THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 BRITISH AUTHORS 
 
 TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 
 
 VOL. 2053. 
 A LAODICEAN BY THOMAS HARDY. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I.
 
 TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 
 By the same Author, 
 
 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA . . . 2 vols. 
 
 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD . 2 vols. 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE . . 2 vols. 
 
 THE T1U MI'ET-MAJOR 2 vols.
 
 A LAODICEAN; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE CASTLE OE THE DE STANCYS. 
 A STORY OF TO-DAY. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS HARDY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "FAB FROM THE MADDING CROWD," l I< 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITION. 
 IN TWO VOLUMES.— VOL I 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 
 BERN HARD TAUCIINITZ 
 
 1882. 
 
 The Right of Translation is reserved.
 
 r H 
 
 A LAODICEAN; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE CASTLE OF THE DE STANCYS. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 
 
 a*L<>4 K4
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The sun blazed down and down, till it was within 
 half an hour of its setting; but the sketcher still lingered 
 at his occupation of measuring and copying the chev- 
 roned doorway — a bold and quaint example of a transi- 
 tional style of architecture, which formed the tower 
 entrance to an English village church. The graveyard 
 being quite open on its western side, the tweed-clad 
 figure of the young man, and the tall mass of antique 
 masonry which rose above him to a battlemented 
 parapet, were fired to a great brightness by the un- 
 interrupted solar rays, that crossed the neighbouring 
 mead like a warp of gold threads, in whose mazes 
 groups of equally lustrous gnats danced and wailed 
 incessantly. 
 
 He was so absorbed in his pursuit that he did not 
 mark the brilliant chromatic effect of which he com- 
 posed the central feature, till it was brought home to 
 his intelligence by the warmth of the moulded stone- 
 work under his touch when measuring; which led him 
 at length to turn his head and gaze on its cause. 
 
 There are few in whom the sight of a sunset does 
 not beget as much meditative melancholy as con- 
 templative pleasure, the human decline and death thai 
 it illustrates being too obvious to escape the notice of
 
 8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the simplest observer. The sketcher, as if he had 
 been brought to this reflection many hundreds of times 
 before by the same spectacle, showed that he did not 
 wish to pursue it just now by turning away his face 
 after a few moments, to resume his architectural 
 studies. 
 
 He took his measurements carefully, and as if he 
 reverenced the old workers whose trick he was en- 
 deavouring to acquire six hundred years after the 
 original performance had ceased and the performers 
 passed into the unseen. By means of a strip of lead 
 called a leaden tape, which he pressed around and 
 into the fillets and hollows with his finger and thumb, 
 he transferred the exact contour of each moulding to 
 his drawing, that lay on a sketching-stool a few feet 
 distant; where were also a sketching-block, a small 
 T-square, a bow-pencil, and other mathematical in- 
 struments. When he had marked down the line thus 
 fixed, he returned to the doorway to copy another as 
 before. 
 
 It being the month of August, when the pale face 
 of the townsman and stranger is to be seen among the 
 brown skins of remotest uplanders, not only in Eng- 
 land, but throughout the temperate zone, few of the 
 homeward-bound labourers paused to notice him further 
 than by a momentary turn of the head. They had 
 beheld such gentlemen before, not exactly measuring 
 the church so accurately as this one seemed to be 
 doing, but painting it from a distance, or at least walk- 
 ing round the mouldy pile. At the same time the 
 present visitor, even exteriorly, was not altogether com- 
 monplace. His features were good, his eyes of the 
 dark deep sort called eloquent by the sex that ought
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 9 
 
 to know, and with that ray of light in them which an- 
 nounces a heart susceptible to beauty of all kinds,— 
 in woman, in art, and in inanimate nature. Though 
 he would have been broadly characterised as a young 
 man, his face bore contradictory testimonies to his 
 precise age. This was conceivably owing to a too 
 dominant speculative activity in him, which, while it 
 had preserved the emotional side of his constitution, 
 and with it the significant flexuousness of mouth and 
 chin, had played upon his forehead and temples till, 
 at weary moments, they exhibited some traces of 
 being over-exercised. A youthfulness about the mobile 
 features, a mature forehead — though not exactly what 
 the world has been familiar with in past ages — is now 
 growing common; and with the advance of juvenile 
 introspection it probably must grow commoner still. 
 Briefly, he had more of the beauty— if beauty it ought 
 to be called — of the future human type than of the 
 past; but not so much as to make him other than a 
 nice young man. 
 
 His build was somewhat slender and tall; his com- 
 plexion, though a little browned by recent exposure, 
 was that of a man who spent much of his time in- 
 doors. Of beard he had but small show, though he 
 was as innocent as a Nazarite of the use of the razor; 
 but he possessed a moustache all-sufficient to hide the 
 subtleties of his mouth, which could thus be tremulous 
 at tender moments without provoking inconvenient 
 criticism. 
 
 Owing to his situation on high ground, open to the 
 west, he remained enveloped in the lingering aureate 
 haze till a time when the eastern part of the church- 
 yard was in obscurity, and damp with rising dew.
 
 10 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 When it was too dark to sketch further he packed up 
 his drawing, and, beckoning to a lad who had been 
 idling by the gate, directed him to carry the stool and 
 implements to a roadside inn which he named, lying 
 a mile or two ahead. The draughtsman leisurely fol- 
 lowed the lad out of the churchyard, and along a lane 
 in the direction signified. 
 
 The spectacle of a summer traveller from London 
 sketching mediaeval details in these neo-Pagan days, 
 when a lull has come over the study of English Gothic 
 architecture, through a re-awakening to the art-forms 
 of times that more nearly neighbour our own, is ac- 
 counted for by the fact that George Somerset, son of 
 the Academician of that name, was a man of inde- 
 pendent tastes and excursive instincts, who uncon- 
 sciously, and perhaps unhappily, took greater pleasure 
 in floating in lonely currents of thought than with the 
 general tide of opinion. When quite a lad, in the days 
 of the French Gothic mania which immediately suc- 
 ceeded to the great English-pointed revival under 
 Britton, Pugin, Rickman, Scott, and other medievalists, 
 he had crept away from the fashion to admire what 
 was good in Palladian and Renaissance. As soon as 
 Jacobean, Queen-Anne, and kindred accretions of de- 
 cayed styles began to be popular, he purchased such 
 old-school works as Revett and Stuart, Chambers, and 
 the rest, and worked diligently at the Five Orders; 
 till quite bewildered on the question of style, he con- 
 cluded that all styles were extinct, and with them all 
 architecture as a living art. Somerset was not old 
 enough at that time to know that, in practice, art had 
 at all times been as full of shifts and compromises as
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I I 
 
 every other mundane thing; that ideal perfection was 
 never achieved by Greek, Goth, or Hebrew Jew, and 
 never would be; and thus he was thrown into a mood 
 of disgust with his profession, from which mood he 
 was only delivered by recklessly abandoning these 
 studies and indulging in an old enthusiasm for poetical 
 literature. For two whole years he did nothing but 
 avoid his barber and write verse in every conceivable 
 metre except an original one, and on every conceivable 
 subject, from Wordsvvorthian sonnets on the singing of 
 his tea-kettle to epic fragments on the Fall of Empires. 
 His discovery at the age of five and twenty that these 
 inspired works were not jumped at by the publishers 
 with all the eagerness they deserved, coincided in 
 point of time with a severe hint from his father, that 
 unless he went on with his legitimate profession he 
 might have to look elsewhere than at home for an 
 allowance. Mr. Somerset, junior, then awoke to realities, 
 became intently practical, rushed back to his dusty 
 drawing-boards, and worked up the styles anew, with 
 a view of regularly starting in practice on the first day 
 of the following January. 
 
 It is an old story, and perhaps only deserves the 
 light tone in which the soaring of a young man into 
 the empyrean and his descent again, is always nar- 
 rated. But as has often been said, the light and the 
 truth may be on the side of the dreamer: a far wider 
 view than the wise ones have may be his at that recal- 
 citrant time, and his reduction to common measure be 
 nothing less than a tragic event. The operation called 
 lunging, in which a colt having a rope attached to its 
 head is made to trot round and round a horsebreaker 
 with the other end of the rope in his hand, till it
 
 12 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 makes the beholder dizzy to look at them, is a very- 
 unhappy one for the animal concerned. During its 
 progress the colt springs upward, across the circle, 
 stops still, flies over the turf with the velocity of a 
 bird, and indulges in all sorts of graceful antics; but 
 he always ends in one way — thanks to the knotted 
 whipcord — in a level trot round the lunger with the 
 regularity of a horizontal wheel, and in the loss for 
 ever to his character of the bold contours which the 
 fine hand of Nature gave it. Yet the process is con- 
 sidered to be the making of him. 
 
 Whether Somerset became permanently made under 
 the action of the inevitable lunge, or whether he 
 lapsed into mere dabbling with the artistic side of his 
 profession only, it is premature to say; but at any rate 
 it was the impetus of his contrite return to architecture 
 as a calling that sent him on the sketching excursion 
 under notice. Feeling that something still was wanting 
 to round off his knowledge before he could take his 
 professional line with confidence, he was led to re- 
 member that his own native Gothic was the one form 
 of design that he had totally neglected from the be- 
 ginning, through its having greeted him with weari- 
 some iteration at the opening of his career. Now it 
 had again returned to silence; indeed — such is the 
 surprising instability of art "principles" as they are 
 facetiously called — it was just as likely as not to sink 
 into the neglect and oblivion which had been its lot 
 in Georgian times. This accident of being out of 
 vogue lent English Gothic an additional charm to one 
 of his proclivities; and away he went to make it the 
 business of a summer circuit in the west. 
 
 The quiet time of evening, the secluded neighbour-
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. Ij 
 
 hood, the unusually gorgeous liveries of the clouds 
 lying packed in a pile over that quarter of the heavens 
 in which the sun had disappeared, were such as to 
 make a traveller loiter on his walk. Coming to a stile, 
 Somerset mounted himself on the top bar, to imbibe 
 the spirit of the scene and hour. The evening was so 
 still that every trifling sound could be heard for miles. 
 There was the rattle of a returning waggon, mixed 
 with the smacks of the waggoner's whip: the team 
 must have been at least three miles off. From far 
 over the hill came the faint periodic yell of kennelled 
 hounds; while from the nearest village resounded the 
 voices of boys at play in the twilight. Then a power- 
 ful clock struck the hour; it was not from the direc- 
 tion of the church, but rather from the wood behind 
 him; and he thought it must be the clock of some 
 mansion that way. 
 
 But the mind of man cannot always be forced to 
 take up subjects by the pressure of their material 
 presence, and Somerset's thoughts were often, to his 
 great loss, apt to be even more than common truants 
 from the tones and images that met his outer senses 
 on walks and rides. He would sometimes go quietly 
 through the queerest, gayest, most extraordinary town 
 in Europe, and let it alone, provided it did not meddle 
 with him by its beggars, beauties, innkeepers, police, 
 coachmen, mongrels, bad smells, and such like obstruc- 
 tions. This feat of questionable utility he began per- 
 forming now. Sitting on the three-inch ash rail that 
 had been peeled and polished like glass by the rub- 
 bings of all the small-clothes in the parish, he forgot 
 the time, the place, forgot that it was August — in 
 short, everything of the present altogether. His mind
 
 14 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 flew back to his past life, and deplored the waste of 
 time that had resulted from his not having been able 
 to make up his mind which of the many fashions of 
 art that were coming and going in kaleidoscopic change 
 was the true point of departure for himself. He had 
 suffered from the modern malady of unlimited ap- 
 preciativeness as much as any living man of his own 
 age. Dozens of his fellows in years and experiences, 
 who had never thought specially of the matter, but 
 had blunderingly applied themselves to whatever form 
 of art confronted them at the moment of their making 
 a move, were by this time acquiring renown as new 
 lights; while he was still unknown. He wished that 
 some accident could have hemmed in his eyes between 
 inexorable blinkers, and sped him on in a channel 
 ever so worn. 
 
 Thus balanced between believing and not believing 
 in his own future so delicately that a feather of opinion 
 turned either scale, he was recalled to the scene with- 
 out by hearing the notes of a solemn familiar hymn, 
 rising in subdued harmonies from an unexplored valley 
 below. He listened more needfully. It was his old 
 friend "The New Sabbath," which he had never once 
 heard since the lisping days of childhood, and whose 
 existence, much as it had then been to him, he had 
 till this moment quite forgotten. Where "The New 
 Sabbath" had kept itself all these years — why that 
 sound and hearty melody had disappeared from all 
 the cathedrals, parish churches, minsters, and chapels- 
 of-ease that he had been acquainted with during his 
 apprenticeship to life, and until his ways had become 
 irregular and uncongregational— he could not, at first, 
 say. But then he recollected that the tune appertained
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 15 
 
 to the old west-gallery period of church-music, anterior 
 to the great choral reformation and the rule of Monk 
 — that old time when the repetition of a word, or half- 
 line of a verse, was not considered a disgrace to an 
 episcopal choir. 
 
 Willing to be interested in anything which would 
 keep him out-of-doors, Somerset dismounted from the 
 stile and descended the hill before him, to learn whence 
 the singing proceeded.
 
 1 6 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 He found that it had its origin in a building stand- 
 ing alone in a field; and though the evening was not 
 yet dark without, lights shone from the windows. In 
 a few moments Somerset stood before the edifice. 
 Being just then en rapport with ecclesiasticism by 
 reason of his recent occupation, he could not help 
 murmuring, "Shade of Pugin, what a monstrosity!" 
 
 Perhaps this exclamation (being one rather out of 
 date since the discovery that Pugin himself often nodded 
 to an amazing extent) would not have been indulged 
 in by Somerset but for his condition of returned pro- 
 digal, which caused professional opinions to officiously 
 advance themselves to his lips whenever occasion of- 
 fered. The building was, in short, a recently-erected 
 chapel of red brick, with pseudo-classic ornamentation, 
 and the white regular joints of mortar could be seen 
 streaking its surface in geometrical oppressiveness from 
 top to bottom. The roof was of blue slate, clean as a 
 table, and unbroken from gable to gable; the windows 
 were glazed with sheets of plate glass, a temporary 
 iron stove-pipe passing out near one of these, and run- 
 ning up to the height of the ridge, where it was finished 
 by a covering like a parachute. Walking round to the 
 end, he perceived an oblong white stone let into the 
 wall just above the plinth, on which was inscribed in 
 block letter:
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I 7 
 
 ERECTED 187—, at the sole expense of JOHN 
 POWER, LS(,)., M.P. 
 
 "The New Sabbath" still proceeded line by line, 
 with all the emotional swells and cadences that had of 
 old characterised the tune; and the body of vocal har- 
 mony that it evoked implied a large congregation within, 
 to whom it was plainly as familiar as it had been to 
 church-goers of a past generation. With a whimsical 
 sense of regret at the secession of his once favourite 
 air Somerset moved away, and would have quite with- 
 drawn from the field had he not at that moment ob- 
 served two young men with pitchers of water coming 
 up from a stream hard by, and hastening with their 
 burdens into the chapel vestry by a side door. Almost 
 as soon as they had entered they emerged again with 
 empty pitchers, and proceeded to the stream to fill 
 them as before, an operation which they repeated 
 several times. Somerset went forward to the stream, 
 and waited till the young men came out again. 
 
 "You are carrying in a great deal of water," he 
 said, as each dipped his pitcher. 
 
 One of the young men modestly replied, "Yes: we 
 filled the cistern this morning; but it leaks, and requires 
 a few pitchersful more." 
 
 "Why do you do it?" 
 
 "There is to be a baptism, sir." 
 
 Somerset was not at the moment sufficiently in- 
 terested to develop a further conversation, and ob- 
 serving them in silence till they had again vanished 
 into the building, he went on his way. Reaching the 
 brow of the hill he stopped and looked back. The 
 chapel was still in view, and the shades of night hav- 
 ing deepened, the lights shone from the windows yet 
 
 A Laodicean. I. 2
 
 1 8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 more brightly than before. A few steps farther would 
 hide them, and the edifice, and all that belonged to it 
 from his sight, possibly for ever. There was some- 
 thing in the thought which led him to linger in a way 
 he had not at all expected. The chapel had neither 
 beauty, quaintness, nor congeniality to recommend it: 
 the dissimilitude between the new utilitarianism of 
 the place and the scenes of venerable Gothic art which 
 had occupied his daylight hours could not well be ex- 
 ceeded. But Somerset, as has been said, was an in- 
 strument of no narrow gamut: he had a key for other 
 touches than the purely aesthetic, even on such an 
 excursion as this. His mind was arrested by the 
 intense and busy energy which must needs belong to 
 an assembly that required such a glare of light to do 
 its religion by; in the heaving of that tune there was 
 an earnestness which made him thoughtful, and the 
 shine of those windows he had characterised as ugly 
 reminded him of the shining of the good deed in a 
 naughty world. The chapel and its shabby plot of 
 ground, from which the herbage was all trodden away 
 by busy feet, had a living human interest that the 
 numerous minsters and churches knee-deep in fresh 
 green grass, visited by him during the foregoing week, 
 had often lacked. Moreover there was going to be a 
 baptism: that meant the immersion of a grown-up 
 person; and he had been told that Baptists were 
 earnest people and that the scene was most impressive. 
 What manner of man would it be who on an ordinary 
 plodding and bustling evening of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury could single himself out as one different from the 
 rest of the inhabitants, banish all shyness, and come 
 forward to undergo such a trying ceremony? Who
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 1 9 
 
 was he that had pondered, gone into solitudes, wrestled 
 with himself, worked up his courage and said, I will 
 do this, though few else will, for I believe it to be my 
 duty? 
 
 Whether on account of these thoughts, or from the 
 circumstance that he had been alone amongst the 
 tombs all day without communion with his kind, he 
 could not tell in after years (when he had good reason 
 to think of the subject); but so it was that Somerset 
 went back, and again stood under the chapel-wall. 
 
 Instead of entering he passed round to where the 
 stove-chimney came through the wall, and holding on 
 to the iron stay he stood on the plinth and looked in 
 at the window. The building was quite full of people 
 belonging to that vast majority of society who are 
 denied the art of articulating their higher emotions, 
 and crave dumbly for a fugleman — respectably dressed 
 working people, whose faces and forms were worn and 
 contorted by years of dreary toil. On a platform at 
 the end of the chapel a haggard man of more than 
 middle age, with grey whiskers ascetically cut back 
 from the fore part of his face so far as to be almost 
 banished from the countenance, stood reading a 
 chapter. Between the minister and the congregation 
 was an open space, and in the floor of this was sunk 
 a tank full of water, which just made its surface 
 visible above the blackness of its depths by reflecting 
 the lights overhead. 
 
 After glancing miscellaneously at the assemblage 
 for some moments Somerset endeavoured to discover 
 which one among them was to be the subject of the 
 ceremony. But nobody appeared there who was at all 
 out of the region of commonplace. The people were
 
 20 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 all quiet and settled; yet he could discern on their 
 faces something more than attention, though it was 
 less than excitement: perhaps it was expectation. 
 And as if to bear out his surmise he heard at that 
 moment the noise of wheels behind him, which led 
 him to turn his head. 
 
 His gaze into the lighted chapel made what had 
 been an evening scene when he looked away from the 
 landscape night itself on looking back; but he could 
 see enough to discover that a brougham had driven 
 up to the side-door used by the young water-bearers, 
 and that a lady in white-and-black half-mourning was 
 in the act of alighting, followed by what appeared to 
 be a waiting-woman carrying wraps. They entered the 
 vestry-room of the chapel, and the door was shut. The 
 service went on as before till at a certain moment the 
 door between vestry and chapel was opened, when a 
 woman came out clothed in an ample robe of flowing 
 white, which descended to her feet. Somerset was 
 unfortunate in his position; he could not see her face, 
 but her gait suggested at once that she was the lady 
 who had entered just before. She was rather tall than 
 otherwise, and the contour of her head and shoulders 
 denoted a girl in the heyday of youth and activity. 
 His imagination, stimulated by this beginning, set 
 about filling in the meagre outline with most attractive 
 details. 
 
 She stood upon the brink of the pool, and the 
 minister descended the steps at its edge till the soles 
 of his shoes were moistened with the water. He 
 turned to the young candidate, but she did not follow 
 him: instead of doing so she remained rigid as a stone. 
 He stretched out his hand, but she still showed
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 21 
 
 reluctance, till, with some embarrassment, he went 
 back, and spoke softly in her ear, afterwards saying in 
 a voice audible to all who were near, "You will 
 descend?" 
 
 She approached the edge, looked into the water, 
 and gently turned away. Somerset could for the first 
 time see her face. Though humanly imperfect, as is 
 every face we see, it was one which made him think 
 that the best in woman-kind no less than the best in 
 psalm-tunes had gone over to the Dissenters. He had 
 certainly seen nobody so interesting in his tour hitherto; 
 she was about twenty or twenty-one — perhaps twenty- 
 three, for years have a way of stealing marches even 
 upon subtle conjecture. The total dissimilarity be- 
 tween the expression of her lineaments and that of 
 the countenances around her was not a little surprising, 
 and was productive of hypotheses without measure as 
 to how she came there. She was, in fact, emphatically 
 a modern type of maidenhood, and she looked ultra- 
 modern by reason of her environment: a presumably 
 sophisticated being among the simple ones — not 
 wickedly so, but one who knew life fairly well for her 
 age. Her hair, of good English brown, neither light 
 nor dark, was abundant — too abundant for convenience 
 in tying, as it seemed; and it threw off the lamp-light 
 in a hazy lustre. As before observed it could not be 
 said of her features that this or that Avas flawless — 
 quite the contrary, indeed; but the nameless charm of 
 them altogether was only another instance of how 
 beautiful a woman can be as a whole without attaining 
 in any one detail to the lines marked out as absolutely 
 correct. The spirit and the life were there; and material 
 shapes could be disregarded.
 
 22 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 This was all that could be gleaned of her: what- 
 ever moral characteristics it might be the surface of, 
 enough was shown to assure Somerset that she had 
 had some experience of things lying far outside her 
 present circumscribed horizon, and could live, and was 
 even at that moment living, a clandestine, stealthy 
 inner life which had very little to do with her present 
 outward one. The repression of nearly every external 
 sign of that distress under which Somerset knew, by 
 a sudden intuitive sympathy, that she was labouring, 
 added strength to these convictions. 
 
 "And you refuse?" said the astonished minister, as 
 she still stood immoveable on the brink of the pool. 
 He added to the force of his pleading by persuasively 
 taking her sleeve between his finger and thumb as if 
 to draw her; but she resented this by a quick move- 
 ment of displeasure, and he released her, seeing that 
 he had gone too far. 
 
 "But, my dear lady," he whispered, "you promised. 
 Consider your profession, and that you stand in the 
 eyes of the whole church as an exemplar of your faith." 
 
 "I cannot do it!" 
 
 "But your father's memory, miss; his last dying 
 request!" 
 
 "I cannot help it," she said, trying to get away. 
 
 "You came here with the intention to fulfil the 
 Word?" 
 
 "But I was mistaken." 
 
 "Then why did you come?" 
 
 She tacitly implied that to be a question she did 
 not care to answer. "Please say no more to me: I 
 can wait no longer," she murmured, and hastened to 
 withdraw.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 2 3 
 
 During this unexpected dialogue (which had dis- 
 tinctly reached Somerset's ears, the windows standing 
 open for ventilation, and his perch being close behind 
 the speakers) that young man's feelings had flown 
 hither and thither between minister and lady in a 
 most capricious manner: it had seemed at one moment 
 a rather uncivil thing of her, charming as she was, to 
 give the minister and the water-bearers so much 
 trouble for nothing; the next, it seemed like reviving 
 the ancient cruelties of the ducking-stool to try to 
 force a girl into that dark water if she had not a mind 
 for it. But the minister was not without insight, and 
 he had seen that it would be useless to say more. 
 The crestfallen old man had to turn round upon the 
 congregation and declare officially that the baptism 
 was postponed. 
 
 She passed through the door into the vestry. Dur- 
 ing the exciting moments of her recusancy there had 
 been a perceptible flutter among the sensitive members 
 of the congregation; nervous Dissenters seeming to be 
 at one with nervous Episcopalians in this at least, 
 that they heartily disliked a scene during service. 
 Calm was restored to their minds by the minister 
 starting a rather long hymn in minims and semi- 
 breves, during the singing of which he ascended the 
 pulpit. His face had a severe and even denunciatory 
 look as he gave out his text, and Somerset began to 
 understand that this meant mischief to the person who 
 had caused the hitch. 
 
 "In the third chapter of Revelation and the fifteenth 
 and following verses, you will find these words: 
 
 fit I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor 
 hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because
 
 2\ A LAODICEAN. 
 
 thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue 
 thee out of my mouth. . . . Thou sayest, I am rich, and 
 increased with goods, and have need of nothing; and 
 knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable, and 
 poor, and blind, and naked! " 
 
 The sermon straightway began, and went on, and 
 it was soon apparent that the commentary was to be 
 no less forcible than the text. It was also apparent 
 that the words were, virtually, not directed forward in 
 the line in which they were uttered, but through the 
 chink of the vestry-door, that had stood slightly ajar 
 since the exit of the young lady. The listeners ap- 
 peared to feel this no less than Somerset did, for their 
 eyes, one and all, became fixed upon that vestry-door 
 as if they would almost push it open by the force of 
 their gazing. The preacher's heart was full and bitter; 
 no book or note was wanted by him; never was 
 spontaneity more absolute than here. His enthusiasm 
 had been suddenly made to take a negative turn by 
 pressure of unexpected circumstances. It was no 
 timid reproof of the ornamental kind, but a direct 
 denunciation, all the more vigorous perhaps from the 
 limitation of mind and language under which the 
 speaker laboured. Yet fool that he had been made 
 by the candidate there was nothing acrid in his 
 attack. Genuine flashes of rhetorical fire were oc- 
 casionally struck by that plain and simple man, who 
 knew what straightforward conduct was, and who did 
 not know the illimitable caprice of a woman's mind. 
 
 At this moment there was not in the whole chapel 
 a person whose imagination was not centred on what 
 was invisibly taking place within the vestry-door. The 
 thunder of the minister's eloquence echoed, of course,
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 2$ 
 
 through the weak sister's cavern of retreat no less 
 than round the public assembly. What she was doing 
 inside there — whether listening contritely, or haughtily 
 hastening to get away from the chapel and all it con- 
 tained—was obviously the thought of each member. 
 What changes were tracing themselves upon that lovely 
 face: did it rise to phases of Raffaelesque resignation, 
 or sink so low as to flush and frown? was Somerset's 
 inquiry; and a half-explanation occurred when, during 
 the discourse, the door which had been ajar was gently 
 pushed to. 
 
 Looking on as a stranger it seemed to him more 
 than probable that this young woman's power of per- 
 sistence in her unexpected repugnance to the rite was 
 strengthened by wealth and position of some sort, and 
 was not the unassisted gift of nature. The manner of 
 her arrival, and her dignified bearing before the as- 
 sembly, strenghtened the belief. A woman who did 
 not feel something extraneous to her mental self to fall 
 back upon would be so far overawed by the people 
 and the crisis as not to retain sufficient resolution for 
 a change of mind. 
 
 The sermon ended, the minister wiped his steam- 
 ing face and turned down his cuffs, and nods and 
 sagacious glances went round. Yet many, even of 
 those who had presumably passed the same ordeal 
 with credit, exhibited gentler judgment than the 
 preacher's on a tergiversation of which they had pro- 
 bably recognised some germ in their own bosoms when 
 in the lady's situation. 
 
 For Somerset there was but one scene: the imagined 
 scene of the girl herself as she sat alone in the vestry. 
 The fervent congregation rose to sing again, and then
 
 26 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Somerset heard a slight noise on his left hand which 
 caused him to turn his head. The brougham, which 
 had retired into the field to wait, was back again at 
 the door: the subject of his rumination came out from 
 the chapel — not in her mystic robe of white, but 
 dressed in ordinary fashionable costume — followed as 
 before by the attendant with other articles of clothing 
 on her arm, including the white gown. Somerset 
 fancied that the younger woman was drying her eyes 
 with her handkerchief, but there was not much time 
 to see : they quickly entered the carriage, and it moved 
 on. Then a cat suddenly mewed, and he saw a white 
 Persian standing forlorn where the carriage had been. 
 The door was opened, the cat taken in, and the car- 
 riage rolled away. 
 
 The young stranger's form stamped itself deeply 
 on Somerset's soul. He strolled on his way quite 
 oblivious to the fact that the moon had just risen, 
 and that the landscape was one for him to linger over, 
 especially if there were any Gothic architecture in the 
 way of the lunar rays. The inference was that though 
 this girl must be of a serious turn of mind, caprice 
 was not foreign to her composition: and upon the 
 whole it was probable that her daily doings evinced 
 without much abatement the unbroken spirit and pride 
 of life natural to her age. 
 
 The little village inn at which Somerset intended 
 to pass the night lay two miles further on, and re- 
 tracing his way up to the stile he rambled along the 
 lane, now beginning to be streaked like a zebra with 
 the shadows of some young trees that edged the road. 
 But his attention was attracted to the other side of 
 the way by a hum as of a night-bee, which arose from
 
 i ! ORGE SOMERSET. 2 "J 
 
 the play of the breezes over a single wire of telegraph 
 running parallel with his track on tall poles that had 
 appeared by the road, he hardly knew when, from a 
 branch route, probably leading from some town in the 
 neighbourhood to the village he was approaching. He 
 did not know the population of Sleeping-Green, as the 
 village of his search was called, but the presence of 
 this mark of civilisation seemed to signify that its in- 
 habitants were not quite so far in the rear of their 
 age as might be imagined; a glance at the still un- 
 grassed heap of earth round the foot of each post 
 was, however, sufficient to show that it was at no very 
 remote period that they had made their advance. 
 
 Aided by this friendly wire Somerset had no dif- 
 ficulty in keeping his course, till he reached a point 
 in the ascent of a hill at which the telegraph branched 
 off from the road, passing through an opening in the 
 hedge, to strike across an undulatig down, while the 
 road wound round to the left. For a few moments 
 Somerset doubted and stood still: the cut over the 
 down had no mark of a path or drive, but on the 
 other hand it might be a shorter though steeper way 
 to the same place. The wire sang on overhead with 
 dying falls and melodious rises that invited him to 
 follow; while above the wire rode the stars in their 
 courses, the low nocturn of the former seeming to be 
 the voices of those stars, 
 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim. 
 
 Recalling himself from these reflections Somerset 
 decided to follow the lead of the wire. It was not the 
 first time during his present tour that he had found 
 his way at night by the help of these musical threads
 
 28 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 which the post-office authorities had erected all over 
 the country for quite another purpose than to guide 
 belated travellers. Plunging with it across the down 
 he soon came to a hedgeless road that entered a park 
 or chase, which nourished in all its original wildness. 
 Tufts of rushes and brakes of fern rose from the hol- 
 lows, and the road was in places half overgrown with 
 green, as if it had not been tended for many years; 
 so much so that, where shaded by trees, he found 
 some difficulty in keeping it. Though he had noticed 
 the remains of a deer-fence further back no deer were 
 visible, and it was scarcely possible that there should 
 be any in the existing state of things; but rabbits 
 were multitudinous, every hillock being dotted with 
 their seated figures till Somerset approached and sent 
 them limping into their burrows. The road next wound 
 round a clump of underwood beside which lay heaps 
 of faggots for burning, and then there appeared against 
 the sky the walls and towers of a castle, half ruin, half 
 residence, standing on an eminence hard by. 
 
 Somerset stopped to examine it. The castle was 
 not exceptionally large, but it had all the charac- 
 teristics of its most important fellows. Irregular, 
 dilapitated, and muffled in creepers as a great portion 
 of it was, some part — a comparatively modern wing as 
 nearly as he could discover at a glance — was in- 
 habited, for a light or two steadily gleamed from some 
 upper windows; in others a reflection of the moon 
 denoted that unbroken glass yet filled their casements. 
 Over all rose the keep, a square solid tower apparently 
 not much injured by wars or weather, and darkened 
 with ivy on one side, wherein wings could be heard 
 flapping uncertainly, as if they belonged to a bird
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 20, 
 
 unable to find a proper perch. Hissing noises super- 
 vened, and then a hoot, proclaiming that a brood of 
 young owls were residing there in the company of older 
 ones. In spite of the habitable and more modern 
 wing, neglect and decay had set their mark upon the 
 outworks of the pile, unfitting them for a more positive 
 light than that of the present hour. 
 
 He walked up to a modern arch spanning the 
 ditch — now dry and green — over which the draw- 
 bridge once had swung. The large door under the 
 porter's archway was closed and locked. While stand- 
 ing here the singing of the wire, which for the last 
 few minutes he had quite forgotten, again struck upon 
 his ear, and retreating to a convenient place he ob- 
 served its final course: from the poles amid the trees 
 it leaped across the moat, over the girdling wall, and 
 thence by a tremendous stretch towards the keep 
 where, to judge by sound, it vanished through an 
 arrowslit, into the interior. This fossil of feudalism, 
 then, was the journey's-end of the wire, and not the 
 village of Sleeping-Green. 
 
 There was a certain unexpectedness in the fact 
 that the hoary memorial of a stolid antagonism to the 
 interchange of ideas, the monument of hard distinc- 
 tions in blood and race, of deadly mistrust of one's 
 neighbour in spite of the Church's teaching, and of a 
 sublime unconsciousness of any other force than a 
 brute one, should be the goal of a machine which 
 beyond everything may be said to symbolise cosmo- 
 politan views and the intellectual and moral kinship 
 of all mankind. In that light the little buzzing wire 
 had a far finer significance to the student Somerset 
 than the vast walls which neighboured it. But, on
 
 30 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the other hand, the modern mental fever and fret 
 which consumes people before they can grow old was 
 also signified by the wire; and this aspect of to-day 
 did not contrast well (at least in his moonlight medi- 
 tations) with the fairer side of feudalism — leisure, 
 light-hearted generosity, intense friendships, hawks, 
 hounds, revels, healthy complexions, freedom from 
 care, and such a living power in architectural art as 
 the world may never again see — civilisation having at 
 present a stronger attachment to lath and plaster than 
 to walls of a thickness sufficient for the perpetuation 
 of grand ideas. 
 
 Somerset withdrew till neither the singing of the 
 wire nor the hisses of the irritable owls could be heard 
 any more. A clock in the castle struck ten, and he 
 recognised the strokes as those he had heard when 
 sitting on the stile. It was indispensable that he 
 should retrace his steps and push on to Sleeping- 
 Green if he wished that night to reach his lodgings, 
 which had been secured by letter at a little inn in the 
 straggling line of roadside houses called by the above 
 name, where his luggage had by that time probably 
 arrived. In a quarter of an hour he was again at the 
 point where the wire left the road, and following the 
 highway over a hill he saw the hamlet at his feet.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 3 I 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 By half-past ten the next morning Somerset was 
 once more approaching the precincts of the building 
 which had interested him the night before. Referring 
 to his map he had learnt that it bore the name of 
 Stancy Castle or Castle de Stancy; and he had been 
 at once struck with its familiarity, though he had never 
 understood its position in the county, believing it 
 further to the west. If report spoke truly there was 
 some excellent vaulting in the interior, and a change 
 of study from ecclesiastical to secular Gothic was not 
 unwelcome for a while. 
 
 The entrance-gate was open now, and under the 
 archway the outer ward was visible, a great part of it 
 being laid out as a flower-garden. This was in pro- 
 cess of clearing from weeds and rubbish by a set of 
 gardeners, and the soil was so encumbered that in 
 rooting out the weeds such few hardy flowers as still 
 remained in the beds were mostly brought up with 
 them. The grove wherein the portcullis had run was 
 as fresh as if only cut yesterday, the very tooling of 
 the stone being visible. Close to this hung a bell- 
 pull formed of a large wooden acorn attached to a 
 vertical rod. Somerset's application brought a woman 
 from the porter's door, who informed him that the day 
 before having been the weekly show-day for visitors, 
 it was doubtful if he could be admitted now.
 
 32 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Who is at home?" said Somerset. 
 
 "Only Miss De Stancy," the porteress replied. 
 
 To him Miss De Stancy seemed a great deal, and 
 his dread of being considered an intruder was such 
 that he thought at first there was no help for it but to 
 wait till the next week. But before retreating many 
 steps he changed his mind: he had already through 
 his want of effrontery lost a sight of many interiors, 
 whose exhibition would have been rather a satisfaction 
 to the inmates than a trouble. It was inconvenient to 
 wait: he knew nobody in the neighbourhood from 
 whom he could get an introductory letter: he turned 
 and passed the woman, crossed the ward where the 
 gardeners were at work, over a second and smaller 
 bridge, and up a flight of stone stairs, open to the sky, 
 along whose steps sunburnt Tudor soldiers and other 
 renowned dead men had doubtless many times walked. 
 It led to the principal door on this side. Thence he 
 could observe the walls of the lower court in detail, 
 and the old mosses with which they were padded — 
 mosses that from time immemorial had been burnt 
 brown every summer, and every winter had grown 
 green again. The arrowslit and the electric wire that 
 entered it, like a worm uneasy at being unearthed, 
 were distinctly visible now. So also was the clock, 
 not, as he had supposed, a chronometer coeval with 
 the fortress itself, but new and shining, and bearing 
 the name of a recent maker. 
 
 The door was opened by a bland, intensely shaven 
 man out of livery, who took Somerset's name and 
 politely worded request to be allowed to inspect the 
 architecture of the more public portions of the castle. 
 He pronounced the word "architecture" in the tone of
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 3$ 
 
 a man who knew and practised that art; "for," he 
 said to himself, "if she thinks I am a mere idle 
 tourist, it will not be so well." 
 
 No such uncomfortable consequences ensued. Miss 
 De Stancy had great pleasure in giving Mr. Somerset 
 full permission to walk through whatever parts of the 
 building he chose. 
 
 It was as if he had come from winter to summer 
 at this intelligence. He followed the butler into the 
 inner buildings of the fortress, the ponderous thickness 
 of whose walls made itself felt like a physical pressure. 
 An internal stone staircase, ranged round four sides of 
 a square, was next revealed, leading at the top of one 
 flight into a spacious hall, which seemed to occupy 
 the whole area of the keep. From this apartment a 
 corridor floored with black oak led to the more modern 
 wing, where light and air were treated in a less gingerly 
 fashion. 
 
 Here the passages were broader than in the oldest 
 portion, and upholstery enlisted in the service of the 
 fine arts hid to a great extent the coldness of the 
 walls. 
 
 Somerset was now left to himself, and roving freely 
 from room to room, he found time to inspect the dif- 
 ferent objects of interest that abounded there. Not all 
 the chambers, even of the habitable division, were in 
 use as dwelling-rooms, though these were still numerous 
 enough for the wants of an ordinary country family. 
 In a long gallery with a covered ceiling of arabesques 
 which had once been gilded, hung a series of paint- 
 ings representing the past personages of the De Stancy 
 line. It was a remarkable array — even more so on 
 
 A Laodicean. I. 3
 
 34 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 account of the incredibly neglected condition of the 
 canvases than for the artistic peculiarities they ex- 
 hibited. Many of the frames were dropping apart at 
 their angles, and some of the canvas was so dingy 
 that the face of the person depicted was only dis- 
 tinguishable as the moon through mist. For the colour 
 they had now they might have been painted during an 
 eclipse; while, to judge by the webs tying them to the 
 wall, the spiders that ran up and down their backs 
 were such as to make the fair originals shudder in 
 their graves. 
 
 He wondered how many of the lofty foreheads and 
 smiling lips of this pictorial pedigree could be credited 
 as true reflections of their prototypes. Some were 
 wilfully false, no doubt; many more so by unavoidable 
 accident and want of skill. Somerset felt that it 
 required a profounder mind than his to disinter from 
 the lumber of conventionality the lineaments that really 
 sat in the painter's presence, and to discover their 
 history behind the curtain of mere tradition. Perhaps 
 a true account of the sweetest and softest among these 
 who looked so demurely at him over their pearl neck- 
 laces was a story which, related in its bareness, would 
 be hardly credible to the more self-repressing natures 
 of the present day. 
 
 The painters of this long collection were those who 
 usually appear in such places: Holbein, Jansen, and 
 Vandyck; Sir Peter, Sir Geoffrey, Sir Joshua, and Sir 
 Thomas. Their sitters, too, had mostly been sirs: Sir 
 William, Sir John, or Sir George De Stancy — some un- 
 doubtedly having a nobility stamped upon them beyond 
 that conferred by their robes and orders; and others
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 35 
 
 not so fortunate. Their respective ladies hung by 
 their sides — feeble and watery, or fat and comfort- 
 able, as the case might be; also their fathers and 
 mothers-in-law, their brothers and remoter relatives; 
 their contemporary reigning princes, and their intimate 
 friends. Of the De Stancys pure there ran through 
 the collection a mark by which they might surely have 
 been recognised as members of one family; this feature 
 being the upper part of the nose. Every one, even if 
 lacking other points in common, had the special indent 
 at this point in the face — sometimes moderate in 
 degree, sometimes excessive. 
 
 While looking at the pictures — which, though not 
 in his regular line of study, interested Somerset more 
 than the architecture, because of their singular dila- 
 pidation, it occurred to his mind that he had in his 
 youth been schoolfellow for a very short time with a 
 pleasant boy bearing a surname attached to one of the 
 paintings— the name of Ravensbury. The boy had 
 vanished he knew not how — he thought he had been 
 removed from school suddenly on account of ill health. 
 But the recollection was vague, and Somerset moved 
 on to the rooms above and below. In addition to the 
 architectural details of which he had as yet obtained 
 but glimpses, there was a great collection of old move- 
 ables and other domestic art-work — all more than a 
 century old, and mostly lying as lumber. There were 
 suites of tapestry hangings common and fine; green 
 and scarlet leather-work, on which the gilding was still 
 but little injured; venerable damask curtains; quilted 
 silk table-covers, ebony cabinets, worked satin window- 
 cushions, carved bedsteads, and embroidered bed-
 
 
 
 6 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 furniture which had apparently screened no sleeper for 
 these many years. Downstairs there was also an in- 
 teresting collection of armour, together with several 
 huge trunks and coffers. A great many of them had 
 been recently taken out and cleaned, as if a long 
 dormant interest in them were suddenly revived. 
 Doubtless they were those which had been used by 
 the living originals of the phantoms that looked down 
 from the frames. 
 
 This excellent hoard of suggestive designs for 
 woodwork, metal-work, and work of other sorts, in- 
 duced Somerset to divert his studies from the eccle- 
 siastical direction in which they had flowed too ex- 
 clusively of late, to acquire some new ideas from the 
 objects here for domestic application. Yet for the 
 present he was inclined to keep his sketch-book closed 
 and his ivory rule folded, and devote himself to a 
 general survey. Emerging from the ground-floor by a 
 small doorway, he found himself on a terrace to the 
 north-east, and on the other side than that by which 
 he had entered. It was bounded by a parapet breast 
 high, over which a view of the distant country met 
 the eye, stretching from the foot of the slope to a 
 distance of many miles. Somerset went and leaned 
 over, and looked down upon the tops of the bushes 
 beneath. The prospect included the village through 
 which he had passed on the previous day: and amidst 
 the green lights and shades of the meadows he could 
 discern the red brick chapel whose recalcitrant inmate 
 had so engrossed him. 
 
 Before his attention had long stayed over the 
 incident which romanticized that utilitarian structure,
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 37 
 
 he became aware that he was not the only person who 
 was looking from the terrace towards that point of the 
 compass. At the right-hand corner, in a niche of the 
 curtain-wall, reclined a girlish shape; and asleep on 
 the bench over which she leaned was a white cat— 
 the identical Persian as it seemed — that had been 
 taken into the carriage at the chapel-door. 
 
 By a natural train of thought Somerset began to 
 muse on the probability or otherwise of the backslid- 
 ing Baptist and this young lady resulting in one and 
 the same person; and almost without knowing it he 
 found himself deeply hoping for such a charming 
 unity. It was hoping quite out of bounds; yet at the 
 present moment it was impossible to say they were 
 not. The object of his inspection was idly leaning, 
 and this somewhat disguised her figure. It might have 
 been tall or short, curvilinear or angular. She carried 
 a light sunshade which she fitfully twirled until 
 thrusting it back over her shoulder her head was 
 revealed sufficiently to show that she wore no hat or 
 bonnet. This token of her being an inmate of the 
 castle, and not a visitor, as Somerset had conjectured, 
 rather damped his expectations: but so unreasonable 
 is hope, particularly when allied with a young man's 
 fancy, that he persisted in believing her look towards 
 the chapel must have a meaning in it, till she sud- 
 denly stood erect, and revealed herself as short in 
 stature — almost dumpy — at the same time giving him 
 a distinct view of her profile. She was not at all like 
 the heroine of the chapel; he saw the dinted nose of 
 the De Stancys distinctly outlined with Holbein sha- 
 dowlessness against the blue -green of the distant
 
 38 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 wood. But it was not the De Stancy face with all its 
 original specialities: it was, so to speak, a burlesque of 
 that face: for the nose tried hard to turn up and deal 
 utter confusion to the family shape. 
 
 As for the rest of the countenance, Somerset was 
 obliged to own that it was not beautiful: Nature had 
 done there many things that she ought not to have 
 done, and left undone much that she should have 
 executed. It would have been decidedly plain but 
 for a precious quality which no perfection of chiselling 
 can give when the temperament denies it, and which 
 no facial irregularity can take away — a tender affec- 
 tionateness which might almost be called yearning; 
 such as is often seen in all its intensity in the women 
 of Correggio when they are painted in profile, and 
 which a slight elevation of the lower part of her face 
 helped to accentuate. Perhaps the plain features of 
 Miss De Stancy — -who she undoubtedly was — were 
 rather severely handled by Somerset's judgment owing 
 to his impression of the previous night. And, indeed, 
 a beauty of a sort would have been lent by the 
 flexuous contours of the mobile parts but for that un- 
 fortunate condition the poor girl was burdened with, 
 of having to hand on a traditional feature with which 
 she did not find herself otherwise in harmony. 
 
 She glanced at him for a moment in turning, and 
 presently showed by an imperceptible movement that 
 he had made his presence felt. Not to embarrass her, 
 if it were true, as it seemed, that she was not much 
 accustomed to strangers, Somerset instantly hastened 
 to withdraw, at the same time that she passed round 
 to the other part of the terrace, followed by the cat,
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 3Q 
 
 in whom Somerset could imagine a certain denomina- 
 tional cast of countenance, notwithstanding her com- 
 pany. But as white cats are much like each other at 
 a distance, it was reasonable to suppose this creature 
 not the same one as that possessed by the beauty.
 
 40 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 He descended the stone stairs to a lower storey of 
 the castle, in which was a crypt-like hall covered by 
 vaulting of exceptional and massive ingenuity: 
 
 Built ere the art was known, 
 By pointed aisle and shafted stalk 
 The arcades of an alleyed walk, 
 
 To emulate in stone. 
 
 It happened that the central pillar whereon the vaults 
 rested, reputed to exhibit some of the most hideous 
 grotesques in England upon its capital, had been en- 
 closed with a modern partition, cutting off a portion of 
 the large area for domestic purposes. A locked door 
 barred Somerset's ingress, and he was tempted to ask 
 a servant for permission to open it till he heard that 
 the inner room was temporarily used for plate, the key 
 being kept by Miss De Stancy, at which Somerset said 
 no more. But afterwards he heard the active house- 
 maid redescending the stone steps; she entered the 
 crypt with a bunch of keys in one hand, and in the 
 other a candle, followed by the young lady whom 
 Somerset had seen on the terrace. The servant ad- 
 vanced with the key, but the young lady stood back; 
 he saw that something hung upon her lips to say to 
 him which she could not get off; he slightly bowed to 
 encourage her.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 4 1 
 
 "I shall be very glad to unlock anything you may 
 want to see," she now found tongue to say. "So few 
 people take any real interest in what is here that Miss 
 Power does not leave it open." 
 
 Somerset expressed his thanks. 
 
 Miss De Stancy, a little to his surprise, had a 
 touch of rusticity in her manner, and that forced ab- 
 sence of reserve which seclusion from society lends to 
 young women more frequently than not. She seemed 
 glad to have something to do; the arrival of Somerset 
 was plainly an event sufficient to set some little mark 
 upon her day. Deception had been written on the 
 faces of those frowning walls in their implying the in- 
 significance of Somerset, when he found them tenanted 
 only by this little woman whose life was narrower than 
 his own. 
 
