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 '-j'liONViUi''
 
 BAPTIST LAKE
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 PERFERVID : THE CAREER OF NINIAN 
 JAMIESON. 
 
 13y Joii.v i)AViDtio.\ ; with 23 Original llluhtrations by 
 Hakry Furniss. Crown Svo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 " It is quite certain that anyone who reads tlie first chapter will 
 road to the end of the book without skipping a line." — Manchester 
 Guardian. 
 
 "Sincerely and engagingly human; and while it makes you 
 laugh — even at the vei-y moment when it makes you laugh — it 
 comes perilously near to making you weep also." — The 8'peaker. 
 
 " Cleverly written Mr. John Davidson's book certainly is, and 
 the scenes between the Provost of Mintern and Cosmo Mortimer 
 are extremely comical." — The World. 
 
 THE GREAT MEN : and A PRACTICAL 
 NOVELIST. 
 
 By Joii.N Daviuson ; with 4 Illustrations by Edwix J. Ellis. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 " The stories have a clean cut, dramatic vigour and a plenitude 
 
 of unforced wit For pure and simple delight few 
 
 modern books have beaten Mr. Davidson's."— ^wi'i-J'aco/j/w. 
 
 IN A MUSIC-HALL : and Other Poems. 
 
 By .loiiN Davidson. Crown Svo. , 5s. 
 
 "PoeticiiUy graceful and morally courageous. " — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 " In those sketches (the music-hall pieces) Mr. Davidson adapts 
 his metre, his language, his metaphors to the character he is 
 portraying, and he throws into the effort a natural vigour and 
 keenness of insight that makes them glow with the tints of life." — 
 Scottish Leader. 
 
 WAKD &• DOWNEY LIM. 12 York St. Covent Garden W.C.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN DAVIDSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 PERFERVID,' ■' SCARAMOUCH IN NAXOS," 
 "THE GREAT MEN/' Etc. 
 
 LONDON 
 WARD AND DOWNEY LIMITED 
 12 YORK STREET COVENT (lARDEN WC 
 
 1S94.
 
 PRINTED BV 
 
 KKt.I.V AMD CO. LIMITED, l"2, 1S3 AND 184, ]IlfiII IIOI.RORX, W.C 
 
 AND MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON"-TlIAMKS.
 
 2)a^i!^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 X. ••• ••• ••• ••• ' • ' •'• 
 
 II. 29 
 
 in 48 
 
 IV. 6B 
 
 V 89 
 
 VI. 11^'> 
 
 VII 142 
 
 VIII. 154 
 
 IX.. ... ... ••• ••• ••• ••• loo 
 
 X. ... ... ••• ••• ••• ^"^ 
 
 XL 230 
 
 XII. 239 
 
 XIII 257 
 
 XIV. 290 
 
 XV 318 
 
 WT 344
 
 BAPTIST LAKE
 
 BAPTIST LAKE 
 
 I. 
 
 PiLGraMSTOw Market, the name given by 
 the dwellers in Pilgrimstow to a broad 
 street, bent like a rib of beef, in which 
 they do their shopping, springs unex- 
 pectedly out of the old crooked spine of 
 the Enfield road into full modernity, and, 
 after a busy curve of about a furlong, ends 
 in a waste common as suddenl}^ as it 
 bef?an. 
 
 All the country there to the north of 
 London, between Highgate Wood and 
 Tottenham Cross, and from Stoke New- 
 incfton on to Bowes' Park and Palmer's 
 Green, is pinched and pulled into knots 
 and stitches of brand-new red brick and 
 yellow. Waste lands and commons, stripes 
 of trees, rows of old-fashioned villas, here 
 and there a manor-house mellow with age, 
 
 1
 
 2 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 or a lioary farmstead, and bits of antique 
 villages that seem to have strayed from far 
 inland, show what the wholesome country- 
 side was like before the speculative fever 
 and ague seized it and blotched it with 
 shoddy. But hardly a dozen inhabitants 
 in the entire district remember Junes when 
 hay-fields scented the air where mounds 
 of clay burn now, or those long quiet 
 summers, the weeks of which were marked 
 off by a gay beanfeast, hailing from 
 Islington or Somers Town, and held on the 
 innocent sites of future railway stations. 
 It is not that the natives have died out. 
 jSI'o. They are driven away, helpless and 
 horror-struck, into workhouses, into alms- 
 houses, into space — a few, more fortunate, 
 into their graves. Two or three of the 
 oldest of them, dreadfuUy out of place, still 
 sun themselves at corners, their outraged 
 ideas of what ought to be in Pilgrimstow 
 and the universe glancing reproachfully 
 from their faces and clothes : human bric- 
 a-brac, they look among the new men as
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 3 
 
 knee-breeches and ruffles might look m a 
 slop-shop. 
 
 In a very short time a village can be 
 pulled down, a manor cut into squares, and 
 filled with little cupboards of houses and 
 ten thousand people. For eighteen months 
 or so the new estate is very trim and neat — 
 a small patch of green behind, a smaller 
 patch before each dwelling. Gradually 
 the green wears away, children overrun 
 every street, slatterns appear at gates, arms 
 akimbo ; men in slippers down at heel and 
 torn coats are seen all the evenine^ Cfoincr for 
 beer in cracked jugs ; the spruce lodger 
 leaves, and two, sometimes three, families 
 crowd into each tiny house. A mile, half 
 a mile further on, or to the ri^ht, or to the 
 left, another village has been pulled down, 
 another manor cut into squares and 
 lozenges, and built over ; and all the 
 better-to-do people have migrated thither. 
 That is how the country is being eaten up : 
 a new order of slums is rapidly girdling 
 London. 
 
 1*
 
 4 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Were you to look you would not find 
 Pilgrimstow Market in the bufF-covered 
 directory for Pilgrimstow, Warrenpark, etc. 
 The street has a name, and the buildings 
 on either side are " terraced " and " placed," 
 in the aspiring suburban manner. It is 
 the people of Pilgrimstow who have 
 christened their main thoroughfare, Pil- 
 grimstow Market : the principal shops are 
 there, and on Saturday nights chapmen 
 from all the ends of London resort thither 
 with their wares. Butchers, who sell 
 quarter a sheep for three shillings, vendors 
 of sweet-stuff, of earthenware, of iron- 
 mongery, set up their stalls on the pave- 
 ments and in the roadway. Cheapjacks 
 stay their nondescript vehicles at the 
 corners of streets, and take their own 
 breath away with miraculous bargains in 
 umbrellas, pocket knives, canaries, and oil- 
 cloth. Costermongers, with Whitechapel 
 carts, go up and down offering armfuls of 
 vegetables for a penny, and shrimp-sellers 
 come with boats on wheels and get rid at
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 5 
 
 a halfpenny the pint of very brown and 
 strong - smelling cargoes : on Saturday 
 nights the suburban palate seems to be- 
 come quite bigoted in its tolerance. 
 
 The only remnant of old times in the 
 market is the "Eose and Crown," one of the 
 survivals of the many inns that once bore 
 that charming name in and about London. 
 Partly of wood and partly of yellow brick, 
 it sits on a little eminence well back from 
 the street. Its incongruity with its sur- 
 roundings is not very marked ; a few tall 
 lime trees on one side, and a large tea- 
 garden with nj^mphs and fauns in stucco, 
 and lime trees again, on the other, preserve 
 the " Eose and Crown " from rubbing 
 shoulders with the impudent cockney red- 
 brick terraces, and give it a setting, deprived 
 of which it might look very forlorn and ill 
 at ease. Two or three gables, a long 
 chimney, a slope of deep thatch on the 
 oldest part, and some low, broad, bulging 
 windows, are its picturesque features. On 
 a bright summer evening, perhaps the
 
 6 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 creepers are missed tliat once hid its 
 sharper angles, and reheved its somewhat 
 dull tone ; but as a rule there is such a 
 going and coming all day long of dog-carts 
 and drays, of commercial travellers in top- 
 hats and navvies in caps and slouched felts, 
 that a genial spectator loses all feeling 
 except a human sense of solace in the 
 cheery vulgar bustle. 
 
 It was about half-past seven o'clock on 
 a Saturday evening in June, that a hansom 
 from London, not a common aj)pearance in 
 Pilgrimstow, pulled up in front of the Eose 
 and Crown. A tall man stepped out, and 
 entered the inn by one of its four doors. 
 He seemed to know what he was about, for 
 he shut the door behind him and sat down 
 on a cushioned bench without ringing the 
 hand-bell or making any direct appeal to 
 be served. There was nobodv but himself 
 at the private bar he had chosen — either 
 before or behind it. He took a cigarette 
 from a large gold case which he carried in 
 one of his trousers pockets, lit it, and
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 7 
 
 smoked slowly. All liis actions were 
 leisurely and graceful. The laughter and 
 loud talk of men and women filled the 
 other compartments of the inn. Shrill 
 cries of babies in arms, and the complaints 
 of weariedness and requests for biscuits of 
 children, many of whom had not long 
 found their feet, mingled with adult 
 demands for drops of gin, pots of four 'alf 
 and twos of Irish cold. The cij^arette- 
 smoker listened for a second or two with 
 an expression of childish wonder on his 
 large handsome face. Then he noticed the 
 mirror hanging above the fireplace. He 
 went to it, took off his hat, and ran his 
 fingers through his copper-coloured hair, 
 which was longer than the fashion and 
 divided in the middle. He donned his hat 
 again, adjusting it carefully with a slight 
 tilt forward, and a slighter inclination to 
 one side. Having stared himself com- 
 placently in the face he turned his side to 
 the mirror and tried to get a glimpse of his 
 shoulders. Then he fastened the bottom
 
 8 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 button of his frock coat, wliicli lie had 
 undone to cet at his ci^'arette-case, and 
 resumed his seat. At that moment the 
 landlady who attended in person to the 
 private bar, entered from the interior of 
 the inn. 
 
 " Goodness and mercy ! " exclaimed the 
 landlady, holding up her plump hands. 
 
 "Ah! Mrs. Tiplady," said the taU 
 customer without rising. " How well you 
 are looking ! I hope you are very well." 
 
 "How do you do. Master Baptist? I 
 am very well indeed, thank you," said Mrs. 
 Tij)lady, who had a muscular mouth and a 
 precise utterance. " How you do surprise 
 me ! And what can I do for you, Master 
 Baptist ? " she added, spreading her plump 
 arms on the bar as a cushion for her portly 
 bosom. She stuck a match between her 
 teeth, and closed her lips, nibbling the end. 
 Her good-looking, broad face glowed round 
 her tight mouth like a rosy apple round its 
 stalk, and her small restless eyes overlooked 
 her cheek bones, pretty much as the
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 9 
 
 serpent's green orbs may have peered 
 across the apple it held out in its expanded 
 mouth to the mother of mankind. 
 
 "You can give me a little of your 
 wonderful brandy, and the key of the 
 door," said Mrs. Tiplady's tall customer. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady took a key from a bunch 
 hanging at her side, and handed it across 
 the bar. Her tall customer, or rather 
 visitor, rising from his seat, took the key, 
 and locked the door by which he had 
 entered. From a cupboard Mrs. Tiplady 
 then brought forth a flat bottle and poured 
 a liberal quantity of its contents into a 
 tumbler. 
 
 " Water, or soda ? " she asked. 
 
 " Water," replied the tall man. " Water 
 from the New Eiver. I crossed the New 
 Eiver on my way, Mrs. Tiplady. The sight 
 of it always fills me with astonishment. It is 
 one breadth all along, its banks are plain — 
 you could not tell the one from the other ; 
 and its course is unbroken. When I make 
 a river, Mrs. Tij^lady, I shall have water-
 
 10 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 falls and cascades, boscage now on one 
 bank, now on the other, with rocks and 
 ruins, and I shall have otters and salmon in 
 it. What a noble opportunity the New 
 Eiver Company are daily losing ! They 
 might make an enchanting stream, the 
 delight of millions of men and women, the 
 resort of lovers, the most wonderful prome- 
 nade in the world, Finsbury Park should 
 then resound with the baying of otter 
 hounds, and the lights of the salmon- 
 leisterers gleam on the back gardens of 
 Hornsey and Wood Green." 
 
 " Salmon need the sea. Master Baptist," 
 muttered Mrs. Tij)lady. 
 
 "Let them have whatever they need. 
 Miles of river that might be made anything 
 of, and it is left a mere aqueduct with iron 
 bridges, where boys and nursemaids watch 
 the dace and roach feeding against the 
 sluggish flow of the brown waters." 
 
 The tall man shrugged his broad 
 shoulders, sighed gently, and drank a little 
 of the brandy and water. His voice was
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 11 
 
 soft and musical, richer and stronger than 
 a woman's, but with a sweetness and 
 tenderness rarely to be heard from a man. 
 He spoke deliberately; every w^ord fell 
 from his lips as if loaded with meaning, and 
 the import of what he said was much 
 enhanced by an impressive use of his glossy 
 brown eyes. 
 
 " Well, sir, sense or nonsense, you always 
 do talk lovely. Master Baptist," said Mrs. 
 Tiplady, letting the match fall from between 
 her teeth. 
 
 "Ah! Mrs. Tiplady," rejoined the tall 
 man, " there is no such thing as nonsense. 
 The whole world is an embodiment of 
 sense, of common-sense. The most extra- 
 vasfant actions and the wildest ideas are 
 therefore quite sensible, because the world 
 is sense, and because a part is equal to 
 the whole. I need five hundred, Mrs. 
 Tiplady." 
 
 They spoke in whispers now, the tall 
 man havincj laid his elbows on the bar 
 opposite 'Mis. Tiplady.
 
 12 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Why not take two Imndred, Master 
 Baptist? a part of tlie whole," suggested 
 Mrs. Tiplady maliciously. 
 
 " Nonsense, Mrs. Tiplady ; I thought 
 you were a woman of the world, which 
 you cannot be — indeed, you cannot exist 
 at all if you talk nonsense, the world and 
 all that is therein being sense, as I told 
 you already. To talk nonsense is self-anni- 
 hilation. Five hundred pounds, and I 
 should like them now." 
 
 " But why didn't you write me. Master 
 Baptist ? " 
 
 " It was impossible. I intended writing 
 you to-night, but two hours ago I lent the 
 last ten pounds I had to a very dear fellow, 
 and so had to come out here. I omitted 
 even to save sixpence for a telegram." 
 
 " Why didn't you borrow one ? " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Tiplady, you know that I 
 never borrow. It is the only rule of 
 conduct I have prescribed myself, never to 
 borrow. Always have money for yourself 
 and ten pounds for a friend, and never
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 borrow. If a man does that, lie may go 
 into any society, and marry any heiress." 
 
 " Then why don't you marry an heiress, 
 Master Baptist ? " 
 
 "Ah! that is not to be done lightly, Mrs. 
 Tiplady. Meantime, the five hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " It's not a month since you had three 
 hundred. Master Baptist, and your father 
 said then he wouldn't give another sove- 
 reign to buy your body from a cats'-meat 
 man." 
 
 " No ! but do cats'-meat men do that, 
 Mrs. Tiplady ? " 
 
 "What else turned my cat from his 
 penn'orth yesterday ? You may say the 
 skewer was dirty or the meat was high ; 
 but I say it wasn't horseflesh." 
 
 "Now, what ground have you for 
 thinking that it wasn't horseflesh ? " 
 
 As he asked this, the tall man stretched 
 himself and took a meditative turn across 
 the floor. He was evidently in no special 
 hurry, and just as interested in the subject
 
 14 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 of cats'-meat as in that of his errand to the 
 " Eose and Crown." 
 
 " What makes me think it wasn't horse- 
 flesh ? Common sense, Master Baptist," 
 rejohed Mrs. Tiplady fearlessly. " If pork- 
 butchers make sausages out of cats for 
 men and women to eat, it stands to reason 
 that cats' - meat men fill skewers with 
 human " 
 
 " Hush, Mrs. Tiplady ! Your imagination 
 is corrupt. Give me a Hglit." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady's visitor drank some more 
 of the brandy and water, and Ut another 
 cigarette. But Mrs. Tiplady was not to be 
 put down. 
 
 " And who corrupted my imagination ? " 
 she said. " Everybody that comes near 
 you tries to imitate you, Master Baptist. 
 Goodness and Mercy ! Don't I remember 
 when I first saw the trick of your speeches. 
 You weren't hardly seventeen, but j^ou 
 were as tall as you are now, and home at 
 Easter in your father's house here in 
 Pilgrimstow. I was in the kitchen writin^r
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 15 
 
 to Tiplady — it must have been after eleven 
 and everybody ought to have been in bed 
 — and you came prowHng round for some- 
 thing to eat. I took a broom to put you 
 out, for Tiplady's last letter hadn't been as 
 passionate as I required, and I was trying 
 to work him round, when you up and says 
 in your soft way, that's none so soft neither, 
 how you wanted a jam-tart, and if there 
 wasn't any I was to set to and make one 
 there and then, and me as white with anger 
 as a linen heifer." 
 
 "Ephod, Mrs. Tiplady. You don't 
 usually make mistakes of that kind." 
 
 " I always calls it heifer. Well, I did 
 give you such a stare, and I said wdien I 
 got my breath, just as if I was a man, 'you 
 be damned. ' But you says, ' Piper my 
 dear ' " 
 
 " Piper ; yes. I had quite forgotten your 
 maiden name." 
 
 " ' Piper, my dear, ' says you, ' did 
 you ever make a jam-tart at midnight be- 
 fore ? ' ' No, ' says I, ' never ! nor any
 
 16 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Other cook. ' ' Then, ' says you, ' here's a 
 chance for you to do what has never been 
 done.' And I saw it, I saw the notion of it, 
 and set to and made a fire and a jam-tart, 
 which I remember from that very night I 
 understood how to turn things upside 
 down, and change about sense and non- 
 sense." 
 
 " How very enchanting ! To do what 
 has never been done, and to say what has 
 never been said, is the whole duty of man. 
 Hence there is very Httle duty left for man 
 to do." 
 
 " Yes, Master Baptist ; and it's so easy. 
 You just say what isn't the case, and that's 
 wit. Sometimes I get out of it, though, 
 since Tiplady died. He was so puzzled ; it 
 did my heart good to see him scratch his 
 head for half an hour when I told him 
 there was plenty of rum in his tumbler, 
 although not a drop of it was anything but 
 water. Barmaids and ostlers won't think, 
 and it don't pay to try it on customers. 
 But it comes to me when I want it."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 17 
 
 " I should like the five hundred in an 
 hour's time, Mrs. Tiplady." 
 
