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Lorsque Ie document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un saul cliche, ii est iWmi i partir da Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut an bas, en prenant la nombra d'imagas n^cessaira. Les diagrammas suivants illustrant la m^thoda. 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ^ ^PPLiEQ IfVMGE Inc 1653 EosI Main Street ?-,°f^°^'o''' '^*" ''°'^ "teog USA ^716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5989 -Fax ^ ^ \ \ \ \ GERALD FITZGERALD. A NOVEL. BY GEORGE HERBERT. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL II. LONDON : T. C. NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 30, WfiLBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUABE. 1858. ^ ^1 ^j ^: J GERALD FITZGERALD. CHAPTER I. Mr. Grey had just returned from work, and was about to take his tea and make himself comfortable for the evening, when a hasty knock at the door alarmed him. Very few people besides the postman came to his door with double knocks ; and the postman did not come often. When he did, his rat-tat was at once known and recognised. " Who can it be?" said Mrs. Grey, rising. "Ah! who can it be?" repeated the husband. And then, as a probable means of ascertaining, he said, " I think you had better go and see, Mary !'' VOL. II, u 2 GERALD FITZGEUALD. Mrs. Grey was of the same opinion ; and she went. She returned, walking backwards in a courtly manner, and ushering^ into the parlour a gentleman whom her husband had never seen bofore. " Mr. Maldon !" she said. « You have heard Gerald talk of Mr. Maldon ?" " Oh, yes," said Mr. Grey, " pray sit down, sir. Here's a chair, sir ! Come near the fire, sir I It's cold of an evening now ? Mary, send that cat out of the room! Sh !— -Puss 1" Richard accepted the proffered seat, but did not sit so near the fire as the host wished. It was a peculiarity of Mr Grey's that ho always liked his visitors to sit near the fire-summer or winter : it was one of his notions of hospitality Therefore he again directed Richard's at- tention to the subject : " Draw your chair up closer, sir ! You're a long way off from the fire I Marj-,— a few coals !" And Mr. Grey seized the poker ,4 I cf nj and !k wards nto the nd had u ha ve ray sit le near now ? room! t, but s the f Mr. isitors 3r: it tality. I's at- fou're y,— a poker i GERALD FITZGERALD. g —a bright one—and stirred the fire vi- gorously. "My son, sir," ho continued, when Kichard had yielded to his wishes, and was red m the face and puffing with the heat. " My son, sir, has often mentioned you to us. Mary, my dear I do turn that cat out ! And he says that you are very great friend. What do you think of my son's pictures? Just get another cup and saucer, Mary ! You'll take some tea, of courfee, sir?" Richard thought the tea might be a happy medium through which to introduce the ob- ject of his visit. So he agreed very readily to take a cup. This made Mr. Grey as de- lighted as he was busy. " Mary, my dear 1 Just reach me that toasting fork I Don't cut the bread too thick! There, that will do!" And he thrust the fork iato a round of breaxl, leant down towards the grate, and blew a strong breath,-starting the winding-sheets that » GERALD FITZGEUALD. hung about the bars, and sending the dust flyinf^like chaff before the wind! " And what do you tliink of my son's pictures, sir?" he repeated. " Ah 1 that side's done I Gerald's very clever, isn't he, sn- ? But would you believe it," and here Mr' Grey left off toasting, and laid the fork across his knee, the bread nearest the table, -" Would you believe it,~.that in last Sunday's paper some envious rascal said that his skies were ' garish,' and that his browns were greens ?" " Indeed I" said Richard. " Yes," continued Mr. Grey, resuming the toasting. " As though any one's greens could be browns, or browns could be greens I As to the 'garish,'-the word puzzles me; but I suppose it means something bad !" "My dear !" said Mrs. Grey," - see how you're burning that toast !" " Ah ! am I ?" exclaimed the husband and he drew back the fork, brought he dust ly soil's I that 5n't he, 3re Mr. 10 fork 3 tahle, in last id that browns uming a^reeiis reens I i me ; I" * e how )and , jught ORRALD FITZGERALD. 5 the smoking bread from the fire, and filled the room with incense ! " You take milk and sugar, I suppo'5c, sir?" inquired Mrs. Grey, diffidently. " Both I thank you," replied Richard. The tea was poured out, and the toast well scr'iped, buttered, and laid before Richard. Mr. Grey watched that toast with anxiety ! It pained the good man to see that it was untouched— that no pressing, no reproaches heaped by Mr. Grey upon himself for having burned it,— could in- duce Richard to eat as became a visitor ! The tea, too, went but slowly; Richard merely sipped it; and even Mrs. Grey's statement, that there was a b.. tter cup in the pot, failed to persuade him to do more. This was agony to Mr. Grey. He could not sit quiet under it ! He had no remedy but to poke the fire, and look round to see if the cat had re-entered ! At last he spoke : "You've seen Gerald lately, have vou sir ?" ' ' ^ GERALD FITZGERALD. ';Ye,;' ret««ed Richard, "ve.y lately." Ah! said Mr. Grey, " perhaps hell come up to-night?" " I ^^ not," was the reply. " You fear not, Mr. Maiden ! Why do you fear not ? Is anything the matter ?" Well, the truth is," said Eichard, bursting at onee into business, " I have only just left him. He's in a little trouble • very slight, I assure you I-To-morrow, i hope, will set all to rights." ." ^V'"'"' ">"»•« i« he, Mr. Maldon ?•' said the father, dropping his cup. " U he lU f has he had an accident ?" " A slight one," replied Richard " 4. blow on the forehead, that's aJI-nothing sencus. He wiU be well in a day or two I'' " ^"* ^''y didn't he come here ? Why does he keep away ? Why didn't you bring him with you ?" said the mother, clutching Kichard s arm. " Well, the truth is, he couldn't well come. He's in custody !" y lately." haps he'll Why do tter?" Richard, ' I have trouble ; •rrow, I aldon ?" " Is he [. "A aothing two !" Why u bring itching t well GERALD FITZGERALD. 7 Mrs. Grey started and looked at her hus- band. Mr. Grey rose from his seat and asked for his hat. " Where is he ?-Take me to him Mr. Maldon I In custody ! How did he get in custody?" Richard stated the facts, just as they hap- pened ; and when the story was concluded, and the danger made plain and apparent, Mr. Grey seemed heved. Gerald had done nothing to deserve punishment. He was thankful for that ! But Uncle William 1 —How came he in such a position ? Richard could give no explanation ; he merely saw the poor fellow, bleeding, remonstrating, and feebly struggling in the grasp of °a policeman ! Mr. Grey went away with Richard,— hum- bled, ashamed, that Gerald's friend should have seen William in such a plight I As he walked along, he told the story of his brother's disgrace : " It was our fault, sir," he said, "and o GERALD FITZGERALD. yet we were not to blame. I'd have done anyth.ng,-I offered to do anything-for Z brother. But he got among vjabond" he hved the life of the public ho J, he ie; his companions abuse a^d insult me, even when I „ent to dr^ him from his ruin" And,now,sir,-nowithascometothisr ' It happened that there were many and the hke-apprehended that day • the cell at the police station was crowded with tnem. It was a close, unwholesome place destitute of all the requisites of dec'e^y' abouning m filth, and utterly unfit for th^' purpose xt was appUed t„. Into this place Gerald and his uncle were ca.„-their wounds undressed, and their sufferings made a mockery of, A sponge and a wooden bow ha,f.fi„ed with foul water, were handed to hem, and with these they had to con- tent themselves, and wash the blood from their faces as best they might ! Their companions smiled when they saw GERALD FITZGERALD. 9 Gerald - a well-dressed, gentleman-Uke young fellow— bathing the forehead of a ragged and unclean old man, who laughed, cried, and uttered strange nonsense during the operation ! Still more were they surprised when the young fellow took his handker- chief from his pocket, and bound it about the old man's head ! There was no one to bathe Gerald's forehead, or bind it with a handkerchief; so he bound it himself with the cravat from his neck. The evening passed ; the night came ; and Gerald was surprised that he had seen nothing of his father or Richard Maldon ! His last words to Richard were " Go to my father and explain as mildly as you can what has happened. I suppose they will release me upon bail !" And in this hope he waited patiently till midnight. Then he pushed through the crowd about him, went to the door of the cell, and ob tained speech with its guardian. The man was a gruff, coarse fellow, promoted from B 2 ^^ OERALD FITZGERALD. the Irish constabulary for an a.t Of si,.nal danng and decision. Perhan« .1, ^ exercised amonp- ih i i ^ "'" ^"*'' ea among the lawless and the cri n^.a, are not wen calculated to soften he '•ear^ and interest it for misfortune. you can d! ^".^'"'™' ' "^'^y' -<» tWnk you can do anything . Butyouca^'t. Wc ke to get one of your sort now and thr ;:::ur^""-''*'«>^^^eecr: GeraJd pushed his way back to his uncle Iruly the way was not far to push • fori' cell was scarcely a do.en feet long 'anTni by many feet, so wide. But info h ' upwards nf * . """^ Wo this space Pwards of twenty people were packed ' How they found room to stand sit or r -lown, was a ma^el, But th^e laT L* escape: theywere fast, and must rerna^ so: rs, tile blasphemous langu^^^e thp blows ffiven m,^ 4. i . fe"^to*^> tne franri. f , '"'"^ "" '""''"e^s, the frantic struggles for more room, more aii-' i GERALD FITZGER/.LD. 11 >f signal 'se acts, tlie cri- men the le said, d think i. We ^ then. 3ch he uncle, or the d not, space iked! )r lie s no 1 so} i vile the the air. for a place to rest an arm or a head on ! And as the atmosphere grew closer and fouler, came the terrors of suffocation | Even the low, hardened vagabonds, who could count their imprisonments by the score, had never known an imprisonment so frightful as that ! They said so ; they cried aloud ; they raved, swore hideous oaths, and bruised their fists against the hard walls, in futile outbursts of passion ! And the poor, weak creatures who were buffeted about by these raging ruffians ! — Oh how they suffered ! They were known by their feeble choking cries ; by their prayers, tears, and at last by their curses ! And in the morning, when the door opened, and the air came in, and the strong men gasped and gurgled it like stranded fish,-— these feeble creatures were overpowered, and fell or fainted as they lay ! Uncle William was the feeblest, the faintest of these. When Gerald drew him from among the arms, legs, and shoulders [I . ;i!s 12 GERALD FITZGERALD. stand I He dmn 7 ? ' ''^"^^ "«<= "ccupants seemed to «?nln or,^ trance about him I ^ ^"^ When the delivery camp h ip . +ii -^ ^^"^6, half a dozen nf these men were taken straio-ht fn T ? pital. William ^ ^'^ *^® ^os- i ""^°^ wasoneof thelinTf^ He took no notice of P ' ^^t ''^^"' '«'"*'..«« "LSI:"- -'•'•^ " Withdrawn '" go,-^ r ^ i «- it ever made p'.™"- ^^'"' ^V GERALD FITZGERALD. 13 "Well, sir!" returned the inspector, " the constable confesses that he was in error. Several highly respectable witnesses have sent their cards in your favour— among them, Lord Dalton. He saw the whole affair! X 25 is waiting to apologise to you, sir !" Gerald had nothing to do but to accept this explanation. He was angered, but not vindictive. Besides, he had no sooner turned from the inspector, than right in his path, humbly bowing, and hat in hand, stood X 25 ! Gerald recoUected the fall of the truncheon, and felt vastly inclined to have the slight satisfaction of knocking the man down ! But his better nature pre- vailed, and he listened : '^ I am very sorry, sir— very ! I thought you belonged to the mob, sir ! I didn't see at fust that you was a gen'l'man. I fancied I heard you say that the old man was your uncle ! But of course it was fancy, sir ! It couldn't be ! How could he be vour uncle ? " OEBALD FITZGEBALD. -a gentleman lifco you, sir I There's a cab «^awa,t.ng:Ifetehedit. Can I do al proud Ah I s,rl we policemen has a head for Ge^d-s better observation. "S threw ,t from a three-pair window. You see h'sear, sir? It's only half a one J -^ Inshm bH off ,h, ^^^ ^^ J - that .t shouldn't appear against him. Th b act ma.U under the left eye, sir, was done by a foreigner l_with his latch-key sir r„ covered with sea. and bruises, 'if I ^ to take off mv fhrno-o • t ' -^ ^as you » ^ ^ ' '''"' ^ ^^'^^d show Gerald was fain to turn aside, and mutter somethmff like a fnmn, "'"crer ^ i.Ke a forgiveness ; and, indeed hadhenotdoneso,X.5,whowasterJbJ :V'™^^^.-"W''-e carried his last id a ">toexec„t.on, and denuded himself of hs garments. Already the top buttons of hL a e's a cab, I do any. be most has c at my his bare " That Hshman Vou see e ! - an owed it . This 18 done r. I'm I was show lutter deed, rribly '> idea f his Fhis GERALD FITZGERALD. 15 greatcoat were loosened, his hand was on his belt, and his look was resigned and niartyr-like I But as Gerald turned away, these demonstrations ceased, and the man -somewhat disappointed that his penitence had not been profitable in a pecmiiary sense —merely muttered, " Thank you, sir I" Just as Gerald passed the threshold he was tapped gently and insinuatingly on the arm. He looked down and saw a small, bandy man, with keen grey eyes and a hook nose, gazing anxiously up to him. The little man carried a packet of dirty blue paper, folded lengthwise, and tied with dingy red tape. " Beg your pardon, sir !" he said. " But I've mastered the facts of the case. They're here, sir,— they're here I" And the little man smiled, and tapped his forehead. " It s a capital one, sir, capital! Couldn't be better I I've the policeman's name, number, and all necessary particulars I He has a smaU pension-about twenty pounds a year 16 GERALD FITZGERALD. --from the war office, and his wife washes for the force. He'll pay, sir, he'll pay, after he first few steps. He'll never let it come to trial. My office is just round the comer!" '* Pay I" said Gerald, " for what?" "Why, for staying^ proceedings !" replied thehttle man, rubbing his hands gleefully. " What proceedings ?" "Why,sir!-^surely . But I may as well be explicit I The proceedings in an action for assault and false imprisonment f 'Grey versus Biddle!' Biddle's his name' I've half drawn the declaration. Just step round, sir I" Gerald looked down at the Httle lawyer in astonishment! " IVe forgiven the man!" he said. "What!" exclaimed the practitioner turning red, and stammering slightly. " For --.for-for-given him ! For— for-for— given a man that can p-p-pay r I tell you sir, its such as you that ruin us ! How are we to 1— 1— ive ? how are we to 1—1— ive !'' And the httle man gave Gerald a glance of « GERALD FITZGERALD. 17 withering- scorn, and ran to the nearest public-house to drown his disappointment. Gerald stepped into the cab, and was just being driven off, when Mr. Grey caine up, hot and breathless. He flung open the door, and jumped into the vehicle. " So you're released, my boy, are you? You're released 1 Thank God for that ! But where is , — where is ?" " My uncle ?" said Gerald. '' No ! don't say the word I Don't say * uncle,' my boy ! He's my brother ; but no, no, not your uncle ! I can bear the shame I But you, my boy — you shan't 1 He's my brother — nothing more ! And is he released ?'* " He's in the hospital !" said Gerald. Mr. Grey sighed heavily, and was silent. But when the cab arrived at its destination, and Gerald got out, the driver started off^ anew with a passenger who deprecated all idea of company by dumb but expressive motions, OHAPTER ir. ■ f t li II ^■">no Dalton, having thorou«-I,l from his serious accilr "5 ^ "^'"""^ onqi-irv from SirT, """"""' * ^""^ °f ^''^kthatllt'^'^'''-. began to ^■•^not; and as,, '""*''' '"■^*''''«' "-"ft'-advalj;;;- to deprive to carry out his friend ' "'"' '^<'" «"« *d mil te^ d" '"•'"'"^ ^«»'ve. He seldom --^forhis iTr^P^^^^t^occa- a^d tolerant oi T . " '""""' ^"''o*. "' aristocratic !,,o.^. j^ OEUALD FITZOEHALD. 19 It would have made but little difference to Lord Dalton had his colom 1 been anything else; as it was his custom to exchano-e upon the least appearance of difficulty. In this way he had quitted the lancers for the hussars, the hussars for the dragoons, and ultimately the dragoons for the Blues. He cared little about the particular corps, so long as he saw his name in the Army List, and was not called upon to perform inihtary duty when he wanted to do something else 1 With leisure, then, on his hands, he thought it well to occupy some of it by see- ing how affairs went on at Maldon Priory ; and being about— as he said— to invite " half the county" to his place, it came into his head to take Sir Koger Maiden's invitation himself. Therefore, one fine morning, just as the Baronet was helping Marie to her saddle, and De Lisle tenderly and assi- duously performing a like office for Blanche, his Lordship trotted along the Priory 20 GERALD FITZGERALD. avenue, and pulled up before their astonished eyes ! "Surprised I haven't been before, eh, Maldonr he said. "Of course yo„ ex^ pected me; but I've been so confoundedly busy m London and elsewhere, and I've got such a memoiy, that-I fc„ow you'll excuse tne I_y„u were quite forgotten ! Not quite, though, he continued, eyeing Marie signi- ficantly, " How could I ?" The Baronet replied, as politely as he might : He was glad to see his Lordship • he meant to have called at Dalton House, but . And here he curled his Hp, and broke off the sentence abruptly ; for he was disgusted that common courtesy should sometimes be so closely connected with com- mon lying ! Lord Dalton, blind to all this, was care- less about the answers he received. " I see you're going to ride," he said. « Which way ?-don't turn back : I'll ride ^ith you GERALD FITZGERALD. 21 How dark this place of yours is I- why don't you thin the trees ? And then those crows I There isn't a crow in my place !" It was always Lord Dalton's fate to en- gross the conversation. He seldom wanted repUes, and therefore it taxed the forbear- ance rather than the energy of his friends to talk with him. He was satisfied if he was hstened to. Had a dummy been set up for his companion, and the deception been undetected by his Lordship, he would have conversed with it, asked it questions, slapped It on the back, poked it in the ribs, and parted from it, as cheeri'uUy as he would have parted from a capable creature ! To him, indeed, what was the world but a col- lection of dummies, with one here and there in which the vitce preponderated to an un- pleasant degree over the lignum f The baronet, however, having an innate and hurtful consciousness of this, played dummy very unwiUingly. Though silent, he was consumed with rage; and though 22 GERALD FITZGERALD. outwardly placid, there was that within him which, had Lord Dalton known of its exist- ence, might have shaken even his effrontery ! But as he knew nothing of it he went on : " Three gentlemen to two ladies I I'll not be an outsider I" And he fell in between Marie and Blanche, and placed Sir Roger and De Lisle next the bushes I The lanes were narrow— much too narrow for five horses abreast ; and therefore Lord Dalton's stirrup-iron galled the flanks of Blanche's horse on one side and rubbed Marie's habit on the other I The two out- siders of course came in for the prickly favours of the hedge ; till De Lisle, tired of having his legs lacerated, whispered to Blanche and fell back with her. In such a situation what could the French gentleman do but talk P—what could Blanche do but listen ? De Lisle talked very well, too, used a romance-tongue— a kind of lariffue d'oc with the modern polish on it— ithin him its exist- frontery ! ent on : iesl I'll 1 between ir Roger '0 narrow ►re Lord lanks of i rubbed two out- prickly tired of ered to French Blanche ry well, ind of )n it — GERALD FITZGERALD. 23 and his tones were soft, and his English was wonderful ! " What a strange lord that is I" he said, "I think he tires your brother. This England of yours is full of curiosities -con- trasts. What could be inore striking than the dissimilarity between the two gentlemen before us-both of the same class, nearly the same age, neighbours, friends, and yet with scarcely a shade of character in common !" Blanche was in a reverie. That De Lisle was talking, even that he was leaning towards and looking into her face, she knew full well ; but of what he said or meant she had not the remotest idea! When he ceased the silence disturbed her, and she turned hastily, smiled curiously, and said " Dear me! —indeed!" This was said as though De Lisle, instead of expressing an obvious fact, had advanced something strange and startling. 24 GERALD FITZGERALD. If " Is not * indeed' an exclamation of sur- prise in your language ?" he asked. " Sometimes ; it may be made so." " And you made it so ?" " Did I ?" said Blanche, smiling, " Well you must pardon me I I was dreaming, I confess." '' And I disturbed you ?" "You did." " Now it is for me to say ' indeed' ! " ex- claimed De Lisle, with animation. " What subject but one could so engross your meditations ?" "Ah, what but one!" said Blanche, dreaming again. "And that one?" "Shall I confess?" " Yes. But I guess your sin I" " Sin !" exclaimed Blanche, with surprise. " I speak the jargon of the confessional merely ! We are playing at priest and penitent. Now say,-~what occupies so en- grossingly the thoughts of Miss Maldon ? GERALD FITZGERALD. 25 Shall we call it sin, or shall we call it '» De Lisle paused; Blanche smiled, and said " Well ?" "Love?" was the answer. "Love has sometimes been accounted a sin, but never a heavy one !" ■ And yet," said Blanche, "it pays many penalties in the world, does it not?" " Many, I believe; none, that I know of! But you- " " Know as Httle as yourself !" said Blanche rallying, - I merely echo the talk of the world I" De Lisle made an impatient movement, and pricked his horse so sharply that the poor animal took him out of earshot for confidential conversation. What did the girl mean by her dreams and her half-con- fidences ?_Was she in love, or was she not? How well laid seemed the train of discovery, and yet with a mere breath Blanche blew it all to nothing! The confessor had no patience with her equivocation : he knew VOL. n. 26 GERALD FITZGEHALD. he had one of the keenest wits in the world, and yet a mere girl turned its edge, and came harmless out of the contest I From that moment De Lisle made his friend's sister a study, and determined to break down her barriers of artifice, or storm her strono- defences of simplicity. He would sit down before her, as it were, and t^ke her by regular and scientific strategy. But before doing this, he considered his own strength and asked himself~Did he love the gu-l ? The answer compelled him to acknowledge that his whole strength consicted in vanity of conquest I In the meantime, the baronet was just as much put about as his friend. Lwd Dalton had succeeded in irritating him to a degree almost unbearable, by keeping up a running fire of rough compliment to Marie, and playing various simple pranks with her horse's bridle. The horse resented these liberties, and now and then chafed his bit GERALD FITZGERALD. 27 and flung the foam across the baronet's shoulder. " You'll come, won't you ?— and bring Mam'selle with you," said the young lord, " I shall have a house full ; she'll be de- lighted ; and so shall I !" To impress this compliment upon Marie, he tapped her horse about the ears with his riding-whip. The horse started, reared, and threw its rider ! " Fool !'* said the baronet, dismounting, and casting a glance of fire at the culprit. "Eh? what?" said his lordship, sliding from his horse, and smiHng incredulously. " It aint the beast's fault ! Don't call him a fool ! I never saw a better fall in my life ! Mam'selle hasn't hurt herself a bit. But upon my word, Maldon, you should have your horses better broken I A man ought to be careful what he keeps in his stables I" It happened that Marie was not seriously hurt ; the bushes saved her, and she came out of the danger with a torn habit, a ill jji ii > 28 GERALD FITZGERALD. grazed hand, and a little mud. The mishap, however, put an end to the day's riding ; for though Marie insisted upon re-mounting, it was only to return to the Priory. When that point was gained, and Lord Dalton was just excusing him olf from entering the house by pleading an engagement. Sir Roger beckoned him aside, and they turned down the avenue. " I've a word to say to y-^'V' exclaimed the Baronet, sternly. " Ah, and I've a word to say to you '" returned the young lord ; " Let me have my word first. Kow, I am a man of honour and hke to do things fairly. Are you goinc^ to marry Mam'selle De Lisle ?" " " Lord Dalton !'» said Sir Roger. " Oh, there l-a fig for ceremony ! Never mmd the ' Lordship' ! I've asked you a plain question." " Lord Dalton," said Sir Roger, haughtily " your manners are-to say the least- ex' ceptionable ; your company is to me any- GERALD FITZGERALD. 29 thing but agreeable. I came out hereto tell you that I look upon your conduct as ridiculous and boyish, and that for the future we had better ride different ways! You have now put an impertinent question, of which I am quite at a loss to understand the motive !" " Oh, never mind the motive !" replied his Lordship. " But if you press me for it, I'll tell you. The woman's attractive, looks well at table ; and I want such a woman to head mine. Fm g^ing to give up the army and settle, and I fancy I should like to settle with her. D'ye see ?" S^r Roger was thunderstruck ! He held Lord Dalton in the most hearty contempt, and yet something made him tremble at the idea of his rivalship ! His position, his fortune, were far above the Baronet's. Be- sides, it had never entered Sir Roger's u dd to marry Marie! What if, while he was dallying, she should hear of this prospect ? 'jtf 80 GERALD FITZGERALD. Hi Would she refuse it? The question agi- tated him strangely, and gave him feelings that had never troubled him before. Lord Dalton anticipated something of this kind, and was compassionate : " Now understand me, Maldon : I've no intention to enter the field against you, if you'll tell me honestly that youie in 't. The circumstances of the case, our relative positions, would render that unfair. Be- sides, the lady's in your house, and she's your acquaintance. Say that you want her, and she's yours !" Pride alone kept thtj Baronet's passion withui bounds. " My Lord," he said, " I am indebted to you for your delicacy— your consideration! Further than this, I have only to say that these words must be our last !" " Stay !" exclaimed the young Lord, as Sir Roger turned away to end the interview. '* What am I to understand ?' ill! GERALD FITZGERALD. 81 uestion agi- lim feelings re. mething of • • I : I've no nst you, if tuie in 't. iur relative fair. Be- and she's I want her, t's passion ) said, " I acy — ^your is, I have ist be our « " Whatever your comprehension may be capable of I" And this time, the Baronet escaped, and the interview was over. " Well !" said his Lordship, " at any rate !Ve told him my mind, I've satisfied the requirements of honour ! Now for the sport I Yoicksl Tallyho! Eh?" The last word was addressed to a dark gentleman, with a piercing eye, who started from the trees just as the Baronet turned out of the avenue. " I came," said the dark gentleman, " to tell you not to think any more of the little accident that happened to my sister. — It's a mere trifle; she's not hurt. Good-bye!" And De Lisle shook Lord Dalton's hand heartily, and returned from whence he came. ^ Lord, as interview. CHAPTER III. !l< Monsieur De Lisle was not so calm and so assured as he was wont to be. He laid deliberate siege to the EngUsh girl's heart • but day after day-apparently without any effort— his mines were blown up, and his most reUable artillery silenced I His vanity of conquest grew to be anxiety for conquest, and he really feared now and then that he was m love ! But the worst of us have an Idea of what love should be, though we may make no pretension to be perfect in the matter ; and De Lisle, being a man of keen perception and great worldly wisdom, was \r OEHALD FITZOEHALD. 88 convinced that his intermittent fears were groundless. The golden vein of self-sacri- fice that runs through the pure passion and distinguishes it from the counterfeit, he felt nothing of ; hut he did feel that he was re- sisted, and he suffered from a craving to subdue I This craving is very common in the world, and has its hecatomb of victims; for in matters of the heart, there is everywhere much license for wrong. The work of in- jury is often studied as a science, made a boast of, and success in it gladly laid to the account of personal graces ! The Indian has a passion for scalps, and hangs them about his wigwam that his brother braves may applaud and imitate. A similar am- bition animates some civilised creatures, who, after making the world hideous with the spectacle of fallen and degraded Beauty, boast of their achievements in ribald jests, perhaps written recollections, that help to nurture and direct rising Don- Juans ! c 2 34 GERALD FITZGERALD. li i: They are proud of these achievements till they are grey-headed, and then haply they repent I The Indian faith deserts them there: Heaven will scarcely hold them and their trophies f Vtterly unconscious was Blanche that her brother's friend thought of her with such interested constancy. His marked atten- tions were put down to his politeness, his vivacity, and the habits of his nation. Had he gone on his knees to the parlour-maid unbosomed himself to the cook, or addressed the gardener's wife in terms of affectionate passion, Blanche would hold him not guilty because he was a Frenchman ! Why, had not a Uttie bonne who came to the Priory with some of Lady Maiden's visitors, taken a carving-knife to the boy who kept the crows from the kitehen-garden, and threat- ened to have his life if he would not love her ! Setting the carving-knife aside, aU this was natural, and there was no harm in it. The result was that Blanche shunned GERALD FITZGERALD. 