IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I \^m iiiiM '" '" IIIIM .r 1^ ^ 12.0 * I4£ 1.8 1.25 1.4 J4 < 6" — >- V] VI 'c*! papa? I am very sorry. They are much older, of course " " Tut, tut ! They are not much wiser, at jjl events" he put in kindly. " Yes., you are quite right in supposing that your position is as good as theirs. Like them, you are my daughter, though there the likeness ends. You have not offended me at all, little one. It is highly im- proper that there should be a ear in your pretty eyes on your birthday ; let me kiss it away. You were saying that, though we were so rich, something happens or does not happen, which was it ? " " But perhaps I ought not to have said anything about it, papa?" " Yes, you ought ; I like to hear my Fairy talk just as she feels, just as she thinks." " Well, then, I was thinking that other people — Mr. ril 'ii II t ■ I 9 r//E BURNT MILLION, Abraham, for ir stance, and Mr. Isaacs — who are almost as rich as you are, do not have the same friends, neither so many nor such great ones as you have. Miss Abraham does not know a single lord, she says except one who is unhappily obliged to live abroad." '* Very likely," said Mr. Tremenhere with a smile — this time a humorous one. " Well, and we know a dozen or so of these noble personages, don't we, Grace ? And you wonder how that comes about ? " "No, I don't wonder, papa, because I know" she answered gravely. ''It is because you have been so gen- erous to them, and helped them out of all their troubles. How nice it must be to be so good and kind, and also so powerful 1 It is easy enough to wish to do good. I can get that far myself; but I am not a fairy, though you call me so. Now, you are like one of those nice enchanters that one reads of in the Eastern tale, who makes it his business to undo the work of wicked magicians, and pro- tect the weak against the strong." " I am, am I ? " Josh had taken his cigar from between his lips with one hand, and was covering his mouth with the other ; there was something there he did not wish his child to see. '* Well, of course you are \ everybody knows it. Mr. Roscoe said when I was talking to him about you the other day, that you are just as kind to animals, since he has often seen you help a Xaxak dog over a stile. But, now that I have shown you my flowers, I must go and dress, dear papa, before the company come ; there is just time to give you a kiss before your cigar goes out for want of puffing ; " and she kissed him and tripped away. Mr. Tremenhere was very stout ; he was a large man from many points of view, and there were no wrinkles in his fair fat face, but it had suddenly become very grey and worn. On his brow, too, there now sat a heavy frown. His little daughter, who was all truth and trust, the only hu- man being he knew of whom he could say as much, be- lieved him to be a disinterested and kindly man. He knew a good deal about getting money under false pretences, but this acquisition of tender regard — a young girl's rever- ence — was something new and strange to him. He had imagined that, somehow or other, his little Fairy loved him for his own sake, though she had understood, however ^^ ^ rl ■ A THE BURNT MILLION, vaguely, what he was. But now it seemed that she had been all along in a Fool's Paradise. How long, he won- dered, would she remain in it ? It must needs be that, sooner or later, she would be undeceived ; but woe to him that should wake her from her innocent dreams ! Roscoe, of all the men in the world, had contrived to amuse him- self with her simplicity, had he ? Roscoe, his right-hand man, who knew more of his secrets than anybody, and could tell more things of him. If he had dared to pre- sume upon that fact But here Mr. Joseph Tremen- here's indignation became too much for him, and he rapped out an oath that would be quite unintelligi^^" to the gentle reader. What it meant was, that if thii circumstance in question did happen, Mr. Edward Rosco3 should learn to his cost, and with a vengeance, the difference between master and man. CHAPTER 11. LORD CHERIBERT. An hour later, the grounds of Lebanon Lodge were filling with ga^ company. Ladtes, mostly matrons, *of dark complexion and ample proportions, perhaps a trifle over- dressed. Daughters of Judah, who. If they made no "tinkling with their feet,'* exhibited elsewhere a considerable amount of personal jewellery. Young ones also, though much fewer, were to be seen about the garden fountain and its fishT)ond — full of swimming bullion — like so many Rebekahs at the well, waiting, in most cases in vain, for their Isaacs. For of Isaacs, unless old ones, there were very few. The males of the company, who far out- numbered the ladies, were professing Christians, and in most cases had no other profession. Aristocrats of noble race, but who had somewhat slipped out of their order. The Marquis of Baccarat, who was hardly seen at any social gathering, save those rare ones at Lebanon Lodge ; Lord Petronel, Lord Shotover, Lord Camballo, all three of whom would have recently appeared in a court much less highly thought of than that of St. James' but for the kind interest which Mr. Tremenhere had taken in their f 1 1 * 1 ^ 1 10 THE BURNT MILLION; affairs.' General St. Catien, once, but not very recently, of the Guards. The band of his old regiment, playing on the lawn, was by no means incited to strike up "See the Conquering Hero comes," on recognizing him; he was associated in their minds with a piece of music of quite another kind — a march. Sir Tattenham Comer, and many other celebrities of the turf and of the Band of Green Cloth. Some of these eminent guests — for they had all achieved distinction for themselves, and, if not exactly public benefactors, had like ill winds blown some people good, and laid the social journalists in particular under especial obligations — were still young in years ; but their appearance had lost some of the freshness of youth. They had the delicate and ascetic air of young monks of the cloister, or of too diligent students, though it had not been produced by the same means ; they too, indeed, had burned the midnight oil, but not "with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books;" they had given their attention only to the books they had made themselves, which, though not published at their own expense, had cost them dearly. Their heavy eyes were sunk in their* wan cheeks, and had semicircles of black under them which were not, however, to judge by the looks that were cast at them by the other sex, altogether unattractive. They wefe undoubtedly distinguished-looking young fellows ; but to persons who were acquainted with what is confidently believed by some people to be "life," they suggested the deleterious habit of taking green cura^oa and pickled walnuts for their breakfasts. There was, how- ever, one marked, exception to them in the person of "Viscount Cheribert. This nobleman was but just of age, and looked much younger (his father, Lord Morella, was not only alive, but had barely reached middle life, which, to a young man who lives on post obits, is a very serious and expensive matter) ; there was no more hair on his fresh young face than on that of an Eton boy in the Lower School ; his complexion was brilliant, but far from hectic — it was perfectly healthy. If teeth are injured by smoking, it must be — to judge by those of Lord Cheribert — because a little smoking, like learning, is a dangerous thing; a cigar was never out of his mouth — it was whispered that he even smoked in bed — and yet his teeth were pearls. His figure, though slight, was perfect ; he was an adept in •^ THE BURNT MILLION, II all ujatpl/ games and exercises, but had devoted himself (and many a paternal aero) to piquet. He was an admir- able player, but, as is generally the case with games, he .had met with men who played better; it was said that before he was nineteen he had lost eleven thousand pounds at it — without counting what the cards cost, which was a pretty penny — at a single sitting. One can't help admiring a young fellow who can point to such an item — though unfortunately a deficit — in his accounts as that. Josh had a genuine regard for him, independent of the gigantic losfics which in his eyes surrounded this juvenile spend- thrift with an auriferous halo. The great money-spinner had a tenderness for the great money-spender ; the Napoleon of Finance a sort of pity for this gay young Bluchcr, who, though always defeated, never seemed to know' that he had been beaten. More than once Josh had faced his father for him — and Lord MortUa was not a pleasant man to face under such circumstances — and pleaded, though not of course on sentimental grounds, for his prodigal son. Youth and good looks, especially when accompanied by good manners, weigh with every one who is not absolutely destitute of tenderness, which was by no means the case, as we Imow, with Mr. Joseph Tremenhere ; the interests, moreover, of the two men were (or seemed to be) identical ; but what, perhaps, attached Josh-to the young fellow more than all was that he perceived in him, notwithstanding his mad ways, a genuine stanchncss ; that though his money and he were so easily parted. Lord Cheribert was not a fool. Josh thought it just within the range of possibility — though no one else thought it — that the young man might one day become a decent member of society. Re- spectability was in his blood. It was true he was going to the devil (Josh's devil — Poverty) faster than any young "jllow of his means had ever ridden ; but there was a ' hance, just a chance, that he might suddenly pull up ; and '.'. he did pull u]), it was Josh's opinion that it would be for ;;ood and all. He might even become another Lord . lorella. To the outside world this forecast would have seemed rank folly ; but Joseph Tremenhere, though utterly ifjnorant of book-learning, had studied the pages of human l.fj to some purpose. " In every spendthrift," he was wont to say (though only to himself), " there lives a miser." If 13 THE BURNT MILLION. for one single instant Lord Cheribert could be brou|;ht im see his position (as every one else saw it) — the gulf of ruin on which he stood, and, above all, himself the laughing- stock of every knave who had helped to bring him there — Josh believed he might be saved; and if saved (of this Josh felt sure), every farthing which remained out of the wreck of his fortunes would be saved with him. Whatever was left to him he would stick to like a limpet to his rock; and whatever might accrue to him from thenceforth would be as safe as though it were in his (Mr. Tremenhere's) own strong box. Each guest, as he arrived, came up to his host under the cedar tree, and said a word or two. " His little Fairy " stood by his side, and sometimes he introduced them to her, and sometimes he did not. He was not the sort of person to whom any man (who knew him) was likely to say, "You have omitted to introduce me to your daughter, Mr. Tremenhere." It was quite possible that he might presently have told him, and with much plainness of speech, why he had omitted that act of politeness. To some he held out a couple of fingers — difficult, but by none found impossible — to hook ; to others three, to others four. When Lord Cheribert came up smiling — some called him " Lucifer, son of the morning," in allusion to his naughty ways and the freshness of his appearance — the host offered his whole hand. " How are you. Josh ? " was the familiar salutation upon the young mau's lips \ but at the sight of Gracie it became " How are you, Tremenhere ? " — an alteration which other sprigs of nobility had not thought it worth their while to make. " As well as an old man has any right to be, my lord," he said ; and then with a wave of his hand, " My daughter, Grace." "This is a very auspicious occasion, I understand," said the young fello,w ; " I wish you many happy returns of the day, Miss Tremenhere." His tone was so natural and buoyant that it almost seemed as thought a child was speaking to a child. " Cheribert has the best manners and the worst morals of any man of his age in Christendom," General St. Gatien was wont to say, in strange forgetfulness, as regards one part of the verdict at least, of liis own far-off youth. tl THE BURNT MILLION, put at >3 her ease at once, and thanked him Grace was prettily. ** What a day for a birthday you have got ! " he went on ; " but then, I feci sure you deserve it. Now my last birthday was all wind and rain ; you recollect my coming of age, Tremenhere, for you were so good as to dine with me on that occasion." " I remember it was a very wet evening," said Josh with humorous gravity. Lord Cheribert laughed as lightly as the fountain played. " What a charming scene this is ! There are very few gardens like this in London, where the band does not seem too big for it. You like the country better than the town, of course. Miss Tremenhere ? " " Indeed I do." " I wish I were your age," murmured his lordship with a genuine sigh. He was only five years older than the young lady but, on the other hand, he had spent, or at all events he owed it, 100,000/. in the interval. " Oh, but papa likes it better too," said Grace gravely, "if one could get him to own it." " Really ? Are you so purely pastoral, Tremenhere ? " '' I like my own place in Cumberland, and the fishing," said the money-lender stiffly. He did not like to be chafifed about his pursuits just now, even ever so little, though, as a general rule, he welcomed chaff : he made grain out of it. "And whereabouts is your Cumberland home, Miss Tremenhere ? " " Well, it is rather difficult to describe, for it is quite up among the mountains, and away from everywhere, on Halswater." " I suppose your father wishes to keep it a dead secret,** said Lord Cheribert, laughing, " as the way over the fells to Muncaster Castle used to be kept. He has never asked me, at all events, to come and see him there." " I am afraid life at Halswater Hall would not be much in your line, my lord," said the money-lender with a gather- ing frown. " Don't be hard on me before Miss Grace," said Lord Che- ribert gently. " Why need you tell her that I have no taste for the picturesque, no love for the beauties of nature, no time now for wholesome pleasure such as fishing- n r '■- — ma^^^ms^e^s=« sssas W i ! Ill \f - r f { t : 1 : .' u THE BURNT MILLION, " Oh, but I am sure papadidn't mean that,** interposed Gmce e^ttickly ; she felt really sorry for this^ innbc^ht and bright young fellow, whc ima,gincd himself the subject of »UTO severe reproof ; " I am sure you could not help liking Hajswater." " Still your father doesn't ask me there," observed his lordship with humorous persistence. "My dear Tre- menhere, I dote on fishing." " I was not aware cf it, my lord, though I see you are fishing now," was the host's grim reply; "but it's too bright a day for catching anything, even an invi^tion. Ghice, dear, Agnes is calling you." "So I am not to be asked. Josh, to this country house of yours?" said Lord Cheribert. His tone had no longer its pretence of pleading ; he had exchanged it for a good- natured familiarity, in which there lurked, nevertheless, a certain seriousness. ** No, my lord, you must not come to Halswater." " Indeed ! The lake is not private property, I conclude," returned the young man with a slight flush ; " the river, I suppose, is open to anglers ? " " You have asked me a question, and you have had my answer. Lord Cheribert," was the cold reply. *^Peri)aps you will kindly furnish me with a map of England, Mr. Tremenhere, willi the places marked ^n red ink which I am not to visit?** ** It is not at all impossible that at no distant date you will find the whole isUna marked out in that way for you, my lord," was the quiet rejoinder, " and by less friendly hands than mine." The young man lifted his hat — not only in sign of departure ; it was a trick he had on the rare occasions when the sense of his true position came over him, the instinct to remove a weight from his brpw — and turpcd away without a word. " Agnes, come here ! " continued the money-lender. His eldest daughter, who was still talking with Grace, at once left her to obey his summons. She was a tall, fair woman of thirty years of age, but looked older ; her fea- tures were good, and even classical, but her lips were thin and straight \ her hair resembled hay, and there was not a luxuriant cn^p of it ; her eyes were a cold blue, usually lustreless ; her eyebrows so faint that through them could THE BURNT MILLION, «5 be discerned the '* thin red Ifne" bgrtwhich the historian on a %elM«ewn occasion described the British infantry. " What is it, papa ? " " Keep by your sister's side this afternoon, Agncfl>; I don't >rish strangers to talk with her." "You mean by Grace's side, I suppose ? " "Well, I suppose so," he answered with curt contempt. '* r should think Fhilippa was old enough to take care 6f herself." It was not a pretty speech, for there was only one yea^ between his eldest and his second daughter ; but it was not Mr. Tremenhere's habit to make pretty speeches^ except to his little Fairy. CHAPTER HI. THE MEMORANDUM. Among the many things that puzzled people who had tlie privilege of knowing the Tremenhere family — and some people who hadn't, for Jo^ and his affairs were much talked about — -was why the two marriageable Miss Tre- menheres did not takead^ntage of their position. Miss Agnes has been introduced to the reader, and if her personal attractions were not great, that, of course, waft but of little consequence in such ainatter. It is only a few men in tiiese days who marry for a pretty face, and their intelligence is not thought very highly of. Her sister Philippa had narrowly missed being pretty. She was not so tall as Agnes, and, indeed, rather dumpy as to figure \ but her bones were better covered. I am speaking of her as she was spoken of among themselves — by her father's male acquaintance, who were much more free of speech in discussing the family than when speaking of ladies of their own class. Her black eyes were " beady," and had not much expression. She was almost good- looking enough, they said, "for a cigar shop." Of this last matter they were doubtless good judges, but they were not students of character, and there were points in that of Miss Philippa which had escaped all but one of them. To say that three gentlemen out of four^ who mm \\\ x6 T//E BVRNT MILLION, enjoyed — or at all events possessed — Mr. Tremenhere's acquaintance! wouldhave '* jumped" at t^e idea of manry- ing either of his daughters would be to give a very ieeble (as veil as vulgai) expression to their sentiments ; but they knew that the grapes hung too high for them. More- over, Josh otood in the way of these objects of their ambition like a chevaux de frise. It is comparatively easy to run off witlran heiress ; even if she is a ward of Chancery, you at least get the interest of her money — when you come out of prison ; but it was well understood that whoever married one of Josh's daughters without his permission might just as well have married for love. This was hard upon the young ladies, but, unlike most of their sex, they could afford to wait. Their attractions were not ^dependent upon mere youth and beauty, but on solid worth. At fifty, as everybody knew, they might pick and choose for themselves — so soon as Josh's will was proved — ^as though they were fifteen. In the meantime, however, they remamed smgle. Every one has their pet antipathy, and Mr. Joseph Tremenhere concentrated his scorn and hate upon the Fortune-Hun ter. He loved his Fairy with a paternal passion of which few believed him capable, but he loved his money more, and no one had any doubt of that fact. There was no necessity for hira to shut up his stately Agnes, or his dark-eyed Philippa, in any castle of steel guarded by dragons ; for his iron will — and the . thougl^t of his Will — encompassed them and kept them . safe. Neither they nor their would-be suitors were under any mistake about the matter. That observation of Mr. Tremenhere's about Philippa being old enough to take care of herself was merely a stroke of humor. He meant rather that she was wise enough to take care of herself, which his little Fairy might possibly not; be. The love he had lavished on her might so far mislead her as to imagine that whatever she did would be forgiven her — even a mar- riage with a landless lord — a catastrophe indeed to be guarded against. On the other hand Josh knew that his will would be a law to Grace in quite another sense than it was to her sisters ; moreover she was still so childlike that the ^bought of " such things " had not as yet so much as entered her mind ; only it was well to be on the safe side frojn the first. Notwithstanding tbiat the position of affairs as regarded 'U; THE BURNT MILLTOI^, ly larded the two elder Miss Tremenheres was so well understood, there were plenty of butterflies to hover about them— or rather of bees, not so much in search of immediate honey as of the garnered store that would some day accrue to them ; but there was nothing of seriousness in their atten- tions. The only person who addressed them with any approach to familiarity was Mr. Edward Roscoe, whose intimate business relations with their father gave him that enviable privilege. When Agnes had been removed from Grace's side, this gentleman had taken her place: — not demonstratively, but in a quiet, natural manner — as her body-guard. He seemed to know by intuition what would be his patron's wishes. His appearance was rather remarkable. He was of moderate height, but so very upright that one would have taken him for a tall man. He had a clean-shaven face, except for two magnificent' whiskers, which were, nevertheless, kept within due limits ; it was a handsome face, and when he smiled an attractive one, but its ordinary expression was grave and even saturnine. His complexion was swarthy, though not disagreeably so. His voice, especially when addressing a woman, was very sweet and low ; but on occasion — and the occasions were frequent — it would be firm and resolute. He had an air of independence that was almost obtrusive — not at all like that of an underling, yet he was well known to be Mr. Tremenhere's jackal. It was whispered that, notwithstanding the clean and womanlike way in which the lion disposed of his bones, Mr. Roscoe was wont to find something on them for himself. His chief power lay, however, in the fact, with which everyone was acquainted, that he was a friend of the family. " Permit me, Miss Grace, to wish you many happy returns of the day, which I have not yet done by word of mouth ; " and he looked significantly at the beautiful flowers which the girl now held in her hand. " Then it was you who sent me these ? " she said with a grateful blush. " It was very kind of you, Mr. Roscoe." *< It was a great pleasure to me, but not worth speaking about, and you will oblige me by not doing so. Some persons might think it an impertinence in one in my position." " An impertinence ? " « Well, I know you would not think so ; but it is not every one who estimates people for themselves. I should not, 18 THE BURNT MILLION. I i I 1^ M for example, venture to give your sisters birthday presents, however humble ones.*' '* How strange I I am sure they have both a great regard for you, Mr. Roscoe," she answered simply. He smiled, with the least touch of bitterness. " When you grow older. Miss Grace, you will know the world better, and then I shall keep my distance. At present, you see, I take advantage of your simplicity." To judge by his sarcastic look as the girl cast down her eyes, one would almost have said he was really doing it. It changed, as her sister came up, to a smile of welcome. " Well, Miss Agnes, you are to be on duty, I suppose ? My post is relieved." " I had no orders for your dismissal, Mr. Roscoe," ahe answered, gently. " Then let us keep guard together by all means." It was not a superfluous precaution. The Marquis of Baccarat was at that moment lounging up to them with his cigar. Lebanon Lodge was Holiday Hall at regarded smoking. He was slight and of small stature, to which he added an inch by high-heeled boots. He had a little strut in his waPc, which gave him a resemblance to a pigeon — and indeed a pigeon he was, though almost plucked. To save him the trouble of keeping his glass on his eye, it was screwed into his hat — a device not so in- convenient as it appeared, since he really could see' equa% well whether his hat was on or off. " How are you. Miss '^remenhere ? " he lisped. " Let me congratulate you upon the great success of your garden- party. Everybody is raving about it." Though he addressed himself to Agnes, his impudent eyes were fixed upon her younger sister, who, however, took no notice of him. She was still rapt, or seemed to be so, in admiration of her flowers, and talked in an undertone with their donor. " It is not my garden-party, my lord/' said Agnes. She had meant to add, " it is my sister's," but a glance from Mr. Roscoe made her pau se. "Well, I suppose not, in one sense," squeaked the marquis ; his voice, when irritated, was like that of a suck- ing-pig. " But as to the founder of the feast, your father, so humble an individual as myself cannot get at him even to say a word of congratulation. His cedar tree yonder is quite a hall of audience." THE BURNT MILLIOIT, »9 "SirTattenhanEi^has left Mr. Tremie^licre now, my lord," observed Mr. Roscoe drily, " if you have anything to say to him ; " and as he spoke he interposed himself by a natural movement between Grace and the new-comer. The little lord sheered off, hurling a broadside of invective — so far as looks could do it — upon this faithful senlioeli who remained utterly unmoved. "A worthless creature, but not dangerous," he mur- mured in the elder sister's ear. Agnes nodded adhesion : his lordship's indifference to her charms had been marked enough to arouse any woman's indignation. " Why does papa invite such people ? " she returned in the same low tones. " My dear Miss Agnes, he is a marquis 1 " said Mr. lloscoe. His most winning smile sat on the speaker's lips as he uttered these words of pretended reproof, and her face reflected the smile. To a keen observer it would have almost seemed to say, " Your views are mine ; for my part, as you should know, I prefer a man to a marquis," Mr. Roscoe's tone to Grace had been more tender, but less confidential than his manner to her sister ; they seemed to have a mutual understanding. " Philippa, on the other hand, loves a lord," said Agnes, more in pursuance of her own train of reflection than suggested by the fact that her sister was approaching them in company with Lord Cheribert. I am afraid so," laughed Mr. Roscoe. • ** E'en Irish Peers, could she but tag 'em, With Lord and Duke 'twere sweet to call ; And, at a pinch. Lord Bally-raggem Was better than no Lord at all." \ « Lord Morella was in the Irish Peerage. Lord Cheribert, with his bright frcsli smile, shook hands with Agnes, and also with jNIr. Roscoe. Tlie latter gentle- man, unsoftened by that affability, obiitiucted, as before, the young man's view of the more attractive object in the backgroimd ; he did not understand that he was *' on the free list," and had already been introduced to Grace by Mr. Tremenhere. " Papa has been telling Grace, Lord Cheribert informs me," said Philippa, " that we are going to Halswater early in the autumn." i'.i 90 THE BURNT MILLION, \ -■ Mr. Roscoe withdrew from his obnoxious position with the swiftness of a magic-lantern slide, and Aglies clapped her hands ; " I am so glad 1 " she cried. " So you too, like Miss Grace, are a lover of the country, are you ? " said his lordship, so precipitately that it cut off the expression of astonishment that had risen to Grace's lips. She had no recollection of her father Iiaving made any such statement, but it did not now seem worth while to dispute it. Agnes was already eloquent upon the plea- sures of life at the Lakes. Lord Cheribert listened to her with apparent interest. " You are as Arcadian as Miss Philippa, it seems," he said. " I am, alas ! only a Burlington Arcadian, but I hope some day to mend my ways. Why does Mr. Rosco©» I smile like that, I wonder? " His tone was good-humored, I but, to the ear which it addressed, had a certain severity. There were more reckless men than Lord Cheribert in the ** gilded pale " of Lebanon Lodge that afternoon, but no one with whom it was more imprudent to take a liberty. " I was not aware that I was smiling, my lord," said Mr. Roscoe ; and he spoke the truth. *' That is the worst of having too sweet a disposition," returned his lordship drily. " So both you young ladies fish, do you ? Does Miss Grace also fish ? " And he turned his pleasant face to her for the first time. " No,^Lord Cheribert, I do not fish. I think it's cruel.'* " Really ! I thought they had a cartilage, a something expressly given them, so that the hook should not hurt them." ** But there is the live bait." " To be sure, I had forgotten that ; they don't sell it in the Arcade, you see." " I don't think you are quite so ignorant as you pretend to be," laughed Grace. " Well, that's kinder than Miss Philippa, at all events, who made the same remark just now about my innocence. But I am really like a child in this matter — and a good child too, for I know nothing of the rod. I was in hopes that some of you young ladies would teach me how to catch trout. I only know one way — when the stream is very dry, to cut what water there is off and leave them stranded.'* " Not a very sportmanlike proceeding, I must say," observed Agnes, smiling. THE BURNT MILLION, ai " Never laugh at the ignorant or ihe poor, and I'm both," said Lord Cheribert reprovingly. ** VVhat 1 want is teach- ing." " Well, if you come to Halswater," said Agnes, " Philippa and I will teach you to throw a fly." " Thanks ; that's a bargain. And what will you teach me, Miss Grace? ' " I ? Nothing ; I have everything — so everybody tells me — to learn." "Then everybody doesii't tell the truth. Come, you must do something when you are in the country, or else, like me, you would feel tempted there to Qoxoxcixx. felo-de-se.'* " No, I do nothing ; I only wander over the hills and far away." " Then you must know your way about." " Not a dalesman of the dales, not a cragsman of the fells, I flatter myself, knows it better," said Grace, with conscious pride. " Thanks ; that's another bargain. I'll put it down in my little book at once." And here he produced his bet- ting-book — a duodecimo volume he had bought for little, but which had cost him much. " Mem. : September, to learn how to fish from Miss Agnes and Miss Philippa Tremenhere ; to learn * my way about' from Miss Grace." " But I never promised to teach you," she remonstrated. " But ycu did not say you wouldn't, and you looked as if you would," he replied gaily. " Your excellent father is coming this way, doubtless to ask me to Halswater ; but his invitation is now superfluous. I shall be there." He smiled, nodded instead of taking his hat off, but very pleasantly, and was gone. It was very cool of him, of course, but his manner robbed his nods of any impertinence. It was said of Lord Cheribert by his detractors, who after all were few, that he owed much of his personal popularity to the exercise of a certain " agreeable insolence ; " it was not, however, really insolence, but only the perfectly natural manner of a very kindly young fellow who was always accustomed to have his own way. r m ! M . 1 IS f hi. ta y//i? BVKNT MILLION, 3 CHAPTER IV. A SUSPICION. Lord Cheribert was in error in supposing, or at least asserting, that Mr. Trcmenhere had come up to the little party, like a dove with the olive branch, with an invitation for him to Halswater in his mouth. If that gentleman looked like a dove at all it was one whose feathers have been very much ruffled ; his appearance was more like that of an angry hen, who sees her pet chicken endangered by the attentions of a hawk in chick's feathers. Of the hawk 'proper, with beak and claw highly developed, it was evident he stood in no fear, or he would not have brought General St. Gatien with him, unless, indeed, his haste was such that it did not admit of his getting rid of that gallant officer, with whom he had been conversmg under the cedar tree. The general was a tall hairy man, with a sinister expression, and, but for his great height, which seemed to unfit him for naval evolutions, less resembled a soldier than a buccaneer. As he took off his hat with a sweep to the ladies, he looked as if he would have liked to buy all three of them— the youngest for choice — and had forgotten for the moment that he had not the money. " The three Graces," he said, " upon my life, in the Garden of Eden." The mythology, perhaps, was a little mixed, but that the general thought he had paid a pretty and acceptable com- pliment was certain, by the way in which he smiled and drew out his waxed moustachios — a sure sign of self-satis- faction with him. " Our Eden is not without a serpent, however," replied Miss Philippa, who had a ready tongue, and was not the least afraid of this warrior, " for I have seen him." ** Indeed I " he said, with a flush upon his swarthy face. " Don't be afraid, general," she added, with a light laugh. " I meant nothing personal. It was only a musical instru- ment ; they have a serpent in your band." THE BURNT MILLION, 93 •• Vou'rc too clever for me, MUb Philippa," he answered, frowning ; there were reasons, though she did not know them, why alius! ons to his old regiment were displeasing to him. "What was Cheribert so eloquent to you about just now? You didn't make fun of //////, I'll warrant." Philippa was about to make some jesting reply, when she noticed that her father, who was speaking to Mr. Roscoe, had suddenly paused as if to listen to her. " He was enlightening us upon sporting matters." " No doubt he fancies himself immensely in his own colors, but, mark my words, he'll break his neck some day." Grace looked up quickly, with an ejaculation of dis- may. " Yes," pursued tiiC general ruthlessly, " I would recom- mend no young lady to set her affections upon Cheribert till he has learnt to ride or given up steeplechasing." " He has given it up," observed Mr. Tremenhere. " Not a bit of it, my good fellow ; he only said he was thinking of giving it up. You're a better judge of what his thoughts are worth than I am, and doubtless have persua- ders for him as sharp as his spurs j but I'll back his obsti- nacy, though I wouldn't back his horse. He's booked for the Everdale, at all events, and it's a stiffish course." "Indeed," replied Mr. Tremenhere indifferently. But the news was in reality displeasing to him. There were certain arrangements of great importance to him, which,-' " it" anything should happen "to Lord Cheribert would turn out very disastrously ; and though his business operations were often of a most speculative kind, he resented their being made unnecessarily so. He had two mottoes : one was " Push " (which he pronounced like ** rush "), and the other, " No Risks, as the goose said when she stooped under the barn door." It might be said of him that he was much less like a goose than a fox, but he was quite as anxious as that prudent bird not to knock his head, and also that other people in whom he had a pecuniary interest should not knock their heads — against a stone wall in a steeplechase, for example. He even mechanically cast an uneasy glance at Mr. Roscoe, as though he would say, " Do you hear that ? " to which, however, that gentleman, who was in earnest conversation with " his little Fairy," gave no response. ran BURNT MtU.lOtT. M\ They were bending over those white flowers together, the arrival of which had already given Mr. Tremenhere some discomfiture. " General, an idea has just struck me," he exclaimed suddenly; "I think I see my way out of that business about which we were talking together just now." " And do you see my way ? " returned the general per- tinently. " I think so," and he thrust his stout arm through that of his astonished guest and led him away. The two elder sisters looked at one another signifi- cantly. "Papa is very angry," said Philippa in a low tone. "There is no need to tell me that, since I know papa as well as you do," was the dry reply. " I suppose it's about Lord Cheribert; I could not help bringing him with me ; he asked me to bring him; it is so difficult somehow to refuse him anything." Agnes did not answer ; her attention seemed to be dis- tracted by what was going on between Mr. Roscoe and Grace. Philippa observed this, and a strange expression flitted across her face ; it had displeasure in it, and also a certain cruelty. " After all," she said, " it is not surprising that Grace should have taken his fancy." " Whose fancy ? " inquired Agnes sharply, the little color she possessed suddenly deserting her cheeks. ^ " Well, of course, Lord Cheribert's , you did not sup- pose I meant General St. Gatien's surely ? " There was a touch of mockery in her tone which did not escape the other's ear. " Instead of chattering here with me, Philippa," she said severely, ** it seems to me you ought to be attending to our guests." " Why don't you do the honors to them yourself, my dear?" returned the other ; "you are the eldest." Agnes' brow grew very black, and a gleam of angtr flashed from her eyes \ the tone was quiet enough, however, ;n which she replied, " Papa has placed me here to take charge of Grace." Philippa laughed sofdy, but not sweetly, and cast a half glance at the couple behind them. What her laugh seemed to say was, " I cannot congratulate you upon the way in 1 « 6. THE BURNT MILLION, 25 wliich you arc performing your duties." " Mr. Roscoe,** she said, " I have been moved on by the police. Will you give me your ^escort to the refreshment tent? " The gentleman appealed to looked up with a quick start, r.iid glanced at Agnes. "I am unable to oblige you, • lias Philippa," he answered coldly ; '* I am under orders to remain on guard here with your sister." It was Philippa's^ turn to look black now: the blood rushed to her face, she pressed her lips closely together as if to restrain herself froni speaking, and moved slowly away. " Why did she want you to go with her ? " inquired Agnes under her breath. " A little shy, I suppose ; there are so many people about." "Shy? You should rather say sly," said Agnes con- temptuously. " If so," replied Mr. Roscoe gravely, " there is only the more reason for that caution, the necessity of which I have so often ventured to impress upon you. — Your father is coming back to us. Miss Grace ; you have an attraction for him to-day, it seems, even greater than usual." Mr. Tremenhere had now a lady on his arm ; she was dark and plump, had hardly reached middle age, and, but for a certain coarseness of feature, would have been decidedly good-looking. Her name was Linden, and she was a widow. Her dress was magnificent — indeed, a great deal too much so for a garden-party — and sparkled with jewels ; but the good nature in her eyes outshone them. Mr. Tremenhere had not many favorites among the female sex, but Mrs. Linden was one of them. It was whispered that she entertained the ambition of becoming something nearer to him than his confidential friend and domestic adviser — a circumstance that prevented her from gaining the good graces of either Agnes or Philippa. " They are so devoted to their father," the widow used to say to her intimates with a strange mixture of frank- ness and sarcasm, ** that it makes them jealous of me." What she said to herself was, " They think I want his money — or what they consider their money — as if I had not more than I know what to do with already I " And doubtless, though they objected to her influence with their father, their opposition would have been far less keen^ I j« THE BURNT MILLION, t .'i i! could she have placed their minds at case on this point. Young people can never understand why old people should want to marry, and are always quick to impute bad motives i^t\t'j but the true reason for Mrs. Linden's admiration t^x Mr. Treraenhere was never even guessed at by his d^jighters. Money, as they suspected, was at the bottom of it, but not greed. The late Mr. Linden had distinguished bjmself in the same profession ; had been, as it were, the attorney-general among money-lenders, but Mr. Tremen- feere w&s the Lord Chief Justice ; she bowed down less to the golden calf, than to the intelligence of the man who bad built it up, though she perceived no folly in his worshipping it. The hunger for gold is at least as strong ^ith some people as that for land, of which we have lately heard so much ; and the pleasure of satisfying it, even to those who have heaps of it, is fully equal to that of earth-eating. The atmosphere Mrs. Linden had always breathed was aureate ; the ground she had trodden upon was auriferous ; her very dreams had been golden. She had been brought up all her life, as indeed had been Mr. Tremenhere, in the worship of wealth, which has a cult, just as rank and position have ; only, instead of the "Peerage" and "County Families," "plums" and " warmth " are the objects of adoration. This respectable sect place the possessors of a hundred thousand pounds, of five hundred thousand, and so on, where lords and dukes are put in the other scale. In Mrs. Linden's eyes Mr. Joseph Tremenhere was a prince of the blood, because he was s^id to have a million of money ; if he had died lYOrth all that, he would have seemed to her to enter into a sort of Walhalla, and she would have spoken of him ever after with hushed reverence. But she hoped he would not die, but live to make her Mrs. Tremenhere, that she might shine by his reflected splendor. Except for that, her regard for him was as unselfish as that of any village maiden for her swain; she would not have asked for a pennyworth of settlement ; and underneath all that yellow mud she had a tender heart. " How beautiful your little Fairy is looking, dear Mr. Tremenhere ! " she had been saying with genuine admira- tion, as, emerging with him from the refreshment tent, her eyes fell on the girl and her body-guard, " If I were you I should feel quite nervous at having so bright a jewel in charge.** THE BURNT MILLION: n " Grace is as good as she is pretty," said the money- lender in a tone that was not only confident but had something of reproof in it. " No doubt, as good as gold But her very simplicity and ignorance of her own attractions have danger in them." " That is true," said Mr. Tremenhere. It was even truer than she thought ; he felt that it was his duty — some day — to point out to his little Fairy, that, kind and tender as he seemed to her, he could — and would — be inflexible as iron in certain circumstances ; on an occasion too, per- haps, when she might have expected him to be soft as wax ; but he shrank from showing her a side of his character which, though so often turned to others, she. had neVer beheld. " You are a woman and have keen eyes," he continued gravely ; " do you suspect danger — I mean from any par- ticular quarter ? " " I would rather not answer that question, Mr. Tremenhere." " But I insist upon it, Mrs. Linden ; my child has no mother." "That is an appeal I cannot resist," she interrupted hastily; "but I am no meddler, and hate to make mis- chief, and, moreover, I may be quite wrong. Tliere is also another reason which disinclines me to speak." " Out with it ! let us get that over first," he said. I^s manner was more brusque even than usual ; it concealed an anxiety. " Perhaps, Mr. Tremenhere, what I am about to say would not be to your taste. You have strong likings as well as prejudices. I do not wish to suffer in your opinion by going counter to one of them." " You shall not suffer ; even if you are wrong, I shall be your debtor, Mrs. Linden. Who is it you suspect ? " " I suspect no one. But, in my judgment the most likely quarter for danger to Grace to come is the one in which you have placed most confidence." " He dares not," replied Mr. Tremenhere in low, hoarse tones. It was unnecessary to mention names, for his own- eyes and those of his companion were fixed, while they were speaking, upon the man in question. He was standing with smiling lip, stroking a whisker " as the rabbit fondlci 4 1 38 THE BURNT MILLION-. his own harmless face," between the two ladies, and making himself agreeable as it seemed to both of them. "There is nothing in my opinion that he dares not do," was Mrs. Linden's quiet rejoinder. "His will. is as strong as yours, and he is very subtle." "^**'' " You are right so far, but you do not understand how well he understands tne. Moreover, if what you imagine were the fact, Agnes, who is as sharp-eyed as yourself, would not fail to discover it." ^ There was a reply on Mrs. Linden's lips which, if ex- pressed, would have surprised her companion very much ; but it never passed them. " Agnes suspects nothing because she deems her sister still a child," she answered after a moment's pause. " That very circumstance, however, may be to Grace's dis- advantage. She may come under his influence without knowing it, and the knowledge may come too late." It would have been impossible to guess from Mr. Tre- menhere's face that the suspicion of this very thing had already occurred to him, and that not an hour ago ; but he nodded and jerked his hand out in a manner that in- formed Mrs. Linden, who had studied his sign language to some purpose, that what she had said to him had had its weight, and would be attended to. His anger, however, must have been great, since even the presence of his little Fairy did not prevent his addressing his subordinate, when he came up with him, in the harshest tone. " What are you hanging about here for, Roscoe, instead of making yourself useful about the place ? " Mr. Roscoe looked quite unmoved, and, as Agnes knew, was perfectly well able to answer for himself under much more trying circumstances ; but lo have him thus spoken to in the hearing of Mrs. Linden was unendurable to her. " If there is any one to blame," she interposed, " blame me ; for it was at my request that Mr. Roscoe kept us company." It was the first time she had ever evinced to her father the smallest interest in that gentleman, and she regretted the speech the instant she had uttered it. Mr. Tremenhere, however, did not appear displeased, and seemed even mollified by it. His suspicions had taken another direction, and been monopolized by another object. ^«kl^ THE BURNT MILLION, 29 " In that case," he said coldly, " I wjll take Mr. Roscoe's place ; " and, so saying, he dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Mrs, Linden dowered Agnes with a smile of such quiet significance as that young lady would have liked to have recompensed by strangling her oh the spot. Even in the richest households there are drawbacks to perfect happiness, and there was more than one skeleton in the closet at Lebanon Lodge, the existence of which it was highly desirable should not be suspected by an out- sider. CHAPTER V. THE WARNING. It was Mr. Tremenhere's custom, when the labors ot each day were over, to write down the result of them in a certain ledger, furnished with great locks like a prison door, in company with his faithful assistant, Mr. Roscoe. The place of meeting of these two recording angels was a small upper room (such as could not be spied upon), furnished like a bank parlor, and in which more money (in paper) was wont nightly to change hands than in the saloons of Monaco, and with a much greater percentage in favor of "the table." Even when there had been but little busi- ness done, they would still meet together and concert benevolent schemes for getting this and that poor fellow out of his difficulties, and also for recompensing themselves for their trouble in the matter. It was not done in the prim stiff way in which affairs arc — sometimes — conducted in the city, but over cigars and brandy and soda ; and these discussions, especially so far as Josh was concerned, were carried on with much dramatic force and freedom from convention. These two spiders, working in the same web, were in strong contrast to one another ; the one somewhat bloated and unwieldy, but uncommonly deft and keen, and the other lank and agile, and quick to supply a thread where it was wanted, and the gluten to fix it. Even after the birthday party at Lebanon Lodge they THE BURNT MILLION, II- met as usual, though a trifle later \ for because a day had been spent in conviviality, it by no means followed with these diligent workers that no " operation " had been effected. From the flower Pleasure it was quite as much their habit to pluck the blossom Business as from the more ordinary sources; the nettle Danger was more often bound up in it in that case than usual, and required their more particular attention. Mr. Tremenhere's face was graver to-night than usual, and had even a sullen look, wliich, to do him justice, it rarely wore. If he was not tlie best-mannered man that ever picked pocket, as some eulogist described him, who knew perhaps more of pickpocketing than of manners, he was of a much more genial nature than could be expected from anyone in his Ime of business ; he had his likings, not altogether misplaced, and was always more willing to do a kindness that cost him nothing than an injury. He was not an honorable man, of course ; there were legal authorities of high standing who had pronounced him dis- honest ; but he was not one of your mean and miserly money-lenders. His huge fortune had not been built up "by scraping and paring ; it was even said that from bones on which he had found unexpected pickings he had some- times taken less than he might have done, though that idea perhaps owed its origin to the love of romance which, I am thankful to say, pervades every section of society. But he liked his comforts, and never allowed himself to be put out by a small thing. Yet it was a small thing, as Mr. Roscoe thought, that had put his companion out to- night, and, as his custom was, he at once grappled with it. His own marvellous power of intuition was one of the things, as he well knew, for which his lord and master valued him ; and he never shrank, as a mere subordinate would have done, from treading on a tender place, or hinting that the other had here and there been less saga- cious m his proceedings than became him. " General St. Gatien tells me that you are going to let him have that money," he observed quietly as he lit his Cigar, Even in his talks with his patron, Mr. Roscoe always _^^;ve his clients their full title, whereas Josh was terribly at ■ ease in Zion, and would speak ofpersons of the highest ),. 'sition with the most shocking familiarity. THE BURNT MILLION. 3« " Of course you know [best (a phrase he never used unless he was quite sure the other was in the wrong), but in my opinion the general is a squeezed lemon." Mr.' Tremenhere threw out his hand in his contemp- tuous fashion : " Damn St. Gatien," he said ; " Fm going to have a word or two with you /" Roscoe had a command over his features which would have fitted him for a diplomatist or a poker player of the highest order; but, though he raised his eyebrows and looked up in his companion's face with well-affected sur- prise, he felt the tell-tale color in his cheeks as he did so. "If you are deceiving me, Edward Roscoe," continued Mr. Tremenhere, speaking with a sternness that was almost savage in its intensity, and gazing at him with angry eyes, "it will be the worst piece of work ypu ever did for yourself — by Heaven, it will ! " " Deceiving you, Mr. Tremenhere ? " His tone was one of sheer amazement, but still the tell-tale blood would not be kept down, but rose and rose till it sank " traitor " in his very ears. *• Have I taken you from the gutter, I wonder, and clothed and taught and fed you, only that you should turn, like an ungrateful cur, and snap at my hand ? — for you cannot bite me, sir, you cannot bite me. Nof* The speaker's excitement was extreme, and made the greater impression on his companion, because such a state of mind in his patron was without a precedent. The fear which filled Mr. Roscoe's mind was also as great a stranger there. He had secrets of his own — and dama- ging ones — ^but if all of them (save one) had been discov- ered, he would have met his accusers with a front of brass. The question that stirred his scheming soul to its muddy depths was, " Had that one been discovered ? " No 1 if it had been, he would have been by this time in the street with Mr. Tremenhere's door closed for ever behind him ; but, neverthf^less, it might be suspected ; nothing less, he felt, than such a suspicion could have moved his patron thus. " I don't know what you mean, Mr. Tremenhere ; I cannot defend myself, since you are striking me in the dark, I only know that you are doing me ji grievous wrong." i I ? 3a T/J/: BURNT MILLION, " It may be so, I hope it is — for your sake, not for mine, sir, be sure of that. I say again, it does not lie within the power of man to hurt me ; I have no weak point — none." His appearance physically was not corroborative of this statement. His huge and flabby frame shook from head to foot j his eyes were bloodshot ; and on his forehead there was a ghastly dew. Under circumstances less affecting his own vital interests Mr. Roscoe would have been seriously alarmed for his patron \ but for the moment it behoved him to look to himself alone, and be armed at all points, though indeed, if the stroke he awaited should be that he had in his mind, even his ready skill and buckler of bull's hide would little avail him. " I am here to ask you nothing," continued the money lender after a long pause ; " for if you are guilty, I know I should meet with lies." It was not a complimentary observation, but, to the person addressed, it gave more satisfaction than under other circumstances any eulogy could have done. He uttered a silent sigh of relief, and bowed his head with Eastern humility — behavior so foreign to his character, that, if his companion had not been blinded with passion, it might have itself betrayed him. " I am here, Edward Roscoe, to warn you for the first time and the last. You think yourself my right hand, and I do not deny your use j you trade on it, I know, and I don't blame you ; you have lived on the crumbs that have fallen from my table, and grown fat upon them ; let that content you. Beware of interfering between me and mine ! " "Then \i is so," was the other's inward thought; "he does suspect it." He dared not meet his patron's eye, but looking critically at his cigar (which was natural enough, since it had gone out, but that he did not notice), replied deferentially enough, " I have no remembrance of ever having done so, Mr. Tremenhcrc." " Knowing me as you do," continued the money-lender, without paying any attention to this disclaimer, " you are aware, I suppose, that if any one of those men who were in the house to-day, men of rank and birth, some of them not without expectations, which no one knows better than myself how to realize, was to ask one cf my daughters in marriage, what sort of answer he would get from me ? " wm.. -J THE BURNT MILLION, rative of this from head to rehead there sss affecting have been e moment it armed at all :d should be and buckler i the money Ity, I know I but, to the I than under done. He is head with is character, vith passion, for the first right hand, I know, and crumbs that n them ; let reen me and ought; "he n's eye, but iral enough, e), replied ice of ever ney-lender, " you are n who were me of them better than daughters from me ? " ** I know that he might just as well ask for the moon/' replied the other drily. "And if, notwithstanding that reply, he should put his [design into execution, and persuade the silly girl to marry [him, you know too what would happen then ? " I ** Nothing would happen," returned Mr. Roscoe, forcing L smile, " except that he would have found a wife. She [would not, as I can well believe, be the heiress he had f looked for." " Heiress !" hissed the money-lender*, "while I lived Uhe would not have a penny, and when I was dead she rould have a shilling — just a shilling to show that I had lot forgotten her." ** Indeed, sir, I think it very probable." "Probable? It would most certainly happen. My loney shall never, never " — here he struck the table wiih lis large, nerveless hand, as a fishmonger smites his slab [with I flat fish-i— " feed the insatiable maw of any spend- jtb' tIio, not if he could make my girl a duchess. Do K , ..link, then, it is likely that a low-born schemer, who, f notwithstanding his shrewd wits, and contempt for ne'er- I do-wells, himself runs risks I know, and looks to become [wealthy in a moment by a lucky stroke on 'change, would Ihave a better chance of enriching himself by the same means at my expense ? " Such an insult might have brought the blood to any , man's cheek, but it was not the insult that turned that of [him to whom it was addressed to crimson. " Such a character as you describe, Mr. Tremenhere,'* he answered quietly, " would have most certainly no chance at all." " You are right. Lay your own words to heart and profit by them. Stop ! " — for the other was about to speak — "there is one thing more. Notwithstanding the convic- tion you have expressed, it is possible that you may enter- tain an illusion. You may think — though you ought to know me better — that, notwithstanding what I have said on this matter, and how fully purposed I am in my own mind about it, there is a weak point through which you may reach my heart and gain your ends. * There is his little Fairy,' you may be saying to yourself, 'who is dearer to him than all his wealth, and whom he never would doom to — what he most despises and detests him- 3 THE BURNT MILLION, self — a life of poverty. If I could wind myself into her affection, and secure her for my own, he would forgive lier, though he would never forgive me. Sooner or later '\tt would come to terms ; on his death-bed at least he would send for her, and say, * you are my daughter still ; * if you are thinking that^ Edward Roscoe, you are in a Fool's Paradise indeed." While his patron was thus speaking, the flush had gra- dually left the other's cheek : a certain rigidity of limb, caused by some extreme tension of the nerves, had also disappeared ; except that he experienced a sense of relief instead of pain, he was like a man who recovers from z, fainting fit, and though not unconscious of a danger nar- rowly escaped, begins to feel himself again. " Mr. Tremenhere," he replied, in a tone more grave than ordinary, but without a trace of his rcc^ nt humility, " you amaze me. I say nothing of the infamy that is pre- supposed in the monstrous offence which you would by implication impute to me, except that it is of so vile a character that, even with your low opinion of 'human nature, I feel confident it did not originate in your own mind. None but a woman, who had her own ends to serve, could have conceived it." " Never you mind how it got there," answered the other curtly. ''■ It is there." " I see It is ; I see that your mind has been poisoned against me. Let it be so. Think anything of me that you please. Let me be as base and faithless to the trust you have placed in me as malice can paint. But, remember in so doing you impute ingratitude and disobedience to one whom you know to be incapable of such offences, an inno- cent and loving child." ** Pooh, pooh ! " answered the other contemptuously. " None of your heroics, sir. Of course she is innocent, but she is no longer a child. You sent her flowers to-day." " Her birthday ! Even if I had sent her diamonds, it would have been no such matter. I should not have dreamt of your objecting to it. She has been * Grace ' to me ever since I have known her ; but henceforward she shall be * Miss Grace,' like her sisters. You were kind enough to say just now that anything I might allege 19 my own defence — against a charge of which I kneir nothing, and as little expected it to be this as one of »rs0ii HtlH THE BURNT MILLION. :s, had also d the other U-Would probably be lies. Ask, then, Miss Grace herself what I have said to her, how I have behaved to her, so [long as she can remember. That I have not been truthful [to her may be justly urged against me ; but did you wish I me to be truthful to her? When she asked her simple, ignorant questions about her father's calling " " Be silent, sir," interrupted the money-lender savagely, j" and let my Grace alone ! " " As you please, Mr. Tremenhere, though it seems hard [that a man's mouth should be closed on the very matter [which would establish his innocence. However, since that is forbidden ground, and also as it seems you think me knave eiiough for anything, the only line of defence .that is |eft me is to plead that, if guilty, I am not responsible for ny actions. If I have entertained such a project as has )een suggested by you, I must certainly be stark staring lad. I put aside the fact that I am double the young [lady's age, and totally unfitted by my position to induce her (if the subject of matrimony has ever entered her [mind, which I do not believe) to waste a thought on me; I only urge this argument, that, since I have been your [confidential clerk for many years, I know something of [your character ; and what I have gathered from my study of it is that, so far from your affection for your youngest daughter being likely to mitigate in your eye any such act of folly and disobedience on her part, it would add fuel to fire. You r< re not a man to be crossed in anything on which you h^ve set your mind ; but where you have set your heart, opposition, if I read you aright, would turn it from stone to steel. Knave let me be, if it is your plea- sure to consider me such ; but, whether blinded by yOur own passion or hoodwinked by another, I cannot believe that you have been brought to think Edward Roscoe a born fool." These words flowed with a force and earnestness that, if they were feigned, would have proved the speaker to be a consummate actor indeed ; the expression of his face, as he stood steadily confronting the other, was almost con- temptuous in its defiant confidence; his air had lost all its habitual secretiveness and reserve, and manifested, what had probably never been seen in it before, an honest indignation. " It n^y be as you say, sir ; I hope it is," was the cold a - if y S6 . THE BURNT MILLION. rejoinder. '' I have made no accusation against you, and | I do not regret my word of warning — I have done." These last words were uttered thickly and indistinctly,! and had a terrible significance for the ear that heard them. The speaker's face had turned purple, and had a look in it I which agitated his companion with a strange mixture of I hope and fear. ''You are not well, Mr. Tremenhere? " A sharp and bitter cry broke from the lips of the money- ! lender as he sank backwards in his chair. In a moment Roscoe was at his side, unloosing his I neckcloth. It was an involuntary action, and after he had | performed it, he remained motionless as a statue ; his eye mechanically sought the bottle of brandy, but his hand did not move towards it. He stood watching his master like a dog (but with no such faithful or anxious look), and with his ear on the stretch for any external sound. Would that scream have roused the house, he was wondering, or had no one heard it? Presently the money-lender opened his eyes. " Brandy ! '* he gasped. With steady hand the other poured out a glassful and gave it him, like medicine to a child. The stimulant revived him. " Tell no one of this," he murmured. Roscoe inclined his head. " Ifl had not thought such would have been your wish," he answered gently, " I should have called assistance." " You did quite right — another 1 " ^v ** I am afraid yOu have been in great pafh, sir," said the other, as he obeyed him. " Pain doesn't express it ; it was torture — agony." " For the moment you lost your breath, I fear." " It was not breathlessness ; it vas annihilation." He felt for his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "That was the dew of death, Roscoe. But for you " — he had caught sight of the neckcloth on his knee — "I should have been gone ; I shall not forget it." " You make much of a trifle, Mr. Tremenhere." " A trifle, you call it ! By George, let me tell you it was Touch and Go ! " There was no occasion to tell Mr. Roscoe that. He was fully conscious of the serious nature of his companion's seizure, and also that, for the time at least, there was no further danger to be apprehended from it. The money- an THE BURNT MILLION, 37 ainst you, and| 5 done." d indistinctly, I at heard them, ad a look in it I ige mixture of of the money- unloosing his id after he had tatue ; his eye It his hand did lis master like Dok), and with . Would that iering, or had ler opened his idy hand the > like medicine oe inclined his en your wish," ssistance." sir," said the ■agony." fear." lation." forehead. ut for you " — lis knee — "I ere." ell you it was oe that. He companion's there wa§ no The moncy- Now I shall door, which returned the lender's face hfd assumed its normal complexion — not a particularly wholesome one, it is true, but >vith no resem- blance, such as it had so lately worn, to that of a man half-strangled \ it was curious, too, how, with returning life, his old manner of speech bid been resumed, which, but now, in view of the Beckciiing Hand, had been so apprehensively grave. " Yes, you've had your warning, and I've had mine, the same evening," he continued grimly; "but mine was a real notice to quit. What fools we are, even the sharpest of us 1 " he added in a low voice. " I beg your pardon, Mr. Tremenhere, J. did not catch [What you were saying." " Never mind, it was not worth catching, [do." And he looked towards his bedroom [communicated with the sitting-room. " I don't think you ought to be left, sir," other; ''it will be no inconvenience tome to sleep here on the sofa, so as to hear you if you called." The words were couched in dry, mechanical tones, little in accordance with the sympathy they suggested, and the speaker kept his eyes upon the floor as lie uttered them. Perhaps it was some sense of shortcoming in his manner, or even some expression in that downcast face, which the other was regarding very sharply, that caused Mr. Tremen- here to decline this offer, and without thanks. 'f No, no, I shall be better alone," he said with abrupt decision. " Good-night." " Very good." Mr. Roscoe lit his candle and left the room. His patron listened for a moment as though to make sure the other had gone away, then moved to the door, and softly locked and bolted it. "My nerves are thoroughly upset," he muttered to himself. " What could he hope to get by murdering me ? That woman was wrong, too, I'm pretty sure, about his having any designs on Grace ; still he might have had, and in that case, if I had died to-night — well, there shall be no more risks ; to-morrow it shall be done." There was a large bookcase in the room filled mostly with legal works, and on the top shelf an encyclopaedia in many volumes ; he took down volume I. and turned to a certain article. "This disease," it said, " is characterized by intense pain and sense of constriction ; the paroxysms begin with I ! I 38 ^ THE BURNT MILLION-, the breastbone and extend to the shoulder. The fits recui; and the patient diejir in one of them." " I thought so." He put the book back carefully in its place, and reseated himself in his chair. " I must not allow myself, it seems, to be put out by things as I was to-day. There will be no occasion to be put out when one has guarded against all possible consequences. And in the meantime nothing shall disturb me." Nevertheless, though there was no recurrence of his malady, Mr. Tremenhere was a good deal disturbed that night. His sleep was broken, and once, >ar. hour or two after he had retired to rest, he thought he heard the handle of his sitting-room door turned ; but that, no doubt, as he assured himself, 'was fancy. With the morning light he was almost himself again ; the impression of what he had suffered was still upon him, but greatly weakened j and though he was no less determined to put into effect the resolution he had formed the previous night, there seemed no such pressing occasion for it. That informa- tion in the encyclopaedia was doubtless correct enough, but it might not apply to him. Since doubt, however, had become a factor in his case, there were two things to be done instead of one. CHAPTER VI.' AN HONEST liAWYJIR. ]i \\ ;: The difference between the probability and the certainty of death, however slight in degree, is very marked as regards the feelings of him who is threatened with it. Even in a " forlorn hope " there is still a hope of life, and if thf r*^ were none at all, there would be a great falling off in the number of volunteers. There are more people in the world, indeed, who wish to die than is commonly supposed, but still they are not numerous, and Mr. Joseph Tremenhere was certainly not among them. He had none of the fears that agitated Hamlet as regards the future ; though his motto of " No risks " was not perhaps utterly lost sight of even in that matter ; but on the whole he was well content with this sublunary sphere, and he had a characteristic objection to exchange it for nothing — which was the alternative that he looked forward to. THE BURNT MILLION, 39 After breakfast, on the morning after his " shaking*' (as he now called it to himself), instead of sitting in his parlor as usual awaiting the bright-winged flies of pleasure, he left his assistant to entertain them, and took his way on foot to the house of a well-known physician. It was not his own doctor, though he had great confidence in that gentleman, and made use of him in a manner very unusual ; sent him a much larger crop of patients than generally arises from the seed of individual gratitude, and took an interest in their well-being, which, but for its close con- nection with finance, would have stamped him as a philanthropist. But though he had many secrets in common with him, he did not wish to make him the depository of his present apprehensions about himself. He [preferred to consult a stranger. This resolve had its inconveniences ; for he might have to wait his turn for admission, and waiting — where he was paying for it instead of being paid—did not at all suit with Mr. Tremenhere's humor. Who of us is so fortunate as not to be acquainted with that grim antechamber (the same all the world over) in which we await our summons to the (medical) hall of doom? When not used for its present purpose, it is at dining-room, but anything less suggestive of conviviality it is difficult to imagine. Will dainty dishes really in due course supply the place of those mouldy books and long- dead periodicals that lie on that funeral table ? Will these miserable fellow-creatures that surround us, dyspeptic, pale and silent, be succeeded by jovial guests? It seems impossible. Why do they look at each one as he enters with such serious disfavor, as if their chances of life were diminished by any addition to their numbers? It is because they believe that he has, like themselves, given a shilling to the butler to call him before his turn. In Josh's case they were wrong ; for he had bribed the man with half-a-crown. * "Mr. Tremenhere, by appointment'^ were the words that dropped with due solemnity from the lips of that discreet serving-man, the very next time he opened the door. It was even more improper in the patient than in the butler, but it should be charitably remembered that the Encyclopsedia had warned him to avoid all mental emotions, such as impatience, and " having to wait " was therefo'c bad for him. If those he had wronged could \\\ ■! 