 " It can't be done ; not in two hours." 
 
 " In two hours, Mrs. Tiplady. You'll 
 manage it in two. That being so, you 
 might tell your man to look after my 
 hansom." 
 
 " Yes, sir. It may take me two hours 
 and a half." 
 
 " Not more than two, Mrs. Tiplady, it 
 mustn't take you more than two. And 
 remember my hansom, and give me one of 
 your wonderful cigars." 
 
 " You always did have so many wants. 
 Master Baptist," said Mrs. Tiplady good- 
 humouredly, as she brought out a cigar-box 
 from the same cupboard that had yielded 
 the flat brandy-bottle. 
 
 " At what price do you sell these cigars, 
 Mrs. Tiplady ? " 
 
 " Are you going to buy any ? " 
 
 " I would never think of such a thing^. 
 It was merely out of curiosity. Do you 
 sell them at sixpence, for example ? " 
 
 2
 
 18 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " That's the best cigar I keep, and I sell 
 it at fourpeiice, commonly ; but if a young 
 fool from London wants to pay sixpence, 
 I take it. Nobody ever said they weren't 
 worth sixpence." 
 
 " They're worth more, Mrs. Tiplady, in 
 riccadilh'. They cost a shilling there. 
 What a profit tliose West-end tobacconists 
 must make." 
 
 " But look at their rents ! " 
 
 " Ah, yes, to be sure." 
 
 " Don't you go talking about the price 
 of them cigars, mind." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady seemed a little uneasy. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Tiplady ! " 
 
 " Mind you don't,' Master Baptist." 
 
 "Will you go for that money now? 1 
 shall be here at half-past nine. I want as 
 much of it as possible in notes and gold, 
 remember." 
 
 " Don't expect me so soon, and don't 
 expect five hundred," said Mrs. Tiplady, as 
 she retired into the interior of die inn. 
 
 The tall man finished his brandy and
 
 BAPriST LAKE. 19 
 
 water, lit his cigar, and resumed his seat 
 on the cushioned bench. He leaned both 
 hands on the gold head of his malacca 
 cane, and listened again to the noise of the 
 inn. Alone in the private compartment, 
 occupying a little portion of space all to 
 himself, with that quarrelling and laughing 
 and Babel of cries going on at his ear, the 
 tall man felt like a divinity overhearing 
 for the first time the mean strife of an 
 inferior race. He was thirty years of age, 
 and had heard such clamour often before, 
 but it always had the same significance for 
 him, and he wondered at it, as he wondered 
 at everything that impressed him. After 
 listening for about five minutes, he rose, 
 smiling pensively, and having a second 
 time run his fingers through his hair in 
 front of the looking-glass, he readjusted his 
 hat as before to a nicety, and went out, 
 locking the door behind him. 
 
 The market was in full swing, and 
 delight beamed from the face of the tall 
 man as he watched the good-humoured
 
 20 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 crowd, rocking from side to side of the 
 broad street. The peculiar serpentine 
 motion of the human mass struck him at 
 once. Careless of the inn - door loafers 
 staring at him and whispering, he stood 
 still to consider the cause of the lurch and 
 roll of the market. On one side of the 
 street were the butchers, greengrocers, and 
 provision merchants ; on the other, the 
 haberdashers, drapers, and bootmakers. 
 Both pavements were edged with the stall 
 holders, and the costermongers and sellers 
 of penny articles moved up and down in 
 the roadway. There seemed to be no order 
 among the bu3'ers, and yet a certain form 
 was unwittingly followed. Two intermixed 
 streams of people filled the street from side 
 to side, eddying round the shops and stalls, 
 and pressing and pushing, with laughter 
 and exclamations ; but there were also 
 cross-currents from either side, and it was 
 these that gave the sagging motion to the 
 crowd. In the middle of the street people 
 thronged across at right angles ; receding
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 21 
 
 towards either end they took a more 
 obUque course, and in fewer numbers 
 passed from the haberdasher to the grocer, 
 from the butcher to the bootmaker. Like 
 an oblong whirlpool the market streamed 
 and spun in its narrow strait. When the 
 tall man perceived how the surging motion 
 was caused, he fancied a whirlpool too ; 
 but a shade of annoyance crossed his face 
 as he remembered how often the simile had 
 been applied to crowds. 
 
 " Ah ! " he thought, recovering from hi? 
 disappointment, " it is like quicksilver in a 
 narrow porcelain trough ; every atom 
 moving, shuddering, and yet the whole at 
 rest." 
 
 Slowly he moved down from the front of 
 the inn into the crowd. Perfectly dressed, 
 with his gold-headed cane and graceful 
 walk, he was much looked at. His height 
 — a little over six feet — and the impressive 
 style of the man, overawed those among the 
 younger generation who were disposed to 
 jeer; his handsome face, dark eyes, and
 
 22 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 charming smile attracted the women, and 
 even conciliated the hard-featured fathers 
 of families, who, at first, felt inclined to 
 jostle him and tramp on his toes. Way 
 was made for him ; women got the wheels 
 of their perambulators interlocked in their 
 hurry to clear the pavement, and at least 
 one sweet-stuff stall was upset by the 
 sudden heavinc^ back of a wave of the 
 crowd to let him pass. The tall man en- 
 joyed himself heartil}^ He seemed to be 
 but little of a connoisseur in admiration ; it 
 was all exhilarating : beer that frothed in 
 pewter pots, or champagne quivering in 
 glasses like film, were equally agreeable, 
 one would have said, to his thirst for 
 admiration, his desire to be liked, to be 
 adored. 
 
 " Bu}', buy, buy ! " cried the butchers, 
 whetting their knives ; " who buys ? " 
 " I've got lovely butter," said the pro- 
 vision merchants at the top of their voices. 
 " Ea"£fs, ten a shillinof, a shillincj for ten ! " ; 
 " Cresses, three bunches a penny ! " ;
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 23 
 
 *' Shrimps, fresh shrimps, 'apenny a pint ! " ; 
 " Best mohair laces, four a pemiy, a penny 
 for four ! " ; and otlier cries of shopmen, 
 and of itinerant vendors, and the shouts 
 of cheapjacks, rose shrill or hoarse above 
 the general hubbul) like the voices of men 
 in a storm at sea. But the tall man was so 
 healthy, so rapt in self-ajDpreciation, that 
 these discordant noises disturbed him not at 
 all. Some of his acquaintances were in the 
 habit of saying that he had no nerves ; 
 others, no conscience. They sliould rather 
 have said that his nerves were of steel, and 
 his conscience absolutely under control. 
 
 By the time he had got to one end of the 
 market, the tall man had become a subject 
 of general conversation. As his face was 
 clean-shaven, some set him down for an 
 actor; for the same reason others said he 
 was a Member of Parliament, or the new 
 candidate for the Pilgrimstow division of 
 Middlesex. Nobody seemed to have seen 
 him before. 
 
 " Wonder if 'e 'ails from these parts ? "
 
 2i BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 said a working-man who carried a big 
 carpet-bag, bursting with meat, cabbages, 
 and bread. His wife, to whom his remark 
 was addressed, pushed before her a peram- 
 bulator, overloaded with onions, cresses, 
 kippered herrings, and two babies, one 
 sucking a bottle, and the other asleep. 
 This worthy couple had finished their 
 marketing, and as their progress home- 
 wards was necessarily slow, they had no- 
 thing left to do but to speculate on this 
 strange apparition of a very tall, good- 
 looking man, fashionably dressed, lounging 
 in a Saturday-night market crowd. 
 
 " 'E's a masher an' no mistake," said the 
 man's wife. 
 
 " Tell you wot, Sal," cried the man, slap- 
 ping his thigh as heartily as he could in 
 the crowd. " Bless'd if he ain't a livin' 
 dummy ! 'E's a tailor's advertisement, 
 that's wot 'e is. See if he don't walk up 
 and down 'ere every night for a week. 
 Then some bloomin' snip from 'O'burn or 
 the Strand '11 open shop, an' this yer'll stick
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 25 
 
 hisself at the door as a sample of hour first- 
 class twenty - three - an' - a - tanner superfine 
 suit made to order best wear for workin' 
 men, with a pair o' braces an' a cell-you- 
 loid collar thrown in, s'elp me ! An' 'and 
 out the bills. An' the workin' man as buys 
 '11 be sold. Cell-you-loid ! Sell-you-one- 
 up-t'other-down. You mind me, Sal ! " 
 
 The man's wife laughed jocosely, and 
 gave her husband an approving nudge with 
 her elbow as the crowd squeezed them 
 together. 
 
 " You've got his measure, Bill," she said. 
 " No, 'e 'aven't," 
 
 "Eh!" exclaimed the man, whom his 
 admiring spouse called Bill, turning round 
 ready to pulverise the rash mortal who had 
 dared to interfere in a confidential talk 
 between husband and wife. 
 
 " Why, Bill, it's old Nixey ! " said the 
 woman. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed!" cried Bill, stretch- 
 ing out a stout arm and pulling towards 
 him an old man who was already a full
 
 26 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 pace behind them, although he had been 
 close to Bill's elbow when he uttered his 
 contradiction, so dense was the crowd, and 
 the old man so ill able to make way 
 through it. 
 
 " Well, old Nixe}^ you're a bloomin' in- 
 'abitant, that's wot j'ou are," cried Bill. 
 " 'Ow did yer manage to crawl 'ere ? I 
 ain't seen yer in the market since Michael- 
 mas. AVife has a bit 'o 'baccy for yer, ye 
 bloomin' old in'abitant. An' wot d'yer 
 know about this yer walkin' gent ? 'Ere, 
 give's yer arm. Why, old Mxey, boy, 
 'ere's good old staminar left yet ! 'An so 'e 
 ain't no tailor's block, ain't 'e ? " 
 
 The inhabitant, as Bill called him, a 
 tottering old man of over seventy, leant 
 heavily on the arm proffered him, and, 
 having recovered his breath after a lit of 
 coughing, said, in reply to Bill's question, 
 "No, 'e's a gentleman. I know "im. 
 Twenty years ago, when this wery market 
 were a grass park, I've 'elped 'im fly 'is kite 
 just where we're a-walking now, an' bowled
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 27 
 
 to 'im all an afternoon, though I were a bit 
 stiff even then." 
 
 " By jingo ! Who in sulphur is 'e ? " 
 
 "'E's Baptist Lake, the son of old Sir 
 'Arry Lake." 
 
 " 'Im as lives in the 'all yonder, an' owns 
 Pil(?rimstow ? " 
 
 " Ay, an' there's nary one I dessay in the 
 'ole market knows 'im, but me — an' Jane 
 Piper — Mrs. Tiplady, She were cook at 
 Garland 'All when Baptist were a lad." 
 
 " I've 'eerd he don't pull with 'is father. 
 An' I say, they do tell as 'ow he makes 
 things hum, eh ? up in London ? " 
 
 " I've 'eerd so." 
 
 " Well, 'e's a fine figger," said Sal, 
 watching the tali man w4th renewed 
 interest. 
 
 " Won't yer speak to 'im ? " asked Bill of 
 his old friend. " 'E'll be good for a bob, 
 surelee." 
 
 " No ; I once spoke to 'im five year ago 
 at the door of the ' Eose and Crown,' an' he 
 said to me, smilin' beautiful, ' You don't
 
 28 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 interest me, you're not pict'resk,' an' a lot 
 more, but I mind them words ; and 'e said 
 'em as if 'e was blessin' me, an' I thanks 'im 
 hke a fool, he have such a way with 'im. 
 But I'll never speak to 'im again." 
 
 "Well, of all— Strike me! Wot a 
 blasted file ! " 
 
 " He do smile beautiful," said Sal.
 
 II. 
 
 Ten minutes after the departure of her 
 visitor, Mrs. Tiplady left the " Eose 
 and Crown." She traversed a red-brick 
 labyrinth of raw-looking streets lying to 
 the east of the market, and came out on 
 the Enfield Eoad almost opposite a large 
 wrought-iron gate, on either side of which 
 a high wall extended for several Imndred 
 yards. This wall was overlooked by a 
 variety of trees, conspicuously by some 
 old hollies, lilacs and laburnums. Except 
 for a few rusty bunches on the topmost 
 boughs, the bloom had gone from the 
 lilacs, but the laburnums were still able 
 to make a lavish display with the wealth 
 they spend so prodigally every summer. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady pushed open the iron gate, 
 and was immediately intercepted by a 
 middle-a^ed woman, who rose from a stool
 
 so BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 ill the doorway of a rather dilapidated 
 lodge. 
 
 " Who do you want ? " asked the lodge- 
 keeper sharply, adjusting her spectacles ; 
 but before Mrs. Tiplady could reply, the 
 lodge-keeper had recognized her. " Oh ! " 
 she exclaimed, and turning abruptly on her 
 heel she went indoors. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady without making any remark 
 walked rapidly up the short avenue of 
 chestnuts and elms, and soon arrived before 
 a large, square house. This was Garland 
 Hall, a many-windowed, capacious mansion 
 of no architectural pretensions. 
 
 Indeed nothing about Garland Hall corre- 
 sponded to its pretty name, unless the ivy 
 which covered its whole front may be 
 taken into account. The name, however, 
 had been given to the house, wdiile it was 
 yet as innocent of ivy as of every other 
 grace, by the man who had caused it to be 
 built, none other than the founder of the 
 fortune of the Lakes. The ivy may there- 
 fore be looked on as one of those after-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 31 
 
 tliouglits by wliicli Time tries to reconcile 
 the many unfortunate opposites that are 
 still perseveringly coupled by chance or 
 man's inadvertence. By his marriage with 
 Berinthia Myddleton, great-grand-daughter 
 of Sir Hugh Myddleton, the enterprising 
 engineer of the New Eiver, the first Baptist 
 Lake came into possession of three shares 
 in the New Pdver Company. Ten years 
 after his marriage, the accession of Dutch 
 William having brought with it a greater 
 feeling of security than had been known in 
 England for half a century, and the New 
 Eiver stock having increased in value a 
 hundredfold. Baptist Lake, first of the name, 
 sold his wife's shares and bought with the 
 produce the lands of Pilgrimstow Priory, 
 lying dispersedly between Highgate Wood 
 and Tottenham. The fringes and outlying 
 portions of this estate he retailed in a year 
 or two, with much profit to himself, and 
 then settled down to a solid, comfortable, 
 country existence, for the full realisation of 
 which he built himself Garland Hall on the
 
 32 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 site of an old Grancje that had been burned 
 down durinc^ the Civil War. 
 
 .. flip r 
 
 In the course of i^enerations the wealth 
 
 &' 
 
 of the Lakes was much increased by the 
 sale of leases and freeholds, and by judi- 
 cious investments, but it was not until the 
 reign of George IV., of dubious memory, 
 that any of the family attempted public life. 
 Godfrey Lake, in the last days of the 
 Eegency, suddenly evinced an interest in 
 matters unconnected or connected only 
 remotely and contingently, with his own 
 prosperity. He began to take a leading 
 part in local affairs, and became a Justice 
 of the Peace. Then he was appointed 
 Deputy-Lieutenant, and shortly after his 
 grateful count}^ sent him to Parliament. 
 Having consistently supported the proper 
 party, he was made a baronet on the 
 accession of William IV. When Victoria 
 came to the throne. Sir Godfrey, finding his 
 powers failing, withdrew from Westminster 
 and the management of the affairs of the 
 nation, and spent his last years at Pilgrim-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 33 
 
 stow in the peaceful enjoyment of what he 
 beheved to be well-earned repose : it is said 
 that to go to sleep in the House of 
 Commons after dinner three or four times 
 a week for half-a-dozen years, is still con- 
 sidered by florid old gentlemen no inade- 
 quate service to the state. 
 
 In Sir Godfrey the Lake stock seemed to 
 have put forth its finest blossom. The 
 wealth of the family steadily accumulated 
 while the family itself as steadily decayed, 
 until, in the last quarter of the nineteenth 
 centur}', the sole representative of the 
 Pilgrimstow Lakes were Sir Henry and his 
 son, Baptist. With the latter, the quid- 
 nuncs at one time expected that the family 
 name would be restored to the honoured 
 repute it had enjoyed in the days of Sir 
 Godfrey ; but up to the time when our 
 story opens. Baptist had entirely disap- 
 pointed them. 
 
 One other Lake must be mentioned 
 before we follow Mrs. Tiplady. It was Sir 
 Baptist Lake, son of Sir Godfrey, who built 
 
 3
 
 34 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 the high wall enclosing about thirty acres 
 of woodland round Garland Hall. Already 
 in his time that canker of the land, 
 suburban London, had approached un- 
 comfortably near the domain of the Lakes. 
 Lady Octavia Lake, Sir Baptist's dame, was 
 strong for a house in Kensington, but 
 Sir Baptist, after much slow cogitation, 
 determined to remain at the old place. 
 Lady Octavia grumbled sorely and long, 
 and nothing could pacify her until her 
 husband built his great wall. The 
 seclusion it afforded set the lady's mind 
 at rest ; but it is said she died shortly after 
 the wall was finished, for want of some 
 permanent anxiety to keep her phlegmatic 
 temperament from stagnating. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady cHmbed the flight of broad 
 steps and knocked vigorously at the oaken 
 door of Garland Hall. It was opened at 
 once a few inches, and the eyes and nose 
 of an old man peered out into the waning 
 lidit. 
 
   What do you want ? " a cracked voice 
 
 ii
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 35 
 
 asked. Then the okl face vanished quickly 
 with a strange grimace, and the door was 
 thrown wide open. Mrs. Tiplady went in 
 and closed the door behind her. As she 
 crossed the hall, she caught sight of the old 
 man who had acted as footman shuffling 
 along a lobby which led to the servants' 
 quarters. Nobody came to receive her, 
 but that produced no hesitation in her 
 movements. Ascending the low-stepped 
 staircase as far as the second floor, she 
 paused to regain her breath, and perhaps 
 to let her anger cool. It may have been 
 only the rapid walk and the stairs, but 
 anger at the scant courtesy she had 
 received, and yet seemed to be accustomed 
 to, from the servants of Sir Henry Lake, 
 would help to account for the deeper 
 crimson that dyed her rosy cheeks. 
 Having tapped with the points of her 
 fingers on one of the doors on the landing, 
 and without waiting for a reply from 
 within, Mrs. Tiplady entered a large front 
 room and went directly to its only occupant. 
 