35 lents till •ly they ts them em and iiat her ;h such atten- ess, his Had r-maid, Iressed bionate guilty y, had Priory taken •t the hreat- fc love [e, all I in it. mned De Lisle less and listened to him more. She became perfectly familiar and easj- with him. She liked his conversation, and sm*- rendered herself to his company just as she might have surrendered herself to the company of a courteous and attentive bro- ther. She never dreamt that he behaved himself otherwise than as a brother — a French one — should. Besides, De Lisle was almost equally kind and attentive to Lady Maiden. He was pleased to compliment her upon various matters, to notice any new change in her dress, and to hint trifles in the matter of fashion. He had a friend at Cologne, a neighbour and patron of one of the Farinas ; and from this friend he now and then received a case of long narrow- necked bottles, filled with fragrant water from a neighbourhood not over fragrant. One or more of these bottles mostly adorned the toilet-table of Lady Maldon. At dinner, too, De Lisle watched her ladyship as faithfully as the man who waited 36 I s if -■ GERALD FITZGERALD. for her plate. He never tired of walking by her sid^she did not walk much now -m the grounds. There, he entertamed her with stories made expressly to her mind, and he introduced a De Lisle into most of them : — " Your ladyship wiU remember that Louis was pacing hurriedly up and do^n the chamber " " Yes, Chevalier." "Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth and the unfortunate Dauphin following the unhappy king, clutching at his dressinc. gown begging him, entreating him, t» fly r Yes." *^ " ^* that moment, my father entered the apartment, sword in hand, the blade dripping with plebeian blood I" _ " Ah, he was one of those gallant gen- tlemen ,ho surrounded the king, was he not, Chevalier ?^the ' three hundred ' of whom Byron speaks ; • Of the three hundred grant but three !' They guarded the stairs, I believe ?" GERALD FITZGERALD. 87 De Lisle bowed, and went on : " At that moment a great crash was heard : the mob were in the palace ! Door after door yielded, till they neared the king's apartment. ' They come this way !' said my father, looking meaningly at Louis. * Let them come I' replied the martyr. * * * Your ladyship knows the rest : that horrid red cap was placed upon the king's head !" " Yes, I recollect ; and the wretches put the cap on a pole afterwards, and as the king would not bow to it, they made him shoot an apple from the Dauphin's head ! Won- derful, wasn't it, that the poor boy escaped ?" " Wonderful, indeed 1" said De Lisle. " But I hear the dinner-bell ! We have a new entree j I suggested it privately to the cook. I trust your ladyship v,i\\ approve the novelty." Blanche was a witness to all but the ludicrous parts of this friendly intercourse, and was misled by it. She would as soon have expected De Lisle to make overtures 8B GERALD FITZGERALD. of a tender nature to her mother as to her- self I Therefore his gaUantries, even when they seemed to exceed the limits of strict English propriety, only provoked her to smile and shake her head at him, in utter Ignorance that he was feeling his way and trying how far he might advance towards his object. She never imagined that she was listening to aught but idle romance, any more than had De Lisle read to her the play of Romeo and Juliet, she would have placed herself in the position of the heroine and taken to heart the soft pas- sages! The area of De Lisle's operations was, however, about to change. One very we\ morning, when the London season was ap- proaching its zenith, the baronet came down to breakfast with a proposition : " What do you say to a mouth or two in London, Monsieur?" De Lisle hesitated. What was Blanche going to do ? GERALD FITZGERALD. 39 " What do you say, Marie ?" Marie also hesitated, for she had some- thing on her mind. The uncertain atten- tions of her host were not satisfactory. He had — as she saw plainly enough — driven away Lord Dalton because the young aris- tocrat paid her too many rough compli- ments ; and yet he made no advance what- ever for authority to exhibit a jealous disposition : he was, in fact, assuming the airs of a proprietor without anything like bargain or sale having taken place on either side. To her, this was a new and not at all an improved illustration of the fabulous dog in the hypothetical manger. It oc- curred to Marie, however, that the town wag a more favourable sphere for bringing her perplexities to a crisis than the country ; and she therefore expressed her readiness to adopt her host's suggestion. De Lisle did the same when he learnt that Blanche was to be one of the party. That she was included was due to the fact 40 GERALD FITZGERALD. i that her brother wished to occupy De Lisle, and to escape from being constantly one of a trio. Then, hov. about Lady Maldon ? What was to be done with her ? In this extremity the physician's advice was taken, and he thought it best that her ladyship should not dare the excitements of town, but that she should elevate one of the maids to the position of a companion, and keep a. quiet as she could at the Priory She was not very well just now, he thought t " So you're all going to leave me !" said her ladyship, when they were about to de- part " WeU, I shall do the best I can. 1 shaU have some friends to visit me i" " What friends ?" enquired the physician, anxiously. *^ ' " Oh, my cousins, of course I ThevVe been waiting to come a long time I" ' The physician looked serious, and when Lady Maldon turned aside, he whispered to the baronet : " Dissuade her ladyship, if you can, from I GERALD FITZGERALD. 41 having visitors — especially those she has alluded to. You know, of course " The carriage, however, drove up, and Sir Roger jumped into it without hearing all the doctor had to say. " Good bye. Chevalier !" exclaimed Lady Maldon. " I shall miss you more than any- body. Mind you come back again ! Good bye, Roger ! Blanche, my dear, send down some handkerchiefs — from Bond Street. Good bye 1" and the carriage drove off. As the party passed through the village, a woman ran wildly out of a cottage in and about which there seemed to be sad con- fusion. " Miss Blanche l—For God's sake !" But the coachman cracked his whip and drove rapidly on. The cottage from which the woman ran out was once the habitation of Tom Jack- son and his family ; and the woman was Betsy his wife. The bailiff had triumphed, had obtained the authority he wanted ; and the Jacksons were houseless 1 CHAPTER IV. i The progress of the novel was not so rapid as its author had been led to anticipate. Every now and then Richard's thoughts came to a full stop and his invention ceased to be. He had a nice sense of pro- priety in the matter, and a just abhorrence of mere fustian and unreason. The epic had taught him this ; and though he did not exactly adopt the advice of the critic who recommends a young author to blot out all those passages which strike him as being particulariy fine, he was careful to eliminate from his language the superlative nothings m GERALD F*. ^GERALD. 43 B. m which unfledged and amateur authors delight to indulge. Once, then, when he could not see his way clearly before him— indeed, when his dramatis persona had reached that dead lock so much lauded in the Critic — ^he gave his pen a holiday and went to the studio. There he found Gerald preparing to start for the Academy, not solely because he had pictures there, but because other pictures had come under the notice of the Hanging Committee, and the artisf liked to hold communion with whatever was worthy in his art. Richard knew very little—and did not care very much — about pictures ; but like the man who had " no appetite for dinner," and yet expressed his intention to eat as much as those who had,— the manu- script author was quite ready to give his opinion upon matters of taste, and to dog- matise as confidently as the best art-critic go- ing! He therefore went with Gerald to the Academy. m a OERiLD FITZGERALD. The year was considered a good one ; for many of the great men had done their best and all the little men had done better the-' usual. Add to this that there was a heresy showing itself in the world of art-some- thing like the behef which in the religious world begat Primitive Methodists --and it will be seen that the Academy year was of more than ordinary moment. The title of this heresy began with " Pre " and ended with "ism," and between these two terribly burdened syllables, was placed a name much revered among painters, and held in high honour by all men. Freely translated, it might be understood as-painting after a certain style that was before a certain other style;— but the great critics, with Mr Buskin at their head, gave to it a grand and mysterious meaning that took it beyond the range of common intelligence and made 1 1 awfully comprehensive I One character- istic of this heretical art, was its nicety of detail. Nothing escaped the brushes of its GERALD FITZGERALD. 45 disciples. That woman was unfoitunato who, with a mole on her back or a pimple on her nose, should happen to sit to one of the new school. As sure as fate tho mole would go in, or the pimple would be picked out, with a skill that might merit the good word of a man learned in cutaneous disor- ders ! Yet some of these painters were poets withal, and conceived lovely things, and made a name so famous that it was sad to see them now and then abusing it ! Tiiey were not, however, the only won- ders of the year There were pictures by the great Florid, a classical artist, who season after season, cruelly exposed his naked figures in this cold climate of ours r In this painter's early time, somebody in- cautiously compared him with Rubens, and told him he had a bold touch. From that moment he became brazen I Then there was a picture by the low-life artist, the great St. Giles. His manage- ment of fat men seated upon ale tubs, and 11- .1 l,l. iB GERALD FITZGERALD. fat women sweltering in kitchen interiors, was wonderful I His talent was essentially adipose and greasy, his inspiration tho- roughly and entirely domestic. In one of his pictures, where there were two fat women with their arms a-kimbo, the painter had placed a tumip-peehng in the fore- ground ; and this idea — so Hogarthian, as the critics said ; so aesthetic, as the deep thinkers pronounced it — was a fortune to him ! He received commissions enough to fill his easel for years to come ; and as it would not do to have a turnip-peeling in every kitchen, this Uttle touch of nature in one instance became a horseradish ; in another an onion ; and in a third the no- tion was developed, with an accession of local colouring, in a potato ! The picture, however, which, after those painted by the art-heretics, attracted the most attention and the greatest crowd, was that entitled " Dogs after a Rat," the pro- perty of a sporting nobleman. The artist GERALD PITZQERALD. 47 who conceived and executed this charming work was of the auggesUve school, and had mastered the true secret of his craft, which —80 the critics said— was to hint much and to depict little. He carried out his view of the principle— rtr* est celare artem- to its full extent, and the result was that now and then he hid his figures altogether I In the picture under consideration, the tail of the rat was visible— as it must be admitted the tail of a rat occasionaUy is— above a gap in the flooring ; while the bristling whiskers of the dogs peeped in at either extremit; ^f the canvass. In the foreground were some small pieces of coal an.] a rusty nail ; and in the background ,ther coals were' sni I ft if 58 OEHALD FITZGERALD. then caught a word or two that gave him a hint of its destination, and the occasion that called it forth; and at length he heard a com- plete dialogue, which let him into the whole secret ! Two women, walking side by side, stopped at a point where the crowd ap' peared to separate and break into unequal portions : " Aint you goin' to the fire, 'Liza ?" said one. ^ " Fire ! No.-What is there in a fire ? I'm goin' to see the man hung! You'd better come, too. What is there to see in a fire?" " Oh I saw the last man hung I" said the first speaker. " IVe seen half a dozen ! If it was a woman, I'd go !" " Ah ! I dare say you would I" was the reply, " I wish it was a woman myself f- Good bye !" And the two friends separated. Richard now had his choice of enter- tainments. He chose the fire,~and hurrying GERALD FITZGERALD. sd on with the crowd, soon approached tho scene of disaster. A dense black vapour was floating about ; the air was thick and suf- focating. Now and then a burst of pale, bright sparks drifted along for a moment,' and blackened and fell on the house-tops or the ground ! A hundred windows were thrown up, and fearful, awakened creatui-e9 looked out timidly into the street, and up to the sky, and then drew back their heads and thanked God that they were out of danger I And now a bright red vehicle, swarming with sturdy men, carrying glit' tering axes and capped like warriors of eld, dashed along the crowd-enc umbered streets I But even above the tearing rattle of the wheels, rose the desolating cry—" Fire! Fire !" A thousand idle voices took up this cry, and helped to increase the terrible uproar I Richard went with the great human stream that closed up and foUowed in the wake of the engine, and at length found him-clf at eo GERALD FITZGERALD. the scene of disaster. Water was flowing freely about, and the ground was already trodden to the consistency of a marsh. Long trads of hose were lying hero and there, with strange pulsations agitating them ; and some that led directly to the danger were heaving and swelling like groat veins as the water rushed through them ! A rude song burst upon Richard's ear: it came from the men who laboured at the engines : they tuned their strokes to it ! And now across the housetops those helmetted figures clambered their uncertain way. They were bold, gallant fellows : God preserve them in their dangerous duty ! It was, indeed, a fire I— fierce, devouring and unsubduable I For the time, it was confined to a huge workshop, seemingly full of inflammable materials and in the midst of a ghetto of crowded lodging houses. Out of this workshop the flames belched as from a great crater, roaring so that the many- tongued crowd seemed merely to whisper t OERALD PrrZOERALD. 61 They carried with them huge splinters that split with a sound like the sharp crack of a rifle, and fell in a thousand bright frac^- ments; thoy hurled far into the distance huge bundles of paper that burnt like meteors as the wind drifted them, and at last fell scattered, a mile away I The fire began .0 sp-ad: it was not satisfied with the w( rk^hop, hnt must bring those miserable house, bohi^.i, before, and on either side of it, withir the circle of destruction! The raging r ement soon wrapped them in its terrible embraces, soon hissed and curied round their dingy wretch- edness; and shivering the glass windows to a thousand fragments, leapt into the devoted rooms and licked the walls and laid the whole in ruin I But what of that ? There had been warning enough and there were no lives in danger. None I Ah, that cry I-that feeble, child's voice, rising thin and shrill above the roarin.r. of the fire, the beating of the engines, and 62 GERALD FITZGERALD. the confused murmuring of the crowd ! No lives! Richard looked up at one o£ the windows about which the flames were just feeUng their way, and there, surely enough, horribly visible in the rich red glow, was a child's face, looking down appealingly to the crowd 1 Richard possessed a quality rare in the streets, and that is— presence of mind. ITiis sometimes enables Tom Thumb to eflPect more than Hercules! There was a ladder lying idly against a house adjacent. lie ran to the place, had the ladder put on the shoulders of two stout fellows, and brought to the house. Who wfis to mount it ? The crowd was courteous, anddeferred to l^chard. The firemen were too few for their duties ; and in another minute the flames would dart through the cracking windows into that room ! So up he went, dashed his arm through the window that as yet was safe, unfastened it, and scrambled into the apartment. As lie entered, something GERALD FITZGKRALD. ea feU heavily to the ground. He stooped caught it in his arms, and in another moment was seeking with what care he could for a footing on the ladder I Oh what a shout rent the air when Richard was seen to do this ! Even the engines for a moment ceased to play, and the lab arers at them paused in their work, took up the shout, and their rough, dirty faces paled and flushed with fearful admiration I Ti^en the voices were hushed, and there was the dead silence of suspense. One, two, three f-a thousand hearts were for the time pulseless f -till another great shout rose up, and the peril was over I The fire raged on, and the crowd grew more dense. About Richard and the girl he had rescued, a thousand idlers pressed eager to feast their curious eyes upon the two wonders ! When the child-for she was Httle more in size, though perhaps more m years-^grew conscious, she looked about her, started from Richard, and cried lii y 64 GERALD FITZGERALD. " My mother !— Where is my mother?" " Was she in the room with you ?" asked Richard. " Oh yes !— she was iU in bed I Where is she ?" Then Heaven help her!— thought Richard. At that moment, a warning cry was raised ! The crowd swayed back Hke a wave, carrying Richard and the girl with it. The great wall of the workshop was tottering ! But it fell inwards !— and aU that remained of Mr. Tympan's printing estabhshment was a heap of charred and blackened ruins ! A feeble old man had for some time been standing near Richard, laughing hysterically, muttering the name of Mr. Tympan, and apparently enjoying the progress of the fire. When the great wall fell, the old man uttered a louder exclamation of joy, and then Richard, turning round, saw thlt it was William Grey I " I beg your pardon, sir," said a tall, thin, person with spectacles. " But will you favor 1 GERALD FITZGERALD. 65 me with your card, and will the little lady give me some few particulars of herself and her history ?" " For what ?'* enquired Richard. " PubUc purposes, my dear sir," said the man, blandly. " The pubhc hkea to hear of its heroes ; and for a trifling consideration —a small sum per line of intelligence—I enable the public to do so. It's a long time, sir, since we've had so good a fire as this ! I beheve there are upwards of a dozen houses damaged, exclusive of the weU- known and old established premises of Mr. Tj-mpan, who, I am happy to hear, is in- sured in the Phcenix. You havn't heard, I suppose, if there are any lives lost, or any bodies struggling in the ruins P" '' No I" said Richard. " Hum ! — we're always glad of that; though I may say it is decidedly antagonistic to our interests. A mere fire, sir, is here to-day a,nd gone to-morrow ; while bodies in the ruins are mattars of more permanent I) I ill 66 GERALD FITZGERALD. attraction I May I request the favour of your card ?" " I have none," said Richard, impatiently. " Then your name ?" "Smith." " And profession ?" Richard passed on without reply ; but the reporter had his revenge. AU the late editions of that day's paper contained a long ax^comit of the fire, and an episode in which a " mechanic" of the name of Smith played an important part. Had Richard been poHte, the line would have stood—" a gentleman of the name of Smith !" With his companion cHnging confidently to his arm, Richard, after some shght ob- jection on the part of the crowd to release its hero and heroine, left the neighbourhood of the fire. The question then occurred to him -What was he going to do with the girl ?— where was he going to take her? He looked in her face to see if it could suggest anything; but it was tearful and full of OEEALD FITZGERALD. 67 alarm. Otherwise, it was a pretty face, lighted up by pale blue eyes, and shaded by a full fall of rich auburn hair. It had about it a refinement, too, that was not charac- teristic of the neighbourhood in which Richard had first seen it. But whoever the poor child was — whether gentle or simple he felt that it was not within the scope of his ability, nor was it his duty, to protect her further. So he stopped suddenly, and hanng, as he thouf^ht, hit upon a happy idea, said, — " Your aunt,— did she live in the street where the fire was, or in the neighbourhood ?" " I have no aunt 1" replied the girl, burst- ing anew into tears. " And your cousins, I suppose, live a long way oflF?" " I*m sure I don't know ! If I have any I never saw them I Take me to my mother f What have you done with my mother ?" The tone of this complaint went to Richard's heart, and he felt himself guilty II fio GERALD FITZGERALD. of a great omission. He had not saved the mother I " 1 cannot tak., you to her-at least, i.ot at present,- he said. « Is there no o^.e else you know in London ? Have you no- no oMpr— relations ?" *'NeI" said the girl, bitterly. " V^e don't belong to Londoa ; we live in the country." B^ Ik. i^ the country !- thought Richard, - We k of the past I What life is there in dn t^ some persons would say -he drove off to the residence of the Greys. When they reached there, the poor girl who seemed still to have a chnging belief that she was being taken to her mother, fol- lowed her protector unresistingly, till she saw strange faces. Then she fell back upon Richard again, and sobbed aloud. A mo- ment sufficed to explain to Mrs. Grey the unhappy circumstances of the case; and that good woman at once comprehended the peculiar scrape into which Richard had got himself. Mr. Grey, too, coming i„ at the moment to breakfast, and hearing the word " workhouse" whispered by Richard, at once settled the difficulty : " No, no, sir-nothing of the kind ! You I igU 70 GERALD FITZGERALD. needn't have mentioned the place. It will be time for us to go ourselves when we send a poor child like that there I No doubt we shall soon find her friends ; and till we do, I dare say we can find room for her here !" So the matter was settled, but at some inconvenience to the Greys ; for— hospitable people as they were I— one of their parlours was already taken possession of by the ex- patriated Tom Jackson and his entire household I CHAPTER VI. When Sir Roger Maldon and his friends returned from the Academy, De Lisle was eloquent upon the arts. With the happy conceit of his nation, he estimated English efforts very poorly. " Confess that you have no painters !" he said triumphantly to the Baronet. " Ad- mit that you have no Claude, no David ! Say that you have not one great picture painted by an Englishman I" This was said over the dinner-table, and just as Sir Roger was busy with his soup. Now, soup is a tyrannical dish, and requires 72 GERALD FITZGERALD. the entire attention of the man or woman who eats it: - '^. vise there may ho table mishaps. T.'.r., ^ps, was why Do Lisle's posers wevii unanswered. " You are bad connoiseurs, too ; your taste is worse than your talent. If you ehoose or try to verify a picture, you ax e sure to make some mistake over it, or you com- nussion a foreigner to do it for you, and so get taken in and pay dearly! Looking down the list of painters who have been patronised by your kings, princes, and aris- tocrats, till the last century we find them to be Italians, Spaniards, or Dutchmen I Why, in your own gaUery, Sir Roger, there is but one Enrlish picture, and that is the worst of the collection !" The Baronet had finished his sou^ , and was free to reply : ^^ " Monsieur De Lisle," le said gravely, " it has alwa, 3 been the will of England to be generous, and the fate of other nations to accept her charity. She has no need of 5 a GERALD FITZGERALD. 73 painter, while the™ ar. ,„ „«„,. ,„. people for ever coming to her f-o^aUp^t of the globe mth paint-pots and brushesl" Pmnt-pots and brushes (-thought De Lisk-What a notion of art 1 n„r.v * "^T P™'"'' ^'^'' "ft"" "en of hesair' ^™"^' ^"■"^'"'-offortune!" "Then they disgraced their name, de- graded their family, and should have lost the.r fortune, for descending to the cond? ^^jfn,end.cants-begga,.for.„rt,„<, This was sufficient to stop any reasonable argument, so De Lisle said no mor. abou P«ntog tiU he saw that Blanche was ut ^^a% dull and sUent : "1> -ou grieve for the poor painters?" hethenaskt her. A tear that had been twinkling i. Blanches eye now came visibly forward. Sherosefromherseat, and, with scarcely a word, left the room I ^ VOL. II. E 74 GERALD FITZGERALD. What was the baronet to think of this , Ah ! he had it I-Richard was a painter : he had come to London to paint; and Blanche, kr ving this, could not conceal the grief with which the conversation af- flicted her I A brother of his, then, ban- died paint-pots and brushes ! This was too bau ! nor was it improved by his sister's stronn. expression of feeling. Would she, he thought, weep for Inm if ho were com- promised by conversation ?— Would she start up and lea;c the table because a word or two had been said that might be con- strued to reflect upon his position? He thought not, and thereforr he began to dis- like painters and paint-pots more than ever ! This love of Blanche for her brother Richard was always a sore point with Sir Roger. He thought that as he was the head of the family, he was entitled to the lion's share of its affections I Besides, be- tween him and Richard there was a disci- pline of coldness that had taken almost the li / GERALD FITZGERALD. 75 Strength of enniity. They had never had an angry word together, but they had passed each other in silence, avoided each other and wore coldly polite when perforce they were obliged to meet. What right, then, had Blanche to form a secret and senti- mental alliance with the weaker power? This may seem strange ; but it is not so On the contrary, it is common in the world Two collateral branches of the well-known famdy of Jones find occasion to quan-el, or to be cool, or to shun each other's societv Phdo-Jones is of kin to both parties, and has no mterest in the disaffection. He visits both. " My dear Philo," says the first Jones, " I shall always be glad to see you ; I respect no one more than yourself f But why do you visit So-and-so ? I have a particular dislike for So-and-so, and a man shouldn't blow hot and cold with the same breath !" * * * * . p^ij,^,, ^^^^ ^^^^ second Jones, " choose your society ; settle your likes and disHkes ; but you cannot con- 76 GERALD FITZGERALD. of sistently sit at my table and at the taU .. Soand-so !" The result of this probably is that Philo-Jones deceives both the high quarreling parties ! The morning after the conversation re- corded, it was the baronet's fate to be in- flamed stiU farther by bis sister's strange conduct. As soon as breakfast was over, she announced her determination to pay a visit, without condescending to state' to whom I De Lisle, however, tried to worm the secret from her : " May I accompany you ?" he asked. "Thank you,-No." rephed Blanche, firmly. " Ah !" exclaimed De Lisle, *' what ro- mance is this ? Where is the cavaUer I— why does he not come forward ? Oh, that it were permitted me to break a lance' with him I" The baronet frowned sHghtly at this speech. He thought it too free. " Do you go alone, Blanche ?" he said. GERALD FITZGERALD. 77 " Yes, T fear I must," was the reply. Apparently indifferent, but actually ex- asperated. Sir Roger turned away, and changed the conversation. " Let me see," he said, " what do we do to-day ?" "Vermicelli's concert is at three," re- pUed De Lisle. '' We are going, I think ?" "Oh yes,— by all means." And the baronet fell back in his chair, yawned, and talked idly till it was time to start for Ver- micelli's concert. In the meantime, Blanche made her way to the hotel from «rhich Richard dated his letters. She went in a hackney-carriage, and directed the driver to make the neces' sary inquiries before she alighted. These inquiries brought out the head waiter. "Mr. Maldon?--yes mum; No. 15. But he's out; went away without break- fasting. There's been a dreadful fire in the neighbourhood, mum ; a whole street burnt down!" 7a GERALD FITZGERALD. "Weed I" said Blanche. "And you cannot say when Mr. Maldon will return ?" " No, mum. He said he'd come back to breakfast, or he'd breakfast out. Now which he'll do, mum, I can't possibly teU " ' "No," said Blanche, "of course not." She then lea^t to the window, to speak to the driver, when a printed broadsheet, with a neat illustration in the centre-represent- mg a mere bundle of clothes hanging by a cord from a gallows-was thrust into her face w,th a viv& voce recommendation to the lollowing effect : " If' t™«> and particular account of the hfe, trial, execution, dying speech, and confession of__. Only one penny I Have one, mum ?" Blanche retired to the further comer of the conveyance, to escape the bill and its vendor; when suddenly both disappeared, and in their place apppeared her brother Kichard I "Justin timer he said,-" I should GERALD FITZGERALD. 