40 THE BURNT MILLION'. have seen Mr. Tremenhere's face when he emerged froml his interview with the doctor, they would have had theirl revenge. He had gone in with the expectation of hearing] bad news, but not with the certainty of it ; he came outl with the words of doom ringing in his ears. He had askedj for the truth, in his plain-spoken way, and the truth had! been told him. The doctor, knowing who he was, had taken an unusual interest in him; a wise doctor always does in such cases ; human nature is almost as much his I study as anatomy. This interest is quite independent of I sympathy, or even pity. " There is nothing so beautiful | as a beautiful skin — except the skin disease," said an enthusiastic surgeon; and virtue still is a less attractive] subject for moral diagnosis than its contrary. Sentence of death had been passed upon the great money- lender. To most people in such circumstances money! would have taken a very secondary place in their reflections, but in those of Joseph Tremenherc it assumed even greater proportions than usual. There was not a moment, as it seemed to him, to be lost in putting out of the reach of harm, of guarding from greed and waste and folly, that treasure, the amassing of which had been the darling object of his laborious days. If life must needs I be lost, that at least should be saved, and in its entirety. The question Cui bono^ for whose benefit it was to be saved, did not enter into his mind. The gold itself was the thing sacred to him, and required no temple to sanctify it. Curiously enough — though not so to those who are acquainted with the inconsistencies of human nature — I Mr. Tremenhere, despite the fancy value that he placed ! upon his riches, had not yet made his will. The folly of] such an omission had never struck him till last night, and that soliloquy of his, "What fools we are, even the sharp- est of us ! " had referred to it. But now he felt that he had not only been a fool but -a madman. Like one who has been living in a costly but wooden house, which constitutes his whole property, and suddenly remembers, " I am not insured," he stood amazed and alarmed at his own recklessness. The very idea of the risk he had run brought on another risk ; his heart began to beat in an abnormal fashion ; his terrified fancy pictured it as the premonitory symptom of that second "seizure" which the] doctor had warned him would probably be his last. Ten THE BURNT MILLION, 41 >usand pounds out of his huge hoard he would have ren gladly for the hours, not of respite from death, but freedom from distracting thoughts and fears, so that he feght accomplish the all-important task that lay before him Ith a clear brain. His ideas upon the matter — his testa- jntary intentions — had long been made up ; but all the iplex plan would go for nothing unless he could com- micate it to another. (He was in the street (how he got there he did not jiow), holding to a lamp-post, and looking to the passer- like a man who had been overtaken, not so much by as by liquor. It was fortunately a very quiet koughfare, chiefly inhabited by doctors, and he gradually le to himself without having attracted public attention, called a four-wheeled c;ab, and drove to a solicitor's ice at no great distance, and here again, as in the :tor's case, he did not choose his own solicitor. He Jew more than one gentleman of that profession, and was much more intimate terms with them than is usually case with lawyer and client, but he knew too much of ;m to wish them to know so much about him as it had :ome necessary to disclose. Mr. Allerton was a licitor with whom indeed he had had dealings, and of a ifidential nature, but they had not been amicable deal- He had acted for Lord Morella in connection with [S. rtain transactions which the money-lender had had with lordship's son and heir, and had expressed himself ^her strongly on Mr. Tremenhere's course of conduct, had even gone so far as to say, in a conversation to Uch there were no witnesses, " It is •my opinion, Mr. jmenhere, that you are acting like a rogue in this mat- Jut insinuations of that sort had never made the money- Oder's heart " go " ; he was too much accustomed to 5m ; moreover he had got the better of the lawyer in the lir in question, and could have afforded to put up with :n stronger vituperation at the same price. He had a Irge charity under such circumstances for hasty expres- ms, and not only bore no malice because of them, but ther respected him who uttered them for his candor and rspicacity. There is a foolish saw about rogues believ- all other men to be as roguish as themselves ; but he ist be a poor rogue indeed, and little likely to succeed THE BURNT MILLION: in his calling, who entertains ainy such belief. There is no one who understands the advantage of genuine honesty — and in his way appreciates it — better than your clever scoundrel. He may dislike the honest man exceedingly, but if he says he despises him, he is a liar. He has in truth a much higher opinion of him than of any one in the same line of business as himself. Mr. Allerton was what many people consider a rarity, an honest lawyer ; but he had characteristics of a still more unusual kind. It was cruelly said of one of his profession who pretended to have them, that, though a professing Christian, he was a practising attorney ; but Mr. Allerton was really a religious man. How it came about was of course a subject of great speculation. His detractors said that since Lord Morella, his chief client, was one of the great leaders of the evangelical party, it was only natural — ^meaning that it was to his obvious interest — that Mr. Allerton should be evangelical too ; but those who said so knew little about him, or were very shallow critics. With this side of that gentleman's character, however, Mr. Tre- menhere did not concern himself; he never meddled with matters he did not understand ; but he knew that Mr. Allerton was an honest and trustworthy man, and for that reason, and that reason only, he was about to entrust him with the knowledge — and he hoped the management — of his private affairs. On arriving at the lawyer's office, he was shown into the waiting room, which he was well pleased to see unoccupied — and sent in his card. The ck*k who took it came back with promptitude, ;Ad the intimation that Mr. Allerton was very particularly engaged. If Mr. Tremenhere had any communication to make, he added> Mr. Allerton would be very happy to receive it — in writing. Not the least disturbed by this rebuff, Mr. Tremenhere sat down and wrote, as requested, just half a dozen words. " My business is of the most pressing importance, and has nothing whatever to do with Lord C.'s affairs." This he sealed with wax before confiding it to the mes- senger. "Just give Mr. Allerton thaty' he said, with the air of a man who knows its contents will be attended to. Nor was his confidence misplaced. The clerk returned, though by THE BURNT MILLION, 45 . There is no line honesty — in your clever n exceedingly, r. He has in any one in the der a rarity, an of a still more his profession h a professing t Mr. AUerton I about was of detractors said wras one of the IS only natural rest — that Mr. )se who said so critics. With ever, Mr. Tre- meddled with cnew that Mr. n, and for that to entrust him anagement — of shown into the ;ee unoccupied k it came back r. Allertonwas nhere had any erton would be r. Tremenhere half a dozen nportance, and affairs." it to the mes- ith the air of a i to. Nor was led, though by no means immediately, with a civil request that Mr. Trc- menheire would " walk thispyay." He knew the way very well, for he had often trodden it on no very agreeable errands, and the last time had been the occasion on which that injurious remark had been applied to him which the exigencies of our story have com- pelled us (with much regret) to quote. Mr. AUerton was a short, thin, wiry man, not much above middle age, but with a gravity of countenance that made him appear older than he was. He looked even graver than usual as the money-lender was announced, rose from his chair without, however, moving foot or hand, and looking keenly at his visitor through his spectacles, inquired in a tone that was far from conciliatory, " To what am I indebted, Mr. Tremenhere, for this entirely unexpected visit?" " I want your professional assistance on a matter of great moment, but not a disputed one, and solely in con- nection with my own affairs." "Then I think you had better go elsewhere, sir; to speak frankly, I have no desire to be connected with them, or with you, in any way. I have no interest in your affairs, Mr. Tremenhere." " I venture to think that you will alter that opinion if you will have the patience to listen to me for five minutes," was the money-lender's quiet rejoinder. " I am very unwell ; will you permit me to take a chair ? " The lawyer frowned, but nodded ; his face had not one touch of sympathy ; he seemed to be saying to himself, like the diplomatist who heard that bis astute rival was dying, " I wonder what he does that for." " I am quite aware, Mr, AUerton, of the opinion you entertain of me ; and have neither the time, nor, to say truth, the desire to attempt to controvert it. I know that I have no claim upon your attention whatever, save one, our common humanity." *' Those are strange words to come from your lips, Mr. Tremenhere," said the lawyer coldly, but looking at his visitor with some curiosity too. He was obliged to acknowledge to himself that the man looked ill, and the sense of having wronged him so far had its effect on him. *' I have just come from a doctor's consulting room, who is not given to false predictions, and he has told me that ^ 44 THE BURNT MILLION. . my life hangs on a thread. Let the extreme urgency of my case excuse, at least, my intnl|ion." "But why come to me, Mr, Tremenhere ? You have friends of your own, as I have reason to know, learned in the law." " Rogues all," interrupted the money-lender curtly ; " rogues all. I come to you because you are an honest man." A dry smile parted the lawyer's lips. " You think that a strange reason to actuate pie, Mr. Allerton. You may think anything you like, if you will only act for me. I want you to make my will." The lawyer shook his head. "I have no hesitation in saying that I posiuvely decline that honor." "Do you cfu o oblige a dying man by performing an ordinary duty oi your profession? This is not what I expected o*" otjc whose name is synonymous with good feeling as veil, he .^^.y. In any other case I should have appealed at first to an instinct which in yours, as I am well convinced, has less influence, namely self-interest. I propose to give you a thousand pounds for this great service." " A thousand pounds ! " Mr. Allerton was human, and in whose bosom beats the heart where the notion of earn- ing a thousand pounds in an hour or two does not touch some sympathetic chord ? He was moved for a moment ; then suddenly recovering himself, he exclaimed with some heat, " You must be insulting me, sir ; your intention must be to bribe me to do something dishonorable." " A very natural supposition, I admit," said the money- lender blandly. " But your suspicion is quite without foundation, as you will soon be convinced. I ought to have added that the sum in question is contingent upon your accepting the executorship." " The executorshii) ! Do you suppose I am going to draw up a will out of which I am myself to receive a thou- sand pounds ? " " Why not? It is no ordinary will, I promise you. If it were five hundred there would be nothing strange or uncommon, if it were in due proportion to the bulk of the whole bequest, and in this case that is a million of money." Even in the perilous state in which the money-lender stood — with the grave, as he felt, gaping for him, and all THE BURNT MILLION. 45 le things of this world, which had had so magnetic an Attraction for him, slipping ^from his grasp — he uttered lose last words with a certain proud complacency. Nor rere they without their effect upon the lawyer himself. [e was used to deal with large sums, but he knew how feldom a fortune of this size was placed at the sole dispo- il of a single individual. There was wonder — perhaps [ven a gleam of admiration — in his keen grey eyes ; he ras dazzled in spite of himself. ** Of course," continued the money-lender, " a man in )ur position, who is so good as to undertake this trust, rill not be treated as a layman. There may be — there lust be — many obligations connected with it, the dis- large of each of which will, of course, receive its proper kmuneration. If I were speaking to some lawyers whom )u and I know, I should say, * There will be pretty pick- igs ; ' but I am well aware that such considerations will lave little weight with you. What I would rather dwell ipon is the opportunities such a position will afford you of ^ministering a vast estate to good advantage — the advan- ige that is," he added hastily, " of helpless and innocent ^oung people — for I have three daughters, Mr. AUerton, rho are not so well acquainted with finance as their father, tnd will doubtless stand' in need of your advice and assist- iince. )i The latter part of this statement would have been the Reverse of attractive to most persons, but Mr. Tremenhere mew his man. Mr. AUerton was not averse to play the )art of mentor to his clients ; nor can we doubt that the mowledge, that in this case he would be handsomely paid [or it, had its weight. Moreover, which was a great point rith him, he would be robbing no one. If the money was khe orphan's, it was not the sort of orphan that we are in pe habit of associating with the widow ; his little charges rould be mere flea-bites to her. He felt much as the lonest divine feels who is translated to another benefice, Ithat it would be " a wider sphere of usefulness," and also pnvolve an increase of stipend. The lawyer looked at Mr. Tremenhere as certainly he lad never thought to look — with something of personal [interest as well as curiosity — as he replied : " Well, well, we'll see about it. I'll think it over." THE BURNT MILLION. CHAPTER VII. THE WILL. When a man says on any previously debated question (provided it is not an appeal to his purse-strings) that he will " think it over," his antagonist may generally congratu- late hi'.rispif on having gained his point ; and under ordinary circumstances Mr. Tremenhere would have felt satisfied with the success he had so far achieved in a not very pro- mising case. But there was that within him that " voted urgency " in this matter, and made procrastination almost one with failure. " You are forgetting, Mr. Allerton, what I told you about the state of my health ; whatever is to be done, it above all things behoves me to do it quickly." . ' There was that in the money-lender's words that reminded the lawyer of the unjust steward, and for a moment he hesitated as to whether he should comply with his request or not ; that he was touching pitch there was no doubt .whatever ; but his hands were at least less likely to be defiled by it than those of any other man whom Mr. Tre- menhere would be likely to employ; and then there was the thousand pounds down, and the pickings, and the O]^portunities for good. **I suppose I must oblige you, Mr. Tremenhere," he said with a sigh, which blew away his last remnant of opposition, and the two men drew their chairs together. Like adversaries at whist, who cut and find themselves in partnership with one another, their old antagonism ceased at once, and they became lawyer and client. Though Mr. Tremenhere's fortune was so immense, it was not one of those properties which, like port wine, takes time to settle. Almost the whole of it, save his Cumber- land estate and his lease of Lebanon Lodge, was in what might be almost termed hard cash ; securities, a list of which he had taken the precaution to bring with him. His knowledge of business mitters was fiilly as great as THE BURNT MILLION. Iff that of his companion, and he knew exactly what he wanted an attribute rare indeed, and which facilitates the oper- ation of will-making above all others. Moreover, all that he desired at present was a synopsis of his intentions, duly witnessed, which, though valid in itself, might afterwards be expanded into a larger testament, should time and health be granted to him. This last circumstance, as it happened, was of great service to him in overcoming, here and there, certain objections on the lawyer's part, who would certainly have shown a more obstinate front hviX for the thought of the better opportunity that would presently be afforded him of arguing the matter. "I set this down under protest, Mr. TremenhCTCr/^ lie said more than once ; " I hope you will remember this..*' And at the words, " To my faithful clerk and assistant Ed- ward Roscoe I bequeath the sum of 5,000/." he could not restrain an ejaculation of astonishment. It was an unu- sual thing to do, of course ; the will-maker should be a machine in such cases ; but then he knew the gentleman— not personally but in his relations with his client— -so well. " Quite so ; I know what you are thinking, Mr. Aller- ton," said the money-lender, "as though you spoke it. He has feathered his nest pretty well for himself, no doubt, and out of my birds ; but this is a promise. He saved my life last night, when he might have let me die, and greatly to his own advantage. It cannot happen now, as I shall frankly tell him, in case the temptation should occur again and be too strong for him. But one must keep one's word. You will do me the justice to say, I think, that I have always done that much." Mr. Allerton inclined his head assentingly ; he could do so without scruple ; Josh's word had always been as good as his bond, which could only in a facetious sepse have been said of most of those he dealt with. His will had been strong, but his promise had been irrefragable, how- ever much to his disadvantage might have been its per* formance. There were items in Mr. Tremenhere's testamentary, instructions which went more against the grain with Mr. Allerton than that legacy to Mr. Roscoe ; and though he 1 looked upon the document as a temporary one, or rather as a Bill in Parliament which the Opposition permits to #■ THE BURNT MILLtOV. m 1 : II pass upon the understanding that it shall be altered in com- mittee, he did not hesitate to express his disapproval of it. "I call this will of yours a cruel will, Mr. Tremenhere," he said deliberately when all was done. " I am cruel only to be kind," answered the money-lender. " That is of course your view ; I do not accuse you of positive injustice, or I should not be acting for you ; but m my opinion you are flying in the face of nature. Those who are dearest to you will think so, and not thank you for it" /* Then that will be because they don't know what is "good for them," was the quiet rejoinder. " They know better than you do," replied the lawyer curtly ; " what seems to you the highest good, at all events," he added in ?, more conciliatory tone, " will not seem so to them. Money is not everything, Mr. Tremen- here, to everybody even in this world." " No doubt ; but if they prefer something else — call it by what name you will — there is nothing here to prevent them indulging their Inclinations. If they choose to be Quixotic they can be so, and yet not starve." " Yes, fortunately, for your intentions there are certain * gifts over,' independent of the conditions ; but even so, if this testament should be disputed, it is my duty to tell you that is by no means imassailable." " Do you mean to say that a man cannot leave his own money as he pleases ? " inquired Mr. Tremenhere scorn- fully. * " Certainly not, in all cases," returned the lawyer drily. " I dp not say, however, that all I have set down here is not perfectly legal ; but the Court is always prone, and rightly prone, to look with a jealous eye, unless there are the strongest reasons for it, on any restraint." " And is religious scruple not a reason ? " put in the money-lender, with virtuous indignation. Mr. AUerton passed his hand over his lips to hide a smile. " That also has been a point to be decided by the judge, ever since Lord Hardwicke's time. However, as I have told you, the conditions are perfectly legal. But I say again, Mr. Tremenhere, that it is a cruel will." "I am sorry that you entertain that opinion, but I think a father s|iotild be the best judge of the interests of his THE BURNT MILLION. 49 rtain n so, tell own children. Outside that, if you have any objection to otier, I am ready to hear it." " Then permit me to say that I think this conditional reversion of your property towards the discharge of the National Debt is very little to your credit. It surprises me more than your other provisions, though it shocks me less. 1 should have thought a man like >ou would be above such egotism." " Very good," said the money-lender, indifferently, " let us strike that out." This ready compliance with his suggestion amazed the lawyer and gave him hopes. It was plain that the expression of his views had no little influence with his strange client ; and it surely behoved him to do his best to guide him aright. " Mr. Tremenhere," he said, in a tone very different from that he had hitherto used, " you have just now asked me to bear witness to your fidelity to your word ; may I ask you, in return, to believe that I am no hypocrite ? " " I am quite sure that you are not," answered the other, simply ; " if I had thought so, I should not be here." " Then let me adjure you to think again before you leave this legacy of wrong behind you. Do one good act, at all events, upon which, when you come to lie on your death- bed, you may look with satisfaction." "I shall have no death-bed," was the dry rejoinder. ,'*I shall die suddenly, Mr. AUerton; very likely in the street." • ■ * " Then between this and then, let there be somethin^j on which your mind can rest with comforjt. I cannot see mto your mind, but I am much mistaken if there is not some- thing that troubles it. You are not so satisfied with what you have just done here " — he laid his finger on the will — " as you would have me believe." '," I am perfectly satisfied with it." " I am sorry to hear it; it is not my business to speak of such things, but is there nothing you repent of, and for which even now some reparation can be made ? " The speaker was like one who shoots at a venture, but where he knows there is plenty of game. , " Yes 1 " interrupted the money-lender sharply ; " there is no need to go into the matter, but there is. I am obliged to you for reminding me of it Instead of my i;^ro- i 1 I' 1 A * i. I I \ :sa*siiSHSi««UMw\v ■ so THE BURNT MILLION. H U perty, in the contingencies referred to, reverting to the State, let it in the first instance revert to Robert Vernon — Heaven knows where he is now, but you may say some time of Cockermouth." "A relation?" Yes ; the only one I have in the world — my cousin." There is some sense in that, at all events," observed the lawyer, as he made the alteration in favor of Robert Vernon or the heirs of his body. He had seen too much of the " pious founder" to have any respect for him, and he had almost as much objection to the posthumous bene- factors of the State. Then he copied out the will with his own hand, and two of his clerks came in and witnessed it. " You have laid me under a great obligation," said the money-lender, when all was done. ii "You will best discharge it, Mr. Tremenhere," f etuRfied the other gravely, " by taking a juster view of your respon- sibilities when we are treating this affair at large." Mr. Tremenhere smiled and held out his hand, which, this time, was not refused. As " a fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," so a com- mon interest unites those who would be otherwise as far asunder as the poles. " If you will call in some day and made the acquaintance of my girls, Mr. Allerton, I should take it as a great kind- ness. It will mal^ things easier for th6m afterwards. You know Lebancm Lodge ? " "Very well," replied the lawyer; but whether the answer referred to the invitation, or only to his knowledge of the locality, was doubtful. Mr. Allerton knew Lebanon Lodge well enough, but hitherto it had certainly not been one of the places on his visiting list. What would Lord Morella say, he wondered, with his dry smile, if he came to know that Josh Tremen- here had become a client of his ? The money-lender left Mr. Allerton's office in a more tranquil frame of mind than that with which he had entered it. Even physically his visit to the lawyer had benefited him as much as that to the physician had depressed him. He felt that so far as the future was concerned-^fbr Mr. Tremenhere's horizon was a very limited one — he could now snap his fingers at Fate. His I THE BURNT MILLION. s« reflections were no longer personal, as they had been a few hours ago ; his mind was free to concern itself with others. He was just as likely to die as before, of course, but the matter was not so pressing, or important, and he could speculate upon it apart from himself. What would become, he wondered, with a grim smile, of that wild team of thoroughbreds he had so well in hand, but of the management of which none but he possessed the secret? How they would rear and bolt, and kick over the traces, and upset the coach, when he should be no longer on the box-seat ! Roscoe thought a good deal of himself as a whip, no doubt, but he would probably make a precious mess of it. Mr. Tremenhere felt the same satisfaction in contemplating the overturn as did the diplomatist who observed " After me the Deluge." Roscoe would step into his shoes, no doubt, and try to wear them, unless indeed he contemplated that shorter way to wealti) of which he had so lately accused him. Whether hi did so or not was not of much consequence now ; but either way there would be disappointments for Roscoe. Five thou- -and pounds is a large bequest to one who is no relation to the testator, but he was well aware that it would not satisfy the legatee in this case. He would look for more than half per cent, of what his employer left behind him : for he had good reason to expect to be left executor. It is not always a judicious act, however, to make a poacher one's gamekeeper. How he wotild st^re to find Alierton's name, of all names, in that little document that had just been executed, instead of his own. And, above all, how the document itself would make him stare ! *' You are not so satisfied with it as you would have me believe," the lawyer had said ; but he was perfectly satis* fied with it. "A juster view of your responsibilities," forsooth ; that was the only bit of cant which the other had indulged in ; that and his absurd remark that the girls knew what was good for them better that he did. Why AUerton didn't even know the girls. Would he call, he wondered, and see Grace? She would be certain to interest him, and it would be well indeed for his little Fairy to do so ; to have someone, outside Lebanon Lodge and all belonging to it, to whom to apply for counsel. He was walking through the park beside the Row, but at the upper end of it, where there were few peQple, and. sat down on an empty bench to rest, \ little. ^1 » THE BURNT MILLION. His little Fairy ! She was the only being, as he believed, in all the world that would regret him ; and even so would Ijte regretting some one else that was not himself at all. It would be better for her that he should go before her eyes were opened. If his chances of life had been good, things might have been very different. As he thoughtfully puffed at his cigar and watched the smoke, a picture rose before him of what might have been. He saw himself *f retired from business;" greatly looked up to by the world at large on account of the money he had made, but with no desire — ^and this was the strangest part of his dream — to increase his store. He had no friends, for he had never made any, nor sought to make them ; but there was one house which was always open to him, and where he was welcomed by its mistress with open arms. It was one of those " stately homes of England," at whose size and splendor foreigners stand amazed j a place he had seen pictured .nany times. Its master was a young fellow he had always liked, but there had been faults and flaws in him of old which no longer existed. He was a peer of the realm, but also a good husband. There were little chil- dren in- the house, one of them the image of his little Fairy as she had looked some twelve years a^go or so, and they called him " Grandpapa." It was rather a snobbish and pinchbeck dream, perhaps, but such as it was it soothed and pleased him wonderfully. He felt quite annoyied when a couple of riders, passing at ftiU speed, aroused him from it. " How are you, Josh ? " one called out as they swept by, and afterwards the breeze brought to his ear from both of them — or so it seemed to him — a sound of mocking laughter. The horsemen were Lord Cherib and General St. Gatien. There was nothing of novelty in i. o incident ; certainly nothing that under ordinary circumstances would have ruf- fled the money-lender ; but, just now, it did ruffle him. " I have been an old fool," he murmured \ " but only for five minutes. It shall never happen again. St. Gatien yonder was once good enough to tell me that he had heard Josh Tremenhere called all sorts of names, but that he had never heard anybody call him a fool. And I'll take good oaxt. that it never shall j^e ^o." TUE BURNT MILLION, 13 -m^ CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRE. The niceties of religious scruple are among the most curious things in human rature, and not the less so to those who entertain them — though in a different form from those which excite their wonder — themselves. I have seen an excellent young woman, devoted to suet pudding and treacle, take the pudding without the treacle because the day was a Friday. I have known a man, who wouldn't touch a card on Sunday for the wealth of the Indies, pky at bagctelle without a prick of conscience. It is in the matter of amusement, indeed, in which these refinements of propriety are most observable. In what is called " the religious world," for example, to take a walk upon a Sunday (except in some part of Scotland) is permissible, but to mount a tricycle is sacrilegious \ to attend dramatic repre- sentations is held to be impious, but to listen to Shakes- peare Readings is an innocent recreation. The opera is a synonym for the infernal regions, but the concert room is a place which the best of men can patronize without risk of their eternal welfare. That a person of good sense and intelligence like Mr. Allerton should strain at these gnats, and yet be a solici- tor in large practice, may seen strange ; but he did other things quite as unwarrantable in the eyes of reason, which the world at large was not at all surprised at. He was a bachelor, and had no one to work for but himself ; he was not greedy for gain, and yet he passed eight hours a day in a dingy office, adding to a fortune that was already far too largvi for his simple needs. For my part, such con- duct seems the act of an idiot ; but other people may think me an idiot for indulging in my little eccentricities, which travel in another cfirection. We all possess glass houses of some kind or another — though yours and mine, reader, are mere cucumber frames — and should not throw stones. ^ 54 THE BURNT MILLION, Mr. Alierton was very fond of music, though he would not have listened to an orchestra in a theatre to oblige Lord Morella himself (and, indeed, it was very unlikely that his lordship would have asked that favor of him ) j he thought it no harm, a few nights after his interview with Mr. Tremenhere, to find himself sitting in a stall at the new Harmony Hall in South Kensington. It was an edifice the old lawyer knew something about, for he had been the solicitor to the company who had built it, but it was not on that account that it now enjoyed his patronage ; he would have gone anywhere else, and at no small inconvenience to himself, to hear such singing as its programme promised him to-night. He had come early, though not so much from fearing to miss any of it as from habit — you could be five minutes too late for everything in the world worth having, he used to say, but you could not be five minutes too soon — and he amused himself by watching the house fill. He was a little deaf, and had con- sequently taken a stall close to the stage, and he stood up with his back to it, opera glass in' hand, and looked about him. There were a good many people he knew, and they him ; for the most part, quiet, unfashionable folks, very different from the sparkling throng that chat and smile with one another at the playhouse j he thought little of them at the time, but circumstances afterwards arose which caused him to remember them all very particularly. In his vicinity, however, there were only strangers. Presently a party of three entered the house, one of whom at once arrested his attention. She was a young girl of great beauty, but what attracted him in her was the animation and pleasure that lit up her face. Scenes of public amuse- ment, it was plain, were unfamiliar to her ; and she was looking forward to her coming treat with childish expec- tation. Innocence has an attraction, it is said, for lawyers, but for this one it had a peculiar and quite unprofessional charm ; like the spectacle of a fair landscape at early dawn, it seemed to do Mr. Alierton good. He was so rapt in contemplation of the girl that only the sense that she was growihg much too large reminded him that he might be bestowing an unacceptable attention on her. She was coming very near him, and he shut up his glasses rather hastily and took his seat, and consulted his pro- gramme. When he looked up from it he perceived, not without satisfaction, that she was sittins; next to him. THE BURNT MILLION, 55 " What a wicked old man ! " some people woiild have said, had he confessed as miichj "some people" are unable to appreciate the finer pleasures ; what he looked forward to was a reflected happiness, the delight he knew would be aroused in that charming and innocent face at what she had come to hear. Beside her, of course, were sitting her two companions, one of them a tall, well built man, of powerful frame, and with a face that most persons would have pronounced handsome; when he smiled, it was certainly so, but when he was not smiling, it struck the lawyer that it had a sinister expression. He was dark, like the young lady, but had no other resemblance to her 5 he could hardly be her father, yet his manner to her seemed parental, affectionate, and almost playful in its protective kindness ; with the other, a commonplace young woman, tolerably good-looking, and with very bright eyes, he was familiar, but less demonstratively so. Mr. Allerton concluded, though there was a considerable difference in their ages, that the party were brother and sisters. The performance was musical as well as vocal,i and when the notes of the organ, " like a god in pairt," began to fill the hushed air, "it was pretty" (as Mr. Pepys with much inappropriateness would have said) to watch the changes that swept over the girl's speaking face. At times, even, thought Mr. Allerton, in his " serious," commonplace way, she seemed to be communing with the blessed angels themselves ; at others, the dew stood in her eyes and an intense melancholy seemed to hold possession of her, caused, perhaps, by some exaggerated sense of her own unworthiness. When the first singer came to the front she was less moved, but not less pleasant to look upon, for she was more herself. The song was a very difficult one, and tried the vocal powers to the utmost ; she seemed to follow every note and sympathize with every obstacle surmounted, and her small hands met together at the close with eager appreciation. But with the enthusiasm it evoked in some quarters it was plain she had no sympathy ; it touched the sense for her, but not the soul. Then came a simple ballad, such as when trilled by a cracked voice in the streets will reach the heart, but when sung, as now, by one formed by art and nature to do justice to it, makes the •* whole world of listeners kin. In the midst of it, whilst th6 '^■ n I t i ;■ i 56 THE BURNT MILLION. girl was weeping with bowed down head, Mr. Allerton and her companion shot a glance at one another over it, full of dread significance. TTiere was smoke proceeding from one side of the stage, followed by a solitary tongue of flame. " Fire ! Fire ! " screamed someone from the gallery, and the whole house rose at once as at the National Anthem, only a great deal quicker. " Fire ! Fire ! " was echoed in a dozen places, and all that decorous, respectable assemblage was transformed in another instant to a Pandemonium. It is easy to say ** What cowards ! " as we read of such things in our own chairs at home, with the serene conviction that if such an event had happened to ourselves, we should have been as cool as cucumbers ; but the fact is there is a thing called "panic" against which ordinary courage — the courage of the soldier — struggles in vain ; even the Die Hards, we read, were once victims to it. Nevertheless there were a few exceptions to the general stampede that at once took place from every part of the concert room. Mr. Allerton's first thought was for the girl beside him. He heard her companion exclaim, ** Keep your seats, both of you ! " by which he knew that he was well fitted to be a protector to one of them ; but it was also plain that in that raging rout no one man, how- ever strong and resolute, could save two helpless women. The same thought, he saw, was passing through the other's mind. Even in that awful moment the passions depicted on that swarthy face did not escape his observation ; its vehement resentment of the Fate that seemed about to overtake them, and then the terrible struggle as to which of his two charges should be his care could be read distnictly in it ; and finally — though the whole thing did not take a moment — the man's eyes fixed themselves on the elder woman. " I will take care of the young lady," said the lawyer, in quiet but unhesitating tones. " Thank you, Mr. Allerton," returned the other, a flush of gratitude lighting up his dark features ; " there is not a moment to lose." If there had been, the fact of being addressed by his own name would certainly have struck the lawyer ; but at the time he was unconscious of aught but the peril to l^hich the other referred. The flame was already licking * (. ^..:,- TH£ BURNT MiLZlOJSr. the side scenes anw *^. ^ ' ^^ the advice of " ir ^ *^^ ^^^t wras become her han?s "'' .Y i" °° ' ''°'<«=C7cene q^ t''^ as he had i„Zc.I^e^7o'V"^^" '''-"d^net^c'S^ •errorlhl If °" ^"^^t- d h^^j .''^^ereas her sisteThaJ over the t'^Y,^°'»Pan'on had had to carr, f!"'^"^^ ''"'' upon the n*>»-c« I. ' ^^^^ "ot withnnf i/^ ."^'"^te from a as'har^hne^st sa^* ff^^'-^"' --teed wC' f-'^l" " and you may be suri ',T ""^ *". ay dear " ), : "^Tri". ^'''" hap;,e„^,S i';i,i'^^,' she Jooked un mi-. "ot ineffable erafi, 5 ^' P'"''"' eyes with =- * pose in thC and' ''^^'"S ""e Onerous anJ'^P'"^''""' "^ seemed to ZTIT,"""'"^ he? sim^ t^stTl.'"' P"' tl>ey had k„o„„ ^S «„l^«>gers office mSu«^™-J' ^^ had .rapped the whole 'o^- ^y 'his '^,t' ^^age, and sparks from 58 THE BURNT MILLION, they knew jftot whetice were flying in all directions. They all moved hastily towards the door, now blocked by only a , few stragglers, and presently emerged with them into a low and narrow passage. Except that the fire was for the moment hidden from view, their position seemed now even more hopeless and inextricable. A compact mass of human beings, their features distorted with rage and fear, their garments torn and dishevelled, and trampling one another under foot with the most shocking indifference, filled the entire space between them and the entrance hall. " There are no stairs," Mr. Allerton heard his male com- panion mutter, as if to himself; then aloud, " Philippa, put your arms round my waist, and if you loose your hold, remember, you lose your life." As he spoke the words, he threw himself on the strug- gling throng, and by sheer strength like a wedge beaten by the hammer, forced his way slowly through it, dragging his companion after him. " I have not the strength for that," murmured Mr. Allerton, " even if I had the will." The girl at his side heard him ; the look of fear in her pale face had changed to one of horror. " I would rather die," she said, " than do it." To die to some persons is easy, but to perish by devour- . ing flame is appalling to the best and bravest of us. The , air in the unventilated passage was by this time almost suffocating, and above the crackle and the roar of the fire rose the eddying smoke and found its way to them. The mass of pebple in front was moving onward, but almost as imperceptibly as the march of a glacier ; it seemed impos- sible that the last of them — and they two were the very last-r-could reach the outer air alive. Suddenly a thought struck Mr. Allerton ; there rose up before his inward eye a plan of the hall, as he had seen it before it was built. From one of the two passages open- •ing from the stalls, there was a stone staircase, he remem- bered, leading under the stage, and at the side of it a door opening into an unfrequented court ; his impression was that it was the passage in which they were, but he was not sure. We cry for faith in the fathomless Future, but what would he not have given — about this matter of the Present i 9eemin|;ly so small— for certainty ! Should he try that way "^"E BURNT MnU02^ ye? tfe"o^t^-;;''«J -^"H b„.h .itKout doubt be ^Z once the lawyer feh a rSpon JSn> ^^^"'^ "^ ^ope For h'S own shoulders. U^iT^f \ "l*' ""^ too great for >n despair throws h,t ,? "^'"■*''° has lost his Jav'i decided to wVe „a ,er%"Pr >"■' horse' Si Se there was no instinct! Sed n i ' "^^^Pan'on's choice • perhaps He, who giv^ Sc" 'rf T 1° 8'"de her?but' to His creatures, might in w! *" """er good thinJs S;r a right judgienrVn aw hIT ^'^^ 'his innS put the matter before her ''^"^ "'"''''■^ he therefore .hat in thaTcrele'"4'u1d'!;:'?l "<'''«<'' hut the .bought too much for him, and he coStt "/„■'{ "[' •""" '««"^« If you are wrone " cK. ?' ""'^h the sentence your best for me "~S'^ ^ P"' '"' "you will hav^ h' tlon of the noSmrof ,?' "u' '«'«'hness buTher aonr^""^ to say "for us "-"a° d'LtTha;°"tl 'hat forSK for m any stranger a .1 "^" ^0"^d have been \Z.\! l any wa/but "'rway^CdX''°'"i" ">»' maS ^j':^ *e surging crowd above which?°'!"'^ '"* a shoulder ?o could be discovered a^ some S' V*"' '^'""Panion's form scruple but not without success fo^r >""»8 '""'ho™ " So be It then," said Mr A if. '. ** ''ear life, my ch d." And h/i^ Ti ^"erton so emnlv • « ti,;. child indeed, iltumfe^^^^ hand "' 'hou^h' shlweT^^' tares, they did not fe™ "f inhev'S* ""^ "'^'^ feUow^r^^* Kth" '■' '^i^^J' *emselvefwe% WHH-*'""''"? 'hemTh« K the crowd ,n fact had turned ?n^''^#°°<'-hye to life, left, not one m ten would prZblv h?^ ?^'" '"''"d of the afterabout ten feet it term.wT^''* ''^en then alive but down which even thoseZ^n ?h'" "'^""P^'^ne s Jr^se feel rather than see their wa^ *il^,Kathering smoke h^,'o' the seat of the fire thanTh^l /hey "ere much nearer t„ roaring of the flames on « ^ H heen before anrf^i, that alone intervened betted t"al'^^°' *'= '^"^^U'l! The heat too, was growing aL'f'' "'*''" '"as terrific the gashghts then gone outf wh.Vh h '"'"PP^table. Had • f f'erwards no human power co.M ''J'PP«»ed a few minutes the end of the staircase, however 1/'' 'V/^ them A ctchfdtfan'te'V^ -^^^^^^^^ 6o THE BURNT MILLION. ** Is it locked or unlocked ? " There were some tools lying on the floor — a chisei and hammer among them — which, however, there would have been no time to use ; perhaps some one had already used them to force the door, or rather it was more likely they had been flung down by the stage workmen who knew this way of egress and had escaped by it. Mr. Allerton turned the handle, and the door yielded to his touch. They were saved. CHAPTER IX. , RE-UNITED. There was a wind that night which carried the smoke and flame from the burning hall to the opposite side of it, and left the court into which Mr. Allerton and his young com- panion now found themselves canopied by the flying clouds and the quiet stars. As they looked up to them both the old man and the girl said something, though not to one another, and then the girl poured out a few broken words of passionate thanks to her human preserver. " Tut, tut, my dear," he answered gently, " if it had not been for your wise choice and y-our most admirable behavior, we should not " " Philippa ! let us find dear Philippa and Mr. RoScoe," she interrupted excitedly. "To be sure," he said, putting her ann in his, and hurrying on. He was not very much alarmed on their account as he remembered his last glimpse of them. If any man could make his way to the front, it was, he felt from what he had heard as well as seen of him, it was that man, but the name of course was a revelation to him. "Mr. Roscoe is your brother, I suppose," he said, con- scious of a certain involuntary lessening of interest in his * young charge, of which he was nevertheless ashamed. "No, no; he is no relation; but he lives at home with us. He is papa's secretary." "What, is your father Mr. Tremenhere ? " " Yes, I am his daughter Grace. Is it possible that you know him ? How grateful he will be to you ! Oh, if Philippa could only be safe ! What a dreadful crowd I What a frightful scene 1 " ^»E BURNT MriLIOK »» »afn;;,r.r£c, "--Cars-; would ittt7»''i' "°'"'' ttn Si r''''"^''<="-* It *as dear to h'/''""'^'' ^ ""^ """='*' ^^y"]^^^^lTt^^^ 'he lawyer H. .. THE BUR^T MILLION, " Well, I am sure you are a good fairy," he answered as lightly as he could. In spite of the presence of mind his companion had shown, far beyond her years, he per- ceived from her distracted air and the broken tones of her voice that she was deeply agitated, and that but for her sense of obligation she would probably not have replied to him at all. As they walked on together homeward, she kept glanc- ing back at the Are, and shook and shuddered at the appall- ing noise it made. It was with difficulty that they made their way through the crowds that were hurrying to the spectacle. A commissioner of police came galloping down the road, and stopped a mounted patrol coming at full speed from the other direction. " The people are all out, sir," they heard the latter say, in reply to some hurried question. " There have been no lives lost." " You hear that^ my dear," said the lawyer, comfortingly ; and the answering pressure of her hand upon his arm was very welcome to him. The idea he was glad to think had not occurred to him, that since there were at least two persons not accounted for whom the patrol knew nothing about, his statement could not be very trustworthy. They walked on in silence, the girl, though somewhat consoled, still full of fears for her sister, the lawyer reflect- ing on the strange chance, which, despite his resolution to the contrary, was taking him to Lebanon Lodge. If the money-lender could have looked into his mind, he would have been well assured that the man he had made his executor and trustee would take an interest in one at least 6f his three charges, and would have been duly grateful for it. Strange to say, however, this good will was not reci- procated; for just in proportion to the admiration Mr. Allertoff felt for the brave girl beside him, Mr. Allerton despised his client. How a man could possess such a daughter, and even as it would seem to some extent appre- ciate her, and yet set such a fancy value upon his money, was amazing to him. He had many clients who thought a great deal of their wealth, yet always in connection with its advantage to them or theirs ; but Joseph Tremenhere worshipped his wealth itself, as though it were the final good. There were lights in the drawing-room at Lebanon J THE BURNT MILLION, 43 J Lodge, but nowhere else ; nor was there any stir about the house, such as there doubtless would have been had their absence excited alarm. It was plain to them that Philippa and her companion had not arrived, and at Mr. AUerton's request Grace said nothing to the servant as to the reason of their delay. Mr. Tremenhere, he informed them, to the lawyer's great relief, had already retired to rest, but Miss Agnes was in the drawing-room. She was of course sur- prised to see her sister in company with a stranger ; but when she heard the cause of it, her agitation and alarm seemed almost to deprive her of her senses. ** The Hall on fire ; with Philippa and Edward there I and you left them ! " and she threw a look at her sister full of such anger and contempt that poor Grace quailed beneath it. " On the contrar}'., madam," said Mr. Allerton, fired at an accusation so unjust hurled at so innocent an object, " Mr. Roscoe left us. I feel very certain that he has taken good care of himself, and of Miss Philippa likewise." " You deserted them. He is lost ! " cried Agnes, turning upon the lawyer with angry vehemence ; then bursting into tears she threw herself into a chair and gave vent to a passion of tears. " At all events, he has not been lost for very long," ob- served Mr. Allerton drily ; he pointed to the window which looked into the little courtyard, where the missing couple could be seen emerging from a hansom. Agnes leapt to her feet with a little cry of joy ; then at once recovered her self-control. * "I am sorry to have spoken as I did, Mr. Allerton," she exclaimed,. " but I was almost out of my mind upon my sister's account." " Your apology is due, madam," he replied, coldly, " less to me than to your other sister." She ran up to Grace and embraced her at once ; the best thing she could have done to show her penitence, and one which considerably mollified the lawyer. " Let them make less noise below, if you please," he said ; " I happen to know that your father is far from well, and that all excitement has been forbidden to him." He spoke with earnestness and with a certain air of command, which in a stranger must have seemed to require explanation ; but Agnes did not question his authority \ I ■^ 64 THE BURNT MILLION, she was very willing to conciliate this man, whoever he was, before whom she was conscious she had committed a great imprudence ; she thought he was some doctor whom her father had consulted. Even, if what he said was true, however, it was just then comparatively of small matter to her ; her mind was full of more pressmg things. Grace, on the other hand, had run downstairs at once, as much to hush the noise in the hall as to welcome the new-comers. Philippa embraced her with passionate fervor. " Thank Hea\ en, thank Heaven ! " she sobbed, as she pressed her to her bosom. An unmistakable touch of remorse mingled with her joyful accents. " Imagine," she murmured, " our horror, when we strained our eyes in vain to see you come out of that hor> rible place." " I told her, however, my dear Grace, that you were in safe guidance," put in Mr. Roscoe, smtling. " If I had not been sure of that, we would never have left you." " It was all for the best," said Grace, as he wrung her hand. She knew that her tone was colder than she wished it to be. She was not displeased with him for leaving her, but for the manner of it as regarded others. She still seemed to see him shouldering those poor frightened crea- tures to left and right ; it had been to some degree a revelation to her of his true character. She could never think of him as being " nice," in any sense again. His quick intelligence perceived the ground he had lost with her, but not the cause. " I am afraid, GAce, you feel a grudge against me," he said plaintively. " Philippa will tell you that directly I had saved her I tried to go back again for you." " He did indeed, Grace," put in Philippa earnestly, " only the police would not permit it. How dreadful it was pushing through that shrieking crowd ; when they came out it was in great knots and bundles, not like human beings at all ; that was why we were unable to recognize you. My dress is torn to pieces, but yours — why you look as if nothing had happened to you 1" she added, with amaze- ment. " Mr. Allerton and I escaped by another way, quite alone." " There I I told you how good a guide she had got, Hiss Philippa," exclaiiued Mr. Roscoe, triumphantly. THE BURNT MILLION, u You might also have said how kind a one," said Grace, with tender enthusiasm. " I owe him more than words can say." '' I shall certainly write to-morrow to express my deep sense of obligation to him," observed Mr. Roscoc. " Mr. Allerton is at this moment in the house," she an- swered ; " he saw mc home, and naturally waited here for your arrival. Poor Agnes has been in a dreadful state about you both." " No doubt," said Mr. Roscoe, " but more particularly, of course, upon your sister's account. I think, Miss Phi- lippa, it would be very kind of you to go up to Miss Agnes ; she can hardly leave her guest alone." Philippa left the room at once — they had been talking in one that led out of the hall — and Grace was about to follow her, when Mr. Roscoe stopped her. " One moment, dear Miss Grace. Mr. Allerton, I sup- pose, knows who you all are ? " " Oh, yes ; I told him, and, as you are aware, he is an intimate friend of dear papa." " I think you are mistaken there. They have had busi- ness relations with one another, but that is all." " But it is not so ; he must be very intimate with him ; he told me what alarms and pains me very much, that there is something seriously amiss with papa's health, of which he has never spoken to us." " How strange ! " Mr. Roscoe's astonishment was per- fectly genuine. He knew, of course, of his employer's ail- ment, but that he should have confided it to Mr. Allerton, of all men in the world, was news indeed — and bad news. His mind leapt at once, if not to the right explanation of the matter, to a suspicion of it. He remembered that on ui^ day after his seizure Mr. Tremenhere had passed the whole morning away from home, on some business of which he id never spoken. Was it possible that he had made his will with the apprehension of what might happen to him any day strong upon him, and had gone to Mr. Aller- ton for that purpose? The chagrin that Mr. Roscoe's face exhibitef as the thought crossed him was beyond even his powers to conceal. Grace naturally took it for sym- pathetic sorrow. "Then you, too, were unaware," she said, "of anything very wrong vi ih dear papa ? A sudden shock, Mr. Allerton 6$ THE BURNT MILLION". said, might be serious to him. Good Heavens ! can it be possible that he has heart disease ? " " I have never heard a whisper of such a thing, Miss Grace ; but a person has only to be eminent in any walk of life to have all sorts of stories told about him, and Mr. Allerton is in the way of hearing such matters. Did he happen, by the way, when you were alone together, to speak of me." " Not a word. We were too much engaged, I fear, with selfish thoughts to talk of anybody." She said this with some embarrassment, arising from an unaccustomed sense of duplicity, for she well remembered what they had thought of Mr. Roscoe, though they had not spoken of him. " I am glad of that," he answered, smiling. " Mr. Aller- ton and I have been antagonists — not personally, of course, but in business matters — and that might have prejudiced him against me. Henceforward, I need hardly say, I can never regard him save with the most heartfelt gratitude. Oh, Grace — for I must call you Grace, if it be but for this once only — never shall I forget the horror of that moment when I was compelled to trust your precious life to another. It was no question of choice, believe me." " How could it have been ? " she put in simply. It was evident she had missed his meaning, which had referred to his taking Philippa instead of herself. The innocence of her tone convinced him of the stupendous error that he had been on the point of committing. " Your generous nature prompts you to say to yourself, * Necessity has no law,' " he continued, " but I can never forget that in that moment of danger and despair I turned my back upon you." " I don't see how you could have done otherwise, Mr. Roscoe," she replied calmly. She had almost said ** I don't see, so far, how you could have done otherwise." It was again not the remembrance of his desertion of her at all (which had seemed really a necessity), but that of his behavior to others, which made her tone so cold. But he had not the key of this, and he felt that his protestations had missed fire. " I think you should be wishing Mr. Allerton good-bye," he observed deferentially, with a little sigh. " True, it is getting late. Let us go very quietly upstairs, 80 as hot to risk waking dear papa." THE BURNT MILLION. «7 But when she reached the drawing-room she found, to her surprise, that Mr. Roscoe was not following her. She thought it strange, considering what had happened, that he should omit to make his personal acknowledgments to Mr. Allerton ; but perhaps his modesty suggested that they should more fitly come from her father. CHAPTER X. SPECULATIONS. Mr. Allerton, when Grace left him, as he thought, a little ungratefully, alone with her sister, was by no means pleased with his position. He was not favorably impressed with Miss Agnes and her late outbreak of temper, and, if he had followed his own inclination, would have then and there bade her adieu. To depart, howe^ er, in peace and solitude was impossible, since he would have had to run the gauntlet of the little party in the hall ; and, moreover, as he reflected — since he had accepted the trust Mr. Tre- menhere had pressed upon him — here was an opportunity of learning something of the character of one, at least, of .the three ladies who would probably at no distant date become his charge. He already knew that she had. not a very good temper ; but, on the other hand, he did not do her the injustice of supposing that it was a small thing that had put her out. The apprehension that her sister stood in danger of death by fire was enough to upset the equanimity of any woman, and to kindle her indignation against those whom she suspected of having failed in pro- viding for her safety. But, had she been actuated by this emotion, she would have shown a corresponding joy in welcoming Grace on her escape from her severe peril ; and this he'had noticed che had not done. She had been glad to see her safe and sound, of course ; but there had been no ecstasy of congratulaticn, such as he had looked for. She might, indeed, have cared more for the elder sister than her younger, but this idea the lawyer dismissed as impossible.. In his view there could be no comparison between those two young women. The conclusion he came to was that, since Miss Agnes had shown such an '\ \ I 68 THE BURNT MILLION; I ( unmistakable agitation at the thought of the peril ir which the missing couple stood, it must have been on account of Mr. Edward Roscoe. As a rule, he was not much given to the study of the human heart. It does not, as in the case of the physician, aflFect the lawyer in his professional practice, and Mr. Allerton was a lawyer to his finger tips. But to-night he was not himself. He had just passed through an experience which had moved his very soul ; he had been brought into intimate relations with a person quite out of his usual experience, but in whom he felt an interest, for tlie moment, absorbing, and all connected with her seemed to have a claim upon it. To be on good terms with her eldest sister would obviously be of advantage to him in his future role (as he pictured it) of Grace's friend and pro- tector ; and though he did not like Miss Agnes, he resolved to make an effort to produce a contrary impression on her as regarded himself. From what he knew of her father, and guessed of her bringing up, as well as from the glimpse he had caught of her masterful and passionate spirit, he concluded that compliments would be wasted upon her, or, at all events, compliments paid by him. He was naturally inclined to say something of the cour- age and good sense that had been exhibited by her sister in the late trying circumstances; but he rightly judged that reference to some one else, who was of greater conse- quence to her materially, if not more loved, would be more likely to prove attractive. " As we have these few moments together. Miss Tremenhere," he said, " I must excuse myself for having unwittingly betrayed a professional secret. You have been all hitherto, he tells me, unaware of the state of your father's health." The abstracted look — for she had been listening to the voices in the hall — vanished from her face at once, and was succeeded by one of eager interest. " You are his medical man, I presume? " ^ " No, madam, his confidential lawyer." It was a bold stroke, and a doubtful one ; but there was no time to consider matters in all their bearings ; directly he had spoken, however, he felt that he had done well. He had certainly lost no ground with her by telling her the truth so far ; she was all attention. m THE BURNT MILLION-. 69 ,te I the and " The imminence of the danger to which I knew your father would be exposed by any sudden shock," he con- tinued, " compelled me to speak out in a matter on which I should have been otherwise bound to silence. I trust that you will not take advantage of my confidence to reveal the fact to others." '* Grace heard it," observed Miss Agnes s ntentiously. " Yes ; but I think I have sufficient influence with her to induce her to keep silence about it." (She was discussing the matter at that very moment with Mr. Roscoe below stairs — the man of all others from whom the lawyer would have kept it.) Miss Agnes nodded, and looked unmistakably for more. " I have told her no details ; she is impulsive and im- pressionable, and such things would only alarm her ; but I believe I am now speaking to a young lady of practical good sense. I may say at once that your father has heart disease." " Poor papa," she said. If the invalid had been a lap dog, most women would have said " Poor Fido " with more feeling. It was a revelation, though not altogether an unexpected one, to the hearer. " Yes ; I had it from his own lips, and under circum- stances that leave no doubt of its correctness. I would urge upon you, therefore, to remove from him as much as possible all exciting causes, without, of course, letting him know that you are taking such precautions." " What circumstances ? " she inquir .' gravely. For the moment the lawyer knew not what she meant. It seemed incredible that she could have thus ignored the important advice he had been giving her ; nor indeed, had she done so ; the simple fact was that, lost in the thoughts his communication had awakened, she had not heard him. " That is a matter concerning your father's private affairs," he answered coldly. She nodded significantly and unabashed. If she had said, " I understand ; he was making his will," she could not have expressed herself more distinctly. " I have often heard of * a woman of business,' " thought the lawyer — and indeed he had often hesLtdfrom them (or .11 J ! I n i 1 ■t ■ -II 70 THE BURNT MILLION: rather from ladies who called themselves such), and at considerable length ; " but here for the first time do I see one in the flesh. What a partner she'd make for j^;//^ gen- tlemen in my profession ! " Here Philippa entered the room^ and the two sisters flew into one another's arms, but not, he noticed, as birds fly, or at least love birds. If Mr. Allerton had been a playgoer, it would have struck him that there was a good deal of " stage direction " about it. What seemed con- trary to expectation, the younger sister was far the most eff"usive. " Oh, Agnes ! what have I suffered since I saw you last ! Never, never, did I expect to see you again. But Mr. Allerton — oh, sir, how can we ever thank you for preserving our dear Grace ' -has doubtless told you all." " He has told me about Grace and himself," she answered coldly ; " but it appears you got separated from her." '* Yes, in that dreadful turmoil. Mr. Allerton will bear witness that it could not be helped. What a scene it was ; would that I could forget it ! " '-> " L>cJl, while it is fresh in your memory, tell me how you escaped? " If Miss Philippa had been alone with her sister she would doubtless have told her whateve:* she thought pro- per to tell ; but in Mr. Allerton's presence, who liad wit- nessed the whole transaction, it was not such an easy task. She was far from being ashamed of having taken the only means that had been offered her of getting out of the burning hall, but the details she had her reasons for being unwilling to communicate. She was really unable to recall what words her companion had said to her in that moment of horror when she had almost lost her wits, but she had an uneasy sense that it was unfortunate they had been overheard ; she did remember how she had clung to him in that crowded passage. She could hardly say, " Mr. Roscoe gave me his arm and helped me out," in the pre- sence of a person who had seen how the thing was done, and might even have already described it. " The whole affair, my dear Agnes," she said desper- ately, " is so painful and shocking to me that I must be excused from dwelling upon it, just at present." The cold blue eyes of Miss Agnes flashed incredulously ; THE BURNT MILLION. ?» lously ; her thin lips curled with the promise of something extremely unpleasant to come, when fortunately at that very mo- ment Grace entered. The look of both the sisters was at once concentrated on the door ; they had expected some one else, or some one besides ; and it was obviously a relief to both of them that he had not come. It was also a relief to Mr. Allerton, who had seen quite enough of Mr. Edward Roscoe, and had heard too much. " Now I see you all three united," said the lawyer, ris- ing from his chair, " I will take my leave. You must have a great deal to talk about, and it is getting late." Agnes offered him some refreshment but he declined it. " I will not forget," she whispered, with a grateful smile, as she took his hand. Philippa pressed his fingers, as much perhaps to bespeak his goodwill as to acknowledge his services, but said nothing. " If I should once begin to say what I owe you, Mr. Allerton, I should never have done," said Grace softly. " Dear papa will see you, of course, to-morrow ? " " I hope so ; not that I want his thanks ; but tell him I shall hope to see him," said the lawyer earnestly. " Good-bye, my dear." Mr. Allerton walked home that night, instead, as was his usual custom, of taking a cab. He was full of reflec- tions evoked by the events of the last few hours, and he gave them rein. The three sisters, and the very different behavior they had exhibited, interested him extremely. It was clear to him that their executor and trustee would have his work cut out for him. About Grace he had no apprehensions ; it would be his pleasure and privilege to do his best for her, and she would give him credit for good intentions ; but with Miss Agnes and Miss Philippa he foresaw there would be trouble. What was very curious, considering the position Mr. Roscoe evidently occupied in the house, his name had never been mentioned by either of them ; nor could this arise from want of regard for him, since in the case of Miss Agnes, at all events, a very par- ticular interest had been shown in his welfare. It was intelligible enough that Miss Philippa should have been disinclined to describe to her sister the manner of her escape, which, however necessitated by circumstances and satisfactory in its result, could scarcely be a subject for ^1 *i 1 1 "S I 7« THE BURNT MILLION, i pleasurable reminiscence ; but her avoidance of Mr. Roscoe's name was remarkable. Since there could have been no secret as to his having been her companion on the occasion in question, why should she have been so reticent about him ? Perhaps she suspected that her sister entertained an attachment for him, and disapproved of it ; perhaps she entertained one for him herself, and did not wish it to be suspected. If this was so, in either case, and Mr. Tremenhere had any inkling of it, the provisions of his will, the lawyer admitted to himself, were not so strange as he had thought them to be. Under such cir- cumstances, if that document came to be disputed, it struck him — and the idea evoked his grimmest smile — that the Court would be inclined to indorse the intentions of the testator. Nevertheless, it was a cruel will ; and now that he had come to know and like one of the three persons whose destinies were affected by it, it seemed to him more cruel than ever. As he had told Miss Grace, he did not want her father's thanks, but he was not without hopes that the service he had rendered to his favorite daughter might induce the money-lender to listen to those remonstrances on the matter he had intended to have made in any case, but which had now personal feeling to back them as well as a sense of right. That Mr. Roscoe had left Grace to his protection in the concert hall was a source of self-congratulation, but that he had apparently made his choice as to which of the two sisters he should save, and had chosen the other, gave him a still keener sense of satisfaction. It was clear, at least, that the man had no matrimonial designs upon Josh's little Fairy. Had it been otherwise, the lawyer almost felt that he would have defended Mr. Tremenhere's will at his own expense rather than have it permitted it to be " upset." But what would become of the little Fairy as it was ? This thought occupied Mr. Allerton's mind to an extent that would have astonished his clients, could they have been aware of it, exceedingly ; some of them would doubtless have even gone so far as to say, " Why, this old fool has actually fallen in love with a young girl 1 " They would have done him, however, a great injustice. He was not even actuated by that sentimental emotion, not at all uncommon with gentlemen of his years in rela- tion to young persons of the other sex, which is termed THE BURNT MILLION. 