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MncccLxxxi. 19 i I )8t'^ I ■i 'Ml ) Entered according to the Act of tbe Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eight>-cne by Wilkie Com.ins, in the Olfiee of the Minlhiw of Agriculture. - »■ •m" f ' <>* i ' < mmBti ''- J sand CONTENTS. ^cfove the ^{ovii, PACE ^'^ FiusT ScENK — Luuloone-Sl'u-Mer — TllK DlF.t 1 Secohi) Scbke — Yange AnnEV — The Forswakntn'os 13 CHAPTPJR I. Tin: Confii)i:nx:!ES 33 CHAPTER ir. The Jesuits '11 CHAPTER III. The Intuoduction to Romayne -i) CHAPTER IV. Fatueu Tjexwell Hits 5(5 CHAPTER V. Fatuek Cenwelt. Mkssem 58 viii CONTENTS. CHAPTER Vr. The Order of the Disiiem 6fi CHAPTER Yir. The Influenck op Stella 72 CHAPTER VIII. The Priest ok the Woman 77 CHAPTER IX. The Public and the Pictures 85 CHAPTER X. Father Benwell's Coruespondexce " 88 CHAPTER Xf. Stella Asserts Herself 95 CHAPTER XII. The General's Family 101 CHAPTER Xlir. Father Benwell's Correspondence 102 ^oofe the ^crcud CHAPTER I. The Pic-NIC Dance 114 CHAPTER ir. The Question of Marriage 121 CONTFNTS. ix e'MArTER I If. Thk End of thb Ball 128 CHAPTER IV. In Tin; .Small 1Ioi?rs 133 ^aoU the (ihivrt. CHAPTER I, The HoxKYMooy 141 CHAPTER II. EvEi.Ts AT Ten Acrbs 144 CHAPTER III. Father Beitw'ell and the Book 151 CHAPTER IV. The End of the Honeymoon 157 CHAPTER V. Father Bbnwell's Corkespondbnoe 165 §00ft the gOiXtth. CHAPTER I. The Breach is Wideukd , 186 X CT) NIK NTS. CHAITER II. A CiiKisriAN Jksuit ; I'lO CilAlTER HI. WiNTKRFlELD HeTUKNS 1!)1) CHAPTER IV FaTIIKU ReNWELl'.S CoitUEKPONDENCE 200 CHAPTER V. BeRNAUD WiNTERFlELb's CoUUESrONDENCE 211 CHAPTER YI. The Sapdest op all Wouds 213 CHAPTER VII The Impt^lsive Sex 218 CHAPTER VIII. Fatiieii Benwell\s Correspondence 22B ^aofe the jmu. CHAPTER I. Mrs. Eyrkcourt's Discovery , 227 CHAPTER II. The Seed is So wn 234 CHAPTER III. The Harvest is Reaped 238 CONTENTS. xi CHAPTER IV. 247 ^ftct the j^totij. Extracts from Berxard Winterfibld's Diary : — 1.— Winterfiold Defends Himself 255 2. — Winterfiold makes Extracts 25(» 3. — Winterfield's Diary Concluded 295 Pfie Diary Resumed 21)5 '>fOTE 308 f If ) i; ! THE BLACK ROBE. ^tt0Xt the <^tcinj. FIRST SCENE : BOULOGNE-SUR MEIl — THE DUEL. ri'^HE doctors could do no more for the Dowager Lady Berrick. JL Wlieii the medical advisers of a lady who lias reached seventy years of a/re recommend the mild cliaiate of tlie South of France, they mea,^. in plain language that they have arrived at the end of their resources. Her ladyship gave the mild climate & fair trial, and then decided (as she herself expressed it) to * die at liomw.' Travelling slowly, she had reached Paris at the date when I last heard of her. It was then the beginning of November. A week later, I met with her nephew, Lewis llomayne, at the club. * What brings you to London at this time of the year ? * I asked. • The fatality that pursues me,' he answered grimly, • I am one of the \inluckiest men living ! ' He was thirty years old ; he was not married ; he was the enviable possessor of the fine old country seat, called Vange Abbey ; he had no poor ralations; and he was one of the hand- somest men in England. When I add that I am, myself, a retired army officer, with a wretched income, a disagreeable wife, four ugly children, and c burden of tif ty years on my back. B THE BLACK ROBE. no one will be surprised to hear that I answered lloniayne, with bitter sincerity, in these words : * I wish to heaven I could change places with yon ! ' * I wish to heaven you could ! ' he bui'st out, with equal sin- cerity, on his side. ' Read this,' He handed me a letter addressed to him by the travelling medical attendant of Lady Berrick. After resting in Paris, the patient had continued her homeward journey as far as Bou- logne. In her suffering condition, she was liable to sudder. lits of caprice. An insurmountable horror of the channel passage had got possession of her ; she positively refused to be taken on board the steamboat. In this difficulty, the lady who held the post of her ' companion,' had ventured on a suggestion. Would Lady Berrick consent to make the channel passage, if her nephew came to Boulogne expressly to accompany her on the voyage 1 The reply had been so immediately favourable, that the doctor lost no time in communicating with Mr. Lewis Bo- mayne. This was the substance of the letter. It was needless to ask any more questions — Romayne was plainly on his way to Boulogne. I gave him some useful in- formation. * Try the oysters,' I said, ' at the restaurant on the pier.' He never even thanked ma He was thinking entirely of himself. * Just look at my position,' he said. ' I detest Boulogne ; I cordially share my aunt's horror of the channol passage ; I had looked forward to some months of happy retirement in the country among my books ; and what, happens to me 1 I am brought to London in this season of fogs, to travel by the tidal train at seven to-morrow morning — and all for a wonian with whom I hfve no sympathies in common. If I am not an un- lucky man — who is 1 ' He spoke in a tone of vehement irritation, which seemed to me, under the circumstances, to be simply absurd. But my nervous system is not the irritable system — sorely tried by night study and strong tea — of my friend Romayne. * It's only a matter of two days,' I remarked, by way of reconciling him to his situation. * How do I inow that 1 * he retorted. * In two days the weather may b< stormy. In two days she may be too ill to be liEFORE THE STORY— FIRST SCENE. S iriovotl. Unfortunately, I am her Iieir ; and I am tolil 1 must sulimit to any whim that seizes her. I'm rich enough already ; T don't want her money. Besides, I dislike all travelling — and especially travelling alone. You are an idle man. If you were a good (iiend, you would oflfer to go with me.' He added, with the delicacy which was one of the i*edeeming points in his way- ward character, * Of couree, as my guest.' 1 had known him long enough not to take offence at his re- minding me, in this considerate way, that I was a poor man. The proposed change of scene tempted me. What did I care for the channel passage ? Besides, there was the irresistible at- traction of getting away from home. The end of it was that I accepted Romayne's invitation. I had the [ am tidal with 1 un- d to my by nly ua the be IL SHORTLY after noon, on the next day, we were e.stal»lishod at Boulogne — near Lady Berrick, but not at her hotel. ' If we live in the same house,' Romayne reminded me, * we sliall be bored by the companion and the doctor. Meetings on the stairs, you know, and exchanging bows and small talk.' He hated those trivial conventionalities of society, in which other people delight. When somebody once asked him * in what company he felt most at ease,' lie made a shocking answer — he said, 'in the company of dogs.' I waited for him on the pier while he went to see her lady- ship. He joined me again with his bitterest smile. 'What did I tell you ? She is not well enough to see me to day. The doctor looks grave ; and the companion puts her handkerchief to her eyes. We may be kept in this place for weeks to come.' The afternoon proved to be rainy. Our early dinner was a bad one. This latter circumstance tried his temper sorely. He was no gourmand ; the question of cookery was (with him), purely a matter of digestion. Those late hours of study, aiid that abuse o£ tea, to which I have already alluded, had sadly injured his stomach. The doctors warned him of serious con- sequences to his nervous system, unless he altered his habita He had little faith in medical science; and he greatly over- rated THE KLACK ROBE. the restorative capacity of his constitution. So far as I know, he had always neglected the doctor's advice. The weather cleared towards evening, and we went out for a walk. We passed a church—a Roman Catholic church, of course — the doors of which were still open. Some poor women were kneeling at their prayei*s in the dim light. * Wait a minute,' said Romayne, * I am in a vile temper. Let me try to put myself in a better frame of mind.