 9* 
 O
 
 c6 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 The apartment -wliicli Mrs. Tiplady 
 
 entered with so little ceremony was liker 
 
 a show-room of old furniture than a place 
 
 for dwelling in. From the earliest times 
 
 the front room on the second floor had 
 
 been the study of the master of the house. 
 
 Chamres in the furnishing of Garland Hall 
 
 in obedience to the mode, or according to 
 
 the whim of a new mistress, had gradually 
 
 filled the stud}'- with old pieces in too good 
 
 a condition to be stowed away as lumber, 
 
 and too dear to the heart of a Lake to be 
 
 sent to the auctioneer. To describe the 
 
 room in detail would be to write a 
 
 catalogue extending to several pages ; it 
 
 will be quite sufficient to indicate its 
 
 principal contents. One side was almost 
 
 filled by a book-case of Lice's designing ; 
 
 it looked like the front of a garden pavilion, 
 
 with globes and laurels carved on the tops 
 
 of the divisions, and garlands looped under 
 
 what we may call the eaves. Opposite the 
 
 book-case was a Flemish buffet of the 
 
 sixteenth century, designed by de Vriese,
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 37 
 
 said to have been an heirloom in the Lake 
 family long before the time of the first 
 Baptist. On the third side, between the 
 windows, stood a massive oaken cupboard 
 of Elizabeth's time, age-blackened, with 
 griffins and draped busts. This had been 
 part of the plenishing of the first dame 
 Lake, and was believed to have belonged 
 originally to Sir Hugh Myddleton. Some 
 heavy, ornate chairs of William IIL's time, 
 and two Sheratons with round bottoms like 
 great cheeses, with endless ornament on 
 their spindle-legs, uncomfortable - looking 
 arms and slim backs, were noticeable 
 among nearly two dozen seats scattered 
 about the floor. Cupboards and console- 
 tables filled all the wall space unoccupied 
 by the larger pieces of furniture already 
 mentioned, and several card-tables were 
 set among the chairs. Although the room 
 looked crowded, it was so large that there 
 was plenty of space to move about in. 
 The fireplace was hidden by a plain 
 writing-table of Heppelwhite's design ;
 
 £8 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 above it liiing a painting wliicli from its 
 appearance miglit have been a life-size 
 portrait ; its face, however, was turned to 
 the wall. Both windows were open, but a 
 musty odour of old leather and old wood, 
 not altogether disagreeable, overcame the 
 fresh eveninof air. 
 
 Sir Henry Lake — it was he whom Mrs. 
 Tiplady had come to see — sitting in a plain 
 office chair at the Ileppelwhite table, held 
 out a slack but cordial hand to his former 
 cook, and with a glance more anxious than 
 surprised motioned her to be seated. A 
 book lay on the table beside him, closed 
 upon his spectacles, evidently inserted to 
 mark the j)lace where he had left off read- 
 ing when the knock came to the door, or 
 probably when the light began to fail. It 
 was too dark to see Sir Henry distinctly. He 
 fingered his left ear, and shuffled his feet a 
 little while Mrs. Tiplady was getting seated. 
 
 " Again, and so soon," he said, sighing 
 heavily. 
 
 "Alas, Sir Henry," said Mrs. Tiplady
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 with a perfect assumption of candour and 
 deep sympathy, " my heart bleeds for you." 
 
 The language was commonplace, but 
 Mrs. Tiplady's warmth of tone made up for 
 that. She spoke very carefully. 
 
 " He shall have what he wants as long as 
 he keeps out of my sight," said Sir Henry. 
 
 " But it is so cruel of him ! A man as 
 cannot — which cannot make three thousand 
 a year do, an' comes beggin' from his old 
 father every month ! — It's not to be borne ; 
 I feel as if I would shake to pieces with 
 anger at the very thought of it." 
 
 " You were always a good soul, Mrs. 
 Tiplady." 
 
 " It's a prodigal's outrage, Sir Henry, 
 an' your honour should cut him off with a 
 shilling." 
 
 " He shall have what he wants while I 
 live, if he will only keep out of my sight. 
 How much ? " 
 
 " A thousand pounds, Sir Henr}^," replied 
 Mrs. Tiplady with bated breath. 
 
 " He never asked so much before," said
 
 40 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Sir Henry meditatively, as he opened a 
 drawer in his writing-table, and took out a 
 cheque-book. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady, who had removed her 
 gloves, rose and lit a reading-lamp that 
 stood ready. She then remained beside Sir 
 Henry while he filled up an order for a 
 thousand pounds, payable to Mrs. Jane 
 Tiplady. When he had finished, he rose 
 and handed her the pen. Mrs. Tiplady 
 took the chair in which he had been sitting, 
 and wrote a receipt. Without even glanc- 
 ing at Mrs. Tiplady 's signature. Sir Henry 
 placed the receipt in the drawer along with 
 his cheque-book, and the pair resumed the 
 chairs they had occupied at the beginning 
 of the interview. 
 
 " I had better go, sir," said Mrs. Tiplady 
 after a pause. 
 
 "There's no hurry, Mrs. Tiplady. 
 Although you post a cheque to-night, it 
 can't be delivered till Monday morning." 
 
 " But I'm not going to post it. He's 
 waiting at the 'Eose and Crown.' "
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 41 
 
 " He's in Pilgrimstow again ! " exclaimed 
 Sir Henr3\ " I wish he wouldn't come to 
 Pilgrimstow. Why does he do it ? I wish 
 he would go away — to Australia." 
 
 " I'll tell him never to come to Pilgrim- 
 stow any more," said Mrs. Tiplady, pulling 
 on her gloves. 
 
 " Do, Mrs. Tiplady," rejoined Sir Henry 
 with unusual energy. "Make him stay 
 away — frighten him away. Keep him out 
 of my life. If I could forget him ! " 
 
 " I'U engage you'll never hear of him in 
 Pilgrimstow again, sir." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Tiplady; you are a 
 great comfort to me." 
 
 " Oh, sir, I would do anything for you ! " 
 
 Sir Henry muttered an acknowledgment, 
 and then Mrs. Tiplady rose and said now 
 she must go ; it was Saturday night, and 
 her business required her presence. 
 
 " Saturday night ! " exclaimed Sir Henry. 
 " He can't have cash till Monday, then." 
 
 " Oh, perhaps, sir, I can manage to lend 
 him a little till then," said Mrs. Tiplady.
 
 42 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " I won't hear of it, Mrs, Tiplady." 
 
 He counted out ten sovereigns from an 
 old-fasliioned silk purse, and handed them 
 to the landlady of the " Eose and Crown." 
 
 " Give him that," he said, " to go on 
 with. Let him have no excuse to come to 
 me." 
 
 " How good you are, sir ! It is a burning 
 black shame ! " 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Tiplady," said Sir Henry, 
 " you are a great comfort to me ; you 
 always have been. Is there anything — 
 can I give — can I help — ? " — he hesitated 
 and stuck. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Henry ! Please, Sir Henry ! " 
 cried Mrs. Tiplady, sorely distressed. 
 " Never think of such a thing. My duty, 
 my affection, if I may dare to say it, 
 is yours to command, sir. Please, sir, 
 never 'int at payment. I would do any- 
 thing for the best master and the kindest 
 gentleman as ever breathed. I wish you a 
 good night, sir." 
 
 " It consoles me," said Sir Henry, ignoring
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 43 
 
 her salutation, " to think of you sometimes 
 — often. Had it not been for you, Mrs. 
 Tiplady, I should have been dead long ago ; 
 shame and misery would have destroyed 
 me. When I remember that no one but 
 you knows the — knows of it, I say it con- 
 soles me, and makes me wiUing to live. 
 We all love life, Mrs. Tiplad}^, don't we ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; we all loves it. Some loves 
 monev, and some loves drink, dreadful ; 
 but life — everybody loves it, cruel, cruel." 
 
 " Ay, and there's another kind of love," 
 said Sir Henry slowly. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady went over in her mind — 
 money, drink, life ? 
 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed, suddenly, as she 
 thought, understanding what Sir Henry 
 meant, "there's a mother's love, sir, and 
 another's love, sir. My poor, dear Tiplady ! " 
 
 " Yes — yes," said Sir Henry ; " but I 
 meant something else." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady was puzzled ; so she 
 coughed. It couldn't be .God's love, she 
 said to herself, for Sir Henry wasn't a
 
 44 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 religious man ; and as for — well, if tliat 
 was what lie intended ! Slie shrugged her 
 shoulders. It wouldn't be her as would let 
 on she understood. If Sir Henry wanted to 
 talk of divorces and such like, he must 
 speak plainer. 
 
 " I was thinking," said Sir Henry, " of 
 the self-sacrificing love that would lay down 
 life for another." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mrs. Tiplady, with a 
 slight start, but still sympathetically. " I 
 must be goin'. Sir Henry, if you please." 
 
 " Don't go yet, Mrs. Tiplady. Sit down 
 a little. I like 3^ou to sit beside me. I 
 wish you would come oftener — not too 
 often ; once or twice a week. As I grow 
 older I cannot quite remember sometimes 
 that the whole world does not know, but 
 only you and me. If you were to come 
 oftener, it would keep the thought of jou 
 more firmly in my mind." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mrs. Tiplady ; " I'll come 
 oftener." 
 
 " Thank 3'ou, Mrs. Tiplady. You are so
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 45 
 
 kind and honest. It's a pleasure to have 
 you m the room. But you're not sitting, 
 Mrs. Tiplady." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady sat down on the edge of her 
 chair, and Sir Henry leaned towards her 
 with his elbows on his knees. 
 
 " Only you and I know it, Mrs. Tiplady," 
 he whispered. "Only you and I. Not 
 even the lawyers are in the secret, and the 
 bankers don't know it. We trick them, 
 Mrs. Tiplady." He rubbed his hands, and 
 laughed feebly — a laugh that was liker a 
 sob than a chuckle. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady coughed, and looked at 
 three large moths that had come in from 
 the night, and were beating their lives out 
 against the opal shade of the lamp. Sir 
 Henry followed her gaze, and watched the 
 moths for a moment or two in silence. 
 Something in his profile struck Mrs. Tip- 
 lady. There was dignity, loyalty in the 
 finely-shaped brow ; the nose, a little too 
 retrousse for male comeliness, indicated, 
 with its open, quivering nostril, simphcity
 
 46 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 verging on folly, and bravery — Polish 
 bravery, that rushes open-eyed against 
 adamant and over precipices. It can 
 hardly have been these features that 
 interested Mrs. Tiplady, for she said to 
 herself, " The stupid old fool ! " She must 
 have been regarding chiefly Sir Henry's large 
 pale- blue eye, his scanty beard, receding 
 chin and feeble mouth, that would not keep 
 shut. 
 
 " If you please, sir," she said when he 
 turned towards her again, " I must really 
 go now." 
 
 " Ay," he said rising, and accompanying 
 her to the door, " you had better go now. 
 You have comforted me, Mrs. Tiplady. 
 Come soon. Good-night." 
 
 Alone again in his room Sir Henry seated 
 himself in one of the long-backed, heavily 
 ornamented William III. chairs, and 
 watched the moths beating against the 
 lamp. He pitied therii, he wanted to save 
 them ; but, as much fascinated by their 
 action as they were by the light, he sat and
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 47 
 
 suffered — suffered acutely. Other moths 
 joined the three that had first been drawn 
 to the lamp, and a flight of gnats came in 
 and buzzed about the globe, and pinged 
 against the ceiling quite audibly. After a 
 time the soft whirr of the moths, the hum 
 of the gnats, and the rustle of the ivy- 
 leaves at the open windows began to soothe 
 him : he was sound asleep when the old 
 man-servant brought him his supper.
 
 m. 
 
 Baptist Lake was enchanted with Pilgrim- 
 stow Market for fully half an hour, so 
 ingenuous, so hearty and human seemed to 
 him the boisterous crowd of purchasers, 
 laying in supplies of beef and mutton and 
 bacon, and fish and loaves and vegetables 
 for Sunday, the working-man's high festival. 
 In a moment his mood changed : he had 
 caught sight of the moon among the 
 chimneys floating up out of London like a 
 sweet soul let loose from the begrimed 
 body of some labourer in mines or sewers, 
 and immediately the seething market be- 
 came loathsome as mites in a cheese, worms 
 in a corpse : mere hunger, crawling and 
 swarming over what it feeds on. He walked 
 towards the moon and came to a standstill 
 in the common at the London end of 
 Pilgrimstow ; a step or two further and
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 49 
 
 he would have lost sio;ht of the new 
 
 o 
 
 wonder. Far across the waste the 
 gleaming disc glided along the roofs of 
 a ranire of low, dark houses. He watched 
 it until the pleasure palled ; then with a 
 sish he turned his face towards the market 
 again. He walked smartly — for him, that 
 is — intending to go back to the " Rose and 
 Crown," and wait there till Mrs. Tiplady 
 should return, but before leaving the 
 market he kissed his gloved hand to the 
 moon. The pure white light entranced 
 him once more, and he thought, as a child 
 might, to whom the knowledge of the fact 
 was news, how strange that this pearly orb 
 should be only a chill echo of the sun. 
 Slowly his eye wandered to the west. A 
 railway-bridge spanned the market where it 
 joined the Enfield Eoad ; and behind it the 
 sunset smouldered still : the pale saffron of 
 the sky was distinctly visible through and 
 through the windows of the gas-lit signal- 
 box — a strange effect, like looking at the 
 sunset through a great glass of Rudesheimer.
 
 50 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 A flush of pleasure mounted to Baptist 
 Lake's face, and a smile touched his lips. 
 While he gazed at this marvel a train of 
 some length passed along the bridge, slowly, 
 havinir just left Pilfjrimstow Station : a 
 hundred golden windows — it was a gas-lit 
 train — framed in black, moved over the 
 golden sky and brought it close and warm 
 to the faces of the happy souls that were 
 surely being wheeled away to heaven ; but 
 between each carriage a burnished streak 
 of unveiled sunset shone clear and remote. 
 Tears rose to the eyes lof Baptist Lake ; he 
 threw back his head to restrain them, and 
 walked languidly to the inn. 
 
 Two persons were turning away from the 
 door of the private bar when Baptist Lake 
 arrived at it. Both of them, althoufyh well- 
 grown, were evidently little more than 
 children. They walked hand in hand — a 
 pretty girl and a pleasant-looking boy, as 
 far as Baptist could see in the twilight. 
 Disappointment was written in their actions : 
 the girl pouted and tossed her head, and the
 
 BAPTIST LAKK. 51 
 
 boy muttered petulantly. They looked be- 
 hind when Baptist had passed them, and 
 their faces cleared a little at the anticipation 
 of the chagrin of another. Baptist glanced 
 over his shoulder also, they were such a 
 charming pair ; and seeing that they 
 lingered he half turned to them and said, 
 " Could you not get in ? " 
 
 "No," replied the boy at once ; " the 
 door's locked." 
 
 " Come, and I'll let you in," said Baptist. 
 
 The girl rather hung back, but the boy 
 kept hold of hei; hand, and they followed 
 Baptist, wondering very much at his having 
 a key. When the three had entered. 
 Baptist locked the door again. Having 
 motioned his chance companions to be 
 seated on a cushioned bench, he sank into 
 the only chair in the compartment and, 
 with a sigh and a stifled exclamation, pro- 
 ceeded to stare at the boy and girl as if 
 they had been a group in Dresden china. 
 
 The private bar was now brilliantly lit 
 
 with gas, and the first sense of prettiness 
 
 4*
 
 52 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 produced by the girl's appearance gave 
 place on a closer view to a deep impression 
 of OTeat beautv. A broad white hat 
 trimmed with marguerites, and a white 
 muslin dress brocaded with green sprays, 
 in that charmins" old fashion which has 
 come round again, set off her face and 
 ligure to the best advantage. In stature 
 she was above the average for women, and 
 this was as noticeable when she sat as when 
 she stood : her height was not merely length 
 of limb ; her body, exquisitely shaped, kept 
 a perfect proportion with the rest of her 
 ligure — a much rarer beauty than is gener- 
 ally supposed. If any one could have been 
 so critical in her presence as to look for a 
 fault in the symmetry of her person, his eye 
 might have rested with passing regret on 
 her shoulders, which were a thought too 
 broad ; but men or magnanimous women 
 miaht not loivj, withhold their 2:aze from her 
 face. Simplicity, gaiet}^, sweetness of dis- 
 position, high animal spirits, eager intelli- 
 ojence, all seemed to mimjle in her ex-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 53 
 
 pression. Her chin, curving out ol her 
 full throat, was round and strong, and her 
 lower lip curled above it. Although well 
 closed, her mouth was not of the rosebud 
 type, but frank, bold even — the upper lip 
 bent hke a bow. Her nose was short and 
 straight, with delicate nostrils. Her eye- 
 brows were long, slightly arched and 
 distinctly marked ; and her smooth low 
 brow was crowned with clustering ringlets 
 of yellow hair. But her dazzhng com- 
 plexion, her oval face, and her golden locks, 
 together and separately of surpassing 
 beauty, served only as a frame for her 
 wonderful eyes. Out of them a soul gazed 
   — innocent, untarnished, unclad, ignorant, 
 and fearless. They were large, of a dark 
 blue, lustrous and deep. There was no 
 escaping her eyes. She smiled with them, 
 laughed with them, talked with them ; 
 there was more enchantment in them than 
 in a Lapland philtre. Her soul seemed to 
 dance in them, dream in them, imagine in 
 them, watch and wonder in them.
 
 54 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 The boy also endured a closer inspection 
 with advantage to the first impression pro- 
 duced b}^ his appearance. Baptist Lake no- 
 ticed that his dark-coloured jacket-suit was 
 of the best material, and of a superlative cut, 
 as he might have phrased it. The boy was, 
 of course, not so fully developed as the girl : 
 the rounded limbs and full bust of the latter 
 told of womanhood early ripe for this 
 northern clime : but there was a manly 
 look in his face, not so much owing to the 
 dark shade on the upper lip as to his broad 
 brows, the hardy glance of his hazel eyes, 
 and the power in his lower jaw. His nose, 
 high-bridged, had an undeveloped tendency 
 towards the Eoman pattern ; his mouth was 
 firm and well-shaped, and although the lips 
 were thick they gave no token of indelicacy. 
 His dark hair, tinged with red, was closely 
 cropped. He was a little taller than the 
 girl, but had not yet arrived at his full 
 height. 
 