71 (somewhat too contemptuously perhaps) philandering. His feelings towards Grace were not only Platonic and paternal, but had their root in what was best in his nature, without the narrowness and conventionality that clung to his best. Her courage, her gentleness, and her simplicity had carried the old lawyer's heart, though not by storm ; her beauty of course had also been a powerful ally, but his thoughts about it were quite unselfish. Strangely enough, they were now vaguely traveling on the same road which those of Mr. Tremenhere had gone some hours ago, when busied with the future of his little Fairy. The lawyer wondered whether it was possible that a certain young fellow, of whom he knew a great deal, not much to his credit, but still had some hopes of, could be won from his wild ways by love and innocence ; and if so, what a chance there might be for him. It was probable that he had seen Grace, and if so, it was certain that she must have had attractions for him. There would be enormous obstacles, of course, but there would also be immense advantages in such a union. There were reasons why a man of Mr. Allerton's principles should not have dreamt of such a contingency ; as one indeed with a genuine respect and admiration for the young lady in question, it seemed almost incredible that he should do so ; and to do him justice, but for those hopes of amendment in the young fellow he had in his mind, and which he perhaps uncon- sciously exaggerated, he would have regarded such a scheme with scorn. But Mr. Allerton, as we have said, was a lawyer to his finger tips, and the idea of re-establishing a great estate, and refurbishing a noble name from which not a little of the guilt had been rubbed off, had an attraction for him, such as few laymen can understand. In the case sup- posed, however, which was (indirectly) that of a client of his own, it would be necessary to drive a coach and horses through the will of another client, which was of course utterly out of the question — a reflection that brought him round to the point from which his speculations had started, that he must persuade Mr. Joseph Tremenhere to alter his will. tI \- \ I ii<^: n THE BURNT MILLION, CHAPTER XI. AN UNEXPECTED CLIENT. One of the great charms of romance to my mind is its opportunism. The novelist's characters do not live actually longer than people in real life \ there are very few- centenarians in our love tales ; but they die just when they ought to do ; generally all in a lump (with the excep- tion of the hero and heroine and the very good people) at the end of the third volume. What is the good of describing an individual with great accuracy and considerable detail if he is to be cast off in an early chapter? This is one of the reasons why the realms of fiction are so much more pleasant to dwell in than the real world, where those whom the gods — and ourselves — love die young. Unhappily, our present story is very far from a romance, being about what ordinary folks call money, and the more excellent persons who despise it. Mammon. We are therefore obliged to take people in it as we find them, and occasionally to take them away. Charles the Second excused himself to his weep- ing Court because he was '' such an unconscionable time in dying," but the narrator ^f a story of real life seems to owe an apology to his readers for killing off his characters too soon. On the very morning after the events narrated in the previous chapter a letter arrived for Mr. Allerton by hand at his private address, for he had not yet left his house, to inform him that " Josh " was dead. The letter was writ- ten by Mr. Roscoe, and ran thus ; — i ;! ' " My dEAR Sir, — It is with the utmost sorrow that I have to inform you that your late client, Mr. Joseph Tremen- here, died suddenly last night, or rather this morning, within a few hours of your having quitted his house. Yours truly, " Edward Roscoe.** "Bearer waits." . THE BURNT MILLION. 75 The note was very brief, and^ on that account, in the lawyer's eyes, very significant. The news it brought shocked him more than — a week ago — he would have con- ceived it possible for it to have done. Of course he did not like the money-lender, and even now could almost have said he was better out of the world than in it. But he felt no incUnation to say anything of the kind. His last rela- tions with him had been friendly, and somehow, though he had most seriously differed from him even '"n that inter- view, he seemed to have gathered from it tha'. there was at least more good in the man than he had ever suspected. He had been a man of his word, and was so far trust- worthy ; he had shown himself open to reason, and not utterly deaf to conscience ; it was possible — the lawyer with unconscious charity even represented to himself that it was probable — that if he had lived he would have taken a larger and a better view of his responsibilities. It was too late for that now, of course ; too late, alas ! for every- thing ; but the reflection softened the lawyer's heart towards him, or rather towards his memory. At once, too, the same thought occurred to him (though it evoked in his case no smile of satire) which had occurred to the dead man when he last left the lawyer's door. What would become of that team of thoroughbreds which the money- lender had held so well in hand, now that death had dragged him from the box seat ? What would become of Lord Cheribert for one, now that he had lost that guiding hand which, if it had never kept him straight, had restrained him with bit and curb from leaping into the gulf of ruin ? Lord Morella, his father, indeed, was of opinion that " Josh " had put his head to it, and urged him thither with rein and whip, but Mr. Allerton knew better. There were many worse hands into which the young man might have fallen, and now probably would fall. For the present, however, the catastrophe that had hap- pened to Josh himself loomed most largely in the lawyer's mind. It is the privilege of death to oust for the moment all other considerations ; all other objects of interest are dwarfed in its tremendous presence ; and the old lawyer, even while speculating about the consequences of the event, was held in thrall by the event itself Mr. Tremenhere's death, however sudden, was not of course a thing to be wondered at, for he had foretold it with his own lips. .1 s ^ 1 /I 76 THE BURNT MILLION. " I shall have no death-bed," he had said, '• I shall die suddenly ; very likely in the street." Nor would it have been surprising if he had heard on the previous night of the fire in the concert hall, and been made anxious for the safety of his children, he should have fallen a victim to mental excilemcnt? But he had known nothing of this till all apprehension was over, and his family had been warned to break to him what had hap- pened with the utmost care. It was doubtless some men- tal shock that killed him ; but what shock ? He had died that morning it seemed, but very early, " within a few hours," wrote Mr. Roscoe, " of your quitting the house." That must have been about two or three o'clock. Was it possible that, in spite of the necessity for precaution of which they had been informed, any of his family could have awakened him and told their news ? Though brevity might have been looked for in Mr. Roscoe's note, it seemed to the lawyer brief without being concise. And then there was the phrase " your late client," which ap- peared wholly unnecessary. He had only had one trans- action with the money-lender in his life (though, indeed, it was a most important one) as regarded his private affairs, and he felt quite certain that Mr. Tremenhere had not spoken of it to his underling. It must, therefore, have been Miss Agnes that had done so ; a strange thing under the circumstances in itself, to be talking " during the small hours," when there was a so much more enthralling theme to discuss, about business affairs j but that Mr. Roscoe should have alluded to it was still more strange. Mr. Allerton's best explanation of it was that the information given him by Miss Agnes seemed of such prodigious im- portance to Mr. Roscoe that he couldn't get it out of his mind, even when announcing the catastrophe. It would have seemed reasonable enough that the dead man should have been described as his client if Mr. Allerton's presence had been requested at Lebanon Lodge, since some relation between Mr. Tremenhere and himself must have been taken for granted for the invitation to be given. But no such request had been made. On the other hand, some- thing was evidently expected of him by the phrase *' Bearer waits." What that meant seemed to be, " you may come or not as you please." Had Roscoe written the note of his own head, he wondered, or had the " little Fairy," THE BURNT MILLION'. 77 with the recollection of his kindness to her still vivid, asked him to do so ? That it was Roscoe's composition was certain. " What the fellow wants," was the lawyer's conclusion, " is to lie low, and to make me show my hand." In order to show as little as possible to begin with, he gave a verbal reply to the messenger to the effect that he would be at Lebanon Lodge in one hour, and took a cab to his office, v/hich was on tlie way. The dead can always wait, and not^o look in at his place of business was an unnecessary act of abnegation ; but it was not of business that the lawyer thought as he sat in his hansom. He thought of an innocent girl with tender eyes and gentle looks, who, after her first burst of sorrow was over, would be dependent upon him in what would perhaps be very difficult circumstances for advice and succor, and he made up his mind that they should not be wanting. His chief clerk opened the door of his office to him ; he had been waiting to do it for the last ten minutes. " You have heard the news, sir, I suppose ? " he said respect- fully. Mr. Allerion nodded gravely, much to the other's dis- gust ; no one likes the wind — even though it be an ill wind — to be taken out of his sails. He had, however, a second sheet in his locker, which " told " even beyond his expectations. " Lord Cheribert, sir, is waiting for you." " Indeed ! " The lawyer was more than astonished ; the visit was most unexpected, for he had always been upon the side of Lord Morella, and adverse (though, of course, for his own good) to his heir-apparent ; but there was an association of ideas in his mind besides, which made what was now told him more astounding still. He walked into his private room with rapid steps. Lord Cherebert rose from the chair on which he had been sitting, and trankly held out his hand ; his manner was friendly and even cordial, but it had none of its usual elasticity. " Poor old Josh is dead, AUerton," he said simply. "' So I have heard, my lord." " Don't milord me, I beg ; let us have none of that rub- bish. You have no grudge against me. I know, and I want .to«be friends." '') . 1 i 1 'i , ; 1 I . ! I 1 ; 1 li 'i ; -- i '■' 78 T//£ BURNT MILLION, " I was always your friend, Lord Cheribert- " I ask you again to drop that jargon," interrupted the young fellow. "Why, I can remember when you used to call me Cherry." " So can I," sighed Mr. AUerton ; nor was it so very long since he had done so. The jjicture of the charming child, in his Vandyke suit of velvet, hand-in-hand with the sweet lady whose only quarrel with death was that it parted her from her darling boy, recurred to him. If she had lived to lead the lad by love, and soften his father's ways towards him, his future might have been different \ but, as it was, it was well that she could not foresee it. There was a look of her still in his eyes when they were at rest, and in his winning smile, the smile General St. Gatien used to say was the only winning thing about young Cheribert, for whatever he put his money on he was sure to lose it. No one of his rank — for the fortunes of vulgar millionaires melt away on the turf more quickly than those of the well-born, probably because they have more people to look after them — had ever got through so much money so early and in such a little time. Nor was the way in which he had got through it by any means respectable ; in the lawyer's view, with that streak of puritanism running through his respectable nature, it was disgraceful and even something more. Yet he could not help liking the young fellow. The expression of his face was always attractive, but just now it had a certain tender seriousness which Mr. Allerton had never seen in it before. " I must confess the thing has knocked me all of a heap," said the young lord, apologetically. *' Old Josh was a better fellow than you think, Mr. Allerton, and very kind to me. Yes, you may laugh " — the other had smiled ever so slightly — "but it v/as so. Of course, he made his pile out of me ; so would any man who had the plucking of such a well-feathered bird \ but there are different ways of doing it. I have sometimes thought that he really liked me — treated me tenderly, as the angler says of his worm. At all events, if you please, I don't want to have a word said against him," he added impetuously. " I am not going to say a word against him, Cheribert," said the lawyer softly. " What you have said is his best epitaph, and I have nothing to add to it, except this — that I agree with you." THE BURNT MILLION. 79 '"Xhd yet you have always told me that he was such a blackguard ! " " If I have, I retract it. We often say things, as we do things, which we are afterwards sorry for. No man is wise at all times — nor yet a fool." " You cunning old fellow," continued Lord Cheribert, admiringly. " So you arc making things easy for me, are you ? Well, it is better than making things hard. It is a pity the governor has never seen that." " Your father has always loved you, Cheribert." " Then he has a deuced disagreeable way of showing it," was the quick reply. " A man should know how to put his foot down without treading on another man's toe ; when it's his own flesh and blood, too, he should be more careful." " He has been very injudicious, Cheribert, as I have often told him. Men should make allowance for one another." " And a good one when they can afford it," interrupted the other, laughing. The lawyer was pleased to see him laugh ; he had guessed the young man's errand, or the nature of it, and it filled him with joyful hopes ; the bird had come back to the cage of its own accord, but he was not inside it ; an ill-selected word, even a gesture, might, he well knew, frighten it away, and probably for ever. Seed and sugar, sugar and seed, were what were wanting, and not the coin of reproach. " You and your father are of very different natures, Cheribert j and if, as you say, he has not made allowance for you, perhaps you, too, have judged him harshly." " The strictest sect of the Pharisees," observed the young man grimly. " Quite so ; that is how you have judged him ; it is a mistake.' " It is a mistake that is shared by a great many people. I hate such cant." " No doubt ; still, m that very chair where you are now sitting, I have seen him sit, with his grey head bowed down, and I have heard him say, * My son, my son, my dear, unhappy son 1' That was not cant." There was a long silence. Once the young man assayed to speak, and stopped ; there was something in the tone of his voice which his pride forbade him to let the other hear. \'\\ '-\ \ I !•-;: i 8o THE BURNT MILLION. " Well, I could not come to him, of course, A'lerton, but I have come to you. You have always been friv,ndly to me, and ready to listen to reason, or what / call reason," he added with a humorous pathos. " I don't want him to suppose that I am crying Pax, as we used to say at school, because I am beaten. I could carry on a long time yet without being reduced to husks, like the other pro- digal." " If you were so reduced, you would not come to him at all," observed Mr. Allerton quietly. "That's true," continued the young man eagerly ; "I'd starve first. You understand me, Allerton, as he never did. I'm glad I came. I don't mean to say that I would have done it if poor old Josh had been in the land of the living. But his death — so sudden you know, and all that — it's sobered me. I have never wished the governor to die, I swear to Heaven I never did." " I am quite sure, Cheribert, that you never did." *' Thank you. And yet he might die any day, you kiiow, and never see me first. I can't go into the thing — you and he could talk for an hour about it, but it's not in my way — but thafs at the bottom of it. That first ; and then, now that Josh is gone, and supposing things go on in the old way, I must go quicker down the hill, and in worse company. Roscoe has often hinted he could do as well for me as his master; but he can't, and the very proposal showed he was a most infernal scoundrel." " There are also corroborative circumstances to that effect," observed Mr. Allerton, drily. '' I daresay ; he told me, however," said the young lord smiling, " that I was never to believe anything you said about him." " I daresay," said the lawyer, smiling in his turn. He felt that his new client and he were getting on famously. " Well, the long and short of it is, Allerton, that I pro- pose to put my whole affairs — so much as I know about them, that is, which isn't much — into your hands. They are in a precious tangle, but perhaps it may be worth your while — nay, I won't say that — but, perhaps, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne " " Not another word. Cherry," said the old lawyer tremulously ; and the two men sliook hands together as they had not done for many a day. THE BURNT MILLION, CHAPTER XII. MYSTERIES. (< I'd " May I tell your father of this most welcome visit of yours ? " inquired Mr. Allerton, after a long pause. " Yes. Indeed I took it for granted that you'd tell him." " You are my client, remember, now," said the lawyer, smiling. There was a little duplicity in the good man's reply, since he would most certainly have told Lord Morella in any case, but it is probable that the Recording Angel blotted it out in his usual way, or even set it down to the credit side of the lawyer's account. It was so necessary to inspire confidence in the newly-caged bird, who had to be kept as well as caught. " True. I am glad to hear you talk like that, for there are little items in my affairs which it is just as well should go no further than yourself." " I can imagine that that is just possible," said the lawyer gravely. *- Be sure that I shall use a judicious reticence concerning them, even to your father. What you have done to-day will, I am sure, rejoice him exceedingly. But, Cheribert, there is a great deal more to be done to effect a complete reconciliation." ** Promises of amendment, and all that ; well, I suppose so." The young man's brow was clouding over. ^^ Promises of amendment from your lips, Cheribert, would be amendment," said the lawyer kindly, " like poor *Josh,' as you call him, you have always kept your word, I am sorry to say." Lord Cheribert smiled his sunniest smile. Here is a man, he said to himself, who is a lawyer and a Puritan, and yet has some fun in him. ** Well, yes. I told the governor I should go to the devil, and I did it ; as to any promise about going the other way, that must depend upon circumstances." ** You know your father's conditions." 6 '•A \ ' L i: I tA% 82 THE BURNT MILLION. I! li " Some of them. He seemed to me to be an anti-evcry- thing man. I must give up whist, and tobacco, and wine, and promiscuous dancing ; and, if I wanted to ride, to take to the tricycle." "Indeed, Cheribert, he was not so unreasonable. What- ever he proposed, remember he had been very sorely tried. If you will let me meditate, I do think matters may be arranged. There is one thing, however, which is indis- pensable." " /know," said Lord Cheribe»t with a gloomy nod, " I must give up the turf. No more strings of horses at New- market. No more pretty litle books upon the Derby. Well, I am prepared for that." " I am delighted indeed to hear it," exclaimed the lawyer warmly. "And of course there will be no more riding steeplechases." " No more after the Everdale. I must ride there, how- ever . some friends of mine have a pot of money on me. The race has been postponed on account of the duke's death, and it \^ ill be the last of the season, and, if this matter goes well v/ith me, the last I shall ever ride." " But if money can settle it — even a pot of money as you call it — I am sure your father would prefer to pay it, and shake hands with you at once." Lord Cheribert shook his head and smiled. " My dear Allerton, there are some things, believe me, which don't admit of compromise, at least beforehand. Moreover, I have promised a man to ride this race. After that, if my father is willing to say * let by-gones be by-gones,' well wmti good, I will come and stay awhile at the old home, otherwise I nave promised myself some fishing at Hals- water." " At Ha.lswater ! That is in Cumberland, is it not?" inquired the lawyer after a little pause. " Yes, in the Lake Diistrict. I have never been there," observed the young man with an earnestness of assertion which seemed unnec^r^sary. " I seem to remember niring heard that Mr. T.remen- here had a house at Halswater ; is that so ? " " I believe he had," returned the other indifferently. " Poor Josh was not very communicative about his own afilairs," " And I suppose you were never on terms of intimacy with his family," HI THE BURNT MILLION: 8j iti-every- ,nd wine, 3, to take ;. What- i\y tried. ; may be is indis- nod, '' I i at New- j Derby. le lawyer re riding sre, how- j on me. le duke's d, if this e." ey as you ly it, and My dear ich don't reover, I It, if my les,' well d home, at Hals- " Certainly not. I was once, however, introduced to his daughters." "So was I," said Mr. Allerton ; " one of them I thought a very charming girl." "That was Oracc — at least I think it must have been," added the young man dubiously. " She is the youngest. How came you to know anything about them ? " " I will tell you about it another lime, for it's rather a long story, Cheribert. I am Mr. Tremcnhere's executor, Hid .. likely to see a good deal of them.' " Mr. Tremcnhere's executor ? You ? " "Yes. 1 didn't like the post, you maybe sure, but I do not now r'\t,'ret my acceptance of it ; it may simplify the settlement >i ^ our own affairs. The story, as I have said, is a long one, and also very strange. But I have no time to speak of it now. When I looked in at the office this morninf^ it was on my way to Lebanon Lo j.ge." "T eu vou will see the poor girl." " AU ih; ee of them perhaps; but the summons came from Mr. Roscoe." " Pray say something kind from me, Allerton," said the young man earnestly. " I really liked poor old Josh, you know ; and of course I cannot call myself just yet." The pressure of the young man's hand at parting seemed to the lawyer to speak of something more than reconcilia- tion ; it seemed to say, " I know you will say the best you can of me to Grace." It was very unlike Mr. Allerton to jump at conclusions, but his mind, as wc know, had been busy with this matter before, although but speculatively ; the news of Lord Cheribert's intention to visit Halswater struck him as very significant ; and still more that slip of the tongue when the young man had spoken of the poor "girl " instead of the poor " girls." That the little Fairy 'hould have attracted him was nothing wonderful. Yet;, after all, what could come of it, with that will lying in the office safe yonder, and tl^e Dead Hand? Mr. Allerton had much more to think about for (he rest of the way to Lebanon Lodge, than he had had at start- ing- The great house gazing on the street with its many sight- less eyes was a ghastly objc( t ; all about it was silence and gloom ; when he rang llie bell he heard the tinkle of it, though it was so far away, as thoug^K it bad beea on the: ell T i 84 THE BURNT MILLION, other side of the door. It was opened, after a long delay, by a young footman, pale and dishevelled, and looking as if he had been frightened by the sound. " Can I see Mr. Roscoe ? " inquired the lawyer. The man did not know ; he would go upstairs and see : master was dead. Mr. Allerton bowed his head in token that he knew that much. The footman hesitated, apparently as to whether the visitor should be left in the hall, and then pushed back a half-opened door. Perhaps the gentleman would wait there a minute or two, he said, and left him. It was the same room, used chiefly by Mr. Roscoe, where Grace had met him and her sister on the previous night. As Mr. Allerton entered it, a voice half choked with tears exclaim- ed, *' I have killed him ; it is I who killed him." It came from a sofa hidden in shadow. Then, as he stood speech- less with surprise and horror, another voice, though still the same lips, a fierce yet frightened voice, " How dare you come in here? Who are you? " At the same time the speaker sprang from the sofa, and he found himself face to face with Philippa Tremenhere. Her eyes, stream- ing with tears, stared wildly at him ; her cheeks were white ; she trembled in every limb. " I am Mr. Allerton," he answered gently. " The ser- vant showed me in here. Forgive me for intruding on your sorrow." " Nay, forgive me^ sir," she answered earnestly. " My sorrow has almost driven me mad. I did not recognize you. It was kind of you to come." She took his hand and pressed it. In her case, too, as in Lord Cheribert's, he felt that there was more than gratitude : a pitiful appeal to him for silence. He had heard something he should not have heard. He was about to leave the room, but she detained him. *' Sit down," she said ; '* your presence does not distress me. Do not leave me." . He sat down by her side, his hand still clasped in hers. " You know what has happened ? " she continued. " I do, indeed. It must have been a terrible shoclc to you, for you were not prepared for it as I was." " That is true," she answered eagerly; " you warned us of his danger, did you not? but it seemed too dreadful to be true. We were careful, too. There was no noise. We all thought my poor father was asleep. We meant to THE BURNT MILLION, 85 ng delay, ooking as ir. and see : vnew that ) whether ihed back ould wait t was the rrace had As Mr. \ exclaim- It came d speech- Diigh still [ow dare ame time i himself !, stream- re white ; The ser- uding on "My •ecognize hand and bert's, he appeal to lould not but she presence I in hers, led. shock to arned us eadful to o noise, meant to " You must lawyer gently break to himwhrt had happened in the morning. And somehow, as Mr. Roscoe and I " here sh j burst into a passion of tears and covered her face wi:Ii her hands. not talk about it, Miss Tluiipra," said the " I shall hear all that needs to be told from others — here is Mr. Roscoe himself.' That gentleman had, indeed, entered the room so noise- lessly that neither of them had perceived his approach; he stood, white as a ghost, but with keen, steadfast face, looking from one to the other searchingly. " Miss Philippa has been telling you how it happened, I conclude," he said; *' it is a pity, for she is not in a fit state to speak of it." " So I perceive, and, indeed, was saying so, as you came in," said the lawyer. " Would it not be better for her to be with her sisters ? " he added in lower tones. Mr. Roscoe shrugged his shoulders. " That was my advice to her from the first ; but there is no authority, of course, in the house now. You hear what Mr. Allerton says, Miss Philippa?" She shook her head, still keeping her hands before her face. Mr. Roscoe beckoned the lawyer into a room on the other side of the hall, and closed the door. "The poor giil is demented with her grief," he said. "You must pay no attention to what she has been saying about her father." " She has been saying nothing ; you came in as she was beginning to tell me the sad story. What was it ? " " Simply this. The young ladies and myself sat up some time together after you left the house last night, talk- ing of what had happened at the concert hall. I wished them good-night, and went into yonder parlor — which is my business-room — to write some letters. About two o'clock I went upstairs ; as I passed by Mr. Tremenhere's door, treading very softly, he came out. I own it startled me very much. He looked very agitated and excited. * What had happened ? ' he said. ' I can see by your face that something has happened, and is being kept from me.' Then he uttered a sharp cry of pain and fell down at my feet—dead. The whole thing did not take one minute." " Then he had not even heard of the fire ? " " Not one word." !l ■^\ II i ^liii S6 THE BURNT MILLION, ** How strange ! " The tale seemed strange, indeed ; for it did away with the explanation which the lawyer had already made in his own mind for that amazing exclamation of Philippa, evidently intended for Mr. Roscoe's ears: '* I have killed him; it is I wh ; have killed him." He had set this down to a too tender feeling of remorse on her part ; since, if she had not been at the concert, she would not have been at the fire, the report of which catastrophe — as he had taken for granted — had killed Mr. Tremenhere ; but now, it seemed, he had not been told of its occurrence. " You were quite alone, then ? " continued the lawyer. '* Quite alone ; every one else had long retired. It was a most ghastly situation, as you may imagine." Mr. Allerton inclined his head. This man said he was alone, but Philii)pa had begun her narration " as Mr. Roscoe and I," which did not dovetail with this state- ment. The whole affair was certainly very strange. There ensued a little pause, during which the two men regarded one another thoughtfully. But they were not thinking about the same things. Mr. Roscoe looked upon his late explanation as final ; there appeared to him no reason for further question. His mind was fixed no longer upon the recent catastrophe, but on its consequences. " I suppose I am right in concluding, Mr. Allerton — as indeed I took for granted in the note I ventured to write to you — that I am addressing Mr. Tremenhere's legal adviser, perhaps, even, his representative ? " "Yes j I am executor under his will." " Indeed." Though the other had suspected this, his countenance fell. *' He could not have chosen a better, a more upright man. At the same time you will forgive me for feeling a little disappointment. He and I have been so long con- nected together. He knew me so well." The lawyer could hardly restrain a flicker of the lip ; the retort, " that was the very reason why he did not choose you for his executor," suggested itself so very naturally. " I may assure you, Mr. Roscoe," he answered drily, *' though the information is a little prvmature, that you have no reason to be disappointed with Mr. Tremenhere's will." i I 1 I THE BURNT MILT JON S7 -, indeed ; K3 lawyer . «T.inazing for Mr. vvli ; have icr feeling een at the report of ited — had e had not le lawyer. It was id he was " as Mr. lis state- There regarded thinking 1 his late 3ason for ipon the rton — as ' write to adviser, this, his upright eeling a 'ng con- " Oh, I was not thinking of that, Mr. Allerton. It is pleasant, of course, to hear that one has been remembered, as the phrase goes, by an old friend ; but I should have preferred a proof — though a less material one — of the confidence he always reposed in me." This was too much for the lawyer. It seemed to him that his intelligence was being trifled with, and he resented it. " I don't know what you call remembered, Mr. Roscoe. Perhaps you are thinking of a mourning ring. Mr. Tre- menherc has left you a very large legacy. He said some- thing about your having saved his life." Here occurred a very remarkable circumstance. The blood rushed into Mr. Roscoe's cheeks in a crimson flood. " I don't expect to be believed," the old lawyer used to say in narrating the fact. " and unfortunately there was no witness, but I do assure you the fellow blushed." There was a good reason for it, though the lawyer never found it out ; but he felt that there uuis a reason, and it puzzled him more than anything that had gone before. " Here is Mr. Tremenhere's cheque-book and his bank- er's account," said Mr. Roscoe, producing them; "here are the keys " " Never mind the keys," said the lawyer, motioning them away ; " give them to Miss Tremenhere. How is she, by-the-bye, and Miss Grace ? " " They are both utterly overwhelmed and prostrated by their calamity," returned Mr. Roscoe, *' just as you saw poor Miss Phihppa to be." There was a knock at the door, and the butler entered. He addressed himself to Mr. Allerton. " Miss Grace's regards, sir, and if you will kindly see her for a few min- utes before you leave the house, she will be obliged to you." i>< - lip ; the choose rally. J drily, lat you nhcre's I 88 THE BURNT MILLION. CHAPTER XIII. THE BEREAVED. This message of the butler's, though inconsistent with the information just imparted by Mr. Roscoe, did not embarrass that gentleman in the least. He had already, though involuntarily, shown not a little weakness, and doubtless repented of it; he was not likely to make the same mistake again. " You are honored indeed, Mr. Allerton," he observed smiling. "When I saw Miss Grace myself an hour or so ago, she seemed unequal to an interview with anyone ; but she and you have had an experience together such as may well make a friend of a stranger." The lawyer nodded stiffly. This reference to the fire at the concert-room, considering how the speaker had con- ducted himself on the occasion in question, struck him as rather impudent, and the more so, since he was convinced that it was the consciousness of his ill-behavior which had caused the man to avoid him after their escape. Without making any reply, he followed the butler to the drawing- room. It was an immense apartment, looking much larger by day-light than it had done the previous night, and made the " little Fairy " (nobody's little Fairy now, alas ! ) perched on a huge sofa at the far end of it, more childlike to behold than ever. Yet as she rose to meet him he saw that grief had already aged her. A few tears rose to her eyes, but the passion of sorrow, such as he had seen in Philippa, had passed away, and like a mountain torrent after " spate," left its marks upon the unaccustomed road. " How kind and good of you to come," she murmured. ** Nay, my child, it is kind of you to wish to see me," he answered gently. " How could I help it, since you were his friend? " she said with mournful tenderness. THE BURNT MILLION, 89 »» Her mistake was more touching, in the lawyer's view, than any oihcr thing which filial love could have prompted her to say. She was in ignorance, it was clear, not only of his own relations with the dead man, but doubtless of much else concerning that father who, whatever had been his faults, had dearly loved his child ; and however difficult might be the task, Mr. Allerton made up his mind that, as regarded them, his lips at least should be kept sealed, whatever she might hear of them from others. " I want you to talk to me a little about him," she continued plaintively; '^it is the only comfort left to me, and yet they tell me it is better not to do so." " Who tells you that ? " "Mr. Roscoe." The advice, as he could not but feel, was good; the less said about poor " Josh " the better, was what he would have observed himself, had he been asked his opinion ; and especially would he have said it, had it been possible, to this poor girl, for whom the revelation of the truth would open the floodgates of undreamtof shame. "Mr. Roscoe is right, my child," said the lawyer gently. " It is wrong to melt the heart which is already as wax in the fire by speaking of our grief to others ; with those who like yourself belonged to him — with your sisters —it is of course but natural that you should speak of your father, but " " I cannot speak of him to them," she interrupted sadly. " Why not ? Are they not kind to you ? " ** Yes ; they are kind enough/' she sighed. " But Phi- lippa, I don't know what has come to Philippa ; she shuts herself away from us ; and Agnes — Agnes, though she does not mean it, seems a little hard. What is the use of cry- ing ? she says. And indeed it is no use ; but dear papa — who loved me so much better than I deserved — is gone, and I am all alone." It was clear that she was so, but why she was so it was difficult to explain. In the case of such a domestic catastrophe as had just occurred it seemed only natural that the chief sufferers — the dead man's daughters — should have found comfort in the interchange of their common woe ; how strange it seemed that, on the contrary, they should thus shrink from one another ! How hard, espe- cially, that this one, so much younger than the other two, \\- I fl yi ;i!t fO T//£ BURNT MILLION, should be left alone with her misery, without a word of sympathy, as it would appear, from either of them ! Per- haps they were jealous of her, aud resented the place she had held in her father's affections, and felt themselves no great sorrow for what had happened. Yet Philijipa was plunged in sorrow, and, indeed, in something which looked even deeper than sorrow — remorse. Could it be the con- sciousness of having behaved undutifully to the dead man that had caused her to ex[)ress herself in such strange terms ? Put if she was penitent on that account, the most natural and obvious way of showing it would surely have been to do all she could to comfort the sister who had been so dear to him. There was a mystery about the whole matter which Mr. Allerton could not fathom. His attempts at consolation were necessarily made at hap- hazard, and of the conventional type. " What you ought to ask yourself, my dear," he said tenderly, " since you are left to your own judgment, is, what sort of behavior, if your poor father could see you, would please him most? It is natural that you should bewail your loss, but he would not wish his ' little Fairy,* I am sure, to weep her eyes away." " Is there anything he would like me to do ? " she in- quired eagerly ; " anyone to benefit, as he was always so ready to do? But then he was so wise and powerful, and I am so foolish and helpless." *' I don't think you foolish, my dear," said the lawyer ; " and you certainly are not helpless. Your father has taken good care of that." " Do you mean money ? " she cried. " What's the use of money when one has lost all one loves in the world ? " There was an indignation in her tone that seemed uncalled for. They have been talking to her already- some of them- -about money, was the lawyer's conclusion. How could it have been otherwise in this Temple of Mammon ? "The use of money, my child, is to do good to others." "True; as /i!,i.' did ; I should have remembered that," she answered gently. " There will be many to lament him, though not as I do. They know about it, do you think, poor people ? " The notion of Mr. Joseph Tremenhere's loss being looked upon by a large mass of mankind as that of 9, THE nURNT MILLION. 91 public benefactor was a travesty of the truth, such as under any oiher circumstances would have provoked the lawyer's grimmest smile. He smiled even as it was, though far from grimly. " I know one who does," he answered ; '' he called on me this morning to exi)ress his sorrow, and bade me offer to you and your sisters, should I have the opportunity, his heartfelt sympathy." '* Who was it ? Let me know his name,'* she answered eagerly. " It was Lord Cheribert." " How good of him ! " she exclaimed gratefully. " I know papa used to like him. In his case, too, it could not, of course, have been the mere sense of obligation. It must have been because he knew how kind and good dear papa was." " He had as high an opinion of your father as any man I know," said the lawyer. He could say that much with perfect truth ; but such interrogations, if pursued, would, he felt, become embarrassing in the extreme. " I must leave you now, my dear, and I hope in a less despairing state of mind. You know where we should all look for comfort when sorrow overwhelms us." The last reminder was rather a difficulty with Mr. Aller- ton. To a Christian girl he would have known better what to say ; but his " views " were narrow. He had not much sympathy with Jews, except for the converted ones, for whom he subscribed liberally. " This is my address, in case you should wish to send for me. You will not be sorry to hear, I hope, that your father has appointed me, until you come of age, your guardian." " That is good news indeed," she cried, and a grateful smile for the first time lighted up her tear-dimmed face. " How thoughtful it was of him to leave me in such kind hands ! " She little imagined that the idea had entered her father's mind only a few days ago, and doubtless thought it the result of a lifelong friendship born of mutual esteem ; but this ingenuous simplicity was a better passport to the law- yer's heart than the keenest wit could have devised. An honest lawyer is quite as much attracted by sim- plicity as a roguish one, though for very diflferent reasons. V n ^^% ^^^^a^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) * /. {./ y 4i. /. < <;' % Z % 1.0 LI Mi i.8 1.25 1.4 J4 -m 6" - ► V] m ^l. A m r y Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, rJ.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 o ^0 I 92 THE BURNT MILLION, J. As Mr. Allerton left the room, a portikre on one side of the drawing-room landing was noiselessly drawn aside, and Miss Agnes, with one finger on her straight shut lips, beckoned him up a side step into a little room which was her boudoir. Her face was pale and anxious ; it seemed to speak of apprehension of calamity rather than of sorrow for its occurrence ; her still blue eyes were cold and tear- less, but full of expression, of questioning. Her hand closed on that of the visitor, and retained it, till she had^ led him to a seat, as though he had been a blind man. " One word with you before you go, Mr. Allerton. I wish to know from you, vvho, I understand, can tell me, am I the mistress of this house or not ? " It was a strange' question to be put by a woman, far short of middle age. whose father, dead but a few hours, was lying under the same roof, and whose sudden fate, as one might have well ivnagined, should have driven all other matters out of her mind. For the moment the law- yer thought that her wits had deserted her, the more so since her voice was new to him ; hoarse, though she spoke in a low key, and tremulous either with fear or passion. As he looked at her, however, he abandoned that theory. Her face was sane enough, and, though disturbed by present emotion, expressed resolve. " It is a somewhat unexpected question, madam," he answered coldly. If there was one thing the lawyer hated, it was a " hard " woman, and for the moment he forgot how important it was — and especially for Grace's sake— to keep friends with Miss Agnes. " No doubt," she answered, not brusquely, but with an air of conviction. " I am obliged to risk your thinking ill of me, Mr. Allerton ; under the circumstances you may well feel surprised at such an inquiry ; but I am most un- fortunately placed, and you are the only person to whom I can appeal for instruction. I ask again, now that my poor father is dead, am I not mistress here ? " " Undoubtedly you are. You are his eldest daughter. His authority, in domestic affair^, naturally reverts to you." " And otherwise? I mean legally." " What does she mean ! " thought the lawyer to himself. " Is it possible she wants to know whether the house is left to her? — I am afraid I do not quite understand you, MisB Agnes." THE BURNT MILLION. 93 ** And it is so difficult to explain myself," she answered confusedly. " Of course I am speaking to you in con- fidence, Mr. Allerton; but have I any legal jurisdiction over my sisters ? " " None whatever. Miss Philippa is of age, I believe ; and the guardianship of Miss Grace has been placed in other hands — to be frank with you, in my own." " I am sincerely pleased to hear it," she answered, and she looked pleased. " She will be less exposed to injurious influences ; not, however, that they could have done her much harm, I believe, in any case j she has such an honest and straightforward nature." The lawyer nodded adhesion ; the speaker's words, however, seemed somehow less to praise Grace than to imply dispraise of some one else, who was not so honest and straightforward. Her next sentence, as he thought, gave him the key to the preceding one. " With regard to other persons, not my sisters, in the house, I conclude I have the same authority as my father had. No one, for example, could stay here without my leave." " No one, my dear madam, you will forgive me for saying," replied the lawyer gravely, *' ought to be now staying in the house ^who is not a servant) whether with your leave or without it. If he has any sense of propriety, however, that will doubtless strike himself." "If you refer to Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Allerton," she answered coldly, but with a tremor in her voice and a fire in her eye that belied the indifference of her tone, " I would have you to know that there is no man who has a more delicate sense of what is becoming ; what is amiss with him, if anything, is, on the contrary, an excess of gentleness which renders him too charitable and lenient to the faults of others." " Even an excess of gentleness may lead a man into error," remarked the lawyer drily. " Quite true," she answered eagerly, " and aggravate the very evil which it is his object to do away with. What you have said about Mr. Roscoe's staying here is no doubt conventionally correct. We shall all miss him, however, very much." It was strange indeed, thought the lawyer, that Miss Agnes should thus talk of missing anyone, and yet not have had a word to say about her father. At that very moment, however, she remedied the omission. 94 THE BURNT MILLION', " I suppose, Mr. Allerton, there will be no necessity for an inquest ? " " I think not ; the doctor whom your father consulted will of course be at once communicated with, and will notify the cause of death." " That is some comfort," said Miss Agnes, with a sigh of relief. " Of course I should like to talk to you about many things, Mr. Allerton," she continued wistfully, " but this is hardly the proper time." " I think that had better be postponed for the present," he answered. " I suppose so," she replied, but in by no means an approving tone. " Whenever you think proper, I shall be pleased to see you. A thousand thanks — take care of the step — good-bye." CHAPTER XIV. GOOD ADVICE. It has been stated by a physician of experience that more persons are put out of the world without discovery in that square mile of which Belgrave Square is the centre than elsewhere in all England, the inhabitants of that region being peculiarly liable to temptation to that crime, from the system of primogeniture and other causes, and also too highly-placed to be troubled by the vulgar interference of a coroner's inquest. It should be some compensation to middle-class people living, for example, at Kensington, to reflect that they cannot be cut off prematurely by their nearest relatives without some stir being made about it ; and it may be taken for granted, since there was no inquest upon the body of Mr. Tremenhere, that that gentleman needed none. It was understood, and very properly so, since nothing could be urged to the contrary, that he died of heart complaint, as the eminent doctor whom he had consulted had expected him to do. But though there was no debate as to the cause of his death there was talk enough about the deceased himself, and many an attractive " par. " he made for the newspapers. It was not every- body, it appeared, who had known him that knew " Josh " I i THE BURNT MILLION. 95 was a Hebrew, till his burial in the Jewish cemetery at Kensal Green put that matter beyond question. He had certainly not been ostentatious in professing the faith of his fathers, and no one except Mr. Allerton had any idea what a stickler he had been for it. In the meantime, of course, his wealth was trebled. If you laid it down in sovereigns, as one ingenious reporter alleged, it would have reached from the Land's End to John o' Groat's ; another, not to be outdone, added, "edgeways." Perpendicularly in a pile, it would, very nearly, have touched the moon. These calculations, so obviously exaggerated, and also differing so materially from one another, nevertheless delighted the public. They would stand in knots opposite the red brick house shading their eyes with their hands, and point out to one another the room — the curtained one with the window open — where the dead man lay with the lonely " watcher " by his side, guarding, after the manner of his race, what needed no longer custody. No departed greatness, whether of genius or virtue, could have excited one-tenth of the interest that hung round the dead master of millions ; but whither his millions had gone interested them vastly more than his own destination — which by most, indeed, was taken for granted. " His worst he kept, his best he- gave," could have been justly said of him, if not quite in the sense intended by the poet. Poor Josh ! His name, like Caesar's, a week ago could have stood against the world — or, more prosaically, had been "good" for anything; and now it was a by-word. Songs were made upon it, as Falstaflf threatened to make upon his adversary, and sung in the streets, to popular airs ; ignoble thoughts wedded to transitory melodies. Mr. Edward Roscoe, who had left Lebanon Lodge, and whom business made peripatetic, would sometimes involun- tarily listen to them in quiet streets, not knowing whether to smile or to frown. How could he know till the will had been read ? There were so many things to be considered before he could look at the memory of his deceased friend in the proper light. Personally, he had disliked him exceedingly, and of late much more than ever ; but he was not a man to be influenced by prejudice of that kind. He took much broader views. He knew from Mr. Allerton that Josh had 96 THE BURNT MILLION, mill I left him what the lawyer evidently considered to be a large sum, but he might not be a good judge of size in that respect; Mr. Allerton disliked him — Mr. Roscoe looked matters of this kind in the face — and would have grudged him hi j legacy, whatever it was. Still, it was doubtless a considerable sum, for Josh had been liberal, and even lavish on some occasions ; and this had been given him, as the lawyer had told him, for saving his life — unbuttoning his shirt-collar and giving him brandy on a certain momentous occasion. This was a matter which Mr. Roscoe did not look in the face; for particular reasons of his own, the contemplation of it was exceedingly distasteful to him. He kept his thoughts as much as possible fixed on the legacy itself. If it was really large, that, of course, would be so far satis- factory ; but, on the other hand, its very size was, from another point of view, to be deprecated. It might have been left to him, not out of gratitude alone, but as a species of compensation for the extinction of certain hopes which Mr. Tremenhere had, he knew, suspected him of enter- taining. " Here is your money," the testator seemed to be saying to him ; " more than you expected, and ten times more than you deserved; but I have taken care thn'. you get nothing more out of me or of my family ; your connection with them henceforth ceases, and is at an end forever." Mr. Roscoe not only possessed a keen intelligence, but a knowledge which is falsely reported to be extremely rare — he knew himself, and even saw himself to some extent as others saw him : and he saw himself pretty much as Josh had seen him. This naturally gave him great uneasi- ness. He had long ago taken such measures as were possible to him to make him independent of the opinion of his deceased friend ; but strong, nay, extreme, measures as they had been, would they now prove sufficient ? This was the question he was constantly putting to himself during these days of doubt. He would have given a hundred pounds for one glimpse of Mr. Joseph Tremenhere's will (and if he could have read it, he would have given all he had in the world — including his legacy — to have burnt it); but there was nothing for it but patience. In the handsome lodgings he had taken for himself near his late employer's residence, THE BURNT MILLION-. 97 where he was treated with great consideration — foi if he was not the rose, the dead millionaire himself, he had been near the rose, and was supposed to possess the very secret which he yearned to learn — he passed anxious hours, sleepless nights. He had been playing for high stakes ; he had a strong hand, and had played it with admirable dexterity, but he was by no means sure how the game had gone. As to whither Mr. Joseph Tremenhere had gone, that inquiry never so much as occurred to him. It interested him not in the .east, which, considering the intimate rela- tions that had so long existed between the two men, seems strange. And yet, how little thought do most of us give to the condition of those who have left us for ever, how- ever close have been the ties that bound us to them when they were on earth ; less, upon the whole, than if they had undertaken a long journey upon this planet, and con- cerning whom, leaning on our garden " spud " in the summer weather, we wonder how they are getting on in New York or Melbourne. What ^^r. Roscoe thought of was not Mr. Tremenhere but Mr. Tremenhere's money ; and, with one exception, everybody else was thinking, though not with so interested an anxiety, just as Mr. Roscoe did. Even the great and good Lord Morella, though he pro- fessed some apprehensions for the sinner who had been so suddenly summoned by that messenger who brooks no delay, was much more apprehensive respecting his family property, a large amount of which had without doubt stuck to the dead man's hands, and helped to swell that fortune in five figures which was attracting the admiration of the public. Mr. Allerton's temporary interest in poor Josh had utterly died away, and was transferred to his property — a matter which* occupied a good deal of his attention : notwithstanding its size, it was not unwieldy ; it was, indeed, remarkably free from complications of any kind ; it was the will itself that worried him. In his heart of hearts the lawyer felt that it was not only, as he had told his client, an unjust and improper will, but in point of law a doubtful one ; nay, one which he would not have hesitated, if any other man had drawn it up, to call a bad will. It was liable to dispute, and on the face of it sug- Igested dispute because of its manifest injustice. If his 7 ^mmm ^IMBi 98 77/E BURNT MILLION, \A client had lived, Mr. Allerton was convinced, or flattered himself so, that he could have persuaded him to alter or tone down what was amiss in it. Even now, it was possi- ble, should matters turn out favorably, if the legatees should prove amenable to reason, and not be got at by interested parties, that they themselves might eventually get things arranged to their satisfaction ; but if there should be oppo- sition at first, and an antagonistic spirit, not only might the will be set aside, but, what was much more to be deplored, all the safeguards by which poor Josh had hoped to protect his property from fortune-hunters and adventurers would be swept away. Now, though Mr. Allerton disproved of the will, he approved, though within less narrow limits, of the safe- guards j the ** intention of the testator " was sacred to him ; and, as so often happens in the case of the pious founder, the lawyer's object was to carry out the wishes of his client, while at the same time avoiding the evils which a hard and fast adhesion to them would infallibly bring about. If the three heiresses (if they could be called so) would allow themselves to be ruled by him, all might still go well, he hoped ; but if they were restive, or incited to antagonism by others, he foresaw trouble. He knew nothing of the influences that were at work with them, save one ; and that he profoundly distrusted. His rock ahead, for the present at least, he well perceived, was Mr. Edward Roscoe. That that gentleman was on intimate terms with the family was evident ; Miss Philippa had shown in his presence a total absence of self-restraint ; Miss Agnes had expressed her confidence in him, and strongly, almost passionately, resented that doubt of his delicacy of feeling which the lawyer had ventured to hint. That he was a designing scoundrel Mr. Allerton was assured — his character with respect to other matters for- bade him to entertain a more charitable opinion : concilia- tion, he felt, would be utterly-thrown away upon him ; it would only, as it does in the mind of every scoundrel, suggest that he was an object of fear. But to show his distrust of him would be even more dangerous ; upon the whole, he concluded it would be best to treat him with apparent confidence. He was certainly a friend of the family, and, as it seemed, their only friend ; next to him- self it was reasonable that they should look upon him as THE BURNT MILLION, 99 their adviser in matters of business. Mr. Allerton decided, therefore, to do him the compHmcnt of asking him to hear the will read. He was not without hope that, from the manner in which Mr. Roscoe should listen to its provisions he might gather his views on the matter, or even some hint of his future intentions. At all events, it would give that gentleman no material advantage. In a few weeks, at furthest, even if he did not receive the information at once from the ladies, which was almost certain to happen, he could read it all for a shilling at Doctors' Commons. Upon the whole, it seemed better to treat him as a friend. He therefore wrote to Mr. Roscoe, stating his intention to read the will to the three sisters, on a certain day, and inviting him, as an old and valued friend of the family, to be present at that ceremony. The day appointed was not, as usual, that of the funeral out of regard for the ladies, who, he thought, would be too " upset " to attend to matters of business, but the day afterwards ; a decision which he afterwards regretted. One at least out of the three objects of his solicitude was not so overcome by grief as not to be anxious (though not, perhaps, from mere mercenary motives) to know how her future had been arranged for her, and the delay was not favorable to Mr. Allerton's views. She inquired the reason of it of Mr. Roscoe, and that gentleman shrugged his shoulders. " To wink with both our eyes," the poet tells us, " is easier than to think ; but to wink with one of them has an effect upon the observer equal, if not superior, in significance to speech itself; and a shrug of the shoulders is near akin to it." Mr. Roscoe's shrug spoke volumes. " I suppose we may take it for granted," observed Agnes — for it was she who was the questioner — " that Mr. Allerton is an honest man ? " The two were alone, so that it was doubtful whether the word "we" referred to herself and her sisters, or to herself and her companion ; he took it in the former sense, how- ever. " Well, Allerton is a lawyer," he answered, smiling ; " but, honest or not, he can do nothing, one way or the other, as regards the disposition of your property ; he can only be guided by the will. As to this delay, I think it very probable that he wishes by it to impress upon you the too THE BURNT MlLLlOir. idea of his possessing a power which in fact he does not possess. He was your father's legal adviser — unfortunate- ly or not it is impossible at present to say — but he is not yours.. You are under no obligation to seek his counsel, or to take it if offered. You must be guided by circum- stances." *' You mean as to our attitude to Mr. AUerton ? " she answered quickly. Again her speech was equivocal: he had said "you," but she had said '* our " where " my " would have seemed more appropriate ; on the other hand, the word might have been used fitly enough in reference to herself and her sis- ters, and again he took it in that sense. *' Well, of course," he answered curtly. " It is very in- convenient for those in your position to be on bad terms with those in his ; if it be possible, live peaceably with all men, is a precept to be especially followed in the case of one's trustees. If you take my advice, you will be very civil to Allerton. Whatever may be the information it is his duty to impart to you to-morrow, receive it with as little emotion as possible, however distasteful it may be to you." " Distasteful ! What do you mean, Edward ? " There was alarm in her tone, and something more ; the vehemence of her feelings had even, no doubt unconscious- ly, caused her to address him by his Christian name. He took no advantage of that circumstance (which some per- sons — Mr. Allerton, for example — would have put down as an unexpected item to his credit) to adopt a more fami- liar tone. On the contrary, his manner was scrupulously grave and judicial. It was evident, however, that he was putting some restraint upon himself ; and this was not un- welcome to her — she felt that it was being done for her sake. " I mean nothing," he said. " I have no cause even to suspect anything. But others may have suspected some- thing." " What ! my father ? " she answered with a catch in her voice, as if some one had caught her by the throat. " For heaven's sake, command yourself," he exclaimed authoritatively, almost harshly. "Yes, it is possible that your father may have been too solicitous for what he fool- ishly imagined was your welfare, or jealous of another's THE BURNT MILLION. loi rton ? " she influence over you. For all we know, there may be restrictions." " Restrictions ? I don't understand yoii»" she murmured hoarsely. " Why should you ? It will be time enough to talk of such things — and how to evade them — when we learn of their existence ; I only wished to put you on your guard. What ever happens to-morrow, keep a good heart, show a firm face. There may h". nothing the matter. You think I am cruel, but I am only cruel to be kind, Agnes." He dropped the word, as it seemed, after a little hesita- tion. " You call me by my name, as if you were ashamed of it," she cried with sudden vehemence. Her face assumed a color which was not becoming ; her blue eyes glittered with passion. " Great heaven, what a task is mine ! " exclaimed Mr. Roscoe bitterly. " Can you not understand that it is not shame but fear that makes me prudent ? You have some suspicion of me in your mind, I know : what is it ? " " I have none, or if I had it is gone," she answered hur- riedly. '* Forgive me, Edward." " I have nothing to forgive," he said, in his gentlest tone j ** but if you wish to please me, lay to heart what I have said about to-morrow." CHAPTER XV. AN ENIGMA. Mr. Allerton was not without his apprehensions as he went up the stairs with the will in his pocket to the draw- ing-room of Lebanon Lodge. He was used, of course, to " public readings " of a similar kind ; but this was an exceptional occasion. He was used also to lady clients j and though tender-hearted, and of a gallant disposition, he much preferred those of the sterner sex. Ladies are more difficult to manage in matters of business than men. They are more ignorant but more opinionated ; more liable to be deceived, yet more suspicious without cause. In the present case what it was his duty to commimicate mv. loa 77//r BURNT MIUJOK, 1 1- he was well aware would not he agreeable. The three ladies were all left very well ; they were immensely rich, but there were very severe conditions in restraint of mar- riage. There were, indeed, what are termed " gifts over " to compensate for forfeiture in this respect — ten thousand pounds apiece was to be given to each upon her marriage, let her marry whom she might — but the rest of her money was left away from her unless her husband should be of the Hebrew persuasion. Moreover, this was left to the other sisters should they remain spinsters or be married to Jews. What was especially objectionable in the arrange- ment was, that it had been dictated, as Mr. Allerton very well knew, and the legatees must needs know still better, by no conscientious motive whatever, but for the purpose of keeping the testator's property intact, or in as few hands as possible. It was no tribute to Religion but to Mammon. No wonder, therefore, that the lawyer said to himself, " How will they take it ? " a:; he took his seat at the gilt and gorgeous table, so ludicrously inappropriate to his present use, and produced the all-important document. His audience he found already seated : Grace on the sofa, nearest 'to him, with Philippa's arm encircling her waist — as it struck him, in rather a stagey manner ; Agnes on a chair apart, and Mr. Roscoe opposite them, on the other side of the room. The blinds were almost as closely drawn as though the house still held its departed dead, and it did not escape the lawyer's notice that the friend of the family had modestly placed himself where the gloom was deepest. The faces of all were pale, and, with the exception of that of Grace, wore an ill-concealed air of anxiety. She had, as it afterwards appeared, expressed a wish that her presence might be spared ; but this had been somewhat sharply overruled. She was old enough to understand what was to take place, she was told, and to suggest that her grief was too overwhelming to admit of her attending to her fu- ture interests was an affectation, and even ?, reflection upon her sisters. Philippa had volunteered to sit by her and comfort her ; wnd she carried out her promise to the letter; every now and then she caressed her tenderly — even piti- fully, as though she felt for her rather than for herself — when certain pajjsages of the will were read, and concen- * trated her attention upon her almost exclusively. Grace did not return these endearments, but kept her quiet face THE BURNT MILLION. 