes had learnt the golden lesson, however, to think twice before you speak once, especially if you feel * warm ' at the time, so she simply said, — " I daresay he'll come to you as soon as he comes back. Simon isn't one 'at forgets 'is promises, as you might very well know by this time, Miller Prout." " Why, bless me life, you needn't tak' a fello' up se sharp," said the miller, speaking still more slirilly, for, like the ' plain- speaking ' tribe in general, he had a wondrously thin skin of his own. " Ah only said 'at ah 'ad fost claim on 'im ; but ah reckon 'at ivverybody 'II ha' te give way te * The 'All'!" " They will to day at onyrate," said Rebecca, still retain- ing her self-command, " for it's a matter o' life an' death, I'se afeared." " You don't say seea ! What then, is t' young lady woss ? Ah's sorry te hear it. But there, rich fooaks ha" te feel t' rub o' t' grun'stun as weel as poor fooaks. There's mair then them i' 'I'horpe Aspen 'at's gettin' t' hanle tonn'd pratty fast just noo. Ha' yo' heeard t' news?" " No, what is it ? " said Rebecca, who could not be expected to be without the attribute which is supposed to belong specially, though by no means peculiarly, to her sex. w ^-,>r"'-»**^ - 1 Sr^fON HOLMES. 13 "Why, they say," said the miller, "that young Alfred Athclings run off wi' a big round bag o' guineas belangin' te "is niaister, an' 'at 'im an' young Spofforth's gone abroad te spend it." "I hey say," said Simon Holmes, who had now come down stairs and was putting on his boots as he sat on one of the lower steps— "•They say' is one o' the l>iggest liars i' all the country side, an' them that quotes him ower often gets tarred wi' the same brush." " Lawk a massy, Simon ! Ah didn't knoa 'at you were there," said the miller, taken aback by the warmth of the carpenter's remark. "Ah's nobbut tellin' yo' what ah've heeard." "O dear, poor Mrs. Atheling!" said tender-hearted Rebecca. " However will she bear it ? " "Why, badly aneeaf, you may be sure, poor creatur!" said the miller, who looked rather pleased than otherwise. " I'll tell you what, Mrs. Holmes, it's my opinion 'at a yard or two o' Tyburn hemp weel twisted wad be about the best thing for 'im ; an' accordin' te my opinion, he's varry likely te get it." " I knoa o' something 'at would suit him a good deal better," said Simon rising to his feet and confronting the loose-tongued man of meal, "a good i/eal better, an' some other folks an' all." "Why, what's that, Simon?" said the miller, in a softer tone, as one who is deprecating a too strong rejoinder. "Why, the grace o' God i' the heart. Miller." said the carpenter. " Plenty o' that would keep him out o' mischief, an' put a bridle on talkative tongues 'at sadly want some rcinin' up." " O dear me ! " said Peter Prout, pulling out his big silver watch from his fob. "ah didn't knoa ah'd been here se lang. Ah mun be off noo." The fact is that the watch had been brought out in 14 SIMON HOLMES. readiness to cover his retreat, for the miller had expected a rebuke, for downright Simon was very awkward handling. Still he managed to give a kind of Parthian shot as he retreated : — " I say, Sinion, ycu weean't forget them floorin' booards. Ah'll try te keep me-sen frev a brokken neck, while yo' cum back fre' 'The 'All.' Just tickle 'is memory up a bit, Missis. Ah's frightened 'at 'The 'All' '11 be gettin' 'im altegither." Hereupon the miller betook him to his cart, which had all the whw«. oeen standing at the gate, and in which he now departed to make his daily round ; to deliver sundry sacks o^ flour, * sharps ' and barley meal, and to gather grain to feed his mill-stones and his pouch. It is much to be feared that Dobbin received more than her usual share of whip, having in that respect to stand proxy for Simon Holmes the carpenter. %■ M expected a 1 handling, shot as he in' booards. lile yo' cum bit, Missis, tegither." which had lich he now mdry sacks er grain to ;o be feared re of whip, Dn Holmes CHAPTER III. ROBERT ATHELING MAKES A SOLEMN PROMISE; AND SIMON HOLMES PAYS A VISIT TO ASPEN GARTH. ** What is there like a father to a son ? A lather quick in love, wakeful in care, Tenacious of his trust, proof in experiencCi Severe in honour, perfect in example. Stamped with authority." Sheridan Knowles, EFORE we follow Simon Holmes on his errand to Aspen Towers, we must turn aside awhile and look in upon the shadowed household of Aspen Garth, upon the widow w.ith the silver hair who sits in the * night,' rockinr; herself in silence by the old-fashioned ingle-nook. Widow Atheling's weeds of widowhood have only been very lately donned, and the sorrow of that great loss still sat heavy on her soul. What manner of man her husband was will be discovered by the necessary mention of a solemn iind important incident that occurred as he lay upon his death-bed. " My poor lad ! My poor wandering lad ! Robert, my son, promise me that you will never give up all hope of him, never give up joining with your mother in prayer for *■ i6 SIMON HOLMES. him, never grow tired of seeking him, never rest content until Alfred, your brother Alfred, comes home again to Thorpe Aspen, and to his father's God.'" I'hese words, earnest words, were spoken by Farmer Atheling, as he lay back upon the pillow from which his good grey head will never more be lifted, except for his removal to his final resting-place beneath the spreading yew trees in Thorpe Aspen churchyard, the sacred spot in which many generations of Athelings were laid asleep. By the bedside of the dying man was seated his eldest son, a fine featured, stalwart young yeoman, of some six or seven and twenty years of age, whose fingers were held lovingly in the hand of his beloved and dying parent. The young man's grief at his impending loss was not to be measured by words ; and as he sat watching and listening in that solemn midnight hour, his strong frame trembled and his heart beat strong and quickly with suppressed emotion. Robert Atheling's love and devotion to both his parents amounted to a pious passion, and it may well be said that both they and he were worthy of the strong absorbing love that bound their hearts in one. Through all the parish of Thorpe Aspen, through all Aspendale, and even in regions beyond, Robert's tender attention, his assiduous care, his loyal service and self sacrifice on their behalf, were known and honoured. It may well be understood, therefore, that tne young man's heart was very sore, and that his very soul was sad and sorrowful as he sat by this death-bed, and watched his honoured father slowly gliding out of life before his eyes. Every line in that noble face, every grey hair above those pale brows was dear to him ; so he sat, making strong effort to swallow down the choking in his throat, and for a few moments he made his father no reply. The old man pressed his hand more firmly, fixed his dimming eyes upon him U'„ >..'-:■-■=( SIMON HOLMES. I? more eagerly, and said with all the energy of his failing prwers : — " Robert, my son ! My dear, good, faithful son ! Will you promise ? " Recalled to a full, clear conviction of all that his father's words implied, for latterly Alfred had dropped entirely out of sight and hearing of home and friends, Robert placed his other hand on that of his aged sire, and said earnestly and solemnly — "Yes, dear father, I promise. I will never give up uniting my prayers v/ith my mother's on his behalf ; I will never give up hoping for him ; I will never grow tired of seeking him ; I will never rest contented until Alfred comes home again to Thorpe Aspen, and to his father's God." " God bless thee, my son ! " said the old man, with a smile on his face and a light in his eyes which more than half repaid the young man for his solemn vow, "the God of thy fathers bless thee ! Now, Robert, I can die content. We shall meet again, an unbroken family in heaven. As for thee, my son, thine shall be the best of blessings from the hand of God : ' The Lord bless thee, and keep thee ; the Lord make His face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace ! ' And, Robert, my son, He will ! " The young man felt that then and there a benediction had fallen on him ; that then and there his father's words had received the sanction cf his God. This interview had been held in private at his father's own request. The rest of the family were now admitted, the weeping mother, soon to be a widow, two sorrowing daughters, and a younger son, worthy scions of a noble stock — the whole family, except, alas ! that young misguided brother whose sad lapse from the path of virtue was the only thorn in his father's pillow, as he was lying there upon the bed of deam. " All will be well, dear wife, faithful and beloved fellow* B i8 SIMON HOLMES. pilgrim for many happy years," said the dying man. " All will be well with you, and with your youngest born. For the rest you need no assurance. All is well ! As for me, I repose my soul on the merits of my Saviour, an 1 am passing out of the shadow into the shine." Each of them in turn received a loving word, a farewell kiss, a final benediction, and then after a little while came the end. It was a peaceful end : the death of the righteous always is ; it is the fitting finish of a godly life. It was a calm sunset, and the western sky was bright with the golden light of a ' sure and certain hope ' : — and then, on this side, Night ; on the other, Morning ! '• After the middle watches, ; As they softly near him trod, His soul from its prison fetters ^ Was loosed by the hand of Gocf. One moment his pale lips trembled With the triumph he might not tell. As the sight of the life immortal On his spirit's vision lell. Then the look of rapture faded, And the beautiful smile was faint, As that in some ancient picture On the face of a dying saint. And they felt in the lonesome midnight. As they sat by the silent dead, What a light on the pathway of others The feet of the righteous shed. And they thought how with faith unshrinking He came to the Jordan's tide, And taking the hand of the Saviour Went up on the heavenly side." As soon as opportunity served him, Robert Atheling went in:o his chamber, not to weep there, like Joseph of old, but again to register the serious promise he had made to his SIMON HOLMES. lan. " All Dorn. For s for me, I am passing , a farewell vhile came e righteous It was a the golden n this side, eling went Df old, but ide to his dying father, and on his knees to seek for strength and guidance for the fulfilment of that fraternal mission to which he had just set solemn seal. In due time the tombstone beneath the yew-trees covered another tenant, and on it was inscribed, together with a truthful record of his virtues, another name, the name of Edward Atheling, whose memory is held in special honour in Thorpe Aspen to this day. Standing by that grave, Robert Atheling shed many a tributary tear. Then he turned away to pursue his double mission in life — to sustain and comfort his widowed mother, and to win back the wander- ing prodigal to his mother's home and to both his mother's and his father's God. During those first thick-shadowed days that followed after the funeral of Farmer Atheling, the old carpenter Simon Holmes was often at Aspen Garth, where his visits were warmly welcomed and much esteemed. He was a genuine 'son of consolation,* Simon was, for he was learned in the higher lore, the knowledge and wisdom which come by a devout study of The Book and by inner revelations from Him that wrote it, the knowledge and wisdom that grows and ripens in them who by experience can testify concerning the deep things of God. Thorpe Aspen was not highly favoured in the matter of true Christian teaching. The vicar of the parish was one of that ineffective and formal class, now fast dying out before the dawn of a better and brighter day, who fancied that their duties were rounded by the set performance of all appointed ecclesiastical form- alities in the church and out of it, and that a page or two irom the Prayer-book was sufficient to satisfy all their parish- ioners' spiritual needs. Besides this, the good man was aged and infirm, so that even his superficial notions of the duties of his sacred office were almost as rarely put mto ^^|)ractice by him as they were sought for by his parishioners. The family at Aspen Garth, and that of Simon Holmes 1 _ 30 SIMON HOLMES. and one or two others, were in the habit of attending church on the morning of the Sabbath day, mainly from custom and from some respect to the vicar and Sir Godwin, for there was no great antipathy at Thorpe Aspen to the Church as an institution. In the afternoon, however, they generally repaired to the neighbouring town of Chilworth, which was within easy distance, and where there was an evangelic minister who did provide for his hearers 'the true and very bread that feeds the soul' Both at Aspen Garth and at Simon Holmes's humbler dwelling there was what Paul says of Philemon's — ' the church that is in thine house,' and thus the flames of true Christian light and life were kept burning, even in Thorpe Aspen's indifferent and apathetic air. And so it came to pass that the godly carpenter was looked up to by many, and, sooth to say, was scoffed at by a few, as the spiritual adviser of the villagers, an unsought though by no means irksome or unwelcome \ocation, for which Simon's high character, unassuming piety, and strong intelligence peculiarly fitted him. Even those who saw fit to sneer at him, to make a mock at his religion and to call him ' praying Simon,' or ' Simon the psalmist,' in allusion to his poetic proclivities, during their days of health and prosperity, were glad enough in the hour of sickness, death, or adversity to solicit the old carpenter's counsel and prayers, and got besides his kindly sympathy and ever-heipful hand. " Good evening, Simon," said Mrs. Atheling, as he crossed the threshold a day or two after they had committed Farmer Atheling to his last resting-place, or rather to his last but one, for there could be no question as to his future inheritance in the Land of Rest, — "I'm glad to see you; glad always, kind neighbour ; but most glad when, as now, my hearth is shadowed, and my heart is sad. Draw your chair to the fire ; or stay, take the ingle nook and my ^f' iiLJ SIMON HOLMES. 31 ding church "rom custom Godwin, for the Church ey generally 1, which was n evangelic le true and 1 Garth and s what Paul line house,' fe were kept id apathetic rpenter was coffed at by m unsought ocation, for , and strong who saw fit and to call 1 allusion to health and ss, death, or ind prayers, ever-heipful he crossed committed ■ther to his his future o see you; en, as now, Draw your ik and my oodmnn's chair. lie honoured you while he lived, and he would be the first to say, that you will honour it, now he's gone." The last words provoked, and not unnaturally, both a sigh and a tear. "Tlienk yo','' said Simon, accepting the invitation. " There's something sad i' one's fost look at a vacant chair, an' one til inks 'at them 'at's gone '11 nivver sit there no more. Ijui, 1 say, Mrs. Atheling, I think that isn't the thowt 'at comes either to you or me aboot him. Where is he siitin' noo? They don't mak' sitch seats d-^on here, no, nut for kings' palaces." A faint smile like a sunbeam flitted across the widow's fiice ; flitted back again and sat there, as she responded, "You are right, Simon. It doesn't seem right, does it, to mourn that one who was so ripe for heaven has gone there, or that while he is praising God for taking him there, we should be complaining because he has not been left here ? O dear!" she continued with a sigh, "what a strange mixture life is ! " " Yes, that's true anuff. There's no denyin' it. But there'") a vast difference i' life accordingly as it's mixed by us or for us. If we undertak' to mak' it up for ourselves, there's no wonder 'at it gets bad to tak', an hez some awkward effects when it is ta'en. If it's mixed for us ivery day by the Good Physician, things is put into it in a right proportion, an' even when it's nut pleasant it's medicinal, an' the result is perfect health. That's just hoo it is wi' your husband, Mrs. Atheling. Doon here we're offen squeamish an' sickly both i' body an' mind ; an' at the best oor souls hev ague fits o' fear an' doot. Noo, Farmer Atheling is i' per/a^ health. He let the good Lord mix the cup of his life for him all the tahme, an' so to-day he stands up before his God as ruddy as David, as strong as Samson, as beautiful as jesus, an' as his Saviour looks on him an' loves him, He I 22 SIMON HOLMES. says, * Thy faith hath made thee Whole ! ' An' that's hoo you'll see liim, Mrs. Atheling, when you see him again." The widow had already conjured up in her mind, under Simon's stirring words, the picture of her aeparted treasure as he looked on the happy day of their espousals, and the smile brightened on her face still more as she thought of the coming hour when she should look on that dear face again. " Thank you, Simon," said she. " You've done my heart good. He shall not return to me, but I shall go to him" " Nowt so sure, Mrs. Atheling. Nowt so sure, only let Him mix your cup. Don't try either to mak' or to meddle, or to question aboot the prescription or the like o' that. * My Father's cup, shall I not drink it ? ' You know Who said that; an' He's bound to work the same merracle of healing upo' you ; an' by the grace of God, I'll be there to give yo' both a warm handgrip in the Land of Health I " \n' that's hoo m again." mind, under irted treasure sals, and the she thouglit on that dear ve done my I shall go to sure, only let or to meddle, like o' that, u know Who ; merracle of 11 be there to Health 1 " '.'«ii^ CHAPTER IV. JACOB BENSON, THE GAMKKKKI'ER, I'l.AYS WITH EDGED TOOLS; ANl. SIR GODWIN SPOFI-ORTII MEETS VVITII HIS SUl'EKIOR. ** Hilt that from us auijht should ascend to heaven So prevalent as to concern the mind Of God liii;h-l)lest, or to incline Ilis will, Hard to belief may seem, yet this will pr.iyer." Ml lion. .r-»»- ''X'HROUGH the crisp and bracing air strode Simon Vl!> Holmes, summoned, as we have seen, to the dark- ened chamber in which lay the sorely stricken Itl.iughter of the lord of Aspen Towers The sun, even Ion that late autumn morning, had come forth from his ichamber rejoicing as a strong man to run a race, and was inow pouring his beams upon the landscape with unstinted grace and with almost a summertide of power. The foUage [of the grand old trees in Aspen Chase was brightly bur- [nished by his radiance, and their robes, lately green with (summer glory, were now, like the cohorts of Assyria, 'gleaming in purple and gold.* The morning mist lay on the carpet of greensward in : veils of sheeny silver, except in the more open glades where it rose in filmy diaphonous folds, slowly evaporating beneath ^ 24 SIMOX HOLMES. the ardent glnnccs of the sun. Here and there the musical matins of the l)la( ki)ird and the mellow notes of other wood- land warblers were heard as if each one 'with sweet delight would greet the morn.' Overhead the l)lue lift sjjread far and wide in calm unbroken si)lendour, for the few thin white clouds that sailed slowly northward before the balmy breeze served only to heighten its calm serenity. 'l"he \ illiige carpenter was gifted with a poetic soul, and more than most could interpret Nature's visions and voice.s, and gi\e them meanings only percej^tible to an elevated mind. 'l"o him these fair light cloudlets seemed as the wings of the angels of (lod, '»!'ose ministers of His that do His pleasure,' moving high on missions of beneficence and love ; and to him, now and always the whole landscape was eloquent with inspiration, charged with gracious intimations of the i)resence of his Father and Friend. In him the angels of Faith and Hoi)e were making richer music than any within the compass of the songsters of the grove. \\ hatever mists of eartfily limitations dimmed the brigh* ness of his spiritual vision, these, like the mists around him, were thinning more and more, all silvern in the light of heaven, and surely melting before the glory to be revealed. Happy he, happiest of all men who best can realise that his life-path Hes through a Beulah land close bordering on the plains of Immanuel's land. Such and such like were the thoughts of Simon Holmes as he crossed the park which surrounded the ivy-mantled walls of Aspen Towers. He was startled out of his cogi- tations by the voice of Jacob Benson the gamekeeper, whose footsteps on the soft greensward had given no token of his approach. " Mornin', Simon. It's a fine mornin', isn't it?" said he, "Quite like a summer's day. Coin' up to the Hall?" "Good mornin, 'keeper. It is glorious weather. Yes, I'm goin' to see Miss Fthel. Sir Godwin thinks she's worse." SIMON HOLMES. 35 •c the musical )f other vvoo(i- swcct delight hft .sj)rca(l far the few thiti iTQ the bahiiy jtic soul, and IS and voices, ) an elevated jcmed as the f His that do icficcnce and landscape was LIS intimations In him the ■r music than pf the grove. d the brigh*-- 5 around him, I the light of ) be revealed. n realise that bordering on mon Holmes c ivy-mant!cd ; of It is cogi- gamekeeper, ven no token it ? " said he. Hall?" eather. Yes, she's worse." 1/' Jacob Benson the gamekeeper, or 'keeper, as he was called ^f in the local verna( ular, was a stout, strong limbed, mi(hlle- sized man of thirty-five. He was clad after the fashion of his tribe in corded breeches, velveteen shooting-jacket with , baggy pockets and bright brass buttons; a pair of brown leather leggings ; and a pair of laced-up, strong hobnailed boots encased his nether limbs. On his head was a rough- ^ looking cap made of hnre skins with the fur out\ ini^-. His ' shot bag and powder llask were slung by a strap across his shoulder, on which lay al.so the barrel of his fowling piece, the end of the stock resting on the i)aim of his hand. His ■ dark bushy whiskers, big bkick eyebrows which met above his nose, together with his somewhat heavy chin and mili- tary gait — Jacob had been a soldier — gave him a look of fierc eness and sternness not to be denied. And indeed, Jacob Benson was an awkward (ustomer to tackle, as many a member of the [joaching fraternity could testify ; and tho.se who did venture on that operation gener- § ally came off second best. There was a shrewd sarcastic humour lurking in the 'keei)er's eye, and in the faculty of speech, especially when the ' rough side of his tongue ' was called into requisition, the hard-headed gamekeeper was quite unmatched in all the valley of Aspendale. Jacob professed to be 'a bit of an infidel,' as he called it, a sort of ^scei)tic on religious subjects. His infidelity, however, like Hhat of many others gifted with much readiness of captious speech, was only skin deep; and Simon Holmes had often pierced it with a home-thrust that not only made him wince, vbut accomplished a more notable victory in silencing his %l|tongue. Not at all a bad sort of fellow on the whole, this •^Jacob, as we may chance to know by-and-bye. 4 " Goin' to see Miss Ethel, are yo' ?' said he, drawlingly, in response to Simon's information. "Why 1 didn't know 'at you'd turned doctor. I heeard 'at Sir Something Somebody, 1 m 26 SIMON HOLMES. M.D., was comin' up from London. Mcbbe you're goin' to meet him for a consultation." " Nay, marry," said Simon with a good-humoured laugh. *' I should be a fifth wheel to ony cooach o' the sort, no doot. But Miss Ethel wants medicine an' advice from another quarter ; an' doctors, more's the pity, even when they are M.D.'s, as you say, aren't offen capable o' givin' the right prescription." " Deary me ! " quoth Jacob, in satiric wonderment, " what a good thing it is that she hez Doctor Simon Holmes handy to mak' up for it." " I'lxactly," said Simon, with an emphatic nod, quite con- tent to coincide. " Nut that I'se competent myself to answer her purpose ; but she's gotten a notion that 1 can recommend her to a Good Physician 'at can meet her case, and," continued the carpenter, with an exulting gleam in his grey eye, " I think I can." "Hey! "quoth the gamekeeper. "That's news! An' who's the doctor? an' what's his medicine? an' what's it for ? " " There's three questions all of a row," said Simon, with a smile, for he felt the opening he had been patiently angling for ..ad now come. " Did you never hear your dear old mother sing, — • My life was sad, my heart was faint, Sore was my sin-sick soul ; But Gilead's balm healed my complaint, 'Twas Jesus made me whole ' ? All your three questions are answered there, Jacob; and when good old Hannah Benson's son goes to that Physician and gets that medicine, he may Viope to be as good and as happy as his mother, and to join her where she's gone when the summons comes. Good mornin', Jacob." So saying, the carpenter pursued his way to Aspen Towers. i"^ *d SIMON HOLMES. 27 ou'rc goin' to oured laugh, sort, no doot. rom another hen they are 'in' the right wonderment, mon Hohiies )d, quite con- it myself to 3n that I can leet her case, 5 gleam in his news ! An' an' what's it I Simon, with iently angling our dear old Jacob; and hat Physician > good and as 2's gone when |The gamekeeper whistled his two well-trained lurchers to Ihis heels, and went his way to his master's preserves with isomething to ponder on that made him silent all the |way. " There, Jacob ! " said Simon to himself, as he strode ialong, "I've given you a text; your mother's memory '11 preach the sermon. May your conscience male' the appli- cation." Arrived at the Hall, Simon was admitted with a liearty I welcome by a comely modest-looking maid who had Miss Ethel under her special care. "Good morning, father," said Nancy Holmes, kissing the old man with much affection. " I am so glad you've come, Miss Ethel does want to see you." " Gt)od morning, Nance, an' God bless yo', dear lassie. It's that 'at can mak' all mornin's good, an' evenin's too, hooiver dark the neet draws roond. What aboot your young mistress ? Is she ony better, think yo' ? " Nancy shook her head sadly, and with a grave look on her face, and unbidden tears in her eyes, replied, — " Worse, father, I think, though she says she's better. I'll go and tell her you are come." Simon sat in the housekeeper's parlour waiting for Nancy's return ; waiting, too, on God the while, for Miss Ethel's sake. On the table lay a New Testament. He turned the pages over, thinking of the sweet young girl who lay overhead on the uttermost border-land between life and death. His eyes caught sight of the words, " Damsel, I say unto thee. Arise." "And why not?" said Simon aloud. His religion was as downright as his character. He really had what many only profess to have — faith in the Wonder-worker. He could not doubt that He was as near and as ready to stretch forth the hand of power as He ever was in the days of His flesh if He was not hindered now as then, 'because of unbelief.' ^ > 28 SIMON HOLMES. With Simon, to think was to act, and at once the crj' escaped his lips, — " Say it. Lord ! say it ! * Is anything too hard for the Lord ? ' " Simon had risen to his feet as if to get a firmer hold on Him with whom Jacob wrestled until break of day. He found Sir Godwin standing before him with a wondering look upon his haggard face. "Say what, Simon Holmes?" said the baronet. "The death sentence hath been said. All other words come too late. My darling's dying, and I am left without a hope : — without a hope ! " Then the strong mnn bowed himself; proud as he was the tears fe 1, and rich - « he was he felt himself poor even to beggary in spite of all his wealth. 'I'here he stood, the very image of despair. Honest Smion's sympathies were kindled to a white heat. He looked longingly at the baronet, as though he would fain impart something that was a power in himself. He pointed with trembling finger to the sacred page and read : " ^^;/^ behold^ there coindli one of the rulers of the syfiat^ogue, /aims by fia?>ie, and when he saw him he fell at his fed: " And besought him great /y^ saying, My little daughter lieth at the poitit of death. I pray thee come and lay thy hands upon her, that s/ie fnay be h;a',^d, and she shall live. " A nii Jesus went with him. . . J he?-e came from the house certain wJiich said. Thy daughter is dead, why troublest thou the Master any further 1 " As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue. Be not ajraid, only believe. ^^ "That's it, Sir Godwin! What nonsense it was to say 'Trouble not the Master.' He can't be troubled wi' that sort o' thing. He's only troubled when troubled souls don't come anigh Him. *Be not afraid, only believe.' The SIMON HOLMES. 29 le cr)' escaped hard for the t a firmer hold : of day. He a wondering ronet. "The 3rds come too ut a hope : — ad as he was elf poor even he stood, the • ' a white heat. he would fain He pointed sad : rulers of the iim he fell at Httle daiii^htcr and lay thy shall live. from the house troublest thou as spoken., he ' ajraid, only it was to say ibled wi' that id souls don't ilieve.' The J)rayer o' faith shall save the sick. Shall, mind you. Who are we, to say it shan't ? " "Read on, Simon," said the baronet, humbly and ear- nestly, as if he had a personal interest in the result. Nothing loth, Simon took up the sacred page again and read : "And when he 7vas come in, he saith unto them. Why piake ye this ado, afid weep 1 The damsel is not dead, but sleepcth. "And they laughed him to scorn. But when he had put ihem all out, he takcth the fa'her and the mother 0/ the 4amsel, and them that were with him, and (utereth in where the damsel 7i'js lying. " And he took the dafnsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cunii ; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee. Arise. " And straightway the damsel arose, and walked, for she was of the age of tzvelve years. And they were astonished with a great Astonishment.^^ *' But why they should ha' been astonished, / don't knoa. It was just like Him. He was the Wonder-worker then ; jin' I've nivver heeard tell 'at He isn't a W^onder-worker noo. won't beleeave it. Be not afraid, only believe ! " • Sir Godwin Spofforth, Baronet, had no word in reply. .|H[e could only stand awe-struck and silent in the presence >f the old carpenter's sublime simplicity of faith, and mourn, b he did just then, most truly, that there was no such link )etween himself and the All-controlling power. He felt |trangely constrained to cry, ' Lord, help my unbelief! ' Meanwhile Nancy had come to summon her father to the ^hamber wherein the sick maiden lay. Simon trod the hall Ind ascended the wide staircase with the step of a conscious jonqueror. He entered the room in which for long and reary months there had been a hand-to-hand struggle )etwcen life and death across the fluttering heart of the fair 30 SIMON HOLMES. young girl not yet out of her teens, who, lying there with that dark shadow on her, had sought and found the higher life that can never, never die. He entered the chamber, assured that he should find the Good Physician by her bed, and half expecting to hear the omnipotent Talitha cumi then and there 1 i CHAPTER V. [iTHEL GODWIN FINDS SUNLIGHT IN THE SHADOW; AND SIMON HOLMES EXPRESSES HIS OPINION. " Aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow; But crushed or trodden to the ground, Diffuse their balmy sweets around." Goldsmith, tti. f '_N a large and richly furnished chamber, surrounded by all the tokens of luxury and wealth, Ethel Spofforth, the fair daughter of a noble house, lay pale and all but helpless in the grip of what the great physician from London himself had acknowledged to be a mysterious dis- ease. For twelve long and weary months the amiable girl [had lain upon her bed, held fast in almost every limb by a [pitiable paralysis of nerve and muscle, which reduced her to almost infantile dependence upon others. Her mind, ever clear and bright, was, strange to say, still clear and bright, and that even to an unusual degree. This singular affliction appeared to date from the time when Ethel's mother, a wise and gentle woman, to whom the girl was attached by a love of extraordinary strength, was suddenly snatched out of life by the relentless hand that lays its grasp on all in turn, whether they dwell in castle or w : 1 1 i 1 ]. || !!? 1 f \ 32 SIMON HOLMES. in cot. When Lady Spofforth was being laid in the family vault beneath the chancel floor of the ivy-covered church of Thorpe Asj^cn, amid all due pomp and pageantry of woe, the loving and gentle Ethel was wrestling with a spasm of grief that locked up or dried the fount of tears. Then it was that this dread affliction seized her ; and it had held her in its deathly clasp all the time, up to that bright autumnal morning when Simon Holmes, in response to Ethel's special call, was standing by her bed. The baronet, shaken to the very centre of his being by this double visitation, had exhausted all the resources of medical skill in his efforts to rescue his darling from the power of the grave. Of her it might be truly said, as of an earlier sufferer, that ' she had suffered many things of many physicians, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse.' Nurse after nurse, too. had been tried and found wanting, either in tact, or strength, or sympathy, or patience, or fidelity, until, in order to fill a positive gap iii the suc- cession, the strong, sensible, sympathetic daughter of the village carpenter had volujiteered her services, and proved herself, as Ethel most gratefully declared, to be worth her * weight in gold.' Certain it is that in one respect Nancy Holmes had brought her beloved young mistress a good which no gold could buy. The gospel grace which endows with superior wealth both rich and poor had been the strength of Lady Spof- forth's life, and had brought her peace and triumph in the hour of death. She had found Simon Holmes to be 'par- taker of like precious faith,' and had long been in the habit of conversing with him occasionally on those sacred sub- jects which were dear to the souls of both. This fact rendered Nancy Holmes' self-imposed task all the easier, for when that simple village maiden sought to lead her helpless charge to cast herself upon the tender love and pity of her Saviour, she found the young girl's mind and heart pre- SIMOS HOLMES, 33 d in the family ^ered cliurch of ^eaiitry of woe, 'ith a spasm of tears. Then it nd it had held to that bright in response to f his being by le resources of rling from the y said, as of an things of many [t rather grew •ied and found tiy, or patience, ap in the suc- aughter of the s, and proved be worth her respect Nancy istress a good iperior wealth of Lady Spof- :riumph in the les to be ' par- m in the habit e sacred sub- 1. This fact the easier, for d her helpless nd pity of her nd heart pre- 'pared both by her sainted mother's teaching and her iicarty witness to the intelligent piety of Simon Holmes. And so it came to pass that on her sickbed the fair Ethel was led bv Nancy to open her young heart for the incoming and in- dwelling of the tender and compassionate Friend Divine. So the light came to Ethel SpotTorth. The sacred torch glowing on the hearth of the vilhige carpenter, borne in the hands of a simple servincj-maid, kindled the holy flame in the home of rank and wealth. The heiress and her humble . servitor were co heiresses by a genealogy of which no Heralds' College knows the secret ; joint owners of a funded property free from all the fiuctations of the market ; a fair estate unknown to the geographer, unmapped by any survey under the sun ; a genealogy which linked them to the Divine; an estate which could never pass from theii possession ; a fortune which would take a whole eternity to ,;; spend. Since the advent of the gospel light and life into Ethel's W chamber, her heavy cross had been borne with an invincible cheerfulness, and in a spirit' of such sweet submission that her life was a series of daily sermons on the Christian graces and on the goodness and the faithfulness of Him that placed them there. One great grief, however, still oppressed the sutTering girl, a grief so keen, so deep, that her pillow was often wet with tears. Her brother Harold, spurning all paternal counsel, defying all effort at control, had bidden, as it seemed, farewell to all the paths of rectitude and ,f^ reason; and had embarked on a career so reckless as to threaten himself with near and utter ruin, and his name and family with enduring shame. During his long residence at Oxford he had fallen into evil hands : had now himself become a tempter and misleader of others. His latest success in this sad devilry, had to do with Alfred Atheling, the brother of her friend and sister Clara Atheling, who next to Simon Holmes was of all outsiders most welcome 34 SIMON HOLMES. 'ii\': by her bed. Cut wc have diverged too long and too far, and must now return to Simon Hohncs, just admitted to the sick girl's chamber. " Good mornin', Miss Etiicl," Said the old carpenter, softly but cheerily, as he took his place beside her bed. He had often been summoned of late to speak wise words of counsel, winsome words of ':heer, to the maiden who was supposed even then to be gliding into the valley of the shadow of death, and to pray with her as one whose name was Israel, having ' power like a prince to prevail.' " Good mornin', Miss Ethel. I can see, even in this shado*, that you are better. O Miss Ethel ! God ofifen mak's us to see i' the shadow better than we can see i' the shine. Am I right ? " " You are right in both ways, Simon," said the invalid, quietly and with a sm'le. " I am better, tho' I can see that those about me are not of the same opinion ; and I have seen, and I do see, in this shadowed life of mine, bright visions and rich gleams, such as I never saw in the sunshine, and such as I cannot describe." " I know," said Simon, as though he aiid she were living much on the same plane. " Unspeakable things which it isn't lawful for man to utter, eh? That's hoo Paul felt when he was caught up into the third heaven. Do you know, I think some tahmes 'at he wasn't really cowt up at all, but that i' some of his 'perils' an' 'watchin's' an' sitch like, when his troubles was ten times woss then common, his gracious Lord just gav' him a rush o' compensation an' joy, so that whether he was i' the body or oot of it, he couldn't tell. I've felt a good deal like it myself some tahmes. A tremendous big wave comes like a green monster, all froonin' wi' foam, but it only lifts the ship up, up, up, an' the crew get a better sight o' the blue owerhead, an' o' the haven where they would be." Well, Simon, I don't feel as though I have many ' perils ' t( SIMON HOLMES. id too far, and mitted to the )ld carpenter, side her bed. k wise words iden who was valley of the ; whose name even in this 1 ! God offen can see i' the d the invalid, I can see that ; and I have ■ mine, bright the sunshine, le were living ings which it hoo Paul felt en. Do you 2owt up at all, an' sitch like, common, his >ation an' joy, :, he couldn't i tahmes. A er, all froonin' an' the crew o' the haven many ' perils ' 4ind troubles of my own. At least I can say, ' His grace is .»ufficient for me.'. But O, Simon Holmes ! My poor, poor brother Harold ! It seems as though I can do nothing but pray for him, all the day and all the wakeful night. I was doing that when you came In." " Was yo' noo ? " said Simon, forgetting his grammar, and lapsing into broad vernacular, as he always did when he was greatly stirred. " But, I say. Miss Ethel, there's them 'at says it's all a pack o' nonsense : an' when we come to look at it, by t' leet o' reason, they must be right." " Whatever do you mean, Simon ? " said Ethel, opening her eyes in wonder. " Why, all this prayin' for fooaks an' things. It's all a fency an' a delusion. That poor fayther, the ruler o' the synagogue, he didn't get much, did he, when he prayed so hard an' wi' so mony tears for his little dowter ? That poor woman up Sidon way, that prayed for a few crumbs from under the table, found her ^ oor sick lassie as bad as iver when she got home again, didn't she ? an' when a poor sister like Mary went weepin' to Jesus aboot her brother, it wasn':: « bit o' use was it ? Noo, why is it, think yo', 'at you an' me can't just be content to believe 'at this world an' all that's in it is just under a hap-hazard, happy-go-lucky, an' sadiy-go- lunlucky gover'ment o' chance ? " :s " Because we know better, Simon," said the patient and eaceful sufferer, her face irradiated with a smile not born f earth. " Hey, dear soul, that's just where it is. We knoj. Them *at talks i' that way may raise doots an' questions, an' ,|tummle at this, an' boggle at that, an' give t' other the go- Ji)y; but it's because they don't /c/wa. The secret o' the Lord is wi' them that fear Him, an' them 'at hezn't it's o' no tnore use in a witness-box on that subject then a blinnd man on a question o' colour, or a deaf man m a dispute aboot t' comparative sweetness of a fiddle an' a bugle-horn. .-/) SIMOX HOLMES. W'c knoay as you say, an' you an' me '11 just go on trust in' an' prayin' an' waitin' on Him 'at says, 'Call on me in iht.- day of trouble, an' I will deliver thee ' He either means it or lie doesn't. If He doesn't, whv there's nowt for it but just to shut up t' Bible an' drift doon i' the dark. But if He does, then He menns it oot an' oot, an' t' biggest faith 'II fetch the biggest blessing from the throne of (iod. Miss Ethel, Miss Ethel ! Neither your prayers nor mine can sioj) midway on the rooad te Heaven. They're winged \vi' ftiiih that's stranger than an eagle's wing, an' accordin' tooor faith it shall be done. Mr Harold's within the reach of his sister's (jod, an' it's my belief that his sister '11 live to fetch him home : " A faint blush of excitement overspread Ethel's pale cheeks as she listened to the old carpenter's hopeful words. With the simplicity and calm of a trusting child she clasped her thin white hands, raised her large blue eyes, that had a holy light in them, to heaven, and softly prayed, " Father in Heaven ! Grant it in thy mercy, for my Saviour's sake ! " " Amen 1 " said Simon. " Amen, Lord, so be it ! " And it seemed to both that the sanction of the King was set like a seal to their united prayer. Even while Simon spoke, the baronet's carriage, which had been to Chilworth Station to fetch the great physician, drew up at the door of Asj^en Towers. Kneeling by the bedside, Simon besought a blessing on the doctor's visit, and retired with the words upon his lips that he had read to Sir Godwin from the Divine Book, — " Lord, come and lay Thy hands upon her, that she may be healed, and she shall live." Simon Holmes made haste homeward through the park. The sun was high in the heavens, its rays were gilding brightly the many-coloured foliage of oak and beech, and birch and sycamore, investing them with a more excellent *' ■ SJMON HOLMES. 37 JO on trust in' )n me in the ther means it \vt for it but Jark. But if biggest faith of (iod. nor mine can re winged wi' cordin' tooor i reach of his live to fetch 's pale cheeks .vords. With ! clasped her at had a holy srcy, for my ■it!" And it vas set like a le, which had ysician, drew ' the bedside, :, and retired Sir Godwin that she may !gh the park. were gilding i beech, and ore excellent >ry in their season of decay than ever they had worn in i^e (juickening spring-time, or the strong summer-tide of tlife. Just so, thought Simon, hath the Sun of Righteousness Jfnade the weak and helpless maiden ' most beautiful, mosc fair,' when most near the winter-time of death. Then he ithought of the man of skill, standing, it might be, even then by the sick girl's bed, and there and then the good man stood and bared his head, and linking himself by faith to the throne of Him that kindles and sustains the sun's great ?heart of fire, he prayed aloud : — *' Shine down, O Sun ! Shine into that darkened chamber! O Sun of Righteousness, arise with healing in thy wings ! " Then pursuing his way, he found himself unconsciously repeating the words he had read to the silent and wondei- ing Sir Godwin : — "And He took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi, which is, being interi)reted, Damsel, I say unto thee, Arise. And straightway the damsel arose, and walked ; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment." "Yes," said the old carpenter, as he involuntarily Iquickened his steps in answer to the growing lightness ©f his heart, a beaming smile resting on his face the while, •*Yes, He hesn't given up astonishin' fooaks yet. The Lord nivver put that glorious little story i' the Book to mock poor weepin' parents with a sheer impossibility ; or to mak' 'em wonder why He doesn't do sitch things noo ; :pr to mak' 'em wish 'at they'd lived i' them times i'stead o' ifliese. It's there with a purpose. If oor faith hez no Inair strength in it than a strand of untwisted tow, we limit Him an' hamper Him, an' rob oorselves o' mony 74n' mony a famous blessin' ; but if we wad let Him spin us a seven-twined rope o' faith, an' then pull with a will an' j^ nivver-leave-ofiTtill-we-get-it, He would astonish us, He 38 SIMON HOLMES. 1 : • f I 7vouU astonish us with a great astonishment. Nowt so sure ! " " Well, Simon," aaid Rebecca, as she greeted him at the door. "What do yo' think o' the poor gell? Hez the great doctor come ? " "Yes, 'Becca, the C.eatest of All doctors is there; an' it's my belief," said Simon, with an emphasis on every word, "that He hez said, or will say, 'Talitha cumi.'" " O Simon ! That 7vill be astonishin'," said Rebecca, with eyes glistening with tears, for she, at any rate, had faith in Simon's word. " Just what I've been sayin'," said he, " that's the Wonder- worker's way." Nowt so d him at the 1? Hez the there ; an' it's every word, aid Rebecca, ate, had faith 5 the Wonder- CHAPTER VI. ALFRKD ATHF.I.ING GOES IN PURSUIT OF PLEASURE; AND POLICE- MAN TUGWELL COMES IN PURSUIT OF IIIM. •* I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; As full of peril and adventurous spiiit, As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a sp. ar." ^VhIOW, Alf, my boy, what 'gay and festive scene* are '1 -Sl we to make more gay and festive by our presence '^ ^ and patronage to-night? Neither you nor I can stand this dreary den with only our two sweet selves to provide the entertainment." "The fact is indisputable, Hal; the question, thine own superior .wit shall answer." " Then I vote for the Haymarket first ; and then an adjournment to Evans's for supper. First the light fan- tastic, then the feast of cutlets and the flowing bowl. Then home in the small hours of the morning. Does the programme please your own particular palate ? " " Perfectly, my alliterative comrade ; it promises positive pleasure. ' Youth at the prow, and pleasure at the helm,' can scarcely float on fairer seas, or into a more congenial harbour ; and so — • Weel may the keel row, the keel row, Weel may the keel row, that my Harold's in,* " 40 SIMON HOLMES. U ( 1 . 'ijid Tliat was the kind of conversation with which Harold Spof- forth and Alfred Atheling sought to beguile the leaden hours, to 'kill the enemy,' as they called it, as they sat in their London lodgings in a side street abutting from the Strand. At that very time Widow Atheling was sitting sadiy by her hearthstone, and Ethel Spofforth was lying helpless on her bed at peaceful Thorpe Aspen. The room in which the two young men were seated, though somewhat dingy and in ill repair, was large and commodious. Its elaborate cornices and finely carven mantelpiece gave evidence of the wealth and position of its occupants in those earlier times, when that was quite an aristocratic region, and when the silver Thames that flowed close by was really deserving of the name. Harold Spoftbrth was the only son of Sir Godwin Spof- forth, and the heir of Aspen Towers. He was a young man of about five and twenty years of age, though he might well have passed for thirty, for those sure and rapid defacers. Immorality and Excess, had already begun to fix their omin- ous imprint on his face. His hair, of an almost raven black, shaded a brow ihat indicated considerable intellectual ability ; but the dark moustache upon his lip could not hide the lines about the mouth which told of dominant passions and strong self-will , and the rich brown eyes were lighted with very questionable fires. He was attired in ultra-fashion- able garb, and was not by any means improved in his per- sonal appearance by those marked peculiarities of the tailor's art. The old saying that it takes nine tailors to make a man is foolish enough, but ninety times nine would be insufficient to make a man of the unmanly with all the resources of sartorial skill to help th'^m in the effort. His companion, somewhat younger than he, bore all the tokens of his Saxon origin. The Athelings of Aspen Garth were able to boast, at least so it was affirmed, that through a long line of Saxon yeomen they were descended from that SIMON HOLMES. 41 unfortunate prince Edward Athcling who was jostled out of all chance of succession to the English throne by William the Norman and the swarm of bold, imperious barons that followed in his train. An open, v/insome, and even hand- some face was that of Alfred Atheling, a face upon which you scarce could look without feeling something of love and liking for its owner. His light complexion, pale enough as he sits there with his fair blue eyes fixed upon his comrade, would have been ruddy if he had had the wit to be content with a home on bonny Aspendale. Those eyes indicated real amiability of disposition, and there was that in them and also in the arched eyebrows, the broad forehead, the slightly 'tip-tilted' nose and smiling mouth wliich denoted ready humour and quick perception. But theic was evident also a certain pliability and indecision that would surely lead to grave results, if he came under the inlluence of a subtler spirit and a stronger will. He wore a i)rofusion of light and curly auburn hair ; and his was, taken altogether, one of those physiognomies which warrant its possessor to be 'good company,' a capital comrade; an acquisition in social circles where listeners are many and good talkers lew. The conversation of which I have just given a specimen, continued for a while in the same strain. The actors and actresses of the day w^ere criticised and jested on ; their own later escapades were reverted to and laughed at ; certain imi)ending races were discussed, and certain projects enter- tained which promised them a new sensation. Then the niisi^iiided pair sallied out into the dimly lighted streets and from ihcnce into the brightness and glitter of the theatre, at which o])eratic burlesque was much in vogue just then. Then followed an adjournment to the supper table and the billiard-room; and from thence, long after the midnight hour had struck, back to the side street off the Strand with flushed cheeks and staggering gait, with lightened purses !! M ti • i I .• i: ' 42 SIMON HOLMES. and confused wits, to seek their pillows and reproduce the misspent hours in troubled and excited dreams. And this was their poor estimate of pleasure. I'his is the poor, mean estimate of pleasure held by thousands of dupes as foolish and as reckless as they ! In the morning they rose with aching heads, listless limbs, with deep dark rings around their dull eyes, the victimc of lassitude and nausea begotten of the ' pleasure ' of the previous night. Harold Spofforth, spoiled child of fortune, had neither need nor duty before him to rouse him to exertion. He toiled not, neither did he spin, — which was all the worse for him. Surely there is not a more miserable being than a young man of fortune who has nothing to do but to find some new way of doing nothing ; and to what dangers is not such an idler exi)osed ! The bird that sits is easily shot ; the flier escapes the fowler. ' Idleness,' says quaint old Quarles, ' is the Dead Sea that swallows all the virtues, and is the self-made sepulchre of the living man.' In the case of Alfred Atheling, matters were somewhat different. He had both need and duty to stir him into action ; but alas .' in this case, the sitting bird acted only too successfully as a lure. In order to understand this young man's present position we must retrace our steps a little, lie and Harold Spofforth had not only known each other from childhood, but they had studied together at the same Oxford College The Athelings farmed their own freehold, and as that was somewhat extensive, a college education for Alfred who had a strong objection and dis- taste to a farmer's life, was well within the compass of their means. Through Harold's influence he had obtained the position of a tutor to the only son of a man of wealth. The pupil died, and the father, won by Alfred's charm of manner, his unquestionable accomplishments, and especially SIMON HOLMES. 43 by the way in which he had won the sympathy and esteem of his dead boy, made him his private secretary. Hudson Harvey, Esq., was not only a popular M.P. but a fairly successful author, and was also one of the principals of a large banking firm of great repute. Alfred's duties at certain seasons of the year were onerous enough but not irksome, and on occasions he had a good deal of that very valuable, but dangerous commodity, spare time on his hands. Harold Spofforth's loose tendencies had been strongly developed while at Oxford. More than once, or twice or thrice, he had been in peril of expulsion ; when he subsequently came up to London, these had full swing. He soon found his college chum, who wel^i.ned his presence in the great city as giving promise of pleasant companion- ship, and the welcome was all the heartier by reason of the gratitude which the young man honestly felt for the good service he had rendered him. Being flush of money, genial of manner, subtle of speech, and strong of will, Harold Spofforth had no great difficulty in leading the young man along those pleasant and flower-bordered slopes which grow steeper as men go, and which lead direct to ruin, whatever of mirth and music may enliven and charm the way. And so it came to pass that in course of time Mr. Hudson Harvey had to complain of Alfred's irregularity, of his treacherous memory, of his untimely absences, and even of discrepancies and deficiencies in his accounts. At last, with all his patience and goodwill to the young man, he told him that he would no longer endure it, and warned him that he would have to vacate his post. When Alfred told his friend Harold of his iriipending dismissal that dangerous companion was flushed with wine, had been planning an excursion to Paris, and, moreover, had in his pocket a parental cheque for a considerable amount of money. "Never mind old Harvey, Alf. I know /le was fond 44 SIMON HOLMES. enough of sowing his wild oats when he was a young fellow," he said. " You let the old curmudgeon go. It's no gold mine that you are losing after all. Come and lodge with me awhile. We'll have a holiday, and make a trip across the briny. Something better than scribbling at his tabic will turn up, by-and-bye, /can keep the ball rolling. Let us make hay while the sun shines, and enjoy life while we are young. ' And then he sang — ** If Fortune with a smiling face Strew roses on our way, When shall we stoop to pick them up? To-day, my friend, to-day. But siiDuld she frown with face of care, And talk of coming sorrow, When shall we grieve, if grieve we must? To-morrow, friend, to-morrow." Queer kind of ' hay' that wat; that Harold Spofforth had in view in his misapplication of a proverb that might well have rebuked them both. When 'wild oats' are recklessly sown, the crop to be reaped is not hay, but noxious swathes of weeds whose malarial vapours are rife with moral fever ague, and death ! Such was the state of Alfred Atheling's fortunes on the morning that I have referred to. The results of the debauch of the previous evening had altogether unfitted him for his duties ; a splitting headache and an unusual dizziness made it almost impossible for him to sit upright. He felt that he could not go to business, and so he wrote a hasty note to his employer, and despatched it by a special messenger, excusing his non-appearance by pleading 'severe indis- position.' The young men were sat at a mid-day lunch ; Alfred had somev/hat recovered, thanks, as he said, to * a hair of the dog that bit hirn,' which in this case was a synonym for a glass or two of champagne, when the serving-maid entered the SIMON HOLMES. 45 room, instantly after she had given a warning tap, and said with a flurried look and in an excited tone, "There's a p'liceman a-talkin' to Missis, an' I heard him asking for a Mr. Alfred Atheling, as he was awantin' of." "A policeman!" said Alfred, turning red and then white again. " None of your jokes, Harriet." '* No, sir. It's no joke, I'm sorry to say," said the prompt official, who had entered unperceived. " I am sorry to give you any trouble, sir, or to spoil your dinner, but you must come with me." 'The policeman spoke quietly and respectfully enough, but the words fell on the ear of Alfred Atheling like the knell of doom. He lifted his dazed eyes to the policeman's face, but for the life of him he could not get his tongue 4o sliape the question, ' What for ? ' Not that the young fellow was in anywise a coward, except in the sense that Shakesi)eare uses the words, w^hen he says that ' conscience makes cowards of us all.' He knew that he had done wrong ; that he had done many wrongs, but he was not conscious that he had done anything which would bring him under the strong grip of the law. He could not be very sure, however, even about that, for latterly he had so often given way to the temptations of the wine-cuj), that that insidious enemy which dethrones the reason and 'steals men's brains ' had again and again despoiled him of the power of self-government. That, however, which now arrested him in a far more peremptory fashion than the respectful policeman had done, that which laid its iron grip on his heart and conscience just then was the thought of his mother and of the blameless name of Atheling, hitherto nol)ly worn and honourably borne by a stout-hearted, high- spirited, clean-handed Saxon race. "What do you mean, sir?" said Ha'-old Spofiforth, sternly and haughtily, as he turned to the invader of their privacy. n ' i I 46 SnfON HOLMES. ik " Whnt right have you to enter into my private apartments after this fasliion ? " lint it is of very htile use 'riding thu high horse' in a tilting-niatch against the authority of the law. The pohrc- man was ])ut ui)oii liis mettle, and all the answer he got from the man in blue was that he meant *just what he said.' At last .\lfred himself managed to falter out, " Ui)on what charge.^" " For himhezzlement from your employer, 'Udson 'Arvey, ]'>;{j., Hem. Tee.," said the policeman, who with regard to the use of the asjjirale was evidently a 'law unto himself.' " If 1 were you," he continued. "I wouldn't say hanything about it, for whatever you do say will be produced as hevidence." Alfred saw the wi.sdom of this advice and was silent. He wji,s a good deal fluttered too, and had good reason for being so. lie knew that, more than once or twice, his master had discovered and forgiven serious discrepancies in money matters. In no case had he intended any wrong: but he very reasonably imagined that his emj)loyer had dis- covered some still more serious Haw, and he was proportion- ately troubled as to what might be the result. He felt that there was nothing for it but to do the policeman's bidding, and so he set about making ready for his compulsory departure, feeling just about as miserable as a man could be. "^ CHAP TKR VII. PCM.ICE CoNSIAlU-K TUGWKI.I- (IKI'S INTO 1)1 1-FICUI/I'I KS ; AND NKIJ SAI/IMKU ACTS THK I'ART OF A (lUoU SAMAKirAN. "Sir, I do jrivc you welcome to my house, There find you shelter till the st(jrni i.s done ; 'Tis true its low walls hold no luxuries, Yet hold they homely fare and kindly hearts," 1-L-Uher. iL! S "XzD UT thougli Alfred Atheling saw no course open except to go with the i)oHcenian who had come on so un[)Ieasant an errand, Harold for several reasons was indisjjosed to permit matters to come to such an issue. He very bluntly and very foolishly made offer of a golden bribe, which the policeman even more bluntly refused. "I beg your pardon, sir," said he, ''Jim Tugwell isn't made of that .sort o' stuff. And let me tell you that you arc doing your friend no good by makin' such a hoffer. It'll 'ave to come out in hevidence, and it's just the sort o' thing to knock a extra nail in his coffin ; leastwise," he continued, seeing Alfred's pitiable look, and thinking that the metaphor was needlessly strong, " leastwise, it's likely to 'ammer another rivet in his chain. I've got to do my duty, and I call upon you to 'elp me in the name of the law. I've got .] . 1 1 i I il n ! ^ 'H?! 48 5/.UO.V HOLMES. a search warrant, too. I 'ope you won't make hany diffi- culties. Wiiatever facilities you give will tell in the prisoner's favour." "O certainly," said Harold, with a smile, his mood sud- denly changing. He was conscious that he had made a great mistake in offering money, but was by no means dis- posed to give up the game. The fact is that he had serious doubts about Alfred's innocence ; such is the natural effect of comradeship in wrong-doing ; and somewhat selfishly thought of its probable effect on his own liberty of action. "O certainly," said h/j^ ''there's the bed-room, make your- self quite at home." As the constable turned himself to enter into that apart- ment, Harold managed to slip a bank-note into Alfred's hand, and accompanied the action by a hasty glance at the door. Alfred understood its meaning, and without waiting to ask himself as to the prudence of the step, resolved, if possible, to make his escape. " I suppose we may go with you, policeman," said he calmly, though his nerves were at their full tension. "Say mi/st, li you please," said Tugwell. ''1 shan't lose sight of you." Then with a self-satisfied smile as of one who thoroughly understands his business and is not to be caught napping, he proceeded to the bedroom, his prisoner behind him and Harold bringing up the rear. " My boxes are in that dressing-room," said Alfred, hand- ing some keys to his captor with a submissive air, as who should say, " I see resistance is of no use." The policeman passed into the dressing-room followed by Harold, who had changed places with his friend. No sooner were the two well within the smaller room than Alfred pulled the door to, turned the double lock, put the key in his pocket ; and with the angry shout of the police- man in his ear, si)rang on to the landing, and, overturning the listening Harriet, rushed down stairs. His hat and SIMON HOLMES. 49 coat were hung handily in the hall, and in a few moments he was walking with well-assumed quiet of deportment among the crowds that trod the pavement of the noisy Strand I An omnibus happened to be drawn up to the pavement with ready-opened door, through which a passenger had just alighted. Alfred jumped in and rode some distance be- fore it occurred to him to think as to what part of the metropolis it was going. When he saw on it the name of the Victoria Park, he was well content to go thither, as he felt that he could not 'o better than to get away from the West End with what speed he could, and that the East End promised him safer shelter until such times as he could decide what it was best to do. When the omnibus arrived at the corner of the Park, he got out and set himself to look for some quiet and not much frequented coffee-house where he might sit awhile, with a cup of coffee as a reason, and try to collect his scattered wits. " What a fool I am I " was the first result of his cogitations. " I have made matters worse instead of better by running away. I had far better have confronted the difficulty like a man. My flight is in itself a condemnation." Then he began to wonder what it was all about, and whether it was his absence from his duties on that day which had set Mr. Harvey against him, and induced him to gather up all his past delinquencies and punish him therefor. Then came the thought of the shame and disgrace of a public appearance at a police court ; the thought of all his misdoings coming out in examination, and appearing in the public prints ; the thought that things were very likely more black against him than he knew, for he had to acknowledge tha. this was possible, so utterly forgetful and indifferent had he latterly become. "But there must be something special," said he to himself in a dazed way, " or Mr. Harvey would never have 50 SIMON HOLM IIS. W •?! ;'t i taken such a stop as that. i.ct me try to picre together the events of the last few days." At last it dawned upon him ; and the truth made his fare more jjallid tlian before. Two days l)eforc, Mr. Harvey had intrusted him with a bag of money to take to liis usual bank. What iiad he done with it? Did he take it there? I'or the life of him he could not tell. Had he lost it? Had it gone as his own money had too often gone, in losses by gaml)ling? For the last few days he had been living on excitement, had been almost all the time under the inlhience of wine, or in that dull dazed state that follows excess. So the answer to all his self-cjuestionings on the subject was, sin)i)ly and literally, that he could not tell. His knife and fork droi)[)ed from his fingers, — he was making a poor pretence at a make-believe meal. He sat with widely-open eyes and equally widely-open mouth, staring across the table. So far as he was concerned, he was staring into vacancy, but a decent looking workman, who was discussing a frugal meal directly opposite, came to the not unnatural conclusion that the stare was meant for him. " I say, mate," said the man, familiarly, but not rudely " if you're opening your mouth for your food, you'd better ta\e up your knife and fork again. It'll never jump in of itself; an' if you are openin' your eyes so wide to look at me, why then, — beggin' your pardon, I'm a bit narvous." " I beg your pardon — indeed I do," said Alfred. " 1 really did not know what I was doing." "O, it's all right," said the man, "there's no harm done. But, 'scuse me, you seem to be a good deal put ont about something. Let us hope its nowt serious." " Nowt." The familiar word, honest East Yorkshire for nothing, caught Alfred's attention, and ^^nt his disturbed and over-active mind spinning away at lightning speed right off to peaceful Aspendale. He conjured up the silver-haired widow sitting in the ingle-nook at Aspen Garth. He ^1 : SIMON HOLMES. 