79 have been earlier but for an adventure! Perhaps they can find us a sitting-room here !" And he went to the head waiter. A sitting-room was found. It was a dull, dingy apartment, crowded with old fumi- ture, and adorned with coloured pictures of white and red ladies with very long dresses and very short waists. They were mostly walking in gardens, carrying flowers, and petting unnaturally curved Italian grey- hounds. When a gentleman intruded on the scene, he was thin, and feminine in feature, and wore a long-tailed blue coat and top-boots. It was only the difference in dress which made him a man at all ! On the sideboard there was a quantity of old it might be antediluvian— glass, and on the table was a pair of massive metal candle- sticks, holding tall and melancholy-looking wax-candles. What were they there for? It was a dull day, certainly, but not dull enough to require illumination ; so Richard 80 OEBALD FITZGERALD. removed the candles to the sideboard, to keep company with the ancient glass-ware. Blanche had much to tell her brother and he had much to tell her. Yet the novel was br,>ught from the bed-room, and -vera, chapters of it read with grea ear- nestness. "I have nearly finished it !" said the HUthor" A few weeks more, Blanche, and it wJl be complete; then, a few months, and I shaU be famous (" _ "Not so sanguine!" said the sister. Remember the epic 1 That, too, was to make you famous I" thi's'?^-''' '"'*"''^P'<= -'-What was that to Blanche sighed and smUed. Why was it that she could imagine the chance of failure and even think faUure more probable th.,' success ?-The question is soon answered. One was not an author ! A tap at the door disturbed the conver- sation. ' I GERALD FITZGERALD. 81 "What now?" said Richard. "Come in." " A gentleman is waiting in the cofFee room—a Mr. Grey, sir," said a voice from the doorway. "Mr. Grey! ShaU he come here, Blanche ?" Blanche gave no denial, though she scarcely assented ; but the conversation of yesterday came vividly to her memory, and reminded her that she was about to look upon one who, perhaps, handled paint-pots and brushes ! Why she blushed, and let down the veil that a moment before was raised, must be left to conjecture. Certain it is, that when Gerald entered, she was closely veiled, and he could see only two bright orbs peering through the uncertain haze. Richard was foolishly boisterous about this : '' Why, Blanche !" he said, " what in the world have you covered your face up for ? This is not Turkey ; we are all Giaours E 2 «2 GEKALD FITZGERALD. 11 you know 1 Are you afraid of Mr. Grey's artistic eye ?" This was worse and worse I-Blanche stammered out an equivocal excuse; the artist changed colour- from mere red and white to pure red; and the customary ^eetmg was made more and more difficult 13ut, after a time, as is common in such cases freedom of speech was established; Blanche raised her veil, and Richard said- " We saw you yesterday. How busy you were , What did you think of the pictures ?" Oh I" returned Blanche, " you saw me, and yet you were silent !" " Your attention was so thoroughly occu- pied Julia and Don Juan'-you recoUect P" Bknche blushed. What did that blush mean ? thought Gerald. *' Where were you ?» she asked. '' Riveted to the opposite wall. We were studying a very old subject by a very new hand^-an aUegorical picture, representing the green-eyed monster in the very act of GERALD FITZGERALD. 83 making the meat he feeds upon I What with the picture, and what with your unex- pected appearance, we were taken aback — our tongues deserted us I" " But my letter ?" said Blanche. " Oh, that was in the hands of the waiter here. I only saw it this morning. But, Blanche, I have something to request : you must give up one day to me while you are London !" " Oh, willingly !" "Very weU," said Bichard, "Don't forget your promise. You hear it made, Mr. Grey ; and mark it well, for part of that day is to be spent in your studio I There is a ruin there, Blanche, which you ought to know something about— a ruin so Uke the original that I have almost been tempted to puU the ivy from it, and to cut my name on the painted grey stone I" During the greater part of this time Gerald had been silent. Now and then, when he was looked at, he smiled ; at other 84 GERALD FITZGERALD. f iji- times he was constrained and thoughtful. But when Blanche promised the day, and he was called upon to witness the engage- ment, he lighted up with wondrous alacrity ! Then it was time for Blanche to go, and she held out her hand to him. As he touched it, it trembled slightly. Oh for the days of chivalry, that he might have lifted it to his lips I But those days were past, so the ordinary rules of civiHsation must be observed, and one hurried gentle pressure suffice ! Then came : " Good bye !"-" Good-bye !" And these words over, the vision was at an end ! When Blanche had departed, the sitting- room seemed dull ; but Richard determined to eat, drink, and be merry I He would not hear of returning to the coffee-room ; but decided to dine where he was, and to dine sumptuously. Gerald, too, must dine with him ; and after dinner what could they do but sit and indulge in easy conversation over the best wine to be had in the hotel ? GERALD FITZGERALD. g./J This was not very prood ; but it had its cus- tomary eflFect : it exi; Jerated the young men, and they talked fast and furiously. Gerald called for tobacco, and even tempted Richard to try his first cigar ! The result was that Richard grew artificially lively and wondrously well satisfied with himself. ' " Ah, I have not told you my adventure !" he said. " Listen, my friend. At early dawn a bright gleam played about the heavens, and fiery specks were flying in the sullied air. I stood before a fire to which that of Vesuvius is but a rushlight ! I saw a human face-I heard a cry-I knew that life was in peril I The crowd stared stu- pidly in confusion; but I alone, etc., etc.— ran up a ladder and returned with a breath- ing burden ! In short I rescued a young giri from the flames, and as the fire made her an orphan, I stand, I suppose, in the position of her guardian! Is that the proper way of telling a story ?" 4it 86 GERALD liTZGEHALD. "Admirable;" said Gerald. "And where is the heroine ?" " In the house of a poor but honest man, blest with a son who will ono day make his line illustrious I Will that do ?" " Yes, go on. Who is the honest man ?" " Now I come to the climax. The honest man is your father ! There's a romance for you V* " Capital I" exclaimed Gerald. And the young men, filling their glasses, drank and laughed, and laughed and drank, and forgot how very sad a story they were making merry over I A first CV7.^' is a terrible de%ht ! " GerpJ ^;aid the neophyte, after an ominous mkm^e, and when the cigar was about haJf smoked, " don't you think these cigars are very bad ?" *' No I" said the graduate, " Mine's a capital one. " But if you think yours is bad, try another I" " No,— never mind— thank you,— I dare- ' id GERAI- FITZGERALD. ,7 «ay it's ..yfanty I" and the neophyte went on smoking. What terrible moments were those for Richard I -What would he have given to eseape from his eompanion and fling the cigar out of window wit' ..,f ^os, of dignity I But that wa» i, ,;„„ There ^t Gerald, pufling away .u^ly, and enjoying the smoke with all the ardour of a covenanted slave to the weed! In his extren y, Richard persevered: he would not be conquered !_he would, at least smoke that cigar to an end. But what is human resolution ! Gerald, ceasing- for a moment to inhale the glorious fragi^nee. looked across to his friend. Richard's face was white-white as ashes I His eyes were stanng stupidly at the candlesticks, and the half-smoked cigar was suffered to rub and brmse itself agamst the table ! "Richard!" said Gerald.-" what's the matter?" \*' If '■' : MICROCOPY RESOIUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) I" If 1^ ^ u ■uuu 2.5 22 1.8 A >1PPLIED IM/IGE I nc 1653 Eost Main Street Roctiester. New York U609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 -Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 88 GERALD FITZGERALD. But Richard, except by signs, made no answer. Gerald, however, understood the signs. He rose from his seat, took his friend's arm, and carried rather than led him to his bed- room I Half an hour afterwards, and when Gerald was about to depart, Richard, shaking his friend's hand, said— " That cigar must have been very bad, Gerald ! Good night ; come to me in ihe morning. And, Gerald, draw the curtain I" CHAPTER VII. Vermicelli's Concert was eminently success- ful. Blanche, who was waiting to receive her friends when they returned from it, was glad to see that the morning's entertain- ment had improved her brother's humour. He said nothing at all about her visit ; he asked her no questions ; but sat down to dinner and said grace in a tone of voice that for him was wondrously complaisant. Usually his voice was stern and haughty ; and even when he asked a blessing on his meat, he did so in a manner that would have •1? 1.1 90 GERALD FITZGERALD. I } ensured a denial from any human creature havmg the power to favour or disappoint him! But to-day he spoke in so mild a tone that his three auditors looked at each other and wondered. Music hath charms .'-What had Vermi- celli done to sing the savageness out of the Baronet ? The dinner that day passed off happily After dinner what would the ladies like to do?-where would they like to go P-asked tlie affable Sir Roger. Marie was willing to go anywhere; Blanche was tired, and, if she might be excused, would stop at home. " Then I will stay, too I" said Maxie. « I want to be quiet for one evening. I have my letters to read and answer"--she looked uneasily at her brother.-" I have many little things to do. But the gentlemen can go. We need not detain them." " Oh, very weU !" said De Lisle. « ShaU we take advantage of this permission ?" •e It a h GERALD FITZGERALD. 91 "If your sister wills it so !" said the Baronet, gallantly, " I do i" said Marie, giving Sir Roger a smile, more forced than natural. " But take care of yourselves. Don't get into mischief." The gentlemen smiled, as of course, at this precautionary speech ; and, after many mock promises, sallied foi'th. " Where shaU we go ?" said De Lisle, as they left the hotel. " Suppose we go — suppose we go — to the theatre ?" said the Baronet, speaking slowly to see whether the idea seemed odd. " Yes," rophed De Lisle. " And which theatre ?" " Well, there's one in the Haymarket." " Ah ! Vermicelli sings there ! They play a piece expressly for her I" '* Indeed 1" ?aid the Baronet, apparently indifferent. " Does she ! Well, we may as well go there as anywhere else I" And so they sauntered to the theatre. 1^ 92 GERALD FIT7QERALD. There was just one private box vacant- one that was almost on the stage, and led to the wings; and into this box the Baronet and De Lisle were ushered. The manager "■as very polite; ha had been made ac- quainted with the quality of one of his guests, and he saw that both were distm- guished looking men. The first piece was just over, and the ^econd- in which VermiceUi was to lift up her voice-about to commence. The cur t.un drew up,_therc was a viUage scene, with a cottage in the foreground, vines ajl about, and a practicable bridge in the dis- tance. Over the bridge came a troop of men and maidens-the inhabitants of this happy Paradise ! They all carried flowers -artificial ones-in their hands or their aprons, and these they strewed wantonly on the floor. Then the men laid themselves down lazily on one side, and the women laid themselves down lazily on the other. Then they were all supposed to go to sleep ; and, f GERALD FITZGERALD. 93 as a necesscary part of the delusion, some of them shut their eyes ! Sir Roger Maldon and his companion had excellent opportunity for observing this sleepy peasantry. Looked into closely, and under the searching glare of gaslight, what miserable, worn, and ill-grained creatures they seemed ! Not all the paint and powder in the world could hide the fact that they were not happy peasantry, but poor, half- starved units of an urban population, who eked out their scanty earnings during the day by equally scanty earnings during the night. And all that gaudy tinsel about them. How poor it seemed ! — how it mocked their thin, anxious faces, and the strained attention with which they watched the ballet-master, who was swearing, frowning and gesticulating at them from the wings ! And yet how different appeared these people to the delighted deities of the far-off gallery, even to the groundlings of the dis- tant pit, or the confused mixture of fashion m I 94 GERALD FITZGERALD. It? and free-list in the boxes just above I To them the stage was crowded with happy peasantry ; alive with Corydon and Thillis Damon and Chloe I They saw few of the lines and wrinkles, sunken eyes and fallen cheeks, that were revealed to Sir Roo-or and De Lisle ! They detected little of the mending, patching and piecing that those picturesque dresses disclosed to nearer eyes ' They knew not of the writhing, wriggling and shifting of the villagers that they might fall in with the notions of grace en tcrtained by the authority behind the scenes - Neither did they conceive that among those villagers themselves hard and awkward words were freely scattered, upon slight provocation, and that after dancing and sleepmg together in so amicable a manner there would be some among the ladies ready to scratch each other, and some between the gentlemen who would talk of pulling noses f But from that box on the stage all these facts and probabiUties were visible • and GE 4LD FITZGERALD. .0 »y le n r B 95 «ir Roger was relieved from an unpleasant feeling— nay, he was exalted from Tophet to the seventh heaven l—when Vermicelli— bewitchingly dressed, and the loveliest woman of her day-bounded over the practicable bndge and came tripping to the footlights ! She acknowledged the rapturous applause of the audience, she looked with more than usual grace towards the Baronet's box ; she turned round, smiled upon the happy peasantry, and seeing that they slept- though half of them were staring at her with aU their might-she was impressed with the necessity of keeping silence, and therefore— she sang ! What poppy or mandragora — what drowsy syrup-had those villagers swallowed that, while Vermicelli indulged in that lofty screaming _ while she hung upon that wondrous note for which she was famous— did they not wake ? Why, when the whole house was roaring applause, and kid gloves were flying to ribbons, did they not even 96 GERALD FITZGEIIALD. turn over, rub tlioir eyes, and look about them ? Instead of this, one of the pay- f>aufU'.s, gazing fiercely at her neighbour, pulled her dress suddenly from beneath the other's foot, and said, loud enough for the Baronet and De Lisle to hear—" Get off, clumsy I Who do you think's to pay my washerwoman ?" There was little plot in the piece ; it was only put together to suit Vermicelli. There was a frightened tenor who came on to sing with her ; a basso who came to sing at her ; and a feeble feminine creature with a lisp,' who made a pretence of being her rival in love matters. But the tenor trembled while he did sing, the basso respectfully kept his distance, and the feminine creature carried herself like an Abigail. No,-it was all Ver- micelli I And even in the last act, where the tenor had to take her hand, and warble out his ecstacies of possession ; where the basso had to soften his frown ; and the feminine rival to retire upon a rondo,-the GEUALD FITZGERALD. 97 audience saw nothing, heard nothing, but Vormicclli— Vermicelli I Foremost in shouting this name was a foreign gentleman, in a box exactly opposite the Baronet and his friend. Long after the body of the house had shown its won- drous lingual accomplishments by crying " Bravo !" to a prima donna, this gentle- man called general attention to himself by shouting—" Bravissimo !" " Krcutzer 1 as I live I" exclaimed I)e Lisle. " Krcutzer, indeed !" echoed the Baronet. " I'll cross over to him !" said the French gentleman. « Ho doesn't see us. What's he after, now ? Ten to one it's VermicelH ! I shan't be a minute." And De Lisle left the box. There was a little round hole in the green curtain; and when the Baronet was left alone, a brilliant eye that had been lookirrrr through the orifice, disappeared from it aud left the point of observation for other and VOL. ir. -. 13 98 GERALD FITZGERALD. mfenor orbs. A moment afterwards, there >vas a t;.i, at tlie box door which startled Sir Roger. The door opened, and lo f the mtruder was Vermicelli ! " Ah !" said the voice that had just de- lighted the house, "Ilavewe met again! I thought I recognised you, this morning How good of you to come to night. Who wos the tall, black-eyed lady with you at the ^^atiu^e'^ I know her face. I have met her somewhere before !" "Oh, a French lady of my acquaintance ; a triend, nothing more. But why are you Vermicelli? Who gave you that namL that voice ? Are you not still Fran " " Hush !" said Vermicelli, putting her finger to her lip, and sighing audibly,^ « I am now what you see me. What I'was I must forget. You have forgotten, too^ I dare say. Are you married ?-going to be married ? Was not that ihejianc6e on your arm this morning? Well, no matter! vjrood bye !" GERALD FITZGERALD. 99 " Stav I" said the baronet. <' But one moment I — Fran " There was a shuffling of feet by the door ; ant', the baronet's appeal was vain. As De Lisle and Count Krcutzer entered, Vermicelli departed ! The foreign gentleman who came with De Lisle was foreign indeed. His face was very generally covered witl hair, and his coat with frogs j he sparkled wii> chains, rings, and pendulous articles of jewelry such as have now become common even among Englishmen. His trowsers had a military cut, and were braided down the legs in a way that was then a wonder to Bond Street. But for all this, he was a mild-looking, gentle creature, of dehcate mould and with fine, feminine features. He shook the baronet familiarly by the hand, and then almost breaking out into another " bravis- simo !" said, "What a charming creature is Vemicelli !" 'II 100 GERALD FITZGERALD. "Very charming!" replied Sir Roger, uneasily. " What a foot I— what an ancle I—what a face! what a voice!" continued the count " And yet I hear, she's as cold as an icicle, and can frown like Medusa !" " Pshaw I" said De Lisle. " I tell you it is so !" repHed the count. De Lisle smiled sarcastically : "Well, Ive seen her before, I wish I could tell where! She was not a singer then ; so I suppose she made a faux pas; and as private society threw her up, she took to pubHc I"— During this conversation, the baronet was greatly agitated. He turned from his friends, and pretended to occupy himself with the audience. " What shall we do now ?" said De Lisle, touching him on the shoulder. " There's nothing bearable here, after Vermicelli !" " Ah !" said the count, " What shall we do? This is not Baden. Your government GERALD FITZGIiRALD. 101 is always so careful or so careless. A gen- tleman who wishes to amuse himself h'lre, must risk his liberty, perhaps his life." They left the theatre, and sauntered into Saint James's Street. As they passed a sober, respectable-looking house, the count gazed curiously up to the windows. " A friend of mine," he said, " whom I left two weeks since on the Rhine, told me that whenever I was at a loss for occupatior in London— and that would be very often !— I might call at this house, and present his card. He gave me a card for the purpose Here it is !" Both the gentlemen addressed looked at the card. " Why not present it, then ?" said one. " Ah ! why not ?" echoed the other. '' Well, why not ?" said the count. " Do you wish it? Mind, I know nothing of the place. There may be danger !" " Pshaw !" exclaimed the baronet. " Well, I give you warning !" /^•. 102 GERALD FITZGERALD. " Count I" said Sir Roger. " There are two things I never took in my life, and never mean to take— the one is, advice, the other, warning !'* The three gentlemen ascended the steps of the sober-looking house. The door was opened, and the card taken from Kreutzer. The man who brought back the card, made a low bow to the count, and led him and his friends onward. They had to pass a second door; even a third, and then, they came upon the inner mysteries. They were in a large and brilliantly lighted room, curtained closely, and chiefly occupied by an oblong table, covered with green cloth. This table was some six yards in length and three in width, and on each side of it, at the centre, sat a croupier overlooking a heap of gold and notes. At about eighteen inches from either side of the table were two patches— one black, the other red ; and on these patches were the " stakes of the players. The croupiers were GERALD FMZGKRALD. 103 deaHng to the patches ; then raking the money from them, and adding it to the heap, or passing money from the heap to the patches. Round the sides of the room were console tables, and plate glass mirrors, the tables supporting wine and dessert; the mirrors bordered by rich curtains, and thrusting forth glittering sconces. Lying about here and there were two or three backgammon-boards which were poorly pa- tronized ; and in the centre of the apartment blazed a huge fire, certainly not wanted for warmth. Some few gentlemen were seated at the great table, others talked in isolated groups, while three or four, perhaps, found occupation in lonely musings. The wine was much sought after; the dessert scarcely touched. Nervous players were startled now and then by the popping of champagne corks. As a player lost or gained so he drank-wildly or warily. The winner smacked his lips over the wine, let it gurgle pleasantly down his throat, and replaced his lOi GERALD nTZQERALD. J:l glass carefuUy; the loser drank the wine like water, refilled again and again, and not unfrequently smashed the glass in re- turning it ! A benevolent looking, bald headed old gentleman, wearing gold spectacles, and taking a large quantity of snuff— a man bom to puzzle Gall and Spurzhoim—saun- tered about .the room. He had a nod for everybody, a smile for most people ^ and he was cleanly shaved as an alderman. Had you met him out of his present society— you would have said :— That man is a rector ; he has a rich glebe, and remunerative tithes ; he drinks old port, and takes his ease; after dinner; a lean curate does his laborious duties.— And five years before, facts would have borne out your suspicions. Then, he was a rector I He preached occasioually to a thankful congregation, had a good house, kept a capital table, and was served by men and maid servants. But one of the latter charged him with unclerical behaviour. So «ERALD FITZGERALD. 105 he was sequestered; he lost his gown ; and now we find him overlooking twenty or thirty gentlemen congregatod about a rouge. et-Hoir table ! The baronet took his pkce bv the black patch; a lean old man being his'companion on the red. This old man was shrewd and sharp-featured, with a dead-looking dis- coloured skin, hanging about his face like drapery ! His eyes gUstened, and his hand shook, as he staked-only one sovereign f The croupier was disgusted. The baronet put twenty pounds on the black ; and the crou- pier deaUng toitthirty-three, cried" Three!" and dealt to the red :-. Ten— five—ten -1- five,-and the withered old man looked ea- gerly for the coming card,-and chuckled when It fell down an ace ! The croupier pushed him a sovereign, raked up the baro- net's twenty pounds, and the old man de- parted. " Curious old fellow that !" said one of the punters. « He can't keep from the • F 2 106 GERALD FITZGERALD. table, and yet he's frightened of it. He couldn't sleep unless he'd staked his sovereign !" The baronet played on, and the bank pro- fited by him. '* Thirty-one apr^s" was con- stantly turning up ! Thirty-one apr^s was chance in favour of the estabUshment— the exact number that suited the ci-devant rector and brought him his profits. The count and De Lisle played, too ; both carefully, and like men who wanted sport for the little money they had to lose. The baronet staked his twenties, his fifties ; they confined them- selves to threes and fives. At last they were tired, and prepared to leave the place. " Stay !" said the ci-devant rector,-— " There's something wrong ! There's a noise down stairs ! Hark !" He opened the door gently, and listened. There was a hammering and crashing below and from thence came a man, with a whit« face, and fearful as Macbeth's messenger. " The police ! the police !" he said. GEftALb FITZGERALD. 107 The rector dashed in among the player., swept the cards from the table, and flung them into the fire that was ready for their reception. The croupiers raked up the money, and the punters turned ghastly as ghosts I AH but Sir Roger Maldon. He stood calm and unmoved, coolly watching the rector's proceedings and listening to the noise below. Even when the lights were put out, and the rector said "This way, gentlemen I There is no escape by the door ; but by the window "_ Sir Roger Maldon did not move from his position. To De Lisle, who called to him in the darkness, he replied, "Never mind me l' I'm not good at chmbmg ! Sauve qui pent !*' In a few minutes, the police were at the door opening immediately into the gambling saloon. They hammered, they shouted, they called for admission in the queen's name ; the physical appeal was the successful one, the door gave way, and the officers 108 t GERALD FITZGERALD. entered. They were unprepared for dark- ness !-they groped about, turning a lantern here, a lantern there. It was then that Sir Roger Maldon, and those who remained with him, advanced to the escape ! Two officers who stood in the doorway were bruised and hurled aside. Two more, guarding the second entrance, were simi- larly discomfited ; and at the outer door, where there was no obstruction but a curious crowd, the baronet pushed Ms way past man, woman, and child, at a decent distance took to his heels, and at last gained the refuge of a cab ! ii! CHAPTER VIII. For the first few hours after the departure of the two gentlemen, Marie and Blanche devoted themselves seriously to their several occupations. One read her letters, and the other employed herself in a way that will be well understood by ladies who watch their own wardrobes, not trusting solely to Mrs. Honour and Madame Mantilini. But when Marie laid down her pen, and Blanche sent away her last bandbox, what were they to do ? They could not talk politics ; they could not — at least, two women seldom do — play at cards ; neither of them were story- «;fl 'H n I 110 GERALD FITZGERALD tellers neither singers; and it was much too early for them to go to bed. What amusement have ladies „hen there are no husbands to fon.Ue, no children to nurse, no bachelors to talk to, no album to turn over, no piano to play, no great demand for aney needlework, and few female friend, to pull to pieces? What is Desdemona's occupation in the day-time? How does i^ady Macbeth employ herself when Duncan •^ well and awake? A philosopher of con- siderable private notoriety has remarked that everybody must do something! What then were Marie and Blanche to do whe,; lelt to themselves in the cold comfort of a London hotel? Somehow or other, it came mto Manes head to talk of love, probably because she had been provoked to it by the last new novel, perhaps because she had some more important object in view. " When^' she said, flinging away the book she had just taken up-" When will men and women tire of nonsense hke this . t i GERALD FITZQEUALD. Ill * Here, from the first chapter to the last, from the beginning of volume one to the end of volume three, are two people pos- sessed solely by an absurd idea: Julia is dymg for Julian ; Julian cannot live with- out Julia !" " Well," said Blanche, smiling at her companion's vehemence, " Why not ?'' " Why not ! But you have not read the storj-. You have not gone through these lovers* amazements. Now, I'll recite it to you. Julian is poor, Julia rich ; a woman of fortune flings herself at the feet of the gentleman ; a score of lovers, well-bom and well-furnished, are begging for the hand of the lady. Julian refuses the woman of for- tune, Julia turns her back upon the score of lovers. The one hugs his poverty, the other her maidenhood, through a world of difficulty and a sea of parental reproaches, only to find reward when the man is soured and the woman wrinkled !'* Blanche looked wonderingly at the -'«-y. seeing that something was wrong, and that the GERALD FITZGERALD. 