843 gfoadway. SS^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ALUMNUS BOOK FUND ,/ r GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT % l^oUri. By F. G. TRAFFORD, jO^^^-^^ AUTHOR OF "TOO MUCH ALONE," ETC. wC6^cl6U^ cW^-e^-: BOSTON: T. O. H. P. BURNHAM NEW YORK: 0. S. FELT. 1865. /iiLUMNUg RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. To ALEXANDER JOHNS, ESQ., OF SUNNTLANDS, OARRICKFERaUS, IN THANKFUL REMEMBRANCE OF KIND ADVICE, OF CORDIAL ENCOURAGEMENT, AND OF VALUABLE ASSISTANCE, IS DEDICATED BY HIS OLD FRIEND, TEE AUTHOR. 012 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE INTRODUCTORY 1 CHAPTER II. GRANT AND CO. 8 CHAPTER III. BUSINESS 19 CHAPTER lY. THE STTHLOW MINES 26 CHAPTER V. A FRIENDLY INVITATION 34 CHAPTER VI. PLEASURE 49 CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE COOL 57 CHAPTER VIII. ALL ON ONE SIDE 71 CHAPTER IX. BACK TO TOWN 88 viii CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. PAGE LADY GEITH 105 CHAPTER XI. AUNT AND NEPHEW 119 CHAPTER XII. OFFICE VISITORS 131 CHAPTER XIII. IN THE COUNTRY 145 CHAPTER XIV. NEW ACQUAINTANCES 154 CHAPTER XV. BERYL 165 CHAPTER XVI. FAMILY AFFAIRS 1*79 CHAPTER XVII. AT THE DOWER HOUSE 192 CHAPTER XVIII. QUITE AT HOME 205 CHAPTER XIX. HAPPINESS 221 CHAPTER XX. beryl's admirer 231 CHAPTER XXI. BERYL EXPLAINS 243 CHAPTER XXII. ACROSS THE FIELDS 253 CHAPTER XXIII. A LITTLE SURPRISE 267 CONTENTS. ix CHAPTER XXIV. PAGE MR. RICHARD ELSENHAM 277 CHAPTER XXV. BACK TO TOWN 287 CHAPTER XXVI. DAT DREAMS 300 CHAPTER XXVII. ALTERNATIVES 306 CHAPTER XXVIII. CHRISTMAS EVE 314 CHAPTER XXIX. DOMESTIC PERPLEXITIES 323 CHAPTER XXX. DEATH 337 CHAPTER XXXI. EAVESDROPPING 343 CHAPTER XXXII. IN LONDON 362 CHAPTER XXXIII. PLEASANT HOURS 371 CHAPTER XXXIV. THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE 381 CHAPTER XXXV. DEFEATED 394 CHAPTER XXXVI. BARONET AND ACCOUNTANT 401 CHAPTER XXXVII. RESIGKED 412 X CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXVIII. PAGH THE LAST MOMENTS 417 CHAPTER XXXIX. SUNSHINE 426 CHAPTER XL. MARRIED 489 CHAPTER XLI. IN THE CITT 451 CHAPTER XLU. A LITTLE DISCOVERT 460 CHAPTER XLIII. NOT DEAD 473 CHAPTER XLIV. THE TWO BARONETS ......... 480 CHAPTER XLV. THE OLD SKELETON 495 CHAPTER XLVI. THE MOST WRETCHED 505 CHAPTER XLVII. GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY 519 CHAPTER XLVIII. PARTED 538 CHAPTER XLIX. THE ETERNITY 546 CHAPTER L. CONCLUSION 553 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. Quite close to Fenchurch Street — within a few yards of that noisy and crowded thoroughfare — there lies hidden away as quiet and forsaken-looking a spot as the heart of man need desire to see. It is called Fen Court, and I should like to take my read- ers thither. We have paced the City pavements together before now, and I am glad to be threading the familiar streets and alleys in good company again. A narrow covered passage affords ingress to Fen Court, which is but a portion of the graveyard once attached to St. Gabriel, one of the many churches destroyed by the Great Fire of 1666, and never rebuilt. The parish was subse- quently united to that of St. Margaret Pattens, and this little piece of ground is all that now remains to tell us of a church past which flowed the clear waters of Langbourne. It is beside the bones of those who peopled London in those days that we are standing. Shall we sit down for a moment on the churchyard wall, and leaning back against the iron railings, think of the City they knew before com- mencing this commonplace story of modern men and mod- ern doings ? Not a stone's-throw from us stand the lordly Priory of the 2 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Holy Trinity ; not far from thence the House of the Crutched Friars ; close by that the Abbey of the Nuns of St. Clare, while beyond the Minories stretched away those fields which Stowe traversed in after days ; and, beyond the fields, Rat- cliffe swamps. Returning through one of the posterns of Aldgate, we arrive again at the Priory of the Holy Trinity and find our- selves at once in an aristocratic quarter. Here resided Sir Thomas Audley, who, dying in 1544, was succeeded by his son-in-law the Duke of Norfolk, from whom '' Duke's Place." That narrow alley which now con- ducts from Fenchurch Street into Crutched Friars took its name from Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, who had his mansion hard by in the reign of Henry VI. ; and whilst monks and nuns and lords and ladies, were settling them- selves down at this — which was then about the extremest eastern point of the City — all the road from St. Catherine Coleman, where Langbourne took its rise, was little better than a swamp, to say nothing of the fens and marshes out by Aldgate, and Moorgate, and Finsbury, which occupied the place of the lake that once washed the City walls. It is not easy to believe in these things now. Thinking of the City as we think of it at the present day, it seems almost incredible that three hundred years since, letters for his Grace the Archbishop of York were forwarded to Tower Hill ; whilst but half that period has elapsed since a Count- ess of Devonshire lived in Devonshire Square, Bishopsgate — not in solitude, but surrounded by much gay company — the last lady of rank who clung to the City. There is no need to look scornful about the matter, most beautiful matron, though you may read this book in a house in Belgravia — for though the City be unfashionable. now, no man may ever blot its ancient glory, or its present power and strength, out of the page of history. Not all Pickford's wagons can destroy its romance — not all the ninth of No- vember mummery can efface the recollection of those days GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 3 when City pageants were symbols of a real power — not all the feet that tramp across Tower Hill can obliterate the mournful histories written on its dust ; churches and orrave- yards, mean courts and narrow alleys, thronged streets and quiet lanes ; there is not one of these but repeats its old world tale, of misery and joy, in the ear of the attentive listener. In the dim summer twilight we tread softly through the deserted thoroughfares, feeling that the ground whereon we stand is hallowed — by human suffering — by human courage — by valor and by woe ! But, after all, it is around the City churches that the most interesting memories of olden time cluster. What story is there that the old walls will not repeat at our bidding ? From St. Paul's down, each has its own monuments, its own records — its own separate portion of the narrative of ancient days. Close by where we are now sitting, are some of these old churches, and, from one and another, the soft evening breeze brings whispers of the greatness and the sorrow they contain. Underneath the high altar of All-Hallows, Barking, lies, crumbling to dust, a heart which knew no such repose in life.* In the same church, sleep Surrey the poet, and Bishops Laud and Fisher, who were executed on the ad- jacent Tower Hill ; whilst a little to the north, stands St. Katharine Cree, where, in (for him) more prosperous days. Laud and his fat chaplains laid themselves open to the sar- casm of Prynne, whose description of the consecration of that church will be remembered so long as the history of ancient London has any charms for readers. Near to St. Katharine Cree we find St. Andrew Undershaft, which brings with its name thoughts of Spring and May, and gar- lands and festivity, as well as sadder memories of the great City historian, who, at eighty years of age, begged his bread by royal license, and whose bones were moved from under his own monument to make way for those of a richer comer. * Richard Coeur-de-Lion. 4 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Close by there is another All-Hallows, besides Barking, where the Princess Elizabeth flew to give thanks for her release from the Tower — attracted thither, so runs the pleasant story, by the joyful ringing of its bells. Almost within a stone's-throw, what a number of churches there are ! — St. Mary-at-Hill, St. Dunstan's in the East, St. Margaret Pattens, St. Catherine Coleman, Aldgate, St. Benet, and St. Dionsis Backchurch ; whilst just beyond the wicket-gate stood St. Gabriel, in the almost forgotten grave- yard of which we sit. Were all the City houses — all the long lines of streets, all the closely-packed warehouses, all the overflowing shops swept away, the City churches would still form a town of themselves. Dreaming here, we cannot but marvel what this place was like when both houses and churches were destroyed — when London was one broad sheet of flame, and its inhab- itants were camped out in the open fields, looking at the ruin which was being wrought. Do you not wonder what the congregations were thinking about on that Sunday morning when the conflagration be- o-an ? How many were making up their minds about the removal of their w^orldly goods — how many thinking of the o-reat and terrible day of the Lord — how many shivering with fear — thought, to quote the Rev. T. Vincent, that, into those churches which were in flames, " God himself had come down to preach in them as He did in Mount Sinai, when the mount burst into fire." Doubtless some of those who sleep inside the rusty raihngs against which we lean, beheld these things — saw the City de- populated by plague, and purified by fire — followed the dead- (,j^rts — looked down into the pits — hurried from the con- flao-ration — witnessed executions on Tower Hill — attended the theatricals in the churchyard of St. Katharine Cree — and followed royalty, when kings and queens rode in state through the streets. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. The very stones in this part of London talk to us elo- quently of the past. Under the houses spring the arches of almost forgotten churches — in dim aisles stand stately mon- uments — in narrow lanes, mansions, once occupied by the nobility. The dust of great and good, and notorious and suffering men, has mingled long ago with the earth on which we tread, and there is scarcely an inch of ground but has some story or tradition connected with it. If ghosts could return to their former haunts, what a con- gress should we behold in these old world streets ! Think of Tower Hill ! What a regiment of headless men and women would draw up there, and march to West- minster, to meet the spirits of their oppressors ! Think if the vaults were unsealed, and the graves opened, and the wrong, and the sin, and the cruelty, and the misery of the past suffered to escape into the night, what a ghastly proces- sion would meet us at every turning ! And, as it is, the ghosts we encounter in fancy while threading the older parts of London, set us reflecting about the bodies we shall see at the Day of Judgment. Giving the imagination leave but to peep into the City churchyards — letting it have only a glimpse of that horrid foundation on which Windmill Street and the adjacent thoroughfares stand — suffering it to think of the graves lying deep under the City houses — it is not so difficult to realize what that mighty gathering will be like when the dead, small and great, shall stand before God, and be judged according to their works. Fen Court is just the place for such pictures to be per- fected. We are seated in the past with its dead, while up the passage comes to us the muffled roar of the life and traffic of the present. We are not looking from the present into the past, we are for the moment existing in the years gone by. It is the din of our day which is the dream, and the memories of the olden time that are the reality. 6 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. There is not a sound to dispel the charm — not a footfall to break the silence. The murmur of the human tide, ebbing and flowing through Fenchurch Street, disturbs the illusion no more than if it were the thunder of the sea. The few offices in Fen Court are closed. The children who come here to play have been in bed this half-hour — the sparrows have chirped themselves to sleep on the branches overhead. There is a great virtue of stillness stealing down many a lane, and into many a court and alley, for it is now getting dusk in the City, and the summer twilight brings silence on its quiet wings. Unless you know the City well — know it, I mean, in all its moods and tenses — this statement may well surprise you, for there is a general impression abroad, that London is never quiet, except it may be from two to three o'clock, A. M., when, a comparatively recent writer states, that " Riot, Profligacy, Want, and Misery, have retired, and Labor is scarcely risen." Nevertheless, I repeat my assertion, for the great stillness which seems suddenly to fall on the City with the summer semi-darkness, has alw^ays appeared to me little short of marvellous. In the winter it is different. Life hurries along the pavements at a quicker rate under the gas-lamps than under the dull November sky ; the traffic of the day, increased if anything, rolls through the muddy streets ; there is no end to the women one meets going shopping ; across the bridges people pour ceaselessly ; omnibuses are crowded ; cab horses are whipped into that three-foot gallop which proclaims the last stage of weariness ; St. Paul's Church- yard is thronged with ladies to whom the goods displayed in the shop-windows offer attractions impossible to with- stand ; behind the counters, pale young men strive with seductive smiles and graceful arrangements of ribbons and dresses to bring undecided customers to a decision, whilst in the back streets girls pour out of work-rooms and fill up the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 7 narrow side-paths, with groups of slight, delicate-looking, thinly clad, giggling chatterers. The winter evening brings with its darkness turmoil and unrest, but the summer twilight falls softly on silent lanes and empty thoroughfares. The offices are closed, the shopkeepers have put up their shutters, the human passions, fears, hopes, joys and sorrows, that seethed along the pavement during the day, have been carried by their possessors miles distant, to the far off sea- shore, to the pleasant Surrey hills, or the green Hertford- shire fields. The housekeepers and the City pohce are left in possession of the City houses and the City streets, and very gently, night steals on, and silence with it. Where we sit, it is almost dark already, for the houses and the trees make a shade in Fen Court even at mid-day. Out in the open country, or in the nearer suburbs, it is probably light enough still ; but here, on this August even- ing, it is quite dark, and an increasing feeling of solemnity creeps over us as we sit by the graves in the gloom, whilst the evening breeze stirs softly and mournfully the leaves above our heads. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER IT. GRANT AND CO. Fen Court is far from cheerful now, and except that it was iSfteen years younger — which fact could not have made any material difference in its appearance — I do not know that it looked any brighter when George Geith tenanted the second floor of the house which stands next but one to the old gateway, on the Fenchurch Street side, and transacted business there, trading under the firm of " Grant and Co., accountants." If quietness were what he wanted, he had it. Except in the summer evenings, when the children of the Fenchurch Street housekeepers brought their marbles through the passage, and fought over them on the pavement in front of the office doors, there was little noise of life in the old churchyard. The sparrows in the trees, or the footfall of some one entering or quitting the Court alone disturbed the silence. The roar of Fenchurch Street on the one side, and of Leadenhall Street on the other, sounded in Fen Court but as a distant murmur ; and to a man whose life was spent among figures, and who wanted to devote his undivided attention to his work, this silence was a blessing not to be properly estimated save by those who have passed through that maddening ordeal, which precedes being able to abstract the mind from external influences, and to keep it steady to one object, in spite alike of the rattle of a fire- engine and the thunder of a railway van. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 9 For the historical recollections associated with the locality he had chosen, George Geith did not care a rush. It was the London of to-day in which he lived and moved and had his being. The London of old was as a sealed book unto him ; and if any one had opened its pages for his benefit, he would not have read a line of the ancient story. Passing every day by places famous in former times, he never paused to inquire, how and when and why they ceased to be of note. In the present he thought of nothing, cared for nothing, save his business ; and for the rest, his dreams, when he had any, were of the future, not of the past. What the past held of his — what of struggle, sorrow, resolve, grief, fear — no one was ever likely to learn from George Geith. The people with whom he talked most, did not know whence he had come, what he had been, whither he was bound. Never a vessel hoisted fewer signals than the accountant. "When other men hung out all their poor rags of colors, when they spread the stories of their lives out for public inspec- tion, this auditor remained obstinately mute. Not a word had he to say about home, or friends, or relatives. He made no pretension to having seen better days — to having ever been anything different from what the world then saw him — a struggling man, who worked from early in the morning till late at night, and who seemed to have no thought nor care for anything, save making of money and extending his connection. He lived with his work, slept in his back office, ate his breakfast while he read his letters, and swallowed his tea, surrounded on all sides by books and balance-sheets, and labyrinths and mazes of figures. As for his dinner, at whatever hour in the day he could best spare ten minutes, he went to the nearest coffee-house, and had a chop or steak, as the case might be. From which it will be clearly seen that the accountant was not laboring for creature comforts — for rich dishes and old wines, for 10 GEORGE GEITH OF YEN COURT. soft couches and idle hours ; but that he was working either for work's sake, or for some object far outside the round of his daily and yearly existence. And what an existence that was ! What a dull, monoto- nous road it would have seemed to most, unrelieved as it was by social intercourse, unlightened by domestic ties ; with no friend to talk to, no wife to love, no child to caress, no parent to provide for. A lonesome, laborious life, which had little in it, even of change of employment ; for, so soon as one man's books were balanced, or schedule prepared, another merchant or bankrupt stood at the door, and behold, the same routine had to be gone through again. But monotony did not weary the accountant. Give him work enough, and strength sufficient to toil eighteen hours a day, and he was content. If he could have taken more out of himself he would have done it ; but, as that was impossible, he labored through all the working days of the week, and up to twelve o'clock on Saturday nights ; as I hope, you, my reader, may never have to labor for any cause whatsoever. As is the fashion of the Londoners, those who knew Mr. Geith — whom they called Mr. Grant — ever so slightly, asked him to come to dinner, tea, supper, what he would on Sunday, and because he persistently declined these invita- tions, people said the accountant worked seven days in the week, on his treadmill in Fen Court. But in this instance people were wrong. Whether he were a saint or a sinner, George Geith still kept the Sab- bath day holy, so far as refraining from labor could keep it so. He put aside his business, and laid down his pen. He went to church, moreover, in the mornings regularly. Some- times, too, he walked to Westminster Abbey, or to St. Paul's, for afternoon service ; but that was seldom, for he usually slept until tea ; after which meal he started off to one or other of the city churches, making in this way, quite a little visitation of his own during the course of a twelvemonth. A strange life — one so apparently terrible to an outsider GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 11 in its voluntary loneliness, that his clients marvelled how he could support it. And yet, my reader, if I can succeed in putting you on friendly terms with this solitary individual, you will come gradually to understand, why this existence was not unendurable to him. It is getting dark in Fen Court, as we stand beside the milings in the gathering twihght. The offices have long been closed ; the housekeepers' children have left their mar- bles and their skipping-ropes, and are gone ^ome to bed. The twitter of the sparrows is hushed, and there is nothing to be heard save the faint hum of the City traffic, and the rustling of the leaves, as the evening breeze touches them caressingly. It is getting darker and darker, so dark in fact that there is little more to be seen of Fen Court to-night ; but still, have patience for a moment. This man, whose story I have undertaken to tell as well as I am able, has just separated himself from the living stream flowing eastward along Fen- church Street, and is coming up the passage. You can hear his footsteps ringing through the silence. Hark ! how they echo beneath the archway — quick, firm, even, unhurried. There is no shadow of turning or wavering about that tread. Listen to the footfalls ; you cannot distinguish the left from the right ; there is no drag, no twist, no irregularity. Do you think the man whom nature has taught to walk like that would be a person to refrain from using whip and spur if he had an object to compass ? I tell you, no. As he passes us in the gloom of the sum- mer evening, unmindful of the graves lying to his left, and deaf to the low, sad tale the wind is whispering among the leaves, I tell you he is a man to work so long as he has a breath left to draw ; who would die in his harness rather than give up ; who would fight against opposing circum- stances whilst he had a drop of blood in his veins ; whose greatest virtues are untiring industry and indomitable cour- age, and who is worth half a dozen ordinary men, if only because of his iron frame and unconquerable spirit. 12 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. He has let himself in by this time with his latch-key, taken such letters as are intended for his firm out of the box, and proceeded up the easy, old-fashioned staircase, past the painting hanging on the first landing, and so into his own office, where he hghts the gas, which, flaring out across the churchyard, clears a little space for its reflection out of the blackness of the opposite walk Night after night the flare and reflection tell the same tale of patient labor, of untiring application. It seems strange that the figures did not dance before his eyes, and chase each other up and down his desk. With many a one the pence would have nodded across to the pounds, and the shillings become confused with their neigh- bors' columns ; but the accountant suffered his puppets to take no such liberties. In the course of a year he went through miles of addition without a stumble ; what he carried never perplexed him ; midway up the shillings he never got crazed as common mortals might, but mounted gallantly to the summit as a racer goes straight to the winning-post, without a pause. The skeins of silk which, in the old fairy tale, the god- mother gave to her godchild to disentangle were nothing, compared to the arithmetical confusions out of which George Geith produced order. The chaos of figures from whence he managed to extract a fair balance-sheet would have seemed hopeless to any person untrained to passages of arms with the numeration table. The mass of accounts through which he waded in the space of twelve months was of itself almost incredible. Alps on Alps of figures he climbed with silent patience, and the more Alps he climbed the higher rose great mountains of arithmetic in the background — mountains with gold ly- ing on their summits for him to grasp and possess. If you would like to see the man who thus labored through the monotonous routine of an accountant's daily life, I do not know that any better opportunity than the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 13 present is likely to occur ; for, with one foot stretched wea- rily on the floor, and the otiier resting on the rail of his oflfice-stool, he is sitting beside his desk, with the gas-light streaming full on his face, sorting out the letters he has just brought up-stairs with him. There are eight in all — seven of which he places in a little heap ready to his hand, whilst the other is pushed on one side till the last. He is not handsome, certainly ! Too commonplace looking to be the hero of a novel, you object, perhaps ; but you are wrong there. Somehow it is these rough-hewn men who stand at the helms of the best craft that sail across the ocean of existence. Looking over the portraits of those who have labored hardest and longest in the fields of science, literature, theology, and human prog- ress, we find that nature has been niggardly with them in the matter of beauty. Possibly the better the quality of her coin, the less pains she takes in stamping it for the world's market ; but let this be as it may, I would rather accept George Geith's stern hard face for that of my hero, than have to tell the life's story of a handsomer man. He was fit for the fight he had to wage ; and it is some- thing to be permitted to tell of the struggles of one, who, having elected to go down into the battle, bore the heat and burden of the day, and the agony of the wounds he received during the conflict without a murmur. A man, moreover, who was able to work, not merely fiercely, but patiently ; for whom no task was too long, no labor too severe. Look in his face and see how it is scored all over with the marks of determination and energy ; look at the square forehead with two deep vertical lines graven on it, at the dark resolute eyes, at the well-marked unarched brows, at the straight decided nose, at the nostrils that ex- pand and quiver a little when he is struck hard, as will sometimes happen in business — the only sign of feehng ever to be traced in his features. As for his mouth, were that mass of disfiguring hair away, 14 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. you AYould see how naturally, as his thoughts get to work, his hps compress and harden, not with the mannerism to be noted in weak women and weaker men, but with that fixed rigidity of the muscles never to be found save in a person who is strong mentally, and physically ; strong in planning, in executing, in loving, in hating, for good or for evil. There are the outward and visible signs of this strenjrth in George Geith, in his face, in his carriage, in his speech, in his movements. As he now sits reading his letters, his disengaged hand lies on the desk clenched, as though he held the purpose and fruition of his life within it. There is a significance likewise about the fashion of his beard which he wears cut and trimmed carefully ; not a straggling hair is to be seen in the brown mass which covers the lower part of his face like a gorse hedge. In the days when you, my reader, make this man's ac- quaintance, hair was no passport to credit, and people won- dered at the accountant's defiance of City prejudices ; but they need not have wondered, for he had suiBfered his beard to grow under the same impulse as that which induces a criminal to stain his skin, and don strange clothes when the police are on his track. In his despair he had dived into the great sea of London life, and when he rose to the sur- face again he was so changed that not even the parish clerk of Morelands would have recognized him, had he seen the accountant sitting under his official nose. And yet seven years before, the Reverend' George Geith had been well known at Morelands ; but that was in the days when he was curate there, before the night when the one great folly of his youth came home to him in all its bit- terness, when he tore the white neckcloth from his throat and flung aside the surplice, and fled from the church to re- cross her portals, as a servant of God no more. To London he came to seek his fortune. In a feigned name he sought employment, which he found at last in the offices of Home Brothers, accountants. Princes Street, City. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 15 For five weary years he stayed there, wandering through labyrinths of figures, and applying himself so closely to learn his business thoroughly, that, when at length he summoned up courage to start on his own account, he carried with him to Fen Court a very respectable number of clients, profita- ble to him, but so small in the estimation of the great house, that the Homes suffered them to drop through the large meshes of their trade-net without a regret. Very patiently he had worked his way on ; no business was too paltry or insignificant for him, and thus it came to pass that one man brought another, and one transaction led to more. He had succeeded ; he was doing well. Let that suffice for our purpose, without speaking further of the weary toil, of the incessant labor, by which success had been achieved. Even as Jacob served Laban for Rachel, so George Geith was serving fortune for something which was dear to him as the maid to the patriarch — Freedom. Money could give him freedom, and accordingly for money he toiled. Let the day be never so long, he fainted not ; let the heat be never so intense, he sought no cool shade in which to rest. Onward, ever onward, from early morning till late at night he hasted, turning not to the right hand nor to the left, but keeping the goal of emancipation ever in view, toiled steadily on. People marvelled how he was able to continue the pace, but they did not know of the whip which was lashing him on. If he were ever to taste the sweets of liberty ; if he were ever to resume his proper name and his rightful station in the future, he must work like a slave in the present. And as a traveller, when seeking some far-off land of golden promise, pauses not to seek rest or companions, in the country through which he is passing, so George Geith, hurrying on his road to freedom, took no heed of the rough- ness and loneliness of the path he was traversing. Money was what he lacked ; money what he hoped to 16 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. gain ; and rocks and stones seemed like smoothest turf under his feet whilst he pressed onward to obtain it. " A few years more," he had been thinking, as he came up the passage, " a few years more, and I shall have enough to free myself." And then he entered the house as we have seen. When he had finished reading his other letters, the ac- countant lifted that he first laid aside, and slowly turned it over with the air of a person who expected no pleasure to result from the perusal. It was directed to Grant & Co., Accountants, Fen Court, Fenchurch Street, City ; and the man who opened the letter, knew it came from the only person in London, who could say, for a certainty, that the Rev. George Geith was living, and in England. As no pleasant news had ever come, or was ever likely to come, to Fen Court through his instrumentality, the ac- countant pulled out the contents of the envelope leisurely. Within the outer cover there was an enclosure directed to the Rev. George Geith, which enclosure contained three documents, viz., a note, a letter, and a telegraphic message. The last Mr. Geith read the first, and as he did so his face altered in a moment. Energy, firmness, and irapassiveness, were struck out of it at once by surprise, by an amazement which made him feel like one reading in his sleep. There was no further hesitation after that. He tore open the letter to see what the message really meant ; he seized the note and glanced at the few lines it contained. After that he turned to the telegram once again, and read and re-read it, till the words danced before his eyes. Was it true ? — was he free ? Had death done for him, in an instant, that which it would have taken years of work, and all the money he could have earned by work, to have accomplished. Was it certain that this great deliverance had been GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 17 effected ; that the incubus of his life was removed ; that the shackles were struck off, and the prison-door opened, and he at liberty to walk forth into that fair land of freedom, which he had left so long, so long ago ? For a moment the accountant covered his face with his hands, and sat with his eyes shut to assure himself, when h« opened them again, he had not been dreaming. Then he read the note and the letter and the telegram once more, and after he had read, he went for a moment into his back office, whence he returned carrying the clerical directory in his hand. He wanted to see if the name of the clergyman, whose letter lay before him, was to be found in the book. Very eagerly he ran his finger down the page : Claell ; Clafield ; Claike ; Clarke ; ClauU ; Claydon ; Clayfield, Arthur; Clay- field, Charles M. ; Clay field, Francis — yes, there he was at last ; Clayfield, Honorable Ferdinand G., Vicar of Lute, St.. Austills, Trevannick, Cornwall. He was a reality, then. The thick note-paper, the cleri- cally illegible handwriting, the large seal and imposing crest, had concealed no deception, covered no snare. The person who had cursed his life was dead, and he by consequence free. Having arrived at which conclusion, the accountant took off his neckcloth, and unfiistened his shirt-collar. Each man has his own especial way of evincing happiness, and that was Mr. Geith's. Further, if he had not done something of the kind he must have suffocated ; even as it was he felt his veins were not large enough to let the blood pour through them. His head seemed full of pain, the gas-light flickered and danced before his eyes, and as he left the desk and walked across the room to his writing-table, he staggered like a drunken man. And truly the news he had just received was enough to shake the firmness of any one. A man cannot pass from one existence into another without a throe, and the change 2 18 GEORGE GETTH OF FEN COURT. which had taken place in George Geith's life was like nothing save passing from the darkness of the valley of the shadow of death, back into the glorious noonday of life, and hope, and youth. Between the chimes of the clock, liberty had come through the passage, and along the churchyard, and up the stairs, to sit down beside the accountant in his lonely office. At nine he was a slave, at a quarter past nine, free, and striving with a gasp to realize that he was so. How poor and insignificant any deliverance he could have wrought out for himself in the days to come, seemed to this ! It was like what filing through chains of iron with a rusty nail might be in comparison to having the fetters struck off with a smith's sledge. Death had emancipated him, and he was glad. In that hour he had no pity to spare for the sinner departed ; no prayer to mutter for the soul called so' suddenly to its account. George Geith was neither a very sensitive 'nor a very scrupulous man ; he was fitted to fight out his fight bravely, but without much compunction, and so he never thought of mingling a regret with his joy, or of baring his head and humbling himself in the dust whilst the chariot of the Lord rolled by. Through the portals of eternity, held open for a moment by the hand of death, he never turned to gaze ; he only looked out over the future of his own life, which he was now free to travel as he pleased. How he travelled it ; what he made of it, how the bitter folly of his youth, mingled with his cup when it tasted the sweetest and seemed full to the brim with happiness and content, you shall know, reader, if you have patience to follow his fortunes through the pages to come. Meanwhile he has gone over to his desk again, and, hav- ing put aside his letters, got to work. We may go out of the office now and leave him to himself. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 19 CHAPTER III. BUSINESS, Over all sorts of human feelings, the Juggernaut of business rolls relentlessly. It spares neither sorrow nor joy in its progress ; and there are no smiles so bright, no tears so bitter that they can drag, even for a moment, the wheels of that inexorable car. Let the sickness be ever so fatal, let the dead in her coffin have been ever so dear, still if business is to go on at all, the sick must be left and the dead for- saken, and the merest details of every-day commercial life attended to, though a man's heart should be breaking. Money must be lodged and paid, bills met, goods sent for shipment, letters answered, customers admitted, though the eyes that were wont to light up the now desolate home are closed, and the voice which made melody in the deserted rooms, is mute forever. Shall sorrow stop the trains, keep vessels in the dock, prevent office-doors being opened ? No surely ; nor shall joy, not even such joy as George Geith felt when he opened his eyes on the following morning, and satisfied him- self by another perusal of his letter, that the liberty which bad come to him the previous night was not a dream. Whether bond or free, it was necessary he should live, and so he thankfully turned himself to business once again, and remained in Fen Court, working as hard, and as fiercely, as ever. Most men who had been bred up to the church, and com- pelled to leave it solely by the pressure of external circum- 20 GEORGE GEITH OF FP:N COURT. Stances, would, when once that pressure was withdrawn, have seriously considered whether they ought not to return to their old profession. Not so George Geith, hoAvever. He did not feel the old vows bind him. He acknowledged no obligation to return to curate's work and curate's pay. He had settled the mat- ter of relinquishing the church years ago with his own con- science, and although circumstances were much altered since then, he was not the man to reopen a disagreeable contro- versy with himself, and resume an argument in which, free as he was in the present to choose his course, he would have been sure to get the worst of the discussion. The years which had brought liberty with them had brought likewise a knowledge of his own aptitude for business, and inaptitude for parish work. In the days when he was compelled to make his decision, it had seemed to him a calamity to have to leave the Church ; but now the calamity would be to have to return to the Church, to relinquish the busy world of business and profit, the future of wealth and independence, for some country parish, where he should have to try and please the village gossips, be deferential to his rector, christen the laborers' children, bury the poor, and marry those whose banns had first been duly published. It was not a temporal lot to be coveted by a man of his temperament ; and as temporal advantages were the gods of George Geith's idolatry, as loaves and fishes were much more to his taste than any form of spiritual refreshment that could be offered him ; as he had in the first instance decided to be a clergyman solely because his father had been one, because his friends wished it, and because there was a desir- able living in the Geith family, it will readily be believed that having found there was a more excellent worldly way to rank and wealth and ease, he was not likely to return to the path he had abandoned, and become either a poor curate, with good connections certainly, but without private means, or the hanger-on of a great house, the windows whereof com- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 21 manded a view of the smoke curling up from the chimneys of Great Snarehara Rectory. From the clerical directory he knew that the old incum- bent was still alive ; and he knew, likewise, that his aunt, Lady Geith, and his cousin, Sir Mark, would give him the liv- ing whenever it fell in, and settle the question of his sudden flight from Morelands, and long absence from the Church, with the Bishop, whilst that dignitary ate his luncheon at Snareham Castle. It was no doubt about his old advantages being restored to him that kept George Geith in Fen Court. It was just this, he liked business better than preaching or praying, or visit- ing the fatherless and widows in their affliction ; and, accord- ingly, without arguing out the matter, or giving it more than the most casual consideration, he decided on remaining an accountant. And if a clergyman's engagement with the Church be dissoluble, if it be but a matter of service and pay- ment, of temporal expediency and earthly reward, he was right. But, on the other hand, if entering the Church be marrying for time arid eternity, if the vows vowed are irrev- ocable, if the choice, once made, whether hastily or after mature consideration, be one by which a man ought to abide through life, he was wrong. Anyhow, he remained in Fen Court, and that may suffice for us, for it is not with the tender scruples of a sensitive man we shall have to do in tlrese volumes, not with the self-analysis of a subjective nature, but rather with the life's fight of one who now victorious, now defeated, struggled on till he reached the summit of his hopes, a disappointed man ! See him as he sits in his office, looking over his desk at the waving boughs and the rustling leaves that dance and are glad in the summer sunshine ! Life is before him, and he is free. He has lost years and years certainly, but at thirty-two a man has still the best part of his life to traverse, and he who can start from that point with nothing to hinder his making I'l GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. a good thing of the remainder of the road, may truly be esteemed one of the favorites of fortune. And this man? He has health, a clear conscience, a strong body, a vigorous mind. He is willing to work, and has got work to do ; he is suc- ceeding in his profession ; he can resume his old name. He can, if he pleases, seek out his relatives, and establish a con- nection between the City and one of the oldest and proudest famiHes in Bedfordshire. Or, if he did not care to do that, he could at any rate walk about the world a free and inde- pendent man. dogged no more by the dread of discovery, and he could work with a light heart, knowing what he earned was his own, and would never again have to be laid aside and devoted to that purpose which had eaten seven years out of the very heart and glory of his life. Now, come friend, come foe, George Gcith was indifferent. The one enemy, who could have beggared and disgraced him, was lying at last in a churchyard, far away in Corn- wall. After seven years — seven years that had altered every plan of his life, obliterated the prejudices of birth, taken him out of the Church, and flung Iiim into the midst of a struggling, pushing world, to fight for his daily bread — George Geith was fi-ee. Seven years ! what would the next seven bring to him ? For days the accountant asked himself that question ; as he walked along the streets, as he ate his breakfast, and swal- lowed his dinner ; he saw, not the crowds in the City thoroughfares, not his ding}^ back office, not the blank for- mality of Billiter Square, not the comfortless surroundings of the dirty chop-house ; but estates, and houses, and happi- ness, all possessed by George Geith, who, with grave face and sober demeanor, saw visions and dreamed dreams ! What business man has not done this? Who, standinf* on the borders of that speculative land, which is so fair to all, and which holds gifts for so few, has not bought and sold, and sowed and reaped, and labored, and received abun- dantly ? GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 23 Talk of the imagination of poets ; what are their wildest fancies in comparison to those which fill the brains of specu- lators ? And tliis is the true fascination of business. Beyond its weary details, beyond its toils, beyond its certainties, beyond its endless necessities and countless annoyances, lies the limitless region of possibility, which is possessed in fancy by thousands who might seem to you, my reader, commonplace men enough. That land is boundless, beautiful, happy. It is the El Dorado of struggling men, the heaven of inventors ; it is the sun which shines into dingy offices, wiiich gilds dark clouds that would otherwise overwhelm with their blackness tired and anxious hearts. Into this land the minds of silent and undemonstrative men pass the most readily. And it was because George Geith \vas to a great extent self-contained, and unconliding, that he clothed the future with such glorious hues and radiant apparel. And yet as this future had to be won with work, the glimpses he caught of it, instead of inducing idleness, only made him labor more determinedly in the present. There was nothing in the prospect of rest which caused liim to loathe his harness. At sight of the distant pastures, and the far-off streams, he merely quickened his pace on- ward. Every step he took over the City stones, every letter he wrote, every piece of business he completed, brought the end closer, the journey nearer to a conclusion. Freed from the danger of detection, George Geith once again made himself a bondsman. Never a master lashed on a slave to labor as bu.^iness now lashed on the accountant. It drove him, it hurried him, lie lived in it and for it, far more than he lived by it. He had worked so long fiercely, that his mind seemed cramped unless his body was always laboring a little beyond 24 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. its Strength. The object for which he had toiled was gone, but it is easy to install a pleasant object in place of an un- pleasant one ; and so for Avealth, instead of for freedom, he began to labor, and soon every faculty was stretched, in the race he had set himself to run. He had not a near relation living. Without wife, child, father or mother, sister or brother, he slaved for himself, as few men slave for their families. He made a god out of that which was sapping his health and strength ; and he fell down and worshipped it, day after dny, and night after night, whilst the wind sobbed among the leaves of the trees, and the dead who, it might be, had some of them worshipped Mammon too, slept inside the rusty railings forgotten and forsaken. So passed the autumn, and it was winter. The finest season of the year had departed, and George Geitli was glad. The most profitable time was at. hand — and the footsteps of clients, old and new, made pleasant music in the accountant's ear, as they ascended the stairs, leading to his second floor. Bankrupts, men who were good enough, men who were doubtful, and men who were (speaking commercially) bad, had all alike occasion to seek the accountant's advice and assistance. Retailers, who kept ch^'rks for their sold books, but not for their bought ; wholesale dealers who did not want to let their clerks see their books at all. Shrewd men of business, who yet could not balance a ledger ; ill-educated traders, who, though they could make money, would have been ashamed to show their ill-written and worse spelled journals to a stranger ; unhappy wretches shivering on the brink of insolvency ; creditors who did not think much of the cooking of some dishonest debtor's accounts — all these came and sat in George Geith's back office, and waited their turn to see him. First come, first served, was the accountant's rule in busi- ness ; and one which I rather think contributed largely to GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 25 his success. One of the blood-royal would not in that office have taken precedence of John Oakes and Tom Styles ; and it is these latter gentlemen who, after all, are more profitable customers than the Upper Ten Thousand, if tradespeople could only think so. Country gentry, indeed, who came to the City by rail, and West-End folks who made the City more crowded with their cabs, were somewhat disgusted at a regulation which failed to recognize their superiority over the East-End herd ; but never was any one more indignant than an individual who, having made a journey to town, solely on purpose to visit the office of Grant & Co., found himself left in the background, whilst common people were ushered into the presence chamber — vulgar people evidently in trade, Avhom the clerk would have hinted to any less stately customer, were a " muslin, two teas, and a cheese." ^ But this tall, portly country gentleman, who stooa looking out at the drizzling rain Avhich was wetting the pavement of Billiter Square, would not have understood what he meant, and would not have smiled at the description if he had; and it was quite a relief to the clerk when he knew by the clos- ing of the other office-door, that the stranger's turn had come at last. " Mr. Geith is at leisure now, sir," said the youth, and he rose and opened the door of communication for the new cli- ent to pass through. Had the new client been of an observ- ant nature he might have noticed that to the rest the clerk had merely nodded permission to enter ; but, wrapped up in his own affairs, he only remembered that others had ob- tained an audience before him, and so entering the inner office wnth the air of an injured man, opened the pleadings as follows. 26 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COUET. CHAPTER IV. THE SYTHLOW MINES. " I HAVE been kept waiting ; I have been detained above an hour," he said, and from his manner of saying it, Mr. Geith saw waiting had not improved his temper. " I am sorry," answered the accountant, " that it has so happen^, but my rule is, that the first comer sees me first. We busmess men," he explained, " cannot afford to be other than democrats, and the peer and the peasant stand on an equality in a City oflace, if they bring work in their hands with them." " I dare say your rule is a good one," was the reply, uttered in a tone which implied that the introduction of a general proposition, into a conversation with the speaker, was too presumptuous to be pleasing. " I dare say your rule is a good one, though it has occasioned inconvenience to myself. I came from Hertfordshire this morning in order to see Mr. Grant ? " "My name is Geith," said George, answering the im- plied question ; " but it is all the same, I manage the busi- ness." " But I wanted to see Mr. Grant," replied the visitor, looking all round the room as if in search of that mythical individual. " I wish to consult him on a matter of some importance and " — " I assure you Mr. Grant is never here," interposed the accountant. " I am the managing partner in the firm, and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 27 as such have the sole conduct of all affairs that may be in- trusted to us. If you will tell me the nature of your busi- ness I shall be most happy to advise you to the best of my ability." And Mr. Geith, having first handed his visitor a chair, mounted his stool, and looked attentively at his new client, who in turn stared hard at him. It was v'ery little the accountant could discover from his scrutiny, beyond the fact of the. new-comer being a gen- tleman, which fact he had ascertained the moment he en- tered the room. A florid, middle-aged, blue-eyed, light-haired, hot-tempered individual, who looked like a country squire, but who might have been anything, from a nobleman to a small landed-pro- prietor. George could not conceive what his important busi- ness might be, so he waited till the other had completed his survey, and intimated that he felt comparatively satisfied with the appearance of the accountant by announcing himself to be " Mr. Molozane." Mr. Geith had some vague recollection of having heard of an old and respectable county family of that name, and ac- knowledged the information with suitable respect. " Having some money lying idle," proceeded Mr. Molozane, " I thought I would call and ask your opinion of the Sythlow Mines." " Our business has no connection with mines," replied the accountant. " You would probably gain the information you require from a mining engineer." " What do I want with mining engineers ? " broke out Mr. Molozane. " What do I want with a parcel of fellows who would recommend anything for the sake of their commission ? I require a disinterested opinion — an opinion on which I can depend." " It would be impossible for me to offer one," said Mr. Geith ; " for, in the first place, we are merely accountants, and, in the second, I never heard of the Sythlow Mines be- fore." 28 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " But you could ascertain particulars." " I doubt it," was the reply ; " and even if I could, I should decline interfering in the matter. It is out of our line alto- gether." "You have come in contact with mines, though," urged Mr. Molozane. " With those who have been ruined by them, yes," re- turned Mr. Geith. He was sorry next minute for having spoken the w^ords, for he saw the strong man wince at them — wince and shiver. " Had you not better consult your solicitor ? " he continued, becoming interested, in spite of himself, in his visitor. " I have no solicitor in London, and I do not want my man of business in the country to know anything about the matter. The truth is," — and here Mr. Molozane left his chair and came and stood beside the accountant's desk, — " the truth is, I have taken shares in those cursed mines, and I have come to you to know whether they will bring ruin to me or not." " Why to me ? " asked George, in amazement. - " Because a sort of cousin of mine told me Grant & Co. were to be depended on. I dare say you remember him, — Mr. Croft, a clergyman." George Geith did. He remembered the reverend gentle- man getting himself into pecuniary trouble, and coming to that very office three or four times a day to see " how he stood." He remembered he had often wished Mr. Croft far enough, and he now began to marvel, whether Mr. Molozane would prove another such infliction. While this passed through his mind he said, — " How can I possibly do what 3^ou wish ? My business lies among certainties, not possibilities. I am no judge of mines. There is only one thing I do know, which is, that I should never invest one sixpence in them." " Is a man liable to the extent of his shares ? " was Mr. Molozane's comment on this speech. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 29 " Certainly. And if the company be not on the cost prin- ciple he is liable to the extent of the company's liabilities. Is yours on the cost principle ? " " I am sure I cannot tell," said the dupe, faintly. " I know nothing about it, except that they told me I should never have to pay more than the first instalment unless I chose, and that I should be able at any time to sell at a hundred per cent, profit." *' How many shares have you ? " asked the accountant. " One hundred, fifty-pound shares," was the reply. " How much paid up ? " " Twenty pounds." " What are they selling at now ? " " Half-a-crown ; a temporary depression in the market, they say, but I cannot help feeling uneasy." " Sell at half-a-crown," said Mr. Geith, on receipt of this intelligence. " Sell at any price, and get rid of them." " Why five minutes ago, you stated you knew nothing of the Sythlow Mines ; that you had never heard of them. I do not understand your meaning, sir, not at all ; " and the poor gentleman, who felt the ground giving way under his feet, stood at bay. " My meaning is this," answered Mr. Geith, who could not feel offended at anything a map so placed might say ; " that a company which induces the public to purchase shares by misrepresentation, and the fifty-pound shares in which are selling at half-a-crown, must be rotten, and the sooner you get clear of it the better." "But I should lose nineteen hundred and eighty-seven pounds," said Mr. Molozane, with a readiness which proved he had gone through the calculation before ; " and to think of the sum I expected to make — of all the plans I built on that d d lead ! I cannot give everything up, Mr. Geith — I cannot sell." For a moment the accountant paused and hesitated before he said : " As I understand, the case stands thus. You have 30 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. accepted an indefinite liability which you can get rid of at the cost of a definite loss ; were I so situated, I should sub- mit to the loss, rather than continue the liability. You know to-day that nineteen hundred and eighty-seven pounds odd will be the extent of your misfortune, but you have no means of knowing what sum it w^ill take to set you straight here- after." " You think, in fact, the mine might swallow up all I have ? " asked Mr. Molozane, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. " It is possible," answered the accountant, and his visitor resumed his chair. " Could you ascertain what the mines are thought of in London ? " said Mr. Molozane after a time, with that vague belief in the value and safety of metropohtan opinion, which is so distinguishing a peculiarity of country people. " Probably I could," was the reply. " I will endeavor to do so to-morrow, and communicate the result." " To-day, sir, — to-day, for God's sake ! " urged his client ; and thus exhorted, George Geith wrote on a slip of paper, — " Dear Sir, — Can you send me any information about the Sythlow Mines ? Are they a safe investment ; who is the secretary, and how does the company stand ? "Yours, G. G." This slip he tol.d his clerk to take over to Mr. Bemmidge's office in Nicholas Lane, and wait an answer. Having done this, he handed The Times to Mr. Molozane, and commenced writing letters that were to go out by that night's mail. Whilst he was so engaged, people who had entered the outer office, and found no one there, knocked at the inner door for admittance. Then the accountant called out, " Come in," and laying down his pen, listened to what they had to say ; or if the business proved of a private nature, went into the other office with them. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 31 As a rule, he did not leave either friend or stranger alone in his own sanctum ; but he felt no fear of Mr. Molozane scrutinizing his papers. The unfortunate shareholder evi- dently did not belong to that class of persons who cannot let a chance pass of examining into the state of other men's affairs, let their own anxiety be what it will. Wearily the minutes passed to the visitor. He would have liked to lay down The Times and pace the room, but he feared disturbing Mr. Geith. The great silence of the place — that silence of London, which is so much more in- tense than silence in tl^e country — wore him out. Through the silence, the clock above the door ticked on relentlessly, and Mr. Molozane listened to the sound till it seemed as though his heart were ticking too, louder and faster than the clock. When strangers entered he screened his face with the newspaper, and tried to help hearing what they said. When they left he looked out of the v/indow, near which he sat, at the blackened walls surrounding the old church- yard, and the trees which grew within the raihngs, and waved their branches mournfully to the dull sky, whilst the rain kept drip, dripping on to the damp graves beneath. At last the clerk came back, stating, in explanation of his long absence, that Mr. Bemmidge, after reading the note, went out — telling him to wait. On his return he gave the messenger the fly-leaf of an old letter twisted up, with these words written in pencil on it — " The Sythlow shares are not worth the value of the paper on whfch they are issued. Don't let any one you know in- vest in them. The company is not on the cost-book princi- ple, and the secretary is Punt. I need say no more." " Why need he say ' no more' ?" asked Mr. Molozane, as the accountant concluded. " Because there is not a greater scoundrel in London," was the reply. " You must not lose an hour ; you must sell whilst selling is possible." 32 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Give me a glass of water," said Mr. Molozane, and Mr. Geith requested his clerk to bring some, which he did, in a jug ; carrying it and a tumbler in on a waiter. When he had emptied the jug, Mr. Molozane rose, and taking out his purse with a hand that would tremble spite of all his efforts at composure, said — "I do not know how much I am your debtor, but if you will " " You are not my debtor at all," interrupted the account- ant ; " mines are not our business, and I have done no busi- ness for you. I only wish I could have given you better news. Nay," he added, " I cannot make a charge. I might just as well take a fee for telling a stranger his way to St. Paul's." " You are very good. I fear I have intruded most un- warrantably ; I am sorry — I am greatly obliged ;" and Mr. Molozane held out his hand in a manner which proved he was only paying Mr. Geith in civility because he declined payment in money. Tiiere could be no doubt but that Mr. Molozane thought shaking hands with a man in business was conferring an honor on the individual so favored. Many a person reading this thought would have resented the condescension, but the accountant pitied his visitor too much for that, and shook hands cordially. " Your broker will be too late to sell to-day," he remarked, "but you might instruct him to dispose of the shares to- morrow." "• I do not know any broker," said Mr. Molozane, dole- fully. " Nor do I, personally," was the reply. " Smart and Stewart, in Broad Street, are considered very respectable people ; you could scarcely do better than go to them." " Thank you ; " and Mr. Molozane was about to depart, when George asked him if he knew his way to Broad Street. The misguided man of course did not, but meant to in- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 33 quire, and expressed himself gratefully when the accountant told him " to turn to his right on getting out of Fen Court, and keep straight on to the end of Fenchurch Street. After that,'' proceeded Mr. Geith, " turn to your right again up Gracechurch Street, cross the first opportunity, and take the second turning to your left, which is Threadneedle Street; Broad Street is the first turning to your right going down Threadneedle Street." All of which directions Mr. Molozane followed, and got safe into Broad Street ; but there he lost himself and got into Austinfriars, where he floundered about for a while, and finally turned up in Great Winchester Street. At that point some benevolent individual took him in charge, — conveyed him back to Broad Street via London Wall, and deposited him at the door of Messrs. Smart and Stewart's office. " Want shares sold out of the Sythlow Mining Co. !" re- peated Mr. Smart, who was a little old man with white hair, a sharp nose, and spectacles ; " you are not singular, but it cannot be done. We could not get rid of them for you if we offered a premium for taking them. Very sorry to hear you have shares ; a bad business — very ; " and Mr. Smart, taking snuff, offered his box to Mr. Molozane. It was a poor way, perhaps, of evincing sympathy, but he really intended the pinch as consolatory. He was very sorry to hear that portly-looking country gentleman had shares in the undertaking, for he knew well enough that to the majority of those who were so unfor- tunate there was an end coming, which end was — ruin. 34 GEOKGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER V. A FRIENDLY INVITATION. The letters were written and posted ; the clerk had taken down his great-coat, tied a white comforter in many folds round his neck, brushed his hat with his sleeve, and departed, shutting the outer door of the house after him, and George Geith was at last alone and free to linger a few minutes over his tea. From first thing in the morning he had been listening, talking, writing, or walking. He had not found leisure for any dinner, so he was breaking his fast with a chop the housekeeper had cooked for him, when a loud knock resounded through the house, and next moment Mr. Bemmidge entered the room. " Don't let me interrupt you," he said, taking off his hat and unbuttoning his top-coat as he spoke. " What a night it is ! The rain is coming down as if you were pouring it out of buckets. Thank you, I will take a cup of tea ; shall I call Mrs. Grimsby?" But Mrs. Grimsby, who knew Mr. Bemmidge's ways, was already in the room with a second cup and saucer, hav- ing placed which articles on the table, she waited for ,the tea-pot, and departed in triumph to replenish it. " Bachelor's tea, Bemmidge," said Mr. Geith apologetically to his friend, who had by this time planted himself in front of the fire, with both feet on the fender. " Always good," replied Mr. Bemmidge. " I think there ought to be an especial clause in the marriage-service, secur- ing a strong cup to married men." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 35 " One would think Mrs. Beramidge treated you badly in that respect," remarked the accountant. " So she does, but not worse than other wives treat their husbands ; indeed, tea is the only thing we ever have a row about. It's strange, is n't it ? Mothers can make tea, and sisters too, but wives can't ; and yet one would think they must have been sisters once, and will some day be the mothers of great hulking boys. Ah ! when I was single and in lodg- ings, used not I to make the tea black ? It was like ink. Some fellows that came to see me then will talk about my tea yet. I had to ask them not to mention it before Mrs. B., for it set her back up regularly ; and as she is as good a wife as ever breathed, it is a shame to vex her. "What fires you do keep up, to be sure ! " and Mr. Bemmidge thrust the poker between the bars as though the heat were not fierce enough already. " And what about the mines ? " he added. " Do you mean was the information sufficient ? " asked Mr. Geith. " If so, it was a little too sufficient for the person on whose* behalf I made the inquiry ; he had taken shares." " Poor devil ! " ejaculated Mr. Bemmidge ; " he may put up his shutters." " I don't think that he is in any business," said the account- ant. " Has private means, I should imagine." " If I were in his shoes, then, I should sell my sticks, pack up, and bolt," observed Mr. Bemmidge. " The Sythlow Mines will be the worst smash-up that we have seen for years. Mark my words if they are not. Do you know, I got quite in a fidget lest it was on your own behalf you were inquiring, and that my advice should not be strong enough to hinder your taking the shares ^s bargains. You ought to write to your client, and advise him to decamp." " I do not know what the man is," answered the other, " or where he lives, or anything about him, except that I am sure he would not do as you suggest. He will either shoot himself or face the evil. He will not run away." 36 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Then, unless he is remarkably lucky, he will have to be content with a front seat in the work-house,'' said Mr. Bem- midge ; and having sketched this pleasant future for Mr. Molozane, he swallowed another cup of tea, and pushed his chair a little farther from the fire. " I have come to ask you to do me a favor," he began, after a pause. " No, not that," lie added hastily, as Mr. Geith rose to get his check-book. " Not that, though you have helped me over many an ugly stile. I want you to eat your Christmas dinner with us. Everything plain — no formality — all old friends. A dance and a rubber. You are such an unsociable fellow that I scarcely liked to ask you, only that Mrs. B. would have it. In fact, she said, ' If you do not bring Mr. Grant, I must fetch him myself " " Mrs. Bemmidge is extremely kind," said the accountant. " Not a bit of it. We are all wanting to have you. Even my little girl is always asking when I am going to bring Mr. Rant home." " What makes you call me Grant, Bemmidge ? " asked the accountant as coolly as though he had never assumed the name. " What makes me call you Grant ? " repeated Mr. Bem- midge, turning his soft, womanish eyes on his friend in amazement. " What do you mean ? What else should I call you?" " Geith. I am not Grant, but the Co." " And who is Grant ? " " My principal ! " and Mr. Geith said this as soberly as a judge. " The deuce he is ; and why is he never here ? " " You might as well have asked me ten minutes since why you never saw the Co." " I always thought the Co. a myth," was the frank reply. " And, on the same principle, you think Grant a myth now, I suppose," suggested the accountant. " No," said Mr. Bemmidge ; " no, I don't ; I believe in GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 37 Grant, and that he makes you work as if you had not another day to live. Have not I hit the mark now ? " " Pretty nearly ; for years I have worked for Grant, but now, I may tell you in confidence, I am working for myself. I shall keep on the name of the firm, of course ; but I am really my own master." " That is right ; that is as it should be. But now, look here, Geith, or whatever your name is, everybody calls you Grant, except this new clerk of yours, and I never could make out what the deuce he was saying." " And everybody is welcome to call me Grant," retorted the accountant ; " I can't stop to explain to all the people who come here that I am not Grant ; and if I did, I should have them discontented at the idea of being attended to by a subordinate. I have tried it, and don't mean to trouble myself about the matter any more. Geith, or Grant, what is the difference ? Cain or Abel, Jones or Thompson, it is all one to me.'* " But in case of property being left to you ? " " Left to me ! " scoffed George ; " when did you ever hear of property being left to a man living in a back office, and who works like a dray-horse ? But even so, I could prove my identity. And, if you come to that, Bemmidge, how many men in London are trading under their own names ? How many men are known to their business acquaintances by the names their fathers bore before them ? Junior part- ners, surviving partners, new beginners, all pass for other and more important people than they are. Take your own case, Bemmidge, who is your Co. ? Is he a man of capital, or a mere dummy, who represents what you M'ish in your soul you possessed? Or is it Mrs. Bemmidge, or your little girl?" " You hit me hard," answered the wine-merchant ; " my Co. is but a graceful ending to a name that would look a little bald in advertising. Andrew Bemmidge and Company certainly sounds fuller than Andrew Bemmidge by itself; but then, I am Bemmidge, and you are not Grant." S8 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Very true ; but what difference does that make ? There is a firm you do business with, Rankin, Runcorn and Smith ; what is the name of the partner you see ? " " Rankin, I beheve." " You are wrong, then ; there is but one man in the firm, and his name is Jackson. There is a perfumer in Bishops- gate called Hume, and he trades under the firm of Lepard and Holini. As you go down Mincing Lane, you must have noticed a great brass plate with Huggins, Son, Huggins and Holt, on it. For a long time I thought that genuine, but one day I discovered the sole representative of that house to be a Mr. Black, who lives down at Grays. He came into the business through being the son-in-law of Huggins's son ; but he does not think it expedient to change the name of the old firm, nor do I. It shall be Grant and Co. till the end of my tenancy, and those who like to call me Grant may do so." "But you want me to call you Geith " " When a man asks me to his house," began George, " it changes the position, I could not accept your invitation if" " Then you will come. Thank you a hundred times ; I shall make Mrs. Bemmidge's heart happy, spite of the anxie- ties of impending plum-pudding. . Thank you," and Mr. Bemmidge wrung the accountant's hand. "Let me see, what is your name ? Just spell it for me, — there 's a good fellow." « I will give you a card," said George, and he pulled one he had recently had engraved out of his purse. " What time do you dine — six o'clock ? " « Six ! Lord bless me, no ! Three, sharp ; but come at two — come at one." " I could not do it," was the answer ; " it will be as much as I can manage to get up to your house at three o'clock. Service won't be over, in any of the City churches, much before half-past one." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT, 39 " Yon don't mean to say you go to church, and that kind of thing, and you a bachelor, £00." " Have not bachelors souls ? " asked Mr. Geith, with praiseworthy gravity. ''Yes, I suppose so ; but it seems singular. One expects married people to be religious, and so forth. Indeed, I often say to Mrs. Bemraidge myself, that, when the children grow up, we must begin — we must, really. You have surprised me. I always thought that because you would not come up to us, that you had it out on Sundays." " Had what out ? " asked George, who was for once fairly mystified. ' " Had your sleep. Unless I am going out of town, I never rise on Sundays till twelve or one ; and I fancied you, perhaps, did not get up till three or four." " That is making it a day of rest with a vengeance," re- marked the accountant. " What should I do if I did get up ? " was the reply. " Really you have astonished me ; you go to church even on Christmas-day. Mrs. Bemraidge's mother will be delighted. She is always scolding because we don't attend to those things as she does. You see it is entirely a matter of con- stitution," finished Mr. Beramidge, and George Geith did not contradict the statement. He contented himself with shak- ing hands over again with his friend, assuring him he would be punctual, and remember the address. Ivy Cottage, Holloway Road, " near the Archway Road," were Mr. Bemmidge's farewell words, ere he plunged out again into the pelting rain which came splashing down and making dreary puddles in the grave-yard. For a minute George Geith's eyes followed him, then the accountant drew back into the house and closed the door, and ascended to his office thoughtfully. " Now, I wonder what the deuce possessed me," he mum- bled, as he stood before his fire ; *• I wonder what possessed me to say I would go. Have I not spent enough Christmas- 40 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. days alone to be able to face another ? " and George Gelth looked at the blaze that went leaping np the chimney, while he asked himself these questions. Seven times had the twenty-fifth of December come round since he left More- lands, and seven times had he passed the day with no other company save his own thoughts. In lodgings he had sat reading in solitary state vv^hile screams of laughter came ringing up the staircase, and the house shook with the dan- cing and the romping of his landlady's guests assembled in the first-floor front. He could still see the landlady, all " brass and glass," sailing into his room, — short, fat, and flounced, her hair covered with bugles and her hands with mittens, — to ask " if he would not come down just for half an hour to cheer him up a bit." A perfect recollection of her figure, clothed in a silk which had seen the grease of many a Christmas goose, to make no mention of a cotton-velvet jacket which covered irremediable rents in her bodice, came to the accountant's mind. He remembered the lace that trimmed the sleeves, the edging of her flounces, the marvel- lous frogs that sported up the front of her jacket. He could recall her smiling, self-satisfied face, and the tone, half com- passionate half deprecating, while she preferred her request. He followed her to the door disappointed at leaving. He was not lonely, and did not care for society, and he heard the rustle of her dress and the pit-patting of her feet as she trotted away down-stairs again and opened the drawing-room door through which a volley of laughter escaped, just as heated air rushes out through a ventilator. He could remember that marvellous little pudding, about the size of a breakfast-cup, which was always sent up by the maid-of-all-work, with " missus's compliments, and hopes you won't be offended, sir, but she made it herself; " said raaid- of-all-work being in a chronic state of grin, consequent on Christmas-boxes' excitement, and a new cap. He thought of dreary walks through wet streets — frosty streets — through the parks, across the bridges. He recollected going GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 41 to bed after a day that seemed to have been thirty-six hours long, and waking out of a long sleep to hear the laughing still vehement below, and the clinking of glasses on the land- ing. He remembered once flying from Christmas in Lon- don, packing a carpet-bag, relieving his landlady of his pres- ence, and departing for Canterbury. When he put up at a second-rate hotel, in which, to his dismay, he found the land- lady's son was lying dead up-stairs, as the waiter informed him at dinner, by way, doubtless, of improving his appetite. There were no Christmas festivities in that house to annoy him, but he found Christmas with mourning-plumes worse than Christmas with holly and mistletoe and riotous laughter, and so never tried the experiment again. Christmas in offices was a degree better, certainly, than Christmas in lodgings, for he was delivered from plum-pud- ding, and he had the Christian satisfaction of doing good unto others by taking care of the premises whilst the house- keeper and her husband went to Kennington to eat their goose with'Mrs. G.'s mamma. But still Christmas, even in his own castle, with silent rooms and a good fire, — his tea- things left ready, and a kettle on the hob, — was dreary work; and the accountant found, what most of us do find some time or other in our lives, that, though we may live without our kind for three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, there comes one day when we want some friend to speak to, and wish us the compliments of the season. For this reason George Geith, now that he was free, ac- cepted Mr. Bemmidge's invitation. Of Mrs. B. he knew no more than that she economized her tea, and was, according to her husband's statement, the best wife that ever breathed. But he pictured her as rather a homely personage — a motherly, comfortable kind of woman, who might not perhaps be adapted to adorn any sphere, but who exactly suited the one in which Providence had placed her. In this supposition, however, Mr. Geith was not quite cor- rect, for Mrs. Bemmidge was neither motherly nor homely, 42 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. nor a particularly good wife ; on the contrary, she was rather one of those women whom London breeds by thousands, who emerge from back parlors in dingy city streets, from little sub- urban villas, and from third-rate boarding-schools, to make some honest man's life wretched, and to train up more girls to greater pretensions, greater snubbishness, and less useful- ness, than their mothers. A mean woman withal, and yet extravagant, who was al- ways pinching and saving, spilling and spending, who looked after ounces of sugar, and grudged extra slices of bread, and still who dressed well, ate well, slept softly, and took care of Rot. And this Rot was always sounding her own personal praises in her husband's ear. Who managed so well as she ? who had so nice-looking a drawing-room ? who looked after her ser- vants so constantly ? who skirmished with the tradespeople more incessantly ? into whose house were greater bargains carried than into hers ? If Mr. Bemmidge or anybody else could answer these questions, she, Mrs. B., would be obliged to them, but as no one ever attempted to contradict her, said debt of gratitude to society was never contracted by the lady who was deter- mined to know Mr. Geith. For Mr. Bemmidge had employed the words of course when he said his wife would be made happy by the account- ant sharing their Christmas dinner. It was no face de parler to state that Mrs. Bemmidge had threatened to invade Fen Court herself. Mrs. Bemmidge had threatened and would have performed, only Mr. Geith's acceptance averted any such calamity. He was coming, for certain, added her hus- band, and therefore Mrs. Bemmidge began to set her house in order ; stuffed the fatted goose ; lived in her kitchen ; manu- factured raince-pies ; mixed plum-pudding, and made herself as generally disagreeable as a fiery, managing, selfish, vulgar woman can. Little did Mr. Geith think, as he drove up the Holloway GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 43 Road, of all the preparations which had been made in his honor ; of the torments Mrs. Bemmidge had passed through wondering what he liked best to eat and drink. Every im- aginable diet, every obtainable beverage, was had in his honor ; and Mrs. Bemmidge herself, and Mr. B.'s mother and sister, were duly ready to receive the stranger. As for Mr. Bemmidge, he was waiting for his friend in the highway ; and whenever Mr. Geith's cab came to a stand, the wine-merchant opened the door, wrung his visitor's hand, wished him a merry Christmas, hurried him through the lit- tle green gate, up the gravel walk, and into the house, where Mrs. Bemmidge met him, and saying, " This is kind," shook his hand with her own two ; one being quite insufficient to express her feelings of pleasure and satisfaction. " I really thought Mr. Grant, Geith I mean, that we never were going to see you ; " and as she made this assertion, Mrs. Bemmidge took him out of the dark hall into the lighter drawing-room, where he was introduced to Mrs. Gilling, Miss Gilling, and Mr. Foss. After the ceremony he was permitted to sit down and com- mence making himself agreeable. Whilst he did so he looked at the ladies, and I should like you also, reader, to look at the feminine trio for a moment before proceeding with my story. Shall we give the pas to Miss Gilling — a creature all nature, all curls, all enthusiasm, all frankness, who had a lily-white skin, and very black hair, very fine eyes, very small feet and ha'nds, and a very passable figure. Her age, you ask ? I really do not know it. What with her manner, her curls, her naivete, and her delight at small atoms of pleasure, she might have passed for sweet seventeen ; but then Mrs. Bemmidge was three-and-thirty ; and intimate friends said there was not much more than five or six years between them. Anyhow, there was Miss Gilling, let her age be what it would, for Mr. Geith to fall in love with, if he liked. 44 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. As for Mrs. Gilling, she was a widow of small property and with many wants ; a lady who said she had kept a set of servants — whatever number that may be; who had once had things " very different," and who was now very glad to drop in about supper-time three or four nights a week and partake of such hospitality as Mrs. Bemmidge extended to her; a dignified old lady, in a prodigious cap, who snubbed Andrew Bemmidge, and paid court to her daughter, and told everybody that " Sarah " was the best wife and mother in the world. " I am sure," added Mrs. G., pathetically, " she makes a perfect slave of herself for her family." Slavery seemed to agree with Mrs. Bemmidge, who looked plump on her work. She was a woman of about the middle height, with dark-brown eyes, brown hair, a perfectly straight mouth, and a broad, fair forehead, with rather bustling man- ners, and a temper — I had better stop there, for George Geith saw only the face. As for Mr. Foss, he seemed to be regarded as a perfect nonentity. A friend, Mrs. Bemmidge called him ; and he certainly seemed to have all a friend's undesirable privileges conceded to him. He rang the bell, he was hustled into cor- ners, he was sent on errands, he played with the children, he was forgotten in the conversation, and made himself " quite at home," sitting in a direct draught. He was a distant relation of Andrew Bemmidge, and had all the wine-merchant's natural modesty, sweetness of temper, and forgetfulness of himself. Like the wine-merchant also, he could not see what was best for his domestic happiness, for he was over head and ears in love with Gertrude Gilling, and walked miles along the London pavements to fulfil her slightest behest. " You found it cold, sir," said Mrs. Gilling, in her usual manner, only with the chill off. " On the contrary, very warm," answered George ; " but then, to be sure, I drove. I dare say the wind is cold to-day when walking. Have you been out ? " GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 45 " Only to church," answered Mrs. Gilhng, virtuously ; and the accountant, remembering what his friend had said on that head, let the subject drop. " What a nice little place you have here, Bemmidge," he said ; " I should scarcely have supposed that near London there had been a house so much in the country." " Nothing but fields at the back," replied Mr. Bemmidge, while the ladies mentally repeated the word " little," and marvelled at what size of houses Mr. Geith had been accus- tomed to visit. " Nothing but fields most part of the way to Hornsey ; pretty neighborhood ; beautiful villas about High- gate ; the cemetery is well worth seeing. You must come down often in the summer time and explore the country." AV hereupon Mrs. Bemmidge at once expressed a hope that now Mr. Geith had found his way out to Holloway, he would make no stranger of himself, but come often and " take them as they were " ; which could not be supposed to mean as they were then, seeing heaven and earth had been moved to put a good face on things in his honor. George, in reply, stated his opinion that Mrs. Bemmidge was too kind, and Mrs. Bemmidge became duly satisfied that Mr. Geith was a delightful man. That half-hoyr before dinner the accountant firmly be- lieved never would end, — - not because he was hungry and wished for dinner, but because he was wearied to death of trying to find something to say. The children had, indeed, promised a temporary diversion when they came in duly brushed, washed, and combed, to make the lives of all on whom they cast their affections a weariness unto them. One little girl in especial, who had inquired pointedly, *' Aint oo Mr. Rant ? " seemed inclined to take him under her protection ; but Mr. Foss presented such attractions as the children tried vainly to resist : pock- ets filled with presents, — pockets that he let them turn inside out at their wish, will, and pleasure, — pockets from which halfpence might be abstracted and sweetmeats pro- cured. 