5« j! thought of the father, the noble, manly, tender-hearted father now lying ben ath the yew-trees in Thor[>e Aspen churchyard. lie was overcome by the rush of feeling acting on his strained nerve and excited mind ; lie flung liis arms upon the table, buried his face ui)on them, and sobbed aloud ; sobbed as only strong men can sob when their hearts are sad and sore within them. " I say, mate," said the honest Yorkshireman, rising to his feet and putting his hand upon the young man's shoulder, "I'm, I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to — to — confoond it all, ah can't stand this, yo' knoa ! It isn't i' human natur'. If a poor chap like me can sarvc yo' a good turn, give us the Up, an' you're as welcome as wages on a Setterda' neet." There was real symi)athy in the workman s tones ; there was real heart, both in the matter and the manner of his talk ; there was an evident honesty in his proffer which went straight to the young man's heart. It will be noticed that, as his feelings got the better of him, the man slip])ed into the full dialect of his boyhood ; and this to Alfred was so redolent with mellow memories that he felt inclined to trust him so far, at anyrate, as was refjuired to secure himself a decent shelter and maybe a temporary home. While all this was passing through his mind, and the while he was bravely struggling to recover self-command, he continued silent. His companion spoke again. " ril tell yo' what it is, sir. There's a mighty great deal o' sorrow an' trouble, an' bother of all sorts i' this great big ovver-grown London, that's worse to bear twenty times over, because there's nobody to tell it to. Seems to me that London's made up of three or four million odd 'uns, an* every one goes spinnin' between his own pegs like tow on a rope-walk an' can nivver get cny nearer to his neighbour. The fact is, I've felt it so myself a thoosand times, an' I've said mony an' mony a time that if ony body i' trouble comes my way, I'll give 'em a chance, ony how, to mak' a friend 'II i' 53 SIMON HOLMES. :_ < I It if tlicy want one. If they don't, wliy nohody'u no worse, on' wliat's well meant should be well ta'en. I lev I said owt wrong ? " "No, indeed,'' said Alfred, trying to raise a smile which was loth to come at call. "The fact is," he continued, looking frankly in the workman's face, "I'm under a cloud, and I need a quiet shelter until the storm blows over. I am not witlK)Ut means, however, and can afford to pay moderately for what I want. Can you direct me to any quid corner of that kind?" The man looked at him a few moments without si)eak- mg, looked at him earnestly, so much so that Alfred felt that he could not much longer keep his eyes uplifted. Then he said, in the same bluff, honest, straightforward way. " Now then, honour bright, mate; that there cloud that you're talkin' of, — is it one o' your own partic'lar brewin' up ? " " Yes," said Alfred, with a sigh. "'Scuse me, sir," persisted he, most respectfully, "an' don't be offended, 'cause no offence is intended. I've a wife an' three bairns to think on Ila' you gone an' been 1"; ' i)Ut yourself in the wrong box wi' the law? I mean so far as committin' a — a- you know wluit I mean?" " Not that I know of,' answered Alfred truthfully enough. " Not that I know of, so help " " Nay, nay, don't put it i' that way,'" interrupted his com- panion, firmly and quickly. " 'Cordin' to my notions, words like them as you was a-goin' to say, doesn't as a rule help to rnak' things truer or straighter, — t'other way, 7 think. Well, its just here. I've a room to spare, bedroom an' sittin'-room all i' one. \\ ill you come an' see it?' Alfred assented. As they went along his companion said with a smile, "I won't ask you to tell me your name, as you're 'under a cloud,' an' you might think it inconvenient to /icar it." SIMON HOLMES. 53 Alfred winced under the whip, and half wondered if the speaker knew how keenly it cut. " 1 dare say," continued the man, " you'll prefer to pay for your room in advance. You won't think onylhing o' my mentionin' that. It's only fair it should he so, 'cause then it can do no harm for you to hev your own way ahoot that. 1 don't mind tellin' you mine. It's Ned Saltmer, but I'm generally called *Yorkie' by my mates. You see, that's the shire 1 hail from ; an' accordin' to mv o()inion, it's about the best quarter there is /o hail from. Them that hails from some other county may differ from me about that, an' of coorse I lets 'em. It wouldn't be kind to do otherwise, 'cause, don't you see, that's their misfortune an' not their fault." " I'm Yorkshire too," said Alfred, who thought he m-ght safely make that admission, quite sure that it would tell in his favour with Ned Saltmer. " Well, noo, I'd come to that conclusion already, to tell you the truth," said Ned, with a knowing smile, "an I (lun't mind ownin' that it sort o' paved the way. My wife's Lancashire, bred an' born. Of coorse it isn't so good as bcin' Yorkshire, but as I tell her, it's next best thing to it, an' being married to a V'orkshireman mak's her Yorkshire as near as owt. Sometimes when she's i' the humour for a joke s/ie calls me ' Yorkie ' as my mates do, and so then I calls her ' Lankie.' I can't say as it suits her exactly, for the dear lass isn't much higher than a plumb-line, an' she's almost as plump and jolly as the bob at the end on it." By this time they had entered a street consisting altogether of workmen's dwellings, which were evidently inhabited by a thrifty and respectable class of artisans. Ned Saltmer stopped at the door of a tidy cottage at the lower end of the street. He let himself and his companion in by the aid of a latch-key. Alfred was shown into a small but remarkably clean room, a combination of sitting and bed-room, and was ^91 .-^^■^ ^^/-^J- il! S4 .v/A/(),V UOI.MI'.S, U: rcWcwd ;uul ronilortcMl to fiiul so (lean and lioincly a jxnt from tho stonn which had driven liiin into those uinolc (juarters. lie paid the lirsl week's vent, lor which Ned wrote him out in a U\^ round hand i receipt. He was able to feel il hide amused as he die«)vered that it was n\ad.e out to Mr. Ahel Anderson, and said to himself that his initials were left to him intaet. He was then left to ponder on tho l)lin(l alley into which his fortunes had been brought by his tnvn folly and sin. lUit what ilid Netl Sallmer mean by .sayin^j; to his |)lump anil cheerful sptiuse in a half whis])er when he wi-nt into the kitchen, — "Madge, owd gell, if ever that youngster should be inquired lor, put 'em ofV the silent till 1 (an see 'em myself. He don't know me, but I know he, an' what'll come on't wc shall see. That's poetry, Madge, both rhyme ,V //(»/ .U/'.V. in salVty. \\c hnd no (lillicillty in niakmi; l>is csc.ipc, for a j.;(HtUMl Koy indu loiislv npiiliod willi InM-iltnn, » tuisLim v, aiKl raiv. isnssMUMl ;is \\\c ( rli'luati'd 'Si same' cl die " Ai.ihian Ni!;hls," and tlings widoall tho doois that bar the ouiu is way. U niiL;IU havo \)cc\\ thoui;ht that \\c would s< atcrly hav(' i;ono so lar away without iirst haNini; sonic thought lor his y(»uni; 'iViiMul;' lint an innnotal lili" is apt to he liic di'ath of all ihc nianliiM' attributes ol" human natuns and Harold SiHilVorlh's ono objrcl was to ^;o( hiuisi>ir 'out ol the scraps,' as ho put it, and if that involved K-avinf, AllVi'd to his late, why it could not l>o hclpinl. The fact is that tint- an other's want ol' principle nuiy be, and is likelv io \)c, evidenced towards hiinsell" when- ever selt-interest points that way. " I can {\o hin\ no i;ood if 1 stay," said I iarold to himself; "liesiiles, I cam\ot tell where he is hiding: anil he is well able to take care o( himself." So olV he went, givini; an admirable illustration of ihc 'elevalins; and humanising inlluencc' which, it is < laimed by a writer on the subject, is produced u[)on ils votaries by the sentimeiital heroics of the stage. "W'aero you are HlnMal of your lovos and counsels, l\c sure you be not loose ; for thoe you make your friends And i;ive your hearts to, wluai tliey once perceive The Ica-t rub in your loitunes, fall away Like waler from ye, never found again." It was not the first or second time that Harold had visited Madrid. That renowned city of gay cavaliers and fair ladies had special charms for him — much to his disadvan- tage alike in money and morals. Of money he had the run of a great deal more than was good for him ; of morals, he had not, at this period of his career, very much to boast la i I SIMON IIOLMIS. 59 )ld oj, iiiid llic ( oiiisc lir w.is |)iirsnm;;; vv.is likely c?i()ii}j;li to brini^' llicm to ;i. v.iiiisliinj', iioini. Il(.' took I'.iris on his w.iy, .'Uid (oiild not rcfriiin from wluilin^f his a|)|)('titc in th.it city of v.iin frivolitic"; and si'nsnnl (k'li^^hls, lor ih.il ;)(•( nli.ir sort of ' jdc'isurc ' which lie followed as his chief |^ood. lie felt < oniiulled, however, to 1)0 careful ;is to his identity, espcf iaily after reading in an l''n};lish news|);i|)er a hi}.;lily v.'irnished st.'itcMienl of his fitriif^^le with |)olicenian 'rtigwcll. Il w;is headed "A Munli-roiis Attack on ;i rolicenian," and bore internal evidence th.it it had been written or insi)ired by the doiif-^hty ronst.ible himself. lie w;is not slow to take warninj;, and to make his way to a j)l;i< e of safety until the *. storm had blown over.' That was the way in which he |>ut it. Ills life ami the lives of such as he are sjjent in raisin;^ storrn.s, storms fierce or perilous, except at sueh times as they arc shrink- ing and hiding from their selfraised tempests, or lying athwart in shame and misery, blown down, down, by the currents their own sin and folly have let loose. Nor were matters in a much more satisfactory state with Alfred Athciing. That misguided youtli was still in hiding in the lunise of Ned Saltmer the j(;iner, in the neighbour- hood of Vidoria Park. It was his fcjrtune, too, to see his flight recorded in a daily paj^er, which, however, had missi)elt his name, and in wliich his personal description was very inexact. There was small comfort in that. J/e knew to whom it referred ; and as his eye fell on the heading, — " Ab.sconded ! " he felt how frail was the tenure on which he held his liberty ; and, which must be said in his favour, how foully and wickedly he had treated his widowed mother, and the hitherto spotless name he bore. For many an hour he sat thinking, thinking. He remembered being intrusted by his employer with a large sum of money. He remembered also that it was on tne I 6o snioN HOLM IIS. !■ Il« Ihi! li morning of a day wlun he and Harold were in company; a day on whic!-. iie w;;s set free to attend some s[)C( .il revel: a day, alas! one of the many days on whieh the reins of reason were drojjped on the neek of the steed of passion, which galloi)eil headlong with its reckless rider into shanu'ful inli mi)erance and colla|)se. He remem- bered all this, but what had become of the money, that he could not remember, rack and search his memoiy as he might. Of one thing he was sure, — he had not stolen the money, and had never any intention of so doing. lUit there were three hard, awkward, damning facts. He had given his employer repeated and serious cause of complaint; the money nt)w missing had been in his charge ; and he had 'absconded ' as soon as the del'icit was discovered. iMore and more the truth came home to him that he had been a fool in .so doing. "Well, I cannot help it now!" he said to himself. " It is my fate, J sui)pose. Whom the gods intend to de.stroy, i'/ u'/t'/a, and as destruction seems likely enough to be the ultimate i.ssue, dementia has set in accordingly." It is curious, very, how many [)eople there are who bear hardly upon fate, and condemn its cruelty, who ought to read ' folly ' for ' f ite,' and condemn themselves. If he had acted wisely and well, he would even then have gone to his injured and grieved employer, who had been anything but unkind, and have frankly confessed his fault. But Shame and Fear, those twin demons that haunt a guilty conscience, those twin tyrants who act the despot on wrong- doers, prevented him, and all his thoughts were centred on the question, how to secure a safe and speedy ilight. Mother! Home ! Brothers ! Sisters! Alfred Atheling sat m the little room he had taken in Ned Saltmer's cottage and gave himself up to thoughts of these. The twilight fell ; twilight darkened into night ; the night wore on ; but still SIMON IIOI MRS. 6t tiie younjjj man sat, looking vvilh an inner eye at the pano- rama of 'I'liorpe Aspt'n and tlie (jartli, listening with an Miner ear to tlie music of voices to .wlii( h he liad l)een strangely deaf, hut which just now were sweeter and mel- lower than ever, as they smote ujjon the ( hords of his memory and reminded him of what had heeii in the i)ast, nnd of what might have been in the j)resent : into the future he dared not look ! It was night without and night within, a deep dark night that had never a star to relieve its gloom. The yf)ung prodigal was fairly under the fascination of the iiome-si)eIl. It worked so strongly that he f-It he must go down to Thorpe Aspen at all ha/artls. lie h;id fuiIy made U]) his mind to leave ICngland. Jle felt that here there was no safety, and what was much more to Ins credit, he felt that there was little chance of his reformation ; and with these home influences so strong ujjon him, these godly spells woven by pious love long before, he did desire to lead a l)etter and a nobler life. '• I must iiave a look at the dear old homestead, come what will," said he, as he came out of the land of visi{^iis and heaved a deep sigh to think it was a dream. " How is it, I wonder, that it comes so strong u\)on me ? I've cared precious little for Thorpe Aspen or aught belonging to it while, wliile — I've been selling myself to the devil." At this l)oint the young fellow could have joined the sect of the Flagellants with gusto, and have given himself a hiding which would have .scarred both skin and memory too. While these cogitations were in progress there came a knock at the door, and in answer to Alfred's loud 'Come m,' Ned Saltmer entered the room. " Beg pardon, sir," said Ned, lightly touching his forelock, for it was a part of his creed to be very respectful to his lodgers. " It keeps the bairns right," he used to say, " for they'll I s i I 62 SIMON HOLMES. be civil an' respectful if their parents are. Besides, if a lodger i)ays up, prompt an' full i' honest cash, wiiy shouldn't he be treated like a gentleman ? He is a gentleman i' that respect whatever else he is ; an' it's i' that respect that I've owt to do with him at all. The Duke o' 13evonshire corJc^n't do more thnn that, an' so long as my lodger docs no less, they're both on a level for me." " Beg pardon, sir," said Ned. " I've knocked two or three times afore. I thowt you was asleep, an' that mebbe that would do you as much good as onything, so I left you alone. But Madge has gotten a bit o' sup])er ready. Will yo' have it here, or will yo' come into the kitchen ? The young 'uns are all gone to bed ; an' if you'll join us it'll be more com- fortal)le like. But I'll bring it to you if you prefer it." " No, thank you, Mr. Saltmer," said Alfred, still only half-way back from Thorpe Aspen and the Past. " My name's Ned. sir, if you don't mind," said the joiner. " It comes most nat'ral, an' it's so short that it saves jiecks o' trouble. My mother used to call me 'Neddy 'till I was big enough to notice that owd Sand Hutton, that's an old fellow that used to hawk sand and hearth-stones in a little cart, called his donkey by that name. So I said, * Mother, say Ned, but nivver say "dee." I don't belong to that family.' She laughed an' remembered, an' it'., been Ned ivver since." "Well, Ned," said Alfred, a little amused, and a little surprised too, for he had some indistinct recollection of a 'Sand Hutton' himself, and 'sand and hearth-stones' smacked strongly of Aspendale, " I prefer to go with you, if Mrs. Saltmer's willing." "Why, I don't know about Mrs. Saltmer," replied Ned, archly. " She doesn't live our way. But my Madge is willing. Aren't yo', old gell ? " for by this time they had reached the kitchen, where Madge was the central figure in a very cheery picture. snrow noLMns. 63 "Ah, lliis is nice," said Alfred willi a smile, drawing a chair to tlie fire. "This is the cosiest corner I've been in since I left Yorkshire." It is needless to .say that this went to the heart of Madge Saltmcr. To be told by a Yorkshirenian and a gentleman that her fireside surpassed in cosiness any non-Yorkshire specimen of the same sort made her proud indeed. .After that, Alfred Atheling may assure himself of staunch and faithful friends, good at need, in honest Ned Saltmer and his cheery wife. Nor was the supper table less ..orthy of his praise, or he more stinted in its bestowment. The round deal table, with its three straight white legs placed well as'ant to give it a firm foot-hold, was covered with a clean white cloth, white as the well-scoured legs of the table that up-borc it. Hereujjon was placed a hot beef-steak, done to a turn ; a dish of potatoes, that were really cooked, not spoiled, as is too often the case on more im])0sing boards , and withal, there was such a cheerful warmth about the whole place that .Alfred A'heling felt, although he did not say so, that all that he wanted was a good conscience to enable him to sit down and feed like a king. That article, however, he had not got in his possession. It does not come at call, bui has to be carefully brought up by hand. lie had no appetite, and the supper pre[)ared specially for him was largely dis- posed off by honest Ned, who alike at hi.s bench and at his trencher was a workman that needed not to be ashamed. I :> 'A n f CUAV'VKR IX. Tiir. \vii>i)\v ,M nil INC IS cknti.y takkn r<> task; and simon IIOIMKS AITKAKS AS A St'N UK CONStH.A I l<)N. "All ;ii(' not t^iUiMi ! 'I'luMc nic Icfi licliiiul I.iviiij^ lU'lovctls, IcikUm' I'>oI;s in hrim:;, And ninko tlio dayli^Iil still .\ li;i|>iiy lliiiv.y, Ami tciulcr vt)ic<.'s ti) nmkc M>tl iho wind." A". />'. />'/<). v'///>/^', 'vinnK ^rid tidings conci'tnini; Alfred Atliclingsoon readied 7 ih llie (luiet vnllev oi Aspendalr. Indeed, the police aulborities tlid not fail to seareh the neighiiourhood with a view to find the trail of the missing youths. The baronet's tall form began to stoop beneath the burden of trouble. He hnJ little to say, but his faee was clociueni oi" grief. The news was diligently kept from the cars of Juhel lying in her (juiet chamber, but the whole village of Thotpe Aspen knew of it and mourned. r.y the bright log-tire which blazed and crackled in the big, open, old-foshioned hearthstone of Aspen Garth, sat Mrs. Atheling alone with God and her latest sorrow. It is a right noble and beautitul (ace on ^hich the flame of the beechwood laggots is casting a mellow light. The frosts of sixty winters have whitened i' e hair, which in her vounger days had hung in tresses of gold ; but they have failed to SIMON UOLMI S. 65 10 lat is dim llic hri^litiKSs of lur eyes, wlijrh now as llicn .uc of the fairest S ixou blue. Thf keen 'hI^cmI f^'raviii^; tools rjl sr.rrovv have c:li;is( d cx- picssivc liiK-s upon lu:r (heck and brow ; hiil the < ;ilin, allr.Ktivo (hf^nity and syn)|>alhy, blende Vhat should I do? Wiiat could I do, if I could not trust in Him ? " " Very well, then, sweet mother. Can my brother Alfred go beyond His reach, or out of His ken? Can he elude the grasp of His strong hand? I'm going to turn the tables on you, and quote your own lessons to your cliildren for your own instruction. You've been in the habit of telling us to avoid the sin of ancient Israel, and not to limit the Holy One of Israel.' Who's doing the limiting now, I wonder? You remember my father's prophecy, his last words as he lay on his deathbed, and my promise to him. I dare not limit the God who inspired him, and both my promise and his prophecy have got to be fulfilled. Cheer up, mother, cheer up ! " "You are right, Robert, as you usually are," said his mother, "but this last lapse of your poor misguided brother seems to shut out all hope. It is the worst as well as the last. His descent, I fear, will now be more rapid, until recovery becomes impossible." " Nay, nay, mother. Impossible is a word we must never use when the power and grace of God come into question. His mother and his brother, as well as others wOio love him, have power where it is most required ; and the prayers of his father, now gone to his reward, are registered on high." Under such wise and tender treatment the mournful mother partially dried her tears, and nursed the hope of the wanderer's recovery, and his return to the hearthstone from which he had wandered so fast and so far. Then came Clara and Edgar, both of them well pleased to note snfON HOL^f^s. 67 te tint once ngnin tlieir mother's ,i:ricf wns lifted, and that Ho|)e, tliat fair angel sent by (lod to sustain His i:hiklren in their extremity of need, had resumed its place in her sorely troubled heart. " Well done, Robert," said Clara. " I see you've been applying your old prescription ; and once again the patient rallies beneath your skilful treatment." So saying, she placed her arms around his neck and kissed him with a fervour in which love and gratitude were combined. "Yes, Clara," said he with a gratified look. "I hope you won't fail to bring the same jjrescription to bear should there be any serious recurrence after I am uone. I've been plan- ning matters to-day with Edgar. He will now take my place upon the farm. He is thoroughly well able to manage it, and there is no great pressure of responsibility at this season of the year. Things will go on pretty much of themselves, and under his guiding hand will go right. I can be spared now better than after, and I mean to take a trip to London. If brother Alfred can be found, I'll find him. If he can be induced to come back, I'll bring him. Tlie time has come for me to fulfil my j)romise, the promise that soothed my father's dying pillow." " Go, my son," said the widow, laying her hand lovingly on his shoulder, and trying her best to catch and hold fast the hope kindled by his words and tone. " May God bring you back in peace, and if my poor wandering hd comes too, I will say like Simeon, Now, Lord, lettest thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation." " Don*t say * if,' mother," said Edgar stoutly. "Robert doesn't go on his mission at his own charges, and we who stay at home will not hinder him even by a doubt." By-and-by the conversation turned on the necessary pre- parations for Robert's speedy departure, and as the evening hours passed by, the family at Aspen Garth seemed one and ni. i f 68 SIMON HOLMES. all to be able to regard the impending change with cheer- fulness, though, ever and anon, the olden cloud would gather for a little on the mother's placid brow. Just as the tall, old-fashioned clock, which stood upright in the corner of the room, was striking, and the flicker of the beech logs showed the hour hand on the figure nine, a. rap was heard at the door, and one of the servants an- nounced that Simon Holmes had called, and that, if con- venient, he would like to see Mrs. Atheling. " Convenient ? " said the widow, brightening at the mention of his name, " to be sure it is. Tell him to come in." Then turning to her children, she continued, " It would be hard to find a tiu'.e that wasn't convenient to receive such a welcom.e guest." " Good evenin', ma'am," said Simon, as he entered the room v/ith a courteous bow, " I hev' to apologise for comin' at an' awk'ard hoor. But I didn't seem as thouizh I could sleep i' comfort, or wi' ony degree o' soondness, unless I'd gi'en yo' just a neighbourly call." '' Nay, nay, Simon," said Robert Atheling, stepping for- ward to hand him a chair. " Mother's glad and fain to see you, and for that matter, fo are we all." '• Draw your chair to the fire, Simon," said the widow. "The night is rather chill, I think, and you and I are not so young as we once were." "Now I call that treason," said Clara, shaking her curls, ar.d looking first at her mother and then at their visitor with a merry smile. " The fact is that you've both of you made some compact with the wee folks in Fairyland, and have got a supj-^ly of the fern seed which makes old age invisible. J can't see that either of you have any need to talk in that way. Young folks like us do grow older : middle-aged folks like you seem to stand still, and the longer you two do that the better, say I." " Ha, ha," laughed Simon. "Invisible, is it? As far as it SIMON HOLMES. 69 consarns myself, it isii'i unfcohible, if I may mak' a wod for my own convenience. As for your mother," continued Simfn, gallantly, "there's no denyin' it, she looks — " " Stop, Simon," said the widow. " No flattery from your lips, old friend. One's bairns may try to dupe themselves about us a little for love's sake, but we know better. Old age is creeping on." " Ay, marry, you're right anuff," replied Simon. " But then, thenk God, there's anotiier way o' puttin' it, — an' a better way, because i' your case an' mahne it's true. Old age is creepin' off. The inward man's bein' renewed day by day, an' the oolward man's crackin' and lowsnin' like a husk ; an' when it shells off some o' these days, old age '11 be gone, and then it'll nivver, nivvcr come back ony niair. Then we * Shall flourish in endiuin' hlc om, Safe from diseases an' dfciine.' That's the way to look at old age from a Christian's stand- point. There's both re..;on an' religion in it for iveryijody that beleeaves in Him that says, ' He that liveth an' be- leeaveth in Me shall nivver die.'" " You are right, Simon," said Widaw Atheling seriously, yet brightly. "That was seen clear enough when my dear husband exchanged mortality for life. It seemed to us who watched him pass, that the tokens of the weight of years (Hetl away before he passed, and that immortal youth was on him as he went away." "I'm going to leave Aspendale for awhile," said Robert, taking advantage of the pause that followed. " I should like Simon to join us at the family altar and ask God's blessing on my errand. You know what it is, Simon ? " "Ay, la(]die, I knoa," said tlie carpenter, witii strong feeling, and taking Robert's hand in his own rugged palm. " Mr. Edgar gav' nie a notion that you were on the point 70 SIMON HOLMES. i) f p' startin.' I ha' nof ear o' you, knowin' what I knoa', both o' your promise an' the way you'll set aboot it. It was mainly that that browt me here so late. My mind kept runnin' on it, an' as I thowt o' your mother biddin' yo' good- bye, an' fearin', mebbe, my poetisin' vvakeness com' ower me, an', an' I couldn't help puttin' my tliowts on paper. At times like them it seems to me as tho' I can. alius speeak my heart best i' that way." " O Simon ! " said Clara, " I know. You have been makin' some verses to cheer and comfort mother when Robert's gone. Do let us hear ihem." The eyes of the sensitive maiden glistened with tears of delight, for Simon's verses were at a premium right through the valley of Aspendale. " Mebbe Mr. Robert will read 'em," said the carpenter, with an ingenuous blush on his cheek. " They are what I knoa' he's sayin' to his mother in his heart." Noticing loth, Robert did as he was requested, and as the sentiment was really an echo of the language of his own soul, he did full justice to the carpenter's sympathetic song. Ijf , 11 *' Mother, dear mother mine, why dost thou weep, Sitting in silence and grieving alone ? Is then thy Helper afar or asleep ? Or sitteth He, ruleth He still on His throne ? Mournest thou, weepest thou still for thy boy, Gone from thee, far from thee ; gone from his God? God can still turn all thy sorrow to joy, Turn the lad's heart to thee, show him the road. I" None are so Lad but they might have been worse, None fall so low that they cannot be raised ; The cry ' God be pitiful ' ever shall force From the heart the glad chorus of * God shall be praised.' Wearily vi'andering out on the wold, Bleateth the sheep its complaint to the wind ; SIMON HOLMES. Will not the shepherd bring back to the fold The lost with a love that is tender ami kind? Beautifid blossoms of shecniest gold Will cover the keen prickled bushes of gorse ; The flower, like a j^eni, flashes out of the mould, And blessings may blossom e'en out of a curse. Winter must vanish when springtide returns ; Tempests must cease when their forces are done ; And tlie dew shall replenish with neciar the urns Of the flowers that droop in ihe heat of the sua. Tears are the certain forerunner of smiles ; Siglis are the swift-winged heralds of song ; And the griefs of to-day Angel Hope still beguiles. With the joy that to-morrow is bringing along. Far haih the prodigal wandered away, Wantoning, revelling, scorching his wing : Home shall he come on some penitent day, Welcomed with rapture, robe, banquet and ring. Mother mine, mother mine ! mercy still reigns : Thy God hath the soul ot thy boy in His care ; A turning will come in the longest of lanes — Hope in God ! Trust in Him. Never despair." 7* " Oh how very beautiful ! " said Mrs Atheling, constrained to smile through her tears. '■ Thank you, dear friend. I am sure they will be of lasting help and comfort to me whenever my fears begin to get the better of my faith. I do thank you, Simon, Irom my heart." " Mother," said Robert, '* you shall give me your promise, that whenever you feel inclined to hang your harp upon the willows, and sit down by the rivers of Memory and weep, you shall tune it afresh and sing Simon's music till the day dawn and the shadows flee away. I snail write a copy for myself, and fitid a ' cheer-up ' in them whenever my faith begins to fail." 72 SIMON HOLMES. There was no wonder that, as the old carpenter conducted family worship, the whole household felt that the place was holy ground. There was no wonder that Simon Holmes retired lo his cotlage, as he had retired many a time before in the course of his beneficent life, followed by the thanks and blessings of them from whose pathway he had plucked the thorns and had planted sweet flowers in their stead. Hie thee home, old man, and know, as thou layest thy head ui)on the jjillow, that the All-observant Master hath said of thee, "Well done 1" !i»i CHAPTER X. SIR JARVIS MAINVVARING DREAMS A DREAM; AND ETHEL SI'Ol FORTH SPEAKS IN AN UNKNOWN 'lONGUE. *' If I may trust the flattering trutli of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand ; My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne ; And all this day, an unaccustomed spirit Lifis me above the ground with cheerful thoughts." Shakesl'care. V^IR J \RVIS MAINWARING, whose arrival at Aspen CD Towers has already been noted, was one of the most eminent of the many eminent professors of tlic henhng art either in England or the world out of doors. He held high office in relation to royalty, and, altogether, in fame and influence Sir Jarvis was probably the first physician of his day. On two previous occasions he had visited Ethel Spofforth at heavy rost and charges, and had bestowed great attention on her case. If he had been- a much sterner individual than he was, he could scarcely have helped feeling and manifesting strong interest in the young and beautiful and for ever uncomplaining sufferer at Aspen Towers. With all his great skill, however, neither his prescriptions nor his counsels had done more than alleviate the more painful features of Ettiei's mysterious disease, and to add to her 74 !MON HOLMES. ! I comfoii in oilier ways. This, liowcvcr, was a previous gain, and (luitc conipensalctl, according to the baronet's thinking, for Sir Jarvis Mainwaring's princely fee. JJut the root of the di.seise baflled all the doctor's wit to pluck out or even to find. "Ciood morning, Sir Godwin," said the physician, who was wainily welcomed by the baronet as he entered the Mali. "I bring bright weather with me, at any rate: let us hope that is a good omen. How is the young lady this morning ? " "Much the same, I imagine, Sir Jarvis. At least," con- tinued the baronet with a faint and forced smile, "that is the state of things according to the law of averages. / think sne is worse ; — weaker, you know, and less able to bear tlie strain than when you saw her last. But Ethel declares tliat slie is better ; and so I conclude that she is much about as usual." "Nav, liny, Sir Godwin," s:iid the physician cheerily, "your conclusion is not warranted by your [iremises. The oj)inioiis quoted are not of ecjual value. Miss Ethel is surely in a position to know better than you : and among all my patients I know of none less likely to deceive them- selves. So I conclude that time, patience, and good nursing, with youth as a powerful ally, are doing what medical science seems unable to perform. I am candid, you see." Sir Jarvis proceeded to take some refreshment. He had travelled from, London by the night mail, and was prep.ircd to do justice to his first substanti.d meal for the day. " By the way, Sir Godwin," s:tid he, az soon as he began to be less interested in the good things set before him, •' I have something very remarkable to tell you : something that I consider to be very remarkable indeed. "Just before I started for the north, by a stroke of good luck this week's number of the Lancet came into my hand : and 1 was able by the aid of my reading lamp — the lighting of SIMON HOLMES. 75 railway cnrringcs is atrocious- to make my journey less tedious by (lii)|)in<; into its pages. Well, I read for a time, then dropped off into a brief nap ; then I woke up and read again. Then after, as 1 imagined, 1 had exliausted every page, advertisement columns into tiie bargain, I threw it c; .jlessly aside, and settled myself for a good two hours' sleep, by which time as I reckoned the train would jnill up at Chi! worth station. " My long nap was by no means a steady one. I was in that semi-wakeful condition that stupefies more than it re- freshes, when I was suddenly roused by tiie porter's cry, 'Chilworth! ('hilworth!' 1 felt so thoroughly unhinged that I determined to go into the waiting-room and get half an hour's refreshing sleep. The porter brought me my travelling rug, and by and by I managed to get fairly off into the Land of Nod. "Straightway, as it seemed to me, I began to dream, in which, after passing through a few confused experiences, I found myself in the house of a (iear old chum ot mine, who was a fellow-student at Guy's Hospital. He has devoted himselt of late years to the study of electricity, especially in its action on the human body. He was very fond of this kind of thing in our student days. We looked on it only as a ' fad ' of his own, and used to chaff him a good deal, student fashion. " Well, in my dream, 1 seemed to become aware that he had at last perfected a new medical apparatus which was supposed to supply a means of generating nerve force, or ratb.er of stimulating the nerve centres, so that on the one hand these sliould be made to perform their office, and yet, on the other hand, should not suljject the nerves of a weak patient to an unnatural and dangerous strain. " Nothing would satisfy Dr. Greaves, so my dream ran, bu* that I must try the effect of a sharp shock upan myself, ii suppose I have the hideous shaking of the train to thank 76 SfMON IlOFJfES. I i l\ I for that, for as soon as I laid hold of the instrument. I received a shock that thoroughly woke nie up. I started to my feet, and distinctly henrd myself sny : "'That's the very thing, old friend. It will be of great use in special cases.' "Your carria-je had arrived, and as soon as I was 'on board,' as the sailors say, I noticed that the care''ul porter had rolled up the discarded Lancd^ and had thrust it under the leather strap that bound my portmanteau. Rather an uncommon specimen tiiat of the gtnus porter, thougiit I, remembering how ready his kind are to apj»roi;riate all such articles as perquisites of tiieir own. *' I took out the journal again, and, would you believe it ? the first i)aragraph that caught my eye was h.eaded, * Dr. Feltham Greaves on Electro- Dynamics in relation to Sur- gery,' I suppose I must have glanced my eye over it when I was half asleep, and by s^-me occult process of uncon- scious cerebration, it had made its impression on my brain, and had produced the dream which I have just described to you. "Of course I read the article now with fresh interest, and just as the carriage brought me within distant view of Aspen Towers, the thought suddenly flashed upon rny mind, ' Miss Spofforth ! the very thing ! ' Without an instant's pause, I bade the coachman drive back to the railway station. I sent off a peiem})tory messige to my friend Greaves, and if the thing be within the limits of possibility, he and his apparatus will be down by this evening's mail. I feel so deeply interested in the matter, for the sake of this dear girl, and for the sake of medical scienc:, too, that if you can give me a ' shake-down,' I'll stop and see the issue. " Now. Sir Godwin, was it not truly remarkable ? I call it very singular, very singular indeed. I j^osiiively do not know that I have met with anything more strange in the whcKC of my experience. What say you, S.r Godwm.? " I id SIMON HOLMES. 77 "It is indeed very singular," rcj)licd the baronet, slowly and thoughtfully. 'I'herc was a far-away look in his grey eyes, for they were fixed upon a scene which took i)lace in the street of a Jewish city more than eighteen hundrcl years ago, when Jesus, looking into the sad face of an anxious father, said, * Be not afraid, only believe.' Yes, Sir Jarvis Mainwaring, it is as you say, very singu- lar, very singular indeed. But I huinl)ly and modestly suimiit to you, and through you to all the learned faculty connected with your noble science, that neither 'unconscious cerebration' nor * nnjlecular movements,' nor all the phos- phoric agencies secreted in the cranium can at all account for it. But if you will stoop a little; if you will step down from your high scientific pedestal, and will consult Simon Holmes, the village carpenter, I tliink he will be able to explain it and give you clear testimony as to the reason why, and that without claiming any miraculous intervention in the case. I am afraid you will not be inclined to accept so humble and unlearned a witness as he; I will therefore refer you to that other Carpenter, who said, 'All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth,' and who also said, ' What- soever ye shall ask in my name, that wiil I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.' If you reject this witness, then it will for ever remain, as you say, ' singular, very singular indeed.' Sir Jarvis Mainwaring proceeded to visit his young and interesting patient. He was agreeably surprised to find her wearing a bright and cheerful look, and with ever so faint a tinge of colour in her cheeks. " Well, Miss Etliel," said he clieerfully, as he seated himself by her bed, " I declare you look brighter and better than when I saw you last ; and I remember that even then you were brighter than I should have thought you could be, poor little pent-up prisoner that you are." *' Why, you see, Sir Jarvis," replied Ethel, " I get my 78 SIMON HOLMES. cheerfulness from a source which is independent of circum- stances, and being a prisoner only serves to Iceep it stt idier and to make it more." "VW'll," said the physician, "I am willing to own that, whatever it is, it puts our skill into the shade, Miss Ethel. I cannot understand it." " I suppose you wouldn't bend low enough to listen to a poor weak girl, or I might try to make you understand," said slie. "You remember what another prisoner sang once — ** ' S^one walls do not a prison make, Ntjr iron bars a cajje ; A holy mind and innocent Calls that a heriiiita<,'e. If I have freedom in my soul, And if my heart be free, Aiu^els alone that dwell above Enjoy such liberty.' It is in my soul and in my heart that this liberty com- forts me, for Jesus Christ hath revealed His truth and love to me, and He says, * It" the truth shall make you free, then shall ye be free indeed.'" "Well, well," said Sir Jarvis, evidently conscious that she was getting out of his depth, and he might well have thought, above his height, too, — "I envy your philosophy. It is not every bird that can sing in a cage. However, 1 do hope and believe we shall open your prison doors ; so keep a good heart." "Thank you. Sir Jarvis," said the maiden, "but 1 don't like you to call it plulosophy. Call it the love of Jesus, please. I/is cage-birds can always sing, and sing their sweetest behind the wires. I believe that I sliall get well again. Indeed, I may say that I know it." (( Oh, you know it, do you? Well, that I imagine is half SIMOX HOLM lis. 79 the l)att]e. Faith helps tlie doctor wonderfully. Hut what makes you (e. ^ that rolls the stars along Speaks all the prot/iises.' Do you know, Sir Jarvis, I believe that my God has given me a mission to i^erform ; and when the set time comes, //is time, you k"ow, lie who sends me to do it will give me power t- go." The great physician listened, wondered, felt half taken captive by her ' full assurance.' He was bound to say some- thintr. "Well, Miss Ethel, I sincerely hope that you will soon recover. I really am not without faith that you will. I am going to try another method of cure, and if " "Don't trouble about the 'if,' Sir Jarvis," said she with a smile. " I can quite believe that my Heavenly Father has suggested to you what is the best thing to do. Oniy T wish you would give Him credit for it, and perhaps in your heart you do." Again Sir Jarvis thought of his strange dream, and retired from her presence, saying to himself, " It is very singular, very singular indeed." Yes, Sir Jarvis Mainwaring, it certainly is singular. I do not wunder at your surprise. Again I would r^iommend you to seek an explanation from Simon Holmes, the car- penter of Thorpe Aspen, he is an excellent authority ; or better still from Him of Nazareth, the Revealer of secrets. Happy and wise are they who sit at His feet and respond to His invitation, — ' Learn of Me.' Of course all this became the subject of conversation IMAGE EVALUATBON TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^ lii^ 12.2 2.0 L8 C40 1.4 Itt ■7 y] %> r .-^ ^ "^ ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation V ^>^ i^. ^v ^ '4^ ^ «-- o^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO (716) 872-4503 ^ '9. ^s O^ *0 Iiai 80 SIMON HOLMES. between Sir Godwin and his i:ucst. As they sat bes'de the library fire after dinner, whither they had adjourned for cosier quarters, and were discussing a mapnum of port, Sir Jarvis could not but refer to his conversation with the young invahd, ♦' What an extraordinary notion Miss Ethel has got hold of," said he. " Of course I could not possibly see things from her standpoint ; but for the life of me, I could not but listen. There is such a transparent simi)licity and genuine truth in the dear girl that it quite disarms one. I would not have disputed her position for the world." " What are you referring to ? " said the baronet. Not that he did not know, but that he desired to draw out the physician's ideas about it. " 1 refer to her simple faith in God," said Sir Jarvis. " Ti .e notion that she has received some inward gift that makes her happy ; that she is a kind of ward of Divine Providence, who shapes and directs affairs in a way that especially con- cerns her. I have heard of people who profess to believe in that kind of thing, and I have not hesitated to set it down as mere superstition, where, indeed, it is not downright hypocrisy. But I have never seen such a develoi)ment of it as in Miss Ethel. She is too good and real to deceive her- self or other people : and I should say that superstition does not meet the case here, because of her native good sense, and the clearness and readiness with which she renders a reason for the hope that is in her. It is very strange and very interesting." Sir Godwin was silent for a moment or two and then replied with a sigh — " I am often very much inclined to think that she has happened on the sunlight, and that we, excuse me for saying so, are living in the shadow." He was thinking just then of the Voice that said ' TaUtha ct4mV long ago. SIMON HOLMES. 81 " Where do you think she picked up these ideas?" said Sir Jnrvis. apparently disregarding the baronet's suggestion. " From her mother, first of all," was the reply. " Of h *•, I am bound to say, that life and faith were in beautiful agree- ment. From her nurse and waiting maid, in the second place ; and of her I am equally bound to say that she is sterling gold, faithful, high principled, invaluable. From an old cnrpentcr in the village called Simon Holmes, in the third p'lMce, and perhaps the chief place ; and of him I am bound to say that he is a good man, estimable in all the relations of life ; a plain working-man of great intelligence, unrjue^-tionable integrity, and honoured by all wl.o know him ; half worshipped, indeed, in Thorpe Aspen, where he is known the best. All this you must own i: striking wit- ness, arid I must not leave out my darling herself. When I am wiih her she makes me feel, quite unconsciously to hersclt, tl at I am in the presence of something higher, nobler tlian I. I wish ycu could have a little chat with Simon Holmes. You would find in him what Diogenes, they say, could not find, even with the aid of his lantern, a man. and also a scholar learned in a lore that I fail to understand. He told me the other day," continued the baronet, with a smile, " that he regarded you as the instP' ment. tool, he called it, of Divine Providence, and that hs believed that before you went away it would so appear." The physician looked at his host with some surprise, and then his gaze fell upon the library table. There lay the Lancet, and he thought of the 'unconscious cerebration' that had produced his dream. Was he indeed the tool of a Power whom he did not acknowledge, made to do the bidding of a God whom he did not know ? r ,, CHAPTER XI. DOCTOR FF.I.THAM GREAVES GAINS AN IMPORTANT VICTORY; AND SIMON HOLMES ANSWERS A FEW POINTED QUESTIONS. •'A voice is in the wind 1 do not know j A nieaniny on the face of tiie ^\h liills Whose lUtermice I cannot conr.prehei'l; A something is behind them ; that is Gocl." George MacdonalcL iTr N due time Doctor Feltham Greaves a])peared upon the ILl scene, bringing with him the appliances which, as he firmly believed, were destined, when controlled by skilful hands and under wise medical direction, to be a powerful ally in expelling disease and in bringing back to the flow the ebbing tide of strength and life. All honour to the men whose noble powers of mind and whose high attainments are engaged in the nobler work of alleviating human suffering, and of redeeming the sick and afflicted ones from the crifel grip of dire disease and the peril of an untimely death. If they would but place themselves under the guidance, and labour as the staunch and faithful allies and servants, of the Good Physician, how vastly grander, even than now, would their glorious triumphs be ! Once, twice, thrice was Ethel subjected to the gentle but '1 SIMON HOLMES. ft3 to subtle and potent forces now brought to bear on her mysterious disease. It did not seem as though any sure results would follow. But Dr. Greaves was an enthusiast. He had perfect faith in the course of treatment he was pur- suing ; and he added to his faith patience, and let patience have her perfect work. Then there came a favourable sign or two, slight but real. Then, liltle by little, it was seen that the stern grip of paralysis was relaxing, and tokens of returning vital force appeared that could not be misunderstood. It was slow and tedious work at first ; but the tedium was wonderfully lessened by the constant advancement to assured success. Fingers could be moved ; then the hands obeyed the action of the wrist. Then the arms could be raised ; and then the lower limbs began to act responsive to their owner's call. The icy bonds were slowly melting, and medical skill and wise dietings aided in the task. Of course Sir Jarvis Mainwaring could not stay to watch the process of cure : but assured of its fair promise, he rose early one morning and retired from the scene with his well-earned cheque in his pocket-book, and, sooth to say, a warm glad feeling at his heart, to travel back to town, and to tell in scientific, and it may be into royal ears, the story of his very singular dream and all that i was likely to produce. As the carriage which bore him to Chilworth station passed the front gate of Simon Holmes' garden, that good man and true was standing there, and he ventured to ask the coachman the question that was next his hehrt. " How is Miss Ethel this morning?" " Better, Simon ! " curtly replied coachman Smailes in jubilant tones. Sir Jarvis was struck with the eager way in which the question was asked. He was much taken with the fine intelligent countenance of the village carpenter of whom Sir Goodwin had spoken with such unstinting praise. He 84 SIMON HOLMES. r called upon the coachman to stop. Simon was dressed, not in his ordinary work-a-day attire, but in his Sunday suit of decent black, and with his stout oaken stick in his hand was evidently going on a journey. As Sir Jarvis put his head out of the carriage, Simon lifted his broad-brim ;ned hat, for tlicre was something quakerly in his attire. His impressive features, especially his lofty brow and long grey hair, gave him quite a patriarchal look. " I beg your ])ardon, sir," said Simon respectfully, expecting a rebuke for addressing the coachman at such a time. " 7'here isn't a soul i' Aspendale that won't eat their breakfast better for hearing good news about the young lady ; an' as I'm goin' through the dale to Chihvorth, I thowt I would like to tell 'em as I went, let alone that such news as thiit would be better than brek'ast or dinner to myself." " To Chihvorth, are you, carpenter ? " said Sir Jarvis pleasantly. "Then jump in and let me act the good Samaritan for once. You can tell the ne>vs when you come back, and it will sharpen the good folks' appetite for dinner or for tea." Ijke a sensible fellow as he was, Simon did as he was told, and took his seat opposite, as if to the manner born. I am half inclined to think that Sir Jarvis was more willing than he would have cared to own, to know more of Miss l-Ahel's peculiar 'philosophy,' and as Simon was the Gamaliel at whose feet she sat, he seized the opportunity to study it a little further. " I'm glad to be able to give you a lift," said he. " It's a stiffish walk to Chihvorth for a man of your years." " I'"s varry much obliged to yo', sir. I can't manage it quite so briskly as I use to ; but I expect I should ha' been picked up, either by the miller's cart, or by some farmer's waggon goin' to 'liver corn at Chihvorth station. I sartainly didn't expect to do the journey i' this style ; " and Simon surveyed the luxurious appointments of the baronet's SI^fON HOLMES. 85 [e it leen ler's (inly liion let's brougham with an admiring eye. Then turning at once to more important matters, he continued — " Excuse me, sir, for makin' so free, but aboot Miss Ethel ; she's goin' to get better, isn't she?" ''That's a statement and a question," said Sir Jarvis, with a smile. "The question I can understand; but what makes you say ' she's going to get better ' ? " "Why, I'll tell yo', sir. Me an' my 'Becca, thut's my wife, and Nance, that's my dowter, an' Miss Ethel herself, hev' all b<::en at work askin' Him that says 'Ask, an' it shall be given you,' to give her back her health, both for her sake an' her father's sake, but mair especially for her brother's sake, that she may bring him back again. But mebbe — " Here the carpenter paused. He had a strong objection to anything like the exposure of other people's misdoings, and he was not sure how much his listener reaUy knew. " Oh yes, I know," said Sir Jarvis, fully appreciating his motives. " If you could save that young prodigal it would be a grand thing." "Wouldn't it?" said Simon, bringing his broad hand down upon his knee with a slap that startled the dignified medico half off his seat. " My word ! It would mak' ivery angel i' heaven shoot a extra halleluia ! An' Miss Ethel's goin' to do it, thenks to you, sir, an' the good God that's showed yo' hoo to raise her up ! " The Lord that showed you how. Sir Jarvis was fairly startled at tne thought. He could not get away from it ; his singular dream, and all that it had led to, came back into his mind. Was he really an instrument in the hands of God for the work of answering these people's prayers ? Anxious to draw out his companion on these subjects he inquired — " Don't you think that it is very strange and mysterious that this dear young lady, who is too good to do harm to any- 86 SIMON HOLMES. body, should have been made to suffer so much and so long?" "Yis, sir" said Simon. "There's no doot abooi that. But it didn't come by chance. That's where faith i' God comes in. Sorrowful days an' wearisome neets were appointed to her, a great nionny on 'em, bless her ! But then you see, sir, they 7cu're appointed. They were all the pairt of a plan. What the entire plan vvas we can't tell, though we're gettin' a bit of a inklin' aboot sum on it As for the rest we just ha' to leeave it, as we ha' to leeave a good monny things i' this wo'ld besides. There isn't a lad that goes to school that doesn't wonder what for he's to get off this or larn that. But the schoolmaister knoas, an' he just goes on teachin' him as though he understood all aboot it. An' what are we all, I should like to knoa, but just lads at a school? It's gi'en o you an' sitch as you to be i' t' fost class, and mtbbe you stand at t' top on't, but there's a mighty gap, excuse me, sir, between you an' t' bi.hoolmaister after all, an' you're soon browt up plump ageean a mystery. "I recollect," continued the cari)cnter, "goin' some years back to see a ribbin factory i' company with a clever fello' with a lot of gumption aboot machinery an' sitch as that. There was one piece o' clockwork or something like it that interested him amazin'ly. There was a lot o' wheels an' threads spinnin' aboot i' all directions, an' for the life of 'im he couldn't understand it. * I should like to see into that an' examine it a little bit,' he said to the foreman. * You can't do that,' the man said, ' it's all connected with some- thing i' that big chest that's kept locked.' ' Let me look in ' says my friend. Says the man, at once, ' The maister hez the key.' That settled it. Noo, sir, it flashed upo' my mind like leetnin' that's just the answer to all oor questions aboot a mystery that perplexes us. The Mai^u . hez the key. You see t' ribbins was all right an' beautiful, though the chest was "1 SnfON HOLMES. 87 an lime- in' hez ind oot lYou was shut an' we couldn't understand it. An' so God's works an' workin's are ail riglit, all of 'cm, though wc can't mak' 'em oot. It's grand to think that they aren't at the l)e(k an' call o' poor hlunderin' mortals. All's right, sir, all must be right, don't yo' see, because t' Maister hez the key." "Then you really believe," said the physician, who felt that he must content himself with making incjuiries, " that God has full control, and exercises it over all the events of every individual life, and influences you and me to serve His purposes ? " " IJuiieve it ? " said Simon with a look of unfeigned wonder, "of course I believe it, an' so do you, don't yo' ? I shouldn't ha' gi'en you credit or rayther discredit o' thinkin' 'at v/e're all of us livin' happy-go-lucky like, wi' no more plan nor purpose then flints hev when they're skelled up ool of a farmer's cart. You don't sup])ose, do yo', that you could ha' done Miss Ethel sitch a good turn this visit if He hadn't put yo' up to try in' a new thing that you scarce heeard aboot until yo' com' to the varry si>ot vv'ere it was wanted ? My 'prentice lad Dick's just gone to put a cooat o' paint on Sir Godwins park gates. Noo, do you tiiink thai t' lad fancies that p )t o' paint's jummled itself togither to the right colour? He hadn't knowledge anufif to do it hisself, so I did it afore I sen. him off. He was busy aboot something else until he had to go, an' when he was riddy, it was riddy, an' he's just usin' what was provided for him. An' that's what you an' t'other London doctor's doin' at the Hall this minute. Efter all, sir, we're none of us no better than 'prentice lads. Oor business is to be good lads, an' to do as t' Maister tells us. Excuse me for being so bold." " Oh, don't mention it," said Sir Jasper ; " I am very glad to hear your views upon these subjects. But you must admit that they have puzzled wiser heads than either yours or mine." " No doot, no doot. These things is offen hid from the 88 snroN noLMES. wise an' prudent, an' at same talune they're revealed unto l)al)es. 'I'liere s Miss Kthel, for instance, she knows that the nij) slic hez to drink is of her Heavenly I'ather's niixin'. 1 think yoiril admit that she drinks it with a submission, an' a i)atien( c, an' a contentment, that's beautiful to see. You've been among 'em a good deal ; ha' yo' iver seen ony o' the wise heads that's made less of a wry face than she hez? Its nobbut a bee that can suck honey oot of a thistle- floo'er, an' that's the little quick-wing that hez t' sweetest store o' good things when winter storms blov/ keen. After all, I can't help thinkin' that Miss Ethel's is the wiser head, an' she believes in a Father's care, dod bless her! I.ong may she do so. Wc can't do better, sir, than follow the 'babe's' example." " You were saying," said Sir Jarvis, who felt that matters were getting serious and that the atmosphere of the carriage was rather hot, "that you've been praying for Miss Spof- forth's recovery. Tell me, now— you seem to be a sensible and intelligent man — do you really believe that the natural course of things can be altered by doing that kind of thing? Can you for one moment imagine that the laws of nature are to be interfered with in that fashion ?" "The laws o' natur' ! " said Simon, fixing his grey eyes on the physician's face with a mixture of rebuke and wonder on his features. " If they are ' laws,' I suppose Somebody must ha' laid 'em doon. You can't ha' laws withoot a law- maker. An' if He can mak' sitch things as them, it surely isn't ower mitch to imagine that He can guide an' control 'em. You don't suppose that He's meeade an engine that runs away with Him or fre' Him, an' that He can't stop, or slacken, or turn it if He's so minded. Don't contradict yourself. An' as for t' natural coorse o' things, as yo' call it, if things do go in a * coorse,' why somebody must ha' chalked it oot for 'em an' started *em off; a somebody that keeps 'em in it an* at it all the tahme. A man that > SIM OS HOLMES. 89 ire on on )dy aw- fely trol Ihat or lict ll it, . ha' )dy Ihat can say when he sees all the motions o' natur', an' sees hoc they all fit one into another like spooakes in a wheel, an axle in a naff, an' a ball in a socket, 'at there's no (lod's a fool, as Davitl said afore you an' me were horn. You might just as well draw them front blinds doon, an' lean back i' your seat an' listen to the noise o' the wheels, an' watch the roorse o' the carriage an' say, 'There isn t a driver, nobbut a boss ! ' Noo, if you just call oot to Smaiies there vho set us o!l" on this natural coorse o' things that you call a rooad, he can slacken, or turn, or qui( ken pretty muN K. LOGIC. " //W?'. Tliou nrt n coliMcr, aii thou? 2//(/ Ci/. I'nily, sir, all that I live by is the nwl. I am indccci a sui<;cun tu old sliucs." N a sm.iil cottnp;c not flir from tlie gates of Aspen Chase dwelt an odd chaiaeter known tliroiij^hout Aspendalc LS Tim the Cobbler. 'I'lie cottage itself was built so that the gable end abutted on the main road which ran through the centre of the village. On the lower floor was a large window extending almost from side to side of the cottage. In this were placed a number of boot-laces, heel and toe plates of various sizes, strij)s of leather, and other matters connected with Tim's lawful calling, together with a few boots, shoes and slippers, more or less the worse for wear, and which had been brought by the villagers for restoration and repairs. A long, broad window shutter was suspended by hinges from the outer sill. It was not allowed, however, to fall into a perpendicular position against the wall, for Tim's wife, being, like John Gilpin s, of a thrifty turn of mind, had got her spouse to supply it with a couple of legs also fastened by Li I 1 ; SIMON HOLMES. 91 \er tha for for liingcs. liy the aid of tlicsc the broad shutter, fixed in a horizontal position, (hd duty as a table or stall, on which were spread sundry small articles for sale. These were of a very miscellaneous ( hara( ter, and included nuts, fruits, flowers, vegetables, bottles of lemonade and gingerbeer, and an assortmejit of sweetmeats. Among tl/e re.'t were s( altered su< h small matters connected with her husband's time- honoured craft, as shoe-strings, buttons, buckles and what not. .Sally C'rf IlOLhfliS. that his tftngiic could no furtlicr avail him, he used to scire his lapstone, plarc a thick piece of leather oii it, and haninier an-ay at such a rate that his antagonists were literally beaten *.)Ut of the lield. The defeated trio would retire in a hulf, and then the victor would drop his hammer, ruh his stubbly black ha ; which could scarcely have been croppetl any closer, and say with a contemptuous smile of superiority — "Tim Crouch is more than a match for all on 'em i)ut tegither." Hither to the cobbler's shop, one raw and misty winter- night, cauie Jacob Benson. "Hollo!'' said Tin^ as the gamekeeper stepped inside, "ah thowt 'at yo' weren't cummin' ageean, 'keeper." It must be explained th.at on the very last occasion of Jacob's visit the lapstone logic had prevailed, and Jacob had retired in a passion, declaring that he would never come within earshot of the 'thumping wind-bag' any more. "Sit yo' doo'.i," cotuinued Tim. "What's the news?" " News ! " said Jacob, in serious tones. " I've news that'll mak' your hair stand on end. Leastwise it would do if it was long anuff to lay doon." So saying the gamekeeper placed a small cutting-board across a pail that st'>od near the stove, in which certain balls of wax were tloiiting to keep them moist for use, and sat down. " I declare I've had quite a turn," he continued. " You know that stiff bit o' coppice just behind Aspen Garih, at the corner o' the larch plantation ? Well, I've been watchin' that spot a good while. rhere's been a good deal o' poachin' goin' on there lately. I^st night I saw Nick Ste'enson, Chivey, you kno, at least I could ha' sworn it was him, creep into the coppice, an' mak for the wood side. Whether he got scent o' me or not, 1 can't say. '. missed him an' went home in a bit of a temper." " A big bit, I expect if t' truth was known, size of a lump o' chalk," put in Tim with a laugh. "Just as I stooped to seize him, he looks me straight i' the face, an' says, 'Benson, for God's sake, 1 ( go. rtiV 93. ^% SIMON HOLMES, 93 ■ i.1 "We ain't gotten a worse poacher i' this neighbourhood than he is," persisted Jacob. " Says I to myself, I'll nab yo' next tahme, my man, as sure as a gun. So to-night I went an hid myself in a thorn bush just by the hedge between t' coppice an' t' paddock. Well, I waited aboot an hour or so, an' began to think o' failure. Then I hears somebody speakin' quietly to a dog. Lookin' through my bush, I saw as well as the mist would let me, a man peering through the hedge into the paddock. I was sure o' my man, cock sure. "' Yis, Maister Chivey,' says I. 