* I followed him into the church. He knelt down in a dark corner by himself. I confess I was surprised. He had been baptized in the Church of England; bvit, so far as outward practice was concerned, he belonged to no religious community. 1 had often heard him speak with sincere reverence and admira- tion of the spirit of Christianity — but he never, to my know- ledge, attended ai.y place of worship. When we met again outside the church, I asked him if he had been converted to the Roman Catholic faith. * No,' he Sc.id, * I hate the inveterate striving of that priest- liood after social influence and political power as cordially as the fiercest Protestant living. But let us not forget that the Church of Rome has great merits to set against great faults. Its system is administered with an admirable knowledge of the higher needs of human nature. Take as one example what you have just seen. The solemn tranquillity of that church, the poor people praying near me, the few words of prayer by which I silently united myself to my fellow-creatures have calmed me, and done me good. In our country, I should have found the church closed, out of service-hours.* He took my arm, and abruptly changed the subject, * How will you occupy yourself,' he asked, ' if my aunt receives me to-morrow ? * I assured him that I should easily find ways and means of getting through the time. The next morning, a message came from Lady Berrick to say that she would see her nephew after breakfast. Left by myself I walked towards the pier, and met with a man who asked me to hire bis boat. He had lines and bait at my service. Most unfortunately, as the event proved, I decided on occupying an hour or two by sea-fishing. The wind shifted while we were out and before we could get back to the harbo.ur, the tide had turned against us. It was nix o'clock when I arriv; d at the hotel. A little open carriage I BEFORE THE STORY — FIRST SCI NE. was waiting at the door. I found Roniayne impatifntly ex- pecting me, and no signs of dinner on the table. He informed me that he had accepted the invitation, in which I was included, and promised to explain everything in the carriage. Our driver took the road that led towards the High Town. I subordinated my curiosity to my sense of politeness, and asked for news of his aunt's health. ' She is seriously ill, poor soul,' he said. * I am sorry I spoke so petulantly and so unfairly, when we met at the club. The near prospect of death has developed qualities in her nature, which I ought to have seen before thi& No matter how it may be delayed, I will patiently wait her time for the crossing to England.' So long as he believed himself to be in the right, he was, as to his actions and opinions, one of the most obstinate men I ever met with. But once let him be convinced that he was wrong, and he rushed into the other extreme — became need- lessly distrustful of himself, and needlessly eager in seizing las opjiortunity of making atonement In this latter mood he v/as capable (with the best intentions) of committing acts of the most childish imprudence. With some misgivings, I asked how he had amused himself in my absence. • I waited for you,* he said, ' till I lost all patience, and went out for a walk. First, 1 thought of going to the beach, but the smell of the harbour drove me back into town, — and there, oddly enough, I met with a man, a certain Captain P^terkin, who had been a friend of mine at college.' ' A visitor to Boulogne 1 ' I inquired. ' Not e^-acUy.' 'Areadentr 'Yes. The fact is, I Ipst sight of Peterkin when I left Oxford — and, since that time, he seems to have drifted into dilHculties. We had a long talk. He is li ang here, he tells me, until his afiairs are settled.' I needed no further enlightenment — Captain Peterkin stood as plainly revealed to me as if I had known him for years. * Isn't it a little imprudent,' I said, ' to renew your acquaintance with e man of that sort I Couldn't you have passed him with a bow 1 ' Bomayne smiled uneasily, ' I dare say you're right,' he an- 1 6 THE BLACK ROBE. swered. * But, remember, I had left my aunt, feeling ashamed of the unjust way in which I had thought and spoken of her. How did I know that I mightn't be wronging an old friend next, if I kept Feterkin at a distance 1 His present position may be as much his misfortune, poor fellow, as his fault. I was half inclined to pass him as you say — but I distrusted my own judgment. He held out his hand, and he was so glad to boe me. It can't be helped now. I shall be anxious to hear your opinion of him.' * Are we going to dine with Capt. Peterkin 1 ' Ye& I happened to mention that wretched dinner yester- day, at our hotel. He said, " Come to my boarding-house. Out of Paris, there isn't such a table d'hdte in France." I tried to get off it — not caring, as you know, to go among strangers — I said I had a friend with me. He invited you most cordially to accompany me. More excuses on my part only led to a pain- ful result I hurt Peterkin's feelings. "I'm down in the world," he said, "and I'm not fit company for you and your friendo. I beg your pardon for taking the liberty of inviting you ! " He turned away, the tears in his eyes. What could I dor I thought to myself, ' You could have lent him five pounds, and got rid of his invitation without the slightest difficulty.' If I had returned in reasonable time to go out with Romayne, we might not have met the captain — or, if we had met him, my presence would have prevented the confidential talk, and the invitation that followed. I felt I was to blame — and yet, how could I help it 1 It was useless to remonstrate ; the mis- chief was done. We left the Old Town on our right hand, and drove on past a little colony of suburban villas, to a house standing by itself, surrounded by stone walls. As we crossed the front garden on our way to the door, I noticed against the side of the house two kennels, inhabited by two large watch-dogs. Was the pro- prietor afiuid of thieves 1 •' BEFORE THE STORY — FIRST SCENE. III. THE moment we were introduced to the drawing-rocni my suspicions of the company we were likely to meet with were fully confirmed. 'Cards, billiards, and betting' — there was the 'nscription legibly written on the manner and appearance of Captain Peter- kin. The bright-eyed yellow old lady who kept the boarding- house would have been worth five thousand pounds, in jewellerv alone, if the ornaments wliich profusely covered her had been genuine precious stones The younger ladies present had their cheeks as highly rouged and their eyelids as elaborately pen- cilled in black as if they were going on the stage, instead of going to dinner. We found these fair creatures drinking Ma- deira as a whet to their appetites. Among the men, there were two who struck me as the most finished and complete black- guards whom I had ever met with in all my experience, at home and abroad. One, with a brown face and a broken nose, was presented to us by the title of * Commander,' and was described as a person of great wealth and distinction in Peru, travelling for amusement. The other wore a military uniform and decorations, and was spoken of as ' the General. * A bold bullying manner, a fat sodden face, little leering eyes, and greasy looking hands, made this man so repellant to me that I privately longed to kick hii_i. Romayne had evidently been announced, before our arrival, as a landed gentleman with a large income. Men and women vied in servile attentions to him. When we went into the dining-room, the fascinating creature who sat next to him held her fan before her face, and so made a private interview of it between the rich Englishman and herself. With regard to the dinner, I shall only report that it justified Captain Peterkin's boast, in some degree at least The wine was good, and the conversation became gay to the verge of indelicacy. Usually the i.'