103 fixed on Mr. Allerton. Agnes, too, regarded the lawyer with earnest solicitude, though at times she glanced furtive- ly at Mr. Roscoe, who maintained an unmoved demeanor, with his chin resting on his hand. A grim smile, however, curved his lip when Mr. Allerton read out the few words of exordium in which Joseph Tre- menhere expressed his unalterable attachment to the faith of his fathers ; perhaps he already guessed what was coming. . Agnes looked serenely contemptuous, Philippa amazed, and even in Grace's face sat a wondering though tender surprise. Then came the restrictive clauses. Not a word was said, but they evidently produced a profound effect. Mr. Roscoe frowned and smiled — a combinatio which is seldom becoming, and it gave him a very ugly look. One must not say that a lady looks ugly, but Agnes in fact surpassed him in her expression of scornful <'• ap- proval ; she even uttered an ejaculation of mingled disap- pointment and def ^r'- ?. Philippa hid her face, which had become as pale as death, on (liace's shoulder ; Grace alone remained un.LiOved ; she seemed to listen to the bald and technical terms in which her father restricted the area of her matrimonial choice without understanding their mean- ing. The sense of them afterwards recurred to her, but she was, in fact, thinking of something else — not of the will but of the testator. Once, when her name was mentioned preceded by an affectionate epithet, the only one in the brief testament, the tears stole down her cheeks. The silence, though on the whole it was welcome to the reader, who certainly expected "sensation" rather than ** applause," oppressed the lawyer himself. It was almost a relief to him when, near the conclusion of the document, where it set forth on certain contingencies the whole of the testa- tor's enormous wealth was to revert to Robert Vernon, Mr. Roscoe inquired in his gentlest accents : " Pray, sir, who is he ? " " Ah, who, indeed ? " added Agnes bitterly. Mr. Allerton gave the desired information, so far as he was possessed of it, and then concluded his task. " It is an infamy ! " observed Agnes, by way of com- mentary. Mr. Roscoe lifted his finger ; and though it was plain she had plenty to say, she said no more. Philippa kept her eyes upon the carpet and was dumb. Grace drew a deep breath of relief, because the business, for which she 'i 104 r//£ BURNT million; had had no taste, was over. The silence, broken only by the sounds in the street without, was embarrassing. *' I have now performed my mission, ladies," said Mr. AUerton : " if I can be of service in explaining any detail, pray command me." "The whole matter seems to me to require explana- tion," said Agnes fiercely ; and again Mr. Roscoe lifted his finger. " Whatever may be thought of your father's distribution of his property — a subject which I must be excused from discussing," observed the lawyer, " the income which he places at the disposal of every one of you — in the case of those who are of age at their absolute disposal — is enor- mous : unless certain conditions are complied with, it is, indeed, but a life interest, but it is a fortune in itself. I have no control over it, but I hope the wish he has here expressed, that you will come to me for guidance and counsel, will not be disregarded ; at all events my best advice will be alwavs at vour service." " You are most kind," murmured Grace gratefully. " As far as you are concerned, however, you are in my power, young lady, for some years to come," observed the lawyer, smiling. " If you had been listening to me, as you ought to have done, you would have understood that I was your guardian." " I am very glad that it is so," she returned, with an answering srnile. Upon Mr. Roscoe 's face the lawyer noticed there was the reverse of a smile. Was it pof:sible he had flattered himself that Josh would have put him in loco parentis to his little Fairy? When his own legacy of 5,000/. had been mentioned, Mr. Roscoe had inclined his head as if in acknowledgment of that benefaction, but he had exhibited no emotion. His gratitude, if it existed, had been perhaps swallowed up by the disappointment that the will had caused his lady friends. That he sympathized with them, it was evident, though he had given no utterance to that emotion. His face was grave and dissatisfied, though not more so than if, moved by such a feeling, it might have been expected to be ; but to Mr. AUerton, who did not for a moment credit him with anything of the kind, he seemed to be putting no little restraint upon himself, while at the same time he recommended patience and resignation to others. iiii THE BURNT MILLION, lOS ned, with an As it seemed evident that no question was to be put to him, Mr. Allerton took his leave of the ladies, and was accompanied downstairs by Mr. Roscoe. As the lawyer reached tlie hall, " One word," said that gentleman, and led the way into his own room and closed the door. " You have observed that it was not your intention, Mr. Allerton, to discuss with those ladies the document it has been your duty to read to them ; but I hope that remark does not apply to others, who are in a better position, perhaps, to judge of the matter — myself, for instance? " The speaker's tone was quiet, and his manner studiously respectful ; but there was a tremor in his voice that belied them both. " I am aware that I have no locus standi, in a legal sense," he went on hurriedly; "but I have some influence with your clients, and they will naturally look to me for an explanation." " Mr. Tremenhere's will explains itself, Mr. Roscoe,'' replied the other coldly. " You can scarcely expect a man in my position to give you his opinion on its merits." " Certainly not ; there can, however, be only one opinion on the matter. You heard what Miss Agnes said ; she called it an infamy ! " " I was very sorry to hear such an observation from her lips." " So was I ; I endeavored, as perhaps you observed, to restrain her ; but you must admit that there was great provocation. The whole thing is preposterous. Such a will cannot hold water for a moment." Mr. Allerton smiled mechanically ; no lawyer could have helped it. The idea of a thing not being defensible in law because it was " preposterous " — and not " for a moment," too, — tickled him in spite of himself. " I r.Ti not speaking on my own account, remember, Mr. Allerton," the other continued, with a sort of earnest indif- ference difficult to fathom; "the affair is nothing to me. So far as I am concerned, as you justly hinted the other day, Mr. Tremenhere has '* remembered me," as the phrase goes, very handsomely ; but there are two ladies in whom I naturally feel some interest, and who will expect me to manifest it, placed in a most unfortunate position. They are both of a marriageable age." Mr. Allerton inclined his head. What was said of the r- 1 1 ': ill *' -J m !o6 THE BURNT MILLION: elder sisters was certainly quite true — they had emerged from childhood. Miss Agnes, in particular, was by no means a chicken. " I wonder," thought Mr. Allerton, " which of them this man has elected to marry ! He would marry both of them — or at least their fortunes — if he could. At heart — if he had a heart — he is a mormon. Of that I am convinced." " Well, these restraints upon their affections, whether they have set them on any particular object or not, must be most galling. I do not wish to speak upon the religious matter, because Mr. Tremenhere was your client. But his daughters, I am quite sure, do not sympathize with the idea their father professed to have in view at all. They are Jewesses only in name — that is the simple fact." " The majority of us are fortunately Christians only in name," put in Mr. Allerton drily. " No ; the cases are not parallel. We wish, at least, to be thought Christians ; these ladies do not wish to be thought Jewesses. I am speaking to you confidentially, of course, but I am speaking the truth. Under such circum- stances, it is clear, these restraints must be set aside. You are concerned for the welfare of your clients, I am assured. Can there not be a friendly suit ? " " How can that be, when there are others who have a contingent interest in the matter — Mr. Vernon and his heirs?" "The man is dead and has none — that is my belief." " That would simplify matters of course ; but Mr. Tremenhere certainly did not believe him to be dead three weeks ago." " Even so, there could be a compromise. The parties could all be brought into court together." " A very difficult operation indeed, believe me." " Still not an impossible one ; since you have drawn the will you must appear to stand by it, of course ; but you are a man of honor and good feeling, and you must see its injustice. Do you mean to tell me, if Miss Grace, for instance, should marry without regard to these limita- tions, that you would not do your best for her? " " That is scarcely a fair question," answered the lawyer gravely, almost sternly. He could hardly prevent the dis- favor with which he regarded his interlocutor from appear- ing in his voice. He did not like to hear him nneak of fl'l FHE BURNT MILLION. 107 Grace, and es^)ecially in connection with such a subject. It seemed a sacrilege. Was this man only putting a sup- posititious case to him, he wondered, or was he hinting at some scheme of his own ? " I would certainly do all I could to secure the happi- ness of Miss Grace," continued Mr. Allerton, " but that would be very little. It would be for the Court of Chan- cery to act in such a matter. They would have the will before them, and also the eligibility of the husband she had chosen. If you ask my private opinion, the latter consideration would, I think, weigh with a judge almost as much as the former." It was not an answer shot at a venture ; the speaker had aimed it with a particular object, and he saw that it had gone home. On Mr. Roscoc's impassive countenance there stole a cloud, not of disappointment, for he had probably expected some such reply, but of something very like despair ; it was not merely the corroboration of a fear, but the look of a suitor who he^rs a final judgment given against him. It struck Mr. Allerton veiy much, for he saw no sufficient reason for it. Here was a man full of audacity and resource apparently overwhelmed by the mere expression of his private opinion ; or, if it was even the statement of a fact, one that must surely have already occurred to him, if he had thought upon the subject ; and who could doubt that he had ? " No doubt you are right," said Mr. Roscoe after a long pause. " Thank you. I will tell the ladies how the mat- ter stands." And so they parted. Mr. Allerton felt that he had discharged an unpleasant duty in a manner even less satisfactory than he had expected ; had liis news been received with even more antagonism he would have preferred it, if oUiy those he had had to deal with had shown a little more of their hand. The difficulty of the situation lay at present in its obscur- ity; the only thing he felt sure of was that in Mr. Roscoe he would find the key to it. But Mr. Roscoe himself was an enigma to him. ''My impression is," said *'.e lawyer to himself with a grim smile as he walked homeward, " that that man will annoy Lord Morella more than he has ever done yet, by decreasing our scanty success in the conversion of the Jews ; he will embrace the Hebrew persuasion himself, which will count for two on a division." I' •\ % I \\ \ * rM 'I . IcS ril T nURNT MILLION, CHAPTER XVI. THE KEY Of? Yt, I i i As days rolled on Mr. Allcrton was surprised, and perhaps as a lawyer a little disappointed, that Mr. Roscoc, or rather those over whom that gentleman had evidently so great a sway, gave him no trouble. That remark of his that the will would not hold water showed that he was conscious of its weakness, and any advice that he might have taken on the subject would probably have corroborated hi? opinion. If opposition was intended, there seemed no necessity for delay ; but at present there was no sign ol opposition. Mr. Allerton had seen the ladies more than once, and they had fallen in with all his arrangements 39 regarded business matters j no allusion to the will had been made at all. Miss Agnes had taken matters almost entirely on her own shoulders ; " whatever suits my sister will suit me," Philippa had meekly said ; but she had nof looked meek. It struck the li.wyer that they were not on- good terms with one another, but had buried the hatchet while he was with them, as in the presence of a common enemy. And yet they did not treat him as an enemy. Agnes even sought his advice, and put various business- like and pertinent questions to him, the source of which he was at no loss to discover. The two sisters were obviously acting under instructions. As to Grace, matters were very different. In the disposition of the vast income which Mr. Allerton held in trust for her she at first not only took no interest, but the whole subject appeared to be distasteful to her. " Do not let us talk of money," she exclaimed pleadingly. **' But it is necessary," he remonstrated, then added gaily : " you will come to take the same interest in it — or in the spending of it at least — I do assure you, as in shopping." I But there was no answering smile. THE BURNT MILLION, 109 " To me, dear Mr. Allerton, money has been a curse." "What! already!" " Yes, it has altered everybody about me for the worse ; so changed them, indeed, that they are scarcely recogniz- able. Agnes talks, and, alas ! I believe, thinks of nothing else. Poor jjapa is forgotten." " My dear child, you must not think that," said the lawyer caressingly ; " you are too sensitive. Moreover, you must remember that your sisters were not to him what you were, ror he to them. You only were * his little Fairy.' " " I know, I know," she sobbed ; " he loved me so ; but he loved Agnes too, and Philippa. And to hear them speak of him as they do I " " Surely not to you ? " put in the lawyer indignantly. " No, not to me. I am spared that. But to one another." *' Perhaps there is some evil counsellor who sets them against him, who persuades " "No," she interrupted quickly; '* to do Mr. Roscoe justice, that is not so. Pie restrains, and even reproves them. They are not so bitter as they were, I think, thanks to him." " That is so far well. You are right to do him justice, as we should do to all. You must remember, Grace, that not only did your father make a favorite of you, which was not judicious — though I cannot blame him, for I have fallen into the same error — but that the conditions under which he has bequeathed his property affects them to their disadvantage, which (at present at all events) is not your case. You must not be hard on them because they seem hard on him. I have seen so much of this. * The evil which men do lives after them : the good is oft interred with their bones.' " ** No, no," she cried ; *' his good is here," and she touched her bosom. " Yes ; his memory is kept green in your faithful little heart," he answered approvingly. " Still, as I have said, we must be just. Your sisters have some cause for com- plaint — this is the fact. That feeling, however, will wear off. Things will settle down. You are going to the river- side, I hear, for a few days, and afterw.irds to Cumber- land, That will be good for all of you, but it will prevent ft H no THE BURNT MILLION. my seeing you perhaps for a long time to come. It is my duty to inform you how you arc situated as regards your affairs. I hold in trust for you a very large income ; but my hands are free. You will not want a tenth of it. The rest will accumulate — save what you wish to spend on any object dear to you. You liave some cause at heart, perhaps, to benefit ; soijie good purpose to serve." " To do some good ! That would be a pleasure indeed ! " she exclaimed ; " I have never done any good. I know of no good cause. Pray help me." It was pitiful to hear her ! Here was a girl generous, tender-hearted, full of good impulses, no doubt, with the means to indulge them to the full, but who had never done so, from sheer ignorance and lack of opportunity. The charities had never been cultivated at Lebanon Lodge. She was like some moral Laura Bridgman, with all the wish in the world to improve herself, but the soil had run barren because untilled. For the moment, the lawyer was lost in the religious philanthropist ; he saw in this girl, with her generous nature and vast income, an instrument ready to his hand for good. The vision vanished, however, like a breath. Duty with him, though it was by no means divorced from sentiment, was always in subjection to it ; he had something of the zealot about him, but not his greed. Grace might do good with her income, for there was enough and to spare of it ; but what he had in his mind was to save far the greater portion of it, so that when she came of age she should be in possession of a fortune which, however small compared with what should have been her share of her father's wealth, should make her in- dependent of the conditions he had attached to its inherit- ance, and free to marry whom she chose. It was to the lawyer's credit that he was well aware in this case she could never have the husband he had in his mind for her. A few thousand pounds would be a mere drop in the ocean towards restoring the family fortunes of Lord Cheribert. " I will do what I can,'' said Mr. Allerton, smiling, "to put you in the way of finding out for yourself that what you rail against is not an unmixed evil. Money is dross, it is said ; but even dross — the very scum and refuse of things — may be turned to excellent use, just as out of the most offensive substances are extracted the sweetest scents." THE BURNT MILLION. Ill Grace shook her head ; her face expressed disbelief, and even pain ; it was evident that her mind was dwelling on some distressful reminiscence. " Your father himself was fond of money," said the lawyer gently. " True ; but for the good it enabled him to do with it," she exclaimed, with eagerness. " I thank you for remind- ing me of that. He never spoke of his good deeds even to me ; but I remember once, when I was talking to him of his many friends, and how much he was sought after by persons of a rank far above our own, he said that it was his money which gave him the power to help them. 'Every one can help the poor,' he said, 'my little Fairy; but these fine folks who are poor too, though in a different way, cannot be so easily assisted. I am the only man in the world, perhaps, that can keep their heads above water.' " " That was true," assented the lawyer, with a smile that for her had nothing of sarcasm. " Of course it was true. Dear papa was the soul of trutli. ' I hope my little Fairy,' he used to say, * will never, never tell a falsehood.' " The lawyer nodded again ; what she had said was likely enough ; "Josh " used to aver, with a wiser man than he, though not so rich, that lying " was a strain upon the memory.*' " And yet it is against a man like him — their own father — that Agnes and Philippa, just because he has left his money otherwise than they would have wished it — — Don't let us talk of it ; don't let us think of it, Mr. Aller- ton ! " and she hid the face that was blushing for the shame of others. " Still, as I have said, Grace, there is some excuse for them ; they have wrongs which, though you share them, you do not understand at present." ** And I trust I never shall," she sobbed indignantly. " I trust so, too," he answered earnestly. *' Believe me, time will heal their disappointment, as it will your grief. Things will settle down. Your sisters' roof, remember, is your natural home. They are surely not unkind to you? " He asked the question in some trepidation. It would be a great responsibility, as well as an immense incon- venience, to have this girl thrown on his own hands, to be compelled to find a home for her and a protectress. IIS THE BURNT MILLION. I I " No, no," she answered, much to his relief ; " they mean to be kind enough ; and if they only knew how wretched they made me by what they say to one an- other " " That shall be stopped," put in the lawyer confidently. " There shall be no more of it ; and when they cease to talk of their wrongs — which are not altogether fanciful, remember — they will cease to think of them ; that is woman's way." Girl as she was, Grace could have put him right on that point ; but she only inclined her head j the subject was distasteful to her. " Is Mr. Roscoe in the house just now ? " inquired the lawyer. " I suppose so," answered the girl indifferently. It was that gentleman's custom, not only like Hamlet's father " of an afternoon," but in the morning, and also in the evening, to be at Lebanon Lodge ; and she saw nothing strange in the frequency of his visits. '* Just so," said the lawyer drily ; " your sisters have many matters to arrange with him, no doubt." " Agnes has, of course ; she naturally takes the lead, and he is her right hand as it were." " And Miss Philippa?" " Philippa does not concern herself with affairs." " But slie feels what you were telling me about supposed injustice of your father's will as keenly ? " " Oh, yes ; I think even more," sighed Grace, " if that were possible." " Well, well, that will soon be over, I promise you. In the meantime, as you seem a little lonely " " By my own choice," put in the girl. " I understand that. I shall send you a little friend to keep you company — a ward of mine." " Oh, no, no strangers ; at least not yet," pleaded the girl pitifully. " It's only a dog, my dear," he answered, smiling. " I have been left its trustee and executor under an old lady's will; and I am sure I shall find no kinder mistress for it than yourself. It is a well-conducted dog, though it answers to the name of Rip. And now good-bye. I want to have a word or two with Mr. Roscoe about business matters, and will look in upon him as I go out." this THE PTRXT MILLION-, «»3 The lawyer found Mr. Roscoe in his room, looking to the full as much at home there as he had done in his patron's time. He received his visitor stiffly, but cour- teously enough ; his attitude seemed to be one of armed neutrality, ready for either peace or war. "You have been interviewing Miss Grace, I suppose," he said with a quiet smile. '' Yes. I find it rather hard to impress upon her the sense of her own position." "She is utterly ignorant of business." " That was, of course, to be looked for \ but she exhibits a want of interest in her own affairs which is unusual even in a young lady. You will agree with me that, under the circumstances, there is some danger in that, as it will pre- vent her from understanding the motives of others, who may not be so disinterested." " Quite so," returned Mr. Roscoe blandly, " and also their feelings. The latter consideration is of some conse- quence just now, and I am glad to have the opportunity of speaking to you upon the subject. It would, in my opinion, be better, for the present at least, that Miss Grace should be separated from her elder sisters." Mr. Allerton stared in amazement — not only did the pro- position itself seem to him monstrous and unnatural, but it was also the last thing he expected the other to suggest. He knew that Roscoe must desire above all things to retain his influence over the whole family ; and why he should propose that the youngest of them, and presumably the most plastic, should be withdrawn from his control was inexplicable to him. He had the worst opinion of the man ; he regarded him as a respectable solicitor regards a dis- tinctly shady one, and Mr. Roscoe had not even the excuse of belonging to the law. " You surely cannot be serious," he replied. " It would be a very grave step to take a girl of Miss Grace's age from her natural protectors, and her own home. What on earth could justify such a course ? " " Circumstances," returned Mr. Roscoe coolly. " Very peculiar circumstances, I admit, but they exist in her case. She does not get on well with her sisters. They are irri- tated — naturally irritated, as I venture to think — by the provisions of their father's will ; and, like most women, they are unable to control their tongues. She resents their « 't ■A \ K'i if ifi! lllll liii 114 T//E BURNT MILLION. observations on him exceedingly, and they resent her de- fence of him. Some day or another, I am afraid, they will reveal to her his real character, of which she is in a state of blissful ignorance ; then she will have a very rude awa- kening from her Fool's Paradise. That is a misfortune which, for her own sake, should if possible be avoided." Mr. Allerton thought so too ; the contemplation of such a catastrophe, which he felt was only too likely to happen, alarmed him. It was impossible to surmise the effect of such a shock upon a delicate nature, already suffering from the keenest grief On the other hand, he was convinced that it was no solicitude on Grace's account that impelled this man to make the proposition. What could be his motive ? He could not fathom it, but his very failure to do so convinced him that it was a deep one. ** Such a revelation as you speak of, whether founded on fact or not," returned the lawyer, " would, indeed, be deplorable. I cannot conceive a more wicked and cruel act. Nor, if it is really to be apprehended, how it is pos- sible to be avoided. Grace has no other home to go to." Mr. Roscoe shrugged his shoulders and faintly smiled. " We who are bachelors, Mr. Allerton, have much to learn as to the ways of women. It so happens, however, that I have had particular opportunities for studying the characters of the two ladies in question, and under feel- ings of strong irritation — I am speaking to you in confi- dence, of course — they are, in my judgment, capable of anything. As to avoiding such a contingency, it appears to me," he continued in the same quiet tone, but flavored with the least touch of sarcasm, " in view of this weighty consideration, and also of the trust and confidence that the late Mr. Tremenhere evidently reposed in you as regarded this young lady, that you are the proper person to provide a home for her." "That is out of the question," answered the lawyer firmly. " If circumstances compelled her removal from her sister's roof it would involve nothing less than a public scandal, since I should certainly seek for her the protection of the Court of Chancery. I could not have such a responsibility on my own shoulders upon any account. There would be some advantages in such a course, no doubt. She would be secure from adventurers ; whereas, as at present situated, she must be more or less exposed to THE BURNT MILLION. "5 offers of marriage, an acceptance of any of which would, as you are well aware, be fatal to her material interests, though beneficial to those of her sisters. I'll think about it ; but, on the whole, I am strongly of opinion that this danger is less serious than the moral and jjhysical one in^ volvcd in removing her from her own home and belongings and transplanting her elsewhere." "That consideration, I confess, has never occurred to me," said Mr. Roscoe, biting his lips, " noi did I imagine that you would be so unwilling to take jjcrsonal charge of the young lady. Well, I can only say, then, for the present that I will do my best here to smooth matters." '* Grace is already indebted to you, she informs me," said Mr. Allerton graciously, "■ for your good offices in that respect." " See is very good to say so," returned Mr. Roscoe, but his face, as the other took his leave, bore anything but a look of satisfaction. Mr. Allerton felt that his difficulty had been surmounted, but without knowing how that object had been achieved ; he had checkmated his adver- sary, he was convinced, but by some move he did not him- self understand. " The scoundrel was as much frightened at the notion of my applying to Chancery about the girl," said the lawyer to himself as he went his way, " as I was at the idea of taking charge of her. What scheme can he be devising? He did not like that prospect of a ' public scandal,* I noticed. Of course he wants her to marry. Did he think that was more likely to happen if she left her home than if she remained, I wonder ? My argument to the contrary seemed to move him. But there must be something else beyond all that. It seems contrary to reason that he should wish to get rid of her ; yet he certainly did wish it till I threatened him with the Court. It cannot be that he feels himself equal to driving a pair but not the three, for he has pluck and perhaps skill enough to drive a dozen ; why, therefore, should he wish one of these three women away ? " On this problem the old lawyer worked, with his hiir:!s behind him, Hke a boy before the Euclid board, on his road through the park. Before he came in sight of " The Corner" heexclaimed with triumph, " I've got it ! Roscoe must have done, or be intending to do, something he is » < ' \ 4 5^- I «i '41 ^m ii6 THE BURNT MILirON, very much ashamed of and afraid of being found out. The more eyes that are watching him under the same roof the greater is his danger of discovery ; and he wanted to get rid of at least a pair of them. Yes, I feel sure that must be it." And the lawyer nodded to himself and pulled up his ample and old-fashioned shirt-collar, as was his habit when he had succeeded in any obscure calculation ; he thought he had hit the right nail on the head. CHAPTER XVII. ELM PLACE. It is only of late years that the beauties of the Thames have come to be appreciated even by Londoners ; I can my- self remember the time when that lovely reach between Maidenhead and Cookham was almost unvisited except by local admirers, and when an Eton eight-oar, rare as a whale that strays up from the sea to some river-mouth, used to create quite an excitement. The Sunday flotillas, to which illiberal shepherds give the grosser name of Pandemonium, was utterly unknown, and no one who lived on the banks and had a lawn stretch- ing down to the river dreamt that it could one day be his Pactolus. Even to the Americans, who are so quick to discover anything that is worth seeing in England, the Thames was at that time only associated with Windsor. Now all that is changed, and he who visits England for the sake of the picturesque and does not float down — the best way is on barges — from Oxford to Richmond has missed his aim. What is quite peculiar to the Thames, and a very great convenience to people of taste who have also plenty of cash at their bankers', is, that there is scarcely a house on it that cannot be got during the summer months for money. The vicar lets his modest house and garden for that period for a rent that far surpasses his annual stipend ; the landed gentleman in these bad times lets his riparian mansion, at a price that compensates him for the humiliation ; the widow parts temporarily with her modest cottage, and with the proceeds of the transaction THE nrRMT Mir.i.iOiy. "7 makes that tour on the Continent she has so long promised her daughters, but which, had not her house been on the Thames, her poverty must have denied to them. For from twenty-five to fifiy guineas a week the wealthy cit. for three months of the year can now secure a paradise, which, at the conclusion of jiis term, he gives up with a sigh to its proprietor, who takes it with a sigli, for he knows that his orange has been squeezed and flood and frogs will be his portion for the winter. While it lasts, however, there is no heaven on earth to be compared with the Thames heaven. In the case of the Tremenhere family, with their immense income, it was merely a question of which river palace to choose ; it is my belief that they could have had any one of them, excepting > odsor Castle, which has never yet been advertised, nor oven, so far as I know, been disposed of for the summer months by private contract. It was late in the year, and the house agents shook their heads, but nodded them cheerfully when the Tremenhere purse was shaking before their eyes. If money was really no object, no doubt the matter could be arranged for the ladies, even if some tenant had to be bribed to give up his bargain. Mr. Roscoe, of course, conducted the negotiations ; he felt himself like a Monte Cristo, though only by deputy, and immensely enjoyed the experience. This gentleman, like his deceased partner, believed with all his heart and soul in money ; the possession of it afforded him an exqui- site pleasure, dashed only by the reflection that there was not more of it. There, however, the similarity ended. In Josh's character the desire of acquisition never overmas- tered prudence ; Gain with him had been a good dog, but Holdfast was a better. Edward Roscoe never touched a card nor made a bet, and had a very wholesome contempt for those who dissipated their fortunes in such follies ; but he was a born gambler. The Stock Exchange for him supplied the place of the rou- lette-table and the race-course ; and his ventures, compared with his means, were very large. Of this his employer had by some means become aware, and, as we know, had taxed him with it. It was a reason which, even if he had believed him to be an honest man, would have always prevented him from leaving his subaltern in any position of trust as ^ :i If :|i t ill ii8 THE BURNT MILLION. liliiiilli I in HI !'!!! Si regarded his own fortune ; and the knowledge of this fact made Mr. Roscoe as bilker against him as the conditions of the will itself. When he had selected such summer palaces as he thought most suitable — the family only wanted one for six weeks, which, of course, greatly added to its cost — he pre- pared to take the ladies down to make their choice. The expedition promised to be a somewhat exhausting one, and Agnes volunteered to take this trouble off her sister's hands. Grace was well content that it should be so ; but Philippa objected to the arrangement, and showed an un- wonted decision in opposing it. The conflict of opinion between them was sharper than the occasion seemed to warrant. Philippa even lost her temper, and " said things." One of them was that Agnes was not yet old enough to go roving about the country alone with a male friend. This remark, though complimentary to a certain limited extent, was not taken in good part. Some very bitter words passed between the two sisters. " Mr. Roscoe shall decide for us," at last exclaimed Agnes "What! Dc you mean to say that you '111 wish to accompany him alone, notwithstanding what I have said about its impropriety? " inquired Philippa. *- How shame- less ! " " I shall do what Mr. Roscoe thinks right," answered Agnes, with white face and lips that quivered with sup- pressed passion. ' It would have been a pretty quarrel in one sense, though anything but prettv in another, had not the bone of con- tention, Mr. Roscoe himself, happened to come in, which of course prevented the subject being pursued on exactly the same lines. They could hardly discuss the delicate ques- tion of " propriety " in his presence ; but each expressed her views with warmth. Between Goneril and Regan this Edmond had a difficult role to play, but he played it to perfection. However angry they were with one another, he so contrived it that the arrows of their wrath were never aimed in his direction. Now, as they each looked at him as to their own counsel for his advocacy in their favor, it seemed impossible but that he should make one or other of them his enemy. Yet it was not so ; the office he undertook at once was that of judge. He had favoring ■ ■jUSE^WS^t*^ THE BURNT MILLION, 119 it exclaimed eyes for both, though to the close observer there was a diflference in the favor. His kindliest words were directed to Agnes, his most conciliatory looks were given to Phi- Hppa. *' The question is of small importance, my dear ladies, as it seems to me," he cheerfully observed, *' and there is no need to inake a fuss about it. I thought myself, Philippa, as your sister had the management of all domestic matters, that she would be the properest person to make choice of your new home ; and I confess I do not understand, Agnes, why you, who are always so kind as well as sensible, should have any objection to Philippa's accompanying us ; but, on the other hand, the doing so would leave Grace at home alone, which it would hardly be a nice thing to do. Under the circumstances, I must ask you both to leave the matter in my hands. The houses I have selected have all their good points, so that no great mistake can be made in any case, and I will go down by myself and choose the best of them." His tone was gentle but firm ; it had a sort of paternal authority in it from which it seemed there was no appeal, for nothing more was said on the subject. There was a look of patient endurance in his face, which each of the ladies flattered themselves had been produced by her anta- gonist. " How tiresome the dear fellow must find Philippa ! " thought one to herself; " In what false positions Agnes is alway trying to place him ! " thought the other. The next week they all went down to the river. The family circle had an addition in the person of a little black- and-white fox-terrier, Mr. Allerton's promised present to Grace. It was not beautiful (from a dog-fancier's point of view), but accomplished ; that is to say, full of tricks. It tore everything to pieces that it did not swallow, with frantic enjoyment ; and with evident taste preferred a lady's lap to the basket and cushion that had been provided for him. Whoever was sitting down had to accommodate him ; but, once installed, he was not troublesome so long as he was allowed to absorb some article of her attire ; if he had a preference it was for Brussels lace, of which Philippa, who was now always meditative and self-involved, missed some yards on his first day. Notwithstanding this he soon became a great favorite with the sisters, but espe- tlo rriE BURNT MILLION, ., cially with his mistress. He was affectionate and full of caresses for them all ; but he had his dislikes, and one of them was for Mr. Roscoe. Sometimes he would get into a sort of hysterical frenzy at his presence, and bark at him as if he would bark his heart out ; but he generally con- tented himself with a pitiful whine that seemed to say, " How can you, can you, ladies, allow this person to hang about your drawing-room, when you know how I hate him I " It is probable the antagonism was reciprocated,, but Mr. Roscoe had his feelings more under control. Elm Place was somewhat higher up the river than its most beautiful reach (ror some reason or other Clieveden had not been procurable); but it was a very fine house, and commanded an excellent view. It had a beautiful lawn sloping down to the stream, and an old walled gar- den at the back, in which Queen Anne had walked, and on certain occasions (though always at night) was even said to " walk " now. Behind rose great woods, with paths cunningly contrived so that here and there the noble landscape, with the windings of the tranquil river, was made to form a picture set in a leafy frame. This was Grace's favorite retreat ; while her sisters lounged upon the lawn and feasted their eyes upon the ceaseless proces- sion of boats and pleasure-barges, she would, with Rip — " the off-and-on companion of her walk " — climb the fuU- foliaged hill, and gaze her fill upon less busy scenes mel- lowed by distance. She had plenty to think of, and more to dream about. Thanks to Mr. Alierton, she was secretly doing a great deal of good, though, as it were, by leverage ; sometimes she wished that she could do it with her own hands. For the first time, the riddle of the painful earth presented itself to her for reflection ; the unequal distribu- tion of wealth, and her own undeserved freedom from the cares and pains of poverty, disturbed her unsophisticated mind. No doubt she was in error, since her father had not been troubled by it ; but then he had had larger views, and found the opportunities for benevoleiice on a great scale. Her sisters no longer pained her by any reference to him ; but their very silence on the subject distressed her. However his wealth had benefited others while in his hands, it seemed to give little pleasure to .hose who had inherited it ; she felt that it was somehow the cause of that estrangement between Agnes and Philippa, which THE BURNT MILLION. 121 daily grew more marked. She knew not how to make peace between them ; she only vaguely understood that they were jealous of one another ; and any interference on her part, being so much the younger, she felt would be resented. It was a relief to her when her reflections were broken in upon by some piteous and smothered howls from her little companion, whom half a dozen times a day she had to pull out by his tail from a rabbit-hole into which the excitement of the chas ,• had carried him further than he had intended. It mighr have been written with justice upon Rip's grave that " He never, never caught a rabbit," but he tried to catch one many times. The " motive," however, upon which the divines very properly lay such stress, let us hope, was sufficiently punished on each occasion by his being so nearly buried alive. One morning Mr. Roscoe, who was lodging at Milton, a village nearly opposite Elm Place, much frequented by boating-men, brought over with him a visitor. Lord Cheri- bert. The two elder sisters were, as usual, on the lawn, and gave him an eager welcome. He was not unknown to them, as we are aware, but they had probably never expected to see him again. They were much better informed than Grace of the nature of the relations that had existed between their father and the aristocracy, and were very pleased to be thus taken notice of. They had seen scarcely anyone since their bereavement, and even an ordinary morning caller would have been treated with rapture — a lord was, of course, a Godsend. The young fellow addressed a few words of sympathy to them, in suitable tones, but soon observed, much to his relief, that their woe had been already relegated to what the mourning establishments call ** the mitigated grief department," and it did not seem to him surprising. It was impossible, he thought in his artless way, that anybody should really be in the doldroms who had come into such a " pot of money." Josh's will had not yet been published, but the fact of his finding them where they were was proof that his " little leavings " (as his lordship spoke of them, just as his nautical friends called London " the village ") had taken a natural direction. " We did not know you were a boating man, Lord Ghe- ribert," said Agnes graciously, with a glance at his aquatic costume. 1 H 1 . i •* r i 122 THE BURNT MILLION. 11 " Nor am I," he replied, with a slight blush (by no means caused, however, by this reference to his airy garb) ; " I am much better at steering than pulling ; but the fact is, I had some business with Mr. Roscoe (he would never call him " Roscoe," which annoyed that gentleman exces- sively), and, finding him down at Milton, I could not resist the temptation of looking in upon you. I hope Miss Grace is well." He had been looking round for her with some impa- tience, which both the sisters set down to its true cause, yet, strangely enough without the least feeling of jealousy. It might have been thought by some that this angelic state of affairs resulted from the peculiar conditions of their father's will, which made it to their advantage that Grace should find a wooer ; but, to do them justice, it was not so. They did not covet Lord Cheribert except as a very eligible acquaintance, and they thought it only natural that the youth and beauty of their sister should have made an impression on him. They had no desire to be enriched at her expense, which would, after all, be only an increase to their incomes, concerning which they had nothing to com- plain of. Yet if Lord Cheribert's visit had any serious intention as regarded Grace it would make little difference to her, since they knew he was heir to a vast estate, whe- ther she had her money or not ; while to have a brother- in-law who would one day be a peer of the realm was an idea little short of rapturous. ** As to Grace," said Agnes, smiling, *' you will proba- bly have the opportunity of judging of the state of her health. Lord Cheribert, with your own eyes, for here com&'s>'\Mix avant'Coureur. Where is your mistress, Rip?" Rip was tearing down from the house to them as usual at full speed ; he whirled round the ladies like a dancing dervish, snatched at the hem of Mr. Roscoe's trousers with an angry bark, and then leapt into Lord Cheribert's lap as he sat in the garden chair, and ensconced himself on his soft flannels as though he had taken a lease of them for the summer months. " What a dear dog ! " exclaimed his lordship, in acknow- ledgment of this friendly conduct. "You may well say that," said Philippa ; " we calculate that he has cost us about fifty pounds already in breakages and depredations, and we have only had him a month." THE BURNT MILLION'. »43 " Can he swim ? " inquired Lord Cheriberl, without thinking of what he was saying ; for his thoughts, like his eyes, were fixed on a figure that now made its appearance at the open drawing-room window. " I am sorry to say he can," said "Mr. Roscoe gloomily. *' He is not charming, to mv mind, but he bears a charmed life." " How can you talk so cruelly ! " said Philippa reproach- fully, and Agnes made a blow at the hard-hearted speaker with her parasol which would have sca'-cely injured a gnat. ** I am torn by contending emotions, Miss Grace 1 " exclaimed the young lord, smiling. " I want to rise to do your of disturbing little you honor, but I am afraid favorite." " Pray keep your seat, Lord Cheribert." Her tone v/as gracious as she held out her hand to him, but very grave. She was thinking of the last and only time she had seen hira, when he had been introduced to her by her father. She wore, of course, the same deep mourning as her sisters, but, as it seemed to the suitor, with a difference. It is not the trappings and the suits of woe tliat make us sad to look upon, but the heart that mourns within us ; yet to his eye the girl appeared more beautiful in her sorrow than she had in her joy upon her birthday fete. " I should not have called so soon," he murmured apologetically, "but that I found myself near your house." " We are glad to see you. I have heard of your kind inquiries about us from Mr. Allerton — tliey touched me very much," she added softly, and with a break in her voice. "■ I should have been very ungrateful if I had forgotten " Here he stopped ; he had been about to say " what I owed to your father," but he suddenly recollected that the phrase was open to a double meaning. It was not possible that what one owed to him could be forgotten, since " Josh " had taken great care to have it put down in black and white. The young man's unfinished sentence, however, was undesignedly perfect, and she thanked him for it with her eyes. " We must think it a great compliment that Lord Cheribert looked in upon us," explained Agnes, " since hq ■ J % 124 THE BURNT MILLION. is not a devotee to aquatics, he tells us, though he wears the garb of one." " I am glad to be doing so, since Miss Grace's little dog seems so partial to flannels," said the young fellow. It was rather an indirect method of pleasing Rip's mis- tress ; but Agnes was too satisfied with the motive to question the speech. To find a lord so civil to them was in itself a joy. The speaker himself, on the other hand, was uneasily conscious of having said something ridiculous, and, as is usual in such cases, blundered on. ** At least, if it isn't the flannels, I can't think how I have so soon ingratiated myself into his affections. Perhaps our characters are sympathetic. What is the little doggie's name ? " " Rip ! " exclaimed Mr. Roscoe, with unmistakable significance. Lord Cheribert laughed aloud, but the color rushed into his face. The two elder ladies kept their eyes riveted on the ground, in silence ; but Grace, unconscious of the unfortunate coincidence, came to the rescue. "Rip is a very affectionate, well-meaning dog," she said, " notwithstanding his bad name and naughty ways." The young lord, who was not without a sense of humor, removed his cap in acknowledgment of the unintended compliment, and the rest of the party relieved their feelings by a ripple of laughter. " i .eally don't see " began Grace, blushing to her forehead. " Then I beg nobody to open your eyes," interrupted the young man fervently. '•' Your sisters and Mr. Roscoe are bent upon blackening my character, Miss Grace. It is as pure as the driven snow — after it has fallen a day or two," and he joined heartily in the mirth of the others. There is nothing that puts i)eople on such easy terms w.ith one another as a joke at the expense of one of them good-humoredly enjoyed ; and Lord Cheribert — who was '■ ery easily put at his ease — found himself quite at home. mm THE BURNT MILLION. MS CHAPTER XVIII. '.'-I CONFIDENCES. Although Lord Cheribert was not a boating-man, he was well acquainted with river life ; he had a natural tendency towards sport of every description ; to say the truth, cared for little else. It is often said of this and that clever young fellow who shoots, or rides, or even plays whist or billiards to admiration, that the talents he exhibits in these pursuits would, properly directed, lead him to fame or fortune ; but the fact is, some men are born with a marvelous capacity for sports and games, and for nothing else. The pupil of Plato's whom the philosopher would have Formed for virtue's nobler view By precept and example too, but who would persist in astonishing the crowd at the Corinthian games by his skill as a whip (which must have been considerable), was one of this class. Though he could make the wheels of his four-in-hand iirl ■Hm Along the indented plain the self-same track to mark again, it is probable he could never have pursued even a single course of philosophic lectures. The thing was not in him ; he was born for a life of pleasure. A contemptible existence, it may be said, enough ; but, on the other hand, it is to be noted that your born sportsmen (in the English, not the American sense) is not always an idle man, and does not necessarily turn out the total wreck and failure that a man of pleasure who is not a sportsman is almost sure to become. He may be dissipated, but he need not be debauched ; he may be reckless, but he is rarely callous ; he may easily enough, under adverse circumstances, be a scamp, but there is generally something wholesome about him which preserves him from being a scoundrel. Lord II 326 THE BURNT MILLION'. Cheribert was a man of this kind ; but though he had no aptitude for the serious business of life, he had gifts which would have made him a social success — would have ensured him, that is, a personal popularity in any branch of it. Being a lord and the heir to a great estate, his gracious manners and handsome face, his !iumor and frankness, would have made him £i persona grata with society could he have been induced to mingle with it ; but society bored him. Compared with the ordinary devotees of the turf, who had been his chosen companions, he seemed like an angel, though undoubtedly a fallen one ; with them he was like the one-eyed man among the blind. But to those who knew nothing about his antecedents — and even to some who did — he was, superficially, very attractive. He had the art of making himself agreeable without exertion in a high degree. With women he was an immense favorite ; his male friends, with more jealousy than justice, called him " the innocent seducer." He was no more capable of seduction, in its ordinary sense, than of theft. Though, as we have said, not aquatic, he was conversant with boating matters, and in one half-hour put his audience so much au cotirant with everything in connection with them, that the changing scenes of river life constantly pre- sented to their eyes were invested with thrice the attraction they had hitherto possessed for them. " I know Elm Place quite well," he said ; '* Villiers had it, you know " (here he turned to Mr. Roscoe), " who came to grief over Camperdown at Doncaster." Mr. Roscoe nodded ; he could have given other causes for Mr. Villiers having come to grief, had he so chosen. " Indeed," continued the young fellow, '* I have lunched before " (for they were now partaking of that meal) " in this very room," and he looked round him with an air of reminiscence. It was a large apartment, with four French windows, all now open, so that, except for the comfort with which the meal was served, it might have been a picnic. " To my mind it is the pleasantest house upon the river, thouih that roar of the Milton Weir has always a melancholy sound to my ears." " I rather like it," said Agnes ; " it reminds me of the London traffic, which, when one is away from town, one somehow always misses." THE BURNT MILLION. "7 " And you, Miss Grace ? " inquired Lord Cheribert. " Yes, I like it, too. There is something soothing, if a little sullen, in that eternity of sound." ** I used to like it once myself," said the young man gravely ; *' but for me it has now a tragic association." "Really? Oh, do tell us!" exclaimed Philippa. "1 do so love tragedy." This was not true, for incidents of a tragic nature "up- set " her. It will be remembered how dreadfully " cut up," as Mr. Roscoe had expressed it, she had been on the occasion of her father's death, though she had since come to regard her loss with a little too much philosophy. She was more emotional than Agnes, and certainly more easily frightened. When she said she loved a tragedy, she only meant that she was curious to know what had happened at the weir. The river forked at Milton Weir, where a few -osts marked out the course of its main current; the si' -.tream rushed through these posts at speed, and then \v ..:i increased velocity dashed over the weir in foam and thunder. '• Well, it is rather a sad story to tell people at lunch," said Lord Cheribert unwillingly ; " but I suppose such things are constantly happening on the river ; there is scarcely an eddy which has not had its victim, or a bathing- place where somebody has not been drowned ; only I saw this with my own eyes, you see, which makes a difference. We were sitting at this very table — a whole lot of us — when an argument arose about boating. Some said you could " shoot " Milton Weir, and others that you could not, and then the speed and force of the by-stream, that leads to the lock, was discussed, and whether a good swimmer could hold his own in it. Young Picton, of the Guards, said he was sure it could be done, and offered to back himself to pass the posts, and swim round the one which stands with a ring through it, about thirty yards further down, in the very centre of the stream, and back again. It seemed rather a foolhardy thing to try, but he said he had been in worse places in the river (though it would be ditricult to find them), and I backed him, though at long odds, to do it. I regret that bet to this day." " Still, as you were backing him," observed Mr. Roscoe, '' it could not have influenced him in any way to undertake the inatter." :^i liH ■ It ^1 ■t 128 THE BURNT MILLION. n m I am not sure," said the young lord gloomily ; " if there had been no backers there would have been no layers, and I put a pony on it. A lot of us went off to the place at once in a couple of punts ; young Picton was in my boat, in the highest spirits. He was not twenty, and as fine a young fellow as there was in the r'*""iment. When he had stripped, and just before he took his header, he called out : * Get your money ready, I shall be back under the ten minutes.' But he never came back to us alive." " How horrible ! " exclaimed Grace with a shudder. " Why, yes, as it turned out," assented Lord Cheribert in a gentle and contrite tone ; " but nothing was further from our thoughts than his being drowned. He might not get round the middle post, which he had backed himself to do, but we thought he would at least be drawn down by the current to the weir, where there is a landing stage. But that by-stream is full of under-currents, as we were after- wards told, and the poor boy, though he got round the post, was whirled round and round before our eyes, and presently pulled under as though a rope had been tied to his legs. When the place was dragged for him, it was found choked with water weeds, and he among them. And that is why I don't like the sound of the Milton Weir." The ladies looked greatly horrified, and there was an unpleasant silence at the conclusion of the young lord's narrative. Mr. Roscoe broke it by observing drily, " But you won your bet f " " I won it, but i did not take it," replied Lord Cheribert. " As the other man was obliged, of course, to pay, I sent the hundred pounds — for he had bet me 4 to i — to the Royal Humane Society. I was more sentimental at that time than since you have known me, Mr. Roscoe," he added sharply. " It was quite the right thing to do," said that gentle- man with undisturbed serenity. " If you think so, that, of course, settles the question." The young man was rather ashamed of the weakness he had exhibited, and resented exceedingly the other's cynical comment. His irritation was so far of advantage, that the spectacle of it turned the thoughts of the ladies from the tragic episode he had been describing, and Agnes, with some tact, began to praise the Royal Humane Society, and then, gradually extricating herself from the subject, pro- posed a walk in the grounds. -* ^1 ;re was an THE BURNT mLLION. 139 She was a. clever woman, though her sympathies were restricted within narrow limits. Her natural horror at the incident just described had already quitted her, as water slips from a duck's back ; though it was not so with Philippa, and much less with Grace, whose face still wore an expression of distress and pain. Lord Cheribert was angry with himself, as Agnes saw, for having evoked it. " Do you know the view from the hill at the back of the house ? " she asked him. ** Grace has made some sketches of it ; show them to Lord Cheribert, my dear." The sketches were sent for and duly admired. "They are charming," said the young man; "would it be rude to ask if they are truthful ? " " You are putting the artist on the horns of a dilemma," put in Agnes, smiling ; " she must either confess to failure or rim the risk of being thought conceited." " You are quite right," said the young man humbly. " I am always making a fool of myself. Let us go up the hill by all means." Then it so happened that Agnes and Philippa had some alteration to make in their toilettes, while Grace had none ; so Lord Cheribert and herself started a little in advance of them, Mr. Roscoe, cf course, delaying for the two elder ladies, on one or other of whom he was in constant attendance. " I hope I have not shocked you too much with my sad tale, Miss Grace," said the young lord, in a tone of tender apology, as they walked up the hill. " I was shocked, I confess, Lord Cheribert." " I do not wonder at it ; I was wrong to tell the story. It is a terrible thing for a fine young fellow to be cut ofif like that." " For a bet," observed Grace with severity. " Yes, and, as you say, for a bet. I used to bet a good deal, as I daresay you have heard." " I have heard something about it." " Well, I don't do it now ; at least I don't mean to do it after next month." " Why next month ? " " Because that is when my race comes off, you know ; or rather you don't know. It is very much after time. I have promised my father that it shall be my last profes- sional performance on the pig — I mean in the saddle." 9 I •*• ■■;»-' i< ' III > in I ,1 130 THE BURNT MILLION. " Do you mean tliat you are a ])rofcssional jockey?" "Well, no; not quite that," he answered, smiling; "there are gentlemen riders of course. You seem to be quite ignorant of these things ; most of the ladies I know — but, to be sure, I don't know many — are devoted to racing." " And to bets ? " " Yes, and to bets. Of course some of them only bet gloves — those always want a point or two, I notice, beyond the odds ; but some of them make regular books, and are quite as keen about the money as we are." " I don't think I should like those ladies." " I daresay not j I am not wildly fond of them myself. I prefer quiet girls, who have good feelings and — and — what a dear doggie that is of yours ! Rip, Rip ! " and the little creature barked and danced around the young lord, just as he would have had him to do, and so preserved him from a very considerable embarrassment. Grace had by no means fallen in love with him, as perhaps he flat- tered himself, and was not embarrassed in the least. If she had understood his meaning, as he now felt, she might not only have been embarrassed but even angry \ he had been going much too quick and too far, but Rip had saved him. Dogs have great sagacity j in Hampshire they are trained for truffle hunting, why should they not be also trained for " gooseberry picking " — to accomi)any young people in the early days of their " walking " together, and to make diversions just at the fight moment ? " Since you disapprove of those who are keen, as you express it, about winning money from their friends. Lord Cheribert," said Grace after a piiuse, " why do you like to do it yourself? " " I was only speaking of Ihc matter as regards ladies. Miss Grace. With a man, of course, it is different. What is a fellow to do — I mean a fellow in my position — if he does not speculate a little ? I don't understand invest- ments, as your poor father did, so I try the turf, not with such satisfactory results^ I am sorry to say." He was defending himself by this reference to Mr. Tremenhere, but he little knew the effectiveness of his weapon. She took a milder view of the young man's proceedings at once, though he had not her father's excellent motives. "Yes, I suppose the desire of gain is natural to a man," fo ir THE liVRNT MILLION'. •51 she said, " like his delight in hunting. I can't understand the attniction in either case, so I luippose 1 am no judge of it. Vou don't want the money and you don't want the fox." " Oh, but there you arc quite mistaken, Miss Grace," he put in earnestly. " As to the fox, I have not a word to say ; he has a disagreeable smell, which the money never has — even the old Romans knew that — non o/et, they said — and I want it exceedingly. Considering what people are pleased to call my 'position,' I am the greatest pauper in all England." " You don't look like it," answered Grace, smiling. His frankness and the smile that so well suited with it were having their effect upon her. *' Well, these flannels are not costly, though my tailor will have to wait for his money for them. But it is the very fact of one's having to keep up a certain appearance that prevents one from retrenching; at least that is what the governor says in explanation of what Mr. Roscoe would call a tightness in the money market. I am ashamed of myself for speaking of such matters to you, Miss Grace ; but if any one should ever tell you that I am exceedingly hard up, I am sorry to say — whatever might be their motive for saying it — that they would only be say- ing the truth." She looked at him in some surprise, for his tone seemed unnecessarily earnest. ** I don't suppose any one is likely to say anything of the kind to me, Lord Cheribert," " Very likely not," he laughed uneasily; "but if they do, you know, you might just tell them that you had been made aware of the fact by the person principally inter- ested. Now I daresay you are saying to yourself what an egotistic creature this man is to bore me with his private affairs, in which I cannot see one ray of interest." " Nay, Lord Cheribert, that is not so," she answered gently ; " but, no doubt through my own stupidity, I am utterly unable to understand the immense importance which people, who have enough to live upon, attach to more money." " Indeed 1 " He looked surprised in his turn. " Well, the fact is, I am not in a position to enlighten you upon that point," replied the young fellow, laughing, " for I have A I. I : ! I Pill i '1; 132 THE BURNT MILLION, never had enough to live upon. I have been in debt ever since I was at school." " That means that you have always lived beyond your income, and, I am afraid, been very extravagant," she answered reprovingly. " People do say that," he admitted gravely, '* but then they will say anything. Selwyn says — but perhaps you don't know Selwyn — that if you spend every shilling on yourself it is quite extraordinary how far your money can be made to go ; but I protest I never found it so." '■' And have you spent every shilling on yourself, Lord Cheribert?" " Directly or indirectly, every sixpence." ''Then you must forgive me for saying that I think it shameful. Some of us err in that way through ignorance of what is going on in the world, but that cannot be your case. Pray Heaven for a human heart, my lord." And she stood regarding him, face to face, with a flush of indignation on her cheek, and the fire of scorn in her eyes, he stared at her in amazement. " My heart is human enough. Miss Grace," he answered humbly, " and I don't think it is hard." " Pardon me ; I had no right to speak so, Lord Cheri- bert." " Nay pardon me ; you have a right, if you will permit me to say that much. But I don't tl ink I am quite so worthless as I seem." She would have spoken, but he stopped her with a gesture. " Pray listen to me one mo- ment in my own defence. There are those who will tell you that I have had great advantages, and therefore ought to be a better man. I ought, Heaven knows, but not on that account. I have had ^/j-advantages of every kind. Spoilt ■ )m my cradle, fawned upon even in boyhood, which it IS most falsely told us is the age of naturalness, flattered as I grew up, to the top of my bent, I have never heard the truth about myself, till now, from a single voice, save one, and that a harsh one — my own father's." ** Had you no mother ? " inquired Grace softly. " She died before I knew her." ** So did mine," murmured the girl. '* But you, at least, had a father who loved you dearly. Thr-t was not my case. I do not know when it was that he began to look coldly upon me, but it was too early. \ THE BURNT MILLION. m He means to be His paternal heart was one to be led, I think — I could never stand being driven — but there was no one to lead me ; and now, per- haps, it is too late." Grace trembled, but not, as the young man perhaps imagined, from any notion of taking him in hand ; she trembled at her audacity in having taken it upon herself to lecture him. She felt like a timid schoolmistress who has " tackled " too big a boy. "I understand," she said, ''you have been reconciled to your father." " Yes, that is so, in a sort of way. kind now, I think — after next month." " Next month ? " " Yes, after my last race is ridden, will not begin to yearn for me till I have left the turf. Mr. Allerton will tell you all about it, if you are so good as to ask him." The young girl blushed on her own account for the first time. She recognized at once that there could be only one reason for her making inquiry of Mr. Allerton about Lord Cheribert's prospects of amendment, and, above all, for his asking her to do so. The young man perceived her embarrassment and at once endeavored to relieve it. "Perhaps some day or other. Miss Grace," he continued, smiling, " I shall be a jjattern son and a reformed character, and you will say ' Good boy ' instead of scolding me." '* I never meant to scold you ; I had no right " " You said that before," he put in quickly ; '' I hope you will not repeat it. It is the only thing you have said to me that was not kind. — Rip ! Rip ! good doggie ! so they are coming up, are they ? — How quick his ears are for the feet of a friend ! Here are your sisters and Mr. Roscoe." CHATTER XIX. THE WEIR. Of all pleasure-vessels, there is none so much run down — though it has the reputation of doing that to others — as the river steam-launch. It is too big for its place ; it is ugly ; its voice is strident and ear-piercing ; and it causes 134 THE BURNT MILLIOK, waves to rise in its wake that arc a great nuisance to rowing-boats. All this is very true ; but, for comfort and convenience to its passengers, give me (or even lend me) a steam-launch, in preference to any other boat that cleaves the stream. There are no perspiring rowers to watch, which of itself is a relief to anyone gifted with human pity ; you can move about without upsetting the ship, or ship- ping a sea, or unshipping the rudder, or doing anything nautically objectionable ; you have not got to look out (metaphorically speaking) for squalls ; another has to look out for you — and squalls j you can take your lunch like a civilized being, and a much better one than ever came out of a row-boat ; you are not concerned about the difference between up-stream and down-stream ; you " need no aid of sail or oar, and heed no spite of wind or tide " ; and when it rains you can get under cover. Of course there was a steam-launch attached to Elm Place, as well as a flotilla of skiffs and punts ; its name was the Comet, but when the Tremenheres used it it was more commonly termed the Compassion, because of its gentle ways. Grace would never go on board of it save under a solemn promise that it should not spurt unless the course was clear; that it should "slow " whenever there was a boat within fifty yards of it ; and that it should never be allowed to scream. AVhen it wanted the lock gates open a horn was blown, vice the steam-whistle superseded. This made it a floating heaven for everybody as well as the angel herself. Sometimes the Compassion would tow a boat or two up-stream, when the joy and gratitude of the tired oarsmen were delightful to see, and proved what they really thought of rowing. Lord Cheribert, in spite of his flannels, was never unwilling to forego the delights of boating and accept an invitation from the ladies to go up or down the river in the Comet. He generally had a bet or two with Mr. Roscoe — just a sovereign or so, unless that gentleman thought it a particularly "good thing," when he would "make it a fiver " — about how many boats there would be in a lock, or how many swans they would meet in a mile — for he could no more help betting than he could help breathing ; it was not, however, that time was heavy on his hands, for he enjoyed these little trips amazingly, and had an idea that he was getting domestic. His company was greatly THE BURNT MILLION. «3S appreciated by Mr. Roscoe, because he won money of him ; by the two elder sisters, because he was a lord (they would like to have painted on him — as the boat had the Comet on her stern — " This is a lord") ; and by Grace, because she really liked him. His manners were unexceptionable; his talk was bright and genial ; and she believed that he had a good heart. Perhaps he had ; it ought at all events to be in good condition, for it had suffered nothing from use. It had experienced a few impulses — some creditable to him, but some the reverse — that was all. Grace likened him with the poet to the lily. But Lord Chcribert was not, it must be confessed, very like that emblem of purity in other respects. He once told an old friend of hers with whom he was acquainted, in an unwonted moment of confidence, that Grace Tremenhere " did him good " ; and in a vague sort of way, I think, she shared this notion. There is nothing so pleasing to a girl's nature as the belief that she is reforming a rake, though, as a general rule, she might as well stroke a hedgehog with the object of making that animal smooth. Grace did not flatter herself to this extent; but it did not escape her observation that in her presence the young fellow was always at his best ; that he toned himself down, as it were — " slowed " like the Comet — and strove to make his con- versation agreeable to her. She sighed over him while she smiled at him. Her sisters often interchanged significant glances in connection with these young people, and even whispered to one another : " I really think this will come to something." Mr. Roscoe nodded adhesion, and, with less circumlocu- tion, observed, " He's hooked " — an expression more for- cible than appropriate, since it suggested that the young lady had been fishing for him, which was very far indeed from being the case. A great deal of river life was seen from the deck of the Cornet^ and a very picturesque and pleasant spectacle it was. Gracj grew quite learned about it, thanks to Lord Chcribert's teaching, who enjoyed his tutorship amazingly, and could not understand what the poor devils had to com- l)lain about who found coaching so irksome ; he would have taught her anything he knew with the same alacrity, though the terms of i)ayment were less distinctly under- stood than he could have wished. :.r ill 136 THE BURNT MILLION. Their neighbors at !Miltcn in the aquatic line particular- ly interested the ladies ; it is a village as completely given up to boating-men i]i tl^.e summer months as Switzerland is to tourists. L^ver)' day fifty fine young fellows, in every description of river craft, from the i)unt to the canoe, set forth from it up stream or down, and many of their sun- burnt faces grew quite familiar to them. The two London eight-oars were their favorite boats, the crews of which were probably even more familiar with them, though neither party had interchanged a word. Whether, in acknowledgment of the courtesy exercised by the Compas- sion in " slowing," or from the natural chivalry of their dis- position, these young gentlemen would often get up a race for the amusement of its owners, and in return the launch would sometimes tow them home. When this happened the ladies had an opportunity of observing their unknown friends with considerable i)articularity. At first the MoiiarcJi used to beat tlie Prudent^ but after a while the result of the struggle was the other way, in consequence, as Lord Cheribert said, of a change in the latter's crew. The new stroke was a stranger to him, but he had heard sometliir.g about him, and indeed it was natural to those who saw Wal'.er Sinclair for the first time to inquire who he was. Lie v.ms not only a tall powerful young fellow, exceptionally good-looking — fair except as to face and hands, which the sun had tanned to a tawny hue, and with nut-brown hair that seemed to curl more and more as he warmed to his M'ork — but had an air of great distinction. Though evidently a gentleman, he hac' not the aristocratic appearance of Lord Cheribert \ but his expression, which is unusual among boating men, was curiously thoughtful. When he was pulling he pulled with a will — or, as Mr. Roscoe expressed it, "like ten thousand devils" — but wluji in repose he seemed to lose himself He seldom joined in the subdued talk and laughter of the rest of the crew at their ease ; his grey eyes seemed to be looking into space for something beyond the horizon. Yet they took in every thing a1)0ut him — he was the best " look-out" in the boat — and sometimes (though he was much too well bred to stare) they took in the Cornet^ every stick of her, like a flash of lightning. He interested the ladies consi^ dcrably, wlio named him Werter from his supposed dispo- sition to melancholy ; but whether he was so or not, he THE BURNT MILLION. 