'You're in for it this tahme as sure as my name's Jake Benson. I'll mak' yo' stop if I ha' to wing yo' for it.' I rushes out meanin' to seize him by the collar, when the rascal clubbed his gun an' aimed a cracker at me that would ha' made me see stars if it had hit me. I ducked, an' down I fell all my length on the slippery grass. Then he jumps the hedge an' runs for it, an' I efter him. We crossed the paddock as though we were runnin' for t' Doncaster cup. Then I lost him. The ruist was settlin' doon, an' I lost scent. Thinks I, he's gotten into t' stack- yard, an' will be dodgin' among t' stacks. Suddenly I popped round a haystack partly cut, an" in the corner I saw a man crouchin' down. Just as I stooped to seize him he jumps up, looks me straight i' the face, wi' such a pale pitiful look, ari' says — " * Benson 1 for God's sake, let me go ! ' " I couldn't ha' held a week-old rabbit, an' off he went into the darkness like a shot. Whoever do you think it was? " " Why, Chivey, to be sure ! " said Tim with a grin ; " an' he's chiveyed you ageean an' no .nistak'." " 7tm Crouch ! as sure as J 'm a livin^ sintier, it was Alfred Atheling! Hmi as is wanted for forgerin', 'bezzle- ment, an' half murderin' a p'liceman ! " From this it will be seen that Madam Rumour, true to her lying tongue, had as usual added largely to the poor boy's I 94 SIMON HOLMES. offences, and was likely enough, by-and-by, to lay whole- sale murder to his charge. "Well, I (im blowed!" said Cobbler Tim, speaking under his breath. Then as if the odd expletive had exhausted his powers of speech, he sat with his arms extended and the wax thread taut between, and looked at the gamekeeper in dumb surprise. "To think that he should ha' ta'en to foac/iin^ I" smd Benson, in a tone that indicated his opinion that there was positively no deeper depth into which humanity could fall. " I shouldn't ha' thowt it possible. I alius took him to be a good sort of a lad. barrin' bcin' a bit wild, but this caps all." " Poachin' ! " said Tim contemptuously. " Not he. He hez ten thoosan' tahmes mair sense. You're oot on it there, 'keeper. Ah see ezac'ly hoo it was. Chivey Ste'enson was the man you saw fost. It was Chivey that tried to club yo* wi' his gun. It was Chivey that gat ower t' paddock hedge an' ran. Then you missed him. I)ei)end on it, he nivver went near t' stackyard ; he wadn't be sitch a dodderin' idiot. It wad be runnin' inte t' roondhoose. lie gav' yo' the slip, 'keeper, an' i' seekin' him, you com' slap on to young Athel- ing. But what was /le aboot ? Ah reckon he was yam-sick, an' com' to have a look at t' owd Garth ageean. Poor beg- gar ! He's browt his pigs to a fine market an' no mistak'." It will be seen from this that Tim was not without a good deal of shrewd discernment, and the tone in which he said * poor beggar,' betokened true feeling, though the expression was anything but complimentary. Jacob Benson was much impressed by Tim's expression of opinion, and now that Alfred was relieved from the crowning odium of being a poacher, the gamekeeper began to think of him with greater favour. " Mebbe that is it," he said. " I'll warrant it is, poor lad. Tun, what had I better do ? " " Do ? " said Tim, who as a thorough-paced Radical as SIMON HOLMES. 95 became his craft, had a n itiiral antipathy to the law as rcpre sented by constables, ])oliccmen, magistrates, &c., "why, keep your tongue still, old fellow, an' let the poor lad go." " \N'hy, I'd rather do that," said Benson. " He was a very nice young fellow. Mis brother Robert's one of a thoosand ; and his mother — right you are, Tim, you an' n.c '11 niver give her more heartaches than she's gotten already. W c'll keep a still tongue aboot it, as you say. Silly lad ! noo that I know he hezn't been poachin' 1 seems to pity him. It's enough to mak' one think wi' Simon Holmes, an' say, * \\ hat a pity it is that the lad wasn't a religious character.'" "A religious character!" said the cobbler in sarcastic tones. " Ah don't knoa se mitch aboot that. All isn't gold that glitters. There's characters as is religious, an' there's characters as isnt ; an' ah'li tell yo' what it is, ah'll finnd yo' them as irsn't, that's a precious lot better thrn them as is. That's all ah've gotten to say on that subject. I ain't mitch opmion on 'em myself." Strange to say, the gamekeeper, who as we have seen rather prided himself on being heterodox, was inclined to take up cudgels for the orthodox belief. " Why, as for that, Tim, I isn't so sure," he said. " If I was asked who I think to be the best characters in Aspen- dale, I should say Simon an' 'Becca Holmes, Mrs. Atheling and Mr. Robert, an' seme others, an' if my owd mother had been alive, I should ha' putten her i' the list, an' they're all religious fooaks. What do yo' say to that ? " ''Say? why I says this," said Tim, preparing for the fray. "Look at Crimpley the grocer. He goes ivery Sunday to a chapel at Chilworth, 'cause Thorpe Aspen Church isn't good anuft" for him; an' he hez prayers m his oan hoose, an' makes a great to do aboot religion in his t?lk, and yet — Sally I come here ! " Sally came from her kitchen in answer to this call, — her ■i 96 SIMON HOLMES. hands all while with flour, for she was in the first stage of preparing the household bread. *' Noo, Tim, what d'yo' want ? Don't keep me botherin' here." " What was amiss wi' them corran's you got at Crimpley's t'other day ? " " Short weight by nearly two ounces," quoth Sally, " but I took good care he had 'em back." "What did yo' finnd i' your tea-caddy, when I com- plained 'at the tea was like drinkin' senna, owd lass ?" "Sloe leaves," said Sally. "Owd Crimpley's a limb o' Satan, for all he's a chapel-goer. Thorpe Aspen Church is good anuff for me, an' a lahtle o' that goes a long way, — but there, I isn't religious." There was a strong distillation of satire in the last words, and* thereupon Sally went back to her bread- making. "There's a religious character for yo', Jacob," said Tim triumphantly. " They're all alike ! " As if to give prompt denial to his words, the door opened at that instant, and Simon Holmes appeared with a pair of boots in his hand that needed repairs. "What's all alike, Tim ? " said the carpentei, with a smile. " Not your boots, it's to be hoped, for these ha' com' off the welts before they're half worn." 'J'he cobbler was taken aback ; but as he did not by any means lack courage, and would not show the white feather before Jacob Benson, he said boldly enough — " Why, religious fooaks. We've been talking about Jonas Crimpley." " Why, /te isn't religious fooaks, is he, Tim ? He only weears one hat," said Simon. " Yis," retorted Tim quickly, " but he weears two feeaces under it." "Still he isn't religious fooaks, Tim, he's nobbut one, SIMOS HOLMES. 97 Inly Ices Ine, though he may hcv' as many feeaces as a chotch clock," replied Simon, keeping Tim to the mark. "Why, I was just mentionin' him as a specimen, yo* knoa," (juoth the cobbler, "just to give t' 'keei er a idea o' what my opinion is aboot 'em, — nut that there isn't exceptions, an' mebbe ah sudn't ha' te go far te finnd yan." Simon was proof against the implied compliment. "Oh, that's it," said he innocently. "You i)ick oot one that you knoa, or think, at ony rate," said he, checking him- self, " isn't up to the mark, an' then say that none of 'cm are. I've heeard fooaks talk aboot bad logic, and I fancy that's a specimen, as you call it, whether Jonas Crimpley is or no. But that's neither here nor there," he said, changing his tone, as if he was tired of the subject. " Ha' yo' gotten ony apples i' your apple-chaim'er ? " " Yis, a few bushels," replied the cobbler; " what mak's yo* ax?" " Why, I was wonderin' noo, if you had a chance o' sellin' 'em, whether you can warrant 'em soond an' sweet." Cobbler Tim began to hope that Simcn had been deputed, as on former occasions, to make a bid for the apples, which he wished to sell in readiness for his Christmas rent " Oh, they're all right," said he, " ah'll warrant there isn't monny weeasters among 'em." "Is there one, Tim? Is there one?" said Simon seriously. "Why, yis, it's varry likely there may be one, mebbe two, but that's neeather here nor there." " Isn't it ?" replied the carpenter. " Tak' my advice, Tim. Empty the lot of 'em into the pig-tub, for if there's a rotten red streak among 'em, they're a bad lot. I'se sorry for yo'. I doot yo' can't spare 'em ower weel." " What i' the wo'ld are yo' talkin' aboot, Simon ? " said the cobbler. " Ah tell yo', that spite o' one or two bad 'uns, m 98 SIMON HOLMES. the lot is as sweet an' as soond as if they were still iipo' t' trees." " I'se glad to hear it, Tim, an' I'll try to get yo' a customer for 'em. Nco don't forget that 'religious fooaks,' as you call 'em, may be soond an' sweet in a general way, even when yo' kno' that there's a sprinklin' o' rotten 'uns. But I did think you had mair sense, Tim, than to pick up a rotten apple and say, 'They're all alike.' You mustn't tell fooaks so, or you'll fail to sell your stock." "That's a good 'un !" said Jacob Benson, who had not soon caught the carpenter's drift. " That's upset your apple- cart, Tim, an' no mistake," and the gamekeeper laughed heartily. This was more than Tim could well stand ; he looked round for his lapstone, afraid that he might be driven to that last resort : but resolved on a desperate effort to regain lost ground. "Why, you can't deny," said he, "that there's a good monny precious specimens o' the sooart ah meean all aboot. If you do, you're walkin' through the wold wi' your eyes ihut. They're as common as toadstools an' a'most as poisonous," and the cobbler made a wry face to express his disgust. " I niwer denied it," said Simon. "There's sadly ower niony that is not what they owt to be, more's the pity. But talkin' aboot toadstools. Will yo' niwer eat mushrooms 'cause some are so plaguy like 'em ? Look here," he con- tinued, pointing to a bad half-crown that the cobbler had nailed to his window sill. " There's a good few o' these aboot, but if I was to offer you a half-crown oot o' my pocket, an' say, ' Here, Tim, here's something for yo',' I reckon yo' wouldn't say, ' No, thank yo', they're all alike.' Coonterfeit coin, neighbour, is a proof that there's some o* the genuine article aboot somewhere. An' then what aboot these boots? Surely there's them that can cobble better SIMON HOLMES. 99 ke.' |eo» )00t ttter than you, for if they * arc all alike,' then accordin' to present appearances, wc shall hev to go barefoot." Here he lifted up the defaulting pair. "Tim," he continued seriously, " you are too shrewd a man to believe such nonsense, and like ninety-nine oot o' ivery hundred glib-tongued talkers agin religion, you know in your conscience that you don't mean wliat you say." Before Si' .on Holmes had finished, Tim Crouch had rubbed his stubbly hair, had seized his hammer and lapstone, and as Simon Holmes and the gamekeeper traversed the darkened road together, they could hear the sharp rap tap of the cobbler's strokes on the victimised leather. As the two parted at Simon's gate, the gamekeeper said, " Tim's at it yet, Simon " " Ay, Jacob," said he, " lapstone logic is a thing you can hammer out for ony length o' time ; but I expect he'll spoil the sole." Jut )ms ton- lad \ese my CHAPTER XIII. ALFRED ATIIKI.TNG MKETS WITH STARTLING EXPKRTRNCES ; AND NED SALTMER SHOWS WHAT METAL HE IS MADE OF. •'All is not well. I doubt some foul play." ** Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; The thief doth fear each bush an officer." Shahesfeare, flM CROUCH was right in hissuspicion that Nick Ste'en- son was the poacher pursued by Jacob Benson through the grounds near Aspen Garth, and that Alfred Athel- ing's appearance on the scene was due to quite another and a better cause. That unhappy and unfortunate though sufficiently erring youth had, as we have already seen, come to the conclusion that he must have another look at peace- ful Aspendale, and more especially another look at his mother's features in the dear old house av home. It is quite true that hitherto he had seemed to care but little either for the one or the other ; but he had had a sharp lesson lately. Like the prodigal, he had to suffer before repentance came, but like the prodi*^ xl he had come to himself, and he longed for nothing better than to fall at his mother's feet and crave forgiveness for all the unworthy past • He had been able in his retirement beneath the roof of 0\ SIMON HOLMES. to I Ned F>.iltmer to earn sufficient money to provide him with that welcome shelter and with more than frugal fare. He was possessed of very considerable literary gifts. For many years he had used his pen to composition, not for payment hut for pleasure. Quite an accumulation of such articles had lodgment in his memory, so flir, at least, that they could be readily reproduced by care and pains. He set himself to work at this,. He wrote short stories, brief sketches, light essays, and these had sterlii.g merit, and were written in a lively style. For these he was able to find a market, and by the aid of a nam de plumt\ to do this without dis- covering his identity. Had it not been for the upbraidings of his conscience, upbraidings that refused to be silenced, and for the fear of detection and ts probable consecjuences, that embittered his daily life, he might have faced the future even on the new lines whereon his sin and folly had compelled him to move. But wrong-doing has always a terrible power to hamper and trammel and disturb the wrong-doer, to darken his horizon, and to take all the enjoyment out of life, even at a long distance from the time and place of his transgres- sions. Sin is very exacting in its demands, and its bitters are out of all keeping with its short-lived sweets in the matter of duration. Alfred Atheling is not so soon or so easily to be loosed from the toils which his own reckless and wilful hands had thrown around him. One t vening, as he was taking a brisk constitutional after a long day's labour at his desk and papers, he met with an incident that forcibly and cruelly reminded him of the con- stant perils of his position. He was rounding one of the shady corners within the palings of Victoria Park, wher he was suddenly accosted by a well -remembered, and therefore unwelcome voice. "Hallo, Atheling, old fellow! Why, who would have thought of seeing you so far east ? I should have imagined 102 SIMON HOLMES. that I was the only unlucky West-ender condemned to wander in these uncongenial regions, I am here, however, for my sins. How are you, old friend?" The speaker was an acquaintance with whom he had often played the fool in the days when that emj)loyment took up the major portion of his time ; a boon companion of his own and Harold Spofforth's, with whom they had consorted in such engagements as had helped to bring our young fugitive to his present pass. His name was Cecil Osborn. He had often been admitted to the chambers in the side street off the Strand, and hence there was no possibility of denying his identity or avoiding further recognition. " Oh, I'm all right." said Alfred, with an assumption of ease and gaiety which he certainly did not feel. Anxious to turn the inevitable commonplaces of such a meeting from himself he asked — " What in the world brings you into this quarter of the modern Babylon ? " "Stern necessity, my boy, which, as you and I have often written in our copybooks, knows no law," said the other, " I am not so sure, do you know, of the truth of that old saw. At any rate, I know of one party who would be very glad to supply me with a good deal more law than I desire." "What do you mean?" said Alfred, feigning an interest which he did not possess. " ] act is, Atheling, I'm in a fix. Overrun the constable, you know, and all the rest of it : been going the pace too fas; ; vacuum here, don't you see ? " and the speaker slapped his pocket to provide further explanation. " My old nurse, bless her dear heart, furnishes me with a temporar)' Alsatia. By-the-by, now I come to think of it, you were under a cloud, weren't you ? What was it? Oh, I remember : smash- ing a peeler or something of that sort : saw it in the papers. Confounded bore those papers are : ' Absconded ! Fifty L SnfON HOLMES. 103 pounds reward ! ' By George ! Vou sliould not tempt a poor beggar, hard up as I am, 'pon my word, you shouldn't." And verily, yea verily, this boon companion and comrade, who could grip hands so easily and warmly, and drink his friend's health so heartily, this jolly good fellow, positively viewed our young outlaw with covetous eyes, and Alfred Athcling felt sure that just then Mr. Cecil Osborn valued his friend and his friend's friendship at — fifty pounds ! At that moment, a policeman, together with another individual in plain clothes, were seen pacing the gravel walk, and approaching them with a slow and, as they thought, a cautious step. Ordinarily this would have meant nothing, and in reality it did mean nothing to either of them ; but to our brace of simpletons, each with his own secret to hide, it meant much. "The wicked fleeth when no man pursueth," and both alike were anxious to go their way. "Well, ta-ta," said Cecil Osborn. "I must be going. Where are you hanging out ? " " Oh, I shall drop on you again, sometime, I dare say," was the reply, and turning on his heel Alfred sought the shelter of Ned Saltmer's cottage by a very devious route so as to reach it unobserved. He was a good deal flurried, and as soon as he arrived at his own apartments, he heaved a deep sigh of relief, That was quickly followed by another sigh of trouble and concern. " Now, what am I to do ? " he said, " I cannot, must not stop here any longer. I'll go abroad." So startled was he by this sudden interview with the quondam friend that he could not sleep. He S[)ent the night in laying plans for his departure, and rose unrested and ill at ease. By that mornings post he received a cheque for certain Til m k m 1 .^ 104 SIMON HOLMES. contributions to the ' Popular Reader/ and as he needed to make some purchases, he went to the bank on which the cheque was drawn to get it cashed As he came out from thence he pushed the swing door open somewhat suddenly ahd vigorously, much to the surprise and discomfort of a stalwart policeman who was standing in the lobby, and who got the full effect of that ' movement on flank.' "Hi, there! Heasily ! Heasily ! " said he. "I'm not quite as 'ard is hiron. It's a reg'lar case o' 'sault aa' battery." " I sincerely beg your pardon," said Alfred, lifting his face towards the speaker. In these days Alfred Atheling usually wore a downcast look. It was as much as he could do to maintain his composure, for lo, the two eyes that were looking on him from lowering brows were the eyes of Police Constable Tugwell, whom he had left in Harold Spofforth's dressing-room with a double lock turned on him to keep him there ! Again he stammered, hardly knowing what he said — " I'm sure I beg your pardon." Tugwell looked at him with a sudden interest. He evidently suspected. Luckily for Alfred, he wasn't sure. Allied moved away as rapidly as he dared, trying to choose a pace consistent with haste but not with fear. It was as much as he could do to. refrain from looking round ; and at every step he took he expected to feel a hand upon his shoulder and to hear P. C. Tugwell's stern command to stop. It was long before Alfred was able to look back upon that day without a ' creepy crawly feeling,' and the sensation of the pressure of a policeman's digits on his arm. Tugwell was cautious. Had he been more cautious on the former occasion Alfred would not have escaped. Tugwell has learned a lesson. He entered the bank and stood at the counter, a man in authority. "Will you hinform me as to the name of that gentleman SIMON HOLMES. 105 who's just left the bank? Tallish young man with blue heyes. Just gone hout,' said he. He was told that he was a stranger there, but that the name upon the cheque that he had presented was Ralph Ravensworth. Mr. Tug well was not much the wiser for that. " It was the very man, I'm a'most sure ! " naid he, as he left the bank to look along the street in the direction Ralph had taken. "If it is 'im, I should just like to punch 'is 'ead." Honest Tugwell was not to have that indulgence. Alfred had made the best of his opportunities, and for the present at Irast was in safe quarters. But it was now more than ever certain that he must go. Without further delay, he gathered together the little substance that belonged to him and set his face towards a far country. In New York he thought he might be safe, and hoped, not without warrant; that the pen of Ralph Ravensworth would maintain him there. It is needless to say that Ned Saltmer and Madge were sorry to part with him. His genial ways, his Yorkshire sympathies, his ability to talk ' East Ridin,' and so to make music in the ears of the home-loving couple, and especially his appreciation of Madge's housewifery, had endeared him to them both. There was also that other tie, always strong on the part of well-constituted natures, — they had befriended him greatly in the ' day of his calamity,' and so seemed to have a permanent share in him. On the evening before he set out on his long journey, Ned asked him to give him ten minutes' conversation in his .own room. Alfred wonderingly, and in truth apprehensively, consented. It was his fate to carry about with him always an accuser in his breast, and that led him to be always on the alert for an accusation from otherwhere. "Why, now," said Ned, coming to the point at once, "it's 1: : ^ >~^.^- .-.^V. *,^'^ >;' '' -•^-vS'jr9!»^*"«(isft< - tUf^Tvyc- TVP- 1 06 SIMON HOLMES. just here. You've trusted me, an' I've trusted you ; an' I don't think that cither on us is ony the woss for that." " Indeed, I'm grateful, from the bottom of my soul," said Alfred warmly. *' You've been a true friend to me." " I want to be, an' I will be," said Ned. "If you believe it, give me your hand on it." Needless to say it was heartily gripped. " Now, then, all's clear sailin'," said Ned. " The long an' the short of it is, Mr. Alfrp'^ \theling, I know you. I knew you i' the coffee-house the first day I saw you in London." Alfred looked at him in dumb suri)ri.se, and thought what a fool's i)aradise he had been living in, so fiir as his notions of seclusion were concerned. "I don't wonder," said Ned, "at your looking like that. It'll make no difference to me. I'm a Chilworth man, I am, an' I used to be journeyman wi' Simon Holmes o' Thorpe Aspen. He was buildin' a new farmstead for Farmer Holroyd o' Aspen Grange, leastwise for Sir Godwin Spofforth, his landlord. Don't you remember when you used to be hevin' your holidays, how you used to come when we was hevin' dinner, an' tell us tales, whoppers they was, some of 'em ; an' crack jokes till we a'most died o' laughin' ? " Alfred's face had become red and white by turns, and all the while honest Ned was speaking he thought how entirely he had been at his mercy. Still his confidence was not shaken, and he replied with a smile — " Now you mention it, I call it to mind. Those were merrier days than these," and as he spoke Alfred sighed heavily. "Never mind," said Ned, misunderstanding the origin of that sigh. "You ha' no cause to trouble that I knows you. I hked you then, an' I like you now, an' so does my Madge. An' seein' that you're under a cloud, as you said yourself, I don't mind say in' that me an' Madge is a good SIMON HOLMES. 107 , deal troubled about yo' ; more especially as you ha' been so down i' the dumps these last few days. You've no rail to fear that there's any danger of our Icttin' out anything we know. I isn't goin' to ask where you are goin', because that might look suspicious-like, an' most likely it's best we shouldn't know ; an' I isn't goin' to persuade you not to go, because I think it's quite likely you're right to move away. But I is goin' to say this, an' what I says I means, — when- ever you want a corner to set down in, or a plain man to do you a friendly cum, an' a good little woman to mak' you welcome, Number fourteen Woodstock Street, Victoria Park, is the si)Ot for you. Will you give me your hand on it?" They uere very honest and genuine tears that stood m Alfred's eyes as he looked in Ned's face, took again the proffered hand and said — " I will, Ned, and thank you from the bottom of my heait. If ever I need a refuge I'll seek it with you." It was a few days after this conversation that Alfred, still starving with home-hunger, ventured to find his way to Aspen Garth, to snatch a glimpse of the hearth around which were gathered those who, now that a great gulf lay between him and them, were dear to him as life, ay, dearer, for it was more for their sakes, their name, their reputation, than for his own safety, that he shunned what he fully believed would be his if he surrendered — a con- vict's fate. Protected from observation by the early winter dark and the thick mist that lay upon the ground, he had seen the dear old room with its cosy ingles, its flickering beech logs, whose flames lighted up each well-remembered picture on the walls. He had seen the calm, sad features and silver hair of his mother as she sat in her accustomed chair. He had seen the brighter, cheerier face of his sister Clara, and the frank, open countenance of his brother Edgar. Robert, ■ilJt'airti -T JW-i^JI', i-^, W" 108 SIMON HOLMES. m >l his good, noble, large-hearted elder brother, he did not see. He gazed through the window until his face seemed glued to the pane, until the vision was blurred out by scalding tears. He felt as though he must rush in and steal one last embrace. But then came the thought that by so doing he should make them partakers of his peril, and possibly bring them within reach of the law, for not surrendering him to the justice he had defied. While still he paused uncertain what to do, he was alarmed by approaching foot- steps and sped swiftly to the stackyard to hide from view. Then it was that Jacob Benson, in hot pursuit of ' Chivey ' Ste'enson, mistook him for the poacher and stretched his hand to take him. Fearful of being recognised, Alfred had crouched into the angle of the haystack made by the knife to supply the cattle with fodder. With an involuntary appeal upon his lips he sj^rang out into the darkness with a darker night within him, and fled away, away from home and friends, to meet an unknown future on a foreign strand. But the bitter cup he was called upon to drink had not yet received all its unpalatable ingredients. As he sped along the Chil- worth road he overtook the poacher who had been the quarry that Jacob Benson would fain have brought down. Thai worthy in his turn mistook him for the keeper in hot pursuit. He turned on Alfred with a passionate oath and laid his hand upon his gun to repel attack. Alfred was taken by surprise and stood in silence for a moment. That moment was sufficient for Chivey to recognise him. Alfred's face was ghastly white, and even through the night the poacher saw that it wore a hunted look. The poacher could sympathise with that ; he had had to run many a gauntlet of keepers, policemen, and keepers' men. Only the rough side of his human kindred had been turned towards him, or he might have been other and better than he was. A sudden impulse of sympathy with a SIMON HOLMES. 109 brother outlaw made him lower his gun and say as he stoor? aside to let the young mu.i pass — " Gan yer ways, for all me — hawks sudn't pick oot hawks' een ; an' a hunted fox sudn't peril a fox's brush." Stung to the quick by the humiliating comparison, Alfred did not stay to recognise the better feeling that prompted it, but passed on into the deepening shadow, the very incarnation of shame and humiliation. Thence he hasted to Liverpool and took ship for the Western Continent. There he hoped to enter on a new career and to live a nobler and a better life. He resolved to write home as soon as he had landed, and say that much at any rate, to sow the seeds of hope at home. Thanks to the pious principles which had always been in the ascendant at Aspen Garth, the young prodigal felt a real yearning after better things. Ere he left his native land he had vowed that, by the help of God, he would " Build a new life upon a ruined life, And make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream.'* It is a worthy object, but in such a case as his, can it be attained ? That question Alfred Atheling asked him- self full oft, and feared even while he hoped. That fear well guarded will haply help him in his task. CHAPTER XIV. I ROBERT ATIIEMNG SETS OUT UPON HIS QUEST ; AND THE FAITHFUIf JOSS ELECTS TO KEKP HII' COMPANY. " Yet there are pangs of keener woe, Of which the sufferers never speak, Nor to the world's cold pity show The tears that scald the cheek, Wrung from their eyelids by the shame And guilt of those they shrink to name, Whom once they loved wiih clieerful will, And love, though fallen and branded, still." PV. C. Bryant, AVING fairly installed his brother Edgar in the manageinent of the farm, Robert Aiheling felt him- self free to travel to the world's end, if needs be, in fulfilment of the pledge he had given his honoured father on his dying bed. He remained one whole day in seclusion in his own old-fashioned bedroom, with its odd corners and slanting roof and its mani;old tokens of comfort and even of luxury, putting to rights his own i)apers and those concerning family affairs. There, too, he spent solemn hours, pleading with Heaven that his steps might be guided aright, directed to the whereabouts of his wandermg brother, and thaL his mission might be crowned with full success. SIMON HOLMES. Ill The next morning, after taking an affectionate farewell of his household, he took the crutch-handled stick which had been his father's prop in his declining years, — his portmanteau had been sent on before him, — and whistling to keep his courage up he passed through the gates of Aspen Garth. Then he uirned his face to the great city, amid whose teeming multitudes iie hoped to light upon the lost sheej) who had wandered so far astray from virtue, home, and God. He might have driven to the Chilworth station in his own well appointed dogcart drawn by his favourite black mare, — he had a wonderful affection for the dumb animals of which he was ever a kindly master — an affection im- plicitly returned ; but the morning was fine and frosty and the roads good, so he preferred to walk. A turn in tlie road soon hid from sight the departing traveller, who trudged along the highway to catch the next train to town. As he passed along the village street he was joined by Simon Holmes. 'I'he carpenter explained that he had business down the valley, and that if Robert had no objection he would walk along with him. i fancy, however, that the old man had improvised the 'business' that he might transact a little business of another and a higher kind. " Good mornin', Mr. Robert," said Simon. "Then you're off" at la^t. I've gotten a little matter o' business to see to down at Farmer Green's. Siiall I bother yo' if I go along wi' yo' ? " " Scarcely that, old friend," said Robert. "I was glad to get away alone from my own folks. It would only have made the parting harder and longer if any of them had come with me. But with you it's different. You will- not do other than give me a helping hand and a word of cheer." "Nay, marry," said Simon. "I've been prayin' to God to speed yo' iver since I woke, an' it's scarcely likely tiiat I should go agin my own petitions. Not that I've ony 113 SIMON HOLMES. manner o' doot aboot the upshot. You don't go a warfare at your own cost, an' them that's gotten a errand sitch as yours, an' sitch a startin' point as yours, can't varry weel fail o' their purpose. When the good Providence o' God begins a tiling, He's pratty sartain to be in at the finish. Man's purposes are often brokken off, but His hev* a way o' getiin' theirselves roonded off intiv a completeness that leeaves nowt to be desired. If iver a man had a certificate for action an' a passport for travel that's not to be easily inter- fered with, it's you." "Well, yes, Simon," responded Robert, "it does seem as though duty is pretty clearly marked out for me in this instance ; and I will not doubt that, though the path of duty may be hard to travel, it will lead to the right end at last." " Ay, that it will, you may depend on't : an' Him that bids yo' walk on it '11 see that your wallet isn't short o' refresh- ment, an' He'll put yo' a few wayside inns for rest an' comfort as yo' go. You knoa Who it is that says, ' I will guide thee with mine eye.' He never mak's a mistak' ; an' if His eye leads on to labour, it mak's all pleasant because it's breet wi' the Icet of His love." "I know it, Simon," replied Robert, straightway walking with a bolder step. "I can honestly say, *I go in the strength of the Lord God.' " "That's the wind that wafts to harbour, Mr. Robert. I was at Hull t'other day, standin' on t' South End pier. I saw a ship come sailin' up the Hummer, sailin' fair i' t' sunleet wi' all her sails bellied out i' t' breeze, an' she just glided into harbour an' droi)ped her anchor, an' the crew gav' a great shoot as if they were sayin', ' We've weathered the storm an' we're seeafe i' port !' I couldn't help thinkin' o' you an' your mission. I says to myself, The prayers of his honoured fayther an' his godly mother, let alone his oan, '11 fill his sails, and all Thorpe Aspen '11 shoot him a wel- i SIMON HOLMES. n3 I I t' ist id \n' come when he drops anchor at Aspen Garth with his brother Alfred in tow. Besides you won't forgot tliat there's them left behind that '11 nivvei forget yo' at the Throne of Grace, nivver ! You won't forget that, will you, Mr. Robert ? " " No fear of that, dear friend," said the young man, with a full heart. " And nobody can value such help more than I. Thnnk you for the courage wiih which your words have inspired me. I shall not forget tiiem." The carpenter had now readied the homestead of Farmer Green whither his * business ' had led him "Well, good-bye, Mr. Robert, an' God bless yo'," said he, *' an' if your courage should ivver seeam inclined to droop a bit, an' it may, for you aren'r meeade of iron, an' t' rooad may be a goodish bit rough, remember that 'Thy shoes shall be iron an' brass, an' as thy day is thy strength shall be.'" The young man grasped the carpenter's hand in silence, and permitted the teaiful sparkle in his own eyes to inti- mate his affectionate farewell. Now Robert was the owner of a fine collie dog, which answered to the name ot Joss, and which was even more distinguished for fidelity and canine intelligence than the generality of his clever and faithful tribe. Of course Joss never dreamed that he was to be left behind, and it was only by dint of apparent anger and the threat of Robert's staff that the dog was in- duced with cowering head and drooping tail to creep back to Edgar's side. Arrived at the station, Robert found that he was only just in time to catch the train, which moved slowly into the station just as. he was taking his ticket. A porter opened the door of a carriage for him, when Joss, who had followed his master in cunning silence and at a carefully measured distance, leaped in before him. "Now then be quick please, sir?" said the station master, half pushing Robert into the compartment. H 114 SIM OS uoiMr.s. . The whistle soundcil, the train started, and so, much to the yoiini; man's annoyance, Joss was perforce liis fellow- traveller to London. There was something so thoroughly comical and sensible in the odd semi-side squint which the four-footed ofTender gave his master, as he put back his cars and held his tail in horizontal stiffness as if he did not dare to wa,' it, that Robert could not help smiling in spile of his vexation. Tiiis was (juite enough for Joss. The tail became elo- quent in an instant : his ears were pricked, and his fore feet placed upon his master's knees. By every substitute for speech the faithful Joss possessed, he deprecated an expected scolding. No sooner was he rewarded by a forgiving pat than he uttered one glad, short, exultant bark, and then retreated underneath the seat as if resolved to show that he knew his place and intended to give no further trouble. When the train came to a final standstill in the London terminus, Joss came forth from voluntary durance and marched at his owner's heels with the air of a dog that could well take care of himself and of his master too. Having secured for himself a comfortable location in a large boarding-house near the King's Cross station, Robert Atheling's next business was to obtain an interview with Hudson Harvey, Esq., ^LR, for whom Alfred had acted as jjrivate secretary, and from whom the money had been taken which had placed Alfred in peril and given such bitter grief to all his friends Mr. Hudson received Robert with evident coldness in the first instance, for he was with good reason very wroth with the young wrongdoer, who had rendered such an ill return for all his kindliness and trust. But Mr. Hudson was a just man — a man of warm sympa- thies, and it was not long before he estimated his visitor aright and treated him with confidence and respect. e lacts of the case. Mi. Atheling, are just these," {( SIMOS' lIOI.MliS. II!; in a Lobert with 1 acted been bitter with good [o had trust, kym pa- visitor tht'se," k Bald he, "I bad for some niontlis felt [grieved and dissniis tied wiih your brother's neglii^ence and inattention to (hity. I <;ently remonstrated, and then sliarply rebuked him not with much result, J am sorry to say. l>ut I rem- inhered my poor boy's aiTection for him as his tutor, and horc with a course of conchict whicli I certainly should not have borne from anybody else. Then came errors and deficien- cies in his accounts, for which he arcoiinttd in a lanK- and unsatisfactory way. At last, on examinin;^ matters closely, I di.scovered that a sum of several hundred jjounds, which I had entrusted to him on the morning of a day on whicli he had asked for a holiday, had never readied tiie bank at all. On the first sign of discovery, your brotiier took him- self off, and there the matter stands at this day. It is very painful for me to say it. It is very painful for you to hear it ; but the facts are too clear for doubt, and your brother is a guilty and dishonoured man. 'J'he matter is now in the hands oi the police, and though I deeply sympathise with you and your aged mother, I don't see, now, how I can further interfere." " Believe me, sir," said Robert, " I do not desire to sug- gest that you should do anything but wiiat is right. All that can be asked of you, in case iny brother is found, is to be merciful as the prosecutor, and to help me to minimise the consequences of his sad offence. One thing I can do, one thing I am commissioned by his mother to do ; that 1 am sure you will agree to for the sake of the go(;d name of his relations. Kindly inform me what the delicicncy is that is fairly traceable to. his misdoings, and let me give you a cheque for the full amount. That, at any rate, is quite consistent with your freedom of action in the interests of public justice." " I am quite willing," said Mr. Harvey, " to do as you wish, and further, I am quite ready to promise that so far as hes in my power, I will endeavour to lighten the punisii- ii6 SIMON HOLMES. ment meted out to him. If I can honourably save him from imprisonment, I will." There v;as something so honest and transparent about Robert Atheling that Mr. Harvey 'took to him' as we use to say, asked him to lunch, and finally, of his own accord, he intimated that the offer of a reward for Alfred's capture should be withdrawn. " As far as I am concerned," said he, " your brother shall have another opportunity of redeeming his character." It may well be imagined tliat Robert Atheling returned to his quarters much relieved in his mind as to one portion of his mission to town. So evidently was this the case, that Joss, who had long been aware that his master was under a cloud of trouble, speedily discerned the gleam of returning sunshine to his face. The journey from May- fair to King's Cross afforded him an excellent opportunity of throwing off the sympathetic gloom which had sliadowed his d(jggish mind. He leaped, he gambolled, he set off on a swift chase after an imaginary hare, wheeled suddenly round; and came at speed to give his beloved master a con- gratulatory salute. Altogether, Joss behaved himself in such a way as to astonish the Londoners who tramped the pave- ment with a view of what a free-born British dog, fresh from the wolds of Aspendaie, could do even in the heart of roai.iag London town. " All right, Joss," said Robert, with a smile, and then the shadow fell again as he continued, "but there's a good deal to do yet, old dog, before we can see Aspen Garth again." And at that moment, where was Alfred Atheling ? Dead and buried, so far as that name was concerned, for he had laid it aside, doubting whether he should ever wear it any more. After his sad and tearful vision of Aspen Garth, his sudden evanishment from the presence of Jacob Benson, and his startling interview with Chivey Ste'enson, he had • SIMON HOLMES. 117 him ibout ise to d, he pture sliall urncd ortion : case, ;r was am of May- rtuniiy ^dowed off on ddenly a con- in such ; pave- ,h from lart of len the good Garth Dead le had it any th, his Jenson, Ihe had made Ills way to Chilwortii, from 'hence to a western port, and at tliat moment was on the high seas bound lor America as Ralph Ravensworlh. That name he meant to make honourable, to wear worthily, and to use his undoubted talents, not only tor his own sustenance, but for the well- being of his kind. Meanwhile, thanks to many prayers 'and the efforts of Sir Jarvis Ma in waring and Doctor KUham G't a' -s, Ethel Spofforth's recovery became rapid. One unusually soft and mild morning in January— it secined as though bleak winter had mildencd to give her special greeting — she walked out of her long impiisonment, leaning on the arm of her faiht-r, free to cl me and go at her own sweet will. As ihey walked along the sunny and sheltered side of the Hall, Kthel heaved a sigh so deep-drawn as to elicit from her father an inquiry into its cause. '* What are you thinking of, my dear," said the baronet, " to produce such a sigh as that? " "I was thinking of Harold, father. Do you know, I think God has raised me from the grave that 1 may go and fetch him home ? " The baronet shook his head. He was unable to reach her clear, full height of faith ; neither could he think with complacency of lier departure from him now that she had just been brought back to him from the shadowed chamber in which she had lain so long. And yet he could not hide from himself that the hand of God was directly visible in her wondrous restoration. His measure of light was but as a teeble glimmer, but the question would force itself upon him — was it for some special purpose ? She had come back at a bound from the very gates of the grave. Had she come again to the kingdom of life * for such a time as this ?' Moreover, Harold's return and reformation were all that were required, he thought, to make him happy and content. The fact was that in Ethel's mind there was no doubt, no ,;.^» I.'. vj.v>( 't'-jT^-i-.'^iiT^- ii8 SIMON HOLMES. ! ! question She believed in her commission as really and as firniiy as if it had been written with the finger of God on a table of stone, and she had equal confidence in her ultimate success. Now she was trying to familiarise her father with the thought. " I can't see that, ray darling," said Sir Godwin after a lengthy pause. "Now that 1 seem to have received you back alter a long, long journey, deeper and deeper into the shadow, I feel as thougii I cannot bear that you should go from me any more. I need you, dear, in more ways than one, and I am looking forward to a closer confidence, soul to soul, between you and me than was ever so before." This was doubly sweet to Ethel. She knew intuitively at what her father was hinting, and her heart beat fast as she tiiought that he too was being drawn towards rest and righteousness by the magnet of the Cross. "Besides," he continued, "you know how self-willed your brother is ; how passionate and proud. He would be sure to resist any such attempt to curb him as the sending of his siller alter him. The very idea would be enough to ccnstrain him to increase the distance between himself and hcmu'. I dearly wish he would return, for I greatly need his aid in ihe management of the estate. We can but hope that he will weary of his foolishness by-and-hy, and come back oi his own accord." " But you don't seem to remember, father dear, that if it is God's will that I should be the means of bringing him to a better mind, God can put him so that he cannot get away from me, and can put into his mind, when he sees me, a wish to come home with me. Jf it is right for me to go, it will be made right for him to come. 1 cannot doubt tliat, you know. I can never get rid of this feeling ; I hear it like a voice all the time, * Go and fetch your brother ! ' Think what a happy day for us all that will be when we three are altogeiher at dear old Aspen Chase." SIMON HOLMES. 119 it is to a iway Iwish will you Ike a Ihink are The bnronet could not argue. He would only doubt and wonder ; and wonder until his doubts were stag;^ered. A little while they walked in silence. Then Kthel said — " Father dear, you said just now, ' We can but hope.' Is there not one other thing that we can do ? Both of us, I mean. If it is right to hope for anything, it must be right to pray for it. I never go to sleep at nighr, I never w.ikc from sleep at morn but I say, * Lord, bring bnjther Harold home again ! ' And do you know, ihat always helps my hope. And when I pray like that, then the voice comes to me again and again, * Go and fetch your brother home.' Dear fuher ! It will be right for me to go. But don't trouble. When the time comes, and the way is open, I think you will be willing too." Then the two withdrew into the house again, the maiden to pray and hope and wait ; the silent baronet to pray, too, though no one knows it but himself and his God ; and more and more to ponder these things in his heart. God aid and guard thee, gentle Ethel. Of thee it may well be said as of thy trustful sister on Zidon shores, * O woman, great is thy faith I ' Thy errand will carry thee far away ; up rugged hills and down dark valleys, througii brake and briar, and the way at times will be hard walking for thy tender feet. Yet, ' Is anything too hard for the Lord ? ' Looking on thy vacant couch and with that wondrous * Talitha cwnV echoing in our ears, we cannot, dare not do other than say, * Go in this thy might I * -^^^^^1^^^^^ -i CHAPTER XV. PETER PROUT MAKES MERRY IN HIS MILL; AND SIMON HOLMES LISTENS TO A SONG OF HIS OWN COMPOSING. i< Now, good Csesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night ; Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-pated times. Come, but one verse." Shakespeare, FRESH north-west wind was blowing, steadily and strong, and the sails of Peter Prout's mill, for that thrifty knight of the mealsack was able to whirl his millstones by the agency either of wind r water, were careering in rapid circles on their elevated a. The rattle of the 'hoppers/ and the general rumble oi tiie r xhinery, gave sufficient token that the grain was being turned to grist at a famous rate, and that white flour or the browner meal of barley was flowing in abundance down the wooden spouts and into the open bags so placed as to receive it as it fell. Peter himself, whose rubicund cheeks were toned down by a plentiful powdering of the white dust that proclaimed his calling, was standing against one of the aforesaid spouts with his hand in the warm current of descending meal. He slowly passed his broad thumb across it, as it fell on his SIMON HOLMES. 131 fingers, to see that the upper and nether millstones were doing their work aright, and that the flour was sufficiently fine for the work for which it was intended. Now Peter the miller was also Peter the musical, and seeing that matters in the mill were moving along so merrily, what could be more natural than that he should wax merry too ? Loudly, cheerily, briskly, and heartily, as though he would keep match and measure with the sounds around him, he sang The Miller's Song. " Come let us be merry I come let us be cheery I Come drive away sorrow and care ; Old Care is a foe, sir ; then let's bid him go, sir, And say, ♦ Come again if you dare.' No good comes of sighing, or sobbing, or crying- No ill can be mended by that ; And folks that go whining, and grumbling, and pining, Had better go laugh and grow fat. *' By looking at trouble, you make it ^row double — It s'eals all the light from the sky ; Look out for the sun, sir, as sure as a gun, sir, You'll see the dark cloud passing by. To brood over crosses, and trials, and logses, Will make you as thin as a rat ; TAat never will cure 'em, nor help to endure 'em, It's better to laugh and grow fat. « Then let us be merry, for sure it is very Unwise to be moody and mum. To put a good face on a trouble will brace one To keep it well under the thumb. The doubtful and fearful, the anxious and tearful. Are sure to be wretched — that's pat. Be hopeful and cheery, and then, without query, You'll know how to laugh and grow fat." " Very well sung, miller ! very well sung ! " said Simon . ^<> v>. 122 SIMON HOLMES. Holmes the carpenter, who, all unknown to Peter, had come in lime to hear the song, and was standing in the doorway with a meaning smile upon his face. " Wry well sung, neii:hbour. But I ha' my doots aboot the moral on it or the science eeather. If King Solomon is to be trusted, an' he's reckoned a bit of an authority on them questions, laughter is offen only another name for madness, an' growin' fat's a thing that you may easily hev' owcr mitcii on. It may be a nat'ral ambition for a maggot, but as it can't sing t' prescription dizn't fit. The Bible says 'at Jeshurnn, who was only moderately manageable while he was iliin, kicked as soon as he 'waxed fat,' an' as that sort o' kickin' is generally agin t' pricks, there's mair pain then ]jkasure to be gained by t' job." "Hallo, Simon Holmes!" said the miller in mock sur- prise. " iVh shouldn't ha' sung that stave if ah'd knoan 'at you were within earshot. That soort o' music isn't mitch i' your line, is it ? Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, eh ? Them's your favourites. Ah don't mitch matter 'em ; ah like something jollier, myself. Hymns is ra\thtT milk-an'- wattery, ah alius thinks. A merry ditty noo an' then, when you're i' loa w\atter, or ha' gotten a fit o' the blues, gives yo' a fillip, like, an' helps yo' on." "Deary me !" said Simon drily. " Diz it really? Hoo often did yo' sing a merry ditty last winter, Peter, when you were twinged wi' rheumatics, an' had to keep your chair a month or mair? Ha, ha ! I think I see yo' leeanin' back on t' cushion, rubbin' your swelled knuckles, an' sweeatin' wi' pain, an' singin' all t' tahme, ' Come let us be merry ! ' " Peter Prout could not keep his powdered cheeks from red^iening at this sally ; for if ever mortal man groaned and whined in this world the rheumatic miller did when the twincre was in his bones. To this fact Simon had often been an ear-witness, for there were few homes in Aspendale 'I SIMON HOLMES. 123 in which he had not been a ronstnnt and welcome visitor in the days of sorrow and suffering. Peter Front's usually over-ready tongue had not an answer at command. He well remembered the old carpenter's thoughtful kindness and efficient aid, willingly rendered in those dark days. Simon quietly smiled to see the miller put to a non-plus. It was an unusual experience for him. Peter was especially apt at a smart reply, and the more it smarted the better he was pleased. The engineer was hoist with his own petard. "It's easy anuff, miller, to sing soigs o' that sooarr, an' I ain't newt to say ageean it, i' reeason, when there's plenty o' wind i' the sails, an' plenty o' corn i' the mill, liut that ditty would soond rayther doleful, I fancy, if wind an' watter booath stopt comin', an' showed no signs o' changin' their mind." "Hang it, man," said the miller, "there wad be some- thing else to think aboot then." "That's true anuff," said Simon, "but all the thinkin' i' t' wo'ld wadn't mak' t' wind bloa or t' watter run. A good song, noo, o' the right sooart might seem to shorten the tahme a bit. I remember once goin' to see old Jenny Benson, that's t' 'keeper's mother yo' knoa', when she was bed-ridden wi' hurtin' her hip in a fall. It wore her oot at last, dear old soul. The poor woman was propj^ed up i' bed wi' pillows an' was lyin' all by herself. I thowt I could hear some singin', an' I stood wi' my hand on t' door-sneck an' my thumb on t' latch an' listened. This is what I heeard her sing : — " • In hope of that immortal crown I now the Cfoss sustain, And gladly wander uj) and down And smile at toil and pain. 1 suffer out my threescore years, Till my Deliverer come, Aiul wipe away His servant's tears, And take His exile home.' il 124 SIMON HOLMES. Dear old woman! she wasn't mitcli of a singer; but all things considered, it was aboot as sweet a 'ditty' as a man could listen to. Peter, old friend, which song's best, yours or Jenny's ? " It is difficult to say what the miller's answer would have been, for the question was a home-thrust. Just then, how- ever, a third individual entered the mill. " Mornin', miller," said Jacob Benson, for it was the stalwart gamekeeper that had joined them. " My word, but this is a grand wind to fill your sails ! You're coinin' money to day, I'll warrant. It's anuff to mak' yo' sing t' old song : — **' Merrily sings the miller's wife, Merrily sings the miller ; Menily doth the mill go round, Tiie mill that coins the siller.* " "Right you are, Jacob," said the miller briskly, for he felt that an ally had come to help him in iijs need, and was almost as grateful as Wellington at Waterloo when longed- for Blucher came upon the scene. "Simon Holmes popped in," continued Peter, "just as ah was singin'; an' just because it wasn't a hymn, he dropt doon o' ma' like a thoosand o' bricks. One can't alius be singin' t' Owd Hundred, can we? Specially in a gallopin* wind like this, an' t' meal comin' doon t' spout like a milU race )) "Oh, he's a kill-joy, Simon is," said Jacob, willing to indulge in a little banter, "it's alius the way wi' your reli- gious fooaks — ** * It's well to sigh, And pipe your eye, For by-and-by You're sure to die.* That's the way they sing," said the gamekeeper, after he had SIMON HOLMES. 125 (Ironed the highly original lines through his nose to make them more effective. "One would think that they were alius practisin' for a buryin'." All this was 'eg,' and milk' to the miller, to use one of his favourite expressions, and he greeted the gamekeeper's nasal music with uproarious laughter. "Nay, nay," said Simon, with imperturbable good temper, " Peter hezn't put it fairly. I can do with a cheerful song as weel as onybody. Nowt's to be gained by check- ing a lively flight so long as it's kept within boonds. Peter was right anuff to sing at his work — I wish fre' my heart that he alius may. An' I don't want to be hearin' hymns an' psalms and nowt else. I heeanl a poor Scotchman singin' * Auld Lang Syne ' i' Chil worth Street t' other day, an' I declare I was fairly foorced to tears. All I said was that to 'laugh and grow fat ' wasn't varry mitch worth aimin' at. In that case we sud ha' to stop laughin' altegither, or we should get as roond as a barrel and ha' to waddle like a duck. Why there's yourself, Peter, you're stoot anuff i' all conscience. If your prescription's right you mustn't laugh ony niair, or you'll be as podgy as a sack o' floor." Hereupon all three of them went off into laughter, and peace was tacitly proclaimed. " I've written a few songs myself," said Simon, " as you knoa, but the worst on't is that I can't sing 'em when they are written, not bein' gifted i' that way as Peter is. There's few that can sing better then him." " That's true, Simon," said the miller. " Ah don't meean aboot my singin', though ah can manage that better then some." This was very modestly put, for Peter was very proud of his powers in this direction, and was vastly pleased with the carpenter's compliments. "But aboot them songs o' yours," continued the miller, "all of 'em owt to be primed in a book. Do yo' remember 126 SIMON HOLMES. sendin' a piece o' poetry to the York Herald^ Simon, called 'A Workman's Song,' an' signed at t' bottom 'A Village Carpenter'?" "Oh yes," said Simon, well pleased to find that the etTorts of his muse were not forgotten. " I shouldn't ha' thowt you would ha' remembered it." Now if there was one weakness to which my friend and favourite Simon Holmes might well plead guilty, it was in the shai)e of liking to hear and know that his poetry was held in good repute. I know that this is the case witli his old friend and favourite, I may say that much, and I think the village carpenter may be 'pardoned for this thing.' "Remember it!" said Peter Prout in reply to the car- penter's observation, " corne and look here ! " Hereupon Simon's attention was directed to a cutting from a newspaper which had been carefully pasted on to the upright beam to which the meal-spout was attached. It was placed just above the latter, so that Peter could stand and read it the while he was passing the meal through the testing process between his finger and thumb. Simon Holmes was delighted to find that it was the very poem they had been talking about. " Ah call it a rattlin' good 'un," said the miller. " I cut it oot o' t' newspaper, an' claimed it on there, seca that ah could get it off as ah was mindin' t' mill." "Deary me!" said Simon, casting a furtive glance at Jacob Benson to see whether he was an interested listener. " An' can yo' sing it, Peter? 'Pon my word, I should like to hear yo'." "Sing it? hey. Why, bless yo', it's my Sunday hymn. Ah seean fan' a tune to fit it. Ah'U sing it; but just wait a minute, ah mun slacken sail a bit." The miller proceeded to half-furl the narrow strips of canvas so as to give the wind less hold upon them. Then the three seated themselves before the fire with their backs SIMON HOLMES. 127 turned to meal stream, balance balls and revolving wheels, and Peter Prout sang The Workman's Sono. *' I am poor, I know, I am very poor, As piior as a man need be ; But my Saviour was poorer still tlian T, I never so poor as He. I toil for my bread, I toil for my wife, 1 toil for my children three, But haid as I toil, He toiled as hard In tlie valleys of Galilee. " My raiment is coarse, and I'm rude of speecn, Of learning full little have I : But I think that He loves me no less for :ha:. And I'll tell you the reason why. His carpciUei's tunic was coarser than mine. His country talk was is rough ; And of learning, away ii> His Nazareth home, I guess He had little enuugh. " He lived in a cottage, and so do I ; He hardened His hand at the tool ; With His clothes to earn and His bread to win, He hadn't much time for school. I warrant, like me, He oft longed for rest. The fall of the Sabbath eve. When the holy day, from His toil and moil, Brought with it a glad reprieve. " But soon as He taught on the mountain slope, With the grass for a pulpit floor, He lifted on high His toil-worn hand??. Saying, 'Blessed shall be the poor.' And blessed we are, for He cares for us, Stoop.-, low to be one with us all ; So I love liim, and trust Him, and go my way Until I shall hear Him call. 128 SIMON HOLMES. i I "Tlien I'll climb the ladder of gold, I ween, Wliile the angels are looking down ; And my God, my Saviour, tlie Carpenter's Son, Shall give to me mansion and crown. Come much, then, come little, to spend or to spare, I tell you it matters not which, For Jesup, in love to me, made Himself poor, Tliat I in His love may be rich 1 " The miller could sing, and well. The song was well worth hearing. Its author, the delighted carpenter, declared roundly that he always had thought that it was ' rayther a goodish piece;' but that he had never liked it half so well as now that i*- had been rendered so effectively by Peter Prout. "Thenky' Peter, thenk yo'," said he, "1 shall ha' to mak' another piece o' purpose to get you to sing it." But Simon's greatest satisfaction after all was in watching Jacob Benson, Jenny Benson's graceless son, while the song was being sung. He saw the gamekeeper's lip quiver, and a tell-tale tear trickle down his cheek. His looks said, as plain as could be, "That's the sort of music if we only knew how to make it." Simon Holmes could have put him in the way of producing it. Though that good man could not sing himself, he could be and was the cause of song in others. Ethel Spofforth, to wit, the 'caged bird,' whose melody Sir Jarvis Mainwaring could admire, but failed to understand. ,^ltfc=SJ,, CHAPTER XVI. DON ANTONIO DE DIAZ EFFECTS AN IMPORTANT CAPTURl ; AND HAR')LD SFOFFORTH BEMOANS. HIS HARD KATE. •' Pleasures are like poppies spread ; You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snowflake on the river, A moment white, then melts for ever; Or like the Borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place ; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm." Burns, STiTAROLD SPOFFORTH, the foolish and spendthrift plTj. heir of Aspen Chase, was enjoying himself, ai least he would have said so, in the gay saloons of Paris. Here he had resumed his acquaintance with a certain dashing cavalier whom he had first met some few seasons before at Homburg, a place of evil name and fame. Don Antonio de Diaz was a Spaniard in whose veins ran, at least he said so, the bluest of blue blood. Hje was possessed of handsome features, an aristocratic air, eminent social qualities, a long purse, and a special acquaintance with the more piquant features of Parisian life. All these, in the estimation of Har- old Spofforth, were high-class certificates. Harold was on his way to Spain, intending to proceed to Madrid, after quaffing 1 I 130 SIMON HOLMES. for a brief season the ('ircean bowl which, as Don Antonio expressively declared, "the vivacious French peoiile knew how to mix so skilfully." Now as Spain was the bourne to which the young Knglish- man was journeying, he felt that he could not do Ijetter than attach himself still more closely to the Spanish Don. His fricndshij) was well worth cultivating, and as the warm- hearted son of the South had similar views and feelings, they looked forward to spending many pleasant days together in the Spanish capital. Under Don Antonio's stimulating in- fluence, Harold's ready cash disappeared with even unwonted rai)idity. That favourite motto with this class of indivi- duals, * A short life and a merry one,' comes very expensive in more ways than one, and is generally followed by bank- rui)tcy of more kinds than one, bankruptcies that cannot possibly be whitewashed in any cr s of law. It is a sort of gall()i)ing consumption, which ir. ..}s money, health, and morals in its fatal race to ruin. Under the genial and fascinating Spaniard's guidance Harold drew upon his father for fresh supplies. No sooner were these new funds in hand, than he and the friend who was to be his guide into the inner courts of the Si)anish Temple of Pleasure, took their departure. Don Antonio seemed to wax more brilliant and delightful as a fellow traveller and comrade the further they left the French capital behind them "There is no need," said he, "why we should travel post haste as if we were couriers pioneering the way for royalty. As for the steam-engine and the train, they simply reduce you to a parcel, and you are transmitted through the air so fast that you can make no more observation of the country through which you pass, and reap no more pleasure from your journey, than a parcel can. Our glorious Spain, my dear Senor Spofforth, deserves far different treatment. Its marvellous beauties must be taken in piecemeal. Let SIMON HOLMES. 131 us travel zigzag. Ix't us get out of the beaten trac k, and study nature's 1 i) II if •If he did not look a'< amiable as such thiuiRhiftil hospitality deserved, ha woiiKl siioil his bc.iiity for li in." — J^r^t' 135. SIMON IIOI.MHS. M? t which was (hmly hj^^hfcd with our or two nidc oil l;nn|»H. He was pointed to a ( oik h of dry leaves whir h lay in the further (orner, and was i^iven to understand that as he wa» doubtless weary with liis lon>^ ride, he had better rest his hnihs awhile, and that sii|)|>er would follf>w in (\v.: ( oiirse He reitality cleserved, he would sj)()il liis beauty for him, - at the same time he laid his hand on a formidable knife which was sheathed in the brij^ht red scarf bound about his waist. No sooner was Haiolci left alc)ne than he uttered a passionate exrought him there. He cjught to have indicted the sin and folly which had l)rought him there, and have mourned over his own most discreditable course. Silly men and women, whose voluntary misdoings brin^ upon themselves sore mishaps and subject them to great hardships, are always ready to bemoan their hard ' fate,' and to deplore their 'misfortunes,' when in reality it is their own misc:onduct that ought to be the sole suh> ject of their thoughts and of their tears. Misery is 'c state and condition most frequently inducecl by men? f I t! t I i 'if !' >J^' 67A/()/V lIQLMIiS. tollus 'll(> that l)iv;»kcth Ji hr«lgi\ ji ^crjUMit shall bite Inni,' says Solojiion, tli.it greatest and wisest of all pro- verbial ululosopbris. Ill tliat case it is not the serpent, or its l>iti>, or the sure law that siii must find its pnti- ishiuent, hut the he(l[;e hre;iker, who must hear the blame and the shan»e. ' Wronj; (loint; hath long rtieing,' says the old saw, and it is well where the rueing comes while letorm is possible and repentance can bring forth fruit. "Fiutls innlvc n mock of sin, will not believe It c:\nics such a «in;4i;or in its slcovc ; • How cnii it be,' tlioy say, ' tlmt such n thin^, So full of sweetness e'er slutnlil wenr a stin^;?* They know not th.it it is the very spell (>f sin, to make men lau^;h themselves to hell. l.