.# I THE PICCADILLY NOVELS. LlBKAKY EuiiiuNS UK Stokies liY TIIK Hkst AiTiioKs, vuniy Itluitrated. Crown StV., cloth extra, 3.5. dd. tadi. By r. M. ALLEN Oreen as Orass. By GRANT ALLEN. For Maimie'8 Sako. The Devil 8 Die. This Mortal Coil. The Tents of Shorn. The Great Taboo. Blood Royal. Strange Stories. Philistia. Babylon. The Beckoning Hand In all Shades. Iter. Dumaresq's Daugh- The Duohess of Powysland. By EDWIN LESTER ARNOLD. Fhra the Phoenician. By ALAN ST. AUIiVN. A Fellow of Trinity. | The Junior Dean liy Rev. S. BARING GOULD. Red Spider. I Eve. I5y WALTER BESAN I .S: JAMES RICE. My Little Girl. Ten Years' Tenant. Case of Mr. Lucraft. Ready-Money Mor- This Son of Vulcan. TheGoldenButterlly. By Celia's Arbour. ^loaks of Thelema. i he Seamy Side. tiboy. With Harp & Crown. 'Twas In Trafalgar's Bay. Chaplain of the Fleet By WALTER BESANT. All Sorts and Condi- tions of Men. The Captains' Room. All In a Garden Fair. The World Went Very Well Then. For Faith & Freedom Oorothy Forster. Verbena Camellia stephanotls. By ROLERT BUCHANAN Shadow of the Sword A Child of Nature. The Martyrdom of Madeline. God and the Man. Love Me for Ever. Uncle Jack. Children of Gibeon. Herr Paulus. The BeU of St. Paul's. To Call Her Mine. The Holy Roso. St. Katherines by the Tower. Armorel of Lyonesse Annan Water. Matt. The New Abelard. Foxglove Manor. Master of the Mine. The Heir of Llnue. By The Shadow Crime. HALL CAINi;. Of a I A Son of Hagar. The Deemster. By MORTIMER COLLINS. Midnight to Midnight. | Transmigration. l!y MORII.MKR.^ 1 RANGES COLLINS. The Village Comedy. I Blacksmith and You Play Me False. | Scholar. By WILKIE COLLINS. The Frozon Deep. I'.v DUTTON COOK. Paul Foster's Daughter. I!\- V. CECIL COTES. "TWO Girls on a Barge. By MATT GRIM. Adventures of a Fair Rebel. By B. M. CROKER. Pretty Miss Neville. I Diana Harrington. A Bird of Passage. | Proper Pride. By WILLIA.M CVBLES. Hearlj of Gold. ByALI'HONSE DAUOET. The Evangelist ; or. Port Salvation. By ERAS.MUS DAWSON. The Fountain of Youth. By JAMES DE .MILLE. A Castle in Spain. By J. LELI H DERWENT. Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. i!v DICK Donovan. Tracked to Doom. | Man from Manchester !!%• A. CANON DOYLE. The Firm of Girdlestone. By MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES Archie Lovell. By G. MANVII.I.l'; EENN. The Now Mistress. By PERCY EH /GERALD Fatal Zero. Ly R. E. ERANCiLI.ON. Queen Cophetua. 1 One by One A Real Queen. j King or Knave ? rrcfaccd by SIR H. BARTLE I kKUl, Pandurang Hifi. By EDWARl) (iARRETT. The Capel Girls. By CHARLES GIHISON. Robin Gray. i Of High Degree The Golden Shaft. | Loving a Dream. The Flower of the Forest. By ERNE.ST GLANVILLE. The Lost Heiress. I The Fossicker By E. J. GOOD.M.XN. The Fate of Herbert Wayne. By CECIL GRIIHTH. Corinthia Marazton. By TIIO.MAS HARDY. Under the Greenwood Tree. By BKI:T HAkll Armadale After Dark. No Name. Antonlna. I Basil. Hide and Seek. The Dead Secret. The Queen of Hearts. My Miscellanies. The Woman in White The Moonstone. Man and Wife. Poor Miss Finch. Miss or Mrs. ? Tbe New Magdalen. The Two Destinies. Law and the Lady. The Haunted Hotel. The Fallen Leaves. Jezebel's Daughter. The Black Robe. Heart and Science. " I Say No." Little Novels. The Evil Genius. The Legacy of Cain . A Rogue's Life. Blind Love. Waif of the Plains. Ward of Golden Gate Susy. ...._ Colonel Starbottlo s Client By JULIAN HAWIHoRNK Garth. Ellice Quontin. Sebastian Strome. Dust. Fortune's Fool. By SIR ARTHUR H ELI'S. Ivan de Biron. By MRS. ALERED HUNT. The Leaden Casket. | Self-Condomncd That Other Person. A Sappho of Gieen Springs. Sally Dews. Beatrix Randolph David Polndexter's Disappearance. The Spectre of ;l.cf Camera. LONDON: CIIATTO ^ WINDUS, 214, i'lCCADILLW If. '^ THE PICCADILLY 1^0VELS—co;i/ini^cd LiLKAKY EuniONS, j/id/iy Ilhistialcd, Crown Sw., cloth extra, y, 6>nJ licvieto ,• " The Great Ruby Robbery " and " The Conscientious Burglar," in the Strand Magazhh' ; " A Social Difticulty," in the Coruhill ; "The Cliinese l*lay at the Ilaymarket" and "My Circular 'lour,'" in Behjravhi ; and "The Minor Poet," in the Spenlcer. My thanks are due to the editors and proprietors of those periodicals for kind permission to reprint them here. Many of these stories 1 like myself. I hope "The Pot-boiler " and " The Minor Poet " may soften the hard heart of the man who reviews me for the NntionnJ Observer. G.A. Hotel nu Cap, Antibes, Jlarch, 1893. C X T E N T S. Ivan Gkeet'.'> MASTEiiPiEcF. Kauen Pallingiiikst IJAnitow The Aluk's Repentance Claude Tyack's Ohdeal Tom's Wike The Sixth Commanioient The MissiNd Link ... I'llE GjiEAT llri;Y liolilJEKY Tin: Conscientious IJlkglai; ... I'he Pot-«oileu ^Ielissa'.s Tour A Social Difficilty 'I'liE Chinese Play at the Haymai;ki:t My Ciucllau ToiK TiiK MiNOi; Poet I AGE 1 41 , 07 DO 111 129 144 1G7 I'JO 215 235 250 2G'J 2U2 308 :{2(J J VAX GREETS MASTERPIECE, I. 'TwAs at supper at Charlie Powell's ; every one there admitted Charlie was iu splendid form. His audacity broke the record. He romanced away with even more tlian his usual brilliant recklessness. Truth and fiction blended well in his animated account of his day's adven- tures, lie had lunched that morning with the newly- appointed editor of a hi<,-h-class journal for the home circle-circulation exceeding half a million— and had returned all agog with the glorious prospect of untold wealth (.i)cning fresh before him. So he discounted his success V»y inviting a dozen friends to champagne and lobster-salad at his rooms in St. James's, and held f.,rth to them, after his wont, in a rambling monolrxrne 'MVnen I got to the house," he said airily, poisin- a champagne-glass halfway up in his hand, "with The modest expectation of a chop and a pint of porter in the domestic ring-imagine my surprise at finding myself lorthwith standing before the gates of an Oriental palace -small, undeniably smcTll, a bijou in its wav, but still without doubt, a veritable pahice. I toiiche.Hho electric bell. Ill, presto ! at my touch the door flew open as if by magic, and disclosed-a Circassian slave, in a becomin- costume a la Liberty in Kegent Street, and smiling lik fe ••«^e P 2 IVAN GREETS MASTEIiVIECE. tho advertisomont of a patent dentifrico ! I gasped out " " But how did yo know she was a Circassian ?" Paddy O'Connor inquired, interrupting him bnis(iuely. (His name was really Francis Xavior O'Connor, but they called him " Paddy " for short, just to mark his Celtic origin.) Charlie Powell smiled a contemptuously condescending smile. Ho was then on the boom, as chief literary lion. "How do I know ye're an Oirishman, Paddy?" ho answered, hardly heeding the interruption. "By her accent, my dear boy; her pure, unadulterated Circassian accent ! 'Is Mr. Morrison at home?' I gasped out to the A^ision of Beauty. Tiio Vision of Beauty smiled and nodded — her English being cliietly coniined to smiles, with a Circassian flavour; and led me on by degrees into the great man's presence. I mounted a stair, with a stained-glass window all yellows and browns, very lino and Burne-Jonesey; I passed through a drawing-room in the Stamboul style — conches, rugs, and draperies; and after various corridors — Byzantine, Persian, ]\[oorish — I reached at last a sort of arcaded alcove at the further end, Avhere two men lay leclining on an Eastern divan — one, a fez on liis head, pulling hard at a chibouque; the other, bare-headed, burlding smoke through a hookah. Tho bare-headed one rose : ' Mr. Powell,' says he, waving his hand to present me, ' My friend, Macpherson Psaha! ' I bowed, and looked unconcerned. I wanted them to think I'd lived all my life hob-nobbing with Pashas. AVell, wo talked for a while about the weather and tho crops, and the murder at Mile End, and the state of Islam ; when, presently, of a sudden, IMorrison claps his hatids — so — and another Circassian slave, still more beautiful, enters. " ' Lunch, houri,' says 3[orrison. " ' Tho oifendi is served,' says tho Circassian. " And down we went to the dining-room. Bombay IVAN GREETS MASTERVIECE. 8 blaek-wood, every inch of it, inltiid with ivory. Venetian {^lass on the tublo ; soliil silver on the sideboard. Only US three, if you please, to lunch ; but everythin^^ as spick and span as if the Prince Avas of the company. The three Circassian slaves, in Tjiberty caps, stood behind our chairs — one goddess apiece — and looked after us royally. Chops and porter, indeed! It was a ban(juot for a poet; Ivan Greet sh(juld have been there; he'd have mugged up an ode about it. Clear turtle and {>hablis — the very best brand ; then smelts and sweetbreads ; next lamb and mint sauce ; ortolans on toast ; ice-pudding ; fresh strawberries. A guinea each, strawberries, I give you my word, just now at Covent Garden. Oli, mamma ! what a lunch, buys! The Ilebcs poured champagne from a golden flagon ; that is to say, at any rate " — for I'addy'y eye was upon him — " the neck of the bottle was wrapped in gilt tinfoil. And o\\ the time Morrison talked — great guns, how ho talked I I never heard anything in my life to eipial it. The man's been everywhere, from Peru to Siberia. The man's been everything, from a cowboy to a communard. 'My hair stood on end with half the things he said to me; and I haven't got hair so easily raised as some people's. Was I prepared to sell my soul for Saxon gold at the magnificent rate of five guineas a column ? AVas I prepared to jump out of my skin ! I choked with delight. Hadn't I sold it all along to the enemies of "Wales for a miserable pittance of thirty shillings ? What did he want mo to do? Why, contribute third leaders — you know the kind of thing — tootles on the penny-trumpet about irrelevant items of non-political news — the wit and humour of the fair, best domestic style, informed through- out with wide general culture. An allusion to Aristo- phanes ; a passing hint at Iiabolais ; what Lucian would have said to his friends on this theme ; how the row at the School Board would have affected Sam Johnson. **' But you must remember, i\[r. Powell,' says Mtirri son, 4 IVAN OREErS MASTEJiPIECF. willi an unctuous smile, ' the greater part of our readers ar(! — well, not to put it too fine — country squii'cs and conservative Dissenters. Your articles mustn't hurt their feelings or iirejudiccs. Go warily, warily ! You must stick to the general policy of the paper, and he tenderly respectful to John Wesley's memory." "'.Sir,' said I, smacking his hand, ' for live guineas a column I'd Le tenderly respectful to King Ahab himself, if you cared to insist upon it. You may count on my writing whatever rubhish you desire for the nursery mind,' And I passed from his dining-room into the enchanted alcove. "But before I left, my dear Ivan, I'd heard such things as I never heard before, and been prouiised such pay as seemed to me this morning beyond the dreams of avarice. And oh, M'hat a character ! ' When I was a slave at Khartoum,' the nuin said; <»r 'When T was a school- master in Texas ; ' ' When I lived as a student up live iloors at Heidelberg;' or 'When I ran away with Felix Pyat from the A'ersaillais ; ' till I began to think 'twas the Wandering Jew himself come to life again in Knights- bridge. At last, after coffee and cigarettes on a Cairo tray — with reminiscences of Paraguay — 1 emerged on the street, and saw erect before my eyes a great round Colosseum. 1 seemed somehow to recogni/e it. 'This is iKit Bagdad, then,' 1 said to myself, rubbing my eyes very hard — for I thought I must have been wafted some centuries off, on an enchanted carpet. Then 1 looked once more. Yes, sure enough, it vms the Albert Hall. And there was the Memorial with its golden image. J rubbed my eyes a second time, and hailed a hansom — for there were hansoms about, and ixdicemen, and babies. ' Thank Heaven I ' I cried aloud ; ' after all, this is London ! ' " I IVAN GREETS MASTEItl'IECE. II. "It's a most regrettable incident!" Ivan Greet said solemnly. Tlio rest turned and looked. Ivan Greet was their poet. Ho was tall and thin, with strange, wistful eyes, somewhat furtive in tone, and a keen, sharp face, and lank, long hair that fell loose ou his shoulders. It was a point with this hair to bo always abnormally damp and moist, with a sort of unnatural and impalpable moisture. The little coterie of authors and artists to wliioh Ivan i)elonged regarded him indeed with no small respect, as a great man iwinqnc. Nature, they know, liad designed him for an immortal bard ; circumstances had turned him into an occasional journalist. IJut to them, he represented Art for Art's sake. 80 wlien Ivan said solemnly, " It's a most regrettable incident," every eye in the room turned and stared at him in concert. "Why so, me dear fellow?" I'addy O'Connor asked, open-eyed. " I call it magnificent ! " But Ivan Greet answered warmly, " liecauso it'll tako him still further away than ever from his work in life, which you and I know is science and philosophy." "And yer own grand epic?" Taddy suggested, with a smart smile, pouncing down like a hawk upon him. Ivan Greet coloured — jsositively coloured — "blushed visibly to the naked eye," as Paddy observed afterwards, in recounting the incident to his familiar friend at the United Bohemians. But he stood his ground like a man and a poet for all that. " My own epic isn't written yet —probably never mil be written," he answered, after a l)ause, with quiet firmness. "I give up to the Daily Telephone what was meant for mankind : I acknowledge it freely. Still, I'm sorry when I see any other good man— and most of all Charlie Powell— compelled to lose e il'.LV GREETS MASTEIirTECE. his own soul the Kaiuo way I myself Lavo done." He l)ansed and looked round. *' Boys," ho said, addressing tlic table, "in these days, if any man has anything;- <>ut of the common to say, he mnst he rich and his own master, or he won't he allowed to say it. If he's poor, he has first to earn his living ; and to earn his living he's conipellcd to do work he doesn't want to do — work that stifl(!S the things which burn and struggle for utterance within him. The ^editor is the man who rules the situation ; and what the editor asks is good paying matter. Good pa3'ing matter ( Uiarlio can give him, of course : Charlie can give him, thank Heaven, whatever ho asks for. But this hack-work will draw him further and further afield from the work in life for which God made him — the philosophical reconstitution of the world and the universe for the twentieth century. And that's why I say — and I f^ay it again — a most regrettable incident! '' Charlie Powell set down his glass of champagne un- tasted. Ivan (Jreet was regarded by his narrow little circle of journalistic associates as something of a prophet; and his words, solemnly uttered, sobered Charlie for a while — recalled him with a bound to his better personality. " Ivan's right,'" ho said slowly, nodding his head once or twice. "He's right, ax usual. AWre all of us wasting on weekly middles the talents God gave us for a higher purpose. We know it, every man Jack of us. But Ifeaven help us, I say, Ivan : for how can we help our- selves ? Wo live by bread. Wo must eat bread first, or how can wo write epics or philosophies afterwards? This age demanos of us the sacrifice of our individualities. It will be better some day, perhaps, when Bellamy and AVilliam IMorris have remodelled the world : life will be simpler, and bare living easier. For the present I resign myself to inevitable fate. I'll write middles for Morrison, and eat and drink ; and I'll wait for my philosophy till TVAN GPiEKTS MAf^TKIU'TKCi:. 7 I'iii rich and baKl, und have leiHuro to \vrit(! it in my own hired hoiiso in Fitzjohn's Avenue." Ivan Greet ga>ced across at liini with a serions look in tliose furtive eyes. " Thafs all very Avell f(»r //«»/" he cried half angrily, in a sudden flaring forth of long- suppressed emotion. " Philoso{)hy can wait till a man's rich and hald ; it gains by waiting; it's the l)etter for maturity. But poetry ! — ah, there, 1 hate to talk about it ! Who can begin to set about his divine work when he's turned .sixty and worn out by forty years of uncon- genial leaders? The thing's preposterous. A poet mu.st write when he's young and passionate, or not at all. Ue may go on writing in age, of course, as his blood grows cool, if he's kept up the habit, like Wordsworth and Tennyson : lie may even let it lie by or rust for a time, like Milton or Goethe, and resume it later, if he throws himself meanwhile, heart and soul, into some other oecuijation that carries him away with it resistlessly for the moment ; but spend half his life in degrading his stylo and debasing his genius by working for hire at the beck and call of an editor — lose his birthright like that, and then turn at last with the bald head you speak about to pour forth at sixty his frigid lyrics — I tell you, Charlie, the thing'.s impo.ssible ! The poet must work, the poet must acquire his habits of thought and style and expres- sion in the volcanic period ; if he waits till he's crusted over and encysted with age, he may hammer out rlietoric, ho may string fresh rhymes, but he'll never, never give us one line of real poetry." III. He spoke with tier}' zeal. It was seldom Ivan Greet had au outbreak like this. For the most part he acquiesced, « IVAN GHEETS MASTEIil'IECE. liko all tho rest of us, in tbe supremo dictatorship of Supply and Demand — those economic gods of tho modern book-market. But now and a;^ain rebellious fits canio over him, and he kicked against the pricks with all tho angry impetuosity of a born poet. For tho rest of that night he sat moody and silent. Black bile consumed him. Paddy O'Connor rose and sang with his usual veive tho last new Irisli comic song from the music-halls; Fred Mowbray, from Jamuica, told good stjriesin negro dialect with his wonted exuberance ; (Miarloy Powell bubbled over with spirits and epigrams. l)Ut Ivan Greet sat a little apart, with scarcely a smile on his wistful face; he sat and ruminated. Ife was angry at heart ; the poetic temperament is a temperament of moods ; and e ich mood, once roused, takes possession for the time of a man's wholo nature. So Ivan remained angry, with a remorseful anger ; he was ashamed of liisown life, ashamed of falling short of his own cherished ideals. Yet how could ho help himself? Man, as he truly said, must live by bread, though not by bread alone ; a sufficiency of food is still a condition-precedent of artistic creation. You can't earn your livelihood nowadays by stringing together rhymes, string you never so deftly ; and Ivan had nothing but his pen to earn it with, lie had prostituted that i)en to write harmless little essays on social subjects in the monthly magazines ; his better nature recoiled with horror to-night from the thought of that liateful, that wickud profanation. 'Twas a noisy joarty. Tliey broke up late. Fred Mowbray walked homo along Piccadilly with Ivan. It was one of those dull, wet nights in the streets of London when everything glistens with a dreary reflection from the pallid gas-lamps. Pah ! what weather ! To Fred, West-Indian born, it was utterly hideous. He talked as they went along of the warmth, the sunshine, the breadth of si^ace, the ease of living, in his native islands. AVhat a contrast between those slopjiy pavements, thick with llAN (JliEETti MASTEHVIKCE. yellow 11111(1, ami thosun-smitteu billbitlcH, clad in chann;e- IcHH gret'ii, where the happy nig^jjer lay babkiiig and sprawlin<5 all day long on his hack in the inidNt of his jilaintain patches, while the bountiful sun did tht^ hard work of life f(jr him by ripening his coconuts and mellow- ing his bananas, unasked and untended ! Ivan Greet drank it in. As Fred si)oke, an idea rose np vague and formless in the poet's sotjl. There were countries, then, where earth was still kindly, and human wants still fuw; wiiero Nature, as in the Georgics, supplied even now the primary needs of man's life unbidden I Surely, in such a land as that a poet yet might live; tilling liis own small plot and eating tho fruits of his own slight toil, ho might find leisure to mould without let or hindrance tho tlujught that was in him in(o excjuisite melody. Tho bare fancy fired him. A year or two spent in those delicious climates might enable a man fo turnout what was truestand best in hiiu. Jfe might drink of the spring and bo fed from tho plaintain- patch, like those wiser negroes, but ho would carry with him still all tho inherited wealth of European culture, and speak like a Gieek god under the tropic shade (if . Jamaican cotton- trees. To tho average ratepayer such a scheme would appear the veriest midsummer madness. Uut Ivan (ireet Avas a poet. Now, a poet is a man Avho acts on impulse. And to Ivan the impulse itself was absolutely sacred. Ilo jiaused on the slippery pavement, and faced his companion suddenly. "]Iow much land does it take there for a man to live upon ? " he asked, with hurried energy. Fied Mowbray reflected. " Well, two acres at most, I should say, down in plantain and yam," ho answered, *' would support a family." "And you can buy it?" Ivan went on, with surprising eagerness. "I mean, there's lots to be had — it's always in the market ? " 10 IVAN (UtEETS MASTEIIVIKCII "Lots to he lm; clumps of tropic foliage ; a hillside hut ; dusky faces, red handkerchiefs ; and leisure, leisure, leisure to do the work he liked in ! Oh, soul, whiit a dream! Yer amlnt for Jietty debts at home; no much for outfit, passaj^e money, purchase. Witli two acres of his own ho Could live like a lord cm his yams antl plantains. What sort of food-stulV, indeed, your yam might bo lie hadn't, to say tho truth, tho very faintest conception. I5ut who cares for such detail ? It was freedom ho wanted, not tho flesh-pots of Egypt. And freedom ho would have to work out his own nature. IV. There was commotion on tho hillside at St. Thomas-in- the-Valo one brilliant blazing noontide a few weeks later. Clemmy burst ui)on tho group that sat lounging on tho ground outside tho hut-door with most unwonted tidinirs. " You hear dem sell dat i>icce o' land nex' bit to Tammas ? " she cried, all agog with excitoment ; " you hear dem sell it?" Old Kacliel looked up, yawning. " What do gal a-ialk- ing about?" sho answered testily, for (dd liachel was toothless. "Folk all know dat— him hear tell lon^; ago. Sell dem two acre las' week, Peter sa}-, to 'tranger down a' Kingston." "Yes, an' do 'tranger come up," Clemmy burst out, hardly able to contain herself at so astounding an incident, " an' what you tink him is? " Ilim doan't nagiir at all ! Him reel buckra gentleman ! " , I'~' IVAN GREETS MASTERPIECE. A tjhrill wliiHtlc of surprise and subdued unbelief ran sharply round the little eluster of scpiatting negroes. " Ilim buckra?" Peter Foddergill repeated to himself, half incredulous. Peter was Clemmy's stepfather; fur Clemmy was a brown girl, and old liachel, her mother, was a full-blooded negress. Ilev paternity was lost in the dim past of the island. " Yes, him l)uckra," Cletumy repeated in a very firm voice. "Him reel white buckra. Ilim come up to take do land, an' him gwino to lib dere." " It doan't can true ! " old liachel cried, rousing her- self. " It doan't can possible. l>uckra gentleman doan't can come an' lib on two-acre plot alongside o' black nagur. Him gwine to sell it agin; dat what it is; or else him gwino to gib it to some nagur leeady. AVhito buckra doan't can lib all alone in St. Tammas." ]jut Clemmy was positive. "No, no," she cried, un- moved, shaking her comely brown head, with its crimson bandanna — for she was a pretty girl of her sort was Clemmy. " Him gwino to lib dere. Him tell me so himself. Him gwnne to build hut on it, an' plant it down in plantain. Him berry pretty gentleman, wit' long hair on him shoulder; him hab eyes (juick and sharp all same like weasel; and when him smile, him look kinder nor anj'ting. lint him say him come out from England for good becos him lub better to lib in Jamaica ; an' hini gwine to build him hut here, and lib same like nagur." In a moment the little cluster of negro hovels was all a-buzz with conjecture, and hubbub, and wonderment. Only the small black babies were left sprawling in the dust, with the small black i>igs, beside their mothers' doors, so that you could hai\iiy tell at a glance which was which, as they basked there ; all the rest of the population, men, women, and children, with that trilling exception, made a general stami)ede with one accord for the plot next to Tammas's. A. buckra come to live on the IVA.W GREETS MASTERVIECK. 13 liillsido in tlieir midst I A buckra goin<^ to Lnild a little liut like their own! A buckra j^oing to cultivate a two- acre plot with yam and i)lantain I They were a_i;hast witii surprise. It was wonderful, w^ojidcrful ! For .famaica negroes don't keep abreast of the Movement, and they didn't yet know the ways of our latter-day pro^diets. As for Ivan Greet himself, ho was fairly surprised in turn, as he stood there in his shirt-sleeves surveying his estate, at this sudden eruption of good-humoured bar- barians, ilow they grinned and chattered ! What teeth ! what animation ! lie had bought his two acres with the eye of faith at Kingston from their lawful proprietor, knowing nothing but their place on the plan set before him. Tiiat morning ho had come over by train to Spanish Town, and tramped through the wcjndrous defile of tho r»og Walk to Linstead, and asked his way thence by devious bridle-paths to liis own new property on the hillside at St. Thomas. ( 'onveyancing in Jamaica is but an artless art ; having acquired his plot by cash payment on the nail, Ivan was left to his own devices to identify and demarcate it. I'ut Tammas's acre was marked on the map in ccmspicuous blue, and defined in leal life by a most warlike boundary fence of prickly aloes ; while a do/.cu friendly I'egioes, all amazement at the sight, were ri-ady to assist him at once in finding and measuring ofT the adjacent piece duly outlined in red on the dui)licitc plan he had got with his title-deed. It was a very nice plot, with a very fine view, in a very sweet site, on a very green hillside. But Ivan (Jreel, tJKJUgh young and strong with the wiry strength of the tail tliiu Cornishman, was weary and hot after a lou"- morning's tramp under a tropical suii, and somewhat taken aback (as well he might be, indeed) at the strange- ness and squalor of his new surroundings. He had pulled off his coat and laid it down upon tho ground ; and now he sat on it in his shirt-sleeves for airiness and coolness. 14 IVAN GltEKTS MASTEEl'IECE. His heart sauk fur a moment us ho gazed in dismay at the thick and spiky jungle of tropical scrub ho would have to stub up before ho could begin to plant his first yam or banana. Tliat was a point, to say the truth, which had hardly entered into liis calculations before- hand in England, lie had figured to himself the pine- apples and plantains as a going concern ; the coconuts dropping down their ready-made crops ; tlie brcatlfruits eternally ripe at all times and seasons. It was a bhock to him to find mother-earth so encumbered with an alien irrowth ; ho must tickle hor with a hoc ere she smiletl with a harvest. Tickle hor Avith a hoo indeed ! It was a cutlass ho would need to hack down that matted mass of bristling underbru.sh. And htnv was he to live meanwhile? That was now the (question. His money was all spent save a couple of pounds, for his estimates had err(Hl, as is the way of estimates, rather on the side of deficiency than of excess ; and ho was now loft half-stranded. But his doubts on this subject were (quickly dispelled by the nnexpoctod good-naturo of his negro neighh(nirs. As soon as those simple folk began to realize, by dint of question and answer, that the buekra meant actually to settle down in their midst, and live his life as they did, their kindliness and their offers of help knew no stint or moderation. The novelty of tho idea fairly took them by storm. They chuckled and guffawed at it. A buekra from England — a gentleman in dress and accent and manner (for negroes know what's what, and can judge those things as well as you or I can) come of his own free-will to build a hut like their own, and live on tho tilth of two acres of plantain ! It was splendid ! it was wonderful ! They entered into tho spirit of the thing with true negro zest. " Hoy, massy, dat good now ! " They would have done anything for Ivan — anything, that is to t^iiy, that involved no more than the average amount of negro exertion. IVAN GJlEh'T'S MASTEUilECK. 15 As for tho buckra himxolf, thus finding; hiinsolf suddenly in tho midst of new friends, all eager to hear of his i)lan8 and intentions, ho came out in his best colours under stress of their welcome, and showed himself for what ho was — a great-hearted gentleman. Sympathy always begets sympathy. Ivan accepted thoir proffered services with a kindly smile of recognition and gratitude, which to those good-natured folk seoined most condescending and generous in a real live white man. The news spread like wild-fire. A buckra had come who loved the nagur. Before three hours were over every nxan in tho hamlet had formed a high ojunion of Mistah CJ reefs moral (|ualitics. "Doan't nebber see buckra like a' dis one afore," old Peter murmured musingly to his cronies on tho hillside. "Ilim doari't got no pride, 'cop de pride ob a gentleman. Ilim talk to you and me same as if ho tink us buckra like him. Hey, nuissy, massa, him good man fe' true ! Wonder what make him want to come lib at y t. Tammas ? " y. That very iirst day, before tho green and gold of tropical sunset had ftvded into tho solemn grey of twilight, Ivan Greet had decided on the site of his new hut, and begun to lay the foundations of a rude wooden shanty with tho willing aid of his new black associates. Half tho men of the community buckled to at tho work, and all tho women : for tho women felt at once a novel glow of sympathy and unspoken compassion towards tho unknown white man with the wistful oyes, who had como across tho great sea to cast in his lot with theirs under tho waving palm-trees. Now, your average 16 IVAN GREETS MASTERVIECE. Degress can do as iiiiich hard labour as an English uavvy ; and as the men found the timber and tlic posts for tho corners without money or price, it came to pass that by evening that day a fair framework for a wattk-d hut of hue African pattern stood already four-square to all tho airts of heaven in the middle frontage of Ivan Greet's two acres. But it was roofless, of course, and its walls were still unbuilt : nothing existed so far but the bare S(|Uaro outline. It had yet to receive its wattled sides, and to bo covered in on top with a picturesque waterproof thatch of fan-palm. Still, it was a noble hut as huts went on the hillside. Ivan and his fellow-workers stood and gazed at it that evening as they struck work for the day with profound admiration for their own cunning handicraft. And now came the question where Ivan was to sleep, and what to do for his supper. lie had doubts in his own mind how all this could be managed, liut Clommy had none ; Clemmy was tho only brown girl in the little communit}', and as such, of course, she claimed and received an acknowledged precedence. "I shall have to sleep Komcirhere," Ivan murmured, somewhat ruefully, gazing round him at the little cluster of half-barbarous cottages. " Ihit how — Heaven help me ! " And Clemmy, nodding her head with a wise little smile, made answer naturally — - " You gwine sleep at me fader, sah ; wo got berry nice room. You doan't can go an' sleep wit' all dom common nagur dab." " I'm not very rich, you know," Ivan interposed hastily, with something very like a half-conscious blush • — though, to be sure, he was red enough already with his unwonted exertion in that sweltering atmosphere. "I'm not very rich, but I've a little still left, and I can afford to pay — well, whatever you think would be proper — for bed and board till I can get my own house up." IVAN GltEETS MASTEIiPIECK. 17 Clemiuy waved Iu'tji aside, morally speaking, with frue negro dignity. " Wo imite you, sali," she said proudly, like a lady in the land (which ,she was at St. Thomas). " When we ax gentleman to stop, we doan't want nuffin paid for him board and lodgin'. AVe ofler you do hosjiitality of our house an' home till your own house finish. Christen people doan't can do no less dan dat, I hope, for de homeless 'tranger." She spoke with such grave politeness, such uncon- sciousness of the underlying humour of the situation, that Ivan, with his quickly sympathetic poet's heart, raised his hat in return, as he answered with e([ual gi-avity, in the tone he might have used to a groat lady in England — '• It's awfully kind of you. 1 appreciate your good- ness. I shall accept with pleasure the hospitality you offer me." Old Peter grinned delight from ear to ear. It was a feather in his cap thus to entertain in his hut the uoLility and gentry. Though, to be sure, 'twas his right, as the acknowledged stepfather of the only undeniable brown girl in the wIkjIc community. For a brown girl, mark you, serves, to a certain extent, as a patent of gentility in the household she adorns ; she is a living proof of the fact that the family to which she belongs has been in the habit of mixing with white society. " You come along in, sah ! " ohl Peter cried cheerily. " You tired wit' dat work. You doan't accustom' to it. AN'hite gentleman from England find de sun berry hot out heah in Jamaica, You take dio[) o' rum, sail, or you like coconut water ? " Ivan modestly preferred the less spirituous liquor to the wine of the country ; so Clemmy, much flattered, and not a little fluttered, brought out a fresh green coconut, and sliced its top ofli" before his eyes with one slash of the 18 /J'/l.V GUKKTS MASTEHVIKCK. knife, and pourocl tlie limpid juice (vvliirh caiue furtli clear as crystal, not thick and milky) into a Lowl-sliapod calaLash, which she offered with a graceful bow for their visitor'^ acceiitauce. Ivan seated himself on the ground jnst outside the hut as he saw the negroes do (for the air inside was hot, and close, and stifling), and took with real pleasure his first long pull at that delicious Leverage. "Why, it's glorious!" he exclaimed, with unfeigned enthusiasm (for ho was hot and tiiirsty), turning the empty calabash upside down before his entertainers' eyes, to let them see he fully appreciated their rustic attentions, "(^uite different from the coconuts one gets in London! So fresh, and pure, and cool ! It's almost worth coming out to Jamaica to taste it." Clemmy smiled her delight. Was ever buckra so affable ! Then she brought out a spoon — common pewter, or the like^ — which she wiped on her short skirt with unaffected. simi)licity, and handed it to hiin gravely. After that she gave him the coconut itself, with the soft jelly inside, which Ivan proceeded to scoop out, and eat before her eyes with evident reli.sh. A semi-circle of admiring negroes and negresses stood round and looked on — "Hey, massy, massa ! him da eat de coconut!" — as though the sight of a white man taking jelly with a spoon were some startling novelty. Now, Ivan was modest, as becomes a poet; but he managed to eat on, as little disconcerted by their attentions as possible; for ho saw, if he was to live for some time among these people, how necessary it was from tlie very beginning to conciliate and please them. The coconut finished, Clemmy produced boiled 3'am and a little salt fish ; she brought forth butter in a lordly dish, and sat down by Ivan's side to their frugal supper. Being a brown girl, of course she could venture on such a liberty with an invited guest ; old Peter and her mother, as two pure-blooded blacks, sat a little apart tVA.\ GREI'TS MA.^rElU'IECK. lit I'roin their now friend iind their daughter, nut tu seem too presumptuous. And still, as Ivan eat, the admirin<; chorus ran round the semi-circle, " I ley, massy, but dat fine I hey, massj-, but him no proud ! My king ! you see him eat ! You ebbcr know buckra do de same like a' dat afore ? " That night — his first night in the Jamaican mountains — Ivan slept in old Peter's hut. It was narrow and close, but ho opened the wooden window as wide as possible to let in the fresh air, and lay with his head to it; he was young and strong, and had a fancy for rougliing it. Next morning, early, he was up Avith his hosts, and afoot, lor his work, while still the Southern sun hung low in the heavens. Fresh ])lantains and breadfruit, with a draught from a C(Jconut, made up the bill of faro for his simple breakfast; Ivan thought them not bad, though a trille unsatisfying. JMiat day, and several days after, he passed on his plot ; the men — great hulking blacks — gave him a heliting hand by fits and starts at his job, though less eagerly than at first; the women, more faithful to their waif from oversea, worked on with a will at the wattling and thatching. As for Clemmy, she took a porsrmal interest in the building fron\ l)eginning to end ; she regarded it with a vague sort of propiietary pride; she spoke of it as " de house " in the very phrase we all of us use ourselves about the place we're engaged in building (•r furnishing. At last, after a i'.trtnight, the hut was finished. Tlu^ entire hillside turned out with groat joy to ceh'brat«' its inauguration. They lighted a bonfire of the brushwood and scrub they had cleared olf the little blank platform in front of the door; each man brought his own rum; Ivan spent some five of his hoarded shillings in sup})lyiug refreshments for his assembled neighbours. Such a house- warming had never before been known in St. Thomas. Till late that evening, little groups sat round the embers 20 IVAN GREETS MASTERPIECE. and baked yam and sweet i^otatoes in tho hot wood-ashes. It was after midnight when tho crowd, well-drunken, began to disperse. Then they all went away, one by one — except Clemniy. Ivan looked at her inquiringly. She hung her head and hesitated. " You tink buckra gentleman can lib alone in house widout serbant?" she asked, at last, in a very timid tone. " You doan't want housekeeper? Buckra must hab some- one to cook for him an' care for him. You no want me to go. I tink I make good housekeeper." " Of course," Ivan answered, with a gleam of compre- hension, " I never thought ahout that. AVhy, just the right thing. ITow very kind of you ! I can't cook for myself. I suppose I must have somebody to mannge aliout boiling the yams and plantains." VI. So, for eight or ton months, Ivan rrrcct lived on in his wattled hut on that Jamaican hillside. lie was dead to the world, and the world to him ; he neither wrote to nor heard from any friend in England. In the local planters' phrase, he simply " went nigger." AVhat little luggage he possessed ho had left at Spanish Town station while he built his hut ; as soon as ho was fully installed in his own freehold house, and had got his supplies into Avorking order, ho and Clemmy started oft' for Spanish Town to- gether, and brought it back, with much laughter, turn about, between them. Clemmy bore the big box on her head, whenever her turn came, as she was accustomed to carry a pail of water. It contained the small wardrobe he brought out from England, and more important still I\■A^ GREETS MASTERPIECE. 21 the peu, iuk, and paper, Avitli which ho was to write — his immortal masterpiece. Not tliat Ivan was in any liurry to be^^in his «;rcat task. Freedom and leisure were the keynotes of the Bituation. He would only sot to work when the impulse came upon him. And just at first neitlier freedom nor leisure nor impulse was his. ITo had his ground to prepare, his yams and bananas to plant, his daily bread, or daily breadfruit, to procure, quite as truly as in England. Though, to be sure, Clemmy's friends were most generous of their store, with that unconscious communism of all primitive societies. They offered what they had, and ofTered it freely. And Ivan, being a poet, accepted their gifts more frankly by far than most others could have done : ho would repay them all, he said, with a grateful glance in those furtive eyes of his, when his crop was ready. The negroes in turn liked him all the better for that; they were proud t(j be able to lend or give to the buckra from England. It raised them no little in their own esteem to find the white man so willing to chum with them. Five or six weeks passed away after Ivan had taken possession of his hut before he attempted to turn his hand to an}' literary work. Meanwhile, he was busily occupied in stubbing and planting, with occasional help from his negro allies, and the constant aid of those over-faithful negresses. Even after he had settled down to a quiet life under his own vine and fig-tree, some time went past before the spirit moved him to undertake composition. To say the truth, this dolcv far nlentc world exactly suited him. Poets are lazy by nature — or, shall we put it, con- templative ? AVhon Ivan in England first dreamt of this strange scheme, ho looked forward to it as a noble stroke for faith and freedom, a sacrifice of his own personal worldly comfort to the work in life that was set before him. And so, indeed, it was, from the point of view of the flesh-pots of Egypt, But flesh-pots, after all, don't fill 2-2 IVAN GREETS MASTEIi PIECE. so large a place in human oxistcnco as civilization faucicK. Whon he found himself at last at ease on his hillside, ho was surprised to di.- cover how delightful, how poetical, how elevated is savagery. lie sat all day long on the ground under the plantains, in shirt and trousers, with Clenimy hy his side, or took a turn for exercise now and again in the cool of the evening through his sprouting yam plot. l\'ilni-leaves whispered in the wind, mangoes glowed on the branches, pomegranates cracked and reddened, huniming-hirds di?rted swift in invisible flight from iiower to flower of the crimson hibiscus. What need to hurry in such a land as this, where all the world at ouco eats its lotus in harmony? After a while, however, inspiration camo U]»on him. It (!amo unsought. It hunted him up and constrained him. I To brought forth pen and paper to the door of the liul, and, sitting there in the broad shade (Clemmy still at his side), began from time to time to jot down a sentence, a thought, a phrase, a single word, exactly as they camo to him. ]re didn't work hard. To work hard, indeed, or, in other words, to spur his Pegasus beyond its natural pace, was to Ivan nothing short of sheer worldly infidelity. Jiiterature is the realization of one's inmost personality in external form. He wanted freedom for that very purjjose — that ho might write the thing he would in the way that occurred to him. But slowly, none the loss, a delicate picture grew up by degrees on the canvas before him. It wasn't a poem : the muse didn't move him just so to verse, and he would be true to the core to her. It was a littlo romance, a vignette of tropical life, a Paul ct Yirginie picture of the folk he saw then and there on the hilLs'de. And, indeed, the subject exactly suited him. A Bohemian in tho grain, the easy, Bohemian life of these children of nature in their wattled huts appealed to him vividly. For a month or so now ho had lived in their midst as one of themselves; ho had caught their IVAN aiiEETS MASTETtriECE. 23 vciy tone ; ho liu I leiinicd to nndovstaiid tlieiu, to know tliem, to Hympathizc with thcni. '' I'll toll you what it is, bir," a (li.s.sii»;itt(l yoiiiij; |tlaiitir had naid to him at Kingston dnrinj; the few days ho spent thoiv, *' people may say what thoy like about this blonsed Island ; bnt what I say's this, it's a jolly good place to livo in, all tho sauie, where rum is cheap and morals is lax ! " Not so did tho poet's eye envisafi;o that Ijlack Arcadii. 'J'o Ivan it was an Eden of tho ('aribbean Seas; ho loved it fur its simj)licity, its naturalness, its utter absence of ;^uilo or wilo or self-consciouHness. 'Twas a land indeed where the Queen's writ ran not; where tho moral law bore but feeblo sway ; where men and women, as free as tho wind, lived and loved in their own cajjricious, ancestral fashion. Its ethics were certainly not tho ethics of that hateful Mavfair from which he liad fled in search of freedom. But life was real, if life was not earnest ; no sham was there, no veiled code of pretence ; what all tho world did all tho world frankly and openly acknowledged. Censors and censorionsness were alike unknown. Every man did that v.aich was right in his own eyes, and no man hindered him. In such an environment what space for idylls I Never, since Theocritus, had poet's eye beheld anything like it. In tho midst of this noi/ world ho so thoroughly understood and so deeply appreciated Ivan Greet couldn't help but burst into song, or at least into romance of Arcadian pattern. Day by day ho sat at tho door of his hut, or strolled through tho hamlet, with a nod and a smile for black Kose or black liobert, noting as ho went their little words and ways, jotting mentally down on tho tablets of his brain each striking phrase or tune or native pose or incident. So his idyll took shape of itself, he hardly knew how. It Avas ho that held tho pen ; it was nature herself that dictated the plot, tho dialogue, tho episodes. In the evenings, whenever tho fancy seized him, ho 21 IVAN GHEETS MAHTFMVIECK. would sit Jiiid read uluiid wliut. lio luid written diiriiiij; tlio day to liis ('oinpani(»n Cleminy. Tliero, in the balmy !j;,Iow of tro^tical dust, with the mmwot li<5litin<;; up in pink or purple the page as ho read it, and the broo/o rustling soft through the golden loaveH of the star-apple, that Kiin})le tale of a isini[)lc life was uttered and lu-ard in its native world, to the fullest advantage. But Clcmniy ! As for Cleuiniy, she sat entraueed ; was there ever so grand a man on earth as Ivan? Never before had that brown girl known there was anything other in the way of books than the Bible, the hymn-book, and the a, u, c, in whieh she learned to read at the negro village-school down yonder at Linstead. And now, Ivan's tale awoke a new interest, a fresh delight within her. She under- stood it all the better in that it was a truthful tale of her own land and her own people. Time, place, surroundings, all were wholly familiar to her. It matle her laugh a low laugh of surprise and pleasure to see how Ivan hit off with one striking phrase, one deft timch, one neat epitliet, the people and things she had known and mixed with from her cailicst childhood. In a word it was Clemmy's first glimpse into literature. Now, Clemmy was a brown girl, and clever at that. European blood of no mean strain flowed in her veins — the blood of an able English naval family. Till Ivan came, indeed, she had lived the life and thought the thoughts of the people around her. But her new companion wakened higher chords, unsus- pected by herself, in her inner nature. Hho revelled in his idyll. Oh, how sweet they were, those evenings on the hillside, when Ivan took her into his conhdence, as it were, and poured forth into her ear that dainty tale that would have fallen so flat on the dull ears of her com- panions ! For Clemmy know now she was better than the rest. She had always prided herself, of course, like every brown girl, on her ennobling mixture of European blood; though she never know quite why. This book IVAX aUEET'.S MASrEIil'IhCK. 25 rcvoalod it to her. Sho realized now how iuhcritaneo had given her suiiicthinut that night, after supper, when she took his liand in liers, as was her wont of an evening, she drew back in surprise. "Why, Ivan," she cried, all cold witli terror, "your hand too hot ! You done got de fever I " " Well, I don't feel quite the thing," Ivan admitted grudgingly. "I've chills down my back and throbbing }iain in my head. 1 think I'll turn in and try some (juinine, ( 'lemmy." ( Uemmy's heart sank at once. She put him to bed on the rough sack in the hut that served for a mattress, and sent Peter post haste down to Linstead for the doctor. It was hours before he came ; he was dining with a frieml ata"pcnu"on the mountains; lie wouldn't Inirry him- s(ilf for the " white trash" who had "gone nigger" on the hillside. ]\Icanwhile ( 'lemmy gat watcliing, all inward horror, by Ivan's bedside. Long before the doctor arrived her Englishman was delirious. Tropical diseases run their course witli appalling rapidity. ]{y the time the doctor came he looked at the patient with a careless eye. All llio world round about had lieard of the white man who " lived witli the niggers," and despised liim accordingly. " Yellow fever," ho said calmly, in a very cold voice. " lie can't be moved, and he can't be nursed hero. A l»retty piggery this for a white man to die in ! " Clemniy clasped her hands hard. " To die in ! " she echoed aloud. " To die in ! To die in ! " "Well, he's not likely to live, is ho?" the doctor answered, with a sharp little laugh. " I'ut we'll do what we can. lie must bo nursed day and night, and kept cool and well-aired, and have arrowroot and brandy 28 IVAN GREETS MASTERPIECE. every half-hour, awako or asleep — a couple of teaspoon- fuls. I suppose you can got some other girl to help you sit up with him ? " To help her sit up with him I Clcmmy shuddered at the thought. She would have sat up with him herself every night for a century. What was sleep or rest to her when Ivan was in danger ! For the next three days she never moved from his side except to make fresh arrowroot by the fire outside the hut, or to bring back a calabash of clear water from the rivulet. But how could nursing avail ? The white man's constitution was already broken down by the hardships and l)ad food, nay, even by the very idleness of the past ten months ; and that hut was, indeed, no fit place to tend him in. The disease ran its coTirso with all its fatal swiftness. From the very first night Ivan never for a moment recovered consciousness. On the second he was worse. On the third, with the suddenness of that treacherous climate, a tropical thunder- storm burst over them unawares. It chilled the air fast. Before it had rained itself out with peal upon peal and flash upon flash, in quick succession, Ivan Greet had turned on his side and died, and Clemmy sat alone in the hut Avith a corpse, and her unborn baby. VIII. For a week ov two the world was a blank to Clemmy. She knew only one thing — that Ivan had left her two sacred legacies. To print his book, to bring up his child — those were now the tasks in life set before her. From the very first moment she regarded the manuscript of his masterpiece with the profoundest reverence. Even before six stalwart negroes in their Sunday clothes came to bury IVAN GllEETS MASTERPIECE. 2!) her deail poet on the slope of the hill.sitle under .amurnun- ing clump of feathery bamboos, she had taken out that i)rccious bundle of papers from Ivan's box in tho corner, which served as sofa in the bare little shanty, and had wrapped it up tenderly in his big silk handker- chief, and replaced it with care, and locked up the box again, and put the key, tied by a string, round her neck on her own brown bosom. And when Ivan was gone for ever, and her tears were dry enough, she went to that box every night and morning, and unrolled the handker- chief reverently, and took out the unprinted book, and read it here and there — with pride and joy and sorrow — and folded it up again and replaced it in its ark till another evening. iSho knew nothing of books — till tliis one ; it had never even struck her they were the outcome of human brains and hands : bat she knew it was her business in life now to puldish it. Ivan Greet was gone, and, but for those two legacies he left behind him, she would have wished to die — she would have died, as negroes can, by merely wishing it. But now she couldn't. She must live for his child ; she must live for his idyll. It was a duty laid upon her. She knew not how — but somehow, some time, she must get that book printed. Six weeks later, her baby was born. As it lay on her lap, a dear, little, soft, round, creamy-brown girl — hardly brown at all, indeed, but a delicate quadroon, with deep chestnut hair and European features — she loved it in her heart for its father's sake chicflv. It was Ivan's child, made in Ivan's likeness. They christened it A'aiina ; 'twas the nearest feminine form she could devise to Ivan. But even the baby — her baby, his baby — seeaied hardly more alive to Clemmy herself than the manuscript that lay wrapped with scented herbs and leaves in the box in tho corner. For that was all Ivan's, and it spoke to her still with his authentic voice — his own very words, his tone, his utterance. IMany a time she took it out, as baby i :>() rVAN GREKVS MASiERPtKCll lay asleep, with tender eyolid.s closed, on the bod where Ivan had died (for sanitary science and knowledge of the germ theory haven't spread much as yet to St. Thomas- in-thc-Yale) and read it aloud in her own sing-song way> and laughed and cried over it, and thought to herself, time and again, " lie wrote all that I How wonderful ! how beautiful ! " As soon as over she was well cnougli, after baby came, Ciemmy took that sacred manuscript, reverently folded still in its soft silk handkerchief, among its fragrant herbs, and Avith baby at her breast, trudgdl by herself along the dusty road, some twenty-five miles, all the way into Kingston. It was a long, hot walk, and she Avas Aveak and ill ; but Ivan's book must be printed, let it cost her Avhat it might ; she would Avork herself to death, but she must manage to print it. She knew nothing of his family, his friends in England ; she knew nothing of publishing, or of the utter futility of getting the tyiio set at a Kingston printing-office ; she only kncAV this — that Ivan Avrute that book, and that, before he died, he meant to get it printed. After a Aveaiy trudge, buoyed only by vague hopes of fulfilling Ivan's hist Avisli, she reached the baking streets of the grim Avhito city. To her that s(iualid seaport seemed a very big and bustling town. Wandering there by herself, alone and afraid, down its unwonted thoroughfares, full of l)lack men and Avhite, all hurrying on their oAvn cri'ands, and all Cfjually strange to her, she came at last to Henderson's, tlie ])rintcr's. AV'ith a ver}^ timid air, she mustered up courage to enter the shop, and unfolded Avith trembling fingers her sacred burden. The printer stared hard at her. "Not your OAvn, I suppose?" he said, turning it over Avith a curious eye, like any common manuscript, and evidently amused at the bare idea of a book by an u]»- country broAvn girl. And Olemmy, half aghast that any man shuuM touch TVAS (GREETS MASTEliriEGE. 