.ost temperate of men, Romayne was tempted by his neighbours into drinking freely. I was, unfortunately, seated at the opposite extremity of the table, anil I had no opportunity of warning him. The dinner reached its conclusion ; and we all returned together, on the 8 THE BLACK ROBE. foreign plan, to coffee and cigars in the drawing-room. The women smoked, and drank li(|ueurii as well as coffee, with the men. One of them went to the piano, and a little impromptu ball followed ; the ladies dancing with their cigarettes in their mouths. Keeping my eyes and ears on the alert, I saw an in- nocent-looking table, with a surface of rosewood, suddenly develop a substance of green cloth. At the same time, a neat little roulette- table made its appearance from a hiding place in a sofa. Passing near the venerable landlady, I heard her ask the servant, in a whisper, * if the dogs were loose 1 ' After what I had observed, I could only conclude that the dogs were used as a patrol to give the alarm in case of a descent of the police. It was plainly high time to thank Captain Peterkin for his hospitality, and to take our leave. ' We have had enough of this,' I whispered to Romayne in English. * Let us go.' In these days^ it is a delusion to suppose that you can speak confidentially in the English language, when French people are within hearing. One of the ladies asked Romayne tenderly, if he was tired of her already. Another reminded him that it was raining heavily (as we could all hear), ard sug- gested vvaiting until it cleared up. The hideous General waved his greasy hand in the direction of th^ card-table, and said, ♦ The game is waiting for us.' Romayne was excited, but not stupefied, by the wine he had drunk. He answered, discreetly enough, * I must beg you to excuse me ; I am a poor card-player.' The General suddenly looked grave. 'You are speaking, sir, under a strange misapprehension,' he said. * Our game is lans- quenet — essentially a game of chance. With luck, the poorest player is a match for the whole table.* Romayne persisted in his refusal. As a matter of course, I supported him, with all needful care to avoid giving offence. The General took offence, nevertheless. He crossed his arms on his breast, and looked at us fiercely. * Does this mean, gentlemen, that you distrust the company ? ' he asked. The broken-nosed Commander, hearing the question, imme- diately joined us, in the interests of peace — bearing 'with him the elements of persuasion, under the form of a lady on his arm. BEFORE THE STORY — FIRST SCENE. 9 The lady stepped briskly forward, and tapped the General on he shoulder with her fan. */ am one of the company,' she said ; ' and I am sure Mr. Komayne doesn't distrust me f ' She turned to Romayne with her most in'esistible smile. * A gen- tleman always plays cards,' she resumed, 'when he has a lady for a partner. Let us join our interests at the table — and, dear Mr. Romayne, don't risk too much 1 ' She put her pretty little purse into his hand, and looked as if she had been in love with him for half her lifetime. The fatal influence of the sex, ssisted by wine, produced the inevitable result. Romayne allowed himself to be led to the card-table. For a moment, the General delayed the begin- ning of the game. After what had happened, it was necessary that he should assert the strict sense of justice that was in him. * We are all honourable men,' he began. 'And brave men,' the Commander added, admiring the General. * And brave men,' the General admitted, admiring the Com- mander. * Gentlemen, if I have been led into expressing my- self with unnecessary warmth of feeling, I apologise, and re- gret it.' ' Nobly spoken ! ' the Commander pronounced. The General put his hand on his heart and bowed. The game began. As the poorest man of the two, I had escaped the attentions lavished by the ladies on Romayne. At the same time, I was obliged to pay for my dinner, by taking some part in the pro- ceedings of the evening. Small stakes were allowed, I found, at roulette ; and, besides, the heavy chances in favour of the table made it hardly worth while to run the risk of cheating, in this case. I placed myself next to the least rascally-looking man in the company, and played roulette. For a wonder, I was successful at the first attempt. My neighbour handed me my winnings. * I have lost every farthing I possess,' he whispered to me piteously ; ' and I have a wife and children at home.' I lent the poor wretch five francs. He smiled faintly as he looked at the money. * It reminds me,' he said, *of my last transaction, when I borrowed of that gentleman there, who is betting on the General's luck at the card-table. Beware of employing him as I did. What do you think I got for my note of hand of four thousand francs ? A hundred bottles of champagne, fifty bottles of ink, fifty bottles 10 THE BLACK ROBE. of blacking, three dozen handkerchiefs, two pictures V)y unknown musters, two shawls, one hundred maps, and — five francs.' We went on playing. My luck deserted me ; I lost, and lost, and lost again. From time to time, I looked round at the curd- table. The ' deal ' had fallen early to the General ; and it seemed to be indefinitely prolonged. A heap of notes and gold (won mainly from Romayne, us I afterwards discovered) lay before him. As for my neighbour, the unhappy po.ss(;ssor of the buttles of blacking, of j)ictures by unknown masters, and the rest of it, he won, and then rashly presumed on his good fortune. Deprived of his last farthing, he retired into a corner of the room, and consoled himself with a cigar. I had Just risen to follow his example when a furious uproar burst out at the card-table. I saw Romayne spring up and snatch the cards out of the General's hand. * You scoundrel,' he shouted, * you are cheat- ing ! ' The General started to his feet in a fury. ' You lie ! ' he cried. I attempted to interfere; but Romayne had already seen the necessity of controlling himself. * A gentleman doesn't accept an insult from a swindler,' he said, coolly. 'Accept this, then ! ' the General answered — and spat on him. In an in- stant, Romayne knocked him down. The blow was dealt straight between his eyes ; he was a gi'oss big-boned man, and he lell heavily. For the time he was stunned. The women ran, screaming, out of the room. The peaceable Commander trembled from head to foot. Two of the men present who, to give them their due, were no cowards, locked the doors. * You don't go,' they said, * till we see whether he recovers or not.' Cold water, assisted by the land- lady's smelling-salts, brought the General to his senses after a while. He whispered something to one of his friends, who im- mediately turned to me. * The General challenges Mr. Ro- mayne,* he said. ' As one of his seconds, I demand an ap- pointment for to-morrow morning.' I refused to make any ap- pointment, unless the doors were first unlocked, and we were left free to depart. * Our carriage is waiting outside,' I added. * If it returns to the hotQl without us, there will be an inquiry.' This latter consideration had its effect. On their side the doors were opened. On our side the appointment was made. We left the house, ^ BEFORE THE STORY — FIRST SCENE, 11 IV. . > ■8 e IN consenting to receive the General's representatives, it is needless to say that I merely desired to avoid provoki»g another quarrel. If those persons were really impudent enouj^h to cull at the hotel, I had arranged to threaten them with the interference of the police, and so to put an end to the matter. Romayne expressed no opinion on the subject, one way or the other. His conduct inspired mo with a feeling of uneasiness. The filthy insult of which he had been made the object, seemed to be rankling in his mind. H j went away thoughtfully to his own room. 