<enod by his long ride in the mountain air, was not materially lessened by his mishap, for he did not doubt that his comrade was right as to the temporary character of their detention. And so the dish, which contained a peculiar compound of broiled fowl and vegetables with a slight dressing of oil, was eventually taken away consider- ably lightened of its contents. Then followed a flask of light wine, some cheese made from the milk of the goat, and after these some fruit. It was clear that Harold had no reason to complain about his prison fare. The sullen silence in which Harold had received l)lackbeard's advances, and his efforts to put matters or SIMON nor. MI'S. nr t sliiill hitc a ( onvcrsational fooling, seemed now to have Ixcn trnnn- ferred to the bandit. All the time he ministered to fiis prisoner he regarded him r losely with those hla/ing Mark eyes of his, hut spake to him never a word. If this was a ruse i)( his to unlock the tongue of the Kngnshir)ari, it was cleverly done and was (piite sufcesshil. When his strange attendant brought him the fruit, Harold thought fit to (onciliate him by offering him a draught from the wine-flask, 'inhere was something suggestive in the eag(.i ness with which HIackheard complied, an eagerness th;i might well have led Harold to doubt whether this Spaniard, at least, was quite fio sobedy inclined as Si)aniards, in general, get the credit for. "Thanks, .senor," said the man as he received it, and straightway engaged in what was evidently a most en- joyable occupation. "What has become of my friend Don Antonio do Diaz?" Harold ventured to in(|uire. 131ackbeard regarded his prisoner with an odd grimace on his countenance, and in a peculiar tone of voice, replied — " Your friend, seiior, is at this moment engaged like yourself, in dining. It is from his table that your wine is brought. Will it please you to drink his honour's health?" There was something so .sarcastic in the question, and especially in the tone ; and withal, there was such a sinister twinkle in the fellow's eye, and such a semi- chuckle in his voice, that Harold was not slow in jump- ing to conclusions. It dawned upon him full and clear that Don Antonio's 'friendship* had to answer for his present peril. The thought of treachery silenced him, and Blackbeard, bestowing a parting chuckle on his prisoner, left him for the night. 'mim I'liArri.K wii. AN\> sntoN iio\>\rs tM\\\ osonuM'^ aiiiui iim iimMi tAmimN. I i. * ir M I " lldMx' lMVrtMw»>l luit r«'W \vhoM» nsprtM inl^ht ilily 'M\r> lull r«M'r\\t\i*?« oi hi>< mnn hiny i'\«\ i\n»i whin Iw^ 1\\>\\u \<( l\n(\t'o wiUiciing \Wi\, rtn«l Moivy si^l\t'»i, Inipwrll.'* ¥" S U;\rv>Ul Spol)»>ul\ \;\\ \\\H\\\ his rolli h nl" Ir.ivc"? \\\n s\ispuivM\s of toiil \Ai\\ on tl\o ;<;\vt of liis Irinul the S)unish Pon v1oo|hmu^I ii\tv> slioii}; i onvit lion thiil ho h;u^ Ivon cntvap|H\l, aiul (h;\l Don Antoino himself nvjim t)K^ pvin\o nunor m \\\c \Ao[. ,\\\c\ a sonu'whiil slrcpU'ss niiiht, ;\nd while ho was partaking with n failing appotito of the hroakt'asl wliiol^ lUaoklHaid \vm\ luonght hnn, Don AntvM\iv"> ontotx-d tho oavo vhossod in full handit gaih onihmidoroii gaily. Sjwnish fashion, and with a swalho of \\i\ silk around l\is waist by way of girdle, from whith u diiggev and a pistol gleamed. In his hiwid hrinn)\ed, narrow-peaked hat was a bright red feather, the token o( his eaptainoy in the band of briganvis of whieh he was ehief. *' Gvxxi morning, Sefior SpolTorth," said he coolly. " I ShUnN HOI Ml";, ' v/ Imi|m' my lifllc *\i lu km- fof \i \i\f'U\^\\\\\^>, fli'' ' rfi(iof( in |/;r/ f'rriq, riMMtiiliol IdiI yon «Io >'/» flii' \mrv ifi yo(ir Itinitifi^^ »iU't I'Iriimirc! I lifip'* yoK m.iy U\u\ if l»^r<«, Vo»> will Uu(\ ttur nioiinl.'iiii (lif nil (I'linioiMr foni' , iiii'l if w^ \i]t('f] y^nif iiioiH-y l»(ij',M, if will !»(• y/df own fmilf nin] folly if Wf; \mvf: nho lo hli'cd yon." Heir (lir I.. iMlil » lii'f l)ti'l Ih«; fifirwl on fli^ liilf of }i'm iliil'jMf, find llir I'JMnn f>i riMMif/ji llial if W(i4 no rnipfy \\itc',it. Hiifold w?t«; pfis- sionnlrly ni\i!jy nnd wonid linv*- thrown Inrrmrlf nn;»rrn^/l iipon his trrju lu^roii'; f onip.niion, bfif for the rita/lly v//w1 and (lio jrwcl liilfrd d.iK^fr on wlii/ fi fl^: l>;jndif's lijind WiiM Liirl. •' hon Anfonir»," lie began, Uiil wn«}Sfo|rj»eoli'■;h friend. He i« to be f(/iind nl (crfain seasons in the f'arisiar* ■-iftUt^/rm wliieli be visits when trafle is bad, in seareb (>f {/igeor)-} sn/.b ns you. My name is I'edro de Vdrvm^ fif'fi<>T. i'erbaj><; yorj may have be;n(l of me before." The la^it sintenee was added with a gesture and a ton^ wliic h im|>lied that the n(;torious outlaw was proud of hi-? evil fame-. Harold S|)offorlh was now fully aiivc to his terrible position. He knew that no ficrrcr villain, no more cruel and reeklcHs frec'.ootcr, ever steeped his soul in bl/'/*'xi than ' Red Pedro,' whose name was a terrr;r, and whr/^j eon- sunnnate skill and daring, and his jK^pularity arnor^g.^t the pea.santry of the mf)untains, had enabled him hitherto to defy all the power of the government to capture or defeat him. The young Englishman exhibited his de5>pair in an \ t 140 SIMON HOLMES. expression between a curse and a groan, and flung himself on the rude bed as one who had only to submit and die. "Nay, nay," said Red Pedro, proud to see the effect his dread name could produce. " I said, just now, that your stay here might be brief. It rests with yourself as to whether you will set your foot on British ground again. I want gold ; I don't want your life." " You have it," said Harold. " All I took to Paris, and all I got from my father while I was there, fell into your hands. I have no more." " True enough, my merry comrade," replied the bandit, "but there's plenty more in the coffers of Aspen Towers. And if not, there are plenty of broad acres around the old pile, and plenty of obliging sons of Abraham who can find the gold. Gold ! red gold ! " he cried, dipping his hands as if he were scooping the glittering coin into his palm. " And gold I'll have, Sir Englishman, or " — here he uttered a fearful oath — " a well aimed bullet or a deft dagger- stroke will settle your little account, with no need for a notary to write it off Hark you, Sefior Spofforth, your ransom is ten thousand pounds. When that amount comes hither, you are free to go." " Shoot youi bullet, or draw your dagger, then ! " said Harold, " and be quick about it. My cursed follies have already put a crushing weight on Aspen Chase. Not one half that sum can possibly be raised," and so saying, the fatuous prodigal, now drinking of the bitter cup himself had mixed, covered his face with his hands and felt that he should die. " Oh no," said Red Pedro coolly. " 1 he only son and heir of the noble house of Spofforth estimates himself too cheaply. We can but try. You will write our demand. I will see that it reaches the hand of your honourable parent. If the first application is not successful, we will make a SIMON HOLMES. 141 second, with one c' your ears to bear it company. Should that fail, we will make a third, and the other ear will be sent to give force to our request. Pursuing that line of applica- tion by degrees and with quiet patience, I shall secure the sum I stipulate for, or your affectionate relatives will have the satisfaction of welcoming your return — by in- stalments ! " Stung almost to madness by the cruel and heartless taunts of the bandit chief, Harold rose and rushed upon him with frantic wrath. At that instant a strong hand clutched him by the shoulder, flung him roughly backward on his couch of leaves, and brawny Blackbeard knelt beside him with one knee upon his chest. "Let Senor Spoffbrth rise," said the Captain, quite blandly and in altogether unruffled tones. " He will get over all that by-and-by, as children do with the measles. Bring him this way." Blackbeard conducted the young Englishman to the door of the cave in which he had lain a prisoner, to a position from which he had a full view of the broad green glade which was the centre of the bandit's camp. Red Pedro took a small ivory whistle from his breast, and blew it so loudly that its shrill echoes were heard from every side. In a moment every cave was emptied, for the entire band of brigands appeared, and with a sort of military precision marched into the centre of the glade. Three of them were armed with long barrelled rifles, and these three took a few steps forward from the rest and stood at attention as if waiting orders. The ivory whistle was blown a second time. Then two of the brigands were seen to cross the glade from another quarter, having between them a prisoner dressed in ordinary clothing, looking sadly wan and weary and dejected. He seemed to be an Englishman, and was evidently a man of breeding and position. Harold judged him to be about mil 142 sntoN nor. Mrs. sixty years of aj;c, Init it was mainly liis white hair that had Ruidcd hiin to that ronchision, and tlie harsh treatment he had received, and the consriousness of his imjjending fate might well have turned the darkest locks as white as wool. 'I'iie men placed their prisoner several paces distant from the armed three, and then joined their comrades in the ranks. " Vou don't know him?" said Red Pedro, turning to Harold, as calmly as though he were about to invite them both to breakfast. Harold was too much startled and distressed to make any reply. " Senor Spofforth," continued the brigand chief, " we have had the pleasure of extending our hospitality to this worthy gentleman for six months. Every reasonable method has been employed to obtain his ransom, which was only fixed at a paltry thousand or so. It has not come to hand. We have exercised a patience and forbearance which must redound to our credit and our reputation for those excellent virtues. The time of grace is ended this morning. The hour," said he, t.iking out a large gold cliionometer, "is ten, exactly." Here Red Pedro lifted his hand, and the three armed men raised their rifles and took aim. A third time the merciless chief blew his shrill whistle. The crack of thrjie rifles blended in one dread report, and the hapless prisoner had fallen face downwards on the crimsoned sward with three bullets in his heart ! "There, Senor SpotTorth," said the brigand chief, softly and smilingly, "you can now return to your quarters. You will write our demand, and the little episode which you have just witnessed will probably enable you to word your communication with due effect so that it may not be misunderstood." Red Pedro bowed low, smiling blandly and loftily, and -nn"niTTiiris»aB^ SIMON HOLMES, 143 retired, leaving Harold to chew the hitter cud of reflco tion, conscious that if his ransom was not forthcoming, he too, in turn, would fall face forward before the rilks of the three executioners, like the ha[)Iess victim who had just been wickedly done to death. Now, he noted that Blackbeartl was more than ever on the watch, that he was well-armed, and that there was all but an absolute impossibility of escape. Slowly the hours of that weary day passed by. Writing materials were provided for him, but he could not bring himself to frame the letter on which his life depended. He was now brought face to face with his own wasted life, and for the first time he realised what a dark and shameful page it was. He was now face to face with death, and for the first time he thought of his utter unfitness to aj)i)car at the Great Assize. He conjured up the picture of his grieved and injured father ; called back the image of his dead mother, and remembered how he had spurned her counsel and set at naught her tears. He saw the face, the beautiful and winsome face of his sister Ethel, and thought upon her true affection for himself. Then it was that shame, conviction, and remorseful agony came upon him like a flood. Then it was that his l)etter nature asserted itself and made him half deranged by the lashes which his guilty conscience gave him. Through the long, dark, awful night hours, thorny thoughts, and conscience stings, and awful apprehensions drove the sleep from his eyes, and slumber from his eye- lids ; and if ever mortal man had a raging hell within his soul, that man was Harold Spofforth, tossing and groaning in mental torture on his couch of leaves. Of one thing, however, he was certain. He would not write the letter. His own foolish vanity had led him to boast of the wealth of his father and of the large fortune to which he himself was sure to succeed, and hence the n'!i It ; 'i ' 144 SIMON HOLMES. rnnsoni asked for bi'm w.is fc;\rfiilly large, more thar: liis father eoiild have paid liad his (hildish boasts been true. Hut he knew how his own career of reckless ex- travaganec had depleted his father's purse, and drained his resources, and he said to liiniself, "It can never he, shall never he. It is better for me to die." All that was good in him was just then struggling to get uj)|)er- most, and when the grey light of the morning began to show through ihc cracks in the rough door that held him jirisoner, he arose from his bed resolved to refuse the bidding of the brigand chief and die. There for the present we must leave him, leave him with that awful burden on his soul, leave him with that most dreadful of rJl guests to keep him company, an aroused and guilty conscience. '* Not all the (orturc* which the poets feign, Can match the fierce, unutteiable pain He feels who, (lay and nii;ht, devoid of rest, Carries his own accuser in his breast." Harold Spoftbrth, like many another of Madame Plea- sure's hoodwinked dupes, had had a long smooth course of self-indulgence, 'dallying daily with a false delight,' but now the mask was lifted and the demon features behind the false face were scowling on him. The cup which moveth itself aright and which had invited his lips to its beaded brim, revealed the coiled serpent that lay hid beneath the enticing draught ; and the young prodigal awoke to the tremendous, truth that — •' Though the mills of God grind slowly, Yet they grind exceeding small ; Though with patience He stands waiting, With exactness grinds He all." And yet his sweet sister Ethel was offering daily prayer for Harold Spofilorth ; she and the godly carpenter had SIMON HOLMES. »45 entered into a lioly k-ngiic, and tlirire a d.iy ifu ir prayers rose to heaven, that the wanderer, far as he h;id wandered, rni>.dit he hroufj;ht hark again to hfune and (Jod. lor this, as they holh Ijelieved, the maiden had been raised from a l)ed of death. And at the very time tlial Ilart)l(l was wrilhinjj; in mental <' ny on the floor of die brigand's cave, VxhcX was gi dn;., herself for her unknown task. Slie goes fortli in fhi > her might,' the might of faith, and ])rayer, and purity, to fmd the wan- derer, and to bring him bark to peaceful Aspendale ! At times the courage of tlie fair girl would droo[> as the time came near that her bodily strength niiglit permit her to dejjart, but her i)ur|)osc never staggered for an hour. On sueh occasions siie would seek the car[)enter's cottage, or inchice Nancy to fetch him to the Towers, in orrler that she might catch an inspiration from his noble }ihilosoj)hy and his lofty faith. ** Sometinjcs I feel," said Ethel to him one day, "as if so great a thing cannot be done by a [)oor weak girl like me. J say to myself, It's impossible. And then, do you know, Simon, it seems as though I've been deceiving myself all through, and that 1 must give it up and let it alone." "To be sure it does, Miss," Simon answered with a smile. " As soon as ivver a bod closes its wings it dro[)S. Nowt so nat'ral. Impossii>Ie's a wod that poor mortals ha' offen to use when its aboot something that M^'V*? consarned in r3ut wi' God it's different. 'With God ail thin'/s are jKjssible.' We must get hod o' that an^ keep it. If we don't, things '11 turn oot as we fear an' not as we hope. There was old Mrs. Johnson that u.sed to live just behint Coo-slip Hill, on' t' other side o' the valley, she used to say that she wished the hill was ta'en away, then she could see all t' village o' I'horpe Aspen. So she read in her Bible that prayer an' faith could remove moontains : an' she went to work and prayed that God would remove Coo-slip Hill, 146 SIMON HOLMES. because she had iiiith to bel'X'avc it. In the mornin' wlicn she got up an' Hftcd t' window curtain, there it was standin as stiff as ivver ! So slie calls oot to her husband, * John, it's just as I expected, Coo slip Hill is standin' yet' Noo, Miss Ethel, you are asking for something right an' reasonable an' a good deal better then tliat. But if yo' get to sayin' 'It's impossible!' why it'll be *just as you expected,' you knoa, an' you've nowt to wonder at. There was a great man once 'at said that wi' the lever he could move the wo'ld if he could only finnd a spot to set it. You hev the lever ; it's faith ; an' you hev a spot to set it ; it's the rock o' God's Omnipotence ; an' you don't want to move a wo'ld, only a blundcrin' lad that you want to move a bit nearer to God an' Thorpe Aspen. What do you think yourself, noo? Is it over much to hope for?" "Oh no, no, Simon ! It's only my poor foolish fears that speak. Thank you, dear friend. Harold will come home, and that will be ' Just as I expected,' " and the sweet maiden laughed at her own fears. " That's right. Miss Ethel. That's right. Leave it all to God. When I'm makin' a cart wheel, it would be a queer thing if one o' the spokes could say, ' I can't get into that hole i' the naff. It's impossible.' If it did I should just point t' end on it a bit to give it a start, an' then I should tak' the great hammer an' in it would go like all t' rest on 'em. You an' me are nowt but tools an' instruments, an it ivoald be odd if the Almighty couldn't manage us an employ us to do His work as well as I can manage a cart wheel. Let us do His will an' trust Him, an' lean on Him, an' lean hard. • Faith, mighty faitli, the promise seeS| An' looks to that alone, Laughs at impossibilities An' cries, It shall be clone I '" rnin' when as stand in nd, * John, 'ct.' Noo, right an' Ikit if yo' list as you at. There r he could t to set it. )t to set it ; ii't want to nt to move lat do you )r?" b fears that ome home, ■eet maiden ave it all to be a queer et into that should just n I sliould I t' rest on nents, an it ige us and nage a cart \n on Him, CHAPTER XVHI. THE BOADICEA FOUNDERS ON THE HIGH SEAS, AND ALFRED ATHELING TAKES CHARGE OF A GREAT TREASURE. " There is peril on the sea When the storm is high. Ah, then, The greatest peril that can be Is the wickedness of men That sent a rotten bark to be Swallowed by the hungry sea." Falloavfield. tLFRED ATHELING was fairly out on the high seas bound for the West. He felt that he could breathe more freely now than he had ever done since he escaped from the grip of Police Constable Tugwell, and especially since he came plump against that officer in the doorway of the City Bank. There came to him now something of the buoyancy which is the natural and rightful heritage of youth, but which he" had sold for those unwholesome viand;: con- cocted by Pleasure's deceptive hand. He was already planning his course of action. He saw himself safely landed. He saw in the not distant future com- petence and character coming at the call of his ready and diligent pen. He would write to As[)en i M i ! ii 3 -i SIMON HOLMES. Garth and let them know this, — that he meant to live a nobler and a worthier life. If only his conscience would be ciuiet ; if only he could wipe out with the sponge of oblivion all his evil past ! But we cannot so easily dis- pose of our yesterdays, and ever the way upward from wrong to right is steep and trying and rough for the traveller's feet. Still, if it is boldly attempted and wisely dared, the brave though tired toiler will win the breezy table-lands and sun-lit heights of Honour and of Truth. But neither can we carve out the sure course and bent of our to-morrows, and Alfred Atheling must go where Providence directs his steps. We will not forget that he is held to Aspen Garth with golden links, that 'golden chain' of which the poet speaks, by which earth is bound around the feet of God. The ship in which the young man sailed, a sailing ship, chosen for economy and for the smaller risk of observation and discovery, was called the Boadicea. It had only one thing in common with its brave and queenly British namesake — it was destined to come to a sad and untimely end. It was old and unseaworthy, and like many other craft sent out to sea with a reck less disregard of peril, it was flir more likely to reach the bottom of the Atlantic than to win the harbour o! New York. Alfred's observant eye soon took in the unpleasant fact, that he and his comrades in the Boadicea were floating in a ' match-box,' and that stress of weather was likely enough to end their voyage in mid-ocean, so frail were the planks between them and death. Captain Lnnyon, a rugged and stalwart old salt with grizzled hair and honest face, had himself been deceived as to the sea going qualities of his vessel, and he had not been at " sea a week before he rued the day that ever he set foot on board. His wrath and anxiety were all the greater irT;ii.;**4»l -i^-^it SIMON. HOLMES. 149 that he had on board a fair sweet girl whom he loved as his own soul. ** My lassie isn't mine, according to law," the skipper had told Alfred, "but according to love there's no two in the world that have a better right to each other. Is there, Inez?" One flash of his * lassie's ' dark eyes gave answer enough to that question. " I found her on the sea," continued the captain, in explanation of the relation between him and Inez. "She was fastened to a small raft on which there was also an old negro. He was so far exh;iusted with hardship, ex- j)osure, and privation, that he died a few hours after he was brou'Tht on board. I asked him the name of the child and where she came from. His answers were very in- distinct, for his mind was wandering. I managed to hear him say — " Missee is Massa's darlin'. On de ole plantation, Massa say, * Cuffee, tek' care ob Inez.' Tell him — Cuffee did — till — till — " and then the poor faithful fellow died and carried his secret to his grave among the sand and sea shells many a lathom deep. "And so the little Inez was left alone, a waif, without any link to bmd her to any human being under heaven," continued the captain. " She could not talk plain, and what she could say was in some foreign lingo that nobody could understand. I somehow took her to my heart at once, and now for nearly a dozen years I've nourished her and cherished her, and verily I've had my reward." His goodness had been Aell repaid, for the charming lassie, little more than a child in size and movements, loved him, honoured him, half-worship[)ed him with all the warmth of the southern climate m which she was born; for from the south her brilliant orbs, her *sloe black een,' her raven tresses and her dusky feati v^s, had most assuredly come. mimm i d i m h iltmii H JU J ISO SIMON HOLMES. Mi Since the death of her * mother,' as she had called the captain's wife, little Inez had been doubly dear to Captain Lanyon, and was indeed the apple of his eye. From the beginning of this voyage, the girl had ' taken to ' Alfred Atheling, and Alfred had heartily responded, glad enough of some employment and companionship that might help to drive dull care away. The artless girl soon won upon his sympathies. He put forth all his skill to interest and amuse her, and so the early days of their slow voyage passed pleasantly enough. Then came a serious change in the wcaiher; and the captain and his passenger began to fear whether the cranky Boadicea would ever outride a storm. One evening Alfred and Inez were together in the cabin. Alfred was drawing clever comic caricatures witli his pen, eliciting ripples of laughter from his young companion. The ship was rolling and tossing heavily, and as Alfred thought, was labouring and complaining beneath the strain. The light-hearted maiden had no thought of peril, but Alfred became seriously anxious and afraid. He was just about to go on deck to seek some assurance from the skipper, when Captain Lanyon himself came down the companion-ladder with an alarmed look upon his face. " Mr. Ravensworth," said he, for we must not torget that Alfred had assumed that name, " I want a word with you." The look on his face and the tone of his voice made Alfred's heart leap into his throat. " I'll be back in a moment, Inez," he said, and went forth to hold serious talk with the skipper outside the cabin door. " We are going to see the last of this confounded old tub," said Captain Lanyon ; " God grant she may not see the last of us. She has sprung a leak, and by the way the water is rising in the hold, I don't believe the pumps can keep it vr.der." SIMON HOLMES. 151 "What sliall we do with Inez?" inquired Alfred, his first care being for the maiden whose merry ripples of laughter were still sounding in his ears. "That's what I want to say," said the skipper, as well as he could, for a certain choking sensation that sadly in- terfered with clear articulation. "We shall have to take to the boats, I fear, and it is as well to be prepared. While I am seeing to that, will you make my darling your special care. Let her get her warmest clothing. Poor child ! It will be hard lines for her. Help her so far as you can to prepare for roughing it. I siiall have the boats well pro- visioned, so that if the worst comes to the worst, we can lower them at a minute's notice. Then we can only com- mit ourselves into the hands of God." "To the hands of God I" thought Alfred, as he returned to the cabin. He felt as though those unclean hands of his, that sin-soiled heart, that wasted life of his, formed but a j)Oor warrant for hoping that His hands would care for him. He tried to pray, but it did not seem as though he could. Then he thought of the dear little maiden in the cabin and the dreadful peril that menaced her. "I can pray for her," he said. "God, in mercy spare the child ! " He felt the better for it, and well he might, for as the Hebrew proverb has it, '* Who prays for another petitions for himself." Inez had intuitively divined the presence of danger ; and when Alfred informed her that they might have to take to the boats, the little maiden neither paled nor trembled. She simply clasped her hand? and prayed. " God save dear father and you," she said, quite self-forgettingly ; and then set about making her preparations with a quiet calm which touciied Alfred to the soul. She was then persuaded to try to sleep. Still quiet and self-contained, she repeated her nightly prayer. Then lying down on a large rug which Alfred had disposed for her in T" i ii I. , i. J /!^ 152 SIMON IIOLMl.S. .1 corner of the cabin, she slunil)crc(l as only they can slnnil)cr on the brink of i)Lril who are conscious of a Heavenly Father's ciire. Allred softly stole away so as noi lo (lioiiirb her slinnbers, and went on deck. His alarm deepened as he noted the roaring of the wind, ami the growing violence of the sea. He vnwVX hardly keep his feet on the reeling deck, and the noise of the creaking timbers fell heavy on his heart. 1 Ic was met by the captain, who spoke to him in slow and serious undertones. " I am afraid the crew is not to be depended on," said he, ** there's a spirit of disaffection which threatens to be serious. You will do your best for Inez ? " "At the risk, and if needs be, the cost of my life.'' said Alfred, grasping the captain's hand, and looking all he felt. "Then take this pistol," responded Capt;iin Lanyon. "You will most likely have to use it. Keep your eye on me." The men continued to labour at the pumps, and every effort was made to keep the cranky craft allo.it, but there was a dead silence among the men, and they p;isscd tele- graphic signs to each other that boded mischief. So the long, lon'4 hours of the tedious night wore on, -ind Alfred, who had taken a long turn at the pumps, was wearily watching for the dawn. \Vhen the grey light began to show, Alfred's heart failed him at the sight of the still lowering sky and the still angry billows that beat heavily against tne trembling ship. " The water gains on us," said one of the sailors, em- phasising the remark with a coarse expression. " It's all up with the crazy old tub, an' it's no use pumping any more," and he folded his arms as one who should say, ' I shall pump no more.' As Alfred looked on the faces of the men, some of them, at any rate, he read the fact that the peril from a lawless and reckless crew might be greater than even from a raging sea and a foundering ship. 1^ -'VnVtlrfiLWlit^- . SI MUX IK) I. MISS. »53 " I'll pump no more ! " said .mother sailor with a fearful oath, foUowin;; the example of his comrade, and releasing his hold upon the handle ; and in this act of oi)en vlisobedi- ence he was followed by the rest. " Lower the i)oals ! " cried Captain Lanyon, coming aft with a view to direct operations. " Lower the boats, my men. We may save ourselves, tlie ship will have to go." "Avast there, skij)per!" said a brawny fellow with a fierce, defiant look upon his face. "'I'hat's a jf)l) — that's a job that needs primin' for. JJefore we lower the l)oats, we'll raise the rum-cask," and so saying, he strode towards the gangway, bent on getting at tiie ardent spirits, which would have ruined all. Cai)tain Lanyon drew a pistol from his breast, leaped in front of the companion- ladder, and stood before the ringleader with his pistol cocked and ready. "Back, man !" he exclaimed, "or you will fall with a bullet in your brain. I've stove in the casks, lor I mean to save your lives ! " "You lie 1 " said the man with a horrid (jath, and rushed forward. In an instant there was a flash and a loud re[K)rt, and a dead man lying at the captain's feet. "If you do your duty, lads,'' cried the captain sternly, " we may all be saved, li not, who is the next fool to rush upon his fate ?" Even in that awful and exciting moment, Alfred could not but admire the firm mien and steadfast courage of Cai)tain Lanyon. Kindly, and pentle as woman was the captain usually, but now he confronted the gang of muti- neers with an unflinching eye. Alfred had sprung to his side with his pistol ready for action, as the skipper might direct. "Joe Hewitt!" called out the captain to an old and trusted tar, "is your pistol ready?" 1 IS4 SIMON HOLMES. *» h J, "Ay, ay. sir," said the man, and he, too, ranged him- self by the captain's side. " Lower the boats ! " said the skipper sternly. Sullenly, slowly, silently the men obeyed. The mutinous spirit was cowed if not broken. Alfred fetched up the trembling Inez, who had heard the pistol crack and feared the worst. He saw her careiully placed in the foremost boat. Joe Hewitt followed her and Will Trounce. " Lower the other boat ! " thundered the captain. The men hung back, and looked ouq on the other as if in search ot a spokesman. "No boat can live in this sea," sail one, "we'd rather find 1 rum barrel an* go to Davy Jones conifortable." " . he leak's stopped, captain," said another. " She'll float for long enough yet." " The ship'll go down in an hour," said Captain Lanyon. " She's settling now. Scott and Davison, let go them ropes. I'm to be the last man on board this ship, and I will if I have to shoot every rebel of you all." There was none so daring as to risk the crooking of that firm finger. The boat was lowered, tlie men descended one by one until the deck was cleared. Stores of various kinds had been previously stowed away to meet this emergency. Then Alfred Atheling leaped into the first boat and was followed by the captain. " I'ush off ! " he cried. They pulled with a will. A few vigorous strokes took them out of all peril of being sucked down by the sinking ship. Then the Boadicea dipped stern foremost into the sea, and in a few moments the swirhng waters hissed and boiled and eddied where the rotten craft had gone down, a victim to the shameless and murderous cunidily of the villanous owners who had sent her out to se; , and put in peril a score of human lives. It will be an evil hour lor all their tribe when God makeih inquisition for blood ! CHAPTER XIX. Al.FRF.n ATHRl.ING AND HIS COMKADF.S ARE CAST ADRIFT; AND THE MAIDEN INKZ SINCS IIKR KV'KNSONG AT SEA. "The night is calm and silent, And still as still can be, And the stars come out to listen To th(.' music of the sea. They gather and gather and gather, Until tliey crowd the sky, And listen in breathless silence To the solemn litany." Longfdlonv. 'mT^HE two boats containing the crew of the hapless T^\ Boadicea were each provided with a compass as well as with stores : and the steersmen were directed to keep as far as possible in the track of the liners in hope of rescue by some passing ship. Nothing could suri)ass the calm trustfulness of the gentle Inez, as she sat in the stern of the boat, warmly \vraj)ijed amid an outer covering of tarpaulin which kept her Irom being drenched by the spray of the angry waves. Alfred mnde her smile by the buoyant and careless way in which he ' \pressed his opmion that that region swarmed with ships like hansoms in a London street. The old skipper looked his gratitude, and said — 156 SIMON HOLMES. I 'I !' I " Inez, dear lassie, knows that we are in the hands of our Heavenly Father." Good keeping that, either on land or sea. As the dim dawn gave way to morning and a clearer li^lit, the wind lowered a liltlc, ;ind the long ground r>wcll of the Atlantic resumed its normal and stately flow. It was winter time, however, and Alfred and the captain feared lest Inez should not have powers of endurance ccjual to the continued strain. During ihe day the two boats kei)t well together, and the men in the other boat seemed willing enough now to trust themselves to the superior guidance of Captain Lanyon, who had so far saved them from a cruel fate. Measured rations were now served out both of food and water, as there seemed every probability of a long and trying probation before a chance of rescue came. Already the heart of Alfred was sick with fear, for the sake of the child who had gained such a hold upon him, that it might never come at all. Inez, who was resolved not to fail in the hour of need, but to cheer her father in this time of peril, kept calling attention, now to a break in the dun sky, and now to the lessening crests of the foaming waves. Then she would start some simple strain of sacred song such as she and her father had sung together many a time in their pleasant cottage in the little Kentish town of Deal. At such times as these, Alfred Atheling would fancy that he caught an echo of his sister Clara's voice, and fly in thought over miles of sea, to the sacred circle gathered round the beechwood fire at Aspen Garth, and his whole soul would be melted into penitence and grief. A silent tear would find its way down Captain Lanyon's rugged cheek, and Joe Hewitt and Will Trounce were puzzled to account for a certain dimness of the eyes and an odd sensation in the throat. SIMON IIOIMRS. 157 Still the hours, leaden hours, passed slowly by. Morninp; gave way to noon ; noon slowly gave place to evening ; and still nauu'ht met tiieir watchful gaze but miles and miles of sea. At dusk a solemn stillness seemed to hold them captive. " Now deep in ocean sank tlie lamp of li};ht, And drew beliind the cluiuly vale of niyiit." The stars peeped forth, for the cloudy sky had broken into j)atches, and our little band of voyagers knew that they were doomed to float upon the wide waste of waters through the hours of dark, unfriended, except by Heaven, until the dawn appeared. " I love to watch the stars," said Inez. " Do you know, they always seem to me as if they were the lamps of the angels keeping watch, and held up by them so that they may the better look do« n into the night : or are they the eyes of the angel:> themselves? they look so sweet and kind." "There's a better Ligl.t than theirs looking down on us, my darling," said the skij)per, looking upward first, and then into the dark orbs of Inez, "and that is the Eye of the good God that's over all." Alfred Athcling looked and listened. At first he felt as though he dared not look up, lest from the Holy Place that Eye should look through him then and there. And yet at that moment there was that within him 011 wliich that Eye doih always look with delight, a sofumed ])eni- tence, a silent hunger after goodness, a deep craving for a higher and a nobler life. • And still the stars shone down, softly and sweetly, like the benediction which Heaven smiles down on the *one sinner that repenteth.' " I don't somehow feel as though this'll be such a long night," said Joe Hewitt, as though nights had a way of lengthening or shortening their duration as the humour to(^k them. f 158 SIMON HOLMES. 'I'lio poor folUnv tlioiM^lit llnit lio must s.iv soiiu'lliin'; (o mnko the ndvanriiii;- dark loss i^loomy to tlic in.iidcn whose cheery patience had so loiirlied his he.irt. "Help ahvays comes wT dayhghl," lie coiuimied, "doesn't it, Will Troiinee?" "Ay, ay, mate, to be sure it does," said his comrade, not to he behind hand. "I'iiere's mostly ships ahonf, here- .iways;"and here the speaker waved his arm us though he quite expected a (nil h.dt dozen of tiuMu w. show their dark hulls close by, within the next half hour or so. "I can't tell how it is," replied Joe. determined to keep the JKill rolling, *'that we ain't seen a goodish few of 'en> already. I guess tlieyVe been wind-b(jund somewhere, so tliey'll come in a reg'lar fleet direc'ly, but we shan't want to get aboard more than one of 'em. Miss, sliall we? Shall we, Will Trounce?" " N\ hy. not at one an' the same time," snid Will gravely, "but we can change about, if so be as the humour takes us i' that wav. ' "This 'ere wind's a steady, well-behaved, dependable sou'-wester,'' said Joe, returning to the charge. "An' ii's bound to l)ring 'em by-an'-by. Cos why ? Why, yini see they'll ha' contuience in it, Miss. It makes an ama/.in' diiTercnce when you've a wind that you can depend on. It whistles merrily tlirough the shrouds as if it said, ' Vou can depend on me. I'm not none o' your cho[)pin' an' chancing gustoes.'" "111 loll you what, mate, we'll keep a sharp look-out while die stars are shmin'. Won't we, W^ill Trounce?" "Ay, that we will," said Will, "I've gotten a ])air of eyes just like a cat's. They're pretty nigh as useful i' the dark as i' the daylight ; and a nose ! bless me 1 I've a nose tliat can smell the tar of a full-rigged bark well nigh half a mile off." Here ^^'ill gave a succession of sniffs as if he felt half sure there was something of that sort in the air. JJk , «--ViV»»l>./^a!«l«»»»<^-.VJf- ■-- • V--'- SfMON liOI.MES. '59 Inez .smiled her gnilitiulc. She knew tliat the two honest, lais had a kindly incnnin^', and that they were nnhhishiii^ly drawin .' ?:. i m \ 1 i ll'i tf :'| ^ i I! i if ■ ill III i !ii CHAPTER XX. JOSS RECOGNISES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE ; AND EPHRAIM HART- GOLD HAPS ON TREASURE TROVE. '• Expectation whirls me round, The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense." S/iakes/>earf. HILE Harold Spofforth lay in the brigands' cave, the hopeless prisoner of Red Pedro ; and while Alfred Atheling drifts, a helpless castaway on the wide Atlantic; and while Ethel Spoffoith is making definite preparations to pursue her quest, Robert Atheling is vainly searching for his absent brother, searcliing with a weary heart, and but for his faith in God, a drooping and ever-lessening hope. He succeeded in ferreting out many of Alfred's old acquaintances, in tracking out most of his usual resorts, and had happed at last on the chambers in the side street off the Strand, where Alfred received the visit of Policeman Tugwell, and from which he had fled into that obscurity, in which, so far as Robert was concerned, he still remained. Here the clue was lost. The landlady was not at home when Robert called, but Harriet the maid was still there, and was willing enough to tell him all she knew. SIMON HOLM IIS. 165 According to her showing, Mr. AtlK-ling was a very nice young man indeed: very kind and generous, had often given her a ribbon for her cap, or an extra half-crown for little services she had rendered. He was a " bit wildish, perhaps, as the sayin' is," but she never saw or heard any- thing that "didn't become the gentleman." She detaHed to her anxious hearer all the circumstances of the police- man's visit, told him how the *' IJobby was catched like a rat in a trap," and described, with many a lau^h, how Alfred hnd upset her on the landing in his hasty exit ; atui after infoiming him that neither she nor her mistress had "set eyes on him since," expressed a very cordial hope and belief that he had "given them the go-by," and that he was " over the hills and fur away.'' At length Robert Atheling had the good fortune to come across Mr. Cecil Osborn, the young gentleman whom we last saw *in difficulties,' seeking to elude his fmancial enemies by conning the seclusion of the vicinity of the Victoria Park. That * friend ' of the absent one. ventured his opinion that he was still hiding somewhere in that Eastern and plebt-ian region. It was not much of a clue, but still it was worth following. Indeed there was no filament of possibility, however fine, th.it Robert would l\ave rejected, so bent was he on the honest and earnest prosecution of his enterprise. Having found his way to the locality indicated, he resolved to take up temporary quarters there. Nothing was more natural than that he should enter a coffee-house to make inquiries after decent lodgings and possibly to find them in the eating-house itself. Here he did find wh.ii he sought, and abode there a few days. But all this was of but little avail. It was indeed a shadowy hope that he should hit upon the young exile in his wandciings through the streets. Such a search, in the matter of probability, quite threw into the shade the proverbial task of ' find:.ag u needle in a bottle of hay.' ill m 'ill H ifji III' : 1!'' i66 5/iUOiV HOLMES. In this respect fate, or rather Providence, was kinder to him than he knew. It was not surprising that he should have happed upon the restaurant most favoured by Ned Sahmer, and it was less surprising that, as he often sat there drinking his coffee and planning new schemes, he and that worthy artisan should meet under the same roof. Now with Robert was the ever faithful and intelligent Joss. The collie seemed to be losing much of his frisky spirit under the wear and tear of London life, and no wonder. It is enough to depress and dispirit men of the most buoyant temperament, and it is not at all astonishing that a dog, with a keen appreciation of the clear and quiet air of Aspendale, should droop be- neath the dreary atmosphere of damp and smoky London town. Joss, moreover, could read as clearly as could be, that Robert himself was anxious and ill at ease, and both ears and tail drooped, limp and flaccid, in sympathy with his master's disapi)oiniment and distress. * With eye upraised, his master's looks to scan Tiie joy, the solace, and the aid of man,' poor Joss felt that he was failing in his mission, and accordingly was very considerably down in the dumps. But Joss's memory was as clear and strong as ever. He had received many a morsel at Ned's hand, when that honest carpenter was in Simon Holmes' employ. He had come to know the customary dinner hour, and had paid his visits with almost unerring regularity. Ned, like all other good and honest men, was fond of dumb animals, and had treated Joss with peculiar favour. So, having eaten salt with him, as the Arabs say, Joss counted- him a friend tor life. He recognised the bluff artisan instantl)', and barked a kindly " how d'ye do.," placing his forepaws the while upon his knee, and wagging his tail as though grateful t*'' fortune, that it had found at last something that SIMON HOLMES. 1C7 was worth wagging for. The recognition was not mutual, though, true to himself, Ned gave the dog a kindly pat or two. Robert Atheling fixed his eyes on the collie's ncv- found friend. " E,xcuse me," said he, "my dog seems to know you, and strange to say, I seem to be familiar with your face. Didn't you use to work for Simon Holmes, at Thorpe Aspen ? " " Nowt so sure," said Ned, who instantly remembered both the owner and his dog. "I helped to put a new roof on your barn, Mr. Atheling, and to i)Ut up a new shed in your paddock. But I shouldn't ha' thowt that you would ha' remembered me. Well, this is rich ! " said he, as a thought suddenly came into his mind, and slapping his knee in his excitement. " Why it was in this here very house, not so long since, that I met your bro — " Here Ned's remark came to a sudden and untimely end. It dawned on him that he might be doing Alfred an ill turn. But he could not cull back what he had already said ; and as for turning Robert off on a wrong scent, plain straightforward Ned had not the art to do it. * I give him joy thi.t's awkward at a lie,' says the poet Young ; and though Ned was nimble enough at his trade, he would have sorely bungled at a falsehood, not being * practised to deceive.' He simply sat staring at Robert with his mouth open and said nothing. *' My brother Alfred ? " cried Robert, starting from his seat. Then crossing the floor, he laid his hand on Ned's shoulder, and said with a tremulous earnestness not to be mistaken — " For God's sake, man 1 tell me all you know." There was a few moments' pause. Ned was reading his companion's heart : not by any means a difficult task, for there it was, in his eyes, both eloquent with a brother's love. 1 68 SIMON HOLMES. II: I' ' P U- i i 'I I i I " I hope he won't get into trouble if you should chance on him," said Ned questioningly. " No, I think not, now ; I hope and believe not. I want to save h'lm from trouble. I want to save his niot'ner's life. She is breaking her heart over him." His voice talicrcd as he spoke. Ned's heart was very tender, and Robert Atheling's anxious and weary tone cut ri^hi into the niidd e of it. "I don't know where he is," said Ned. "But 1 know where he was. You come aloim with me." Nothing loth, for in very sooih he was willing to go any- where on this errand, Robert followed him out of the coffee- house, accon" t:iiiied by Joss, who seemed to tliink that he saw a little . ght on the horizon, for no sooner were they out of doors, than he gave the general public to know, by a rapid succession of jocund barks, that * a change had come o'er the spirit of his dream.' " Madge, my lass," said Ned, when they had entered hi;; cottage, "this is Mr. Robert Atheling of Thorpe Aspen. He's the brother of uie young chap that lodged here." Then seeing that a cloud was gathering on her sonsy face, he hastened to add, '* He means no harm, lass, but good, nowt but good, as a brother should. His mother's break- ing her heart for the lad, an' she wants him back." Madge was not by any means at ease. She was dubious and unconvinced, and scented danger in the air : — danger to her young favourite, whose safety she had pledged her word to guard, so far as it should lie within her power. Then her husband told her that he knew their visitor, that he was really Alfred's brother ; and Robert explained to her truthfully what his errand to London was, and how it had grown out of the promise he had made by his dying father's bed. Madge could not resist this. She felt intui- tively that home with his mother was the place where her late lodger oughi to be. Robert's story softened her to SIMON HOLMES. 169 tears. She showed him into the little parlour where there were still some little matters belonging u . the absent one, all of which he handled with trembling lingers and a full heart Amongst the rest there was a small papier mache writing case. On the inside the cover was written in well remcinbored characterb, " Ralph Ravensworth," and under- neath it these words, " For life, I wonder i^ " "No, my brother, no, I hope to God !" said Robert, unable to restrain his tears ; for he read in it the assumption of a new name, and a doubt, mingled with a great lengmg, as to whether he wouid ever agam be able to claim his own. " He promised us," said Ned, "that if ever he needed a shelter he would come here." " An' welcome he'll be as the flowers in May,' chimed in Madge. "Whatever he's gone an' been an' done, the poor young fellow is all right at heart." " If you will let me have these rooms," said Robert, " I'll pay you well. To live in the very house where the poor lad d\Celt will give me heart and hope." " But you'll give 'em up, if he comes back again," said Madge stoutly. "They're promised to him, you know." " Ay, I'll give them up," .said Ro'ocrt, who could not help smiling at her fidelity to Alfred's interest, smiling, too, at the thought of his coming back. In a little while he and Joss were installed as lodf;ers, and the young man felt cheered and strengthened by the thought that he had secured two faithful allies in Ned Saltmer and his buxom spouse. It soon appeared as if Joss had clearly understood that the honest couple had been taken into partnership, for he attached himself to Ned and Madge and Robert promiscuously ; now going with Ned for a saunter, now trudging with Madge to market, and now following at the heels of Robert on his weary tramps through the dreary London streets. One mornmg Robert received a letter from his brother ^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) * /. ^ /: y /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, K.Y. MS80 (716) 873-4 S03 ^ I70 SIMON HOLMES. I i Edgar, requesting him to call un a certain corn merchant whose great warehouses lined the borders of the Thames, and who for many, many years, had purchased the corn and other crops that had been raised at Aspen Garth. After breasting for awhile the human waves that rolled through the roaring city, Robert found himself in one of the narrow streets hard by London Bridge. Hoisted high on the front of a tall warehouse he saw the name he sought, Ephraim Hartgold, Corn Merchant. In response to his inquiry, a stout, pleasant-faced indi- vidual came from an inner office. " Well, friend," said he, *^ what is thy business ? " Like the question, the speaker's tone was brisk and prompt. " It concerns a consignment of corn from the Athelings of Aspen Garth," said Robert, readily taking the cue of the merchant. " An honoured name," was the reply, " I am at thy ser- vice. Follow me." As Robert followed him into the inner office, he was more than ever struck with the firm step and erect deport- ment of the merchant, whose white hair betokened that its owner was fast approaching the allotted term of threescore years and ten. Ephraim Hartgold was a Quaker of the real old-fashioned type. He wore the broad-brim Pied hat, the collarless coat, the drab breeches and gaiters, and the voluminous white neckcloth which was the good old mode and fashion among his sect in the days when George the Third was King. The old-fashioned pronouns too, ' thou,' ' thee,' and ' thy,' did unflinching duty in his common con- versation. He possessed, also, all that sterling character for uprightness and integrity which hath ever marked that peculiar people. The immediate business in hand was very soon despatched, although nothing could surpass the careful and methodical way in which the merchant went about it. SIMON HOLMES. 171 "And now," said he, "that we have finished the matter of business which brought thee here, I would fain 'nduce thee to favour me with a visit to Sharon Lodge. Thy father and I have had business relations from the time that he succeeded his father to the heritage of Aspen Garth. He was a good man and true, the ideal of probity and the soul of honour ; and I count it no small honour that he accounted me his friend. It would m.ake nie glad if the same relationship may be continued in the person of his son." •• It is very pleasant to me," said Robert, " to hear you speak thus of my honoured father. I have ofion heard him speak with equal warmth and respect of yourself I need scarcely say that I, too, should be glad to inherit your friendship and confidence, as it has fallen to me too to become the heir of Aspen Garth." "Thou wilt follow in thy father's steps, young man; they will lead thee to the same holy place. ' The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord,' and his heritage shall dwell in * peace.' Give me thy promise that thou wilt visit Sharon Lodge. My wife Keturah and my daughter Ruth will give thee a true Friend's welcome there." "Excuse me at present, Mr Hartgold. The fact is, that I have sorrowful business in hand at present. 1 feel that I may make it known to you. I am searching for a brother of mine who has got himself into serious trouble." Fcrihwith Robert told the merchant the whole sad history, and solicited his advice. "I wish 1 could give, thee a helping hand," said Ei)hraim Hartgold, thoughtfully rubbing his beardless chin. " Hast thee advertised for the youth in the public papers ? " " Yes, over and over again, and as clearly as I dared," replied Robert " I fear thy search may be a long one," said the 172 SIMON HOLMES. ! I J f merchant. " As for advertising, even with a view to restore lost money, it seems to be inefTective ; at least so it has been in my case, for I could not find an owner. Some time ago I picked up a bag of gold containing much money. It was left behind in a public conveyance by two young men — the worse for liquor, i thought — who suddenly left the vehicle to hail a comrade in the street. 1 discovered their loss as soon as they had left, and »iastened after them. Put the crowd in Regent Circus was ''.o great, and somet'ning especial was to be seen, I think, Vbat I quite lost sight of them. By the way," he continued, looking earnestly at Robert, "now I come to ihmk of it, tiie younger of them bore a marked resemblance to thyself. I remember at the time being struck with something of the kind ; thou art greatiy like thy father." Robert looked at the speaker with intense interest. Had he here found another clue? "Indeed!" said he, "and what of the money? Did you never find the owner ? " " No ; as I was saying, I give notice to the police. I advertised in the newspapers. In short, I did all I could to put the matter right. The bag is at this moment locked'* safely up in my oak cabinet at Sharon Lodge. There is nearly three hundred pounds. It is contained in a brown canvas bag with the letters ' H. H.' printed on it in black ink, and is tied with a piece of green tape." *• H. H. ! " said Robert, leaping to his feet. " That would stand for Hu ison Harvey, Alfred's employer 1 O my God, can this he true ? " " Thee ought not to mention that Name," said Ephraim seriously. "Nevertheless thou hast some reason for surprise. Come with me to Sharon Lodge." Robert eagerly complied. Oh, if it were true I — If his brother Alfred had not embezzled the money after all 1 ..i££i!iijitLL.v- n \i CHAPTER XXL HAROLD SrOFFORTH's RANSOM IS APPLIED FOR J AND HIS SISTER ETHEL RECEIVES HER COMMISSION. " Thy letter was a flash of lightning, lilumiiig night wiih siuhien glow ; It served with dazzling force to show How deej) iny misery is, how fright'ning." ^tTjAROLD SPOFFORTH lay chafing his bonds an.l ^li \L cursing his misfortunes, — no, his misconduct now, for the young prodigal has had time to think, hr.s had sharp medicine to lead him thereto, i \d che result his shame and confusion of face. At Aspen Powers another shadow settles down besides that which has been brought by his own sad and sinful course. Sir Godwin, his fatiier, is smitten with a paralytic stroke. He sits imprisoned in ins library day by day. He is afflicted in body and sick at heart. He is fretful and (juerulous with everybody, not even excepting the good and pentle Ethel, whose pil- grimage in search of her brother had been thus delayed. To her it was a time of great tribulation. Although the long, deep silence of her heartless brother caused her anxieties to deepen and increase, her whole soul went out towards her father in his affliction, and she became his tender assiduous, and self-forgetful nurse. I: il ^ 'I 174 SIMON HOLMES. "I'll tell you what it is, Miss," said Nancy Holmes. "It's my opinion that if you don't leave Sir Godwin to me and Thompson, you'll soon be worse than he is." " I can't help it," said Ethel, pale, worn, and hollow-eyed. " Dear father has but me to care for him, and my life is bound up in his. Oh, if only Harold would come home ! " Nancy silently retired, for she, together with nearly all that knew him, had no hope that Harold Spofforth would ever be other than he was, a life-grief to his father, a bitter sorrow to his sister, and the ruin of himself. As she closed the door behind her she heard her young mistress sobbing aloud, and crying — " O brother Harold ! brother Harold ! Will you never come ? " The baronet, too, whose mental powers seemed to be affected, had got hold of the idea that Harold had been sent for; and there was something intensely touching in his plaintive words, words which had come to be a daily and almost hourly formula — " Hasn't Harold come yet ? AVhen do you think he will- be here?" So the weary days past by, and Ethel's faith and patience were tried as gold in the fire. But like gold, they stood the test, and hoping by naked faith alone, hoping against hope, she still believed that she should be permitted to bring Harold home. One n:orning, as Ethel was taking her melancholy morn- ing meal alone, for her father did not rise until late in the day, Thompson the butler brought in a singular, foreign- looking letter, addressed to herself, and bearing the postal stamp of Spain. She opened it with trembling fingers and a cold fear at her heart, and this is what she read : — " My dear Sister, — Somehow in writing from this den of thieves, into which my own mad folly has brought SIMON HOLMES. ^7S me, I do not feel that I have any right to call you thus. At any rate, I have been anything but a dear brother, except in a ruinous sense ; and I blush for shame as I write to yii'.i whom I have so greatly grieved and so shame- fully neglected. I feel as though I would gladly be otlier and better than I am, but it is too late. The die is cast, and perhaps if I had my liberty I should fail to — but no, I think not. I hope to God, living or dying, that is gone for ever. I am a prisoner, and in the power of the notorious Red Pedro, the brigand of whom you iiave doubtless heard. He asks as my ransom tlie sum of ten thousand pounds, and he declares that lie will have it or my life. I do not doubt his word. He is a fiend in- carnate, and is capable of any atrocity. I have been a failure all my life, and am as bad as bad can be. I am not worth ransoming at any price. I am compelled to write this, otherwise I would not pen a line of it. Hitherto I have refused to do so, but they have resorted to such means, the demons, that I am bound to yield. Honestly, I believe it best, that my father should not further involve himself The estate I have impoverished cannot bear it. Break the news to him gently, though I don't see why he should care. Poor father ! I've been, — but there ! where is the use ? Forgive me for all the sorrow I have caused you. Ask my father to forgive me. May God forgive me ! " A postscript was added containing directions as to how and where the money might be sent. It is needless to say that Red Pedro had read this epistle before it was despatched. He cared nothing about the strong remarks made about himself, and was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to know that the sentences deprecating the payment of the money were most likely to have the opposite effect. Latterly, Harold's experiences had been of the most painful kind, and it was only when 176 SIMON HOLMES. Red Pedro proceeded to carry out his threat that he would send first an car, then a hana, by way of a 'demand to pay,' that the young man, at his wits' end, had written as above. Poor Ethel ! She sat, [)ale and wan with watching and sore trouble, looking into vacancy, with the ill-starred letter on her knee. Oh how she pined just then for a mother's counsel, love, and aid ! Her mother ! The thought im- pressed her greatlv, held her firmly, controlled her fully. What was it that led her forthwith to seek her mother's grave ? Hastily donning her hat and a warm, grey shawl, she passed out of the house and through the shrubbery to the cottage of the old gardener, who was also clerk and sexton to the little grey weather-beaten church whose squar cower and short spire peeped above the elms. Having got the key, she proceeded to the church, quietly unlocked the door and paced the slcne floor towards the chancel, with Harold's letter still in her hand. The letter reminded her of King Hezekiah, and what he did when in awful straits : " And Hezekiah received the letter front the hand of the messenger atid read it, and Hezekiah ivent up to the house of the Lord and spread tt before the Lord" In obedience to this suggestion, she entered the chancel, knelt by her mother's tomb, and spread out the letter on the breast of the marble effigy of her honoured parent which covered the surface of her grave. Leaning her fair head upon it she pleaded with Heaven, while the sorrowful epistle became blistered with her tears. Then she cried aloud the petition of the troubled king of Judah — " Help, O Lord, and save us, for Thy mercy's sake ! " " Amen, Lord, amen ! An' there's nowt so sure ! " The startled girl rose to her feet, to see Simon Hoi; )es kneeling on the floor with his grey head in his hands, and bowed down almost to the ground ! SIMON HOLMES. •77 )uld 1 to ^ as and icuer [hcr's t im- fully. (ther's 1, she to the sexton tower rot the cd the el, with led her raits : of the \house of :hancel, |r on the It which lir head il epistle lloud the [ord, and !" Hoi. les inds, and " O Simon ! " said the wondering Ethel, " whatever led you to come here ? " " Nay, Miss Ethel, that I can scarcely tell," said the old rarpentcr. " * He leadcth us by a way that we knoa not.' Jake Martin the postman said that he had a foreign-looking letter for you. I seemed to feel all at once that there was trubbie lapped up in it. So I said to 'Becca, ''Becca, I'm foorced to go up to the Hall, ha' yo' ony message for Nance?' I wondered to see t' chotch door oppen as I passed, so I stepped inside. When I saw yo' on your knees, I knew in a minute that you were i' better company than mahne, so I just knelt doon an' said, * Amen ! '" "Thanks, Simon," said Ethel, "you are always thoughtful and kind. My heart was very sad and sore, and somehow I felt drawn to my mother's grave. I'm better now." "No doot you are. Miss, an' ecjually no doot you were drawn with a purpose. Them words on my lady's moniraent hev a sarmon in 'em o' tiieirselves." Ethel turned as Simon pointed and read, " Her trust was in the Lord her God." Then casting her eye above the line she read, " The beioved wife of Sir Godwin Spofibrth, and the daughter of Sydney Ruilton, Esq. of Enderby." In a moment it flashed upon her mind, that by tlie will of her maternal grandfather the sum of ten thousand pounds was left for her own use and benefit, and that as she was now of age it was at her own disposal. Hitherto she had never needed it, never thought of it. Now it represented Harold's ransom ! She felt stunned, half dazed, turned pale, and might have fallen but for the ready hand of Simon Holmes. As they walked towards the Towers, Ethel remembered that she had left the letter in its place on the recumbent statue of her mother, and asked Simon Holmes to fetch it for her. As the old man handed her the pregnant missive, he said — " Whativer there is in it. Miss, you were right to tak' it to sil Miii mm man 178 SIMON HOLMES. the Lord. He's fond o' bein' trusted with all \our seacrets, an' all the wo'ld can't show a Coonsollor so good an' wise as Him. That's what King Hezekiah did when Sennacherib sent him a letter full o' blasphemy ; an' threatenin' to male' the streets o' Jerusalem to run wi' blood. Hezekiah just went as you did, an' he * spread it befoor the Lord.' An' that varry neet, while t* enemy's soldiers were sleepin' i* their tents an' t' sentinels were on the ;vatch, God's angel com' an' fowt the battle for him, an' Hezekiah gat the victory withoot unsheeathin' a single soord, or liftin' a single lance, or bendin' a single bow. So it'll be wi' you, for it's true o* you as it was o' my lady, * She put her trust in the Lord her God.' " Simon was pleasantly astonished at the peaceful smile that lit up Ethel's pale features, as she replied, "It's all right, Simon, I did well to come. The hand of the Lord is with me, and my mission will be done." Then she told him of the letter and of her intention, if needs be, to devote her fortune for her brother's ransom. " But how shall I tell my father about it, Simon ? Another stroke would kill him." "I reckon the Lord *11 put that right, as well as this," said the old carpenter ; and having arrived at the Towers, Simon made his way to have an interview with Nance in the housekeeper's room. Ethel's difficulty was solved for her, as Simon had said. She was met at the door by Thompson, the butler. " O Miss," said he, " Sir Godwin is in a terrible way ! Just when we had got him brought down and placed com- fortably in the library chair, the postman brought another letter that had been forgotten at Chilworth post-office. It was just like that that came for you this morning. Sir Godwin knew the man had come; he saw him pass the window, and I was forced to let him have it. You know* Miss, you told us that it would be dangerous to cross him. SIMON HOLMES, 179 rets, je as \erib mak' I just An' )in' i' angel It the single for it's in the i smile It's all Lord is ntion, if isom. Another as this," Towers, lance in lad said. )le way'. Iced com- another Office. It ling. Sir pass the 'ou knoWi :ross him. Ever since, he has been groaning and weeping and wringing hJ9 hands. I'm afraid he'll have another fit ! " "Wherever have you been, Ethel?" said her father as she entered the library. He was almost scarlet with excite- ment, and kept vainly trying to rise and stand upon his poor useless feet. " Read that ! Read that ! Read that ! ' he said with feverish rapidity, pointing to a letter on the table. Ethel soon discovered that the former letter must have been delayed in its transmission, for this was of a much liiter date. It ran thus : — " My dear Sister, — The patience of my wolfish captors is exhausted. Latterly I have been made to suffer greatly. Red Pedro has just sent to say that he will give me one chance more. But if the ransom does not come within twenty-eight days, I am to be shot. I am compelled to write this letter, as my jailor is looking on. If you could send some trusty messenger with a less sum, perhaps they would accept it. I do think I should lead a better life, and it is hard to die ^vithout the opportunity to reform. I deserve it, however, and if it is to be, I cannot rebel against it. Pray for me, dear sister, and if you hear from me no more, believe that I died asking forgiveness for myself, and His blessing on those on whose lives my sin and folly has brought so dark a cloud." Poor Ethel! Her heart sickened, the pallor of death came over her features, and staggering to a sofa she sank into a swoon. " O my darling I " cried the baronet, and tore at the bell- pull with the energy of alarm and fear. After a while Ethel recovered, and asked if Simon Holmes had gone. The old carpenter came in. There was a set resolve on Ethel's brow, and withal the return of a settled calm ; and in her eyes a light * not born of sun or stars.' SIMON HOLMES. "Simon, I want you to help me to explain to my fatlicr that I have now received my commission, and that I am going at once to fetch dear Harold home. I shall give orders to get his room ready. Father, trust in God. All will be well ! " " You ? " said the Baronet. " Impossible I " "Both possible and sartain. Sir Godwin," said the car- penter. "I would recommend that Jacob Benson goes with her. He sarved in the Peninsula, an' picked up a goodish bit o' Spanish ; besides, he's gotten a pair o' brawny airms, Jacob hez." " Good," said Ethel. " And now I have no time to lose." Leaving her father in the hands of Simon Holmes, a thoroughly effective physician in his way, Ethel retired to make immediate preparations for what she lightly called her " trip to Spain." *r CHAPTER XXII. SIMON HOLMI.S IS ON HIS MASIKR's HL'SINESS; AND THE BARONET COMICS INIO AN I STATt- " Speak to me lnw, my Saviour, low and sweet, From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Tiiee so. Who art not missed by any that entreat." E. A. lirowniH^s^. iTIIEL SPOFFORTH knew full well what she was about when she enlisted the aid of Simon Ilc'.mes, and commissioned him to put matters so before her father that he might coincide with her immediate depar- ture, in the sure hope that success would crown her efforts, and that she would soon return in triumph with Harold at her side. She herself had had experience of the 'way' that Simon had with sick and sorrowful people, and had long desired that her stricken father might have experience of it too. It was very necessary for his very life's sake that her father's excitement should cease, and if it was within the power of man to calm him down, Simon Holmes, thoughtful, gentle, sympathetic Simon, thought she, is the man to do it. She had long desired that her father might be induced to think more fixedly and seriously on those all-important iii*yifr-'riiiiii«ii'iiffii>iiiiiiaifeiMiiii-- • 'My darling,' said he. 