46 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. To be sure, Mrs. Bemmidge exhibited the little girl afore- mentioned in every possible light ; called the ugly, pert imp her " pretty queen," retailed all her stupid, forward speeches, and kept the child in a grin at the repetition of her own wit. " She said she was not to call you Mr. Rant any more, but Mr. Teeth," observed her mother. " Why did you call him Mr. Rant after all, dearie ? " In answer to which question Miss Bemmidge drew her shoulder completely out of her dress and rubbed herself side- ways against her mother. A chum of a child the thing was, too, thicker round its waist than any other part of its body, and with the most astonishing pair of legs George Geith had ever beheld on a creature of its age. " Just six last birthday," said Mrs. Bemmidge, with a triumphant smile, as though she seemed stating some fact greatly to the credit of her offspring. " May I doo now, and 'peak to Harry, ma ? " whispered the young lady, who could have spoken a great deal less like a two-year-old had she chosen ; and mamma giving permis- sion, she rushed over to Mr. Foss and claimed her share of the spoil. " Oh ! I declare you 've been and given Tommy a sugar- plum more than me," shrieked mamma's queen, and forth- with Mr. Foss had to make up the deficit. " And your'n are bigger than mine," said Tommy, with his tongue out, all of which by-play Mr. Geith affected not to hear. " We have one younger than any of them," remarked Mr. Bemmidge, who was accustomed to the juvenile con- cert. " Mamma, Mr. Geith has not seen baby." " I am sure Mr. Geith does not want to see any more children until after dinner," answered Mrs. Bemmidge, which statement would have been perfectly true, had she only added that he did not want to see any more children at all ; but politeness prevented Mr. Geith acquiescing in her GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 47 proposition, and so he declared that of all things he should like best to see the baby. Straight away went the hostess to fetch her youngest- born ; and during her absence George racked his brains what to say to Mi^s. Gilling. The theatres, — Miss Gilling was so well up in them that his ignorance was exposed in a minute. How the country looked at Christmas ; how the old cus- toms were still kept up in many a squire's house. Mrs. Gilling knew nothing about the country ; for her part she liked the gas and the shops ; but Miss Gilling was enthusiastic concerning the snow on the tombstones, about frost on the evergreens, about the village choristers singing under the windows. Oh ! better than anything on earth, Miss Gilling would like to spend a Christmas in a real old haunted house, w^here the olden pastimes were observed. " Had Mr. Geith ever spent a Christmas in the country ? " and every hair on Miss Gilling's head seemed to quiver as she asked the question. * " Yes," he answered, " I have spent several Christmas- days in the country." *' And in a baronial hall ? " gasped Miss Gilling. " In an old hall, at any rate," he replied laughing, " where Christmas was given every honor it deserves ; and where we were all very happy because we were assembled together on the happiest day in the year." " Oh ! you will be contrasting that day with this," said Miss Gilling pathetically. " Certainly not to the disadvantage of the present," was Mr. Geith's reply ; at which Miss Gilling blushed and sim- pered, whilst her mother smiled with the chill more off than ever. At this juncture, in came the baby ; and it may not be out of place here to state, that, if there were one domestic ani- mal for which, more than another, Mr. Geith entertained a settled abhorrence, it was a baby, — more particularly the 48 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. kind of baby which now made its appearance, — red in the face, blue in the arms, long in the legs, small in the eyes, and puckered about the mouth, — a baby which cried without tears, and kicked without reason, and w^as, so said its mamma, " the quietest little lamb that ever breathed." Long and weary had been George Geith's experiences of babies. Never any part of his clerical duty had been so irksome to him as the christenings. The funeral service was ngthing to the baptismal. He would rather have had to do with half a dozen corpses than one baby. He did not know how to hold them, how to quiet them, what in the name of -wonder to do with them. His rector used to be able to nurse a child as cleverly as a good cook can turn a pancake ; but he never could learn the trick ; and so sure as he had a christening, so certainly there was weeping and wailing beside the font, dissatisfaction amongst the mothers, and muttered remarks that it was plain to be seen he was a bachelor. And now there was another autocrat for him to serve and honor ; another mass of jelly, provided with lungs, for him to essay and touch. " A fine fellow, is n't he ? " said the father, who really be- lieved the child was perfection. " A darling, itzy ritzy pet," capped mamma, handing the bundle of white cambric to Mr. Geith. Now it did not cry, it just remained quiet long enough to get well into his arms, when it bent itself double backwards in order to get a good view of his face. Then its cheeks wrinkled, and with limbs drawn up, it screamed as though its last hour was come. " Let mamma take it then, a darling. Shall mamma take it ? Did n't it like strangers then ? — there." And Mrs. Bemmidge tried to pacify the wretch, and bore it off to its own especial apartment, whence George heard shrieks pro- ceeding during the whole of dinner, which, much to his intense relief, was at last announced. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 49 CHAPTER VI. PLEASURE. It was a nice little party, only six. INIr. Bemmidge took charge of his mother-in-law, Mr. Foss of Miss Gilling, and Mr. Geith of Mrs. Bemmidge. A nice little party, — at least it would have been a convenient number had the chil- dren not swarmed after the adults into the dining-room, where they mounted high chairs, and surveyed the table from a vantage-ground. Mrs. Gilling was good enough to say grace ; perhaps because her ?on-in-law would not. George Geith had never dined at any man's table since the days when that ceremony was usually performed by him ; and somehow Mrs. Gilling'a grace struck him as the funniest thing about her. For the sake of his friend, for the genuine liking he bore for that simple-hearted honest man, who believed in his wife and his house, and who had not an atom of humbug in his composition, the accountant strove to enjoy himself and to eat and drink enough to satisfy his host. But had he succeeded in his endeavor, he would certainly never have eaten and drank any more, for Mr. Bemmidge not merely wanted him to taste everything that was on the table, but also to take two or three ^helpings of each dish, Hke Mrs. Gilling, whose appetite, it was satisfactory to see, had not been impaired by trouble. Of course it was not civil of George to notice such matters, but being a man who noticed everything, he could not avoid seeing that Mrs. Gil- ling did justice to the good fare set before her. She would trouble Andrew for sucking-pig, because it W GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. was years since she had tasted one ; and, as it was Christ- mas, she positively must have a slice of turkey. Goose was a thing dear Sarah knew she could relish if she was dying, and roast beef — well, if Mr. Geith would be so kind ; it is an English dish, and it was as well to follow old customs. So the lady rambled about whilst the children ate stuffing and spilt gravy, and messed their pinafores, and their father employed his time in attentively scolding and giving them tidbits. " I am so sorry, Mr. Geith, that we have nothing you like," said Mrs. Bemmidge plaintively, after she had vainly pressed Mr. Geith to take a little more, " if it was only a morsel of beef." " Nothing I like ! " repeated George. " I assure you, Mrs. Bemmidge, I have not eaten such a dinner for seven years." " Then I wonder you are alive," remarked the lady, as she helped her mother to turkey again. " Tommy, do sit up ; Andrew, keep your fingers out of the gravy ; papa, do not let Amy have any more ; Harry, if you don't behave yourself you shall not taste the pudding," and so forth ; the courtesies of life being blended with a strict attention to its duties. " What am I to do with it ? " thought George Geith, as he had about a pound of plum-pudding set before him, with an intimation from Mrs. Bemmidge that it was a triumph of her own culinary skill. And the accountant longed for the days of his youth when he had a knack of secreting pieces of fat, and other unsavory viands unknown by mortal man. " If I could but leave it ? " he sighed ; but no, there it was to be finished, and by him. Mrs. Bemmidge would hear of no smaller portion ; and, indeed, in comparison to his, that allotted to Mrs. Gilling was as big as Benjamin's. " I am quite sure, Sarah, those children will make them- selves ill," said their grandmother, as Miss Bemmidge slyly put forth her hand to secure another mince-pie. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 51 " You naughty girl, how dare you ? " said mamma to her queen. " Papa, push her chair from the table. I suppose it is because Mr. Geith is here, she thinks she may do as she likes. Mr. Geith, have you found the ring ? There is a ring in the pudding. I hope you may get it ; I shall be so pleased." " Perhaps, Mrs. Bemmidge, you have taken care I shall get it," answered George, with a ghastly attempt at a smile as he still worked his way through the mass before him. " Oh, no ! it was fairly mixed, I assure you," broke in Miss Gilling ; " my sister dropped in the ring, and we all stirred the pudding after that. Even Andrew ventured into the kitchen to do his part," which was the less to be won- dered at, perhaps, I may add, as Andrew had very often to venture into the kitchen in search of his boots. " And supposing I do find the ring," said George, " what will be the consequence ? " " Why, you will be married before the year is out," an- swered Mrs. Bemmidge, with a simper. " Then I shall certainly not continue the search," ex- claimed the accountant, laying down his spoon. " Oh ! but that is not fair," cried Mrs. Bemmidge. " You must finish your pudding. And, besides, it is my guard- ring, and I cannot have it lost." " I never willingly put myself in the way of misfortune," said Mr. Geith, solemnly. " Only hear him," exclaimed Mrs. Gilling, with her mouth full of plums. " I hope ring or no ring, you will be married by this time next year," said Mr. Bemmidge, " for a man never knows what true comfort and happiness is till he has a wife to take care of him." " You speak from a fortunate experience," answered Mr. Geith. "If all marriages were as happy as yours" and the hypocrite turned to Mrs. Bemmidge, and the young olive-branches round the table, who were by this time busy 52 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. with his plate, looking out " mamma's ring," and quarrelling for the candied lemon. Suddenly there came a little scream from Miss Gilling — she had nearly swallowed the ring. *' Gerty 's got it, Gerty 's got it," cried parents and chil- dren in chorus. " We may hope, then," said George, " to meet together again before next Christmas on a different occasion. That is," he added, " if I may be allowed the honor of being present." But at this point Miss Gilling's confusion and blushes be- came so painful that Mrs. Bemmidge desired Amy to ring the bell. '' If you worCt have a mince-pie, Mr. Geith," she said, quite piteously. " You really must excuse me," he replied. And then the servant came, and went through a ceremony that Mrs. Bem- midge called " clearing away" ; after which Mrs. Gilling ao-ain officiated, and dessert was placed on the table. " May I stay with papa and Mr. Teeth, mamma," asked Amy, when the ladies rose to depart. *' Yes, if you are good," said mamma ; and Miss Bem- midge, and consequently the boys, remained. Certainly, if the condition mentioned in her mother's speech had been enforced, the young lady would have been summarily expelled from the apartment. So long as the quartet could get Mr. Foss to supply them with fruit they remained preternaturally quiet ; but when even Mr. Foss thouglit they had made sufficient inroads on the oranges and walnuts, Miss Bemmidge commenced to be dictatorial towards her brothers, and so aggravated Tommy that he pushed her off her chair, for which offence he was ejected from the delights of after-dinner chat, and sent in disgrace to his mother. " You smoke, I know, Geith," said Mr. Bemmidge ; and thereupon Amy rushed away for the cigar-case, procured matches, and made herself busy, getting a saucer to hold the ashes. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 53 " That is my useful little girl," remarked Mr. Bemmidge. " I wonder if she could eat an orange." Whereupon Amy- put her finger in her mouth, and looked as if she never bad dexterously appropriated an orange in her life. After that, she climbed on the knees of all the gentlemen in succession, and reversing the position of Mr. Foss's cigar when it lay on the table, had the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing him put the hot end in his mouth. Shrieks of laughter from Andrew and Henry, however, exposed the culprit, and Miss Amy, together with her brothers, was shown the door by her father, who remarked apologetically to his cousin, that " children would be chil- dren." Whether Mr. Foss found the aphorism cool his mouth, I cannot say ; but it is certain he dechned further smoking for that niglit. It was all very well talking to Mr. Bemmidge and Mr. Foss when the children were away. Of course the conver- sation turned on business topics, but business was a topic George Geith liked. The mysteries of the wine-trade were unveiled for the visitors' edification. The aduUeration, tricks, the doctoring, were all duly discussed over — shall I write it reader ? — brandy-and-water. Mr. Bemmidge talked about Messrs. Reuben and Issachar, *• who had been exchequered for eighty thousand, and paid the fine," said Mr. Bemmidge, taking the cigar out of his mouth, " with a check. They were exchequered," he went on, " for filling barrels with water, and shipping them as brandy, in order to get the drawback. They managed by fitting a tin tube to the bung- hole, to enable the Custom-house officer to taste the very finest brandy. How much they made nobody ever knew," added Mr. Bemmidge, " nor how much they might have made, but for a row with one of their men, who informed against them." Then there were Cripple, Holt and Sons, who ran their 54 GEOKGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. spirit off through the streets, beside gas-pipes and water- pipes ; through houses, stables, and warehouses, and only- paid duty on about a third of the spi^;it they made. Then there was Mr. Briggins, who sold thousands of pipes of wine, and yet still, who scarcely ever took a single pipe out of bond. "He made it all — heaven only knows how," said Mr. Bemmidge, regretfully ; " and the secret died with him. I could not have told his wine from the best Por- tuguese ; and, indeed, nobody could, if the wine would have kept. But it would not. It mildewed in a month. The firm sold it forty shillings a dozen, and twenty to the trade. And did n't the trade push it — only trust them I" And so the talk went on till it was time to join the ladies, who were seated in the drawing-room, all domestic arrange- ments over, waiting for the evening guests, who arrived in due season, attired in dresses that were certainly very gay, determined to enjoy themselves and make Christmas-day a merry one indeed. Can you picture the evening, my reader ? The tea, handed round by awkward, yet gallant cavaliers, who upset the cups, tramped on the ladies' dresses, and made funny little speeches that kept the company in a roar. The card-tables, where whist was played for sixpenny stakes, and old ladies appro- priated George Geith's earnings with an activity which it was cheering to remark in persons of their age. The dancing, for which Mrs. Bemmidge played Sir Roger de Coverley, Hesty quadrilles, and Scotch reels. The games, mistakes in which entailed forfeits, and forfeits involved a young gentleman seeking about for the prettiest girl in the room to kiss ; a young lady standing in the corner and remarking — Here I stand as stiff as a stake — Who '11 come and kiss me for charity's sake? Upon hearing which pathetic appeal a rush was usually made towards the spot she occupied. This one was to eat three inches off the poker, that to compose a verse of poetry, and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 55 another to dance a minuet with the tongs. There was " BHnd-man's-buff, " in which gam^ Miss GilHng caught Mr. Geith, and exclaiming, " I have got you at last, Mr. Jones," blushed becomingly when she discovered her mistake. " If it was a mistake," whispered Mrs. Jones, nudging her neigh- bor Mrs. Thomas. And the singing after supper ! The comic songs, at which George laughed as he had not laughed before since he was a bo}^ not because of any especial comicality in the songs, but because of the intense funniness of the singers. The sentimental ditties, emanating chiefly from the ladies, that were all pitched somewhere about F sharp, and went up into screams from thence. To say nothing of Mrs. Bem- midge, who, being too shy to favor the company, was yet overpowered by numbers, and induced at length to break forth with melody. It was impossible she could sing, however, if people looked at her ; so, to obviate this difficulty, she turned her chair round, and sat with her back to the table, in which position she delighted her guests with the account of a lady — " Who left her home To fly with a Chris-ti-an knight." When that was finished, her sister followed with " Love not," which performance Mr. Foss immediately capped with " Love on," — a song which was rapturously encored by all the young men and married ladies of the party. After supper, more forfeits, more dancing, and louder and faster revelry, that reminded George Geith of the sounds that used to be borne to his ear when he kept solitary state in furnished apartments. " Things went off capitally," Mrs. Beramidge said to her mother when the door closed behind the last batch of depart- ing guests, " and I am sure Mr. Geith enjoyed himself." " If he did not, he ought to," remarked Mrs. Gilling, in a tone of the liveliest conviction; albeit her voice was a little thick. 66 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Meantime George Geitli was walking with a splitting headache through the deserted city streets. " If that be pleasure," he ungratefully soliloquized as he entered Fen Court, when the grave-yard looked ghastly in the gray morning light, — " if that be pleasure, give me work." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 57 CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE COOL. If Miss Gilling had known what memories she was awakening when she talked so prettily about snow on the tombstones, and villagers singing Christmas hymns, it is more than probable she w^ould have avoided the subject of Christ- mas altogether and contented herself with some remarks on the virtues of her sister's children, and the peculiar severity of those rheumatic attacks to which hei^mamma was subject in damp weather. But all unconsciously she had raised a legion of old associations — associations so linked and interwoven with George Geith's best and happiest past, that, spite of all his efforts, he could not rest content till — now that he was free to go where and when he listed — he had revisited Morelands, and seen the friends that dwelt there. The more he thought about Morelands, the greater grew his longing to see the old place once again. He contrasted Morelands with Holloway — Cissy Hayles with Gertrude Gilling — till he felt he must see the Hayles and the Chil- tern Hills once more. A sickening desire to get away from streets and houses ; from business acquaintances and the treadmill of his daily life, came suddenly over the man ; and though he could ill spare a day at that season of the year, he still determined to take ^ run into the country and see if it had changed as he had changed, or whether it would still bear the same face for him that it had done in days departed. 58 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. He could go by rail to Dunstable, and walk from thence over the downs to Morelands. Mr. and Mrs. Hayles, he used to say, were like his parents ; the girls as thoughtful and kind as sisters; whilst, as for Cissy, of course that pretty creature, with her winning ways and many accom- plishments, could be Cissy Hayles no longer, but must have been transformed into the wife of some rich man who made her happy. George Geith hoped And at this point he sighed. Cissy had certainly been very fond of him, poor girl ; and if he had chanced to be differently situated, who knew ? He might never have left Morelands, but remained there, and married Cissy himself. As it was, so it was, and, no doubt, all for the best. He was an accountant, and Cissy, most probably, a happy wife. At any rate, he trusted he should hear she was when he paid his visit to the ivy-covered rectory, which he had once been as free to enter as though it had been his own home. Having thought over all which topics, George Geith told his clerk, one morning early in the new year, that he should not return before night, and started off on his expedition, looking twice as old as the curate who had fled from the easy country life more than seven years before. It was nearly eight years, in point of fact, though, as he travelled the well-known paths, he found it hard to realize that so long a period had elapsed. Time in London flies. Day hurries after day ; spring, summer, autumn, winter come and go — come and go with a rapidity frightful to think of. The hours may appear long, because of the monotony of the work that fills them ; but the week always seems, in looking back npon it, like half a one; and Sunday, in the city, falls about where Wednesday or Thursday might, far away in the country. It is express pace there, year after year ; we travel the miles of our threescore-and-ten pilgrimage, but they seem short because of the speed at which we go. And if we want to feel that our days are not flitting away so fast that we GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 59 cannot count tlieir flight, we must go into the country where time travels by slow stages, and the ordinary space of human life lengthens its apparent duration to about a hundred and fifty years. Eighteen months in Morelands — eight years in London ! Looking back, it seemed to George that he had resided for eighteen years in Morelands, and eight months in London. There was nothing, either, in the aspect of the country by which he was surrounded, to assist him in realizing the length of time that had elapsed since he walked across those fields before. To his left, the Downs stretched away green and monotonous as ever ; to his right, the arable and pasture land was divided into about the same proportions as for- merly. Here and there a church-tower, a few trees, a little cluster of houses, reminded him of the situation of this or that village ; but there were no new houses, no modern mansions, no strange factories, nothing but what he had been familiar with years previously. Above all, there was no town, and, looking about him and remarking this, George Geith thanked God there was country enough left to last him his lifetime. It was still early in the day, and, as he did not wish to reach the rectory before two o'clock, he diverged a little from the path, and striking into a by-road — one of those un- fenced, unbridged roads which are peculiar to that part of Bedfordshire — he walked on and on, till he gained the top of the hill. Once there, he looked about him for a seat, and taking possession of a large stone lying by the wayside, he repeated his previous thanksgiving. • Miles without houses; far as he could see without a town ! He was very happy to be alone with nature for a while, — to be out of the roar and bustle of London even for a few hours. He took off his hat and let the north wind blow about his 60 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. head. He sat there with hands clasped before him, perfectly still and very happy. For years he had never felt so happy before; the great silence around seemed to lay a soothing touch on his heart, the great expanse of country filled and satisfied his soul. All at once years and years seemed to be struck off his life, and he was young again. At the moment he under- stood the physical enjoyment some people feel in the mere sensation of living without having any specific object to live for, which had often before puzzled him. Seated on the top of the hill, with the wind blowing crisp and cool on his temples, George Geith felt that " to be " utterly independent of " to have" was an unspeakable boon and blessing. It was well to have toiled and worked, and been a pris- oner, if but to feel this satisfaction and happiness. It was worth being buried up in a town in order to under- stand the majesty and beauty of God's handiwork. Wheresoever they would he let his eyes roam, — now into the valley he had just left, and again over country lying on the other side of the hill where he sat. He followed the distant trains as the engines went puffing along their respective lines ; he skirted the Chiltern Hills till he descried the distant woods of Snareham Castle. Far below him were churches with little hamlets gathered around them, and each church he saw had a tower and a fiat roof like that at Great Snareham, which, though he had re- linquished the living, still belonged to his family. By degrees he looked less at the other points of the land- scape and more at the Snareham woods. They lay miles and miles from him on the hillside, but still he could see them standing dark and bare against the wintry sky. Was Lady Geith at the Castle, he marvelled ? was Mark married? was his uncle Arthur living? What change had the years brought to them ? " Mark must be eight-and-twenty now," he reflected. " How the time has fiown ! " GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 61 It had flown even whilst he remained sitting there, and he was ahout to turn his face down the hill again, when he saw mounting its crest, and then coming tearing along the table- land at top, a great black horse, which flung out its feet at the rate of twelve miles an horn-, and drngged a well- appointed dog-cart, containing a gentleman and his groom, as easily as though the whole turn-out did not weigh half a hundred. Idly as holiday-makers always look upon fresh incidents of any kind, George Geith watched the carriage come spin- ning on. " A good whip and a good horse," he thought, and that in- stant he cried out to the former, " The tug is loose." " What do you say," asked the driver, pulling up so sud- denly that lie almost brought the horse on his haunches. " One of the tugs is loose," repeated George, and he got up to buckle it, — an attention which the horse resented by rising on his hind legs. " Don't touch him ; stand clear, will you ; damn if, are you tired of your life?" thundered the owner, but George held his ground and brought the animal down again. " Be quiet, you brute," he said, keeping a grip on the bridle with one hand while he vainly tried to fasten the tug with the other; but «i the mean time the servant came to the rescue, and looking at his livery, George saw he had the Geith crest on his buttons. From the man he turned to the master, and beheld the master was his cousin Mark. " You are a cool hand," remarked that gentleman, with a certain admiration; "you must be devilishly well accustomed to horses," " It is many a year since I had anything to do with them," was the reply, and the two men stared at each other for a moment. Tiien, " Mark, don't you know me ? " " By Jove ! it 's George," burst from them simultaneously, and the pair grasped hands. " What were you doing here ? " asked the baronet. 62 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COUPwT. " Resting myself," answered the accountant. " Where are you bound for ? " " Morelands ; I have a couple of hours to spare, and want to see the Ilayles." " Now, that is odd," cried Sir Mark ; " I have just left the rectory. I will drive you back, — jump in ! " And without more ado the young man turned his horse's head round in the direction of Morelands. " Now, don't do that," pleaded George ; " I should hke the walk, and I shall not give you the trouble." " Hang the trouble 1 " said Sir Mark ; " jump in ; " and thus exhorted, his cousin obeyed, the man sprang on behind, and away they went down the hill and across the valley at a pace which brought them to the rectory gates in less than twenty minutes. " This will be a surprise," exclaimed Sir Mark, as they flew round the drive. ^^Entre nous, do you think Paterfami- lias will be glad to see you ? " " I do not know why he should not," answered the account- ant ; " do you ? " "No," was the reply, "but I opine that absence has not made his heart grow fonder, so don't be disappointed. Forewarned, you know," finished Sir Mark, as he preceded his cousin through the open door and walked across the hall with a freedom, not to say familiarity, which astonished the ci-devant curate not a little. " I found an old friend of yours on the hills, and brought him to see you, Mrs. Hayles," said the baronet, as he entered the room where Mrs. Hayles and her daughters were en- gaged in such light occupation as befitted the room in the house. " You do not seem to remember him ; allow me to introduce my cousin, the Rev. George Geith." As a hen ruffles up her plumage and backs into the near- est corner when any enemy approaches her brood, so Mrs. Hayles, at sight of the unclerical figure thus presented, shook out her maternal feathers and prepared to do battle in behalf of the innocent children surrounding her. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 63 She was awkwardly placed, — between the Scylla of Sir Mark, whom she did not wish to offend, on the one hand, and the Charybdis of George, whom she did not wish to encour- age, on the other. But Mrs. Hayles was equal to the occasion : she froze her visitor by civility. She iced the waters of her conversation, and then gave him nice-looking, yet chilly fragments for his refreshment. " So glad to see him ; so good of him to call ; where had he been hiding himself? Sophy, run and tell papa Mr. Geith has called to see him." Meantime the young ladies were iced likewise, only with- out their mamma's civihty. All except Cissy, who was Miss Hayles still, and who came forward with the old sweet smile, and the old charm of manner, to tell Mr. Geith how de- lighted she was his cousin had brought him to see them. " But surely," she added, "you would have come of yourself if within twenty miles of us ? " and the soft blue eyes were raised to his for a moment as the beauty spoke. " Come ! of course he would," said Mrs. Hayles, with a slight frown directed towards her daughter, which did not escape the visitor's notice. " And where have you been all this time, Mr. Geith ; and are we to congratulate you on an excellent living ? " " If you will be so kind," answered the accountant, " I have fallen into an excellent living — out of the Church." " Do you mean " inquired the lady. " That I have relinquished the Church ? Yes. I am in business in London." " You are not serious ? " Mrs. Hayles was very much in earnest as she asked the question. " I am indeed," was the reply* " I have been in business ever since I left Morelands." " How sorry Mr. Hayles will be," opined his wife. " Such a pity such talents, such advantages, such an opening ! " and Mrs. Hayles complacently folded her white hands and sighed. 64 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " But if Mr. Geitli be doing well, mamma," interposed Cissy. " My love, I am surprised at you," said mamma, " for a man who has once entered the Church to relinquish her ser- vice so lightly " " I assure you," interrupted George, '• I v;as driven from the Churcli by a stern necessity. I did not quit her service voluntarily, but having left it, I should neither be able nor wishful to reenter my old sphere of labor." " The Snareham patriarch is still alive," here broke in Sir Mark, " and the living is yours, George, remember, M'henever he goes. It belongs to nobody else, so long as you like to take it." " But Mr. Geith could not take it now," said Mrs. Hayles, very softly. '' Surely, if it be impossible for a layman to serve both God and Mammon, it would be something more than impo-sible for a clergyman to do so — and soiled as Mr. Geith's cloth is with contact with the world" " Contact with nonsense," retorted Sir Mark, — " that is, Mrs. Hayles ; I did not mean it ; I really am very sorry. I beg you I* pardon, I thought I was talking to George. What I meant to say was this, George is not soiled. He won't serve God and Mammon ; he will only take Snare- ham and stick to it till something better offers. He will make as good a parson now as ever, and preach as good a sermon, and I can only repeat that Great Snareham is very heartily at liis service ; and I am very glad to have an opportunity of telling him so." " Thank you, Mark," answered his cousin, " but it might be. I have eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and can never more return to a state of innocence, be- lieving a curate's life to be a desirable one, and four hun- dred a year a mine of wealth wherewith to be content. I am very much obliged for your great kindness, but I shall not ask you for Great Snareham, for I cannot reenter the Church." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 65 " How grieved Mr. Hayles will be," reiterated Mrs. Hayles. " I hope he will not grieve on my account," said George, smiling in spite of himself ; " for I am doing very well in- deed, and no one ought to know better than Mr. Hayles, that every man wlio leaves the Church, throws an extra chance in the way of those who remain." At which remark, Sir Mark, seizing a convenient oppor- tunity, winked at his cousin. It was not, perhaps, gentlemanly, but it conveyed to George the correct impressions that Sir Mark knew the lady wanted to have the living offered Swanham for her husband, and that, ironically, he hoped she might ge' it. " I shall keep the living for you, George," said the bar- onet determinedly. " And if you do not like it when it falls in, I shall give it to some one to nurse till you change your mind." " You have not lunched, Mr. Geith, I am sure," exclaimed Mrs. Hayles, who had heard enough of Great Snareham, and was desirous of shifting her ground. " Maud, ring the bell. Ci^sy, see what Sophy is doing, and whether she can find your papa." " Let me go," said that easy friend of the family. Sir Mark Geith ; and though Mrs. Hayles declared she could not think of troubling him, he was so kind as to accompany Cissy on her rambles, whether with the intention of finding papa, or having a moment's tete-a-tete, George did not know, and did not much care, for everything in the old rectory was changed for him, and the people who lived there were his friends, his dear familiar friends, no more. Meantime Maud stood with her hand on the bell-rope, a fair white hand, which the accountant noticed, as he assured her mamma that he had lunched, — " that he had only a few minutes longer to stay." " We dine at five, Mr. Geith, and we really can't let you run away in this manner, after so long an absence." 5 66 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. *' You are very kind, but I must get back to town." " "Well, a glass of wine at any rate." Here Maud made a feint of grasping the rope, and George Geith watched her pantomime of bell-ringing with some in- terest. How well he remembered Maud, as a child, with her broad-brimmed straw hat, with her streaming curls, and her quiet decorous manners. A child who was almost too shy to say " thank you " freely to a stranger, and who had yet developed into this calm self-possessed young lady, whom George looked at till he wondered. " I never take wine in the middle of the day," he said, even whilst he was marvelling at the changes a few years had wrought. " Mr. Hayles will scold me, I know," said the lady in a tone of deep distress, for she was beginning to think she had iced her manner too much, and that George saw through her a little too well. " Maud, ring the bell ; we will have lunch brought up at any rate." And Maud did ring, for she saw her mother was at least in earnest. " I beg," entreated the visitor, " that you will not order any lunch for me. I really must get back to the station at once. I had but a short time to spare, but being in the neighborhood I thought I could not pass your door." " It was so kind — so like you. Oh ! here is Mr. Hayles." And the rector's lady breathed a sigh of relief as her husband, accompanied by Sophy, and Cis^sy, and Sir Mark, entered the apartment. Mr. Hayles was a gray-haired man, who seemed oppressed by the size of his family, the ever increasing gentility of his wife, and the smallness of his income ; but he was more honest than Mrs. Hayles, inasmuch as, that while he shook hands with his old curate heartily, and hoped he was well and doing well, he still did not express any pleasure at his visit, nor request him to prolong it. As, however, " using hospitality without grudging," to all GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 67 men, bad always been one of tbe rector's sins most grievous in bis wife's eyes, be did urge Mr. Geitb to bave sometbing to eat before be departed ; and in tbis be was seconded by Cissy, who, spite of tbe tbunder-storm gathering on tbe ma- ternal brow, prayed him to stop for another half-hour at any rate. " It was so long since they had seen him — such years and years ! " She looked very pretty as she begged him to stay. She was the same winning, stealing, twining Cissy, George Geith remembered walking with through the rectory gardens in tbe old days departed, when such close intimacy was danger- ous and trying to both. But be was not to be taken in with blue eyes and soft words and sunshiny smiles now. He had seen her smile on Mark in just the same manner, and he knew her at least for what she was — a natural woman it might be, but still a woman naturally a flirt. " It is all grist that comes to the mill," thought George, " and I w^on't be ground up in it ;" which was a very prudent resolve, more especially as — God bless her — Cissy Hayles bad loved, and did love, George Geith more than she was ever likely to love any man again. More, most certainly, than she ever could care for Sir Mark, who had few brains, few talents, and indulged in pro- fane swearing to an extent which scandalized the rector. She had tried hard to win him ; she was trying harder to keep him; for a baronet and the great Geith estates and good manicige settlement were things to be desired by a poor parson's daughter. "' It will be rest for your father, tbe making of your sister, and position for yourself." This was how Mrs. Hayles looked on the willing horse whenever it faltered for a mo- ment. The match would, probably, accomplish all Mrs. Hayles said, and Cissy did her best to bring it about ; but for all that, she could not help liking tbe one cousin better than the 68 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Other, and when George thought she was acting, she was as much in earnest as ever she was in her life. Ha^^ng the baronet in tow, she would not have married the accountant, even had he been a clergyman again, and the rector of Great Saareham to boot ; but in any capacity she would have flirted with him, and for this reason it was for- tunate that Mr. Geith fortified himself against her artillery. It may have been alone for this reason that Mr. Hayles asked his visitor to spare him a few moments before he left. When in his study the rector shut the door and said, " More than seven years ago, Mr. Geith, wRen you left Morelands and the Church together, you told me a painful reason was driving you from both. Within six months after I knew what that reason was." It took a great deal to move George Geith's composure, but his face changed as Mr. Hayles spoke. " I do not pretend to judge you," the clergyman went on speaking, evidently with an effort. " I do not say how far you were sinned against, how far you erred yourself. I only know I am sorry for you now, as I was sorry for you then. " But — you came to this house under false colors ; you were received by us as we never could have received you had we known your true position. Was it right for you to deceive her, Mr. Geith ? I only ask you, was it right ?" " It was not," George answered, " but I meant no harm. If I had thought my silence could do harm to you or yours, I should have gone away long before I did." " You mixed familiarly with our girls," continued the rector, " you who could never have married one of them. I do not want to say more; will you finish my sentence for yourself ? " "Yes," George Geith answered, "I will. You want to know why, as I ought never to have entered your house in the past, I have come to it in the present ; and I repeat I meant no harm to any one. I came remembering all your former kindness to me, and wishful to prove I am not un- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 69 grateful for it. But I will come no more. That is what you want me to promise, Mr. Hayles ; and T give you my word this is the last time I will ever cross your threshold, unless you tell me I can benefit you or yours in some way by doing so. Now let me ask you one question. Does Mrs. Hayles, or my cousin Mark, know why I left here ?" " I forgive you the doubt," answered the rector, " for I know how it has arisen. I never told your trouble to any- one, and I never shall. I did say to my wife, I regretted we had suffered such close intimacy with the girls, as I feared you were by no means a desirable acquaintance for them. You could not blame me for the precaution, because I did not know when or where, or how they and you might meet again." There was a moment's silence, and then George Geith held out his hand in farewell. Never a man had the rector liked so well since they parted ; and as he looked in the worn face, at the brown hair sprinkled with gray, at the eyes sunken with want of rest and incessant mental labor, his heart smote him for the words he had spoken, and his voice shook a little while he begged his visitor not to think he had been over-hard. " Now, Mr. Hayles, I can never think anything but good of you^' answered George, uttering a secret malediction at the same time against the rector's wife. " And are you doing well ? Can I assist you in any way ? If I can, let me know. There is nothing I would not do for you, except ask you here ; and that I could not, you know." There was something very touching in the way the old clergyman said this. ' Kemembering all things, his visitor marvelled he was so lenient, and for a minute felt tempted to tell him he was working for freedom no longer. But he put aside the impulse, and merely promising to apply to Mr. Hayles should he ever stand in need of his assistance, wrung the hand extended to him, and left the room. 70 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Whilst he was saying good-bye to Mrs. Hayles and her daughters, the rector stood on the door-step, waiting to see the last of the man he once hoped to have called his son. Sir Mark and Mr. Geith came out together. " If you will not go to Snareham, let me at least drop you at the station." The former was entreating, and as.nothing could be urged against this proposition, George took his place in the dog-cart, while the baronet lifted the reins. Then once again Mr. Hayles held out his hand — coming quite close to the wheel, so that his old curate might reach it. " Good-bye — God bless you," he said, but before any answer could be returned, the black fiend was off; and as they swept round the drive, the high laurels and thick shrubs shut out the sight of Moreland Rectory from George Geith's eyes forever ! GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 71 CHAPTER Vni. ALL ON ONE SIDE. « Take the reins for a minute, will you ? " said Sir Mark to his cousin, when they were once more on the open road. I want a cigar. I sha'n't offer you one, old fellow," he went on as he opened his case, " because I know you have tasted nothing since you left London. All your fibs to mother Hayles did not impose on me. Queer old girl, is n't she ? " « I think she is greatly changed, and not improved," an- swered George. " Changed ! not a bit of it," said the baronet, scornfully. " People don't change, they only develop ; and the old lady is so cock-a-hoop about marrying one of her girls to a bar- onet, that she does not know what to do with herself. " Should you like to drive ? If you would, go ahead." " Thank you, I had much rather you managed your brute for yourself. He has nearly pulled my arms off as it is." " A trifle hard in the mouth, perhaps," said Sir Mark, as he resumed the reins ; " but his only fault." " I should not have thought it," answered the accountant, dryly ; " for I have seen him rear, shy, and plunge, and I ob- serve he requires a tidy kicking-strap in addition." "He'll take me to Farnham though, within the hour," answered the other. " He won't take me that far, Mark," was the reply j " for I must get back to London." '* So you shall, my boy ; but come and dine with me first. Then, if you won't stay longer, you shall catch the up ex- 72 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. press at the junction. There is nobody at the castle but myself. My mother and the old cat are in town, and have been there for the last three months ; now, don't refuse ; I am bored to death, and have lots to tell you. Besides, the drive will do you good. Do you not feel as if the wind were blowing life into you ? " " Yes," answered George. " It is almost life to a man who has scarcely set foot out of London all these years." And he looked round him as he spoke. What a differ- ence between the two lots ; between that of the possible heir, and that of the certain possessor. Driving a horse which knew but one pace, racing as hard as he could tear along the clear country road, might not seem an occupation to desire, nor the animal's owner a per- son to envy ; but the leisure and the wealth which left it free to the one man to go where he liked, when he liked, as he liked, seemed for the moment amazing to the other, who had been working on the business treadmill for years. Just then pleasure seemed a very pleasant thing to the busy man. He had never known what it was to be idle all his days. He had been reading, learning, studying, preach- ing, visiting, and afterwards poring over ledgers and balance- sheets since boyhood till then ; and with that keen relish which fasting from any indulgence induces, he devoured the sensational delight of the present, and fancied all moments must be as sweet to his cousin as that to him. And indeed Sir Mark Geith was apparently fortunate enough, young enough, and happy enough to be regarded with something like envy. Just twenty-eight, in the prime of health and strength, with high animal spirits, and every capacity for taking en- joyment out of his surroundings, the baronet was driving home to Snareham Castle, possessed of a fine estate and a good rent-roll wherewith to keep up the dignity of an old and honored name. There were no skeletons in his cupboard, unless indeed it GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 73 might be the old cat so spitefully referred to by him. He was free from all ties ; the world lay before him as it lay be- fore George, but it was a very different world through which he had to travel. Looking down at the woods which surrounded Mark's home, and contrasting the free hillside, and the breezy downs, and the pure, fresh air which he drank in as a fainting man might wine, with Fen Court and its church-yard, and its never-ending, always commencing round of work, George Geith felt that his cousin was a person to be envied, and that he should like to be standing in his shoes. But next moment he put aside the thought. Should he to whom God had given the capacity for work, repine be- cause God had not permitted him to remain idle ? Should he who could win wealth, and be proud of winning it with the strength of his own arm, lament because a good life stood between him and this unearned hoard ? Should he be disloyal to the man who was pressing hospitality on him, and who had been so like his brother in days gone by, that at Snareham Castle strangers were at a loss to decide which was the prospective baronet, and which the country clergy- man's landless son ? Spite of his weary struggles — ay, even because of them — he would be loyal to his cousin, true to himself ; and with this better feeling there mingled another reason for his con- tentment. Over and above that strange sense of personal possession which a man feels in himself, and which makes him know he would rather lie down in the grave in his own flesh and blood than return to life and take another's form and soul instead, George Geith was conscious of a mental superiority over his cousin, which he would not have relin- quished for ten times his cousin's wealth. Brains Mark had none ; he had the usual amount of conventional ability with which most young men are gifted, — rather a greater amount indeed, because his speech was perfectly unaffected and nat- ural ; but he had no talents, no genius of any kind, and Georoje Geith knew this. 74 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. If both men had started fairly together in the race, with- out any favor shown to either, Mark would never have reached the winning-post at all, while George was almost sure to do so. Looking at his cousin, therefore, he felt somewhat as a prize-fighter might if contemplating an effeminate stripling in armor : — "Were we stripped to the skin," thinks the giant, "I would show you in two minutes which is the better man."' Wealth and rank were Mark Geith's armor ; they are the breastplate and helmet which the world so often mistakes for strength. Have you, reader, ever thought what it must be for a man to achieve a social success in his shirt-sleeves ? with what brawny arms and muscles of iron he must have fought out his long fight. If business-men are sometimes over-proud of their achievements, it seems to me the aristocracy might be more lenient towards them for this reason, viz : that mind, and body, and spirit have been often weary with the conflict; that men and circumstances and prejudices were all against them, as they toiled onward to success. Yet they have their balance ; oftentimes, too, the sure sup- port afforded by an inner consciousness of power. The poodle yelping from the carriage-window is a gen- teeler animal than the unwashed, unkempt, half-starved mas- tiff stalking along the pavement ; and yet still, if I mistake not the faces of dogs, the mastiff has a contempt for the poo- dle, and is marvelling how it would look wandering through the streets, wading through mire, and mud, and filth. " Come down to our level, ye sorcerers," shouts Business. " Come from chambers of pleasure, from couches of ease, from servants, equipages, and bankers' balances to our level. Then we will fight it out till we see if you despise us still." And then, when Pleasure refuses the challenge. Business climbs desperately up the hill, on the summit whereof lie the fair lands where the idlers dwell, and, repeating its challenge, is laughed to scorn. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 75 For in those fair lands it is wealth, and rank, and grace, and manners that carry the day ; while down below it is something far different — something not to be acquired by art, or inherited from man, which shall win the palm, but strength, and energy, and patience, and prudence, and brains — all gifts direct from God, that bring a man safe through the fiercest war which civilization permits. And should George Geith wish to change his pure gold for the gilding he beheld beautifying his cousin ? Scarcely, I think ; though he was but dimly conscious of the extent of his own possessions. Scarcely, though he sighed when the woods surrounding Snareham Castle lay spread once more before him. No ; he would not change his own identity, and he could not covet his cousin's goods. For all which reasons he was content being himself ; to be still as far off him, down amongst the rabble, fighting for his life. As some such thoughts were floating through George Geith's mind, Sir Mark pointed with his whip to the old tower of Great Snareham Church as he said, — "I shall never give it to anybody but you while Mr. Het- ton lives ; and, if you like, I will appoint you private chaplain till he dies." " You are very good, Mark," was the reply ; " but I shall never preach again." " I don't want you to preach, man," retorted his cousin. *' Heaven knows, I have listened to too many sermons from my mother and madam to wish to hear any more ; but I do want you to wear a black coat and white cravat, and say grace for me at the castle. If you would only stay where I could lay my hand on you at any time, I would give you a couple or three hundred a-year for sitting in the chimney- corner." " A chimney-corner life would never suit me," answered the accountant. " I have worked too long and too hard, since I saw you last, ever to rest content again with light employ- ment and light pay. I never did a better thing for myself 76 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. than when I left the Church. I was not adapted for a cler- gyman, and I have now found out what I am fitted for." "A pushing shopkeeper," suggested Sir Mark. " I would rather be that than a dependent parson, kicking my heels at a great man's door," retorted his cousin. " You need n't be so sharp about the matter, damn it," observed Sir Mark. " I did not mean to annoy you ; and if you think it an insult to have a living pressed upon you, I know somebody who would jump at it. What fun it is to watch Mrs. Hayles nibbling after the piece of preferment. She watches Great Snareham as a cat might a larder-door." " But will you not give it to her husband ? " asked George. " I tell you the living is yours," said the baronet, " and if it were not yours I should not give it to Mr. Hayles. He is a good man ; but I have my reasons, and he shall never have Great Snareham while I have the giving of it. But now we are at the old place again ; tell me if you think it im- proved ? " George looked about him. Through the trees that bor- dered the drive he could see belts of young planting stretching away in the distance. He perceived that the deer park, once so rough and neglected, was now kept smooth as a bowling green. That the steep grassy bank, under the castle- windows, was converted into terraces ; and that below the terraces lay a pleasure-garden. Within the court-yard, which he could remember grass- grown and comfortless, there was another garden, and the high, black walls were now covered with ivy and creepers, that took away the plain look from the enclosure. There was a carriage-drive through the centre of this garden, terminating in a sweep before the great oaken doors of the castle. As Sir Mark pulled up, these doors opened, and George seeing the face of the butler, who was waiting to receive his master, exclaimed, — " Why, that is Corby ! " " Yes," answered his cousin. " I think you will find all GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 77 your old friends inside, — at least I have parted with none of them. Bob died last winter. You remember Bob, who taught us both to ride. That is the only man who was here in my father's time who is not here now, and perhaps they won't be glad to see you. Corby, who do you think this is ? Why, you don't mean to say you forget him ? He knows you." " I declare it 's Master George," cried the old man, joy- fully. " We have all asked about you so long since, we thought it was of no use asking any more." And then George went through the halls and corridors, shaking hands with one and another of the people, who had known him from the time he was a boy. It was a change from Fen Court cer- tainly, where no voice ever welcomed his return to Snare- ham Castle, with the servants crowding about him, and hoping lie was well and coming back to live near them. If he had been the owner twenty times over they could not have seemed more glad to see him. "If her ladyship was here now she would be pleased," remarked the housekeeper. " She has said to me times out of number she ^Yas sure you were gone to India, and that she would never see you again." " I have not been to India," answered George, laughing, " though I have been in places my aunt would think stranger than that;" and having thus parried the housekeeper's question, he turned to Mark, whose face had fallen a little when the woman spoke of his mother. For Lady Geith had always been fonder of George Geith than of her own son, and made no secret of her preference, and it was not singular that any allusion to her predilections proved painful to Sir Mark. Nevertheless, being of a very generous nature, he bore no grudge to George, but welcomed his cousin as cordially to Snareham as though there had never been any cause for jeal- ousy between them. " He could not," so he told George after dinner, " forget 78 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. the old times when they were boys together, and he wanted some one of his own blood to talk to." " I have no peace now at all," he added, as he pushed the wine towards his cousin ; " my father is dead, and I believe my mother hates me ; and my uncle Arthur is now very little better than an idiot, and his wife says I am not a Geith at all. And when I want to marry, that old devil, Mrs. Lemon, sets her face against Cissy, and makes my mother ten times worse than ever. " We are not on terms now at all. Her ladyship and Mrs. Lemon live in Halkin Street, and I stay here." " I do not understand how it is you and your mother can- not agree," remarked George. " It is Mrs. Lemon," was the reply ; " I believe that if the old hag were out of the country, we should get on well enough. But she is like an open blister, and I get so mad to think what a fool I have been, that it makes matters worse." " How have you been a fool ? " asked George. " Oh, spending money, and being a devil of an idiot," w^as the reply. " I came into an unencumbered estate — that is, unencumbered except by myself — and instead of paying off the Jews, and making a clean breast of affairs to my solicitor, I must needs begin improving and spending, and making ducks and drakes of everything I had. And so the end of it all is, I can't marry without my mother's help, and she won't give it, not though I threatened to cut off the entail." " You threatened to do what ? " asked the next heir, and his face was not pleasant to look at. " Cut off the entail," repeated Sir Mark, with some con- fusion ; " of course I had not the slightest intention of doing anything of the kind, but I thought it worth while to try the effect." " And what did your mother say ? " asked his cousin, with not unnatural interest. " Why, she cut up deuced dusty, dared me to do it, and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 79 said, if I injured your prospects in any way, she would make me bitterly repent my imprudence. We had a devil of a row ; and when I suggested that, as we had not heard anything of you for so long a time, it was likely as not you were dead, she broke out crying as if her heart would break. I declare, George," added Sir Mark, quite seriously, " I sometimes think there was some mistake, and that you are Lady Geith's son, not I." " Considering how long an heir was looked for, and that I am four years your senior, the idea seems unlikely," an- swered his cousin. "Anyhow," went on Sir Mark, "my mother and I have never stabled our horses together at all ; and now, in a mat- ter wliere my happiness is really involved, she won't hold out a finger to help me. She says she will not give a sixpence to free Snareham during her lifetime, and that at her death she intends leaving her fortune to you." " I hope and trust she will do nothing of the kind," said George Geith, and he said so in good faith. " She says she will, and I believe she intends to be as good as her word. I do not think she ought, you know," added Sir Mark ; " I do not see why she should pass me by for you ; but I would rather you had her money than Mrs. Lemon." " Mrs. Lemon is more likely to have the bulk of it than either of us," remarked his cousin. " I wonder what my aunt can see in that woman to like : I always hated her." " It was mutual," answered the baronet ; "for she always hated you. But my mother does not like her, though she is influenced by what she says, and takes her word for gospel. I do not believe she likes her. I have often fancied lately there will be a split there some day ; and if it ever does come to that, my mother and I will, I hope, be better friends." " I trust you will," said George ; " and now tell me, what is this objection to Miss Hayles? " "Want of birth, want of money, want of everything, 80 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. according to Mrs. Lemon's statement. Absolutely, she says Cissy is not even prett3\" " You should not be surprised at that, remembering she is a woman," observed his cousin. " Do you think jealousy makes them so blind ?" asked Sir Mark. " No ; but I know jealousy makes them lie," said George. " What a grave fellow you have got," observed Sir Mark ; and there was silence for a minute. Then, " How did you get to know the Hayles ? " asked George. " I never recollect your being there in my time." " I got to know them when I went over to Morelands to try and learn what had become of you," replied Sir Mark, "and since that time, whenever I have been in the country, I have always passed a good deal of time at the rectory ; Cissy and I have been engaged now for nearly three years.'' " With Mrs. Hayles's full approval, I suppose," remarked George. "I believe you ; the old lady accepted so well for her, that if I had not really and truly liked Cissy better than any girl I ever saw in my life, I should have cut Morelands long ago. As it is, I can't stand much of Mrs. Hayles. That is the reason I can't give Snareham to her husband, though she has set Cissy on to ask me for it many a time. Hang it, she ouo-ht to be content. A poor clergyman does not pick up a baronet for his son-in-law every day." " What an unsophisticated creature you are," said George ; " you don't know your own value at all." " I know the value of my position, at any rate," retorted Sir Mark ; " and you know as well as I do, too, that, pretty and winning and graceful as my darling is, she might have stayed unmarried at Morelands till she grew old and ugly, unless she had taken up with one of her father's curates, and gone home to darn his socks and make his shirts." « Baronets were certainly not plentiful in the parish," re- joined his cousin. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 81 " I have often wondered," went on Sir Mark, " how you escaped heart whole, you were so intimate with the Hayles, you were so much with Cissy." "I had other things to think about," answered George, shortly ; " if you had been compelled to work for your liv- ing, and thinking, like myself, how to work to better pur- poses, you would scarcely have had leisure to get into a mess with Miss Hayles." " Perhaps so," replied Sir Mark, " and yet I am surprised. Your duties at Morelands could scarcely have kept you so constantly employed as all that comes to." " It was how to get away from Morelands, and what to be at when I was away, that occupied my thoughts," said the accountant. " And what the deuce made you want to get away ? " asked his cousin. " I wanted to better my condition," was the reply. " Very likely ; but it was not that took you off from Morelands like a flash of lightning, and prevented you writing to one of us all those years. Come now, George, I have been frank with you : make a clean breast to me in return. Why did you go ? " " That is my secret," said the accountant, — " one which I do not mean to confide even to you." " What a confounded shame ! " cried Sir Mark. " There is nothing I would n't tell you." " Because at present you have nothing to say which you would not tell to anybody. When you are so rich as to own a secret, you will get a casket to lock it up, and not look in it too often yourself." " Well, as far as I know myself, I would keep nothing back from you," said the baronet. " Which shows how very little you do know of yourself," answered his cousin. " But at any rate, Mark, I cannot tell you the whole of my reasons for leaving Morelands and the Church. They were sufficient as I thought, and the step 6 82 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. has turned out well. Don't ask me any more about it, — there's a good fellow; but accept as a whole truth the half one, that I went away to better my condition." " Only one question, George," began Sir Mark : " could money " but the accountant, laying a hand on his arm, stopped him with — " Do you forget what I told you once when we were both but lads, that I had promised my mother never to take any money or favor from Lady Geith or you, except the living your father intended for me. You know she never accepted help, and I know she often stood sorely in need of it ; and though I may never now ascertain her reasons for requiring such a promise, I intend to keep my word faithfully." " Now, don't say that," pleaded Sir Mark, " for I was going to ask you if an awful thing they call capital be not essential in business, and about to offer " " Dreadfully hard up though you are yourself, to find me money enough to make my fortune," finished George with a smile. " Thank you all the same, but it cannot be. Were I doing badly, I could not use your purse ; and as I am doing well, I do not need it. And now I must bid you good- bye, if I mean to get to London to-night." " We could not catch the express now possibly," said the baronet, " so make yourself happy for the night. I am quite serious," added Sir Mark, " and if you doubt it, there is Bradshaw, and there is my watch, which is right to a minute. You see the express must have passed the junction a quarter of an hour since. If it be a matter of consequence to you, George, I am sorry, upon my word I am."v So was Mr. Geith ; he had n't intended to stay the night at the castle ; but he could not help himself now. " It is all the better for me," said the baronet, " but I did not intend to let you be late for all that. I wish you would come and stay with me here for a month or two. It would do you a world of good." "And what would become of my business ? " asked George. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 83 " Business be hanged ! " retorted Mark. " By the by, what did you say your business was ? " '* I am an accountant," said his cousin. " Oh, I remember you were always a great fellow for figures. Well now, tell me, don't accountants look into estates, and see how people really stand, and what they owe, and what they have ? " " Yes ; I often have to do that both for bankrupts and folks who are solvent enough." " Well, that is just what I want done," answered the baronet. " I want to know how I stand, and how long it would take me to clear the property, and what the suiplus timber would realize if sold. You could come down here and look into things for me, I suppose ? I wish you would. I know no more than the man in the moon how I am really situated." " I could n't come here myself," said George, who did not want to do so ; " but I might send down a person to value the timber, and then it would be easy to ascertain your exact position. I should recommend you to face that, whether you effect a reconciliation with your mother or not." " There is no chance of a reconciliation with her un- less " " Unless what ? " asked his cousin, who well knew what was coming. " Unless you would go to my mother and talk the matter over with her. She would consent to my marriage if you asked her, 1 have no doubt ; and I should be grateful to you forever." ''That might depend on whether Miss Hayles made a good wife or not, I should say," answered George, a little cynically ; " but without any reference to future gratitude at all, if it will oblige you in the present, I am quite ready to go to my aunt on your behalf I can but fail." " I do not know how to thank you," exclaimed the baronet. " There is not the least necessity for you to try," answered 84 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. George Geith, quietly. " If I can make peace between you and your mother, it will be but a very humble return for her kindness to me. All the pleasant days I can ever remember to have spent I owed to her ; and though you and she can- not agree, Mark, I maintain there never breathed a better woman, nor a truer lady." Having given utterance to which opinion, the accountant rose as if to end the conversation, and walking to one of the windows put aside the heavy curtains and looked out into the night. "While the cousins were talking, the moon had been climb- ing high into the heavens, and now bathed the woods and fields surrounding Snareham Castle in a flood of silver light. " Will you take me round the old place, Mark ? " asked George. " It may be many a long day before I see it again ; " and the pair went out into the gardens, from whence they passed into the shrubberies, and then wandered back to the upper terrace, which they paced slowly side by side. The old castle with its new wings flung a shadow over the two kinsmen, and from the building the ground sloped sharply down the hillside to the village of Great Snareham, that lay in the valley beneath. Over the lower woods, George could see the Tower of Great Snareham Church rising above the trees. Buried in one of its vaults lay all his ancestors, and all his deceased relations, except it might be the two drowned sons of Mrs. Arthur Geith, whose bodies had never been recovered. Two more whose corpses were washed ashore after the accident, which left her childless, slept there tranquilly, as well as the late baronet, and his brother, the Rev. Adolphus Geith, and George's grand-uncle, the gallant Geith, who came back from Waterloo covered with wounds, to die. For genera- tions the Geiths had been so small a band that the great house gathered its dead jealously together. Brothers and nephews, and cousins, however far divided in life, were GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 85 brought home to the family estate, and buried side by side. It had often been remarked in George's hearing, how few the coffins were which sufficed to contain those who had car- ried the name through previous centuries, and yet, so far as could be ascertained, none save the two boys were missing. Some such observation the accountant made at length to his cousin, who answered, — " Yes, there are two others, the son and the grandson of that old Sir Harry, who fought so well for King Charles. When we were clearing out the Norman Tower, we came on the son's portrait, being in a dark passage with its face to the wall, and the word traitor painted over the picture. I can't have the word obliterated without destroying the face, so I have hung it up in the gallery with an addendum of my own below : ' Hugh Geith took the side of the Parliament, and fell at Cropready Bridge.' His wife brought the body here, but across the porch which lay where the ladies' flower- garden is now. Sir Harry cursed him and her and her unborn child, and swore that the spawn of a traitor should never be master of Snareham. " ' Whereupon,' says the manuscript from which I derived my information, * the lady bade the men who carried her husband's body place the corpse on the ground, and she kneeled down beside it and kissed his forehead, and then prayed, — " ' That if no son, or son's son, of the dead man ruled at Snareham, the estate might never pass from father to son, but come to be owned by strangers, and the name blotted out forever.' « A miracle," finished Sir Mark ; " but the poor soul was beside herself with grief After she had finished her prayer, she rose and went away with her dead to the old parsonage house, where the then clergyman, who had known her hus- band from a boy, took her in and gave her food and shelter. Two days after she died in giving birth to a still-born child — a son, and they laid the three in one grave, in the church- 86 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. yard, together. So far the story ; now for a strange thing about the portrait. It is as hke you as it can be. I sliall now go in and look at it," and Sir Mark led the way across many a room, and along many a passage into the picture gallery, which was little more than a broad corridor, lighted by three long windows, and ornamented at each end by a steel mirror. There were many male Geiths and their wives ; the former, frank, Saxon-looking men ; the latter, stiff, prudish dames, holding flower in hand or hawk on wrist, with a cer- tain stately solemnity. The daughters of the house were abundant, the sons few and far between ; surrounded by a bevy of girls hung Sir Harry, the Royalist, whilst at a little distance from him was suspended the portrait of his only son. From corner to corner of the picture ran the disfiguring letters, but still through the word, as through the bars of a prison, the grave thoughtful face looked down on the last male of an ancient house. Over the neck of his horse an arm was thrown ; the left hand held a plumed hat ; long, dark curls fell over his shoulders, and a countenance which might have been George Gcith's, had George ever looked handsome, stood out from the canvas. " It is yon, George, to a certainty," remarked his cousin after a long pause. " We always said we could not tell where you had got your face, but we know now. It is strange how some members of a family cast back, is it not? " " I wonder," was the accountant's reply, "if that son did die, or whether he lived and had children." " Whether he died or not," observed Sir Mark, a little coldly, " makes the marvel none the less. Neither my father, nor your father, or even uncle Arthur, resembled this man, and yet they three were brothers." " True," answered George, as he passed over to look at the portrait of the late baronet. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 87 How well he remembered the face — bold, daring, frank, sensual, handsome, smiling. From father to son George Geith glanced critically. " There can be no question about your descent, Mark," he said at length. " So I tell Mrs. Arthur, but she says she cannot trace the likeness," answered the baronet, with a somewhat forced laugh. " Then she must be blind," was the accountant's comment ; and as he tui-ned away, those who knew George Geith well could have told that he was something more than satisfied, and something less than pleased. 88 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER IX. BACK TO TOWN. Through the night George Geith lay awake thinking, or, rather, he lay passive, whilst all manner of vague ideas chased each other through his w^eary brain. The events of the day, the confessions of Mark, older memories, future plans, filled the mental canvas to overflowing ; whilst over all these lay a kind of hazy wonder as to whether Mark were really the rightful owner of Snareham, as to what was the mystery lying between him and his mother. From boy- hood Lady Geith had never cared for him. An only son, the heir of a large estate, he could do no right in her eyes. She had tried to be just, George knew, but George knew likewise that her trials in this respect had sometimes proved signal failures. He could remember the triumphant pride of the late Sir Mark in his child, but he had never seen Lady Geith evince any pride in her son save when Mrs. Arthur Geith was present, at which periods she would have brought down the moon, could her so doing have pleasured the future baronet. Mrs. Arthur had never been a friend to Mark. She had tried to sow enmity between him and George ; she said openly her nephew was illegitimate, and her sister-in-law but as her remarks were slanderous they need not be re- peated here. As Lady Geith had disliked her husband, so Mrs. Arthur Geith disliked her. People knew that the Geiths had played at cross-purposes with their wives ; that Mrs. Arthur would fain have stood in her ladyship's shoes, GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 89 and that her ladyship would gladly have taken her fortune and person to the country vicarage where Adolphus Geith made his humble home ; and perhaps Lady Geith's indiffer- ence to her son arose in dislike to his father, and her liking for George out of heart-breaking memories of the man she once hoped to marry. The more he tried to unravel the skein, the more tangled it grew. Was Mark, as had once been suggested by Mrs. Arthur, his brother ? That was utterly impossible ; for his mother would never have sold her own flesh and blood to aid a deception. Had Mark been changed at nurse ? His likeness to his father forbade that idea. Had the late bar- onet introduced a felon heir into the family ? Lady Geith would never have tolerated such an intrusion ; she would only have been too glad to tell the story years before, and confound the plans of both father and child. There was but one solution of the enigma which George Geith did not re- ject as worthless. A previous contract, a living wife, which rendered Lady Geith's marriage null and void, and her children illegitimate. Might not this, as the years went on, account for much which had puzzled George and piqued the curiosity of so- ciety ? Her keen desire for him to marry Lettice, her only daughter ; her laying them out for each other from the time they were children, and weeping so bitterly when she told George his little wife was dead ; might she not in this way have wished to make him reparation ? Might her leaving him her fortune not be after all but some plan of doing justice at last? Mrs. Lemon possibly knew of the prior con- nection ; that might account for the influence she exercised over his aunt. His mother might have guessed the truth, and broken off their intimacy w^th her sister-in-law in conse- quence. If this were so, George could pity, ay, and though he was the loser by the fraud, forgive. As for any insinuation which made Lady Geith a deliberate sinner and hypocrite, the ac- 90 ' GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. countant indignantly rejected the idea. He had ever found Lady Geith thoughtful, and good, and kind ; and he was not going to have his faith in her destroyed, even through his own. But at this point the accountant shook his thoughts aside for a moment. Was he going mad ? Was he about to turn imaginative in his practical manhood ? What reason had he to suppose that Mark's title to Snareham was other than good, beyond Mrs. Arthur's angry assertions and the old tradition, the origin of which he had just learnt, that no son would ever succeed his father at the castle. Till Mark's time, no son for generations ever had. That was curious ! Mark himself had remarked he was glad to break the spell, and George had dryly replied, — " I do not doubt it, as you benefit by the change." But was George going to be influenced by old women's tales ? Was he going to leave his business to run after a will-o'-the-wisp ? If Snareham brought bad nights and evil thoughts ; if it were a snare to sense and alive to discontent ; if it were a foe to domestic happiness, a cause of repining and dissatisfaction, George Geith would have none of it. He would go back to London, and work, and fight and win. He would, being a i)Oor man, renounce the position which none but a rich man could occupy with honor. He could be no hanger-on of a great house ; he would have no heart-burn- ings, no such speculations as disturbed him now for the future. And he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. Then the face of the Puritan obtruded itself; then he saw Cissy Hayles gliding along the terraces, led by charming Lady Geith ; then he was back in Fen Court, laboring to free himself from the old chains ; then he was at Morelands ; then quarrelling with Mrs. Hayles ; again shrinking from the rector's statement that he knew why he had left the Church ; and at last all the distorted shapes faded away and left the over-tired man sleeping quietly. Next morning when he awoke, the fantastic procession of GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 91 the night was gone, and George Geith arose and dressed himself quickly, so as to catch the first up-train to Lon- don. " So you won't stay," said his cousin. " You won't be sociable and come and relieve the tedium of a poor devil's life ; but you will go back to the city and serve Mammon for seven years longer. Well, I won't say you are wrong ; I am satisfied nature made a mistake when she ever gave a Geith a fortune. We are a race intended to work, and you are going to prove the truth of my proposition. You will be rich some day when I am poor. When I have made all Snarehara a pond to flock my ducks, you will be buying properties and standing for the county. When I am re- trenching on the Continent, you will be a great man in London." " I shall never be a great man anywhere," George replied, and yet his thoughts belied his words. He was looking for- ward to wealth, position, consideration ; and if these things do not constitute greatness to the children of this world, I should like to know what does. " I wish you would let me give you a leg up," observed Sir Mark. " Thank you heartily," answered George, picking his phrases out of his cousin's vocabulary ; " but if ever I reach the winning-post, I should like to be able to say : I chose my horse ; I trained him ; I mounted and I rode the race without a helping hand from anybody." " You are as obstinate as old Sir Harry," remarked his cousin, peevishly; "but if you won't be helped, and if you will go, it is time we were on the road. When do you think you can see my mother ? You perceive /am not above ask- ing a favor from you." " The rich man confers a favor on the poor by requesting his services," said George, with that bitterness which creeped up every now and then to the surface ; "but a favor crushes the poor man, and destroys his liberty of action." 92 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. « Well, I '11 be hanged," retorted Sir Mark, " if I 'd see things with your eyes for a dukedom." " Things stand in different lights for you and rae," was the accountant's tranquil reply ; " and it is, therefore, natural they should look different to us." And with this truism, George Geith may be said to have taken his leave of Snareham Castle ; for five minutes after- wards the cousins were driving away from its entrance gates to the station as fast as Sir Mark's favorite horse could take them. They had no- time to spare ; indeed, as the baronet pulled up, they could see the express coming grandly along the line. " Good-bye ; do come to see me soon again," said Sir Mark, standing outside the carriage-door, and grasping hands with his cousin. " Good-bye, Mark, and thank you. I will be sure to write whenever I have seen " But the train was off, and George could not finish his sentence. The baronet waved his hand in token pf fiirewell, and already the train was panting out of the station, and the cousins were parted once again. But George caught another glimpse of his relative at a curve where the line crossed the road leading to Snareham Castle. Up the highway the accountant could see the ter- rible black horse come tearing on. For an instant Mark slackened the reins, whilst he nodded in answer to his cousin's signal of recognition ; and taking advantage of this oversight, the animal made a leap forward, and then started off at full gallop under the archway over which the train was passing. Shifting his position to the other window, George watched the dog-cart spinning away towards Snareham Castle, with Mark leaning back in it, and pulling in ihe frightened animal with all his might. Luckily it was up-hill the whole way to Snareham from the station, and the accountant had the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 93 satisfaction of seeing that his cousin was getting the best of the battle before a cutting shut horse and driver, and all the well-remembered plain, from his view. And so they parted ; so the one man went back to his castle, and the other to his office ; so the two last young men of an old house turned each into his separate path. It is with that George elected to tread we have to do ; so we may just as well travel back with him to London, and see what he thought of by the way. Putting aside the dreams of night, — refusing, as in the past he had always done, when in his sober senses, to specu- late on his anomalous position, or to think of the possibility of himself ever inheriting Snareham and a title, George be- gan to consider his own prospects de nouveau, and to raise up a great Tower of Babel, the golden pinnacles of which touched the skies. Did he mourn about Cissy Hayles ? did he grieve because the little sunbeam of love which had fallen so softly across the darkness of his heart, was proved to have no warmth nor power of vitality in it? No; George was glad to know Cissy and her mamma as they were, — glad to think he had escaped from the danger scatheless. He fancied how much harder his hard life would be if united to such a wife as Cissy ; he imagined the horror of having to listen to Mrs. H.'s opinions, and, worse still, of hav- ing perhaps to conform to some of her ideas. He thought of the tirades against business he should hear if he had the misfortune to be Mrs. Hayles's son-in-law. He had a horrid vision of the way in which society, and the opinion of the world, and the opinion of dear Cissy's friends would have been throwm at him by her worthy parent. It is a tine thing to see a woman you have loved engaged to be married to a grander person than yourself; for there is not a flaw, mental or physical, that is not revealed to you then. You change in a moment from being her lover to being her critic ; and she comes out of the shade she has hitherto affected, and floats up and down in the full sunshine of self-glorification, 94 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. in order to show, all unconsciously, the frailty and flunsiness of the butterfly you would once have passed through brake and through brier to secure. Many a man, though, will moan, even after a butterfly, if she be only pretty enough ; but George Geith could never have done this. Once satisfy him the star he worshipped was willing to shine on any one and there was an end of his fancy. Should he sit down and mourn because the illusion was dispelled ? Emphatically not. He had n't bought the picture, and he was not going to grieve because he had seen it in a fair light. Let her go. If Mark liked her, well and good. She would make a good wife for a baronet ; but for a poor man, for a struggling man, — gracious heavens ! what right had a poor and struggling man to think of a wife at all ? What were wives ? Curses sometimes, luxuries always, helpmates never. Why, even in the garden of Eden, George reflected, Adam's wife could not behave herself, but must needs bring trouble to her hus- band and all that came after him. No ; he decided against matrimony altogether ; he reflected that money, which could buy all things, was the only solid good ; and as he knew by experience that industry could command money, he returned to London resolved to think of business more persistently than ever, to make wealth his object, work his means. Hitherto he had met with no check in his business, and like most men who have done a small certain trade, and kept their accounts close up, he fancied that he should, with prudence, be able gradually to increase his connection, and continue as fortunate in the future as he had been in the past. He forgot then what he had been told in his youth, viz., that a man never makes a good rider till he has been thrown. Had he remembered this, he might have known that the management of the business steed is rarely understood by those who have not, some time or other, licked the dust. There ! a sudden change in the markets, the failure of a good house ; the upset of a basket holding all his eggs, and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 95 the man is down ! Help him up, ye Samaritans ; or at least stand aside and do not trample him till he can rise of himself. He is blinded with mud and dirt ; he is stunned by the force of the fall. He is giddy and confused ; but still give him a hand and let him mount again, for he may do well yet. If he be wise he will not attempt impossibilities. He will attend to his business, he will eschew marshy ground. He will not try to ride over spiked walls ; he Avill not exhaust his strength and then attempt to race with those who come fresh and powerfully mounted on the ground. He wall re- member that misfortune is usually another name for folly, that being deceived implies having been over-confident, and so goes on safely to the end. But for the man who is always being throw^n, my readers, do not waste your pity on him. Let him get out of the mire as he can ; let the boys jeer him when he talks of accidents ; let him subside into clerkship — servitude — whatever opens for him, and believe he is safer there, and that it is better for the community he should be there than ruining other people and running the risk of breaking his own neck. One fall, but not a dozen, makes a man cautious. Many a man is courageous merely because he does not understand danger, and therefore the shock which teaches prudence is oftentimes the mere prelude to ultimate success. This shock George Geith had never felt, and therefore he plunged back into the business vortex, over-sanguine of victory, over-confident in himself. He counted the harvests that were to make him rich and independent ; he saw the end, but not the road to it ; and as the omnibus that conveyed him from Euston Square to the city lumbered through the streets, his seat beside the driver was converted into a throne, from whence he issued edicts to fate and conferred honors and favors on himself innumerable. "When he reached Fen Court there were people waiting the chance of his return. That was satisfactory. He could 96 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. recollect the time when it was he who waited and not his clients. Now, his outer oifice looked like that of a prosperous man ; and with a certain sense of triumph at the business success he had achieved, the accountant attended to those who were bringing corn to his mill. The first man who entered the inner office — that privatQ sanctum which commanded a view of the churchyard and the trees — was short and stout in figure, with a greasy face, and lank, unwholesome-looking hair. He had a great deal to say about the weather, which did not please him, as a slight rain that made the streets greasy had just set in. " Sha'n't sell six-penn'orth to-day," he opined ; " it 's well to be you whose trade don't vary Avith the weather." " It is better to be you who make a hundred and fifty per cent, when the weather is fine," retorted Mr. Geith. " Oh ! come now," expostulated the draper, " that is too bad, and you a bachelor." " The dread of your bills is likely to keep me so," was the reply ; whereupon the pair laughed and got to business. Mr. Acton's books had fallen into a tangle which he wanted the accountant to unravel. This was the sum of his first statement ; but it soon transpired that he wanted some- thing else, viz., to have the work done for less than half- price. Mr. Geith, however, was firm ; there were days when he would not listen to any abatement, and this chanced to be one of them. Moreover, though mentally well balanced, he could not come down straight away from the terrace of Snareham Castle to the level of Mr. Acton's shop, and so he ended the discussion more abruptly than was his wont. " How and ever," said the draper, in reply, " I cannot afford your price nohow. Five pounds is the outside I can give." " And ten is my charge, and the least I shall take," answered Mr. Geith loftily. " Then I must carry the work to somebody else, that 's all," and Mr. Acton reluctantly took up his hat. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 97 " That is a matter for you to decide," remarked the ac- countant, and he turned to his letters as a signal for the other to go. But the other would not take the hint. " You will think about it," he suggested, after a pause. " Certainly not," was the reply, and Mr. Geith began cutting open the envelopes. " Would another sovereign," tried the client. " Now, Mr. Acton," said George, decidedly, " you are but wasting my time and your own. The lowest price I can take is ten pounds. If you like to give that sum, well and good. If not, well and good still ; only I do not make up your books for less." He had opened his letters by this time, and began reading them as if Mr. Acton were not standing opposite to him. Business is not improving to the manners. Lord Chester- field himself, had he been compelled to earn his bread in the city, would probably have had to choose between starvation and a polished address. George Geith had made his choice at a very early period of his commercial life, and so went on perusing his letters whilst Mr. Acton watched him. At first the draper considered this absorption a ruse, but after a time, finding no notice taken of him, he removed liis arm from the corner of the desk, and observed, — " I will consider the matter then." " Very well," answered George. " Good day," said the draper. " Good day," replied the accountant, and the door opening on the landing closed behind that client. As it did so, client No. 2 entered from the outer office, and Mr. Geith laid down his letters. This visitor proved to be the brother of a person in diffi- culties who wanted a balance-sheet prepared. The man being steeped iu debt was, of course, indifferent about ex- pense. All he wished was expedition. Could the business be compleied without delay ? 7 98 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Assuredly," and the matter was settled. No. 2 went out, and No. 3 came in. This individual wanted money, and having got it, buttoned his coat, resumed his umbrella, lifted his gloves, and departed, making way for No. 4, who turned out to be Mr. Foss. " What can I do for you," asked the accountant, after he had shaken hands with the young man. " I hope you do not want any business help from me." " I do and I don't, if you can understand that," answered Mr. Foss, with a blush Miss Gilling might have envied. " I called to ask if you knew of anybody in want of a clerk." "Why, do you know any one in want of a situation?" asked Mr. Geith. / " Yes ; I should be glad of anything I could get," replied Mr. Foss, and he blushed again a deeper red. " I thought you had such a first-rate berth at Twine's," remarked the accountant. " So I had," said the young man, ruefully, " but I got notice on New Year's day, and left last Saturday. They pay everybody weekly, from the cashier down, in that office, and so I 'm adrift." "What is their reason for parting with you?" inquired George. " Mr. Twine's nephew wanted a place, and mine was the only one they could give him." " What did you learn there ? " asked George ; " dock -work chiefly, was it not ? " " Yes ; and wrote letters, and used to help the cashier sometimes too. I am a pretty good hand at accounts," added Mr. Foss, with a longing look round Mr. Geith's office, which look made that gentleman smile. " Can't Mr. Bemmidge make room for you ?" he inquired. " He has not work enough for himself," replied the other, " and he knows no one wanting a clerk. It was he told me to come to you, and said most likely you would be able to put me in the way of doing something." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 99 " Perhaps you both thought I might be requiring a second clerk myself," observed the accountant, at which suggestion Mr. Foss colored to the very roots of his hair, and took refuge in absolute silence. " I don't know that I can take you on," continued Mr. Geith, after a short pause, " or that, if I could, my place would be worth your acceptance ; but I will think the matter over, and you might look in again in a day or two. Meantime, if you hear of anything better, don't consider yourself bound in any way to me." And George Geith turned to his letters again as a hint to Mr. Foss that he considered the business which had brought him there ended, and that the sooner he left the office the better he would be pleased. " Good afternoon, and thank you," said the young man, who had seen enough of business to know clearly what the accountant meant ; and he was going away without offering his hand, only that George prevented him. They were not master and man yet, and perhaps the accountant's conscience accused him for having been rude to a person who was so very easily snubbed as Harry Foss. At any rate he said, " Good-bye, and if I can do anything for you, I will," in a tone which made the applicant's face brighten considerably, and sent him away in a happier frame of mind than that in which he had been making his visit. Before he entered the office he had intended to tell Mr. Geith how important a thing it was for him to get a situa- tion at once ; how he had a mother and sister dependent on him for daily bread ; how hard he was able to work, and for how small a salary he would be willing to labor. He had made up quite a little volume on his way from Ab- church Lane to Fen Court, but somehow, when he got into the commercial presence-chamber, the narrative was forgot- ten, and his fine sentences were exchanged for the few bold phrases I have set down. He would have told all about himself to Mr. Geith that night at Ivy Cottage ; but Mr. Geith in office was a different man from Mr. Geith at 100 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Andrew Bern midge's. He was quite as formidable an in- dividual as Mr. Twine ; and Mr. Twine moved among his clerks like an Eastern despot among his slaves. If he were accepted at Fen Court, the young man saw he would, spite of Mr. Bemmidge's acquaintance with the principal, be but a clerk till the end of the chapter. He was a little surprised, perhaps, but he need not have been, for it is in the nature of business to make aristocrats of employ- ers, of raillionnaires, and of creditors. And of the importance of marking this line broadly, George Geith was well aware, for it is not easy " to blow up a man who can answer you on terms of equality ; it is a very difficult matter to keep a clerk straight who is a friend also." " If Foss comes, he will have to rough it like anybody- else. I can make no distinction here," reflected the ac- countant ; from which remark it will be seen George Geith was fitted for the path he had chosen in all respects. He even dared to take on a man he knew, and keep him in his place, — an experiment on which, I think, few in his posi- tion would have cared to venture. He had just got rid of all his clients, and was going to answer his letters, when he heard some one coming up the stairs, and immediately afterwards his clerk entered the. office to inquire whether Mr. Molozane could see Mr. Geith. "What can the man want?" groaned the accountant. "Send him in, Simmons; but remember I can't be inter- rupted again till after post-time." Having uttered which mandate, Mr. Geith descended from his stool, and stood with his back to the fire awaiting Mr. Molozane's entrance. " I am afraid I am very troublesome," began that gentle- man ; " if it be inconvenient for you to speak to me now, I can wait. I am not in any hurry." " Providing I get my letters finished in time for post, I am quite at your service," said George, and he motioned his visitor to a chair. But Mr. Molozane would not sit down. He came and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 101 stood before the fireplace, and looked at the blazing coals, as he began, — " There is no more hope about the mines, Mr. Geith." " I am Sony to hear that ; I trust you are safe." " No ; I could not sell. I wish to God," went on the poor dupe, vehemently, " I had come to you twelve months ago, I might have got rid of the shares then ; but that is all past now, so there is no use talking about it." "What have you heard fresh in the matter?" asked the accountant. " The captain of the miners has absconded, and the direc- tors are going to wind up the concern," and Mr. Molozane dropped his hand on the mantelpiece, with a despairing gesture, as he spoke. George did not answer for a minute, he only drew the long back breath so common among business people, and looked away from Mr. Molozane ere he spoke. " I am afraid it is a bad business," he said at last ; " do you know what the liabilities are ? " " No ; I cannot learn anything about them." "Nor the assets?" " There are none. The captain has taken away close on with him. The secretary says the police are on his track ; but I have no idea they will find him." " Nor I," answered George ; " and if they did, it would not benefit you much, for he is not likely to have the money now. Well, whoever else has lost, one man is suve to be safe." « Who is that, — the captain ? " " Your secretary, Punt ; he always feathers his nest, no matter Avho else loses down. How do the directors purpose winding up ? " " I do not know. Is there more than one way ? " " Yes, there are two : one by which you know the worst at once ; and another, by which you learn it after years. The first has the advantage in one way, however, it settles 102 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. the truth immediately ; but the second enables a man to look his position in the face, and see whether he can eventu- ally recover himself." " Will you tell me exactly," said Mr. Molozane, " what the extent of my liability is likely to be ? " "That depends entirely upon the amount the company is in debt, and the solvency of the other shareholders. If all are good men, the loss will be more general than individual ; but if many are men of straw, the payments will have to be made by the few who are able and willing to do so." " What do you mean by willing ? " asked Mr. Molozane. " Is there any choice in the matter ? " " There is no choice for you," answered the accountant ; "for others there may be." " How is my position different from that of others ? " inquired Mr. Molozane. " Your position is not different ; but you are, or else I am greatly mistaken. Men back out of these kind of things every day. They leave the country ; they sell their estates ; they get rid of their businesses ; they make over their prop- erty to some relative on the first sign of danger. There are a hundred ways for men to escape the consequences of their own folly ; but there is no honorable way, Mr. Molozane, and I should be advising you wrongly if I said there were." " Then what do you suppose will be the result of it all to me?" " That depends on the extent of your own property, and of the company's liabilities. You may not have to pay much, and if you have, you may possess sufficient to pay everything and still leave a surplus." " And is there nothing I can do meantime ? Am I to sit with my hands folded, and see my money taken away by thieves ? — for I can call them nothing else, Mr. Geith, but thieves, damned thieves ! " " If you mean, can you resist the claim, most certainly not ; but you could go down into Cornwall and see for your- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 103 self what the Sythlow Mines are. It has happened before now that valuable mines have been declared unproductive, and sold to friends or the directors, who made fortunes whilst the shareholders were ruined. Remember, I don't think such will prove to be the case in this instance ; but still, if I were you, I should go and judge for myself." " Thank you ; I will follow your advice. And now, Mr. Geith, you must not refuse a fee to-day. I have no one else to come to but you, and no one else to consult with ; and if you decline to receive payment, you will shut me out from the only adviser I have." And the poor, proud gentleman, whose pride had received such a mortal blow within the last few months, laid down a fee, carefully done up in paper like a doctor's, on the chimney-piece. So long as he had a sixpence left he did not want any one to give him anything, even kindness, for nothing. Could the accountant have with any reason accepted the fee, I think he would have taken it; but, as it was, he pushed the money gently away, and said, — " As I have done nothing for you so far, Mr. Molozane, I cannot take a fee ; but, unless you know what you have and what you owe much better than the majority of the gentlemen with whom I come in contact, you will want an accountant's help ere long. If you like to come to me then, I will make a charge. Now, however, I cannot." " But the time I have occupied," urged Mr. Molozane. " I wish all my clients occupied as little," said George ; " I should be either an idler or a richer man. I have to Hsten not merely to business, but also to family histories here, and nobody thinks of paying me for doing so." " I wish you would let me pay you, though," entreated Mr. Molozane. " You shall, certainly, if ever I do any business for you ; and, perhaps, if you ascertain anything about the mines you will let me know. Some of my clients may be inter- 104 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. ested in the matter, for aught I can tell ; and at any rate, I like to be ' up ' in these things. I hope the affair may not turn out so badly as you fear." " It cannot turn out worse, at any rate," said the country gentleman, mournfully, and he held out his hand in farewell. George could not but notice how much more meekly he performed this ceremony than on the occasion of his pre- vious visit. A mightier leveller, so far as this world is concerned, than death, was bringing the man who despised trade down to something lower far than any honest caUing. Away in the distance lie saw beggary looming before him ; and with that awful prescience growing clearer and clearer at every step, the old social distinctions faded into insignificance, and Ambrose Alfred Molozane, Esq., of Molo- zane Park, in the County of Herts, discovered that there was some faint comfort to be derived from telling his anx- ieties and his misery, even to a man who mixed with low people, and transacted business in Fen Court. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 105 CHAPTEE X. LADY GEITH. When Mr. Molozane came out of Mr. Geith's office, the January day was drawing to a close, and darkness and a penetrating rain were striving which should reach the City first. Up and down Fenchurch Street the country gentleman looked disconsolately ; not that he cared about the state of the weather. Hail or shine, it was much the same to him. The Sythlow Mines were not going to make his fortune ; nay, were most probably going'"' to ruin him. What, there- fore, did the rain signify. Let it rain. He did not quarrel with the wet, slippery pavement, the streaming gutters, the splashing cabs, or the women who carried umbrellas as sol- diers carry fixed bayonets, charging the unhappy passer-by with them. There are people, it is said, who have some choice concerning the weather and the place in which they shall be hung ; but Mr. Molozane could not have understood any solicitude of this kind. He felt the rope about his neck, and nothing could add to the misery of that sensation. What did the puddles which reflected back the light from the gas-lamps signify to him ? What did the wet signify ? What did anything signify ? And in this pleasant frame of mind he proceeded up Cullum Street, and along Leadenhall Street, and so, through the pelting rain, to Shoreditch Station, where he sat him down to wait patiently till such time as his train should start, and ruminated, weary and fasting, on his position. 106 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Sitting there, with the vice of Whitechapel, and the want of Bethnal Green, and the sin and the misery huddled to- gether to the west of Shoreditch, within almost a stone's- throw of where he sat, he verily believed himself to be the most wretched man breathing. And yet he had only lost money ; while, gracious heavens ! there were those out on the street he had just left, — out, with the gas-lamps stream- ing on their haggard faces, — out, reeling away from the doors of fine palaces, — out, with thin soaking garments, with poor shoes that let the mud in at every step, who had lost money, and home, and virtue, and, so far as man could tell, their souls too. I don't know how it is, that no depth of misery seems able to make its cry heard unto another ; that wretchedness is ever blind to the fact of there being a trouble greater and more hopeless than its own ; that whatever sorrow comes to a man he considers the worst mortality can be called on to suffer. It is not so with joy. From the bill-tops of success and pleasure come glad shouts of triumph over the plain ; and humanity, no matter on how lofty a peak it stands, ever considers that the criers are borne down to its level from higher pinnacles than its own. Success knows no contentment, wretchedness no alleviation. The one is all eyes, ears, and attention, and the other, blind, deaf, sullen. " Why should they have more than I ? " shouts the man who ought to be happy. " Was ever mortal so hardly dealt with ? " is the groan of each of us who feels the lash of trouble laid never so lightly on his back. " What have I done that this trouble should have come upon me ? " thought Mr. Molozane, as he sat in the dingy waiting-room. " I wonder if any of those I see passing me have made such miserable fiiilures of their lives as I," murmured Lady Geith, looking with weary eyes out into the gathering dark- ness. ^ ' And she sighed. With reason too, for she had sinned. And not all the tears she could weep, not all the groans she GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 107 could utter, might ever undo the wrong she had done, or make reparation for it. Yet it may fairly be questioned whether Lady Geith ever fully realized to herself the enor- mity of the crime of which she had been guilty. She felt the inconvenience it entailed on herself and others. She would have given much to have been able to get out of the tangle she herself had woven. She was very sorry. She had suffered acutely. But, nevertheless, I do not think she knew, so far, the meaning of the word repentance. She did not know what it was to lie down with her sorrow at night, and get up with it in the morning. She did not know what it was to weep tears that blister the heart instead of relieving it. • She had not the faintest conception of what it is to turn back upon the road of evil, and facing the past with its sin and its sorrow, strive to do right, at least, let the cost be what it will. She had never been taught what God's providence teaches to every willing scholar : sooner or later, that a sin may never remain unatoned for ; that wrong must be righted by some one. The days of the Lord are long ; years, it may be, pass away, and the mornijig when the fault was committed seems so far back in our reckoning of time, that we forget the immutable law of retribution. But the noontide, and the evening, and the night come on for all that, and the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, and the wrong is righted at last, when many weep for the crime of one, and the innocent are swept into the whirlpool which, it was thought, could not touch even the guilty. " Turn back ; turn back ! " is the cry of experience to the inexperienced, " whilst it is yet time. You cannot flee from your sin forever. There may be a mid-day in your life, it is true, when the wrong can throw no shadow ; but the wrong is travelling with you, before you, behind you, beside you, for all that. And you must face your trouble now or hereafter ; let it be now, when you know the worst, when you know who will suffer, who will be benefited. In the 108 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. future there will be wives, now unmarried ; children, yet unborn ; relations, who are now strangers ; enemies, who, far and few, are indifferent. There is a great multitude travelling on to meet you in the distance, who will all be involved in your trouble ; who will weep ; who will curse ; who will triumph ; who will sin ; and who will suffer an- guish because of this wrong, which you are permitting to rush onward towards them. 'Turn back; turn back !' and conscience, echoing the cry, warns the sinner to strive to right the wrong whilst there is yet time to do it." To Lady Geith experience and conscience had both cried in vain. She was sorry ; she had repented ; she would have retraced her roads could she have taken one entire leaf out of her life, and undone the deception which had rendered her existence miserable. Failing this, she decided to drift on with the tide, to repair her fault in her own way, and to make such compromises with her conscience as might insure its silence and approval. She was much like a child who has done mischief, and who, while sorry for having done it, thinks if it can but con- ceal the fault, there will be an #nd of the matter. Great consequences springing from little causes, great trees grow- ing silently out of the tiniest seeds, were things Lady Geith did not think about. Present inconvenience she felt and tried to get rid of; but she now entirely shut her eyes to the question of future trouble and injustice. Had not her life been a burden to her ? Had she not wept, and suffered, and repented ? What more could be demanded of her ? Let the irrevo- cable past lie buried. But somehow the past would not lie buried. It had a way of appearing before her, which was unpleasant in the extreme. Every now and then a darkness came over her 60ul, and out of the darkness there crept the old, old days, each with its story, each with its trouble. For Lady Geith's had not been a happy life. Granted GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 109 that to a great extent she had made her own nnhappiness. What then ? Why, then, that was no comfort ; and so, sit- ting in tlie dusk, in Halkin Street, looking out at the wet pavement, at the glimmering lamps she passed. Over years and years she travelled, leaning back in her chair listening to the steps of the passers-by, hearing the sound of distant street-organs, watching the rain as it came down faster and faster, she journeyed quicker than ever express train swept across England; from age to youth, to her girlhood, to the happy, and hopeful, and innocent long ago. What had she made of the road since traversed ? Watch that which she is contemplating, and then judge. She is looking at a hopeless love ; hopeless, not merely because the man she loved was poor, but because he did not return the love she, a great heiress, was wasting on him. In that she had little to blame herself. With Adolphus Geith, who never thought that a decorous flirtation, conducted on the most religious principles, and in an unexceptionably clerical manner, could bear bitter fruit to any one, perhaps the case was different. He ought to have thought, he ought to have known, he said so hiniself when he found the strength and weakness of the motherless girl, who had never before stretched out her hand towards anything without pos- sessing it. Her weakness was loving hiui, her strength for- giving him, and heaping such coals of fire on his head by her generosity that she developed everything which was good in the man's nature, and caused his life to be a more useful one than it could ever have been, had he not met her. She had outlived that love ; she had put it aside as a sham and a grief, and looking back, she could see that the one good thing she could remember doing was loving the clergy- man's wife, and being mother, friend, sistei', all in one, to that most lovable of God's creatures, beautiful, fragile, light- haired, blue-eyed, tender-hearted Rose Stanhope ! Think- ing of her, spanning in a moment all the years that lay 110 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. between the present and that day when she saw Adolphus Geith's chosen bride for the first time, tears came into Lady Geith's eyes, and rolled slowly down her cheeks. What a clinging, tender plant it was : how it twined itself around the young heiress, ever putting forth some fresh tendril of sympathy and affection as time went by, and brought trouble with it to her friend. What a slight, frail thing it seemed, and yet the day came when Lady Geith felt it tear itself away and renounce her. " If that my secret killed her," thought Lady Geith, and the thought might have been true, for circumstances made the secret a very grievous one to keep, and Rose Geith felt the struggle between right and wrong, between gratitude and self-interest, severely. Had she lived, it is a question whether she would have continued mute ; but she died, and Lady Geith's secret re- mained intact. The reader, of course, by this time guesses what that secret was ; but before confirming the truth of his idea, I must go back a little and tell how the temptation arose ; how Lady Geith came to be so false a woman. When first she knew the man she afterwards wed, there were three Geiths brothers ; three all unmarried : one, Mark, lived with his uncle at Snareham Castle ; one, Arthur, was a barrister with very few briefs ; while Adolphus was curate of Little Snareham, in which parish his father was lord of the manor, squire magistrate, what you will, providing always it be respectable, pompous, worldly, and wealthy. Squire Hollington was a man of old family ; his ancestors had been Druids, and he was able to trace them from the period Stonehenge was erected down to the nineteenth cen- tury. But long though his pedigree might be, it was not longer than his purse. From the Druids, or from some nearer relatives, he inherited estates which brought him in six or seven thousand a-year, and from his mother a private fortune of fifty thousand pounds which he would infallibly GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Ill have secured to his nephew with the property, but that un- happy young man had been led in an evil moment to ques- tion the truthfulness of this genealogical record. He only doubted the Druids, but that was sufficient. The squire abandoned the idea of a match between him and his daughter then and there, and made no objections to Mark Geith when he came to woo the heiress. Mark Geith was the heir apparent of Snareham Castle and the baronetage. The Geiths were people of old family also. There was not a drop of blood in their veins but could be proved of the due shade of crimson. It had been poured out like water in the service of kings, good, bad, and indifferent ; it had never mingled with impure streams. The Geiths' wives had been ever gentlewomen ; some poor and some plain it might be, but still ladies. There had never, so far as he could hear, been a G^th mad, or epileptic, or consumptive, or scrofulous, and this was an immense recommendation. " If pure blood could keep men from death, the HoUing- tons would be immortal," he used to boast. " There never w'as one of us," and the "us" included the Druids, I may remark, " married into a diseased family, until my brother chose for his wife a woman whose father was in trade and died of softening of the brain. And look at the result : look at Harold, an effeminate, delicate, lisping creature, who dis- putes our pedigree, and thinks all men are equal." There was no fear of Mark Geith thinking all men equal so long as it buttered his bread to believe otherwise, where- fore he humored the old man to the top of his bent, and made himself as agreeable as might be to the daughter, who mar- ried the elder brother after loving the younger, and who was so simple as never to think that a prospective baronet might be marrying her less for what she was than for what she had. The Hollington property, that is, the property which was entailed, passed on the death of the old squire to his nephew ; but over and above this there were lands, and houses, and 112 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. moneys in the funds which carae to Lady Geith strictly secured to her sole and separate use for her lifetime, and to her younger children after her. That his daughter should remain childless never entered into the calculations of the squire. No Hollington's quiver had ever been destitute of juvenile arrows. Indeed, but that death had proved as kind as nature, they might have some- times seemed inconveniently full. Squire HoUington's father, for instance, was the eldest of a family of thirteen. Squire Hollinston himself had three brothers and seven sisters. His wife bore him four daughters and two sons ; but one of the former died in infancy, and a couple more a few years later of scarletina ; whilst, as for the sons, the eldest, Cedric, was killed by a fall from his horse ; and the youngest sank in India under the climate. People said he had trusted too much to the Hollington constitution, and perhaps this was true. Anyhow, he died and left the squire with only one child, Selina, who became Mrs. , and afterwards Lady Geith. That she should not rear sons and daughters, never, "as I said before, crossed Squire HoUington's mind, and he therefore went to his grave in peace, and left his money as stated. Just then, Arthur Geith, the barrister, dropped matrimo- nially into what his friends considered a good thing, and took unto himself a brewer's daughter, who brought to her new home a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds, which had been made out of Thames water, hops and malt. It was a seeming certainty for a struggling and penniless man, and Arthur Geith cared very little for the fact that his wife had just set her cap at the prospective baronet, and failed to catch him. He was an easy-going man, who hated work and loved pleasure, and who was willing to pay any price for being landed high and dry above the sea of poverty, in which his early youth had been passed. For all the Geiths, save the heads of the family, were poor as church-mice. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 113 Till the death of his uncle, the eldest brother, the prospective heir, had only an allowance of five hundred a year and his wife's fortune. Mrs. Arthur Geith's money, and Mrs. Arthur Geith her- self, proved eventually causes of dissension amongst the Geith clan. She ruled her husband, she reduced liim to a mere cipher, she snubbed the clergyman, she insulted his wife, and as the years rolled by and brought her children with them to Snareham Castle, she began to regard herself as presumptive Lady Geith, and manager of the property. She had five sons and two daughters, — five fine lads stood between Adolphus Geith's only living boy and the title. There was no child at Snareham, had never been one, and so Mrs. Arthur was everlastingly taking her boys to the Castle, and exhibiting the eldest to visitors as " the heir/' A well-bred woman had no chance of victory in the vulgar warfare of petty annoyances which Mrs. Arthur wao-ed. As though Lady Geith's marriage had not proved unliappy enough, without any aggravating circumstances being thrown into the scale, Mrs. Arthur must needs put her hand on the beani and make her sister-in-law more wretched still. The culminating point came when Sir Mark " wished to God that he had a child to rid him of that woman's airs." " I have heard," answered Lady Geith, " that in your family no son ever succeeds his father, so there would seem to be httle use in having one." On which Sir Mark damned old proverbs, and cursed his luck, and left his wife in tears. Tears were Lady Geith's most grievous sin in her hus- band's eyes. He once said she looked more like his mother than his wife ; and the remark, though brutal, was true, for at eight-and-twenty — ten years after her most ill assorted marriage — Lady Geith was a miserable, discontented, peevish woman. Not that she cared, in reality, about children of her own succeeding to the title. If Mrs. Arthur's boys had been out 114 GEOEGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. of the way, she could have looked with complacency on Adolphus Geith's son as the future heir of Snareham ; but as it was, the feud between the two women had grown to hatred ; and to have caused annoyance to her sister-in-law, to have insured her plans being frustrated, Lady Geith would cheerfully have gone down to the family vault, and stretched herself in her coffin with a smile. Matters had come to this pass, when one midsummer- day, after Mrs. Arthur had been exhibiting her eldest-born to some visitors. Miss Teddesley, who was Lady Geith's com- panion, remarked in her softest, lowest tone, — " Do you not think, Mrs. Geith, that calling your dear boy the heir, may be a little premature ? " " How — why — what do you mean ? " asked the other. " Only that, if a son were to come, it might cause " "It is not possible!" interrupted Mrs. Arthur, and she turned just red and then white at the bare suggestion. " I think it possible," said Miss Teddesley, significantly ; *' but of course I am not supposed to think at all ; " and she sighed and folded her hands demurely, as though, whilst sub- mitting to the supposition, she denied its accuracy. " My dear Miss Teddesley," began Mrs. Arthur, (when bad she ever spoken civilly to the companion before,) " what are your reasons for making such an extraordinary statement. I cannot believe it possible." " I would n't then, Mrs. Geith," observed the companion, soothingly. " If my idea should prove correct, the evil will be bad enough when it comes w^ithout anticipating it." " Many women," went on Mrs. Arthur, " would say they were glad — would lie and be hypocrites; but I am no hypocrite, thank God; and if Lady Geith should have a child, I shall always say mine has been cheated out of his inheritance." " But I may be mistaken," said the companion, by way of consolation ; " and, besides, even if I am not, it may be a girl." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 115 " And if it be," retorted Mrs. Geith, " there will be half a dozen sons afterwards ; " and she flung herself on a sofa, and cried with rage and disappointment. " I shall ask Selina," she said at last. " Don't talk to me about compromising you. If you wanted the matter kept secret you ought to have held your tongue." And with this trite remark Mrs. Arthur dried her eyes, and went off straightway to her sister-in-law, to whom she put her question sharply and suddenly. Taken by surprise, Lady Geith's denial was both startled and confused. She was so utterly astounded at Miss Ted- desley's idea, she was so delighted at Mrs. Geith's evident chagrin, she felt herself placed at once in so different a position to that she had hitherto occupied, that her negative implied an affirmative to the listener's understanding, and Mrs. Arthur went home mystified, crestfallen, and furious. Then Miss Teddesley came steahng into Lady Geith's dressing-room. That she was not supposed to think, was quite a fiction got up for Mrs. Arthur's benefit, because Miss Teddesley did think to great purpose, and could talk too, for that matter. Not even Lady Geith hated Mrs. Arthur with the same intensity as Miss Teddesley. Many a slight, many a sneer, which Mrs. Arthur had forgotten, were stored up by the companion, and thought of as debts to be paid. She was as silent, as wily as a serpent, and she watched her opportunity till she could get in the thin end of a wedge, destined to part Mrs. Arthur and Snareham as a possession forever. It was she who tempted Lady Geith, and with her clear head laid out a scheme for bringing a false heir to Snareham, which scheme was not guessed at by anj'- one save Rose Geith. " I am as certain of it as I am that I am talking to you," said she to her husband. " I have not the faintest shadow of a doubt on the subject ; but what are we to do, what ought we to do ? " 116 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. What were they to do, indeed. In blank dismay, the pair, who, though suspicious, had still no proof wherewith to con- firm those suspicions, asked each other that question day after day, till the opportunity for doing or proving anything was past, for before the young heir was christened, Adolphus Geith sickened, and while the joy-bells were ringing at Great Snareham, the young wife was left a widow. It was not in Rose Geith's nature, however, to suspect such a wrong and hold her peace to the doer thereof; so the time arrived wlien there was a scene between the sisters- in-law, when Lady Geith offered to compensate for the wrong she had done in money, and Rose Geith flung the offer back at her with scorn. " Keep your money," she retorted. " You will need it all, or I am mistaken, to buy the silence of your accomplices. Neither I nor mine will ever touch a penny of it. I am sinning enough in keeping your secret without that. May God forgive us both, Selina ; " and then she went down on her knees, and prayed Lady Geith to confess all to her husband, to Mrs. Arthur Geith, and let the mother, whoever she might be, have back her child. In vain — all in vain. Lady Geith had gone too far to draw back. She could not humiliate herself to Mrs. Arthur Geith ; she could not face the world, her husband, and her friends ; and finding all her arguments and entreaties were urged in vain, Rose Geith went back sorrowfully to her home, and never crossed the threshold of Snareham Castle after. She let her boy go there, biit from a child she taught him independence, and made him firm and self-reliant. And on her death-bed, she made him promise never to accept money nor favor beyond the merest courtesies of life from Lady Geith or her son. " The day may come, George, when you will thank me for exacting that promise. In any case, I know it is well for you to give it." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 117 How faithfully George Geith kept his promise we have seen ; and his aunt thought of that, sitting in the dusk all alone in Halkin Street. .Changes had taken place in the Geith family during the twenty-eight years that had elapsed since her ladyship had forced a fictitious heir into their domestic annals ; but no change, unless, indeed, it might be the death of the husband, had occurred to render Lady Geith's life happier. So far from the son's advent making matters pleasanter at Snareham Castle, it had simply made them worse. Long before his birth, Lady Geith knew Sir Mark was aware of her deception, and merely winked at it for some purpose of his own. She could never forget, and she as certainly never forgave, the sneer with which the baronet received the' intel- ligence of a possible heir. And yet, when the boy came, he liked him, he caressed him, he was proud of him. There was something in the way in which the child was greeted and she neglected, which galled Lady Geith be- yond endurance, and made her almost detest the lad for whom she had dared and suffered so much. Just about the time that the young heir was christened, Miss Teddesley married, and went to China with her hus- band ; but four years afterwards, when the Geiths returned from that foreign tour, during the course of which Lettice Geith was born, Mrs. Lemon came back with them, a widow, who had not been left in good circumstances, it appeared, since she resumed her old post as companion, and devoted herself to Lady Geith with the same assiduity as formerly. More years passed away, and between sunrise and sunset Mrs. Arthur Geith was left childless. Then Lady Geith stretched forth the right hand of fellowship to her old enemy : all too late. The loss of her children, and the sudden paral- ysis of her husband, made the unhappy woman almost a maniac. There was no measure in her grief, or in her anger. When she came to Snareham, it was but to reproach Lady Geith, and tell Mark he was an intruder, an inter- loper, and illegitimate. And after the baronet's death, when 118 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Mark absolutely succeeded to the title, she grew rabid, and became so notorious for her slanderous remarks, that people paid no more attention to them than if she had been an in- mate of the nearest lunatic asylum. But Mrs. Geitli, though violent, was not mad. She had grasped a truth intuitively ; and could she have shown any logical steps by which she had arrived at the conclusion that Lady Geith was somehow, in the matter of the children, criminal, she would have spared neither time nor money to revenge herself on her sister-in-law. Had she but known it, she was already amply revenged. The deaths of her sons, the paralysis of her husband, would have left George the certain heir of Snareham, providing Mark had not stood in the way. And Lady Geith knew that ; saw that, by her own evil act, the man she would have liked best to see master of the old place, was excluded from his rights. Her plans had succeeded so well, that she was punished through them. She had labored to knot the rope that scourged her. She had saddled herself with a son, and with a companion, who were the pests and curses of her daily life ; while the rightful presumptive heir of all the vast property was dwelling, Heaven knew where, and living, she could not even guess how. For her brother-in-law she felt no compunction. At Snare- ham, or in London, he would still be a poor, paralytic, use- less creature, who could n't enjoy the property if he had it, and to whom the much-coveted baronetage might never bring back health. But George, the son of the man she had once loved, and of the best friend ever found in woman, it was the thought of him that wrung her heart, and made her path so difficult to travel. Because, if Mark once married and had children, there was an end of George's chance forever. He should not marry. She came round to that decision once again, and was thinking how she might best be able to maintain it, when the door was flung open, and a footman entering with lights, announced at the same moment, — " Mr. George Geith." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 119 CHAPTER XL AUNT AND NEPHEW. " George, this is unexpected." " I am very glad to see you again, aunt ; " and tlien they talked about the rain, and the cold, and the season, as though they had been meeting every day for the previous twelve- month, till the servant left the room and closed the door behind him. When he had done so, the two looked at each other long and earnestly — looked words that might never be spoken, inquiries which could never be uttered. How had the years been passed ? What had they brought with them ? What of joy, what of sorrow, was clasped within the volume containing a large portion of a life which now lay closed before them? Eight years had made the young man middle-aged, the middle-aged woman old. Lady Geith's hair was gray, her face longer, her figure less erect than when her nephew had seen her last ; whilst, as for George, the change in his appearance struck his aunt so forcibly that at last she could refrain no longer, but broke the silence with — " Where have you been ? What have you been doing to yourself all these years ? " " Working — in London," he answered. " Li London, and yet never came to see me. George, what was it made you leave Morelands ? What could in- duce you to keep us in ignorance of where you were ? You have caused me sleepless nights and wretched days," she 120 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. went on ; " could you not have written even one word to say you were alive and well ? " " I ought to have written," was his reply ; " but at first I thought it better to break off all old connection, everything which could shake my resolution. Afterwards, writing seemed useless. The last thing we learn is to believe that old friends, after years of absence, still think kindly of us." " You ought never to have doubted me," said Lady Geith, her eyes filling with tears. " If you had been my own son twenty times over, George, I could not have suffered more anxiety on your account. I did not know what to do ; I did not know which way to turn. As I could not imagine why you had left Morelands, I was afraid of taking any step that might compromise you. Advertising, private inquiries, might all have led to " "To some other person finding out my whereabouts also," he finished, as she paused and hesitated. " Yes, nothing but fear, I felt satisfied, could have driven you from Morelands. You had got into some scrape there, and, being too proud to let your friends help you out of it, you fled. Was it not so, George ? " She asked this anxiously, and her nephew understood in a moment what she wanted him to tell her. " I had done nothing wrong, aunt," he replied, with a grave smile, which reassured her. '• I had done nothing wrong, either at Morelands or elsewhere ; but I was a fool once in my life, and the consequences of my folly pursued me there and harassed me to such an extent that I was forced at last to adopt the course I did." " But could money not have relieved you ; could your friends — could I — have done nothing in the matter?" asked Lady Geith. "Money might have done something, — death has," he answered, drawing his breath as he spoke, like a man who lays down a heavy burden which he has carried far and fast. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 121 "And you have nothing now to fear from any one ? " " Nothing ; a single grave is long enough and deep enough to hold what caused misery to me." " You wish to tell me nothing more about your trouble ? " she said, inquiringly. For a minute he was tempted to tell her the whole story ; but he put the temptation aside, remembering that confidence, even to the truest and dearest, usually proves an expensive luxury ; and thinking of the old saying, which affirms '' that three people can keep a secret if two are away." Not even for private circulation had George the slightest intention of printing off his folly ; for, if once he printed it at all, who could tell where chance and accident, and evil fortune, might not bear the telltale sheets. He trusted his aunt, certainly, but still it was better to trust no one ; and so he answered, — " I would rather not tell you more about it. It is not pleasant to dig down into the past only to dig up skeletons, and I am sure all you really want to be certain about is that I did no wrong, and that I am free." " Thank God for it ! " said Lady Geith, earnestly ; " but George, ' free ' is a strong word to use." " Not too strong, though," he replied ; " a man does not leave his home, forsake his profession, and cast himself adrift from all his relations, without a sufficient reason. There is a worse captivity than any prison can know within four stone walls. I have felt it, and am competent to speak." And was not she ? As he finished, she bowed her head in her hands ; for the echo his words woke in her soul deaf- ened her. Was not she ? Good Heavens ! what prisoner ever endured a worse captivity ? Could chains and bars, and bolts and locks have ever bound her so fast as the con- sequences of her own sin had done ? If George Geith had sinned likewise, had he confessed to any crime, had he told a tale of temptation yielded to, of wrong committed, his aunt might then have told her story 122 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. to him, and flung herself at once on his sympathy, his gen- erosity, and his mercy. But to a man who declared he had been only sinned against, how could a sinner speak ? And so the opportunity drifted away down the river of time, and the secret of each was still preserved intact. "Though you do not like talking about the past," said Lady Geith, after a pause, " I suppose you have no objection to tell me your future plans. You will return to the Church, I hope. Great Snareham is not yet vacant, certainly, but there are other livings to be had, and " " I shall never reenter the Church, aunt," he interrupted. " I left it unwillingly ; but I know now that I am not fit to be a clergyman, that, as years went on, I should have wea- ried of the life, and become dissatisfied with my position. Business is the only really productive field of labor for a poor and pushing man. It is all very well to talk of family influence and good connections. Would any influence have given me my present income, and still left me my indepen- dence ? " " I do not know," she answered ; " you have not told me what your income is, nor the nature of the business in which you are engaged." Then George Geith repeated the story which you, my readers, have heard before, of his struggles and his success. Forgetting the weary drudgery, the mortification, the long- protracted suspense which make the earlier parts of a busi- ness life so hard to pass through ; forgetting all the preju- dices of society against trade, all old bugbears of gentility, all the ideas in which he had been born and bred up, and only feeling how great and grand a thing it is to have fought the battle of poverty single-handed, to have risen unaided and unpatronized, George Geith grew eloquent, and told the tale of years gone by in words that commanded the in- terest of his listener. Would to God I could make the details of business as interesting to my readers. I would I could show to men of GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 123 pleasure and to men of rank what trade really is ; what an excitement, what a pain, what a struggle, and when honestly and honorably carried out, what a glory too. Every other class — the high, the low, the barrister, ihe student, the au- thor, the peer and the peasant, the factory hand, and the cot- ton lord — has found some writer to tell its tale ; but I can remember no book which has ever described a shopkeeper as a man, or ventured into the debatable middle land, where talent and energy is struggling from morning to night in dingy offices, in dark warehouses, unknown in the world's eye, solely because business has never yet learnt to be self- conscious, — because it is in its very nature to work rather than to think, to push forward to the goal rather than to analyze the reasons which induce it to push forward at all. And it is just this which makes business uninteresting to outsiders. As a rule, a tradesman cannot talk of himself. He speaks of markets, of failures, of losses, of successes ; but he cannot, or will not, reveal how these things affected his own feelings and thoughts. The rich can make quite a volume of sentiment out of the merest trifles. The poor are glib enough and pathetic enough concerning their stom- achs and a fall in wages. The woes of governesses are druo-s in the markets. The trials of sensitive men who can- not make sixpence a year, have been depicted till even young ladies are weary of making heroes of them. Gold-diggers, emigrants, hunters, explorers, all find words with which to interest the public ear. It is only trade, only that which is the backbone of England, only that which furnishes heir- esses for younger sons ; only that which sends forth fleets of merchantmen, and brings home the products of all countries ; only that which feeds the poor, and educates the middle classes, and keeps the nobility of the land from sinking to the same low level as the nobility of all other lands has done ; it is only this, I say, which can find no writer worthy of it, nor one who does not jeer at business and treat with con- tempt that w^hich is holy in God's sight, because it is useful, 124 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. and proves beneficial to millions and millions of His crea- tures. George Geith, however, was not ashamed of the calling that brought him bread ; and his previous education, and the association of earlier years, furnished him with words in which to state the story of the past seven years ; how he had come to London friendless, and had since gained a con- nection ; how he had mastered all the details of his busi- ness ; how he had slaved as a clerk ; how he had struggled as a beginner on his own account ; how he was now com- paratively well-to-do, an independent man, with every pros- pect of doing better and better as the years rolled on ; — the first younger son of the Geiths who had ever before bettered his condition save by marriage or inheritance. And Lady Geith listened. She who had wronged this man, listened and thanked God ; for she felt that, in the mysterious course of God's providence, good would come out of evil, and that George Geith was a better and a happier man, laboring in the city, which was a terra incognita unto her, than he could possibly be waiting for Sir Arthur Geith's death, sighing away his life till his uncle's shoes should drop from his cold feet, and come to be possessed by him. She had seen enough of what is called pleasure likewise to be aware its day is not all sunshine, and to be dimly con- scious that there is a something higher in life than pleasure, namely, work ; consequently she made no lament concerning the disgrace which would follow on the Geiths by one of them having soiled his fingers by touching trade ; nay, rather, she told her nephew how proud she was of him, and how she wished that such a son had been given unto her. Then came George's opportunity. "I think, aunt," he said, " you have every cause to be proud of the son you possess. I do not know where you would find a handsomer, or franker, or more generous fellow than Mark;" and the accountant, all unconscious of the stab he was giving, turned towards the woman who had chosen a child at random to GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 125 pass off as her own, and found, when it was too late, she had chosen nothing strong, nor great, nor clever, but only a person very like his most ordinary neighbors, of whom his best friend could find little to say in his praise, save even that he was " handsome, and frank, and generous." What commendation ! Why even a drivelling fool might have been so described without any breach of truth. " You have seen him lately ? " asked Lady Geith. " This morning," George answered. " I slept last night at Castle Snareham." " And you come here from him ? on his behalf, I mean," added Lady Geith. "I come here, first, fo see you," answered George, ''and in the second place, to talk about Mark. He is very un- happy, aunt. He stands in a most uncomfortable position." " It was his own free choice getting into it," said Lady Geith, coldly. " That probably does not add to his comfort," replied her nephew, " and really in the matter which is the principal cause of disagreement between you, I do not think Mark much to blame. It is indeed rather to his credit to have chosen a portionless girl. Would you not rather see him marry for love than marry fof money ? " " I would rather not see him marry at all," retorted her ladyship, with such sharp suddenness that her tone struck George mute. " And what is more," she went on, " if I can prevent it he shall not marry, either." " Do you mean to say," asked her nephew, " that you want him to remain single all his life ; that you wish to see no wife at Snareham, no heir to all that fine estate ? " " I do," she answered ; " waves have been the curses of the Geiths ; and as for sons, what son has ever succeeded his father in this most wretched family ? " " Mark," was George's reply to this question ; and as he spoke. Lady Geith rose and walked up and down the room, pressing her hands to her temples as she went. 126 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " True," she said at last, " and I wish he had never suc- ceeded. I wish in this case any one — Arthur Geith, you, or even a stranger — were now at Snareham in his stead. He would be happier working' as you have done ; he would be better without his title, without his properties. What has been his life since he came into possession ? Who have been his companions ; what his pursuits ? Did he tell you how he has wasted his substance ; how he has gambled ; how he has lost on horses ; how he has hampered himself with debts that he can never pay off in his lifetime ; and how, with as fiiie an estate as any of its class in England, he is yet very little better than a beggar ? " " But, aunt, consider how he was brought up," urged George. " Was there anything he wanted his father did not let him have ? Was he ever taught the value of money ? Was he ever shown that property has its responsibilities as well as its advantages ? that a man, even if he be a baronet, is scarcely free to do just what he likes with his own ? I do not think Mark is to blame for not practising what he never learnt." " What I ought to have taught him, I suppose, you mean," remarked Lady Geith. " What some one ought, most certainly," answered her nephew, boldly. " His father, at any rate. Mark has, how- ever, now learnt dearly what might have been taught him once cheaply ; and it seems to me there is no use in blaming him for past errors, if he be willing to reform in the future. Surely marriage ought to make him more careful, for he would then have another's interests to consider as well as his own." " I have told you I will not have him marry," repeated Lady Geith. " You must pardon me, aunt, for saying that no human being has a right to prevent a man marrying if he choose." " Let him marry then," retorted Lady Geith. " Though I do not wish him to marry, though I believe he will bring GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 127 misery on himself if he do marry, I shall not attempt to prevent his doing so." "But he cannot marry without your help," said .the ac- countant. " Which I am not bound to give," was the lady's decided reply. " Then, virtually, you are determined that he shall never have wife, nor child, nor home worthy the name," observed George, after a short silence. " He has determined that for himself by his own conduct," said Lady Geith ; " by his extravagance and by his folly ; for a man in his position to fall in love with a penniless girl is absurd." " Then you would like him to marry for money ? " ques- tioned George. " I would like him to face his affairs, to retrench, to rely on himself for once. Do you know what his debts are, George ? " she asked suddenly ; " how much he? has to live on after paying life insurance, and interest, and so forth ? '\ " I have not the faintest idea," replied her nephew. - " Something under~^fifteen hundred a year," she answered. " A fine income that on which to marry and keep up Snare- ham and a town-house. He wants me to help him clear the property, but I cannot and will not do anything of the kind. It is unreasonable to expect it. You see yourself I should be made to risk my fortune in such a way ; for he would never continue to pay his life insurance were I his creditor. He would only go and contract fresh debts, and live more extravagantly than ever." She was certainly throwing new light on the subject. George's business head saw at once what Mark could never have been made to comprehend, viz., that, if Lady Geith cleared Snareham with her own money, she would certainly want bread before she died ; and as he could urge no course upon her tending to such a result, he broke new ground, and remarked, — 128 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " At any rate, aunt, you might receive Miss Hayles, and see what you think of her." " To. what purpose ? " asked her ladyship, who had by this time resumed her seat and her conaposure. " I should be raising false hopes, and giving my countenance to a match which cannot take place. Mark must give up the girl." " He has gone too far to be able to do anything of the kind," answered George, a little impatiently. "And if you were to see Miss Hayles, I do not think you would marvel at his claim." " Were she as beautiful as Venus, and as fascinating as a syren, it could make no difference to me," returned his aunt. " I shall not help Mark to entangle himself further." " Still, aunt, if you will not see Miss Hayles, will you not be reconciled to Mark ? He is very unhappy about the un- fortunate differences that have parted you ; he is very sorry for his conduct. For my sake, aunt, will you let him come here and speak for himself. It is the first great request I h^ve ever made to you. Will you grant it ? " " Yes ; if you will grant me one in return," said Lady Geith, after a moment's pause : " if you will come to me for what money you may require in your business, either a gift or loan. I shall not refuse to forgive Mark some actions which, hoAvever, I can never forget. Name what sum you like, one thousand or ten, and you shall have it to-morrow before two o'clock." My reader, my dear business reader, listen to this offer, and think what a temptation it must have proved to George Geith, so invidiously proffered, too, as loan or gift ; as loan, which, if prosperous and proud, he could repay ; as gift, which, if he failed, need never trouble his memory more. Ten thousand pounds ! see you not at the words — ware- houses stocked, ships freighted, shops filled ; knowing what you have done with your poor little capital, with your mere bagatelle of four or five hundred sovereigns ? Does not the bare idea of this wealth bring visions of greatness before GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 129 multiplying, extending, rarifying ? What could you do with ten thousand pounds ? — take that first-rate place, the premium asked for which, and the long rent at the back of that, puts it out of your power to do more than think of it now ? You might take it, and advertise freely, and purchase largely, and employ efficient clerks. Great Mammon ! what might not you do with ten thousand pounds ? — and here is a man who can refuse such an offer. Not for the reason he assigns to Lady Geith that he does not want it ; not because he is blind to the power money can give, to earn so apparently ready cash, a profession as that of an accountant ; but simply because of an old, old promise, made to one whose hand will never clasp his again, whose eyes may never welcome him home more. Ease, competence, wealth, perhaps, as great as Mark's, he saw might be compassed by means of the sum thus offered, but he refused gently and gratefully, so gratefully that Lady Geith's heart was wrung. " You thank me now, George," she said, constrained to speak by an impulse she could not control. " You thank me now, George. I wonder if the day will ever come when you will curse me as the worst enemy you ever knew." " I shall never do that, aunt, rest assured," George re- plied, " even though you should prove my enemy in the future ; though why you should, passes my comprehension. I shall not forget your kindnesses in the past. But now about Mark," he added ; " you will see him. I will write and tell him that I have mediated successfully, so far." " Yes, I will see him ; " she said it wearily ; " understand me clearly, though, George, and make him understand me too. I will see Mark, but I will not assist him ; I will not commit an injustice towards another for the sake of helping a man who cannot help himself." " If you are thinking of me," answered George, who had been waiting to get in this protest all through the interview, " I can only say I have no right nor title to expect anything 130 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. from you, and that if you made over the whole of your for- tune to me to-morrow, I should not touch a penny of it." " Yes, George, you would," she said, laying her hand on his arm ; " for if I left my money to you I should leave you likewise my reasons for doing so, and in that case your prom- ise to your mother would bind you no longer, for even she would not have objected to your taking atonement from a sinner after confession." Now what could a man say to such a speech as this, more especially such a man as George Geith ? Nothing ; and ac- cordingly that was what he did say, pressing her hand at the same time in token of farewell. " So you will not stay for dinner ; you are weary of old friends already, and want to run away," she pleaded. " I will come some other time," he answered, " when Mark is here, if you give me leave to do so ; " and with that prom- ise he departed, and wended his way from the west to the east, — from Piccadilly, gay with lights and carriages, to the darkness of Fen Court, where the trees kept sobbing and moaning over the graves. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 131 CHAPTER XXL OFFICE VISITORS. The months went by, spring succeeded to winter, summer to spring, and still George Geith was in Fen Court, doing well. Save increase of business, time had brought no changes to him worth chronicling. At intervals he had visited his aunt; at intervals, likewise, he had seen Mark, between whom and his mother a fresh disagreement had arisen soon after Easter, which accelerated Lady Geith's journey to the Continent, and caused Sir Mark's final retirement to Snareham Castle, to fell his timber and think over his debts. The accountant had done some business for his cousin during the winter ; showed him clearly how he stood, and how, by changing his mortgagees, he might effect a consider- able annual saving in interest, which, as George wisely re- marked, " might be devoted to paying otF the principal." In fact, what with the timber which the property could well spare, savings in interest, and strict econoaiy in personal ex- penditure, the accountant considered that the estate might be completely cleared in ten years ; and in this view the baronet had at one time cordially agreed. But after the second disagreement with his mother, Sir Mark's tone changed. Despairing of help from her, the prospect of ten years of economy frightened this spoiled child of fortune. " I should not care for work," he said. " Hang it \ George, take me into partnership and let me make enough 132 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. to clear off this damned mortgage. Five or six thousand pounds ought to turn in thirty thousand in no time." But George shook his head. He knew well enough where a business would soon be that Mark Geith had any say to. " Well, use five or six thousand, and give me half profits," said the baronet, who was very much in earnest about the matter. " There is such a thing in business as losing as well as using," observed his cousin. " Let us try, at any rate. I should not care about losing," persisted Sir Mark. " But I should," answered George ; and as he said this, his mind travelled back over years and years, over the diffi- culties he had vanquished, the weary lessons he had conned, the hills he had climbed, the long, long road he had traversed solitary and unaided. Given, two men talking on any sub- ject, and how hard, my reader, it is for the one to imagine what mental picture the conversation presents for the con- templation of the other. What is it that the eyes, turning towards the past, behold ? what is it that the speaker is really thinking about, whilst he talks glibly enough of the matter in hand ? His fellow may never know that ; for the great dramas of life are acted out by every man and woman among us, with no spectator but One above. In its sin, in its sorrow, in its despair, in its misery, its patient endurance, and its fi-antic struggle, human- ity is lonely beyond all power of expression. When the thorns have entered, when the brambles have torn, when the path has been roughest, when the purpose has faltered, when tears of bitterness have been shed, when hands have been clasped most tenderly, when words of fare- well have been spoken, when the poor tired pilgrim has Iain down in mortal agony, and sobbed out his despair, who may tell but God ? And if you could only believe this, my reader ; if you GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 133 could only feel that the most commonplace man you meet has acted out in his own way some tragedy, on which his Maker and yours has looked with interest, I think it would make you more patient towards those who are neither clever nor attentive ; more tolerant to all sorts and conditions of men ; more pitiful to those who may, for aught you know, have suffered more than the Almighty will ever permit you to suffer; and more indulgent towards those writers who choose their heroes from amongst the men who pass you by in the street, who crowd railway stations, who live plainly and have no story to tell about themselves, though they may have fought battles and faced dangers, and passed through troubles that have made them strong in the sight of God. Weary and long was the road George Geith had travelled in order to reach comparative success. Looking back, he could not but shudder at the light way in which Mark spoke of losing a game which was bread and meat and clothing to" himself. If Sir Mark had known anything of work, any- thing of business, loss and success would not have seemed a new game of pitch and toss with fortune. The more money he made, the larger his commission grew ; the higher the stake he was playing for, the more cautious George Geith became in business, the more ear- nestly he buckled to his work; and he would just as soon have thought of intrusting the management of his affairs to a lunatic as of suffering his cousin to have any voice in the disposal of his profits, any finger in the business-pie. He knew, if he did, Sir Mark would soon have out all the plums ; and for this reason, if for no other, he resolutely declined all the baronet's proposals ; which, though at first made jest- ingly, came in the end to be spoken in serious earnest by the younger man. The natural result followed, and by degrees Sir Mark fought his way to Fen Court, and fought likewise to ask his cousin so frequently to Snarehara. " I know what he is doing," thought the accountant, look- 134 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. ing out on the trees before his window, which were now green and leafy with the early summer foliage ; " I know what he is doing: he is cutting off the entail." And the accountant was right. Sir Mark Geith was cut- ting off the entail, and George could not raise a finger to prevent him. Thus the man who dwelt in the city, and who labored there, found himself, for the second time in his life, quite alone. But as it is one thing for a person to leave his friends, and quite another for his friends to leave him, George Geith felt more lonely now than he had done in the old days wdien he was Gregory Grant, struggling for liberty, struggling for bread. He saw that he' might live the life of dependence and pleasure, or the life of independence and business, but that he could not combine business and pleasure ; and in a dim kind of way he began to understand what puzzles most people till they have dwelt in the Castle of Indolence, and scrambled for daily bread in the hard fields of labor ; this is why so broad a line of demarcation separates the two classes ; why pleasure cannot mix with business, and busi- ness scowls at pleasure. Now socially came the time of danger for this busy man ; now with Snareham fading from his view, with the old door closed against him, came an hour when George Geith asked himself whether — seeing man cannot forever live alone — he had not better make the best of his business connection, and seek his future acquaintances amongst those who were travelling the same road as himself. If the one hand held no welcome for him, why should he not turn his face to the other ? He had chosen : he was of business — busy. Let him greet those whose leisure mo- ments were rare also I He was of the city — cityish. Why should he not make friends of those who passed their days under the shadow of the dragon and the grasshopper ; and swear alledance to the macjnates of Cockaigne ? o o o GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 135 Here was a point where cross-roads met ; along which would he turn ? Would he take business for his end, Mam- mon for his god ; a wife with a little money, and a great deal of vulgarity, for his helpmate, and her connections for his for evermore ? Or should he use business as a means, worship Mammon, but moderately, and either live single all his life-long, or wait for such a wife as he would have chosen in the old days gone by ? Which would he select : a life with something in it beside the city and the three per cent.s, or an existence like that of hundreds of business-men, who are sufficiently well off to be uninteresting, and so thoroughly content and self-satisfied, that the most daring of authors would never venture to put them in a book? Would he turn at this point, or go on straight as hitherto : which ? We shall see. Had the men he met been the same at home as they were in their offices ; had the women who were wives and daugh- ters to the city folks, with whom he was brought in contact, been anything like as presentable as their husbands and brothers, George Geith might have rested where he was for- ever ; but as it was, so it was. Every prejudice, every taste, every feeling of the man rose up in wrath against the manners and habits of the people, who asked him to come and be one with them ; and he drew himself further back into his shell, refusing to be lured forth by such wiles as theirs. He would not run down to Brighton from Saturday till Monday. He could not spare time to visit Hastings ; he dined once or twice at suburban houses, where the ma- terial silver was very good, but where the manners of his hosts and hostesses were only very lightly plated with civil electrotype. He was very shy of the Bemmidges' hospi- tality, and cleverly fenced off Mrs. Bemmidge's invitations for him to join their party to the theatre, or the opera, and to the Zoological Gardens. She had got some tickets from a shareholder for Sunday admission, and she wanted Mr 136 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Geith to hear the band ; but Mr. Geith declined. He was engaged for the day, he said ; and so he was. At St. Helen's Church in the morning, and in Fen Court and on the Lower Wharf in the afternoon. It was a mighty lonely existence, and there are few who would not have sunk in its action to something worse. There was one habit Mrs. Bemmidge had contracted, since that unhappy Christmas dinner, which the accountant could not endure, viz., that of coming to his office to press her invitations in person. She had him at a disadvantage there. She was a woman, and he could not ask her to go out ; and very often it was evident she would not go until she carried her point. More- over, she could answer his objections and bear down his excuses. Altogether it was a proceeding George detested. Had she come on business, with a set of books to balance, an estate to be wound up, a schedule to be prepared, or even her housekeeping bills to be examined and added up, George would have forgiven her ; but to bring her petti- coats, and not only her own petticoats, but those of her mother and sister, into his office, to scatter his papers, to ask to sit down, if he was out ; to take possession of his chairs, and walk up and down that sacred inner office, as though the fact of her sex gave her title-deeds of his possession, the practice was unendurable, objectionable in the extreme. In the first place, it was very inconvenient ; in the second, it did not look well ; and George Geith thought a man in business ought to be more careful about appearances than even Caesar's wife. Under the infliction he chafed, and, though he had been a clergyman, swore. " What the deuce does the woman mean by it," he thought ; " I wonder Bemmidge allows her. If I were married, I would not suffer my wife to enter my office, let alone go into any other man's. It is not only a confounded nuisance, but it is also improper." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Which very likely it seemed to hira, though it did not to the lady, who was only, in her own eyes, doing her duty both by Mr. Geith and her sister. She wanted to get the one settled, and the other out into a little pleasant society ; and, as he would not come to the mountain, why, there was nothing for it but for the mountain to go to him. Whereupon she often penetrated to Fen Court, and many and many a time compelled him to accept her invitation in order to get rid of her. Had the accountant been a weak man, he would have married Miss Gilling to get rid of the family ; but he was strong and not over-sensitive, for which reason he finally gave orders to Mr. Foss, always to tell Mrs. Bemmidge he was engaged. " No matter what I am doing, I shall be busy the whole day ; and if I am out, you don't expect me in at all, re- member." " Yes, sir. And Mr. Bemmidge ?" " I shall see him, unless Mrs. Bemmidge, or Miss Gilling be with him ; but I cannot, and will not, be pestered with women, unless they come on business." " Pestered with women," that was the way this man spoke of the sex for which Mr. Foss had an unbounded reverence. If he had had an office, and Miss GilHng had come there with a friend, what would he not have done for her ? He would have let business go to the dogs ; he would have stirred the fire in the winter ; opened the window in sum- mer ; gone away with her for the afternoon ; accepted her sister's invitation with rapture. As it was, he could but obey the instructions of his prin- cipal in the office, and, in the course of a walk towards Crouch End, with Miss Gilling, suffer that young lady to pump the order he had received, out of him. Afterwards Mr. Foss could have bitten a piece off his tongue for the indiscretion, but that would have done no good ; and Miss Gilling was so kind as to take no notice of his words. But she stored the grievance up, and nursed what she 138 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. considered the insult offered to her, even while she still went to Fen Court witTi her sister, and took chance of finding Mr. Geith at home. He was at home, and busy, one summer's afternoon when Mrs. Bemmidge tapped at his door. His clerks were both out, the one at the West and the other at the Bank, so that he had to answer the summons himself, after which there was, of course, no retreat. " So we have caught you at last," said Mrs. Bemmidge, as she sailed into the room in all the glory of a figured peach barege, a light shawl, and a pink bonnet. Miss Gilling, cool and heavenly, in a straw bonnet trimmed with primrose- colored ribbon, a black scarf, and a blue muslin dress. Mamma's queen accompanied the pair, perhaps as a duenna, and at once took off her head-gear, to Mr. Geith's immense dismay. " Oh ! ma, ain't it 'ot in here ? ' said the sweet child ; and hot it certainly was, Avith not a window open, and the sun shinini? with all its might aojainst the glass. " It is very warm," acquiesced mamma ; and she sat down and fanned her.-^elf with the Times newspaper. " I cannot offer to open the windows," remarked Mr. Geith with a grim feeling of satisfaction, " for there is a breeze^ and the letters get blown about in all directions." " I am sure it is no wonder you are ill," said Mrs. Bem- midge, " sitting writing in this close room from morning till night." " You are very kind, but I am not ill," answered George, who was leaning against his desk. '' It is of no use your telling me that," observed Mrs. Bem- midge, as though she were gifted with some special power of divination ; " any one can tell you are ill by looking in your face. I declare I should scarcely know you since last Christmas ; you will have a serious illness, mark my words, Mr. Geith, if you are so careless of your health ; Mr. Bem- midge has been quite unhappy about you lately. He says GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 139 you are killing j^ourself by inches. It was only last night he was lamenting you would not go out of town. Was not it ? " Miss Gilling confirmed her sister's statement. It was a peculiarity of this pair, as it seems to be of many, that the one never appeared to think her statement would be credited unless the other swore to its truth. " My brother-in-law," said Miss Gilling, modestly, " talks about you every night." " I am extremely obliged to Mr. Bemmidge," said George, thinking at the same time how short that gentleman must be of interesting subjects of conversation. " And he was saying," went on Mrs. Bemmidge, " that if you would come and stop with us for a week or two the change of air might do you good. We are almost in the country ; and at any rate it would be better for you than this hot, stifling oven." Having finished which neat little speech, Mrs. Bemmidge laid down the Times and untied her bonnet-strings. " You really are too kind," answered the accountant ; " I am not worth all the trouble you take in my behalf ; and besides," he added, " I really am not ill. I am perfectly well, and the heat of this place does not affect me as it seems to do you ; on the contrary, I am perfectly cool and comfort- able ; " and Mr. Geith, standing in the full glare of the afternoon sun, made this statement with self-possession and composure. " Well, if you are cool here," said Mrs. Bemmidge, " I don't think you would be too warm in Calcutta." " I don't think I should," replied George ; and he laughed as he said it. " But whether you feel the closeness of this place or not," persisted Mrs. Bemmidge, " it must affect your health. What with the smoke and the heat, and the want of ventila- tion " " Pray be just, Mrs. Bemmidge," interrupted George, 140 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " there is Billlter Square on the east, the church-yard on the west : two lungs, two large, open spaces ; what more would you have ? " " A church-yard prison ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bemmidge. " Breathing one's father and mother, as Mr. Bemmidge says." " I believe," observed Mr. Geith, mildly, " that Fen church-yard was closed before my father and mother were in existence." "Really, Mr. Geith, you are as hard to persuade as — as" — " As men are generally," he supplied. " As a woman, papa tells mamma," broke in Mrs. Bem- midge's queen, who had been amusing herself with sketch- ing a house on the back of a carefully prepared balance- sheet, and drew by her remark attention to her employment. " Gracious, child ! what have you done ? " exclaimed Mrs. Bemmidge, as George snatched the paper from before her and placed it on his desk, with an expression on his face which was not pleasant. " I hope she has done no harm. I declare, miss, you shall never come out with me again. You naughty girl, how many times am I to tell you never to touch anything without permission ? " and therewith, full of virtuous indignation, mamma, regardless alike of loosened bonnet and unfastened shawl, arose and shook her queen, who lifted up her voice and wept. " Oh ! for Heaven's sake, Mrs. Bemmidge, don't let her cry here," entreated the accountant. " Do be quiet, child, there is some one coming up the stairs." To George's intense relief it was only the postman ; but the incident decided him to get rid of Mrs. Bemmid"-e at any cost. To have a child (a devil he mentally called it) shrieking in his office, to have punishment, however neces- sary and satisfactory, inflicted in his own private sanctum within ear-shot of all other men who carried on business in the house ! — the thing was unendurable ; and if quiet GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 141 was only to be purchased by more frequent visits to Ivy Cottage, why to Ivy Cottage he would go. Short of insult- ing Mr. Bemmidge and quarrelling with the whole connec- tion, the accountant saw no other way out of the maze he had unhappily got into, — and quarrelling was against his creed. He never knew where an enemy might do him harm, nor when a friend might benefit him. By this time Mrs. Bemmidge had readjusted her bonnet, and, with Miss Gilling's help, got on her shawl; she had also recovered sufficient breath to apologize to Mr. Geith for her queen's misdeeds, and to hope the mischief she had done was not irreparable. " I shall have to copy it out again, but that will not take very long," said the accountant, somewhat ruefully. " The child did not know she was doing any harm, so I hope you will say no more to her about it." " I trust she will be grateful for your kindness, and prove it by behaving better another time." Mr. Geith groaned inwardly. " I am sure I am obliged to you for taking it so well. And now will you not come to us ? You shall have breakfast whatever hour you hke in the morning ; you shall come and go just as you choose ; Mr. Bemmidge will be so delighted ; and I really think the change of air would be of immense benefit to you." "I am sorry to say, Mrs. Bemmidge, it is impossible," answered George ; " I have to work here sometimes up to two and three o'clock in the morning ; I never can tell from one day to another how much leisure I shall have, or whether I shall have any. I cannot go to stay with you ; but if you will allow me to take tea with you some evening." " Allow you ! " broke in Mrs. Bemmidge, " when you know we shall be only too glad to see you. But some even- ing is no evening ; when will you come, Mr. Geith." " I think I can spend an hour or two to-morrow," he an- swered ; " if anything prevents my going, I will call round in Birchin Lane." 142 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " But you will not let anything prevent you ; you will come if you can ? " " I will indeed, thank you ; " and George bowed the trio out, and then, inwardly fuming, returned to his desk. Though he had told Mrs. Bemmidge he was cool, the heat of his room almost suffocated him, and so, after lifting the letter just brought in, he retired into his back office, where, fling- ing down the window and leaning out to drink the cool breeze, as a thirsty man might water, he read the following epistle, which, though proceeding ostensibly from Mr. Molo- zane, was written by a lady : — " Dow'cr House, Molozane Park, " Witherfell, near Wattisbridge, "June 25th, 1848. " Deak Sir : — Long and severe illness has prevented my seeing you since my return from Cornwall. " I now write to say that the affairs of the Sythlow Min- ing Co. have assumed such an aspect as to necessitate im- mediate attention to my own. As you anticipated, I find I shall require help in this arrangement, and I should there- fore feel obliged if you would come down here at your ear- liest convenience, the state of my health rendering it impos- sible for me to visit London for the present. As we are seven miles from a station I must beg you to name a day and train most suitable to yourself, and I will have a con- veyance to meet you at the St. Margaret's station on the Eastern Counties line. — I am, dear Sir, yours very truly, " A. A. Molozane." George Geith read this letter over twice, then, still lean- ing out of the window, he thought over his engagements for the week, and concluded that if he were to go to Wattis- bridge at all, he could not choose a better day than the mor- row. If he did go, he should get rid of Mrs. Bern midge's invitation ; get rid at once of her and Miss Gilling and the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 143 children, baby includecl, whom he detested. Moreover, he would probably have a fine day for his journey, and he should get a glimpse of the country, breathe perfectly pure air, not city, not suburban, but perfectly pure sweet air, among fields in which the mowers were busy. He would go; and, having arrived at this decision, Mr. Geith returned to his desk, when, after first duly consulting Bradshaw, he wrote to Mr. Molozane, informing him that he would next day be at St. Margaret's by the train which was due there at 2.55. He then finished his other letters, and, when his clerk re- turned, put on his hat and went down to Abchurch Lane to tell Mr. Bemmidge he was unexpectedly called out of town, and should consequently be unable to fulfil his engagement for the followinf? eveninor. " I am glad you are going out of town, even though we shall not see you," said Andrew Bemmidge, as he shook the accountant's hand. '' What part of the world are you bound for ? " " Hertfordshire," was Mr. Geith's wide answer. " Oh ! a sweet country, more particularly about Watford and Bushy ; — good day. I hope you will enjoy yourself." " I am going on business," said George, " and there is never much enjoyment to be had out of that." " Faith, I don't know," answered Mr. Bemmidge, " one would think you must find some fun in business or you would not stick so close to it." " I am sticking close now, that I may rest hereafter," was the reply. '' That 's all stuff," said the wine-merchant. " I dare say you think at present you will rest in the future, but I know better ; I know men like you work, work, work, till they die or go mad." " Delightful prospect," observed the accountant ; and as he walked away he thought how little Mr. Bemmidge really knew about him. 144 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Rather, however, was it not George Geith who knew nothing really about himself? in time as well as in eternity, is it not true that what men are they remain ? Are not the lazy, lazy still, — the untruthful, liars always ; and does not the man who works hard at thirty generally continue to work so long as his arm retains its strength, and his right hand her cunnin^r ? so vehement that for the life of him George could not help laughinj^, even whilst he answered, — " Perhaps you would not be a slave for the sake of money; but you might for the sake of some one you cared for very much." " I do not think I should ; but, at any rate, it would not be for the sake of Dick Elsenham. You will see him to- night, and a very nice kind of person you will see, if you are not at all particular." " Why, what kind of person may he be ? " asked George. " He is this," said Beryl, pulling off her bonnet, and run- ning her fingers through her hair ; " and he is this," and she stroked an imaginary moustache ; " and he is this," and she caressed her soft cheek ; " and he is this," and she drawled out her words with an affected lisp ; " and he is this," and George absolutely started at the sudden insolence and as- surance of her manner ; " and he is this," and she drew back like a sullen coward ; " he is a fop ; he is a fool ; he is a bully ; he is — to be my brother-in-law," and Beryl lifted up her head like a young war-horse scenting the battle afar off. " Is there no help for it ? " George inquired. " Yes ; if you can give us back the Park free from mort- gages ; if you can give us horses, carriages, servants ; beyond all things, money," she scoffed. " Mr. Geith, you must not think Matilda mad, when you see Richard. She has been with my grandmother most part of her life, off and on I mean, and she cannot endure what we can. Short means are a wretchedness to her. She has always been accustomed to have everything she wants. She likes gayety. It would be a living death to her to have to stay here always. Be- sides, she does not dislike Richard as I do. She likes him. If she did not, if it were only for the money she was marry- ing, I know a man that, were I in her place, I would chose before Dick twenty times over. I had rather hear his gram- mar than Dick's drawl. I should prefer his stories to Dick's oaths. You will hear Mr. Richard Elsenham swearing, 202 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. morning, noon, and night ; but you must never mind him, Mr. Geith ; no matter what he says or does." George bit his lip ; he was coming now to an understand- ing of what the young lady meant — of what she was en- treating at his hands. " Would it not be better for me to go ? " he asked ; " and return when Mr. Elsenham leaves ? " " I do not know when you would return then," she an- swered ; "for he lives here nine months out of the twelve. Either here or at Wattisbridge, I mean," she added, " which is much the same thing." " I wonder if Mr. Molozane would allow me to take the necessary papers to town?" he said. " Do not ask him ; pray do not," she entreated. " If you knew what a comfort it is to papa to have anybody to talk to whilst Dick is here, you would never think of going. Be- sides, if you begin with my cousin as you mean to go on, you will have no trouble ; only you must not mind him, even though he should be tiresome sometimes." He made no answer till they had paced the whole length of the walk, and were almost at the house again. Then he said, — " Is it to be peace at any price, Miss Beryl ? " " If you can manage it, Mr. Geith, I shall be very grate- ful." "Then I will try," he said; and the girl left him and ran in. Just then, out came Miss Molozane in her riding-habit ; with her coquettish hat and drooping feathers ; with her light riding-whip and her flowing veil. She was looking out for George to help her to mount. It was a duty he had taken kindly to ; and, to say the truth. Miss Molozane did not ob- ject to the attention in the least. There were so many folds in the habit to be properly arranged ; there was so much nicety required about the curb ; the reins were so often twisted ; and the girths needed GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 203 such close inspection, that this business of mounting had come to be quite a serious affair, — a something which occu- pied a long time, and gave opportunity for a considerable amount of innocent flirtation. On the occasion in question, as George knotted up the curb rein to the particular length desired by the fair eques- trian, as he patted the arched neck of the beautiful animal she rode, a thought passed through his mind as to whether he should declare boldly to her who he was, and try to go in and win this prize. But, pooh ! W'hat chance had he ? What was his birth in comparison to Elsenham's money? what his possibilities beside Elsenham's certainties ? and, even if he had a chance, were these grapes worth climbing aftei*? They were very nice to look at ; but George did not know much about how they would taste as a form of refreshment for life. He had his doubts ; he was not a young man in feelings, ideas, experience, or even age, you remember, my reader ; and though he seemed to have taken a fresh lease of youth at the Dower House, he had still his experience of former tendencies to fall back on in case of need. He rather thought Miss Molozane might not be worth the trouble ; and already the fancy he had felt was passing away from him as quickly almost as the lady was disappearing down the avenue, " She rides w^ell, don't she, sir ? " said a voice close beside him ; and turning, he beheld Mr. Molozane's factotum, groom, gardener, coachman, standing at his elbow. Standing with a cloth in his hand, with which cloth he was in the habit of giving a finishing polish to any bit, buckle, or stirrup, that might seem to stand in need of such attention. " I taught her, I did ; when Master lived at the Park, I taught her. It was me first held her on a pony. Yes, she do ride well ; and that 's a nice thing she 's on. Mr. Elsen- ham, he rides well too. " They make a handsome pair, they do ; but I know, if I 204 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. was a gentleman, which I would choose. I 'd never take Miss Molozane whilst Miss Beryl was single ; and I 've known them both since they was as high as my knee, I have." "Does Miss Beryl never ride at all?" asked George, as much perhaps in order to turn the conversation as from any desire for information. " Not often ; her pony can't hold foot with the chestnut. When Mr. Elsenham is here, he sometimes gets her to try one of his horses ; but Miss Beryl is afraid now. He has served her such trick^^, she has a dread of being thrown. He says he wants to make her sure of her seat ; but I know better. It is just his jokes," muttered the old man, as he shuffled away ; adding something under his breath, which was not, George suspected, a blessing on Mr. Richard El- senham. " I 'd like to catch the fellow playing any tricks with her," thought the accountant, as he sat down in the library, and commenced sorting over the papers : " I 'd duck him in the nearest horse-pond." From which expression it will be seen that the promise of peace at any price Beryl had wanted from her new friend was not altogether unnecessary or uncalled for. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 205 CHAPTER XVIII. QUITE AT HOME. When a young lady has from the age of fifteen been in the habit of managing her father's house, directing his ser- vants, and making arrangements for the reception of his guests, her manners naturally become formed much earlier than would have been the case under ordinary circum- stances : more particularly if the said young lady have from her earliest infancy been deprived of maternal guidance, and freed from that constant contemplation of what is proper and improper, which it seems the especial province of mothers to force upon the consideration of their daughters. It may be rank heresy, but I hold to the belief neverthe- less, that if girls be nice at all, they are nicer when they are allowed to grow up with their feet out of the stocks, and their figures free from backboards. It is pleasant to see a young girl starting in life without picking her steps too much ; and young ladies who know all the pitfalls and quagmires of this wicked world, are apt to lose in simplicity what they gain in propriety. Mothers wise in their generation, who are acquainted with the evil, and the sin, and the sorrow, are so anxious to keep their girls from the appearance of evil, that they will not suffer them to be natural. They forget, God help us, what one would think they ought to remember with thankfulness, that there is a time when it is as natural t6 the young to be frank and open as it seems to be afterwards to the old to be masked and veiled. They will not let well alone. They will have every word, 206 GEOEGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. look, action, ruled by line and plummet. They leave noth- ing to impulse, because, as I have said before, they forget there is a time when impulses are not all sinful, when it is natural to the young to laugh and be glad as it is to the lark to sing. Which brings me back to what I meant to say at first, viz., that- George Geith thought Beryl Molozane would not have been half so pleasant a girl had she been brought up under the eye of the stately beauty whose portrait hung in the dining-room. He knew no mother would have suffered Beryl to wander through life at her own sweet will in the manner Mr. Molo- zane permitted. But still Mr. Geith had long since doubts as to whether a more properly trained young lady might not have plunged headlong into errors which Beryl avoided. She was ho flirt — she never appeared embarrassed. George had seen a good deal of the world, and he had certainly never been in a house where there seemed more union amongst the members of the family, and from which the mystery and wickedness of ordinary life was better excluded. Between Beryl and her father, indeed, there existed such perfect sym- pathy, such a thorough understanding, that George felt sure the girl would do nothing, say nothing, think nothing, which she would hesitate to confess to him present on the spot. In- deed, in this way Beryl was a little provoking ; because once or twice when she had talked to him, as George in his vanity thought, confidentially, he was astonished afterwards to find her repeating almost the same sentences in her father's pres- ence, without the slightest idea that she was disappointing one of her auditors. A girl who took this new acquaintance into her confi- dence, just as if she had known him all her life ; who talked before him about her slightest housekeeping troubles ; who mimicked their acquaintance, hitting off each person's oddi- ties with a dangerous power of mockery ; whom he would meet in unexpected places laughing till the tears ran down GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 207 her cheeks ; who was like a kitten, everywhere at once ; who was not a young lady, nor even a girl, but just a child in everything save the power of keeping the house in order, and of making things comfortable for those about her ; a merry drudge ; a laughing grisel, whom the servants loved as very few servants love any mistress nowadays; — how could a man help liking this young thing, thinking of her, speculating about her future ? Whom would she marry ? Would she settle down into respectable matronhood, and become quite another creature in the space of a very few years ? Would she marry a rich man, or a poor? Would she ever become fashionable, ever learn concealment, ever be- come different to what she then was ? Somehow George found her future horrible even to picture. He could not fancy hard times laid on her — always young, always laugh- ing. He could imagine her going singing away through life ; but he could not imagine her changing — becoming cold, worldly, calculating. Thinking of the girl, now laughing inwardly at the recol- lection of some queer speech, some expression of anger, now remembering all her unselfishness, all her charities, George found that he was making very little progress with his ac- counts, and that if he was ever to get them finished he must stay more in the library, and not permit himself to be so fre- quently beguiled to leave that retreat for the pleasanter sit- ting-room of the family. So to work he went in earnest ; toiling through the long hours of that summer day, laboring with the windows open, and every external sight, and sound, and perfume tempting him out into the open air. He would not leave off even for luncheon, — the pleasant meal which had always hitherto made such a delightful break in the hours when he had spent a whole day at the Dower House. To be sure, he did not gain much by the move, for Beryl herself brought him what he asked for — biscuits and water ; 208 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. called him unsociable, an anchorite, a hermit, and then went and gathered liim fruit, which she laid on the table, nestling amongst the leaves of the mulberry and the vine. Fruit is not a thing which even anchorites find it easy to resist. Fruit cannot be eaten like biscuits, with pen in hand and eye on paper, for both which reasons George was obliged to cease from labor and talk whilst he refreshed himself. Then Mr. Molozane came in, and settled down ostensibly to read the paper, but really, as it seemed, to hinder George getting on with his business. Nevertheless, he did make considerable progress, and would have worked straight on till it was time to dress for dinner, but that at about five o'clock Beryl appeared at one of the front windows opening on to the terrace, entreating him to cease writing before he grew into a machine. " How you can go on, on, hour after hour, I cannot imag- ine," said this sturdy young woman. " How you can live out of the sunshine, away from the flowers, puzzles me. Why, even Louey leaves her manu- scripts ; she is here now. Do come out ; I wish you would." " We sha'n't be able to enjoy ourselves much longer," ob- served Louise, who had a wide-brimmed straw hat tied over her cap. " When once Dick comes, we shall soon have his grandmother, and then there will be a pleasant houseful." " I always enjoy myself when Granny is here," said Beryl; "I don't know when I have greater fun." " Because you are always mimicking her. Mr. Geith, Beryl walks into the room behind grandmamma, on tiptoe, mocking her all the time. She has been nearly caught, over and over again ; indeed, she was once, for Granny saw her in the glass." " I wonder if I dare," said Beryl, looking round. " Louey, is Matilda out of the way ? Now, Mr. Geith, here is Granny ; " and Beryl, gathering up her dress in both hands, straightening her back till it was as flat as a table, drawing up her neck, and stiffening her limbs, sailed up and down GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 209 the terrace wiili all the pomp and mnjesty of an ancient lady, till George, fairly overcome by the ludicrous contrast between Beryl and the woman she was making believe to be, had to sit down on one of the terrace seats, where he laughed as he had not laughed before for years. " May I inquire, sir, what is amusing you so much ? " said Beryl, stopping short in her walk, and asking the question in her grandmother's very voice. Then, " Oh, my gracious goodness ! here is Tilly. Well, Matilda, and how are you ? " And she went sailing up to her sister, and bestowed upon her a most impressive salute. " Beryl, how can you ? " exclaimed the beauty. " What will Mr. Geith think ? How can you be so absurd ? " "I am only moulding myself after a most desirable model," answered Beryl, still in her cracked, old woman's voice ; " and Mr. Geith or any other mister may think what he pleases. When I am in the path of duty, the remarks of the herd fail to affect me in the least. I suppose Maria Elsenham may walk up and down her own terraced walks, without drawing down the impertinent comments of stran- gers." And Beryl was off again, sweeping, rustling as she went. " I ought not to laugh. Miss Molozane, I know," said George, apologetically. " For once, Mr. Geith, you have arrived at a just conclu- sion," remarked Beryl, severely, as she moved past. " It is not possible to help laughing at Beryl," said Miss Molozane ; " that is the worst of it ; and our laughing en- courages her to do and say things she would never otherwise dream of. You know, Mr. Geith, she ought not to mimic her grandmother, and " " Once lor all, young woman," interrupted Berjl, tapping her on the shoulder with a gesture George knew must have been copied from life ; " once for all, young woman, under- stand that /did not choose w^ grandmother, and that I main- tain I have a right to mimic her if I choose. Tou may have U 210 GEORGE GEITH OF FP:N COURT. chosen your grandmother, and if so, I don't think much of your taste ; let that settle the question there." And Beryl opened and shut her eyes once or twice imperatively, and balanced herself on her heels, much as a parrot balances itself on its perch. " You will get us all into some frightful scrape," observed Miss Molozane, dolefully. In a moment Beryl dropped her grandmother, and was her own proper self again. " How shall I get you into a scrape ? " she asked. " Can Granny kill us ? Can she send us to the Tower ? Is she our queen ? are we her subjects ? Does she pay our debts ? Does she do anything but make herself as disagreeable as she knows how, when she comes down here ? Get into a scrape ! I wish I could keep her out of the house by getting Itito a scrape, that I do ! — yes, that I do ! " And Miss Beryl's cheeks flamed, while she stamped her little foot on the ground, to add emphasis to her words. " But would it not be wise to cease talking about her when she is not here ? " asked her sister. " Do you w^ant me to go into a thousand pieces when she is here ? " asked Beryl. " Do you want me to explode with pent-up wrath and indignation ? Should you like to see me in bits — a leg here and an arm there ? If so, you will tell me to hold my peace about Granny. If I could not say I hated her, I should die ; but as it is, the thought of the fun I can make of her enables me to behave with civility when she is in the house." " You do not know how civil I am to Granny, Mr. Geith ; and she can't bear my civility or me either." "And she can't endure me," put in Louey. " But you wrote a poem about her," said Beryl. " She did, indeed ; and, as it happened, the poem got into Matilda's desk, which she lent one day to Granny. Matilda is exces- sively ready to lend things to Granny, I may remark ; and the delightful old lady looking for note-paper, she says, — GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 211 but, as I believe, rummaging for secrets, — came on this poem and read it, and had us all in and interrogated us, and sent for papa ; and we had such a to-do." The poem began — " At Hammersmith there dwells a dame, Maria Elsenham is her name, And " " Beryl, I desire you to stop," broke in Miss Molozane. "Mr. Geitli, you might tell her how wrong it is. Perhaps she will listen to what you say, though she will not attend to me." " Miss Beryl, I really do think," began George, but she interrupted hi in with — " You need not go on. I know all you are going to say much better than you do yourself. You were wanting to tell me about gray hairs and young heads. You were about to say that Granny must be a lady of the highest respectability and wealth ; and that my conduct amounts to sacrilege. You were going to tell me the fate of those children who mocked Elisha ; and to inform me that people who ridicule others are often ridiculed themselves : but it is of no use. No matter what is right or what is wrong, I must laugh at Granny ; and for anything else I don't care." " Do you know what happened to ' don't care ' ? " asked Miss Molozane. " There have been so many ' don't cares,' " retorted Beryl. " There was one ran away to sea and was drowned ; one fell among savages ; one was eaten by a lion on the coast of Africa (I would tell you what part of the coast, only I don't know that myself) ; and another happened to have a sister called Matilda. Her fate was the hardest of all, I think — But I hear horse's hoofs ; I hear Sultan trotting up the drive ; and I know Dick is coming, and I am not dressed to receive him. There, Miss Matty, that is your fault — there." And Beryl pulled a grimace. "Do you know whether papa is in the house?" asked 212 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Miss Molozane, who colored perceptibly at Beryl's intel- ligence. " I don't know, and I don't care," murmured that young lady. " Dick will be sure to find us out. I am not going to meet him, Tilly, if that is what you are looking so pitiful about. If you think it necessary for any one to ask him to make himself at home, you can go and do so yourself." " We had better go in," suggested Miss Molozane. " Not at all ; I am very comfortable where I am. Ah ! here he comes ; " and at that instant George heard the li- brary door fling open ; then an audible " Where the devil are they all ; " which sentence was immediately followed by the speaker, who stepped out on to the terrace and greeted his cousins with — " Well, girls, how are you ? " " We feel a great deal better now you are come," an- swered Beryl, demurely ; and she held out her hand to the young man, who evidently considered that his relationship justified a warmer salutation, which he might have exacted, but that at the moment he caught sight of Mr. Geith. There was a supercilious lifting of his eyebrows, a con- temptuous measuring of the stranger's social standing, an unquahfied stare of amazement; and then a look towards Beryl which said as plainly as a look could, " Who the deuce is this fellow, and what is he doing here ? " " Mr. Elsenham, Mr. Geith," Beryl answered ; and there- upon the two gentlemen bowed. " You must have found it very warm riding this after- noon," remarked the accountant. " Infernally," was the reply ; and Mr. Elsenham took off his hat as he spoke. " You are covered with dust," said Louise, with the air of a person who considered she had made an original ob- servation. "These cursed roads are always dusty," Mr. Elsenham graciously answered. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 213 " Most roads are so when they are not muddy," opined Louise ; at which speech the young man laughed. " Have you written any proverbs since I saw you last, Solomon ? " he asked. " No ? Nor finished the tragedies ; nor made a better Paradise than Milton's ? You lazy little wretch. I '11 see that you work whilst I am here. And when are you going to get rid of that cap. I give you fair notice I shall set it on fire ; " and he was making a step to- wards the girl, when Beryl interrupted him. " I can't have it, Richard," she said. " You shall not torment Louey. Let her cap alone, and her too." *' It is such an outrageous thing," he observed. " Nobody asks you to wear it," she retorted ; and then the idea of Dick in a cap so overcame her, that Miss Molozane felt constrained to interfere and rebuke her sister severely. " Know this part of the country well? " asked Mr. Elsen- ham, turning towards Mr. Geith. " No, it is quite strange to me ; and I am not likely to know it much better, for I am only here on business." " Humph," grunted Mr. Elsenham ; and he took a com- prehensive glance round the party ; after which he said, "that business must be a damned bore, though, thank the Lord, he knew nothing about it save by report." " It is lucky for you that your grandfather had a close acquaintance with it," remarked Miss Beryl. " It is well there are some people in the world who will work like galley-slaves," answered Mr. Elsenham. " I '11 be hanged if I would ! " " Would you rather starve, Dick ? " asked Louise ; where- upon the young man told her to " shut up " ; and inquired if Mr. Geith would have " a weed." The politeness being declined, Mr. Elsenham lit a cigar for himself, and asked where his uncle was. " He is gone to the Park, I think," answered Miss Molo- zane ; upon receiving which information, her cousin at once turned to Beryl with — 214 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " And how is Mr. Wern ? " " So far as I know, he is quite well," she replied. " And how far do you know ?" he asked, taking the cigar out of his mouth, and putting the question in a tone which George by no means approved. " The last time George was at the Park, he made no mention of Mr. Wern being ill. As you seem particularly interested about him, however, perhaps I had better send Fragby up to inquire." " I 'm not interested in the fellow, hang him ! I don't care a damned sixpence whether he is ill or well. Have you seen this Withefell saint, Mr. Geith ? And what do you think of him ? " " I have not seen him," answered the accountant, " nor heard of him, save from Miss Louise." " You should get Beryl at the bellows then. Who is wise, holy, good ? Mr. Wern. Who is well-informed, well-bred, well-travelled? Mr. Wern. Who never swears, never is out of temper, never damns his servants ? Mr. Wern. And, if I may add so much on my own account, who is the most cursed hypocrite, the most confounded upstart, the most in- tolerable prig ? Mr. Wern ! " " It would be a blessing for us if you were only like him, instead of being what you are — a slanderer of a good man, before whom you dare not say the things you say before us!" panted Beryl. "Ah! Mr. Geith, that is all very fine, but don't let it impose upon you. Beryl abuses me in company, but you cannot imagine all the nice compliments she pays when we are alone ; " and Mr. Elsenham puffed a cloud of smoke out of his mouth, and watched it curling up into the silent air. If ever Mr. Geith felt a desire to kick a man, it was at that moment. He would have liked to thrash the fellow, and thrust him neck and crop off the premises. He longed to pick a quarrel with him, to get an opportunity of telling this new-comer what he thought of him, his manners, and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 215 his speeches ; but he luckily remembered his promise to Beryl, and biting back his words, kept peace. '* You are fortunate," he said ; " with many relatives the process is inverted." " Do not attend to what Dick says, Mr. Geith," interposed Louise ; " he and Beryl quarrel more when there is nobody by than they ever do before people." "That's all you know about it, Solomon," remarked Mr. Elsenham : " Beryl and I have been friends and cronies ever since she w^ore a short white frock and a sky-blue sash. We robbed birds' nests together, pelted the ducks, laid trains of gunpowder under the cats, chased the fowls, and fright- ened old women. We quarrelled then. I have a vivid memory of long scratches on my face, for scratching and pulling my hair was Beryl's way of showing fight. We quarrel still ; but we were good friends then, and we are good friends now, are we not, coz?" " Capital at a distance," answered Beryl, who was by this time almost at a white heat. "And near at hand, too, ma mignonne,'' retorted Mr. Elsenham. '"What a heavenly day this is, to be sure. Have you had Zillal out, Matilda ? " " Yes, I had a long ride," answered the beauty ; " but I must get out for the future either earlier or later. The evenings would be the pleasantest time, I think." " I can assure you they would for me," observed Mr. Elsenham. " Never could see the fun of getting up early in the morning ; never could see the beauty of sunrise and dew-drops, and all the rest of the rubbish ; " and Mr. Elsen- ham knocked the ashes off his cigar, and waited to hear if any one would contradict him. No person did, however ; George had made up his mind not to argue w-ith Miss Molozane's fiance if he could help it. He saw he was an individual who the more he was con- tradicted sought all the more occasion for argument ; and the accountant was determined to keep his promise and his temper if he could. 216 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Which forbearance brought its own reward, for INIr. Elsen- ham took an opportunity of remarking to Miss Molozane that for a tradesman Geith seemed a devilishly decent sort of fellow ; appears a confounded deal too much at home with you all, though. Wonder at my uncle allowing it. Has he been making love to Beryl ? " " Making love to Beryl ! " and Miss Molozane opened her fine eyes in astonishment. "Damn it, you did not think I should imagine he had been making love to you," retorted her betrothed. " I don't see any symptom of softness, remember ; but still I thought I 'd ask the question." " How could such an idea enter your head ?" asked Miss Molozane. " The man is well enough for his station ; but he is only an accountant ; he is only here on business." " He seems to find his business remarkably pleasant," said her cousin ; and who could say but that his idea was correct ? " One cannot have a person in the house and not speak a civil sentence to him," observed Miss Molozane. " Did I say you could ; but that is different. Here I find you all gathered together on the terrace, talking, laughing, making yourselves as agreeable as may be, to a man about whom my uncle knows nothing, except that he can add up a column and cast accounts." " He had been hard at work all day," Matilda explained ; "I think Beryl coaxed him out. She never likes to see any one working too much." " Beryl again ! " muttered Mr. Elsenham ; " Beryl will get herself into a mess some of these days, if she does not take care." " I shall begin to think you are in love with Beryl," said Miss Molozane, with an angry flush. " You seem to think no soul should come to the house but yourself. Last time it was Mr. Wern ; now Mr. Geith. Pray, let Beryl man- age her own affairs ; she is quite competent to keep herself gafe without your help. You ought to have more considera- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 217 tion for her than even to mention her name in the same breath with Mr. Geith ; who may be a respectable married man for anytliing we know to the contrary." " Stuff! " exclaimed Mr. Elsenham. " The fellow is not married. He knows a precious deal too well how to make himself comfortable amongst single women to have any tie at home." " That may be your opinion," said Miss Molozane ; " but Beryl has always declared he was either married or a wid- ower." " Who was either married or widower ? " asked Beryl, entering the drawing-room with Louise at the moment. " Mr. Geith. Richard says he is sure he is nothing of the kind." « Shall we ask him, Dick ? " inquired Beryl. " Louise could easily inquire how his wife supported his long absence. Could not you, Louey ? " "Which of you, should I say, wanted to know?" de- manded that young lady. " You could say we were all dying to become acquainted with Mrs. Geith," suggested Mr. Elsenham ; " and that it would add greatly to the pleasure we are all deriving from her husband's society, if she could be induced to come to Withefell with him." " You might add, also, Louey," said Beryl, " that Dick is wearied of our society, and wants something fresh." " He stops at the ' Stag,' I suppose ? " went on Mr. Elsen- ham. " You could tell him there is capital accommodation there for families ; church close at hand ; doctor over the way." " He does not stop at the ' Stag ' at all ! " exclaimed Louise. " He stops here." " In this house ? " demanded Mr. Elsenham. " Do you mean he eats, drinks, sleeps here ? " " To be sure he does," answered Louise. " Where else would you have had him ^at, drink, and sleep ? " 218 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Well, I '11 be' hanged if ever I heard anything like this ! " cried Mr. Elsenham. " My uncle must be stark staring mad. He had better send round the crier and gather in all the tramps in the country. I must speak to him about it." " If you want to do so," said Beryl, " you '11 find him in the library with Mr. Geith." " Oh ! I am not going to say anything before the man. What, in the name of Heaven, Beryl, do you think I am made of, to imagine I 'd insult him in that way ? " '^ I had not the slightest idea what Mr. Richard Elsen- ham's exquisite tact might suggest as the proper course," retorted Beryl, with a courtesy. " But see ! there is papa in the garden ; you had better go to him and get it over at once." Taking tlie hint, Mr. Elsenham walked out to his uncle, and began. "About Mr. Geith" ''Well, Richard." " Tlie girls tell me he is staying here at present." ''What then?" " Do you think it well, considering his station in life ? " " Sir ! " and Mr. Molozane faced round on his nephew. " I only meant to say," went on Mr. Elsenham. "Say nothing," interrupted his uncle ; "that is, say noth- ing, if you intended for a moment to dictate whom I should or should not ask into this house. If I like to invite a groom to dinner, it is no business of yours. It is optional with you whether you choose to meet him or not." " But considering my engagement to Matilda ? " suggested Mr. Elsenham. " That engagement was none of my seeking," answered his uncle ; " and if it had not been, it would still give you no right to meddle in my concerns." " But surely, sir, I may give an opinion concerning the acquaintances of my future wife ? " " You shall not express any opinion to me concerning GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 219 the acquaintances I introduce to my daughter," thundered Mr. Molozane ; " so long as she hves under my roof she shall be civil to my guests ; and so long as you come here I shall look for a similar courtesy to them from you." "I have certainly no intention of being rude to Mr. Geith," answered the young man, meekly ; " and when I spoke I was not thinking so much about Matilda as about Beryl." " Which of my daughters is it, Mr. Elsenham, that you are going to do me the honor of marrying?" asked Mr. Molozane. " If it be Matilda, may I request that you will cease troubling yourself in any way about Beryl's pros- pects ? From the curates at Wattisbridge up, you have always fancied every man you have met here wanted to marry Beryl ; and once for all, Eichard, I tell you I have had enough of this. Do not compel me to express my wishes on this subject again." " But may I not ask you, sir, whether you know anything about Mr. Geith ? About his " '' That is the way to Wattisbridge," said Mr. IMolozane, cutting across his nephew's speech ; " and there is the way into my house. If you are going to meddle in my affairs, I must request you to take the former ; but if you decide on remaining here, you can only remain on the terms I have mentioned. Mr. Geith is staying in my house as my guest, because it suits us both that he should do so ; and unless you intend to treat him as your equal in all respects, it would be better for you to return to London." " You shall have no reason to complain of any want of civility on my part," said Mr. Elsenham, sullenly. " I like the fellow well enough ; I only thought it right to tell you ray opinion." "Having told it to me, you had better let the subject drop," answered jMr. Molozane ; and the two went in to dinner. 220 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XIX. HAPPINESS. Taking it as a whole, Mr. Geith did not find that the new-comer interfered in the slightest degree with his com- fort or convenience. Nay, rather as the days went by, it seemed as though Mr. Elsenham's presence made the former social freedom greater, and tended to establish the accountant more firmly in his host's favor. Owing to some curious perversity, Mr. Elsenham took kindly to the man he had wanted to get out of the house. For a couple of evenings he had been cool, not to say sulky ; but after that, sati>-fied perhaps that George neither meant nor was doing any harm, he was graciously pleased to un- bend towards him, and evince such courtesy as he could. If such a thing were possible, there was more life about the Dower House after his arrival than before ; what with Beryl and Mr. Elsenham quarrelling, Beryl and Mr. Elsen- ham disputing. Beryl and Mr. Elsenham laughing, the place was never quiet. From first thing in the morning till all separated for the night, the house was never still. When he left for St. Margaret's, when he returned from town, George heard the same pleasant clatter of tongues ; without which he found his London office silent and lonely. Light-hearted youth ! Shall we not bare our heads, and thank God for your cheerful tones, your sunny smiles, your happy carelessness? Shall those who have passed through the heat and burden of w^eary days not thank the Almighty for suffering the cool breath of morning to fan their cheeks GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 221 once more? Shall the old not be grateful for having the burden of years pushed aside for a moment by young and eager hands ? Shall they not gaze gladly over their once familiar prospects, even though their eyes be wet with tears ; and if in the young God be pleased to give them back their own far-away youth for a season, shall they not bask in the sunshine, and listen to the pleasant joy-bells, murmuring the while a trembling thanksgiving ? My readers, pardon me if I linger over this summer-time too lovingly ; over those hours which were full of such a delicious sweetness, that George Geith might have been par- doned had he wished to die then, and escaped in the midst of his joy from the chance of the dark and evil days to come. There are some landscapes from wdiich it is hard to turn our eyes ; some lands from which we are loth to turn our feet ; some places where we have been so unutterably happy, that they seem to float in the sunbeam forever after. Like the hills lying under the blue summer sky, like the sea spreading in sunlit glory, like fields and trees bathed in the living beauty of morning, was that time to the man whose youth was past. Had he ever known youth ? he asked himself as he drank in the wine of that, to him, strange vintage. Had he ever been younfr, ever been gay, ever been happy, like those peo- ple by whom he was surrounded ? Light-hearted youth ! the stern, grave man yielded to the charm of your spell ; you laid your load upon him, and be- hold ! the years vanished, and you gave him back the days gone by. Light-hearted youth! How shall I chant your praises? by what means can I echo the sound of your glad voices ? how may I tell of the smiles, discourse of the laughter, show to deaf ears the magic influence you possess ; persuade those who frown at your gayety how good a thing it is for us to be near the young, and to join in their mirth ? 222 GEORGE GEITH OF FEX COURT. Shall we put old heads on young shoulders ? God for- bid ! Shall we tell of the night to day, or speak of winter to the spring? Rather, oh friends! shall w^e not think in the darkness of the light, in the sun of the sunshine, and retrace our own steps, sooner than drag the young from the happy fields, where they wander among flowers, to the dusty roads and the barren highways along which manhood plods its way ? This was a glad time to George Geith ; one in which he lived so fully in the present, that future and past seemed ahke indifferent. Such hours as those, bathed in sunshine, steeped in honey, men who have passed their first youth know how to value, because they know, also, how seldom they may return. Holidays may come, summer after sum- mer, to the schoolboy ; but holidays to be enjoyed are rare in after-life. For this reason manhood gathers all flowers of happiness that come in its way, with such eagerness of pleasure as can only coexist wdth pain. It has no spare buds to fling away ; no such profusion of garlands that it can afford to leave one to wither. The simplest wild-flower is to it as the costliest exotic ; and there are no neglected roses, no drooping lilies, no withering leaves strewed carelessly along the path which has been trodden by the feet of middle age. I do not know how it is that there are some middle-aged people who do not care for morning, or spring, or youth, or happy voices, or ringing laughter ; who regard gayety as an insult, merriment as a weakness, happiness as a frivolity ; who care for nothing in their daily life but food and raiment, and dreary dinner-parties, and what they are pleased to call sensible conversation ; who think there is no wisdom in smiles superior to their own sedateness ; who believe that the Lord Almighty, who made the flowers to bloom, and the trees to blossom, and the birds to sing, did not intend likewise the young to be gay and happy of necessity, and the old to be gay and happy likewise, if they found it possible to float with light hearts over the waves of the ocean of life. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 223 George Geith, at any rate, was not one of those who would neither rejoice nor let others do so. He had suffered, lie had worked, he had led a lonely, loveless life ; but yet, when those children with whom he was thrown piped unto him, he was ready to dance to their strains. Happy holidays ! Would I had space to linger over those sunlit hours ! Spite of the frowns of readers, of the rebukes of critics, I could bask in that summer glory forever, and chronicle the events of each passing hour with the loving garrulity of age. Happy holidays ! — in which, though it might be the school-children were not all good, all innocent, they were yet all happy and noisy as crickets ; when one would have imagined there was no such thing on earth as care, no such shadow as ruin hanging over the Dower House ; when it was idleness, jesting, laughing, walking, riding, all the day long ; when even George's reluctant labor seemed industry itself, when compared with the labors of those about him. Never, since he began business, had a summer brought so little work with it to him. Everybody%Beemed to be out of town, — abroad, at the sea-side, in the Highlands, at Killarney, or the English lakes. Scarcely any books needed balancing ; there were no sched- ules to prepare ; but few columns to add up, and accordingly, it came to pass that after a time the accountant did not go often into town, but remained much at Withefell, arranging Mr. Molozane's affairs. How he managed to get those affliirs into order, it would be difficult to tell ; for it was against the wishes of the whole family that he did any work at all. "What a pity it seems for you, Mr. Geith, not to be en- joying this lovely weather," Mr. Molozane would say. "Ah ! do come out," Beryl would plead, laying her hand on his papers, and taking possession of his ink. "We are going away for a long walk," Mr. Elsenham 224 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. would observe ; " you had better come, too, before your feet grow to the carpet." Whilst Louise was more peremptory still, and would as coolly take up her position in the library, and announce her intention of giving Mr. Geith " no rest " till_he left off work, as if it were in the right and natural course of things for a business-man to be tormented to death by a miss in her earliest teens. "I shall certainly have to lock you out, Miss Loo," George would threaten. " I should come in through the window," retorted Louise, from her favorite perch, which was one of the steps of the book-ladder. " I must then fasten the window," remarked George. " And draw down the blinds, and close the shutters, and get in candles," suggested Louise. " Short of that you will not keep me away. I will have you out ; you shall not sit here the whole day long, write writing, add adding, till you drop down dead." " But you write," said the accountant. " I write for pleasure ; my writing is very different from yours," answered Louise, with dignity. " So it may be ; but still I am able to make my business my pleasure too." " Then it is not good for you to have so much pleasure," said the young lady ; " and you shall come out into the gar- den. I cannot imagine what flowers, and fields, and trees, were given people for, if they never look at them." " Some people look at them, if others do not," George answered; ''just as some people see the Pyramids, whilst others never ^o much as hear of them." " That is no reason why you should mope in the house all day ; do come out : if you don't come fast they will all be gone ; for Beryl is going to ride to-day." " What is she going to ride ? " asked George. " Her own pony. What else should she ride ? Perhaps you would like to see her mounted on the top of Dick's Giraffe." GEOEGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 225 " Indeed I should like to see no such thing," answered the accountant, as he dipped his pen in the ink, and prepared to commence work again. " Are you not coming after all ? " demanded Louise, de- scending from her perch, and looking at him as though he had done her some injury. " I shall come to see them start, if you allow me," he an- swered ; " but I must finish what I am about now." " You are a monster, and I cannot bear you," said Louise. " I have Scripture on my side, at any rate ; and I must try to support your displeasure." "Scripture — what Scripture?" demanded the }oung lady. " I shall not tell you," answered George ; " but if you can find out for yourself, I '11 say whether your guess be right." " But — do — do — do," pleaded Louise. " Surely you would not have me tell untruth ; and I said you must first guess," he replied. " And now. Miss Loo, do run away; I can't get on with a thing whilst you ar^ here." *' But I may come back when I guess." ''If you do not come back too often," he answered; and Louise left him. During the next hour she was in about every ten minutes, proving wrong every time ; until at last, after a longer ab- sence than usual, he heard through the open window an argument on the terrace outside. " You shall not." " I shall." " I won't be friends with you. Loo." " Then don't be friends." " But it is so naughty and unkind of you." " Naughty, indeed !* Who put it into my head .'' I had forgotten till just now; and I am so glad you reminded me of it." 35 226 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " I declare, Loo, I shall tell papa." " Do, and I shall tell papa too ; but I shall first ask Mr. Geith. Beryl says, Mr. Geith," she continued, putting her head in at the window, " that your text is, ' Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.' " " Never mind her, Mr. Geith," put in Beryl ; " she is talking nonsense." "Never mind Beryl, Mr. Geith," said Louise ; "she is telling fibs." " I shall box your ears. Miss," threatened her sister. " And, Mr. Geith, do come here for a minute," entreated Louise. ^ " Now, Louey, you might for once do what I ask you," interposed Beryl. " Dick and Beryl want to know," went on this enfant ter- rihle, " how Mrs." " I '11 tell you what we said, Mr. Geith," broke in Beryl : " Dick thought you were not married, and I thought you were ; and then I remarked that if he liked, Louey might ask which of us was right. But I never meant her to tell you ; and she knew I did not ; " and Beryl looked as if she were going to cry about the matter. "They were arguing again this afternoon," explained Miss Louise, who, being somewhat curious on the subject herself, was determined to have her say out. " Dick said ' he 'd be ,' " and Louise nodded her head significantly, " ' if you were married at all ; ' and Beryl said she was sure you were, that she had never been mistaken yet ; did not you. Beryl ? " But Beryl was gone. Failing to still her sister's tongue, the next best thing seemed to be to get out of the way of kearing it. " Dick laid five to one," ran on Miss Louise, " and Beryl bet a pair of gloves and her riding-whip, to show she was in earnest. So, which w^ins, Mr. Geith ? I am to have a sovereign out of the five if Dick be wrong." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 227 But Mr. Geith would not say which was right. " You would be too wise if you knew everything, Miss Louise," he observed. " But I should like so much to know," she urged. " And I should like so much not to tell you," he answered, " that I must hold my peace ; besides, it would be such a pity for your sister to lose her whip." " Then you are not married ? " "Or poor Mr. Elsenliam to have to pay five pounds," went on Geoi'ge, coolly. " They could not both lose, you know," said Louise. " Yes, they might," answered the accountant. "How might they?" " If I were divorced," he answered. " Oh, ray goodness gracious ! " exclaimed the young lady ; " I believe you are." And she rushed straight off to Mr. Elsenham, with " You 've lost, Dick, — he 's divorced ! " " He 's your grandmother ! " retorted Mr. Elsenham. " He is not ; I wish he were, instead of the one I have got ! But } ou 've lost. Give me my sovereign." " Who said I had lost ? " " He said you would both lose if he were divorced." "Ifs might fly, if they had wings," remarked Mr. Elsen- ham. " Now, Loo, be off, and tell those sisters of yours to make haste. The horses will be round in five minutes." " But, about my sovereign, Dick ? " " Earn it, young lady," was Mr. Elsenham's advice ; and he forthwith lit a cigar and walked away, smoking, as usual, down the avenue. By the time the ladies were ready, George came round to the lawn to see them start. " That 's not much of a steed, is he ? " asked Beryl, pat- ting her pony's neck, — a civility which Trot returned by taking her habit in his mouth and making believe to chew it. " I am always miles behind everybody." 228 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. « Because you ride so slowly," said her cousin. " Because you ride so fast," said Beryl. " What a deal of good a gallop would do you, Geith ! " remarked Mr. Elsenhara. " What a pity you do not ride ! " George could not help smiling at the observation ; and it was such a strange smile in which he indulged, as he stooped and pretended to be adjusting Trot's bridle, that Miss Molo- zane said, — " Perhaps Mr. Geith does ride. I believe none of us here have asked hira." " Faith ! perhaps he does, though it 's not much of a city accomplishment. Do you ride ? " And Mr. Elsenham turned, with his foot in the stirrup, to ask the question. " Yes, I have ridden," answered the accountant. " Any brute like that ? " inquired Mr. Elsenham, point- ing to the Giraffe, which it was about to be the groom's privilege to mount. " No, not much like that ; for an uglier animal I never saw." " He is a rare fellow to go, for all that. Should you be afraid to venture your neck on him ? " " Not in the least." " If you are sure of that, come with us. Take care how you get up. He 's a devil to kick." " Let him kick," was Mr. Geith's philosophic answer. " Havef you ridden in the circus, old fellow ? " asked Mr. Elsenham, when he saw the accountant fairly settled in his saddle. '' I have ridden across country, which I suppose is some- thing the same thing," retorted Mr. Geith. '• After the hounds ? " " Do people generally go across the country before them ? " inquired George. " Hang it, no! I meant, have you been in the habit of hunting?" " I was, years ago." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 229 " Where ? In the neighborhood of London ? " " No ; in Bedfordshire." " Is that your county ? " " It is not the county where I was born ; but it is the county where most of the Geiths have Hved." " You don't mean that you are one of the Geiths of Snare- ham ? " " Would there be anything wonderful if I did?" " Are you any relation to Sir Mark Geith ? " " Only his cousin." " Good Lord ! " ejaculated Mr. Richard Elsenham, " How does it happen that you are an accountant ? " " If I were inclined to be polite, I might ask how it hap- pens you are a gentleman at large," asked Mr. Geith, with a slight sneer. " You deserved that, Dick," said Beryl. " What affair is it of yours what Mr. Geith chooses to be ? " " It is, perhaps, not my choice, but my necessity, Miss Beryl," observed George, reining in his horse beside her ; to which the young lady replied in a low tone, something about her cousin being always inquisitive and impertinent. " I shall come to you, Beryl, when I want a thoroughly good character," said Mr. Elsenham, who caught some part of her sentence. " If I have offended Mr. Geith, I am sorry for it. Would you wish me to say anything more than that?" "There was no reason why you should have said so much," answered George, laughing. " I am not ashamed of being connected with the Geiths of Snareham ; and I am still less ashamed of being an accountant in the city." Whereupon Mr. Elsenham was so good as to assure their new companion that he meant for the future to forget all about the city, and his business too. " But I cannot agree to that, Mr. Elsenham," answered the accountant. " The city has given me a home ; my busi- ness has provided bread and cheese ; and I am not going to 230 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. follow the example of the citizens, and despise that which has kept me off the parish. Business is a capital invention, and the city is a place where any man with pluck and in- dustry may push his way. The city is the proper land for younger sons to emigrate to, if younger sons could be but induced to think so." " Bravo, Mr. Geith ! " said Beryl, clapping her hands ; which demonstration caused the Giraffe to plunge frantically ; and induced Mr. Elsenham to remark they had better get on a little faster, and breathe the horses before they became troublesome. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 231 CHAPTER XX. beryl's admirer. It was not long before Beryl's pony fell far behind the rest ; so far, indeed, that whenever Mr. Geith could pull in his horse, he turned and rode back some distance to meet her. "Never mind me," said Beryl; "go on with the oth- ers, and I will overtake you when you commence walk- ing." " As if it were probable I should leave you," answered George; and the pair rode on in silence for a minute or two. Then, " I like," began Beryl, " to hear a man stand up for his business, as much as I like to hear people stand up for their country. I think if I had to earn my bread I should feel the dignity of labor so strongly that I should quarrel with any one who disputed it. We have some neighbors who talk about the city as if it were a den of thieves, and who, although, every sixpence they have was made in trade, could not think of putting their sons to business. They were happy to have had fathers who were not ashamed of trade. But for that, they would now be poor enough." " They merely assume, however, the general prejudice of society," remarked George. " Do you not think they create that prejudice for them- selves?" she asked. "The outer world can know nothing of business, except what it hears from the initiated ; and if the initiated declare it is all roguery and vulgarity from 232 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. chapter to chapter, what is society to say ? Remember, Mr. Geith, I believe in business, and I only wish I were a man, to show what business could do for Molozane Park. I have thought a great deal about business lately, and I see that if trade were not always providing money for the aristocracy, the aristocracy would soon go down to the lowest depths of poverty. Look at the Park, Mr. Geith : if we were there now, we could do nothing for want of money ; but as it is, Mr. Wern keeps up a fine establishment ; gives plenty of employment ; is good to the poor ; is hospitable to his neigh- bors. I am sure," went on the poor little girl, with a trem- bling in her voice, " it was a good day for Withefell when tlie Molozanes left the Park, for we were not rich enough to do anything for any one — not even for ourselves." "Mr. Wern, then, is very rich?" asked George. " Nobody knows how rich," answered Beryl, with a sad look in her brown eyes as she spoke. " He is a chemist, and has made — oh ! such a fortune ! His father was a chemist also, but he never got on like his son. He could buy the Park to-morrow, papa says, and never miss the purchase- money." " And he is as good as he is rich ? " suggested George. " I could not tell you, Mr. Geith, how good a man he is," said Beryl, earnestly. " Dick laughs at me for praising him, but I cannot help saying what I think, — that he is better than any one I ever knew. I do not know how it happens that you have never met him, for he comes often to see papa. That is the principal entrance to the Park," she added ; " you have never seen it before, and I declare there is Mr. Wern himself!" Beryl was right : there was Mr. Wern. Mounted on a strong iron-gray horse, he was coming slowly down the long avenue bordered with elms ; but at sight of Beryl and her companion he quickened his pace. " We will wait for him," said Beryl, with the utmost com- posure ; and what could her companion do but follow suit ? GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 233 nothing loth, to say truth, for he was curious to see Mr. Wern, and he had now a capital opportunity of doing so. A light-haired, fair-complexioned, gray-eyed, middle-aged man, to whom Beryl was, George Geith saw at a glance, sun, moon, stars, and planets ; whilst, as for Beryl herself, the accountant might as soon have tried to understand the sphinx as the face of the young lady by his side. Did she care for this millionnaire, or not ? Would she marry for an establishment ? Did she understand what all that devotion of manner, all that repressed eagerness meant ? George began to ask himself these and fifty other similar questions almost before the first greetings were over — be- fore he himself had been introduced to Beryl's friend. Was the little lady, when all was said and done, hankering, like other people, after loaves and fishes ? after the flesh-pots of Egypt? after the gold, and the station, and the influence which confer advantages not to be despised ? That she cared for Mr. Wern, George did not credit ; but he was commencing almost to believe that Beryl was not blind to her own interests ; and he thought, for a moment, that perhaps she was exalting this man into a god, so as after- wards to excuse her own worship of him. Poor Beryl ! the day came when this old, uncharitable man of the world knew her better ; but that day was not the one on which he rode along the Hertfordshire lanes, listening to all Mr. Wern had to say to her. Very much in the way Mr. Geith felt, and he wished in his heart that one of the three was absent — either himself or Mr. Wern ; but as it was, so it was ; and he heard the decorous talk about the poor and their wants, their sickness, their improvidence, their necessities, which had been so familiar to him once, in the days when he was professing to serve another God than Mammon. In that one time, as at the other, George found the talk detestable. There are those topics which, to a man of his nature, must always, I suspect, prove wearisome, viz., ser- 234 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. vants, cliildren, and the poor. He never could understand the interest people took in any of them ; and for the moment he felt inclined to hold with Mr. Elsenham that the Withefell saint was an awful humbug, and a tremendous bore. Beryl's propriety likewise was something dreadful to con- template. Not once, but fifty times, George had heard her making fun of the very men and women in whose behalf she was now so eloquent. She had been good enough to imitate old Mrs. Mears' whine, Job Darth's stammer, Mrs. O'Rourke's brogue, and Mary Hurst's sniffle. She had gone over every soul in the village, seriatim, mocking their peculiarities, hitting oflP their characteristics, baring their falseness, and yet still here she was, riding along with as demure a face as though she had never ridiculed any living being. " And about Bearnes' rent, Mr. Wern ? I believe he is now in constant work ? " "I can't stand this any longer," thought George, and thought it with the addition of an oath ; and while Mr. Wern was answering, he struck his horse stealthily yet sharply, causing in'ra to dance and curvet across the road. " You have not a very quiet animal, sir," observed Mr. Wern ; in answer to which Mr. Geith muttered some al- most inaudible reply, whilst he struck the horse again, rein- ing him in tightly as he did so. Straight up went the brute on his hind legs, and forthwith Beryl became alarmed, and cried out, — "You will be killed! pray don't strike him; you don't know what horrid tempers all Dick's horses have." " I know this is rather an awkward animal to manage at a walk," answered George, not without a certain satisfaction ; whilst Mr. Wern said courteously, he thought in the stables at the Park he might surely find something to suit him better, and that he hoped he would come and take his choice. Just then Mr. Elsenham and Miss Molozane appeared in GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 235 sight. " They had come back," they said, " to see if Beryl and Mr. Geith were safe ; " and they shook hands with Mr. Wern, and remarked on the heat of the weather, and the beauty of the day, with most praiseworthy politeness. By-and-by Mr. Elsenham and George dropped behind, Mr. Wern escorting the ladies in front. " So you have been favored with a sight at last," remarked the younger man, when they were out of ear-shot. " What do you think of Beryl's saint ? " " That he is like all other saints," was the reply. " In what respect ? " " Too much — too good — too much like an old woman," said George, as he touched his horse with his whip again. " Now, I tell you what, my good fellow," cried Mr. Elsen- ham, " if you try that you '11 come to grief to a certainty ; GiraiFe won't stand it." " Giraffe must stand it," was the reply. " But he rears." " I know he does ; he was rearing a few minutes since." " And why can't you let him alone ? " " Because I am sick of being quiet ; because I am tired to death of this place; because I hate talk about the poor." " Hear, hear !" said Mr. Elsenham, approvingly. " Why in Heaven's name," went on the accountant, " can't they get their wine and their jelly, and their physic and their clothing, and their alms, without such an everlasting clatter about their wants ? I 'm sure I should think it trouble enough to see to their necessities without having to talk them over afterwards." " Damn the poor ! " said Mr. Elsenham, with great gusto. " But after all, the poor are sometimes only made the pre- text, as in the present case. Over tracts, flannel petticoats, and beef-tea, Beryl and Mr. Wern carry on their court- ship. If ever she marries that pope she and I are quits, for there will be no fun and no life in her afterwards." 236 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. "Miss Beryl might do worse, nevertheless," remarked George, sententiously. "That's the deuce of the matter. If the man was poor, one might find something to say ; but as it is, so it is." " Gold wins the day all the world over," remarked the accountant; and he thought of the man beside him whom Matilda was going to marry, and of the man riding in front with whom Beryl was coquetting. For what else could he call it ? If she liked him, why did she not encourage him ? If she did not like him, why did she praise him up to the skies, and listen to him so de- murely ? He was trying to solve what we have all tried vainly to solve sometime or another, — the enigma of a neighbor's heart. He was judging of its works from the way he saw the hands mov- ing;. He thou'iht he knew all the wheels within wheels that were spinning round in the girl's mind, and accordingly, be- cause he would not acknowledge that man knew nothing of man, he judged, as we all judge when we condemn others besides ourselves, wrongly. In the midst of our sin, in the midst of our folly, in the midst of our weakness, there is one consolation of which the preacher never tells us, namely, that it is not with man, but with God, the last sentence rests. How would it fare with us if our neighbor had to dispose of our souls ? if he had to tell our mysteries, recount our deeds ? I think about this when I hear man's verdict — man's righteous verdict according to man's light — on tlie thief and the murderer. I think that another volume which is to us a sealed book has been read up on high, and that the other side, over which, it may be, angels' tears have fallen, has pleaded before the only tribunal where all man's misery, his temptations, his antecedents, his weaknesses, his terror, his blindness, his feeble strivings after light, are fully understood. ts this talk about a "rirl and her lover too grave? I be- lieve not. There is not a relation of life in which we are not given to judging over-righteously. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 237 There is nothing which offends humanity so much as the loneliness of its fellow human being. Though we look over our sins, dry our own tears, smile our proud smiles, talk our lightest words when our fellows come near to probe the wounds we would cover away from sight, we are still angry and offended because they will not tell us of their ail- ments, because the cry of mortality in its bitterest anguish is ever, " Leave me with my God " — its most earnest prayer to its eager fellows to be left alone — alone ! I think it must be greatly for this cause that we like the young ; because, even though the pages of their book be blank, we are permitted to look over them. And it might be for the same reason, viz., because she was young, that George Geith, who had his secret coffined and buried, was angry with Beryl for being what he called doable-faced ; for hearing her little by-play, too. Practical man as he was, he never paused to ask himself what all this interest meant, what all this jealousy indicated ; but talked on in his anger, while shallow Dick Elsenham read him through and through, and thought, with a half- compassionate contempt, that it would be rather good fun if the one business-man tried to cut out the other. He knew, or thought he knew, George would have no chance with either father or daughter ; though, to be sure, the Snareham rela- tionship put a new aspect on affairs. He might as well inquire a little further into that. "I forget what relation you said you were to Sir Mark Geith," he said, as they rode still behind the others. " Cousin," was the reply. " His father and mine were brothers." " Then you are the next heir, I suppose." " Not I ! There is a certain uncle ; there are probable children ; there are twenty other things between me and Snareham." " Sir Mark is not married, though ? " " Is he not ? He and his wife, at any rate, were at my office not a month sioce," said George, almost rejoicingly. 238 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " You seem to take a wonderful interest in my relations, Mr. Elsenhara," he added. " May I inquire if you know any of tliem ? " " I have met your cousin," answered the other, slowly. " I have met him where I think he was making his money spin. He plays infernally high, Mr. Geith." " I suppose he has a right to do what he likes with his own," answered George. " You do not appear particularly to care about him or his doings," remarked Mr. Elsenham. " I care enough," was the reply ; " but what would you have ? Mark's way and mine lie in opposite directions. I can't leave my path to follow him ; and if I could I am not aware that he would thank me for my pains. There is too wide a distinction between us for there to be much sym- pathy." " Do you know much of him ? " asked Mr. Elsenham. " Had we been brothers I could scarcely at one time have known more," was the reply ; " but there comes a day, as you are aware, when the rich and the poor must separate; and that day came long ago to us. He turned to his pleasure, 1 to my business ; and every year as it passes by must sepa- rate us more and more." " He was a good-liearted fellow, I think," said Mr. Elsen- ham. " Never a better breathed," answered George. " Could not he have got you some appointment ? " asked Mr. Elsenliam. " My dear sir," said George, with a look of the most pro- found compassion, " I do not want an appointment. I hang on my own hook, which I find a great deal stronger than any hook could be that was put up for me by another man." " But the social standing," suggested Mr. Elsenhara. "Social standing is success," answered the accountant, with a smile. " The incarnation of social success is riding before us. When I am rich enough to live in a place GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 239 li"ke Molozane Park, I shall have secured my standing like- wise." **What are you two talking about?" asked Miss Molo- zane, turning at the moment to speak to the pair, who had gradually been drawing nearer and nearer to their com- panions. " About the poor ; about the rich ; about business ; about the city," replied her cousin. " Somewhat unusual subjects for you to discuss, are they not ? " inquired Mr. Wern. " I believe so," was the answer ; " but getting into good company makes even fools wise for the time being ; and Mr. Geith's conversation is of so practical a character, that I can't choose but follow suit." " Mr. Geith affects the city a little, I think I have under- stood," remarked Mr. Wern. " Mr. Geith affects that which butters his bread," replied the accountant; "no more, no less. Though it is but a modicum which has been allowed me, I am still thankful not to have to eat my morsel dry." " A sensible man to be a younger son, is he not, Mr. Wern ? " demanded Mr. Elsenham, stroking his moustache. " If work were not such a confounded bore, he would almost persuade me to visit your El Dorado, and see whether I too could not work a gold mine. It is a great thing to be ear- nest in anything, is it not? See how soon he has made a dis- ciple of me." Doubtfully Mr. Wern looked from the one man to the other before he said, — " I did not think it had been possil^e to convert Mr. Elsen- ham ; and I congratulate you, Mr. Geith, on your success." " Mr. Geith has the true missionary gift," remarked the younger man. " He knows how to stroke his cats without turning their hair the wrong way. Ah 1 if missionaries could only comprehend the way of the grain, what a num- ber of pussies they might have purring after them." 240 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Pussies have claws ; so your simile is unfortunate, Dick," said Beryl. " But with judicious management, claws may be cut, Miss Beryl," suggested George, who took pleasure at the moment in following his companion's lead. " I must, however," he added, "disclaim Mr. Wern's implied compliment on my success, for I have achieved none. It might happen that Mr. Elsenham and I agreed on a few points, and went to- gether into them." " You and Dick agreed ! " said Beryl, with a look of as- tonishment. " On what points, may I ask ? " " It is not good for little girls to know too much," answered her cousin ; "and, besides, I want to ask if we are to get home to-day ; because, if we are, I think we had better alter our pace." " My road lies to Withefell Hall," said Mr. Wern, " so I will not detain you longer ; " and he forthwith shook hands with the ladies, and, touching his hat to the gentlemen, be- fore raising it in final salute to the party, turned out of the sunshine to let them pass. "A good riddance," observed Mr. Elsenham, who was striving with all his might to accommodate his horse's long trot to the awful little canter of Beryl's pony ; " when Mr. Wern takes up his parable, I always long to send him a gown and bands." "And when I hear you talking against him, I always long to ornament you with a pair of donkey's ears," said Beryl, pettishly. " Mr. Geilh was so charmed with his conversation," went on the young man ; " he likes the poor so much, and thinks Stories of their thrift and providence and necessity so inter- esting and so instructive. The contrast, likewise, between Beryl a sinner and Beryl a saint was delicious. Why are you not a saint at home, cousin ? You have no idea how much nicer we should all think you." " I won't ride with you any more ; I won't speak to you. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 241 I hate you, Dick," said Beryl, and she pulled up her pony short. " Not you," answered her cousin, taking Trot's rein, and pulling him into a gallop ; " you like me a precious sight better than you like Mr. Wern, when all is said and done." " I do not ; I can't bear you ; and I never could ; and you sha' n't pull my pony ; and I will go home by myself." " Would it go home by itself? and would it tell its papa that bad people teased it when it was a saint ? and said it had two faces, one for a wicked world, and one for the im- maculate owner of Molozane Park ? and would it cry, and look pitiful ? Will it dry its eyes on Trot's mane ? or shall I go after Mr. Wern to perform that operation for it ?" " I '11 tell you what I shall do when I get home," said Beryl ; " box your ears soundly." " If it would improve your temper, box them now ; " and Mr. Elseuhara stooped down his head to receive the threat- ened punishment ; but Beryl would not be appeased. She rode steadily on ; both hands on her reins, looking straight ahead, till she suddenly turned to George and said, — "And you are just as bad as Dick. I thought better of you, Mr. Geith, I did." " Now, it is your turn," remarked Mr. Elsenham ; " give it to him well, Beryl ; you don't know half he said against your idol." " I said. Miss Beryl, that which I am prepared to stand to," observed George, who was never slow to take up the cudgels in his own behalf. " I never could see, and I never shall see, the good of talking so much about the poor : I was not particularly impressed with Mr. Wern — not at all interested in his conversation ; but, at the same time, I do not doubt his being a most excellent man ; and am wilhng to admit that my want of appreciation may arise from a want of taste." " He wearies me," said Matilda ; " how Beryl can listen to 16 242 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. him as she does is a complete puzzle. For my part, I think he has completely destroyed the pleasure of our ride." " You need n't have come back to ride with him," pouted Beryl. " We will remember your hint next time," said Mr. Elsen- ham ; but Beryl would not answer, nor take any notice of him. She was looking with such a reproachful expression at the accountant that his heart melted towards her, and he felt bound to do battle in her behalf. " If I recant, may I be forgiven, Miss Beryl ? " he asked, in a low tone ; and the result was what might have made many another swear black to be white ; for she pulled her pony away from Dick, and riding round to the other side of Mr. Geith, took refuge between the hedge and Giraffe. " I am very sorry to have offended you," he said. " It was not your fault ; you do not know Mr. Wern as I know him. When you do, you will think differently." " I am ready to think differently now, if you desire it," remarked Mr. Geith ; whereupon Mr. Elsenham laughed, and declared the accountant was as great a humbug as Mr. Wern, — a compliment which that gentleman received with perfect temper. " If I were only as good," he began. " It would be well for you," finished Beryl, snappishly ; and the short-lived truce was broken. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 243 CHAPTER XXI. BERYL EXPLAINS. There was one comfort with Beryl Molozane, that, if she had little fits of ill humor, she did not stay long in them ; and if she had periods of gravity and propriety, they were short in comparison with the long summer days, which she could fill with laughter and glee. Always after she had got up on a pedestal and made a saint of herself, Beryl was sure to plunge into deeper depths than ever of fun and mockery. If she could once be got to laugh, all her solemnity vanished, and the house rang again with the sound of her mirth. And a dull house it would have been without Beryl, as George Geith, sitting over his papers, acknowledged. She was to that place what the breath of life is to the body : the moving power, the animating cause, which kept the blood flowing through the veins, and smiles brightening the face. Her voice seemed never silent; her tongue never still. From the garden her gay tones came into the room where the accountant sat at work ; lingering amongst the roses he found her when it grew too dark for him to see to do more. " We are going to have a visitation on Monday, Mr. Geith," she said. " Granny is coming — Granny and her train." "Her train?" repeated George, who was a little mysti- fied. " Yes ; Granny, like other great ladies, can't travel with- out one ; and she would bring more people, only that papa 244 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. won't have them here. As it is, she has her raaid and Mr. Elsenhara — old Mr. Elsenham I mean, her brother-in-law — and old Mr. Elsenham's man ; and she comes in a great chariot, which puts up at the ' Stag,' at Wattisbridge, in company with her coachman and two footmen. She brought her butler down the last time, but I do not think she will try that again. He had a great deal to say to our cook about there being no servants' hall, and at last came to me, to ob- serve he had not been accustomed to it." "Did he tell you to what he had been accustomed?" asked her companion. " No ; I did not ask him, or probably he would ; but I told him I was very sorry, and that if he had any suggestions to make as to what he would like, I should be glad to hear it. The beauty of it was," went on Beryl, " he knew I was making fun of him, though he could not find a word to say, except that ' No ; he had no suggestion to make.' Then, said I, I do not see what I can do, for I am afraid grand- mamma might not like me to have you in the drawing-room ; but if you choose, I will ask her." " What did he say then ?" inquired Mr. Geith. " He did not say anytiiing to me," answered Beryl, " but he went straight off to Granny, and gave her notice ; and she actually raised his wages and prayed him to stop ; and he was graciously pleased to consent, only papa said he should not stop here ; and so she had to send him back to London, and I wish they would all stay there." " Why does she not come by the Eastern Counties line ?" asked George, with a natural wonder that any one who could help it should put herself to so much trouble. " For three reasons. One, she dislikes all railways ; an- other, she can't get to the Shoredltch station without crossing the city; and a third, she thinks she creates a sensation by coming down with as great a clatter as the lord mayor. The people about here think she is mad ; that is all she gets in the way of public opinion out of her four horses." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 245 " You don't raean to say that she travels Avith four horses ?" said Mr. Geith. " She would travel with eight if she could manage it," answered Berjl ; " Granny is essentially — but you will see what she is for yourself when you see her. Meantime, I am so glad you are going to stay here to-morrow, so that we may have one day of peace before she comes." George was glad too ; and the intimacy between himself and the family at the Dower House had by this time become so close, that he never thought of uttering those courteous expressions of pleasure, regret, and so forth, which do good duty at the commencement of an acquaintance, but which seems such trumpery coin when acquaititance has ripened into something more, that friend never thinks of offering it to friend. Accordingly, George Geith did not say he was glad — why, indeed, should he — when he knew that Beryl was perfectly well aware he was pleased to stop. Thinking of his lonely Sundays in town, thinking of his lonely evenings in Fen Court, thinking of the days when he had not a soul to speak to whom he liked, nor a house at which he cared to visit where he was sure of a welcome, the accountant sometimes became almost unmanned, and won- dered how he should be able to endure the old desolate life when he had to return to it in earnest once again. It is not sorrow, nor toil, nor anxiety, nor difficulty, which tries the strength and endurance of a man like George Geith ; but rather joy and happiness. All the world over, natures like his prove the truth of the old fable, in ^Yhich it is not the strong north wind that beats down the traveller, but rather the beams of a genial sun. Man bears that trouble to which he is born better than the glad sunshine for which he had no right to look ; and it had come by this time to such a pass with George Geith, that, living in the light, he dared not look forth at the darkness into which, sooner or later, he knew he must plunge. 246 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. And these Sundays at the Dower House were so pleas- ant ! when he could take his rest without any twinges of conscience about work neglected and hours wasted ; when he could loiter over his dressing, listening to the insane co- cooing of the pigeons and the prating of the hens ; when he did not consider it his duty to hurry over his breakfast, but could enjoy to the full that sunny morning room, which always in after-years came back to his memory with open windows and floating muslin curtains ; when the talk was so pleasant, the air so balmy, the place and the people so like home ! Then the leisurely walk across the fields to Wattisbridge ! the short, smooth grass on which the ladies' cool muslin dresses made a rustle as of the light wings of birds, the delicious country air, the pleasant country sights, the dancing of the squirrels in the wood, the loveliness of the wild flowers in the hedges, the blue sky, the green earth, and the calm still- ness of the Christian Sabbath pervading all things, and under- lying, like a soft key-note, the whole music of animated nature ! And what if the pleasure were sensational? Happy is the man, I think, who can take a sinless joy out of his senses ! to whom Nature does not exhibit her landscapes, chant her melodies, unveil her loveliness, all in vain! whom the lights and sounds and flowers of the summer thrill with a strange delight, and who can thank God for living and mov- ing and having his being with the unquestioning simplicity of a cliild ! George Geith never felt so thankful about having resigned his profession as when he came out of church with Beryl Molozane. Whilst lie wa:5 a curate, living within a sacred pale, fenced off to a certain extent from free contact wdth the laity, lie never heard how the laily pull their clerical guides to pieces. "With a sudden check and horror it came upon him that pcrliaps in his day he had been derided and scoffed at too — his manner mimicked, his tone ridiculed, his mistakes pounced on, his sermons criticized. It was not GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 247 healthy, he felt, for the congregation to be setting itself up in judgment ; and yet, if the teachers were like the Wattis- bridge clergy — muffs — what then ? He could not contradict the truth of what the Molozanes said about rectors and curates alike ; but, at the same time, it was not pleasant for a man who had been a clergyman to feel, that instead of himself and his brothers being as he once fondly imagined, teachers, they were rather set up as targets at which all the small witticisms, all the trifling jests of their hearers might be directed. And had he dared to remind Beryl of the message these Wattisbridge curates brought, he knew she would at once have answered that it was at the messengers, not the mes- sage, she was laughing. But he did not dare. George, who in most respects had not been wont to feel cowardly, was now so anxious to keep on good terms with his host's family, that he often held his tongue when he knew he ought to have opened his lips, and when, but for some strange feeling which held him back, he would have liked to speak to her about this mockery of all things (except Mr. Wern) holy and pure, which offended him. For though he had thrown aside the gown, all esprit de corps had not departed also, and he often felt inchned to stand up and do battle for these men, against whom Dick Elsenham and Beryl Molozane were perpetually bending their bows and twanging their arrows. Capping verses was nothing in comparison to the way this pair amused themselves, capping the peculiarities of the preacher. From the great family pew, which Mr. Molozane had not relinquished with the Park, the two took mental notes which they compared when they came out of church ; and George had heard Beryl robed in a black silk cloak, with a red shawl hung on behind, delivering a sermon a la Wattisbridge to perfection. He knew when he was listen- ing to her he ouglit to have gone out of the room, or offered some serious remonstrance, but he had only joined in Dick's 248 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. laughter, and encouraged Beryl to further literary efforts ; not a thing escaped her, not a movement, not a look, and to people who Avere inclined to laugh, Wattisbridge Church offered temptations innumerable. Often George caught himself thinking, " If I were there, how differently I would have the service performed ; " and then he felt devoutly thankful he was not there, and that he never should have to preach again. For had his life de- pended on it, he knew he could not, after hearing Beryl's comments, be ever able to lift his mind above them, and he began to perceive how fine a thing it is for clergymen, that, though they sometimes bear fault-finding, they never bear ridicule. What made Mr. Geith more indignant against Beryl, if indignant be not far too strong a word, was, that he knew perfectly well if Mr. Wern were of the party, her tone would have been very different. As it was, she chattered on — mocking, grimacing, ridi- culing — till one might have thought life a puppet-show, containing no definite aim in time, no hope for eternity. George did not like it. He w^ould have been better con- tent to see Beryl down almost in the depths of despair, than to notice that nothing in heaven above, or in the earth be- neath, seemed able to make any serious impression upon her. Could she be sorry for long ? Could she grieve sincerely ? Would it be possible for her to weep without the sunshine breaking through? Was there any earnest- ness about her? Had she really a heart? In very truth, did she possess a soul ? Had women souls at all ? he caught himself wondering, when Beryl woke him out of his brown study witii — " Well, Mr. Geith, what treason are you plotting now^?" " I was wondering whether it would be possible for any man to preach a sermon at which you would not care to laugh." " I think it would — will you try ? We shall have plenty GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 249 of leisure this afternoon, and we will listen to you as long as you like to talk. You shall take for your text, ' Thou speak- est as one of the foolish women speaketh,' if you choose, and none of us will be offended." " And then you will make fun of me to your heart's con- tent." " Oh ! fie, Mr. Geith ; do I make fun of my friends ? Can I see anything in them of which to make fun ? I sup- pose you are beginning to think, with Granny, that I can be serious about nothing — that I can feel no trouble — carry no burden." " If I did think so, should I be wrong, Miss Beryl ? " he inquired. " Et tu Brute ! " was all the answer he could get out of her ; but the brown eyes proved more eloquent than her tongue, and looked reproaches at him — such reproaches, that George felt himself constrained to say, — " The truth is, I have never seen you grave but once, until yesterday ; and yesterday " " You thought I was not grave in earnest," she quickly added, ae he paused ; " and there you w^ere wrong. You imagine, because it is necessary to my existence to laugh at people's oddities, that I never feel for their woes. You think, because I have a quick sense of the ludicrous, that I have no eyes for grief. And then you d"o me an injustice. You often are unjust to me, Mr. Geith." " Am I ? " he said ; " tell me how, and I will strive to think all you wish for the future." " Why, you have got that stupid notion which so many people take up, that the same person can't be sorry and merry. You fancy that, because I think the poor funny, I do not also think they are often in great distress. They may be humbugs — many of them are — and I see they are humbugs ; but I knoAv, at the same time, that, no matter what they may be, they feel heat, and cold, and the want of blankets, and the dearness of coals, and their inability to get 250 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. such, just as much as you or I. For this reason I do my best to get them helped ; but I reserve to myself the privi- lege of laughing, just to prove I am not imposed on ; that I see only their necessities as they are, and not their necessi- ties as they present them for public inspection. Hunger and thirst, Mr. Geith, and the want of fire and clothing, are realities, concerning which I suppose even I may speak gravely if I please." " Assuredly," answered her companion ; " but there are other people besides the poor at whom you laugh ; about whom you never speak a grave sentence." " You are thinking of the unhappy Mr. Grey," she said, laughing. " I must make fun of Mr. Grey, and his refined sugar air ; he is so terribly proper ; so intensely decorous ; one sentence lasts him as long as half a dozen would any- body else ; one opinion becomes in his hands a volume, suf- ficient for a whole day's slow conversation." " But I believe he is an excellent young man," said Mr. Geith, rebukingly. " Did you ever know any one who was a frightful bore ; who could do nothing at a party but sit like a pope on a hard chair, that was not an excellent young man ? I never did, and I have had a large experience of curates : besides, what do I say against Mr. Grey ? nothing, except that if he stopped with his text his sermons would be long enough ; and that we are not to stare, because his ' mamma,' as he calls her, said he was shy, and that it was not good for him. All that does not prevent my thinking there is something very touching in the way his mother listens to him preach- ing ; and I would not for any consideration let her hear me laughing at him ; or say to her tiiat I do not think him a second St. Paul. Indeed, it is quite true that I never look at Mr. Grey without thinking, ' He was the only son of his motlior, and she was a widow.'" This was the w:iy l>eryl spoiled every sentence she uttered. She never could sketch a grave face without putting a mock- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 251 ino- one belilnd it. Whether from habit or from some mental distortion, it seemed impossible for her to disassociate even the most earnest things from the grotesque. The most serious subject had its laughable side ; ojer graves the clown seemed dancing ; behind trees there was an imp gibing and grinning. There seemed nothing earnest in her, save that which is the common heritage of true-hearted women — love. She did not make fun of those she loved. Was that the reason she was grave with Mr. Wern ? George marvelled about that, and thought he would beat that cover, too. " How does it happen," he asked, smiling, " that you never laugh at these things and people when you are with Mr. Wern?" " How do you know I do not ? " she quickly retorted. " Because your cousin told me so," he answered. " I sha'n't tell you — I can't tell you," she almost cried ; but then, calming down in a moment, she went on : " Mr. Wern is different from most people. There is a gravity about him which infects even me : he is so earnest himself ; he thinks life such a frightfully solemn affair that he makes me solemn in spite of myself. He compels me to feel good and miserable while I am with him. I am not laughing now, Mr. Geith. I am only telling you the honest, sober truth." And her face changed so while she was speaking that George could not doubt her word ; could not think for a moment she was deluding herself, and misleading him ; only be wondered more and more as to what it was Beryl really intended, as to what she really meant. Two minutes after no one would have thought she meant anything ; jesting with Mr. Elsenham ; laughing at her sister. Who could have told what with her was real — what assumed ? Which was the actual nature? that which skimmed through '252 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. existence on the wings of mirth, or that which looked at life for an instant through tears ? Who may judge? Which of us, friends, may even guess at the true part of our neighbor's nature, when we are in- competent to lay our finger on the sterling metal in our own? GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 253 CHAPTER XXII. ACROSS THE FIELDS. There was no evening service at Wattisbridge, and as it did not suit the Molozanes to attend church in the afternoon, the three young ladies, their cousin, and Mr. Geith, walked over in the evening to Withefell Bottom, a little hamlet lying two miles on the other side of Withefell proper, where the vicar held forth on the saving nature of faith, and buried works out of sight, under a mausoleum of his own erection. Beryl was kind enough to give an epitome of the probable sermon to the quartet after dinner ; and Mr. Geith, who had in church-days been a little " high," forbore to blame her, even in his heart, for her mimicry. Rather he enjoyed the ridicule ; for Mr. Elsenham informed him, privately, that the vicar was a pet of the Withefell saint ; and that not only the Withefell saint, but the proprietor of Withefell Hall, affected the teach- ing of the clergyman who preached faith without works. " Filthy rags of our own self-righteousness," said Beryl. " I always fancy bits of red cotton floating from gooseberry trees when I hear that ; but perhaps Mr. Geith may like the vicar. He is greatly run after by people who really think all they can do means mites in the treasury ; and also by those who would like to go to heaven without working at all : vide Mr. Finch. Eh, Dick." *' Mr. Finch be hanged ! " said Mr. Elsenham in answer. " You would have said something else if Mr. Geith had not been here," opined Louise. "It is all the same to me where he is," remarked her cousin. 