'Have you nothing to say to mo?' 1 asked. He only answered, ' Wait till to-morrow.' The next day the seconds appeared. I had expected to see two of the men with whom wo had dined. To my astonishment the visitors proved to be olHcers of the General's regiment. They brought proposals for a hostile meeting the next morning ; the choice of weapons being left to Romayne as the challenged man. It was now quite plain to me that the General's peculiar method of card-play i^ig had, thus far, not been discovered and exposed. He might keep doubtful company, and might (as I afterwards heard) be suspected in certain quarters. But that he still had, formally speaking, a reputation to preserve, was proved by the appearance of the two gentlemen present as his representatives. They declared with evident sincerity, that Romayne had made a fatal mistake ; had provoked the insult offered to him ; and had resented it by a brutal and cowardly outrage. As a man and a soldier, the General was doubly bound to insist on a duel. No apology would be accepted, even if an apology were offered. « In this emergency, as I understood it, there was but one course to follow. I refused to receive the challenge. Being asked for my reasons, I found it necessary to speak ■within certain limits. Though we knew the General to be a cheat, it was a delicate matter to dispute his right to claim satisfaction, when he had found two officers to carry his message. I produced the seized cards (which Romayne had brought awa^ 12 Tllii: BLACK KOBIi:. >vith him in his ix)ckot), and offered them as a formal jtroof that my friend had not been mistaken. The seconds — evidently prepared for this circumstance V»y their principal — declined to examine the cards. In the first place, they said, not even the discovery of foul play (supposing the dis- covery to have been really made) could justify Romayne's con- duct. In the second place, the General's high character made it impossible, under any circumstances, that Ae could be res- ponsible. Like ourselves, he had rashly associated with l)ad conipaiiy ; and he had been the innoccmt victim of an error or a fiaud, committed by some other person present at the table. Diiven to my last resources, I could now only base my refusal to receive the challenge on the ground that we were Knglish- men, and that the practice of duelling had been abolished in England. Both the seconds at once declined to accept this state- ment in justification of my conduct. ' You are now in France,' said the elder of the two ' where a duel is the established remedy for an insult, among gentlemen. You are bound to respect the social laws of the country in which you are for the time residing. If you refuse to do so, you lay yourselves open to a public imputation on your courage, of a nature too degrading to be more particularly alluded to. Let us adjourn this interview for three hours, on the ground of informality. We ought to confer with two gentlemen, acting on Mr. liomayne's behalf. Be prepared with another second to meet us, and reconsider your decision before we call again.' Tiie Frenchmen had barely taken their departure by one door, when Iloraayne entered by another. * I have heard it all,' he said quietly. * Accept the challenge.' I declare solemnly that I left no means untried of opi)osing my friend's resolution. No man could have felt more strongly convinced than I did, that nothing could justify the courae he Mas taking. My remonstrances were completely thrown away. He was deaf to sense and reason, from the moment when he had beard an imputation on his courage suggested as a possible re- sult of any affair in which he was concerned. ' With your views,' he said, * I won't ask you to accompany me to the ground. I can easily find French seconds. And, mind this, if you at- tempt to prevent the meeting, the duel will take place elsewhere —and our friendship is at an end from that moment' TiKroiiR Tin: stouy — first scion k. m After thia, I suppoHo it is noedlosa to adtl that I accompanied him to the gi'oiind the next morning as his second. That night he made his will — in preparation for tha worst that could happen. What actually did ho2)pen was eipially beyond his anticipations and mine. so, V. WE were punctual to the appointed hour — eight o'clock. The second who acted with me was a French gentle- man, a relative of one of the ofticers who had brought the chal- lenge. At his suggestion, we had chosen the pistol as our wea[)on. Romayne, like most Englishmen at the present time, knew nothing of the use of the swjrd. He was almost equally inex[)erienced with the pistol. Our opponents were late. Tliey kept us waiting for more than ten minutea It was not pleasant weather to wait in. The day ha row of my bones. liEFORE THE STORY — FIRST SCENE. 15 The signal was given, and the two shots were fired at the same time. My first look was at Romayne. He took off his hat, and handed it to me with a smile. His adversary's bullet had cut a piece out of the brim of his hat, on the right side. He had lite- rally escaped by a hairbreadth. While I was congraculating him, the fog gathered again more tl lickly than ever. Looking anxiously towards the ground occupied by our adversaries, we could only see vague, shadowy forms hurriedly crossing and re-crossing ea'^h other in the mist. Something had bappened ! My French colleague took my arm and pressed it significantly. * Leave me to inquire,' he said. Komayne tried to follow ; I held him back — we neither of us exchanged a word. The fog thickened and thickened, until nothing was to be seen. Once we heard the surgeon's voice calling impatiently for a light to help him. No light appeared that we covild see. Dreary as the fog itself, the silence gathered round us again. On a sudden it was broken, horribly broken, by another voice, strange to both of us, shrieking hysterically through the impenetrable mist. ' Where IS he?' the voice cried, in the French language. 'Assassin! Assassin! where are youl* Was it a woman 1 or was it a boy 1 W« heard nothing more. The efiect upon Romayne was terrible to see. He who had calmly confronted the weapon lifted to kill him, shuddered dumbly like a terror-stricken ani- mal. I put my arm round him, and hurried him away from the place. We waited at the hotel until our French friend joined us. After a brief interval he appeared, announcing that the surgeon would follow him. The duel had ended fatf*ily. The chance course of the bullet, urged by Romayne's \inpractised hand, had struck the General's son just above the right nostril — had penetrated to the back of his neck — and had communicated a fatal shock to the spinal marrow. He was a dead man beiore they could take him back to his father's house. So far, our fears were confirmed. But there was something else to tell, for which our worst presentiments had not prepared US. ' 10 tllE BI,ACK tlOBB!. A younger brother of the fallen man (a boy of thirteen years old) had secretly followed the duelling party, on their way from his father's house — had hidden himself — and had seen the dread- ful end. The seconds only knew of it when he burst out of his place of concealment and fell on his knees by his dying brother's side. His were the frightful cries which we had heard from in- visible lips. The slayer of his brother was the * assassin ' whom he had vainly tried to discover through the fathomless obscurity of the mist. We both looked at Romayne. He silently looked back at us, like a man turned to stone. I tried to reason with him. ' Your life was at your opponent's mercy,' I said. ' It was Ae who was skilled in the use of the pistol ; your risk was in- finitely greater than hia Are you responsible for an accident ? Rouse yourself, Romayne I Think of the time to come, when all this will be forgotten.' ' Never,' he said, * to the end of my life.