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CHRIS 
 
 BY 
 
 W. E. NORRIS 
 
 author of " adrian vidal,'* " my friend jim," 
 
 "a bachelor's blunder," "major and 
 
 minor," etc, etc. 
 
 I J T'— " 
 
 TORONTO 
 THE NATIONAL P^UBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 1888 
 
Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Cuiada, in the year one thouaand eight 
 hundred and eiffhty-elght, by Tbb NatiomaIi Publibh.no Compamt, in 
 the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Christina Comfton sat upon the low warden wall of 
 the villa which her father had taken at Cannes for the 
 winter, and dangled her legs contentedly in the sunshine. 
 Behind her was the garden, which was but a modest gar- 
 den, and the villa, which though modest enough in point 
 of size, commanded anything but a modest rent ; for the 
 great world has long si ace marked Cannes for its own, 
 and modesty of any kind would be out of place under 
 such distinguished patroLiige. 
 
 Some disagreeable people might even assert that a cer- 
 tain lack of modesty was displayed by a young lady of 
 seventeen, who chose to perch herself upon a wall over- 
 looking the high road ; but Chris as yet knew nothing 
 about disagreeable people, or the disagreeable things that 
 they are wont to say to and of one another. The world 
 to her was a pleasant place, and its inhabitants a friendly 
 and joyous set of beings, most of whom, so far as her 
 faculties of observation (which were considerable) had 
 enabled her to judge, had little to do but to amuse them- 
 selves, and who seemed to do that pretty successfully, 
 upon the whole. For her own part, she had always 
 amused herself very well indeed, and now that her educa- 
 tion was considered to be completed and she was emanci- 
 pated from the control of schoolmistresses and music- 
 masters, she had nothing left to wish for, except the not 
 far-distant day when, as she supposed, she would be pre- 
 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 scnted to her Sovereign, and would take an active part in 
 those London guides ot' which she had heard so much 
 from her friends. 
 
 Meanwhile, she was very well satisfied to remain a child 
 for a few months longer, and enjoy the privileges of child- 
 hood, chief among which was that of doing exactly what 
 she pleased at all times and in all circumstances. Young 
 ladies who have been presented at Court and introduced 
 to London society are not, she had been given to under- 
 stand, quite so free as that. For the moment it was her 
 good pleasure to seat herself upon the wall, aforesaid and 
 bask in the sunshine, and survey the glittering blue bay 
 beneath her and the red-roofed houses of the old town, 
 huddled together on their promontory, and the sharp, jag- 
 ged outlines of the mountains beyond. Becide her sat her 
 little Yorkshire terrier, Peter, who did not personally care 
 much about sitting upon a wall, except in so far as it gave 
 himan opportunity of descrying any cat who might dare 
 to show her face in the vicinity, but who knew his place 
 better than to raise objections to any method of passing 
 the time selected by his mistress. 
 
 It was only half -past ten o'clock in the morning, so 
 that Cannes, in the fashionable sense of the word, was 
 hardly awake yet. Fashionable Cannes had been to a ball 
 the night before, and would not show its nose out of 
 doors for another hour and a-half at least ; but Chris had 
 many friends who did not belong to the fashionable class 
 and presently one after another of these came tramping 
 along the dusty road and stopped to speak to her. The 
 first to arrive was Jos6, the Spanish pedlar, in his velvet 
 jacket, with that striped rug flung over his shoulder, 
 which Chris always wished that somebody would buy, 
 if only to relieve him of the nuisance of carrying it. In- 
 deed, this was such a hot morning that when he came to 
 a standstill beside her, and showed his white teeth and 
 raised his hand to his round cap, as usual, she declared 
 that she would buy it herself, only she hadn't got any 
 money left 
 
OHBia 
 
 JoB^ said that was of no consequence at all : the aeTio- 
 rita could pay him some day — any day. At the same 
 time, he really could not recommend the rug. Such 
 things were all very well for mere tourists, but for per- 
 sons who really knew the value of beautiful work, like 
 the senoriia^ they were scarcely suitable. He had some 
 lace, now, which was truly exquisite. And forthwith he 
 placed his oblong box upon the wall and began to dis- 
 play his treasures. 
 
 But Chris did not want any lace. She had plenty of it, 
 packed away, " which used to belong to my mother," she 
 explained, " and which I suppose I shall be^in to wear 
 next year." What she really would like would be one of 
 those enormous clasp-knives which formed a portion of 
 Josh's stock-in-trade. 
 
 Jos6, however, shook his head decisively. Knives, said 
 he, were not for young ladies, who would only cut their 
 fingers with them. For men they were useful — and he 
 proceeded to point out how a man might be called upon 
 to make use of them — but it must not be said that he had 
 provided the senorita with the means of inflicting an ugly 
 wound upon herself. 
 
 " Very well," answered Chris, drawing her feet on to 
 the top of the wall, clasping her hands round her legs 
 and resting her chin upon her knees, " then we won't buy 
 or sell to-day. Tell me about the bull -fights at Seville." 
 
 So Jos6 quickly rolled up a cigarette between his 
 brown fingers, lighted it, and embarked in his broken 
 French upon a descriptive narration which he had made 
 many times before, and which never failed to excite 
 both him and his hearer as it went on. Chris, who 
 loved all animals, was never quite sure that she ought 
 not to feel sorry for the poor bull ; but then, as Jos6 pointed 
 out to her, the bull had a noble fight for it, which he 
 could not help enjoying, and which he probably did not 
 expect to terminate in his death : added to which, his 
 death, when it came, was a swift one, while it occasionally 
 happened that he killed or maimed his most formidable 
 
OHRIS. 
 
 antagonist As for the part which the horses played in 
 the show, Jos^ passed lightly over that. It was not 
 pretty, he admitted, but it was necessary. Nobody, not 
 even Frascuelo himself, could tight a perfectly fresh and 
 untired bull. Besides, it was the custom of the country, 
 just as it was the custom in the eenorita's country he 
 had been told, to let a whole pack of hounds tear a fox 
 to pieces. 
 
 After a time, Jos^ shouldered his rug and his box- of 
 rubbish, and strolled off on his daily round to the villas 
 of those opulent foreigners with whom it was alike his 
 business and his pleasure to haggle ; but he was soon re- 
 placed bv other wayfarers. The company of Italian mins- 
 trels ana singers, who troll out the same songs in every city 
 of the peninsula from Naples to Venice, and who turn 
 aside in the winter season to reap their share of the gol- 
 den harvest of the Riviera: the beggars who managed to 
 pick up a livelihood by soliciting alms even in a depart- 
 ment where mendicity is prohibited : the slouching 
 sergent de ville, who pretended not to see their illegal 
 proceedings : the man who sold hot chesnuts — as though 
 any human being could want to eat hot chesnuts on such 
 a morning ! — these and many others passed the spot 
 where Miss Compton had taken up her station, and halt- 
 ed to wish her good-day and answer the quick questions 
 that she put to them about themselves and their belong- 
 ings. She knew each of them by name : she had a few 
 sotw for the beggars and a kindly word for everybody. 
 In return, she received plenty of those direct and unequi- 
 vocal compliments which fail naturally from the lips of 
 Southern people, and which were probably as sincere as 
 they were outspoken. 
 
 Whether Chris Compton was a pretty girl or not was 
 a moot point among women, most of whom, to tell the 
 truth, were inclined to decide that she was not. Her 
 features, to be sure, were not rej^ular : her nose was too 
 
 short : her eyes, though 
 
 briffht. 
 
 were not particularly 
 
 large : when you had said that she had a neat figure, a 
 
OHRI& 
 
 fi^ood conrplexion, and that her dark hair, with bronze 
 lights in it here and there, was well enough in its way, 
 you had said about all that thero was to be said for her. 
 But these were feminine criticisms. No masculine mind 
 had ever doubted the obvious fact of her beauty, though 
 the masculine intellect might not be equal to the task of 
 defining in what it consisted. And so her humble friends 
 did not hesitate to tell her that she was as beautiful as 
 the morning, which statement was listened to without 
 any embarrassment on her part. Some of them snapped 
 their fingers amiably at Peter, who, however, only rpispon- 
 ded by a sort of snort, and by gazing over their heads ; 
 for Peter was a good deal more exclusive than his mis- 
 tress, and tolerated no familiarities from social inferiors. 
 
 But at length a pedestrian hove in sight whom this 
 haughty terrier deemed worthy of more cordial demon- 
 strations of regard. He cocked his little brown ears, he 
 wagged his stump of a tail excitedly : finally he leapt 
 down from the wall, and scurried along the road to greet 
 the new comer, whirling past him and approaching him 
 by a series of narrowing circles, as his habit was 
 when under the sway of pleasurable emotion. He was a 
 dog of immense discrimination ; but the most discrimina- 
 ting of dogs and men make mistakes sometimes, and a 
 keen observer might have fancied that Peter was mak- 
 ing a little mistake in this instance. Because, somehow 
 or other, the very handsome young man upon whose 
 trousers he was leaving the imprintis of his dusty paws 
 did not look quite like a gentleman. It was not that the 
 young man was badly dressed — he was, if anything, 
 rather too well dressed : it was not that there was any- 
 thing particular in his gait or bearing that could be said 
 to denote vulgarity ; but there was a subdued suggestion 
 of swagger about him, an air of assurance which only 
 those assume who are not sure of themselves ; and when 
 he opened his lips there was no longer any doubt about 
 the matter, his voice was not a gentleman's voice. 
 
 But these details, which did not attract everybody's 
 
8 
 
 OHRIS. 
 
 notice, are merely mentioned here for the guidance of the 
 reader. Mr. Valentine Richardson was admitted into 
 the society of gentlemen, and was to most intents and 
 purpK)se8 one of them. He was, moreover, extremly good- 
 looking, tall, dark, well put together, and using his limbs 
 with me easy grace of an athlete. His age might be 
 two-and-twenty or thereabouts. Such natural advan- 
 tages cannot but help a man on the road towards popu- 
 larity ; and as for Peter, he was in a manner bound to do 
 homage to Mr. Richardson. Some acknowledgement, 
 surely, is due to the benefactor who has bought you out 
 of the thraldom of a dog-dealer's restricted premises, and 
 presented you to the kindest mistress in the world. After 
 all, Peter may have had mental reservations which he 
 was too loyal to reveal. 
 
 " Well, Chris," said Mi*. Richardson, taking off his hat 
 — and though he took his hat off', he did so with an exag- 
 gerated flourish which robbed the action of its courtesy 
 - -'• up early, as usual, I see." 
 
 Chris had imitated Peter and had slid off the wall 
 She 710W stood with her back against it, resting her 
 elbows on the coping. 
 
 '• Early ! " she exclaimed scornfully. " Why, it is close 
 upon the middle of the day ! I have been up for the last 
 five hours." 
 
 " After having been in bed for the previous nine, eh ? 
 I have had to make the best of four hours' sleep, and 
 yet here I am, as fresh as a daisy. So if you come to 
 that, I think I have about as good a right to brag as you 
 have." 
 
 " Were you dancing last night, then ? " 
 
 " I grieve to say that I was less healthily employed 
 Went over to Monte Carlo with some fellows and won a 
 hundred louis. Came back by the last train, and pro- 
 ceeded to lose them, together with another hundred odd 
 to keep them company. Such is life ! " 
 
 " Such is the life which certain people choose to lead. 
 I call it very silly of them," observed Chris, severely. 
 
0HRI8. 
 
 " Hear, hear ! I am quite of your opinion, my dear 
 Chris — especially when 1 lose. Only I haven't the cou- 
 rage of my convictions, as you have. You are a good girl, 
 you see, whereas I am a very bad boy." 
 
 " If you go on in this way you will be ruined," con- 
 tinued Chris. " I have heard more than one person say 
 so lately." 
 
 " How kind of more than one person to take such an 
 interest in poor me ! But so great is my ingratitude that 
 I don't care a little bit what more than one person in 
 Cannes may think or say about me ; and I do hope that 
 that one person isn't going to be so unkind as to • (^Id me 
 on a nice fine morning li^'e this — after I have ris^n with 
 the lark on purpose to see her too ! " 
 
 " Oh, I am not scolding you, Mr. Richardson : of course, 
 if you like to ruin yourself, you can." 
 
 " And ' Mr. Kichardson," if you please ! This is becom- 
 ing serl "as." 
 
 " I am not going to call you ' Val ' any more," Chris 
 announced, with a very slight increase in colour. " Lady 
 Barnstaple says it doesn't sound nice." 
 
 " Lady Barnstaple be hanged ! Is she one of the amiable 
 creatures who foretell my ruin ? Anyhow, I don't see 
 why she should be an infallible judge of what sounds 
 nice. * Val * may not sound nice to her, but it does to me ; 
 and as I'm the person principally concerned " 
 
 " But I quite agree with her," interrupted Chns : " I 
 am getting too old now to call men by their christian 
 names." 
 
 ** I don't want you to call any other man by his chris- 
 tian name ; only if you address me as ' Mr. Richardson * 
 again, I shall go away." 
 
 " Mr. Richardson," returned Chris with great prompti- 
 tude. 
 
 However, the young man did not carry out his dread- 
 ful threat. He perched himself upon the wall instead, and 
 allowed the question of nomenclature to fall into abey- 
 ance, and chattered away volubly and rather amusingly 
 
10 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 for a quarter of an hour. His talk was chiefly of him- 
 self and his various exploits and experiences, which seem 
 to have been of a striking nature. 
 
 To one of his own sex such a style of conversation 
 would very soon have become intolerable ; but it is to be 
 feared that Miss Compton did not find it so. The man 
 was really something of a hero in a physical sense. He 
 w^as a fair rider, a first-rate swimmer, and the best lawn- 
 tennis player in Cannes, whi ;h advantages, added to his 
 youth and beauty, were perhaps sufficient to excuse the 
 admiration of a girl of seventeen. Nor were even his 
 vices, so far as she was acquainted with them, of the kind 
 which young people are prone to condemn unsparingly. 
 
 He went away at last, remarking that he would be late 
 for a breakfast party at which he had promised to be 
 present ; and before he was out of sight, a small, delicate- 
 looking man, very thin, very pale, with large, bright 
 brown eyes and a carefully-trimmed beard and mous- 
 tache, in which a few grey hairs were visible, emerged 
 from the villa and stepped slowly across the garden. 
 Chris, who had been standing in the road, scrambled over 
 the wall and ran to meet this new arrival, whom the 
 kissed on both cheeks, 
 
 " How are you this morning, father ? ** she asked. 
 « Still tired ? " 
 
 " I am still tired," replied Mr. Compton, with a slight 
 smile. " I am always tired : I presume that I always 
 shall be tired to the end of the chapter. It is a sensation 
 to which one grows accustomed in the long run." He 
 paused for a moment and then asked : " Was that young 
 Richardson whom you were talking to ? " 
 
 Chris nodded. 
 
 "Oh ! Well, do you know, Chris, I think you had 
 better not talk any more to young Richardson. Not in 
 private, I mean. He is — well, rather a young cad." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think he is that ! " cried Chris, with a 
 touch of indignation. 
 
 " No : you wouldn't. Otherwise, you would hardly 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 11 
 
 care to talk to him. But he appears to me to be a cad. 
 Disreputable too, or on the verge of it. And nobody 
 knows anything about him. We had perhaps better let 
 him drop. Not with a thump, you know, but just let 
 him drop gently." 
 
 Mr. Compton had a slow, languid method of enuncia- 
 tion. He spoke in short sentences, with a pause and 
 something like a gasp for breath between each. Evi- 
 dently he was not much interested in Mr. Richardson, 
 perhaps not very much in his daughter either, for he did 
 not seem even to hear a murmured protest on her part. 
 Presently he asked, '* Will you bo seeing the Lavergnes 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Chris. " I thought of breakfasting 
 with them, if you were going out I suppose you are 
 going out ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course," returned her father with a short 
 laugh. " When don't I go out ? — and when don't I wish 
 to goodness that I could stay at home ! I have to lunch 
 at the Duchess of Isiay's, which is an unspeakable bore. 
 One always meets a host of people in that house, and one 
 is lucky if one gets away by four o'clock. I was going 
 to say that if you see Lavergne, you might ask him to 
 look in upon me when he has nothing else to do. To- 
 morrow morning, perhaps. Tell him I have one or two 
 more things to say to him about the — the subject we 
 were talking about the other day." 
 
 At this moment one of the small open carriages which 
 ply for hire at Cannes turned in at the gates of the villa, 
 and Mr. Compton with a farewell wave of his hand to 
 his daughter, stepped into it and was driven away to the 
 ducal festivity. There had been a time when lunching 
 or dining with duchesses had been delightful to him ; 
 but that time had gone by. Who cares for what he can 
 always get ? Now that he was upon the farther side of 
 middle age, Percival Compton was well known to, and 
 even sought after by those duchestoS, marchionesses, and 
 other iuierior luminaries who, with their friends and 
 
I 
 
 IS 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 belongings, may perhaps be called the pleasantest people 
 in England, and who (making allowance for variety of 
 individual taste) are, at all events, generally considered 
 to lead English society. This distinction he owed no 
 doubt primarily to Iiis being a poet, a musician, and a 
 novelist, but also in no small degree to his charming 
 manners. He was not, as he was very well aware, a 
 great poet, or a great musician, or a great novelist ; but 
 the combination of the three gifts is not exactly common, 
 and, as he had contrived to take the taste of his genera- 
 tion, he earned without much exertion a considerable 
 annual income — which he spent. Left a widower in early 
 life, he had only one daughter, so that he might be 
 said to enjoy the advantages of domesticity without 
 paying the customary high price for them ; and indeed 
 he was spoken of with envy by most of his artistic 
 superiors and equals as an example of a perfectly success- 
 ful and happy man. However, he had bad health ; and 
 that spoilt all. There are no earthly compensations for 
 bad health ; and perhaps Mr. Compton had not troubled 
 his head very much about compensations with which this 
 world has nothing to do. It was not his habit to trouble 
 his head about anything more than he could help. But 
 how can you possibly help worrying yourself a little when 
 you are quite sure that you have got heart-disease, when 
 your entire invested fortune does not bring you in more 
 than three hundred pounds a year, and when you have a 
 daughter who has been accustomed to live at the rate of 
 something like three thousand ? 
 
 The thought of his daughter and her future was begin- 
 ning to be a serious worry to Mr. Compton. Like every- 
 body else's daughter, she had grown up with amazing 
 rapidity : yesterday she had been a child, to-day she was 
 a young woman, or close upon it. He realised what 
 many people have a difficulty in realising, that the pre- 
 sent belongs to the young : he perceived that this little 
 i^irl was a personage, a more important personage, pos- 
 sibly, than himself — and she would only have three 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 13 
 
 Ininrlrnd a year, and his heart was certainly all wrong. 
 His heart, in a metaphorical sense, was not very far 
 wrong. He was a kindly, selfish, easy-going mortal who 
 had never willingly injured any one, if he had never 
 exerted himself very much to do any one a service. As 
 for his daughter, he really knew remarkably little about 
 her. He had gone his way — a pleasant, busy way, what 
 with his literary avocations, and his social engagements 
 and his wandenngs from one continental watering-place 
 to another — and she had gone hers. He had taken care 
 that she should be furnished with the best of French mas- 
 ters, music-masters, riding-masters, and so forth : the 
 duchesses and the other great ladies had been very kind : 
 she had associated freely with their children, and he 
 hal noted with satisfaction that she had caught the tone 
 and ways of good society. Thus he had discharged his 
 parental duties, or had left them to discharge themselves ; 
 and now, as it seemed, the day of reckoning was in 
 sight. Had it been altogether prudent to throw his 
 daughter so much with great people and to let her sup- 
 pose, as she evidently did that hei- lot was likely to be 
 identical with theirs ? Reallv he was not sure. No one 
 knew better than he the value of such friendships as she 
 had made : no one knew better that, in all ranks of 
 society, out of sight is apt to be synonymous with out of 
 mind. When Lady Barnstaple asked who was going to 
 present Chris next year, and hinted that she would be 
 willing to bring her out with her own daughter, he 
 understood that half promises of that kind were not to 
 be counted upon. Yet the girl r ^ust have made friends of 
 one description or another, and it was surely better that 
 her friends should be ladies than not. He did not feel 
 that he had done so badly for her in that respect. Un- 
 doubtedly, however, he ought to have saved more 
 money. 
 
 'rh(;se things he reflected on while sitting at the Duch- 
 ess of Islav's luncheon table, and sayin^r the neat and 
 clever things which he was expected to say, and which 
 
14 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 (being in an unwontedly bitter mood) he representtd to 
 himself as the price that he was paying for his food. 
 
 Chris, meanwhile, whose friends, as we have alreadj 
 seen, were not all of an aristocratic order, strolled across 
 the garden and scrambled through an intervening hedge, 
 with the intention of sharing the midday meal of her 
 neighbours, Dr. and Madame Lavergne, who were by no 
 means aristocratic, but on the contrary, severe and con- 
 vinced Republicans. This is to say that Dr. Lavergne 
 was a convinced Republican ; his wife's convictions 
 resembled those of the wise and unassuming politician 
 who was content to say ditto to Mr. Burke. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Chris was a very small person, so that she could creep 
 through a privet hedge without doing it any serious dam- 
 age ; but if she had not been also a privileged person, her 
 diminutive size would hardly have saved her from the 
 wrath of Dr. Lavergne, who, advanced Republican 
 though he was, had strict notions with reference to the 
 sscredness of private property. 
 
 The property upon which Chris so unceremoniously 
 entered was, indeed a very different one from that which 
 she had quitted. Mr. Compton's garden was the garden 
 of a hired villa, kept more or less in order by the indi- 
 vidual who blackened the boots and cleaned the knives, 
 and boasted little more in the way of flowers than such 
 as had propagated themselves from the seed of former 
 years ; whereas Dr. Lavergne's was the chief pride and 
 the chief interest of its owner's life. Dr. Lavergne's roses 
 were famous even in that land of roses : he had succeeded 
 in rearing creepers and flowering shrubs which nobody 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 15 
 
 else could rear, and his small domain was at all seasons a 
 model of exquisite neatness. That, no doubt, was 
 because he was his own gardner ; and he was hard at 
 work in his shirt sleeves when Chris came behind him 
 and tapped him familiarly upon the shoulder. 
 
 He wheeled round quickly, showing a sharp, smooth- 
 shaven face and a pair of bright black eyes, overshadowed 
 by bushy eyebrows. When he took off his broad- 
 hrimmed Panama hat he uncovered a thick head of hair, 
 which was snow-white and closely cropped. At the first 
 glance, and at a short distance, he might have passed for 
 a man of fifty ; but closer inspection made it evident that 
 he must be a great deal older than that ; and in truth he 
 had passed his seventieth birthday, though he was still 
 sound, healthy a: d active. 
 
 " I am all the more enchanted to see you, mademoi' 
 selle," said he, " because it is breakfast time, and because , 
 I have been told that we are to have a ragout aux fives 
 to-day. Can you resist a ragout aux fives V 
 
 " I came to beg you for something to eat," answered 
 Chris. " I don't much care what it is ; but I detest eat- 
 ing alone; don't you.? And my father has gone out to 
 breakfast." 
 
 The old man shrugged his shoulders. " It would be 
 an agreeable change for your father," he remarked, " and 
 a wholesome change too, if he were sometimci to break- 
 fast at home. But it is not for me to complain of his 
 absence, since we benefit by it. Is it a princess, or a 
 duchess, or a countess who has the honour of entertaining 
 him to-day ? I will not insult him by suggesting that 
 he would breakfast with a simple commoner — like him- 
 self." 
 
 Chris, who knew her old friend's prejudices and peculi- 
 arities did not resent the sarcasm. The young are often 
 more ready to make allowances for the old than the old 
 are to do as much for the young. " He has gone to the 
 Duchess of Islay's," she answered ; " and I don't think 
 duchesses are any worse than other people. This one 
 
 .) 
 
1 
 
 16 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 has promised to give me a cutting of her hardenbergia 
 for you." 
 
 Dr. Lavergne's eyes glistened. Duchesses may be 
 ridiculous anachronisms, but in a hardenbergia there is 
 solid worth. Besides, as he wns something of a philoso- 
 pher, he reflected that one man has as good a right to his 
 hobby as another. Mr. Compton probably did not know 
 a hardenbergia from a weed : he himself was unable to 
 detect any important difference between a duchess and a 
 washerwoman. " Let us live and let live ! " he ejaculated 
 aloud, as he put on his alpaca coat and led the way 
 towards the house. Then he became grave and silent on 
 a sudden, for his own words had accidently suggested a 
 melancholy thought to him ; nor did he look any less 
 grave when Chris delivered her father's message. 
 
 " I am always at Mr. Compton's orders," he replied a 
 , little curtly ; " but I do not know that theie is anything 
 more to be said about the subject that he mentions." 
 
 Madame Lavergne, a little wizened old woman of that 
 dowdy, yet tidy type of French houvgeoise which is so 
 fast disappearing, made Chris sit down beside her on the 
 sofa in the stifHy arranged, uncarpeted salon, and held 
 her by the hand while she t«lked to her. She had a 
 kindly, ugly face, and a high, clear voice, with an occa- 
 sional quaver in it which may have been the legacy of 
 bygone sorrows. Madame Lavergne had had plenty of 
 sorrows in her life : all her children were now de:td ; 
 some of them had given her a great deal of trouble and 
 anxiety before dying; and her husband, though she 
 adored him and believed him to be the best as well as 
 the wisest of mankind, was not always in a good humour. 
 He was in a good humour to-day because Chris Compton 
 had come in, and because he had taken a fancy to Chris, 
 who indeed had the gift of making all sorts of people 
 take a fancy to her. Madame Lavergne herself was fon<i 
 of the motherless girl, and sorry for lier, having reasons 
 for being sorry for b^r with which Chvis was nob 
 acquainted. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 17 
 
 That young lady talked without much intermission 
 during the breakfast, saying whatever came into her head, 
 as her habit was ; and when the repast was concluded 
 Peter exhibited his tricks, which were varied and ingeni- 
 ous, to the delight of the old couple, who gave him many 
 more lumps of sugar than were good for him. 
 
 " Ah mademoiselle" cried Dr. Lavergne, " how wise 
 you are to choose your friends from among the brute crea- 
 tion ! They are the only true friends. If a horse or a 
 dog loves you once he loves you always : he asks nothing 
 better than to serve you as long as he lives, and he will 
 forgive you for beating him or even starving him. We 
 men and women have a different rule. We inquire of 
 our friends, " What can you do for us ? " — and supposing 
 that they are compelled to reply " Nothing," we bow, if 
 we are polite, or we make a grimace, if we are impolite, 
 and we promptly retire." 
 
 Chris observed that her experience had not been so 
 discouraging. Numbers of people had been very kind to 
 her, and yet it was certain that she could do nothing at 
 all to repay them for their kindness. 
 
 But the doctor, who was a pessimist, rejoined : " My 
 child, you do not yet know the race to which you have 
 the honour to belong. For the rest, I am not anxious to 
 enlighten you. Believe in your fellow-creatures as long 
 as you can : you will find out soon enough what they are 
 worth." 
 
 Dr. Lavergne had perhaps some excuse for being a 
 pessimist. He had been a Republican, and an injudi- 
 ciously outspoken one, during the twenty years of the 
 Second Empire : he had been an enthusiast in his pro- 
 fession, and he had met with the fate of most enthusiasts, 
 political and professional. His ideas had triumphed, but 
 he had not triumphed with them, and he was not mag- 
 nanimous enough or indifferent enough to walk in the tri- 
 umph of his inferiors. At the age of sixty he had inher- 
 ited a modest fortune, and had thereupon retired to the 
 south of France to cultivate roses, leaving politics and 
 
 (3) 
 
. i 
 
 i I 
 
 18 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 medicine to get on as best they would without him. 
 Possibly it may have added to his mortification to notice 
 how little he was missed. In any case, he had become a 
 professed sceptic, believing in nothing, least of all in his 
 own calling, which he declared to be a mere survival of 
 barbarism and superstition. " A surgeon can set your leg 
 for you," he was wont to say ; " but the utmost that a 
 physician can do is to tell you what is the matter with 
 you, and even in answering that question he is more 
 often wrong than right." Nevertheless, Dr. Lavergne 
 was a kind-hearted old gentleman, and believed, as sceptics 
 generally do, in a great many things which he pretended 
 to deride. 
 
 At three o'clock Chris jumped up and ran away, having 
 an engagement to go out riding with some of her friends ; 
 and after she was gone Madame Lavergne said, with a 
 sigh, to her husband, " Mon ami, my heart aches for the 
 child. What will become of her ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? " returned the doctor, shrugging his 
 shoulders. " Who knows what will become of any of 
 us?" 
 
 " Oh, as for you and me, we know very well. Besides, 
 what does it signify ? But she is so young and so happy, 
 and she does not think about the future at all. It would 
 be a sad misfortune for her if anything were to happen 
 to her father." 
 
 " I do not know," observed Doctor Lavergne, frowning, 
 "why women have such a dislike to putting a direct 
 question. One understands what they want, and one is 
 aware that there will be no peace in the house until they 
 have obtained their answer. Well, I will answer you. 
 He consulted me as a friend, and as a friend I told him 
 that he might live another ten years. It was true : he 
 may live ten years. But it is more likely that he will 
 die next week. What would you have ? He is a man 
 who does not take care of himself, and now he is fright- 
 ened. A frightened man is already half dead." 
 
 Madame Lavergne sighed again. " I was afraid of it. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 19 
 
 And what will become of our poor child when she is left 
 alone in the world ? " 
 
 '• Why, then, my dear, she will learn what human nature 
 and human friendship are worth. It is a lesson which all 
 of us must learn sooner or later ; and I say that she will 
 learn it then, becausy her father gave me to understand 
 that he would only have a small fortune to bequeath to 
 her." 
 
 " I hope, at least," said Madame Lavergne, after a pause, 
 " that she will not be disappointed in our friendship." 
 Whereupon the doctor laughed and went back to his roses. 
 
 Before condemning human friendship at large as * 
 untrustworthy, it would be as well to understand clearly 
 what is meant by the expression ; because some injustice 
 would be done towards those who, in the kindness of their 
 hearts, help us over a stile to-day, if they were to be 
 denounced as traitors for failing to be upon the spot in 
 order to pluck us out of a quicksand to-morrow. Those 
 who are disappointed in their fellow creatures are gener- 
 ally those who expect more than they have any business 
 to expect. As for Chris, she had as yet had no occasion 
 to ask herself whether her fair-weather friends would 
 remain constant to her in adversity or not. She liked 
 them for their own sake, and supposed that they liked 
 her for hers — which, indeed, was the truth. There was 
 Lady Barnstaple, for instance, who had often told her 
 as much in so many words. Lady Barnstaple, being an 
 outspoken women, avowed that she had no great fancy 
 for Mr. Compton, whom the Duchess of Islay and others 
 found so charming. 
 
 ** I admit that he is clever," she would say : " he is a 
 useful sort of man to ask to dinner. But he is too artifi- 
 cial for my taste and too fond of himself. Chris is a 
 dear, good little girl, without a particle of humbug about 
 her, and I am only too glad that Gracie and her should 
 be allies." 
 
 It was with Lady Grace Severne, a pretty, fair-haired 
 girl of about her own age, that Chris went out riding after 
 
"."■1 " }! ' .I';" 
 
 '..■■.UMIVIVTCW 
 
 » # ■— ^<>»o>- 
 
 20 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 she had left Dr. Lnverjnrnc's house ; and Lady Grace 
 informed her that they were ^oing over to the Nice carni- 
 val on the morrow ; also that they would like to take her 
 with them if her father did not object. This latter formula 
 was only an empty courtesy ; for it was not Mr. Compton's 
 habit to object to his daughter's doing anything or going 
 anywhere. And so it came to pass that, on the following 
 day, Chris, clad in a domino and a wire mask, was seated 
 at an open window overlooking the broad thoroughfare 
 which of late years has become very much what the Corso 
 at Rome used to be on Shrove Tuesday. 
 
 She enjoyed it immensely, being blessed with immense 
 faculties for enjoyment, and certainly the scene was pretty 
 and animate*! enough. The procession of gaily-adorned 
 carriages which passed to and fro in the street beneath : 
 the huge cars, ci'owded with maskers in fantastic costumes, 
 who showered confetti at the windows and received a 
 galling fire in return : the music, the banners, the brilliant 
 sunshine, the occasional recognition of an acquaintance 
 among the passers-by — all these combined to provide 
 more than a sufficiency of excitement and entertainment 
 for two girls only just out of the schoolroom. As for 
 Lady Barnstaple, who was stout and middle-aged, she 
 sat in the background and groaned over the heat and dust 
 with a few sympathetic dowagers. 
 
 " This," exclaimed Chris, " is the sort of thing that I 
 should like to do every day for a week ! Then perhaps 
 one might have a chance of getting tired of it. As it is 
 one has just enough to make one long for more. Gracie, 
 do you know what it is to be bored ? " 
 
 Lady Grace, upon reflection, rather thought that she 
 did 
 
 "/ don't," said Chris, " and I don't believe I ever shalL 
 People say that the London season is a bore ; but I think 
 that must be affectation, because why should they go 
 through it if they don't like it ? " 
 
 " It is one of the things that one has to go through," 
 Lady Grace observed. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 21 
 
 " But you will enjoy it, Gmcie you know you will 1 
 You are just as t'oiid of dancing as I am, and you likr 
 seeing heaps of new faces, just as I do." 
 
 " One doesn't see a great many new faces in London, 
 and the dancing men are getting fewer every year, and 
 some of the best balls are given by people whom one's 
 mother won't know. Taking it altogether, it is very 
 tiring and rather poor fun," said iady Grace, who had 
 elder sisters, and knew what she was talking about. 
 
 " Well, I mean to have plenty oi: fun at all events," 
 said Chris decisively. 
 
 " I dare say you will," answered her neighbour, smiling. 
 " You are sure to have plenty of admirers, which is 
 another way of saying the same thing." 
 
 " Oh, I don't want them," Chris declared, with superb 
 disdain. " Give me a few decent partners, and that is all 
 that I ask. I have made up my mind," she continued, " that 
 I shall not marry. That is unless somebody exceptionally 
 nice should turn up. Rich too — yes, I think he had 
 better be rich. And of course he must not object to hav-^ 
 ing my father to live with us." 
 
 Lady Grace remarked that many an otherwise amiable' 
 husband would draw the line at providing permanent 
 quarters for his father-in-law. 
 
 " Then," said Chris " he would have to do without me. 
 My father would be perfectly wretched if he had to live 
 alone. He thinks he wouldn't ; but that is because he 
 doesn't know how many odd jobs I do for him. No ser- 
 vant would ever be able to make him comfortable. 
 Besides which, it cheers him up to have somebody in the 
 house whom he can talk to when he is inclined, and lately 
 he has taken to talking a good deal to me." 
 
 Lady Grace was proceeding to point out that if Mr. 
 Compton pined for a patient auditor, there was really 
 nothing to prevent him from marrying a second time ; but 
 Chris, who would have deeply resented such a sug- 
 gestion, did not hear it, her attention having been diverted 
 For the moment by the manoeuvres of a tall and graceful 
 
'wmnr 
 
 22 
 
 OHBI& 
 
 youth, wearing a mediaaval Venetian costume, who had 
 taken up his station upon the pavement opposite, and who, 
 after lightly tossing a few pellets in at the open window, 
 and thrown a bouquet or exquisite hothouse flowers 
 into her lap. 
 
 " It seems," observed Lady Grace, raising her eyebrows 
 and laughing, ** that admirers are to be had without going 
 so far OS London for them. Who is your picturesque 
 friend ? " 
 
 " I think it must be Val Richardson— Mr. Richardson," 
 answered Chris. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lady Grace, who had a slight acquaintance 
 with this gentleman ; and as he raised his plumed cap at 
 that moment, she favoured him with a little bow. 
 
 Possibly he may have chosen to interpret that as an 
 invitation. At any rate, he stepped quickly across the 
 street, passed through the doorway above which the girls 
 were seated, and presently entered the room, removing 
 his mask as he did so. He walked straight up to Lady 
 Barnstaple, who stared and then said rather coldly, " Oh — 
 Mr. Robertson, isn't it ? How do you do, Mr. Robertson ? " 
 
 Val was not easily snubbed. He addressed a few 
 commonplaces to the dowagers, then dragged a chair 
 towards the window, and seated himself between the two 
 younger ladies with the easy air of one who is sure of his 
 welcome. And he was, it must be confessed, very success- 
 ful in amusing them. He knew or appeared to know 
 every one of note in the crowd : his precision of aim was 
 again and again displayed in a way which was rewarded 
 by the laughter and applause which it merited; and if his 
 manner was sometimes a little too familiar, that was an 
 offence which the circumstances of the occasion rendered 
 less noticeable and more excusable than it would have 
 been at any other time. 
 
 But Lady Barnstaple, who had taken very little notice 
 of him did not seem to beany the more inclined to excuse 
 him on that account. " It strikes me, my dear," she 
 remarked to Chris an hour or so later, while she and her 
 
OHBI& 
 
 party were waiting at the station for the crain which was 
 to take them back to Cannes, " that your friend Mr. 
 Robertson, or Johnson, or Dickson, or whatever his name 
 may be, wants putting into his proper place." 
 
 " His name is Kichardson — and what is his proper place, 
 Lady Barnstaple ? " inquired Chris innocently. 
 
 " How in the world should I know ? " returned Lady 
 Barnstaple. " Behind a counter, perhaps. Certainly not 
 behind your chair, with his arms stretched over the back 
 of it. And I think, " she added, " that your father would 
 agree with me there." 
 
 The speech was, of course, injudicious ; and Lady Barn- 
 staple, who was by no means a stupid woman, would pro- 
 bably have adopted quite a different method of protecting 
 her own daugl i- from ineligible suitors ; but, after all, 
 she was not Chris Compton's keeper, and what she chiefly 
 desired to express at the moment was irritation at thd 
 impertinence of this Mr. Richardson in forcing his way 
 into her hired premises. Chris, who was not at all likely 
 to be set against any of her friends by hearing them 
 unjustly compared to counter-jumpers, thought a good 
 deal more about Val Richardson on her way home than 
 she would have done if nobody had attacked him ; and 
 the unfortunate conclusion at which she arrived was that 
 he was depricated by certain persons because he did not 
 happen to be rich. Her father, to be sure, had called him 
 a cad ; but that was what her father was very apt to say 
 about any man to whom he did not take a fancy, and he 
 frequently changed his opinion upon closer acquaintance. 
 " I must try and bring them a little more together," Chris 
 thought. 
 
 Lady Barnstaple's carriage was waiting at the station 
 at Cannes. She dropped Chris at the corner of the road 
 which led to Mr. Compton's villa, the girl declaring that 
 she could very well run those few yards and refusing the 
 escort of the footman, though it was now dark. *' Nobody 
 ever comes our way after nightfall," she said. 
 
 Somebody, however, was standing by the gate of the 
 
-4 f 
 
 \ 
 ■\ 
 
 I ! 
 
 IgRgr 
 
 ; rist.-fTff?;-»m£lia\.\ 
 
 >/ 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 24 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 villa now : somebody whom she presently made out to be 
 old Dr. Lavergne, and who spread out his arms as if to 
 bar her passnge. His arms were trembling a good deal, 
 and so did his voice, as he stammered confusedly : " Stop, 
 Tnademoiselle ! stop, my child ! I have been waiting: for 
 you — I have something to tell you." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Chris breathlessly. 
 " Has anything happened ? " 
 
 " Yes — something has happened. Your father — he — 
 is very ill." And then, as Chris darted forward, he caught 
 her by the arm and held her back, murmuring, " No, no ! 
 you must not go home : it would be no use. Come with 
 me, my child. Madame Lavergne will tell you " 
 
 *' Do you mean," asked Chris, speaking in a quiet, steady 
 voice, which sounded to her strangely unlike her own, 
 ** that he is dead ? " 
 
 Dr. Lavergne made no reply, and for a few seconds 
 there was absolute silence. 
 
 " What was it ? " was Chris's next question, put in the 
 same calm, level tone. " Was it an accident ? " 
 
 " No : there was no accident, ii^ suffering : you must 
 remember that. Ah, my dear, we must all die ; but not 
 many of us can hope to die without long agony. I found 
 him sitting in his cliair as though he were asleep. And it 
 was not unexpected. We were prepared for it: he him- 
 self was prepared for it." 
 
 " And yet none of you told me ! " cried Chris. 
 
 Again the doctor made no answer ; but now Peter, who, 
 instead of giving his mistress the boisterous welcome to 
 which she was accustomed, had remained unseen in the 
 background, crept forward and licked her hand. It was 
 so unlike him to behave in that way, and his sympathy 
 somehow seemed so much more real than that of the poor 
 doctor, who, like all human beings, had begun to point 
 out mitigating circumstances before his bad news was 
 well spoken, that tlie girl suddenly broke down. She 
 seated herself on a heap of stones by the wayside, caught 
 the little dog up in her arms, and burst out crying like a 
 child. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 25 
 
 nade out to be 
 arms as if to 
 a good deal, 
 sedly : " Stop, 
 n waiting for 
 
 breathlessly. 
 
 father — he — 
 
 ard, he caught 
 
 ing, " No, no ! 
 
 Come with 
 
 you " 
 
 % quiet, steady 
 ilike her own, 
 
 I few seconds 
 
 m, put in the 
 t?" 
 
 ig: you must 
 die ; but not 
 ony. I found 
 isleep. And it 
 r it: he him- 
 
 iris. 
 
 >w Peter, who, 
 
 welcome to 
 inseen in the 
 and. It was 
 lis sympathy 
 at of the poor 
 egun to point 
 ad news was 
 
 down. She 
 iyside, caught 
 crying like a 
 
 " Oh, Peter, Peter ! " she sobbed, as she kissed his rough 
 head, " what shall we do ? What shall we do ? " 
 
 Under cover of the darkness, Dr. Lavergne smiled and 
 drew a Jong breath. For two mortal hours he had been 
 hovering about the gate, knowing that he had before him 
 one of the most painful tasks which any man can be 
 called upon to perform, and dreading it so intensely, that 
 if he could have escaped by the sacrifice of every flower 
 in his possession, his garden would have been converted 
 into a wilderness then and there. Now it was over, and 
 well over. " From the moment that she can shed tears," 
 the doctor thought, " there is nothing to fear. She will 
 cry a great deal : they always do when they begin like 
 that ; and then she will tire herself out, and then she will 
 sleep. Allans, if anybody is ill to-morrow, it will be I 
 rather than she, poor child ! At my age it is not good to 
 be upsrt" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 One fine hot morning, six weeks after the occurrence 
 of the catastrophe recorded in the last chapter, Chris 
 Compton was sitting in Dr. Lavergne's garden, with an 
 open letter lying upon her crape-covered knees, while she 
 gazed abstractedly and sorrowfully at the sunny prospect 
 beneath her. Her father was dead and buried, as was 
 also her happy, irresponsible childhood. Both events 
 seemed to her to have happened a very long time ago, 
 and which of them saddened her the most one may guess, 
 although she did not. Some people assert that no such 
 thing as natural atff-ction exists, save in the one unques- 
 tionable instance of the love of a mother for her offspring ; 
 but it is not unlikely that these people may be mistaken. 
 Chris had certainly loved her father, whom it must be 
 owned that she had had little ostensible reason for loving. 
 