 Both the boy and the girl returned Bap- 
 tist's o"aze for several seconds. Then the
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 55 
 
 former grew restive, looked interrogatively 
 at his companion, rose and rang the hand- 
 bell. A buxom young woman with dark 
 hair curhng all over her head, and impudent 
 laughing eyes, hurried in from tlie ])ubHc 
 bar, and greeted Baptist Lake with a smirk 
 and a pert " Good evening, sir." 
 
 " We want something to drink, Florrie," 
 said Baptist. "What shall it be?" he 
 added, addressing the boy. 
 
 The boy looked with astonishment from 
 Baptist to the barmaid, and then, in a loud 
 voice, ordered shandy-gaff for two. 
 
 " No, no," said Baptist, rising and laying 
 his hand on the boy's shoulder, " you are 
 going to drink with me." 
 
 " Thank you ; no," said the boy, shaking 
 off Baptist's hand. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Baptist, looking the 
 boy in the face with his glossy brown eyes, 
 and taking possession of him there and then. 
 " You must give me this pleasure. Shandy- 
 gaff for three, Florrie, in large tumblers. 
 And divide a bottle of Bass — not your
 
 66 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 draught beer. Do you like shandy-gaff? " 
 he continued, turnino- to the q'itI. 
 
 " Yes, I do," rephed the girl, in a soft, 
 almost meaningless, voice, strangely at 
 variance with her splendid eyes. 
 
 Baptist's large frankness and evident 
 delight in them had conquered both the 
 young people. 
 
 " Yes," he said, in his most charming 
 manner, " shandy-gaff is clearly the drink 
 for youth — I should say the drink for 
 lovers. I remember I drank shandy-gaff 
 when I was young. I haven't tasted it for 
 a dozen years, but I am a boy to-night 
 again. This will be a great experience. 
 Shandy-gaff! Do you know, if you brood 
 over it, the name is not nearly so vulgar as 
 it seems. It might even be pronounced in 
 a wistful, melancholy tone which would 
 enable it to cover passionate meanings. 
 Most indubitably it is the drink for first 
 love. The mute, appealing look, the trem- 
 bling pressure of hands, the faint, timorous 
 kiss, are all symbolised by shandy-gaff. A
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 57 
 
 mild, sweetish drink with a dash of malt. 
 Such is the early idea of love compared 
 with the dreadful reality, the loaded wines, 
 the brandy, the absinthe." 
 
 By this time the barmaid had brought 
 three large tumblers, each three-quarters 
 full of the dingy, beer-stained drink. 
 
 " Florrie," said Baptist, " what do you 
 think of shandy-gaff? " 
 
 " Tipple for tootsies on bank-'olidays." 
 
 " Do you ever drink it, Florrie ? " 
 
 " Not me. I drink beer." 
 
 " Why do you drink beer, Florrie ? I 
 should have thought whiskey-and-lemonade 
 or cherry-brandy more to your taste." 
 
 " Whiskey-and-lemonade ! " exclaimed 
 Florrie, turning up her impudent nose, and 
 looking as disdainfull}^ as her good-nature 
 would allow at the two young people who 
 drank their shandy-gafF with the true thirst 
 of youth on a summer evening ; " that's a 
 green drink. Boys and old men are sweet- 
 toothed. Oh, I know ! At sixty, rum-and- 
 sugar. That's your sort ! Beer they begin
 
 58 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 with ; tlien they dotes on gin-and-ginger, 
 whiskey - and - lemonade, sweetened stout. 
 After that brandy-and-soda ; then back to 
 beer, and there they sticks till runi-and 
 sugar time." 
 
 " A very wonderful generalisation ! You 
 speak by the card, Florrie." 
 
 " I speaks with authority, and not like as 
 scrubs do. I ain't no 'tend-the-kitchen when 
 business is slack, and wash up the dinner- 
 dishes in the afternoon. I'm a barmaid, I 
 am." 
 
 " How enchanting ! Do you read the 
 Bible, Florrie ? " 
 
 " Course I do. Out of the mouths of 
 babes and — barmaids, sir, to you. I've 
 been to barracks." 
 
 With which deliverance Florrie retired to 
 her own proper sphere of action, where, from 
 the increasing exasperation of the demands 
 for pots of four-'alf and twos of Irish cold, 
 it was clear her presence was sorely needed. 
 
 " Florrie is very charming," said Baptist, 
 sipping his shandy-gaff.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 59 
 
 Observing that the other two watched 
 hira closely, and seemed to be waiting for 
 him to speak, he set his tumbler down, took 
 off his hat, and began a speech in honeyed 
 accents. 
 
 " I am so delighted to meet you," he said. 
 " I seem to have known you all your lives ; 
 I understand you as Nature herself under- 
 stands you." Here he was interrupted by 
 the entrance of Mrs. Tiplady. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, " you have returned. 
 Mrs. Tiplady and I," he continued, address- 
 ing the young people, " have some business 
 to discuss. Good-night, good-bye." 
 
 The girl, at whom Mrs. Tiplady darted 
 across her apple cheeks a furtive glance of 
 malice, shook hands with Baptist frankly ; 
 the boy was more reserved. 
 
 "Good-night, Mrs. Tiplady," said the 
 girl. 
 
 "Good-night, my dear," said Mrs. Tip- 
 lady. 
 
 Baptist opened the door for them, and 
 having bowed them out relocked it.
 
 60 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " A most idyllic pair ! " exclaimed Bap- 
 tist. 
 
 " The girl's pretty, but slie'll come to no 
 good," said Mrs. Tiplady. " That young 
 swell '11 lead her off her feet — I hope," she 
 added mentally. "She's the daughter of " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Tiplady, don't ! Why should 
 I know whose daughter she is ? A beautiful 
 girl and a passionate boy drinking shandy- 
 gaff with the thirst of perdition — that is all 
 I want to know, to remember. I hope I 
 shall never see them again. Have you 
 brought the money, Mrs. Tiplady ? " 
 
 " Only three-fifty, Master Baptist. Your 
 father wouldn't give me a penny more. 
 Thirty-four ten-pound notes and ten sove- 
 reigns. There you are, sir." 
 
 Baptist took the roll of notes and the 
 coins, and having pocketed them, said 
 coolly, "It is fifty more than I need." 
 
 " Goodness and mercy ! Why did you 
 ask for five hundred then ? " 
 
 "Because I have observed that on the 
 last three occasions when I have required
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. CI 
 
 money I always received considerably less 
 than I asked. In future, Mrs. Tiplady, I shall 
 always demand exactly what I want. If I 
 do not receive it, I shall go to my father." 
 " He would refuse to see you." 
 " I shall force my way to him." 
 " He would kill you." 
 Baptist laughed. 
 
 " He hates you, Master Baptist ; if hate 
 could kill, you are a dead man " 
 
 " Some day I shall insist on an explana- 
 tion," said Baptist. " In the meantime it 
 pleases me to live as we do. And when 
 you consider it, Mrs. Tiplady, filial and 
 parental affection are alike misapplied. 
 They are the obverse and the reverse of 
 that medal which Nature hangs round all 
 our necks — I mean oriHnal sin. Nothing 
 else can account for the mutual]^love of two 
 wretched beings, the [one compelling the 
 other into the agony of life. The domestic 
 affections are criminal, Mrs. Tiplady;|other- 
 wise human nature woukFnot indulge them 
 so luxuriously."
 
 62 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 For the third time that evening Baptist 
 Lake unlocked the door of the private bar. 
 With a "Good-night," pronounced like a 
 benediction, he left the " Eose and Crown," 
 and Mrs. Tiplady soon heard the wheels 
 of his hansom rattling over the stones of 
 her stable-yard, as she leaned against the 
 bar, with her portly bosom reposing on her 
 plumjD arms. Her little eyes glittered and 
 burned, and her apple cheeks seemed to 
 grow riper with the warmth of some plea- 
 sant thought. The entrance of two or 
 three younjy men and women disturbed 
 her meditations, which were too sweet to 
 be abandoned. She therefore summoned 
 Florrie, and retired to her parlour.
 
 IV. 
 
 Theee was once, according to Baptist Lake, 
 a Londoner whose business unexpectedly 
 required liim to undertake a long sea- 
 voyage. On his return he drove about 
 London in hansoms for three days. 
 " Heaven," he said, " is an asphalted 
 street that runs winding and endless right 
 through space ; it is lined on both sides 
 with beautiful shops, and filled with crowds 
 and 'busses: along it the elect are driven 
 in hansoms for ever and ever." In this 
 apologue he expressed his own delight. 
 His instinct for enjoyment always stuffed 
 the inevitable with down. He eschewed 
 railways and 'busses : the one, hell ; the 
 other purgatory : to live in a hotel, and go 
 to one's pleasure in hansoms, was heaven 
 and something more. 
 
 The first mile of the road from Pilgrim-
 
 64 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 stow to London ran smoothly, and Baptist 
 enjoyed it as if lie had never been in a 
 hansom before ; but a stretch of newly-laid 
 macadam, which it was impossible to avoid, 
 occurred near the bec^innini? of the second 
 mile, and disturbed him somewhat. Roused 
 from his waking dream, he glanced out into 
 the gas -lit road. They were passing a large 
 public-house — some " Nag's Head " or 
 Queen's Head " — and by the glare from the 
 windows he caught sight of a pedestrian, the 
 only one visible. Looking back he recognised 
 the boy whom he had met in the " Rose and 
 Crown." He stopped the hansom and hailed 
 this new acquaintance. 
 
 " Jump in," he said, when the boy 
 came up to him. 
 
 "No, thank you." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! Jump in." 
 
 The boy shook his head, and was about 
 to turn away, but Baptist overcame him. 
 
 " Please come in," he said. 
 
 " Well, then, understand," said the bov, 
 smiling and frowning at the same time.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 65 
 
 *' that it is of my own choice, and because 
 this is a sort of adventure." 
 
 "Most certainly," rejoined Baptist. 
 
 " And so you want adventures ? " lie con- 
 tinued, when they were seated together, 
 and the cab again in motion. " London is 
 the city of adventure, and of adventurers. 
 But, tell me, what is your name ? " 
 
 " What's yours ? " said the boy, quickly. 
 
 "You are Scotch, then. I thought so 
 from your accent. You have almost mas- 
 tered it, though ; and I hope you have 
 mastered ' shall ' and ' will.' The interro- 
 gative reply I suppose no Scotchman ever 
 mastered. My name is Baptist Lake." 
 
 " And you are English ; I can tell by 
 your impudence — your conceit — your pre- 
 sumption," said the boy hotly. 
 
 " My dear — But you must tell me your 
 name. We shall never talk pleasanth' 
 until you tell me your name. What is 
 your name, please ? " 
 
 " Islay Liglis," said the boy sullenly. 
 
 " Islay Inglis. I don't quite like tlie 
 
 5
 
 eC EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 sound ; it is not so liarmonious as Baptist 
 Lake. But, my dear Islay, you are an 
 Englishman. *Inglis ' is just English. Your 
 ancestor was an Englishman who settled in 
 Scotland." 
 
 " I know," said the boy, in whose face 
 an angry flush still glowed. " Any primer 
 of philology will tell you that." 
 
 " My dear Islay, you mustn't talk of 
 sources of knowledge. One's information 
 is one's own, no matter where it came 
 from, or however elementary it may be. 
 That ' Inglis ' is ' English ' is a fact that 
 interests me now for the first time. You 
 must be a very remarkable person, Islay, 
 combining in yourself the most remarkable 
 qualities of two great races." 
 
 " There is no distinction," said Islay 
 Inglis ; " the Scotch are just northern 
 English, and the best of the breed." 
 
 " Charming," said Baptist, " charming. 
 Tell me, Islay, why are you walking in 
 this very forlorn part of London ? " 
 
 " Tell me. Baptist," said the bo}^, " why
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 67 
 
 you are driving in this very forlorn part of 
 London ? " 
 
 " My dear Islay, you are the most de- 
 lightful person I have met for a very long 
 time. I am driving because I had to go to 
 Pilgrimstow and back, and because there 
 are two thins^s I never do : I never walk to 
 any place ; and I never take a bus or a 
 train. Now, why are you walking ? " 
 
 " Because I had to go to Pilgrimstow and 
 back, and because I prefer to walk." 
 
 " In search of adventures ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And are you having adventures, 
 Islay ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " How old are you, Islay ? " 
 
 "Fifteen and a half." 
 
 " And your sweetheart — how old is she ? " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Your sweetheart, Islay ; that exquisite 
 girl who drank shand^^-gafF as divinely as 
 if it had been nectar ; how old is she ? " 
 
 " Now, look here, Mr. Baptist," said the 
 
 5*
 
 68 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 boy, his voice trembling with his throbbing 
 pulses ; " if you dare to speak of that lady 
 again I shall strike you." 
 
 " My dear Islay, we are not musqueteers. 
 People don't strike each other in hansoms 
 in London. I have not seen a lovelier girl 
 for a long time, and I must talk " 
 
 " I warned you," said the boy. 
 
 He was sitting on Ba]3tist's left, and he 
 struck him full on the cheek with his right 
 hand. 
 
 " Charming," said Baptist, stopping the 
 cab. " We can settle this at once." 
 
 Islay stepped out after Baptist, and the 
 latter having told the driver to wait for 
 them at the second lamp from where they 
 stood, climbed over a wooden fence into a 
 field, closely f(.)llowed by his companion. 
 There were no buildings in the immediate 
 neighbourhood, although three or four hun- 
 dred yards nearer the City a railway with 
 coloured liaiits bridged the road, and about 
 the same distance behind them the lamp-lit 
 windows of a short terrace were visible.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 69 
 
 The moon had gone down, and Islay 
 stumbled several thnes. Baptist led the 
 way to a piece of thorn hedge, the sole 
 remnant of a former division. It now ran 
 aimlessly across the centre of the field, 
 dark, shaggy, with scanty foliage — like the 
 ghost of a hedge visiting in the night the 
 scene of its pleasant duty, the place where 
 it had sheltered birds, where it had made 
 itself fragrant with blossom. Having gained 
 the side of the hedge farthest from the road. 
 Baptist took off his hat, coat, and vest and 
 hung them on a branch. 
 
 " I can't see," said Islay, much impressed, 
 but not frightened by the deliberate pro- 
 ceedings of his companion. 
 
 " I have the advantage of you there," 
 rejoined Baptist. " I can see in the dark." 
 
 " Like a cat," hissed Islay. 
 
 " Like a lion," said Baptist. " Wait a 
 little. Look at the hedge, and you will 
 begin to see. Keep your eyes from the 
 railway ; don't look even at the stars ; 
 study the darkness and you will see."
 
 70 BAPIIST LAKE. 
 
 " Do you perceive," continued Baptist, 
 after a pause, "the extraordinary signifi- 
 cance of these accidental remarks ? ' Keep 
 your eye away from the railway ; don't 
 look even at the stars ; study the darkness, 
 and you will see.' They are loaded with 
 meaning. Attack me when you are ready." 
 
 Islay followed the advice given him, and 
 as soon as he bec^an to distinguish the 
 branches and the leaves of the hedge, he 
 turned his gaze on his antagonist. Two 
 lustrous eyes towered above him ; he felt 
 like a punt attacking a lighthouse. 
 
 " Eeady," he cried, and rushed on 
 Baptist. 
 
 His attack was easily repelled. Thrice 
 he renewed it, and each time when Baptist's 
 left hand met his right shoulder it seemed 
 to him as if he had been driving against a 
 bulkhead. 
 
 " I don t know what to do. I can't get 
 at you," he cried in dismay. 
 
 " Try a fall," suggested Baptist. 
 
 " All rio-ht."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 71 
 
 They closed, and in a second May was 
 lying on his back. 
 
 " You have been a very foolish boy," 
 said Baj^tist, picking him up. " You struck 
 me, and I am going to punish you." 
 
 He sat down on the rise of the hedge, 
 and laying Islay, in spite of his struggles, 
 across his knees, gave him a sound whip- 
 ping. 
 
 "My dear Tsla}^," he said, as he released 
 him, " now you know that boys can't fight 
 men — a very important lesson. We shall 
 be the greatest of friends." 
 
 But Islay burst into a storm of sobs, sobs 
 without tears, and ran for the road. 
 Baptist, starting in pursuit, followed only a 
 few yards, and Islay also ceased running 
 before he arrived at the fence, both re- 
 membering that they were stripped to the 
 shirt. Baptist returned to the hedge and 
 dressed himself quickly. He then took 
 Islay's clothes and made for a point in the 
 fence much nearer the cab than that which 
 Islay had run towards. Islay walked very
 
 72 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 slowly, and when Baptist readied tlie road 
 they met. 
 
 " Give me — my clothes," said Islay, 
 speaking in gasps between the sobs that 
 still shook him. 
 
 Baptist held out the vest in both hands, 
 and Islay made a snatch at it ; but that was 
 not what Baptist w^anted. 
 
 " My dear Islay," he said. " Had I 
 known your high spirit would suffer so 
 much, I would not have treated you as a 
 boy. You are a man. I beg j^our pardon, 
 Islay. Forgive me. Let me help you on 
 w^ith 3'our clothes, and I will show you how 
 to avenge yourself." 
 
 Islay ceased sobbing, and stared at Bap- 
 tist. Then he allow^ed himself to be dressed. 
 
 " Now," said Baptist in his pleasantest 
 manner, taking off his own coat, and bending 
 his great body over the fence, " you can 
 whip me till you are tired." 
 
 " Baptist ! " cried Islay. It was the cry 
 of one delivered ; tears and a last sob came 
 with it.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 73 
 
 " Why don't you begin ? " asked Baptist, 
 looking round. 
 
 But Islay was hidden by Baptist's coat, 
 which he held out towards his conqueror. 
 Baptist accepted the service in silence, and 
 the pair were soon seated ^together in the 
 hansom. 
 
 When they were in motion again Islay 's 
 first impulse was to slip his arm into Baptist's. 
 It was done shyly. 
 
 "You can't steal my heart that way," 
 said Baptist, hooking Islay's arm closely. 
 " I don't wear it on my sleeve. But you 
 do not need to steal it ; you have it." 
 
 Islay muttered something in the shape 
 of thanks, and Baptist, who entertained 
 himself with sentiment as he did with 
 wine or cigarettes, enjoyed the boy's 
 sincerity. 
 
 " How strange," he said, almost inaudibly, 
 speaking more to himself than to Islay, 
 *' that sincerity should be awkward. The 
 finest things, in life as in art, are always 
 out of drawing."
 