31 that holy volic so lightly, made answer very low, " No, not me own. Mo fren's. ITim dead, and I want to know how much yon ax to print him." The man ran hin eye throngh it, and calculated roughly. " On paper like this," ho said, after jotting down a few figures, " five hundred copies would stand you in something like flve-and- thirty poundj^, exclusive of hinding." rive-and-thirty pounds! (,'lcmmy drew a long breath. It was appalling, impossible. " Vou haven't got so much about you, I suppose ! " the printer went on, with a laugh. Clemmy's eyes filled with tears. Five-and-thirty pounds ! And a brown girl ! "Was it likely? " I doan't want it print jes' yet," she answered, with an effort, liardly keeping back her tears. " I only come to ax — walk in all de way from St. Tammas-in-de-Vale, so make mo tired. Bime-by, p'raps, I print him — when I done got de money. I doan't got it jes' yet — but I'm gwine home to get it." And home she went, heavy-hearted ; home she went to got it. Five-and-thiity pounds, but she meant to earn it. Tramp, tramp, tramp, she trudged along to St. Thomas. Between the pestilential lagoons on the xon,i\ to Spanish Town she thouglit it all out. r>efore she reached the outskirts, with her baby at her breast, she had already matured her plan of campaign for the future. < 'ome wliat might, she must make enough money to print Ivan Greet's masterpiece. She was only a brown girl, l)ut she was still in possession of the two-acre plot ; and possession is always nine points of the law, in Jamaica as in England. Indeed, with her simple West Indian notions of pro])rietorship and inheritance, Clemmy never doubted for a moment they were really her own, as much as if she were Ivan's lawful widow. Nobody had yet come to disturb or evict her ; nobody had the right, in Jamaica at least : for Ivan Greet's lieirs, 82 IVAN GREETS MASTERPIECE. executors, and assigns slumbered at peace, five thousand miles away, over.>^ea in England. So, as Clemmy tramped on, along the dusty high road, and between the malarious swamps, and through the grey streets of dismantled Spanish Town, and up the grateful coolness of the Rio Cobro ravine to her homo in St. Thomas, she said to herself and to his bab}' at her breast a thousand times over how she would toil and nxoil, and save and scrape, and earn money to print his last work at last as he meant it to be printed. IX. And she worked with a will. She didn't know it was a heroic resolve on her part ; she only knew she had got to do it. She planted yam and coffee and tobacco. Coffee and tobacco need higher cultivation than the more thriftless class of negroes usually care to bestow upon them ; but Clemmy was a brown girl, and she worked as became the descendant of so many strenuous wdiito ancestors. She could live herself on the j'anis and bread- fruit; when her crop was ripe she could sell the bananas and coffee and tobacco, and hoard up the money she got in a belt round her waist, for she never could trust all that precious coin away from her own person. From the day of her return, she worked hard with a will ; and on market-days she trudged down with her basket on her head and her baby in her arms to sell her surplus produce in Linstead market. Every quattie she earned she tied up tight in the girdle round her waist. When the quatties reached eight she exchanged them for a shilling — one shilling more towards the thirty-five pounds it would cost her to print Ivan Groot's last idyll ! The people in St. Tliomas were kind to Clemmy. "Him IVAN GliEETS MASTKIU'lKCh:. 83 doan't nobber get ober de biickra deaf," they 8uid. ''Him take it berry to heart. Iliin Inb him fc' true, dat gal wit' do buckra!" So they helped her still, as thoy had helped Ivan in his lifetime. Many a one gave her an hour's work at lier plot when the drought theatened badly, or aided her to get in her yams and sweet potatooa before the rainy season. Clemmy was an Old Connexion Baptist. They all belonged to the Old Connexion in the liinstead district. Your negro is strong on doctrinal theolugy, and ho likes the practical sense of sins visibly washed away by total immersion. It gives him a comfortable feeling of efllcient regeneration which no mere infant sprinkling could possibly emulate. One morning, on the hillside, as Clemmy stood in her plot hy a graceful clump of waving bamboos, hacking down with her cutlass the weeds that encumbered her precious coffee-bushes — the bushes that were to print Ivan Greet's last manuscript — of a sudden the minister rode by on his monntain pony — sleek, smooth- faced, oleaginous, the very picture and embodiment of the well-fed, negro-paid, np-coimtry missionary. He halted on the path — a mere ledge of bridle-truck — as ho passed where she stood bending down at her labour. "Hey, Clemmy," the minister cried in his half-negro tone — for, though an Englishman born, he had lived among his flock on the mcmntains so long that ho had caught at last its very voice and accent — " thoy toll me this good-for-nothing white man's dead who lived in the hut lure. Perhaps it was better so ! Instead of tr^'ing to raise and improve your people, he had sunk himself to their lowest level. So you've got his hut now! And what are you doing, child, with the cofiTeo and tobacco?" Clemmy 's face burned hot ; this was sheer desecration I The flush almost showed through her dusky brown skin, so intense was her indignant wrath at hearing her dead Ivan described by that sleek fat creature as a "good-for-nothing :•.! IVAN (iUEETS MASTER 1' I hClL white man." JJut she answered back bravely, " Him good friend to mo Ui true, sah. I doan't know nuftin' 'bout what make hiui came hoah, but I nebber see bnckra treat nagur anywhere same way like he treat dem. An' I lubbed him true. And I growin' dem crop dah to prin' de book him gone left behind him." The minister reflected. This was sheer contumacy. " Piut the land's not yours," he said testily. " It belongs to the man's relations — his heirs or his creditors. Unless of course," he added, after a paTise, just to make things sure, " ho left it by will to you." " No, sah, him doant make no will," Clemmy answered, trembling, " an' him doan't leave it to anybody, But ] lib on do land wdiilc Ivan lib, an' I doan't gwine to quit it fur no one on cart' now him dead and buried." "Yon were his housekeeper, I think," the minister went on, musing. And (.'Icmmy, adopting that nsual euphemism of the country Avhore such relations are habitual, made answer, lianging her head, " Yes, sah, I was him housekeeper." " "What was his name?" the minister asked, takiiig out !i small note-book. "Dem call him Ivan Greet," Clemmy answered in- cautiously. " Ivan dreet," the minister repeated, stroking his smooth double chin and reflecting inwardly. "Ivan (Jreet! Ivan Greet! No doubt a Russian! . . . AVell, ( Uemmy, you must remember, this land's not yours ; and if only we can find out where Ivan Greet belonged, and write to his relations — wdiich is, of course, our plain duty — you'll have to give it up and go back to your father." Ife shook his pony's reins. " Get up, Duchess ! " he cried calmly. "Good morning, Clemmy; good morning." " Marnin', sah," Clemmy answered, Avith a vague fore- boding, her heart standing still with chilly fear within her. ]VAN GllKErS MASTEIil'IECH. 35 Ijiit, us suou as th(.' ininistei's ainplo back was turneil, she laid tlowD lier cutlass, took up little Vanna from the ground beside her, pressed the child to her breast, and rushed with passionate tears to the box in the hut that contained, in many folds, his precious manuscript. She took the key from her neck, and unlocked it eagerly. Then slie brought forth the handkerchief, unwound it with care, and stared hard through her tears at that sacred title-])age. His relations indeed! Who was nearer him than herself? Who had over so much right to till that plot of land as she who was the guardian of his two dying legacies? She would use it to feed his child, and to print liis last bonk. She could kill his owmi folk if they came there to take it from her ! X. For weeks and weeks after that, C'lemmy worked on iii fe.'ir and trembling. Would Ivan's friends come out to claim that precious plot from her — the plot that was to publish his immortal masterpiece? For she knew it was immortal; had not Ivan himself, w^iile he read it, explained so much to her? r)Ut slowly she plucked up heart, as week after week passed away undisturbed, and no inter- loper came to destroy her happiness. She began to believe the minister had said rather more than ho meant ; he never had Avritten at all to Ivan's folk in Fntrlaml. Month after month slipped away; and the mango season came, and the tobacco leaves were picked in good condition and sold, and the coftee-berries ripened. Negro friends passed her hut, nodding kindly salute. " You niakin* plenty money, Clemmy? You sell de leaf dear? Ilcy, but de pickney look well ? Mini farder proud now if him can see de pickney." nc. IV AS OnEETS MAty thonsandH in the shallow lagoons; and when they got their wings, the sea-breeze drove them up in countless numbers to the deep basin of 8t. Thomas, a lake-like expanse in the central range ringed round by a continuous amphitheatre of very high mountains. They were u terrible plague, those mos- quitoes; they drove poor little Vanna half wild with pain and terror. A dozen times in the night the tender little creature woke crying from their bites. Clemmy stretched u veil over her face, but that made little difference. Those wretched mos(iuitoes bit right through the veil, (y'lemmy didn't know where to turn to protect her baby. " Ifim buckra baby; dat what do matter," old liuchcl suggested gravely. " Nagur baby doan't feel de 'skeeter bite same like o' buckra. Nagur folk and 'skeeter belong- all o' same country. But buckra doan't hab no 'skeeter in England. Missy Queen doan't 'low dem. Now dis 'ere chile buckra — tree part buckra an' one part nagur. ])at what for make him so much feel do 'skeeter." "But what can I do for 'top him, marra?" Clemmy inquired desjiondently. " It only one way," old IJachel answered, with a very sage face, "r>urn smudge before de door. Dat drive away 'skeeter." Now a smudge is a fresh-cut turf of aromatic peaty marsh vegetation; you light it before the hut, where it smoulders slowly during the day and evening, and tlu; smoke keei:)S the mosquitoes from entering the place while the door stands open. Clemmy tried the smudge next day, and found it most efficacious. For two or three nights little Vanna slept peacefully. Old liachel nodded her head. "Keep him burning," she advised, "till de water dry up, an' de worm, dom kill, and it doan't no more 'skeeter." Clemmy followed her mother's advice to the letter in /K.l.Y (iHKErs MASTEHVlKCi:. 37 this luiiUur. Each niornin^' wlicii nho went out tu woik oii her plot, with littlr Vuuiui laiil tendorly in her onu shawl on the grountl cloKe by, she li;j;hte(l the snuulj;o Jiiul kept it buiouMeriiij^ nil day, renewing- it now and again as it burnt out through the evening. On Thursday, us wa8 her wont, she went down with her goods to Linstoad to market. On her head she carried her basket of " bread- kind " — that is to say, yam, and the other farinacious roots or fruits which are to the negro what whoaten bread is to the Kuropean peasant. She walked along erect, with the free, swinging gait peculiar to her countrywomen, untrammelled by stays and the other abominations of civilized costume; little Vanua on her arm crowed and gurgled merrily. 'Twas a broiling iiot day, but Clemmy's heart was lighter. Was there ever such a treasure us that fair little A'^anna, whitest of quadroons? — and sho was saving up fast for the second of those thirty-five precious pounds towards printing Ivan's manuscript ! In the market-place at Linstead she sat all day among the chattering ncgresses, who chaffered for ({uatties, with white teeth displayed, or higgled over the price of breadfruit ami plantain. 'Tis a pretty scene, one of these tropical markets, with its short-kirtled black girls, l^are- i legged and bare-footed, in their bright cotton gowns and their crimson bandannas. Before them stand baskets of golden mangoes and purple star-apples ; oranges lie piled in little i)yramids on the ground ; green shaddocks and great slices of pink-fleshed water-melon tempt the thirsty passer-by with their juicy lusciousness. Over all rises the constant din of shrill African voices ; 'tis a perfect saturnalia of hubbub and noise, instinct with bright colour and alive with merry faces. So Clemmy sat there all day, enjoying herself after her fashion, in this weekly gathering of all the society known to her. For the market-place is the popular negro sub- stitute for the At Homes and Assembly Rooms of more 88 IVAN (iUEETS MASTER I'lECh:. civili/cd communities. Vanna crowed with doliglit to Bco tho little black baLicH in their mother's arms, and the pretty red tomatoes scattered around loose among tho gleaming oranges. It was late when ( ■lemmy rose to go Lonio lo her hamlet. Slie trudged along, gaily encnigh, with her laughing comi)anions; more than a year had jjassod now since Ivan's death, and at times, iu the joy of more money earned for him, she could half forget her great grief for Ivan. The sun was setting as she reached her own plot. For a moment her heart came up into het mouth. Then she started with a cry. She gazed before her in blank horror. The hut had disappeared ! In its place stood a nmss of still smouldering ashes. In one second she understood the full magnitude of her loss, and how it had all happened. AVith a wonum's (quickness she pictured it to herself T)y pure instinct. The smudge had set fire to tho clumps of dry grass by the door of the hut ; the grass had lighted up tho tliin wattle and palm thatch ; and once set afire, on that sweltering- day, her home had burnt down to tho ground like tinder. Two or three big negroes stood gazing in blank silence at the little heap of ruins— or rather of ash, for all was now consumed to a fine white powder. Clemmy rushed at them headlong Avith a wild cry of suspense. " You save do box? " she faltered out in her agony. " You save do box? You hero when it burning?" " Nobody doan't soe till him all in a blaze," one young negro replied in a surly voice, as negroes use in a moment of disaster ; " an' den, when we see, we doan't able to do nuffin." Clemmy laid down her child. " Do box, do box ! '' she cried in a frenzied voice, digging down with tremulous hands into the smoking ashes. The square form of the hut was still rudely preserved by the pile of white powder, and she knew in a moment in which corner to look for it. Rut she dug like a mad creature. Soon all IVAN GIIKKT'S MASTKUyjECK 'M was uiicovorod. Tho caleinoil remains of TvauH dotlica wore there, and a tew cliarrcd fraj^Mncnts of what seonicd like paper. And that was all. The preclouK niauiiseripL itKolf was utterly destroyed. Ivan l.Jroet's ouo master- pieco was lost i'or ever. XI. ( 'lenniiy eiouehed uii tho «j;;roiuul witii her arms round iier knee.s. She sat there cowerin-;". She was loo appalled for tears; her eyes wore dry, but her heart was l^reakin^-. For a niinnto or two she crouehed luotionhvss in deathly silence. Even tho negroes held their peace. InHtinetiv«dy they divined the full depth of her miser}'. After a while she rose again, and took A'anna on her lap. The child cried for food, and Clemniy ojioncd her h(jsoni. Then she sat there long beside the ruins of her hut. Negresses crowded round and tried in vain to comfort her. How could they understand her loss ? They didn't know what it meant: for in that moment of anguish Clemmy felt herself a white woman. They spoke to her of tho hut. Tho hut ! What to her were ten thousantl palaces 1 If you had given her tho King's House at Spanish Town that night it would have been all the same. Not tho roof over her head, but Ivan Greet's manuscript. She rocked herself up and down as she ccu'ercd. on tho ground, and moaned inarticulately. The rocking and moaning hilled Vanna to sleep. Ilis child was now all she had left to live for. For hours she crouched on the baro ground, never uttering a word : tho uegresses sat round, and watched her intently. Now and again old liaehel begged her to come homo to her stepfather's hut ; but Clemmy couldn't stir a step from those sacred ashes. It grew dark and chilly, for Ivan Greet's plot stood high on 10 I VAX URKEVS MAsTFAU'IECL:. tho inouiituiu. One Ly uiio tlio negrcsses di'ut Karen's voice, though untrained, was like the voice of the nightingale. AViien they had finished, the Elder placed seven slips of paper, with ostentatious openness, in a bag on his right, and five slips in a similar bag on his left. " Come up, Vera ]{ustoft'!" he cried, singling a child with liis ej'c from the congregation below. "For out of the mouths of babes and sucklings has He ordained praise. Come up, and be our minister." KAHh'S. 17 The uliilil stood lorvvard, half reluctant, and took her place with much trembling" at the table beside him. She was a rosy, small girl, with lair hair, like one of Fra Angelico's angels. "Draw a paper! " the Elder said. The child drew one, and handed it to him. " Nicolas Koscialkovski I " the Elder read out, unfold- ing it. " Draw another, Vera Kustoft'." And the child drew one. There was a deep pause of suspense. It was the name of a woman. . " Leopolda Sianojenska ! " the Elder went on, still droning in the same business-like voice as before. "Nicolas and Leopolda, it is the Lord's will. Stand forward, you two, and join hands for betrothal." Without a moment's hesitation, without a word of re- luctance, though with a i)ainl'ul twitching that he could not quite subdue at the corners of his mouth, one of the stalwart young men stepped forward, and accepted his destiny. At the sanie moment the least pleasing of the four born drudges stepped forward in turn, and took her future husband's hand in hers with a certain stolid and lionest uncomplaining indiftcrence It was the Lord's doing. Who were they that they should repine at it? "Draw yet a thiril," the Elder went on, as those two clasped hands and stood aside from among the candi- dates. And the child, dijiping her hand into the l)ag, drew one. " Fedor Noross," the old man read out, without one tinere of emotion. It was his own son's name. J To sa/ed nt the lad blankly. Even he was interested now. What wife would be vouchsafed him? " Again ! " And the child drew. Another deep pause. "Sophie Alexandrovitch," the Elder said, with a slight gasp. And silently a second pair stepped forward to the sacrifice. 48 K A nicy. Tho child drew again, this time unbidden. The Elder road out a name. "Peter Verstoff," ho said. Peter Verstoff's face was rigid with suspense. Tlie child's hand plunged deep into tho answering hag. " Karen Selistoft'," the Elder read out, unfolding the paper. A sigh of relief Lurst from many \\\iH at once. Peter \cv- btolf's faced flushed crimson in a second. Karen's grew white as the flowers at her bosom — the flowers that Ivan had placed there yesterday — two milky snow-blossoms backed with a spray of tamarack. There was a moment's lull. Everybody felt tho great event of the day was finished. " Peter and Karen," the presiding Elder said, breaking the solemn silence, "it is the Lord's Avill. (*omo forward, you two, and join hands for betrothal." Peter A^erstoff stepped forward — tremulous, ruddy, ex- ultant. The Lord had indeed heard his earnest petition ! The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much ! lie had won her ! Ho had won her! Karen hung back for a moment — pale, reluctant, un- (lertain. A terrible conflict was going on unseen in her breast. It was love against duty — duty as she conceived it. Nay, more, against conscience, religion, faith, autho- rity, the express will of Heaven there openly revealed to her. Ivan hung upon her movements with mute cagernoss for a second. AVould she obey or rebel ? Oh, great heavens, what a sacrilege ! Then slowly, reluctantly, obeying, as she thought, the higher law, Karen stepped forward, and held out her hand, trembling. *' It is the Lord's will ! " she t^aid faintly, while two tears stole down her cheek. Her heart belied her words. But Keligion had conquered. At that second Ivan broke forth from the rank with an ashen face and quivering lips, held his hand up in warn- ing, as if to forbid the betrothal. The revulsion of tho KAIiFX. 49 moment h\v\ rovciilcil many trutlis to liim, hiildou away till then ])eliin(l tlio thick cloak of autliovity iu the fanatical faitli liu liad learnt from clilldUooiI to rcverenco. " It is not the Lord'H will ! " lie cried, with deBperate energy, and with the wild force of htdplessnoss, thonj^h the words half choked him. "It is not the Lord's will ! This thing- is of Satan ! Yonr lottery is a disgrace ! NVo have guides with us far purer than any casting of ]iaper lots — the V(»iee of Nature, the voice of instinct, tlie voice of our own hearts, the voice of all that is most divine and most sacred within u-^. Let us listen to those, not to meaningless oracles. If we will not hear them, no lot will hel]) us. This is heatlu'nish divinati<.>n, I tell you, not (Christian worshii>. Is it for us to neglect the plain promptings of the g'> KARf'JN. wouiun cuiild (lisivf^iiid it? With a dciidly eftort, .sho btrotcliod furth that white marblo hand. It was cohl as ico. In a wihl burst of delight, Teter VeiHtoflf clasped il, for, in the eyes of the C^hurch, they two were now finally married. Ivan waited for no more ; ho conld stand it no longer. Before the very faces of those harsh ascetics, ho flung himself fiercely ni)on Karen's neck; he kissed her on her lips ; he strained her hard to his bosom. " Good-bye," ho siiid, in English, with hot tears on his cheek. "Good- bye, my darling ! This is no place for mo now ; I will go to Toronto." And, shaking oft" the dust of the Mennonito faitli from his feet, as it were, he strode forth alone, leaving the scandalized Church to rejoice at its leisure that it was so easily riu of so unworthy a member. But Karen fell fainting into the arms of her botrotiicd husband. III. A great deal may happen in iivo years ; above all, in a new country. During the next five years, Ivan lived much ; so much, indeed, that his previous existence seemed separated from him by the whole length of a lifetime. New ideas, new worlds crowded thick upon his brain. Ho had left the narrow age of the Mennonitcs behind for ever, and had emerged all at once into the full blaze and glare of th(^ Nineteenth Century. The Nineteenth Century laid hold upon him with a firm hand. In Toronto, that busy, bustling, modern Toronto, the quick young Kussian, with his fresh intelligence all unwarped and undimmed by the blunting influence of custom, expanded and developed as none but a Kussian KATiEN. 51 cuiild ex|»iiii(l ;iU(l develop — and ovoii lio only iiiidor Ihc Htiinulus i)t' till) vivid iiiid quickoiiin^- \V(',strrii ciiviroM- iiieiit. Ivau'ti adviiuco was rapid ami Htuady. IIo liugaii n|iou tho railway, wIuto ho pickcil u[) with ease tlio IiikI iiidimonts of nioehanics ; then ho took a place in turn in an elfctiic lij;hting ostablishnR'nt ; after that, ho Huon Hot to work to make inventions of his own ; and bofor«^ tliveo years were fairly over he had ;j;()no on so far that lie lierfeeled and patented an improved (dectro-niotor on his speeiul pattern. Edison spoko with respect (d" "this new man Utovitclj," ;nid Krastus Wiman, the Canadian millionaire, helped to Ihjat tlie shares in all the younj^; inventor's new schemes and companies. I>iirin|^' those live rapid years in Toronto, however, Tvan lieard little or nothing in any Avay of Kai'en. iSho was married to iV-ter Yerstoff' — so much he knew from stray letters from the villaj;-e ; but soon after her wedding, the, couple had left \ijni Onralsk in search of work, and had " gone forth into the world," as his simple eorresitondents jthrased it in their native Uussian. But tho world is big even in this age of steam. Wher»; Karon might bo Ivan hadn't tho least idea. Xevertheles-^, for her sake hv. still held himself always disengaged and unmarried. Perhaps the; Muscovite leaven in part wrought that resolve within him. Your h^u.-sian is always ascetic in heart. ]f h<; couldn't have Karen he would die a bachelor. Well, at the end of five j'oars, tho i)rospeets of the electro-motor had improved so immensely that the directors (d" his company urged Ivan with great warmth to under- take a journey to Kngland and France in order to push his patents with European capitalists. Ivan consented, nothing loth, and took his passage from New York, to see for himself, for the first time in his life, tho wonders and glories of old-world civilization. It is an event in a man's life, his maiden trip to Europe. 52 KAllEN. As Ivan lounged on the dock ul'^llio Atho*, tliu lirtit day anks of old, no doubt — • cold, calm, and foggy. Ivan sat on deck, wrapped in his warmest coat. Verstoff stood a little way oif by the companion-ladder, looking over into the water, and smoking a very fragrant cigar. It was a dark, raw night. The sea was smooth, with a long, glassy swell, but the engines had slowed, and were going half-speed. Impos- sible from the bridge t(j see as far as the bow for fog and darkness. But Ivan, who was (j^uite new to sea-going ways, watched the sailors languidly, as they threw something overboard, attached to a cord, and then hauled it up quick again in monotonous succession. What it all meant, ho hadn't the slightest idea: not soundings certainly. For at each rapid haul, they called out a number afresh, in a sing-song voice : "Thirty-seven; thirty-six; thirty- four and a half; thirty-four; thirty-three and three- cpiarters ! " Ivan listened unconcerned. It was nothing to him. On so calm a night the bare notion of danger seemed absolutely inconceivable. At last the sailors hauled, and gave an audible " Whew ! "' " How much ? "' the oilicer cried who superintended the work. And the (juarter-master answered, in a hushed tone of expectation, " Just above thirty-two ! They eun't l)e far off now, sir ! " At the word, Verstofi' lounged over with a rather })alo face. "That's bad," he said quietly, "very bad indeed; they must stop her, or back her! " " Why so? " Ivan asked innocently. " What's wrong? iC KAHEN. What are tlioy tiying to find out with this thing there, anyhow ? " "Trying?" Yerstoff echoed. '• Wliy, don't yon know? 'I'lic tenij)cratnro of the water, to be sure I It's ahnost on freezing. You can guess wliat that means. Wo ninst ho close upon icehergs I " Scarcely ■were the woids out of his month wlicn a terrible iar thrilled loud ami fierce throucch the hnll from stem to stern. The whole framework staggered. Three bells rang sharp, wiih a qnick note, in the engine-room below. The great ship stopped dead siiort, and seemed to reel in terror. She had struck against something huge, that shattered her bows like glass. Then Ivan was aware that tons and tons of ice lay tossed in vast fragments over the forward deck. All was tremor and gurgle. Black water was rushing in as ho looked towards the fn-ecastlo- The}' had come into collision, end on, with an iceberg ! In one second, the deck was all alive with struggling terrified humanity. "Lower the boats!" was the word; and then Ivan understood that the ship was sinking. Already the Avild water was pouring resistlessly into the hohhby vast floods at a time, through the shattered bows. It was a case of total wreck. The Atlas was filling with ominous speed. One chance alone remained — to lower the boats as fast as human hands could lower them. And still the hubbub thickened, and still the turmoil increased. Passengers came rushing up, half clad, from their state-rooms. From every ladder and gangway they surged towards the ([uarter-deck. The water stood ankle- deep in the passages by this time. Sailors loosed the boats from the davits with practised haste, and hurried in the women and children Avith rough, kindly hands. Oflicors lent their iiid. and ordered the i)rocedure with the coolness of their craft in any great emergency. The captain on the bridge gave his orders above the cries and shouts of the terrilied passengers in a loud voice of com- KAREN. 57 mand, and his men obeyed like so manj' passionless automata. The electric lights had gone out. The fires were siuothcicd. All was noise and darkness. In such a junctnro as this, the old Onralsk training- told witli hotlx Ivan and Verstoll'. With one accord, they hutli tnrned, unhidden, to aid the sailors in lowering the hoats and marshalling the passengers. Xo thought of self occurred to either. It was duty or death. But when the last hoat was lowered, and the last jiassenger provided with a vacant seat, the captain, de- scending, turned round to the crew and the few men who had helped them. "Save yourselves, boys ! " he cried in a loud voice, coming down to the quarter-deck. " Every man for liis own neck ! Take tlie belts and life-rafts I Xevor mind the ship. She won't last thirty seconds." And, indeed, the water by that time had almost readied the deck, and the ship was sinking before their eves in a ";rcat swirling eddy. In til is last extremity, Ivan aei/ed one of the deck- seats, wliich doubled back into a life-raft. lie said not a word; but A'erstoff helped him to unbend it. Between them, they pushed it off, and jumped on together. A sailor, hard by, in charge of the provisioning, flung them a small barrel of biscuits and a keg of fresh water. Tlio biscnits reached their mark, but the keg fell short. As they looked, the Atla>^ swang roand and careened, then she disappeared with a great gurgle into the black abyss of the ocean. Thev were alone, on tlie raft, in the midst of the Atlantic. Three days later, two worn and haggard men floated ho}telessly by themselves, with a waterlogged raft, on a boundless ocean. By good luck it had remained calm. .18 KAREN. and tlioy had been cau<2;ht by tlie Gulf Stream, which carried them eastward in its How; but what words can tell, even so, the agony and suspense of those three nights on the open Atlantic? The wind was rising now, and the little lopping waves that it drove into small cresfs began to break over the raft, wetting the two men to the skin, already cold and wretched enough as they were in their thir.st and misery. For three whole days and nights they had not tasted water. A thought rose up, as they sat there in despair, into Ivan's mind. The Kussian peasant nature doesn't cling to life with the same unreasoning persistence as our more sophisticated English temperament. The raft was weighed down by two people's weight. With one only it would ride higher, and the waves would take a longer time before they could sweep completely over it. He looked at Verstoff, who sat there, the picture of despond- ency, hugging his knees with his hands. In a few brief words, Ivan explained his idea. *' Peter," he added, call- ing him once more by the name he had always used, till then, from childhood, " you're married ; I'm single ; you are Karen's husband; it is right that I should go. If ever you reach land safe, tell her I leapt from the raft to save you." He stood up, and made ready to plunge headlong into the sea. In an agony of remorse, Verstoflf rose, like one possessed, and laid his hand with a firm grip on his old friend's arm. " No, Ivan," he said, holding him back by main force. " Not you I Not you ! If either of us goes, it must bo / who do it. Anywhere but here, I wouldn't have confessed it to you for a world. But here, face to face as I stand with death, I will tell you the truth. I have always known it. Ever since that day at Nijni Ouralsk, those words you said to her have been audible in my cars. You were right. I was wrong. I should never KAIiEy. iV.t liavc taken lier. Vou said, ' Hold back your liaml, Karen ! It's mine ! I claim it ! ' And ever since then I've known you spoke the truth. The Elders of the Church gave mo her body that day. \)nt they couldn't give me her heart. It was yours ! It was yours ! Live on, and take it." As he spoke, with the wild energy of self-renunciation spurring him on beyond himself, VerstofT flung off the fur coat he was wearing, and stood, in act to leap, with one hand aloft to heaven. It was Ivan's turn now to hold him back and restrain him. " tStop, Peter," he crieJ, laying his hand upon that stalwart arm, witli a fierce force of restraint. " You have no right to do this. You are her's. You must live for her. I may do as I like. My life is my own. Ikit your life is Karen's. You must not get rid of it." VerstofT turned to him piteously. He was pale as death. How the real man came out at this juncture, from beneath the mere veneer of cosmopolitan polish ! " Ivan," he cried aloud, in the agony of his self-abase- ment ; " she would be happier with you. She was your's from the beginning. I sinned in taking her — the Church misled me. Let me die to atone for it. Go home and comfort her." Ivan glanced around with a bitter smile at the gather- ing waves. " There's small hope for either of us to go home," he answered, grasping his friend's hand hard. " But, Peter, I could never allow you to do that. Sit down again, and let us both face it out together. After all, it would be more terrible still than it is, if either of us were to stand quite alone by himself in the midst of the ocean." For even as he spoke, a second thought, yet more terrible, rose spontaneous in his soul. How could either of thorn ever face Karen again, with this message on his lips — that he had allowed the other to die f\)r her sake on the mid- Atlantic ? 00 KAREN. vr. They sat that day out, for the most part iu tlie silence of despair. From hour to hour tlio waves rose higher, and washed over tlio raft time and again, in ever-increas- ing force, drenching them through and through to the skin ; but the two men still crouched side Lj' side in speechless misery, peering, in vain, with weary eyes for a speck of white sail on that monotonous horizon. Towards late afternoon, Verstoff begaa to grow delirious with thirst. The fever increased upon him. lie babbled feebly of thousands of francs and exacting managers. His talk was of Karen. Ivan held him in his arms, lest the waves should wash his failing body overboard. And now a still more ghastly terror disturbed Ivan Utovitch's mind. iSnpi)oso I'eter were to die, there in his very arms, and he himself were to bo picked up alive by some passing ship afterwards! How could he ever face Yerstoff's widow with that tale upon his lips ? Would Karen believe he had done his best in that final crisis to t-ave her husband's life? That internal torment was worse to him now than all the terrors of the sea, or of hunger and thirst. It almost decided him to jump off as he first intended. But as things now stood, even that resort was impossible : do what he would, he couldn't desert Verstoff. By sunset, for the first time, rain began to fall, at first in stray drops, then steadily, heavily. At sea rain means fresh water. With a burst of relief Ivan held out his handkerchief, caught the precious drops in its folds as they fell, and wrung them out eagerly into A'erstoif's mouth. Only after he had done so five or six times running did Ivan venture to pour a little at last upon his own parched tongue. For Karen's sake, though he died him- self, he must do his very best to save her husband. KAJIKN. 01 It raiued without intermission for «omo hours at a stretch, and they ■were able to quench their thirst as much as thcj'' liked before the shower ended. Meanwhih\ darkness came on. A fourth niji;ht of horrors opened out before them. Vorstolf couhln't hohl out much kuig<,'r; coM and exposure were killinj^* him. And if he died, Ivan thought, he wouhl feel himself almost a suspected murderer. About eleven o'clock, as Ivan judged, a faint gleam showed dim upon the water to westward. ITe shaded his eyes, and looked out through the rain towards the dark horizon. Slowly the faint gleam divided itself \\p into two vague red lights, and thou by degrees drew nearer and nearer. Yos, yes ; it drew nearer ! It was coming towards them ! It was a liner under full steam I No doubt about that. AVould she pass close enough to see them ? Could tbey manage in that thick gloom to attract her attention ? Twenty minutes of intense anxiety followed. Ivan saw the great shij) shaping her course straight towards them. His heart beat high. Surely, surely she would pass alongside ! She would bo well within hailing distance. IFo could wave his handkerchief above his head and signal to the look-out ! He could And then, all at once, with an awful revulsion of still blacker despair, a new horror burst upon him. She was coming near indeed, but too near ! She was bearing down upon them in a straight line, ller great sharp bows, and her gigantic shearwater were ploughing the sea with mad haste to devour them. That knife-like edge — keen, powerful, irresistible — would cut in two their frail raft without ever feeling or knowing it. He held his breath, and looked up. Great heavens, the huge monster %\as close upon them. There was nothing for it now but to die together. He shut his eyes tight, and clasped Yerstoff spasmodically. i 62 KAUKN. Next in.staul, he was aware, by a siuldeii Ijuuml ut' tlio raft, that the wa.sh from the steamer's bows had eaiight them on its crest and cast them out of licr course ; they were tossing in the trough of the wave by the great (creature's broadside. With one last despairing effort, Ivan staggered to his feet, and waved his handkerchief wildly over his head towards the passing steamer, lie shouted with all his voice. He cried aloud through the gloom. He gesticu- lated and shrieked like a madman. There Avas another faint pause. Then a voice spoke out clear from the liner's forecastle. ''Ivaft on the star- board bow ! " it cried aloud, in sliarp tones. " Two men on the raft! 3[oro survivors from the Atlas!'' It was the steamer's look-out man. JTo had seen them I lie had seen them ! In a second, a search-light was turneis ! " rent the air like thunder. But Karen heeded them not. Walking backwards, as in a maze, she bowed herself olV the platform. Two minutes later, an attendant made his way up through the crowded alley with a note for Ivan, lie tore it open hastily. It was short — but long enough. " Come and see me after the concert in my room hero. — Karen." He went. She received him at the door of her robing- room with one white little hand stretched out, tenderly, to meet him. " At last ! " she said, trembling. lie closed the door and looked hard at lier. She stood before him there in her simple little black grenadine evening dress — the selfsame Karen he had known in tliose far woods by the Ottawa. His heart was full. He took her two hands in his and held them in silence for a moment. Then he clasped her to his breast : " My Karen ! — my Karen ! " " Ivan ! " Karen cried simply, "you were right — I was F 66 •» KAItEN. w'Yow'^. 'I'lio (.'huich taught mo ill. You would huvo tiiu<^ht nio bettor. Wo havo truer guiiloH, uh you 8ai(l, within UH, tliuu tlio oaatiug of a lot. I chose badly that day when you called out, 'Your hand is mine!' Oh, Ivan, I havo paid for it. Forgive mo! — forgive mo ! " " Then you havo loved mo alvvayw ! " Ivan cried, half he.sido himself with delight. Karen answered nut a word. She only slipi)ed her white hand into the Losoni of her bodice, and drew (uit something. Ivan had noticed tiiat she kept pressing ono palm there hard as she sang, when her eyes caught his, and that she went on ])res>iiig through the rest of the song, as if to kee}) thai wild heart of hers from bounding and bursting. Hlio handed the thing across to him with a l)eautiful smile. lie took it reverently. It was a tiny s(|uare packet, containing something that evidently had lain long next her own pure heart, " Undo it," she murmured, rosy-red with a certain tremulous joy. And Ivan undid it. It contained just a couple of dried Canadian tlowors — two faded white snow-blossoms, and a feathery spray of tamarack. They were the flowers ho had given her the day before her marriage. She had worn them ever since next her bosom, no doubt. Then he thought of the words Petor YerstolT spoke on the raft that night : " ller hand is mine ; but her heart — her heart is always yours, Ivan." PALLlSanURtiT BAUIW IK r. Kin.OLi-11 UiiEVK satby himself on Iho Old L,,,.- liuiruw on rallin^dnirst Common. It was a 8ei)(,.m])or''cvcnin- anil the Sim was setting. The west was all aglow withli mysterious red light, very strange and lurid— a light that rcflectod itself in glowing purple on the dark brown heather and the dying bracken. Rudolnh Keeve was a journalist and a man of science ; but he had a i.oet's soul lor all that, in spite of his avocations, neither of which is usually thought to tend towards the spontaneous develop- ment of a poetic temperament. He sat there long, watch- ing the livid hues that incarnadined the sky— redder and fiercer than anything ho ever remembered to have seen since the famous year of the Krakatoa sunsets-thou-h he knew it was getting late, and ho ought to have <^ono back long since to the iuauor-hou«e to dre«s for diimcr Mr. Bouverie-Barton, his hostess, the famous AVoman's Kights woman, was always such a stickler for punctuality and dispatch, and all the other unfeminine virtues' lUit, in spite of Mrs. Bouverie-Barton, liudolph lieevc sa(^ on. There was something about that sunset and tho lights on the bracken— something weird and unearthly— that positively fiiscinatcd him. Tlie view over the common, which stands high and exposed, a veritable waste of heath and gorse. is strikingly 68 rALLTNOnURST BAIiTlOW. wide iUid rush light), still retains a quaint tinge of Highland Scotch belief in a good ghost story, " Wliy, as I was sitting on the barrow," Hudolph began, "just after sunset, I was dimly conscious of some- thing stirring inside, not visible or audible, l)ut " " Oh, I know, I kn(nv ! " .Joyce put in, leaning forward, with her eyes staring curiously; "a sort of a feeling that there was somebody somewhere, very faint and dim, tliough you couldn't sec or hear them ; tliey tried to pull y(ju down, clutching at you like this : and Avhen you ran awaj', frightened, tliey seemed to fjllow you and jeer at you. Great gibbering creatures ! Oh, 1 know what all that is ! I've been there, and felt ii." " Joyce ! " Mrs. Bouverie-lJarton put in, with a warning iVown, " what nonsense you talk ! You're really too ridiculous. IIow can you suppose j\Ir. Eeeve ran away — a man of science like him — from an imaginary terror?" " Well, I won't quite say I ran away," liudolph answered, somewhat sheepishly. " We never do admit these things, I suppose, after twenty. But I certainly did hurry home at the very top of my speed — not to bo late for dinner, you know, Mrs. Bouverie-Barton ; and I imll admit, Joyce, between you and me only, I was T'ALLixairunsT nAnnnw. 75 conscious by tlio way of something very iinifli like your grinning followers behind me." J\rr.s. r.ouverie-Ijartou darted him anotlier look of intense displeasure. " I think," slic said, in that chilly voice that has iced whole comniittees, "at a table like this, and with such thinkers around, wo might surely lind something rather better to discuss than such worn- out superstitions. Professor 8poncc, did you light upon any fresh palrooliths in the gravel-pit this morning?" III. In the drawing-room, a little latei-, a small group collected by the corner bay, remotest from ]\Irs. Bouverie- Barton's own presidential chair, to hear Kndolpli and doyco compare experiences on the light above the barrow. AN'heu the two dreamers of dreams and seers of visions had finished, ]\[rs. liruce, the esoteric Buddhist and hostess of :Mahatmas (they often dropped in on her, it was said, quite informally, for afternoon tea), opened the flood-gates of her torrent speech with triumphant vehemence. " This is just what I should have expecited," she said, looking round for a sceptic, that she might turn and ren^cd, and iiotliiii}^' now is over croatod. All tho spirits of all that is, or was, or over will Le, people tho univcrso everywhere, unseen, around us; and each of us sees of them thoso only ho himself is adapted to seeing. Tho rustic or the clown meets no y,hosts of any sort save tho ghosts of tho persons lio knows about otherwise; if a man like yourself saw a ghost at all — which isn't likely — for you starve your spiritmil side hy blindly shutting your eyes to one whole aspect of nature — you'd bo just us likely to soo tho ghost (^f a Stone Ago chief as tho ghost of a Georgian or Elizabethan ex<[uisito." "JJid I catch the word 'ghost'?" Mrs. liouverie-Barlun put in, coming up unexpectedly with her angry glower. "Joyce, my child, go to bod. This is no talk for you. And don't go chilling yourself by standing at tho window in your nightdress, looking out on the common to search for tho light on tho Old Long Barrow, which is all pure moonshine. You nearly caught your death of cold last year with that nonsense. It's always so. TJicso su[)er- stitions never do any good to any one." And, indeed, liudolph felt a faint glow of shame himself at having discussed such themes in the hearing of that nervous and high-strung little creature. IV. In tlu; course of the evening, liiidolph's head began to ache, as, to say tho truth, it often did ; for was ho not an author? and sull'eranco is tho badge of all our tribe. His head generally ached : tho intervals ho ompluycd upon magazine articles. Ho knew that headache well ; it was tho worst neuralgic kind — tho wet-towel variety — tho sort that keeps you tossing the whole night hjng without hope of respite. About eleven o'clock, when the men went I'ALLIXUllUnsT liAHUOW. 71) into tlic tjinoking-rooni, tho pain l)Ccamo imundiirablc. Ho called Dr. Porter aside. "Ciiii't j'oii <;ive mo anytliini;' to relievo it?" ho asked piteously, alter describing his Kyniptoms. " Oh, certainly," tlio doctor an.swered, with that brisk medical confidence wo all know so well. "I'll bring you up a draught that will [lut that all right in less than halt' an hour. What Mrs. l>ruco calls Soma — the fine old crusted remedy of our Aryan ancestor; there's nothing like it for cases of nervous inanition." liudolph went up to his room, and the doctor followed him !i few minutes later witli a very small phial of a vtry thick green viscid lic^uid. lie [)oured ten drops carefully into a measured meilieine-glass, and tilled it u]) with water. It amalgamated badly. " Drink that olf," he Slid, with tho magisterial air of tho cunning leech. And ]iud(jlph drank it. "I'll leave you the bottle," tho doctor went on, laying- it down on the dressing-table, " only use it with caution Ten drops in two hours if the pain continues. Not moro than ten, recollect. It's a powerful narcotic — I dare say you know its mime: it's Cannabis Indiea." Kudolph thanked him inarticulately, and flung himself on tho bed without undressing. He had brought up a book with him — that delicious volume, .Ljseph Jacobs's " English Fairy Talcs " — and ho tried in some vague way to read the story of Childe liolatid, to which I'roft'ssor Spenco had directed his attention. Ibit his head ached so much he could hardly read it; he oidy gatliered with dilticulty that Childo Itoland had bt'cn instrueled by witch or warlock to come to a green liill surrounded with terrace-rings — like I'allinghuist I'arrow — to walk round it thrice, widershins, saying each time — " Open duor I open door ! And let me come in," and when tho door opened to enter unabashed tho fairy 80 VALLTNGmmST BARROW. kinj^'s palace. Anrl tho third timo tlio floor did open, Hiid Childc lioland cntorod a court, all lighted with i* fairy light or gloaming ; and then ho went through a long passage, till ho came at last to two wide stone doors ; and beyond thorn lay a hall — stately, glorious, niagtiilicent — where I'urd Ellen sat combing her goMon hair with a comb of amber. And tho moment she saw her brother, \\\\ she stood, and she said — '• Wo'.! worth the day, yc hicklcsa fool, Or ever that yo were born ; For como the Kint? of El Hand in Your fortune is forlorn." When Kudolph had read so far his head ached so much ho could read no further ; so ho laid down the book, and retieeted once more in some half-conscious mood on Mrs. J5ruce's theory that each man could see only tho ghosts he expected. That seemed reasonable enough, for accord- ing to our faith is it unto us always. If so, then these ancient and savage ghosts of the dim old Stono Age, before bronze or iron, must still haunt tho grassy barrows under the waving pines, where legend declared they were long since buried; and the mystic light over I'allinghurst moor must bo tho local evidence and symlxd of their presence. TTow long he lay there he hardly quite know; but the clock struck twice, and his head was aching so fiercel;^ now that he helped himself jdentifully to a second dose of the thick green mixture. His hand shook too much to be Puritanical to a drop or two. For a while it relieved him ; then tho i)ain grew worse again. 1 )reamily ho moved over to the big north oriel to cool his brow with the fresli night air. Tho window stood open. As he gazed out a curious sight met his eye. At ant)ther oriel in the wing, which ran in an L-,-diaped bend from the i)artof the house whero he had been put, he saw a child's white face gaze appealingly across to him. It was Joyce, in her white VALTAxanunsT barhow. si iii* tlmt the age had gone back upon its stei)S ten thousand years, as the sun went back upon the dial ot Ahaz ; he stood face to face with a remote antiijuity. Planes of existence faded ; new sights floated over him ; new worlds were penetrated ; new ideas, yet very old, undulated centrically towards him from the universal flat of time and si)aco and matter and motion. He was projected into another sphere and saw by fresh senses. Everything was changed, and he himself changed with it. The blue light over the barrow now shone clear as day, though inhnitely more mysterious. A jiassage lay o})en through the grassy slope into a rude stono corridor. Though his curiosity by this time was thoroughly arcjused, liudolph shrank with a teriible shrinking from his own impulse to enter this grim black hole, which led i'ALLlNGIIUIi.ST BAJiliOW. 88 at once, by an obli(iuo descent, into tlio bowels of the earth, lint lie couldn't help himseU'. For, O God ! looking round him, ho saw, to his infinite terror, alarm, and awe, a ghostly throng of naked and hideous savages. They were spirits, yet savages. Eagerly they jostled and hustled him, and crowded round him in wild groups, exactly as they had done to the spiritual sense a little earlier in the evening, when ho couldn't see them. But now he saw them clearly with the outer eye; saw them as grinning and hateful barbarian shadows, neither black nor Avliite, but tawny-skinned and low-browed ; their tangled hair falling unkempt in matted lucks about their receding foreheads ; their jaws large and fierce ; their eye- brows shaggy and protruding like a gorilla's ; their loins just girt with a few scraps of torn skin ; their whole mien inexpressibly repnlsive and bloodthirsty. They were savages, yet they were gliosts. The two most terril)lo and dreaded fous of civilized experience seemed combined at once in them. Rudolph lieevo crouched powerless Jn their intangible hands; for they seized him roughly with incorporeal fingers, and puslu-il liim bodily into the presence of their .sleei)ing chieftain. As they did so they raised luud peals of discordant laughter. It was hollow, but it was piercing. In tliat hateful sound the triumphant wliuop of the lied Indian and the weird mockery of the ghost weio strangely mingled into some appalling harmony. Ifudolph allowed them to push him in; they were too many to resist; and the Soma had sucked all strength out of his ?uuscles. The women were the worst : ghastly hags of eld, witches with pendent breasts and bloodshot eyes, they whirled round him in triumph, and shouted aloud in a tongue he had never before heard, though ho understood it instinctively, " A victim ! A victim ! We hold him ! We have him ! " Even in tlie agonized horror of that awful moment 8t rALLTNonunsT BAJinow. Tiudolpli know why lie understood those words, unheard till then. Thoy were the first hmguago of our race — the natural and instinctive niothcr-tonguo of liumanity. 'Vhoy haled liim forward by main force to tlic central c-haniher, with hands and arms and ghostly shreds of buffalo-hide. Their wrists compelled him as the magnet compels the iron bar. lie entered the palace. A dim j)hosphorescent light, like the light of a churchyard or of decaying paganism, seemed to illumine it faintly. Things loomed dark before him; but his eyes almost instantly adapted themselves to the gloom, as the eyes of the dead on the first night in the grave adapt them- selves by inner force to the strangenoh^s of their surround- ings. The royal hall Avas built up of cyclopean stones, each as big as the head of some colossal Sosostris. 