26 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 il I! 
 'I 
 
 :t ■ 
 
 He had been kind to her in a negative sort of way, giving 
 her plenty of pocket-money, allowing her to do as she 
 pleased, and not attempting to make her tastes and habits 
 a reflection of his own, as so many parents insanely do ; 
 but he had never been in any true sense of the word her 
 friend. She had, in reality, known nothing at all of the 
 actual man, and consequently it was quite impossible that 
 his removal should leave her as inconsolable as she be- 
 lieved that it had left her, At the end of six w^eeks she 
 was obliged to acknowledge to herself, with a good deal 
 of unnecessary shame, that life was still swee^, and the 
 sunshine pleasant, and the friendliness of the great human 
 family at large, with which her sympathies were unusually 
 catholic, a source of deep inward cjratification. 
 
 From the day of her father's death the Lavergnes had 
 insisted upon her taking up her quarters with them, and 
 she had been willing enough to agree to what Mr. James 
 Compton, her father's cousin and law^yer, writing from 
 England, called " a suitable temporary arrangement." 
 Mr. James Compton, on behalf of the family, had grate- 
 fully accepted the hospitality offered to his kinswoman by 
 the old couple, who had made her feel so completely at 
 home, that she had often wished, as they declared that 
 they did, that the arrangement might be made permanent, 
 instead of temporary. Jose, too, Imd seen and wept with 
 her, making her langh through her tears by imploring 
 her to accept as a gift the knife which he had refused to 
 sell her a few days before. Lady Barnstaple and Lady 
 Grace had visited her frequently ; and as for the Duchess 
 of Islay a,nd the other great ladies, they had written her 
 very pretty little notes. If they had not been to see her, 
 it was because the sight of sorrow which they could do 
 nothing to alleviate was naturally painful to their tender 
 hearts ; and because, as they said to one another with the 
 customary formula, it was " so much kinder to leave the 
 poor girl to herself." All things considered, therefore, it 
 did not look as though the orphan would be without 
 friends in the world ; and so Madame Lavergne ventured 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 27 
 
 to remark to her sceptical husband, who shrugged his 
 shoulders and drew down the corners of his mouth, and 
 returned, " My dear, you must allow them a little time to 
 forget. Be at ease : they will not dispute with you for 
 the possession of your orphan, those ladies." 
 
 It was not, however, to be thought of that a young 
 Englishwoman, with respectable connections in her own 
 country, should be left under the care of a couple of 
 obscure foreigners in the South of France, and the letter 
 from Mr. James Compton which lay on her lap gave 
 Chris to understand that her sojourn under Dr. Lavergne's 
 roof was about to terminate. It was written in the dry, 
 precise style which had characterized several previous 
 communications which she had received from him, and 
 announced that, as he was now able to absent himself 
 from his vocations for a short time, he was upon the point 
 of starting for Cannes in order that he might escort her 
 to England. The arrangements which had been made 
 for her future would, he said, be more easily made known 
 to her by word of mouth than by letter ; and the same 
 remark applied to her " financial position," which there 
 had been some delay and difficulty in ascertaining, and 
 which, he confessed, had come upon him, when ascer- 
 tained, as a surprise. 
 
 Two days latter he arrived — a thin, dismal, worried- 
 looking man, who wore a tall hat on the back of his head, 
 and had large hands and feet, and blinking blue eyes, 
 a,nd straggling grey whiskers which ^ met under his chin. 
 Chris had never seen him before. She knew nothing of 
 her relations, of whom, possibly, Mr. Comptom may not 
 have been particularly proud. This one, at any rate, did 
 not look as if he would prove much of an acquisition ; 
 nor did he seem to mean what he said, when he greeted 
 her with a mournful " How do you do, Christina ? I am 
 glad to make your acquaintance at last." 
 
 He drove up from his hotel to dinner with the 
 Lavergnes ; and a very dreary repast tliis turned out, 
 both for entertainers and entertained. Mr. Compton's 
 
 ,'4u 
 
 Mi 
 
''/, 
 
 I I 
 t ; 
 
 28 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 command of French was limited : Madame Lavergne was 
 unable to speak a word of any language but her own ; 
 and the doctor, who could chatter broken English with 
 great fluency and rapidity when he choose, was pleased 
 to stand upon his dignity, and declined to make himself 
 ridiculous. It was therefore a great relief to Chris when 
 her cousin, setting down his colfee-cup and declining Dr. 
 Lavergne's proffered cigarette, requested her to take a 
 turn with him in the garden. He proceeded to business 
 without any prefatory observations. 
 
 " It has been decided," said he, " that your home hence- 
 forth will be with your mother's only sister, Miss Kams- 
 den, whom I believe you do not know f)ersonally. Your 
 
 poor father was not much in the habit however, that 
 
 is of no consequence. She lives in the neighbourhood of 
 Primrose Hill : the address is 25 Balaclava Terrace, N.W. 
 My own acquaintance with the lady is very slight ; but I 
 have seen her, and she has expressed her willingness to 
 receive you upon terms which — which — well, I could not 
 see my way to refusing the terms proposed. I myself 
 have a large family " — here Mr. Compton sighed heavily 
 — " I may say that it would have been simply out of my 
 power to offer you house-room. And, q.f ter all. Miss Eams- 
 den is your nearest relation." 
 
 " I have heard of Aunt Rebecca," observed Chris reflec- 
 tively. " I remember that my father said she was odd. 
 What is she like ? " 
 
 " I don't see how I can be expected to answer such a 
 question," returned Mr. Compton with a shade of irrita- 
 bility. " If you come to that, she is not particularly like 
 anything or anybody that I ever saw before. She might 
 be called odd, no doubt. At any rate, the sum which will 
 be paid to her annually on your behalf will entitle you to 
 claim comfortable quarters and — er — an ample diet." 
 
 " I dare say she will give me enough to eat," said Chris, 
 laughing a little. 
 
 " Well, I hope so — I hope so. Should she fail t< carry 
 out her part of the contract, you will do well to address a 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 29 
 
 letter to me, stating specifically what are your grounds for 
 complaint. I must now tell you that your poor father's 
 personalty is smaller, very much smaller, than I should 
 have supposed it to be. He really appears to have spent 
 every penny that he made by his writings." 
 
 " Of course he had a perfect right to do what he pleased 
 with his own," said Chris ; for she had no idea of allowing 
 her father's actions to be criticised by this pedantic 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Certainly ; but there are duties as well as rights con- 
 nected with every position, and it is the duty of every 
 man to provide for his children. I do not mean to Say 
 that your father has left you wholly unprovided for; but 
 I fear that you have been accustomed to a rate of expen- 
 diture which would be quite out of keeping with your 
 present circumstances. You will henceforth receive a 
 hundred a year from me until you come of age, when my 
 trust will determine ; and out of this sum you will have 
 to defray the cost of your dress, washing, and travelling 
 expenses." 
 
 " It will be quite enough," Chris declared. 
 
 •* I am glad to hear you say so ; but I must warn you 
 that the sum which I have named cannot by any possi- 
 bility be exceeded. Does tliat dog belong to you ? ' 
 
 " He does," answered Chris, ** Peter, come and speak to 
 your cousin." 
 
 " Little dog," said Mr. Compton, making an effort to 
 unbend, " give me your paw." 
 
 " Pooh ! " returned Peter, with a scornful snort, and 
 wheeling round, trotted oft' on tiptoe. Peter had long 
 before this instituted olfactory investigations as to the 
 person of Mr. James Compton, and apparently did not 
 think much of him. 
 
 " I suppose," observed that gentleman, " you will leave 
 your dog here." 
 
 " Leave him here ! " exclaimed Chris. " Certainly not 
 I shall take him with me." 
 
 Mr. Compton shook his head. 
 
 irj 
 
 mi 
 
. f 
 
 i i 
 
 i ' 
 
 i 
 
 \ 1 
 
 I » 
 
 30 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 " Miss Ramsden will object, I fear," said he. 
 
 " Then," returned Chris calmly, " I shall not live with 
 her. Where I go, Peter goes." 
 
 " But really, my dear Christina, you must excuse my 
 telling you that that is not a proper way to speak. How 
 can you help living with Miss Ramsden ? " 
 
 " I won't, that's all," Chris answered without loss of 
 temper. 
 
 James Compton, as his wife and children had long ago 
 discovered, was a weak sort of person in private life, 
 though he had the name of being hard and uncompro- 
 mising as a lawyer. He looked at the girl, who looked 
 fearlessly back at him, and then he sighed and struck his 
 colours, murmuring chat he would see what he could do. 
 
 " But Miss Ramsden will be sure to ask something extra 
 for his keep," he said. " Ten pounds a year, most likely. 
 I do not for one moment suppose that she would consent 
 to keep a dog for less." 
 
 " It will have to come out of my allowance," said 
 Chris. 
 
 '* Naturally it will : there is no other available fund. 
 I doubt very much, my dear Christina, whether you know 
 how far a hundred a year will go. To many people it 
 would seem quite a large sum : to your mind, I fear, the 
 figure conveys no definite idea at all." 
 
 It certainly did not convey nmch idea, and Chris con- 
 fessed that it did not ; whereupon her cousin read her a 
 solemn lecture. He was a well-meaning and not unkindly 
 creature in his way ; but he was scarcely a human being, 
 all his faculties from his youth up having been concen- 
 trated upon the legal aspect of life. He prosed away for 
 a quarter of an hour, and Chris listened to as much ot his 
 discourse as it was possible to listen to. This, when con- 
 densed, amcmnted to little more than that she would have 
 * ' "!'.. i*> future with a due regard to economy, that he 
 ?'.u" ■ i;0 her common fsense not to make too much of 
 7 :isden's little eccentricities, and that he hoped 
 would be ready to start for England in about 
 
 j.a.\ 
 
 :M 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 81 
 
 thirty-six hours' time. It was evident that he found his 
 present trust a great nuisance ; and that he was inclined 
 to grumble (as indeed he had some right to do) at its 
 having been inflicted upon him by a man who had not 
 taken the trouble to speak half-a-dozen times to him in 
 his life, and had left him nothing at all by will. 
 
 Chris did not accompany him to the house, whither he 
 returned at length to take leave of his host and hostess. 
 She remained at the end of the garden in the starlight, 
 and meditated upon her future, which did not appear to 
 be a very smiling one, while Peter, who had jumped upon 
 her lap, comforted her to the best of his ability by rubbing 
 his head against her and licking her hands. 
 
 " Dear old Peter," she murmured, " you are the best 
 friend I have in the world now." 
 
 " I hope not," said a voice close behind her. 
 
 " Oh, Mr, Richardson ! " she exclaimed, " is that you ? I 
 am so glad ! Only a minute ago I was wondering whether 
 I should see you to say good-bye. I am going away the 
 day after to-morrow." 
 
 The young man groaned. " I thought as much ! " said 
 he. " I only heard this evening that your uncle, or guar- 
 dian, or whatever he is, had arrived, and I came up here at 
 once, because I couldn't bear to let you go without telling 
 you how awfully sorry I was to hear of — of your misfor- 
 tune, you know. I should have come long before this, 
 only I was afraid of intruding upon you." 
 
 " Thank you," answered Chris : " I was sure you would 
 be sorry, and you need not have been afraid of intruding. 
 I should have been very glad to see you,'' 
 
 " I wish I had known ! And now you are going away, 
 and I don't know when we shall meet again. You won't 
 quite forget me, will you ? " 
 
 " Never," Chris declared emphatically. '* I shall always 
 remember that it was you who gave me my dear Peter." 
 
 Perhaps it was not precisely in that way that Mr. 
 Richardson was desirous of beiniJ- remembered, for he gave 
 a somewhat dissatisfied grunt. He did not, however, enter 
 
 
 
wmmmmmBm 
 
 82 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 any verbal protest, but went on to speak of Chris's fate 
 and fortune, putting some questions with regard to the 
 latter which, to an experienced person, would have 
 sounded significant. Not being an experienced person, 
 Chris did not think them so ; but he was unable to 
 answer them satisfactorily. All that she could tell him 
 was that her aunt was to be remunerated for taking 
 charge of her, and that she was to have an allowance of a 
 hundred a year for her peisonal expenses until she came 
 of age. What was to happen after that important date 
 she did not know. 
 
 " Four years hence — it's a long time. Poor little 
 Chris," murmured Mr. Richardson : " have they made you 
 a ward in Chancery ? " 
 
 Chris could not say, but had received no information 
 to that effect. " What does a ward in Chancery mean ? " 
 she inquired. 
 
 " It me.iTis, among other things, that supposing your 
 uncle has made you one, I should expose myself to I don't 
 know what pains and penalties if 1 were to run away 
 with you and marry you to-morrow — which is what I 
 should like to do," replied Mr. Richardson. 
 
 Chris was not best pleased M'ith this speech, and she at 
 once expressed her displeasure. " I would rather you 
 did not make jokes of that kind again," she said with 
 dignity. 
 
 " But the worst of it is that it isn't a joke at all : it's 
 the soberest of sober earnest," returned the young man. 
 " Chris, dear, I'm an impecunious beggar : I have no right 
 to propose to anybody. But, right or wrong, I cannot 
 let you go without telling you that I love you. Is it any 
 use ? Will you wait for me, Chris ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " exclaimed Chris, snatching away her hand, 
 of which he had suddenly possessed himself. " I like you 
 very much, and you have been very kind to me ; but — 
 but Oh, no : you must not think of that, please ! " 
 
 " As if I could help thinking of it ! Tell me at least 
 this much — do you care for any one else ? " 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 88 
 
 " You know I don't ! Didn't you hear me say just now 
 that Peter was my best friend in the world ? " 
 
 " Well, I am not jealous of Peter. Especially if, as you 
 say, he reminds you of me. Look here, Chris, if you'll 
 give me something to live for, I'll try to reform and give 
 up my naughty habits, and become a respectable member 
 of society. If you won't, I shall go straight to the deuce ; 
 and it will be a short enough journey, goodness knows ! " 
 
 Appeals couched in such terms are often very effective 
 with women, who do not seem to understand that a man 
 who is prepared to go to the deuce if he does not get 
 what he wants, will probably reach that destination in 
 the long run, even if he does. They exaggerate, perhaps, 
 the restraining influence ascribed to them, and do not like 
 to refuse so small a boon as a few words of hope to a 
 despairing fellow-creature. Whether Chris was actuated 
 by pure benevolence, or whether her heart was in some 
 degree touched by the young man's handsome face and 
 the warmth with which he pleaded his cause, certain it is 
 that at the end of another quarter of an hour she found 
 herself after a fashion engaged to Mr. Richardson. 
 
 It was only after a fashion. With great generosity, he 
 declared that he could not and would not bind her down 
 to a formal engagement : his prospects were too uncertain, 
 and her own feelings were evidently too undecided for 
 that. All he asked was that she would not engage herself 
 to any other man without letting him know ; and he gave 
 her the address of his club in London, receiving in return 
 that of Miss Ramsden's residence, at the sight of which 
 he could not help drav, ing down the corners of his mouth. 
 He hoped to see her again, he said, in the course of the 
 summer, and meanwhile their quasi-betrothal had better 
 remain a secret between themselves. Chris did not alto- 
 gether like this condition, but gave in to it on being 
 assured that it was made for her .sake. 
 
 " As far as I am concerned," Val said, " I should be only 
 too glad for all the world to know that I am engaged to 
 you ; but it wouldn't be fair, because there is no actual 
 
 (3) 
 
'■ 
 
 34 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 
 1 ; 
 
 ( 1 
 
 engagement. It's a contract which is binding upon me, 
 but not upon you : that's what I want you to under- 
 stand." 
 
 After he had taken his leave — which he did in a very 
 respectful way, and without claiming any of the privileges 
 which lovers are wont to claim — she began to be a little 
 uneasy and wished that she had had the streiigth of mind 
 to stick to her refusal ; for she was almost sure that she 
 was not, and never would be in love with Val. Never- 
 theless she was grateful to him for loving her, and felt 
 less lonely than she had done earlier in the evening ; and 
 she went to sleep with a conviction that the world was 
 not such a dreary and desolate place, after all. 
 
 All the next day she was busy packing up and bidding 
 farewell to her friends at Cannes ; and on the day after 
 that she had to part with the good people whose house 
 had been made a second home to her. 
 
 " Write to us often, my child," whispered Madam 
 Lavergne, as she embraced her ; " and do not forget that 
 your room will always be ready for you here, just as you 
 left it. One never knows what will happen : troubles 
 may always come ; and some day you may be glad to 
 think that there is an old woman in France who loves 
 you like her own daughter." 
 
 Unfortunately, Dr. Lavergne had been grievously 
 affronted by an ill-advised offer on the part of Mr. James 
 Compton to reimburse him for the expense to which he 
 had been put in respect of Chris's board and lodging. He 
 was extremely cold and dignified up to the last moment ; 
 but when the girl threw her arms round his neck and 
 kissed him he suddenly melted and, if the truth must be 
 told, shed a few tears. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear mademoiselle, good-bye ! " he said. 
 " We shall miss you much more than you will miss us — 
 that is only natural. But some day you will come back 
 to us, will you not ? " 
 
 By this time Chris herself was crying bitterly, and 
 could not get out a word. She could only nod and pat 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 35 
 
 the old man on the shoulder. It did not seem likely that 
 she would ever see him again, for he was over seventy, 
 and she would not be her own mistress for four long 
 years to come. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Chris had always hitherto been accustomed to perform 
 her railway travelling in a more or less luxurious fashion. 
 Her father had been a man who detested discomfort of 
 any kind, and for such a journey as that from Cannes to 
 Paris he would as a matter of course, have engaged a 
 coupe salon. James Compton had no such extravagant 
 notions. He remarked that it was nothing short of 
 scandalous to make up an express train of first-class 
 carriages only, and Chris agreed with him until he added, 
 " If there had been any seconds, it would have been right 
 for us, perhaps, to take advantage of them. Our joint 
 expenses will, of course, have to be defrayed out of the 
 estate, and they ought to be curtailed as much as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 After that, Chris thought there might perhaps be some- 
 thing to be said in favour of the French system. 
 
 However, she and her companion were made as uncom- 
 fortable as they could well be. The annual return of 
 the pilgrims who leave England for the south on the 
 approach of winter had set in : the train was crowded : 
 the compartment into which Chris and her escort were 
 thrust by a peremptory guard had but two vacant places : 
 worst of all, Peter was borne off to the dog-hole, despite 
 the entreaties of his mistress. 
 
 " If people will insist upon travelling with dogs, they 
 must submit to these trifling inconveniences," remarked 
 Mr, Compton, as he put on a velvet smoking-cap, and 
 settled himself in a corner of the carriage. 
 
 
 1;^ 
 
i 
 
 
 
 i- > 
 
 >'i 
 
 i ; 
 
 
 86 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 He had taken care to secure a comer for himself. Chris 
 was less fortunate, being jammed between him and a 
 corpulent Englishman, who fell asleep, snored loudly, 
 dropped his head upon her shoulder, and seemed quite 
 angry when she modestly asserted her rights by digging 
 him in the ribs with her elbow. Altogether it was a 
 most miserable journey ; and, to add to its annoyances, 
 shortly after leaving Marseilles Peter had the misfortune 
 to bite the guard, who had been bribed to transfer him 
 from the dog-hole into the van. It is absolutely certain 
 that that official must have done something to deserve 
 what he got, for Peter was not at all the sort of dog to bite 
 any one, without good reason ; but, of course, as justice 
 is understood in the world at present, provocation is no 
 more excuse for a dog who bites a man than it is for a 
 soldier who strikes his superior officer. The guard, boil- 
 ing over with wrath, came to exhibit his wound, and 
 Chris had to pay up a hundred francs, besides offering 
 the humblest oi apologies. 
 
 " I expected this ! " sighed Mr. Compton, as he handed 
 over the money, which was an irritating and idiotic thing 
 to say, because he could not possibly have anticipated 
 anything of the sort. 
 
 On arriving at Paris in the early morning, Mr. Compton, 
 who had slept profoundly all through the night, and 
 asserted unblushingly that he had not even closed his 
 eyes, declared himself to be fairly broken down with 
 fatigue, which emboldened Chris to suggest that they 
 should make a halt of twenty -fcui hours. " The extra 
 expense to be laid upon the estate, ' lihe added demurely. 
 
 " Very well, Christina ; if yon i asist upon it, let it be 
 so," answered the man-of-law resignedly. " This change 
 of plans will, however, entail telegraphing to Mrs. Comp- 
 ton and Miss Ramsden, which will mean a further outlay 
 of at least ten shillings, I suppose." 
 
 Chris said that probably that last half-sovereign would 
 not break the estate's back ; so they drove to an hotel 
 and had a day of rest ; and in the evening Mr. Compton 
 
 iiTp-mmr-iija- 
 
OHRISL 
 
 «7 
 
 treated himhelf to a stall at the varietia, remarking to hi3 
 niece that, in the melancholy circumstances, she would 
 naturally not wish to accompany him to any place of 
 entertainment. 
 
 She certainly had no su(;h wish. After he had left her, 
 she put on her hat and took Peter for a run to the gardens 
 of the Tuileries, where perhaps she had no business to be 
 walking all by herself at thai hour, but where she met 
 with no molestation. Indeed, it seemed to her that the 
 passers-by surveyed her in a friendly, compassionate way, 
 OS if they knew that she was about to be carried off to a 
 land in which friendliness is a plant of slower growth. The 
 French people have their faults, and these, it must be 
 confessed, have of late years been made more conspicuous 
 to strangers than their virtues ; but Chris, at any rate, 
 had found them generous and warm-hearted, and now 
 that she was up on the point of leaving France, where she 
 had been so happy, she was inclined, like Mary Queen of 
 Scots, to exclaim, " Adieu, nos heaux joura ! " 
 
 She sat down upon one of the iron chairs, while Peter 
 pursued busy investigations in the vicinity and scratched 
 up showers of gravel backwards with his hind legs. 
 
 When shall I see Paris again ? " she wondered. 
 
 as I 
 
 " When 
 wish I 
 
 to pry 
 age we 
 
 shall I be able to do as I like again ? How 
 knew what was going to become of me ! " 
 
 It is only in very early youth that we desire 
 into the future. Long before we reach middle 
 have learnt enough to know better than that; and if 
 Chris could have been told in what circumstances she was 
 next to see that pleasant city, the information would 
 scarcely have tended to raise her drooping spirits. It was 
 a warm evening, and she sat still until after dark think- 
 ing of old days and old friends, and resolving that, what- 
 ever fate might be in store for her, she would face it 
 bravely; but it was a significant circumstance that as 
 soon as she found herself thinking of Val Richardson, she 
 jumped up, whistled to Peter, and walked briskly back 
 towards the hotel. 
 
 i: 
 
 ^i 
 
 
88 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 • On the ensuing evening the travellers reached Charing 
 Cross, where they took leave of one another with little 
 regret on either side. Mr. Compton, who had been 
 woefully sick crossing the Channel, and who was even 
 more sorry for himself than usual, offered to see his 
 charge safely to her destination — " although it is a long 
 drive and quite out of my way, an I Mrs. Compton parti- 
 cularly dislikes being kept waitinif^ for dinner." 
 
 " Pray don't think of it," said Cnris ; " if you will tell 
 the man where to drive, I shall be all right. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," replied Mr. Compton. " If at any time 
 you should have any observation or — er — complaint to 
 make to me, a letter addressed to 192 Bedford Row will 
 receive attention." 
 
 Chris, as she was driven away in the jolting cab, made 
 a little grimace. " I dare say he has taken a lot of trouble, 
 and perhaps one ought to be grateful," said she aloud ; 
 " but I can't like him, and I don't. Do you, Peter ? " 
 
 Peter grunted. He had made his opinion of Mr. Comp- 
 ton known at a much earlier st-ige of the proceedings, and 
 such as his opinions were, he was not in a habit of chang- 
 ing them. 
 
 The drive was indeed a long one. Chris soon found 
 herself in a part of London which she had never seen 
 before, and if which the attractions were not such as to 
 make her fee Jthat she had been a loser by not having seen 
 it. Gloomy respectability appeared to be its chief out- 
 ward characteristic, and unbroken monotony its doom : 
 it was impossible to believe that in such a district, vast 
 though *f was, there could dwell a single human being of 
 ordiiipn.'/ cheerful tempermant. Balaclava Terrace, 
 when at length it was reached, proved to be a trifle more 
 gloomy, though doubtless not less respectable than the 
 neighbouring streets. To Chris it looked almost squalid 
 in its mean ugliness. A row of small red brick houses, 
 each one the exact duplicate of the other, each with two 
 windows on the ground floor and three on the first floor, 
 each with a shabby little stuccoed portico — she could not 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 89 
 
 help laughing for a moment at the oddity of the notion 
 that she was going to live in a place like that. 
 
 The door-bell of No. 25 had to be rung twice before an 
 elderly, plain-featured and somewhat suUen-looking 
 woman, who wore a print gown and an apron made her 
 appearance. " You needn't tear the 'ole place down," she 
 said resentfully t * the cabman ; " you ain't in such a 
 desp'rate 'urry but what you can allow a person five 
 seconds to climb up the kitchen stairs, I suppose." 
 
 " Does Miss Ramsden live here ? " Chris inquired. 
 
 " All right, miss ; you're expected," answered the 
 woman, " and you'll find Miss Rebecca in the parlour. 
 Left 'and door as you go in. Praps you'd best pay the 
 cabman first, though, and give him somethink extry for 
 carrying the boxes upstairs. ' Then, in a perfectly audible 
 aside, she ejaculated, •*. Dogs too ! What next, I should like 
 to know ! " 
 
 Chris, having settled with the cabman, followed the 
 directions given her, entered the house and announced 
 herself. 
 
 The room into which she advanced was a sha]:)by and 
 scantily-furnished one ; such furniture as it contained 
 exhibited signs of extreme antiquity ; and so, Chris was 
 amazed to see, did the lady who rose slowly and stiffly to 
 receive her. She had never imagined that her father's 
 sister-in-law could be such a very old woman. As a matter 
 of fact Miss Ramsden had been by many years senior to 
 her late sister ; yet she was not nearly as old as she looked, 
 being at this time scarcely sixty. She was, however, 
 crippled by chronic rheumatism, and moved with difficulty, 
 leaning on a stick. For the rest, she was not a preposses- 
 siig-looking old woman. Her rusty black gown seemed 
 to have seen almost as much service as her sofas and 
 chairs : her iron-grey hair was rough and untidy : her 
 shaggy eyebrows overhung a pair of restless, suspicious 
 black eyes ; and her mouth, which was never still for a 
 moment, had a querulous expression which was quite i|j 
 accordance with her piping voice. 
 
 i* %sl 
 
 •'. u^ 
 
40 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 * .1 
 
 ] 
 
 :^\ 
 
 ijt 
 
 " I understood that you were to arrive yesterday," slie 
 said, coinplainingly. " That lawyer man frightened me 
 to death with his telegram : I am not accustomed to 
 receiving telegrams." 
 
 Chris apologised, and explained that both she and her 
 escort had been so tired by their journey from Cannes, 
 that they had thought it as well to take a day's rest in 
 Paris. 
 
 " You would have had plenty of time to rest here in a 
 comfortable house, which would have been better than 
 squandering your money in a foreign hotel, I should have 
 thought ; but your father's daughter was sure to be extra- 
 vagant, and no doubt you will have your own way in 
 everything, like your poor mother, and it isn't for me to 
 speak. I said to that lawyer, * I am willing to give her 
 house-room and every comfort ; but more than that you 
 must not ask of me.' I can't change people's natures or 
 make them go right if they are determined to go wrong. I 
 am only a weak old woman, and nobody ever thinks of 
 obeying me. Get off that chair this instant, you nasty, 
 dirty little beast." 
 
 This last apostrophe, which was uttered in a much 
 shriller and more authoritative key, was addressed to 
 Peter, who had stationed himself in an armchair and was 
 surveying the speaker dubiously, with his ears cocked 
 and his head on one side. 
 
 " Come down, Peter ! " said Chris. She added in con- 
 ciliatory accents, " He is a very good dog : I don't think 
 you will find him in your way. Aunt Rebecca." 
 
 " Have consented to let you keep him," returned Miss 
 Ramsden, with a sigh. " I have brought him upon 
 myself, and I must put up with him. But he shall not 
 destroy the furniture : that much I do think I have a 
 right to require." 
 
 It did not take Chris many days to discover that her 
 aunt was one of those persons who must needs have a 
 grievance, and to whom it is wisest to concede that privi- 
 lege without argument. Perhaps the chief reason why 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 41 
 
 •iterdav" she 
 rio'htened iiic 
 ccustomed to 
 
 she and her 
 from Cannes, 
 . day's rest in 
 
 rest here in a 
 1 better than 
 I should have 
 •e to be extra- 
 ■ own way in 
 sn't for me to 
 g to give her 
 han wiat you 
 e's natures or 
 go wrong. I 
 ^er thinks of 
 it, you nasty, 
 
 d in a much 
 
 addressed to 
 
 chair and was 
 
 ears cocked 
 
 added in con- 
 I don't think 
 ;ca." 
 
 returned Miss 
 ht him upon 
 it he shall not 
 link I have a 
 
 lover that her 
 needs have a 
 jde that privi- 
 )f reason why 
 
 Chris made friends wherever she went was that she was 
 so quick at reading character and so ready to allow for 
 the failings and peculiarities of her neighbours. Many 
 of us plume ourselves not a little upon an acquired philo- 
 sophy which came by nature to this child. There is, 
 however, one vice which young people can very rarely 
 bring themselves to pardon ; and this, as it happened, 
 was Miss Ramsden's ruling passion. Chris suspected it 
 when she was invited to partake of a cup of weak tea 
 and a slice of bread and butter, instead of dinner : she 
 was sure of it on the morrow, when it proved that Martha, 
 the sullen-looking woman who had admitted her, was 
 the only servant kept in the establishment ; that dinner, 
 which took place in the middle of the day, was repre- 
 sented by a couple of mutton chops and a wedge of 
 uneatable cheese ; and that half an inch of candle was 
 considered to be amply enough to light her to bed. 
 Nevertheless, she did not think of penning that remon- 
 strance which her father's executor had almost invited. 
 She cared a great deal more for liberty than she did for 
 food ; and she soon perceived that her aunt was not likely 
 to grudge the one so long as she was not pestered for a 
 sufficient supply of the other. It is impossible to feel 
 much affection or any respect for the niggardy ; but it is 
 possible to tolerate them, if they be not tyrants into the 
 bargain, and Chris did her best to conciliate the unamiable 
 old woman with whom she was constrained to dwell. 
 
 The result was a complete failure — the first failure of 
 of the kind that Chris had ever encountered. Miss Rams- 
 den cared for nothing and nobody in the whole world, 
 except money, and why she should have cared for that, 
 considering how little it did for her, is one of the inex- 
 plicable mysteries of human ndture. But although she 
 had lost her power of love, she had not lost that of hate, 
 and from the outset she and Peter became bitter enemies. 
 In justice to her, it must be acknowledged that Peter 
 was not altogether blameless in the matter of this pro- 
 longed and deadly feud. He knew, of course, that she 
 
 
42 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 ( ! 
 
 
 disliked him, and knowirg that, obeyed his natural 
 instinct by doing all that he could to annoy her. He 
 jumped upon the chairs, getting down with alacrity and 
 with an air of innocent surprise when commanded to do 
 so : he rubbed himself against her legs with a false air 
 of friendship as soon as he discovered that she particu- 
 larly disliked this habit : he lay in ambush for her when 
 she was coming down stairs, and bounced out at her, 
 barking loudly, in the hope of making her raiss her foot- 
 ing. Also he would pretend to be overcome by fits of 
 uncontrollable spirits, and would tear round and round 
 the drawing-room, his legs flying in all directions, and 
 his claws scratching the wornout carpet, until she 
 shrieked to her niece to stop him. 
 
 " That beast," she gasped, " will end by going mad and 
 biting us all — I know he will ! " 
 
 At dinner-time she took her revenge. Peter was 
 accustomed to having a little meat with his dinner, as 
 all dogs of his breed ought to have, and against this 
 practice Miss Ramsden would protest vehemently. It 
 was bad for " the beast : " it was a sinful waste of food, 
 which many a poor man 'v^jould be thankful to have : it 
 was not what she had bargained for when she had agreed 
 to allow a dog into her house ; and so forth. For the 
 first two or three days Chris calmly disregarded these 
 attacks : but then she began to find them insupportable. 
 Only a very thick-skinned person can bear to listen to 
 the same speeches at the same hour on every day of the 
 week ad infinitum and it was evident that Peter would 
 have to be fed at some time when Miss Ramsden's soul 
 would not be vexed by seeing him eat. 
 
 Thus it was that Chris arrived at an amicable under- 
 standing with Martha, to whom Peter had already become 
 suspiciously civil. Martha, when taxed with her offence, 
 pleaded guilty to the extent of "a few odd bits and 
 scraps." She said, in an aggressive sort of way, that she 
 wasn't going to see man nor beast starved on them pre- 
 mises, and though " not partial " to dogs as a general 
 
eaais. 
 
 43 
 
 thing, confessed to a sneaking fondness for this one. 
 With the mistaken kindness of her class, she would 
 doubtless have fed poor Peter to death had she possessed 
 the means of doing so; but, fortunately for him, she 
 did not. To keep herself alive upon the daily dole of 
 rations served out to her was about as much as she could 
 contrive ; yet she made no complaint, and was greatly 
 displeased with Chris for suggesting that she was entitled 
 to complain. 
 
 " Woman and girl, I've lived with Miss Rebecca these 
 thirty years," said she, "and if she has her faults 'tisn't 
 for me to lay my finger upon 'em. Maybe she's a bit 
 near ; who says she ain't ? There's been spendthrifts as 
 well as misers in the family, I understand." 
 
 However, she insisted upon surreptitiously supplying 
 nourishment to the girl as well as to the dog; and it 
 must be confessed the former often felt the need of it 
 as much as the latter. " Don't you let on to Miss Rebecca, 
 my dear," Martha would say, when she carried up a tray 
 of refreshments to Chris's bedroom. " I know how to 
 manage her, and if the bills come to four or five shillings 
 a week extry, why four or five extry shillings she will 
 have to pay, and that's all about it." 
 
 To have conciliated Martha was something ; but it was 
 hardly enough to make life endurable to one who had 
 hitherto lived in a world peopled by friends, and Chris 
 could not but feel sore when week after week passed by 
 and these friends gave no signs of remembering her. 
 The newspapers told h'^r that the Duchess of Islay, and 
 Lady Barnstaple, and a host of others were in London, 
 and that Lady Grace Severne had been presented ; but 
 none of them found their way to Primrose Hill, and 
 Chris had nothing to do and nothing to look forward to 
 except to take Peter for a walk in the Regent's Park 
 every afternoon, and play hesique with her aunt every 
 evening. Moreover, her aunt grumbled at her unceasingly. 
 
 " 1 have surrounded you with luxuries," the old woman 
 would say (she pronounced the word " lugsuries," which 
 
 l:t. 
 
 V Ik 
 
 Mff 
 I' !• 
 
44 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 somehow gave it a richer sound) : " I do everything that 
 I can think of to make you happy ; and yet you look 
 miserable and seem to consider yourself ill-used. That 
 was just your poor mother's way. She didn't know 
 when she was well off. She insisted upon marrying a 
 man who spent her whole fortune in a year ; and I fully 
 expect that you will follow her footsteps." 
 
 It really seemed quite possible. If Val Richardson 
 had made his appearance at that time, Chris would pro- 
 bably have consented to marry him; and if he could 
 have obtained control over her fortune, he would assuredly 
 have dissipated it within the period named. But the 
 longest lane has a turning. One day, about the middle 
 of the month of JvW, t denizens of Balacalva Terrace 
 were startled by the apparition of a very smart victoria 
 which dashed up to the door of No. 25, and out of it 
 stepped a stout homely ' '>okixig lady, who asked for Miss 
 Compton. 
 
 " My dear," Lady Barnstaple said, when she had em- 
 braced her young friend, and had been introduced to ' 
 Aunt Rebecca, who fixed a stony, covetous stare upon her 
 diamond earrings. " you have been calling us all sorts of 
 bad names, I am sure. But you see, I knew you could 
 not be going out anywhere while you were in such deep 
 mourning, and next season, when you discover what it is 
 to have an engagement for every hour of every day, you 
 will find it more easy to pardon us. But Heaven be 
 praised ! the season is almost over nov/, and next week I 
 am going to take Gracie down to the little cottage in 
 Devonshire to recruit. Will you come with us, if your 
 aunt can be induced to spare you for a week or two ? " 
 
 Miss Ramsden inclined her head solemnly and sorrow- 
 fully. " I should be unwilling," said she, " to prevent my 
 niece from amusing herself in any way. I have done my 
 best ; but I cannot flatter myself that she has found my 
 society amusing." 
 
 Lady Barnstaple smiled and looked as if that announce- 
 ment did not greatly surprise her. " A little change is 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 46 
 
 always good for young people," she remarked. " As far 
 as amusement goes, I'm afraid we haven't much of that 
 to offer you, Chris; but it will be a great pleasure to 
 Gracie to have you with her again, if you will come. I 
 ought to tell you that she has been bothering me to call 
 upon you for weeks past. To-day she has gone to Hur- 
 lingham with one of her sisters. If you haven't seen us 
 long ago, you must blame me and try to forgive me." 
 
 Chris, who at first had been a little inclined to hang 
 back from the tardy advances made to her, was mollified 
 when Lady Barnstaple took her hand and squeezed it 
 and looked at her with a broad, good-humoured smile. 
 
 " I did think Gracie had forgotten me," she confessed ; 
 " but I'm glad she hasn't, and I should like very much to 
 go to Devonshire with you. Lady Barnstaple." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Lord Barnstaple, who owned many acres in North 
 Devon, was not particularly fond of visiting the county 
 from which he took his title. He was a very rich man, 
 owning estates in other parts of England upon which he 
 was imore or less bound to reside ; moreover, he had a 
 moor and a deer-forest in Scotland which engaged his 
 attention from the twelfth of August until late in the 
 autumn. Lady Barnstaple however was wont, at the 
 close of the London season, to betake herself for weeks, 
 or even months, to Brentstow Cottage, which was hardly 
 a cottage in the ordinary acceptation of the term. It may 
 have started in life with some claim to that denomination ; 
 but it had been so frequently and so extensively added 
 to that it could accommodate a considerable number of 
 guests, despite its unpretending style of architecture and 
 the smallness of its reception rooma 
 
 If 
 
 'm 
 
46 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 Guests came to Lady Barnstaple, as guests do in these 
 days, for two or three nights : there were arrivals and 
 departures every morning and evening ; but Chris was 
 begged to stay on as long as she liked, and the invitation 
 was so cordially given that she could not doubt its sin- 
 cerity. The hospitality to which she was made welcome 
 had been extended to her beloved Peter ; so that sho had 
 no reason for wishing to return to Balaclava Terrace, 
 whence Miss Ramsden never stirred from year's end to 
 to year's end. And life at Brenstow was rendered very 
 pleasant to her. Her time was her own to employ as she 
 chose : she was neither neglected nor entertained, a mode 
 of treatment which sounds simple and is difficult in 
 practice, as many hostesses and many guests are aware : 
 the great people who alighted for a while on their way 
 to or from one of the neighbouring great houses, and 
 whom she scarcely saw except at dinner-time, were kind 
 and civil to her, and she got on very well with them all, 
 though she had begun to understand that their class was 
 not the same as hers. Her fathei '^ book-plates exhibited 
 a coat of arms with numerous quarterings, and she had 
 always imagined that the difference between her father 
 and a duke was only one of degree ; but now she per- 
 ceived that fashionable people, whether dukes or not, live 
 in a world of their own, from which unfashionable people 
 are perforce excluded, and that there was no likelihood 
 of her ever being admitted into that earthly paradise. 
 
 Even Lady Grace, unassuming as she was, had been a 
 little changed by her season in London. The two girls 
 resumed their friendship, but could not take it up exactly 
 where they had dropped it. The one, being rather pretty, 
 a good deal admired, and certain to marry well before 
 long, accepted without elation a destiny which she had 
 foreseen, and unconsciously assimilated the tastes and 
 habits which belong to it; the other knew not what 
 might be before her, only she knew that, such as her 
 dreams had been, they could never now be fulfilled. It 
 is always sad that young people should not have what 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 47 
 
 they would like to have. We, whose youth is past, have 
 ceased to be exacting ; we know what is attainable and 
 what is not : it does not occur to us to cry for the moon ; 
 we have watched the career of our contemporaries and 
 are thankful enough for negative blessings. Yet some of 
 us, who have not forgotten the days when we were less 
 easily satisfied, can feel for boys and girls who before 
 they have outgrown the age of illusions are made to 
 understand that the world was not created for them. 
 
 However Chris, as has been said before, was something 
 of a philosopher. The future being dim and somewhat 
 gloomy, she wisely left it to take care of itself ; and she 
 was able to enjoy the present, notwithstanding that new- 
 born con^iciousness of being " an outcider" and her inability 
 to take part in conversations whicb dealt with men and 
 matters whereof she was necessarily ignorant. Some- 
 times she went out riding with Lady Grace and one or 
 other of the young men who appeared and disappeared- 
 like meteors ; but more often she and Peter went out for' 
 a ramble by themselves after luncheon and appreciated 
 the pJeasures of a country life after their respective 
 fashionL\ 
 
 Peter, poor fellow, had poaching instincts which he 
 could not always control ; but he tried harder than most 
 of us do to curb his natural passions, and it was only 
 when his mistress lost sight of him that temptation got 
 the upper hand of his moral sense. For this reason, and 
 in consequence of certain rather uncalled-for complaints 
 on the part of the keeper, Chris took care never to lose 
 sight of him, and one afternoon she made him sit down 
 beside her, as usual, on the outskirts of a wood whence a 
 view could be obtained of the long Atlantic rollers break- 
 ing against a barrier of grey clifis and gigantic boulders. 
 Having established herself comfortably with her back 
 against the trunk of a tree, she drew a long letter from 
 Madame Lavergne out of her pocket and began leisurely 
 reading it through for the second time. She was laughing 
 softly as she perused a passage in which her correspondent 
 
 ^ H 
 
 •«- !! 
 
i 
 
 . ^ „ 
 111 
 
 i : III 
 
 48 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 related how the Doctor had got himself into sad trouble 
 by writing to the local papers to denounce the drainage 
 of a certain quarter of the town as calculated to produce 
 pestilence, when she was interrupted by a volley of furi- 
 ous barks from Peter, who until then had been sitting 
 disconsolately on his haunches, shivering all over and 
 whimpering under his breath in token of his knowledge 
 that there were rabbits in the neighbourhood and of his 
 desire to make closer acquaintance with them. 
 
 The cause of his present excitement was evident : some- 
 body close at hand was thrashing a dog. Chris could 
 hear each blow as it fell, and the yells which followed 
 might have been heard half a mile away. Up she jumped 
 — for, by her way of thinking, the beating of a dog was 
 an act which called for instant explanation — and, hurry- 
 ing towards the direction from which the clamour pro- 
 ceeded, she presently descried in an adjoining field a tall, 
 broad-shouldered young man who had got a Gordon 
 setter by the collar and was administering castigation 
 with no light hand. 
 
 " Leave that dog alone ! " shouted Chris indignantly ; 
 and as her behest was unheard or unheeded, she started 
 running towards the aggressor. " You there ! " she called 
 out again when she was within a few yards of him ; " let 
 that dog go at once ! " 
 
 The young man raised an astonished face. It was a 
 red face, partially concealed by a reddish beard, the face 
 of a clown, though his appearence was that of a gentle- 
 man. He was dressed in a Norfolk jacket and knicker- 
 bockers and a deer-stalker cap, which last he lifted with 
 the hand that held his stick when he saw that he was 
 being addressed by a lady. 
 