'your father has found his Saviour."'— /'rt^^ i8S. RJH i«||)HHIIU,HII*,f|lJ,ll!,: SIMON HOLMES, 189 "Whativer do ye mean, Simon?" said his wondering wife. " I mean that he knoa's hisself to be * a' heir o' God an' a joint-heir wi' Jesus Christ ! ' an' that's an estate compared wi' which Aspen Chase is no better than a cabbage garden I '* CHAPTER XXIII. THE CASTAWAYS FIND REFUGE IN THE "GOOD INTENT*," AND CAI'TAIN CRUMPIT HAS A WORD TO SAY ON FLOATING COKl'INS. " Mark, mark Ulysses how the gods preserve Tlie men they love, even in their own despite 1 They guide us and we travel in the dark ! liut when we most despair to hit the way, And least expect, we find ourselves arrived." Lansdffivne, ^HE evening and the morning were the second day." As the sun dipped behind the western waters, a great gloom fell on the Httle band of hapless voyagers, drifting in such sore straits upon the bosom of the pathless sea. Never castaway mariner on an ocean rock did scan the horizon with such a longing heart and searching gaze as did Alfred Atheling, and that by no means on his own account, hut for the sake of the gentle Inez, vfhose powers of endurance were almost at an end. Suddenly, the deep silence which had fallen upon them was broken by Will Trounce, the keen-eyed mariner who had boasted for Inez's benefit that he could see a full-rigged bark at all but impossible distance j. " A sail I a sail ! " said he, and it may well be believed that the honest tar put all the soul he had into the cheering news. SIMuS HOLMES. 191 " ^Vllere away, mate ? " said Joe Hewitt, so excited that he sprang to his feet. Looking in the direction indicated by his mate, he too saw the welcome sight, and just as if it had not been announced at all, turned incoiitiner.tly to Inez, with a radiant siuile upon his face — ** A sail ! a sail. Miss ! It must ha' dropped down right away from Heaven to save you from another awful night." " Can't make it out," said Will, " that we didn't see it in daylight. Seems like as you say, that it's either come down from Heaven on a marciful errand ; or olhorwisc, it's been lyin' ready for us, down i' some port i' the deep sea, an's risen up on purpose to fetch the maiden out o' the jaws o' deatii." " An' if it had," said Joe, " she's worth working a merrycle for. I think it's her that's kept us all afloat so long. God A'mighty wouldn't let her drown." Meanwhile the oar was high uplifted. The red shawl was hoisted, and then, first one and then another shouted across the deep. It was unheeded, perhaps unheard, and the twilight was settling down so that they were most likely unseen. Captain I.anyon bethought him of his pistol. By his direction the little crew ^ave one loud simultaneous shout ; then he fired his pistol, one, two, three, with little intervals between. " Hark ! " said Trounce, v hose ear seemed to be as quick as his eye. A moment's pause followed, and then they heard an answering shout, and then another. A low cry broke from the exhausted maiden, in the excitement of this new hope, as she said — *' Thank God ! Thank God ! He has sent us help at last." Strange to say, just then there came a sudden dark- ness, and the strange craft on which all their hopes were set vanished utterly from their sig'it. Their new m SIMON HOLMES. ii ! I Jii kindled expectations of deliverance seemed blighted in their very birth. In vain the practised eye of Will Trounce tried to pierce the gathering dark. He shouted, shouted loud and louder, but the only answer was the gruesome sound of the rising wind which threatened stormy weather. A faint cry of pain was uttered by Inez. Alfred turned to cheer her, but her strength had failed her ; collapse had come, and the poor girl fainted on his friendly arm. As the young man iield the precious and unconscious burden, he felt that he could willingly lay down his life, his worse than useless life, if by that means he mignt save a life so young, so fair, so good, from the fate which certainly awaited her if this their latest hope should come to naught. He was certain that she could never endure another long, long night upon that wild and wintry -sea. Again the captain fired his pistol in the air, and now that the darkness had deepened, its flash was clearly seen. In a few moments a rocket rose up quite near them, whizzing upward with a swift and rushing sound which fairly startled the occupants of the boat, and helped to restore to consciousness the maiden in the stern. The light of the rocket illumined the surface of the sea all around them, lit up their faces, and revealed the dark hull and the tall masts of a ship close at hand. Again our waifs of the ocean gave an answering shout, and a sympathetic cheer from the ship told them that help had really come. " Thank God ! " said Captain Lanyon, who at set of sun had felt that his hope was set too, for he saw that his darling's strength was gone, and his warm heart was sore within him. " Thank God 1 " said Alfred Atheling, heaving a long drawn sigh of relief, not one whit for his own sake but for the gentle and suffering maiden lying so listless and help- less on his breast. With three experienced mariners like Captain Lanyon, I "j.: SIhfON HOLMES, '03 Joe Hewitt, and Will Trounce on board the little skiff, it was not long before they reached the welcome ark which had come down in the dark to their relief, and the willing hands of these on 1 oard the ship were soon congenially employed in hoisting tlicm on deck. " Look here, mates," said Joe Hewitt, to the sympathetic tars who had lent them a lift and were conducting them to the fore-cabin, " I reckon this Ml bring a bit o' special luck to this ere bark, let alone the marcy that it's brought to us. For why? Good reason, you're entertainin' an* angel unawares. Them's my sentiments.' " An angel i' everything but wings," said Will Trounce, "an' she would ha' had them afore mornin', I's thinkin'. An' them's mine." Both Inez and Alfred as it now appeared, now that the strain was over and reaction had come, were very ill. All unused to such sharp exposure, they had suffered severely. The captain of the vessel had the maiden placed in his wife's cabin. Alfred was otherwise cared for, and both were invalids that it was essential to treat as such. The "seasoned timbers" of Captain Lanyon and his two comrades had enabled them to endure the test, and accord- ing to the judgment of the worthy skipper of the bark, '' a good stiff glass o' grog or two would make them as right as ninepence." Why ninepencc should be regarded as specially right, more so than any less or even larger sum, does not appear. In the course of the evening Captain Lanyon told his host the story of the Boadicea and its fate, and of their sub- sequent wanderings on the sea. That which roused the listening skipper to boiling point was the description of the ill-fated ship, and how poor a fight she made of it when the sea began to try her. The story elicited some very strong expletives from the indignant listener, more strong than graceful by far, and so I will leave them out. N '■J*//,.-'.-;-.;;. -.vvt,. 194 SIMON HOLMES. " I call 'em murderers, reg'lar, downright assassins. Owners that'll send craft like that to sea, because they're covered by insurance, regardless of what becomes of the men that mans 'em, — they have no consciences, and their hearts are as callous as the coat of an alligator. I suppose that Boadtcea o' yours was just about as rotten in her timbers, as soaked junk in a leaky barrel." "She was very creaky an' cranky, too," said Captain Lanyon, a little more moderately. " Rotten, sir ! rotten, I tell you, as sure as my name's Crumpit, — every beam an' plank an' stay. But consarn their rascally little souls, not half so rotten as the men that owned her. Rotten as medlars all such rascals are, and the devil '11 meddle with them to some purpose. If he doesn't, then I say it's no use havin' a devil, that's all. What do you say ? " " Fm afraid it's too true. They deserve the most severe punishment," said Cajitain Lanyon. " Punishment ! " said the irate Captain Crumpit, " hang- in's too good for 'em. I should like to gather together a fleet o' them floating coffins. Then I would put owners, merchants, middlemen, underwriters, everybody that has a hand in keeping the ghastly sailor-traps afloat, an' send 'em out of harbour in a reg'lar double-reefed tops'el gale o* wind. It would rid both sea and land of a pack of rubbish, and save thousands of precious sailors' lives." Captain Crumpit was greatly relieved by this indig- nant outburst, and more calmly proceeded to give Captain Lanyon some information in return. "You are on board the Good Intent^^ said he, in answer to Captain Lanyon's inquiry. " As good and well bottomed a ship, ay, and as well managed, though I say it myself, as any ship that dips her nose into salt water. We've a cargo of wheat on board, so packed that ten bushels of it can't shift whatever kind of sea we have. SIMON HOLMES. •93 ost severe We're from New York, and we are bound for the port of London, and as for where we are at this present moment, why, I expect and hope to smoke a pipe with the * Buoy at Nore ' in a week or ten daya, God willing." When Alfred Atheling iieard that, willy nilly, he must return to that hateful city, the scene of his own wrong-doing, the place of his greatest peril, with all his new-born hopes and purposes concerning a redeemed life unfulfilled, his pain and disappointment were intense, and he wished that he had gone down with the old Boadicea into the depths of the sea. The depressing effect which this discovery had ui)on him retarded his recovery, and all the time that he remained on board the Good Intent,, he was weak and ill in body, sad and sick of heart. There was one thing of which he was sure, whatever 'hap the day might bring,' by the help of God, if he could but evade the far-reaching arm of justice, he would never, never again act the fool as in the misspent and wasted past. " Ralph Ravensworth," said he with a sigh, " shall never carry the disgrace that made Alfred Atheling unfit for wear." It was well for his prospects in the fulfilment of that vow, that the young man's heart, while these thoughts were pass- ing through his mind, went out in longing to his mother, while his thoughts went up to God. Inez Lanyon still suffered too, and had to keep her berth, with little alterna- tions to the captain's cabin. Nothing could exceed the rough but kindly skipper's attention to his guest. " It's a rough cage," he said, " for such a dainty bird to be shut up in : but it's better than that bit of a cockle shell you were tumblin' about in when we picked you up ; and a plaguey sight better than that creaking old coffin the Boadicea. The Boa-dish-you, I should ha' called her, for she'd nearly dished you, an' ta'en you down to Davy Jones in her in'ards, like a boa constrictor. However, all s well SIMON HOLMES. that ends well, an' the old tub's gone. She's * boa-deceased ' now, tliank goodness. Ha, ha, ha ! " and Captain Crunipit laughed heartily at his own joke. "You've got a good, well-found, sound bottomed, hkely looking craft under you. Captain Crumpit," said Captain Lanyon one day, as they were pacing the deck. " There's some comfort and pride in handling a ship like this." "Ay, ay. Captain," the other said, "though I say it myself, there isn't a stronger or a souncci craft afloat. She's a bit heavy in her build, and isn't altogether so easy to handle as some ; but then she iin't skittish, and she can be depended on in rough and tumble kind o' weather. The fact is," said he, pausing in his walk, and looking at his companion as though he had something to say worth hear- "thc Good Intent is like her owner,-- sound from stem to stern. If you can say that of a shipowner, you may be quite sure that he'll have his vessels built on the same lines an' kept on 'em, till they can't very well be trusted for age an' wear. Then he'll break 'em up, and not sell 'en for some scoundrel to make a sailor's coffin of." " I should like, now that my cranky old tub has gone to the bottom, to get a vessel owned by a man of that sort," said Cap'ain Lanyon with a smile. Why," said Captain Crumpit, "it might happen to be possible. He's got several craft of his own as well as this. They are all in the corn and timber trade mostly. I'll answer for it that every ship's got a good character, because the govnor's got a good conscience, an that's an article not too common either on sea or land. If it had been in your case, you would have been dropping anchor in the port of New York by this." "Who did you say was the owner of the Good /ntrni?" inquired Captain Lanyon, still thinking of possible emi)!oy- nunt under such a man. " Why, he's a Quaker corn and timber merchant, whose SIMON HOLMES. 197 warehouses line the Thames side in Smith Street near by London Bridge. His name's Ephraim Hartgold, and he deserves to have such a name, for if ever mortal man in this world had a heart of gold, it's the owner of the Good Intent. I dare say he'll hoard us off Gravesend, for Ephraim Hartgold has a knack of minding his own business pretty smartly, especially so far as his ships are concerned. Now, mark my word, if you happen to be on deck when he comes, the first words you'll hear him say will be, — * Well, Captain Crumpit, what cheer ? Are all the hands come back with you safe and sound ? ' That will be about the size of it : an' I verily believe that he would sooner hear a good account of the men that man the vessel than about either the ship or the cargo. What's the consequence? There's not a man or lad on board the Good Ititenf^ from skipper to cabin boy, that doesn't honour and respect him, or that would spare any amount of pains to serve his interests." This excellent character, so heartily and spontaneously accorded, made Captain Lanyon more than ever anxious to be taken into the good Quaker's employ, and he determined to try his chances at the earliest opportunity. Soon after- wards the Good Intent^ favoured with a fair wind and a flow- tide, passed the Nore, and anchored off Gravesend to wait for further orders. CHAPTER XXIV. BPHRAIM HARTGOLD HAS AN ADVENTURE ; AND HIS DAUGHTER RUTH RECEIVES A MILD RKBUKE. " She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen ; Tlie softer charm that in her manner lies Is framed to captivate, yet not surprise, It justly suits the expression of her face, — 'Tis less than dignity and mure than grace." Sheridan. ITH a newly-awakened hope that Alfred's Inpse from the i)aths of rectitude and honour had not been so gross as had been feared, Robert Atheling accompanied the Quaker merchant to his home. Sharon Lodge was a larg. old-fashioned house standing in its own grounds, and situated in a distant suburb of South London. The only members of Ephraim Hartgold's family were his wife Keturah and his daughter Ruth. In the former Robert saw a somewhat short, stout lady, a little over middle age. Her slowly silvering hair, smoothly laid beneath her narrow- frilled white cap, adorned a placid, pleasant face. Her grey eyes, though bright with a kindly gleam, could look you through and through. In her younger days it must have been an uncommonly beautiful face, as beautiful as that of iier daughter Ruth, a remarkably attractive moiden of three SIMON HOLMES. 199 and twenty, whose sober-bued apparel did only set off, as plain settings usually do, the beautiful gem within. Whatever miglit be said of Ephraim and Keiurah Hart- gold as to their sober and staid deportment, it would hardly do to describe maiden Ruth in that fashion. In spite of her quiet surroundings she was bl'the and gladsome. There was a merry twinkle in her dark eyes and a ready smile always lurking on her lip. She had a most un- quakerly tendency to hum little snatches of song, and tliese were not by any means entirely of a' spiriiual kind. Both Kphraim and Keturah often felt it their duty to administer a mild rebuke and to put upon her 1 gentle curb. " I fear thou art indulging in unseemly levity, my daughter," Ephraim would say in serious tones, like a Nasmyth hammer hesitating to crack a nut. " Ruth, my child, thou hast need of a little more sobriety," Keiurah would say, fixing her grey eyes on the young sinner with a rebuking gleam that only seemed to invite a kiss. Hereupon Ruth would look silently downward in demure contrition, and take an early opportunity of running up- stairs two steps at a time for the delicious privilege of indulging in stolen waters in the shape of another snatcii of song. This pair of placid parents could not bring them- selve? to Enforce any stronger discipline tiian this. Perhaps it was because they rather liked to hear her. This they knew, at any rate, that Ruth Hartgold had a heart of gold, and all their love was centered in their only child. It will be necessary for us to cause the dial of events to move backward a few degrees in order that we may more clearly understand the course of things, and that we may get nn effective look at the interior of Sharon Lodge. Some weeks before the evening on which Robert Atheling was introduced to the merchant's family circle, an event had trans[nred that interfered somewhat with the precision that 200 SIMON HOLMES. usually marked their household arrangements. Ephraim had returned from his office in the city a full hour later tiian his customary time. As his daily round and common task had in them all the exactness usually credited to Clockwork, the minds or Keturah and her daughter were much exercised as to the cause of his delay. The crum- pets iiad suiTered by it, and the tea itself had lost much of its subtle taste and fragrance from the same uncommon cause. "Tiiou art late, Ephfaim," Keturah had said. "I trust that no untoward circumstance hath detained thee so long ?" " Nay, Keturah," replied her husband. " The v/orUl would hardly call it so, forasmuch as I have unexpectedly and indeed undeservedly come into possession of much money." Here Ruth paused as she lifted her cup to her lips, and gave a curious glance at her father, who was rubbing his smooth chin between his finger and thumb as though he hoped, as in the case of Aladdin and iiis lamp, to solve the difficulty by friction. His deep-set eyes twinkled under their white lashes as he said — " Ho, ho, maiden Ruth. Surely the mention of money is not sufficient to make thee prick thine ears. Thee must not forget that it is the * root of all evil' " ** Nay, father. Thee must not tamper with the Scrip- tures," replied Ruth promptly. " It is the love of it that does the mischief. What / get of it, I do not care to keep, so I shall not plead guilty." " Hast thou found it, then ? " said Mrs. Hartgold, keep- ing to the business in hand, for she was curious to know more. " Where ? " said Ruth, jumping to conclusions. " Keturah ! " said Ephraim, inclined for a little, very little, innocent badinage, "dost thou not remen\ber the SIMON HOLMES. 20 1 hraim r later mmon ted to r were crum- luch of amnion I trust long?" » rvorlil 3ectedly if much her Ups, rubbing thougb to solve ashes as f money lee must le Scrip- )f it that to keep, [id, keep- to know [tie, very r.ber the mistake made by thine original grandmother in the garden. Peradventure it was a golden pippin that did the damage ♦.here." Then relenting, he said — " I got into a public conveyance to-day, to go to the Oxford Circus. The only lellow-passengers I had were two young men who sat opposite to me. They talked much and laughed much, but they were not wise nor witty. In truth I think they had * tarried at strong drink until wine had inflamed them.' They appeared much amused, and suspended their conversation to gaze at mc and then to eye each other, with a smirk, as I suppose, at my Quaker drab." "Why sliould people wear drab to be smirked at?" interposed Ruth. Botii father and mother looked at her solemnly and reprovingly, aiming at her, as it were, a double-barrelled gun. " I much fear me, maiden," said her father, " that thine own heart goes too much after the vain frippery thou scesc on the worshippers of carnal vanities. A right heart and a modest mien is of more use to thee than a bright hood «ind a kirtle of green." " Well, one can have a right heart, I hope, without liaving it wrapped up in drab," persisted the daring girl. " And as for a bright hood, I don't want a hood at all, nor a poke bon — I mean " But Ruth's conscience smote her so forcibly that it stopped her flow of speech. " R uth," said her mother still more seriously, " I would counsel thee to restrain thy tongue, and not to talk as one of the foolish maidens. As for thine outward apparel, think less of it, and be ^satisfied! which, as I have often told thee, is the meaning of thy name." "Very well, mother," said Ruth with ever such a little ripple of laughter; "but thee must not mention Ruth. I 202 SIMON HOLMES. feel sure that when Boaz fell in love with her, she had neither a drab gown nor a hood. I expect she had a braided kirtle, with a crimson sash and a red poppy or two out of the cornfield in her hair. * Then said Boaz unto his servants, ^Vhose damsel is this?' If she had been gleaning in drab, may be she would not have been so well settled in life." Ephraim Hartgold could hardly get his breath. He looked at Ruth's raven and silky tresses tightly coiled up as if in a prison for safe keeping, as if to assure himself that the red poppy was not already there. He smoothed hij own short white hair that lay on his forehead like a fringe. He was sorely perplexed. Ruth saw that he was ])ained, and her heart of gold could not stand that. Her dark eyes glistened with tears as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly. " Forgive me, father," she said, " I am afraid that I am a little light of heart ; but rather than vex or grieve thee, I will imprison my wiliul tongue as tightly as my hair, and that shall feel the scissors now, only pay me with a smile." Ruth got the smiles and the kisses too, but the wealth of hair remained intact. Even Quaker Ephraim could not have found it in his heart to lay sacrilegious hands on that. He knew that his girl was beautiful, but it was clearer to him now than ever. For the life of him he could not help depicting in his mind how handsome she would look with her tresses deftly spread and a, bright red rose, say, in lieu of a poppy, as a foil to her lustrous eyes. Without further word on the subject he reverted to his evening's experiences. ** The two young men," said he, " one of whom reminded me of a familiar face, were talking of races, actors, theatres, and other such sinful vanities. I gathered that they were that day about to go to some part of Vanity Fair. In SIMON HOLMES. 203 Oxford Street they suddenly jumped out to greet two acquaintances, and told them something eagerly, that elicited some laughter and expressions of delight. As the convey- ance moved off I perceived that they had left a bag behind them." Hereupon Ephraim put his hand into the capacious pocket of his drab coat and produced a bag with *\\e letters H. H. printed on it, and bulky with coin, which clinked as he slightly tossed it in his hand. " I instantly jumped out," he continued, " in order to restore tiie bag, but the whole party had vanished like a dream. I put the matter in the hands of the police, and was sometime before I could get it arranged ; and at the close of business I repaired to the advertisement office lo write a notice and to secure its appearance in to- morrow's papers. Tliat is the story. I dare say I shall soon find an owner for it Money does not often lie long unclaimed." So saying, Ephraim Hartgold placed the bag in vn old- fashioned oak cabinet and locked it up for safe custody. After this there was a long silence. The fact is, ihat Ruth's strange remarks had sent the honest Quaker's wits a wool-gathering antl Keturah's too. Ruth retired early to her bedroom to continue with flushed face the incipient quarrel between her Quaker conscience and her maiden tastes. Her parents soon followed, thinking of tiieir darling Ruth and of the possibility of some most unquaker- like Boaz coming to carry off the radiant maiden who needed neither green kirtle, rose nor poppy, to advertise her charms. Then in due course, as we have seen, Ephraim brought into the bosom of the family the manly and stalwart yeoman of Aspen Garth, whose cornfields, far away on the slopes of Aspendale, were probably quite as extensive as those of the Syrian farmer in the immortal story on the 204 SIMON HOLMES. ■ '■ f- sacred page, and where poppies were quite as plentiful, should any Ruth take a fancy to pluck them there. Robert Atheling received a hearty welcome both from dame and damsel. The bag was produced, the piece of green tape was untied ; the money was counted by Robert himself, and was found to tally in amount exactly with the sum that he had paid to Mr. Harvey to recoup him for the loss he had sustained through Alfred's misdeeds. In all his toilsome and disheartening quest, Robert had happed upon no such encouragement as this ; and as he stated his views and unfolded his hopes, and as, brother-like, he sought to lessen all other indictments against Alfred's con- duct, and to lay the blame on evil companions and over- geniality, he had thoroughly sympathetic listeners There was a manly hatred of wrong-doing in the expres- sion of his countenance, in the steady ring of his voice, and in the gleam of his blue eyes, and withal such a depth and tenderness of affection in the tone of the one and the I'ght of the other, that the kindly Keturah could not help laying her hand upon his arm and saying softly and tenderly as a mother might — " Thee dost well to be hopeful Thy mother's prayers will not miss their mark. Thy father's prophecy will not miss of fulfilment. God is true." Ruth was a silent listener. But now and then a tear was secretly removed as it trembled between the silken lashes, by a stealthy finger-tip, and a silent prayer stole upward from her heart for the quick coming of the hour when the dead should be alive again and the lost one found. She did not look their guest in the face much, for whenever she ventured on doing that, she saw a pair of eyes of honest Saxon blue looking into hers with undisguised admiration. So she for the most part looked somewhere else; for every true Ruth, right down from the gentle Syrian maiden to her of the heart of golcji, leaves Boaz to SIMON HOLMES. 205 make his own inquiries, while she busies herself with her gleaning as a maiden should. At a somewhat later hour than usual the Quaker's well- ordered household retired to rest. Robert Atheling thanked his God upon his knees for the bright light that had arisen on the horizon of his brother Alfred's darkened fortunes, and then sank to slumber, wondering whether any pearl in all the world could equal a sweet maiden's sympathetic tear; and thinking that if only Alfred could be found and brought in safety to his mother's side, his own time might perhaps come to walk through the fields of Aspendale with a Ruth among the corn. And Ruth ? Although, as I have said, she had not looked often in the face of the manly and intelligent guest her father had brought home, such furtive glances as she had stolen were remarkably effective, for the yeoman's hand- some features were reproduced m dreamland, — but there, — that is a secret, a maiden's secret with which I shall not meddle. Sleep, maiden Ruth, and dream if it so please you. Sure I am, that neither you nor any other maiden can have a better subject for a dream, than that which flits before your mental vision in the silent watches of the night. Robert Atheling had not been long asleep when he was aroused by a sense of suffocation. Leaping from his bed he discovered that his room was filled with smoke. Hastily unlocking the door, he heard, or thought he heard, the sharp crackling noise of flame from some higher story than that on wh'ch he was lodged. Hastily half dressing him- self, he sought to rouse the inmates by the ominous cry of 'Fire!' I ' CHAPTER XXV. JACOB BKNSON AND HIS YOUNG MISTRESS BEGIN IIIEIR JOURNEY f AND DON ANTONIO DE DIAZ BECOMES A KKIKND IN NEED. '• I am a gentleman." — " I will be sworn thou art ; Tliy tongue, tliy face, thy limbs, actions, spirit, Do give thee fivefold blazon." Shakespeare. ^jPYAVING once had it clearly borne in upon her mind i[/ 'J[ that the time had come and tliai the path of dutv ^^^ was made plain, Ethel Spofforth conferred not with flesh and blood, but set about the work of prepara- tion with promptness and despatch. It was a capital thought, that of Simon Holmes', that Jacob Benson should accomi)any her to Spaiji. Jacob had been a soldier, had served in "the Peninsular war, and after that had fought under the flag of Don Carlos, a pretender to the Spanish throne. He had a considerable knowledge of the country, of the people, and of the language too. Besides, as Simon had said, he was brave, strong, and had a pair of vigorous arms at his young lady's service and the will to use thcin ; for like everybody else, he thought Miss Ethel to be deserv- ing of all love, reverence, and respect. First of all, Ethel went to Chilwortli and had an interview with her father's bankers. Of course, in the light of the SIMON HOLMES. icy fact that her own fortune was at her own disposal, tliero was no diffirulty there. Indeed the interview was most satisfactory, for she found them not only willing to supply her with what she required, but so to aid her that she should have no financial hindrances in her course through I'Vance and Si)ain. The journey from Chilworth to London and from thence to Paris was performed quickly and safely; and Kthel found repeated occasion to congratulate herself that she had so willing and capable a henchman at her service as the stalwart gamekeeper, Jacob Benson. Now there lived in Paris distant relatives of Ethel's mother, with whom, since their removal to the French capital, she had had but little intercourse, though they had often invited her to pay them a visit amid their new sur- roundings. Mr. and Mrs, Bancroft, as her friends were called, met her at the railway station, and conducted her to the Hotel de Bruxelles. It so happened that their own commodious mansion was undergoing extensive alterations and repairs ; and so they had elected to sit clear of all the annoyances incident to a family in such circumstances, and located themselves for a season at that spacious and most convenient hotel. Of course during her brief stay in the gay city for neces- sary rest she was introduced to several friends of the Ban- crofts, who seemed to be fond of 'society' and to have a large social circle. Amongst the rest was a certain noble and distinguished-looking cavalier whose name was Don Antonio de Diaz. He was a gentleman, he might truly be called a young gentleman, for his thirty years sat so lightly on him as to credit him with five years nearer youth. He was evidently a special favourite with Mrs. Bancroft, and it v,as clear that she was proud of having a Spanish Don of such high pedigree beneath her roof. Nor was Mr. Ban- croft himself much less captivated by the young Spaniard's courtly grace and winsome social talents. He was early ss: ! I i I 208 SIMON HOLMES. taken into confidence as to the special reason of Ethel's journey at that season. That much you see was necessary CO save her reputation for knowing the usages of * society ; ' for who would think of coming to Paris at that season of the year who was not in a way compelled ? It is not to be wondered at that Ethel herself should think highly of the Spaniard. He set himself the pleasant task of treating her with even extra attention, and exerted all his brilliant talents to interest and amuse here Of course he had an added interest to her in tiie fact that he came from Spain, the land to which she herself was bound. Don Antonio de Diaz started a little when he heard her name, and when Mrs. Bancroft imparted to him the nature of Ethel's errand, he seemed to be other than at ease. But this was only for a brief moment. He treated the young Englishwoman, he doted on the English, with a high and chivalrous respect, and declared himself intensely affected by her sisterly love, and deeply impressed with her noble courage and devotion. "I feel," said he, "as though this is an occasion when a knight of Spain, whose name and the fame of whose family has been connected with all that is noblest and best in Spanish chivdlry, may offer his services and feel that his sword is drawn against cruel wrong,— for right and justice, and in defence of virtue and beauty." Ethel did not particularly admire the taste which prompted the latter part of the 'chivalrous proclamation,' but she thought it might be excused on the ground that it was the windy way the countrymen of Don Quixote had been in the habit of talking for many a generation. In the course of a subsequent conversation, in which Don Antonio was treated quite as one of them, he said — " Red Pedro is a cruel and most determined bandit ; but, like his master, he is doubtless not so black as he's painted. It is more than possible, I should say it is highly probable, SIMON HOLMES. 209 tl.at he will take a much less mnsom for your brother, if you can only succeed in getting an interview with himself. That of course you cannot do if you go alone." " Can you tell us, Don Antonio," said Mr. Bancroft, " which is the best route to the out-of-the-way region, and by which the obscure village named in Harold's letter may be reached ? " " Of course I can," said the Spaniard with a smile of conscious wisdom. *' That is the region in which our family domains are situated, and tliere is scarce a valley or a mountain, an auberge or an hospice, within twenty miles ot the Montana forest that I am not as intimate wiih as I am with the boulevard'j of Paris." " I greatly regret," said Mr. Bancroft, " that I am unable to leave Paris, on account of the position of trust that I hold. If I could, not even my lameness, nor my ignor- ance of Spanish, nor my entire ignorance of the country, should prevent me from accompanying my relative on her journey — " "If Madamoiselle Spofforth will accept my humble services," said de Diaz, " I willingly ami eagerly place them at her disposal. This I am bound to say will serve my own purpose at the same time, for I have long promised to pay my friend the Marquis de Herrara a visit, and his chateau lies in the immediate neighbourhood of the postal station to which the letter refers." " O Don Antonio ! " exclaimed Mrs. Pancroft, " how very kind ! I sAa// be relieved, for in very truth I did not like the idea of Ethel's going into that region alone." " Nay, not alone, cousin," said Ethel, " my servant Jacob Benson counts for a good half dozen in himself Still, I am bound to say that if Don Antonio's own affairs lead him to Spain, and especially to that part of it, T shall be glad and grateful for his guidance." Mr. Bancroft was vastly relieved in his mind, at least he ^t ^*rii>f^^,l^if^-r^W- 'ffl^fJTi.4'~.Tt-Y.-^ 210 SIMON HOLMES. said so, and was quite of opinion that it was a stroke of remarkably good fortune that matters should have happed together so favourably. Ethel did not understand * strokes of fortune,' but she wondered whether it was * ordered ' that she should have the courtly S[)aniard for a guide. Every- body seemed to be agreed that the arrangement was every- thing that could be desired : everybody, at least, except Jacob Benson. Jacob was not fond of the Spaniards as a whole. He distrusted them, and he certainly did not make an exception in the case of Don Antonio de Diaz. The fact is, that the gamekeeper had taken a dislike to the handsome Spaniard, whose diamond rings flashed so brightly, whose perfect rows of teeth gleamed so whitely, and v. hose m ustache was twisted so daintily by the hand that wore the rings. Blunt, Ltfaightforward, shrewd and observant Jacob saw an unpleasant light in the Don's dark eye, and was sure that on more than one occasion he had seen such quick changes of feature and expression that he felt compelled to regard him with strong suspicion and dislike. Of course he did not say much to Ethel. What he did say was received with a smile, for Mr. Bancroft had known Don Antonio for some years, and he declared him to be all that could possibly be desired, — a gentleman. That was proclaimed fully by the • fivefold blazon ' that Shakespeare deemed sufficient, as will be seen by reading the motto at the head of this present chapter. Besides, Ethel Spofforth herself had passed him through her own private crucible without a doubt that he was genuine metal ; had weighed him in her balances, and had not found him wanting. So the thing was done. Ethel and her faithful guard were accompanied across the frontier by the ever respectful and chivalrous de Diaz, to secure the liberation of Harold, whose experiences else would culminate in his quick exit from the world by the crack of a riile or the point of a bandit's blade. SIMON HOLMES. 211 ke of apped trokes I ' that Every- every- except is as a t make , The to the •rightly, I v.hosc* at wore :ob saw lure that changes regard he did ed with for some isibly be by the |t, as will present ised him that he ^ces, and lard were Ictful and Id, whose Ifrom the It's blade. ^. Don Antonio had suggested that Jacob might well be left in Paris. His brusque and unpolished manners, and the peculiar difficulty of dealing with the sensitive peasantry of the district, especially such as might be in league with Red Pedro, together with his ignorance of Spanish, made it very undesirable that he should hamper his mistress by his possible imprudence. Nothing, however, could induce the prudent Ethel to leave the gamekeeper behind ; and by a happy accident, as some would term it, the Don was not aware that Jacob had any personal knowledge either of Spanish or of Spain. It cannot be questioned that Don Antonio was of immense service to Ethel in keeping her from travelling in wrong directions, in furnishing means of conveyance, and in per- forming the thousand little acts which saved her journey from being a time of harassment and annoyance, and from all loss of time and mistake of place. She had good reason for coming to the conclusion thai; it was ' ordered ' for her that Don Antonio should be her guide. One beautifully mild, clear evening, considering the time of year, when the exquisite tints of foliage in the Montana forest were rendered richer by the rays of the setting sun, our little party arrived at the romantic mountain village of Montana. Very tired and very weary, Ethel yielded to the Don's entreaty, in which he was seconded by Jacob Benson, that she should rest a few days to recruit her strength for the final ordeal that awaited her. She would gladly have been content to abide by the letter of the brigand's condi- tions and have paid the money at the place agreed upon ; but Don Antonio most strenuously advised her to see the chief himself, and so possibly save the greater portion of her fortune, as ho felt convinced that he could not withstand her personal appeal. He submitted to her a plan of action, and announced his intention of seeing the robber chief hmi- self as Ethel's plenipotentiary, and bringing word again as to I I . 5 whether the terrible brigand leader would hearing. " I shall be back in the coarse of three days," said he, " safe and sound. But if," he continued in soft and tender tones, " I should happen to fall into the hands of these free- booters, I shall have the consolation of knowing that I have imperilled myself in the effort to bring happiness to the fairest and most charming of her sex." Then with a low bow and a courtly hand-shake, that had in them the very essence of devotion, he bade her a brief farewell. Ethel was a good deal disconcerted by this speech. His reference to his own possible peril distressed her, and that touch about being the * most charming of her sex,' she thought was neither well-timed nor in good taste. Still he had hitherto behaved with profoundest courtesy, and the services he had rendered her were very great. Had the fair girl only known that this smooth-tongued Mephistopheles was quietly and surely winding a web around her which would place her at the cruel men^y of his cupidity and lust, she would have bid the stalwart Jacob carry her back that moment into ♦^he beaten paths of civilisation, and save her from the fatal storm that was impending overhead. The village of Montana is now assuming the dimensions of a town. It is situated close upon the borders of the * forest primeval,' and being surrounded by highly pic- turesque mountain scenery, with a charming admixture of lake and waterfall, and being favoured with certain medi- cinal springs of growing repute, it is becoming quite a popular resort. At the time of Ethel's visit, however, it was only a small scattered hamlet with a small handful of rude peasantry, most of whom were more or less the secret allies of Red Pedro and his gang, who combined the pro- fession of smugglers with their other nefarious trade. Now, it so happened that Jacob Benson found himself in a district with which he had become familiar in former times SIMON HOLMES. 213 her a lid lie, tender se free- I have to the ;hat had r a brief ; speech, her, and sex,' she Still he and the Had the istophcles ler which and lust, back that d save her when his lot was cast there by the fortunes of war. When he served under the Carlist flag he had encamped within a mile or so of this very spot He remembered an imposing waterfall, which he and two English comrades had gone to see. Descending from the brink of an elevated ledge of rock it dashed down to a tremendous depth, sheer down in a broad sheet, into a boiling caldron, that for ever hissed and seethed and tumbled m the deep gorge below. The scene had made a lasting impression on his mind, and in conversation with his young mistress concerning his Spanish experiences and his knowledge of that locality, Jacob referred to what was called in local parlance, " The Devil's Caldron,"- As it was less than an hour's easy walk from the village inn, and Ethel felt a desire to walk, she sug- gested that he should take her to see the sight. The keeper of the auberge courteously offered his mule for the lady to ride upon, but Ethel felt that the clear mountain air would brace her, and she preferred to take the short journey on foot. The sight she saw was full repayment for her journey. Ethel stood at a safe distance rapt and spell-bound, gazing on the silver breast of the cataract as it plunged roaring and foaming into the pool below, the waters of which, from brink to brink, were churned into a self-lashed lake of creamy white. They had just turned away from the spot after taking one lingering, admiring look, when they were suddenly confronted with a solitary bandit, of fierce de- meanour and well armed. His pistol was in his hand, and the usual dagger gleamed within the girdle round his waist. CHAPTER XXVI. ETHEL SPOFFORTH RECEIVliS AN ASTOUNDING REVELATION ; AND JACOB BENSON FINDS AN UNEXPECTED ALLY* " If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him." • •••••• " Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Shakespeare. v.; URET^Y nothing was less to be expected by a couple ^^ of innocent sightseers in that secluded place than an armed brigand, but so it was, and it is needless to say that for a moment or two both Ethel and her henchman Jacob stood bewildered. In terms that were far more vigorous than polite the robber demanded their purses, and no doubt he expected that ' Seiior and Sefiora Inglese' would obey the call with speed and trepidation. That, however, is not precisely the fashion favoured by a true-born Englishman, especially such an one as the Peninsular soldier and ex-Carlist, and stout-hearted, strong- handed Jacob Benson might well be trusted to strike a blow for * England, home, and beauty.' In one moment the pistol so suddenly presented was as suddenly sent flying into mid-air by an upward stroke of the I ill SIMON HOLLIES. 215 gamekeeper's staff. In another second the astonished and over-bold robber was laid flat on his back with Jacob Benson kneeling on his breast. Quick as thought the hand of the bravo sought his familiar dagger, and had he succeeded in getting it into his grasp, it might have gone hard with the Englishman. But it was not by any means the first time that Jacob had needed to beware of a Spaniard's knife. He had already seized it himself, and now held it aloft in striking attitude just above the eyes of the foiled and defeated robber. Jacob's weight was heavy, and his knee was so deftly placed that under its painful pressure, the man was compelled to cry for mercy. But though mercy 's for ever the attribute of the brave it must not be indulged in at the expense of prudence, and that Jacob Benson knew full well. The gamekeeper lightened the pressure of his knee, but did not relax his grip upon the scoundrel. By his directions Ethel unwound the coloured scarf that had held the dagger, and then wound it around the Spaniard's feet, tightly tying it so that he could barely move. She was sorely frightened, and with an added strength born of a sense of desperation and of excited nerves, she pulled and twisted the silken manacle, so that Jacob himself could scarcely have bound him in stronger bonds. The game- keeper then proceeded to fasten a stout cord — what game- keeper at home or abroad was ever without a supply of that essential article in the pockets of his velveteens? — around the wrists of his captive, for the dagger was handy, and the man, like most of his cruel and cowardly tribe, was cowed. The fellow was a prisoner. Jacob had taken him for a prey. Of that there was no room to doubt. But now there arose another question, one that neither he nor maiden Ethel could well answer. What were they to do with him ? Honest Jacob scratched his head, as though to draw a suggestion from his brain in that direction ; but m i\ ,,,1! U li ' 'I 2l6 SIMON HOLMES. it did not help him. He was in a quandary. He had caught a Tartar ; or rather perhaps had come into possession of a white elephant. What to do with him, in good sooth, Jacob did not know. Should he disarm him and let him go? Should he march him off to the village and haul him up before the alcaide, or whatever other legal functionary was available? He felt that it was doubtful whether such a village pos- sessed the article; and he was more than doubtful that the villagers were quite as likely as not to take part with the knight of the road. Then he found himself wondering what could have induced the brigand to sally forth alone, and to go fighting, like Hal o' the Wynd, for his own hand. Then he suddenly thought of the absent Don Antonio de Diaz, and wondered, as he was such a great man in these regions, what effect his name would have upon his captive. " What will Don Antonio de Diaz have to say when you are brought before him ? " inquired Jacob, drawing his bow at a venture. A sinister flash, noted well by the questioner and by Ethel too, lit up the robber s dark eyes with a dangerous light. The colour mounted to his olive cheeks, and his fettered hands twitched as though they would seek a weapon at his belt, as he replied in a hoarse whisper, and with an awful oath that may not be repeated — "The black infernal villain. I wish he was in per- dition!" Jacob could not help thinking of the pot's opinion of the kettle; could not help thinking, too, that to perdi- tion both of them would be likely enough to find their way. Ethel, who had heard the answer and had noted the gleam of rage with which the name of her guide had been received, began to fear for the safety of that gentleman if SIMON HOLMES. 217 he fell into the hards of men who could speak of him like this. She requested Jacob tn ask him if he was a member of Red Pedro's band. The question was asked in Spanish, and the reply came instantly. " I was," said the robber passionately, " Red Pedro had not a more faithful soldier in his troop than I. But as Don Antonio de Diaz ! Ten thousand, thousand curses on him as an incarnate fiend." The last words were hissed out through clenched teeth, and were accompanied by a paroxysm of wrath that made the flesh of his cheeks to quiver in its intensity. If that suave and winsome cavalier with the white teeth, the laughing eyes, and the curled moustache, had been present at that moment, the savage hatred of this man woud surely have been strong enough to burst the fetters that held him, that he might have strangled him then and there ! Ethel was shocked and mystified. She had not realised fully what the robber meant. Jacob Benson smiled ^imly. He understood and knew that his own suspicions were now more than confirmed. " \\ hat has Red Pedro to do with Don Antonio de Diaz ? " asked Jacob, for Ethel's sake. "They are one and the same man," said the brigand; "and the devil De Diaz will drag the chief Red Pedro down, down to hell ! Would that these hands might send him there ! " Then the damning truth broke fully on the astounded maiden's mind. She turned deathly pale, and feared that she should swoon as she realised the horror of the fate which had all but befallen her. • " Courage ! Miss Ethel," said her faithful servant. " Courage and trust ! You never needed 'em more than now. We shall foil him by the help of Heaven ! " Again her peril came before her in the full rr«easure of its truth, but all her womanhood came also to her aid. 1 1 2l8 SIMON HOLMES, If It' It: iill 111 i; I'l f ' mm Snatching the dagger from the hand of Jacob she hid it in her bosom, and one glance at her face the while was enough to convince the gamekeeper that she would sheathe it, if need be, in her own pure breast. *' We also have cause to lia e that man," said Jacob, for he had already thought how this man might be enlisted in their service. Further conversation revealed the explanation of the deserter's rage against the chief whom he had served so loyally. Don Antonio had in liis reckless pursuit of selfish gratification accomplished the ruin of the sister of the fettered brigand by subtle deception and audacious lies. The poor girl had discovered who he really was and had died by her own hand, bequeathing her revenge to her brother, who now lay captive at Jacob's feet The robber had only just discovered the identity of the handsome and sensual cavalier with his own captain, and had left the robber crmp for ever. His one purpose now was to cherish his deadly hate and to glut his vengeance by plungin^^ a dagger to the heart of the vile betrayer who had wrecked his sister's life. When the pith of this revelation was translated for Ethel's benefit, that young lady could not help evincing a measure of pity for and sympathy with the hot-blooded Southron in the foul wrong which had gotten such a hold upon his spirit, and this the robber was not slow to see. It aided materially in smoothing the negotiations which were to follow. He informed them that a rich " Inglese " was detained for ransom in the robber camp, together with another prisoner, a Cuban landowner of large wealth, that both of them were under the charge of Blackbeard, for whom also, for some unmentioned reason, the robber had a great dislike. He told them that both these men were to be shot on the return of Red Pedro, as the days of grace for the production of their ransom were nearly over. I'^w SIMON HOLMES. 219 For a few moments Jacob and Ethel conferred together, and their captive was evidently trymg to read in Ethel's face the while, what might be his own fate. He read nothing there, however, than pity and a look of hope. Then Jacob asked him whether it was possible to rescue these two men, for Ethel, in the natural kindness of her heart, had linked the two together ; and whether, as he was so thoroughly familiar with the arrangements of the camp, he would undertake the task. The man intimated that it could be done, but only by himself, or some other individual acquainted with the character of Blackbeard and the discipline of the place. " Bring those two men here," said Jacob, speaking slowly, " and I will pay you down one thousand pounds in English gold." The mention of so large a sum made the listener's eyes to flash with another light. It was necessity, not choice, which had led the deserting brigand to ply his ill craft on Ethel and her companion. He did not intend to follow his criminal profession any more, certainly not until Red Pedro had fallen beneath his sharp steel blade, and this not be- cause of any honest qualms of conscience, but because it might cause him to forfeit his liberty and so interfere with his revenge. In Jacob's offer he saw all his wants supplied and competence into the bargain. " Will you undertake the task ? " said the gamekeeper. " Yes," said the robber, promptly and eagerly, " for gold and for revenge." Both Jacob and Ethel too, though she did not understand his answer, knew by the tone in. which it was delivered that he meant fully what he said. Jacob unbound his prisoner, but prudently kept the pistol in his own possession for the present, and they proceeded along the mountain path in the direction of the village. At the outskirts of it and at a point where a narrow way strucl^ off into the forest, the robber paused and said — li f 220 SIMON HOLMES. Mi ■;^\ " I must not go further if I am to cam your reward. Red Pedro has men cnougli about here to (quickly end my Hfe if suspicion is aroused. Besides, there is no time to lose, for the troop sets out on an expedition to-night, and it is on their absence and upon the time of their departure that my scheme depends for its success. You can give me back my weapons now. I go to set the senor Inglese at hberty." " And I," said Jacob, " will come and wait and watch by the waterfall. At the sight of the two prisoners the gold is yours." So saying he returned his pistol, but the man still remained standing with outstretched hand. Jacob looked surprised. " My stiletto," said the man, " I may need it, for if bad fortune puts me in their hands, my dagger and not their bullets will set me free." Until that moment Ethel had forgotten that she had hi«^ the weapon in her own bosom, and she now drew it fort with a hot blush at her own temerity. The first shock of fear and feeling on learning the treachery of De Diaz had passed away, and she was glad to get the murderous little weapon out of her custody. The knife was replaced in the Spaniard's girdle, a few coins were placed in his hands as earnest money, and with a low bow to Ethel, the bandit turned aside and took the forest way. " It's all right, Miss," said Jacob, as they re urned to their quarters in the village. "I can read a Spaniard as well as here and there one, seeing that I've knocked about a good deal among them : and I know that we may trust this one ; not because he's particular trustworthy in hisself, but because, as he says, he will gain by it both revenge and gold. It's capital ! " continued Jacob, rubbing his hands with satisfac- tion. " This is the ferret, and we'll get the rabbit as sure as Saturday." Ethel did not inquire of her trusty henchman whether the SIMON HOLMES. 321 * rabbit ' he referred to was her brother, the captive heir of Aspen Chase ; neither did she sohcit an explanation of the problem as to why Saturday was more sure than any other day in the week. Her mind was full of thought, and she trod the village street in anxious wonderment as to how these things would end. She felt a positive horror at the thought of Red Pedro's return ; but hoped that, as he him- self had mentioned three days, the bandit's work might be completed, so that when the unscrupulous brigand chief did return he might find that all the birds were flown. Her greatest stay and comfort was that she thought she could see an overruling Providence at work, and she believed that all things, however strange and unpromising they might appear, were working for good and bringing on the hour of deliverance and success. Fin .ing an early opportunity to retire to her chamber, she again commended her brother and herself to the care of Him who had so clearly heard her prayers and answered them in days gone by. I? I i • -I m : J F ^? cuAPrKk XXVII. SAM V<;USK TIIK lU Ai'KsMmi INDliHUtS IN A KIDKJ AND I'lillCR I'KOUr TIIK Mil. I, IK KAl.SKS A IIOT PlSCUSSlON, " Mark HUil sulc }^o Imrc, |;o hnro, Molli foul niui liuiul go cold ; Ivnt liolly, (iotl nciul llu't? |;o>>«l i>Ic cnout»h» \\ liithc-r it be new or «ilii." Camintr Turloit's i, ted It. "\*'Vy K must now rc'rnre our ste|)s a little, and make V V ^ r.nothor visit to pcarcul and lu-autiful As])i'ndale, still peaceful and always heautitiil, whatever of unrest or misiloini; might he lelt or wrought by those who luul been accustomed to call it home. It was a bright winter's morning. A little snow had fallen in the night, and had been succeeded by just so much frost as served to keep it crystallised. There was just enough of it to cover the roads and pathways, but not enough to hide the grass 'n field and paddock in which the green blades peeped through the white "top-dressing' as if resolved upon feeling and seeing as much as i)osbible of the distant winter sun. There was just enough of it to powder the thatch upon the cottages of Thorpe .\si)en, but not enough to do more tiian whiten the lurrows bet ••een the rioges of such genteeler roots as could boast the rt ^ectability of tiles. There was A. V/A/O/V HOLMES. 223 jiiKt CMU)ni.;!i rev('nt the hlatkhird and tl)e mavis and ihe hnnet from per( hing thereon and trilling their morning matins on the sun. 'I'lic sun shone clearly if (oldly, and itH bright rays, re- flected on and icfrailed hy the snrjw crystal, fro/en ({U:i:, fried rasher and sweet home-made bread, he cotdd not tor the life of him settle down contented at his cobbler's benf h. The brave bright sun shone on him tlirougii the window, illuming and glorilVing widi strange beauty the f>hantasirg which jack Frost had drawn upon the i),incs, and wooing him to come forth and take the 'good the g(;ds provided* on such a morn as this. Tim could not res st the strong tenip'ation. The lap- stone soon became too heavy for his knee; the sharp bright awl and wax end weie laid aside; the 'clamps' with a new U|>ptM-lcaLher held firm within their grip were set up in the customary corner when Tim's 'hand was not in/ and the round-faced hammer, whose short handle lay reproachfully near his foot, was kicked under the bench disgraced and discredited by over-familiarity, 'ihcn tlie yielding " im dofTcd his leather a[)Ton by withdrawing his bullet-head from its noose, donned iils fustian jacket over his sleeve waistcoat, set his low chimney pot hat, which was much the worse for wear, jauntily on one side ot hirj cropped head, lit up his short black pipe, and marched out "\ir-*"' ' R,Y |ir'i«t^-^#.(^'*v;^a«.'a'i-i-i^;^"'***,v!»(^>'r-fvw[^wjri;j'. -. }z-^vr^!hr-:-'-S'' 224 SIMON HOLMES. .•e ■ i -i of the shop door, 1 aving Sallie in sole charge of the estab- lisliment. Thrifty Sallie did not half like the look of things. She had a notion that Tim had the intention of making a day of it. It was not at all, alas, an unusual thing with him, and sadly often resulted in his making a night of it, too. Then in the small hours of the morning he would inform any wakeful villager within hearing, in tones confused and tipsily melancholy, that he would net go home till morning, until daylight did appear ; a ditty which usually came to an ignominous end, when Sallie opened the door, gave tongue, and discharged her artillery on her beery and misbehaving spouse. So Sallie was not at all disposed to let him go without first giving him a bit of her mind. " Ah' spooase, ah mun expect yo' back ageean when yo' cum, an' ah sail knoa' you've cum when ah clap 'ees o' yo'.'* "Hod thee gammon," replied Tim in terms far more expressive than polite. "Ah sail be back direc'ly. Ah nobbut want to gan an' stritch me legs a bit. A mornin' like this wad mak' an aud craw sing ' Bonnits o* blue.' " " Thoo'll leeak blue aneeaf i' t' mornin' ah'll bet a ho'p'ny. Stritch thee legs ! Ah'll warrant thoo'll stritch 'em all t' way te t' * Chequers ; ' an' then thoo'll stritch thee legs under t' lang teeable, afoore a pot o' ninep'ny : and there thoo'll stop till thee munny's deean; an' then Lan'lord Middle- dick '11 tell thee te stritch 'em yam ageean. Hoo thoo'll manage that, ah deean't knoa." Sally Crouch had a tongue with a keen edge on it, and Tim felt it cut deep. If the cobbler had been on his bench just then, there is little doubt that he would have seized lapstone and hammer, and by means of a little vigorous lapstone logic would have beaten her out of the field. In this case, however, and seeing that he was already beyond the threshold, Tim thought discretion was the better part of valour, so he strode off at full speed. SIMON HOLMES. 22! Bstab- She a day I him, It, too. inform 2d and orning, e to an tongue, shaving him go hen yo' , o' yo'." ar more 'ly. Ah mornin' [ho'p'ny. Ill t' way [under t' thoo'U Middle- |o thoo'U it, and lis bench |e seized ^rigorous eld. In beyond Ir part of Sallie could not refrain from giving her intractable spouse a parting shot. She shouted after him — "Sail ah send a wheel barra' fo' tha', or mun t* cun- stubble get Chivey Ste'enson to help him to carry tha' yam te t' tune o' t* frog's march ? " Then she set to work to adjust the shop shutter, table fashion, hoping to make a few coppers' profit from her varied stock-in-trade, though she well knew that all she could do in that way would be a poor set-off against the serious /^r contra that was likely to go down Tim's thirsty throat. At the door of his blacksmith shop stood Sam Vause listlessly leaning against the jamb with folded arms, as though he too had rebelled against the tyranny of the hammer, incited thereto by the bright sun that shone full on his red face, and played upon the white-washed walls of his shop, on which some score or two of horse-shoes were suspended ready for use should any farm horse require a new covering to its naked hoof I am afraid the bibulous blacksmith was really on the look-out for somebody to provide him an excuse for wanting a pint of beer. " Mornin', Sam," said the cobbler, drawing near. " Here's a mornin' ! It's aneeaf te mak' a cripple gan off on a walkin' match." ' " Mornin', Tim. It's a reg lar stunner. It's aneeaf te mak' me gan off on a runnin' match. Only there's naebody to run wiv." " Ah deean't mind challingin' tha' tiv' a race as far as t' Chequers," said Tim with a laugh. " Dun !" said the blacksmith, nothing loth. He was quite ready either to run, or walk, or creep, or roll in that parti- cular direction. " Dun ! An' 'im 'at losses sail stand a pot o' ninep'ny. Is't a bargain ? " Carefully and ceremoniously Tim drew a line across the road with the side of his boot sole. The ill-matched pair, I >?..