 "We have not been here long," continued Miss De 
 Stancy, "and that's why everything is in such a dila- 
 pidated and confused condition." 
 
 Somerset entered the dark store-closet thinking 
 less of the ancient pillar revealed by the light of the 
 candle than what a singular remark the latter was to 
 come from a member of the family which appeared to 
 have been there five centuries. He held the candle 
 above his head, and walked round, and presently Miss 
 De Stancy came back. 
 
 "There is another vault below," she said, with the 
 severe face of a young woman who speaks only be- 
 cause it is absolutely necessary. "Perhaps you are not 
 aware of it? It was the dungeon: if you wish to go 
 down there too, the servant will show you the way. It 
 is not at all ornamental: rough, unhewn arches and 
 clumsy piers."
 
 42 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Somerset thanked her, and would perhaps take 
 advantage of her kind offer when he had examined 
 the spot where he was, if it were not causing incon- 
 venience. 
 
 "No; I am sure Miss Power will be glad to know 
 that anybody thinks it interesting to go down there — 
 which is more than she does herself." 
 
 Some obvious inquiries were suggested by this, but 
 Somerset said, "I have seen the pictures, and have 
 been much struck by them; partly," he added, with 
 some hesitation, "because one or two of them reminded 
 me of a schoolfellow — I think his name was John 
 Ravensbury?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, almost eagerly. "He was my 
 cousin ! " 
 
 "So that we are not quite strangers?" 
 
 "But he is dead now. . . . He was unfortunate: he 
 was mostly spoken of as 'that unlucky boy.' . . . You 
 know, I suppose, Mr. Somerset, why the paintings are 
 in such a decaying state? — it is owing to the peculiar 
 treatment of the castle during Mr. Wilkins's time. He 
 was blind; so one can imagine he did not appreciate 
 such things as there are here." 
 
 "The castle has been shut up, you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, for many years. But it will not be so 
 again. Miss Power is going to have the pictures 
 cleaned, and the frames mended, and the old pieces 
 of furniture put in their proper places. It will be 
 very nice then. Did you see those in the east 
 closet?" 
 
 "I have only seen those in the gallery." 
 
 "I will just show you the way to the others, if you 
 would like to see them?"
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 43 
 
 They ascended to the room designated the east 
 closet. The paintings here, mostly of smaller size, 
 were in a better condition, owing partly to the fact 
 that they were hung on an inner wall, and had hence 
 been kept comparatively free from damp. Somer- 
 set inquired the names and histories of one or two. 
 
 "I really don't quite know," Miss De Stancy re- 
 plied after some thought. "But Miss Power knows, I 
 am sure. I don't study them much — -I don't see the 
 use of it." She swung her sunshade, so that it fell 
 open, and turned it up till it fell shut. "I have never 
 been able to give much attention to ancestors," she 
 added, with her eyes on the parasol. 
 
 "These are your ancestors?" he asked, for her 
 position and tone were matters which perplexed him. 
 In spite of the family likeness and other details he 
 could scarcely believe this frank and communicative 
 country maiden to be the modern representative of the 
 De Stancys. 
 
 "Oh, yes, they certainly are," she said laughing. 
 "People say I am like them: I don't know if I am— 
 well, yes, I know I am: I can see that, of course, any 
 day. But they have gone from my family, and per- 
 haps it is just as well that they should have gone. . . . 
 They are useless," she added, with serene conclusive- 
 ness. 
 
 "Ah! they have gone, have they?" 
 
 "Yes, castle and furniture went together: it was 
 long ago — long before I was born. It doesn't seem 
 to me as if the place ever belonged to a relative of 
 mine." 
 
 Somerset corrected his smiling manner to one of 
 solicitude.
 
 44 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "But you live here, Miss De Stancy?" 
 
 "Yes — a great deal now; though sometimes I go 
 home to sleep." 
 
 "This is home to you, and not home?" 
 
 "I live here with Miss Power: I have not been 
 here long, neither has she. For the first six months 
 after her father's death she did not come here at 
 all." 
 
 They walked on, gazing at the walls, till the young 
 man said, as if he were rather speaking of the portrait 
 over which his eyes were playing than of her previous 
 statement: "I fear I may be making some mistake: but 
 I am sure you will pardon my inquisitiveness this once. 
 Who is Miss Power?" 
 
 "Ah, you don't know! Of course you don't — local 
 changes don't get talked of far away. She is the 
 owner of this castle and estate. My father sold it when 
 he was quite a young man, my eldest brother, now 
 dead, being only three weeks old at the time. It 
 was purchased by a man named Wilkins, a rich man 
 who became blind soon after he had bought it, and 
 never lived here; so it was left uncared for." 
 
 She went out upon the terrace; and without exactly 
 knowing why, Somerset followed. 
 
 "Miss Power " 
 
 "Has only come here quite recently. She is away 
 from home to-day. ... It was very sad," murmured 
 the young girl thoughtfully. " No sooner had her father 
 bought it of the representatives of Mr. Wilkins — almost 
 immediately indeed — he died from a chill caught after 
 a warm bath. On account of that she did not take 
 possession for several months; and even now she has 
 only had a few rooms prepared as a temporary residence
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 45 
 
 till she can think what to do. Poor thing, it is sad to 
 be left alone!" 
 
 Somerset heed fully remarked that he thought he 
 recognised that name Power, as one he had seen lately, 
 somewhere or other. 
 
 "Perhaps you have been hearing of her father. Do 
 you know what he was?" 
 
 Somerset did not. 
 
 She looked across the distant country, where un- 
 dulations of dark-green foliage formed a prospect ex- 
 tending for miles. And as she watched, and Somer- 
 set's eyes, led by hers, watched also, a white streak of 
 steam, thin as a cotton thread, could be discerned 
 ploughing that green expanse. "Her father made thai" 
 Miss De Stancy said, directing her finger towards the 
 object. 
 
 "That what?" 
 
 "That railway. He was Mr. John Power, the great 
 railway contractor. And it was through making the 
 railway that he discovered this castle — the railway was 
 diverted a little on its account." 
 
 "A clash between ancient and modern." 
 
 "Yes, but he took an interest in the locality long 
 before he purchased the estate. And he built the 
 people a chapel on a bit of freehold he bought for 
 them. He was a staunch Baptist up to the day of his 
 death — a much stauncher one," she said significantly, 
 "than his daughter is." 
 
 "Ah, yes — so I should conclude." 
 
 "You have heard about the baptism?" 
 
 "I know something of it." 
 
 "Her conduct has given mortal offence to the scat- 
 tered people of the denomination that her father was
 
 46 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 at such pains to unite into a body, and build a chapel 
 for." 
 
 Somerset could guess the remainder, and in think- 
 ing over the circumstances did not state what he had 
 seen. She added, as if disappointed at his want of 
 curiosity: 
 
 "She would not submit to the rite when it came 
 to the point. The water looked so cold and dark, and 
 fearful, she said, that she could not do it to save her 
 life." 
 
 "Surely she should have known her mind before 
 she had gone so far?" Somerset's words had a con- 
 demnatory form, but perhaps his actual feeling was 
 that if Miss Power had known her own mind, she would 
 have not interested him half so much. 
 
 "Paula's own mind had nothing to do with it!" 
 said Miss De Stancy, warming up to staunch partisan- 
 ship in a moment. "It was all undertaken by her 
 from a mistaken sense of duty. It was her father's 
 dying wish that she should make public profession of 
 her — what do you call it — of the denomination she 
 belonged to, as soon as she felt herself fit to do it: so 
 when he was dead she tried and tried, and didn't get 
 any more fit; and at last she screwed herself up to 
 the pitch, and thought she must undergo the ceremony 
 out of pure reverence for his memoiy. It was very 
 short-sighted of her father to put her in such a posi- 
 tion; because she is now very sad as she feels she 
 can never try again after such a sermon as was de- 
 livered against her." 
 
 Somerset presumed that Miss Power need not have 
 heard this Knox or Bossuet of hers if she had chosen 
 to go away?
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 47 
 
 "She did not hear it in the face of the congrega- 
 tion; but from the vestry. She told me some of it 
 when she reached home. Would you believe it, the 
 man who preached so bitterly is a tenant of hers? I 
 said, 'Surely you will turn him out of his house?'— 
 But she answered, in her calm, deep, nice way, that 
 she supposed he had a perfect right to preach against 
 her, that she could not in justice molest him at all. I 
 wouldn't let him stay if the house were mine. But 
 she has often before allowed him to scold her from 
 the pulpit in a smaller way — once it was about an ex- 
 pensive dress she had worn — not mentioning her by 
 name, you know; but all the people are quite aware 
 that it is meant for her, because only one person of 
 her wealth or position belongs to the Baptist body in 
 this county." 
 
 Somerset was looking at the homely affectionate 
 face of the little speaker. "You are her good friend, 
 I am sure," he remarked. 
 
 She looked into the distant air with tacit admission 
 of the impeachment. "So would you be if you knew 
 her," she said; and a blush slowly rose to her cheek, 
 as if the person spoken of had been a lover rather 
 than a friend. 
 
 "But you are not a Baptist any more than I?" con- 
 tinued Somerset. 
 
 " Oh no. And I never knew one till I knew Paula. 
 I think they are very nice; though I sometimes wish 
 Paula was not one, but the religion of reasonable 
 persons." 
 
 They walked on, and came opposite to where the 
 telegraph emerged from the trees, leaped over the 
 parapet, and up through the loophole into the interior.
 
 48 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "That looks strange in such a building," said her 
 companion. 
 
 "Miss Power had it put up to know the latest news 
 from town. It costs six pounds a year for each mile. 
 She can work it herself, beautifully: and so can I, but 
 not so well. It was a great delight to learn. Miss 
 Power was so interested at first that she was sending 
 messages from morning till night. And did you hear 
 the new clock?" 
 
 "Oh! is it a new one? — Yes, I heard it." 
 
 "The old one was quite worn out; so Paula has 
 put it in the cellar, and had this new one made, though 
 it still strikes on the old bell. It tells the seconds, 
 but the old one, which my very great grandfather 
 erected in the eighteenth century, only told the hours. 
 Paula says that time, being so much more valuable 
 now, must of course be cut up into smaller pieces." 
 
 "She does not appear to be much impressed by 
 the spirit of this ancient pile." 
 
 Miss De Stancy shook her head too slightly to ex- 
 press absolute negation. 
 
 "Do you wish to come through this door?" she 
 asked. "There is a singular chimney-piece in the 
 kitchen, which is considered a unique example of its 
 kind, though I myself don't know enough about it to 
 have an opinion on the subject." 
 
 When they had looked at the corbelled chimney- 
 piece, they returned to the hall, where his eye was 
 caught anew by a large map that he had conned for 
 some time when alone without being able to divine 
 the locality represented. It was called "General Plan 
 of the Town," and showed streets and open spaces 
 corresponding with nothing he had seen in the county.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 49 
 
 "Is that town here?" he asked. 
 
 "It is not anywhere but in Paula's brain; she has 
 laid it out from her own design. The site is sup- 
 posed to be near our railway-station, just across there, 
 where the land belongs so her. She is going to grant 
 cheap building leases, and develop the manufacture of 
 pottery." 
 
 "Pottery — how very practical she must be!" 
 
 "Oh no! no!" replied Miss De Stancy in tones 
 showing how supremely ignorant he must be of Miss 
 Power's nature if he characterised her in those terms. 
 "It is Greek pottery she means — Hellenic pottery she 
 tells me to call it, only I forget. There is beautiful 
 clay at the place, her father told her: he found it in 
 making the railway tunnel. She has visited the British 
 Museum, continental museums, and Greece, and Spain: 
 and hopes to imitate the old fictile work in time, 
 especially the Greek of the best period, four hundred 
 years after Christ, or before Christ— I forget which it 
 was Paula said. ... Oh no, she is not practical in the 
 sense you mean, at all." 
 
 "A mixed young lady, rather." 
 
 Miss De Stancy appeared unable to settle whether 
 this new definition of her dear friend should be ac- 
 cepted as kindly, or disallowed as decidedly sarcastic. 
 "You would like her if you knew her," she insisted, in 
 half tones of pique; after which she walked on a few 
 steps. 
 
 "I think very highly of her," said Somerset. 
 
 "And I! And yet at one time I could never have 
 believed that I should have been her friend. One is 
 prejudiced at first against people who are reported to 
 have such differences in feeling, associations, and 
 
 A Laodicean, I. 4
 
 50 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 habit, as she seemed to have from mine. But it has 
 not stood in the least in the way of our liking each 
 other. I believe the difference makes us the more 
 united." 
 
 "It says a great deal for the liberality of both," an- 
 swered Somerset warmly. "Heaven send us more of 
 the same sort of people ! They are not too numerous 
 at present." 
 
 As this remark called for no reply from Miss De 
 Stancy, she took advantage of an opportunity to leave 
 him alone, first repeating her permission to him to 
 wonder where he would. He walked about for some 
 time, sketch-book in hand, but was conscious that his 
 interest did not lie much in the architecture. In pass- 
 ing along the corridor of an upper floor, he observed 
 an open door through which was visible a room con- 
 taining one of the finest Renaissance cabinets he had 
 ever seen. It was impossible, on close examination, to 
 do justice to it in a hasty sketch; it would be neces- 
 sary to measure every line, and get impressions of 
 every surface, if he would bring away anything of 
 practical utility to him as a designer. Deciding to 
 reserve this gem for another opportunity, he cast his 
 eyes round the room, and blushed a little. Without 
 knowing it he had intruded into the absent Miss 
 Paula's own particular set of chambers, including a 
 boudoir and sleeping apartment. On the tables of the 
 sitting-room were most of the popular papers and 
 periodicals that he knew, not only English, but from 
 Paris, Italy, and America. Satirical prints, though they 
 did not unduly preponderate, were not wanting. Be- 
 sides these there were books from a London circulat- 
 ing library, paper-covered light literature in French
 
 ■ KORGE SOMERSET. 5 I 
 
 and choice Italian, and the latest monthly reviews; 
 while between the two windows stood the telegraph 
 apparatus whose wire had been the means of bringing 
 him hither. 
 
 These things, ensconced amid so much of the old 
 and hoary, were as if a stray hour from the nineteenth 
 century had wandered like a butterfly into the thirteenth, 
 and lost itself there. 
 
 The door between this ante-chamber and the sleep- 
 ing-room stood open. Without venturing to cross the 
 threshold, for he felt that he would be abusing hospi- 
 tality to go so far, Somerset looked in for a moment. 
 It was a pretty place, and seemed to have been hastily 
 fitted up. In a corner, overhung by a blue and white 
 canopy of silk, was a little cot, hardly large enough to 
 impress the character of bedroom upon the old place. 
 Upon a counterpane lay a parasol and a silk necker- 
 chief. On the other side of the room was a tall mirror 
 of startling newness, draped like the bedstead, in blue 
 and white. Thrown at random upon the floor was a 
 pair of satin slippers that would have fitted Cinderella. 
 A dressing-gown lay across a settee; and opposite, 
 upon a small easy-chair in the same blue and white 
 livery, were a Bible, the Baptist Magazine, Wardlaw 
 on Infant Baptism, Walford's County Families and the 
 Court Journal. On and over the mantelpiece were 
 nicknacks of various descriptions, and photographic 
 portraits of the artistic, scientific, and literary celebri- 
 ties of the day. 
 
 A dressing-room lay beyond; but becoming con- 
 scious that his study of ancient architecture would 
 hardly bear stretching further in that direction, without 
 injury to his morals, Mr. Somerset retreated to the out- 
 
 4*
 
 52 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 side, passing by, without notice, the gem of Renais- 
 sance that had led him in. 
 
 "She affects blue," he was thinking. "Then she 
 is fair." 
 
 On looking up, some time later, at the new clock 
 that told the seconds, he found that the time at his 
 disposal for work had flown without his having trans- 
 ferred a single feature of the building or furniture to 
 his sketch-book. He remained but a little longer that 
 day. Before leaving he sent in for permission to come 
 again, and then walked across the fields to the inn at 
 Sleeping-Green, reflecting less upon Miss De Stancy 
 (so little force of presence had she possessed) than 
 upon the modern flower in a mediaeval flower-pot whom 
 Miss De Stancy's information had so vividly brought 
 before him, and upon the incongruities that were daily 
 shaping themselves in the world under the great modern 
 fluctuations of classes and creeds. 
 
 Somerset was still full of the subject when he 
 arrived at the end of his walk, and he fancied that 
 some loungers at the bar of the inn were discussing 
 the heroine of the chapel-scene just at the moment of 
 his entry. On this account, when the landlord came 
 to clear away the dinner, Somerset was led to inquire 
 of him, by way of opening a conversation, if there 
 were many Baptists in the neighbourhood. 
 
 The landlord (who was a serious man on the sur- 
 face, though he occasionally smiled beneath) replied 
 that there were a great many — far more than the 
 average in country parishes. "Even here, in my house, 
 now," he added, "when folks get a drop of drink into 
 'em, and their feelings rise to a song, some man will 
 strike up a hymn by preference. Though, I find no
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 53 
 
 fault with that; for though 'tis hardly human nature 
 to be so calculating in yer cups, a feller may as well 
 sing to gain something as sing to waste." 
 
 "How do you account for there being so many?" 
 
 "Well, you see, sir, some says one thing, and some 
 another; I think they does it to save the expense of a 
 Christian burial for their children. Now there's a poor 
 family out in Long Lane — the husband used to smite 
 for Jimmy More the blacksmith till 'a hurt his arm — 
 they'd have no less than eleven children if they'd not 
 been lucky t'other way, and buried five when they 
 were three or four months old. Now every one of 
 them children was given to the sexton in a little box 
 that any journeyman could nail together in a quarter 
 of an hour, and he buried 'em at night for a shilling 
 a head; whereas 'twould have cost a couple of pounds 
 each if they'd been christened at church. ... Of course 
 there's the new lady at the castle, she's a chapel 
 member, and that may make a little difference; but 
 she's not been here long enough to show whether 
 'twill be worth while to join 'em for the profit o't, or 
 whether 'twill not. No doubt if it turns out that she's 
 of a sort to relieve folks in trouble, more will join her 
 set than belongs to it already. 'Any port in a storm,' 
 of course, as the saying is." 
 
 "As for yourself, you are a Churchman at present, 
 I presume?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, but I was a Methodist once — ay, for a 
 length of time. 'Twas owing to my taking a house 
 next door to a chapel; so that what with hearing the 
 organ bizz like a bee through the wall, and what with 
 finding it saved umbrellas on wet Sundays, I went 
 over to that faith for two years — though I believe I
 
 54 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 dropped money by it — I wouldn't be the man to say 
 so if I hadn't. Howsomever, when I moved into this 
 house I turned back again to my old religion. Faith, 
 I don't see much difference: be you one, or be you 
 t'other, you've got to get your living." 
 
 "The De Stancys, of course, have not much in- 
 fluence here now, for that, or any other thing?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no; not any at all. They be very low 
 upon ground, and always will be now, I suppose. It 
 was thoughted worthy of being recorded in history — 
 you've read it, sir, no doubt?" 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 "Oh, then, you shall. I've got the history some- 
 where. 'Twas gay manners that did it. The only bit 
 of luck they have had of late years is Miss Power's 
 taking to little Miss De Stancy, and making her her 
 company-keeper. I hope 'twill continue." 
 
 That the two daughters of these antipodean families 
 should be such intimate friends was a situation which 
 pleased Somerset as much as it did the landlord. It 
 was an engaging instance of that human progress on 
 which he had expended many charming dreams in the 
 years when poetry, theology, and the reorganisation of 
 society had seemed matters of more importance to him 
 than a profession which should help him to a big 
 house and income, a fair Deiopeia, and a lovely pro- 
 geny. When he was alone he poured out a glass of 
 wine, and silently drank the healths of the two generous- 
 minded young women who, in this lonely country 
 district, had found sweet communion a necessity of 
 life, and by pure and instinctive good sense had broken 
 down a barrier which men thrice their age and repute
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 55 
 
 would probably have felt it imperative to maintain. 
 But perhaps this was premature: the omnipotent Miss 
 Power's character — practical or ideal, politic or im- 
 pulsive — he as yet knew nothing of; and giving over 
 reasoning from insufficient data he lapsed into mere 
 conjecture.
 
 56 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The next morning Somerset was again at the castle. 
 He passed some considerable interval on the walls be- 
 fore encountering Miss De Stancy, whom at last he 
 observed going towards a pony-carriage that waited 
 near the door. 
 
 A smile gained strength upon her face at his ap- 
 proach, and she was the first to speak. "I am sorry 
 Miss Power has not returned," she said to him, and 
 proceeded to account for that lady's absence by her 
 distress at the event of two evenings earlier. 
 
 "But I have driven over to my father's — Sir William 
 De Stancy's — house this morning," she went on. "And 
 on mentioning your name to him, I found he knew it 
 quite well. You will, will you not, forgive my igno- 
 rance in having no better knowledge of the elder Mr. 
 Somerset's works than a dim sense of his fame as a 
 painter? But I was going to say that my father would 
 much like to include you in his personal acquaintance, 
 and wishes me to ask if you will give him the pleasure 
 of lunching with him to-day. My cousin John, whom 
 you once knew, was a great favourite of his, and used 
 to speak of you sometimes. It will be so kind if you 
 can come. My father is an old man, out of society, 
 and he would be glad to hear the news of town." 
 
 Somerset said he was glad to find himself among 
 friends where he had only expected strangers; and
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 57 
 
 promised to come that day, if she would tell him the 
 way. 
 
 That she could easily do. The short way was 
 across that glade he saw there — then over the stile 
 into the wood, following the path till it came out upon 
 the turnpike-road. He would then be almost close to 
 the house. The distance was about two miles and a 
 half. But if he thought it too far for a walk, she would 
 drive on to the town, where she had been going when 
 he came, and instead of returning straight to her 
 father's, would come back and pick him up. 
 
 It was not at all necessary, he thought. He was a 
 walker, and could find the path. 
 
 At this moment a servant came to tell Miss De 
 Stancy that the telegraph was calling her. 
 
 "Ah — it is lucky that I was not gone again!" she 
 exclaimed. "John seldom reads it right if I am away." 
 
 It now seemed quite in the ordinary course that, as 
 a friend of her father's, he should accompany her to 
 the instrument. So up they went together, and im- 
 mediately on reaching it she applied her ear to the in- 
 strument, and began to gather the message. Somerset 
 fancied himself like a person over-looking another's 
 letter, and moved aside. 
 
 "It is no secret," she said, smiling. "'Paula to 
 Charlotte,' it begins." 
 
 "That's very pretty." 
 
 "Oh — and it is about — you," murmured Miss De 
 Stancy. 
 
 "Me?" The architect blushed a little. 
 
 She made no answer, and the machine went on 
 with its story. There was something curious in watch- 
 ing this utterance about himself, under his very nose,
 
 58 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 in language unintelligible to him. He conjectured 
 whether it were inquiry, praise, or blame, with a sense 
 that it might reasonably be the latter, as the result of 
 his surreptitious look into that blue bedroom, possibly 
 observed and reported by some servant of the house. 
 
 " ' 'Direct that every facility be given to Mr. Somerset 
 to visit any part of the castle he may wish to see. On 
 my return I shall be glad to welcome him as the ac- 
 quainta?ice of your relatives. I have two of his father's 
 pictures.' " 
 
 "Dear me, the plot thickens," he said, with sur- 
 prise, as Miss De Stancy announced the words. "How 
 could she know about me?" 
 
 "I sent a message to her this morning when I saw 
 you crossing the park on your way here — telling her 
 that Mr. Somerset, son of the Academician, was making 
 sketches of the castle, and that my father knew some- 
 thing of you. That's her answer." 
 
 "Where are the pictures by my father that she has 
 purchased?" 
 
 "Oh, not here — at least, not unpacked." 
 
 Miss De Stancy then left him to proceed on her 
 journey to Markton (so the nearest little town was 
 called), informing him that she would be at her father's 
 house to receive him at two o'clock. 
 
 Just about one he closed his sketch-book, and set 
 out in the direction she had indicated. 
 
 At the entrance to the wood a man was at work, 
 pulling down a rotten gate that bore on its battered 
 lock the initials "W. De S." and erecting a new one 
 whose ironmongery exhibited the letters "P. P." 
 
 The warmth of the summer noon did not incon- 
 veniently penetrate the dense masses of foliage which
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 59 
 
 now began to overhang the path, except in spots where 
 a ruthless timber-felling had taken place the previous 
 winter for the purpose of sale. It was that particular 
 half-hour of the day in which the birds of the forest 
 prefer walking to flying; and there being no wind, the 
 hopping of the smallest songster over the dead leaves 
 reached his ear from behind the undergrowth. The 
 tract had originally been a well-kept winding drive, but 
 a deep carpet of moss and leaves overlaid it now, 
 though the general outline still remained to show that 
 its curves had been set out with as much care as those 
 of a lawn walk, and the gradient made easy for 
 carriages where the natural slopes were great. Felled 
 trunks occasionally lay across it, and alongside were 
 the hollow and fungous boles of trees sawn down in 
 long-past years. 
 
 After a walk of three-quarters of an hour he came 
 to another gate, where the letters "P. P." again sup- 
 planted the historical "W. De S." Climbing over this, 
 he found himself on a highway which presently dipped 
 down towards the town of Markton, a place he had 
 never yet seen. It appeared in the distance as a quiet 
 little borough of six or eight thousand inhabitants; and, 
 without the town boundary on the side he was ap- 
 proaching, stood half a dozen genteel and modern 
 houses, of the detached kind usually found in such 
 suburbs. On inquiry, Sir William De Stancy's residence 
 was indicated as one of these. 
 
 It was almost new, of streaked brick, having a 
 central door, and a small bay window on each side to 
 light the two front parlours. A little lawn spread its 
 green surface in front, divided from the road by iron 
 railings, the low line of shrubs immediately within them
 
 60 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 being coated with pallid dust from the highway. On 
 the neat piers of the neat entrance gate were chiselled 
 the words "Myrtle Villa." Genuine roadside respecta- 
 bility sat smiling on every brick of the eligible dwelling. 
 
 "How are the mighty fallen!" murmured Somerset, 
 as he pulled the bell. 
 
 Perhaps that which impressed him more than the 
 smallness and modernism of Sir William De Stancy's 
 house, was the air of healthful cheerfulness which per- 
 vaded it. Somerset was shown in by a neat maid- 
 servant in black gown and white apron, a canary 
 singing a welcome from a cage in the shadow of the 
 window, the voices of crowing cocks coming over the 
 chimneys from somewhere behind, and sun and air 
 riddling the house everywhere. 
 
 Being a dwelling of those well-known and popular 
 dimensions which allow the proceedings in the kitchen 
 to be distinctly heard in the parlours, it was so planned 
 that a raking view might be obtained through it from 
 the front door to the end of the back garden. The 
 drawing-room furniture was comfortable, in the walnut- 
 and-green-rep style of some years ago. Somerset had 
 expected to find his friends living in an old house with 
 remnants of their own antique furniture, and he hardly 
 knew whether he ought to meet them with a smile or 
 a gaze of condolence. His doubt was terminated, how- 
 ever, by the cheerful and tripping entry of Miss De 
 Stancy, who had returned from her drive to Markton; 
 and in a few more moments Sir William came in from 
 the garden. 
 
 He was an old man of tall and spare build, with a 
 considerable stoop, his glasses dangling against his waist- 
 coat-buttons, and the front corners of his coat-tails hang-
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 6 I 
 
 ing lower than the hinderparts, so that they swayed 
 right and left as he walked. He nervously apologised 
 to his visitor for having kept him waiting. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you," he said, with a mild 
 benevolence of tone, as he retained Somerset's hand 
 for a moment or two; "partly- for your father's sake, 
 whom I met more than once in my younger days, be- 
 fore he became so well-known; and also because I learn 
 that you were a friend of my poor nephew John 
 Ravensbury." He looked over his shoulder to see if 
 his daughter were within hearing; finding she was not, 
 he bent towards Somerset, and, with the impulse of the 
 solitary to make a confidence at the first opportunity, 
 continued in a low tone: "She, poor girl, was to have 
 married John: his death was a sad blow to her and to 
 all of us. — Pray take a seat, Mr. Somerset." 
 
 The reverses of fortune which had brought Sir 
 William De Stancy to this comfortable cottage awakened 
 in Somerset a warmer emotion than curiosity, and he 
 sat down with a heart as responsive to each detail of 
 speech uttered as if it had seriously concerned himself, 
 while his host gave some words of information to his 
 daughter on the trifling events that had marked the 
 morning just passed; such as that the cow had got out 
 of the paddock into Miss Power's field, that the smith 
 who had promised to come and look at the kitchen 
 range had not arrived, that two wasps' nests had been 
 discovered in the garden bank, and that Nick Jones's 
 baby had fallen downstairs. Sir William had large 
 cavernous arches to his eye-sockets, reminding the be- 
 holder of the vaults in the castle he once had owned. 
 His hands were long and almost fleshless, each knuckle 
 showing like a bamboo-joint from beneath his coat-
 
 62 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 sleeves, which were small at the elbow and large at 
 the wrist. All the colour had gone from his beard and 
 locks, except in the case of a few isolated hairs of the 
 former, which retained dashes of their original shade 
 at sudden points in their length, revealing that all had 
 once been raven black. 
 
 But to study a man to his face is a species of ill- 
 nature which requires a colder temperament, or at least 
 an older heart, than the architect's was at that time, 
 to carry it on long. Incurious unobservance is the true 
 attitude of cordiality, and Somerset blamed himself for 
 having fallen into an act of inspection even for so short 
 a time. He would wait for his host's conversation, 
 which would doubtless be of the essence of historical 
 romance. 
 
 "The favourable Bank-returns have made the money- 
 market much easier to-day, as I learn?" said Sir William. 
 
 "Oh, have they?" said Somerset. "Yes, I suppose 
 they have." 
 
 "And something is meant by this unusual quiet- 
 ness in Foreign stocks since the late remarkable fluctua- 
 tions," insisted the old man, significantly. "Is the 
 current of speculation quite arrested, or is it but a 
 temporary lull?" 
 
 Somerset said he was afraid he could not give an 
 opinion, and entered very lamely into the subject; but 
 Sir William seemed to find sufficient interest in his own 
 thoughts to do away with the necessity of acquiring 
 fresh impressions from other people's replies; for often 
 after putting a question he looked on the floor, as if 
 the subject were at an end. Lunch was now ready, 
 and when they were in the dining-room Miss De Stancy,
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 6 
 
 6 
 
 to introduce a topic of more general interest, asked 
 Somerset if he had noticed the myrtle on the lawn? 
 
 Somerset had noticed it, and thought he had never 
 seen such a full-blown one in the open air before. His 
 eyes were, however, resting at the moment on the only 
 objects at all out of the common that the dining-room 
 contained. One was a singular glass case over the fire- 
 place, within which were some large mediaeval door- 
 keys, black with rust and age; and the others were two 
 full-length oil portraits in the costume of the end of 
 the last century — so out of all proportion to the size of 
 the room they occupied that they almost reached to 
 the floor. 
 
 "Those originally belonged to the castle yonder," 
 said Miss De Stancy, or Charlotte, as her father called 
 her, noticing Somerset's glance at the keys. "They 
 used to unlock the principal entrance- doors, which were 
 knocked to pieces in the civil wars. New doors were 
 placed afterwards, but the old keys were never given 
 up, and have been preserved by us ever since." 
 
 "They are quite useless — mere lumber — particularly 
 to me," said Sir William. 
 
 "And those huge paintings were a present from 
 Paula," she continued. "They are portraits of my 
 great-grandfather and mother. Paula would give all 
 the old family pictures back to me if we had room for 
 them; but they would fill the house to the ceilings." 
 
 Sir William was impatient of the subject. "What 
 is the utility of such accumulations?" he asked. "Their 
 originals are but clay now — mere forgotten dust, not 
 worthy a moment's inquiry or reflection at this distance 
 of time. Nothing can retain the spirit, and why should
 
 64 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 we preserve the shadow of the form? — London has been 
 very full this year, sir, I have been told?" 
 
 "It has," said Somerset, and he asked if they had 
 been up that season. It was plain that the matter with 
 which Sir William De Stancy least cared to occupy 
 himself before visitors was the history of his own family, 
 in which he was followed with more simplicity by his 
 daughter Charlotte. 
 
 "No," said the baronet. "One might be led to 
 think there is a fatality which prevents it. We make 
 arrangements to go to town almost eveiy year, to meet 
 some old friend who combines the rare conditions of 
 being in London with being mindful of me; but he has 
 always died or gone elsewhere before the event has 
 taken place. . . . But with a dispositon to be happy, it 
 is neither this place nor the other that can render us 
 the reverse. In short, each man's happiness depends 
 upon himself, and his ability for doing with little. He 
 turned more particularly to Somerset, and added with 
 an impressive smile: "I hope you cultivate the art of 
 doing with little?" 
 
 Somerset said that he certainly did cultivate that 
 art, partly because he was obliged to. 
 
 "Ah, — you don't mean to the extent that I mean. 
 The world has not yet learned the riches of frugality, 
 says, I think, Cicero somewhere; and nobody can testify 
 to the truth of that remark better than I. If a man 
 knows how to spend less than his income, however 
 small that may be, why — he has the philosopher's 
 stone." And Sir William looked in Somerset's face 
 with frugality written in every pore of his own, as much 
 as to say, "And here you see one who has been a 
 living instance of those principles from his youth up."
 
 >.ORGE SOMERSET. 65 
 
 Somerset soon found that whatever turn the con- 
 versation took, Sir William invariably reverted to this 
 topic of frugality. When luncheon was over, he asked 
 his visitor to walk with him into the garden, and no 
 sooner were they alone, than he continued: "Well, Mr. 
 Somerset, you are down here sketching architecture for 
 professional purposes. Nothing can be better: you are 
 a young man, and your art is one in which there are 
 innumerable chances." 
 
 "I had begun to think they were rather few," said 
 Somerset. 
 
 "No, they are numerous enough: the difficulty is to 
 find out where they lie. It is better to know where 
 your luck lies than where your talent lies: that's an old 
 man's opinion." 
 
 "I'll remember it," said Somerset. 
 
 "And now give me some account of your new 
 clubs, new hotels, and new men. . . . What I was 
 going to add on the subject of finding out where your 
 luck lies, is that nobody is so unfortunate as not to 
 have a lucky star in some direction or other. Perhaps 
 yours is at the antipodes; if so, go there. All I say 
 is, discover your lucky star." 
 
 "I am looking for it." 
 
 "You may be able to do two things; one well, the 
 other but indifferently, and yet you may have more 
 luck in the latter. Then stick to that one, and never 
 mind what you can do best. Your star lies there." 
 
 "There I am not quite at one with you, Sir 
 William." 
 
 "You should be. Not that I mean to say that 
 luck lies in any one place long, or at any one person's 
 door. Fortune likes new faces, and your wisdom lies 
 
 A Laodicean. I. 5
 
 66 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 in bringing your acquisitions into safety while her 
 favour lasts. To do that you must make friends in 
 her time of smiles — make friends with people, where- 
 ever you find them. My daughter has unconsciously 
 followed that maxim. She has struck up a warm 
 friendship with our neighbour, Miss Power, at the 
 castle. We are diametrically different from her in 
 associations, traditions, ideas, religion — she comes of a 
 violent dissenting family among other things; but I 
 say to Charlotte what I say to you: win affection and 
 regard wherever you can, and accommodate yourself 
 to the times. I put nothing in the way of their in- 
 timacy, and wisely so, for by this so many pleasant 
 hours are added to the sum total vouchsafed to 
 humanity." 
 
 It was quite late in the afternoon when Somerset 
 took his leave. Miss De Stancy did not return to the 
 castle that night, and he walked through the wood as 
 he had come, feeling that he had been talking with a 
 man of simple nature, who flattered his own under- 
 standing by devising Machiavellian theories after the 
 event, to account for any spontaneous action of him- 
 self, or his daughter, which might otherwise seem 
 eccentric or irregular. 
 
 Before Somerset reached the inn he was overtaken 
 by a slight shower, and on entering the house he 
 walked into the general room, where there was a fire, 
 and stood with one foot on the fender. The landlord 
 was talking to some guest who sat behind a screen; 
 and, probably because Somerset had been seen passing 
 the window, and was known to be sketching at the 
 castle, the conversation turned on Sir William De Stancy. 
 
 "I have often noticed," observed the landlord,
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 67 
 
 "that folks who have come to grief, and quite failed, 
 have the rules how to succeed in life more at their 
 fingers' ends than folks who have succeeded. I assure 
 you that Sir William, so full as he is of wise maxims, 
 never acted upon a wise maxim in his life, until he 
 had lost everything, and it didn't matter whether he 
 was wise or no. You know what he was in his young 
 days, of course?" 
 
 "No, I don't," said the invisible stranger. 
 
 "Oh, I thought everybody knew poor Sir William's 
 history. He was the star, as I may say, of fashion 
 forty years ago. I remember him in the height of his 
 splendour, as I used to see him when I was a very 
 little boy, and think how great and wonderful he was. 
 I can seem to see now the exact style of his clothes; 
 it was always of a very light colour — a neat white 
 hat, white trousers, white silk handkerchief; ay, and 
 his handsome face, as white as his clothes with keep- 
 ing late hours. There was nothing black about him 
 but his hair and his eyes — he wore no beard at that 
 time — and they were black indeed. The like of his 
 style of coming on the race-course was never seen 
 there before nor since. He drove his barouche him- 
 self; and it was always drawn by four beautiful white 
 horses, and two outriders on matches to 'em rode in 
 harness bridles. In his rear was a saddle-horse groom 
 leading a thoroughbred hack, and at the rubbing-post 
 was another groom — all in splendid liveries, waiting, 
 with another hack. What a 'stablishment he kept up 
 at that time! I remember him, sir, with thirty race- 
 horses in training at once, seventeen coach-horses, 
 twelve hunters at his box t'other side of London, 
 four chargers at Budworth, and ever so many hacks." 
 
 5*
 
 68 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "And he lost all by his racing speculations?" the 
 stranger observed; and Somerset fancied that the 
 voice had in it something more than the languid care- 
 lessness of a casual sojourner. 
 
 "Partly by that, partly in other ways. He spent 
 a mint o' money in a visionary project of founding a 
 watering-place; and sunk thousands in a useless silver 
 mine; so 'twas no surprise that the castle that bears 
 his name passed into other hands. . . . The way it 
 was done was curious. Mr. Wilkins, who was the first 
 owner after it went from Sir William, actually sat 
 down as a guest at his table, and got up as the 
 owner. He took off, at a round sum, everything sale- 
 able, furniture, plate, pictures, even the milk and 
 butter in the dairy. That's how the pictures and 
 furniture come to be in the castle still; worm-eaten 
 rubbish some of it, and hardly worth moving." 
 
 "And off went the baronet to Myrtle Villa?" 
 
 "Oh no! he went away for many years. 'Tis 
 quite recently, since his illness, that he came to that 
 little place, within sight of the buildings that once 
 were the pride of his ancestors and himself." 
 
 "From what I hear, he has not the manner of a 
 broken-hearted man?" 
 
 "Not at all. Since that severe illness he has 
 been happy, as you see him; no pride or regret, quite 
 calm and mild, at new moon quite childish. 'Tis 
 that makes him able to live there: before he was so 
 ill he couldn't bear a sight of the place; but since 
 then he is happy nowhere else, and never leaves the 
 parish further than to drive once a week to Markton. 
 His head won't stand society nowadays, and he lives 
 quite lonely as you see, only seeing his daughter, or
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 69 
 
 his son whenever he comes home, which is not often. 
 They say that if his brain hadn't softened a little he 
 would ha' died — 'twas that saved his life." 
 
 "What's this I hear about his daughter? Is she 
 really hired companion to the new owner?" 
 
 "Now that's a curious thing again, these two girls 
 being so fond of one another; one of 'em a dissenter, 
 and all that, and the other a De Stancy. Oh no, not 
 hired exactly, but she mostly lives with Miss Power, 
 and goes about with her, and I dare say Miss Power 
 makes it worth her while. One can't move a step 
 without the other following; though judging by ordinary 
 folks you'd think 'twould be a cat and dog friendship 
 rather." 
 
 "But 'tis not?" 
 
 "Tis not; they are more like lovers than girl and 
 girl. Miss Power is looked up to by little De Stancy 
 as if she were a god-a'mighty, and Miss Power lets 
 her love her to her heart's content But whether Miss 
 Power loves back again I can't say, for she's as deep 
 as the North Star." 
 
 The landlord here left the stranger to go to some 
 other part of the house, and Somerset drew near to 
 the glass partition to gain a glimpse of a man whose 
 interest in the neighbourhood seemed to have arisen 
 so simultaneously with his own. But the inner room 
 was empty: the man had apparently departed by 
 another door.
 
 70 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The telegraph had almost the attributes of a 
 human being at Stancy Castle. When its bell rang 
 people rushed to the old tapestried chamber allotted 
 to it, and waited its pleasure with all the deference 
 due to such a novel inhabitant of that ancestral pile. 
 This happened on the following afternoon about four 
 o'clock, while Somerset was sketching in the room 
 adjoining that occupied by the instrument. Hearing 
 its call, he looked in to learn if anybody were attend- 
 ing, and found Miss De Stancy standing over it. 
 
 She welcomed him without the least embarrass- 
 ment. "Another message," she said — "'Paula to 
 Charlotte. — Have returned to Markton. Am starting 
 for home. Will be at the gate between four and five if 
 possible' " 
 
 Miss De Stancy blushed with pleasure when she 
 raised her eyes from the machine. "Is she not thought- 
 ful to let me know beforehand?" 
 
 Somerset said she certainly appeared to be, feeling 
 at the same time that he was not in possession of suf- 
 ficient data to make the opinion of great value. 
 
 "Now I must get everything ready, and order what 
 she will want, as Mrs. Goodman is away. What will 
 she want? Dinner would be best — she has had no 
 lunch, I know; or tea perhaps, and dinner at the usual 
 time. Still, if she has had no lunch — Hark, what do 
 I hear?"
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 7 I 
 
 She ran to an arrow-slit, and Somerset, who had 
 also heard something, looked out of an adjoining one. 
 They could see from their elevated position a great 
 way along the white road, stretching like a tape amid 
 the green expanses on each side. There had arisen a 
 cloud of dust, accompanied by a noise of wheels. 
 
 "It is she," said Charlotte. "Oh yes— it is past 
 four — the telegram has been delayed." 
 ' "How would she be likely to come?" 
 
 "She doubtless hired a carriage at the King's 
 Arms: she said it would be useless to send to meet 
 her, as she couldn't name a time. . . . Where is she 
 now?" 
 
 "Just where the boughs of those beeches overhang 
 the road — there she is again!" 
 
 Miss De Stancy went away to give directions, and 
 Somerset continued to watch. The vehicle, which was 
 of no great pretension, soon crossed the bridge and 
 stopped: there was a ring at the bell; and Miss De 
 Stancy reappeared. 
 
 "Did you see her as she drove up — is she not 
 interesting?" 
 
 "I could not see her." 
 
 "Ah, no — of course you could not from this win- 
 dow because of the tree. Mr. Somerset, will you come 
 downstairs? You will have to meet her, you know." 
 
 Somerset felt an indescribable backwardness. "I 
 will go on with my sketching," he said. "Perhaps she 
 will not be " 
 
 "Oh, but it would be quite natural, would it not? 
 Our manners are easier here, you know, than they are 
 in town, and Miss Power has adapted herself to them." 
 
 A compromise was effected by Somerset declaring
 
 72 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 that he would hold himself in readiness to be dis- 
 covered on the landing at any convenient time. 
 
 A servant entered. "Miss Power?" said Miss De 
 Stancy, before he could speak. 
 
 The man advanced with a card: Miss De Stancy 
 took it up, and read thereon: "Mr. William Dare." 
 
 "It is not Miss Power who has come, then?" she 
 asked, with a disappointed face. 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "She looked again at the card. "This is some 
 man of business, I suppose — does he want to see 
 me?" • 
 
 "Yes, miss. Leastwise, he would be glad to see 
 you if Miss Power is not at home." 
 
 Miss De Stancy left the room, and soon returned, 
 saying, "Mr. Somerset, can you give me your counsel 
 in this matter? This Mr. Dare says he is a photo- 
 graphic amateur, and it seems that he wrote some 
 time ago to Miss Power, who gave him permission to 
 take views of the castle, and promised to show him 
 the best points. But I have heard nothing of it, and 
 scarcely know whether I ought to take his word in her 
 absence. Mrs. Goodman, Miss Power's relative, who 
 usually attends to these things, is away." 
 
 "I dare say it is right," said Somerset. 
 
 "Would you mind seeing him? If you think it 
 quite in order, perhaps you will instruct him where the 
 best views are to be obtained?" 
 
 Thereupon Somerset at once went down to Mr. 
 Dare. His coming as a sort of counterfeit of Miss 
 Power disposed Somerset to judge him with as much 
 severity as justice would allow, and his manner for the 
 moment was not of a kind calculated to dissipate
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 73 
 
 antagonistic instincts. Mr. Dare was standing before 
 the fireplace with his feet wide apart, and his hands 
 in the pockets of his coat-tails, looking at a carving 
 over the mantelpiece. He turned quickly at the sound 
 of Somerset's footsteps, and revealed himself as a per- 
 son quite out of the common. 
 
 His age it was impossible to say. There was not 
 a hair upon his face which could serve to hang a 
 guess upon. In repose he appeared a boy; but his 
 actions were so completely those of a man that the 
 beholder's first estimate of sixteen as his age was 
 hastily corrected to six and twenty, and afterwards 
 shifted hither and thither along intervening years as 
 the tenor of his sentences sent him up or down. He 
 had a broad forehead, vertical as the face of a bastion, 
 and his hair, which was parted in the middle, hung 
 as a fringe or valance above, in the fashion some- 
 times affected by the other sex. He wore a heavy 
 ring, of which the gold seemed good, the diamond 
 questionable, and the taste indifferent. There were the 
 remains of a swagger in his body and limbs as he 
 came forward, regarding Somerset with a confident 
 smile, as if the wonder were, not why Mr. Dare should 
 be present, but why Somerset should be present like- 
 wise; and the first tone that came from Dare's lips 
 wound up his listener's opinion that he did not like him. 
 
 A latent power in the man, or boy, was revealed 
 by the circumstance that Somerset did not feel, as he 
 would ordinarily have done, that it was a matter of 
 profound indifference to him whether this gentleman- 
 photographer were a likeable person or no. 
 
 "I have called by appointment; or rather, I left a 
 card stating that to-day would suit me, and no ob-
 
 74 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 jection was made?" Somerset recognised the voice; 
 it was that of the invisible stranger who had talked 
 with the landlord about the De Stancys. Mr. Dare 
 then proceeded to explain his business. 
 
 Somerset found from his inquiries that the man 
 had unquestionably been instructed by somebody to 
 take the views he spoke of; and concluded that Dare's 
 curiosity at the inn was, after all, naturally explained 
 by his errand to this place. Blaming himself for a too 
 hasty condemnation of the stranger, who though visually 
 a little too assured was civil enough verbally, Somerset 
 proceeded with the young photographer to sundry 
 corners of the outer ward, and thence across the moat 
 to the field, suggesting advantageous points of view. 
 The office, being a shadow of his own pursuits, was 
 not uncongenial to Somerset, and he forgot other things 
 in attending to it. 
 
 "Now in our country we should stand further back 
 than this, and so get a more comprehensive coup 
 d'ceil," said Dare, as Somerset selected a good situa- 
 tion. 
 
 "You are not an Englishman, then," said Somerset. 
 
 "I have lived mostly in India, Malta, Gibraltar, 
 the Ionian Islands, and Canada. I there invented a 
 new photographic process, which I am bent upon mak- 
 ing famous. Yet I am but an amateur, and do not 
 follow this art at the base dictation of that which men 
 call necessity." 
 
 "Oh, indeed," Somerset replied. 
 
 As soon as this business was disposed of, and Mr. 
 Dare had brought up his van and assistant to begin 
 operations, Somerset returned to the castle entrance. 
 While under the archway a man with a professional
 
 f.EO'RGE SOMERSET. 75 
 
 look drove up in a dog-cart and inquired if Miss Power 
 were at home to day. 
 
 "She has not yet returned, Mr. Havill," was the 
 reply. 
 
 Somerset, who heard it, thought that Miss Power 
 was bent on disappointing him in the flesh, notwith- 
 standing the interest she expressed in him by tele- 
 graph; and as it was now drawing towards the end 
 of the afternoon, he walked off in the direction of 
 his inn. 
 