 " Excuse me," said he, half politely, half angrily, " but 
 perhaps you don't know that this dog belongs to me." 
 
 " I don't care who he belongs to," returned Chris ; " you 
 sha'n't ill-treat him like that." 
 
 Perhaps the stranger was tickled by the brave words 
 and diminutive stature of his assaijeiji^it ^ perhaps, and 
 
 ^ I > — W>[| | |. l lWl ^ |H | .^«| 
 
CHRia 
 
 49 
 
 "let 
 
 more probable lie was attracted by her pretty face. At 
 any rate he buist into a loud laugh, released his victim 
 with a parting k <jk, and strode towards the fence over 
 which Chris was leaning, while Peter trotted up to the 
 setter to ask what it was all about, and got snarled at for 
 his pains. 
 
 " You see," cried Chris, pointing to the two dogs, " you 
 are ruining the poor beast's temper. That is what always 
 comes of thrashing them." 
 
 " May I ask," the young man inquired deferentially, 
 yet with a slight covert suggestion of insolence, " whether 
 you have had a large experience in training sporting- 
 dogs ? " 
 
 Chris admitted that she had no such special knowledge. 
 " But," said she, "I do know something about dogs in 
 general, and I know that they are never thrashed in such 
 a cruel way except by people who are too stupid or too 
 brutal to be trusted with dogs at all." 
 
 " Well," returned the gentleman with the red beard, 
 who did not look good-tempered, yet kept his temper in 
 circumstances which most men would have found trying, 
 " I may be stupid. All the same, I have broken in a good 
 many dogs, first and last, and I have always had to lick 
 them. How do you account for the fact that all my dogs* 
 are fond of me ? " 
 
 " I don't account for it," answered Chris, not a whit 
 appeased. " For one thing, I don't know that it is a fact ; 
 and if it were, it would only show how superior your 
 dogs are to you. Why can't you have a little patience 
 with them ? If they disobey you, it is only because they 
 don't understand what you want." 
 
 The stranger laughed again and seated himself siac- 
 ways on the fence. " We won't argue the point," he said. 
 " I think you are mistaken ; but I'll give your system a 
 trial with this brute, if you like. Will that satisfy you ? " 
 
 It was difficult to express dissatisfaction with a surren- 
 der so complete. Chris relaxed something of the severity 
 of her demeanour. " Only I wish," she remarked, " that 
 
 (i) 
 
 
 
50 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 I could make you feel a little ashamed of yourself. Don't 
 you see that you ought to be merciful to animals who 
 aren't big enough or strong enough to fij^ht you ? " 
 
 *' They wouldn't know that unless they wer6 taught it, 
 and they know how to show fight, I can assure you. I've 
 been bitten often enough." 
 
 "I am sincerely glad to hear it," Chris declared. 
 
 " Yes ; but no dog ever bit me more than once. The 
 long and short of it is that they have to find out who is 
 master. That's a nice little terrier of yours." 
 
 This last remark was pretty sure to be favourably 
 received. Peter was called up and appeared to recognise 
 a brother sportsman in the stalwart gentleman who made 
 familiar little noises at him and sent him after an imagi- 
 nary cat. Then Chris made friends with the setter, who 
 crouched at her feet, looking up at her with piteous, 
 beseeching eyes. 
 
 " Well," said his master, laughing, " he has had his last 
 licking, anyhow. I don't suppose he'll ever be any use. 
 Perhaps you would like to have him. If so " 
 
 " Thank you," replied Chris gravely ; but you must not 
 give him away, or you will have no opportunity of trying 
 the experiment of kindness upon your animals. Besides, 
 one dog is quite enough to keep in London." 
 
 " Do you live in London ? " 
 
 " Yes. I am staying with Lady Barnstaple at present." 
 
 " Oh, old Lady Barnstaple ! Is she here now ? Upon 
 my word, I ought to call on old Lady Barnstaple, and I 
 will some day soon. My name is Ellacombe : I live at a 
 place called Hartford, close by this. What time would 
 one be likely to find you at home ? " 
 
 " To find Lady Barnstaple at home, do you mean ? As 
 a general thing, between five and six o'clock, I should 
 think." 
 
 " All right : 1*11 make a note of it. And look here Miss 
 — might I venture to ask your name ? " 
 
 "Compton." 
 
 " Miss Compton, I hope you won't set me down as a 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 11 
 
 l»rute because you happened to see me licking; a dog. 
 You won't hear much good of me from the Sevemes, I 
 dare say: most of the people about here hate me like 
 poison, and I'm sure they're very welcome. But I ain't 
 so bad as they make me out — I ain't really." 
 
 Chris looked at him and thought that he was not alto- 
 gether a brute, although there was evidently a strong 
 spice of the brute in him. His forehead was low, his 
 eyes were small, and his jaw was heavy ; vet he seemed 
 to be a gentleman, and he had a straightforwardness of 
 manner which was not unpleasing. As, however, the 
 result of her observation was scarcely flattering enough 
 to be imparted to him, she contented herself with making 
 him a bow and wishing him good evening. 
 
 On her way back to the house she met Lady Grace, 
 who said uhe had been trying to arrange the dinner-table 
 and had nade a hopeless mess of it. " Wwuld you mind 
 coming in and helping me, Chris ? As it is at present, it 
 looks more like a slice of the kitchen-garden than any- 
 thing else." 
 
 " Will there be many people to-night ? " Chris asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes : a fresh batch has just arrived. Nobody 
 particularly interesting, except my youngest brother 
 Gerald, who has come here to pay his respects before 
 going to Scotland. Gerald is in the diplomatic service : 
 he is third secretary at Paris, and he has just got a few 
 weeks' leave. He is much the nicest of my brothers, and 
 I want to induce him to stay a short time, if I can, so 
 perhaps I had better begin by putting him beside you at 
 dinner." 
 
 Whether this arrangement, which was duly carried out, 
 produced the desired effect upon Mr. Severne or not, it 
 was an agreeable one to Chris, who took a great liking to 
 her neighbour. Gerald Severne was a well-dressed, well- 
 mannered, and by no means ill-looking young fellow of 
 five or six and twenty. He had the family fair hair, the 
 family blue eyes, and a fairly good reproduction of the 
 celebrated family profile. If he was not quite as hand- 
 
 i 
 
WITT^ 
 
 52 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 some as his elder brothers, he had a pleasanter expression 
 of countenance than they, and according to his mother he 
 had the advantage over them in respect of qualities which 
 are not merely skindeep. 
 
 " Gerald," Lady Barnstaple confided to Chris before din- 
 ner, " is our good boy. He has never run into debt or 
 made love to other people's wives or misbehaved himself 
 in any way, and although it is dangerous to crow, I really 
 don't believe that he ever will." 
 
 ' The good boy of the family is not always a fascinating 
 person : sometimes he is very decidedly the reverse ; and 
 to be so described is a distinction little coveted by the 
 young. But perhaps Gerald Severne was only good by 
 comparison. He was at all events not so offensively good 
 as to displease his companion, who listened to him with 
 apparent interest, and in whom he, for his part, soon 
 began to feel strongly interested. Discovering, as she 
 presently did, that, like herself, he was a lover of dogs, 
 she related to him how, that very afternoon, she had been 
 instrumental in rescuing a beautiful Gordon setter from a 
 method of treatment which could only result in ruining 
 him ; whereupon he disappointed her a little by answer- 
 ing : " Oh, 1 know the brute ; and a hopelessly ill-condi- 
 tioned brute he is." 
 
 " I don't think so," said Chris ; " it seemed to me that 
 he had only been misunderstood. Tf his master will keep 
 his promise and have patience with him, he will find out 
 what he is wanted to do and do it, just like other setters." 
 
 *' I was speaking of the two-Ieggea brute," answered 
 Gerald, with a smile. " I have no doubt you are right 
 about the other." 
 
 " Well," said Chris, " I shouldn't wonder if the two- 
 legged brute had been misunderstood also. I thought 
 him rather nice in some ways." 
 
 •* Did you ? I doubt whether you would go on think- 
 ing so if you got to know him better. I haven't seen 
 much of him since he grew up, because I'm hardly ever in 
 these parts nowadays ; but I hoax that he has developed 
 
OHBIS. 
 
 68 
 
 into pretty much v^Iiat he promised to develop into as a 
 boy. He always was a boor, and now they say he is a 
 drunken boor, which doesn't sound like an improvement. 
 However, you are not likely to come across him again ; 
 for he doesn't care to associate with people of his own 
 class, and nobody ever meets him, except perhaps once or 
 twice during the shooting-season." 
 
 " He says he is coming to call here some day soon," 
 Chris remarked. 
 
 Mr. Severne whistled. " He does, does he ? I'm afraid 
 we mustn't flatter ourselves that that amiable intention is 
 due to any charms of ours. Well, Miss Compton, if you 
 succeed in taming him, you will succeed where everybody 
 else has failed up to now." 
 
 " What monster has Chris been taking in hand ? " 
 inquired Lady Barnstaple, whom a pause in the general 
 conversation had enabled to overhear her son's last words. 
 And when an explanation had been furnished to her she 
 laughed and did not look displeased. " Mr. EUacombe is 
 a bear," said she ; " but I dare say he can be made to dance 
 if the right person pipes to him." 
 
 Gerald shrugged nis shoulders and remarked, "I can't 
 imagine that it would be worth any one's while to pipe to 
 EUacombe, or to see him dance." 
 
 But his mother rejoined : " My dear boy, he has a very 
 nice property. A great many people, I believe, have 
 thought it worth w;hile to try and put him through his 
 paces ; only, as you were saying jusx; now, they haven't 
 succeeded, and that has naturally embittered them against 
 him. Most likely he isn't half so black as he is painted, 
 I hope you told him that I should be very glad to see 
 him, Chris!" 
 
 " I told him that you were generally at home at tea- 
 time," answered Chris. 
 
 " Oh, he wanted to find me at home, then ? After 
 that, the least we can do is to ask him to dinner," said 
 Lady Barnstaple laughing. 
 
 Lady Barnstaple was a kind-hearted woman, not more 
 
 I 
 
 'i 
 
 ■■T 1 
 
 Di 
 
 
 i|! 
 
MoaiiH 
 
 !fl i li 
 
 lM|i 
 
 54 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 worldly than her neighbours, and, like her neighbours, 
 given to valuing all bachelors by the standard of their 
 possessions. Mr. Ellacombe, who was but a country 
 squire, albeit a wealthy one, would hardly have suited 
 her as a husband for one of her own daughters ; but she 
 thought — and of course she was in one sense right — that 
 he would be a great catch for this poor little friendless 
 girl. What matrimonial chances can there be for a girl 
 who lives with an old maiden aunt in the neighbourh l 
 of Primrose Hill ? Lady Barnstaple was really fonc of 
 Chris : she had after a fashion undertaken to befriend 
 her, and she quite conscientiously thought that she would 
 be doing remarkably well for the orphan by handing her 
 over to a man who was a notorious drunkard and about 
 whose moral character some unpleasant stories had been 
 circulated in the county. It seems a little unfair to add 
 — and yet it is probably the truth — that her ladyship 
 would not have been very sorry if Miss Gompton's early 
 marriage should render it unnecessary to present her at 
 Court and introduce her to London society. Which of us 
 knows all his own motives or could be got to believe in 
 them, if pointed out to him ? So lady Barnstaple said to 
 herself that a great many men begin by taking more wine 
 than is good for them and get out of that and other bad 
 habits when they are provided with a good wife. As for 
 the unpleasant stories, they might be true, or untrue, or 
 partially true. It is best not to enquire too closely into 
 these things, thought lady Barnstaple, who had not been 
 brought up in a particularly straitlaced school. 
 
 Thus it is that elderly ladies are wont complacently to 
 settle the destinies of their juniors, forgetting that they 
 too were once young, and that at that time they were 
 convinced of nothing more profoundly than of their right 
 to settle their own destinies for themselves. While this 
 elderly and short-sighted lady was seated in the drawing- 
 room, keeping up perfunctory conversation with certain 
 of her friends and thinking with self -approval how kind 
 she was going to be to poor little Chris Compton, her 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 66 
 
 tly to 
 
 they 
 
 were 
 
 ' right 
 
 this 
 
 wing- 
 
 Brtam 
 
 kind 
 
 her 
 
 youngest son, her Benjamin, whom she proposed to marry 
 in due season to somebody good enough for him — to 
 somebody, that is, who should combine the advantages of 
 rank, beauty, and fortune — was strolling up and down 
 the terrace outside with the impoverished orphan afore- 
 said, and was becoming more and more certain every 
 minute that he had at last met his true affinity. He was 
 not inexperienced : he had met with a host of women at 
 home and abroad who had been accounted lovelv and 
 fascinating ; and if he had not fallen a victim to the 
 charms ot any of them it was because he had always had 
 his own feminine ideal. And here, ai this improbable 
 time and place, had appeared the realization of it ! It 
 was really a bad look-out for him as well as for Lady 
 Barnstaple ; for the allowance made him by his father 
 was only a modest one, and he had never been in the 
 habit of denying himself any luxuries. 
 
 As for Chris, Mr. Seveme was no more to her than an 
 exceedingly pleasant young fellow whose tastes and ways 
 of thinking coincided with her own. She had no idea 
 that she was doing anything at all out of the way by 
 walking and sitting with him on the terrace there, looking 
 down upon the moonlit sea and the dark outlines of the 
 woods and cliffs. 
 
 But perhaps a different opinion was entertained by 
 Lady Grace, who came out of the house at last and who 
 said, with a perceptible ring of anxiety in her voice, " My 
 dear Gerald, do you know that it is eleven o'clock ? What 
 have you been doing all this time ? " 
 
 " Miss Compton and I," replied Gerald, " have been 
 having a most delightful conversation. We have been 
 comparing notes as to what we should do if we had ten 
 thousand a year apiece, and the odd thing is that we are 
 quite agreed at all points. We should live somewhere 
 down here in Devonshire : we should do a little hunting 
 in the Midlands during the winter : we should buy up aU 
 the lost dogs at Battersea, and " 
 
 " What nonsense ! " interrupted Lady Grace a triflo 
 
 '^>n 
 
 
 n 
 
 1 
 
 »- 
 
 ' r 
 
fmm 
 
 ^sm 
 
 56 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 impatiently. " I don't believe either of you would do 
 anything of the sort, and I know one of you who is very 
 unlikely to have ten thousand a year until he is a gouty 
 old ambassador. Meanwhile, how long are you going to 
 stay with us, Gerald ? Can you spare us three days ? " 
 
 " I feel very much inclined to spare you three weeks," 
 was the unexpected reply, to which Lady Grace did not 
 respond with the enthusiastic gratitude which she would 
 have expressed some hours earlier. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 M 
 
 Some people find out how to ride instinctively, just as 
 some people know how to play the piano and others know 
 how to draw or paint. In all of these arts there is, of 
 course, a great deal which can only be acquired by 
 instruction ; but in all there is something, too, which can 
 never be taught, and without which proficiency in any 
 one of them is absolutely unattainable. Chris had had 
 very little equestrian tuition ; but she had a firm seat, 
 plenty of nerve and a light hand ; all of which gifts were 
 duly recognised and admired by Gerald Severne the first 
 day that he went out riding with her. 
 
 " I really know nothing about it," she said, in answer 
 to some complimentary remarks of his ; " but it isn't 
 very difl&cult to stick on a horse's back, and I can gener- 
 ally get on with them, because I understand how they 
 feel." 
 
 " Ah," laughed Gerald, " that's the secret. One could 
 get on with most animals, even with human beings, if 
 one only understood how they felt. Unfortunately the 
 lower animals can't tell us, and the humans won't." 
 
 " I don't see why they shouldn't," Chris declared. " The 
 humans, I mean." 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 57 
 
 The 
 
 " Nor do I ; and it would simplify existence immensely 
 if they would. But unless everybody agreed to play the 
 game, it would hardly do for one of us to begin, would 
 it? If I were to tell you how I am feeling at this 
 moment, for instance, you probably wouldn't believe me, 
 and I am not sure that you would be pleased with me." 
 
 " I don't mind telling you how I am feeling," returned 
 Chris : " I am feeling perfectly happy." 
 
 That sounded like a satisfactory announcement ; but 
 she spoilt the effect of it a little by explaining, " My idea 
 of perfect happiness is to*be riding a spirited horse over 
 a grass country on a breezy day." Besides, it was rather 
 disappointing that she should manifest no curiosity as to 
 the condition of mind which he had professed himself 
 reluctant to reveal. 
 
 " Company, I suppose," he remarked, after u pause, " is 
 a secondary consideration ? " 
 
 " Quite secondary," she replied laughing. " However, 
 I don't complain of yours." 
 
 It must not be supposed that it was in the company of 
 Mr. Severne alone that Chris was exploring the moor- 
 lands which dominate Brentstow. Lady Barnstaple, 
 unsuspicious though she was, would never have cou it- 
 enanced such a proceeding as that ; and a couple of 
 hundred yards or so in the rear of this couple Lady G* ace 
 was entertaining an elderly nobleman, who said he 
 enjoyed a gallop as much as anybody, but didn't see the 
 fun of making yourself and your horse hot by pounding 
 along at racing speed over treacherous ground, like a 
 cockney on Hampstead Heach. Thus our heroine and 
 her cavelier were efficiently chaperoned and at the same 
 time left entirely to their own devices, which is a happy 
 state of things permitted by the conventionalities of this 
 country, and largely taken advantage of by those to whom 
 it applies. 
 
 These young people, who, after all, were little more 
 than a boy and a girl, had a half-mile race, which was 
 won triumphantly by Chris, and which Gerald rode after a 
 
 m 
 
 *} 
 
 < 
 
58 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 fashion which his backers, if he had had any, would per- 
 haps have felt justified in inviting him to explain. Then 
 they drew rein and returned at a foot's pace towards 
 their companions, who said it was time to go home, but 
 who did not interrupt their tete-d-tete for long. Lady 
 Grace, it is true, made a feeble attempt to join her brother, 
 and shift a burden which properly belonged to her on to 
 the shoulders of her friend; but to such a change of 
 partners it is essential that there should be at least two 
 consenting parties, and Gerald was so quietly obstinate 
 in his resistance, that there wafc nothing for it but to let 
 him do as he wished. 
 
 "I'm afraid Gracie has been having rather a slow 
 afternoon," he remarked to Chris, when they were once 
 more alone; "but it can't be helped. Somebody must 
 talk to that old duffer, and I don't see why it should be 
 you or I." 
 
 " I doubt whether it would interest him to be talked 
 to by me," said Chris ; " but I am sure he would be glad 
 to hear all about French politics from you. I heard him 
 saj^ing at dinner last night that our relations with France 
 were in a far more dangerous condition than is generally 
 imagined." 
 
 " If that is the case, I mustn't venture to approach him. 
 I should be sure to let out some state secret, and then I 
 should get into a terrible row. Thank you very much 
 for warning me." 
 
 So this cautious young diplomatist remained out of 
 temptation's way, and prolonged for another quarter of 
 an hour an interview in which neither caution nor diplo- 
 macy were conspicuously displayed. Chris and he, having 
 cantered on ahead, had reached the gates of Brentstow 
 when they descried a horseman advancing towards them 
 across the park. He was apparently upon bad terms 
 with his mount, a gigantic chestnut, who was plunging, 
 rearing and bucking, and receiving in return a castigation 
 as heavy as a heavy arm and whip could make it. 
 
 "Our friend,or rather your friend, Ellacombe," remarked 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 59 
 
 Gerald. " I suppose he has been up to call, and is pun- 
 ishing his horse because nobody was at home." 
 
 Whatever may have been Mr. Ellacombe's motive for 
 punishing his horse, he ceased doing so the moment that 
 he caught sight of Chris, and the chestnut at once ceased 
 plunging. " Sorry to have missed you, Miss Compton," 
 he called out as soon as he was within speaking distance. 
 " I thought you said you were always in at five o'clock." 
 
 " I said you would generally find Lady Barnstaple at 
 home at that hour," answered Chris. 
 
 " Oh ! " grunted Mr. Ellacombe, who looked sullen and 
 dissatisfied. " Well, she isn't at home to-day, anyhow. 
 And then, after a prolonged stare, " Isn't that Gerald 
 Seveme ? " 
 
 Gerald urbanely acknowledged his identity, adding, 
 " It's a good many years since we met last, and I don t 
 wonder at your not being sure of me. I know you like 
 a shot ; but then you are an unchangeable sort of person 
 — particularly in your style of riding. Your elbow 
 doesn't seem to have lost any of its power." 
 
 Ellacombe threw him an angry glance, which he would 
 probably have followed up by an angry word or two if at 
 this moment Lady Grace had not joined the group, 
 attended by her mature cavalier. Lady Grace, no doubt, 
 took in the situation at a glance, and had her reasons for 
 being polite to a man whom she particularly disliked ; for 
 she greeted Mr. Ellacombe quite cordially, and begged 
 him to turn back and have a cup of tea with them, which 
 invitation he at once accepted. 
 
 " Tea isn't very much in your line, is it, Ellacombe ? " 
 asked Gerald, with an innocent air. 
 
 " As much as it is in yours, I dare say," returned the 
 other, scowling at his interrogator ominously. 
 
 Evidently the two men were ready to quarrel upon the 
 smallest provocation. They went on sparring together 
 all the way back to the house, and continued doing so 
 after the whole party had dismounted and had grouped 
 itself round the teatable on the lawn, while the cause of 
 
 
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 60 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
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 lit 
 
 their strife remained neutral and indifferent, being less 
 interested in either of them than in making Peter climb 
 up on to her shoulder and take a biscuit off her hat, an 
 accomplishment which he had lately acquired, and of 
 which he was pardonably proud. 
 
 After a time Lady Barnstaple returned from her drive, 
 and getting out of the carriage, came forward to welcome 
 her nei(;hbour, which she did with unusual warmth. She 
 would perhaps have pleased him a little better if she had 
 not addressed him as " Mr. Widdicombe " ; but one can't be 
 expected to remember the exact name of a man to whom 
 one has not spoken for three or four years, and but for 
 that trifling slip, her ladyship's graciousness would have 
 left nothing to be desired. 
 
 EUacombe rode away at length, with a strong and per- 
 fectly correct impression that theBrentstow people wished 
 to cultivate him ; and as soon as he had departed, Gerald 
 exclaimed rather irritably, " My dear mother, what pos- 
 sessed you to be so civil to that oaf I " 
 
 But in truth he knew as well as anybody what had 
 possessed her, and the knowledge was far from being 
 agreeable to him. How is it, he wondered, that good and 
 kind-hearted women can complacently form projects from 
 which even the coarsest of men would shrink back 
 ashamed ? The problem is one which has puzzled many 
 observers besides Gerald Seveme, and perhaps it has never 
 been quite satisfactorily solved. 
 
 For the rest, it did not seem very probable that Miss 
 Compton would lend herself to Lady Barnstaple's atro- 
 cious designs, and in a few hours Gerald was able to for- 
 get the existence of the obnoxious EUacombe. To be in 
 love is not, as everybody knows, unmixed bliss ; yet it 
 compares not unfavourably with other foims of human 
 happiness, at all events during those golden days which 
 mark the earlier stages of the passion. When the ques- 
 tions of marriage, of settlements and of communicating to 
 one's friends the fact that one is no longer a free agent 
 obtrude themselves, the alloy becomes as apparent as tha 
 
OHRia 
 
 61 
 
 true metal ; but who thinks of troubling his head with 
 such prosaic possibilities while he has as yet hardly ven- 
 tured to dream that his love may some time be returned ? 
 
 So Gerald Severne had his golden days like other peo- 
 ple, and made the most of them. He rode with Chris : 
 he sailed with her in the little half -decked cutter which his 
 mother owned, but never used : he played lawn-tennis 
 with her against all comers, and was uniformly victorious. 
 Afterwards he thought that he had never enjoyed life 
 one hundredth part as much as he did during these days, 
 although at the time they had their drawbacks. Chris 
 was friendly with him ; but he could not flatter himself 
 that she was anything more, and he made acquaintance 
 with the pangs of jealousy ; for there were young men as 
 well as old ones among Lady Barnstaple's guests, and the 
 young men seemed to appreciate Miss Compton's charms. 
 
 One afternoon a prawning-party, consisting of Chris, 
 Gerald, Lady Grace, and a certain Lord Forfar, who was 
 youthful, wealthy, and the heir apparent to a marquisate, 
 was organized with the approval oi Lady Barnstaple, who 
 thought that her daughter could not go prawning in better 
 company and was curiously blind to the dangers incurred 
 by her son. Prawning is not bad fun for those who have 
 taken the precaution to put on v/ading-boots, but it is a 
 form of sport in which ladies can hardly participate with 
 comfort ; and perhaps that was why Lord Forfar and Mr. 
 Severne did not secure a very heavy bag. For form's 
 sake they paddled about a while among the pools and 
 rocks ; but before very long they agreed that it was too 
 hot for that sort of thing, and returned to the ladies, 
 whom they had left under the shadow of the cliffs. 
 Then, as was to be expected, they split into pairs, and 
 Chris, accompanied by Mr. Severne, wandered along the 
 shore to a promontory whence the coast for miles to the 
 northward and southward was visible, and Lundy Island 
 could be descried upon the misty horizon. 
 
 There they seated themselves upon a broad, flat rock, 
 while Peter barked furiously at the breakers j and there 
 
 a 
 
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 i 
 
 m 
 
 
62 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 they would have contentedly remained for any length of 
 time if they had not been startled by the sudden skim- 
 ming past them of a stone, which had evidently been 
 thrown from the clitf above. 
 
 " Confound that fellow ! " exclaimed Gerald, jumping 
 up ; " he might have cut your head open. Hi ! there, — 
 stop shying stones, will you, unless you would like me to 
 come up and teach you a lesson in manners ! " 
 
 " Hi, yourself ! " responded a powerful voice from abov«. 
 " Do you know you're trespassing ! " 
 
 " I do believe it's that brute Ellacombe again," mutter- 
 ed Gerald. " Hang him ! he's always turning up." Then 
 he shouted : " Don't you be too sure of that. I may be 
 wrong ; but my impression is that this rock is the pro- 
 perty of the Crown." 
 
 Mr. Ellacombe — for he it undoubtedly was, and his 
 magnificent proportions were clearly defined against the 
 sky — responded by an unintelligible bellow : immediately 
 after which he was seen descending the face of the cliff 
 precipitately by a zigzag path, dislodging small avalanches 
 of pebbles on his way. As soon as he was within speak- 
 ing distance of Chris he began a breathless apology. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry. Miss Compton — I can't tell you 
 how sorry I am ! The truth is, I took you for a couple 
 of those beastly tourists who come here to picnic, and 
 leave their scraps of greasy paper and chicken-bones and 
 things all over the place, don't you know." 
 
 ** 1 suppose that must be what we look like," observed 
 Chris meekly. " One isn't flattered, but one is glad to 
 know the truth." 
 
 " Are ^you in the habit of stoning stray tourists ? " 
 Gerald inquired. " If you are, and if you often hit them, 
 I should jthink you would find it rather an expensive 
 amusement." 
 
 " Oh, I knew I shouldn't hit you," Ellacombe answered. 
 " I didn't intend to do that : I only wanted to attract 
 your attention. And as for your looking like tourists, 
 Miss Compton, I assure you you didn't look like anything 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 63 
 
 from up there. All I saw was a couple of strangers, and 
 of course, I never thought of its being you, alone with — 
 with my friend Seveme." 
 
 The last words were spoken so savagely that Chris 
 began to laugh ; whereupon Gerald laughed also, and 
 finally Ellacombe himself joined in a dubious sort of way 
 in their merriment. 
 
 " Well," resumed the latter, after a pause, " since you 
 are here, I hope you'll come up and have a look at my 
 old barrack. There isn't much to show you ; but the 
 housekeeper will get you some tea, and you can walk 
 home across the fields. It won't take you five minutes 
 to get up the cliff," he added persuasively. 
 
 Gerald looked reluctant ; but Chris thought she would 
 rather like to see Hatherford Manor, and as at that time 
 Chris enjoyed an absolutely despotic power over both 
 men, it was not long before they were mounting the path 
 by which Mr. Ellacombe had eflected his rapid descent. 
 From the summit of the cliff they descried Lord Forfar 
 and Lady Grace, to whom they made signals to join them ; 
 and so, after a walk of about a quarter of an hour, the 
 whole party entered that bare and desolate drawing-room 
 where Mr. Ellacombe's mother had been wont to receive 
 the neighbouring nobility and gentry in days gone by. 
 
 The present owner of Hatherford had not been unduly 
 modest in stating that he had little to show his friends 
 therein. It was a large and rather sombre edifice, built 
 of grey stone, and surrounded by a neglected garden. 
 The exterior was more or less imposing by reason of its 
 size ; but the reception-rooms had not even that merit. 
 To be sure, there were a good many of them, but they 
 were comparatively small, they had low ceilings, they 
 were shabbily furnished, and had a dreary, uninhabited 
 look. 
 
 " I live in my own den : I never put my nose in here 
 from year's end to year's end," Ellacombe explained 
 apologetically, as he conducted Chris through the ground- 
 floor suite and pointed out to her a few pictures which 
 
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 W 
 
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 64 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 he said were " considered good by the fellows who know 
 about those things." 
 
 " I don't wonder at it," returned Chris frankly. " I 
 wouldn't live all by myself in a huge place like this for 
 any money." 
 
 " Well," said Ellacombe, " I don't know that I particu- 
 larly enjoy living alone ; but I dare say it's a little better 
 than marrying some woman who doesn't know a horse 
 from a cow, or a spaniel from a bulldog." 
 
 Chris agreed that perhaps it was ; whereupon her inter- 
 locutor heaved a prodigious sigh and remarked, " It would 
 be different if all women were like you, Miss Compton." 
 
 The entrance of the butler with the teatray inter- 
 rupted a colloquy which threatened to become embarras- 
 sing. Lady Grace poured out the tea, and very bad tea 
 it was. Probably it was a beverage not oft^n asked for 
 in that house. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's too weak, or too strong, or something," 
 Ellacombe said anxiously. "I'm not a tea drinker 
 myself." 
 
 Perhaps it was rather rude of Gerald Severne to break 
 into an abrupt laugh at this speech ; but Gerald, poor 
 fellow, was not in the best of humours. While Chris was 
 being shown the Claudes and Rembrandts collected by 
 some defunct Ellacombe of artistic proclivities, he had 
 been wandering about the drawing-room, and had been 
 annoyed by the sight of a printed invitation card 
 which lay upon one of the tables : " The Countess of 
 Barnstaple requests the pleasure of Mr. Ellacombe's 
 company at dinner, on Thursday, the 10th inst., at eight 
 o'clock." To Gerald this missive appeared altogether 
 uncalled-for, and he began to doubt whether his mothe 
 was the superior woman that he had always hithert 
 imagined her to be. He said to himself : " It's downright 
 disgusting ! Fancy making up to a drunken sweep like 
 that just because he has a few thousands a year ! She 
 must know perfectly well, too, that he isn't fit to associate 
 with any lady." 
 
OHBIS. 
 
 65 
 
 So when Mr. Ellacombe confessed that he didn't like 
 tea, Gerald Severne laughed offensively, and the laugh 
 was followed by an uncomfortable interval of silence. 
 Chris probably did not understand why her entertainer 
 scowled so ferociously ; but during the succeeding quarter 
 of an hour she could not help seeing that Gerald was try- 
 ing hard to pick a quarrel with him, which made her 
 treat him with more cordiality than she might otherwise 
 have shown. 
 
 By the tiipe that Ellacombe had exhibited his stables 
 and kennels he was in high spirits, and felt that he could 
 afford to pity and despise his rival. " I shall see you 
 again on Thursday," he said to Chris, when he shook 
 hands with her and bade her good-bye : " I'm going to 
 dine at your place." 
 
 As the party walked away, Gerald muttered something 
 which Chris did not catch, and which she begged him to 
 repeat. He did not see fit to comply with her request, 
 so she remarked : " I think you are rather ill-natured. 
 Mr. Ellacombe seems to me to be a rough diamond." 
 
 " Then the sooner he is cut the better," retorted Gerald, 
 with a brilliant flash of wit, which somehow failed to 
 provoke any appreciative laughter. 
 
 
 
 tl 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 When one has taken up diplomacy as a profession one 
 should surely strive to acquire at all events so much of 
 diplomatic skill as is implied in an elementary acquaint- 
 ance with the foibles of humanity ; but a good many 
 young men, it may be surmised, enter that branch of the 
 public u'vice rather by reason of their social advantages 
 than because they feel in themselves any special aptitude 
 for its duties ; and if Gerald Severne should ever become 
 
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 mi 
 
 'it.:. 
 
 -" T' 
 
 
66 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 an ambassador, his name is not very likely to be added 
 to the short list of Englishmen who have achieved renown 
 in that capacity. He ought not to have been in the least 
 astonished at his mother's good nature in planning a 
 match between Mr. EUacombe and Chris Compton, and 
 he ought to have known that the very best way of 
 defeating such a design was to lend it every ostensible 
 support ; for really EUacombe was an impossible sort of 
 person when he was not upon his good behaviour, and 
 each fresh opportunity that was given him of associating 
 with his neighbours must diminish the probability of his 
 being able to sustain an unnatural character. 
 
 But Gerald was not wise enough or philosophical 
 enough to reason in this way ; so he said to his mother : 
 " You've doiiv"^ it this time and no mistake ! Do you mean 
 to say you really didn't know that everybody about here 
 gave up asking EUacombe to dinner long ago ? He is 
 just as certain to get screwed and kick up a row as you 
 are to say your prayers to-night. More certain, if any- 
 thing." 
 
 " You are a very rude boy," returned Lady Barnstaple, 
 laughing good-humouredly : "I wish I could feel sure 
 that you neglected your devotions as little as I do mine. 
 As for Mr. EUacombe, you mustn't allow him to get 
 screwed, as yon call it. You can easily prevent him from 
 taking more than is good for him." 
 
 " I don't quite see how. If he Trants to fill his glass, 
 he'll till it, I suppose ; and then the chances are that he'll 
 insult one of your guests. It would have been so simple 
 to leave the man alone ! ' 
 
 But Lady Barnstaple was noi alarmed. She did not 
 think that Mr. EUacombe would disgrace himself at her 
 table, whatever his ordinary habits might be : she was 
 pretty sure that he was smitten with Chris, and she saw 
 no reason why Chris should not be smitten with him. 
 He was young, rich, athletic, and the general effect of 
 him was by no means so bad. A little florid, perhaps ; 
 but one must not expect to find Apollo Belvederes in every 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 e7 
 
 parish. And so when, on the appointed evening, Mr. 
 Ellacombe entered her drawing-room, he produced a 
 favourable impression upon one who was ready* to be 
 favourably impressed. " Quite tidy," she muttered under 
 her breath, after taking a rapid survey of him ; and in 
 truth there was not much fault to be found with his 
 person or costume. 
 
 There was not much fault to be found with his manners 
 either. Gerald Severne was pleased to speak of him a'^, 
 if he had been a half-civilized being, and Chris had more 
 charitably called him a rough diamond ; but in reality he 
 had had some experience of the ways of modern society, 
 and only shunned that of his equals in the county 
 because, in his opinion, they were a dull, censorious and 
 quarrelsome lot. He was not awkward, nor was he in 
 any way abashed by the presence of the smart people 
 whom Lady Barnstaple was entertaining. His hostess 
 introduced him to some of them, and he seemed to have 
 no difficulty in finding subjects to talk to them about. 
 If he was not a particularly attentive listener, that was 
 because of reasons which everybody at once understood 
 and pardoned. The red-bearded man, they thought, was 
 evidently going to riiarry Lady Barnstaple's pretty little 
 friend ; no wonder he could not take his eyes otf her, and 
 sometimes answered at random when addressed. 
 
 From the moment that dinner was announced this 
 small shortcoming on his part ceased to be noticeable ; 
 for it need hardly be said that he was told to give his 
 arm to Miss Compton. Gerald, whom the cruel laws of 
 precedence forced to escort an ancient dowager, watched 
 Chris and her neighbour from the far end of the table 
 and was painfully surprised at the sobriety of the one 
 and the animation of the other. Of course he did not 
 want Ellacombe to get drunk and make a scene ; but he 
 certainly did not want Chris to find the fellow entertain- 
 ing, and he was at a loss to conceive what they could be 
 talking about that should cause her to find him so If 
 he had overheard their conversation he would have been 
 
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 JL'hi 
 
68 
 
 GHBia 
 
 in some measure reassured, for it was not of a sentimental 
 nature. 
 
 " As- you are tio fond of horses and dogs/* Chris was 
 saying, " I wonder you don't try to make friends of them. 
 It seems to me that vou treat them like slaves." 
 
 " But that is just what they are," returned EUacombe. 
 "A horse doesn't allow you to put a bit in his mouth 
 and get upon his back because he loves you : he submits 
 because he is afraid of you, and fancies you are stronger 
 than you really are." 
 
 " I should be sorry to think that," said Chris. 
 
 " You may depend upon it that it is the truth, Miss 
 Compton ; and I assure you that neither horses nor dogs 
 dislike a master who can make them obey him." 
 
 " And can you make all horses obey you ? " 
 
 " Nine out of ten, I should say. There are a few excep- 
 tional brutes whom one has to sell." 
 
 " If I were a horse," remarked Chris, " you would have 
 to sell me." 
 
 " Should I ? Then I am glad you are not a horse ; for 
 I am sure I should prefer to keep you." 
 
 " That sounds flattering ; but I shouldn't care to be 
 your slave, or anybody's slave." 
 
 " You are in no danger, Miss Compton," returned EUa- 
 combe, with a short sigh. " Men will be your slaves : you 
 won't be theirs." 
 
 Chris pub that aspect of the question by, and went on 
 to insist upon her favourite theory that the lower animals 
 ask nothing better than to serve us ; and that when they 
 fail to serve us properly it is simply because we have not 
 the skill or the patience to make them understand what 
 we want. 
 
 EUacombe listened to her good-humouredly. She was 
 talking nonsense, he thought ; but her nonsense was 
 prettily expressed, and such ideas, however intrinsically 
 absurd, were becoming in a woman. The fact is that he 
 had always classed women themselves among the lower ^ 
 animals, and had treated them precisely in the same way 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 69 
 
 as he treated his horses and his dogs. In the face of 
 what one sees every day, one cannot venture to deny that 
 such a mode of treatment is frequently successful ; but 
 there are exceptional women, just as there are exceptional 
 brutes, and EUacombe had wit enough to perceive that 
 the girl whom he had almost made up his mind to marry 
 was not one whom it would be wise to bully. 
 
 Nor indeed, so long as he retained his wits, had he any 
 inclination at all to be wanting in respect to her. The 
 unfortunate thing for him was that he could not retain 
 his wits under the influence of champagne. Gerald had 
 been guilty of no exaggeration in asserting that the 
 county in general had given np asking Mr. EUacombe to 
 dinner. Wine affects some men in one way and some in 
 another, and to every man's character there is, of course, 
 a good and a bad side. Poor Ellacombe's neighbours nc 
 longer invited him to dine with them because the bad 
 side of his character was very bad indeed, and because i< 
 displayed itself with offensive prominence when he wa* 
 half -tipsy. Moreover it did not take a great many glasses 
 of champagne to make him half-tipsy. Thus Chris 
 became conscious of a gradual change in his manner, the 
 cause of which she did not at all understand, but which 
 was eminently distasteful to her. 
 
 " Come out for a ride with me some day, won't you ? " 
 said he, with something unpleasantly like a wink. " I'll 
 take you for a jolly goo J gallop across the moor, and 
 show you more of the country than you'd ever see with 
 that beggar Severne. His notion of riding is peacocking 
 along the high road, I expect." 
 
 " Mr. Severne rides very well : we don't generally 
 keep to the road," answered Chris. Presently she added, 
 " I dare say he would have no objection to your joining 
 us some day, if you choose ; but Lady Barnstaple would 
 not allow me to ride alone with you — even if I wished 
 it." 
 
 The misguided EUacombe winked again, and this time 
 his wink was unmistakable. " Don't you believe it," said 
 
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70 
 
 OHBIS. 
 
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 he : " old Lady Barnstaple is pretty wide awake, and 
 she'll let you ride with me just as often as yon like. 
 She's a precious deal more likely to forbid you to ride 
 with her son, I can tell you ! The old lady wasn't bom 
 yesterday — nor was I, for the matter of that. I know 
 very well why I was asked to dine here to-night." 
 
 There was a short pause, during which Chris contfeiTj- 
 plated her neighbour with undisguised astonishment and 
 with a vague suspicion that he had suddenly gone out of 
 his mind. " Why were you asked to dine here, Mr. 
 Ellacombe ? " she asked at length. 
 
 He laughed rather foolishly and made no reply. He 
 had not drunk so much wine but that he was conscious 
 of having said something which would have been better 
 left unsaid ; but he had drunk enough not to care. He 
 drank a little more and was proportionately exhilarated. 
 " What's the odds ! " he exclaimed. " Let's enjoy ourselves 
 and allow the old women to scheme and plot until they're 
 black in the face, if it amuses 'em. Only, if they think 
 I don't see through their little dodges as well as anybody, 
 they make a mistake, that's all," 
 
 After that, Chris thought she would ha *'e to give Mr. 
 Ellacombe up. She did not know that he was in a state 
 of semi-intoxication; but she could not misunderstand 
 his meaning and she regretted having ever imagined that 
 such a boor could be tamed by civility. " I suppose," she 
 reflected, " that he judges of his animals by his own feel- 
 ings. He is wrong about them; but he is quite right about 
 himself, and if I were a man I shouldn't at all mind giv- 
 ing him a sound horsewhipping." So she turned her 
 shoulder towards him and talked to the elderly gentleman 
 on her right hand, who was very willing to be so dis- 
 tinguished. 
 
 All this Gerald saw, and drew his own deductions. If 
 disagreeable things happen, it is some consolation to have 
 foretold them, and if, in spite of one's predictions, they 
 don't happen, one is glad to have been wrong ; so that it 
 is obviously every one's wisest course to be the prophet 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 71 
 
 of evil. Gerald was perhaps not quite as sorry as he 
 ought to have been that his mother's guest had indulged 
 too freely in champagne ; but he was afraid that some- 
 thing rude had been said to Miss Compton, and that made 
 him not only very sorry but very angry. Consequently, 
 when the ladies left the dining-room he was as ready to 
 fall foul of Ellacombe as any one in the position of a host 
 can be. 
 
 Ellacombe, for his part, was ready and willing for the 
 fray. He, unfortunately, was both quarrelsome and 
 boastful in his cups, and after having swallowed three 
 glasses of port in quick succession, he gave a free rein to 
 each of these evil propensities. Somebody having made 
 an innocent remark about the Devon and Somerset stag- 
 hounds, he must needs begin to narrate his experiences 
 with that well-known pack, and give a vivid description 
 of a perfectly impossible leap which he stated that he had 
 taken while following them during the previous season. 
 His anecdote was received with a chilling silence ; but 
 he did not seem to be much chilled. He took a deliberate 
 survey of his audience and found that each member of it 
 was staring steadily at the table-cloth, with the exception 
 of Gerald, who looked impatient and annoyed, 
 
 " It strikes me, Severne," said he, speaking with a slight 
 thickness of utterance, yet quite distinctly, " that you 
 don't believe that story." 
 
 " I don't know anything about it," answered Gerald 
 shortly. " I wasn't there ; and I have never, that I can 
 remember, seen the place you mention." 
 