254 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " I were the architect of my own fortunes, I were," said Beryl, coming down from her pulpit in a minute. " I never owed no man nothing in the way of gratitude. I was n't like you, Mr. Elsenham : you was brought up in the lap of luxury ; you fcad but to ring for this and t'other, and say, ' John, bring me this ; John, fetch me that.' With me it were, 'Ned, you young beggar, where are you skulking?* or, ' Ned, you lazy scoundrel, look sharp.' You loll in car- riages, young man. You never rode in a wan, I '11 be bound. I were glad, I were, to get a post as dog in a wan ; I liked that better than ever I did since I made my fortune, riding in a carriage like a swell. Well, well, the ups and downs is wonderful ; my old master's sons, the one is a counter-hop- per, and the other a private in the 53d. He went to the dog.>^, he did, and here am I, Edward Finch, Esquire, J. P., and owner of Withefell Hall. Life 's strange, ain't it, Miss Beryl?" " I wish you would not, Beryl," said Miss Molozane ; and then Mr. Geith knew in a minute that Mr. Finch was the individual who had aspired to Miss Molozane's hand, and whom Beryl had said she should prefer to Dick Elsenham. And would Beryl have done so ? George asked himself. Would not the polish, slight though it might be, have been better to the girl than the frightful vulgarity of the other's address? With Mr. Finch he felt inclined to shout out, " Life 's strange, ain't it?" and to wonder what there was in it real and true. " Do you remember, Beryl, the Sunday you and I were turned out of Withefell Church?" asked Dick, with a mali- cious twinkle in his black eyes. " Yes ; and I remember with satisfaction the handful of hair I pulled out of your head before we were," retorted Beryl, viciously. " What had you been doing ? " asked Mr. Geith. " It was one Sunday, when we were little children," an- swered Beryl ; " and as we were both horribly tired of being GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 255 at the Park doing nothing, we stole out, and trotted off to Withefell Church, across the fields. Nobody there knew who we were, and when Dick and I got fighting over which should have the hymn-book, we were taken out ; but not before we had made a frightful noise with rolling off the seat. I was carried out, I believe, and carried home. One thino- I do recollect, that I scratched Dick's face ; and I sometimes wish I was young enough to scratch it again." And Beryl pulled a grimace at her cousin. " You may make the most of your time," he said, " for you won't dare do that when Granny comes." "I wish both you and your Granny were in the bottom of the sea," remarked Beryl ; " why don't you keep her in London ? we don't want her here." " I am sure I don't," he answered ; " tell me some way of preventing her, and I will." " Tell her we have small-pox — fever — cholera — what you choose. Like all good people, she is afraid of death. You will be so pleased with Granny, Mr. Geith ; she is such a nice old lady, so much Hke her grandson." " I '11 declare she is not in the least like me," interrupted Mr. Elsenham. " That is a pity, is it not, Mr. Geith ? I have not one of her letters at hand, but I think I can repeat one of her epistles." " Do you wish me to leave the room ?" asked Miss Molo- zane. " I am quite indifferent," answered Beryl, as she took up a piece of paper lying on the table, and began, after clearing her throat : — " My dear Niece, — It seems to me a long time since I heard from you, but I trust your silence does not proceed from any other cause than that of having been more agree- ably occupied than in writing to an old woman. I shall trust to hear you, your dear papa. Beryl, and Louise are well. 256 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " I hope to see you, if perfectly convenient (D. V.) on Monday next. Thankful as I am and ought to be to the Lord for his unspeakable mercies, I still feel I am getting old, and that an occasional change and intercourse with young people is desirable. Will you therefore write hy return, say- ing whether you can receive me, Mr. Elsenham, Gibbs, and Tibbs. The remainder of the servants can remain as usual at the ' Stag.' " With kind remembrance to your father, Beryl, and Louise, with love for yourself, — " Your affectionate grandmother, " M. L. Elsenham." " L stands for Lucretia," exclaimed Beryl, as she paused ; "and I ought, perhaps, further to state that" — " Can't you let her alone while she is in London ? " inter- rupted Mr. Elsenham ; " and go and put on your bonnet and let us get off to church." " You are so fond of church, Dick." " I 'd like it better if there were any pretty girls in the parish," retorted her cousin. Whereupon Miss Molozane rebuked them both ; Mr. Elsenham for making the remark, and Beryl for provoking it. "The house is really like a bear-garden, with the two of you in it," observed the beauty. " What is a bear-garden, Tilly ? " asked Louise, gravely ; but Miss Molozane declined giving any explanation, rather preferring to follow her cousin's advice, and prepare for their walk. It was pleasant going to church across the fields in the evening, but George did not much care for the path as they came back. For one thing, the days were beginning to draw in ; and for another, the sky was cloudy and dull, seeming to threaten rain. Altogether, there was a gloom over the landscape which depressed him ; and the company of Messrs. Finch and Wern, who were so good as to walk back most of the way GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 257 with the Dower House party, did not tend to raise his spirits. At every step he seemed to her the chink of gold ; every sentence reminded liim that these men had made their money whilst he was still struggling. Houses, lands, wealth, posi- tion, he reflected, lay waiting for the acceptance of Mr. Molozane's daughters. Bitterly he remembered that these people would be walk- ing across the green Hertfordshire fields, and talking to the girls who had taught him what a happy home was like, in the (to him) dreary days to come, when he had done his work, and spoken his farewells, and returned to the old drudgery again. He had no right to repine, certainly : he had been happy, he had enjoyed himself, his health was reestablished, he had gained strength and fresh vigor through breathing the pure country air. Why, then, should he grieve ? and George caught at the leaves of the trees, and plucked them off ruth- lessly as he asked himself this question. Why should he grieve ? Ah, friends and fellow-travel- lers ! how often are we asked this question ? how often do we put it ourselves, and how seldom can we return any satisfactory answer to it ? We have had our cake, we have eaten it. There has been no bitter in it ; to the last crumb we have found it sweet. Why grieve, then ? for we cannot eat and have. But who does it grieve, who does it sorrow, for that pass- ing away which is, after all, the real misery of life ? Friends, youth, beauty, fame, happiness, homes, where the sun is streaming on us, moments when in the moonlight we look at faces which we love, days which are full of such happiness that they seem scarcely to have been spent on earth ; all these are trials to feel ; they are but part of a procession which is ever moving from us, ever passing away. Why should we grieve ? Good heavens ! how could we do other- wise, when we know so well that after the sunshine comes gloom, — after the day, night ? Is it marvellous that, feeling 17 258 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. the darkness creeping on, we should linger to the last in the light? that, feeling the waves of the cruel ocean we have breasted licking our feet, we should stretch out our hands after the groups that are walking away over the pleasant sands we shall never tread more ? Life's days are so gloomy when the summer is gone, its streets are so deserted when the gallant cavalcade is past, its ways are so stony when we have to tread them alone, that it is no wonder we grieve. When the hour comes for parting, and the sad good-byes are spoken, no wonder, even though we have had all our right, our holiday, our cake, our milk. George Geith had had his holiday, his happy sunshiny days of leisure ; but behold ! the holidays were wellnigh spent, and he was going back to resume his old low place in the school of life. He was in low spirits ; he was dull ; he was cross, if you will ; and Beryl's cheerfulness vexed him, even though that cheerfulness was evinced in disagreeing with Mr. Wern, and laughing at his opinions. For once before the Withefell saint Beryl was not de- mure ; and when she was running most counter to all his ideas, she would look over to Mr. Geith for approval, which, as she was annoying Mr. Wern for the sake of pleasing Mr. Geith, I think she deserved. But George would not be appeased — not even when they got upon the question of the millennium, concerning the time of which Beryl expressed her belief that the Withefell vicar must have recently had some secret information from above. " Because, how otherwise," said the young lady, " could he know for certain that it would be three years hence ex- actly ? " *' I must say his arguments were very convincing," here put in Mr. Finch. " You don't mean though, I suppose, that you believe there will be an end of all things at the end of three years ? " said Beryl. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 259 " I believe we are living in remarkable times," answered Mr. Finch, who pronounced the word as if it were "re- raarkyble " ; " and that we cannot tell the day nor the hour, and that therefore, as Mr. Wilton says, we ought to put our houses in order." " But Mr. AVilton says we do know the day and hour," interposed Louise, "for he declared that, reading the signs of the times, the end of the world would come at the expira- tion of three years exactly." "For which reason," added Beryl, a little flippantly, " if it were not for death, which really may come at any minute, we need n't be in such a hurry about our houses till nearer the time." " Do you know," said Mr. Wern, " it appears to me the service has not benefited us much." " I am sure it has not benefited me," answered Miss Molozane ; " for I was bored to death, and I have got a chill from the damp of the church. Mr. Finch, you really ought to build a new one ; it is enough to kill any one sitting in it for a couple of hours." "It lies in such a hollow," explained Mr. Wern. "There are plenty of nice sites in the neighborhood," ob- served Beryl. " How dofs it happen you don't express no opinions about the sermon, sir," asked Mr. Finch, turning benignly tow- ards George. "I am one of those happy individuals who have no opin- ions," repked the accountant. " Oh ! Mr. Geith, when you know you are a long way towards Rome," said Miss Molozane ; while Louise followed with — " Yes, indeed, Mr. Wern ; he goes far beyond the Wat- tisbridge people. He does not think the service there is per- formed pro[)erly at aU." "He wants a procession of priests, crosses, and candles ; and he would feel happier if he could go to confession,** added Berv^ 2 GO GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Miss Beryl, as usual, is sacrificing her acquaintances to her love of amusement," answered Mr. Geith ; whilst Mr. Wern turned towards him with a curious expression in his face — an expression, the meaning of which George did not understand till long afterwards. " But about the church," said Beryl, coming back to the point from which Mr. Finch had diverged. " Won't you build one ? pray do. It would involve ever so much gayety, and we want some excitement. Let me see : there would be the stone-laying, and the opening, and we might have a few bazaars ; and then whoever was married in it first ought to invite everybody in the parish to the wedding." " I suppose you would like a dance on the green at the consecration of the grave-yard," said Dick Elsenham. " I should like a dance anywhere, under any circum- stances," returned Beryl. " It is nearly as long a thing as I can remember, being at a party. Mr. Finch, I really think I should be belter pleased if you were to give a ball than if you were to build a church." " Now it 's curious, a'n't it," remarked Mr. Finch to the company generally, "that I was just a-thinking of giving a hop." " How enchanting ! " exclaimed Beryl. " Do tell us all about it. Won't you have the dancing in the picture-gal- lery, and " " I believe. Miss Molozane, I must say good evening," here interposed Mr. Wern ; and shaking hands with all the party, he turned off across Molozane Park to his own resi- dence. Heaven knows what thoughts he carried with him by the way ; but, judging from the look wherewith he regarded Beryl at parting, they could not have been pleasant. '' There is a mark against your name, old fellow," said Mr. Elsenham to Mr. Geith, looking after the retreating figure. " Wern will set you down as a Jesuit, and gravely remonstrate with my uncle on the danger of having you in the house." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 261 "He is welcome," answered George. "I shall not be long in it now, at any rate ; " and the pair walked on in silence, listening to Beryl teasing Mr. Finch to death about the ball, insisting he should fix a time, and earnestly en- treating him to come to the Dower House and talk over the preliminaries. " Grandmamma will be with us to-morrow," said Beryl, demurely. " She will be so glad to see you." "Thank you. I shall be very pleased to call on Mrs. Elsenham; very so, indeed; and if these gentlemen will come up and eat their mutton with me on Tuesday — dine in a plain way — I shall be better pleased still. I am very sorry, sir, not to have made your acquaintance earlier," he added, turning to George ; " I should like to have a chat with you about the city. I 'm from the city myself, sir, and I 'm not ashamed to say so to nobody." To which speech what answer could Mr. Geith make, but that he saw no occasion for anything but pride in the recol- lection ? " And you '11 come too, won't you," continued Mr. Finch, turning towards Mr. Elsenham, which Dick assured him he would, stating for a reason after they parted from the owner of Withefell Hall, " that his wine was tip-top, although his grammar was the devil." " Shall I tell you what your mutton will be, Mr. Geith?" asked Beryl. " Fish and mock turtle ; ducks and green peas ; lamb and mint sauce; entrees innumerable; puddings by the score ; every vegetable you can mention ; every fruit you can imagine. And his sister — oh ! I must show you Miss Finch when we get home. And in the way of wines, he will give you what he calls ' clarick ' and mussel ; and white and red ; and heavy and light ; and he will tell you that he himself does not care for anything but port ; that there was a time wdien he knew more about gin and Old Tom than any genteel swallow ; and that he a'n't sure but a good glass of Hollands still ^beats Mounseer and Cavalero into fits." 262 GEORGE GEITII OF FEN COURT. "I do not intend, however, Miss Beryl, to drink Mr. Fincli's wine, and make free of him afterwards," remarked Mr. Geitli, a httle ill-humoredly. "Don't, then," said Beryl; "but, as I do not care for either hock or claret, I shall make fun of him if I please. It 's a good soul, though. I like Mr. Finch. He is a great favorite of mine." *' Heaven preserve me, then, from that distinction," mur- mured George, devoutly. "But he is not one of my friends," she said in a lower tone — a tone which came back to him often when the future became the present. " You have disapproved of my being grave, Mr. Geith ; were you graciously pleased to approve of me this evening ? " "It is not for me to express an opinion," he replied. " But it is, if you form one," she answered. " I am vexed now that I annoyed Mr. Wern. He is better than anybody else I know ; but I was in a teasing mood, and I thought you did not care for me to be in earnest ; and so I have fallen between two stools, as most people do when they try to please their neighbors." "I hope you have not hurt yourself much," said her com- panion ; and though Beryl could not help laughing, the tears came into her eyes whilst she laughed. Pity it was getting so dark that George could not see them ! But without seeing them, he began that night taking him- self to task. Sitting by the open window, inhaling the per- fumes tliat came floating to him from the garden. Alone, in the stillness, he commenced that personal cross-examination in wiiieh so few have the courage to persevere. ■\Vliat did all tliis grief mean ? What was this tearing at liis heart ? Why was he afraid to look forward ? Why had he been so unutterably happy witli these girls ? He had never admired Beryl ; he knew he did not now care for Matilda; whilst, as for Louey ! Setting Matilda and Louey out of the question, however, thinking of a woman not as of GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 263 a picture, but as a friend and companion, was it not Beryl he sorrowed to leave? — Beryl, who now occupied a shrine in his heart which had never been filled before by woman ? For, though he had admired many ; though he had all his life been a worshipper of beauty ; though he had acknowl- edged many queens, fluttered around many a flame, he had never before felt anything like this — this which was eating into his soul, making existence insupportable, the future in- tolerable without her. Through the long hours he sat thinking of this new gospel, which he had feared was an old one with him, pondering over the mystery of this strange sensation which had stolen upon him so gently, so tranquilly, that it had become a part of himself before he dreamed of danger. And now, when he saw the danger, what then ? Did he resolve to win and to wear : did he ever, even in fancy, see Beryl his wife — hear her call him husband ? Never once ; for there are some pains which bring with them partial numbness ; and this agony of hopeless love, of love which could but love and leave, left him no strength for aught save the thought that he must go away ; that at all hazards he must break the spell ; and depart carrying his wound with him. He had never been able to realize Beryl married, even in his jealousy ; even when he imagined she was lending a too favorable ear to Mr. Wern ; he had never pictured her mistress of the Park ; and now, when he came to understand that without her his life would be lonely forever, he still could not fancy this girl a wife; her delusive picture of domestic happiness arose out of the darkness to mock him with false hopes. And, supposing the choice to have been presented to him, of living on in his present paradise, or of taking his Eve out of it into the wide world beyond, I think George Geith would have chosen the former without an instant's hesitation. Fenced round by the hedges of Dower House ; wandering 264 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. amongst the roses in its old-fashioned garden ; standing in the twilight on the terrace; he had felt secure both from sorrow and sin. The past lay outside, the future was for- gotten. His long servitude, his seven years of work, his nights of toil, his days of anxiety, were all left behind when once the dear old house was reached, when once kindly voices greeted him, and soft hands touched his in welcome. There was no need to think of money, no necessity for planning about ways and means ; and to many a man it takes the gloss off love to have to be thinking about pounds, shillings, and pence ; about sirloins of beef and legs of mut- ton, and little account of the bakers, which he foresees the blessing of a wife will entail upon him. Love-making is a pleasanter occupation than calculating " how much a year.'* Somehow, computing the expense of a woman's keep de- stroys the idea of her divinity. The business view of matri- mony is not a pleasant one ; but that romantic affection which is the full enjoyment of to-day, forgets that there must come a to-morrow, is a foretaste of heaven in which to-day is forever, and to-morrow and the end never. It is a mistake, I think, to imagine that a man*s thoughts rush off straight from love to marriage, from ideality to, reality. On the contrary, it appears to me natural that most men should ignore the mainland, with its labor, its care, its responsibility, so long as they can float over the ocean of love without trouble, without fear. Moreover, if the acme of misery be the inability to hope, the acme of happiness is surely the absence of any wish to hope, of anything to wish for, save this, that the present might go on forever without change. And this was the state of beatitude in which George Geith had been living, and from which he awakened with a start to tell himself he must go. For what was he to Beryl, and what could Beryl Molozanc be to him, save a memory and a regret ? In the dull, dull days to come, when the snow was on the ground, when the frost was lying on the graves in GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 265 Fen Court, when the black trees were dripping with blacker rain, and the pavements were sloppy, and the city wretched, he should still in recollection see Beryl standing among the roses, still hear her laugh ringing out happy and mirthful as of yore. To him she would never grow old ; to him there would be no awful hereafter of gray hair, of wrinkles, of old youngness, of sickness, feebleness, loss of youth. She would be his young love to him forever ; his to the day of his death, the laughing, singing, gleeful Beryl, of sweet seven- teen. Other men might see their brides change to matrons, but for him there would be no change. She would be in his memory just the same, forever and forever. Shall I go on telling how through the night he sat hugging his misery to him ; indulging in melancholy, and finding sweetness in the cup, as though he were still a boy, and young enough to find imaginary luxury in a draught he had never tasted ? Shall I repeat the old, old story, of his first love ? First, though it come as the finish to fifty fancies, hath still power to strike off the iron bands of time, and leave the soul free from the incubus of the years that have aged and worn the body. Would it not weary the reader to tell of the mist of tears through which this strong man beheld his ship going down among the breakers ; to describe how, with head bent forward and arms folded on the window-sill, he made his discovery, and decided on his future course, whilst the gloom deepened and darkened, and wrapped him lovingly and gently in the clouds of night ? He was unmanned, and it was well that there were none who could see his face, for of all the troubles he had met and surmounted no trouble had ever come nigh unto him like this. And yet, if he could have retraced his steps, would he ? Ah ! who that has loved would choose his ways to have been different ? Who, after eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, would go back into Eden and leave the fruit untasted ? 266 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Amongst thorns and brambles his very future way may lie, for his sake the ground may be cursed, and the earth yield her increase only in sorrow and with pain. All this matters not, for his eyes have been opened, and it is something, even when wandering through all earth's darkest places, for him to remember that he has once caught a glimpse of heaven ! GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 267 CHAPTER XXIII. A LITTLE SURPRISE. IIow many good resolutions which night hears made, does not morning see broken? does not wear a different aspect at noontide from that which it did at midnight ? What was decided on in the darkness do we not modify in the light ? Are we the same men and the same women, I marvel, as the clock chimes the early morning hours, as we were when they were striking in the starlight stillness ? Or are we like the lady of the fairy tale, who was a true wife one half of her time and a wandering wolf the other ? If night's good resolves could be carried into action after sunrise on the morrow, what a perfect world we should live in. If sluggards could but rise at the first call ; if the weak could be but as strong; if the strong could be but as for- bearing when day breaks as they meant to be a few hours before, would not our neighbors be almost too good ? would not our own virtues dazzle our eyes? If ever the time arrives M'hen that is done in the morning which was decided on over night, there will be no more stories to write of weak- ness, sorrow, repentance, remorse. The world will be peo- pled with saints, and our book-shelves will be full of the lives thereof! But as matters stand at present, the pie-crusts on which we expend so much labor in solitude are broken so soon as we come face to face with the world and its temptations. It was so with George Geith at any rate. The Beryl thought of in the midst of night's solemnity was a different being to 268 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. the Beryl he raet glancing amongst the flowers. She was something in the one case to part from, to beware of as a snare and a sorrow ; whilst in the other she was a girl to see as much of as possible ; to be near, to talk to, to laugh with, as long as circumstances would permit. The night had bid him depart ; the sunshine begged him to stay. The still voice of the darkness had said, " Go ; for each hour will but increase the misery of the inevitable parting ; " but the summer wind murmured pleasanter words, as it fanned his cheek caressingly, and whispered, " Be happy whilst you may ; your stay can do no harm to anybody but yourself" What man would not have hearkened to the latter voice, and still basked on in the sunshine, more particularly when it seemed as if that morning, beyond all other mornings, Beryl had laid herself out to be agreeable and winning ? She had her dogs with her on the lawn, where the poodle marched about gravely on his hind legs, and Royal offered first his right and then his left paw to George, with a sub- lime gravity which was irresistibly ludicrous. From the lawn they walked up the elm avenue, and as they walked Beryl spoke of her father and sisters with a pretty gravity which was amazingly becoming to her. Had not Mr. Geith noticed how ill papa was looking? Could he, would he, tell her how affairs were likely to turn out ? Should they be able to keep the Park ? To which latter question George made answer that he could not exactly tell her yet ; but he inquired, " if it were to be sold, would Mr. Elseidiam not purchase it, and so keep the property in the family?" " He could not," Beryl replied ; " he has not sixpence in the world of his own. Granny wanted to buy it, but papa would not sell. She then wished to rent it, but he preferred letting it to Mr. Wern." " Would Mrs. Elsenham not purchase it for her grandson ? " George inquired. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 269 " No ; and if she would, I am sure papa could never bear to see Dick master of the Park." " Does he not like him ? " asked her companion. " Have you lived all this time with us, and not found that out ? " she retorted. " Papa likes Dick almost as well as I do." " But, seriously, you appear to me excellent friends." " Do we ? " she said ; " that shows how much appearances may mislead." " Do you mean then that you really are not friends ? From what you said about Mr. Elsenham, I expected to find him an intolerable puppy. I confess I have been agreeably disappointed in him, and " "And you think Tilly has chosen wisely," she added. "Well, Mr. Geith, if that be your opinion, it .is not mine. You do not know Dick ; you have never seen him yet in a fair light. I would not be in Dick's power, I would not be at the mercy of his generosity for any earthly consideration. I would rather be indebted to Granny, and that is saying all I can say." " If Mr. Molozane dislikes him, why does he permit the marriage to go on." " Now, Mr. Geith, do you think he could stop it if Granny and Tilly have set their hearts on it taking place ? Besides, if Tilly likes him — and she does, I suppose — is not that all we need care for ? Sometimes I can't hold my tongue about him to her, but afterwards I could bite it out for my pains." " I should like to know why you dislike him so much, whilst you appear to get on so well together." " It is very likely you have your desire gratified if you go with him to the Hall to-morrow evening," she said, signifi- cantly, coloring a little as she spoke. " You have seen Dick at his very best, I assure you ; and as for our getting on well, I have never yet met with anybody I could not talk to except Granny ; and even Louey is afraid of her. Louey will take to her writing as if she were earning ten thousand a year when Mrs. Elsenham comes." 270 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Do you tliink your sister would show me any of her writing ? " lie asked. " To be sure slie would, and be pleased at anybody taking an interest about the matter. I was looking at some of her things the other day, and I really do think they are very- strange and wonderful, if I conld understand them ; but then I never was in the least clever. Now, I think Tilly, who is, might read Louey's poems to please her." " Does Mr. Molozane not read them ? " '' I think I told you we had lost one sister," she said ; and the explanation was satisfactory. " I will ask Louey for some of her poems." And straight away darted Beryl, fol- lowed at full flight by the dogs, who went growling and roll- ing over each other as they sped after her. I am afraid George anathematized the manuscripts. It is very nice to be literary, and to talk on intellectual subjects may be very interesting and improving to those who care- about intellect ; but a walk, for all that, in the clear bright air of a summer morning, with a pretty, lively girl for a companion — a girl, moreover, with whom one is secretly in love — is nicer and more interesting still. " Hang the poems ! " thought the accountant, as he re- traced his steps towards the house ; and who may blame him ? " She is busy now," said Beryl, when she returned ; " but she will look you some out after breakfast. She was so pleased about you wanting to see them, Mr. Geith ! Some- bow, I do not think we are right about Louey. It cannot be good for anybody to live a life apart, as she does ; can it?" " 1 think, if she were my sister, I should try to under- stand her a little," answered George. " I wish I could ; I wish I was clever ! " sighed Beryl. " Now, if she would write prose, I should be able to read her things ; but poetry — oh, if you could but imagine how it wearies me 1 If you do think her rhymes fuolish, GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 271. Mr. Geith, I am sure I need not ask you not to tell her so. She is hardly more than a child yet, though she does scrib- ble on constantly." And the tears sprang into Beryl's eyes as she spoke, though from what secret well they gushed George could not imagine. He only knew that this quick sensitiveness, this April nature, which was forever changing, when there was sunshine one moment and shade the next, was one of Beryl's greatest charms. He was beginning to understand how slight a line divides mirth from melancholy ; how quickly tears may dim eyes that have been a moment before dancing with merriment. He was commencing to learn wherein this girl's power of attraction lay, viz., in a mental constitution which had the keenest sense of the ridiculous, combined with the deepest sympathy for suffering ; which, w4iile it could see something ludicrous in the most ordinary — ay, and it might be, in the saddest circumstances of every-day life — had yet every cord attuned to echo the slightest breath of trouble, the faintest sigh of w^oe. If the finest wit be near akin to the deepest wisdom, so the extremest gayety is next-door neighbor to the truest sorrow ; and those people who in themselves com- bine the two opposites of light-heartedness and sadness, charm us as the Irish melodies charm us, w^e scarcely know why, till we learn the secret of their peculiarity, which is, that plaintive minors are ever mingling with joyous majors ; and that wherever a ringing octave comes, we may be sure a melancholy seventh will succeed thereto. Thinking of this, thinking of what strange creatures women are, and of iiow much stranger some women are than others, George got faiily addled after breakfast among his accounts, and for once he was not sorry to see Louise entering the library, and Louise, moreover, without her cap. He was so astonished at the change in her appearance, that for a minute he could not take his eyes off her. " Do you not think it an improvement," said the young 272 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. lady, who, like Beryl, was not very easily disconcerted ; though, like Beryl, she blushed a little as she spoke. " I should think I do," he answered. " What can have induced you to disfigure yourself for so long a time ?". " My hair is only just growing again," she laughed, touch- ing her short silky locks ; " but I thought I should like to put on my best looks for Granny. Here are my manuscripts, Mr. Geith. Beryl said you would take the trouble of read- ing them;" and she straightway laid down the papers, and walking across the room, took up her old position on the library steps. " Are you going to read them ?" she asked, surveying him calmly from her vantage-ground. " What ! now ? " he said. " Certainly, now, this minute. I want to see what you think of them. I shall know better from your face than from any words you may speak." It was a pleasant announcement certainly ; but still George did not shrink from the task. He had voluntarily under- taken it ; and if the manuscripts had to be read, and read moreover in the presence of the author, why, they should be read, that was all ! Besides, he really was curious to see what Louise could find to say about things in general, and men and women in particular ; and, accordingly, he opened the first folio which came to his hand, and which proved to be a tragedy in five acts, written out — as the productions of young authors always are written out — so legibly, with such loving neat- ness, that a printer might weep regretful tears over them. For a while George read on steadily, then he began to lift his eyes from the page and look towards the author doubtfully. Meantime she sat perfectly still on the top of the steps, with her elbows resting on her knees, and her chin supported with both hands, staring at him with the most absorbed air of contemplation imaginable. She would have been a proud girl at that minute, could GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 273 she have known exactly wliat was passing through his mind. For it had suddenly dawned upon him, what some creatures in their teens can write before they die ! There was not much in the story, perhaps, and containing nothing original in its treatment. A father wrongfully executed ; a son vowing himself to revenge ; a woman faithful in love, yet strong in duty ; the scene laid in the remotest Saxon ages ; there was, certainly, little in all this to interest a man like George Geith, and yet he was interested in the authoress and astonished at her talent. He was sufficient of a critic to be able to sift out the corn from the chaff; and as he came upon such a passage as this, — " Revenge ! It is the fire which passion strikes from vice." he could not help marvelling where, in the name of wonder, the girl had gathered her ideas from. On and still on he read, — " Go to; I feel not love: 'twas made for fools, And is a worthless boon." *' It was my all; I gave it <7iee." I am copying from the original manuscript, and I pause here to ask, what George Geith asked himself, where do these thoughts come from ? How can people whom the breath of passion has never touched, whom the flames of love have never scorched, imagine these things ? how, when they have imagined them, can they put them into words ? The genius of youth must, I think, be inspiration. It is easy to conceive how those who have passed through the furnace can tell of its heat ; but it is as impossible to imagine how those who have never been tried in the fires of love, hate, or revenge, can write of their intensity, as to think how some who have never trodden the shores of a- foreign land can describe its scenery. Meantime George still read on, read conscientiously, till 18 274 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. he came to the last page ; then he turned over the cover, and looked at Louise. " Well, Mr. Geith " — He could see that the face of the Molozane Solomon was very pale as she said this inter- rogatively. " I am astonished, Miss Louise. I did not think you could have done it. I do not know where you can have got it." And opening the manuscript again, he looked once more over this : " Thou knowest not my nature: The babbling brook, that ever pines and frets, A breeze will still; but the wide boundless ocean Smiles at the feeble breeze, and can be tost By Heaven's whirlwinds only: so my soul Looked on life's troubles with a placid eye. And bore them meekly, as what all endured And the gods ordered ; but the loftier storm Hath roused its slow awakened energies, And stern and steady are they." " You think I can write, then ? " She was by this time standing beside him. " I am certain you can." " And shall I make money ? " " That is a diiferent matter ; you may perhaps hereafter." « Hereafter ! when ? " " Fifteen, twenty years, perhaps," he said. " When papa is dead ; when the Park is gone ; when I shall care for nothing ; when it will not signify what comes or what goes ; " and she fell on her knees beside the table, and rained such tears over her papers as George had never previously seen fall from a woman's eyes. Did he need to ask then where she got part of her inspiration ? Was he coming to understand at last that the life's book of the youngest may liold w^ithin its pages something of which the philosopliy of the oldest dreams not ? Had this been the vision of the child beside him ? Had she been thinking to redeem the past, to gild the future ? GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 275 Had she fallen into the usual error of imagining an ink- bottle would prove a gold mine, and quires of foolscap an El Dorado ? Had she too built costly castles reaching to the skies ? Had she talked to her own heart of the certainty of possibilities ? In the solitude of soul into which she seemed to have retired, had she sketched the outline of a landscape which was never to be filled in ? And was reality horrible after the dream ? "Were those tears the sobs wherewith youth ever mourns the first touch of the cold water of experience ? Life is so icy, its practical lessons are so stern, that it is no marvel the young weep shudderingly at the plunge, and look back through blinding tears regretfully towards the bank which they can never regain. If George had spoken at random, he had spoken truly, and truth always travels straight home, for which reason Louise fell on her knees and wept, crying over her manu- scripts such tears as unhappy mothers have sometimes cause to shed over their firstborn. If there had been joy in these things, there was trouble likewise ; if, after her travail, she had rejoiced, so now, be- cause of creations which she had brought into the world, she mourned ; and George was vainly essaying some word of comfort, hopelessly racking his brain for sentences of conso- lation, when Beryl came in, and took the office of soother upon herself. If George Geith had wanted anything more to make him in love with the girl, her conquest would have at that mo- ment been complete. Had the fire needed fuel, there would have been sufficient heaped on it at that moment to make its flames inextinguishable. There was a something so indescribably tender about the way she took her sister to her ; it was so pitiful to see the two clinging to one another. Beryl's sympathy was so true, her self-forgetfulness so real ; the look in her brown eyes, as she lifted them to George's face, so vexed and troubled, that 276 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. the accountant thought he had never seen so exquisite a home picture as that pair of young creatures seated together on the ground, with arms twining round waist and neck, with heads touching, with flowing dresses intermingling, and lying in masses of light drapery over the dark-green carpet. " Don't cry, dear ; don't cry," was all the eldest could find to say at first ; but as by degrees she gathered from George the cause of the outburst, she murmured better words of comfort, and clearing, by some feminine chemistry, every dark tint out of the future, presented it in such bright hues for Louise's inspection, that, as the clouds will clear off a child's face at sight of a pleasant picture, her tears began to cease, and her sobs to grow less frequent. But she never raised her head from Beryl's shoulder ; she never took her arms away from clasping Beryl's neck, all the time she listened to the hopeful story her sister whis- pered ; she nestled close to a heart which seemed strong enough and brave enough to bear its own sorrows and another's too. " Now, I wonder," thought George, " what Miss Molozane would have done had she been here ; " and he was just con- sidering that the beauty might not have shown herself in such an amiable light, when the door opened, and a voice which he instantly recognized from Beryl's mimicry of it, exclaimed, in tones of the most unequivocal surprise and indignation — "Well! I'm sure.** GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 277 CHAPTER XXIV. MR. RICHARD ELSENHAM. At the sound of the well-known voice, Beryl started to her feet with a suddenness which almost threw Louise on her face. " Good gracious ! grandmamma, how you did startle me ! " she cried, her cheeks all aglow. " How you have shocked me," retorted her virtuous rela- tive. " Beryl, when will you learn to conduct yourself like a young lady ? Rise up, Louise, and sit properly upon a chair. What are you crying about ? Dry your eyes this moment, and" with that stiffening of the back of which Beryl made such a point, " Who is this gentleman, if I may in- quire ? " "That gentleman is Mr. Geith, Mrs. Elsenham," said Beryl, who had by this time recovered from her fright ; " and — how did you come, grandmamma ? how did you get in ? I never heard you. Have you seen Matilda ? " " I have seen no one but yourself," answered Mrs. Elsen- ham. " The hall-door was open ; I knocked, I rang ; but, as usual, no one attended to the summons. I went into the drawing-room : it was empty. Then, hearing voices, I tried the library." " I am very sorry," said Beryl, apologetically ; " won't you come up-stairs now, and take off your bonnet ? " "I suppose Gibbs is with you?" And Beryl manoeuvred her grandmother to the door, from which point she shot back a comical glance towards George, who had remained stand- ing from the time of Mrs. Elsenham's appearance. As for 278 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Louise, at an early period she had effected her escape from the room ; and Beryl, as usual, was left to meet the storm which she knew would be sure to burst when once the door closed behind them. " Sha'n't I catch it ? " said the look she cast towards George, as plainly as a look could speak ; and it would not be affirming too much to say that Beryl rather enjoyed the idea of the scolding, which she intended to reproduce for her friend's benefit at the earliest opportunity. For the young lady was perfectly indifferent to anything her grandmother chose to say to her. " Hard words break no bones," she remarked to George afterwards ; " and I am, thank goodness, too old now to have my ears boxed. How that respectable relative of mine used to make them tingle ! " If scolding could have made them do so, Beryl's feelings need not have been envied ; but, as she remarked, " Such a trifling thing as her grandmother's opinion produced no effect upon her." On George, however, Mrs. Elsenham's words of wisdom fell with the sharpness of hail. Her worldly ideas came upon him like frost in summer ; and when into his Eden this ancient serpent entered, he felt that the sooner he got out of Paradise the better it might be for him and every other person concerned. Not all Beryl's powers of mimicry could reconcile him to Mrs. Elsenham's peculiarities. The minutes which the young lady stole in order to tell him Granny's "latest" could not make him feel other than perfect detestation for the manner in which said Granny tracked Beryl's footsteps, and compel her to make ignominious and hurried retreats from the library on to the terrace. From the minute Mrs. Elsenham re-closed the door, Beryl's face reappeared at the window ; and the hiding and seeking at which the pair played, the lurking behind ivy and honey- suckles, and the triumphant flights which Beryl effected, GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 279 were amazingly amusing and exciting. During the whole of bis life at the Dower House George Geith had never laughed so much as he did now at grand-daughter and grandmother ; but it was intolerable to have to laugh silently, and at times when Beryl was within ear-shot, when her last sentence was scarcely spoken, he found it almost impossible to reply to Mrs. Elsenham's inquiries with necessary gravity. What the lady suspected — whether she thought Beryl was mak- ing love to him or he to Beryl ; whether she guessed Beryl was ridiculing her, or imagined she was making the account- ant's stay too agreeable, George could not decide ; he only knew that Mrs. Elsenham laid herself out to be unpleasant, and that in this laudable design she succeeded to perfection. For to him her manner was insufferable. If he had been a servant, and necessary to her comfort, or conducive to her convenience, she might have treated him with some con- sideration and courtesy ; but, as he happened only to be a man in business, she missed no opportunity of letting him know his rung of the social ladder was very near the ground. To George she was like a perpetual blister. It seemed as though she were trying to enter a continual protest against his presence in the house, and the feeling wherewith it pleased the owner thereof to regard him. Cordially he hated her, her maid, and her dog, a nasty, snarling, yelp- ing cross-grained King Charles, that always had something the matter witii its throat, which rendered necessary external applications of oil, and the internal administration of cream. "I should like to put a stone round its neck," observed George to Beryl. " I shall kill it some day, I know," she replied ; " and then if Granny can hang me for wilful murder, I shall die the death." As for Mr. Elsenham, senior, the gentleman who always travelled in his sister-in-law's company, he was a perfectly unoffending personage, who took to George amazingly, as- 280 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. sured him he would get on, told him he had once been a city man himself, and that he had made a deal of money. "A very great deal," he added, champing his toothless jaws the while. "Ah ! the city 's the place where all 's said and done ; and the west is very nice, and the country is very pleasant — give me the city." And then the accountant wondered if this old man, who had money and leisure, really would like to return to a dull city office, and pore over musty books. With the sunlight streaming over him, he forgot that the sun had almost done shining anywhere for Mr. Elsenham, and that he was looking back as he spoke to days when even a city office seemed gay and cheerful ; to days when he was young, and life lay all before him. It was funny to notice how jealous Mrs. Elsenham be- came of her kinsman's liking for the accountant ; how con- stantly she interposed her portly figure between them ; how frequently she bore Dives off in triumph to read good books to him, over which he fell asleep. Beryl's description of these readings, and of the way in which Mr. Elsenham seized on any chance of escape from them, was irresistibly comic. Indeed, whaf was there in those days that was not comic, save the state of Mr. Molo- zane's affairs, and the certainty that the accounts were nearly finished, and that George's holiday was consequently almost ended. One other thing also, perhaps, was not ludicrous — a new phase of Mr. Richard Elsenham's character ; one for which George Geith could have kicked him from Withefell to Lon- don without wearying of the exercise, viz., getting dead drunk when a suitable opportunity offered, and boasting in his cups that Beryl liked him better than she liked anybody else on earth. " I 'd have but to hold up my finger," he hiccupped, as he and George walked home from Withefell, "and — she'd — .come. Matilda 's not my choice — damn her — she 's the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 281 deviFs ; and if the devil was dead, and I had her money, I 'd have Beryl ; and " — with an awful lurch, which nearly capsized his companion — " Beryl would have me." '^She would not," said George, provoked out of his silence. " She — would," affirmed her admirer ; " she likes me better — than she does — Wern ; " and Mr. Elsenham plumped down on the side-path, and commenced invoking blessings on his Beryl. " Get up, you brute ! " exclaimed George ; and he shook his companion, who, catching his hand by a maudling — " I 'm sorry for you, old fellow ; I like you ; you 're a trump. But you mistake ; you think Beryl likes you ? she don't. I know Beryl, and I know — she 's — a humbug." Having vouchsafed which piece of information, Mr. Elsen- ham fell back into the accountant's arms. " It would serve you right to leave you to sleep in the road," remarked Mr. Geith, while he endeavored to steady his companion's steps. " Beryl will — marry — Wern," proceeded Miss Molo- zane's fiance ; " when she can't have me she '11 take the highest bidder. If I'd the spirit of a mouse, I'd send Ma- tilda to the right-about, hang her, and take Beryl." And after this statement, Mr. Elsenham began to sing " Lizzie Lindsay " at the highest pitch of his voice. Whether it was that the thought of Lord Ronald Clanro- nald's happiness proved too^much for him, or that the idea of George Geith's misery touched his heart, I do not know, but when he came to the last line of the song, which states that the energetic young person whose adventures it records had gone off — " His pride and his darling to be." Mr. Richard Elsenham commenced whimpering, and took George entirely into his confidence. " I 'd rather see her your wife than Wern's," he said ; " Wern would not come home with me as you are doing ; 282 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Wern would send his footman with a pair of cursed calves ; Wern 's a milksop ; Wern 's a saint ; he does not smoke ; and if Beryl marries him I '11 never go and see her, I '11 cut her, I '11 disown her, I '11 be if I don't." The foregoing sentence in which, as Dick Elsenham spoke it, every second word was an oath, was jerked out by the di*unken idiot as he staggered along the path, leaning on the accountant's arm. With what feelings George Geith listened to it, I think I need not record ; but as Dick proceeded to say that Beryl was only going to marry the saint for an establishment, and that her father had put her up to it, and that when she was mistress of the Park, Mr. Wern would be nowhere, his companion grew so furious that he could not help stopping short, and shaking Mr. Elsenham till the young man had scarcely a breath left to draw. " If you can think of nothing good to say about your rela- tions, for God's sake hold your tongue," he observed ; " don't soil your cousin's name by dragging it through the mire and dirt of your own nature ; for if you do, I '11 leave you to find your way back to the Dower House as best you can." Whereupon Mr. Elsenham became pathetic, and en- treated George not to desert him. " I have nobody in the world," he wept ; " and I 'm fond of you ; I love you like a brother." " If you were my brother I 'd thrash you till I was tired ; I would certainly cure you of making a beast of yourself." "It — was — all — that — claret," explained Mr. Elsen- ham ; and he rambled on for some time about the devilish good wine the snob had in his cellar, and about what a grand thing it was for swells that there were snobs who were glad to entertain them. All the meanness and vulgarity of the man's nature revealed itself to George's gaze during the course of that interminable walk ; all his arrogance, self-conceit, want of truth, and want of principle, were exhibited by Miss Molo- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 283 zane's suitor for the accountant's benefit, and he was at last provoked to say, — " If your cousin has ever seen you like this, I don't won- der at her hating you." " Hate me ! she loves me ; she sits up for me ; Beryl likes the ground I walk on ; and I love Beryl ; and she loves me. You thought perhaps she liked you, old fellow, but that was only because we kept it — so close — so — dark." After that George Geith held his peace. Out of the past there came to him the proverbs once so familiar : " Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit." " Speak not in the ears of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of thy words." " Though thou shouldest bray a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him." At the moment, I am afraid the accountant wished he had the braying of that lump of folly, laziness, conceit, and arro- gance, that he had the felicity of escorting back to the Dower House, where, exactly as Mr. Elsenham had said, Beryl was sitting up for them. "I — told — you so," said her cousin, with drunken grav- ity, propping himself up against one corner of the hall, and ^baking his head solemnly at George, who could scarcely resist laughing at the figure the man presented. " Beryl — a'n't you — fond of me ? " •' No, I am not," answered Beryl ; " and if you do not go to bed at once, I shall tell Granny about you to-mor- row." " You may tell the — devil," retorted Mr. Elsenham ; and he thrust his hands into his pockets, and surveyed his cousin with an idiotic smile. " Wait — till — till — you Beryl ; we had sthunning — dinner — and I made — myself — pleasant — to Miss Finch." " I wish you were married to her," said Beryl, in an audi- ble aside. 284 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " And Wern was there — and — con — dieted me — and if — you take him Beryl, I '11 — never be friends with you — never." At which stage Mr. Elsenham's hat, that had previously been very mucii on one side, fell off; and whilst he was vainly attempting to pick it up. Beryl took the opportunity of asking Mr. Geith to get him to go to bed. It was by no means a difficult task, for being almost too tipsy to be troublesome, he suffered George to help him up- stairs, where, after a vain attempt to pull off a very tight pair of boots, George left him to his fate. " Does Miss Molozane know ? " the accountant could not help asking Beryl next morning. " Of course she does ; she has seen him what he calls ' moppy ' often enough. Oh I indeed Dick is a very nice young man, and will make an admirable husband." Which answer, and the indignant sarcasm of Beryl's man- ner as she spoke it, caused Mr. Geith to reflect, as he trav- elled from St. Margaret's to London, that it was a more difficult tiling for girls to get married to their minds than he had once supposed. Given, for instance, the Molozanes. The two eldest could certainly settle well if they chose, but then, would that set- tling be at all to their satisfaction ? He saw how hard it would, be for them to meet with exactly the suitable person. Situated as they were, they could scarcely hope to unite love and com- petence, or competence and love. They might in one sense make great matches, secure husbands who could at once raise them to aftluence, and give them every advantage to which their birth entitled them. The sets-off against those matches were the impossibility of such girls as they really and truly loving the husbands who thus endowed them with all manner of worldly possessions ; the differences of opinion and taste that would be certain to arise ; and in Matilda's case the tortures, consequent on his vulgarity, to which she would be subjected if she were to discard her cousin, and marry Mr. Finch. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 285 That she had chosen that which she believed the lesser evil, George could well understand ; and although he now cordially detested Mr. Richard Elsenham, he could not but admit that perhaps, considering her nature, she had chosen wisely. But how would it be with Beryl ? In all honesty, putting himself and his own personal feelings out of the question, how would it fore with her if she married Mr. Wern ? Would she — could she — ever settle down into a suitable wife for a grave, good, sensible man, for whom she did not feel one atom of affection ? Would not the dull, decorous life kill her ? Would she not sicken of the poor, weary of her wealth, die of the Sundays, despair through the week ? Could she ever get fond — really fond -^ of one so utterly her opposite ? As she nurtured, if she ever did nurture, would not the gap widen ? Would not he get more solemn — she more eager for gayety, more impatient of control ? Would not that love which George felt satisfied she had to o-ive to some one, prove her curse sooner or later ? But there George stopped. Beyond her marriage, if she did marry, there lay a desert of years over which he never could fancy her light feet journeying. Just the same then, as previously, he found he could not imagine Beryl married — Beryl staid. For a moment he let himself try to picture his circum- stances altered, and her his w^ife ; but he found he could not realize that. The only dream he was able to conceive true was this : that for some reason or other he might have always to be coming and going to and from the Dower House ; and that as he went and came he should always find Beryl there, and Beryl still the same. In that waking dream the summer was perpetual ; he saw no dark wintry days, he beheld no snow on the ground, no leafless trees tossing their branches to the stormy sky. The fields were ever green, the waters were ever clear; the 286 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. flowers never faded ; men and women never grew old. No sorrow entered into that vision ; no tears dimmed bright eyes ; no warm hearts changed and grew cold ; no tongues wearied ; no hard words were uttered ; all faces wore per- petual smiles. There was no thought of parting, no mention of farewell ; and the man, the best portion of whose life had been spent in facing all manner of stern realities, gave himself up to the fascination of his dreams, and letting his sense sleep whilst he perfected it, went wandering on through Elysian fields, till the engine, rushing with a snort, and a shriek, and a whistle, into the Shoreditch station, brought him back to the life which it was his duty and his interest to live with all his energies awake. " Was I dreaming of heaven ? " he thought, as he passed out with the crowd, and walked down Bishopsgate Street, and thence across St. Mary Axe, bearing steadily towards Fen Court. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 287 CHAPTER XXV. BACK TO TOWN. It is curious that there should always be such a grievous quid placed against the quo of even our most innocent pleasures ; that so surely as a man leaves his business and enjoys the shortest possible period of recreation, he should find on his return things going wrong ; disagreeable letters piled on his desk, containing imperative demands from duns, announcements of suspensions, or perhaps intelligence -that some friendly neighbor has been doing his best to damage his connection by going round his customers, or tampering with his clients. Whether it fs that the change from freedom to anxiety makes a man less fitted to bear these annoyances patiently, or that the troubles of every day, instead of being met and cleared away before closing-time each evening, are thus accumulated in one formidable heap, I can scarcely tell ; all I know is, that the first day at home, or at oifice, after a long absence, is detestable ; it is a man's sorrowful return to school after the holidays ; it is extra lessons and additional punishments, from sunrise to sunset. George Geith found it disagreeable, at any rate, for he had been in town for a few hours on the previous Friday, and now it was but Wednesday in the following week ; but still in that short time, he discovered that business had not been going well, and that he must never take so long a holiday for the future. Mr. Foss was ill, to commence with ; he had known that, 288 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. but he had depended on his other clerk keeping close to the ofl&ce, and attending to , customers, instead of which it ap- peared that his other clerk had taken holiday too, and that all persons who climbed up to his door had been solaced with the very definite information that he would " Return in an hour," which they derived from a small card hung on the panel. How many customers had been offended during his few days of absence ? How many had come back at the ex- piration of an hour, half-a-dozen times, and then departed, never to return, it would be useless to tell. Everything was wrong, everything in confusion. Letters that ought to have been attended to were lying unopened ; notices that should have been seen to were resting peacefully on his desk. Had he been at Fen Court during the whole of the pre- vious week, it is more than probable he would not have done a stroke of fresh business ; but as he chanced to be away, fresh business had poured in to be neglected. Hanging up his hat, and putting on his office-coat, the accountant, without wasting an unnecessary second in vain regrets, got to work. He was clear of the Dower House now, and could work ; and the amount of business he managed to get through that morning proved a surprise even to himself. " So you 're back at last/' said Mr. Bemmidge, opening the door of the inner office, and greeting George with a grasp which made the accountant's fingers tingle. " I was think- ing of going down to see whether you were living or dead, or if you were going to set up in business at that outlandish place where you 've been staying." " I liave often been here, though you have not seen me," answered his friend; " and I called at your office not ten days since ; but your clerk said you had gone to Brighton." " So I had ; Mrs. B. and the children are all down there. I ran down fi-om Saturday till Monday. Lor' bless you, I can't take such holidays as you do. I can't stay away for a month at a time, and only pay angels' visits to my office. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 289 I was saying to my wife, Hertfordshire must surely hold some great attraction for you. Eh ! , is that it ? " " The attraction of hard work," answered the hypocrite, " which is enough to take me anywhere. And the worst of it is, the work is not finished yet ; and how I am ever to get it finished I do not know." " Well, I must say you look as if the work had agreed with you," observed Mr. Bemmidge, stepping back in order to obtain a better view. " You are worth twenty of the man yon were in the early part of the summer. If you want to insure your life, now 's the time." " What should I want to insure my life for ? J have neither kith nor kin." " But it is never too late to repair that. We have all been expecting to hear of your marriage this fortnight past. Mrs. B. said she was certain — nothing but a lady could be keep- ing you so long out of town." " Which shows how little Mrs. Bemmidge knows of me," replied George. " Years and years ago I married business, and I have seen nothing, so far, that could make me unfaith- ful to my choice — nothing certainly in Hertfordshire ; " and George uttered this untruth with an appearance of the frank- est sincerity. " Well, I am glad you have had the change, at any rate ; you look a hundred per cent, the better for it ; and I dare say you feel a new creature." " It has certainly done me a great deal of good," George replied ; " but health has been purchased too dearly in this instance, I am afraid. Being out of town has done my busi- ness no good." " But you were at work in the country, you say ? " " Yes ; but work in the country never pays like work in town. To be sure," added" George, carelessly, " it may bring new town-work, for Mr. Finch, you know, — Finch & Cross, of Fore Street, — has promised to send me what business he can." 39 290 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Edward Finch ! " exclaimed Mr. Beramidge. " If you can get into his good books, your fortune 's made." "And I have also met Mr. Wern, head partner in the great druggist's house in Little Britain, you know the firm I mean ; and he says he can put a good deal in my way, so that, altogether, perhaps my visit to Hertfordshire may not prove quite unproductive.'' And George uttered this sentence, looking straight into Mr. Bemmidge's face, and speaking as if during the entire time of his absence he had never spared a thought for any- thing but business. Heavens ! what deceivers we are ! How calmly we go on cheating ourselves and our neighbors, till even those who know us best can hardly tell which part of our lives is true, and which false. Had Beryl Molozane heard George Geith talking to his friend, she would really have fancied all he had thought of at the Dower House was hie fee, and extending his connection ; and she would have turn'jd away heart-sick at the idea that all their pleasant hours he had deemed wasted, that all their happy holiday was considered unpro- ductive, save in as far as it brought him into contact with two good city men. As for Mr. Bemmidge, he was enchanted to hear of the good company in which his friend had found himself, and he had no hesitation in expressing his surprise at how George liad " got at them." " There is no mystery in the matter," said the accountant ; " Mr. Wern is a tenant, and Mr. Finch a neighbor of the gentleman for whom I have been doing business. In the country, you know, great people are not so inaccessible as they seem to be in the city." " I wish I could meet with some of these nobs, and get a good order for wine out of them," said Mr. Bemmidge, per- fectly unconscious that a sneer had lain hidden in the last part of the accountant's sentence. " I wish you could, if it would help your balance at the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 291 end of the year," said George ; but he thought, as he spoke of Mr. Finch's wines, and felt assured Mr. Beminidge's primest seals would not be given house-room., It had long been the accountant's opinion, that his friends did not know good wine from bad, and he could not help smiling as he contrasted the fearful decoctions which Mr. Bemmidge had pronounced first-rate, with the pure products of choice vintages wherewith Mr. Finch made expiation for his sins of grammar. "Something seems to be amusing you," said Mr. Bem- midge, with the air of a man readjj^ to take share of a joke. "I ^vas thinking of Mr. Finch," answered the accountant; "he is an oddity, if ever there was one, and his sister I think is odder still." "Would she suit? " asked Mr. Bemmidge, significantly. " I don't know what she might have done thirty years ago," was the reply, " but she certainly would not now\" " That 's a pity ; but at any rate you seem to have been in luck's way," remarked the wine-merchant. " I wish I could get such a chance." " Perhaps you may, some day ; and as I said before, there need be some profit, for there has been much loss. There's a confoundedly annoying thing to find lying for one," he added, picking up a letter, which he handed to Mr. Bem- midge, who first read it through attentively, and then agreed that it was annoying. " If they begin to make objections about discounting," pro- ceeded Mr. Geith, " I must shift my account, for it would play the deuce with me to have to refuse bills ; and I must refuse them if I cannot get them passed to my credit before they are due. With an extending business too, like mine, the matter becomes very serious indeed." " London bankers are Herods," said Mr. Bemmidge ; " they strangle all the young businesses they can lay their hands on. The fact is, that in another generation or two, there will be no small traders at all. Every business will 292 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. belong to a millionnaire or a company, and men like ourselves will have to be clerks or porters." '•It will be a bad day for England," observed George, " when she sees the last of her middle men." And he felt desperately deraocratical as he spoke. "You would think," went on Mr. Bemmidge, "that the bankers here were sworn together to prevent an honest, struggling man rising. There was a merchant in the office the other day from Ireland, and he asked me what the Lon- don banks were established for. " I told him I did not Jinow, unless it was to help the rich to rob the poor. ' What do you think they are for ? ' said I. "^' Faith, and I don't know,' said he, ' for the devil an- other thing can I see that they keep open for, except to have crossed checks paid through them.' " "And he was right," observed George Geith, sulkily ; " they won't discount ; they won't advance. I had a check returned to me in the spring with N. S. on it, when I was only two pounds short, and had paid in the day before a couple of hundreds in post bills and country orders." " What a shame ! " remarked Mr. Bemmidge. " It was a shame," agreed Mr. Geith ; " and it might have done me no end of harm had it happened with anybody else than the person it did. I will do the manager the justice to say he apologized, and said if he had known about the post bills he would have had them placed to my credit ; but then, as I told him, a bank that is so infernally strict, ought to have people in it who knew everything ; and that if their partic- ularity had damaged me, his regret would not have done much good. Keep a balance, indeed ! not if I know it. I can employ my capital to a vast deal more advantage in my business than by keeping it shut up in their bank ; besides, they would not discount beyond the balance kept, and I might, therefore, just as well cash my own bills, and pocket the discount." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 293 And George, who was by this time very hot and angry, flung down one of the windows with a bang. " If you like to change your bank and keep a balance, I can tell you a place where they will discount good paper to any amount," said Mr. Bemmidge. " Norton's, in Size Lane. They are old-fashioned people, and have an old-fashioned connection ; but if you want a really comfoKable, respectable bank, you could not beat Norton's in London: I banked there so long as I could keep a balance, and old Mr. Norton is a man you can go and talk to like a father." Here was a prospect ! One which in this busy world of London is not often presented before a man ! To have any person to whom one could go and talk to like a father was wonderful ; but for that individual to be a banker took away George's breath, and he answered, somewhat incredulously, that for his part he could never look upon a banker as any- thing but his natural enemy. "Oh! yes you could, if you saw Mr. Norton," returned the wine-merchant, calmly ; " he is a perfect gentleman of the old school, you would be charmed with him." « I might, but I am very doubtful," said George. " What balance do they require you to keep ? " " Five hundred." At which intelligence Mr. Geith uttered an exclamation of dismay. " Well, you know it is the usual thing," remarked Mr. Bemmidge ; " and then it don't matter how much paper you put in, so long as it is good ; and to hand it into Norton's is in itself a letter of credit to city people. I only wish I could get back to them," sighed the wine-merchant ; and knowing the state of his pass-book, his friend could well believe his assertion. " And if one wanted to open an account there, how are they to be got at ? " asked Mr. Geith ; " for I know I had trouble enough before I was privileged to draw checks on the Merchant's and Tradesman's. It is almost as hard to get . into a bank as what it is to compass the Kingdom of Heaven ;" 294 GEORGE GEITII OF FEN COURT. and George began beating a tattoo on his desk, a sure sign ■with him of increased anger and impatience. " I '11 introduce you, if yon like," said Mr. Bemmidge. " Although I don't bank tliere, Norton still speaks to me in the street." " What condescension ! " remarked the accountant. " Well, you know, Geith, it is tliought condescension in London for a banker to do anything of the kind ; and he and I used to be very good friends ; and I know he will take my word for your respectability, though I am only in a small way ; so if you make up your mind to close with the Mer- chant's and Tradesman's, T '11 go down with you any time you like to Size Lane, and tell Mr. Norton who and what you are. I suppose I need not say that Norton's is a respectable bank." " Indeed, you need not. I know Norton's are tip-top peo- ple ; my gentry cHents' checks are as often drawn on them as on Codtts ; and if you can go down with me now, we will settki the matter at once." " But about the balance, Geith," suggested the wine- raerchan^, timidly. " I happen to have six hundred, which was paid to me since I came in ; and I take the funds being provided as a sign I am to change my bankers." " What a business you must be doing," remarked poor Mr. Bemmidge, wliose mouth watered at sight of the check. " Yes, I am doing pretty well, considering," answered the accountant, as lie changed his coat and brushed his hat pre- paratory to sallying forth. The six hun(h-ed was trust-money, which might be needed any day ; but George did not tiiink it necessary to tell Mr. Bemmidge everything; indeed, it was part of the man's nature to keep sihmce. Even from the friend of his heart and the wife of his bo>om, had he possessed either, he must have withheld a fidl and free confidence. Tn this respect he was the making of a true man of business before he even GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 295 entered trade ; and business, and long years of loneliness, and the constant habit of reserve, had all tended to make George Geith as uncommunicative, I mean with regard to his own nffiiirs, as need have been looked for in the length and breadth of London. His was a singular kind of reserve, however, being of an exceedingly annoying and deceptive nature. There are some people who are, one knows, keeping things back, telling nothing, constantly putting their thought, plans, wn'shes, hopes, fears, under lock and key ; and for these individuals one is prepared and willing to let them go on their own way till the end of the chapter. There are others again, who, though sealed books to most, are perfectly frank and unreserved towards a few who can tell a story, if they commence to tell it all straight through without any lie, or mental reservation ; whilst a third class appear to be candid, and yet are always hiding away something from their near- est and dearest. Like Ananias and Sapphira — making the comparison with all reverence — they profess to be giving all, whilst they keep back a part ; they play with everything which is holiest and purest in humanity, with its sympathies, its trust, its yearning for perfect confidence ; and because George Geith did this, because, whilst making believe to bestow, he was secretly withholding, I call his peculiarity a sin ; this phase of his character, detestable. From a business point of view, perhaps it was a light thing to pass off as his own six hundred pounds, one penny of which did not belong to him. It might be a venial fault in that instance ; but George carried the same thing with him into every circumstance of his life, and was false about trifles when he might just as easily have been tru* He was not particular about the genuineness of his ex- cuses when excuses were needed ; he did not care about a gloss being false, provided it served his purpose ; and ac- 296 GEORGE GEITH OF YEN COURT. cordingly he felt no prickings of conscience, as he put on his coat and brushed his hat, about having implied an untruth to Mr. Bemmidge. The money was his pro tern., and he would take advantage of having it to transfer his account to another bank, where he could soon get sufficient paper " melted " — to borrow an expression from Mr. Foss — to set him square. " Nothing venture, nothing have," had for long been George Geith's motto ; and yet he was not rich. He was not even speculative. He never threw down his stakes on the chance of a particular color turning up ; rather, he had the cards, and played them boldly and rapidly. To keep the business ball constantly moving had been his aim for years ; and to be thwarted in this laudable endeavor by the perverseness of a banker was more than his temper could bear. " An honest tradesman," he remarked to Mr. Bemmidge, " has to be content to see his two or two and a half per cent. ; but where these banks rob to pay the dividends they do, is a mystery to me. I should like to have the overhauling of some of their books ; I wonder what holes I should find to pick out in them." And so he frowned and fretted whilst the pair walked along Fenchurch Street, and then to the Merchant's and Tradesman's, where George paid the six hundred in with a certain sense of triumph and victory. Afterwards, he accompanied Mr. Bemmidge to Size Lane, in which cheerful locality Norton's bank had been established for upwards of a century. Externally, the bank was dingy ; internally, it was dirty. Further, it was dark, small, and unimposing. At the Mer- chant's and Tradesman's all was plate glass, frescos, mould- ings, handsome flooring, elaborate ceilings. Behind counters, the highly-polished mahogany whereof shone like a mirror, were ranged rows of clerks, who made themselves as gener- ally disagreeable as it was in the power of bank clerks to do ; and in remoter regions, separated by glazed partitions GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 297 from the vulgar herd, was the sanctum of the manager — a gentleman who united the concihating manners of a beau with the appearance of a fop. In Size Lane, how different! Through a narrow door- way the visitors squeezed themselves into the bank, which was dark even in the summer-time, by reason of unclean windows, dingy walls, a pervading presence of green baize, and absence of even the most ordinary cleanliness. Spiders loved Size Lane ; they spun their cobwebs undisturbed in the corners of Norton's bank ; they caught flies till their nets became such perfect sepulchres that they were forced to build fresh cities for themselves and families. The dust of years lay thick on the shelves ; ink, spilled by generations of clerks, stained the desks and floor. The once green baize, which covered the door leading off to Mr. Norton's private room, had faded to a yellowish brown ; the short curtains, suspended from brass rods, that served to hide the then clerks from too curious observation, were of any color but red ; whilst the brass rods might well have passed for bronze. It was generally understood about the establishment that the floor was scrubbed once a week; but if this were so, the boards certainly proved ungrateful for the pains bestowed upon them. Mr. Geith thought he had never set his foot in a dirtier place ; but there was an air of money about it, of there being such plenty at the owners' backs that they could afford to dispense with the modern adjuncts of decent furniture, clean- liness, and light; which went far to impress the accountant in favor of his new bankers. We are all a little apt to think that where there is much glitter there can be no gold, and the more ragged the miser dresses the larger and deeper, we imagine, must be his money-chests. Though he had seen enough of life to get rid of these prejudices, George Geith was still swayed by them, and entered Mr. Norton's reception-room in a contented state of mind. 298 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COUPwT. Somewhat awkwardly Mr. Bemmidge performed the cere- mony of introduction, and then retired into total silence, leaving his friend to talk to Mr. Norton as he might to a father, if he could. Which he could not. Spite of the man's suavity, his courtesy, his pleasure at seeing them, his interesting remarks on the weather, and his readiness to receive him as a client, the accountant did not like Mr. Norton. " He makes my flesh creep," he remarked to Mr. Bem- midge as they got out once again into the sunshine. " Good heavens ! did you hear with what goiit he gave the account of that poor fellow's arrest ? I declare, when he laid his hand on my shoulder, I felt inclined to get up and fight him. He 's a hypocrite, Bemmidge ; I 'm sure he is. Spite of all his nonsense about their consideration for the father, and pity for the son, he had not an atom of compassion for either of them. " Why could he not have paid the money, and hushed up the matter ? The old scoundrel, he could well have afforded it, I '11 be bound." " It was confoundedly sharp practice," said Mr. Bemmidge, with a troubled face. " Mr. Geith, I knew that young fellow once ; he was as nice a lad as you would wish to see ; and the father is a very respectable man, doing a good small trade in the borough." " I think I shall go and hear the trial ; " and as he wended his way back to Fen Court, George, after parting from his friend, went over all the circumstances of the interview, and found that the more he thought about Mr. Norton, the less he liked him. The banker was a man of about the middle height, but so thin and wiry and erect, that he looked considerably taller than was actually the case. He had a long nose, thin lips, clear blue eyes, that looked a person through and through, and the quietest, most conciliating manners that ever a man made capital out of. GEORGE GETTH OF FEN COURT. 299 He was an individual whose aifi\bilitj might easily win the heart of a stranger in an inferior station, and whose quiet respect would take people of a rank equal or superior to his own. " Any relation to the great Snareham Geiths ? " he had paused to ask, when George, at his request, repeated the name ; and to this question the accountant replied in the affirmative. " We have had some business with the next presumptive heir, Mr. Arthur Geitli," remarked the banker, " or perhaps I ought to say, with Mrs. Arthur Geith. There are not many of the original family left now, I believe. There was once a clergyman." George believed there was. " Do you know if anything has been heard of him lately ? " The accountant was afraid there had not ; and, as he said this, he and the banker looked hard at one another, and came to an understanding on the spot. " What took me there ? was it chance, or was it fate ? or do our lives move in circles, which bring us ever round and round to the same point again ? Am I, after all these years, returning to my family, and to people who know them ? Will that old man go and say that I was a clergyman, that I am an accountant ? Will he go and wonder why I left the Church, and talk on the subject before my face?" And* moved by tlie old strong agony, an agony which he thought he should never have had to encounter more, George covered his face with his hands, and looked back over the toil of years, out of the independence of the present to the past which had held so much misery for him. Then humbly, and with a changed expression from that his features had borne when he went out, he thanked God that his enemy, his relentless enemy, was dead ; that no un- tirin*'- feet were searching him out ; that he lived now in no dread of who might be following behind him, waiting to lay hand on his shoulder, and make his flesh creep. 