119 baronet was dull and constrained, she essayed to turn the conversation and to find amusement : " Where do we go to-day? Oh, I re- collect, -we were to go to Richmond. When do we start ?" The baronet felt this to be a great relief • for though he was in no mood for pleasure whde De Lisle's fate was uncertain, yet he m that It was impossible to sit in a room with Mar,e and his sister, without betray, ing the secret of the previous nights adven ture, and so plunging one or both of them >nto grief. This consideration determined h.m: the carriage was ordered, a message was left with the main-e d%oM concerning De Lisle, and the three uncomfortable com- pamons started for the loveliest spot in ourrey. The old road to Richmond is known to eveiybody, and to very many it is fa^ihar under more than one aspect. Before it was a long lane of houses-only broken near m I 120 GERALD FITZGERALD. the end of the journey by a mile of brick- wall and a parallel mile of hedgerow it was refreshing and picturesque, and to tra- verse it was to take a country airing. The birds sung from its hedges, and the wag- goners whi«5tled as they plodded along its pathways The posting houses were busy with life, and the humble houses of call, that have been swept from the centre of the road by the exigencies of to-day, had about them a crowd of country carts and dust- stained waggons. An old crazy bam here and there, or a tottering stile-house, recalled to the wayfarer's mind the fact that he was in a land ripe with the mellowness of age, and rich with the poetical associations of the Past ! The road is somewhat different now. Where the hedges were, the brick- layers' villas rear their brazen fronts ; where the birds sung, the piano is lavish of melody. The posting-houses have grown recluse and melancholy ; and the waggoners have taken to a hybrid dress that makes GERALD FITZGERALD. Jgi them nondescripts I When we near the out- skirts of the favoured village, we meet a calvacade of overburdened donkevs, and an inscription in the village itself tells us-or did tell us— that " An angel honour'd Balaam's ass 1"o meet him on the way ; But Bodgers' troon thro' Richmond pass With angels every day !" This old road appeared in the latter guise to Sir Roger and his two companions who, after a course round the park, left the carnage and sauntered along the footpaths. They walked till they were tired, and talked till they had exhausted the only topic that seemed fruitful that moming-the deer. These timid animals came willinck- to Blanche when she beckoned them "by deceptive motions; but, strange to sav when Marie offered them similar invihv tion, they kept at a distance which was more respectful thon confiding. The result of this was that Marie whisked the nearest VOL, ir. G 122 GERALD FITZGERALD. one with her parasol, and the whole herd bounded away in alarm I Returning to the carriage, the baronet and his friends came upon two students one, as it appeared, a student of nature ; the other of books. The latter was lyino- on his back, reading lazily ; the former sit- ting up, taking in the features of a prospect, and transferring them to paper. " This fresh air does me good !" said the student of books, in an easy and musical voice. " It was a happy thought of yours, Gerald, to come here. Oh that horrible cigar ! If anything could make me forgive Queen Bess for putting Raleigh in the Tower, it would be the recollection that the brilliant adventurer introduced to us the seductions of tobacco ! I wonder how he felt after his first pipe !" Blanche started and looked in the baronet's face: she knew the voice well enough ! But her brother apparently did not ; for as she was turning away to speak OEIULD FITZGERALD. I03 to the Students, he seized her sharply bv the am, p„i„ted to the carriage, and said^ tome ! we have not a moment to lose. We may be keeping Monsieur De Lisle from Ills lunch I" The old road was traversed again, and •vhen the hotel was reaehed, a letter was handed to the baronet. He took it eagerlv opened it, and read as foUows: '' ^ " My Dear Sir EocER.-This is a sorry • business. Here I am, shut up in a hos- pital- a poheeman at one side of mc, and ' a nurse at the other. In an adjoining __ place of the kind-so they tell me-is a fellow who, as the policeman says, is my _ v,ct.m.- That rush by the window did It: It was a terrible affair! I foUowed "the wrong man, I suppose, and half-a- ' ''°"<'" °*'«^'^ follo'ved me. It was a hasty " '"^™°'"<'' ti" I fell_I neither know hoy "nor where-and I rose with my arm broken I However, I went on as well as " 1 could, till I found myself in somebody's U U If * 124 GERALD FITZGERALD. " passage. I made a noise, perhaps ; at " any rate, I disturbed an old man who " came out in a bright red dressing-gown, " and screamed and ran to the door when " he saw mo. I ran ufter him, thinking to " escape ; but the police were on the alert, " and my condition marked me. One of '' the fellows struck at me, and hit the use- " less arm that was hanging by my side. ' This was too much ; and as I mostly carry " a little instrument for dangerous occa- " sions, I used it, and the crowd cried out *' that I had stabbed the man ! That is "all. Will you come to me— speedily ?— " AuGusTE De Lisle." li CHAPTER IX. The novel was completed. After getting va- rious people cleverly into trouble, Richard Maldon had as cleverly got them out of it With an unsparing hand he had castigated vice, and in alike measure had rewarded vir- tue. His true lovers were wedded happily; his false lovers were married to misery The bells rung out at the last, and the maidens strewed flowers ; ale was broached, barons of beef were badly cooked, morrice was danced, and bumpkins tumbled in sacks And in a year's time from all this merriment the good parents of the book were presented' with grandchildren ! I I2C GERALD FITZGERALD. Byron has, in a sarcastic setting, imraor- tahzed Southoy's modest address to a com- pleted book : •• Go, liulo book !-From this my solitude I cast I hce on tho waters : go thy ways ; And if, as I bolicvo, thy vein bo good. The wurld will find thee aft«r many days ! " Kichard Maldon recollected meeting with these lines at the tail of that ferocious canto of Don Juan in which the poet lays down his literary commandments : " Thou :;haU believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope ; Thou shah not «t up Wordsworth, Coleridge' Sou.hey • Because tho first is crazed beyond all hope, The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy; With Crubbe it may be dilHcult to cope, And Campbell's Ilippocrene is somewhat drouthy ; Thou Shalt not sleal from Samuel Rogers, nor Commit— flirtation with the muse of Moore!" But it did not occur to him to imitate Southey, and to think in a like unassuming way of his literary offspring. Far from admitting that " many days" might elapse before his book became famous, Richard was convinced that the world would be at his GERALD FITZGERALD. 12? feet in a very short time after the work left the publisher's I It was the same with the novel as with the ei)ic : he built great things upon it, and fancied that its few hundred pages of manuscript represented the lirst little landmarks of El Dorado I Oh these dreams I Which of us, in some phase of life, in the heat of some high hop(, or earnest struggle, has not known them ' Once you had a dream, my friend I and thought of ending your worldly pilgrim's pr«. gress greatly and gloriously. You essayed to clamber up a steep, on the summit of which was a land of less privation, penury, and pam— a land in whose rarer atmosphere the '• chill of early poverty" might be warmed gently from your bones! You planted, perhaps, some little seed-wondrously like that sown by the boy giant-kiUer in the fable-and you watched its growth, and as Its green buds of promise came above ground, the new life seemed fairly before you. But' alas! for want of the worid's sunshine^! 128 GERALD FITZGERALD. h ii perhaps for some fault of your own^the buds withered away and the ground was barren again ! Maybe, you wept, almost hoart^broken, over that little grave of hope, and thought never to hope again! But you , hope again, and are still hoping, still dreaming of the promised land, and still srmng for it I It is well you should do this, for honest hope is only a faith in goodness, after all ! So it was with Richard Maldon-except that to him, perhaps, the buds were burst- ing, and the fruit was almost ready to hand I He went to Gerald in high spirits : " My boy I" he said, " the seed time is over, and the harvest approaches. In this small and apparently insignificant bundle you see what do you see ?" " Open it, and 1 shaU be able to give an opinion," rephed the artist. " Come, come, Gerald I-no dry, matter- oi-fact business-Uke answers I-no trades- man's methodism over such a thing as this ! GER.U.D FITZGERALD. 129 You know well enough what the bundle con- tains ; and when I ask what you think there IS in it, of course I want you to reply — Fame and fortune !'* " Very well : Fame and fortune !" '' Pshaw ! Gerald. You have but a mag- pie's ability this morning! Xow, don't, pray don't, damp me : " My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne," and I shall hold you accountable for what may happen should he sit heavily !" " Very well ; I am silent. But what are you going to do with the work ? How are you going to dispose of it '<^'* " Can you advise me ? I came to vou for advice of some kind." " Why, you must take it to a publisher, you know, and ask for a perusal, unless"-^ ^and here Gerald hesitated, and spoke with some little delicacy-" unless you propose to go to the expense of printing it yourself." " To speak candily," returned Richard, " I do not propose to go to that expense, for li 11 180 GERALD FITZGERALD. the vory sufficient reason that I have no money to meet it ! No ; I shall sell it out of hand !" The artist gave every encouragement to this very proper resolution of Richard's ; and after a general review of the publishing world and the several merits of its loftier members, one of the loftiest was picked out as the purchaser of the manuscript. This being done, Richard left the studio, full of confidence, and taking the El Dorado with him, sought out the man of his choice. In the meantime, Gerald turned to a pic- ture that rested, face inwards, against the wall, and was somewhat carefully covered up from foreign inspection. This 'picture -a mere conceit, a fancy, of his own-was very beautiful, but too dreamy and ethereal to be hke anything in nature. As far as it was finished, it represented an umbrageous wood conceived and sketched in the manner of the new school, and constituting such a bower as Oberon might have courted n GERALD FITZGERALD. 131 Titania in ! The chief figure was a little girl-marvellously like Blanche— who was accepting flowers from an almost unseen hand, and smiling her sweetest at the mys- terious donor. By a happy exercise of his art, GeraJd had shed about the picture a dim, religious light that made the httle lady look as though seen through a transparency, and gave her a delicate softness, somewhat unreal, but intensely beautiful. It seemed as though the artist had reaHsed a dream • and so he had I The idea was conceived m a dreamy moment, and the brush was taken rp, and the labour of love weiir on, and Gerald dreamt aU the time ! The execution of this picture was a groat secret No one had seen it but the artist • not even Richard ! Whenever Gerald heard the footsteps of a visitor, it was taken from the easel, and its fair face was turned to the wall. But one day, soon after Blanche s first visit to the studio, the artist's old pa- tron called, carried him away from the very 132 GERALD FITZGEIULD. heat of his labours, and the picture was left on the easel, and forgotten. Of course Blanche and her brother, having promised n second visit, chose that day for papng it. llichard used little ceremony, and, without waiting to ask questions, with Blanche on his arm, walked straight into the studio ; when lo ! on the easel, right before their eyes, stood the painted dream ! " Something new," said Richard. « But, dear me ! Blanche,— how very like— how very like— you !" Quite instinctively, Blanche felt at home in the scene, and knew herself to be the little kdy with the flowers; but the pic- tured reminiscence- so real, so poetical, so beautiful— made her heart palpitate and her cheek colour. Such, then, was the artist's occupation ! — to that early and well- remeuibered scene did he devote his happiest energies ! Yes ; he had but just left the work : on one side was the palette, on the other the brush, hastily and carelessly laid ♦ GER.iLD FITZGERALD. 133 down. Blanche was softened to such sym- pathy with the artist, that she put her hand- kerchief to her eyes, and ahnost wept ! Gerald, Gerald, why not come now ? — now, when your lady's eye glistens, her heart beats with new delight, and her lips are shaped to utter the words—" I love !" On your knees now! Alas I alas!- the golden mo- ment passes ; the lady grows conscious, and hears her brother's voice : " Blanche ! Blanche ! what !— are you dreaming ? You recollect the scene, I sup- pose, and it calls up absorbing fancies. Well, the artist has caught your expression happily enough ; but what a misty, moon light cast the picture has ! The face, too, is scarcely yours as it must have been when you were a child ; but yours as it is now— refined, etherealised !" " Yes," repHed Blanche, with some con- fusion, but pretending to be cool and cri- tical, — " It looks like a dream, and might be expected to fade away as we gaze at it I" )' ill T; lU GERALD FITZGERALD. " The artist's meaning, probably. Who knows with what feelings he painted it ! It may merely reflect his mind, in which, O Blanche ! how can he dare to engrave your image permanently !" " Romance ,iting has given you a ro- mance tongue, brother ! You are taking the artist and myself for hero and heroine •" " Would that I might, Blanche !-~would that I might ! For they, they, love each other, and will marry in the end !" He took his sister's hand as he said this, and looked anxiously into her face. Ho J could she rebuke him ! Besides, in a lower and more melancholy tone, he continued : " And yet, perhaps, I am selfish ; perhaps while I talk of the happiness of others, I am thinking of my own. For I dread the time that wiU take you and your heart from me ; I dread the coming of that husband who some day— perhaps soon— will stand between us. I know he must— if he comes from whence I expect ! And so, Blanche, GERALD FITZGERALD. 136 you see, I may be selfish in wishing that one who is better than a brotuer to me, might be more than a friend to you !" There were tears in the eyes of brother and sister as these words died away and left silence — oppressive silence — in the studio. " Let us go," said Blanche, presently, " I fear we have intruded !" " I fear we have. May we be pardoned !" And they went. When, after some hours' absence, Gerald returned, the landlady told him what had happened. He left her in the middle of the nai-rative, and rushed to the studio. There, surely enough, was the picture! Her eyes had looked upon it~perhaps read the secret of its inspiration ! The confession had been begun : where, whore, woulditend ? ****** But a short time elapsed between Richard's departure with the El Dorado, and his return. Gerald heard his footsteps' Hi 1!.^ 136 GERALD FITZGERALD. and-though the existence of the picture was no secret now- the artist hastily re- moved it from the easel to its obscure re- tircment. Not a word had passed between the two men about it, and so Gerald chose to consider the subject sacred still " Well," he said, " is the bargain con- cluded ? Have you been successful in th- first step ?" " No, not exactly," was the reply. " Thov want time, they say, to consider, to read it Ridiculous idea !-but I suppose its the way with these people. The clerks handled It as though it was mere waste paper ; and one had the impudence to tell me " '' What ?" asked Gerald. " Wliy, that they had dozens of such things, which had been looked at, rejected and were lying in a lumber-room unclaimed '' " Hum ! And when is your fate to be decided ?" " That again is uncertain !~a fortnight or three weeks, or a month, -they could GERALD FITZGERALD. 137 not say exactly. Three weeks or a month ! As though five ininutob spent over the first chapter could not havescttied their opinion!" So far, the author had not met with what ^ he expected. He had carried to the pub- lisher a work of inspiration, and the myr- midons of trade had treated it as a common- place matter of business, to be taken up, weighed, and considered when the ordinary rubbish of the literary world had had its attention ! In short, in the very first step towards realising his El Dorado, the author had stumbled ! / I ( 1 It H I ' 11' CHAPTER X. T..E year grew older, a^d the men a^d — „ this everyday story passed to ""0 „,ueh n the routine of the last f" chapte... At the Priory, Lady Maldonwal nak.ngstran.eholiday„ithhereeoent; reIat.ons,-under the anxious eye of her Joetor and giving hi,, day by day, g„J cause for greater anxiety. Lord DaL; after calhng „p„„ her ladyship, and hearing that the chief members of the family wer. '" *"™' ^™« '» t<»™ too. He was to b< -en now and then at the ban-aeks, dining off the regimental mess-plate, playing at i I GERALD FITZGERALD. 139 the mess billiard- table, dropping into the Carlton, and occasionally doing that small modicum of duty which suited his tastes- He was losing his money at Tattersall's, on the gay race-courses of equestrian England, and in some other arisocratic haunts which need not be further specified. His mansion iu Hanover Square was crowded with com- pany, and his cards were delivered with due propriety in all the other mentionable squares and gardens within a mile of May- fair. He was jostling the premier in Rotten Row, and talking to the whipper-in near the hall of the hereditary assembly that sits in the precincts of Westminster. It pleased him to hold chambers in the Albany, where, without the prying eyes of his dependants, he could enjoy himself and make his bachelor friends comfortable. He was behind the scenes at the opera-house, and now and then before them in a box which he had generously engaged for Mrs. Constable Over- taken. In short, he was seeing life in all ^ii 140 GERALD HTZOERALD. those phases which arc at the command of 'Z, "•" '"-•"-"-^'''«'^. -d which "■any of us sneer at, some of us make war affamst, others struggle for, and all of us minister to ! ^till at tlieir hotel, leading a half Jiveiy, half, rea^ .fe,that somewhat tried Mario, .".a did not quite satisfy Blanche. Do L-Ie was still i„ durance, waiting for the «-s.o„s to deliver him, and crying o„ oudly against English institutions. The Ws were pursuing their humble path as usual,-happj. in their new and unfortunate Jisition and striving day by day to mat her share then- happiness with them. Their house was full, for the Jacksons were their o'lgers yet; and their hearts were sound or they exhibited no migenerous desire t nd themselves of so unprofitable an in- cumbrance. Drearily and sadly enough was Unele WiUiam bnnging his unhappy career to an GERALD FITZGERALD. 141 end ! lie was now- something worse than a ben^gar, and his infirmities took him from hospital to hospital, from police-court to police-court, till degradation had become chronic with him. How he lived was a marvel ; but a miserable cunning kept him from the only man in the world whose heart ached for his sorrows, and whose hand would have rescued him from his terrible way of life ! The artist, too, was fulfilling his mission with uniform and unqualified success: he had but to work, and the good things of life were ready to his hand. Not ^o with the author. He was dull, anxious, dis- appointed, and fretting childishly at the de- lay that retarded the realization of his hopes. He had heart-sickness early, and already he began to cry out upon the world and to tempt the Slough of Despond which ya-rned to receive him. The studio, however, was his resort. There he found cheerfulness, at f ji iki 142 GERALD FITZGERALD. least, and might feast his eye upon the easy labours of a successful man ! The artist too, afforded him the peculiar solace and support his wayward nature craved for, and was ever designing occupation and tning to make the hours pass lightly mth him': " Come," he said, once when the author was unusually dull, - let us find something to amuse us during this long purgatory of yours. To-day, Mr. Grey makes hohday Will you go with me, and take a part in his humble recreations? Put aside your dull- ness, and say you will !" " I was just thinking of a duty I have to perform," was the reply. " You know I have burdened Mr. Grey with a charge. If I choose to play the hero at a fire, I should, at least, bear the responsibility of the re- sult. As yet, I can hear nothing of Rosa's friends; and so Mr. Grey is the sufferer." "Sufferer!" repeated Gerald. "You mistake. You should hear them talk of GERALD FITZGERALD. J 43 their sufferings! They „.„„,d suffer, I be- l>ere rf jou were to rob thorn of the 'burden' you allude to." " Indeed !" "Yes. You should see them! Mrs Orey laughs, and sings, and skips about the house, as though girlhood had eome to her agam; ™d as to Mr. Grey, he has almost g.ven up h,s pipe, and taken, instead, to stoo-telhng and playing at scrateh-eradle -" It was not from pride or false refinement that the artist used the words Mr. and Mrs Grey instead of more familiar and endear -g t,t es. He loved and honoured then, with all a sons affection ; but for the h.t few years the word "father" and "mothlv had uisensibly died away from his lips, and given place to a more formal mode of speech and to language suited, perhaps, for a higher sphere than that in which he in eluded his parentage. He could not under stand how this change came over him • but It did come; and, without the least affecti i 4) 144 II GERALD FITZGERAID. tion, he found himself using titles which sound well enough, perhaps, in one range of life, but which may raise a laugh if used in another. " You think, then," said Eichard, adopt- ing his friend's style of speech naturally, " that Mr. and Mrs. Grey are not so sensi- ble of their incumbrance as I am of having incumbered them ?" "Think!" repeated the artist, "I know it ! They look upon Rosa, in some sort, as my successor; and the only name you hear now in their house is her's ! Going there the other day, I found them fully occupied ndth your prote(;^e ; and when the usual greetings had passed, Mr. Grey turned to me and said, triumphantly pointing to her, ' There, Gerald ! do you think you could paint anything like that ?' And Mrs. Grey replied, ' Of course not !— Gerald's only a landscape-painter I' Only a landscape-pain- ter ! What do you think of that ?" Eichard was glad to hear these facts from GERALD FITZGERALD. 145 g the Hps of his friend : they reHeved from an unpleasant consciousness of hav..i^ saddled the Greys with an irksome burden" The young girl he had rescued appeared to be utterly friendless, and all she knew of her history was that she had lived with her mother in the country till illness brought them to the house in which they were found in London. Her name, she said, was Eosa, and wh^n pressed, she added^Fitzgerald. Br . «he burst into tears immediately after making these dis- closures, she was troubled with no more questions, but allowed to take her place in her new home as an interesting mystery not to be further fathomed until the great shock she had suffered should be cured bv time. ^ It was tacitly understood, that Richard was to make all proper inquiries about her, and in due season to pay a visit to that part of the comitiy in which she said her mother once resided. This visit VOL. II. 146 GERALD FITZGEEALD. was the duty to which Eichard aUuded in his conversation with tLe artist. "Come," said Gerald, "let us be off! We shall be in time for the fun. There are some curious people at Mr. Grey's, and I promise you entertainment, though of a lowly character." a CHAPTER XL Mr. Grey was sealed at the head of his hospitable board ; that is, he occupied a place at his own Pembroke table, fronting the parlour window. He was attired with great magnificence. And first of his coat. This was of the old school— blue in colour, brassy in adornment, long in the tails, large in the lappels, high in the collar, and slender but lengthy at the cufi's. His cravat was rigid and unyielding, and his shirt had a frill and a brooch in the centre. His waist- coat was of plum-coloured satin, sprigged here and there with green embroidery ; and fl ju 148 GERALD FITZGERALD. I his continuations-tight and short, perhaps, rather than fuU and flowing-matched the coat in cut and colour. Say that his hair was trailed luxuriantly about his head in wavy lines like vermicelli, and was without that longitudinal division to which modern nomenclature has given the title of " gravel- walk,"-and we have him complete. He had a portrait of George the magnificent over the mantlepiece, and it was one of his little vanities to believe that, m full dress, and with his hair properly arranged, he distantly resembled the monarch. Mrs. Grey followed the fashion of her husband, and, like him, was unusually adorned. Her dress was a happy compound of merino and white muslin-the latter making her comfortable at the throat, the former helping everjwhere to set off a figure not wanting in grace and comeliness. But Rosa ! she was the gem of the little assembly, and the chief object to be admu-ed How- she was dressed, there is no telling; but, GERALD FITZGERALD. 149 her general appearance was white and fairy- like. She had flowers too, in her hair ; and at these flowers Mr. Grey was constantly sniffing, or pretending to sniff; and thus getting his snaky hair close to Rosa's auburn curls, and his broad, manly cheek in striking proximity to her delicate face ! At the table, too, sat Tom Jackson and aU his presentable family. The man was sad and somewhat sullen ; for he had not yet found thd occupation he came to London to look for. He was waiting for a gardener's place, or a bailiff's place, or indeed anyplace to which his limited abiUties might entitle him; and, in the meantime, he and his family were living upon the little money that the furniture of their broken-up home had produced. It was a long time before Tom could be persuaded to part with this furniture ; for to him it represented all he knew of household gods ! But after it was rudely thrust from his cottage into a cart, and then shot down in the market-place 150 GERALD FITZGERALD. and ordered off again, and then consigned to a miserable shed for safety, and then taken up, and shot down again— all this desecration, too, costing the poor man hard- earned money-he said, kicking the piece nearest to him,-'' Dang it ! let 'mi go ! Betsy my gal, ifc aint no use akeepin' on it I" And it was sold for a song before his eyes I It was at this critical period that Betsy— always a vigorous-minded, busy woman, making the best of everything and looking for a bright side to every picture-saved her husband from utter ruin, from taking to dnnk, as he threatened to do, or sitting idly by the road-side as, after the sale of his effects, he talked of doing. She laid her protecting hand upon the money they had • she kept Tom's blood in wholesome circu' lation by making him dandle and embrace the children in due succession ; recited to him all she knew of the vagrant act; and m the end, brought him to London, and introduced him to Mr. Grey, as to one whose GERALD FITZGERALD. 151 example might do an idle and despairing man good I Even now-— after many weeks waiting and hoping— she was not cast down, but sat cheerfully at Mr. Grey's table, and added something to the hilarity which was the business of the day. Her eldest son, Tom — of whom she was very proud, and whose career she watched with intense anxiety and apprehension — was seated near her. He was a great gaunt fellow, with a huge red face, Titanic limbs, ajid a fist that a pugilist would have been ecstatic over. The grenadier promise of his boyhood had been well fulfilled, and he was a man fit to frighten Sclavcs from the crest of a hill or dangle Hindoo miscreants by the waistband ! In his present sphere, however, his advantages placed him at a dis- advantage. A small parlour is not the best possible place for giants to show in with credit ; and young Tom was made acutely conscious of this by his feet coming in con- tact with, and being as certainly repulsed 152 GERALD FITZGERALD. from, the feet of those about him ; by hi, head doing serious damage to the door- frame; and Uy his arms sweeping from the table aU %ht articles that were rashly placed near them. His hands, too, being, as has been suggested, somewhat large and weighty took naturally to the table, and lovingly embraced each other till from their height and width they formed the chief featm^ of the neighbourhood I " My dear Tom ! take your hands off the table !" was Betsy's constant admonition to her son; and as her son wished, on this particular occasion, to be agreeable and even captivating, the admonition was not pleasant tvery time his mother used it, he blushed darker red, and cast down his eyes before the wondering, upturned glance of Eosa I There were other members of the Jackson family present ; but they were not of years or miportance enough to find a place in this Instory. It is sufficient to record the easily understood fact that they helped to crowd GERALD FITZGERALD. 153 the table, to make havoc vvitli the viands, and to swell the general chorus when noise was the prevailing amusement. It was the habit of this family, when its members met together for social intercourse to talk of what was nearest their hearts and most suitable to their understandings,— thus falling away from any ambitious imitation of families far above them. Smalltalk they knew nothing of, and seldom practised. If they chanced to fall into it, they floundered, and felt themselves out of their proper element. They had not facts and scraps enough to keep it going, and they conversed with a sincerity which put its continuance beyond possibility. Their conversation was of themselves, their children, and the little difficulties and ailments of both ; of the beef they were eating, the butcher they dealt with, the baker they intended to give up ; sometimes of the murder yesterday, the suicide of the day before, or the robbery of last week. Upon all which subjects they H 2 154 If n GERALD nTZQERALD. were fervent and sincere, and upon some they would havo considered flippancy a crime! At the mome.it, their talk waa of Gerald. " And to think, now," said Betsy, " that he should have grown so, and got on so, and become such a man I Oh how proud you must be of him I-shouldn't I be proud of my Tom if he was to do as well ! But I always said he was clever ; you know I did- don't you, Tom ?" "Oh yes," replied Tom, gloomily, "a coui^e I do !~you was always a sayin' on it !" " Well, it was just this," continued Betsy, " ' I know,' says I, ' that Mas'r Gerald 'II grow up to be something great and do something wonderful. He's so thin, and so pale and thoughtful! And I've noticed," she went on, in a reflective manner, " that thin, and pale, and thoughtful people always do something great !" " Ah !" said young Tom, to whose intellect conversation was tempting but dangerous,— m GERALD FITZGERALD. 