 " Then, my good friend, I don't see why you should 
 doubt my word." 
 
 " No one is doubting your word. Would you mind 
 passing the wine, Ellacombe ? " 
 
 Ellacombe, after filling his glass, complied, remarking 
 solemnly : " I can stand a man who looks supercilious at 
 me, because I know the chances are that he's only an ass. 
 who fancies himself without any reason ; but hang me if 
 I can stand a man who calls me a liar ! That's the sort 
 
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 72 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 of thing," he explained, turning to his neighbour, " which 
 nobody can be expected to stand." 
 
 Gerald took no notice of this observation. Some of 
 his guests were sniggering behind their hands : all of 
 them of course understood that Mr. Ellacombe was no 
 longer responsible for his words. Nevertheless, it was 
 not pleasant to know that this tipsy idiot would shortly 
 be let loose upon the ladies in the drawing-room, and 
 that there was one lady in particular beside whom he 
 was pretty certain to seat himself. " All I can do," 
 thought Gerald, " is to keep an eye upon him, and remove 
 him if he becomes intolerable." 
 
 Ellacombe had not the slightest idea that he was likely 
 to be found intolerable by anybody. He had for a mo- 
 ment thought of trying to provoke an altercation with his 
 host ; but he forgot all about that when the other men 
 rose from the table and moved towards the adjoining 
 room. As Gerald had anticipated, he made straight for 
 the corner where Chris was seated, talking to Lady Grace 
 and holding Peter upon her knees. His bemused intelli- 
 gence was conscious of little more than that Miss Compton 
 was the prettiest and nicest girl he had ever seen, that 
 old Lady Barnstaple wanted him to marry her, that he 
 was quite inclined to oblige Lady Barnstaple, and that 
 the best way of making love to a woman is to do it boldly. 
 That, according to Mr. Ellacombe's experience, was what 
 they all liked. Some of them might pretend that they 
 didn't ; but their pretences could hardly impose upon an 
 old hand. 
 
 Lady Grace got up somewhat hastily and fled when 
 this big, red-bearded man, whose cheeks were flushed and 
 whose gait was not quite steady, drew near; and he 
 dropped down at once into the chair which she had 
 vacated. He snapped his finger and thumb at Peter, 
 who acknowledged the salutation by bristling up and 
 uttering a short, low growl. Then he bent forward and 
 murmured insinuatingly to Chris, " I say, don't be cross." 
 
 Thereupon Chris also bristled up, after her fashion. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 78 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Mr. Ellacombe," she 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, yes you do," he returned, with a loud laugh. 
 ' You were cross, or you thought you ought to make 
 believe to be cross, because I asked you to ride with me. 
 Lord bless your soul ! I understand all that ; and what's 
 the good of humbugging ? I like you awfully, you know, 
 and old Mother Barnstaple approves, and what more 
 would you have ? I'll come round and fetch you to-mor- 
 row, if that will do." 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? " exclaimed Chris, 
 turning an astonished and indignant pair of eyes upon 
 him. " Are you crazy ? Or do you really mean to be 
 insolent ? " 
 
 " You ain't as angry as you want me to think," retorted 
 Ellacombe, still laughing and nodding his head know- 
 ingly. " Come now ! — shall it be to-morrow ? " 
 
 He drew his chair closer to hers and laid his hand upon 
 her knee, while he pushed his rubicund visage forward. 
 This liberty was too much for Peter, who started up, 
 snarling and showing every tooth in his head. 
 
 " Get out, you brute ! " shouted Ellacombe, with a 
 sweeping backhander which caught Peter just iDehind the 
 ear. 
 
 The next instant a terrier of small proportions, but 
 some tenacity of grip, had got him securely by the fore- 
 arm ; and that terrier was not shaken off until Mr. Ella- 
 combe had received one of those marks of regard which 
 last a lifetime. 
 
 There was a little disturbance and there were some 
 cries of alarm from the ladies ; but the whole thing was 
 very soon over, and before Ellacombe could open his lips 
 he found himself outside in the hall, whither he had been 
 hurried by Gerald Severne, who said : " You had better 
 come up to ray dressing-room and wash your arm. If 
 you would like it to be cauterised, I shall be very happy 
 to do it for you." And in truth Gerald felt that he could 
 perform that operation with the utmost satisfactioa 
 
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 74 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 " Rot ! ** growled Ellacombe ; " cauterised indeed ! I've 
 been bitten often enough before now, and never bothered 
 my head about it. If you've got a little sticking-plaster, 
 that's as much as I shall want of you." 
 
 In the course of about ten minutes the wound had been 
 WEbhcd and bound up, and Mr. Ellacombe declared him- 
 self ready to return to the drawing-room. " Infernal 
 little beast ! " he muttered, adding some stronger expres- 
 sions which need not be recorded : •" I'll break his head 
 for this!" 
 
 " I shouldn't advise you to do that," answered Gerald 
 calmly : " you might get your own head broken if you 
 did. And look here, Ellacombe, I shouldn't advise you to 
 go back to the drawing-room either." 
 
 " Eh ? Why not ? " asked Ellacombe savagely. 
 
 " Because you're drunk, my good fellow — that's why. 
 To-morrow mornirof when you are sober you can take 
 any notice you p.jase of that ; but you won't have a 
 second chance of being impertinent to a lady to-night. 
 I've ordered your dog-cart, and, if necessary, I can get 
 half-a-dozen men to put you into it ; but for your own 
 sake I think you had better go quietly." 
 
 Possibly Ellacombe had been in some degree sobered 
 by his adventure: at all events he offered no further 
 resistance, but, after staring stupidly for a moment, made 
 his way down stairs, muttering under his breath, was 
 helped into his coat, and departed. 
 
 An hour later Gerald took occasion to remark to his 
 mother : '' I trust you are now convinced that Mr. Ella- 
 combe isn't a man who can be asked to dinner with 
 impunity." 
 
 Lady Barnstaple was rather crestfallen. " I suppose 
 he really did take a little too much," she observed. " They 
 all say so, though I didn't notice it myself. However, he 
 has got badly bitten for his pains, poor man ! " 
 ' " Not half as badly as he deserved. One thing, at any 
 rate, there can be no doubt that he deserves, and that is 
 to be shut out of your house for the future." 
 
 IL 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 75 
 
 " Oh, my dear Gerald, there is no occasion to take such 
 strong measures. After all, whai heaps of men one knows 
 who have been rather wild at first and have afterwards 
 settled down into exemplary husbands and fathers. There 
 is the Duke of " 
 
 " I don't care if all the dukes in England began by 
 being sots," interrupted Gerald impatiently. " That fellow 
 isn't fit to enter the same room with Miss Compton ; and 
 if you don't choose to warn her against him, I shalL'' 
 
 " Really, Gerald " 
 
 "Really, mother, I mean it and I'll do it. She is too 
 good and too innocent to understand the sickening code of 
 morality which we have chosen to adopt; and unless 
 somebody interferes to save her. Heaven only knows 
 what she may be talked into doing. I'd rather not, for 
 several reasons, be the one to enlighten her, but if nobody 
 else will, I must." 
 
 Then, all of a sudden. Lady Barnstaple perceived what 
 she really might have perceived a little earlier. It was 
 creditable to her wisdom that she made no comment upon 
 her discovery, but took up her bedroom-candlestick, 
 heaved a profound sigh, and, after wishing her son good- 
 night, went up stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was perhaps just as well for Mr. EUacombe that he 
 yielded to Gerald's representations and went away with- 
 out showing himself again in the drawing-room ; for Y d 
 he done as he felt inclined, he would have met with a 
 very unfriendly reception from Chris, whose tenderest 
 feelings he had managed to wound by his unheard-of con- 
 duct to Peter. She had been very angry with him for 
 his impertinence to herself, but she was furious with him 
 
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 76 
 
 CHRIS. , 
 
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 for having dared to lift up his hand against her dog ; and 
 the circumstance that her dog had shown himself remark- 
 ably well able to retaliate did not, in her eyes, at all purge 
 the offender of his guilt. 
 
 " He is an utterly detestable man, and I hope I shall 
 never see him again," she said to Lady Grace, who wanted 
 to know what he had done to rouse Peter's ire. 
 
 However, by the next morning she had so far forgotten 
 him that she had ceased to think about him. Her spirits 
 and her temper were alike excellent when she went down 
 stairs to breakfast, and she was free from any presenti- 
 ment of coming trouble. She did not even imagine that 
 anything disagreeable was going to be said to her, when, 
 after she had satisfied a healthy appetite. Lady Barnsta- 
 ple took her affectionately by the arm and led her into 
 the library ; which shows how ignorant of women and 
 things she must have been, for an old lady seldom takes 
 a young one affectionately by the arm unless she means 
 to say something very disagreeable indeed. 
 
 Lady Barnstaple began by observing that experience 
 had taught her the folly of beating about the bush. One 
 could not always tell the whole truth, but whenever it 
 was possible to do so the truth ought to be told, however 
 unpalatable it might chance to be. Otherwise complica- 
 tions were apt to arise which a few plain words, hor e&tly 
 spoken, might have averted at the outset. 
 
 Chris having signified her assent to this general propo- 
 sition, the old lady cleared her throat and went on : " You 
 know, my dear child, I take a great interest in your wel- 
 fare, both for your poor father's sake and for your own, 
 and few things would give me more sincere pleasure than 
 to see you well and suitably married." 
 
 Chris said, " Thank you, Lady Barnstaple ; but I don't 
 think I very much want to marry anybody just yet." 
 
 " You mean of course that you would prefer to wait 
 until you are asked. That is quite right ; but what every 
 girl ought to be cautioned against is marrying — or at least 
 accepting — the first man who may happen to ask her." 
 
OHRI& 
 
 77 
 
 >i 
 
 " One is drawn into it sometimes," remarked Chris, 
 with a sigh, thinking of a certain quasi-engagement which 
 she had as yet confided to nobody. 
 
 " Just so, that is exactly what I mean. Men fall des- 
 perately in love with a pretty face — you can't help know- 
 ing that yours is a pretty face, and I am only making 
 myself the echo of your looking-glass in telling you so — 
 I say, men fall in love with pretty faces, and they express 
 themselves in impassioned terms, and the owners oi the 
 faces are naturally flattered, and often, unfortunately for 
 themselves, give all that is asked of them without even 
 considering what they are likely to receive in return. 
 Now, my dear Chris, do you think you can trust me suf- 
 ficiently to believe me when I tell you that a lover and a 
 husband are two totally different beings ? A lover may 
 be this, that, or the other : so long as he says ' I love 
 you ' loudly enough and often enough, he will do very 
 well for most people. But a husband, if he is to be at all 
 satisfactory, must have other qualifications — a good tem- 
 per, a good moral character, above and beyond all an ample 
 income. It sounds prosaic, I know ; but upon the whole 
 one looks rather to prose than to poetry for a simple and 
 straightforward statement of facts." 
 
 Chris began to laugh. " I think I understand what 
 you mean," said she, " and it is kind of you to put me on 
 my guard. But really there is no need. I am not going 
 to marry Mr. Ellacombe, even if he asks me." 
 
 With an outburst of engaging candour. Lady Barnsta- 
 ple confessed that her remarks had not been intended to 
 apply to Mr. Ellacombe. Mr. Ellacombe was not perfect, 
 but perhaps he was no worse than his neighbours, and his 
 income, at any rate, was a good solid fact. " He offended 
 you last night, I know ; and far be it from me to fight his 
 battles for him I would not for the world influence your 
 choice in any way. But, my dear, you have another 
 admirer in this house, as I dare say you already know. 
 I don't think I can show you any greater kindness than 
 by warning you, while it is still time, that Gerald can 
 
 
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78 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 never marrv you. He is of age, and he may propose to 
 you and talk the customary nonsense about waiting until 
 he is better off ; but his father would certainly not sanc- 
 tion the engagement, and he can't afford to marry upon 
 his present means. One knows how that sort of thing 
 ends. The man gets off scot-tree and the girl is cast 
 adrift, after having been bound down to refuse all offers 
 during two or three years of the best years of her life." 
 
 There was a good deal of common sense in this speech ; 
 but feminine instinct made Chris perfectly well aware 
 that it was prompted by selfishness rather than by ben- 
 evolence. She reddened and replied — perhaps a little 
 over-hastily — " You have no reason to be frightened, 
 Lady Barnstaple. I dare say it would make you more 
 •comfortable to know that I am engaged already. Don't 
 repeat it to anybody, please ; but I am, engaged in — in a 
 sort of a way to Mr. Richardson. You remember him at 
 Cannes ? " 
 
 " That vulgar young man ! " exclaimed Lady Barnsta- 
 ple, really shocked. " My dear girl, you musn't think of 
 such a thing ! But only in a sort of a way, you say. 
 That, I suppose, means that you don't intend to marry 
 him ? " 
 
 There was a pause, during which Chris looked down at 
 her fingers and turned round the diamond and sapphire 
 rings which had belonged to her mother. " He was very 
 kind to me, and he wishes it, though he said I was not to 
 consider myself bound. I only promised that I would 
 let him know before I engaged myself to anybody else." 
 
 " Ah, there it is ! " observed Lady Barnstaple, with an 
 intonation which expressed relief and disappointment in 
 something like equal proportions. " Such an engagement 
 as that is no engagement at all : one can scarcely call it 
 even a safeguard." She added sorrowfully : " I have 
 never wished to get rid of Gerald before, but I wish with 
 all my heart that his father would telegraph for him 
 
 now. 
 
 Chris could not help being a little angry. There was 
 
OHRIS. 
 
 79 
 
 only one thing to be done, and she was quite willing to 
 do it ; but slie thought that, if ever she could be in a 
 position to pay the part of hostess, she would submit to 
 any inconvenience or peril rather than convey such a 
 hint to one of her guests. However she summoned up a 
 smile and said briskly : " WouUln't it be almost as well 
 if I were to telegraph to Aunt Rebecca ? Then I could 
 leave by the first train to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, my dear child," cried Lady Branstaple, " I never 
 meant to suggest that ! As long as you can enjoy your- 
 self and amuse yourself here, I am sure we are only too 
 happy to keep you." 
 
 No very great display of obstinacy however was 
 required to persuade her ladyship that, in all the circum- 
 stances, she had better allow her visitor to depart. She 
 was grateful, she was a little ashamed, and not a little 
 apologetic ; but she did not refuse to despatch a groom 
 with the requisite telegram to Miss Ramsden, and she 
 breathed more freely after she had seen the man gallop 
 away. 
 
 "You must come back to us later in the year, my 
 dear," she said to Chris, whom she kissed affectionately 
 on both cheeks ; " and in the meantime pray do not let 
 yourself be drawn into any further entanglement with 
 Mr. Richardson. I can't tell you how distressed I should 
 be if you were to throw yourself away upon such a 
 man." 
 
 The above colloquy was held before luncheon, and 
 during that meal Lady Barnstaple took occasion to 
 announce the decision which had been arrived at. "Chris 
 says she is going to run away from us to-morrow. It is 
 too bad of her, but we must hope to tempt her back 
 again in the autumn." 
 
 Such was the formula which commended itself to the 
 anxious mother, and which, it may safely be asserted, 
 imposed upon nobody. Every one, including Gerald, 
 understood quite well that the young lady had had a 
 hint to go ; and every one, except Gerald, who was furi- 
 
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 80 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 I: 
 
 ous, looked sorr}^ for her — which was a hard thing to 
 bear. The difficulty was how to get through the after- 
 noon without giving Mr. Scverne an opportunity of 
 expressing his indignation, or any other sentiment that he 
 may have desired to express. Lady Barnstaple, who doubt- 
 less perceived this, considerately oflered to take Chris 
 out for a drive ; and a sufficiently wearisome two hours 
 our poor heroine had of it, sitting with her back to the 
 horses, while her hostess and another old lady discoursed 
 about the difficulty of rearing young turkeys, and the 
 absurd prices that people were giving for orchids, and 
 the maladies of their respective grandchildren. 
 
 Meanwhile Gerald was taking a solitary walk and 
 trying to make up his mind what he ought to do. His 
 father allowed him five hundred a year and made him 
 an occasional present of a hundred pounds, upon which 
 modest income he had hitherto contrived to subsist and 
 keep out of debt. But even if Miss Compton had as 
 much of her own — which was improbable — he would 
 scarcely be justified in asking her to be his wife, for the 
 diplomatic service is practically an unpaid profession. 
 That being so, it might seem that his proper course was 
 tolerably clear, and that he had only to abstain from 
 asking her to be his wife ; but when one is desperately 
 iu love, when one feels — as everybody must feel at such 
 times — capable of making any personal sacrifice for the 
 sake of the beloved object, and when one is disposed 
 towards a humble conviction that she ought at least to be 
 allowed a chance of displaying similar self-abnegation, 
 it is not so easy to sit still and bow to the dictates of 
 prudence. Thus it wps that by dinner-time Mr. Severne 
 had reached no decision, and was very willing to become 
 the victim of circumstances. 
 
 Circumstances however did not claim him in that capa- 
 city. Chris was separated from him by something like 
 the whole length of the dinner-table, and later in the 
 evening she took good care to avoid being left alone 
 with him. A steady drizzling raiu — one of those downi- 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 81 
 
 pours which obscure North Devon while other counties 
 are conscious only of cloudy weather — preluded all possi- 
 bility of a walk upon the terrace, and Lady Grace by 
 whose side Chris had seated herself, did not seem to 
 understand the impatient signals made to her by her 
 brother. He had to make the best of a bad business 
 and content himself with asking whether he mijjht call 
 upon Miss Compton when he pojssed through London. 
 
 " I'm afraid you would never find your way to the 
 place where we, live," she answered ; and he could not get 
 her to tell him where that was. " Besides," she added, 
 " I'm very seldom at home in the afternoon. Peter and 
 I go out for long walks and don't return until nightfall." 
 
 Men who are in love nre easily snubbed, and long 
 before the evening was over Gerald Severne was con- 
 vinced that even if he had been a millionaire there would 
 have been no sort of hope for him. " I trust we may 
 meet again some day, Miss Compton," was all that he 
 could say, as he wished her good-night with a sigh. 
 
 To which she responded cheerfully : " Oh, yes, I hope 
 we may. But I'm afraid it isn't particularly likely.* 
 
 Brentstow bt;ing at some distance from a railway- 
 station, Chris had to make an early start on the follow- 
 ing morning. Gerald of coirse rose early in order to see 
 the last of her ; but he did not gain much by that, since 
 his mother and sister had done likewise, and it was under 
 their watchful eyes that his adieux had to be spoken. 
 As soon as the carriage had disappeared he strode away, 
 announcing tliat he was going out fishing and would not 
 be back before the evening. 
 
 " I always thought," remarked Lady Barnstaple, as she 
 re-entered the house, "that one required a rod, or at the 
 very least a line, to catch fish ; but no matter ? If he 
 catches nothing, we must console ourselves with the reflec- 
 tion that he has escaped being caught." 
 
 Although Gerald did not overhear this speech, he was 
 almost as angry with the ladies of his family as if he 
 had. They had treated him abominably, he thought, and 
 
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 82 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 he riocermined to see no more of them that day. But 
 whether one's heart be whole or broken, one cannot pos- 
 sibly sit for more than a certain number of hours upon 
 a rock, doing nothing but staring across the Bristol 
 Channel ; and so it came to pass that, about three o'clock 
 in the afternoon, Lady Grace w^ho had ensconced herself 
 in a hammock on the lawn and was lazily glancing at one 
 of the weekly papers, became aware of a haggard and 
 dejected young man, who said reproachfully : " We've 
 always been pretty good friends up to now, Gracie : I 
 don't know what I've done that you should turn against 
 me like this." 
 
 Lady Grace jumped out of her hammock and protested 
 against so unjust a charge. How, she wanted to know, 
 could she be said to have turned against her brother 
 when she had not ev^^n been informed of what his wishes 
 were ? 
 
 " If that's all," Gerald replied, " I can very soon tell 
 you." And forthwith he took her unreservedly into his 
 confidence. 
 
 Lady Grace was by no means hardhearted. She was 
 fond of Chris, she was devoted to her brother, and she 
 was quite capable of enjoying a little bit of romance. 
 But at the same time she could not deceive herself as to 
 matters of fact, and it seemed to her that the obstacle 
 of pounds, shillings, and ponce was an insuperable one. 
 Therefore she contined herself to expressions of sympathy, 
 and would not say what in her heart she was inclined to 
 believe, that, but for the atorosaid obstacle, her brother 
 would have no reason to despair. So persuaded, indeed, w^as 
 she that no good could come of this unlucky attachment 
 that she even went a step further and, in accordance 
 with the universal feminine custom, revealed in strict 
 confidence something which she had promised not to 
 reveal, and which iiad been revealed to her by some one 
 who had made a similar promise. 
 
 " Do yoi ncan to say that she is engaged to the man ? " 
 Gerald a^ked, when he had been infonntd of the existence 
 of Mr. Valentine Richardson. 
 
ve 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 83 
 
 " Well, we hope not; because he is a dissipated sort 
 of youth, with no means and apparently no belongings. 
 Probably her relations wouldn't ht her inarry him. But 
 mamma says that she has in a manner bound herself to 
 him, and one can only suppose that she must like him." 
 
 Gerald groaned. " If she does care for the man," said 
 he, " I hope she will marry him, in spite of her relations 
 and friends. At the worst, he would be better than 
 Ellacombe." 
 
 Lady Grace was unable to agree. Mr. Ellacombe, she 
 observed, if he had not much character, had at least 
 money enough to support a wife, whicn Mr. Richardson 
 had 1 »t ; and Gerald was pointing out to her in vehement 
 language how atrocious and ignoble a thing it was in a 
 woman to set wealth above love, when his eloquence was 
 i^terrupted by the sudden appearance upon the scene of 
 Mr Ellacombe in person. 
 
 Ellacombe was sober and sorry : he had ridden over in 
 order to say so. With scarcely any preface, he made so 
 abject an apology for his conduct that even Gerald's hard 
 heart was softened, and his consternation on hearing that 
 Miss Compton had gone away almost made the young 
 diplomatist sympathise with him. " We are in the same 
 boat," Gerald thought : " neither of us is going to win, so 
 we needn't be jealous of one another." 
 
 " My dear fellow," he said, when the contrite Ellacombe 
 declared that he could not go away without having beg- 
 ged Lady Barnstaple's pardon, " don't bother yourself 
 any more about it. It's all right. My mother noticed 
 nothing, and I'm sure she would much rather you didn't 
 speo,k to her on the subject." 
 
 But Ellacombe insisted ; and as, while they were talk- 
 ing. Lady Barnstaple came in from her drive, he hastened 
 to the front door and intercepted her with a very humble 
 entreaty for a five minutes' interview. 
 
 His request was of course granted ; and after he had 
 abased himself and had been assured that, so far as his 
 late hostess was concerned, he was fully pardoned, he 
 
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 84 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 ventured to inquire what chance there was of Miss 
 Conipton's proving ecjually generous. 
 
 "1 know I made a beast of myself, and I know slie 
 thouglit so," he said dejectedly ; " but after all, it's one of 
 those things which might happen to anybody, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Lady Barnstaple ; " but I 
 must say that I shouldn't advise you to let it happen to 
 you again in her presence." 
 
 " I give you my w^ord of honour that I wont ! " cried 
 Ellacombe earnestly. "Lady Barnstaple, I'm sure you 
 understand how it is with me, and that you know I'd cut 
 off my right hand sooner than offend Miss Compton. 
 And — and I fancy that you don't altogether disapprove 
 of me, in spite of my having behaved so disgracefully the 
 other night. Would you mind," he added in persuasive 
 accents, " giving me Miss Oompton's address in London ? " 
 
 Lady Barnstaple stroked her chin meditatively. She 
 still thought tha,t it would be in every way desirable that 
 Chris should espouse this intemperate, but penitent landed 
 proprietor; yet she was not prepared to send him straight 
 off to London to declare himself. If he did so he would 
 assuredly be refused, and there was no telling what might 
 not happen after that. So she said : " My dear Mr. Ella- 
 combe, you must have a little patience. You have been 
 dreadfully indiscreet, and I am afraid you will have to 
 suffer for your indiscretion. Later in the year — in October 
 or November, perhaps — when we come back from Scot- 
 land, I hope to be here again for a few weeks, and I shall 
 try and get Miss Compton to stay with us. Then — well, 
 then you must take your chance. I need hardly tell you 
 that she is her own mistress, and that I would on no 
 account assume the responsibility of influencing her for 
 or against you. Meanwhile you had better allow her a 
 little time to forget that you were bitten by her dog. 
 Why he bit you I'm sure I don't know ; but by your own 
 account he had some provocation. The wisest plan is to 
 let the bite and the provocation both heal." 
 
 Ellacombe, impatient though he was, was disposed to 
 
OHBIS. 
 
 85 
 
 think that there was sound sense in that counsel. He 
 thanked Lady Barnstaple profusely and took his leave 
 with a lightened heart. 
 
 Gerald, who saw him ride away, said to his sister ; 
 " Look here, Gracie, that fellow hasn't given up the game. 
 I know it by the way he sits his horse. Now, if he doesn't 
 despair, I needn't ; and what I want to know is whether 
 you rrean to be upon my mother's side or mine." 
 
 "Oh, well," answered Lady Grace, laughing; "if it 
 comer, to that, I suppose I shall be upon yours. But you 
 will have forgotten all about poor Chris before you have 
 bagged half-a-dozen brace of grouse." 
 
 
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 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was not without some soreness of spirit that Chris 
 left her friends in Devonshire — leaving them, as she felt 
 that she was doing, for ever. It had been kind of Lady 
 Barnstaple to speak of having her back in the autumn ; 
 they had all been kind to her from the very first ; but 
 she did not intend to return to them. Despite their 
 kindness, they had shown her, intentionally or uninten- 
 tionally, that she was not of their class, a fact which had 
 never been brought home to her during her father's life- 
 time. If they had not said in so many words, they had 
 at least hinted that she had made an attempt to fascinate 
 a member of their family, and that such attempts could 
 not be tolerated for a moment. " No," thought Chris, " I 
 shall never see Brentstow again. If I am not their equal 
 I would much rather not associate with them." And 
 this was sad enough ; because she had been very happy 
 at Brentstow. When, all of a sudden, she found her eyes 
 full of tears and brushed them impatiently away, she 
 attributed that momentary weakness to regret at bidding 
 
 
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 I 
 
 -'IT 
 
86 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 [■!' 
 
 a long farewell to Lady Grace and to a part of England 
 wliich had taken her fancy. Assuredly she had nothing 
 else to cry about. 
 
 Nevertheless, she would not have been inexcusable if 
 she had wept a little out of sheer self-pity at the outlook 
 before her. The idea of spending the early autumn in 
 London would be appalling enough to most people: to 
 spend that season in a dismal little house on Primrose 
 Hill with a miserly old woman who denied herself and 
 those about her all the comforts of civilized existence is 
 a trial which, one would fain hope, no reader of these 
 pages will ever be called upon to face. But Chris, who 
 had to face it, wisely determined to do so without repin- 
 ing ; and although it is true that her heart sank a little 
 as she drew near the end of her journey, and the murky 
 atmosphere of the great city became perceptible, she said 
 to Peter, whom a civil guard had allowed her to keep 
 with her, that they would pull through somehow. 
 
 Peter rubbed his rough head against her and raised his 
 honest eyes, aud gave her to understand that such was 
 also his view. He did not like London — what dog does ? 
 — but he was content to be where his mistress was, 
 which is more than can be said for the generality of 
 human friends. 
 
 Ugly old Martha had a grain of welcome for the weary 
 traveller, and whispered : " I'll bring you a nice cup of 'ot 
 tea to your bedroom directly • there's nothing but a bit of 
 cold boiled mutton for your supper down stairs." 
 
 But Martha's mistress was leas gracious. " I can't 
 understand your ways of going on, Christina," Miss Rams- 
 den began querulously, the moment that she caught sight 
 of her niece. " You seem to delight in shaking my nerves 
 with telegrams. You might have sent a letter for a 
 penny ; and anybody but you would have done it. How- 
 ever, T suppose' you can't be happy unless you are throw- 
 ing away money : it s only what might have been 
 expected." 
 
 Chris explained that her departure from Brentstow 
 had been decided upon rather hastily. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 87 
 
 
 " "Why ? " inquired the old lady sharply. " What need 
 was there of haste ? " 
 
 This being an awkward question to answer, Chris left 
 it unanswered, which provoked her aunt into remarking : 
 " You outstayed your welcome, no doubt. I can't say I 
 am surprised at that : it isn't everybody who would put 
 up with your caprices as I do." 
 
 What she meant it was rather difficult to understand : 
 probably she meant nothing at all, excepo that she was 
 out of temper and would like to relieve hrr feelings by a 
 comfortable quarrel. But Chris, not having been brought 
 up among women, and comprehending little of their 
 queer ways, forbore to request an explanation from her 
 aunt, who called her a sulky girl and went grum})ling off 
 to bed. 
 
 Miss Ramsden was always grumbling, and all the pati- 
 ence and forbearance in the world would have been 
 thrown away upon her. There was nothing for it, Chris 
 thought, but to leave her to herself as much as possible 
 and to remain silent when she railed at imaginary slights 
 and affronts. That was doubtless the more dignified 
 course to adopt ; but in some ways it would have been 
 better to fight with the stingy, ungracious old woman, to 
 reduce her to tears (which could have been easily done) 
 and to make friends with her again afterwards. That 
 was what she wanted, and that would at least have pro- 
 duced intervals of peace and good humour. As it was. 
 Miss Ramsden soon began to complain bitterly of her 
 niece's neglect. 
 
 " I did think," she would say, " that when it was 
 arranged that we should live together, I should gain some- 
 thing in the way of companionship in return for all the 
 expense and inconvenience to which I have been put ; 
 but it seems that I am never to be allowed to see 3^ our 
 face except at dinner-time." 
 
 To such reproaches Chris made no reply. She was 
 Willi no- to plfU'' hesique for an hour or two every evening, 
 much as she abhorred that game ; but to surrender her 
 
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 88 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
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 111 
 
 share of such fresh air as London has to give, to sit 
 indoors every afternoon, with the blinds drawn down in 
 order that the faded old carpets might be protected from 
 the sunshine, was more than she could bring herself to 
 undertake ; and as she did not intend to concede that 
 point, she held her tongue. 
 
 Every afternoon she and Peter wandered about the 
 Regent's Park, and they soon became acquainted with 
 every square yard of that not very extensive pleasure- 
 ground. The weather was sultry, the grass was burnt 
 up, the trees were blackened with the London soot : they 
 were neither of them very happy in that brown oasis of 
 theirs, amid the surrounding desert of bricks and mortar. 
 After the first few days Peter did not care to roam about 
 much in such an uninteresting place. He sat dejectedly 
 under the trees beside his mistress, while she told him 
 her troubles, which he seemed to understand, and which 
 were as desperately real as the troubles of young people 
 always are. Chris even reached the point of wishing 
 that it were not wrong to commit suicide, and wondering 
 why it should be. Her life was of no use to her or to 
 anybody else : from life, as she had formerly understood 
 the term, she was hopelessly cut off; and she could no 
 longer look forward, as she had done at first, to eventually 
 escape from her present sordid surroundings. She had 
 been given to understand that she did not belong to the 
 upper class and could not be admitted into it, except 
 upon sufferance. She knew nothing and was not likely 
 to know anything of that which she supposed was her 
 own. Even after she had attained her majority she would 
 probably have to go on living with her aunt, since there 
 was nobody else for her to live with. Sometimes she 
 thought longingly of the Lavergnes; but she had no 
 claim upon them, and after all, they were old and might 
 be dead before the day of her emancipation should arrive. 
 
 And so, having neither present nor future that could 
 be reflected upon without wretchedness, her thoughts were 
 naturally occupied for the most part with the past ; nor 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 89 
 
 was it stranffo 
 
 tliat in tliat past the figure of Gerald 
 Severne slionld fill a prominent place. She did not expect 
 ever to see him again : he was nothing more than a 
 memory to her, and he could not be anything less than a 
 pleasant memory. She rememberd his bright, handsome 
 face and his manly unaffected ways, and how well tiiey 
 had always got on together ; and occasionally — just for a 
 moment at a time — she wondered whether, if she had 
 been Lady Somebody Something and an heiress, instead 
 of being what she was, it would not have been a very 
 pleasant lot to be wooed and won by such a suitor. 
 
 Then one afternoon she had a bitter disappointment. 
 She came in late, as usual, and as she entered the dingy 
 little drawing-room, Miss Ramf-den remarked drily : " You 
 have missed a visitor. A Mr. Severne, who says he is a 
 son of your friend, Lady Barnstaple's, has been here and 
 waited a long time in hopes of seeing you ; but I told him 
 you could never be counted upon. I asked him whether 
 I could deliver a message for him ; but he did not appear 
 to have come upon any particular errand, except to give 
 you his mother's love and to mention that he was going 
 to Scotland by to-night's mail." 
 
 Well, there was no denying that it was a disappoint- 
 ment. After what Lady Barnstaple had said, it was per- 
 haps as well that she had chanced to miss Gerald ; but 
 she could not help being glad that he had not forgotten 
 her, nor could she help wishing that she had seen him, if 
 only for five minutes. It seeme'^ such an age since she 
 had exchanged a word with a sy mvjathetic fellow-creature. 
 
 This incident had the odd {^nd unexpected effect of 
 making Miss Ramsden jealous. Apparently it di I not 
 strike her to regard Mr. Severne and his visit in the light 
 in which they would have been regarded by inost old 
 women and chaperons : she saw only that her news had 
 made Chris sad and out of spirits, and throughout the 
 evening she bewailed herself at intervals accordingly. 
 
 " Any stranger is preferred to your nearest relations," 
 she moaned. " You seem to be as communicative with 
 
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 90 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 other people as you are reticent with me ; and you make 
 complaints, I have no doubt ; though what you can truth- 
 fully have to complain of I leave it to your own consci 
 ence to say. You need not deny it, Christina : I am 
 neither blind nor deaf nor stupid, and from the way in 
 which that young man spoke and looked this afternoon, 
 it was very evident that he was pitying you. Well, when 
 your aunt is no longer with you, you will perhaps be 
 sorry for having treated her with such ingratitude." 
 
 This last phrase became a frequent one with Miss 
 Ramsden. She was not long for this world, she would 
 say, and doubtless the sooner she was dead and buried 
 the better everybody would be pleased — particularly 
 those who were likely to inherit her small savings. She 
 did not always speak of these savings as small. Some- 
 times she would hint at their being considerable, and 
 would sigh at the prospect of their being senselessly and 
 wickedly squandered in the course of a few years. At 
 other times she would declare that she had next to noth- 
 ing to leave ; and then again that what she had would go 
 to hospitals and charities. Chris was often tempted to 
 retort that she would willingly resign all claim upon a 
 doubtful future inheritance if only she might be allowed 
 a few more present creature comforts, such as, for instance, 
 a somewhat larger supply of clean sheets and clean table- 
 linen ; but she held her peace, knowing that no request 
 of that kind would be granted, and that anything in the 
 shape of a complaint would be indignantly resented. 
 
 Possibly Miss Ramsden may have been visited by an 
 occasional qualm of conscience ; for this is a phenomenon 
 which is wont to exhibit itself in the most unexpected 
 quarters. At any rate, she was haunted by an idea that 
 her niece, who complained of nothing, had every inclina- 
 tion to make complaints, and she was greatly perturbed 
 when Mrs. James Compton wrote to invite Chris to spend 
 a day at Wimbledon. 
 
 " That lawyer man," said she, " is just like the rest of 
 his tribe. He expects to get the value of a shilling for 
 
I 
 
 • if 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 91 
 
 of 
 
 every sixpence that he lays out, and I am sure he will 
 try to persuade you that I don't spend every penny I 
 rec ive from him for taking charge of you. Well, you 
 may tell him from me that if you are discontented it is no 
 fault of mine. I have done my best ; but I can't afford 
 to give you champagne every night upon the pittance 
 that he allows me. You may say what you like against 
 me, and I have no doubt you will say a great deal, but 
 you can't honestly assert that I haven't done all I ever 
 undertook to do." 
 
 "I shall say nothing against you. Aunt Rebecca," 
 answered Chris. " I don't know what you are receiving, 
 and I shall not ask. Besides, I think you are quite mis- 
 taken about my cousin. I suspect that he is only too 
 glad to leave me where T am, and that if I were to say I 
 was dissatisfied he wouldn't believe me." 
 
 But Miss Ramsden refused to be conciliated. " You 
 speak as if you had some cause for dissatisfaction," said 
 ahe. " What cause have you ? If you could tell me we 
 might perhaps get on better together." 
 
 Chris rather foolishly answered : " Weli, if you ask 
 the question, Aunt Rebecca, I don't think I get quite 
 enough to eat." 
 
 It was perfectly true that she did not get nearly enough 
 toeat, and that what she did get was often so bad of its kind 
 as to be uneatable. But if that circumstance had to be 
 mentioned at all, it would have been far better to men- 
 tion it to Mr. Compton than to Miss Ramsden, who 
 instantly burst out into a furious invective. "You 
 wicked, ungrateful girl ! I knew very well that you 
 meant to traduce me, and I mi<;ht have guessed that you 
 would hit upon some accusation which cannot be dis- 
 proved. The pounds and pounds that I have spent upon 
 the butcher and poulterer since you have been here ! 
 And of course you took care to find out that I always pay 
 ready money and have no bills to show. Well, I am 
 rightly served ! If I had had any sense I should have 
 forseen what you : father's daughter would turn out." 
 
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 OHBIS. 
 
 Chris had an admirable temper ; but it was not her way 
 to refuse a fight when those whom she loved were 
 attacked. As a matter of fact, she had had no great rea- 
 son to love her father ; but her life with him hiul been a 
 happy one, and now that he was cone she very naturally 
 thought he had been the most indulgent and considerate 
 3f parents. 
 
 "You can abuse me as much as you please, Aunt 
 Rebecca," she returned ; " but I will not allow you or any- 
 body else to abuse my father." 
 
 y " Vou will not allow ! Do yo*: consider that a proper 
 \and respectful way to speak t/O your aunt ? And do you 
 ' forget uiat you had a mothf^r as well as a father — a 
 mother whose fortune your father squandei^dl Your 
 father was a selfish spendtbrUt. He was ashamed of his 
 wife's relations, and of his own relations, while he lived ; 
 but he was not ashamed to leave you as a burden upon 
 them when he died I shall not ask your permission to 
 give my opinion about such a man as that when I choose 
 to give it. 
 
 By this time Miss Ra^sden was very angry ; and so 
 . was Chris, who twice attempted to speak, and then, 
 breaking down suddenly, burst into tears. 
 
 This was just what her aunt desired. There are people 
 — women for the most part — who love bullying, yet arf 
 not intentionally cruel, and will show plenty o? amiabil- 
 ity towards those whom their bullying has vanquished 
 Such people, if held down by a strong hand, pass through 
 life decently enough, and, by reason of their moral cowar- 
 dice, seldom commit any great sins ; but if circumstances 
 render thom independent, they are apt to become a curse 
 to humanity. Miss Ramsden, having gained her victory, 
 would not now have been unwilling to sign a treaty of 
 peace ; but, unluckily at that moment a fresh combatant 
 threw himself into the fray. 
 
 Peter, as has already been said, was not upon good 
 terms with the mistress of the house. He had thought 
 badly of her from the first, and now he saw his worst 
 
^♦v 
 
 CHRK. 
 
 a 
 
 suspicions confirmecL For some minutes past he had been 
 listening with cocked ears to her screeching, sooiding 
 voi^ce : he had understood very well tliat his mistress was 
 being assailed, and when he saw Chris sink back in her 
 chair and cover her face with her hands, he judged that 
 the moment had come for him to intervene. Aooordingly 
 he went straight for old Miss Ramsden's k|^, whereupon 
 a very pretty hubbub ensued. Peter was dragged off, 
 and there was really no damage done, except to a very 
 ancient black alpaca gown ; but Aunt Rebecca had a fit 
 of hysterics, and was subsequently led away to bed by 
 Martha, who was summoned, and who slapped her on the 
 back and applied restoratives without apparent success. 
 
 It was an unfortunate episode, and it had the effect of 
 putting Chris in the wrong. Still she could not find it in 
 her heart to punish Peter, who was much elated, and who 
 for fully ten minutes afterwards, sat nodding his head 
 aad giving little grunts, evidently saying to himself : 
 " That's the sort of dog I am ! " 
 
 It was not without some reluctance that Chris left this 
 faithful partizan of hers in Martha's care on the follow- 
 ing day. " I do believe," she said, " that Aunt Rebecca is 
 capable of keeping him all day without food." 
 
 To which Martha replied, " That she is, miss, and no 
 wonder. But he shall 'ave his dinner ; thoi^h I do think 
 you ought to 'ave give him a whipping. You naughty 
 little creatur' you 1 How could you bey ave so ! " 
 
 fiut Peter, who liked Martha, knowing her to be a per- 
 son of sterling qualities, rubbed himself against her and 
 showed no signs of penitence ; and so Chris departed, 
 feeling that he was in safe hands. 
 
 She spent a long and tedious day at the Wimbledon 
 villa which Mr. Compton had hired for the summer 
 months. That hard-worked gentleman did not himself 
 appear, his avocations compelling him to leave for London 
 early in the morning and remein there until late at night. 
 His wife was a faded, rather peevish sort of person, and 
 his numerous daughters were colourless both in a physical 
 
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 94 
 
 CHBIB. 
 
 and in a metaphorical sense. In the course of the after- 
 noon Mrs. Compton said hesitatingly : " James told me to 
 ask you whether you were comfortable with Miss Rau^s- 
 den ? " and seemed relieved when Chris replied : ** Oh, 
 yes, thank you ; tolerably comfortable." It was evident 
 that she had onlv invited her young kinswoman to pass 
 a few hours with her because she had been ordered to do 
 SO) and that she found the hours as long as her guest did. 
 Chris was glad to get away from them, and registered an 
 inward vow that she would not again trespass upon their 
 hospitality. 
 
 It was growing dark when she reached Balacava Ter- 
 race once more, and whistled twice after the peculiar 
 fashion which Peter knew. But Peter did not come 
 charging out of the house with a volley of short, joyous 
 barks, as he was wont to do on those rare occasions when 
 he had been deserted for a time by his mistress. Only 
 Martha stood in the doorway with an old, scared look 
 upon her face, and caught Chris by the arm, whispering : 
 " Hush, miss 1 don't whistle for him : he can't 'ear you. 
 
 The poQi* little dog " She stopped short and gave a 
 
 kind of gasp, which ended almost like a sob. 
 
 " What have you done with him ? " asked Chris, turn- 
 ing pale. " Where is he ? " 
 
 " Oh, miss — oh, my dear, he's dead ! It was none of 
 my doing. The Lord He knows I'd give the 'arf of what 
 I've saved in all these years to give him back to you as 
 you give him to me ! but there 1 what's the good of talk- 
 ing ? You won't forgive me, I know, nor yet I can't 
 forgive myself. Come into the kitching, and I'll tell you 
 all about it." 
 
 Martha had perhaps anticipated an outburst of re- 
 pi*oaches; if so, she had misjudged the probable effect of 
 ner news. Chris followed her into the kitchen, and sat 
 down upon one of the wooden chairs without uttering a 
 single word ; and so she had to tell her tale unaide<l by 
 any of those interrogations and interpolations which 
 are dear to women. 
 