'J'hey were of ice-wurn granite and a dusky-grey sandstone, rudely piled on one another, and carved in relief with representations of scrjients, concentric linos, interlacing zigzags, and the mj'stic swastika. But all these things liiidolph only saAv vaguely, if he saw them at all ; liis attention was too much concentrated on devouring fear and the horror of his situatinn. In the very centre a skeleton sat crouching on tho floor in so.ne loose, huddled fashion. Its legs were doubled up, its hands clasped round its knees, its grinning teeth had long been blackened by time or by the indurated blood of liuman victims. The ghosts approached it with strange reverence, in impish postures. " See ! We bring you a slave, great king ! " they cried in the same barbaric tongue — all clicks and gutturals. " For this is the holy night of your father, the Sun, when he turns him about on his yearly course through the stars and goes south to leave us. Wo bring you a slave to renew your youth. Eise ! Drink liis liot blood ! Iiise ! Kill and eat him ! " The grinning skeleton turned its head and regarded I'ALLlSGllUHSi JJAlUlOn Sj Riululph from its oyoless orbs with a viicuiit gliiuco of luiu^ry satisfaction. Tlio sii^ht of lunnan moat sccmod to create a soul lieneatli tlie ribs of death in some incredible fashion. Even as liudolph, held fast by the immaterial hands of his jj;liastly captors, looked and trembled for his fate, too terrified to cry out or even to move and strujjjgle, ho beheld the hideous thiny; rise and assume a sliadowy shape, all pallid blue li.L^ht, like the shapes of his jailers. lUt by bit, as he j;a/ed, the skeleton seemed to disai)pear, or rather to fade into some unsubstantial form, which was nevertheless more human, more corporeal, more horrible than the dry bones it had como from. Naked and yellow like tho rest, it wore round its dim waist just an apron of dry grass, or, what seemed to bo such, while over its shoulders hung tho ghost of a l)earskin mantle. As it rose, tho other spec- tres knocked their foreheads low on tiie ground before it, and grovelled with their long locks in the ageless dust, and uttered elfin cries of inarticulate homage. Tho groat chief turned, grinning, to one of his spectral honchmen. "Give a knife !" he said curtly, for all that these strango shades uttered was snapped out in short, sharp sentences, and in a monosyllabic tiMiguo, like tho bark of jackals or the laugh of the striped hyena among the graves at midnight. Tlio attendant, bowing low once more, handed his liege a flint flake, very keen-edged, but jagged, a rude and horrible instrument of barbaric manufacture. But what terrified lludolph most was the fact that this flake was no ghostly weapon, no immaterial shred, but a frag- ment of real stone, capable of inflicting a deadly gash or long torn wound. Hundreds of such fragments, indeed, lay loose on tho concreted floor of the chamber, some of them roughly chipped, others ground and polished. Kudolph had seen such things in museums many times before; with a sudden rush of horror, he recognized now 86 vMUxanunsT BAitnow lor the first limo in his life with wliat ohjcct Uio savji;;;tK of that far-ofT day had hiiriod ihciii with their dead in tho c'liamborc'd harrows. With a violent elTort ho wotted liis i)arched lii)H with his tongue, and cried out thrice in his a^ony tlio one word ♦' IMorcy ! " At that sound tho savage king liurst into a h)ud and licndisli hiugh. It was a hideous laugh, halfway hetweon a wild beast's and a murderous maniac's : it echoed through tho long hall like tho laughter of devils when they succeed in leading a fair woman's soul to eternal perdition. "What does he say ?" the king cried, in tho same transparently natural words, whoso import liudolj)h could understand at once. " ITow like birds they talk, these white-faced men, whom wo got for our only victims jsinco tho years grow foolish! 'Mu-mu-mu-moo!' they say; ']\Iu-mu-mu-moo!' more like frogs than men and women!" Then it came over liudolph instinctively, through tho maze of liis terror, that ho could understand the lower tonguo of these elfish visions because ho and his ancestors had once passed through it; but they could not under- stand his, because it was too high and too deep for them. He had little time for thought, however. Fear bounded his horizon. The ghosts crowded round him, gibbering louder than before. With wild cries and heathen screams they began to dance about their victim. Two advanced with measured steps and tied his hands and feet with a ghostly cord. It cut into the flesh like the stab of a great sorrow. They bound him to a stake which Kudolph felt conscious was no earthly and material wood, but a piece of intangible shadow ; yet he could no more escape from it than from tho iron chain of an earthly prison. On each side tho stake two savage hags, long-haired, ill- favoured, inexpressibly cruel-looking, set two small plants of Enchanter's Nightshade. Then a fierce orgiastic shout went up to the low roof from all tho assembled rALLlSaiU'IiST nAltllnW. s7 Iicoplo. Jinsliin^^ forward fo-fotlicr, thoy rovored his lioily witli what, .seuiiied to ho oil and hiittcr; then' hiiii"- •jjravc-flowors round liis neck ; they (luarrellod aiiionji; thcinsulvus witli chunorous cries for hairs and raiit all Eii<;Hs]i ladies speak French to-day. Yes, this phice is hjvclj- : notliiny lovelier on the coast. I wont up this evening to the hill that forms the centre of our little promt )n tory ^ " "The hill with the lighthouse that we passed on (»ur way?" Ivy asked, proud at heart tliat she couhl remember the word jjhare oll'-haud, without reference to the dic- tionary. The Abb- bowed. " Yes, the hill with the lighthouse," ho answered, hardly venturing to correct her by making pharc maseuline. "There is there a f-anctuary of Our Lady — Xotre-Dame de la Garonjie — and I mounted up to it by the Cliemiu de la Croix, to make my devotions. And after spending a little half-hour all alone in the oratory, I went out upon the platform, and sat at the foot of the cross, and looked before me upon tlio view. Oh, mademoiselle, how diall I say? it was divine I it was beautiful ! The light from the setting sun touched up those spotless temples of the eternal snow with the rosy radiance of an angel's wing. It was a piayer in marble. One would think the white and common daylight, stream- ing through some dim cathedral window, made rich with figures, was falling in crimson palpitations on the clasped hands of some alabaster saint — so glorious was it, so beautiful!" Ivy smiled at his enthusiasm : it was so like her own — and yet, oh, so dilVerent! l>ut she admired the young- Abbe, all the same, for not being ashamed of his faith. AVhat English curate would have dared to board a stranger like that — with such a winning; conlidenco that the stranger would share his own i)oint of view of things ? And then the touch of poetry that lio threw into it all was so delicately mediteval. Ivy looked at him and smiled again. The priest had certaiidy begun by creating a favourable impression. 94 TIIL' AJJJii:\S UEPESTANCE. All tlir(t' the Faith, and the teaching c)t' her parents ! After dinner they strolled out into the great entrance hall. The Aldx', with a courtly how, Avent olF, half re- luctant, in anr)ther tlircction. ():i a table chtse by, the letters that came by the evening p(jst lay dis])laycd in long rows for visitors to claim their own. With true feminine curiosity, Ivy glanced over the names of her fellow guests. One struck her at once — " M. I'Abbe do Kermadec." " That must bo our priest. Aunt Ennna," she said, looking close at it. And the English barrister with the loud voice, ■who sat oi)posito her at table, made answer, somewhat blullly, " Yes, that's the priest, M. ^Jny de Kermadec. You can see with lialf an eye, lie's above the common ruck of 'em. Behmgs to a very distinguished I'reton family, so I'm told. Of late years, you know, there's been a reaction in France in favour of i)it'ty. It's the mode to be ilfvut. The loyalists think religion goes hand in hand with legitimacy. Sj several noble families send a younger sun into the Church now again, as before the liovolution — make a decorative Abbe of him. It's quite the thing, as times go. 'I'lie eldest son of the Kermadecs is a mais Tiir: ABni'rs rkpkxtaxce. iny ffivonrito seat. On these rocks one seoms to Ioro sight of tlio world and the work of man's liand, and to stand face to face -with the eternal and tlie infinite."' Ho waved his arm, as ho spoke, towards the horizon, vaguely. " I like it for its wildnoss," Ivy said simply. " These crags are so beautiful."' " Yes," the young priest answered, looking across at them penslvel}', " I like to think, for my part, that for thousands of years the waves have been dashing against them, day and night, night and day, in a ceaseless rliythm, since tho morning of the creation. I like to think that before ever a Pliocivan galley steered its virgin trip into the harbour of Antipolis, this honeycombing had begun ; that Avhen tlie Holy Marios of tho S(>a passed by our Cape on their miraculous voyage to tlie mouths of tlio Ehono, they saw this headland, precisely as we see it to-day, on their starboard bow, all weather- eaten and weather-beaten." ' Ivy lounged Avith her feet dangling over the edge, as the Abbe hitd done before. The Abbe sat and looked at her in fear and trembling. If mademoiselle were to slip, now. Ilis heart came up in his mouth at the thought. lie was a prii'st, to be sure; but at soven-and-tvventy, mark you well, oven priests are human. They, too, have hearts. Anatomically they resemble tho rest of their kind ; it is only the cassock that makes the outer differ- ence. But Ivy sat talking in her imperfect French, with very little sense of how much trouble she was causing him. She didn't know that the Abbe, too, trembled on the very brink of a precipice. But his was a moral one. By-and- by she rose. The Abbe stretched out his hand, and lent it to her politely. He could do no less ; yet the touch of her ungloved fingers thrilled him. What a pity so fair a lamb should stray so far from the true fold ! Had TUE ABBE'S B EVENT ANCE. 99 Our Lady brought hiui this chance ? Was it his duty to lead her, to guide her, to save lior? "Which is the way to the lighthouse hill?" Ivy asked him carelessly. The words seonied to his full heart like a sacred omen. For on the lighthouse hill, as on all high places in Provence, stood also a lighthouse of the soul, a sanctuary of Our Lady, that Notre-JJame do la Garoupe whereof ho had told her yesterday. And of her own accord she had asked the way now to Our Ladys shrine. lie would guide her like a beacon. Tliis was the finger of Provi- dence. Sure, Our Lady herself had put the thought into the heart of hov. '' I go tliat way myself," he said, rejoicing. " If made- moiselle will allow me, I will show her the path. Every day I go \\\} Ihere to make my devotions.'" As they walked by the seaward trail, and climbed the craggy little hill, the Abbe discoursed very pleasantly about many things. Not religion alone ; he was a priest, but no bigot. An enthusiast for the sea, as becomes a Morbihan man, he loved it from every point of view, as swimmer, yachtsman, rower, landscape artist. His talk was of dangers confronted on stormy nights along the Jjigurian coast ; of voyages to Corsica, to the Channel Islands, to Bilbao; of great swims about Sark; of climbs among the bare summits over yonder by Turbia. /Vnd he was wide-minded too ; for ho spoke with real affection of a certain neighbour of theirs in Morbihan ; he was proud of the great writer's pure Breton blood, though he deprecated his opinions — " But he's so kind and good after all, that dear big Penan ! " Ivy started with surprise ; not so had she heard the noblest living master of French prose discussed and described in their Warwickshire rectory. But every moment she saw yet clearer that anything more unlike her preconceived idea of a Catholic priest than this 100 vv/y-; ABni':\i' j\I. (iuy (Ic! Kormfi A1)1)cVh resolution. IIo found her company sweet. Tlio ])o8ition was kg Htrange, and to hin» bo ineoini)ro- liensihle. If Ivy had been a French jjjirl, of courKO ho couki never have seen ho much of her : lior mother or her maid wouhl liavo mounted guard over lior niglit and day. Only witli a married woman eould he have involved himself so deeply in France : and then, the sinfulness of their intercourse would have been clear from the very outset to both alike of them. 15ut what charmed and attracted him most in Ivy was just her English inno- cence. Sho was so gentle, so guileless. This pure creature of (Jod's never seemed to be aware she was doing grievously wrong. The man who had voluntarily resigned all hope or chance of chaste; love was now irresistibly led on by the very force of tho spell he had renounced for ever. And yet — how hard it is for us to throw ourselves completely into somebody else's attitude ! So French was he, so Catholic, that ho couldn't (juite understand the full depth of Ivy's innocence. This girl who could walk and talk so freely with a priest — surely she must be aware of what thing she was doing. iShe must know sho was leading him and herself into a dangerous love, a love that could end in none but a guilty conclusion. So thinking, and praying, and fighting against it, and despising himself, the young Abbe yet persisted half unawares on the path of destruction. His hot Celtic imagination proved too much for his sclf-c(mtrol. All night long he lay awake, tossing and turning on his bed, alternately ranttering fervent prayers to Our Lady, and building up for himself warm visions of his next meeting with Ivy. In the morning, he would rise up early, and go afoot to the shrino of Notre-Dame do la Garoupe, and Tin: Aniti.'s i,'i:ri:\r.i\ri:. io:i cry aloutl with ticry /ca! fur lidp, that ho mi^ht ho dolivorecl fi(»iii tiMiiittatinti : — and thou lio wouhl tiiru ah.)ng tho eoast, towards his ttt'cnstoined Heat, htoking out eagerly for the rnsth^ of Ivy'H dross amoiifj; tlio cistus- l)n>hrH. NVIicu at last ho met lior, u great wave jtassod over him like a hlush. lie tlirilled from head to foot, lie grew cohl. Jh; tremhhMl inwardly. Not for nothing had ho livt.'d near th(! monastery of St. Gildas do Jtliuys. l''or smdi a lIeh)iso as that, what priest would not gladly hecomo a second Abelard? One morning, he met her by his overhanging Icilgr. The sea was rough. 'I'lio waves broke grandly. Ivy came ni> to him, with that eonseioiis blush of liers just mantling her fair cheek. She liked hiui very much. 13ut she was only eighteen. At eighteen, a girl hardly knows when she's really in love. liut she vaguely suspects it. The Abbe held out his hand. Ivy took it with a frank smile. " Bonjour, M. de Kermadec ! '" she said lightly. She always addressed him so — not as M. I'Abbe, now. "VVas that intentional, he wondered? lie took it to mean that she tried to forget his ecclesiastical position. " La tante Emma " should guaid her treasure in an earthen vessel more carefully. Why do these I'rotestants tempt us priests with their innocent girls? lie led her to a seat, and gazed at her like a lover, his heart beating- hard, and his knees trembling violently. IIo must speak to her to-day. Though ichat ho know not. Ho meant her no harm. He was too passionate, too pure, too earnest for that. But ho meant her no good either. Ho meant nothing, nothing. Before her face ho was a bark driven rudderless by the breeze. He only knewhe loved her: she must be his. His passion hallowed Ids act. And she too, she loved him. Leaning one hand on the rock, he talked to her f^r awhile, ho hardly knew what. He saw she was tremulous. 101 Till': Aiiiii's iii:i'i:\T.\sci:. Slu) IcM.ktd down (iiitl liliihlicd ol'lni. Tliut iiitiUi;;il)li', iin(»iiniri.li(.'iihibl»', iiivihiblu HDiiictliiii^ that miikes Iuvoh sul)tly coiiHciouH of one iinother'H mood had told lior how ho ftdt. tuwftrdH her. Shu tin^ltsd to tlio fingor-tipw. It wiiH Hwoot to bo thcro — oil, how swoot, yt-t, liow hopolcsa, Koniaiico to her ; to him, hIi), death, infamy. At UiNt ho h.-aiiod acroHH to hor. Siio haWH, you know I your voww I IIow will you over ^ot rid of tliLMU '.•' " Tljo Al)l)6 gii/.o«l at her iLstuniHliLMl. AN hut couM this aii;;cl mean? 8ho wondurod if sho was doiii^ wrong! (Jet rid of his vows! Ifc, a priost, to make love! What iiaivutr ! ^\'hut iiiiKJCcnce ! Ihit lie was to(» hot to rojuMit. "My vowh ! " ho cried, flinging them fiy the strong demon within them : but to persevere in such wrong, io go on sinning openly, flagrantly, shamelessly— Guy do Kennadeo drew back from the bare idea with disdain. As priest and as gentleman alike, he looked down upon it and contemned it. The reaction was profound. For a minute or two ho gazed into Ivy's face like one spellbound. lie paused and hesitated. AV'hat way out of this maze ? IIow on earth could he undeceive her? Then suddenly, with a loud cry, he sprang to his feet like one shot, and stood up by the edge of the rocks in his long black sonfahc. lie held out liis hands to raise her. " Mademoiselle," he groaned aloud from his heart, in a very broken tone, " I have done wrong — grievous wrong: I have sinned — against Heaven and against you, and am no more worthy to be called a priest." He raised his voice solemnly. It was the voice of a bruised and wounded creatui'c. " Go back ! " he cried once more, waving her away from him as from one polluted. " You can never forgive me. But at least, go back. I should have cut out my tongue rather than have spoken so to you. I am a leper — a wild beast. Ten thousand times over, I crave your pardon." Ivy gazed at him, thunderstruck. In her innocence, she hardly knew what the man even meant. But she saw her romance had toppled over to its base, and shattered itself to nothing. Slowly she rose, and took his hand across the rocks to steady her. They reached the track THE ABB/,\'^ JiFPENTANCE. lo? in silence. As they fjjaincd it, the Ablx'' raificd his liat for the last time, ami turned away bitterly. lie took the path to the right. Obedient to his gesture, Ivy went to the left. IJack to the hotel she went, lingering, with a heart like a stone, loeked herself U2> in her own room, and cried long and silently. But as for (hiy do Kermadec, all on lire with his remorse, ho walked fast along the seashore, over the jagged rock path, toward the town of Antibcs. Through the narrow streets of the old city ho made his way, like a blind man, to the house of a priest whom ho knew. His heart was seething now with regret and shanio and horror. What vile thing was this wherewith he, a priest of God, had ventured to affront the pure innocence of a maiden ? What unchastity had he forced on the chaste eyes of girlhood ? Ivy had struck him dumb by her very freedom from all guile. And it was she, the heretic, for whose soul he had wrestled in prayer with Our Lady, who had brought him back with a bound to tiie consciousness of sin, and the knowledge of purity, from the very brink of a precipice. He knocked at the door of liis friend's house like a moral leper. His brother priest received him kindly. Guy do Kermadec was pale, but his manner was wild, like one mad with frenz}'. " ]Mon pere," hu said straiglit out, *' I have come to confess, in artlcalo )iiortis. I feel I shall die to-night. I have a warning from Our Lady. I ask you for absolution, a blessing, the holy sacrament, extreme unction. If you re. ise them, I die. (iivu me God at your peril." The elder priest hesitated. How could he give the host otherwise than to a person fasting ? How administer extreme unction save to a dying man? But Guy de Kermadec, in his fiery haste, overbore all scrupulous ecclesiastical objections. Ho v.-as a dying man, he cried : lOR THE ABDI-'S nEPENTAXCE. Onr Lady's own warninp; was surely more certain than llic guess or cunjecture of a mere earthly doctor. The viaticum be demanded, and tlio viaticum he must have. lie was to die that night. lie knew it. ITo was sure of it. lie knelt down and confessed. He would brook no refusal. The country priest, all amazed, sat and listened to bim, breathless. Once or twice be drew bis sleek band over bis full fat face doubtfully. The strange things this hot Breton said to bim were beyond bis C(jmprebension. They spoke different languages. How could be, good easy soul, with bis cut-and-dried tlieology, fathom the fiery deptbs of that volcanic bosom ? lie nursed bis chin in suspense, and marvelled. Other priests bad gone astra}'. Why this wild fever of repentance ? Other women bad been tempted. AVhy tliis passionate tenderness for the sensiljilities of a mere English heretic? Other girls bad sinned outright. Why this horror at the barm done to bor in intention only? But to Guy de Kermadec himself it was a crime of lhe-)iiajest<; against a young girl's purity. A crime whose very nature it would be criminal to explain to her. A crime that bo could only atone with bis life. Ai)ology Avas impossible. Explanation was treason. Nothing remained for it now but the one resource of silence. In an orgy of penitence, tbo young priest confessed, and received absolution : he took the viaticum, trembling : bo obtained extreme unction. Then, with a terrible light in bis eyes, bo went into a stationer's shop, and in tremu- lous linos wrote a note, whicb he posted to Ivy. " Tres cbere dame," it said simply, " you will see me no more. This morning, I offered, half unawares, a very great wrong to you. Your own words, and Our Lady's intervention, brought me back to myself. Thank Heaven, it was in time. I might have wronged you more. My THE ABBi:s REl'ESTANCE. lUl) last prjiyois are for your pure soul. Pray for mine, and forgive mo. •' Adieu ! " Guy dk Kkrmadkc." After tliat, lie strode out to the Capo once more. It was growino- dark Ly that time, for ho was long at Antibe.s. He walked with fiery eagerness to the edge of the clift", where ho had sat with joy that morning — whore ho had sat before so often. Tho brink of tho rocks was wot with salt spray, very smooth and slippery. Tho Abbr stood uj), and looked over at the black water. Tho Church makes suicide a sin, and ho would obey tho Church, lint no canon prevents one from loaning over tho edge of a clitf, to admire tho dark waves. They rolled in with a thud, and broke in sheets of white s})ray against the honeycombed base of the rock, invisible bonoath him. "Si doxtra tua tibi ofl;onderit," they said, in their long- slow chant — "si dextra tua tibi otfenderit." If thy right hand oftond thee, cut it olf. And ivy was dearer to him than his own right hand. Yet not for that, oh, AFary, Star of the Sea, not for that ; nor yet for his own salva- ti(m ; — let him burn, if need were, in nethermost hell, to atone this error — but for that pure maid's sake, and for the cruel wrong ho had put upon her. " Oh, Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows," he cried, wringing his hands in his agony, "who w-ert a virgin thyself, help and succour this virgin in her own great soirow. Thou knowest her innocence, her guilolessness, her simplicity, an by tlie precipice. Climbing down on hands and knees, ho fished it out with difficulty, and ran io fetch a gendarme. The face was beaten to a jelly, past all recognition, and the body was mangled in a hideous fashion. But it wore a rent soutane, all in ribbons on the rocks; and the left third finger bore a signet-ring with a coat of arms and the motto, " Foy d'un Kermadec." Ivy is still unwed. No eye but hers has ever seen (ruy do Kermadec's last letter. CLAUDE TYACICS ORDEAL. I. Claudk Tyacic wiis the tallest and liandsoiucst man of my tinio at Harvard, Ai\il Avhen I saw liim walking- one (lay with Elsie Marple through the college avenue, I felt really and truly Jealous about Elsie. Those were the dear old days before the war, and Professor IMarple then taught Greek to freshmen and sophomores in Cambridge lectiire-halls. Elsie was still the belle of Cambridge, and I was Elsie's favoured ad- mirer. Jiut that afternoon, wlien I met Elsie a little later, alone, by the old Law School, near the Agassi/ ]\Iuseum, I was half angry with her for talking to Tyack. She bluslied as I came up, and I put the wrong interpre-' tation on her blushes. "Elsie," I said, for 1 called her even then by her (.'hristian name, "that fellow Claude's been hero walking with you ! " She looked me full in the face with her big brown eyes, and answered softly, "fie has, Walter, and I'm very sorry for him." " Sorry for him ! " I cried, somewhat hot in the face. " Why sorry ? What's ho been doing or saying that you sliould be sorry for?" I spoke roughly, I suppose. I was young, and 1 was angry. Elsie turned her big brown eyes upon me once 112 CLAVDE TYACK'S OliDFAL. uioro and said only, *'I'm very sorry for him. Poor, poor follow ! I'm very sorry.*' " Elsie," I answered, '* you'vo no right to speak so about any other follow. Tyack's been making lovo to yon. I'm sure of that. AVhy did you let him? You're mine now, and I claim the whole of yon." 'I'o my great surprise, Elsie suddenly burst into tears, and walked away witliout answering me anything. I was hot and uncomfortable, but I let her go. I didn't even try in any way to stop her or ask her why she should cry so strangely. I only knew, like a foolish boy as I was, that my heart was full of wrath and resentment against Tyack. That evening I met him again in the dining-hall — the old hall on the college s(pnro that preceded the big memorial building we of the llarvard brigade set up long afterwards in honour of the Boys who fell in tlio great struggle. I looked at him angrily and spoke angrily. After hall wo. went out together into the cool air. Tyack was flushed and still angrier than I. " You want to triumph over me," he said in a fierce way, as wj reached the door. " That is mean and ungenerous. You might do better. In your place I would have more magnanimity." I didn't know what on earth he meant, but my hot French blood boiled up at once — the Ponsards came over with the first Huguenot refugees in the Evamjile to New England — and I answered hastil5% " No man calls mo mean for nothin.;. Blow follows word with men of my sort, Tyack. Insult mo again, and you know what you'll get for it." " Yon are a fool and a coward," he cried through his clenched teeth. "No gentleman would so treat a con- quered rival. Isn't it enough that you have beaten mo and crushe 1 me ? Need you dance upon me and kick my corpse afterwards ? " CLAUDE TYACK'S OIWEAL. li:; I duu't know whiit I luisw red hack. I failed to mi'lor- fstand him Ktill, Lnt J « i\v ho wtis furious, and 1 only foil, tho angrier fir that; Liit I Hlriick liim in the face, and I told him if lie wished it to l)e open war, war it whould 1)0 with no (j^uarter. 1 could hardly lieiieve my eyes when ho drew himself u]) to his full height and Avithout uttoring a woril stalked haughtily off, liis fuec pur[)le with snppn.ssed wrath, and his lips ([uivoring, but self-eoutrolled and outwardly ealui in his gait and movement. I thought ho must be going I (J challengo mo — in those days duelling wms not j'ot utterly dead even in the North — and I wailed for his nota" with sonio eagerness; but no challenge ever eamc. I never saw ( 'laude Tyaek again till I met liim in tho Second Connecticut regiment, just before the battle of Ohattawauga. Lato that night I went round to tho ^Nlarples', trem- bling with excitement, and after our easy American fashion asked at tho door to see Miss Elsie. Elsie came down to me alone in tho dining-room; her eyes were still a little swollen with crying, but she looked oven lovelier and gentler than ever. I asked her what ha 1 passed between her and Tyaek, and she told me in simple words a story that, angry as I was, ^ent a thrill of regret and renna'se through my inmost being. 'J'yack had come up to her that afternoon in the elm avenue, she said, and after gently leading up to it b}-- half-hints, whoso meaning she never p?rccived till afterwards, had surprised her at last by asking her outright to bo his wife and make him happy for ever and ever. Elsie was so breathless at this unexpected declaration that she had not even presence of mind to tell him at once of our virtual engagement ; and Tyaek seeing her hesitate and temporize, went on begging her in the profoundest terms of love and affec- tion, till her woman's heart was touched with pity. "Ho Hail ho could never know another happy moment," she 1 Ill CLAUDi: TYAC'K'S OlihKAT.. whiKporoil, "uiiloHs I would liuvo him, Walter; iind as lie .said it I know by his eyes ho really mount it." "And Avhat diil you answer?" I asked, in an aj^ony of doul)t, my heart misj^ivin^ mo forniy anger that evening. *' I said to him, * Oh, Mr. T3'ack, I know yon mean it, and if it weren't that I love Walter Ponsavd with all my soul, I think out of very pity I should have to marry you."' "You said that," I cried, the devil within me getting the better of me for a moment. "Yes, \N'alter, I said that. And j\[r. Tyack gave a sort of low, suppressed, sobbing cry, like a man whoso heart is thrust through, T should think, and pressed his two hands hard upon his bosom and staggered away as if F had sliot him." " I'ilsie," I said, taking her wliiti- hand in mine in a iit of remorse, " I understand it all now. I hope to Heaven we haven't, between us, sent that man Tyack to blow his brains out, or jump into the river." When I got back to my rooms at a little past midnight I found a note lying on my talde. T took it up and read it eagerly. This is what it said — " Waliki; roNSAKl), "You have treated me biut;illv. No hououraitlo man would act as you have done. Yet, for her sake, 1 refrain from returning the blow you gave me. But whenever my own turn comes, without hurting her, trust mo, you will find you have provoked a dangerous enemy. " Claude Tyack." I breathed freer. Then he would not kill himself. 1 didn't mind his threat of vengeance, but I should havo been sorry to bear the guilt of his blood upon me. Next morning, Tj'ack had gone from Cambridge, and nobody knew where ho had betaken himself. CLAUDE TYACK'S ORDEAL. li:> 11. Hfl'orc ''liattiiwiingii, I was pjissiii^j,- thrDiigli caiui), in my uuifoiin as a Hcrj^eaut iii the Harvard l)attalioii of Iho Third Massaclnusetts, when 1 .saw an ordc'rly cuniing Iroiii JlulditeirK n'<;iinent, witli a note for tho gouoral from {-'oloucl llolditcU. I To woro the j^rey .stnlV, with blue faciii}^-, of tho Second Connecticut. We rccoj^ni/cd oauh other at tlie tirst j^hinec. It was Chinde Tyack. I'^verybody in tin- Xortli volunt(.'(>rod in those ihiys, and jsoiiu' of us who volunteered rose fast lo be held ollieerfci, while others of us, equally well born and bred, remained in the ranks for months together. Tyack and I wen; among the residuum. He glanced at me curtly and jjassed on. 1 somehow felt, I don't know why, that the hour of his revenge could not be far distant. I sat down in my tent that night and wrete to lOlsie. It was Elsie who had wished me to volunteer. 1 wrote to her whenever an occasion otlered. A mail was going that evening from the field. I told her all about the expected battle, but I said never a word about jioor Tyack. Just as we were turning in for the night, a United States mail was distributed to the detachment. 1 opi-ned my letter from Elsie with trembling lingers. Slu; wrote, as ever, full of fears and hopes. A little postseri[)t ended the letter. " I hear," she said, "that poor Claude Ty^ick is with you in 13urnside's division. 1 shall never cease to bo sorry for him. If possible, try and make your quarrel up before the battle. I couldn't bear to think ho might bo killed, and you unforgiven." I sat long with the letter in my hand. A battle is a very serious thing. W Tyack had been there in the tent that evening I think I should have taken Elsie's advice and made it all up with him. And then things would have been very different. 116 CLAUDE TYACK'S ORDEAL. As I silt there muHing, with the leltir still iu my iingors, the drniu boat suddenly, and wo lieard the signal for forniiiig battalion. It was the night siirjiriBe : AV'helock and lionsejour wore upon us KUildenly. Everybody kn(»wH what Chattawauga was like. Wc fought hard, but the eircunistances wore against the Harvard battiilion. 'I'hough I»urnside held liis own in the centre, to bo sure, the right wing had a bad time of it; and 8cventy-tw(j of us Harvard l^oys wore taken jirisoners. I am not writing a history of tho war — J leave that to Harper s and tho Century — so I shall only say, without attempting to explain it, that wo wore marched (dV at once to Bons<''jour's rear, and sent by train next day lo Kichniond. There we remained for five months, close prisoners, without one word from home, and, what to me was ten thousand times worse, without jxjssibility of communicating with ]:]lsio. Elsie, no doubt, would think I was dead. That thought alone was a perpetual torturo to me. Would Tyack take advantage of my ab- sence? Elsie was mine : I knew I could trust her. At tho cud of five months the other men were released on parole. Thoy offered me tho same terms, but I refused to accept them. It seemed to mo a question of principle. I had })ledgcd my word already to light to the death for my country, and I couldn't forswear myself by making terms with rebels. Wo of the old New England stock took a serious view of the war and its meaning : we didn't look upon it as a vast national armed picnic ]>arty. Even for Elsie's sake, I would not consent to purchase a useless Ireedom by what I regarded as a public treachery. I could not have loved Elsie so much, " loved 1 not honour more," as the poet of our common country phrases it. 1 was left tho only prisoner in tho old barracks in Clay Street, Richmond, and of course I was accordingly but little guarded. A few weeks later an opportunity oc- curred for me to get away. A wounded soldier from CLAVDi: TYACK'S OimKAh. 117 tlio front, stnigj^liii}^ in liy liiuiNt'lf from tlir cntrencli- juenfH, fiiiiitc'd opposilo tlw Cliiy Street HarrackH, atid wa.s liastily brought in and put to Led there, tho hospital ac'coniniodation in tho city liein^ already nioro than ovororowded. in the dusk of evening I conveyed his clotlie.s to my own room, and next day I put them on, a tattered and hloodstained Confederate uniform. Then, liavinii; sliavt'd oil my heard witli a piece of hoop-iron, wi'U Khatpeni'd aj^'ainst a hon*', I passed out l)oli]ly hoforo tho very eyes of tliu ]ounj;in<; sentry, and made my way aorctsH tho wtreota of tho half-heleaguired city. I waited till nightfall in tho rotunda of tho Exehangl^ Hotel in Franklin Street, whore nun sat and smoked and discussed the news; and when tho lamps hegan to be lighted around the State Caiiitol, T slank off along tlu; riversido, so as to av(jid being hailed and challenged by tho .sentries, who held all the ap[)i()achcs from tho direction of AVasliington. In those days, I need hardly say, strong lines of earth- works were drawn around Richmond city on tho north, east, and west, where Lee was defending it ; and it was only along tho river southward that any road was left fairly open into the country'. 1 went by the river bank, thtreforo, onward and onward, till the city lights faded slowly ono by one into the darkness behind me. I passed a few soldiers here and there on the road, but my Con- federate uniform suflioiently protected me from any un- favourable notice. If any of them hailed mo with a "llullo, stranger I where are you off this time of even- ing?" my answer was easy, "Straight from the front. Sick leave. Just discharged from hospital in Leo's division." Southern chivalry nodded and i)assed on with- out further parley. I was going, in fact, in tho wrong- direction for many questions to bo asked me in passing. Everybody from the South was hurrying up to the front : a wounded soldier, straggling homeward, attracted then but little attention. 118 CLAUD f-: TYACK'S OliDKAL I walked (111 niitl on, ulwiiyH iiloii^ tlio Itftiik of the tlaik riviT, lill I liinl aliuoHt iciujlied tlio point whtru tliu Aiijioiimtox 1'iiIIh into the .fjiineH. T Aviinted to reueh tlio Nuithern lines, and to ^et to tlimi 1 inuKt somehow ei'osM the river. It was ]>itch dark now, a moonless nijj;ht in early Doceinher, and cvrii in Virginia the water at that Bcason was alniOHt ice-eold in the tidal e.stnaiy. But I knew I must swim it, sooner or later, and the sooner I tried it the hetter were my (•hanecs. I had eaten nothing; sinee h;avinj^ the harraeks, and I should jnoliahly j^et nothing;- to eat until I reaehcd IJurnside's ainiy. To- nijfht, therefore, I was eomparatively strong ; the longer I delayed, the weaker would my mnseles grow with hunger. To lie out all night on the ground in the e(dd is not the best way ol' jiieiiaring one's self for swimming a mile's width of chilly river. Besides, J was almost certain to he observed in the (hiytime, and shot like a (h)g, by the one side as a spy, or by the other as a deserter. My only ehaiiee lay in trying it by night, so I plunged in boldly just as 1 found myself. I shall never forget that awful swim in the dead of night across the tidal water of the .fames llivor. The stars were sliining dimly (A'erhead through the valley mist, and by the aid of the Great Bear (for I did not know the jiole-star then) I swam roughly in what 1 took to bo a general north-eastward direction towards the shore opposite. In a hundred yards or so the soutliern bank became quite invisible, and I couhl not hope to soo the northern until I had come within about the same distance of it. All the rest of the way I swam by the aid of the stars alone, so iar as guidance (jr compass went, and this compelled me to keep my eyes straining ju'etty steadily upward, and to hold my head in a most difficult and unnatural position on the surface of the water. The ice-cold stream chilled my frozen limbs, and the gloom and the silence overawed and appalled me. CLAVDE TYACK'S OnDF.AL li;. 1 don't know how luii^ 1 took swinuuin^ uciosu ; time ill Ntic']i eircunistancos c-iinnut bo nieuHurctl 1)y nuTu iiiimitus. I only know it wenu'd to n»o thon u wiinlr t'tcrnity. JStroko uftcr hlroku, I nwiuu luocliiinitiilly (tii, each niovoiucnt of my thiglis t-nmiii^ liiiifler un tliau to swim away and attract attention. 1 turned my eyes si do ways and ojiened them cautiously a.s the noise can\e close. Hy heavens, yes I She was heading strait;-ht for nie ! At TTarvard I liad alwa3's hocn a good diver. I dived now, noiselessly and impei'Cf'ptihly ; it would almost bo truer to say, I let n)yself go under Avitliout conscious movement. The water closed aliove my face at once. I seemed to feel something glide above mc. I was dimly aware of the recoil from the screw. I shut my eyes once more, and held my breath in my full chest. Next instant I was whirled by the after-current back to the surface in the wake of the screw, and saw the white stars still shining above me. "Something black on the water," shouted a voice behind. "Otter, I take it; or might be a nigger, con- traband bound North. AVhichever it is, I'll have a cock- shot at it, captain, anyway." I dived again at the word, half dead with cold and fear; and eveix as I dived felt rather than heard the thud and hiss of a rifle bullet ricochetting on the water, just at the very point where my head had rested an instant earlier. " Otter! " the voice said again as I reached the surface, numbed and breathless, more dead than alive, and afraid to let anj'thing l>ut my mouth and cars rise above the black level of the water. And the steam-launch moved steadily on her way without waiting to take any further notice of me. The danger was past once more for the moment, but I was too exhausted to swim any further, deadened in my limbs with cold as I was, and cramped with my exertions. I could only float face upward on my back, and soon became almost senseless from exposure. Every now and again, indeed, consciousness seemed to return CLAUDE TYACK'S ORDEAL. I J I Hti'ully fur a luomenf, {iml I struck out in blind energy with iny legs, I knew not in what direction ; but for the Uiost part I merely floated like a log down-stream, allow- ing myself to be carried resiatlessly before the slnggiHh current. A« day broke I revived a little. I must then have Iteen at least three hours in the ice-cold water. I saw land within a hundred yards of me. With one despairing- final effort, I know not how, I struck out with my legs like gaivaniz:ed limbs, and made for it — for land and Elsie. Would Federal pickets be guarding the shore ? That was now my next anxiety. If so, my doom was sealed. They would cliallenge me at once, and, as 1 could not give the countersign, would shoot mo down without a thought or a question as a spy from Richmond. Fortunately the shore was hero unguarded ; below Mitcheirs redoubt, indeed, attack from southward was always held impossible. I dragged myself on land, over the muddy tidal flat, and found myself in the midst of that terrible, desolate, swampy region known as the Wilderness, the scene of the chief early conflicts in the struggle for disruption, and of the battle-fields where Lee and Stonewall Jackson stood at bay like wounded tigers. When I came to realize my actual plight I began to feel what a fool I had been to run away from Kichmond. I sat there on the bank, frozen and wet, dripping from head to foot, my soaked boots hanging useless roTind my neck, my blood chilled, my limbs shivering, my heart almost dead, and yet with a terrible sense of fever in my cold lips, and a fierce throbbing in my aching head. I had no food, and no chance of getting any. Around me stretched that broken marshy country, alternating be- tw^een pine barrens and swampy bottoms. Scouts and pickets held the chief points everywhere : to show 122 CLAUDE TYAGK'S ORDEAL. mysolf before tliem in my wet and ragged Confederate uniform would be t(j draw lire at a moment's notice. AVhat to do I liad no conception : I merely sat there, my liead in my hands, and waited, and waited, and waited still, till the sun was high up in the blank-blue heavens. I won't describe the eiglit days of speechless agony that followed in the Wilderness. I wandered up and down through scrub and pine-woods, not daring at first to show myself openly ; and then, when hunger and fatigue at last conquered my fear, not knowing where to look for the Federal outposts. Night after night I lay upon the bare ground, in the highest and driest part of the wild pine-barrens, and saw the cold stars shining above, and heard the whip-poor-will scream shrill overhead in the thick darkness. It was an awful time : I dare not trust myself even now to recall it too vividly. If it had not been for the wild persimmon trees, indeed, I uiight have starved in that terrible week. But luckily the persimmons were very plentiful ; and though a man can't live on them for ever with absolute comfort, they will serve to keep body and soul together somehow for a longer time than any other wild berry or fruit I know of. At last, on the eighth morning, as I lay asleep on the ground, wearied and feverish, I felt myself rudely shaken by a rough hand, and, opening my ej^es with a start, saw to my joy the Northern uniform on the throe men who stood around me. " Spy ! " the sergeant said briefly. " Tie his hands, O'Grady. Lift him up. March him before you." I told them at once I was a soldier in the Harvard battalion, escaped from Richmond ; but of course they didn't and couldn't believe me. My Confederate uniform told too false a story. However, I was far too weak to march, and the men carried me, one of them going on to get me food and brandy ; ftjr, spy or no spy, one thing was clear past all doubting, that I was so faint and ill CLAUDI-: TYACK'S ORDEAL 12.'. with iiuiiger aud exposure that to make me walk wouUl liavo Leon sheer eruelty. "Take him to heatl-(|iuutors," my captor or my rescuer said, in a short voice, as soon as I had eaten and drunk greedily the bread and meat and brandy tlie first man had brought up for me. They carried me to head-quarters and brought mo up before three oflicers. The ollicers (lucstioned mo chisely and increduh)usly. They wouhl hear nothing of my being a Federal prisoner. The uniform alone was enough to condemn me. " Take him away and search hira," they said peremptorily. The sergeant took me to a tent and searched me; and found nothing. I knew then what would happen next, 'i'hey wouhl try me by a rude rough-and-ready court-martial, and hang mo for a spy that very morning. As I marched out from the sergeant's tent again, abso- lutely despondent with fatigue and fever, an officer in a major's uniform strolled casually towards us. Promotion was often quick in those days. The major, I saw at a glance, was Claude Tyack. lie stopped and gazed at me sternly for a moment. Not a muscle of his face stirred or (quivered. *' .Sergeant," he said, in a cold unconcerned tone, eyeing me from head to foot, " who's your prisoner ? " " One of Lee's spies," the sergeant answered care- lessly. " Took him this morning out on the "Wilderness. Fourth we've taken this week, anyhow. The liebs are getting kinder desperate, I reckon." I looked Claude Tyack back in the face. He knew mo perfectly, but never for one instant quailed or faltered. " AVhat will you do with him? Shoot him?'" he in- quired. "String him up,'" the sergeant replied, with a quiet grm. I stood still and said nothing. 12 1 C LIU UK TYACK'S Oil DEAL. Tliey took nic back and licld a nhort informal drum- head court-martial. It all occupied live minutes. A man's life counts for so little in war time. I was half dead already, and never listened to it. The bitterness of death was past for mo long ago, I stood bolt upright^ my arms folded desperately in front, and faced Claude Tyack without ever flinching. Claude Tyack, who only looked on as a mere spectator, faced me in return, mute and white, in solemn expectation. " Do you admit you are a sjiy ?" the presiding ofHcer asked me. " No," I replied, " I am a Federal prisoner from liichinond, late sergeant in the Massachusetts contin- gent." " Can you get any one to identify you ? " "In Biirnside's division — yes ; hundreds." Tlio presiding officer smiled grimly. " I'urnside's divi- sion is a long way off now," he said calmly. " It moved a month ago. Wo can't bring men all the way from Kentucky, you know, to look at you." I bowed my head. It mattered little. I was too wearied out to fight for life any longer. I only thought of Elsie's misery. Then I became aware that Claude Tyack had joined the ring a little closer, and was looking at me with fixed and rigid attention, " Nobody nearer?" the officer asked. I kept my eyes riveted on Tyack's. I could not appeal to him ; not even for Elsie. He would not help me. I never knew till that moment I was a thought-reader; but in Tyack's face I read it all — all he was thinking as it passed through his mind : read it, and felt certain I read it correctly. If he allowed me to be shot then and there, he would not only wipe out old scores, but would also in time marry Elsie. CLAUDE TYACIC!? OliDEAL. 12.-) T saw those very words passin*; rapidly through liis aii^ry luiiul — *' If it weren't that I hjve Walter ronsard with all my boul, I think, Mr. Tyack, for very pit}' I should have to marry you." Sho would have to marry him ! lie would go back, certain of my death ; ho would tell her all, save this one episode; he would plead hard, as he had pleaded before ; and then, for pity, Elsie would marry him ! Our eyes met still ; 1 returned his stare : tall and pale he stood confronting me : he gloated over my mis- fortune: we spoke never a word to one another; and yet, we two men know perfectly in our own hearts each what the other Avas thinking. There was a deadly pause. The presiding otUcer waited patiently. The words seemed to stick in my throat. I moistened my lips with my tongue, and wetted my larynx by swallowing. Then I said slowly, " Nobody nearer." The presiding officer waited again, ("learly ho was loth himself to condemn a man so weak and ill as I was. At last he cleared his throat nervously, and turned to the court with an inquiring gesture. Then Claude Tyack took three paces forward and stood before him. The man seemed taller and paler than ever. Great drops of sweat gathered on his brow. His lips and nostrils quivered with emotion. A fright- ful struggle was going on within him. The demon of revenge — ^just revenge, if revenge is ever just — for an undeserved insult — I recogni/.cd that — fought for mastery in his soul Avith right and mercy. " I need not identify him," he cried aloud, clas])ing his two hands one over the other, and talking as in a dream. " I am not called to give evidence. He has never asked me ! " "I will never ask you," I replied, with dogged despair. " You have found me, oh my enemy ! I have wronged T2G CLAUDE TYACK'S OltDEAL. you hittcrly. I know it, and rogrofc it. I will uak your forgivoncKS, but never your mercy." C'lando Tyack hold up his hands, like a child, to his iaco. lie was a rugj^cd man now, though still young and handsome; hut tlie tears rollud slowly, very slowly, one after anotlior, down his hron/.ed checks. " You shall have my mercy," he answered at last, with a groan, "be- cause you do not ask it; but never, never, never, my forgiveness. For I-^lsio's sake, I cannot let her lover be shot for a traitor." The presiding oflicor caught at it all as if by in- stinct. " You know this man, Major Tyack V" he askeil • |uietly. "1 know him. Colonel Sibthorpe." " Who is he ? " The words came as if from the depths of tho grave. " Walter I'onsard, sergeant of the Harvard battalion Third Massachusetts infantry, Ihnnside's division, lie was missing seven months ago, after Chattawauga." ■' The name and description he gave himself. That is (juite sulHcient. The prisoner is discharged. Sergeant i'onsard, you shall be taken care of. Tyack, a word with vou." HI. When 1 next was conscious, I found myself lying in hospital at Washington. Elsie, in a nurse's dress, was leaning over my bed. She kissed me on the forehead. " How about Tyack ? " I asked eagerly. " Hush, hush ! " she whispered, soothing my check with her hand. " You mustn't talk, darling. The fever has been terrible. We never thought your life would bo spared for me." "But Tyack!" I cried, "1 must hear of him! He CLAUDE TYACK'>< OTiDEAT. 127 hasn't blioi himself ? ITis faco was so torrihlo ! I could never live if I thou"lit I had killed him." "lie is there," Elsie whispered, pointing with her hand to the adjoininJ/\S wiFi:. I. 'I'oM and iliiko lived lo^-ctlior most aiiiiciiMy in a ritu;j;li log lint ill one of (ho wildest woodtul parts of tliai uy district, who had shouldered rifles almost as soon as they could walk a mile, and knew no other mode of life but that lonely existence in the wdld woods, snaring beaver, and mns- j;uodly stock of Canadian Lank-notes-, the surplus of their sales over their purchases from the Company's agent, and having nothing to do with them in the wild north they found these hank-notes had gathered head at last, till Tom and Jake hegan to feel it was a sin to lock up so much capital idle; and not heing economists enough to have heard of investment, they decided between them that Tom, who was the best speaker, must set off to spend it, or part of it, at Toronto. There were things there, no doubt, in the stores they had heard tell of which would come in handy for the hut in snow-time. So off T(»m set, in bright midwinter, on his trusty snow-shoes, taking advantage of the easy travelling down, and meaning to bring back his purchases over the even road afforded by the snow on a hired sleigh from Barrio or Portage. He might have gone to Ottawa, to bo sure, which was 182 nKV'S WIFK. a j;oO(l (Iciil nearer, l»iit llicy luul been toM 'J'orDiito was the larger town, and iloneo I'oin ({uitteil IiIh nativi; wilds to see the world it was aj^rced l»otwcoji them ho (»ii;;ht to Hco it with its luoilerii civil l/atioii at its highest and heKt in tlie strcetH of a j^vrat ((jniincn'ial f'ity. Scvon woi'ks Tom was ffm(.\ and when ho came baek again ho Kat and talked for scjven honis with .lake, as Jake could never have conceived his oM friend and ehnii^ eaitahlo nf talking. Contact with the world liad given Toin fresh ehxiuence ; ]w described all the wonders of the crowded town with strange ease of diction — the railway, the stieet-cars, the eleetri(; light, tho telo[)ht»no, the gigantic hotel, where liis room had Immmi nnmln'r oHO, till .lake began to think in his simple soul the travelled man was trying to cram him. Finally, 'rnm jtaused in a shamefaced way, and then said with a burst, " And Jake, I'm think in' of gettin' married." Then Jako know ho was really cramming him, and answered nothing, but merely sat with his head on ono side, jmfling away doubtfully at one of tho big cigars which Tom had brought back among his purchases from 'J'oionto as a new iind fashiomiblo form of tol)acco. However, when Tom saw lio was silent ho went on with such evident sincerity to speak of tho girl he had cIkjscu for his future wife that bit by bit Jake's incre- dulity relaxed, and lie began to discover to his profotiud suiprise Tom was really in earnest. At last, when ho could doubt the startling news no longer, he turned round to Tom and exclaimed in astonishment, " Why, Tom, man, how could ye ever make bold enough to ask herV" For though Jake had hardly so much as seen a while woman's face in all his life, an innate chivalry and mas- culine modesty witliin him madi; him realize at once tho full terror and difficulty of that awful ordeal. Tom looked at tho fire and at tho now couch — it had TOM'S mil-: I'M riui to a couch with liorfioliuir C(»vii'Iiig~aii(l uuhweri'il hilowly, "It iriis ji piill, Juki', liiit I iiiun;i;;('tl it, .sdiiuivlt ; 1 Ni»(jk(! up ami juanii^i'tl it. " .lako felt ill liiN hunl a tlec'iiur adniiiation lor Toui'h aliilitifs tliaii In; liail t-ver iVU, in liis life bcfitie. To think that that (silciif, untutored man couM have hpokm Mjt to ii woman's hi.-art, and inducfd her in only live wtrks' clear tiiuu to prumlHu to marry him ! Jll. All throti^^h the rest uf that winter Tom and Jako wore l)UHy with plans fur thin <:;reat revolution in their domobtio ai raiij^ement.s -Jake, no less than Tom, and almost even more .so —and as soon as sjiriiij^ set in they put them into execution, workinj^ together in concert with a rare ^ood will at them. 