155 " that they do I Look at that there man in the wax-work that I seed I— .him as did the murder I Ho wor pale !" " ^^y detir Tom," said Betsy, " You mis- underbtand me. Doing a murder, you know, is not doing anything great !" " What did they put 'un in the wax-wo: k for then," asked the youth, triumphantly, "w^ii/t they all great folks as was put there ?" " Some of them was, I dare say, my dear," replied the mother, mildly, " but not, you know, the murderers !" " Well, then, the murderers wor the palest !" exclaimed Tom, satisfied that he had the best of the argument. And now a knock was heard at the door, and a whisper ran round the table. When it reached Rosa, she blushed deeply, and her eyes hghted up with unusual brilliancy. When it had gone all round, Mr. Grey felt himself at liberty to say aloud, "That's Gerald!"— and a moment after- 156 GERALD FITZGERALD. wards the artist-followed by Richard Maldon--entered the parlour. Mr. Grey was surprised but dehghted to see the second visitor. '^ Ah I Mr. Maldon I" he exclaimed, " What an unexpected plea- -re! Here's Rosa, here, jumping with joy !— amt you, Rosa ?" Far from jumping or, indeed, doing any- thing else mth joy, Eosa was looking anxiously after Gerald, who had just dropped her tmy fingers and was busily engaged with the Jacksons. Young Tom, in his heartiness, had got hold of the artist's hand, and wa^ quite mieonsciously subjecting it to severe compression. But when it was released, Crerald turned round ; and then he saw Rosa looking timidly at Richard, and gidng him somewhat coldly the greeting he asked men Betsy fir.t heard the name of Maldon, she was startled, and looked to Mr Grey for explanation. But when she saw Richard, £he was, indeed, abashed, and hang ber head in humiUty I How could GERALD FITZGERALD. I57 she sit down with one of Sir Roger's rela- tions !-she who had always been accustomed to go before them curtseying and unbon- netted; who had taken their wages, and hved m peasant fashion upon their lands ' With a rapid glance at her family she beckoned them all to rise, and with a vigorous push she swept her eldest son's hands from the table. Then, while her fingers grasped the comers of her apron and the fingers of all her family sought their forelocks, she whispered to Mrs. Grey, " Hadn't we better go out ?" Mrs. Grey was /ery doubtful about the matter, for she knew in what relation the Jacksons stood to the unexpected visitor. But she temporized : " Sit down, and say nothing. Well see." The Jacksons did as they were desired till their turn came to be noticed by Richard' Nothing in the world could have kept them to their scats then !-had they been anchored, their cables must have parted • 158 GERALD FITZGERALD. l£si It had they been glued, they must have given way as the hero did in the shades ! There was a magnetism about the brother of their late lord which was to them as the centre , of gravity, and in the presence of which their locomotion was not their own I Quite unexpectedly, then, Richard found himself before a whole family that persisted in showing themselves his inferiors ! He put them upon easier terms, however, with a few words : " On a visit, I suppose ? Come up to see the sights of London, eh ?" " Not 'zackly, sir," said Tom, pulUng his hair, " We're not 'zackly on a visit, 'cause we couldn't help comin' sir." " No, sir," interrupted Betsy, who was afraid of her husband committing himself, " We're not unlikely to stop here." " Oh, indeed !" said Richard. " Stop here I Well, London's the place to do well in. It has so many more opportunities than the country." *^ GERALD FITZGERALD. 159 (( Yes, sir, it has, — there be more oppor- tunities, sartinly, sir," replied Tom, thought- fully, " But you see, sir, everybody wants 'em I" *' Ah I true enough !" exclaimed Richard, thinking of his own case. " And then, you see, sir," continued Tom, " after being used to the country-, it's hard,' sir, werry hard, to be obliged—" " Tom, my dear, !" said Betsy, " Mister Gerald's waiting to speak to you ! ' This—a pure invention of Betsy's— effectually closed the conversation between Richard and Tom, and prevented the latter from laying before the unexpected visitor a complete summary of his hard case at Maldon. The countryman turned round to Ge lid, said, "I beg your pardon, sir;" aiid although he had but just shaken hands with the artist, gave him as complete and vigorous a greeting as if he had been absent for years ! Matters thus settled, the original business I 160 GERALD FITZGERALD. ii I of the day was resumed, and the minds of the company, for a very sufficient reason, began to dwell upon Rosa. The eyes, too, of the company followed that little lady till she grew confused and fearful of making the least movement. " How very pretty I" whispered Betsy, in a confidential tone, to Mrs. Grey, " And how delicate! But don't you think she looks a little ill?" " WeU," said Mrs. G.ay, in the like low- toned confidence, " perhaps she does. But it's her nature to be deHcate. I don't think anything would make her look hearty." " And how old might she be ?" continued Betsy. " I hardly know. She thinks she's fifteen to-day; and she is something. It's very curious how I found out that she was some- thing to-day !" " How ?" asked Betsy, highly interested. " Why, all through looking at the almanac for wet weather ;" GERALD FITZGERALD. 161 " Ah I" " Yes, Directly she saw m ' St. S within,' * That, says she, ' is my birthday !' " " Dear me !" repHed Betsy. " How very, very, curious! What strange thing-s do happen I" It was a good trait in Betsy's character, as it was in the characters of most of her family, that she gave kindly encouragement and applause to the most insignificant reve- lations that could well pass between woman and woman. She was always ready to be surprised for fellowship's sake, and never received coldly whatever it was possible to put a note of admiration after. If she told a story harself, she liked to see it create a sensation ; and when she heard one, or an instalment of one, she was always generous enough to do unto others as she would be done by. Thus, while listening to Mrs. Grey, she expressed the greatest astonishment, though she was not much surprised; and when Mrs. Grey had concluded, she « 1 1 ly i) 1«2 OERAID FITZGERALD. delivered her«„f „f the words set down, further, she continued: "A very peculiar chUd altogether - There s something about her thafs odd .Hd «t"kesoneI I can't explain myseK- W youWwh=UI.„ean.SheIook4el!.,* Mr. Grey ha.,: been li,te.,;r,g to She quiet conversation eagerly.-. ., f^.^ he !! SesMwithpeHectseriousne«.ni^f "that'!' {"r'r ''''^'" "-'^^'^^ Betsy; ^^tlu^ts what I mean; that's what she^ " iVe seen somelbin' that's like her " nalt-l"*'' *■""'" '^''^•^''■^-"tl'er, patron.zmgly, .,d cherishing a hope tha h r son was about to make up for h^ ml mistake about the mm-derers " ^l' 'that's what I don't know !" replied Tom, « But it wor in a barber's shopj turmn romid an' round like anythin'. and hadasighto'peoplealookin'atitr " Yes," said Betsy, somewhat disappointed. GERALD FITZGERALD. 163 " What l:e means is that Rosa's so pretty and delicato." " No, I don't mother !— I don't mean no such thing ! I mean that she's just like that there thing I told you of !" ' Yesj yes, Tom— you're quite right. We ?mderstand you. It's a peculiarity of my Tom," she continued, turning to the com- pany, " that you can't get him away from anything he fixes his mind on. He's won- derfully firm. And, do you know, he talks of goin' and hstin' for a soldier I I hope he won't be so firm about that !" "And why not?" asked Gerald, re- garding the young Titan, and thinking how well he would look as No. 1 of a grenadier company. " Why not .'"repeated Betsy, " Oh Mister Gerald ! Wait till you've children of your own, and then see if you'll like them to go for soldiers !" The conversation was thus taking a pain- ful turn when Mr. Grey rose and interrupted !t 164 GERALD FITZGERALD. f • ^^' P""^^ «vent of the day was now toeo.eoff:Kosa's health was oT;: P^e ; a a M. Grey, in the fullness of' s heart, attempted to propose it. "M your glasses," he said ;« „ «ri,o^ 4. , ) xic saia, m a some- what tremulous tone, "anddonVl^a f •! h^r.„ a eake, as the/U want to do ole thing when they see us all drinking" J«>-- Grey's commands were obeyed • the glasses were filled, and the children;! duly attended to. "I'm going," he continued, "to do -ethmg that I think ought t; be done You know what it is, of courser. ;;S.ng a song?" suggested young Tom. JNo. replied Mr. Grey, severely, " The «ongs must come afterwards. I'm going to propose a toast." ^ ^ " A toast I" exclaimed the incipient grenadier, wondering why Mr. G^ysCd a the head of the table to commence proceedmg-s. GERALD FITZGERALD. Ig5 " II"sh, my dear I" said Betsy, sweeping her son's hands from the table again, and shutting his mouth gently for fear of the noise, " A toast is a health I" "Yes," continued Mr. Grey, passing stei-nly over the interruption, " I'm going to propose a toast ; and I can do it better, perhaps, if Rosa"-and here he beckoned the httle lady to his side-" will stand by me ; because what I have to say is about her." Rosa went to Mr. Grey, and stood bv his side, and looked up in his face, and wondered what he was going to say about her ! He was so solemn and serious, and he talked so slowly, and stared so hard at the ceiling, that she was alarmed I Apart from this,' too, the situation was awkward. It is always a serious matter for Uttle people when they ii&l 166 GERALD FIT70ERALD. moved to tears. Rosa was simplo ..ud sen- sitive to excess, and it ^as not without terrible apprehension that she listened to Mr. Grey's solemn exordium. " It is a providence," he continued, put- ting his hand on Rosa's head and playing with her golden curin, " that this Httle girl has lived to see another birthday. We have, I am happy lo say, though I scarcely expected it, a gentleman present who had a good deal to do with her seeing it. You all know the story, and how she was miracu- lously saved ; but you don't know " " Father !" exclaimed Mrs. Grey, hasten- ing from her seat, and putting her hand- kerchicf to Rosa's eyes-" Don't you see how she's crying ?" " Crj-ing I" repeated the husba ', " T;^!! dear me! so she is. And I've made her cry I I ougiit to be aghamc I of myse]f I Rosa, my dear, I shall only say one more word." And here Mr. Grey put the wine to his lips, looked at the company, said OERALD FITZGERALD. Jgy «Eo,a!" and his example being followed, the toast was at an end. And for that day, so was the hilarity • for scarcely had Eosa recovered from he.^ Me burst of grief when voices were hoard outside the parlour window : - '' Ah, this is the house. You knock Jack, and tell 'em about it gently-break it to em, as it were. You .„„ do that sort of thing 1" The knock was given, and Mr. Grey went t^> the door. " My name's - pv " hn c^iA • J *oB . ey, He said, m answer to an enq^ iry. " And you've a bi uiuer-- havn't vou ?" "I have." ^ " And he's a little you know ?" and the questioner tppped his forehead si^ni- ficantly. ^ " He may be," replied Mr. Grey, his teetu set, his hands clenched, and every muscle of his face rigid. " Ah ! then, the people at the pubHc l^"} 168 GERALD FITZGERALD. house were right: they told us to come here. We're watermen, and p'eked your brother up last night off Blackfriars : he tried to drown himself!" " And where," said Mr. Grey, clutching at the man's arm, '' is lie now ?*' " Oh at the station ! He's going before the Alderman to-morrow." " Good God !" exclaimed the brother, " Again !— again I" And So Rosa's birthday ended sadly ! )ome your : ho fling fore her, CHAPTER XII. The inspired Irishman who maintained that '' single misfortunes never come alone," and who should have carried out his love for perfect truisms Sy writing a successful volume of " Proverbial Philosophy," might have caUed at Mr. Gre/s humble establish- ment for the purpose of strengthening his belief in the Hibernian dictum. Siogle misfortunes were just now treading uptn each other's hecid there ; for no sooner had Undo William's terrible plight become known to his brother, than Betsy Jackson was plunged anew into moumbg and dea- VOL. II, m W if 1 j Hi 170 GERALD FITZGERALD. pondency. Though slfe was a great con- queror of troubles, and sure, after a time, to shake them off, and find a bright side to them, their first shocks overturned her philosophy, and left her a prey to evil anti- cipations. The iil-wind in its early vigour brought her to grief; and till she recovered her strength of mind, gloom was all before her. But a wholesome proverb bearing upon this iU-wind-a proverb that our energetic English hearts have made a house- hold word-mostly came to her memory, and she accepted its solace and put its sound philosophy in practice. We find her, however, in the first gush of this unkindly wind. While the Greys were grieving bitterly over their last un- tempered afiliction, she was prostrated by the indiscretion of her eldest son ! '' Tom, my poor boy Tom," she said to Mrs. Grey, " has gone and listed for a soldier '" " Well," replied Mrs. Grey, soothingly, GERALD FITZGERALD. I7i "TWs nothing *o ve^ sad i„ that. Hell mako a ve^- fine soldier, !'„, ,„e. He s just the lad for it!" reddenmg her eyes with her apron, » YouVe got a son that's doing weU, and that hasn't to, and that's a blessing and a comfort to you! You can talk like that; but I can t. It'll break my heart, I know it will • heU never come back, and if he goes out •o hght, of course he'll be killed !" " But perhaps he won't go out to fight " suggested Mrs. Grey, " He may stay i^ i^ondon, you know, and take care of the Museum, or the Queen'spalace, or the Tower or something of that kind." ' '' No," said Betsy, doggedly, " he won't ' He sgomg away directly; he listed to go • and he'll soon be in Indey,-and then I shall break my heart, I know !" "Never mind," returned Mrs. Grey giving Betsy a kiss,-" Perhaps something 172 GERALD FITZCJEUALD. I can be done— perhaps* he maybe bought oiF. He can be bought off, you know !" " Bought off!" repeated Betsy, bitterly, "Who's to buy him off?— where's the money to come from? Don't talk of buying, Mary, when we've sold all we had, and I've just changed our last sovereign. Bought off, indeed ! No, Mary, he must go— he must go !" As Betsy said this, she assumed an ex- pression of sullen resignation. Her apron fell, her hands dropped to her sides, her eyes were dry, and her aspect passionless. " I've kept up," she continued, '' against a good deal, and I've had a good deal to try me. When all our things was sold, and we were all houseless, and Tom began to take to drinking, and threatened to strikj me because I snatched the drink from him and flung it on the floor, I bore up, and only said—' Tom, things must mend -they won't be like this long ; they en n't be, Tom !' And I believed what I said, and hoped for CiERALD FITZGIillALD. 173 the best But I can't do that now — I can't hope that my boy '11 come back ; 1 can't hope to see him alive and well again. Oh no !- he must go to Indey, and he must be killed !" She turned sullenly away, and went to her husbandandthechildren. Shesatdownamong them, and looked pityingly at their miserable faces. They were all-from the father of the family to the last imperfect likeness of the father-crying piteously. The latt Indey, why you must! Only, do come back as soon as you can !" Of course she became terribly proud of him, and watched him about, and wished to monopolise the little time he had to himself. To seehis iigureandher own reflected together in the shop windows, was to her a source of GERALD FITZGERALD. 177 secret satisfaction. But at one of these windows, the day before his departure, Tom suddenly paused : " Mother," he said, pointing to some- thing in the shop, " just read that there ticket, will you? What's it say? -how much is that there work-box ?" " Two shillings, '' replied Betsy. -^ But lor, Tom ! what do you want with a work- box ? I'm sure they won't let you take it to Indey with you !" Tom winked, but made no verbal replv. He -as struggling to get his fingers into that little leather convenience -somewhat like a watch-pocket with a button -which army clothiers, with a due recollection of the small means of the private soldier, were wont to give him to keep his money in. One of Tom's fingers entirely filled this military pocket, and it was only by continued and dexterous scraping with it, that he was able to produce the two shillings, one after the other. Then, without a word of expla- 2 I. 178 GERALD FITZGERALD. nation to his bewildered mother, he walked straight into the shop, placed his hand on the work-box, threw down the two shilUngs, and returned in all the triumph of pos' session. " Why, what are you going to do with that ?" asked Betsy. '' What do you want with a work-box ?" A raw crimson blush came across Tom's face, and when that had died away, he smiled knowingly, looked down upon his mother, and again— winked ! Now, Betsy had never seen Tom blush so deeply before, and she was quite unaware that he could wink. Winking was-as she thought—an accomplishment belonging only to fine gentlemen and wicked ladies ! Once at the theatre, she had seen some one wink ; but immediately afterwards that some one ran away with some one else's wife ! Tom had winked twice : what could he mean ? Surely he was not a fine gentleman about to run off with 1 Oh no ; the idea was GERALD FITZGERALD. J 79 preposterous! And yet the work.box I Ah! — the mother saw it all ; that work-box was to be the instrument of persuasion ! She looked up imploringly at her son, and as far as eyes can speak, her's said — " Oh don't, Tom!— don't be a fine gentleman and play the gallant ! If you are a soldier, do as you would be done by, and not as soldiers would do unto you! Consider, you've a mother— you've a sister! Oh, Tom ! don't be wicked !" The young man saw this imploring look j but it moved him not. He kept on wink- ing persistently, and looking down upon his mother with provoking slyness. At length, he made a fair start, and left her gazing after him in an agony of doubt. He was quite out of breath when he reached his destination, which happened to be Mr. Grey's door. There he knocked and met the severe, scrutinising eye of Mrs. Grey. She was not acquainted with n i V.n I 160 GERALD FITZGERALD. \ I i ill the thorough reconciliation between him and his mother. " You're a wild, good-for-nothing young man I" she said, looking angrily and con- temptuously at his regimeutala, " and before you've done, you'll break your poor mother's heart ! What do you want ?— We don't ap- prove of soldiers here !" Tom was greatly chagrined by this recep- tion ; but he held to his point, and made "o observation till he had edged himself fairly into the passage. Thcv. ne spoke : *'But it's all made m, y^u know. Mother's forgived me, and lather's forgived me I I give »em my bounty money, and I'm going to Indey to-morrow !" " C>h !"' said Mrs. Grey, " they've for- given you, have they ?-you're quite sure of it ?" " Quite sure !" repUed Tom. "Verj' well, then, if they've forgiven you, It's no business of mine. I've nothing GERALb I'lTZGERALD. 181 •to say against your being a soldier— of course not. Come in." "Wait a bit," said Tom, holding back in the passage. " Ig that there little gal here — her as was took out of a fire ?" " Yes," replied Mrs. Grey. " But what's that to do with your coming in ? She don't mind you, and I suppo^ • you are not frightened of her ?" " Oh, no ; I aint frightened of her !" " What's the matter, then ?— why don't yon come in?- what are you sticking in the passage for ?" " I want to know that httle gal's name What is it ?" " Rosa." " Ah, yes,— I know that ! But what's her other name ? My name's Tom, you know ; but I've got another name— Jack- son. Wliat's her name instead o' Jackson ?" '' Oh, Fitzgerald, Ibeheve," replied Mrs. Grey, impatiently. " Fittsgerrold," repeated Tom, after < 4 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) I.I 2.8 1^ m |63 •^ mils 6 ^ 1^ 1 2.5 2.2 |Z0 1.8 ^ APPLIED IM/IGE 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York '4609 (716) 482 - 0300- Phone (716) 288- 5989 -Fax USA -m*>.f-f»ki<-.- 182 GERALD FITZGERALD. some difficulty with the Fitz, " Rosa-Rosa — Fittsgerrold I Ifs a long name to recol- lect : isn't it ?" " What do you want to recollect it for ?" asked Mrs. Grey. " You're a strange fel- low : what's the matter with you ?" " Why, you see," rephed Tom, " I'm go- ing to Indey, and Indey's a long way off, and p'raps I may be killed, and then, you know,"— here the raw crimson blush came to his cheeks again,-—" I should like to think about somebody, and for somebody to think about me ; and she'd do to think of nicely !" Mrs. Grey at once saw what was in the wind, and but for Tom's serious face, would have laughed outright. As it was, she merely smiled, and said — " Oh, that's it, is it ? Well, come in, and let us see what Rosa has to say." Rosa was in the parlour when Mrs. Grey and the recruit entered it. To Mrs. Grey's '' Here's some one come to see you, Rosa !" t.-'Wlfr**'^ GERALD FITZGERALD. 183 she merely returned a gentle "Oh, indeed !" And when Tom offered her his great hand she shrunk back a little, and seemed to en- tertain a reasonable dread of close contact. She was obliged to let him have her hand, however, for a moment, and when he returned It to her, it was purely white and bloodless ! Luckily, dinner was about, and to this, upon invitation, Tom addressed himself with ease and effect. But as his plate grew empty, he recollected that his heart was full, and he cleared his mouth for action— " What will you do," he said, looking piteously at Rosa, " when I go to Indey ? I'm going!" '' Oh, I shall do just the same as J do now," replied Rosa, quite unaware of what her admirer was driving at. " Where h ' Indey ?' " " Oh, a long way off- a werry long way off !" said Tom, " Quite at the other end o' the world I-where there's black people who 're so-so~so-black ; and where it's * n I i i ii 184 GERALD FITZGERALD. SO hot that you get — you get — you get — quite hot, you know !" "And what are you going therefor?" enquired llosa. "To fight!" " But can't you stop at home and fight, if you want to fight at all ?'' This question puzzled Tom. The idea had never occurred to him before. " I suppose," he said, humbly, "that there aint no fightin' to do here." " Oh !" replied Rosa. And she relapsed into silence, and liked Tom none the better because he was going all the way to " Indey" — wherever that was — to look for fighting ! So far, the young man's attack had faileil. But he had a reserve, and he now fell back upon it. He produced the work- box ! " If you'd like to have that there box," he said, bashfully, " you may. I give two shilUn'sforit!" I II GERALD FITZGERALD. 185 .9" This was not a very gracious way of making a present ; but as Tom pushed the box into Rosa's lap, and nearly crushed her with it, she was fain to say, " Thank you !" and put it on the sideboard. Then the donor prepared to depart. " I'm goin' now," he said, " and you won't see me again !— but you will think of me, won't you ?" " Oh yes !" replied Rosa, " of course I shall ! And perhaps you'll come back some day; and thon won't your mother be pleased !" "Mother!" repeated Tom, contemptu- ously, " it aint mother that I want to be pleased,— it aint mother! It's somebody else, you know ! I'd tell you who, but I can't say it ! i ou will think of me, won't you ?" " Yes," rephed Rosa. " And we'll all think of you !" said Mrs. Grey. " And will you ?" asked Tom, looking •i' * : ! > '1 ill 186 !f GERALD FITZGERALD. down upon the little girl, and dropping a great tear, like a hailstone, on her shoul- der,—" will you give me a kiss ?" l^osa put her handkerchief to the great tear, sopped it up, and then looked to Mrs. Grey for directions. These directions must have been favourable; for, after a few qualms and agitations, Rosa turned her cheek upwards ; and Tom, stooping from his six feet to her four, made a noise upon it like that made by boys who draw wet leather discs from the pavement! Then he gathered himself up, took a farewell glance, said "Good bye, good bye! -you 7i'ill think of me ?" and departed. \\ CHAPTER XIII. The bandy little man, with the shrewd grey eyes, the hook nose, and the dirty bundle tied witl^ red tape, was full of busi- ness. More fortunate than when he pre- sented the bill to Richard Maldon at the barracks, or when he fastened upon Gerald at the police-station, he had now found a profitable client, and was preparing a brief for one of the boldest counsel at the crimi- nal bar. He was employed to conduct the defence of a French gentleman named De Lisle, whose friends-as the little practi- tioner said to one of his professional ! 'il ■il I'! i 1 188 GERALD FITZGERALD. brethren—were tip-top people, and supplied him with no end of money ! By some unexplained means, this little gentleman had n c ntly smuggled his name on to the roll of attorneys, and taken out his certificate to practise. His articles came from a Hebrew house convenient to Saint Mary Axe, and his connection was chiefly criminal by character, and miscellaneous by extent His method of obtaining business was to watch the police-courts, and when he saw a case that was likely to go to trial, to make a snap at it, and, if possible, secure the confidence of the prisoner. In this H-ay, he had caught at I)e Lisle and come to be employed by so haughty and scru- pulous a gentleman as Sir Roger Maldon. It is right, however, to say that Isaacs — so was the man called— exerted himself greatly for his clients, and by the brotherly aid of counsel, succeeded in rescuing a very great many rascals from justice. He was perfectly unscrupulous in his means, and he GERALD riTZGEUALD ljj() took that view of his profession which makes it ineumbent upon an attorney to "udertake anything that is brought to 'hi„, and to contest for any villany that he m^y fiud profitable ! In the present ease, for .nstance, he had just given the finishing touch to his labours by packing off to Am...:ca a most important witness against no L,sle, and hy seeing safe on board a Boulogne boat the very man upon whose appearance the whole case turned ! He went to communicate these happy t.dmgs to Sir Koger; but the baronet, although he supphed the little man with "'oney, kept him at a .listance, listene He knew Ws well enough, and understood he po Lisle h„l h • ""''"""" "S^"^^' I**" had „o facts to go up„„, he „,, •^ position to hrinrr i^U ^'^^1} 111 / "to bring the suspected circus, stances before the iurv rr • " ^"^""'- eounsel, however to •' ' '"'''"''' '''' , iiowever, to insinuate all he co„ hi ™c.,.„teend,topressf„.are.„ar""'' My dear sir," said the counsel, " that depends upon the to„,per of the Uno^mon S-jeant. The ease is an,bod,s T" «dewdl, no doubt, „,ake a great stroke f.r he mnnmg nazard. As I have intimated •t aU depends upon the temper of the n common Serjeant !" "" On that particular day the brow of jus. t.ee„asWed,and the eje of justice" I I !| 192 GERALD F1TZ(JKUALD. which at the sessions is not so blind but that it uses an cyc-gkss — scowled upon the body of the court, and looked anything but clement upon the box of barristers. The box of barristers — none are genuine unless wigged and gowned— contained, with other less learned and less employed men, two shining lights of the criminal bar,— Mr. Barry and Mr. Valentine. Mr. A'alentine, in De Lisle's case, was for the prosecution ; Mr. Barry for the defence; and perhaps, if there was a pin to choose between them, the palm should have been given to the latter. But these two learned gentlemen were the especial terror of the representa- tive of justice— the Uncommon Serjeant alluded to — who sat beneath the canopy and held the scales. They had often done him serious indignity, and cracked bad jokes, and made poor puns, in his presence ; indeed, indulged themselves in any way that might make the court giggle and the Un- common Serjeant wince. They sneered at two (JERALD FITZOEHALD.' 193 his la«-, and ridiculed l.is reception of fact • '■ey -.kcd to find themselves at issue with '""■• ""'' *» """J in the next day's paper an account of their little frolics-always hankfuUy received and made the n.ost of % the glad reporter-headed, "Strange hcene at the Session., I" ; u- ■ oessionsi —■„ „.i„c], they figured as might two clever do^a that had worried a badger I Kut upon the present occasion, the learned gen.le,„an for the prosecution rose with less confidence than usual " Your worship will see," he said, after a shght prelude, " that we are in a veiy peculiar dilemma." ^ " Dilemma, Mr. Valenh'np f" i • , ., .. ' ''aientme! exclaimed the Uncommon Serjeant, - dilemma I Nice case, indeed ! Here, Mr. So-and-So, have you the depositions ? -are the witnesses eady? WeH, this ^. a case ! Who's that laughing. ? Nobody, of course I" "I should think, your worship, it,..., be somebody, suggested Mr. Barry. VOL. ir. ■ill m 194 GieHALD FITZGERALD. I "Just 80, Mr. Barry — just so. But how close this court is I— like an oven I If those windows are not opened, I shall leave it ! Can't open them ? Here crier ; take the clerk's ruler I— smash 'em~smash 'em, sir ! Well, Mr. Valentine, ?vill you go on with your case 1" " If your worship will permit me, I will explain," replied Mr. Valentine. " But really, with your worship's usual impe- tuosity " " Impetuosity, Mr. Valentine !— who's impetuous?— justice is always deUberate! Let us have no more irielevant remarks, but proceed with your case. This is a very simple matter: one Augustas De Lisle, charged with entering a dwelling house " ''No, your worship," said Mr. Barry, rising for the first time, " not Augustus, but Au(/uste-A-u-g-u-s-t-e i not charged with entering a dwelling-house, but with something else that I must leave my learned fiiend to prove. I will merely say that my \ OEBALO FlTZOEIUtD. I93 Client is a man of honour, a French gen- tleman of high lineage and iUustrions de- went ; a gentleman whose fathers may have crossed swords with our own at Agincourt orCressyl-and that he is NOT-I repeat he IS NOT-charged with anything of a felo- nious nature !" " ?