CHBia 
 
 95 
 
 v^ 1 
 
 Told in that way it was the tale of a foul murder, and 
 the case for the murderess was scarcely arguable. Misa 
 Ramsden it appeared, had got up in a very bad temper, 
 and with the memory of her wrongs of the previous night 
 strong upon her. Coming down stairs somewhat earlier 
 than usual, she had encountered Peter and had struck at 
 him with her stick, whereupon he had, as she declared, 
 flown at her and bitten her foot Martha could not say 
 whether this was or was not a true account of an inci- 
 dent which she had not witnessed, but at any rate Miss 
 Ramsden had no wound to show. "And, my dear, I 
 knew no more than the babe unborn what she was 
 thinking of when she told me to get her dressed, because 
 she was going out to the chemist's to buy some medicine ; 
 and when I see her come back, and the young man from the 
 chemist's with her, I supposed it was no more than some 
 dispute about the bill, like what she's always 'avin' with 
 them, and that she'd brought him 'ere to show him her 
 receipt. I was cookin' the dinner at the time, and I let 
 Peter out o' my sight which I never ought to have done 
 it, and the same I confess and repent of. Well, ten minutes 
 after that Sue rang for me and I went up to the droring- 
 room — and 'twas all over. * The pore dog was mad,' says 
 she, * and he *ad to be put out o' the way. And you'd 
 best remove the body,* says she. Well, I spoke to Miss 
 Rebecca as I never thought I could have spoke to her ; 
 but I was that angry the words came out o' themselves, 
 and I believe I went so fur as to give her warning, 
 though I ain't goin' to desert her, whatever she done. 
 And if 'tis any comfort for you to know that she's lyin* 
 down in her bed at this moment, shakin' ail over with 
 fright " 
 
 " Where is he ? " interrupted Chris quietly. 
 
 Martha led the way into the scullery, where poor 
 Peter lay, stiff and stark, his joys and sorrows ended for 
 ever, and those soft loving eyes of his, in which his mis- 
 tress had so often read as much as any human tongue 
 cau speak, dull and glazed. Chris bent over him and 
 
 
 
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 96 
 
 CHRia 
 
 kissed his curly head. Then, " Martha," said she, " have 
 you a spade ? I want to bury him, and there is no time 
 to be lost." 
 
 Martha had no spade, but she had a shovel and a pick 
 which she used for breaking coal ; and with those instru- 
 ments a grave was soon dug in the back -garden in which 
 Peter's body was laid. When the work, which had 
 been accomplished in silence, was completed, Chris knelt 
 down and kissed her dead friend once more. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear, dear Peter I " she whispered. " You 
 were always good and true ; and I believe we shall meet 
 again, in spite of what people say. If there is a heaven 
 for Aunt Rebecca, there must be a heaven for dogs." 
 
 " Indeed, I think so too, my dear," sobbed Martha, 
 casting orthodoxy to the winds. " And oh, if you could 
 forgive the pore old missus I I believe she was frightened 
 of the dog, and I do believe she's sorry now — ^yes, that 
 Idol" 
 
 "It makes no difference," answered Chris coldly, 
 " whether she is sorry or not. I will never forgive her, 
 and I will never if 1 can help it, see her or speak to her 
 
 agam. 
 
 The girl's face was so pale and stem that Martha 
 could only weep feebly and murmur : " Oh dear, oh dear ! 
 what ever shall we do 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** Martha," said Chris, when the little grave had been 
 filled in, " I left Peter in your care, and he has been killed. 
 You say you are sorry, and I suppose you are. Do you 
 wish to show that you are sorry ? 
 
 Poor Martha made an indescribable and somewhat 
 grotesque gesture, which seemed to signify assent 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 97 
 
 " Then," eontinued Chris, " you can do it by enabling 
 me to escape from this house, where I would rather die 
 than spend another night. I must begin packine at once, 
 and you must help me, and call a cab afterwarcu, for we 
 have barely an hour left" 
 
 " Oh, miss, I durstn't do it I " cried Martha, wringing 
 her hands distractedly. " Qo and lay down upon your 
 bed, and I'll bring you a cup of tea presently ; and try if 
 you can't cry a bit, which is the best thing for all as is in 
 trouble ; a id to-morrow *' 
 
 " There is no time to argue ! " interrupted Chris ; ** I 
 mean to go, and I have money enough to pay for my 
 journey. All you can do is to prevent my taking any 
 clothes with me. If you won't help me, I shall go straight 
 off to the stAtion as I am." 
 
 " But — but if I was to 'old you fast, miss ? " suggested 
 Martha, somewhat timorously ; for indeed she was over- 
 awed by the girl's coolness. 
 
 Chris instantly whipped oai of her pocket the long 
 • Spanish knife which Jos^ had given her. " Martha," said 
 she, " I intend to go, and I caii't answer for what I miffht 
 do to any one who tried to hold me. Do your under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear," whimpered Martha, " don't look at me 
 so 1 And put away that 'cfrrid great knife, which it gives 
 me quite a turn on'y to see it. But where would you go, 
 my pore child, all by yourself ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I had better not tell you," answered Chris. 
 " Tou will be asked questions, and it would be just as 
 well that you should have no reply to give ; though I 
 shall write to Mr. Compton as soon as I reach the place 
 that I am bound for. I shall be with friends, and I shall 
 be well taken care of." 
 
 " Well," sighed Martha, " if go you must and will, to be 
 sure there's no sense in your going with nothing but the 
 clothes you stand up in. But why not see your aunt and 
 ' say the same to her as you've said to me ? " 
 
 " Because I could not endure to look at her," answered 
 
 (7) 
 
98 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 Chris shortly. " Come, Martha, if you are going to help 
 me at all, you must do it at once." And taking the old 
 woman by the arm, she led her back into the house and 
 up stairs. 
 
 The reason which Chris assigned for her surreptitious 
 flight was genuine enough, so far as it went ; for she had 
 an overpowering repugnance to the idea of facing Peter's 
 murderess ; but it was not her only reason. Miss Rams- 
 den probably had legal power, and certainly had practical 
 power, to detain her : she might even, if the worst came 
 to the worst, call in the police and cause a public scandal. 
 Whereas, if she were separated from her niece by the 
 whole length of France, negotiations would have to be 
 conducted through Mr. James Compton, who would be 
 less difficult to deal with. Chris hastily consulted a con- 
 tinental Bradshaw, while MaHha, with many subdued 
 groans, was stuffing her clothes into her trunks, and found 
 that she would have no chance of catching the direct 
 ma'l to Paris. It would however be quite possible for 
 her to take the Southampton and Havre route, thus 
 leaving London an hour later ; only it would be necessary, 
 even so, to use the utmost de^atch. 
 
 Unfortunately, Martha would not and could not be 
 hurried. Every few minutes she stopped packing, threw 
 herself back, sitting upon her heels, and ejaculated, " Oh, 
 my dear, I durstn't do it ! — I really durstn't ! " and it was 
 only by alternate entreaties and menaces that she could 
 be induced to resume her labours. 
 
 What gave Chris even more anxiety than the luke- 
 warmness of her fellow-conspirator was that Miss Rams- 
 den's bedroom was next door, and that boxes cannot be 
 moved nor drawers opened and shut without some noise. 
 And, sure enough, when they had nearly completed their 
 preparations, there came three loud thumps uporx the 
 partition wall which caused them to start and exchange 
 affrighted glances. 
 
 " There ! ' exclaimed Martha, sinking despairingly into 
 a chair, " that settles it ! Qo to her I must, and what in 
 this world I'm to say to her " 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 99 
 
 into 
 it in 
 
 " Listen to me, Martha," interrupted Chris, takinf^r the 
 woman by the shoulders and looking straight into her 
 eyes : " I have heard you tell Aunt Rebecca fibs before 
 now, and I know that you can tell them very well. You 
 will go to her now, and you will say iust whatever comes 
 into your head, except the truth : only you are not to be 
 away more than five minutes. If you stand by me I will 
 reward you handsomely as soon as I can, but if you 
 
 betray me " 
 
 " Oh, laws, child," broke in Martha^ " don't talk to me 
 about rewards! Gk)odness knows it isn't a reward I 
 want!" 
 
 " Well, you will get a reward — of one kind or another. 
 I am only a girl, but I am desperate ; and by far the safest 
 thing you can do is to obey me." 
 
 Thus cautioned, Mai;tha tottered out of the room, and 
 Chris, having hastily locked her boxes, sat down and 
 waited during the longest five minutes that she had ever 
 spent in her life. Nevertheless, the allotted time had 
 barely expired when her emissary returned, wearing an 
 air of mingled contrition and triumph. 
 " Well ? * asked Chris expectantly. 
 " Well," answered Martha, " she don't suspect nothin'. 
 There ! It did go against me to deceive her, and she so 
 porely too. But I kep' sayin' to myself, ' 'Tis for the 
 sake of others, not for your own, that you're carryin' on 
 in this scanderlous way, and maybe that '11 be took into 
 account.' Mortal bad she says she is ; and to be sure she 
 do look it. ' Bin rin^n' that bell for the last 'alf hour,' 
 says she ; and then ime fancied she 'eard me movin' in 
 the next room, which was why she knock through. So 
 I give her her medicine, and then she seems a bit easier 
 and wants to know whether you was come in yet. 
 * Come in ? ' I says : ' I believe you she 'ave ! And in that 
 tearin' and horful passion you wouldn't credit it without 
 you was to see it. And you'd best let me get back to her 
 as soon as I can,' I says, ' and put her safe to bed ; for 'tis 
 my belief as she's in no state to be left alone, much less 
 
 ,ir 
 
 I 
 
mm 
 
 •^^m 
 
 100 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 to be allowed within a harm's length of you* Scared I — 
 well, I don't know as I ever see any one look more scared 
 than pore Miss Rebecca did at thai Began tremblin' all 
 over, so she shook the bed under her, and, ' Don't let her 
 In 'ere, Martha,' she says, 'don't you let her into this 
 room, whatever you do ! ' So I puts on a blood-curdlin' 
 sort of a voice, and says I " 
 
 Chris cut this discursive narrative short without cere- 
 mony. "That will do, Martha: I don't want to hear 
 what either of you said, and if I did I shouldn't have 
 time to listen. Now run as fast as you can and call a 
 cab, and tell the man to take off his boots in the hall 
 before he comes up for the boxes, because there is a lady 
 ill in the house. Do you see ? " 
 
 Off trotted Martha, still much elated by the success of 
 her wily policy ; and a few minutes later Chris had the 
 satisfaction of hearing the cab stop at the door. The car- 
 rying of the boxes down stairs was anxious work, but no 
 sound proceeded from Miss Ramsden's room ; and while 
 the cabman, who took an excruciatingly long time about 
 it, was putting on his boots, Chris could hear Martha 
 rehearsing under her breath the details of an interview 
 which had not yet taken place. " * Keb ? * says I, 
 * what are you a-thinkin' of ? There ain't bin no keb 
 drove away from this 'ouse. You must ha' bin dream in',' 
 I says " 
 
 But the old woman's view of the situation suddenly 
 changed again at the last moment, when she thrust her 
 head through the window of the cab in which Chris had 
 already seated herself and sobbed out, " Oh, my dear, you 
 ain't goin' away without a word of pardon for your poor 
 old Martha, are you ! *Twas my fault, maybe, but, 'twas 
 never my intention, as well you know. And I done 
 all you told me since, ain't I ? " 
 
 Then for the first time Chris smiled. " I have nothing 
 to forgive you for, Martha," she said, taking the old 
 woman's hand, "and I don't think you were at all to blame. 
 Only I had to tell you so because it was necessary to 
 
OHBI& 
 
 101 
 
 s cere- 
 hear 
 have 
 call a 
 B hall 
 i lady 
 
 fnghten vou. Gk)od-bye, Martha : I won't forget ho^ 
 you have helped me." 
 
 Possibly Martha, who had just succeeded so magnifi- 
 cently in friffhtening somebody else, did not quite like 
 being reminded of her own timidity. At any rate, she 
 dried her eyes as the cab disappeared, and summoned up a 
 sort of laugh. " Poor dear ! " she murmured. " She and 
 her knife ! — as if I ever believed she'd stab me ! Water- 
 loo Station she told the cabman, and she's goin' to friends 
 in furrin parts, as I see by her lookin' at them furrin 
 time-tables. They'll catch her up and bring her back 
 agin in a few days, I s'pose ; but 'twas as well to let her 
 *ave her own way at sfcartin'. Nothin* like 'avin your 
 own way for coolm' the blood ; and as for Miss Rebecca, 
 if this gives her a turn, 'tis no more than she deserves." 
 
 Meanwhile Chris was beinff conducted to her destina- 
 tion at the utmost speed which an old-fashioned, four- 
 wheeled cab could accomplish ; that is to say, very slowly 
 indeed. She offered the cabman a double fare if he would 
 drive fast, whereupon he lashed his horse into a lumber- 
 ing canter ; but that did not imply any great increase of 
 pace, and it was with only three minutes to spare that 
 the fugitive reached Waterloo. 
 
 She took her ticket for Paris, booked her luggage, and 
 was pushed into a carriage just as the train was starting ; 
 and then at length she had leisure to reflect upon what 
 she was doing and was about to do. Hitherto there had 
 only been room in her mind for the one idea, that she 
 must at all hazards efTect her escape from the wicked and 
 treacherous old woman who had murdered her dog ; but 
 now she could not help beginning to wonder whether the 
 Lavergnes, upon whose protection she had resolved to 
 throw herself, would be altogether enchanted when a 
 young woman who had run away from her relations 
 dropped upon them from the clouds. It seemed shabby 
 to doubt it, and yet there was room for just a little bit of 
 doubt. " At any rate," thought Chris, " if they don't want 
 me they need not keep me. I am ready to work for my 
 
102 
 
 OHRIB. 
 
 Hying, or do anything that James Compton may toll mo 
 to do, until I come of age, except ao back to Aunt 
 Rebecca. That I won't do ; and I don t see how he can 
 possibly make me." 
 
 It is always a comfort to know one's own mind. Chris, 
 having made up hers quite decidedly, was able to dismiss 
 all anxiety with regard to such future events as were 
 beyond her control, and could allow herself to cry a little 
 over the bereavement which she had sustained. She was 
 alone in the railway-carria^^e so that there was no need 
 to conceal her tears, which lowed without restraint while 
 the train sped down the line towards Southampton. 
 
 Most people seem to think that there is something 
 ridiculous in mourning over the death of a dog, although 
 they have no reason for thinking so beyond that which 
 is responsible for the rest of their opinions, namely, that 
 they nave always been given to understand as much. 
 Poor Peter had been the most sincere, the most devoted, 
 and the most sympathizing friend that Chris had ever 
 possessed ; and surely she might be pardoned for regret- 
 ting him more than she would have regretted any of her 
 relations, who had manifested none of those qualities. 
 But a dead dog, like a dead man, has passed beyond our 
 reach : no tears can touch him nor sorrow bring him 
 back to us : we must go our way as best we can without 
 him ; and the sad thing is that we are able to manage this 
 with much greater ease than we should have supposed. 
 Chris however was hardly old enough to know that ; and 
 perhaps it was a good thing for her that she should have 
 deemed herself inconsolable, since she was thus prevented 
 from dwelling overmuch upon the perils and folly of the 
 enterprise to which she was committed. She said to her- 
 self that she really didn't care what became of her, which 
 was of course absurd ; yet not more so than many unut- 
 tered assertions which the restof us have made in our time. 
 
 What happened to Chris very soon after she had 
 embarked at Southampton was to encounter a heavy east- 
 erly swell) which made her deplorably seasick, and all the 
 
OHRI& 
 
 108 
 
 night through rendered her insensible to everything save 
 the dismal misery of the present The passage neverthe- 
 less was a tolerably quick one, and there was a long time 
 to wait at Havre before the express left for Paris, at 
 which city she arrived between four and five o'clock on 
 the following afternoon, hungry, weary, and travel- 
 stained. 
 
 Her original intention had been to drive straight to the 
 Lyons Station and proceed to Cannes bv the night train ; 
 but she now felt too worn out to stick to this plan, and 
 she thought besides, that it would be as well to prr^nare 
 the Lavergnos for her arrival by a telegram. So, met td 
 of continuing her journey, she went to a quiet little hotel 
 in one of the streets leading from the Rue de Rivrl! to the 
 Rue St Honord where her father, who knew how to make 
 himself comfortaolc, had been wont to put up in da} 3 
 gone by ; ar/^ there she met with a welcome at ouce 
 respectful and voluble from the landlord and landlady. 
 
 These good folks, who had not heard of the death of 
 their former patron, expressed themselves as desolated 
 when the sad news was communicated to them and 
 showed their regret after the customary French fashion, 
 which we, who are less expansive, console ourselves by 
 calling all humbug. Humbugs cr not, they were very 
 kind to Chris, and put her into their best rooms and 
 bothered her with no questions until later in the evening, 
 when she had had a nice little dinner and when curiosity 
 naturally began to assert itself. She was going to friends 
 at Cannes, she told the fat landlord, who lifted up his 
 hands in amazement and ejaculated, " Cannes, in the 
 month of September ! But mademoiselle will be cooked 
 alive ! And what friends can mademoiselle have at 
 Cannes at such a time of the year ? " ^ 
 
 "They are French friends," Chris explained : "they 
 live there all the year round, and they have not been 
 cooked yet. Besides, I love the sun. And that reminds 
 me that I want to send a telegram to them at once. 
 .When does the train leave to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 3 
 
 m 
 
104 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 The landlord was not quite sure, but would inquire. At 
 the srtine time, if ho might be permitted to give nis opinion, 
 he would say that such a journey as that would be bettc/* 
 performed by night than by day, rapport d la chaleur. 
 Let mademoiselle repose herself until the following even- 
 ing : he himself would accompany her ^o the station and 
 recommend her to the care of the guard : the trains for 
 the south were not crowded at that season, and it would 
 be easy to secure a coupe-lit. As for the expense of 
 remaining a few more houra in Paris, he would only say 
 that old customers were not strangers, and he ventured 
 to think thct mademoiselle would not complain of the 
 amount of her bill. 
 
 After a minute or two of consideration, Chris decided 
 to take this advice. The nisht journey would not only 
 be less fatiguing, but would land her at Cannes at a more 
 convenient time; and to remain where she was for 
 another twenty-four hours would expose her to no fresh 
 risk, since, even in the very improbable event of her 
 aunt's sending somebody in pursuit of her, it would 
 scarcely occur to the pursuer to seek for her in Paris. 
 Accordingly she despatched her telegram and went to 
 bed, where she was soon sleeping as soundly as if she had 
 committed no outrage against those social laws which 
 may be said to form the tap-root of civilization. It is 
 true that when she woke on the following morning she 
 was a little overawed at finding herself in a French 
 hotel, and, for the time being, absolute mistress of her 
 own destinies ; but when she had swallowed her coffee 
 (there is still good coffee to be had in Paris, though not 
 at any of the best hotels or restaurants), she began to 
 exult in her freedom ard in the thought that, come what 
 might, she could never again be forced to return to the 
 hideous squalor and monotony of a residence at Primrose 
 HiU. ^ ' 
 
 This, however, was but a transient phase of feeling, due 
 chiefly to the prettiness and cleanliness of her surround- 
 ings. As the morning went on her spirits sank again : 
 
CHRia 
 
 106 
 
 she remembered how completely alone she was in the 
 world, and her misgivings with regard to the reception 
 likely to be accorded to her by the Lavergnes returned 
 with increased force. Dr. Lavergne prided himself upon 
 being unconventional ; but the qualities upon which most 
 of us pride ourselves are precisely those which we do not 
 possess, and the worthy doctor was at all events a French- 
 man from the crov/n of his head to the sole of his foot. 
 Now a Frenchman must be very unconventional indeed 
 — in fact, he mast be a sort of outlaw — before he will 
 quarrel with his family ; and there was reason to fear 
 that Dr. Lavergne would regard his young friend'si esca- 
 pade in a somewhat serious light. To take the law into 
 your own hands is not at all the same thing as to become 
 independant; and Chris mournfully acknowledged to 
 herself that her future must to a great extent be shaped 
 in accordance with the views of a whimsical old French 
 physician and a dry English lawyer. She had to fall 
 back upon her one consolation — " At any rate, they can't 
 make me go back to Aunt Rebecca, because I won't go." 
 After she had disposed of her midday meal she put on 
 her hat and started for the gardens of the Tuileries, 
 whither she had wandered with Peter a few months, 
 which seemed like years, before. The landlord, who ran 
 out to open the door for her, was visibly shocked at the 
 idea that any young lady could walk through the streets 
 of Paris alone ; but he did not permit himself any spoken 
 remonstrance, and for her own part she was too much 
 accustomed to taking care of herself to have any fear of 
 her fellow-mortals. 
 
 'I 
 
 ' i 
 
 
106 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 On that hot afternoon the Tuileries' gardens were 
 deserted save by a few white-capped nurses and pale- 
 faced children, with whom Chris tried to make friends. 
 They ought to have been in the country or at the seaside ; 
 and so perhaps they thought, for they were peevish and 
 defiant, and she fancied — though that was probably only 
 imagination — that the nurses looked strangely at her. At 
 any rate, they did not seem anxious for her company ; so 
 she strolled on, feeling very weary and lonely, crossed 
 the Place de la Concorde and, making her way up the 
 gradual ascent of the Champs Elysdes, where only an 
 occasional hired carriage filled with tourists was visible, 
 found herself at length at the Arc de Triomphe. It was 
 a longish walk and she was rather tired after it ; but she 
 thought that, as she had come so far, she might as well 
 go a Tittle farther and rest a while under the shade of the 
 trees in the Bois de Boulogne. Accordingly she plodded 
 on, and, as soon as she had passed through the iron gates, 
 struck off into a by-road which seemed to hold out 
 promise of coolness and seclusion. She might have had 
 Doth the one and the other by remaining quietly indoors ; 
 but neither her age nor her temperament permitted her 
 to sit still doing nothing, and consequently, as might have 
 been anticipated, she had by this time made herself very 
 hot. 
 
 What was perhaps hardly to be anticipated was that 
 she should encounter an acquaintance in a sequestered 
 alley of the Bois de Boulogne ; yet if she had been wise 
 she would have taken that possibility into account, for 
 who can hope nowadays to escape meeting with acquaint- 
 ances at any place on this side of the equator ? Thus it 
 was not really an extraordinary incident, although it was 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 107 
 
 an excessively annoying one, that no sooner had Chris 
 seated herself on the grass beneath a spreading tree than 
 a carriage passed within a stone's throw of her containing 
 three evident Englishmen, in one of whom she recognized 
 with dismay the superb proportions and rubicund counten- 
 ance of Mr. Ellacombe. 
 
 Unluckily he also recognized her, for he made a snatch 
 at his hat, ejaculated " Hello ! " and " By Jove ! " and then, 
 scrambling up, dealt the coachman a resounding blow 
 between the shoulders with his stick, as a gentle hint to 
 pull up. 
 
 " Arretez, you fool ! " Chris heard him shout ; and then 
 (for his voice was a powerful one) she was able to disting- 
 uish every word of the explanation which he vouchsafed 
 to his friends. " Drive on, you fellows, I'll be with you 
 by dinner-time. Just caught sight of somebody whom I 
 rather want to speak io." The other two men turned 
 round, looked hard at her and grinned : there was some 
 muttering, apparently of a jocular kind, since it was fol- 
 lowed by peals of unrestrained merriment ; then the car- 
 riage rolled away towards Paris, and Mr. Ellacombe, all 
 smiles, advanced across the grass. 
 
 If he did not then and there fall down in a fit it was 
 not for want of every kind wish that he might do so on 
 the part of the lady whom he was approaching. Chris 
 had no desire ever to speak to the man again : .she was 
 particularly vexed at having met him in such circum- 
 stances : she had been infuriated by the laughter of his 
 companions, and she considered that he was taking an 
 unwarrantable liberty in getting out cf his carriage to 
 accost her. Worst of all, she had a horrible suspicion 
 that he was not perfectly sober. The truth is that he 
 had been lunching a little too well at the Pr6 Catalan, 
 otherwise he could scarcely have failed to notice the girl's 
 frigid demeanour and lowered brows. 
 
 « Well," he exclaimed, " I do call this luck ! " 
 
 " So do I," thought Chris, " I call it luck of the very 
 worst description." But she said aloud, " How do you do, 
 
 I 
 
 ll 1 
 : 1 
 
 1 te 
 
 '$ 
 
 :^'ii 
 
 ■ .||1 
 
 • 1 f 
 
 .if: 1 
 
 'IH 
 
108 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 Mr. Ellacombe ? I am sorry you stopped your canjage, 
 but if vou will follow this road and take the first turn to 
 the ri^ht and then keep straight on you will come to a 
 stand of fiacrea before long." 
 
 " Oh, that'll be all right," answered Ellacombe cheer- 
 fully. "I'll walk the whole way back if it comes to 
 that I'd have walked double the distance to see you. 
 And what are you doing in Paris of all places in the 
 world ? " 
 
 There could be no doubt about it, the man was not 
 quite himself. He had assumed his worst manner, and 
 how bad that might become Chris knew by unpleasant 
 experience. " Do sit down again," he pleaded, casting 
 himself full length upon the turf from which lie had 
 risen : " I want so awfully to have a talk with you." 
 
 But Chris did not yield to this seductive invitation. 
 " I must be making my way back to my hotel," she said. 
 " I leave for the south of France to-night, and I have to 
 pack up." 
 
 " For the south '^f France ? What a funny place to be 
 going to ! I thought people only went there in winter. 
 But you have heaps of time yet. Don't hurry off, or I 
 shall think I have driven you away." 
 
 " I must go," answered Chris firmly. " But," she added, 
 aa he scrambled to his feet, " please don't let me take 
 you out into the sun if you would rather remain where 
 you are. I like a hot sun, but most people don't. Indeed, 
 I believe it is rather dangerous for them." 
 
 "As if I should allow you to start off all alone ! " 
 cried the gallant Ellacombe. " And who are you travel- 
 ling with ? " he added, as he strode along the road by her 
 side. 
 
 " I am not travelling with anybody," answered Chris ; 
 " I am going to stay with some friends." And then, by 
 way of changing the subject, she inquired what had 
 brought him to Paris. 
 
 He gave vent to a sigh so tremendous that she regretted 
 having put the question, and guessed at once what his 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 109 
 
 reply was going to be. "I had to get through the time 
 somehow," he said, " I couldn't stand home after you 
 went away, so I got some fellows to run over here with 
 me by promising to pay all expenses. They ain't par- 
 ticularly nice fellows,' he added plaintively, "but you 
 couldn't expect nice fellows to come across to Paris in 
 September. 
 
 " They certainly didn't look very nice," agreed Chris, 
 with a resentful remembrance of their behaviour to her. 
 " Perhaps if they had been nice they wouldn't have liked 
 you to pay their expenses for them." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know : that isn't the sort of thing that 
 people object to, as a rule. Anyhow, I shall soon get rid 
 of them, for one might as well be at home as in this 
 stifling hole, and if you're going away I shall hate the 
 place more than I do already ! I say, Miss Compton, 
 you'll be back at Brentstow in November, won't you ? " 
 
 " No," answered Chris, " certainly not. I don't think 
 it is likely that I shall be in England at all in Novem- 
 ber." 
 
 EUacombe whistled. " Going to stay abroad the whole 
 winter, then ? " he asked presently. 
 
 " Yes, I hope so. My plans are rather unsettled yet, 
 but in any case I shall not return to Brentstow." 
 
 EUacombe pondered a while. He had a vague impres- 
 sion that he owed Chris an apology, but he had also an 
 impression which was not vague, and in support of which 
 he could doubtless have adduced more or less convincing 
 evidence, that it was a very great mistake ever to apolo- 
 gize to a woman. So he dismissed that point from his 
 mind, and gave himself up to other reflections, the 
 eventual outcome of which was that he remarked gravely, 
 " If you're not at Brentstow in the winter. Miss Comp- 
 ton, I shan't see you, I'm afraid." 
 
 Chris said she was afraid he wouldn't, whereupon 
 he once more became very solemn and pensive. At length 
 he resumed, with some suddenness : " It just comes to 
 this. Miss Compton, that I shall have to ask you now 
 
mm 
 
 110 
 
 CHRI& 
 
 what I meant to have asked you a couple of months 
 hence. I'm a man of few words, and I can't put things 
 prettily, but I can put them plainly. Will you marry 
 me, Miss Corapton ? — there ! " 
 
 Chris was not altogether unprepared for this abrupt 
 proposal, nor was she at all dismayed by it. In ordinary 
 circumstances it is probably rather disagreeable to be 
 obliged to refuse any suitor, but when you are above 
 everything eager to get rid of a man, perhaps that is as 
 sure a way as another of accomplishing your object. 
 When once Mr. Ellacorabe should have been made to 
 understand that he could not possibly have what he 
 asked for, he would surely see that there was nothing 
 for him to do but to withdraw at once, and make his 
 way back to Paris by a circuitous route. Unfortunately 
 that was just what Mr. EUacombe could not understand, 
 although his addresses were rejected in language as 
 unequivocal as was consistent with courte^ty. His first 
 impression evidently was that Chris doubted his sincerity, 
 which he accordingly protested with unnecessary warmth : 
 then, as this failed to produce the desired effect, he grew 
 puzzled and rather angry. 
 
 " I know what it is ! " he exclaimed at length, " some 
 of those brutes down in Devonshire have been telling 
 you things about me. Well, I won't call them liai-s, 
 though I dare say that is what some of them are. But 
 this I'll promise you. Miss Compton, I'll give up every 
 bad habit I've got into if you'll be my wife. Can I say 
 more ?" 
 
 Certainly he could add nothing that was of a nature 
 to advance his suit, but, though not tipsy, he had had 
 just enough wine to make him stupid and obstinate : 
 consequently, he said a good deal more when this appeal 
 proved fruitless, and some of the things that he said 
 were not pleasant to listen to. 
 
 " I can tell you that there are plenty of girls in Devon- 
 shire, and in London too, who would be glad enough to 
 have such a chance," was one of his judicious remarks- 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " They've tried for it pretty hard and pretty often, but 
 you are the only one who has ever had it offered to her." 
 
 " At any rate, I am innocent of having tried for it," 
 observed Chris drily. 
 
 " Well, I don't know about that. Lady Barnstaple 
 didn't seem to think so. At all events, she is prepared 
 to back me up." 
 
 " Mr. Ellacombe," said Chris, turning at bay, " you are 
 very impertinent and very foolish ! Lady Barnstaple 
 has no authority over me, and very likely I shall never 
 see her again in ray life ; but even if she were my 
 guardian she couldn't force me to marry a man whom I 
 don't choose to marry." 
 
 Ellacombe frowned. " I'm not going to own myself 
 beaten yet," said he doggedly. " Who are your guar- 
 dians ? — for I suppose you have some." 
 
 " My cousin Mr. James Compton is my guardian, I 
 believe," answered Chris ; " but you must know very 
 little about me if you think that 1 should allow any one 
 to dictate to me in a matter of this kind. Perhaps the 
 best plan is to confess to you that I am at this moment 
 in full flight from my aunt and from my guardian, and 
 that they have not the slightest chance of persuading 
 me to return to them. That ought to convince you that 
 I know my own mind and take my own way." 
 
 Apparently^ however it had not that effect. Mr. Ella- 
 combe was a little startled, but in no way discomfited. 
 " You've plenty of pluck," said he admiringly. " I like 
 a girl who has pluck, and I don't think a bit the worse 
 of you for having bolted. But mind you, Miss Comp- 
 ton, it isn't every man who would say that. Because, 
 you know, it's a deuced awkward thing for a girl to run 
 away from her friends. Remarks are made, and people 
 draw their own conclusions, and altogether it does her no 
 good. I dare say you didn't think about that when you 
 showed them a clean pair of heels. But never mind ! 
 vou shan't suffer for it, I promise you. You come straight 
 back to London with me to-morrow, and we'U announce 
 
112 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 our engagement and be married as soon as you please. 
 Then we can snap our fingers at the gossips." 
 
 It was an offensive thing to say, and it was said in an 
 offensive manner ; though the speaker may be acquitted 
 of any intention to give offence. 
 
 " I don't quite know what you mean, Mr. Ellacombe," 
 answered Chris ; " out it* anybody is inclined to gossip 
 about me, I suppose I can snap my fingers alone. I should 
 like to be left alone at once, if you please ; so I will say 
 good-bye now." 
 
 She stood still in a determined manner ; but Ellacombe 
 only burst out laughing. " What a little spitfire you 
 are I " he exclaimed. " Well, I like you all the better for 
 it ; only really, you know, you mustn't think that I'm 
 going to be sent off like this, with my tail between my 
 legs. Come and sit down here and tell me what you 
 want. I sha'n't grudge you anything that I can give, 
 you may be sure." 
 
 He laid his hand upon her wrist as he spoke, and with 
 an exertion of force which was perhaps greater than he 
 imagined, drew her towards a bench. Chris was very 
 angry, but also rather alarmed. They were now in the 
 Avenue du Bois de Bologne, and plenty of people, includ- 
 ing a aergent de ville, were within hail ; yet she did not 
 quite like to call for assistance, and she was making up 
 her mind to endure Mr. Ellacombe's unwelconiiB society 
 a little longer when, to her great joy, she caught sight of 
 a tall, slim figure approaching her with which she had 
 good reason to be familiar. " Oh, Val ! " she said invol- 
 untarily, " how glad I am to see you ! " 
 
 Mr. Richardson started, took off his hat, and advanced 
 with outstretched hand, his handsome face, which had 
 looked somewhat sombre the minute before, breaking 
 out into smiles. 
 
 While greetings were being interchanged, Ellacombe 
 stood twirling his moustache and looking pugnaciously 
 at the new-comer. " Perhaps," he said at length, " you 
 will introduce roe to your friend. Miss Compton ? " 
 
OHAia 
 
 118 
 
 Chris hurriedly performed the required ceremony, and 
 added in an undertone to Yal, '* rlease make him go 
 away." 
 
 Val, who was himself a pugnacious young man, obeyed 
 her with the utmost promptitude. " Mr. Ellacombe," said 
 he, " I am sure you will excuse us if we wish you good- 
 day. Miss Compton and I have not met for some months ; 
 and as we are engaged to be married " 
 
 " What I " thundered Ellacombe. And then, turning to 
 Chris, " Is this true, Miss Compton ? " 
 
 Chris made a sign of assent. It seemed to be the best 
 way of getting rid of him, and it was hardly worth while 
 to explain that the announcement was not quite strictly 
 accurate. 
 
 *' Then," said Ellacombe, becoming suddenly sober and 
 dignified, " I think you might have told me so a little 
 sooner. Good-bye, Miss Compton, I shall not mention 
 my having seen you here to anybody. Probably you 
 would rather I didn't." 
 
 If any disagreeable insinuation was intended to be 
 conveyed by the last words it was lost upon Chris, who 
 was only too thankful to see Ellacombe s broad back 
 turned towards her. She sank down upon the bench to 
 which she had been led, while Val, seating himself beside 
 her, looked inquiringly. Indeed, there were circumstances 
 connected with this meeting which he not unnaturally 
 expected her to account for. However, it was neither of 
 Mr. Ellacombe nor of her own presence in Paris that 
 Chris was first moved to speak by the sight of this old 
 friend. 
 
 " Oh, Val ! " she exclaimed, " Peter is dead ! " 
 
 " Poor little chap ! " returned the young man sym- 
 pathetically. But that's the worst of Yorkshire terriers, 
 they're always delicate if they're at all well-bred." 
 
 " He wasn't delicate ; he never had a day's illness in 
 his life," Chris declared ; and straightway she narrated 
 how the poor dog had been basely done to death ; how 
 she had fied from the roof of the criminal ; and how she 
 
 (8) 
 
 \ 
 
^■p 
 
 mim' 
 
 ^^nm 
 
 114 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 was now on her way to throw herself upon the protection 
 of the Lavergne^. 
 
 Mr. Richardson bit his lip and looked rather grave over 
 it. " And pray," he inquired, " who is the red-bearded 
 gentleman who thought you might have told him of your 
 engoj^ement a little sooner ? " 
 
 " Oh," answered Chris, " he is a very disagreeable per- 
 son who beats his dogs and who, I am afraid, is given to 
 drinking. I met him in Devonshire when I was staying 
 with Lady Barnstaple. I didn't dislike him so much at 
 the time, but poor dear Peter did — and bit him. He said 
 that about our engagement because he has just been 
 asking me to marry him, and of course I refused him ; 
 and, K)r some reason or other, he didn't seem to believe 
 that I was in earnest. But you know, Mr. Richardson," 
 she added, bethinking herself that it was about time to 
 avert possible misconceptions, " it isn't really an engage- 
 ment, and I only let him think so in order to drive him 
 away." 
 
 " Well, at any rate you needn't begin to call me ' Mr. 
 Richardson * again," said Val. " Is our carroty friend 
 possessed of money or lands ? " 
 
 " Yes, I believe he is well off: he has rather a large 
 property close to Brentstow," answered Chris inditier- 
 ently. 
 
 " And yet you refused him ? What made you do that, 
 Chris ? " 
 
 " I don't care enough about money to marry for the 
 sake of it," she replied. 
 
 " Come ! that's a consolatory and refreshing sentiment 
 to listen to. Especially as I have no money and no 
 prospects. All the same, I wish you had given another 
 reason, Chris : I wish you could have told me that you 
 haven't quite forgotten me in all this time." 
 
 " Of course I haven't forgotten you," returned Chris, 
 colouring a little, for in truth she had seldom thought of 
 him. " But I couldn't say that it was for your sake that 
 I refused Mr. EUacombe, because that would have been 
 untrue." 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 115 
 
 Mr. 
 
 lend 
 
 arge 
 1 tier- 
 that, 
 the 
 
 /hris, 
 
 htof 
 
 that 
 
 been 
 
 "Well," said Val, with a laugh and a shrug of his 
 shoulders, " so long as it wasn't for somebody else's sake. 
 Anyhow, you have refused him and that's some comfort. 
 Do you know, I am on my way to England, and if I 
 hadn't met you to-day I should have turned up at your 
 London address some time before the end of the week 
 and found the bird flown. A nice frigi^t I should have 
 had." 
 
 " My aunt will hear before the end of the week that I 
 am sate at Cannes," replied Chris. " I left without telling 
 her, because I didn't want to see her, and because I 
 wanted to avoid a fuss, but I have no intention of hiding 
 from her." 
 
 " I expect you'll have to go back again, you know," 
 remarked Val after a pause. 
 . " But if I wont ? " 
 
 " I really don't know how far the rights of guardians 
 are protected by extradition treaties, but I should imagine 
 that in any case they might bring pressure to bear upon 
 you by stopping the supplies. Besides, from a social 
 point of view, it is undesirable to defy your guardians. 
 By the way, have they told you yet what your fortune 
 amounts to ? " 
 
 This query, which was brought out with a somewhat 
 exaggerated assumption of carelessness, might have put a 
 suspicious person upon the alert, but it produced no such 
 effect upon Chris, to whom it had never occurred that 
 Val Richardson could wish to marry her on account of 
 her modest dowry. She replied that she believed she 
 would have a few hundreds a year when she came of age, 
 but did not know how many. Six or seven being sug- 
 gested as the probable minimum, she answered ihat she 
 supposed that would be about it, but confessed that she 
 had not paid much attention to the statements laid before 
 her by ner coiihin. Now, every one will admit that a 
 lover who has next to no means of subsistence of his own 
 is entitled to somewhat fuller information than that, if 
 only in order that he may resign all claim upon a lady 
 
 K 
 
pBssrt 
 
 116 
 
 CHRia 
 
 whose income is insufficient to support a husband. Mr. 
 Kichardson looked vexed and impatient for a moment, 
 but he displayed neither vexation nor impatience in his 
 rejoinder, which indeed was a very sensible one. 
 
 " I really think," said he, " that the best thing you can 
 do is to go back to your aunt without waiting to be 
 coerced. I can quite understand your being angry with 
 her ; but it seems to me that you would make a great 
 mistake if you were to cut yourself adrift. You say she 
 is old, and I presume she has money, which you might as 
 well inherit as not. Besides, you may not have to remain 
 with her long. Most likely she would be glad to see you 
 married ; so, if you tell her that you are engaged to 
 me 
 
 " But I am not," interrupted Chris sharply. " You 
 yourself said that I was not." 
 
 Val laughed. " That was at Cannes," he began. " After 
 the events of to-day " 
 
 But he stopped short when he saw that Chris, instead 
 of listening to him, was shaking hands with a young man 
 who had rushed across the road to accost her, and who 
 was uttering loud ejaculations of astonishment and joy. 
 It was indeed a day of many meetings, and Chris had 
 good reason to wish that she had curbed her appetite for 
 tresh air and exercise. Neither of her previous encoun- 
 ters had deprived her of her presence of mind ; but when 
 she found herself face to face with Gerald Severne, whom 
 she had supposed to be shooting grouse in the Highlands, 
 she became, for some reason or other, confused and 
 abashed ; and her embarrassment was so painfully appar- 
 ent that he became in some measure infected by it. 
 
 " You» didn't expect to see me here, I suppose. Miss 
 Compton ? " he said almost apologetically. " The fact is 
 I've been done out of my leave. One of our fellows has 
 been called away suddenly, and as there's a lot of work 
 to do they telegraphed for me without compunction. 
 Rather hard lines, I think — at least I thought so until a 
 moment ago. But how do you come to be in Paris at this 
 time of the year ? " 
 
CHRia 
 
 117 
 
 man 
 who 
 
 Miss 
 fact is 
 rs has 
 
 work 
 ction. 
 util a 
 it this 
 
 Then for the first time he hecame aware of Val Rich- 
 ardson, and Ciiris — somewhat unnecessarily, perhaps — 
 introduced the two men to one another. Gerald's counte- 
 nance fell perceptibly when he heard the name of the 
 stranger, to whom he raised his hat without offerinpf his 
 hand. A rather disagreeable interval of silence ensued, 
 which Val broke by remarking — " Well, Chris, we ought 
 to be moving on, I suppose : there isn't a great deal of 
 time to spare." 
 
 If a man addresses a lady to whom he is in no way 
 related by her Christian name, only one deduction can be 
 drawn as to the foo^^ing upon which he" stands with regard 
 to her, and Gerald - !V9me drew it. Great as his distress 
 and disappointment were, they were for the moment held 
 in check by his sense of having committed a gaucherie, 
 and his desire to withdraw as speedily as possible from 
 company in which he evidently was not wanted. He said 
 something, he hardly knew what, bowed, and was about to 
 take to his heels when Chris, who partly guessed what 
 was passing in his mind, stopped him. 
 
 " Mr. Severne," she stammered, " as I have met you, 
 perhaps I had better say — I mean, I hope you won't think 
 —that is, I am not staying in Paris. I am only passing 
 through on my way to the south, and everybody will 
 know all about it soon ; only, if you don't mind, I would 
 rather you didn't mention having seen me when you are 
 writing to Lady Barnstaple or Gracie." 
 
 Gerald's face grew longer and his eyes grew larger, 
 as indeed was scarcely surprising after such a speech as 
 that. He was quite incapable of making any immediate 
 reply ; and Chris went on desperately : " The truth is 
 that I have run away from my aunt's house. I had good 
 reasons for leaving her, and I shall write to her in a day 
 or two ; but — but, you understand " 
 
 " I quite understand," answered Gerald very gravely. 
 " Of course I shall not think of telling any one that I 
 have seen you." 
 
 And without even saying good-bye, he turned on his 
 heel and was soon out of sight. 
 