«-■«..». '>.'/»-|(ii«rjW'^Z'"»««"-t^ fin*'*-',' IVitfStMrjy.--.^-- 'Mv-r^A:^5"yBW(/Ki»«^'-< t('^6rvi>»pir«:^:%'-t *"JV:'rv*'' Kl .V 226 SIMON HOLMES. for Tim was sliort and wiry, tlic blacksmith was tall and stout, — toed the line. "Now then," said Tim, and away they went along the snow-powdered road at a swinging pace, far less intent on victory than on reaching the spot where the creaking sign of the '('hequers' would bring them up, to taste the sweet delights of the pewter mug with its ' brown October ' and its cap of froth. Sam Vause's more constant devotion to the beer-barrel had robbed him of his stamina and staying power in pro- portion as it had increased his girth, and conse(picntly he soon gave evident signs that he was being blown. He gradually fell behind, and then came to him the thought that he should have to pay the victor for his beer. It so haj)pened that a small drove of young cattle was being driven by a farm lad to the Chilworth market, and lazily blocked the road. A bright thought struck the blacksmith. He saw a chance to snatch the victory, which otherwise would be sure to fall to the lithe and wiry Tim. With a skip and a jump Sam laid his hands on one of the hindmost bullocks- and leajiing on its haunches scared his strange steed into a headlong rush. Forcing its way through the herd, the young bullock sped along the highway bearing its panting rider into a position far in advance of his astonished comrade, who suddenly pulled up and shouted that the bet was off. Of course the blacksmith arrived first at the goal, but as his odd Rosinante had no desire for beer, he was borne, like John Gilpin, fLirther than he intended, and was likely enough to be carried into Chilworth market, where his advent would undoubtedly have made a great sensation. 'J'horoughly alarmed at the prospect of missing the * ninepenny,' Sam was either unable or unwilling to retain his seat, so he * came a cropper,' and was landed upon mother earth with a bump that reminded him of his own sledge hammer, even to the visiori of stars which that instrument when brought SIMON UOFMES. 227 and away pace, vhere n up, )rovvn barrel n pro- itly he . He lought It so , being i lazily ksmith. herwise into sharp contact with hot iron could efTcrtually produce. Sam slowly i)ickcd himself up, sympathetically rubbed the upper and nether ])ortions of his physical frame, and limped bac k to the Chequers, where he was greeted by the uproarious lau;^hter of an assembled groui) of spectators of his famous ride, and where he souij;ht to soothe his sores and comfort his shaken body by a double pull at the pewter jug. Amongst the little company at the Checpiers, Sam found not only cobbler Tim, who charged him with having won a fraudulent success, but Chivey Ste'enson the poacher, who had just reiurned from a contraband sale of game at Chihvorth, where a 'receiver,' name unknown, was in the habit of purchasing the results of his nocturnal excursions in the woods and fields of Aspendale. The gossippy miller, Peter Trout, was present, too, whose cart, checked in its progress on a cadging tour, was standing at the door. When the party, in company with Ilepton Middledick the landlord, were disposed comfortably by the kitchen fire, the miller drew from the pocket of his meal-besprinkled jacket a copy of the Popular Reader^ a good deal thumbed and worn with use. "Diz ony o' yo' knoa a chap called Ralph Ravens- worth?" said he, spreading the limp sheet upon the table. "Ah've niver heeard on him mysen', but he knoas all aboot Thorpe Aspen, ah reckon, or he niver could ha' written this here." Straightway the miller read aloud a short story called "A Last Peep at the Old Plome." It was the story of a young man who had broken the laws of his country, and who in his desperate love for his old home had ventured to visit it by stealth after nightfall. It told of his stolen peep through the window ; of his heart-sickness and sorrow as he gazed on his mother's mournful face and silver hair; of his high resolves to lead a better life in a foreign land ; of his discovery by a gamekeeper, so that he had to run for -T*«*^ I" i 1 hi fi ! P^ i .llilill ! i I U^M^^fUn^f ^."i* II 228 SIMON HOLMES. fear of discovery; and of liis imacrinary peril from a poacher as he was fleeing through the night. The story gave i most life-liice picture of the scenery of Aspendale, ar\d especially of Aspen Garth. Before Peter had finished, Chivey Ste'enson exclaimed with an oath — "That farm's Aspen Garth, an' that gamekeeper's Jake Benson. It's 'is varry pictur'." Then suddenly recollecting his own sudden meeting with Alfred Atheling, and his kindly meant though excessively stinging remark to that young outlaw, he said no more, unwilling to do other than keep the young man's secret. It was needless, however, for shrewd Peter Prout was ready to announce his own conclusions. " Ah was sure on't," said he. ** That's why ah browt it wi' ma'. Them 'at can put this an* that tegither, can mak' it as sartan as dayleet 'at Ralph Ravensworth is only another heeam for Alf. Atheling, an' that young shaver's been doon te Thorpe Aspen as sure as eggs is eggs." It will be remembered that Jacob Benson had taken Tim Crouch into his confidence as to that night's adventure, and so the cobbler had no difificulty in making up his mind as to the fact that the miller was right in his surmise, Tim scratched his head in silence. Ordinarily he would have expressed his opinion in dogmatic terms and with the con- fidence that cobblers usually have in the truth and justice ot' their opinions. But he remembered that it was by his own advice that Jacob Benson had kept the matter in the dark, and that they had both agreed that out of sympathy with Alfred and respect for the Widow Atheling they should say no word upon the subject. In Jacob Benson's absence Tim felt himself in a measure the custodian of Alfred's interests, and that it was his duty to throw the miller off the scent. The last they had heard of Alfred at Thorpe Aspen was that a reward had been offered for his apprehension, and Tim was resolved that so far as he was concerned the :;^'^'.^-i^^j.. •"■:T '-: '■■ 'vr^jz'.A^iy- SIMON HOLMES. 229 money, " blood money " he called it, should never be earned by anybody in Aspendale. So he replied to the miller in a supercilious tone- — " Nut a bit on it. Alfred Atheling wad ha' niver been sitch a noodle as te give 'em sitch a clue as that. It isn't likely. Ah say, Chivey, did thoo iver knoa a hare stand up on its hinnd-legs 'an show its heead aboon its form an' squeeal, when thoo was prowlin' roond wi' thee gun ? " "Why, naw, that ah niver did," replied Chivey, willing enough to back the cobbler. "They've ower mitch respect for their oan fur for that. It wad be like me say in', * Dilly-dilly, cam an' be killed,' an' t' hare sayin', ' Ah's here, yo' can cum an' sattle ma' wi'thoot ony trubble.' " " Ezactly," responded Tim, "an' ah'll niver beleeave that young Alf. Atheling wad be softer than a silly hare. Nut a bit on it. There's other pairts o' t' cuntry 'at's like Thorpe Aspen, an' as for farm-steeads an' gamekeepers, they're as like yan another as two peas." This was fairly good reasoning ; but Peter Prout was not the man to give in, and so the dispute waxed hot. Landlord MidcUedick took sides with the miller, the poacher warmly supported the cobbler, and Sam Vause the blacksmith felt the question to be so knotty, that he called for another jug of beer to help in its solution. Of course by this potent aid the arguments on each side grew in fervency if not in force. A quarrel was impending, when Peter, who had a wholesome regard for a whole skin, and knew aforetime how ready Sam Vause was to have recourse to the ' last dread arbitrament of war,' arose and withdrew to prosecute his cadging tour. At that moment Edgar Atheling happened to be riding past on his way to Chilworth market. Resolved to test his own opinion on the matter by an api?iication to Alfred's brother, the miller took the journal from his pocket again, saying — -f^" a t ^! ill ! i I lill 230 SIMON HOLMES. " Mornin', Mr. Edgar. Just cast your eye ower this, will yo' ? It weean't tak' yo' two minutes." Edgar took it in silence. He had no great love for Peter, whose gossipy tongue was difficult to silence ; but as he read liis face paled, then reddened ; the hand that held the paper trembled ; and the miller felt sure that a tear-drop was checked by the rapid movements of the lashes of his eye. " Lend me this for to-day, miller. I'm late for market," he said, and rode off without another word. "There! didn't ah tell yo' ? " said Peter to his com- rades, speaking through the window. Tim Crouch had been a keen observer. He was very wroth with the miller, and as the meddlesome knight of the meal-sack drove off in his rumbling cart, the cobbler shook his fist after him, and said with a knowing sort of nod — "All right, Maister Meeally-feeace, ah'll hev* it cot wi* tha' for that." ■ ■I- \ CHAPTER XXVIII. CLARA ATHELING TAKES THE HARONET IN CHARGE J AND SIMON HOLMKS SPENDS AN EVENING AT ASPEN GARTH, •• Through this dark and stormy night, Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking ; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest, For the full day-breaking ! " IVhittler, :a; -d \A(V'^^^ Ethel Spofforth had fairly come to the con- clusion that she must follow the call of duty and go in quest of lier absent brother, she had pre- vailed upon her friend and companion, Clara Atheling, to undertake the charge of Sir Godwin during what she hoped and believed would prove a brief absence from home. The two families had had friendly relations with each other for several generations, and on more, than one occasion they had been brought into closer bonds than that of mere neighbourly friendship by intermarriage. The Widow Atheling, physically hale and capable despite her griefs, was quite able to conduct the management of affairs at Aspen Garth, and she was altogether willing that Clara should take the place of her sweet friend, and do her v: 232 SIMON HOLMES. i best to make Ethel's absence as light as possible to ihe invalid baronet. Clara's task proved to be altogether lighter and more enjoyable thari she expected, thanks to the great change which had come over Sir Godwin from the day that Simon Holmes had bsen the means of leading him to the Light. A quite unusual gentleness of spirit and softness of manner had come to him ; and the fretfulness and sharp and sudden fits of peevish anger which are so often superinduced by the sad affliction which had reduced the baronet to such a condition of physical helplessness, though they had not altogether disappeared, were held in check by the new strength he had received, the help 'that cometh from above.' Clara was touched exceedingly by the patient hope with which the father awaited the return of his beloved daughter. Never had he known before how much he loved her, how much he relied upon her strength of love and her clear judgment of what was right and good. Sir Godwin had always felt a true regard for Ethel's friend, but now that she was under his roof continually, and seemed to feel as great a joy as he in conversing about his absent girl, and in speaking hopefully and firmly of her success in her im- portant errand, he felt more than ever drawn to her, and silently pictured to himself so worthy and engaging a maiden as the future mistress of Aspen 1 owers. There had been a time when he had nursed the hope of securing for Harold a proud alliance with rank and wealth, but now, thanks to the sharp discipline of life and the clearer views of things that had dawned upon him, he felt of how much less value such things were, as compared with ' all the virtues native born and heaven sent which make that treasure, a good and noble woman.' One day, after the conversation had turned for some length of time on the subject nearest to his heart, the baronet said — SIMON HOLMES. ^}5 " It is very selfish of me to keep you talking and listen- ing about my own anxieties and hopes. Have you any further intelligence concerning your brother Alfred? I trust and pray that your sad probation at Aspen Garth will end soon, and that Robert will return as, please God, Ethel will, to tell of good success." "Thank you. Sir Godwin," said Clara, while the tears stood in her bright eyes. " I have faith in God for that too. Brother Robert will never give up seeking till he find him. You know what dear father said upon his deathbed to my dear mother : * All will be well with you and your youngest born. Alfred will come home to Thorpe Aspen and to his father's God.' Every night, when Edgar reaches down the old Family Bible, and either he or mother offers the household prayer, we always repeat the words. It seems as though they have become almost a part of Scrip- ture, and it seems as much an article of faith with us as that dear father is himself in heaven, and that we are on the way to meet him there. ' We shall meet again,* dear father said, 'an unbroken family in heaven.' Sometimes we got a little downhearted when Robert kept writing of his non-success ; but since he has told us of the strange way in which he found Ned Saltmer, and so got lodgings in the very rooms that poor Alfred had just left, it has seemed to us more clear than ever that God's hand is in it, and so we hope and wait. Dear old Joss ! " continued Clara with a little quaver in her voice, "even the collie is enlisted on our behalf. It was not for nothing that Robert could not leave his dog behind." On another occasion, Sir Godwin asked her to read to him from a periodical that had come to him by post. Amongst the rest of the articles was one concerning an instance of simple faith in God on the part of suffering feebleness, and of God's strengthening and delivering hand. "That is very, very beautiful," said the baronet, when 2.34 SIMON IIOLMI'IS. she had fiiiislicd. "Nobody could write that who had not hccn rhastcncd and taught hy a like experience. Who is it by?" " it is signed ' Ralph Ravensworth,' " said Clara. " We have often lately noticed his name at the (larth. Mother says that he has a wonderful power of speaking to the heart." ;\ mother's heart and a son's heart 1 No wonder that to her the language was elocjuent of love. There came to Aspen (Jarth, on one never never to-hc- forgotten day, that letter from Robert Atheling which told how he had clearly proved that his brother Alfred had not stolen the money entrusted to him by his employer. It did not free the youth from blame, much blame for sad wrong- doing, but it did lift off the damning blot that, had it really blotched his reputation, he must have borne the life-long brand, a felon and a thief ! On that day a twofold revela- tion came to Asi)en (iarth, for that .same evening it was that Edgar returned from Chilworth market with the miller's copy of the ropular Reader in his pocket. After Sir Godwin had retired to est at his usually very early hour, Clara was at liberty to run home for awhile and spend an hour or two with her mother and brother in the dear old-fashioned ingle, dear to her above all places in tiie world besides. She found them all in a strangely melting mood, for on the table besde Edgar lay the Popular Reader open at the page containing the little sketch, ' A Last Look at the Old Home,' which he had just been read- ing aloud. Her mother was seated by the fire, her eyes red with the record of recent tears. In the opposite corner sat Simon Holmes, and it was clear by the way in which he used his big coloured pocket handkerchief, and the stress of his attempts to appear the victim of a severe cold, that the old carpenter was hard bestead to prevent himself from weeping outright. SIMON HOLMES. 235 the tiie iyes ner I he ress that om "What is the matter, mother?" said Clara after receixiiig her kiss of welcome. " Is there any news from Roheit?'' koheit and his search were always upjjcrmost in their minds, first suhject always of their hopes and fears. "Two thinys are the matter, Clara," said Kdi^ar, smiling on his sister. " Robert has ] roved it clear as dayli^iit that tiie loss of Mr. Harvey's money was an act of carelessness and not of theft. Of that sin and shame your brother's name and fame stands clear. Second, we have found out who Ralph Ravensworth is. Read that ! " C'ara had not read a dozen paragraphs be''orc her vision was made clear. "O Alfred, Alfred!" she exclaimed. "My brother Alfred ! " And those tears, whose fount is in the heart more than in the eyes, told how the tender plaintive story had gone home. *' Where is he now ? " That question of deepest import was asked by his mother, who yearned with unmeasured desire to have the erring, but evidently penitent lad by her side. " And why does he not write a line to say at anyratc that he lepents?" she continued, more inclined to rebel just now than at any time before. She wanted so much to lay her hand ujxju his head and bless her son. How could she know that he had sailed with the intention of writinii; irom the other side of the Atlantic I How should she know that he was then but just rescued from the fate of a castaway at sea ! Then came to the rescue worthy, wise, and ever helpful Simon Holmes. "Wheriver he is," said the carpenter, "we knoa noo, wheer his heart is. Thafs cum home alriddy; an' efter all it's t* main pairt on him ; an' wheer his heart is, the lad hissen is sure te follow. What strikes me mooast is hoo clearly the Providence o* God is managin' matters, bit by bit. Fost, He mak's Joss go to Lundon i' s])ite of his 236 SIMON HOLMES. ^1 < i ''■ •:■. maister, sae that he may rickollect my owd jonnamen when he sees him. Then He puts Robert in t' v.ury hoose 'at Alfred lived in. Then He manages that your varry oan corn marchant should finnd t' missin' money. Then He sends you a few special drops o* balsam i' t' form o' this magazine, an' mak's Peter Prout, 'at isn't mitch gi'en that way, to drop 'em in. Ivery thing's goin' on all right an' reg'lar, an' sum o' theease days, it'll be a case o' ' lang leeaked for, come at last.' I can't help thinkin' o' this point, Mrs. Atheling, that as you sit there this minnit, there's one tremendous difference be- tween t' state o' things noo, an' what they've iver been hefoore, since t' trubble aboot Maister Alfred com' te yo.' He's proved by Mr. Robert te be innocent o' brekkin' t' law," an' he's proved by his oan writin's that whativer he hez been, his heart's wami te his mother an' his home, an' gives indications 'at it's warmin' te his God. It seeams te me that this mornin' afoore t' posst com' in you were all drinkin' the waiters o' Marah, bitter an' brackish beyond degree. Noo the good Lord's tossed a wonderful healin' tree intiv it, an* you've gotten a sweeter teeaste i' your mouths then you've had for monny and monny a dark an' cloody day. Surely you may ha' fayth te beleeave that God '11 go on te be gracious, an' that by-an'-by you'll sit amang the palm trees an' the wells of Elira, here in your oan ingle-nook wi' Mr. Roi ert an' Mr. Alfred at your side. The Wonder-worker that did this for yo' can do t' other." "So He can, Simon, and under the influence of your cheering words, I feel as though I cannot help believing that He will," said Mrs. Atheling. "The Lord hez a good monny healin' trees at His dis- posal," continued Simon, " an' He hez a way o' puttin' Elim patches o' gieen i' all sorts o' unexpected spots as we go travellin' on. I couldn't help thinkin' o' this as soon as Mr. Edgar tell'd me t' good news, an' I felt as though I must put doon my ihowts i' rhyme." m SIMON HOLMES. 237 an' Here Simon put his hand to the breast pocket of his jacket, and was greeted by Clara with the remark — " O Simon ! let us hear it, please." The quick-witted girl knew well enough that Simon was more than willing, but she knew also that such a request would help his native modesty and put him more at his ease. Nothing loth, therefore, Simon read as follows : — Through Marah to Elim. Barred by ocean's rolling waves, Tracked by Egypt's vengeful braves^ Girt by 'nountains broad and higli. Surely Israel's host must die ! With such peril none may cop^ Israel sorrows without hope. ■i I Trembling, fearing, Isrr..l stands; Shout in triumph Pharaoh's bands. Then in sight of Egypt's host. Lo, the sea is safely crossed ! Sound the timbrel loud and long S Israel sings a joyful song. Mr. krorker your lieving js dis- Elim ^e go Ion as igh I Under heaven's glowing arch Weary Israel on the march, Droops and faints and struggles on. Strength and hope and patience gone. " Water ! water I " None is nigh I Israel wa/>s, and can but die. Lo, the vanguard sees the light Shimmering on the waters bright I " Water !" glad and loud and clear, Rings the cry from front to rear. Onward eagerly they plod, Israel hopes, and trusts in God. Kneeling on the fringing sand, Pitcher, cup, or scooping hand ( i J 238 SIMON HOLMES. Each into the lakelet dips, Lifts the water to his lips. *' Bitter ! " •' Brackish 1 " wailing cry I Israel farnting^ needs nimt did Stunned by stroke of painful rod, Cries to Heaven the man of God. Theie Jehovah — who but He?— Points him to the healing tree ; Makes the water sweet and good. Israel shouts its gratitude. Blessed, refreshed, and strengthened now> Israel sings, and wonders how Faitli should ever fail at need ; Israel's Lord is God indeed ! Onward press they, heart and soul— > Israel hastens to the goal. Grateful shade at Elim spread I Israel on that verdant bed Rests in peace, and gladly dwelU For a season by its wells ; 'Neath the overspreading palms Israel chants its grateful psalms. Ever better than their fears. True and faithful, God ajipears; Tests their trust by each alarm. Rescues with His mighty arm ; Brings a blessing richer yet \ Israel t do not thou forget I All along the changeful line. He, the Changeless, still is thine f Red Sea danger, desert drouj^lit, Blackish Marah ! — never doul>t, All shall bring thy Canaan near ; Israel! Israel! Never fear I The little party at Aspen Garth listened in silence and were instructed and encouraged. Warm thanks were freely smON HOLMES. 239 tendered to the old carpenter for his most suggestive and heart-cheering Hnes. At the widow's request Simon led their evening devotions, and poured his soul in gratitude for that day's glad discoveries ; and for the still undiscovered wanderer, that he might soon return to receive the loving welcome that was waiting for him there, and every kneeling soul gave heart-sanction to his strong petitions by their low ' Amen ! ' Little did they know, that little group at Aspen Garth, how near to them Alfred Atheling was just then : * So near and yet so far.' Before we enter on that matter, however, we must hasten back to town to see how it fares with Robert, to follow the fortunes of the rescued castaway, and to lift the veil on Harold Spofforth, waiting his doom in the bandit's lair. and [freely ■• I CHAPTER XXIX. i " il llj^lP THK MAIDEN INE'i SORROWS OVER A PROSPECTIVE LOSS; AND ALFREB ATHl'.LING IS TAKEN CAPTIVE BY A PICTURE. •• But the hoarth of home has a constant flame, And pure ac vedtal fire, — 'Twill burn, 'twill bum for ever the same. For nature feeds the pyre. And there, like a star through midnight cloud, I see the beacon bright ; For never till shining on my shroud Can be quenched home's holy light." Hale, O sooner did Alfred Athelinghear the anchor-chains rattle through the hause-holes of the Good Intent as the vessel hove to off Gravesend, than a full sense of his personal peril, exaggerated by his fears, broke upon him with overpowering force. He was once again in England ! He who had fled from justice ; he who was specially 'wanted' by Police Constable Tugwell, who would be only too glad to retrieve his former blunder by the recapture of his former prisoner; he for whose capture a reward was offered, was once again within the possible and probable grasp of the law he had offended ! The word Absconded ! which he himself had read concerning himself in the * Agony* columns of the daily papers, seemed to be SIMON HOLMES. 241 written in letters of ;ire on the cabin wall ; and he felt im- pelled to leave the ship without an hour's delay. His fears and forebodings were deepened and intensified when the innocent Inez, noting his pale face and haggard features, laid her hand upon his arm and looked up at him with love- lighted eyes. " O Mr. Ravensworth ! " she said, in soft and winsome tones, " you are sad. Dear friend ! tell me what it is ? " As she spoke the dark eyes of this fair daughter of the South were filled with tears, and there was that in her tones which revealed a secret which was not as yet understood by herself, nor recognised by her own young and gentle heart. For one startled moment, Alfred was silent. Two things were made manifest to him at once. " She loves me," thought he : and then he thought how dearly he should delight to kiss those tears away. But the discovery dis- tressed him exceedingly. He felt unspeakably sad, even while he felt how great would be his joy to hear such an avowal from her own sweet lips. All that was best and manliest in Alfred Atheling now came uppermost and to the front. The sore discipline through which he had lately passed had been of infinite moral value to him, and he was sincerely alarmed and grieved at the knowledge unwittingly revealed to him that the maiden's heart was or might be his own. He had never thought to win her love : he had regarded her as little more than a child. She was young in years and had the appearance of being younger than she was. But like everything that belongs to the tropic region where tl>e sun displays his regal power, the maiden rapidly approached the line which divides the girl from the woman, and Alfred was a youth of great personal attractions, and his behaviour through all the sad season of their dire distress had been such as was sure to win upon a trusting, sensitive, lovlaj^ and grateful spirit as her own. Now that Alfred felt that such a prize was within Q m » ;« iri- 242 SIMON HOLMES. his reach, his cheeks tingled with honest shame. His heart throbbed with the feelins; of his own unworthincss. He felt that he could not, ought not, dared not for one moment seek to ally his fortunes with those of the innocent and beautiful girl before him : could not, ought not, dared not seek to bind to her his own smirched reputation, and to give to her a name which he himself more than half-feared he could never wear again. " It makes me so sad to see you sad," repeated Inez. " Father says that you had better go with us for a little while to our dear little home at Deal. You will soon pick up your health again down there, he says." And then she added with a little sigh, " I know that it has been your great care and trouble for i)oor me that has made you so unwell. I ivould try to help you to get well again. You will go with us, won't you ? " Then she has been speaking with her father for this, thouglu Alfred to himself, and found herein another proof that she would fain keep him at her side. It was a subtle and strong temptation. Not only in that he should still be near her, still be within sound of her voice, and still see the love- glance in her eye, but that it might well afford him shelter and safety from the j^eril that he feared. Gladly, eagerly would he have said ' Yes ' to so fair a pleader, and at the prospect of having such a nurse, but he felt that it must not be. " No, Inez," he said, kindly and gently. " Some day I may come to Deal and see you both, and talk over our strange exjieriences at sea ; but I must get on shore at once and - and — " " Yes, I know," she answered with a sigh. "Your friends will be very anxious about you. I do not wonder at your wishing to go. I suppose you ought to ; but it will be very sad for us to say good-bye, and not to know — " It was a very fortunate thing, for many reasons, that SIMON HOLMES. 243 Captain Lai yon's approach cut short the conversation, for Alficd Athcling was impulsive and the strain was great. " How long are we likely to stay here, think you, Captain Lanyon ? " said Alfred. " I fancy the skipper will wait the arrival of his employer, Ephraim Hartgold, who, he says, * has a knack of minding his own business, especially where his ships are concerned.' I shall be glad to see him myself. There would he some real satisfaction in getting into his employ, But what al)out yourself? I've been telling Inez that a fortnight at Deal would help to bring the colour into your cheeks again. I iieed not tell you v.'hat pleasure it would give to us." Alfred saw how Inez seconded the appeal and endorsed the statement with an expressive glance of her 'eloquent dark eyes.' But he held firm by his resolves, and explained to Captain Lanyon that as his plans had been so thoroughly broken in upon by the wreck of the Boadicea^ it was simply essential for him to attend to his own affairs. Now Alfred Atheling felt an instinctive indisposition to meet the Quaker merchant, who was hourly expected to board the Good Intent. Whether he remembered the name in connection with the grain grown on the fields of Aspen Garth, or whether he simnly dreaded to meet with one who had been in England all the time of his own absence, and who might therefore be supposed to be conversant with the continued ' hue and cry ' which he did not doubt would be made for himself, I cannot say. He resolved to take the first opportunity of leaving the ship, and so get out of the way alike of peril and tem!)tation, and once more do battle with his secret trouble and carry his heavy burden alone. The opportunity came sooner than he hoped for. A boat which had brought fresh provisions lor the ship was available for his purpose. Taking a last farewell look at the maiden who had so silently and unwittingly crept into his heart, he quietly waited his time, dropped into the boat unobserved f .1 '• A- 244 SIMON HOLMES. by any of the three whose notice it was necessary to elude ; and in the shadows of the evening he was put on shore. Alfred's first impulse was to make his way direct to the well-remembered cottage of his good friends Ned Saltmer and his excellent 'spouse Nancy.' He feU well assured that they would gladly give him slielter for awhile until he could again replenish his purse, and embark a second time to cross the Atlantic and find a sure haven from his perils beyond the sea. Had he done so, there is little doubt that his wanderings would have come to a sudden and perpetual end. He had managed, when he left the sinking Boadicea^ to secure his little store of money, the literary earnings of Ralph Ravensworth, so that he was not without resources. He took an early train to town, and then turned his face in the direction of Woodstock Street, in the neighbourhood of Victoria Park. It is wonderful what small events and apparently insigni- ficant incidents are sufficient to turn and curve the pathway of our pilgrim life, so that it leads altogether away from the pilgrim's original plans and first desires, and gives to his experiences an unanticipated loss or gain. Passing along the London streets, Alfred perceived a group of people looking with evident interest into the window of a large shop well-lit with gas, and he must needs turn aside in curiosity to see on what their eyes were looking. There was a large picture of a battle scene, an engagement of English troops, which some little while before had been the subject of high laudation. It had excited much admiration while it hung on the walls of the Royal Academy, and was now subjected, previous to engraving, to the popular gaze. Alfred Atheling had no taste just then for that kind of art, and after a very brief inspection he was already turning to elbow his way through the clustering sightseers, when another picture, hanging on the side of the wmdow, and of altogether a different kind, caught his lingering eye. It ^'■^w ti'ii-Vrfi.x^'*^.* SIMON HOLMES. J4S caught his attention, and held it with a spell as i)Owerful as that with which the fabled magicians were wont to root the feet of luckless mortals to the ground. It was a remarkably well-painted landscape, and Alfred recognised at once the beautiful valley of Aspendale. Closer inspection revealed to him the fact, that on the right of the picture there was an exact representation of the queer old gables and steep tiled roof and ivy covered walls of Aspen Garth. This unexpected vision riveted the wanderer's gaze, and for a moment the picture disappeared from view blurred by the mist of tears that filled his eyes. It produced in him sensations that cannot be described. He saw the very window with its diamond panes through which he had stolen a last long look on that former never-to-be-forgotten night when he was about to flee his native land for ever. He found himself flattening his nose against the big plate-glass window of the shop, in the fond hope that he could find some shadowy presentment of his mother there. " O mother ! mother ! " he murmured, " would to God that I might look upon you once again ! " And now another spell was on him. That was the spell that casts its enchantments round a soul familiar from infancy with the delicious necromancy of a mother's love, and the fascinating glamour of a happy home. As eagerly as he had watched at sea through the long hours of peril for a friendly sail, did he hunger now for the sound of his mother's voice and another look at the hallowed spot so full of the tender memories of * auld lang syne.' Home and mother ! Potent words. East or west, home is best, says the racy, rhyming old Sdxon saw. The reek. of my ain hame is better than the fire of another's, tells jus how the Scotchman values his ingle-nook ; and the Spaniard cries with true feeling, *• Home ! my own home ! Tiny though thou be, to me thou seem'st an abbey." Washing- ton Irving somewhere remarks, " It was the policy of the i' 246 SIMON HOLMES. ' 1 HI *' good old coil) lie to make thrir clHlilrcn foci that home \v;is ilio liappii.st plac*; on caills and I value liiis delicious home foelitiL; as one cf the ('lioue.st gifts that a parent can bestow." That was what hail made Alfreil Atiieling's iiotne so dear to him now, and that is what parents every wlui'^ who are wise and good will endeavour to make of theirs. C'hristianity itself was cradled in tlie famdy circle, and the Pattern Lite was shaped and nurtured in the sacred atmosphere of a godly iiomc. Those wIjo have yielded to the sore temptations which assail the youth who has gone from such a pleasant wholesome harbour out into the world, and who seem to wander far, far from tliat central point of love and peace, will not fail to turn to its holy memories, and feel its gracious influences, when the forbidden plea ines pall that held tliciv captive, or when the pain that lollows them begets rejKMiiance and regnt. There is an epitaph in a certain churchyard which runs thus, ' She always made home happy.' No mother need wish a fairer record. That answer was beaiuiful anu true which was given by the little chiUi when she was asked, Where is your Jwincl Where my mother is. In the old feudal days of castles, moats, barons and armed retainers, a belief in magic was part and parcel of that mcdii\ival state of things, and the magician's aid was oft invoked to keep the inmates of the castle safe. Never necromantic spell or wizard's wand of old could work the wonders which arc wrought by the magic charms of a wise good wife and mother ; and never subtler, stronger bonds were meshed by kindly fairy than the web woven round a house- hold by a mother's love. • Alfred resigned himself to the potent charm without a struggle. Turning from the window, he resolved to find some quiet secluded hostel for the night, and to-morrow to take the train for Chilworth, and in the dim twilight to walk the familiar lane that led from Chilworth to Aspen 347 fict lu: l;iy his si reels, 1))', he SIMON IIOI Mrs. darlh, and steal another vision of that * liomc, sweet and tliat slill more sweet, l)ch)ved mother, at whose lon^^ed to kneel and on whose lap he lon^'ed to weary head. As he sauntered -Anw^ the crowdirl indifferent to datif^cr and oblivious to every [lassci murnmred the jioet's loiu liing lines — *• lU'twccn hrnarl fields of wlual aiul com Is tlur (Icnr oM lioinu wlicnr I was Ixuii. Tlie pracli-trec leans aj^aiiist the wall, And tlic woodbine wanders over all. Tiicre is the barn, and as of yoie, I can snu'll the liay from the opi ri door, And see the busy swallows ihroni^, And hear the peewits' mournful song; Oh ye who daily cross the sill, Step lightly, for I love it still 1 " Poor Alfred Atheling ! so he thought, as he moved along through the roaring streets of London Town, a stranger and a wanderer with a liouseless feeling at his heart, and, because of his misdoings, with a price upon his head I tr^.)t (■^ u m n fl-ii I ciiArrKR XXX. AI KRKO ATIIKMNO TURNS IMS STICPS TO AsrF.NPAI.K ; AND IIM CROUCH THK COHIM.KK "CIIKATS ll«K N I N !• I'KNN Y." •' Ami wliatsocvcr else shall Imp this tiiiOit, CJivc it rtn uinlcrslainlmj; but no loiiyuc. • ••••• If you have hitherto concealed this sii^ht, Let it be tenable in your silence still." (>^TC)W it SO happened that on tlie same evening that •luiJ Alfred Atheling was trudging tluoiigh tlie gatliering '^ shadows along the road between Chilworlh and Tliorp Asnen, Tim Crouch the cobbler, with his still more bibulous crony, Sam Vause tiie blacksmith, were making a day of it at tlie Chequers, where we last left them quaftiiig strong beer, and arguing with Miller Prout on the subject of * Ralph Ravensworth's ' identity. All through the day Tim had kept reverting to this subject, and was evi- dently nui sing his grudge against the ' dusty fusty miller ' for showing Kdgar Atheling the tell-tale copy of the Popular Reader. When Tim got laiily hold of an idea he held to it with remarkable tenacity, and if he was in his cups when the idea came to it, that tenacity was even stronger than in his sober moments. Somehow, to-day, he had got the -fSct-.' SIMON HOLM US. HO notion well fixed in his tniiul tint, in Jacob iU nson's nl)sci)(C, he was the sole* (l(;|>osil(»ry of Alfrrd's stolen visit to As|>('n (larlli, and was llurrhy ronstilutcd the guardian of Alfred and his interests in that region. When the shades of eveniu;^ het;an to gatlj r round, Tim could not possibly, vvilh any regard for truth, have sun;^' * We arcr na fou,' for he certainly was, hut as certainly not so *fou' as the hlaeksinith, who lay dead drunk under tiie kit( hen table, last asleep. There he would have to lie Uf)iil such times as the eonst.iljle or some capable customer should rill to aid ujine host in carryiuf^ him across the thres- hold. 'I'hen he would mo.st likely lie up;)n the greensw.nd for many an hour, and until he was able to keep somewhere near his perpendicular when once lie aj^ain obtained it, and stagger home. Tim (!roiu h was always moderately manageable when he was in his cups, and withal kept and even increased his clieerful turn of mind. So I^andlord Middledick succeeded in persuading him to go home, which was right enough ; seeing that all his money was gone, what further business had he there? So argued 15onilace, and so, alas, do argue the majority of his tribe. Probably the landlord would not have succeeded so easily, but that he managed to make Tim believe that Sdly was sure to bring a sharp personal summons to bear with a view to quicken his steps for him. After some few ineffectual attempts to find his bearings and to make any headway at all, 'I'im staggered out into the night. He pursued a very devious track, for a long succes- sion of draughts of Middlcdick's ninepenny had sadly inter- fered with his muscular control. He kept going in the main in a homeward direction, though he tried to sing the contradictory sentiment that he would not go home till morning, and till daylight did appear. His utterance was very thick, however, and it might well have stood for a : I 1 mBmll 250 SIMON nOLMUS. : ! promise to his wife lliat he was roming home as fast as the (lirficuUies under which he lal)oiirc(l would allow. Isvery now and thou he stood still, sw.iying to and Iro to this side and that in a gallant attempt to keep right end njipermost, and at siieh times would stretch his hand in oratoric attitude, and continue his discussion witli an unknown and unseen adversary tlie (piestion that had exercised him so much throughout the day : varying it a hltle occasionally, by sudden hursts of denunciation of Peter Prout, and working himself up into such ])itches of wrath, that the nailer might well congratulate himself that he was at that i)articular moment enjoying his pipe at his ain fireside. Now Cobbler Tim was one of those wiry, hard-headed, firm fibred sort of men who can manage to retain their native shrewdness amid their cups and hiccups. 'I'hat matter abtuit Ralj^h Ravensworih would keep buzzing through his brain. Mvery now and then he would stop his wholesale manufacture of the letter S along the highway, stretch his legs apart with a view to keep his balance fairly even, suspend his song, fold his arms, and saying — ** Noo, le' me see. It Stan's like this," would proceed to argue with himself". "There's nae (loot, nut as big as a midge, 'at K-raif R-a-ra — what yo' caH'im's Alf Ath'ling. What o' that ? What bus'ness is*t o' theirs ? They've no call to med'l we*t ! Drat that musty-dusty-fusty oad mil'r ! Mis'r AltM's a jolly good fello'. All the Athl'ng's jolly good fello's. Three cheers for Mis'r Alfr'd. Hip, hi}), hip, hurra ! " And so it came to pass that Alfred Atheling, who was walking with silent step on the grassy road side, was startled into a standstill to hear himself the subject of such unde- served and uproarious applause. His astonishment was materially increased by what followed. Now that Tim had relieved his feelings by his loud cheers, he began to re- SIMON IIOLMI-S. 251 siMiic Ill's homeward progress ; Ijul he kept liarping on the subject — " Iss, three cheers for Alfr'd AthTn^. No, no —that's nut it. I,e' 'nn call hisser, what he hkes. Three cheers for Raif Athl'ng ! No, that's nut it neeather. Le' me see ! 'I'liree cheers f)r AUr'd Ra-ra-vens — liless me life! It's i;otten tied \i\) iv a knot. All rigi)t ! Let ii slay there. We won't go home till mornin'." And so Tim lapses into song again, and, like Ciray's ploughman, Mioineward plods his weary way.' For some moments, while busy Tim was talking in this confused and crooked way, Alfred felt himself bereft of the power to move. It was a surprising thing to hear his own name at all in such a fashion, but to hear his cherished shelter name so intmiately mixed up with it was very strange indeed. He felt that he must have more information ; that this mystery must be explained. Of course Alfred knew his man, for who was there wit'nin a dozen miles of Thorpe Aspen who was not tlioroughly acquamled with Cobbler Tim ? Alfred felt himself to be secure against all chance of recognition. He was clad in a loose sailorly kind of suit, a sort of skipper's mufii, which he had purchased from Cajjtain Crumpit. He had not been shaven since long before he left the shores of England in the Boadicea^ and his face wore quite a remarkable crop of auburn hair for so young a man. Besides, as he argued to himself, Tim would look at him through beery spectacles, whose obfuscat- ing powers were evidently very strong indeed, and would make security doubly sure. And then, in the improbable event of recognition, who would believe a cock-and-bull story from the lips of a witness so ready with the long-bow and withal so thoroughly under the influence of that for- sworn word-twister, John Barleycorn ? So he boldly strode up to the side of the merry cobbler, and said — *W»s" 252 'S SIMOS IlOLMl-.S. V > ¥ :H • t -^1 m f m Wf H\ ■. » M " (lood cvonini;, my fiicnd, yond evening. You .'ue cvidcnily li;jvini; a ,uwotl liinr ol ii?" " l''.\c'nm',"' saul Tim, iowcimg his tones considerably, and steadying liimsell'as well as lie eould to gel a miod look at the new comer. '* Iss, ah've had a good tahnie on it, as you say. It's a poor 'art 'at nivver rejoices. Le's diivedull rare away, eh? 'I'hcn-'s my senl'nuMits. Whals yours?" There is no doubt that tho.se were Alfred's sentiments too, but, alas, he had no means of driving his care away, a care so heavy that he could say with Shelley — " I could lie liown like a tired cliiki^ And wcf'p .Tway tiic lilo ol care Whicli I have ln>iiu', and ycl must bear." All the reply he could make, liowever, was — "Very good semimenis iiuleed, so long as one can manage to do it. Vou seeu\ not to have iiad much trouble; how do you manage it ? " Tun gave the (juestioner an arch look, which showed cleaily enough that he had still his wits about huii, and was fully cogni>ant of his condition, as he rei)lied — '* jNIiddledick's ninep'ny. Thai's the preshkiption, li's a wonnerful brew. You're a stranger i' these pairts, ah fancy ? " '•Yes,' said Alfred, thinking how true and false the answer was. " 1 shall find some inn or other at Thorpe Aspen, 1 suppose ? ' " No, yo' weeant," said Tim, " 'Cos why ? There isn't yan. You mun gaii back te t' Chequers. Mid'le'dick's got- ten good accommydaiion lor travellers, an' as ah tell'd yo' just noo, his ninep'ny's wonnerfu' good. Slop," he con- tiimed, seeing, as he thought, another jug of it m prospect, *'ah'll gan back wi' yo' an' show yo' t' way." **Oii dear no,"' said Alfred hastily and thoug^itl'^ssly, for that would not do at all. " I'll go on with you. I expect I can get what I want at the Royal George." I- .LAMtH'J'fll'l JWP?I|^WI''W/- SIMON UnLMI'.S. 251 \c isn't :'s got- ll'd yo' |e con- )spect, ;ly, for ipect I Tim w.-v; a little hit surprised that liis coini'aiiion slioiild not know that there was no inn in Thorpe Aspen, and shouid yet be familiar with tlie fact that there was a Royal Ceorgc a mile beyond it. lie was bent, however, on ^oin.; bark to the ('hcfpicrs ; and tried to lay his hand on Alfred's arni to cher.k him. But iMid(lle(li<:k's nine|)enny had dis- arranged the focus of his vision, and his reach fell short. Tim stumbled and came to a collapse upon the groimd. " What did yo' push mc doon for ? " said Tim, as soon as he had re!^aine ' i -i _ ill CHAPTER XXXI. RUTH HARTGOLD IS IN GREAT PERIL ; AND ROBERT ATHELING TAKES A DESPERATE LEAP, *' But how nnich unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence ; For couraije mounteth with occasio'i." Shakespeare. " In life there are meetings which seem Like a fate." Owen Mered'/h. J=*=D " 'jTJ^IRE!" Surely there is no single word so full of ^j[d^ dreadful meaning and dire alarm as this, and especially when it is uttered in the dead of night by those who know and feel the peril of the hour. The enemy whose unexpected onset the word announces is so strong, so sudden, so swift, so remorseless, and, alas, full often so awfully destructive to human life ! When Robert Atheling raised the cry of alarm in Sharon Lodge, the flame had gotten so firm a hold upon one wing of the large and well-built mansion that there was little hope of saving it from entire collapse. Ephraim Hartgold, roused from his first sleep by Robert's stentorian tones, had instantly uplifted his own window, and shouted the cry far out into the night. In a wonderfully short spare of time SIMON HOLMES. 257 the warning had reached the nearest fire station : and the first fire engine, with its full complement of men, heroes in their brazen hc^lmets, every whit as brave as they who fight on fields of war, and engaged in a far more guiltless conflict, was rattling along the suburban streets eager to do battle with its fierce and furious foe. But with whatever speed the firemen came the fire sped faster still, and Ephraim and Robert were at their wits' end to know what it was best to do. Ruth, the light of Ephraim's eyes, the joy of Keturah's heart, the life of Sharon Lodge, and the object of admiration, and of something warmer still on the part of ' Boaz ' from among the corn- fields of Aspcndale, was sleeping in a chamber at the end of the wing which seemed doomed to feed the fire. In it was a window with a balcony, so situated that it commanded a view of an extensive and varied landscape, a Surrey land- scape, which for quiet beauty is not easily to be excelled. Ruth had chosen this bedroom because of this. Here she used to sit in ' maiden meditation ' for many an hour when her sober-minded j)arents were ' lapped in soft repose.' I wonder if it ever entered her mind, in the very highest and farthest and strangest of her dreams or fancies, this dainty Ruth^ that her Boaz would come to her, not amid her gleanings in the golden harvest-field, but through that window and by that projecting balcony, to fetch her to his arms and heart at the peril of his life. E?)hraim Hartgold, impelled by all his wealth of love for his only child, had dashed along the corridor, had sprung through the blinding smoke and darting flame up the first few steps that led to the chamber where his darling slept. But he was beaten back, beaten utterly by the suffocating cloud of smoke, by the forked flames that licked him with their fatal tongues. He rushed back again for air, and with the aid of the groom he sought to procure a ladder to gain access from the outside. R 258 .b/A/OA' HOI. Mils. 'H^i ir " Where is she ? " said Robert Atheling to Mrs. Hartgold, who had now come upon the scene, and who, fairly startled out of all her Quaker self-containment, was wringing her hands, and calling " Ruth ! Ruth ! " The young farmer, under the spell of that potent name, was equal to any possible deed of daring. The mother pointed to the window, in answer to his question, in speech- less fear. In an instant, Robert was climbing along ledge and sill, projecting coign and leaden gutter, clinging to spout and cornice, for the quaint gothic of Sharon Lodge, its odd angles and gables, had precious use as well as orna- ment just then ; putting his life in peril at almost every leap. But being on that errand, the yeoman bore a charmed life, and dared each moment a greater danger in his resolve to save the maiden from the awful fate that menaced her. Robert had barely taken a final and most daring spring from a projecting angle to the iron railing of the balcony, drawing himself up by sheer strength of will and muscle, than Ruth, routed at last from her quiet slumbers, discovered that she was enveloped in smoke, and could do little more than gasp, and that almost in vain, for breath. Leaping from her bed and making for the door she saw, through joint and rift and cranny, the lurid streaks of fire. Had she been able to open the door the maiden must inevitably have perished in the inrush of invading flame. With much calmness and selfcommand, though her heart fluttered fierce and fast at the thought of her awful peril, she strug- gled to the window, which was dashed open by Robert Atheling just as she was seeking to lay her hand upon the latch. At once he dragged her out upon the balcony, and bade her stand at the further corner where the balcony over- passed the window, so that she was sheltered by the wall. Then he plunged into the growing smoke-cloud, sure pre- sage of the bursting flame, and pulled out, with the strength of three men, bed, mattress, and bed clothing. These he lifted SIMON HOLMES. 259 over the balcony, eiKicavourinf; to drop them so that they should make a heap upon the flower-beds down below. Ruth had now a glinimerint,^ of his purpose. She said, in tones that trembled with fear and excitement — *• O Mr. Atheling ! I dare not t;ike that leap !" " I do not ask you," said Robert calmly, the calmness born of trust in Ciod and of a strong resolve. "Will you trust me ? Will you trust yourself to me ? If you will, we may both be saved." He himself did scarcely dare to hope for this ; but, he felt that he could so arrange their descent that she at anyrate might reach the ground without serious harm ; as for him- self, he was willing if needs be to die if her safety could be secured. Again he said, for she was silent for a little, wondering to herself what, for his best chance of safety, she ought to do — " Will you trust me, Ruth ? " "Yes," said sue, reverencing the knight who dared so desperately for her, '* I will do what you desire." After that, the Quaker maiden was as strong and firm of purpose as himself. At this point they heard the shout of Ephraim, who had at length succeeded in bringing a long ladder. At that moment, too, they heard the rattle of the fire-engine, and saw the bright brass helmets of the men. But, alas, there was something nearer still ! The floor of Ruth's bedroom crashed downward ; the ribbons and sheets of flame leaped at them, and it was clear that the balcony was not tenable a moment longer. P.obert sat himself deliberately on the horizontal rail that capped the balcony, with his face turned to the open window. " Come to me, Ruth ! " he said, and opened his arms for her. She knew, or thought she knew, for what purpose he 26o SIMON HOLMES. I !! called her — what he was about to do. She knew stlU more confidently that he was calling her to his heart, more widely open than his arms, to take her in. She knew also that s'ne felt no fear o( the fire behind her, nor of the desperate leap before her, in her glad willingnes*^ to obey the call. It was a strange moment for a betrothal ! It was not in- tended as such by either, yet it was known instinctively by bwth. Firmly clasping her around the waist, and bidding Ruth clasp him round his neck, Robert steadied himself for one moment ; took his bearings by one anxious look below ; took fresh help and courage by an upward look to heaven, and then, turning round, he swung himself outside the balcony, and, with his precious burden in his arms, made a desperate leap for life 1 " God help us ! " The i)rayer left the lips of each of them at the same time. Surely that prayer was heard, or Robert must have perished and his helpless burden too. Ruth instantly lost consciousness. Robert's feet struck the garden soil, not on the bed as he had planned, but a little beyond it. His heels went deep into the delved earth, and falling back- wards, he lay partially on the materials he had dragged from he chamber — lay with the still insensible maiden held in his arms, her loosened wealth of hair upon his shoulder, and her head upon his breast. I^phraim Harigold had seen the desperate leap, had breathed his earnest prayer, ' God help them,' with all the feivour of a father's heart, and then, raising his helpless child from the manly yeoman's firm embrace, breathed an equally fervent blessing on the saviour of his daughter's life. Her father bore her to that portion of the house which, thanks to the skill and energy of the firemen, was safely severed from all danger from the doomed wing. Others benl to lift Robert in their arms, and many a SIMON HOLMES. :6i 11 move I widely so that isperate :all. It not in- ively by ig Ruth for one below ; heaven, ide the made a le same ust have ntly lost oil, not His back- dragged en held houlder, t ap, had 1 all the helpless thed an ughtcr's house len, was d wing, many a wondering word of praise and cheer was uttered by those who had been spectators of the darin^^ deed. *' He's a brave man ! " said the captain of the company of firemen, as he knelt to discover whether the hero of the night had suffered ?^crious harm. " I guess that was a jump that may well be railed a jumj)," said another; "the wonder is, that he didn't jump iiis life out." "Are you hurt?" said the captain, taking him by the hand. "Can you bear to be carried into the house, think you ? " " Handle me gently, if you please," said Robert calmly, and with a ftiint attempt at a smile. " Tilings might have been a good deal worse, but there's something amiss some* where, though I cannot just tell you wiiat it is. How is Ruth ? " He was told that from the position in which the young lady had fallen it wa^ not likely that she had suffered any very serious harm. Whereupon, the prostrate man' eyes showed a glad sparkle, and the smile came back again less faintly than before. He was very pale and very helpless ; and if maiden Ruth could have seen him at that moment — she had his likeness as he sat upon the balcony imprinted on her heart for ever — she might well have doubted whether that strange betrothal, that intuitive marriage of two hearts, was not the j)resage of her own heart's widowhood ere any wedding links could be welded by the formulas of law. As soon as they sought to lift him, Robert could not altogether repress the groan which told o.f the injuries he had received, for in sooth the pain was acute. By careful action and steady motion, however, kindly hands moved by sympathetic hearts bore him into the pleasant parlour where they had sat on the previous evening, and where Ruth was now lying on a sofa receiving the affectionate .^K^. IMAGE EVALUATrON TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4 z 1.0 I.I 1.25 '^ 32.8 2.5 1.8 1.4 1.6 V] ^^ 7: '^ > '^ >^ y Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WiST MAIN STREET WEBSTFR.N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 %^ ^ \ % 6^ . r^- 262 SIMON HOLMES. V!; attention of her grateful mother. Keturah had been able without serious difficulty to bring her swooning daughter back to life, not greatly the worse for her swift flight through the air, though shaken and ill by the nervou? shock of that uncommon leap for life. Keturah had still a newer subject to exercise her mind, when as soon as Ruth had come to herself she said with a novel look into her mother's face — "Is Robert safe?" " It was * Mr. Atheling ' last night," thought the shrewd Keturah. " It is * Robert ' now, and as Ruth snys it, sounds a very pleasant name indeed." Of these things, however, she said nothing, content to ' ponder them in her heart.' Of course a doctor had been quickly summoned, and the man of skill, alter due examination, predicted that Ruth would soon recover with gentle nursing and quietude and care. That opinion had just been delivered when Robert was brought in ; and Ruth quickly assured the doctor that she was right enough, and that Mr. Atheling required his instant attention. It was * Mr. Atheling ' now, for the blush was still upon her cheek which had come there when, for the first time, she had heard the name of Robert slipping from her own unaccustomed and unfamiliar lips. With Robert Atheling, as the doctor soon discovered, matters were very different. His whole strength had been put forth in climbiiig from point to point to reach the balcony, and this itself had strained nerve and muscle to a degree which, until now, he had neither known nor felt ; and the leap from the balcony, besi » ■> CHAPTER XXXn. Ml **JOr.s" COMF.S IN FOR A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE; AND NED SALTMKR CONSULTS HIS WIFE ON A SUHJECT OF IMPORTANCE. '• Except wind stands as it never stood. It is an ill wind turns none lo good." 7'ussgr "Tidings do I bring, and lucky fortune And <;oUlen tiines." S/ia^es/>t'are. "\*1oT'HIT.E these incidents were transpiring by the side \rV^ of Robert Atheling's couch, Ephraim Hartgold was heard to utter a cry of vexation and surprise. Now that the excitement raised by the advent of that dread enemy, fire, had in some degree subsided, the good Quaker wns minded to see that nothing had been lost during the stirring and pressing anxieties of the night. He had dis- covered that some thief or thieves had taken advantage of the opportunity unwittingly given to rifle the oaken cabinet, and to abstract, in addition to some minor items of spoil, the bag of gol 1 with the letters H. H. upon it — that long missing bag to which all Alfred Atheling's troubles and wanderings were due. Of course, now that Robert had himself discharged Mr. Hudson Harvey's claims, the money was his rightful pro- 57A/0iV HOLMES. 265 perty, and the honest Quaker was sorely annoyed. It was a happy thing, he said to himself, tiiat Alfred's innocence of theft did not now need the production of the bag to make it clear ; still the amount of money was large^ and for many reasons it was desirable that the veritable bag itself should be forthcoming. Information was at once given to the police ; and the next day an advertisement of the theft, with a full description of the bag, was sent to the daily papers : an advertisement which was inserled for S"veral days, and which was destined to bear fruit of a very smgular and unexpected kind. In tiie small hours of the morning that succeeded that eventful night, a careful watcher on the borders of the Thames might have seen a seedy-looking individual creejv ing stealthily along the narrow street in whicli Ephraim Hartg'ild's tall warehouses lifted high their fronts into the night. He was not exactly dressed or featured after the Bill Sykes pattern, although he carried in his Inner pocket a stolen bag of gold, and although he had burglariously entered Sliaron Lodge under the convenient cover of the alarm of fire. He was simply one of the too numerous thousands ever to be found in the multitudinous metro- polis who are for ever prowling for some chance occasion of appropriating, without too much risk, the propt y of others. Having paused a few moments to assure himself that the coast was clear, he turned down a narrow bye-street, rapidly scaled a low wall, and made his way to an old half tumbledown house which had formerly been an office in connection with an adjoining wharf. Thrusting open the creaking door, which was neither locked nor latched, he closed it carefully behind him, struck a lucifer match, which lighted him up the broken stairs to a higher floor. It was a miserable place into which he now entered. On a rude and worn-out mattress in a corner lay a woman and a child, 266 SIMON HOLMES. both of them enjoying brief immunity from their hard lot, thanks to that true befriender of the weary — sleep. It was not much other or better than a lair, that wretched shelter, and yet it was the only 'home' the sleepers had — thank? to the ill-conduct of the man who has just come in — thanks, also, to the hideous traffic which has made him what lie is ; and to the British legislature which gives its special license to the manufacture of such wretches as he is by means of * doctored ' beer and gin ! Tlie man stepped noiselessly to a candle which was inserted in the neck of a botile and lighted it. Then he passed into a smaller room, knelt upon the floor, removed a loose and decaying skirting- board through which the nails that held it had been inserted into wooden wedges in tlie wall Into a cavity previously made by tne extrac- tion of a brick he put the bag of gold, and having replaced the board, passed out into the other chamber, puffed out the candle, laid himself down upon the floor, with only the edge of the mattress for a pillow, and disposed hmiself to sleep. But it was not to be. Whether Policeman 43 N, who was on that beat, had seen him scale the wall, or whether a spirit of exploration and inquiry had laid hold upon him, may not be known. Suffice it to say, that scarcely had the man on the floor sunk into his first 'beauty sleep' than the constable's bull's-eye lantern was turned upon his face. "Hallo, Slinkey ! Caught at last !" said the policeman exultantly; for Slinkev was 'wanted' at head-quarters for a miscellaneous assortment of misdeeds, and had hitherto successfully eluded all pursuit. Policeman 43 N congratu- lated himself too soon upon his capture, and was not destined in this case to hear the compliments of the sitting mngistrate on his intelligence and zeal. No sooner had he said, * Caught at last ! ' than Siinkey said with an oath — " Not yet, my hearty I " SIMON HOLMES. 267 Jumping up from his low resting-place, he drove his bullet-head full butt against the constable's belt, 'doubled him up,* as he afterwards acknowledged ; then leaping down the stairs at a bound, was across the yard and over the wall before the gasping guardian of the peace could spring his rattle and shout his ' Stop thief! ' into the night. The alarm brought another bull's-eye to his side a'^ he climbed the walls, but that was all. The bird had flown. Tiiey returned to the rickety building and found the woman on the bed trying to pacify the crying child. They searched the all but empty rooms, finding nothing worthy of their notice. With commendable feelings ot charity they per- mitted the shivering lodgers to stay where they were till morning, but after that they were to 'move on 1' But whither ! Oh weary, dreary life, for those in this awful London, whose whole wretched career may be summed up in the mocking words, 'Move on!' Then they left the poor creatures to their soliiude ; and left the bag of gold with the letters H. H. upon it, lying hid behind the skirting board, waiting for someuody to discover the treasure-lrove and carry it away. Although Slinkey had escaped from Policeman 43 N, he was not permitted to enjoy the sweets of liberty. His time had come. Ke was soon pounced upon by some other of the official watchers of the night, and was speedily placed within four strong walls, from whence he was only permitted to emerge in order to irave a brief interview with a magis- trate, and was then immured for a lengthened period within walls gloomier and stronger still. His poor wife and still more pitiful child wandered away, leaving the dilapidated building on the wharf untenanted. Now it so happened that Ned Saltmer, who had been promoted by merit to be a foreman in his master's employ, had received orders to put this same building into I'jnant- able repair. Hitherto the property had for a long time M«l If ! 