'J'hey had cut down loc now we're j^oiu' to have a lady of our own to take care of us ; " and lie went so far as to send a trusty Indian, unbeknown to Tom, down to tho store at I'ortage, on the ( 'anadian frontier, to buy a wall-paper for the living'-room, which he insisted hence- fortb upon describing as "the parlour." Jle would have called it a drawing room, i)robably, if it woro not for Tom, so deei) was his respect for a white woman's dignity. lie even talked about building a kitchen, distinct from the parlour, as being more appropriate for the lady's use. Lad not Tom dissuaded him by saying that Lucy — he actually dared to describe her by her Christian name alone as Lucy — would only lind it au extra fire to light and tend, for of course they must have a fire in the living- IM TOM'S W'tFJ:. room, anyway. Wood, to bo suic, wasn't, dear; they could have that for the cutting, but ho didn't want to give Lucy any extra trouble. Jake Hiniled grimly to himself at that. Extra trouble, indeed! liefore the white lady shnuhl dream of lighting the fires herself he'd bo up and about — but there, no matter. It would be easier for her, per- haps, to keep things tidy in three ro(jms than in four; and ladies do love to keep things tidy. At last the preparatiuns were all comidete ; the little log hut was swept and garnished ; the paper on the wall was fuither adorned by a couple of old London Naics chronio-lithographs ; and Tom set out once more, and once more alone, to make his wedding trip to and from Toronto, On the day ho was duo to return Jake was all in a 11 utter of bashful fuar and blissful expectation. Had ho niaile everything right as it ought to be for a lady? AVas the bouquet of wild tlowcrs in the mug on the mantelpiece strictly appropriate? Were the pots and pans all brightly scoured enough to meet the exacting eye of a female critic ? AV'ould Tom's wife bo very con- temptuous and very hard on a rough trapper fellow? Was she reallj' as young and pretty as Tom had prc;- tended? Or was I'oni only trying to magnify his own prowess — as he sometimes did with the game he just missed — by making out he had attacked and captured a real young ^\hite wouum of surpassing beauty? All those questions Jake asked himself time and again, in delightful doubt, as he sat there waiting in his clean flannel shirt and store coat by the smudge iire for the advent of the happy pair on their honeymoon. The last seventy miles or so were to be performed on horseback (borrowed, of course) along the Toronto trail or path through the woods; and at last the s(jund of horses' hoofs on the forest soil made Jake start, and blush, and look at himself furtivel}', with a tremor of TOMS WIl'i:. 135 bliunie, in the luukiii<;--resenco made everything purer and more beautiful. ]Ie eouhlu't imagine how Tom, with the easy carelessness of the quite married man, coukl allow that angel to cook and wash for them; fur himself, he was always trying to save her trouble, to s[)lit her iirowoud and draw her water, to make uji for the lack of society in that trackless forest, to iind conversation even, as soon as his first awe of the lady wore slowly away and gave place to the sublime and delightful con^;eiuusness of secure friendship. For Mrs. Tom, as he always called hei', was gracious enough to admit him to the honours of her confidence, and to talk with him on terms of jjcrfect equality. The trapper's lieart bounded within him whenever she gave him a kind word — the only white woman, save his own mother, ho had ever known to be really friendly with. Month after month those three lived on together in their strange household, seldom or never seeing any one from outside; and month after month Jake's admiration and devotion towards the dainty white lady grew luoro and more profound, chivalrous, and tender. As for Tum, he seemed to think less and less of her — or so Jake fancied — as time went on; to be unworthy of this treasure ho had won so easily, lie was rough but kind, Lucy said sometimes, whereas Jake, as he knew in his own heart, and confessed to himself sheepishly, was kind and not TOM'S WIFE. i:;7 roUij;li, iievLi' iun;j;h fo Lucy. He Avor.sliippud the very jfrountl on which she trod — lie, whose adoration had never been spoilt hy the too great familiarity of accoin- ]>lished possession. Winter cnrne on, and with it that terrible time of privation for a Ioik^ woman in the cold, cold north. Lncy was snowed up all day in the hut, which dalco tried to make still bright and pleasant for her. He brought in boughs of green spruce-fir to decorate the mantelpiece, and red berries of bitter-sweet to jiut in the vases that now flanked the mirror. Ibit do all he could, Lucy's spirits faltered teiiibly in that long, close time. 'I'ho colour began to fade from her cheeks, and the drudgery and isolation of that awful, life began to tell upon her health, both bodily and mental. " Tom hadn't ought ever to have married her," Jake thought. " She's worlds too good for the likes of us poor hardy trappuis." Uut Tom considered her just good enough, and not one scrap more tlian that, and accounted her life about as happy apparently as most other women's. Winter wore on, and strange things again happened in the hut. it was soon to have yet another inmate. Against that foreseen contingency it was Jake who travelled on snow-shoes all the way to Portage, and on liis own hired sleigh brought back in his train a country doctor. It was Jake who laid in a stock of condensed milk for the little one's use, and who held and washed and first dressed the baby. " Our baby," Jake called it always with proprietary pride — the finest infant, he was willing to wager a score of skins, in all the square miles of the Hudson Bay Company's territory. But the more the baby lived and thrived and the moro Jake worshii)ped and admired its mother, the less and less did Tom seem to think of them. Jake was beginning to get angry with Tom in his heart of hearts for his ^^^ TOM'S WIFE. want of kiiuUincss and respect to Lucy. If only she liaJ been hs-hnt there, Jake never permitted liiniself to think Lkc that-or if he did he read a hit of a chapter in Lucy s hook lliat «ho'd hronght witli her, for ho knew h parh^nr. When it dearcd away Lucy hiy lifeless on Tom's Avann corpse, anilJako stood alone in tlie hut with the hahy. She -vvas shot (|uito dead thruugh the heart from the hack. Jake's practised hand liad never taken a surer aim. lie had nerved himself to th(! task to save her needless pangs of mind or Ixj'ly. lie had dared to solve the insoluhle iirobh-m in the one a>vi'ul way that still remained open to him. VII. As soon as lie had snlticiently recovered from the lirst sickening horror of that terrible scene Jake took the two bodies up reverently from the ground in Ids arn^s, and laid them side by side on the bed in their own bedroom. Then ho knelt down like a child beside the bed and prayed. "Words came to him in his need. lie prayed long, and fervently, and earnestly. But ho didn't pray for mercy or forgiveness for himself. It was not of himself or his own selfish fears for this world or the next that Jake was thinking, lie prayed for the souls of Tom and Lucy. Ho wasn't theologian enougli to know in his simple mind that in the particular Church of which he reckoned himself to be an outlying- member prayers for the dead are discountenanced and dis- couraged. He followed the dictates of his own inner- most instinct. He prayed that Tom and Lucy might henceforth have rest, and might forgive him this wicked Avrong he had done them. Ho jaayed that the baby — Lucy's baby — might be spared to live as its mother would have wished it, and grow up to a happier life than ever hers had been. Ho prayed with great beads of dew standing on his cold l)row in the agony of his repentant 112 To.M'S WIFE. reiuorsu ami contritiuii. Last of all lie iiumltly prayed a iii(;rcirul Heaven, in simple but heartfelt words, to Lo pleased to lay n})on him sueh condign punishment us tlio mai;,nilnde of ilio ij;rcat crime he had just eommitted most duly merited. Then, conseious (jf a deep and abidin;;' guilt that iiiado liim unworthy to kneel any longer ])Lsido the eor[»se of lliat pure and beautiiul woman whom he had loveil and murdered, ho rose once more, with staggering steps went out into the snow alone with his crime, and dug a deej) hole with a pick in the frozen drift to receive those two ]iiteons bleeding bodies. lie couldn't bury then), to be sure, for the ground Avas too hard ; but he could lay them np there i-afe in the preserving snow, and pour water to freeze above their temporary grave, so that they might lie there in safety from the wolves and the foxes till the ihaw i>et in, when men fiom the fort conld come over and take them to Nitchegonna cemetery. There Lucy should lie in holy earth till tlio iJay of Judgment. When the grave was dug he carried out those two tenderly once more in his arms, and laid them side by side witli their faces turned towards one anijther in llie trench he had thus made to receive them. Over the top of the trench he poured buckets of Avater, and in half an hoi ' intense was the cold on that bitter, glittering .lanuar^) y, the whole mass was frozen stiff and solid together as a granite column. After that Jake took Lncys little book from her leather desk, and slowly and solemnly, in spite of many stinnbling efforts, read over the grave, with blinding tears and cludcing voice, the Church of England burial service. At times his tongue failed him and his lips (piivered, bnt still he went on alone in the clearing. Come what might, Lucy should not be buried without Christian burial. As he finished he flung himself passionately on the grave, and cried out aloud from his * / TOM'S ir/i-V;. li;; very heart in a lirokeii voice, " Tom, Tom, I was your fVieiul, and I killed you ! I killed you ! " lliil lie didn't daro to say a last farewell to Lucy. Murderer that ho was, ho was unworthy to speak to her. From the grave Jake turned once more, awful in hi.slom;- lincss, into the hare hu(, where the hahy lay crying' Jind strcteliiiij:; out its nine months' arms for its dead motlHi". .lake took it u}) in his fatherly hands and kissed it, as he had kissed it many times before, and mixed it some food with broken biscuit and condensed milk, and fed it with a spoon till it smiled and was happy. Then he wrujjpcd the baby in a thick warm skin, rolled in her dress all their remaining bank-noles, strapped his knapsack on his back, full of condensed milk, fastened the sncnv-shoes on his weary feet, and set out tlirough the snow with the baby in his arins, pressed close to hi.s breast, in a paroxysm of remorse, to give himself up i'oi tho double murder to the authorities at Ottawa. j^5f* TJIh: SIXTH aO.UMANDMHNT. I. Ir was a woodland slope Leliiiid Sf. I'iorro-k'S-Jiaiiis. I'.asil Utiino was walking alono oii the odgo of the lull- Hide. Everybody knows St. ricrro, that dream of peaeu amon^- tho Vosj^cs mountains— a ne.stlin,t^ town, higli l»erehcd in a nook above a deep blue lake, amid a shadowy land of spreading pine forest, grey granite hills, and great ice-worn Ijonldors. ]}asil had iinislied his day's Avork among the dai)pled lights of the upland, and was strolling along now, Avitli his sket(di-book hanging idly in one hand by his side, taking mental notes as ho went of evening effects betAveen the branches of tho forest. His head, as he strolled on, was crammed full of Marcella. He called her "Marcella" to himself, in his happy day dreams, though to her face, of course, like all the rest of the world, he spoke of her always as " ^Irs. GrisAvold." She had filled a largo place in the painter's mind those last six weeks : tho Vosges was to Basil one long idyll of IMarcella. Suddenly — unexpectedly — ^at a sharp turn in the foot- path, ho heard, close by, tho delicate rustling of a woman's gown against the hard glittering rock, into which a way had been worn deep for future traffic by countless naked or sahot-c\'A{{ feet of mountain peasants, lie started at the sound. His heart beat quicker. Next moment he looked up : Marcella stood before him. 77//-; .s/AT// COMMAXDMh'XT. 115 Sho wftH (lr('!^KOii tlitl, UvH. flriswold." And in(hM«(l h(> spoku fhc truth. Had thuy boon tho veriest (hiuhs tvor K[da.slied u[>iin jiaiier, ho wouhl havo found them beautil'ul for Maroclla hatl jiainted tiioni. lie opened tho Hkofch hook at random and turned ov«'r H i>a^'o or two. Ilr had no need for indul-^oneo. 'I'lio sketehoH, thotiyli aniatcnrlHli of eour.sc, hetrayed in every totieli a native eye for form and eoh)ur. " !)Ut theso aro tho real stntV," ho .said, hjokin;j; into them carefully. '* Xothinj; eould ho more j^raeoful, now, tlnm tho branches of that pine; and then thoHputs of li^ht on the russet patches uf mo>>H — how true, how luitural ! " " Von really like thorn?" Marcella cried, leaning eagerly forward. She was a child in her eagerness. " Y(ju thiidc they're not <|uite hopeh-ss — not (piito silly for a beginner?" liasil lield tho book in front of liim, a little on one side, and cyt d the sketches askance, witli tho searching ga/.o of a critic. " On tho contrary," ho answered slowly, uith transparent truth in tin- very ring of his lionest voice, "I bhonld say they dis[)lay unusual native ])ent ; the light and shade in particular aro very ueatly handled, and your sense of colour — well, is far above the average. You ouglit to take lessons." Then ho added, after a short piuse, '"If some artist friend, now, could give you a hint or two — myself, for example — would )-ou mind my coming round to hel[) you tinish off occasionally ?" *' Oh, how good of you ! " ^larcoUa cried, and looked up at him with that timidly confiding glance which was ono of tho chief charms of lier almost ehild-liko beauty. " It would 1)0 so awfully kind of yut any other night when you happen to he free, I should bo so awfully obliged to you. It must be the evening, I suppose? daylight at present is too precious to encroach upon." "We'll make it Wednesday, then," JUisil cried, over- joyed, and hardly able to contain himself. It was a great thing for him to be permitted so to call upon IMarcella. lie was just going to move on in the direction of the town, from the moss-clad boulder against which they had been leaning their backs during this brief little collo(|uy, Avhen, round the same corner where Marcella had surprised him, a handsome man, in knickerbockers, with a soft slouch hat, broke in unexpectedly upon their tete-a-tcte with a sudden short Avhistle. Basil had seen him in the town more than once before, and taken a hand at ecarte with him in the rural Casino. He was a handsome young Frenchman, Guy de Marigny by name, and a soldier by profession. " Ah, te voih\, Marcella ! " the new-comer cried in French, blurting out her Christian name before he per- ceived the stranger. "Fve been looking for you up and down for the last twenty minutes." Then he gave a hasty start, and turned more stiflly to Basil, raising his big slouch hat as he spoke. " IMonsieur, je vous saluc," he said. " I did not at first perceive that madame was accompanied." " So it seems," Basil replied drily, half sorry that ho should have caught the unguarded w^ord, and still more unguarded tutoiement. " 1 was returning from my day's 7/y/; ,s7A'77i COMMANDMENT. 14'.> work, lii^h u\) ;imong tho hills, ami at a bond oi' the path hero I caiiio suddenly iqjon niadame," Ue ]Marigny smiled ami nodded, trying to lu .ik nneon- ccrncd. Like a -well-Lred T'lenchman, ho put tho best face upon it. Murcella turned to him with ono of her bcwltchinir smiles. "Mr. Humo has been so kind," she said; "oh, niais si aimablo ! niais si aimablo ! Jlo lias promised tn come round and help mo with my sketches. He's g<»ing to give me lessons in the evening, do you know, l)egi li- ning immediately." "Not to-night?" Do Marigny interposed, with an anxious air. 'Oh no, not to-night!" jMarcella answered, darting a quick glance at him from under her hat. " I was just ex[)laining that to him." "For to-night," Do Marigny went on, turning once more to IJasil, " madamo is engaged to come to my sister- in-law's, who holds a reception." Basil noted the discrepancy, but was too polite, of course, to call attention to it overtly. Two's company; three's none. He had seen enougli now to tell him very plainly that Marcella and Do Marigny were on those terms of intimacy where a third person is wholly super- fluous to the conversation. With some slight excuse for taking a short cut down tho hillside, he raised his hat and loft them abruptly. ])Ut ho went down tho hill somewhat heavy in heart. Your husband in Paris ho accepted, of course, as a necessary element of tho situa- tion — all married women have a husband somewhere — but Do Marigny, he saw at once, was a far more dangerous rival. 150 TIIH SIXTH COMMANDMEyT. II. All next, (liiy, to roliovc his 8onl, l>;isil woilccil hiird at Lis picture, lii^li up on the liill.sido. Ho staited betimes in the early morning, and didn't return to his hotel in the town till dinner-time. Even then, as is the wont of artists, ho was late for tnhJe dltnte. IIo came down, hastily dressed, at the end of the fish course, to find his neip;hbours on either side busily discussiiif^ the latest new sensation in tlie h)V\w of a crime iiassioneh ITc paid little heed to them. His head was equally divided now between Marcella and liis paintinp;; so ho took small nolo nf the fj^ossip and twaddle which interests the tahle dlinlc ttrder of intellect. IIo merely gathered vaguely from side hints which the <'thers let drop, that somebody somewhere — an American, as ho judged — had come; homo unexpectedlj'', from the sky or elsewhere, to hud his Avifo and her lover in Jlagranfc dch'cto, and had shot his rival dead before the very ej'es of the unhappy woman. For some minutes Basil said nothing as to how such an ap- palling act impressed him ; but the general truculent satisfaction of the good ruoral folk at the table by his side, over this vindication, as they considered it, of the ethical proprieties, roused him at last, by pure force of iteration, to something very like indignant horror, lie turned to the British matron who sat close at his left. " "What an atrocious crime ! " ho exchiimed, bridling u[). " For my part, I hope the French jury won't go in, after its kind, for extenuating circumstances." IMrs. Paul — that was his neighbour's name — staied back at him blankly, " As far as I'm concerned," she answered, in a sharp little treble, " I only wish, myself, he'd shot the woman also." Basil started back, aghast. Such bloodthirsty frankness appalled him, He was a clergyman's son, and had been THE SIXTir CmrMAXDMhWT. 151 brought up in tho sconiingly effete idea that human life possesses a special sanctity. "You can't surely mean that!" ho cried, all troiul)ling with sudden horror. "You can't mean to say you approve of doliborato nnirdor?" "I don't call tliat wuyy slow degrees IVisil worked himself np to a state of fiery indignation against this nnehristian an;r('at staircase of tlio I'alais de Justico. IFe had never Ijcforo seen a Frencli court in aeliou. All was new and strange to him — the judge in his curious, old-world C'stuine; the hariisters in their quaintly shaped caps and gowns; the hiitsslcr in his place; tho oflieials of tho court in their unfamiliar ujiiform. Not less so tho procedure. Alvan Griswfdd was brought into court between two military-lDoking gendarmes. For tho first time in his life ]»;»sil set eyes upon tho nuin whoso act for so many days had monopoli/eil ami con- centrated his whole brain and attention. (Jiiswold was tall and thick-set — a very powerful man ; h)W-browed, dark-haired, with a bull-dog look of iron determination on his unamiable fe itures. Even the sciii[)ulous dre^s of a gentleman and the cultivated accent he had ac([uired unawares in Eiii()[)eau society, didn't entirely disguise in him the original element of western rufliandom. 'JMiat largo hard chin, those cold black eyes, that square bullet head, marked him out at once as tho true descendant of tho men who first scrambleil in a desperitto stiuggle for life over tho possession of tho goldtields. I To was just tho sort of man one would shrink instinctively from meeting on a dark night in the country. liich, wtdl-groouud, woll-baibercd, with a dainty flower in his biittonholo and a big gem on his middle finger, he still hjoked and moved every inch a prizc-iighter. ]>isil could understand better now the view such a man would almost necessarily take of his wife and his honour, and the means ho would hold to bo lawful and ju.st for defending and upholding his proprietary rights in her. From the very first start the young Englishman was surprised at tho evident want of reality and earnestness that characterized the proceedings. The Judge, the counsel, the very .Procnreur de hi llepnhluine himself, seemed to go through their task with pure peifunctory l.)tJ THE SIXTH (VMMAyDMhWT. ilili^OTico. Nobod}', lio noticoiihli(iHf had brcjught against his client. Their plea was, of course, a plea of justification. After tho evidence tendered on the prosecuting side, it would liardly bo necessary for liini to show at further lengtli the nature of the relations which unhappily sub.sisted ])etwoen ]\[adame (Jriswold and/t'?t Monsieur do Marigny. Those relations, the prosecution itself, he remarked, had amply, and move than amply, already admitted. For justification, ho need hardly say, ho relied entirely on Article 324 of tho Penal Code, which reads as follows ; — " Dans le cas d'adultere prevu par I'article ;].'»•), le meurtre commis par lY-poux sur sou epouse ainsi quo sur lo complice, a I'instant oil 11 les surprend en flagrant del it dans la maison ccnjugale, est excusable." Maitre Legrango paused long with forensic skill before he bogfiri his reading of that exculpatory article. Ilasil Hume felt in his heart that something quite important, quite unexpected, was coming, 'i'he great barrister ad- 158 Tin: siXTir (^o^fM^xl^Ml:xT. jiisteil iho jiinrrio;: on liiw iiosu as he lioM up llio lieavy vuhiinc of tlio IViuil Codo with j^roat dignity in front of ]iini. Then, in lii.s lin^inj^, Honoious voice, anil with his iniprc'Hsivo manner, ho uttercil the turril)le words of that tcrrililu itrovi.sion. Deep silencu luigned in tlio conrt. All tli(! i'rt'nchnion present wero of courHo ■well awaro of the nature of tlieir own law; hut this trial liad at- tracted many I'lnglish aud Ameiieans, to whom that atrocious i)r(n'iHloii — tiic mo>t harhario, surely, in any civilized code — came homo witli all the furco of a sur- prising and startling novelty. To none of them, how- ever, did it appear so startling, so surprising, so utterly confounding, as to I'asil Jlume. It hnist upon him liko a thunderbolt. Then, not only in the opininns of irre- sponsihle men and wmnen at hotel dining-tahles, Itut by the deliberate law of the French liei)ublie, such a murder as that was no murder at all, not even a criiu', but an excusable outburst of natural feeling! l»asil felt his cheeks at onci' grow liery red with shamo and indignation. 'I'lie inner fiie that consumed him burnt brighter than ever within his marrow now. J lis mouth was hot and dry; his head was swimnung. Ho looked across at Marcella with infinite compassion. '^JMien he looked at Alvan Griswold with a mingled look of liorror, dismay, and infinite loathing. As for the Californian, he stood tiiero still in the docdc unmoved, his arms crossed boldly across his burly breast, and a faint smile playing lightly around that cruel mouth and those jaws of iron. Maitro Legrangc, hardly pausing, went on with eft'eet to argue in detail that the drama of the Hotel des Vosges, as everybody now called it, fell under the case so dis- tinctly provided for by Article S'24: in its second para- graph. The only question, he said, was as to the doubtful point whether the phrase ^^ dans la tiudson canjiKjah'/'^ could be construed so as to include the rooms in the hotel where THE SIXTH C()MMAM>Mi:sr. IM) j\Iiiiluinc (Iriswold, at tlio tiino of tlio occurrence, wuh loil^- iu{^. I\[(utro Lof^riingo luiiintaineil learnedly that tliey might ho HO construed; for " At hkiIsou roujiKjulc'" means not necessaril}' an entire house, hut a domestic residence. For example, no husband couM ho dei>rivod of tlio hcnefit of this humano exccittion on the purely accidental and casual ground that ho happt-ned to occupy, let us say, a flat in a house in i'aris. J»y the words " maison conjii- gale," the law clearly intended to designate the homo or hal)itual hnjls of tho family. Now, M. (jiris\v()|)L'il back a};ain, witli their aiisvvi'i' ready. "What verdict do you find?" .Munsieiir lo President in(|iiired lanj^uidly. And the foreman answered, dearinj; his Ihroat, " Wo find, in aceordanco with Arti(;lo li'l-i of tho I'enal (,'ode, that y\. Alvan (iriswold .shot tho deceased, Ciuy do IMari^ny, at the moment wlien he surpriseil him in open adultery with madame hi.s wife, in tho apartment at tho IFotel des VoHjjjes, whicli was then and there llio conjn;:;al residence; and therefore we return a verdict of Not (iuilty." Alvan (Jriswold unwound his arms, lie l)Owed politely lo th(^ jury. ".Jo vous remeri:ie, messieurs," he said with a smile, in very perfect I'reneh. Then he bowed to tin! .)ud<;e. " Et vousaussi, Monsieur le i'lvsident," ho atlded, in a tone of most utter inditfereneo. liut liasil Ifumo looked up. Across the white wall of the Palais do .lustico, behind the President's chair, ho saw onco more with his mind's eye, in great letters of blood, those live damninu,' words, "Thou slialt do no murder." IV. On tho Escalicr d'TIouneur of tho Palais do .Justice a busy little throng of synqiathizing Americans crowded close round Alvan Griswold, shaking his hand and con- gratulating him. l>y a side door at tho otlier end tif the court, deeply veiled as before, and in her profound mourning, IMarcella slipped stealthily out and drove olV to tlio station to take the train to Paris, and home to her mother's in England. Put Pasil Ilumo reuuiined behind, and followed his man at a speaking distance, lie saw him walk down tho street and up to the door of tho principal hotel in La lioche, where rooms had been re- TUJ'J SIXTH COVMAXDML'S'T. hU iiiiiitMl lor liiin. Alvun (Jiiswold waH rich, iind could iilVord to buy whatever thiH world olVorcd. 80 friondn crowded round him. Hut to Hiisil lluuio's eyoH, as ho walked, footprintH of })lood nuirkcil the man's stops on the flughtonoH behind liim. And the front of the hotel, aH he jtuHHed beneath its portal, boro in blood-rod letters, still in his mental visi(jn, that accusing law, "Thou shalt do no murder." Tho moro ho thought of it all, tho moro wicked and preposterous did tho senteneo seem to him. The French Jury, sot to try this man, had tried him neither according to tho laws of CJod nor the moral henso of eivili/.ed man, but according to the diclafc.s of their own barliaric; juris- prudence, the national ont( (»me of a false and dying system. Hour aftor hour, as he pondered it in his own soul, their conduct Bccmed to him to grow worse and worse. Theso citizens who were placed there oil purpose to speak with tho united and embodied voice of humanity the verdict of even justice, had failed, to a nnm, of their duty in tho hour of need, and had condoned a crime which to Basil's moral sense seemed absolutely revolting. A woman was not, ho felt sure, any man's chattel and property that ho might taboo her to himself, and make her his own without hope of appeal, and defend with sword or revolver every attempt against his mastery. All night long ho lay awake, growing more and more fiercely indignant. The crime itself had seemed terrible enough to him, in all conscience, but this its public justi- fication was ten times more terrible. That a man should do murder for private revenge was a very awful thing; but that a civilized community, in its cor})orato capacity, and by tho organized voice of its legal exponents, should give him the right to do it, and should let him go scot- free afterwards, seemed to Basil, in his fervour of moral horror and his fever of juoral eagerness, an unspeakable calamity. M Hi2 Till': SIXTH COMMAyDMEXT. IIo lay awake find tliought it out. Early next morninji,', A Ivan Gri.swold took the train to St. rierre-lcs-]>ains. Marcella bad slipi)cd ofF, it is true, to Paris and War- wickshire, hut the family eftects were still in the inaiaon conJHijale at the Hotel dcs Vosges ; and after his long confinement, Griswold needed the country air and change and quiet before relurning once more to the feveri>h dissipations of his beloved capital. For the next few days, accordingly, l>asil met him frecpiently ; but they never spt)ke. They didn't know one another. Basil preferred it should be so. He was anxious even to hold his tongue now on the moral point, lest Griswold should siuspeet himself in presence of an enemy. To say the truth, he seemed to be the only one. Society at St. I'ierre swallowed Griswohl entire, lie was frtcd like one who has perfoiiued, for all the world, some public-spiriled action. Yet all these days and nights l>asil brooded still on this miscarriage of justice anel the events that had led to it. The more he looked at it, the plainer did that central princi})lo of all come out to him. The man was a murderer, and deserving of punishment. lie had had a trial before an unjust law, an unjust judge, and a mis- directed jur}'. The law, indeed, had absolved him, but the crime remained as great and as unexpiated as ever. Slowly in Basil's mind a terrible idea, an infatuated idea, arose and shaped itself. If twelve men could bo found so to shirk their duty, one man must be found to take it upon him in their stead, and perform it fearlessly. If the laws of man refused to convict this red-handed homi- cide, then surely the laws of God should try him and punish him. At a shop in the Grand' Eue he bought a revolver. For a day or two he walked aimlessly through the town and among the paths on the hills, meeting Griswold now and again, but always in company. lie might have shot him then and there, to be sure, for it wasn't detection ho ri[E i^IXTII COMMANDMhWT lfi8 shirked ; ho went to work with his eyes open, taking- his life in his hands, and regarding himself merely as a chosen minister of divine vengeance. But he wanted not merely to punish his man in the dark ; he must exjilain to him first the good ground and reasons of his justly-inflicted punishment. To do that as it ought to he done, he must see Griswold alone ; and to see Griswold alone now was no easy matter. The murderer, haunted perhaps l)y the ghosts of his own accusing conscience, seldom appeared in public without a posse of friends, lie walked ahout in a crowd; he was boisterous and excited. He seemed to keep himself from the gnawing pangs of remorse by living in a Constant whirl of feverish dissipation. Day after day Basil waited and watched, but his ehunce never came ; the man always eluded him. His iiery indignati(jn couldn't cool for a moment; but the opportunity f(jr carrying out the desperate plan he had at heart grew more and more remote with every day he remained there. At last, one afternoon, as the weeks wore on, Basil went up again int(j the hills behind the gay little town. It was a beautiful autumn day, calm, clear, and sunny. Tiie trees were now beginning to drape themselves in their later livery of crimson and gold. An air, as of deep peace, pervaded the whole world. It reacted upon Basil, lie felt more calm and resigned than he had felt for many weeks. The very aspect of nature seemed to cool his fevered brain. lie even took out his sketch book and began to draw, lie must do something; he was tired of waiting; ho would return fur a AN'hilc at last to his accustomed vocations. As he sat there and sketched, by some strange chance of the crowned Caprice that governs this universe, Alvun Grisw^old came suddenly upon him round the selfsame corner where he had seen first Marcella and then Do Marigny emerge, on the very evening of the murder. The Californian was alone, walking fast through the woods, 1<^1 i'Ht' SIXTH COMMAMJMHAT. and deeply preoccupied. (,)uick as liglitnitig Jiasil i)cr- ceived that lii.s opportunity liad come. Without one tremor of his hand, witlioutono word of warniiifr, he drew t]io revolver in haste from the hreast-pockct of his coat, and, pointing it low at the man's legs, discharged two' chambers rajtidly. At sound of the sudden sliots, Alvan Griswold started, surprised. Next moment a pang of pain shot fiercely through and through him. Jle sat down on the bank i'n an^ utter collapse. Strong man as ho Avas, he almost fainted at once with pain and loss of blood from the two wounds, for both bullets had taken eOect. lUsil saw at a glance that he was seriously injured. ]}lood flowed from cither log; in point of fact, one ball had buried itself in his left shin bone, the other had passed clean througli his right calf, which now bled profusely. The American was too much accustomed lo the us.; of firearms to be entirely surprised by this unexpected attack under such seemingly nni)rovoked circumstances. After a moment's delay he looked up at his assailant, and burst forlh with all the coolness and sannfroid of his western countrymen. " Well, say now, I want to know : what the devil did you shoot for ? " ^ Basil had meant to disable him. He saw his man was disabled. Ho wouldn't shoot him outright, indeed, be- cause he felt he had first a message from God ai.d man to deliver to him. With a stern face of retributive justice he held the re- volver still puinted, without a quiver, full at the man's heart. " Alvan Griswold," he said cabnly, with the super- natural calm of one who holds his own life as dust in the balance, by comparison with the v/ork he has set upon him to accomplish, " I am going to shoot you. I shot low at first, because I wanted to maim you and to make you listen to me. When I have delivered my judgment I will TJir: N/A/7/ r()MMAXItMi:M. Ifi-) shout yoii (Iciifl, for tlio murder of Do Mariguy. 1 liiudly knew him ; I only saw liini once or twice. It is not him I desire to avenge, Imt oiTended justice. I learnt as a child one great law, 'Thou shalt do no murder.' Wiion I heard of this man you killed in cold Mood, in a ju'ivato ({uarrel at the IT^tul des Vosges, I fully expected that even this world's law would rise u.p and punish you. Delibe- rately, and of set purpose, you laid a trap for that man and that woman. Deliberately, and of set pur[)oso, yoTi returned that night from Paris to surprise and dis- cover them. Deliberately, and of set purpose', you took your savage vengeance — the vengeance of the red Indian — u^wn the man who, as you no doubt would choose to put it, had attacked your honour. The law (jf France and a jury of Frenchmen were entrusted by (Jod and man with the task of appraising and punish- ing your crime. They failed in their duty. An odious exception in their I'enal Code gave you the seeming right to exorcise, unpunished, the barbaric revenge v^^hich you chose to wreak upon your defenceless enemy. lUit I fail to see in their uncivilized statute-book any pro- vision which says that if ycuir wife had surjirised you at some hell in Paris with one of the women of your choice, the law would have justilied her in executing a like vengeance upon you and your paramour. So unequal and unfair a law as that deserves no respect at all from any human being. l>ut the law of God, which tells me, in plain words, ' Thou shalt do no murder,' still remains to bo vindicated, if not by the constituted authority of the land, thG THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. (Icmii yuu tu death. And in accordance willi tliat verdict I fsliall proceed to slioot 3-011. ITave yon anything to say that may show just cansc wliy tho sentence of this court should not at once, hero and now, bo executed upon you ? " While ho spoke, the man (hiswold, pale as a j^ho.st with ]»ain and loss of blood and terror, gazed up at him vacantly. Ilis heavy lower jaw dropped by degrees on his l)reast. Those keen dark eyes stared in front of him glassily. lie heard every word Basil Ilumo had to say. In a vague kind of fashion ho took it all in, and thoroughly understood it ; but ho was stunned by tho suddenness and unexpectedness of tho attack. lie cowered before the actual face of death as though he himself had never been a successful bully. Whilo Basil still spoke, he s:it si ill, chained to the bank, as it were, by his wounded legs. When ]5asil iitiished, he staggered up, flung liis arms wildly in the air, and raised one loud mad shriek, " ITolp ! help ! Murder ! murder! " Basil held tho revolver point-blank at him. " No, vot murder," ho said quietly : " execution — ^justice. If you have nothing else to say against tho sentence of the court, and can only call out like a coward for aid against tho just fato imposed by divine law upon you — then I shall wait no longer. Alvan Griswold, I shoot you ! " Tho revolver rang out clear, once, twice, and thrice. Griswold clapped one white hand to his breast in horror, and fell back with a low moan. Basil ITumo dropped tho pistol on tho path by his side and gazed at his man list- lessly. Not a motion of his body ; not a tromor of his limbs. Surely justice had been done on him ! Then ho sat down in a careless attitude on the granite rock by tho dead man's feet, and waited till tho gendarmes, aroused by the firing, should come up from St. Pierre to the hills to arrest him. THE MISSING LTNK. EiciiAnn ITawklvs was ilio Dimtliorpo doctor. Yon'vc heard of Diratliorpe, no doTiht— that stranded little village on the low SntTolk coast, hounded on the north hy a salt- marsh, on the south by a sand-hank, on the ri^ht by a spreading East Anglian broad, and on the left by tho wild waves of tlio German Ocean. As you tack along that flat shore, in a lumbering lugger, you see a faint streak of laud and a squat church tower on your weatlier bow ; and if you ask the Southwold skipper who navi- gates your boat what place that is, he'll answer you otriiand, " Yen's the hill at Dimtiiope." TTo says it's a hill, you know, because it rises full eight feet liigli above sea-level at spring tides. Anywhere else in the world but in the Suffolk marshes, you'd laugh at the notion of calling that a hiil. In Suffolk tho wise man accepts elevations at the native estinuite. All the doctors who ever came to Dimthorpe before llichard Hawkins, had taken to drink ; except one, his predecessor, and he took to opium-eating. There was nothing else for an educated man to do in the place, people said. Perhaps it was the lowness and dampness of that marshy islet, and the dep.ressing climate. But anyhow, in tlie marshes, men begin witli (|uinine, for their first six weeks, to ward off fever and ague ; take next, after twelve months, to brandy or gin ; and end. It;s 'IHE MISSING />/AA'. iif'ter a year ur two, with injectionH ol morphia. Tluitw the reg'uhir round, if a man lives long enough ; but most of them die oil" before they reach the opiate stage. Kicliard Hawkins, however, was a religious man : a Kocretary of Young Men's Christian Associations and Bible Society Auxiliaries: so he took instead to the pursuit of science, lie had taken to it, indeed, long before ho bought the retiring opium-eater's practice at Dinitliorpe. The Christian Young Men have a taste for magic lanterns and for the wonders of creation. They like to glance curiously at a creature under the microscope, and to say as they pass on, with an unctuous air, " The handicraft of CJod is very marvellous." Early in life, therefore, iiichard Hawkins undertook to supply that felt want of the Christian Young Men by Wednesday evening lectures. As a student, he had paid particular attention to botany, comparative anatomy, geology; as a full-fledged medical man, he managed to find time still in the intervals of his practice, for these favourite studies. He had an adamantine constitution, which enabled him to go his rounds all day in his dog-cart or on his short-legged cob, and to be up again, fossil-hunting in the crag pits by the river, at five o'clock next morning. A clean-shaven man, stubborn, pig-headed, conscientious, honest ; the father of a family, blest with many twins, and ruling his own house well ; one of those solid, stolid cast-iron ]>ritons who know they're in the right, and will go to the stake gladly' for their dearest prejudices rather than swerve an inch to the right or to tlie left from the patli of truth as their eyes envisage it. At Dimthorpe, Richard Hawkins gained universal re- spect. A doctor who didn't drink was indeed a novelty there. A doctor who served his turn in due time as churchwarden : a doctor who had means of his own, and paid his bills weekly : a doctor who lectured on the errors of Darwinism to the budding East Anglian grocer's as- Tin: .vissixa ijsk. hij fsihtant; a doctor who bnttrcssod the totturin<^ lahric of orthodoxy with iiuigic-huitovn slides, and combated tho •growing scepticiNiii of this Knistiaii ago with tho two- odgcd Hword of tho Bible and Science — that was a laro treasnro. Tho vicar congratulated himself on so nsefnl an ally, though with an undercurrent of terror lest Dr. Jfawlvins sh(nild suggest more doubts than lie laid, and should rouso by his apologies more (|uestions tlian ho answered, in tho candid minds of tho young ladies t)f Dimihorpc. For tho young should be shielded fr^iu tlio very sliadow of error. 15ut those are, alas! unbelieving days. Xow, Dimthorpu was cursed with a veiy bad man — "a blaspheming cobbler," tho mild-eyed curate called him — one Jol) W'hit- tingham by name, a shrunken little cieature, who look iXxQ National lief ormer and i\iQ Sccidarist for his intellectual diet, and who had read wicked books by Colenso, Huxley, Sponcor, and Tyndall. Nourishing his spare soul on these indigestible morsels, the cobbler in time waxed fat and kicked, intellectually speaking : for corporally, ho was as lean and miserable as a scarecrow. He was a fearful radical too, folks thought, that ccjbbler : he feared neither squire nor parson, God nor devil. And therefore, at one of Richard Hawkins's ^Vednesday Evenings for the People — tho Eeverend tho Yicar in the Chair as usual —ho rose in his seat when all was done, and, humming and hawing somewhat in his native modesty, yet with much vehe- ment oratory, as is the fashion of the British working- man when he speaks in public, ho ventured, ho said, 'umbly to call in question some of our loanuMl l(;cturer's most 'ardy conclusions. Richarel Hawkins smiled. With that ample conscious- ness of intellectual superiority which the right use of the aspirate always gives to an educated num, face to face with the objections of an uneducated opponent, he leaned with both hands on the little tabh; before him, and ejacu- 170 TITE 3/rS'ST.Vr,' L7NK. liitoliiii(lly ill ii very soft voice, " Wliicli ones, pray? Which ones?" " Wiili ])r. 'A\vkin.s'.s ]>cviniMHi()U, sir," tlio ohblor Jinswcrcd sturdily, ii(Llrcssiiiealed even to the ])artially adverse ojiinions of Mr. Awlfied ]»ussel Wal- lace. Ho Hbowed bnw shallow and sophistical, hdW devoid of solid basis, were the arjjjanunts advanced l»y Dr. 'Awkins a'^ainst them. He domoHsbod Dr. 'Awkins, indeed, witb anatomy and ])bysiolo^y, witb pb}dogeny and embryoloj^y, witb tbe <^*nrilla and tbo cbimi)anzee, witb ttr jirlorji reasoninf^* ami ar potftrrloi'H facts. IL was a triumphant vindication. Tbo cobbler waxed warm over it, and mopped bis bald forebcad more tban once by tbo way with the corner of his best red silk pocket-hand- kerchief. But tbe audience — well, tbe audience just stared and tittered. In their well-bred ignorance — for most of them belonged to tbo local gentry and professional classes of the mud-bank islet — they felt the genial tolerance of superiority for the cobbler's facts and the cobbler's theories. It was nothing to them that Job Whittingbam knew ten thousand times more about tbo (question at issue than any one of themselves did. It was nothing to them that bis logic was acute and his reasons con- vincing; nothing that bis knowledge, though second- band, was really in its way both wide and accurate. The man droj^ped his h's ; that was quite enough for Dimtborpe. AVHiat science can you expect from tbo lips of a man who misplaces the very letters of the English alphabet? As Job grew warmer, and mopped his faco more vigorously, the audience tittered louder at each absentee aspirate. As he iinished, the chartered wag of nii-: MIS!>l.\i; LINK. 173 ])iuitlj(trp(! iiiniotl round to tlio vicar's Kocotid dim^litfr "with ii broad Hmilo on liin I'atv, and sU};gostfil in an aiidildo aside that to judge from tlie Npeaker's words the Mi^sin;^; Liidc of 'uiiianity was the h^-ttcrll. Tiion Jlicliard Hawkins, never heeding these rude allusiuiis, but with the sweet smile of superiority on his smug cK'an-shaven faee, rose oneo more from his seat, and expanding his wliite sliirt-front with obtrusive respec- tability, addressi.'d himself in the calm and courteous tono of the experienced lecturer to the Koverend tlm Chairman, That was a crushing answer. As the cidjbUjr afterwards described it in a conversation with a friend, 'Awkins pounced (h>\vn npnn him like an 'uwk ; he was .simply Kcarilied. Nut that the doctor coukl really reply to any one of his uidearned ojiponent's cogent arguments ; l»ut the doctor's aspirates were as tirm as a rock, and the doctor's delivery was after the manner of a man who demonstrates to a beginner well-ascertained certainties. "I ain't a-arguiu' with you," said a public-house orator one day to a foolish objector ; •' I'm only a-tellin' of you." And IJichard Hawkins didn't argue either; ho only told Job AVhittinghiim where and how he was in error. Against Iluxley and Darwin, the lecturer <|Uuteil with impressive elTect (raising his voice as ho spoke) that great and venerated anatomist. Sir liichard Owen; and the audience, thrilling to the title, as in duty bound, felt instinctively that just as a member of the Koyal College of Physicians is a better authority on science than a common cobl)ler, so a professor who had received the dignity of knighthood at the hands of most sacred majesty itself, must be a better authority on comparative anatomy than a brace of plain misters. It stood to reason, of courso, that the Queen must know best on a question of abstruse scientitic opinion. In short, liichard Hawkins beat down his cobbler antagonist by sheer dint of authority and of social 1T4 TUE MISSING LINK. position. It was white-tie and swallow-tail against Sunday suit; it was academical English against sound common sense and quaint homespun rhetoric, with no h's to boast of. Ah soon as the doctor had wagged his forefinger for tlie last time at a demonstrative period, the chairman, still wriggling uneasily in his chair, but with a pleasing consciousness that orthodoxy had now been amply vin- dicated, dissolved the meeting at once without waiting for Job Whittingham. The right of final reply, he said, rested always with the lecturer. That was a rule of debate. Dr. Hawkins had replied. We would now adjourn, and meet again in this place on Wednesday fortnight : subject. The Evidences supplied by the Geo- logical Record as to the Authenticity and Truth of Holy {Scripture. And for the next three days nobody talked of anything at the tea-tables of Dimthorpe, except the cheek of the cobbler, and the way Dr. Hawkins had banged the breath out of his body. He hadn't a leg to stand upon, the mild-eyed curate opined — not a leg to stand upon ; he was simply extinguished. But Job Whittingham went away, scratching what hair remained on his shock-headed poll, and feeling vaguely conscious that in spite of the doctor's long words — his crushing allusions to the hippocampus major and the flexor pollicis lomjus — Darwin and Huxley were right after all, and Kichard Hawkins was but a shallow middle-class sciolist. It was his ample shirt-front that had carried the day. " A working-man ain't got no chance," Job remarked to himself, with philosophic re- signation, '• agin the respectability and the social pres- teedge of the black-coated classes. That's just where it is, don't you see? Ho ain't got no chance agin 'em." It was on Saturday of that week that Kichard Hawkins, THE MISSING LINK. 175 going his rounds on foot in the poor part of the town, saw one of Job Whittinghani's eight starveling youngsters sitting on the doorstep of tlio cobbler's liouse ; for though the radical philosopher was in theory a stalwart Malthusian, in practice his ([uiver was very full of th'Mii. The buy was sucking a bono, which iniinediately at- tracted the doctor's trained attention. It wasn't a fresh bone, and it had no trace of meat on it. But the thing that made liichard Hawkins give a start of surprise at sight of it was the fact that — not to mince matters too line — the bone was human. His anatomical eye told him that in a moment. The second or middle joint of a human forehnger ! He drew back, astonished. Not that there was hero any faint flavour of romantic cannibalism. The bone, though human, Avas old and long buried. His interest in it was anticiuarian and scientilic, not living and medical. No suspicion of murder about this strange relic ; no case of infanticide and back-garden interment. With facts like those, liichard Hawkins was onlv too familiar. He knew the ways of the poor and the evils of illegitimacy. But this bono was dry, very anti(|ue, thoruughly minerali/ed. He took it from the boy sharply, and looked hard at it awhile with the naked eye. Ha! what was this ? Why, traces of crag on the sides and knuckle ! Now, crag is the loose rod Pliocene deposit of the hill at DImthorpe; and as every geologist or anticjuary knows, it antedates by many, many thousands of yeais the supposed first appearance of man on our jilunet. If the bone really came from a layer of the crag — liichard Hawkins drev/ back in unspeakable horror. He didn't even dare to formulate to himself his instinctive con- clusions. If the bone really came from the crag, then the ago of man on the earth must be pushed back a couple of million years at least, to the Pliocene time — and lleuveu I7<; Till': MUSSING LINK. only knows what might he the remote con«equence8 to the cause of orthodoxy. ''Where did yon get this finger, boy?" ho asked the lad sharply. And little Ted, looking up, made answer with a jerk of his thumb over his right side, " Down yon : by Wood's nrag-pit." " Dug it out?" the doctor asked in a very short voice. And the boy nodded assent. ''Dug it out there," ho answered. The doctor put the bone in his pocket hurriedly, gave the boy a ha'penny — for he was a saving man — and walked away to the next patient's house, much perturbed and preoccupied. lie could hardly attend to the symp- toms in the case — a mere oidirary development of acute brain-fever, in the stage of collapse — so interested and excited was he by that momentous question. What did it matter, in fact, whether one more poor old woman lived or died, when the whole fabric of theology, the whole future hopes of the human race, trembled tottering in the balance ? As soon as he decently could, he got awaj' from his patients, home by himself, and, locking the door of the consulting-room, as often happened when people had to be examined, he took out his little platyscopic lens, and gazed long and anxiously at that tell-tale forefinger. Fragments of crag were embedded on it all round. It was to some extent mineralized by removal of bony particles and their replacement through filtration of iron compounds. Kichard Hawkins peered at it in blank dis- may. If this were indeed a bone of Pliocene date — then the whole fabric of his philosophy must topple over, helter-skelter, in one awful collapse, from base to coping- stone. But no ! Impossible 1 Incredible ! The thing couldn't be. By sure and certain warranty of Holy Scripture, he THE ML^SmO LTNK. 177 know it wasn't so; ho know it; lio Jnirw it. Man was fashionod direct, in tho shapo that wo soo him, by tho fingor of tho Creator (whatever that may moan), without any Missing Link or other intcrmotliato developmental form botwcon himself and tho soulless anthrop-^ids. Tho bono must have boon buried by accident in tho crag, or deliberately interred thero in ancient Tiritish times, and must have got mineralized in a comparatively short period by tho action of water. To-morrow morning ho would go and examine tho crag-pit. Till then, he'd put tho bono back safe in his waistcoat pocket. But ho felt uneasy about it, all tho same, for tho rest of tho day ; that uncanny fragment ! how annoying of it to come in with its disturbing implications, to upsot tho snug edifice of his cut-and-dried sj'stem ! Bones shouldn't bo allowed to got craggy like that ! They should bo kept in their place; they should bo retained on tho surface; they should bo confined entirely to their proper strata. As tho vicar with Job Whittingham, so tho doctor with that digital. I'hat evening tho vicar called round for an amiable cliat with Dr. Hawkins in his private study. Tlio twins never came there, and he could see his friend (juiclly. They had a cigar together, and discussed the last lectun*. Tho doctor was more positive that night than ever. IFo gazed at the illustrative casts of mammalian skulls in the cabinet opposite — man's, the gorilla's, tho chimpan- /.co's, tho gibbon's — and remarked complacently that for his part he pinned his faith on Specific Distinctions. If ever tho affiliation of ^[an on tho Anthropoid Ajjos Ix;- canio a Proved Fact, then he didn't see how they cou] simian. How he got through the day, ho hardly knew. Dinner time came, and he ate his food mechanically. But horri- ble thoughts surged and seethed in his soul. The universe was tottering to its centre that day. The cosmow stood tremulous on the brink of an abyss. God himself was being weighed in the balance, and perhaps found want- ing. The existence of order, creation, a deity, depended upon the undisclosed remainder of that hateful skeleton. H" the rest was as monkey-like as the fragment he had unearthed, then the Bible was a lie ; the Creator was a dream ; religion was a figment ; the universe rolled black down the ages to hell : there never was, there never had been, a (lod its ruler. So Richard Hawkins thought. Perhaps he thought right. Perhaps ho thought wrong. But at any rate, ho thought so. Too logical to palter with petty reconcilia- tions, he stood by his guns manfully in this last ex- tremity. He had erected for himself early in life a well-rounded philosophy, a system of things ; and on that system he had based himself through all the years of his manhood. On the Impregnable Rock of Holy Scripture he had taken his stand. Now o. moral earth- 183 THE MISSING LINK. quako hhouk a,iul assailed that Rock. It trcinblccl before his very eyes. If it staggered and fell, the solid ground would have failed beneath him. He had no 'place left in which to lay his head. Hell yawned open beside him. lie must plunge into it and bo satiisfied. Yet, born man of science tliat ho was for all that, ho could never bo untrue to the Facts', could never ignore Evidence. Though that skeleton were to overthrow his (iod and his philosophy at once, ho must tinearth it still : ho must find out the Truth : let it cost what it might, ho must stand oven with Realities. At nine o'clock ho rose, and took out his lantern. His wife looked astonished. •' Where are you going, Richard?" she asked. And for the first time in his life, that perturbed and troubled soul told her guiltily a deliberate lie. " A midwifery case," ho answered, shuffling. " Poor woman out Ness way. I mayn't be back till morning." And he went out by himself towards the crag-pit by the river. It rained hard that night, but for hours he stood there in the cold and wet, digging away with all his might, digging feverishly, madly. At all hazards, ho must dig- out that accursed thing. Never should it affront an innocent world with its godless face. Never should it laugh its luuto laugh at purity and goodness. No work- man should unearth it, and exhibit it in a glass case at the British MuseitUi. If it was all that he feared, no human eye but his own should ever behcdd the atheistical grin on its mocking skull. lie alone should pass through that fiery furnace. He alone should know by positive proof his Bible a lie and his God a delusion. Two million years ago, some black and hairy creature, shambling along half erect on crouching knees through the woodland, had been suddenly carried away by a wild rush of water from a bursting tree-dam, and, after one hideous yell of rage and despair, had been drowned and THE MTSSINO ITSK. 183 biiiiod in Kiuul oti llic spot tliat is now tlio Hill at Dim- thorpo. Alono ainoiif^ liis kind, his skoluton was thus prosorvod, by tho pnro acoiJcnt of geology, fur our ago to look upon. Richard Ilakwins had diHcovered tho ono surviving specimen of tho ancestor of nuu», as he roamed tho dense woods of a Pliocene Britain. Bit by bit he uncovered tlie thing — head, feet, trunk, shoulders. In the dark and under the rain, by tho dim light of his lantern, ho could hardly form any just anatomical opinion upon its form and aflinities. J>ut ho 8aw (piito enough even so to know his worst fears were hideously conlirmed. With tho energy of despair— tho energy of a man who works body and soul against fearful odds to save the community from some unknown cata- clysm, llichard Hawkins dug on, all heedless of rain and cold and darkness, llis ono terror was now lest any man should come up before dawn and interrupt him. That he should have learned that ghastly secret of the meks was bad enough in all conscience : but that all tho world should know it, and sink into the hopeless slough of inlidelity and vice, — that was more than Kichard Hawkins could bear to contemplate. At last ho finished his task. Every bone of tho entire skeleton was there, unbroken. He thrust the precious fossils carefully into his sack, extinguished his lantern, and trudged wearily homo through tho rain, a disillusioned unbeliever. Any other discoverer with half Bicliard Hawkins's scientific knowledge would have gone homo rejoicing that ho had found the most wonderful geological rolii; ever unearthed on the surface of our planet. J>ut to Kichard Hawkins, tho whole ei)isode envisaged itself quite otherwise. The iron of the Young Men's Cliristian Association had entered into his soul. For years ho had prcaclied, \\ith all the sulid, stolid, square-headed login of his British middle-class mind, th it morality, decency, 164 Tin: MISSING LINK. tlie woll-boing of our race dopondecl absolutely upon the lolijriou.s life, aud that tho religiouH lifo dopondod absu- lutoly upon implicit acceptauco of tho Bible story aa ho hiuiBolf iutorpruted it : — and was ho f^oinjj; now to turn back upon tho croud of a lifetime, merely because ho found tiie facts of tlio world had j^oue against him? Never, never, never! Nobly consistent in his way, ]iicharut he had one more duty to perforin before he went hence. The cobbler I Job Whittingham ! For duty was still the pole-star of that wrecked and sinking bark. Like an honest man that ho was, and a sincere ChristiaTi. Kichard Hawkins must allow when ho was fairly beaten. As soon as day broke, he rose once moro from his chair, let himsolf silently out, and walked along the cold grey streets to the cobbler's doorstep. There, he knocked and waited. The cobbler, half- dressed, let him in, and yawned. Itichard Hawkins's face was as white as a sheet. " Good Lord, sir, what's the matter?" the cobbler asked, half terrified. " ]\[a(ter enough," liichard Hawkins answered in a hollow voice, sinking heavily into a seat. His c<^at was still damp, and his eyes were haggard. " Whittingham, I argued against you the other day at my lecture, that man couldn't possibly be descended from an ape-liko ancestor. Well, since then, I've had positive proof that's not the truth. IMan is descended alter all from a monkey— a liideous, grinning, leering, horrible monkey. I know it. I've seen it. With my own very eyes I've found it all out. . . . Yon were right. ... I was wrong. ... As a ('hristian man, I've come to-day to acknowledge it." The cobbler stared hard at him. AVas ])r. 