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 11 
 
 118 
 
 OHBI& 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 " Well," remarked Val Richardson, as Chris and he 
 resumed their walk, " youVe done it now, and no mis- 
 take!" 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Chris anxiously. 
 " Oughtn't I to have told him that I had run away ? " 
 
 Yfid laughed. " It was scarcely prudent, was it ? Not 
 that I complain : on the contrary, I am rather disposed to 
 rejoice. Only, you see, there are now two men who have 
 met you here with me, and one of them has been told 
 that we are engaged, while the other is under the impres- 
 sion that we are either married already or about to be 
 married immediately. I don't know whether that is 
 exactly what you would wish." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Chris, standing still and clasping her 
 hands : " do you really think that is Mr. Severne'" impres- 
 sion ? But why should it be ? " 
 
 " Because, my dear Chris, you couldn't have told him 
 so much more plainly. He saw you walking with me ; 
 he heard from your own lips that you had left your aunt's 
 house, and that everybody would soon know why you 
 had done so : added to which, he was begged not to men- 
 tion that you were in Paris. What construction would 
 any intelligent human being be likely to put upon such 
 facts and statements as those ? " 
 
 Chris turned white. " I never meant it," was all that 
 she could say. " I thought it was best to tell him the 
 truth. I was afraid he might write to Lady Barnstaple, 
 and he seemed to think it odd that I should be with you, 
 and I wanted him to understand that I had only met you 
 by chance." 
 
 " But unfortunately that was not what you said, and I 
 will venture to assert pretty positively that his belief 
 w&'i what I stated it to be just now." 
 
OHBI& 
 
 119 
 
 " At any rate/* observed Chris, wjth a long sigh, " he 
 promised not to tell any one that he had seen us.' 
 
 " Yes ; but I doubt whether you can rely quite impli- 
 citly upon his ^^scretibn, or upon the discretion of the red- 
 bearded man either. As a general rule, people think 
 themselves bound to keep a secret so long as it is a secret, 
 and no longer. Tour aunt, I should say, will be sure to 
 raise a hue and cry after you : you will be fortunate if 
 the story doesn't get into the newspapers, and you can't 
 expect that Lady Barnstaple will remain in ignorance of 
 it. Well, then, you know, when she discusses your 
 escapade with her neighbour and her son, they will 
 naturally say, * Since you know all about it there's no 
 harm in our mentioning that we met her in the Champs 
 Elys^es with a young man whose intentions ^peared 
 to be strictly honourable.* Don't look so angry : I'm only 
 trying to makri the position of affairs clear to you ; and 
 after all, there's an easy way of patting chattering tongues 
 to silence. Runaway marriages are a little out of date : 
 still they are not unheard of, and of course they are not 
 disgraceful, and " 
 
 " I will never consent' to any such thing ! " interrupted 
 Chris indignantly. 
 
 " If you saw that Mr. Seveme was under a false impres- 
 sion, I think you might have said a word to undeceive 
 him ; but you speak as if you wished to take advantage 
 of my having made this dreadful mistake. At all events, 
 you can't say that I ever promised to marry you, and you 
 may be sure that I shall not let myself be entrapped into 
 a runaway marriage." 
 
 " Perhaps you are "ight," returned Val coolly. " I am 
 not sure that a runawiiy marriage would be even possible, 
 and I have no wish to get myself into trouble with the 
 Court of Chancery. But an engagement I really do think 
 that you will have to admit ; and, as I was saying before 
 your friend joined us, my opinion is that the wisest thing 
 you can do will be to go straight back to your aunt's 
 house. I don't think that you can doubt that I love you, 
 
120 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 Chris, and I don't think you meant what you said when 
 you made that rather cruel speech about my wishing to 
 take advantage of your having got yourself into a mess. 
 I quite admit that I have no right to hold you to your 
 engagement, because I'm so awfully hard up just now ; 
 but for your own sake I am sure that it would be better to 
 announce it provisionally, and if you choose to throw me 
 over later I shall not complain." 
 
 This had a generous sound ; yet Chris could not help 
 feeling some doubts as to the generosity and sincerity of 
 the speaker. She was, however ashamed of doubting 
 him, and tried to throw as much friendliness as she could 
 into her reply, which was to the effect that she could not 
 admit any positive engagement. " If disagreeable things 
 are said about me, I must bear them," she declared. " I 
 would bear anything rather than attempt to live with 
 Aunt Rebecca again." 
 
 Val was not a little surprised to find that he could 
 not move the girl from her determination. He argued 
 with her the whole way back to her hotel : he even went 
 near to losing his temper with her ; but she stuck reso- 
 lutely to what she had said. Come what might she would 
 never see her Aunt Rebecca again if she could help it ; 
 and he was beginning to own himself beaten, and debate 
 inwardly whether he had better accompany her to Cannes 
 or put himself in communication with her family, when 
 an unexpected and powerful ally came to his aid. 
 
 This was no less a person than Mr. James Compton, 
 who, when the pair reached their destination, was discov- 
 ered under the porte cocker e with his hat in his hand, 
 mopping his forehead and apparently expostulating with 
 the landlord in Anglo-French. 
 
 " Oh, here she is ! " he exclaimed. " Well now, Chris- 
 tina, this is too bad ! — it really is too bad ! I have told 
 you distinctly and repeatedly that if you had any com- 
 plaints to make they were to be addressed to me, and 
 that they would meet with such attention as they might 
 deserve. Instead of which, you must needs conduct your- 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 121 
 
 "I 
 
 self after this preposterous fashion ! Upon my word, one 
 would suppose that you were utterly ignorant of the laws 
 of your country ! " 
 
 " One would be right then," replied Chris composedly. 
 " I know nothing whatever about the laws of my country. 
 But I know that I won't go back to Balaclava Terrace." 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! dear uie ! " ejaculated Mr. Compton, 
 irritably : " that is a nice sort of thing to say to your 
 trustee and your father's executor ! Won't, indeed ! 
 But, my good girl, there is such a word in the dictionary 
 as must, and people who say they won't do things may 
 sometimes be made to do them." 
 
 " How," inquired Chris, " are you going to make me 
 return to England ?" 
 
 If it came to that, Mr. Compton was not quite sure. 
 He changed his tone and replied, " When I tell you that 
 Miss Ramsden is seriously, indeed I may say dangerously, 
 ill, and that her illness is chiefly due to your thoughtless 
 behaviour, I trust that even you will see the propriety of 
 starting for London with me by to-night's mail. Per- 
 haps, in the circumstances, I ought hardly to be expected 
 to reason with you, but I am prepared to do so — I am 
 prepared to do so. Be so kind as to step into this room 
 lor a few minutes." 
 
 And he led the way towards the bureau, which the 
 landlord, who had been listening to the foregoing dia- 
 logue wUh much interest, indicated by a wave of the 
 hand. Then, and not until then, he noticed Val, who 
 indeed was following Chris with an air of authority and 
 protection. " And pray, who is this ? " he inquired. 
 
 The person alluded to answered the question suavely. 
 " My name is Richardson," said he. " I have been 
 acquainted with Miss Compton for some time past, and I 
 may as well mention at once that I am engaged to be mar- 
 ried to her." 
 
 Then it was pretty to see how the lawyer bristled up 
 and frowned. " Oh, nonsense ! " he returned. " Poon, 
 pooh ! don't talk to me like that, sir, if you please. You 
 
 .«, i 
 
122 
 
 OHRIS. 
 
 are probably aware that Miss Compton ia not of age and 
 cannot engage herself to anybody without the consent of 
 her guardian." For this Richardson was, at any rate, a 
 man, not an unreasoning and incomprehensible girl, and 
 could be treated accordingly. 
 
 But Val did not seem to be at all frightened. " Of 
 course," he answered politely, " I am quite aware of that, 
 but I don't despair of obtaining her guardian's consent. 
 Perhaps, when you have done speaking to her, you will 
 spare me five minutes. I'll wait here for you." Where- 
 upon he took out a cigarette and lighted it. 
 
 Mr. Compton grunted, but did not refuse the interview 
 solicited. The young man might, for anything he knew 
 to the contrary, be an eligible young man, or again he 
 might be in a position to give trouble. Either way, it 
 would be as well to hear what he had to say for himself. 
 So Val was left to the society of the landlord, while Mr. 
 Compton retired into the bureau with Chris, who asked : 
 " How did you discover that I was here ? " 
 
 " Oh, that was not a matter of much difficulty. When 
 I was sent for to your aunt's house yesterday morning I 
 learnt from the servant that you had started for the Con- 
 tinent, and that you had told your cabman to drive 
 to Waterloo. I crossed by Dover and Calais last 
 night, and on arriving here went straight to the Lyons 
 Station, thinking that in all probabilitj'' you intended 
 casting yourself upon the protection of ])r. Lavergne at 
 Cannes. But as you had not been seen there, and as I 
 could not, in any case, have left for the south before to- 
 night, it seemed to me best to make inquiries at the 
 St. Lazare terminus, where I at once obtained the informa- 
 tion that I desired. You had been noticed there on your 
 arrival, and the address to which you had been taken was 
 procured for me after a short delay. The French are a 
 people whom I dislike and distrust," concluded Mr. Comp- 
 ton, who had perhaps spoken to half-a-dozen Frenchmen 
 in his life, " but I am bound to admit that in some respects 
 they are more business-like than we are." 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 123 
 
 " And so Aunt Rebecca sent for you. Is it true that 
 she is dangerously ill ? " inquired Chris, after a pause. 
 
 " I am not in the habit of saying what is untrue, Chris- 
 *tina. Your aunt has had a slight stroke of paralysis ; 
 and although I do not wish to be guilty of any exaggera- 
 tion, and the doctor told me that he did not apprehend 
 immediate danger, it is evident that, at her time of life 
 and in her weak state of health, such an illness might at 
 any moment terminate fatally. I may add that she her- 
 self ascribes it to anxiety about you, and that she 
 entreated me most earnestly to bring you back to her. 
 I was to say that she sincerely regrets having ordered 
 your dog to be destroyed, but she assured me — and I con- 
 fess that I see no reason to doubt her word — that she fully 
 believed the animal to be mad." 
 
 " He was not mad, and she knew that he was not," 
 returned Chris, who had been wavering, but whose wrath 
 was rekindled by this statement. 
 
 " Very well, Christina : I will not attempt to argue the 
 point with you. I think however you will agree with me 
 that when your aunt, who may be dying, expresses the 
 strongest desire to have you with her, and when she 
 declares her intention of making every reparation in her 
 power for tlie wrong of which you complain, you cannot 
 refuse to give way to her." 
 
 Chris sighed, and bowed her head in sign of assent. 
 Certain injuries are irreparable, but none are— or at all 
 events none ought to be — absolutely unpardonable. It 
 did not seem likely that Miss Ramsden would die ; but if 
 she said she was sorry, and if she thought she was going 
 to die, there was obviously nothing for it but to capitulate. 
 
 " And now," continued Mr. Conipton, taking much 
 inward credit to himself for having carried his point at 
 so small an expenditure of breath, " perhaps you will be 
 so good as to tell me who Mr. Richardson is, what he 
 means by his impudent assertion that you are engaged to 
 be married to him, and whether it was in order to meet 
 him that you left Engfland ? " 
 
 :(!■ 
 
 
 iiiiii 
 
9tS 
 
 ■MCHHM 
 
 124 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 Mr. Compton, albeit a solicitor, may have had some 
 knowledge of the methods employed by the other branch 
 of the legal profession, and understood how to get at theu 
 truth by cross-examination. Ten minutes had not elapsed 
 before he had extorted from Chris not only all that she 
 knew about Val Richardson, but also the unlucky fact 
 that she had encountered both Mr. EUacombe and Mr. 
 Seveme in the course of the day. He shook his head and 
 said it was an awkward business — very awkward indeed. 
 Like Val, he had little confidence in the ability or the 
 inclination of those two young men to keep a secret. 
 " And whatever else may be doubtful," he concluded, " one 
 thing is as plain as can be, namely, that you are in Mr. 
 Richardson's power. I don't know whether you have 
 realized that ? " 
 
 " How in his power ? What can he do to me ? " asked 
 Chris. 
 
 " What can he do to you ? Really, Christina ! — but I 
 suppose all young women are perfect idiots ! Don't you 
 understand that what he can do is just this ? He can say 
 that you ran away to meet him in Paris, and that I pur- 
 sued you and caught you up just in time to save you from 
 flying to Jericho or some such place with him. And he 
 can bring pretty strong evidence in support of his asser- 
 tion too.' 
 
 " I don't think he would behave in such a way," Chris 
 said. 
 
 " I sincerely hope not ; but from what you tell me of 
 him I should imagine that it was well within the bounds 
 of possibility. In fact, I may as well tell you plainly that, 
 though he appears to be a thoroughly undesirable and 
 unsuitable husband for you, I believe that the only thing 
 I can do in the circumstances is to sanction an engage- 
 me^I riTiditional engagement-r-between you." 
 
 ^ish to be engaged to him," said Chris slowly. 
 > »«v to hear it, because I can see no alternative 
 J you. Engagements do not invariably and 
 necessarily entail marriages, and no doubt it will be in 
 
 '<>■• i 
 
CHBia 
 
 125 
 
 in 
 
 my power to insist upon a long delay. But perhaps I 
 had better speak to the young man himself. Now, Chris- 
 tina, if you will go up stairs and pack your clothes, you 
 will find me ready for you when it is time to start" 
 
 Mr. Compton, after the manner of victors, had assumed 
 a somewhat more peremptory tone from the moment that 
 he had achieved his victory ; but Chris was too dispirited 
 to quarrel with him on that account, and went off to her 
 room without a word. She was obliged to admit to her- 
 self that the man was right She had done a very foolish 
 thing, and ill luck, combined with her own folly, had 
 placed her in a position so compromising that Val, if he 
 was inclined to profit by it, might hold her at his mercy. 
 And she could not feel quite as sure as she would have 
 liked to feel that he was above taking that ignoble 
 advantage. Mr. Compton, as one acquainted with the 
 seamy side of human nature, had very little doubt upon 
 the point. He stepped out into the court-yard, where 
 Val was smoking his cigarette, motioned to that young 
 gentleman to seat himself upon a bench, and said — 
 
 " Now, Mr. Richardson, I am at your service. You 
 state that you are engaged to my cousin. What is your 
 income ? What are your prospects ? And to what mem- 
 bei*s of your family can you refer me for those particulars 
 which I should naturally wish to receive about a total 
 stranger who makes such a statement to me ? ** 
 
 Val, with a slight smile deplored the circumstance that 
 he was an orphan. Furthermore, he admitted frankly 
 that he had no relatives, that he had no prospects worth 
 mentioning, and that his income was precarious. Still he 
 was not without hope that something would turn up. He 
 understood that Miss Compton was tolerably well pro- 
 vided for, and although he admitted that he was not 
 entitled to press for an immediate marriage, he could not 
 see his way to resigning all claim upon her. " Taking 
 everything into consideration," said he, " it would really 
 be best for her own sake to let people know of our engage- 
 ment." 
 
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 ,.i 
 
 il 
 

 Vi 
 
 mm* 
 
 126 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 " Exactly so," agreed Mr. Compton drily : " I thought 
 we should hear that argument before long. Well, Mr. 
 R'r»hardson, as I was saying to my cousin just now, we 
 have practically no option but to accept your terms. I 
 should however recommend you to be satisfied with what 
 we are prepared to concede. Let it be understood that if, 
 at the expiration of an interval of time which we need 
 not at present fix precisely — say eighteen months hence — 
 you are able to show that you have reasonable means and 
 prospects, and if your conduct during that interval has 
 been steady and respectable, the marriage shall take place : 
 if otherwise, it shall be abandoned. I am proceeding ol 
 course, upon the assumption that my cousin's escapade 
 will become known and that her friends will think she 
 contemplated a runaway marriage which was prevented 
 by me. Disagreeable, but endurable. If, contrary to my 
 expectation, the secret should be kept, you w ould be able, 
 in the event of our dismissing you, to hold a sort of thi-eat 
 of exposure over our heads : only you must bear in mind 
 that our course would then be plain and easy. We should 
 simply tell the truth, and we should be believed. Every- 
 body would be aware that you had been engaged to my 
 cousin for a considerable length of time, and our reasons 
 for breaking off the engagement would be at everybody's 
 service. I don't know whether I make myself clear ? " 
 
 " Perfectly clear, thank you," answered Val laughing. 
 " You don't seem to entertain a very flattering opinion of 
 me, Mr. Compton ? " 
 
 "I know next to nothing about you," returned the 
 lawyer shortly. " If you care about my good opinion, I 
 dare say you can earn it." 
 
 " It shall be my endeavour to do so," Val declared with 
 due gravity. " I am going to London immediately, and 
 suppose I may take it that I shall be permitted to call 
 upon Miss Compton as often as I please ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly. That is, as often as she may please. 
 I think you heard me mention that her aunt, Miss Rams- 
 den, is seriously ill ; so that she is likely to be a good deal 
 occupied." 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 12: 
 
 Val promised that he would neither demand nor expect 
 more than Miss Compton was inclined to give him, which 
 sounded magnanimous and drew a few words of com- 
 mendation from the lawyer. Mr. Compton had no inten- 
 tion in the world of allowing his cousin to throw herself 
 away upon a penniless adventurer ; but that an engage- 
 ment must be submitted to he saw plainly enough, and 
 he thought that she might be trusted to reduce the privi- 
 leges of her betrothed to a minimum. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Chris came down stairs and, having 
 despatched a second explanatory telegram to the Laver- 
 gnes, declared herself ready to set out. 
 
 " I shall see you again very soon," Val whispered, as he 
 helped her into the carriage ; but to this encouraging 
 announcement she made no reply. 
 
 11 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 It is always an undignified thing to run away ; but to 
 run away unsuccessfully, to be caught by the ear and 
 dragged bacli again, is enough to break the toughest 
 heart. When Chris was deposited by her cousin on the 
 threshold of that dismal little house in Balaclava Terrace, 
 which she had inwardly vowed never to cross again, she 
 had no heart left in her, and could not at all respond to 
 the tumultuous welcome of Martha, who said: 
 
 " The Lord be praised ! " and added, " I ain't closed an 
 eye since you left, miss. Says I to myself, * you hun- 
 grateful creetur',' I says, * you bin and brought your pore 
 old missus to death's door, and if any 'arm comes to Miss 
 Christina, the blame,' I says, ' must be } ours.' But you've 
 come 'ome safe and sound, my dear, and I'm free to admit 
 that 'tis better lu ck than I deserve." 
 
 " I suppose I must go and see Aunt Rebecca," said 
 Chris wearily. "Is she still in bed ? " 
 
128 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 ! < 
 
 " Bless your soul, yes ! — and will be till she's carried 
 out of it in her coffin, I shouldn't wonder. Now you 
 won't speak 'ard to her, will you, my dear ? She's took 
 on terrible about it all, and if she done wrong — well, 'tis 
 no more than we all do most days of the week," 
 
 " Of course I shall not reproach her," answered Chris • 
 " it wouldn't have been worth while coming back if I had 
 intended to do that." 
 
 And indeed when she saw Miss Ramsden her resent- 
 ment died away. The poor old woman, who was lying 
 in bed propped up by pillows, looked up at her niece in 
 a frightened, deprecating way and then began to cry 
 feebly. 
 
 " I didn't think that you would mind so much," she 
 sobbed ; " I don't care for dogs as you do, and he really 
 did bite me. But I know I'm bad tempered and vindic- 
 tive ; your poor mother always used to say so, and this 
 isn't the first time I've had to acknowledge it." 
 
 There was no holding out against that. Chris said, 
 " Don't trouble yourself any more about it. Aunt Rebecca ; 
 we'll never mention the subject again." And then she 
 made her own apology, which perhaps might have been 
 worded in much the same way. She certainly had not 
 thought that her aunt would mind losing her so much. 
 
 So there were tears and embracings and peace was re- 
 established. Miss Ramsden, it is true, was more anxious 
 to be forgiven than ready to forgive, and when once she 
 had been assured that her offence was condoned, recurred 
 with rather ungenerous frequency to that of her niece ; 
 but it was evident that she was not altogether responsible 
 for her utterances. 
 
 "How you could treat me so I can't think," she whim- 
 pered. " I'm sure I've always tried to make you happy, 
 and given you every luxury. And then to leave me with 
 that wretched woman Martha, who is only waiting till 
 the breath is out of my body to steal everything in the 
 house that she can lay hands on I " 
 
 Chris very soon perceived that the old woman was not 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 129 
 
 not 
 
 herself, and managed to bear this complaint, which was 
 repeated over and over again, with tolerable equanimity. 
 What was more distressing, and apparently quite uncon- 
 querable, was the suspicious aversion which Miss Ramsden 
 had conceived for her faithful servant. 
 
 " Don't speak to me about her ! " she would say when 
 Chris tried to take Martha's part. " She has deceivea me 
 once, and she will deceive me again if she gets the chance. 
 She told me you were in bed and asleep when she had 
 just helped you to escape from my house — a woman who 
 owes everything to me and will inherit money when I 
 die, as she well knows ! I only wonder that she hasn't 
 poisoned me before this I " 
 
 The patience with which Martha endured these injuri- 
 ous accusations, which were brought against her quite as 
 often in her presence as in her absence, made Chris feel 
 additionally ashamed of her own share in the deception 
 complained of. " Bless you ! she don't mean the 'arf of 
 what she says," Martha would declare. " And indeed it's 
 true enough that I've deceived her times and again. 
 There's people, my dear, as you couldn't live with without 
 you was to deceive 'em, and Miss Rebecca she's alius bin 
 one of that sort." 
 
 After a day or two it became clear that Miss Ramsden's 
 life was in no immediate danger. The doctor however 
 said that her mental condition was unlikely to improve, 
 and she manifested no desire to leave her bed. There she 
 lay, hour after hour and day after day, doing nothing, 
 and possessed, as it seemed, by only two or three persistent 
 ideas. One of these was that Martha was a dangerous 
 traitress ; another was that it was unsafe to o-llow her 
 niece out of her sight ; and there was yet another, with 
 which Chris was made acquainted before long. For the 
 time being, what she had to make up her mind to was to 
 remain in the stifling atmosphere of a darkened bedroom 
 from morning to night. In vain she pledged her word 
 that she would not again attempt to escape from her 
 aunt's house. 
 
 (9) 
 
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 i;i 
 
 
 
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 hM ? 
 
 ..- —mtit-Jt 
 
130 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " Miss Ramsden would rejoin. 
 " NolKxiy is accusing you of wanting to run away. Only 
 I do think you might have a little more consideration for 
 me. Somo <lay perhaps, when you are old and helpless, 
 you will tind out what it is to be left all by yourself for 
 two or three hours at a time." 
 
 By way of set-off against the misery of this imprison- 
 ment, Chris was provided with a capital excuse for 
 shortening the interviews with Val Richardson, who 
 made his appearance in Balaclava Terrace a few days 
 after her return thither, and whose visits were a great 
 deal more frequent than she liked. In fear and trembling, 
 and after a good deal of hesitation, she had made known 
 her engagement to her aunt, and the apathy with which 
 the announcement was received had surprised her not a 
 little. 
 
 " I am not long for this world," Miss Ramsden said 
 lugubriously. " When I am gone you will marry, and 
 your husband will spend the little money that I shall be 
 able to leave to you. That is a matter of course ; it is 
 what they always do." She did not seem to take the 
 least interest in Mr. Richardson, and declined to see him. 
 " They are all the same," she said. 
 
 Parsimony is probably like other passions which have 
 degenerated into vices in being its own reward and 
 destitute of ultimate object. Those who have allowed 
 themselves to be conquered by it appear at times to 
 deplore their slavery, just as a drunkard wi'l tii^plore his, 
 and to recognize that death will set them tree. Miss 
 Ramsden often mentioned that Chris woula inherit what 
 she had to. bequeath, but never laid any restrictions upon 
 her legatees, nor expressed a wish with regard to the 
 disposition of the fortune which had just been her fetish 
 during so many years. 
 
 Val, on the other hand, was much interested in this 
 subject, and was not so successful in disguising his interest 
 as he may perhaps have imagined himself to be. That 
 Miss Ramsden was rich and that she was dying he had 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 131 
 
 this 
 
 West 
 
 ^'hat 
 
 I bad 
 
 discovered ; but he had not been able to find out how rich 
 she was, nor had Chris thought it necessary to acquaint 
 him with the provisions o2 her aunt's will. It was not 
 so much because she belie v 3d him to be mercenary as 
 because she feared to disappoint him that this discreet 
 policy commended itself to her. He made no secret of 
 the fact that he was hard pressed for money, and she 
 thought it would be a pity to buoy him up with hopes 
 which might at any moment be dispelled by the caprice 
 of an old woman. Besides, she was very far from having 
 determined to marry Val. Had she been sure that she 
 would some day become his wife, she would perhaps have 
 been less lenient with him and less sorry for him. Certain 
 it is thatthe confessions which he made to her were not 
 such as most girls would like to hear from the man to 
 whom they proposed to intrust their persons and their 
 property. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, Chris," he said to her deject- 
 edly one day ; "a little more of this and I shall be dead 
 broke. Backed the wrong one again ! I don't know how 
 it is that I invariably back the wrong one. A forty to 
 me chance too ! " 
 
 " Well, but," observed Chris, to whom this contidence 
 did not come as the first of its kind, " if forty to one is 
 laid against a horse, doesn't that mean that he is very 
 unlikely indeed to win his race ? " 
 
 " Not necessarily. Certain horses, don't you see, are 
 reserved for certain races, and nothing is known of their 
 true form ; and I had a really first-rate tip about this 
 one. In point of fact, he actually did secure a place — for 
 which I hadn't backed him. Well, bang goes five hun- 
 dred pounds, that's all ! And how I'm going to pay is 
 more than I know." 
 
 Women are seldom hard upon men of so-called sporting 
 proclivities. That betting has nothing in the world to do 
 with sport is a proposition which most of them would 
 probably be inclined to dispute, and although Chris 
 thought Val foolish and scolded him for his folly, it never 
 
 
 ■■ 'ii 
 
 1 .''^( J- 
 
 1 
 
132 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 occurred to her to regard him as simply a dishonest gam- 
 bler. Yet a man who risks more than he can pay is 
 undoubtedly as dishonest as the ragged ruffian who picks 
 your pocket and who is very properly sent to prison for 
 doing so. Moreover, she was glad to lecture him and offer 
 him sound advice. It placed her upon a sort of sisterly 
 footing with him and rendered any lapses into a loverlike 
 demeanour on his part difficult, if not impossible. Some- 
 times she did not see him for four or five consecutive days. 
 He attended all the race-meetings, and, by his own account, 
 stayed with aristocratic friends ; he did not always lose 
 his money nor wes he always despondent. But he was 
 always very anxious to hear whether Miss Ramsden was 
 better or worse. 
 
 Miss Ramsden was neither the one nor the other. She 
 refused to get out of bed ; but she had a pretty good 
 appetite, and the doctor, to whose visits she objected 
 strongly on the score of expense, went away for his 
 autumn holiday, as he told Chris, " without any anxiety." 
 So the uneventful days succeeded one another, and the 
 last of the summer was swept away with south-westerly 
 gales and rains, and Chris, who had nothing to look for- 
 ward to, became after a fashion reconciled to the dreary 
 present. Once Mr. Compton called and asked to see her. 
 He wished to know whether she had heard anything from 
 Lady Barnstaple, and on being informed that she had 
 not, said he was very glad of that. 
 
 " It looks," said he, " as if those two men whom you 
 met ir Paris had really kept their own counsel. Of 
 course that isn't to . y that they will continue to do so. 
 I am not much in the way of hearing about people in that 
 station of life ; but about Mr. Richardson and his habits 
 I have by chance heard a few particulars. It appears 
 that he is the only son of a deceased Liverpool merchant, 
 who left him a very fair patrimony — which he has dissi- 
 pated. Just now he is, as I understand, a good deal mixed 
 up with a set of fast young lordlings whose extravagances 
 his means do not enable him to imitate with any safety. 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 138 
 
 rou 
 
 Of 
 so. 
 bat 
 )its 
 
 iars 
 mt, 
 
 isai- 
 
 Ixed 
 ices 
 
 lety. 
 
 In short, there is every reason to anticipate that he will 
 either pass through the Bankruptcy Court or disappear 
 very shortly. 
 
 Chris said she was very sorry to hear it. 
 
 " Your sorrow, if sincere, is inexplicable to me, Chris- 
 tina. You certainly told me that you did not wish to 
 marry this man, and if you do not wish to marry him 
 you ought to be glad that there is a strong probability 
 of his being removed from your path." 
 
 " He has always been very kind to me," said Chris ; " I 
 don't want him to be ruined." 
 
 Mr. Compton shook his head. "The young man is 
 going to the dogs," he replied. " Of coui-se, if you are 
 determined to go there with him, it will eventually be in 
 your power to do so. You will not however have such 
 power until you obtain your majority, and I may remind 
 you that you will not attain your majority for nearly 
 four years to come. In the meantime, I do trust that 
 your common sense will deter you from giving Mr. Rich- 
 ardson any further hold over you than he already, most 
 unfortunately, possesses." 
 
 The caution was less necessary than Mr. Compton sup- 
 posed. Chris was fully alive to the fact that Val had a 
 hold over her, and it had more than once occurred to her 
 that if she could only stave off her mariiage until she 
 ?ame of age, she might possibly purchase her freedom by 
 a pecuniary sacrifice. That such an idea should have 
 entered her mind was as strong a proof as any one could 
 have desired that she was not and never would be in love 
 with the man to whom she was engaged. But that did 
 not prevent her from pitying and sympathizing with him, 
 and she was perhaps all the more disposed to condone the 
 offence of prodigality because its opposite was so often 
 and so disagreeably brought under her notice. 
 
 Miss Ramsden confided to her one dav that there was 
 a very large sum of money in the house. " Small as my 
 income is," the old woman said, " I have saved something 
 out of it for many years past, and all my savings are con- 
 
 V,.' 
 
134 
 
 OHBIS. 
 
 
 
 tained in the strong-box which, as I dare say you ma\' 
 have noticed, stands under the sideboard in the dining- 
 room. Has Martha said anything to you about it ? " 
 
 " No," answered Chris ; " I don't suppose she knows 
 anything about it." 
 
 "She knows more than you think," returned Miss 
 Bamsden, with a cunning side-glance ; " she is a deceit- 
 ful, dangerous woman, and I should not like her to find 
 out what that strong-box is worth. Ah, dear me ! when 
 I think how easily this house might be broken into • 
 Sometimes I lie awake trembling more than half the 
 night through." 
 
 Chris had learnt by this time that it was useless to take 
 up the cudgels on Martha's behalf. She only said, " Why 
 don't you send your money to the bank. Aunt Rebecca ? " 
 
 " What, and let those unscrupulous bankers gamble 
 with it ? No, indeed ! Sometimes I have thought of the 
 funds ; but I read my newspaper carefully, and I know 
 that any day a powerful coalition might be formed against 
 England. And then where would consols be ? No, no ; 
 my money is my own, and I'll keep it by me as long as I 
 live. But that won't be long," she added, with a sigh. 
 And then — " Chris, dear, when I am gone, and when all 
 that I have saved becomes yours to do what you like 
 with, you won't throw it away, will you ? You'll remem- 
 ber your poor old aunt, and how she denied herself for 
 your sake, and how she had no secrets from you, and 
 how, even on her death bed, when she was helpless, she 
 wasn't afraid to tell you that she had ten thousand 
 pounds in the house. At least, I won't say that it is quite 
 as much as that ; but it is more than five thousand pounds, 
 at any rate. You'll remember how I trusted you, won't 
 you, dear ? " And Miss Ramsden shed a few tears of self- 
 pity. 
 
 To appeals of this kind Chris made such reassuring 
 replies as she could This old woman, who, with one foot 
 in the grave, compl lined bitterly of the quantity of meat 
 that was bought to provide her with beef -tea, was a suf- 
 
CteKIS. 
 
 135 
 
 ficiently pitiable spectacle ; but it was not easy to feel as 
 much compassion for her as for a young man who was 
 ruining himself upon the turf. Moreover, her constant 
 terror of burglars and distrust of every one about her 
 ended by irritating her niece's nerves a little. Of Martha 
 Chris felt as sure as she did of herself ; but there was 
 no denying that the house might be broken into any 
 night, and what could three defenceless women, of whom 
 one was bed -ridden do in such an event ? After Chris 
 had been told about the treasure in the strong-box, she, 
 too, took to lying awake at night and starting at any sud- 
 den noise. 
 
 One afternoon she said to Val, " I often wonder what 
 I should do if I were to hear robbers moving about down 
 stairs after I had gone to bed. What would you do in 
 my place ? " 
 
 " Cover up my head and pray that they might take all 
 they could get and go away without murdering me," he 
 answered, laughing. " Not that they would be likely to 
 secure a very handsome spoil on these premises. Has 
 the old lady got any plate ? " 
 
 " It is all electro-plate, I believe," answered Chris ; but 
 her eye wandered involuntarily towards the strong-box 
 under the sideboard ; for this interview, like the rest of 
 her interviews with Val, took place in the dining-room, 
 the drawing-room having been closed during Miss Rams- 
 den's illness in order to preserve the furniture from need- 
 less wear and tear. 
 
 Val followed the direction of her gaze, rose and lifted the 
 box. " By Jove ! it's heavy," said he. " I wish it was full ol 
 sovereigns, and I wish I had half of them ! I'll tell you 
 what, Chris : I'll undertake to come here every night and 
 protect your aunt's property with a revolver in my hand if 
 she'll engage, on her side, to leave me the quarter of it in 
 her will. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if she had 
 stored away a good deal of money in that box." 
 
 " Perhaps she has," answered Chris laughing ; " but I'm 
 afraid she wouldn't leave any of it to you even if you did 
 take upon yourself to mount guard over it." 
 
 I i 
 
 ->■■! 
 
 1 1 
 
 mi 
 
35S 
 
 1:36 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 " Well, she can leave it to you if she likes ; that would 
 be much the same thing, wouldn't it ? Will she bequeath 
 her fortune to you, do you suppose ? " 
 
 There was perhaps just a shade too much of eagerness 
 in his tone. " Really I don't know," answered Chris 
 rather coldly, " and really I don't care. Do you ? ** 
 
 " Why, of course I do," returned Val, who could not 
 quite conceal the irritation which was naturally provoked 
 by such a silly speech. " It would be ridiculous to pre- 
 tend that I am absolutely indifferent to money. Nobody 
 is ; although some people may fancy that it sounds well 
 to pretend they are." 
 
 •' I assure you it is quite the same thing to me whether 
 what I say sounds well to you or not," Chris declared. 
 " I don't want Aunt Rebecca's money ; and even if I get 
 it, it won't follow as a matter of course that it will come 
 into your possession. You seem to forget that." 
 
 " Am I engaged to you, Chris, or am I not ? You will 
 admit that 1 am at least entitled to know what my posi- 
 tion is ? " 
 
 " When you first asked me to marry you," answered 
 Chris, " you said that the engagement was to be binding 
 upon you but not upon me." 
 
 " I believe I did say something of the sort ; but certain 
 events have taken place since that time you know." 
 
 " Then," cried Chris, with flashing eyes, " my cousin 
 James was right, and you are reall}'^ base enough to 
 threaten me ! Well, I am glad that we understand one 
 another. You may say exactly what you please, Mr. 
 Richardson ; you may tell everybody the truth about our 
 meeting in Paris, or you may tell what is not the truth, 
 but what most people, I dare say, will believe. Only you 
 won't be able to tell anybody that we are engaged to be 
 married after this." 
 
 There was a long pause, followed, as was to be expected, 
 by a surrender on Val's part. He said : " You are rather 
 unkind and rather unjust, I think. I neither threatened 
 you nor thought of threatening you ; but I certainly 
 understood you cousin to consent to an engagement 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 137 
 
 be 
 
 between us which should be as binding upon both sides 
 as engagements ever are. Of course you are at liberty 
 to throw me over if you please, and whether you do so 
 or not I shall hold mv tonsfue. No one will ever hear 
 from me of your having been in Paris. You know very well 
 that I told you I loved you, and asked you to marry me 
 before I had heard a word about your aunt and her 
 money. I am not going to say that I care nothing for 
 her money, because that would be both untrue and 
 absurd." 
 
 Chris was appeased and a little ashamed. " I am sorry 
 I spoke as I did, Val," said she with a sigh ; " but I can't 
 help wishing sometimes that we were not engaged. If 
 only you were my brother or my cousin I shouldn't a bit 
 mind your wanting me to be rich, and I should ask noth- 
 ing better than to give you half of my money when I get 
 it ; but as it is, I don't like to think of your counting 
 upon me, because I don't feel as if I could ever marry 
 you." 
 
 " I must take my chance," answered the young man. 
 " If you decide against me when the time comes I shall 
 not complain, you may be sure. Although I might per- 
 haps think that if you intended to refuse me all along it 
 would have been simpler and more considerate to do it 
 at first." 
 
 Chris felt the full force of this appeal to her generosity. 
 There would, no doubt, be something rather shabby about 
 ultimately rejecting a man whom she had only accepted 
 because a cautious lawyer had warned her that things 
 might be made very uncomfortable for her if she didn't ; 
 and his promise to abstain from using the power which 
 he possessed was of course an additional claim upon her. 
 
 " I will if I can," she said at length ; " but if I can't 
 you must try and forgive me, Val. After all, you wouldn't 
 wish to have a wife who didn't love you ? " 
 
 It is probable that Mr. Richardson could have found it 
 in his heart to put up with that disadvantage, provided 
 that certain compensations were offered to him ; but he 
 
 
 v^. 
 
 
 
 il^ 
 
 . \ 
 
 i| h 
 
138 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 K 
 
 : 7 
 
 only answered, " I don't want to worry you. Chris. As I 
 say, I'll take my chances and bide my time. Always 
 supposing, that is, that I don't have to bolt out of the 
 country before the time comes. Unless the luck turns I 
 shall pretty soon reach the end of my tether." 
 
 " Why do you go on betting, Val ? " asked Chris sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 " Because I can't help it, my dear. There are countries, 
 as you may have heard, which have negotiated enormous 
 loans, and which keep on starting others in order to pay 
 the interest upon the earlier ones. It's easy enough to 
 demonstrate that such a pc^lj ov is suicidal ; but the answer 
 is that repudiation worivJ b tnore suicidal still. Sooner 
 or later I've got to settle like other people, and the only 
 way in which I can una the i<^'>T\ey is to back winners. 
 So I must go on trying to spot "vinners." 
 
 " I wish I could help you ! " sighed Chris meditatively. 
 
 " Do you want a great deal of money, Val ? " 
 
 " It depends upon what you call a great deal. A couple 
 of hundred would be useful ; five hundred would be more 
 useful still ; a thousand would about set me on my legs." 
 
 Chris made a gesture of despair. " Ah ! then it's no 
 use thinking about it ! " she exclaimed. " Haven't you 
 tried to get any employment ? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " Oh, I've made enquiries, 
 but lucrative engagements are not to be had for the ask- 
 ing. I dare say I shall pull through ; and if 1 don't pull 
 through — well, it won't much matter to anybody except 
 myself, will it ? " 
 
 There was just enough of truth in this last observation 
 to make Chris wish with all her heart that she could care 
 for that handsome young reprobate a little more than 
 she did. 
 
 \ 
 
CHBia 
 
 189 
 
 I-: 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 To sit and weep over the grave of a dog may be a very 
 silly thing to do ; but perhaps it is not very much more 
 silly than weeping over the grave or a human being. In 
 the one case, as in the other, we know perfectly well that 
 what we have loved has left this world absolutely and 
 finally, and hcts no longer the remotest connection with 
 the discarded chrysalis, which is slowly turning to dust 
 beneath our feet ; yet few of us can divest ourselves of the 
 impression that something of the dead man's personality 
 clings about his tomb; and this should be all the more 
 so in the case of a dog, who, as we are confidently assured, 
 has no personality at all, save such as ceases with his 
 breath. 
 
 Naturally or unnaturally, Chris let fall a great many 
 tears upon the mound which marked poor Peter's last 
 resting-place. She had been accustomed to confide every- 
 thing to him during his lifetime, and now that that silent, 
 faithful, and sympathising confidant had been taken away 
 from her, she sometimes took her troubles out into the 
 grimy little back-garden where he lay, and thought over 
 them there. Of these she had more than a sufficiency, 
 the worst of them, perhaps, being those which she did not 
 think about after any distinct fashion and scarcely even 
 realised. She was sorry to be sure, that Gerald Severne 
 should have parted from her under such a complete mis- 
 apprehension of the cause of her unlucky flight to Paris , 
 but when she found her mind dwelling upon Gerald, she 
 instinctively turned to some other subject of reflection. 
 For a good many days in succession she neither saw nor 
 heard of Val, who, as she rightly conjectured, was at 
 Newmarket, sedulously endeavouring to recoup himself 
 
fff*' 
 
 140 
 
 CHRI& 
 
 ii.- 
 
 for past losses ; and this would have been a relief to her 
 if she had not felt so desperately lonely. 
 
 " You are moping, Christina ; and why you should mope 
 I really cannot tell. It is rather ungrateful of you, I 
 think;" Miss Kamsden would sometimes say to her, with 
 a return of her old peevishness. 
 
 But as a general rule Miss Ramsden was too deeply 
 engrossed with her own anxieties to pay much heed to 
 her niece's dispirited mien. Her fear of being robbed 
 seemed to be fast assuming the proportions of a mono- 
 mania ; she was for ever alluding to the strong-box in 
 the dining-room, which Chris in vain urged her to have 
 removed to some place of safety, and these allusions were 
 as often as not made while Martha was in the room. 
 
 " Since you distrust poor old Martha so much," Chris 
 could not help observing one day, " I wonder that you 
 are not more careful of what you say before her." 
 
 " My dear," returned Miss Ramsden, " if that woman 
 intends letting thieves into the house, it is better that she 
 should know where my valuables are than that she should 
 bring her confederates into our bedrooms to cut our 
 throats. Even as it is, I can't rest for thinking of what 
 might happen, though she surely must be aware that 
 there is nothing worth stealing in this room. Yesterday 
 afternoon, when you had left me all alone, I thought I 
 would try to read the newspaper, and the first thing I 
 saw was a dreadful leading article about the ' burglary 
 season * being at hand." 
 
 Chris also had read the leading article in question, and 
 it had made her a little uncomfortable. It referred prin- 
 cipally to the unpleasant habit adopted by the modern 
 burglar of arming himself with a revolver, and the con- 
 clusion arrived at by the writer was that modern house- 
 holders could not do better than follow his example. 
 Chris had no revolver ; but she took to sleeping with her 
 Spanish knife under her pillow, and she likewise took to 
 waking up with a start three or four times in the course 
 of the night. Her aunt had so harped upon the proba- 
 
CHRI& 
 
 141 
 
 course 
 
 bility of the house being broken into that she felt as if 
 th? occurrence of that catastrophe was a mere question 
 of time. 
 
 As for Martha, she frankly confessed that she double- 
 locked her door when she retired for the night " And I 
 wouldn't stir if I 'card any one movin' about below, my 
 dear, no — not for anythink you could offer me. - Let *em 
 take all they can get ; it won't be much, you may depend. 
 Don't you believe a word about Miss Rebecca's box as 
 she says is full of money. She's a deal too cunning to 
 run such risks as that." 
 