«^n^it me," said Mr. Valentine, " as my learned friend has thought fit to t i you what his client is not charged with to set you right upon the point. The prisoner at the bar is " " Set me right, Mr. Valentine I-set me right l-are you aware that justice can never be set right? Where are the depositions ? These them, eh ? Now, the next time I have such stuff as this sent to me, it shall be returned-there isn't a line of it legible I Well, come, -where are the witnesses? And stay, which of you, gentlemen of the jury, drar,k the bottled beer that was smu»-. gled into the retiring-room? Prisoner stand down a moment; and here, potboy' !.; I I suggested Blanche, " even at 4Ji»' 204 GERALD FITZGERALD. De Lisle shook his head. « I have been too long," he said, " your brother's guest- a mere visit has come to be a residence I took my leave of Maldon when I came to London." " But circumstances have changed," said Blanche, - When you came to London you were well , now you are " Sir Roger entered, and Blanche turned to him ; " I have been trying," she said, " to persuade our invalid to go down to Maldon." " Are you," asked the baronet, looking- askance at De Lisle-" are you an invalid ?" "What do you think? -Look fairly at me !" was the reply. But the baronet was not in the humour for close scrutiny ; and the word invalid affrighted him. An invalid was-in his philosophy-a privileged nuisance, indulged and studied beyond reason and propriety He had no patience with the thing; and he was not going to admit that his friend GERALD FITZGElvALD. ! been fuest ; ;e. I ne to ' said nyou irned "to Ion." Ung id?" y at lOur alid his jed >ty. md nd 205 »vas an invalid, and so give him a right to indulgences that were denied to healthy men. Besides, the mere association with an invalid was a terror ! -To have to break- fast with a man who had just put his lips to a medicine bottle, who was perfumed with quinine or redolent of bark; who might be taken with a head-ache or a faint- ness or a feeble fit of some kind at aivy hour— even the dinner hour—in the day,— was not to be contemplated calmly. At any sacrifice, he must get rid of De Lisle till he was well. " What Blanche says is right enough ; there's the Priory, if you are ill. I think you'd better go down at once." " And you- ?" " Stay here." " And Marie ?" There wa^ a dead silence. What was to be done with Marie?— was she to go to Maldon, too? " Slaves to oropriety as we are," said W\ 20G GERALD FITZGERALD. Oe Li^, "there seems to bo but one course : .Marfo tiinst go with me, or I n. ist stay here!" " Go where?" askcl Mario, entering at the moment. " To Maldon," said the brother. "No, surely not?" was the reply. -London 18 just becoming pleasant ; indeed, so pleasant that I shall stay in it !" " Shall !" exclaimed De Lisle. Marie smiled, made son.e few grimaces shr. Tged her shoulders, and otherwise dij arrnnged her natural and artificial tran. quility. The result was that a letter- evidently from an Enghsh hand, and sus- piciously like a »/.rW^_dropped from her bosom and fell on the ground f All eyes were tunied upon it during the short time It remained visible; and when it was hastily picked up and restored to its hiding, place, the annoyance, the confusion, and the deep blush that started to the cheek of one ist at on mt 38, is- a- s- n I] ■t s GERALD FITZGERALD. 307 Marie, were no less attractive matters for curiosity ! De Lisle, how< ver, was wise enough, and lilanche -anurous enough, to say nothing • and the buronc t was not moved to put im- pertm.at questions. Such questions were at his tongue's end ; but there pride kept them halting ; and his only resource was to imagine aU kinds of improper things. Ihe letter might be from an admirer-even from Lord Dalton ; for that forward young man had turned his opera-glass upon Marie tlie other night during the last scene of ^orma, and she had turned her opera- glass upon him ; and then they had both nodded; and immediately upon the fall of the curtain, Lord Dalton's head, nodding again, and connected in some way with a noise that sounded marvellously like " How de do -" made Its appearance in a comer of the bayonet's box I It was at once decided by Sir Roger-with what truth there is yet 208 GERALD FITZGERALD. no saying^that the dropped letter was from J-iord Daltoii I Had Marie kno™ how the little mishap affected the baronet, she would have seen reason to rejoice at rather than regret it His was that kind of passion which rivaln' stimulates more surely than possession After a complete conquest, the man would ay down his arms, and think, with others, that the pleasure was in the chase, and in the chase only, But while the conquest wa. doubtful, or seemed likely to fall to a rival, he would bum with the ambition of achievement ! That was his case now ■ the letter had made him eager again. " You stay with us, then ?" he said, look- ing at Marie. " Yes," was the reply. "And you, Blanche?" "Of course Blanche stays!" exclaimed Mane. " Her presence could alone warrant my brother's absence. I imagine, from what you say, that he is going to be absent." ram GERALD PITZQEiULD. 209 The conversation then dropped for a bme, and left each to his or her thoughts. Those of the baronet were somewhat un- pleasant, while those of Marie made her more and more buoyant every hour. De ,'' was wondering what excuse he could maie to have Blanche's company during his refarement at Maldon, and Blanche was thinking ,t somewhat selfish of Marie to let nun go there alone. , " We'll go," said Marie, presently start- mgup, " we'll go and see the Black Prince of whom all the world is talking. -Jung iiahadoor, they call him." "Ican't go," said De Lisle " I don't care to go," saia Blanche. "Then," exclaimed the Baronet, looking at Mane, " we go alone, eh ?" "Oh,certai„ly,"„as the reply; and the lady went to her dressing-room. This Black Prince was the sight of the season, and the topic at all tables. He was reputed to be so handsome, ,o have such 210 f I ! ■ GERALD FITZGERALD. W such teeth, such hair, such simple and wmnmg ways , When he went to the g'ris of h.s own count.7_we«, so piquant and natural, He wanted the /.S d«'.seuse to come to hin, in her charmin. st^ costume; and he was, no doubt, wiU under s™„ circumstances. The dowager z : t*^ ™' "'••"''''-'» *•>« bL" IMe'l . T"^"- "f ^™PHc% ! Other T. '"^" '" '='""^*'"- -«"> equally Pl«-.ng. Driving though the park one day,hemetaIady-m„„eonspicuo„sf her freedom of manner than for her g„„d name-who smiled at him, showed him her wh.^ teeth and ultimately stepped into ]J ^a"- age. J„st as the dowage,^ were de- ghted with his simplicity in the matter of he fanseuse, was he delighted with this lady ss,mphcity in the way of accepting hi, pie and to the nonial, ulated, tiautch iquant emiere rming' , will* ballet agers Black )ther ually one > for ?ood her > his de- rof this his GERALD FITZGERALD. 21 J favours ! No doubt, when he reaxjhed home Hke other great travellers, he wrote a book,' m which he celebrated this peculiarity of the English ladies, and so pictured to his countrymen a more than Mahommedan paradise of houris in a remote comer of Europe I It was this highly interesting Asiatic that the baronet and Marie went to see; and it happened that, on the day in question, the Pnnce was at the house of no less a per- sonage than a cabinet minister. Wherever he went, he had to run the gauntlet of a levee, and was sure to be hampered by a shoal of foUowers. Not even the cabinet mmister could protect him from this; and therefore the noble lord's reception-room was crowded. Sir Eoger Maldon was content with what- ever gratification might be derived from a distant view of his highness ; and even of this gratification he soon tired. So he was just about to disappoint Marie by carrying y t 212 n 4 f; GERALD FITZGERALD. In i pI r ' ' """^ ''"'" t''^ Black nnee, when who should come up but Lord e::r'? ''''"'■"''■•' '"P"''-'-'' care. Jess as ever! ''Ah ! how de do ?■' said his lordship ™.iing significantly at Marie. "Qh b^- the bye Maldon, you forgot to tell „,e' th name „f ,,,, hotel, and the />o,« ,,^3 „o- thmg at all about you. Is it Long's or you don t hire a town house !_I do. Been mtroduced to the Prince, niam'selle? You ta™t Oh, come along then!" And before the basnet could master his tempe. sufficently to remonstrate, M„rie-„i,hW enough, as it sce,ned-was taken from hi: arm and carried away by Lord Dalton to go through the ceremonies of introduction. Had my no(«, of course ?" said the youngWd in an undertone, as they ap! preached the Presence do^t'^^ilk:::.!'^ "^"'•^•^ "•""-^-.i >j.i 3 Black 'ut Lord nd care- )rdship, 3h, by iie the lys no- ig's, or i^onder Been You And empeE I'illinsr tn his on to ction. I the ' ap. OERALD FirZGEIlALO. 213 Introduce us — ," eontinued his lordshi. ' mutterino- n namo +1. * . ^"'"^"ip, "o a name that was in everybody's ^' saw the minister. " Your Highness, my Lord Dalton, and - The host paused and looked inqniH,,,.],- at his lordship. l"""ioJ.\ " Oh,-say Lady Dalton- anything '11 do - iou don't mind, do you, Mam'selle?" . Manes reply was inaudible ; but uncon -ousiy, perhaps, her face „or a U,:; expression of triumph ^ milt'~'^' Dalton," continued the his''tl!th""! f ™" '"""''' ™"''"'' ^'^"-•i i hen the whole suite showed their teeth dat last their mahogany faces were t 1: bed with nuiscular contortions meant to be '' •'"^f. '-aid something i„ broken Knglish 2U GERALD FITZGERALD. f that made his host laugh, and then looked curiously at Marie. " What is it?" said Lord Dalton, laugh- ing too. " Oh !" exclaimed the minister, and he whif 'V:-ed to his lordship. " What is the matter?" asked a dowager, who was eyeing the Prince with consider- able satisfaction. The minister condescended to whisper to this old lady : her diamonds demanded it. " Oh, I am shocked !" she exclaimed. " But his highness is so natural !-he has such simple ways ! Now, in any one else it would seem quite improper ; but with his Highness ■ " When Lord Dalton and Marie turned to the spot where they had left the baronet, they found him in cold conversation with a gentleman whose face, unknown to the young lord, was famihar enough to his com- panion. This familiarity was, however, the cause of very great agitation on the lady's GEHALD PITZGEIULD. 215 P«rt; SO great, that quite unconsciously she squeezed Lord Dalton's arm and shud! d-d .' Yet, to ordinary observers, there was noth.ng to be alarmed at; on the CO™ traiy. Count Kreutzer's appearance was fas- cmatxng to most people, and his face ex- pressed httle but soft sensibility and perhaps rather fennnxne voluptuousness. knew „7r™""^ *" "'^ '''"'"'' -''''* •>« knew of the escape from the quiet house i„ bt. Jamess and mourning over the ill luck of De Lisle. When he saw Marie, h.. I^wed profoundly, and assumed an expres- trsef ' "' '"'" "''"^ '" "^^ ^""''^ "f " We have not met," he said Baden I" ' '' No !" replied Marie, still trembUng. And then you avoided me !" " Yes !" It was weU th„c Lord Dalton had Marie's arm, and was returning, with interest, the since 216 GERALD FITZGERALD. pressure it so freely put upon his own ; otherwise, to judge from the lady's tone, and the expression of her face, she might have fallen to che ground as Count Kreutzer talked to her. As it was, Marie kept lean- ing, and Lord Dalton kept squeezing, till the gentleman was filled with the most supreme satisfaction, and the Iddy was j ust on the borders of hysterics. " I am going," continued the Count — after Lord Dalton had said " Maldon, who's your friend?— introduce me !" and that ceremony had been performed with an ill grace by the baronet,—" I am going to Geneva to-morrow— have you any commis- sions for me ? My business will take me almost to your house. What can I do for you ?" Marie, by a great effort, brought a smile to her face, and uttered inaudible thanks. " Did I ever tell you," the Count con- tinued, in so low a tone as to make Lord GERALD FITZGERALD. 217 Mlon Hsten, - that I had a brother^a wild womanly young fellow, all heart and little brains, who disappeared from Paris mysteriously ?" '' Once," said Marie, " I think you did." " Well, IVe news of him ; he's some- where in the neighbourhood of Geneva • and to-morrow I start to see if I can restore him to his family.'* Marie could bear no more. "This room " she said, " is insupportable I Let us -^-o to the carriage. Lord Dalton, au re^voir ! Count, excuse me." and she turned to the baronet for his arm. Suddenly, however, she paused, and dis- engaging herself from her companion, went back to Count Kreutzer. "You start, I think, to-morrow ?" she said. " To-morrow." " Ah ! that will be too soon for my com- mands, if I have any. Give me another VOL. IL I 218 GERALD FITZGERALD. day— say the day after to-morrow -and you shall hear from me I" " How can I refuse ?" " The day after to-morrow, then ?" " Yes." But when Marie returned, where was the baronet ? Il-i 'I i' id you as the CHAPTER XV. Sir Roger Maldon and Marie had a gloomy ride to the hotel, for scarcely a v/ord passed between them-they were so absorb- mgly occupied with thought. Sir Roger's temper wiU be at once comprehended when It IS known that he was induced by it to forget a most stringent rule of etiquette and to leave Marie to find her way to tlio carnage as she might! Of course Lord Dalton was at hand to save her delicacy • and with him she left the reception-room ' descended the stairs, sought the truant, and found him just stepping into the brougham 220 GERALD FITZGERALD. Stun^r and tantalised as the baronet was by the conduct of Lord Dalton, he was much more suspicious of the strange in- fluence exercised upon Mario by Count Kroutzer. In the Count there lurked a peculiar fascination that, greatly to Sir Roger's disgust, he had observed in one or two cases to be powerful with women of the world V. ho were deaf to the insinuations of bolder, bigger, and more imposing admirers. They seemed to soften and submit in his presence, and to lose that nice conduct of the eye which betokens ease or indifference. But with Mane, the Count's influence was so great as to fright the colour from her c'heeks, the black brilliancy from her eyes, and, indeed, to rob her whole aspect of iti most distinguishing characteristics! The baronet was good at building stories upon slight foundation, and he made out the story of Count Kreutzer s connection with IMarie to be this .-The Count Mas an eariv lover of her's, and had won her heart ; bu^ GERALD FIT201.IIAI.D. 221 onet was ho was ingc in- Count urked a to Sir 1 one or I of the ;ions of Imirers. t in Ills luct of ference. ce was ►m her T eyes, of its The > upon it the I with I carlv * something intorveno.l to fulfil the old pro- verb, and so the match was broken off. They loved each other still, and when they met, the old sentiment was revived in them. Shortly related, this was what Sir Roger set down for the Count and Marie. De Lisle and Blanche were at chess when the two malcontents returned. " Echec r exclaimed the latter with great animation,—" Ah 1 1 have conquered ! —I have won you I— you are mine I" Sir Roger did not see the chess-board, so he looked hard at his sister. But upon nearer approach he observed De Lisle sweep the queen from the table, and he then un- derstood that those ecstatic words of tri- umph were addressed to a mere piece of carved ivory ! " You have seen his highness, then ?" said the victor. « We have been reading of him in your absence. He seems to be a fine fellow, handy enough with his sword. This paper tells us that he cut his way to 5 I' 222 GERALD FITZGERALD. the throne by making a hecatomb of hi. relations !" " A man of great resolution, I believe " returned the baronet, coldly. Marie sat down by her brother and began to talk seriously. __ " The day after to-morrow," she said, Count Kreutzer leaves London." " ^^^ Soes," asked Do Lisle, « where ?" " Where-as he thinks-he can do us a ^emee. He ha* offered to execute any commissions we may intrust him with 1" " Indeed !" "Yes." " Very kind, very thoughtful, of him, to be sure. But ah! how heavily this arm hangs! Marie, follow me; I shaU want your assistance." And the brother and sister left the room. They had not been gone long when letters came-one for the baronet, one for Blanche. Ihey were both from Maldon, and the latter ran thus : of his lelieve," i began e said, here ?" ) us a ie any r GERALD FITZGERALD. 223 ra, to arm want and tters iche. liter u (( u (( (< il li II (( u -«•• ^y^Ws conduct has „ "™" ^""^y 'o™™' of the domestics.-! blow hat had yet fallen upon the baronet -a blow that stunned, bewildered, and for a moment, quite unnerved him and'*c^'i" '" r'' '"^"^ ■" «'-«he. Mad! Why, what does this mean? ill GERALD FITZGERALD. 225 Rog"! ers Maldon constant "e— -has ler old e, her eral of fflicted lagine, The s, and t has 3S.-I ACOB iviest 'onet , for 2he, md, n? Was the Priory ever a madhouse before, as this seems to intimate? Was this housekeeper ever privileged to talk and tattle and dictate such letters as these? Blanche, you have been at home and can answer me. What does the doctor mean by ' her ladyship's old malady ?' " The baronet's manner was so very unlikt* grief for the sufferer, and so very Hke grief for himself, that Blanche was in no humour to be merciful with him : " He means, I believe, just what he writes," she said, " and the only way for us to meet such a calamity is to do all we cai; to lessen it." This style of reply calmed Sir Roger a little. " What is to be done ?" he said, pre- sently. " I look to you for advice now ; for I have the worst judgment, the worst tem- per in the world, for illness. I suppose one to send L 2 of the first things to be done is 226 GERALD FITZGER.iLD. down the best medical assistance to be had in London." " And the next?" asked Blanche. " For you to go down to the Priory. As for me, you know that I could be of no pos- sible use there !" Marie's return interrupted the conversa- tion, and her quick intelligence divined that something had gone wrong. " I intrude ?" she said. " No," replied the baronet, making great efforts to appear at his ease. " Has your brother determined to leave us in the morn- ing ?" " I beUeve so," returned Marie. " Then you will have a companion on your journey, Blanche I" "Journey!" exclaimed Marie, "what journey? Surely you are not going to leave us? How can I, with my brother absent, stay here if you do ?" " Oh," said the baronet, making a me- lancholy effort to be gay, " we shall find GERALD FITZGERALD. 22 means. There are rooms enough in this hotel for you and me, and Blanche shall send down one of the maids from Maldon." "Ah!" returned Marie, pretending to be put out, " it's a plot, a conspiracy, to inconvenience me ! I suppose you're all tired of London, and want to drive me from it. But I shall stay here somehow, and accept an offer I have had from Lord Dalton. He wants to introduce me to his sister !" De Lisle, was delighted when he found that all things turned out as he wished, and, without any questions, he prepared, with great alacrity, to accompany Blanche. Early the next morning he was equipped— medicine chest and all -for starting ; and when comfortably seated in the railway car- riage, he turned to his sombre companion, and said : " My good angel has surely helped me to this! Expecting a dull, tedious journey, and a month, perhaps, passed in solitude I! Ill 22S GERALD FITZGERALD. the journey has been made a delight, and as to the solitude " The train met with a slight obstruction at that moment; the carriage jumped vio- lently, and De Lisle was flung into Blanche's arms ! Fearful screams were heard from the terr-.d passengers, and after much creaking and grinding of wheels, the train came to a standstill. The guard rushed past the carriages, calming their afi'righted occupants with his best ability, and, after a time, when the women were almost scared out of their wits, and the men exasperated by detention, those who wished it were re- leased, and the cause of the accident was explamed. A goods train, attached to an invalid engine, had come to a dead stand- still at an incline, and the express had run into it and crumpled up half a-dozen of its hinder carriages. The unfortunate driver of the express was lying a dead man on the slope of the embankment, and the stoker, in a condition scarcely better, was keeping GERALD FITZGERALD. 229 dismal company with him ! Of the pas sengers, some twenty or so were bruised and bleeding; and the rest thanking Provi- dence for an escape ! But the wondrous wires were set to work ; a new driver and fireman came down ; and in half-an-hour the express, with a diminished cargo, was makmg its way towards Maldon. De Lisle was not much hurt, and Blanche was merely alarmed. But the French gen- tleman's chain of ideas was fractured, and he uttered no more gallantries. Silent, pale, and agitated, they reached the Priory,' and their appearance gave the servants good cause for wonder. From the housekeeper to the scullery-maid, from the butler to the bootboy, the domestics were all more or less busy with doubt, suspicion and conjecture. At first, they expressed considerable objec- tion to their young lady being married-as one of them would have it -to a French- man ! But before the day was over they began to hope that it was all for the best .. I If 230 GERALD FITZGERALD. -".d that Dc Lisle would n,ake Blanche a good husband ! The housekeeper, however, deternuned to be convinced, and therefore, towards the evening, she ve,^ pointedly ad- dressed her young lady as " Jliss." The reception this style of address met with seemed to settle the matter, and therefore the woman's heart was at rest, and the servants wer^ enabled to breathe freely The state of things at the Priory, as laid by the housekeeper offieially before Blanche, took the following form ;_ Lady Maldon is altogether a changed woman. No longer the same quiet and un- impassioned nonentity as of old, she has taken to habits of violence and strange im- proprieties of language. I„ three weeks she has discharged as many waiting-maids, and the last one-her ladyship's own -while arranging her ladyship's head-dress, received a slap on the face with a hair-brush, and res nting the little eccentricity by a word,' the hair-brush was thrown at her ! About lanche a lowever, lerefore, edly ad- " The it with lerefore k1 the ly.^ as Jaid anche, anged id un- 5 has ^e im- veeks laids, while sived and, 'ord, bout GERALD FITZGERALD. 231 this matter, the housekeeper produces two letters from a London lawyer. The coach- man has suffered severely, because he de- clined to drive her ladyship " right into her dressing-room,"~his wig be ng torn from his head and flung to her ladyship's Blenheim spaniel. He also has been discharged, and the wig has already been impounded as the foundation of an action for damages. Letters are produced in evidence of this. The gardener has been called to the dinner- table, and had the tomato-sauce flung in his face for tasting " too green." His action has not been commenced because he declined to take her ladyship's notice to leave the pre- mises. As to the cook, the trials that poor woman has suffered, will hardly bear de- scription. The most severe of these hap- pened when Lady Maldon went into the kitchen, tucked up her gown, stopped the roastirtg-jack, and having burnt a hole in the bottom of the best stewpan, sent all the others flying about ! The cook's damages J!|« 232 GRRALO FITZGliRALD. being only those of sentiment, she has hesi- tated before consulting her sohcitor. The most terrible event of all, however, hap- pened within the housemaid's jurisdiction. Her ladyship having conceived a sudden desire to warm the bed herself, opened the pan, turned out the coals, burnt down the bed furniture, and nearly set the house on fire! This was the climax that nerved the housekeeper to nerve the doctor to write to Sir Roger Maldon ! In the picture gallery Lady Maldon has done no more harm than could be brought about by disarrangement-the pictures hav- ing no power for provocation, and discreetly decUning to answer her ladyship's florid addresses. One of the heir-looms, however —less favoured than its fellows, and won- drously like Richard xMaldon-has suffered deposition, and others have had their faces turned to the wall for imaginary bad be- haviour ! It has been lier ladyship's pleasure now OBRALD FITZGERALD. 233 lOSI- and then to fancy herself a variety of his- torical characters— queens, of course— and always assisting at great occasions. Once she was Lady Jane Grey, declining and afterwards accepting the crown ; at another time, Queen Mary, signing quires of death warrants ; and at another -it happened to be that of Lord Dalton's inquisitive visit- she was Queen Elizabeth, receiving the Earl of Essex. Lord Dalton was the unhappy Eari, and scarcely understood his part. Her ladyship sat in a high-backed chair, and held out her hand for the Eari to kiss. He was at fault; instead of kissing her hand, he shook it heartily, and she gave him a vigorous box on the ear ! Then she rose, waved her hand, felt for an imaginary train, and swept haughtily from the apartment. " Damn strange old woman 1" said his lordship, when he recovered himself, " doosed funny, though !" And he left the' Priory. All these things Blanche heard in silence 234 GERALD FITZGEaALD. and sorrow , but her sorrow wa, greater when she went to her mother. _ '• Ah !" exclaimed the unhappy woman. lou had my letter, Blanche I Oh I'm so glad you've come down to settle these dis- graceful servants I I've been treated shame- My: look at my hair; look at my hand, ken^befs I_theyVe been torn almost to rags I I had a terrible row yesterday, but things are quiet to-day, because I'm gome rri'',,^'"'^ Maldonl-make way for Lady Maldon - Have you been to court «nce you ve been away, Blanche ? Bye-the- bye-how is the Chevalier? Ah ! there's the carnage ! Good-bye, Blanche ; gooi- And this was the greeting (ihat Blanche received from her mother I The next morning, she sat down to write a letter; for that ve-y day she had promised to meet Richard in London. He was to tell her how the business of the novel went on, and she was to hear the history-so far GERALD FITZGEIULD. 235 as it was known~of Rosa. While Blanche was sealing this letter, Do Lisle entered. ;' I have not seen Lady Maldon," he said. " May I pay my respects to her ?" , " She keeps her room," replied Blanche. To-morrow, perhaps." And the letter was sealed. De Lisle, too, had a letter in his hand which, as he said, he was just going-^ merely for the sake of the exercise-to post. The thought struck him that he might post Blanche's letter with it Without the least suspicion, she gave him the letter. He was surprised when he saw Its address, for he made a shrewd guess that none but a lover would be written to so hastily. But he walked away with it, and It then occurred to him that t lie letter might refer to something which would interfere with the business he sketched out for him- self. When he had left the Prior, some distance behind him, he broke the seal opened the letter, and read. Just ai GERALD FITZGERALD, he expected : Blanche urged her brother to come down to the Priory immediately I ' From their lofty points of observation, the crows watched De Lisle's progress. Sud- denly a whole family of them flew after him Deceived again ! Those white specks which the French gentleman tore up and scattered about were mere paper! And this time, with a fore-waming of the past, the birds decUned to afflict themselves with indices, tion. ^ rother, telyl nation, Sud- rhim. which ;tered time, birds iiges- CHAPTEK XVI. The publisher of celebrity whom Richard had selected to introduce the novel to the world, had given the work his consideration, and the result was polite but not favourable.' On a certain day-lower down in the almanac than the author expected- he received a parcel and a letter. The loqua- cious waiter brought them to him, and hung about the table as though he had some personal interest in their contents : " For you, sir; no answer, sir." ^ Richard took the favours gloomily, and with heartbreaking suspicions. The letter ■ !■: t 238 GERALD PIWOERALD. a (( was so barren of promise, and the parcel so like the El Dorado ! His hand trembled as he opened the missive, and his heart ached grievously as he read the following : - Sir,— I am desired by Mr. to thank " you for the favour you have done him in " submitting the accompanying M. S, and to '' say that he regrets being compelled to decline the publication." No wonder that the waiter stared at Richard in sheer astonishment, and inwardly muttered "Brandy, sir?"-for the dis. appomted author was taken with a fit very like faintness, and his face-never ruddy -grew pale and painful to look at I No wonder, either, that the waiter bethought him of an anecdote bearing, as he imagined upon the case : ' "Bad news, sir? Ah ! there's a good deal of bad news in the world ! / recoUect a gent, dined here every day, sir, once had a letter just as you might now. He lookeme ,n dmngso, and he found the magnate -as he always was upon first appUcation- engaged. After a time, the supposed en- gagement came to an end, and the sharp note of an alarum informed one of the clerks that Eichard could have his audience. u„ ^:^ ,"J" '"' ^'- ^^P-> '-"^-g up bu ^.ghtly, when Eichard entered What can I do for you ?" The manuscript author gave a hasty ex- planation of his business -B^^wCr''"^"''''"'^^'--^^"^- ORKALD FITZGEIIALD. 247 " Bv me " " Yes, sir ; 1 suppose it's by you, as you tell me you're the author of it I But, then, who are you? What have you written be- fore? Havoyou written anything?" - "Written, but not published," said Richard, diffidently. " Then, sir," replied the magnate, "you've not written a Une I and why not be straight- forward ?