300 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XXVI. ^ DAY DREAMS. It was some days before George Geith was able com- pletely to shake off the disagreeable recollections which his interview with the banker had revived. For so long a time he had forgotten the past, that to have it suddenly reproduced before him was like waking from calm sleep and pleasant dreams to the memory of some grievous trouble which has been forgotten during slumber. For the happiness of a recent present, the past of long ago, with its temptations, which he had not resisted ; with its allurements, which had successfully enticed him ; with its sorrows, which he had not encountered manfully ; with its shame, which he dreaded to face, had all gone down among those dead memories which we are forced to entomb in our hearts. . He had hidden their sepulchres away even from his own sight. He had hung roses and garlands over them, and forgotten there were graves below. He had strewed flowers, fresh flowers, gathered for him by the hands of the living, over the bodies he had coffined. He had looked out over a new existence, and found it to be very lovely ; and behold ! just as he was going out to greet it, there came a general resurrection, and the woes and griefs, put aside as he thought forever, trooped back with ghastly faces to meet him on the threshold of a happiijr life. Was it chance, accident, coincidence, or fate ? he asked himself, as he thought over the matter calmly. Was it a GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 301 warnmof ? Pooh ! what did he care if all the world knew he had been a clergyman ; that he had forsaken the Church for very good and sufficient reasons ? Supposing even those reasons were posted up on the Royal Exchange, what would be the harm ? If the story of his boyish folly, which had entailed such an estate of labor and sorrow on his early manhood, could be suppressed, well and good ; but if, through any accident, it was made public, why, well and good still. In fact, if people generally came once to understand that he had been a clergyman, he thought it would be better for them also to understand why he had relinquished his profes- sion : but, after all, where was the necessity for him to be annoying himself by conjuring up possibilities ? Who was going to tell anything about him ? Who knew anything about him for certain ? Was he not taking fright at shad- ows ? starting at the rusthng of straws ? If Mr. Norton did suspect, what then? Supposing he communicated his suspicion to Mrs. Arthur Geith, what then still ? Sir Mark and Lady Geith knew of his where- abouts, what therefore could it signify whether or not all the other members of his family were made acquainted with it ? Let the past go down into the deep ; and George tied stones about its neck and flung it over again into the waters of oblivion. The certain advantages of banking with Norton, of Size Lane, soon made him forget the unpleasant impression left on his mind by his first interview with the head of the firm. It was like a little capital to him, having his bills payable at such a first-class bank. Drawing his checks on Norton gave him a certain standing amongst his clients ; and though George knew it was all humbug ; though he knew his bills would in reality have been just as good paper if Aldgate Pump had been written on them, he still was glad to be able to ftill in wdth popular ideas, and endeavored to humor popular prejudices to the fullest extent. 302 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. It occurs to me, at this point, that the reader may want to know what an accountant could possibly have to do with acceptances ; why he should ever have required to make a bill of his own payable anywhere. To which inquiry I may safely answer that there is scarcely a business-man in London, the aim and object of whose life is not to get his acceptances into circulation. Bdls are to the trader precisely what notes are to the banker — pieces of paper which it is supposed represents a given amount of locked-up capital ; and which enable him to do four times the business that would otherwise be possi- ble for him to adventure, if he were always compelled to wait until his money Avas free — until he had cash in hand wherewith to purchase and to speculate. Bills are the long credits business accords to her favorite children, and indeed it is the abuse of this privilege rather than its use, which makes the habitual practice of bill- issuing to stink in the nostrils of prudent and honest men. Ready money is best, they whisper ; pay cash, they entreat ; — and the advice would be excellent if in London people ever had ready money ; if they ever had the cash wherewith to pay ; if business-men had not always money locked up in goods which it would be loss and ruin for them to attempt to realize. The clanger of bills is, that men are tempted so often to issue paper beyond the amount of their actual capital ; in which case should the venture in which they are engaged not turn out well, bankruptcy inevitably follows. -There was no fear of George Geith falling into this error, how- ever ; for if he did speculate a little outside his legitimate business, he speculated warily. Up to the time of his emancipation, he had steadily resisted the allurements of possibilities. Let an undertaking look ever so fair, he had passed on the other side, and refused to touch it. He was afraid to risk a sixpence on any venture, let it look as prom- ising- as it would ; and, therefore, up to the time when you, GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 303 my reader, first made his acquaintance, lie had been simply and purely an accountant — nothing more. Once free, however, once he had realized the fact that his earnings were his own, to do what he liked with, that he had no further need to lay by for a special object, for one sole end, he began to look about for secure investments, for safe speculation, wliereby he might hasten the process of money- making, and add hundred to hundred with greater rapidity than had hitherto been the case. The great evil of his own business he ^had found to be, its entire dependence on his own exertions. In it there was no casting of seed into the ground, and then leisure till the harvest ; no sending forth of vessels, and idleness till their white sails reappeared in the offing. Ill or well, if his busi- ness were to succeed, he must be at his post. AVhether tired or not, he must still continue that weary reckoning up of columns, that never ending addition, that constant calculation which in time wears out the strongest constitution, and weak- ens the perceptions of the clearest head. Even to himself, George Geith could not deny but that the toil had told, that the business chains had worn down into his flesh, and that but for his holiday he might not have been able to continue at the same pace the race with fortune which for years he had been running. For whicli reason he turned his attention towards increas- ing his capital still more quickly, and, toget herwith one of his clients, a man of experience and high business standing, speculated in such colonial products as seemed the safest venture, and promised the quickest returns. And now the accountant began to do amazingly welh In all businesses it is the first step which costs. Once that step is made successfully, the rest, to an energetic and sensible man, is easy; and George Geith was both. Beyond all things he was practical, and he had no visions of a great future to be secured by any means, save that of hard and unceasing work. 304 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. He did not speculate in order to sit down idle ; he merely did so to accelerate his progress upwards, and to enable him to vary his occupation. Figures ! Sometimes now he grew dizzy after he had been calculating for hours ; and he knew enough of man's physical constitution, and had heard enough of evil resulting to others from inattention to such symptoms, to induce him to turn his thoughts to some business which should not tear his brain so much as did that of an accountant. Merely as an accountant, however, he was doing remark- ably well : clients tripped in one after another. Mr. Finch was as good as his word, and Mr. Wern perhaps a little better ; for both of which reasons George soon found him- self rising into note. From the moment that he began to bank at Norton's, for- tune seemed never weary of showering prizes upon him. Everything he touched turned out prosperously. He made money, as Mr. Foss phrased it, " like dirt " ; and, sitting in his office in Fen Court, looking out on the trees, the leaves of which were now brown and withering, it might be that some vision of future wealth, of a happy home, of a wife like Beryl Molozane, began to float vaguely before him. Separated from her, fearful that in the time to come he should never again be domesticated in that dear old house, the same as he had been in the days that seemed so far, far away, he began to understand that life without Beryl would to him be lifeless, that money would be valueless, that the future would be dark and barren ; whilst, give him wealth and Beryl, a fair business, a pleasant country- house, and the Queen on her throne would be less happy than the accountant at Fen Court. A country-house, like the Dower House, only nearer town ; Beryl young, Beryl gay, Beryl something from which no man had the right to separate him ; Beryl to greet him, Beryl to talk to him, Beryl to love him ; good heaven, what a prospect! A home without sickness, without shadow, GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 305 without anxiety ; a home with a south aspect, into which tlie sun shone even in the winter ; n home where flowers were always blooming, where there was no vulgarity, no short- ness, no worrying about servants, no living beyond their means, no keeping up of appearances ; nothing, but peace, and joy, and comfort, and welcoming smiles and sunshine 1 Whenever George Geith laid down his pen, and looked out at the backs of the houses in CuUum Street, I think he did not see the gloomy walls that encircle the graveyard, but rather the Dower House, with its glory of roses, its wealth of beauty, and Beryl standing beside him in its old-fashioned garden, his for life ! Painted on the blackened walls, he beheld this picture ; day by day, as money came in faster, as business kept on increasing, it grew more real to him. Above the graves, beliind the trees, he could see the glory of that ideal home ; and he never thought — have pity on the dreamer ! — that over tombs he should have to travel to find it ; that weeping, scalding tears, stumbling over bones, groping among dust and ashes, he would in future years have to pass solitary through earth, looking for the rest to come ! Oh dreams ! oh visions ! oh fair illusions and enchanting hopes ! does earth hold aught more mournful than the memory of some unfulfilled promises ? Sadder than dead children are they to our thoughts. Can we ever coflin and bury them? Can we ever forget that these dream sons and daughters, for whom there is no resurrection, have been with us and are departed ; that their dear faces have sniiled upon us, and may return to lighten the darkness of our onward path no more. 20 306 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XXVIL ALTERNATIVES. It must not be imagined, that, whilst George Geith was dreaming dreams and seeing visions, he neglected any part of his business ; more particularly that portion of it which had connection with Mr. Molozane. On the contrary, he worked assiduously, and made haste to thread the mazes of figures lie had brought away from the Dower House, in order to put them into some sort of intelligible form in town. When he had accomplished this feat, it had been arranged he was to run down to Withefell again, and let Mr. Molozane know the best or the worst by word of mouth rather than by letter. Having promised which fact, it is scarcely necessary for me to add that no grass grew under the accountant's feet whilst he cut and pruned Mr. Molozane's affairs into shape. He had long known what the result must prove ; and yet when all was finished, when the debit and credit lay before him, when the balance sheet, in which there appeared no balance, was ready for presentation to his employer, George Geith hesitated and grew cowardly. He would rather any hand but his had to strike the blow ; any tongue beside his own to tell the poor, proud gentleman there was no hope, that the disease was past remedy, the cancer too deep for any surgeon's knife to cure. It seemed so like ingratitude for him to announce inevi- table ruin, for one who had been made so welcome, who had been so unutterably happy at the Dower House, to assure GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 307 the owner he must leave it, and earn his own and his chil- dren's bread as best he might ? To sensitiveness, to over-delicacy in regard of others' feelings, George Geith could lay no claim ; but he felt there would be something almost brutal in forcing such news on any man, and accordingly he laid by the papers when they were completed, and deferred making his communication, until a letter from Mr. Molozane left but one course open for him, which was to go to the Dower House and tell the man who had been kind to him, that the accounts were cor- rect, and that he was — a beggar ! And as he arrived at this inevitable conclusion, the wind swept mournfully through the branches of the trees in the churchyard, and with sobs and moans stripped the withered leaves off the branches and strewed them on the grass. Winter comes to all things created, that live long enough to feel its frosts. Snow veils the greenest fields, ice binds the clearest streams, the rain and the wind beat down the heads of the fairest flowers, and the leaves of June's roses lie rotting on the earth, when November fogs succeed to the summer sunshine. Winter comes to all things earthly. It came and dwelt even in the garden at the Dower House ; and when George Geith went down into Hertfordshire again, he found that the leaves were off the trees, that the flowers were withered and gone, that the roads where the dust had lain thick were now deep in mud, and that the field:^, wherein the first breath of a new life had touched his cheek, were sopping and soaking with wet. Nevertheless, it was to the Dower House he was journey- ing ; and even had the snow lain thick on the ground, had frost and ice chilled the blood in his veins, George Geith would not have cared, providing always each step he took brought him nearer and nearer to the dear old home. Where on his arrival he found no visitors stopping, and the same cordial welcome as ever for himself. Blazing fires 308 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. in the room in lieu of the former sunshine without, closed windows and doors instead of the open-air life he remem- bered. What then ? it was still home to George Geith ; winter does not chill warm hearts or change frank natures, and the Dower House in November held for this man of business the same rich treasures as it had contained in July. And yet he could see a difference, not towards himself, but in the inmates. Miss Molozane seemed less at ease than formerly, Beryl a trifle graver, Louise more womanly, Mr. Molozane — but here George's heart failed him, the man appeared to have a prevision of what was coming, and to have nerved himself to meet the worst. And what a worst it was ! Looking from the sunny warmth of the Dower House to the cold and damp without, contrasting the calm of that sheltered haven with the storms and tempests of the outer world, George Geith felt that he might in one way just as well have brought a warrant for execution in his hand as the statement which confirmed all the worst fears they had ever entertained, which virtually contained for Mr. Molozane notice of ejectment from the last piece of ground he might ever call his. But the truth had to be told ; and after dinner, when he and his host sat over their wine, he explained exactly how affairs stood, and proved that the first call of the Sythlow mines would bring matters to a crisis. Laying his papers on the table, he pointed out the meaning of the different entries to Mr. Molozane, who, after a moment's scrutiny, pushed the documents aside, and then said with a weary sigh, — " It has turned out just as I expected them, as I feared;" and he rose and walked up and down the room once or twice, as though struggling with an emotion which he did not wish George to witness. He had expected, he had feared, but here was certainty, and certainty is always harder to endure than dread. « What am I to do ?" he broke out at last } " where am I GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 309 to go ? what is to become of my girls ? Oh ! those cursed mines ; if I had only the money now I vested in the shares, I could live, we could live here comfortably." " You derive no income, no small income, I mean, from any other source ? " asked the accountant. " None ; you see exactly how I stand ; you know as much about my affairs as I do myself. Matilda will marry her cousin, so she is, I may say, provided for ; but the other two have nothing, nor the chance of anything ; " and he sat down again and looked at the fire, whilst George held' his peace. " I must work, I suppose," began Mr. Molozane, after a pause ; " but who would have me ? who would find any use for such a person as myself? I might be an agent, or land- steward, or bailiff, to be sure. We could live on little — we have lived on little ; and, oh ! my God, it is very hard that little should be taken from us." At which point the poor gentleman's voice broke ; and, as the firelight shone on his face, George could see the big tears coursing one another down his cheeks. " I must get Matilda married," he at length resumed, " and then decide on some future course. If it was n't for the girls, I should not care. I could bear it if it was only myself;" and he seized the papers with trembling hands, and began examining the items once again eagerly. " If one knew what the calls would amount to," said George, merely by way of saying something. '' But we do not; and if we did, it could not make any difference to me," answered Mr. Molozane. '' No I must get Tilly married, and then think — decide on what it will be best to do." Was he wondering whether another daughter might marry, and enable him to keep the Dower House, George Geith marvelled. In a moment the accountant ran over a list of possibilities, a proposal, an acceptance, an arrangement of Mr. Molozane's affairs, a grant of the Dower House to that gentleman for life. 310 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Could he blame the father and daughter if his ideas turned out to be correct ? Could he say Beryl was wrong, or Mr. Molozane, or any one ? Could he even, although he loved the girl himself, wish her to do otherwise ? for what could he give her beyond a small competence ? How could he help either her father or Louise ? Wherein was he superior to Mr. Wern, who could place Beryl high above all chance of want, who could make her mistress of the Molozanes' old property, who could smooth every after-hour of her father's life, and give the girl herself wealth, position, comfort ? Could he blame her ? With the death-bells of his own happiness tolling in his ears, George Geith felt he could not ; that it would be strange if Beryl did not marry Mr. Wern ; and that the man who stepped in and tried to prevent her doing so, would have much to answer for, if he succeeded in his endeavor. Looking alternately into the fire, and at the stricken creat- ure who sat gazing hopelessly at the blaze, the accountant resolved to forget his own dreams, and to resign himself to a future which he believed inevitable. From the days of Jephtha had not daughters been sacri- ficed for their parents? and should not the practice be fol- lowed at Molozane Park ? Further, was it a sacrifice ? If there were not much love, was there not an infinite quantity of respect ? Did she care for any one else ? Could not Mr. Wern give her everything for which the heart of woman longs ? Would not twelve months transform Miss Beryl Molozane into a very contented and charming Mrs. Wern ? and if so, why not ? Let them marry and be happy, what did it signify to him ? Which rational questions he put to his own heart just as Mr. Molozane suggested that coffee was most prob- ably ready. "And, remember, Mr. Geith, I do not want the girls to know anything of this," he said. " It will be time enough for them to learn the worst when the crash comes." In an instant George was out at sea again. If temporal GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 311 salvation lay in Mr. Wern's hands, why should Beryl not be taught to understand that such was the case, and instructed to play her cards accordingly ? Or was it all acting ? For which suspicion the accountant hated himself next moment ; hating himself still more when he looked at Beryl's guileless face, which was thinner than formerly, and paler, as he thought, too. "You have brought bad news," she said to Mr. Geith, seizing a moment when it was possible to speak without being overheard. " I have brought no news of any kind," he answered. " You have brought then a confirmation of my fears, — the Park must go." " I can't tell at all what Mr. Molozane may do." " You treat me like a child — like a baby — like an idiot," she said impatiently, and left him in a pet. Next morning, however, before his departure, she was at his side again, coaxing, entreating to be told exactly how matters stood. ^ " I shall hate you if you refuse," was the last shot she fired. " Pray do not do that," he answered, sadly. "At any rate, let us part friends, for it is just possible I may never see you again." " Never see us again ? Where are you going ? To China — India — New Zealand ? " " No ; I shall still be in London, but my work here is fin- •ished ; and though I shall never forget the Dower House, it is likely that I shall never have to visit it more." " Why not ? " asked Beryl. " Do you,never go to see any one except on business ? " " Very rarely." "And do you mean to say you would not come to see us?" " I should like to come," he said, with a not unnatural hesitation ; " but I should not like to intrude." 312 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. "Intrude! nonsense!" exclaimed the young lady; "I know papa was going to ask you to be present at Tilly's marriage. He will want some Christian to talk to after it, unless Granny sends him out of his mind between this and that. I think I never did detest Granny so much as while she was here last ; I had a bonfire when she left. Will you come to the wedding, Mr. Geith?" " If I may — if I am asked." " If you are asked," she repeated with a pout ; " as if you were likely not to be asked. It is to be early in the year. Dick was of age a fortnight since, and Granny wanted the marriage to take place immediately ; but papa said he should like us to spend one more Christmas together before she went." Whereupon George began to wonder whether he should be invited to spend his Christmas at the Dower House, or whether he should have to pass it as best he could, in Fen Court. Of Christmas at Holloway he had already had suffi- cient, and more than sufficient, but Christmas at the Dower House ! If they w^ould but ask him, the invitation would make him happy through all the dull days of November, through all the dark, dreary days of December. Was it likely Mr. Mplozane would say anything on the subject before he went away ? or would he wait till nearer the time, and then write? Or would he never think about him at all? " How I wish I knew for certain," thought the accountant; and the idea kept him in a fever all the time he was in the house — all the way to St. Margaret's, to which place Mr. Molozane accompanied him, and up almost to the moment the train was due at that place. "I intend," was the last sentence of his host's, which George Geith subsequently remembered, " to put this matter totally aside for the present. Sufficient for the day — you know, Mr. Geith — and I fancy when my trouble does come, it will prove sufficient for me. Meantime, I will not make GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 313 the present wretched, by looking forward into the future. I should like to spend one more happy Christmas in the old place ; and if you have no better engagement, or if no better engagement should present itself to you, I hope you will join our party. We have not much to offer besides welcome, but that is at your service." What the accountant said in reply, it would be difficult for me to put on paper. He only knew himself afterwards that he had accepted the invitation, and that the train which bore him back to London at the funeral pace which trains on the Eastern Counties line at that time effected, seemed to him a fairy car floating far above all sublunary cares and projects. The man was hopelessly, senselessly, if you will, in love ; and the idea that Beryl was not lost to him, that Beryl liked him, that Beryl's father wished to have him staying in his house, transported him into the seventh heaven of happiness, and sent him back to town to work with redoubled vigor ; to serve a far more capricious and uncomfortable god, the Mam- mon before whom, but for his acquaintance with Beryl Mole- zane, he would still have been grovelling in the dust. f 314 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XXVIII. CHRISTMAS EVE. In the year i of grace of which I am writing, Christmas came to every home in Britain in the garb wjiich all Christ- mases, if they were properly minded, would do so for the gratification of Englishmen and Englishwomen, crowned with holly ; from amidst the polished leaves whereof shone scarlet berries, arrayed in frosted snow, which glittered and glistened in the light of the winter's sun ; with icicles for his jewels ; with white and glorious robes of state, Christmas, surrounded by his minstrels and singers, by his bards and story-tellers, by fair girls and happy children, by gray-beards and stalwart men and smiling women, came sweeping through the city streets, along country lanes, flinging largess as he travelled, alms to the poor, rest to the weary, mirth to the young, contentment to the old, comfort to the broken-hearted, hope to the desponding. " In remembrance," Christmas fed the hungry, clothed the naked, sheltered the homeless, visited the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and beautified with his beneficent hand, care-worn and suffering faces. Free from earthly mists, with the glories of his radiant apparel, undimmed by rain, unobscured by gloom, Christmas arrived, bringing with it enchantment to George Geith. For weeks he had been working hard ; early and late he had been battling with balance sheets, schedules, ledgers, journals, cash-book«, and day-books, battling and winning. He had earned his rest. Even he acknowledged he deserved his holiday as he locked his drawers, shut down Jiis desk, GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 315 closed his safe, and began making his preparations for de- parture. Leisure earned is sweeter by far than leisure given, or leisure stolen ; and the accountant, weary though he might be, felt triumphantly, that, so far as his worldly occupation went, he had not left a thing undone which he ought to have done ; and that no memories of work neglected, of clients dissatisfied, would disturb the holiday which he was about to enjoy. Walking through the city streets, he seemed as though treading on air; he could have greeted every man he met like a brother ; he entertained no contempt for the groups who were holding endless arguments as to what it would be best for them to buy for the morrow's dinner. There was a beauty to him in the prize meat, in the laurels and hollies that decorated the butchers' shops, in the decorations of the grocers' windows, in the long lines of turkeys, in the party- colored ribbons that were tied round the necks of suckmg- pigs ; there was a life in the scene he had never noticed be- fore, a meaning in the merriment and excitement that per- vades the streets of London on a Christmas Eve he had never previously guessed. During all the years he had passed in London, his mmd had been like a broken instrument, out of tune and out of tone ; and the consequence was, that no kind of human melody had been able to extract any answer from it, save silence, or at best a cracked and discordant response. But now the strings were replaced ; and almost any hand that swept the chords was able to draw harmony out of them. Even Christmas, which had heretofore been a fast, which he should have liked to keep as a feast, seemed .to him then the happiest day in all the year; and he could glance at the Christmas pictures, and read the advertisements of the Chri-tmas stories w-ithout a sneer. What a beauty he found likewise in the white country roads; what refreshment in the cold, crisp air; what quiet- 316 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. ness in the eyes of the bright shining stars ; what exquisite loveliness in the laurels laden with frosted snow, in the great black trees whose branches were half-clothed with white. How picturesque Wattisbridge Church looked as he passed it by, lighted up, doubtless, for the finishing touches to be put to the decorations for the morrow ; what a Ciiristmas look the earth wore ; what a happiness it was not to have to spend that evening and the morrow in lonely offices in town. George was so wrapt up in bliss, that he had not sense enough left to whisper to himself that Beryl was the cause of the beauty, the refreshment, the quietness, the loveliness, the picturesqueness, the happiness. Doubtless many philo- sophical men would have analyzed the enjoyment as though it had contained poison, would have taken away this ingre- dient and that, would have exhausted, evaporated everything save Beryl, and found that all else were mere accessories, that without Beryl all was barren ; many might have done this, I say, but not George Geith. He was neither philo- sophical nor chimerical as he crossed the threshold of the Dower House, and was greeted by Beryl in the hall. " The horrid old woman is here," she said, with a comical grimace ; " you will find a room-full, such as they are ; when we had one affliction we thought we mijiht as well have more, and they all look as if they were weary of their lives ; and I am sure," she added, executing r pas seul on the door-mat, " I am weary of mine." " AVho is wearying you ? " inquired George. "Everybody; the drawing-room is a perfect Noah's ark filled with — you know wliat. Granny, and Dick, and Mr. Elsenham, Rev. Mr. Grey and his mammy. Rev. ]\Ir. Green and his sister, Mr. Finch and ditto, Mr. Wern and his niece, Mr. Hastie and his wife, Mr. Brandron and his daughters, Mrs. Ponder and hers ; and there is not a dancing soul amongst them ; and we have been conversing rationally and making ourselves agreeable to Granny." " You surely do not mean that you have been attempting anything of the kind ! " said George. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 317 "I do ; I laid myself out to see whether I could not an- noy Granny more by making myself pleasant than by mak- ing myself disagreeable, and I have succeeded to perfection. I have picked up her handkerchief, and handed her fan, and given her footstools, and got pillows for her back, and at- tended to her general comfort till I knew she was ready to swear. And can't she swear ; oh ! Mr. Geith, you should hear her to her maid ; I would not be the maid for ten thousand pounds, for I should kill Granny, I know I should. I have seen her box her ears for sticking a comb in wrongly. But now I must go to the horrors ; you remember your old room, do you not ? I am so glad you have come." And with that Beryl vanished, leaving George Geith standing in a perfect flood of sunshine, steeped to the ears in happiness. Beryl had included Mr. Wern amongst the bores! Poor Mr. Wern! rich George Geith ! to have such amazing con- fidences poured into his ears ; to hear Beryl was glad to see him ; to have such a home as this to come to ! George verily believed he had entered Paradise, and he lingered a minute or two longer than he had need to have done over his dressing, just to make sure that he was not dreaming, that this happy Christmas eve was not all an illusion. He had seen most of the people mentioned by Beryl on the occasion of previous visits, so that when he at last de- scended the stairs and entered the drawing-room, he did not feel like a man flung head foremost into a den of lions. He knew most of the gentlemen to speak to, and some of the ladies as well ; and though Mrs. Elsenham evidently re- garded his presence as an intrusion, she was the only person in the apartment who did not, after his or her best fashion, try to make the stranger welcome. As for old Mr. Elsenham, who sat in a great easy-chair by the fire, he was rapturous if not maundering in his greet- ing. " How is my good friend ? " he inquired, getting upon his lean legs as he spoke, and mumbling out the words as well as want of teeth would permit him. " How did you 318 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. leave the city ? he ! he ! Grand sight in the city on Christ- mas eve. Have n't seen the shops dressed this ten years. Sit down, sit down." And with shaking hands he forced the accountant into a chair beside him, and began rambling and chattering about the days, " when he was young and very different ; when he liked the frost and the snow and the keen north wind. But I prefer the fire now, you see," he added, with a weak laugh ; " I can't get too near the heat ; I 'm old — I 'm getting old." " I intend you to dance Sir Roger de Coverley to-night, at any rate," said Beryl, leaning over tlie back of his chair. " I will have you for my partner ; so remember, sir, you are engaged, and do not desert me for any one else, or I shall be very angry indeed." " It is you that desert me, Miss Flirt," he protested. " You know you promised to marry me ten years ago, and you have never done so yet." " But I will," answered Beryl, " if I can satisfy myself that it is lawful to marry one's grandfather's brother. I shall expect real settlement though, and lots of pin-money !" " What a mercenary child it is ; only listen to her ! " tit- tered the octogenarian. " I am only telling you what I shall expect, so that there may be no misapprehension afterwards," observed Beryl ; and at this statement Mr. Elsenham laughed till he shed imbecile tears ; which laughter so moved Mrs. Elsenham's indignation that she called Beryl over to her, and remarked : " If you do not behave yourself with greater decorum, I shall speak to your papa." "Gracious, grandma! you do not mean it, surely?" said that incorrigible young lady. " What should you say to him?" " I should tell him you were flirting to a disgraceful ex- tent with that Mr. Geith." " It is of no use, grandma," said Beryl, solemnly. " Papa would not believe it. He knows I never flirt." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 319 " Your manners are forward and unfeminine." " Some people like thera," retorted her grand-daughter. " I shall certainly mention the matter to your papa ! " exclaimed Mrs. Elsenham. " I will go and tell him you want him," said Beryl, meekly ; and almost immediately afterwards she reappeared with Mr. Molozane, who asked his mother-in-law what he could do for her. "I want you to put a stop to the disgraceful flirtation Beryl is carrying on with that man," said Mrs. Elsenham, from the corner of a sofa w^hich she occupied in solitary state. " On my word, papa," broke in Beryl, " I have not been flirting with anybody, nor speaking a sentence to a soul except to Mr. Elsenham. He wanted me to marry him, and I said I would do so at once if I could only make sure he was not within the prohibited degrees." " Considering Mr. Wern is here," resumed Mrs. Elsen- ham, " it seems to me imprudent in the extreme. I do not know what you may think, Ambrose, but I feel sure Beryl will, to use a common expression, spoil her market." " Do you really believe, then, Mr. Wern was going to bid for me ? " asked Beryl. " I really believe, miss, that if you could behave yourself with ordinary propriety, he would propose at once." "And then I should have a larger house than you, grandma; and only think, perhaps six horses to my car- riage ! " exclaimed Beryl, rapturously. With which concili- ating speech the young lady retired from the discussion, and repaired to the piano, where her sister was singing her sweetest and saddest. « You are a perfect swan," whispered Beryl ; " do, Uke a good dear Tilly, play something lively, and see if we cannot get these stupid owls to dance. I am sick and tired of try- ing to talk to them, we have exhausted every subject of con- versation I can think of; try a waltz, gallop, anything ;" and 320 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. thus exhorted, Miss Molozane's white fingers began rattling out. '' I never hear that," said Beryl to Mr. Wern, beside whom she chanced at the moment to find herself, " without thinking of the commeacement of a story I once read ; it began, — 'Strauss was playing one of his most brilliant waltzes ; ' what happened after that I forget ; whether any- body was happy or miserable I have not an idea ; I only know Strauss was playing, and that there was a grand Italian ball-room, and terraces bordered with flowers, and statues and draperies, and all sorts of pretty things." " You are very fond of dancing and gayety," he said, in- quiringly. " To be sure I am ; if I was a grand lady, I think I should be at a party every night of my life." " 1 can't think you would care to lead such a butterfly existence." " Indeed I should ; I can fimcy nothing pleasanter than to live in the sunshine and to die in the shade ; " and Beryl was off again, entreating this person and that to say she or he liked dancing, if only a quadrille. " For, I declare," added the young lady, " I must dance to-night, if only a minuet, with Mr. Elsenham." " It would be very shabby if we were to leave you in the lurch like that. Miss Beryl," said Mr. Finch. " I can only say I '11 do my best to prevent you having to perform alone." " Really, Mr. Finch, you are a treasure," said Beryl, gratefully. " And what am I ? " asked Dick Elsenham ; " I '11 dance with half a dozen of them, if you like." Thus Beryl got the party at last into motion ; and I think, as a whole, when the evening was over, no one had any cause to regret that her exertions had been crowned with success. " Dance ! " observed Mr. Richard Elsenham to Mr. Wern, — " if you believe me, she 'd dance till her eye- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 321 brows dropped oif. Supposing she could have her own way, would n't she go a pace ? " Upon which comforting assurance, Mr. Wern slept that night uneasily. "I believe I have dragged that wheel," thought Dick, complacently ; and he was so well satisfied with the effect he had produced that he danced with all the ugly partners Beryl implored him to select, and endeavored to induce his grandmother to trip a measure with her brother-in-law. Which suggestion proving too much for Beryl's sense of the ridiculous, she had to leave the room, just as Mr. Elsen- ham got upon his poor old legs and gallantly offered to lead the lady to her place, an offer she indignantly declined. " My dancing days are over," she said, drawing a lace shawl around her ample shoulders ; " and if you want my opinion, I should say yours are over too." " Never mind, uncle, I '11 be your partner," cried Louise, in a high treble ; " and I, and I, and I," exclaimed half a dozen girls, whom George Geith liked for their hearty frank- ness. " No, indeed. Miss Loo," broke in Beryl at this juncture, reentering the room; "uncle belongs to me; do you not, uncle ? and he shall dance with nobody else." " Unhappy man ! " remarked Louise ; but the observation was lost on her sister, who had Mr. Elsenham already in his place, and who looked as pleased as though she had just carried off a prize. " Why have n't you got a mistletoe. Beryl ? " asked her partner in a pause in the dance. And the question where- with he went maundering off to bed, led thither by his ser- vant, was, " Why have n't you got a mistletoe. Beryl ? You could have got a good branch for half-a-crown at the green- grocer's in the next street." " Poor uncle ! " said Beryl, " he thinks he is living his old city-life over again. Only imagine, Mr. Geith, what count- less years must have passed since he was young. I hope — 21 322 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. I hope — I pray," she added, almost passionately, " I shall never live to be like that, to be taken off to bed by a servant, and to be old, and foolish, and feeble, and doting. How much thinner he is ; his legs are just like knitting-needles ; are not they ? " What, in the name of all that 's wonderful, was any wise individual to say to such a girl ? Passion and ridicule, pity and amusement in the same breath ! Each time he saw her, George Geith thought Beryl Molozane a greater puzzle ; whether she was strong or weak, wise or frivolous, perfectly straightforward or a little false, the accountant could not decide. He only knew one thing for certain, viz., that what- ever she might be, he loved her ; and that for weal or for woe, in joy or in sorrow, he should still go on loving the girl forever. GEORGE GETTH OF FEN COURT. 323 CHAPTER XXIX. DOMESTIC PERPLEXITIES. Our pleasures travel by express ; our pains by parlia- mentary. Through the loveliest scenes the joy train of our lives rushes swiftly ; at the pretty wayside stations we are able but to touch hands with cherished friends, and behold ! we are off again ; but if we have grief for our engine-driver, care for the stoker, how we creep along the lines, how we tarry in the rain ; what leisure we have for surveying swampy ground, turnip-fields soaking with wet ; stations filled with steam and smoke, and snorting, puffing engines ; what a length the weary journey seems ; what an unendur- able companion the trouble we are compelled to travel with proves. Was there ever a long happy day, I wonder, even though it fell at midsummer? Did not the sun hurry on his way, and set at noon, just as the tide of our happiness was rising hio'hest ? Are not twelve hours of bliss distilled into min- utes ? and when the moment of parting comes, does it not seem as though we had but that instant clasped hands in joyous greeting ? With George Geith this was the case, at any rate. Christ- mas eve and Christmas day were gone almost before they came ; and as he drove over to St. Margaret's, in the gray light of a w^inter's morning, he cursed time's rapid flight, and wished that at the Dower House he could pluck all the feathers from its wings. Still, though the happiness was gone, he could look back on it with unutterable satisfaction. 324 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. He had been on the enchanted island ; and when tossing in the midst of the ocean, he could recall its beauties. Though away from the sunshine, he could remember its brightness ; and, amidst all the din and turmoil of his busi- ness life, he could still find leisure to thhik of the Dower House, and the happy quiet hours he had spent there. Sometimes whilst waiting in another man's office, some- times in the loneliness of his own home, whilst walking through the crowded streets, and again when sitting silent in omnibus or train, George Geith's thoughts hurried eagerly back to the little green spot in the way he had travelled, and rested there. That the memory of it kept him awake at night, I cannot say ; but I do know he thought of the Dower House last thing before he closed his eyes, and sometimes in his rare dreams revisited it. And in sleep fancy played some strange tricks with the accountant. Once he dreamt he was living at the Park, and Mr. Molozane was offering Beryl to him ; and again, he was poor and Beryl was telling him not to mind, for she had plenty, and she loved him. He was a clergyman once more, and had come all the way from Morelands to Wattisbridge to marry Cissy Hayles to his cousin Sir Mark ; but when the bride arrived, she proved to be Beryl Molozane, who left Sir Mark, and declared she would have no one but George. In his dreams he was an actor in scenes whicli he could never have imagined when awake ; and by degrees those scenes grew real to him ; and George Geith, sober man of business though he was, came to believe that these visions might some day prove realities. For clearly Beryl did not care for Mr. Wern ; and though it could never follow that, because she did not care for him, she did care for George Geith, still hope whispered flatter- ingly in the accountant's ear that the girl might grow to love him as he loved her. Day by day he mentally revisited the Dower House, thought over the hours he had spent there, and recalled his GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 325 Christmas visit, the pleasantest and happiest of all ; the walk to Wattisbridgc with Mr. Molozane and Berjl ; tlie sermon lis- tened to from the family pew ; the old church wreathed and decorated with hqlly and evergreens ; the gathering of friends and acquaintances in the porch ; the comical expression on Beryl's face, as her grandmother's carriage drove off with a bang and a crash and a rattle ; her little aside of " What would I take and be Tilly, to have to be boxed up in that hearse with Granny ; " the kindness, not to say affection, of Mr. Molozane's manner '■ — a kindness far exceeding any- thing he had ever evinced towards Mr. Richai'd Elsenham ; the long, pleasant evening, which was all the more pleasant because, for some inscrutable reason, Mrs. Elsenham elected to spend it in her dressing-room, possibly because, as Beryl more than hinted, she had found the Christmas wine very strong ; the gnyety, the laughter, the fun, the aban Ion, the life and cheerfulness of that family party : all these things stayed Avith George Geith, and rendered his existence a different one to what it was when my readers first made his acquaintance. The Dower House was not closed to him. When he had finished his business there, he was not bowed to the doors, and sent out into the world a stranger. Rather the doors opened widei-, and as a friend he could enter them more fre- quently than as an accountant he might ever have done. He had told Mr. Molozane how isolated he was ; how, without wife, mother, sister, or fiiend, he lived in the midst of the great city, and battled for his daily bread ; and the result was an invitation to visit the Dower House whenever he could conveniently manage to do so. " Whilst the Dower House is mine, I shall always be glad to see you," finished Mr. Molozane ; and I suppose it is scarcely necessary for me to add that George Geith said he should always be glad to visit the speaker. Meantime, it may be asked whether Mr. Molozane sus- pected that George cared for his second daughter. If he 326 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. did, there can be no question about his desire that Beryl likewise should care for George, or he never would have thrown them together as he did. Like many another father, it is just possible that he looked upon Beryl's marriage as remoter; that in consequence of looking afar off, he could not see what w^as just under his eyes ; but it is more probable that vaguely and dimly he desired to have a strongs sensible, self-reliant man for his son-in-law ; a man after his own heart ; a man whom he liked, whom he had found out for himself, who would make his favorite child a good husband. With regard to Mr. Wern, there could be ,no doubt but that Mr. Molozane saw he desired to marry Beryl ; and there was equally no doubt but that, whilst the father re- mained neutral, it was not a connection he desired. Before marriage, men are not so adaptable as women : they see something in the individiial who comes a-wooing besides his face and his fortune ; and, strange though it may sound, the personal likings and dislikings of the males of a woman's family towards one of their own sex, who desires to become one of them, are usually much stronger than that of the female portion of the little community. After marriage, male relations reconcile themselves to the inevitable with a philosophy undreamed of by mothers and sisters ; but be- forehand, they have their little predilections, and are as much prejudiced against this suitor, and as much in favor of that, as women are reputed to be. It was thus, at any rate, with Mr. Molozane. He had his pet prejudices — his especial fancies — and he did not like Mr. Wern. He respected him certainly, but no amount of respect will fill the smallest measure of love ; not that Mr. Wern had any faults, unless being too good, too calm, could be called heinous sins ; but, simply, Mr. Molozane did not like him ; and though Beryl might marry the rich man if she chose, and keep the Park in the family, and place her- self high and dry above the sea of want, still Mr. Molozane would not aid in bringing about such a result. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 327 Undeniably, he should be glad to see Beryl well provided for, the mistress of a large establishment, removed forever from all chances of poverty, all necessity for close economy ; but he felt that if Beryl married a man for whom he did not much care, she would be somehow less his daughter ; and if the choice could be given him, he would prefer that her future place of residence should not be Molozane Park. He and his had lost it. Let it go. He would rather it went away from him and from his absolutely, than that it should be recovered by his daughter. It was easier to a man of his temperament to lose a king- dom and depart into exile than thus to abdicate. If Beryl chose to marry Mr. Wern, well and good. Meanwhile he liked Mr. Geith, and asked him to his house. As for Beryl, what with her housekeeping, the preparations for her sister's marriage, and the constant worry of her grand- mother's presence, she had enough to do during the weeks following George Geith's visit without troubling her little head about lovers at all. " The puddings alone were," as she informed her sister, "enough to turn any person's hair gray;" and when it is considered that Mrs.-Elsenham was good enough to criticize every dish which came to table, and to inquire what had been provided for her servants' dinners, Beryl's trouble will not be considered imaginary. "When Granny is not here, I could declare there are twenty different kinds of meats ; but when she is here, they are reduced to beef and mutton." " Mutton again ! " went on Beryl ; and at this point she made a loop in her chain and looked at imaginary dishes through this imaginary eye-glass ; " mutton again ; I really wonder, Beryl, you are not ashamed to meet a sheep ! as if I could make new beasts to kill for her, the old epicure ! I wonder which I hate most, her eye-glass or her spectacles," proceeded the young lady ; " the eye-glass makes me shudder, but the spectacles make me long to do something desperate. 328 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. The way she balances them on her fat forefinger when she is lecturing me, drives me crazy. I wish she would break them, I do, and then she could not read to Mr. Elsenham. Poor man ! I am often sorry for him." " But cannot you somehow manage more variety?" asked Miss Molozane, turning her fine eyes on her sister, who answ^ered, — "If you tell me, Tilly, how to do it, I shall be greatly obliged to you. To have to feed this garrison with our means is no light matter, without having to serve a table every day fit for a lord. If I could have ' the fish in the lake and the deer in the vale' from Molozane Park; if in this desert I could have the flesh-pots of Egypt, and get some- thing to change the manna and quails' diet, it would be different ; but as it is, I must make the best of it. Would not Granny have made Moses weary of his life ? would not she have entreated for the quails, and grumbled at them after- wards ? I wonder if, when I am old, I shall care for what I eat and drink, and be greedy, and make myself disagreeable like Granny. I would not be in your shoes, Tilly, for any money you could offer me." " Why cannot you have fish and fruit, and game and veg- etables from the Park ? " asked Miss Molozane, ignoring the latter part of her sister's sentence. " You know Mr. Wern would be only too glad to send everything he has down here." " I know he would, but papa does not like it. He does not choose to have anybody's fish, flesh, and fowl coming here without paying for it ; and he is quite right. We are not paupers yet. Miss Matilda." " You ought to marry Mr. Wern, and then these things would belong to you of right," said the beauty. " If ever I do marry Mr. Wern, there is one thing you may be sure of," retorted Beryl, sharply, « that Granny shall never enter the Park gates." From which speech it will be seen that the idea of marrying Mr. Wern had entered the child's head and was entertained by her. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 329 " Bless me ! " exclaimed Miss Molozane ; and that young lady proceeded with her dressing. " I think if ever I do marry Mr. Wern," continued her sister, brushing her hair vehemently as she spoke, " I shall marry him to spite Granny. I know nothing on earth would annoy her so much as to think I was richer than she ; and that good man is twice as rich. What a thing- it is, Tilly, to consider what lots of money some people have ! " And at this point Beryl sighed and looked over the Park, on which the snow was lying thick. "I wish we had some of it," remarked Miss Molozane. " I wish Mr. Elsenham would leave us his fortune when he dies." " I wish he would give it to us now," said Beryl. " He cannot enjoy it all, and he would miss nothing but the good books Granny reads to him; and if he likes them, which I do not believe, I am sure any curate would give him a couple of hours a day for fifty pounds a year. Any person like Mr. Elsenham, who has not a house, who gives no em- ployment, wlio spends only about a tenth of his income, and lets the remainder accumulate, ought to be compelled to pro- vide for young people like ourselves, who really could enjoy money." " I suppose grandmamma will have it all," remarked Miss Molozane. " Or Dick," answered her sister. '' For your sake, I hope, Dick ; for I must say I wish he had some fortune of his own. I should not like to be dependent on Granny for every morsel of bread I eat ; and Granny will live until the millennium. - Mark my woi'ds, Tilly, and see if she does not!" But at this point Miss Molozane thought it best to change the conversation. Beryl had such a disagreeable knack of turning the worst side of her intended marriage out, of show- ing the excessive dearness of her bargain, that the beauty declined entering upon the subject whenever it was possible 320 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. for her to avoid it ; wherefore, on the present occasion, in- stead of replying to Beryl's remark, she commenced won- dering when " papa would be back." " Certainly to-morrow, I should say," promptly replied her sister, "or he never would have told Robert to take over the horses to Hatfield. What a long ride he will have of it, to be sure ! Had I been in his place, I should rather have gone into town, and come back by train to St. Margaret's." " He can't endure London," was all the remark Miss Molozane made. " I wish Jane was better," groaned Beryl, reverting to housekeeping troubles. " It is so awkward having, as I may say, only one servant, and Robert away, and that fine lady and gentleman of Granny's to be waited on and cooked for ; if it were not for Louey, I don't know how I should do at all." " Can you not get help from the village ? " " By paying, Tilly, by paying ; and I have to consider every sixpence. I cannot worry papa for money, I cannot, cannot, cannot do it;" and Beryl's cheeks grew red as she said this. " I had a few sovereigns of my own," she resumed, " and they are gone, and Louey broke open her box and gave me all she had, thirty-five shillings, and that is gone, all gone, to give that old woman, who might just as well be at Withe- bridge Inn, dainties and tidbits ! It is no wonder I hate her." " Oh ! Beryl, I am so sorry," broke out the beauty. " If you had only asked me yesterday, I could have given you ten pounds, but I have spent it. I had no idea you and Louey were using your own money, or I would have given it to you." " I would not have had it," returned Beryl, snappishly, " for you get it from Granny, and I will not have her money ; only remember this, Tilly, that, if jom are going to be married at all, the sooner you are married and out of this, the better I shall be pleased." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 331 With which gracious speech, Miss Beryl, whose temper had been that day tried beyond its power of endurance, flounced out of the room to see that domestic matters were progressing to her satisfaction. It was a wretched afternoon ;• the snow was lying thick on the roads, and the sky was dull and leaden and heavy. No walking could be had, though Beryl felt, if she could but get out for an hour, she might calm down her irritation, and be better for the task of entertaining her grandmother and Mr. Elsenham through the interminable evening. Dick was dressing to go out for dinner, and Beryl wished she was going too — " Or rather I wish," she corrected herself, " they were all going, and I to stay at home ; " in default of which desire being gratified, she commenced roaming about the house, seeking rest and finding none. Because, wherever she went she encountered her grand- mother, or something connected with her grandmother ; met either that lady marching about holding herself like a soldier on parade, or the lady's-maid in the passages, or Mr. Elsen- ham's man on the staircase. Finally, although the library was littered with various in- ferior articles belonging to the trousseau on which the Withe- fell dressmaker was spending her best skill. Beryl took up her position there, and sat looking out at the terrace, where they had all passed so many merry hours during the pre- vious summer, till the afternoon darkened into twilight, and twilight deepened into night. With candles came Mrs. Elsenham to inspect the needle- woman's progress through her eye-glass ; and from her distant chair, Beryl, whose vision was perfect, watched the proceed- ings, saw Mrs. Elsenham's stately airs of patronage, her wonder-smile of approbation, and heard the dressmaker's ma'am, ma'am, ma'am, repeated, till she could have anathe- matized the creature for her obsequiousness. The town-lady's one great aim was to impress the pro- vincial sempstress with the honor she was conferring upon 332 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. her by suffering the future Mrs. Elsenham's apparel to be made by any but a person living at the West End. One might have tiiought, to hear her, that a handkerchief could not be properly hemmed except within a given distance of the parks ; and that it was impossible for stitching to be passable a mile from Piccadilly. Nevertheless, Mrs. Elsen- ham w^as pleased finally to observe the work was very cred- itable, and the making " beautiful." " I must really show it to Gibbs," said Mrs. Elsenham, referring to her maid, and actually ignoring the fact that her maid had seen the work and reported upon its quality to her mistress. With this gracious speech, Beryl's grandmother left the apartment, leaving a general effect of trailing black satin and sweeping black velvet behind her. " What nonsense it all is," remarked Beryl, coming to the table and tossing over the laces and cambrics with no tender hands. " The only good I can see in it. Miss Sparks, is that it has kept your fingers out of mischief, and will put money in your pocket. As for me, if ever I marry — if ever — I '11 walk to church in a cotton morning-gown and straw bon- net." " Law, Miss Beryl, how you do talk, to be sure ; what would any gentleman say to a lady dressed like that ? " '* I am quite unable to tell you what he would say," an- swered Beryl, laughing ; " 1 can only tell you what I would do. Supposing, now, I was engaged to-day, I should like to be married to-moriow ; and have none of this fuss, and trouble, and worry, and expense." " Well, it is an expense, miss, to be sure," agreed the complaisant Miss Sparks; "but then, it is a thing that mostly comes only once in a lifetime." " It does not come once to some people," Beryl w^as just about to ] emark, when she luckily remembered that Miss Sparks had arrived at an age when her chance of changing her name was small ; for which reason the young lady altered her sentence into — " Once is often enough ; and if GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 333 ' it involves all this trouble, it is, in my opinion, once too often." " If it was your own, Miss Beryl, you would think differ- ently." " Perhaps I might," was the reply ; '■ but, at any rate, that is what I think now ; " and with this cheerful speech, Beryl wandered out of the room, to plunge into domestic troubles again, and to help as best she might to preserve order almost in the midst of chaos. " The next time, Jane, that you upset a kettle of scalding water over yourself when Granny is here," she remarked to the cook who was laid up in consequence of having per- formed that feat, " I really shall be cross. As if you could not have chosen some better opportunity ; " and thus scold- ing, Beryl nursed the woman and saw to her wants. " I don't like to see you nursing about, miss," pleaded the sufferer. "If I do need anything, Ann could come to me now and then." '• Ann has trouble enougli of her owm about the dinner, without attending to you," said Beryl, as she poured the poor soul out a cup of tea. " And now, don't fret, but make haste and get well, Jane ; that is the wisest thing you can do." After which philosophical remark, the young lady settled her patient down for a sleep, first assuring her that she had made the pastry herself; " so I know it will be good, and Granny will eat till she makes herself ill ; and then she will take boxes of blue pills to make herself worse." So far as the eating was concerned, Beryl proved a true prophet ; for Mrs. Elsenham did full justice to the tarts. " If I were you," she said to Beryl, " I would take Ann in to cook, and get rid of Jane altogether. Ann can send up a far better dinner than Jane. That crust was deli- cious ; " and Mrs. Elsenham was graciously pleased, on the strength of this assertion, to take another glass of port, a wine she particularly affected. 334 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Whether it was the port, or the pastry, or the entrees. Beryl did not know; but never before had her grand- mother been so gracious to her as on this especial even- ing. She even asked Beryl to sing ; and was so kind as to remark — waking up from a nap, be it observed — " that, although her voice had no power, or variety, or flexibility, it was still sweet, a soothing voice," finished Mrs. Elsenham ; whereupon her brother-in-law, jumping up from a distant sofa, added, " Yes, that is precisely it, Maria ; you have hit it exactly ; Beryl's singing always sends me to sleep." " So that I am of some use in the world, if only as a sedative," replied Beryl ; adding, in a lower voice, to her sister, "just as Granny is an irritant." " Sing something else," said the commander-in-chief. " Yes, do, Beryl. Sing ' I remember,' " echoed Mr. Elsen- ham ; and, in his cracked old voice, he hummed with her — *' I remember, I remember, how my childhood fleeted bj-; All the snows of the December, all the warmth of the July," till he had to break off, coughing violently ; which brought down a scolding from Mrs. Elsenham, who assured him he ought to know better than to attempt to sing anything. " It is all very well for young people," added his ample relative ; " but it does not do for persons of our age to try to pass for nightingales." " Goodness, grandmamma, did you ever try to pass for one?" asked Beryl, facing round on the music-stool to put the question. " Don't be pert, miss," was all the satisfaction she got from Mrs. Elsenham ; whilst the idea so tickled Mr. Elsen- ham, that he laui2;hed till he coughed again, for which result Beryl, as it was her fault, came in for a lecture. Nevertheless the evening passed off, on the whole, tran- quilly ; and the whole party sat up so late, that, when Mr. Richard Elsenham returned home — as usual, not too sober — he found the whole farm-yard, as he phrased it, still astir. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 335 « Don't move," he said, forcing Beryl back into lier place. "Shing for — me — nothing out of your con— foun— ded operas°but shomething jolly. We '11 shing Buffalo gals to- gether. Matilda, you keep away ; we don't want you ; do we. Beryl ?" " Richard, I am ashamed of you," said Mrs. Elsenham, severely. " Why," he asked, steadying himself against the piano. '• To see you come home in such a disgraceful' condition ! Go to bed at once ! " " That is what you do, old lady, I suppose," he retorted ; and to cut short the controversy, which would soon have be- come a quarrel, Beryl was forced to interpose, and escort her cousin to the door, where he turned, and with drunken gravity assured all whom it might concern, tliat " Beryl was a trump, that he loved her, and that his grandmother was a tough old hen." ^ After this, Mrs. glsenham thought it time to separate for the night. " I second that proposal," said Beryl, with a yawn. " So do I, if it is of any use," added Louise. « Bless my heart, I thought I was in bed," exclaimed Mr. Elsenham, rubbing his eyes. " I am very glad to be awake, though," he went on. " 1 dreamt I was a clerk again at Martin's, and could not get my columns to agree, and he was raging about the office just as he used to do. Thank you, my dear ; " and the old man, putting one hand on Beryl's shoulder, shambled up the staircase, rambling on about Mar- tin's and his balance, and how glad he was to wake, till his servant took him in charge, and left Beryl free to go to her own room. "What in the world is, the matter," asked Louise, as her sister broke out crying — crying almost hysterically.^ " I am tired. Loo ; and I am worried ; and hearing that old man talking about his young days, and thanking God that he had waked to find himself the feeble, purposeless, decrepid 336 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. creature he is, poured the last drop in my cup. I know I am exposing myself badly, Loo, but you will understand what I mean." "Which Miss Loo proved she did, by at once, after the fashion of young authors, sitting down, and putting the whole affair into poetry. " Do not ask me to listen to it," said Beryl, sleepily. " Your notions could not be like mine ; and, at any rate, I have cried as much as I want to cry ; so good night, and do make haste into bed, and put out the candle," — injunctions Louise obeyed after she had re-read her poem lovingly, and erased here, and added there. " You really have torn yourself away from it at last," re- marked Beryl, looking at her sister with half-closed eyes ; and then she went fairly off into a sound sleep, from which, about three o'clock the next morning, she was awakened by a violent shake, and an awful apparitio^i in an elaborate night- dress and flannel dressing-gown, saying to her, in a voice thick with fat and excitement, " Get up, Beryl ! get up at once ! ** GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 337 CHAPTER XXX. DEATH. " I WOULD just as soon have seen a ghost," said Beryl, when telling the story afterwards ; and it may be doubted whether a ghost would have frightened the girl as much. Never before had she beheld her grandmother in her un- dress uniform ; and what with being awakened in the middle of the night with such a bustle, what with the glare of the candle, and the horror of what such a visit might betoken, Beryl was awake in a moment, and standing out in the mid- dle of the room, asking what was amiss, whether anything had happened to her father. " No ; it was Mr. Elsenham," was the reply ; and the words seemed to Beryl's fancy to wander off through the deep forest of her grandmother's cap-frills. " He has had a fit of some kind, and a doctor must be sent for immediately." " I suppose Walton can go," said Beryl, who had by this time ceased rubbing her eyes, and was dressing herself with all speed. " Impossible ; he can't leave his master." " Then Dick must," remarked Beryl. " Can't you send Ann ? " " Can't you send Gibbs ? " retorted Beryl ; and the young girl and the old woman looked at each other. " Ann is not fit to walk to Wattisbridge," went on Beryl, " and if she were, she would be afraid." " And it would be useless for me even to name such a thing to Gibbs." 22 338 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Dick can ride mj pony," Beryl thought out loud ; " I suppose he can manage without a saddle and " — " Go and wake him at once," interrupted Mrs. Elsenham, " and tell him to start directly." It was not an agreeable commission, but still Beryl started off to perform it. After hammering at the door in vain for a minute or two, she lost patience, and turning the handle, went in. " Dick ! Dick ! " she cried. " Good gracious, how he snores ! Dick, do wake ! (One might as well speak to a post.) Dick!" and at this point Beryl laid down her can- dlestick, and with both hands shook her cousin ; an atten- tion which he repaid by flinging both arms out of bed and striking her across the face with one of them. " You are like a vicious horse," said Beryl, " that kicks if it is touched. Can you not waken enough to know who I am ? I am Beryl, Dick." " And what the devil do you want with me ? " was the courteous reply. " I want you to get up ; Mr. Elsenham is very ill, and we have nobody to send for a doctor, and you can ride my pony." Whereupon Miss Molozane's fiance cursed himself if he would do anything of the kind. " But he has had a fit," remonstrated Beryl, " and it may kill him." " Give him another chance for his life then by keeping the doctor away," growled Dick, and he deliberately settled himself among the pillows for another sleep. "You don't mean to say you will not get up?" cried Beryl, aghast. " I am perfectly serious, Dick ; we have not a soul about the place who can go but yourself, and Mr. Elsenham is in great danger." To which the unselfish young man replied that he did not care a damn if the doctor never came, that he would ride over in the morning, if she liked, but that he would not stir a foot then, no, not for the Queen, if she asked him. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 339 " If it was worth ray while, I would make you get up, you great lazy useless sot," gasped Beryl, in a rage ; and she went out of the room banging the door after her, and ran to Mr. Elsenham's apartment to see what was really the matter. " The doctor ? " said Walton to her, inquiringly. " Has Dick gone ? " asked Mrs. Elsenham. " Not yet," answered Beryl. " Good God ! " exclaimed her grandmother, " he will be dead before we can get any help ; tell him not to delay, and to ride fast." " I want you, Tilly," was all Beryl said in answer to this ; and seizing her sister by the arm, she hurried her away down-stairs, across the kitchen, along stone passages, and so finally out into the yard, talking to her as she went. " Then who is to go if Dick won't ? " asked Miss Molo- zane. " I will," answered Beryl ; " I am not afraid of going. Trot will not be long cantering over, and I can come back with Dr. Mawley." « You, Beryl ? " said the beauty. " Yes, I, Beryl, unless you will go in my place." " What would papa say ? " " That no child of his should marry a man who lies in bed and lets women do men's work," returned Beryl, fiercely ; " at least, I know, if I were Mr. Molozane, that is what I should say." "But, Beryl" " Shall we let Mr. Elsenham die and not stretch out a finger to save him ? " interrupted Beryl ; " if that is what you would like, I cannot do it ; so hold me the lantern, Tilly, and make yourself of more use than your future husband." Very mutely Miss Molozane obeyed this imperious com- mand. If she disliked picking her steps across the wet yard, she was afraid to say so ; if she felt it horribly lonely to remain with Trot whilst Beryl ran back for her bonnet and shawl, she yet never ventured to leave her post ; if it went 340 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. against the grain to see Beryl doing hostler's work, slipping on Trot's bridle and tightening his girths, she did not venture to remonstrate, for Beryl never let her forget whose fault it was that forced her into the stable and out into the night. " I would not marry Dick," said Beryl, pulling the straps till Trot groaned audibly, " I would not marry Dick if he were as rich as Rothschild and a duke into the bargain ; I would rather marry Mr. Elsenham ; and if I was you,'^ went on the excited young lady, taking up the stirrup-leather a hole as she spoke, " I w^ould break off the match now, even if you had to end your days in the workhouse. I never felt so tempted in all my life as I did to pour a jug of water over him ; I wish you would go back and do it for me, Tilly." " I will ask grandmamma to insist on his getting up, if you like," said Miss Molozane, meekly. " You can do about that as you choose," answered Beryl ; "he will perhaps be dressed by the time I come back." " I wish you ^vould not go," pleaded the elder sister, " I am so wretched." " And so am I — about your marrying Dick," retorted Beryl. " Come, Trot. Good-bye, Tilly ; " and the young lady was in the saddle and off before Miss Molozane could offer another word of remonstrance. Meantime, in the house all was confusion ; no one knew what to do, or what to get, or how to be silent. The sick- room was a perfect Babel, while Mrs. Elsenham was in such a state of despair as to suggest grave doubts whether Mr. Elsenham had made a will. " If he should go off," she cried, marching about the room in dishabille, perfectly regardless of the presence of Walton. " If we only knew what to do. Beryl, have you no books about medicine in the house ? Is there no one we could send for Mr. Wern ? "Where is Beryl ? What is she doing away at such a time ? Matilda, tell her to come here at once." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 341 « Beryl has gone to Wattisbridge for Dr. Mawley," said Miss Molozane, drawing her grandmother aside; "Dick would not get up, so she went herself." « Beryl — weflt — herself," repeated Mrs. Elsenham. « Yes, but we need not let the servants know it," answered Miss Molozane, careful even at the moment of appearances ; "and do not call Dick, grandmamma," she entreated, as Mrs. Elsenham hurried out of the room. " We had better not let Dr. Mawley know he was in the house : it looks so bad ; it really is a disgrace to us all." " I do not care half so much about the look as I do about the fact," said Mrs. Elsenham, pausing, however, as she spoke ; "the idea of his refusing to get up — the notion of Beryl starting off by herself. I declare," went on the old lady, doing justice for the first time to the grandchild she disliked, — "I declare in any trouble Beryl is worth twenty ordinary people ; she has all her wits about her in a moment. She ought to have been a man," finished Mrs. Elsenham, regretfully ; " I wish Beryl had been the boy instead of DFck." ^ ^ Which wish sucrgested such a series of complicated rela- tionships to Miss Molozane, that she felt herself incapable of making any comment on it ; and the pair wandered back into the s"ick-room to watch, and wait, and long for the doc- tor, who came within the house. " She is staying with Mrs. Mawley," he explained to Miss Molozane, speaking about her sister ; "I did not wait for my own gig to be got ready, but rode back on Miss Beryl's pony. No ; there is no hope," he went on, in answer to a question concerning Mr. Elsenham. " He may linger a day or two, though I do not expect it, but the result will be the same. When persons get to his time of^hfe, it is wick, not oil, that is wanting in the lamp — not oil." *' Will he ever be sensible again?" asked Mrs. Elsenham, who was crying quite naturally and unaffectedly at the doctor's statement. 342 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " I fear not," was the reply ; " but in case he has left any of his affairs unsettled, it might be well to send for his law- yer, or indeed for any lawyer, if there be no change before morning. He might be in possession of his faculties for a short time before death, but I greatly question it — greatly questiofi it." This was a habit of Dr. Mawley's, to repeat some two or three v/ords at the end of every sentence ; but in the present case his repetition only confirmed Mrs. Elsenham's fears, and she wept copiously. " I wish Beryl was back," she said ; " she would be of such use. When will she be here, doctor? " " Shortly, I think," was the reply. " My man was to drive her over ; and I told him to lose no time in case of any medicine being required, so we may expect her almost directly." About half an hour afterwards Beryl made her appear- ance ; but when she arrived, there was nothing more for any one to do, save sit down patiently and wait for the end, which came just as the sun was rising. " I think," Beryl had said to her grandmother, " I can lay his head more comfortably;" and she was lifting it for the purpose when the jaw fell, the eyes turned, and the last breath passed the old man's lips. " Oh, doctor ! oh, doctor ! " cried the girl, but before the doctor could reach her she fell on the floor in a swoon. " Caused by fright and exhaustion," said the man of medicine, coolly ; and he carried her off to bed. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 843 CHAPTER XXXI. EAVESDROPPING. When Mr. Richard Elsenham heard of his relation's death, he made an observation to the effect, that, considering the length of time it had taken him to live, he had been in a remarkable hurry to die. As a matter of course, the young man expressed himself strongly, using various forms of oath on the occasion, and indulging in a greater number of expletives than ordinary ; but the above contains the sense of what he said, and it was all that could be got out of him by any one. Words wasted were Mrs. Elsenham's remarks on her grandson's laziness and want of manliness. His comment on Beryl's ride for the doctor was " more fool she," and his whole behavior became so perfectly independent, bearish, and unendurable, that long before the funeral everybody in the Dower House conjectured Mr. Elsenham had left no will, and that consequently Dick was a rich man. " It is an ill wind that blows nobody good," said the sensi- tive heir to Dr. Mawley ; " I am sure I never expected such luck ;" and Dick, released at last from petticoat government, began to assert his rights. Almost the first use he made of his new freedom was privately to propose to Beryl, who refused him with such a storm of reproaches, that Dick mockingly put both hands to his head, lest the tempest should blow it off. " As you like," he said ; adding, with his customary polite- 344 GEORGE GEITH OF FEX COURT. ness, " but I am damnably mistaken if you do not live to repent your decision." " And if I had my way," continued Beryl, " Tilly should not marry you either — no, not if we had to keep a school." Which keeping a school, being Beryl's idea of the acme of human misery, would have left her with the best of the discussion ; but that Dick said coolly, he was not by any means certain he should marry Tilly at all. " Well, then, you shall ! " retorted Beryl, with charming inconsistency. Whereupon Mr. Richard Elsenham broke out into a roar of laughter, and told his cousin " her temper was delicious." Nevertheless Dick was quite in earnest. He did want to marry Beryl, and he did not wish to marry Tilly ; and when he and his grandmother returned to town, and left the Dower House to its customary quiet, it became a very grave question with Beryl, whether her sister's engage- ment ought not to be broken off. Pride urged one course, poverty suggested another. " Unfortunately, Beryl," argued Mr. Molozane, " this mar- riage is the only desirable future I can see for Matilda. Suppose she gives him up, what then ? " " Why then she can live at home, like the rest of us," said Beryl, hotly. " But will she be satisfied ? Without her visits to Lon- don, without Mrs. Elsenham's horses, without Mrs. Elsen- ham's presents, with no excitement or hope of change, will she be content?" " I am afraid she would be dull," sighed Beryl. " And further," went on Mr. Molozane, " I really think Matilda is fond of Dick, and that it would be a very serious trouble to her to have to give him up." "To give — while he can give her up, I suppose you mean, papa?" "No, Beryl, I do not. She had the chance of having much more than he can give her, and you remember she refused." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 345 " I remember," groaned Beryl. " And as for Matilda marrying a curate or doctor, or any struggling man, the thing is out of the question," went on Mr. Molozane, speaking his thoughts aloud. " She would be wretched with short means ; no affection could reconcile her to a small house, untidy servants, and the want of society, you know yourself. Beryl. Matilda must travel the matrimonial road in a carriage and pair ; and as she likes Dick, I am afraid we must let matters remain as they are." " But if he refuse to marry, papa? " Beryl asked. " I cannot imagine an impossibility," said Mr. Molozane, coldly ; and his daughter forbore to tell him her reason for thinking Dick might decline to fulfil his engagement. Meantime the estate of the late Mr. Elsenham was dis- covered not to leave so large an avaihible income as Dick could have desired. There was plenty of property, but it was property which did not yield a high percentage ; and altogether, by the time his various interviews with the lawyer came to an end, Mr. Richard Elsenham discovered, fortunately or unfortunately for Matilda, as the reader likes to take it, that it would be as well for him to keep on good terms with his grandmother, and marry the wife she had laid out for him. Moreover, Dick had a very wholesome dread of Mr. Molo- zane. That gentleman, he knew, would have entertained no scruple about horsewhipping him had he jilted Matilda ; so after suggesting to Mrs. Elsenham that a settlement on his wife would be desirable, and carrying his point, Dick brought his mind to the starting-point again, and professed his readi- ness to run in the race matrimonial. Mr. Molozane was anxious also that the marriage should no longer be delayed. Drifting towards the sea, he was desirous that one daughter should be in safety before he reached it ; and accordingly when the trees in Fen Court were putting out tiieir pale green leaves, George Geith, opening another highly glazed 346 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. envelope, discovered that Matilda Molozane was at last Mrs. Richard Elsenham. He had known previously that he should not be asked to be present, for the marriage was, in consequence of Mr. Elsenham's recent death, so strictly private, that, excepting the groom's best man, there was not a single stranger in- vited. " I never saw such a dismal affair," said Beryl to Mr. Geith on the occasion of his next visit to the Dower House. " To commence with, it was a raw, cold morning, and we all looked blue. If you can fancy Matilda ugly, I should say she was ugly that day. Our teeth were chattering with the cold, and everything went wrong. The sexton had not the doors open, and we had to sit shivering in the carriages till he was sent for and brought the keys. Then he declared Dick told him eleven, instead of ten ; and I believe Dick had, though it was all settled and written down, so that there might be no mistake. Dick and Mr. Harley Elsenham lounged about ten minutes afterwards, and then the clergy- man had to be brought from his breakfast, and came rushing into the vestry with his mouth full. " After that the sexton put Mr. Harley Elsenham in the groom's place ; and I believe, if it had not been for me, he would have been married to Tilly instead of Dick. Finally, I had such a piece of work to get off her glove — she always will wear them so tight ; and Dick could not find the ring. He had put it amongst all his silver ; and had to sort through about two pounds of shillings and sixpences before he could find it. " When it came to the signing, Tilly put Elsenham instead of Molozane ; and the clergyman was in such a rage, I am sure he could have sworn. Just as if one was beinjr married every day, and knew what to do by heart ! " We were very glad to get back to the fire, I can assure you ; and I think both Tilly and Dick would rather have stayed beside it than gone off." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 347 " After the fuss and to do beforehand," chimed in Louise, " it seemed such a come-down to blue noses and three car- riages. I never heard of such a shabby affair in my hfe. The house was turned inside out for months, and then when it came to the grand ceremonial, everything, as Dick said, ' missed fire.' And if you believe me, Mr. Geith, Granny took all the cake off with her, and did not leave me and Beryl even a crumb to dream on." " She will be laid up for a week with it at any rate, that 's some comfort," remarked Beryl. " And she will not be much here for the future, that is a greater comfort," added Louise, as she betook herself to her writing with the air of a philosopher whose territory has been encroached upon by the vain inhabitants of a frivolous world. Poor Loo ! in those days she was building edifices great and fair on paper, she was raising fairy palaces, and fought in ink with the giant Poverty, till out of her dreamhmd she routed the intruder wounded and discomfited. With her pen she vanquished all difficulties, over tempest-tossed waters she floated into safe and pleasant harbors. To her eye, to her hopefulness, to her genius, there seemed nothing impos- sible ; and she said over and over again to Beryl, that she felt certain as she was living, that, if she could but be in London for three months, she should be able to sell all her manuscripts and make everything comfortable at home for- ever after. Mentally she asked and received fabulous prices. Three novels a year, and as many plays, to say nothing of short poems and trifling tales. "Things," said the young lady, " which I could write in half an hour ; " was the work she thought she could get through easily. " Surely," she observed to Beryl, " I could make a thou- sand a year without any trouble at all ; and you should copy for me, and we would get Miss Sparkes to do all our needle- work. Would it not be nice. Beryl ? " 348 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " It would, only I do not think I should like copying," answered Beryl. " Well, perhaps I might not require to copy after a little time. Oh ! how I wish I could get to London. I do not mean to Granny's or Tilly's, but just to London, by myself; when I could do what I liked and say what I liked, without being snubbed at every turn." Very far away seemed London in those days to the child. She did not know she was travelling as fast to the great city as the course of events could take her ; she could not tell that before the summer glory had faded from the land- scape she would have her wish, and be dropped into the turmoil of the modern Babylon, to make her way to foi'tune if she could. Never came ruin much fa>ter to man than it rushed on Mr. Molozane ; and when the June roses were once filling the gardens of the Dower House with beauty and perfume, Beryl came to understand that they not merely had to give up the Park, but also everything else, — the dear old home, the familiar haunts, the stately trees, the pleasant fields, — and go forth into the world, shorn of riches and station, to earn their bread. The news fell upon her like a thunderbolt. All her fears had never suggested anything to her so bad as this. She had dreaded having to sell the Park, having to live with the same straitened economy always; but to be left without a home at all, or the means to take another, to have either to work or to beg, had not come into her calculations, and for a time she moved about the house like one^walking in a dream. Such trouble as the two girls fell into about leaving- the Dower House, George Geith, who was staying there for the last time, had never beheld. Such linf^erinn: walks over the pleasant fields ; such tearful adieus to wood and dell and fountain ; such treasuring of wild flowers and ferns and grass and mosses ; such a clinging to the very earth, as GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 349 though it were in truth their raotlier ; such sobbings and exhortations ; such long, long looks, that seemed trying to appropriate the landscape to themselves forever ; such silence in lieu of the old mirth, such sick, faint smiles, such flagging conversation. Never had George Geith been in a house before which the presence of sorrow pervaded so en- tirely. But that made little difference to him. In joy or in grief, the accountant liked the Dower Plouse better than any other spot on the face of the earth. He would rather have been with those girls in their trouble, than in any place in Eu- rope ; and so he stayed on day after day, stayed for the end, which could not, he foresaw, now be far off. He was free of the Dower House as though it had been his own home. He could come and go as business required, and always be certain of a hearty welcome, of a reluctant good- bye. All matters were talked over before him as though he were a son or a brother. The irrevocable past, the probable future, Mr. Molozane now spoke of freely to his daughters, while George sat by listening in silence, unless appealed to for advice or an opinion. Worn out in mind and body, it often happened that Mr. Molozane slept in the evening twilight ; and then, quite as a matter of course, George walked on the terrace outside the library windows, either with the girls or with his cigar for company ; and when he was alone, one thought stole ever uppermost in his mind — would Beryl care enough for him in the days to come to marry him, and if so, would he ever have the means to marry her. If he had been rich enough, he was by this time so sure of his own heart, that he would have decided the matter one way or other within the week ; but George felt he was not yet rich enough, and he had laid it out in his own mind that he would never ask the girl to engage herself to him, unless he vvas prepared to marry her forthwith. He would not have her pledge her faith to an uncertainty. 