 Cunning is not incompatible with folly, and poor old 
 Miss Ramsden w^as in such a feeble condition of mind nnd 
 body that thore was nothing very surprising in her hav- 
 ing divulged what she apparently desired to keep secret 
 to the ve\y person of whom she protested to be most 
 afraid. It was by no means certain that she had not 
 divulged it also to others ; for when the tradespeople sent 
 round for orders, she had a way of summoning the men 
 up to her bedroom, protesting against their excessive 
 charges and explaining to them garrulously how poverty- 
 stricken she was. 
 
 One night Chris was awakened by a tremulous tapping 
 against the wall which separated her bedroom from that 
 in which her aunt slept. She jumped up at once, slipped 
 on her dressing-gown, and presently found Miss Ramsden 
 sitting up in bed, pale and trembling. 
 
 " It has come at last," the old woman whispered ; " I 
 knew it would ! There's a man in the dining-room." 
 
 "Are you sure ? " asked Chris. 
 
 " Perfectly certain. I distinctly heard a window opened, 
 and then a footstep in the hall." 
 
 Chris stood for a moment listening intently. " I can't 
 hear a sound," she said. 
 
 " Of course you can't ; and that is what shows that he 
 must be in the dining-room. We should hear him if he 
 were in the drawing-room, which is just underneath this. 
 But no doubt he has been told where to go." 
 
 • 
 
 \M m 
 
 
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 1 
 
 Wm 
 
 1 
 
 • .1 
 
 lyn 
 
142 
 
 CHRI& 
 
 " Well," said Chris quietly, " if there really is anybody 
 there, we mustn't let him get off." And she moved 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Stop, stop I " exclaimed Miss Ramsden in an agitated 
 whisper. " What are you thinking of, child ! Do you 
 suppose that you can do anything against a great strong 
 burglar ? " 
 
 "I can identify him, at all events," answered Chris ; 
 and despite her aunt's tears and remonstrances, she left 
 the room and stole softly down stairs, her knife ready in 
 her hand. 
 
 She had been nervous enough before the danger pre- 
 sented itself ; but now that it had come, she had no notion 
 of showing the white feather. On her way towards the 
 dining-room she remembered certain scraps of information 
 which had been imparted to her by her friend Jos^ 
 touching the use of the knife. According to that auth- 
 ority, if you want to kill a man, by far your best plan is 
 to face him and strike for his heart ; but when your 
 desire is merely to pay him out for some not unpardonable 
 offence, to give him a fright and leave him with a 
 salutary impression that you are not the sort of person 
 whom it is safe to offend, you should approach him 
 stealthily from behind, and stab him close to the shoulder. 
 By this means — provided that the blow be delivered with 
 sufficient force — ^you make him believe for a moment that 
 he is a dead man, you probably draw a good deal of blood, 
 and you do him no harm at all, unless perchance ne 
 should be a sickly or intemperate creature ; in which case 
 you are, of course, not responsible for any unpleasant 
 consequences that may ensue. 
 
 Bearing these instructions in mind, Chris approached 
 the dining-room door on tiptoe, and, pausing for an 
 instant, with her ear close to the key-hole, was made 
 aware that she had been aroused by no false alarm. 
 Somebody was undoubtedly in the rgom, and was more- 
 over making use of a file with very little apparent regard 
 to the noise produced by his operations. For one moment 
 
 \ 
 
■"*rf< 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 148 
 
 n 
 
 ;e 
 
 hris hesitated. She had heard that burglars seldom go 
 bo work single-handed ; and it was evident that if there 
 were two men there, she would not only be overmatched, 
 but would have no opportunity given her of using her 
 weapon. However, she determined to chance thai She 
 turned the handle noiselessly, and pushed against the 
 door, which did not yield. It was locked on the inside. 
 This check, which might have been anticipated, did not 
 discourage her for any longer time than it took her to 
 reflect that there was no possible way of escape through 
 the dining-room window, which overlooked a broad and 
 deep area, protected by spiked railings, and that the 
 robber must needs effect his exit, as he had made his 
 entrance, through the hall window, which, as she could 
 see, was wide open. She returned to the door, knelt 
 down beside it, and listened. 
 
 She could tell as well as if she had been in the room 
 what the thief was about. He was trying to force open 
 the strong-box, and he had found himself obliged to 
 file through the heavy iron clamps which secured it. It 
 was a long business, and he did not seem to be making 
 satisfactory progress with it ; for Chris could distinctly 
 hear him muttering and cursing under his breath. What 
 reassured her was that no responsive murmurs were 
 audible, so that it might safely be concluded that he had 
 undertaken the job without help. That being so, she 
 did not feel much afraid of him. She was prepared to 
 spring upon him the moment that he came out, and as 
 he would be taken by surprise, there was a very fair 
 chance that he might be forced to relinquish his booty. 
 
 At the expiration of a quarter of an hour, during 
 which time not a sound was heard in any other part of 
 the house, he appeared to make up his mind that he could 
 not force the box open and must carry it away with him. 
 It was plain, from his scuffling movements and laboured 
 breath, that he was lifting some heavy weight ; then his 
 footsteps slowly drew near the door : then the lock was 
 
 ■^!i 
 
144 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 turned ; and then he emerged — a tall, slight man, stooping 
 under the load which he bore upon his shoulder. 
 
 Chris, who had retired a few paces, had him practically 
 at her mercy, and if she failed to take as complete 
 advantage of her opportunity as she might have done, 
 that was perhaps because, when it comes to stabbing 
 anybody — even a thief — in the back, hereditary instinct 
 's apt to enter a protest. Be that as it may, the wound 
 which she inflicted upon him was a mere scratch. Her 
 knife just glanced over his right shoulder, ripping up his 
 coat and scarcely more than grazing his skin ; but the 
 effect of the onslaugiit was all that could have been 
 wished. He uttered a sharp cry, dropped the box, which 
 fell to the ground with a resounding crash, and made a 
 dash towards the window. 
 
 But Chris was too quick tor him. ** You won't get off 
 so easy as that," she cried, as she sprung in front of the 
 fugitive, her long knife gleaming in the light of the 
 moon, which was then nearly at the full, and which, 
 streaming through the unshuttered window, had enabled 
 her to follow every movement of the enemy, as well as 
 to satisfy herself that he was unarmed. It enabled her 
 now for the first time to distinguish his features. 
 
 " You ! " she ejaculated in horror. " Oh, Val, how 
 could you do such a thing V 
 
 The young man stood silently before her, his arms 
 hanging by his sides and his head slightly bent. He 
 looked extremely like a whipped hound, and it is not 
 improbable that that is what he felt like. However, he 
 recovered himself to some extent after a second or two 
 and said admiringly with a touch of bravado, " By Jove ! 
 You have pluck ! Fancy your coming down all alone to 
 tackle the midnight malefactor with a knife ! " 
 
 Chris was neither flattered by his compliment nor 
 angered by his impudence. She too had had time to 
 recover herself, and she only said coldly, " Had you not 
 bette]r go away ? I suppose policemen do sometimes 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 145 
 
 to 
 
 pass this house, and if one of them were to notice the 
 open window and were to find you here, with a file and 
 a chisel in your hand, it would be rather uncomfortable 
 for us all." 
 
 • Val shrugged his shoulders. "It would be uncomfor- 
 table for you perhaps ; I don't know that it would be 
 particularly so for me. I doubt whether anything could 
 add very mucli to the discomfort of my present situation. 
 Still, if yon are inclined to let me go, I shall not refuse to 
 do so." 
 
 " You may go," said Chris, drawing a little aside as if 
 to let him pass. " Of course you understand that you 
 can never come back here again ." 
 
 " That, as you say, is a matter of course. I would 
 thank you for your forbearance if I could flatter myself 
 that it was due to any personal regard for no ; but you 
 would probably assure me that you are consulting your 
 own convenience rather than mine by allowing me to 
 escape." 
 
 He waited for a moment, and then, as she made no 
 reply, placed his knee upon the window-sill, with the 
 apparent intention of scrambling out. But although he 
 was quite conscious that the facts sp6ke for themselves 
 and that nothing more could be said to any purpose, he 
 found himself unable to make so taciturn and cynical an 
 exit. 
 
 " Chris," said he," you asked me just now how I could do 
 such a thing as this. Well, I don't believe anybody 
 knows what he is capable of in the way of felony until 
 he sees ruin staring him in the face. I discovered yester- 
 day that nothing short of paying up between three and 
 four thousand pounds to-morrow morning could save me 
 from being branded as a defaulter — which spells ruin in 
 pretty plain characters. Since I couldn't pay and 
 couldn't borrow, my one and only chance was to steal ; 
 and as soon as I realized that, I couldn't help thinking of 
 your aunt's safe. You see, if I had succeeded, you cer- 
 tainly wouldn't have dreamt of suspecting me of being 
 
 (10) 
 
 'i! ;• ' 
 
 !■ •If 
 
146 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 11 
 
 the thief, and the odds were aJl in favour of my succeed- 
 ing. It was such a simple affair to cut out a pane of 
 glass, push back the bolt of the window and walk in ! I 
 confess that I reckoned without you and your knife : 
 but " 
 
 " Have I hurt you much ? " interrupted Chris quickly. 
 
 " Physically, do you mean ? No ; I don't think you 
 have hurt me at all, and it wouldn't have mattered if you 
 had. Before many hours are over I shall be out of the 
 reach of physical harm." 
 
 Chris caught her breath. " Why do you say that ? ''' 
 she asked. 
 
 Perhaps he had enough of manhood left in him to be 
 ashamed of what he had said. At any rate, he laughed 
 it off. "Oh," he returned, "I'm not the sort of person 
 who commits suicide ; I'm the sort of person who talks 
 about it and doesn't do it. What will become of me I 
 can't imagine ; but it is probable that I shall continue to 
 encumber the earth, though I shall cease to be an encum- 
 brance to you. Good-bye, Chris ; I won't ask you to for- 
 give me, and of course I can't ask you to excuse me. I 
 dare say you'll forget me easily enough. Don't marry 
 the red-bearded man, that's all." 
 
 Chris w^as beginning hesitatingly, " If you will wait one 
 moment, Val — I have a little money of my own up stairs, 
 and I don't want you to starve — " But before she could 
 end her sentence he uttered an exclamation, vaulted 
 through the window and vanished into the night. She 
 turned and saw the pale and amazed visage o* Martha 
 close to her shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, dear, oh, dear ! " moaned Martha, wringing her 
 hands, " what a bad job ! I 'card a crash and I come to 
 the top of the stairs — not as I meant to interfere with 
 any burglars, not me ! — but, thinks I, 'twill do no 'arm if 
 I was just to ketch a glimpse of his face, so as I might 
 know him again. And then I reckonises your voice, my 
 dear, and I steals down a bit farther, and — oh, Lord ! 
 Well, thank 'Evins, he's gone I " 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 147 
 
 her 
 s to 
 
 with 
 if 
 
 light 
 ray 
 
 lord ! 
 
 " Martha," said Chris quietly, " you may have recog- 
 nised my voice ; but you didn't recognise anything or 
 anybody else. If you thought you did, your senses must 
 have deceived you. I am sure that you must understand 
 that I am not strong enough to capture a burglar. Aunc 
 Rebecca will probably be satisfied when she hears that I 
 have had to let him go free, but that her box is safe. 
 And I think we had better go up and tell her so." 
 
 Martha compressed her lips and nodded her head 
 emphatically several times. " There's on'y one thing as 
 I should wish to know, miss," said she. " That there — 
 burglar ; he won't come back no more, will he ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Chris. " And now let us 
 set Aunt Rebecca's mind at rest." 
 
 That proved to be a task of some diflSculty. The old 
 woman had made up her mind that her niece had been 
 murdered and had worked herself up into a state of terror 
 and agitation which gradually gave place to wrath when 
 she was persuaded by ocular evidence that Chris was 
 quite unhurt. 
 
 " You cruel child I " she wimpered. " You might have 
 thought of me, lying here helpless ; but you chose to stay 
 a whole hour — it can't be less than an hour since you 
 left me — chattering to Martha, who seemed to have 
 taken good care not to go down stairs until the coast was 
 clear. Martha, you can go back to bed. Stop ! before 
 you go, bring the box up here ; you and Chris can carry 
 it between you, and I daren't have it leit in the hall.'* 
 
 The box was no light weight, and it was all that two 
 not very strong women could do to get it up into Miss 
 Ramsden's bedroom ; but at length they accomplished 
 their task, and as soon as they had done so, Martha was 
 unceremoniously dismissed. Then the old lady put the 
 key in the lock, turned it, and, with a cunning glance — 
 " Perhaps you would like to see the treasure, my dear ? " 
 said she. 
 
 " I don't care to see it," answered Chris ; but as her 
 aunt insisted, she lifted up some sheets of brown paper 
 
 
 I:. 
 
^mm 
 
 148 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 and disclosed a goodly collection of rusty old bolts and 
 bricks and stones. 
 
 " He-he ; " chuckled Miss Ramsden ; " Martha's friend 
 wouldn't have gained much for his pains even if you 
 hadn't interrupted him, would he ? Now, Christina, you 
 see what confidence I have in you. I have let you into 
 my secret and you know where my money is not. As for 
 where it is — well, my dear, I don't think I'll tell you that 
 to-night. You shall relate your adventure with the 
 housebreaker to me instead. Perhaps it will send me to 
 sleep." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Chris had no difficulty in giving such an account of 
 her adventure as would satisfy Miss Ramsden without 
 making compromising revelations. She related how she 
 had heard the burglar in the dining-room, how she had 
 waited for him outside — which accounted for her pro- 
 longed absence — how she had sprung upon him when ho 
 at length emerged, and how he had been only too glad to 
 drop his spoil and run away. The unfortunate thing was 
 that her story did not tend to exculpate poor Martha. 
 
 " Very well, my dear," Miss Ramsden said, after Chris 
 had vainly assured her of that faithful creature's inno- 
 cence, " keep your opinion and I'll keep mine. You won't 
 persuade me that a man who knew nothing about the 
 house would have made straight for the dining-room and 
 spent an hour there, trying to force open a box which 
 might have contained specimens of minerals and was 
 very unlikely to contain coin of the realm. I shall not 
 dismiss Martha, because she is a useful servant and I 
 might go further and fare worse. But if she thinks she 
 can deceive me she is very much mistaken." 
 
 Chris felt guilty and ashamed ; yet she could not bring 
 
ss 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 149 
 
 I 
 
 she 
 
 •ing 
 
 herself to denounce Val, and it was seme comfort to find 
 in the sequel that Martha, to whom taese unworthy sus- 
 picions were no secret, was very little distressed by them. 
 
 " Twas alius Miss Rebecca's way," she remarked philo- 
 sophically. "Come to a question of money and she's 
 bound to suspect somebody. If it hadn't bin me 'twould 
 have bin you, my dear, which might have been a more 
 ork'ard thing. *Tis best as it is, you may depend. Let 
 alone that she's in that state as she didn't ought to be 
 *eld accountable for her words." 
 
 For this charitable view of Miss Ramsden's case there 
 was certainly some justification. Delighted as the old 
 woman appeared to be by the success of her stratagem, 
 her nerves had had a severe shake, and for some days 
 after the attempted burglary she was in a pitiable condi- 
 tion, elternating between feverish excitement and abject 
 terror. It was impossible to leave her alone, and as she 
 slept very little, her niece did not get much sleep either. 
 That she really had a considerable sum secreted some- 
 where about the premises seemed probable, since she was 
 never weary of protesting to Chris that such was not the 
 case. I 
 
 " I am obliged to mislead that prying Martha," she would 
 say ; " but I won't attempt to mislead you, my dear. ] 
 haven't a penny more in the house than is wanted to pay 
 the weekly bills— and very little elsewhere. How could 
 I, with my miserable income, and with all the extra 
 expense that I have been put to since you came to live 
 with me?" 
 
 At other times however she would tell a different tale 
 and lament that she had pinched herself throughout her 
 long life to no purpose. " What has been the use of it ? " 
 she would moan. " I'm a rich woman ; but I'm bedridden 
 and dying, and I suppose you'll be glad when I'm gone 
 and you can spend my savings." 
 
 Chris was not able to feel any great compassion for 
 ihe old woman, who, to be sure, did not deserve very 
 much. At any rate, that hint as to the ultimate desti- 
 
 ii 
 
 i\ 
 
 :i 
 
 m 
 
 i ! 
 
 ^ i 
 
 i ^ 
 
NAP 
 
 PWP^PffP^ 
 
 150 
 
 OHRia 
 
 nation of Miss Ramsden's savings did not propitiate 
 her, as it may have been intended to do. She was patient 
 with her aunt and unwearied in her attendance upon her ; 
 but she had not forgotten the assassination of Peter, nor 
 could any inheritance, large or small, atone in her eyes 
 for that cruel wrong. Besides, she had other things to 
 think about. She was very uneasy about Val and cc'ild 
 hardly even rejoice at being released from her engage- 
 ment to him, seeing in what way that release had been 
 obtained. The very enormity of his offence showed to 
 what dire straits he must have been reduced before he 
 could have thought of committing it. She was afraid he 
 must be absolutely destitute, and still more afraid that 
 he might have done what he had declared, with a sneer, 
 that he had not the courage to do and put an end to him- 
 self. Every day she scrutinised the newspapers appre- 
 hensively, but found no mention of him therein, either in 
 the character of a suicide or in that of a defaulter. 
 
 At length, however, she received a letter from him 
 which put an end to her anxiety. It was dated " Cadiz," 
 and in his opening sentence the writer softened her lieart 
 by saying that he would not have ventured to address 
 her again, had he not thought she might be pitying him 
 more than he deserved. Then he explained that he had 
 a well-to-do relative, a Liverpool wine-merchant, to whom 
 he had applied in his extremity, and who had very unex- 
 pectedly offered him a place in his house of business at 
 Cadiz, shipping him off to his destination forthwith. 
 
 " I suppose," Val wrote, " he thought that was upon 
 the whole the cheapest way of getting quit of me ; and 
 it's certain that I can't show my face in England again, 
 with all my bills unpaid, not to speak of what I owe to 
 the bookmakers." 
 
 The letter was not an altogether satisfactory one to 
 Chris, except in so far as it proved her correspondent to 
 be no longer in want or aespair. He said he was in 
 despair when he reflected upon the sin and folly of which 
 he had been guilty ; but long before she had read as far 
 
to 
 tto 
 
 in 
 lich 
 
 far 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 161 
 
 as his signature Chris perceived that he did not quite 
 despair of being forgiven. " Of course," he wrote, " I 
 don't expect any answer to this, and of course, if by any 
 extraordinary chance we should ever meet again, your 
 cutting me dead wouldn't at all surprise me. Still, how- 
 ever insane one may have been, one isn't an absolute 
 monster. One has one's feelings — some of them feelings 
 which nothing except death can change — and that is why 
 I can't truthfully subscribe myself in any other way than 
 as 
 
 " Ever your loving 
 
 " Val Richardson." 
 
 Chris would have preferred his subscribing himself in 
 any other way, even at a slight sacrifice of truth, and it 
 was with sincere relief that she read of his inability to 
 show his face in his native land. 
 
 Miss Eamsden, fortunately, made no enquiries about him. 
 Miss Kamsden had ceased to make any inquiries about 
 anybody or anything, except when, from time to time, a 
 sudden panic seized her and she took it into her head that 
 Martha was planning some fresh coup de main. Slowly 
 but surely she was sinking into her grave ; every day 
 she grew a little weaker ; and although the change was 
 scarcely perceptible to those about her, the doctor, on his 
 return from his holiday, pursed up his lips and shook his 
 head. He prescribed a nourishing diet, which was un- 
 lucky, because that entailed a slight increase of expendi- 
 ture which his patient was most unwilling to sanction. 
 Only after prolonged argument and persuasion could she 
 be got to sign cheques for small amounts. " You buy 
 more fresh eggs in a week than I used to buy in a year," 
 she would complain fretfully ; " and why do you make 
 my beef-tea so strong ? We might all live for three or 
 four days upon the meat that you put into it." 
 
 " Well, you can't live for a day without it now," Martha 
 would rejoin bluntly, " so it's got to be made whether you 
 like it or whether you don't, Miss Rebecca." 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 m r 
 
 ■u 
 
 y 
 
 
 il 
 } 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 ■ 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 j 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 IB 
 
152 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 u. 
 
 " I know I am going to die soon ; I have told you so 
 from the first. And if I am going to die, what is the 
 good of wasting so much money ? " the invalid would 
 plead with an earnestness which was almost pathetic. 
 
 But the toughest struggle of all took place when the 
 weather grew so cold that it was necessary to have a fire 
 in Miss Rarasden's bedroom. Nothing, she declared, 
 should induce her to consent to such an innovation. She 
 could not afford it ; she had never been accustomed to it ; 
 she was sure that it would make her ill. Added to which 
 the chimney had not been swept for years, and the chances 
 were that they would set fire to it and bum the house 
 down. When Martha, disregarding these objections, left 
 the room and presently returned bearing a coal-scuttle 
 and a bundle of sticks, the old woman became agitated 
 to the verge of hysterics. 
 
 " Not you, then ! " she shrieked. " I won't have it done 
 by you, Martha ! If I am to have a fire against my will 
 — and of course I am helpless — Christina, and nobody 
 else, shall light it. Put down your sticks and go away, 
 Martha ; we don't want you any more." 
 
 That this was no mere caprice was proved after Martha, 
 to humour her mistress, had deposited her burden and 
 retired ; for then Miss Ramsden beckoned Chris mysteri- 
 ously to the bedside and whispered, " Put your hand as 
 far up the chimney as you can reach, my dear, until you 
 feel a ledge on the left-hand side. You will find some- 
 thing there that I want you to bring me." 
 
 Chris did as she was told, making herself very sooty 
 in the process, and presently withdrew from the spot 
 indicated a small oblong box of no great weight. 
 
 " Papers-only papers," Miss Ramsden explained hastily 
 " Not valuable in themselves ; but I do not wish them tc 
 be destroyed. Give me the box, quick, before that woman 
 comes back ! " 
 
 " Hadn't I better wipe it first. Aunt Rebecca ? " said 
 Chris. " It looks as if it had been up the chimney for a 
 century." 
 
^ 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 153 
 
 " Wipe it with paper, then ; don't waste a clean tciwel 
 upon it. What signifies a little soot ? There, that will 
 do. Give it me — give it me at once!" And, having 
 clutched her property, Miss Ramsden thrust it down 
 beneath the bed-clothes. " I don't think it would have 
 struck anybody to search in that place," she muttered 
 with a feeble chuckle. " Now you can light the fire if 
 you choose ; it is cold for the time of year." 
 
 Not for many days longer was Miss Ramsden vexed 
 by the sight of blazing coals or the taste of unnecessarily 
 potent beef -tea. As her strength ebbed her mind began 
 to wander, and it was only at intervals that she spoke 
 intelligibly or took any notice of what was going on 
 around her. One afternoon the doctor announced that 
 she had scarcely any pulse and that the end was near. 
 
 "There isn't much to be done," he said to Chris. 
 '• Stimulant, of course, if you can get her to swallow 
 it " 
 
 The dying woman .suddenly opened her eyes and inter- 
 rupted him. " Gin," she said, " will do. It's the cheap- 
 est." 
 
 Those were her last words. Before mornins: she was 
 <lead, and the wealth which she had spent her life in pain- 
 fully amassing was hers no more. 
 
 Man, according to the Psalmist, boapeth up riches and 
 cannot tell who shall gather them ; but the law of the 
 land, as Mr. Compton, who hastened to Belaclava Terrace, 
 as soon as he had heard of the melancholy event, 
 remarked, is kind enough (in consideration of tho pay- 
 ment of certain duties) to allow him some voice in the 
 matter ; and what Mr. Compton was very anxious to find 
 out was whether Miss Ramsden had availed herself of 
 that privilege. The deceased lady having neither kith 
 nor kin, with the exception of her niece, it seemed to 
 devolve as much upon him as upon anybody else to make 
 the requisite search ; and he was rewarded by the dis- 
 covery of a will of quite recent date, and singularly few 
 provisions. In this instrument he found himself nomi- 
 
 :;- 
 
 
 
 j '^ 
 
 
 1 
 1 ■ ' 
 
 ■ - 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 ' i 
 
 1 
 i ■. 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 

 154 
 
 OHBia 
 
 nated as co-executor with the late Miss Eamsden's banker ; 
 and it was his pleasing duty to announce to his cousin 
 that she was the sole inheritress of her aunt's estate, sub- 
 ject only to the deduction of an annuity of fifty pounds, 
 payable to " my old servant, Martha Stubbs." 
 
 On the day of the funeral Chris was made acquainted 
 with the fact that she was a considerable heiress ; but it 
 was not until some weeks later that anything like a cor- 
 rect estimate of the value of her possessions could be 
 arrived at. The late Miss Ramsden's bankers held her 
 securities ; but the amount of specie which she had kept 
 in her own hands was only ascertained after every nook 
 and cranny in her house had been thoroughly overhauled. 
 
 The box which Chris had withdrawn from its place of 
 concealment up the chimney was stuffed full of bank- 
 notes ; more of these were discovered in cupboards of 
 which the keys were not at first forthcoming ; the hearth- 
 stone of an unfurnished bedroom, which showed signs of 
 having been disturbed, was lifted, and disclosed a heap of 
 between three and four hundred sovereigns. By the time 
 that every possible investigation had been made, Mr. 
 Compton estimated that the entire estate, invested and 
 uninvested, reached the respectable figure of £90,000. 
 
 " And am I to have the spending. of all that ?" Chris 
 inquired, when she was told what the probable income 
 arising out of this sum would be. 
 
 " Well, yes," answered her guardian ; " the annual 
 income will be payable to you until you come of age, 
 when the capital, together with what you have inherited 
 from your father, will be at your absolute disposition. 
 It is perhaps rather a pity ; but so it is." 
 
 " I shall never be able to spend it," said Chris. 
 
 " Possibly not ; but others will no doubt be willing to 
 spend it for you. Now, as to Mr. Richardson " 
 
 " All is over between him and me," interrupted Chris 
 quickly. " I have broken off the engagement, and he has 
 le"'^ England. It is quite agreed that we are to be 
 strangers henceforth." 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 155 
 
 Mr. Compton said he was very glad indeed to hear that, 
 but seemed a trifle incredulous. " It is not improbable," 
 he remarked, " that when Mr. Richardson hears how 
 greatly your means have been increased, you may be put 
 to some further inconvenience by his — er — importunities. 
 In such an event your best plan would be to refer him to 
 me. His power to injure you is less, distinctly less, now 
 than it was a month or two ago." 
 
 " I don't think he wants to injure me at all," said Chris ; 
 " and even if he did, I don't see how he could." 
 
 " Oh, he could — after a fashion. I pointed that out to 
 you in Paris, as you may recollect. Still, his power is not 
 so great as it was ; for his conduct since that time has 
 been such as to warrant our breaking off the engagement. 
 Of course you do not forget that there are two other men 
 who are in possession of your secret." 
 
 *' There need be no secret about the matter," Chris 
 returned ; " I don't think I should care very much if all 
 the world knew that I had run away from Aunt Rebecca. 
 It may have been a foolish thing to do ; but I can't see 
 that it was disgraceful." 
 
 " Surely you can see, Christina, that that is not the 
 point. The point is that both these men believe that you 
 ran away to meet Mr. Richardson ; and if you were to 
 deny that until you were black in the face, it is in the 
 last degree improbable that they would be so simple as to 
 accept your denial." 
 
 Chris looked distressed and remained silent for a few 
 moments. " I should not like Mr. Severne to think so 
 badly of me," she said at last. " Why should he not 
 accept my word ? He is a gentleman. As far as that 
 goes, Mr. Ellacombe is a gentleman too — by birth." 
 
 The lawyer made a grimace. " My dear Christina," 
 said he, " the fact that a man is a gentleman does not 
 compel him to give credence to absurdities. These two 
 gentlemen saw you in Paris in the company of a — well, 
 let us say an individual, to whom you appear to have told 
 them that you were engaged, adding, very gratuitously, 
 
 i\ 
 
156 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 that you had run away from England. If you now 
 inform them that your engagement is at an end, that you 
 only met Mr. Richardson by chance, and that you fled 
 from your aunt's house because she had poisoned your 
 dog, they may, out of politeness, pretend to believe your 
 story ; but of course they won't really believe it. Were 
 I in their place I certainly should not." 
 
 " Well," said Chris in despair, " it can't be helped. Very 
 likely I shall never meet either of them again. I want, 
 if I may, to go as soon as possible to the Lavergnes. They 
 have written to me since Aunt Rebecca died, begging me 
 to pay them a visit, and they know all about my having 
 run away. Would there be any objection to my spending 
 the winter at Cannes ? " 
 
 The lawyer stroked his chin and said, " No ; he did not 
 think that there would be any objection." The question 
 of what was to be done with this young heiress had been 
 rather a puzzle to him. His wife had been anxious that 
 she should take up her abode under their roof, paying a 
 reasonable sum in acknowledgment of the shelter afforded 
 to her ; but he had sense enough to see that that arrange- 
 ment would never work. Mrs. Compton was a lady of 
 peremptory habits and uncertain temper ; Chris was, to 
 say the least of it, fond of her own way and inclined to 
 take it Besides, the girl was really too rich to be kept 
 under proper control. Provisionally, at all events, it 
 would be as well to let her do as she wished. Possibly 
 she might And a husband before long and so relieve him 
 of future responsibility. 
 
 It was, perhaps, this latter reflection which prompted 
 him to remark wistfully, " I wish you would marry that 
 young Seveme, Christina. He is, as you say, a gentle- 
 man, and considering what your present circumstances 
 are, his family would hardly oppose the match, I should 
 think. In that way, too, you would at least secure his 
 silence about your ill-advised freak." 
 
 " I have quite made up my mind not to marry any- 
 body," replied Chris composedly. "Of course it would 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 167 
 
 be a high honour for me to be accepted by Mr. Seveme ; 
 but I don't think I should care to buy the consent of his 
 family. I want to get away to my dear old Lavergnes 
 and forget England, and how miserable I have been here." 
 
 " Well, well 1 " answered Mr. Compton ; " so be it ¥ot 
 the coming winter there will be no harm in your being 
 out of England ; but you cannot very well expatriate 
 yourself permanentlj', and I am sorry that you should 
 wish to do so. I can conscientiously say that we have 
 done what was in our power to reconcile you to your own 
 country." 
 
 " Yes, I believe you have," Chris acknowledged, half 
 laughing. " You did what you could, and so did Lady 
 Barnstaple, and Martha, and perhaps even poor old Aunt 
 Rebecca ; but somehow you haven't succeeded, any of 
 you. I can't feel grateful to Aunt Rebecca for leaving 
 me all this money ; I can't feel that anybody here really 
 cares a bit about me. The Lavergnes do care for me ; it is 
 all the same to them whether I am rich or poor ; they 
 haven't so much as thought of asking whether I had 
 inherited anything from my aunt or not." 
 
 So it was agreed that Chris should accept the invita- 
 tion of these disinterested frienils, and within a week of 
 the day on which the above colloquy took place she started 
 on her southward journey, followed by the benedictions 
 of Martha, to whom she had presented a substantial token 
 of her regard. 
 
 ( ■ 
 
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 i 
 i. 
 
 e- 
 
 jes 
 
 Id 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 How delightful it was to be in the bright south again, 
 to feel that there was a real sun in the heavens above, 
 and here and there a real friend or two on the earth 
 below ! What a relief it was to hare done with squalor 
 and ignoble penury, to be delivered from an engagement 
 
158 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 
 which ought never to have been entered into, to come 
 and go at will — in a word, to be as free as air ! 
 
 This was the sort of thing that Chris kept ejaculating 
 to herself from morning to night after her arrival at 
 Cannes ; and perhaps she would not have indulged in such 
 ejaculations quite so often if she had been sure of being 
 as happy as by rights she ought to have been. The 
 Lavergnes were kindness itself. They received her and 
 treated her like a daughter of their own, showing her, 
 indeed, more consideration than the generality of parents 
 are accustomed to show to their children, in that they 
 asked no questions at all and allowed her to tell them as 
 much or as little as she pleased about the events of the 
 past summer and autumn. Other old friends, too, turned 
 up, and were loud and hearty in their welcome. Jos^, 
 back from a pedestrian circuit among Pyrenean watering- 
 places ; the man who sold roasted chestnuts ; the shabby 
 sergent de ville ; the Italian musicians and the good- 
 humoured lazy beggars — with all of these it was a jo}' 
 and a wonder to chat just as of yore ; because not one of 
 them was a bit changed, and none of them seemed to 
 realise what an immense period of time had elapsed since 
 the •* last season," of which they spoke as though it had 
 ended the day before yesterday. Yet beneath all these 
 pleasant renewals of old associations there lurked an 
 amari aliquid of which Chris was increasingly conscious. 
 " Rien n'est change ; il n'y a qu'un Francais de plun," 
 said the king of France, when he returned to a country 
 in which everything was changed except himself. Chris 
 was in the opposite predicament; for although Cannes 
 and its inhabitants remained unaltered, she was no longer 
 the girl who had once been happy there ; and what was 
 unfortunate and inexplicable was that the things wiiich 
 had formerly sufficed to make her happy had now lost that 
 power. Well, to be sure her father was dead, which was 
 a good and respectable reason for sadness ; only, when 
 she examined herself, she found that that was not the 
 real reason : or at any rate, not the sole one. Then poor 
 

 CHRIS. 
 
 159 
 
 dear Peter was no mo e, and she missed hira at every 
 turn ; yet someliow orrother the loss of Peter did not 
 seem altogether to account for the listlessness and weari- 
 ness which oppressed her. " I don't know what is the 
 matter with me," Chris said to herself with a sigh ; " but 
 everything seems very unsatisfactory." 
 
 It was Dr. Lavergne who at length enlightened her as to 
 the true nature of her malady. The Doctor had heard 
 from his wife, who had heard from Chris lierself, all that 
 could be safely told about Val Richardson, and he knew 
 that the girl was well rid of a bad bargain. Also he 
 was acquainted with the episodes attendant upon her 
 flight to Paris ; for of these she made no secret. Now, 
 with such facts before him, and with certain well-known 
 and unmistakable symptons staring him in the face, Dr. 
 Lavergne had made a diagnosis of her case which he flat- 
 tered himself was substantially accurate. Only he could 
 not prescribe a remedy, because, for one thing, he did not 
 l)elieve in prescriptions of any kind, and for another, he 
 needed some further information before he could even 
 suggest a possible cure. 
 
 Therefore, while she was helping him to tie up his roses 
 one afternoon, he said abruptly : " Mademoiselle, you are 
 worrying yourself, and that is an extremely foolish thing 
 to do. People who worry themselves become prematurely 
 wrinkled." 
 
 " I don't think I am worrying myself," Chris answered. 
 " What have I to worry me ? " 
 
 " Ah, that is what you should know better than I ; but 
 if you really do not know, I might try to guess. Mean- 
 while, let me assure you that when you are thirty years 
 of age you will bitterly regret having drawn lines in your 
 face which can never be rubbed out, and which in all 
 probability will have no justification for their existence. 
 What are the genuine troubles of life ? Disease, sin, 
 want, and the death of those whom we have loved. From 
 the first *^hree of these you are free as any one can be ; 
 from the last I admit that you have suffered ; but unless 
 
 lii- 
 
 •■ <* 
 
 ■'I 
 
 i 
 
160 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 I am very much mistaken, it is not from that that you 
 are suffering now. I conclude, then, that your trouble is 
 of the imaginary class, and since you will not name it, I 
 will, with your permission, hazard a little conjecture. 
 Your mind is disturbed because you cannot forget that 
 two men once saw you in an equiv^ocal sitna ion in Paris, 
 and because you are afraid that one or other of them will 
 reveal what he saw and what he thought. It would be 
 ^impossible to conceive of a more groundless apprehension. 
 iSTou will not accuse me of thinking too well of my fellow- 
 creatures ; but I venture to assure you that no man of 
 honour (I do not speak of women, they are different) 
 would dream of saying a word about such an encounter." 
 
 " Perhaps not,*' said Chris. She added after a moment, 
 " It is not their talking about what they saw that I am 
 afraid of." 
 
 " Then," said Docir>r Lavergne, lifting his head quickly 
 and looking straight at her through his spectacles, " it 
 must be that you attach particular importance to the per- 
 sonal opinion of one of these gentlemen." 
 
 There \7as some indiscretion, not to say brutality, in 
 this speech ; but Doctor Lavergne, who was neither indis- 
 creet nor brutal, had his reasons for uttering it. He 
 wanted to befriend the girl, and he could not do that 
 without extorting an admission, tacit or other, from her ; 
 so that he was completely baffled and surprised when 
 Chris, without a shade of embarrassment, replied : 
 
 " I do attach a good deal of importance to Mr. Se^^erne's 
 opinion. He and I were friends at Brentstow, and I could 
 see by his face, when we parted in Paiis, that he despised 
 me. As for Mr. Ellacouibe, he may think what he 
 pleases/* 
 
 " When you next meet Mr. Severne you had better tell 
 him the whole truth," said the Doctor ; " but in the mean- 
 time, you may be sure that if his good opinion is worth 
 having at all, you will not have lost it. He will have 
 blamed Mr. Richardson, not you. They generally do ; 
 and it is nothing to the point that they are generally 
 
WTH^ 
 
 ■11 
 
 H 
 
 OHBIS. 
 
 161 
 
 >» 
 
 in 
 
 He 
 
 ler; 
 >en 
 
 mes 
 )uld 
 lised 
 he 
 
 tell 
 jan- 
 L-th 
 lave 
 I do ; 
 
 fa 
 
 ,Uy 
 
 wrong. Come ! if you have no worse trouble than that 
 to brood over you are a very fortunate young lady." 
 
 So saying, the old man trotted away into the house, 
 thinking to himself, " I suppose there is some other young 
 man then, whom we have not heard of." 
 
 But although the Doctor's chance shot had proved a 
 miss, so far as he was concerned, it had an undesigned 
 success of which he was ignorant. After she was left 
 alone, Chris thought over what he had said, and of course 
 she understood what he had been driving at ; and so it 
 came to pass that all of a sudden she knew for certain 
 what she had more than once vaguely suspected, but had 
 never put into plain words. Such discoveries have dif- 
 ferent effects upon different people. To Chris it could 
 not, under the circumstances, be anything but painful to 
 acknowledge that she loved Gerald Severne; yet her 
 predominating sensation was not so much one of pain B3 
 of extreme astonishment. The possibility of Gerald's 
 falling in love with her had been placed before her plainly 
 enough more than once. Lady Barnstaple had spoken 
 of it as an undesirable event, and Mr. Compton had men- 
 tioned it in the contrary sense ; but neither of them had 
 made her doubt for a moment of her personal safety. 
 And now, after all, it turned out that she was the one who 
 ought to have been cautioned ; for it was very evident 
 that, knowing what he knew about her, Gerald would 
 think of her no more, even as a friend. Warnings how- 
 ever would have done little good. She recognised the 
 fact that she had loved him from the first, and would 
 have loved him whether he had cared for her or not. 
 It was her fate, she supposed. 
 
 Not until the following morning did she begin to feel 
 wretched and humiliated. It is, no doubt, a humiliating 
 thing for a woman to become enamoured of a man with- 
 out having received due encouragement. She ought to 
 wait until she is asked, just as children aro expected to 
 keep silence until they are spoken to. It seems a little 
 hard upon the women and children : but in their own 
 
 (in 
 
162 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 interests, as well as in that of the community at large, 
 these regulations must be observed. Chris, who had 
 plenty of common sense, was quite ready to admit that 
 she had more or less disgraced herself. Whether she 
 could possibly have helped disgracing herself to that 
 extent was another question : the main thing was that 
 she should henceforth conceal her guilty secret) ; and as a 
 first step towards doing so, she assumed an air of cheer- 
 fulness and jollity at the breakfast hour which deceived 
 neither the Doctor nor his less observant wife. 
 
 " That poor child has something on her mind," said the 
 latter to the former after Chris had left the room. 
 
 " I am much indebted to you for the information, my 
 dear," replied the Doctor, who was apt to be a little irri- 
 table during the early hours of the day. " Allow me to 
 inform you in return that you have a nose upon your 
 face and that I have a pair of eyes in my head. What 
 would increase my already high opinion of your sagacity 
 would be to hear from you exactly what it is that the 
 child has upon her mind." 
 
 Madame Lavergne at once confessed her inability to 
 earn the reward named upon those terms, whereupon the 
 Doctor rejoined tartly, 
 
 " Then if I were you, I should feel ashamed of myself. 
 A woman who can't find out what is the matter with 
 another woman ! — although I dare say it would not make 
 much difference i" you could." 
 
 Chris meanwhile had sauntered down to the end of the 
 garden, where sha met the postman, who handed her a 
 letter which had been forwarded from London. This 
 proved to be an invitation from Lady Barnstaple, who 
 had returned to Brentstow and who begged her to " run 
 down to us for a week or two before we go abroad for 
 the winter." Her ladyship wrote very affectionately, 
 
 " We are dying to see you again," said she, " and the 
 longer you can stay with us the better we shall be 
 pleased. I saw the announcement of your aunt's death 
 in the papers. Has phe left you anything ? — and what 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 168 
 
 are your plans for the future ? But you can answer 
 these and other questions when we meet." 
 
 There was no mention of Gerald in the letter : but Mr. 
 EUacombe's name appeared in a postcript. " Our poor 
 neighbour at Hatherford," Lady Barnstaple wrote, "is 
 said to be in bad health and spirits, and certainly looks 
 very glum. I met him the other day and stopped to 
 speak to him, but he would only grunt at me. Perhaps 
 when you come you will be able to draw him out of his 
 shell. As far as I know, you are the only person who 
 has ever succeeded in so doing." 
 
 Ellacombe then had evidently kept his own counsel. 
 Chris was grateful to him for his forbearance, but was 
 not sorry that she could give so excellent a reason for 
 leaving him in his shell. By return of post she expressed 
 her thanks and regrets to Lady Barnstaple, but did not 
 think it necessary to allude to Mr. Ellacombe or to her 
 improved circumstances. She had begun a fresh chapter 
 in her life, she thought, and in that chapter the Severnes 
 were not likely to play any part. Situated as she was, 
 the best thing that she could do was to think as little as 
 possible about the past. This might have been a sensible 
 enough resolution to make if she had had any definite 
 future to look forward to ; but since she had none, she 
 was, of course, unable to carry it into effect. Besides, one 
 does not so easily break with the past. As the winter 
 went on and the English colony began to arrive, visitors 
 and visiting-cards came to M'ss Compton in respectable 
 numbers. Old friends of hei father's sought her out ; 
 the Duchess of Islay asked her to tea ; a great many 
 people whose existence she had forgotten had apparently 
 remembered her and were anxious to be kind to her ; and 
 oddly enough, they all seemed to have discovered that she 
 was now an heiress. 
 
 Doctor Lavergne was very caustic in his remarks about 
 
 these amiably-disposed callers. " They were not so eager 
 
 { to thrust themselves forward last year," he would observe ; 
 
 ] " but they are evidently overcoming their natural timidity 
 
 
164 
 
 OHRIEL 
 
 now, and who knows how far they may go with a little more 
 encouragement ? They may even end by finding out that 
 I live here and deigning to shake hands with me when 
 they do me the honour to cross my humble threshold." 
 