- why not say so ? In the literary world, sir, nothing's written till its printed !'' " Dear me !" returned Richard, stung a little, " I thought it was just the reverse, and that nothing was printed tiU it was written !" " Smart ! young gentleman, — smart !" said Mr. Tympan, « but it won't do I A man may go on writing and writing tiU he writes his head off; but till somebody goes on printing for him that man has written nothing !" Mr. Tympan was always well satisfied ! 348 OmiALD mzuEHAW. w.th himself wlu-n he had uttered a para- dox; ,t made him lively and free of speech. Jou^cH,. that room?" ho said, pointing toadullchamberthat Richard had takct for the .oal-cellar. " Thafs „,y new l"n,ber-roo„, ! u hasn't been built many months, and yet look how full it is I All those bundles are manuscripts I Nothing surpasses the industry of authors-manu senpt authors, I mean. The others are the laziest vagabonds alive I" _ Mr. Tympan said this to most of the Uterary novices who came to him : it was his way of encouraging them; besides, it was h,s custom to look upon litem:y people as creatures to be scorned if obscure, and abused if famous. " However." he continued, " you may leave your manuscript if you like. We'll see what it's made of. Good dayl" And he touched the alarum. Richard-not much buoyed up by Mr. lympan s reception- retmned to the hotel ; GERALD PlTiGERALb. 24D and, as it was the day ai)pointC(l for Blanche's coming, hecamo once more a tenant of the dreary and d.irkly-furnished sitting-room. The thought of his sister's kindly presence cheered him a little, and made him acknowledge that though ^ihc world was full of annoyances, it w? ; not without its consolations. He sat dow i illy, and waited for her arrival ; and when 'he appointed hour chimed forth from a neigh- bouring clock, he listened eagerly for her footfall on the stairs. But half-an-hour passed, and yet no Blanche; half-an-hour more, and still Richard was alone I He errew despondent then, and recollected how punctual she used to be. What detained her now V Ah ! there was a footfall on the stairs !-a light, lady's footfaU. Blanche at last I He ran to the door, flung it open hastily, thrust fortii his hand,— when lo ! a cold clammy substance met and yielded in his grasp! He turned back, cursed his foolish impatience, and— wiped his hands. M 2 m m 250 GERALD FITZGERALD. For, in the heat of the moment, he had seized the fist of the housemaid, and scjueezed a wet flannel and a scrubbing, brush I This mishap made his temper worse and worse. He flung himself into a chair, bit his lips till the blood almost started from them, and surrendered his reason to unkind suspicions of his sister. She had clearly broken faith with him, and at a moment, toe, when her consolations were more need- ful than ever. Apart from his literaxj- dis. appointments, he had an anxiety preying at his heart— an anxiety that waits upon the prospect of want! A man cannot starve, even though he be, or aspire to be, an author! He must eat, drink, and walk about in the sight of his fellow men as though he belonged to civilization. He is not blessed with immunity from vulgar de- sires and necessities. What, then, was Bichard to do, when, with the end of his means approaching, his wits as ret showed GERALD FITZGERALD. 251 no sign of helping him? Suppose Mr. Tympan should be dilatory, and not pay for the novel immediately he accepted it ! —suppose he should decline it altogether ! The last notion the author discarded as needlessly agonising and improbable, and defined his period of possible starvation to be that which would elapse between the disbursement of his last shilling and his receipt of a substantial cheque from Mr. Tympan ! The time sped away, and still Blanche came not ; but, m place of her, there ap- peared every half-hour or so a satellite of the head waiter's, who went through a pan- tomimic performance intended to remind Richard of his responsibilities as an eating and drinking Englishman. This perfor- mance had always a certain tu-esome same- ness ; but the last time it was gone through, the waiter, after dusting the table, and fanning the sideboard, and poking the fire, and picking up several small scraps of paper »1 ^ *;: 252 GERALD FITZGERALD. that Richard had scattered about in his nervousness, hghted the wax candles, and said— " Get you anything, sir ?" " Nothing I" was the gloomy reply. "It's eight o'clock, sir I" " Pray leave the room, will you !" ex claimed Richard, fiercely. " Yes, sir; certainly, sir," said the waiter, and he departed. The wax candles burnt slowly but cer- tainly, and Richard marked and measured the time by their assistance. There were other evidences, too, that the evening waned apaxie : the beU of a neighbouring prison tolled its dull summons to rest ; the change-ringers of a neighbouring church did violence to the ears of a whole parish. Then a tired organ-grinder came and wound up his day's business by a complete perfor- mance of every tune on his barrel, and an encore. As a last infliction, a comet player blew defiance from the public-house oppo- ( GERALD FITZGEKALD. 253 Site. But while he ivas-sympathetically enough - playing <. xhe Heart B wed Uown," Eichard heard another footfaU on the stairs I He hastened to the door opened it, and there stood the waiter,' balancing himself on his toes "Dinner, sir?" said the man. putting his head into the room. Eichard made no reply, but let the door slip from his hand; and as it closed sharply mth a spnng the waiter wen. away with red spots dripping from his nose, and fall- ing on his shirt-front A very short time elapsed after this little mishap before Richard heard more footsteps and saw the door pushed back cautiously' Then appeared the head of the hotel pro pnetor, then the torso of the waiter, and just in the rear the dirty cap of the house- maid. " '''^ niy opinion," said the latter, " that he's mad! He squeezed every drop of «ater out of my flannel !" li 254 GERALD FITZGERALD. " I'm sure I've lost half-a-pint of blood from my nose 1" exclaimed the waiter. " WeU, well, we'll see," said the pro- prietor ; and advancing cautiously upon Richard, he began a parley : " You've acted improper to this young woman— in my service sir !- you've not acted like a gentleman, sir." "No! that he hasn't I'* echoed the housemaid. " And you've struck this young man- also in my service, sir I" " Yes," said the waiter, applying a nap- kin to his nose, " attackted me most cowardly !" " Now, such goins on I don't allow in my house. I've come to tell ^ou so, and to say that you're no gentleman, sir, and that the sooner you pay your bill and go, the better !" Having safely delivered himself thus far, and finding Richard a harmless creature, not afflicted, as he had at first imagined, with fine phrenzy or hydrophobia, the hotel GERALD FITZGERALD. 255 proprietor made a further advance, waved his hand imperiously when Richard volun- teered an explanation, and continued his remarks : "No, sir; don't say a word to me. Whatever you've got to say, say to the young man you've injured, and the young woman you've insulted. The young man will, if he takes my advice, get a warrant against you, and as to the young woman Ah I that's right, John ! Now, sir, here's your bill ! Pay it, and leave my premises !" The landlord presented the bill, as he might have presented a pistol; and to Richard it was almost as terrible an instru- ment ! And how could he explain away the apparent ferocity of his conduct?— -To say that he mistook the housemaid for his sister and let the door fly in the face of the waiter because that face disappointed him ; to ex- plain that he was neither mad nor vicious, but that he felt both the one and the other • would scarcely mend the case. How could f 206 GEB/LD PITZGEUALD. these people understmd his hopes, his agitations, and disappointments .: Blanche, Blanche, all this was your doing I In his extremity, Richard fell back in his cTiair, and but for those three p.irs of hostile eyes staring at him, he might have wept bitterly I As it was, after a time, he tried the e^jct of explanation : " Will you listen t . me^ sir ? Will you not take my word that -wh^i has happened was purely the result of yciideat?" " That's my bill I" said the landlord presentmg the document again at Richard' '■ Pay my bill, avid then we'll see what's to be tlone." Richard grew tired of this tone, so he left his chair, aad walked towards the door " Permit me," he said, " to go to my room." ^ •^ Oh certainly!" replied the landlord " But we shall follow you. What's in that oom's mine till my bill's paid ! And let ae tell you, that it's my opinion you're no 'Mil GERALD FITZGERALD. V 'bl gm^ !— you're a suspicious character ! Now, for Hi) part, I should like to know what /ou'vi^ got in your room !'* " Peace, sir I" exclaimed Richard, " and let me pass !" '' No," replied the landlord, " You don't though I—and it's no use crying 'peace' here ! ' Police' would be better. What do you say ?— suppose I cry police ?*' Richard could bear the scene no longer ; so he tried to force himself past his enemies.' But the landlord took him by the collar, the waiter caught him by the legs, and the housemaid gave the detention her moral support. Richard was a mere child in their arms ; but still he struggled, and drew his captors to the landing-place. "Fetch a pohceman 1— fetch a police- man I" cried the landlord. " Ah ! here comes some one up stairs !" " Richard I" exclaimed a hearty voice. " Gerald I" was the reply. And the new comer delivered two clever blows— one on the hrAnrJKaaL-of fryy. *V..> 1 Ji J — ,--.vivi tiic laiiuiuru j one ou m II 258 GERALD FITZGERALD. the already damaged snuffbox for the waiter; and Richard was himself again I " At least," said Gerald, ranging himself on the side of his friend, « the struggle is more equal now I" The landlord, however, declined to renew the struggle mider altered circumstences ; but went into a rambHng statement of the wrongs suffered by his servants. "And now," he asked, « do you think th^ gentleman's acted like a gentieman? All I told him was to pay his bill and go " " Give me the bill," said Gerald, " And Richard, you go and pack up. You must, of course, leave this place." Richard went sullenly to his room, and did as he was desired. When he returned he found that the artist had settled the bill' paid the waiter's damages, and indemnified the housemaid for her fancied wrongs. *'Come,-give me the portmanteau'" said Gerald-" This way !" And the two friends left the London hotel. p the nl mself rle is enew ices ; r the hink lan? And lust, and led, bill, fied i!" ;wo CHAPTER XVII. RfCHARD Maldon was one of those un- happily sensitive people who, by magnifj-ing their miseries create for themselves what might he strongly described as " a hell of their o'vn." These unfortunates are for ever putting up their backs in retaliation for fancied injuries and imaginary slights, and are thus condemned to a condition of chronic fever for which the whole materia medica has no relief. In all spheres we may find them; and whether they sigh for vacant gart»rs, or groan in spirit for vacancies of a more vu^ description, they are alj 2C0 OE ftALD FITZOERALD. broadly stamped with the - . " ^^n^uish- ing characteristics and . equal causes of annoyance to their rcpective circles To pick an example from middle life-let any one of them be miasked to this fete, to fhr^ soirc^e, or to the other dinner-party ; be forgotten when the hampers go round at Christmas ; or be left in ignorance of this birth, that dea th, or the other marriage • and lo ! the ...^h shakes, the heavens open,' and those who have provoked the storm must take heed of the consequences I As Richard left tlie hotel, this gloomy influence was heavy upon l^im. He mag. nified Blanche's supposed negligence till it took the most cruel and traitorous propor- tions, and he blindfolded himself io any light that the chances of mishap or acci- dent might throw upon her unar ountal absence. Nothing could ^shake .his belief that he was cruelly neglocte^, i^at he har! suffered a grievous wrong, and that the society his sister cultivated of late had sup- GERALD FITZOtRALD. 261 planted him in her affections! He was sure of all this; and he was suspicious of much more. He could see Blanche^gay, heartless, listening to De Lisle, and imbued with the prejudices of the baronet j he could fancy her now and then entertaining, a half pitiful, half-contemptuous thought of him- self, and quickly discarding it as a luiserpnle interruption to her pleasures I Upon this vision he brooded till it became a fixed pic- ture in his mind, till he had reasoned it out by all the rules that guide opinion ; and when he had done this— when he had built up his horro. -he covered his eyes before it and v>ept for its \istence I It was in V a tha' Gerald pleaded hanl for Blanche; in va. that he suggested every known excuse for her absence, and in- vented man. plausible stories that did credit to his c<.nstructive skill. It was all no purpose. " It's rothing, Gerald," returrcd the 262 GERALD PITZOERALD. [. miserable man, " but sheer neglect !— and the cause, the cause, is apparent enough I" " Oh, nonsense !'* replied orerald. " You put the very blackest construction upon what, after all, will, perhaps, turn out to be a mere accident ! Get rid of these absurd suspicions. Why, you may test them in a moment I— At what hotel are your friends staying ?" " Gerald ! Would you have me stoop for recognition and beg for remembrance? Would you have me whine for the very alms of affection ? Would you advise me to go where my brother is, and finding Blanche between him and his friend, pray that I might have a word-for that I feared I was forgotten?" " Pshaw !•' returned the artist, " you mouth like an actor ! Pray descend to the level of common sense and serious con. versation I" "Well, then, I wiU speak plainer, and N OERALD PrrZQERALD. 26$ give you good-or bad -grounds for my beUef. Did I ever tell you that there is a plot afloat-a design for a double link be- tween my brother and his friend ?" " No," replied Gerald, somewhat agitated. " Then perhaps you will understand niy suspicions better when I say that I am con- vinced there is a bargain between the two men, of which Blanche is to be the victim!" " liichard 1" cried the artist, seizing his friend's hand, " do you reaUy believe this ?" " I do -as I'm a living man I" And the two friends became fit com- panions I " And thus, you see," continued Kichard, more comfortable and colloquial now he had a brother in misery beside him-« thus comes her forgetfulness of me. That she should discard me is a necessary part of the bargain. All natural enough as the world goes, and irreproachably prudent according to the canons of correct society." Gerald now rivalled his friend in the in- n! «•»' V \ .. - -■^-isc^V' E---- 264 GERALD FITZGERALD. tensity of his woe I Over the seeming grave of the lost sister it was Hamlet and Laertes once again I " There are some disappointments," pur sued Richard, half in soliloquy, ** that we can bear calmly ; but they are not of the affections. The world may disappoint and despise us; rebuke us -as I can plainly understand— for our overweening vanitv, and call us fools to our faces I Yet we are not utterly cast down. But when the world Within -the world of sister and brother, lover and mistress— is false to us, what is there left to live for ? Nothing - nothing.*' " Nothing-nothing," echoed Gerald. And so they went on, feeding the fires of grief that consumed them ; and when in this dreary fnendship one flagged, the other was at his post, and eager to assert his misery ! ^ As they walked along, they relieved each other now and then of the portmanteau, anv» so divided the heavy duty. But when OEBALD FITZGEHALD. ^65 they reached a great thoroughfare, several W urchins sumunded them, and hegged hard for the burden. "Carry it for you, sir ?" asked one of the urchms^.„ a tone peculiar to boys who run barefooted, and often n.o„ objectionably bare, about London. bundf'fV"'''^'""' ^""^' '««"g the bundle fall upon the pavement, - '■ But where?" ' "* arif '"'/''* ?*"' "^ "'""*•" "•"P'-^d the aftist; for he felt that Richard and h^self, being both w„,tched, were fit compamons. Kchard felt the same ; and not for the world would these two mise«.bl. men have parted, and weakened their great -rrow by division. Ko : union i. strength -even m wretehednessi So the n.gged ^tle boy w.. allowed to stagger on bSd them under the weight of the portmanteau When they reached the studio, they sat down gloomily in the parlour devoid te pnvato purpose^ and mocked with their VOL. II. »f 266 GERALD FITZGERALD. I ;i miserable faces its general aspect of cheer- fulness. For this parlour was not the deso- late and ill-furnished chamber that, in the time of Mr. Maguire, afforded mere shelter to the artist's patrons. It was well fur- nished and adorned with taste. It was cosy, and suggestive rather of marital luxu- ries than bachelor makeshifts ; and yet it had a dilettante air that scarcely obtains under feminine auspices. The pictures were not domestic ; neither was the great display of pipes. The chairs were con- structed for easy, lounging positions, and the table had a suspicion of Auld Lang Syne hovering about it. The whole place, too, was in " most admired disorder,'* and here and there were busts and statuettes that husbands mostly confine to their bed- r«K)ms or their studies. Then there were alpen-stocks, broad felt hats, and mysterious leggings such as accompany men who cKmb mountains or explore strange countries ; antlers, fox-brushes, a boar's tusk or two. OEaALD FITZGERALD. £67 ^d several skins of ill-shaped fishes. Of these things, some were Gerald's own tro- phies, some came from his old patron, and others were obtained by means well known to small tomists who wish to be thought great ones. Altogether, the room was a picture, and presented just such an appear- ance as might please a manly and artistic nund. But alas ! to all this bravery there was- when discovered-a drawback 1 There was a giant piece of furniture in the room not exactly " ^ ^^^ ^y niKl»t. a cheat of drawers by day 1" for we have grown out of such simplicities • but an ornamental Viennese contrivance' the use of which by day was doubtful, but which by night^when its inside was laid flat out before it -became a bed and bed- stead. The arrangement suited Gerald • for he had an outer box just large enough for a dressing-room, and while he was occu- pied in this place, the landlady's Httle ser- i 'II 268 GERALD FITZGERALD. vant destroyed all bed-chamber evidences in • the other. In this room, then, the two miserable men tried to make themselves comfortable I and by way of doing so, on his part, Gerald took down one of the pipes, and said— " I shall smoke/' As a kind of dreary joke, too, the artist pushed a cigar-box to Richard, with the simple recommendation — " They're very good." "Yes, I daresay," replied Richard. " But not now— another time." And as he pushed back the box, a sickly smile crossed his face, a similar dull light appeared on the face of Gerald, they both uttered a low " chuckle, and thea were silent. So the first night of Richard's new lodg- ing passed away J but the next there was entertainment. Mr. Grey was expected. " He visits me once a-week, and always on one night," said Gerald. " Lately, he is m able blel raid rtist the ird. ! he ised on low <%■ vas he GRRALD FITZGEIIALD. 269. has brought Rosa, who takes wonderfully to these apartments." " Oh I" replied Richard. " Then she may come to-night ?" " She may." Gerald fancied that his friend was a little more cheerful after this conversation, and that he Hghted up remarkably when he heard Mr. Grey's knock. " Bosa is with him I" he exclaimed, « I can hear her voice. The visitors entered ; and, for a moment, a new and thankful feeUng welled up from Richard's heart, chased away his gloom and made him hopeful. ' "Ah I sir," said Mr. Grey, seizing his hand, " how fortunate this is ! IVe brought Rosa, whom you haven't seen I don't know how long! It's very strange, but she begged so to come here to-night I Thouo-h " continued Mr. Grey, seriously, "the Eve- nings are getting cold and damp, and it amt the wisest thing for her to do. Rosa 270 GERALD FITZGERALD. my dear, isn't it lucky ?— here's Mr. Maldon —your preserver, Kosa !" That word preserver always jarred on Rosa's ears, and quite failed of its due effect. Instead of making her g- teful and affectionate towards Richard, it set her thinking about her mother, and wishing that Richard was away. It did so now. She turned from Gerald, and gave her hand so coldly to his friend, that the new feeling of happiness just welling from Ub heart, was sunk again, and another hope was wantoned to the winds ! Mr. Grey had much to say upon one sub- ject, and that subject was of course Rosa. In account with Gerald as to her doings, he was just one week in arrear, and the time had arrived for clearing up. It was his pleasure to look upon Rosa as a mere child, and to talk of her as he would have talked of a little miss in socks and pinafores. It never occurred to him that in less than GERALD FITZGERALD. 2T1 ion on iue ;ful set md so ive ;he 9m ler lb- sa. he lie lis Id, ed It m three years she would be a woman, and that even now she might have womanly fears,- feelings, and deUcacies. He held fast to the fiction of her being « quite a child,'' and thus made her feel-sometimes rather acutely-that childhoood ha^ its Umits and coming womanhood its peculiar sensibihties. On the present occasion he was mmute in his fond foolishness. What time she got up, what time she went to bed, what she liked, and what disagreed with her, —all these trifling matters Mr. Grey fully ex^ plamed; and even the fact that she had taken a dose of something that very morning, found faithful record. But at this point Gerald thought fit to interfere : " You forget," he said, " that Rosa is growing almost a woman, and that she might prefer to keep these Uttle things to herself!" " A woman I" repeated Mr. Grey, "Rosa a woman! Oh, oh, oh!" And he went on to relate that yesterday, after eating an 272 GERALD FITZQEBALD. If: apple-dumpling, she felt anything but weU —in fact, that she had—yes, she had—the 8tomach.ache ! « Though," he continued, " I fancy that the dumpUng was a heavy one, and I think I heard your mother, Gerald, say that she was short of suet ! Or perhaps apple-dumpUngs may not agree with Rosa ! Very likely not. Why I re- collect, Gerald, when you were a boy " A carriage drove up to the door just then, bang went the steps, and the artist's bell was pulled vigorously. Gerald guessed who it was, and was out in a moment. " Ah, master artist !" exclaimed a voice that we have heard before - " IVe more business for you ! But stay, -you've com- pany, perhaps ? Don't let me disturb you Ah ! you have ! Well, another day will do, or you can call upon me t».morrow. Our business will take some time. But, notwithstanding," continued the curious' old gentieman, " I'll just peep through the crack Gf the door, and see what your com- GSRALD FITZGERALD. 273 well -the lued, eavy ther, net! gree [ re- hien, bell who )ice ore )m> ou. vill ' )w. Lit, US be n- pany*s like. I've a sort of parenta^ /axietj for you, my boy, and you know I'm fond of jokes. Capital!— -I can see the whole room in that mirror. Ah ! all very proper nothing in the way of The Rake's Progress ! There's a middle-aged man, and a young man, and a fair little . My boy ! now I look again, what vision is that ?— whose face is that?— There, in the glass." " That," replied Gerald, wondering at his old patron's energy, "is a young girl who has become a visitor here by accident !" " And her name ?" " Rosa." . "Yes,— well,— what else?" " Fitzgerald." The old gentleman sighed heavily, and shook his head. Then he turned from the door, and wrung Gerald's hand. " It's very, very, like a face that once was dear to me, my boy I The name, too, is her's! But all that may be accident. N 2 ( il 274' OERATD riTZOERALD. Come to me to-morrow, and we'll see, well see I" ' He tottered feebly away, entered the carriage, and shrouded himself from obser- vation ; but could one of those two men on the box have peeped into the vehicle, he would have seen his master crouched up in a corner and giving way to a womanly weakness that might have afforded wonder for the entire kitchen. When Gerald returned, he regarded Rosa with new curiosity, and, indeed, studied her face so closely that she blushed and looked at him wonderingly in r^i urn. "What's the matter Gerald?" asked Mr. Grey. " We aeard you whispering with somebody." ^^ Gerald essayed to turn the conversation.' " Do you know who that somebody is ?" he enquired. " No." replied Mr. Grey. " My earliest friend-my first patron J the man to whom, next to Providence, I am QBRJlU) FITaOEaALO. 27* indebted for all tho good that has happeued toiiiel" » " God bless him, then I" said Mr. Grey, reverentially. " Amen I" exclaimed Gerald, This was a feivent, not a fulsome prayer, and a just benediction ; for the old gentleman who had gone away in grief was a worthy man indeed I What great services he had performed Tor the young artist ; what solid kmdnesses he had helpeu him with ; what cheering words of encouragement he had lavished upon him; need not be detaded here. They may be easily guessed, and to record them would be mere persiflage Besides, the old gentleman himself would have known no greater offence than to have had his good deeds catalogued and served up m large letters with notes of admiration J And if such men are rare, it is the fault of fashion ; for fashion, if it can only seize upon a»d identify them, will dress them up MICROCOCY RE301UTI0N TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) -S ^E^LIED IIVWGE 1653 EosI Main Street (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288-5989 -Fax M- SH ; 276 GERALD PITZOERALD. and exhibit them in such guises, that they shrink and die off with deKcacj I . The time came, however, for Mr. Grey to take Rosa home-as he expressed it He had no thought of taking himself home • but believed that he should get home becaus^ It was his duty to see Rosa there. The absolute fact of his going except on her account, did not seem palpable to him. He only went home with Rosa ! '' Good-bye, Gerald !" he said. " Good- bye, Mr. Maldon. And if you don't mind our homely place, we shaU be glad to see you-shan't we, Rosa ? You must come, if only for Rosa's sake." For Rosa's sake ! Richard looked at the girl to see what effect the idea had upon her ; and as he turned, he saw her holding Gerald's hand and looking up lovingly to his face I The sturdy man and his tender charge, were, however, off at last. They skipped along merrily together, and neared their GERALD FJtTZGERALDu 277 home. They were almost within sight of it when a grey-headed drunkard reeled against them, and pushed Rosa from the pavement. Mr. Grey thrust out his brawny fist, and the man reeled again, and fell. As he struck the pavement, his hat sKpped off; and then, in the dull gleam of the gaslight,' Mr. Grey saw that the drunkard was his brother Wilham ! n CHAPTER XVIII. i [I! I " And now for Rosa's history ?" " A mere blank — at least, a bare outline, not to be followed or filled up at present." "And why not?" " My dear Gerald, let me rest in peace ; don't torture me with questions. Did you ever feel as Romeo felt when he knocked at the physician's door in Mantua?" '•* What, in love ?" "Love! No; or yes, as you please; at any rate, sick of Ufe ?" " Well, yes,— once when I was a little boy, an unconscious Cato, driven to extremi- GERALD FITZOEIIALD. 279 ties at a child's party, and meditating on my bane and antidote." " Oh, you talk nonsense I" " No, I don't ! I am giving you a real experience. A little lady of twelve had driven me to unripe distraction, and I felt somewhat as you suggest." " J'm not triflirg, Gerald !" " No more am I. And it occurred to me, in the very hurricane of my gri^f, that in an old hook of Roman history I had seen a picture of Brutus, falling on his own sword. I longed for a sword, that I might imitate Brutus I But matters changud : the little lady pouted and was penitent; and before the cake was all eaten, I loved life as well OB the unhappy cid woman who ran all round the scaffold toescape the executionerl" " Oh, I see ; you tack a moral to your n^'isense, and would have me lay it to heart." " I would.'* Richard's only answer was a heavy sigh, ( : r 280 GERALD FITZGERALD. 1 after which Httle ebuUition of feeling he made a miserable attempt to proceed with his breakfast. For it was at that pleasant meal— plea- sant for people with leisure ; harrassing and unhealthy for bond-slaves with luxurious incUnations and strict hours of business— that the conversation recorded took place. It was in the artist's parlour, too, where, during the night, Michael Angelo and Raffaelle had looked down upon a face— that at such a time was new to them. This face was Richard Maiden's,— troubled, restless, and a mere plaything for the graver pas- sions ! His companion's face was happy in its indications; for he had delicious, delu- sive dreams. He was with Blanche in the wood again ; but Blanche was a woman, and the flowers given and exchanged, were elo- quent with the language of love! Still, true to the tenor of the children's meeting, this meeting of grown-up lovers ended roughly. The cruel uncle was transformed GERALD FITZGERALD. 281 into De Lisle, who came and snatched Blanche away, and — as inmost dreams — Gerald was powerless to resist I He started up, shook his friend rudely, and dispossessed him of the nightmare I " Get up," he said. And in return he heard the voice of the sluggard ! But he persevered : " Up with you I— we must be at work early to-day. Our doubts— I mean your doubts —have to be settled; and if you are not ready for the task, I am. This day, vainly or not, for your sake I shall seek your sister !" Richard awoke now. " If for my sake, you do anything of the kind, I shall be seriously annoyed. * But one thing you may do. I can't trust myself to go to the hotel. Will you go there, and see if there's a letter for me ? It is my last gleam of hope.