* He made that reply in dull monotonous tones. His eyes looked wearily and vacantly straight before him. The extra- ordinary change in him startled me. He showed no signs of a coming loss of consciousness — and yet, all that was most brightly animated in his j.hysical life seemed to have mysteriously faded away. I spoke to him again. He remained impenetrably si- lent ; ke appeared not to hear, or not to understand me. The surgeon came in, while i was still at a loss what to say or do next. Without waiting to be asked for his opinion, he ob- served Romayne attenti 'ely, and then drew me fiway into the next room. * Your friend is suffering from a severe nervous shock,' ho baid. * Can you tell me anything of his habits of life V I mentioned the prolonged night-studies, and Uie excessive use of tea. The surgeon shook his head. * If you want my advice,* he proceeded, * take him home at once. Don't subject him to further excitement, when the result of the duel is known in the town. If it ends in our appearing in a court of law, it will be a mere formality in this case, and you can surrender when the time comes. Leave mo your ad- dress in London.* I felt that the best thing I could do was to follow his advice. The boat crossed to Folkestone at an early hour that day — we BEFORK THE STORY — FIRST SCENE. 17 'g had no time to lose. Romayne offered no objection to our re- turn to England ; he seemed perfectly careless what became of himself. * Leave me quiet.' he said; 'and do as you like.' I wrote a few lines to Lady Berrick's medical attendant, inform- ing him of the circumstances. A quarter of an hour afterwards we were on board the steamboat. There were very few passengers. After we had left the har- bour, ray attention was attracted by a young English lady — travelling, apparently, with her mother. As we passed her on the deck she looked at Romayne, with compassionate interest so vividly expressed in her beautiful face that I imagined they might be acquainted. With some difficulty, I prevailed sutii- ciently over the torpor that possessed him to induce him to look at our fellow-passenger. * Do you know that charming person 1 ' I asked. * No,' he replied, with the weariest indifference, * I never saw her before. I'm tired — tired — tired — tired! Don't speak to me; leave me by myself.* I left him. His rare personal attractions — of which, let me add, he never appeared to be conscious — had evidently made their natural appeal to the interest and admiration of the young lady who had met him by chance. The expression of resigned sadness and suffering, now visible in his face, added greatly, no doubt, to the influence that he had unconsciously exercised over the sympathies of a delicate and sensitive woman. It was no uncommon circumstance in his past experience of the sex — as I myself well knew — to be the object, not of admiration only, but of true and ardent love. He had never reciprocated the passion — had never even a »peared to take it seriously. Marriage might, as the phrase, is, be the salvation of him. Would ho ever many 1 Leaning over the bulwark, idly pursuing this train of thought, I was recalled to present things, by a low, sweet voice — the voice of the lady of whom I had be'iry butler, nor his buxom Scotch wife, skilled in cookery, looked any older ; they received me at. if I had left them a day or two since, and had come oack again to live in Yorkshire. My well-remembered bed-room was waiting for me ; and the matchless old Madeira welcomed us when siy host and I met in the inner-hall, which was the ordinary dinuigroom of the Abbey. As we faced each other at the well-spread tab!e, I began io hope that the familiar influences of his country hoTi»e were be- ginning already to breathe their blessed quiet over the dis- turbed mind of Komayne. In the presence of his faithful old servants, he seemed to be capable of controlling the morbid remorse that oppressed him. He spoke to them composedly and kindly ; he was affectionately glad to see his old friend once more in the old house. When we were near the end of our meal, something happened that startled me. I had just handed the rvine to Romayne, and he had filled his glass, when he suddenly turned pale, and lifted his head like a man whose attention is unexpectedly roused. No person but ourselves was in the room ; I was not speaking to him at the time. He looked round suspiciously at the door behind him, leading into the library, and rang the old-fashioned hand-bell which stood by him on the table. The servant was directed to close the door. * Are you cold ? ' I asked. 23 THE BLiCK ROBE. * No.* lie reconsidered that brief answer, and contradicted himself. * Yes — the library fire has burnt low, I suppose.' In my position at the table I had seen the fire : the grate was heaped witn blazing coals and wood. I said nothing. The pido change in his face, and his contradictory reply, roused doubts in me which I had hoped never to feel again. He pushed away his glass of wine, and still kept his eyes fixed on the closed door. His attitude and expression were l)lainly suggestive of the act of listening. Listening to what? After an interval, he abruptly addressed me. * Do you call it a quiet night 1 ' he said. * As quiet as quiet can be,* I roplied. ' The wind has dropped — and even the fire doesn't crackle. Perfect stillness, indoors and out.' * Out ! ' he replied. For a moment he looked at me intently, ar if I had started some new idea in his mind. I asked as lightly as I could, if I had said anything to surprise him. In- stead ot answering me, he started out of his chair with a cry of terror, and left the room. I hardly knew what to do. It was impossible, unless he re- turned immediately, to let this extraordinary proceeding pass without notice. After waiting for a few minutes, I rang the bell. The old butler came in. He looked in blank amazement at the empty chair. ' Where's the master 1 ' he asked. I could only answer that he had left the table suddenly, with- out a -wed of explanation. * He may perhaps be ill,' I added. * As his old servant, you can do no harm if you go and look for him. Say that I am waiting here, if he wants me.* The minutes passed slowly and more slowly. I was left alone for so long a time that I began to feel seriously uneasy. My hand was on the bell again, when there was a knock at the door. I had expected to see the butler. It was the groom who entered the room. ' Garthwaite can't come down to you, sir,' said the man. ' He asks if you will please go up to the master on the Belvidere.' The house — extending round three sides of a square — was only two storeys uigh. The flat roof, accessible through a species of hatchway, and still surrounded by its sturdy stone parapet, was called * The Belvidere,* in reference as usual to h BEFORE THE STORY — SECOND SCENE. 23 at the fine view which it commanded. Fearing I knew not what, I mounted the ladder which led to the roof. Romayne received me with a harsh outburst of laughter — that saddest false laughter which is true trouble in disguise. * Here's something to amuse you ! ' he cried. ' I believe old Gai-thwaite thinks I am drunk — he won't leave me up here by myself.' Letting this strange assertion remain unanswered, the butler withdrew. As he passed me on his way to the ladder, he whis- pered, * Be careful of the master ! I tell you, sir, he has a bee in his bonnet this night.