 74 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 "Iler name," said Islay, breathing 
 quickly, "is Hose — Eose Salerne." 
 
 " Yes, Islay," said Baptist, putting a 
 world of invitation and welcome into the 
 words. He understood that the boy, wishing 
 to atone for his distrust, meant of his own 
 accord to tell him all about his sweetheart. 
 
 " Her father is a tobacconist in Pilgrim- 
 stow ; her mother is dead ; and she is just 
 sixteen." 
 
 When Islay began to talk of his sweet- 
 heart, he thought he was about to go on 
 for half an hour. To his astonishment 
 he suddenly felt that he had nothing more 
 to say. 
 
 " Eose Salerne," said Baptist in a 
 melting voice, that made the boy shiver 
 with delio'ht. " Her name is almost as 
 adorable as she is herself. How did you 
 meet with her, Islay ? " 
 
 " Oh, just roaming about." 
 
 " In search of adventures ? " 
 
 "Yes. We came to London a month 
 ago, and after "
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Who came to London a month ago ? " 
 " My father and mother and I." 
 " On a hoUday ? " 
 
 " No ; for good. My father has given 
 up busmess, and we are gomg to settle in 
 London. My father," continued Islay, 
 perceiving that he had now a subject on 
 which he could talk with ease, " was a ship- 
 broker in Glasgow. He entered the 
 council and became a baiUe, and wanted to 
 be provost in order to be knighted — they 
 knight the provosts of Glasgow, you know; 
 but he was passed over, so he wound up 
 his business and came to London to enjoy 
 himself. My father is a very extraordinary 
 man. It is quite certain that if he had 
 waited for another three years he would 
 have been elected provost ; but he 
 wouldn't. He makes up his mind about 
 everything, and always knows exactly what 
 he will do if the plan fails. I mean he 
 always has a second plan which does not 
 depend upon the will of others." 
 " Admirable ! "
 
 76 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Islay heaved a sigh of pleasure. 
 Baptist's approbation had already become 
 almost a necessity. 
 
 " My father — my father and I are great 
 friends," continued Islay, endeavouring to 
 subdue the proud tone that came into his 
 voice. " We trust each other. But I 
 haven't told him yet about Eose SaJerne. 
 I can't talk of her." 
 
 "Don't try to, Islay. What other 
 adventures have you had since you came 
 to London ? " 
 
 " I don't call that an adventure." 
 
 " Ah ! By adventure then you^mean 
 something in the nature of an exploit ? " 
 
 " Yes, something in which one might be 
 wounded or even killed." 
 
 " Or imprisoned ? " 
 
 " Yes, or imjmsoned." 
 
 " I can quite understand ' doing ' a 
 week or a fortnight as an experience, 
 but I should never risk penal servi- 
 tude. You won't risk penal servitude, 
 Islay ? [[
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 77 
 
 " I don't know. I shall take my cliance 
 with the others." 
 
 " Then there is an exploit in pre- 
 paration ? " 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Charming. I must join you, I think." 
 " Will you ? That would be splendid." 
 " What is it ? The highway ? " 
 " No. . . But I can't tell you. If you 
 really think of joining us I will find out if 
 they will let you." 
 
 " Do, Islay. We must steal the Mace, 
 or the Madonna Ansidei, or the Elgin 
 Marbles, or something. 
 
 Islay laughed and lounged back into his 
 corner of the hansom quite in an ecstasy. 
 Baptist's easy appreciation of his madcap 
 humour ixave him a new conceit of him- 
 self; he had never before had the entire 
 sympathy of anyone so much older 
 than he and of such shining qualities, 
 too. 
 
 " And does your father know of this 
 great adventure, Islay ? " asked Baptist.
 
 78 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " No ; I can't tell liira. It is connected 
 with Miss Salerne." 
 
 " Don't say Miss Salerne, Islay. Say 
 Eose Salerne. Eomeo never talked of Miss 
 Capulet." 
 
 The boy's hair stood on end with 
 pleasure He knew by heart Eomeo's 
 speeches and Juliet's replies; to be equalled 
 with these sacred lovers was to be already 
 canonised. 
 
 " Have you not yet performed any 
 exploits at all then ? " asked Baptist. . 
 
 " No," repHed Islay. " I have only been 
 in London about a month, you know." 
 
 " Of course ; you haven't had time. 
 But what led you to Pilgrimstow ? " 
 
 " Nothing — chance. I walked out one 
 day to Highgate Wood, wondering if I 
 mightn't find something there, and " 
 
 " Charming," said Baptist, under his 
 breath. 
 
 But Isla}' heard him, although they 
 were now rattling noisily along Old Street, 
 and perceived a certain shade of mean-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 79 
 
 ing, or thought he did, which made him 
 bhish. 
 
 " I can't help it," he said hotly. " I 
 know that the days of adventure are over, 
 but I never see a dozen old trees together 
 without hoping against hope that a 
 bowman may pass among their shadows. 
 Well, if you've ever been in Highgate 
 Wood you will know how disappointed I 
 was. Part of it is trimmed and kept, and 
 overrun with children and family parties, 
 and part of it sown with broken crockery 
 and ashes. I ran from it and went over 
 Muswell Hill to Pilgrimstow. I was out 
 of cigarettes, and turned into the first 
 tobacconist's I came to." 
 
 At this point in his story Islay Inghs 
 stopped suddenly, and looked with some 
 diffidence at his companion, but as Baptist 
 continued gazing straight between the 
 horse's ears Islay plucked up courage and, 
 in a stronger voice and brighter manner 
 than that in which he had started, con- 
 tinued his account of his first visit to Pilgrim-
 
 80 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 stow. The change in the boy's tone was 
 so striking that Baptist turned towards 
 him and kept his eyes fixed on him while 
 he talked, which marked attention, instead 
 of disconcerting Islay, seemed to give him 
 force and ease. 
 
 " A tall man stood behind the counter. 
 He looked like a viking, I thought, with the 
 wind entangled and asleep in his yellow 
 beard and hair, and in his blue eyes the sea 
 and the sk}^ deep and serene." 
 
 Islay blushed here ; this image had been 
 elaborated in his mind for days, and he was 
 ashamed of himself for making believe that 
 it was spontaneous. Boys quickly learn 
 the tricks of men ; but that one, of hatch- 
 ing well-turned sentences, and epigrams, 
 and paradoxes, and keeping them stowed 
 away in the cheek like a serpent-brood to 
 be emitted upon occasion as if newly born, 
 is an accomplishment hardly ever studied 
 before the age of twenty-five. Perceiving 
 nothing but attention, deference even, in 
 Baptist's face, Islay 's momentary confusion
 
 EAPTIST LAKE. 81 
 
 passed, and he continued his story with 
 confidence. 
 
 " For a second or two I was unable to 
 speak to this man, and when I did recover 
 from my surprise at such a sight in a Uttle 
 tobacco shop, I was ashamed to ask for 
 some cigarettes ; so I bought half-a-pound 
 of bird's-eye. The viking made it up into 
 a packet as neatly as a girl could have 
 done ; and said as he handed it to me, 
 * You'll be from the north ? ' " 
 
 " Did you recognise my accent ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " ' No,' he said ; ' I knew ye for a 
 Scotchman. I can tell them at a glance, 
 high and low of them. There's something 
 about a Scotchman, or a Scotch laddie, if 
 he's a lad at all, ye can never mistake. I 
 canna' give it a name.' 
 
 " ' Why, you're Scotch yourself ! '" I said. 
 
 " ' In a way,' he replied. ' I lived in it 
 for a matter of fifteen years. But I'm a 
 Belminster man ; all the Salernes come 
 from Belminster.' 
 
 6
 
 82 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " I looked at the packet of tobacco, and 
 saw the name on the bag, ' Paul Salerne.' 
 
 " ' It's an uncommon name,' I said. 
 
 " He nodded and made no reply ; but I 
 was determined to know more of him, and 
 his air of mystery and adventure. So I 
 said, ' I've walked from London, and I 
 mean to walk back, but I must have a 
 rest and a drink. Won't you come with 
 me?' 
 
 " ' It's nearly half-past four,' said he, 
 looking at a wag-at-the-wall that hung 
 behind him. ' We have tea at that time. 
 Come and have tea with us.' 
 
 " I was only too glad to accept his invi- 
 tation, and that made him very friendly. 
 You may think, perhaps, I ought to have 
 been suspicious, but you have only to see 
 Paul Salerne to know that anything under- 
 hand, any ulterior motive, is quite foreign 
 to his nature." 
 
 Islay blushed again as soon as he had 
 uttered this sentence : he felt its priggish- 
 ness.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 83 
 
 "Well," he continued, hurrying on to 
 escape the sense of self-dissatisfaction ; 
 " here's the act of a man of perfect sincerity 
 and honesty. Salerne said, ' Give me that 
 packet.' I handed him the bird's-eye, and 
 he gave me back the price of it. ' You 
 don't smoke bird's-eye, lad,' he said 
 smiling. 'Why you bought it, I can't 
 rightly divine.' I was annoyed, and asked 
 him how he knew I didn't smoke bird's-eye. 
 ' I divined it,' he said. 
 
 " At half-past four, an old woman in a 
 tartan dress and a crape cap came in from 
 the room at the back of the shop and 
 whispered Salerne that tea was ready. 
 
 " ' Set another cup, Mrs. Macalister,' said 
 Salerne. ' This young gentleman will take 
 tea with us.' 
 
 " Mrs. Macahster, w^hom I afterwards 
 found to be housemaid, cook, and shop- 
 assistant all in one, glanced from Salerne 
 to me with amazement. She was thin and 
 scraggy, with the skin of her nose very 
 tight and glazed-like. Her eyes were sunk 
 
 6*
 
 84 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 in her head, ])ut big ; and as she bUnked at 
 us she looked like a monkey. She opened 
 her mouth as if to speak, but thinking 
 better of it tapped with her bony knuckles 
 on a silver-mounted ram's horn that stood 
 on the counter, and took from it a larire 
 pinch of snuff. She then returned to the 
 room, walking with short quick steps. We 
 heard the rattle of a cup and saucer, and 
 a sound as if a teaspoon had been shied 
 at them, whereupon Mrs. Macalister re- 
 appeared. As I followed the viking into 
 the parlour, I looked back and saw Mrs. 
 Macalister helping herself fiercely to another 
 pinch of snuff. 
 
 " ' Here's a young Scotch gentleman, 
 Eose,' said Salerne. ' My daughter, sir.' 
 
 " You know what like Eose is. . . Ko ; I 
 can't tell you — I can't tell you any more. 
 I fell in love with her — in love ; and have 
 seen her every day since, and her father is 
 quite well pleased. He had known my 
 father in Glasgow, had worked for my 
 father in some way. I'm going on an
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 85 
 
 adventure with him, and I'm going to 
 marry Rose." 
 
 " An enchanting story, Islay, enchant- 
 ing," said Baptist Lake. " But let me say 
 one Uttle word. You mustn't be so garrulous 
 in your narratives. It is the fault of the 
 very young and the very old, and a special 
 fault of Scotch people, I think. They are 
 more reticent than the English, and yet 
 they talk more — as a result of their 
 reticence. They go into details, endea- 
 vouring always to escape the main point, 
 which in the end they jump, as you did 
 just now. You wanted, you know, Islay, 
 to tell me about your love for Kose Salerne, 
 and gave me all this long screed of ' said 
 he' and 'said I' instead. But it was very 
 charming of you." 
 
 Islay muttered some reply. He was 
 indignant at the criticism, and at the same 
 time enthralled by Baptist's perfect sym- 
 pathy with his boyishness, and understand- 
 ing of the simple mood which seemed to 
 himself so complex.
 
 86 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 *' I wonder where we are now./' said 
 BajDlist after a short pause. "Ah! in 
 Holborn. What a crowd! what a rustle 
 and murmur ! what a London it is ! Have 
 you ever thought of London, Lslay ? tried 
 to conceive it, to define it, to put it into an 
 epigram ? The dreadful entrails of the 
 place, the veins of water and light, the 
 electric nerves ; the shaking of the streets 
 with the tides of life that throb under- 
 ground, that rush and roar above — you 
 can't define them. The luxury and the 
 squalor that crowd at opposite poles, but 
 are yet everywhere intermixed, cannot be 
 crushed into an epigram. London, an 
 epitome of the three kingdoms, with more 
 Scotch people than Edinburgh, more Irish 
 than Dublin ; an epitome of the world. 
 But it is impossible to realise what London 
 is. Do you know, I sometimes think that 
 centuries hence some great painter will 
 paint a wonderful picture, some great 
 novelist will write a wonderful description, 
 of London, each as unlike the actual city
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 87 
 
 as Turner's or Flaubert's Carthage is un- 
 like Dido's town ; but the contemporaries 
 of these artists will have a truer idea than 
 us of immensity, of innumerable crowds, 
 of frantic expenditure, of pleasure and 
 misery, of greatness and meanness, because 
 they will imagine what we must con- 
 template." 
 
 NothinjTj more was s\aid bv either until 
 the hansom was brought to a standstill in a 
 "block" at Piccadilly Circus. 
 
 " And now, Islay," said Baptist, " where 
 is your ancestral domain ? " 
 
 "We're living in a hotel just now — 
 Whitc^room's in Bond Street." 
 
 " Charming. I live in a hotel too. I 
 shall set you down at Whitgroom's." 
 
 Baptist instructed the driver, and there 
 was again silence in the hansom until it 
 turned into Bond Street. 
 
 " Will you come with me, Baptist ? " 
 asked Islay, a tremor in his voice. 
 
 " I should be charmed ; but vour father 
 and mother, Islay ? "
 
 88 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " They will be charmed, too. You don't 
 understand. They're splendid ; we're com- 
 panions." 
 
 "Ah! Have you infected them with 
 your adventurous spirit ? I have caught it 
 too, I think : I would go anywhere you 
 chose to ask me just now." 
 
 Islay was intoxicated with delight. To 
 have impressed so favourably such a 
 wonderful man as this Baptist, was to him 
 the second greatest triumph of his life. 
 The lover of Eose Salerne and the friend 
 of Baptist Lake, the one the most beautiful 
 of women, the other the most complete of 
 men ! Truly things were happening ; and 
 his fledgling thought began to perceive 
 that, after all, exploits with swords and 
 pistols are mere sound and fury signifying 
 nothing, compared with the encounters of 
 the soul.
 
 V. 
 
 A^ entire flat of Wliitgroom's had been 
 rented by Islay's father when he fled from 
 Glasgow. As Islay had said to Baptist Lake, 
 John Inghs was a man who always had a 
 second plan independent of the will of 
 others ; and when he found it necessary to 
 fall back on his jyis aller he was prompt in 
 its execution. So it had been with his 
 exodus from Scotland. The day he lost the 
 provostship he began his preparations, and 
 in less than three weeks was in London 
 with his family. At the time when our 
 story opens he had just completed the 
 purchase of a house and furniture in 
 Lancaster Gardens, Kensington. The 
 Honourable Phihp Babchurch, once an 
 impecunious cadet of the Basingbourne 
 family and husband of Maud Boxtree, old 
 Boxtree the furniture man's heiress, had
 
 so BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 been the owner of No, 10 Lancaster 
 Gardens, presented to liim by his doting 
 father-in-law on his marriage day — " very 
 heroicalh^," as the Honourable Phihp put 
 it. At the end of the honeymoon, just as 
 the Honourable Philip's creditors were 
 beginning to whet their beaks, old Boxtree, 
 again " very heroically," died. Maud 
 Boxtree must have inherited old Boxtree's 
 heroism, for she died too, shortly after her 
 father, leaving the Honourable Philip 
 master for life of the Boxtree fortune. No. 
 10 Lancaster Gardens was placed in the 
 market at once with all the splendid Box- 
 tree fittings and furniture, and the Honour- 
 able Philip took chambers in Piccadilly. 
 He was rather a graceless creature ; but 
 at the last moment he dashed in on the 
 Inglis family in Whitgroom's. With one 
 eye eclipsed behind an eye-glass, and the 
 other glaring blanklj^, he shook hands all 
 round. 
 
 "Awfully glad!" he said. "The old 
 place is passing into good hands ; but I say,
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 91 
 
 you know ; I quite forgot — how could I ! — 
 one or two things I must remove. I — in fact, 
 I'm o'oinej to clear out Maud's bedroom." 
 
 John Inglis grasped the graceless 
 creature's hand tightly when he left, and 
 sent him that very day the whole contents 
 of the bedroom of j)Oor Maud Babchurch, 
 7iee Boxtree. 
 
 It was half-past ten when Baptist Lake 
 and Islay entered the Inglis dining-room 
 in Whitgroom's. Dessert was still on the 
 table ; for the dinner had been later than 
 usual. Next week they were to remove to 
 Lancaster Gardens, and the ladies had been 
 at the house all day. They might have 
 been there still had not Mr. Inglis carried 
 them away by force. Eapid talk ceased 
 abruptly on the entrance of Baptist and 
 Tslay ; but the air felt electric. Tliree 
 women and one man stared at the two. 
 
 " Well, Islay — " began the eldest of the 
 women, May's mother ; but her son inter- 
 rupted her. He introduced his new friend, 
 and gave him a seat at the table.
 
 92 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Islay's mother was a particularly gracious- 
 looking woman. Formed in a large mould, 
 she inclined to be stout now in middle 
 life — she was barely forty-five ; but corpu- 
 lence had not yet hidden the suave lines of 
 her handsome figure. Laughter and a 
 soft light lurked in her grey eyes, and her 
 pleasant mouth was as fresh as a girl's. 
 Her abundant brown hair, divided 
 Madonna-wise was looselj^ coiled, and you 
 saw when she spoke that she had all her- 
 teeth, regular, pearly white, and of a good 
 size. 
 
 John Ingiis, two years older than his 
 wife, was equally well-preserved, and looked 
 even younger than she. Islay was very 
 like him : the dark hair with the dash of 
 red, the hardy hazel eyes, the Eoman nose, 
 the large, thick-lipped, but delicate mouth, 
 and the strong jaw were the same — 
 more developed in the father, and yet if 
 anything more refined. He wore a 
 moustache and full beard ; and there was 
 not a oTev hair in his head.
 
 EAPTIST LIKE. 93 
 
 The two young women, married sisters of 
 Islay, were like their mother. Baptist 
 noticed that thev were both about to 
 become mothers — evidently very near their 
 confinement. 
 