350 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. He would work unfettered by a chain himself. If ever God gave him wealth enough to enable him to marry Beryl Mol- ozane, then with all his heart and soul and strength he would strive to win her for his wife. If not, why it was better for the girl to be free, for her to marry some one else, never suspecting that she would have worked like a galley-slave for his sake. Least of all would he strive by any means to win her now, when wealth lay before her — when she had but to stretch out her hand and take back the lands of her forefathers, and be rich and prosperous and happy. Yes, happy ; for with such a husband as Mr. Wern, V7ith such a sunny temper as her own, how could Beryl be other- v^ise than happy ? more especially — and at this point George sneered bitterly — as she was certain that no such poverty would enter the doors of Molozane Park as might tempt her love to fly out by the window. And when all was said and done, why did not the girl marry Mr. Wern ? Was it that he was prudent, or that she was shy ? Where was the hitch ? Did Mr. Wern not know how the Molozanes were situated? Had he no suspicion that the father would have to become bankrupt, and the daughters probably have to trust to their grandmother for their support ? Or had he proposed and been refused ? George could not credit it ; for Mr. Wern's manner was not that of a rejected suitor ; and his visits to the Dower House were of almost daily occurrence. Would he propose ? would she accept ? These were the pleasant questions George Geith was wont to propound to himself in the evenings when sitting out on the terrace, he smoked in the twiHght till Mr. Molo- zane joined him. It was getting dark on one of these occasions ; he had fin- ished a couple of cigars, but still sat on, waiting for Mr. Molozane to waken, and for the moon to rise. The bench he occupied was at the extreme end of the terrace, and close beside one of the windows of the library. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 351 He had nothing to do but step through that window in order to banish his disagreeable reflections, but he preferred remaining where he was. At times George Geitli Hked thinking till he grew wretched, and on the evening in ques- tion he chanced to be in a self-tormenting mood. Mr. Wern had been at the Dower House twice that day ; beyond a doubt Mr. Molozane had communicated to him the state of his affairs ; beyond a doubt, likewise, that revelation would hurry his proposal, and then, then would Beryl have him, would Beryl go up and live at the Park, and become a great lady, courted, flattered, spoiled. Would he lose her forever? Would the Beryl he had known pass away from the simplicity of her present life, away from the morning sunshine, and the roses heavy with dew, to become the stately mistress of Molozane Park ? If she liked she might do so, but hfe, George, would never wish to see her again ; he would keep the Beryl he had known shrined in his heart, and spoil the effect of that portrait by the sight of none other. He had just arrived at this point when Beryl herself came into the library. Everything was so still around that George could hear her asking softly, " Are you asleep, papa ? " " No, Beryl;" and at the answer the accountant wondered if Mr. Molozane had been thinking his thoughts too in the darkness. " I have come back to ask you something," went on the girl ; " I want to know, papa, whether or not you would like me to marry Mr. Wern ? " She spoke the words very slowly and distinctly, so slowly, indeed, that they seemed to fall down singly and separately into George Geith's heart like pebbles dropped into a well. " What should you like, my darling?" answered Mr. Molo- zane. " It would give us back the Park, it would enable us to keep this house, we should not have to leave Withefell at all, it would pay our debts, and make us Molozanes once more," proceeded Beryl, without answering his question. 352 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " It would not give me back the Park," answered her father, with a certain anguish in his voice ; " it would not enable me to keep this house ; I should have to leave Withe- fell in any case ; for no man shall ever pay my debts for me ; and nothing can ever make me a Molozane, with landed pos- sessions and county influence, again." " Do you mean, papa, that you would take nothing from Mr. Wern, that you would not let him help you, that even if I married him you would not continue to live on here ? " " I could not, Beryl," he replied ; " I could starve, but I could not eat the bread of charity ; I could work, but I could not live on the purchase-money of my own child. Leave me out of your calculations, Beryl. That I should be glad to see you placed beyond the reach of want, I do not deny, but that your wealth should ever help my poverty is impos- sible." "But, papa, from me, from Beryl;" — George, holding his breath and listening as though he had been the meanest eavesdropper, knew that by this time she was on her knees, with her arras around his neck and his hand drawn down on her shoulder, — " from me, from Beryl." " It would not be from you. Beryl ; it would be from Mr. Wern." " I think I shall marry him, and then you will look at things differently," she said. " Marry him if you like," replied Mr. Molozane ; " you have my full consent to do so ; something more than my consent, perhaps," he added, with a sigh. " Could you be happy Avith him. Beryl ; I know he would strive to make you hajipy ; but could you make yourself so, ray darling ? " " I could be happy anywhere," she said, " if you were happy too ; " and then there came a long silence, during which George knew Beryl was crying, ay, and perhaps her father too. After that pause — " Papa," began the girl, '- I have to give Mr. Wern an answer one way or another to-night: what shall it be ? " GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 353 "sWhat you like, Beryl ; whichever way yon decide, I shall be satisfied." " Decide for me, papa ; say you will live on here, lliat you will not leave Withefell ; and I shall then thankfidly marry Mr. Wern." Thankfully ! with that sob in her voice. If he could have got away from his position without letting them know he had heard the earlier part of the conversation, George Geith would have done so, for his own suspense was becoming so intolerable that he was afraid of losing his self-command. As it was — " Beryl," answered Mr. Molozane, " I do not deny it would be a great relief to me if you married Mr. Wern from love, for he could give you everything I should like to see your husband possess, except family; and family in Eng- land, without money to back it up, is a mere empty word. Wherever I might be, whatever I might be doing, it would comfort me to think our child had a good husband able to shelter her from all the storms of life ; but if you do not love him. Beryl — do you love him ? can you love him, my child ? May God forgive me for saying it if it be a sin, my favorite child." " Papa, you will let him do something for you ; " — she said this faintly, with her cheek resting against his. " If I marry him, you will live on here, when I can see you every day, Md come to nurse you if you are sick ; you will promise that?" " My darling, if I stayed on here, I must starve." " But if Mr. Wern " " Stop, Beryl, stop. Should you like to see your father dependent for his daily bread on your husband's boinity ? Should you care to see me eating the crumbs that fall from his table ? Somehow it has pleased God to ordain that I shall be as Lazarus ; but I would rather go away from Dives' door, and carry my poverty with me." "Mr. Wern would be- so happy, papa, to help us all." 23 354 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. "At present, ' doubtless," was the reply; "but he might tire hereafter ; and if he did not tire, I should. No, Beryl, put me aside altogether ; marry for yourself if you marry at all. Consider "whether you could be happy at the Park. Remember all Mr. Wern can give you, how fond he is of you, how good and honest and true, and then decide. Only remember that your decision can in no possible way aiFeot my future." " Louise, papa " " Put us both out of the question. Beryl. If there were no such people as Louise and myself in the world, would you marry Mr. Wern ? If you would, marry him now ; if you would not, do not marry him with any false idea of benefiting us." " I like Mr. Wern very much," said Beryl, firmly. " If you only like him, Beryl, you could never be happy as his wife." " It is a great deal to cast aside, papa," she said, " wealtli, and standing, and freedom from anxiety, but if you would not stay on here, I should care for nothing; I should hate the Park with you away from it ; I should detest living if you were struggling with poverty ; I should be always wanting to get free again and follow you." How would it end ? George, in his excitement, rose up and listened eagerly for Mr. Molozane's next words, which urged Beryl to consider well before she cast aside wealth and standing from her. With a patho^ none the less touching because it was un- conscious, Mr. Molozane told his daughter of the roughness of the road that lay before them, of the struggles they should have to make, of the poverty they should have to encounter. He spoke of the comfort it would be to hitn to know Beryl was suitably married. He said, that in the midst of all his troubles it would be a satisfaction to him to know she was high and dry above the reach of want ; he told her pre- cisely how he was situated, and what he proposed doing, and GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 355 » then he left it to herself to say whether she cared sufficiently for Mr. AVern to marry him. " For that, after all, is the only question we have to consider," added Mr. Molozane, sorrow- fully, " that is all." " No, papa, that is not all," said Beryl ; " what I want to know is, whether you and Louey would stay on here ? Whether you would have a share in my prosperity? Say yes, papa ; say yes." " I can't say yes. Beryl," he returned, " when I mean no." " You mean you would not let Mr. Wern help you ? " « Yes." " Not under any circumstance ? " " Not under any." " You are quite sure, papa, you will not think differently at the end of six months ? " " I have thought about it for too many months not to know ray own mind now, Beryl ; but you, my darling, you will not decide hastily, you will remember all Mr. Wern can give you, what a certainty of ease and competence you will have if you marry him ; what a terrible uncertainty of everything except poverty your life will be if you refuse his offer. You will do nothing rash, Beryl ; you will take time to con- sider." " I have considered," answered the girl ; " and if you insist that I shall separate myself from you and Louise, that I shall act solely and entirely for myself, I cannot hesitate a mo- ment. I should have valued Mr. Wern's wealth for your sake ; I should have loved him for what he would have dpne for you. I could have made up my mind to be happy, and I should have been happy, but with you away I should be miserable. I should repent my marriage every hour in the day, and I should hate the place, and the money, and the show that tempted me to say yes." " But you might feel differently in a year or two, Beryl," he suggested. 356 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. « Should I?" she said. " If you believe that, papa, you know very little about me, though I am your daughter." " Besides," he went on, without regarding the interruption, " you must marry some day, and leave me." " I never will," she said ; " I will never go so far away that I cannot lay my hand on you at any time. You do not really want me to marry Mr. Wern ; you are only tryin* me ; say you are trying me, papa." There was no answer, nothing but a silence which sup- plied the place of all words to George Geith ; for he knew that Beryl had broken down at last, and was crying out her perplexities on her father's neck. Now a silence proved more irksome than that to George Geith. Away in the east he could see the moon rising from behind a bank of clouds. If she once emerged from them, he should not be able to leave the terrace unnoticed ; whilst, if he passed the window and descended into the garden by the steps, he feared he should excite observation. Like most listeners, he found himself placed in a nice dilemma : to his right was a thick hedge of privet, to his left that inexorable window; whilst below was a trellis-work, just too high to jump, covered with chmbing roses. Nevertheless, George decided on leaping something ; and accordingly, standing on the bench and placing his hand against the wall of the house, he vaulted over the privet hedge and alighted safely on the grass on the other side. Keeping well under the shadow of the hedge, he walked quickly on, never stopping to draw breath till he was safe among the elms of the avenue leading to Molozane Park. There he sat down to rest and to think. There were no regular seats along the avenue, but amongst the underwood there were the stumps of many old trees, and of one of these the accountant took possession, while he tried to remember every sentence of the conversation, to recall every varying tone of Beryl's voice. She did not love Mr. Wern, she would not marry him. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 357 Her father would not let her sacrifice herself for him. These three facts came out of the conversation, and stood forth clear in George Geith's memory. Mixed with them was a vague wonder at the girl refusing such a chance. In its way it seemed to the accountant like a man declining to be made a king, and he marvelled at her. So astounding indeed did it seem to him, that he left his seat and went to look at the property she had refused at Molozane Park, which, bathed in moonlight, he could see from' the end of the elm avenue. There lay the goodly lands that had been owned by the Molozanes for centuries ; there were the broad pastures, and the noble trees, and the silvery lake, over which the eyes of each successive owner had looked ; there was the great house, white in the moonlight, in which the Molozanes had found it so easy to accommodate guests. Back amongst the plantations lay the stables that the Molozanes had once filled with hacks and hunters. To the south sloped the gardens which the Molozanes had stocked with every rare fruit and flower. Never a miser had there been amongst them ; never a Molozane but had been a prince in his hospitality, and royal in his expenditure. They had kept open house in the days when their prosperity was at its zenith. A few servants more or less, a few horses to spare, a more liberal table than was needful, what were these things, what were these mere trifles to the Molozanes, whose income was so regal, whose ideas were so kingly ? And so they had gone on spending, for each succeeding generation inherited the tastes, though not the income, of its predecessor ; guests still came on ; horses still filled the stables ; costliest exotics composed the bouquets of the ladies who were always staying at the Park. There were car- riages and servants, there was feasting and revelry ; there was riding, and driving, and flirting all the day long; whilst ruin was stealing up to the house to oust the Molozanes — the liberal, open-hearted, proud Molozanes — from their beloved home. 358 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Thus the years had passed, and from father to son the Park had descended, more encumbered, less valuable than of old. Heiresses might have redeemed the Molozan^s, but some- how these men, who wanted money so much, always married for love, or beauty, or grace ; and the heiresses that fell in their way were hone of them lovable, beautiful, nor graceful. So long as the place could be kept up, the Molozanes still galloped on, and galloped down ; till the property came to Ambrose Molozane, who married a woman whom all the world thought to be an heiress, but who brought nothing in her hand to help to restore the ancient family and its old position. It was a very poor, shabby establish- ment, when contrasted with the establishments which had gone before him, that Ambrose Alfred Molozane kept up at the Park. His life had been a struggle with appearances, a fight with poverty, a war against circumstances, a series of use- less endeavors to retrieve his position ; which endeavors left him finally where George Geith, looking out over the old possessions, sorrowed to find him. All the accountant's own pride of family rose up in rebel- lion against this man of ancient blood having to make way for one of the newly rich — for a man to whom the Park, with its thousand-and-one recollections, was a dwelling, noth- ing more. It was just ; it is the world's discipline that he who has worked througli the day shall rest in the even- ing, and that he who has not toiled in the spring and summer of his life must work when his manhood's prime is past and age is creeping on him ; whilst it is God's unchanging law that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, and that for years of thoughtless extravagance, of lavish expenditure, of frivolity, and pleasure, and rioting, there shall come a terrible day of reckoning, when there shall be tears instead of laughter, sorrow in place of mirth. It was just, but it was pitiful. Standing there, gazing at GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 359 all that was passing away from the Molozanes, there carae swelling up in George Geith's heart all that longing for possession, all that sympathy for the loss of possession, which is so universal with man. Passing away from earth, there is nothing we long to hold so much as earth. Land is a visible wealth ; green fields, swelling uplands, fruitful val- leys, are to the most of us what outspread hoards of gold prove to the miser — tangible evidences of wealth. But the green fields, and the waving trees, and the swell- ing uplands, and the silvery lake, were all passing away from the Molozanes, — passing away as fast as poverty could drag them. A few weeks more, and the old place would fall into other hands ; stranojers would be dwelling; at the Dower House. In the familiar rooms, new-comers would assemble ; where Beryl's feet had passed, other steps would follow" ; where her voice had made sweet ringing, happy music, different tones would enter discordantly. There might be laughing children, there might be loving and wooing, but there would be never again a Beryl in the Dower House forever. Forever and forever. Could she cast it all away ; could she tear herself from the old familiar haunts, from her birthplace, from the home she had loved, as we never love but one home on earth ; could she do this ? It seemed so small a matter to marry, so enormous an advantage to secure, that although George Geith had heard her say she would choose poverty with her family to the Park without them, he could not realize that he had heard correctly — that he had heard her speak her determination, without a shadow of turning in his voice. If she loved any one else, he could understand her decis- ion ; but for a girl whose fancy was free to throw away such a chance, seemed to George Geith incredible. At the moment he never paused to ask himself whether he would wed for houses, and lands, and money, and posi- tion ; whethej- he would not choose poverty and freedom, 360 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. rather than wed without love. He only thought of Beryl and Molozane Park — thought and marvelled — until he finally worked himself round to the belief that she would marry Mr. Wern, and keep the property in the family. He was wronging Beryl — wronging her for the last time. Beside the roses, under the moonlight, Beryl was telling Mr. Wern, at that very instant, not without tears, for the girl's heart was sad both for him and for herself, that she had made up her mind, and that it was impossible she could become his wife. She liked him better then than she had ever done before. She liked him for the way he pleaded his suit, for the intense love he could not help revealing, for the hopelessness of his hopeless passion, for his gentle tenderness, for his despairing grief. What to him were these houses and lands ? What were banking balances and a thriving business ? What were the possessions of this world and the pleasures thereof to the successful at that moment, when the girl told him she could not become his wife, that she could give him everything but love — but love, for want of which the man was perishing? Then, like one dying of thirst in the desert, to whom all goods and all treasures are offered, save water, he cried out in his anguish, showing her all his suffering, all his cruel disappointment. "Could it never be?" he asked; "if he waited; if he liad patience, would she not have him for his very love's sake ? Might this future never come ? " And Beryl, blinded with tears, choking with sobs, had to pause before she could answ^er " never." Never! — like a faint, distant murmur it came stealing out of the lonely, desolate future — a future which no woman's love might ever illumine for him, no fresh glory of hope ever lighten with a momentary brightness. All the misery, all the regret, all the qnutterable loneliness of an empty heart, was coming towards him, and "never" was the GEORGE GEITII OF FEN COURT. 361 first iiiint sound which tohl of its approach. It was tlie sigh- ing sough of the Avind that announces a tempest, against which men must battle. It was the far-off grating of the wheel of the hearse Avhich comes to take his dearest and best away from his sight. It was death to every plan, to every hope, to every joy ; and in his agony Mr. Wern could not help exclaiming, — "Oh! Beryl, if it may never be; if we must part; I would to God I had never seen your face." " Forgive me," she was crying helplessly by this time ; crying among the roses, under the moonlight. " If I have ever made you think I could be your wife, if I have thought it myself, if I have ever done yon a wrong, and led you to fancy things might be different, you know what made me do it. Forgive me, though I shall never, never, never forgive myself." God help him. He learnt at that moment just what his weahh had done for him — just what Beryl would have married him for, had she consented to become his Avife ; and he stood for a moment silent, with her hand clasped tightly in his, waiting till the pain should be overpast — till he could speak to her calmly and steadily as he wished. " My child," he said at last, — and, oh ! how old he felt, and how young she seemed, as he called her by that name, — '< it is my life that I have lost this night ; but I would not have you give me back my life at the price you imply. It is over now ; the hope, the fear, the long suspense ; and I can let you go, satisfied that you are right, that I am wrong." But still he did not let her go. He only drew her nearer, closer to him, whispering, whilst he trembled violently, " Kiss me. Beryl, — kiss me for once." Had George Geith been eavesdropping then, even he would have forgiven them both. Some men do not find it so easy to coffin their dead hopes ; some women cannot so readily help to pile the earth into the grave, as many think. 362 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XXXII. IN LONDON. It was a hard matter for a man like Mr. Molozane to have to flee to Basinghall Street for refuge ; and how hard he had found his trial to bear was shown by hollow cheeks and gray hair, wlien he came forth from that sanctuary-, free of debt indeed, but penniless. The world was all before him ; there was room enough in it to beg or starve ; but if he wished to earn a living for him- self and his daughters, he had no choice save to stay \p London, where Mr. Wern obtained a situation for him in the great shipping-house of Murphy, Dowsett, and Raikes, at a salary of two hundred and fifty pounds per annum. Mr. George Geith, who knew the rates at which this wealthy firm in question were in the habit of paying their clerks, never believed in that two hundred and fifty at all ; he thought the fifty without the two hundred much more likely to be near the mark, and the accountant was correct. The salary was a matter of arrangement between Mr. Raikes the managing partner and Mr. Wern, who fancied that Mr. Molozane's business capabilities were of the smallest ; that, in fact, he would be only useful, as he said^ frankly to Mr. Raikes, to be a check on the junior clerks, and to answer civil questions in a civil manner. But in this Mr. Wern proved to be mistaken Mr. Molozane had no idea of taking his money and doing as little as possible for it ; and he put his shoulder to the wheel in a manner which won for him the cordial dislike of GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. oQo all the clerks in Messrs. Murphy, Dovvsett, and Raikes' em- ployment. To do nothing and be paid a salary for it, was their idea of perfect happiness ; to work before face and idle when their employer's back was turned, was their conception of duty ; and accordingly, the sight of a middle-aged man set- ting himself to learn all the ins and outs of the business with a will, being punctual to his time, being honest in his occupa- tion, filled the young fry with unspeakable disgust. But to their good or bad opinions Mr. Molozane was equally indifferent. By work he and his had for the future to live, and though business was work he detested, though he disliked his employment, his position and his employers, he never slackened in his efforts, but labored on for the sake of the young girls who were dependent on him. At the top of the Caledonian Road, beyond the Cattle Market, there is still, I believe, a place called Stock Or- chard Crescent, and there the Molozanes pitched their tent. The house was of Beryl's finding, and I doubt if, all things considered, she could have found a better. To be sure, even then the place had its drawbacks ; but the situation was quiet, the houses were semi-detached, the rooms were large for London, and the rent not excessive. Mr. Molozane could walk from thence to Leadenhall Street, and the girls could readily get into the country. Highgate was not far off, Hornsey and Crouch End were accessible ; and all the new villas, terraces, and streets, that now cover the Seven Sisters' Road, and the upper part of Holloway, were undreamed of. Into her new home Beryl carried the same happy face, the same courageous heart, the same power of adaptation as had won George Geith's heart in the old days depiirted. She had wept out her tears; and in the spring time of life, as in the April of the year, sunshine follows cloud. Over Molozane Park, over the Dower House roses, over the familiar household goods that had been carried from before 364 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. her to strange and unfamiliar places, she had rained showers of sorrow ; but the trouble was now gone and past ; the pain had been endured and was over ; and in the happiness of having her father with them again, in the busy little cares of housekeeping, in the occupation of making both ends of their income meet. Beryl, safe on land once more, forgot the fury of the storm she had breasted, and commenced extract- ing such pleasure as was possible from the new life in which she was just starting. To a nature like Beryl's, if I may say so without detract- ing from any favorable opinion my readers may entertain of her, furnishing was a delicious employment, a charming amusement, which had not fallen to her lot previously. Even had she been compelled to cut and contrive, to grudge car- peting here and curtains there, shopping and arranging on the most limited scale would have possessed the greatest fascination for her ; but as it was with money, absolute wealth, at her back, Beryl revelled in upholstery, and walked about London as happy as the mistress of ten thousand a year. Had the girl known where the money really came from, which filled her purse and paid for her various little purchases, she would not, I think, have gone on her errand with quite so light a heart ; but she had accepted the sum which furnished their new home, and left besides something over for a rainy day, in perfect good faith from her sister, Mrs. Richard Elsenham, in whose hands Mr. Wern had placed it before he went abroad, to try if there were any balm in absence for a broken heart. Matilda's honesty had been subjected to a severe test by the trust Mr. Wern reposed in her. Her necessities were many, her supplies scanty, and the evil one had put so many pretty trinkets, heavenly bonnets, and enticing dresses, in her way just about the time the money was left with her, that she felt if she had not hastened to place the whole amount in Beryl's keeping, she never, never, never could have resisted the temptations which beset her. GEORGE GEITH OF FEX COURT. 365 Further, Beryl's thanks were very trying to a person who knew how little she merited them. Albeit a fasliionable lady, a spendthrift selfish woman, Matilda had a species of conscience which pricked her when Beryl burst into tears, and begging " Tilly's pardon for every hard thing she had ever before said or thought of her, declaring^this money would make all the difference to them between wretchedness and happiness." " We can take a house and furnisli it, and get out of these miserable lodgings," went on the poor little thing, counting off all the blessings she saw looming in the future, on her fingers; "but, Tilly, are you sure you do not want it? I will only take half; I can manage nicely on half, and it is too much : you are too good and generous, my darling." With her cheeks on fire, Mrs. Richard Elsenham implored her sister "not to mention it." She would, to do her justice, have liked nothing better than to tell her how small a share she had in the good work ; but being bound to secrecy, and knowing, moreover, the present would have made Beryl wretched had she known the source whence it proceeded, she merely stated that the money had been given to lier to do what she liked with, and that she liked -beyond anything to see Beryl happy, and her father comfortable. " I would give the world," she said, " to be able to be the blessing to anybody you have been, Beryl, and to have any- body love me as people love you ; " which was perfectly true. During her interview with Mr. Wern, the beauty had thought that if such a man had loved her as he loved Beryl, — such a man with such an income, — she might have been a very happy woman. As it was, Mrs. Richard Elsenham was not a happy woman ; and Beryl left the house greatly delighted with the state of her finances, but sadly down-hearted concerning her sister's tears and mournful little speeches. Then commenced house-hunting and house-furnishing. 366 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. "What miles Beryl travelled ; what numbers of house-agents she consulted ; what scores of omnibuses she entered ; east, north, west, and south she travelled, to settle on Stock Orchard Crescent at last, to George Geith's dismay. Her chosen residence was too near the Bemmidge's to please him. " He did not think Stock Orchard Crescent a nice place," he said, "and was certain that old-fashioned house at Hackney, with the large garden, would have pleased Mr. Molozane far better. For his part, he disliked Hollowa}-- in- tensely, and he could not imagine what the young ladies saw in it to fancy. He admired Hackney. The house was a better house, and the rent no higher." But in this matter Beryl was firm. Louise did not care for Hackney ; she had seen that charming locality on a wet day, and took up a prejudice against it. The house looked dull ; the garden damp ; the rooms were dark ; the kitchen wretched ; there were no good pantries ; the situation was not good. Louey was sure she could never exist in that brick prison ; and, on the other hand, Louey felt confident she should feel at home in a house in Stock Orchard Crescent. " She has been amusing herself arranging how all the furniture is to stand," finished Beryl ; and George Geith knew that settled the matter. The Autocrat of all the E-ussias might have issued his edict in vain to Beryl, after Louey had spoken. " Hang the precocious chit," muttered the accountant, as he walked away from their lodgings ; but he spoke out of his anger, rather than out of his heart. In the days to come he was glad to remember Beryl had suffered her sister to choose for them ; he was glad to recollect every step of his wretched way had been determined on by others, rather than by him- self. After Whitecross Street, any home would have seemed delicious to Mr. Molozane, how much more the cheerful, pleasant home where Beryl, her sister, and one of their GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 367 former servants were located. Something of Beryl's happy temperament must have come to her from her father, for he sat down nnder the shadow of his fig-tree, which had grown for him in this strange hmd, contented and unrepining. "Dare 1 murmur," he said, in answer to some invoUmtary expression of admiration from George Geith, " while so much is left me : health to work, and work to do, and children to work for ? I thought at one time I never could have parted with the old place and lived, but we never know how much we can bear till we have borne it." Listening to hhn, the accountant thought, that we also never know how much other people can bear, till we have seen them carrying their burden. He had wondered, in the days gone by, how Mr. Molozane would endure bankruptcy and beggary. He had pictured all kinds of possibilities, save always a situation in the city and a house at the top of the Caledonian Road. The position was too commonplace and comfortable for him to realize, and so for a time Georo-e Geith felt Beryl's new house to be a myth, and the increase of happiness it brought to him incredible. Never a man in London did the accountant envy in those days after the Molozanes took possession of their new house. He might have lived with them had he liked to avail him- self of Mr. Molozane's numerous invitations. No more solitary evenings for the once lonely man ; no more weary Sundays with endless peregrinations over stony- hearted streets. There was a welcome always for him when he chose to go and get it. He had a home, the door whereof was always open to him. Let the day be never so dull and weary, there was light and warmth waiting for hitn at the top of the Caledonian Road, if he took the trouble of walking thither for it. He had not now to travel to Hertfordshire to hear the music that charmed him most. Like the chiming of sweet bells, the tones of Beryl's voice rang in his ears continually. There was no more winter for him, no more frost and snow. 368 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. The sunshine had travelled from the Dower House to gladden his heart, and the man was so happy that his life seemed to be passed in fairj^land. As for Beryl, any one might have thought she had taken a new lease of enjoyment, that she had gained an inheritance instead of losing all she ever had been proud and careful over, too proud and too careful also for them. There was no trace of sadness about her, no want of elasticity in her move- ments, no decrease of vivacity as she discharged her familiar household duties. If the past had worn any darksome chan- nels in her heart, the glad, bright, full stream of youth, sparkling on its way, hid all traces of trouble away both from her own sight and that of her neighbors. It is when years have dried up the over-abundant waters of gladness, when there is no musical brook gliding onward to meet the future, when there is no green sward on the banks, no gushing spring of hope left to replenish the bed once filled to over- flowing by the ruthless chattering river, that eye looking at the furrows worn in that bygone time understands fully how much can be suffered by youth which youth happily forgets to remember. It was thus with Beryl at any rate. Her troubles were dead and coffined, and she revisited not their graves. In some stratum of her nature each grip she had suffered was lying away hidden like a fossil, but like the fossil of an ancient world were all past sorrows to the girl w4io lived in a perpetual sunshine, in an unchanging meridian, where no shadow fell. Fond of the country as she had been, 'tis a truth which must be confessed, that Beryl liked London amazingly also. She had detested Kensington and her grandmother, but a house in London, which held her father and sister, and unbounded personal liberty besides, was quite another affiiir. Dare I confess that she delighted in the shops in Upper Street, that the crowds of people, the countless conveyances, and the eternal excitement, charmed her beyond description ? GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 369 London to her was a great theatre, with perpetually shifting scenes and actors. It was a new world, containing a Tace of men hitherto undreamed of. The pace was so fast, it suited her active spirit ; and she danced about the rooms of their new home, along the broad hall and up the staircase, with light feet and a lighter heart, in time to the strains of the barrel-organs that infested Stock Orchard Crescent on account of its re- puted quietness. In after-days, when that house was again to let, George Geith went and paid the care-takers to allow him to go over the well-remembered rooms alone. Through every apart- ment he wandered, and at last returned to the drawing-room, which he re-furnished and re-peopled out of the storehouses of memory. To him it was bare and desolate no longer. In his fancy he saw her sitting before him, with the sunshine streaming on her hair ; he heard the tones of her voice ; he saw her bright, happy smile ; he beheld the caressing hand stretched forth to touch Louey as she passed. Every picture hung in its wonted place; the very perfume of her favorite flowers seemed pervading the air ; the remembered books and knick- knacks lay on the tables ; and as he stood dreaming out his dream, an Italian organ-grinder struck up "Johnny Sands." Many a time had he listened to Beryl lilting out that most absurd song through the now deserted house ; but now the strain provoked no answering smile from the lonely listener. Ah, no ! for as the air went ringing through the glad sun- shine, all his dream melted away, and left him standing in the dismantled room — desolate ! " There wiis a rat\n, named Johnny Sands, Who married Betsy Hague, Although she brought him gold and lands, She proved a terrible plague. She proved a terrible plague. 24 370 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " One day said he, ' I'll drown myself, The river runs below;' ' Oh, do!' said she, ' you saucy elf, I wished i^ long ago.' I wished it long ago. " ' Oh ! tie my hands behind my back, P'or fear my courage fail, " Then down the hill his loving bride She ran with all her force, To push him in; — he stepped aside, And she fell in, of course. And she fell in, of course. " Splashing, dashing, like a fish, *0h! save me, John! ' she cried; * I would, my love — I wish it much, — But you my hands have tied.' But you m}' hands have tied. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 371 CHAPTER XXXIII. PLEASANT HOURS. ' It was not to be expected that the Bemmidges should long remain ignorant of the arrival of Mr. Molozane and family at Stock Orchard Crescent. Mr. Molozane was too often in Fen Court ; Mr. Geith sat too often on the knife-boards of the HoUoway omnibuses for shrewd conjectures not to be formed on the subject. " Take my word for it," said Mr. Bemmidge, who never had been taken into the plot of marrying George to his sister-in-law, " that Geith has at last found a house where he can hang up his hat ;" and this opinion, which the wine- merchant expressed gleefully, and to which the ladies listened in dismay, received confirmation on the following Sunday afternoon, when Mr. Geith was encountered at Hornsey Rise, walking abroad with two young ladles. "As plain-looking a pair as you would desire to meet," said Miss Gilling, with a snort, "and dressed like Quaker- esses. I should have thouglit Mr. Geith would have been ashamed to be seen out with such a couple of dowdies;" and Miss Gilhng, against whom the charge of simplicity could not have been brought by anybody, tossed her head disdain- fully. " They live in Stock Orchard Crescent," remarked Mr. Bemmidge, " father and two daughters, and are the people at whose house he spent so much time the summer after he first came here." " Well, there 's no accounting for tastes," answered Ger- trude. " I can only say neither of them would be mine." 372 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " Andrew says they have been great people," said Mrs. Bemmidge, thoughtfully. " Andrew talks nonsense," snapped Miss Gilling ; and there was a pause after this frank observation. " I was thinking of calling upon them," said Mrs. Bena- midge, at length. " Andrew says, knowing tliem has intro- " duced Mr. Geith to a first-rate business connection, and who knows but they might do something for us ? I am sure, with the children growing up, any person who could bring orders would be worth cultivating." " I don't know who would give orders for blacking if they had to drink it," answered Miss Gilling. To which Mrs. Bemmidge replied, — " You and mamma never refuse to take it, at any rate, when it is offered to you." A remark so undeniably true, that it induced Miss Gilling to turn the conversation. " I wonder what kind of style they live in ? " she said, ignoring her sister's last observation. •' You can see, if you like to call upon them with me," an- swered Mrs. Bemmidge ; and the pair called accordingly upon Miss Molozane, greatly to Miss Molozane's astonishment. Avowedly, they came as friends of Mr. Geith, and Beryl felt naturally a little disappointed in Mr. Geith's friends ; but when once that gentleman had told her all he knew about them, she rested satisfied, and began taking amuse- ment out of her new acquaintances, as she did out of every- thing else that came in her way. Not an atom proud was my heroine. If the absence of pride be a fault, I am sorry for it ; but she was not proud, nevertheless. Somehow she identified herself so little with low acquaintances, in her own mind ; in her own hopes and happiness she stood so entirely aloof from those with whom she was thrown. Knowing people was an affair so entirely outside of herself, that she never gave the matter of gentility a thought ; poor though they might be, the Molozanes had always been the Hertfordshire Molozanes, and, as such. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 373 Molozanes with an assured station ; and the old saying, that a cat may look at a king, holds equally true conversely, — without any loss of dignity a king may look at a cat ; and without any loss of caste in her own eyes, Beryl looked at the Bemmidges, took them for grist, and ground them up, for George Geith's delectation, in her ridicule mill. From Mrs. Gilling to her youngest grandchild. Beryl could take off every turn of expression, every peculiarity of manner. She knew Mrs. Gillings fiworite preachers and platters of food off by heart. She could tell to a nicety whether the dinner Mrs. Gilling had " dropped in " to par- take of at her daughter's had pleased her or not, whether she had had her due share of the crackling, and if the stuffing had proved to her taste. " I think they must live on pork," Louey observed. "We have never called there yet that there has not been an all- pervading smell of grease and onions. We stopped there once for ' lunch,' as Mrs. Bemmidge called it, but I will never stop again ; Beryl may if she likes ; I think she found her pudding very nice." " So nice that the little ones finished it," observed Beryl ; " what nasty children they are. They would pick up pieces of pudding out of the cinders, I do think. I should like to have the girl here for a day, just to see what she would eat if she had her own will." « I hate the child," said George, emphatically. « That is ungrateful," observed Louey, maliciously, " for she told us the other day she was very fond of you, and that you would be her uncle when you married Miss Gilling — oh! Beryl, forgive me — I forgot. I did not mean to tell liim — I did not, indeed." " You need not vex yourself about the matter," George answered, looking as he spoke at Beryl, who w^is laughing and blushing at one and the same time ; " I shall certainly be the brat's uncle when I marry Miss Gilling, but that will be never." 374 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " I should not like you if you married her," said Louey, gravely. "I am afraid all friendship would be at an end between us." " I shall not subject your friendship to so severe a test," George replied, amused in spite of his annoyance ; " for I think Miss Gilling would as little suit me as I should suit her." "Although she sings so beautifully," said Beryl, demurely. " Beryl can sing so like her, that when I shut my eyes, I think it is Miss Gilling, and am afraid to smile," said Louise. " She w^as here the other day squalling, and a little boy out in the street did one of her roulades after her so smartly, that Beryl had to go out of the room. I wish I could draw, Mr. Geith. I would give anything to be able to sketch Miss Gilling at the piano." Whereupon the accountant sat down and produced a car- icature of the young lady, curls and all, which w^ould surely have delighted Miss Gilling, could she have seen it. " I like that young man she is really going to marry," said Beryl, as George proceeded with his task, Louise help- ing him by looking over his shoulder the while. " He is one of your clerks, is he not, Mr. Geith? Mr. Foss, I mean." " Is Foss going to marry Miss Gilling ? " asked George, suddenly pausing, and looking up with a certain expression of displeasure. "I do not know; I suppose so," stammered Beryl, who saw she hnd made a mistake somehow. " I think he must be going to marry her." " Why do you think so? — that is, if I may ask such a question ? " " Because — because — how j^ou do tease one, Mr. Geith. I do not know why I think it, and besides I might be quite mistaken." After which answer, spoken pettishly. Beryl relnpsed into silence, and refused to laugh at Miss Gilling's portrait when it was finished. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 375 " We must be careful what we say to Geith about the Bemmidges," she remarked to her sister afterwards. "I hope I did not do any harm by what I told him. I wonder why he did not want Mr. Foss to marry ' Jurtrude ' ? " mar- velled Beryl, mocking Mrs. Gilling's pronunciation of her daughter's name. " I fancy I can guess," said Mr. Molozane, looking up from his newspaper, in which he had not been so absorbed but that he could listen to his daughters' conversation ; " he thinks Miss Gilling may learn too much about his business from Mr. Foss, and I think he is very likely to be right ; not but what he is doing so well that I should have im- agined it could make little difference to him who knew he was getting on." « Is Mr. Geith rich then, papa ? " asked Beryl. " Not rich, but growing rich," was the reply ; and Mr. Molozane resumed his paper, whilst the girls pursued their several occupations in silence. The eldest was, as usual, engaged in needlework; the youngest, according to custom, writing, for she was strong again, and her family allowed her to amuse herself in her own way, without let or hindrance. Sometimes, indeed, when her face got flushed, and her hands began to tremble, Beryl woukl essay to entice her from her manuscripts ; but as Louise grew older she grew less manageable, and would push her sister away, saying, with tears lying on her cheeks, — " Go away, Beryl, you come between me and them ; I can't see them while you are standing there." " I wish you would not talk like that," Beryl sometimes ventured to* expostulate. '' Talk like what ? It is true ; I do see everybody I write about a great deal plainer than I see you now. There, they are all gone ; and what I had to say is gone. You have spoiled one of the best passages I ever wrote. I shall have to go to my own room if you do not leave me alone." 376 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. And at last, for very peace's sake, Beryl did leave her alone, and let her write verses to her heart's content. Very gradually both father and sister were coming to understand that there is something stronger than parental authority, than affectionate solicitude, something which may lie in abeyance for a while, but which ultimately will have its own way — genius. Almost in spite of themselves, a conviction forced itself on Mr. Molozane and Beryl, that the talent they had first ignored, and then striven to keep in swaddling clothes, was growing into a giant which should master them all. " If your sister's health keep good," said George Geith to Beryl, one lovely summer's evening, when he overtook her in High Street, Islington, and they walked home together to Stock Orchard Crescent, " she will become a famous woman yet." " But if her health should not keep good, Mr. Geith," an- swered Beryl, "what fame would compensate us for that? " " She will write in any case," was the reply, " so you must hope for the best ; " an easy matter with Beryl, who began from that time to build air-castles as to what Louise's genius was to do for them. She knew she was not clever herself; she knew there was nothing she did particularly well, no one accomplishment in which she excelled ; so, when once the idea took firm and full possession of her, that Louey was going to achieve "great things," she dwelt upon it in the sure conviction that some day " papa would be able to rest again, that Louey's verses would in the long run bring her in a golden harvest." Twelve months after they came to London, hope began to have some tangible food on which to exist. Spite of Miss Gilling's strictures on their plainness, the two sisters were really very pretty girls, and their blushing country faces gained them much favor in the eyes of pub- lishers. There is not much gold lying about the base of the hill GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 377 of fame ; and Louise Molozane, spite of her eager exer- tion?, found none of the precious metal at all ; but she got what was almost as good to her — praise, encouragement in the present, assurances of success in the future. She had kindly notes from editors, favorable opinions from "readers," confirmatory smiles from publishers. Poems were not salable articles, and tragedies could not be thought of; but still, " when she directed her attention to other branches of literature," " when she began to write short tales, for instance," there was no fear of failure. She had genius, she had youth. Let her read more and write less, said many a good-natured adviser, and she would yet be one of the first authoresses of the day. Such were the sum and substance of a statement made to Beryl by an editor whom she had the happiness of seeing personally. At first he took her for the owner of the man- uscript for which she called, and was more reticent of his remarks ; but upon Beryl assuring him she could not write anything more ambitious than a letter, and that " not a long one," she added, he gave his opinion in extenso, and sent the girl away so happy that she could have danced the whole way up to the top of the Caledonian Road, had she not feared scandalizing the passers-by. By degrees also Mr. IMolozane came to be associated with his daughter's literary efforts. He began by letting her re- peat scraps of her verses as they sat in the firelight, or toiled in the summer twilight up Highgate Hill, or wandered through the green fields round about Hornsey and Crouch End, places that are almost built up to now, but which were then miles and miles away in the country. In those days fiither and youngest-born were so much to- gether, that, had Beryl been of a jealous temperament, she might have thought herself hardly done by, but the girl never felt anything but thankfulness that "papa and Louey were so happy, that he was coming at last to understand her writing, and to like her doing it." 378 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN" COURT. Out of the past there have been always a few things standing that have seemed unutterably pitiful, tilings that I have either seen myself, or that have come to my knowledge through others ; and not the least pitiful appears the picture that now rises before me, of that poor, proud father wander- ing about London with a bundle of his daughter's manu- scripts in his hand, manuscripts which were invariably re- turned to him unaccepted. Often and often, as time went by, George Geith wondered how it would end, into what port the manuscripts now floating rudderless would drift at last ; and whilst the Molozanes grew more eager, more confident, he became less satisfied about the probable result, and began to speculate whether Louise's talent, though certain, might not be likewise unmarketable. It was a question he was not able to shake off. Till Mr. Molozane took the matter up, George had not troubled him- self as to how it would all end ; but he could not endure to see the ruined gentlem.an commence building such hopes on Louise as he had built on the Sythlow Mines, unless they were certain of fruition. As he met Mr. Molozane hurrying off in his dinner-hour to the Row or the Strand ; as he found him in tlie evenings carefully copying out Louise's poems ; when he saw the looks of pride the man was continually casting on the tall, Blight girl who had so shot up since George Geith saw her, the accountant felt that disappointment would be something too terrible for them to face. Often, when he was talking to Beryl, he tried to discover whether the idea of failure had ever presented itself; but Beryl was so piovokingly sanguine, that no doubts could be instilled into her, and it was so pleasant to him to listen to her hopeful chatter, her hnppy face seemed to her lover so lovely, that he never had the heart to tell her he considered the result of Louise's labors problematical. Happy days were those for all that little band — happy for father and daughters and for miest. There was no cloud GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 379 on the horizon, no hauntinGj droad in tlieir minds, no sin-n of tempest in tlie sky ; nothing had as yet occurred to trouble the peaceful current of their lives. There was no symptom of delicacy about Louise now. Mr. Molozane seemed to be growing young again. Beryl looked a little weary perliap.s at times, but what of that ? George hoped soon to be able to take all responsibility off her shoulders. He was only wait- ing to propose formally until he had a certain sum in hand over and above the income he made annually out of figures. He had little fear but that ultimately Beryl would listen fa- vorably to his suit. He felt sure Mr. Molozane would look kindly on him for a son-in-law. At first he intended to take a house in or near Stock Orchard Crescent, unless, indeed, Beryl wished to remain under the same roof with her father, in which case he would not cross her inclination. All the mad fever of fear and hopelessness was over, and George Geith, the successful man of business, merely waited the result of one or two speculations before asking Beryl to be his wife. It was then late in the autumn, and ere Christmas he hoped to be visiting in Stock Orchard Crescent as a future relative. He liked going there as a friend ; but his heart throbbed joyfully at the anticipation of something nearer, closer still. He had worked for this ; he had been silent for it ; and in the depths of his stern, reserved nature lay the conscious- ness that in the sweat of his brow he had expiated his former errors, and earned the prospect of his present felicity. Some memory of that past, some thought that possibly a few particulars which could not be inquired about by a friend, might be asked by a future father-in-law, had perhaps contributed to a certain tardiness in his suit. He had wanted to feel his footing certain before he ventured on another step ; and now he mentally praised himself for his caution, and began to shape more tangibly the future of his life. Even as the young authoress dreamt her dreams, so 380 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. George Geith dreamt his ; and as the time drew on for fruition to crown his hopes, happiness more swift-footed than he crossed the Molozane's threshold, and brought acceptance of one of Louise's often-rejected pieces to the family. " To be sure it was not to be paid for, but the money is certain to follow," said the girl, with a little of her old air of sober wisdom ; and she turned again to her writing-table to pen quires more poetry, on the strength of disposed of four verses of rhyme. " Money is certain to follow," repeated Solomon, after she had been writing for a long time ; " it is a mere question of time I " and she covered her happy face with her hands. " It is coming, Beryl ; I feel it ; and then shall we do grand things. I am a little tired to-night ; shall we build castles, Beryl ? when I am a great authoress, where shall we live ? when I have a thousand pounds, what shall we do with it ? " What would they not do ? that was rather the question. A hundred thousand would not have bought all they mentally purchased, sitting in the firelight glow. Molozane Park, or at least the Dower House ; a house for papa ; a pony phaeton for themselves ; furniture ad lib. " What color should you like the drawing-room curtains," asked Louise. " We would have everything just as it used to be.'* " Except that you would not mind setting a room aside for me and my rubbish, as you used to call it," laughed Louise. " I think I will give you a room when you make money enough to buy the house," answered Beryl. " Wait a little longer," said Louise, " and you shall see what you will see ; " and so, hand clasped in hand, they chat- tered on, seeing all things in the future save the reality which was approaching them, building all kinds of fancy habitations save those in which they were really to dwell. Thinking of them, but children as they were, tracing out so fair a path, I am loth to tell of the roads they had separately to travel. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 381 CHAPTER XXXIV. THE BEGINNING OP TROUBLE. Misfortunes never overtake us at the expected time ; they never come from the expected source. It is never the storm we have been looking out for, which upsets our craft on its way over the billows of life ; it is always some tiny leak, some treacherous rock, some strange collision, which shipwrecks us in the end. We look anxiously towards the dark cloud, which we expect to pour out its fury on us; but, behold the cloud passes away in another direction, and the storm, when it comes, bursts upon us in the midst of sunshine, in the midst of joy. I think the vagaries of trouble are the strangest things in this strange world. The way in which the cup of happiness is dashed from one ; the way in which the cup of sorrow is filled, dribble by dribble, for another. Here grief lies in wait ; there it seems trying the experiment of how much humanity can bear ; into one house it swoops with some tremendous sorrow ; into another it creeps little by little, bringing now one ill, now another, till it has accumulated the pyramid of misfortune to a satisfactory height. And how often we find, also, that just when the poor human bark thinks it is sailing into calm waters, after toss- ing over rough and dangerous seas, it goes down amongst the breakers. Within sight of the promised harbor, the heart sinks with all its freight of hope, and expectation, and content. "We have borne so much," says humanity, "and have 382 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. encountered such rough weather, we have brunted so many gales, that no more can f\ill to our share. The clear sky and the favoring breeze will be with us now to the end." But, even as it says this, the waves are rising and the great deeps of trouble are opening to engulf their prey. It was thus at any rate with the Molozanes. Never had their prospects seemed so good; never had they felt so thoroughly free from anxiety; never had health been so perfect, nor had happiness been so full as during that autumn, when Louise found herself at last on the direct path into print. They looked around, and saw no spot in the heavens to cause apprehension. They reflected, and came to the con- clusion, that, after long anxiety, after terrible suspense, after brave fighting, they had earned their rest and their sunshine. They listened, and the only tidings of evil that reached their ears seemed so far removed from them, that they never dreamt of connecting it with themselves. *' Mr. Wern is dead," announced Mrs. Elsenham in a se- vere manner to Beryl. " He died of fever, at Paris, on his way back to England. Ah, Beryl," proceeded the straight- forward old lady, " if you had played your cards well, you might now have been a rich young widow." And when I say that Beryl refrained from remarking, " It is not everybody who is so lucky as you, grandmamma," the reader will know that the news of Mr. Wern's sudden death did not touch and move her exceedingly. As her grandmother lamented over the chance she had lost, Beryl's thoughts went away back to that evening, at the Dower House, when amid the roses he pleaded for her love, and pleaded in vain ; but they never travelled forward, never connected his death with the events of her own future. And yet, within a fortnight after the news reached England, the first misfortune that had as yet befallen them, came to Stock Orchard Crescent, in shape of an intimation from Mr. Raikes, that on and after the first of December following, GEORGE GEITIl OF FEN COURT. 383 the firm of Mui-pliy, Dowsett, and Raikes would not require the services of Mr. Molozane. " And wliat their reason can be, what I can possibly have done or undone, I know no more than the babe unborn," re- marked the poor gentleman to Mr. George Geitli. " Can you guess at all ? " he went on ; " you know more about business people, and have some idea of their rules of action ; for myself, I am quite at sea, I am bewildered, confounded." And Mr. Molozane looked despairingly out into the old church-yard of St. Gabriel as he spoke. " Did Mr. Raikes assign no reason for your dismissal ? " asked the accountant. "None whatever; he merely said, < Mr. Molozane, we purpose making some changes in the office, and I regret to have to tell you that in consequence of those changes we shall be unable to retain your services after the first of December.' " " And you," suggested Mr. Geith. "I a^ked liini if he had any fault to find with me. ' Fault — not the slightest,' he answered. 'You have been exem- plary in your hours, careful in your work, and eager to for- ward our interests. It will give me the greatest pleasure to see any p(n*son you may refer to me. Anything I can do for you, Mr. Molozane, you may rely on ; ' and WMth that the interview ended." "• But did you not ask him why he was parting with you?" demanded George, in amazement. " How could I inquire into their private arrangements?" was Mr. Molozane's reply. " lie said they had no fault to find with me ; and whether that answer was true or false, I had no alternative but to believe, or seem to believe, his statement." " I think tliey had one fault to find with you," remarked George, dryly. " Fault 1 what (ault?" asked Mr. Molozane, turning from the window. 384 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " You were too dear." " You mean my salary was too high." " Precisely," answered the accountant. " But it has never been increased ; and I am surely worth more to them now than I was when I first came to London." " True, but Mr. Wern was then living." " What diflference could that have made ? " " You will not be offended if I tell you the dilfference, I think it might make." " Certainly not. You think perhaps Mr. Raikes fancied he could send them business which would help to pay my salary." " Perhaps Mr. Raikes did think so ; and probably Mr. Wern did put good things in his friend's way ; but that is not all I mean. I never thought Murphy's people paid you that sum out of their own pockets. I do believe, Mr. Molozane, your salary was a matter of arrangement between Mr. Raikes and Mr. Wern." " I never dreamt of such a thing," muttered Mr. Molo- zane, and he sat down to realize George's idea at his leisure. " If the idea had occurred to me, I would never have gone there, never have accepted the situation." " Be thankful, then, that it did not occur to you," observed the accountant. " How could I ascertain if your supposition be correct ? " exclaimed the other, vehemently. " Easily enough," was the reply. " Remark to Mr. Raikes that salary is not so much an object with you, and that a hundred, or a hundred and twenty, would suit you just as well as double that amount ; " and George, who had only the very faintest hopes that Mr. Molozane would follow his ad- vice, pulled all the feathers off his red ink pen as he spoke. " I will do what you tell me," said the other, after a long pause, during which he had been swallowing his pride and looking his position in the face. " I will do what you tell me;" and the result proved that Mr. Geith's supposition had GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 385 been correct, for the great firm kept on their clerk, and the changes in the office, so vaguely referred to by Mr. Raikes, were not effected. Poverty, like sickness, compels men to swallow many a bitter mixture, and Mr. Molozane was obliged to drink this draught in silence. Even to Beryl he never mentioned bis suspicions, on the subject of Mr, Wern's generosity. Per- force he had to tell her of the reduction in his salary, but Louise's eager assurances that she would very shortly be able, not merely to make up the deficiency, but to do a great deal more besides, robbed the announcement of half its horror, and the young housekeeper determined to putofi'the commencement of any fresh economies at any rate until after Christmas. '' I do not care what we have to do without, Louise, if we can only keep things nice for papa," she said. " And of course we can keep things nice for him, you un- believing old lady," answered Louise, laughing. " Look at that, Beryl," she added, handing her over a letter the post- man had just delivered; " only look at that. Another poem is accepted, and if I or any person authorized by me call at the office of the ' Piccadilly Journal,' I shall receive ' Two pounds three and sevenpence.' And won't I call ? Where would I not call if certain of two pounds three and seven- pence for my trouble ? Has not the antidote come with the bane this time. Beryl ? Is not a better door opened than the one just shut? And have not I done something more at last than spoil paper and waste ink ? " In reply to which question, Beryl, foolish Beryl, sobbed aloud. " I shall go away this moment and get the money, and spend the odd sevenpence in sweets for ray crying baby," continued Louise, whose own eyes were not so dry as they might have been. " Will you come with me ? Yes, that *s a good child. Run away and put on its bonnet and it shall have lollipops and sugar-candy." And Louise, who had still 25 386 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. a very sincere liking for " sweets " herself, patted her sister on the shoulder with the gravity of a middle-aged matron. Afterwards, when looking back upon her Hfe, that day always stood out in Beryl's memory separate from its fel- lows, for it was truly the beginning of her troubles; the last time when with bright face and confident manner Louise spoke of the certainty of success. It was a day when neither of the girls had any business to be out (Beryl acknowledged her folly before the night was over), cold, damp, and raw, misty overhead, wet underfoot ; a day to give coughs and sore throats, to breed fevers, and to befriend doctors ; a day the end of which was that, before the next morning, Louise, struggling as one from sleep, thought that some one was holding her fast by the throat, and suffocating her. Bronchitis was a complaint which Beryl had never seen, and of which she had heard but little, nevertheless she knew quite enough of her sister's constitution to be alarmed at the peculiar noise which accompanied each inspiration, and at Louise's reluctance to try any other than a sitting position. " I am afraid I am going to be very ill," she said, while her sister had so arranged the pillows that she could lean back against them comfortably. "It is my own fault, I brought it on myself; I got my boots soaked through directly we went out, and I would not tell you because you had wanted me to put on a stronger pair ; and I went out feeling the damp go through my bones till I was perished to death ; and the cold oil-cloth in that horrible office made me colder still. I will never be stiff and obstinate again, Beryl ; I will try to do what you ask, for you have been mother and sister and everything to me, — you have, my darling, you have." Would she have kept her promise had she lived in great things as in small ? God knows. With all her heart and soul Beryl tried, when the hour of trouble came, to feel what she believed, that he had taken her in mercy from the evil to come. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 387 Never had Beryl before so pleaded for any boon to be granted, as she prayed now for Louise to be spared. From the first, from the moment when Louise woke her in the gray of the winter's morning, a dull presentiment, a sinking fear, had never left her. When no one else thought the girl so very ill, when even the doctor felt, or at least said he felt, no apprehensions about her. Beryl sat up with her at night, and never left her by day, fighting against death, who was, she firmly believed, only to be driven away by such love and such care as she could give to the sufferer. How the time passed, how the nights were endured, and the days lived through, Beryl scarcely knew, so long was she in battling against her unseen foe ; but at length there came a morning, a dull, wretched November morning, when the doctor, standing in the pretty drawing-room, and looking at Beryl through the light of a yellow fog, said gravely, — " We have got the bronchitis under at last. Miss Molo- zane, but " She knew what was coming, though she had no power to help him finish his sentence. She knew the worst that was coming, yet still so long as it was merely coming, it did not seem like reality. " She has never been strong, as I understood you to say," went on the doctor, " and I greatly fear that she never will be very strong again. My dear young lady, calm yourself Pray, be calm." " What do you mean ? " asked Beryl, the tears streaming down her white cheeks, as she asked the question : " Is it to be life or death for my sister ? Is she ever to rise again — or" Something came across the girl as she said that " or," which prevented her uttering another word. It was to be death, and she realized the fact. They were to fight a little longer with the dire phantom that had been haunting her. They were to have further advice. Doctors 388 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. were to hold consultations. More remedies were to be tried. More days and more nights were to be got through, as such days and nights may ; but the end after all was to be the same — Death. Death to love, to hope, to all the sweet home ties, to all the pleasant plans sketched out in the glowing firelight. No more life, no more labor, no more striving, no more success. Beryl grasped the full extent of their wretchedness in a mo- ment, as she stood looking at the doctor, reading the still un- spoken sentence in his face. " And how I ever am to break it to papa, I do not know," she moaned out to George Geith, who came in immediately after the doctor's departure. " How he is to be told, I can- not imagine. When Olivia died, Tilly thought he never would have got over it ; and then we were at the Park, and she died at home, and now — and now" Beryl could tell no more about it. She felt in a vague kind of way that it would have been easier for her to part with Lotiise at the Park, or the Dower House, than to lose her in the midst of the hurry and din of London. The tremendous loneliness and desolation of a great city, a loneliness never felt till health and strength are going, and death is tremblingly expected in the house, filled Beryl's cup of sorrow to overflowing. If she could have taken her darling home. If she could have watched her falling into the long sleep, which knows no waking, in the familiar room, the poor child thought the trouble would have been more tolerable ; but, as it was, Beryl did not even make an attempt to fight with her sorrow, but rather resting her aching head on her arms, which she had cast wearily on the table, she cried to her heart's con- tent, George never hindering her. What he could then have given to have spoken of his love before this trouble came upon her ! what he would have given to possess a right to take her in his arms and kiss away her tears and comfort her in this great distress ! But it was GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 389 too late for him now to remedy his over-caution, and accord- ingly he sat silent till her grief should have expended itself, for he knew no form of words, no manner of speech, which could touch a sorrow like this. It was in the dining-room they sat ; Beryl had taken him in there so that her sister, who lay in the front bedchamber, should not hear their voices ; and now George, looking out into that dreary little garden, all bare of flowers, uncon- sciously photographed for himself the scene and its acces- sories. The dead, blank wall, up which Beryl had tried to coax ivy, a Virginian creeper, and the fast-growing wisteria ; the backs of the houses in the Caledonian Road ; the small grass- plot, looking muddy and sodden in the mist of the November day ; Guess, sitting in the middle of the plot on his hind legs, vainly endeavoring to win some sign of recognition from the window ; Royal, in his kennel, lying there with his tail out, and his nose in the farthest corner of his house, where he was privately gnawing a bone. The great, bushy tail kept slowly wagging to and fro, sweeping the wet gravel from side to side, and whenever Guess dropped from his begging posture he turned a longing look towards the retriever, whose labors he would willingly have shared. From the street came the echoes of " All is Lost," which a barrel-organ was droning out ; from the kitchen ascended in shrill treble, — " I have come from a happy land, Where care is unknown." And to this organ and to the song, like a dull, monotonous accompaniment, Beryl's sobs rose and fell, rose and fell mournfully. " I did not think this would have been the end of it all, Mr. Geith," she lifted her head at last to say ; *' it seems so hard ; it seems so hard;" and the girl covered her face with her hands once more, while George tried, with unsteady voice, to tell her something of God's ways not being as our 390 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. ways, of His taking oftentimes the youngest and best beloved soonest to Himself " But He might have left us Louey," Beryl persisted ; and that was all the impression made by George's little sermon — a sermon he had then no heart to repeat. After a time, too, he found that it was needful he should preach patience and submission to himself, for he saw so much of Louise during her illness, he grew so fond of her, that at last he found, next to Beryl, he never had loved any- thing before to the same extent. Dying, her greatest pleasure was to talk of the happy life hers had been — of the flowers and the fields, and the trees, she was to see on earth no more. It seemed to ease her pain, it appeared to while away the weary hours of sickness, for her to speak of that dear old liome in Hertfordshire to her sympathetic listeners. With the winter's darkness outside, the house, with the shadows of death deepening within, she yet could see the summer glory bathing the far-off landscape ; could lie in the bed from which she was never more to rise, and behold the sun steeping the familiar woods in floods of golden light. Beryl and home ! While she had strength left to speak, it was of her sister and her birthplace she talked. " From the time I can remember anything, I never recol- lect Beryl being cross to me. When we used to be rolling our hoops, she let hers go down constantly, because I cried if she ran on faster than I. She was always the same as you have known her, Mr. Geith. If ever any one of us gave up an amusement, that one was always Beryl. No matter how tired she might be, she would run to get what papa wanted ; or she would read to him, or sew for us. I dare say many girls have done greater things, have had the opportunity of making martyrs or heroines of themselves, but I do not think any girl or any woman ever thought so little of herself and so much of other people as Beryl. It seems to me now," she went on, " as if I never had loved GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 391 her half enough. It was not my fault, but I could break my heart at times thinking how it never was large enough to hold all the love she deserved." So Louise would murmur, in her low, weak voice, which was never to be stronger in this world, never, while George Geith listened, as a man was likely to listen to and talk about the only woman on earth he loved. It was a pitiful death-bed, pitiful because of her quiet resignation, of her childlike acquiescence in the fiat that had gone forth, of her love for father and sister, of her plaintive regret that she was not allowed to stay and do something for them, of the thorough enjoyment she had taken out of life, of the sweet, sorrowful memories she cherished of the distant country fields and hedgerows, which she was to gaze on no more. She took it all so calmly herself, that, but that they knew for certain they were losing her, it would not have seemed to the father and sister like death. Down the river she glided, without cry, without struggle, without lamentation, and they, walking on the bank, talked to her as she floated away. During the first portion of her illness, Louise's pleasure was to lie turning over the only money she had ever earned, and calculating how soon she would be able to work again, and make enough to defray all the expense she was causing ; but towards the end, when recovery seemed even to her impossible, she laid by the business, and the pleasure, and the toys of life without a murmur, and settled herself down to sleep at the bidding of her Almighty Father, as she might have done in her mother's arms. Whilst for Beryl ? All the other troubles she had met were as nothing to this. Matilda's marriage, the loss of the Park, poverty, anxiety, seemed now such trifles that the girl wondered she had ever fretted because of them. Human pity seemed so unmeaning, human help so use- less, human consolation such a mockery, her own poor 392 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. strength such weakness, that Beryl must have sunk under the trial but that God had mercy on her, and out of her love extracted the power which enabled her to attend to the in- valid, and comfort her father without faltering by the way. But for this, Beryl could scarcely have endured her mis- ery. Friends came to her, but what could friends do when Louey was dying ? She would rather Matilda, and Matilda's carriage, and Matilda's husband, had kept away from the house of mourn- ing. Mrs. Elsenham's footman, in his resplendent livery, daily irritated her by useless inquiries. And regularly as clockwork came the Bemmidges, whom Beryl often wished a thousand miles away. Mrs. GilUng likewise paid many visits to Stock Orchard Crescent at this juncture, offering to read to Louise, and to bring her favorite minister with her; but Beryl declined both offers, saying, — " Our clergyman is very kind to her, and she likes him greatly, and I — I read to her myself, Mrs. Gilling, when I am able." When she was able ! Poor child ! No one ever knew how, through the' long, long days and nights, she forced herself to be able to do whatsoever her sister wished. How she listened to Louise's talk about their old home without weeping. How she kept the tears out of her voice as she read. How she sat quiet, thinking silently, whilst the dying girl slept. How she was at this juncture, more than at any former period of her life, the stay and support of those about her. Towards tlie last, Louise began to wander in her talk, and then those who loved her best knew that her short earthly day was drawing to its close. Over that close there fell no mist, no gloom, no darkness. All the time she had lived in London seemed blotted out from her memory, for she never gpoke of the hopes and fears that had dwelt with her there, but was always muttering some sentence about the Park or the Dower House. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 393 And the last words she whispered, with her head on her sister's shoulder, were, — " I think I have looked at that sunset until I am tired, Beryl. Take me home." Then the Lord God Almighty, hearing that pitiful suppli- cation, took her out of Beryl's arms home to that City, whose maker and builder He is. 394 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XXXV. DEFEATED. From the day of Louise's death Mr. Molozane never held up his head. When, after the funeral, he left the lonely- Hertfordshire church-yard, where they laid her, it was to return to London a changed and broken man. Like Jacob of old, " bereaved of his children, he was be- reaved." And though he went for a time about his former avocations, though he resumed his place in Leadenhall Street, and discharged the duties of his position with as much exact- ness as ever, still he held on his way, but as a man may run on for a time after receiving his death-wound. Thinking of the day when he first entered his office in Fen Court, George Geith found it hard to associate that Mr. Molozane, who now crept up the passage after business hours, with the stately country gentleman who had once shaken hands with the accountant only because the account- ant declined to accept his fee. " Whehever I can find an opportunity, I will delay no longer," thought Mr. Geith. '' I must do something for that poor old man, and I must see if my darling will give me a right to comfort and protect her. Oh ! Beryl, I wish to God I had asked you to be ray wife in the old days that can never come back again. I think you would have had me, my own love. I think you would." And George Geith, leaning his forehead against the man- telpiece, thought, as we have all thought some time or other, about what " misht have been." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 395 Had Beryl married him, had they all lived together, had he taken Mr. Molozane into his own office, had he been less careful for her, less cautious for himself, might Louise not have been occupying her old familiar place ? might not this trouble have been averted ? this life spared ? God help us ! How late it is in life before we come thoroughly to understand, that, though we may choose our paths, still it is He who directs our steps ! Here was a man, not young, not inexperienced, still think- ing about life and death, joy and sorrow, as though these things had lain in the hollow of his hand, to be dealt out at his pleasure. Here he stood in the room, which is to this hour but little changed since he tenanted it, repenting over that which he considered an error of judgment in the past, whilst he had no prevision of what the future was bringing towards him. In the future, he would repair his error, he considered. He would speak to Mr. Molozane ; he would strive to ascer- tain Beryl's feelings towards him — and then ? Why, then he would arrange his plans accordingly. So he decided, all unconscious that his plans were being arranged without his help. One morning, in the early part of February, when Fen Court looked its dreariest, the dismal church-yard its saddest, he received a note from Beryl Molozane, stating that her father was not well ; that he was unable to go to town ; that she. Beryl, did not like his appearance, though the doctor said there was not much the matter with him. "I wish," she finished, " you would get one of the best physicians you can hear of to come and see him. After Louise " and then she seemed to have paused before proceeding, "it is natural I should like to have the best advice at first." It was so natural, that George Geith left all his other business to attend to hers. He went to Orchard Crescent with a physician who charged five guineas for the journey, and who would have been worth four times the money had 396 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. the disease happened to be one which human skill or human kindness could touch. " I may speak frankly to you," he said to George Geith, as they drove together down the Caledonian Road. " There is no hope. Years ago, I might have done something ; but it is too late now ; though the pain may be palliated, the progress of the malady cannot be stopped. It would be false kindness to deceive his family, though I could not help deceiving the poor girl whose life seems bound up in his. There is no chance of recovery." " How long?" George asked. " He cannot live three months," was the reply. " You are certain there can be no mistake ? the doctor who is attending him said distinctly there was no cause for alarm." " The doctor who is attending him may say what he pleases," answered the great man, a little nettled ; " but he knows as well what is the matter as I do. The medicine he is sending is precisely what I should prescribe myself — a palliative — and our profession do not use palliatives until remedies are considered useless." " Would you be so kind as to set me down here," was all the comment the accountant made on this piece of in- formation. He had been deciding on his own course of action, and now wanted to get back to the city to perfect it. If Mr. Molozane was dying, every moment was of im- portance ; if Beryl was likely to lose her only natural pro- tector within so short a period, the sooner he spoke to her father tlie better. All the way to the city, through the wretched lanes of Clerkenwell, along Fore Street, and London Wall, down Moorgate Street, across Lothbury and the Royal Exchange, up Cornhill, through Leadenhall Market to Lime Street, and thence to Fen Court, the ac- countant thouglit of nothing save Mi'. Molozane and Mr. Molozane's daughter. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 397 " I will do what I can this afternoon," he said to himself, " and get up there as early as possible this evening. I will know the best or the worst now;" and he passed into Fen C!ourt as he mentally uttered his decision. Turning sharply up the passage, he ran against Mr. Bemmidge. " I am so thankful you have come back, Geith. I have been waiting for you these two hours. I could not think where the devil you had got to. " There is a run on Norton's, and remembering your £500, I " Mr. Bemmidge never was suffered to finish that sentence. What he did or said in answer, George Geith could not in after-days recollect himself; and even Mr. Bemmidge could only dimly recall being pushed aside by the accountant, who ran up the passage, mounted the stairs leading to his office, half-a-dozen steps at a time, seized the paper he wanted, and then rushed down-stairs again, through the passage and along Fenchurch Street like a maniac. Vainly Mr. Bemmidge tried to overtake him. Regardless of danger, George left the crowded side-paths, and keeping in the horse-roads, dashed among omnibuses, held on by cabs and crossed in the very teeth of lumbering vans as though he bore a charmed life. Never a thief fled faster from justice than did this man to rescue his all from the ruins. He could not have done it for a wager. Women and children scattered out of his way. Drivers pulled aside to let him pass. Seeing him run, a score of people soon fol- lowed in pursuit, but he outstripped them all. A cry was raised of " stop him," but the passers-by might as well have tried to stop the Thames. Across Gracechurch Street, along Lombard Street, through the passage by the post-office, over King William Street, round the corner of St. Swithin's Lane into George Street, thence past the back of the Mansion House into Bucklers- bury, when his journey was almost ended. 398 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Panting, struggling, pushing, cursing, he forced his way into Norton's, where he flung his check on the counter, and with the perspiration streaming from his face, waited for payment. His check was for ten thousand pounds, and one of the clerks, an elderly man, who wore spectacles, and whose hands trembled as if he had the ague, began paying him in sixpences. "Thirty- six, thirty -seven, thirty -eight, thirty -nine, one pound nineteen and sixpence, sir. That is all I have. The bank has stopped payment." With an oath George pushed the money back across the counter, and the sixpences fell over the other side, where they rolled about the floor. He snatched up the check, and tearing it to bits, stamped on the fragments with his muddy boots, and then he turned and left the place through a pas- sage cleared for him by the crowd, whose clamor had been silenced for a moment by a trouble which was greater, an excitement that was fiercer, than their own. To George Geith, Norton's failure was simply ruin : it frustrated every plan of his hfe ; it strangled every hope he had cherished ; and when he walked out of the bank and turned down Size Lane, it may surely be pardoned him that he cursed the day when he ever set foot in the place. He did not speak curses, but he thought them ;'he made no outward sign, but he mentally read a whole Commination Service over the heads of the firm, and hurled anathemas at them. His money had been shared amongst earlier claimants ; his money paid in not three days before ; his money that he had toiled for, struggled for, worked early and late to gain ; spent health and strength and the best years of his life to secure. His, and yet not his. If that money which he had just seen swept away had been his own, his very own, the ac- countant's heart would not have stood still at the thought of failure, defeat, and ruin, as it did. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 399 It was his, because out of what w^as his he should have to make it good ; yet in another way it was not his, but trust- money, which he should have to replace within a week at the latest. He had believed Norton's bank to be as safe as the Bank of England, and behold ! his belief had ruined him. He would have to commence again. Ten years older in age, and twenty years older in constitution, he would have to begin at the beginning once more, and toil wearily up towards success. If Norton's had stopped payment at any other time, if it had been any week in the year but that week, his balance would have been smaller, and he could have faced his loss with equanimity ; but now, with that enormous sum to re- place, he must raise money at any cost, get in his capital at any sacrifice. And even at this price, could he make good the loss ? Staggering down Size Lane, with his hat pulled over his brows, stumbling at every step as if he were drunk, clutch- ing at the door-posts and the window-sills for support as he passed by, George asked himself this question, — How, too, about Beryl ? He must give her up ; he must never think more about marrying her ; he must relinquish all his dreams of a sunny, 'happy home. He had planted his flowers too soon, and they were dead ; a single frost having nipped and killed them, every one. The garden of his life was bare ; it was all winter to him now, winter without the hope of spring. Everything he had longed for was now out of his reach forever. Everything lovely, and loving, and fair was swept away from his existence, and he should have to pursue his onward path in a darkness like unto the darkness of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. If he could die ; if he could but die and be done with it, with the long struggle, the weary toil, the pain, the fever, the sorrow, he felt he should be thankful to God for the relief. 400 GEORGE GEITH OF FEIST COURT. And as he thought this, leaning against the wall of St. Antholine's Church the while for support, a faintness like death came over him ; the lights flickered and swam before his eyes ; the wet, sloppy streets and the dull leaden sky alike faded from his sight ; and George Geith dropped in a heap on the pavement in the midst of the passers-by. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 401 CHAPTER XXXVI. BARONET AND ACCOUNTANT. When George Geith awoke to consciousness, he found himself lying in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room, with Andrew Beramidge standing on one side of him and a doctor on the other. " Where am I ? have I been ill ? what has happened ? " asked the accountant, faintly ; but he remembered what had happened before his friend could answer, and said, " I recol- lect — Norton's. How long have I been here ? " " Only a few hours. I brought you straight here in a cab." " This is the evening of the same day, then," remarked the accountant. "My dear sir, you must not talk," here interposed the doctor. " I must get up at once, at any rate," answered George. " Not if you value your life," was the reply. "I do not value my life at all," said the accountant, and he raised himself up in bed as he spoke, only to fall back again the next moment, weak and helpless, on the pillow. " You have beaten me this time, doctor, I believe," he remarked, with a forced laugh. " If I obey your orders, and throw myself on your mercy, how long will it take you to set me up ? When can I go to the City ? " ^' Not for three days, at the soonest," was the reply, which caused the patient to groan aloud. 26 402 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " For Heaven's sake, keep yourself quiet," advised Mr. Bemmidge, " and all will yet come straight." " Much you know about it," snapped the accountant, sav- agely. And who may reprove him for his incivility ? " What amount are you in for ? " asked his friend, while the doctor, whose curiosity was excited, refrained from cry- ing out, " Silence." « Ten thousand five hundred and odd." " Good God ! what could induce you to keep such a balance ? " " The devil," answered George, and he turned on his pillow angrily. *' There is no use in crying over spilt milk," he went on, after a pause ; " the shock seems to have floored me for the time being ; it was enough to floor any man. But all I want or ask now is strength to get up and see to my busi- ness as soon as may be. So, whatever you, sir," turning to the doctor, " tell me to do, that I will try to do." " Lie still, do not talk, do not think, if you can help it, take the medicine I shall send regularly, and as much nour- ishment as you can swallow." " Very good," acquiesced George. " Anything else ? " " Nothing, except to get a sound night's sleep if possible ; " and with this advice the doctor departed, to have his place supplied by Mrs. Bemmidge and Mrs. Gilling, the latter of whom announced her intention of watching beside Mr. Geith, in case any unfavorable change should occur before morning. It was all in vain that George protested he should sleep, that he should require nothing, that he was perfectly certain there could exist no necessity for any one's rest being dis- turbed on his account. Mrs. Gilling was resolute, and eventually took up her position before the fire, arrayed in such fearful garments as George had never previously fan- cied could be worn by woman. It proved quite a mistake to suppose Mrs. Gilling was the GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 403 watcher ; at a very early period she fell off to sleep, leaving the invalid to see that her dark lilac dressing-gown, the frills of the capes whereof might have been judiciously added to the length, did not get drawn into the tire, and that no part of the lace on her night-cap was set ablaze by the candles. How she snored ! Lying awake, counting the hours as they passed slowly by, George Geith, listening to her alter- nately grunting, snorting, gasping, moaning, and holding her breath, found time, in the midst of his own anxieties, to bestow sincere pity on the defunct Mr. GilUng. " It is no wonder he died," thought the accountant ; " the only marvel is, he was not hanged ; " and then his mind reverted to his own affairs, and George Geith ransacked his brain to find some means of escape, to devise some way of extricating himself from his difficulties. " Would Mark help him ? could he, if he would ? And if he could and would, how might his cousin reply to him, after the way in which he had rejected help in the days gone by?" " Did his promise to his mother bind him still .^ had she any right to exact such a promise ? " these were the thoughts that chased one another through his mind ; " if she were living, would she not release him ? Was it fair or expedient for one person to claim an unconditional promise from an- other, and in this changeable life was it justifiable for any man to give that unconditional promise and adhere to it ? " Ought not every soul to be permitted to go free and unfettered through life ? ought he not to have been told the reason, when he was bound by the promise ? Probably the reasons had vanished long since; most likely his mother would absolve him were she living. In all lives there comes a point where each individual must free himself from con- trol, and act irrespective of the wishes and opinions of others. Had not that time come to him ? With the whole of his future happiness at stake, with 404 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Beryl's happiness, most probably, likewise trembling in the balance, with his own health broken, with the best working part of his life past, should he not be justified in deciding he had kept his word long enough, in claiming, after all these weary years of toil, temporary help, temporal salva- tion, at the hands of his nearest of kin ? All the night long, whilst the fire first blazed cheerfully, then fell smouldering together, then died out, whilst the candles burnt lower and lower, till, without a helping hand, they expired in the midst of a final illumination, whilst Mrs. Gilling slept the sleep of the righteous, George Geith argued the question with himself. He was reluctant to do wrong ; but who may say that he was not placed in a difficult dilemma as to what was right ? For, although there may be a doubt as to the circum- stances under which a dying person may strive to exact a promise, there can be no doubt but that the living are not, under any circumstances, justified in giving one; and if they be not justified in giving one, are they right to keep it in- violate once it is given ? Cannot we fancy the dead themselves mourning over their folly in taking the part of the Omniscient, and saying in their finite wisdom, or their short-sighted love, " Thou shalt not," or " Thou shalt," for all time, and, so far as we can see, for all eternity also. Did he err greatly in deciding that it w^ould be well for him to break his word at last ? that word which he had kept intact through sorrow, and temptation, and despair. God knows, it is not for us to judge. All I can tell is how the man whose life's story I have told, so far deter- mined, ere he fell asleep. He made up his mind to apply to Sir Mark for help. Toil, and disappointment, and love had, for the time being, taken all pride and all obstinacy out of his nature ; and having formed this plan, which would, he thought, reheve him from present difficulties, he fell, as Mrs. Gilling phrased it, into a " beautiful slumber." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 405 « He has slept all night like an infant," said that charm- inc. old lady, and she really believed the truth of her^ own statement. "It would be worth your while, girls, she added, addressing Mrs. Bemmidge and Miss Gilhng, "to take a peep at him ; I am sure I never saw a grown-up person sleeping so like a child before." With becoming modesty Miss Gilling stole into the room on tiptoe after her married sister, to see the phenomenon Mrs. Gilling had described. "Lor', how beautiful," said Gertrude, with uplifted hands, " I declare I never thought Mr. Geith handsome before ; " and then Mr. Bemmidge and mamma's queen were like- wise introduced into the room to view the sick mans slumbers. , '■ Poor fellow," muttered Andrew Bemmidge, as he stole from the chamber, "he won't look so happy when he wak- en^ I wi.* my tongue had been cut out before I had mentioned Norton's to him;" and if Mr. Bemmidge was a little extravagant in his wish, he was perfectly sincere in his sorrow Had he owned ten thousand pounds, there is not the slightest doubt but that he would have thrust the whole sum into George's hands in the excess of his needless remorse and self-reproach. _ Never a truer friend existed than Mr. Bemmidge; and thou-h he had a hundred things to attend to of his own, he would not stir a step out of the house till Mr. Geith awoke, in case he should want him to attend to any business in the '"^I should like to write a note," said George, in answer to Mr. Bemmidge's inquiries, which were made whilst the accountant sat, propped up with pillows, eating his break- fast ; "and I wish you would get it sent up at once to Halkin Street. You might tell Foss to take it ; and if S.r Mark be not there, let him mquire where he is, and then tell him to come back to me." "Is this gentleman any relation of yours?" ventured 406 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. Mr. Bemmidge, after George had written his note, and given it to him. " I see he is of the same name." " He is my cousin," answered the accountant ; and Mr. Bemmidge went down-stairs to convey this pleasing intelli- gence to the female portion of his household. " Oh ! Lor', how strange I " exclaimed Miss Gilling. " I should not be surprised, mar, if Sir Mark came to see Mr. Geith at once. I shall go straight away home and put on my blue silk, and I should advise you, Sophy, to have the dear children nicely dressed. Oh, Andrew, how I wish I knew what was in the note ! I wonder if he says any- thing about mar sitting up with him. I think it very hkely, don't you ? " If Miss Gilling had read what George's note contained, she might have been slightly disappointed to learn that he had found something to write about other than her mamma's polite attention. "Dear Mark (it began), — Do you remember, years ago, offering me help — money help I mean — and my refusing it? Well, I have been thrown at last, and am badly crippled by the fall. Norton's stoppage has ruined me. Can you assist me with £10,000^ or a part of it, and oblige your cousin George ? " To which epistle Mr. Foss brought back, in due course, the following reply scrawled in pencil : " I wish I could help you, old fellow, and you should soon be off the ground ; but the fact is, I am so infernally hard run myself, that I have not at this minute got £50 of ready money in the world. I shall come over to see you as soon as I am dressed. I wish I could help you, on my honor I do. Mark." " Confound your wishes, and your honor too," exclaimed GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 407 George Geith, as he made a ball of the note, and flung it with all his force into the fire, to the great amazement of Mr. Foss, who had been wonderfully taken by the baronet's free-and-easy manner, and by the way in which he had been introduced into that gentleman's bedroom, to tell him all he knew about George's misfortune. " And he would insist on my having lunch, spite of every- thing I could say," Mr. Foss subsequently informed the ladies ; *' and while I was eating it, my lady came down to hear what was the matter, too. Such a beauty, Gertrude ! and to listen to her, one might have thought Mr. Geith was her brother. She cried till her eyes were quite red, when I told her about his falling down in the street. " ' Oh ! what will aunt say ? Oh ! what will Iijs aunt say ? ' she kept repeating. ' We dare not tell her, for she would never forgive Mark, never.' Then on the top of that she said she would start off by herself to him, and get the money her cousin wanted from Lady Geith ; that is Sir Mark's mother, you understand. I do not think she knew her own mind two minutes together, and I am sure I could not make sense out of the tenth part of what she said. But they were both very sorry, there could be no doubt about that. "I wonder," added Mr. Foss, impressively, "I wonder how the devil a cousin of Sir Mark Geith's, and a cousin so well liked, too, ever came to be an accountant in Fen Court?" "Do not swear, 'Enery," said Mrs. Gilling. " You should hear Mr. Geith, ma'am. I learnt it ofif him," was the answer. Whereupon Mrs. Bemmidge ex- claimed, " Oh, fie ! " and Miss Gilling tittered. " And for that matter, too," went on Mr. Foss, who had found the Halkin Street wine of the strongest, " you should hear Sir Mark. I am sure, if oaths could have sent Norton's head off, it would not be now on his shoulders." " Is he coming here ? are you sure he said he was coming 408 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. here ? " asked Miss Gilling, walking to and from the window in a flutter of anxious expectation. " Certain and positive. He made me write him down the address, and ring the bell and order his horses ; and then he said, if that d d groom of his was sharp, he should be at Holloway before me ; but you see he was n't, after all." " Was n't, after all," repeated mamma's queen with a lisp, whereupon Mr. Foss swung her round and round the room, and finally planted her on the sofa in solitary state. " He is here," said Mrs. Gilling, solemnly, as Mr. Foss was remarking he must be off again for the city, and a hush fell on the party while Sir Mark's knock resounded through the house, — " he is here ; " and had the baronet's mind been more at ease, he would have been amused at the trio of courtesies which greeted his entrance into the room. " How do again ? " he said, turning to Mr. Foss, after duly acknowledging the ladies' politeness. " You have been quicker than I expected ; but one can't ride fast over the stones. Can I see my cousin ? Is he awake ? " Mrs. Bemmidge believed he was ; Miss Gilling put her hand on one shoulder, and tried to look sentimental, whilst Mrs. Gilling assumed her blandest smile, and requested Mr. Foss to " conduct Sir Mark to Mr. Geith's apartment." " Thank you," said the baronet, and he turned the handle and reclosed the door for himself. " George, what is it ? " he asked, sitting down on the bed, and taking his cousin's hand in his. " Only that I am ruined,'* was the reply ; and George drew his hand away again. " You have a right to be angry with me," said the bar- onet. " You may reproach me as much as you like, and I shall never cry, Hold. I ought not to have cut off that entail — I admit it ; but it has been as bad for me as for you. It has, indeed." " I can hardly see that," answered George, coldly, " for you have had your cake and eaten it, while 1 have never even seen mine." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 409 " You have not had my anxieties, thoii<2:h," returned Sir Mark. '• What witli seeing the money flying uselessly ; what with the dread of my mother hearing about the entail ; what with the thought of you, and the fear of losing Snare- ham, my life has been a hell, George, a perfect hell." " You made it so for yourself, then," replied the account- ant, " for never a man started in life with fairer prospects, with greater chances of happiness, than yourself. But this talk can do no good to either of us, Mark. Let us speak of something else. How is your wife ? " " She is quite well, and so are my children — two daugh- ters." " No son ? " The question was put with a certain in- terest. " None ; and," added Sir Mark, hastily, " if you do not know it already, you are now the next heir, for uncle Arthur is dead." "I am the next heir to what?" asked George, with a sneer. " Do you mean to beggary ? for that, it seems, is about all which is now left to me." " I swear to you," cried Sir Mark, " I will live economi- cally for the future ; I will go abroad, wdiere we can reduce our expenses at once. We will settle at some place near my mother, and " " Get her to leave her money to you, so that you may fling that also to the dogs," interrupted the accountant, bitterly. " No, Mark, do not deceive yourself ; you will never retrench, so long as you have sixpence you will spend half-a-crown. Snareham will never be worth that," said George, snapping his fingers, " to any Geith again, and ly- ing here a ruined man, you can scarcely expect him to say, ' I forgive you for having taken my last chance of wealth or position away forever.' " '' I will make what reparation I can," said Sir Mark, meekly. " I will go to my mother, I will tell her all, I will ask her for money for you now, I will entreat her to leave 410 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. everything to you when she dies, I will sell Snareham, and live on the surplus that remains after paying my debts, and if that should not support us, I will work." With some difficulty the accountant raised himself on his elbow, and surveyed his cousin from head to foot. " You look like a man to work, I must say," he remarked, after this scrutiny ; " and, farther," he added, with a weary sigh, as he lay down again, " I do not know that, after my own experience, I should advise any one to work who can sit idle. It is as profitable to play for nothing as to work for nothing." There was a silence for a minute after this, a silence which Sir Mark broke by saying, — " Tell me what I can do for you, George, in this matter, and there is my hand, that, at any cost, at any sacrifice to myself, I will help you. Money I have not, money I can- not raise, but my mother has plenty, and she would give it to you in a moment. I will go to her, if you like ; I will start to-night, if you only say the word." " Thank you, Mark, I think you would," said the other, touched in spite of himself; "but by the time you returned from Nice it would be all up with me. It is trust-money that is gone, it is trust-money I must replace at once. Had it not been that the blow stunned me so confoundedly, I should not have applied to you. As it is, there is another man who can, I think, and will, help me out of this hole. Once -out of it, I will take good care never to get into such a mess again." " Will you not let me go to my mother, then ? " asked the baronet. " No," answered George Geith. " No," he repeated more fii-mly, after a moment's deliberation; "I will not come between you and your mother, Mark. I have worked, and can work again ; you have never worked, and could not do it if you tried. But, I '11 tell you what," went on the ac- countant, when he had paused and thought over what he GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 411 was going to say, " yon shall promise me to make another effort to keep Snareham. Do not let the Jews have it, even though it be encumbered. Come to me when I have my wits about me again, and let us see if the old place cannot be cleared yet. For the sake of your wife, for the sake of your children, Mark, make one effort more." And George Geith put out his hand, that true right hand which had worked so long, and so well, and laid it on his cousin's as he spoke. It took a good deal to move the baronet's composure, but his voice shook as he answered, — " I will do what you ask me, George. Yes, I will come and show you all, but I am afraid it is too late — too late." 412 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XXXVII. RESIGNED. Whilst talking to'his cousin, it had occurred to George, that possibly Mr. Tettin might be both able and willing to render him the assistance he required, and he accordingly asked the baronet to see that gentleman, and ask him to visit Ivy Cottaore. "As I dare say you have not much to do, Mark, you might offer to drive him over," suggested the accountant. " He would come all the quicker, and, most probably, all the more readily too." " I rode here," was the reply, " but I will call with him on my way back, and send Kailes on for the carriage. Good- bye, old fellow ; au revoirT And with this, Sir Mark left the room, and mounted his horse, and rode down the Holloway Road, and up the Cam- den Road at a hard gallop. Up the hill past the prison, down the hill near the railway bridge, Sir Mark never slackened his pace. It was not until he got on the stones that he pulled his steed up to a walk ; and he would not have walked then, but that, like all good riders, he was careful of his horses, and solicitous for the safety of their knees. If he was fast, however, Mr. Tettin was slow ; he had clients to see, he had papers to make up, he had letters to write ; and it was therefore quite dark before Sir Mark's carriage stopped at Mr. Bemmidge's garden-gate. " I will not get out," remarked the baronet. " No doubt GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 413 my cousin will like best to see you alone ; " which was the more considerate of Sir Mark as he shrewdly conjectured there was some secret lying between the accountant and the solicitor, a secret he would dearly have loved t<3 know. That there had once been such a secret, the reader is already aware ; but on the present occasion, neither Mr. Tettin nor Mr. Geith made any allusion to it. George confined himself to a bare statement of his affairs, of his liabilities and his resources. Mr. Tettin confined him- self to listening, so that the conversation could not have proved particularly amusing or instructive to a third person, had a third person been present. " Of course it is ruin anyhow you take it," said the ac- countant, when he had finished his explanation ; " but there are various ways of being ruined ; and for my part, I prefer going back to the beginning and comnjpncing de nouveau, rather than having a meeting of creditors, or asking favors from any one. If I can btit gain time to realize without a loss, I can pay twenty shillings, and perhaps have something left beside ; but if I cannot get time, I must go through the court. Even had I been able to get about, I could not gather ten thousand pounds together at an hour's notice ; and as I am, I can do nothing. Perhaps I may be up to-morrow, and in the city the next day ; but even so " " Don't attempt it ; " Mr. Tettin replied, laying his hand on the sick man's shoulder. " Don't attempt it ; lie still and leave all to me ; I '11 see you through it, my boy, never fear." And he departed, leaving George in a state of bewilder- ment, partly at the deliverance which had been wrought for him, and greatly at Mr. Tettin's extrem.ely easy style of ad- dress ; but he need not have been surprised at the lawyer's solemnity being disturbed for once. Never had Mr. Tettin seen a man fight before like the accountant ; never had he beheld such an unequal contest waged successfully as George Geith had carried on for years ; never had he been so im- 414 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. pressed with the energy and force of will of any human being as by the indomitable perseverance and power of en- durance possessed by this man, who was now lying crushed, and maimed, and helpless; beggared, through no fault or imprudence of his own. Next day Sir Mark rode over to urge his cousin to come at once to Halkin Street. " Cissy will be enchanted," said the good-natured baronet. "I do not know anything we should both like better than having the nursing of you. And though I do not mean to say but that your friends here seem devilishly good kind of people, and careful of you and all that, still they are not exactly — you know what I mean, George, don't you ? " *' They do well enough for me, if that is what you mean," answered George, in his old defiant independence of manner. " They have been ^ery good to me, and I am very grateful to them for their kindness." " Of course you are, and so you ought to be ; and I am very grateful for their care of you too. I should like to be able to do something for them in return. Is not the hus- band a wine-merchant ? shall I send him an order for half a dozen butts ? " " Do not, Mark ; do not, for Heaven's sake ! " said his cousin, earnestly ; " the man is poor, and it would ruin him to be kept out of his money as long as you would keep him out of it." " Well thought of, George," answered the baronet, laugh- ing, even whilst he winced. " Shall I ask my mother to order it, then ? she would do it if I said he had been kind to you." " She would have to know how he had been kind," re- marked George, " and that would involve telling her about Norton's, which misfortune I think we had best make no mention of." " What a long-headed fellow you are," said the baronet ; "but all this is beside the question. Will you come and stay GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 415 with us ? Will you let me take you back to Halkin Street to-morrow ? " " When I am able to go to Halkin Street, I shall be able to go to Fen Court," answered the accountant, " and I had rather get back to my work, thank you, Mark, than think about paying visits." « There is no little tendresse keeping you here, George, is there?" asked his cousin; "that young lady down-stairs seems very much interested in your recovery, and so forth." " That young lady down-stairs is, so far as I know, going to marry my clerk," George replied ; " as for me, I shall never marry anybody now, Mark. Norton's stoppage has settled." " Should you have married, but for that? " said Sir Mark, compassionately, as his cousin paused and hesitated. " I hoped I should," was the answer, " but that hope is dead forever now ;" and George, w^ho could have borne all other questions save this, philosophically broke down at the thought of Beryl, and turned aside to hide how the topic affected him. " George," said the baronet, pausing after he had walked two or three times up and down the room. " George, nothing shall prevent my going to Nice and laying the state of your affairs before my mother. Every hope of your life shall not be sacrificed to me. If money can give you happiness, money you shall have." " No, Mark, not at that price ; I could not take such a sum of money as a gift. I would not now be hampered by it as a loan. As for her" George proceeded with a tremor in his voice, " she never knew how I loved her, andt she never shall ; and in the years to come, when she is married to some rich man, and is a happy wife, and has her children all about her, she will never imagine how a poor accountant in the city was once nearly breaking his heart for her sake." "'But George, dear George," — and Sir Mark grew quite pathetic in his sympathy. 416 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " I tell you it is of no use arguing with me," said his cousin, almost fiercely. " I was mad ever to think of it, mad to dream of dragging her down to my level. I was made to work, and I will think and dream no more." And with that the accountant closed the conversation and laid by his love. In the most secret chamber of his heart he stored it away, in the most remote corner of his exist- ence, separate and apart from all the cares and sorrows of his life, he placed the memory of Beryl Molozane. As we lay a rose in our drawer, and find that every paper it contains is impregnated with the odor, so this love died, and, hopeless though it might be, seemed to fill George Geith's existence with something it had always lacked before. For her dear sake it was useless for him ever again to toil, to save, to speculate, to increase ; but the love he bore her softened and beautified his nature, made him gentler towards his fellows, kinder, more tolerant, better. Sanctified by a great sorrow, subdued by the great defeat he had met with, strengthened with the conquest he had achieved over himself, by the victory he had gained, George Geith rose up after his sickness a better man, and went forth once again to his labor and his toil without a murmur. GEORGE GEITB OF FEN COURT. 417 CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE LAST MOLOZANE. That something had happened to him, the accountant, that he had passed through a great trial, through a fierce fire, any one might have guessed by looking in his face. The moment he saw him, Mr. ISIolozane, ill as he was himself, f^uessed that it was not sickness alone which had kept his friend away. " Mr. Bemmidge told me you were very unwell," he said, "but I fear you have been more than unwell, that you have had some heavy trouble." " You are right," answered George, who had requested Mr. Bemmidge not to mention his los% to Mr. Molozane ; '* I have had a heavy trouble since I was here last ; but it is over now ; the worst is past." That was all he said upon the subject then ; but subse- quently, when Mr. Molozane, knowing for certain that it was the hand of death he felt laid upon him, talked about the child he was leaving, and his misery thinking of her loneliness, George summoned up courage, and told him alk How he had loved the girl ; how he had hoped to win her ; how he had labored for her sake ; how he had meant to ask her father's permission to wed her; and how, just at the last moment, the cup was dashed from his lips. All this tiie one man told the other, as they sat together in the sunlight of the early spring. " There is only one comfort in it to me," said George, who read in his friend's ftice that he would have given Beryl into 27 418 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. his charge thankfully, " that it happened before I had spoken to her, before anything had been said which might have cast a shadow on her after-life. If ever she cared for me, she will forget me ere long — and I — Mr. Molozane, I thank God for giving me the burden to carry, and sparing her." Out of the depths of his heart he could say that truthfully. He had loved so well, that his love was unselfish. " You are the only man I ever met," Mr. Molozane an- swered, slowly, " that I should have liked for a son-in-law, with whom I should have felt happy to trust my child. Had I money to leave, I would give both it and her to you with- out a fear ; but as neither of you has a fortune, it is perhaps, as you say, better to leave her choice > unfettered, her fancy free ; if/' added Mr. Molozane, " it still be free. U, how- ever, hereafter," he proceeded more slowly, " if in the course of God's providence, you and she ever should become man and wife, remember it is what I longed for before I died before any other earthly blessing. And if you never marry, be a friend to her when she wants a friend ; and should she ever apply to you in any trouble or perplexity, will you stand to her, and ht^Jp her as I should myself?" Would he ? Would George Geith not have w^orked for her, slaved for her, died for her ? Would he not have taken her then, and run all risks of poverty, but for the dread that in so taking her he might be standing between her and a happier and more prosperous lot. During Mr. Molozane's long sickness, all through those weeks of terrible suspense, and still more terrible certainty, the accountant longed, with a longing such as he had never before experienced, to tell his love to the girl, and ask leave to stand by her in the trial he saw approaching. But as that might not be, as he thought they might never be more to one another than they were then, he held his peace, and Beryl passed through such suffering as would have made him speak in spite of himself, had he known it, all alone. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 419 Now, for the first time in her life, Beryl felt the want of money, daily and hourly. Mr. Molozane's was an expensive disease ; expensive in the medical attendance it required, in the physical comforts it demanded, in the nourishment it necessitated. All the oil that could be given was needed to keep the flickering flame alight from day to day. With less tender nursing, with less loving care, the man had been dead within a month ; but as it was, Beryl's devotion kept him alive even beyond the time the great West-End doctor had pronounced it possible for him to survive. With nothing coming in, whli money eternally going out, Beryl's little store, which had been already broken in upon to defray the expenses attendant on Louise's illness, was soon exhausted. Still hopeful of her father's recovery, still re- luctant to ask for help, or to beg assistance from any one, the girl gradually parted with every trinket, with every valuable she possessed. Even Louise's ear-rings, those two golden sovereigns, those six shabby-looking shillings which the dead girl had tossed over and over so lovingly on her death-bed, that money which Beryl had laid by like some liallowed treasure amongst the rest of her sister's little posse.-sions, even that went before Beryl applied to Mrs. Richard Elsenham for assistance. " Money, my dear," said that unselfish lady, when her visitor told her errand, and reluctantly entreated help. " Had you not better go to grandmamma ? She has plenty, and I have not." " I would rather not go to grandmamma," Beryl answered ; " and remembering your great generosity to me before, Tilly, I should not have come to you now if I could have avoided it ; but papa cannot live without things, which I have not the means of getting for him. You may think I have been extravagant, darling," she said, looking up from the footstool which she occupied, into her sister's face ; " but I have not ; indeed, indeed I have not. There was the furnishing, and 420 GEOEGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. then the living, until papa got that situation. Then Louey's illness, and — the expenses of her funeral," Beryl added, after a pause. " And now, Tilly, papa has been three months ill, and I have had to pay doctors' fees, and to get wine and jellies, and beef-tea, and a hundred things; and I have not had a half-penny of help. Granny has never sent me a farthing." " She must now, then," said Mrs. Richard Elsenham, " for I can't assist you." "But you did once assist me, Tilly. I will never ask you again, and I am not asking you for myself now, but for papa." And Beryl laid her hand deprecatingly on her sister's arm, for she did not like the expression which came over that lady's face as she spoke. " Get up. Beryl," said JMrs. R-ichard Elsenham, irritably, " and sit on a chair like other people." After which pleasant speech the beauty began beating the carpet impatiently with her little foot. " I can't help you," she went on, seeing Beryl waited for an answer. " I have not a sovereign in the w^orld of my own." " But, my dear Tilly," expostulated Beryl, " you have a very handsome settlement." " In my position," answered her sister, " my handsome settlement, as you call it, hardly suffices to dress me suit- ably." "And then, Granny is always making you presents," per- sisted Beryl. " She does not make me presents now," returned young Mrs. Elsenham, shortly, " nor Richard either." " Your husband has a very fine income," ventured Beryl. "You had better go and ask him for some of it, then," was the reply. " He may, perhaps, give it to you ; but it would be useless my asking him." " I shall certainly not ask Dick Elsenham to bestow alms - on the Molozanes, though he is married to one of them," said GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 421 Beryl, her face red with anger and disappointment ; and she rose in a passion, and iiad reached the door, wlien some softer feeling came over her, and she paused and said, '' Good-hye, Tilly. Though you have refused to help papa now, I will try not to forget you assisted us before, when we wanted assistance almost as badly. It was very generous of you, and one can't expect people to go on giving forever." " Beryl, come back ! " cried her sister, impulsively. " Beryl, I have something to tell you. Come back ! It was not from me," she went on, " you got that money. I have owed as much ; but I have never owned as much in my life. Mr. Wern left it with me for you. He is dead now, poor man, and it is better for you to know the truth." "And you took the credit ? " " What could I do ? He knew you would not have had it from him, and it was better for all of you for you to take it. If you had married. Miss Beryl, papa would never have needed to be a clerk in the city, and poor Louey might have been alive now. You made a terrible mistake then ; you did, indeed." "And it is fitting you should reproach me with it," re- torted Beryl ; " you, who have done so well for yourself, and who now will not hold out a finger to help your father on his death-bed, for it is his death-bed. You may believe it or not, just as you like ; but it is the truth, and it is your duty to do what you can for him. Remembering all he has done for you, it ought to be your pleasure, too, I think." She had shot home this time. At Beryl's words, at the sharp stinging sentence which her misery had wrung from her, Matilda's thoughts flew back to a time when she was not altogether selfish, to the old familiar scenes, to the half- forgotten woods, to the better, happier life, she had had in the (lays that were now past and gone forever. " He is not dying," she said, and the hot tears came into her eyes, and Mrs. Richard Elsenham once forgot herself, as she spoke: "If it were true, you could not talk about it so quietly, Bei-yl." 422 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " If you had passed through as much trouble as I have the last six months," answered the girl, " perhap.^ you could be quiet too ; " and she sat down on the nearest couch, and resting her tired head on her hand, waited till her sister's sorrow should have expended itself. " I have no money," said Mrs. Richard Elsenham, at last receiving her handkerchief, and turning her face swollen with weeping towards Beryl, "but I have jewels. Take them, and get all he requires, and I will come and see him oftener. I will come and stay with you, if you will let me ; I did not know he was so ill. Oh ! Beryl, why did you not tell me before ? " " I was hoping against hope, Tilly," was the reply, " and I should not have told you now only that you seemed so cold and hard, I could not help it. Come as often as you can ; come and stay if you like, but I will not take your trinkets, thank you. You might want them for the first ball you were invited to, and wish you had them back again." It was not a generous speech, but to save her life Beryl could not have kept silence. Next minute she was sorry for it, and went over and begged her sister s pardon, persisting, nevertheless, in her determination not to take the jewels, but rather go to her grandmother, and get help from her. " I think Granny will not refuse me," said Beryl, medita- tively, " she owes me some gratitude for that ride to Wattis- bridge, though it was useless, and I have never asked her for anything before ; besides, bad as she is, I can't fancy she would like her daughter's husband to want for absolute ne- cessities in his last illness." " Tell her she shall have Guess," remarked Mrs. Richard Klsenham, " that will make her pleasant at once." If her grandmother had asked for her right hand. Beryl would have given it ; and when weighed in the scales with her father's comfort, Guess seemed a small sacrifice for the girl to make. Nevertheless Beryl did feel it a sacrifice, and debated GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 423 within herself, as she crossed Kensington Gardens, whether begging in the streets would not, after all, be a more inde- pendent proceeding than asking help from her relations — whether it would not be placing him less under an obliga- tion to write to some of her father's old friends, than thus to go from sister to grandmother, praying for that which was nothing more than her right. Had Mr. Wern been living, she would have gone to him, and on that lovely May-day Beryl sighed bitter sighs of re- pentance because she had refused to marry the man who could have helped them all. '* I tliought of myself before either papa or Louey," was the idea uppermost in the poor child's mind. " If I had to do it again, I would marry him a hundred times over." But Beryl had not to do it again — had no other chance of help than the hope that her grandmother would be gen- erous, that she would give her enough to buy " all papa wanted." To be sure there was the furniture, which she had not thought of before ; she might sell the greatest portion of it. Could she not ask Mr. Geith to find some one who would buy it? But no; somehow Beryl could not ask Mr. Geith about anything. It would have seemed to her easier to stop the first passer-by and request him to advance what she re- quired, than to take the over-familiar friend into her confi- dence again. For something had come to him which she could not un- derstand, and something had also come to her which she did not understand either, and did not want to think about ; be- sides, she did not want to hasten by an hour that terrible breaking up she saw dimly looming in the future. There was no choice, therefore, but applying to her grandmother, who received Beryl ; who ^ave her twenty pounds without a murmur; who called her a good girl, and was generously pleased to accept Guess. " I am afraid I shall never be able to repay this, grand- 424 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. mamma," said Beryl, taking the notes, hesitatingly, really thinking that Mrs. Elsenham had given them to her under some delusion. " I have made Richard and his wife presents worth five times that, oftener than I could tell you, and they have scarcely had the grace to say thank you," replied her grand- mother ; '^keep it, Beryl ; you are a good girl, though you may have been a foolish one." And Mrs. Elsenham patted her on the back, and drove her home to Stock Orchard Crescent, whence the old lady did not forget to take Guess to his new quarters. Twenty pounds ! It was not a large amount, and yet it proved more than enough to supply all Mr. Molozane's earthly needs. Before half of it Avas gone, Ambrose Alfred Molozane, Esq., formerly of Molozane Park, Herts, had departed to the land where, happily, bank-notes are useless, and Beryl was left in a world where they are indispensable, penniless, and alone. " Have you any place to go ? What do you intend do- ing ? Will you come and stay with us ? " were the questions Matilda put to Beryl, who, prostrated and tearless, lay on a sofa, thinking stupidly of her bereavement and her isolation. " I do not know what I shall do," answered Beryl, " but I shall not go to stay at your house, thank you, Tilly ; " and then, in her utter loneliness and helplessness, she buried her face in the sofa-pillow, thinking over, and over, and over again. " If I cannot die, what shall I do ? where can I go?" "Where could she go?" George Geith put that very same question to himself as he sat in Fen Court on the evening of Mr. Molozane's funeral. Poor as he wtts, he felt half inclined even then to go and tell her all his love ; all his sorrow ; all his longing to pro- tect her ; and it is probable he might, in the house where the dead had so lately been carried, have asked her to be his GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 425 wife, but that Beryl, without tlie slightest symptom of dissat- isfaction at the arrangement, stated she was going to reside with her grandmother. " I thought, perhaps," observed George, " you might have liked to live with your sister." ''I could not live in the same house with her husband," answered Beryl ; and the pair shook hands in farewell. " Miss Molozane," said George, and his voice shook for a moment, and he held. Beryl's thin fingers so tightly in his grasp, that the pressure hurt her. " You have wealthy relations, and will make friends wherever you go ; still, the time may come when even a poor man like what I am could serve you. If it should, do not forget me. To the last hour of my life I shall never forget you." She tried to speak, she tried to thank him, but there was something stronger than her own will tearing at her heart and suffocating her. She knew as well he had loved her, that he did love her, as though he had told her so, over, and over, and over. And she knew, moreover, that she loved him, and yet that for some sufficient reason he would never ask her to marry him ; that being all the world to one another, they yet were not to be man and wife. A poor reason it would have seemed to be had she guessed it ; but still, knowing her rich grandmother was about to take her, it was sufficient and more than sufficient to keep George Geitli from speaking out his thoughts. She would marry well in the happy days that he hoped were yet in store for her. lie would not stand between her and tlie light. Thus thinking, the accountant left Stock Orchard Crescent, and walked sorrowfully back to the city to resume that life of incessant hard work and utter lone- liness which was his portion before he ever beheld the man whose mortal remains he had seen that day, borne along the Hertfordshire lanes, through the woods, and beside the meadows, to be laid at last in the narrow house appointed for all living. 426 GEORGE GEITH OF FEX COURT. CHAPTER XXXIX. SUNSHINE. It was summer once again, and George Geitli sat in his office, thinking, not writing. He had changed the position of his desk, which now stood with its end instead of its back between the windows, and consequently as the accountant bent listlessly over his papers, the sunbeams streamed upon his head, and the breeze which found ingress through the open casement, and blew the disclos^ blind aside, stirred his hair gently. Fifteen months had passed since Norton's failure — fifteen months of such toil, such anxiety, and such loneliness as had plentifully besprinkled his hair with gray, and drawn lines across his forehead. How he had worked in the time, how he had battled, and battled successfully, against both his ill fortune and his sor- row, was a story he could not have told to any one, but somehow he had worked and he had battled, and if he were poor he was at any rate clear of debt. Norton's estate had not paid a very high dividend, only five farthings in the pound, but George Geith felt very thankful even for that when it came ; when in lieu of his ten thousand five hundred and fifty pounds, he pocketed the precise sum of sixty-three pounds one shilling and five pence halfpenny. Whether he derived an equal amount of satisfaction from the knowledge that Mr. Norton and Mrs. Norton, and all the little Nortons, to say nothing of a fry of other people, who GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 427 were related to the Nortons either by blood or matrimony, had contrived, by aid of marriage settlements and various such like expedients, to escape the common ruin, may be greatly doubted. Mr. Norton retired to his "wife's property" in Devon- shire, where he had ample time for indulgence in his favorite hobby, yachting. Years afterwards, when the accountant occupied a different position, both in the city and at the West End, the ex-banker, meeting him at Ilfracombe, was kind enough to forget about the past, and ask him to dine with him, an invitation which tried George Geith's courtesy and his temper to the utmost ; but those days in which he was thought good enough to be requested to sit at the table of the man who had robbed him, were yet far distant when he sat, as I have said, thinking, in Fen Court. Thinking not pleasantly over a proposition which his clerk, Mr. Foss, had made to him the day previously, and which he, Mr. Geith, had declined that same morning. Mr. Foss wanted to be taken into partnership, wanted to pkce himself, and a thousand pounds left to him a month before by his father, on an equality with his present employer. Of course, the thing was not to be thought of. To take a partner at all would, to a man like George Geith, under the most favorable circumstances, have been a most disagreeable proceeding ; but to promote his own clerk, to be indebted to his paltry thousand pounds for money to carry on the busi- ness ! Gall and wormwood would have been sweet to George Geith in comparison to that. There is no aristocrat like a democrat. Having felt democratical towards those above him, it was only natural that the accountant should likewise feel it only right to keep those below himself in their proper station. Further than thi-, there were other reasons which caused Mr. Foss's proposition to be peculiarly distasteful to Mr. Geith. 428 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. In the first place, the young man had been with him a long time, knew his ways, Avas tolerably well acquainted with the business, and could be thoroughly depended on for his time. « Secondly, he was too well acquainted with Mr. Geith's customers to render the idea of his starting in business for himself palatable. Thirdly, the accountant knew that by refusing to take him into partnership he had made enemies for life of all the female Bemmidges and Gillings. He had behaved wickedly enough in their eyes by his insensibility towards the charms of the fair Gertrude, but to refuse to advance the interests of that lady's future husband was more wicked still. Mrs. Gilling herself had come to his office not an hour before to urge him to reconsider his decision. George shrewdly suspected she had been lying in wait somewhere in the neighborhood till that decision should be communicated to Mr. Foss. Solemnly, sitting opposite to him in his wooden chair, crying and perspiring freely, Mrs. Gilling had assured him that " 'Enery loved him like a brother, and respected him as a father. Take him into partnership, Mr. Geith, do." " Mrs. Gilling," replied Mr. Geith, " I do not want a partner." " But it will be better for you to have one," said the lady ; " better for your 'ealth and 'appiness and your business." " Of that you must allow me to judge," was the answer. "Why, Mr. Geith, everybody that knows you knows Norton's failure shook you considerable. You have never looked the same since, and I am sure if you had been my own son, I could not have felt more cut up than I did, to see you lying like a dead man in Sophia's spare bedroom." What could the accountant do after this, but express his eternal obligations to Mrs. Gilling for her motherly sym- pathy and unremitting attention. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COUKT. 429 He was extremely grateful for the kindness that had been shown him by Mr. Bemmidge and all his family. He as- sured Mrs. Gilling he did not, and could not, forget. " Well, then, if that is tlie way of it, why can't we all be comfoitable and friendly together? What, with 'Enery's money and your connection, if you worked together you might get on, if it pleased the Lord, first-rate, whereas, if you do not, you will be like an 'ouse'old divided against itself, as the saying is," added Mrs. Gilling, perfectly uncon- scious that she was quoting Scripture, and Scripture incor- rectly. " To speak plainly, you mean, I suppose, that, if I do not take him into partnership, Mr. Foss will, on the knowledge he has gained in my employment, start on his own account, and take such of my customers with him as he can manage to secure." " 'Enery would do nothing dishonorable, I can assure you, Mr. Geith," said Mrs. Gilling with dignity. " Of course not ; but he cannot prevent people following him if such be their fancy." " Well, you know," said Mrs. Gilling, who was certainly no malch in cleverness for the accountant, " some might like 'Enery better nor you." " It would be only reasonable to suppose so," observed George Geith. " And whatever friends Andrew Bemmidge has sent to you, would naturally follow 'Enery, if he commenced for himself" "That, also, is a reasonable supposition," agreed the accountant. " So that putting two and two together, 'Arry's leaving you can't do you any good, and may do you harm," finished Mrs. Gilling ; '' and if you would take the advice of an old woman who has both your interests at heart, you would not part now, nor divide a business that a'n't over and above larore as it is." 430 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. "You must have been sorry to hear from Mr. Foss how much my business has lately decreased," remarked Mr. Geith. " Bless you, 'Enery says as how that 's nothing. With a little money and another clerk, he thinks it could all be brought back in no lime. Mr. Geith, you will be advised ; you won't let a useful young man like that, who has your interest at heart, slip through your fingers." " You are really very kind and considerate," answered George. " I will think over what you have said." " And don't decide in a hurry, JNIr. Geith, unless you decide to say ' yes,' " were Mrs. Gilling's last words as the accountant opened the door for her, and watched her prog- ress down-stairs. When she had disappeared, Mr. Geith called in his clerk, and repeated what he had said to him in the morning, with the addendum, that he should like Mr. Foss to leave his employment at once. " It is not," he added, " because you are going to start in business for yourself; it is not because you may take a few of my clients with you that I say this ; but it does not suit my purpose, Mr. Foss, to have a person here who can- vasses my business difficulties amongst his friends." " I am very sorry," said the young man, turning first pale and then red, " I did not mean to do any harm. I did not think talking the matter over at Holloway could injure you in any way." " Then, before you commence on your own account, you had better learn that, in business, great is the gift of silence. When you have been an accountant for a twelvemonth, you will not like any move of your game to be discussed by a parcel of chattering women." " You will let me stay till you have got somebody else in my place," pleaded Mr. Foss. " I should not like to leave you in a corner." But Mr. Geith was firm. " I do not intend to have another clerk at all at present," GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 431 he answered ; " it will not only prevent your talking about my affairs for the future, but also, perhaps, induce you here- after to hold your tongue about your own. There is your month's salary in lieu of notice. And now good-bye ; I wish you every success in your new undertaking." Decidedly Mr. Geith had the best of it. Mr. Foss felt this ; and after having refused tp take his salary, an idea which George pooh-poohed as absurd, he left the office with a check in his pocket, and the kind wishes of his late employer ringing in his ears. Spite of his thousand pounds and Andrew Bemmidge's connection, Henry Foss began to be very doubtful indeed of the wisdom of the step he had taken, and wished from the bottom of his heart that his mother-in-law elect had kept her fingers out of his pie. " Indeed, it will be a lesson to me," he thought, as he walked a purposeless, wretched walk down Fenchurch Street to Aldgate, and thence through the blazing sun up Commer- cial Street, and round by Norton Folgate into Shoreditch. " I w^on't open my lips about business matters again : I won't even tell one of them I have been discharged, and I will go back and ask Mr. Geith not to tell Bemmidge either." " Very well," said Mr. Geith, when Mr. Foss preferred the petition ; " but I think you had better make a confidant of him. He is here two or three times a week, and would scarcely believe you were ' out ' always." " I do not know what to do," remarked Mr. Foss, de- spairingly. " I will tell you what to do," answ^ered the accountant ; " go and look out an office at once ; have your name painted on the door-post as soon as may be, and get to work without delay. We part without any unpleasant feelings on either side, I trust, and if I can do you a good turn, or send you a customer, I will." " I should like to stay with you, if you would let me," ventured Mr. Foss. 432 GEORGE GEITII OF FEN COURT. " Thank you ; but I find my business will not afford a clerk, and I decidedly decline a partner." After this, Mr. Foss went out again, and George Geith was left alone. Sitting there, I think he felt like a man who from the summit of some lonely rock watches vessel after vessel dis- appearing fi-om sight, till the last sail dips below the horizon. Everything had left him now, save his health, his business, and his energy. Would they depart likewise ? if they did, what was to become of him ? Thinking of this ; thinking of the time when the tale of his lile had been so rich in promise, in hope, and in happi- ness, the man felt his courage failing him, and w^as about to recommence his work, and so banish painful recollections, when a light tap came to the door — a light, timid tap — the tap of a person who had paused and hesitated before knocking at all. " Cume in," said George ; but no one availed himself of the permission. Fancying he must have been mistaken, the accountant re- sumed his writing, when all at once something like a heavy hand was laid on the panel, something which made the hinges give, and the lock rattle. " What the devil can it be ? Why can't the idiot come in? " he muttered, rising, nevertheless, and trying the handle. As he did so, Royal gravely walked past him into the office ; and, standing on the threshold, George beheld Beryl Molozane. How — seeing her so unexpectedly — he even refrained from taking her in his arms and holding her to his heart ; how he retained sufficient presence of mind to greet her quietly, and place a chair for her, and talk to her like a rational being, George Geith never knew ; but somehow he did manage to keep his senses, and ask her how she was, and whence she had come. " I am quite well again now, thank you," Beryl answered ; GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 433 " and I have come from Bayswater, all that long way, Mr. Geith, to beg you to do me a favor. Do you remember what you said to me the last time I saw you to speak to ? You told me if ever you could serve me you would, and so I have come to you to ask you to serve me now." He could not answer her in many words, he dared not trust himself to say much, so he only told her that if she would show him how, he Vould do whatever she required. " I should not have come had I not been sure of it," she answered, laying her hand on Royal's head as she spoke. " You must think it strange seeing me here at all," she went on after a moment's pause, " but I know if I wrote, grand- mamma would most likely intercept your reply." " I called once to see you," said George, more perhaps by way of saying something than for any other reason, " but you were not at home." " No ; and Granny sent you a letter telling you to keep away ; Matilda told me so. I might have thought you had quite forgotten there ever were such people as papa, and Louey, and I, but for hearing that." " I was not likely to forget the happiest part of my life," he said, earnestly. " I saw you once in Oxford Street," she ran on, still ca- ressing Royal as she spoke, " and I tried so hard to get you to look at me, but you would not. I was in the carriage with grandmamma, or I would have gone after you. I do not think any prisoner had ever less freedom than I have had since I saw you. I have borne it till I can bear it no longer, and now I am going to try and do something for myself, if you will help me." " How can I help you ? " he inquired. " In the first place I want you to find a kind master for Royal, and in the next I wish you would put an advertisement in the Times for me. If I could get a situation of any kind — as companion, as housekeeper, as nursery governess, I should be so thankful, so delighted. I am not clever enough to be 28 434 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. a governess, but I can sew, and I could teach little children and take care of their clothes. I would do anything, Mr. Geith, to get away from Bayswater ; you cannot think how wretched I have been." And she stooped over the dog, who turned his wise eyes first upon her, and then questioningly on George Geith. " She won't let rae keep Royal," said Beryl, her sobs breaking out at last ; " she ordered him to be shot, because he would not, and could not, be made to shake hands with everybody she wanted ; and he would have been dead by this time, only that I stole out while she thought I was dressing to go with her to the Exhibition, and untied him, and got a cab and brought him here to you. I could not have lived if they had killed him," she proceeded passion- ately, " for I like him better than any relative I have now on earth. Don't I, Royal, — don't you know I do ? " Whereupon the dog, as if he had understood what she said, rose up majestically, and laid his great head in her lap. What a lonely little soul it was, with nothing but a black retriever to love ! What a desolate little girl she looked to George Geith, sitting there with both arms round Royal's neck, hugging him. " It breaks my heart to part with him," she said, looking at her auditor, and striking first one of the dog's great paws and then the other as she spoke. " I cannot bear to think of his getting as fond of other people as he is now of me. And yet still I could not wish him not to get fond. Royal, will you ever like anybody so well as you have liked me ; won't you be always wishing for the old days to come back again ? " In answer to which speech Royal lifted his disengaged paw and laid it triumphantly on Beryl's shoulder. . " You must think me very foolish, Mr. Geith," she said, pushing the dog gently away, and resuming the quiet self- possession she had brought into the office with her — quiet- GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 436 ness and a self-possession unknown to the Beryl he remem- bered so well; "but, indeed, parting with Koyal seems to me like parting with the last home thing belonging to me. What can I do, though," she added, sorrowfully. " You will find a good home for him. I think he would like it in the countiy, and where there are children, best. If I knew he was not fretting, if I heard about him sometimes, I think I could be happy." " I should have imagined your sister would have taken him," said George. " Remember, I shall be only too glad to find him a kind master ; and am only suggesting Mrs. Richard Elsenham, because I thought you would, perhaps, like such an arrangement best." " My sister, Mr. Geith," answered Beryl, " would take nothing grandmamma discarded, unless to please grand- mamma ; she would not give me a night's shelter — suppos- ing I needed shelter — if she thought grandmamma would hear about it." -^ " So that there is now no person in the world who cares what you do or where you go to ? " observed George, almost involuntarily. " I cannot say that exactly," was Beryl's reply. " Matilda would greatly like me away from Bayswater, because she thinks — because, in fact " — hesitated the girl — " both Richard and slie imagine I might hereafter stand in their way, while grandmamma would like me to remain at Bays- water as her slave, her state prisoner — what you will." " And you have quite decided on ti-ying to earn your breatl," continued George. " It is hard work. Miss Molo- zane, I can tell you, I who have tried the experiment." " I am not afraid," she answered. " If I earned my own bread, I- should at any rate have a right to what I ate of it ; if I worked haid, I might perhaps get an hour of peace and quietness now and then. Beyond all things, I should be free. I should be allowed to labor without having to weigh my words, and looks, and thoughts, for fear of committing myself." 436 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. " And what do you intend to do about references ? " he asked. " I shall refer to Miss Finch." " And where do you wish the replies to be forwarded ? " " To you, if you please. And I want you to tell the peo- ple who answer, all about me, and to decide for me, and to let me know only when all is finally decided. Matilda will take charge of one letter for me — only one, for she says she must not be mixed up in the matter in any way." " And would it be impossible for me to see you about any of the replies ? " " I am afraid so ; grandmamma would not like it — like your calling, I mean. Indeed, I know she would greatly ob- ject to my seeing any old friend. And it would be of no use writing," she went on, " for I should never get the let- ters." " You appear to be comfortably situated," he remarked. " »I am comfortably situated," she said, " and yet every hour in the day Granny tells me I ought to be grateful to her, and do what she wants to show I am grateful." " And what does she want, if I am not impertinent ? " asked George, a little eagerly. " What I am not going to do," returned Beryl, rising hur- riedly. " Will you take charge of Royal for me, Mr. Geith ; and will you insert the advertisement in the Times ? " " I will certainly take charge of Royal," he answered, with a forced, anxious smile, " and I will also insert the ad- vertisement, but I should like to talk to you a little more about your intention. I will not ask you to stay here any longer ; for though this is not my busy time, still people are always coming in for one thing or another. May I walk back with you a little way ? should you have any objection to my accompanying you ? " " The cab is waiting for me," she hesitated. "We can dismiss it," he said; but still she stood irreso- lute. She asked him what time it was ; she wondered how GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 437 long it would take to drive to Bayswater ; she considered whether she could not have time to see him at her sister's ; she swayed backward and forward like a pendulum, now saying she could, now thinking she could not, till finally she plucked up courage sufficient to do what he wished, observ- ino- at the same time that she knew the worst which could o befall. " Granny cannot do more than kill me, or tell me to leave the house." " It would be rather a relief to you to be ordered to do the latter, perhaps," suggested George ; but Beryl shook her head. She was in possession of a secret which was sealed to him, that she had but half a sovereign of her own in the world, and nobody knew better than Beryl how short a time half a sovereign would last if she had to board and lodge herself out of it. " You had better give Eoyal something to take care of," said Beryl ; " he will not stay behind unless he thinks he is well employed here." And so they deluded the dog ; Beryl, by taking a little scarf off her neck and handing it to George Geith ; and George Geith, by laying it down before the animal and bid- ding him keep it safe. I am inclined to think Royal knew they were cheating him, that the whole trio understood the proceeding perfectly ; for the dog lifted his head and looked at Beryl so reproach- fully when she was leaving the back office where they had put him for better keeping, that she had to turn back at the very door, and coax, and pat, and fondle, and, as George verily believed, kiss him, ere she went. " I know you will not let him go to any place where they are not sure to treat him kindly," she said, as she and George went down the stairs together. " If you allow me, I will keep him myself," answered George. " Will you ? Will you really be troubled with him ? " she exclaimed, eagerly. " Then I shall be happy, quite 438 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. happy ; " and with something of her old elasticity, Beryl 6ki[)ped along the pas-age. " You will find him of use too," she added ; " he would keep office for you like a Christian, or better, perhaps, than some Christians. I 'd like to see the man would dare to lift one of your papers while Eoyal was alive. Mr. Geith, I have not thanked you yet. I be- lieve the last thing I ever thought of in old times was thank- ing you, no matter what you did for me." Every moment she grew more and more like the Beryl, the well-remembered Beryl, of the past. All the reserve, all the quietness she had acquired at Bayswater dropped off her as she walked along Fenchurch Street, and up Lime Street, and along Leadenhall Street, and down Cornhill, with the truest friend she had ever met with in her life. " I could dance," she said, " if it would not scandalize the citizens. I could jump for joy to be out by myself for half an hour. Oh ! Mr. Geith, if you but knew ; if you could but conceive what being with grandmamma is like. I think living in one of the condemned cells in Newgate must be pleasant and cheerful in comparison to that." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. CHAPTER XL. MARRIED. From Cornhill George Geith took Beryl Molozane past the back of the Royal Exchange, across Thread needle Street, down Bartholomew Lane, into Austin Friars. Is there a quieter place in the City than Austin Friars, a more world-forsaken, more forgotten nook ? If there be, I do not know it ; if there were in the days when he guided Beryl Molozane thither, the accountant did not know it either. Along the lonely streets they paced ; past the Dutch Church, round the courtyard where stands the great house with the large portico, round, and round, and round, talking to her. The accountant never wondered how his clients were faring in the interim ; listening to him. Beryl forgot about Bayswater and her grandmother altogether. Into every nook and corner of Austin Friars they pene- trated ; up and down every street, and lane, and passage they wandered ; and in that little desert in the middle of a great city, George Geith poured tlie old, old story of his love and his disappointment into sympathetic ears. How he had longed to make her his wife, how he had worked for her sake, how he had been flung back from the very summit of success, how he had feared to ask her to link her lot with poverty ; all these things he told her as they walked through Austin Friars, in the mist, and calm, and sunshine of that lovely August afternoon. He told her precisely what suited himself; everything 440 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. which looked well in the picture he grouped together for her inspection ; and for the rest, the girl had no near relation living to ask about the darker shadows, about the memories hanging beside the river's brink, at the point where the stream of his life diverged from the Church into trade. She put no questions, he had to invent no falsehoods, she had perfect faith in him ; why should she ask anything con- cerning his antecedents ? In her own heart there was no solitary event she desired to conceal, and it was therefore all the easier for her to believe all he said implicitly. With the sunshine streaming upon her, with no cloud in the sky above, with the only man she had ever cared sufficiently for to make parting from him a regret, was it not natural that she should hearken to him kindly, that she should believe him implicitly. And all he told her, she had the best of good reasons for believing, because it was true, true as they both lived, as they both had suffered, that George Geith loved her de- votedly, — would love her till he died. If in the past there did lie a skeleton, was he altogether to blame for letting the dry bones rest, for making no men- tion of the sorrow that had robbed him of his youth ? When, in the future, Beryl stood face to face with that sorrow, when she had to bear her part of the common trouble, she never reproached him even in thought for his concealment ; and at the time of which I am now writing, it was happiness enough for her to know " she loved, she was beloved," without insisting on visiting every secret chamber in the heart of the man who was for the future to be hers, all in all. That was the end of it ; never a wooing was shorter, never a love-tale proved easier in the telling. True the girl was not so quick about her answer as might have been desired, but then the circumstances were against a speedy answer, and it was but natural, that, surprised and flurried and rejoiced, she should require time to collect her thoughts, and gather her scattered senses together. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 441 " And I should like, Mr. Geith," she said, as they walked along London Wall, and down Monkwell Street, and across Falcon Square, and so to the cab-stand in St. Martin's-le- Grand ; " I should like not only to talk what you have said over with Matilda, but also to be quite certain you mean it, that you have not spoken in a hurry, and that you will not repent when you get back to Fen Court." " And how shall I ever be able to assure you of that," he answered, " unless I can see you often enough to repeat the same thing till you grow weary of hearing it." " It seems so much as if — as if" — she hesitated. " As if you had come to bring happiness to a wretched, lonely being," he finished. " Ah ! Beryl, believe me, I should never have told you what I have told you at such a time and in such a place, had 1 seen any hope of speaking to you in your grandmother's house. Shall I come and ask her for you formally ? " he added. " Shall I say, ' Madam, I have not a penny independent of my business, and still I aspire to marry your grandchild.' What would she do ? — order the footman to turn me out, I suppose." " I think it is very likely she might," sighed Beryl ; " but yet I wish — oh ! I do wish so much " "That you could have foreseen everything that has happened to-day, and never came to the city at all," he asked. " No ; but I wish you had said what you have said to me to-day when papa was living. I wish he had told me. I did not think he would have kept anything back. I knew I had no secrets from him." " He doubtless thought it best," answered George, sor- rowfully ; " and God knows I thought it best too. But Beryl," he added, smiling in spite of himself at her little co- quetry, at her transparent affectation of keeping him in sus- pense, at her poor pretence of not knowing whether to answer Yes or No, at the barrier she made believe to erect for the sole purpose of knocking it down again ; " but Beryl, 442 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. if you would have had me then, why cannot you terminate my misery, and assure me you will have me now ? " " You are not miserable," she pouted, " you know quite well ; that is, I mean — that is, you are sure " " Of what your answer will be," he suggested. " May I say it for you : I am to be happy — you will share my poverty, you will be my wife." " I shall not tell you," she said ; " you want to know too much. I shall not say anything more now." And the Beryl of old, the Beryl he had first loved amongst the green fields of Hertfordshire, came back in tone, in manner, in look as she spoke, came back and stood beside him so really for a moment, that, but for her deep mourning-dress, and her thin, pale face, George might have thought the last few years a dream, and the sti'eets through which they were walking alone together an illusion of his senses. " There is one thing, at all events, which you will not write to me," he said, standing by the door of the cab he had procured for her, " promise me that. Beryl ; you will not surely — you will not write me 'No.'" She did not reply in words ; apparently she had made up her mind that she would not be compelled to answer him against her will ; but he felt the hand he held clasp his tightly, and he saw that, though she was trying to smile as if in mockery of him, her eyes were full of tears. " I will rest satisfied, then ; I will try to be patient," he answered ; and while the cab jolted over the stones to Bays- water, he walked back to Fen Court, feeling that since morning a volume had been opened to him he then thought sealed forever. When he entered his office, his first care was for Royal, who had sat since his departure watching the scarf with a gravity fitting the dignity of deportment he affected. "That is my good dog," said George, taking the scarf from between the animal's paws; and it is not too much to add that the accountant could have blessed Royal for bring- ing Beryl to Fen Court. GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 443 " Come here, old fellow," was the invitation further ex- tended, as George saw him wandering about the two rooms, evidently searching for something which neither apartment contained. " Come here, old fellow ; are we not to be good friends. Royal? Shall we be stanch friends, for the sake of the old days departed, for the hope of the good days to come ? " Gravely and solemnly the retriever surveyed his new master ; quietly he listened, as though eveiy word conveyed some meaning to his ear ; and at last, when George had quite finished, Royal sat down on his haunches and lifted one paw in token of amity and acceptation towards his new master. During the days that came and went after that, Mr. Geith found great comfort in his companion. He felt sure Beryl would not forget the man who had her favorite in charge. Royal was a link between tliem ; Royal would compel her to write, if consideration for him did not. So the accountant, self-tormenting, like all men in love, con- soled himself, as though a hundred Royals could have been of so much importance as one George Geith, as Beryl deluded herself with no such idea, at any rate. It was not long before a note from her arrived at Fen Court, a note stating she had got a terrible scolding on her return home, but that her sin in finding a home for Royal seemed now forgotten. " It might not so soon," she added, " if grandmamma knew where I had lodged him." " The very same day," went on the writer, " she (grand- mamma) caught a cold at the Exhibition, and now she is laid up with it completely, and unable to leave her room. If, therefore, you could call now, I think you might have a chance of seeing me, more particularly if you called early, say at twelve o'clock." Not {mother sentence ; no " no," nothing, except that she remained his sincerely. Beryl Molozane ; which was all very 444 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. well in its way, but George had expected a more definitive reply, and was disappointed accordingly. As a matter of course, however, the accountant proceeded to Bayswater, where he had the pleasure of seeing Beryl solus, Mrs. Elsenham being still confined to bed. "I have not spoken to Matilda," said Beryl to George Geith, as they sat in Mrs. Elsenham's drawing-room, the splendor whereof somehow made the lover think he had done a very wicked thing in asking Beryl to link her lot with his. "I have not spoken to Matilda, because I was afraid of doing anything to compromise her with grand- mamma. Whatever I do, Mr. Geith, I find I must do so on my own responsibility. It would not be right to run any chance of injuring her, would it?" George thought decidedly it would not ; and by degrees all Beryl's troubles were explained, how Mr. and Mrs. Rich- ard Elsenham were jealous of her growing influence over Mrs. Elsenham senior. " Sometimes they say I am a toady, and sometimes they call her a stingy, unprincipled old wretch," Beryl explained ; " and whatever they say, it al- ways amounts to this, that we are both doing them an injury. Grandmamma does not like Matilda now as she used," went on the girl ; " and I greatly question whether she will ever leave Dick a penny. So long as they were quite dependent on her, they used to be grateful and respectful, but now they are neither; and grandmamma does not like it, and says if I marry to her mind she will make me her sole heiress." '•And shall you marry to Jier mind?" asked George, breathlessly. " No, Mr. Geith, I have quite made up my mind to that ; so I shall never have a penny." " Mrs. Elsenham wished you to marry some protege of her own, I presume," he suggested. " Yes ; but I will not marry to please her ; she has no right to ask me to do such a thing, and I should have no right to gratify her." GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. 445 " You have quite made up your mind to that ? " he re- peated. " Have you made up your mind, dear Beryl, to give up all those advantages, all certainty of position, all hope of wealth, and cast your lot with mine." She did not say whether she had or not, but she put out both hands with a pretty gesture of assent, stretched them to him eagerly, as though she were giving herself at the same time. Evidently she expected him to take the gift she offered, but George was not going to be contented with such am- biguous replies for the future, and taking Beryl to his heart, asked if she was certain she would confer on him a right to keep her there forever. " And if ever I give you cause to repent your choice, to repent the trust you have reposed in me, may God make me regret that the sun ever shone for me on this the happiest day of my life." Prophetic words, though they were spoken without the slightest idea that in the mournful hereafter they would be remembered with a bitterness like unto the bitterness of death. Prophetic; though they sounded to Beryl but as an assurance of the truth and loyalty of the man she had chosen. Now that there was a rival in the case, George felt that the sooner all preliminaries were arranged the better for them both. In his hands Beryl was content to leave everything. Dimly she felt that, deceiving her grandmother as she was, the sooner she ceased living under her roof and eating her bread the better ; and accordingly she agreed, without hesi- tation, to George's proposal, for their marriage to take place as soon as might be. " I shall tell no one until it is all over," said the young lady; "I never could face grandmamma's anger unless I was ready to fly from her on the spot. Write to me what you wish me to do, and send your letter to Matilda ; but do 446 GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT. not write more than the once. It may seem to you ridiculous, but I am afraid of grandmamma now. She might lock me up in a madhouse ; she might kill me ; I am sure 1 do not know what Granny might not do, if she had the slightest idea I was going to run away with you." " It will not be l-ong before I free you from her control," George answei-ed, laughing ; and he proved as good as his word, for he settled the necessary preHminaries so rapidly th^t, before another month was over, Beryl and he left St. Matthew's, Bayswater, man and wife. She had slipped out of the house long ere her grand- mother's usual hour of rising, and walked in the most mat- ter-of-fact way conceivable with George Geith, who was waiting close at hand for her, to church. She iiad no bridesmaid, he no groomsman ; the clerk gave her away; the pew-opener had a supply of water in the vestry ready for emergencies, but Beryl had not the slightest idea of fainting. If she trembled, it was not at the thought of intrusting George with the care of her future life, but because she dreaded ihe interview with her grandmother, which she knew was close at hand. In ten minutes Beryl Molozane was transformed into Beryl Geith. The marriage was as good as though the ceremony had been performed in the presence of fifty wit- nesses ; and there can be no reason to doubt but that the clerk and pew-opener found the money put into their hands by the happy bridegroom quite as acceptable as though the pair hud come separately in carriages, accompanied by a squad of relations and a bevy of bridesmaids. " Are you sorry, Beryl ? " he asked, as they passed out of the church. " No ; but I dread facing Granny after what I have done." " Why need you face her ? can you not write ? " " I will bid her good-bye, properly," said Beryl, though it is very lil