 There were two or three ways to that spot, but the 
 pleasantest was by passing through a rambling shrub- 
 bery, between whose bushes trickled a broad shallow 
 brook, occasionally intercepted in its course by a trans- 
 verse chain of old stones, evidently from the castle 
 walls, which formed a miniature waterfall. The walk 
 lay along the river brink. Soon Somerset saw before 
 him a circular summer-house formed of short sticks 
 nailed to ornamental patterns. Outside the structure, 
 and immediately in the path, stood a man with a book 
 in his hand; and it was presently apparent that this 
 gentleman was holding a conversation with some per- 
 son inside the pavilion, but the back of the building 
 being towards Somerset, the second individual could 
 not be seen. 
 
 The speaker at one moment glanced into the in- 
 terior, and at another at the advancing form of the 
 architect, whom, though distinctly enough beheld, the 
 other scarcely appeared to heed in the absorbing 
 interest of his own discourse. Somerset became aware 
 that it was the Baptist minister, whose rhetoric he had 
 heard in the chapel yonder. 
 
 "Now," continued the Baptist minister, "will you
 
 76 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 express to me any reason or objection whatever which 
 induces you to withdraw from our communion? It was 
 that of your father, and of his father before him. Any 
 difficulty you may have met with, I will honestly try 
 to remove; for I need hardly say that in losing you 
 we lose one of the most valued members of the Baptist 
 church in this district. I speak with all the respect 
 due to your position, when I ask you to realise how 
 irreparable is the injury you inflict upon the cause 
 here by this lukewarm backwardness." 
 
 "I don't withdraw," said a woman's gentle voice 
 within. 
 
 "What do you do?" 
 
 "I decline to attend for the present." 
 
 "And you can give no reason for this?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "Or for your refusal to proceed with the baptism?" 
 
 "I have been christened." 
 
 "My dear young lady, it is well known that your 
 christening was the work of your aunt, who did it un- 
 known to your parents when she had you in her power, 
 out of pure obstinacy to a church with which she was 
 not in sympathy, taking you surreptitiously, and in- 
 defensibly, to the font of the Establishment; so that 
 the rite meant and could mean nothing at all. . . . 
 But I fear that your new position has brought you into 
 contact with the Psedobaptists, that they have dis- 
 turbed your old principles, and so induced you to be- 
 lieve in the validity of that trumpery ceremony!" 
 
 "It seems sufficient." 
 
 "I will demolish the basis of that seeming in three 
 minutes, give me but that time as a listener." 
 
 "I have no objection."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 77 
 
 "Very well. First, then, I will assume that those 
 
 who have influenced you in the matter have not been 
 
 able to make any impression upon one so well grounded 
 
 yourself in our distinctive doctrine, by the stale old 
 
 argument drawn from Circumcision?" 
 
 "You may assume it." 
 
 "Good — that clears the ground. And we now come 
 to the New Testament." 
 
 The minister began to turn over the leaves of his 
 little Bible, which it impressed Somerset to observe 
 was bound with a flap, like a pocket-book, the black 
 surface of the leather being worn brown at the corners 
 by long usage. He turned on till he came to the be- 
 ginning of the New Testament, and then commenced 
 his discourse. After explaining his position, the old 
 man ran very ably through the arguments, citing well- 
 known writers on the point in dispute when he required 
 more finished sentences than his own. 
 
 The minister's earnestness and interest in his own 
 case led him unconsciously to include Somerset in his 
 audience as the young man drew nearer; till, instead 
 of fixing his eyes exclusively on the person within the 
 summer-house, the preacher began to direct a good 
 proportion of his discourse upon his new auditor, turn- 
 ing from one listener to the other attentively, without 
 seeming to feel Somerset's presence as superfluous. 
 
 "And now," he said in conclusion, "I put it to you, 
 sir, as to her: do you find any flaw in my argument? 
 Is there, madam, a single text which, honestly inter- 
 preted, affords the least foothold for the Psedobaptists; 
 in other words, for your opinion on the efficacy of the 
 rite administered to you in your unconscious infancy?
 
 78 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 I put in to you both as honest and responsible beings." 
 He turned again to the young man. 
 
 It happened that Somerset had been over this 
 ground long ago. Born, so to speak, a High-Church 
 infant, in his youth he had been of a thoughtful turn, 
 till at one time an idea of his entering the Church 
 had been entertained by his parents. He had formed 
 acquaintances with men of almost every variety of 
 doctrinal practice in this country; and, as the pleadings 
 of each assailed him before he had arrived at an age 
 of sufficient mental stability to resist new impressions, 
 however badly substantiated, he inclined to each de- 
 nomination as it presented itself, was 
 
 Everything by starts, and nothing long, 
 
 till he had travelled through a great many beliefs and 
 doctrines without feeling himself much better than 
 when he set out. 
 
 Fully conscious of the inexpediency of contests on 
 minor ritual differences, he yet felt a sudden impulse 
 towards a mild intellectual tournament with the eager 
 old man — to do now, purley as an exercise of his wits 
 in the defence of a fair girl, what he had once done 
 with all the earnestness of a lad fighting for vital prin- 
 ciples and not quite able to maintain them. 
 
 "Sir, I accept your challenge to us," said Somerset, 
 advancing to the minister's side.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 At the sound of a new voice the lady in the bower 
 started, as he could see by her outline through the 
 crevices of the woodwork and creepers. The minister 
 looked surprised. 
 
 "You will lend me your Bible, sir, to assist my 
 memory?" he continued. 
 
 The minister held out the Bible with some reluc- 
 tance, but he allowed Somerset to take it from his 
 hand. The latter, stepping upon a large moss-covered 
 stone which stood near, and laying his hat on a fiat 
 beech bough that rose and fell behind him, pointed to 
 the minister to seat himself on the grass. The minister 
 looked at the grass, and looked up again at Somerset, 
 but did not move. 
 
 Somerset for the moment was not observing him. 
 His new position had turned out to be exactly opposite 
 the open side of the bower, and now for the first time 
 he beheld the interior. On the seat was the woman 
 who had stood beneath his eyes in the chapel, the 
 "Paula" of Miss De Stancy's enthusiastic eulogies. 
 She wore a summer hat, beneath which her fair curly 
 hair formed a thicket round her forehead. It would 
 be impossible to describe her as she then appeared. 
 Not sensuous enough for an Aphrodite, and too sub- 
 dued for a Hebe, she would yet, with the adjunct of 
 doves or nectar, have stood sufficiently well for either
 
 80 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 of those personages, if presented in pink morning light, 
 and with mythological scarcity of attire. 
 
 Half in surprise she glanced up at him; and lower- 
 ing her eyes again, as if no surprise had power to in- 
 fluence her actions for more than a moment, she sat 
 on as before, looking past Somerset's position at the 
 view down the river, visible for a long distance before 
 her till it was lost under the bending trees. Somerset 
 turned over the leaves of the minister's Bible, and 
 began : 
 
 "The words of my text are taken from the First 
 Epistle to the Corinthians, the seventh chapter and the 
 fourteenth verse." 
 
 Here the young lady raised her eyes in spite of 
 her reserve, but, as though it were too much labour to 
 keep them raised, allowed her glance to subside upon 
 her jet necklace, extending it with the thumb of her 
 left hand. 
 
 "Sir!" said the Baptist excitedly, "I know that 
 passage well — it is the last refuge of the Paedobaptists 
 • — I foresee your argument. I have met it dozens of 
 times, and it is not worth that snap of the fingers! It 
 is worth no more than the argument from Circumcision, 
 or the Suffer-little-children argument." 
 
 "Then turn to the sixteenth chapter of the Acts, 
 and the thirty-third " 
 
 "That, too, cried the minister, "is answered by 
 what I said before! I perceive, sir, that you adopt the 
 method of a special pleader, and not that of an honest 
 inquirer. Is it, or is it not, an answer to my proofs 
 from the eighth chapter of the Acts, the thirty-sixth 
 and thirty-seventh verses; the sixteenth of Mark, six- 
 teenth verse; second of Acts, forty-first verse; the tenth
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 8 I 
 
 and the forty-seventh verse; or the eighteenth and 
 eighth verse?" 
 
 "Very well, then: I will not stick to my text, since 
 you are predetermined not to be convinced by my 
 sermon. Let me prove the point by other reasoning — 
 by the argument from Apostolic tradition." He threw 
 the minister's book upon the grass, and proceeded with 
 his contention at length, which comprised: 
 
 First: A lucid discourse on the earliest practice of 
 the Church. 
 
 Secondly: Inferences from the same, to wit; that 
 the inquiry being about a fact which could not but be 
 publicly and perfectly known in the ages immediately 
 succeeding that of the Apostles, the sense of those 
 ages concerning this fact must needs be nearly con- 
 clusive. 
 
 (When he reached this point an interest in his 
 ingenious argument was revealed in spite of herself by 
 the mobile bosom of Miss Paula Power, though other- 
 wise she still occupied herself by drawing out the 
 necklace.) 
 
 Thirdly: Testimony from Justin Martyr as to per- 
 sons who were proselyted or made disciples from their 
 infancy. 
 
 Fourthly: Inference from Irenaeus in the expression, 
 "Omnes enim venit per semetipsum salvare; omnes 
 inquam, qui per eum renascuntur in Deum, infantes et 
 parvulos et pueros et juvenes." 
 
 (At the sound of so much learning Paula turned 
 her eyes upon the speaker with attention.) 
 
 Fifthly: Proof of the signification of "renascor" in 
 the writings of the Fathers, as reasoned by Wall. 
 
 A Laodicean. I. «
 
 82 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Sixthly: Argument from Tertullian's advice to defer 
 the rite. 
 
 Seventhly: Citations from Cyprian, Clemens Alexan- 
 drinus, Nazianzen, Basil, Ambrose, Chrysostom, and 
 Jerome. 
 
 Eighthly : A summing up of the whole matter. 
 
 Somerset looked round for the minister as he con- 
 cluded the address, which had occupied about fifteen 
 minutes in delivery. The old man had, after standing 
 face to face with the speaker, gradually turned his 
 back upon him, and during the latter portions of the 
 discourse had moved slowly away. He now looked 
 back; his countenance was full of commiserating re- 
 proach as he lifted his hand, twice shook his head, 
 and said, "In the Epistle to the Philippians, first 
 chapter and sixteenth verse, it is written that there are 
 some who preach in contention, and not sincerely. 
 And in the Second Epistle to Timothy, fourth chapter 
 and fourth verse, attention is drawn to those whose 
 ears refuse the truth, and are turned unto fables. I 
 wish you good-afternoon, sir, and that priceless gift, 
 sincerity" 
 
 The minister vanished behind the trees; Somerset 
 and Miss Power being left confronting each other alone. 
 
 Somerset stepped down from the stone, hat in hand, 
 at the same moment in which Miss Power rose from 
 her seat. She hesitated for an instant, and said, with 
 a pretty girlish dignity, sweeping back the skirt of her 
 dress to free her toes in turning, "Although you are 
 personally unknown to me, I cannot leave you without 
 expressing my deep sense of your profound scholarship, 
 and my admiration for the thoroughness of your studies 
 in divinity."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 83 
 
 "Your opinion gives me great pleasure," said 
 Somerset, bowing, and fairly blushing. "But, believe 
 me, I am no scholar, and no theologian. My knowledge 
 of the subject arises simply from the accident that 
 some few years ago I looked into the question on my 
 own account, and some of the arguments I then learnt 
 up still remain with me." 
 
 "If your sermons at the church only match your 
 address to-day, I shall not wonder at hearing that the 
 parishioners are at last willing to attend." 
 
 It flashed upon Somerset's mind that she supposed 
 him to be the new curate, of whose arrival he had 
 casually heard, during his sojourn at the inn. Before 
 he could bring himself to correct an error to which, 
 perhaps, more than to anything else, was owing the 
 friendliness of her manner, she went on, as if to escape 
 the embarrassment of silence: 
 
 "I need hardly say that I at least do not doubt the 
 sincerity of your arguments." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I was not altogether sincere," he 
 answered. 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "Then why should you have delivered such a de- 
 fence of me?" she asked with simple curiosity. 
 
 Somerset involuntarily looked in her face for his 
 answer. 
 
 Paula again teased the necklace. "Would you 
 have spoken so eloquently on the other side if I — if 
 occasion had served?" she inquired shyly. 
 
 "Perhaps I would." 
 
 Another pause, till she said, "I, too, was insincere." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "I was." 
 
 6*
 
 84 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 "In letting him, and you, think I had been at all 
 influenced by authority, scriptural or patristic." 
 
 "May I ask, why, then, did you decline the cere- 
 mony the other evening?" 
 
 "Ah, you, too, have heard of it?" she said quickly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "I saw it." 
 
 She blushed and looked past him down the river. 
 "I cannot give my reasons," she said. 
 
 "Of course not," said Somerset respectfully. 
 
 "I would give a great deal to possess real logical 
 dogmatism." 
 
 "So would I." 
 
 There was a moment of embarrassment: she wanted 
 to get away, but did not precisely know how. He 
 would have withdrawn had she not said, as if rather 
 oppressed by her conscience, and evidently still think- 
 ing him the curate: "I cannot but feel that Mr. Wood- 
 well's heart has been unnecessarily wounded." 
 
 "The minister's?" 
 
 "Yes. He is single-mindedness itself. He gives 
 away nearly all he has to the poor. He works among 
 the sick, carrying them necessaries with his own hands. 
 He teaches the ignorant men and lads of the village 
 when he ought to be resting at home, till he is ab- 
 solutely prostrate from exhaustion, and then he sits up 
 at night writing encouraging letters to those poor people 
 who formerly belonged to his congregation in the 
 village, and have now gone away. He always offends 
 ladies, because he can't help speaking the truth as he 
 believes it; but he hasn't offended me!"
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 85 
 
 Her feelings had risen towards the end, so that she 
 finished quite warmly, and turned aside. 
 
 "I was not in the least aware that he was such a 
 man," murmured Somerset, looking wistfully after the 
 minister. . . . "Whatever you may have done, I fear 
 that / have grievously wounded a worthy man's heart 
 from an idle wish to engage in a useless, unbecoming, 
 dull, last-century argument." 
 
 "Not dull," she murmured "for it interested me." 
 
 Somerset accepted her correction with a look. "It 
 was ill-considered of me, however," he said; "and in 
 his distress he has forgotten his Bible." He went and 
 picked up the worn volume from where it lay on the 
 grass. 
 
 "You can easily win him to forgive you, by just 
 following, and returning the book to him," she ob- 
 served. 
 
 "I will," said the young man impulsively. And 
 bowing to her, he hastened along the river brink after 
 the minister. He walked some distance, and at length 
 saw his friend before him, leaning over the gate which 
 led from the private path into a lane, his cheek rest- 
 ing on the palm of his hand with every outward sign 
 of abstraction. He was not conscious of Somerset's 
 presence till the latter touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 Never was a reconciliation effected more readily. 
 When Somerset said that, fearing his motives might be 
 misconstrued, he had followed to assure the minister 
 of his good-will and esteem, Mr. Woodwell held out 
 his hand, and proved his friendliness in return by pre- 
 paring to have the controversy on their religious differ- 
 ences over again from the beginning, in an amicable 
 spirit, and with exhaustive detail. Somerset evaded
 
 86 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 this with alacrity, and once having won his companion 
 to other subjects, he found that the austere man had 
 a smile as pleasant as an infant's on the rare moments 
 when he indulged in it; moreover, that he was warmly 
 attached to Miss Power. 
 
 "Though she gives me more trouble than all the 
 rest of the Baptist church in this district," he said, "I 
 love her as my own daughter. But I am sadly ex- 
 ercised to know what she is at heart. Heaven supply 
 me with fortitude to contest her wild opinions, and 
 intractability! But she has sweet virtues, and her con- 
 duct at times can be most endearing." 
 
 "I believe it!" said Somerset, with more fervour 
 than mere politeness required. 
 
 "Sometimes I think those Stancy towers and lands 
 will be a curse to her. The spirit of old papistical 
 times still lingers in the nooks of those silent walls, 
 like a bad odour in a still atmosphere, dulling the 
 iconoclastic emotions of the true Puritan. It would be 
 a pity indeed if she were to be tainted by the very 
 situation that her father's indomitable energy created 
 for her." 
 
 "Do not be concerned about her," said Somerset 
 gently, for the minister was evidently in trouble. " She's 
 not a Pa?dobaptist at heart, although she seems so." 
 
 Mr. Woodwell placed his finger on Somerset's arm, 
 saying, "If she's not a Paedobaptist, or Episcopalian; if 
 she is not vulnerable to the mediaeval influences of 
 her mansion, lands, and new acquaintance, it is be- 
 cause she's been vulnerable to what is worse: to doc- 
 trines beside which the errors of Paedobaptists, Epis- 
 copalians, Roman Catholics, are but as air." 
 
 "How? You astonish me."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSl i. 87 
 
 "Have you heard In your metropolitan experience 
 of a curious body of Newlights, as they think them- 
 selves?" The minister whispered a name to his listener, 
 as if he were fearful of being overheard. 
 
 "Oh no," said Somerset, shaking his head, and 
 smiling at the minister's horror. "She's not that; at 
 least, I think not. . . . She's a woman; nothing more. 
 Don't fear for her; all will be well." 
 
 The poor old man sighed. "I love her as my 
 own. I will say no more." 
 
 Somerset was now in haste to get back to the lady, 
 to ease her apparent anxiety as to the result of his 
 mission, and also because time seemed heavy in the 
 loss of her tender voice and soft, thoughtful look. 
 Every moment of delay began to be as two. But the 
 minister was too earnest in his converse to see his 
 companion's haste, and it was not till perception of 
 the same was forced upon him by the actual retreat of 
 Somerset that he remembered time to be a limited 
 commodity. He then expressed his wish to see Somer- 
 set at his house to tea any afternoon he could spare, 
 and receiving the other's promise to call as soon as 
 he could, allowed the younger man to set out for the 
 summer-house, which he did at a smart pace. When 
 he reached it he looked around, and found she was 
 gone. 
 
 Somerset was immediately struck by his own lack 
 of social dexterity. Why did he act so readily on the 
 whimsical suggestion of another person, and follow the 
 minister, when he might have said that he would call 
 on Mr. Woodwell to-morrow, and making himself known 
 to Miss Power as the visiting architect of whom she 
 had heard from Miss De Stancy, have had the pleasure
 
 88 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 of attending her to the castle? "That's what any 
 other man would have had wit enough to do!" he 
 said. 
 
 There then arose the question whether her des- 
 patching him after the minister was such an admirable 
 act of good-nature to a good man as it had at first 
 seemed to be. Perhaps it was simply a manoeuvre for 
 getting rid of himself; and he remembered his doubt 
 whether a certain light in her eyes when she inquired 
 concerning his sincerity were innocent earnestness or 
 the reverse. As the possibility of levity crossed his 
 brain, his face warmed; it pained him to think that a 
 woman so beautiful could condescend to a trick of 
 even so mild a complexion as that. He wanted to 
 think her the soul of all that was tender, and noble, 
 and kind. The pleasure of setting himself to win a 
 minister's goodwill was a little tarnished now.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 89 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 That evening Somerset was so preoccupied with 
 these things that he left all his sketching implements 
 out-of-doors in the castle grounds. He went somewhat 
 earlier the next morning to secure them from being 
 stolen or spoiled. Meanwhile he was hoping to have 
 an opportunity of rectifying in the mind of Paula the 
 mistake about his personality, which having served a 
 very good purpose in introducing them to a mutual 
 conversation, might possibly be made just agreeable as 
 a thing to be explained away. 
 
 He fetched his drawing instruments, rods, sketch- 
 ing-blocks and other articles from the field where they 
 had lain, and was passing under the walls with them 
 in his hands, when there emerged from the outer arch- 
 way an open landau, drawn by a pair of black horses 
 of fine action and obviously strong pedigree, in which 
 Paula was seated, under the shade of a white parasol 
 with black and white ribbons fluttering on the summit. 
 The morning sun sparkled on the equipage, its new- 
 ness being made all the more noticeable by the ragged 
 old arch behind. 
 
 She bowed to Somerset in a way which might have 
 been meant to express that she had discovered her 
 mistake; but there was no embarrassment in her 
 manner, and the carriage bore her away without her 
 making any sign for checking it. He had not been
 
 90 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 walking towards the castle entrance, and she could not 
 be supposed to know that it was his intention to enter 
 that day. 
 
 She had looked such a bud of youth and promise 
 that his disappointment at her departure might have 
 shown itself in his face as he observed her. However, 
 he went on his way, entered a turret, ascended to the 
 leads of the great tower, and stepped out. 
 
 From this elevated position he could still see the 
 carriage and the white surface of Paula's parasol in 
 the glowing sun. While he watched these objects the 
 landau stopped, and in a few moments the horses were 
 turned, the wheels and the panels flashed, and the 
 carriage came bowling along towards the castle again. 
 
 Somerset descended the stone stairs. Before he 
 had quite got to the bottom he saw Miss De Stancy 
 standing in the outer hall. 
 
 "When did you come, Mr. Somerset?" she gaily 
 said, looking up surprised. "How industrious you are 
 to be at work so regularly every day! We didn't think 
 you would be here to-day: Paula has gone to a vege- 
 table show at Markton, and I am going to join her 
 there soon." 
 
 "Oh! gone to a vegetable show. But I think she 
 has altered her " 
 
 At this moment the noise of the carriage was heard 
 in the ward, the door was thrown open, and after the 
 lapse of a few seconds Miss Power came in — Somerset 
 being invisible from the door where she stood. 
 
 "Oh, Paula, what has brought you back?" said 
 Miss De Stancy. 
 
 "I have forgotten something."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 9 1 
 
 "Mr. Somerset is here. Will you not speak to 
 him?" 
 
 Somerset, being by this time in sight, came forward, 
 and Miss De Stancy presented him to her friend. 
 Mr. Somerset acknowledged the pleasure by a respectful 
 inclination of his person, and said some words about 
 the meeting yesterday. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Power, with a serene deliberateness 
 quite noteworthy in a girl of her age: "I have seen it 
 all since. I was mistaken about you, was I not? Mr. 
 Somerset, I am glad to welcome you here, both as a 
 friend of Miss De Stancy's family, and as the son of 
 your father — which is indeed quite a sufficient intro- 
 duction anywhere." 
 
 "You have two pictures painted by Mr. Somerset's 
 father, have you not? I have already told him about 
 them," said Miss De Stancy. "Perhaps Mr. Somerset 
 would like to see them, if they are unpacked?" 
 
 As Somerset had from his infancy suffered from a 
 plethora of those productions, excellent as they were, 
 he did not reply quite so eagerly as Miss De Stancy 
 seemed to expect to her kind suggestion, and Paula 
 remarked to him, "You will stay to lunch? Do order 
 it at your own time, if our hour should not be con- 
 venient." 
 
 Her voice was a voice of low note, in quality that 
 of a flute at the grave end of its gamut. If she sang, 
 she was a pure contralto unmistakably. 
 
 "I am making use of the privilege you have been 
 good enough to accord me — of sketching what is 
 valuable within these walls." 
 
 "Yes, of course, I am willing for anybody to come. 
 People hold these places in trust for the nation, in one
 
 0,2 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 sense. You lift your hands, Charlotte; I see I have 
 not convinced you on that point yet." 
 
 Miss De Stancy laughed, and said something to 
 no purpose. 
 
 Somehow Miss Power seemed not only more woman 
 than Miss De Stancy, but more woman than Somerset 
 was man; and yet in years she was inferior to both. 
 Though becomingly girlish and modest, she appeared 
 to possess a good deal of composure , which was well 
 expressed by the shaded light of her eyes. 
 
 "You have then met Mr. Somerset before?" said 
 Charlotte. 
 
 "He was kind enough to deliver an address in my 
 defence yesterday. I suppose I seemed quite unable 
 to defend myself." 
 
 When a few more words had passed she turned to 
 Miss De Stancy and spoke of some domestic matter, 
 upon which Somerset withdrew, Paula accompanying 
 his exit with a remark that she hoped to see him again 
 a little later in the day. 
 
 Somerset retired to the chambers of antique lumber, 
 keeping an eye upon the windows to see if she re- 
 entered the carriage and resumed her journey to 
 Markton. But when the horses had been standing a 
 long time the carriage was driven round to the stables. 
 Then she was not going to the vegetable show. That 
 was rather curious, seeing that she had only come back 
 for something forgotten. 
 
 These queries and thoughts occupied the mind of 
 Somerset until the bell was rung for luncheon. Owing 
 to the very dusty condition in which he found himself 
 after his morning's labours among the old carvings he 
 was rather late in getting down-stairs, and seeing that
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 93 
 
 the rest had gone in he went straight to the dining- 
 hall. 
 
 The population of the castle had increased in his 
 absence. There were assembled Paula and her friend 
 Charlotte; a bearded man some years older than himself, 
 with a cold grey eye, who was cursorily introduced to 
 him in sitting down as Mr. Havill, an architect of 
 Markton; also an elderly lady of dignified aspect, in a 
 black satin dress, of which she apparently had a very 
 high opinion. This lady, who seemed to be a mere 
 dummy in the establishment, was, as he now learnt, 
 Mrs. Goodman by name, a widow of a recently deceased 
 gentleman, and aunt to Paula — the identical aunt who 
 had smuggled Paula into a church in her helpless in- 
 fancy, and had her christened without her parents' 
 knowledge. Having been left in narrow circumstances 
 by her husband, she was at present living with Miss 
 Power as chaperone and adviser on practical matters — 
 in a word, as ballast to the management. Beyond her 
 Somerset discerned his new acquaintance Mr. Woodwell, 
 who on sight of Somerset was for hastening up to him 
 and performing a laboured shaking of hands in earnest 
 recognition. 
 
 Paula had just come in from the garden, and was 
 carelessly laying down her large shady hat as he entered. 
 Her dress, a figured material in black and white, was 
 short, allowing her feet to appear. There was some- 
 thing in her look, and in the style of her corsage, 
 which reminded him of several of the bygone beauties 
 in the gallery. The thought for a moment crossed his 
 mind that she might have been imitating one of them, 
 but it was scarcely likely. 
 
 "Fine old screen, sir!" said Mr. Havill, in a long-
 
 94 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 drawn voice across the table when they were seated, 
 pointing in the direction of the traceried oak division 
 between the dining-hall and a vestibule at the end. 
 
 "As good a piece of fourteenth-century work as you 
 shall see in this part of the county." 
 
 "You mean fifteenth century, of course?" said 
 Somerset. 
 
 Havill was silent. "You are one of the profession, 
 perhaps?" asked the latter, after a while. 
 
 "You mean that I am an architect?" said Somerset. 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah — one of my own honoured vocation." Havill's 
 face had been not unpleasant until this moment, when 
 he smiled; whereupon there instantly gleamed over 
 him a phase of meanness, remaining until the smile 
 died away. It might have been a physical accident; 
 it might have been otherwise. 
 
 Havill continued, with slow watchfulness: "What 
 enormous sacrileges are committed by the builders 
 every day, I observe! I was driving yesterday to 
 Helterton, where I am putting up a town-hall, and 
 passing through a village on my way I saw the work- 
 men pulling down a chancel-wall in which they found 
 imbedded an unique specimen of Perpendicular work 
 — a capital from some old arcade — the mouldings 
 wonderfully undercut. They were smashing it up as 
 filling-in for the new wall." 
 
 "It must have been unique," said Somerset, in the 
 too-readily controversial tone of the educated young 
 man who has yet to learn diplomacy. "I have never 
 seen much undercutting in Perpendicular stone-work; 
 nor anybody else, I think." 
 
 "Oh yes— lots of it!" said Mr. Havill, nettled. His
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 95 
 
 glance at Somerset as he answered had a peculiar 
 shade in it, suggesting that he was readily convertible 
 into an enemy. 
 
 Paula looked from one to the other. "Which am 
 I to take as guide?" she asked. "Are Perpendicular 
 capitals undercut, as you call it, Mr. Havill, or no?" 
 
 "It depends upon circumstances," said Mr. Havill. 
 
 But Somerset had answered at the same time: 
 "There is seldom or never any marked undercutting 
 in moulded work later than the middle of the four- 
 teenth century." 
 
 Havill looked keenly at Somerset for a time: then 
 he turned to Paula: "As regards that fine Saxon 
 vaulting you did me the honour to consult me about 
 the other day, I should advise taking out some of 
 the old stones and reinstating new ones exactly like 
 them." 
 
 "But the new ones won't be Saxon," said Paula. 
 "And then in time to come, when I have passed away, 
 and those stones have become stained like the rest, 
 people will be deceived. I should prefer an honest 
 patch to any such make-believe of Saxon relics." 
 
 As she concluded, she let her eyes rest on Somer- 
 set for a moment, as if to ask him to side with her. 
 Much as he liked talking to Paula, he would have pre- 
 ferred not to enter into this discussion with another 
 professional man, even though that man were a spurious 
 article; but he was led on to enthusiasm by a sudden 
 pang of regret at finding that the masterly workman- 
 ship in this fine castle was likely to be tinkered and 
 spoilt by such a man as Havill. 
 
 "You will deceive nobody into believing that any- 
 thing is Saxon here," he said, warmly. "There is not
 
 96 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 a square inch of Saxon work, as it is called, in the 
 whole castle." 
 
 Paula, in doubt, looked to Mr. Havill. 
 
 "Oh yes, sir; you are quite mistaken," said that 
 gentleman, slowly. "Every stone of those lower vaults 
 was reared in Saxon times." 
 
 "I can assure you," said Somerset, deferentially, 
 but firmly, "that there is not an arch or wall in this 
 castle of a date anterior to the year uoo; no one 
 whose attention has ever been given to the study of 
 architectural details of that age can be of a different 
 opinion." 
 
 "I have studied architecture, and I am of a different 
 opinion. I have the best reason in the world for the 
 difference, for I have history herself on my side. What 
 will you say when I tell you that it is a recorded fact 
 that King Edred, great uncle of Edward the Confessor, 
 gave this castle to a certain abbess, and that, in ad- 
 dition, the castle is mentioned in Domesday as a 
 building of long standing?" 
 
 "I shall say that has nothing to do with it," replied 
 the young man. "I don't deny that there may have 
 been a castle here in the time of Edward; what I say 
 is, that none of the architecture we now see was stand- 
 ing at that date." 
 
 There was a silence of a minute, disturbed only 
 by a murmured dialogue between Mrs. Goodman and 
 the minister, during which Paula was looking thought- 
 fully on the table, as if framing a question. 
 
 "Can it be," she said to Somerset, "that such 
 certainty has been reached in the study of architectural 
 dates? Now, would you really risk anything on your 
 belief? Would you agree to be shut up in the vaults
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 97 
 
 and fed upon bread and water for a week if I could 
 prove you wrong?" 
 
 "Willingly," said Somerset. "The date of those 
 groins is matter of absolute certainty. The details 
 are notorious, as being what are called transition or 
 semi-Norman; their growth can be traced out of earlier 
 forms; everything is known about them from repeated 
 observations made all over England and the Continent. 
 More than that, I have found an arch-ornament here 
 which is exactly copied from a similar one I sketched 
 in the crypt of the Abbaye aux Dames at Caen last 
 year. That it should have been built before the Con- 
 quest is as unlikely as, say, that the rustiest old gun 
 with a percussion lock should be older than the date 
 of Waterloo." 
 
 "How I wish I knew something precise of an art 
 which makes one so independent of written history!" 
 
 Mr. Havill had lapsed into a mannerly silence that 
 was only sullenness disguised. Paula turned her con- 
 versation to Miss De Stancy, who had simply looked 
 from one to the other during the discussion, never 
 venturing to put in a word, though she might have 
 been supposed to have a prescriptive right to a few 
 remarks on the matter. A commonplace talk ensued, 
 till Havill, who had not joined in it, privately began 
 at Somerset again with a mixed manner of cordiality, 
 contempt, and misgiving. 
 
 "You have a practice, I suppose, sir?" 
 
 "I am not in practice just yet." 
 
 "Just beginning?" 
 
 "I am about to begin." 
 
 "In London, or near here?" 
 
 "In London probably." 
 
 A Liu><iicean. I. 7
 
 g 8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "H'm. ... I am practising in Markton." 
 "Indeed. Have you been at it long?" 
 "Not particularly. I designed the chapel built by 
 this lady's late father; it was my first undertaking— 
 I owe my start, in fact, to Mr. Power. Ever built a 
 chapel?" 
 
 "Never. I have sketched a good many churches." 
 "Ah — there we differ. I didn't do much sketching 
 in my youth, nor have I time for it now. Sketching 
 and building are two different things, to my mind. 
 I was not brought up to the profession — got into it 
 through sheer love of it. I began as a landscape 
 gardener, then I became a builder, then I was a road- 
 contractor. Every architect might do worse than have 
 some such experience. But nowadays 'tis the men 
 who can draw pretty pictures who get recommended, 
 not the practical men. Young prigs win Institute 
 medals for a pretty design or two which, if anybody 
 tried to build them, would fall down like a house of 
 cards; then they get travelling studentships and what 
 not, and then they start as architects of some new 
 school or other, and think they are the masters of us 
 experienced ones." 
 
 While Somerset was reflecting on this statement, 
 he heard the voice of Paula inquiring, "Who can 
 he be?" 
 
 Her eyes were bent on the window. Looking out, 
 Somerset saw, in the mead beyond the dry ditch, Dare, 
 with his photographic apparatus. 
 
 "He is the young gentleman who called about tak- 
 ing views of the castle," said Charlotte. 
 
 "Oh yes — I remember; it is quite right. He met
 
 CKOkOE SOMERSET. 99 
 
 me in the village and asked me to suggest him some 
 views. I thought him a respectable young fellow." 
 
 "I think he is a Canadian," said Somerset. 
 
 "No," said Paula, "he is an East Indian — at least 
 he implied that he was so to me." 
 
 "There is Italian blood in him," said Charlotte, 
 brightly. "For he spoke to me with an Italian accent. 
 But I can't think whether he is a boy or a man." 
 
 "It is to be earnestly hoped that the gentleman 
 does not prevaricate," said the minister, for the first 
 time attracted by the subject. "I accidentally met 
 him in the lane, and he said something to me about 
 having lived in Malta. I think it was Malta, or 
 Gibraltar — even if he did not say that he was born 
 there." 
 
 "His manners are no credit to his nationality," 
 observed Mrs. Goodman, also speaking publicly for 
 the first time. "He asked me this morning to send 
 him out a pail of water for his process, and before 
 I had turned away he began whistling. I don't like 
 whistlers." 
 
 "Then it appears," said Somerset, "that he is a 
 being of no age, no nationality, and no behaviour." 
 
 "A complete negative," added Havill, brightening 
 into a civil sneer. "That is, he would be, if he were 
 not a maker of negatives well known in Markton." 
 
 "Not well known, Mr. Havill," answered Mrs. Good- 
 man, firmly. "For I lived in Markton for thirty years 
 ending three months ago, and he was never heard of 
 in my time." 
 
 "He is something like you, Charlotte," said Paula, 
 smiling playfully on her companion. 
 
 All the men looked at Charlotte, on whose face 
 
 7*
 
 100 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 a delicate nervous blush thereupon made its appear- 
 ance. 
 
 "Ton my word there is a likeness, now I think of 
 it," said Havill. 
 
 Paula bent down to Charlotte and whispered: "For- 
 give my rudeness, dear. He is not a nice enough 
 person to be like you. He is really more like one or 
 other of the old pictures about the house. I forget 
 which, and really it does not matter." 
 
 "People's features fall naturally into groups and 
 classes," remarked Somerset. "To an observant person 
 they often repeat themselves; though to a careless eye 
 they seem infinite in their differences." 
 
 The conversation flagged, and they idly observed 
 the figure of the cosmopolite Dare as he walked round 
 his instrument in the mead, and busied himself with 
 an arrangement of curtains and lenses, occasionally 
 withdrawing a few steps, and looking contemplatively 
 at the towers and walls.
 
 OEORGE SOMERSET. I 01 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Somerset returned to the top of the great tower 
 with a vague consciousness that he was going to do 
 something up there — perhaps sketch a general plan of 
 the structure, with a view to measuring it in detail. 
 But he began to discern that this Stancy-Castle episode 
 in his studies of Gothic architecture might be less 
 useful than ornamental to him as a professional man, 
 though it was too agreeable to be abandoned. Find- 
 ing after a while that his drawing progressed but 
 slowly, by reason of infinite joyful thoughts more allied 
 to his nature than to his art, he relinquished ride and 
 compass, and entered one of the two turrets opening 
 on the roof. It was not the staircase by which he had 
 ascended, and he proceeded to explore its lower part. 
 Entering from the blaze of light without, and imagining 
 the stairs to descend as usual, he became aware after 
 a few steps that there was suddenly nothing to tread 
 on, and found himself precipitated downwards to a 
 distance of several feet. 
 
 Arrived at the bottom, he was conscious of the 
 happy fact that he had not seriously hurt himself, 
 though his leg was twisted awkwardly. Next he per- 
 ceived that the stone steps had been removed from the 
 turret, so that he had dropped into it as into a dry 
 well; that, owing to its being walled up below, there 
 was no door of exit on either side of him; that he 
 was, in short, a prisoner.
 
 102 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Placing himself in a more comfortable position he 
 calmly considered the best means of getting out, or of 
 making his condition known. For a moment he tried 
 to drag himself up by his arm, but it was a hopeless 
 attempt, the height to the first step being far too 
 great. 
 
 He next looked round at a lower level. Not far 
 from his left elbow, in the concave of the outer wall, 
 was a slit for the admission of light, and he perceived 
 at once that through this slit alone lay his chance of 
 communicating with the outer world. At first it seemed 
 as if it were to be done by shouting, but when he 
 learnt what little effect was produced by his voice in 
 the midst of such a mass of masonry, his heart failed 
 him for a moment. Yet, as either Paula or Miss De 
 Stancy would probably guess his visit to the top of the 
 tower, there was no cause for terror, if some for alarm. 
 
 He put his handkerchief through the window-slit, 
 so that its length fluttered outside, and, fixing it in its 
 place by a large stone drawn from the loose ones 
 around him, awaited succour as best he could. To 
 begin this course of procedure was easy, but to abide 
 in patience till it should produce fruit was an irksome 
 task. As nearly as he could guess — for his watch had 
 heen stopped by the fall — it was now about four 
 o'clock, and it would be scarcely possible for evening 
 to approach without some eye or other noticing the 
 white signal. So Somerset waited, his eyes lingering 
 on the little world of objects around him, till they all 
 became quite familiar. Spiders'-webs in plenty were 
 there, and one in particular just before him was in full 
 use as a snare, stretching across the arch of the window, 
 with radiating threads as its ribs. Somerset had plenty
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. IO3 
 
 of time, and he counted their number — fifteen. He 
 remained so silent that the owner of this elaborate 
 structure soon forgot the disturbance which had re- 
 sulted in the breaking of his diagonal ties, and crept 
 out from the corner to mend them. In watching the 
 process, Somerset noticed that on the stonework behind 
 the web sundry names and initials had been cut by 
 explorers in years gone by. Among these antique 
 inscriptions he observed two bright and clean ones, 
 consisting of the words "De Stancy" and "W. Dare," 
 crossing each other at right angles. From the state of 
 the stone they could not have been cut more than a 
 month before this date, and, musing on the circum- 
 stance, Somerset passed the time until the sun 
 reached the slit in that side of the tower, where, be- 
 ginning by throwing in a streak of fire as narrow as a 
 corn-stalk, it enlarged its width till the dusty nook 
 was flooded with cheerful light. It disclosed some- 
 thing lying in the corner, which on examination proved 
 to be a dry bone. Whether it was human, or had 
 come from the castle larder in bygone times, he could 
 not tell. One bone was not a whole skeleton, but it 
 made him think of Ginevra of Modena, the heroine 
 of the Mistletoe Bough, and other cribbed and con- 
 fined wretches, who had fallen into such traps and 
 been discovered after a cycle of years. 
 
 The sun's rays had travelled some way round the 
 interior when Somerset's waiting ears were at last 
 attracted by footsteps above, each tread being brought 
 down by the hollow turret with great fidelity. He 
 hoped that with these sounds would arise that of a 
 soft voice he had begun to like well. Indeed, during 
 the solitary hour or two of his waiting here he had
 
 104 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 pictured Paula straying alone on the terrace of the 
 castle, looking up, noting his signal, and ascending to 
 deliver him from his painful position by her own 
 exertions. It seemed that at length his dream had 
 been verified. The footsteps approached the opening 
 of the turret; and, attracted by the call which Somer- 
 set now raised, began to descend towards him. In a 
 moment, not Paula's face, but that of a dreary foot- 
 man of her household, looked over the edge of the 
 lowest stair. 
 
 Somerset mastered his disappointment, and the 
 man speedily fetched a ladder, by which means the 
 prisoner of two hours ascended to the roof in safety. 
 During the process he ventured to ask for the ladies 
 of the house, and learnt that they had gone out for a 
 drive together. 
 
 Before he left the castle, however, they had 
 returned, a circumstance unexpectedly made known to 
 him by his receiving a message, through a servant, 
 from Miss Power, to the effect that she would be glad 
 to see him at his convenience. Wondering what it 
 could possibly mean, he followed the messenger to her 
 room — a small modern library in the Elizabethan 
 wing of the house, adjoining that in which the tele- 
 graph stood, and arranged for her temporary use till 
 things were more in order. 
 
 She was alone, sitting behind a table littered with 
 letters and sketches, and looking fresh from her drive. 
 Perhaps it was because he had been shut up in that 
 dismal dungeon all the afternoon that he felt some- 
 thing in her presence which at the same time charmed 
 and refreshed him. 
 
 She signified that he was to sit down; but finding
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. IO5 
 
 that he was going to place himself on a straight- 
 backed chair some distance off she said, "Will you sit 
 nearer to me?" and then, as if rather oppressed by 
 her dignity, she left her own chair of business and 
 seated herself at ease on an ottoman which was among 
 the diversified furniture of the apartment. 
 
 "I want to consult you professionally," she went 
 on. "I have been much impressed by your great 
 knowledge of castellated architecture. Will you sit in 
 that leather chair at the table, as you may have to 
 take notes?" 
 
 The young man assented, expressed his gratifica- 
 tion, and went to the chair she designated. 
 
 "But, Mr. Somerset," she continued, from the 
 ottoman — the width of the table only dividing them— 
 "I first should just like to know, and I trust you will 
 excuse my inquiry, if you are an architect in practice, 
 or only as yet studying for the profession?" 
 
 "I am just going to practise. I open my office on 
 the first of January next," he answered. 
 
 "You would not mind having me as a client— 
 your first client?" She was reclining, and looked 
 curiously from her sideway face across the table, as 
 she said this. 
 
 "Can you ask it!" said Somerset, warmly. "What 
 are you going to build?" 
 
 "I am going to restore the castle." 
 
 "What, all of it?" said Somerset, astonished at the 
 audacity of such an undertaking. 
 
 "Not the parts that are absolutely ruinous: the 
 walls battered by the Parliament artillery had better 
 remain as they are, I suppose. But we have begun 
 wrong; it is I who should ask you, not you me. ... I
 
 106 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 fear," she went on, in that low note which was some- 
 what difficult to catch at a distance, but which he did 
 not wish her to raise to a louder tone, "I fear what 
 the antiquarians will say if I am not very careful. 
 They come here a great deal in summer, and if I were 
 to do the work wrong they would put my name in the 
 papers as a dreadful person, wilfully destroying what 
 is by rights the property of all. But I must live here, 
 as I have no other house, except the one in London, 
 and hence I must make the place habitable, which it 
 hardly is at present. I do hope I can trust to your 
 judgment?" 
 
 "I hope so," he said, with diffidence, for, far from 
 having much professional confidence, he often mis- 
 trusted himself. "I am a Fellow of the Society of 
 Antiquaries, and a Member of the Institute of British 
 Architects — not a Fellow of that body yet, though I 
 soon shall be." 
 
 "Then I am sure you must be trustworthy," she 
 said, with some enthusiasm. "Well, what am I to 
 do? — How do we begin?" 
 
 Somerset began to feel more professional, what 
 with the business chair, and the table, and the writing- 
 paper, notwithstanding that these articles, and the 
 room they were in, were hers instead of his; and an 
 evenness of manner which he had momentarily lost 
 returned to him. "The very first step," he said, "is 
 to decide upon the outlay- — what is it to cost?" 
 
 He faltered a little, for it seemed to disturb the 
 softness of their relationship to talk thus of hard cash. 
 But her sympathy with his feeling was apparently not 
 great, and she said, "The expenditure shall be what 
 you advise."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 107 
 
 "What a heavenly client!" he thought. "But you 
 must just give some idea," he said gently. "For the 
 fact is, any sum almost may be spent on such a build- 
 ing: five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty 
 thousand, a hundred thousand." 
 
 "I want it done well; so suppose we say a hundred 
 thousand? My father's solicitor — my solicitor now — 
 says I may go to a hundred thousand without extra- 
 vagance, if the expenditure is scattered over two or 
 three years." 
 
 Somerset looked round for a pen. With her habi- 
 tual quickness of insight she knew what he wanted, 
 and signified where one could be found. He wrote 
 down in large figures — 
 
 ^100,000. 
 
 It was more than he had expected; and for a 
 young man just beginning practice, and wishing to 
 make his name known, the opportunity of playing with 
 another person's money to that extent would afford an 
 exceptionally handsome opening, not so much from the 
 commission it represented, as from the attention that 
 would be bestowed by the art world on such an un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 Paula had sunk into a reverie. " I was intending 
 to entrust the work to Mr. Havill, a local architect," 
 she said. "But I gathered from his conversation with 
 you to-day that his ignorance of styles might com- 
 promise me very seriously. In short, though my father 
 employed him in one or two little matters, it would 
 not be right — even a morally culpable thing — to place 
 such an historically valuable building in his hands."
 
 108 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Has Mr. Havill ever been led to expect the com- 
 mission?" he asked. 
 
 "He may have guessed that he would have it. I 
 have spoken of my intention to him more than once." 
 
 Somerset thought over his conversation with Havill. 
 Well, he did not like Havill personally; and he had 
 strong reasons for suspecting that in the matter of 
 architecture Havill was a quack. But was it quite 
 generous to step in thus, and take away what would 
 be a golden opportunity to such a man of making 
 both ends meet comfortably for some years to come, 
 without giving him at least one chance? He reflected 
 a little longer, and then spoke out his feeling. 
 
 "I venture to propose a slightly modified arrange- 
 ment," he said. "Instead of committing the whole 
 undertaking to my hands without better proof of my 
 ability to carry it out than you have at present, let 
 there be a competition between Mr. Havill and myself 
 —let our rival plans for the restoration and enlarge- 
 ment be submitted to a committee of the Royal Insti- 
 tute of British Architects — and let the choice rest with 
 them, subject of course to your approval." 
 
 "It is indeed generous of you to suggest it." She 
 looked thoughtfully at him; he appeared to strike her 
 in a new light. "You really recommend it?" she 
 asked, as if the fairness which had prompted his 
 words inclined her still more than before to resign her- 
 self entirely to him in the matter. 
 
 "I do," said Somerset deliberately. 
 
 "I will think of it, since you wish it," she replied. 
 "And now, what general idea have you of the plan to 
 adopt? I do not positively agree to your suggestion
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. IOC, 
 
 as yet," she added; "so I may perhaps ask the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 Somerset, being by this time familiar with the 
 general plan of the castle, took out his pencil, and 
 made a rough sketch. While he was doing it she rose, 
 and coming slowly to the back of his chair, bent over 
 him in silence. 
 
 "Ah, I begin to see your conception," she mur- 
 mured; and the breath of her words fanned his ear. 
 He finished the sketch, and held it up to her, saying — 
 
 "I would suggest that you walk over the building 
 with Mr. Havill and myself, and detail your ideas to 
 us on each portion." 
 
 "Is it necessary?" 
 
 "Clients mostly do it." 
 
 "I will, then. But it is too late for me this even- 
 ing. Please meet me to-morrow at ten."
 
 IIO A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 At ten o'clock they met in the same room, Paula 
 appearing in a straw hat having a bent-up brim lined 
 with plaited silk, so that it surrounded her forehead 
 like a nimbus; and Somerset armed with sketch-book, 
 measuring-rod, ivory rule, and other apparatus of his 
 craft. 
 
 "And Mr. Havill?" said the young man. 
 
 "I have not decided to employ him: if I do he 
 shall go round with me independently of you," she 
 replied rather brusquely. 
 
 Somerset was by no means sorry to hear this. His 
 duty to Havill was done. 
 