137 was certainly the cauie of melancholy to the Monarch. Lord Cheribert affirmed that he was as good a swimmer as he was an oarsman, and that he could give any of his com- panions ten yards in a hundred in a foot race. Tlicy called him tJie C/icrokcc, because he had been amongst the American Indians, and had acquired some of their accom- plishments. One afternoon the Comet made rather a longer voyage than usual, down to Vv'indsor ; it was a day Grace long remembered. Never had the river looked so bright and joyous. She could scarcely tell whether the warmth of the sunshine in the open, or the chequered shadow of the woods, or the coolness of the locks, as the launch sank with the sinking of the waters, was most delightful. The Castle, seen from the bosom of Father Thames — the noblest spectacle that man's hand has ever given to man's eye ; the woods of Clieveden not yet touched with autumn's fiery finger; the peaceful villages on either side the stream had never seemed to her so beautiful. Lord Cheribert sat near her, quietly smoking the contents of his cigar-case, which was of the size of a small portmanteau ; if he could not always sym- pathize with her thoughts, he knew when she did not want them disturbed, and found satisfaction enough in looking at her as she sat with Rip on her lap, and her dreamy eyes half closed. There are eyes which, though beautiful in themselves, look better so, as Solomon (who had a great experience) well understood : they take us with their lids. Presendy the dog leaped down and began to bark; a swan was hissing at someone in a canoe. It was ungrate- ful of the bird, for the man had been feeding her with biscuits, and when his store was finished, and he moved lightly away with a silvery splash of his oar, she resented it. It was Werter, as they called h.im, returning home and close to Milton lock. Its gates received his canoe, as well as the launch, into its icy bosom, which slowly rose with both of them. There are few places where we get so good a view of our fellow-creatures as when we are in the same lock with them ; it is almost as good as being in the same boat. " What a magnificent fellow that Sinclair is ! " observed Lord Cheribert softly ; " it is a pity that Oxford could not have him in their boat at Putney." MX f I : '^ . : f ■ « i >' r m m «38 THE BURNT MILLION, " He is not a University man, then ? " inquired Grace. " Oh, no ; he has had a rough time of it in his life, I believe, out in the Wild West." " He does not look rough." " No, indeed. He is gentle and good-natured enough, they tell me." Here the young fellow put his hand upon the launch to steady his frail craft, and Rip, having sniffed at it as if it were something nice to eat, proceeded to lick his fingers. " It is a good sign when your little dog takes to a man. Miss Grace, is it not? " whispered Lord Cheribert. ** I don't think Mr. Roscoe would agree with that senti- ment," answered the girl, smiling. " But nevertheless, generally spea'-mg ^ 'hink it is so." " I'm glad to hta; you say that, because, you know, he took to ;«g a hard life — that, indeed, we all do out West," he added hastily ; " but his passion was hunting, which out there means shooting. I know of few men who could maintain themselves so well by their rifles when game was scarce." " He must be your orother, Mr. Roscoe," exclaimed Lord Cheribert, laughing. " These suorting instincts run in a family." " It is generally a misfortune for the family when they do so," observed Mr. Roscoe, significantly. He was generally impervious to sarcasm, but on this occasion Lord Chcri- bert's sally seemed to have hit on a tender place. " It was a misfortune for me in this case," continued Sin- clair, who understood, of course, the satire of neither speaker ; " for it was Richard Roscoe who persuaded my poor father to go to the plains where he met with a miser- able end — not that I blame your brother W t^e least^ sir," \? ■V*}/ r I ■ « 148 THE BURNT MILLION, he added, gently. " He was a very frank and fearless fellow, and, I am sure, a faithful friend." A sigh of reminiscence (or perhaps of relief) here invol- untarily broke from Mr. Roscoe. " I hope you have heard no ill-news of your brother ? " said the young man, earnestly. " No ; not at all. He is in good health, and in the last letter I had from him expressed his intention of returning to England." " Indeed ? There is no man I wish more to see," said Sinclair, eagerly. " He would have sought me out himself could he have done so, I feel sure, though the tidings he had to give me I know only too well, save in their details." " How curious it all seems ! " observed Philippa, break- ing the somewhat embarrassing silence ; " how strange that Mr. Sinclair should be a friend of Mr. Roscoe's brother I How small the world is ! " " Not the New World," observed the new-comer, gravely. " Here in England we are accustomed to associate wide separation with the ocean. In America it is not so ; though on the same continent, those who wish to meet are often deterred from doing so by thousands of miles of land-travel. Even that, of course, can be surmounted by those who have long purses; but that has, unfortunately, not been the case with my friends. No one knows what poverty is who has not been in a strange land cut off from all who are near and dear to him by the want of a few hundred dollars." Lord Cheribert and Grace involuntarily exchanged glances. '■'■ You know what I told you ! " his half-laughing look seemed to say, " of the great convenience of ready money." '* You know what I told you," her grave eyes seemed to say, '* of the selfishness of those who lavish great possessions upon their pleasures, when so many souls as well as bodies are in actual need 1 " i. ..*jju«:5o THE BURNT MILLION. / ** Then let her take up with Sinclair." " Take up, indeed ! That shows the value you place on a woman's love," she exclaimed, bitterly. " Nay, nay, you know better than that," he replied, softly. " The phrase was a coarse one, I admit ; but seriously it seems to me that Grace is leaning towards this young fellow at an acuter angle, as it were, than she leaned to the other. So long as she falls into the arms of one of them, it is no matter which." " How hard you are, Edward ! I am sometimes tempted to think that everything is a matter of calculation with you ; that love is worth nothing in your eyes." " Not even a risk?" he put in, gravely. " I don't say that," she continued less vehemently, " But it seems it is not worth a loss." " A loss? You speak as if the matter were not one in my eyes in which love was in one scale and money in the other, and that the latter weighed down the former. You kno7a that that is not the case, Philippa." " I know that I am a very miserable woman," she an- swered, with a sob. " How unreasonable you are ! " he said, reprovingly ; " it is not two months ago that, on a certain occasion, when your imprudence — nay, and mine, too, I confess it — was, you remember, almost the cause of our undoing " " Don't speak of it," she broke in, in terrified accents. " Remember it ? Can I ever forget it ? " " And yet, to hear you now, one would think you had forgotten it. I say that when that happened you solemnly promised me it should be the last of our risks ; a lesson you would lay to heart, and never cease to remember ; that henceforth my motto should be * Patience,' and yours should be 'Trust.'" " I do trust you," she answered, in a voice half choked by tears, ** and in more ways than one, as you well know j but I did think that when — when our circumstances altered there would be no need for patience." " So did I," was the quiet rejoinder. " Again you speak, Philippa, as if you were the only sufferer. I say I thought so too ; and who would not have thought so ? " His face was white with passion, and he clenched his hands as though in recollection of some grievous wrong. " We have been cruelly treated^ you and I ; but it cannot last for THE BURNT MILLION. 'SI ever. If our freedom docs not come by one way it will come by another. It is for that that I have been waiting ; though hitherto, it is true, the Fates have been against us. On Grace's marriage, remember, we should have much more to work with." " More money ? What do we want of money ? " she en- quired, passionately. " I hate the very name of money." " Still it is a necessary evil," he answered, drily. " You do not wish your sister Agnes to inherit the whole of your father's property, I suppose? You would not be obliged to her for the scraps she might throw to you out of her abundance. You would not like to be patronized by her as a poor relation." ** I should not indeed," she answered vehemently ; the fire in her eyes, the flush on her cheek, the impatient beat of her foot upon the ground, showed how little she would like it. ** Then let Trust and Patience be our mottoes for a little longer. Everything comes to them who wait." Thus, time after time, did Edward Roscoe stave oflf the question, " How long is this to last ? " from Philippa Tre- menhere. It was a difficult task, but not so difficult as to answer the same inquiry from her elder sister. Agnes was far bolder than Philippa, because her posi- tion, as she thought, was assured. She could hardly call her a chit of a girl, but she regarded her absurd attach- ment for Mr. Roscoe much as if she were one. It was a mere foolish fancy, which one word of outspeaking on her own part would burst like the pricking of a bubble ; but unhappily it was impossible to speak it. '* I am sick and tired, Edward, of Philippa's silly flutter- ing about you like a moth about a candle," she would say, with angry impatience. " And do you suppose / am not sick and tired of it too ? " would be his bitter rejoinder. '■' You only suffer from it, remember, at second hand." " That is all nonsense," she replied sharply ; " a man never likes seeing a woman make a fool of herself for his sake ; but it drives the woman who loves him to distrac- tion." *' I am ashamed to hear you say so, Agnes. You should have more self-restraint — I had almost said self-respect— if not for your sake for mine." = ' ^ 1. .-; '^^^^'^ t i! -.i. 1 4 il 152 r//E BURNT MILLION, "It is for neither of our sakes, sir, that you use such arguments," she answered hardly^ " but merely for the desire of gain." Agnes Tremenhere's temper was naturally what is termed *' short," and for the moment she had lost it ; otherwise she would hardly have ventured to utter such a home truth to the only man on earth of whom she stood in fear. The effect of it recalled her to her senses, though what she thought its consequence was far less serious than it really was. Mr. Roscoe turned his back upon Iier, not as she imagined in high offence, but to conceal the expression of unquenchable hate which he knew, despite hir> powers of self-control, his face would reveal to her. If he could have killed her by a look he would have looked at her. Nothing, save that it was a quotation from Shakspeare, could excuse the hiss that hissed through his teeth, " Hell cat ! " P'or- tunately it was uttered as " an aside," but the involuntary movement of the muscles of his back — the unmistakable index of extreme fear or rage — did not escape her attention. " I did not mean that, Edward," she exclaimed hurriedly : " I did not know what I was saying." " I hope not," was the pained reply. He had turned round now, and was regarding her with reproachful amaze- ment, such as some domestic pet, unconscious of wrong- doing, might exhibit when struck by its mistress. " Heaven forbid that I should grudge you," she con- tinued tenderly, " whatever you may need in that way ! But you set too great a store on it. What is wealth com- pared with happiness ! " "True,, but why should it not be combined with happi- ness ? " he replied persuasively. " There are few men worthy of you, Agnes ; there is no man, deserving to be called a man, who for the sake of such happiness as you speak of would be your ruin." " It is not a question of ruin," she answered doggedly. She had come to herself as quickly as he had come to what he wished her to believe was himself. " It is a question, however, of whether you should reck- lessly give up a huge fortune to swell that which Philippa already possesses. We must have patience, Agnes." " That is a text from which you are always preaching ; you promised me that at a certain time there should be an THE BURNT MILLION. 153 end of that sermon ; and the time is passed, and still I find you ])reaching." " 13ecause tlie tree docs not bring forth its expected fruit, that is no reason why we should curse the tree. I mean you to have what in common justice should be your own, but it cannot be done in a day. If I did what you wish you would not thank me for it, though you think you would. How would you endure to live on a few hundreds a year, while Philipi)a had her tens of thousands?" " She would not be happy," she answered gravely. " Yes, that is the key of it all," he replied contemp- tuously. " Voii wish me to sell your rightful inheritance for a mess of pottage — the satisfaction of contemplating the humiliation and disappointment of your sister. You may see that yet, but it must be from a standpoint above her and not below. I must be allowed to have a clearer view of this matter than you, Agnes j I am not blinded by prejudice." " So it seems," she replied bitterly. " Thank you. 1 hope that is another of the things which you say without knowing what you say. It is idle to argue with you while you are in this state. Let us go in." They were walking on what was called " the camp shed " — itlie terrace paved with wood, at the foot of the lawn, and overhanging the river. He made a movement as thougli he would go up to the house, but she clutched his arm. " Stay — I am ready to listen to reason. What would you have me do ? " " Have patience. That is all that is left for us both, for the present. Time is on our side, and fighting in our favor. Grace is falling in love with Walter Sinclair." " It is very foolish of her : Lord Cheribert would be far the better match." "No doubt ; but women are foolish. However, so far as we are concerned, the one is as good as the other. She has the same contempt for riches that you have persuaded yourself you entertain ; but in her case it is genuine. She will marry, and perhaps be happy on a little, while we reap the fruits of her moderation. That will be one obstacle removed from our path," ''And Philippa?" " Well, of course that will be more difficult. If it were anyone else I should propose a compromise." i i'li >S4 THE BURNT MILLION, " 1 don't understand you." She spoke with something more than gravity ; with all her faults Agnes Tremenhere was an honest woman, and though she professed to be igno- rant of his meaning it was not so. *' Do you think that I propose to rob your sister?** he returned, sharply. The flush upon his cheek was genuine enough, but it was not caused by virtuous indignation, as she imagined ; he was furious at her scruples, or rather at his having proposed to her a shameful course of action which it was now clear to him she would have nothing to do with j he had almost shown his hand to her in vain. She was frightened at his vehemence, as he had intended her to be ; but she was still in doubt — as she well might be — as to the motive of the compromise, since it seemed it was not a proposal to obtain money under false pretences. " What I was going to say was, that if circumstances had been different it would have been possible for you all three to have combined together to make the iniquitous provi- sions of your father's will null and void. There would have been no harm in that, I suppose. Justice, if not law, would have been on our side in a plan, for instance, where- by you all three married and yet by mutual agreement kept your own." " She nodded in acquiescence \ then added, with a sigh, " But then there is Philippa." " Just so : with her — as I was about to say when you interrupted me so very unnecessarily — no compromise is possible." " It is most shameful that it should be so," exclaimed Agnes, passionately. "Still so it is. Heaven is my witness that I don't care two straws about her ; but I own that I am afraid of her. A jealous woman — whether she has any right to be so or not — is a very dangerous enemy." Who looked at Agnes Tremenhere at that moment could have no doubt of the fact. Her freckled face was livid, her lips white, with jealous hate. " Let the shameful creature do her woifst ! " she cried. " By all means ; but not to us,'' he answered, quietly. " She will find me a match for her, in one sense at all events. Listen to me. When Grace: is married, it is probable that things will be even worse at home than they par mg THE BURNT MILLION. 155 are; it is one of those cases where things must be worse before they are better. Philippa and you will have to part." She looked up at him with a glow of joy. " 1 see ; but not you and 1, Edward ? " "Or, if we do, it will only be for a little time, and in order to be united for ever. What we must do is to per- suade Mrs. Linden to take her." "She will never do that; you will have to get Philippa's consent to go to her. They hate one another." " You leave that to me," he answered, confidently, tak- ing her hand in his and tenderly stroking it. " They will see us from the house," she murmured, ap- prehensively, but without withdrawing her hand. His touch was delightful to her ; it had the soothing charm of the " pass " of the mesmerist ; and it was so very, very sel- dom that he allowed himself even so small a privilege. " Let them," he answered, defiantly. Then, dropping her fingers, with a sigh, he added, " No; you are right, Agnes ; we cannot be too prudent. I have a plan in my head, but it must ripen. In the meantime, encourage Sin- clair, if you think he is the surest card to play. He is a fisherman ; ask him to come up to Cumberland next month and try the Rill." *' But Lord Cheribert tells me he is coming." " No matter ; let them both come. Perhaps Philippa will take the rejected one," and he laughed softly. But Agnes gave no answering smile ; it was a subject that had no touch of humor for her, though she liked his laughing. " We must keep her in good humor as well as we can," he went on, cheerfully ; " you must not mind my being civil to her. It will be all the worse for her in the end." That was naturally a subject for congratulation, but Agnes Tremenhere's face did not display it ; she did not like the prospect of those occasional civilities. "When you talk to me, Edward," she said, piteously, " I always feel for the time persuaded ; but when you are not talking to me — and, above all, when you are talking to her — I am a very miserable woman. I can't bear it much longer ; I can't, indeed." " Much longer it will not be necessary to bear it, Agnes," he answered, gravely ; " once more I say to you, have pa- ■ It i. 14 ! p mm ^^m. 156 T//E BURNT MILLION, tiencc. It is five o'clock ; they are all coming down from the hill yonder. Go in and make the tea.'' She left him, and he entered an arbor at the extremity of the camp shed and sat down. His face was ];a]c, and the dew stood upon his forehead. He had had a very try- ing time with her, but that was not the reason of his emo- tion, or why he trembled in every limb. Nor was it the plan he had told her he was devising for ridding them of Philippa ; for, in truth, he had had no plan : that was but a device for gaining time. It was only a thought that had crossed his mind during his late interview — at the moment when he had turned his back upon his companion — and which now that he was left alone came back to him ; but it was a very terrible thought, born of hate and rage, and nourished by disappointment and despair ; it shook his very soul within him. He lit a cigar, but the gentle weed brought none of its wonted dreams and oblivious consolations \ if it brought dreams at all they were nightmares, and made his own society so intolerable that after a whiff or two he flung the cigar into the river, and sought the society of his fellow- creatures, in order to forget them. But he did not forget them even then ; the dreadful thought which had moved him so was an unbidden guest at that five o'clock tea. CHAPTER XXII. A HANDSOME OFFER. When people have nothing serious to do love-making goes on apace, which is one of the reasons why idle folks are always getting into mischief. Lord Cheribert, as it will have been concluded, was already deeply smitten by Grace, and though Walter Sinclair had started so long behind him he had made up for lost time, and was soon as much in love as he. The difference of social position, which, though he did not acknowledge it to himself, made the young lord so easy in his mind as regarded his pos- sible rival, did not afflict Walter one whit. In this respect his very deficiencies were to his advantage ; he was naturally far from conceited, but the manner of his bring- yoi THE BURNT MILLION. t57 bring- ing U]), and the unconventional life he had led, prevented his recognizing his inferiority. In his view one man was as good as another until the other had shown himself the better man. In the part of the world where he had been living rank had not been much thought of, for the simple reason that it did not exist ; and wealth, though more highly considered (for what it })rocured, not for itself), was transitory. A man made his pile in a few months, and often lost it again in the same number of hours. Lord Cheriberts, without the Lord, he had often met with, who were ready to lay their bottom dollar, or their top one, upon any event, so that tJiat side of the young nobleman's character was quite intelligible to him. He looked upon it with great charity, but also some contempt, and thought it a pity so good a fellow should have made such a fool of himself. For as to other matters he admired him, though he could scarcely say for what. It was the first time he had experienced, in a man, the charm of manner, and he was attracted by it none the less because it showed itself in a rival. In that respect he at once admitted the other's superiority, but in that alone. In his relations with Grace, though he did not conceal from himself that he loved her, his position was entirely different ; he was humility itself; and this also was more owing to his upbringing than to his nature, which was one of practical common-sense. In the wild West, and even in the West where it is not so wild, there is an admiration for the female more in proportion to her rarity than her deserts ; the most commonplace girl is a heroine, and women of the earth earthly, are reckoned goddesses. The mistake is highly creditable to a community in which tenderness and refinement are not the leading features, and, though in individual cases it is sometimes disastrous, has on the whole a civilizing effect. Moreover, what is very curious, though it makes rough men gentle in their relations with the other sex it does not make them shy. The knowledge, perhaps, that they may be called upon at any moment to act as her protector — a term in the Old World which has, alas ! changed its meaning — induces a certain familiarity, which has at the same time no tinge of disrespect. No one could accuse Walter Sinclair of shy- ness ; he had a perfect self-possession that Mr. Roscoe mistook for " cheek,'' but the ladies well understood was ■twii f li n w^ iW w Ml 158 r///^ BURNT MILLTON. nothing of the kind ; he showed it when conversing with Grace, as with anybody else, but his respect for her was reverential. There was nothing to be found fault with in Lord Cheribert as to that matter (and considering what his upbringing had been, it was proof indeed of his honest nature) ; but the difference between them in this respect was very great. Where the young nobleman felt his un- worthiness was in his fallen fortunes, or at deepest in the folly that had ruined them ; whereas Sinclair bowed before her as to a shrine of Purity, which he trembled to approach even with his shoes off. Women in Phigland are slow to understand this position of affairs, nor is it of much con- sequence, since it so seldom takes place. The two young fellows became great friends, but we may be sure they never talked of these matters. The Miss Tremenheres had almost come to an end of their tenantry at Elm Place when Mr. AUerton paid them a visit ; it was natural enough that he should do so, since he would have no other opportunity, as they were not to return to town before going to Cumberland j but as a matter of fact, this was only the secondary object of his coming. He wanted to see Lord Cheribert on business matters, and he was much pleased, and not at all surprised, to find him where he was. The gentlemen of course all lodged at Milton, but they boarded over the way. The lawyer smiled when he discovered how very much at home the young nobleman made himself there, and was not at all alarmed at finding Sinclair doing the like. He took his lordship's view as regarded any danger to be appre- hended from him as a possible rival in Grace's affections, only more so. To a family solicitor, above all other people in the world, the claims of birth and wealth (for the two mu? be combined ; it is no use your being descended ^' len- gist if you have but 300/. a year) seem overwhi -, even in courtship. The ladies who are his client liowever young and innocent they maybe of the world's ways, h ive generally an instinct for eligibility. They may fall in kve, and even at first sight, like Mary Jones and Jemima Anne, but not without having some previous knowledge of the position and property of their enslaver. The majority of these possible heroes are out of the question before they can make their first observation about Ascot or Mr. Irving. THE BURNT MILLION. »S9 A certain atmosphere, not necessarily of property but of appropriateness, surrounds the person of such heiresses as divinity is said to hedge a king. Cases liave been known, of course, where the merest adventurers have broken through it and carried off their prize, but the incident is rare ; moreover, though the character of Walter Sinclair was by no means easy for a man like Mr. Allerton to read, it was clear to him that he was no adventurer, at all events in the ordinary sense. He had no swagger, n( pretence of any kind ; he was not particularly polite ; he lo»- iced you straight in the face when he spoke to you, and when he spoke of his belongings he was anything but boastful. His father, to judge by his own account of him, had been far from prosperous ; beyond that jioint in his genealogy, either from charity or want of knowledge, he forebore to s])eak ; and it was the lawyer's experience that your adventurer can never avoid references to his grandfather. Moreover, Sinclair referred to his o\ni past as having been neither successful nor satisfactory, which in a young gentleman who, at five-and-twenty years of age, appar- ently made enough money to live upon for the rest of his days, was certainly a proof of modesty. Still ^Ir. Allerton gave more attention to the young fellow than he would have done had he met him only in male society, and what he saw of him he liked, with one exception. He did not like the respect he showed to Mr. Edward Roscoe. The lawyer, of course, was prejudiced against that gentleman ; but even allowing for that, it was certainly strange that an honest young fellow, such as Sin- clair appeared to be, and also of great independence of character, should take to him at all. At first, indeed, this circumstance awoke grave suspicions in Mr. Allerton. He knew that Roscoe wanted Grace to marry; and if she could be married to some creature of his own instead of Lord Cheribert, who was now altogether removed from his influence, it would obviously be to his advantage ; moreover, bethought he detected a willingness on the part of Roscoe to play into Sinclair's hands. If there was realh any agreement, tacit or otherwise, between the two men, it would be a very serious matter. This unworthy suspicion, it is only due to the lawyer's honest heart, as Well as to his sagacity, to say, did not last long ; and thoii<^li the problem why Sinclair was so civil to Roscoe still ^juzzled him, it ceased to have much importance. f: ;i- l6o THE BURNT MILLION: Lord Cheribert's affairs were at all events much more pressing. It is a drawback to the advantage of a man of financial genius like the late Mr. Joseph Tremenhere, or at all events to the advantage of his clients, that his excessive skill in the management of affairs, and the self-confidence born of it, causes him to take every thread in his own hands, and trust little or nothing to others ; this works well enough while he is alive, to hold the threads — and therefore answers his purpose with sufficient completeness — but when he dies his multifarious operations often pre- sent a tangled web to those who come after him. The knots by which Josh had secured his own interests were neat enough, but the ramifications of his clients' affairs were numerous and intricate. In Lord Cheribert's case they were particularly so, because of his own reckless- ness and contempt for business transactions. It is distress- ing to a lawyer when he as'is a client in whom he feels a personal interest, " Is this your signature, my lord ? " to be answered, " It looks like it, but I have not the faintest remembrance of ever having put it there." Lord Cheribert had no recollection of any debt that wasn't a bet, which greatly impeded the settlement of his affairs. Sundry creditors were pressing him with their little accounts, and showing a strong disinclination to " let them run," even to the date when, as all the world now knew. Lord Morella was to come forward and show that a father had his duties as well as his privileges. In the aggregate these debts came to a large sum, though they sank into almost inoignificance compared with the obliga- tions due to the Tremenhere estate ; those, however, we may be sure, were well secured, and the family could well afford to wait ; the family, indeed, knew nothing about them ; it was not thought necessary by Mr. AUerton to go into such details with the ladies, and Mr. Roscoe, though of course he knew all about them, had likewise abstained from communicating them. It was quite sufficient for the purposes of both those gentlemen that Lord Cheribert should know the facts. It would no doubt have distressed the ladies to feel that their guest was their debtor, and would have made their relations with him not a little embarrassing; whereas it was the lawyer's secret hope that his client would see for himself how extremely convenient it would be to pay off THE BURNT MILLION, i6i more m of or at ssive Jence own vorks —and ;eness n pre- erests lients* ibert's :k.less- stress- feels a ?" to aintest bt that : of his \ their "let d now that a In the they obhga- rer, we d well about n to go hough jtained for the eribert el that their Ireas it I for )ay off 33 j^ per cent, of his obligation by a matrimonial union with one of the fair creditors ; if he had thought of it the probability is, the effect would have been exactly the reverse of what was intended ; but, as a matter of fact, the cir- cumstance never occurred to him ; Lord Cheribert never thought of his creditors. Some of them, however, as has been said, thought a good deal of him (though not in an appreciatory sense), and were making themselves very unpleasant. Lord Morella could have stopped them with a word, but that word he would not speak till his son had given up his evil ways for good and all. He had promised to do so, as we know, at a certain date ; but until that day arrived his father declined to have anything to do with him. His paternal affection was ready laid, like a housemaid's fire, but he positively declined to apply the match to it till after the 14th proximo, when his son's last steeplechase was to come off. The earl had an immense reputation for " determination of character," and it was inherited by his son and heir, though in him he described it as the obstinacy of a pig. He would not advance a shilling to help him, nor permit his lawyer to advance one ; and, on the other hand, the young man would not pay forfeit for the race in question, though the old lord would have gladly laid down the money twenty times over. Matters had come, in short, to a deadlock, and the worst of it was that the circumstances greatly militated against the genuineness of the promised reconciliation between father and son : you can't hold over affection like an accommodation bill, nor postpone filial love to a particular date in the calendar ; they are apt to grow cool in the meantime. The lawyer had at least as much tact as members of his profession usually possess, and had endeavored to conciliate both sides — though he would have much preferred to knock their heads together — but his efforts were in vain ; he began to fear that a public scandal could hardly be averted, and if that took place Lord Cheribert's chance with Grace would be seriously endangered ; it was difficult to hint to him of this peril, and if it had been done he would probably have thought little of it, he was himself so used to public scandals. On the matter of his debts, indeed, he was — with men — entirely without reticence, and he not a little disconcerted - . 11 ■'.i i5s THE BURNT MILLION. \ the good lawyer by speaking of them in the smoking-room at Elm Place with his usual frankness. " What does it matter ? " he said, when reproached by Mr. Allerton for his imprudence. *' You know all about them, Roscoe knows all about them ; and to Sinclair, who, though an excellent fellow himself, has probably been witness to half the crimes in the calendar and some out- side it, the fact of a man*s being in a hole as regards money matters can a]3pear nothing very serious. Any talk of that kind must be to him like a description of a day with the rabbits on the hill to a tiger-hunt ; there is not enough sport in it to attract his attention." The lawyer smiled ; he was much too wise to press the point, or any point that was not absolutely essential, on " such a cat-a-mountain of a client " j but he thought it possible that the financial embarrassments of Lord Cheri- bert might have some attraction for Mr. Sinclair notwith- standing their want of dramatic interest. Nor, as it turned • out, was he mistaken. On the morning after the conversation in the smoking- room, Mr. Allerton, who was an early riser, found Sinclair on the lawn at Milton before breakfast, with a short black- pipe in his mouth of the most reprehensible appearance. " It's a bad habit, I know," said that young gentleman, noting the look which the lawyer bestowed upon his clay idol, "but our fellows breakfast late here, and there's nothing like tobacco for staying the appetite." " So I should think," returned the lawyer drily ; " if I was to smoke a pipe before breakfast, I should never eat anything all day." " It does not interfere in that way with me at all, as you will see at breakfast-time," answered the young fellow, laughing, " and there have been days when want of appetite was not so much my difficulty as the want of any- thing to eat j then a pipe is a boon indeed." " Things have been as bad as that with you, have they ? " replied the lawyer ; he rather liked his new acquaintance (save for that inexplicable civility of his to Roscoe), and was not unwilling to hear something of his past ; it might come under the head of useful knowledge. " Yes ; one does not always get fresh eggs in the morning out West, and claret-cup " — he pointed to the place across the river where that compound was exceedingly well made, as they both knew — " is unknown at the diggings." THE BURNT MILLION. 163 ■room ed by about , who, been e out- egards ly talk a day is not ;ss the tial, on .ight it Cheri- otwith- turned noking- Sinclair t black- arance. leman, is clay there's • " if I ^er eat all, as fellow, kant of of any- they ? " lintance ]e), and |t might lorning across ll made, " At the diggings ? You were there, were you ? I hope you made your pile." " I don't look like that, do I ? I hope not." The other did not understand what he meant, but saw no necessity to inquire ; he was not in search of sentiments but facts. Experience had taught him not to interrupt when his object was to obtain information. You may generally trust a man who is talking about himself to pro- ceed with that interesting subject. " Yes, I was the man who first found gold at One Tree Hill." The lawyer nodded, as if he was as conversant with that locality as with Shooter's Hill or Primrose Hill. " There were three of us," continued the young fellow, in a tone of a reminiscence, and with that far-off look in his eyes which the ladies had noticed ; " we had but ten dollars amongst us, but it was not a placp to spend much money in ; not a hut within ten miles, and the nearest drinking-bar a long day's journey from us. I wish to heaven," he added with vehemence, " it had been further still." He paused ; an observation seemed to be expected. " Drink must be a great temptation in those out-of-the- way places," hazarded the lawyer. " Not to me, sir," was the haughty rejoinder. " There is no man living who has ever seen Walter Sinclair drunk." Had Lord Cheribert been present it is possible he would have suggested that there might be more reasons than one for that ; there was a certain solemnit) :\ the young man's assertion that might well have provoked raillery ; but it did not do so with Mr. Allerton. He understood that the conditions of existence of which the other was speaking were very different from his present ones, and that his boast was not only genuine but had a justification. " How- ever, better men than I have given way to liquor," con- tinued Sinclair modestly, " and it is easy to resist what has no attractions for one." " It must be a great experience, that first finding of gold," remarked the lawyer tentatively, like a huntsman casting for the scent. The young man nodded assentingly. " Yes. For the moment it appears as if one had found everything. To penniless men like us it seemed like heaven itself. The IP: ' y 164 THE BURNT MILLION; I' .mII Mi first nugget might be the last, of course, but it might also be wealth beyond the dre ims of avarice. Some men think of the gold itself ; others, of what they will do with it. I had at that time a use for wealth, and my discovery filled me with delirious joy. Our first act was to solemnly swear that we would keep the matter secret from our fellow- creatures. We worked like galley-slaves, but for a rate of pay that would have satisfied a prime minister. We had hit on a very rich lode. On the fourth day one of the two men who were prospecting with me disappeared. The other when he missed him uttered the most frantic execrations. "What is the matter?" I said. ''Why should Dick have come to harm ? " " Harm ! " he answered, " I wish he had a bul^ jt through his brain ! He will bring harm to us. The mad fool is off to the drinking-bar," " But he will come back again, I suppose ? " " Yes, but with five thousand men to rob us of our rights." He judged only too well. The doting wretch, having money in his pocket, or the equivalent of it, could not resist ihe demon for a dram ; once in liquor, he began, of course, to boast of the new gold-diggings, and the morning of the third day saw a cloud of miners coming like locusts over the hill. They behaved fairly enough, and gave us the first choice of claim as discovererb. We elected to stay on our patch, and in a fortnight there was not another ounce of gold to be got in it, though we worked as hard as ever. Other men were more lucky, and made great fortunes ; nor, indeed, .had I any right to complain, since in that one month I made enough to keep me, I hope, and something over, for the remainder of my days." A golden month, indeed," observed the lawyer. " Yet the vilest one man ever passed," answered the other vehemently. " Greed is unpleasant enough to look upon in any shape, but as you see it naked and unashamed in a gold-field it is loathsome indeed. I should not have troubled you with such a story at all, Mr. Allerton, but for a reason ; if it had not been told, you might have said to yourself, ' This rolling-stone has probably gathered no moss,' and you would have been disinclined to believe in my solvency." " Why should you say that ? " said the lawyer, smiling. He meant of course to be complimentary ; to imply that no suspicion of his companion's want of means had ever . '-utk^ THE BURNT MILLIOK. 165 ISO 1)6 ink of I had ed me swear fellow- rate of /"e had of the )eared. frantic "Why iwered, II bring ig-bar." i^es, but 5." He r money 2sist the course, ig of the ists over e us the to stay another as hard le great since jpe, and ired the to look ishamed lot have but for said to Lered no (elieve in smiling- iply that Ihad ever entered his mind j but the other took hiva au pied de ia lettre. "Well, for this reason. I was obliged to overhear Lord Cheribert's talk last night about his private affairs. It seems there is some hitch about the immediate settlement of certam debts, which may cause him some embarrass- ment ; I don't understand the matter, but I wish to say that 5000/. or so of what I possess is ready to my hand, and very much at his service." " Do I understand that you offer to lend 'Lord Cheri- bert 5,000/. on his note of hand ? " " Certainly ; or without it." It was a matter of professional principle with Mr. Allerton never to be surprised at anything, but this pro- position fairly staggered him. It was evident that the man who made it was no fool, and must therefore very well comprehend that his proposition if carried into effect would do away with the one advantage he possessed over his rival (if such, as the lawyer suspected. Lord Cheribert was) in being free from financial embarrassment ; nay, he must be aware, from what had passed in the smoking-room, that the existence of these debts of his lordship's threat- ened him with public exposure, which must be prejudicial indeed to any matrimonial project. Yet here was this young fellow actually offering to supply his rival with the sinews of war — and love. As a matter of fact, the offer could not be accepted, and would be utterly insufficient if it was. Mr. Allerton, of course, could have raised any amount of money to supply the young lord's temporary needs ; but this Lord Morella had positively forbidden him to do. The young lord could not raise the sum required on his own security, and his father hoped to use his helplessness as a lever to effect his own object, namely, Lord Cheribert's immediate retirement from the turf. To have taken Sinclair's money (even had it been sufficient) would have been to break his word to the old lord, which Mr. Allerton was incapable of doing ; but nothing of this was, of course, known to Sinclair, and the thought of the young man's unselfish generosity moved the old lawyer very much. " You are a capital fellow, Sinclair," he exclaimed, " and I thank you five thousand times on behalf of my young friend and client ; but your offer, liberal as it is, is useless i66 THE BURNT MILLION. to him ; I am sorry and ashamed to say it would \x. fb mere drop in the ocean." " I am sorry," observed the other gravely. " Pc^-haps I ought to have known as much. I hope," he added, with a quick flush, " that you do not think I did know it, Mr. Allerton ? " ** I am quite sure you did not. Your offer, I am con- vinced, was as genuine as it was generous. Will you gratify a curiosity that is not mere inquisitiveneus and tell me why you made it ? " " Well, it is hardly worth talking about, and especially since it has come to nothing ; but the fact is, even if I had been so fortunate as to help Lord Cheribert out of a tight place, the obligation would still have been on my side. When / was in a tight place in trouble with the weeds down yonder " — and he pointed over his shoulder in the direction of Milton lasher — " it was all they could do, I have been told, to prevent Lord Cheribert coming to drown with me. He did kick off his shoes to do it. One doesn't forget a thing like that, you know." "But you had done the same, it seems, for a dog?" " I ? That was very different. I wat used to taking my life in my hand, as a thing not especially valuable. Don't mistake me for one of the mock-modest ones j I think myself every bit as good as hia lordship, or any other lord in the land. But that is not his view, I reckon. Here was a young fellow who thoughv a huge lot of him- self, and of whom other people thought more, ready to fiing his all away on the off-chance of sj,ving a mere loafer, a nobody — of course you will not tell him one word of this." "Of course not: here's my hand >upon it. And now, Mr. Sinclair, if I have not exhausted your patience, just one question more. What is the obligation that binds you to Mr. Roscoe ? He didn't kick off his shoes, I'll be sworn." "I am under no obligation to Mi. Roscoe." " No, but you think you are ; at all events you behave as if you were. Come : you must not be angry with an old fellow who has nothing but your good a.t heart, or what will weigh with you more, the good kJl another whom you esteem, I think. I say again it is not mere inquisitiveness that makes me put the question. Why do you pay such deference to Mr. Roscoe ? " THE BURNT MILLION. 167 d Ix * 'cfhaps ud, with ' it, Mr. im con- ^ill you and tell specially 1 if I had )f a tight my side, le weeds [er in the uld do, I )ming to it. One to taking valuable. |t ones ; I p, or any I reckon. it of him- ready to re loafer, word of Lnd now, mce, just lat binds (hoes, I'll behave lith an old or what Ihom you ^itiveness Day such " He not being one of my own sort at all, as you would seem to say," returned the young man, smiling. ''Well, I don't know that he is. But he has a brother — Dick — who was one of the firmest friends (though not a very lucky one) that my poor father ever had ; and for his sake I can't help leaning toward Mr. Edward perhaps a trifle more than he deserves — Dick is coming home this autumn, I am glad to hear." " Indeed ? " was the dry rejoinder. " Well, in the mean- time, my dear Mr. Sinclair, take my advice, and when lean- ing towards Mr. Edward be very careful not to lean on him, for he's not the kind of prop that stands a strain. Come, let us go in to breakfast." CHAPTER XXIII. GOOD ADVICE. It was curious, since Walter Sinclair was but a chance visitor of the Tremenheres, with whom their acquaintance would probably not at most outlast their occupancy of Elm Place, that Mr. Allerton should have troubled himself to give that word of warning to the young fellow. His motives for so doing were mixed, and perhaps not recognized even by himself. He had not only a well-grounded dis- trust but a very cordial dislike of Mr. Roscoe, which would have prompted him to set anyone on his guard whom he perceived to be subject to that gentleman's influence. But he had also begun to entertain a liking for Sinclair, almost in despite of himself. Home-trained young gentle- men who, instead of becoming clerks to respectable solici- tors, or embracing other decent professions in their own country, emigrated to uncivilized climes and tried their luck in gold-fields, were not, as a rule, at all to his taste. He had, as we know, even entertained the suspicion that this young man had been a creature of Roscoe himself, and at all events felt it to be a mistake that a person of his condition had been allowed to attain a familiar footing with such a family as the Tremenheres. Now he certainly thought differently upon these points. There was a frank' ness about the young man that disarmed his doubts j and i % ■'i ; m i68 THE BURNT MILLION. an independence of character that no longer seemed to him the impudence of the adventurer. The generosity of his late offer was something altogether out of the lawyer's experience, and made a deep impres- sion on him. For a moment it had struck him that though Sinclair had imposed silence about it to Lord Cheriberthe might not have been as unwilling for Grace to hear of it ; but that he dismissed from his mind as an unworthy sus- picion. He felt that Sinclair was incapable of such a method of recommending himself; while at the same time the action convinced him that he had no serious intention of becoming her suitor; it would in that case have been putting weapons into the hand of an adversary which neither gratitude nor chivalry demanded — a mere Quixotic act. Assured, therefore, that there was no danger of that kind to be apprehended, Mr. Allerton allowed his liking for the young fellow to have free course. He praised him to Grace, and he praised him to Lord Cheribert, and was pleased to find that they shared his good opinion of him. With the elder Miss Tremenheres Sinclair also appeared to be a favorite ; Mr. Roscoe — but this was not placed to the credit side of the young man's account — treated him with marked civility. To any outsider, indeed, like Sinclair himself, who knew nothing of Agnes and Philippa as volcanoes, whose eruption was suppressed with diffi- culty by a master hand, the company at Elm Place seemed a very pleasant one, who had little to think about beyond amusement, and making themselves agreeable. At the best, how ver, it was evident it was but a holiday party. " You will miss your guests when you leave Elm Place," said Mr. Allerton to Miss Agnes; ** Cumberland will seem just a little triste at first, I fear." " Lord Cheribert has promised to look in upon us; he has taken rooms at the ' Angler's Rest ' for the fishing." " Lideed ! " This was news to Mr. Allerton, and good news. " That will be very pleasant both for him and for you." " And Mr. Sinclair talks of coming too, upon the same errand." " Indeed ! " He used the same word, but with a veryi different intonation. Matters, then, were much more serious in that quarter than he had anticipated. Sinclair] tohira ogether impres- though ibert he ir of it ; thy sus- such a ,me time ntention ive been y which Quixotic ;r of that his liking lised him and was I of him. appeared placed to -ated him eed, like 1 Phihppa with diffi- -e seemed It beyond a holiday Place," , will seem m us ; he Ishing." land good and for [the same lith a very ich more Sinclair THE BURNT MILLION-. 169 had told him, when he had remonstrated with him in a paternal way on having no profession, that he rather thouglu of becoming a civil engineer. But the vicinity of Halswater Hall was hardly suitable for the prosecution of that design. He could not bring himself to believe that the young fellow could think of entering the lists against Lord Cheribert ; but the circumstance determined him to speak a word or two with his client. The more he thought of the young lord's difficulties the more he fe^*^ convinced that a union with Grace was the best and quickest way out of them, supposing only that her father's will could be set aside — a matter which, though he could not well move in it himself, he felt could be accomplished by mutual agree- ment. It was curious, considering his own strong religious convictions, that Grace's faith did not present an insur- mountable obstacle ; but she was certainly not strongly attached to her creed ; and it is observable that whereas religious persons exceedingly resent any apostacy from their own communion, they think it the most natural thing in the world that others should exchange theirs for it. So, when he and his client were strolling in the woods one day, he suddenly observed to him — it must be con- fessed, rather a propos des bottes ; but the other, as he justly guessed, by design never gave him the least chance of alluding to the subject — " Well, I hope Miss Grace is as great a favorite of yours as she is of mine, Cheribert." How can you ask such a question ? " was the un ex- Miss pected rejoinder, delivered in the driest of tones Grace is a favorite with everybody." " Well, that is one of the reasons why I did ask it," returned the lawyer. He was piqued by the young man's unwillingness to confide in him, and also irritated by the I indifference he had all along exhibit,ed to the dangerous condition of his affairs. " It is really time, Cheribert, that you took things more seriously. I had hoped from finding you here that you had some motive beyond merely enjoy- [ing yourself, which is, after all, not the end of life." ** I have come to that conclusion myself, Allerton, but, |I am afraid, a Httle late." The unexpected mildness of the reply disarmed the llawyer ; there was also a tone of penitence in it still more [surprising, and which, he rightly judged, could be only ittributable to some new and gentle influence. * ,'' m :? 1 18 ■■ S' 170 THE BURNT MIT. LION". " With a man of your age, nothing in the way of amend- ment can be too late," he answered. " Notwithstandinjg all that has come and gone, yet there is nothing to despair of in your case. The race of life, to use a metaphor that is familiar to you, is in heats ; we have most of us more than one run for our money ; you have lost the first heat, that is all." •* For my part," returned the young lord grimly, " I am inclined to think life a toss-up — the best out of three to win — and that I have lost the first toss. Ineither case the chances against me are considerable. Five to two is the betting, but the real odds are three to one." " As a very old friend, and one, I hope, incapable of an impertinence," observed the lawyer gently, ** might I hazard a guess at the particular * event ' you have on your mind, Cheribert ? " " There is no need to guess ; you may take it, if you please, for granted," replied the young man frankly. " Let rne say at once, then, that I am glad to hear you tell me so," answered Mr. AUerton cordially. " For a man in your position there is always a fresh start in life — unless, indeed, he makes a false one — in marriage. His past is forgotten ; his future is once more in his own hands." " And the lady's," suggested the young lord, smiling. " Just so ; and in the case we are considering it could not be better placed. It would be idle, however, to con- ceal from you, Cheribert, that there will be great ditfi- culties in what you are proposing to yourself — difficulties in gaining your father's consent, difficulties as regards the law ; though in both these matters you may rely on my doing my very best to help you." "You have again forgotten the lady," observed thci other drily. " No, I have not. • There will also, as you say, be difii-l ties, no doubt, in that quarter. It will be, of course, abso-j lutely necessary that you should ppssess the same faith." " All right. I am completely at her disposal so far :j a very easy convert." " Cheribert, I am astonished at you ! On a subject o^ this kind I did hope you would forbear to jest." ** Still, one of us, as it seems, will have to do it." It is quite right to be simple and unsophisticated, buj people ought to know where to stop, at all events tj your as yoj as M] of birl your TJk ofSinI youn^ upon ever s| fiiarriJ THE BURNT MILLION. 171 Ltnend- audin^ despair or that IS more St heat, ^ «' I am three to case the m is the ble of an might I I on your it, if you kly. ) hear you " For a rt in life— . His past hands." Ismihng. Kg it could er, to con- great ditfi- Uifficulties regards the rely on my [served the| lay, be diffi- burse, abso- tme faith." 3sal so far: subject of| » lo it. iticated, bul h events t(| refrain from blurting out unpleasant truths. Mr. Allerton felt quite embarrassed. •' The case of Miss Grace," he answered obliquely, " is very peculiar. She is not devoted to the faith of her lathers.'' " As / am," murmured the young lord, drily, but the other ignored the remark. " In point of fact," he continued with a forced smile, " it Is doubtful whether our old friend ' JosH' was ever a Jew at all ; it is my belief he only pretended to be so with the object of making himself unpleasant as a testator. His family were not brought up in that religion, or, if they were, only very loosely. I am pretty sure we shall not find that matter an insuperable obstacle." *' 1 am quite sure of it," observed Lord Cheribert drily. The reply, and still more the tone of it, was far from satis- factory to his companion, but it was a reUefto him to have done with the topic. " Well, what I venture to advise, Cheribert, is that there should be as little delay as possible in proceeding with this very important matter. Something has come to my knowledge — which you must excuse my going into — that makes it highly desirable that you and the young lady should come to some mutual understanding. It has noth- ing to do with the other matters which are pressing upon your attention, though I need hardly say that they would cease to be so very urgent in case the affair in question could be brought to a successful issue." " It seems to be rather a matter of business, neverthe- less," observed the young man coldly. " My dear Cheribert, your position does not admit of your settling your matrimonial affairs with the same ease as yonder ploughboy, nor even as a young gentleman such as Mr. Walter Sinclair, for example, with no impediments of birth and rank, not to mention other encumbrances of your own making." The lawyer waited a moment to see whether the mention of Sinclair's name awakened any sign of suspicion in his young friend, but it seemed to have made no impression upon him whatever. His face was graver far than he had ever seen it, but quite unruffled. " Yes, Cheribert," he con- tinued, ■' for you — if you insist upon plainness of speech — marriage must be to some extent a bargain. There must ii'il m m 172 THE BURNT MILLION, be give and take on both sides ; certain stipulations must be made; certain arrangements, tacit or expressed, agreed upon. It will not be necessary, of course, for you to go into them with the lady herself : her own good sense will point them out to her. She will understand that there are, and must be, contingencies — but you are not, I perceive, favoring me with your attention." The lawyer spoke with severity, and like a man whose feelings were hurt ; his tone, rather than what he said, roused the other from his abstraction. If Mr. Allerton imagined that mere weariness of serious talk — as, indeed, had often been the case before — was affecting his companion, he did him an injustice. Lord Cheribert was serious enough himself, though it was quite true that he had not heard one word of what the other had just addressed to him. " Pardon me, Allerton," he said in his gentlest manner and with his most winning smile, " I am not unconscious, beHeve me, of the good service you were trying to do me j I was only wondering how it came about that it should be worth your while, or any man's while, to take so much trouble on my account, being, as I am, such a worthless vagabond." " I should not permit your enemies — if, indeed, you have any — to say that in my hearing, my lord," said the lawyer gently. He was touched by the young man's self-abase- ment; if only his father could see him at this moment, was his inward thought, how smoothly things would be made for him ! " You would do all that is kind and friendly, I am quite sure," continued Lord Cheribert gravely, ** but that would not alter the fact, you know, nor people's opinion of me." *''■ Let us hope that everybody at all events will not be cf that opinion," said Mr. Allerton, smiling significantly. " I would put that to the test at once if I were you." " But how should she know ? " said the young man bitterly. " It is a noble reflection, indeed, to feel that one's hope of happiness in the future lies in a woman's ignorance of one's past." " It is a position, nevertheless, in which a good many men who go a-wooing must needs find themselves," returned the lawyer drily ; " * faint heart never won fair lady,* my lord, is a good motto. I am bound for town to- THE IH'KKT MILLION. »73 nust reed 3 go will ;are, ;eive, ^hose said, iiious —was Lord quite erhad [lanner scious, lo me ; )uld be I much )rthless )u have lawyer abase- oment, uld be quite would lof me." )t be cf icantly. • ig man jel that soman's Id many Uelves," ron fair lown to- day, as you know ; will it be too much lo ask of you to drop me a line to say how you have prospered in this matter ? " Lord Cheribert nodded and held out his hand, which the other warmly grasped. Two men with less in common as to pursuits and opinions it would have been difficult to find ; the difference in their ages, great as it was, was slight compared with the diversity of their minds ; but they had a very genuine friendship for one another ; the lawyer had never felt his regard for his young client so strongly, which afterwards, through certain circumstances, became a source of satisfaction to him. CHAPTER XXIV. AU REVOIR. As it is better, the doctors tell us, to leave off eating with an appetite than to stuff ourselves to repletion, so it is with respect to taking holiday. It is quite [possible to have too much of even pleasure and leisure, as idle people find to their cost. To the toiler, bound to be back at his work by a certain date, it often seems the height of happiness if, like more fortunate men, he could remain s'me die by the seaside, or at the lakes, where he has spent such happy days ; he thinks that he could never tire out the welcome that kindly nature for so brief a space has offered him. But in this he is mistaken. Amusement without work, too far prolonged, is like veal without bacon, or sturgeon, a fish that is thought very highly of by those who have not tasted it. To Walter Sinclair, when the time came for him to return to town, it seemed that in leaving Elm Place he was quitting Eden. There was no such compulsion on him as there was with our first parents ; but he had business in town in connection with that civil engineer affair about which he had unfortunately taken Mr. Allerton into his confidence ; the lawyer had aided him in the matter, and an appointment had been made with certain persons which he could hardly decline to keep. Moreover, Mr. Allerton was bound for town himself, and had offered to be his traveling companion. \- '1: ' I*' U if t". ^y\ 'j ' '! ^i ■n 174 THE BURNT MILLION. % i& There was only a week or two more in which river life could have had its attractions for him, but still he was loth to leave it ; and much he envied Lord Cheribert, whc , as he imagined (though on this particular occasion he was mistaken), was free to go or stay as he pleased, wherever he would. He had had no previous acquaintance of the pleasures of home, and far less of a home of pleasure, and he Would have thoroughly enjoyed himself but for a vague longing for a certain something which he felt to be beyond his reach. His general views of life, which, if somewhat crude, were honest and wholesome enough, had in noway altered; rank was to him still but the guinea-stamp, and personal merit the only test of superiority that he acknow- ledged j but he had become aware during the last few weeks that other people, for whom he had a respect, and who had treated him with hospitality, thought very differ- ently about these things. The comforts and luxuries with which he had seen them surrounded, though he cared Httle or nothing for them himself, had made an impression on him ; he felt that to those who were accustomed to them they might appear as necessary as his short black pipe and screw of tobacco were to him, and of course he had not the power to bestow them. He knew nothing of the provisions of Mr. Tremenhere's will, but believed each of the ladies to be heiresses, and though he had been a gold-digger Walter Sinclair was not a fortune hunter. There was nothing in Indian life that had so disgusted him — for he had not had the same cruel experience of it that his father had had — as their treatment of their women, who toiled and slaved for them while they took their pleasure. To him a woman was not only an object of reverence but something to be worked for, and he would have scorned to owe his wealth to the bounty of a wife. Nevertheless, Grace Tremenhere was as sweet and attractive to him as the flower to the bee, though he had no intention of making honey out of her ; and he found it a much sadder business than he expected, when the time came to say " good-bye " to her. Considering that she was only one of his three hostesses, and not the chief one, it might have been thought that he might hnve been contented with a general farewell ; but somehow, though he would have shaken hands even had it beerx for the last time with the two elder sisters in the presence of each other without the t romen, their iject of would a wife. and le had md it a le came Is only might id with Id have lith the )ut the THE BURNT MILLION. '75 least embarrassment, he felt that his an revoir to Grace (for he had been encouraged, we know, to come to Cumber- land) should be said to her alone. He found his opportunity en the campshed, where from the other bank he had seen her walking alone before breakfast, and shot across in his skiff, like an arrow from the bow, to join her. " You are an earlier riser than your friends, Mr. Sinclair," she observed with a welcoming smile. " It has not been necessary for them as it has often been for me," he said, ** to shoot or catch their breakfasts ; and the habii lasts when the necessity no longer exists." " For my part," she replied, " I love the early summer mornings, and am always out in them, though I have never felt the spur you speak of ; if I had to catch my breakfast, to judge by my usual performance with the fishing-net, I should be dreadfully hungry before I got it." '* Heaven forbid, Miss Grace, that you should ever know such straits," he answered fervently. ** Why not? On the contrary, I have come to the con- clusion that it would be better for all of us — just as every German has to be a common soldier — if we had some personal experience of the hard lot that falls to so many of our fellow-creatures. There is nothing like a personal experience for begetting sympathy." " No ; a hard life would not suit you, or rather, I should say (for I am sure you would bear it bravely), would rot be suitable to you. The spectacle of it," he added gently, " would, moreover, be distressing to others." *' And who am I, and what have I done, Mr. Sinclair, that I should be exempt from the common lot of humanity ? " she answered, smiling, but with some touch of indignation too. " Do you picture me as designed by Providence to loll in a carriage and think of everybody on foot as beneath my notice ? " " Oh no, oh no," he answered softly ; " my view of you is very different. You remember our glorious day last week at Windsor, and how we enjoyed that noble park, which has not its rival, so far as I know, in all the world? Well, to me. Miss Grace, you are very like tliat park." The color rushed to her cheeks, though she made him a mock curtsey as if at the extravagance of the compliment. " Oh, I dou t mean that way only," he said simply, " but M, 'M: i i ! .1 I ' y\ m ill '■'I'M in iff! f! I f itii «7« 7W£ BURNT MILLION, in your relation to others. Some of my friends, with whom on most other matters I agree, think that that park is too large a place to be used for what they call ' orna- mental purposes ' — a poor phrase, in my opinion, to apply to its historic and native splendors ; they want it to be turned into allotments for the benefit of the poor. That might do good to a few people of the present generation and rob all England that is to be of their brightest jewel. You would make an excellent allotment, no doubt — 1 mean, if you had to work for your bread, you would do it better than most young ladies ; but it would be a waste of jiower, just as it would be in me, should I become the great engineer Mr. AUerton is so good as to prophesy, to knock nails in a boiler ; while at the same time the effect which you and your surroundings produce upon all beholders would be lost." " I: seems that my surroundings are of son^ importance," she answered drily. " Not so important as appropriate," he replied ; " the most beautiful picture owes something to its frame, and may even suffer from bad mounting ; you would not have a jewel set in pewter." Though he spoke the language of flattery it was without its tone ; his air, if an air of any kind couid be imputed to him, was one of quiet conviction. Grace resented this exceedingly, though she did not recognize the reason ; she had begun to have a greater liking for this jewel set in pewter, or let us say this " rough diamond," than she was herself awtwe of. and to be desirous of his good opinion, but by no means of tnis sort of homage. A trjiC woman prefers to be admired for something that belongs to herself, be it ever so small a thing, rather than for the advantages of her position — for her carriage (for instance) rather than 'or her carriage and horses. She dislikes to be placed on a pinnacle by one for whom she has a genuine regard because it means isolation. Distance may lend enchantment to the view, but the remark is not flattering to the object. " I am aot accustomed to receive these high-flown com- pliments, Mr Sinclair," she said stiffly. " If I have offended you let my ignorance plead for me," he answered humbly. " As to compliments, 1 was not aware that I was paying them ; and as to high-flown oneSj, Sin( /i with t park ' orna- apply to be That oration jewel. L mean, t better power, c great 3 knock t which iholders rtance," i ; " the me, and jt have a without puted to ited this ion : she el set in she was opinion, -ling that [her than [iage (for les. She ]hom she mistance Irk is not |)Wi\ com- for me," was not »wn ones, THE BURNT MILLION. »77 they would be altogether beyond my reach. I need not tell you that I am unaccustomed to the ways of you and yours ; still, I should be sorry, very sorry, for you to think me that worst kind of boor who clothes his fustian thought in tinsel." " Indeed, indeed, I did not think so." *• Thanks, Miss Grace. You would not hurt a fly, far less the feelings of a man who (I hope you know) is deeply grateful to you, and who would do all he could to show " " i take your goodwill for granted," she answered, smiling, " but I am at a loss to know in what I have laid you under an obligation." "I sup'i so," he answered simply; ''you are as ignorant — if I may once more recur to my unfortunate metaphor — as Windsor Park itself of the benefits you bestow. It is well, no doubt, that it should be so ; though, since } on t.i'ce such pleasure in the happiness of others, it seems a pit/ you should be unaware of conferring it. To me. Miss Grace, these last few weeks have been the hap- piest days I ever spent or ever shall spend." He paused and looked at her with such tender earnest- ness and gratitude that her eyes drooped before his gaze. " The river life is so pleasant," she said hurriedly, " and we have been so fortunate in the weather." " Yes ; but it seems to me that there would be sunshine in Elm Place even though it were blowing blizzards. Well, that is over," he added with a sigh, " and I am come to say good-bye. I return this morning with Mr. Allerton to town." She was unaware that any such arrangement had been made, and the news affected her strongly ; she felt her heart '' go " in a most unusual manner, and then, like a swimmer who has overspent himself, sink down, down ; she knew that her voice trembled, in spite of all her efforts to keep it calm, as she replied : "We shall all, I ?m sure, miss you very much, Mr. Sinclair." " That seems to be impossible, though it is pleasant hear- ing," he answered gently. " I am not much accustomed to be missed ; and of all the homes in England I should think this one the most independent of a stranger's coming or going." 