'Awkiiis mad ? " Wy, wot's made yer change yer mind '^ " ho asked at last, mucli wondering. '* No matter," Kiehard Hawkins answered, with lips 188 TUE MISSING LINK. like dcatli. " I've had reason to change. That's enough for us two. Whittinghara, this morning I stand before you, an atheist like yourself. But not a contented one. I can't live so, for long. It's impossible, uuhuman. I know now tliero's no God. To-night in the long watches I've found God out. l>ut I can't do without Him. For in Him, as the apostle truly says, we live and move and have our being." Tlio cobbler stared still harder. What strange mixture of faith and imbelief was this? Ilis working- man mind couldn't fathom it at all. The despair of a wrecked system was too deep for his plummet to sound. "I don't see what you're a-drivin' at," he blurted out bluntly. liichard Hawkins drew his hand across his brow like one stunneil. "I dare say not, my friend," he answered, in the voice of a man who speaks in a dream. "I dare say not. But I mean it for all that. I mean it, every word of it. I couldn't bear to die without coming to acknowledge my change of view to you. I feel I wronged j'ou. And I ought to have recanted as openly as I spoke. I ought to have nuxde you a public restitution. If I wrong any man in ought, I would wish, like Zacchasus, to repay him twofold. But I can't, I can't. For the sake of a groping world, of all those good innocent Christian souls who still believe, as I did, I haven't the heart to do it. I haven't the heart to disillusion them. And I ask you yet one thing, my friend. For God's sake — though there is no God — but, there ! one says it instinctively — for God's sake, speak not a word of this episode to anybody. Whittingham, you don't know what it costs me to make such a confession — to deny my God : to proclaim myself an atheist. Lock it up in your own soul ! fcjay no syllable to any one." The cobbler, screwing up his small face, and peering eagerly out at him, took in by degrees the fact that his TUE MISSING LINK. ISO visitor's heart was stirred to the profoimdost tleptlis,— and had pity upon him. "I will say not a word, sir," ho answered, after a moment's hesitation. Richard Hawkins grasped liis hand, rose in solemn silence, and staggered ont once 'more. At the door he paused again. "No God! No God!" he cried, nodding his head twice or thrice and half turning a second time to the astonished cobbler. Then ho wont out into the street, his hat in his hand, and walked hurriedly homeward. After all, why debate ? All was well at home. I\rary was provided for: the children wouldn't want. Of what use was he now in the world— that godless world? He couhln't bear the weight of such a secret for years and years. Any day he might blab. And ten drops of Trussic acid would end all so easily ! In his own study, he knelt down and prayed earnestly, fervently, to the God that never was, that never had been. You can't conquer in a day the haluts of a lifetiinc. Then he unlocked his medicine chest, and took from it a phial. The jury brought it in " temporary insanity," of course. T'cnplc said, much learning had made him mad, like I'iiul. He had worked too hard at once at science and his pro- fession. THE an EAT RUBY ROBBERY. A ])F/rECTlVE «T01IY. Feusis L'emankt was an American heiress. As she justly remarked, this was a eonimonplaco profession for a younj^* woman nowadays; for almost everybody of late years has been an American and an heiress. A poor Californian, indeed, would be a charming' novelty in London society. But London society, so far, has had to go without one. Persis Kcmanet was on her way back from tlie Wilcoxes' ball. She was stopping, of course, with Sir Evcrard and Lady IMaclure at their house at Ilampstcad. I say " of course " advisedly ; because if you or I go to see Now York, we have to put up at our own expense (five dollars a day, without wine or extras) at the Windsor or the Fifth Avenue ; but when the pretty American comes to TiOndon (and every American girl is ex officio pretty, in Europe at least ; 1 suppose they keep their ugly ones at homo for domestic consumption) she is invariably tho guest either of a dowager duchess or of a Eoyal Acade- mician, like Sir Everard, of the first distinction. Yankees visit Europe, in fact, to see, among other things, our art and our old nobility ; and by dint of native persistonco they get into places that you and I could never succeed in penetrating, unless we devoted all the energies of a long and blameless life to securing an invitation. THE GREAT ItUBY ROBBERY. 101 Persis hadn't been to the Wilcoxes with Laily Macluro, however. The Maclures were to(j really great to know Bucli people as the Wilcoxes, who were something tremen- doiiH in the City, but didn't buy pictures ; and Acade- micians, you knoAv, don't care to cultivate City people — unless they're customers. (" Patrons," the Academicians more usually call them ; but I prefer the simple business word myself, as being a deal less patroniziug.) So Persis had accepted an invitation from i\Irs. Duncan Ifiirrison, the wife of the well-known member for the Ilackness ])ivision of Elmetshire, to take a scat in lier carriage to and from the Wilcoxes. Mrs. Harrison knew the habits and manners of American heiresses too well to offer to chaperon Persis ; and indeed, Persis, as a free-born American citizen, was quite as well able to take care of herself, the wide world over, as any three ordinary married Englishwomen. Now, Mrs. Harrison had a brother, an Irish baronet. Sir Justin O'Byrne, late of the Eighth Hussars, who had been with them to the Wilcoxes, and wlio accompanied them homo toHampstead on the back seatof tlie carriiige. Sir Justin was one of those charming, ineflective, elusive Irishmen whom everybody likes and evoryliody disap- proves of. He had been everywhere, and done everything — except to earn an honest livelihood. The total absence of rents during the sixties and seventies had never pro- vented his father, old Sir Terence OVHyrne, who sat so long for Connemara in the unreformed Parliament, from sending his son Justin in state to Eton, and afterwards to a fashionable college at Oxford. " He gave me the edu- cation of a gentleman," Sir Justin was wont regretfully to observe ; " but he omitted to give me also the income 10 keep it up with." Nevertheless, society felt O'Byrne was the sort of man who must be kept afloat somehow ; and it kept him afloat accordingly in those mysterious ways that only society 102 THE GREAT TtVBY JlOTinETlY. lUKk'rstands, and that yon and I, wlio arc not society, conld never f^ot to the bottom of if wo trieut it's good-bye to-night, Sir Austin, for I go next week to Paris." Even in the gloom of the porch, just lighted by an o 191 THE GREAT RUBY IIOBBETIY. {iriisHc ro'l and V)liio liinterii in wroupjht iron, she could «co " deeply into her dark eyes. " It isn't that ; if it won; only tiiat, I wouldn't so much mind it. ]>ut 1 think you'd tako ^mo." Tlicro was moisture in her eye. He went on more holdly : " I know you'd tako me, I'ersis, and iliut's whv 1 don't ask you. "You're a great deal too rich, and tlit\sr. make it impossible." "Sir Justin," Fersis answered, removing his hand gently, but with the moisture growing thicker, for .she really liked him, "it's most unkind of you to say so; either yoii oughtn't to have told mo at all, or else — if you did " She stopped short. Womanly shame overcame her. Tho man leaned forward and spoko earnestly. " Oh, don't sa}^ that ! " he cried, from his heart. " I couldn't bear to offend you. But I conldn't bear, either, to let you go away— well— without having over told you. In that case you might have thought I didn't care at all for you, and was only flirting with you. But, Tersis, I've eared a great deal for you— a great, great deal— and had hard work many times to prevent myself from asking you. And I'll toll you tho plain reason why I haven't asked you. I'm a man about town, not much good, I'm afraid, for anybody or anything ; and everybody says I'm on tho look-out for an heiress- which happens not to be true ; and / 106 THE GUKAT RUBY jtonnimv. if I niiiiiiftl ycjii, cverybodyM say, ' Ah, tliorc ! I told yt»ii so!' Now, I wouldn't mind that for myself; I'm a man, and I conld snap my fingers at tliom ; but I'd mind it for yoH, Fersis, for I'm enough in love with you to bo very, very jealous, indeed, for your honour. I couldn't bear to thiidc people should say, 'There's that pretty American •■•ill, Persis Kemanet that was, you know; she's thrown iKHSclf away upon that good-for-nothing Irishman, Justin 0'I>yrne, a regular fcn-tuno-liunter, who's married her for her money.' So for your sake, I'ersis, I'd rather not ask you; I'd rather -leave yon for some better man to nuury." " But I wouldn't," Persis cried ahuid. " Oh. Sir Justin, you must believe me. You must remember " At that precise point, Mrs. Harrison put her head out of tlio carriage window and called out rather loudly — "Why, Justin, what's keeping you? The horscs'll catch their deaths of cold ; and they were clipped this morning. Come back at once, my dear ])oy. JJesides, you know, h:s convenances ! " " All right, Nora," her brother answered ; " I won't be a minute. Wo can't get them to answer this precious boll. 1 believe it don't ring! But I'll try again, any- how." And half forgetting that his own words weren't strictly trne, for he hadn't yet tried, ho pressed the knob with a vengeance. " Is that your room with the light burning, IMiss Kemanet?" ho went on, in a fairly loud official voice, as the servant came to answer. " The one with the balcony, I mean ? Quite Venetian, isn't it ? Reminds one of Romeo and Juliet. But most convenient for a burglary, too ! Such nice low rails ! IMind you take good care of the Remanet rubies ! " " I don't want to take care of them," Persis answered, wiping her dim eyes hastily with her lace pocket-hand- Tin: a HEAT nuBY nonniutw ly; korchicf, "if tlioy mako yuii Ibol as yuu say, Sir Justin. 1 don't mind if they go. Lot llio burglar take thorn ! " And oven as sho spoke, tlio jMacluro footman, immu- table, sphinx-like, opened the door for her. ir. Persis sat long in her own room that night before she l)0":an iindreHsinff. I for liead was full of Sir Justin and these mysterious hints of his. At last, however, she took her rubies ofV, and her pretty silk bodice. " I don't care for them at all," slie thought, with a gulp, " if they kee[> from me the love of the man I'd like to marry." It was late before sho fell asleep ; and wlion she did, her rest was troubled. Sho dreamt a great deal ; in her dreams. Sir Justin, and dance music, and the rubies, and bnrglars were incongruously mingled. To mako up for it, sho slept late next morning; and Lady Macluro let her sleep on, thinking sho was probably wearied out with much dancing the previous evening — as though any amount of excitement could ever weary a pretty American ! About ten o'clock sho woke with a start. A vague feeling oppressed her that somebody had como in during the night and stolon her rubies. She rose hastily and went to her dressing-table to look for them. The case was there all right ; she opened it and looked at it. Oh, i)rophetic soul ! the rubies were gone, and the box was empty ! Now, Persis had honestly said thu night before the Iturglar might take her rubies if he chose, and sho wouldn't mind the loss of them. lUit that was last night, and the rubies hadn't then as yet been taken. Tiiis morning, somehow, things seoued cjuite different. It would be rough on us all (especially on politicians) if wo must always be bound by what wo said yesterday. Persis 198 TUB GREAT RUBY RODDERY. was an Ainoiican, and uo American iw insiMusiljlo to tho charms of prcciuuH stonos; 'tis a savage tasto wliich tho Kuropcan immigrants scom to have inherited obliquely from their Kod Indian predecessors. She rushed over to the hell and ran<^' it with feminine violence. Lady Maclure's maid answered tho summons, as usual. She was a clever, demu re-look in<; girl, this maid of Lady Maclure's ; and when J'ersis cried to her wildly, " Send for tho police at once, and tell Sir Everard my jewels are stolen ! " she answered, " Ves, miss," with such soLer acquiesconco that Tersis, who was American, and there- f(jro a bundle of nerves, turned round and stared at her as an incomprehensible mystery. No Maliatma coidd have been moro unmoved. She seemed quite to expect those rubies would be stolen, and to take no more notice of the incident than if Persis had told her she wanted hot water. Lady Maclure, indeed, greatly prided herself (ju this cultivated imperturbability of Bertha's; she regarded it as the fine flower f English domestic service. But Persis was American, and saw things otherwise ; to her, the calm repose with which Bertha answered, " Yes, miss ; certainly, miss ; I'll go and tell Sir Everard," seemed nothing short of exasperating. J'ertha went oif with tho news, closing tho door (^uite softly; and a few minutes later Lady Maclure herself appeared in the Californian's room, to console her visitor under this severe domestic affliction. She found Persis sitting up in bed, in her pretty Freuch dressing-jacket (pale blue with, revcrs of fawn colour), reading a book of verses. " Why, my dear ! " Lady Maclure exclaimed, " then you've found them again, I suppose ? Bertha told ns you'd lost your lovely rubies I " "So I have, dear Lady Maclure," Persis answered, wiping her eyes; "they're gone. They've been stolen. I forgot to lock my door when I came home last night, 77//'; (IIIKAT IlUliY lloIUiKHY. I'.>1> iiiul thu window wuH o|)ou ; somebody must liavo como in, this way or that, and taken tliem. But whunevor I'm in trouble, I try a dose ui lirowniii^. He's splendid for tho nerves. lie's so consolin;:;, yi)U know; be brinj;- one to anchor." fcjho breakfasted in bed ; she wouhln't leave tho room, bho declared, till tho ^xdico arrived. After breakfast sho rose and put on her dainty Parisian morning wrap — Americans have always such pretty bedroom things for these informal receptions — and sat up in state to await tho police ofiicer. Sir Everard himself, niucli disturbed that such a mishap sIkjuM have nappenod in his house, went round in person to fetch tho otlicial. While ho was gone, Lady ."Maclurc made a thorough soarcdi of tho room, but couldn't iind a trace of the missing rubies. " Are you sure you put them in tho case, dear?" sho asked, for the honour of tho household. And Persis answered : •• (^iiite conlident, Lady Macluro ; I always put them there the moment I take tl'om otl'; and when [ camo to look for them this morning, tho case was empty." " They were very valuable, I l)clieve?" Lady ■.Maeluro said, inquiringly. " Six thousand pounds was tho figure in your money, I guess," I'ersis answered, ruefully. '' I don't know if y(m call that a lot of money in England, but wo do in America." There was a moment's pause, and then Persis spoke again — "Lady Maeluro,'" sho said abruptly, "do you consider that maid of yours a Christian woman ? " Lady Maeluro was startled. That was hardly tho light in which she was accustomed to regard the lower clas.ses. " Well, I don't know about that," sho said slowly ; " that's a great deal, you know, tloar, to assort about 200 THE GliEAT JIUBY llOBBMY. anyhodi/, especially one's maid. But I should think she was honest, quite decidedly honest." "Well, that's the same thing, about, isn't it?" Persis answered, much relieved. "I'm glad you think that's so; for I was almost half afraid of her. She's too quiet for my taste, somehow; so silent, you know, and in- scrutable." "Oh, my dear," her hostess cried, "don't blame her for silence; that's just what I like about her. It's exactly what I chose her for. Such a nice, noiseless girl ; moves about the room like a cat on tiptoe ; knows her propei- place, and never dreams of speaking unless she's spoken to." " Well, you may like them that way in Europe," I'ersis responded frankly ; " but in America, we prefer them a little bit human." Twenty minutes later the police officer arrived, lie wasn't in uniform. The inspector, feeling at once the gravity of the case, and recognizing that this was a Big Thing, in which there was glory to be won, and perhaps promotion, sent a detective at once, and advised that if possible nothing should be said to the household on the subject for the present, till the detective had taken a good look round the premises. That ^^^as useless, Sir lOverard feared, for the lady's-maid knew ; and the lady's- maid would 1)0 sure to go down, all agog with the news, lo the servants' hall immediately. However, they mi<>lit try; no harm in trying; and the suonrr the detective got round to the house, of course, the better. The detective accompanied him back— a keen-faced, close-shaven, irreproachable-looking man, like a vulgarized copy of Mr. John Morley. lie was curt and busiue. vlike. His iirst question was, " Have the servants been told of this?" Lady Maclure looked inquiringly across at I'.ertha. She herself had been sitting all the time with the be- TUE GREAT liVBY liOBDERY. 201 reaved Pcrsis, to cousolo her (with Browning) iindc ; thin heavy affliction. " No, my lady," Bertha answered, ever cahn (invaluahlo servant, Bertha!), "I didn't mention it to anybody down- stairs on purpose, thinking perhaps it mij^lit bo decided to search the servants' boxes." The detective pricked up his ears, lie was engaged already in glancing casually round the room. lie moved about it now, like a conjurer, with quiet steps and slow. "lie doesn't get on one's nerves," Persis remarked approvingly, in an undertone to her friend ; then she added, aloud : " AVhat's your name, please, Mr. Oflicer?" The detective was lifting a lace handkerchief on the dressing-table at the side. Ifo turned round softly. " Gregory, madam," he answered, hardly glancing at the girl, and going on witli his occupation. " The same as the powders ! " Persis interposed, with a shudder. " I used to take them when I was a child. I never could bear them." "We're useful, as remedies," the detective replied, with a quiet smile ; " but nobody likes us." And he relapsed contentedly into his work once more, searching round tlie apartment. "The first thing we have to do," he said, with a calm air of superiority, standing now by the window, with one hand in his pocket, " is to satisfy ourselves whether or not tliero has really, at all, been a r(d)bery. We must look through the room well, and see you liaven't left tln^ rubies lying about loose somewhere. .Sucli things often happen. We're constantly called in to investigate a case, when it's only a matter of a lady's carelessness." At that Persis llarcd up. A daiigliter of the great republic isn't accustomed to bo douljted liki; a mere European woman. " Pm (juite sure I took them oil'," she said, "and put them back in the jewel case. Of that Fni just confident. There isn't a doubt possible." 202 THE GREAT liUBY BOBBERY. Mr. G)-e<;ory rcduubleil his search in all likely and un- likely places. " I should say that settles the matter," ho answered blandly. " Our experience is that whenever a lady's perfectly certain, beyond the possibility of doubt, she put a thing away safely, it's absolutely sure to turn up where she says she didn't put it." Persis answered him never a word. Her manners had not that repose that stamps the caste of Vere do Vere ; so, to prevent an outbreak, she took refuge in Browning. Mr. Gregory, nothing abashed, searched the room thoroughly, up and down, without the faintest regard to Persis's feelings ; he was a detective, he said, and his business was first of all to unmask crime, irrespective of circumstances. liady Maclure stood by, meanwhile, with the imperturbable Bertha. Mr. Gregory investigated every hole and cranny, like a man who wishes to let the world see for itself ho performs a disagreeable duty with unflinching thoroughness. When he had finished, ho turned to Lady ]\Iaclure. " And now, if you please," he said blandly, " we'll proceed to investigate the servants' boxes." Lady Maclure looked at her maid. " Bertha," she said, " go downstairs, and see that none of the other servants come up, meanwhile, to their bedrooms." Lady :Macluro was not quite to the manner born, and had never acquired the hateful aristocratic habit of calling women-servants by their surnames only. But the detective interposed. "No, no," he said sharply. "This young woman had better stop here with IMis.s Pemanet— strictly under her eye — till I've searched the boxes. For if I find nothing there, it may perhaps be my disagreeable duty, by-and-by, to call in a female detective to search her." It was Lady ]\[aclure's turn to flare up now. " Why, this is my own maid," she said, in a chilly tone, *' and I've every confidence in her." TUE GREAT RUDY ROBBERY. 20:} " Very sorry for that, luy ludy," Mr. ( Jregory respuucletl, in a most official voice ; " Init our experience teaches us that if there's a person in the case whom nobody ever dreams of suspecting, that person's the one who has committed the robbery." "Why, you'll be suspecting myself next!" Lady ]\raclure cried, with some disgust. *' Your ladyship's just the last person in the world I should think of suspecting," the detective answered, with a deferential bow — which, after his previous speech, was to say the least of it equivocal. Persis began to get annoyed. She didn't half like the look of that girl Bertha, herself; but still, she was there as Lady Maclure's guest, and she couldn't expose her hostess to discomfort on her account. "The girl shall not bo searched," she put in, growing- hot. "I don't care a cent whether I lose the wretched stones or not. Compared to human dignity, what are they worth? Not five minutes' consideration." *' They're worth just seven years," Mr. Gregory an- swered, with professional definiteness. " And as to searching, why, that's out of your hands now. This is a criminal case. I'm hero to discharge a public duty." " I don't in the least mind being searched," Bertha put in obligingly, with an air of indifference. " You can search me if you like — Avhen you've got a warrant for it." The detective looked up sharply ; so also did Persis. Tliis ready acquaintance with the liberty of the subject in criminal (>ase.s impiessed her unfavdurably. "Ah! we'll see about that," Mr. (Jreguiy answered, with a cool smile. "Meanwhile, Lady Maclure, I'll have a look at the boxes." iOl THE GREAT liUBY ROBBERY. III. The search, (strictly illegal) brought out uothiiig. Mr, Gregory returned to Persis's bedroom, disconsolate. " You can leave the room," he said to Bertha; and liertha glided out. " I've set another man outside to keep a constant eye on her," he added in explanation. By this time Persis had almost made her mind up as to who was the culprit ; but she said nothing overt, for Lady i\[aclure's sake, to the detective. As for that immovable official, he began asking questions — some of them, Persis thought, almost bordering on the personal. AVhere had shebeen lust night? Was she sure she had really worn the rubies ? IIow did she come home? AVas she certain she took them off? Did the maid help her undress? Who came back with her in the carriage ? To all these questions, rapidly fired off with cross- examining acuteness, Persis answered in the direct American fashion. She was sure she had the rubies on when she came home to llampstead, because Sir Justin (J'Byrne, who came back with her in his sister's carriage, had noticed them the last thing, and had told her to take care of them. At mention of that name the detective smiled mean- ingly. (A meaning smile is stock-in-trade to a detective.) "Oh, Sir Justin O'Byrne ! " he repeated, with quiet self- constraint. " lie came back with you in the carriage, then ? And did he sit the same side with you?" Lady Maclure grew indignant (that was ]\[r. Gregory's cue), " Peally, sir," she said angrilj^^'if you're going to suspect gentlemen in Sir Justin's position, we shall none of us be safe from you," "The law," ^l\\ Gregory rei)lied, with an air of jiro- found deference, " is no respecter of persons," "But it ought to be of characters," Lady Maclure cried ' THE GUEAT UJ'RY lloniiERY. 205 v.'ariiily. " Wliat'b the gdinl df having a Itlainclcsis olia- nicter, 1 should like to know, if— if " "If it doesn't allow rou to commit a robbery with im- punity?" the detective interposed, finishin*^- her sontcnco his own way. " Well, well, that's true. That's per-fectly true— but Sir Justin's charactci-, you see, can hardly bo called blameless." "He's a gentleman," IVrsis cried, with Hashing- eyes, turning round upon the officer; "and he's (juite incapable of such a mean and despicable crime as you dare to suspect him of." " Oh, I sec," the officer answered, like one to whom a welcome ray of light breaks suddenly through a great darkness. " Sir Justin's a friend of yours ! Did ho como into the porch Avith yon? " "lie did," Persis answered, ffusliing crimson ; "and if you have the insolence to bring a charge against him " .-. " Calm yourself, madam," the detective replied coolly. " I do nothing of the sort — at this stage of the proceedings. It's possible there may have been no robbery in the case at all. A\'e must keep our minds open for the present to every possible alternative. It's — it's a delicate matter to hint at; but before wo go any further — do you think, perhaps, Sir Justin may have carried the rubies away by mistake, entangled in his clothes? — say, for example, his coat-sleeve?" It was a loophole of escape; but Tersis didn't jump at it. " Ho had never the opportunity," she answered, with a flash. " And 1 know (juite well tlioy were there on my neck when he left me, for the last thing he said to me was, looking up at this very window : ' 'i'hat balcony's awfully convenient for a burglary. ]Mind you take good care of the liemanet rubies.' And I remembered what he'd said when I took them off" last night ; and that's what makes me so sure I really had them." 206 THE am: AT RUBY ROBBERY. '•'■And you .sle^jt with tlio window opou ! " ilio dctootivu went (jn, jstill sniilinertha. On this particular morning, however, when Tersis looked out, she saw Bertha engaged in close, and apparently very intimate, conversation Avith the Ilampstead postman. This sight disturbed the unstable eciuilibrium of her ei|uaniniit3^ not a little. Why should IJertha go to the door to the postman at all? .Surc-ly it was no part of the duty of Lady ^laclure's maid to take in the letters ! And why should she want to go prying into the question of who wrote to Miss liemanet? For Fersis, intenf^ely conscious herself that a note from Sir Justin lay on top of (ho postnuiji's bundle— she recognized it at once, even at that distance below, by the peculiar shape of the broad rough envelo2)e — ^_jnmped to the natural feminine con- clusion that Bertha must needs bo influenced by some abstruse motive of which she herself, Persis, was, to say the very least, a component clement. 'Tis a human fallacy. We're all of us prone to see everything Irom a personal standpoint ; indeed, the one quality which makes a man or woman into a possible novelist, good, bail, or indifferent, is just that special power of throwing himself or herself into a great many people's personalities alternately. And this is a power posssessed on an average by not ono in a thousand men or not one in ten thousand Avomen. Persis rang the bell violently. Bertha came up, all Tilt: GltEAT nVllY JlODinHlY. 209 smiles: " Diil you want any tiling-, miss?" Forsis could liavo choked lier. " Yes," slio answered plainly, taking- the bull by tbo horns ; " 1 want to know what you wero doing down there, prying into other people's letters with the postman ? " Bertha looked up at her, ever bland ; she answered at once, without a second's hesitation : " The postman's my young man, iuiss; and we hope before very long now to get married.'' " Odious thing ! " Persis thought. " A glib lie always ready on the tip of her tongue for every emergency." But Bertha's full heart was beating violently. Beating with love and hope and deferred anxiety. A little later in the day Persis mentioned the incident casually to Lady j\[aelure — mainly in order to satisfy herself that the girl had been lying. Lady IMaclnre, however, gave a qualified assent : — " I believe she's engaged to the postman," she said. "I think I've heard so ; though I make it a rule, you see, my dear, to know as little as I can of these peoi>le's love atfaiis. They're so very uninteresting. But Bertha cer- tainly told me she wouldn't leave me to get married for an indefinite period. That was only ten days ago. She said her young man wasn't just yet in a position to make a home for her." "Perhaps," Persis suggested grimly, "somethiug has occurred meanwhile to better her position. Such strange things crop up. She may have come into a fortune ! " " Perhaps so," Lady IMacluro replied languidly. 'J'ho subject bored her. " Though, if so, it must really have been very sudden ; for I think it was the morning before you lost your jewels she told me so." Persis thought that odd, but she made no comment. Before dinner that evening she burst suddenly into Lady Maclure's room for a minute. Bertha was dressiuf her lady's hair. Friends were coming to dine — amoii"- 210 Till: GllkAT liUJiY uonjiKiiy. tlR'in Sir .luhtiii. " Ifow do these pearls ^u with my coniplexioii, Lady Maeluro?" rersis asked rather anx- iously; for she si)ecially wished to look her hcst that eveiiiug, for one of the party. "Oh, eharnung ! " her hostess answered, with her Hoeiety smile. "Never saw anything suit you Letter, I'ersis." " Exeept my poor rubies ! " Persiseried rather ruefully, ior coloured gewgaws are dear to the savage and the woman. " I wish I could get them Lack ! I wonder that man Gregory hasn't succeeded in iinding them." "Oh ! my dear," Lady Maclure drawled out, "you may Ite sure by this tinn; they're safe at Amsterdam. That's the only place iu Europe now to look for them." " Why to Amsterdam, my lady ? " P.ertha interposed suddenly, witli a (piick side-glance at I'ersis. Lady IMaelure threw her head back in surprise at so unwonted an intrusion. " What do you want to know that for, child?" she asked, somewhat curtly. "Why, to bo cut, of course. All the diamond-cutters in the world are concentrated in Amsterdam ; and the first thing a tliief does when he steals big jewels is to send them .'icross, and have tliem cut in new shapes so that they can't be identified." " I. shouldn't have thought," Pertha put in, calmly, " they'd have known who to send them to." Lady Maeluro turned to her sharply. "Why, those things," she said, with a calm air of knowledge, "aro always done by experienced thieves, who know the ropes well, and aro in league with receivers the whole world over. But Gregory has his eye on Amsterdam, I'm sure, and we'll soon hear something." " Yes, my lady," Bertha answered, in her acquiescent tone, and relapsed into silence. iltl-: GliEAT lUJliY JinJJlih'Ur. -II VI. Four clays later, about nine at night, that hanl-wurkud man, the posty on tho boat, stood loitering- outside Sir Evorard Maclure's house, openly defying tho rules of tho department, in close conference with Bertha. " Well, any news?" Bertha asked, trembling over with excitement, for she was a very ditfeient person outside with her lover from tho demure and imperturbable model maid who waited on my lady. "Why, yes," the ptjsty answered, with a low laugh of triumph. "A letter from Amsterdam ! And I think we've lixedit!" Bertha almost ilung herself upon him. " Oh, Harry ! " sho cried, all eagerne.NS, " this is too good to bo true ! Tlien in juht ono other month wo can really get married 1 " There was a minute's pause, inarticulately filled up by sounds unrepresentable through the art of tho typo- founder. Then Harry spoke again. " It's an awfid lot of money ! " he said, musing. " A regular fortune ! And what's more. Bertha, if it hadn't been f(n' y(jnr cleverness wo never should have gut it ! " Bertha pressed his hand alfectionately. Even ladies'- maids are human. " Well, if 1 hadn't been so much in love with you," she answered frankly, '• I don't think I could ever have had the wit to manage it. But, oh ! Harry, love makes one do or try anything ! '' If I'ersis had hoard those singular words, she wouhl have felt no doubt was any longer possible. 212 TIfK OUKAT IIUJIY IKflUiHUY. VII. Next inorning, at ten o'clock, a jioliocman eaino round, post haste, to Sir Evorard's. lie asked tu see Miss ]{oinanet. When I'ersis came down, in lier niovninj; ■wrap, he had but a hrief messaf^o i'roni licad-<|uarters to give lier : " Yonr jewels arc found, miss. AVill you step round and identify them? " Tersis drove back with liiin, all trembling. Lady l\Iaelure accompani(;d her. At the p()lice-stati(jn they left their cab, and entered the ante-room. A little group had assembled there. The lir^t person Tersis distinctly made out in it was Sir Justin. A grejit terror seized her. CJregory had so poisoiied her mind by this time with suspicion of everybody and everything she came across, that she was afraid of lu'r own shadow. ]iUt next moment she saw clearly he wasn't there as prisoner, or even as witness; merely as spectator. She acknowledged him with a hasty bow, and cast her eye round again. The next person she definitely distinguished was 15ertha, as calm and cool as ever, but in the very centre of the group, occupying as it were the place of honour which naturally belongs to the ])risoner on all similar occasions. Persis was not surprised at that; sin; had known it all along ; she glanced meaningly at Gregory, who stood a little behind, looking }»y no means triumphant. Persis found his dejection odd ; but he was a proud detective, and perhaps some one else had effected the captnre ! " These are your jewels, I believe," the inspector said, holding them up ; and Persis admitted it. *' This is a painful case," the inspector went on. "A very painful case. We grieve to have discovered sucli a clue against one of our own men ; but as ho owns to it himself, and intends to throw himself ou the mercy of the 77//-; (JHHAT HI' BY UOIiUEUY. 2i;j Court, it's no iiso tjilkiuf; aliont it. ITo won't iittcnijtt to tU'lV'iid it; indeed, with Huch evidence, I tliink he's doing wliat'H best and wisest." Per^i.s stood there, all da/ed. "I — I don't, nndorstand,'' sho cried, with a Hwininiing hrain. " WIkj on earth arc you talkinj^ about?" Tho inspector pointed nmlely with one hand at rircgory; and then for tho tlrst time IVrsis saw ho was guarded. She clapped her hand to her head. ]ii a moment it all Itrolco in upon her. "NViicn she had called in tho police, tho rubies liad never been stolen at all. It was Gregory who stole them ! Sho understood it now, at once. Tho roal facts camo back to her. Sho had taken her necklet oft' at night, laid it carelessly down on the drrssing-tablo (too ftill of Sir Justin), covered it accidentally with her laco pocket- liandkerehicf, and straightway forgotten all about it. Next day sho missed it, and jumped at conclusions. When (tregory came, ho spied the rubies askance under tho corner of the handkerchief — of course, being a woman, she had naturally looked everywhere except in tho place where she had laid them — and knowing it was a safe case he had (piietly pocketed them before her very (jyes, all unsuspected. lie felt sure nobod}' could accu.sc him of a robbery which was committed l)eforo he came, and which ho had himself been called in to investigate. " The worst of it is," the inspector went on, " ho had woven a very ingenious case against Sir Justin O'liyrne, whom we were on tho very point of arresting to-day, if this young woman hadn't come in at the eleventh hour, in the very nick of time, and earned tho reward by giving us the clue that led to tho discovery and recovery of tho jewels. They were brought over this morning by an Amsterdam detective." Persis looked hard at Bertha. Pertha answered her look. "My young man was the postman, miss," sho 214 TlIK filUUT UrilY KOTlhKRY. o.\[»liii 110(1, quite simply ; "and after what my lady Kai'l. I put him up to watch Mr. Gregory's delivery fur a Icttt-r from Amsterdam. I'd suspected him from the very first ; and when the letter came, wo had him arrested at once, and found out from it who were the people at Amsterdam who had the rubies." Persis gasped with astonishment. Her brain was reeling. But Gregory in the background put in one last Avord — " "Well, I was right, after all," he said, with professional pride. " I told you the very last jierson you'd dream of suspecting was sure to be the one that actually did it." Lady O'Byrno's rubies were very much admired at Monte Carlo last season. ]\Ir, (Jrcgory has foimd per- manent employment for tlio next seven years at Her Majesty's quarries on the Isle of Portland. Bertha and her postman have retired to Canada with five hundred jjounds to buy a farm. And everybody says Sir Justin O'Byrnc has beaten the record, after all, even for Irish baronets, by making a marriage at once of money and affcclion. THE CONSCIENTIOUS EURO LAM. Guy Lethbridi;!-: had got into dclif. That was roprc- lionsible, of course ; but when wc were very young, most of us did the same thing; and in Guy's case, at least, there were extenuating circumstances. When a fcHow's twenty-four, and lias been brought up like a gentlenuin, he's apt to fall into the familiar fallacy that " we iniiHt live ; " and if he has nothing to live upon, why then ho lives upon other people. Now, Guy Lcthbridgo was a painter, without visible means of support except his art ; and. ho glided into debt by a natural and easy transition which even that sternest of censors, the judgo of th(^ llankruptoy Court, might well have condoned as next door to inevitable. The lacts of the case were these. Guy had gone over to Germany with a knapsack on his back, an casol in his hands, and a pipe and a few pounds in his trousers pocket. IIo had no friends to speak of in those days, for liis fiither was dead, aiul his mother, good lady, in her lodgings in Bayswater, could no moie have sent her son a five-pound note from her slender pension, than slio could have sent him the Koh-i-noor or the Order of the White Klephant. But Guy went abroad, none the less, with the reckless faith of the Salvationist or the impecunious artist. Ho meant to stay on the Rhino as long as his money lasted ; " and then, you know, my dear fellow, I can smuggle myself across anyhow, in a cattle boat or something: and 21(; THE CONSCIENTIOUS BlJliGLAll Jirrive with .i sixpence and an immortal work at St. Catherine's Docks some fine summer day, at six o'clock in the morning." What a blessed thing it is, to be sure, to be born into this world with the easy-going, happy- go-lucky, artistic temperament ! So (luy went to Kiinigswiuter, with a glimpse by the way at Brussels, Aix, and Cologne, and settled himself down, pipe, easel, and all, to summer quarters at the bright and sunny I'orliner-IIof. There, he worked really hard, for he was no saunterer by nature ; his impecu- niosity arose, strange to say, neither from want of in- dustry nor want of talent, but from pure force of circumstances. There's no sillier blunder on earth, indeed, than to believe that if a man doesn't succeed in life he must needs be either an idler or a bungler. Only fools imagine that industry and ability can command success ; wise men know well that opportunity and luck count at least as equally important, Guy Lethbridgo's time had not yet come, lie painted all summer up and down the Rhine, making Konigswinter his headquarters, and dropping down by boat or rail from day to day to various points on either bank that took his fancy. As for black and white, his quiver Avas full of them. The ])rachenfels from the North, the IJrachenfels from the South ; the llheinstein from above, the liheinstein from below, the Kheinstcin from St. Clement's — ho sketched them all till he was well nigh tired of them. Meanwhile, he worked steadily at his grand Academy picture of " The Seven IMountains from the Summit of the I'eters- ])erg," His plan of campaign, in short, was own brother to every other struggling young artist's. He meant to do "a lot of litthi pot-boilers for the illustrated magazines, don't you know, or the weekly papers," and to live ujjon those while he devoted his energies to the real Work of Art which was to raise him with a bound to the front rank of living painters. Wyllie had done it, you see, TlIK COXSCIENTIOUS BUnULAR. 217 with his great Thames picture, .so why Khouklu't Guy Lethbridge ? The Chantrcy Bequest was meant on purpose for the encouragement of such works as the "Seven Mountains from the Summit of the I'etersberg." The trustees were bound to buy it as soon as they saw it hung on the line at the Academy ; for tliey are men of taste, and men of knowledge, and men of experience ; and if they don't know a good thing when tliey see it, what's the use of an Academy, anyway, I ask you ? Incredible as it may seem, however, the pot-boilers failed to boil the pot^. (Juy sent his sketches, with eluci- datory remarks, to the editors of nearly every illustrated paper in Great Britain and Ireland or the adjacent islands ; who declined them with thanks, and with STir- prising unanimity. There were the same sketches, to bo sure, which ran afterwards through eight ntimbers of a leading art review, and were then reproduced as an illus- trated gift-book, which our moi-t authoritative critic pronounced in The Bystander to bo " the gem of tlio season." But that was after Guy Lethbridge became famous. At the time, tlioso busy editors didn't look at tlie drawings at all, or, if they looked at them, observed with the weary sigh peculiar to the overworked editorial organism, "Ah, the Bhine again ! Overdone, decidedly. The public won't stand any more llhine at any price." For those were the days when there Avas a run on the Thames and our domestic scenery ; and everybody wlio was anybody lodged his easel in a houseboat. Thus it gradually happened that while the Great Wnrk progressed, the pipe got smoked out, and the pounds evaporated. Guy had lived sparingly at tlie l^erliner- ITof— -very sparingly indeed. Ho had breakfasted early on his roll and coffee; l)onglit a penn'orth of bread and a bunch or two of grapes ktv his frugal lunch on the hills where ho painted; and dined h hi cart(\ v:\\q\\ daylight failed, off the cheapest and most sustaining of tlie land- 2IS THK f'OXSCTEXTInUS JWmiLAR. lonV.s (lihlit'S. iris drink was Pnxvariau boor, or more latterly, water ; yet in spite of economy the marks slipped away with surprising niniblencss ; and by the end uf September, Guy woke up one morning without even the talisman of that proverbial sixpence which was to land him in safety at the Port of London. TFc had delayed things too long; hoping against hope, he had believed to the last that the Porlc-Croyon or the Sliu^io must surely accept his graceful and easy ]{lienish sketches. lie know they were clever ; he knew they had qualities; and he couldn't believe in his innocent soul all the art-editors of his country were an amalga- mated pack of l>andcd Duffers. Somebody must surely wee merit at last in his " ]voyal Stolzcnfels " ; somebody must surely descry in the end the fantastic exuberance of his " Hundred-towered Andernach." So ho waited and waited on, expecting every day some change in his fortunes, till the fatal moment at length arrived when he paid his last mark for his lunch in the mountains, and found himself face to face with an empty exche(_[ucr, and nothing on earth to get back to England with. It was a Wednesday when the fact of his utter penury forced itself finally upon him. ITo paid his bill by the week, and he had still till jMonday next before he would stand in urgent need of money. IMonday was pay-day, and his time would be up ; it would then be either stump up or go ; on Monday ho must confront the last abyss of poverty. To that extent only, Guy had got into debt. So I think you will admit with mo his offence was a venial one. On Thursday he went to work on the Petersberg as usual. He was otitwardly calm — but he ate no luncheon. In point of fact, ho hadn't a pfennig to get one with. He might have asked for something at the hotel, and taken it with him to the hilltop; but that would have boon a deviation from his ordinary routine; Tin: Co.WSCIEXTJorS UUllGf.AU. -Jl'.i llio "anaiisuiiieiit" at tliu Jifrliiier-IIoi' iiicluJcd t»nlv tbo early coft'co and a .siiuplo late diiinev; and (iuy I'clt that to ask for anything more in his present inipociniiou.s condition of pocket wonld bo nothing short of robbing the hmdlord. lie Avas robbing him as it was, to be sure; but then, that was inevitable : lie didn't like to add by any Tinusiial demand to the weight of liis probably inscjliiblo indebtedness. On Friday nn^rning ho woke up ravenous. "What was a roll and coffee to a vigorous young man like him, witli yesterday's unappeascd hunger still keenly whetting the edge of his appetite? Unsatisfied and despondent, he toiled up the Petersberg onco more — not for such as him the aristocratic joj's of the cog-wheel railway ; and in the eye of the sun ho painted all day with unabated ardour at his " Seven Mountains." Ho painted Avith wild oicrgy, impelled by want of food and internal craving. It suited his theme. lie got lights upon the Liiwenburg that he never could have got after a hearty dinner ; ho touched in some autumn tints among the woods on the Draehcnfels too poetical for a man Avho has eaten and drunk of TJerman sausage and foaming rilscner. At the same time, CJny was conscious to himself that hunger was rapidly turning him into a rabid Socialist. Hitherto, as becomes an artist, ho had believed on the whole in our existing social and political institutions — baronial castles, lords and ladies gay in exquisite paintablo silks and satins, the agreeable variety imparted to life by pleasing distinctions of rank and wealth, the pictures(|no rags and sweet tumble-down cottages of a contented peasantry. But now, when the une(iual distribution of wealth })egan to affect him personally, he felt where the shoo pinched, and realized with a sudden revulsion of feeling that there was something rotten in the state of our Denmark, He said to himself more than once he wasn't one of your vile Radicals who want to upset everything — therihurcl!, •^20 TIIL' (JONtiCIENTJOUS JiUliGLAll. tho throne, the peerage, the cathedrals, art, literature, and science, at one foil blow ; but ho certainly iconhl like to seo a fresh deal of tho money. Tourists strolled \\p, jingling the nickels in tluiir pockets ; they sat down at the terrace of tlie hotel on tho hilltop — the inevitable " rostauration " of every Gorman point of view — and ordered beefsteaks and Rhine wino with a lordly carelessness which to Guy, in his present straits, seemed positively inhuman. AVhy should these pampered creatures thus flaunt their wealth before tho eyes of more deserving though less successful follow beings? To bo sure, in the days of his own opulence, when he still had a five-pound note of his own in his pocket, Guy had often done tho same sort of thing him- self, and thought no ill of it. But hunger is a great teacher of advanced political economy to men. As ho painted and starved, with tho vision of Monday's bill floating ever before his eyes, Guy Lethbridge felt ho was sinking by rapid and uncontrollable stages into abysses of pure unadulterated Communism. Friday's dinner served only to make him feel more conscious than ever on Saturday of an aching void. lie was tired as well as hungry when he reached tho hill- top; his hand was far from being steady enough for j)urposes of painting. Nevertheless, ho worked on, those autumn tints glowing brighter than ever as the afternoon wore away. About four o'clock, an Englishman, Avhom ho had seen more than once at the Berliner-IIof, strolled casually up to him. Guy disliked that Englishman; ho was tall and blustering, and had an ineffable air of wealthy insolence, which in Guy's present mood seemed peculiarly offensive to him. lie was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every night oil roast pheasant and I[eidsieek's dry monopole. But this afternoon he came up with his hands in his pockets, and inspected Guy's picture with the air of a connoisseur. THE CONSCIEXnOVS JiUHGLAU. '2-2\ "Jolly j^ooil lij^lit uii the Thingumbob-beig," he said, shutting ono eyo and surveying it critically. " You've caught the colour well. If you go on like that, in the course of a century or so you onglit, J should say, to make a painter." Guy was annoyed at the man for this complacent speech ; for in his own opinion, though ho was by no means con- ceited, ho was a painter already-. So ho drew himself up, and answered stiffly, " I'm glad you like the light ; I've si)ent some pains on it." "Pains!" the stranger echoed. "I should think yon just had. It surprises me, the trouble you fellows will take over the corner of a picture. It's the right way, of Course ; that's how pictures are made ; you can't make 'em any other way ; but /couldn't do it, bless you — I'm such a jolly lazy beggar — fiddling and faddling for a week at a time over a tree or a trinket. I never did a stroke of work in my life, myself, and I admire you fellows who can ; you must have such a precious leserve of energy." And he took out a first-rate cigar from his case as ho spoke, and proceeded, with elaborate daAvdling, to Hglit it. To Guy, whose poor pipe had been stopped for tiireo weeks, the mere smell of that cigar was positive purgatory. The stranger, however, was in no hurry to go. lie sat down on a rock, and began conversing about Art, of which, indeed, Guy was forced somewhat grudgingly to admit he wasn't wholly ignorant. Little by little, after a while, the talk glided olf into other channels. True, Guy's part in it was mainly monosyllabic; but tlie stranger, who had been put into conversational cue by a bottle of good wine at the restauration hard by, made up for all deficiencies on his neighbour's part by a very frank garrulousness. In the course of conversation, it gradually came out that the stranger was a landed pioprietor of means, in the horsey interest. His talk was of races. He wondered fellows could spend such a lot of time doing a '2'12 THE COSKCIKSTIOUS BUlUil^AH. rcall}' g(jn(l picture like that for a miserable hundred or so — how it made (ruy's mouth water I — when he liimself had wun twenty ponies last week, over a special tip for the Leger, as easy as look at it. lie went on to talk of KG many winnings and so few losings, that Guy's newly- kindled democratic fire blazed up fiercer than ever. That evening, at the I'erliner-llof, Guy watched the stranger from his modest table in the corner, hobnobbing over a coui)lo of bottles of sparkling Moselle, with two German ofllcers, whose acquaintance he had picked up ([uito casually in the restaurant. He was talking German fluently at the top of his voice, laughing loudly between whiles, and offering to bet everybody a hundred marks even, on whatever turned up, with hilarious inconse- ({U(jnce. A hundred marks would have relieved poor (Juy from ill! his embarrassments. He was almost tempted to take the m;in on spec, more than once, and pocket it if he won, or owe it, if he lost, to him. But that would bo mean — nay, more, would be robbery. Not such the stuff of which to make a successful burglar. As Guy went upstairs to his room that night, he paused to ask the landlord the rich stranger's name. German as he was, the landlord gave it with the bated breath of an Englishman : " Sir liichard Lavcrs," he answered, in a most deferential tone. A man who can drink champagne like that, of course, secures the respect of every right- minded landlord. Guy sat up late in his room, full of mingled perplexities. lie couldn't go to bed ; but about half-jiast ten the moon- light on the river was so exquisitely beautiful that he stole down to the balcony on the first floor to admire it. He stood there long, making notes for future pictures. The balcony runs along the whole south side of the Ikrliner-Hof, looking out on the lihino and the Seven Mountains. Guy paced it to the end about half-past /'///•; coSscihwTidis III jidLAi:. 