268 SIMON HOLMES. been in Chancery ; it was now out of that ruinous legal bondag'.', and was to be restored and favoured with a new lease of life. Of course it was necessary to make a thorough examination of the place, and Ned. taking his ' two-foot rule,* pencil and note-book, repaired tiiither for that purpose. Robert Alheling's dog, Joss, was permitted to accompany him ; and indeed would have gone without permission if his fancy or his sense of duty disposed him that way. While Ned was thus engaged, Joss was making a close examination of the premises on his own account, probably with a view to the pleasures of a chase after a mouse or a rat. Joss had concluded a preliminary scamper round the building, and had taken a suj)erficial glance into all the rooms and corners, and at hngih had brought himself to a temporary standstill in the room where the hidden money lay. Into that room Ned had come, and was jotting down certain measurements and memoranda for business use. Just as he was turning r.way Joss began to bark. He had been pawing and sniffing at the skirting- board for some time ; but he could not manaj^e to pull it away, although it was not held very tightly in its place. When Ned turned to leave the room. Joss thought it was time to appeal for help, and so he lay on his belly just in front of the suspected spot, stretched out his fore-feet, and barked as though he knew that there was a rat just theie, and he meant to have it before he went away. Ned came back, and instantly Joss's paw was on the skirting-board, and his black nozzle sniffing at the point of junction with the floor. " All right, all right, old follow ! " said Ned, and in a moment the skirting-board was pulled away. • " Rats ! " said Ned, content to stimulate his efforts now the hindrance was away. But for an answer Joss inserted his paw in the hole SISfON HOLMES. 269 made by the withdrawal of the brick, dragged out the treasure-trove, seized it in his mouth and dropped it at Ned's feet. The metallic chink that followed told Ned of the nature of its contents, and with much v/onder and some fear ^a lifted up the prize, and silently discussed the (juestion, not how it came there, but what he ought to do with it now that it had fLiUen into his hands. He was quite clear of one thing, however, and that was that great credit was due to Joss. So the clever and saga- cious dog was petted and patted to his doggish soul's delight. " Well done, Joss ! " said Ned. " It isn't often that you hev a chance o' baggin' game o' that kind. Is it ?" Matter-of-fact Ned quickly dropped the precious bag, more precious than he knew, into an inner pocket of his jacket and finished his measurements and inspection. Then as the shadows of the night were falling he made his way to his own snug cottage, close followed by the faithful Joss, who felt staid and sober as became a dog who had come into possession of a large fortune, and of a special vote of thanks. As usual Ned was met a\ the door by his buxom little wife, who seemed always as if she were on the watch for a sight of his honest face. He paused for a moment until Joss had passed in before him. " Honour to them that hez honour due to 'em," said Ned, with a smile on his face. " Joss is a good deal richer than I is, an' so I gives him preference, Nance." " Whativer are yo' talkin' about, Ned ? " said Madge, who was not in the secret. "Why, the fact is," said her merry spouse, "Joss hez cuin' in for a fortan, an' he's gi'en it into my hands for safe keeping." Ned led the way, not into the kitchen but into the 370 .S7A/0.V HOLMES. parlour, the Utile room whicli was nominally the special quarters of Robert Atheling, but which was used, at his own request and wiih his good-will, by Ned and his cheery spouse. Thin Ned brought out the brown bag, and dropped it on the mantelpiece, so that its sonorous and suggestive chink might tell its own story. " There, lassie ! " said Ned, " tnat's Joss's private pro- perty. It lay behind an old skirtin'-board in a house that we're rcpairin' by the Thames* side. Joss smelt it or summat, an' niver gav' me ony peace till I knocked off the board. Then he fishes it oot of a hole in the wall, anJ brings it to me." " What a wonderful thing I" said Madge, looking at the bag with widely opened eyes. " That's just what I've been savin' to myself all the way home,'' said Ned. "What made him know that there was onyihing there ? Was it only what thc.'y call instink ? Or (lid he smell it? Had somebody, somebody that he knows, handled it, and did he reco'nise the scent ? Or was it just a rrovidence o' God, that nobody but Him can under- stand? I give it up. I'll be hanged if I know what to make of it. I'll warrant there's a matter o' two hundred an' fiity guineas i' t'nat bag." Ned said guineas because it sounds so much more impressive. *' Aye, three hundred, if there's a shillin'," he continued, "Now then, Ma(ge, the question is, What is the next business ? Can we find oot if onybody hez a better right to it? Or shall we get it settled upo' Joss, tied fast, by some cele )rated dog lawyer — but there, it's scarce a jokin' matter. What next, Madge ? Dear owd gell, you gen'rally manage to hit t' nail on the head. What shall we do with it ? " " Why the next thing. Ned, is your supper. Let's go an* get that business settled. That'll give us a bit o' time to .S7A/0N HOLMES. 271 think o' lliis. It's as well not to be over-hasty in a mattci o' this sort." "Right again, bless lier ! " said Ned, first slapping his wife's broad back and then paying compensation for the liberty he had taken by giving her one, two, three kisses of such vigour that Joss was constrained to come from his resting place in front ol the kitchen fire, to see what was the matter. It would not be fair, nor is it needlul, to sup- pose that the money on the parlour mantelpiece had any- thing to do with this demonstration. Ned Saltmer dearly loved his wife, and that which I have just recorded was not at all an exception but entered fairly into the customary course of things. The noet Cowper says — •' Wlmt is there in the vale of life Half so delightful as a wife, When friendship, love, and peace combine To stamp the marriage bund divine ? " If you had asked Ntd Salt~ner that question, he would have said — "Why, nothing, especially mine !" Under these circumstances, the little by-play in the parlour becomes eloquent indeed. Madge did right to advise that they should take time to consider, for as they sat by the fire after supper had been disposed of, they were surprised, for the hour was getting late, by a vigorous rai>tap at the door. When Madge went to open it, a pleasant voice came from between a flourish- ing moustache and beard — "Well, Mrs. Saltmer, how are you? Ay, but I'm glad to cross your threshold again," and so saying the speaker entered without another word. " Why, Ned ! " Madge called out, with a little cry of satisfaction, " here's Mr, Alfred 1 I knew he would come some of these days." »^"f," «73 SI\fON HOLMES. '* Yes," said Alfred, shaking hands with Ned. " I've cornc again for shelter, and I need your confidence as much as ever. II Whereupon Ned looked at his wife and smiled an "aside." But here we must pause so far as Alfred Atheling's fortunes are concerned, until we discover how he had come to Ned Saltmer's door that night. .'^jaSI'UT IT*. CHAPTER XXXIir. BLACKBEARI) FALLS A VICTIM TO THE WINE-FLASK ; AND THE PLANS OF DON ANTONIO DE DIAZ ARE SUDDENLY I NTERRUl'l ED, " All pitying Ileaveu Severe in mercy, chastening in its love, Ofttimes in dark and awful visitation, Doth interpose, and leads the wanderer br\ck To the straight path, to be for ever after A firm, undaunted, onward-bearing traveller, Slrong in humility who swerves no more." Jomtna Daillie. ^^AROI :) SPOFFORTH lay in the brigand camp, waiting for his death, and not now hoping, and in truth not just now caring for escape. His physical sufferings had latterly been very great, and Blackboard seemed to have either received orders to treat him with gross indignity, or his natural tendencies that way had re- ceived a sudden and special development. Harold was pale and haggard, and his whole appearance gave proof and token that he had been, and was still, drinking of a bitter cup indeed. The desperate discipline to which he had been subjected had been nevertheless of great service to him. His was a real repentance, and his remorse for his many and shameful misdeeds was very genuine, how- 8 Il.\'- 'l:i. I 274 SIMON HOLMES. ever it might have been brought about. His long im- pri-onnient and his growing peril had led him to think seriously, and to think righteously, concerning iiimself and his past conduct. With this had come memories of his godly mother, the mother whom he had so often and so greatly grieved ; and his sister E .el, the sister who he knew was praying for him at that hour. With this had come a desire and a resolve to pray for himself. Many a time and oft while on his bed of leaves, with *he brawny Blackbeard walking to and fro as sentinel outside, he had asked of Heaven the pardon of his sin ; had dared at times to ask for liberty and life, hut in these wiser moments, with this proviso — "Rather than live as I have lived, let me die." For some short time past, Harold had had a comrade in distress, one v.iio shared his cave with him and was of great value to him, not only in relie 'in^^ the monotony of his solitary imprisonment, but in strengthening and guiding those better feelings and desires which had come to him in these darkening days. Seizor Bonanza was a Cuban Creole of great wealth and high cliaracter, who had fallen into the hands of the brigands while on a tour through Spain, and was brought, like Harold, into the Montana forest fastness to be imprisoned until a large ransom should be paid. He was a gentleman who, judging from his snow- white hair — white as his locks were )iis beard and brows^ — was cons'derabiy over middle age. But it was not so, grief, a double grief, a grief that had taken out of life all that seemed to him to make life worth having, had whitened his hair and i)ermanently saddened his soul. He was a m:in of conrnanding and yet attractive mien, and his hifluencfc ovei his fellow-prisoner was n.c only for good, but that continually. He refused to write for his ransom, for said he — SIMON HOLMES. 27$ )ntana lould snow- ows — grief, I that itened was a d his good, nsom, "The Fea has swallowed up all my real treasurcsj and as for my life, it is not worth robbing my next heirs for. Let them keep the gold." So they waited, these two, expecting any morning to be brought out to die. One evening, just as the early dusk was darkening into night, the bandit who had undertaken the rescue of Harold Spofforth for gold and for revenge, drew near to Red Pedro's camp in the forest of Montana. He silently crept towards that portion of the glade known as the * prisoner's cave,' by a way known only to the initiated. Safely hidden on the hill slope behind the foliage of some stout ever- greens, he could see the miserable Harold pacing to and fro along the ground in front of the cavern in which for the most part he was confined. Just within the cave he saw another individual. This he had no doubt was the other prisoner held for ransom. Blackbeard, ihe stalwart and brawny jailor and sentinel who had these two in charge, was leaning against the face of a rock at some short distance with his musket, ready charged, placed handily by his side. The spy among the evergreens knew Blackbeard well, knew also his prevailing weakness. It was by taking advantage of this weakness that he hoped to gain his purpose without danger an^^ without alarm. He haa provided himself with a flask of spirits in which an opiate had been judiciously mingled. Moreover, he had taken care that flask and case and leathern strap should be just like those which were constantly in use among the brigands on their sorties after prey. Carefully watching his opportunity, he succeeded in lowering, this into such a position that it would be seen by the sentinel as soon as he changed his position and began to stroll again along his chosen beat He had not very long to wait in order to see the success of his ruse. The night was cold, and Bhckbeard needed to infuse a little warmth into his feet 2y6 SIMON HOLMES. while walking. While he was thus engaged he spied the strap, and then the eminently suggestive case to which it was attached. It looked precisely as though it had come unbuckled by accident, and had dropped from the shoulder of one of his comrades, who with the rest of the band had departed that evening on an expedition of im- portance. " Ha ha, ha ! " laughed Blackbeard, as he drew a cigar- ette which he was lazily smoking from between his lips, "it*san ill wind that blows nobody any good. That's just the sort of cordial I've been wishing for." Blackbeard lost no time in uncorking the flask, and find- ing as he expected that it was well replenished, he lifted it to his lips with a prophetic smack to give it welcome, and regaled himself with a few such hearty draughts that but little was left behind. " Both good an(f strong ! " said he, and smacked his lips again with evident relish. Then he proceeded to drain the bottle dry. The man above !^i■t^•^af^mr^ -- SIMON HOLMES. 2/7 forth the for we give our good friends the slip ? Blackbeard's asleep, and as it seeins to nie drunk into the bargain." At that moment, they were both startled by a voice from the slope above. It was the bandit who spoke, and as he spoke, he came boldly forward with a bow and a smile. *• Senor," said he to Harold, " if you desire to make your escape, follow me. Jacob Benson waits you at the water- fall.'' Harold certainly had a desire to escape, and was prepared iO follow anywhere, for nothing could be worse than to remain. He did not know anything about the waterfall, but he did know Jacob Benson, and rightly argued there- from that his friends had not only not forsaken him but were hard at work on his behalf. *' I have a comrade in trouble," said Harold to the new comer ;. " we must escape together." " Certainly," said the man, " only make haste, lest Blackbeard comes to life again." This was said with a low exultant laugh, and in a tone which showed that he did not by any means expect to see such a sudden resurrection. At once Harold and Senor Bonanza followed their guide along the secret and intricate path he had previously trodden. This was necessary in order to avoid the outposts of the camp, for Red Pedro was a military genius, and no camp could have been better guarded, so far as his plans and arrangements were concerned. Without further speech or adventure they made their way until they came into the open country ; and were drawing near to the neighbourhood of the waterfall, where Jacob Benson was supposed to be m wailing to complete the transaction by payment of the thousand pounds promised to the bandit in the event of his success. Now while all these matters had been planned and were being transacted, Don Antonio de Diaz, or Red Pedro, as 378 SIMON HOI. St US, \\c may now roiuimic to call him, IkhI Ihhmi (iiiirtly and strrclly nnani;ing his plans lor ihc ahihutioii of I'.thcl Spoltoilh Irom \\\c liltlo village inn at Montana. His IHUposc was lo transU?! llic fair maiden to his own ciinij) in the forest to glare lus private tent, and tol)e(;ome the vi( tini of Ins own Mad; liearled craft ami passion. \Vat( liinj; their opportunity, two of his Ivimi, iiis;;uised as peasants, look auvantai;e of a tcmjiorary jii)sence on t!ie pari of I'-iIk'Ts faith;nl luMiclnnan Jacob Uen.son to j;ain their ends. Hasiily luting l-'ihel into a sort of cahriolet wiiic h had been ^tanviin.^ in the inn yard, 'waiting for an expected visitor/ tluy iirovo rapidly awav in the dire( lion of the mountains, the one seeking to stille the maiden's .screams, while the other urged the mule that tlrew the carriage to its utmost speed. They must needs pass tor some distance along the road that led to the waterfall, and thither Jacob Benson had gone, if haply he might meet ihe brigand who was to produce Red Podro's prisoner. As the gamekeeper was pa'-sing along the road at a good speed, he felt certain tiiai ho heard a woman's cry. 1 hen lie saw the conveyance riishin.{ sWilily on. He was sure he heard his own name called — • 'Macob, Jacob! Help!" Stalwart Jacob needed no more evidence. He had the strength of a lion at that moment. He knew that Red Pedro was callable of any deed, however dark. Drawing his revolver, he calmly waited, and as the vehicle drew near, he saw Ethel vainly trying to cast herself out of the carriage. A well-aimed bullet brought down the mule. Jacob rushed at once to the aid of his beloved young mistress, with his finger on the trigger ready for a second siiot. Red Pedro himself, who had all the while been in the vehicle, leaped out, and with a passionate curse, flung him- self upon the gamekeeper, dagger in hand. Jacob's bullet whizzed by the ear of the brigand chief It was not by his hand that the foul monster was to die. One of the two dis- vS/A/O.V llOl.MliS, 279 near, riage. ished h his the him- )unet jy his dis- pnisctl bandits ranic to R^mI Tcflro's aid. The oti 'i- held iMhcl f;isl in Iiis nirrcilcss cmhracc. At th;tt nistant Harold S|)()fT()rll» lca|H(l npon the wrctrh, and hy sheer f();cc of s|)asni()(h(: strength choked the man, so that lie was compelled U) let I'.lliel go, and engage in a desperalo srngglc for his own lilc. Scnor lionan/a lifted the maiden from the eahriolet and carefully |)laced her on tlie hank a;)art from the scene of strife. Meanwhile, the hiimiit guide who was bringing Harold to the waterfall iecogni>ed Red I'edro. A fierce li^lit flashed into his dark eyes. A yell of exultation leajjed from iiis lips as he threw himself upon the brigand chief, and shouting, " I'rom my sister Rosalie!" drove his dagger to the veiy hilt into his heart. Seeing the fate of their chief the two brigands made a dash for liberty and escaped. Red Pedro could not even utter a dying curse upon his I'ormer comrade. He died uj)on the road, which was crimsoned with his evil blood, — died, the wretched 'hero of "no" single virtue, and a thousand crimes!' ICthel had fainted under the awful experiences of that night, and Harold and Senor Bonanza found it difficult to woo her bnck to life. As soon as it was possible to return to the inn, Jacob Benson sallied forth again, to transfer to the ex-bandit the stipulated reward. "Take a friend's advice," said Jacob in his broken Spanish; "you have no excuse for dishonest courses now. You have avenged your sister. Where she is y(ju can please her better by living an honest life." "That is wiiat I mean to do, senor," said the man quietly, and at (jnce he sought safety by flight from that region. He knew that his late comrades would shoot him like a dog if he should hap to fall in their vt-ay. Now that Red Pedro was dead, the villagers and the peasantry around, who had often served him under the influence of fear, made a public rejoicing. When the whole 28o SIMON HOLMES. matter was reviewed by the legal authorities there was no difficulty in clearing the little party from all legal blame. On the contrary, they were congratulated on having been the means of helping to deliver Spain from the cruel, cunning, ?ind powerful tyrant who had so long been a terror and a pest to the community at large. With all reasonable speed consistent with Ethel's health, which had been sorely shaken by late events, the little party returned to England. Seiior Bonanza accompanied them, and by his kind and gentle attentions he won upon the esteem of Ethel, as he had already done upon the affections of her brother, to whom in his loneliness and peril he had proved a friend indeed. In Ethel the noble Cuban found a congenial spirit, one to whom he could impart his confidences, and so it came to pass that she heard from his lips the story of that great grief which had whitened his hair and taken all the joy as it seemed to him out of his existence. It appeared ihat he had been at one time the Governor of the Island, and that an epidemic of yellow fever had robbed him of his two sons in the heyday of life and health and promise. Then he had sent off his wife and his only daughter to Europe to save them from falling victims to the same fatal scourge. The ship in which they had sailed was lost at sea, and both had gone down without a sigh. It was exceedingly touch- ing to see the grief which tossed him like a tempest while he spoke of this last terrible bereavement. He said — " The last of my treasures went down to their grave in the deep sea, and I am left, left alone ! I am rich in wealth, it is true, but yet so poor that 1 did not care to ransom my life out of Red Pedro's power. I think I could have welcomed the bullet of the brigandr. That would have sent me to rejoin my treasures in the land in which there is no more sea, and in which there are no graves." Ethel, as may well be imagined, found a very congenial SIMON HOLMES. 2S1 irge. )oth luch- ^hile ^e in |h in te to lould lould Ihich mission in directing the bereaved husband and father to the one true Source of strength and consolation. She had her exceeding great reward in perceiving that this sore and stricken heart was willingly opened to receive the sweet, glad, hope-giving evangel of the Saviour's love. Many were the profitable conversations held between these two on their homeward route, Harold listening the while, with profit and with pleasure, to what until lately had been tedious topics in which he had no concern. It was a great joy to Ethel to perceive this great and welcome change. " Sweet are the uses of adversity," says the world's greatest poet, and its uses in Harold's case had been serviceable indeed. This wanderer worn and weary in the ways of sin, had come back to his Heavenly Father while yet in the brigand's cave, and was now coming back to his earthly father to say, " Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight." His Heavenly Father had given him loving welcome ; his earthly father, she well knew, would give him loving welcome home. All this was to the gentle Ethel matter of constant and exceeding joy. They arrived safely in London. At Sefior Bonanza's suggestion they put up at the same hotel. Ethel and Harold would have dearly liked to proceed at once to Aspen Towers, but it could not be. Harold was deeply anxious about Ethel's state of health, and acting on Senor Bonanza's advice, it was resolved that they should quietly rest for a few days before Ethel ventured on her long journey to the North. mial CHAPTER XXXIV. ALFRED ATHELING READS THE NFAVSPAPER WITH ALARM ; AND SIMON HOLMES TAKES AN UNEXPKCTED JuURNEY. "If circumstances lead me, I will find Wliere truth is hid." Shakespeare, "Then on, still on, where duty leads, My course be onward still." Ileber. ' ir 'IM CROUCH and bis wife Sallie soon made it clear to Alfred Atheling that there need be no question whatever as to their good faith. Sallie felt herself honoured in having an Atheling for a guest, for the family was held in high repute, and was accounted only a very little less aristocratic than the family at Aspen Towers. So she put an extra ribbon on her cap, and made a point of donning her best * bib and tucker,' and quietly rejoiced in the thought that as a hostess she could now boast herself as being something out of the common. We have already got the key to Tim's course of conduct in this affair. He was co-partner with the absent Jacob Benson in the secret of Alfred's former visit, and was doubly responsible for guarding how much soever of his conduct the young man was disposed to hide. Moreover, Tim had SIMON HOLMES. 5S3 in him all the elements that were likely to favour an outlaw. His radicalism was of a very pronounced type indeed, and he w? : always willing to help to foil a bailiff, sheriff, con- stable, magistrate, or other legal official in their attempts to interfere with anybody's liberty. ' One man's as gooil as another,' was Tim's sweeping political creed, nor would he have hesitated to say, * and a great deal better,' if the comparison lay between a * proud miniti of the la^^' and an outlaw, from almost whatever cause. Besides, both Tim and Sallie were fully as kind-hearted as the Yorkshire peasantry are said to be, and they rank higli, though 1 say it myself. So Alfred Atheling's secret was quite safe ; and any danger of discovery was ftir likelier tc arise from their over anxiety to prevent it than from any probability that they might be induced to betray their trust. Beneath the humble shelter of their roof, Alfred recovered health and sirengtl), was able to write for the replenishment of his purse ; and under cover of the evening shadows, and by the aid of sundry disguises, could pay frequent visits to the Garth, and obtain fleeting but most welcome glimpses of thosj who dwelt witiiin. He felt as though he could be content with such rude quarters for a lifetime rather than face con- tinuous banishment from Aspen dale. But, as usual, there was to be no rest for his wandering feet. He wore the yoke of his own misdoings ; and tiie goad of retribution seemed to be constantly pricking his sides, that he might be made to move on and feel the galling pressure of the yoke the more. Tim Crouch received occasionally a London newspaper from a relative in the great city, who took that method of reporting him- self alive and well. These newspapers Alfred perused with n:.uch interest, mainly because he had always an expectation of seeing his own name in print, in connection with his old misdeeds. ■ I'. i! ! ^ J 284 SISfON UOLMV.S. In one and the same paper Alfred read two paragraphs that greatly disturbed and alarmed him. The one was an item of news about the fire at Sharon Lodge; ami by it Alfred was made accjuainted with the fact that his brother Robert, who had saved Miss llartgold at the i)eril of his life, was the guest of that very Kphraim Ilartgold to whom belonged the Good Itttenf, on whieh lie had lel't the peerless maiilJ^i Inez. Should he ever, ever see that much-loved face again ? While his thoughts were thus engaged, his eye lighted upon another paragraph, an advertisement, and the while he read it, his face became deathly white. It was placed in the same column and nearly in the same place in which some months before he had read beneath the ugly word 'AhsconokdI' his own name and shame. " Fifty poumls reward ! Lost or stolen, a brown canvas bag containing upwards of three hundred pounds. The bag bears the letters H. H. stamped upon it in black ink, and is tied at the neck with green tape. The above reward will be paid to ariy one who shall bring the same to tiie Chief of the Police at Scotland Yard, or to Epiiraim Hartgold, Smith Street, Thames Side." Alfred Aiheling could not and did not for one moment doubt that this bag was that missing one to the absence of which all his troubles owed their origin. But how did Ephraim Hartgold come to be mixed up with it? It was clear to him that the search for himself as a thief, and for tVie money as his booty, still continued, or had been revived in connection with some fresh clue through which he might be arrested almost on the steps of his mother's door. That mention of the Chief of the Police and Scotland Yard left no doubt in Alfred's mind that prosecution and a prison were impending ; that the search would be su t. to extend again to Aspendale, and that for his safety's sake he must hide himself among the teeming millions of the modern Babylon. SIMON HOLMES. 285 " You secam as if you've dropped on te sumthing nut varry pleasant," said Tim ('louch, watching Alfred's chang- ing countenance as he sat with tl\e newspaper in his trembling iiands. Alfred showed him the paragraplis, and proceeded to announce his intention of going instantly to London, as search for him was certain to be made in Aspendale. "Why," said Tim, "it isn't for me te set my opinion up afoore yours ; but if ah was i' your shoes, ah wad n't leeave a seeaf corner, though it's nobbut a labile 'un." " I've been very thankful for the corner, Tim. But I can't help it," said Alfred with a sigh. " The curse of the Wan- dering Jew is on me, and I must go. But I should like to come back if it be possible. Will you keep the corner open for me ? " " You'll be alius welcum*, Mr. Alfred, varry," said Sallie, who was scarcely able to command her voice, for here as elsewhere Alfred had made himself a favourite. "What Sal sezs ah sezs," added Tim, with as much sincerity as brevity "An' until farther orthers, mum's the wod at Crooch Cas'le." On the next morning Alfred walked into Chilworth in order to take the early train to town. Now it so happened that on the same day Simon Holmes the carpenter had arranged to go to Hull in order to pay a large account, large from the stand-point of a village carpenter, to the merchant who supplied him with beanrs, deals, battens, and other foreign timber requisite for the prosecution of his tradiB. On all such occasions it was Simon's custom to take the early train that he might have a good long day in town. As he passed by the white gate that opened into Peter Prout's mill-yard he saw that stout personage, clad in his powdery mail of meal, leaning his arms upon the gate, and his chin upon his hands, as if on the look-out for some passer-by. The fact is that the miller was a 'busybody,' 286 SIMOS HDLStl-S. m 1 \ \^ w .5 11 If ! i' and liad ascertained thnt Simon was bent on a trip to Hull, or IIool, as Pcler would pronounce it, slioriciiini; the double o so that it would rliyine with bull. •'(lood niornin', Simon," said the miller graciously. "You're just the man ah wanted te see. My wod, but you don't tneean te miss t' train. Why, bless me, you'll be at (Jhilworth station lull fotty minutes ower seean." *'.\11 right, Peter,'' said the car|)enter. "That's a fault *at*s a gooil deal better te mend then bcin' tolty seconds ower leeat. Wailin' for t' train te cum hez a good (led m;iir sense in it, then wishin' for it efter it's gone. Trains is varry decided sooart o' things an' it's nae use l)eckonin' 'em back when yance they're off. An' that's true o' sum other things, miller, besides trains. Noo — " *' Hey, hey, nae doot," said Peter, who had a pretty clear notion as to what (\\e carpenter was driving at. " Ah want yo' te deea a labile job fo' mah i' Hull. Will yo' go' an' ax Trimlitt an' Sons te send mah a mill-wreel? There's summat matter wi' t' balance o' t' top mill-steeans, an' ah daren t use 'em till they're Feen tae : there'll be a crash else." "Yis, ah'll send him on," said Simon, twirling his stout black-thorn and preparing to proceed. "There's summat else thai you an' me had better get seen tae, for fear of a crash 'at can't vary weel be mended. They say * a stitch i' tahme seeaves nine,' but a tahmely care of another sooart '11 seeave us all. Let's think o' that, Peter, let's think o' that" " Ah say, Simon," said the rniller, who had opened the gate and come close to the carpenter that he might speak more quietly and confidentially, "ah've seen sumthing raylher surprisin, while ah was watchin' fo' yo'. There's sumbody a lahtle way aheead o' yo' 'at meeans te catch t' train at Chil worth as woel as you." Simon cautiously waited in silence for further information. &t; SIMON HOLMES. 287 "As sure an' sartain as you're standin' tlicrc, Simon, young Alf Atlu'liiig passed l' mill ntit a (juartcr of an hoor since. My wod ! hoo he liez altered ! He's gotten a l)eard an' a moostash aJi' he's as white as my cooat, — l)Ut if it isn't him ah'll eeat him. What de y< think te that ? " "You dceant say sae ! " said Simon, "Ah wish you'd stopt him. I'.xruse me, ah'll catch him up. Oh but it wad be a grand thing if ah could bring him back!" and so saying the car[)cnter strode off with a new hope to quicken his pace. " Ah say, Simon ! " the miller shouted after him, " you weean't forget to call for t' mill-wreet ! " " Ah can't say, Peter. Filer what you've tcU'd mah, ah isn't sureo' gettin' te Hull te-day. Hull business may wait if nobbut this may thrive." So saying, the old carpenter strode along full four good miles an hour, ])raying as he went that the prodigal might retrace his steps to Aspendale, and to the anxious mother silting, waiting, waiting by the ingle nook of Aspen Ciarth with the sickness at her heart which arises from hope deferred. But Simon Holmes saw no sign of Alfred Atheling either on the road, or through the streets, or at the station, though he sought him carefully, so carefully that he had forgotten to take his ticket when the train came slowly in. " Cum and Leetnin' Streeak," said a sarcastic and irre- verent young porter. " If yo' don't tak' things a bit eeasier like, you'll be riddy be t' tahme 'at next train cums in ; but ah'll be blest if yo' weean't be ower leeat for this ! " Jumping into the train, Simon gave one last look along the platform, and saw a young man with a 'beard an' moostash ' such as Peter Prout had described, entering the train which was already in motion. "That's him!" said Simon to himself truthfully but ungrammatically, and resolved to speak to him at Shelby Jur.ction, where he Ui.^ u im 'H ' '<,i I 288 SIMON HOLMES. himself had to change for Hull. But much to Simon's asfonislimcnt, the train shot t!i rough Sliclby station without stopping ! It was the first day of the month, the change had just been made, and the train tliat Simon siiould have taken was twenty minutes later at Cliilworth to make way for the fast London Express. Wiien the truth fairly dawned on the astounded cr.pcnter, he jumped up from his seat, laid his hand on the door, and much to the amusement of liis follow passengers, exclaimed — "Slop! This is t' wrong train." But the cry was vain, and Simon could not help quietly smiling at himself for making the absurd request. Resuming his seat he smiled again as he murmured aloud — " Peter Prout '11 ha' te gan withoot his millwreet whatever cums te t' mill steeans." " What station do we stop at next, if yo' pleease ?" said Simon, addressing his next neighbour. "Grantham, I think," was the answer, ** then Peterboro', then London. This is a fast express." " Consarn it 1 " said Simon, using the very strongest expletive that vas ever known to leave his lips. " Ah'se in for it noo ! " and again a quiet smile sat upon his tace, as he fell into deep thouglit that kept his mind engaged for many a mile. " What does this mean ? " thought he, for with his steadfast and unvarying faith in the Providence of God, he never looked on it as a * strange chance.' Then he thought what a good thing it was that he had plenty of money with him, the money that was to have paid his timber bill. Where was the good of his getting out at Grantham? Well, he would get out there to get a good look at the young fellow with the beard. " If it's Alfred Atheling," said Simon, with an emphatic nod, " ah'll follow him lo London." At Grantham, Simon got a good look at the young man, such a look that the stranger set himself to work to stare him SIMON HOLMES. 289 off, sternly arc! resentfully, not at all a difficult thing to do, for Simon was constitutionally nervous among strangeis and easily abashed. " Hi ! " shouted the man with the moustache to the paper boy. Simon thought he was called, a^.J went boldly to the carriage door as the boy with the news-basket arrived. " Not yoi^" said * Moostash ' to Simon sharply, as if to snap off his unwelcome attentions. But that 7rry look brought out the Atheling features, Simon felt sure ! "Have you got this week's Popular KeadciV^ said the stranf,er to the boy. A bright thought struck Simon. " I say, laddie," said he, "do you think there's onything in it by Ralph Ravenswortii ? " The young man started, gave one swift glance at Simon, reddened to the very tips of his ears, and retreated to hij seat. "You're right, Peter Prout," said Simon to himself, "it's Alfred Atheling withoot a doot." " Now, gentlemen ! take your seats, if you are going on ! " said the guard, and in another moment the express was swiftly whirling the old carpenter to famous London town. At Peterborough, Simon Holmes did not trouble to keep an eye on Alfred, for it was really he, and that young gentleman began to think he had shaken him off after all. But Simon was sending a special telegram to Thorpe Aspen, prepaying it sufficiently to insure its being taken by messenger from Chilworth, to put his wife at ease as to his whereabouts and safety. At length London was reached, ihe express emptied itself at the platform of the King's Cross Station. Alfred had but little luggage to care for, Simon had none. Alfred passed out with Simon at his heels. Simon must speak — "I say, Mr. Alfred!" 2«0 t f SIMON //()/ Af/«:.V. *' iVgono, sir 1 or Ml call the polite!" baid the young man, (lotoriniitoil to eliido him. The oU\ rarpcnler was (akrn ahark, slood stock Rtill, with his nuMith open. Siuh ;i rei)U(V was mteonuuon — sucli a threat imlu\U(l of. TiuMi the hmnan stream rushevl in between them, ami Simon found himself vainly hattling with the «'rowd to keep lus (juarry within si^ht. 'rrue to Ins s;mding faith atul rule oC (H)ndu»"t. Sim(Mi asked help of Heaven, linktd lumseh to the throjie of the Internal there in the roar ol the city street. Then he found mmself stamiing by a post on a 'rest' in the midni Holmes, it may be truly said, was never without a C'ounsellor, and ho felt neither anxiety nor fear eoneeruing himself". There ho stood, asking himself and his Cod whu he had hotter do. Was it chance or some- thing else that called to his mind Robert Atheling and the lire out oi which be had snatched an imperilleu life? Was it the thrill oi sympathy ho felt when Mrs. Atheling read him Robert's letter that stampeil on his memory the name of " Mr. Ephraiin Hartgold, Sharon Lodge, Wimbledon." '* Yes." said Simon to hiiusell with a quiet smile, " that's what I'd belter do." 1: :illi W^£ h!'-'A^j)\ '/' ClIAT'l'liR XXXV. ■rilRAIM HAUTCOll) C.OV.H ON IHIAKK TirK " (iriOl) INTF'NT ; " AND maiukn ink/- «;()kh io siiaron i.oimwc. "All holiest man, close-buttoned to the dun, liroad cloth without, and a wsinn heart witliin." ('aii'/>er. "This is the i»orccIain clay of human kind." (jT^U'r wc must now get oti hoard the good .slii|> (fOod pLp Intent again, in which we have left several in wiiose fortunes we are interested a most iinconscionai^lc while. lOphraim Hartgold's first l)iisinc-.s, on tlie day after the fire at Sliaron Lodge, was to repair to (iravesend, as the skip|)er had predicted. "Good morning, Captain Crumpit," said the merchant as soon as he stood on deck, shaking the honest skipper l>y the hand. " I'm glad to see thee and thy shijj safe home again. Hast thou anything special to report? How are the men? How about tlie ship? What ol the cargo ? " The Quaker merchant was never known to nc;^lect that first question, or to put it other than first to any skij)per in his employ. And that was the order in which they stood in his own mind. First the crew, then the ship, then the cargo. That was their order, for that was their 292 SIMON HOLMES. ■? ^r 15 »'■ order according to their value and importance, acco\(ting to the convictions of his conscience, the judgment of his mind, and the dictates of his heart. MHien the Ikitish merciiant service is everywhere conducted in that fashion, and all shipowners act on that principle, the succession of brave British seamen will not dwindle either in quality or quantity, neither will the deep sea swallow up so many, so very many precious sailors' lives. Cai)tain Crumpit was able to report favourably con- cc-ning all the matters about which the owner had made inquiry. "All's well, sir," said he, "and I think the cargo will show a sound venture ; but that isn't so uncommon as to make it needful to mention it" Ephraim lifted his grey eyes to the skipper's face to see what the last remark implied ; and he found such an honest admiration there of his employer's business aptitudes that he could not repress a smile. " We've brought home a little party of castaways," con- tinued Captain Crumpit. " We picked 'em up on the high seas after they had been adrift for eight and forty hours in an open boat." " Poor fellows ! " said Ephraim, speaking as he felt. " Thou didst well, Captain. That's the sort of thing that brings a ship 'good luck,' as you sailors call it. I call it the blessing of Heaven on kind deeds. How many are there of them ? Where are they ? " In a few moments Captain Lanyon made his appearance, followed by his two faithful friends and shipmates, Joe Hewitt and Will Trounce. Cai)tain Crumpit, as we know, had sounded the trumpet lor his employer both heartily and constantly, and the unfortunate ex-skipper of the Boadicea and his comrades were prepared to fall in love with the kindly looking Ephraim at once. " I am heartily glad to see you safe and sound,' said he. SIMON HOLMES. 293 "and to congratulate you on your merciful escnpc from a watery grave. I trust, Ca])tain Lanyon, that both thee and thy companions have not failed t > c^ive thanks to Him that sent the Good Intent to your relief." "Ay, ay, sir," said Captain Lanyon, lifting his hat k*everently in acknowledgment of his debt to their True Deliverer, ** a man must have a hard heart that can be saved as we were saved without saying in his heart, * Thank (iod I" And I speak for my comrades as well as for myself when I say, * We've said it many a lime with our lips, and we've felt it all the time in our hearts.' " So saying he turned to the two sailors that they might endorse the statement. " That's the vardict o' Will Trounce, your honour," said that -honest tar with an emphasis that spoke volumes for his sincerity. " Joe Trounce says DITTO, spelt wi' capital letters, all on 'cm," said that worthy, and Ephraim was constrained to conclude that no stronger testimony could be desired. "Well, what do you propose to do?" asked Ephraim in a way that convinced them all that true interest prompted the inquiry. "Well, if it's all the sam.e to your honour," said Will Trounce, "we should like to do duty an' eat ship-biscuit, me an' my mate here, in some craft belongin' to the owner of the Good Intent^ an' specially if .so be that Captain Lanyon can be skipper o' the same." "That's ezac'ly the size of it, sir," said Joe Hewitt, touch- ing his tarpaulin cap. "That would be what I calls hample compensation for sail in' in a rotten old tub wi' half a score o' mutinous rascals by way o' shipmates ! Here's Captain Lanyon, sir. Me an' Will Trounce ha' sailed with him for full seven years. He can give us a character, an' be will, too, if your honour'll ax him." "An' if your honour wants a 'stificate with him, Joe I ili 294 SIMON HOLMES. Hewitt an' me can pcrwide a dokyment a precious sight more genu/«i;*tv-rt-«, ■ SIMON HOLMES. 297 mer- Providence that controlleth all, both men and circum- stances, and who believe, and ever act as though they do believe that ** Behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own." c sure " Captain Lanyon," said the merchant at last, suddenly turning to the wondering and anxious skipper, "oblige me by being my guest for a lew days. I think I can serve thee with a ship ; and I want to know more of this Ralph Ravensworth, and also of the maiden who is as thy daughter, antl to whom thou hast been indeed a father. My daughter Ruth will be greatly pleased and comforted by the girl's companionship. She is just recovering from a severe nervous shock. We are something upset by a fire which broke out at Sharon Lodge — that is my dwelling. But," he continued with a smile, "there is still room enough for thee and tiiine. Wilt thou say yea, and place me under a real obligation?" Captain Lanyon was nothing loth, both for his own and his daughter's sake. So he promptly said "Yea," stipulat- ing only, that after he had seen Inez, safely placed in her new quarters, he should be at liberty to go down to Deal for a little while, that he might look after his cottage and put matters in train for the maiden's ultimate return to her own well-loved home. Then the merchant turned again to the skipper of the Goo.i Intent. " Captain Crumpit," said he, " find a berth if you can for those two seamen for the present. We will see what can be done for you," he continued, turning to Joe Hewitt and Will Trounce. '* It is not unlikely that Captain Lanyon may be able to take you with him on another voyage " " God bless your honour," said Joe Hewitt. " May the tide o' good fortune float you and your ships into every il 298 SIMON HOI. St lis. ; I port vdii tnakc for, and !)ring your honour into safe harbour when your voyage is riulcd." " With ;i cM-^o o' liappincss that'll last to all ctarnily," rhinicd in Will 'Iroumx. "Thank you, my lads," said Kphraini with n sniilo on his grave face. " It will have to he something more and hetur than 'good fortune' that ran do that for me. (lood living, hy the grare of (lod. ean do that both lor you and me." Then husiness-iikc l''phraim began to give orders eon- rerning the ship and eargo ; and went about the transaction of his daily business with as much shrewdness, strictness, ami hard-headed notions of profit, as if he had neither head nor heart for anybody's afHiirs but his own. " I"'phraim Hartgold's a hanl-headed sort of man," some- body once said to Captain Crumpit. •* Ves," s.vid the skipper in reply, '* he's a hard head for mon<'y, and a heart of gold for men." CIIAI'TKR XXXVI. ROUKKT ATHK.I.fNc; RKCMUVKS A VISIT FROM AN (H.I) I'RIKND ; AND 8ICNOR IU»NAN/,A l-INDS I-IFE TO UK WORIII LiVINU. '* Welcome, my \idonee, an' you'll tow iiini inle harbour at Aspen (larlh! Tiaise the Lord ! " So saying the old man departed on his mission, leaving Robert to sit and wail awhile with the angel llojic seated in his soul, and glowing on his face. IK \i II fi llr There is no doubt that Ruth Uartgold would in any rase !v\V(^ so>M\ reeovered from tlie shock she had received in her singular llight from the balcony, for had she not the 'sweetest of all secrets for a maiden's breast?' Never- theless the advent of Inez l.iwnon was of special value to her. That simple-hearted maiden with the sloe black eyes crept into Ruth's heart at once, and Ruth must have per- lormed a similar feat in her direction, for they soon so far iiiulerstood each other that Inez discovered her friend's alTection for her deliverer : and Inez, little understanding how clearly she was revealing her own heart the while, was never tired of speakiug of "Ralph's" manifold excellences and unapproachable virtues, *' How I wish I knew where he is," said she, with a heavy sigh. ** What shall we do if we never see him agam ? »> The * we ' in that sentence was a little bit of innocent sonhistry. She could hardly expect Ruth, who never knew hnn, to feel seriously disturbed if his absence was perpetual ; SIMON HOLMES. ^<^l and though C;ii>l;iin I.anyon estcL'inod hitn hi,L;lily, Inez coiiid liardly cxpcc:! that he would succumb beneath tlie sorrow ot Alfred's faihire to rclurii It would have l)een tlic simple truth if the hearlUss maidcti had said, ' \\ hat shall / do?' but in that rase the untold, unacknowledged secret would have stood icve.ded. Ruth had not heard, as her father had, that Robert's brother iiad assiuned the name of Kavensworth, or in all probability her int rest would have been thoroughly awakened. "Nay, nay, cheer up, my dear!" said Ruth. "Never is a loiiLj tim»:. The world is not so very big after all : I expect you will conie plimip on him at some corner wiiere you don't expect him. What did you say his name was?" "Ralph — Ralph Ravensworth," said Inez, soltly and slowly, as thous.;h it was a pleasure to linger on the words. "Indeed !" exclaimed Ruth. "Why, look here !" and drawing from under the pillow of the scKa on which she was sealed a weekly serial, she showed her companion a short sketch entitled, " Cast Adrift ; an Episode of the Sea, by Ralph Ravensworth." If there had been any question in Ruth's mind as to the young girl's affection for the owner of that name, it would have been fully answered in her ingenuous blush and trembling fingers, as she took the paper and said — " Then he hasn't forgotten ! Let me read it, dear Ruth." •' Read it aloud, ple^.se," said the young Quakeress, with a smile ; " I have only seen the title yet." But that task proved to be beyond the maiden's powers. She had not proceeded far before her tears blurred the page and her voice would not come at call. And no wonder. It was a touchingly written tribute to her own patient cheerfulness during that long exposure on the deep. It told how her pious trust in Providence gave 304 SIMON HOLMES. i! 1 heart and hope to her stronger and hardier comrades in distress, and exhibited in every line the fact that the writer's heart inspired his pen. After describing the way in which the * Fairy,' as he called her, sang * Abide with me ' when the shades of night fell on the lonely boat, he had written : — "Dare I hope ever, ever to hear that sweet voice again ? " Sympathetic Ruth, who had taken up tlie paper as soon as Inez had laid it down, could not prevent her tears from flowing to keep the other's company. Just at that moment Ephraim Hartgold entered the little parlour, Ruth's own peculiar snuggery. Taking Inez by the hand and seating himself by her on the sofa, he drew her to him. There was a winsome gentleness in his tones and words as he said — " Where is thy father, Inez ? — I mean where is Captain Lanyon ? " " My father is Captain Lanyon," said Inez, surprised to have the question put in that way ; " he has not yet come back from Deal." " Well, dear maiden," responded he, stroking softly her raven locks, " he hath been as a true and loving parent to thee : and thou wilt ever so regard him I do not doubt. But if it were possible for thee to have another father : — if thy father, thy real father, I — I mean " — the good Quaker was at a loss how to conclude his errand — " I mean, if he whom thou wouldst call thy papa " All the years which had sped by since last she had property in that sweet name of her childhood had failed to sponge out its memories or to destroy its charm. She opened her dark eyes wide, turned first pale and then red and then still more pale, and said — " My papa ! Have I a papa ? " " Ha, ha ! little maiden," said Ephraim lightly, trying to let her down gently, and to make the revelation as little startling as he could, " it is given to thee to have a papa SIMON HOLMES. 305 and a father both. But spare a little corner of thy heart for Ruth and me." At that moment Senor Bonanza entered. She looked at the noble countenance for one moment, then liis suiile, his eyes, his tears were all an evidence that it was he ! "Inez! my darling!" he cried in tones broken with strong feeling. " Come to my heart as a new gift of Gr)d ! I see your mother, my precious, in every line of your face. Come to me, child, come to the heart of a lonely man whose heart grief it was that he had lost all he loved on earth ! " Inez felt it to be true ; for there ' is a language that speaks far more convincingly than words ; that arrives at fact more readily than by signs ; and that is the language of intuition, the eloquence of natural affection, when heart speaks to heart and soul to soul. Inez made one glad bound and was clasped in a father's arms ! Senor Bonanza had married the daughter of a Spanish lady who was educated in England, and who during that time resided under the roof of the Hartgolds. For her parents' sake as well as for her own the daughter had been loved wiih a sincere affection, and the senor and his wife had ever made, in their visits to England, the merchant's hnise their home. When Ephraim saw Inez on board the J jj Intent he saw the living image of Isabel Bonanza, and after he had heard her story he felt assured t'nat Inez was her child. No sooner did Senor Bonanza arrive in London, and had communicated with his friends in Spain and Cuba, than he called upon Ephraim Hartgold, and the truth concerning the parentage of the maiden Inez was made as clear as day. " Papa," said Inez, with her hands cipsped lovingly around the neck of her new-found parent, " do you know that I have another father who has been so kind and true, and whom I love so dearly ? " U Jo6 SIMON IIOLMliS, : i -•» 1 ! r ! 1 i <1 i " I know all about it, swcclhcarl," said her fathrr. " He very sure thai 1 sliall never gnulge good C'aptain I.anyon your love for him. He deserves it all. Indeeil, I hope that he may be willing to give up the perils of the sea and be content to dwell with us on shore. I have more than enough for all. Is there any oiher in whom my darling takes an interest ? I should like to celebrate this happy day and show my gratitude to Heaven, by owning and aiding every one who has acted kindly and tenderly to my child." At this point Rut!<, who had been a delighted listener, looked wilii meaning eyes into Inez's dark orbs. That fair maiden's olive cheeks were sufTused with blushes as she bent her head in an agitation that she could not control Taking advantage of the momentary silence, Ruth hai^dcd the ma;-:azine they had been reading to the happy and kindly seftor, saying with a smile — " I think there is, sir. If you will just read that brief story it will tell you all about it." So saying she pointed out to him the touching and thrilling story, * Cast Adrift ; an Episode of the Sea, by Kalph Ravensworth.' "For 'Fairy' read 'Inez,'" continued Ruth, "and for * Landyard ' read * l^myon,' and for ' Shallum ' read * Ravens- worth,' and you will not fail to understand." By this time Seftor Bonanza had got into the heart of the story. As he proceeded, Ruth could see the furtive tear coursing down his cheek, while the magazine rustled in his trembling hand. " The good God bless thee, my daughter ! " he said at length, as he kissed her fondly, " and Captain Lanyon, too, who has proved so true and good a teacher of trust in God. As for this young man Ravensworth, tell me where to find him, and it shall go hard with me if I do not prove the depth of my indebtedness to him for the succour and com- SIMON llOLMliS, J07 fort he rcndcicd, nnd for his nohic fidelity to my child when in peril on tlie sea." Then Inez found her voice. "Alas, dear papal 1 know not where he is; but this 1 know — thai Kali)h Ravcnsworth is worthy of all your thanks and of— of— your esteem." " I shall find him," said the scHor confidently. " Pro- vidence will not deprive me of the opportunity to do my duty, nor him of his reward." Ephraim llartgold was on the point of speakinij, hut se'ond thou<;hts hade him content himself with wondering to what all this might lead. CHAPTER XXXVII. ;i ALFRED ATIiRUNG IS THE SUBJECT OF STRONG EMOTIONS; AND HUDSON HARVEY, ESQ., M.P., GIVES HIS VERDICT. ** Good name in man or woman, dear my lord, Is tlie immediaie jewel of their souls." S/iakesfeare, •*Who after his transgression doth repent. Is halfe, or altogether innocent." Herrick, "tIt^TARM as the welcome was that was given to Alfred V^Y Atiieling by Ned Saltmer and his excellent wife, it was not warmer than that which the young wanderer was greeted by 'Joss,* whose antics were more expressive of unlimited delight than could be compassed by any language of the tongue. Alfred was fairly dum- foundered with surprise to find his brother's faithful collie from dear old Aspen Garth installed as one of the family in the cottage of Ned Saltmer. That his brother was in town he knew, but that he had traced him to his last shelter before he sailed on the Boadicca he did not know, nor that he had taken up his quarters in his own forsaken rooms. "Why, Joss, old fellow," said Al'red, more than half inclined to take him round the neck and kiss him for the sake of auld lang syne, and to shed a tear in appreciation SIMON HOLMES. 309 of such an effusive welcome, "what in the world are you doin<^ here ? " He could iiardly expect to receive a clear and sufficient explanation from Joss's pawings, tail-waggings, tongue- lickings, exultant barks, and nondescript sounds peculiar to dogdom's seasons of delight, so he turned from Joss to Ned, and said — "Ned, my friend, what in the name of all that's won- derful does this mean ? " " It means," said Ned, nothing loth to be spokesman on such a subject, "that your brother Robert, who is in London on purpose to seek you, has hired these rooms for lodgings for hisself Just now, however, he's laid up at Sharon Lodge, Wimbledon, recoverin' from an accident he got in savin' a young lady's life." "So you see," chimed m Madge, "there's plenty o' room for you. He can't use the rooms, so his brother surely may ; besides, when he took 'em, I tell'd him that if you should come back, he would ha' to give 'em up again." For a few moments Alfred looked round in silence, wondering and pondering, and then he asked how Robert managed to find that Ned Saltmer's cottage had been his home. While Ned was explaining, Alfred's eye lighted on the bag which lay upon the corner of the mantelpiece, partially hidden by a highly coloured and remarkably shaped equestrian figure made of pottery and touched up with sundry spots of paint. "What's this?" said he, jumping to his feet, for there was no mistaking either the brown bag or the green tape. As he took it in his hanu;^Kr\ iv.Aiumii, U\ul» \vi<«< \u\\ »omin»utllv ^rt^kin^, vv.i^ no! \\\m \\\\\m\\\^i v\\\\\\\ n uimiIv >vtM,>!«n. Sl\t» \\\\\ \\\s{^ t\% loo \\u\\\\ \\\')\ stwyuWw^ A\\ lliuv \\\\\U \\\ py^f.hwH i^jvorh^ t!^t» "t^^nM' rtnii woilh ol whirl* !'< in inviMsv ^M^^^^Olh^^n 10 it«< !Vmvo\\» ;Mu< n>niih\\i;v Ihi'^ kind of vw.intiv 'i>^ t^vvt^ nuM>' \\\\h« !i\f\l»lr \\\n\\ \\\v oihrv, \\i\\\ Kwih lvtM\ rt nu»»nh»M o( oitlu'V ilrt«» onv N^nto^ •m\x\ %\\\\\\\ Si^von wouM hsnr ivtun\nl to hf^ p;\ix^\nrtl rtrti^s h\s\\\ hortvi wholo nnil Ijtui y I'tve. A«< l( >v.iv ho >v;\^ ^n>^plv oviM \\'C\\y\ A\\y\ t'rtis '\\\ Uww f\\u\ «>|«int .inv ot his i^>iuolo!<» ont lunns in ^Mu^^'nv^»u^in^ to x^t> TxU* ho>v tvM tx> |>tu m;\tt\M« to ^lowmi^ht h'phwnnt, «\\\\ the ov)n;'Uv Mvrt\jihttov\v;\ni Ki'turi\h» «<»< its \un to lislt A tvt'n^l Ot Kuth tho v\nin^ trllow h;\»l iviisons of Ins own t>n (vvhnii th\m>ng)>lv soi uu^ : hwt hi» wto. v>ne ONvnn\u vxhen Knth hiu\ ji\>ne out, with her voting friomi And t;\xvnvite Ine?, on sotne ntystetiotts enon*! to the i^vA^vi\ wnh whieh the stetiun sex rttv sitp|H>seil to have rtothi»\jt tv> \1o evix^t when the h\\\ eomes in, nml when Kphn^im Ami Ketnuth >\x*tx» his sole eoitt|mniot\» itt the « osv Mitii\^ ixHMW. Rv>heti !x^s^^h•0\i to h\x\A the iec rtiv^l n»ake th^ pUn\j?e iHwssAU- to hving tnatteis to an issiie. \\c hojxM to t^n*i iho ut thit\ ; h\n he had n tuitmal (cat as to iIk lem^x'^rAtutx:' ot the wAtev when the i\cci\ was doite. *^l l^<>ei," \\t SAtd^ xSUvMonlv ehanging the eunrnl and or^M^un' ts>^Mv"s vM vvnvei^atioM, **lhat I shall never be *bk: to exJ^rcss my dci^p scn^c of yoitr knuittcss to tnc ^'Then ihce h;ui Ix^ttcr 1M," said Kphraiin fsTi^^^i^iJy. " KcturAh and 1 tccl exactly like ihcc on that ,Mfl'l HM ifl 'IlKy ImmiihI ; ImiI nil ilnil ^!!i' « niild »ln wjm In Ijik'* off liff ^Ifiss^-i (Uiil nih flu'iii rMU'dillv, iIimii^Ii why slif* slKFidd do flinf f cnniml li'll ; fm iIk? dimness wim rMhiinly not on Hiffri, ImiI on IIh' ^tMilU' niid kindly ^rf'y »y»'s liflnrid lli'-rn, win' h wi'H' jiisl lln;n HO IiIiimliI as to mnko ( Ic-n v'tHUiti quiie an iiii| los'^iliillly. •'Don'l." s;iid KoImiI, wdvln^ down wifli liis hand all nH»'in|ti In Minliiiiit' in Ihni groove, (I Von rriffke tl h;»rdfr lui nic In sny wIimI I wiint lo sny : for Indi < d, indttd / do Hot fmk it by wdv of loward." *riien |Mosn:iilinj4 his rnlrr|»rit;o in whaf. is ever the h^'st flnti \v<'i^hli('fll fashion, li(« «inij»ly went dire<,t to the pomt with his hiarl upon hm lips — '•'llio flimpit' I;h t 19." dear U'wiuh, "fh;it I love frise, which '■ i 1 ^xo siMos noi yfFs. shows llint, liko M;ny ii\ tlic snrrod story, KcUitali li.ul been rotil(M\t to |H»hl(M- these tl>iiv>;s in her heart. "Thy wile, Kol)ert AtheUnu !" said tlie (,)nnker. " Nav, that « atiivot lie. The maivlou lias been as ,i;no(l as promised to her eoiisiii Paul, who is at this time in ('hita};o, where ho is transai tii\g linsiness for our fum, and who is to he triv partner ami suehraim was to make him open his eyes and his mouth, as he felt a suspicion that a mere tamily arrangement might not be sulVicient to settle so import;mt a matter to everybody's satisfaction, and that the little heart that beat so strongly under Ruth's bodice might prove a protesting party. Robert fixed his eyes on Keturah, looked the thanks he could not speak, and said — '' Eagerness ! O Mrs. Hartgold, I could die for her ! " *'Thou didst do so, or very nearly," said Keturah in SIMON not.Miis. 33! been ' Nitv, wl\iTC to l»0 jiiul a Un;\l»'« ic look It was nl loiij/ iwaitlcn kviOiovit (or llic n both. jr !\t licr ite bair red Jinoppy with which her namesake mij^ht have adorned lier hair in the cornfiel'l:4 of I»oaz in the olden time, 'i'hen there came a jjallor on her c;heek» that told how greatly she was concerned as to the possible issues of that conversation ; and then, with one keen, searching, and ajipealing look into her hon(nired father's eyes, she turned and silently left the room. Ill that glatice of Kuth's, which went riglit into the secret chambers of his soul, lionest and tender-lie.irted ICphrairn read a whole three volume novel of information on a subject to which he bad given not much more than a passing thought, lie could not resist it. He followed his darling out of the room and found her in the drawing-room looking steadily at nothing through the window, and doubtless see- ing nothing- nothing, that is to say, with her eyes ; but still looking steadily with her mental vision at that suggestive picture in the parlour which she had just seen. "Dear Ruth," said her fatlier, (juieily and tenderly, "answer thy father two questions directly from thy heart." The first question had to do with her cousin Paul, and the answer was a decided * No.' The second question had to do with Robert Atheling, and the answer was a soft half- whispered ' Yes,' which made Ruth's pale cheeks to assume the roFiest red. What the questions were may be fairly 322 SnfON HOLMLS. understood Sufiicc it to say, tliat a little later in the even- in^ I'^pliraini and Ivcturah had cngai;emcnts otherwhere, and that Boaz and Rutli were left alone, and did not sij^h for the couipanionshij) of any living soul. 1 think it is likely that Keturah had given Ephraim an intimation that, at least on this rare occasion, his room would be regarded as being better than his company. ** Love is master of all arts, Ami puts it into huinan hearts The strangest things to say and do,** says the poet Longfellow, and no doubt it was as well they were alone. When Robert Atheling stood by tlie bedside of his dying father, and had given his solemn promise to fulfd his last request, the dying saint had said — " Clod bless thee, my son. The God of thy fathers bless thee. Now, Robert, I die content. As for thee, thine .ihall be tlie best of blessinj;s from the hand of God." The best of blessings. Robert Atheling looked upon the upturned face of the sweet maiden at his side, his plighted love, anil knew that his aged father's prediction had come true. He was in the cue to quote the ' poet of all time ' and say — •* Why, man, she is mine own J And I as rich in having such a jewel. As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl. The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold." K>^ CHAP PER XXXIX. HAROLD SI'OFFORTII MARKS A I'A'.NFITL DISCOVKRY ; AND INEZ BONANZA hkcomes a oukst at ASPKN TOWKRS. "Tlic (lawn is overcast, the morninj^ lowers, And lie:ivily in clouds brings on the day." Addison, "Death lies on her, like an untimi;ly frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." Shakespeare, (>.!. 'Tf N two households of Thorpe Aspen there was exceed- W ing gratitude and joy. That wondrous outcome of civilisation, the penny post, which distributes so much of daily joy and sorrow over the wide area subject to its influence, liad both at Aspen Towers and Aspen (iarth brought brightness to the hearthstones so long shrouded in unlifted gloom. Ethel Spofforth's ready and triumphant pen had informed her father that Harold the waif and wanderer was clothed and in his right mind ; was with her in London ; that he was about to return with her to his long neglected sire and his long forgotten home. Sir Godwin, thanks to Clara Atheling's diligent and tender care, and to the new peace and strength that had come into his soul, was still cheerfully and hopefully bearing the absence of his darling Ethel ; but this letter, with its 324 SIMON HOLMES. ])lcasant news of Harold, almost rejuvenated him, so jrreat was his delight. He found j)lenty of employment for Clara and for everybody else at the Towers in getting things arran^etl and making special preparations for a vigorous welcome on the happy day when his son and daughter should again dwell in peace beneath his roof. At Aspen (larth matters had not yet reached so definite a phase of expectation and preparation. Still the Widow Aliieling's ageing features wore a new glow, and were oft irradiated by the pleasant smile which used to be there so constantly, but which, since the sad absence of her youngest born, had only come like angels* visits, few and far between. The little household knew now that Alfred's character, so far as the eyes of men were concerned, was cleared of its greatest stain ; they knew, moreover, that though his where- abouts was unknown he was still in the flesh ; that his life and conduct, as judged from the writings of * Ralph Ravens- worth,' were all that could be desired ; and they had good reason for believing that by-and-by, when Robert was able to travel northward, he would be able to crown their hope v:ith full fruition and bring the wanderer home again. The sympathetic villagers of Thorpe Aspen seemed to entertain a common feeling of pleasant anticipation. Tim Crouch, who felt as though he had a hand in it, part of the dramatis fersorice^ as one may say, and who longed for the return of Jack Benson that he might tell him how faithful he had been to his trust, hammered away at his lapstone, sang a jovial song, and much to the laborious Sallie's satis- faction, kept away alike from the * Chequers ' and the King's Head. Tiie f:ict is, that Alfred Atheling's brief residence beneath his roof had been of great moral service to the cobbler ; and he was determined that when Alfred did return, he should find him sober and acknowledge his friendship without a blush. He even went so far as to endeavour to impress the propriety of a change of conduct SIMON HOLMES. 