 " I'm very glad to see you, sir," said Mr. 
 Inglis, as soon as Baptist and Islay were 
 seated. " Any friend of May's . is always 
 welcome." 
 
 "Your son and I," said Baptist, 
 " although we met for the first time to- 
 night, seem to have known each other all 
 our lives ; and when he told me that you 
 were living in a hotel, a fellow-feeling made 
 me anxious to see you, for I also live in a 
 hotel. I prefer to do so for a great many 
 reasons — perhaps chiefly because of the 
 irresponsibility. With a house there is apt 
 to be, some say there ought to be, another 
 than the mere cash-nexus between master 
 and servant. Now, I think the whole 
 tendency of the times is to reduce all 
 relations between human beings to terms of 
 pounds, shillings, and pence ; and as I wish
 
 y4 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 to be in the fore -front of the age I Hve in a 
 hoteL" 
 
 True to his invariable habit in accidental 
 encounters, Baptist had given utterance to 
 the first notion that occurred to him ; but 
 on this occasion he deviated from his other 
 invariable habit of indifference, or rather 
 absolute certainty, as to the effect pro- 
 duced. Much interested in the strangle 
 family with which chance had made him 
 acquainted, he watched the result of his 
 speech in the expression of his auditors. 
 The two young women looked at him 
 kindly, but their eyes acknowledged only 
 the beauty of his voice, and the charms of 
 his person ; there w^as some kind of 
 response to his hap-hazard remark in- Mrs. 
 Inglis's glance, and Baptist judged at once 
 that she had more brains than her 
 daughters ; Islay, persuaded out of 
 Shakespeare and Scott of the romance, and 
 therefore of the sweet reasonableness of the 
 feudal idea of the relation of master and 
 servant, shook his head reproachfully ; and
 
 BAPTIST LAKE, 95 
 
 Mr. Inglis, settling himself in his chair and 
 crossing his legs, declared in a fine bass 
 voice, with a strong Glasgow accent, that 
 he thought Mr. Lake was very far wrong. 
 
 " You may say what you like, sir," said 
 Mr. Inglis cheerfully ; " but I maintain that 
 the proper relation between human beings 
 is patriarchal — you know what I mean. 
 As a matter of fact we are leaving this hotel 
 on Monday to set up house again, and I am 
 very glad of it." 
 
 " Yes," said Baptist, " I beheve you are 
 quite right. For a bachelor, however, a 
 hotel is the thing." 
 
 " I dare say," said Mr. Inghs ; " but 
 women must have a home." 
 
 " Islay here, I'm sure," said Baptist, 
 *' prefers a hotel. Adventures are to be 
 had in hotels." 
 
 Islay, who was busy eating cake and 
 fruit, pushed the plates towards Baptist. 
 
 " As a bachelor, of course," he said, 
 when his mouth was empty. " A married 
 man must have a home of his own."
 
 96 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 (( 
 
 Islay," said Mrs. Inglis, startled and 
 amused atlier son's gravity, "what are you 
 talkincj about ? " 
 
 " Isla}^" said liis father, " is great on 
 adventures. We are all waiting for some- 
 thing extraordinary to happen." 
 
 " I'm afraid," said Mrs. Inglis, " Islay 
 will be disappointed. I have never had any 
 adventures." 
 
 " Nor I," said Mr. Inglis. " But we 
 didn't £^0 rovinf;^ about London when we 
 were fifteen, my dear." 
 
 " Adventures come to us aU," said 
 Baptist, " at all ages. You will have 
 adventures yet, ]\Ir. Inglis. I am myself 
 prepared to break a lance for Mrs. Inglis 
 any day." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Inglis, "I shall never 
 have any adventures. I'm much too 
 inferior a man ever to have adventures." 
 
 " Too inferior, Mr. Inglis ? " said Baptist. 
 " How you interest me ! I should say at 
 once that no inferior man ever had the 
 courage to speak out so plainly about him
 
 BAPTIST lAKE. 97 
 
 self to a stranger. Do tell me what you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " It's quite simple," said Mr. Inglis, with 
 the utmost good-humour. " I began the 
 world with the proverbial half-crown, and 
 I am now a wealthy man ; therefore I 
 must be inferior." 
 
 " Oh ! admiraljle ! admirable ! " exclaimed 
 Baptist. 
 
 Islay and the two young women had 
 exchanged glances commiserating each 
 other when Mr. Inglis began on his own 
 inferiority : they had heard it often ; but 
 Baptist Lake's warmly expressed appre- 
 ciation renewed their interest in this piece 
 of self-criticism. 
 
 " You see," continued Mr. Inglis, inspired 
 by the attention that appeared in every 
 face, " most of the men who started life 
 with me have failed. One is a doctor, help- 
 ing paupers into the world all day and all 
 night ; and he will never get out of the 
 slums ; he is too superior a man to advertise 
 himself, and backbite the saw-boneses in 
 
 7
 
 98 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 his neiglibourliood. Another is a school- 
 master with a hundred and fifty a year, in 
 an outlandish village : he is too superior a 
 man to give his scholars a smattering of 
 three or four sciences and lanfyuaj?es, of 
 which he has only a smattering himself ; he 
 prefers to teach them plainly what he 
 knows ; therefore he always has a small 
 grant, and will never get out of the bit. A 
 
 third is now, I'll be honest for once. 
 
 None of the men who started life with me 
 became a minister ; but if one of them 
 had he would doubtless have been too 
 superior to gild the crown of thorns and 
 put buttons on the spikes and hang an 
 embroidered screen before the cross. He 
 would have told of the scourging, of the 
 nails, and of the bloody sweat, and filled 
 his church with the poor, and died at forty 
 worn out with preaching from his very soul, 
 twice on Sundays, and with visiting a 
 hundred or two distressed folk every week. 
 And some of them, ploughmen's sons, like 
 me, became clerks in banks and shipping
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 99 
 
 offices : one rose to be a teller with three 
 hundred a year, but he was a dunce. Most 
 of the others are still clerks with a pound 
 or thirty shillings a week each ; for they 
 were too superior — and, mind you, it is 
 superiority — to try to excel their neighbours. 
 They didn't learn shorthand and French 
 at nights, and take lessons in caligraphy, 
 and find out little secrets about their 
 fellows, and do overtime for nothing, and — 
 the ladies '11 let me say it — lead away 
 servant girls, and marry rich widows, and 
 become deacons and elders. No ; they 
 went to theatres and music-halls, and drank 
 a little, and tried to live, poor fellows ; and 
 some died in hospital, and some in their 
 fathers' homes, and some are clerks still. 
 But they were all superior — I maintain it — 
 and failed like men. I have succeeded ; 
 therefore I am inferior." 
 
 " You didn't find out secrets about your 
 fellows ? " said Islay. 
 
 " I cant say I did ; but I was advanced 
 over the heads of two older men^ because I 
 
 7*
 
 100 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 knew shorthand, and could write a business 
 letter in French." 
 
 " And the servant-girls, John ? " said 
 Mrs. Inglis. 
 
 " I hadn't time, my dear. I was only 
 eighteen when I married you." 
 
 Baptist, who had never really been in a 
 family circle before, was enchanted with 
 the conversation, and wondered if such 
 talk was common anions^ relatives who were 
 on good terms with each other ; he was in- 
 clined to think not. 
 
 " You interest me very much, Mr. Inglis," 
 he said. " But you haven't made it quite 
 clear to me why you are inferior." 
 
 " Haven't I ? Isn't it self-evident ? A 
 man doesn't realise a fortune without giving 
 his mind to it, and the making of money 
 brings into play all the inferior qualities. 
 The cunning of a fox, the tenacity of a 
 wolverine, and the ruthlessness of a j^orilla 
 that lets down a hairy paw out of a tree, 
 seizes you by the throat, and drops you 
 dead for the mere pleasure of the thing
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 101 
 
 while you are looking at the flowers — these 
 go to make a good business-man, and where 
 these are there's inferiority." 
 
 " But you are not like a fox, and a 
 wolverine, and a gorilla, Mr. Inglis," said 
 Baptist. 
 
 "Good God, I must be!" cried Mr. 
 Inglis. " I made a fortune out of half-a- 
 crown. I must be." 
 
 " Then why do you keep the fortune ? 
 Why not give it away ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that's a different story. You see, 
 I'm a Calvinist. I was born a Calvinist, just 
 as you may have been born an Arminian." 
 
 " I think I'm a Calvinist too," said 
 Baptist. " At any rate I want to be what 
 you are." 
 
 " Well, you're inferior if you're a Calvin- 
 ist," rejoined Mr. Inglis, laughing heartily. 
 " If you want to be a superior person you 
 must be born an Arminian. Arminiana 
 are great philanthropists. Everybody is to 
 have a palm and a harp, and plenty of 
 whisky and porridge, and not a hair oi
 
 102 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 anybody's head is to be singed ; and the 
 wickeder you are the more whisky and 
 porridge I suppose. I've known Arminians ; 
 they're very superior people, and can lift 
 everybody into heaven : a servants' hoist 
 and a visitors' hoist on earth, but a huge 
 balloon for all and sundr^y to scale the 
 clouds. And so they keep their neighbours 
 poor, and thrust them into hospitals and 
 poor-houses, because it'll all come right in 
 heaven. But I'm a Calvinist — much too 
 inferior to take such a far-sighted view of 
 thing's. I believe that the Kino"dom of 
 Heaven is here now on earth ; and that 
 everything is ordained, and fore-ordained, 
 and predestined and unchangeable. The 
 wealthy, and those that become wealthy, 
 are the elect in spite of themselves ; and 
 the poor are in hell, and 3'ou'll never get 
 them out : and it's right. Isn't that an 
 inferior view ? " 
 
 " Very inferior," replied Baptist. "lam 
 happy to say that I think I also am 
 'inferior.' "
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 103 
 
 *' Well, I liope so for your own sake," 
 said Mr. Inglis, pleased to find a man, and 
 an Englishman too, who could catch his 
 humour at once : most Englishmen, in Mr. 
 IngUs's opinion, know that the suggestion 
 of a surgical operation for the introduction 
 of a joke was made hrst of all by a Scotch- 
 man in the interests of a Southron ; and 
 that there is reciprocity in the international 
 denial of the power to appreciate humour. 
 
 "Well then, you see," continued Mr. 
 Inglis, " being one of the elect, I can't 
 possibly have adventures. I'm to be com- 
 fortable and contented all my life. I some- 
 times wish I had been one of the damned, 
 like Islay there. There's hope for you, 
 Islay ; you're one of the damned. You 
 mean to insist on having adventures, don't 
 you? 
 
 "I do," said Islay. "I should think 
 there are worse things than being damned." 
 
 " Bravo, boy ! " said his father. " I 
 should think there are. And there's first 
 of all being saved. That's much worse
 
 104 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 than being damned. As God's in heaven, I 
 would sooner burn in fire for all eternity 
 than be afraid to whistle on Sundays, and 
 have to sit down to a meal of slops in the 
 afternoon after listening to two sermons 
 from a man I could double up with half a 
 word if he would come out of his pulpit. 
 Are you one of the damned, Mr. Lake ? " 
 
 " Doubly and trebly," said Baptist, aglow 
 with enthusiasm for Mr. Inglis's gospel of 
 damnation. 
 
 " Then do you have adventures, Baptist, 
 real adventures ? " asked Islay, pricking up 
 his ears. 
 
 " Oh ! endless adventures," replied 
 Ba[)tist. 
 
 *' Xo ! But do 3'ou ? Tell us the last 
 one," said Islay, spreading his arms on the 
 table, and looking up at Baptist, ready to 
 drink in every word. 
 
 " Shall I ? Well," said Baptist " but 
 
 I must smoke. Mav I smoke, Mrs. 
 Inglis ? " 
 
 '• Certainly, Mr. Lake," said Mrs. Inalis.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 105 
 
 " I used to try a cigarette myself when I 
 was younger, but I don't care about it now." 
 
 Baptist took a cigarette and so did Islay, 
 while Mr. In2;lis lit a cip^ar. 
 
 " In medias res,'' said Baptist. " I gave 
 the crossing sweeper a penny, and at the 
 same instant a highly-tailored old gentle- 
 man gave him sixpence. I looked closely 
 at Crcesus. He returned my gaze, and as 
 we crossed the street together, I said, 
 ' Why did you give him sixpence ? ' 
 
 " The old gentleman made no reply, and 
 when we reached the pavement I was 
 about to leave him. He touched my 
 shoulder, however, and said ' See here.' 
 
 "I looked at the hand which he held 
 out, and saw that it contained a score or 
 two of sixpences. He returned the money 
 to his pocket in silence. His face was not 
 without distinction, nor was its expression 
 by any means purposeless. Yet there was 
 a helpless destined look about it. He 
 stood still watching me. Evidently he 
 wanted to talk.
 
 1C6 BAPTIST LAKE, 
 
 '"I understand,' I said. 'These were 
 lialf-sovereigns when you first put them 
 into your pocket, but when you take them 
 out, they prove to be sixpences — a common 
 occurrence in this city of enchantment.' 
 
 " ' Xo,' he said, smihng faintly, ' They 
 were never anything but sixpences.' 
 
 " ' What do you do with so many of 
 them then, and why did you give the 
 crossing-sweeper one ? ' " said I. 
 
 *' There was nothing; discourteous in 
 questioning him so point-blankly. His 
 whole manner invited interrogation. A 
 commissionaire moved us on ; we had 
 been standing in front of the box entrance 
 to a theatre. 
 
 " ' I shall tell A'ou,' said the old gentle- 
 man, leading the wa}^ into the Cafe 
 Cosmopolite. 
 
 " He gave me a sixpenny cigar, and 
 insisted on my drinking Kiimmel. 
 
 " ' A glass of Kiimmel,' he said, ' is the 
 only thing in London the price of which is 
 invariably sixpence.'
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 107 
 
 " ' I am afraid you are a doctrinaire,' I 
 said. 
 
 " ' 1 wish I were,' said lie. ' I wish I 
 had a creed, a set of opinions about any- 
 thing. But it's impossible : I've no soul.' 
 
 " ' Xo soul ! ' 
 
 " ' No. But you seem surprised.' 
 
 " ' It's a frank admission which few 
 would make.' 
 
 " ' Xot at all ; there are plenty of old 
 fellows like me who have no souls. Some 
 of them braix about it ; some of them don't 
 know it ; a few are chaOTinned. I know 
 several among my acquaintance, and 
 they're rich like myself. Two of them are 
 chagrinned, and have taken up with hobbies. 
 Whenever you find a man with a hobby, 
 you may know he has no soul. Both of 
 those consciously soulless friends of mine 
 invented their hobbies. One devotes his 
 energies to raising temporarily the price 
 of insignificant commodities. He has a 
 big building like a factory near his 
 country house, in which he stores his
 
 108 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 purcliases ; it is a very curious museum. 
 On one occasion he bought up all tlie 
 slate-pencil in the market ; on another, 
 all the marbles — bo3's' marbles, I mean. 
 He has gigantic collections of peg-tops, 
 thimbles, india-rubber balls, nut-crackers, 
 button - hooks, cherry - wood pipes, and 
 dozens of other things. The other soul- 
 less man began by collecting green china, 
 at the time the blue ware became fashion- 
 able. He found it to be much rarer than 
 the blue, and mostly ugly. The great 
 peculiarity about his green china is that 
 it's all delft — all I've seen of it at any rate. 
 Then he took to collecting green fabrics — 
 velvet, silk, broadcloth, bombazine, baize, 
 green books, green bottles, green liquids, 
 green tea, green cigars — anything and 
 evervthins^ called and coloured OTeen. He 
 built a row of almshouses for green people ; 
 they're full. My hobby is sixpences. I 
 come into town with a purseful of 
 sovereigns, and spend the day in changing 
 them for sixpences. I go from shop to
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 109 
 
 shop. It's not difficult, but it takes a lot 
 of time.' 
 
 " ' But you could easily get all the 
 sixpences you want without all that 
 trouble,' I said. 
 
 " ' You foro-et I want the trouble more 
 than the sixpences. When all the sove- 
 reigns are chanwd I walk about the streets, 
 until I have given away the last sixpence, 
 and then I go home.' 
 
 " ' And do you do this every day ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh no ! I have seen me do it every 
 day for a week on end ; sometimes perhaps 
 only twice a month. When I am tired of 
 eating and drinking, and putting off and 
 on my clothes, tired of billiards, of cards> 
 of talk, of theatres, of newspapers, of books, 
 I take to my sixpences. You see it is my 
 own invention. I enjoy the visits to the 
 shopkeepers, and I enjoy the hundreds of 
 surprises I give at night to men, women, 
 and children. Of course my sixpences are 
 mostly bestowed on poor people ; but I 
 stop well-dressed, stylishly-dressed, men
 
 110 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 and women, and gravely tender them the 
 little coin. Few of them reject it : sus- 
 picion, hesitation, l^ut seldom rejection. 
 Yon see, it's always a sixpence, and they 
 can say to themselves that I'm mad. It's 
 my own invention : that's the source of my 
 pleasure : I know that there is nobody in 
 the whole world doing as I'm doing. Six- 
 pence is my substitute for soul.' 
 
 " ' And on your off-days you live the 
 ordinary life of a gentleman about town ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes ! but sixpence still remains my 
 distino'uishino- feature. I shall mve this 
 waiter sixpence ; had he served a dinner 
 at three guineas a head, he should have 
 had sixpence and no more. My tij) is 
 alwa^'S sixpence. When I am asked for a 
 loan I offer a sixpence. The greatest event 
 in my career will be when a man saves my 
 life, and I give him sixpence. I am to be 
 buried with sixpence in my hand for St. 
 Peter or Charon, lest it should turn out 
 that I have a soul after all.' 
 
 " lie paid the waiter and gave him
 
 BAPTIST LAKE, 111 
 
 sixpence, and w.e went out. At the door 
 I asked him for a loan. He gave me 
 sixpence, and turned towards the Hay- 
 market. His accent had dropped a hint 
 as to his nationaUty. When he had gone 
 I thought I might as well make sure ; so I 
 went after him, and asked him for another 
 loan. 
 
 " ' No,' he said ; ' not twice to the same 
 person on the same day : that would make 
 a shilling.' 
 
 " And I knew he was a Scotchman." 
 
 Islay was disappointed with Baptist's 
 adventure ; the two young women looked 
 tolerant and smiled drowsily with their 
 heads on one side ; Mrs. Inghs thought it 
 was a very strange story, and said so, and 
 Mr. Inglis said, " That's very fine." 
 