 "And now," she said, as they walked on together 
 through the passages, "I must tell you that I am not 
 a medisevalist myself; and perhaps that's a pity." 
 
 "What are you?" 
 
 "I am Greek — that's why I don't wish to influence 
 your design." 
 
 Somerset, as they proceeded, pointed out where 
 roofs had been and should be again, where gables had 
 been pulled down, and where floors had vanished, 
 showing her how to reconstruct their details from 
 marks in the walls, much as a comparative anatomist 
 reconstructs an antediluvian from fragmentary bones 
 and teeth. She appeared to be interested, listened 
 attentively, but said little in reply. They were ultim-
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I I I 
 
 ately in a long narrow passage, indifferently lighted, 
 when Somerset, treading on a loose stone, felt a twinge 
 of weakness in one knee, and knew in a moment that, 
 it was the result of the twist given by his yesterday's 
 fall. He paused, leaning against the wall. 
 
 "What is it?" said Paula, with a sudden timidity 
 in her voice. 
 
 "I slipped down yesterday," he said. It will be 
 right in a moment." 
 
 "I — can I help you?" said Paula. But she did 
 not come near him; indeed, she withdrew a little. She 
 looked up the passage, and down the passage, and 
 became conscious that it was long and gloomy, and 
 that nobody was near. A curious coy uneasiness 
 seemed to take possession of her. Whether she 
 thought, for the first time, that she had made a mis- 
 take — that to wander about the castle alone with him 
 was compromising, or whether it was the mere shy 
 instinct of maidenhood, nobody knows; but she said 
 suddenly, "I will get something for you, and return in 
 a few minutes." 
 
 "Pray don't — it has quite passed!" he said, step- 
 ping out again. 
 
 But Paula had vanished. When she came back it 
 was in the rear of Charlotte De Stancy. Miss De 
 Stancy had a tumbler in one hand, half full of wine, 
 which she offered him; Paula remaining in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 He took the glass, and, to satisfy his companions, 
 drank a mouthful or two, though there was really no- 
 thing whatever the matter with him beyond the slight 
 ache above mentioned. Charlotte was going to retire, 
 but Paula said, quite anxiously, "You will stay with
 
 112 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 me, Charlotte, won't you? Surely you are interested 
 in what I am doing?" 
 
 "What is it?" said Miss De Stancy. 
 
 "Planning how to mend and enlarge the castle. 
 Tell Mr. Somerset what I want done in the quadrangle 
 — you know quite well — and I will walk on." 
 
 She walked on; but instead of talking on the sub- 
 ject as directed, Charlotte and Somerset followed 
 chatting on indifferent matters. They came to an 
 inner court not unlike a cloister-garth, and found 
 Paula standing there. 
 
 She met Miss De Stancy with a smile. "Did you 
 explain?" she asked. 
 
 "I have not explained yet." Paula seated herself 
 on a stone bench and Charlotte went on: "Miss Power 
 thought of making a Greek court of this. But she 
 will not tell you so herself, because it seems such 
 dreadful anachronism." 
 
 "I said I would not tell any architect myself," in- 
 terposed Paula, correctingly. "I did not then know 
 that he would be Mr. Somerset." 
 
 "It is rather startling," said Somerset. 
 
 "A Greek colonnade all round, you said, Paula," 
 continued her less reticent companion. "A peristyle 
 you called it — you saw it in a book, don't you remem- 
 ber? — and then you were going to have a fountain 
 in the middle, and statues like those in the British 
 Museum." 
 
 "I did say so," remarked Paula, pulling the leaves 
 from a young sycamore-tree that had sprung up be- 
 tween the joints of the paving. 
 
 From the spot where they sat they could see over 
 the roofs the upper part of the great tower wherein
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I I 3 
 
 Somerset had met with his misadventure. The tower 
 stood boldly up in the sun, and from one of the slits 
 in the corner something white waved in the breeze. 
 
 "What can that be?" said Charlotte. "Is it the 
 fluff of owls, or a handkerchief?" 
 
 "It is my handkerchief," Somerset answered, care- 
 lessly. "I fixed it there with a stone to attract atten- 
 tion, and forgot to take it away." 
 
 All three looked up at the handkerchief with in- 
 terest. "Why did you want to attract attention?" 
 asked Paula, in a low voice. 
 
 "Oh, I fell into the turret: but I got out very easily." 
 
 "Oh, Paula," said Charlotte, turning to her friend. 
 "That must be the place where the man fell in, years 
 ago, and was starved to death!" 
 
 "Starved to death?" said Paula. 
 
 "They say so. Oh, Mr. Somerset, what an escape!" 
 And Charlotte De Stancy walked away to a point from 
 which she could get a better view of the treacherous 
 turret. 
 
 "Whom did you think to attract?" asked Paula, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "I thought you might see it." 
 
 "Me personally?" And, blushing faintly, her eyes 
 rested upon him. 
 
 "I hoped for anybody. I thought of you," said 
 Somerset. 
 
 She did not continue. In a moment she arose and 
 went across to Miss De Stancy. "Don't you go falling 
 down and becoming a skeleton," she said — Somerset 
 overheard the words, though Paula was unaware of it 
 — after which she clasped her fingers behind Charlotte's 
 neck, and smiled tenderly in her face. 
 
 A Laodicean. I. °
 
 114 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 It seemed to be quite unconsciously done, and 
 Somerset thought it a very beautiful action. Presently 
 Paula returned to him and said, "Mr. Somerset, I think 
 we have had enough architecture for to-day." 
 
 The two women then wished him good morning 
 and went away. Somerset, feeling that he had now 
 every reason for prowling about the castle, remained 
 near the spot, endeavouring to evolve some plan of 
 procedure for the project entertained by the beautiful 
 owner of those weather-scathed walls. But for a long 
 time the mental perspective of his new position so 
 excited the emotional side of his nature that he could 
 not concentrate on feet and inches. As Paula's architect 
 (supposing Havill not to be admitted as a competitor), 
 he must of necessity be in constant communication 
 with her for a space of two or three years to come; 
 and particularly during the next few months. She, 
 doubtless, cherished far too ambitious views of her 
 career to feel any personal interest in this enforced 
 relationship with him; but he would be at liberty to 
 feel what he chose: and to be the victim of an un- 
 requited passion, while it afforded such splendid oppor- 
 tunities of communion with the one beloved, deprived 
 that passion of its most deplorable features. Acces- 
 sibility is a great point in matters of love, and perhaps 
 of the two there is less misery in loving without return 
 a goddess who is to be seen and spoken to every day, 
 than in having an affection tenderly reciprocated by 
 one always hopelessly removed. 
 
 With this view of having to spend a considerable 
 time in the neighbourhood, Somerset shifted his quarters 
 that afternoon from the little inn at Sleeping-Green to 
 the King's Arms Hotel at Markton. He required more
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I I 5 
 
 rooms in which to carry out Paula's instructions than 
 the former place afforded, and a more central position. 
 Having reached and dined at the King's Arms he 
 found the evening tedious, and again strolled out in 
 the direction of the castle. 
 
 When he reached it the light was declining, and a 
 solemn stillness overspread the pile. The great tower 
 was in full view. That spot of white which looked 
 like a pigeon fluttering from the loophole was his hand- 
 kerchief, still hanging in the place where he had left 
 it. His eyes yet lingered on the walls when he no- 
 ticed, with surprise, that the handkerchief suddenly 
 vanished. 
 
 Believing that the breezes, though weak below, 
 might have been strong enough at that height to blow 
 it into the turret, and in no hurry to get off the pre- 
 mises, he leisurely climbed up to find it, ascending by 
 the second staircase, crossing the roof, and going to 
 the top of the treacherous turret. The ladder by which 
 he had escaped still stood within it, and beside the 
 ladder he beheld the dim outline of a woman, in a 
 meditative attitude, holding his handkerchief in her 
 hand. 
 
 Somerset felt himself an intruder and softly with- 
 drew. When he had reached the ground he looked 
 up. A girlish form was standing at the top of the 
 tower looking over the parapet upon him — possibly not 
 seeing him, for it was dark on the lawn. 
 
 It was either Miss De Stancy or Paula; one of them 
 had gone there alone for his handkerchief and had 
 remained awhile, pondering on his escape. But which? 
 "If I were not a faint-heart I should run all risk and 
 wave my hat or kiss my hand to her, whoever she is," 
 
 8*
 
 I 1 6 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 he thought. But he was faint-hearted in the circum- 
 stances, and did not do either, feeling that, if it were 
 Miss Power, her acquaintance was too desirable a 
 thing to be trifled with, even by an act which would 
 easily have borne the interpretation of playful gallantry. 
 So he lingered about silently in the shades, and 
 then thought of strolling to his rooms at Markton. Just 
 at leaving, as he passed under the inhabited wing, 
 whence one or two lights now blinked, he heard a 
 piano, and a voice singing "The Mistletoe Bough." 
 The song had probably been suggested to the romantic 
 fancy of the singer by her visit to the scene of his 
 captivity.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I I J 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The identity of the lady whom he had seen on the 
 tower and afterwards heard singing was established 
 the next day. 
 
 "I have been thinking," said Miss Power, on meet- 
 ing him, "that you may require a studio on the pre- 
 mises. If so, the one I showed you yesterday as 
 suitable for such a purpose is at your service. If I 
 employ Mr. Havill to compete with you I will offer 
 him a similar one." 
 
 Somerset did not decline; and when they had dis- 
 cussed further arrangements she added, "In the same 
 room you will find the handkerchief that was left on 
 the tower." 
 
 "Ah, I saw that it was gone. Somebody brought 
 it down?" 
 
 "I did," she quietly remarked, looking up for a 
 second under her shady hat-brim. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you." 
 
 " Oh no — that's not necessary. I went up last night 
 to see where the accident happened, and there I found 
 it. When you came up were you in search of it, or 
 did you want me?" 
 
 "Then she saw me," he thought. "I went for the 
 handkerchief only; I was not aware that you Avere 
 there," he answered simply. It could hardly be as- 
 sumed that she was conscious of any sentimental mean-
 
 I I 8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 ing which might have been attached to her words 
 "Did you want me?" and he involuntarily sighed. 
 
 It was very soft, but she might have heard him, 
 for there was interest in her voice as she continued, 
 "Did you see me before you went back?" 
 
 "I did not know it was you; I saw that some lady 
 was there, and I would not disturb her. I wondered 
 all the evening if it were you." 
 
 Paula hastened to explain: "We understood that 
 you would stay to dinner, and as you did not come in 
 we wondered where you were. That made me think 
 of your accident, and after dinner I went up to the 
 place where it happened." 
 
 Somerset almost wished she had not explained so 
 lucidly. 
 
 And now followed the piquant days to which his 
 position as her architect, or, at worst, as one of her 
 two architects, naturally led. His anticipations were 
 for once surpassed by the reality. Perhaps Somerset's 
 inherent unfitness for a professional life under ordinary 
 circumstances was only proved by his great zest for it 
 now. Had he been in regular practice, with numerous 
 other clients, instead of having merely made a start 
 with this one, he would have totally neglected their 
 business in his exclusive attention to Paula's. 
 
 The idea of a competition between Somerset and 
 Havill had been highly approved by Paula's solicitor, 
 but she would not assent to it as yet, seeming quite 
 vexed that Somerset should not have taken the good 
 the gods provided without questioning her justice to 
 Havill. The room she had offered him was prepared 
 as a studio. Drawing-boards and Whatman's paper 
 were sent for, and in a few days Somerset began serious
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. II'j 
 
 labour. His first requirement was a clerk or two, to 
 do the drudgery of measuring and figuring; but for the 
 present he preferred to sketch alone. Sometimes, in 
 measuring the outworks of the castle, he ran against 
 Havill strolling about with no apparent object, who 
 bestowed on him an envious nod, and passed by. 
 
 "I hope you will not roughly make your sketches," 
 she said, looking in upon him one day, with serio- 
 playfulness, as he sat in the room which had been lent 
 him, "and then go away to your studio in London 
 and think of your other buildings and forget mine. 
 I am in haste to begin, and wish you not to neglect 
 me." 
 
 "I have no other building to think of," said Somer- 
 set, rising and placing a chair for her. "I had not 
 begun practice, as you may know. I have nothing else 
 in hand but your castle." 
 
 "I suppose I ought not to say I am glad of it; but 
 it is an advantage to have an architect all to one's 
 self. The architect whom I at first thought of told me 
 before I knew you that if I placed the castle in his 
 hands he would undertake no other commission till its 
 completion." 
 
 "I agree to the same," said Somerset. 
 
 "I don't wish to bind you," she returned. "But I 
 hinder you now — do pray go on without reference to 
 me. When will there be some drawing for me to 
 see ? " 
 
 "I will take care that it shall be soon." 
 
 He had a metallic tape in his hand, and went out 
 of the room to take some dimension in the corridor. 
 As the assistant for whom he had advertised had not 
 arrived, he attempted to fix the end of the tape by
 
 120 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 sticking his penknife through the ring into the wall. 
 Paula looked on at a distance. 
 
 "I will hold it," she said, after watching in silence 
 for some time and seeing his difficulty. 
 
 She went to the required corner and held the end 
 in its place. She had taken it the wrong way, and 
 Somerset went over and placed it properly in her 
 fingers, carefully avoiding to touch them. He did this 
 without speaking; she obediently raised her hand to 
 the corner again, and stood till he had finished, when 
 she asked, "Is that all?" 
 
 "That is all," said Somerset. "Thank you." With- 
 out further speech she looked at his sketch-book, while 
 he marked down the lines just acquired. 
 
 "You said the other day," she observed, "that early 
 Gothic work might be known by the under-cutting, or 
 something to that effect. I have looked in Rickman 
 and the Oxford Glossary, but I cannot quite understand 
 what you meant." 
 
 It was only too evident to her lover, from the way 
 in which she turned to him, that she had looked in 
 Rickman and the Glossary, and was thinking of nothing 
 in the world but of the subject of her inquiry. 
 
 "I can show you, by actual example, if you will 
 come to the chapel?" he returned, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Don't go on purpose to show me — when you are 
 there on your own account I will come in." 
 
 "I shall be there in half an hour." 
 
 "Very well," said Paula. She looked out of a 
 window, and, seeing Miss De Stancy on the terrace, 
 left him. 
 
 Somerset stood thinking of what he had said. He 
 had no occasion whatever to go into the chapel of the
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 12 L 
 
 castle that day. He had been tempted by her words 
 to say he would be there, and "half an hour" had 
 come to his lips almost without his knowledge. This 
 community of interest — if it were not anything more 
 tender — was growing serious. What had passed be- 
 tween them amounted to an appointment; they were 
 going to meet in the most solitary chamber of the 
 whole solitary pile. Could it be that Paula had well 
 considered this in replying with her passive "Very 
 well"? Probably not. She might think of it between 
 now and then, and might not come. 
 
 Somerset proceeded to the chapel and waited. 
 With the progress of the seconds towards the half-hour 
 he began to discover that a dangerous admiration for 
 this girl had risen within him. Yet so imaginative was 
 his passion that he hardly knew a single feature of her 
 countenance well enough to remember it in her ab- 
 sence. The meditative judgment of things and men 
 which had been his habit up to the moment of seeing 
 her in the Baptist chapel seemed to have left him — 
 nothing remained but a distracting wish to be always 
 near her, and it was quite with dismay that he recog- 
 nised what immense importance he was attaching to 
 the question whether she would keep the trifling en- 
 gagement or not. 
 
 The chapel of Stancy Castle was a silent place, 
 heaped up in corners with a lumber of old panels, 
 framework, and broken coloured glass. Here no clock 
 could be heard beating out the hours of the day — 
 here no voice of priest or deacon had for generations 
 uttered the daily service denoting how the year rolls 
 on. The stagnation of the spot was sufficient to draw 
 Somerset's mind for a moment from the subject which
 
 122 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 absorbed it, and he thought, "So, too, will time triumph 
 over all this fervour within me." 
 
 The sombre mood quite vanished when, lifting his 
 eyes from the floor on which his foot had been tapping 
 fervously, he saw Paula standing at the other end. It 
 was not so pleasant when he also saw that Mrs. Good- 
 man accompanied her. The latter lady, however, ob- 
 ligingly remained where she was resting, while Paula 
 came forward, and, as usual, paused on a half-smile 
 without speaking. 
 
 "It is in this little arcade that the example occurs," 
 said Somerset. 
 
 "Oh yes," she answered, turning to look at it. 
 
 "Early piers, capitals, and mouldings, generally 
 alternate with deep hollows, so as to form strong 
 shadows. Now look under the abacus of this capital; 
 you will find the stone hollowed out wonderfully; and 
 also in this arch-mould. It is often difficult to under- 
 stand how it could be done without cracking off the 
 stone. The difference between this and late work can 
 be felt by the hand even better than it can be seen." 
 He suited the action to the word and placed his hand 
 in the hollow. 
 
 She listened attentively, then stretched up her own 
 hand to test the cutting as he had done; she was not 
 quite tall enough; she would step upon this piece of 
 wood. Having done so she tried again, and succeeded 
 in putting her finger on the spot. No; she could not 
 understand it through her glove even now. She pulled 
 off her glove, and, her hand resting in the stone channel, 
 her eyes became abstracted in the effort of realisation, 
 the ideas derived through her hand passing into her 
 face.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I 23 
 
 "No, I am not sure now," she said. 
 
 Somerset placed his own hand in the cavity. Now 
 their two hands were close together again. They had 
 been close together half an hour earlier, and he had 
 sedulously avoided touching hers. He dared not let 
 such an accident happen now. And yet — surely she 
 saw the situation ! Was the inscrutable seriousness 
 with which he applied herself to his lesson a mockery? 
 There was such a bottomless depth in her eyes that it 
 was impossible to guess truly. Let it be that destiny 
 alone had ruled that their hands should be together a 
 second time. 
 
 All rumination was cut short by an impulse. He 
 seized her forefinger between his own finger and thumb, 
 and drew it along the hollow, saying, "That is the 
 curve I mean." 
 
 Somerset's hand was hot and trembling; Paula's, 
 on the contrary, was cool and soft as an infant's. 
 
 "Now the arch-mould," continued he. "There — the 
 depth of that cavity is tremendous, and it is not geo- 
 metrical, as in later work." He drew her unresisting 
 fingers from the capital to the arch, and laid them in 
 the little trench as before. 
 
 She allowed them to rest quietly there till he re- 
 linquished them. "Thank you," she then said, with- 
 drawing her hand, brushing the dust from her finger- 
 tips, and putting on her glove. 
 
 Her imperception of his feeling was the very 
 sublimity of maiden innocence if it were real; if not, 
 well, the coquetry was no great sin. But he would not 
 think of it as pretence or flirtation; the pleasure of this 
 day would be marred by such commonplace sup- 
 positions.
 
 124 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Mr. Somerset, will you allow me to have the 
 Greek court I mentioned?" she asked tentatively, after 
 a long break in their discourse, as she scanned the 
 green stones along the base of the arcade, with a con- 
 jectural countenance as to his reply. 
 
 "Will your own feeling for the genius of the place 
 allow you?" 
 
 "I am not a medievalist: I am an eclectic." 
 
 "You don't dislike your own house on that ac- 
 count." 
 
 "I did at first — I don't so much now. ... I should 
 love it, and adore every stone, and think feudalism 
 the only true romance of life, if " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "If I were a De Stancy, and the castle the long 
 home of my forefathers." 
 
 Somerset was a little surprised at the avowal: the 
 minister's words on the effects of her new environ- 
 ment recurred to his mind. "Miss De Stancy doesn't 
 think so," he said. "She cares nothing about those 
 things." 
 
 Paula turned to him: hitherto her remarks had 
 been sparingly spoken, her eyes being directed else- 
 where: "Yes, that is very strange, is it not?" she said. 
 "But it is owing to the joyous freshness of her nature, 
 which precludes her from dwelling on the past — 
 indeed, the past is no more to her than it is to a 
 sparrow or robin. She is scarcely an instance of the 
 wearing out of old families, for a younger mental con- 
 stitution than hers I never knew." 
 
 "Unless that very simplicity represents the second 
 childhood of her line, rather than her own exclusive 
 character."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 12$ 
 
 Paula shook her head. "In spite of the Greek 
 court, she is more Greek than I." 
 
 "You represent science rather than art, perhaps." 
 
 "How?" she asked quickly, glancing from under 
 her hat. 
 
 "I mean," he answered quietly, "that you represent 
 the march of mind — the steamship, and the railway, 
 and the thoughts that shake mankind." 
 
 She weighed his words, and said slowly: "Ah, yes: 
 you allude to my father. My father was a great man; 
 but I am more and more forgetting his greatness: that 
 kind of greatness is what a woman can never truly 
 enter into. I am less and less his daughter every day 
 that goes by." 
 
 She walked away a few steps to rejoin the ex- 
 cellent Mrs. Goodman, who, as Somerset still perceived, 
 was waiting for Paula at the discreetest of distances 
 in the shadows at the further end of the building. 
 Surely Paula's voice had faltered, and she had turned 
 to hide a tear; were he sure of that, the ambiguous 
 manner, which he could not unriddle, would have no 
 cold-hearted meaning in it, but would be only an ex- 
 ternal peculiarity of her nature. 
 
 She came back again. "Did you know that my 
 father made half the railways in Europe, including 
 that one over there?" she said, waving her little gloved 
 hand in the direction whence low rumbles were occa- 
 sionally heard during the day. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How did you know?" 
 
 "Miss De Stancy told me a little; and I then found 
 his name and doings were quite familiar to me." 
 
 Curiously enough, or perhaps naturally, since it
 
 126 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 was a main line of railway, with his words there came 
 through the broken windows the murmur of a train in 
 the distance, sounding clearer and more clear. It was 
 nothing to listen to, yet they both listened; till the 
 increasing noise suddenly broke off into dead silence. 
 
 "It has gone into the tunnel," said Paula. "Have 
 you seen the tunnel my father made? the curves are 
 said to be a triumph of science. There is nothing 
 else like it in this part of England." 
 
 "There is not: I have heard so. But I have not 
 seen it." 
 
 "Do you think it a thing more to be proud of that 
 one's father should have made a great tunnel and 
 railway like that, than that one's remote ancestor 
 should have built a great castle like this?" 
 
 What could Somerset say? It would have required 
 a casuist to decide whether his answer should depend 
 upon his conviction, or upon the family ties of such a 
 questioner. His own family had been rather of the 
 high old-fashioned sort, he himself was rather an artist 
 than a man of science; and had his interrogator been 
 a De Stancy, there is not much doubt about the an- 
 swer that would have risen spontaneously to his lips. 
 "From a modern point of view, railways are, no doubt, 
 things more to be proud of than castles," he said; 
 "though perhaps I myself, from mere association, should 
 decide in favour of the ancestor who built the castle." 
 The serious anxiety that Somerset threw into his ob- 
 servation, as if nothing but honest truth were available, 
 was more than the circumstance required. But she 
 herself was in such a thoughtful mood that mere 
 politeness without conviction would, after all, hardly 
 have met the case. "To design great engineering
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 12"] 
 
 works," he added musingly, and without the least eye 
 to the disparagement of her parent, "requires no doubt 
 a leading mind. But to execute them requires, of 
 course, only a following mind." 
 
 His reply did not altogether please her; and there 
 was a distinct reproach conveyed by her slight move- 
 ment towards Mrs. Goodman. He saw it, and was 
 grieved that he should have spoken so. "I am going 
 to walk over and inspect that famous tunnel of your 
 father's," he added gently. "It will be a pleasant 
 study for this afternoon." 
 
 She went away. "I am no man of the world," he 
 thought. "I ought to have praised that father of hers 
 straight off. I shall not win her respect; much less 
 her love!"
 
 128 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Somerset did not forget what he had planned, 
 and when lunch was over he walked away through 
 the trees. The tunnel was more difficult of discovery 
 than he had anticipated, and it was only after con- 
 siderable winding among green lanes, whose deep ruts 
 were like Canons of Colorado in miniature, that he 
 reached the slope in the distant upland where the 
 tunnel began. A road stretched over its crest, and 
 thence along one side of the railway-cutting. 
 
 He there unexpectedly saw standing Miss Power's 
 carriage; and on drawing nearer he found it to contain 
 Paula herself, Miss De Stancy, and Mrs. Goodman. 
 
 "How singular!" exclaimed Miss De Stancy gaily. 
 
 "It is most natural," said Paula, instantly. "In 
 the morning two people discuss a feature in the land- 
 scape, and in the afternoon each has a desire to see 
 it from what the other has said of it. Therefore they 
 accidentally meet." 
 
 Now Paula had distinctly heard Somerset declare 
 that he was going to walk there; how then could she 
 say this so coolly? It was with a pang at his heart 
 that he returned to his old thought of her being pos- 
 sibly a finished coquette and dissembler. Whatever 
 she might be, she was not a creature starched very 
 stiffly by Puritanism. 
 
 Somerset looked down on the mouth of the tunnel.
 
 GEOfeGE SOMERSET. I2Q 
 
 The absurdity of the popular commonplace that science, 
 steam, and travel must always be unromantic and 
 hideous, was proved on the spot. On either slope of 
 the deep cutting, green with long grass, grew drooping 
 young trees of ash, beech, and other flexible varieties, 
 their foliage almost concealing the actual railway which 
 ran along the bottom, its thin steel rails gleaming like 
 silver threads in the depths. The vertical front of the 
 tunnel, faced with brick that had once been red, was 
 now weather-stained, lichened, and mossed over in 
 harmonious hues of rusty-browns, pearly greys, and 
 neutral greens, at the very base appearing a little blue- 
 black spot like a mouse-hole — the tunnel's mouth. 
 
 The carriage was drawn up quite close to the 
 wood railing, and Paula was looking down at the same 
 time with him; but he made no remark to her. 
 
 Mrs. Goodman broke the silence by saying, "If it 
 were not a railway we should call it a lovely dell." 
 
 Somerset agreed with her, adding that it was so 
 charming that he felt inclined to go down. 
 
 "If you do, perhaps Miss Power will order you up 
 again, as a trespasser," said Charlotte De Stancy. "You 
 are one of the largest shareholders in the railway, are 
 you not, Paula?" 
 
 Miss Power did not reply. 
 
 "I suppose as the road is partly yours you might 
 walk all the way to London along the rails, if you 
 wished, might you not, dear?" Charlotte continued. 
 
 Paula smiled, and said, "No, of course not." 
 
 Somerset, feeling himself superfluous, raised his 
 hat to his companions as if he meant not to see them 
 again for a while, and began to descend by some 
 steps cut in the earth, when Miss De Stancy asked 
 
 A Laodicean- I. 9
 
 130 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Mrs. Goodman to accompany her to a barrow over the 
 top of the tunnel; and they left the carriage, Paula 
 remaining alone. 
 
 Down Somerset plunged through the long grass, 
 bushes, late summer flowers, moths, and caterpillars, 
 vexed with himself that he had come there, since 
 Paula was so inscrutable, and humming the notes of 
 some song he did not know. The tunnel that had 
 seemed so small from the surface was a vast archway 
 when he reached its mouth, which emitted, as a con- 
 trast to the sultry heat on the slopes of the cutting, a 
 cool breeze, that had travelled a mile underground 
 from the other end. Far away in the darkness of this 
 silent subterranean corridor he could see that other 
 end as a mere speck of light. 
 
 When he had conscientiously admired the con- 
 struction of the massive archi-vault, and the majesty 
 of its nude ungarnished walls, he looked up the slope 
 at the carriage; it was so small to the eye that it 
 might have been made for a performance by canaries; 
 Paula's face being still smaller, as she leaned back in 
 her seat, idly looking down at him. There seemed 
 something roguish in her attitude of criticism, and to 
 be no longer the subject of her contemplation he 
 entered the tunnel out of her sight. 
 
 In the middle of the speck of light before him 
 appeared a speck of black; and then a shrill whistle, 
 dulled by millions of tons of earth, reached his ears 
 from thence. It was what he had been on his guard 
 against all the time, — a passing train; and instead of 
 taking the trouble to come out of the tunnel he stepped 
 into a recess, till the train had rattled past, and 
 vanished onward round a curve.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 131 
 
 Somerset still remained where he had placed him- 
 self, mentally balancing science against art, the 
 grandeur of this fine piece of construction against that 
 of the castle, and thinking wheter Paula's father had 
 not, after all, the best of it, when all at once he saw 
 Paula's form confronting him at the entrance of the 
 tunnel. He instantly went forward into the light 
 where she was; to his surprise she was as pale as 
 a lily. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Somerset!" she exclaimed, impulsively. 
 "You ought not to frighten me so — indeed you ought 
 not! The train came out almost as soon as you had 
 gone in, and as you did not return — an accident was 
 possible!" 
 
 Somerset at once perceived that he had been to 
 blame in not thinking of this. 
 
 "Please do forgive my thoughtlessness in not reflect- 
 ing how it would strike you!" he pleaded. "I — I see 
 I have alarmed you." 
 
 Her alarm was, indeed, much greater than he had 
 at first thought: she trembled so much that she was 
 obliged to sit down, at which he went up to her full 
 of solicitousness. 
 
 "You ought not to have done it!" she said. "I 
 naturally thought — any person would " 
 
 Somerset, perhaps wisely, said nothing at this out- 
 burst; the cause of her vexation was, plainly enough, 
 his perception of her discomposure. He stood looking 
 in another direction, till in a few moments she had 
 risen to her feet again, quite calm. 
 
 "It would have been dreadful," she said with faint 
 gaiety, as the colour returned to her face; "if I had 
 
 9*
 
 I32 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 lost my architect, and been obliged to engage Mr. 
 Havill without an alternative." 
 
 "I was really in no danger; but of course I ought 
 to have considered," he said. 
 
 "I forgive you," she returned good-naturedly. "I 
 knew there was no great danger to a person exercising 
 ordinary discretion; but artists and thinkers like you 
 are indiscreet for a moment sometimes. I am now 
 going up again. What do you think of the tunnel?" 
 
 They were crossing the railway to ascend by the 
 opposite path, Somerset keeping his eye on the interior 
 of the tunnel for safety, when suddenly there arose a 
 noise and shriek from the contrary direction behind 
 the trees. Both knew in a moment what it meant, 
 and each seized the other as they rushed off the 
 permanent way. The ideas of both had been so 
 centred on the tunnel as the source of danger, that 
 the probability of a train from the opposite quarter 
 had been forgotten. It rushed past them, causing 
 Paula's dress, hair, and ribbons to flutter violently, and 
 blowing up the fallen leaves in a shower over their 
 shoulders. 
 
 Neither spoke, and they went up several steps, 
 holding each other by the hand, till, becoming conscious 
 of the fact, she withdrew hers; whereupon Somerset 
 stopped and looked earnestly at her; but her eyes were 
 averted towards the tunnel wall. 
 
 "What an escape!" he said. 
 
 "We were not so very near, I think, were we?" 
 she asked quickly. "If we were I think you were — 
 very good to take my hand." 
 
 They reached the top at last, and the new level 
 and open air seemed to give her a new mind. "I
 
 ■.i' l( i;i.i (.mi usi.;i . 133 
 
 don't see the carriage anywhere," she said, in the 
 common tones of civilisation. 
 
 He thought it had gone over the crest of the hill; 
 he would accompany her till they reached it. 
 
 "No — please — I would rather not — I can find if. 
 very well." Before he could say more she had inclined 
 her head and smiled and was on her way alone. 
 
 The tunnel-cutting appeared a dreary gulf enough 
 now to the young man, as he stood leaning over the 
 rails above it, beating the herbage with his stick. For 
 some minutes he could not criticise or weigh her 
 conduct; the warmth of her presence still encircled 
 him. He recalled her face as it had looked out at 
 him from under the white silk puffing of her black 
 hat, and the speaking power of her eyes at the moment 
 of danger. The breadth of that clear-complexioned 
 forehead — almost concealed by the masses of brown 
 hair bundled up around it — signified that if her dis- 
 position were oblique and insincere enough for trifling, 
 coquetting, or in any way making a fool of him, she 
 had the intellect to do it cruelly well. 
 
 But it was ungenerous to ruminate so suspiciously. 
 A girl not an actress by profession could hardly turn 
 pale artificially as she had done, though perhaps mere 
 fright meant nothing, and would have arisen in her 
 just as readily had he been one of the labourers on 
 her estate. Upon the whole it was a perplexity. 
 
 The reflection that such feeling as she had exhibited 
 could have no tender meaning returned upon him with 
 masterful force when he thought of her wealth and the 
 social position into which she had drifted. Somerset, 
 being of a solitary and studious nature, was not quite 
 competent to estimate precisely the disqualifying effect,
 
 134 A LAODICEAN". 
 
 if any, of her non-conformity, her newness of blood, 
 and other things, among the old county families 
 established round her; but the toughest prejudices, he 
 thought, were not likely to be long invulnerable to 
 such cheerful beauty and brightness of intellect as 
 Paula's. "When she emerged, as she was plainly about 
 to do, from the comparative seclusion in which she 
 had been living since her father's death, she would 
 inevitably win her way among her neighbours. She 
 would become the local topic. Fortune-hunters would 
 learn of her existence and draw near in shoals. What 
 chance would there then be for him? 
 
 The points in his favour were indeed few, but they 
 were just enough to keep a tantalising hope alive. 
 Modestly leaving out of count his personal and in- 
 tellectual qualifications, he thought of his family. It 
 was an old stock enough, though not a rich one. His 
 great-uncle had been the well-known Vice-admiral Sir 
 Armstrong Somerset, who served his country well in 
 the Baltic, the Indies, China, and the Caribbean Sea. 
 His grandfather had been a notable metaphysician. 
 His father, the Royal Academician, was popular. But 
 perhaps this was not the sort of reasoning likely to 
 occupy the mind of a young woman; the personal 
 aspect of the situation was in such circumstances of 
 far more import. He had come as a wandering stranger 
 —that possibly lent some interest to him in her eyes. 
 He was installed in an office which would necessitate 
 free communion with her for some time to come; that 
 was another advantage, and would be a still greater 
 one if she showed, as Paula seemed disposed to do, 
 such artistic sympathy with his work as to follow up 
 with interest the details of its progress.
 
 GEORGE SOMKI 135 
 
 The carriage did not reappear, and he went on 
 towards Markton, disinclined to return again that day 
 to the studio which had been prepared for him at the 
 castle. He heard feet brushing the grass behind him, 
 and, looking round, saw the Baptist minister. 
 
 "I have just come from the village," said Mr. 
 Woodwell, who looked worn and weary, his boots being 
 covered with dust, "and I have learnt that which con- 
 firms my fears for her." 
 
 "For Miss Power?" 
 
 "Most assuredly." 
 
 "What danger is there?" said Somerset. 
 
 "The temptations of her position have become too 
 much for her! She is going out of mourning next 
 week, and will give a large dinner-party on the oc- 
 casion; for though the invitations are partly in the 
 name of her relative Mrs. Goodman, they must come 
 from her. The guests are to include people of old 
 cavalier families who would have treated her grand- 
 father, sir, and even her father, with scorn for their 
 religion and connections; also the parson and curate — 
 yes, actually people who believe in the Apostolic Suc- 
 cession; and, what's more, they're coming. My opinion 
 is, that it has all arisen from her friendship with Miss 
 De Stancy." 
 
 "Well," cried Somerset, warmly, "this only shows 
 liberality of feeling on both sides! I suppose she has 
 invited you as well?" 
 
 "She has not invited me! . . . Mr. Somerset, not- 
 withstanding your erroneous opinions on important 
 matters, I speak to you as a friend, and I tell you 
 that she has never in her secret heart forgiven that 
 sermon of mine, in which I likened her to the church
 
 I36 A LAODICEAN, 
 
 at Laodicea. I admit the words were harsh, but I was 
 doing my duty, and if the case arose to-morrow I 
 would do it again. Her displeasure is a deep grief to 
 me; but I serve One greater than she. . . . You, of 
 course, are invited to this dinner?" 
 
 "I have heard nothing of it," murmured the young 
 man. 
 
 Their paths diverged; and when Somerset reached 
 the King's Arms Hotel he was informed that some- 
 body was waiting to see him. 
 
 "Man or woman?" he asked. 
 
 The landlady, who always liked to reply in person 
 to Somerset's inquiries, apparently thinking him, by 
 virtue of his drawing implements and liberality of 
 payment, a possible lord of Burleigh, came forward and 
 said it was certainly not a woman, but whether man 
 or boy she could not say. "His name is Mr. Dare," 
 she added. 
 
 "Oh— that youth," he said. 
 
 Somerset went upstairs, along the passage, down 
 two steps, round the angle, and so on to the rooms 
 reserved for him in this rambling edifice of stage-coach 
 memories, where he found Dare waiting. Dare came 
 forward, pulling out the cutting of an advertisement. 
 
 "Mr. Somerset, this is yours, I believe, from the 
 Architectural World?" 
 
 Somerset said that he had inserted it. 
 
 "I think I should suit your purpose as assistant 
 very well." 
 
 "Are you an architect's draughtsman?" 
 
 "Not specially. I have some knowledge of the 
 same, and want to increase it." 
 
 "I thought you were a photographer."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I 37 
 
 "Also of photography," said Dare, with a bow. 
 "Though but an amateur in that art, I can challenge 
 comparison with Regent Street or Broadway." 
 
 Somerset looked upon his table. Two letters only, 
 addressed in initials, were lying there as answers to 
 his advertisement. He asked Dare to wait, and looked 
 them over. Neither was satisfactory. On this account 
 he overcame his slight feeling against Mr. Dare, and 
 put a question to test that gentleman's capacities. 
 "How would you measure the front of a building, in- 
 cluding windows, doors, mouldings, and every other 
 feature, for a ground plan, so as to combine the 
 greatest accuracy with the greatest despatch?" 
 
 "In running dimensions," said Dare. 
 
 As this was the particular kind of work he wanted 
 done, Somerset thought the answer promising. Coming 
 to terms with Dare, he requested the would-be student 
 of architecture to wait at the castle the next day, and 
 dismissed him. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, when Dare was taking 
 a walk in the country, he drew from his pocket eight 
 other letters addressed to Somerset in initials, which, 
 to judge by their style and stationery, were from men 
 far superior to those two whose communications alone 
 Somerset had seen. Dare looked them over for a few 
 seconds as he strolled on, then tore them into minute 
 fragments, and, burying them under the leaves in the 
 ditch, went on his way again.
 
 I }S A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CIIAFTER XIII. 
 
 Though exhibiting indifference, Somerset had felt 
 a pang of disappointment when he heard the news of 
 Paula's approaching dinner-party. It seemed a little 
 unkind of her to pass him over, seeing how much they 
 were thrown together just now. That dinner meant 
 more than it sounded. Notwithstanding the roominess 
 of her castle, she was at present living somewhat in- 
 commodiously, owing partly to the stagnation caused 
 by her recent bereavement, and partly to the necessity 
 for overhauling the De Stancy lumber piled in those 
 vast and gloomy chambers before they could be made 
 tolerable to nineteenth-century fastidiousness. 
 
 To give dinners on any large scale before Somerset 
 had at least set a few of these rooms in order for her, 
 showed, to his thinking, an overpowering desire for 
 society. 
 
 During the week he saw less of her than usual, 
 her time being to all appearance much taken up with 
 driving out to make calls on her neighbours and re- 
 ceiving return visits. All this he observed from the 
 windows of his studio overlooking the castle ward, in 
 which room he now spent a great deal of his time, 
 bending over drawing-boards and instructing Dare, 
 who worked as well as could be expected of a youth 
 of such varied attainments. 
 
 Nearer came the Wednesday of the party, and no
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 139 
 
 hint of that event reached Somerset, but such as had 
 been communicated by the Baptist minister. At last, 
 on the very afternoon, an invitation was handed into 
 his studio — not a kind note in Paula's handwriting, 
 but a formal printed card in the joint names of Mrs. 
 Goodman and Miss Power. It reached him just four 
 hours before the dinner-time. He was plainly to be 
 used as a stop-gap at the last moment because some- 
 body could not come. 
 
 Having previously arranged to pass a quiet even- 
 ing in his rooms at the King's Arms, in reading up 
 chronicles of the castle from the county history, with 
 the view of gathering some ideas as to the distribution 
 of rooms therein before the demolition of a portion of 
 the structure, he decided off-hand that Paula's dinner 
 was not of sufficient importance to him as a profes- 
 sional man and student of art to justify a waste of the 
 evening by going. He accordingly declined Mrs. Good- 
 man's and Miss Power's invitation; and at five o'clock 
 left the castle and walked across the fields to the little 
 town. 
 
 He dined early, and, clearing away heaviness with 
 a cup of coffee, applied himself to that volume of the 
 county history which contained the record of Stancy 
 Castle. 
 
 Here he read that "when this picturesque and 
 ancient structure was founded, or by whom, is ex- 
 tremely uncertain. But that a castle stood on the site 
 in very early times appears from many old books of 
 charters. In its prime it was such a masterpiece of 
 fortification as to be the wonder of the world, and it 
 was thought, before the invention of gunpowder, that 
 it never could be taken by any force less than divine."
 
 I40 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 He read on to the times when it first passed into 
 the hands of "De Stancy, Chivaler," and received the 
 family name, and so on from De Stancy to De Stancy 
 till he was lost in the reflection whether Paula would 
 or would not have thought more highly of him if he 
 had accepted the invitation to dinner. Applying him- 
 self again to the tome, he learnt that in the year 1504 
 Stephen the carpenter was "paid eleven pence for 
 necessarye repayrs," and William the mastermason 
 eight shillings "for whyt lyming of the kitchen, and 
 the lyme to do it with," including "a new rope for the 
 fyer bell;" also the sundry charges for "vij crockes, 
 xiij lytyll pans, a pare of pot hookes, a fyer pane, a 
 lanterne, a chafynge dyshe, and xij candyll stychs." 
 
 Bang went eight strokes of the clock: it was the 
 dinner-hour. 
 
 "There, now I can't go, anyhow!" he said bitterly, 
 jumping up, and picturing her receiving her company. 
 How would she look; what would she wear? Pro- 
 foundly indifferent to the early history of the noble 
 fabric, he felt a violent reaction towards modernism, 
 eclecticism, new aristocracies, everything, in short, that 
 Paula represented. He even gave himself up to con- 
 sider the Greek court that she had wished for, and 
 passed the remainder of the evening in making a per- 
 spective view of the same. 
 
 The next morning he awoke early, and, resolving 
 to be at work betimes, started promptly. It was a fine 
 calm hour of day; the grass slopes were silvery with 
 excess of dew, and the blue mists hung in the depths 
 of each tree for want of wind to blow them out. Somer- 
 set entered the drive on foot, and when near the castle 
 he observed in the gravel the wheel-marks of the car-
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I4I 
 
 riages that had conveyed the guests thither the night 
 before. There seemed to have been a large number, 
 for the road where newly repaired was quite cut up. 
 Before going indoors he was tempted to walk round to 
 the wing in which Paula slept. 
 
 Rooks were cawing, sparrows were chattering there; 
 but the blind of her window was as closely drawn as 
 if it were midnight. Probably she was sound asleep, 
 dreaming of the compliments which had been paid 
 her by her guests, and of the future triumphant 
 pleasures that would follow in their train. Reaching 
 the outer stone stairs leading to the great hall, he 
 found them shadowed by an awning brilliantly striped 
 with red and blue, within which rows of flowering 
 plants in pots bordered the pathway. She could not 
 have made more preparation had the gathering been 
 a ball. He passed along the gallery in which his 
 studio was situated, entered the room, and seized a 
 drawing-board to put into correct drawing the sketch 
 for the Greek court that he had struck out the night 
 before, thereby abandoning his art principles to please 
 the whim of a girl. Dare had not yet arrived, and 
 after a time Somerset threw down his pencil and leant 
 back. 
 
 His eye fell upon something that moved. It was 
 white, and lay in the folding-chair on the opposite 
 side of the room. On near approach he found it to 
 be a fragment of swan's-down, fanned into motion by 
 his own movements, and partially squeezed into the 
 chink of the chair as though by some person sitting 
 on it. 
 
 None but a woman would have worn or brought 
 that swan's-down into his studio, and it made him re.
 
 I42 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 fleet on the possible one. Nothing interrupted his 
 conjectures till ten o'clock, when Dare came. Then 
 one of the servants tapped at the door to know if Mr. 
 Somerset had arrived. Somerset asked if Miss Power 
 wished to see him, and was informed that she had 
 only wished to know if he had come. Somerset sent 
 a return message that he had a design on the board 
 which he should soon be glad to submit to her, and 
 the messenger departed. 
 
 "Fine doings here last night, sir," said Dare, as he 
 dusted his T-square. 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" 
 
 "A dinner-party, I hear; eighteen guests." 
 
 "Oh," said Somerset. 
 
 "The young lady was magnificent — sapphires and 
 opals — she carried as much as a thousand pounds 
 upon her head and shoulders during that three or four 
 hours. Of course they call her charming; Compuesta 
 no hay muger feci, as they say at Madrid." 
 
 "I don't doubt it for a moment," said Somerset 
 with reserve. 
 
 Dare said no more, and presently the door opened, 
 and there stood Paula. 
 
 Somerset nodded to Dare to withdraw into an ad- 
 joining room, and offered her a chair. 
 
 "You wish to show me the design you have pre- 
 pared?" she asked, without taking the seat. 
 
 "Yes; I have come round to your opinion. I have 
 made a plan for the Greek court you were anxious to 
 build." And he elevated the drawing-board against 
 the wall. 
 
 She regarded it attentively for some moments, her
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I 43 
 
 finger resting lightly against her chin, and said, "I 
 have given up the idea of a Greek court." 
 
 He showed his astonishment, and was almost dis- 
 appointed. He had been grinding up Greek archi- 
 tecture entirely on her account; had wrenched his 
 mind round to this strange arrangement, all for 
 nothing. 
 
 "Yes," she continued; "on reconsideration I per- 
 ceive the want of harmony that would result from in- 
 serting such a piece of marble-work in a mediaeval 
 fortress; so in future we will limit ourselves strictly to 
 synchronism of style — that is to say, make good the 
 Norman work by Norman, the Perpendicular by Per- 
 pendicular, and so on. I have informed Mr. Havill of 
 the same thing." 
 
 Somerset pulled the Greek drawing off the board, 
 and tore it in two pieces. 
 
 She involuntarily turned to look in his face, but 
 stopped before she had quite lifted her eyes high 
 enough. "Why did you do that?" she asked, with 
 suave sauciness. 
 
 "It is of no further use," said Somerset, tearing the 
 drawing in the other direction, and throwing the pieces 
 into the fireplace. "You have been reading up orders 
 and styles to some purpose, I perceive." He regarded 
 her with a faint smile. 
 
 "I have had a few books down from town. It is 
 desirable to know a little about the architecture of 
 one's own house." 
 
 She remained looking at the torn drawing, when 
 Somerset, observing on the table the particle of swan's- 
 down he had found in the chair, gently blew it so 
 that it skimmed across the table under her eyes.
 
 144 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "It looks as if it came off a lady's dress," he said 
 idly. 
 
 "Off a lady's fan," she replied. 
 
 "Oh, off a fan?" 
 
 "Yes; off mine." 
 
 At her reply Somerset stretched out his hand for 
 the swan's-down, and put it carefully in his pocket- 
 book; whereupon Paula, moulding her cherry-red 
 lower lip beneath her upper one in arch self-conscious- 
 ness at his act, turned away to the window, and after 
 a pause said softly as she looked out, "Why did you 
 not accept our invitation to dinner?" 
 
 It was impossible to explain why. He impulsively 
 drew near and confronted her, and said, "I hope you 
 pardon me?" 
 
 "I don't know that I can quite do that," answered 
 she with ever so little reproach. "I know why you 
 did not come — you were mortified at not being asked 
 sooner! But it was purely by an accident that you 
 received your invitation so late. My aunt sent the 
 others by post, but as yours was to be delivered by 
 hand it was left on her table, and was overlooked." 
 
 Surely he could not doubt her words; those nice 
 friendly tones were the embodiment of truth itself. 
 
 "I don't mean to make a serious complaint," she 
 added, in injured accents, showing that she did. 
 "Only we had asked nearly all of them to meet you, 
 as the son of your illustrious father, whom many of my 
 friends know personally; and — they were disappointed." 
 
 It was now time for Somerset to be genuinely 
 grieved at what he had done. Paula seemed so good 
 and honourable at that moment that he could have 
 laid down his life for her.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 145 
 
 "When I was dressed I came in here to ask you 
 to reconsider your decision," she continued; "or to 
 meet us in the drawing-room if you could not possibly 
 be ready for dinner. But you were gone." 
 