22:} eleven. The lawt window towards tliu wi-st stood open down to tlio balcony ; (hiy glanced in as he jiasscd, and heard loiid, stertorous breathing. Jfe recognized that .stout snore. It was the En"lish baronet's. kjonie nameless curiosity made him peer into the bed- room. The moonlight was flooding it, so that he could SCO everything almo.st as well as if it had been day. In the corner stood the bed, and the stranger's clothes were flung carelessly on a chair; but on the table (doso byCruy observed, at a glance, his watch, a i>nrse, a few tnmbled papers. That purse contained, no doubt, what rcnuiined of those ponies he had won on the .St. Leger. It contained the ill-gotten wealth of those nights at the club, of whose baccarat he had spoken that afternoon with such unholy gusto. A loan of a liver Avould just then be of incal- culable benefit to Guy. When he sold the Seven IMoun- tains for that paltry two hundred, as the baronet called it — though fifty pounds would have exceeded Guy's utmost expectations — he could repay the unwilling loan with twenty per cent, interest. To borrow in dire distress from a man who confesses he never did a stroke of honest work in his life, and who lives like a canker on the earnings of the community, was surely no crime. It would do tlii.s fellow good to be stinted in his drink for three days in a week. Just a hundred marks ! And he winild never miss them ! The artistic temperament must not be judged too severely by the stern moralist. It acts upon impulse, and repents at leisure. Next moment, Guy found himself six paces in the room, his hand on the purse, his heart beating high, then standing still within him. He meant to open it and take out a hundred marks. He would pay his bill next day, set out for Cologne, and send Sir Eichard a written acknowledgment of the sum abstracted. The fellow, though blustering, was good- 221 77//V ('(L\!SC1EM'WUS llVRULAli. immourcJ ouuugli. llo wuulJ uiiikTstund this muve; nay, sympathize with its bohlness, its sliing the incriminating purse, clutched it tight in his hand, and darted back on to the balcony. Thent^e, maddened by the wild sense of some one unseen pursuing him, he dashed away to the passage door, along the dim, dark corridor, stumbled up the great stairs, and groped his way, in an agony of horror, into his own bedroom. Once arrived there, he locked and double-locked the door, flung that hateful purse on the table in the dark, and sank on to the sofa in a tumult of remorse, alarm, and terror. If he hadn't been an artist, indeed, he would never have dreamt in tho first instance of taking it. It was that impulsive artistic nature that misled him into translating his new political theories from the domain of abstract hypothesis to the solid region punishable by the Revised Criminal Code of Germany. For many minutes he sat there, wondering, doubting, fearing : had the man in the bed perceived him ? had he recognized who it was ? THE CONSCIENTIOUS BURGLAR. 225 would he r.iiso tho wholo lionso .against tho amatour burglar? And, oh, whatever canio of it, let oousc- quoncos alone, what hateful tiling was tiiis ho had heon so hastily led into? lie held liis brow in his hands and looked blankly into the dark. He felt hiniself a tliief! llo despised his own aet with all tho eonteuipt and loathing of which his nature was capable. At last he summoned u{) courage to light tho Ciindlo, atul in a mechanical soit of way, out of puro curiosity, began t(j oxamino the contents of tho purse ho ha^l stolon. Worse and worse ! This was horrible ! (b'rman gohl, English bank-notes, letters of credit, foreign bills of exchange, bankers' cheques — untold wealth in t'very f>rm and variety of currency. Tho man mnst have carried some seven or eight hundred pounds ribout his person. And that wasn't all, either. There wore letters in the purse, too — letters which, of course, Guy couldn't dream of looking at ; for he was a gentleman still, even though ho was a criminal. Letters and memoranda, and little knick-knacks and trinkets, and — what touched much of that jolly good Mosello of yours on board last night, Ilcrr Landlord ; and the (fcrman ofliccrs and I took to bally-ragging in tho billiard-room; and by the time 1 went to bod, 1 don't deny I was a trillo top-heavy. l]ut I wanted to pay my bill and go ofV this morning, for I havo a serious appoint- ment on Monday in London. It's awkward, very." The landlord was profuse in his protestations and apologies. Such a thing had never happ6ned in his house before. Ife couldn't understand it. ITo would communicate with the police, and do everything in his power to have the purse recovered. Furthermore, if Sir Kichard wished to go to London, the landlord (rubbing 228 THE CONSCIENTIOUS BURG LAB. his liaiids) had known hiui so long and so well, it would give him the greatest pleasure on eartli to let the 1)111 stand over, and to lend him twenty pounds till the cash was restored and the thief was punished. " I don't say there's any thief, though, mind you," the jovial voice responded most candidly. " I expect it was all my own stupid carelessness. I'm such an ass of a fellow always for leaving money about; and as likely as not I pulled the thing out with my handkerchief in tlio l)il]iard-room. I don't doubt it'll turn up, sooner or later some day, when you're cleaning the house up. If it don't " — the jovial voice sank for a moment to a lower key «' it's not so much the money itself I mind— that's only a few hundred pounds, and some circular notes wlii(;ii can't 1)0 negotiated— it's the letters and papers and private mementos. There were things in that purse"-- and the voice still sank lower to an unexpected softness " that I wouldn't have lost— avcU, not for a good many thousands." Guy's heart smote him at those words with poignant remorse. lie thought of the child's hair, and Idushed crimson with shame. Erect and solemn he strode into Ihc ofrtce. "Sir Iiichard Lavcrs," he said slowly, "I want to speak with you alone one moment in ihc salon." " Hh ? " Sir Iiichard said sharply, turning round. " OIj, it's you. Why, certainly." And ho followed the painter into the room with a somewhat sheepish air, like a de- tected felon. Guy shut the door tight. Then he laid down that cursed thing with a shudder on the table. "There's your purso," he said curtly, without one word of ex- planation. Sir Iiichard looked at it with distinct pleasure. " You picked it up," he said, smiling. " No," Guy answered, disdaining to tell a lie; " I stole it." THE C(h\SaiENTIOUS BVliGLAlt. 220 Sir Ivicljcird sat down on a chair, witli his hands on his knees, and stared at him cnrionsly for ninety seconds. Then he hnrst into a h.)ud laugh, and exclaimed, much amused, " Well, anyhow, there's no reason to pull such a long face ahout it." Cruy dropped into a seat opposite him, and told him all his tale, extenuating nothing, in frank solf-uccusation. Sir liichard listened intent, with a smile on his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes of good-natured aciiuiescence. " Then it was you who woke me up," he t^aid, " when 1 went to shut the window\ Well, you're a deuced Lruvo chap, that's all I've got to say, to come this morning and tell mo the truth ahout it. Why didn't you say you picked it Tip in the passage? I led up to it straight. That's what beats mo iitterly ! " " Because it would have Leen a lie," (luy answered frankly. " And I'd rather own up than tell you a lie uhuut it." Sir liichard opened the purse and turned the things over carefully. "Why, it's all hero right enough," he said, in a tone of bland surprise. " You haven't taken anything out of it! " " No, of course not," Guy replied, almost smiling, in s[)lte of himself, at the man's perfect naivete. Sir liichard eyed him hard with a curi(jusly amused glance. " l>ut, I say, lo(jk here, you know," hi; re- monstrated quietlj' ; "you are a precious ineflitMent sort of burglar, aren't you? You w\)n't have anything now to pay your bill witli on ^Monday." For Guy had not concealed from him the plain leason for his onslaught upon the sacred rights of property. " Xo, I must do without as best I can," Guy answered, somewhat glum. For he stood still face to face with that original problem. Sir Richard stared at him once more with that same curious expresisiou. " Tell me," he said, after a short 230 THE CONSCIENTIOVS BVItGLATt. pause, *'did you look at any of the letters or things in this pockot-hook ? " "Not one," Guy answered honestly, with the ring c)f truth in his voice. " I saw they were private, and I ahstaincd from touching them. Only," he added, after a second's hcwitiitiun, " I couldn't help seeing there was a lock of light hair in a paper in one place. And of tl»at, I felt sure, it would be wicked to deprive you." The baronet said nothing. He only gazed at his man fixedly. A suspicion of moisture lurked in his blue eyes. " WaW, as long as I've got the papers," he murmured at last, after a long pause, " I don't mind about the tin. 'JMiat was really a secondary consideration." " And now," (jluy said sturdily, " if you'll send for tlic police and tell the landlord, I'll give myself into custody on the charge of robbery." Sir liichard rose and fronted him. Fur one moment lui was serious. " Now, look here, young man," he said, with an air of paternal wisdom, "don't you go and 1)0 a S(»m«'- thing-or-other fool. Don't say one word of this lo thf* landlord or anybody. You are a deuced clever fidlow, and you can paint like one o'clock. That's a precious good thing of yours, that view of the ramshackled old ISchloss on the Drachenfels. You're sure to rise in the end ; you've the right cut of the jib for it. Now, you take my advice, and keep this thing quiet. If you don't peach of it, I won't — word of honour of a gentleman. And if you'll allow me, I'll lend you fifty pounds. You can pay me back right enough when you're elected to the Academy." Guy Lethbridge's face grew red as tire. That the man should forgive him was bad enough in all conscience, but that he should offer him a loan was really dreadful. It's all very well for a virtuous citizen to relieve the over- weening aristocrat of his supertluous wealth with the high hand of confiscation ; but to take it as a gift from THE COS'SCli-LVriOVS BURG L AH. 2?A hiin — for a gift it would practically meau — and that at the very moment when one had to acknowledge an attempted crime, revolted every sentiment of Guy Leth- bridge's nature. lie drew back with a stammered " No, thank you. It'w very kind of you, but — of course, I couldn't." And then there arose between them the most comic episode of ex- postulation and persuasion that the rooms of the lierliner- Hof had ever j-et wituessoil. The baronet almost lost his temper over the young man's obstinacy. It was ridi- culous, he urged, for any gentleman not to accept a loan of fifty pounds from a well-disposed person in a moment of emergency. A fellow who could paint like that could never want long ; and as for the passing impulse which had led (luy to take charge of the purse for an hour or two — why, the upshot showed it was onli/ a passing impulse ; and we all nuike mistakes in moments of elTusion, late at night, after dining. IJesides, a man in (ilny's position must be really hard up, and no mistake, liofore ho thinks uf relieving other peo})le of their purses. And when a fellow's hard up, well, bang it all, my dear sir, you can't blame him for deviating into eccentric action. As for the fifty pounds, if Guy didn't take it, it'd go upon a horse, no doubt, or a supper at the Gaiety, or something ec^ually foolish. Let him be sensible and pocket it ; no harm in a loan ; and to be (^tiite ftank. Sir liiehard said, he thought better of him for owning up to his fault so manfully, than he'd have thought of him if he'd never yielded at all to temptation. Guy stood iirm, however, and refused to the bitter end. Sir Kichard consulted his watch. " IIullo," he said, starting, " I can't stand here squab- bling over fifty pounds with you all the morning. I've got to catch the 'J'2o to Cologne; my things are all packed ; 1 must have my coftee. Now, before I go, for 2:32 Tiih' (joysf'ii':NTfors bvuglau. the last time, will yoii or won't you acccjot that little loan from me ? ]\Iind, you're a conscientious kind of chap, and your bill's due on Monday. You've got no riglit to defraud your landlord when a friend's prepared to help you tide over this temporary difficulty." That was a hard home-thrust. Guy admitted the logic of it. But he stood by his guns still, and shook his head firmly. All sense of sullenness and defiance was gone from him now. The man's genuine kind-heartedness and sympathy had conquered him. " Sir," he cried, wringing his new friend's hand with unaifected warmth, " you're a brick ; and you make me ashamed of mj'self. But please don't press it upon me. I coiddnt take it now. Your kindness has broken me." And he burst into tears with a sudden impulse as he rushed to the window to hide his emotion. Sir Richard hummed an air and left the salon abruptly. Guy went up to his own room, locked himself in all alone, and had a bad half-hour of it with his own conscience. Ho was roused from his reverie at the end of that time by a double knock at the door. It was the German waiter. " Wit' Sir Richard's compliments," he said, handing a letter to Guy. The painter tore the envelope open. It contained — fifty pounds in English bank notes, and accompanying them this surprising letter : — "l^EAu Mh. LF/niiiiaDGi;, " You must accept enclosed few notes as a loan for the present. You see, the fact is, I'm not a baronet at all, but a bookmaker and bank swindler. The letters you didn't examine in my purse would have put the police on my track ; and I therefore regard this trifling little sum as really due to you. You need have no com- punction about taking it, for it isn't mine, and you can't possibly return it to its proper owner. Take it without a scruple, and settle your bill — you can repay me when- THE CONSCIEXTIOUS BURGLAE. 2:)3 ever you next meet me. You're a long sight a better man than I am, anyhow. "Yours faithfully, "EiciiAiiD Laveus."' Guy crumpled it up in his hand with an impatient gesture. Take a swindler's money ! Inconceivable ! Impossible ! lie seized his hat in his haste, and rushed down to the office. " Where's he gone?" ho cried to the landlord. And the landlord, taking his sense, answered promptly — " To the station." Guy tore down the road, and rushed into the building just as the Cologne train was steaming out from the plat- form, lie ran along its side, disregarding the vehement expostulations of portly, red-banded German officialdom. Soon he spied the dubious baronet alone in a first-class compartment. Crumpling the notes into a pellet, ho flung them back at him nercely. " How could you ? " he cried, all on fire. " More than ever, now, when I know who you are, I can't touch those notes — I can't look at your money ! " In another second that jovial face leaned, all smiles, out of the window. "Y^(m confounded fool!" the loud voice burst forth merrily, "you're the hardest chap to befriend I ever yet came across. ])o you think, if what I said in that letter was true, I'd bo ass enough to confess it— and in writing loo — to a casual acquaintance? Take your tonnis-buil back again !" and the pellet hit Guy hard on the cheek at the words. " Settle your bill like a man ; and if ever you want to pay mo back in return, you can find my address any day in JJebrett or Foster." By this time even Sir Richard's stentorian voice was almost past bawling-point. There was nothing left for it now but to pick up the notes and return to the Berliner- 2H1 THE CONSCIENTIOVS HURGLAIt. Hof. Though whether ho should use them or not to pay his hill was a point of casuistry ho had still to debate upon. Next morning's post, however, brought him a note from Cologne, wliich placed the whole question in an unexpected light for him : — " Dear Mr. Lktiibridge, " We've both been fools. My ruse was a silly one. IIow extraordinary the right way out of this little difficulty didn't at once occur to me ! I was awfully taken by your picture of the ramshackled old Schloss ; in fact, I tlionght when I could look up its price in the Academy catalogue I'd probably buy it, if it wasn't too dear for me. But the heat of the moment put this idea altogether out of my head. .Shall we say £200 as the price of tlie picture ? the balance to bo paid on delivery in London. Now think no more of the rest, and remain well assured that if over this little episode gets abroad in the world it will not be through the instrumentality of - " Yours very sincerely, " Richard Lavers." Sir llichard has settled down now as a respectable county member; and, except when occasionally exhila- rated with champagne, is really a most useful pillar of society. He's very proud of a picture in his dining-room of Sorrento from the CastoUammare-road — a companion- piece to that exquisite autumnal view of the ruin on the Drachenfels and the Seven Mountains. Both are from the brush of that rising young Associate, Mr. Guy Lethbridge, whom Sir Kichard discovered and introduced to the great world ; but the frame of the Sorrento bears a neat little inscription :— " For Sir Eichard Lavers, from his ever grateful and affectionate friend, the painter." The owner has been offered five hundred down for the Drachenfels more than once — and has refused the offer. THE POT-BOILER. Ernest Grky was an inspired painter. Therefore ho was employed to paint portraits of insipid little girls in lilaelc-silk stockings, and to produce uninteresting domestic groups, of wliich a fat and smiling haby of British respectability formed the central figure. He didn't like it, of course. Pegasus never does like being harnessed to the paternal go-cart. ]»ut being a philosopher in his way, and having a wife and child t(» keep, he dragged it none the less, with as good a grace as could reasonably be expected from such ceh'stial mettle. The wife, in fact, formed the familiar model for the British mother in his Academy pictures, while little Joan (with bare legs) sat placidly for the perennial and annual baby. Each year, as observant critics might have noticed, that baby grew steadily a twelvemonth older. But there were no observant critics for Ernest Grey's pictures : the craft were all too busy inspecting the canvas of made reputations to find time on hand for spying out merit in the struggling work of unknown beginners. It's an exploded fallacy of the past to sup- pose that insight and initiative are the true critic's liall- mark. Why go out of your way to see good points in unknown men, when you can earn your three guineas so much more surely and simply by sticking to the good points that everybody recognizes? The way to gain a reputation for critical power nowadays is, to say in 2:!(5 27/7!,' roT-noiLEii. charming and pellucid language what every body regards as the proper thing to say about established favourites. You voice tlio popular taste in the very best English. But Ernest Grey had ideals, for all tliat. IIow poor a creature the artist must be who doesn't teem with un- realized and unrealizable ideals ! All the while that he painted the insipid little girls in the impeccable stockings, very neatly garteretl, ho was feeding his soul with a tacit undercurrent of divine fancy. He had another world than this of ours, in which he lived by turns — a strange world of pure art, where all was profound, mysterious, magical, beautiful. Idyls of Celtic fancy floated visible on the air before his mind's ej'e. Great palaces reared themselves like exhalations on the waste ground by Bedford Park. Fair white maidens moved slow, with measured tread, across his imagined canvas. What pictures he might paint — if only somebody would pay him for painting them ! He revelled in designing these impossible works. His scenery should all lie in the Lost Land of Lyonesse. A spell as of IMerlin should brood, half-seen, over his dreamy cloisters. The carved capitals of his pilasters sliould point to something deeper than mere handicrafts- man's workmanship ; his brocades and his fringes should lueathe and live ; his arabesques and his fretwork, his tracery and his moulding, should be instinct with soul and with indefinite yearning. Tlio light that never was on sea or land should flood his landscape. In the })ictures lio had never painted, perhaps never would paint, orna- ment and decoration were lavished in abundance ; design ran riot; onyx and lapis lazuli, chrysolite and chalcedony, beryl and jacinth, studded his jewelled bowls and his quaintly-wrought scabbards ; but all to enrich and enforce one fair central idea, to add noble attire and noble array to that which was itself already noble and beautiful. No frippery should intrude. All this wealth of detail should be subservient in due place to some glorious thought, THE rOT-BOILER. 237 some ray of that divine sadness that touches uoarest iho deep heart of man. So ho said to himself in his day-dreams. But life is not day-drenm. Life, uhis ! is very solid reality. AVhilo Ernest Grey nonrislicd his secret soul with such visions of beauty, he employed his deft lingers in painting spindlo logs, ever fresh in numher, j-et ever the same in kind, and unanimously clad in immaculate spun-silk stockings. No hosier was better up in all the varieties of spun silk than that inspired painter. 'Tis the way of the world, you know — our industrial world of supply and demand — to luirness its blood-horses to London hansoms. After all, ho was working for liaby Joan and Bertlia. (Bertha was the sort of name most specially in vogue when his wife was a girl ; it had got to Joan and Joyce by the date of the baby.) They lived together in a very small house at Bedford Park — so small, Bertha said, that when a visitor dropped in they bulged out at the windows. But Ernest Grey had a friend bettor ofl" than himself — • a man whose future was already assured him — a long- haired proprietor who wrote minor verso which the world was one day to wake np and find famous. ITo was tall and thin, and loosely knit, and looked as if ho'd been run up by contract, llis name was Bernard Hume; he claimed indirect descent from the philosopher who demolished everything. Unlike his collateral ancestor, however, Ber- nard Hume had faith, a great deal of faith — first of all in himself, and after that in every one else who shared the honour of his acquaintance. This was an amiable trait on l^ernard's part, for, as a rule, men wlio believe in them- selves complete their simple creed with that solitary article. With Bernard Hume, on the contrary, egotism took a more expanded and expansive form — it spread itself thin over the entire entourage. He thought there was always a great deal in an}' one who happened to 2:\H THE I'OT-nOlLEIi. inspire liim with a personal fancy. "J like tliis man," lie said to himself virtually, "therefore ho must Itc a very superior soul, else how could ho have sncceedcd in attracting the attention of so sound a critic and judge of human nature ?" Of all Bernard Hume's friends, h(jwcvcr, there was not one in whom ho l)elieved more profoundly than the inspired painter. " Ernest Grey," lie nsed to say, " if only he'd retire from the stocking-trade and give free play to his fancy, would bring the sweat, I tell you, into that br(jw of I'urne-Jones's. (Yon think the phrase vulgar? Settle the question by all means, then, with Browning, who invented it !) He's a born idealist, is (Jrey — a direct descendant of Lippi and I'otticelli, pitchforked, by circum- stances over which he has no control, into the modern liosicry business. If only he could imint those lovely things ho draws so beautifully ! Why, he showed me some sketches the other day for unrealized pictures, first studies for dreams of j)ure form and colour — fair virgins that flit, white-armed, through spacious halls — plaintive, melancholy, passionate, mj-stical. One of them was superb. An Arthurian uncertainty enveloped the scene. The touch of a wizard had made all things in it suflFer a beautiful change. It was life with the halo on — life as the boy in Wordsworth's "Ode on Immortality" must surely have seen it — life in the glow of a poet's day-dream. A world of pure phantas}', lighted up from above with glancing colour. A world whose exact date is onvc vitoii a time. A world whoso precise place is in the left-hand corner of the land of fairy-tales. If only Ernest Grey would paint like that, ho might fail for to-day ; he might fail for to-morrow; his wife and child might starve and die ; ho might fall himself exhausted in the gutter — but his place hereafter would be among the immortals." Ernest heard him talk so at times — and went on with the detail of the left stocking. It's easy enough to let THE rOT-BOILEU. 230 H0111C other divine genius's wife and child Klarvu ernard Hume was a frequent and a welcome visitor. 'Tis not in human nature not to like deft flattery, especially on the points yon helievo to bo your strongest. You may be ever bo modest a man in the abstract, and under normal conditicms of opposition and failure; but when a friend begins to praise your work to your face, and to find in it tlui qualities you like the best yourself, why, hang it all ! you stand back a bit, and gaze at it with your head just a trifle on one side, and say to your own soul in an unuttered aside, " Well, after all, I'm ii diOidcnt sort of a fellow, and I distrust my own prodticts, but it's (piito tnu) what ho says — there is a deal of fine feeling and fine jtainting in the reflection of those nude limbs in that limpid water; and what could be more exquisite, though I did it myself, than the gracious curl of those lithe festoons of living honeysiickle ? " So Bernard was a favourite at the little house in B)odford Park. Even Bertha liked him, and was proud of his opinion of Ernest's genius, though she wished he didn't try to distract dear Ernest so much from serious work to mere speculative fancies. On this particular afternoon, however, Bernard had dropped in of malice prepense, and in pursuance of a deep- laid scheme against Bertha's happiness. The fact is, he had been reading Browning's "Andrea del Sarto" the night before, and, much impressed by that vigorous diatribe against all forms of pot-boiling, ho had come round to put 240 THE roT-nniLEn. out poor Bertha's Kinouldcrin^- kiteliou-firo for over. ITo knew the moment luul now arrived wlion Ernest should ho j^oadod on into letting liis wife and ehild starve for the benefit of humanity ; and lie felt like a missionary sent out on purpose, by some Society for the J'ropagation of the Tl^^sthetic Gospel, to convert the poor benighted put- boiler from the whole base cult of the scullery pipkin. IIo came, indeed, at a propitious moment. Ernest had just dismissed the model who sat for the elder dauj^hter in his new Academy picture of " Papa's Keturn," and was then engaged in adding a few leisurely touches haphazard to little Joan's arms as the crowing baby. (I'ajta himself blood outside the Iramc; not even tlio worship of the simmering saucepan itself could induce Ernest Grey to include in his canvas the jocund figure of the regressive stockbroker.) Bernard llumo sat down, and after the usual interchange of meteorological opinion, drew forth from his pocket a small brown-covered volume. Bertha trembled in her chair ; she knew well what was in store lor them : 'twas the " Selections from ]*>rowning," — homoeopathic dose fur the general public. IlahUucs absorb him whole in fifteen volumes. " I was reading a piece of Browning's last night," Bernard began tentatively ; " his ' Andrea del Sarto ' — do you know it, Mrs. Grey ? — it impresses me immensel}'. I was so struck with it, indeed, that I wanted to come round and read it over to Ernest this afternoon. 1 thought it might be — well, suggestive to him in his work, don't j'ou know." And he glanced askance at that hostile Bertha. So very unreasonable of a genius's wife not to wish to starve, with her baby in her arms, for the sake of high art, and her husband, and posterity ! Bertha nodded a grudging assent ; and Bernard, draw- ing breath, settled down in a chair and began to read that famous poem, which was to act, he hoped, as a goad to Ernest Grey's seared artistic conscience. Tin: i'OTBOlLKli. -II Onco or twice, to bo wuio, Bernard wiuceeitha never came near the room, though she shuddered to herself to think what Ernest was doing. But she had made up her mind, once for all, after hearing IJernard Hume read Browning's "Andrea," never again to interfere with iier hu>iband's individuality. As for the mudel, her grief was wimple and unaflected. She couldn't think bow j\lr. Grey, and him so clever, too, could ever desert that dear, sweet bal)y in " I'apa's Return " for all them dreadful gashly men and un'olesomo women. Jle was making sucli a fright of her for his figger of the Eloosive as she'd bo ashamed to acknowledge^ t) any of her friends it was her that sat to him for it. A pretty girl don't like to bo 211 TEE FOT-nOILEIi painted into a fright like that, with her 'air all tstreamin' loose like a patient atColnoy 'Atch, and her clothes fallin' off, quite casual-like, be'ind her ! About Friday Bernard Ilumc called in. The model ex- pected him to disapprove most violently, But when he saw the drawing, and still more the study, as far as it had gone — for Ernest, knowing exactly what effect he meant to produce, had worked at the head and arms with sur- prising rapidity — he was in visible raptures. He stood long and ga/.ed at it. " AVhy, Grey," he cried, standing back a little, and shading his eyes with his hand, "it's simply and solely the incarnate spirit of the nincteent]i century. The nineteenth century in its higher and purer avatar; deep-questioning, mystic, uncertain, rudderless. Faith gone ; humanity left; heaven lost; earth realized as man's true liome and sole hope for the future ! Tlioso sad eyes of your wan maidens gaze forth straiglit ui)on the infinite. Those bronzed faces of your mailed knights have confronted strange doubts and closed hard willi nameless terrors. There's a pathos in it all — a — what shall I call it? — a something inexpressible; a pessimism, a meliorism, an obstinate questioning of invisible things, tliat no age but this age of ours could possibly have com- passed. Who, save you, could have put so much intense spirituality into the broidery of a robe, could have touched with such sacred and indefinable sadness the frayed frin<''e of a knightly doublet?" As he spoke, Ernest gazed at his own work, in love with it. The criticism charmed him. It was just the ver}- thing he'd have said of it himself, if it had been some- body else's ; only he couldn't have put it in such glowing language. It's delightful to hear your work so justly appraised by a sympathetic soul ; it makes a modest man think a great deal better than he could ever otherwise think of his own poor little iierformances. But most modest men, alas! have no Bernard Hume at hand to THE ror-DoILEIi. 215 applaud their efforts. The Bernard iruuieiS of this worhl aro all busily engaged in booming tho noisy, successful Kclf-advcrtisers. Tho model looked up with a ut you're utterly wrong. I can see through that woman. The hateful, hateful wretch ! She did it to .«pite mo ! Oh, my pool*, poor boy ; my dear, guileless liernard ! " Bernard, I may mention, is our eldest son, aged just twenty-four, and a Cambridge graduate, lie's a tutor at King's, and though he's a dear good fellow, and a splendid long-stop, I couldn't mystdf conscientiously say I regard guilelessness as quite his most marked characteristic. "What are you doing?" I asked, as Lucy sat down with a resolutely determined air at her writing-table in the corner. "Doing!" my wife replied, with some asperity in her tone. " Wli}', answering that hateful, detestable woman ! " I glanced over her shoulder, and followed her pen as she wrote — 832 MELISSA'S TOUU. '♦.AFy 1)k\k Mi!s. AVapk, " It was tiiih.'cd .1 delif^lit i o us to sec your neat littlo liamlwritiiig a<;ain. Nothing would <^ivo uk j^reatcr pleasure, I'm sure, than to take cliarj^o (jF your friend, who, Vm confident, wo sliall find a most charmin<^ com- ])anion. Bernard will bo with us, so she won't loel it (lull, I trust. We hope to have a very dcdij^htful trip, and your happy thought in providing us with a travelling companion will add, no douht, to all our cnjoymont — especially liornard's. Wo both join in very kindest regards to Mr. Wade and yourself, and I am over " Yours most cordially, " Lucy B. Hancock." My wife fastened down the envelope with a very crushing air. " There, that ought to do for her," sho said, glancing up at mo triumphantly. " I should think sho could see from that, if she's not as blind as an owl, I've observed her atrocious designs upon Bernard, and moan to checkmate them. If, after such a letter, sho has the cheek to send us her Yankee girl to chaperon, I shall consider her lost to all sense of shamo and all notions of decency. But sho won't, of course. She'll withdraw her unobtrusively." And Lucy flung the peccant shoot that had roused all this wrath on to the back of the fireplace with offended dignity. Sho was wrong, however. By next evening's post a second letter arrived, more discomposing, if possible, to her nerves than the first one. " Mrs, Lucy B. Hancock, London. " Deau Madam, " I learn from my friend Mrs. Wade, of Oxford College, that you are going to bo kind enough to take charge of me across the ocean. I thank you for your courtesy, and will gladly accept your friendly oflfer. If you will let mo know l»y wliut stciiiner y(ju start, I will register my pasyago right away in Liverpool. Also, if you will bo good enough to tell nio from what depCd yon leave London, and by what train, I will go aloug with you in the cars. I'm unused to travel alone. " Kcspoctfully, " Mhlissa r. Kasterhrook." Lucy gazed at it in despair. '' A creature like that ! " she cried, all horror-struck. " Oh, my poor dear liernard ! The ocean, she says ! Go along with you in the cars ! Melissa P. Easterbrook ! " " Perhaps," I said tentatively, " she may bo better than her name. And, at any rate, Bernard's not hound to marry her ! " Lucy darted at mo profound volumes of mute feminine contempt. " Tho girl's pretty," she said at last, after a long, deep pause, during which I had been made to realize to tho full my own utter moral and intellectual nothingness. " You may bo sure she's pretty. Mrs. AVade wouldn't have foisted her upon us if she wasn't pretty, but unspeakable. It's a vile plot on her part to destroy my peace of mind. You won't believe it, Vernon ; but I know that woman. And what does the girl mean by signing herself ' Pespectfully,' I wonder? " " It's the American way," I ventured gently to inter- pose. " So I gather," my wife answered with a profound accent of contempt. To her, anything that isn't done in the purest English way stands, ipso facto, self-condemned immediately. A day or two lattjr a second letter arrived from Miss Easterbrook, in reply to one of Lucy's, suggesting a rendezvous. I confess it drew up in my mind a some- what painful picture. I began to believe my wife's fears were in some ways well grounded. 2:)\ MELIaS.VS TOUli. "i\[rH. liuey B. Hancock, London" (as before). " Deaii Mai>am, '•I thank you for yours, and will meet you on the day and hour you mention at St. Pancras dcjjdf. You will know mo when you see me, because I shall wear a dove-colourt'd dress, with bonnet to match, and a pair of grey spectacles. " Respectfully, "Melissa V. Eastkuduook." I laid it down and sighed. *' A New England school- marm !" I exclaimed with a groan. "It sounds rather terrible. A dove-coloured dress, and a pair of grey spec tac'les ! I fancy I can picture her to myself— a tall and bony person of a certain age, with corkscrew curls, who reads improving books, and has views of her own about tlie fullilment of prophecy." But as my spirits wont down, so Lucy's went up, like the old man and woman in the cotta-ro weather-ulass. " That looks more promising," she said. " The spectacles are good. rerha[)S after all dear Bernard may escape. I don't think he's at all the sort of jierson to be taken with a dove-coloured bonnet." Eor some days after J'.ernard came home from Cambridge we chaffed a good deal among ourselves about Miss Melissa Easterbrook. Bernard took quite my view about the spectacles and dress. JEe even drew on an envelope a fancy portrait of Miss Easterbrook, as he said himself, " from documentary evidence." It represented a typical schoolraarm of the most virulent order, and was calculated to strike terror into the receptive mind of ingenuous youth on simple inspection. At last the day came when wo were to go to Liverpool. We arrived at St. Pancras in very good time, and looked about on the platform for a tall and hard-faced person of Transatlantic aspect, arrayed in a dove-coloured dress MLLissA'a Touii. aw aud u pair of j^rcy spectacles. .Hut wo looked in vain : noliixly ab(Mit seemed tu answer to the deseription. At last Bernard turned to my witb with a curious smile. "I think I've spcjfted her, mother," he said, waving his hand vaguely to the right. " That lady over yonder — by tho door of the refreshment-room. Don't you soo ? That must bo ^lelissa." For we knew her only as Meiis^a already among ourselves: it had l)ceu raised to the mild rank of a family witticism. I locjked in the direction ho suggested, and paused fur certainty. There, irresolute by the dtjor and ga/-ing about her timidly with in(iuiring eyes, stood the prettiest, tiniest, most shrinking little Western girl you ever saw in your life — attired, as she said, in a dove-coloured dross, with bonnet to match, and a pair of grey spectacles, lint oh, what a dove-coloured dress! Walter ('rune might liave designed it- one of thotic perfect travelling costumes of which the American girl seems to possess a monopoly ; and tho spectacles — well, tho spectacles, though un- doubtedly real, added just a touch of pi(piancy t(j an otherwise almost painfully timid and retiring little figure. The moment I set eyes on Melissa I'Jasterbrook, I will candidly admit, I was her captive at once; and even liUcy, as she looked at her, relaxed her face involuntarily inU) a sympathetic smile. As a rule, Lucy might pose as a perfect model of the British matron in iier ampler and maturer years — " calmly terrible," as an American observer once described the genus : but at sight of Melissa she melted without a struggle. " Poor wee little thing, how pretty she is ! " she exclaimed with a start. Vou will readily admit that was a great deal, fromJjuey. Melissa came forward tentatively, a dainty blush half rising on her rather pale and delicate little cheek. " Mrs. Hancock?" she said in an inquiring tone, with just the faintest suspicion of an American accent in her musical small voice. Lucy took her hand cordially. " I was sure 256 3lJ'JLlSSA'S TOUIl it was you, lUii'uni," Melissa wcut on with pretty con- fidonce, looking up into her face, "because Mrs. Wade told me you'd be as kind to nie as a mother; and the moment I saw you I just said to myself, ' That wiJts^bo Mrs. Hancock : she's so sweetly motherly.' ITow good of you to burden yourself with a stranger like me! I hope indeed I won't be too much troul)le." That was the beginning. I may as well say, first as last, Ave were all of us taken by storm " righi, a way " by ]Melissa. Lucy herself struck her flag unconditionally before a. single shot was fired, and Bernard and I, hard hit at all points, surrendered at discretion. She was the most cliarming little girl the human mind can conceive. Our cold English language fails, in its rou<:;hncs.>-i, to describe her. She waapctile, miguonnc, graceful, fairy-like, yet witli a touch of Yankee quaintness and a delicious espuylerir that made htr absolutely unitpie in my exi)eriencc of women. We had utterly lost our heaits to her before ever we reached Liverpool ; and, strange to say, I believe tlie one of us whose heart was most completely gone was, if only you'll believe it, that calmly terril)le Lucy. Melissa's most winning characteristic, however, as it seemed to me, was her perfect frankness. As we whirh^d along on our way acrots England, she told us everything about herself, her family, her friends, her iieighbonrs, and the population of Kansas City in general. Not obtrusively or egotistically— of egotism :\relissa would lo wholly incapable — but in a certain timid, confiding, half- childlike way, as of the lust little girl, that was absolutely captivating. "Oh no, ma'am," she said, in answer to one of Lucy's earliest (questions, " I didn't come over alone. I think I'd bo afraid to. I came with a whole S(piad of us who were doing Europe. A prominent lady in Kansas City took charge of the stjuare lot. And I got as far as Kome with them, through Germany and .Switzer- land, and then my money wouldn't run to it any further : MELItiSA'H TOUJi. 2.">7 so T had io no Lack. Travelling comes hU^h in Europe, what wiili hotels and lees and havinj]; to pay to «:;('t your ^'"".^S^^g*' ehecked. And that's how 1 came to want an escort." Bernard smiled good-naturedly. "Then yon had only a fixed snm," ho asked, " to make your European tour with?" " That's so, sir," Melissa answered, looking up at hiui quizzically through those pretty grey spectacles. "I'd put away quite a little sum of my own to make this trip upon. It was my only chance of seeing Europe and improving myself a piece. I knew when I started I couldn't go all the round trip with the rest of my party : but I thought I'd set out with them, any way, and go ahead as long as my funds held out ; and then when I was through I'd turn about and come homo again." "]Uit you put away tho money yourself?" Lucy asked, with a little start of admiring surprise. "Yes, ma'am," Melissa answered sagely. "I know it. I saved it." "From your allowance?" Lucy suggested, from tho restricted horizon of her English point of view. Melissa laughed a merry little laugh of amusement. " Oh no," she said ; " from my salary." " From your salary ! " Bernard put in, looking down at her with an inquiring glance. " Yes, sir; that's it," Melissa answered, all unabashed. " You see, for four years I was a clerk in the Post Office." She pronounced it " clurk," but that's a detail. "Oh, indeed!" Bernard echoed. Jlo was burning to know how, I could see, but politeness forbade him to press Melissa on so delicate a point any further. Melissa, however, herself supplied at once the missing- information. "My father was postmaster in our city," she said simply, " under tho last administration— Presi- dent Blanco's, you know— and ho made me one of his s 2:)8 MELISSA'S TOVIt, clerks, of coiu'so, when hoM gotten tho place ; and as long as the fun went on, I saved all my salary fur a tour in Europe." " And at tho cud of four years ? " Lucy said. "Our partj^ went out," Melissa put in, confidentially. " So, when thu trouble began, my father was dismissed, and I had just enough left to take mo as far as liomo, as I told you." I was obliged to explain parentheticall}', to allay Lucy's wonderment, that in America the whole ji;crso/»K'Z of every local Government ofiice changes almost completely with each incoming I'rcsident. " That's so, sir," Melissa assented, with a wise little nod. " And as I didn't think it likely our folks would get in again in a hurry — the country's had enough of us — I just thought I'd nuiko the best of my money when I'd got it." " And you used it all up in giving yourself a holiday in Europe?" Lucy exclaimed, half ropruachl'ully. To her economic British mind such an expenditure of capital seemed horribly wasteful. " Yes, ma'am," Melissa answered, all unconscious of tho faint disapproval implied in Lucy's tone. " You see, I'd never been anywhere much away from Kansas City before ; and I thought this was a special opportunity to go abroad, and visit tho picture-galleries and cathedrals of Europe, and enlarge my mind, and get a little culture. To us, a glimpse of Europe's an intellectual necessary." " Oh, then, j-ou regarded your visit as largely edu- cational?" Bernard put in, with increasing interest. Though he's a follow and tutor of King's, 1 will readily admit that Bernard's personal tastes lie rather in tho direction of rowing and football than of general culture ; but still, the American girl's point of view decidedly attracted him by its novelty in a woman. " That's so, sir," Melissa answered once more, in her MELISSA'S TOUR. 259 accustomed anirmative. " I took it as a sort of univer.sity trip. I graduated in Euroiie. In America, of course, wherever you go, all you can ^^ce'.s everywhere just the same, purely new and American. The language, the manners, the type don't vary: in lluropc, you cross a frontier or a ril^ljou of sea, and everytliing's dilfcrent. Now, on this trip of ours, wo wont iirst to Chester, to glimpse a typical old English town— those Kows, oh! how lovely!— and then to Leamington, for Warwick Castle and Kenilworth. Kenilwortli's just glorious, isn't it?— with its mouldering red walls and its dark green ivy, and the ghost of Amy liobsart walking up and down upon the close-shaven English grass-plots." "I've heard it's very beautiful," Bernard admitted gravely. "What! you live so close, and you've never hccn there! " Melissa exclaimed, in frank surprise. liornard allowed with a smile he had been so culpably negligent. "And Stratford-on-Avon, too ! " Melissa went on, en- thusiastically, her black eyes beaming. " Isn't Stratford just charming ! I don't care for the interminable Shake- speare nuisance, you know— that's all too new and made up; wo could raise a Shakespeare house like that in Kansas City any day; but the church, and the elms, and the swans, and the river! I made such a sweet little sketch of them all, so soft and peaceful. At least, the place itself was as sweet as a corner of heaven, and I tried as well as I could in my way to sketch it." "I suppose it is very pretty," Bernard replied, in a meditative tone. Melissa started visibly. " What ! have yoii never been there, either? " she exclaimed, taken aback. " Wdl, that is odd, now ! You live in England, and have never run over to Stratford-on-Avon 1 Why, you do surprise me ! But, there! I suppose you English live in the midst of ^6<^ MEUbSA'ii TOUU. oulturo, as it were, and can get t(, it all right away at any tiino; so, perhaps, you dou't think quito as much of It as we ,lo, wlio have to save up our money, perhaps for years, to get, for once in our lives, just a single passino- glimpse of it. You live at Cann,riago, yon see • you must be steeped in culture, right down to the finger- ends. ' ° Bernard modestly responded, twirling his manly mous- tache, that the river and the running-ground, he feared, were more m his way than art or architecture. " And where else did you go besides England ? " Lucy asked, really interested. " Well, ma'am, from London we wont across by Osteud to Bruges, where I studied the I\Iemlings, and made a few little copies from them," Melissa answered, with her sunny smile. " It's such a quaint old place, Bruge^\ Life seems to flow as stagnant as its own canals, flavo you ever been there ? " "Oh, charming!" Lucy answered; "most delightful and quiet. But— er— who are the IMemlings ? I don't quito recollect them," Melissa gazed at her, open-eyed. «' The Memlino-s? " she said slowly; " why, you've just missed the best thing at Bruges if you haven't seen them. They've such a naive charm of their own, so innocent and sympathetic They're in the Ilopital do St. Jean, you know, where Memling put them. And it's so delightful to see great pictures like those- though they're tiny little things to look at— in their native surroundings, exactly as "they were first painted— the Chasso do Sto. Uisulo, and all those other lovely things, so infantile in their simplicity, and yet so exquisitely graceful, and pure, and beautiful! I don't know as I saw anything in Ei-ropo to C(iual them for pathos in their own way—except, of course, the Fra Angelicos at San Marco in Florence." " I don't think I've seen them," Lucy murmured, with MELISSA'S TOUn. 261 an uncomfortablo air. I could soo it was just clawning uj^on her, iu spito of licr patronizing^, that this Yankee pfirl, witli her iinporfcct command of the Engli«h tongue, know a vast deal more ahout some things worth notice than she herself did. "And wliero did you go then, dear ? " "Oh, from Bruges wo went on to Ghent," j\rclissa answered, leaning back, and looking as pretty as a picture herself in her sweet little travelling-dress, " to see the great Van Eyck, the ' Adoration of the Lamb,' 3'ou know — that magnificent panel-picture. And then wo went to Brussels, whore wo had Dlerick Bouts and all tho later Flemings ; and to Antwerp, for Rubens and Vandyck and (^nintin Matsys ; and the Hague after that, for Rembrandt and Paul Potter ; and Amsterdam in the cud, for Van dor Heist and Gerard Dow, and the late Dutch painters. So, you see, wo had quite an artistic tour — wo followed up the development of Netherlandish art, from beginning to end, in historical ordci\ It was just delightful." " I went to Antwerp once," Bernard put in, somewhat sheepi.shly, still twirling his moustache; " but it was on my way to Switzerland; and 1 didn't see much, as far as T can recollect, except tho catliedral and the quay and the hotel I was stopping at," " Ah, that's all very well ft)r ?