'i v: I H I J * i |J '■} 53 1 I c. 178 TffE BURNT MILLION. How little, she thought, must this man know of her home ! But his lack of perception of its true cl aracter was a recommendation to her rather than otherwise ; it was no want of observation, as she well understood, for he was shrewd enough, that caused his ignorance, but the sense of gratitude for his hospitable reception which had prevented its exercise. She was touched, too, by his humility in the matter, because it was not in accordance with his nature, of which she had made unconscious note. " I am sorry that you should still consider yourself a stranger to us," she answered kindly. " I am endeavoring not to consider myself at all," he replied impulsively, the words were significant enough, but the tone in which they were uttered bespoke an intense emotion ; directly they had left his lips he would have recalled them ; the confession of his inmost thought had been rapture to him — a certain desperate wild delight — but he now bitterly accused himself for having expressed it. It was selfish, it was cowardly ; it was not in his power, perhaps, to have given his companion pain, but it was evident that he had caused her embarrassment ; a silence ensued between them which was more expressive than any commentary. Grace herself felt as if she could have bitten her tongue out for having given him what must have seemed "an encouragement," and was resolved, since he took such advantage of his opportunities, that he should not have another. " I mean," he stammered, " that I shall always think of Elm Place as something apart from the rest of the world, myself included. There are some scenes, as I dare say you have felt, which strike one so by their restful beauty, that when we recall them they seem to have belonged to some other sphere, and to be apart from our personal experience." " Really ? I have no recollection of any such, but then I have not enjoyed your advantages of travel." *' My advantages ! " he answered bitterly ; " the com- pulsory wanderings of a vagabond are not generally looked upon in that light. I do not flatter myself for a moment that I shall be remembered here. If one of your sisters should some day say to you, * Do you recollect that uncouth young fellow from America or somewhere who used to visit us when wc lived on the river ? ' and you are so good as to say * Yes,' I know I ought to be perfectly 1*1%^...^ : THE BURNT MILLION. 179 her acter e ; it or he t the ■\ had y his dance note, rself a i," he rh, but n tense i have rht had iight-- pressed in his 1, but it nent; a Dressive lid have 1st have ;ince he should that I ,rt from Ire some e so by y seem le apart )Ut then lie com- [enerally slf for a 1 of your kect that [ere who 1 you are Lerfectly satisfied \ but on :ny side my feelings will be very differ- ent. I came here utterly unknown to you all, as indeed I still am : I am not such a fool as to suppose that, like Lord Cheribert, I bring my welcome with me, and yet I have been received with the same hospitality and kindness ; it is an experience I am not likely to forget, believe me." Again his tone, freighted with tenderness and pathos, conveyed infinitely more than his words ; his thanks, too, which by rights were due tc Miss Agnes as head of the house, seemed to Grace, though he had not actually said so, to be addressed to her personally. Under ordinary circumstiinccs it would even so have been easy enough for her to acknowledge them ; but she found it far from easy. She could not trust her voice to speak for her. Fortunately at that moment Rip came running down the lawn to them, and leapt into her arms. " He is one friend v.-ho at least should always remember you, Mr. Sinclair." " The dear little doggie ! Well, even if he owed me something for pulling him out of the lasher, he has since repaid me fifty fold." The little creature, if he had but known it, was adding to his obligations now; its dumb caresses reminded the girl of the moment wlien she had seen this young fellow leap into the flood to save her favorite, like a river-god, but without the security of his immortality. How nearly he had perished for little Rip's sake — and hers ! It was necessary that she should hide her heart instead from him, since she felt utterly unable to harden it. "Though I say good-bye, Miss Grace," he continued after a pause, '• it is not, I am glad to think, for the last time." " Indeed? " she smiled and raised her eyebrows, as if i)i pleased surprise. '• Did you not know," he stammered, " that your sister had invited, at least had spoken of there being good fishing in the neighborhood of your Cumberland home, and kindly expressed a wish that I should try it? " " To be sure," she cried ; " I had forgotten." His countenance fell, and he turned deadly pale. It was cruel of her, but not so cruel to him as to herself; for while she thus kept him at arm's length, she was hug- ging the dog to her bosom for his sake. 1^ \ V iSo THE BURNT MILLION, " It was only natural you should have done so," he answered calmly ; *' to you it must have seemed so very small a matter ; but on my side — as I was just saying — things look so differently. Good-bye, Miss Grace." " But will you not breakfast with us? " " No, thanks, no. I will just go in and take leave of your sisters. Good-bye, little doggie " — he took up the little creature's paw — " I owe you many thanks. Your mistress will not even shake my hand, so I shake yours." Grace laughed and put out her hand, which trembled as he took it ; "I do not say good-bye," she said, " because it is only, it seems, to be an revoi?'.'" It was not much to say, nor was the manner with which it was said, though gracious, particularly encouraging ; but to Walter Sinclair, though there was nothing of exultation in his manner of taking leave, for it was respectful even to reverence, it seemed a great deal, and made a great differ- ence. S CHAPTER XXV. A DETERMINED SUITOR. Breakfast that morning at Elm Place was even a duller meal than usual. The two elder sisters never seemed to wake up to life till Mr. Roscoe and the rest crossed the river; they sat in sullen silence, save when it was absolutely necessary to speak to one another, and were so studiously and pointedly polite to Grace (to show how they could appreciate a kinswoman worthy of their attention) that she almost wished they had sent her also to Coventry. Never- theless, she always did her best to keep up the conversa- tion, though it was like playing lawn tennis alone against a double. But this morning, somehow, she was not equal to the strain. The words Walter Sinclair had spoken to her with such passionate energy, " I am endeavoring not to think of myself at all," were still ringing in her ears ; she had recognized their meaning, but not what had caused their utterance ', if he had said, " I am endeavoring not to think oi you" he could hardlv have expressed himself more plainly. And why should he endeavor not to think of her ? THE BURNT MILLION. i8i " he very ng— ,ve of p the Your ours." lied as ;cause which g ; but Itation ;ven to ; differ- a duller ;med to sed the solutely diously ,y could that she Never- )nversa- against )t equal ioken to ring not ler ears ; caused ig not to lelf more of her? At the moment this question, which had naturally suggested itself, had filled her with vague suspicions of him. There had been that in his manner which she could not mistake for mere friendship — a tenderness, hidden by the veil of an exaggerated admiration, or forcibly repressed. The idea of the difference of their positions, as regarded wealth, never entered into her mind, and would have seemed to her, had it done so, to be the last to enter into his ; she did not understand how independence of character could be associated with a humility born of convention — it was more probable that there were other and far stronger reasons for his reticence. As he had said himself, he was a stranger to them still j concealment, indeed, of any kind, seemed foreign to his character ; but, for all she knew about him, he might have been a married man : the idea was abhorrent to her, and had been dismissed at once, for in truth, she believed him incapable of a baseness, but there was certainly something that tied his tongue. More- over, with the inconsistency of her sex, she resented his having spoken to her even as he had done, upon so short an acquaintance, and on such very slight encouragement., It had therefore come to pass that she had " snubbed " him — or (as it now appeared to her) had treated him with unnecessary and uncalled-for harshness. To pretend to have forgotten that he had been invited to come to the North, had been in particular, she felt, a piece of wanton cruelty ; and his humble reply, " It was only natural you should have forgotten," was as an arrow that had gone home to her very heart. She had, it was true, at parting, shown that she took it for granted they were to meet again, but she had not even expressed a wish that they should do so, as she would have done to any ordinary guest ; and now, alas ! she knew the reason why. He had not been an ordinary guest, but one that her heart had been enter- taining in its inmost chamber, unawares, and she had only discovered it when it was too late. After such a dismissal, it was hardly likely that he would risk a second one, and it was probable that she had lost him for ever. It was no wonder that her heart was heavy within her and her tongue slow to speak. She found balm, however, in a Gilead where she least expected it, and where the soil did not often produce that commodity. " So you had your 'good-bye ' from Mr. Sinclair on the II .' \ .iir- I V 182 T/JE BURNT MILLION. campshed, I suppose, Grace ? " said IMiss Agnes ; " I hope he was as effusive as he was to us." " He seemed very grateful for such hospitality as we were able to show him," answered Grace gently. *' Grateful ! I never had my hand so squeezed before 1 " continued Agnes; "one would have thought I had given him a thousand pounds." Philippa broke into a little latigh, not, it is to be feared, at the pleasantry, which, indeed, was hardly deserving of it, so much as at the want of experience in hand-squeezing to which the speaker had so imprudently confessed. " However, he is an honest young fellow," continued Agnes, " and I was glad to hear him renew his promise of looking in upon us at Halswater." For this good news, had it not been for the presence of her other sister, and from fear that the action might be imputed to an association of ideas, Grace could have thrown her arms round Agnes' neck and kissed her. " We are going to lose Mr. Allerton this morning also," observed Philippa, " and in the afternoon Lord Cheribert. It is very inconsiderate of the gentlemen thus to desert us altogether." ** Is Lord Cheribert going .? " inquired Grace with inter- est. " Yes ; did you not know it ? " The two elder ladies exchanged significant glances ; the "little affairs" of their younger sister were common ground, and almost the only ones on which they could meet without bickering. " No, I did not know it," said Grace. " We shall miss him very much." ** You did not favor Mr. Sinclair, my dear, with that impression of your regret," observed Agnes slyly. " We have known Lord Cheribert longer," replied Grace innocently, but blushing to her ear-tips. " To be sure ; I suppose we have seen him twice before," remarked Philippa with quiet enjoyment, " which, of course, makes a great difference.' Grace felt that her sisters were amusing themselves at her expense, but bore it with great sweetness, and the more easily since, with all their sagacity, it was clear that they were altogether on a false scent. It was not in human nature to resist leading them a little further astray. THE BURNT MILLION. iH Ives at le more It they I human " I suppose Lord Chcribert is going simply because he is tired of us," she observed with aHttle pout ; " there can be no business to demand his attention." " Well, it isn't exactly business, of course, my dear," said Agnes soothingly ; " but you know how he is wedded — for the present — to sporting affairs ; it is to keep some appointment at a steeplechase, I believe, that he is obliged to be away. But it is to. be his last appearance in the saddle ; after which he will be reconciled to his father, and assume his proper position in the world." " When, I suppose, we shall never see him again," observed Grace with a little sigh. " That remains to be proved, my dear," said Agnes encouragingly. " Like Mr. Sinclair, he \i-A.'~> promised, you know, to come and see us at Halswater. It would be only civil, by-the-bye, if you were to remind him of it; then, if he does come, we shall know the reason, shall we not?" " We shall be able, at all events, to make a tolerable guess at it," smiled her sister. Like a general whose courage has carried him too far into the enemy's country, Grace would have been now very ready to retreat from the position whither her little joke had carried her, when, fortunately, she was released by the arrival of the subject of their conversation, in com.- panywith Mr. Roscoe, by boat. Mr. Allerton had sent his apologies for not taking leave in person ; he had overslept himself, and had no time to spare to catch the train for town. The shadow of departure seemed to sit upon Lord Cheribert's face ; he was so much more silent than usual that Agnes rallied him upon it. " How could it be otherwise," he said gently, " since I too am leaving Elm Place ? We are like boys whose holiday is over and are going back to work." " Yet somebody has just been saying that your life is all holiday," observed Agnes, laughing. " Indeed ! I am afraid she meant, however, all idleness, which is something very different," answered the young man gravely ; he did not look towards Grace, but she knew that he attributed the remark to herself, and would have given much to have been able to disclaim it. She would have, somehow, preferred that he should not take notice of her at all that morning. This, however, was not to be. Agnes soon left the roonii l«4 Till': BURNT MILLION. on pretence of some matters of the house requiring her attention, and PhiHppa took Mr. Roscoe out with her upon the lawn, perhaps without design (for she never lost an opportunity of being alone with him), but after what her sisters had been saying to Grace, it had an uncomfort- able sense to her of design. Lord Cheribert and hersell were thus left alone. " As it is my last morning. Miss Grace," he said with his pleasant smile, but in a tone much more serious than usual, " might I ask a favor of you ? " Before she could reply (a circumstance for which she felt strangely thankful) he added, " It is only that we should take that walk on the hill together which we took when I first came." She answered, as lightly as she could, " by all means," and put on her hat, which, ** on the river " ladies have never to go far for. As they left the house she stopped to call the dog — a natural action enough, but one which she had never before felt so impelled to do ; it was extra- ordinary how much dearer Rip had grown to be to her within the last hour. " How fond you are of that little creature ! it ought to be a happy doggie," said Lord Cheribert. ** I don't know about that ; but he likes, I think, to be with me — ' the off-and-on companion of my walks,' as Wordsworth calls it." " I wish I was good at poetry," sighed the young man ; "but, unfortunately, I am good at nothing." " I should be sorry to think that, Lord Cheribert." " But you do think it ; how can it be otherwise ? Not that I mind your doing it — that is, of course, I wish I were more worthy of your good opinion ; but I had rather be brought to book by you — by Jove, I would — than praised by other people ! " " I was really not aware that I had ever 'brought you to book,' as you call it, Lord Cheribert. I suppose it's a sporting expression." " Don't laugh at me, please. Miss Grace," he answered humbly ; " scold me as much as you please — it does me good ; but don't laugh at me." "It is rather difficult to help it, when you talk of my doing you good." " Ah, but you do. No one in the world has ever done it but you. Schoolmasters have tried it, dons have on( jJJE BURNT MILLION. ««s be ,' as Not were ;r be aised you it's a )f my Idone have tiTJcl ii, the governor has tried it ; but they might just as well have llirown water on a duck's back. I was dry the next moment. But from the day I first saw you — no, the day you had the kindness to talk to me in this very place — Heaven knows how long ago, but it seems a cen- tury " " That is not very complimentary to your entertainers at Elm Place," she put in quietly. " Now, you are laughing again at me ; I don't think you would do it if you knew how cruel it was. What I mean is, not that the time has been heavy on my hands here, Heaven knows, but that what has happened to me seems more important than all that has happened anywhere else. I feel as if half my life has been ])assed here and half else- where ; and the two halves have been so different ! " He paused and she said " Yes ? " — a ridiculous and ineffectual monosyllable, as she was well aware ; but what was she to say ? His manner was so earnest, his tone so tender, his look so beseeching, that she could hardly believe it was Lord Cheribert. " There is a verse, I know not from what author, the governor used to be fond of quoting to me on a Sunday," he continued. "' ' Between the stirrup and the ground, mercy I sought, mercy I found ' — a religious version, I suppose, of ' It's never too late to mend,' and one, I con- clude, which he thought especially applicable to me as a racing man. If Providence is really so kind to a sinner, cannot you also hold up some hope to him ? " They were standing on a span of the hill, with the wood at their back and a great expanse of landscape beneath them ; the river with its fairy fleet M'inding for miles till it shrank to a thread ; men and women at their labor in the fields; cattle in their pasture; but not a sound came up to them. The world seemed to be lying at their feet, but they two far removed from it. It was a scene one of them never for<;ot. "It is not to an ignorant girl like me that you should apply, Lord Cheribert, in such matters as you speak of; they are altogether too high for me. I can only say with one of the greatestof our fellow-creatures on his deathbed, * Be a good man ; nothing else can comfort you.' " " That is all that I want you to say, Grace, provided only that you will teach me to be one. Priests are no use to me. ^ ^y^ ^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I If IM M 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 -< 6" ~ ► y <^ /^ ^i /A %. •->• A O^. Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 / 4io d ^ ^ i\ \ <^ *- 1> ^ '^ l86 THE BURNT MILLION, It is from you alone that I have learnt to understand my own worthlessness. My fate is in your hands." " In tninCy my lord ? " she answered with a faint pretence of misunderstanding him. "What would you have me do?" " Give me your love ; or, if that is impossible, as indeed it may well be at present, give me hope. I can be patient enough with such a prize in view, and though I shall never be worthy of it, I will try, every day and every, hour, to make myself more so. You see, dear Grace," — here he smiled so brightly that it seemed hard indeed to say him nay — " I have so many advantages on my side ; every step which is not astray, and of which other men would have nothing to congratulate themselves upon, will be to me a clear gain ; I have been, until I knew you, so exceedingly disreputable. You may say, indeed," he continued, cheer- fully, '* that that of itself is no recommendation ; but when you see me or hear of me becoming more and more as you would wish me to be, and know that it is all your doing, you will begin to take just a little pride in me, as in the work of your own hands. When people ask me, as they will be sure to do, what is the meaning of this reformation, I shall tell them — but gently ; nd not passionately — to mind their own business, until I have your permission to explain matters ; for a day will come — I feel sure of it — when you will not be ashamed of acknowledging me as your disciple ; a day when my father will ask me in his solemn way, * What has snatched you like a brand from the burning ? ' and I shall reply to him in his own language, * Grace.'" " Lord Cheribert," replied the girl, with dignity, " if it were anyone but yourself who is thus speaking to me, I should say that it was impossible that what you express so lightly could be seriously intended." "It's my unfortunate way of speaking," interposed the young man, humbly. " I am — that is, I used to be — frivol- ity itself, I know ; but it's only manner." *• I am aware of it. I also feel that it would be quite inconsistent with your nature to give anyone, designedly, a moment's pain. It would give me pain — very great dis- tress of mind, Lord Cheribert — to discuss the matter which you have so unexpectedly forced upon my attention." " Forced ! Good Heavens ! " A look of unutterable sorrow crossed the young man's face. ».*% THE BURNT MILLION, 187 quite edly, dis- rhich liable " Forgive me ; I was unnecessarily harsh. I wanted to stop you. The thought o{ your father — since you have mentioned him — ought, in my opinion, to have kept you silent. I know little of the world's ways ; but setting all other objections, even more important, though not less grave, aside, can it be imagined for a moment that your father would approve of what you have just been saying? " " My father ! " he exclaimed, contemptuously ; " what can he give me in place of you that I should consult his v/ishes ? . What has he ever done for me that can be matched with what you have done ? What is he in my eyes as compared witb. you ? Nothing, and less than nothing." " You ought to be ashamed to say so, Lord Cheribert," she answered, indignantly. " My father is dead, yet his memory is a more sacred thing than any living man can give me. You talk of reformation, but it seems to me that reformation, like charity, should begin at home." " You are right, Grace ; you are always right," returned the young man with an air of quiet conviction. ** I will be dutiful to him. because you tell me it is my duty, and therefore it must be so. His consent shall be obtained, at whatever price. My pride shall bend its neck, and he shall put his foot upon it." ** But that is only one thing, Lord Cheribert, andnot the greatest thing, that puts a barrier between you and me." She spoke with firmness, even with vigor ; but at the same time she recognized her mistake in having permitted herself, even for a moment, to be drawn into a discussion of details. The determination in his face which had sud- denly become cold and calm, as though it had been hewn in marble, appalled her. " That I can easily believe, dear Grace," he answered, gently. " No one can expect to get to heaven express and without stoppages. If you will be kind enough to mention your objections I will tick them off on my fingers — or, if you will permit me, what will be far better on yours — and answer them, one after another, as well as I can." It was very difficult to deal with such a lover ; passionate as Rousseau, resolute as Wellington, but in manner z. far- ceur. It was as natural to Lord Cheribert to be droll in the most serious situations as for a dull man to be serious in a droll one. Like a planet (which was also, alas ! a falling' star), he dwelt in an atmosphere of his ovm, which. "1 i88 THE BURNT MILLION. while by no means one of mere persiflage, was of exceeding levity. " I will mention one obstacle to your suit, since you compel me to do so," answered Grace, gravely, " which, I am sure you will agree with me, can leave no more to be said. I am deeply touched by the honor you have done me, and I shall never cease to be your friend and well- wisher ; but I do not love you, Lord Cheribert." He bit his lip and turned a little pale, then smiled again as pleasantly as ever. " It would be quite beyond my utmost expectations if you did, dear Grace," he answered, gently ; " but T have — as regards yourself at least — a plentiful stock of patience, and an immense reserve of what our friends call obstinacy and we ourselves resolution. You shall teach me every- thing else, and I will teach you to love me." " It is impossible, my lord ; I shall never learn that lesson." He looked at her a moment in silence \ the dog came barking from the wood, and ran to its mistress, who took it up in her arms. For the first time Lord Cheribert's pleasant face was clouded with a frown. " Perhaps," he said, *' you have learnt it already from some other teacher? That is a question which, if you could read my heart, you would not refuse to answer; my life hangs on it." She buried her face in that of her little favorite to hide the flush that overspread her cheeks. " I must have your ' yes ' or * no,' Grace," he continued with tender earnestness. " Are you engaged to another man ? " She looked up at him haughtily, almost defiantly. " No, I am not, my lord j but that can make no difference." The young man uttered a sigh of relief; then broke into a laugh full of joyful music. " Oh, but indeed it does," he said ; " if you did but know how happy that reply has made me, you would never have the heart to take such happiness away. Do not spoil it bv another word. I ask for nothing more — just now. You see how easily I am satisfied — which is a great recommendation in a husband." " My lord " " There now, I have angered you. Forgive me. Rip, you rascal, of whom I feel so jealous, ask your dear mistress THE BURNT MILLION. 189 iing you h,I ) be lone .veil- gain ns if ,ve — ence, inacy ivery- i that came I took ibert's \ from could ly life hide to forgive me. It is the very last peccadillo of a lifetime. Let us change the subject and talk of something else. Which do you like best, Miss Grace, the river or the moun- tain, Elm Place or the Fells ? Your sisters — and here they come with.Roscoe, the Inseparable — have recommended me to try the fishing in Halswater. I shall shortly, there- fore, have the pleasure of meeting you again." "Believe me, Lord Cheribert, it will be useless," she answered hastily, for the others were approaching. " I shall come if I am alive," he answered, quietly. " Miss Tremenhere, what a view you have here ! I can- not believe, for all you tell me, that your Cumberland home can show a finer." " I hope you will come, then, and judge for yourself, as you have half promised to do. Lord Cheribert," said Agnes, graciously. " Half promised? Indeed, I have whole promised," returned the young man, cheerfully. " There is nothing I look forward to with greater pleasure. I know when I am well off (it's a long time since I have been well off, as Ros- coe knows), and if I have the same good time at Halswater as I have had at Elm Place. I shall have reason, indeed, to congratulate myself." 'f. CHAPTER XXVL inued nother n ence. e into ■es," he ly has such I ask y I am Iband." Rip, listress IN LAKELAND. There are two valleys in Lakeland, side by side, far removed from those who are familiar to its tourists, both of them beautiful, but with a beauty that owes little to verdure and less to foliage, each traversed by a rocky stream — in the one case by the Werdle, in the other by the Start — from which they take their names. In the Werdle valley there is a farm or two, a roadside inn, and a vicarage with a church in proportion to the value of the benefice, which it would be mockery indeed to call " a living " ; in the Start valley there are, where it is widest, but a few cottages, and where it narrows and the huge fells begin to hem it in, there is no sign of human habitation ; there are no cattle, nor sheep. The hill fox and the foul-mart are to be found -^ ,sj I90 THE nURNT MILLIOK. there, indeed, but only by those who know where to look for :hem ; the very birds that haunt those solitary walls of rock are few ; the rock raven and the buzzard hover over them. Past Werdle, and over the hill that separates it from its neighbor-valley, and up the Start vale at its head, is the mountain road to Halswatcr. Many fair scenes and many fine ones are to be beheld by the pedestrian upon his way ; but what will strike him most, not from its beauty, though it is very beautiful, but from the unexpectedness of finding it amongst such wild and grim surroundings, is the view of a country-house. Until eight hundred feet or so of the pass has been ascended, Nature in her wildest garb alone presents herself to him ; but presently, through a cleft in a much loftier mountain range, his eye falls on a glint of blue, which is the foot of Halswater ; and on its sterile verge, as if dropped there from the clouds, a mansion with lawns and gardens belted with noble trees, like an oasis in the desert. To find such an abode of luxury and ease cradled in crag and fell is startling, but there is nothing in its appearance that jars upon Nature's grandeur ; time has so mellowed what art so well began that it seems no more out of place than any other of those ancestral English homes which seem part and parcel of the landscape they adorn. The wonder of the beholder is how it got there. To have dragged the materials for building it over the way he has come would have defied even Egyptian labor. Five hun- dred feet higher, and the secret is disclosed to him ; yonder lies tiie ocean : and even where he stands the discordant shriek of the hawk will, in wild weather, not seldom mingle with the whine of the sea-gull. It was said in old times that only two dalesmen knew the road to Halswater Hall, but the sailor always knew it. It was he who brought the oak for its paneling, the marble for its mantels, and the pictures for its gallery. With the sea half-a-dozen miles or so away for its back- ground, the mansion looks even more enviable a dwelling- place than at the first glance. But, like more humble homes, it has not been able to close its doors against mis- fortunes ; not only have Disease and Death visited it in their never-omitted rounds, but even War has found its way there. In Cromwell's time, indeed, its position was so remote that it is written its inmates and their neighbors luiew not of the existence of the Great Protector till he THE BURNT MILLION, ook Is of over ;s it lead, I and nhis auty, jssof is the or go garb X cleft lint of iterile n with asis in i ease [ling in [ne has more , homes adorn. have he has . e hun- yonder mordant mingle times ir Hall, ight the ind the ts back- ,,/elling- 1 humble ist mis- ed it in its way was so tighbors tr tiU he 191 and his work had passed away, but in the later Stuart days Faction, jealous of its peaceful solitude, and disguised in the garb of Loyalty, made it a nest of treason. Then the sea brought ships by night, and the ships brought men, and the standard of Rebellion was raised where yonder clump of pines casts its shadows on the lake, and the mountain echoes learnt for the first time the sound of the trumpet. Then Authority came and with relentless foot crushed Rebellion out, and set her torch to the fair dwell- ing — where the mark of it can still be seen — and wrote her name in blood in all the pc .ceful valleys so deeply that it took generations to efface it. But one thing it left alive, veiled Discontent : and though there was no more war there was treason still, and the sea brought plotters from the north who lay perdu in the stately place, and priests who dwelt, like conies, in holes and corners of it, and once a fugitive, it is said, with a dark face but jovial mien, before whom Sir Eustace himself stood unbonnetted, and who drank out of the only cup of silver the soldiejs of the Hanoverian had left in the plate room. Then the ancient family in time died out, and though it could not be quite said that its memory had faded "from all the circle of the hills," its legends were giving place to gossip about the new-comers. A dozen years ago or so, one Mr. Joseph Tremenhere, from London, an unknown, supposed to be connected with commercial pursuits, had bought the place and renewed its glories, but in the modern fashion. The domestics were almost as many as of yore, and far more gorgeously attired ; new pleasure-boats and a steam yacht were added to the house flotilla ; the billiard- room was fitted up with gas-reflectors (a circumstance that set the very dale afl.ame) ; and it was even believed by some that ice was to be found on the dinner-table in the hottest summer day. Stories in this style of Eastern exag- geration were told of the Hall and its owner by the land- lord of the " Fisher's Welcome " at the head of the lake, to amuse his guests when the wet weather, as it was wont to do in those parts, set in. Mr. Tremenhere had been a " good sort," it seemed, and thought no more of giving a guinea to a guide or a boatman than if it were a shilling ; but he did not go to kirk, nor had he the excuse of belong- ing to the ancient faith as his predecessors at the Hall done ; for their chapel was now only used as a music gallery. It «»« THE BURNT MILLION, was hazarded by some gentleman sportsman at the " Wel- come " that Mr. Tremenhere might be a Jew — a pleasantry received with rapture, and one which in the neighborhood (where jokes were scarce) was often quoted to the general enjoyment. As to the members of his family, Miss Tremenhere was thought to be rather calm and stately, which in the mis- tress of so great a household seemed pardonable enough ; Miss Philippa to be good-natured and very civil ; but Miss Grace, all were agreed, was the flower of the flock. She had a good word for everyone, and an open hand (with something in it) wherever it was needed. There was much less mystery about the new proprietor of the Hall than there had been about the old ones, but Mr. Edward Roscoe puzzled folks. He always accompanied his patron on his summer holiday, but without sharing his diversions : for fishing he had apparently as little taste as skill \ there were a few grouse on the hills about the house, but they suffered no diminution in their numbers at his hands ; he did not seem to be moved by that passion for the picturesque which brought some harmless lunatics to Halswater; no one, in short, could understand why Mr. Roscoe was a standing disn at his host's table. At first they took him for the bridegroom elect of one of the two elder Miss Tre- menheres, but in course of years that illusion vanished. They then concluded he was Mr. Tremenhere's secretary, as indeed he was, and something more. If they could have guessed the real nature of his duties it would have aston- ished them exceedingly ; for the owner of Halswater Hall had nothing in common with Josh of Lebanon Lodge, Kensington. He caught fish on his hook instead of men — the speckled trout and the scarlet char, in place of the nobility and the military — and placed them in stew-ponds to be devoured at leisure. He put the screw on none of his tenants, and therefore had no necessity of employing Mr. Roscoe's skill with that instrument ; and yet that gentle- man was somehow as unpopular as an Irish landlord's agent under the Plan of the Campaign. When the news came to the Northern home of Mr. Tremenhere's decease, the honest dalesmen were moved to sorrow, but found some mitigation of it in the reflection that now that they had lost the substance they would also lose the shadow that had dogged it ; but in this they were fated to be mistaken. THE BURNT MILLION, 193 itry ood eral was mis- igh; Miss She [with i\uch there Dscoe )n his 5: for : were iffered id not resque er; no was a (k him sTre- ished. iretary, id have aston- ;r Hall edge, f men of the .ponds of his |ng Mr. gentle- Idlord's le news iecease» id some ley had iw that fstakcn. When the three bereaved sisters arrived at the Hall Mr. Roscoe arrived with them ; only, instead of living under the same roof as of old, he was accommodated in a cottage in the grounds, which had been used by the old family, in the days of their hospitality, for overflow guests. Matters were not so pleasant in the household as they had been at Elm Place. The presence of visitors had there had a restraining influence upon the two elder sisters, who, now that they were alone together, often said sharp things (in the sense of antagonism rather than cleverness, as Ajax was called acerrimus Ajax) to one another, and still sharper, in confidence, to Mr. Roscoe, of one another. That gentleman's position, though as general manager of so vast an establishment, and one in whom the most implicit trust was placed, it seemed to be enviable, had some crumpled rose-leaves about it, and even occasionally thorns. Each sister wanted the attention he paid to the other ; but Agnes — which was curious, since she had usually more self-command — by far the most openly. She " could not understand why he gave himself the trouble to make such a fool of Philippa," which was her way of stating that he spoilt her ; to which he would reply with his most winning smile, "It is for your sake," which always pacified her. It must not be imagined, however, notwithstanding this tenderness of speech, that anything he said to her could be construed into a declaration of love ; nor did Agnes complain of this reticence — not so much, perhaps, because she was old enough to know better, as of a certain under- standing which existed between them. With Philippa he was tender too, but in a less confidential way ; and yet her too he contrived to keep in good temper. Mr. Edward Roscoe, indeed, deserved the name of a good manager even more than those who grudgingly enough bestowed it on him imagined ; but no one knew what his success cost him. Moreover, with every day his position became more precarious, as is apt to be the case with those who have given "promises to pay" without the possession of assets. It is true that there was no date on the bill, but it had to be renewed nevertheless, and the operation, though it h-id some likeness to a lover's quarrel, was by no means the renewal of love. He was pressed, toe, from without (though that need not be referred to at present) as well as 13 ■Ht i" ■ V ■94 THE BURNT MILLION. from within, and was already in such straits as might have made some men desperate. But though Edward Roscoe had nothing of what we call faith, he believed in Edward Roscoe, and, like all men of his type, was confident that time and chance would somehow work together in favor of so deserving an object. Much more apart from him than her sisters, but hardly more ignorant of the plans he was devising, and in which she too had her place, stood Grace Tremenhere. Indeed she stood apart from her sisters also, though they still united in treating her, after their fashion, with tenderness. Of her at least they had no jealousy, and though to some degree she stood in their way, they did not visit that involuntary crime with their displeasure. In some re- spects, though their hopes rested on her having reached a marriageable age, they still considered her as a child, her presence softened their characters — long warped from what they might have been, and stunted by rivalry and discontent — and evoked what little remained to them of fun and freshness. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, their humor — as always happens with women of coarse natures — took the form of raillery about her supposed admirers. When the post came (at an hour when it leaves places less out of the world), they would pretend to look at the superscription of her letters, and were perpetually asking her when Lord Cheribert was to make his appearance. " We told you, you know, that if he came we should know for certain what he came for, and his last words, as you remember, were that he intended to come." It was a very unwelcome as well as threadbare jest, but it was difficult for her to put a stop to it, and it was at least some comfort that their assurances of his lordship's intention prevented them from harping upon a still more tender string. If they had ever entertained a suspicion about Walter Sinclair it was clear they had dismissed it. But as regarded the girl herself, it was certain that she thought of that young gentleman a good deal more than when he had been their visitor. He was not, of course, her lover ; unlike Lord Cheribert, he had never breathed a I word of love to her ; but what he had said — his few vague phrases of repressed admiration — were recalled to her mind much oftener than the other's passionate and deter- 1 mined words. The remembrance of the latter filled her| THE BURNT MILLION, m have )scoe Lward t that vorof lardly which [ndeed ;y still erness. o some jit that Dine re- ached a nld, her :d from airy and them of of mind, )f coarse supposed L it leaves to look at rpetually pearance. jld know Is, as you : jest, but [it was at Jlordship's I still more ] suspicion Imissed it. that she aore than I of course, )reathed a I few vague ;d to her land deter- filled hei with alarm, and even with repugnance. She feared his perseverance and importunity, which in that lonely spot, surrounded by those who. far from having sympathy with her resistance, would be ranged upon their side, would, she felt, be wellnigh intolerable. If she had but had Mr. Allerton to appeal to — for she had no idea that his influence had been thrown into the other scale — it would have been some comfort ; but she was ab iolutely without friend or adviser, save the secret whispers of her high- beating heart. If Walter — that is Mr. Walter Sinclair — should keep his promise of coming up to Halswatcr — but his doing so was doubtful ; fool that she was to have discouraged him ! — then indeed — but even that was set with diflSculties and embarrassments. Perhaps they might quarrel, and she be the unwilling cause ; these two young men, one of whom she liked so much — at a distance — and the other whom she — she did not say she loved even to herself, but a blush, though none was there to see it, spoke for her. One night, as the ladies were thinking of retiring, a sound of wheels upon the broad gravel sweep made itself heard in the drawing-room ; for by coming a score of miles and more from the nearest station the house was now approach- able by wheels, which in the old time it had not been ; then there was a peal at the front-door bell. " He has come at last ! " cried the elder sisters in a breath, and both of them looked significantly at Grace. " The idea of his coming here instead of lo the inn I " exclaimed Agnes ; " this is making himself at home indeed. You must put him up in the cottage, Mr. Roscoe." " You need not disturb yourself, Miss Agnes, nor need Miss Grace put on that heightened color," observed the gentleman appealed to. "I hear a voice which is certainly not that of Lord Cheribert." " But who on earth can it be ? " asked Agnes. "Why, of course it's Mr. Roscoe's brother," observed Philippa. " How do you know that ? " inquired Agnes, with sudden vehemence. " I don't know it, I only guess it," answered Philippa with an uneasy look, " because, as you know, he has been expected for so long." Then the door opened and the butler announced Mr. Richard Roscoe. ':!'• wmm 196 rff£ BURNT MILLION, CHAPTER XXVDL MR. RICHARD. The man who was thus ushered for the first time into the presence of the Treraenhere family would have been remarkable anywhere, but in that splendid drawing-room, surrounded by all the accessories of wealth and luxury, his appearance was especially striking from its incongruity. He was dressed in what is known in the neighborhood of Ratcliff Highway as " clops," a suit of ready-made clothes that hung on his gaunt, spare limbs like the attire of a scarecrow. It was, or had been, a sailor's suit, but he had not the least resemblance to a sailor. He had long brown hair, and a beard so deeply tinged with grey that it did not seem to match it. Though at least six feet in height, he had not a superfluous ounce of flesh about him ; he was emaciated and hollow-eyed, like one who had endured great hardships ; to his brother, who had a robust frame, and was attired in faultless evening dress, he presented the strongest contrast. They had absolutely nothing in common. There was something in the new-comer, how- ever, which spoke of vanished strength, or at least of great powers of endurance ; what could be seen of his muscles stood out like whipcord. His eyes were very expressive, wild as those of a hawk ; perhaps at one time they might have been as fierce, but they had now a haunted look in them. A judge of physiognomy would have pronounced this man to have passed through some terrible experience. The meeting between the brothers was friendly, but not cordial. The new-comer seemed to have some doubt of his welcome ; while the other, despite his habitual self- command, was evidently embarrassed. His manner was nervous, and he spoke with a rapidity that was quite un- usual to him. "So, Richard, you are come at. last," he said as thejrl shook hands. " I am glad to see you, and I think I may! say as much for my kind friends here.'* And with that he| introduced him to the sisters. ism§ff^i^^^ nto the e been ^-rooin, ury, his iigruity. tiood of clothes ire of a t he had g brown it it did I height, ; he was endured ;t frame, nted the hing in ler, how- t of great muscles pressive, ey might i look in tnounced perience. , but not doubt of tual self- jiner was quite un- a as they ink I may th that he As'^e SSr;:^ j;:^»Hte ..^^custo^ed to 30^0!! " You"''*^^' "dmiration exhibited ^dm^hS^l'vofc/'ftn?,?'? "'* «" awkward smile plain J^rtsfoetjfu^ •>- « "ackwoodsman,- ex- «e douLKfnl'S of :;?''''"•,''« ~P''-ed drily -vou »clair haH^.„..i '! . ? ' «"« rememberpH m,. fl7 f^^" ingly ca .ng, and expressed'hiro^^rdmlriT"? ^""-''d ,ha There is not much to hunt ^'"""?,"on for it. contmued Agnes, " cxcent thf vn"? ' ^'- ^'chard, I fear - «^ a fisher^n, 'and wf cai ol'j^"" ' '>"' y°« are dou";. *.^' »ay ; and I dare say Grace ?»,"'• ^°" '°"'' '?«« in In f„'"./' y"" guide over th^ hni° " r'' ""-"'aineer? do for Mr. Roscoe's brother wli";'"'; ^"J'"""? ''e can' The new-comer looked un v^ t ^^■^'' P'^sure." ^ "I wish vour sisw, K*^..'" g'''"'''«d surprise "« I thank y°ou kindly." '^"^^ °«<=^- «'« :?r;menhe,e, inqfflK"sJ;?t^''"° '•" England, Mr. Richard?" I»K>ndono„Worty.ight hours; I came straight up 198 THE BURNT MILLION. from Liverpool, and only remained in town just to buy these tliings," and he looked down at his shop suit with a painful sense of their inadequacy to the occasion. " It was very good of you," continued Agnes graciously, " to leave all the attractions of town to come down to us at once." The new-comer looked embarrassed, and turned an in- quiring glance towards his elder brother. " I ventured to tell him that he would be welcome here," explained Mr. Roscoe ; " and he was naturally, I hope, desirous to see me, after ihe lapse of so many years." ** It could hardly be otherwise," observed Philippa. *' We are most pleased, I'm sure," chimed in Agnes. And Grace too smiled acquiescence. All which was a proof indeed of Mr. Roscoe's influence with the family, for it is one thing to welcome one's friend, and quite another to welcome one's friend's friend. With all the good-will in the world, however, to put their guest at his ease, the sisters found it a little diflicult. There were, of course, excuses for him ; he had not been used, as he himself had owned, to society ; he knew nothing of his entertainers ; after so long a separation even his brother could have hardly seemed familiar to him ; but all these pleas having been allowed, it was still felt by the two elder ladies that Mr. Richard Roscoe was a little awkward j perhaps he suffered by comparison with that complete self-possession and ease of manner which they could never suflficiently admire in his elder brother j Grace thought him only shy. She pitied him, because she under- stood that he was poor, and had suffered privations. Her interest was always attracted by such persons, just as natures of another kind are attracted by those who arc rich and prosperous. Yet even she too experienced a certain sense of relief when Mr. Roscoe took his brother away 10 the supper that had been prepared for him in the lodgings where he was to be bestowed. The night was moonless and very dark. It would have been no easy matter even for one well acquainted with the grounds about the house to have found his way to the cottage without damage to the flower-beds, if not to him- self; but what seemed much more beautiful and striking to the dalesman than any wonders of mere and fell that had met his eye that day, the whole garden was lit by gas- ^"e BUJitrr MILLION-. wi.,4|,i,rj-ed, U,is beats .Ur- ,e ,„„„.„„<,, burst outtu'rnr'%?'"'^"''=°fadmiraifon Mr E,I„ . gence which had placed him ^^^™'''""*^"' '° "•« intelfi! , ^'"•ch thiLimple hunfer oTfhe "" ^° ^^« "'« wld^^ith and s,lver upon the ?ab e a d Z"-''- " '"^"''"'^ "'« g^»" the obsequiousness of the ^ tant in 'Lf "'?'^'"™«>«. and ••'1 had known of vn,,,. ■ ""i^ndance. something better for supper '- T"' ^ '1°"''' bave got you these five years." "°' '*' down lo such a med ^ne answer wn«: 3 i,'f^i l ," You need not waif rhLf^°u'^ *<= °'ber's expectation It stc,^ R-bar?°S''^°''^"^^''-"''"'J wlli ■ a. ot ^"!"-'-- bottid'';: ati"'^ f- ""^ "emb" tr^ e, '"'!f' .°f ''''' from that ofl'"? '"i" f'"™ q»ite gvej, them a haTdle" ' o^j ' ^^p '^"s,'' r" ^°"^^b'to°ha'v: -^_and.orep,ace'tim''-S?:^rr':?.-foS aoo i tSe burnt million. " You have not brought much luggage with you, Dick, I noticed," he observed, lighting a cigar, while the other attacked the viands. " And yet it looks more than it is," reply the other frankly. " I did not dare bring down the things I came over in ; so the portmanteau is half empty." " The portmanteau ! If you had only given me time I would have seen that you had five portmanteaus." " Then you would have had to send me the money to buy them. I am stone broke." " I suppose so. Look here, Dick : you must never be without money in your pocket." He now unlocked a drawer, and, taking out a handful of sovereigns, placed them beside his brother's plate. The other colored to his forehead. " I was only joking," he said, with an air of annoyance, and even of distress. " I am not a schoolboy, that I should take a tip, like that." " Take it as a loan then. You will very likely have no need to spend it ; but it will not do for you — or, if you prefer that way of putting it, for me — to be without ready money. Ten pounds, man — what do you suppose is ten pounds, or a hundred, or a thousand, for that matter, to a man in my position ? — and I don't choose my brother to be penniless." " That circumstance did not seem to distress you very much at one time," returned the other drily. The reply was unexpected, and for a moment Mr. Edward's face looked very unlike that of a host — even a host at somebody else's expense ; but the frown cleared away as quickly as it came. " That's quite true," he answered, laughing ; " but cir- cumstances alter cases. If there was ever a time when we were like two beggars fighting for a crust, forget it. I have now, at all events, not only the will but the power to make you ample amends." " I do not wish to live upon your bounty, Edward," was the cold rejoinder ; the speaker's eyes were looking at the little heap of gold with marked disfavor. " I wish I had given him a hundred," was the other's reflection ; " it is merely avarice that takes this mask of pride." " You gave me to understand that if I came over here I should find employment of some kind." pen bro ordi of fa knev spok as yc even "1 could "T thank rejoim ' take y H^hich the oW contraj so sine ^vhat I gence c such as have do that an Penniles commoi have see dence in niistressL risk it b3 i an [answered I to have g Kwsed jus Khite." though o] II THE BURNT MILUON-. 201 LCk, Lher ther ame time ey to er be Iced a placed iking," LStress. p, like ave no •, if you It ready ie is ten ;er, to a >ther to ^ou very ;nt Mr. -even a cleared I'butcir- Iwhen we let it. I [power to ^rd,"was Tng at the U other's i mask of Ur here 1 " So you shallv Dick. Do not fear that you will not be worth your wages." Then added to himself, " I do believe he is the same tom-fool he ever was ; and I'm another to have ever sent for him on the belief that he could have altered." ** But I should hke to know what the employment is ? " persisted Richard. He had not the resolution of his brother, the dogged determination that can tire out all ordinary opposition, and almost reverse the adverse decrees of fate ; but he was not without a strain of it, as the other knew. " When you wrote to me upon the matter, you spoke of it as being something well worth my while — or, as you expressed it, ' any man's while ' — but you did not even hint at what it was." " That is quite true, Dick ; it was something that I could not set down in black and white." ** Then I won't do it. I have been in trouble once — thanks to you — and that is enough," was the vehement rejoinder. " It shall never happeruagain — of that you may take your oath, Edward ; or, rather, I will take my oath, which is much surer." *' I forgive you your unbrotherly sentiments," answered the other quietly, in tones the quiet calmness of which contrasted strangely with the other's passion ; " the more so since I admit that there is some cause for them ; but what I cannot understand is how a person of your intelli- gence can suppose me capable of making any proposition such as you hint at. You may say, of course, * But you have done things of that kind,' to which I reply it is true that an individual of my name once did them — a wretched penniless adventurer — but he has nothing whatever in common with the person who is now addressing you. You have seen with your, own eyes what I am here — the confi- dence in which I am held by your hostesses, who are the mistresses of millions. Can you think me such a fool as to risk it by doing anything discreditable? " " I am speaking of what you may want me to do," answered the other, to whom wine and good cheer seemed to have given both strength and spirit. '* You have con- ifessed just now that you could not set it down in black and [white." " How could I ? It was a very delicate business, [though one that was entirely free from illegality of any i 202 THE BURNT MILLION'. Is 'I" kind. Unhappily, your long delay has, I fear, caused the part I intended for you to be filled up by another. I can now promise you nothing so splendid ; but there is much work to be done, of part of which you can relieve me, in connection with the Tremenhere estate, which, for the pre- sent at all events, will give you profitable occupation." " Out-of-door work, of course, I could do — overlooking and so forth — and I know something of grass-farming." " Your talents will, I am sure, be most useful," said the other drily. " Mr. Tremenhere, I suppose, made you his executor ? '* observed Richard after a pause. " Not a bit of it," answered the other, with a contemp- tuous smile. "I have made myself what you see I am; and you have not seen me at my best even yet," he added, with a sudden burst of pride. " What ! Thane of Cawdor that shall be King of Scot- land ! You mean to marry one of them, do you? " " There are things more unlikely to happen in the world than that, Dick. To tell you the honest truth, I was at one time in hopes that you might have married the other." " The other ? You mean Miss Philippa, I suppose, since I can hardly flatter myself I could have captivated the young one." " Well, yes, Miss. Philippa, of course. But all that's over now." " She's engaged, is she ? " " Well, in a manner, yes ; but she doesn't like it talked about." " And you are to marry Miss Agnes ? " " I never said so. I have no right to say so. I only said that there were things more unlikely to happen j and you must understand that even that was said in the strict- est confidence. Come, it's getting late, and we are early risers at Halswater. How is your room? I hope you think it snug enough." " Snug ! " said Richard, rolling his hollow eyes about what was certainly a very handsome apartment. *' I feel like Christopher Sly in the play." "Or like Mr. Squeers in his Sunday clothes," replied Mr. Edward, laughing, " astonished at finding yourself so respectable." i. 1 T//£ BURNT MlLLlONm 2tn m ch in re- ing the r?" ;mp- am; ided, Scot- world vas at i the )pose, yated that's [talked 1 1 only and strict- early |,e you about ' I feel I replied rself so . CHAPTER XXVIII. . AN INEXPLICABLE ALARM. The most prudent and scheming folk cannot make provi- sion for everything, and especially for what they may say or do themselves in a moment of impulse. For many months Mr. Edward Roscoe had been in expectation of some such a meeting as that which had just taken place between himself and his brother. A less con- fident man would perhaps have rehearsed his own part in it beforehand ; but, though he was by no means one "to trust to the inspiration of the moment, he had not dreamt of taking such a precaution. He had always been Richard's superior (and, to say truth, had treated him as if he was), and somewhat despised his intelligence. He had not made allowance for the independence of character which the knocking about in the world for years gives to a man who may have had but little of it to start with. He had expected to find him as clay to the hand of the potter, and he had found him rather stiff clay; he foresaw that he should have more trouble with him than he expected, and, on the whole, was sorry he had sent for him. He regretted now that he had given way to the temptation of boasting to him of his own position ; his pride of place had caused him, he felt, to be unnecessarily confidential. It was foolish of him to admit, or rather to allow Richard to guess, that he had marriage with Agnes in his eye ; for once, moved by impulses of which he was now rather ashamed, he had been both frank and truthful. He had really sent for his brother with the object he had mentioned, directly he had become aware of the contents of Mr. Tremenhere's will ; but the wife he had designed for him was not Philippa but Grace. At that time the latter had had no suitor, and it struck Mr. Edward that she could not do better than ally herself with one who would be under his own control, and with whom matters could be made easy. As he remem- bered Richard, he was a handsome young fellow, not with- Pi' m I ao4 THE BURNT MILLION. ojt spirit, though always inclined to lean upon another rather than trust to his own resources ; somewhat senti- mental in feeling, and very impressionable to female beauty. Fortunately, since Lord Cheribert had stepped into the vacant place, he no longer wanted his brother for this pur- pose, for indeed he now seemed quite unfitted for it. To his eyes he looked a broken man, worn out by fatigues and ill-health, which had also made him irritable and difficult to deal with. He had, it is true, suffered certain wrongs at his elder brother's hands ; but that was long ago ; and since Edward had shown a disposition to make amends, it was Richard's duty (as, indeed, he had hinted to him) to forget them, and make himself useful to his patron. In time, and with kind and judicious treatment, this would doubtlessly come about ; and in that case it would not be a matter to be deplored that he had thus made a confidant of him, as respected his own matrimonial designs, from the first. It would be of immense advantage to him to have at the Hall one whose interests were his own, for he was well aware that, with the exception of its two mistresses, there was no one at Halswater Hall on whose good-will he could rely. Though he had nothing to complain of from Grace herself, he felt that he could hardly count upon her per- sonal regard as of old. Her intimate relations with Mr. Allerton, his declared enemy, forbade it. This was an- other reason why he was anxious to get her a husband as soon as possible, who would remove her from the scene of his operations. If she had really any tenderness for Lord Cheribert, which he did not doubt, he was confident that, so far as she was concerned, the immense pecuniary loss which her marriage would cause her would weigh with her not. a feather; nor from what he knew of Lord Cheribert did he think that if even he was made conscious of that fact that it would seriously affect his intentions. The young man was reckless and headstrong, and had always been wont to please himself at any cost : his noble father, of course, would entertain the strongest objections to such a match without the gilding, but the young man's career had been one long opposition to the paternal wishes. Mr. Allerton's views, if they were adverse, would be of much more consequence, since he enjoyed the confidence of both the young people ; but in Mr. Allerton lay Mr. Ros- THE BURNT MILLION, ao5 I career be of ince of Ros- coe's chief hope ; it was, he believed, in the lawyer's power to set aside the conditions of Mr. Tremenhere's will, and if that were effected he would be satisfied, though in a different manner than that which he now contemplated. Unconscious of the large share she occupied in Mn Roscoe's thoughts, and having nothing in common with them, Grace Tremenhere recommenced her home life (for in spite of the comparatively short time she had resided there every year, she had always looked on Hals- water as " home " ) much as she had been wont to pass it, though under changed conditions. There was no father now to saunter about the garden with his ** little Fairy," or to tempt to wander further afield ; his sedentary habits had hitherto often prevented her from taking the long walks over the fells in which her soul delighted, and which she undertook with perfect fearlessness. She knew her way, as her sisters said, " blindfold," and indeed so it al- most se ^med to their town-bred fancy ; even in the hill fogs, of which, hov/'ever, she had had as yet no serious experience, she rarely lost her bearings, and had been termed in consequence by some chance visitor at the inn " the Maiden of the Mist." It was curious how much oftener than before her wanderings now took the direction of the inn — not the direct road which ran by the lake side, but some mountain path or mountain where there was no path, from which in the far distance the white-walled " Welcome," set in its emerald dale, could be seen gleaming like a star. The first snow had not yet fallen on the fells, but the mists were growing more frequent, and Autumn, though there were few leaves to show the mark of her " fiery finger," was coming on apace. The air was rich and heavy with the scent of it, and, though not unwholesome to those in health, already perilous to those of feeble lungs. The cir- cumstance wa? not unwelcome to her, since it afforded her a good excuse for not becoming that mountain guide to their new visitor which her sisters had promised for her. Mr. Richard Roscoe was, for the present at all events, distinctly an invalid ; he had a churchyard cough (as his brother humorously termed it), found mountain climbing much too laborious, and the damps of evening injurious. She was sorry for him, for he was of a roving nature, had spent the later years of his life more out of doors than ia, «! !'