* Although not of the North-country myself, I knew the meaning of the phrase. Garthwaite sus- pected that the master was nothing less than mad ! Romayne took my arm when we were alone — we walked slowly from end to end of the Belvidere. The moon was, by this time, low in the heavf ns ; but her mild mysterious light still streamed over the roof of the house and the high heathy ground round it. T looked attentively at Romayne. He was deadly pale ; his hand shook as it rested on my arm — and that was all. Neither in look nor manner did he betray the faintest sign of mental derangement. He had perhaps needlessly alarmed the faithful old servant by something that he had said or done. i determined to clear up that doubt immediately. * You left the table very suddenly,' I said. * Did you feel ill?' * Not ill,' he replied. * I was frightened. Look at me — I'm frightened still.' ' What do you mean 1 ' Instead of answering, he repeated ihe strange question which he had put to me down staira ' Do you call it a quiet night V Considering the time of the year, and the exposed situation of the house, the night was almost preternaturally quiet. Throughout the vast optn country all round us, not even a breath of air could be heard. The night-birds were away, or were silent at the time. But one sound was audible, when we stood still and listened — the cool quiet bubble of a little stream, lost to view in the valley-ground to the south. * I have told you already,* I said, ' so still a night I never remember on this Yorkshire moor.' 24 THE BLACK ROBE. 7 He laid his Land lieavily on my shoulder. * What did the poor boy say of me, whose brother I killed ? ' he asked. ' What words did we hear through the dripping darkness of the mist 1 ' * I won't encourage you to think of them. I refuse to repeat the words.* He pointed over the northward parapet. * It doesn't matter whether you accept or refuse,' he said, * I hear the boy at this moment— — there ! ' He repeated the horrid words — marking the pauses in the utterance of them with his finger, as if they were sounds that he heard. * Assassin ! Assassin ! where are you V * Good God 1 ' I cried, * you don't mean that you really hear the voice '? ' ' Do you hear what I say 1 I hear the boy as plainly as you hear me. The voice screams at me through the clear moonlight as it screamed at me through the sea-fog. Again and agair. It's all roiind the house. That way now ; where the light just touches on the tops of the heather. Tell the servants to have the horses ready the first thing in the morning. We leave Vange Abbey to-morrow.' These were wild words. If he had spoken them wildly, I might have shared the butler's conclusion that his mind was deranged. There was no undue vehemence in his voice or his manner. He spoke with a melancholy resignation — he seemed like a prisoner snbmitting to a sentence that he had deserved. Remembering the cases of men suffering from nervous disease who had been haunted by apparitions, I asked if he saw any imaginary figure under the form of a boy. ' I see nothing,' he said ; ' I only hear. Look yourself. It is in the last degree improbable — but let us make sure that nobtdy has followed me from Boulogne, and is playing me a trick. We made the circuit of the Belvidere. On its eastward side, the house wall was built against one of the towers of the old Abbey. On the westward side, the ground sloped steeply down to a pool or tarn. Northward and southward, there was no- thing to be seen but the open moor. Look where I might, with the open moonlight to make the view plain to m'^, the solitude was as void of any living creature as if we had been surrounded by the awful dead world of the moon. BEFORE THE STORY — SECOND SCENE. S5 * Was it the boy's voice that you heard on the voyage across tlie channel 1 * I asked. * Yes, I heard it for the first time — down in the engine-room ; rising and falling, rising and falling, like the sound of the en- gines themselves.' * And when did you hear it again 1 * * I feared to heav it in London. It left me, I should have told you, when we stepped ashore out of the steamboat I was afraid that the noise of the traffic in the streets might bring it back to me. As you know, I passed a quiet night. I had the hope that my imagination had deceived me — that I was the victim of a delusion, as people say. It is no delusion. In the perfect tranquillity of this place, the voice has come back to me. While we were at table I heard it again — behind me, in the library. I heard it still when the door was shut I ran up here to try if it would follow me into the open air. It has fol- lowed me. We may as well go down again into the hall. I know that there is no escaping from it My dear old home has become horrible to me. Do you mind returning to London to- morrow 1 * What I felt and feared in this miserable state of things mat- ters little. The one chance that I could see for Romayne was to obtain the best medi cai advice. I sincerely encouraged his idea of going back to London the next day. We nad sat together by the hall fire for about ten minutes, when he took out his handkerchief, and wiped away the perspi- ration from his forehead, drawing a deep breath of relief. ' It has gone ! ' he said faintly. * When you hear the boy's voice,' I asked, ♦ do you hear it continuously ! ' ' No, at intervals; sometimes longer, sometimes shorter.' * And, thus far, it comes to you suddenly, and leaves you suddenly ? ' * Yes.' ' Do my questions annoy you ? ' ' I make no complaint,' he said sadly. * You can see for your- self — I patiently suffer the punishment that I have deserved.' I contradicted him at once. * II is nothing of the sort ! It's a nervous malady, which medical science can control and cure. Wait till we get to London.' This expression of opinion produced no effect on him. u THE BLACK ROBE. ' I have taken the life of a fellow-creature,' he said. *I have closed the career of a young man who, but for nio, might have lived long and happily and honourably. Say what you may, I am of the race of Cain. He had the mark set on his brow. I have mij ordeal. Delude yourself, if you like, with false hopoa I can endure — and hope for nothing. Good night' ' VIIT. EARLY the next morning, the good old butler came to mo, in great perturbation, for a word of advice. * Do come, sir, and look at the master ! I can't find in my heart to wake him.' It was time to wake him, if we were to go to London that day. I went into the bedroom. Although I was no doctor, the restorative importance of that profound and quiet sleep im- pressed itself on me so strongly that I took the responsibility of leaving him undisturbed. The event proved that I had acted wisely. He slept until noon. There was no return of * the torment of the voice' — as he called it, poor fellow. We passed a quiet day, excepting one little interrui)tion, which I am warned not to pass over without a word of record in this nar- rative. We had returned from a rida Romayne had gone into the library to read ; and I was just leaving the stables, after a look at some recent improvements, when a pony-chaise with a gen- tleman in it drove up to the door. He asked politely if he might be allowed to see the house. There were some fine pictures at Vange, as well as many interesting relics of antiquity ; and the rooms were shown, in Romayne's absence, to the very few tra- vellers who were adventurous enough to cross the heathy desei-t that surrounded the Abbey. On this occasion, the stranger was informed that Mr. Romayne was at home. He at once apologised — with an appeai-ance of disappointment, however, which induced me to step forward, and speak to him. * Mr. Romayne is not very well,* I said ; ' and I cannot ven- ture to ask you into the house. But you will be welcome, I HEFOllE THE STORY— SECOND SCENE. 