/o?e," Melissa answered, with a rather envious air. " You can soo these things any day. lint for us, tho chance comes only once in a lifetime, and wo must make tlic most of it." Well, in such converse as this we reached Liverpool in duo time, and wont next morning on board o,ur bteamor, VV^o had a lovely passage on I, and all tho way, the more wo saw of Melissa, tho more wo likid her. To bo sure, Lucy received a terrible shock tho third day out, when she asked Melissa wliat sh(> meant to do whon she returned to Kansas City. " You won't go into tho Post Office again, T suppose, dear?" she said kindly, for we had got 262 ' MELISSA'S TOUR, hy that time on most fiionilly terms witli our littlu MoliHsa. "I gnoss not," iMelissa answered. " No such luck any more. I'll have to go l)ack again to tlio store as usual." " The store ! " Lucy repeato:,!, beAvilileroil. " I — I don't quite uiiderhtand you." " VVx'll, the shop, I presume you'd call it," Melissa answered, smiling. "My father's gotten a Look-store in Kansas City ; and lieforo I Avent into the Post Office I helped him at tlio counter. In fact, I was his sales- woman." "I assure you, Vernon," Lucy remarked in our Lerth that night, " if an Englishwoman had said it to me, I'd have been obliged to apologize to her fur having forced her to confess it, and I d(ju't know what way I should ever have luoked to hide my face while she was talking about it. l*ut with Melissa it's all so different, somehow. She spoke as if it was the most natural thing on earth for her father to keep a shop, and she didn't seem the least little bit in the world asliamcd of it either." " Why should she ? " I answered, with my masculine blnntncss. ]}ut that was perhaps a tritle too advanced for Lucy. IMelissa was exercising a widening influence on my wife's point of view wnth astonishing rapidity : but still, a perfect lady must always draw a lino some- where. All the way across, indeed, Alelissa's lively talk was a constant delight and pleasure to every one of us. She was so taking, that girl, so confidential, so friendly. AVo really loved her. Then her quaint little Americanisms were as pretty as herself— not only her " Yes, sirs," and her " No, ma'ams," her " I guess " and " That's so," but her fresh Western ideas and her infinite play of fancy in the Queen's English. She turned it as a potter turns his clay. In Britain, our mother tongue has crystallized long since into set forms and phrases. lu America, it has Ml'JIJSSA'S TOUR. 203 still ilio plasticity of j'outh ; it is fertilo in novelty — nay, even in surprises. And ^lelissa know how to twi.st it deftly into nncxi)ected qnips and incongruous conjunc- tions. Her tiilk ran on like a limpid brook, with a musical ripple playing over on t!io surface. As fur ]>ernard, ho helped her ahout the ship like a brother, as she moved lightly around with her sylphlikc little form among tho ropes and capstans. Melissa liked to bo helped, sho said : she didn't believe one bit in woman's rights; no, indeed — sho was a great deal too fond of being taken care of fur that. And who wouldn't tako care of her, that delicate little thing, like some choice small mastcrpieco of cunning workmanship ? Why, she almost looked as if sho were made of Venetian glass, and a fall on deck would shatter her into a thousand fragments. And her talk all tho Avay was of tho joys of Europe^ tho castles and abbeys sho was leaving behind, tho pictures and statues she had seen and admired, tho pictures and statues sho had left unvisited. "Somebody told me in Paiis, she said to me one day, as she hung on my arm on dock and looked up into my face confidingly with that childlike smile of hers, " the only hapiiy timo in an American woman's life is tho period when she's just got over the first poignant regret at having left Europe, and hasn't yet roaclied the point when sho mid;es up her mind that, come what will, sho really must go back again. And I thought, for my part, then my happiness was fairly spoilt for life, for I shall never be able again to afford tho journey." "Melisija, my child," 1 said, looking down at those ripo rich lips, " in this world one never knows what may turn up next. I've observed on my w;iy down the path of lifo that when fruit hangs rosy-rod on tho tree by the wall, some passer-by or other is pretty sure in tho cud to pluck it." Jjut that was too much for Melissa's American modesty, 201 MELISSA'S TOUR. Sho looked down and Llushod lilco a rose horsolf. But bIio answered mo notliinjij. A night or two before wo reached New York I was standing in tlie gloom, half hidden hy a boat on the davits amidships, enjoying my vcsportinal cigar in the cool of evening ; and between the pnffs I canght from time to time stray snatches of a conversation going on softly in the twilight between r>L'rnard and Melissa. I had noticed of late, indeed, that Bernard and ]\Ielissa walked much on deck in the evening together; bnt this particular evening they walked long and late, and their conversation seemed to me (if I mighu judge by fnigmcnts) particularly confidential. The bits of it I caught were mostly, it is true, on Melissa's part (when Bernard said anything, ho said it lower). She was talking enthusiastically of Venice, Florence, Pisa, Home, with occasional flying excursions into Switzerland and the Tyrol. Once as she passed I heard something murmured low about Botticelli's " Prima- vera;" when next she went by, it was the Alps from Miirren; a third time, again, it was the mosaics at St. Mark's, and Titian's "Assumption," and tho ]>ogc's I'alaco. What so innocent as art, in tho moonlight, on tho ocean ? At last Bernard paused just opposite whoro I stood (for they didn't perceive me), and said very earnestly, "Look here, Melissa," — ho had called her Melissa almost from the first moment, and she scorned to prefer it, it seemed so natural — " Look liere, Melissa. Do you know, when you talk about things like that, you mako mo foci 80 dreadfully ashamed of myself." " Why so, Mr. Hancock?" Melissa asked innoociut^ly. " Well, when 1 tliiiik what o})p()rtunities Pvo had, and how little I've used them," Bernard exclaimed with vehemence, *' and then reflect how few you've got, and how splendidly you've made thu best of them, I just blush, I tell you, Melissa, for my own laziness." MELISSA'S TOUR. 2G5 "rcrhaps," Melissa interposed with a grave little air, "if one liad always been l)rono;ht np amon<; it all, ono ■wouldn't think qnito so much of it. It's the novelty of antiquity that makes it so cliarininy to people from my country. I suppose it seems quite natural, now, to you that your parish church should l)o six hundred years old, and have tombs in tlio chancel with Elizabethan ruffs or its floor inlaid with riantagonct braf^ses. To us, all that seems mysterious and in a certain sort of way ono might almost say magical. Nobody can love Europe quite so well, I'm sure, who lias lived in it from a child. Yon grew up to many tilings that burst fresh upon us at last with all tho intense delight of a now sensation." Tiiey stood still as they spoke and looked hard at ono another. There was a minute's pause. Then Bernard began again. "]\[elissa," ho faltered out, in a rather tremulous voice, " are you sorry to go homo again ? " " I just hate it ! " Melissa answered, with a vehement burst. Then she added after a second, " But I've enjoyed the voyage." " You'd like to live in Europe ? " Bernard asked. " I should love it ! " ^lolissa replied. " I'm fond of my folks, of course, and I sliould bo sorry to leave thcni ; but I just love Europe, I shall never go again, though. 1 shall come right away back to Kansas City now, and keep store for father for tho rest of my natural existcnco." " It seems hard," Bernard wont on, musing, " that any- body like you, Melissa, with such a natural love of art and of all beautiful tilings -anybody who can draw sucli sweet dreams of delight as those heads you showed iis after L'ili[)p(> Lippi — anybody who can appreciate Florence and Venice ami liouie as you do, shoidd have to live all her life in a Far Western town, and meet with so little sympathy as you're likely to find there." " Tliat's tho rub," ^Melissa replied, looking up into his face with such a confiding look (if any pretty girl had 260 MELISSA'S TOVn. IcxA'cd up at mc like that, I .slioulil have known wliat to do witli lior; l)ut Bernard was tweiity-f(jur, and yoiinj^ men aro modest). " Tliat's tlio ml), :\Ir. Hancock. I liko — well, European sooiefy so very niiicli l)c(t(!r. Dur men aro nice enougli in their own way, don't you know; l)ut tlioy Hoincliow L'ick polish— at least, out West, I mean- in Kans'is City. Huropeans mayn't Lo very much Letter when you get right at them, perhaps; but on the outside, any way, to mc, they're more attractive somehow." These was another long pause, during which I felt as guilty as (jver eavesdropper hef'oroem a pity," sho answered sympathetically. "She'd enjoy it BO much. I'm sorry sho hasn't been able to carry out all hor programme." "And, mother," Bernard went on, his eyes fixed hard on hers, "how awfully she'd be thrown away on Kansas City! I can't bear to think of her going back to 'keep store ' there," 2G8 MELISSA'S TOUR. *' For r>y part, I think it positivol}' wicked," Lnoy answered with a smile, "and I can't think what — well, people in England — are about to alh)w her to do it." I opened my eyes wide. Did Lncy know Avhat she was saying? Or had ]\IeHssa, then, fascinated her — the arch little witch! — as she had fascinated the rest of us? But Bernard, emboldened by this excellent opening, took Melissa by the hand, as if in duo form to present her. "Mother," ho said tenderly, loading the wee thing forward, "and father, too; this is what I wanted to show you — the girl I'm engaged to ! " I paused and trembled. I waited for the thunderbolt. But no thunderbolt fell. On the contrary, Lucy stopped forward, and, under cover of the mast, caught Melissa in her arms and kissed her twi'jo over. " My dear child," she cried, pressing her hard, " my dear little daughter, I don't know which of you two I ought most to congratu- late." " But I do," Bernard murmured low. And, his father though I am, I murmured to myself, " And so do I, also." " Then you' jo not ashamed of me, mother dear," Melissa whispered, burying her dainty little head on Lucy's shoulder, " because I kept store in Kansas City ? " Lucy rose above herself, in the excitement of the mo- ment. " My darling wee daughter," she answered, kissing her tenderly again, "it's Kansas City alone that ought to bo ashamed of itself for putting you to keep store — such a sweet little gem as you are ! " 1 SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. y_ The Bishop laid down the telegram on the table with the air of a man who has made his mind up, and will hear no further nonsense from anybody about it. ♦' No, my dear," he said to his wife decisively. "He's been acquitted, and that is so far satisfactory — to a certain extent, I grant you, satisfactory : humanly speaking, it was almost impossible that ho could bo ac(iuitted. The evidence didn't suffice to convince the court-martial. I'm glad of it, very glad of it, of course, for poor Iris's sake; but upon my word, Charlotte, I can't imagine how on earth they can ever have found it in their consciences to acquit him. In my opinion — humanly speaking onco more — it's morally certain that Captain Burbury himself embezzled every penny of all that money." Mrs. Braudrcth turned the telegram over nervously, with two big tears standing ready to fall in the corners of her dear motherly old eyes, and then asked in a timid voice, " So you've quite decided, have you, Arthur, that it must be all broken off between him and pour Iris ? " The Bishop played with his paper-knife, iialf stuck through the Guardian in his testy fasliiun. "My dear," he answered, with the natural impatience of a just man unduly provoked by female persistence, " how is it possible, I put it to you, that we could over dream of letting her marry him ? I don't wish to judge him harslily— far bo it from me to judge any man : I hope I understand my duty '-^70 A SOCIAL niFFTCULTY. as a Cliristian better : Lut still, Charlotte, it's one of onr duties, you know, — an unpleasant duty, hut none the less a duty on that account — not to shut our eyes against plain facts. Wc are entrusted with tho safc-keepinj; of our daughter's hap2)iness, and I say wo oughtn't to allow her to imperil it hy throwing herself away upon a man whom wo strongly suspect — upon just grounds — to bo quite un- worthy of her. I'm sorry that wo must give Iris so much pain; but our duty, Charlotte, our duty, I say, lies clear before us. The young man himself sees it. What more would you wish, I wonder?"' Mrs. IJrandreth sighed quietly, and let tho two tears roll unperccived down her placid, gentle, fair old face. " Tho court-martial has t?ken a more lenient view of tho case, Arthur," she suggested tentatively, after a pause of a few minutes. Tho ]Mshop looked up from the table of contents of tho Gunnlian with a forcedly benign glance of Christian for- bearance. Women will bo women, of course, and will symi athizo with daughters and so forth in all their foolish matrimonial entanglements. "My dear," he explained, with his practised episcopal smile of gentle condescension to tho lower inteliigenco of women and of tho inferior clergy, " you must recollect that tho court-martial had to judge of legal proof and legal certainty. Moral proof and moral certainty are, of course, quite another matter. I might hesitate, on tho evidence given, to imprison this young man or even to deprive him of his commission in the army; and yet I might hesitate on the very same grounds to let him take my daughter in marriage, lie has been acquitted, it is true, on the charge ; but a suspicion, Chirlotte, a certain vague shadow of formal suspicion must always, in future, hang over him like a cloud. Ciesur's wife — you remember the lloman dictator said, CVusar's wife must be above suspicion. Surely, if oven a heathen thought that, wo, Charlotte, with all our privi- A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. 271 logos, ought to 1)0 very careful on what sort of man wo bestow Iris." Antl having tlius suinniarily dismissctl the matter, the Bishop turned with profound interest to tlic discussion on the evil consequences of tlio Burials Bill and tho spread of disouut In the West of England. To a mind deeply engrossed with these abstruse and important subjects, the (juestion about poor Iris's relations with Captain Ibirbury, of tho Ifundrcd and Fiftieth, was, of course, a relatively small one. Iris, indeed, had never been engaged to him; that was a great comfort in all this ugly, unpleasant business. Tho young man had only buzzed a little around the episcopal palace at Whitchestor, danced with her, talked to her, and arrived at a slight piivato understanding which didn't exactly amount to a regular engagement, and which had never been officially communicated to tho parental ear. That, at least, was a great comfort; tho Bishop considered it almost provi- dential. Since this awkward question about tho deficiency in tho adjutant's accounts had first arisen, to bo sure, tho Bishop had learned from ]Mrs. Brandretli that this young man (he always spoke of Harry Burlniry in that oblicjue fashion) had succeeded in making a passing impression upon poor Iris's unbestowcd afTections. But then girls, you see, arc always fancying themselves in lovo with some young man or other, and arc always profoundly con- vinced for the time being that thoy can never conceivably bo happy without him. AVe, my dear I\[r. ])ean or my dear Sir William, who arc men of tho world — I mean, who arc persons of maturer years and more solid understand- ing--wo know very well that in six months or so girls forgot all about that nice Mr. Blank or that dear Captain Somebody in their last passing fancy for young So-and-so, who will in duo time be equally forgotten, in favour of somo more really desirable and eligible person. And as in this case there would be no public withdrawal, no open breach 27-2 A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. of an aimounccHl ciioagcmcnt, Dr. Jtramlroth turned coni- l>laccnUy to the (liscii.ssion on tlio I'.iirials JJill, and in ten minutes had completely dismissed from his profound episcopal mind the whole subject of Captain Burbury's unfortunate comt-martial. Meanwhile, Mrs. Braudreth, who was not philosophical, like the Bishop, but who felt herself most imprudently sympathetic with all dear Iris's little girlish feelings — quite wickedly so, she was almost afraid — Mrs. Brandreth, I say, had stolen away quietly to her daughter's room, and was sitting on the little couch at the foot of the bed, with Iris's hand held fast in hers, and Iris's soft crimson cheek laid tenderly on her motherly shoulder. " There, there, darling," she was saying with tears in her eyes, as she soothed her daughter's hand gently with her own ; "don't cry. Iris, don't cry, my pet. Yes, do cry; it'll do you good, darling. Perhaps by-and-by, when things blow over a little, your papa will think rather differently about it." Iris took up the telegram for the fiftieth time with a fresh flood of tears : " From Captain Burbury, Aldershot, to Miss Brandreth, Eaton Place, London. The court- martial has acquitted me on all the charges. Bi>t I can never, never see you again." " Oh, mamma," she cried through her sobs and tears, " how cruel of him to say such a thing as that, and at such a moment ! " "No, no, dearest," her mother said. "Ho was quite right to say it. lie feels the horrible suspicion rests upon him still, and he can't bear to face you while it's hanging over him. No good and true man could do otherwise. . . . But," she added after a moment's pause, " I think. Iris, ... I think, darling, in spite of what ho says, you'll pro- bably see him hero this very evening." Iris gave a sudden start of surprise and pleasure. "This evening, mamma ! This very evening ? " she cried ex- A SOCIAL lUFFWVLTY. 2T3 citccTly. "Oh no, not after ecndiug mo such a telegram as that, dear, surely ! " Mrs. Brandreth had not the slightest idea in tlio world that she was a praetical psychologist — y.roLahly she could not have pronounced the word oven if you had asked her — yet slio answered quite readily, " AVIiy, you know, Iris, ho must have como straight out from tho court-martial and sent off that telegram in tho lieat of the moment, just to let j'ou know at once he had been at any rate acquitted. Of course he couldn't help adding the despairing tag ahout liis never, never soting you, IJut wlicn ho goes hack to his own quarters and tliinks it over a little, lio'll make up his mind— I know young men, my dear — he'll make up liis mind tliat ho must just run up to town and speak witli you once more he fore ho breaks it all off for ever. And if he sees you. Iris — but, after all, wliy ahouhl lie break it off? He has nothing to bo ashamed of. For, indeed, I'm (piito sure, darling, ho never, never, never, never couhl have tuken that dreadful money." " Of course not, mamma," Iris answered simply, witli profound confidence. "What a blessed thing it is to bo a trustful woman ! The Bishop's moral certainty was really nothing at all compared to his pretty, weeping daughter's unshaken conviction. "Charlotte," tho liishop said, putting his liead in at tho door fur a second, with his episcopal hat suspended loosely in his right hand, " I've ordered tho carriage, and I'm going down now to the Athenivsum ; from tho Athenanim I shall drive on to tho House of Lords ; from tho nou>o of Lords, after dinner, I shall go into (he Commons and hear what those dissenting Glamorgan people have got to say about this distressing AV'^elsli disestablislnnent business. Very probably the debate may be lato. I shall send tho carriage homo, in case you want it, and I shall cab it back or take tho Metropolitan. Don't sit up for me. Have you got a latch-key ? " T 271 A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. IMrs. Brandrotli <^avo an involuntary start. Tho notion of tho IJishop ilornanding a latch-koy was really and truly too ridiculous. Tho fact was, tho Brandroths had only just taken thoir furnished house in Eaton Place for tho season that very week, and tho Bishop himself had arrived alono from tho Palace, Whitchcster, that identical morn- ing. A man oppressed by tho spiritual burdens of an ontiro diocese cannot, of course, bo reasonably expected to go houso-hunting. It was irrational and unscriptural, Dr. Brandroth held, to suppose that ho should leave tho work of his seo to serve tables. So Mrs. Brandroth and Iris had come to town and secured tho episcopal lodgings before- hand ; and as soon as everything was put fully straight, tho Bishop himself camo up for tho session to " his own hired house " (liko St. Paul) and entered into tho onjoy- ment of a neatly ordered and well-arranged study. This, he explained, loft his mind perfectly free for tho wearing and harassing duties of tho episcopate, combined, as they wore under our existing circumstances, with tho arduous work of a Lord Spiritual in tho Upper House. Yes, Mrs. Brandroth had a latch-koy ; and tlio Bishop, still absorbed in soul by tho effects of the Burials Bill and the aggressive conduct of tho Glamorganshire Dissenters, kissed his wife and daughter mechanically, and went off ruminating to the Athcnajum.'i "Iris has been crying," ho said to himself with a pensive smile, as John turned tho handle of the carriage-door respectfully behind him. " Girls, will make a fuss about these foolish lovo afTairs. But in a little whilo she's suro to got over it. Indeed, for my part, what sho can possibly see to admire in this young man in the Hundred and Fiftieth rather than in poor dear good Canon Robinson, who would make such an admirable husband for her — though, to be sure, there is A certain disparity in nge — fairly passes my compre- hension." And yot, when young I\rr. Brandroth of Chris! Church A SOniAL DIFFICULTY. m had wooed aiul won Cliailutto Vaiulolour, ho was himself a handsome young curate. The afternoon wore away slowly in Eaton Phioo, but dinnor-tinio came at last, and just as Mrs. Brandroth and Iris were rising up disconsolately from a pitiaMo pretence of dinner, " for the sake of the servants," there came a very military knock at the front door, which made poor Tris jump and start with a sudden flush of vivid colour on her pale cheek. " I told you so, darling," :\[r8. Brandreth half whispered in a pleased undertone. " It's Captain Burbury." And so it was. The mother's psychology (or instinct if you will) had told her correctly. Mrs. Brandreth rose to go into the drawing-room as soon as the card was duly laid l)eforo her. "I oughtn't to leave them alone by themselves," she thought to herself silently. "If I did, under the circumstances, Arthur would bo justifiably angry." And, so thinking, she drew her daughter's arm in hers, murmured softly, " Iris dear, I really feel I oughtn't to leave you," and— walked oil' (|uietly without another word into her own boudoir. Iris, her heart beating fast and high, opened the door and stopped alone into the front drawing-room. As she entered, Harry Burbury, that penitent and shamefaced man, walked up to her with hands out- stretched, . . . seemed for a moment as if he would bow merely, . . . then inade as though he would shake hands with her , . . and finally, carried away for a moment from his set purpose, caught her up ardently in lioth his arms, kissed her face half a dozen times over, and pressed her tight against his heaving bosom. Ho had never kissed her so before, but Iris somehow felt to herself that the action just then really required no apology. Next minute, Harry Burbury stepped back again a few paces and surveyed her sadly, with his face burning a 2"*5 A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. fiery crimson. " Oli, Iris," ]ic crieil, •' I nica]i Mi.sn Bran- (Iruth— no. Iris. I rnado up my mind as J camo uluii^- in tho train from Aldcrsliot that I should never, novor a-aiii call you Iris." ° "But, Harry, you made up your mind, too, you would never kco me ! " "I did, Iris, Lut I thought— I thought, when I carao to think It over, that perhaps I had Letter come and tell you before I left England, why I felt it must bo all closed for over between us." " Left England, Harry ! All closed between us ! " "Yes, Iris; yes, darling!" And here Harry so far forgot his resolution once more that ho again kissed her. " I shall resign my commission and go awav somewhero to tho Colonies." " Harry ! " It was a cry of distress, and it rang terribly in tho young man's ears ; but with an oiTort he steeled himself. lie didn't oven kiss her. " Iris," he began once more, " it isn't any use my trying to call you Miss Brandroth,'and I won't do it. Iris, I foci that, after this, I havo no right to come near you in fature. I havo no right to blight your life with that horrid, terrible, undeserved suspicion." " But, Harry, you arc innocent ! You didn't take it ! And tho court-martial acquitted you." " Yes, darling, they acquitted mo of tho charge, but not of tho suspicion. If I had taken it. Iris— if a man had taken it, I mean, ho might perhaps havo kept his place, on tho strength of the acquittal, and tried to livo it down and brazen it out in spito of everything. But, as I didn't take it, and as I can't bear tho shadow of that horrible suspicion, I won't live on any longer in England and I certainly won't burden you, dearest, with such a terrible, unspeakable shame." « Harry," Iris cried, looking up at him suddenly, " I .'I SOCIAL JfirriCVLTY. til know yon didn't do it. I lovo you. I trust you. Why sliould wo over mind tlio other iiooplc?" ir.'irry faltered. " I'.ut the Bishop ? " ho asked. " lluw about your father, Iris? No, no, darliii;;;, I can never marry you while the shadow of this hideous, unworthy doubt rests over mo still." Iris took his liand in hers with a gesture of tenderness which robbed the act of all suspieion of unwomanly for- wardness. Then she began to spialc to him in a low, soft voice, to comfort liini, to soothe him, to tell him that no- body would ever believe it about hiiu, till l[arry Burbury himself began half to fancy that his sensitive nature had exaggerated the evil. How long they sat there whisper- ing together it would be hard to say : when lovers once take to whispering, the conversation may readily prohmg itself for an indeiinite period. »So at least INFrs. Brandreth appeared to think, fur at the end of a (^uiet hour or so lier sense of pro^iriety overcame her sympathy with Iris, and she went down to join the young couple in the front drawing-room. It gives me great pain to add, however, that she stood for a moment and rustled about a few magazines and papers on the lunding-t;il>le, very prudently, before actually turning the handle of the drawing-room door. This is a precaution too fro([Ucntly neglected in such cases by the matter-of-fact and the unwary, but one whose breach I have often known to produce considerable inconvenience to the persons concerned. When Mrs. Brandreth at last entered, she found Iris, ar girls are usually found on similar occasions, seated by her- self bolt upright on a very stilF-backed chair at the far end of the room, while Harry Burbury was playing nervously with the end of his moustache on the opposite side of the centre ottoman. Such phenoiueual distance spoko more eloquently to Mrs. Brandretli's psychological acumen thau any degree of propinquity could possibly have done. "They must have been very conlldential with one another," Mrs. 27H .( SOCIAL Dll'FIVULTY. Brainhuth tlioiij^lit to licisolf wisely. " I've uu iluiil>t they've settled the matter by tLemselvo.s oft'hand, with- out even tliinlciiif^ the least in the world aliont dear Artlmr." " jNIaniina," Jris said timidly, hut (juito simply, as her mother stood half hesitating bcsido her, " Hany and I have been talking this matter over, and at first Harry wanted to leave England ; but I've been saying to him that somebody must have tiiken the money, and the best thing he can do is to stoj) here and try to find out who really took it. And he's going to do so. And, for the present," Iris omphasi/cd the words very markedly, " we're not to bo engaged at all to one another; but, by-and-by, when Harry has cleared his reputation " and here Iris broke off suddenly, a becoming blush doing duty admir- ably for the principal verb iu the unfinished sentence. (This figure of speech is known to grammarians as an aposiopesis. The name is fur the most part unknown to young ladies, but the figure itself is largely employed by them with great effect in ordinary conversation.) Mrs. Brandreth smiled a faint and placid smile. "My dear Iris," she said, " what would your papa say if he only heard you talk like that?" And feeling now quite compromised as one of the wicked conspirators, the good lady sat down and heard it all out, the house thereupon immediately resolving itself into a committee of ways and means. It was very late, indeed, whcii Mrs. Brandreth, looking at her watch, exclaimed in some surprise that she really wondered dear Arthur hadn't come home ages ago. At this unexpected mention of the Bishop, Uarr}' Burbury, who had run up to town honestly intending to see him and renounce his daughter, but had allowed him- self to be diverted by circumstances into another channel, rose abruptly to take his departure. It occurred to him at once that two o'clock in the morning is not perhaps A ASOCIAL DIVFWVLTY. 27!t tho best poH«ibIu tiino ut whiuli to fucu a very iruto juhI light lovcieml latliir. liesidos, how oii i.iirl h cuuM Im Hati.sfjictorily oxpl.iin his pioNuiuii! in Iho I'.ishop'a own hired house at that pueuliarly unseasuiiablo hour? Ab for Mrs. IJiandroth, now fairly embarked on that terrible downward path of the committed conspirator, she whispered to Iris, as William fastened tho big front door behind Captain IJurbury, " i*orhap>', dear, it might bo quite as well not to mention just at present to your papa that Harry" — yus, she actually called him Harry I— " has been to see you hero this evening. And if wo were to go to bod at once, you know, and got our lights out quickly, before your papa comes homo fnjm tho House, it might, perhaps, bo all tho better ! " To such depths of frightful duplicity does tho down- ward path, once embarked in, rapidly conduct oven an originally right-minded clerical lady ! MeanAvhilo tho Bishop, sitting with several of his episcopal brethren in the Peers' gallery at the House of Commons, forgot all about the lai)8eof timein his burning- indignation at tho nefarious proposals of tho honourable gentlemen from that rovoluti(jnary (rlamorganshire. It was a field-night for the disestablishcrs and disendowers, and there seemed no chance, humanly speaking, that tho debate would bo terminated within any reasonable or moderate period. At last, about a quarter to two, tho Bishop took his watch casually from his pocket. " Bless my soul I " he cried in surprise to his right reverend com- panion, " I must really bo going. I hadn't the least idea tho time had gone so fast. Mrs. Brandrcth will positively bo wondering what has become of me." There were several cabs outside the House, but it was a fair, clear, star-lit night, and tho Bishop on tho whole, being chilly with horror, preferred walking. It would stretch his episcopal legs a little, after such a long spell of sitting, to walk from Whitehall down to Eatcm riaeo. 280 .1 SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. So ho walkol on alonj^ tlie silent streets till he came to the corner of St. Peter's Church. Then an awfnl thouu;ht sndtlculy flashed across his hewihlcrcd mind. Which house did ho actually live in ? Yes, yes. Tt was too true. Ho had forgotten to notice or to ask the number! If the I'ishop had hecn a little more a man of tin; World, he would, no douht, have walked oil" to tlie nearest liotul, or returned to the House and thrown liimself upon the hospitality of the first met amon^ his spiritual C(nn- poers. IJut he doubted whether it would bo quite pro- fessional to knock up tho night-porter of the (jlrosvenor at two ill tho morniUjO;, and demand a bod without luggago or introduction ; while, as to his ei)isc()pal Ijretliren, ho wouhl hardly like to ask them for shelter nnder such unpleasant and humiliating circumstances. The Bishop hesitated; and the bishop who hesitates is lost. Nothing but an unfaltering confidence in all his own opinions and actions can ever carry a bishop through the snai'es and jutfalls of modern life. lie felt in his pocket for tho unused latch-key. Yes, there it was, safe enough; hat what dior was it meant to open? Tho liishop remembered nothing on eartli about it. Mrs. ]>randreth had met him at Paildington that morning with his own carriage, and ho recollected distinctly that she had given John merely tho usual laconic direction, "Homo!" When he came out that afternoon, absorbed as he was by tho proceedings of the Glamorganshire iJissenters, and distracted somewhat by side rcllectiuns about Iris's love afTairs, be hadn't even had time to notice at which end of tho street his own hired house happened to bo situated. There was clearly only one way out of tho dilHeulty : ho must try all the doors, one after another, and see which oiu^ that particular latch-key was intended to open. ,1 SOCIAT. niFFIC'VLTY. 2KI Walking np cautiously to the corner house, tlio Bishop tried to stick that unfortunate key boldly into the key- hole. It was too lart^e. ^^Non possumus," the Bishop mur- luurcd, with a placid smile — it is professional to smile under tryinj; circumstances — and with his slow and stately tread dcscendLid the steps to try the next one. The next one sncceedtd a trille bettor, it is true, but not complete'y. Tiie keyhole was quite big enough, to be sure, but the wartls stubbornly refused to yield to the gentle and dexterous episcopal pressure. In vain did tho Bishop deftly return to tho charge (just as if it were a visitation); in vain did he coax and twist and turn and wheedle; those stiff-ntcked wards obstructed his passage as rudely and stoutly as though they had l)een uncom- promising Glamorgaiisliire Dissenters. Ij;ifiled, but not disheartened, the Bishop turned tentatively to the tliinl door. Oh, joy 1 The key fits ! it moves ! it withdraws tho bolt readily from the clencher ! Tho I'Ishop pushed tho door gently. Disappointment once more! The do(n- was evidently locked and fastened. "This situation begins to grow ridiculous," tliought the Jiishop. "One can almost enter faintl}', by proxy, into tlie personal feelings of our misguided brother, the enterprising burglar ! " On the ]iishf)p went, trying dour after door down tho wdiolo south side of Eaton IMace, till ho had almost reached tho very end. It was certainly absurd, and, what was more, it was painfully monotonous. It made a nuin feel like a thii'f in the night. The Bishop couldn't help glancing furtively around him, and wondering what any of liis diocesans Wdvdd say if only tliey c'oiild st'o their right reverend superior in this humiliating and undignified position. His hand positively trembled as he tried the last door but five; and when it proved but one more failure to add to the hnig list of his misfortunes, he took a sidelong look to right and left, and seeing a light 282 A aOCIAL DIFFWVLTY. still burnino- fuobly witliiu tlio hall, liu applied for a RGcniid his own k(^cn episcopal eye willi gr.'at ivlnctanco to tlie bipr koyholo. Noxt inonicnt lio folt a heavy hand clapped forcibly upon his right shoulder, and turning round ho saw the burly figure of an elderly policeman, with inquisitive buU's-eyo turned full upon him in the most orthodox fashion. "Now then, my man," the policeman said, glancing with scant regard at his hat and gaiters, "you've got to come along with me, I take it. I've been watchin' you all the way down the street, and I know what you're up to. You're loiterin' about with intent to commit a felony, that's just about the size of what you're doin'." ]Jr. Brandreth drew himself up to his full height, and answered in his severest tone, " My good fellow, you are quite mistaken. I am the Bishop of Whitchcstor. I don't remember the exact number of my own door, and I've been trying the latch-key, on my return from tho House of Lords, to see which keyhole it happened to open." Tho policeman smiled a jaofessional smile of waggish incredulity. " Bishop, indeed ! " he echoed contemp- tuously. "House of J.ortls ! Exact number ! Gammon and spinach ! Very well got up, indeed, 'specially tho leggin's. But it won't go down. It's been tried on afore. Bishops is played out, my man, I tell you. I 'spose, now, you've just been dinin' with tho Brince of Wales, and havin' a little private conversation at Lambeth Palace with the Archbishop of Canterbury ! " And tho policeman winked the wink of a knowing one at his own pleasantries with immeiise satisfaction. " Constable," the Bishop said sternly, " this levity is out of place. If you do not believe mo to bo what my dress proclaims mo, then you should at least take me into custody as a suspicious person without insulting my character and dignity. Co down with me to the Houses .1 aoVlAL DIFFlCl'Wy. 2M5 of Parlicimeut iu a cub, iiud I will «uuu prove to you tliul you are quite mistaken." The policeman put his finger riitUly to tlic siile of liis nose. "Character and dignitj'," he replied Avith unbe- coming amusement — •' character and dignity, indeed ! AVhy, my good man, I know you well enough, don't you trouble yourself. My mates and mo, we've been lookin' for you here this three months. Think I don't remember you? Oh, but T do, though. AVhy, you're the party as got into a private house in Pimlico last year, a-representing yourself to be a doctor, an' cribbed a gold watch and a 'ole lot of real silver from the unsuspectin' family. Come along with me. Bishop, I'm a-goin' to take your reverence right off down to the station." The poor Bishop temporized and expostulated, but all to no purpose. He even ventured, sorely against his conscience, to try the effect of a silver key in unlocking the hard heart of the mistaken constable; but that virtuous ofSeer with much spirit indignantly repudiated any such insidious assaults upon his professional incor- ruptibility. The Bishop inwardly groaned and followed him. " How easily," he thought to himself with a sigh, " even the most innocent and respectable of men may fall unawares under a disgraceful suspicion." For it is only in a limited and technical sense that Bishops regard themselves as miserable sinners. Even as the thought flashed across his mind, ho saw standing under a neighbouring doorway a person who was evidently endeavouring to escape notice, and in whom his quick eye immediately detected the bodily presence of Captain Burbury, The Bishop drew a sigh of relief. This was clearly quite providential. Under any otaer circumstance ho would, perhaps, have been curious to know liow Captain Burbury came to be lingering .so close beside his own hired house at that unseemly hour, lie would have 284 A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. Buspcctcd an audacious attempt to commnnicato with Iris, contrary to the presumed wishes and desires of her aflfectionate parents. J3ut, just as things then stood, tho liiishop was inclined to hail with delight tho presence of anybody Avhatsoever who could personally identify him. lie was in a lenient mood as to unproved suspicions. To his horror, however, Captain ]>arbury, easting a rapid glance sideways at liis episcopal costume, silhouetted out strikingly against the light from the policeman's bull's- eye, turned his back upon the pair with evident disincli- nation then and there to meet him, and began to walk rapidly away in the opposite direction. There was no time to be lost. It was a moment for action. C'aplain ]'urbnry must be made to recognize him. Half-breaking away from the burly policeman, who still, however, kept his solid hand firmly gripped around tho episcopal forearm, tlie Uishop positively ran at the top of his speed towards the sou)ewhat slinking and retreating captain, closely followed by tho angry constable, who dragged him back with all his force, at tho same time springing his rattle violently. "Captain liurbury. Captain Burbury?" gasped tho breathless Ijisliop, as ho managed at last to come within earshot of the retiring figure. " Stop a minute, I beg of you. Please come hero and explain to the constable." (Captain Ihirbury turned slowly round and faced his two pursuers with obvious reluctance. For a second ho seemed hardly to recognize the Bishop : then he bowed a little stiniy, and observed in a somewhat constrained voice, " Tho Bishop. How singular ! Good evening. I suppose . . . this ollieer ... is shoAving you the way home to your new (][uarters." The policeman's shaip eye lost none of these small touches. "J)oesn't want to get lagged hisself," ho thought silently. "Didn't half like the other follow letting me see ho was a pal of his after I'd copped him ! " A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. 2S5 *' Captiiin lUirbury," the liisliop b.'iitl, pantiiir;, " I havo most unfortunately forpjijttcn tho niiniLcr ot" my new hou.so. I Avas ratlicr inipnnlctitly tryin<^ to open tlio tloors all aloiii;" tlio street with the latch-key which ]\Irs, IJrantlreth gave me on luy leaving homo for the House of Lords this morning, in order to fco which lock it fitted, when this constable (^uito properly observed, and, I am sorry to say, misinterpreted my action. ]fo believes I am loitering about to commit a felony, llavo tho good- ness, please, to tell him who I am." "This is tho Uishop of AVhitche.stcr," Ifarry ])iirbury answered, very red, and with a growing sense of painful discomfort, expecting every moment that tho Bishop would turn round upon him and ask him how he came to be there. " lie, ho, ho ! " the constable thought to himself merrily. "Bishop and Captain! Captain and lUshop! That's a good one, that is ! They're a gang, they arc. Very well got up, too, tho blooming pair of 'em. But they're a couple of strong 'uns, that's what I call 'em. I won't let on that I twig 'om for the present. Two able-bodied burglars at onco on one's hands is no joke, even for tho youngest and activest members of the force. I'll just wait till Q !• 1 answers my rattle. Meanwhile, as they says at tho theayter, I will dissemble." And ho dissembled for the moment with such admirablo effect that tho Bishop fairly thought tho incident settled, and begau to congratulate himself in his own mind on this truly providential nocturnal meeting with Captain Burbury. "An' j^what's his Lordship's exact number?" tho constable asked, with a scarcely suppressed ironical emphasis on tho title of honour. " Two hundred and seventy," Hurry r)urbury answered, trembling. "Two hundred and seventy!" the guardian of tho 28t; .1 SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. pcaco rci)catocl slowly. " Two linndrcd and seventy ! So that's it, is it? Wby, bless my soul, that's the very door that the military gent was a-lurkin' and a-skulkiu' on! Perhaps you've got a latch-key about you somewhere for that one too, oh, Captain ? " Before the Bishop could indignantly repel this last shameful insinuation, Q 94, summoned hastily by his neighbour's rattle from the next boat, came running up in eager expectation. "All right, Simson," the Bishop's original captor cxclaimod joyfully, now throwing off the mask and ceasing to dissemble. " This is a good job, this lot. This hero reverend gentleman'3 the Bishop of Whitchester, an' his Lordship's been a-loiterin' round in Eaton Place with intent to commit a felony. I ketched him at it a-tryin' the latch-keys. This oilier military gent's his friend the Captain, as can answer confidential for his perfect respectability. Ho, ho, ho! Security ain't good enough. The Captain was a-skulkin' and a-loungin' round the airoys hisself, an' didn't want at first to recognize his Lordship. But the Bishop, he very proi)crly insisted on it. It's a gang this is ; that's what it is ; the lUehop's been wanted this throe months to my certain knowledge as the medical gont what cribbed the silver. I'll tak(^ along his Lordship, Simson ; you just ketch a hold of the Captain, will you ? " Harry Burbury saw at once that remonstrance and explanation would be quite ineffectual. lie gave himself up quietly to go to the station ; and the Bishop, fretting and fuming with speechless indignation, followed behind as fast as his gaitered logs would carry him. Arrived at the station, the Bishop, to his great surprise, found bis protestations of innocence and references to character disregarded with a lordly indifference which (]uito astounded him. lie was treated with more obvious disrospect. in faci, than the merest curate in a country A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY. 287 parish. TTo tnrncd to IFarry Bnrhiiry for syuipatby. But Ilariy only smiloti a sonrcd Hinilo, and ohsorvod bitterly, " It is so easy to condemn anybody, you know, upon more suspicion." The Bishop felt a twinge of conscience. It was some- what increased when the inspector in charge quietly remarked, "I feel a moral certainty that my officers are right ; but still, in consideration of the dress you wear — a very clever disguise, certainly — I'll send one of them to make inquiries at the address you mention. Meanwhile, Thompson, lock 'em up separately in the general lock-up. We're very full to-night. Bishop. I'm sorry , wo can't accommodate you with a private cell. It's irregular, I know, but we're terribly overcrowded. You'll have to go in along with a couple of other prisoners." Moral certainty 1 The Bishop started visibl}' at the phrase. It's hard to condemn a man unheard upon a moral certainty ! There was no help for it, so the liishop allowed himself to be quietly thrust into a largo cell already occupied by two other amiable-looking prisoners. One of them, to judge by the fashion in wliich ho wore his hair, had very lately completed his term of residence in one of her Majesty's houses of detention ; the other looked rather as though ho were at present merely a candidate for the same distinction in the near future. Both the men looked at the ncw-comor with deep interest ; but as ho withdrew at once into the far corner, and seated himself suspiciously upon the bod, without displaying any desire to engage in conversation, common politeness prevented them from remarking upon the singularity of his costume in such a position. So they went on with their own confabulation quite uncon- cernedly after a moment, taking ni> further notice in anyway of their distinguished clerical companion. "Then that'a not the business you're lagged upon r " 2SS A SnCIAh DIFFICULTY. ono of tliotn s.iitl coolly to tlio other. " It isn't tlio adjutant's accounts, you think? It's the other matter, is it?" "Oh yes," the .second niaii answered quietly. "If it had been the adjutant's accounts, you soo, I'd havo rounded, of course, on lUlly tho Growler. I never did like tliat fellow, tho Growler, you know ; an' I don't sco why I f>houKl havo my five years for it, when he's had tho best; part of the swag, look 'ee. I had no hand in it, confound it. It was all the Cirowler. I didn't oven get nothink out of it. That ain't lair now, is if, I put it to you?" ^ *' No, it ain't," the fust man answered, the close-cropped ono. " But there'll ho some sort of inquiry about it now, in course, fur — worse luck for tho Growler — I heard this cvouiu' tho court-martial's ac(iuitted that there Captain Somehody. They'll look ahout soon for sonio one else, I tako it, to put the Llaine upon." The other man laughed. "Not that," ho put in care- lessly. " Tho court-martial's acquitted him, hut nobody don't believe he didn't take it. Nobody ain't going to sus- pect the Growler. Every one says it's a moral certainty that that Captain Thingummy there ho took tho money." Tho Bishop drew a long breath. After all, this whole incident had been tridy providential. No names were mentioned, to bo sure ; but from tho circumstances of tho case tho Bishop felt convinced tho person referred to was Harry Burbury. Could he havo been placjd in this truly ludicrous position for a wise reason — on purpose to help in extricating an innocent person from an undeserved calumny? Tho lUshop, with all his littlo failings, was at bottom a right-minded and tender-hearted man. Ho would not have grudged even that awkward hour of disagreeable detention in a common lock-up if ho could bo of any service, through his unjust incarceration, to ono of his dear but wrongfully suspected brethren. .1 sor/,1/. hfrrirrrTY. 2v.» The men suou relapsed into slleiico, ami threw thom- selvcH 111)011 the bod and tho Luiik, which thoy assumed as by ri^ht, being tho ilrst comers. Tho r>islu)p, never speaking a word to either, but ruminating stratigely in liis own mind,t(juk his own seat in silence on Iho solitary cliair ovor in tho eornei'. Tlio minutes wore away slowly, and tho liisliop nodded now and tin ii in a ([uiet do/c, till tho clock of the nearest church had struck lour. Then, tho door of he big cell was opened suddenly, and tho insiioctor, with conster- nation and horror depicted li-gihly upon every fibre of his speaking countenance, entered the cell with a deferential bow. " ]\Iy Lord," he cried in his politest tone to tlio delighted I>i.>hop, "your carriage is waiting at tho door, anil your coachman and footman have come here to identify you — a formaiitj' Avhich I am sure will hardly be needful. I must apologize most sincerely for the vtiy unfortu- nate " Tho Iji^hop held up his finger warningl}-. Both tho oilier occupants of the cell were fast asleej). "Don't wako them," tho l>isliop whispered in an anxious tone. " I naturally don't wish this stoiy to got about." Tho inspector bowed again. Nothing could better have suited his wishes. His constables had made a foolish mistake, and the laugh would have been against them in the force itself, far nnn-o tlian against the right reverend gentleman. "AVho arrested tho IJishop?" would soon have become the joke of the day among the street Arabs. Besides, had he not, under stress of circumstances, been committing tho irregularity of putting as many as thn'O prisoners in a single cell ? "As you wish, my Lord," he answered submissively, and bowed the Bishop with profound respect into tiio outer room. There John and tlic footman were waiting formally to I 2\Hi A snciAI. hll'l'icri.rv. ii'(;(i;:;iii/.t^ liiiii, ainl tlic caniuj^o stooil ostentiitioiisly at tlio door to cany liini lioinc ii^^ain. '• nisiioctor," tliu IJisliop said (juietly, "yuu ncud nut npulogizc further. But I don't want this niobt imfurtu- nato tiOair to get imblicdy spoken about. You will easily l)ercoivu that it might ho regarded hy — ahem!— somu irreverent persons in a ludieruus light. 1 shall be glad it' you will request your eonstables to say nothing about it to one another or to anybody else." *' My Lord," tho inspector said, with a feeling of tho most jirofound relief, "you nniy rely upon it that not a single soul except tho parties concorncd sliall ever h(>ar a word of the niatlei'." " And my couipanion in misfortune .' " tli(> Uishop asked, smiling. Tlio inspectoi', in his fluster of anxiety about tho great prelate, had clean forg(jtten p(jor 1 Tarry Burbury. Ho went off at onco to reloaso the young man and make him a furtlior nicely graduated apology. "('a]ttaln J'urbury," tlio l^ishop said, "can T ilrive you anywlierc ? Wliero are you stop[iiiig ? " I bury 's face reddened a little. '• \o\vli:- » « # " ^fy dear," the Bishop said to his wife, on the morning Avhen the adjutant's orderly was fir.st examined at Aldershot on the charge of enibozzlomeut, " this strongly enforces the casual remark I happened to make to you the other day about the diileieuce between moral and legal certainty." " And as soon as this wretched man i.s really con- victed," Mrs. Brandreth observed timidly, " tliero can be no reason why we shouldn't announce that Iris is engaged to Captain Burbury." When you have once rendered a man a signal service, you always retain a friendly feeling for him. The Bishop looked up benevolently from his paper. " Well, Charlotte," he said, " he .seems a very proper, well-conducted young man, and though I should certainly myself have preferred Canon Robinson, I don't see any good reason why ho and Iris, if they like ono another, shouldn't be married as Boon as convenient to yon." Tin: ('///XKSJ'J PLAY AT rilK nWMAUKET. •'I iMNT know liow it i.s, Mecnie," saia the manager gloomily, "but this tlicatro dun't seem to pay at all. It's a complete failure, that's what it is. AVe must strike out something new and original, ^vith a total change of sceuery, properties, and costume." ^ It was the last night of the season at the Crown Prince's Th'^itre, I\rayfair. Tlie manager was "an amiable young man, just beginning his career as a licensed purveyor of dramatic condiments; and tliough ho had peppered and spiced his perfurmances with every known form of legitimate or illegitimate stimulant, the public somehow didn't seem to see it. So here he was left at the end of the last night, surveying the darkened house from the footliglits, and moodily summing uj) iu his mind the grand total of the season's losses. I^leenie, better known to the critical world as IMiss Amina Fitz- Adilbert, was his first young hidj-, a lively little Irish girl, with just the faintest soiijiron of a brogue ; and if the Crown Pjince's had turned out a success under his energetic management, Jack Roberts liad fully made up his mind that she should share with him in future the honours of his name, at least in private life. She was an unaffected, simple little thing, with no actress's manners when off the stage; and as she had but one relative in the world, a certain brother Pat, who had run TUN CIITNIJSI-: PLAY AT Tin: IIAYMAHKET. '293 away to foreign parts unknown after tbo lust Foniaii Ijiisiness, sliu exactly suited Jack, who often expressed his noble determination of nnirrying "a lone orphan." l?ut as thinj2,M stood at i)rosent, ho saw little chance of nllbrding himself the luxury of matrimony, on a mag- nilicent balance-sheet in which expenditure invariably jnanagcd to out-run revenue. So he stood dii^con^olato on the pasteboard wreck of the royal mail steamship which collide 1 nightly in his tilth act; and looked like a sort of theatrical Marius about to immolate himself umid the ruins of a sceiie-i)iiinter's ( 'arthaire. " We've tried everything, ]\[oonie," ho went on discon- s(j]atoly, "but it doesn't seem to pay for all that. First Vido World : a Panorama in Fivo Tableaux.' Wo laid our first act in Europe, our second in Asia, our third in v\frica, our fourth in America, and our fifth in the islands of the Pacific Ocean. We hired iivo full-grown elephants from AVombwell's menagerie, and procured living cocoa- nut palms at an enormous expense from the Koyal Gardens, Kew. Wo got throe real Indian princes to appear on the stage in their ancestral paste diamonds ; and wo hired Farini's Zulus to perform their complete toilette before tho eyes of the spectators, as an elevating moral illustration of the manners and customs of the South Sea Islanders. Wo had views, taken on the spot, of England's latest acquisition, the Por-k of Paratonga. I'inallv, wo wrecked this steamer here ».i a collision with a Pussian ironclad, supposed to be symbol i(\al of th*; frightful results of I^fr, Gladstone's or Lord Beacons- iiold's foreign policy — I'm snre T forget which ; and what was tho consequence ? Whj*, tho gods wanted to sing the National Anthem, and the stalls put on their f:quaGh hatH ttud left tho theatre in a lit of the sulks." 