 " Do you like it ? " asked Baptist, for- 
 getting that he had professedly been telling 
 an adventure, not an invention, of his own. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Inglis, speaking 
 slowly, unused to such a direct appeal for 
 approbation. " I like it very much. The
 
 112 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 dig at the Scotch care for the siller seems 
 to me needless ; but I suppose you had to 
 end with a point of some kind." 
 
 " No," said Baptist, " that is exactly how- 
 it occurred. AVhat dreadful critics you 
 Scotch people are ! I don't believe you 
 are a bit more given ' to herd the penny,' 
 is that rio;ht ? " — Mr. Ing;lis nodded — " than 
 the English : that's a calumny I think ; but 
 you do find fault." 
 
 " I daresay we do," said Mr. Inglis ; 
 " but it's because we see the fault." 
 
 " Charming ! " said Baptist under his 
 breath. 
 
 " But I say," cried Mr. Inglis pointing 
 to the black marble clock on the mantel- 
 piece, " it's after eleven. Bairns, be off to 
 bed." 
 
 Mr. Inn-lis kissed his daughters, and Mrs. 
 Ino-lis kissed her son. Then the three 
 women wished Baptist good-night, while 
 Mr. Inglis opened the door for them : as 
 they passed out he laid his hand gently on 
 the shoulder of each.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 113 
 
 "Islay?" he said, again looking at the 
 clock. 
 
 "Yes, father," rejoined Islay; "I'm 
 going. But I would like to speak to you 
 first." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Inoiis. " Mr. Lake, will 
 you come to my room ? I'm not going to 
 bed for two hours yet, and 111 be very glad 
 of your company." 
 
 "AVith pleasure," replied Baptist. 
 " When shall I see you again ? " he asked, 
 as he shook hands with Islay. 
 
 " I don't know. I'm going on my 
 adventure to-morrow. You'll hear of 
 me at Lancaster Gardens some time next 
 week." 
 
 " Eemember," whispered Baptist ; " a 
 week or a fortnight, but no penal servitude ; 
 it lacerates the soul with a wound that 
 never heals. I have met convicts and 
 forcats, and know. Be careful." 
 
 " WeU, Islay, are you in a scrape ? " 
 asked Mr. Inglis, when he returned after 
 conducting Baptist to his sanctum. 
 
 8
 
 114 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " No," said Islay ; " but I'm running into 
 
 one." 
 
 " What kind of a scrape is it ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you." 
 
 " Can't you avoid it ? Is it worth the 
 risk ? " 
 
 " It's not really a scrape ; it's an adven- 
 ture. The chance may never occur again. 
 I'll be away for a day or two." 
 
 " Will you ? " 
 
 "Yes ; and I may need some money." 
 
 " You shall have it, Islay." 
 
 "But I shall be away before you're up 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Then I'll sive it you to-niiiht." 
 
 Mr. Inglis handed his son all the money 
 he had in his pockets, and Islay seemed 
 satisfied. The pair then left the room to- 
 gether. Islay went to bed, and his father 
 joined Baptist Lake.
 
 VI. 
 
 John Inglis called himself a ploughman's 
 son, but his father had been a farmer, and 
 well-to-do — the descendant of a long line of 
 farmers belonging to Kyle, Burns's division 
 of Ayrshire. Inglis is a border name, and 
 in all likelihood the first of the race to 
 settle in Ayrshire was not a direct importa- 
 tion from England, but some moss-trooper, 
 lured by the bright eyes of an Ayrshire 
 farmer's lass to forsake his wild life, hang 
 up his jack and spear in the spence, and 
 yoke his Galloway nag with his father-in- 
 law's Cl^^desdale. However that may have 
 been, the Ayrshire Inglises are able to trace 
 their descent as far back as the end of the 
 seventeenth century. John Inglis settled in 
 the Glen of Balsharach in Kyle about 1690, 
 and his descendants continue to reside 
 
 there to the present day. This first John 
 
 8*
 
 IIG BAPTIST LAKl^. 
 
 Inglis was a man of marked character, and 
 of great piety. There are still preserved a 
 series of fourteen prayers written by him 
 between 1693 and 1710. A quotation from 
 one or two of them will give, better than 
 any exposition, an idea of the kind of men 
 from whom our Injjlises are descended. 
 
 The conclusion of one of these prayers, 
 dated "17 May, 1698,"' runs as follows :— 
 
 " And now glory be to thee, God the 
 Father, whom I shall be bold from this day 
 forward to look upon as my God and father, 
 that ever thou shouldest have found out 
 such a way for the rescue of undone sin- 
 ners ! Glorv be to thee, God the Son, 
 who hast loved me and washed me from my 
 sins in thine own precious blood, and art 
 now become my saviour and redeemer ! 
 Glory be to thee, God the Holy Ghost, 
 who by the finger of thine almighty power 
 has turned about my heart from sin to 
 God! 
 
 " dreadful Jehovah ! the Lord God 
 omnipotent, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 117 
 
 thou art now become my Covenant Friend, 
 and I, through thine infinite grace, am 
 become thy Covenant Servant. Amen, so 
 be it. And the Covenant which I have 
 made on earth, let it be ratified in Heaven." 
 
 Although this passionate faith, this un- 
 awed security, were the notes of the first 
 John Inglis's prevailing mood, sometimes 
 the tension of thought and emotion pro- 
 duced a slight reaction, not of doubt, still 
 less of despair, not even a sense of in- 
 sufficiency which so often alternates with 
 self-confidence in strong religious natures. 
 He would seem rather to have been actuated 
 bv some undefined fear lest God should not 
 look on him and his affairs with a due 
 regard for their importance. The mental 
 attitude of this other prayer, composed two 
 years after the one given above, is liker 
 that of a great feudal vassal, yielding the 
 stipulated homage to his suzerain, than 
 that of a frail human being in presence of 
 his Creator. 
 
 " Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I renounce
 
 118 15APTIST LAKE. 
 
 the Devil, the World, and the Flesh, and 
 do here now promise and covenant in the 
 sight of God and in his strength to fight 
 under his banner. 
 
 " And now glory be to thee, Father, 
 Son, and Holy Ghost, for ever and for ever. 
 Amen. 
 
 "This is the year of God, 1700, July 
 the first dav, in the Glen of Balsharach. 
 And God is witness." 
 
 Surely there are many steps — leaps and 
 bounds, hills and streams and seas between 
 the high unquestioning faith of the first 
 John Inglis, and the humorous gospel of 
 damnation of the John Inaiis the reader 
 knows. And vet the father of our John 
 Inglis, dying nearly two hundred years after 
 the date of his ancestor's pra^-ers, differed 
 little in the expression, as in the nature, 
 the sincerity and strength, of his religious 
 opinions from the old Covenanting farmer, 
 who felt himself to be a special friend ol 
 God's. In many country districts of Scot- 
 land, where the land and the air are un-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 119 
 
 contaminated by mines or manufactures, 
 where there is no seething mass of under- 
 fed and overlaboured humanity ready for 
 the agitator's leaven, the stern creed for 
 which men forsook all and endured all, 
 remains uncorrupted and undefiled. 
 
 William Inglis, May's grandfather, used 
 his ancestor's prayers, not only because 
 they had become the liturgy of the family, 
 but because they expressed his own un- 
 faltering belief and passionate adoration. 
 As for our John Inglis, he was the first of 
 the race, in this country at least, to come in 
 contact with modern ideas. His father's 
 hair would have stood on end at the things 
 he said, the things he did, and the things 
 he left undone. The piano on Sabbath, 
 novels, French novels, too ; a non-church- 
 goer, a frequenter of theatres, a blasphemer, 
 and one who enjoyed heartily the stories of 
 the smoking-room : to his father, a veritable 
 son of perdition. Perhaps, however, the 
 seas and streams dividing the Covenanter's 
 prayers from John Inglis's topsy-turvy
 
 120 EAFTIST LAKE. 
 
 gospel of damnation would shrink into 
 small bulk could thought be stripped of 
 expression, and the real meanmg behind 
 words made plain ; which it- never can be 
 in this world. Once when Inglis had been 
 accused of irreverence by a Scotch clergy- 
 man, he had replied, " But I am not ir- 
 reverent ; I am humorous ; and that is just 
 exactly what your religion needs. Christ, 
 it seems to me, cannot have been the Son of 
 God, because God made man in his own 
 image ; now humour, of which Christ had 
 none, is man's highest gift. We want a 
 humorous religion. We will have to clothe 
 our religion in humour instead of poetry, 
 for a change." Eeligion is the Scotchman's 
 subject ; and even the most uneducated 
 have often some strikinfj; theolo2:ical re- 
 marks to make. 
 
 The Inglises were always straightforward, 
 honest men, and most excellent sons, hus- 
 bands, and fathers. They took great pride 
 in their reputation, and were never at any 
 trouble to conceal that they did so ; they
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 121 
 
 made a boast of having a good conceit of 
 themselves. A saying of one of their num- 
 ber was often referred to in the family with 
 much complacence. On the 27th of June 
 — every Inglis knew the family history as 
 intimately as a herald knows the genealogy 
 of a royal house — on the 27 th of June, 
 1771, a John Inglis was married to a Sarah 
 Dick. The parents of the couple had every 
 reason to esteem them highly, and their 
 praise was in everybody's mouth. On the 
 marriage day, Vsdien the bridegroom's father 
 entered the room where the bride was sit- 
 tincf, he exclaimed, " There she sits like a 
 weel-tappit hen, but she's no' a match for 
 my son, John." Every Inglis was proud of 
 this saying, but their friends as well as 
 their enemies quoted it against them. 
 
 When Islay's father was fifteen William 
 Inglis gave up the farm of Balsharach to 
 his eldest son, and went to Glasgow with 
 two unmarried daughters and John, who 
 was the youngest child. His wife had died 
 several years before. There were two more
 
 122 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 sons — one in Australia, the other in Canada, 
 both prosperous. John matriculated at 
 Glasgow University, the intention being to 
 make him a minister, but he refused to 
 study, and was sent to business. 
 
 He made rapid progress, living quietly 
 with his father durinoj the few years the 
 latter survived his migration to Glasgow. 
 Before his death, William Inglis saw 
 both his daughters well married, and his 
 youngest son on the high road to fortune. 
 At the age of eighteen, John married Mary 
 McClymont, the daughter of a farmer 
 whose land marched with Balsharach, and 
 placed what money his father had left him 
 in the shipping business in which he was 
 employed. His " half-crown " was really 
 several thousand pounds. At twenty-one 
 he became junior partner. He was soon 
 the most influential member of the firm, 
 and made money as rapidly as many 
 shippers lost it. Islay's account of his 
 father's sudden flight from Glasgow was 
 quite correct. John Inglis had entered the
 
 BAPTrST LAKE. 123 
 
 Town Council, and played the game with 
 the rest. He could, as Islay said, have 
 "been Provost and a knight had he chosen 
 to wait ; but it was not worth another three 
 years' drudgery, wire-puUing, and being all 
 things to all men. He had money enough 
 and to spare, his daughters were married. 
 May was his only son ; there was no 
 earthly reason why he should not go to 
 London. So to London he went. 
 
 Cigars and whiskey were on the table in 
 John Inglis's room in Whitgroom's Hotel, 
 but Baptist Lake asked for something to 
 eat. 
 
 " Surely," said Inghs, and summoned his 
 own special waiter. 
 
 Baptist ordered three dozen oysters and 
 a bottle of Assmanhaussen. 
 
 " Do you know," said Mr. Lighs, lighting 
 a cigar, and helping himself to whiskey, " I 
 don't think there is in all broad Scotland 
 a man who would have done as you have 
 done just now." 
 
 "Ordered a pleasant supper for himself
 
 124 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 at the expense of anotlier whom he had just 
 met for the first time ? " said Baptist. " No, 
 nor do I know another Englishman, besides 
 m3'self, who would have done it. Pickled 
 salmon, and cold meat, or a cutlet or a 
 steak, the ordinary man would have asked 
 for. It is one of the advantao^es of bein^ 
 extraordinary, of being a Calvinist, whether 
 YOU are of the elect or of the damned, that 
 3^ou insist on finding earth heaven." 
 
 " I like that," said Mr. Inorlis. " I like a 
 man who believes that there is nothing too 
 good for him, and always lays hands on what 
 he prefers. I've done it pretty well all my 
 life. For example, I like children, and I 
 like mothering women, and I mean to have 
 all ni}^ grandchildren born in my own 
 house. The two girls 3'ou saw to-night — I 
 could <j:o down on mv knees, and kiss their 
 feet whenever I turn m}^ eyes on them. 
 To me a woman is sweetest looking' when 
 she is nearest her time — like a ripe fruit. 
 To be fruitful is better than to be sterile, 
 isn't it ? A field of heavy wheat, a woodful
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 125 
 
 of nestiiiCT birds, a street of mothers and 
 daughters shopping in the afternoon — 
 Sauchiehall Street, or Regent Street, 
 Glasgow or London, country or city, I 
 like life, and the joy of life, and the 
 signs of it." 
 
 " You speak like a god, John Inglis, an 
 earth-god of flowers and fruits. Vertumnus, 
 or one born under his star. 
 
 "'Jam moechns Eomce jam mallet doctus Athenis 
 Vivere.' " 
 
 "Little Greek, and less Latin," said 
 Inglis, shaking his head. " What does it 
 mean t 
 
 " It means that you choose to be now a 
 ship-broker in Glasgow, now a man of 
 leisure in London, but always delighting in 
 what is sweetest in life. That's what it 
 means, John Inglis." 
 
 Inglis blushed with pleasure and looked 
 very like his son ; he was far too simple- 
 minded to dream of any concealed despite 
 lurkin^'- in the thoughts of this new admirer.
 
 126 BAPTIST LA.KK. 
 
 " Xow I like that too," said Inglis. " You 
 •call me John Inglis at once, and I feel as I 
 never felt before how odious ' mister ' is." 
 
 The conversation was not interrupted by 
 the service or the consumption of Baptist's 
 supper. Baptist was always ready with 
 unimpeded utterance to take up the word 
 when Inglis paused. 
 
 " ' Mister ' is a most loathsome word," 
 said Baptist. "Yet, with a different mean- 
 ing, it smells sweet and rings with romance. 
 
 " ' The Hedcrosse Knight toward him crossed fast, 
 To weet what mister wight was so dismayed.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Inglis ; " but I confess I can't 
 read Spenser." 
 
 " Nor can I," said Baptist. " A wonder- 
 ful tutor of mine, or rather I should say, a 
 helpless tutor of mine, in the clutch of our 
 wonderful system of cram, made me commit 
 to memory the three examples in Spenser 
 of the use of ' mister.' I used to read bits 
 of the ' Faery Queene ' when I was a boy 
 thousjli."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 127 
 
 " Islay dreams over liim." 
 
 " Islay is a charming boy, a wonderful 
 boy." 
 
 " He is. Everybody, I imagine, would 
 be very charming if they got their own way 
 as Islay does." 
 
 " Oh ! admirable ! A philosophical re- 
 mark of the deepest significance. The 
 great difficulty is to find out what really is 
 one's own way. Most people, I should say, 
 never find it out ; and the few who do are 
 too old when they make the discovery to 
 benefit by it." 
 
 " Yes, but there are some, I think, who 
 take their own way without realising it. 
 There are some men so happily constituted 
 that they go straight through life obeying 
 the law of their own beings as smoothly 
 and cleanly as a wet knife cuts butter." 
 
 " Good. But most men go through life 
 like a saw through sandstone." 
 
 " They do. I think I am one of those 
 men who really never discover that they 
 have a way of their own until after follow-
 
 128 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 ing it for years. I was suddenly turned 
 aside by a defeat in some paltry municipal 
 ambition and got for a day into bad 
 relations with myself. Then I perceived 
 what a long pleasant course of my own I 
 had followed, just as you never know you 
 bear a brain until you have a touch of 
 headache. Still, I really got my own way 
 too — a sort of by-way — in coming to Lon- 
 don. I always have a secondary plan inde- 
 pendent of the will of others." 
 
 " Aha ! " said Baptist. " I wondered, 
 now, when IsIslj said that about you, ' he 
 always has a second plan which does not 
 depend on the will of others,' if it were an 
 inference of his own. Your son quotes you ; 
 he heeds you and understands you. It is a 
 thing to be proud of. I envy you two, for 
 my father and I are at daggers drawn." 
 
 " I am so sorry for that," said Inglis. 
 " It is the commonest and most pitiful of all 
 the iUs of life, the quarrel between father 
 and son. And it is always the father's 
 fault I maintain. If he has no natural
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 129 
 
 sympathy with his son, as is often the case, 
 he should study him as he would any difficult 
 problem that beset his career, until he finds 
 out what the boy's ovvn way is and can put 
 him in it. They talk of the awful suffer- 
 ings of cab horses, and the unutterable 
 misery of thousands of little children in the 
 dens of inhuman parents, but the anguish, 
 seldom keen though always gnawing, of 
 estrangement between fathers and sons — 
 between all fathers and all sons, with the 
 fewest exceptions — is to me the most heart- 
 breaking of all woes. I can't contemplate 
 it. And there is no remedy, for when the 
 estranofement is remediable — most often 
 I'm afraid it's not — the fathers will never 
 understand that they, and not their sons, 
 are the most to blame." 
 
 There were tears in Baptist's eyes, and a 
 tremor in his voice as he replied. 
 
 " You speak home ; you move me," he 
 said. " My father, for what reason I never 
 could learn, began before I had reached my 
 teens to look askance at me. Since my 
 
 9
 
 130 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 first year at school, lie has never spoken to 
 me ; since my twenty-first year I have 
 never seen him. He refuses to have 
 anything to do with me. Happily, I have 
 an income from my mother. She died 
 when I was quite a child. I barely 
 remember her — tears, and soft eyes and 
 caresses. But I must try and be reconciled 
 to my father. I have never known what it 
 means to have a father. The filial feelinj? 
 is quite undeveloped. I am incomplete. 
 It is most unfair to me that this experience 
 should have been denied me ; it must be 
 remedied. What do you think I should do, 
 John Ingiis ? Understand, I have not the 
 least idea why my father hates me." 
 
 " I know nothing you can do except 
 marry and make him a grandfather." 
 