 The truth is that some of the ladies and gentlemen 
 who had paid their respects to Miss Compton had not 
 been quite as punctilious as they might have been in 
 recognizing the presence of her host and hostess ; but no 
 such reproach could fairly be laid to the charge of a stout, 
 good-humoured looking lady who was shown into 
 Madame Lavergne's drawing-room one afternoon in the 
 month of January, and who lost no time in saying that 
 anybody who had been a friend to her dear little Chris was^ 
 a friend of her own. There is no reason to doubt that Lady 
 Barnstaple was perfectly sincere. She had always been 
 fond of Chris, and had shown her affection under other 
 circumstances, so far as it had been possible for her to do 
 so ; but ninety thousand pounds does make a difference, 
 and there would be very good reason indeed to doubt the 
 sincerity of any lady who should assert the contrary. 
 
 When Chris came into the room she was warmly em- 
 braced and not less warmly congratulated. " I read about 
 your aunt's will in the * Illustrated London News,' " Lady 
 Barnstaple said, " and I never was more pleased in my 
 life. Fancv being so rich and livincj in such a hole! 
 
 V CD Cj 
 
 However, if she iiad lived elsewhere perhaps she wouldn't 
 have had as much to leave ; so we won't complain. Well, 
 here we are again, you see ; and here I suppose we shall 
 remain until after Easter. Come and sit down beside me 
 and tell me all your news." 
 
 " I don't think I have any to tell, Lady Barnstaple,** 
 answered Chris. " I came here soon after Aunt Rebecca 
 died, and nothing has happened to me since." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lady Barnstaple, to whom this announce- 
 ment seemed to come as somewhat of a relief ; " then I'll 
 tell you mine, of which I have quite a budget. First of 
 all, have you seen anything of that Mr. Richardson 
 lately?" .. 
 
 
CHBia 
 
 166 
 
 Chris shook her head. 
 
 " So much the better I He is somewhere abroad, I 
 hear, and no doubt he will try to pick up old acquaint- 
 ances if he can. I don't know whether you have heard 
 that he levanted in the autumn, leaving his accounts 
 unsettled. Lord Barnstaple saw him once or twice at 
 Newmarket and heard of his goings on. A most dis- 
 reputable young man by all accounts ; and if you should 
 corns across him again you had better look the other way. 
 Well, then there is poor Mr. EUacombe — what do you 
 think has happened to poor Mr. EUacombe ? He has 
 actually gone and married ; and the unfortunate thing is 
 that his wife is a person whom one can't know. I shall 
 always think that you are a little bit to blame for this 
 catastrophe, Chris ; though of course one wouldn't have 
 wished you to prevent it in the only way in which it could 
 have been prevented. After all perhaps he may find Mrs. 
 EUacombe a congenial companion ; for rumour says that 
 she is not precisely a total abstainer, and I am afraid there 
 can be no question about his own tendencies " 
 
 " I thought you had a better opinion of him," Chris 
 could not help saying. 
 
 " Oh, well, one tries to hope for the best ; but at all 
 events he is married now, and there's an end of him. 
 When will you come and spend a day with us, Chris ? 
 Gracie is longing to see you and tell you all about her 
 engagement to Lord Forfar, whom I think you saw at 
 Brentstow. He is a very nice fellow in every way, and 
 we are very much pleased with the match, and you may 
 congratulate us all round if you like " 
 
 Chris availed herself heartily of this gracious permis- 
 sion. She was fond of Lady Grace, and though she could 
 not remember much about Lord Forfar, she remembered 
 that he was young and good-looking, and said so. 
 
 " Yes ;" Lady Barnstaple answered, " and what is even 
 more to the purpose is, that he is sure to succeed his 
 father before long, which will make him immensely rich. 
 When we left England the old man was only being kept 
 
 
 i 
 
 J i 
 
166 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 alive by brandy and beaten -up eggs, so that one may 
 reasonably hope to get the fuueral and a decent period of 
 mourning over before the spring, when, according to 
 present arrangements, Gracie is to be married." 
 
 Dr. Lavergne, who had come in from the garden and 
 had been duly presented to Lady Barnstaple, was so 
 tickled by these last words that he could not repress an 
 abrupt chuckle ; whereupon his visitor stared at him for 
 a moment and then joined in his merriment quite good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 " I thought," she remarked, " that you didn't understand 
 English." 
 
 The Doctor explained that, although he did not speak 
 our language, he understood it a little. "And," added he, 
 with a bow, " I am beginning to understand the English 
 character, for which I entertain the warmest admiration. 
 You have, if I may be permitted to say so, a frankness of 
 speech which no other nation can attempt to rival." 
 
 " Well," said Lady Barnstaple, getting up, '* some of us 
 have ; but I don't know that it is exactly a national 
 characteristic. In our class one meets with quite a large 
 number of people who say what they think, because there 
 really is no reason why they shouldn't ; but the English 
 bourgeois is a sad impostor, like the bourgeois of other 
 countries, and he is always inclined to shy at his own 
 shadow, as they all are." 
 
 Possibly these sentiments may have nettled the Doctor, 
 whose republicanism was that of the year 1848, or it may 
 be that he was a little bit jealous of Lady Barnstaple, 
 who unceremoniously arranged that Chris should spend 
 the whole of the next day with her, and seemed to take 
 it for granted that the girl would only be too glad of an 
 outing. Anyhow, his visitor had no sooner departed than 
 he observed, " She is droll, miladi, and she has an air of 
 being very outspoken ; but I am not convinced that she 
 says quite all that she thinks, or that she is not just as 
 capable of hatching transparent little plots as any bour- 
 geois in France or England. Have you a * Journal des 
 Etrangers,' my dear ? " 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 167 
 
 f 
 lo 
 
 Madame Lavorgne was sorry that she had not " What 
 do you want it for, mon ami 1 " she inquired innocently. 
 
 " Oh, I was only curious to see whether Mr. Seveme 
 had arrived from Paris yet ; but perhaps it will not be 
 until the next list is issued that we shall find his name," 
 replied the Doctor, trotting out rapidly into the garden, 
 as his habit was when he wished to avoid being called 
 upon to explain himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 In justice to Dr. Lavergne, it must be remembered that 
 he had tested Chris with a view to discovering whether 
 she cherished any tender sentiment for Mr. Seveme, and 
 that he had come to the conclusion that she was free from 
 any such weakness. His sarcastic allusions to the designs 
 of Lady Barnstaple were not, therefore, intended to wound 
 her feelings, and no one would have been more sorry than 
 he, had he known that he had been the means of inflict- 
 ing an almost sleepless night upon her. Chris did not 
 believe that Gerald would come to Cannes or even that 
 he would be sent for ; yet what the Doctor had said made 
 her realize for the first time the pinch of wealth. It is 
 no such unhappy fate to be rich — all things cjpnsidered, 
 it is a great deal worse to be poor — but the defects of what 
 one possesses are, of course, always more conspicuous than 
 its advantages, and the drawback to being an heiress is 
 that melancholy doubt which must be present to all 
 heiresses as to whether they are loved for themselves or 
 for their dowry. 
 
 One discovery leads to another. After Chris had wept 
 a little over the cynicism of Dr. Lavergne and the world- 
 liness of Lady Barnstaple, she found out that she would 
 hardly have been moved to the point of tears by either 
 
 I 
 
 ^?ss5ir~ 
 
16^ 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 of these distressing traits if she had not been harbouring 
 a secret hope that, some day or other, Gerald would seek 
 Tier and find her, and allow her a chance of explaining 
 how it was that she had been seen walking in the streets 
 of Paris with no other companion than Val Richardson. 
 Jt would have b6en generous of him to give her such an 
 opportunity in the days of her poverty ; but the generosity 
 would be less evident now ; and it is a remarkable proof 
 of the unhealthy condition of mind into which young 
 women with plenty of money and no occupation are apt 
 to fall, that before daybreak Chris had firmly resolved to 
 live and die an old maid. She was displeased with Dr. 
 Lavergne, which was pardonable enough ; she was dis- 
 pleased with Lady Barnstaple, and that also \n as not very 
 unnatural ; but she certainly had no business to be dis- 
 pleased with poor Gerald, whose behaviour since his 
 encounter with her had been quite unexceptionable. He 
 had held his tongue and \e had left her alone : what more 
 could any man with the feelings of a gentleman do ? 
 Chris however was unreasonable enough to quarrel with 
 him for his discretion and to say to herself that if he had 
 cared in the least for her, he would not have remained 
 silent and quiescent so long. His coming forward now — 
 should he be persuaded by his mother to do so — would 
 only show that he thought ninety thousand pounds worth 
 a small sacrifice of pride. 
 
 Towards morning she fell asleep, but did not get nearly 
 as many hours of rest as persons of her age require ; so 
 that, in spite of all her efforts to summon up a cheerful 
 expressioQ, it was a somewhat weary and drawn face that 
 she took to Lady Bornstaple's villa, in the garden of which 
 she was met by Lady Grace. 
 
 " I saw you from my bedroom window, and I thought 
 I would come down and intercept you," Lady Grace said. 
 "There are some people in the drawing-room who are 
 going to stay to luncheon ; but we needn't go in yet. 
 And how have you been all this long time, Chris ? And 
 why have you never written to me ? " 
 
CBBia 
 
 169 
 
 " You never wrote to me," Chris remarked. 
 
 " Well, no," answered Lady Grace, laughing ; " that is 
 true., I did mean to write, and I was often upon the 
 point of doing it ; but I always put it off because — well, 
 I'll explain to you afterwards why I didn't write. Do 
 you know that you are not looking at all well, Chris ? " 
 
 " I have rather a headache this morning," said Chris ; 
 " otherwise there's nothing the matter with me." Then 
 she expressed her congratulations and begged to be told 
 all about Lord Forfar; though her friend assured her 
 that there was really nothing to tell. 
 
 " Forfar," Lady Grace declared, " is a commonplace 
 young man, as you must have noticed, and I am a com- 
 monplace young woman, as you know ; so that we shall 
 get on very well together and live happily to the end of 
 our days, I hope. Our relations are pleased with us ; but 
 they are not very much interested in us, and indeed one 
 couldn't expect it of them. We are not interesting. Now 
 you are very interesting, Chris, and that's why I want to 
 talk to you about yourself." 
 
 But Chris, who was by no means anxious to talk about 
 herself, insisted upon categorical answers to a number of 
 questions relating to Lord Forfar and the approaching 
 wedding; and it was not until the two girls had been 
 seated for half an hour on the shady side of a mimosa 
 that she found herself compelled to take her turn of sub- 
 mitting to cross-examination. 
 
 " Have you no news to give me ? " Lady Grace inquired. 
 " Nothing about Mr. Richardson, for instance ? " 
 
 " I suppose from your asking that question," answered 
 Chris, " that you know I was once engaged to him. I 
 did not exactly wish it; but circumstances brought it 
 about. The engagement is broken off now." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad I Mamma told me that there ./as a 
 sort of half-and-half engagement " 
 
 " She promised not to betray that secret," remarked 
 Chris parenthetically. 
 
 " I am sure she hasn't told anybody but me. And so it 
 
 
 i;; i 
 
 ■.. , 
 
 '::\ 
 
 . 
 
 ,-M 
 
170 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 is really at an end ! I am delighted to hear it ; for 1 
 never thought him at all nice, and lately I have been told 
 some very unpleasant things about him." 
 
 Chris not feeling called upon to make any rejoinder, a 
 pause followed, after which Lady Grace resumed, " There 
 IS somebody else who will be even more glad than I am 
 to hear that you are not going to marry Mr. Richardson." 
 
 "Is there ?"said Chris. 
 
 " As if you didn't know that as well as I do ! Only 
 perhaps you dun't know quite as well as I do what a good, 
 steady fellow he is, and what a real piece of luck it is for 
 any girl to be cared for by him. Even my father, who 
 isn't given to praising his children, admits that Gerald is 
 a paragon. He has always paid his own bills ; he has 
 never got into scrapes of any kind " 
 
 " I have no doubt that he is perfect," interrupted Christ 
 laughing a little constrainedly ; " but I must take great 
 care not to be dazzled by his perfections. Lady Barn- 
 staple very kindly warned me about that when I was at 
 Brentstow. She said he might admire me, and of course I 
 should naturally admire him ; but it would be a very sad 
 thing if we were to allow this mutual admiration to go 
 too far, because Lord Barnstaple would never hear of his 
 marrying me. So there was nothing for it but to tele- 
 graph to Aunt Kebecca and take to my heels." 
 
 " Yes, I know," answered Lady Grace tranquilly. 
 " Mamma meant to be kind ; and I really think that 
 under the circumstances, she was kind. However fond 
 people may be of one another, they can't marry upon an 
 income which won't support them. But now the circum- 
 stances are altogether changed, you see." 
 
 " So I hear," observed Chris, " People who are by way 
 of knowing the world assure me that a capital of ninety 
 thousand pounds makes all the difterence. But then I 
 too, in my humble way, have ideas as to what will do and 
 what won't. Perhaps I don't altogether like to be told, 
 * With a mere three hundred a year, we can't look at you, 
 and the sooner you take yourself off the better ; but if 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 171 
 
 you can really bring us as much as three or four thou- 
 sand a year we shall be willing to do business with you.' 
 Perhaps I may fancy that it would be wiser to keep my 
 three thousand a year and my liberty." 
 
 " That is very unfair, Chris," Lady Grace declared. 
 " Gerald never asked or thought about your money. My 
 father would have thought about it, of course; just as all 
 fathers do ; but Gerald would have been only too 
 delighted to starve with you in a garret. He told me all 
 about it the day you left Brentstow, and 1 promised that 
 I would befriend him if I could." 
 
 " You didn't do a great deal to befriend him," remarked 
 Chris, who could not help being pleased and mollified by 
 this revelation. 
 
 " What could I do ? I gave him your address in Lon- 
 don, which I thought at the time was rather wrong of me, 
 and he called upon you and didn't S(. j you. After 
 that " 
 
 " Well, what after that ? " asked Chris a little 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I don't know ; I thought perhaps you would be able 
 to tell me. Gerald had to return to Paris before his leave 
 was up, and since then there has been a change. He 
 seemed to think that there was no chance for him, and I 
 fancied that he might have heard something about you 
 and Mr. Richardson. Something more, at least ; for I 
 confess I told him what I had heard from Mamma." 
 
 " I am glad he didn't tell you," said Chris meditatively ; 
 " but I don't think there is any harm in your hearing 
 the truth now. I ran away from my aunt. She poisoned 
 my dear Peter, and I felt that I couldn't live with her 
 after that ; so I made my escape from London, meaning 
 to come on here to the Lavergnes, who I knew would 
 receive me. Unfortunately I had to stay a day in Paris, 
 and I came across Mr. Richardson there quite by chance, 
 and then, while I was walking with him, we ran across 
 your brother. I was obliged to give some explanation, 
 and I gave a very stupid one, I'm afraid ; for your 
 
172 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 brother seems to have gone away with the idea that 
 he had met with a runaway couple. Perhaps when 
 you write to him you might tell him it was not as he 
 thought. My cousin, James Compton, pursued me and 
 told me that Aunt Rebecca was very ill, and so I went 
 back to England that same night. It was thought best 
 that, after what had happened (for by an extraordinary 
 stroke of bad luck iilr. Ellacombe also saw me in Paris), 
 my engagement to Mr. Richardson should be acknow- 
 ledged ; but afterwards he behaved in a way that 
 enabled me to claim my release. That's all" 
 
 " Oh, now I understand ! " said Lady Grace musingly. 
 She took Chris by the hand and looked into her face with 
 a smile. " What am I to tell Gerald ? " she asked. 
 
 "Nothing more than just what I have told you," 
 answered Chris. " After all, I believe I would rather 
 that you told him nothing. Let him think what he likes. 
 The only thing that I don't at all want him to think is 
 that— that— ^ 
 
 " Oh, he won't think anything of that sort," Grace 
 declared laughing ; " Gerald has a very modest opinion of 
 himself. All that I am afraid of is that he is too modest, 
 that he will require a great deal of backing up before he 
 will consent to fight his own battle, especially now that 
 he knows how rich you have become." 
 
 " Dr. Lavergne," remarked Chris slowly, " said a thing 
 yesterday which I didn't like. He said Lady Barnstaple 
 would ask Mr. Severne to come here at once." 
 
 Lady Grace laughed again ; but her laughter sounded 
 somewhat forced and she coloured a little. She had 
 opened her lips to make some reply when a servant came 
 out of the house to tell the young ladies that everybody 
 had sat down to luncheon ; and so the dialogue came to 
 an end. 
 
 Lady Barnstaple belonged to that set of people who 
 move about in a pack. They are in London during the 
 season; then they are at Goodwood and Cowes; then 
 they march in a compact mass upon Scotland ; then they 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 178 
 
 meet one another at various country houses ; and after 
 that a good many of them go to Cannes for the winter. 
 A good many of them were assembled around the lun- 
 cheon-table at which Lady Grace and Chris took their 
 places, and they were talking, as they always do, with 
 immense interest about one another's affairs, so that the 
 latter was neither noticed or addressed. She was glad 
 enough to be so insignificant and to be free to pursue her 
 own meditations, which however received an abrupt 
 check when she overheard her hostess saying : " Yes, 
 Gerald arrived last night. I begged him to ask for a 
 week's leave to see his mother, and I need hardly add 
 that he has gone off to Monte Carlo for the day." 
 
 " How imprudent of you I " somebody exclaimed. — 
 " Fancy deliberately inviting one's son to the neighbour- 
 hood of Monte Carlo I" 
 
 To which Lady Barnstaple responded with a demure 
 smile, " Oh, I'm not so imprudent as I look." 
 
 Chris threw a reproachful glance across the table at 
 Lady Grace, who shrugged her shoulders very slightly, 
 and Dr. Lavergne gained then and there a reputation for 
 sagacity which may have been a trifle above his deserts. 
 
 After luncheon Lady Barnstaple was very affectionate 
 to her young friend, who, for her part, was extremely 
 cold and stiff, but later in the afternoon, when her mother 
 had gone out for a drive and the party had dispersed, 
 Lady Grace found an opportunity of enunciating senti- 
 ments which had at least the merit of common sense. 
 
 " You have no reason to be affronted, Chris," said she ; 
 " and if mamma had not been fond of you personally I 
 doubt whether ninety thousand pounds would have 
 tempted her. It is a good large fortune, but it isn't 
 enormous ; and I dare say she would tell you that Gerald 
 might do better from a worldly point of view. As for 
 him, I must leave him to convince you that he isn't mer- 
 cenary. If he can't do it, of course I can't. I persuaded 
 him to go to Monte Carlo to-day, because I wanted him 
 to be out of the way. He didn't know why he had been 
 
 ► 
 
174 
 
 OFRia 
 
 suuimooed, and when I told him he was so incredulous 
 and sc despondent thot I thought I had better see you 
 and find out whether there was any use in his staying on. 
 After what I have heard I shall advise him to st« v ; it 
 seems to me it may be worth his while." 
 
 Receiving no reply, Lady Grace added : " Perhaps it is 
 only fair to tell you that he was to come back by the four 
 o'clock train, and that he may be here at any moment." 
 
 Thereupon Chris jumped up briskly, said good-bye, and 
 walked away as fast as she could. This was just what 
 Lady Grace had felt sure that she would do ; and she also 
 felt sure that, if the train kept its time with anytMng 
 like punctuality, her brother must infallibly encounter 
 Chris on his way up from the station. M^'ve than that 
 she could not very well have done for him and she had a 
 tolerably strong conviction that he would not stand in 
 need of any further assistance. 
 
 But Chris, as she hastened or her way without any 
 thought of meeting Gerald Severne, was not at all sure 
 that she would accept him if at any future time he should 
 ask her to be his wife. She had as yet hardly taken in 
 the meaning of what Lady Grace had told her ; she was 
 still, and perhaps rather unjustifiably, sore against Lady 
 Barnstaple ; she did not relish the idea of being tolerated 
 on account of the hoarded treasure which had been 
 bequeathed to her. Possibly also she may have been 
 inwardly conscious that a word or two from Gerald would 
 conquer all her doubts and scruples ; for as she drew 
 nearer to the station it suddenly dawned upon her that 
 she was walking along the road by which he must needs 
 make his way homewards ; and as soon as she realized 
 that fact she struck off into a by-path between two high 
 walls, which, she flattered herself, would effectually screen 
 her from view. 
 
 This strategic movement was not executed with such 
 rapidity but that somebody who had been scrutinizing 
 her figure from afar caught sight of it and promptly 
 started in pursuit. The legs of the pursuer being long, 
 
 .Riji asmimemmm 
 
 I ipi<hr.ii<iWBi>iiMiiaiiigi.<[iiiiiiiiiriiiwiwMaa« 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 175. 
 
 lat 
 
 
 ^g 
 
 and his anxiety to catch her up very great, it was not 
 many minutes before she heard the sound of approaching 
 footsteps behind her, whereupon she immediately quick- 
 ened her pace, without looking over her shoulder. But 
 escape, as she very soon perceived, was impossible. Four 
 miles an hour is probably the outside walking speed 
 which can be attained by any wearer of petticoats, and 
 it would be too ridiculous to break into a run. Chris 
 therefore adopted the more dignified course of turning at 
 bay, thereby bringing herself face to face, not with Gerald 
 SeVerne, but with Val Richardson. 
 
 There was a change in Val's appearance — a change of 
 which the details were not at once perceptible to feminine 
 eyes, although the general effect was. He was no longer 
 fashionably clad ; be wore a black coat and waistcoat ; 
 the pearl had disappeared from his necktie ; he looked 
 like a banker's clerk out for a holiday, and somehow or 
 other he seemed to be much more at home and in his 
 proper place thus attired than in the borrowed plumes 
 wherewith he had decked himself out for a season. There 
 was a change too in his manner, which had lost all trace 
 of swagger. He took off his hat and said quite humbly : 
 " I saw you and I couldn't resist following you. I wanted 
 to hear from your own lips that you had forgiven me." 
 
 Perhaps this was not quite the most judicious possible 
 mode of addressing a lady who did not want to be 
 addressed at all. Anyhow Chris felt annoyed with him 
 and a little inclined to despise him, and thought that, 
 since he was at Cannes, he would have shown better taste 
 by avoidiiig her. However, she was reluctant to hit a 
 man who was down ; so she answered : " I forgave you 
 long ago, Mr. Richards(m ; I thought you understood that. 
 And I was very glad to hear that you had found some- 
 thing to do and were not in want any more Still, after 
 all that has happened, it would be better for us not to 
 meet again. You are only passing through Cannes, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 Val smiled. " I have come all the way from Cadiz to 
 
 11 
 tf 
 
176 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 see you," he replied. " I heard that you were here, and I 
 came, borrowing the money for the journey, and very 
 nearly quarrelling with my employer, who didn't seem to 
 believe that a rich relative of mine was dying at Nice 
 and had telegraphed for me. Chris, if you have really 
 forgiven me, as you say you have, can't you give me a 
 shred of hope ? You know how I love you, and you can 
 imagine what sort of an existence I have to look forward 
 to without you. You did like me a little once — I'm sure 
 you did ! " 
 
 " No," exclaimed Chris, whose heart had been touched 
 for a moment, but who determined that there should be 
 no misconception upon this point ; " I never liked you in 
 the way that you mean ! If I had, perhaps your having 
 tried to rob Aunt Rebecca would have made no difference 
 — I don't know. As h was, I was only too glad and 
 thankful to be free. It may sound unkind to say so, but 
 it is the truth. I never should have consented to be 
 engaged to you if my cousin had not insisted upon it. 
 He said you had a hold over me because of our having 
 been seen together in Paris." 
 
 "I think," observed Val, "you forget that there was 
 something very like an engagement between us before 
 that time. You didn't quite refuse me, you know ; you 
 gave me to understand that there was nobody else whom 
 you liked better." 
 
 " Nor was there," answered Chris slowly ; " but " 
 
 " But what ? Is there somebody else now, then ? Good 
 heavens, Chris ! is it possible that you can have fallen in 
 love with that red-bearded fellow ? " 
 
 " Certainly not ! I wish you would not say such 
 unpleasant things. As it happens, Mr. Ellacombe is 
 
 married already ; but in any case " 
 
 " Then it is the other one," interrnpfed Val. " I thought 
 as much ! Trust old Lady Barnstaple to snap up ninety 
 thousand pounds when she gets the chance ! Well, I 
 admire her p )mptitude ; but I can't say that I admire 
 your discernment. A man who is willing to make love 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 177 
 
 IS 
 
 to you atter seeing what Mr. Seveme saw in Paris must 
 be a man with no sort of foolish pride about him." 
 
 " You are very insolent," said Chris coldly ; " but I 
 don't see what you can expect to gain by your insolence. 
 I have not seen Mr. Severne and I don't want to see him ; 
 but he has nothinjr whatever to do with the — the disgust 
 that I feel for you. It is horrid to have to say such a 
 thing, but I am sure that you would not have come here 
 i*' V ou had not heard that I had inherited Aunt Rebecca's 
 money." 
 
 This was quite true, and Val regrettel that in his 
 chagrin he had let out his knowledge of the fact that 
 Chris wa.-^ now richer by ninety thousand pounds than 
 when he had seen her last. He had played his cards 
 rather clumsily ; but then, to be sure, his cards had not 
 br. ■; worth much even to a skilful player. He produced 
 the 1 i: c one now, and did so with a bravado which would 
 of itself have sufficed to insure its failure. 
 
 " Listen to me, Chris," said he. " I am not going to 
 pretend I'm over and above scrupulous ; you know 
 enough of me by this time to know that, and you know 
 also that I love you. I won't see you married to any 
 other man living if I can help it, and you must see that 
 I can easily enough prevent Severne from marrying you. 
 Engage yourself to him, and I give you my word that 
 I'll go straight to Lady Barn.:taple and tell her that you ran 
 off to Paris to meet me. You won't be able to disprove 
 it. People can't be married at a day's notice, you must 
 remember ; so I leave you to judge whether Lady Barn- 
 staple will have courage enough to welcome a daughter- 
 in-law about whom her friends will have every excuse for 
 saying some queer things." 
 
 If the disgraceful unmanliness of this threat did not 
 deprive it of all its terrors for Chris, it was at all* events 
 sufficient to render any further intercourse between her 
 and Val Richardson impossible. She turne<l away with- 
 out a word and walked quickly back towards the high 
 road, whither she thought that he would be less likely to 
 (12) 
 
178 
 
 CHBIS. 
 
 follow her than if she were to proceed on her way towards 
 the less frequented quarter for which she had been bound. 
 
 However, he did follow her. He had burnt his ships, 
 and he knew very well that if he could not get her to 
 listen to him now, no second opportunity of doing so 
 would be given him. He changed his tone when he 
 caught her up ; he entreated her to pardon his brutality, 
 alleging that he had been half maddened by the thought 
 of her belonging to another man ; he swore that if she 
 would only trust him he would prove himself worthy of 
 her love. But to none of his words did Chris vouchsafe 
 the slightest notice ; and so they walked on, he pleading 
 and protesting, and she looking straight before her, until 
 they reached the highroad, when he suddenly seized her 
 hand, thus forcing her to halt. 
 
 It was in this attitude that Gerald Severne, who was 
 sauntering slowly up from the station, with his hands 
 behind his back and his head bent, discovered the pair. 
 He started and stood still for one moment ; then quickened 
 his pace and passed on, without raising his hat. There are 
 circumstances under which people prefer not to be recog- 
 nized, and doubtless he remembered that he had once 
 before been too ready to intrude upon Miss Compton and 
 her present companion. 
 
 But Chris, who quite understood what his thoughts 
 were, could not endure to be again so misjudged. More- 
 over she v/as furiously angry with Val, and was begin- 
 ning to be just a little bit frightened. Therefore she poc- 
 keted her pride, and called out, " Mr. Severne ! " And as 
 Gerald paused irresolutely, seeming doubtful whether to 
 believe his ears or not, she repeated her summons in a 
 louder key. 
 
 Upon that he turned, and advanced towards her, say- 
 ing, with a rather forced smile, " Oh — how do you do. 
 Miss (jompton ? " as though there had been nothing par- 
 ticularly strange in her standing in the middle of tlie 
 road with an agitated young man clinging to her hand. 
 
 " How do you do ? " returned Chris. " Will you make 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 179 
 
 
 ike 
 
 Mr. Richardson go away, please ? I want to get rid of 
 him, and I can't." 
 
 Gerald endeavoured not to look surprised. He stepped 
 up to Val's side, and said quietly, " You hear that Miss 
 Compton wishes to get rid of you. I dare say you will 
 prefer to go without making a disturbance." 
 
 Of the two men Gerald was somewhat the more pow- 
 erfully built ; but there was no such disparity of strength 
 between them as to render the result of a tussle certain ; 
 for one moment Val, though he relinquished the lady's 
 hand looked as though he might be inclined to show fight 
 before submitting to her behests. However, he thought 
 better of a line of action which would have put him alto- 
 gether in the wrong, and replied : " Certainly I am quite 
 willing to go away, and I should have done so if Miss 
 Compton had simply stated her wishes, without calling in 
 assistance. Perhaps I may be excused for not having at 
 once understood Miss Compton's wishes, which seem to 
 have undergone a curious change since she and I last had 
 the honour of meeting you. If I am not mistaken, it was 
 you whom she wished to get rid of then ; and in her 
 anxiety to dismiss you, I remember that she took what I 
 thought the somewhat imprudent step of telling you that 
 she fled to Paris to join me." 
 
 " I never said that, and you know that I did not ! " 
 cried Chris. " I said 1 had run away from my aunt's 
 house." 
 
 " Mr. Severne must draw his own conclusions," observed 
 Val, with a smile. 
 
 " I have no wish to pry into anything that doesn't con- 
 cern me," Gerald declared. " All I know is that Miss 
 Compton has asked me to make you go away. For the 
 second time, will you be good enough to go ? " 
 
 Val looked down at the ground, drew some semicircles 
 in the dust with his stick, and pondered. When he 
 opened his lips, it was to make perhaps the most foolish 
 speech that he had ever given utterance to in a life which 
 had been full of folly. 
 
 I 
 
180 
 
 CHRI& 
 
 In^.. 
 
 " Mr. Severne," said he, " I don't know what account 
 Miss Compton may have been pleased to give you of her 
 relations with me ; but you can hardly require to be told 
 that it is in my power to make things very unpleasant 
 for you both, if I choose to speak out. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Not in the least," answered Gerald. 
 
 " Well, then, to put matters quite plainly, I presume 
 that you are either engaged or about to be engaged to 
 Miss Compton. One is sorry to seem greedy, but neces- 
 sity has no law, and I am very hard up. For five thou- 
 sand poimds, payable on your wedding-day, I will under- 
 take to hold my tongue about the past. AH things con- 
 sidered, that can scarcely be called an exorbitant 
 demand." 
 
 " My good man," answered Gerald, calmly, " you are 
 under a complete misapprehension. I have no such 
 privileges as you are kind enough to attribute to me, and 
 if I had, I should at once proceed to hit you in the face- 
 for your impudence in attempting to levy black -mail. I 
 don't know whether it is worth while to mention that I 
 don't believe a word of what you have said or hinted at ; 
 but you are welcome to that information. Now be off ! " 
 
 " As you please," answered Val, " I have made you a 
 fair offer ; it isn't my fault if you think you can afford to 
 reject it." Thereupon he made a low bow, turned on his 
 heel and walked away. 
 
 And that was the last that Chris ever saw or heard of 
 him. Possibly he was something of a coward ; possibly 
 he was not altogether a villain : whatever the cause of 
 his surrender may have been, it was final and complete ; 
 nor has he reappeared in England from that day to this. 
 It is not improbable that his handsome face may have 
 won a Spanish bride for him, and it is tolerably certain 
 thnt, if that be so, his wife has brought him a substantial 
 dowry. 
 
CHBia 
 
 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 ''ou a 
 )rd to 
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 ird of 
 
 psibly 
 
 Lse of 
 
 >lete ; 
 
 this. 
 
 have 
 
 srtain 
 
 lutial 
 
 When Chris and Gerald Severne were left standing 
 together on the road, they both became conscious of a cer 
 tain embarrassment and of a difficulty in divso /ering what 
 to say next. Chris, for her part, w^s a ilttle ashamed 
 of having appealed for aid against so pusillanimous an 
 assailant ; moreover, she was not free from a painful 
 doubt as to whether her motives h.ic^ht not have been 
 misinterpreted. 
 
 To exculpate herself, she said at length : " I was really 
 frightened when you came up. I didn't think he would 
 leave me unless somebody made him ; so, as I recognised 
 you, I called out. I should have called out to any other 
 Englishman whom I had seen passing." 
 
 " I am very glad that I happened to be the one," 
 remarked Gerald " and I am sure you were quite right 
 to call me, Miss Compton. He would certainly have 
 tried to frighten you more if you hadn't ; and of course 
 you were quite helpless in a lonely road like this and 
 with night coming on. Perhaps," he added diffidently, 
 " you will allow me to see you home now." 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you," answered Chris laughing ; " that 
 is not necessary. I am not likely to encounter any more 
 Mr. Richardsons." 
 
 " No ; but it is getting rather dark, and perhaps you 
 have some distance to go." 
 
 " Scarcely more than a stone's throw. I am quite 
 accustomed to walking about myself, and I would much 
 rather you didn't go out of your way, please. Good- 
 night, Mr. Severne.' 
 
 Gerald hesitated. " Of course, if you object to my 
 company " he began. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't that. Well, then, yes ; to be honest, I 
 
182 
 
 CHRia 
 
 should rather object to your company just at present. 
 After such horrid and untrue things have been said about 
 us we couldn't talk with any comfort, could we ? Very 
 likely we shall meet again before you leave Cannes, and 
 then perhaps we shall have had time to forget them." 
 
 " I am very sorry that they were said, and — still more 
 sorry that some of them were untrue," replied Gerald ; 
 " but we needn't talk about them. I hope you will allow 
 an old friend to congratulate you upon having freed 
 yourself from that fellow. I have heard of him from 
 my father, who came across him at a good many race- 
 meetings last autumn, and J knew he was a baddisli lot, 
 though I didn't suppose him to be such an utter scoun- 
 drel as he seems to be. However I hope you won't be 
 troubled with him anv more." 
 
 Chris was not sure that she altogether liked this pater- 
 nal tone, though it set her more at her ease, as possibly 
 it may have been intended to do. She did not at once 
 move away, but stood where she was, arranging the 
 stones on the road in patterns with the tip of her sun- 
 shade for a second or two. "I suppose," she resumed 
 presently, " you did believe that I had gone to Paris to 
 meet him." 
 
 " Well — ^you almost told me so. At least, I was stupid 
 enough to think you did." 
 
 " But you don't believe it now ? " 
 
 " Of course I don't ; and I am not at the least surprised 
 at your having bolted from that old aunt of yours. A 
 more unattractive old woman I never came across. What 
 a house too ! I can't imagine your living in such a 
 house." 
 
 " Oh, that was nothing," said Chris. " I could have 
 put up with the house, and with Aunt Rebecca, too ; but 
 did you hear about Peter ? " 
 
 Mr. Severne had not heard of the tragedy referred to, 
 and when he was told of it he was as indignant as Chris 
 could have wished him to be. " The old beast ! " he 
 exclaimed ; and he declined to withdraw that strong 
 
CttRlf^. 
 
 183 
 
 I to, 
 hris 
 he 
 ong 
 
 expression, even when he was reminded that the lady of 
 wlioni he spoke was dead. " I don't see why that should 
 iniike any difference," he declared. " One doesn't speak 
 tenderly of Burke and Hare, although they are no more. 
 I hope, for her sake, that she repented before she died ; 
 but no amount of repentance could undo what she had 
 done." 
 
 " Do you know," said Chris, " that is just what I feel. 
 '^he did repent in a sort of a way, I believe, and most 
 people would think that she had made ample amends by 
 leaving me all her money ; but it wasn't me whom she 
 killed, you see. I think I have forgiven her, so far as I 
 am concerned ; only T am not grateful to her, and I can't 
 pretend to be, for all this money, which she had to leave 
 behind her and which I didn't particularly want. Do 
 you think I ought to be grateful ? " 
 
 By this time Chris had resumed her homeward march, 
 and Gerald was walking beside her without let or hind- 
 rance. She had perhaps forgotten that she had begun 
 by refusing his escort : at any rate, she did not intend 
 to be alone with /lim again, and she wanted to have 
 some pleasant memories of their last private interview 
 to think over in the lonely years that were coming. 
 
 " I don't think you have much to thank your aunt 
 for," was his answer to her question. " As you say, she 
 couldn't take her money with her, and I daresay you 
 wouldn't have considered yourself ill-used if she had 
 left it to somebody else." 
 
 " I almost wish she had," siglied Chris. " Everybody 
 gains something by being rich, I suppose, but it seems to 
 me that I gain less by it than the generality of people 
 would, and it has its disadvantages. It makes one 
 ungenerous and suspicious, I think. The moment that 
 I saw Mr. Richardson I suspected that he had heard of 
 my inheritance, and that that was why he had sought 
 me out after I had told him that I did not wish ever to 
 see him again. In his case I was right ; but a few 
 months ago I shouldn't have had such suspicions, and 
 
 II 
 
Fn=" 
 
 184 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 1 
 
 ii 
 
 |1 
 
 now I suppose I shall have them more or less about 
 everybody to the end of my days." 
 
 Gerald remained silent for some time, and his heart 
 grew heavy within him. As a matter of theory, he 
 thought that there was no great harm in marrying a 
 woman with money, that it was rather a clever thing to 
 do than otherwise ; that it was what lots of fellows did, 
 and what one's people expected of one, and so forth ; but, 
 illogical ly enough, he was of opinion that the case was 
 very different if you happened to be in love with the 
 woman who possessed the money. He had been more 
 than willing to marry Chris in the days of her poverty ; 
 but when he found out why he had been summoned to 
 Cannes, he was at once attacked by scruples which to 
 his mother would have seemed as incomprehensible as 
 they were ridiculous. He had not imparted these scru- 
 ples to his mother ; but he had brooded over them all 
 day at Monte Carlo, and the conclusion to which he had 
 come was that, even if Miss Compton should prove to 
 be free, it would be extremely difficult for him to avow 
 his love to her, and still more difficult to get her to 
 believe in it. She would believe, no doubt, that he had 
 been to some extent in love with her at Brentstow ; for 
 indeed she had been as good as turned out of the house 
 on that very account. But the fact remained that he 
 had kept his sentiments to himself ever since ; and 
 how was she to know that he had called at Balaclava 
 Terrace for the purpose of declaring them? 
 
 Here therefore were two people who were deeply in 
 love with one another, yet each of v/hom was persuaded, 
 or very nearly so, that they must part. As there was 
 no adequate cause for their parting, and as certain resolute 
 persons in the neighbourhood did not intend to let them 
 do any such thing, the situation was scarcely as serious 
 as they imagined it to be. Still it is probable that they 
 would have taken leave of each other that evening in a 
 very formal and distant fashion but for the trifling cir- 
 cumstance that, just as she was nearing the entrance to 
 
 M' 
 
CHBia 
 
 185 
 
 Dr. Lavergne's villa, Chris trod upon a loose stone. She 
 missed her footing, and would have fallen flat upon her 
 face had Gerald not caught her ; and, somehow or other, 
 when Gerald found her in his arms he did not let her go 
 again. 
 
 After that there was not much use in saying, " I can't 
 and I won't ; " but Chris used these expressions, as well 
 as a good many others to the like effect, and as she was 
 a very honest person, one can only assume that she 
 thought she was speaking sincerely. 
 
 " It is all very fine for you to grumble," remarked 
 Gerald, when she had pointed out to him what a dread- 
 fully humiliating thing it would be for her to be wel- 
 comed by his family after having been previously dis- 
 missed ; " but if I were as proud as you are, it seems to 
 me that I might make out a more substantial grievance. 
 Could any unprejudiced person doubt that I shrank 
 from sharing your poverty and that I jumped at the 
 chance of sharing your riches? And do you suppose 
 that I shall enjoy having that sort of thing said about 
 me by unprejudiced persons ! " 
 
 " II n'y a que la verite qui hlesse," returned Chris ; " I 
 really don't think one need care very much about the 
 calumnies of what you call' unprejudiced persons.' / at 
 all events, believe whatever you tell me." 
 
 Having extorted this admission, Gerald had little diffi- 
 culty in showing her that she had cut the ground from 
 under her own feet, and had better consent to be happy, 
 notwithstanding the affection which her future mother-in- 
 law was ready to lavish upon her. 
 
 There is no rose without a thorn ; but there are a great 
 many thorns without roses. This was the extent of a 
 little homily preached to Chris by Dr. Lavergne that 
 same evening. 
 
 " Dear Mademoiselle," said he, " you are going to marry 
 the man whom you love, and that is everything. When 
 you are married to him you will not be in Paradise, 
 because there is no Paradise on the surface of the planet 
 
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186 
 
 CHRIS. 
 
 which we inhabit ; but you will have obtained the best 
 that this world can give you. Miladi Barnstaple will rub 
 her hands ; a sour old French Doctor will permit himself 
 to laugh a little in his sleeve perhaps ; but what of that ? 
 The laugh is on your side, and we know it. You can 
 very well afford to let others call your husband a fortune- 
 hunter, so long as you yourself are convinced that he is 
 nothing of the kind. Nevertheless, I should be giving 
 the lie to all my experience and knowledge of the world 
 if I did not counsel you to have your money settled upon 
 youraelf." 
 
 It is not very likely that Chris would have acted upon 
 this sound advice if she had been free to follow her own 
 inclinations ; but &» she had a cousin and guardian who 
 was well acquainted with the wicked ways of men, her 
 interests were in no (danger of being neglected ; and it was 
 creditable to Gerald Severne, as well as sensible on his 
 part, that he declined to give up his profession and live 
 upon his wife's income. 
 
 They have for some time past been installed in a pretty 
 little detached house near the Champs Elys^es, and are 
 acquiring an inci easing reputation as the givers of remark- 
 ably perfect little dinners. This distinction is, no 
 doubt, due to the fact that they possess an excellent c^c/; 
 it cannot be in any way attributed to the management of 
 their housekeeper, a very inefficient but most alarming 
 personage, who is known and dreaded by the other 
 domestics under the name of Mrs. Stubbs, but whom her 
 mistress is wont to address as Martha. 
 
 " Wages not so much a hobject as a respectable 'oman," 
 says Martha ; " and my dooty it is to see that money 
 carefully saved shall not be stolen nor yet thrown away 
 by a pack of lazy furrin servants as ain't got a vestage of 
 what I call principle among the lot of 'em." 
 
 Mr. Severne, bemg something of a dog-fancier, has sev- 
 eral prize-winners in his establishment, but Mrs. Severne 
 has none of her own. Shortly after she entered into 
 possession of her new home a suspicious looking packing- 
 
CHRIS. 
 
 case was forwarded to her from England which was only 
 got through the custom-house unopened by means of 
 pressure exerted in the highest quarters. This case was 
 subsequently interred in the earden, and over it was 
 erected a small marble tablet, which bears the inscription 
 of " Peter, the faithful and attached friend of Christina 
 Seveme." 
 
 Ere long the house which Christina Seveme now inhab- 
 its will pass into other hands ; the little marble slab will 
 be laughed at, will be the subject of some idle conjectures, 
 will be torn up, perhaps, and Peter's ashes scattered to 
 the winds. It is the fate of dogs and men alike. Ten- 
 ants for life, we have neither part nor lot in this world 
 from the moment that we cease to breathe its air, and all 
 we can do is to behave ourselves as well as we can for the 
 little time that we are here, in the hope of better things 
 to come. There is eveiy reason to believe that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gerald Seveme will behave themselves quite as well 
 as the rest of us and no reason to doubt that they will be 
 forgotten quite as' soon after their death. Meanwhile 
 they are popular people. 
 
 THE END.