?; 2o6 THE BURNT MILLION. and inaction was irksome to him ; but just now the com- panionship of anyone, and especially of a stranger, would have been very obnoxious to her. She preferred to think her own thoughts — vague, and often sad as they were — in the free air of hills, to making polite conversation. It was her custom, after the occupations of the morning, which generally included visits to the sick in the neighboring hamlet, to dedicate the afternoon to nature in a long ramble with the faithful Rip over the fells. In a few weeks more there would be no rambling of that kind ; the hollows of the hills would be filled up with snow, and their summits cold and icebound \ but in the meantime she enjoyed her mountain walks immensely. Though she was no poet, and the cataract could not be said to ** haunt her like a passion," she took great pleasure in the foaming becks, and the steep sheer precipices down which they plunged. Her eye was keen, her foot was sure, and fear was unknown to her. Not seldom had she found the sheep " crag fast," and told the shepherd of the danger of his missing charge. Such scenes, such pleasures, were a hundred times more grate- ful to her than the amusements and dissipations of the town. Her role of "heiress" was singularly unsuited to her, and but for the benefits which, thanks to Mr. Allerton, she was enabled vicariously to diffuse, it gave her no plea- sure. All thw.t she had seen and heard since her father's death of the effects of wealth had engendered contempt and dislike of it. It had been the cause of her sisters' dis- respect to his memory, and, as she vaguely perceived, of their hostility to one another. Perhaps she had even a presentiment that it might one day prove an obstacle to the dearest though unconfessed desire of her soul. Although Grace was glad to escape from the threatened companionship of Mr. Richard Roscoe in her walks, his society at times was far from displeasing to her ; and indeed, though it could scarcely be called an acquisition, it had for the whole family at Halswater a certain sense of relief. His presence, as in the case of the former visitors at Elm Place, was a restraint upon the hostility with which the two elder sisters unhappily regarded one another, and which seemed to increase day by day. It afforded his brother opportunities of escape from their continuous appeals against one another. For Grace, too, at least Richard had also an attraction of his own. Independjent THE BURNT MILLION. 907 itened , his and [sition, inse of lisitors 1 which ;r, and ;d his Inuous least indent of the obvious delicacy of his health that claimed her pity, there was a melancholy about him which bespoke her sympathy. She felt sure that some recollection of his past gave him acute mental pain, though he did his best to conceal it, and she had reason to suspect, from a word dropped now and again, that this was caused by the remembrance of another's sufferings. That he had suffered himself from severe privations, he admitted, though he was very disinclined to dwell on them. '* I have had a very hard life, Miss Grace," he once said to her, but it did not seem to her to have made a hard man of him. She had an instinct that under a rough exterior he carried a tender heart. When she had "replied on that occasion, " And also, from what your brother tells me, a perilous life," he had answered ** Yes," then added with a painful smile, *• You must not ask me to detail my adventures : they are nothing to boast of. and would only distress you to hear of them." She had an idea that someone dear to him had undergone in his company some shocking experience which it was painful to recall. Even what his brother knew of what he had gone through in his wild and wandering life, and which Edward was rather inclined to depreciate, as is the custom with men of his class (who have often perils enough, but quite of another kind than those of the traveler and the explorer), was sufficient to establish his courage ; his very modesty upon the point corroborated it ; and yet Richard Roscoe exhibited at times an utterly groundless trepidation. li did not need a medical training to under- stand that this was the consequence of some shock to the nerves. His sleep was disturbed by terrible dreams — a circumstance which it was impossible to conceal from the servants at the cottage. " Poor Richard is frightened by shadows," Mr. Roscoe used rather contemptuously to observe, " though, to do him justice, I believe, by nothing else." Just now he was really too much of an invalid for much exertion, and it was difficult to believe, what was never- theless the fact, that when in health he had possessed thews of steel and nerves of iron. On one occasion, how- ever, it happened that a horse was brought for Mr. Roscoe to " trot out," for his own riding. The groom who led it up to the door warned him that in his opinion it was a nasty one, of a bad temper. H' : ao8 THE BURNT MILLION^ " Why do you say that ? " "Well, sir, he has thrown two men in the yard already." " Then you had better try him yourself instead of me,'* suggested prudent Mr. Edward. The groom mounted, not very willingly, and after a second or two of " masterly inaction," the creature sprang into the air with its fore legs brought together like those of a chamois on a crag, and cast the man over his head. "A buck-jumper, by Jingo I " exclaimed the invalid, who, with the ladies, was watching this performance from the porch, and in three strides he was by the horse's side, and had vaulted on his back in a second. It seemed almost like a miracle performed by a cripple ; but still greater was the wonder of the beholders when, as the animal bucked again and again, with his head so low that he looked headless, they saw the rider maintain his seat as though he and his steed were one. In the end the man tired out the horse, who for the time was completely subjugated, and having descended from the saddle in safety Mr, Richard fainted away. Among the out-door servants at the Hall he became from that moment, what his bro- ther had never been to his valet-de-chambre, a hero ; and, indeed, the feat made no slight impression even on the ladies. Physically, it did him no good, since for days afterwards he felt the effects of it. One afternoon Grace sacrificed her walk, and took the invalid in her pony- carriage for a drive by the seaside. For this act of kind- ness he was more than grateful, and as they drove along he became more confidential than he had hitherto permit- ted himself to be. He spoke of his aimless and broken life in a manner that touched Grace keenly, but with a conviction of its hopelessness that seemed to forbid a word of encouragement. " I was never much," he said in his queer fashion, " and could never have come to much ; so after all it don't much matter." About his brother's connection with his affairs he was reticent, but he owned that he was under a great obligation to him for having invited him to Halswater. " Without it," he averred that he would have had no more chance of mixing with such society as he had found than of " get- ting to heaven " — a contingency he seemed to consider ex an sh fro fric tor sub dro surj cant as re that prob Lore stran shoul thing; prese; Thi count] which tent. within trump( "Gr. you hej some ei cheerim "No, Jier extr "it is m you obli| She as and grea forehead. but direc fier comp alarm, an by one o vehicle an [drove a m Then h€ t1 exceedingly remote H. ' *" from what wT. f '5'H her interestfn ?• """ '"''J«« friend rX7S^l" ^^ ^"'d- had after a? h" 1°°"* "ho. tory word abouf "r ""'^"JT"- Once "e"e/V^,f " his father's subject to t li:°['^ Cheribert, bu, uL^ " ™'?e™t<'la- surprise, which '-.ft""'^''^/' ""hou" ""^X" '"Jediately asreeardedn,.. her somehow to rpo^k "" S'gwfi- «hat he had no! f.""! 'r"' ^»d to expSlI V^'^'^'^W probably due ?n »i, "'^- '^*'°'- 'i her slajf his satisfaction I-ord ChenV«? ^^l " '"a^only too fllV ^ '''^umslance strange thltw' S?''« ofhfe. Yet ifr'>'.''^ had heard of should be L' ^'""^"^ Roscoe of J?'"**"°»ewhat 'hing' h'ow^ver'^st^^nt^ f «- Gr^'dr ?i* » P«t. '""'hrard"" "'^'^""^'^ ^'-hard Roscoe. "did some equestri^T°nerfl!r"°^'"S-" replied Grace • ".i. - cheering." " Performance going on A» ' *¥'^ 's , "Nofno," replied h, ' '^^''^ "« "it no?f,^r^«-nzTShi'^^^^^^^^^ to you obliee mfh. ! " .something quite rfffl-'^™ ""« ''eins j ^ She aS yS'th-'''^^^^^^^^^ ' ?o"fe'^;i;'r ^« <<- e-rt^^/- -s%ale. but directly ,h.^ "',°"'«°' she had Lr?,?f "I! "P<>u his her compS^ion?.^""^ ' ''^^d "'as tuj^?^^ "arm, aKl hT"" disappeared »' "^''^"'ence of by one o? i "^'^ even seemed nf ^ • " ^''Pression of I'ehide °^"''»"stion and dTstres/'^r".' **' succeeded ^"ce, you must think me out qf JfO THE BURNT MILLION, my mind ; it is only that something which occurred yonder awoke a very painful association. You have forgiven me for my foolish conduct, I know." " There was nothing to forgive in it," she answered, mustering up a smile. " It is kind of you to say so ; but you are always kind. May I still further trespass upon your good-nature by asking you to say nothing of the — to you doubtless unac- countable — weakness of which I have been guilty ? " She promised silence, of course, and kept her promise ; but it would have been contrary to human nature had not her curiosity been aroused by the incident. She took some pains to discover what sort of entertainment was then going about that part of the country ; but all she gathered was that it was a circus, consisting of the usual performing steeds, a tribe of wild Indians (probably Irish), and " the champion huntress of the Rocky Mountains," a young lady scantily attired, for that inclement region, in tights. CHAPTER XXIX. THE HILL FOG. For the next few days after his drive with Grace, Mr. Richard confined himself to the cottage, under the plea of indisposition, and Grace would perhaps have forgotten what she was nevertheless persuaded had been its cause, but for a paragraph that happened to meet her eye in the county newspaper. It had the sensational heading of " Mysterious Attack upon an Indian Chief," and described how one of the members of a traveling circus, taking a Sunday walk on the hill in the vicinity of the neighboring town, had been set upon and severely beaten by some unknown person. Robbery could not have been the motive — indeed there was little beyond a blanket and feathers to steal ; and it was the Chief's opinion that nothing less than murder had been intended ; he had thought himself lucky to save his scalp. The paragraph escaped the attention of the other mem- b. m W; mi cir wii onJ (no bee for one At ; next Jink Oi in th '"^^ wa "V Agnej "It Hei "B. mth. h Jier als day; V Mr. custom missing The ; 'ncrease continut attentioi ^"s beh; epidemic Jf the attitude since the; Jier sociei It. Ther in his ma from an unvvorthin ^^^ BUJiNT MILLION, bers of the famiJv anH r ' *" ^^ith her own «• • J"^^ »o\v took nio, • °^ certa n ^een Jeft verv ^ I ^^^'"^ ^^ their fnth^f n ^^^nsees for example L?h'^ '° ^^<^'> own devtcs '.k"''^.! "^"^ ^'^^ one ev^r dr;?^."^V''"^'^ ^^J>at thev nl^' ' J^''^ ^^^ read, next day) it J.T f ' ^^o^vcver, tliey did Tc t ? ^^P^Per. . On a cenaT'a ^;,^^ ''' outsideVj;/ ^^^'^' ^^ ^^e !" the library, where l?' '^" ^'^^^ t 'it nn Agnes'"^ - yesterdays newspaper?" ,he inn ■ . "Jt has not enquired of -Wth heVTan f "• '"'■<' f'^'"P« I »in^';'"''*^'■^''• 'ler also '• ? ,' ■■•" """'ontcd ma^k ,?f !■« ^"'''^'s cheek ' Mr- Rot . tho S «•=' '-0 .o.™:;r !-P- -,ne to- srg'p:;':fr ^ "-~ » -r^"-^ - attention S "lanifested to her ^T ^'^^ers, wh ch ''er socie I h f adventure together Lh/"^'""''- Ever «e seldom spoke to her h„^ "' .°^" "er, i)ut sometimes 1I» THE BURNT MILLION, she caught his eyes fixed upon her with an earnestness that suggesied a much closer study of her than she had dreamt of ; but in this too there was nothing inquisitive or imper- tinent. The expression of his face, as that flush of recognition had shown it to her, was one of tenderness, but also' of profound pity. It had nothing of selfishness about it, and yet she felt strangely disinclined to ask its explanation. Even with her sisters she maintained a strict reticence as respected their change of conduct ; for it some- how came into her mind that the continued delay of Lord Cheribert to pay his promised visit was at the bottom of it. Perhaps they had heard that he did not intend to come at all, and were keeping the news from her, under the mic taken idea that it would be a disappointment that would wring her very heartstrings. If so, this would explain Mr. Richard's sympathy, for, as she knew from his reference to him when they were driving together, he had bc'n informed of her supposed attachment to the young lord. She was too sensible to resent it, since it was obvious that he meant well ; but of course it was disagreeable. What corroborated Grace's views of this matter was that she noticed more than once, on her entering the roon. where her sisters and Mr. Roscoe w^ere sitting together, that her arrival caused them to suddenly break off their conversation and start some other topic. If her surmise was correct, this was only to be expected ; but what did astonish her very much was that Mr. Richard v/as actually taken to task by his brother for not pursuing the same line of conduct adopted by the rest. This came to her know- ledge by the merest accident. She was in her boudoir one afternoon — ^writing a letter to Mrs. Linden, who had sent her a pressing invitation to visit her at the seaside — when the two brothers passed under her window. She loved the fresh air, even when it had the bite of autumn in it ; but this was not Mr. Roscoe's taste, and from seeing the window open he naturally concluded ^'hat she was out of doors. If he had thought otherwise he would certainly not have said what he did say in her hearing. It was only a scrap of conversation as they went slowly by, and she had no time to make her presence known to then) before it was uttered and they had passed by. tness that id dreamt or imper- flush of inderness, lelfishness to ask its ed a strict 3r it sorae- yof Lord bottom of d to come under the ment that lis would w from his er, he had the young as obvious cable. ir was that the roon. ; together, ik off their er surmise t what did as actually 5 same line her know- ng a letter vitation to ers passed en when it r. Roscoe's I naturally ad thought rhat he did >nversation make her d and they „."I think you nre^ K«I • "^ , That thttKaV'l!/--'g-«-t4*"^^ ^' '"o "bout a matt^r;^ °* '^^' ^'^ brother shL.J^^*' «""''' '* 'edge, a„7"ra Tarn ?'''='^ ^'"^^ZtZZ7:"'' brought UD at hi' ^^«" a school frtVn!) . v' .^'■e bad her feel^t^ Pf obably caused bv a S -^^^ manifested ,somfro'^?; otfe'^tn-*^ ^^ - -^ "a'.irrr'^f ^^ 214 THE BURNT MILLION. would-be hostess had always been kind to her (as, indeed, she would have been to her sisters had they not rejected her advances) ; but she felt she had little in common with her, and to pay visits when we are out of heart is a melan- choly counterfeit of enjoyment indeed. But now even Mrs. Linden's roof seemed preferable to that of home. For the present, however, she left the letter unfinished, and since It was still early in the afternoon, started at once for one of her walks over the fells. More than once Grace had found the mere exercise of lung and limb in the open air a tonic for the mind, and seldom had she felt the need of a tonic more than on the present occasion. There would not be many more such walks for her that year, she knew. Early as it was, the autumn mists were already beginning to rise on Halswater. Upon the south side of it rose precipitous cliffs of friable stone, very apt at that season to descend in considerable volume, like minia- ture avalanches, into the lake, which made the narrow path that skirted its dark depths not a little dangerous. In clear weather this thin line could be traced to Dale End, the very extremity of the mere, where the " Fisher's Wel- come " stood, with a handful of stone-built cottages about it, and the little church which, but for its tower, might have passed for a cottage too ; but now, less than halfway on its course, the path was lost in a fleecy veil, which was not the haze of distance. More significant still, on the eastward horizon, as far as the eye could range, there was a patch of pure white, which a less experienced person might have taken for cloud ; but Grace knew better. It was no cloud, but would endure for months and months to come, and spread and spread till all other peaks were like it — the first snow on the Skiddaw Range. Nearer at home there were other signs which a good daleswoman like herself could read. One of them, had she been inclined to nervous fears, might have made her pause. Though the afternoon was fine and all the hills stood out as clear as though cut with the chisel, Blackscale, one of the outpost mountains which stand like sentinels on the sea coast, was half hidden in mist. There is a local proverb. When Blackscale has a cap, Halse Fell knows full well of that, Ha Ifv not ther one beer looki level it, an path quite not re caugh localit Lon of her gloom, H^eathe of a sai Insteac ting th( the bac meats ( Rip hai when or of seeing contrary hunting time and at Halsw It Was scent atn ^and; bu Plicable ] give a she could spe; all night, This str escape Gn stand it, it the translation of which \. ,i ^'^ If was th^M f ^^ ''^'■>^ spot whither P ^''^''- And level to wJiich ^hi i, j ? ^' keepni^r prettv m,. V ^" '' t-ng the rocks 1^^ ihatll' / ^" T''^'^ »d Mvi j':' Rip had never seen f''' "'^'P ^^P^ dose to her ciT- ! ^hen on the hiul f ^ ""^^^^ ^^hether sweet or ff li'^'* at Halswater ! - '''"' '"'^ ™y ""stress and I safe a^ • -0 ^'. i' caused hert^e^^fLt ^^^"^^^^^^^ 2t6 THE BURNT MILLION, had rounded Halse Fell, and was just about to leave it for the lower ground, when she suddenly found herself in darkness. The fell had not only put its cap on, it was drawn down over its white face as that other white cap, still more terrible to look upon, covers the features of the poor wretch about to be "turned off" on the gallows. The suddenness of the thing (for there is nothing so sud- den as a hill fog, except a sea fog) gave it, for the moment, quite the air of a catastrophe. To be in cotton-wool is a phrase significant of superfluous comfort ; and yet, curious- ly enough, it seemed to express better than any other the situation in which Grace now found herself, in which there was no comfort at all. She seemed to be wrapped around in that garment which ladies call " a cloud " — only of a coarse texture and very wet. It was over her eyes and nose and mouth, and rendered everything invisible and deadened every sound. She could just hear the piercing whine (with half the sharpness taken out of it) of the faithful dog at her feet, exclaiming, " Now the London fog had come at last, which he had felt in the air for the last ten minutes," and inquir- ing, " What were they to do now ? " She didn't know any more than he did. What had happened was beyond her experience. She only knew from hearsay that there was one danger which cragsmen feared above all the rest except the snow-drift, namely the hill fog, and that here it was. It might clear away in five minutes, and it might last all night. To move would be fatal. Should she take one unconscious turn to left or right, she was well aware that she would lose all her bearings ; and yet, from a few feet lower than where she stood now, could she but have seen a hundred yards in front of her, she knew there would be comparative safety. She could no more see a hundred yards, or ten, or five, however, than she could see a hun- dred miles. Things might have been worse, of course. She might have been at the top of the fell instead of half- way down it. She had been in them herself, but not in one like this, nor so far from home. But matters were serious enough as they were. Though there was no wind, of course, the air had become very damp and chili. To keep her head clear, to husband her strength, should a chance of exerting it be given her, and to remain as warm , "' indeed the onlv .h!? ^' Possible, werp ,1, u ^"■aight before Lsh?,'?> <^°"^- Keep^! ^,«'' ""d . But for its pern ' ft ^' ^°"'"' and took S^n^ ''f' *^" " was reall^ V. ■,' * Position was •,1,0 ? ^ °" her lap. convenienJ^Vw^' r^- ^'shtly dad as "h" '"""S'' ' b"' sequences of ll^'^S' ^l-^ <;ould hardlv . "^ ^^'' ^°' 'he nX;Xe h'^^ °''* "nfi .edt"r%rf ■=?"''«^> »" P«- ^'■•cumsfa. ce's /n^wr",!" "°' ''^ve bee„ so den'" "'^Z"'- ^ edly placed To at ^''^ ''^d found hersejfs?"^ ''^""^ 'or lightinir th» 1 '0'™snian the wan.^f "°^^Pect- seriouVSef:/,^^-' '"ght :eer ata'v"T""'"'' more than anvthnt K°"""'>'-he misses hf. "'^"'ost ™.oon or star.^wi h^7i'"' "«''' »« ">e mountain/''" ^"P'' '>'«h wet shpp.V J > , ^™se of haviniTi^^ ^' "'"hout The contrast hi '^'"^' '' » much mor^^" P"' '" ^ bed experience add^H """',"°" "horded ,oa„'h?"°"^. "alter, had once read „f:i"^ f° "s traged/ 1*1'"? "i'^hin her suddenly on n ■''''^'■'' '" a Fleet Stf;,., . ■"P«'ent she perished the verv'^'"? ''."™ess into wl^"'= ^''"^ ^^^t fellows, in a wo Id "tfr^"^^^ "^ being cut off 7'' ".!«' ■She was now^e'l,:; ^^Vetir"' '° ''™ ' '" 6 ine seif-same pangs. • CHAPTER XXX. ^'P FINDS A FRIEND. . \^ As the timewent by each r«- ; ^ "our, and eirh /t ^' . minute witfi fh« * j- it no bringfni'^ff ^!;'^''"S' ^s she waXflL^"^'""' °''»» it seemedTfe? tlfat h'5'"'-''^' ^'e d TST/I' >-« her little dumh ^ "^"^ " "ot been for.i °^ hope, ^- -^ - "i^ t;r ^ri^^^^ ' so Piteously, that the 3I8 THE BURNT MILLION, thought of having something to protect even more helpless than herself quickened her energies. The look-out, how- ever — if such it could be called, where nothing was to be seen ; her own hand held up before her was scarcely visible — was gloomy indeed. There had been times of late, when, wretched in her isolation at home, and sickened with suspense, and the unbroken silence of one she loved in secret, death had almost appeared welcome to her ; but, as in the fable, now that he seemed to be drawing near to her, she shrank from the King of Terrors. What would she have given now to be sitting by the fire in her boudoir, even though without much cheerful food for thought ! The affection of her sisters might not be of a very genuine kind, but how truly would they pity her could they know of her melancholy position ! Mr. Ros- coe himself (though there was little " love lost " between them) would not be unmoved ; and Mr. Richard, she was confident, would be something more than sympathetic. If Lord Cheribert could know, too, whether he had thought better of coming to Halswater or not, or, as the conduct of her relatives almost led her to suspect, had altered his view in regard to her — what pangs of pity would he not suffer on her account ! how furious he would be with Fate itself, that had so cruelly treated her ! He would be as angry with the mountains, if sh^ should perish among them, as King Xerxes. And above all, what would Walter say ? There was no reserve in her thoughts about him now ; why should there be, when in all probability they were her last thoughts ? She was saying good-bye to Walter though he knew it not, and nobody would ever know it. She had closed her eyes, as people often do when their thoughts are very sad and deep, but opened them quickly as the dog gave a sharp quick bark. She looked up, and, lo ! there was a small clear space in front of them ; it was very limited, and bore the same sort of ratio to the blind- ing mist about them as the space swept for a few slides on a frozen ■;'"! .lere ?11 else is covered with snow; but ■:e. V; . '.' hat she could see her way down to the y;: ir . oass that led to Dale End. She strove ■ ,' ' ' 't it was very difllicult ; her limbs were lUiiic; I; ./ legree that she had not suspected ; it seemed to her that she was already half-way to death. The dog had leapt from her arms and run forwards, as if space ih CoU to rise : stiff and rejc afte ing pres com the I dare a Jjtt dred in VI entree use to not re not pi, his shi ins tine her, th already Stan din ^or the ^vouJd, Perishec new one its own < It waj W'orld of After her indeed e\ Jimbs ; sj fhem, and some curr of her. Then su »vas cheer infinitely n 'less of th seem a far ^^as, she r Rip hadfoi hneeting wi [She knew R [almost ima^ as it gave fo ^^^ ^W^A'T- MILUOK *ed time, wnr, ;' '''"' "'"n, and 1 ''"^'•'"J' ""'y In vain she u:;/7.^'"= ''^d 'o^> he^Ji'.i'^^'"-'" " hun- entreaty suri, iu^ his name in a ,J ^'=°™i«"'on. "se toward, a d '^ "°"'<' ^ave thoti?,'^" "-^ Passionate not pierce the wonlix ' ' '''hat was nior^ ill- > ■ ""^ ^'^ his sharp ey::;X,^';:'Y"'osp;,ere .hi" l^fd tr L" ~"''' ■^'-ady° S'nXrso'V'"^'' """'e spTe '^ '° -ir etr,,';r,r- ™^er:°fcx-^ --■■ 'h! ^vould f H /'^^^""^ deprived o?";f^''^^^*^"derpitv '""bs ; she stonH 'f'^ "°' quite recove phT "S"'"' ""d Ihem, and h ' ° ; '? ^" ■''™^ folded ,„1'' "'^ "''''« some curren, L^?'. ""^d before her in f 1? "''■"''"'h i„ current Of wn,d, as before, mfglV^t^^eirr'"^' ,J'X:"r,et'^l''^''e-dt,,edoghar. ^/^" "" ^'°"' ■, '"finiteirmofe L''' ■'"" "'^ "a1,t of It '"^ ^"""d "ess of^hT:trsX"e' ivf"."""^-"" °'-dL7ci"r "most i;?gTn t ,i!?r ''"" '° do.f'r Tnd ,f '''"'^• h " ^-e firth tte" tr:r- jumping rn^ f -°^d mi ^90 THE BURNT MILLION, They were not only repeated but continuous, and with an irresistible impulse she pushed through the wall of mist, which parted and closed like water behind the hand in their dir- . tion. She could see nothing, but they sounded nearer and nearer, and presently the dog himself sprang out of the fleecy veil in joyous welcome, and then sprar.g back again. She followed, and presently the figure of a man loomed up before her. " Good Heavens I it is Miss Grace ! " he cried. She answered nothing ; she had recognized him, but the shock of joy was too much for her over-taxed energies, and she fell fainting into Walter Sinclair's arms. Was it night and a dream ? she wondered, when, having presently come to herself, she found the man, on whom ner thoughts had dwelt so long and tenderly, beside her . that desolate place. How could he have got there? Amazing, however, as was the circumstance, it was no time for asking questions. For the moment, indeed, her vocal powers seemed to have deserted her with all the rest. Walter, however, had a flask of sherry in his pocket, and administered to her some of its contents, with instantane- ous effect. How strange it is that there are persons, other wise in their right minds, who (because some people are drunkards) persuade themselves that under no possible cir- cumstances can wine be beneficial to anybody ! To this shivering and nerve-shaken girl it gave new life, and instead of " stealing away her brains " recovered them for her. - '■-^:t^' •: •/:-'.-,•■■■ She wasted no time in congratulations — not unconscious, perhaps, that there had been enough of them already, and warm ones, upon the gentleman's part ; it had been so necessary, you see, to preserve her circulation — but showed her practical good sense at once by the inquiry : " You came up from Dale End, I suppose." " Yes ; I was bound for the Start valley ; and on the Mare's Back here, as they call it, I believe, the fog caught me. As I had noticed there was a precipice on either side, I thought it best to stay where I was ; I was getting a little tired of waiting when Rip found me. Now, as it seems to me, I could wait for ever quite patiently." Grace took no notice of this philosophic reflection. " It is the most dangerous pass in the district — that is, to be t to are but out (( she t( quiei tioji, direc precf Would admir SincI^ Itw to her. difficu] a sligh the def; expecte Weak tc beleagu "lar Was not hands ; other an see, that poor littli as close t Exactly as ^ait here "'fts and s ^^ " Unles "At pres€ only get tc . "Eastwi U^alter. Jo the stratiffer " «l,o u *^' , I' was much too d"iHf* '""''"""g of " •' '° ""'' but .he;?::^q' ;.f/-"^'-hosaytIuurofcl«^'•^tJ^<'•^^^ '&::£S?^ ^^^.^^' '^ --e'. direction ?nmy^SnH'°.,'^''' ■■•= ^ &ve been ab^." i"'"™"" precipice." ™^ "'"d' "'at ,vi„ Je^d us over .1,'°,^"? ""« "No doubt/' she r ■ . "^""^ "'« kft-hand '"ould lead i/= I, ' '^d, smiling • " ,„j . admirable nielr" "ght-hand 'one V ° '?" ''»'=k Sinclair." """">'' "« you are not a dlksman"' "" a slight Tri.Trn'" "PP^rently all tH h J^?*^^ °'" "f'-er 'he lefenS"o7s"ome ij", "" ^-'' ^" UvaT^f,'' '™' be.eagu.|s* "^ '^ -i'e a salf;^ ^^^ t^^^^ »« not qu;te°a''ctr?et' °f f°""'" =^''d Walter T> • nands : or mfi ,'^^^ect statement fr,r r^ ^'^aiter. This other arm enctL^'^? ''""d ^^^^ h 'ot S't" '"'■'f ■'" '''« see, that th!v if 1'"=" «-••"'" ; it was ,5- '' '"'"'« his PooV lit. e W^ fZii ;'°' «" ^epalTed °n'Z°f"""'' y^" only get to it." '' ''^" ^^y^m somewhere ^^xf'^^^- . "Eastward ho th • ^ '^^^ Walter. ''°' *^"' -*-«n.. hear. ," exclaimed .1 f I* ft »(» 222 THE BURNT Mir J JO y. Then they moved forward very slowly, one foot at a time, like folks in the dark on a broad landing feeling for the stair. After a few steps they both nearly came to grief over a little cairn of stones. " Thank Heaven, we have found it ! " exclaimed Grace delightedly. " •• ^ " That heap of stones ! You are thankful for small mercies," observed her companion, laughing, "for it almost tripped us up. And, by-tlie-bye, there are plenty more of them ; I remember seeing thirty or forty of them at least, so pray be careful." " These little cairns arc landmarks," said Grace earnest- ly. " I would rather have found one of them than a handful of diamonds. They are placed on this dangerous spot for the very purpose of assisting persons in the same plight as ourselves to find their way. With ordinary cau- tion we ought now to get to Dale End in safety. Again I say, ' Thank Heaven ! ' " " You must forgive me, dear Miss Grace, because selfish- ness is man's nature, for not echoing that sentiment," said Walter softly. " I shall never be so happy in my life, I fear, as when we were lost upon the hills together." " It was certainly fortunate for both of us that we found one another," observed Grace with a provoking simplicity. ** It would never have happened but for dear little Rip. How glad he was to see you ! as, indeed, he ought to be." " And not one half so glad as I was to see him. I was thinking of you the very moment before I heard the dog's cheery bark." " That is strange indeed," said Grace, who omitted to add that within a few minutes of their meeting she herself had been thinking oi him. " And yet not so very strange," he continued softly, " since I have thought of little else for the last three days, ever since I have been at Dale End." " Thf-ee days ! " she replied, in a tone of involuntary re- proach ; " and why did you not let us know at Halswater how near you were to us ? " There was a long silence ; Grace could not see her com- panion's face, but she knew it was troubled by some grave emotion. " I did not like," he answered presently, in a tone of profound sadness, " to visit, so soon at least, what I was well coxxvinced would be a house of mourning." cl h( so bo no \ spo^ (< and Gi beh; of it him ! had i Wa Word ( "H conscf( knew I it, and ^ among and a b so youn ^he \ tated. J t^iat cau; She s\ energy, "No I . He ^v£ Similar as nras rejec Memory. Grace tt """^ ^^^JVr MIZUOAT. "A ho ^-"^i-fOAr, " Is hei.T?'"'' V toS^d '0 Lord Ch.riSt r Grace burst into a 1 • ^*«^<=Plechase be his last race " =i ' ""'"n «<" tears « u °r « in //«?>vl '"^^P'^'-d, " but ^„,^ He said it ^ould ly- And hot/worllt'^ ^ ''"'"<= seemed "^f-e """k "^id an honest a„ J T ''« «'ouM hav» i '° '^J' before - ,. ^^alfer s"c)al^ """^ ''eart." "^ ^^^ of it I hI •conscious o " a Z "^"'^ '" "'e worlri " . ■ , k"e^ his worth '''C?o " ""' ""^X lethri" °"' ""■ It, and then the i, • °'' »oney— th, >; • ° '="ew him . ^-'"ong 'vhom rtte-'°° '"'^e of 'fa^n^f^'"" "'"* o" ^»d a better man HA''"--''ev.ouIdhav.K''^ company ^ "'y°<"'g ! Good he^Ln'' •'"■^ ''■'■= ">ro4ri, ''"n" l'''''^'^ '? cai a^be^;^^^^^^^^^^^^ stran,e,y a.i- "^oI"shecried"i„,, '' ^°^' °^ frantic sim^' '"'''. ''™»^4' fo,^'" "^-'k alone." similar ass stance K ^''e bad nof h:u "^^ '■ejecting Tn^*"""" not guess nf'*^"" "-ejected •II 334 THE BURNT MILLION. heart, she knew, though she had not returned his love 3 and just now, with the tidings of his death knelling in her ears, she would not wrong him by accepting another's love. 1( L CHAPTER XXXI. HAND IN HAND. " Swift as thought," we say, and yet how little we picture to ourselves not only the immense rapidity with which it travels, but the amazing variety of the subjects with which it deals. In one instant wc are communing with our Creator, in the next we are colloguing (an Irish term, but very appropriate) with the Enemy of Mankind. Tlie Curse cuts short the Prayer, or (though not so frequently) vice versd. In a flash we have reached heaven, and sounded the depths of hell. That every word which a man speaks shall one day be cast up against him is credi- ble enough, but that every thought of our hearts shall be made known is a statement too tremendous for the human mind to grasp. If we knew what everybody else was thinking about we should probably hold very little com- munication with our fellow-creatures ; they would be boycotted ; we should say to ourselves, " We really cannot speak to such people. What a mercy it is we don't belong to them." Even into a young girl's mind there intrude, I- suppose, occasionally strange thoughts, things which they had rather not — much rather not — utter. As for men^ if any man says that he has never been frightened by hia own thoughts, he is either a fool, who never thinks, or a liar. Within the last half-hour the brain of Grace Tremen- here had been busier than it had ever been before within the same period of time. There had been occasions — on that of the fire in the theatre for example, or that of the death of her father — when she had thought more deeply, and even more vividly ; but the thoughts that had crowded into her mind of late had never been so various as well as enthralling. They had, in truth, exhausted her almost as much as the physical trials she had undergone. She had JUS bcf: dead let h< loved gentle mann( As th( for all to him "He and urn which V , An in disadvaj Platitudi have soi uttered t moral an course \m\ to hersell understar vhich for as she wa: "The p * but as tc them. \\ separates i [both are a] " I do n, , " It is li [conduct no lis love j g in her nother's picture vhich it 1 which th our :m, but . TJic uently) n, and hich a 5 credi- hall be human se was i com- ild be cannot belong rude, I h they lien, if by hia I 3, or a ChcnbcTt had «;cd .^"'"o' occur to h '"•'';•■'' »o much '"'"ch she never cn^^'> ^' P^tmacitv 1 1" ">••" ■'" Lord '."^ "lade both w ''' ';""« 'awarded „i'' '*«"v,ance "■'' death, and II, ■■""' '"'m very unh ' '""' *'s''fd, ,voum' . b^^Oe Piace'-; 'i',^-^- . ^ "^' """''^ "P '" i-cr ^ft ' ^, out as to the r.V^ "^' indeed » h^ ?«Parates a man f " "^"^f wheth^. ? '""« c'lanee m ' * Sec ''If;*; i^i^, u 226 THE BURNT MILLION, that it has angered you, and no wonder : you must have thought me mad." " No." Even a monosyllable may have tenderness in it, but this had none. She would give him no encourage- ment — ^just now — but, on the other hand, she would not affect to misunderstand him ; above all, she would not repulse him as she had once dene — a cruelty of which she had so bitterly repented. " Then that must be owing to your kindness of heart," he continued, " which makes allowances for everybody. If you had known what I have gone through, it would, I ven- ture to think, have rot been so great an exercise of charity \ but then you have not known. If I promise you that it will be the last time that I shall ever refer to it, and that to-day will be the last day that you will ever see me, may I tell it you. Miss Grace ? " " You may tell it me," she answered softly. " Then my excuse is that from the first moment I ever saw you I loved you. When I remember who you are, and what I am, it seems the confession of a madman ; but it is the truth. • You must consider from whence I came ; a place where all social gulfs that sever man from woman are passable or can be bridged over ; nor, indeed, was I at that time aware of the depth of that gulf, which then as now separates you from me ; under the shelter of your roof I got to recognize it ; though too late for my own peace of mind. You will bear me witness that when I took leave of you I dropped no hint of this. My admiration I could not conceal, but I hid my love in my breast ; as the Spartan boy his fox, I never betrayed the torture it caused me. Like him, I was too proud to speak ; for though, like my poor father before me, I have been a hunter, a fortune-hunter I could never be." Grace was about to sneak, but he stopped her with a gentle movement of hi- hand, "You were going to ask me doubtless : * But since you were so wisely resolved, why did you put yourself voluntarily in the way of temp- tation by coming up to Halswater?' I may honestly say that Mr. Allerton is partly to blame for this ; he had heard of my intention to visit Cumberland, and pressed me to put it into execution that he might have some information on which he could rely as to how matters were going on with you and yours. He had no suspicion of my own '-''^ ^^^^vr ^rnzro.v. "eve/have se/;t" ^' ^°''h™chrn:i'?'^ ^""Uotd^M 'heguiithatcircum,, ''''• ^ kne,v ^Lafr"'^ danger of „ l^f >'■. of course \j°'-^"' '"m. ^"'^ ' ^e however," SS"^«'--'-. to 'you ' T'"' ^ '>»"« much unnecessary ,0 w? ""^ ^° '"de as J" S^'fyou speak of ^"« i ask is it ^ossfblf I ^"^ i^^ZofW ?°' ^° deep ■"^-your UneiT^l'^f '"" '^°""d give J ''°'''^''- P me across it? §, ;?tr-no, lend "'' 'f that is too ft: H' I aaS THE BURNT MILLION; much, would you mind saying that you are not angry with me?" " I am certainly not angry with you, Mr. Sinclair." " Nor even displeased that you have met me ? That is all that I ask just now. It may seem a small thing to you — in that lies my hope— .but it would be such a great thing to me. Are you not displeased ? " " I am not displeased with Rip for finding you ; that is as much as you can expect me to say, I think," she an- swered, softly. ■•. ;.^ r " It is more than I dared to hope for," he answered rap- turously. " What a good dog it is ! what a dear dog ! " " He is not, however, exactly a St. Bernard," answered his mistress, smiling ; " the discovery of what we call in Lakeland * the Smoored ' is not, I think, the calling that best suits him. The poor little creature seems afraid of putting one paw before another, and sticks to my skirts like a leech." " In my opinion that is another proof of his sagacity," observed her companion. " How can he do better than stop where he is." " At all events it behooves us to do better," returned the young lady ; she had fortunately recovered the use of her wits at the very time when the young gentleman seemed to have taken leave of them. " This is the last cairn, if I have counted rightly, and the mist is as thick as ever, but we have now only to keep on descending ; there is nothing to break our .necks between here and Dale End." For the moment she had forgotten her late peril, and even the evil tidings that had so saddened her; her heart had found what it had so long sought for, though her tongue had not confessed it. The sunshine that was wanting without was resplendent within. Though their way was not slippery, at one place Walter was moved to hold out his hand to help her ; she took it, and somehow it didn't seem worth while to let go of it, till they reached the level ground ; she might possibly have retained it even then, but the fog j was no longer so thick, and it struck her that since objects i began to be visible they might be visible to others. on We to 1 ther you: gran nece even niake more wouJc friend could 'Rest, "W as he \ SincJaij to him 1 w^ithout such mi at all. , "Vou lord; "] H^heels." "Ave to have t ** Than politely, ' he will be bad one, a She flatt something 5:%^*, ■h: ''^■''^^^^^^/zz/04; 229 ' CHAPTER ;,XXII. ^1 Bvtjj • NEW LiPfi. th. * 'andlord, jZ-k U" P^"- shuddered "lem, exclaimed " .t^- ^"""son, wlm . J'"" usual wa^t ' ^'^ '"cky, n isT „ ■""« »•" to ere^, f£"W command ^;/^ =="'<).■■» as i/'"^^^^^ an oW -« "fee -^- ^5:7£: fe ^^- "? . " Vou look wht »?.^° 'i'^^Wess ' ''""'""g of his host ^?^?KSd---»edwai.".::""^'^ mm f»"< r fit ir 230 THE BURNT MILLION. benefit) that she had effected quite a master-stroke of policy; Atkinson would, she thought, perceive in this preference for his company how indifferent to her was that of Mr. Sin- clair. Unhappily, the expression of Walter's face showed that he was very far from indifferent to this arrangement. " Sorry to cut you out, sir," said the landlord, with a broad grin, " but the lady's commands must be obeyed," and off he went to fetch the cart. " How could you be so cruel ? " exclaimed Walter, with a melancholy sigh. " How can you be so foolish ? " returned Grace, with indignation — not, however, very genuine, for she already felt pity for his disappointment, as indeed she did for her own — '• Do you wish to set all these people talking?" " Oh, I see," interrupted the young man, with eager, if somewhat tardy, intelligence. " Not that there is really anything to talk about" con- tinued Grace (which made him all gloom again), " but country gossip is so easily excited. I shall tell my sisters, of course, that you are here, and under what circumstances I have met you. And I dare say your friend, Mr. Roscoe, will bring you an invitation from them to dine with us." She could not resist that little dig about Mr. Roscoe, for whom he had always shown a respect which she considered beyond that gentleman's deserts. " I don't know whether I shall accept his invitation," answered Walter, with a smile that belied his words. " Well, that is just as you please." The landlord now brought out the dogcart, and Walter helped her into it. " His brother, Mr. Richard, whom you said was a friend of your father's, is now staying with us, which will d-^ubt- less be an attraction to you. Au revoir, Mr. Sinclair." It was really an excellent piece of acting, but it was a mistake to use the French phrase, which the wily proprietor of the " Angler's Rest " at once set down as part of a secret code of signals established between the young people. " Seems disappointed like, don't he, miss ? " he observed with confidential slyness, as they left her melancholy cava- lier behind them ; then, perceiving his remark was unap- preciated, continued in a less personal vein, " Thinks he could have driven the horse hisself as well as I can, no I doubt. Them Londoners has such a conceit of theirselves. Not, however, as I reckon as Mr. Sinclair is a regular Lon-j doner, though he came from London ? " Jes < iau ain' I Ml a g( Edw G; that rival. time her o Was Walt. grante side that take r :e c. i\ in 1 haps, other p never ic those iY ^he thoi silent; security. ''Sad chase, ti companic Jy the pr, '^ad an ho] part of hi " make CO something and didn't mjured his . " Jt Was sick and sh /."Verym h«s Jordshif fortunes, th( ienders." *■ DCiieve not " « *^ /-^ *5i ^^^^^^^^'^C^^-^^ «>- one f-de channel. Ihe hiw f?" "^ her re «,V« ^ '^''^n for "lat the hVelv ,^, ^^ ^"^^ so murh ^^" ''>' any out- •ake in other /eopLT'V"''"'^'' "' "generall°^""^ ^^^, ^^C^^^^^l;^^ ^e^'-C e? P«' of h,/ d,^f -"2 ^0^ "eof and thotlr ,>'''" ^^°^ ^e ' ^".ethfng"?;^'--' "Mr: :"!d didn^t suffer' lit ''"''^ ""'^ "^kT; '"i" ""^ a^he kW comfort." '^"^oot, as ,'«• , " ^ suffer Jikf» „^ "^cK in :''C»^irf,rT'"^'^'"^'''---dOrace, •' ^~~' mean mone^r. #1 I- I ' 'W B' i i^'^ il "irf 232 THE BURNT MILLION. The last words were spoken in an apologetic tone, and the ruddy and weather-worn face of the honest publican as he uttered them became a lively purple. He was naturally loquacious, as an innkeeper should be, and like the pitcher that goes often to the well, he sometimes got into trouble through it ; but it seemed to him that he had never come to sucli utter grief as on the present occasion. It was only lately that some hint of the late owner of Halswater Hall having belonged to the Jewish persuasion had percolated to Dale End ; but it had got there, some- how, and given a new life to its little community as a topic of conversation; in the kitchen of the"Angler!s Rest" (for that humble hostelry had no bar-room), Mr. Atkinson had found it most agreeable and provocative of thirst ; but that he should have made such a slip as to allude to Jews in the presence of Miss Grace, whom V»e pictured to him- self as sensitive upon the mattrr a ■ \. ough if her parent had been hung she would have been to an allusion to a rope, filled him with remorse ani horror. . Grace knew nothing of the cauae, b..L hailed with grati- tude tlie silence that fell upon her companion in conse- quence, and endured till they reached the Hall gates. Here she dismissed and recompensed him, and entered the long avenue that led to the house on foot. How different were her feelings from those with which she had left home a few hours before ! What experiences had she since gone through ! What fears, what sorrows, what delights ! How changed, too, was her material position, for had she not found — never, never to be lost again — the beloved of her heart ! Her isolation was over ; though the winter was about to fall on things without, with her "all was May from head to heel." The splendors of her home had hitherto had small attraction for her, but it now seemed a bower of delight. Her path for life would for the future be strewed with flowers. It is well for us that, now and then, we should have such day-dreams, however sad may be the awakening from them. If we poor mortals could look into the future the shadow of things-to-be would quench all our sunshine. If to Grace Tremenhere the events that were about to happen to her and hers could have been foretold as they were fabled to be of old, the gloom of evening that was now falling around her would have worn the darkness of midnight, and th bJ wa eve eye ave had and sens ineai Love Mi ■':'ght Jonge] "I said w f'le mi had go evasive "No, 1 racing ; '^een vei His C( and agita ^xpresse* . '*^ou here I am are runnii so late in "1/ T tone had a ^"te commi "otice of ii '! Vou sf quietly, u sJie added t fiven in oui apprehensio I "ess of our ] , Jt Was nc Jsensible view |We through t »33 '«eanf fKo ."^^ cost her • oj, ,^^^^mg the r^,•c. ^" "JW lovfi:,, " before b.,f ;! ' ^^^ ^new n o " ^'^^S^^eeabJe ■'Sht of her cam/ ''^''" "'aJJciW °°"! .^o-- trouble. ^'• ,"'« '^'s^uZ7T l%""^"^T''iul 'r^' M'-« Grace "h evasive^ ^"^-^ alarmed .y,,,^^,,/'^"^'' ^-• No, they k„o«. nofh; ^^e returned ' r^ >n the de, vyat IT'^^<'' Mr. R ch " d "t "'a' >'<>" :«^ comment, bu?'"°"'' "^i"" "ess A^ t"«'vered. His "o .ce of i, ' >"" ^ome instinct tar^'d'^, '''"'^'^ '»"»- .uie.^" ^i--'^ taice more care of " '" ''"' "" t^l^ "^^^ -i5: ?- r o^-'^^^'-e replied - $ 'I lA '.I ■1^ 1^ % 1 234 THE BURNT MILLION'. "That is perhaps true," returned her companion, but with a deep-drawn sigh, and regarding her with a look of tenderest pity ; ** but how often, again, is our heart at its lightest on the eve of sorrow, as the bird sings its blithest, unconscious that the hawk is hovering over it." " That is what our Cumberland folk call being * fey,' " answered Grace, with a forced smile ; she knew to what the other was referring ; the tidings of the death of her supposed lover, of which he of course imagined her to be still ignorant. She was certainly not called upon to en- lighten him upon the point, but she felt reproved at her own momentary forgetfulness of the calamity, which his words seemed to imply. y "I have some good news for you, Mr. Richard," she continued, eager to change the subject for another, even though it was not one she would have otherwise been will- ing to speak of with a comparative stranger ; " Mr. Walter Sinclair, whose father was, I understand, one of your old- est friends, is staying at Dale End." " Indeed ! Walter Sinclair ! " he replied with interest. "I should greatly like to see him — indeed it is absolutely necessary that I should do so," he added as if with an after-thought. " Then nothing can be easier. He is already a friend of the family, you know, and especially of your brother." This was another master stroke of policy of our hero- ine's : let us not blame her for it, but only hope it will prove more successful than her last ; it is only natural that the weaker sex should employ their little subtleties, which have, after all, nothing of hypocrisy about them. Her design was — though she had fairly made up her mind that no earthly power should keep her and Walter sundered — that Mr. Roscoe should himself be made to invite him to the cottage. O joy ! — but we must dissemble, for the present at least, for sister Agnes is standing at the front door awaiting us, unbonnetted, but with a warm shawl thrown round her shoulders, for the air is chill. " My dearest Grace, how late you are ! We were getting to be quite anxious about you. I am told that there is quite a fog upon the fells." It V siste] also ( thou^ such her in conce did aw in \\\-i\, did so heartfe error h ner in satisfaci in WiQ ^y think to and thej natures t mon to t] (though hrother-ir fact that i Walter ^n /'Of CO. when the "he might ^r. Rosco, Pientyofa. fcnow, yffiW , ft>r misunde " There i« Walter and ^Jttle flush. ''''^ ^O-^AT MUUo^, •Ji if, ;i I,? CHAPTER xxxiir. J POOR DICK. ^^^^rTofZT^'^ °^ ^«"rse, that r f "ch effect i^^t 1 i"^^ '^°^ked her tnu ^' '' ^Wene^ ^^-rin the rno^'J^li^^^^^^ ^-Y concerning her r^f 1^ ^^ revelation she h°i ^"^^^^^^ assisted did an^ay 5,,.?u^^^^^ with WaJ ter , ^^^ '"ake to them ^^d so with what w/^°'^ Cheribert^s L f' ^^^ ^vay heartfelt sorrow J^f ^^^dently the J f '^' ^^ough she ^rror in supposL^f <^onvinced thenw?'^ ^^""^'"^ and - "^r in which ci^^^^^^^^e had loved K-^^^^ ^^d been^n Where her affe.f^^ referred to VvX^'"^ ^" ^^^^e the nnn ^-tisfactLnt^oT ^'i ^^^" '^a r^^^^^^^ ^^f ^? the way of ne,>h °^i^^^' ^or in the^J '^- ^his was a f 'nk to tL coX;)"V^/.^ (-i^at tr M^p^^ace stood and they were Sv ^' ^^^ did in that .f^'''^^^ "^'g^^t natures to be Th K^^ ^ond of herT • '^^"e another ?;,°" to theiV Lex anj; ""'"^ ^^^ ^"^^ 'oT^ateh ^^"f '" ^^ (though they ;;S?.^ "°^ that Wd Che^-^^^^^^ brother-in-Ja^i; thev w.^''^ ^'"^^^ preferf u'^'^^ gone f^ct that it wo„M l^^^^ ^eJJcontenf / '^^'^ ^^ni for . Salter SincSA^ '^ their pecun / "^^^ ^ ^; Of coS'we wiitn""' 'r^^« S^ ^or misunderstanding ^^^'■' ^^ there win K ' ^""^ ^hat, you "There is no'tf^rofa^body's p^a"!! '^"° "'-ero'om •yalter and myself "c -^ ?,"^ niisundersfn^^- httle flush. "^^''^^^ '"^^ Grace ra^he/dX"^ between ^"^y, and with a i.( 'u "i- . 1 1^ /■ij ft I I I 236 THE BURNT MILLION: " Which is as much as to say," observed Philippa, laughing, " that you two young people have arranged your own affairs together, and are quite independent of the interference of anybody ; but nobody," and here she patted Grace's cheek with her fan, " is going to interfere, my dear, so you need not become a fretful porcupine all of a sudden and shoot your quills at us." " I am sure that Mr. Roscoe, for one, will be certainly glad to hear of the matter," remarked Agnes gravely. " And so am I," put in Philippa quickly ; neither sister could ever confess their acquaintance with Mr. Roscoe's views and opinions without the other claiming to have an equal knowledge of them. '* He always liked Mr. Sinclair," continued Agnes, ignor- ing the interruption, " and the circumstance that his father was such a friend of the young man's father, though unimportant in itself, serves to knit the whole thing together very pleasantly." In this, however, Agnes was not altogether correct, to judge by a conversation which was at the very moment going on in the smoking-room between the two brothers. Perhaps it was only by contrast with the good spirits of the rest, but Mr. Richard had been even more sileht and gloomy than usual during dinner, and had confined his con- versation chiefly to monosyllables ; and even under the consolation of tobacco he bore a very depressed and melancholy air. " I am really very sorry for you, Dick," said his brother in a sympathetic tone very unusual to him ; " I am sorry to see you taking your disappointment so to heart, but you must see as plainly as I do that the advice I gave to you thifi morning was thrown away. Matters have taken quite a different tone — indeed we were going altogether upon false ground — and we shall now have to give the whole thing up." Richard groaned, and put his hand before his eyes, as if to shield them from the other's gaze. " Upon my life Pm ashamed of you, Dick," the other went on dis- dainfully, " that a man of your experience of life should take on so about a girl, as if there was only one in the world." " There is only one in the world for me," returned Richard passionately. " Then you will be so good as to consider her out of the wor Che ther Stan tone; no m cigar used his br carpe and as J thou| know, It. It that yo seems t man tha ^ith a s "notaf being so, speaking] cealment longer foi »nore like J mean t( Sinclair w here he wi as death, know that him." "I kno) Jf I had i him:' " Well, I the questioi at such a se " I have ^ and like one '* entrusted before he ws "Murdere "^''^ ^CJA^JVr MUj,jOJV. «37 as and ^.°^M/- observed the n,u 'one^: '^ -""-"-V replied R.cWd in , " Never mi„d i,, ., , " '""''« 'o* S° "r,."'^'-kes abouuv? T' ''° "■»' "-ere shall h» ^now, gave you mt , " f ""j^ "^'wiice for vo,, ^'"^ "«ck 't- It would h'e'h^^" "'"'"■'^'^ ho"' to ta\e »H °'^' "' y"" ">« you should have'"hTl"''ereeaWet„re^^'»«e <"• seems the young ladl u j" ''" "''"i anyone .'l.'^v"^'' man that wa, ,r ^ "^d already moi; i" '^^ > but it '^"haslLlts.r ^^ *"'' ""^"•" He Duf,.^",'=''°''=«of a " "ot a feflol [if "P"" «. as tho^gh'T i.'!;^ ,i^' '^°'d in ''e-'ng so, vZ h„ ^°"' "''"> one leg h, fd ""''' "ave said, cealment about th " ' ''' ""'J' 'here sh^T r^*"^' P'am longer for the chaDter^?""'~=^"''ot afford .o' ""-^ '°»- more likely to turn °' ""'dents, which L j*?" a"/ X mean to bri„r ?^°"' "8^'»« yoi Zn i^ „ ^''^' "^ ""eh Sinclair will b'T"""S« 'o a head 2 'o/"""- favor, and here he ,^11 «! "* .'°-"°'-™w, under f if? " *' Possible fs death 'VoS'eT" ""'^ "« 'na"rrie7'"VI!7-™°'". and know that v^, t' '^ * reasonable man ' "' '^ as sure " ^'^ell, I care nnH • "°' ^^'^^ - -ri'se-nst ^ -14 « IIi;--~i aspects of ' " I have got a trt^r'' ''°" "" ""'«d ''-.™neTt»^^^^^ ' Edward, with a lit„e start, '',1 i'l sjS THE BURNT MILLION, show of interest. " How did that come and some about?" " It is a shocking story, and I cannot tell it you just now," repl'^'d the other, again placing his hands before his eyes with a shudder, as though he would have shut out some terrible scene. ** But when wc parted he gave me a little packet for his son which he said was of great impor- tance." " And what was in it ? " " It was sealed up ; but if it had not been so I should not have dreamt of prying into poor Sinclair's secrets. It was a sacred trust." ,' ,;;.>*•» *' Well, you've still got it, I suppose." " Yes, but not here. I did not like to carry it about with me in my wild and wandering life, but left it in safe custody with one on whom I could rely." " In America ? " "Yes. I am ashamed to say that when I got your sum- mons I forgot all about the packet. Not, perhaps, that I should have sent for it in any case, since the lad whom it concerned was more likely to be there than here. But now, of course, I shall send for it at once." " Quite right. But, if you will be guided by me, I would say nothing about it till it comes." " Why not ? " inquired Richard, looking up at his bro- ther with a quick suspicious glance. " Well, if it happens to be lost, you see, it will be a great disappointment to him, for which he will naturally blame you. If he gets it, well and good ; and if he does not get it, and if he does not know of it, it will not trouble him." " I have already told Miss Grace that I have been entrusted with it." " That is as good — or bad — as telling //m," replied the other sharply ; " it is amazing to me how a man who knows that he is naturally indiscreet should not keep a better guard over his tongue." ** Or, before speaking, consult some shrewd adviser who has no interest of his own to serve," observed Richard drily. " That, of course, would be better still," was the cool rejoinder. *• I think you must admit that the person to whom you refer has managed matters more successfully for you of late than you ever did for yourself." -^C- ^^-^^^^^^^//z/av: «» *' Seems «5a »« fl* -."Do you? Youn <• "'^"'""'" »<> come to Egypt, and a t^n? k'^H"^'^'' P°"ed beef tn .1, o queer taste Vel? ^'' '° " 'Pnng ma» r.^ "."''•?<«» of " Vou ^ere ^.Tl " '""'' "« done "^ " ^ "q^aflrand It would be a bL ;? "P/^ ^"'ckly as Trfr • ' L" ^^^^k." for you->/f we tel /"^ ^°^ ^^^h of us ?>^?;"" ^^^> ^fck. ^f you, of coursi h ? ^"^''^'- r was wrn "'"^^ ^orse f nd gone J^one Viih °r .^^^ '^^Z^Zl'^'^^ ^?^^ ^"" thin-skinned. ?t Ts ^r^ ^^°"ght you L^ m ^^"^^^^f «ver dear fellow f^o. ^bsoJutely npico ,° "o^ be so l^^^ "oTd "? /;" t"M uJidrS'^,^^'-*^' "^ *"h •hisyoungcou'^t "il™"'" here S tV/ ''°"* "''*• a hankering to cut th» t"^>' t''^™ Perceiv^^i,'^'"^ ''°««' ^ary that ,fe co'" "l", ^■<'T°°"''' S ""? J^-have "n'y run smooth ° , ■'!'? '"^'e "should i„ rt/' "^ "«ees- you have any doubt J"'"^^^ ""^ without A«' '?'^' "<" you to some w^?m . ^°'"' oi"" self-comL '/*'='""'• If "-ould in mv nil" P^-^e-not to the de^T*"" ^ *"'" ^end for the rec"4ry o;v^' 1.° "'^ I^'e of &/°™« People when they ar^Jl ^°,'"' health, for a LlTiP' °'' T^orquay again." '^ "^ """ed and setiled' yoTcouM ''"'' *hen .'[No, no," pleaded ,. . """"^ ''»<=k ?"'.h her as long as r ^ '"^"'' Passionately • " . . I g've you my^o?d of h" ' " '"""'t be \ol ';' '*' «« be "ei£;; °"°^ '^^' ->^e?o«- '•'teredT s^mf ^ m"'^ " J°''^"°o^hZT^J ^™'^ I'? 11 if fei i4o THE BURNT MILLION, as your bond, I know — and, indeed, a good deal better, or it would not be worth much — and I can rely on you." Grace's first act on finding herself alone that night was to finish her letter to Mrs. Linden ; its conclusion, it need scarcely be said, was different from that she had proposed to herself a few hours ago, and declined that lady's invita- tion to visit her. There would be a guest at home (though she did not give that as her excuse), whom she would not have left for many Mrs. Lindens. Rip was always accustomed to sleep in her young mis- tress* boudoir, but on this occasion he changed his quarters ; she took his wool-lined basket into her own room, and as he lay there hunting for sweetmarts in his dreams — and with quite as much chance of catching one as when awake — she sat far into the night regarding him with tender eyes, and thinking of^him who had once saved his life at hazard of his own. But not of him alone. More than once the tenderness was dissolved in tears, and then it was not with Walter Sinclair that her thoughts were occupied, but with ''--at other, who had also been her lover, and on whom ..! lel death had laid its sudden hand in his youth and Strength. Never more would his blythe voice gladden human ear, nor his comeliness delight the eyes of all who beheld it ! It is only a very few of us whose life affects " the gaiety of nations," but it might be truly said of Lord Cheribert that into whatever company he came he had brought gaiety with him. Moreover, to Grace at least he had disclosed a heart tender and true, and capable of noble deeds (though, alas ! they had never been accomplished), and of generous thoughts, which, let us hope, did not perish with him. What had become of them, she wondered, her mind straying into unaccustomed fields of thoughts ; and of him % h THE PURNT MILLION. 241 CHAPTER XXXIV. A WELCOMl. n had t he oble ished), perish Id, her and Even the next morning, when those dark thoughts of Death could probably have been swept away by the Light that was to bring love with it — for she knew that Walter was to be asked to the Hall that day — they were fated to still remain with her ; for before his arrival she received a letter from Mr. Allerton, of which Lord Cheribert's death was the keynote. " I have had no time to write to you of late, dear Grace, nor even the heart to write. I have of course been over- whelmed with business in connection with poor Lord Cheribert's affairs, but his loss itself is what has still more occupied it. If I had not been a witness to his poor father's misery, I might have written. I have grieved for him as if he had been my own son. I liked him exceed- ingly, and there was another reason, of which I cannot for- bear to speak, why my sympathies were enlisted in his future, his heart was devoted to one whom I love even better. I have no reason to suppose that his attachment was returned — I hope now that it was not so — but I know that he was a great favorite of yours, and that you esteemed his noble nature, and perceived those great merits in him of which few persons, save you and me, were cognizant. I confess that I had looked forward to a time when you and he — but, alas, ' all these things have ceased to be,' and it is worse than useless to dwell upon them ; but I know that there is at least one genuine mourner for him beside myself and his father. As regards the latter his fate is an awful lesson to us to be patient with the erring, * especially with those of our own household.* His wret :hedness wrings my heart. I do not, however, write these lines, dear Grace, to make you sorrowful. I would rather remind you that it is not intended that any loss which Providence inflicts upon us should permanently sadden our lives, and least of all when, as in your case, they are but beginning." 16 m 24^ THE BURNT MILLION, It was a characteristic letter throughout; a curious blending of kindness and good sense, of Christian teaching, and the wisdom of this world. Grace read it with remorse, for, though its expressions of regret came home to her, every one, she was conscious of being in an altogether different frame of mind from that in which the writer expected to find her. How could it be otherwise, when she was about to meet the man of her choice, for the first time in that acknowledged relation. She felt that she would be a hypocrite and a dissembler, if she did not write that very day to enlighten the good lawyer as to the real state of the case. • Mr. Roscoe had been commissioned by Agnes to send a letter by hand to Dale End that morning to invite Walter to exchange his quarters at the Angler's Rest for a lodging in the cottage, and that young gentleman did not take long in settling his very moderate bill and packing his port- manteau. There was a phrase in the letter, which, though not remarkable for grace of expression, made him think more highly of the writer than he had hitherto done, though, as we know, he had always seemed more sensible of his merits than they deserved. " We shall all be glad to see you again," he wrote, "and one of us (I think between ourselves) particularly so." It was a little precipitating matters, perhaps, but Mr. Ros- coe was personally interested in the denouement of this idyll, and, as he expressed it to himself, was not going to let there be any shilly shallying about it, so far as he was concerned. It so happened that Grace took her walk by the lakeside that morning, and, meeting the dogcart with Mr. Atkinson and Walter in it, the former was directed to drive on to the Hall (which he did with his tongue in his cheek, and a world of cunning enjoyment in his eyes), and the latter got out and accompanied Grace home on foot : an equiva- lent in the way of public notice, as far as mine host of the Angler's Rest was concerned, to the publication of their banns in the parish church. The young couple, however, never wasted a thought on this — though public notice was just then the last thing they desired — but pursued their way with happy hearts and the most perfect natural un- derstanding. " Agnes and Philippa have been both so kind," mur- K THE BURNT MILLION. 243 mured the young lady, a propos des bottes, as it would have seemed to most ears. "And I must say Roscoe has expressed himself in a very friendly way, my darling," returned Walter in the same dove-like tones, and without the slightest difficulty in detecting her meaning. What a walk that was by the crisp and sparkling lake in the late Autumn morning ! For them it had no touch of winter, and in the dark and wintry days that fell upon them — but of whose advent they had no suspicion, for we are s\)eai J not of the changes of the seasons but of the cold and g, jom that was fated to embitter their near future — it recurred to their memories again and again with sad dis- tinctness. There was no need for the one to woo or the other to be wooed ; their hearts were wedded already. They were in paradise, and dreamt not of the flaming sword that was to drive them out of it. Their talk would not perhaps have been very interesting to the outsider ; but to themselves every syllable was sweet as the honey of Hybla. When we are reading our own verses aloud, says a great poetess, " the chariot wheels jar in the gates through which we drive them forth," and something of the sort takes place in love language, but the speakers are unconscious of it, nay, its very imperfections, the breaks and stops, the half- finished sentences (closed perhaps by a kiss), the wild and wandering vows that Love in its intoxication dictates, seem eloquence itself to them. As they now moved slowly homewards (not arm-in-arm, for somehow Walter's arm had strayed round Grace's waist), another couple watched them from an elevation of the road that intervened between them and the Hall. They were not outwardly so demonstrative in their attacnment to one another, but to judge by their conversation were nevertheless on very familiar terms. " There come the two turtle doves," observed Mr. Ros- coe (for it was he and Philippa) ; " I am glad to see that they are billing and cooing already. If ' happy's the woo- ing that's not long a doing,' they will have something to be congratulated upon." j> f i^v* * I hope so, indeed," sighed Philippa. ** Though even then I don't see the end of our own trouble" *' It will be a very satisfactory event in itself at all events," observed her companion. 1*1 iili:! :t,i i m ^i* 9. ; -■'I'll 344 THE BURNT MILLION. " You mean in a pecuniary point of view, I suppose,** returned Philippa gloomily. " I sometimes wish that there was no such thing as money. " " If you add or the want of it, I will agree with you,** responded her companion airily. " But their marriage will do much for us, I hope. It will certainly be one of two obstacles removed from our path." " But how far the lesser one," remarked Philippa, with such a deep-drawn sigh that it seemed almost like a groan of despair. " That is true enough," he answered, with knitted brow, but it is not you, remember, who suffer from that other, as I do. You are not pestered with her importunities and her impatience. She does not overwhelm you with her unwelcome attentions ; indeed," he added with his grim- mest smile, '* you seem of late to be more free from any- thing of the sort than ever." "It may be a laughing matter to you, but not to me, Edward," she answered angrily. " You don't know what a woman feels who is situated as I am ; and it seems to me that you don't much care." " Nay, nay, do not say that, my dear," he replied in his most honeyed tone. " I feel for you very much." " To see her coming between me and you," continued Philippa vehemently, and without taking notice of this blandishment, " as though she had a right to do it, drives me half frantic ; to have to set a guard all day upon lip and eye, lest word or glance should betray me to her, is not only irksome to me to the last degree, but humiliating. I give you fair warning that I can't stand it much longer.'* Sne was looking straight before her, and did not see the scowl that darkened her companion's face ; for an instant he wore the look of a demon ; it vanished, however, as quickly as it came, and when he spoke it was in the same calm persuasive voice — though with perhaps a little more firmness in it — that had served his turn so often. - " My dear Philippa, you seem to have forgotten that this annoyance, of which you not unnaturally complain, was foreseen by us from the first. You made up your mind, you said, to bear it. Under other circumstances we might even have had to bear it longer ; I need hardly re" mind you how that necessity was put an end to." " Great heaven, how can you speak of it ?" cried Philippa, with whit< able woul "P peniu Bu hystei one factior would about, inconv seemec ing the "Dr sudden This Perhapi it, since emotion emotion she took her eyes taken it Then you agai Then, not withe recent pi " I had Halswate anticipate By wh( she cast 2 Before been no in. "We h apologetic That us himself wi that Agnes THE BURNT MILLION. »4S with a low piteous cry. Her face had grown ghastly white to the very lips, and her eyes expressed an unspeak- able horror. " You promised me you never, never would ! " " Pardon me, my dear, 1 had forgotten," he murmured penitently; *' I should not have done it." But the while she hid her face in her hands and sobbed hysterically, the expression on his own was by no means one of penitence. It was, on the contrary, one of satis- faction, and could it have been translated into words would have run, '* Now I have given her something to think about, which will prevent her dwelling upon these little inconveniences for some time to come." And indeed it seemed he had, for not a word more did she say concern- ing them, while the young couple drew nearer and nearer. " Dry your eyes," whispered Mr. Roscoe sharply and suddenly, " Agnes is followmg us." This precaution Philippa had hitherto neglected to take. Perhaps she had concluded that there was no necessity for it, since Grace might naturally enough have ascribed her emotion (for Philippa, unlike her elder sister, was very emotional^ to pleasure at seeing her with her lover, but she took It now, and, after pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, fluttered it in the wind, as though she had only taken it out in sign of pleasure to the happy pair. Then she greeted Walter effusively. " So glad to see you again amongst us, Mr. Sinclair," and kissed Grace. Then Agnes joined them with a smile on her face, but not without an expression on it also that betrayed the recent presence of a frown. " I had hoped to be the first to bid you welcome to Halswater," she said, " but I perceive that I have been anticipated." ' " ^ By whotti was made clear enough by the angry glance she cast at Philippa. Before that lady could make what would have probably been no very conciliatory rejoinder, Mr. Roscoe struck in. ' '" ■ "■ ■ ■ ^ ■'^'- -H^ " We happened to be walking this way," he observed apologetically. That use of the plural pronoun, associating, as it did, himself with Philippa, overcame the slight self-restraint that Agnes was putting upon herself. - 1 .vas not referring •.If 9 ' m Jill Is '4\ 1^1 t ■ 246 THE BURNT MILLION, to you, Mr. Roscoe," she replied, " you are not the master of the Hall, and therefore not in a position to welcome any of its guests." ** You are extremely rude and very offensive, Agnes," exclaimed Philippa furiously. " Hush, hush," said Mr. Roscoe, reprovingly ; " you are wrong. Miss Philippa, to speak so to your sister, and Miss Agnes is perfectly right. I must have seemed to her no doubt — though she was mistaken in so thinking — to have taken too much upon myself," and he removed his hat and bowed to Agnes. Her face was a spectacle ; it was evident that she bitterly regretted having lost her temper, but that the presence of Philippa prevented her from acknowledging it. To have thus humiliated Mr. Roscoe was pain and grief to her, but she could not humiliate herself by saying so ; she looked as though she could have bitten her tongue out. It was an unpleasant quarter of a minute for everybody. Even Walter Sinclair felt that there were crumpled rose leaves — not to say serpents — in the paradise he had pic- tured himself as being about to enter. "It is beautiful weather for the end of October," he observed, with ludicrous inappositeness ; but as any stick does to beat a dog with, so any remark in circumstances of painful embarrassment is seized upon and made use of as a way out of it. The whole party began talking of autumn tints as though they were peripatetic landscape painters, and had come down to illustrate the neighborhood. But in one heart there was such a passion at work — wild rage and cruel hate, and wounded pride, and passionate desire to be even with the cause of his humiliation — that if it could have been laid bare to the eyes of her com- panions would have frozen the well-meant platitudes upon their lips with the horror of it. " Philippa is right," muttered Edward Roscoe to himself, with a frightful oath ; " this state of things shall not go on much longer." ^!