 "And you sat down in that chair, didn't you, 
 darling, and remained there a long time musing!" he 
 thought. But that he did not say. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he murmured. 
 
 "Will you make amends by coming to our garden- 
 party? I ask you the very first." 
 
 "I will," replied Somerset. To add that it would 
 give him great pleasure, etc., seemed an absurdly 
 weak way of expressing his feelings, and he said no 
 more. 
 
 "It is on the nineteenth. Don't forget the day." 
 
 He met her eyes in such a way that, if she were 
 woman, she must have seen the meaning as plainly 
 as words: "Do I look as if I could forget anything you 
 say?" 
 
 She must, indeed, have understood much more by 
 this time — the whole of his open secret. But he did 
 not understand her. History has revealed that a 
 supernumerary lover or two is rarely considered a dis- 
 advantage by a woman, from queen to cottage girl; 
 and the thought made him pause. 
 
 A Laodicean. I. 10
 
 I46 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 When she was gone he went on with the drawing, 
 not calling in Dare, who remained in the room ad- 
 joining. Presently a servant came and laid a paper 
 on his table, which Miss Power had sent. It was one 
 of the morning newspapers, and was folded so that his 
 eye fell immediately on a letter headed "Restoration 
 or Demolition." 
 
 The letter was professedly written by a dispas- 
 sionate person solely in the interests of art. It drew 
 attention to the circumstance that the ancient and 
 interesting castle of the De Stancys had unhappily 
 passed into the hands of an iconoclast by blood, who, 
 without respect for the tradition of the county, or any 
 feeling whatever for history in stone, was about to de- 
 molish much, if not all, that was interesting in that 
 ancient pile, and insert in its midst a monstrous 
 travesty of some Greek temple. In the name of all 
 lovers of mediaeval art, conjured the simple-minded 
 writer, let something be done to save a building which, 
 injured and battered in the Civil Wars, was now to be 
 made a complete ruin by the freaks of an irresponsible 
 owner. 
 
 Her sending him the paper seemed to imply that 
 she required his opinion on the case; and in the 
 afternoon, leaving Dare to measure up a wing accord- 
 ing to directions, he went out in the hope of meeting
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 1 47 
 
 her, having learnt that she had gone to the village. 
 On reaching the church he saw her crossing the 
 churchyard path with her aunt and Miss De Stancy. 
 Somerset entered the enclosure, and as soon as she 
 saw him she came across. 
 
 "What is to be done?" she asked. 
 
 "You need not be concerned about such a letter 
 as that." 
 
 "I am concerned." 
 
 "I think it dreadful impertinence," spoke up 
 Charlotte, who had joined them. "Can you think who 
 wrote it, Mr. Somerset?" 
 
 Somerset could not. 
 
 "Well, what am I to do?" repeated Paula. 
 
 "Just as you would have done before." 
 
 "That's what / say," observed Mrs. Goodman 
 emphatically. 
 
 "But I have already altered — I have given up the 
 Greek court." 
 
 "Oh — you had seen the paper this morning before 
 you looked at my drawing?" 
 
 "I had," she answered. 
 
 Somerset thought it a forcible illustration of her 
 natural reticence that she should have abandoned the 
 design without telling him the reason; but he was 
 glad she had not done it from mere caprice. 
 
 She turned to him and said quietly, "I wish you 
 would answer that letter." 
 
 "It would be ill-advised," said Somerset. "Still, 
 if, after consideration, you wish it much, I will. 
 Meanwhile let me impress upon you again the ex- 
 pediency of calling in Mr. Havill — to whom, as your 
 father's architect, expecting this commission, something 
 
 10*
 
 I48 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 perhaps is owed — and getting him to furnish an alter- 
 native plan to mine, and submitting the choice of de- 
 signs to some members of the Royal Institute of 
 British Architects. This letter makes it still more ad- 
 visable than before." 
 
 "Very well," said Paula reluctantly. 
 
 "Let him have all the particulars you have been 
 good enough to explain to me — so that we start fair 
 in the competition." 
 
 She looked negligently on the grass. "I will tell 
 the building-steward to write them out for him," she 
 said. 
 
 The party separated and entered the church by 
 different doors. Somerset went to a nook of the build- 
 ing that he had often intended to visit. It was called 
 the Stancy aisle; and in it stood the tombs of that 
 family. Somerset examined them: they were unusually 
 rich and numerous, beginning with cross-legged knights 
 in hauberks of chain-mail, their ladies beside them in 
 whimple and cover-chief, all more or less coated with 
 the green mould and dirt of ages: and continuing 
 with others of later date, in fine alabaster, gilded and 
 coloured, some of them wearing round their necks the 
 Yorkist collar of suns and roses, the livery of Edward 
 the Fourth. In scrutinising the tallest canopy over 
 these he beheld Paula behind it, as if in contemplation 
 of the same objects. 
 
 "You came to the church to sketch these monu- 
 ments, I suppose, Mr. Somerset?" she asked as soon 
 as she saw him. 
 
 "No. I came to speak to you about the letter." 
 
 She sighed. "Yes: that letter," she said. "I am 
 persecuted ! If I had been one of these it would never
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 149 
 
 have been written." She tapped the alabaster effigy 
 of a recumbent lady with her parasol. 
 
 "They are interesting, are they not?" he said. 
 "She is beautifully preserved. The gilding is nearly 
 gone, but beyond that she is perfect." 
 
 "She is like Charlotte," said Paula. And what 
 was much like another sigh escaped her lips. 
 
 Somerset admitted that there was a resemblance, 
 while Paula drew her forefinger across the marble face 
 of the effigy, and at length took out her handkerchief, 
 and began wiping the dust from the hollows of the 
 features. He looked on, wondering what her sigh had 
 meant, but guessing that it had been somehow caused 
 by the sight of these sculptures in connection with the 
 newspaper writer's denunciation of her as an irrespon- 
 sible outsider. 
 
 The secret was out when in answer to his question, 
 idly put, if she wished she were like one of these, she 
 said, with exceptional vehemence for one of her de- 
 meanour: 
 
 "I don't wish I was like one of them: I wish I was 
 one of them." 
 
 "What — you wish you were a De Stancy?" 
 
 "Yes. It is very dreadful to be denounced as a 
 barbarian. I want to be romantic and historical." 
 
 "Miss De Stancy seems not to value the privilege," 
 he said, looking round at another part of the church 
 where Charlotte was innocently prattling to Mrs. Good- 
 man, quite heedless of the tombs of her forefathers. 
 
 "If I were one," she continued, "I should come 
 here when I feel alone in the world, as I do to-day; 
 and I would defy people, and say, 'You cannot spoil 
 what has been!'"
 
 150 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 They walked on till they reached the old black 
 pew attached to the castle — a vast square enclosure of 
 oak panelling occupying half the aisle, and surmounted 
 with a little balustrade above the framework. Within, 
 the baize lining that had once been green, now faded 
 to the colour of a common in August, was torn, kicked 
 and scraped to rags by the feet and hands of the 
 ploughboys who had appropriated the pew as their 
 own special place of worship since it had ceased to be 
 used by any resident at the castle, because its height 
 afforded convenient shelter for playing at marbles and 
 pricking with pins. 
 
 Charlotte and Mrs. Goodman had by this time left 
 the building, and could be seen looking at the head- 
 stones outside. 
 
 "If you were a De Stancy," said Somerset, who had 
 pondered more deeply upon that new wish of hers 
 than he had seemed to do, "you would be a church- 
 woman, and sit here." 
 
 "And I should have the pew done up," she said 
 readily, as she rested her pretty chin on the top rail 
 and looked at the interior, her cheeks pressed into 
 deep dimples. Her quick reply told him that the 
 idea was no new one with her, and he thought of 
 poor Mr. WoodwelPs shrewd prophecy as he perceived 
 that her days as a separatist were numbered. 
 
 "Well, why can't you have it done up, and sit 
 here?" he said warily. 
 
 Paula shook her head. 
 
 "You are not at enmity with Anglicanism, I am 
 sure?" 
 
 "I want not to be. I want to be — what " 
 
 "What the De Stancys were, and are," he said
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I 5 I 
 
 insidiously; and her silenced bearing told him that he 
 had hit the nail. 
 
 It was a strange idea to get possession of such a 
 nature as hers, and for a minute he felt himself on 
 the side of the minister. So strong was Somerset's 
 feeling of wishing her to show the quality of fidelity 
 to paternal dogma and party that he could not help 
 adding: 
 
 "But have you forgotten that other nobility — the 
 nobility of talent and enterprise?" 
 
 "No. But I wish I had a well-known line of an- 
 cestors." 
 
 "You have. Archimedes, Newcomen, Watt, Tel- 
 ford, Stephenson, those are your father's direct an- 
 cestors. Have you forgotten them? Have you for- 
 gotten your father, and the railways he made over 
 half Europe, and his great energy and skill, and all 
 connected with him, as if he had never lived?" 
 
 She did not anwer for some time. "No, I have 
 not forgotten it," she said, still looking into the pew. 
 "But I have a predilection (T artiste for ancestors of the 
 other sort, like De Stancys." 
 
 Her hand was resting on the low pew next the high 
 one of the De Stancys. Somerset looked at the hand, 
 or rather at the glove which covered it, then at her 
 averted cheek, then beyond it into the pew, then at 
 her hand again, until by an indescribable consciousness 
 that he was not going too far he laid his own upon it. 
 
 "No, no," said Paula quickly, withdrawing her 
 hand. But there was nothing resentful or haughty in 
 her tone — nothing, in short, which makes a man in 
 such circumstances feel that he has done a particularly 
 foolish action.
 
 I52 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 The flower on her bosom rose and fell somewhat 
 more than usual as she added, "I am going away now 
 — I will leave you here." Without waiting for a reply 
 she adroitly swept back her skirts to free her feet 
 and went out of the church blushing. 
 
 Somerset took her hint and did not follow; and 
 when he knew that she had rejoined her friends, and 
 heard the carriage roll away, he made towards the 
 opposite door. Pausing to glance once more at the 
 alabaster effigies before leaving them to their silence 
 and neglect, he beheld Dare bending over them, to all 
 appearance intently occupied. 
 
 He must have been in the church some time — cer- 
 tainly during the tender episode between Somerset 
 and Paula, and could not have failed to perceive it. 
 Somerset blushed: it was unpleasant that Dare should 
 have seen the interior of his heart so plainly. He 
 went across and said, "I think I left you to finish the 
 drawing of the north wing, Mr. Dare?" 
 
 "Three hours ago, sir," said Dare. "Having 
 finished that, I came to look at the church — fine 
 building — fine monuments — two interesting people 
 looking at them." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I stand corrected. Pensa molto, pari a poco, as 
 the Italians have it." 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Dare, suppose you get back to the 
 castle?" 
 
 "Which history dubs Castle Stancy. . . . Cer- 
 tainly." 
 
 "How do you get on with the measuring?" 
 
 Dare sighed whimsically. "Badly in the morning, 
 when I have been tempted to indulge overnight, and
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 1 53 
 
 worse in the afternoon when I have been tempted in 
 the morning!" 
 
 Somerset looked at the youth, and said, "I fear I 
 shall have to dispense with your services, Dare, for I 
 think you have been tempted to-day." 
 
 "On my honour no. My manner is a little against 
 me, Mr. Somerset. But you need not fear for my 
 ability to do your work. I am a young man wasted, 
 and am thought of slight account; it is the true 
 men who get snubbed, while traitors are allowed to 
 thrive!" 
 
 "Hang sentiment, Dare, and off with you!" A little 
 ruffled, Somerset had turned his back upon the interest- 
 ing speaker, so that he did not observe the sly twist 
 Dare threw into his right eye as he spoke. The latter 
 went off in one direction and Somerset in the other, 
 pursuing his pensive way towards Markton with thoughts 
 not difficult to divine. 
 
 From one point in her nature he went to another, 
 till he again recurred to her romantic interest in the 
 De Stancy family. To wish she was one of them : how 
 very inconsistent of her. That she really did wish it 
 was unquestionable; for the feeling had been so strong 
 as to break through her natural silentness.
 
 154 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was the day of the garden-party. The weather 
 was too cloudy to be called perfect, but it was as sultry 
 as the most thinly clad young lady could desire. Great 
 trouble had been taken by Paula to bring the lawn to 
 a fit condition after the neglect of recent years, and 
 Somerset had suggested the design for the tents. As 
 he approached the precincts of the castle he discerned 
 a flag of newest fabric floating over the keep, and soon 
 his phaeton fell in with the stream of carriages that 
 were passing over the bridge into the outer ward. 
 
 Mrs. Goodman and Paula were receiving the people 
 in the drawing-room. Somerset came forward in his 
 turn; but as he was immediately followed by others 
 there was not much opportunity, even had she felt the 
 wish, for any special mark of feeling in the younger 
 lady's greeting of him. 
 
 He went on through a canvas passage, lined on 
 each side with flowering plants, till he reached the 
 tents; thence, after nodding to one or two guests slightly 
 known to him, he proceeded to the grounds, with a 
 sense of being rather lonely. Few visitors had as yet 
 got so far in, and as he walked up and down a shady 
 alley his mind dwelt upon the new aspect under which 
 Paula had greeted his eyes that afternoon. Her black- 
 and-white costume had finally disappeared, and in its 
 place she had adopted a picturesque dress of ivory
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. I 55 
 
 white, with satin enrichments of the same hue; while 
 upon her bosom she wore a blue flower. Her days of 
 infestivity were plainly ended, and her days of gladness 
 were to begin. 
 
 His reverie was interrupted by the sound of his 
 name, and looking round he beheld Havill, who ap- 
 peared to be as much alone as himself. 
 
 Somerset already knew that Havill had been ap- 
 pointed to compete with him, according to his recom- 
 mendation. In measuring a dark corner a day or two 
 before, he had stumbled upon Havill engaged in the 
 same pursuit with a view to the rival design. After- 
 wards he had seen him receiving Paula's instructions 
 precisely as he had done himself. It was as he had 
 wished, for fairness' sake; and yet he felt a regret, for 
 he was less Paula's own architect now. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Somerset," said Havill, "since we first 
 met an unexpected rivalry has arisen between us ! But 
 I dare say we shall survive the contest, as it is not one 
 arising out of love. Ha-ha-ha ! " He spoke in a level 
 voice of fierce pleasantry, and uncovered his regular 
 white teeth. 
 
 Somerset supposed him to allude to the castle 
 competition? 
 
 "Yes," said Havill. "Her proposed undertaking 
 brought out some adverse criticism till it was known 
 that she intended to have more than one architectural 
 opinion. An excellent stroke of hers to disarm criticism. 
 You saw the second letter in the morning papers?" 
 
 "No," said the other. 
 
 "The writer states that he has discovered that the 
 competent advice of two architects is to be taken, and 
 withdraws his accusations."
 
 I56 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Somerset said nothing for a minute. "Have you 
 been supplied with the necessary data for your draw- 
 ings?" he asked, showing by the question the track his 
 thoughts had taken. 
 
 Havill said that he had. "But possibly not so com- 
 pletely as you have," he added, again smiling fiercely. 
 Somerset did not quite like the insinuation, and the 
 two speakers parted, the younger going towards the 
 musicians, who had now begun to fill the air with their 
 strains from the embowered enclosure of a drooping 
 ash. When he got back to the marquees they were 
 quite crowded, and the guests began to pour out upon 
 the grass, the toilets of the ladies presenting a brilliant 
 spectacle — here being coloured dresses with white de- 
 vices, there, white dresses with coloured devices, and 
 yonder transparent dresses with no device at all. A 
 lavender haze hung in the air, the trees were as still 
 as those of a submarine forest; while the sun, in colour 
 like a brass plaque, had a hairy outline in the livid sky. 
 
 After watching awhile some young people who were 
 so madly devoted to lawn-tennis that they had set 
 about it like day-labourers at the moment of their 
 arrival, he turned and saw approaching a graceful 
 figure in cream-coloured hues, whose gloves lost them- 
 selves beneath her lace ruffles, even when she lifted 
 her hand to make firm the blue flower at her breast, 
 and whose hair hung under her hat in great knots so 
 well compacted that the sun gilded the convexity of 
 each knot like a ball. 
 
 "You seem to be alone," said Paula, who had at 
 last escaped from the duty of receiving guests. 
 
 "I don't know many people." 
 
 "Yes: I thought of that while I was in the drawing-
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 157 
 
 room. But I could not get out before. I am now no 
 longer a responsible being: Mrs. Goodman is mistress 
 for the remainder of the day. Will you be introduced 
 to anybody? Whom would you like to know?" 
 
 "I am not particularly unhappy in my solitude." 
 
 <r But you must be made to know a few." 
 
 "Very well — I submit readily." 
 
 She looked away from him, and while he was ob- 
 serving upon her cheek the moving shadow of leaves 
 cast by the declining sun, she said, "Oh, there is my 
 aunt," and beckoned with her parasol to that lady, 
 who approached in the comparatively youthful guise of 
 a grey silk dress that whistled at every touch. 
 
 Paula left them together, and Mrs. Goodman then 
 made him acquainted with a few of the best people, 
 describing what they were in a whisper before they 
 came up, among them being the Radical member for 
 Markton who had succeeded to the seat rendered 
 vacant by the death of Paula's father. While talking 
 to this gentleman on the proposed enlargement of the 
 castle, Somerset raised his eyes and hand towards the 
 walls, the better to point out his meaning; in so doing 
 he saw a face in the square of darkness formed by one 
 of the open windows, the effect being that of a high- 
 light portrait by Vandyck or Rembrandt. 
 
 It was his assistant Dare, leaning on the window- 
 sill of the studio, as he smoked his cigarette and sur- 
 veyed the gay groups promenading beneath. 
 
 After holding a chattering conversation with some 
 ladies from a neighbouring country seat who had known 
 his father in bygone years, and handing them ices and 
 strawberries till they were satisfied, he found an op- 
 portunity of leaving the grounds, wishing to learn
 
 I58 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 what progress Dare had made in the survey of the 
 castle. 
 
 Dare was still in the studio when he entered. 
 Somerset informed the youth that there was no neces- 
 sity for his working later that day, unless to please 
 himself, and proceeded to inspect Dare's achievements 
 thus far. To his vexation Dare had not plotted three 
 dimensions during the previous two days. This was 
 not the first time that Dare, either from incompetence 
 or indolence, had shown his inutility as a house-sur- 
 veyor and draughtsman. 
 
 "Mr. Dare," said Somerset, "I fear you don't suit 
 me well enough to make it necessary that you should 
 stay after this week." 
 
 Dare removed the cigarette from his lips and 
 bowed. "If I don't suit, the sooner I go the better; 
 why wait the week?" he said. 
 
 "Well, that's as you like." 
 
 Somerset drew the inkstand towards him, wrote out 
 a cheque for Dare's services, and handed it across the 
 table. 
 
 "I'll not trouble you to-morrow," said Dare, seeing 
 that the payment included the week in advance. 
 
 "Very well," replied Somerset. "Please lock the 
 door when you leave." Shaking hands with Dare and 
 wishing him well, he left the room and descended to 
 the lawn below. 
 
 There he contrived to get near Miss Power again, 
 and inquired of her for Miss De Stancy. 
 
 "Oh! did you not know?" said Paula; "her father 
 is unwell, and she preferred staying with him this 
 afternoon." 
 
 "I hoped he might have been here."
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 1 59 
 
 "Oh no; he never comes out of his house to any 
 party of this sort; it excites him, and he must not be 
 excited." 
 
 "Poor Sir William!" murmured Somerset. 
 
 "No," said Paula, "he is grand and historical." 
 
 "That is hardly an orthodox notion for a Puritan," 
 said Somerset mischievously. 
 
 "I am not a Puritan," insisted Paula. 
 
 The day turned to dusk, and the guests began 
 going in relays to the dining-hall. When Somerset had 
 taken in two or three ladies to whom he had been pre- 
 sented, and attended to their wants, which occupied 
 him three-quarters of an hour, he returned again to the 
 large tent, with a view to finding Paula and taking his 
 leave. It was now brilliantly lighted up, and the 
 musicians, who during daylight had been invisible be- 
 hind the ash-tree, were ensconced at one end with 
 their harps and violins. It reminded him that there 
 was to be dancing. The tent had in the mean time 
 half filled with a new set of young people who had 
 come expressly for that pastime. Behind the girls 
 gathered numbers of newly arrived young men with 
 low shoulders and diminutive moustaches, who were 
 evidently prepared for once to sacrifice themselves as 
 partners. 
 
 Somerset felt something of a thrill at the sight. 
 He was an infrequent dancer, and particularly unpre- 
 pared for dancing at present; but to dance once with 
 Paula Power he would give a year of his life. He 
 looked round; but she was nowhere to be seen. The 
 first set began; old and middle-aged people gathered 
 from the different rooms to look on at the gyrations of 
 their children, but Paula did not appear. When an-
 
 l6o A LAODICEAN. 
 
 other dance or two had progressed, and an increase in 
 the average age of the dancers was making itself per- 
 ceptible, especially on the masculine side, Somerset 
 was aroused by a whisper at his elbow: 
 
 "You dance, I think? Miss Deverell is disengaged. 
 She has not been asked once this evening." The 
 speaker was Paula. 
 
 Somerset looked at Miss Deverell — a sallow lady 
 with black twinkling eyes, yellow costume, and gay 
 laugh, who had been there all the afternoon — and said 
 something about having thought of going home. 
 
 "Is that because I asked you to dance?" she 
 murmured. "There — she is appropriated." A young 
 gentleman had at that moment approached the unin- 
 viting Miss Deverell, claimed her hand and led her off. 
 
 "That's right," said Somerset. "I ought to leave 
 room for younger men." 
 
 "You need not say so. That bald-headed gentle- 
 man is forty-five. He does not think of younger men." 
 
 "Have you a dance to spare for me?" 
 
 Her face grew stealthily redder in the candle-light. 
 "Oh! — I have no engagement at all — I have refused. 
 I hardly feel at liberty to dance; it would be as well 
 to leave that to my visitors." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "My father, though he allowed me to be taught, 
 never liked the idea of my dancing." 
 
 "Did he make you promise anything on the point?" 
 
 "He said he was not in favour of such amusements 
 — no more." 
 
 "I think you are not bound by that, on an informal 
 occasion like the present." 
 
 She was silent.
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. l6l 
 
 "You will just once?" said he. 
 
 Another silence. "If you like," she venturesomely- 
 answered at last. 
 
 Somerset closed the hand which was hanging by 
 his side, and somehow hers was in it. The dance was 
 nearly formed, and he led her forward. Several persons 
 looked at them significantly, but he did not notice it 
 then, and plunged into the maze. 
 
 Never had Mr. Somerset passed through such an 
 experience before. Had he not felt her actual weight 
 and warmth, he might have fancied the whole episode 
 a figment of the imagination. It seemed as if those 
 musicians had thrown a double sweetness into their 
 notes on seeing the mistress of the castle in the dance, 
 that a perfumed southern atmosphere had begun to 
 pervade the marquee, and that human beings were 
 shaking themselves free of all inconvenient gravitation. 
 
 Somerset's feelings burst from his lips. "This is 
 the happiest moment I have ever known," he said. 
 "Do you know why?" 
 
 "I think I saw a flash of lightning through the 
 opening of the tent," said Paula, with roguish abrupt- 
 ness. 
 
 He did not press for an answer. Within a few 
 minutes a long growl of thunder was heard. It was as 
 if Jove could not refrain from testifying his jealousy of 
 Somerset for taking this covetable woman so presumptu- 
 ously in his arms. 
 
 The dance was over, and he had retired with Paula 
 to the back of the tent, when another faint flash of 
 lightning was visible through an opening. She lifted 
 the canvas, and looked out, Somerset looking out be- 
 hind her. Another dance was begun, and, being on 
 
 A Laodicean. I. * I
 
 1 62 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 this account left out of notice, Somerset did not hasten 
 to leave Paula's side. 
 
 "I think they begin to feel the heat," she said. 
 
 "A little ventilation would do no harm." He flung 
 back the tent door where he stood, and the light shone 
 out upon the grass. 
 
 "I must go to the drawing-room soon," she added. 
 "They will begin to leave shortly." 
 
 "It is not late. The thunder-cloud has made it 
 seem dark — see there; a line of pale yellow stretches 
 along the horizon from west to north. That's evening 
 — not gone yet. Shall we go into the fresh air for a 
 minute?" 
 
 She seemed to signify assent, and he stepped off 
 the tent-floor upon the ground. She stepped off also. 
 
 The air out-of-doors had not cooled, and without 
 definitely choosing a direction they found themselves 
 approaching a little wooden tea-house that stood on 
 the lawn a few yards off. Arrived here, they turned, 
 and regarded the tent they had just left, and listened 
 to the strains that came from within it. 
 
 "I feel more at ease now," said Paula. 
 
 "So do I," said Somerset. 
 
 "I mean," she added in an undeceiving tone, "be- 
 cause I saw Mrs. Goodman enter the tent again just as 
 we came out here; so I have no further responsibility." 
 
 "I meant something quite different. Try to guess 
 what." 
 
 She teasingly demurred, finally breaking the silence 
 by saying, "The rain is come at last," as great drops 
 began to fall upon the ground with a smack, like pellets 
 of clay. 
 
 In a moment the storm poured down with sudden
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 1 6 
 
 
 
 violence, and they drew further back into the summer- 
 house. The side of the tent from which they had 
 emerged still remained open, the rain streaming down 
 between their eyes and the lighted interior of the 
 marquee like a tissue of glass threads, the brilliant 
 forms of the dancers passing and repassing behind the 
 watery screen, as if they were people in an enchanted 
 submarine palace. 
 
 "How happy they are!" said Paula. "They don't 
 even know that it is raining. I am so glad that my 
 aunt had the tent lined; otherwise such a downpour 
 would have gone clean through it." 
 
 The thunder-storm showed no symptoms of abate- 
 ment, and the music and dancing went on more merrily 
 than ever. 
 
 "We cannot go in," said Somerset. "And we can- 
 not shout for umbrellas. We will stay here till it is 
 over, will we not?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "if you care to. Ah!" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Only a big drop came upon my head." 
 
 "Let us stand further in." 
 
 Her hand was hanging by her side, and Somerset's 
 was close by. He took it, and she did not draw it 
 away. Thus they stood a long while, the rain hissing 
 down upon the grass-plot, and not a soul being visible 
 outside the dancing-tent save themselves. 
 
 "May I call you Paula?" asked he. 
 
 "Yes, occasionally," she murmured. 
 
 "Dear Paula! — may I call you that?" 
 
 "Oh no — not yet." 
 
 "But you know I love you?" he insisted. 
 
 "I can give a shrewd guess," she said slily.
 
 I64 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "And shall I love you always?" 
 
 "If you wish to." 
 
 "And will you love me?" 
 
 Paula did not reply. 
 
 "Will you, Paula?" he repeated. 
 
 "You may love me." 
 
 "But don't you love me in return?" 
 
 "I love you to love me." 
 
 "Won't you say anything more explicit?" 
 
 "Not a single word!" 
 
 Somerset emitted half a sigh: he wished she had 
 been more demonstrative, yet felt that this passive way 
 of assenting was as much as he could hope for. Had 
 there been anything cold in her passivity he might 
 have felt repressed; but her stillness suggested the 
 stillness of motion imperceptible from its intensity. 
 
 "We must go in," said she. "The rain is almost 
 over, and there is no longer any excuse for this." 
 
 Somerset bent his lips toward hers. 
 
 "No," said the fair Puritan decisively. 
 
 "Why not?" he asked. 
 
 "Nobody ever has." 
 
 "But! " expostulated Somerset. 
 
 "To everything there is a season, and the season 
 for this is not just now," she answered, walking away. 
 
 They crossed the wet and glistening lawn, stepped 
 under the tent and parted. She vanished, he did not 
 know whither; and, standing with his gaze fixed on the 
 dancers, the young man waited, till, being in no mood 
 to join them, he went slowly through the artificial pas- 
 sage lined with flowers, and entered the drawing-rooms. 
 Mrs. Goodman was there, bidding good-night to the 
 early goers, and Paula was just behind her, apparently
 
 GEORGE SOMERSET. 1 65 
 
 in her usual mood. His parting with her was quite 
 formal, but that he did not mind, for her colour rose 
 decidedly higher as he approached, and the light in her 
 eyes was like the ray of a diamond. 
 
 When he reached the door he found that his 
 brougham from the King's Arms, which had been 
 waiting more than an hour, could not be heard of. 
 That vagrancy of spirit which love induces would not 
 permit him to wait; and, leaving word that the man 
 was to follow him when he returned, he went past the 
 glare of carriage-lamps ranked in the ward, and under 
 the outer arch. The night was now clear and beauti- 
 ful, and he strolled along his way full of mysterious 
 elation till the vehicle overtook him, and he got in. 
 
 Up to this point Somerset's progress in his suit 
 had been, though incomplete, so uninterrupted, that 
 he almost feared the good chance he enjoyed. How 
 should it be in a mortal of his calibre to command 
 success with such a sweet woman for long? He might, 
 indeed, turn out to be one of the singular exceptions 
 which are said to prove rules; but when Fortune means 
 to men most good, observes the bard, she looks upon 
 them with a threatening eye. Somerset would even 
 have been content that a little disapproval of his course 
 should have occurred in some quarter, so as to make 
 his wooing more like ordinary life. But Paula was not 
 clearly won, and that was drawback sufficient. In 
 these phenomenal agonies and questionable delights he 
 passed the journey to Markton.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 DARE AND HAVILL.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Young Dare sat thoughtfully at the window of the 
 studio in which Somerset had left him, till the gay 
 scene beneath became embrowned by the twilight, and 
 the brilliant red stripes of the marquees, the bright 
 sunshades, the many-tinted costumes of the ladies, 
 were indistinguishable from the blacks and greys of 
 the masculine contingent moving among them. He 
 had occasionally glanced away from the outward pros- 
 pect to study a small old volume that lay before him 
 on the drawing-board. Near scrutiny revealed the 
 book to bear the title "Moivre's Doctrine of Chances." 
 
 The evening had been so still that Dare had heard 
 conversations from below with a clearness unsuspected 
 by the speakers themselves; and among the dialogues 
 which thus reached his ears was that between Somerset 
 and Havill on their professional rivalry. When they 
 parted, and Somerset had mingled with the throng, 
 Havill went to a seat at a distance. Afterwards he 
 rose, and walked away; but on the bench he had 
 quitted there remained a small object resembling a 
 book or leather case. 
 
 Dare put away the drawing-board and plotting- 
 scales which he had kept before him during the 
 evening as a reason for his presence at that post of 
 espial, locked up the door, and went downstairs. Not-
 
 I70 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 withstanding his dismissal by Somerset, he was so 
 serene in countenance and easy in gait as to make it 
 a fair conjecture that professional servitude, however 
 profitable, was no necessity with him. The gloom now 
 rendered it practicable for any unbidden guest to join 
 Paula's assemblage without criticism, and Dare walked 
 boldly out upon the lawn. The crowd on the grass 
 was rapidly diminishing; the tennis-players had re- 
 linquished sport; many people had gone in to dinner 
 or supper; and many others, attracted by the cheerful 
 radiance of the candles, were gathering in the large 
 tent that had been lighted up for dancing. 
 
 Dare went to the garden-chair on which Havill had 
 been seated, and found the article left behind to be a 
 pocket-book. Whether because it was unclasped and 
 fell open in his hand, or whether for any other reason, 
 he did not hesitate to examine the contents. Among 
 a mass of architects' customary memoranda occurred a 
 draft of the letter abusing Paula as an iconoclast or 
 Vandal by blood, which had appeared in the news- 
 paper: the draft was so interlined and altered as to 
 bear evidence of being the original conception of that 
 ungentlemanly attack. 
 
 The lad read the letter, smiled, and strolled about 
 the grounds, only met by an occasional pair of indivi- 
 duals of opposite sex in deep conversation, the state of 
 whose emotions led them to prefer the evening shade 
 to the publicity and glare of the tents and rooms. At 
 last he observed the white waistcoat of the man he 
 sought. 
 
 "Mr. Havill, the architect, I believe?" said Dare. 
 "The author of most of the noteworthy buildings in 
 this neighbourhood?"
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 17 I 
 
 Havill assented blandly. 
 
 "I have long wished for the pleasure of your ac- 
 quaintance, and now an accident helps me to make 
 it. This pocket-book, I think, is yours?" 
 
 Havill clapped his hand to his pocket, examined 
 the book Dare held out to him, and took it with thanks. 
 "I see I am speaking to the artist, archaeologist, Gothic 
 photographer — Mr. Dare." 
 
 "Professor Dare." 
 
 "Professor? Pardon me, I should not have guessed 
 it — so young as you are." 
 
 "Well, it is merely ornamental; and in truth, I drop 
 the title in England, particularly under present cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 "Ah — they are peculiar, perhaps? Ah, I remem- 
 ber. I have heard that you are assisting a gentleman 
 in preparing a design in opposition to mine — a 
 design " 
 
 '"That he is not competent to prepare himself,' 
 you were perhaps going to add?" 
 
 "Not precisely that." 
 
 "You could hardly be blamed for such words. 
 However, you are mistaken. I did assist him, to gain 
 a little further insight into the working of architectural 
 plans; but our views on art are antagonistic, and I 
 assist him no more. Mr. Havill, it must be very pro- 
 voking to a well-established professional man to have 
 a rival sprung at him in a grand undertaking which he 
 had a right to expect as his own." 
 
 Professional sympathy is often accepted from those 
 whose condolence on any domestic matter would be 
 considered intrusive. Havill walked up and down be- 
 side Dare for a few moments in silence, and at last
 
 172 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 showed that the words had told, by saying: "Every 
 one may have his opinion. Had I been a stranger to 
 the Power family, the case would have been different; 
 but having been specially elected by the lady's father 
 as a competent adviser in such matters, and then to 
 be degraded to the position of a mere competitor, it 
 wounds me to the quick " 
 
 "Both in purse and in person, like the ill-used 
 hostess of the Garter." 
 
 "A lady to whom I have been a staunch friend," 
 continued Havill, not heeding the interruption. 
 
 At that moment sounds seemed to come from Dare 
 which bore a remarkable resemblance to the words, 
 "Ho, ho, Havill!" It was hardly credible, and yet, 
 could he be mistaken? Havill turned. Dare's eye was 
 twisted comically upward. 
 
 "What does that mean?" said Havill coldly, and 
 with some amazement. 
 
 "Ho, ho, Havill!" 'Staunch friend' is good — espe- 
 cially after 'an iconoclast and Vandal by blood' — 
 'monstrosity in the form of a Greek temple,' and so 
 on, eh!" 
 
 " Sir, you have the advantage of me. Perhaps you 
 allude to that anonymous letter?" 
 
 "O — ho, Havill!" repeated the boy-man, turning 
 his eyes yet further towards the zenith. "To an out- 
 sider such conduct would be natural; but to a friend 
 who finds your pocket-book, and looks into it before 
 returning it, and kindly removes a leaf bearing the 
 draft of a letter which might injure you if discovered 
 there, and carefully conceals it in his own pocket — 
 why, such conduct is unkind!" Dare held up the ab- 
 stracted leaf.
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 173 
 
 Havill trembled. "I can explain," he began. 
 
 "It is not necessary: we are friends," said Dare 
 assuringly. 
 
 Havill looked as if he would like to snatch the 
 leaf away, but altering his mind, he said, grimly: 
 "Well, I take you at your word: we are friends. That 
 letter was concocted before I knew of the competition : 
 it was during my first disgust, when I believed myself 
 entirely supplanted." 
 
 "I am not in the least surprised. But if she knew 
 you to be the writer!" 
 
 "I should be ruined as far as this competition is 
 concerned," said Havill carelessly. "Had I known I 
 was to be invited to compete, I should not have 
 written it, of course. To be supplanted is hard; and 
 thereby hangs a tale." 
 
 "Another tale? you astonish me." 
 
 "Then you have not heard the scandal, though 
 everybody is talking about it." 
 
 "A scandal implies indecorum." 
 
 "Well, 'tis indecorous. Her infatuated partiality 
 for him is patent to the eyes of a child; a man she 
 has only known a few weeks, and one who obtained 
 admission to her house in the most irregular manner! 
 Had she a watchful friend beside her, instead of that 
 moonstruck Mrs. Goodman, she would be cautioned 
 against bestowing her favours on the first adventurer 
 who appears at her door. It is a pity, a great 
 pity!" 
 
 "Oh, there is love-making in the wind?" said Dare 
 slowly. "That alters the case for me. But it is not 
 proved?" 
 
 "It can easily be proved."
 
 174 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "I wish it were, or disproved.'' 
 
 "You have only to come this way to clear up all 
 doubts." 
 
 Havill took the lad towards the tent, from which 
 the strains of a waltz now proceeded, and on whose 
 sides flitting shadows told of the progress of the dance. 
 The companions looked in. The rosy silk lining of 
 the marquee, and the numerous coronas of wax lights, 
 formed a canopy to a radiant scene which, to two at 
 least of those who composed it, was an intoxicating 
 one. Paula and Somerset were dancing together. 
 
 "That proves nothing," said Dare. 
 
 "Look at their rapt faces, and say if it does not," 
 sneered Havill. 
 
 Dare objected to a judgment based on looks alone. 
 
 "Very well — time will show," said the architect, 
 dropping the tent-curtain. . . . Good God! a girl worth 
 fifty thousand and more a year to throw herself away 
 upon a fellow like that — she ought to be whipped." 
 
 "Time must not show!" said Dare. 
 
 "You speak with emphasis." 
 
 "I have reason. I would give something to be 
 sure on this point, one way or the other. Let us wait 
 till the dance is over, and observe them more care- 
 fully. Horensagen ist halb gelogen! Hearsay is half 
 lies." 
 
 Sheet -lightnings increased in the northern sky, 
 followed by thunder like the indistinct noise of a 
 battle. Havill and Dare retired to the trees. When 
 the dance ended Somerset and his partner emerged 
 from the tent, and slowly moved towards the tea-house. 
 Divining their goal Dare seized Havill's arm; and the 
 two worthies entered the building unseen, by first
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 175 
 
 passing round behind it. They seated themselves in 
 the back part of the interior, where darkness pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 As before related, Paula and Somerset came and 
 stood within the door. When the rain increased they 
 drew themselves further inward, their forms being dis- 
 tinctly outlined to the gaze of those lurking behind 
 by the light from the tent beyond. But the hiss of 
 the falling rain and the lowness of their tones pre- 
 vented their words from being heard. 
 
 "I wish myself out of this!" breathed Havill to 
 Dare as he buttoned his coat over his white waistcoat. 
 "I told you it was true, but you wouldn't believe. I 
 wouldn't she should catch me here eavesdropping for 
 the world!" 
 
 "Courage, Man Friday," said his cooler comrade. 
 
 Paula and her lover backed yet further, till the 
 hem of her skirt touched Havill's feet. Their attitudes 
 were sufficient to prove their relations to the most ob- 
 stinate Didymus who should have witnessed them. 
 Tender emotions seemed to pervade the summer-house 
 like an aroma. The calm ecstasy of the condition of 
 at least one of them was not without a coercive effect 
 upon the two invidious spectators, so that they must 
 need have remained passive had they come there to 
 disturb or annoy. The serenity of Paula was even 
 more impressive than the hushed ardour of Somerset: 
 she did not satisfy curiosity as Somerset satisfied it; 
 she piqued it. Poor Somerset had reached a perfectly 
 intelligible depth — one which had a single blissful way 
 out of it, and nine calamitous ones; but Paula remained 
 an enigma all through the scene.
 
 I76 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 The rain ceased, and the pair moved away. The 
 enchantment worked by their presence vanished, the 
 details of the meeting settled down in the watchers' 
 minds, and their tongues were loosened. Dare, turn- 
 ing to Havill, said, "Thank you; you have done me a 
 timely turn to-day." 
 
 "What! had you hopes that way?" asked Havill, 
 satirically. 
 
 "I! The woman that interests my heart has yet to 
 be born," said Dare, with a steely coldness strange in 
 such a juvenile, and yet almost convincing. "But 
 though I have not personal hopes, I have an objection 
 to this courtship. Now I think we may as well frater- 
 nise, the situation being what it is?" 
 
 "What is the situation?" 
 
 "He is in your way as her architect; he is in my 
 way as her lover: we don't want to hurt him, but we 
 wish him clean out of the neighbourhood." 
 
 "I'll go as far as that," said Havill. 
 
 "I have come here at some trouble to myself, 
 merely to observe: I find I ought to stay to act." 
 
 "If you were myself, a married man with people 
 dependent on him, who has had a professional cer- 
 tainty turned to a miserably remote contingency by 
 these events, you might say you ought to act; but 
 what conceivable difference it can make to you who it 
 is the young lady takes to her heart and home, I fail 
 to understand." 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you — thus much at least. I want 
 to keep the place vacant for another man." 
 
 "The place?" 
 
 "The place of husband to Miss Power, and pro- 
 prietor of that castle and domain."
 
 DARE AND HAVIT.L. 177 
 
 "That's a scheme with a vengeance. Who is the 
 man?" 
 
 "It is my secret at present." 
 
 "Certainly." Havill drew a deep breath, and 
 dropped into a tone of depression. "Well, scheme 
 as you will, there will be small advantage to me," he 
 murmured. "The castle commission is as good as gone, 
 and a bill for two hundred pounds fall due next week." 
 
 "Cheer up, heart! My position, if you only knew 
 it, has ten times the difficulties of yours, since this 
 disagreeable discovery. Let us consider if we can 
 assist each other. The competition drawings are to 
 be sent in — when?" 
 
 "In something over six weeks — a fortnight before 
 she returns from Brighton, for which place she leaves 
 here in a few days." 
 
 "Oh, she goes away — that's better. Our lover will 
 be working here at his drawings, and she not present." 
 
 "Exactly. Perhaps she is a little ashamed of the 
 intimacy." 
 
 "And if your design is considered best by the 
 committee, he will have no further reason for staying, 
 assuming that they are not definitely engaged to marry 
 by that time?" 
 
 "I suppose so," murmured Havill discontentedly. 
 "The conditions, as sent to me, state that the designs 
 are to be adjudicated on by three members of the 
 Institute called in for the purpose; so that she may 
 return, and have seemed to show no favour." 
 
 "Then it amounts to this: your design must be 
 best. It must combine the excellences of your in- 
 vention with the excellences of his. Meanwhile a 
 coolness should be made to arise between her and 
 
 A Laodicean. I. * 2
 
 I •] 8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 s 
 
 him: and as there would be no artistic reason for his 
 presence here after the verdict is pronounced, he would 
 perforce hie back to town. Do you see?" 
 
 "I see the ingenuity of the plan, but I also see 
 two insurmountable obstacles to it. The first is, I 
 cannot add the excellences of his design to mine 
 without knowing what those excellences are, which he 
 will of course keep a secret. Second, it will not be 
 easy to promote a coolness between such hot ones as 
 they." 
 
 "You make a mistake. It is only he who is so 
 ardent. She is only lukewarm. If we had any spirit, 
 a bargain would be struck between us: you would ap- 
 propriate his design; I should cause the coolness." 
 
 "How could I appropriate his design?" 
 
 "By copying it, I suppose." 
 
 "Copying it?" 
 
 "By going into his studio and looking it over." 
 
 Havill turned to Dare, and stared. "By George, 
 you don't stick at trifles, young man! You don't 
 suppose I would go into a man's rooms and steal his 
 inventions like that?" 
 
 "I scarcely suppose you would," said Dare in- 
 differently, as he rose. 
 
 "And if I were to," said Havill curiously, "how is 
 the coolness to be caused?" 
 
 "By the second man." 
 
 "Who is to produce him?" 
 
 "Her Majesty's Government." 
 
 Havill looked meditatively at his companion, and 
 shook his head. "In these idle suppositions we have 
 been assuming conduct which would be quite against 
 my principles as an honest man."
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 179 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A few days after the party at Stancy Castle Dare 
 was walking down the High Street of Markton, a 
 cigarette between his lips and a silver-topped cane in 
 his hand. His eye fell upon a brass plate on an 
 opposite door, bearing the name of Mr. Havill, 
 Architect. He crossed over, and rang the office bell. 
 
 The clerk who admitted him stated that Mr. 
 Havill was in his private room, and would be dis- 
 engaged in a short time. While Dare waited the 
 clerk affixed to the door a piece of paper bearing the 
 words "Back at 2," and went away to his dinner, 
 leaving Dare in the room alone. 
 
 Dare looked at the different drawings on the 
 boards about the room. They all represented one 
 subject, which, though unfinished as yet, and bearing 
 no inscription, was recognised by the visitor as the 
 design for the enlargement and restoration of Stancy 
 Castle. "When he had glanced it over Dare sat 
 down. 
 
 The doors between the office and private room 
 were double; but the one towards the office being 
 only ajar Dare could hear a conversation in progress 
 within. It presently arose to an altercation, the tenor 
 of which was obvious. Somebody had come for 
 money. 
 
 "Really I can stand it no longer, Mr. Havill — 
 
 12*
 
 l8o A LAODICEAN. 
 
 really I will not!" said the creditor excitedly. "Now 
 this bill overdue again — what can you expect? Why, 
 I might have negotiated it; and where would you 
 have been then? Instead of that, I have locked it up 
 out of consideration for you; and what do I get for 
 my considerateness? I shall let the law take its 
 course!" 
 
 "You'll do me inexpressible harm, and get nothing 
 whatever," said Havill. "If you would renew for 
 another three months there would be no difficulty in 
 the matter." 
 
 "You have said so before: I will do no such 
 thing." 
 
 There was a silence; whereupon Dare arose without 
 hesitation, and walked boldly into the private office. 
 Havill was standing at one end, as gloomy as a 
 thundercloud, and at the other was the unfortunate 
 creditor with his hat on. Though Dare's entry sur- 
 prised them, both parties seemed relieved. 
 
 "I have called in passing to congratulate you, 
 Mr. Havill," said Dare gaily. "Such a commission as 
 has been entrusted to you will make you famous!" 
 
 "How do you do? — I wish it would make me 
 rich," said Havill drily. 
 
 "It will be a lift in that direction, from what I 
 know of the profession. What is she going to 
 spend?" 
 
 "A hundred thousand." 
 
 "Your commission as architect, five thousand. Not 
 bad, for making a few sketches. Consider what other 
 great commissions such a work will lead to." 
 
 "What great work is this?" asked the creditor, 
 pricking up his ears.
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. I 8 I 
 
 "Stancy Castle," said Dare, since Havill seemed 
 too agape to answer. "You have not heard of it, 
 then? Those are the drawings, I presume, in the next 
 room?" 
 
 Havill replied in the affirmative, beginning to 
 perceive the manoeuvre. "Perhaps you would like to 
 see them?" he said to the creditor. 
 
 The latter offered no objection, and all three went 
 into the drawing-office. 
 
 "It will certainly be a magnificent structure," said 
 the creditor, after regarding the elevations through his 
 spectacles. "Stancy Castle: I had no idea of it! and 
 when do you begin to build, Mr. Havill?" he inquired 
 in mollified tones. 
 
 "In three months, I think?" said Dare, looking to 
 Havill. 
 
 Havill assented. 
 
 "Five thousand pounds commission," murmured 
 the creditor. "Paid down, I suppose?" 
 
 Havill nodded. 
 
 "And the works will not linger for lack of money 
 to carry them out, I imagine," said Dare. "Two 
 hundred thousand will probably be spent before the 
 work is finished." 
 
 "There is not much doubt of it," said Havill. 
 
 "You said nothing to me about this?" whispered 
 the creditor to Havill, taking him aside, with a look 
 of regret. 
 
 "You would not listen!" 
 
 "It alters the case greatly." The creditor retired 
 with Havill to the door, and after a subdued colloquy 
 in the passage he went away, Havill returning to the 
 office.
 
 l82 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "What the devil do you mean by hoaxing him 
 like this, when the job is no more mine than Inigo 
 Jones's?" 
 
 "Don't be too curious," said Dare, laughing. 
 "Rather thank me for getting rid of him." 
 
 "But it is all a vision!" said Havill, ruefully 
 regarding the pencilled towers of Stancy Castle. "If 
 the competition were really the commission that you 
 have represented it to be there might be something 
 to laugh at." 
 
 "It must be made a commission, somehow," re- 
 turned Dare carelessly. "I am come to lend you a 
 little assistance. I must stay in the neighbourhood, 
 and I have nothing else to do." 
 
 A carriage slowly passed the window, and Havill 
 recognised the Power liveries. "Hullo — she's coming 
 here!" he said under his breath as the carriage 
 stopped by the kerb. "What does she want, I wonder? 
 Dare, does she know you?" 
 