27 niii sure, to wjilk round tho grounds, and to look at the ruins of tl ' Abboy.' He tlianked me and accepted tho invitation. I find no gro.'it jliffieulty in describing him generally. Ho was elderly, fat and cheerful ; buttoned up in a long black frock coat, and present- ing that closely shaven face, and that inveterate expression of watchful humility about the eyes, which we all associate with the reverend personality of a priest. To my surprise, ho seemed, in some degree at least,' to know his way about the place. He made straight for the dreary little lake which I have already mentioned, and stood looking at it with an interest which was so incomprehensible to me, that I own I watched him. He ascended the slope of the moorland, and entered the gate which led to the grounds. All that the gardeners had done to make the i)lace attractive failed to claim his attention. He walked past lawn, shrubs and flower-beds, and only stopped at an old stone fountain, which tradition declared to liave been one of the ornaments of the garden in the time of the monks. Having carefully examined this relic of antiquity, he took a sheet of paper from his pocket, and consulted it attentively. It might have been a plan of tho house and grounds, or it might not — I can only report that he took tho path which led him, by the shortest way, to the ruined Abbey church. As he entered the roofless enclosure, he reverently removed his hat. It was impossible for me to follow him any further, without exposing myself to the risk of discovery. I sat down on one of the fallen stones, waiting to see him again. It must have been at least half an hour before he appeared. He thanked me for my kindness, as composedly as if he had quite e;cpected to find me in the place that I occupied. * I have been deeply interested in all that I have seen,' ho said. * May I venture to ask, what is perhaps an indiscreet question on the part of a stranger ? ' I ventured on my side, to inquire what this question might be. * Mr. Romayne is indeed fortunate,' he resumed, * in the pos- session of this beautiful place. He is a young man, I think ! ' ' Yea.' * Is he married?' 'No.' 28 THE BLACK ROBE. ' Excuse my curiosity. The owner of Vange Abbey is an interesting person to all good antiquaries like myself. Many thanks again. Good day.' His pony-chaise took him away. His last look rested — not on nie — but on the old Abbey. ;* , IX. ,...;. MY record of events approaches its conclusion. On the next day we returned to the hotel in London. At Romayne's suggestion, I sent the same evening to my own house for any letters which might be waiting for me. His mind still dwelt on the duel : he was morbidly oager to know if any communication had been received from the French surgeon. "When the messenger returned with my letters, the Boulc^e post mark was on one of the envelopes At Romayne's en- treaty, this was the letter that I opened first. The surgeon's signature was at the end. One motive for anxiety — on my part — was set at rest in the first lines. After an official inquiry into the circumstances, the French authorities had decided that it was not expedient to put the survivor of the duellists on his trial before a court of law. No jury hearing the evidence would find him guilty of the only charge that could be formally brought against him—the charge of ' homicide by premeditation.* Homicide by misadventure, occurring in a duel, was not a punishable offence by the French law. My correspondent cited many cases in proof of it, strength- ened by .the publicly-expressed opinion of the illustrious Berryer himself. In a word, we had nothing to fear. The next page of the letter informed us that the police had surprised the card-playing community with whom we had spent the evening at Boulogne, and that the much bejewelled old land- lady had been sent to prison for the offence of keeping a gam- bling-house. It was suspected in the town that the General was more or less directly connected with certain disreputable circumstances, discovered by the authoritiea In any case, he bad retired from active service. He and his wife and family BEFORE THE STORY — SECOND SCENE. 29 had left Boulogne, and hpd gone away in debt No investiga- tion had thus far succeeded in discovering the place of their retreat Reading this letter aloud to Romayne, I was interrupted by him at the last sentence. *The inquiries must have keen carelessly made,' he said. * They ought to have applied to the police. I will see to it myself.' ' What interest can ymh have in the inquiries ? ' I exclaimed. * The strongest possible interest,' he answered. * It has been my one hope to make some little atonement to the poor people whom I have so cruelly wronged. If the wife and childi-en are in distressed circumstances (which seems to be only too likely) I may place them beyond the reach of anxiety — ancay- mously, of course. Give me the surgeon's address. I shall write instructions for tracing them at my expense — merely an- nouncing that an Unknown Friend desires to be of service to the General's family.' This appeared to me to be a most imprudent thing to do. I said so plainly — and quite in vain. With his customary im- petuosity he wrote the letter at once, and sent it to the post that night \ ON the question of submitting himself to medical advice (which I now earnestly pressed upon him), Romayne was disposed to be equally unreasonable. But in this case events declared themselves in my favour. . . Lady Berrick's last reserves of strength had given way. She had been brought to London in a dying state, while we were at Vange Abbey. Romayne was summoned to his aunt's bedside on the third day of our residence at the hotel, and was present at her death. The impression produced on his mind roused the better part of his nature. He was more distrustful of himself, more accessible to persuasion than usual. In this gentler frame of mind he received a welcome visit from an old friend, to whom he was sincerely attached. The visit — of no great im- port*»'-';e in itself — led, as I have since been informed, to very sq* 30 THE BLACK ROBE. rious events in Romayue's later life. For this reason T briefly relate what took place within my own hearing. Lord Loring — well known in society as the head of an old English Catholic family, and the possessor of a magnificent gal- lery of picitures — was distressed by the change for the worse which he perceived in Komayne, when he called at the hotel. I was present when they met, and rose to leave the room, feeling that the two fi lends might perhaps be embarrassed by the pre- sence of a third person. Romayne called me back. ' Lord Lor- ing ought to know what has happened to me,' he said. * I have no^heart to speak of it myself. Tell him everything, and if he agrees with you I will submit to see the doctora.* With those words he left us together. It is almost needless to say that Lord Loring did agree with me. He was himself disposed to think that the moral remedy inllomayne'scase, might prove to be the best remedy. ' With submission to what the doctors may decide,' his lord- ship said, * the right thing to do, in my opinion, is to divert our friend's mind from himself. I see a plain necessity for making a complete change in the solitary life that he has been leading for years past. Why shouldn't he marry 1 A woman's influence, by merely giving a new tarn to his thoughts, might charm away that horrible voice which haunts him. Perhaps you think this a merely sentimental view of the c:se? Look at it practically, if you like, and come to the same conclusion. With that fine estate — and with the fortune which he has now inherited from his aunt — it is his duty to marry. Don't you agree with me 1 ' * I agree most cordially. 