*' Matters were thus arranged; the two men rose, allowed the Httle servant to do away with all traces of the sleeping apart- 282 GERALD FITZGERALD. ment; a^id, after a certain time parsed in the studio, and a visit to a neighbouring bath where the dyspeptic might and some, times did get appetites; they sat down to breakfast. They soon left the table, how- ever, Gerald going on his mission to the hotel; Richard taking a book, and try- ing to find relief from his heavy sorrows. At the hotel, Gerald met his first disap- pomtment: of course there was no letter I The loqua<.ious waiter, too, even at so short a not.ce, had forgotten Richard. His mind went wool-gathering for a time ; and then as an item fished from the very dregs and bottom of his memory, he exclaimed,— "Maldon,Maldon,Ma}donI-yes, sir I do recoUect something of such a party. But there's nothing here for him." With this poor information, Gerald scarcely cared to return to his friend • he recollected Richard's words-" It is my 'last gleam of hope r-and he was ilLdisposed 39ed in ►ourin^ some- own to , hovr. to the i try- •ws. disap. etter I short mind i then s and sir, I But erald : he last osed GEEALD FITZGEllALD. 283 to dispel such a gleam hastily. Had it been later in the day, he might have gone direct to keep the appointment with his old patron. But, thought Gerald, the kind old gentle- man is now sipping his coffee and reading his newspaper, and may not care to be dis- turbed. A few hours, however, may be easily whiled away in London ; so the artist wandered aimlessly through the ramification of dull streets and desolate squares that once made up the " West-End" of the Me- tropolis. Once, indeed ! — for the compass of fashionable life has since suffered consi- derable variation, and the old locality may well cry — Sic transit gloria /—where is the West-End now ? Wandering thus idly, he came upon a famous street, crooked, narrow, and ill-ar- ranged, but the name of which has still sweet seductions for the select few. He was there attracted by a trifling interlude that would have escaped any other than an 28i GERALD PtTZaERALD. Wler. A lady and gentleman-the one re- maskable for her brilliant black eyes, her ta Utetur^and „,ajestie presenee; the other for h., eold and haughty bearing-were rtepp.ng into a brougham that stood at an ho^I door They were suddenly pounced upon and .nten-upted by a fair, blue-eyed yellow-moustached gentleman, whose J J. what ungaanly figure was leaning over the neck of a thorough-bred. _'Ah( how dedo?" said the latter. Don t get in yet jlVe something to say -<• -ny hor^e won't stand the Ltlel wheels- Where are you goingP Hoi ^ you re alone ?_where-s Miss Blanche? Where's our brother ?" The gentleman partly addressed, frowned : but the lady smiled, shook her head wickedly, and repUed,— " Oh. they have left us ! Something has happened, TheyVe gone into reti^L^^^ le one re- jyes, her the other ig — were 3d at an pounced ue-eyed, se some- >ver the latter. to say, ittle of How is mche ? wned ; head ighas ment, 11 see GERALD FITZGERALD/ 285 " What l-Monsieur De Lisle gone off with Miss Maldon ?" exclaimed the rider \es !_very strange, isn't it ? But such things wUl happen I" And the lady steppe,! into the brougham. Gerald - at first passing slowly, thon suddenly transfixed to the flag-stones-heard all this, and the meaning it conveyed to him was at once apparent. De Lisle gone off with Miss Maldon. Then Richard's suspicions were only too correct I Well, there was an end to the poor artists ro- mance I-there was the finishing touch to his fanciful, dreamy, picture ! Never more could he look upon that picture with hope ; but might turn its fair face to the wall for aye now I Passionate heart, be still I With the world empty, the sun eclipsed, what is there to live for I He walked moodily away, and went to the house of his good old patron. He was so sad himself, that he scarcely noticed how sad the house was !— scarcely saw that from 286 OEttALD FITZGERALD. 4 M Ml i the basement to the roof the dull, white blinds told their story of disaster! He knocked mechanically, and, after some shuffling of feet in the passage and some consequent delay, he was admitted and shown into a dull ante-room thatyesterday— indeed all the days that Gerald knew of— had been kept for the accommodation of strangers. He listened, however, for the kindly voice of his old patron, calling to him as it sometimes did, and saying " Ah ! master artist l—this way, this way 1—what a fine morning I'* or a dull morning, or a wet morning, as the case might be. But there was no greeting like this now ! In place of it, when he was chilled with waiting, he heard a harsh, querulous voice, holding parley with the servant in the passage ; " Who is this ' Mr. Grey ?'-what does he want ? Oh, he's a painter, is he ?— daubs those things in the gallery?" And presently the voice came nearer, and ad- dressed Gerald in the ante-room ; lull, white ster ! lie 'ter some and some and shown y — indeed of — had iation of , for the calling to g "Ah! { ! — what ng, or a be. But ow! In waiting, holding Lge: lat does he?— " And md ad- GERALD FITZGERALD. 287 " Your business, sir?" it said. *| Is with Mr. ," replied the artist. " It might have been, yesterday, "answered the stranger, " But to-day, it must be with me" " With you ?" "Yes, sir, with me. A somewhat mournful event has happened, as you might have seen by the aspect of the house— the house of which, I may .>icntion, I am now the master." Poor Gerald!— this was Pelion upon Ossa ! Newly afflicted, as he was, with one great grief, here was another coarsely flung at him, as though to overwhelm his spirit with agony ! The stranger regarded his terrible be- wilderment with curiosity. " Excuse me,'* he said, " But I believe that my late cousin had no relation but myself. May I, then, ask the cause of this display of emotion ?" Display of emotion I The words stuug J:l i 2B8 GERALD FITZGERALD. Gerald, and kept his tears from faUing faster. "Sirl" he exclaimed, "The cause is simple enough ! The unfortunate gentleman now, I suppose, represented by you, was my earliest and kindest friend. Years ago, he took me by the hand, encouraged me, and helped me to become what I am I I saw him last night— to-day I was to see him again. Now, sir, is the cause of my * emotion' made clearer to you ?" " The cause of your disappointment is, I confess. I know that my cousin was a liberal man, that he busied himself a little too liberally, perhaps, in other people's affairs. But, my dear sir, there is an end to everything : my cousin's Hberality could scarcely last for ever I" " No," said Gerald, mournfully. " And for my own part," continued the stranger, "I may as well mention that pictures are not the things upon which / and GERALD FITZGERALD. 289 should be inclined to spend money, and .0 you see '♦ "Sir!" repUed Gerald, I require no explanation of that kind." '; Well, then," returned the cousin, "our business is at an end. Good day, sir. John! — the door I" And Gerald mechanicaUy left the room and passed the threshold. ' He turned bax>k, however, and gazed son-owfully at the house. His h 1 was on the knocker again-for a thought came to lum .— Mi-ht he not take a last look at the cold clay, that when warm with life and instmct with goodness, he had loved with a son's affection? Alas! alas ! -there was the new master, even between life and death ! Merciful Heaven --what a change m those few gloomy hours between sunset and sunrise ! VOL. n. CHAPTER XIX. Lady Maldon's health had improved, but still she was much shaken, and not the Lady Maldon of yesterday. She had lapsed into a state of dreary mental convalescence, and, scarcely strong enough for violence, was a victim to low, melancholic hysteria! She had more tears than words, and more vacant moments than either. A stout nurse attended her in place of a thin lady's maid ; and when she left the house for the garden,' she was carried to a chair, and so wheeled about. To pass away her evenings, she played imperfectly at cards, and the only OEau FITZGERALD. 29l time at which she showed any sign of anima- tion was when her opponent humoured her by placing all the tricks on her side. The court cards, however, set her thinking, and when the queen of diamonds came to her hand, the game was interrupted, and she was thoughtful. She fancied herself in some way the double of this queen, and often objected seriously to the style in which Delarue de%hted to dress her. To ob viate this, De Lisle got her a pack of I^rench cards, in which the queen was dressed reasonably, and the pre-Raphaelitism taken out of her. After this, her lady- ship was more content with mimic majesty and played the queen of diamonds without hesitation. When the sun was favourable in the morning, she took the ^benefit of its me- ridian, and De Lisle attended her in the garden in place of the stout nurse. He beguiled the time by relating those historical anecdotes for which he was famous, and 292 GERALD FITZGERALD. Ir which had the additional charm of being narrated by a descendant of the very people who had acted, or had helped to act, the historiettes themselves. She was not, how- ever, a participator in the conversation, and the light of her historical lore was not shed upon them as of old. She merely nodded, smiled, and gave to them the sympathy of motion. Anything very exciting would, perhaps, cause her to look up with more than ordinary energy, and say— ." Well, Chevalier?" but beyond this her lively in' terest ceased. She was in fact, making a dreary journey of the last few miles towards that bourne from whence no traveller re- turns. Blanche was not more than a daughter to her—for such a comparison should not be ; but she was, perhaps, more than many daughters are under the ordinary family dispensation. The love that, in earlier days, had at startuig been turned aside by the scant recognition of a conscious woman, f being people ict, the t, how- »n, and )t shed odded, ithy of would, more Well, ely in- ung a >wards er re- iter to >t be; many "amily days, y the >man. OERALD FITZGERALD. 293 went straight to where duty directed now • and though it was poorly accepted and scarcely understood, it never flagged nor feU back for want of reciprocation. There is no need to think Blanche a paragon for this; for a paragon should be singular, while, happily, we may use round numbers when reckoning up the good women in the world. She was, perhaps, in a minority but from that minority it is the privilege of a story-teller to pick, and the privilege is at least an elevating one. Therefore Blanche was thankful to De Lisle for his cheering attention to her mother. She felt that he was a fellow- labourer in the work of consolation; and an instinctive but unobtrusive knowledge of her own goodness made this fellowship al- most holy to her ! How near she was upon and yet how far from, loving him for this' may be understood by those who dive into niceties of sentiment; and perhaps De 294 GERALD FITZOEEALD. Lisle may be excused for judging from ap. pearances and using the lights he had in coming to a false conclusion. Excused or not, he did come to this conclusion, and he beheved that a word might finish his ar- tifices. Upon one point, however, he was dissa- tisfied : in a moment of confidence, Blanche had spoken of Richard and expressed her anxiety about his strange silence. Of course she had had no answer to her letter^to any of her letters. The second one-one that, as she posted it herself, had reached the hotel-was returned to her with the ommous words " not known there"-kindly suggested by the loquacious waiter; another and another came back with just the same dreary addition. She showed these to De Lisle, and he sympathised with her in words and suggested many plausible reasons why Kichard was not to be heard of. But against his advice, she sent a special mes- OBRALD FITZGERALD. 295 senger to London, to do what, could she have gone herself, would have been her own duty. This messenger-provided liberally with money, and even aided by a written precis for his guidance-went to London and exerted himself with all the alacrity of an agent. He made the hotel at which Richard had lodged his head-quarters, and from thence he sallied forth daily upon what he conceived to be his mission. The parks, he thought, were likely places to find the truant in; and, next to the parks, the suburban ale-houses and tea-gardens. There were some dancing-rooms, too, to which an enterprising lessee who had heard of Italy or played a strange game at cards, had given the name of casino; and to these and their frequenters the missionary paid due attention. There was a place, approached by a filthy court in the Strand,'^ and aptly enough called "Cellars," but of which the other title was altogether 296 GERALD FITZGERALD. held nightly orgie with cer- taan clever but cadaverous creatures whose tongues were gifted or cursed with indecent eloquence. To these resorts the messenger pmd occasional visits in search of Richard- but in vain. He happened to be a ten^ pounder in the franchise, and so he got into the Strangers' Gallery of the House of Commons ; and Richard was not there > Ne«her was he to be found in Holbom, at the house where the L^rncd Pig divided attenfon with Tim Bobbin, and where the Pig-faced Lady put even the Learned Pig out of countenance I This was dispiriting , but thmfang that Richard might be disco' vered on the top of the Monument, the missionary toiled his way up thither, and spent at least an hour in looking be- tween the railings. Still being unsuccess- fol, he tried the Whispering Gallery of St OERALD mzOEHALD. 297 PaulX and, on the same day, the Poof, Corner of Westminster Abbey. At last after failing to find the missing gentleman' " the Dwng-bell at a popular Institution near Regent Street, or in the Ascendinff- room of a dull exhibition near a north, "■esterly park,-he returned to the hotel and questioned the loquacious waiter. "jMaldon, sir?" was the waiter's reply— " Maldon l_a young man, shortish, „o whiskers, rather mean appeamnee, and not over gooti-looking ?" "Very likely," said the missionary laughing, " I believe he wasn't exactly the man to fall in We with at first sight." !' ^ ^^^^'^y it's him r exclaimed the waiter. " And might you know anything about him now ?" " Nothing at all. Letters have come for him, but we've sent 'em back again. He was turned out of this house, sir !" " Turned out ?" 2 298 GERALD FITZGERALD. * Ah, that he was I— and for conduck unbecoming of a gentleman I" " Indeed !" replied the missionary, giving a fillip to the waiter's loquacity by display- ing considerable interest. " Yes, sir— for conduck unbecoming of a gentleman ! I'll tell you the story. He was never, you know, sir, exactly the sort of man to make a good impression on peo^ pie; his bill, sir, was a mere trifle, and as to his behaviour, I can call it nothing but abstemerous and shabby. He was always reading or else writing; and if you once give him the paper, heaven help the gentle- man that might be a waiting for it ! He reads at his meal-times sir ; and the man who does that can't eat as he should do I He used to say to me,-' Waiter,' says he, ' ^'^1 *^^« ^ chop/ or it might be a kidney,' or some Httle kickshaw of that sort ! ' Yes' sir,' says I, ' but we've 'are soup, and micelU, and ox-tail, sir— wiU you take ver- some We soup?' ' No,' says he, ' I'U take what ERALD FITZOEHALD. 2^d I've ordered!' Now, I put it to you, sir, whether this is how a gentleman that is a gentleman, behaves?" The missionary thought decidedly not : it was "un-English." " Well, sir, I'm coming to the story now. You must know, sir, that he came home here one day and ordered a private room and he hadn't been in it long before he ran out, caught the housemaid on the stairs, and acted most shameful to her I That gal's charaxjteris unreproachable, or there's no telling what might have happened I Well, as the maid wouldn't have anything to say to him, what did he do but run out again, and hit right and left at the man who waited on him I He tried the same game on with the landlord when he went up ; but, between you and me, sir, the landlord can handle his daddies, he can— (you might have heard of him, perhaps, when he was the ' Slogger's Novice !')-and he gave my young gentleman a shaking that he won't ^A OEliA/,D FITZGERALD. forget n a hurry j—wrhcn all at onco, who should come in but a confederAte of his ; ttljd 80 they botl' sfot away together ! Ah I it's a mercy for tiiat young man that he wiunt prosecuted ; as it is, ae'd better not show his face here again I" With these experiences, and this poor in- formation, the missionary returned to Blanche. With added effect, and heightened colour, he repeated the waiter's story, and shed about it such a criminal halo, that the poor mtet listened in shameand wonder : " Says I, Miss, and says he,—' Indeed,' says I. ' Ye*,' says he. ' WeU/ says I, * I am surpriseidl^-— 'No doubt,' says he,— 'Well,' says I,—' who'd have thought it!'" The manner in which the man told the story, his pretended reticence, and the mys- tery in which he was pleased to shroud it, gave Blanche an impression that Richard, if at liberty, was hiding from the vengeance of the hotel people ; and thus she had, as she thought, a complete clue to his silence. GERALD FITZGERALD. 301 She dismissed the man, however, with many thanks, gave him an extra fee [hat ho might keep his tongue still, and made hin, a pen- sioner upon her fears for many months to come. In great difficulties, simple remedies are otten the last thought of; so, after other Aiearis had been exhausted, Blanche re- collected that one course had been untried. Directly this thought came to her, she sat down, intending to write a letter to the artist-to Richard's chosen friend ! But at the very first line she paused, and a sense of dehcacy hindered her progi-ess. To any other man in the world it would have been easy to have begun " Dear Sir," and to have concluded with the ridiculous white lie, "yours obediently." But to Gerald It seemed too much to say " Dear Sir, '' and yet too ungracious to leave out that often ill-used prefix. This was a great ob- stacle; but the greatest, perhaps, occurred when Blanche recollected that of the artist's 302 GEKALD FITZGERALD. detailed address she was entirely ignorant ! Thus Gerald was deprived of what to him would have been a great glory, and Richard was left to his wilful course of mistake ! However, there was no help for it ; and all the world knows that the most insignificant trifles often bring about the greatest results. A hghtning-storm may sweep harmlessly through the spires of a town or across the gathered riches of half a county ; but let a spark, dropped from a labourer's pipe, get into a quiet comer,-and lo! the helvens reflect an Etna ! So the time passed away with Blanche, — hoping, fearing for her brother, lessening as well as she could, the aflliction of Lady iMaldon, listening to De Lisle, and now and then reading a letter from Marie, or receiv- ing one from Sir Roger. A letter came one day from Marie, how- ever, that De Lisle did not show to Blanche, but took direct to his chamber, and then ..-srassw"***! GERALD FITZGERALD. 303 and there sat down and answered. A sen- tence of the answer ran thus : " Give me two days. Do nothing, pro- " raise nothing, till the end of that time. " Should we both be suited in this family, " very good. Should we not, never mind. " At any rate, if you do not hear from me " during the next forty-eight hours, take " your own course, and I shall not com- " plain." The day following, De Lisle allowed Lady Maldon to be wheeled about alone, and devoted himself assiduously to her daughter. He sat with Blanche, and read to her from the feuillelon portion of an exaggerated play-bill called a French newspaper. He translated as he went on, and though Blanche paid attention to the story, her heart was occupied otherwise than with the stereotyped agitations of the people of fie- tion. De Lisle used the paper as a resort as something to fall back upon when he might say too much or have nothing to say ,- 3^)4 GERALD FITZGERALD. and thus he was enabled to converse with ease and take his opportunity at leisure He went on in this way for some time- indeed, he had nearly exhausted the femlkton, when he came upon a charming passage. Fifine had taken leave of Fran 901s i they had pressed each other's hands —each other's hearts. The seal of love- so often imitated, so often broken -had just left their lips. " Adieu !" said Fifine • "Adieu!" said Francois; and the lovers parted. " And we, too," said De Lisle, laying aside the paper,-'' must part I Why do I stay?-Am I not thoroughly recovered ? —Then why, why do I stay ?" Blanche smiled at his vehemence, and asked him if he was tired of the country. " Tired of the country !" he replied, " no, no,-not with you for a companion' It would be denying all I know of happiness to admit so much !" He took up the paper again and re- GERALD FITZGERALD. 305 sumed the story ; for Blanche still listened to him as though what he said was taken from the feuilleton, and she seemed to ex- pect the print and paper heroine to answer his ecstacies. The story, however, came to an end, and De Lisle tried his Ustener again : " Yes," he continued, " I ask you, why do I stay ?— why am I here at all ?— and what sweet society is it that detains me?" " You may, indeed, ask that !" returned Blanche, waking up a little—^* I often think the place must be very dull for you— you who are so used to a diiferent life !" " Oh no,— not dull !" exclaimed De Lisle,—" not dull I There are the birds singing, the bees humming, and the fields wooing one to exercise 1 Without the house there is a charm pecuHar to rural England ; while within it, there is a charm greater than all ; and that charm is— your- self!" This was all clumsy enough, and scarcely 306 GERALD FITZGERALD. worhyrf De Lisle, but in its Te,7 poverty of style Blanche thought she detected an unusually fervent t»ne. She began t„ be a little alarmed, lie saw this, and went on : Yourself! It is for you I stay here ; lor you I have so long forgone all that hitherto I lived for. Bknche, dear Blanche I 1 love you !" Blanche started. " Surely," she said, " you are not speak- .ng seriously-you are not in earnest, Monsieur?" " I a™ !" replied De Lisle, rising, and fl-nging tne paper from him. " Every word i utter comes from my heart, and has been long, long waiting to burst from my lips t In retmw,, I ask you, too, to be in earnest - Blanche !-and to tell me that this love IS returned I" In the agitation of the moment, De Lisle had taken the hand of his bewildered wonder-stricken companion. He was not satisfied with having gone thus far : he pre- GERALD FITZGERALD, 307 overty ed an to be it on: here ; I that nchel peak- mest, and word been lips ! 5St- love De red, not pre- pared to dally with the favour, and at last he Hfted it to his lips. But his lips met only the air, for Blanche recovered herself. " You surprise me," she said, " with this language ! Surely you are not, you cannot be, in earnest 1" She trembled violently, and looked to De Lisle for explanation : " I am," he said, " as earnest as ever I was in my life !" " Then, replied Blanche, " do not, I entreat you, speak further npon a subject that cannot be more than disappointment to you, and less than painful to me !" " I now ask you," saidDe Lisle, frowning slightly, and quite losing his love-tones, " are you in earnest ?" " As ever / was in my life !" returned Blanche, adopting De Lisle's strong words because she was abashed and quite at a loss for words of her own. " You are ?" " I am." 308 GERALD FITZGERALD. "Miss MaldonI" exclaimed De Lisle verging upon passion,--. I do not believe you !" It was difficult to answer this; but ffianche approached the ang^ „an kindly, and offered him the hand she had latej drawn away in wonderment. He took it • but as he did so, the hope it gave him was destroyed by a few quiet, serious words • 'Let us fall back upon our feelings of fnendshzp, Monsieur, and leave that unsaid whichmaymake even friendship impossible" De Lisle dropped her hand, and started back, "Friendship!" he repeated,-"Friend ship ! We are not acting a charade ! -we are not pl„yi„y the part of lover and ".stress! At least / am not. What I say I mean, and the mock heroics of the stage are not palatable to me !" " ^'"" *■•« '% t» me !" replied Blanche growing less considerate as De Lisle hurled his sneers at her, " I never was less inclined to mockery i„ my life. I ^^ y„„_ ^ ^ but GERALD FITZGERALD. 30g favour, to let this conversation end now and to avoid it in future. If I have ever given you eause for it, believe me, I deeplv regret that I should have been so forgetful of myself and so unjust to you. I would not wilhngly have led one I respect " " ''^^^^ "''" •'" interrupted De Lisle "How much you respect me I have no wish to know. Give me your hand again " Blanche, simply enough, did as she was desired. "Now," saidDeLisle, drawing hereloser to him, and regarding her with the stiletto glance that has been mentioned,-" listen to me. You offer me your friendship, your respect, and such common-place regards as arealwaysreadyfor the asking; and you blush, and start, and pretend to be sm-prised that I expected anything else. Kow lam no whining lover, willing to take what he can get, and to hope for more ; and therefore I must say what I think, at any cost." ' Bk^che tried to free her hand ,• but De 810 GERALD FITZGEnALD. Lisle was too strong for her, and still kept drawing her closely beneath his eyes. " And what I think is this. Have we not sat together, walked together, and culti- vated such intercourse as might well make people wonder if we were ever separated ?^ Have you not listened to me up to thio very moment, and pleaded yourself with the pre- face while you reject the story ? You have. And, then, what am I here for, idling in a dull country house P-why were you sent to keep me company ?-why did you press me to come, and then, as soon as I decided to do so, make up your mind to come, too ? Of course, you have excuses for all this; but I have not ! You see, I speak my mind upon such trifling ; and I now ask-Have you anything to answer?" He released her hand, and she drew back Her tears were falling fast, for she saw too well how plausible an argument De Lisle could make out. "But a word more," he continued. GERALD FITZGERALD. 31 X "When I tell you that it is your mother's wish you should listen to me, are you moved ? In my country, such a wish would be almost equivalent to a law !" If for harmony's sake, De Lisle had struck a wrong chord now. The will of that poor incapable who was wheeled about the garden humoured at cards, and altogether treated hke achild, should, Blanche thought, have been at least sacred from De Lisle's tam- Penngj Atone blow, he struck away all her remorse and half her pity J You have now said that which gives me freedom of speech. I have the courage to tell you now-plainly and truly-that from this moment we must part. 1 never have loved, never could love you. You have beer the victim of a mistake ; and that I regret most sincerely." While De Lisle stood, looking at her and hstenmg in amazement, she took her advan- lage of position, and left the room. Her 812 GERALD FITZGERALD. sometime companion, after repeating again and again Othello's miserable reproach, went to the window, opened it, and so tried to cool himself. After a short period passed thus, he returned to his chamber, and there wasted away his passion in a letter. He folded the letter rather hastily, and— by some strange mischance— omitted to seal it I Then he left the house, hurried across the few fields that led to the village, and dropped the unsealed letter into the box at the post-office. The rest of the day he occupied himself with gathering together his wardrobe ; and in the morning he came down calmly enough to breakfast, and s^id to Lady Maldon— who happened to be out of bed at that early time : " I shall not be your guest longer. All our pleasures must have an end, and with them, the pleasure this house has been good enough to afford me. I shall be in London this evening. Have you any commands ?" " London this evenmg I" said her ladyship, ? again 3h, went 1 to cool d thus, I there T. He nd — by to seal across 2^e, and box at lay he •gether 3 came d fc.iid be out Vllour i with igood ondon ids?" yship, GERALD FITZGERALD. 3^3 wuking up, "Oh dear me! ho^ very »nnoy,„g| Blanche, my dear, why iMhc Cheyaher going to be in London this evening ? Blanche shook her head. " Well, if I were you, Blanche, I should not let him go. London this evening r IJear me ! how veiy strange I London this evenmg-London this evening-London tnis evemng." And so the conversation died away. Half -an-hour afterwards De Lisle took a formal leave of Blanche; but although she watched the avenue for some time, she did not see him depart. He had escaped her she thought. But going to the room in which Lady Maldon was accustomed to rest herself, she heard his voice and her mother's : ^^ " tfood bye, Chevaher," said the latter. Ihere, you may kiss my hand! You'll come back soon, won't you ?-And mind you don t forget that Uttle business of mine in VOL. II. P 314 GERALD FITZOERALD. town ! There, there are the things ; take care of them. It's very curious you should be going. Good bye I" Blanche hesitated, and held back. De Lisle left the chamber, and came hurriedly upon the listener. " Ah !" he said, " another parting ! Adieu !" And he left the place, apparently in great good humour. END OF VOL. lU T. C. Newb^, Publither, 3U, Welbeck Utrett, Cavendish Square. i \ $: r.1