 "I would just as soon be out of the way." 
 
 "Then go into the garden." 
 
 Dare went out through the back office as Paula 
 was shown in at the front. She wore a grey travelling 
 costume, and seemed to be in some haste. 
 
 "I am on my way to the railway-station," she said 
 to Havill. "I shall be absent from home for several 
 weeks, and since you requested it, I have called to 
 inquire how you are getting on with the design." 
 
 "Please look it over," said Havill, placing a seat 
 for her. 
 
 "No, said Paula. "I think it would be unfair. 
 
 I have not looked at Mr. the other architect's 
 
 plans since he has begun to design seriously, and I
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 1 83 
 
 will not look at yours. Are you getting on quite well, 
 and do you want to know anything more? If so, go 
 1o the castle, and get anybody to assist you. Why 
 would you not make use of the room at your disposal 
 in the castle, as the other architect has done?" 
 
 In asking the question her face was towards the 
 window, and suddenly her cheeks became a rosy red. 
 She instantly looked another way. 
 
 "Having my own office so near, it was not neces- 
 sary, thank you," replied Havill, as, noting her 
 countenance, he allowed his glance to stray into the 
 street. Somerset was walking past on the opposite 
 side. 
 
 "The time is — the time fixed for sending in the 
 drawings is the first of November, I believe," she said 
 confusedly; "and the decision will be come to by 
 three gentlemen who are prominent members of the 
 Institute of Architects." 
 
 Havill then accompanied her to the carriage, and 
 she drove away. 
 
 Havill went to the back window to tell Dare that 
 he need not stay in the garden; but the garden was 
 empty. The architect remained alone in his office for 
 some time; at the end of a quarter of an hour, when 
 the scream of a railway whistle had echoed down the 
 still street, he beheld Somerset repassing the window 
 in a direction from the railway, with somewhat of a 
 sad gait. In another minute Dare entered, humming 
 the latest air from Offenbach. 
 
 " 'Tis a mere piece of duplicity ! " said Havill. 
 
 "What is?" 
 
 "Her pretending indifference as to which of us 
 comes out successful in the competition, when she
 
 184 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 colours carmine the moment Somerset passes by." 
 He described Paula's visit, and the incident. 
 
 "It may not mean Cupid's Entire XXX after all," 
 said Dare judicially. "The mere suspicion that a 
 certain man loves her would make a girl blush at his 
 unexpected appearance. Well, she's gone from him 
 for a time; the better for you." 
 
 "He has been privileged to see her off at any 
 rate." 
 
 "Not privileged." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "I went out of your garden by the back-gate, and 
 followed her carriage to the railway. He simply went 
 to the first bridge outside the station and waited. 
 When she was in the train, it moved forward; he was 
 all expectation, and drew out his handkerchief ready 
 to wave, while she looked out of the window towards 
 the bridge. The train backed before it reached the 
 bridge, to attach the box containing her horses, and 
 the carriage-truck. Then it started for good, and when 
 it reached the bridge she looked out again, he waving 
 his handkerchief to her." 
 
 "And she waving hers back?" 
 
 "No, she didn't." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "She looked at him — nothing more. I wouldn't 
 give much for his chance." After a while Dare added 
 musingly: "You are a mathematician: did you ever in- 
 vestigate the doctrine of expectations?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 Dare drew from his pocket his "Book of Chances," 
 a volume as well thumbed as the minister's Bible.
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. [&5 
 
 "This is a treatise on the subject," he said. "I will 
 teach it to you some day." 
 
 The same evening Havill asked Dare to dine with 
 him. He was just at this time living en gargon, his 
 wife and children being away on a visit. After dinner 
 they sat on till their faces were rather flushed. The 
 talk turned, as before, on the castle-competition. 
 
 "To know his design is to win," said Dare. "And 
 to win is to send him back to London where he came 
 from." 
 
 Havill inquired if Dare had seen any sketch of the 
 design while with Somerset? 
 
 "Not a line. I was concerned only with the old 
 building." 
 
 "Not to know it is to lose, undoubtedly," mur- 
 mured Havill. 
 
 "Suppose we go for a walk that way, instead of 
 consulting here?" 
 
 They went down the town, and along the highway. 
 When they reached the entrance to the park a man 
 driving a basket-carriage came out from the gate and 
 passed them by in the gloom. 
 
 "That was he," said Dare. "He sometimes drives 
 over from the hotel, and sometimes walks. He has 
 been working late this evening." 
 
 Strolling on under the trees they met three mas- 
 culine figures, laughing and talking loudly. 
 
 "Those are the three first-class London draughtsmen, 
 Bowles, Knowles, and Cockton, whom he has engaged 
 to assist him, regardless of expense," continued Dare. 
 
 "O Lord!" groaned Havill. "There's no chance 
 for me."
 
 1 86 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 The castle now arose before them, endowed by the 
 rayless shade with a more massive majesty than either 
 sunlight or moonlight could impart; and Havill sighed 
 again as he thought of what he was losing by Somerset's 
 rivalry. "Well, what was the use of coming here?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I thought it might suggest something — some way 
 of seeing the design. The servants would let us into 
 his room, I dare say." 
 
 "I don't care to ask. Let us walk through the 
 wards, and then homeward." 
 
 They sauntered on smoking, Dare leading the way 
 through the gate-house into a corridor which was not 
 inclosed, a lamp hanging at the further end. 
 
 "We are getting into the inhabited part, I think," 
 said Havill. 
 
 Dare, however, had gone on, and knowing the 
 tortuous passages from his few days' experience in 
 measuring them with Somerset, he came to the butlers' 
 pantry. Dare knocked, and nobody answering he 
 entered, took down a key which hung behind the 
 door, and rejoined Havill. "It is all right," he said. 
 "The cat's away; and the mice are at play in con- 
 sequence." 
 
 Proceeding up a stone staircase he unlocked the 
 door of a room in the dark, struck a light inside, and 
 returning to the door called in a whisper to Havill, 
 who had remained behind. "This is Mr. Somerset's 
 studio," he said. 
 
 "How did you get permission?" inquired Havill, 
 not knowing that Dare had seen no one. 
 
 "Anyhow," said Dare, carelessly. "We can examine 
 the plans at leisure; for if the placid Mrs. Goodman,
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 187 
 
 who is the only one at home, sees the light, she will 
 only think it is Somerset still at work." 
 
 Dare uncovered the drawings, and young Somerset's 
 brain-work for the last six weeks lay under their eyes. 
 To Dare, who was too cursory to trouble himself by 
 entering into such details, it had very little meaning; 
 but the design shone into Havill's head like a light 
 into a dark place. It was original; and it was fas- 
 cinating. Its originality lay partly in the circumstance 
 that Somerset had not attempted to adapt an old 
 building to the wants of the new civilisation. He had 
 placed his new erection beside it as a slightly attached 
 structure, harmonising with the old; heightening and 
 beautifying, rather than subduing it. His work formed 
 a palace, with a ruinous castle annexed as a curiosity. 
 To Havill the conception had more charm than it could 
 have to the most appreciative outsider; for when a 
 mediocre and jealous mind that has been cudgelling 
 itself over a problem capable of many solutions, lights 
 on the solution of a rival, all possibilities in that kind 
 seem to merge in the one beheld. 
 
 Dare was struck by the arrested expression of the 
 architect's face. "Is it rather good?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, rather," said Havill, subduing himself. 
 
 "More than rather?" 
 
 "Yes, the clever devil!" exclaimed Havill, unable 
 to depreciate longer. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "The enigma that has worried me three weeks he 
 has solved in a way which is simplicity itself. He 
 has got it, and I am undone!" 
 
 "Nonsense, don't give way. Let's make a tracing." 
 
 "The ground-plan will be sufficient," said Havill,
 
 1 88 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 his courage reviving. "The idea is so simple, that if 
 once seen it is not easily forgotten." 
 
 A rough tracing of Somerset's design was quickly 
 made, and blowing out the candle with a wave of his 
 hand the younger gentleman locked the door, and they 
 went downstairs again. 
 
 "I should never have thought of it," said Havill, 
 as they walked homeward. 
 
 "One man has need of another every ten years; 
 Ogtii died anni un' uomo ha bisogno dell' altro, as they 
 say in Italy. You'll help me for this turn if I have 
 need of you?" 
 
 "I shall never have the power." 
 
 "Oh yes you will. A man who can contrive to get 
 admitted to a competition by writing a letter abusing 
 another man has any amount of power. The stroke 
 was a good one." 
 
 Havill was silent till he said, "I think these gusts 
 mean that we are to have a storm of rain." 
 
 Dare looked up. The sky was overcast, the trees 
 shivered, and a drop or two began to strike into the 
 walkers' coats from the east. They were not far from 
 the inn at Sleeping-Green, where Dare had lodgings, 
 occupying the rooms which had been used by Somerset 
 till he gave them up for more commodious chambers 
 at Markton; and they decided to turn in there till the 
 rain should be over. 
 
 Having possessed himself of Somerset's brains 
 Havill was inclined to be jovial, and ordered the best 
 in wines that the house afforded. Before starting from 
 home they had drunk as much as was good for them; 
 so that their potations here soon began to have a 
 marked effect upon their tongues. The rain beat upon
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. l8Q 
 
 the windows with a dull dogged pertinacity which 
 seemed to signify boundless reserves of the same and 
 long continuance. The wind rose, the sign creaked, 
 and the candles waved. The weather had, in truth, 
 broken up for the season, and this was the first night 
 of the change. 
 
 "Well, here we are," said Havill, as he poured out 
 another glass of the brandied liquor called old port at 
 Sleeping-Green; "and it seems that here we are to re- 
 main for the present." 
 
 "I am at home anywhere!" cried the lad, whose 
 brow was hot and eye wild. 
 
 "Havill, who had not drunk enough to affect his 
 reasoning, held up his glass to the light and said, "I 
 never can quite make out what you are, or what your 
 age is. Are you sixteen, one-and-twenty, or twenty- 
 seven? And are you an Englishman, Frenchman, Indian, 
 American, or what? You seem not to have taken your 
 degrees in these parts." 
 
 "That's a secret, my friend," said Dare. "I am a 
 citizen of the world. I owe no country patriotism, 
 and no king or queen obedience. A man whose coun- 
 try has no boundary is your only true gentleman." 
 
 "Well, where were you born — somewhere, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "It would be a fact worth the telling. The secret 
 of my birth lies here." And Dare slapped his breast 
 with his right hand. 
 
 "Literally, just under your shirt-front; or figuratively, 
 in your heart?" asked Havill. 
 
 "Literally there. It is necessary that it should be 
 recorded, for one's own memory is a treacherous book
 
 I go A LAODICEAN. 
 
 of reference, should verification be required at a time 
 of delirium, disease, or death!" 
 
 Havill asked no further what he meant, and went 
 to the door. Finding that the rain still continued he 
 returned to Dare, who was by this time sinking down 
 in a one-sided attitude, as if hung up by the shoulder. 
 Informing his companion that he was but little inclined 
 to move far in such a tempestuous night, he decided 
 to remain in the inn till next morning 
 
 On calling in the landlord, however, they learnt 
 that the house was full of farmers on their way home 
 from a large sheep-fair in the neighbourhood, and that 
 several of these, having decided to stay on account of 
 the same tempestuous weather, had already engaged 
 the spare beds. If Mr. Dare would give up his room, 
 and share a double-bedded room with Mr. Havill, the 
 thing could be done, but not otherwise. 
 
 To this the two companions agreed, and presently 
 went upstairs with as gentlemanly a walk and vertical 
 a candle as they could exhibit under the circumstances. 
 
 The other immates of the inn soon retired to rest, 
 and the storm raged on unheeded by all local humanity.
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. IQI 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At two o'clock the rain lessened its fury. At half- 
 past two the obscured moon shone forth; and at three 
 Havill awoke. The blind had not been pulled down 
 overnight, and the moonlight streamed into the room, 
 across the bed whereon Dare was sleeping. He lay 
 on his back, his arms thrown out; and his well-curved 
 youthful form looked like an unpedestaled Dionysus 
 in the colourless lunar rays. 
 
 Sleep had cleared HavilPs mind from the drowsing 
 effects of the last night's sitting, and he thought of 
 Dare's mysterious manner in speaking of himself. This 
 lad resembled the Etruscan youth Tages, in one re- 
 spect, that of being a boy with, seemingly, the wisdom 
 of a sage; and the effect of his presence was now 
 heightened by all those sinister and mystic attributes 
 which are lent by nocturnal environment. He who in 
 broad daylight might be but a young chevalier d'in- 
 dustrie was now an unlimited possibility in social 
 phenomena. Havill remembered how the lad had 
 pointed to his breast, and said that his secret was 
 literally kept there. The architect was too much of a 
 provincial to have quenched the common curiosity that 
 was part of his nature by the acquired metropolitan 
 indifference to other people's lives which, in essence 
 more unworthy even than the former, causes less 
 practical inconvenience in its exercise.
 
 192 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Dare was breathing profoundly. Instigated as 
 above mentioned, Havill got out of bed and stood be- 
 side the sleeper. After a moment's pause he gently 
 pulled back the unfastened collar of Dare's nightshirt 
 and saw a word tattooed in distinct characters on 
 his breast. Before there was time for Havill to 
 decipher it Dare moved slightly, as if conscious of 
 disturbance, and Havill hastened back to bed. Dare 
 bestirred himself yet more, whereupon Havill breathed 
 heavily, though keeping an intent glance on the lad 
 through his half-closed eyes to learn if he had been 
 aware of the investigation. 
 
 Dare was certainly conscious of something, for he 
 sat up, rubbed his eyes, and gazed around the room; 
 then after a few moments of reflection he drew some 
 article from beneath his pillow. A blue gleam shone 
 from the object as Dare held it in the moonlight, and 
 Havill perceived that it was a small revolver. 
 
 A clammy dew broke out upon the face and body 
 of the architect when, stepping out of bed with the 
 weapon in his hand, Dare looked under the bed, be- 
 hind the curtains, out of the window, and into a closet, 
 as if convinced that something had occurred, but in 
 doubt as to what it was. He then came across to 
 where Havill was lying and still keeping up the ap- 
 pearance of sleep. Watching him awhile and mistrust- 
 ing the reality of this semblance, Dare brought it to 
 the test by holding the revolver within a few inches of 
 HavilPs forehead. 
 
 Havill could stand no more. Crystallised with 
 terror he said, without however moving more than his 
 lips, in dread of hasty action on the part of Dare: 
 "Oh, good Lord, Dare, Dare, I have done nothing!"
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 1 93 
 
 The youth smiled and lowered the pistol. "I was 
 only finding out whether it was you or some burglar 
 who had been playing tricks upon me. I find it was 
 you." 
 
 "Do put away that thing! It is too ghastly to pro- 
 duce in a respectable bedroom. Why do you carry it!" 
 
 "Cosmopolites always do. Now answer my ques- 
 tions. What were you up to?" and Dare as he spoke 
 played with the pistol again. 
 
 Havill had recovered some coolness. "You could 
 not use it upon me," he said sardonically, watching 
 Dare. "It would be risking your neck for too little an 
 object." 
 
 "I did not think you were shrewd enough to see 
 that," replied Dare carelessly, as he returned the 
 revolver to its place. "Well, whether you have out- 
 witted me or no, you will keep the secret as long as I 
 choose." 
 
 "Why?" said Havill. 
 
 "Because I keep your secret of the letter abusing 
 Miss P., and of the pilfered tracing you carry in your 
 pocket." 
 
 "It is quite true," said Havill. 
 
 They went to bed again. Dare was soon asleep; 
 but. Havill did not attempt to disturb him again. The 
 elder man slept but fitfully. He was aroused in the 
 morning by a heavy rumbling and jingling along the 
 highway overlooked by the window, the front wall of 
 the house being shaken by the reverberation. 
 
 "There is no rest for me here," he said, rising and 
 going to the window, carefully avoiding the neighbour- 
 hood of Mr. Dare. When Havill had glanced out he 
 returned to dress himself. 
 
 'aodirean. I. f 3
 
 194 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "What's that noise?" said Dare, awakened by the 
 same rumble. 
 
 "It is the Artillery going away." 
 
 "From where?" 
 
 "Markton barracks." 
 
 "Hurrah!" said Dare, jumping up in bed, "I have 
 been waiting for that these six weeks." 
 
 Havill did not ask questions as to the meaning of 
 this unexpected remark. 
 
 When they were downstairs Dare's first act was to 
 ring the bell and ask if his Army and Navy Gazette 
 had arrived. 
 
 While the servant was gone Havill cleared his 
 throat and said, "I am an architect, and I take in the 
 Architect; you are an architect, and you take in the 
 Army and Navy Gazette." 
 
 "I am not an architect any more than I am a 
 soldier; but I have taken in the Ar?ny and Navy 
 Gazette these many weeks." 
 
 When they were at breakfast the paper came in. 
 Dare hastily tore it open and glanced at the pages. 
 
 "I am going to Markton after breakfast!" he said 
 suddenly, before looking up; "we will walk together, 
 if you like?" 
 
 They walked together as planned, and entered 
 Markton about ten o'clock. 
 
 "I have just to make a call here," said Dare, when 
 they were opposite the barrack-entrance on the out- 
 skirts of the town, where wheel-tracks and a regular 
 chain of hoof-marks left by the departed batteries were 
 imprinted in the gravel between the open gates. "I 
 shall not be a moment." Havill stood still while his 
 companion entered and asked the commissary in
 
 DARI AND HAVii i 1Q5 
 
 charge, or somebody representing him, when the new 
 batteries would arrive to take the place of those which 
 had gone away. He was informed that it would be 
 about noon. 
 
 "Now I am at your service," said Dare, "and will 
 help you to rearrange your design by the new intel- 
 lectual light we have acquired." 
 
 They entered Havill's office and set to work. When 
 contrasted with the tracing from Somerset's plan, 
 Havill's design, which was not far advanced, revealed 
 all its weaknesses to him. After seeing Somerset's 
 scheme the bands of Havill's imagination were loosened: 
 he laid his own previous efforts aside, got fresh sheets 
 of drawing-paper and drew with vigour. 
 
 "I may as well stay and help you," said Dare. "I 
 have nothing to do till twelve o'clock; and not much 
 then." 
 
 So there he remained. At a quarter to twelve 
 children and idlers began to gather against the rail- 
 ings of Havill's house. A few minutes past twelve the 
 noise of an arriving host was heard at the entrance to 
 the town. Thereupon Dare and Havill went to the 
 window. 
 
 The X and Y Batteries of the Z Brigade, Royal 
 Horse Artillery, were entering Markton, each headed 
 by the major with his bugler behind him. In a mo- 
 ment they came abreast and passed, every man in his 
 place : 
 
 Six shining horses, in pairs, harnessed by rope- 
 traces white as milk; with a driver on each near 
 horse : 
 
 Two gunners on the lead-coloured stout-wheeled 
 
 13*
 
 IQ6 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 limber, their carcases jolted to a jelly for lack of 
 springs : 
 
 Two gunners on the lead-coloured stout-wheeled 
 gun-carriage, in the same personal condition: 
 
 The nine-pounder gun, dipping its heavy head to 
 earth, as if ashamed of its office in these enlightened 
 times : 
 
 The complement of jingling and prancing troopers, 
 riding at the wheels and elsewhere: 
 
 Six shining horses with their drivers, and traces 
 white as milk, as before: 
 
 Two more gallant jolted men, on another jolting 
 limber, and more stout wheels and lead-coloured paint: 
 
 Two more jolted men on another drooping gun: 
 
 More jingling troopers on horseback: 
 
 Again six shining draught-horses, traces, drivers, 
 gun, gunners, lead paint, stout wheels and troopers as 
 before. 
 
 So each detachment lumbered slowly by, all eyes 
 martially forward, except when wandering in quest of 
 female beauty. 
 
 "He's a fine fellow, is he not?" said Dare, denot- 
 ing by a nod a mounted officer, with a sallow, yet 
 handsome face, and black moustache, who came up on 
 a bay gelding with the men of his battery. 
 
 "What is he?" said Havill. 
 
 "A captain who lacks advancement." 
 
 "Do you know him?" 
 
 "I know him?" 
 
 "Yes; do you?" 
 
 Dare made no reply: and they watched the captain 
 as he rode past with his drawn sword in his hand, the 
 sun making little suns upon its blade, and upon his
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 197 
 
 brilliantly polished long-boots and bright spurs; also 
 warming his gold cross-belt and braidings, white 
 gloves, busby with its red bag, and tall white plume. 
 
 Havill seemed too indifferent to press his question- 
 ing; and when all the soldiers had passed by, Dare 
 observed to his companion that he should leave him 
 for a short time; but would return in the afternoon or 
 next day. 
 
 After this he walked up the street in the rear of 
 the artillery, following them to the barracks. On reach- 
 ing the gates he found a crowd of people gathered 
 outside, looking with admiration at the guns and 
 gunners drawn up within the enclosure. When the 
 soldiers were dismissed to their quarters the sight-seers 
 dispersed, and Dare went through the gates to the 
 barrack-yard. 
 
 The guns were standing on the green; the soldiers 
 and horses were scattered about, and the handsome 
 captain whom Dare had pointed out to Havill was in- 
 specting the buildings in the company of the quarter- 
 master. Dare made a mental note of these things, 
 and, apparently changing a previous intention, went 
 out from the barracks and returned to the town.
 
 ig8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV.! 
 
 To return for a while to George Somerset. The 
 sun of his later existence having vanished from that 
 young man's horizon, he confined himself closely to 
 the studio, superintending the exertions of his draughts- 
 men Bowles, Knowles, and Cockton, who were now in 
 the full swing of working out Somerset's creations from 
 the sketches he had previously prepared. 
 
 He had so far got the start of Havill in the com- 
 petition that, by the help of these three gentlemen, his 
 design was soon finished. But he gained no unfair 
 advantage on this account, an additional month being 
 allowed to Havill to compensate for his later informa- 
 tion. 
 
 Before sealing up his drawings Somerset wished to 
 spend a short time in London, and dismissing his 
 assistants till further notice, he locked up the rooms 
 which had been appropriated as office and studio, and 
 prepared for the journey. 
 
 It was afternoon. Somerset walked from the castle 
 in the direction of the wood to reach Markton by a 
 detour. He had not proceeded far when there ap- 
 proached his path a man riding a bay horse with a 
 square-cut tail. The equestrian wore a grizzled beard, 
 and looked at Somerset with a piercing eye as he 
 noiselessly ambled nearer over the soft sod of the park. 
 He proved to be Mr. Cunningham Haze, chief constable
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. I 99 
 
 of the district, who had become slightly known to 
 Somerset during his sojourn here. 
 
 "One word, Mr. Somerset," said the constable, after 
 they had exchanged nods of recognition, reining his 
 horse as he spoke. 
 
 Somerset stopped. 
 
 "You have a studio at the castle in which you are 
 preparing drawings?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "Have you a clerk?" 
 
 "I had three till yesterday, when I paid them off." 
 
 "Would they have any right to enter the studio 
 late at night?" 
 
 "There would have been nothing wrong in their 
 doing so. Either of them might have gone back at 
 any time for something forgotten. They lived quite 
 near the castle." 
 
 "Ah, then all is explained. I was riding past over 
 the grass on the night of last Thursday, and I saw two 
 persons in your studio with a light. It must have been 
 about half-past nine o'clock. One of them came for- 
 ward and pulled down the blind, so that the light 
 fell upon his face. But I only saw it for a short 
 time." 
 
 "If it were Knowles or Cockton he would have had 
 a beard." 
 
 "He had no beard." 
 
 "Then it must have been Bowles. A young man?" 
 
 "Quite young. His companion in the background 
 seemed older." 
 
 "They are all about the same age really. By the 
 way — it couldn't have been Dare — and Havill, surely! 
 Would you recognise them again?"
 
 200 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "The young one possibly. The other not at all, 
 for he remained in the shade." 
 
 Somerset endeavoured to discern in a description 
 by the chief constable the features of Mr. Bowles; but 
 it seemed to approximate more closely to Dare in spite 
 of himself. "I'll make a sketch of the only one who 
 had no business there, and show it to you," he pre- 
 sently said. "I should like this cleared up." 
 
 Mr. Cunningham Haze said he was going to Caster- 
 bridge that afternoon, but would return in the evening 
 before Somerset's departure. With this they parted. 
 A possible motive for Dare's presence in the rooms 
 had instantly presented itself to Somerset's mind, for 
 he had seen Dare enter HavilFs office more than once, 
 as if he were at work there. 
 
 He accordingly sat on the next stile, and taking 
 out his pocket-book began a pencil sketch of Dare's 
 head, to show to Mr. Haze in the evening; for if Dare 
 had indeed found admission with Havill, or as his 
 agent, the design was lost. 
 
 But he could not make a drawing that was a satis- 
 factory likeness. Then he luckily remembered that 
 Dare, in the intense warmth of admiration he had 
 affected for Somerset on the first day or two of their 
 acquaintance, had begged for his photograph, and in 
 return for it had left one of himself on the mantel- 
 piece, taken as he said by his own process. Somerset 
 resolved to show this production to Mr. Haze, as being 
 more to the purpose than a sketch, and instead of 
 finishing the latter proceeded on his way. 
 
 He entered the old overgrown drive which wound 
 indirectly through the wood to Markton. The road, 
 having been laid out for idling rather than for pro-
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 201 
 
 gress, bent sharply hither and thither among the fissured 
 trunks and layers of horny leaves which lay there all 
 the year round, interspersed with cushions of vivid 
 green moss that formed oases in the rust-red expanse. 
 
 Reaching a point where the road made one of ils 
 bends between two large beeches, a man and woman 
 revealed themselves at a few yards' distance, walking 
 slowly towards him. In the short and quaint lady he 
 recognised Charlotte De Stancy, whom he remembered 
 not to have seen for several days. 
 
 She slightly blushed and said, "Oh, this is pleasant, 
 Mr. Somerset! Let me present my brother to you, 
 Captain De Stancy, of the Royal Horse Artillery." 
 
 Her brother came forward and shook hands heartily 
 with Somerset; and they all three rambled on to- 
 gether, talking of the season, the place, the fishing, 
 the shooting, and whatever else came uppermost in 
 their minds. 
 
 Captain De Stancy was a personage who would 
 have been called interesting by women well out of 
 their teens. He was ripe, without having declined a 
 digit towards fogeyism. He was sufficiently old and 
 experienced to suggest a goodly accumulation of touch- 
 ing amourettes in the chambers of his memory, and 
 not too old for the possibility of increasing the store. 
 He was apparently about eight-and-thirty, less tall than 
 his father had been, but admirably made; and his 
 every movement exhibited a fine combination of strength 
 and flexibility of limb. His face was somewhat thin 
 and thoughtful, its complexion being naturally pale, 
 though darkened by exposure to a warmer sun than 
 ours. His features were somewhat striking; his moustache 
 and hair raven black; and his eyes, denied the attri-
 
 202 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 butes of military keenness by reason of the largeness 
 and darkness of their aspect, acquired thereby a soft- 
 ness of expression that was in part womanly. His 
 mouth as far as it could be seen reproduced this cha- 
 racteristic, which might have been called weakness, or 
 goodness, according to the mental attitude of the ob- 
 server. It was large but well formed, and showed an 
 unimpaired line of teeth within. His dress at present 
 was a heather- coloured rural suit, cut close to his 
 figure. 
 
 "You knew my cousin, Jack Ravensbury?" he said 
 to Somerset, as they went on. "Poor Jack: he was a 
 good fellow." 
 
 "He was a very good fellow." 
 
 "He would have been made a parson if he had 
 lived — it was his great wish. I, as his senior, and a 
 man of the world as I thought myself, used to chaff 
 him about it when he was a boy, and tell him not to 
 be a milksop, but to enter the army. But I think Jack 
 was right— the parsons have the best of it, I see now." 
 
 "They would hardly admit that," said Somerset, 
 laughing. "Nor can I." 
 
 "Nor I," said the captain's sister. "See how lovely 
 you all looked with your big guns and uniform when 
 you entered Markton; and then see how stupid the 
 parsons look by comparison, when they flock into 
 Markton at a Visitation." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said De Stancy, a little pensively: 
 
 Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade; 
 
 tint when of the first sight you have had your fill, 
 
 It palls — at least it does so upon me, 
 
 This paradise of pleasure and ennui. 
 
 When one is getting on for forty;
 
 DARE AND II WILL. 20^ 
 
 When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, 
 Dressed, voted, shone, and ma) be, something more ; 
 With dandies dined, heard senators declaiming; 
 Seen beauties brought to market by the score, 
 
 and so on, there arises a strong desire for a quiet old- 
 fashioned country life, in which incessant movement is 
 not a necessary part of the programme." 
 
 "But you are not forty, Will?" said Charlotte. 
 
 "My dear, I was thirty-nine last January." 
 
 "Well, men about here are youths at that age. It 
 was India used you up so, when you served in the 
 line, was it not? I wish you had never gone there!" 
 
 "So do I," said De Stancy, drily. "But I ought to 
 grow a youth again, like the rest, now I am in my 
 native air." 
 
 They came to a narrow brook, not wider than a 
 man's stride, and Miss De Stancy halted on the edge. 
 
 "Why, Lottie, you used to jump it easily enough," 
 said her brother. "But we won't make her do it now." 
 He took her in his arms, and lifted her over, giving 
 her a gratuitous ride for some additional yards, and 
 saying, "You are not a pound heavier, Lott, than you 
 were at ten years old. . . . What do you think of the 
 country here, Mr. Somerset? Are you going to stay 
 long?" 
 
 "I think very well of it," said Somerset. "But I 
 leave to-morrow morning, which makes it necessary 
 that I turn back in a minute or two from walking 
 with you." 
 
 "That's a disappointment. I had hoped you were 
 going to finish out the autumn with shooting. There's 
 some, very fair, to be got here on reasonable terms, 
 I've just heard."
 
 204 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "But you need not hire any!" spoke up Charlotte. 
 "Paula would let you shoot anything, I am sure. She 
 has not been here long enough to preserve much game, 
 and the poachers had it all in Mr. Wilkins' time. But 
 what there is you might kill with pleasure to her." 
 
 "No, thank you," said De Stancy, grimly. "I 
 prefer to remain a stranger to Miss Power — Miss 
 Steam-Power, she ought to be called — and to all her 
 possessions." 
 
 Charlotte was subdued, and did not insist further; 
 while Somerset, before he could feel himself able to 
 decide on the mood in which the gallant captain's 
 joke at Paula's expense should be taken, wondered 
 whether it were a married man or a bachelor who 
 uttered it. 
 
 He had not been able to keep the question of De 
 Stancy's domestic state out of his head from the first 
 moment of seeing him. Assuming De Stancy to be a 
 husband, he felt there might be some excuse for his 
 remark; if unmarried, Somerset liked the satire still 
 better; in such circumstances there was a relief in the 
 thought that Captain De Stancy's prejudices might be 
 infinitely stronger than those of his sister or father. 
 
 "Going to-morrow, did you say, Mr. Somerset?" 
 asked Miss De Stancy. "Then will you dine with us 
 to-day? My father is anxious that you should do so 
 before you go. I am sorry there will be only our own 
 family present to meet you; but you can leave as 
 early as you wish." 
 
 Her brother seconded the invitation, and Somerset 
 promised, though his leisure for that evening was short. 
 He was in truth somewhat inclined to like De Stancy; 
 for though the captain had said nothing of any value
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 20$ 
 
 either on war, commerce, science, or art, he had 
 seemed attractive to the younger man. Beyond the 
 natural interest a soldier has for imaginative minds in 
 the civil walks of life, De Stancy's occasional mani- 
 festations of tcedhwi-vitce were too poetically shaped to 
 be repellent. Gallantry combined in him with a sort 
 of ascetic self-repression, in a way that was curious. 
 He was a dozen years older than Somerset: his life 
 had been passed in grooves remote from those of 
 Somerset's own life; and the latter decided that he 
 would like to meet the artillery officer again. 
 
 Bidding them a temporaiy farewell, he went away 
 to Markton by a shorter path than that pursued by the 
 De Stancys, and after spending the remainder of the 
 afternoon preparing for departure, he sallied forth just 
 before the dinner-hour towards the suburban villa. 
 
 He had become yet more curious whether a Mrs. 
 De Stancy existed; if there were one he would pro- 
 bably see her to-night. He had an irrepressible hope 
 that there might be such a lady. On entering the 
 drawing-room only the father, son, and daughter were 
 assembled. Somerset fell into talk with Charlotte dur- 
 ing the few minutes before dinner, and his thought 
 found its way out. 
 
 "There is no Mrs. De Stancy?" he said in an 
 undertone. 
 
 "None," she said; "my brother is a bachelor." 
 
 The dinner having been fixed at an early hour to 
 suit Somerset, they had returned to the drawing-room 
 at eight o'clock. About nine he was aiming to get 
 away. 
 
 "You are not off yet?" said the captain. 
 
 "There would have been no hurry," said Somerset,
 
 206 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "had I not just remembered that I have left one thing 
 undone which I want to attend to before my departure. 
 I want to see the chief constable to-night." 
 
 "Cunningham Haze? — he is the very man I too 
 want to see. But he went out of town this afternoon, 
 and I hardly think you will see him to-night. His 
 return has been delayed." 
 
 "Then the matter must wait." 
 
 "I have left word at his house asking him to call 
 here if he gets home before half-past ten; but at any 
 rate I shall see him to-morrow morning. Can I do 
 anything for you, since you are leaving early?" 
 
 Somerset replied that the business was of no great 
 importance, and briefly explained the suspected intru- 
 sion into his studio; that he had with him a photo- 
 graph of the suspected young man. "If it is a mis- 
 take," added Somerset, "I should regret putting my 
 draughtsman's portrait into the hands of the police, 
 since it might injure his character; indeed, it would 
 be unfair to him. So I wish to keep the likeness in 
 my own hands, and merely to show it to Mr. Haze: 
 that's why I prefer not to send it." 
 
 "My matter with Haze is that the barrack furniture 
 does not correspond with the inventories. If you like, 
 I'll ask your question at the same time with pleasure." 
 
 Thereupon Somerset gave Captain De Stancy an 
 unfastened envelope containing the portrait, asking 
 him to destroy it if the constable should declare it not 
 to correspond with the face that met his eye at the 
 window. Soon after, Somerset took his leave of the 
 household. 
 
 He had not been absent ten minutes when other 
 wheels were heard on the gravel without, and the
 
 DARE AND MAY 1 1 ,1 . 20J 
 
 servant announced Mr. Cunningham Haze, who had 
 returned earlier than he had expected and had called 
 as requested. 
 
 They went into the dining-room to discuss their 
 business. When the barrack matter had been arranged 
 De Stancy said, "I have a little commission to execute 
 for my friend Mr. Somerset. I am to ask you if this 
 portrait of the person he suspects of unlawfully enter- 
 ing his room is like the man you saw there?" 
 
 The speaker was seated on one side of the dining- 
 table and Mr. Haze on the other. As he spoke De 
 Stancy pulled the envelope from his pocket, and half 
 drew out the photograph, which he had not as yet 
 looked at, to hand it over to the constable. In the 
 act his eye fell upon the portrait, with its uncertain 
 expression of age, assured look, and hair worn in a 
 fringe like a girl's. 
 
 Captain De Stancy grew sickly pale, and fell back 
 gasping in his chair, having previously had sufficient 
 power over himself to close the envelope and return it 
 to his pocket. 
 
 "Good heavens, you are ill, Captain De Stancy?" 
 said the chief constable. 
 
 "It was only momentary," said De Stancy faintly; 
 "better in a minute — a glass of water will put me 
 right." 
 
 Mr. Haze got him a glass of water from the side- 
 board. 
 
 "These spasms occasionally overtake me," said De 
 Stancy when he had drunk. "I am already better. 
 What were we saying? Oh, this affair of Mr. Somer- 
 set's. I find that this envelope is not the right one." 
 He ostensibly searched his pocket again. "I must
 
 2o8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 have mislaid it," he continued rising. "I'll be with 
 you again in a moment." 
 
 De Stancy went into the room adjoining, opened 
 an album of portraits that lay on the table, and selected 
 one of a young man quite unknown to him, whose age 
 was somewhat akin to Dare's, but who in no other 
 attribute resembled him. 
 
 De Stancy placed this picture in the original enve- 
 lope, and returned with it to the chief constable, saying 
 he had found it at last. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," said Cunningham Haze, 
 looking it over. "Ah — I perceive it is not what I ex- 
 pected to see. Mr. Somerset was mistaken." 
 
 When the chief constable had left the house, Cap- 
 tain De Stancy shut the door and drew out the original 
 photograph. As he looked at the transcript of Dare's 
 features he was moved by a painful agitation till, re- 
 calling himself to the present, he carefully put the 
 portrait into the fire. 
 
 During the following days Captain De Stancy's 
 manner on the roads, in the streets, and at barracks, 
 was that of Crusoe after seeing the print of a man's 
 foot on the sand.
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 209 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Anybody who had closely considered Dare at this 
 time would have discovered that, shortly after the 
 arrival of the Royal Horse Artillery at Markton Bar- 
 racks, he gave up his room at the inn at Sleeping- 
 Green and took permanent lodgings over a broker's 
 shop at the upper end of the town above-mentioned. 
 The peculiarity of the rooms was that they commanded 
 "a view lengthwise of the barrack road along which any 
 soldier, in the natural course of things, would pass 
 either to enter the town, to call at Myrtle Villa, or to 
 go to Stancy Castle. 
 
 Dare seemed to act as if there were plenty of 
 time for his business. Some few days had slipped by 
 when, perceiving Captain De Stancy walk past his 
 window and down the town, Dare took his hat and 
 cane, and followed in the same direction. When he 
 was about fifty yards short of Myrtle Villa on the 
 other side of the town he saw De Stancy enter its 
 gate. 
 
 Dare mounted a stile beside the highway and 
 patiently waited. In about twenty minutes De Stancy 
 came out again and turned back in the direction of 
 the town, till Dare was revealed to him on his left 
 hand. When De Stancy recognised the youth he was 
 visibly agitated, though apparently not surprised. 
 Standing still a moment he dropped his glance upon 
 
 A Laodicean. I. 1 4
 
 2IO A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the ground, and then came forward to Dare, who hav- 
 ing alighted from the stile stood before the captain 
 with a smile. 
 
 "My dear lad!" said De Stancy, much moved by 
 recollections. He held Dare's hand for a moment in 
 both his own, and turned askance. 
 
 "You are not astonished," said Dare, still retain- 
 ing his smile, as if to his mind there were something 
 comic in the situation. 
 
 "I knew you were somewhere near. Where do 
 you come from?" 
 
 "From going to and fro in the earth, and walking 
 up and down in it, as Satan said to his maker. — 
 Southampton last, in. common speech." 
 
 "Have you come here to see me?" 
 
 "Entirely. 1 divined that your next quarters 
 would be Markton, the previous batteries that were at 
 your station having come on here. I have wanted to 
 see you badly." 
 
 "You have?" 
 
 "I am rather out of cash. I have been knocking 
 about a good deal since you last heard from me." 
 
 "I will do what I can again." 
 
 "Thanks, captain." 
 
 "But Willy, I am afraid it will not be much at 
 present. You know I am as poor as a mouse." 
 
 "But such as it is, could you write a cheque for it 
 now?" 
 
 "I will send it to you from the barracks." 
 
 "I have a better plan. By getting over this stile 
 we could go round at the back of the villas to Sleep- 
 ing-Green Church. There is always a pen-and-ink in 
 the vestry, and we can have a nice talk on the way
 
 DARE AND HAV1LL. 2 1 I 
 
 It would be unwise for me to appear at the barracks 
 just now." 
 
 "That's true." 
 
 De Stancy sighed, and they were about to walk 
 across the fields together. "No," said Dare, suddenly 
 stopping. "My plans make it imperative that we 
 should not run the risk of being seen in each other's 
 company for long. Walk on, and I will follow. You 
 can stroll into the churchyard, and move about as if 
 you were ruminating on the epitaphs. There are some 
 with excellent morals. I'll enter by the other gate, 
 and we can meet easily in the vestry-room." 
 
 De Stancy looked gloomy, and was on the point of 
 acquiescing when he turned back and said, "Why 
 should your photograph be shown to the chief con- 
 stable?" 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 "Somerset the architect. He suspects your having 
 broken into his office or something of the sort." De 
 Stancy briefly related what Somerset had explained to 
 him at the dinner-table. 
 
 "It was merely diamond cut diamond between us, 
 on an architectural matter," murmured Dare. "Ho! 
 and he suspects, and that's his remedy! I must be on 
 my guard." 
 
 "I hope this is nothing serious?" asked De Stancy 
 gravely. 
 
 "I peeped at his drawing — that's all. But since 
 he chooses to make that use of my photograph, which 
 I gave him in friendship, I'll make use of his, in a 
 way he little dreams of. Well now, let's on." 
 
 A quarter of an hour later they met in the vestry 
 of the church at Sleeping-Green. 
 
 14*
 
 212 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "I have only just transferred my account to the 
 bank here," said De Stancy, as he took out his 
 cheque-book, "and it will be more convenient to me 
 at present to draw but a small sum. I will make up 
 the balance afterwards." 
 
 When he had written it Dare glanced over the 
 paper and said ruefully, "It is small, dad. Well, there 
 is all the more reason why I should broach my scheme, 
 with a view to making such documents larger in the 
 future." 
 
 "I shall be glad to hear of any such scheme," an- 
 swered De Stancy, with a languid attempt at jocularity. 
 
 "Then here it is. The plan I have . arranged for 
 you is of the nature of a marriage." 
 
 "You are very kind!" said De Stancy, agape. 
 
 "The lady's name is Miss Paula Power, who, as you 
 may have heard since your arrival, is in absolute pos- 
 session of her father's property and estates, including 
 Stancy Castle. As soon as I heard of her I saw what 
 a marvellous match it would be for you, and your 
 family; it would make a man of you, in short, and I 
 have set my mind upon your putting no objection in 
 the way of its accomplishment." 
 
 "But Willy, it seems to me that, of us two, it is 
 you who exercise paternal authority?" 
 
 "True, it is for your good. Let me do it." 
 
 "Well, one must be indulgent under the circum- 
 stances, I suppose. . . . But," added De Stancy, simply, 
 "Willy, I — don't want to marry, you know. I have 
 lately thought that some day we may be able to live 
 together, you and I: go off to America or New Zea- 
 land, where we are not known, and there lead a quiet,
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 21$ 
 
 pastoral life, defying social rules and troublesome ob- 
 servances." 
 
 "I can't hear of it, captain," replied Dare, reprov- 
 ingly. "I am what events have made me, and having 
 fixed my mind upon getting you settled in life by this 
 marriage, I have put things in train for it at an im- 
 mense trouble to myself. If you had thought over it 
 o' nights as much as I have, you would not say nay." 
 
 "But I ought to have married your mother if any- 
 body. And as I have not married her, the least I can 
 do in respect to her is to marry no other woman." 
 
 "You have some sort of duty to me, have you not, 
 Captain De Stancy?" 
 
 "Yes, Willy, I admit that I have," the elder replied 
 reflectively. "And I don't think I have failed in it 
 thus far?" 
 
 "This will be the crowning proof. Paternal affec- 
 tion, family pride, the noble instinct to re-instate your- 
 self in the castle of your ancestors, all demand the 
 step. And when you have seen the lady! She has 
 the figure and motions of a sylph, the face of an 
 angel, the eye of love itself. What a sight she is 
 crossing the lawn on a sunny afternoon, or gliding 
 airily along the corridors of the old place the De Stancys 
 knew so well! Her lips are the softest, reddest, most 
 distracting things you ever saw. Her hair is as soft 
 as silk, and of the rarest, tenderest brown." 
 
 The captain moved uneasily. "Don't take the 
 trouble to say more, Willy," he observed. "You know 
 how I am. My cursed susceptibility to these matters 
 has already wasted years of my life, and I don't want 
 to make myself a fool about her too." 
 
 "You must see her."
 
 214 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "No, don't let me see her," De Stancy expostulated. 
 "If she is only half so good-looking as you say, she 
 will drag me at her heels like a blind Samson. You 
 are a mere youth as yet, but I may tell you that the 
 misfortune of never having been my own master where 
 a beautiful face was concerned obliges me to be 
 cautious if I would preserve my peace of mind." 
 
 "Well, to my mind, Captain De Stancy, your ob- 
 jections seem trivial. Are those all?" 
 
 "They are all I care to mention just now to you." 
 
 "Captain! can there be secrets between us?" 
 
 De Stancy paused and looked at the lad as if his 
 heart wished to confess what his judgment feared to 
 tell. "There should not be — on this point," he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Then tell me — why do you so much object to 
 her?" 
 
 "I once vowed a vow." 
 
 "A vow!" said Dare, rather disconcerted. 
 
 "A vow of infinite solemnity. I must tell you from 
 the beginning; perhaps you are old enough to hear it 
 now, though you have been too young before. Your 
 mother's life ended in much sorrow, and it was 
 occasioned entirely by me. In my regret for the 
 wrong done her I swore to her that though she had 
 not been my wife, no other woman should stand in 
 that relationship to me; and this to her was a sort of 
 comfort. When she was dead my knowledge of my 
 own plaguy impressibility, which seemed to be in- 
 eradicable — as it seems still — led me to think what 
 safeguards I could set over myself with a view to 
 keeping my promise to live a life of celibacy; and 
 among other things I determined to forswear the
 
 DARE AND HAVTI.L. 21$ 
 
 society, and if possible the sight, of women young and 
 attractive, as far as I had the power to do." 
 
 "It is not so easy to avoid the sight of a beautiful 
 woman if she crosses your path, I should think?" 
 
 "It is not easy; but it is possible." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By directing your attention another way." 
 
 "But do you mean to say, captain, that you can 
 be in a room with a pretty woman who speaks to you, 
 and not look at her?" 
 
 "I do: though mere looking has less to do with it 
 than mental attentiveness — allowing your thoughts to 
 flow out in her direction — to comprehend her image." 
 
 "But it would be considered very impolite not to 
 look at the woman or comprehend her image?" 
 
 "It would, and is. I am considered the most im- 
 polite officer in the service. I have been nicknamed 
 the man with the averted eyes — the man with the 
 detestable habit — the man who greets you with his 
 shoulder, and so on. Ninety-and-nine fair women at 
 the present moment hate me like poison and death for 
 having persistently refused to plumb the depths of 
 their offered eyes." 
 
 "How can you do it, who are by nature courteous?" 
 
 "I cannot always — I break down sometimes. But 
 upon the whole recollection holds me to it: dread of a 
 lapse. Nothing is so potent as fear well maintained." 
 
 De Stancy narrated these details in a grave medi- 
 tative tone with his eyes on the wall, as if he were 
 scarcely conscious of a listener. 
 
 "But haven't you reckless moments, captain? — 
 when you have taken a little more wine than usual, 
 for instance?"
 
 2l6 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "I don't take wine." 
 
 "Oh, you are a teetotaller?" 
 
 "Not a pledged one — but I don't touch alcohol 
 unless I get wet, or anything of that sort." 
 
 "Don't you sometimes forget this vow of yours to 
 my mother?" 
 
 "No, I wear a reminder." 
 
 "What is that like?" 
 
 De Stancy held up his left hand, on the third 
 finger of which appeared an iron ring. 
 
 Dare surveyed it, saying, "Yes, I have seen that 
 before, though I never knew why you wore it. Well, I 
 wear a reminder also, but of a different sort." 
 
 He threw open his shirt-front, and revealed tat- 
 tooed on his breast the letters DE STANCY; the same 
 marks which Havill had seen in the bedroom by the 
 light of the moon. 
 
 The captain rather winced at the sight. "Well, 
 well," he said hastily, "that's enough. . . . Now, at any 
 rate, you understand my objection to know Miss 
 Power." 
 
 "But, captain," said the lad coaxingly, as he fast- 
 ened his shirt; "you forget me and the good you may 
 do me by marrying? Surely that's a sufficient reason 
 for a change of sentiment. This inexperienced sweet 
 creature owns the castle and estate which bears your 
 name, even to the furniture and pictures. She is the 
 possessor of at least forty thousand a year — how much 
 more I cannot say — while she lives at the rate of twelve 
 hundred in her simplicity." 
 
 "It is very good of you to set this before me. But 
 I prefer to go on as I am going." 
 