3ut I see serious difficulties in your lordship's way. Romayne dislikes society ; and, as to marrying, his coldness tov/ards women seems (so far as I can judge) to be one of the incurable detects of his character.' Lord Loring smiled. ' My dear sir, nothing of that sort is in- curable, if we can only find the right woman.' The tone in which he spoke suggested to me that he had got *the right wo' ^n ' — and I took the liberty of saying so. He at once acknowledged that I had guessed right. ' Romayne is, as you say, a diflicult subject to deal with,' he resumed. ' If J commit the slightest imprudence, I shall excite his suspicion — and there will be an end of my hope of being of service to him. I shall proceed carefully, I can tell you. Luck- I BEFORE THE STORY — SECOND SCENE. 31 ily, poor dear fellow, he is fond of pictures ! It's quite natural that I should ask him to see some recent additions to my gallery — isn't it 1 There is the trap that I set 1 I have a sweet girl to tempt him, staying at my house ; who is a little out of health and spirits herself. At the right moment, I shall send word up- stjiiiu She may well happen to look in at the galleiy (by the merest accident), just at the time when Roniayne is looking at my new pictures. The rest depends, of coui*se, on the eflect she produces. Jf you knew her, I believe you would agree with me that the experiment is worth trying. ' Not knowing the lady, I had little faith in the success of the exi)eriment. No one, however, could doubt Lord Loring's admi- rable devotion to his friend — and with that I was fain to be con- tent. When Romayne returned to us, it was decided to submit his case to a consultation of physicians at the earliest possible mo- ment. When Lord Loring took his departure, I accompanied him to the door of the hotel ; perceiving that he wished to say a word more to me in private. He had, it seemed, decided on waiting for the result of the medical consultation, before he tried the effect of the young lady's attractions ; and he wished to caution me against speaking prematurely of visiting the picture gallery to our friend. Not feeling particularly interested in these details of the worthy nobleman's little plot, I looked at his carriage, and privately ad- mired the two splendid horses that drew it. The footman opened the door for his master — and I became aware, for the first time, that a gentleman had accompanied Lord Loring to the hotel, and had waited for him in the carriage. The gentleman bent for- ward, and looked up from a book that he was reading. To my astonishment, I recognised the elderly, fat, and cheerful priest, who had shown such a knowledge of localities, and such an ex- traordinary interest in Vangc Abbey ! It struck me as an odd coincidence that I should see the man again in London, so soon after I had met with him in Yorkshire. This was all I thought about it at the time. If I had known then, what I know now, I might have dreamed, let us say, of throwing that priest into the lake at Vange, and might perhaps have reck- oned the circumstance among the wisely-improved opportunities of my life. 32 li i : I THE BLACK ROBE. To return to the serious interests of the present narrative, I may now announce that my evidence as an eye-witness of events has come to an end. The day after Lord Loring's visit, domestic troubles separated me, to my sincere regret, from Romayne. I have only to add, that the foregoing narrative of personal expe- rience has been written with a due sense of responsibility, and that it may be depended on throughout as an exact statement of the truth. - John Philip Hynd (late Major, 110th Regiment). £ t c u ,1 QtS itic I pe- md ^ht ^tflirtj. CHAPTER I. THE COXFIDENCES. IN an upper room of onn of tlie])aliitial liousos whicli are situ- ated on the north side of Hyde Pjuk, two ladies sat at breakfast, and gossiped over their tea. The elder of the two was Lady Loring — still in the prime of life ; possessed of the golden hair and the clear blue eyes, the de- licately florid complexion, and the freely developed fig le, which are among the favourite attractions popularly associated with the beauty of Englishwomen. Her younger companion was the unknown lady admired by Major Hynd, on the sea passage from France to England. With hair and eyes of the darkest brown ; with a pure pallor of complexion, only changing to a faint rose tint in moments of ^agitation ; with a tall graceful figure, incom- pletely developed in substance and strength — she presented an almost complete contrast to Lady Loring. Two more opposite types of beauty it would have been hardly possible to place at the same table. The servant brought in the letters of the morning. Lady Loring ran through her correspondence rapidly, pushed /iway the letters in a heap, and poured herself out a second cup of tea. * Nothing interesting this morning for me,' she said. * Any news of your mother, Stella? ' The young lady handed an opyn letter to her hostess, with a faint smile. ' See for yomself, Adelaide,' she answered, with the tender sweetness of tone wliich made her voice irresistibly charming, * and tell me if there wore ever two women so utterly unlike each «»ther as my mother and myself V 34 THE BLACK ROBE. Lady Loriiig ran through the letter, as she had run through her own correspondence. * Never, dearest Stella, have I enjoyed myself as I do in this delightful country houso— twenty-seven at dinner every day, without including the neighbours — a little carpet dance every evening — we play billiards, and go into the smoking-room — the hounds meet three times a week — all sorts of celebrities among the company, famous beauties included — such dresses ! such conversation ! — and serious duties, my dear, not neglected — high church and choral service in the town on Sundays — recitations in the evening from Paradise Lost, by an amateur elocutionist — oh, you foolish, headstrong child! why did you make excuses and stay in London, when you might have accompanied me to this earthly Paradise V — are you really ill » — my love to Lady Loring — and of course, if you are ill, you must have medical advice — they ask after you so kindly here — the first dinner bell is ringing before I have half done my letter — what am I to wear 1 — why is my daughter not here to advise me, &c., &c., &c.* * There is time for you to change your mind, and advise your mother,' Lady Loring remarked with grave irony as she returned the letter. * Don't even speak of it 1 ' said Stella. * I really know no life that I should not prefer to the life that my mother is enjoying at this moment. What should I have done, Adelaide, if you had not oflered me a happy refuge in your house ? My " earthly Paradise " is here, where 1 am allowed to dream away my time over my drawings and my books, and to resig-n myself to poor health and low spirits, without being dragged into society, and (worse still) threatened with that " medical advice " in which my poor dear mother believes so implicitly. I wish you would hire^me as your "companion," and let me stay here for the rest of my life.' Iiady Loring's bright face became grave while Stella was speaking. . * My dear,* she said kindly, * I know well how you love retire- ment, and how differently you think and feel from other young women of your age. And I am far from forgetting what sad cir- cumstances Lave encouraged the natural bent of your disposition. But, since you have been staying with me this time, I gee some- thing in you which my intimate knowledge of your character \ t id Id 3t \ THE CONFIDENCES. 85 fails to explain. We have l)een friends since we were together at school — and, in those old days, we never had any secrets from each other. You are feeling some anxiety, or broo