77//; CmSl>K JLAY AT Till-: IIWMAliKiri: 'J.C) " 'I'lio i'.it'l is,".saiil i\luci)ir, " Kii;j;lis]i plays iiml Eii;j;lisli acturs aro at a discount. Tcoplc are tired ol" tlicni. They don't care for sensation any longer, nor for aesthetics, nor for spectacle: npon my word, their taste lias become so debased and degraded that I don't believe they even care for legs. The whole worhl's gone mad on lorcign actors and actresses. They've got Sarah JJernliardt and th'j Coinedie Franriiso, and they go wild with ecstasies ovei" her; ;is if I couldn't iaak(! inystdl' just as thin by a judicious course of Dj-, Tanner," " \o, 3'ou couldn't," said .lack, looking al her pluni[i little face with a niouientary relaxation of his brow. " Your fresh littlo Irish clicoks could never fall away to Sarah's pattern." And to say tlio truth, ]Meenie was a comely little bodj' enough, with just as much tendency to adipose deposit as at one-and-twenty makes a. face look temptingly like a peach. She blushed visibly through her powder, which shows that she had no more of it than the custom of the stage imperatively demands, and went on with her parable unrestrained. "Then there aro tho Yankees, with the Danites and Colonel Sellers, talking tragedy through their noses, and applauded to tho echo by people who woukl turn up their own at them in a transpontine melodrama. But that's tho M'ay of English })eople now, just because they'ro imported direct. That comes of free-trade, y^u know. For my part, I'm a decided protectionist. I'd put a prohibitory tarift' upon tho importation of foreign livo- Kto.-k, or compel them to be slaughtered at the ])ort of entry. Tl^at's what IM do." Jack merely sighed. "Well, then there aro tho Dutih, again, going through their performances like wooden dolls. ' l^x7v l'l,\Y AT Till: IIAYMMtKKT. Kiruct coriit'i'.s. Tin; Dtiilij Inlhilur liud ii li':untiiays on the metaphysics of the Celestial Eujpire wliieh attracted so much atten- lion in the columns of iho Ealioisirill Gci^uHc. The Heh- (lotnaihil Vaili-innlur ventured to predict for its readers an intellectual tieal sncli .'is they liad not enjoyed since the appearance of Mr. ddlVr.son in " IJip van Winkle" — evidently the only i)lay at the purfornianee of which the editor (if that thoughtful and pro[>hetic journal had ever assisted. Ilininent (.)riental travellers wrote to the society weeklies that thev had seen the leading actress, Mee-Nee- Shang, in various well-known Chine>o dramas at Pekin, Nagasaki, Bangkok, and even Candahar. All of them spoke with rapture of her personal hoauty, her ex(]uisite singin;.:;, :ind lier eharmingl}' natural histrionic powers; and though there were some slight discrepancies as to the question of her height, her age, the colour of her liair, and the soprano or contralto quality of her voice, yet these were minor matters whieh faded into insiguifi- canco hesitle their general agreement as to the admirahle faculties of the coming j>r/«(a nn(i. Applications for stalls, Loxes, and seats in the dress circle poured in by the thousand. Very soon Jack becamo convinced that the Crown Prince's would never liold the crowds which threatcmed to besiege his doors, and ho made a hasty arrangement for taking over the Hay market. " TTang Chow, the Apprentice of Fa Kiang," was duly announced, ami the play was put in rehearsal with vigour and efHect. At the beginning of the season, Jack opened the theatric with a tremendous success. Such a first night was never known in London. Duchesses intrigued for boxes, and }>cer8 called p:rsonally npon Jack to beg the favour of a chair behind the dress circle as all the stalls were secured 77//-; ciiiyFsi: /•/,.! y .iv mi: nAVMAUKirr. 'jin) licruleljMiuI for ii luuiilh alici'l. Tliu Cixc lisl was rcaU'j siispciulod, and tho pit ami gallery were all traiibturiucil into reserved plaecs at five Khilliiigs a head. -Jack even thought it dcsirahio to ensure proper ventilation hy turn- ing on a istream of pure oxygen from a patent generator ill tho cellars helow. Jt was tho grandest sensation of modern times. Sarah Bernhardt was nowhere, Mr. TJaymond took a through tioket for ( 'alitornia, and tho Dutch players went and hanged (hemsolves in an agony of disgrace. The curtain lifted upon a heaulit'iil piece of willow- plato pattern scenery in Idue china. A/,urc trees floated airily ahovo a cerulean cottage, while a hluc pagoda stood out in the background against tho sky, with all tho charming disregard of perspective and the law of gravita- li(»n which so strikingly distinguishes Chinese art. The front of tho stage was occupied Ly a blue shop, in which a youth, likewise dressed in the prevailing colour with a dash of white, was serving out blue tea in blue packages to blue supernumeraries, the genuine ( 'hinamcn (jf tho Thames vessels. A blue lime-light played gracefully over the whole scene, and diffused a general sense of celestiality over the picture in its coni{)leteness. Ap- pjause was unbounded. ^ICsthetio ladies in sage-grocn hats tore them from their heads, lest the distressful con- trast of lino should mar tho pleasure of their refined fellow-spectators; and a well-known rro-Raphaelito poet, holding three daffodils in liis liand, fainted outright, as lie afterwards expressed it, with a spasmodic oxc(»ss of intensity, due to tho rapturous but too swift satisfaction of a subtle life-hunger. Tho youth in blue, liy namo Ifang T'how, appeared, from tho expressive acting of the celestial troupe, to be tho apprentice of his aged and respctable uncle, Wan<'' Seh, proprietor of a suburban grocery in a genteel ncigh- bourlioofl of Pekin. At first impressively and obviously 300 Tin: criixEsi: i'LAY at the iiaYM arret, guided Ijy the highest moral feelings, as might be ob- served from the elevated nature of his gestures, and the extreme accuracy with which he weighed his tea or counted out change to his customers, his whole character underwent a visible deterioration from the moment of his becoming acquainted with l\rce-Xec-Shang, the beautiful but wicked heroine of tho piece. Not only did he bo- coivio less careful as lo the plaiting of his pigtail, but he also paid less attention to tho correct counting out of his change, which led to frequent and expressive re- criminations on the part of the flat-faced .supornumeraiies. At length, acting upon the suggestions of his evil angel, with whom he appeared about to contract a clandestine marriage, George Ijurn — I mean, Hang Chow — actually robbed the till of seventeen strings of cash, roprcsentcd by veal Chinese coins of the realm, specially imj)orted ( from Birmingham ) among the properties designed for the illustration of this great moral drama. Of course ho was hunted down through the instrumentality of the Chinese police, admirably dressed in their national costume ; and after an interesting trial before a Mandarin with four buttons and the Exalted Order of the Peacock's Feather, he was found guilty of larceny to the value of twenty shillings, and sentenced to death by the bastinado, the sentence being carried out, contrary to all AVestern pre- cedent, coram ixqinlo. Mconie, wlH)-se admirable acting had drawn down floods of tears from the most callous spectators, including even the directors of a fraudulent bank, finally repented in the last scene, flung herself upon the body of her lover, and died with him, from the clfcct of the blows administeied by one of the super- numeraries with a genuine piece of Oriental bamboo. The curtain had risen to applause, it fell to thunders. ]Meenie and half the company came forward for an ovation, and were almost smothered under two cartloads itf bouquets. The dramatic critic of the VaUij Frrltctfoy 77/77 CHIXKSE I'LlY AT Til J.' IIAYMAIiKh'T. :;ni loudly declared that lie had never till that night known what acting was. The poet with the daffodils asked to be pennitted to present three golden blossoms with an unworthy holder of tlie sumo material to a lady who had at one sweep blotted out from his heart Iho memory of all European maidens. Five sculptors announced their intention of contributing busts of the Celestial Venus to the next Academy. And society generally ob- served that such an artistic and intellectual treat came like a delightful oasis amid the monotonous desert of English plays and English acting. That night, as soon as the house was cleared, Jack caught i\Ieenie in his arms, kissed her rapturously upon both cheeks, and vowed that they should be married that day fortnight. jMeenie observed that she might if she liked at that moment take her pick of the unmarried peerage of England, but that on the whole she thought she preferred Jack. And so they went away well pleased with the success of their first night's attempt at lieartlessly and unjiistiliably gulling the susceptible British public. Next day, both Jack and Meenie looked anxiously in the papers to see the verdict of the able and impartial critics upon tlieir Chinese drama. All the fraternity were unanimous to a man. '• The play Itself," said the Lrltntor, " was perfect in its nai'vo yet touching moial sentiment, and in its profound knowledge of the throb- bing human heart, always the same under all disguises, whether it bo the frock-coat of Chri.>tendom or the grace- ful tunic of the Ming dynasty, in wh "se time the action is sujiposed to take place. As fiu- the charming acting of j\[ee-Nee-Sliang, the ' Tearl of Daz/L'ng filght '- — so an eminent tSiuaist translates the lady's name for us — wo have seen nothing so truthful for m.any years on the AVestern stage. It was more than Siddons, it was grander than liaehel. And yet the graceful and amiable actress 'holds up the looking-glass to nature,' to borrov thu :i(i2 rill': riiixi'Si-: /7..ir at riii: iiAYMAnKiri. well-known phruso of Confucius, anil really acts so that her acting i.s but another name for life itself. Wlien sho (licil in the last scene, medical authorities present ima- gined for the moment that the breath had really departed from her body ; and Sir John McPhysic himself was seen visibly to sigh with relief when the little lady tripped before the curtain from the sides as gaily and brightly as though nothing had occurred to break the even tenor of her happy thought. It was a pleasure which wo shall not often experience upon British boards." As for the Hehilomnihd Vaticiiuitor, its language was RO ecstatic as to defy transcrii^tiou. " It was not ,i play," said tlie concluding words of the notice, "it was not even a magnificent sermon: it was a grand and im- perishable moral revelation, burnt into the very core of our nature by the searclung five of man's eloquence and woman's innocent lieauty. To have hoard it was better than to have read all the philoso[)hers from Aristotle to Herbert Spencer : it was the underlying ethical principle of the universe working itself out under our eyes to the infallible detection of all shams and impostures whatso- ever, with unerring truth and vividness." Jack and Mecnie winced at that last sentence a little ; but they managed to swallow it, and were happy enough in spite of the moral principle which, it seemed, was working out their ultimate confusion unperceived. For ten nights " Hang Chow, the Apprentice of i''u Kiang," continued to run with unexampled and unabated success. Mee-Nce-Shang was the talk of the clubs and the salons of London, and her portrait appeared in all the shop windows, as well as in the next number of the Maijfair Gazetic. Professional beauties of Aryan typo discovered themselves suddenly at a discount; while a snub-nosed, almond-eyed little countess, hitherto disre- garded by devotees of the reigning belles, woke up one morning and found herself famous. On the eleventh TiiK riii\i:si: I'Lay at rin: iiaymauki:!'. :!(»:; iii;^lit, Jack's pride was at its /cuilli. Koyalty hud lieeii gmc'ionsly pleased to signify its intention of occupying its state box, and the whole house was ablaze, from the inomcut of opening the doors, with a perfect flood of diamonds and rubio?-. Meenie peeped with delight from behind the curtain, and saw even the stalls tilled to over- flowing ten minutes before the orchestra struck up its exquisite symphuny for bells and triangle, entitled, " The Echoes of Nankin." But just at the last moment, as the curtain was on the point of rising, Jack rushed excitedly to her dressing- room, and pushing open the door without even a knock, exclaimed, in a tone of tragic distress, " IMcenio, wo are lost." "Goodness gracious! -lack! what on earth do yon mean ? " " Why, who do you suppose is in the next box to the Prince? — the Chinese Ambassador with all his suite! Wo shall bo exposed and ruined beforu the eyes of all London, and Ills Uoyal Higlmess as well," >feenie bur.Nt away to the stage, with one half of hei- faec as yet unpowdered, and took another peep from behinil the curtain at the auditoiium. True enoujih, it was just as Jack had said. 'I'iiere, in a private box, with sm-iling faec and neat pigUiil, sat His Excellency tho Marquis Tseng in person, surrounded by half a dozen unquestionable Mongolians. Her first impulse was to shriek aloud, go into violent hysterics, and conclude with a fainting fit. But on second thoughts she decided to brazen it out. "Leave it to me, Jack," she said, with as much assurance as she could command. '' We'll iro through the lirst act as well as we can, and then sec what tho Ambassador thinks of it." It was anxious work for ^Meenie, that evening's performance ; but she pulled through with it somehow. She had no eyes for the audience, nor even for His Ruyal :ioi 77/A cinxi'Si: /'An .iv rfu: ii iymauket. Hiylincss; t^lio played Kimply and Kolely tu the Ambas- Badur's Lox. Everybody in the theatre noticed the touching- patriotism wliich made tho poiniUir actress ]»ay far ni(.)re attention to thu mere diphjinatie rejiresentativo of hor own beloved sovereign than to the heir-apparent of tho British throne. " You kn(nv, these Chinese," said tho i\[arehioncss of iMonopoly, " aro so tenderly and scntinicntally attached to the paternal rule of their amiable Emiierors. They still retain that pleasing feudal devotion which has unfortunately died (»ut in Europe through the foolish influence of nn'sguided agrarian agi- tators." At any rate, Meenie hardly took her eyes off the Ambassador's face, liut that impassive oriental sat through tho five acts without a sign or a movement. Once ho ate an ice a la NapolUainc, and once ho addressed a few remarks to an ntUiche ; but from beginning to end lie watched tho performance with a uniformly smiling face, unmoved to tears by tho great baslinailo scone, and utterly impervious oven to the touching iticidents of tho love-making in tho third act. AVhen tho curtain fell at last, ]Meonie was fovorcd, excited, trembling froiu head to foot, but not hopeless. Calls of " Meo-Xoo-Shang " resounded loudly from tho whole house, antl even dukes stood u[) enthusiastically to join in tho clamour. "When she went forward sho noticed an ominous fact. Tho Ambassador was still in his place, beaming as before, but the interpreter had quitted his seat and was moving in tho direction of tho manager's room. IMoenie curtseyed and kow-towed in a sort of haze or swoon, aud managed to reel off tho stage somehow with her burden of bouquets. Sho rushed eagerly to Jack's room, and as she reached the door sho saw that her worst fears were realized. A celestial in pig-tail and tunic w^is standing at the door, engaged in low conversation with the manager. Tin: riiixhsi: i'lav at jiii: iiaymaukkt. woo Meouio eulored with a swiinniinp; brain and sunk iuto a chair. The interpreter shut tho door softly, poured out a glass of sherry from Jack's decanter on tho tabks and hehl it fe^ciitly to her lips. » Wliislit," lio said, beneath his breatli, in the i)urost and most idiomatic Hibernian, " make yourself perfectly aisy, nio dear, but don't Bi)ako too loud, if you plase, for fear yo should ruin us botht." There was something very familiar to Mecnio in tho voice, which made her start suddenly. She looked up in amazement. " What ! " she cried, regardless of his warn- ing, "it isn't you, Tat!" "Indado an' it is, me darlin'," Pat answero 1 in a low tone; "but kape it dark, if yo don't want us all to be found out togithor." •' Not your long-lost brother ? " said Jack, in hesitation. " You're not going to perform Box and Cox in private life before my very eyes, are you ? " " Tho precipe thing, mo boy," Pat replied, unabashed. " Jler brother that war-; in trouble for the hist Faynian business, and run away to Calcutta. There I got a passage to China, and took up at lirst with tho Jesuit missionaries. But marrying a nato little Chinese girl, I thought I might as Avell turn Mandarin, so I passed their examinations, and was appointed interpreter to tho embassy. An' now I'm in London I'm in deadly fear that Mike Flaheitv, who's one of the chief detectives at Scotland Yard, will lind me otit and rL'coguizo me, the same as they recognized that poor cricketer fellow at Leicester." A few niinules .suthced to clear u[) the bu.sincb.s. I'at's features lent themselves as readily as Meenio's'to tlif, Chinese disguise; and he hud cleverly intimated to tho Ambassador that an additional interpreter in the national costume would prove more ornamental and effective than a recognized European like Dr. Macartney. Accordingly, he had assumed the sljde and title of the IMandarin Ilwen X 800 77/ /i ciiisusr ri.iY AT Till: ir.WMAitKirr. 'I'lisan;:;, ;uiping up tho hoax and deluding tho Ambassador. "And how did you manage to do it? " asked Jack, " Suro I tould him," Tat answered (quietly, "that thoiigh ye Avero all Chinamen, ye were acting tho play in i'nglish to suit your audience. And tho ould haythen Avas perfectly contint to belavo it." '* But suppose he says anything about it to anybody? " " Divil a word can ho spako to anybody, except through nie. Make yourselves aisy about it; the Ambais^sador thinks it's all as right as tinpence. Tho thing's a mag- nificent success. Ye'U jest coin money, and nobody'll over find yo out. Sure there's nobody in London under- stands Chinese except us at tho embassy, and I'll make it all sthraight for ye there." Meenio rushed into his arms, and then into Jack's. *' Pat," she said, with emotion, " allow mo to present you ■ iixy future husband." "It's proud 1 am to make his acquaintance," Pat answered i)romptly ; "and if ho could lend me a tin- pound note for a day or two, it 'ud be a convanience." Three days later, Meeuie became Mrs. Jack Roberts ; and it was privately whispered in well-informed circles that the manager of tho Chinese play had married tho popular actress ]\Ieo-Xce-Sliang. At least, it was known r///; cnixnsi: I'i.av at tue iiAYMAiiiarr. no: (hilt a moiulKr of tlio emliassy hud hmi iiroseut nt n |»rivato mooting in a lioiniui Ciithulic Chupol in Finshury, whoro a priost was soon to ontor, and Jack and Moeiiic to cnicrgo shortly aftorwards. Of coiiiso tlio hoax oozod out in tiiup, and all lioniloii was in a stato of ra^o and dcsjiair. lint Jafdc coolly snajipod his hngcrs at tho niotr()pt)li,s, for ho had n»ado a small fortnno ovor his sc^ason's ontortainmont, and had accopted an olVcr to nndortako tho managoniont of a thoatro at Chicago, wlioro ho is now doing roniarkahly woll. Of course, too, his hoax was a most wickod and uni)rinciidcd advcnturo, which it h;>s given tho present writer deep moral pain to be compelled to chronicle. r>nt then, if people /'•/// make such fools of themselves, wliat is a w(dl-mcaning hut weak-minded thcatrir-al purveyor to do ? MV CmciJLAU TOUR. lli:n name was Melissa Fitch, and 1 always call ],or the S ren of Niagara I took that phrase from a stray reznark o Lj>am.norulas A. Coeyn.an's. Xot a very poetical name fui a H,rcn,you w,ll say; Lut the interest of historical truth must prevail with the faithful annalist above every oilier consnloration. "^ My own ,K,„,c is I)„„yl.» IVcto,,. I a,„ a lan.lwuuo painttr by tiado; a,ul ,„ tI,o simin.c- „ns78, Ici,,.^ )1, .„ ... my Uve„ty-totycar,l tu„k a tl.,ce-,„„utl,s' chxul.r l.ckot for a,. Amor.can to,,,-. Af(o,- kuocking about a I.ttio a„,o„g ,!,„ ^\•l,ite M«,„„ai„s a„d alo„g tho S Law,c„co bank, I sottlea ,low„ quietly at last tbr stoa.i; work at^,aga,^ Tbero I began „.y i„„„o,-tal vie v of Iho Horse-shoo Fa I, ,vhie], yo„ ,u„,,t have noticed in this years Aeado.ny beantifnlly .t„ek against the ceiling w 'r i ' ''"'■'' "S'"-1'»>"1 »"'"■ of the fifth roo ," When I first got to the Falls I p„t „p ,, tta^ ^^ palaee-caravansca,, the Cataract II„„se. B„t I soo, io„„d fou,- dolla,-s a .lay au,l a regal faro a little to expensive for ,uy h„„ i.le p„rse; and old J„d..e Decatu, oUhe New York State .Snpren.e Conrt, ,„ whom n. "'a etter of ,Dtroduct,o„, pro.nised to find n,e board and lodg.ng w,th some respeetable family i„ the neighbou," hood. The Judge hjmself lived in a largo white loedc^ frame-house, beset w,th painted Porie columns and capped MY ciiiruL.in mil:. [nv.) with a briglit tin cuiiola— a sort of compromise between a Grecian temple, an Italian cathedral, and a square pine- wood cottage ; and, with true American hospitality, hu would liavo taken mo in as liis ouesl himself, if T would have consented to such an arrangement. Failing- that, ho handed mc over to the maternal care of ^[rs. Fitch, widow of a late deceased local surgeon and uiotlicr of the tjiien in question. "She's a most refined woman, and keeps a piano," said the Judge meditatively. " ]5esidos, she has two real nice girls, specially one of them. IMo.st elegant manners, 1 assure you. I take a deal of interest in that girl, sir. You'll find her Enroinan quite." So T arranged to go to iMrs. Fitch's, hoard and lodging found, for some ten pounds a month, and there to paint away to my heart's content. I was to be treated strictly as one of the family, and I took the expression in its most literal sense. The young ladies of elegant manners were two twins of nineteen, by name Lavinia and Melissa. Lavinia was a severe-looking and highly intellectual personage, in green spectacles, who had graduated Senior Classic and Moral Philosophy Prize-woman at the Poughkeepsio Female University and Woman's Suffrage Association. Melissa was slighter and very pretty, but, as her sister said, poor girl, she had merely an everyday kind of intellect. "She C()ul«l never manage her Herodotus," Lavinia used to remark with pity; "and as for the differential calculus, she has no more notion of it than I have of making buckwheat pancakes. She can never rise, Mr. Prestoti. to the abstract appreciation of the Infinite, the Absolute, or the Unknowable," I confess I was lather vague myself as to the pre- cise qualities of the Unknowable; but I thought it best to conceal my ignorance and condole sympathetically with Lavinia on her sister's unexpansive soullessness. ;iio MY cinrrLAi: rori;. 1 had conifoit»ble quarters enough at ^Iis. Fitch's. A pleasant white little cottage, with bright green Vene- tians, and a verandah overgrown with A'irginia creeper, and looking out on the white foam of the American Fall, is not a had sort of place for a young artist to spend a stray summer in. Every morning after breakfast I walked across the bridge which spans the liapids to Goat Island, and there, at the corner near the rock once crowned by the Terrapin Tower, I planted the easel for my mngmun oj^ns. Before mo stretched the vast ceaseless emerald-green tumbling sheet of the Ilorse-shoe Fall, sjianned by a perpetual rainbow, and glistening day after day in the unbroken radiance of an American sun. Above me the pines and maples spread their canopy of green and let through the mellow August light to fleck my canvas — sometimes a little too provokingly from a painter's practical point of view. It never rained (how ^Vatts and McPalet, my old fellow-students, must have envied me at Bettws-y-Coed ! ) ; and Lavinia or Melissa, singly or together, generally volunteered to bring me out my luncheon, so as to save n\o the trouble of leaving my work at a critical moment — a distraction whieh no genuine artist can endure. The girls often brought their own lunch as well, and we picnicked together on the rocks bj' the water's edge, mixing our claret-cup with a jugful of pure crystal caught upon tlie very brink of the great Fall. In Ihigland our antiquated petty proprieties would have interfered to impose upon us that most awful of human inflictions, a chaperon ; but in the happier innocence of the State of New York, I am glad to say, they do not treat every marriageble young woman on the same principle as if she were a convicted felon under the strictest police surveillance. Walking across, one morning, near the end of the bridge, with ^Melissa to help mo in carrying ray hiipcdi- menta—siiQ was a good-natured, humorous little thing. MY CinCULAli TOVIL "I I was Melissa, Avith dancing Llnck oyes as full of fun as a Chipmonk squirrel's — wo met a lull, lanky, and distinctly red-haired yonng gentleman, whom Melissa introduced to mo with much mock consequence as ]Mr. Epaminondas A. Coeyman, of Big Squash Hollow. " Well, Tarn," she said, after ho had acknowledged the introduction with the usual highflown circumlocution of American courtesy, " how's the farm ? " " Thank you, Liss, tho farm's f-aluLrious, 1 reckon. Fall wheat shows up Avell for the time of year, and turnips arc amazing forward, considering the weather. I suppose Mr. Preston's tho now lodger? An artist, sir, I understand ? " I signified assent. " Going to take the Falls in a picture, sir? " " Yes," I answered, " I'm working at tho Ilorse-shoo Fall, seen from Cloat Island.". " And might it be a commission from Queen Victoria, now?" said Mr. Coeyman, interrogatively. I laughed outright. " "Well, not exactly that," I said ; " but I expect to hang it at the Eoyal Academy." "Just so," said tho tall young man, with an air of superior wisdom. *• I thought anyhow, as you hailed from across the water, that you'd be under monarchical patronage one way or another." We crossed the bridge together, and Mv. Coeyman waited awhile to see me throw in a bit of spray in the corner. He deigned to ;ipprovo of my performance with lordly condescension, and then took his leave. Melissa stopped out with me during tho whole morning. She was a handy little thing, with a decided taste for art (^about whicli, however, she was frankly ignorant), and she had a capital eye for local colour, which I utilized by installing her as my mixer. It was amusing to see the interest she took in my work, and to hear her naive comments on my handicraft. " That's real fine, that :\\i MV i: I urn. Mi Ton:. l)iMj.u-li," slic would s;i3', [losing- lierself a yanl oil' willi tho kiio\ving air of a Piccadilly nitie; "and it dips into llie water ju:it like natiiro. l*iit it wants a little more gloss on tho nji]ior sidi! — rij^lit tliero ; neo : don't yon notice yon liavcn't can:ios, and other outlandish peo])lo, and take our lunch at once, before the ieo melts in the claret-cuj) ; for I've got to go home antl make the ap})le-float for dinner; while Yinny can stop witli you if slie likes anil get seraphic over liigh ait." Yinny did stop all the afternoon, and bored mo ex- ceedingly by invariably asking mo whether I did not consider Cimabue as the father of modern painting, or what T thought of Giotto's drapery, at tlio precise moment when I wished to citch the passing effect of a sunbeam on some leaf in the foreground or some rock in the midst of the whirling eddy. Considering that her whole know- ledge of Ciuiabuo and of Giotto was solely derived from the perusal of tlie " Treasury of Knowledge," you will probably admit with me that her conduct was slightly provoking. Day after day one or other of the girls fell into the habit of accompanying mo pretty regularly. The more :;it MY i'lUCn.AU Toll:. I saw of Melissa the luoro I liked her. Slio was a winsome little thing, fresh as a New En<;-lan(l maj flower, and full of natural cleverness, which had only failed fully to develop it>elf hccaiiso she had ohstinately refused to trim the wings of her originality so as to fit the l*ro- crustcan mould of the roughkeepsio Female University. To say the truth, I felt myself falling in love with Melissa, though the 83-mptoins at first betokened the mildest form of that serious disease. As for Lavinia, on the other hand, her attentions were positively overpower- ing. Anxious, as she said, never to miss any opportunity for self-culture, she compelled me to assist her, in that thankle!?s act of husbandry to an extent which was abso- lutely a nuisance to a busy student. All day long, and every day, she kept pestering mo with the most beauti- fully Worded criticisms on the early Italian painters, till at length I began to \vifeh that the " Treasury of Know- ledge " had been decently buried at the bottom of the whirlpool. But as for any real love of art, she had about as much as a well-trained butler. " Melissa," I said one morning, towards the close of my two months, M'heu she had helped and amused mo more than usual, " how would you like to go to Europe? ' "I should love it above everything," she answered unalTectcdly. '• I should like to see all these palaces and l)ictures you talk about. Do you knoAV, before you camo to the I'alls, I never knew I cared about these things ; but since I've watched you painting this picture, and since 3'ou'vo helped mo so fine Avith my sketching — I used to hate sketching at l*oughkecpsie — I begin to think I'm real fond of art, and no mistake." " Hut you know, Melissa," I ventured to suggest, '"you do not speak the (Queen's English, and ynu've got a most decided New Yorker accent." "Not so bad as Yinny's," said Melissa, with a charm- ingly malicious smile. MY i lUd'LMi Tovu. :ur> " Well, not liuitc so l)iul as Vinny's,"' I avlmitted cautiously, " but still quite bid enough, you know, for any practical purpose. I can't imagine what my mother would say to a daughter-in-law avLo talked about being • real fond of art' if I were to marry you, Melissa." *' ' Xobo.ly axed you, sir, she said,' " sang Melissa, gaily, to the well-known tune. " That at least," 1 said, " is good old English, :vrelissa. And indeed I think, if you were to spend a year iu ]']urope first, you might probably be made quite present- able. What do you think of it ? " " Weiy said Melissa, ({uietly, " I don't suppose a young artist like you can be in any hniry to set up a house. now." " Ah," I erieil, " for the matter of that, I have a little income of my own from my father; and if I got hung at next Academy 1 dare say this Ilorse-shoe I'all may set mo up in business as a painter. If yuu think we could hit it off together, and that you could manage to spend a year in Europe beforehand, jusi to wear the edge off your Yankecdom, suppose we consider ourselves fairly en- gaged ? " "Why," said Melissa, simply, " if it comes to that, you know, old Judge Decatur is our godfather, and a kind of roundabout uncle somehow. lie likes you ; and I reckon, if either of us were going to marry yuu, lie wouldn't think much of the trip to Europe. .S> I don't mind considering it a bargain."' '• In that case," I suggested, " unaccustomed as I am lo matrimonial engagements, I feel spontaneously convinced that we ouoht to kiss one anotliur at once and settle tho (|uestion." The game conviction having apparently occurred to ]\[elissa's mind with the like priority to all experience, L will venture to draw a veil, in the interests of European propriety, over the remainder of that day's proceedings. :{io MY I'lncn.Mi tovu. It is a.st(»ni.sliing what a dift'oronco It mukcs to (iiiu's feelings merely to have interchangccl ratifications to u himple confraot in siifli an infnruial numnor. Befoiii ovt'.ning I liml I'lilly (lismvcrcil that W(> \vor(» very seriously in lovo with ()n(! anolher, antl llin s^-nipionis had progressed in such an alarming manner as to have I'aiily reaehed the critical stage. AValking liomo alone an hnur heforc dinner — Melissa had preceded me, to let the wind Mow the tcll-talo blushes out of her chock -I mc^t old Jndiro Dceatur trudging quietly towards lils Doric temple. In the ful- ness of my heart I oi)ened my secret to liim, and told him that I had proposed to and l»een accepted by one of his god-daughters. The old gentleman was overjoyed. lie seized me warmly by the hand, which ho grijtped antl shook till T thought it would havo come olY. lie told mo tliat the widow liad hinted to him some suspicion of my atfections, and that ho had been licartily anxious to find her anticipations realized. '• You're a nice 3'oung fellow, Tieston," he said to me in his fatherly fashioti ; '-you'ro an excellent young fellow, and you've got the makings of a Benjamin ^Vest in you." (Benjamin West was tlui old gentleman's ideal of a great artist.) "We shall see you famous 3'et. And that girl, sir, is a jewel. She's worthy of you ! She's worthy of anj'body ! As to this little matter of sending her to Europe to pick up your horrid Europian drawl, I suppose, and bring her back with an affected English accent, that can be easily managed, if you insist upon it. I'll tell you what I mean to do for that paragon of a woman, sir : I mean to pay her down twenty thousand dollars on her wedding-day. I always meant to do it if she married anj'body except that red- haired chap Epaminondas ; and now she's going to marry you, sir, I'm proud to do it for both your sakes." Four thousand pounds down, though not exactly a fortune, is still a comfortable addition to a j'oung man's MY CiiirvLMt Ton:. .".17 incuiuc ; so 1 tliaiikcJ the old gciitlciiuiu to the licst of my ability and rcturued to the cottago to sliiiio tbu good HOWS with Melissa. Thcro "was nnich iunoccnt rejoicing between us in the house of Fitch on that eventful evening. Next morning I went tut," I said, "Mr. Cocyraan, indeed you are mistaken. 1 am not a marquis, or an earl, or even a baronet. I am only a landscape-painter, with a very modest income ; while 3'ou, I take it, are a landed proprietor. I am perfectly willing to allow my inferiority in intellect to yourself, but I really cannot help it if Miss Fitch prefers my advances to your own. Jie reasonable for a moment, and let us talk the question over (juietly." Epamlnondas sat down distractedly upon a rock and nursed his leg in his arms, as though it were tho last monument of his ffiithless love. " 1 have worshipped that girl," ho said, " for four years, aud every year sho has promised to be mine. I ask j'ou fairly, how would 3'OU like it yourself? If you had been courting a girl for four years, how would you like a stranger to come across the Atlantic, dazzling her eyes with high art and Cimabue and Giotto ? Ain't I the sort of man she ought vr i'lurvLAu Torn. did naturally to many? uml ain't yuii ;ni intfrlo[>Lr who liavo no business wliatsocvcr i)okin{j; around those ill-'-, gings?" And hero he assumed an attitude strikingly suggestive of liis desire to settlo the dinicultvhv a literal appeal to arms. I couhlii't helj) feeling there was a good deal of truth in his way of putting it. In the ordinary course of naturo Melissa ought certainly to have married a well-to-do New York farmer, her own e(|ual in station and culture. If what ho said was true, she had treated him most shahbilv. iso I soothed him down as well as I was able ; and after I had reduced him to a more reasonable demeanour J promised to think and talk the matter over with her, and let him know the result of my cogitations. "^liss Fitch did not even mention her engagement with you to me," I said; "and I shall (.-ertainly speak to her upon the tiubjeet." " Xover Jiientioned it ! " he cried. " The faithless girl ! Then it is she, and not you, who are to blame. >Sir, she is the Siren of Niagara, sitting upon the edge of tho Ilorsc-shoo Fall and luring men over to their destruction in tho boiling whirlpool beneath. I have noticed Imv growing coldness and her fondness fur lingering near you, but I hardly suspected her of this," And ho loft, with a bitterly sardonic smile upon his face, promisinr>- to see me later in the morning and hear the result of our interview. When Melissa came up at twelve o'cluck and took her usual place by my side beneath tho majdes, I began to broach the subject as delicately as I was able. " Don't you think, .Alelissa," I said, " that one ought to be very careful, in making an engagement, to bo (piite sure that you have fixed upon the right person ? " "It's rather early for you," said Melissa, pouting, " to think of reconsidering that question already." " Ah, no ; not that," I answered quickly. " Supposing :;jo 1/i cincviMi it tun. yon liinl ever fornicd an iitt.iclnuont, as yuu naturally mi^jlit, lor soino youn^ fanner of the ncighbonrhooil " "Just like Pain Ci)cyman," Melissa interniptod mc, with tbo tears starting to her eyes. " I never could abide tho -Nvholo race of them. Well, then, I suppose you think I ought to have married him juid let you off jour hasty hargain at once? OIi, you cruel, wicked man!" And hero IMelissa burst at a moment's notice into uncontrol- lable Hoods of tears. Now, if yon have ever been at Niagara, you will readily agree with me that the cornor of (Joat Island by tho Horse-shoe Fall is not exactly the ideal i>lacc to settle a lovers' (juarrol. Y(ju arc never safe from intrusion on the part of tho ubiquitous tourist for fivo minutes together ; and 1 had snatched my first kiss tho day before with an uncomfortaldo sense that wo might at that moment be contributing an amusing incident to tho fore- ground of llic picture in tho camera ob^cura on the opposite Canadian sliore. 8(j 1 hastily dried Melissa's tears, gave her half a dozen expiatory kisses, and t^cnt her home by tho long road round the island, so as to hiflc her red eyes, with a prumiso of a full explanation Avhcu I returned to luncheon, a little later. Some minutes hefore that event EpaminonclasCoe}4nau made his appearance once moro in tho midst of a dark clump of pines, a little to tho left, in an attitude expres- sive of his determination to hurl himself into the abyss below if ho learnt that his perfidious lover still remained untouched. " Well," he cried, beckoning to mo theatri- cally with his hand, " and what did Lavinia answer?" ^^ Laviiiia .'" I exclaimed in astonishment. " Why, it's 3IcUs8a that I'm engaged to." " Melissa ! " ho shrieked, rushing towards me franti- cally; "that iusignificaut, empty-headed, silly little noodle ! Tho Judge told mo you were going to murry that adorable ornament uf her i^ex, Lavinia ! " MY illiCVLMl TOVU. .T2I " Liiviuiu ! " I cchoetl. " Whsit ! a Mtriiiglit-liuir(.Ml, pre- tentious he- woman, witli a pair of <^re«;n j^of^ij^les Htratlillin;;; across her noso ! Why, I sliouhl as soon tliink of niarryin<^ the President of the lioyal Society." After wliich nnitiial insults to dui* respective futuro wives, instead nf sijUiiriii":; ny for a haiid-t(»-hand combat — as n(^ doultt any t\V(j ri^ht-niindcd j)er.sonH woidd havo done — Wo seized each other's outstretched palms with the utmost fervour, and shook them cordially with every sign of tho most fraternal alVection. '* Well, in all my days I never heard anythin<^ like it," said Epamin(jndas, as soon as the first ardcmr of our reconciliation had passed away. " W<; all thou^ilit you were after Lavinia. She is such a remarkably superior person, wo imagined she could not fail to attract the attention of a man of artistic tastes and intellectual culture like yourself. Mrs. Fitch, she mentioned it to the Judge ; and the Judge mentioned it to me — he don't like mo, the judge ; you see, he's so dead on that girl marrying a person of intellectual distinction. He told me how you would take Lavinia to Europe and introduce her to ]Mr. Tennyson and 3Ir. lirowning and the culti- vated nobility of your acquaintance — ' which,' says he, 'would be her natural environment.* And tliere's no denying it would be so, Mr. Preston." " Unfortunately," said I, " 1 have not the pleasure of knowing either Mr. Tennyson or ]\[r. Browning; and T think you vastly overrate th(3 importance of my humble circle." "Well, now, that's curious," answered Epaminondas, " seeing that you live in London, the centre of all your fashionable world." In the afternoon I went to call on the Jiidge and ex- plain to him how the mistake had arisen. The old gentleman was manifestly grieved and puzzled. " This is a bad business, Preston, my boy," said he. "I should Y 322 MY CIRCULAR TOUR. liko to stick to my arrangement, you know, but I don't quite see how to do it. You understand I took it for granted that you were going to marry Lavinia. Why, nobody ever thinks anything of that other insignificant little thing. She's pretty enough, I grant j^ou ; but then Lavinia's what I call a real live woman. Now, I'd alwaj-s made up my mind to settle that twenty thousand on that girl ; and last night, as soon as you had spoken to me, I sent her off a note telling her I heard she was going to 1)0 married, and promised her the money unconditionally on her wedding-day. Confound it all ! " added the Judge, looking serious, " she'll have told that fellow Epami- nondas all about it by this time ; so there's no crying off that bargain. Otherwise I'd have shared it Ijetween the girls ; for I like you, my boy, even though you are going to marry tlio wrong woman. But I'm not rich enough to fork over two little lump sums of twenty tliousand ; and yet, you seOj I kind o' don't like to disappoint j'ou. Conic, now, mightn't wo settle the case by arbitration out of court? Couldn't you manage anyhow to make an exchange witli Epaminondas? Lavinia and you are just suited for one another ; wliile he and I\Ielissa ought to pair naturally, I take it." I shook my head firmly. " With every respect for your judicial opinion, Judge," I said, " I must reluc- tantly decline the honour of Lavinia's hand. As for the money, it has been all a misconception. I would have taken Melissa without it; and, since we have misunder- stood one another, 1 shall take her all the same." " Well," said the Judge reflectively, " I can't give her twenty thousand dollars, but I think I can put as much or more into your pocket another way. Suppose I were to get you the contract for 8upi)lying frescoes — I think you call them — to the New State Capitol, at Albany? That job ought to bo worth about thirty or forty thou- sand dollars." MY CinCULAll TOUIt. 32:5 " Frescoes I " I cried in hurror. " Why, I'm a lundscapo painter. I never tried figures from life in all my days." " It wouldn't be from life," said the Judge calmly. " They're all dead. The sort of thing wo want in our country is the American Eagle with all his feathers up, ' Columbus concluding a treaty of peace with the Indians,' or ' General Jackson proclaiming the Monroe Doctrine before a terrified assembly of European sove- reigns.' As to figure-painting, well, I suppose Raphael never tried his hand at frescoes afore he began his cartoons at Hampton Court, or St. Peter's, or wherever it is. You never voted the Ixepubliciin ticket, did you?" " Certainly not," I answered promptly. " Then I suppose you're a good Democrat ? " " Well, 1 hardly know," I replied. " I believe I'm a Conservative in England. That's the opposite of a Ke- publican or a Democrat, isn't it? ' "Bless tlie boy for his Euru2)ean ignorance ! " said the Judge forcibly (whose vague views on the nature of cartoons I had just so charitably passed over). "Demo- crats and Kepublicans ain't the same thing. They're the exact contraries of one another. It's plain you don't know much about politics. However, that don't matter a cent. Will you solemnly promise, if I get you this contract, always to support the Democratic platform ? " "Certainly," I answeretl, "if yon tliink me strong enough." "Why, what on earth do you take a platform to bo?" said the Judge in amazement. " I mean, will you ])aint pictures inculcating sound Democratic principles, with a group of leading Democratic statesmen in the centre of every foregrourid, and the Democratic colours intro- duced wherever convenient in the drapery and fixings?" "I will try my best," I answered, " to meet the wishes of any generous patron who chooses t(j employ me." " Well, tlion," said the Judge triumphantly, " that's 824 Mr CIRCULAR TOUR. tlio sort of art rcc{uircd by an eiiHghtcneil liegislature in the State of New York. Never mind whether you can do frescoes or not. Stick 'em iti Chiy and Jackson and Calhoun in commanding- attitudes, and they won't ask you where you studied your anatomy. I'll just tell my Democratic fiiends at Albany that a distinguished European painter, attracted from tlie crowded studios of London by the unparalleled beauties of our American scenery, has decided to make his home by the setting sun, and to devote his remarkable pictorial talents to the glorious furtherance of the Democratic cause. If I add that he is about to marry one of Columbia's fairest daughters, I should think that would tickle 'em up, and they ought to be prepared to come down handsome with fifteen thousand dollars a year, the frescoes to be com- pleted within five years at the outside. That would give you time to get up Hgnres, wouldn't it? '" Within a fortnight the whole (question was fully settled. I was formally installed as Pictoriographer by Appointment to tlio State of New York, on the under- standing that I should produce two frescoes within five years of a strictly Democratic and anti-Eepublican cha- racter. IMelissa went tt) England in the autumn, while 1 gave up my circular ticket and settled down as -an American citizen at Albany, where I at once buckled to work at getting \\\) figures for my frescoes. At first Melissa went as a sort of family-boarder at the house of ii country clergyman, and assiduously cultivated the Queen's English, together with the amenities of European society ; but after six months of probation, I judged her sufficiently advanced in her mastery of that foreign tongue to take up her abode under my mother's roof. In the succeeding year I returned to London for a few weeks' holiday ; and there we were duly married at Kensington Church, the important event being even chronicled in the Mornhii Post, thanks to my exalted MY VIRCULAB TOUR. 325 position in the world ..f ait a.s rietorii.-rapher by Appointment to a iViendly ( lovernmont. .Alelissa is the clevercBt, prettiest, and best of wives. 3Iy frescoes aro now^ progressing favourably. I have aevpiired a con- ception of the majestic attitude which belits a Democratic leader, and of the Satanic spite to bo depicted ..u the abject countenance of a baffled Republican; and wlien my five years' engagement is completed, 1 expect to return, with my little wife, to the suburban sliades of Houth Kensington, and spend the remainder of my exist- ence happily in executing remunerative commissions for all the wealthiest legislators of the American Union. I regard Judge ])ecatur as tlio true founder of mv artistic fortunes. THE MINOR POET. AuTHL'it Manmngfia.m was a minor poet. But that was forty years ago ; and in those younger clays the minor poet had not yet become a public nuisance, as at our end of the century. Besides, he enjoyed the friendship of the Great Poet. The Clreat Poet was fond of him. He rccogni/A-d in his friend, as he often remarked, the rare secondary gift of high critical appreciativeness. When- ever the Ch'cat Poet i>roduced a noble work, Arthur Manningliam was always the first man in England to whose eye he submitted the uuprinted copy. It was Arthur who made those admirable suggestions in red pencil so familiar to collectors of the Great Poet's manu- scripts ; and the curious, who have compared these manuscripts with the final published forms of the Sieg- fried poems, are etiuall}^ familiar with the further fact that Arthur Manningham's corrections almost always commended themselves to his distinguished companion. It was delightful to see the two out on the moors to- gether ; the great man laying down the law, as was his wont, in his double-bass voice, and Arthur, by his side, bending forward to listen rapt to the deep music that fell from the master's lips with all a disciple's ardour. And Arthur, too, was a poet. Not great, but true ; a minor poet. For ten years ho worked hard at some few dozen lyrics, which he polished and repolished in his intervals of leisure with Horatiau assiduity. THE 3nX0n FOET. 827 Oue or two of them lie rejected in time a.-j unworthy the world's ear, for h(3 was fastidiouK of his own work as of the work of others ; the rest lie perfected till, for trifles that they were, they had almost reached his own high standard of perfection. Almost, not quite, for no W(jrk of his own ever absolutely satisfied him. Tremulously and timidly, at last he piihlishud. He distrusted his powers even then. " But, perhaps," he said to himself with a timorous smile, *' if there's any- thing in them the (rreat Poet's friendship may avail me somewhat! " When, in the fulness of time, his thiu volume ap- peared, clad in the grass-green binding that then over- grew all Parnassus, ho sent the very fust copy of hi> timid-winged fledgeling to the Great Poet. And, after that, he waited. The Great Poet dla not desert his friend. By the very next post came a letter in the well-known hand— broa.l, black-dashed, vigorous. The (heat I'oet's strong virility pervaded even his handwriting. Arthur i\[anninghain tore it open with eager hands. What judgment had tlu^ Bard to pass on the work of the minor singer? "My dear Arthur," the letter began, "I have just now received your delightful-looking volume, ' Phyllis's Garden.' I didn't till this moment know you too were among the Immortals. I look forward to reading it with the greatest pleasure, and shall hazard my opinion of your sister Muse when I next have the happiness of seeing you amongst us. But why make her anonymous'.' Surely your name, so well known at the clubs, would have carried due weight with our captious critics I " That was all. No more. Arthur waited with dee[) . suspense for the Great Poet's final opinion. He knew the Bard could make or mar any man. A week passed— two weeks — three— four— and yet no letter. At last, one morning, an envelope bearing the Savernake po.-t-mark ! :V2H THE MlXOli rOET. (The (Jrciit Poet, yon recollect, lived for years at Saver- nake.) It was in his wife's hand ; bnt — yes — that's well ! — 'twas an invifation to <;o down there. ^Vrthnr went, all trembling. To-day should decide his poor ^Muse's fate ; to-day he should know if ho were poet or poetaster ! The Bard received him open-armed ; talked of his own now traj^cdy. All afternoon they paced the forest to- gether ; the rh-eat Poet talked on — bnt never of Arthur's versos, lie spoke kindly to his friend; in([uired after ]iis liealtli : suspected, as usual, he'd been overworking himself. Tliis daily journalism, you know, is so very exacting ! Not a word of " Phyllis's Garden." " He's waiting," tliought Arthur, " to discuss it after dinner." And after dinner, in eftecf, the Great Poet button-holed him {Confidentially into the library. "I've something special I want to talk over with you," he said, looking interested. Arthur's heart gave a thump. "Ila! he likes my verses ! " The Great Poet sat down — and produced his own ti'agedy ! 'Twas a tragedy for Arthur, too. He could hardly contaiii liimself. The Bard had never known his friend's criticism so weak, so vacillating, so pointless. He didn't seem to listen, that was reall}' the fact ; he was evidently preoccupied. " Well, well," the Great I'oet thought, in his tolerant way, "men arc all so petty! They're often so engrossed with their own small affairs that they have no time to bestow on the biggest and most important affairs of others ! " And from that day forth Arthur ]\Ianningham never lieard another word, by mouth or pen, from the Great J'oet, of his poor little lyrics. He had but one guess to make; his friend had read them, found the verse poor stuff, and, wishing to spare his sensitive feelings, avoided speaking to him of his utter failure. THE MINOR POET. 32'J The press, that dispenser (jf luoclern laurels, tlisiuissecl him in half a dozen frigid lines — " Very tolerahle rhyme," " Fair minor poetry." ***■»#* Forty years passed. It took Arthur Maiiningham just forty years of his life to get through them, He wrote no more. He had given the world his host, and the world rejected it. He knew he could never do better than ho liad done. Why seek to multiply suspense and failure ? He lived meanwhile — or starved — on daily journalism. He never married ; who could marry on that pittance ? There had been a Phyllis once : she accepted an attorney. His love died down ; but he liad still tlie (rreat Poet's friendship to console him. One day when the broken soul was over seventy, and weak, and ill, and wearied out, and dying, a letter came in a crested envelope from the Great Poet, now rich and mighty, and the refuser of a baronetcy, " My dear Authuk," it said, just as friendly as ever, "I send you herewith a charming wee volume of fugitive verse by a forgotten author — middle of the century — name unknown, biit inspiration undeniable — which our friend the Critic, ransacking the bookstalls, (j^uite lately unearthed for me. I'm sure you'll like it, for the verse has that ring and all those delicate qualities which 1 know you appreciate more than any man living. They're. true little gems. I'm simply charmed witli tlK-ni. Pray read and treasure. " Yours over, "The I'oKi." With trembling fingers of presentiment, the worn old man untied the knotted string, and stared hard at the volume. He knew it at a glance. It was " Phi/Uls^s Garden " ! 330 TUE MINOlt POET. Weak and ill as ho was, he took the first train that would bring him down to the Great Poet's great new liouse at Crowborough. With a burning heart he dragged himself to the door; who was he that he should ride? and a fly three shillings! The Bard was at home, Arthur Manningham staggered in. Without one spoken word, he seized his friend's arm, and pulled him on to the library. There, in a well-known corner, ho selected from a specially dusty shelf a well-known book, whose idace ho had often noted in his mind before, but which never till that day had ho ventured to take down. He took it down now, and handed it — all uncut as it was — to the Great Poet. The Bard opened the page wondering. On the fly-leaf he read in Arthur Manningham's hand these few short words, " To the Prince of Poets, from his affectionate and confiding friend, the Author." " You promised you'd read it," Arthur Manningham faltered out ; " and now, I see, you've kept your promise ! 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