 "Well, I won't bore you any more with her to-day.
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 21 "J 
 
 A monk in regimentals! — 'tis strange." Dare arose 
 and was about to open the door, when, looking through 
 the window, Captain De Stancy said, "Stop." He had 
 perceived his father Sir William De Stancy walking 
 among the tombstones without. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Dare, turning the key in the 
 door. "It would look strange if he were to find us 
 here." 
 
 As the old man seemed indisposed to leave the 
 churchyard just yet they sat down again. 
 
 "What a capital card-table this green cloth would 
 make," said Dare, as they waited. "You play, captain, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "Very seldom." 
 
 "The same with me. But as I enjoy a hand of 
 cards with a friend, I don't go unprovided." Saying 
 which, Dare drew a pack from the tail of his coat. 
 "Shall we while away this leisure with the witching 
 things?" 
 
 "Really, I'd rather not." 
 
 "But," coaxed the young man, "I am in the 
 humour for it; so don't be unkind!" 
 
 "But, Willy, why do you care for these things? 
 Cards are harmless enough in their way; but I don't 
 like to see you carrying them in your pocket. It isn't 
 good for you." 
 
 "It was by the merest chance I had them. Now 
 come, just one hand, since we are prisoners. I want 
 to show you how nicely I can play. I won't corrupt 
 you!" 
 
 "Of course not," said De Stancy, as if ashamed of 
 what his objection had implied. "You are not corrupt 
 enough yourself to do that, I should hope."
 
 2l8 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 The cards were dealt and they began to play. 
 Captain De Stancy abstractedly, and with his eyes 
 mostly straying out of the window upon the large yew, 
 whose boughs as they moved were distorted by the 
 old green window-panes. 
 
 "It is better than doing nothing," said Dare, cheer- 
 fully, as the game went on. "I hope you don't dis- 
 like it?" 
 
 "Not if it pleases you," said De Stancy, listlessly. 
 
 "And the consecration of this place does not ex- 
 tend further than the aisle wall." 
 
 "Doesn't it?" said De Stancy, as he mechanically 
 played out his cards. "What became of that box of 
 books I sent you with my last cheque?" 
 
 "Well, as I hadn't time to read them, and as I 
 knew you would not like them to be wasted, I sold 
 them to a bloke who peruses them from morning till 
 night. Ah, now you have lost a pony altogether — 
 how queer! We'll double the stakes. So, as I was 
 saying, just at the time the books came I got an ink- 
 ling of this important business, and literature went to 
 the wall." 
 
 "Important business — what?" 
 
 "The capture of this lady, to be sure." 
 
 De Stancy sighed impatiently. "I wish you were 
 less calculating, and had more of the impulse natural 
 to your years!" 
 
 "Game— by Jove! You have lost again, captain. 
 That makes — let me see — nine pounds fifteen to 
 square us." 
 
 "I owe you that?" said De Stancy, startled. "It 
 is more than I have in cash. I must write another 
 cheque."
 
 DARE AND HAVIT.L. 210, 
 
 "Never mind. Make it payable to yourself, and 
 our connection will be quite unsuspected." 
 
 Captain De Stancy did as requested, and rose from 
 his seat. Sir William, though further off, was still in 
 the churchyard. 
 
 "How can you hesitate for a moment about this 
 girl?" said Dare, pointing to the bent figure of the 
 old man. "Think of the satisfaction it would be to 
 him to see his son within the family walls again. It 
 should be a religion with you to compass such a legi- 
 timate end as this." 
 
 "Well, well, I'll think of it," said the captain, with 
 an impatient laugh. "You are (mite a Mephistopheles, 
 Will — I say it to my sorrow!" 
 
 "Would that I were in your place." 
 
 "Would that you were! Fifteen years ago I might 
 have called the chance a magnificent one." 
 
 "But you are a young man still, and you look younger 
 than you are. Nobody knows our relationship, and I 
 am not such a fool as to divulge it. Of course, if 
 through me you reclaim this splendid possession, I 
 should leave it to your feelings what you would do 
 for me." 
 
 Sir William had by this time cleared out of the 
 churchyard, and the pair emerged from the vestry and 
 departed. Proceeding towards Markton by the same 
 bye-path, they presently came to an eminence covered 
 with bushes of blackthorn, and tufts of yellowing fern. 
 From this point a good view of the woods and glades 
 about Stancy Castle could be obtained. Dare stood 
 still on the top and stretched out his finger; the cap- 
 tain's eye followed the direction, and he saw above
 
 220 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the many-hued foliage in the middle distance the 
 towering keep of Paula's castle. 
 
 "That's the goal of your ambition, captain — ambi- 
 tion do I say? — most righteous and dutiful endeavour! 
 How the hoary shape catches the sunlight — it is the 
 raison d'etre of the landscape, and its possession is 
 coveted by a thousand hearts. Surely it is an heredi- 
 tary desire of yours? You must make a point of re- 
 turning to it, and appearing in the map of the future 
 as in that of the past. I delight in this work of en- 
 couraging you, and pushing you forward towards your 
 own. You are really very clever, you know, but — I 
 say it with respect — how comes it that you want so 
 much waking up?" 
 
 "Because I know the day is not so bright as it 
 seems, my boy. However, you make a little mistake. 
 If I care for anything on earth, I do care for that old 
 fortress of my forefathers. I respect so little among 
 the living that all my reverence is for my own dead. 
 But manoeuvring even for my own, as you call it, is 
 not in my line. It is distasteful — it is positively hate- 
 ful to me." 
 
 "Well, well, let it stand thus for the present. But 
 will you refuse me one little request — merely to see 
 her? I'll contrive it so that she may not see you. 
 Don't refuse me, it is the one thing I ask, and I shall 
 think it hard if you deny me." 
 
 "Oh Will!" said the captain wearily. "Why will 
 you plead so? No — even though your mind is parti- 
 cularly set upon it, I cannot see her, or bestow a 
 thought upon her, much as I should like to gratify 
 you."
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 221 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When they had parted Dare walked along towards 
 Markton, with resolve on his mouth and an unscru- 
 pulous light in his prominent black eye. Could any 
 person who had heard the previous conversation have 
 seen him now, he would have found little difficulty in 
 divining that, notwithstanding De Stancy's obduracy, 
 the reinstation of Captain De Stancy in the castle, and 
 the possible legitimation and enrichment of himself, 
 was still the dream of his brain. Even should any 
 legal settlement or offspring intervene to nip the ex- 
 treme development of his projects, there was abundant 
 opportunity for his glorification. 
 
 Two conditions were imperative. De Stancy must 
 see Paula before Somerset's return. And it was neces- 
 sary to have help from Havill, even if it involved 
 letting him know all. 
 
 Whether Havill already knew all was a nice ques- 
 tion for Mr. Dare's luminous mind. Havill had had 
 opportunities of reading his secret, particularly on the 
 night they occupied the same room. If so, by reveal- 
 ing it to Paula, Havill might utterly blast his project 
 for the marriage. Havill, then, was at all risks to be 
 retained as an ally. 
 
 Yet Dare would have preferred a stronger check 
 upon his confederate than was afforded by his own 
 knowledge of that anonymous letter and the competi- 
 tion trick. For were the competition lost to him,
 
 2 22 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Havill would have no further interest in conciliating 
 Miss Power; would as soon as not let her know the 
 secret of De Stancy's relation to him, Dare, in retalia- 
 tion for the snubbing and fright he had received by 
 the production of the revolver. 
 
 Fortune as usual helped him in his dilemma. 
 Entering Havill's office, Dare found him sitting there; 
 but the drawings had all disappeared from the boards. 
 The architect held an open letter in his hand. 
 
 "Well, what news?" said Dare. 
 
 "Miss Power has returned to the castle, Somerset 
 is detained in London, and the competition is decided," 
 said Havill, with a glance of quiet dubiousness. 
 
 "And you have won it?" 
 
 "No. We are bracketed — it's a tie. The judges 
 say there is no choice between the designs — that they 
 are singularly equal and singularly good. That she 
 would do well to adopt either. Signed So-and-So, 
 Fellows of the Royal Institute of British Architects. 
 The result is that she will employ which she personally 
 likes best. It is as if I had spun a guinea in the air 
 and it had alighted on its edge. The least false 
 movement will make it tails; the least wise movement 
 heads." 
 
 "Singularly equal. Well we owe that to our 
 nocturnal visit, which must not be known." 
 
 "Oh Lord, no!" said Havill apprehensively. 
 
 Dare felt secure of him at those words. Havill 
 had much at stake; the slightest rumour of his trick 
 in bringing about the competition would be fatal to 
 Havill's reputation; his own position was consequently 
 safe. 
 
 "The permanent absence of Somerset is then de-
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 223 
 
 sirable architecturally on your account, matrimonially 
 on mine." 
 
 "Matrimonially? By the way — who was that cap- 
 tain you pointed out to me when the artillery entered 
 the town?" 
 
 " Captain De Stancy — son of Sir William De Stancy. 
 He's the husband. Oh you needn't look incredulous: 
 it is practicable; but we won't argue that. In the first 
 place I want him to see her, and to see her in the 
 most love-kindling, passion-begetting circumstances that 
 can be thought of. And he must see her surreptitiously, 
 for he refuses to meet her." 
 
 "Let him see her going to church or chapel?" 
 
 Dare shook his head. 
 
 "Driving out?" 
 
 " Common-place." 
 
 "Walking in the gardens?" 
 
 "Ditto." 
 
 "At her toilet?" 
 
 "Ah — if it were possible!" 
 
 "Which it hardly is. Well, you had better think 
 it over and make inquiries about her habits, and as to 
 when she is in a favourable aspect for observation, as 
 the almanacs say." 
 
 Shortly afterwards Dare took his leave. In the 
 evening he made it his business to sit smoking on the 
 bole of a tree which commanded a view of the upper 
 ward of the castle, and also of the old postern-gate, 
 now enlarged and used as a tradesmen's entrance. It 
 was half-past six o'clock; the dressing-bell rang, and 
 Dare saw a light-footed young woman hasten at the 
 sound across the ward from the servants' quarter. A 
 light appeared in a chamber which he knew to be
 
 2 24 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Paula's dressing-room; and there it remained half an 
 hour, a shadow passing and repassing on the blind in 
 the style of head-dress worn by the girl he had pre- 
 viously seen. The dinner-bell sounded and the light 
 went out. 
 
 As yet it was scarcely dark out of doors, and in a 
 few minutes Dare had the satisfaction of seeing the 
 same young woman cross the ward and emerge upon 
 the slope without. This time she was bonneted, and 
 carried a little basket in her hand. A nearer view 
 showed her to be, as he had expected, Milly Birch, 
 Paula's maid, who had friends living in Markton, whom 
 she was in the habit of visiting almost every evening 
 during the three hours of leisure which intervened be- 
 tween Paula's retirement from the dressing-room and 
 return thither at ten o'clock. When the young woman 
 had descended the road and passed into the large 
 drive Dare rose and followed her. 
 
 "Oh, it is you, Miss Birch," said Dare, on over- 
 taking her. "I am glad to have the pleasure of walking 
 by your side." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Oh, it's Mr. Dare. We don't see you 
 at the castle now, sir." 
 
 "No. And do you get a walk like this every 
 evening when the others are at their busiest?" 
 
 "Almost every evening; that's the one return to 
 the poor lady's-maid for losing her leisure when the 
 others get it — in the absence of the family from home." 
 
 "Is Miss Power a hard mistress?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Rather fanciful than hard, I presume?" 
 
 "Just so, sir." 
 
 "And she likes to appear to advantage, no doubt."
 
 DARE AND HAVTLL. 225 
 
 "I suppose so," said Milly laughing. "We all do." 
 
 "When does she appear to the best advantage? 
 When riding, or driving, or reading her book?" 
 
 "Not altogether then, if you mean the very best." 
 
 "Perhaps it is when she sits looking in the glass 
 at herself, and you let down her hair." 
 
 "Not particularly, to my mind." 
 
 "When does she to your mind? When dressed for 
 a dinner-party or ball?" 
 
 "She's middling then. But there is a time when 
 she looks more bewitching than at any. It is when 
 she is in the gymnasium." 
 
 " Oh — gymnasium." 
 
 "Because when she is there she wears such a pretty 
 boy's costume, and is so charming in her movements, 
 that you think she is a lovely youth and not a girl at 
 all." 
 
 "When does she go to this gymnasium?" 
 
 "Not so much as she used to. Only on wet morn- 
 ings now, when she can't get out for walks or drives. 
 But she used to do it every day." 
 
 "I should like to see her there." 
 
 "Why, sir?" 
 
 "I am a poor artist, and can't afford models. To 
 see her attitudes would be of great assistance to me 
 in the art I love so well." 
 
 Milly shook her head. "She's very strict about the 
 door being locked. If I were to leave it open she 
 would dismiss me, as I should deserve." 
 
 "But consider, dear Miss Birch, the advantage to 
 a poor artist the sight of her would be: if you could 
 hold the door ajar it would be worth five pounds to 
 me, and a good deal to you." 
 
 A Laodicean. I. I 5
 
 226 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "No," said the incorruptible Milly, shaking her 
 head. "Besides, I don't always go there with her. Oh 
 no, I couldn't!" 
 
 Milly remained so firm at this point that Dare said 
 no more. 
 
 When he had left her he returned to the castle 
 grounds, and though there was not much light he had 
 no difficulty in discovering the gymnasium, the outside 
 of which he had observed before, without thinking to 
 inquire its purpose. Like the erections in other parts 
 of the shrubberies it was constructed of wood, the 
 interstices between the framing being filled up with 
 short billets of fir nailed diagonally. Dare, even when 
 without a settled plan in his head, could arrange for 
 probabilities; and wrenching out one of the billets he 
 looked inside. It seemed to be a simple oblong apart- 
 ment, fitted up with ropes, with a little dressing-closet 
 at one end, and lighted by a skylight or lantern in 
 the roof. Dare replaced the wood and went on his 
 way. 
 
 Havill was smoking on his doorstep when Dare 
 passed up the street. He held up his hand. 
 
 "Since you have been gone," said the architect, 
 "I've hit upon something that may help you in ex- 
 hibiting your lady to your gentleman. In the summer 
 I had orders to design a gymnasium for her, which I 
 did; and they say she is very clever on the ropes and 
 bars. Now " 
 
 "I've discovered it. I shall contrive for him to see 
 her there on the first wet morning, which is when she 
 practices. What made her think of it?" 
 
 "As you may have heard, she holds advanced views 
 on social and other matters; and in those on the higher
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 22 7 
 
 education of women she is very strong, talking a good 
 deal about the physical training of the Greeks, whom 
 she adores, or did. Every philosopher and man of 
 science who ventilates his theories in the monthly 
 reviews has a devout listener in her; and this subject 
 of the physical development of her sex has had its 
 turn with other things in her mind. So she had the 
 place built on her very first arrival, according to the 
 latest lights on athletics, and in imitation of those at 
 the new colleges for women." 
 
 "How deuced clever of the girl! She means to 
 live to be a hundred." 
 
 15*
 
 228 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The wet day arrived with all the promptness that 
 might have been expected of it in this land of rains 
 and mists. The alder bushes behind the gymnasium 
 dripped monotonously leaf upon leaf, added to this 
 being the purl of the shallow stream a little way off, 
 producing a sense of satiety in watery sound. Though 
 there was drizzle in the open meads, the rain here in 
 the thicket was comparatively slight, and two men 
 with fishing tackle who stood beneath one of the larger 
 bushes found its boughs a sufficient shelter. 
 
 "We may as well walk home again as study nature 
 here, Willy," said the taller and elder of the twain. "I 
 feared it would continue when we started. The magni- 
 ficent sport you speak of must rest for to-day." 
 
 The other looked at his watch, but made no 
 particular reply. 
 
 "Come, let us move on. I don't like intruding 
 into other people's grounds like this," De Stancy con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "We are not intruding. Anybody walks outside 
 this fence." He indicated an iron railing newly tarred, 
 dividing the wilder underwood amid which they stood 
 from the inner and well-kept parts of the shrubbery, 
 and against which the back of the gymnasium was built. 
 
 Light footsteps upon a gravel walk could be heard 
 on the other side of the fence, and a trio of cloaked
 
 DARE AND HAVTLL. 2 29 
 
 and umbrella-screened figures were for a moment 
 discernible. They vanished behind the gymnasium; 
 and again nothing resounded but the river murmurs 
 and the clock-like drippings of the leafage. 
 
 "Hush!" said Dare. 
 
 "No pranks, my boy," said De Stancy, suspiciously. 
 "You should be above them." 
 
 "And you should trust to my good sense, captain," 
 Dare remonstrated. "I have not indulged in a prank 
 since the sixth year of my pilgrimage: I have found 
 them too damaging to my interests. Well, it is not 
 too dry here, and damp injures your health, you say. 
 Have a pull for safety's sake." He presented a flask 
 to De Stancy. 
 
 The artillery officer looked down at his nether 
 garments. 
 
 "I don't break my rule without good reason," he 
 observed. 
 
 "I am afraid that reason exists at present." 
 
 "I am afraid it does. What have you got?" 
 
 "Only a little wine." 
 
 "What wine?" 
 
 "Do try it. I call it 'the blushful Hippocrene," 
 
 that the poet describes as 
 
 "Tasting of Flora and the country green; 
 Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth.' " 
 
 De Stancy took the flask, and drank a little. 
 
 "It warms, does it not?" 
 
 "Too much," said De Stancy with misgiving. "I 
 have been taken unawares. Why, it is three parts 
 brandy, to my taste, you scamp!" 
 
 Dare put away the wine. "Now you are to see 
 something," he said.
 
 23O A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Something — what is it?" Captain De Stancy re- 
 garded him with a puzzled look. 
 
 "It is quite a curiosity, and really worth seeing. 
 Now just look in here." 
 
 The speaker advanced to the back of the building, 
 and withdrew the wood billet from the wall. 
 
 "Will, I believe you are up to some trick," said 
 De Stancy, not, however, suspecting the actual truth 
 in these unsuggestive circumstances and with a comfort- 
 able resignation, produced by the potent liquor, which 
 would have been comical to an outsider; but which, 
 to one who had known the history and relationship of 
 the two speakers, would have worn a sadder significance. 
 "I am too big a fool about you to keep you down as 
 I ought; that's the fault of me, worse luck." 
 
 He pressed the youth's hand with a smile, went 
 forward, and looked through the hole into the interior 
 of the gymnasium. Dare withdrew to some little 
 distance, and watched Captain De Stancy's face, which 
 presently began to change. 
 
 What was the captain seeing? A sort of optical 
 poem. 
 
 Paula, in a pink flannel costume, was bending, 
 wheeling, and undulating in the air like a gold-fish in 
 its globe, sometimes ascending by her arms nearly to 
 the lantern, then lowering herself till she swung level 
 with the floor. Her aunt Mrs. Goodman, and Charlotte 
 De Stancy, were sitting on camp-stools at one end, 
 watching her gyrations, Paula occasionally addressing 
 them with such an expression as — "Now, Aunt, look 
 at me — and you, Charlotte — is not that shocking to 
 your weak nerves!" when some adroit feat would be 
 repeated, which, however, seemed to give much more
 
 DARE AND HAVILL. 23 I 
 
 pleasure to Paula herself in performing it than to Mrs. 
 Goodman in looking on, the latter sometimes saying, 
 "Oh, it is terrific— do not run such a risk again!" 
 
 It would have demanded the poetic passion of 
 some joyous Elizabethan lyrist like Lodge, Nash, or 
 Constable, to fitly phrase Paula's presentation of herself 
 at this moment of absolute abandonment to every 
 muscular whim that could take possession of such a 
 supple form. The white manilla ropes clung about the 
 performer like snakes as she took her exercise, and 
 the colour in her face deepened as she went on. 
 Captain De Stancy felt that, much as he had seen in 
 early life of beauty in woman, he had never seen beauty 
 of such a real and living sort as this. A bitter recol- 
 lection of his vow, together with a sense that to gaze 
 on the festival of this Bona Dea was, though so pretty 
 a sight, hardly fair or gentlemanly, would have com- 
 pelled him to withdraw his eyes, had not the sportive 
 fascination of her appearance glued them there in 
 spite of all. And as if to complete the picture of 
 Grace personified and add the one thing wanting to 
 the charm which bound him, the clouds, till that time 
 thick in the sky, broke away from the upper heaven, 
 and allowed the noonday sun to pour down through 
 the lantern upon her, irradiating her with a warm light 
 that was incarnadined by her pink doublet and hose, 
 and reflected in upon her face. She only required a 
 cloud to rest on instead of the green silk net which 
 actually supported her reclining figure for the moment, 
 to be quite Olympian; save indeed that in place of 
 haughty effrontery there sat on her countenance only 
 the healthful sprightliness of an English girl. 
 
 Dare had withdrawn to a point at which another
 
 2 $2 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 path crossed the path occupied by De Stancy. Look- 
 ing in a side direction, he saw Havill idling slowly up 
 to him over the silent grass. HavriTs knowledge of 
 the appointment had brought him out to see what 
 would come of it. When he neared Dare, but was 
 still partially hidden by the boughs from the third of 
 the party, the former simply pointed to De Stancy, 
 upon which Havill stood still and peeped at him. "Is 
 she within there?" he inquired. 
 
 Dare nodded, and whispered, "You need not have 
 asked, if you had examined his face." 
 
 "That's true." 
 
 "A fermentation is beginning in him," said Dare, 
 half-pitifully; "a purely chemical process; and when it 
 is complete he will probably be clear, and fiery, and 
 sparkling, and quite another man than the good, weak, 
 easy fellow that he was." 
 
 To precisely describe Captain De Stancy's look was 
 impossible. A sun rising in his face, such was some- 
 what the effect. By watching him they could almost 
 see the aspect of her within the wall, so accurately 
 were her changing phases reflected in him. He seemed 
 to forget that he was not alone. 
 
 "And is this," he murmured, in the manner of one 
 only half apprehending himself, "and is this the end 
 of my vow?" 
 
 Paula was saying at this moment, "Ariel sleeps in 
 this posture, does he not, Auntie?" Suiting the action 
 to the word, she flung out her arms behind her head 
 as she lay in the green silk hammock, idly closed her 
 pink eyelids, and swung herself to and fro.
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 DE STANCY.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Captain De Stancy was a changed man. A hitherto 
 well-repressed energy was giving him motion towards 
 long-shunned consequences. His features were, indeed, 
 to cursory observation, much the same as before; 
 though had a physiognomist chosen to study them 
 with the closeness of an astronomer scanning the 
 universe, he would doubtless have discerned abundant 
 novelty. 
 
 In recent years De Stancy had been an easy, 
 melancholy, unaspiring officer, enervated and depressed 
 by a parental affection quite beyond his control for 
 the graceless lad Dare — the obtrusive memento of a 
 shadowy period in De Stancy's youth, who threatened 
 to be the curse of his old age. Throughout a long 
 space he had persevered in his system of rigidly in- 
 carcerating within himself all instincts towards the 
 opposite sex, with a resolution that would not have 
 disgraced a much stronger man. By this habit, main- 
 tained with fair success, a chamber of his nature had 
 been preserved intact during many later years, like 
 the one solitary sealed-up cell occasionally retained 
 by bees in a lobe of drained honey-comb. And thus, 
 though he had irretrievably exhausted the relish of 
 society, of ambition, of action, and of his profession,
 
 236 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the love-force that he had kept immured alive was 
 still a reproducible thing. 
 
 The sight of Paula in the gymnasium, which the 
 judicious Dare had so carefully planned, led up to 
 and heightened by subtle accessories, operated on 
 De Stancy's surprised soul with a promptness almost 
 magical. 
 
 On the evening of the self-same day, having dined 
 as usual, he retired to his rooms, where he found a 
 hamper of wine awaiting him. It had been anonym- 
 ously sent, and the account was paid. He smiled 
 grimly, but no longer with heaviness. In this he 
 instantly recognised the handiwork of Dare, who, hav- 
 ing at last broken down the barrier which De Stancy 
 had erected round his heart for so many years, acted 
 like a skilled strategist, and took swift measures to 
 follow up the advantage so tardily gained. 
 
 Captain De Stancy knew himself conquered; he 
 knew he should yield to Paula — had indeed yielded; 
 but there was now, in his solitude, an hour or two of 
 re-action. He did not drink from the bottles sent. 
 He went early to bed, and lay tossing thereon till far 
 into the night, thinking over the collapse. His teeto- 
 talism had, with the lapse of years, unconsciously be- 
 come the outward and visible sign to himself of his 
 secret vows; and a return to its opposite, however 
 mildly done, signified with ceremonious distinctness 
 the formal acceptance of delectations long forsworn. 
 
 But the exceeding freshness of his feeling for 
 Paula, which by reason of its long arrest was that of 
 a man far under thirty, and was a wonder to himself 
 every instant, would not long brook weighing in ba- 
 lances. He wished suddenly to commit himself; to
 
 DE STANCY. 237 
 
 remove the question of retreat out of the region of 
 debate. The clock struck two: and the wish became 
 determination. He arose, and wrapping himself in his 
 dressing-gown went to the next room, where he took 
 from a shelf in the pantry several large bottles, which 
 he carried to the window, till they stood on the sill a 
 goodly row. There had been sufficient light in the 
 room for him to do this without a candle. Now he 
 softly opened the sash, and the radiance of a gibbous 
 moon riding in the opposite sky flooded the apart- 
 ment. It fell on the labels of the captain's bottles, 
 revealing their contents to be simple aerated waters 
 for drinking. 
 
 De Stancy looked out and listened. The guns 
 that stood drawn up within the yard glistened in the 
 moonlight reaching them from over the barrack-wall: 
 there was an occasional stamp of horses in the stables; 
 also a measured tread of sentinels — one or more at 
 the gates, one at the hospital, one between the wings, 
 two at the magazine, and others further off. Recurring 
 to his intention he drew the corks of the mineral wa- 
 ters, and inverting each bottle one by one over the 
 window-sill, heard its contents dribble in a small stream 
 on to the gravel below. 
 
 He then opened the hamper which Dare had sent. 
 Uncorking one of the bottles he murmured, "To Paula!" 
 and drank a glass of the ruby liquor. 
 
 "A man again after eighteen years," he said, shut- 
 ting the sash and returning to his bedroom. 
 
 The first overt result of his kindled interest in 
 Miss Power was his saying to his sister the day after
 
 238 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the surreptitious sight of Paula: "I am sorry, Charlotte, 
 for a word or two I said the other day." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "I was rather disrespectful to your friend Miss 
 Power." 
 
 "I don't think so — were you?" 
 
 "Yes. When we were walking in the wood, I made 
 a stupid joke about her. . . . What does she know 
 about me — do you ever speak of me to her?" 
 
 "Only in general terms." 
 
 "What general terms?" 
 
 "You know well enough, William; of your idiosyn- 
 crasies and so on — that you are a bit of a woman- 
 hater, or at least a confirmed bachelor, and have but 
 little respect for your own family." 
 
 "I wish you had not told her that," saidDeStancy 
 with dissatisfaction. 
 
 "But I thought you always liked women to know 
 your principles!" said Charlotte, in injured tones; 
 "and would particularly like her to know them, living 
 so near." 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied her brother hastily. "Well, I 
 ought to see her, just to show her that I am not quite 
 a brute." 
 
 "That would be very nice!" she answered, putting 
 her hands together in agreeable astonishment. "It is 
 just what I have wished, though I did not dream of 
 suggesting it after what I have heard you say. I am 
 going to stay with her again to-morrow, and I will let 
 her know about this." 
 
 "Don't tell her anything plainly, for heaven's sake. 
 I really want to see the interior of the castle; I have 
 never entered its walls since my babyhood." He raised
 
 DE STANCY. 239 
 
 his eyes as he spoke to where the walls in question 
 showed their ashlar faces over the trees. 
 
 "You might have gone over it at any time." 
 "Oh yes. It is only recently that I have thought 
 much of the place: I feel now that I should like to 
 examine the old building thoroughly, since it was for 
 so many generations associated with our fortunes, espe- 
 cially as most of the old furniture is still there. My 
 sedulous avoidance hitherto of all relating to our family 
 vicissitudes has been, I own, stupid conduct for an in- 
 telligent being; but impossible grapes are always sour, 
 and I have unconsciously adopted Radical notions to 
 obliterate disappointed hereditary instincts. But these 
 have a trick of re-establishing themselves as one gets 
 older, and the castle and what it contains have a keen 
 interest for me now." 
 
 "It contains Paula." 
 
 De Stancy's pulse, which had been beating languidly 
 for the last many years, beat double at the sound of 
 that name. 
 
 "I meant furniture and pictures for the moment," 
 he said; "but I don't mind extending the meaning to 
 her, if you wish it." 
 
 "She is the rarest thing there." 
 
 "So you have said before." He might have added, 
 "but never with the present effect upon me." 
 
 "The castle and our family history have as much 
 romantic interest for her as they have for you," Char- 
 lotte went on. "She delights in visiting our tombs 
 and effigies, and ponders over them for hours." 
 
 "Indeed!" said De Stancy, allowing his surprise to 
 hide the satisfaction which accompanied it. "That 
 should make us friendly — Does she see many people ?"
 
 24O A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Not many as yet. And she cannot have many 
 staying there during the alterations." 
 
 "Ah! yes — the alterations. Didn't you say that she 
 has had a London architect stopping there on that ac- 
 count? What was he — old or young? 
 
 "He is a young man: he has been to our house. 
 Don't you remember you met him there?" 
 
 "What was his name?" 
 
 "Mr. Somerset." 
 
 "Oh, that man! Yes, yes, I remember. . . . Hullo, 
 Lottie!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Your face is as red as a peony. Now I know a 
 secret!" Charlotte vainly endeavoured to hide her con- 
 fusion. "Very well, — not a word! I won't say more," 
 continued De Stancy, good-humouredly, "except that 
 he seems to be a very nice fellow." 
 
 De Stancy had turned the dialogue on to this little 
 well-preserved secret of his sister's with sufficient out- 
 ward lightness; but it had been done in instinctive 
 concealment of the disquieting start with which he 
 had recognised that Somerset, Dare's enemy, whom he 
 had intercepted in placing Dare's portrait into the 
 hands of the chief constable, was a man beloved by 
 his sister Charlotte. This novel circumstance might 
 lead to a curious complication. But he was to hear 
 more. 
 
 "He may be very nice," replied Charlotte, with an 
 effort, after this silence. "But he is nothing to me, 
 more than a very good friend." 
 
 "There's no engagement, or thought of one between 
 you ?" 
 
 " Certainly there's not ! " said Charlotte, with brave
 
 DE STANCV. 24I 
 
 emphasis. "It is more likely to be between Paula and 
 him than me and him." 
 
 De Stancy's bare military ears and closely cropped 
 poll flushed hot. "Miss Power and him?" 
 
 "I don't mean to say there is, because Paula 
 denies it; but I mean that he loves Paula. That I do 
 know." 
 
 De Stancy was dumb. This item of news which 
 Dare had kept from him, not knowing how far De 
 Stancy's sense of honour might extend, was decidedly 
 grave. Indeed, he was so greatly impressed with the 
 fact, that he could not help saying as much aloud: 
 "This is very serious!" 
 
 "Why?" she murmured tremblingly, for the first 
 leaking out of her tender and sworn secret had dis- 
 abled her quite. 
 
 "Because I love Paula too." 
 
 "What do you say, William, you? — a woman you 
 have never seen?" 
 
 "I have seen her — by accident. And now, my 
 dear little sis, you will be my close ally, won't you? as 
 I will be yours, as brother and sister should be." He 
 placed his arm coaxingly round Charlotte's shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, William, how can I?" at last she stammered. 
 
 "Why, how can't you? I should say. We are both 
 in the same ship. I love Paula, you love Mr. Somerset; 
 it behoves both of us to see that this flirtation of theirs 
 ends in nothing." 
 
 "I don't like you to put it like that — that I love 
 him— it frightens me," murmured the girl, visibly 
 agitated. "I don't want to divide him from Paula; I 
 couldn't, I wouldn't do anything to separate them. Be- 
 lieve me, Will, I could not? I am sony you love there 
 
 A Laodiceaft- I.
 
 242 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 also, though I should be glad if it happened in the 
 natural order of events that she should come round to 
 you. But I cannot do anything to part them and make 
 Mr. Somerset suffer. It would be too wrong and blam- 
 able." 
 
 "Now, you silly Charlotte, that's just how you 
 women fly off at a tangent. I mean nothing dis- 
 honourable in the least. Have I ever prompted you 
 to do anything dishonourable? Fair fighting allies was 
 all I thought of." 
 
 Miss De Stancy breathed more freely. "Yes, we 
 will be that, of course; we are always that, William. 
 But I hope I can be your ally, and be quite neutral; I 
 would so much rather." 
 
 "Well, I suppose it will not be a breach of your 
 precious neutrality if you get me invited to see the 
 castle?" 
 
 "Oh no!" she said brightly; "I don't mind doing 
 such a thing as that. Why not come with me to- 
 morrow? I will say I am going to bring you. There 
 will be no trouble at all." 
 
 De Stancy readily agreed. The instant effect upon 
 him of the information now acquired was to intensify 
 his ardour tenfold. 
 
 The stimulus was no doubt partly due to a per- 
 ception that Somerset, with a little more knowledge, 
 would have in his hands a card which could be played 
 with disastrous effect against himself. Were his re- 
 lationship to Dare once discovered by Somerset, in the 
 latter's already manifested doubt of Dare's personal 
 character, he would, without question, be stimulated 
 by the heat of rivalry to disclose that relationship in- 
 stantly. Nay — and it added yet more excitement to
 
 DE STANCY. 243 
 
 this game to know it, though the pang was so much 
 the greater — Dare's character was of a kind to justify 
 such an exposure by any man of common probity, 
 without the stimulus of rivalry. And to a lady of such 
 Puritan antecedents as Paula's this would probably 
 mean her immediate severance from himself as an 
 unclean thing. 
 
 "Is Miss Power a severe pietist, or precisian; or is 
 she a compromising lady?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "She is severe and uncompromising — if you mean 
 in her judgments on morals," said Charlotte, not quite 
 hearing. The remark was peculiarly apposite, and De 
 Stancy was silent. 
 
 He spent some following hours in a close study ot 
 the castle history, which till now had unutterably bored 
 him. More particularly did he dwell over documents 
 and notes which referred to the pedigree of his own 
 family. He wrote out the names of all — and they 
 were many — who had been born within those domineer- 
 ing walls since their first erection; of those among them 
 who had been brought thither by marriage with the 
 owner, and of stranger knights and gentlemen, fewer, 
 yet more interesting in present circumstances, who had 
 entered the castle by marriage with its mistress. He 
 refreshed his memory on the strange loves and hates 
 that had arisen in the course of the family history; on 
 memorable attacks, and the dates of the same, the 
 most memorable among them being the occasion on 
 which the party represented by Paula battered down 
 the castle walls that she was now about to mend, and, 
 as he hoped, return in their original intact shape to 
 the family dispossessed, by marriage with himself, its 
 living representative. 
 
 16*
 
 244 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 In Sir William's villa were small engravings after 
 many of the portraits in the castle galleries, some of 
 them hanging in the dining-room in plain maple 
 frames, and others preserved in portfolios. De Stancy 
 spent much of his time over these, and in getting up 
 the romances of their originals' lives from memoirs and 
 other records, all which stories were as great novelties 
 to him as they could possibly be to any stranger. Most 
 interesting to him was the life of an Edward De Stancy, 
 who had lived just before the Civil Wars, and to whom 
 Captain De Stancy bore a very traceable likeness. 
 This ancestor had a mole on his cheek, black and 
 distinct as a fly in cream; and as in the case of the 
 first Lord Amherst's wart, and Bennet, Earl of Arling- 
 ton's nose-scar, the painter had faithfully reproduced 
 the defect on canvas. It so happened that the cap- 
 tain had a mole, though not exactly on the same spot 
 of his face; and this made the resemblance still 
 greater. 
 
 He took infinite trouble with his dress that day, 
 showing an amount of anxiety on the matter which 
 for him was quite abnormal. At last, when fully 
 equipped, he set out with his sister to make the call 
 proposed. Charlotte was rather unhappy at sight of 
 her brother's earnest attempt to make an impression on 
 Paula; but she could say nothing against it, and they 
 proceeded on their way. 
 
 It was the darkest of November weather, when the 
 days are so short that morning seems to join with 
 evening without the intervention of noon. The sky 
 was lined with low cloud, within whose dense sub- 
 stance tempests were slowly fermenting for the coming 
 clays. Even now a windy turbulence troubled the
 
 DE STANCY. 2 45 
 
 half-naked boughs, and a lonely leaf would occasionally 
 spin downwards to rejoin on the grass the scathed 
 multitude of its comrades which had preceded it in its 
 fall. The river by the pavilion, in the summer so clear 
 and purling, now slid onwards brown and thick and 
 silent, and enlarged to double size.
 
 2 \6 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Meanwhile Paula was alone. Of any one else it 
 would have been said that she was finding the after- 
 noon rather dreaiy in the vast halls not of her fore- 
 fathers; but of Miss Power it was unsafe to predicate 
 so surely. She walked from room to room in a black 
 velvet dress which gave decision to her outline without 
 depriving it of softness. She occasionally clasped her 
 hands behind her head and looked out of a window; 
 but she more particularly bent her footsteps up and 
 down the Long Gallery, where she had caused a large 
 fire of logs to be kindled, in her endeavour to extend 
 cheerfulness somewhat beyond the precincts of the 
 sitting-rooms. 
 
 The fire glanced up on Paula, and Paula glanced 
 down at the fire, and at the gnarled beech fuel, and 
 at the wood-lice which ran out from beneath the bark 
 to the extremity of the logs, as the heat approached 
 them. The low-down ruddy light spread over the 
 dark floor like the setting sun over a moor, fluttering 
 on the grotesque countenances of the bright andirons, 
 and touching all the furniture on the underside. 
 
 She now and then crossed to one of the deep em- 
 brasures of the windows, to decipher some sentence 
 from a letter she held in her hand. The daylight 
 would have been more than sufficient for any bystander 
 to discern that the capitals in that letter were of the
 
 DE STANCY. 247 
 
 peculiar semi-gothic type affected at the time by 
 Somerset and other young architects of his school in 
 their epistolary correspondence. She was very possibly 
 thinking of him, even when not reading his letter, for 
 the expression of softness with which she perused the 
 page was more or less with her when she appeared to 
 examine other things. 
 
 She walked about for a little time longer, then put 
 away the letter, looked at the clock, and thence re- 
 turned to the windows, straining her eyes over the 
 landscape without, as she murmured, "I wish Charlotte 
 was not so long coming!" 
 
 As Charlotte continued to keep away, Paula became 
 less reasonable in her desires, and proceeded to wish 
 that Somerset would arrive; then that anybody would 
 come; then, walking towards the portraits on the wall, 
 she flippantly asked one of those cavaliers to oblige 
 her fancy for company by stepping down from his 
 frame. The temerity of the request led her to pru- 
 dently withdraw it almost as soon as conceived: old 
 paintings had been said to play queer tricks in ex- 
 treme cases, and the shadows this afternoon were 
 funereal enough for anything in the shape of revenge 
 on an intruder who embodied the antagonistic modern 
 spirit to such an extent as she. However, Paula still 
 stood before the picture which had attracted her; and 
 this, by a coincidence common enough in fact, though 
 scarcely credited in chronicles, happened to be that 
 one of the seventeenth-century portraits of which De 
 Stancy had studied the engraved copy at Myrtle Villa 
 the same morning. 
 
 Whilst she remained before the picture, wondering 
 her favourite wonder, how would she feel if this and
 
 248 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 its accompanying canvases were pictures of her own 
 ancestors, she was surprised by a light footstep upon 
 the carpet which covered part of the room, and turning 
 quickly she beheld the smiling little figure of Charlotte 
 De Stancy. 
 
 "What has made you so late?" said Paula. "You 
 are come to stay, of course?" 
 
 Charlotte said she had come to stay. "But I have 
 brought somebody with me!" 
 
 "Ah— whom?" 
 
 "My brother happened to be at home, and I have 
 brought him." 
 
 Miss De Stancy's brother had been so continuously 
 absent from home in India, or elsewhere, so little spoken 
 of, and, when spoken of, so truly though unconsciously 
 represented as one whose interests lay wholly outside 
 this antiquated neighbourhood, that to Paula he had 
 been a mere nebulosity whom she had never distinctly 
 outlined. To have him thus cohere into substance at 
 a moment's notice lent him the novelty of a new crea- 
 tion. 
 
 "Is he in the drawing-room?" said Paula in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "No, he is here. He would follow me. I hope 
 you will forgive him." 
 
 And then Paula saw emerge into the red beams of 
 the dancing fire, from behind a half-drawn hanging 
 which screened the door, the military gentleman whose 
 acquaintance the reader has already made. 
 
 "You know the house, doubtless, Captain De 
 Stancy?" said Paula, somewhat shyly, when he had 
 been presented to her. 
 
 "I have never seen the inside since I was three
 
 DE STANCY. 249 
 
 weeks old," replied the artillery officer gracefully; 
 "and hence my recollections of it are not remarkably 
 distinct. A year or two before I was born the entail 
 was cut off by my father and grandfather; so that I 
 saw the venerable place only to lose it; at least, I be- 
 lieve that's the truth of the case. But my knowledge 
 of the transaction is not profound, and it is a delicate 
 point on which to question one's father." 
 
 Paula assented, and looked at the interesting and 
 noble figure of the man whose parents had seemingly 
 righted themselves at the expense of wronging him. 
 
 "The pictures and furniture were sold about the 
 same time, I think?" said Charlotte. 
 
 "Yes," murmured De Stancy. "They went in a 
 mad bargain of my father with his visitor, as they sat 
 over their wine. My father sat down as host on that 
 occasion, and arose as guest." 
 
 He seemed to speak with such a courteous ab- 
 sence of regret for the alienation, that Paula, who was 
 always fearing that the recollection would rise as a 
 painful shadow between herself and the De Stancys, 
 felt reassured by his magnanimity. 
 
 De Stancy looked with interest round the gallery; 
 seeing which Paula said she would have lights brought 
 in a moment. 
 
 "No, please not," said De Stancy. "The room 
 and ourselves are of so much more interesting a 
 colour by this light!" 
 
 As they moved hither and thither, the various ex- 
 pressions of De Stancy's face made themselves pic- 
 turesquely visible in the unsteady shine of the blaze. 
 In a short time he had drawn near to the painting of 
 the ancestor whom he so greatly resembled. When
 
 25O A LAODICEAN. 
 
 her quick eye noted the speck on the face, indicative 
 of inherited traits strongly pronounced, a new and 
 romantic feeling that the De Stancys had stretched 
 out a tentacle from their genealogical tree to seize her 
 by the hand and draw her in to their mass took pos- 
 session of Paula. As has been said, the De Stancys 
 were a family on whom the hall-mark of membership 
 was deeply stamped, and by the present light the re- 
 presentative under the portrait and the representative 
 in the portrait seemed beings not far removed. Paula 
 was continually starting from a reverie and speaking 
 irrelevantly, as if such reflections as those seized hold 
 of her in spite of her natural unconcern. 
 
 When candles were brought in Captain De Stancy 
 ardently contrived to make the pictures the theme of 
 conversation. From the nearest they went to the next, 
 whereupon Paula as hostess took up one of the candle- 
 sticks and held it aloft to light up the painting. The 
 candlestick being tall and heavy, De Stancy relieved 
 her of it, and taking another candle in the other hand, 
 he imperceptibly slid into the position of exhibitor 
 rather than spectator. Thus he walked in advance, 
 holding the two candles on high, his shadow forming 
 a gigantic figure on the neighbouring wall, while he 
 recited the particulars of family history pertaining to 
 each portrait, that he had learnt up with such eager 
 persistence during the previous four-and-twenty hours. 
 
 "I have often wondered what could have been the 
 history of this lady, but nobody has ever been able to 
 tell me," Paula observed, pointing to a A^andyck which 
 represented a beautiful woman wearing curls across 
 her forehead, a square-cut bodice, and a heavy pearl 
 necklace upon the smooth expanse of her neck.
 
 DE STANCY. 25 1 
 
 "I don't think anybody knows," Charlotte said. 
 
 "Oh yes," replied her brother promptly, seeing 
 with enthusiasm that it was yet another opportunity 
 for making capital of his acquired knowledge, with 
 which he felt himself as inconveniently crammed as a 
 candidate for a government examination. "That lady 
 has been largely celebrated under a fancy name, 
 though she is comparatively little known by her own. 
 Pier parents were the chief ornaments of the almost 
 irreproachable court of Charles the First, and were not 
 more distinguished by their politeness and honour 
 than by the affections and virtues which constitute the 
 great charm of private life." 
 
 The stock verbiage of the family memoir was 
 somewhat apparent in this effusion; but it much im- 
 pressed his listeners; and he went on to point out that 
 from the lady's necklace was suspended a heart- 
 shaped portrait — that of the man who broke his heart 
 by her persistent refusal to encourage his suit. De 
 Stancy then led them a little further, where hung a 
 portrait of the lover, one of his own family, who 
 appeared in full panoply of plate mail, the pommel of 
 his sword standing up under his elbow. The gallant 
 captain then related how this personage of his line 
 wooed the lady fruitlessly; how, after her marriage 
 with another, she and her husband visited the parents 
 of the disappointed lover, the then occupiers of the 
 castle; how, in a fit of desperation at the sight of her, 
 he retired to his room, where he composed some pas- 
 sionate verses, which he wrote with his blood, and 
 after directing them to her ran himself through the 
 body with his sword. Too late the lady's heart was 
 touched by his devotion; she was ever after a me-
 
 252 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 lancholy woman, and wore his portrait despite her 
 husband's prohibition. "This," continued De Stancy, 
 leading them through the doorway into the hall where 
 the coats of mail were arranged along the wall, and 
 stopping opposite a suit which bore some resemblance 
 to that of the portrait, "this is his armour, as you will 
 perceive by comparing it with the picture, and this is 
 the sword with which he did the rash deed." 
 
 "What unreasonable devotion!" said Paula prac- 
 tically. "It was too romantic of him! She was not 
 worthy of such a sacrifice." 
 
 "He also is one whom they say you resemble a 
 little in feature, I think," said Charlotte. 
 
 "Do they?" replied De Stancy. "I wonder if it's 
 true." He set down the candles, and asking the girls 
 to withdraw for a moment, was inside the upper part 
 of the suit of armour in incredibly quick time. Going 
 then and placing himself in front of a low-hanging 
 painting near the original, so as to be enclosed by the 
 frame while covering the figure, arranging the sword 
 as in the one above, and setting the light that it might 
 fall in the right direction, he recalled them; when he 
 put the question, "Is the resemblance strong?" 
 
 He looked so much like a man of bygone times 
 that neither of them replied, but remained curiously 
 gazing at him. His modern and comparatively sallow 
 complexion, as seen through the open visor, lent an 
 ethereal ideality to his appearance which the time- 
 stained countenance of the original warrior totally 
 lacked. 
 
 At last Paula spoke, so stilly that she seemed a 
 statue enunciating: "Are the verses known that he 
 wrote with his blood?"
 
 DE STANCY. 253 
 
 "Oh yes, they have been carefully preserved." 
 Captain De Stancy, with true wooer's instinct, had 
 committed some of them to memory that morning 
 from the printed copy. "I fear I don't remember 
 them all," he said, "but they begin in this way: 
 
 ' From one that dyeth in his discontent, 
 I tear Faire, receive this greeting to thee sent; 
 And still as oft as it is read by thee, 
 Then with some deep sad sigh remember mec! 
 
 'twas my fortune's error to vow dutie, 
 To one that bears defiance in her bcautie ! 
 
 Sw eete poyson, precious wooe, infectious Jewell — 
 Such is a Ladie that is faire and cruell. 
 
 How well could I with ayre, camelion-like, 
 Live happie, and still gazeing on thy cheeke, 
 In which, forsaken man, meethink I see 
 How goodlie Love doth threaten cares to mee. 
 
 \\ hy dost thou frowne thus on a kneelinge soule, 
 Whose faultes in love thou may'st as well controule? — 
 
 1 n love — but O, that word ; that word I feare 
 Is hatefull still both to thy hart and eare ! 
 
 Ladie, in breefe, my fate doth now intend 
 The period of my daies to have an end: 
 Waste not on mee thy pittie, pretious Faire : 
 Rest you in much content ; I, in despaire !' " 
 
 A solemn silence followed the close of the recital, 
 which De Stancy improved by turning the point of 
 the sword to his breast, resting the pommel upon the 
 floor, and saying: 
 
 "After writing that we may picture him turning 
 this same sword in this same way, and falling on it 
 thus." He inclined his body forward as he spoke. 
 