325 on Sam Vausc ; but that bibulous blacksmith was too far gone, I fear, so that he looked forward to the return of the two young men as afTordint; a fair and reasonable excuse for a prolonged and intimate interview with John Barley- corn. Even Peter I'rout the miller felt constrained, if n(jt to hold his gossiping tongue, at anyrate to give his gossip a more mild and respectable flavour. " Ah'll tell yo' what it is, Tim," said he to the cobbler one day when Tim had come to the mill for a couple of stones of fiour, "we'll gi' them young chap^ a welcum sitch as Thorpe Aspin hezn't seen for a munth o' Sundays. It's nowt but right we sud, becath for Sir Godwin an' Mrs. Athehng's sake. Ah mcean te shut up t* mill an' hev a halida'. Hey, though t' wind may be Strang aneeaf te tonn all t' mill steeans an' work t' beean-crusher inte t' barga'n." ed to Tim fthe )r the ithful atone, satis- Cing's lence the n did e his as to iduct When Ethel Spofforth and her brother put up at the hotel in London, it was entirely on Ethel's account that they did not at once proceed to Thorpe Aspen. This she would fain have done, but her physical strength, never really robust since that strange illness out of which faith and prayer had brought her, was sadly shaken by the excitement of the last few weeks. "We will wait here a few days, Harold, dear," she said to her brother. " I feel that I am not equal to so long a journey. I will rest quietly here for a while, and you can take the opportunity of calling on any old friends for whom you care." " I had no friends, dear sister, when, I was in London, so there cannot be any old friends now ; and my acquaint- ances were such that, God helping me, I will never resume them nor seek their like again. In all this, however, I make one exception ; I would give much and go far to find Alfred Atheling. I wonder where he is or what has become of him." Iff 326 SIMOX HOLMES. I- 'I! tiS " I think he was your friend, Harold ; at least you always seemed to like him from a boy, and I know he cared for you." " That he did, sister. Moie's the pity," he replied. "Alfred Aiheling*s ruin, if he is ruined, which God forbid, lies at my door. May God forgive me ! There is nothing upon earth I would not do ; there is no place on earth to which I would not go ; I think there is little that I would not suffer, if I might lay my hand upon his shoulder, ask his forgiveness, and try to lead him back again into the paths from which both of us wandered so long and so far." There was that in the tone of Harold's voice that dis- played how deep were his feelings on this subject. Had she needed convincing as to the genuine character of her brother's reformation it would have been sufficient to have heard him now. " At present, however, my dear sister, to whom I owe a debt such as I can never rejiay, my duty is by your side. Rest awhile, and then you shall go with me to gladden the old man's heart by saying, * Father, Harold's come home ! ' " But Ethel did not get any better. She was tired, always tired, — tired when she went to bed at night, tired when she arose in the morning, tired and listless, feeble and faint at noon-day. One morning after a restless and unrefreshing night, Ethel joined her brother at the breakfast table with cheeks so pale, lips so white, rings around her eyes so dark, and she entered the room with a step so slow and feeble, that Harold started from his chair at the sight of her and helped her to her place. In that moment the scales had fallen from his eyes. The truth had dawned upon him at last that his sister's "wearineFi after travel" would not pass away with rest, unless it was the repose of the quiet grave. " Don't be alarmed, Harold, dear," she said, with a re- assuring smile. " I was afraid you would notice something SIMON HOLMES. y-7 wrong this morning ; for to tell you the truth, I am far from well. I shall be better, no doubt, after I have had a cup of tea." Tiie breakfast passed almost in silence. Ethel was doing her best to seem to eat, in her brother's presence, but it was a, pitiful effort at deception. Harold was silenced by the awful oppression of his new-horn fears. When the table was cleared and the two were left alone, Ethel said — " Harold, dear, you must not feel alarmed or sad by what 1 am going to tell you. All is right All is as it should be — all is well. I feel that my mission is almost over. 1 have been right down to the brink and border of the grave before, so that I know all about it ; and I do not fear it any more than I fear putting my head upon my pillow. My Saviour, in answer to prayer, raised me from the bed of death that I might have the joy of bringing you home, dear brother. So you see there is no need of any regrets on your part, for if it had not been for you I should never have left my sick-bed alive. You and I won't talk about this any more now, Harold. We under- stand each other. Now we must go home at once. I thought I shou'd be better able to travel if I rested ; but it is not so, and we had better not delay. Remember we are going to cheer our father in his weakness and age, and I shall expect you, dear b^y, to take your cue from me. If ever you see me tearful, sorrowful, unhappy, why I will let you follow suit ; but until then, for dear father's sake, cheerfulness is to be the order of the day." So saying Harold was dismissed with a light laugh and a lifted finger to make preparations for their departure to the north. Poor Harold was obedient — he could not trust himself to try his voice, lest he should break down altogether. But when he had found Jacob Benson, more than ever thankful now that he had not sent that faithful 328 SIMON HOLMES. f.h i'^ servant home before, he toUl him the sad story, to which honest Jacob could only answer— "Then the sun's going out o' heaven, an' t' summer's going out o' t' year. That's all lean say;" and stalwart Jacob made his way to some quiet corner to have it out with himself. Meanwhile Ethel, nerving herself as usual for the duty that lay next her, went about her preparations with a feeble frame made strong by a noble purpose and an indomitable faith. In the evening Senor Honanza called, bringing his new- found daughter Inez with him to introduce her to his friends and fellow-travellers. Tiie senor was painfully struck with the change which a few short days had made in the appearance of the amiable and gentle Ethel. With the courtesy and delicacy peculiar to his race, and still more peculiar to himself, he suppressed his feelings, said but little on that or kindred subjects, and instead went off into a silver stream of cheerful talk about his new-found darling, who certainly at that moment looked as well worth finding as any diamond picked out of Brazilian sands. The rich dark eyes of the young Creole were lifted to the gentle orbs of Ethel, fairly lustrous with sympathy and liking. She had heard from her father the whole story of Ethel's sisterly searcii for her brother, and to see her now, in the joy of full success evidently fading out of life, touched the maiden to the heart. As soon as it was known that Ethel was to take her long journey into Yorkshire on the follow- ing day, Inez went over to her and kissed her, as she said, softly — " May I go with you ? You are not fit to go so far with- out a female friend ; and I do love you. Oh, if I might 1 " "You certainly may, dear, and what is more, I shall be very grateful, for I am sure you will help me to bear the journey more bravely. When I prayed this morning for SIMON HOLMES. y-9 which mmcr's italwart it out le «luty I feeble mitiible lis new- to his »ainfully d made . With ind still igs, said went off w-found 11 worth s. to the liking. Ethel's in the led the Ethel foUow- le said, ar with- night!" shall be Dear the ning for It strength to travel, It was in my mind to ask for such a friend ; but I did not dare to seem to dictate to my Heavenly Father. O dear Inez ! do you sec how much better He is than all our fears, and does more abundantly for us than we can ask or think ; for certainly I never hoped for such a companion as you. Besides, it will do my father good to hear Sciior Bonanza talk of Harold and his kindness to him in the brigand's cave." " What are you two young ladies discussing there so earnestly and pbasantly?" said tlie senor, with a smile. " Or is it a secret that cannot be told ? " "No, papa, it is a secret that can be told now. You told me you would do anything I ask you, and I have found out now what I want." " What is thy request, and I will give it, to the half of my kingdom — or the whole of it, for that matter, little sweetheart?" It is as well, ])erhaps, that the latter part of the sentence was sot/o voce, for the maiden's sake. " I want to go with Miss Spofforth to Yorkshire," said Inez, '* because she ought not to travel without a lady friend, and I want you to go with me." " And «/n which of them should first be laid at rest beside her mother in the little chancel of Thorp Aspen Church. With her, however, there was no sorrow, only peace and hope ; peace in the consciousness that both she nv.d her father were well lodged in their Heavenly Father's keeping ; hope that Harold had before him a career of honour and service in dear Aspendale, which should be bettered and benefited by the commanding Christian influence of the heir of Aspen Towers. " Father, I thank thee," said she in her heart. " It was worth living for. It is worth dying for. All is well." Ns- SIMON HOLMES. 331 making world of hey who h makes jne ; be- urity and he same nd omni- ,d happy e tedious id in due and were ige direct ttempt to i baronet and now i scarcely le him as a sinking liome to Ing as siie as a ques- leside her :h. Wiih nd hope ; Iher father fng ; hope Ind service benefited of Aspen Kind and tlioughtful Clara, with her strong will, ready wit, and quick resources, was thoroughly equal to the occasion. After she had properly bestowed her guests, and had seen Sir Godwin safe to his nightly rest, she repaired to Ethel's chamber to compare notes with her as to God's gracious dealings alike with Alfred and Harold. Together they returned thanks to the God that hears and answers prayer. When Clara had retired, Ethel lay thinking, think- ing as usual, for others, thinking now how well it would be if Harold could keep Clara at Aspen Towers as its mistress and his own helpmeet in the good work which was given to him, and which he nor; had the heart to do. " It was ill." CHAPTER XL. ROBERT ATHELING SPEAKS IN 'BROAD YORKSHIRE;* AND SIMOH HOLMES TAKES UP A FAVOURITE TOPIC. m ** The atmosphere Breathes rest, comfort, and the many chambers Seem full of welcomes." Longfellow. ** Good man, be not cast down, thou yet nrt ri>4ht : Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall go well.'* Banyan. HE shades of evening were gathering around the hos- pitable mansion of the Quaker merchant, when the servant brought the intelligence to the y'ixX.y in the cosy sitting-room that some persons had asked to see Robert Atheling on special business of importance. They had declined to send in any furtlier message than that they had come far to see him, and that they were sure he would be glad to give then an mterview if he knew their errand. Robert was always thinking more or less about his brother Alfred, and he instantly jumped at the conclusion that this visit was connected somehow with his brother's fortunes. He was now able to move about with tlie aid of a stick and a friendly arm. So, at Ephraim Hartgold's sug- SIMON HOLMES. ■J -> 7 gestion, he went into the merchant's private sanctum to re- ceive his visitors. In the sitting-room he had left were assembled Ephraim and Keturah, together with Ruth, his own darling Ruth, and also Senor Bonanza and sweet Inez, whose heart had just been made happier by two events, — the permission to accompany Ethel Spofforth to Yorkshire, and the un- expected arrival of Captain Lanyon, who was 'berthed,' as he would have called it, by the * cabin ' fire. These Robert left behind. Whom would he find waiting for his coming ? " Hallo, Ned Saltmer ! " said he, seizing the hand of the honest artizan. " I'm glad to see you. How is my good friend Madge ? " But by this time, JobS, who had no notion of being second in any welcome from his beloved master, placed his forefeet on his knee, and gave one, two, three joyous little barks, wagging his tail the while, as though he would em- ploy both ends of himself to win the recognition he desired. "Why, Joss! Joss, dear old friend! The sight of you is enough to make one homesick with a vengeance." And in very elusive fashion indeed did these two de- monstrate their mutual oi'nions that *auld acquaintance should never be forgot.* The second vi itor was good Simon Holmes, who looked so ludicrously haj ly standing there by the door, hat in one hand and running he fingers of the other through his long grey hair, his eyebrows arched to the uttermost, and a smile upon his face that took up the whole area and seemed to spread itself over his entire person. " Why, Simon ! " said Robert, " if I might venture to pre- dict what you wish to say by how you look, I should pro- phesy that you have something pleasant to tell me. Is it the best news, dear old friend ? " " The varry best, Mister Robert, the varry best of all, I ;.; f^ 334 SIMON HOLMES. i;i!t m ,U' But ah doan't tliink ah cud get it oot withoot cliooakin', an' seea him 'at's browt it had better tell yo' his-sen." Standing aside, he made room for the approach of a tall gentlemanly looking youth who had stood back in the shade. His auburn hair was cut short so that the native tendency to curl was not permitted to assert itself. He had a somewhat flourishing moustache that did assert itself effectively. His face was brown and sunburnt, but tiie blue eyes could not be disguised. *' Robert ! brother Robert ! " said he, stepping forward. "Will )ou, can you, give me welcome? See here!" he continued, holding forth the bag of gold with the familiar H. H. stamped thereon — "at least believe me that your unworthy brother never stooped to be a thief" " Alf ! my brother Alf ! Now, God be praised ! " said Robert, and rising from his seat, utterly forgetful of his own unstable limbs, he literally fell upon his neck and kissed him. " O Alf ! Alf ! Alf ! how this will bring the sunshine back to Aspen Garth ! Surely our sainted father in his home in heaven sees this happy, happy hour 1 " It was a sight to see the strong, staid, sedate Robert Atheling weeping like a schoolboy, fondling the repentant youth as if he had been a child, and all the while talking half incoherently of 'father,' 'mother,' *Alf, dear Alfi' mingled with ejaculations of gratitude to God. Ned Saltmer would have given a trifle to have had his white apron at command, for the honest fellow's tender heart was a fountain unsealed ; the old carpenter's big coloured cotton hand- kerchief was in constant requisition, and the way in which he proclaimed that it must be a catarrhal affection that troubled him would have done no discredit to a regimental trumpeter with special strength of lung ! "Ha, ha, Mr. Robert! O, O Mr. Alfred!" said he, half laughing, half crying, and altogether beside himself with joy. "Ah tell'd yo', ah tell'd yo', ah alius tell'd yo' that SIMON HOLMES, 335 akin', a tall 1 the lative He assert t, l)Ut rward. !" he imiliar t your " said of his :k and ng the father Robert )entant talking Alf!' laltmer ron at untain hand- which that iiental |id he, limself (o' that God was as good as IIL wod ! Oh, if nobbut ah'd a pair o' wings ! ah wad flee te Aspen Garth Hke a swallo' an* mak' your mother t' happiest woman i' Christendom. Ned Saltmer, my lad, give us hod o' your hand ! " Ned Saltmer did as he was requested, but it may well be doubted that he wished it back in his own keeping, for he got such a lesson in the art of hand-shaking on that occasion that in the way of doing it vigorously he felt that there was little more to learn. Ned began to wish that Simon was a 'swallow' that that exercise in gymnastics might be shortened. Joss appeared to understand matters perfectly, and be- haved himself accordingly. He knew it was not the time just then for any boisterous demonstrations of doggish de- light ; so he contented himself with standing unbidden on his hind legs, as his master had taught him in the days of puppyhood, uttering every now and then a sympathetic whimper, showing his white teeth as though on the borders of a fit of laughter ; for with dogs as with human beings, smiles and tears are close allied. In a little while the reunited brothers were enabled to engage in comparatively quiet converse, and then, of course, the family of Robert's host must be made partakers of the joyful news. " Noo, Alf, laddie ! " said Robert, subsiding in real glee into the broadest dialect of Aspendale, " Len' ma' thee aym, an' gi' ma' a lift back ageean inte t' parlor." Robert could have spoken double Dutch jiyt then. Into the sitting-room went the two happy brothers, followed by Ned and Simon and Joss, who were not to be deprived of the luscious gladness of the hour. On their appearance there, two things happened right off. The maiden Inez gave a little scream and conveniently swooned on the breast of Ruth, by whose side sne sat, and Captain Lanyon, jumping to his feet, exclaimed^- m I,' • I i '.ki 336 SIMON HOLMES. " Well, here's a sight for sore eyes ! Mr. Ravensworth I God bless your body an' soul, man. Where in the world have you been ? " And no sooner had Alfred safely placed his brother on the sofa, than the warm-hearted tar seized his liberated hand and gave him a true sailor's grip. Miss Inez's swoon was not of long duration. How could it be, when there was so much that it was worth the while coming quickly round again to see. Alfred's greeting of the worthy captain was warm enough ; but as soon as he saw him, his eyes went in search of Inez, and resting on her pallid features, were not to be again withdrawn. If Senor Bonanza was at all quick in reading the secrets of the heart, he certainly could not be at any loss to interpret the light that shone from the dark orbs of his daughter or from the eyes of rich Saxon blue with which her lover sought to read her soul. " O Mr. Ravensworth ! " said Inez, " I was afraid we were never going to see you again." That *we' did not show so much simplicity, after all. It was now Senor Bonanza's turn. Alfred thought he had never seen any nobler or more winsome features in living man than those that met his gaze when that gentle- man rose from his place, pushed back from his brow his whitening hair, took Alfred's two hands in his, and said — "This, then, is the young gentleman who behaved so tenderly and helpfully to my darling daughter during that terrible time when she was in peril on the sea ! Permit me, Mr. Ravensworth, to tender you a father's thanks — " " But I don't understand," said Alfred, thoroughly mysti- fied, " Captain Lanyon — " " Is her father yet ! " said the captain stoutly, " and is going to be, but the Senor Bonanza is her 'papa,' so we go shares, don't you see ? " It is unnecessary to repeat all the explanations and inter- changes of information that marked that memorable evening. SIMON HOLMES. 337 Suffice it to s:.y, that eventually all was made clear to each. 'I he night closed on a happy and thoughtful party, whose foremost thought and feeling was that of thankfulness .to an overruling Providence who had brought so much good out of evil, and out of a cloud so dark had educed so bright a light. Ephraim Hartgold, though by no means easily moved from the even current of his ways, was moved to pro- pose that they should kneel in silent prayer. He himself was the first to break the silence and to pour out their common thanks in simple and earnest prayer to the good God that is over all. He was followed by Simon Holmes, who for the moment largely left his breadth of dialect and prayed with so much of force and feeling, and shaped the expression of their thanks and sympathies in such stirring sentences, that they all felt as though they were kneeling at the gate of heaven. Ned Saltmer, Simon Holmes, Alfred Atheling and Joss returned to Ned's cottage for the night. Robert Atheling's recovery, was speedy, so much is the body influenced for good by a happy and contented mind : and without further delay, it was resolved that he and his new-found brother should proceed forthwith <;o Aspen Garth, with Joss and Simon Holmes for fellow-travellers. No words of mine can tell the joy of Widow Atheling as she welcomed her youngest born back to his place in her home and heart. Surely the beechwood logs never before flung such a glow upon the hearthstone, never before lit up the spacious ingle with such a cheerful flame. Among the happy and grateful group that gathered there on Alfred's return was Simon Holmes, for who but he could be ill spared at a time like that? He who had wept with them that wept, must now help to make their rejoicing more. If there's yah thing mair then anuther te be depended Y ft a "4 i 338 SIMON HOLMES. on," said Simon, " te be depended on fully an' for iver, it's this : — God's marcy is alius mair then a match for oor misery, an' prayer an* faith can set yan ageean t' other till misery mak's an end of '<^'=elf an' massy gair s the day. Them things 'at seeams te us te bt. ir cease unlikely is just the sooart o' things 'at He tak's pleasure i' deeain' ; just te show us 'at it pays te trust Him, nut a lahtle bit noo an' then, but oot an' oot, an' all the tahme. It's a grand thing, Mrs. Atheling, that the good Lord tohns oor varry troubles inte t' meeans o' bringin' us tiv his-self. Ah wunder hoo monny prayers hez been offered up for Mr. Alfred ; an' what's prayers for dut te be answered, ah sud like te knoa ? Ah've alius said 'at as sure as Sunday morning folio's Setterday neet, them 'at sows i' tears shall reeap i' joy, an' that you wad ha' your lad, the bairn o' monny prayers, te hug te your heart ageean, because God is alius as good as His wod. " I'll tell yo' what," continued the old carpenter, " it seeams te me 'at we niver owt te put ony limits te what God can deea for us. Why, Mr. Robert, if a lahtle ant was te cum te t' door o' your granary an' ax yo' kindly for a grain o' corn, you wad say, *Tak' it an' welcome, ah sail loss nowt be that.' Noo, isn't it sense an' reeason that all an' everything 'at we can ask o' the Almighty is i' comparison summat less then that? I had a tree i' my garden last autumn 'at was so full o' golden apples, 'at when ah lifted me hand te pull an odd 'un, ah shak'd t' branch an' mair then a scoore on 'em fell tumm'lin' at me feet. Says ah te me-self, *Thoo's a generous tree, an' like the God that meeade tha', thoo gi'es ma' mair then ah axed for an' mair then ah desired.' "An' then ageean," he continued, "what a monny wunderful ways He hez o' meetin' oor wants, an' helpin' us i' oor heavy needs and foorce-puts ! He's niver at a loss. If yah way weean't deea, He tries anuther. It's just SIMON HOLMES. 339 sr, it's >r oor other £ day. is just just te i' then, ;, Mrs. es inte monny what's Ah've itterday tiat you hug te as His ;er, "it ;e what itle ant idly for ime, ah Ireeason ity is i' i' my .les, 'at shak'd .'lin' at Ls tree, ' mair like t' fooaks 'at were on t' ship wi' Paul when it brak' its back on a rock. Some on 'em swam ashore : some on 'em wer' carried by planks, an' some on 'em floated upo' brokken pieces o' ship : some on 'em yah way, an' some on 'em anuther; but be it hoo it may. He browt 'em all seeafe ashore. lV(e think 'at oor ship's the thing te bring us seeafe te land, an' all of a sudden He breks wer ship up, an' finnds us a plank 'at we niwer expected an' didn't mitch like t' looks on : but you can testify 'at its browt yo' te land for all that. Praise the Lord, say I." It is no wonder that both at the Towers and the Garth, and indeed at every house in Aspendale where trouble was, the pious old carpenter was a welcome guest. There was something contagious in his firm and fervent faith ; and long after the doctor had given an adverse opinion in some case of serious illness the simple villagers would ask if Simon had ' given 'em up.' Methinks it is a pity that faith like this, power with God like this, holy influence with men like this, is so rare a thing among Christian people. Were it otherwise we might hope to see signs and wonders, wonders of healing, wonders of deliverance, wonders of reformation and ccft version, wonders of rap:-^ evangelisation which now we only dream of and so very seldom see. monny jhelpin* IT at a It's just CHAPTER XLI. CLARA ATHELING UNWITTINGLY RKVEALS A SECRET; AND SENOR UONANZA FINDS STERLING GOLD. [ \ '*" « »» •' So these lives that had run thus far in sepf te channels, Coining in sight of each otlier, then swervi _, and bowing asunder, Parted by Ijarriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, Rushed together at Inst, and one was lost iu the other." Longfellow. «~i''OR a while after the return of Ethel Spofforth and her brother to Aspen Towers there was a season of quiet gladness. Ethel seemed to be borne up by the pleasant experiences of home coming, and the joy of re- union was not broken in upon by any special signs of enfeebled health. With the peculiar strength of mind and the self-forgetfulness which characterised her, Ethel was resolved that, so far as she was concerned, no pains should be spared to make those long-hoped-for hours to pass with- out a cloud. Hence she overcame the weakness of her body by the strength of her mind and will and the peace that came to her by the firmness of her faith in God, and was so bright and cheerful and light-hearted that Clara Atheling began to think she had needlessly alarmed her- self, and that after a few weeks in the fresh pure stimulating air of Aspendale, Ethel would be well and strong again. "C4 SIMON HOLMES. 341 Even Harold was lovingly deceived into a hope that his sister's sad propliecy would fail to be fulfilled, and Inez did not hesitate to exj)ress her opinion to Senor Bonanza that dear Ethel would soou be well again. But Ethel herself was not deceived. She knew and felt the honest truth, and as usual, cheerfully coincided with it. Her days were numbered — of that she was as certain as that her life had hitherto been lengthened for a purpose. It was strongly ' borne in upon her,' as she would have put it, that she had still some work to do, and like her Lord and Master, whose example she so closely followed, she was straitened, for the sake of others, until it should be accomplished ; and all the while, in perfect peace and joyous hope she said, " Father, Thy will be done ! " There was now an even closer intimacy between Aspen Garth and Aspen Towers than there had ever been before, and two things were clear to Ethel. First, that it would be a perpetual blessing, a source of moral strength for high and useful service to her brother Harold, if Clara, the staid and gentle yet merry and capable Clara, with her strong religious princii)les, was to become his wife. If he that findeth a wife findeth a good thing, thought she, Harold would find a remarkably 'good thing' of the kind if such an arrangement can be brought about. She felt, however, that this must not be unless there was a real affection on both sides. The idea of a ' marriage of convenience,' was not for one moment entertained by her, could not be, for anything so far removed from the regions of common sense, religion and propriety, was altogether foreign to her high- toned moral nature. She felt that nothing but mutual love could warrant such a union. So she set herself to bring the two together and to watch the progress of events. She was quite resolved that if she sa^''^ any evidence that their juvenile prefi ^ence for each other existed still, she would help the anion forward that she might claim Clara for a Ma SIMON 11 DIMES. sister, before she laid down her life charge and passed tc her reward. In the sjcond place, Ethel did not fail to see how deeply Alfred Atheling loved the sweet maiden Inez : and as that fair damsel had not much art to disguise her aflfection for the youth who had been a friend to her in sore straits upon the deep, Ethel read her secret like a book. She was quite clear tb'^.t if such a union could be arranged two young hearts would be made hai)py. She felt, too, that the re- markable literary powers which had been developed in Alfred by adversity would be greatly fostered and forwarded and biassed in .he right direction by his having two such spirits as Inez and her father by his side. So Ethel Spof- forth, always thinking of others and never thinking of hei- self, looked upon these matters as a double mission which she must accomplish before she * fell on sleep.' One day, when she and her brother Harold were strolling alone in the grounds around the Hall, she quietly said — *'What a sweet girl Clara is, Harold. She was always nice, but I think she is nicer now than ever. She has been a sort of second Providence to dear father, and has been as a gift of God to him in his solitude and need. I do love her, bless her, more than I ever did." Harold, nothing loth, swallowed the bait without hesita- tion. He at any rate was ripe and ready for her purpose. " Love her ! " said he, " ay, and so do I. I used to think I did when we called each other sweetheart in the innocent days of long ago. I tell you what, Ethel, I wish she would be a second Providence to me, and that I might be fortunate enough to receive her as a 'gift from God.'" Of course Ethel had no difficulty in suggesting that he might woo, as that, certainly, was the usual way to win, and that, in this case especially, he was never likely to wis without. SIMON HOLMES. 343 " VVoirid you like her for a sister?" said Harold after a pause, looking scarchini^ly at Kthel. "That would I with all my heart," said she, "always provided that her heart was my brother's as well as her hand." " If I know her aright," said Harold, " those two articles will go together. Whoever has the good fortune to get one of them will get the other ; and if I know myself, which in these days I think 1 do, I would not have the latter without the former." On that same evening, as the two girls were seated in Ethel's bedroom, * talking things over,' as maidens on such occasions love to do, Ethel deftly turned the current of conversation so as to carry her observations and researches a little further. " O Clara, dear ! " said she, " what a happy thing for us all it is that Alfred and Harold are with us once again. Things seem as though they must go right now, don't they ? I am doubly glad for dear father's sake. He seems very anxious that Harold should settle down. Perhaps there is a lurking fear that he might be tempted to wander away again." "That he need not fear," said Clara very positively. " Harold has fairly tried both the wrong and the right, and he will never, never take the wrong path again. You can read that in every action and almost in every word" Whereupon Ethel drew her closely to her and kissed her, saying — " Thank you, dear, for your hearty assurance. But what makes you feel so positive ? " " Positive ? " replied Clara, " why it only needs to watch his behaviour to yourself and your father, and his general course of conduct, to see that the Harold Spofforth of to- day is another and altogether different Harold to that he was in the years that are past." 344 SLhWN HOLMES. tb' ': -f- - " Perhaps you view him with too partial eyes to be a safe and righteous judge, ny dear," said Ethel. She would hardly have put it in that way, however, if she had been prepared for the ingenuous blush which reddened all the features of her friend as she lifted her eyes on Ethel in mute wonder. As it was, she turned the conversation with all alacrity, quite clear now that Harold might woo and win. When she was left alone in the silence of her chamber, Ethel smiled in quiet satisfaction, knelt by her bed to ask for Harold and for Clara that they might both be guided right, and then with a little sigh of relief she retired to rest. Her last waking thoughts had to do with Inez Bonanza. How was she to reach the maiden's father «ind discover how he was affected ? Did he see, she wondered, or was he yet in ignorance of what was sufficiently plain to every- body else, namely, that each of these young people had the other's heart in keeping? It was not many days after when she found the oppor- tunity that she desired. She had been to the lower end of the village on a visit to the daughter of Peter Prout, who lay seriously indisposed. She had taken her some little dainty to tempt her appetite, and had spoken the best words by her sick bed. Seiior Bonanza had been strolling round the village, conversing as his wont was with all and sundr}% and winning the regard of the villagers by his kindly and courteous ways. He met Ethel on her return from the mill and turned to accompany her home. " I am Sony, Miss Ethel, more sorry than I can tell you, that I trust tear myself away from this lovely spot, and from the friends who have become very dear to me. I have received a communication from the Continent which demands my immediate presence on a matter pertaining to my estate. Believe me, I am very loth to go." " Indeed, Senor, we shall be very sorry to part with you. My dear father seems to live again in your society. I SIMON HOTMES. 345 cannot tell you how grateful to God I am that He made it possible for you to come to us. You have cheered him and charmed him into new life — " '* Nay, nay, dear young lady," said he dep. ecatingly. " You forget what the return of his children has done for Sir Godwin. It is quite true that ! have done my best to turn his attention as much as possible from the thought of his own ailments, and I think that I have succeeded." "You have, indeed," said Kthel. "I trust you do not need to take Inez away. That would be a double depri- vation. Next to you, with my father, comes Inez, who has crept into his heart as she does into everybody's. You will let her stay, won't you ? " "Why, to tell you the truth," said Senor Bonanza, "I have been thinking about that. I should be very glad for her to stay with you, if you think it best. I dare say I shall be absent a fortnight, or it may be a month." Ethel suddenly became thoughtful. " If you think it best." It certainly was ;/^/ best that Alfred Athelin^, and Inez should be left so near each other if the senor was opposed to any closer connection between them than that which at present existed. What should she say? Then she thought that her opportunity had come, and that it was best to be frank with him on the subject. " I should dearly like to keep her, Senor Bonanza, for in truth she is very dear to me and of more service, too, than I can tell you. But — but " "Speak freely, please," he said looking down upon her with those wondrously winsome eyes, and in a tone that might well encourage her, and did. " But — what we'-e you going to say ? " " Is it best for Inez, Senor ? " said Ethel seriously. " Do you not know of any reasons that make it more advisable that she should soon leave Aspendale, for the sake of her own peace of mind ? " f, I ■■ i ■ 346 SIMON HOLMES. m 1 1 if- " Ah ! yon are speaking of Mr. Ravensworth — Atheling, I mran," said he. " Would you mind telling me with equal candour what you think of that young man ? " It was quite clear from this that the senor had become acquainted with the state of things as between these young people ; and it was equally clear from his look and tone that he awaited with n.uch interest Ethel's answer to his question. " My opinion of him is this," said she, *' that Alfred Atheling has in him all the makings of a man ; that he has even a great future before him ; and that the severe probation through which he has passed has rid him of whatever dross attached to him, and left naught behind but sterling gold. In other words, I believe him to be loyal now and hereafter to the God of his parents." " Then why should not Inez be left to aid and comfort yoji ? " said Senor Bonanza, curiously. " Nay," said Ethel with a smile, " I did not know how you might regard the evident love he bears to Inez, nor whether you would consider him a fitting winner of so rare a prize." " But what of Inez ? " he responded. " Ought not she to have some voice in a matter in which after all she is the most interested ? " "Spoken like your noble self, dear friend," replied Ethel. " Inez loves Alfred Atheling : than that nothing can be clearer, but " " Yes, Inez loves Alfred Atheling ; than that nothing can be clearer," said Seizor Bonanza, repeating her words. " And Alfred Atheling, according to your best judgment, has lost the dross and now is sterling gold ; and Paul Bonanza owes this same Alfred Atheling a heavy debt of gratitude, which he longs to repay. And withal, Paul Bonanza, in company with Miss Ethel Spofforth belie'es him to be sterling gold, and that he has a good and even a great future before him. Then what ? " !■ "I SIMON HOLMES. 347 " Then," said Ethel, perfectly content, " I suppose it will be best for Inez and for every body else that she stays with me, the darling ! " and the glad smile with which this was accompanied went to ' the darling's ' father's heart. " Thanks for your hospitality, dear Miss Ethel. I will not fail to come and claim her at your hands in due time." " If she is not spirited away in tiie mean time," said Ethel, with a little laugh. " Then, where would be the ' sterling gold,* mam'selle ? " was the answer. And so that matter also was in a satisfactory way of settlement, and that night Ethel the Unselfish, had another cause for grateful thanksgiving as she retired to rest. i w V IL CHAPTER XLII. ETHEL SPOFFORTH LKAVKS MFR SoNG UNFINISHED ; AND SIR /AKVII MAINWARING AGAIN OPINKS THAT IT IS "SINGULAR, VERY SINGULAR INUEKn." ** Dismissed i/> glory with a kiss of lovi, She bade the lint^erin}; moments swifter roll j Death was to her as harmless as a dove, Whil/! floods of glory overwhelmed her soul. Not plucked but gathered by the hand of love, As tender fruit or fragrant lilies are ; Transplanted to the Paradise above, To blossom in eternal fragrance there." Percival. <2bi S <• 'jTLT is not needful, neither is it within my province, to deal ,^i^ at length with fervent courtships and the stories of gay i-s-> weddings. It must suffice, therefore, to 3ay that when the primroses were in bloom and the scent of t)ie viui_ts was borne upon the spring breezes ; when the song of the blackbird was heard in the dale, two weddings were cele- brated. As all the parties were so intimately associated, the ceremony was perfonned at one and the same time. Harold Spofforth and his young wife took up their abode at Aspen Towers ; and all the villagers of Thorpe Aspen enga'Ted ui the happy celebration, and all were agreed that this wcUdiag r<-. ''. SIMOS HOLMES. 349 at anyrate, whatever may be said of some, was one of those which are ' made in heaven.' Bold and burly Jacob Benson had sole charge of the merrymaking and feasting ; but Tim Crouch was promoted to be his lieutenant; and being well restrained by the high responsibilities of that office, Tim did not overpass the line of moderation in the matter of beer. Indeed that course of conduct on the part of anybody would have been difficult, for careful precautions had been taken against any possi- bility of excess. Sam Vause the blacksmith managed as usual to elude all restraints. He took all that he could get of that which was supplied to the villagers in the Park and then adjourned to the Chequers. There he celebrated the home-coming of the bridal pair by getting as tipsy as his coins and his credit would permit, and then had a long snooze under the table of that not too respectable house of acconnnodation for travellers, with Nick Ste'enson to keep him ( fimpany. Peter Prout, who had been in great trouble about his sick daughter, now convalescent, was m.oved to keep his gossip- ing tongue with bit and bridle. He contented himself with declaring that he always thought Mr. Harold would turn out wril, and as for Miss Clara, why there was not liLi erjiiiil )ii iht: country side. The former part of this tpsliiMoliy wm rcreived by the listeners with open mouths and /(M l/< d eyebrows ; fnr both Alfred Atheling and the heir of Aspen Chase had been anythir"; but tendeiiy handled by t'lc glib tongue of the miller in days gone by. The glad welcome which the young couple had received on their return from their marriage tour was scarce over when the shadow of a great sorrow gathered and settled on Aspen Towers. Sir Godwin was suddenly prostvated by another attack of paralysis, and after lying for a few days upon the border line, passed peacefully away. He declared in simple and touching words that he had ' a good hope I ii i 350 SIMON HOLMES. % M "^' ^i 1 Et i-^i ■M' through grace,' and died the while he breathed a blessing on the three dear ones who stood around his bed. As he gave Clara a farewell kiss, he said — " Dear Clara, I cannot tell you what a joy it is to me that you and Harold are united. I know it is well for him, well for Aspen Towers, well for the villagers of Thorpe Aspen, and I believe, dear daughter, it will be well with you." To Ethel, he simply said — " Good-bye for a little, my loving, tender, and faithful Ethel : for a little while. 1 and your sainted mother will wait for you at the Gate." To Harold he spoke long and seriously, completing what he had begun to say before the stroke came as to the management of the estates, and then said — • " Harold, my son ! you will soon be master here. Tell me, what will be your governing idea when you succeed to the title and estate ? " " The motto of our house, father," said Harold with deep feeling, — " ' My duty shall be my delight.' It will grow easy with Clara at my side, for we shall both ask help of God." Then the baronet smiled, said " God bless you ! " and passed away ; but the smile remained and abode upon his face so long as Harold might look upon it. It was a joy, an abiding joy, to the returned and repentant son, that his father left him so. Sir Harold Spofforth and his lady lived for the good of Aspendale and the fulfilment of all the duties of their high position, and it may be truly said that their duty was their delight. On their path there was no shadow except one, and that was dark, dark indeed, the slowly but surely fading life of the gentle Ethel, who was dear to them as their own souls. Simon Holmes was held by Sir Harold in high esteem. He made the shrewd and godly carpenter his counsellor and friend, and both he and Aspendale in general were greatly the. gainers by that, for Simon's influence was such SIMON HOLMES. 351 iteem. isellor were such as the Carpenter of Claiilee would have exerted had He been of Aspendale instead of Nazareth. Alfred Atheling and his young wife, Inez, removed with Senor Bonanza to a pleasant rural retreat within a short distance of London. It was a charming villa with views of the Thames and that lovely Surrey scenery which of its kind is difficult to surpass. It had been bought and fur- nished by Sefior Bonanza, and from hence Alfred could readily reach his publishers in the city, who soon discovered that he was a ' coming man ; ' and that his literary success would bring large profits both, for him and them. They would fain have had Captain Lanyon to say good-bye to a mariner's life and reside with them ; but the Captain de- clared that he could not leave the sea. He would make "Ravensworth," as the villa was called, his home when on shore, but his ' home was on the deep,' and so he took command of the /iuf/i Hartgold., and Will Trounce and Joe Hewitt sailed with their old skipper, and soon became as fervent as Captain Crumpit in sounding the praises of the Quaker merchant who had the ' heart of gold.' When the autumn sun had fully ripened the corn and the broad wheatfields of Aspen Garth were bright with waving gold, Robert Atheling brought home his bride, and never Boaz in this world was prouder of his Ruth than Robert was when ' he and she together rubbed the ears of ripened grain.' Widow Atheling, happy woman, took the sweet maiden to her heart as she laughed and cried by turns. His brother Edgar was located at Aspen Grange, and found a worthy mate in the daughter of his predecessor on that fertile farm. Of course there was another feast at .^spen Garth to cele- brate the home-coming of Robert Atheling and Ruth, and the villagers again made holiday. Simon Holmes was master of the ceremonies now, and the old carpenter seemed to forget that he was not quite so young as he was when 352 SIMON HOLMES. I Robert's father and mother were yoked in marriage bonds in the Httle church at Thorpe Aspen, and when he had joined to ring out their marriage bells. Nothing would do for him but he must, on this happy occasion, mount the belfry stairs and pull the bell ropes once again. At Simon Holmes' suggestion, and seeing that he felt himself to be getting past active work and had competent means to retire upon, Ned Saltmer became the village carpenter, and he and Madge were happy to be located in bonny Yorkshire once again. This arrangement was highly satisfactory to Joss, who could still divide his attentions be- tween Robert and Ned, and hold undisturbed possession of the hearthstone in the carpenter's cottage or in the ingle of Aspen Garth. For some montas there was peace, real peace and happi- ness, in quiet Aspendale, and Ethel was permitted to drink to the full of the sweet enjoyment which she had been so largely instrumental in making possible. She was utterly happy and content. Then, alas, the cloud which had been slowly but surely gathering all the while, hung dark and heavy over Aspendale and especially over Aspen Towers. But there was a silver lining to it, for though Ethel Spofforth, Ethel the Unselfish, was 'called hence,' it was not so much a death as a translation. She had finished the work that was given her to do, the work for which she was raised awhile from the bed of death ; and now again the Ma'^ter called, called her kindly and tenderly, and she gladly obeyed the call. Harold and Clara sent to London for Sir Jarvis Main- waring, who responded with unusual speed and readiness to such a call ; for he had never forgotten the song which this imprisoned bird had sung in his ears through the bars of her cage. But with all his skill and zeal on her behalf, or rather on behalf of those who would have kept her here, ne was unable to clip her wings or chain her SIMON HOLMES. 353 spirit any longer to this bare earth. As he stood by her bed and Hstened to her testimony concerning her Saviour and His love, the great physician stood amazed and softened. She held such evident communion with heaven that it seemed to him as though her death chamber was peopled by angelic spirits who in some subtle way made llieir pre- sence known to him. He could simply stand and look, or appear to look, for sooth to say his eyes were dim with un- accustomed tears. When the time drew near for her departure, not only Harold and Clara, but Robert and Ruth Atheling, Alfred and Inez, Senor Bonanza and Simon Holmes, were gathered round her bed. To all of them she spoke some loving and tender word, and all she said was redolent of peace and hope and of a higher joy than can come to those who are less near heaven than she was. Then she turned to the old carpenter, who had been a daily visitor, and whose mellow counsels, inspiring prayers and welcome words, that seemed to make her faith more strong, had been very pre- cious all the time. He too had been summoned to see her * preen her wings for flight.' " Farewell for a little while, dear friend, faithful adviser and comforter in trouble. It is but for a little. You and I will resume our best-loved theme by-and-by." " Ay, ay, mah bairn ! " said the old man, speaking in a voice broken with sobs, " you can leeave t' door upo' t' latch, an' tell t' shinin' ones 'at ah sail expect 'em efter a bit." . Ethel smiled sweetly at the thought, and nodded her head as though she had got the message clearly and meant to carry it. Then as she looked with loving gaze on first one and then another of those who, standing round, were sad and tearful and loth to let her go, she said — " Dear, dear friends ! Why do you weep ? I wish you wouldn't. I never felt less like shedding tears. I wish 354 SIMON HOLMES. you would sing. I should like to float to heaven on a song. Sing ! sing — ' Rock of Ages, cleft for me.' " But there was no voice, neither any that answered, only sobs that came unbidden and refused to be hushed to si) nee. " Inez, dear," said she, with a smile that rested through long years on her memory, "you can sing. Do you re- member the evening hymn you sang when you were tossing in that frail boat out at sea ? Sing to me ' Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes.* Oh do, dear Inez, do ! " The request was uttered with such eagern js that sweet Inez seemed to feel it as a command, a sacr. a request that must be obeyed. So she set herself to the task, resolved to control herself until it was done. Bravely she began it, bravely and firmly she forced her sweet voice through the first and second lines. No so( -ner did she reach, " Heaven's morning breaks," than Ethel's eyes were lifted toward a light they could not see, and her hands were raised as if in expectation. I think, had Inez continued, the saintly maiden would have soared before the song had ended. But it was not to be, could not be, for Inez failed to utter one word more, but knelt by the bed and sought to hush the sobs that would break from her by burying her face in the coverlet. This recalled Ethel, who had already poised her wings. She looked at Inez with tender pity, and moved her hand so as to touch the young wife's raven locks, and said — " Nay, dear Inez, never mind ! Thank you, I thought I was going to the music of that sweet psalm. All is well, dear ones. Hush ! I'll sing ! " She raised her hand, transparent as an angel's ; an un- SIMON HOLMES. 355 kindled light sat upon her face, a light that deepened and brightened as she sang in a soft sweet voice, ^cak, but strangely clear — *He by Himself hath sworn, I on His oath depend, I shall on anyel wings upborne To heaven ascend. I shall behold Mis face, I shall His power adore, And sin<; the wonders of His grace For evermore I " The last syllable had not fully left her lips when her voice ceased, her hand fell, and the light upon her features flitted somewhat, leaving sllll a token on the face that it had been there. Once more the Master took her by the hand. Once more she heard the Wonder-work r's voice, "Talitha cumi !" Damsel, I say unto thee. Arise ! So Ethel Spoftbrth went up, went home ; ascending with a song upon her lips and the light of " Heaven's morning " on her face ! As Sir Jasper Mainwaring and Simon Holmes descended the stairs in company, the physician was very silent, but as they reached the lower floor he said, as if speaking to himself, just what he had said before when the now trans- lated maiden v/as brought back to life by means of his own strange dream — " It's very singular, — very singular indeed ! " " Sir Jarvis ! " said Simon Holmes, as well as he could for the deep feeling which had broken up the fountains of his heart, "there's nowt singlar aboot it. Its all ov a piece. He's just finished His wark as He began it. Ah've knoan her iver since she was that high," he continued, hold- ing his hand up a short distance from the ground ; " an' she's been yan o' the Lord's darlin's all t' tahme. When she fun' peeace an' joy throo beleeavin', she just gat t' print o* heaven on her, an' it's been growin' clearer an' prattler 9MAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ % /. ^ ,.<«■ ^/ ^^ z .^ 1.0 3^121 12.5 K e^ 12.2 I.I 1.25 ■kUU M. 116 Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 V^\^ <^> '^^ ,f^ ^ 356 SnfON HOLMES. iver since. When yo' com' te see her afoore, she was as mitch of a angel as it's gi'en te mottals to be on this side o* Jordan. The Lord sent fo' yc' te fetch her back just as she was crossin', 'at she might seeave her brother. All t* tahme she was at it, she was gettin' riper an' sweeter ; an* noo 'at it's deean, she's gotten her reward. Oh but it's grand ! it's grand ! Ah've seen a dew-drop shinin' like a jewel i' t' heart of a rose: an' while ah've watched it, t' sun's cum , an' just kissed it off an' ta'en it oot o' seet. That's Miss Ethel tiv a T. God bless her ! She was just a pure an' lovely dewdrop shinin' upo' t' heart of her Saviour doon here. Noo, t' glory leet s shon* doon on her an' her sweet soul's kissed up te heaven ! It's my opinion," said the old carpenter emphatically, " that the I-ord's just gone, an' deean the meeast nat'ral thing i' t' wo'ld. Sweets te the sweet, ye' knoa, Sir Jasper, an' she's wheear she owt te be — • Lap't i' sweet repose On her sweet Saviour's breast.' Excuse me. Sir Jarvis, but you an' me can't deea better then cling close te t' Saviour o' men when He puts such a finish to this mortal life as that we've just seen." Said Sir Jarvis Mainwaring — " Si'jnon Holmes. From my soul I think you're right." " Praise the Lord ! " said Simon. " But you may knoa it. Sir Jarvis. You may knoa it 1 " P.eader 1 So may you and 1 1 TH£ END. WORKS BY THE REV, J. JACKSON WRAY. THE SECRET OP THE MERE; Or, under TFE SURFACE. ISmo, Cloth, 90c. SIMON HOLMES, THE CARPENTER OF ASPENDALE. WUh JRlwtrjUioTU, 12mo, Clolh, $1.00. GARTON ROWLEY; Ob, LEAVES FROM THE LOG OF A MASTER MARINER. WUh Illustrations, ISmo, dHh, 91.S5. The Uteraxy Churchman. "An admirable story. The 'Master Mariner' ia a quaint and amusing cliaracter, but his homely talk is a treasure of practical religious truth; and the book is one which will encourage kindly feeling and high principles of action in the reader's n^md." The ChrlstUn. " A capital book for all classes, old and young, lovers and married. A good story told with much feeling. No one will read it without having their faith in God strengthened." HONEST JOHN STALLIBRAL,:,. With Ittuttrationa, Itmo, Cloth, $1.00. The Noneonformiflt. "A thrilling story, full of incident yet free from aensationalismy and of a sound and healthy religious tone." The Standard. " The story is delightfully written, and may be read with pleasure by people of all ages." The Scotsman. " Mr. Wray has a knack of telling a story with great brightness and force, and he has shown these qualities most admirably in the present volume." TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST, Momtrbal: 0. W. COATES. Haupaz: S. F. HUESTIS, Works by thk Rev. J. Jackson WraY. CHRONICLES OP CAPSTAN CABIN; Or, the CHILDREN'S HOUR. With S8 lUustrationa, Fourth EdUion, 12mo, Cloth, 91.S5, The Standard. *' A budget of charming stories for young people," Tl:ie Knapsack: Ser^'es. With Illtistrations, Small Crown 8vo, S5c. each. WIDOW WINPENNY'S WATCHWORD. THE MAN WITH i?EE KNAPSACK; Or, the miller OF BURNHAM LEK The Ecclesiastical Gazette. "A rare tale, well told." Woman's Work. " The story of Ihe colporteur, and the work he was able to do for his Ilaster in lonely and neglected places, is well told, and the pictures of country life are pretty and natural. " The Scotsman. *' It is written with undeniable earnestness of intention, and with the writer's accustomed vivacity and directness of style. " Bristol Times. "The story is easily and brightly told, the characters are well drawn, and the interest of the reader is awakened by the words and actions of the good ' man with the knapsack. ' " The Liverpool Mercury. "The tone of the tale is religious, but there is a manliness about it not always found in stories of its class ; while the narrative of Caleb Goodall shows how much good can be done in this world by simple-hearted and devoted men." TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST. lioireaBAL: C. W. OOATES. Hautaz: 3. F. HUBSTIS. fv." W0EK8 BY THE Rev. J. Jacikson Wray. PETER PBNGELLY; Oh, true as the CLOCK. With Illustrations, ISmo, Cloth, 70c. The Ouardian. "A well written and excellently illustrated schoolboy story." The Record. " A good little gift-book for young people." The Nonconformist "A spirited tale of the life of a boy who was faithful and punctual. " The Christian Age. "This is peculiarly a boy's book, and very appropriately illus- trated." The Christian. ** A famous book for boys." The Western Momlag News. " The book is not one which a boy entering his teens will wil- lingly put down if he once takes it in hand." NESTLETON MAGNA; A STORY OF YORKSHIRE METHODISM. ISmo, Cloth, $1.00. The Christian World. "Tbitt book is so full c incident and real excitement, as well as being written in a racy a a striking way, that we can easily under- stand how it has made its mark. Quaint sketches of Yorkshire Methodists, who talk in the true dialect of the county, and are full of religious fervor." The Wesleyan Methodist Magazine. "The rustic characters are evidently drawn from life, and with a loving as well as a skilful hand. Adam Olliver is as real, life-like, and well-sustained an individuality as any ' creation ' of Dickens, Scott, Shakespeare, or Cervantes." The Methodist Recorder. " ' Aud Adam Olliver's deliverances ' from beginning to end are a meal of wisdom." TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST. MoMTaBAb: C, W. COAXES. Hautax: S. F. HUESTIS. m WO&ZS BY THE RbV. J. JaCKSOK WEAY. Crown 8vo, 90e. JOHN WYOLIFFE; A QUINCENTENARY TRIBUTE. The Congregatlonallst. "A brief and yet vivid descriptioa of one of England's greatest heroes. The book is equally worthy of the author and the theme." Tho CliriBtian World. " Those who are interested in the life and principles of the great Reformer will be greatly pleased to peruse this book. It is not a dull one in any sense. " Crovm 8vo, $1.75. LIGHT PROM THE OLD LAMP: HOMESPUN HOMILIES. Brltiali Quarterly Review. " They present every religious thought on its practical side, and in a form calculated to impress even the most unintelligent. They are essentially evangelistic addresses — clear, sharp-cut, pointed, and practical. " The Freeman. "Strikingly original discourses. Those who delight in clever sketches on unusual texts will rejoice in this book. Crovm 8vo, $1.25. A NOBLE VINE; OR, PRACTICAL THOUGHTS ON OUR LORD'S LAST PARABLE. The Christian Age. "A good book for devotional reading; just what is wanted for the chamber of the invalid, or for perusal on Sunday evening." The Congregationalist. "The book is written in an easy and flowing style, and bean ample traces of careful thought and extensive reading. " TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST. MOKTUIAI.; C. W. COAXES. HAI.IFAZ: S. F. HUESIIS. WOBKS BY THB RbV. J. JaOKSOM WbAT. MATTHEW MELLOWDEW: A STCRY WITH MORE HEROJSS THAN ONE. With FrofUitpieee, Itmo, Cloth, $l.t6. Tli« Fountain. " No lad can read thia handaoine book without being the better and the stronger in himself." Tba LiTtrpool Maronxy. **A gift-book it would be difficult t? surpass for soundness of teaching, sprightliness of narrative, and wide general interest. " The Irish Times. ** In ' Matthew Mellowdew ' the advantages and happiness of lead- ing a Christian life are urged in an earnest and affecting style." PAUL MEGGITT'S DELUSION. With Six Full-page Plates, l£mo, Cloth, $1.00. The Qraptale. *' A strong and heartily written tale, conveying sound moral and religioub lessons in an unobjectionable form." The Olasffow KaiL "This book is beautifully illustrated, and no one will read it without feeling the better for having done so." The Manoheiter Courier. "This work deserves to be distributed broadcast in the country. It is a thrilling story, told in plain language, and conveying very important lessons." "A MAN EVERY INCH OP HIM." IStno, Cloth, 91.26, The Keeord. *' A capital tale for boys." TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIQGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST. VoMmWii.: a W. OGATlt. iUwix: 8. t. HUBSTI9« CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITIONS. THE GREAT AWAKENING A COLLECTIOy OF Prepared under the personal supervision of REV. SAM P. JONES, For use in all his meetings. It contains the choicest and most popular of the older Gospel Songs and Standard Hymns, together with many new ones which have been thoroughly tested and found especially valuable for Revi- val and Protracted Meetings. An examination of the work will convince one of its superior meri*^, while the low price at which it is sold places it within the read, of all. This second edition con- tains the two new and popular copyright pieces which were com- posed and sung for the first time at the meetings held in Toronto, VIZ. : "HAPPY AT THE CROSS/' By Prof. M. J. Maxwell, and "GOD IS CALLING YET," By Prof. E. O. Exoell. MUSIC EDITION. 160 pages, handsomely bound in boa.ds. Price, 30 cents each by mail, post-paid ; $3 a dozen by express, charges not prepaid. WORDS ONLY EDITION. Btund in Limp Cloth. Price, 11 cents each by mail, post-paid; per dozen, $1.20. II mailed, add 6 cents for postage. 78 db 80 King St. East, Toronto. rr. "Toronto, Canada, To THE Public^ '' Oao^rr .yv/,, ,sS6 o^^-r Publications of ZVZ^T: '" ''''^''''^^' ^--^- ^// Just Published. n«i ^i^ — OmyAuthort.^, Edition taCanad. WFLE SHOTS AT THE KIIVG'S EAIEWIES. REV. SAM P. JONES. ALSO. SAM SMALL'S FAMOUS SERMON I^eliverancefrorx. Bondage.- WITH AN INTRODUCTION B , ^EJV. J-OSTOSr I-OTTc, ^ _ PRICE ™-.. rt'^^sr- ^ °^"*«' Vue. 8, F. HUE8TI8, Hal.f.^. ^.8. w t I I ■ * ' ^i ■Sis BOOKS ON DANCING AND POPULAR AMUSEMENTS. SHALL WB OR SHALL WB NOT- By Rer. Hugh Johnston, M. A. Paper 26o. MAY OHilISTLA.NS DANOB- By Jm. H. Brookes. D. D. Paper, 25o. Cloth 0Oo THB PLBASURB DANOB- By Rev. W. J. Hunter, D.D. Paper 10c. POPULAR AMUSBMBNTS- By Rev. W. J. Hunter, D.D. Paper 10a POPULAR AMUSBMBNTS- The duty of the officers and members of the Methodist Church in lelation thereto. By Rev. H. Kenner. Paper. .lOo. BSSAY ON DANOINQ- By J. T. Crane. Cloth 30o. JOHN B? GOUGH SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. Paper CoTer, 240 pages, with a Portrait, Price 80 Cents. BOXTND IN OLOTE, 60 OBNTS. CONTENTS. Sketch of Hia life, Oration on Habit, Importance of the Tem- perance Enterprise, Address to Children, Address to the Working Classes, The Danserous Drinking Customs, The evil of Drunkenness, Importance of Female Influence, Address to Ladies, Address to Young Men, Our Duty to the Intemperate, Are the^ all fools who become Drunkards? Who is my Neighbor? Prevennon better than Cure, The Power of Example, The Liquor Traffic CoTonta : WILLIAM BRIOOS, 78 & 80 KINO STREET EAST. Q W. OOATES, MomiAi^ <^ S. F. HUBSTIS, Hautas, K,t ■l.M: Bvery Tonng Man Should Read Tills Book. I »0. ■ t 60o H 1 lOo. I 10& ^M 10c. ^M 30c. 1 1 ELEMENTS NECESSARY TO TUB FORMATION OF BUSINESS CHARACTER. By JOHN MACDONALD, Esq., Toronto. FAHENTS SHOULD PRESENT IT TO THEIR SONS. iSmo. Cloth, 3S Cents. " The counselH of a successful merchant as to the elements of mercantile success cannot fail to bo of great value to all who would attain such success. Mr. Macdonald estimates the number of busi- ness failures at 97^ per cent. , and the number of successful men at only 2^ per cent. But lie thinks that the proportion mi^ht readily be reversed, and the failures reduced to 2^ per cent., while the suc- cesses should reach 97^ per cent. To show the means by which this may be accomplished is the purpose of this book. It is freighted with ^ise counsels, expressed in terse and vigorous language." — Methodist Magazine, July. " This book cannot fail to benefit every young man who is wise enough to make its precepts his." — The Week. "It is printed in handsome style, and contains much good advice. " — Daily Witness. " Mr. Macdonald combines rare business capacity with consider- able literary ability. . . . Is an extremely neat little volume, the circulation of which, in the mercantile community, especially among young men, cannot but be fruitful of good. The elements described are Honesty, Truth, Temperance, Energy, Thoroughness, and Diligence." — Montreal Gazette, "It is evidently the fruit of close thinking, wide observatioo, anl practical experience." — Southern Christian Advocate, WILLIAM BBiaaS, Fublisher, 78 AND 80 Kino Street East, TORONTO. 0. W. COATES, Montreal, Que. S. F. HUESTIS, Halifax, N.S. Shall We, or Shall We Not? A SERIES OF in-E DISCOURSES BT THI REV. HUGH JOHNSTON, M.A., B.D. SUBJECTS DISCUSSED : * WINE '-'CARDS '-'THE DANCE '-'THE THEATRE' •WHAT SHALL WE DO?' Paper, IGO pp.. 25 Cents. "Full of cogent argument and stirring and pointed appeal" — Daily Examiner^ Peterboro'. '"Thoughtfully and reasonably written." — The Week. " The use of intoxicating liquors, card playing, dancing and theatre-going are discussed in these discourses in a practical, pointed, persuasive manner. They take strong ground on the safe side, which is the right side, and maintain it by strong arguments." — Southern Christian Advocate. WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST, TORONTO. M C W. COATES, S. F. HUESTIS, Bautaz, N.S. I t