/- ^^r 'f« ;ii/ff y% L^^" isi THE BURNT MILLION: 247 CHAPTER XXXV. AT LUNCH. On arriving at the Hall, Mr. Roscoe at once took Walter to his quarters at the cottage ; he made some excuse about wishing him to take choice of one of two bedrooms, but his real reason was to introduce him to Richard. Since his brother had been fool enough (as he expressed it to himself) to fall over head and ears in love with the girl, he thought it dangerous that he should have his first meeting with her accepted swain in the young lady's pre- sence ; he had confidence in Richard's word, but not in his self-command. He almost feared that he might exhibit some sort of antagonism to the young fellow even as it was. It was, however, a groundless apprehension. So far from showing dislike or embarrassment, Richard received the newly-arrived guest with an excess of friendliness. " I am glad, indeed," he said, " to take the hand of your father's son ; it is a pleasure to which I have long looked forward, but which I began to fear I was never again to experience." " You knew him well, I know," returned Walter with reciprocal warmth. " He was the dearest friend I ever had," was the other's earnest reply, " and the best." He scanned the young fellow from head to feet with curious interest. " I see a likeness in you, stronger than when last I saw you as a boy, and yet not a strong one. He might have been in youth what you are : but I only knew him in later years. Not that he was an old man, far from it ; nor had fatigue and privation — though he had endured them to the utter- most — weakened his great strength." " Yes, he was very strong j and also, as I have heard, a most extraordinary runner," said Walter. " Yes, yes," answered the other hastily, then added, as if to himself, " Great heaven, this is horrible ! " and sank into a chair with stony eyes and bloodless face. I ' I III' 1 1 ■:i; i. i L 1 fl ii 1i I' I I 348 THE BURNT MILLION. " My brother is not very well just now," observed Mr. Roscoe ; " the least emotion excites him strongly. I warned you of this, you know, Richard," he continued in an earnest almost menacing tone. " No, no, it is not that" answered Richard vehemently. ** It is something of which you know nothing, but which it behoves Walter Sinclair to know. Leave us alone together, Edward." Then, as his brother shook his head and frowned, he added, " it is about his father, and his ears alone must hear it." " Then you can speak with him another time," said Ed- ward decisively ; " it will utterly upset you to do so now. Besides there is the luncheon bell, and it would be bad manners to detain Mr. Sinclair from his hostess, just after he has arrived. You know what a stickler she is about such matters." Walter had already had an experience of it, and at once hastened to take Mr. Roscoe's view of the matter. " Nothing will give me greater pleasure," he said to Richard gently, " than to speak with you about my father, but, as your brother says, perhaps it will be better to wait for a more favorable opportunity." Richard scarcely seemed to hear what the other was saying. " He would talk of you by the hour," he said, as if buried in reminiscence. " * My poor lad. that I shall never see again,' he used to call you. And he never did — he never did." The speaker's chin fell forward on his breast, and he said no more. " Come," said Mr. Roscoe, taking the young man by the arm, " let us leave my brother alone for a little. He is doing himself harm by all this talk." Then, as they walked away together, he told his companion how tender-hearted his brother was; ("it runs in our family," he said, "but I have more self-restraint ") ; and how greatly attached he had been to Walter's father. " Nevertheless, my brother only knew him (as he told you) in his later years, during which, as I hear, you had no communication with your father." " That is quite true," sighed the young man, " I never saw him, nor heard of him, after he started to hunt in the prairie, till I got tidings of his death. He was killed by the Indians." " So I understand," said Mr. Roscoe, a little drily for a mei ladi noti are mea little appe To met had Nor chiva look, Philip brance moreo radian on that "Wi down t And an excu made hi had disa though 1 his chee "Ian Richard, quite cor for the ' partly as to carry ( "Itwi gentlemai and all dc If a cer with the c to himself dual was i the observ ever, the c " Have ^ of Walter.' ^»E BUHNT MILLION. member of siirK ^ «. j . ' * ^9 ladies waitino-?^^"^^''"^^^^ted family '' v^«^ noticedTt fhffa?; ^^^/^^o for S'iuncton'' ^H '^' are for dinner hn? ^ "^^ ""^ mind how late ?h;- ^^''^ iSsi ^' ^P^^'^^^^^ ^^^^ ^e.|^/oSS '" - -^ra^dt- -i jnetthoTe ofhi^'i,o^re?ses''J"''"^^'"^ ^^^^' ^^owever as it Ph'l'ppa smiled on ^^^T^^^^'^.^^^^^i^olC^^ trance of that Passa^of It '\'!'°"' ^' "'« remem-' an excuse for his brother's T' '"^^^ '°"g"« could frame made his appearance ^E^ervrrr' ^t ^'^hard WmsS? had disappeared. His face mI ""^ *"« ■■««« emotion though to an obserC eyeVl^,d Z' P'^^^^^'^nd smiw" lam glad to see voji ?^^ • ^ ^'^"^ deigned. Riphard," said Agnes 7.?" °°^"^fir so nmch better Mr quite complete "ql"-, """T ^"^ ^^'"le familv r r^i • partly as a compliment to hfms^If" ^w ' J" ^° Plea^se S to carry out his vie^vs as resn^elfd r^ ^'' ^i"^^^^' Par% It will certainly not hiTjf 7 , '^ace and Walter gentfeman returned "e^rn^ J,'^ "^^^ ""^ hostess"- .hat and all does not go as merrilv i, , ■°°' ^ ''aPPy one Waye you se^n m- ah ^ reverted to him ofWalter." "/^<^" M^- Allerton lately," inqS Philipp, . ' ■ • i If- t i If, 350 THE BURNT MILLION, " Yes ; I saw him just before my departure from town, and he charged me with many kind messages to you ladies, which, except as to their general purport, I am very much afraid I have forgotten." "You had something else to think about, I daresay," said Agnes, with another conciliatory glance at Mr. Ros- coe. " Or perhaps it was jealousy," observed Philippa, with a sly look at Grace ; *' some p'iople don't like to give tender messages to ladies which have been entrusted to them by others. Not that I feel the omission very poignantly on my own account," she added, " for my experience of Mr. Allerton is far from tender. In his character of trustee I find him very hard." Here she suddenly flushed up, and came to a full stop. Mr. Roscoe had (I grieve to say it of one generally so polite to ladies) given her a kick under the table. " I cannot say that of him," remarked Agnes, coldly. " He always seems to me to exercise a very proper pru- dence." Mr. Roscoe's face grew livid j Agnes, perhaps purposely, was looking elsewhere and did not perceive it. " You are a great friend of Mr. Allerton's, I believe, Mr. Sinclair," she continued. " He has been very kind to me at all events," responded the young man, warmly. " Indeed I owe him a great deal, for thanks to his good offices, when my Cumberland holi- day is over, a position has been offered me in a certain firm, better than one so inexperienced as myself could hav6 hoped for." " That is very good news," observed Mr. Roscoe \ and he spoke as if he meant it, as indeed he did, for the tidings suited well with his own plans. " But at present, Mr. Sinclair," put in Agnes graciously, " you will have nothing to do. I trust, but to enjoy your- self" „ ' ; ■> , She really liked the young fellow, but was also very desirous to efface from his mind the impression which her conduct of the morning had only too probably made upon it. /^v'' "Indeed, Miss Tremenhere, with the recollection of your late river home in my mind," he answered gratefully, " I can imagine nothing but happiness under your roof." (< THE BURNT MILLION. 25' ind )ur- )on of |ny, )f." Walter meant what he said, but his words to those pre- sent, and who knew how life went on at Halswater, must have seemed, indeed, a strange stretch of fancy. There was a sudden silence which he naturally attributed to an- other caiise. ** I do not forget, however," he continued with feeling, " that at Elm Place you had a guest whom we shall all miss here.' " Yes, poor Lord Cheribert," said Agnes, " how affable he was, was he not ? " She was not generally so maladroit in her observations, but she was in a hurry to say some- thing. " So full of high spirits, I should rather call him," ob- served Philippa decisively. " One never remembered that he was a lord at all." This was not quite true, as regarded herself ; for indeed she had never forgotten the fact, which gave her an un- reasonable pleasure, for a single instant ; but to " wipe her sister's eye," as Mr. Roscoe called it, was a temptation she could never resist. Agnes bit her lip, angry with her- self at her mistake, and furious with her reprover. Unhappily, though he did not intend it, Mr. Roscoe's next observation followed Philippa's lead, " Yes ; one forgot his rank," he said, " in his attractive qualities ; one called him * Cheribert ' from the first ; he was a capital fellow all round ; it was a pity, however, that his great fortune went to the dogs, or rather to the horres." * Other people waste their money quite as foolishly," observed Agnes drily, " though not on the same follies." Again came that livid look on Mr. Roscoe's face which had overspread it by the lakeside that morning. If ever an angry woman could be warned, it should have had a warning in it. " For my part," said Grace, speaking for the first time, and with suppressed feeling, " I shall never think of Lord Cheribert's follies. He had many and great temptations to which others are not exposed. His faults were on the surface ; few kinder, nay, even nobler hearts than his ever beat in a human breast." " In that I must entirely agree with you," said Walter earnestly ; " and if he had lived he would have proved it." h V : i. ♦ . ^i; N :-V'^ ■;, i ap TH^ BURNT MILLION, '•:■> v . •:y: CHAPTER XXXVI. RICHARD'S STORY. There was something—" there is always a something " — on Grace's mind, beside the happiness which well-nigh filled it, in the consciousness that it behoved her to write to Mr. Allerton to tell him of her engagement. Her correspondence with him had been hitherto always of a pleasant kind, but she foresaw that which she had now to say would be far from pleasing to him. She liked the old lawyer very much — more perhaps than any one in the world with one exception, but she knew his weakness. He was liberal even to munificence with his own money ; quite understood that the only true value of it lay in its power of doing good; but he set too great store upon it when it belonged to other people. Half his life had been passed in the endeavor to make men come by their own, or to prevent what was theirs falling into other hands. Money was a sacred trust with him. If she had understood Mr. Allerton's real opinion of her sisters, and especially of Mr. Roscoe, she would have pictured to herself a far more vehement opposition ; but, even as it was, she knew that he would oppose her views. She did not fear that he would offer any personal objection— indeed how could he, or for that matter could any one else? — but she felt that he would -object to the pecuniary loss she would sustain by becoming Walter's wife. She had told Walter that the gulf between them was neither so wide nor so deep as he had imagined ; and he had understood her as she knew (and meant him so to understand it) in the literal sense of her words. She had in reality referred to her indifference to the disparity of fortune between them ; what he had imagined her to convey was that it was not so very great ; he was probably unaware that through her marriage with him she would forfeit her claim to an immense fortune ; that nothing in fact would remain to her but the money she had saved since her father's death — much of which had THE BURNT MILLION. m gone in charity — and the 10,000/. he had left to hei, let her marry whom she might. To what is called a chivalrous mind, but she knew it was not true chivalry, to a quixotic mind then, such as she feared that of Walter to be, the knowledge of all this might be fatal to his hopes. She felt that the longer it was delayed the better ; that every day they passed in each other's society would make him more and more her own, and render it more difficult for him to give her up. The wisdom of the serpent and the harmless- ness of the dove (or the love bird) combined to prevent her communicating at present with Mr. Allerton ; and she therefore forebore to do it. She had no fear of any one else telling him her secret. She was not so simple, but that she perceived her sisters were very willing for their own sakes that she should marry Walter, and would cer- tainly do nothing to obstruct it ; and she blessed them for their greed. In the meantime she had never been so happy. . i % » •.«. "• ' Love took up the glass of Time and turned it in his glowing hands. Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. If dear papa could have only known her Walter and wit- nessed her happiness, was the only picture her imagination could form of an increase of bliss. Many an evening by the waters (where, thank Heaven, were no ships) Did their spirits meet together at the touching of the lips. The loneliness of Halgwater made it an admirable locality for such proceedings, and Walter Sinclair was no laggard in love : never was an engaged young couple more com- pletely left to their own devices than they were. Walter was z. persona i^rai.i ♦'> every one, even including Richard Roscoe. T' y might have noticed indeed (but they noticef^ ag) that \ avoided them when together, with even a aer considt lion than did the rest of the house- hold, ail that be shrank even still more from meeting Grace alone ; ' ut he not only cultivated Walter's society, but showed a particular kindness *"or the young fellow. It was many days, however, uefore he made that reve- lation, he had promised him on their first acquaintance, respecting his connection with his father. .» .{ vr a 'li*?/.^ a54 THE BURNT MILLION, The three men had been smoking together at the cottage one night as their custom was after they had bidden good- night to the ladies, and Edward Roscoe, feeling tired, had gone to his own room. There had ensued a long silence between the two who remained, Walter's thoughts, as usual, being occupied with Grace, while the other, as he slowly expelled the smoke from his lips, regarded his companion with earnest eyes and an expression which it would have been difficult to analyze, for it was made up of various emotions, and some of them antagonistic to one another — tenderness, remorse, and jealousy. " Walter, my lad," he presently said, in low grave tones, " I hope we shall always be good friends whatever happens." " I hope so, indeed, Mr. Richard," replied the young fellow, with a natural surprise. " On my side, at least, it must always be so; not only on your own account but because you were my father's friend. I trust there is no reason why you should look forward, on your part, to any alteration in your feelings towards myself" " There will be no alteration, no," answered the other with a heavy sigh. " You will never do any harm to me more than you have already done." " And that is none," returned Walter, with a light laugh, " so I think our friendship is secure." He had not the least idea to what the other had alluded ; but his strange remark had made little impression upon him ; he was not easily impressed just now by observations made by any one, save one, and Richard had always seemed to him a queer fellow, who lived more in the past than the present, and who had a way of speaking not always quite to the purpose. *' Heaven grant that it may be so," continued his com- panion with gentle earnestness, " but you, at all events, have something to forgive me^ my lad ; for but for Richard Roscoe, your poor father would have been alive this moment." " What ? Did you kill him then ? " cried Walter, start- ing from his seat. " / kill him ? / who was his dearest friend ! No ; though in one sense would that I had. From my hand he would have welcomed death rather than — " He broke off with a shudder, and the whispered words, " Ah, how can Heaven permit such things ? " THE BURNT MILLION, 255 Walter resumed his seat, and waited with patient anxiety for what might be coming. It was obviously use- less to press his companion ; the difficulty he found in making his communication at all was only too evident. His face was grey and bloodless, and a dew, as of death itself, had fallen on it. " There are people, Walter," he commenced slowly after a long pause, " who will tell you that the American Indians are as other men, with the like feelings and emotions as ourselves, open to gratitude and moved by tenderness, and who can be influenced for good. I have lived among them for years, and can only say that I have never seen such a one. Within my experience, they have been all alike, treacherous, base, and heartless, and whenever the oppor- tunity is offered of proving themselves so, incarnate fiends. They have many evil passions (as Heaven knows have we too), but one overmastering one, that of cruelty j a lust for barbarity more hellish than ever dwelt in a white man's breast. This they have not in war time only but at all times, and directed not necessarily against their enemies but against all the human race. Your father understood this thoroughly ', before he became a hunter, you know, he was attached as a volunteer to a detachment of the United States army ; and this, he told me, happened to a little drummer boy of his regiment who chanced to fall into the hands of the Apache Indians. He was but thirteen years old and a pretty boy, and he was given over to the tender mercies of the Squaws. Everywhere else in the 'world almost such a captive would have excited pity in the breasts of women. These creatures did this : they stripped the child, tied him to a tree, and for four hours subjected him to every torture which their experience told them would not be fatal to him. Then they took sinuous pine knobs, and, splitting them in small splinters, stuck them all over his little body, till (as a spectator, a Mexican half- breed described it) he looked like a porcupine, and set fire to them. They yelled and danced at his screams of anguish till he slowly died." " What a sickening tale," exclaimed Walter, with marked disgust. " No doubt," replied the other drily, "but if such things are so bad even to hear of, what must they be to endure ? If Indians so use a harmless child, you may guess what hn. -^»t 2S6 THE BURNT MILLION. they are capable of when their enemies are in their power ; I say their enemies — though they treat helpless women even more devilishly than they treat men — however, it was an enemy of theirs with whom my story has to do." "Did my father fall into the power of such fiends?'* exclaimed Walter excitedly. " Listen. Your father and I were hunters of the plains for years together. He was a man of iron nerve and an excellent shot, but, so far as I know, he never took a human life unless his own was threatened. Many and many a time had we been attacked by these devils, and sent them howling to their hell ; but we never sought them out, nor even pursued them. He was a quiet man, never given to bloodthirstiness nor revenge. So was I at that time. Heaven knows. It is not so now." Then he paused and poured himself out a glass of water \ his hand trembled so violently that he could hardly carry it. to his lips. " I cannot speak of these things as I would wish to do," he murmured apologetically ; " there is a fever in my heart, and in my brain. They make me mad. Yes ; he spared many that he might have slain, though he well understood their natures. We were well armed of course ; one night as we were putting by our revolvers, I noticed he had a pistol in his breastpocket. * What is that for ? ' I asked. *It is for myself,' he answered gravely ; * if the worst should come to the worst, I will never fall into Indian hands alive. I know them,' he added significantly. " We had had a good season and were returning to the settlement; we had left the prairie behind us when it became necessary one evening to cross a river. It was in flood and dangerous, but the Sioux were about us, we knew, and there was better and safer camping ground on the other side of it. We rode our horses at the stream, but it proved too strong for us. There were rocks too in the river, and against one of these I was dashed by the current and unhorsed. The animal was carried down the stream, and I myself reached the bank with difficulty ; I was much bruised and had sprained my ankle. Your father with great exertion brought his horse safe to land, but, like myself, at the sacrifice of his weapons ; our rifles and revolvers were lost ; he had nothing but his pistol. Our situation was desperate indeed, for we felt only too certain that we had been watched by the Sioux. Had we THE BURNT MILLION, aS7 had our arms, we should not have feared them, for they had had experience of their accuracy, and relied on opportunity alone for destroying us. Worthless though they be, these wretches never throw their own lives away. If we had had even our horses we could have escaped from them ; but we had but one horse. That they knew, but not that we were defenceless, so that for the night we were left in peace, but not to rest. I sometimes think if we could have got rest that night, two lives might have been saved instead of one. The fatigue exhausted our strength. At the dawn of day we saw the Sioux ; they had crossed the river, doubtless at some ford, and were coming towards us — some fifty mounted men. One held out a branch of a tree in token of amity. Your father smiled a bitter smile as he saw it. * They must think us in straits indeed,' he said, * to suppose us willing to trust their good faith.* Then, turning to me, 'there is not a moment to be lost, Richard. You are lame and cannot run a yard. You must take my horse and ride for Railton (the nearest fort).' " * What, and leave you to the tender mercies of these hell hounds ? " I answered. "'Not so,' he said, * I have my pistol, remember; it is but death at the worst. Moreover^ by taking to the scrub yonder, I hope to keep ahead of them all, and save my scalp. You, of course, must keep to the open. My horse is a better one than was ever crossed by a Sioux. If you reach home with a whole skin, you will come back and look for me.' " ' But you are throwing away your life for mine ? ' I cried. " ' Mount and ride, man. Every moment of delay is risk- ing both our lives." He helped me on to his horse, for I was so stiff as well as lame that I could 'hardly move, with his own hands, and off we started, he for the scrub and I for the open. That was the last I saw of your father — alive." ' • -. .? - 1 H \ ■ !'■ m V -t 1, XT 258 THE BURNT MILLION, CHAPTER XXXVII. THE STORY CONTINUED. " Why do you not go on ? '' inquired Walter, after a long silence, which his companion showed no disposition to break. '* There is a reason for it," answered the other hoarsely ; " it would spare both of un, if I said no more. Neverthe- less, you have a right to hear all — if you wish it." Walter inclined his head j he feU ,00 sick at heart to speak. - ,:.,.-^" . .■..,.:■''•-. '-fi' -. ... .^i- ■ ■,./.-■ " Well, the good horse saved me from the Sioux, as he would have saved his master. They followed me for two days and then gave up the chase. On the third morning I reached the post half dead witii hunger and fjitigue ; but in an hour I was in the saddle again following my own tracks with fivc-and-twenty mounted volunteers. The fever of my soul sustained me. The thought of your father and of what he had done for me, and of what might have happened to him, filled my veins with fire. I slept ut times upon my horse, but the men who were with me never lost the trail. Since your father had been bound for the same post, and we did not meet with him, I felt only too sure that he had not escaped with life. The best that we could look for, as I was well convinced, was to find his dead body, with a pistol bullet in it. But, alas, that was not to be. We searched as well as we could, always, however, moving quickly, till we came upon tlie scrub which I had r,een him enter. To look for him there would have taken too much time, and it would be easy to return to it. The Indians had retired across the river; we found the ford and followed them," Here Richard Roscoe paused and wiped his face on which a ghastly dew was gathering. '* Shall I go on ? " he murmured. " Go on," answered \\'alter, in tones that no one who knew him would have recognized for his own ; his voice was frozen wit'.i i!ic Iionor that h.Kl seized his companion though he was ignorant of wl]at was to come, THE BURNT MILLION. ^59 "Three miles or so from the river, we found what had once been a man, and your father. His head alone was above the earth, the rest of him they had buried standing. His poor limbs were bound with ropes. They had scalped him ; they had cut his lips, his eyelids, his nose and ears, and had left him then — still alive as we afterwards dis- covered — to be driven mad by the hot sun beating on his head, and to be revived for fresh tortures, by the cool air of the morning ; Hell only knows for how long." Walter groaned. " A hunter who heard of it from the fiends themselves, says * the warrior ' who invented this torture was thought very highly of by the tribe. There were not many left before we had done with them to praise him. This hand, palsied as it looks, slew seven of them ! " " Let me take it," cried Walter, hoarsely. He took it and kissed it. " Yet, but for me, he might have been alive, lad; and I should have suffered in his stead. Do you indeed forgive me ? " " Yes ; if you had been in his place you would have done as he did." " I hope so ; I think so ; but he did it. If I ever forget it, I shall deserve to fall into Indian hands. Do you wonder now why I hate Indians ? " " But the pistol ? " groaned Walter, unable to entertain any abstract subject in the whirl and horror of his per- sonal feelings. " Why did he not shoot himself? " " I suppose the powder had got wet when he crossed the river. What are you doing, lad? " The young man had passed quickly into his own room, and through the open door could be seen placing things in his portmanteau — a revolver was the first of them. \<^ " I am going away. I leave to-morrow for America ! " Richard rose, went into the other room, and laid his hand upon his arm. " No," he said, " that way madness lies ; look at me and do not doubt it." Walter looked up and beheld a face he did not know ; pallid with hate, distorted with passion ; a livid face — and also one in which, it was plain, reason had no longer a place. " Do you suppose I have not done all that could be s ^;ii a6o THE BURNT MILLION. done," shouted this apparition, and then laughed aloud. " Seven with my own hand, and six times as many more by those of my men. There is not one of them alive : not one. Will you make war against a race with your single arm ? Leave that to me. You are not a madman as I am. Can't you see it? Come, come," he continued, drawing his now unresisting companion back into the smoking-room, and speaking in less vehement tones. " You must keep your wits for other things ; for you may need them. No. There has been mischief enough already done. Your fa- ther's torments have not been unavenged ; the man for whom he sacrificed his life had his suflferings too — and because of him. Above all things never breathe one word to her about your father's death. Do you hear me ? " " Whom do you mean by her ? " ' "Why, Grace, of course ; our Grace. It would distress her.' h " Of course I shall never tell her." * > ... . " You think so now ; but perhaps at some other time ; in years to come. Swear to me you will never tell her how I took your father's horse and rode away from him, and left him to his doom. Swear it." "I swear I never will." . ., " I am satisfied ; you are your father's son, and he never lied to me. Now let us talk of something else." The speaker's face had momentarily changed ; the fire had fled from it, and also the remorse and pain ; he looked like one exhausted even to the verge of death, but who, after a paroxysm of excitement, had returned to his right mind. The spectacle in some sort relieved his companion from the distress which the other's recital had caused him : was it possible, he wondered for the moment, whether the man was not a madman, and had imagined the whole hideous story ; though he came to the conclusion that this was not the case, but rather that the recollection of so shocking an incident had affected his brain, the conviction turned his thoughts into another channel. If the poor fellow should be subject, as he had himself confessed, to lose his reason, might he not prove dangerous to Grace ? She was evidently a subject of regard to his disordered mind. His solicitude that she should not hear the story might be accounted for by the part he had himself played, but what did he mean by that strange expression " our THE BURNT MILLION, Mv Grace " ? It was a slight matter, but the least suspicion of danger in connection with so dear a being alarmed him. There had hitherto not been the slightest kink or hitch in the smooth course of their true love, and he was the more inclined on that account to exaggerate the smallest obstacle to it. It was with great dissatisfaction, therefore, that he heard his companion presently return to the subject which he had himself spoken of as closed. "It may be necessary, my lad," said Richard, as if moved by an after-thought, " to speak of your father to you once again ; but I see how the matter distresses you, as well it may, and I promise you it shall be for the last time." " Indeed," returned the other earnestly, " I do not wish to hear it. What has been told me is sufficient, and more than sufficient. You were quite right to tell it me, and I thank you for the confidence that has cost you so dearly, but since, as you have justly pointed out, retribution is out of my power to exact, I entreat you to be silent on the matter, which can only cause me more distress and pain." "Poor lad," answered the other with gentle gravity; " perhaps it may not be necessary for me to speak ; let us hope it may not for both our sakes. It is very late \ good' night ; and may you have no such dreams as I have." Walter had no dreams that night for he had no sleep. The fate of his father, and the possibility of danger to Grace — or at the best of great distress of mind if she should come to hear of the matter, divided his waking thoughts. It is true that Richard had himself enjoined upon him silence on the subject ; but what trust could be reposed in one so strange and excitable ; it was even possible that he might tell the story to her with his own lips by way of penance for what he considered (though such an imputation was itself a proof of a disordered mind), his base behavior. On the whole he decided to warn her of Richard, but in a way that should not arouse any serious apprehensions. The next day, therefore, he took an opportunity, while walking with her alone, of asking her how she liked her guest at the cottage. ** I like the poor fellow very much," she replied frankly, " better, indeed, than his brother, though we have known him so much longer." . t 'X t' » f : ^ ' :U; 262 THE BURNT MILLION; " Then why, since he has won your regard, my dear," he answered smiling, " should he be called a poor fel- low?" " Well," returned Grace, with a little hesitation, " he is an invalid, you know. One cannot but pity one who, though so far from old age, has lost the activity and strength that he manifestly once possessed. As he once told me with his own lips he is the mere wreck of his former self. You are not jealous, are you ? " she added slily, " that Mr. Richard has given me his confidences ? " " Not at all," said Walter with a laugh, which was, however, rather forced, for her reply had chimed in with his apprehensions ; " but is there no other reason why you pity him ? " " Well, if you compel me to say so, I fear that the fatigues and privations he has endured have affected his mind as well as his body." "But you don't fear him, I hope," inquired Walter anxiously. ' ' ' * " Certainly not ; I believe he has a sincere regard for me. But there is no doubt that his manner is at times exceedingly eccentric." " Yes ; some subjects excite him in the strangest manner ; he is not himself when he talks about them, and all allu- sion to them should be discouraged. I want you to be careful, my darling, about that — for his sake, of course." "■ I will be very careful ; but what are the subjects ? " " Well, there is one, for example, which, if he attempt to speak to you upon, I beg that you will decline to listen to him. Would you mind saying at once sad peremptorily that it is distasteful. to you ? " " I am quite sure that if I even hinted at it being so, it would be dropped at once. Mr. Richard, despite some drawbacks patent to everybody, is at heart a gentleman, and moreover would, I am convinced, respect any wish of mine." " Very good, then, don't let him talk to you about the American Indians." " The American Indians ? " echoed Grace, with amaze- ment. " Yes ; it seems ludicrous enough, of course, but he has, not without reason, a great detestation of them. He has doubtless suffered at their hands, but his views upon the THE BURNT MILLION, a(>3 was. inner ; allu- to be so, It some ;man, ish of t the laze- subject are exaggerated, and between ourseives by no means trustworthy. You nust never be frightened by any- thing he tells you about them, but what will be much your safest way is to refuse to listen to him. When he gets upon that topic he is in my opinion not a responsible be- ing — I hope I have not alarmed you, my darling," for Grace had turned rather pale ; ** there is no danger to be appre- hended, of course, but I wish to save you from hearing what may be unpleasant, and which at the same time would be harmful to the poor man himself." " I am not the least afraid,Walter," she answered quietly, " and will take care to use the precaution you have recom- mended." They went on to talk of other subjects, and Walter, no doubt, thought he had reason to congratulate himself on his skilful diplomacy. But his revelation had filled Grace's mind with recollections and suspicions of which he little guessed. She was under a promise to Richard, as we know, to be silent about his extraordinary behavior during their drive in the pony carriage, but the cause of it was no longer inexplicable to her. The strange noise they had heard as they approached the circus was no doubt the war whoop of the Indians, which had probably awakened some dreadful reminiscence in Richard Roscoe's mind. She re- called his look of horror and, as she now understood it, of undying hale when it fell upon his ear. Another thing, too, occurred to her which moved her even more. The attempt which, if this story was to be believed, had been made upon the life of the Indian on the Fells. Was it possible that Richard Roscoe was the person who had assaulted him ? The man's account of the affair had been received with incredulity, from the total absence of motive for such a crime. But if what she had just heard was true, there was a motive, and one that could have actuated one individual only in that neighborhood ; namely, Richard himself. She could not look upon him as a murderer, even in intent ; her whole soul shrank from it ; but the only alternative was irresistible, and filled her with vague alarms. On one point, at least — and why not on others — their guest at the cottage was a madman. • ., „ '^, rl \ H H ll has, has the ,' s> ■ J ^1 a64 THE BURNT MILLION. il !'»:)t;jji ..;Vi it. k^ <- ^'mu}iu\ CHAPTER XXXVIII. ;i:ifjTiV sr *: '? •. A CHANGE OF FRONT. ,■>■■-.• In his various characters of friend of the family, confiden- tial adviser, and major domo, at Hals water, Mr. Edward Roscoe exercised a great many rights and privileges which no one ever thought of disputing ; and among them was the unimportant but delicate office of opening the letter- bag, of which he kept the key. The post, as has been mentioned, came somewhat late in the day, so that instead of the family correspondence arriving as usual at breakfast time, and being displayed in public, it was brought to Mr. Roscoe, generally alone in his private sitting-room, at the time, and distributed consequently with his own gracious hands. Heaven forbid we should hint that he took any undue advantage of the circumstance, but it naturally hap- pened that he knew who got letters, and also who sent them away. He knew, for example, that Grace had not yet written to Mr. Allerton since Walter's arrival, and secretly applauded her for that maidenly reticence. He had much correspondence of his own, too, which it was highly undesirable should be laid upon the breakfast-table, and altogether the arrangement was a very convenient one. On a certain morning, when the bag had been brought to him as usual, and, as usual, before unlocking it, he had locked his door, among its contents was a letter from America, addressed to his brother. " So it's come at last, has it ? " was his muttered observation, as he took the envelope in his hand and examined it attentively. " What on earth made the fool seal it ? " The observation seemed uncalled for, for though it is now unusual to seal letters, to do so is not a proof of folly ; and in some instances indeed the contrary. There was a little kettle "on his fire — for he was a man who liked his coffee hot, and at irregular hours— and he now looked at it with an expression of great irritation. The fact was the kettle was useful to him in opening gummed envelopes, but of no use at all in opening sealed ones. Was it worth wl wl c\ nc W( hij wil wl opi his wil Tl mi THE BURNT MILLION, 265 while to take the impression off this particular seal — which only bore initials on it — before breaking it or not ? Considering it was only Richard's letter, a fellow who took no notice of such little matters, he thought it was not worth while ; he would melt the wax, and after possessing himself of the contents of the epistle, fasten it down again with a blank seal. It was a simple operation, and one to which he was well accustomed ; he melted the seal and opened the envelope. It contained a short official note to his brother, just saying, " I forward you what you left with me," with a banker's name attached and the enclosure. This latter was another envelope also sealed, directed " To my dear son, Walter, to be delivered into his own hands." " Not just yet, however," was Mr. Roscoe's grim remark, as he melted this second seal. Then he read the enclosure. The effect of its perusal was remarkable. What he said cannot be written, because it was an execration of extreme violence, uttered " not loud but deep," but what he did was to stamp upon the ground with impotent rage. His countenance was white with the while heat of fury, and the consciousness of baffled schemes. His eyes flashed fire. His first impulse was to burn the letter, but even as he held it over the glowing coals, he hesitated, and at that moment he heard Miss Agnes' voice at the door of the cottage asking if the letters had come. In an instant he had thrown it into his open desk, and locked the desk, and came out to her, smiling, with the opened bag in his hand. , " There are no letters for you, Miss Agnes, and I, too, have been neglected by my correspondents ; but there is one for Miss Grace — I fancy from Mr. Allerton." The word " fancy " was a pretty touch, for the lawyer's hand was as familiar to him as his own, and many a letter from him had he read, though he had never been one of his correspondents. If he had read this one, which he had had no time to do, it would have given him greater satisfaction than some others, which, indeed, had spokea of Mr. Edward Roscoe with more freedom than friendship. Agiles held him in honeyed talk, as was her wont when she got him alone, and to see his eyes and 'his smile as they replied to her, one would have thought the lady very dear to him, and never have guessed the impatience which her presence evoked, and far less the passion that was consuming him in which she had no part at all. At last ! w tl 266 THB BURNT MILLION. he got rid of her and returned to his own room, a different man from him who had last entered it. An hour aco, though there was much to trouble him, and obstacles in his path that would have daunted a less determined spirit, the immediate matter which he had in hand had been going well and prosperously. It was only an initial difficulty in his far-reaching plans, it is true, but to find one impedi- ment in course of removal had been a satisfaction to him ; and lo ! instead of its being swept away, it had assumed even greater proportions, and all the work he had had with it had now, under far less encouraging circumstances, to be done over again. In vain he pulled at his cigar, not for comfort (comfort even from the soothing weed was not for such as he), but for ideas — how to meet this unexpected blow, and especially how to turn it, as he had often done in the case of such disappointments, to his own profit. For nearly an hour he could find no way out of the maze of difficulty, and only confused himself in his efforts to find it ; but at last he hit upon a plan. It was a dangerous, even a desperate one, and, what was worst of all, required the connivance and assistance of others ; but, having once grasped it, his hold on it grew more tenacious with every moment of possession. It is a characteristic of men of his class, fertile in schemes, sanguine of success, and confident in their own powers of persuasion, that nothing but total and complete failure can make them doubt of the practicability of their plans. What is also an attribute of theirs is promptness ; not an hour, not a minute, do they waste in putting them into execution. Taking the fateful scroll (or scrawl, for it was written in shaky and ill-formed characters, significant of a tumult of anxieties in the writer's mind) from the desk, he placed it carefully in his breast pocket, and sought the presence of the very person from whom he had of late so gladly parted, Agnes Tre- menhere. Each of the elder sisters had, like Grace, their own boudoir, and there was no sort of difficulty, for he had often certain business of a private character to transact with both of them, in seeing her alone. She received him even more cordially than usual, for his business was not always of a welcome character, and as he had had no letters from town that day she justly concluded that it was not on business that he came. It was soon made plain, however^ that he had not come on pleasure. THE BURNT MILLION. 267 fi igo, to Agnes," he said, as soon as he had closed the door behind him, " a great misfortune has happened to us — or so, at least, it first seemed to me. Before telling you how i propose to meet it, and even turn it to our advantage, I wish you to be informed exactly of its nature. Read this^* and, without more words, he placed the missive that had been sent to his brother in her unfaltering hand. When not moved by jealousy or wrong, Agnes Tremen* here was cold and calculating enough. Her disposition, indeed, though far gentler, was almost as practical as that of Mr. Roscoe himself, and of this he was well aware. He was convinced that of the various persons with whom he was compelled to deal upon the present occasion, Agnes would be the least difficult to manage, and the most likely to fall in with his views. Nevertheless, it was with satisfaction that, as he watched her face attentively as she read, he saw it harden, after the first flush of surprise, and assume an expression of unswerving determination. " You know what this means, of course, as regards our- selves," he said, "and also Philippa" (this he added incidentally), " if what we once thought so advisable should come to pass ? " "It would be the perpetuation of an infamy," she answered, in a voice hoarse with rage. " It would be giving effect to a most wicked wrong." " No doubt ; and therefore we must take measures to put ^ stop to it." " It will be very difficult, Edward, as well as cruel, now that matters have gone so far." There was a touch of softness in her tone, and though only a touch it alarmed him. "■ Of course it will be difficult," he answered, with grim contempt. " As to the cruelty, that is all nonsense ; I mean, of course " (for he saw a flush of indignation glow on his companion's face), " that a girl like Grace is too young to know her own mind, and will not suffer as you and I would do under similar circumstances. For all that she has said, I still believe that she had a tenderness for Cheribert, and if this Sinclair was got rid of, she would find some other man equally to her mind. Let us confine ourselves to the difficulty. It is great, I admit, but not insuperable. The question I have come to ask you is whether you are prepared to see the vast fortune your m. I i6S THE UURXr MILLION, f;ill\er lofi behind him jsiss out of tho fiiinily, or into one hr.imh of it '' *' I am not,'' she put in quic kly. •' 1 will never submit to such wrong if I can help il. 'I'hcre is nothing 1 would not do — provided, of course, that il were not itself a wrong — to p/rcvent its commission." " That is spoken like yourself, Agnes," said Mr. Roscoe approvingly. " I only hope I shall find others, to whom I must also look for a.'-sistancc, as just and reast)nablc." '* Others ? Do you mean Thilippa ? " she answered with knitted brow. " Well, you see, my dear, her interests arc cijually threatened by this document with your own. We must all put our shoulders to the wheel, and work together for once." " We shall hardly have Grace widi us, however," ob- served Agnes drily. ** 1 am truly sorry to have to treat the dear girl in any way as an antagonist. lUit she ought to be able to sec for herself how unfair and iniamous " ** So she would," put in Mr. Roscoe hastily, " if her eyes were not blinded by her love for Walter ; she would l)e the first to see it ; we shall be in fact only working in the same interests as herself — namely in those of Truth and Justice — if she were in a position to look at the matter from an unprejudiced standi)oint. As it is, however, she must know nothing about this," and he tapped the docu- ment with his linger. " And Richard ? " ♦• Well, of course, Richard nnist never know. Why should he ? The thing has been lost in the post, and there is no duplicate." " Must it really be so ? I hate deceit, Edward." "So do I ; but I hate injustice more — to those I love," he added tenderly. "When yon say that, Edward, you make me feel for our poor Grace more than ever,'' said Agnes softly. *' Yet, lis you say, there seems no other way out of it. How is it you propose to break off the match ? " " Leave that to me, my dear, just for the present ; I wish to avoid distressing your tender heart more than is absolutely necessary. When I need your help I will tell you all. Rut in the meantime you must gradually — very gradually — cease your civilities to Mr. Sinclair. He is I""lll"l THE lUKM' Mill 10 M. lMt9 nito one ubmii lo 1 would a wrong Roscoc whom I •Ic." led with c(|iially '^e must thcr for -M," ol). rcat the uglit to >> icr eyes uld be : in the til and matter cr, she docu- Why there sharp enough in taking a hint, ro be very careful not to give him an ()i)i)()rtunily of asking you tlic reason of your change of manner. Indeed I am going to take him in hand myself, so that Ir; will jirob.ibly not think it neces- sary to put that question. You nnist drop him as gently as if he was made of glass, but never lei (Irace herself perceive that you are (lroj»|nng him. She too, poor dear, T shall have to deal with, using, however, arguments very different, from those in his ease. Many diflieulties lie before mc, as you may suppose, Agnes, but you shall sec that they are not insu])erable." " Vou are a wonder, l'',(lward," she exelaimcd with ad- miration. "It is your marvelous gift of persuasion that makes me sometimes doiibt of you myself." "(Ireal heavens, do you mean that y(ni think I would deceive yon, Agnes?" lie exclaimed with indignation. '* This is a poor return indeed for long and loving service." " 1 only said sometimes, I'-dward," she replied affection- ately ; "you must not be hasty with your Agnes, even though she is sometimes hasty with you." " It is not your haste, my dear, but your impatience that I object to," he answered with a smile; "the present obstacle, however, will not, as you doubtless fear, delay our happiness, if all goes well with my plan." " I am glad to hear it, indeed, for 1 am sick of delays, Kdward," she answered, laying her jewelled hand upon his shoulder tenderly. " And so am 1, dear Agnes," and to do him justice he looked sick. CHAPTKR XXXIX. ove, ' 1 for ' Vet, )w is It; I an is Itell very Le is PLAIN SPEAKING. Mr. Roscok had certainly no reason to be dissatisfied with the resiit of his interview with the head of the house. Agnes lad agreed with his views, confessed herself as willing to assist his plans, and had almost forborne to question him about them. She had been content to leave matters in his hands, without even asking him what he had meant by saying that he had hoped to turn this mis- iortune that had happened to them to their own advantage. He would have told her if she had pressed him, but it n 270 THE BURNT MILLION, was a relief to his mind — already so heavily weighted — that she had not done so. He was not grateful to her, however, because he knew that she had something to gain by her for- bearance, and was also desirous to make up to him for the insolence (as he termed it) of her recent behavior. Phil- ippa he foresaw would not be so easily won over. She had not so much to gain by pleasing him, and nothing to atone for. He would have to explain his scheme to her, and it would be much more distasteful to her than it would have seemed to her sister \ she was more sentimental and soft- hearted, or, as he put it to himself with his usual frank- ness, in all things that concerned the feelings a greater fool. On the other hand, there were reasons why lie could ''say things " to Philippa which he could not venture upon with her elder sister. He could be more masterful with her, if need were, and also, strange to say, more tender without compromising himself. Indeed his very first act on entering her boudoir was to put his arm round her waist and kiss her. " Goodness gracious I " she exclaimed, " what is the matter, Edward ? " It was such a strange remark to make on such an occijt- rence, had it been an unpre :edented one, that we must take it for granted it had happened before ; indeed, it was not his caress at all, but the expression of his face, which was very grave and sad, which had evoked it. •' A letter, my dear Philippa, has come to my ^car brother to-day, which brings very bad news to you and me, and will require all your philosophy to bear it. Instead of an obstacle to our happiness being, as we fondly thought, removed, i' threatens us with ruin." " With ruin ? " " Yes ; with nothing le-^s. It is no use deceiving our- selves upon that point, nc will it help us to reproach me for follies, as you have called them, of which I have been guilty. I will own I have been a fool at once, and so save time, which has become indeed an object to us. It is no longer a question of patience with us, but of now or never. Read thatT And he put the d'x:ument mto her hand with a deep-drawn sigh. She read with a frightened face, a»d iwne of the fury her sister had shown. "This is indeed most cniol and unexpected," she said. ■\ ed— that however, y her for- m for the r. Phil- She had to atone r, and it Lild have md soft- l1 frank- iter fool, lid "say )on with h her, if without entering nd kiss t is the 1 occur- e must , it was which ■ dear d me, Instead ought, our- ph me been save is no liever. with fury Isaid. THE BURNT MILLION. 2^71 "Unexpected? Why, of course it is," he answered with irritation ; "but as to cruel, you refer, 1 su^ pose, to the measures which it will be necessary to take with Grace \ you can hardly imagine that I intend it to take effect as regards ourselves." " But how is it possible to avert it ? " " Well, for one thing this marriage of course must be broken off." " Grace's marriage ? Break off Jear Grace's marriage with Walter? Oh, Edward, you could surely never have the heart to do it '" " I mean to y, at all events," he answered curtly. "You must bo d born idiot, Philippa, if you do not see the absolute necessity of it. A girl of her age is not so grievously to be pitied because she has made a false start in her first love venti ix Women don't break their hearts about men whom the) have only known for a few months." " I will never consent to parting them," cried Philippa, bursting into tears. ''What? Yoi prefer beggary, do you? Fortunately for you, I have an t:] j;ii interest with yourself in this matter, and beggary will not suit me" " But why should there be anything of the kind, Edward ? I know dear Grace's noble nature, and am very sure that when she comes to hear of this — for I conclude Walter has not told her " " I conclude so too," interrupted Mr. Roscoe with bitter scorn, '' for I have good reason to believe that Walter does not know it himself. You may also be assured that he never will know it." " You have opened his letter then ? " "Most certainly I have. If you should ever dare to dreamof telling him so I would throw it in the fire, and have you locked up for a mad woman for having imagined such a story. Scruples indeed ! You to have scruples ! Have you forgotten how your father died ? " " Oh, Heaven have pity upon me, since man has none ! " cried the wretched woman, throwing herself into a chai'. and bursting into a torrent of tears. " ' " I am sorry to have been compelled to allude to so pain- ful an incident," observed Mr. Roscoe coldly, " but I can- not stand hypocrisy. You strain at a gnat after having swallowed a camel, hump and all. I really must decline ^'■fM ( i ^ &! 272 ^"£ BURArr MILLION, '0 listen to such fnllv r assistance " "^- ' '^"^ •>«>■« for your advice and ■"^y advice f " cV. you ever ask for mAlLtrrrke'itwr^ " When did ,h„ m''^' ^ understand you to t- " '^^^ °'^"'^<^ ' " shoiild throw ourselves udo„ ?hf '^ '^' '"*<^^". '^ "lat we Smclair /^^ Grace, his ,v ft -.nH ^^^^^^'r of Mr. Walter may m his magnanim ty offe™,^ ""^'^'^P' '"^atever terms he refuse to accept his chari°v f^ J^l?^' P"' ^ absolutely 'ess. Verm:rcr^;» -p^^ '^^^ I can get on without irand Is m ^"""^ y°"^ assist J^,ce part ,t would be fruitless and vl ""^ ?PPOsition on you; last hour of your life.'Though It wo^'uw''' 7"^"' " '» 'h" cfrdei hS °"'- ^'"es have^ been c "i .k"°' '^"'''P^ ^^ « "Oh ""^ -" '" "^""estic m'sortun to our advanL/Vuf °"'^"'™ ^^^^^^Z thetesofher lover." ^ ' """ '=°°«ole Miss Grace fof " Wha?ca^,t'cL:rrgtu^"'!rH 7" "■■«« scor«. . Another lover " ^ ^ ^"^^ a Joss ? " Which It IS very dangerous for am' f ^"""^^ ^^^jects on cism to one of the other Ly Pu^r '' ^'^ *^°"fess his cvni^ ^hich gratified hercomDanfnn ^^'^'^^^ "^^^^ "o answer o his will, but vvhatSiTdTa:id"rd'kn"^^^ '^"'^^S spark of respect for h.'n, ^ . ^ lalJen upon th^ ii'fn^ and extingurshedU for ever T' "*''•' '"'"^ in her bria ^^ J vT tJr« ''""°r«;:ct isXd"f''r-'^^'^ ">--"'» wrfl nlh '"^\"- Passion had lonfflerf f ' "• *^'' "<" ^e ;ejn,gh va„,shed -, a„d eve'„^"&^'[S'wIs^' t' THE BURNT MILLION: 273 on tie St, as "Yes, Philippa," he continued after a longpause, ''ii is my intention that Grace shall marry my brother Richard" Numb and dulled as the poor woman's feelings had be- come under the weight of t'lat inevitable will, hie words still evoked a shrill note of astonishment. " Richard ! " " Yes ; you women plume yourselves on your sagacity in such matters, but I'll wager that the notion of Richard being in love with your sister has never entered into your mind. I have perceived it however, for many a day ; it is only with the utmost diflFiCulty that he can conceal his pas- sion for her." The tidings interested while it shocked her ; no matter how cramped and crushed may be a woman's heart, there is one subject to which it never ceases to vibrate with sympathy. " He has concealed it," she observed. " I am certain that Grace knows nothing of it." "Of course not — not a word, not a whisper, thanks to me ; any hint of it would have been most inconvenient, perhaps even detrimental to our plans. I persuaded him that his suit would be the maddest folly. It will be much easier to persuade him of the contrary. And if — as will as surely happen as I am a living man — these second nuptials shall be accomplished, instei'.d of her having a husband of whose nature we know little, and who might have given us trouble in a hundred ways, she will have one who in my hands will be as clay to the potter, and so out of this nettle Danger we shall pluck the flower Safety." " And Grace ? " " Well, Grace of course will be our difficulty, although the only one. I have a plan, however, which, sooner or later, will succeed even with Grace. We cannot of course expect that she will transfer her affections from one to the other so quickly as would be desirable. In love affairs a girls is never reasonable ; but still I have reasons, I think, that will not only persuade her to give Walter up, but will at least clear the way for Richard. She is well inclined to him already in a sisterly way. You don't think much of that, and I don't wonder ; I use the phrase of course in its common acceptation, and she is«(^/his sister. We all know what comes of such Platonic attachments, when no nearer c ne can be got. A woman who has been 18 m ^''^ ^URNT MILLION. I''!: I I' i 'disappointed,' as sh^ ^oii • .' . / »i"»*r,i"£r ■ i a e- 7- p.v. enough." ^^' T^^e task I set you f^ ,, ^^^^ '-^^k^ " it is not easy " .1 ^""'^ ^""^ ■ 7^das marble_-asff ii , P^^ted her cheek ,V , about to do what is vf I- ^'^^ ^^^^ a child ul""^' ^' youbehVyeloIevr ^^^'^^^steful to you r I ^°" ^'^ ^e shalf be st ott' '"^ ''^' ' ^^"^ i' ^fo'r both?' '"? "^ pass, against l'r"S:er— you and I— when t J, • °"'* '^^^^s- therefo?^ r. ^^fn^on enemy Orl " /^/' ^'^^ ^^n^e to beneS ,0 ^ "°^ '^^"^« so harmful? " ^ '^^ ^^^^^ this T^^^l^^o^f interests." ""^"^ to us, will prove hi.! T.O. J """^n must Ween' i'« iV. ' "t 'men must THE BUI^NT MILLION, 27s She forced a smile as he left her, but it vanished as the door closed behind him, and was succeeded by a look of misery and despair. " Wish him well ! " — no, she did not even wish herself well. It was blasphemy to hope that good would come to anybody from what he was about to do. She pitied Grace from the bottom of her soul, but she pitied herself too. If Grace were doomed to lose her lover, she too had lost faith in the man to whom she had given her love. ** ' She cannot read my heart,' he said," she moaned piteously ; " how should she when he has no heart to read ? " CHAPTER XL. THE NAKED TRUTH. Although Mr. Roscoe had the entree to Grace's bower, as he had of her sisters', a visit from him, in her case, was by no means such a matter of course. His knock at her boudoir door, with the announcement of his name, in reply to a somewhat severe " Who is that ? " — in a tone that is used by one who is engaged in some occupation not agree- able, but in which he does not wish to be disturbed — did not receive the ready " Pray come in," that he had been favored with on the two previous instances. He was kept waiting at the door time enough to note the circumstance ; moreover, when the permission to enter was given, it did not escape him that it was in a despondent voice. Grace indeed had been crying, as he saw at a glance, and also the reason of it, for although slic had put away Mr. Allerton's letter, its envelope still lay on the table. " I wish to have a few words with you, Grace, if you please." He never addressed her thus familiarly unless the subject was of an importance that seemed to excuse it. She bowed, and motioned him to a chair. Her silence,, as he rightly judged, was compulsory ; she could not trust herself to speak. " I am afraid you have had bad news this morning," he murmured sympathetically. " Nothing to speak of," she answered coldly — so coldly indeed that vho tone seemed almost to imply, '* nothing to speak oilo you; it is my own affair." f *■■! 276 ^ffE BURNT MILLION. I \ ^"re---the bearer of evil tfrf.nrroii^'^^' as you mav h*. points out you arp 7^7 ^ '*''^>'<^'" « view of it „o w^, if. your /ortuifeAwaV irSi;:"-'f C-y -Wch hete'ns' father's will ^f kI u "^^'^^y^ng one forbidden k "^^"^ "light hav 'saved his1,r ^"'^r^"' '» "^e bu liT' obstacle" ' NotThtT;:''/''"' *^'- Roscoe-what o.h ? Quite so," he answered \ZT\ ""^^ ^^^" ^'^sten to it " I am obliVed to te, ' """' °"" "'^^' not^him k?' "f?"' he has tofd voVnf T"'^''"^ '» chime n'«ri,i^"^'''.'"g • judge the'^h^ m° tt:^ Kl^L'f °'"p"' "!^-"- de"^ be^h/h"*' "P™ " ''"horn favor or ',''".?'"^^ '""''e o^j be the honestest way of com;„ ! Pf^judice. That wH his presenf ^^ ^"ggestion of thL ratL ^^"-^^^ ^^o^nd sLdth I P^P^'^' because it set h1^ ^'-'^'^^^ ^^'"^ ^'n - • ^^^ City, very weaJthy, THE BURNT MILLION. 277 r-on, will |ugh side re- ind in ind jth, ip. but whose only desire in the world was to increase his store, had a poor cousin in the country, who with the ex- ception of his own family was his only relative. They had been boys together at school, and he had perhaps as much regard for him as he was capable of feeling for anything outside his money bags. This cousin applied to him respect- ing the investment of a few thousands — almost all he had in the world — and the other gave him his advice. It was the most that he was ever known to give to anybody, and indeed it was generally of value. When I say * gave,' how- ever, it was never given for nothing. He was by trade a money-lender — a skinflint, or rather a skin-diamond, for he seldom concerned himself with any client who could not directly or indirectly (though more often the latter) repay him handsomely for his services. In the case of his cousin, however, he charged him nothing (at first), and recom- mended him an investment" which, though speculative, he had every reason to believe would turn out to be exceed- ingly profitable. It was, if I remember right (but this can be easily certified) a certain mine in Cornwall. The money- lender indeed thought so well of it that he had placed a sum to which the other's subscription (though it was, as I have said, his all) was a mere bagatelle in the speculation himself. As time went on the mine ceased to perform the promise it had given, and its shares fell lower and lower in the market till they almost became valueless. Then the man in the country, grievously alarmed, as he well might be, wrote to his kinsman for his advice again. * I am sure you did the best for me you could,' he said, 'and indeed must have lost your own money. Of course I have not a word of reproach to write, but I am well-nigh ruined, so be so good as to dispose of these unhappy shares for me at whatever they realize. I am resolved to go to America, there to endeavor to make a livelihood for my wife and son, which is denied them here.' It was a pathetic letter (I read it with my own eyes), and almost touched the money-lender, but not quite. He knew more about the mine than anyone else, except its manager, who was in his pay, and had privately given him news that a lode of great extent had just been discovered in it. Without an expen- diture of sixpenco', and by merely telling his cousin to * hold on,' he could have made a fortune for him ; but the temptation of adding some thousands, at the price of a few .i i. : i r 1; I ii' »7B THE BURNT MILLION, I.; *: same blood ran ,„ his vei, flf ,hi'' """=». ''"d because "he tnat the man did not mil,. . i ■" ""^ "othiiifi on earth disement), he would rchaseM"'™.' '° '"'^ °^^ 4grai^ (bu' th.s also can Ix- a^cert^iiT '""'^^'f K I think fhe offer was accepted M^^''' • "° ''""bl), for ,00/ «;* and son on .he*^ oc'eeds onT'". '""'s^'"^'' '''""'il- money-lender within twelve momhi "-ansaction, and the "What has this hateful ac,^^' ."?'■"'<= ^°'°°°'- by it " but .et°t"fonc?:"de i,7st°or;' °/h^°-/- ">e first time • or other learnt how he ha7'h ''?""" >>>' «"">« means' s^ory to his son, withou.,''howev« tff' ''"'' '°Ke revealing the name of the rpUfU,i, "^'^ reticence). The result of that robbery w„T "u*"" '''"' robbed him .ng to the fatigues ^ndpllTons"^'/ "°"'"' ^"--"">b: father, after a hard and vretched^if^ l^ '°T. ^"^'' ""d the thyon " "^^f^hed life, was slain by Indians • Her fa^r^:^VT'e°afdtti: ."^rutMr"" ''-" -g-'ficance' eyes and in her tone a,!?,. ' ," ■ """■« "^^^ a fire in hV; ': The son, I am grieved to?, T-^*^' " ^^ °"-" and the man who r!bbld h ^ at^he?w"' '^ ^^^''^' Sinclair, You he ! '■ she thundered '-u 7^1 ^'""' f'"h"." ' kindest of men." ^"^ ^y '^ther was the best and Asl L^rd M^en: U: wal"2''™'''- ^""'on-/« knows bis son. Lord Cheriberf in k- """ey-'ender who cauo*; of thousands. Ask yo'ur ,f,l' """'^'- *"d stripped him what everybody else iraware:f%'"'' they will"?:,! y™ man who thus made gold hYs idol T' ^°'"'^^"'' 'b^t the man to it (as he had sacrifi. ^u' ^""^ sacrificed his kin, she had thX^pt^'irrel^"^^ "^^ "° knowledge • - gro-r- :id''s-vf --'--ttS man, unless he is medicaT s .rel". n' '""^ 'circumstances - - -.V. but Mr. ^osi:i^::^^:i^^:^n^ '11 r//E BURNT MILLION. 279 of his sex ; moreover, even had he preferred " absence of body to presence of mind," the apprehension of what she might say to other ears on coming to herself kept him in the path of duty. He Hftcd her up in his strong arms and placed her on the sofa, from which he removed the pillow, and sprinkling a little water on her face from the jug in the next room, which he did not scruple to enter, awaited events with a philosophical mind. Grace did not come to herself for some minutes, and when she did so still re- mained with closed eyes, only too conscious doubtless of whom she would behold should she open them. " Does Walter know ? " were her first words. " No, dear Grace, of course not," answered her com- panion comfortingly. '* I came here to spare you that ; but of course he must be put in possession of the facts sooner or later. From what I have heard of his devotion to the memory of his father, what has come to light is a thing that he can never forget or forgive. Of course you had nothing to do with it, but there is the sentiment, you see." She put up her hand as if in appeal for silence. " You feel that yourself, I'm sure. It is only too obvious that all between you and him must be over. There is no need to mention the real cause to anybody — not to Mr. Allerton, for instance ; but only to your sisters, and even that is only as you please. Trust to me to arrange this unhappy matter so as to give you — and even Walter also — as little pain as possible. You will find no doubt in the letter you received this morning an excuse that will satisfy the outside world." Her hand moved feebly in the direction of the door. *' You wish to be left alone. No doubt that is your wisest course. This is a thing to be thought about, and not talked about, even with one who has your interests so near at heart as I have. But I need scarcely impress upon you that there is only one course to be pursued. If you could make the effort, it would save a world of distress and pain to both of you if you would give me a few words in writing just to authorize me to act for you as regards Walter. Write, for instance, * Seek not to see me ; Mr. Roscoe will tell you all,' and sign it. That will be quite sufficient." He pushed the writing materials that lay upon the table close to her hand, and she feebly raised herself, and with a dazed, despairing look obeyed him. i< s< « i ^^> IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. 1.0 I.I em lit Hi 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.25 U 1.6 n 1 1 .4 6" ^ .^ ^ y, <^ /}. 7 ^ V Photographic Sciences Corporation s. d 4- *'' ,V \\ ^^ .V 4«!^