 "Don't, Captain De Stancy, please don't!" cried 
 Paula, involuntarily.
 
 25| A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "No, don't show us any further, William!" said his 
 sister. "It is too tragic." 
 
 De Stancy put away the sword, himself rather ex- 
 cited — not, however, by his own recital, but by the 
 direct gaze of Paula at him. 
 
 This Protean quality of De Stancy's, by means of 
 which he could assume the shape and situation of 
 almost any ancestor at will, had impressed her, and he 
 perceived it with a throb of fervour. But it had done 
 no more than impress her; for though in delivering 
 the lines he had so fixed his look upon her as to sug- 
 gest, to any maiden practised in the game of the eyes, 
 a present significance in the words, the idea of any 
 such double-entendre had by no means commended 
 itself to her soul. 
 
 At this time a messenger from Markton barracks 
 arrived at the castle and wished to speak to Captain 
 De Stancy in the hall. Begging the two ladies to ex- 
 cuse him for a moment the captain went out. 
 
 While De Stancy was talking in the twilight to the 
 messenger at one end of the apartment, some other 
 arrival was shown in by the side door, and in making 
 his way after the conference across the hall to the 
 room he had previously quitted, De Stancy encount- 
 ered the new-comer. There was just enough light to 
 reveal the countenance to be Dare's; he bore a port- 
 folio under his arm, and had begun to wear a 
 moustache, in case the chief constable should meet 
 him anywhere in his rambles, and be struck by his 
 resemblance to the man in the studio. 
 
 "What the devil are you doing here?" said Captain 
 De Stancy, in tones he had never used before to the 
 young man.
 
 DE STANCV. 255 
 
 Dare started back in surprise, and naturally so. 
 De Stancy, having adopted a new system of living, and 
 relinquished the meagre diet and enervating waters of 
 his past years, was rapidly recovering tone. His voice was 
 firmer, his cheeks were less pallid; above all, he was 
 authoritative towards his present companion, whose 
 ingenuity in vamping up a Frankenstein for his am- 
 bitious experiments seemed likely to be rewarded by 
 his discomfiture at the hands of his own creature. 
 
 "What the devil are you doing here, I say?" re- 
 peated De Stancy. 
 
 "You can talk to me like that, after my working 
 so hard to get you on in life, and make a rising man 
 of you!" expostulated Dare, like one who felt himself 
 no longer the protagonist in this enterprise. 
 
 "But," said the captain less harshly, "if you let 
 them discover any relations between us here, you will 
 ruin the fairest prospects man ever had!" 
 
 "Oh, I like that, captain — when you owe all of it 
 to me!" 
 ■ "That's too cool, Will." 
 
 "No; what I say is true. However, let that go. 
 So now you are here on a call; but how are you going 
 to get here often enough to win her before the other 
 man comes back? If you don't see her every day — 
 twice, three times a day — you will not capture her in 
 the time." 
 
 "I must think of that," said De Stancy. 
 
 "There is only one way of being constantly here: 
 you must come to copy the pictures or furniture, some- 
 thing in the way he did." 
 
 "I'll think of it," muttered De Stancy, hastily, as 
 he heard the voices of the ladies, whom he hastened
 
 256 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 to join as they were appearing at the other end of the 
 room. His countenance was gloomy as he recrossed 
 the hall, for Dare's words on the shortness of his op- 
 portunities had impressed him. Almost at once he 
 uttered a hope to Paula that he might have further 
 chance of studying, and if possible of copying, some 
 of the ancestral faces with which the building abounded. 
 
 Meanwhile Dare had come forward with his port- 
 folio, which proved to be full of photographs. While 
 Paula and Charlotte were examining them he said to 
 De Stancy, as a stranger: "Excuse my interruption, 
 sir, but if you should think of copying any of the por- 
 traits, as you were stating just now to the ladies, my 
 patent photographic process is at your service, and is, 
 I believe, the only one which would be effectual in 
 the dim indoor lights." 
 
 "It is just what I was thinking of," said De Stancy, 
 now so far cooled down from his irritation as to be 
 quite ready to accept Dare's adroitly suggested scheme 
 for frequenting Paula's halls. 
 
 On application to Paula she immediately gave De 
 Stancy permission to photograph to any extent, and 
 told Dare he might bring his instruments as soon as 
 Captain De Stancy required them. 
 
 "Don't stare at her in such a brazen way!" whis- 
 pered that officer to the young man, when Paula had 
 withdrawn a few steps. "Say, 'I shall value the privilege 
 highly of assisting Captain De Stancy in such a work.'" 
 
 Dare obeyed, and before leaving De Stancy ar- 
 ranged to begin performing on his venerated fore- 
 fathers the next morning, the youth so accidentally 
 engaged agreeing to be there at the same time to 
 assist in the technical operations.
 
 DE STANCY. 257 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 As he had promised, De Stancy made use the next 
 day of the coveted permission that had been brought 
 about by the ingenious Dare. Dare's second timely 
 suggestion of tendering assistance himself had the 
 practical result of relieving the other of all necessity 
 for occupying his time with the proceeding, further 
 than to bestow a perfunctory superintendence now and 
 then, to give a colour to his regular presence in the 
 fortress, the actual work of taking copies being carried 
 on by the younger man. 
 
 The weather was frequently wet during these 
 operations, and Paula, Miss De Stancy, and her brother, 
 were often in the house whole mornings together. By 
 constant urging and coaxing the latter would induce 
 his gentle sister, much against her conscience, to leave 
 him opportunities for speaking to Paula alone. It was 
 mostly before some print or painting that these con- 
 versations occurred, while De Stancy was ostensibly 
 occupied with its merits, or in giving directions to his 
 photographer how to proceed. As soon as the dialogue 
 began, the latter would withdraw out of earshot, leaving 
 Paula to imagine him the most deferential young artist 
 in the world. 
 
 "You will soon possess duplicates of the whole 
 gallery," she said on one of these occasions, examining 
 some curled sheets which Dare had printed off from 
 the negatives. 
 
 A Laodicean. I. 17
 
 258 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "No," said the soldier. "I shall not have patience 
 to go on. I get ill-humoured, and indifferent, and then 
 leave off." 
 
 "Why ill-humoured?" 
 
 "I scarcely know — more than that I acquire a 
 general sense of my own family's want of merit through 
 seeing how meritorious the people are around me. I 
 see them happy and thriving without any necessity for 
 me at all; and then I regard these canvas grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers, and ask, 'Why was a line 
 so antiquated and out of date prolonged till now?'" 
 
 She chid him good-naturedly for such views. "They 
 will do you an injury," she declared. "Do spare your- 
 self, Captain De Stancy!" 
 
 De Stancy shook his head as he turned the paint- 
 ing before him a little further to the light. 
 
 "But, do you know," said Paula, "that notion of 
 yours of being a family out of date is delightful to 
 some people. I talk to Charlotte about it often. I 
 am never weary of examining those canopied effigies 
 in the church, and almost wish they were those of my 
 relations." 
 
 "I will try to see things in the same light for your 
 sake," said De Stancy, fervently. 
 
 "Not for my sake; for your own was what I meant, 
 of course," she replied, with a repressive air. 
 
 Captain De Stancy bowed. 
 
 "What are you going to do with your photographs 
 when you have them?" she asked, as if still anxious 
 to obliterate the previous sentimental lapse. 
 
 "I shall put them into a large album, and carry 
 them with me in my campaigns; and may I ask, now 
 I have an opportunity, that you would extend your
 
 DE STANCY. 259 
 
 permission lo copy a little further, and let me photo- 
 graph one other painting that hangs in the castle, to 
 fittingly complete my set?" 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 "That half-length of a lady which hangs in the 
 morning-room. I remember seeing it in the Academy 
 last year." 
 
 Paula involuntarily closed herself up. The picture 
 was her own portrait. "It does not belong to your 
 series," she said somewhat coldly. 
 
 De Stancy's secret thought was, I hope from my 
 soul it will belong some day! He answered with 
 mildness: "There is a sort of connection — you are my 
 sister's friend." 
 
 Paula assented. 
 
 "And hence, might not your friend's brother photo- 
 graph your picture?" 
 
 Paula demurred. 
 
 A gentle sigh rose from the bosom of De Stancy. 
 "What is to become of me?" he said, with a light 
 distressed laugh. "I am always inconsiderate and in- 
 clined to ask too much. Forgive me! What was in 
 my mind when I asked I dare not say." 
 
 "I quite understand your interest in your family 
 pictures — and all of it," she remarked more gently, 
 willing not to hurt the sensitive feelings of a man so 
 full of romance. 
 
 "And in that one!" he said, looking devotedly at 
 her. "If I had only been fortunate enough to include 
 it with the rest, my album would indeed have been a 
 treasure to pore over by the bivouac fire!" 
 
 "Oh, Captain De Stancy, this is provoking per- 
 severance!" cried Paula, laughing half-crossly. "I ex- 
 
 17*
 
 260 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 pected that after expressing my decision so plainly the 
 first time I should not have been further urged upon 
 the subject." Saying which she turned and moved 
 decisively away. 
 
 It had not been a productive meeting, thus far. 
 "One word!" said De Stancy, following and almost 
 dropping on one knee. "I have given offence, I know; 
 but do let it all fall on my own head — don't tell my 
 sister of my misbehaviour! She loves you deeply, and 
 it would wound her to the heart." 
 
 "You deserve to be told upon," said Paula as she 
 withdrew, with just enough playfulness to show that 
 her anger was not too serious. 
 
 Charlotte looked at Paula uneasily when the latter 
 joined her in the drawing-room. She wanted to say, 
 "What is the matter?" but guessing that her brother 
 had something to do with it, forbore to speak at first. 
 But she could not contain her anxiety long. "Were 
 you talking with my brother?" she said. 
 
 "Yes," returned Paula, with reservation. "How- 
 ever," she soon added, "he not only wants to photo- 
 graph his ancestors, but viy portrait too. They are a 
 dreadfully encroaching sex, and perhaps being in the 
 army makes them worse!" 
 
 "I'll give him a hint, and tell him to be careful." 
 
 "Don't say I have definitely complained of him; it 
 is not worth while to do that; the matter is too trifling 
 for repetition. Upon the whole, Charlotte, I would 
 rather you said nothing at all." 
 
 De Stancy's hobby of photographing his ancestors 
 seemed to become a perfect mania with him. Almost 
 every morning discovered him in the larger apartments 
 of the castle, taking down and rehanging the dilapidated
 
 DE STANCY. 26 1 
 
 pictures, with the assistance of the indispensable Dare; 
 his fingers stained black with dust, and his face ex- 
 pressing a busy attention to the work in hand, though 
 always reserving a look askance for the presence of 
 Paula. 
 
 Thus much must be said for Captain De Stancy; 
 that though there was something of subterfuge, there 
 was no double subterfuge in all this. It is true that 
 he took no particular interest in his ancestral por- 
 traits; but he was enamoured of Paula to weakness. 
 Perhaps the composition of his love would hardly bear 
 looking into, but it was passionately frank and not 
 quite mercenary. His photographic sheme was nothing 
 worse than a lover's not too scrupulous contrivance. 
 After the refusal of his request to copy her picture he 
 fumed and fretted at the prospect of Somerset's return 
 before any impression had been made on her heart 
 by himself; he swore at Dare, and asked him hotly 
 why he had dragged him into such a hopeless dilemma 
 as this. 
 
 "Hopeless? Somerset must still be kept away, so 
 that it is not hopeless. I will consider how to prolong 
 his stay." 
 
 Thereupon Dare considered. 
 
 The time was coming — had indeed come — when 
 it was necessary for Paula to make up her mind 
 about her architect, if she meant to begin build- 
 ing in the spring. The two sets of plans, Somerset's 
 and Havill's, were hanging on the walls of the room 
 that had been used by Somerset as his studio, and 
 were accessible by anybody. Dare took occasion to 
 go and study both sets, with a view to finding a flaw 
 in Somerset's which might have been passed over un-
 
 262 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 noticed by the committee of architets , owing to their 
 absence from the actual site. But not a blunder could 
 he find. 
 
 He next went to Havill; and here he was met by 
 an amazing state of affairs. Havill's creditors, at last 
 suspecting something mythical in Havill's assurance 
 that the grand commission was his, had lost all 
 patience; his house was turned upside-down, and a 
 poster gleamed on the front wall, stating that the ex- 
 cellent modern household furniture was to be sold by 
 auction on Friday next. As an illustration of the 
 truism that troubles come in battalions, Dare was in- 
 formed by a bystander that Havill's wife was seriously 
 ill also. 
 
 Without staying for a moment to enter his friend's 
 house, back went Mr. Dare to the castle, and told 
 Captain De Stancy of the architect's desperate circum- 
 stances, begging him to convey the news in some way 
 to Miss Power. Though Dare's object in making this 
 request was purely to bring about that which actually 
 resulted from it, De Stancy, being a simpler character, 
 promised to make representations in the proper quarter 
 without perceiving that he was doing the best pos- 
 sible deed for himself thereby. 
 
 De Stancy told Paula of Havill's misfortunes in 
 the presence of his sister, who turned pale. With a 
 woman's quickness she had discerned how this mis- 
 fortune would bear upon the undecided competition. 
 
 "Poor man," murmured Paula. "He was my father's 
 architect, and somehow expected, though I did not 
 promise it, the work of rebuilding the castle." 
 
 Then De Stancy saw Dare's aim, and, seeing it, 
 concurred: Somerset was his rival, and all was fair.
 
 DE STANCY. 263 
 
 "And is he not to have the work of the castle after 
 expecting it?" he asked with simplicity of tone. 
 
 Paula was lost in reflection. "The other architect's 
 design and Mr. Havill's are exactly equal in the merit, 
 and we cannot decide how to give it to either," ex- 
 plained Charlotte. 
 
 "That is our difficulty," Paula murmured. "A 
 bankrupt, and his wife ill — dear me! I wonder what's 
 the cause." 
 
 "He has borrowed on the expectation of having to 
 execute the castle works, and now he is unable to 
 meet his liabilities." 
 
 "It is very sad," said Paula. 
 
 "Let me suggest a remedy for this deadlock," said 
 De Stancy. 
 
 "Do," said Paula. 
 
 "Do the work of building in two halves or sections. 
 Give Havill the first half, since he is in need; when 
 that is finished, the second half can be given to your 
 London architect. If, as I understand, the plans are 
 identical except in ornamental details, there will be no 
 difficulty about it at all." 
 
 Paula sighed— just a little one; and yet the sug- 
 gestion seemed to satisfy her by its reasonableness. 
 She turned sad, wayward, and yet was impressed by 
 De Stancy's manner and words. She appeared indeed 
 to have a smouldering desire to please him. In the 
 afternoon she said to Charlotte, "I mean to do as your 
 brother says." 
 
 A note was despatched to Havill that very day, 
 and in an hour the crestfallen architect presented him- 
 self at the castle. Paula instantly gave him audience, 
 commiserated him, and commissioned him to carry out
 
 264 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 a first section of the buildings, comprising work to the 
 extent of about twenty thousand pounds expenditure; 
 and then, with a prematureness quite phenomenal 
 among architects' clients, she handed him over a cheque 
 for five hundred pounds on account. 
 
 When he had gone, Paula's bearing showed some 
 sign of her being disquieted at what she had done; 
 but she covered her mood under a cloak of saucy 
 serenity. Perhaps a tender remembrance of a certain 
 thunderstorm in the foregoing August, when she stood 
 with Somerset in the arbour, and did not own that she 
 loved him, was pressing on her memory, and bewilder- 
 ing her. She had not seen quite clearly, in adopting 
 De Stancy's suggestion, that Somerset would now have 
 no professional reason for being at the castle for the 
 next twelve months. 
 
 But the captain had, and when Havill entered the 
 castle he rejoiced with great joy. Dare, too, rejoiced 
 in his cold way, and went on with his photography, 
 saying, "The game progresses, captain." 
 
 "Game? Call it Divine Comedy, rather!" said the 
 captain, exultingly. 
 
 "He is practically banished for a year or more. 
 What can't you do in a year, captain!" 
 
 Havill, in the mean time, having respectfully with- 
 drawn from the presence of Paula, passed by Dare and 
 De Stancy in the gallery as he had done in entering. 
 He spoke a few words to Dare, who congratulated him. 
 While they were talking somebody was heard in the 
 hall, inquiring hastily for Mr. Havill. 
 
 "What shall I tell him?" demanded the porter. 
 
 "His wife is dead," said the messenger. 
 
 Havill overheard the words, and hastened away.
 
 DE STANCY. 265 
 
 "An unlucky man!" said Dare. 
 
 "That, happily for us, will not affect his installation 
 here," said De Stancy. "Now hold your tongue and 
 keep at a distance. She may come this way." 
 
 Surely enough in a few minutes she came. De 
 Stancy, to make conversation, told her of the new mis- 
 fortune which had just befallen Mr. Havill. 
 
 Paula was very sorry to hear it, and remarked that 
 it gave her great satisfaction to have appointed him as 
 architect of the first wing before he learnt the bad 
 news. "I owe you best thanks, Captain De Stancy, for 
 showing me such an expedient." 
 
 "Do I really deserve thanks?" asked De Stancy 
 with a meditative smile upon her. "I wish I deserved 
 a reward; but I must bear in mind the fable of the 
 priest and the jester." 
 
 "I never heard it." 
 
 "The jester implored the priest for alms, but the 
 smallest sum was refused, though the holy man readily 
 agreed to give him his blessing. Query, its value?" 
 
 "How does it apply?" 
 
 "You give me unlimited thanks, but deny me the 
 tiniest substantial trifle I desire." 
 
 "What persistence!" exclaimed Paula, colouring. 
 "Very well, if you will photograph my picture you 
 must. It is really not worthy further pleading. Take 
 it when you like." 
 
 When Paula was alone she seemed vexed with 
 herself for having given way; and rising from her seat 
 she went quietly to the door of the room containing 
 the picture, intending to lock it up till further con- 
 sideration, whatever he might think of her. But on 
 casting her eyes round the apartment the painting was
 
 266 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 gone. The captain, wisely taking the current when it 
 served, already had it in the gallery, where he was to 
 be seen bending attentively over it, arranging the lights 
 and directing Dare with the instruments. On leaving 
 he thanked her, and said that he had obtained a 
 splendid copy. Would she look at it? 
 
 Paula was severe and icy. "Thank you — I don't 
 wish to see it," she said. 
 
 De Stancy bowed with civil reserve, and departed 
 in a glow of triumph; satisfied, notwithstanding her 
 frigidity, that he had compassed his immediate aim, 
 which was that she might not be able to dismiss from 
 her thoughts him and his persevering desire for the 
 shadow of her face during the next four-and-twenty 
 hours. And his confidence was well founded: she 
 could not. 
 
 "I fear this Divine Comedy will be a slow business 
 for us, captain," said Dare, who had heard her cold 
 words. 
 
 "Oh no!" said De Stancy, flushing a little: he had 
 not been perceiving that the lad had the measure of 
 his mind so entirely as to gauge his position at any 
 moment. But he would show no shamefacedness. 
 "Even if it is, my boy," he answered, "there's plenty 
 of time before the other can come." 
 
 At that hour and minute of De Stancy's remark 
 "the other," to look at him, seemed indeed securely 
 shelved. He was sitting lonely in his chambers far 
 away, wondering why she did not write, and yet hoping 
 to hear — wondering if it had all been but a short-lived 
 strain of tenderness. He knew as well as if it had 
 been stated in words that her serious acceptance of
 
 DE STANCY. 267 
 
 him as a suitor would be her acceptance of him as an 
 architect — that her shemes in love would be expressed 
 in terms of art; and conversely that her refusal of him 
 as a lover would be neatly effected by her choosing 
 Havill's plans for the castle, conveying to him, Somer- 
 set, the news that his design was deemed less suitable 
 than the other, and returned with thanks. The posi- 
 tion was so clear: he was so well walled in by the 
 shape of circumstances that he was absolutely helpless. 
 To wait for the line that would not come — the 
 letter saying that, as she had desired, his was the de- 
 sign that pleased her — was still the only thing to do. 
 The (to Somerset) surprising accident that the committee 
 of architects should have pronounced the designs ab- 
 solutely equal in point of merit, and thus have caused 
 the final choice to revert after all to Paula, had been 
 a joyous thing to him when he first heard of it, full of 
 confidence in her favour. But the fact of her having 
 again become the arbitrator, though it had made ac- 
 ceptance of his plans all the more probable, made re- 
 fusal of them, should it happen, all the more crushing. 
 He could have conceived himself favoured by Paula as 
 her lover, even had the committee decided in favour 
 of Havill as her architect. But not to be chosen as 
 architect now was to be rejected in both kinds.
 
 268 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 CHATTER IV. 
 
 It was the Sunday following the funeral of Mrs. 
 Havill, news of whose death had been so unexpectedly- 
 brought to her husband at the moment of his exit 
 from Stancy Castle. The minister, as was his custom, 
 improved the occasion by a couple of sermons on the 
 uncertainty of life. One was preached in the morning 
 in the old chapel of Markton; the second at evening 
 service in the little rural chapel near Stancy Castle, 
 built by Paula's father, which bore to the first some- 
 what the relation of an episcopal chapel-of-ease to the 
 mother church. 
 
 The unscreened lights blazed through the plate- 
 glass windows of the smaller building and outshone 
 the steely stars of the early night, just as they had 
 done when Somerset was attracted by their glare four 
 months before. The fervid minister's rhetoric equalled 
 its force on that more romantic occasion: but Paula 
 was not there. She was not a frequent attendant now 
 at her father's votive building. The mysterious tank, 
 with its dark waters that had so repelled her at the 
 last moment, was boarded over: a table stood on its 
 centre, with an open quarto Bible upon it; behind 
 which Havill, in a new suit of black, sat in a large 
 chair. Havill held the office of deacon: and he had 
 mechanically taken the deacon's seat as usual to-night, 
 in the face of the congregation, and under the nose of 
 Mr. Woodwell.
 
 DE STANCY. 269 
 
 Mr. Woodwell was always glad of an opportunity. 
 He was gifted with a burning natural eloquence, which 
 though perhaps a little too freely employed in exciting 
 the "Wertherism of the uncultivated" had in it genuine 
 power. He was a master of that oratory which no 
 limitation of knowledge can repress, and which no 
 training can impart. The neighbouring rector could 
 eclipse Woodwell's scholarship, and the freethinker at 
 the corner shop in Markton could demolish his logic; 
 but the Baptist could do in five minutes what neither 
 of these had done in a lifetime; he could move some 
 of the hardest of men to tears. 
 
 Thus it happened that, when the sermon was fairly 
 under way, Havill began to feel himself in a trying 
 position. It was not that he had bestowed much 
 affection upon his deceased wife, irreproachable woman 
 as she had been; but the suddenness of her death had 
 shaken his nerves, and Mr. Woodwell's address on the 
 uncertainty of life involved considerations of conduct 
 on earth that bore with singular directness upon 
 Havill's unprincipled manoeuvre for victory in the 
 castle competition. He wished he had not been so in- 
 advertent as to take his customary chair in the chapel. 
 People who saw Havill's agitation did not know that it 
 was most largely owing to his sense of the fraud which 
 had been practised on the unoffending Somerset: and 
 when, unable longer to endure the torture of Wood- 
 well's words, he rose from his place and went into the 
 chapel vestry, the preacher little thought that remorse 
 for a contemptibly unfair act, rather than grief for a 
 dead wife, was the cause of the architect's withdrawal. 
 
 When Havill got into the open air his morbid ex- 
 citement calmed down, but a sickening self-abhorrence
 
 270 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 for the proceeding instigated by Dare did not abate. 
 To appropriate another man's design was no more nor 
 less than to embezzle his money or steal his goods. 
 The intense reaction from his conduct of the past two 
 or three months did not leave him when he reached 
 his own house and observed where the handbills of the 
 countermanded sale had been torn down, as the result 
 of the payment made in advance by Paula of money 
 which should really have been Somerset's. 
 
 The mood went on intensifying when he was in 
 bed. He lay awake till the clock reached those still, 
 small, ghastly hours when the vital fires burn at their 
 lowest in the human frame, and death seizes more of 
 his victims than in any other of the twenty-four. Havill 
 could bear it no longer; he got a light, went down into 
 his office and wrote the note subjoined. 
 
 "Madam, 
 
 "The recent death of my wife necessitates a con- 
 siderable change in my professional arrangements and 
 plans with regard to the future. One of the chief re- 
 sults of the change is, I regret to state, that I no longer 
 find myself in a position to carry out the enlargement 
 of the castle which you had so generously entrusted to 
 my hands. 
 
 "I beg leave therefore to resign all further con- 
 nection with the same, and to express, if you will allow 
 me, a hope that the commission may be placed in the 
 hands of the other competitor. Herewith is returned a 
 cheque for one-half of the sum so kindly advanced in 
 anticipation of the commission I should receive; the 
 other half, with which I had cleared off my immediate 
 embarrassments before perceiving the necessity for this
 
 DE STANCY. 27 I 
 
 course, shall be returned to you as soon as some pay- 
 ments from other clients drop in. I beg to remain, 
 Madam, your obedient servant, 
 
 "James Havill." 
 
 Havill would not trust himself till the morning to 
 post this letter. He sealed it up, went out with it into 
 the street, and walked through the sleeping town to 
 the post-office. At the mouth of the box he held the 
 letter long. By dropping it, he was dropping at least 
 two thousand five hundred pounds which, however ob- 
 tained, were now securely his. It was a great deal to 
 let go; and there he stood till another wave of con- 
 science bore in upon his soul the absolute nature of 
 the theft, and made him shudder. The footsteps of a 
 solitary policeman could be heard nearing him along 
 the deserted street; hesitation ended, and he let the 
 letter go. 
 
 When he awoke in the morning he thought over 
 the circumstances by the cheerful light of a low eastern 
 sun. The horrors of the situation seemed much less 
 formidable; yet it cannot be said that he actually re- 
 gretted his act. Later on he walked out, with the 
 strange sense of being a man who, from one having a 
 large professional undertaking in hand, had, by his own 
 act, suddenly reduced himself to an unoccupied non- 
 descript. From the upper end of the town he saw in 
 the distance the grand grey towers of Stancy Castle 
 looming over the leafless trees; he felt supefied at what 
 he had done, and said to himself with bitter discon- 
 tent: "Well, well, what is more contemptible than a 
 half-hearted rogue ! " 
 
 That morning the post-bag had been brought to
 
 272 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Paula and Mrs. Goodman in the usual way, and Miss 
 Power read the letter. His resignation was a surprise: 
 the question whether he would or would not repay the 
 money was passed over; the necessity of installing 
 Somerset after all as sole architect was an agitation, or 
 emotion, the precise nature of which it is impossible to 
 accurately define. 
 
 However, she went about the house after breakfast 
 with very much the manner of one who had had a 
 weight removed either from her heart or from her con- 
 science; moreover, her face was a little flushed when, 
 in passing by Somerset's late studio, she saw the plans 
 bearing his motto, and knew that his and not HavilFs 
 would be the presiding presence in the coming archi- 
 tectural turmoil. She went on further, and called to 
 Charlotte, who was now regularly sleeping in the castle, 
 to accompany her, and together they ascended to the 
 telegraph- room in the donjon tower. 
 
 "Whom are you going to telegraph to?" said Miss 
 De Stancy when they stood by the instrument. 
 
 "My architect." 
 
 "Oh— Mr. Havill." 
 
 "Mr. Somerset." 
 
 Miss De Stancy had schooled her emotions on that 
 side cruelly well, and she asked calmly, "What, have 
 you chosen him after all?" 
 
 "There is no choice in it — read that," said Paula, 
 handing Havill's letter, as if she felt that Providence 
 had stepped in to shape ends that she was too unde- 
 cided or unpractised to shape for herself. 
 
 "It is very strange," murmured Charlotte; while 
 Paula applied herself to the machine and despatched 
 the words:
 
 DE STANCY. 273 
 
 Miss Power, Stancy Castle, to G. Somerset, Esq., 
 F.S.A., F.R.I.B.A., Queen Anne's Chambers, St. 
 James's: — 
 
 Your design is accepted in its entirety. It will be 
 necessary to begin soon. I shall tvish to see and consult 
 you on the matter about the loth instant. 
 
 When the message was fairly gone out of the 
 window Paula seemed still further to expand. The 
 strange spell cast over her by something or other — pro- 
 bably the presence of De Stancy, and the weird 
 romanticism of his manner towards her, which was as 
 if the historic past had touched her with a yet living 
 hand — in a great measure became dissipated, leaving 
 her the arch and serene maiden that she was before. 
 
 About this time Captain De Stancy and his Achates 
 were approaching the castle, and had arrived about 
 fifty paces from the spot at which it was Dare's custom 
 to drop behind his companion, in order that their ap- 
 pearance at the lodge should be that of master and 
 man. , 
 
 Dare was saying, as he had said before: "I can't 
 help fancying, captain, that your approach to this castle 
 and its mistress is by a very tedious system. Your 
 trenches, zigzags, counterscarps, and ravelins may be 
 all very well, and a very sure system of attack in the 
 long run; but upon my soul they are almost as slow in 
 maturing as those of Uncle Toby himself. For my part 
 I should be inclined to try an assault." 
 
 "Don't pretend to give advice, Willy, on matters 
 beyond your years." 
 
 "I only meant it for your good, and your proper 
 advancement in the world," said Dare in wounded 
 tones. 
 
 A Laodicean. I. '"
 
 274 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Different characters, different systems," returned 
 the captain. "This lady is of a reticent, independent, 
 complicated disposition, and any sudden proceeding 
 would put her on her mettle. You don't dream what 
 my impatience is, my boy. It is a thing transcending 
 your utmost conceptions! But I proceed slowly; I know 
 better than to do otherwise. Thank God there is plenty 
 of time. As long as there is no risk of Somerset's re- 
 turn my situation is sure." 
 
 "And professional etiquette will prevent him com- 
 ing yet. Havill and he will be like the men in the 
 weather-house; when Havill walks out, he'll walk in, 
 and not a moment before." 
 
 "That will not be till eighteen months have passed. 
 And, as the Jesuit said, 'Time and I against any 
 two.' . . . Now drop to the rear," added Captain De 
 Stancy authoritatively. And they passed under the 
 walls of the castle. 
 
 The grave fronts and bastions were wrapped in 
 silence; so much so that, standing awhile in the inner 
 ward, they could hear through an open window a faintly 
 clicking sound from within. 
 
 "She's at the telegraph," said Dare, throwing for- 
 ward his voice softly to the captain. "What can that 
 be for so early? That wire is a nuisance, to my mind; 
 such constant intercourse with the outer world is bad 
 for our romance." 
 
 The speaker entered to arrange his photographic 
 apparatus, of which, in truth, he was getting weary; 
 and De Stancy smoked on the terrace till Dare should 
 be ready. While he waited his sister looked out upon 
 him from an upper casement, having caught sight 
 of him as she came from Paula in the telegraph-room.
 
 DE STANCY. 275 
 
 "Well, Lotty, what news this morning?" he said 
 gaily. 
 
 "Nothing of importance. We are quite well." . . . 
 She added with hesitation, "There is one piece of 
 news; Mr. Havill— but perhaps you have heard it in 
 Markton?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Mr. Havill has resigned his appointment as architect 
 to the castle." 
 
 "What?— who has it, then?" 
 
 "Mr. Somerset," she faltered. 
 
 "Appointed?" 
 
 "Yes — by telegraph." 
 
 "When is he coming?" said De Stancy in con- 
 sternation. 
 
 "About the tenth, we think." 
 
 Charlotte was concerned to see her brother's face, 
 and withdrew from the window that he might not 
 question her further. De Stancy went into the hall, 
 and on to the gallery, where Dare was standing as still 
 as a caryatid. 
 
 "I have heard every word," said Dare. 
 
 "Well, what does it mean? Has that fool Havill 
 done it on purpose to annoy me? What conceivable 
 reason can the man have for throwing up an appoint- 
 ment he has worked so hard for, at the moment he 
 has got it, and in the time of his greatest need?" 
 
 Dare guessed, for he had seen a little way into 
 Havill's soul during the brief period of their con- 
 federacy. But he was very far from saying what he 
 guessed. Yet he unconsciously revealed by other words 
 the nocturnal shades in his character which had made 
 that confederacy possible. 
 
 i8»
 
 276 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 "Somerset coming after all!" he replied. "By God: 
 that little six-barrelled friend of mine, and a good re- 
 solution, and he would never arrive!" 
 
 "What!" said Captain De Stancy, paling with horror 
 as he looked at the other and gathered his sinister 
 meaning. 
 
 Dare instantly recollected himself. " One is tempted 
 to say anything at such a moment," he replied hastily. 
 
 "Since he is to come, let him come, for me," con- 
 tinued De Stancy, with reactionary distinctness, and 
 still gazing gravely into the young man's face. "The 
 battle shall be fairly fought out. Fair play, even to a 
 rival — remember that, my boy. . . . Why are you here? 
 — unnaturally concerning yourself with the passions of 
 a man of my age, as if you were the parent, and I the 
 son? Would to Heaven, Willy, you had done as I 
 wished you to do, and led the life of a steady, thought- 
 ful young man! Instead of meddling here, you should 
 now have been in some studio, college, or professional 
 man's chambers, engaged in a useful pursuit which 
 might have made one proud to own you. But you 
 were so precocious and headstrong; and this is what 
 you have come to: you promise to be worthless!" 
 
 "I think I shall go to my lodgings to-day instead 
 of staying here over these pictures," said Dare, after 
 a silence, during which Captain De Stancy endeavoured 
 to calm himself. "I was going to tell you that my 
 dinner to-day will unfortunately be one of herbs, for 
 want of the needful. I have come to my last stiver. — 
 You dine at the mess, I suppose, captain?" 
 
 De Stancy had walked away; but Dare knew that 
 he played a pretty sure card in that speech. De
 
 DE STANCY. 277 
 
 Stancy's heart could not withstand the suggested con- 
 trast between a lonely meal of bread-and-cheese and 
 a well-ordered dinner amid cheerful companions. — 
 "Here," he said, emptying his pocket and returning 
 to the lad's side. "Take this, and order yourself a 
 good meal. You keep me as poor as a crow. There 
 shall be more to-morrow." 
 
 The peculiarly bifold nature of Captain De Stancy, 
 as shown in his conduct at different times, was some- 
 thing rare in life, and perhaps happily so. That 
 mechanical admixture of black and white qualities 
 without coalescence, on which the theory of men's 
 characters was based by moral analysts before the 
 rise of modern ethical schools, fictitious as it was in 
 general application, would have almost hit off the 
 truth as regards Captain De Stancy. Removed to 
 some half-known century, his deeds would have won 
 a picturesqueness of light and shade that might have 
 made him a fascinating subject for some gallery of 
 illustrious historical personages. It was this tendency 
 to moral chequer-work which accounted for his varied 
 bearings towards Dare. 
 
 Dare withdrew to take his departure. When he 
 had gone a few steps, despondent, he suddenly turned, 
 and ran back with some excitement. 
 
 "Captain — he's coming on the tenth, don't they 
 say? Well, four days before the tenth comes the sixth. 
 Have you forgotten what's fixed for the sixth?" 
 
 "I had quite forgotten!" 
 
 "That day will be worth three months of quiet 
 attentions: with luck, skill, and a bold heart, what 
 mayn't you do?"
 
 278 A LAODICEAX. 
 
 Captain De Stancy's face softened with satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "There is something in that; the game is not up 
 after all. The sixth — it had gone clean out of my 
 head, by gad!"
 
 DE STANCY. 279 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The cheering message from Paula to Somerset 
 sped through the loophole of Stancy Castle keep, over 
 the trees, along the railway, under bridges, across 
 three counties — from extreme antiquity of environment 
 to sheer modernism — and finally landed itself on a 
 table in Somerset's chambers in the midst of a cloud 
 of fog. He read it and, in the moment of reaction 
 from the depression of his past days, clapped his 
 hands like a child. 
 
 Then he considered the date at which she wanted 
 to see him. Had she so worded her despatch he 
 would have gone that very day; but there was nothing 
 to complain of in her giving him a week's notice. Pure 
 maiden modesty might have checked her indulging in 
 a too ardent recall. 
 
 Time, however, dragged somewhat heavily along in 
 the interim, and on the second day he thought he 
 would call on his father and tell him of his success in 
 obtaining the appointment. 
 
 The elder Mr. Somerset lived in a detached house 
 in the north-west part of fashionable London; and as- 
 cending the chief staircase the young man branched 
 off from the first landing and entered his father's 
 painting-room. It was an hour when he was pretty 
 sure of finding the well-known painter at work, and 
 on lifting the tapestry he was not disappointed, Mr.
 
 28o A LAODICEAN. 
 
 Somerset being busily engaged with his back towards 
 the door. 
 
 Art and vitiated nature were struggling like wrestlers 
 in that apartment, and art was getting the worst of it. 
 The overpowering gloom pervading the clammy air, 
 rendered still more intense by the height of the window 
 from the floor, reduced all the pictures that were 
 standing around to the wizened feebleness of corpses 
 on end. The shadowy parts of the room behind the 
 different easels were veiled in a brown vapour, pre- 
 cluding all estimate of the extent of the studio, and 
 only subdued in the foreground by the ruddy glare 
 from an open stove of Dutch tiles. Somerset's foot- 
 steps had been so noiseless over the carpeting of the 
 stairs and landing that his father was unaware of his 
 presence; he continued at his work as before, which 
 he performed by the help of a complicated apparatus 
 of lamps, candles, and reflectors, so arranged as to 
 eke out the miserable daylight to a power apparently 
 sufficient for the neutral touches on which he was at 
 that moment engaged. 
 
 The first thought of an unsophisticated stranger on 
 entering that room could only be the amazed inquiry 
 why a professor of the art of colour, which beyond all 
 other arts requires pure daylight for its exercise, should 
 fix himself on the single square league in habitable 
 Europe to which light is denied at noonday for weeks 
 in succession. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, George, is it?" said the Academician, 
 turning from the lamps, which shone over his bald 
 crown at such a slant as to reveal every cranial irre- 
 gularity. "How are you this morning? Still a dead 
 silence about your grand castle competition?"
 
 DE STANCY. 28 I 
 
 Somerset told the news. His father duly con- 
 gratulated him, and added genially, "It is well to be 
 you, George. One large commission to attend to, and 
 nothing to distract you from it. I am bothered by 
 having a dozen irons in the fire at once. And people 
 are so unreasonable. — Only this morning, among other 
 things, when you got your order to go on with your 
 single study, I received a letter from a woman, an old 
 friend whom I can scarcely refuse, begging me as a 
 great favour to design her a set of theatrical costumes, 
 in which she and her friends can perform for some 
 charity. It would occupy me a good week to go into 
 the subject and do the thing properly. Such are the 
 sort of letters I get. I wish, George, you could knock 
 out something for her before you leave town. It is 
 positively impossible for me to do it with all this work 
 in hand, and these eternal fogs to contend against." 
 
 "I fear costumes are rather out of my line," said 
 his son. "However, I'll do what I can. What period 
 and country are they to represent?" 
 
 Somerset's father did not know. He had never 
 looked at the play of late years. "It is 'Love's Labour's 
 Lost,'" he said. "You had better read it for yourself, 
 and do the best you can." 
 
 During the morning Somerset junior found time to 
 refresh his memory of the play, and afterwards went 
 and hunted up materials for designs to suit the same, 
 which occupied his spare hours for the next three 
 days. As these occupations made no great demands 
 upon his reasoning faculties he mostly found his mind 
 wandering off to imaginary scenes at Stancy Castle: 
 particularly did he dwell at this time upon Paula's 
 lively interest in the history, relics, architecture, — nay,
 
 282 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 the very Christian names, of the De Stancy line, and 
 her "artistic" preference for Charlotte's ancestors in- 
 stead of her own. Yet what more natural than that 
 a clever meditative girl, encased in the feudal lumber 
 of that family, should imbibe at least an antiquarian 
 interest in it? Human nature at bottom is romantic 
 rather than ascetic, and the local habitation which 
 accident had provided for Paula was perhaps acting 
 as a solvent of the hard, morbidly introspective views 
 thrust upon her in early life. 
 
 Somerset wondered if his own possession of a sub- 
 stantial genealogy like Captain De Stancy's would 
 have had any appreciable effect upon her regard for 
 him. His suggestion to Paula of her belonging to a 
 worthy strain of engineers had been based on his con- 
 tent with his own intellectual line of descent through 
 Phidias, Ictinus and Callicrates, Chersiphron, Vitruvius, 
 Wilars of Cambray, William of Wykeham, and the rest 
 of that long and illustrious roll; but Miss Power's 
 marked preference for an animal pedigree led him to 
 muse on what he could show for himself in that kind. 
 
 These thoughts so far occupied him that when he 
 took the sketches to his father, on the morning of the 
 fifth, he was led to ask: "Has any one ever sifted out 
 our family pedigree?" 
 
 "Family pedigree?" 
 
 "Yes. Have we any pedigree worthy to be com- 
 pared with that of professedly old families? I never 
 remember hearing of any ancestor further back than 
 my great-grandfather." 
 
 Somerset the elder reflected and said that he be- 
 lieved there was a genealogical tree about the house 
 somewhere, reaching back to a very respectable dis-
 
 DE STANCY. 283 
 
 tance. "Not that I ever took much interest in it," he 
 continued, without looking up from his canvas; "but 
 your great-uncle John was a man with a taste for those 
 subjects, and he drew up such a sheet: he made several 
 copies on parchment, and gave one to each of his 
 brothers and sisters. The one he gave to my father is 
 still in my possession, I think." 
 
 Somerset said that he should like to see it; but 
 half-an-hour's search about the house failed to discover 
 the document; and the Academician then remembered 
 that it was in an iron box at his banker's. He had 
 used it as a wrapper for some bonds and other valuable 
 papers which were deposited there for safety. "Why 
 do you want it?" he inquired. 
 
 The young man confessed his wish to know if his 
 own antiquity would bear comparison with that of an- 
 other person, whose name he did not mention; where- 
 upon his father gave him a key that would fit the said 
 chest, if he meant to pursue the subject further. Somer- 
 set, however, did nothing in the matter that day, but 
 the next morning, having to call at the bank on other 
 business, he remembered his intention. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock. The fog, though not 
 so brown as it had been on previous days, was still 
 dense enough to necessitate lights in the shops and 
 offices. When Somerset had finished his business in 
 the outer office of the bank he went to the manager's 
 room. The hour being somewhat early, the only per- 
 sons present in that sanctuary of balances besides the 
 manager who welcomed him, were two gentlemen, ap- 
 parently lawyers, who sat talking earnestly over a box 
 of papers. The manager, on learning what Somerset 
 wanted, unlocked a door from which a flight of stone
 
 284 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 steps led to the vaults, and sent down a clerk and a 
 porter for the safe. 
 
 Before, however, they had descended far a gentle 
 tap came to the door, and in response to an invitation 
 to enter a lady appeared, wrapped up in furs to her 
 very nose. 
 
 The manager seemed to recognise her, for he went 
 across the room in a moment, and set her a chair at 
 the middle table, replying to some observation of hers 
 with the words, "Oh yes, certainly," in a deferential 
 tone. 
 
 "I should like it brought up at once," said the lady. 
 
 Somerset, who had seated himself at a table in a 
 somewhat obscure corner, screened by the lawyers, 
 started at the words. The voice was Miss Power's, and 
 so plainly enough was the figure as soon as he ex- 
 amined it. Her back was towards him, and either 
 because the room was only lighted in two places, or 
 because she was absorbed in her own concerns, she 
 seemed to be unconscious of any one's presence on the 
 scene except the banker and herself. The former 
 called back the clerk, and two other porters having 
 been summoned they disappeared to get whatever she 
 required. 
 
 Somerset, somewhat excited, sat wondering what 
 could have brought Paula to London at this juncture, 
 and was in some doubt if the occasion were a suitable 
 one for revealing himself, her errand to her banker 
 being possibly of a very private nature. Nothing helped 
 him to a decision. Paula never once turned her head, 
 and the progress of time was marked only by the mur- 
 murs of the two lawyers, and the ceaseless clash of 
 gold and rattle of scales from the outer room, where
 
 DE STANCY. 285 
 
 the busy heads of cashiers could be seen through the 
 partition moving about under the globes of the gas- 
 lamps. 
 
 Footsteps were heard upon the cellar-steps, and the 
 three men previously sent below staggered from the 
 doorway, bearing a huge safe which nearly broke them 
 down. Somerset knew that his father's box, or boxes, 
 could boast of no such dimensions, and he was not 
 surprised to see the chest deposited in front of Miss 
 Power. When the immense accumulation of dust had 
 been cleared off the lid, and the chest conveniently 
 placed for her, Somerset was attended to, his modest 
 box being brought up by one man unassisted, and 
 without much expenditure of breath. 
 
 His interest in Paula was of so emotional a cast 
 that his attention to his own errand was of the most 
 perfunctory kind. She was close to a gas-standard, 
 and the lawyers, whose seats had intervened, having 
 finished their business and gone away, all her actions 
 were visible to him. While he was opening his father's 
 box the manager assisted Paula to unseal and unlock 
 hers, and he now saw her lift from it a morocco case, 
 which she placed on the table before her, and unfast- 
 ened. Out of it she took a dazzling object that fell 
 like a cascade over her fingers. It was a necklace of 
 diamonds and pearls, apparently of large size and 
 many strands, though he was not near enough to see 
 distinctly. When satisfied by her examination that she 
 had got the right article she shut it into its case. 
 
 The manager closed the chest for her; and when 
 it was again secured Paula arose, tossed the necklace 
 into her handbag, bowed to the manager, and was 
 about to bid him good morning. Thereupon he said
 
 286 A LAODICEAN. 
 
 with some hesitation, "Pardon one question, Miss Power. 
 Do you intend to take those jewels far?" 
 
 "Yes," she said simply, "to Stancy Castle." 
 
 "You are going straight there?" 
 
 "I have one or two places to call at first." 
 
 "I would suggest that you carry them in some 
 other way — by fastening them into the pocket of your 
 dress, for instance." 
 
 "But I am going to hold the bag in my hand and 
 never once let it go." 
 
 The banker slightly shook his head. "Suppose 
 your carriage gets overturned: you would let it go 
 then." 
 
 "Perhaps so." 
 
 "Or if you saw a child under the wheels just as 
 you were stepping in; or if you accidentally stumbled 
 in getting out; or if there was a collision on the rail- 
 way — you might let it go." 
 
 "Yes; I see I was too careless. I thank you." 
 
 Paula removed the necklace from the bag, turned 
 her back to the manager, and spent several minutes 
 in placing her treasure in her bosom, pinning it and 
 otherwise making it absolutely secure. 
 
 "That's it," said the grey-haired man of caution, 
 with evident satisfaction. "There is not much danger 
 now: you are not travelling alone?" 
 
 Paula replied that she was not alone, and went to 
 the door. There was one moment during which Somer- 
 set might have conveniently made his presence known; 
 but the juxtaposition of the bank-manager, and his 
 own disarranged box of securities, embarrassed him: 
 the moment slipped by, and she was gone. 
 
 In the mean time he had mechanically unearthed
 
 DE STANCY. 287 
 
 the pedigree, and, locking up his father's chest, Somer- 
 set also took his departure at the heels of Paula. He 
 walked along the misty street, so deeply musing as to 
 be quite unconscious of the direction of his walk. 
 What, he inquired of himself, could she want that 
 necklace for so suddenly? He recollected a remark of 
 Dare's to the effect that her appearance on a particular 
 occasion at Stancy Castle had been magnificent by 
 reason of the jewels she wore; which proved that she 
 had retained a sufficient quantity of those valuables at 
 the castle for ordinary requirements. What exceptional 
 occasion, then, was impending on which she wished to 
 glorify herself beyond all previous experience? He 
 could not guess. He was interrupted in these conjec- 
 tures by a carriage nearly passing over his toes at a 
 crossing in Bond Street: looking up he saw between 
 the two windows of the vehicle the profile of a thickly 
 mantled bosom, on which a camellia rose and fell. All 
 the remainder part of the lady's person was hidden; 
 but he remembered that flower of convenient season 
 as one which had figured in the bank parlour half an 
 hour earlier to-day. 
 
 Somerset hastened after the carriage, and in a 
 minute saw it stop opposite a jeweller's shop. Out 
 came Paula, and then another woman, in whom he 
 recognised Mrs. Birch, one of the lady's-maids at Stancy 
 Castle. The young man was at Paula's side before 
 she had crossed the pavement. 
 
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