 " Yes ; that is in the books. I shall think 
 of it. But I must not marry yet." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is quite certain that I shall marry. 
 I must know what it is to be a husband and 
 a father ; but then it is equally certain that
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 131 
 
 I shall be imfaitliful and ill-treat my wife — 
 unless she is good enough to give me cause 
 for divorce. And that is why I wait ; mar- 
 riage brings in its train so many experiences. 
 The heart requires either to be well seasoned 
 or very new when one launches into matri- 
 mony." 
 
 " Oh," said Inglis, " you are only talking. 
 You don't mean to tell me that infidelity 
 and divorce can have any attraction for a 
 sound-hearted, sound-headed man ? " 
 
 " But they have — if I am sound-hearted 
 and sound-headed, that is to say. Laws 
 are made to be broken, don't vou know. It 
 is only then that life becomes entertaining 
 to the spectator. Ordinary law-breakers 
 suffer and are not entertained. I have the 
 extraordinary gift of being spectator and 
 actor at once. It is incredible to the ordi- 
 nary mind how a man can throw himself 
 heart and soul into anything and enjoy 
 the spectacle of it at the same time ; and 
 it is really a miracle ; it is genius. Now 
 there is nothing more entertaining than a 
 
 9*
 
 132 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 cause celi'hre in the Divorce Court, abso- 
 lutely nothing that so stirs curiosity and 
 imagination. Consider the perfectly ravish- 
 ing pleasure of being the centre of the 
 talk and speculation of high and low, 
 rich and poor ; of suffering with yourself 
 and enjoying the acute interest of the 
 world in yourself, and j-our connec- 
 tion with those very human events, the 
 contemplation of which arouses the 
 keenest thou^'hts and feelin^^fs of all sorts 
 and conditions of men. I shudder at the 
 anticipation of such dreadful delight, and 
 refrain from marriao-e. Ah ! if it were not 
 for the reign of law, life would be unen- 
 durable. Were you to abrogate marriage, 
 to hew down the tree of knowledge of good 
 and evil, the world would at once cut and 
 plant a slip before a leaf had withered 
 from the stem. Eeasons many would be 
 given for doing so, but the real reason, 
 only known and confessed by a few celestial 
 souls like you and me — a few well-born 
 Calvinists — would simply be the desire to
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 133 
 
 restore tlie crop of forbidden fruit. We 
 must have the tree of the knowledge of 
 good and evil beside the tree of life. What 
 boy cares for a playground unless there is 
 a well-i?uarded orchard over the wall ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I am not inferior enough 
 — a sufficiently good Calvinist in this 
 matter," said Inglis. " I have hardly ever 
 thought about it. I love my wife and 
 children." 
 
 " Ah ! you will have adventures yet," 
 rejoined Baptist ; but as Inglis exhibited 
 clearly his dislike for the turn the conver- 
 sation had taken, Baptist changed the 
 subject. " Then you really like London ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Like it ! I should think so — Saturdays 
 and Sundays. Sunday in London is a special 
 joy to a Scotchman, you know. The gay 
 crowds, the music in the park, and the 
 open public-houses. I have been in Paris 
 and Brussels, and I can understand that to 
 a Londoner who knows the Continental 
 Sunday, a London Sunday is no treat ; but
 
 134 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 to me, with the gloomy Glasgow Sunday 
 clogging my blood, it is like a plunge into 
 the ocean, and all the more wonderful 
 because it is not foreign." 
 
 " Vertumnus again," said Baptist. 
 
 " iTuscus ego et Tuscis orior; nee poenitet inter 
 Poelia Volsinos deseruisse focos. 
 Ha3C me tiirba juvat ; nee templo listor eburno ; 
 Romanum satis est posse videre forum.' 
 
 Which means, being interpreted, ' Scotch 
 am I, and, with Scotch ways in my blood, 
 and yet I am not ashamed of having for- 
 saken the Broomielaw. The crowds and the 
 music in the park please me of a Sunday. 
 I have no desire to enter a Presbyterian 
 church ; a look at the dome of St. Paul's is 
 all I need.' But you ought not to attend 
 the music in the Park on Sundays. These 
 things have to be learned. Now I must go. 
 I have liad a most delightful evening. Let 
 me see. We must meet soon again. Can 
 you sup with me to-morrow night ? " 
 
 " I think so. I have been livim? a sort of
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 135 
 
 bachelor's life for a montli, and that will 
 put a finish to it." 
 
 "Then we £?o to the Middle-class Club 
 to-morrow mo:ht." 
 
 " Oh ! " said John Inglis, with a new in- 
 terest, " I've heard some rumour of that 
 club. They tell strange stories of it." 
 " False, if they are discreditable." 
 " They talk of mysteries." 
 " Ah, yes ; the club is so select — so 
 private — none but middle-class people 
 admitted even as guests. The Middle-class 
 Club is the most brilliant social idea of the 
 age. Do you know — you cannot know the 
 history of it ? " 
 " No." 
 
 "It is known only to members. Now, 
 had it been an aristocratic secret, or a 
 labour secret, it would have been blared 
 from the housetops long ago. Ah ! these 
 successful middle-class people — above all, the 
 middle-class women, with intellect, courage, 
 and the need to be as wise as serpents, and 
 as harmful on occasion — they will go far.
 
 136 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 I shall tell you about the Middle-class Club 
 before I go, as I think you ought to be a 
 member. It was founded by Lord Ham- 
 mersmith." 
 
 " Yes ; I remember hearing that. I once 
 met Lord Hammersmith in Glasgow when 
 he was Mr. Scrapiron." 
 
 " Yes ; well, it was before his elevation 
 to the peerage that he founded the club. 
 Like yourself, when he had made a fortune 
 he gave up business and came to London — 
 from Birmingham it was. Two years he 
 fought i^rodigiously for standing room in 
 the inner circle of Society ; but he soon 
 found that to be well received in the best 
 houses was nothing; : that he was no nearer 
 the real inwardness of the matter than the 
 footmen. He saw clearly that to be of 
 Society consists in having a certain point of 
 view, unattainable b}^ a middle-class mind, 
 even if it were Shakespeare's — a mental 
 attitude inherited as a flower inherits its 
 odour, and which may be made richer 
 and subtler bv culture, but which cannot
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 137 
 
 be acquired any more than a daisy can 
 adopt tlie scent of a moss rose. So he gave 
 up the struggle and said, or may have said, 
 to himself: 'I am of the middle-class — a 
 wilding, but of a strong and generous 
 breed. Whv should the middle-class not 
 have their true inwardness also, develop an 
 absolute point of view, and an inexpugna-- 
 bility of its own ? Why should it go on 
 destroying itself in an attempt to be 
 Society ? The land, capital. Government, are 
 gradually becoming ours. Let us then dare 
 to be ourselves, and make our manners the 
 perfection of style, and our slang the 
 essence of speech.' And so he founded the 
 Middle-class Club. The membership con- 
 sists of two hundred men and two hundred 
 women — the women married or widows — 
 and there are fifty associates, the sons of 
 men who have accepted titles. I am only 
 an associate, and that only by means of per- 
 severing intrigue, for the Lakes, of Pilgrim- 
 stow, have unfortunately been baronets for 
 a century nearly. When my father dies,
 
 138 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 my connection with the Middle-class Club 
 must cease entirel3^ The entrance fee is a 
 thousand pounds for male members, and 
 five hundred for ladies and associates ; the 
 annual subscription two hundred and one 
 hundred pounds. Therefore, it is the 
 selectest club in the world ; and its effect 
 has been wonderful. Already Society be- 
 gins to grasp its significance. The upper 
 five hundred are meetinj:^ in Carlton- 
 house Terrace, at Ascot, in Scotch shooting- 
 lodges, men and women with utterly 
 unknown names, whose glance, when 
 necessary, can meet theirs with even greater 
 impassivity, and all degrees of indifference 
 and scorn ; who make no attempt to imi- 
 tate their speech in accent or vocabulary ; 
 who have a different gait, a different man- 
 ner, a different language ; and all borne 
 with such ease — so absolutely, that the 
 tables are at last turned, and Society 
 begins to be diffident in presence of the 
 Middle-class. A decade of the Middle- 
 class Club has done it all. Here are five
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 139 
 
 hundred men and women who say, * We 
 are the Middle-class, the cleverest, wealthiest 
 people in London. We shall be, we are, 
 the best set in London.' And immediately 
 they become so. An individual couldn't 
 have done it, ten people couldn't have done 
 it ; they would have been laughed down. 
 But five hundred, all knowing each other, 
 all playing into each other's hands, meeting 
 in the same houses all the year round, with 
 their club for Torres Vedras, have con- 
 quered the highest position in London. 
 None except themselves quite realise it ; 
 but the feat has been accomplished, and 
 it was old Scrapiron did it, with his pale, 
 Disraelian face, his black eyes, and his 
 bull-fiii'hter's neck." 
 
 "Why did he take the title, then?" 
 asked LigUs, with signs of incredulity that 
 would not be hidden. 
 
 "Ah, it is a sad story. He married a 
 second wife — a pretty, demure child of 
 diplomacy, who laughed at his Middle-class 
 Club and him the day she said, 'I will.'
 
 HO BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 She was twenty, lie was sixty. They have 
 three children. Some time before the birth 
 of the first child poor Scrapiron resigned 
 his membership. Before the birth of the 
 second child he was returned to Parliament 
 for a metropolitan burgh in the Tory in- 
 terest. His peerage accompanied the birth 
 of his third child. Lady Hammersmith 
 imagines she is in Society, and her photo- 
 graph is in the Stereoscopic Company's 
 windows." 
 
 " But is she not in Society, then ? " asked 
 Ingiis. 
 
 " Oh, no ! You forget we talk of the 
 Upper five hundred — Society m excelsis. 
 Their photographs never appear in any 
 window ; they fall from their estate if they 
 are tempted into Parliament, or office of 
 any kind ; they speak to Royalty when 
 they see it, but do not admit it to any 
 terms of familiarity. These five hundred 
 are — were — the salt of the earth. They are 
 losing their savour ; but old Scrapiron has 
 provided wherewith the land shall be salted.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 141 
 
 The Middle-class Club is the salvation of 
 England. Democracy strains and struggles, 
 and the upper classes shake in their shoes ; 
 but as long as the Middle-class Club exists 
 the country is safe. For ten middle-class 
 people the cities of the plain would have 
 been spared ; with five hundred, surely 
 Eng^land will not be overthrown." 
 
 " Astonishing," said Inglis, who did not 
 know what to make of the seeming sincerity 
 of Baptist's manner. 
 
 " Now, you will sup with me at the 
 Middle-class Club to-morrow night, won't 
 vou ? " 
 
 " I will, indeed, with great pleasure." 
 
 And so it was arranged that Baptist 
 Lake should call on Sunday night at half- 
 past ten, and carry off John Inglis to put a 
 finish to his bachelor life.
 
 VII. 
 
 On leaving Wliitgroom's Baptist walked 
 to bis own hotel, Applegartli's, in Picca- 
 dilly, changed his dress, ordered a hansom, 
 and drove to a house in Eingmere Street. 
 Baptist seldom rose before five o'clock in 
 the evening ; there were still some four or 
 five hours of his waking time to be spent. 
 He always spent his time, permitting neither 
 routine nor habit to wear those holes in his 
 days through which golden opportunities 
 slip away like sovereigns through a ragged 
 pocket. 
 
 The Eingmere Street house showed all 
 dark without, and by an arrangement of 
 curtains not the faintest beam of lio-ht was 
 emitted when the door opened to Baptist's 
 initiated knock. But the marble-paved 
 hall, and wide staircase, panelled with 
 leopard-skins, were lit with electricity in
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 143 
 
 crimson cups like Sangrails. Two negroes 
 in crimson and gold took Baptist's coat and 
 hat, and a third of gigantic stature ushered 
 him into a room on the entresol — a room 
 cool and fragrant like a sea-cave. It was 
 draped in violet, with small electric lights, 
 like silver stars, here and there in the hang- 
 ings and curtains, and in the violet ceiling. 
 The carpet was of violet velvet without a 
 thread of other colour ; irregular bars of 
 white silk were woven into the violet velvet 
 of the ottomans. There were no chairs. 
 A number of little silver-topped tables were 
 grouped about the ottomans. This was the 
 lounge of the Middle-class Club, called by 
 the members the " violet room." It was 
 upholstered freshly every month. 
 
 Six people were in the room, four drinking 
 coffee out of semi-transparent china cups ; 
 the other two sipped a straw-coloured wine 
 from crystal glasses shaped like gladioli. 
 
 Baptist reclined on one of the ottomans, 
 and in a second or two a servant brought 
 him a glass of the pale gold wine, the Middle-
 
 144 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 class Club liock, grown by the Middle- 
 class Club in its own proper vineyards on 
 the Ehine. No champagne was allowed 
 within the doors of the house in Eino-mere 
 Street, and no member of the Middle-class 
 Club was ever supposed to drink old wine. 
 The latter custom arose from a saying of 
 old Scrapiron's, when a difficulty arose 
 about stocking the wine-cellar. The best 
 wine was already, of course, in the cellars 
 of the upper five hundred. " Ah," said 
 Scrapiron, " old wine for old bottles and 
 old bottle-noses. We are the new bottles ; 
 we shall have new wine only." His poor 
 jest soon became a principle. " We are 
 the Middle-class," the club said, " the 
 cleverest, wealthiest people in London. If 
 we sav new wine is best it is best." 
 Straightway the Middle-class Club found 
 that the supposed superiority of old wine 
 was a superstition as absurd as the efficacy 
 of a royal finger for the cure of scrofula. 
 In a similar manner they discovered the 
 miserable quality of champagne. It was
 
 i3APTIST LAKE. 145 
 
 impossible to obtain a supply of the true 
 vintage ; it was the choice wine of the 
 upper five hundred. The Middle-class Club 
 said, " In twenty years' time people will 
 wonder as much why they drank champagne 
 as why their ancestors ate whale." The 
 Middle-class Club had vineyards of its own 
 in many of the wine districts of Europe 
 (not in Champagne, of course ; they tried, 
 for, after all, the grapes were sour), and as 
 the new crops arrived, the remnant of last 
 season's vintage, amounting every year to 
 several thousand bottles, was presented to 
 the London Hospitals. 
 
 Near Baptist were the other wine- 
 drinkers — two ladies. Baptist sipped his 
 glass and addressed the elder of them. 
 
 "Julia Cakebread," he said — she was a 
 woman of forty, strong-featured but comely, 
 dressed in yellow silk ; the wife of a retired 
 coal-merchant — " Julia Cakebread, have you 
 ever thought how unlike everything is to 
 itself ? " 
 
 " No, Baptist," said Mrs. Cakebread ; " not 
 
 10
 
 146 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 that I remember. John Cakebread, for 
 example, the man I know best, is always 
 like himself." 
 
 "I think people must be very unlike 
 themselves, too," said Baptist. " But I 
 had rooms in my mind. I have been in this 
 room hundreds of times. To-nio'ht it seems 
 to me as if I had never been here before. 
 Either the room is at this moment very unlike 
 itself, or it is itself to-night for the first time." 
 
 " I know what you mean," said Mrs. 
 Cakebread. " I remember a room I had 
 known for years astonishing me in that 
 way once. I became as conscious of its 
 shape, its height, and the things in it, as if 
 it had been alive and beckoning me." 
 
 " Yes," said Baptist. " It snatched a 
 soul for a moment from the infinite, as this 
 did just now. It has lost it again ; it is 
 simply the violet room " 
 
 " Is Alice Meldrum here, to-night ? " 
 asked Baptist, after a pause. 
 
 " She was here half-an-hour ago. I 
 believe she went to the writinf]!:-room."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 147 
 
 " Can you sup with her and me and 
 a wonderful new Scotchman to-morrow 
 night ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can. Eleven ? " 
 
 " Eleven." 
 
 " Is the Scotchman really good ? " 
 
 " A wonderful temperament — robust, 
 yet exquisite. I must try and secure 
 Alice. Good morning." 
 
 " Good mornins^." 
 
 The writing-room opened off the hall, 
 opposite the lounge. Alice Meldrum, 
 seated at a table, was its only occupant 
 when Baptist entered. Except for a small 
 burner in the roof, no more than sufficient 
 to guide one among the chairs and tables, 
 the only light in the room was the shaded 
 glow of the writing-lamp which fell on 
 Mrs. Meldrum's face and bosom, and on 
 her arms and hands, and the letter which 
 lay half-written before her. Baptist's step 
 was inaudible on the plush carpet, and he 
 watched her perplexed face for fully a 
 minute in silence. Then he advanced into 
 
 10*
 
 143 BAPTIST LAKE, 
 
 the room and took a table adjoining hers. 
 Alice Meldrum was so pre-occupied that 
 she did not notice the intentional noise he 
 made in seating himself ; it was only when 
 he turned on the lioht belon2[ino- to his 
 table that she became aware of his 
 presence. 
 
 " Baptist Lake ! " she exclaimed, annoyed 
 rather than startled. " Why did you steal 
 in so quietly ? " 
 
 " You were too intensely interested to 
 notice my entrance. I want j^ou to sup 
 with me to-morrow night, Alice. Can 
 you ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid not," she replied, tapping 
 the table wdth the end of her pen. 
 
 " I wish you would," said Baptist ; " but 
 I have interrupted you. Finish your letter 
 and then we can talk. I have a letter to 
 write too." 
 
 Alice Meldrum, a widow of three years' 
 standing, wore a black lace dress, which 
 fitted her of course, and showed the beauty 
 of her pale complexion, but which looked
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 149 
 
 and was of inferior quality. Her large 
 grey eyes, with pupils diat filled the whole 
 iris, and her red mouth, lit up the pallor 
 of her face, a perfect oval. Her rounded 
 cheeks and her smooth low brow were, 
 indeed, deathlike, but her eyes announced 
 a soul of some sort, and her lips said that 
 she had not yet, by any means, put off 
 mortality. Her dead-black hair, divided 
 in the middle, shaped her brow, and was 
 coiled heavily on the back of her head. 
 Doubtless she was a woman who could 
 enthrall almost any man, and the deep 
 perplexity in her expression gave her face 
 a melodramatic charm which a lover would 
 have found traffic. 
 
 " I can't write," said Baptist, throwing 
 down his pen — he had had no intention 
 of doing so — " nor can you, Alice. Can 
 I help you ? You are in some great 
 difficulty." 
 
 Alice Meldrum threw down her pen also. 
 
 " You have taken me at the psycho- 
 logical moment, as their dreadful jargon
 
 150 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 goes," she said, clasping her hands, while 
 drops of pearly sweat appeared on her 
 brow. 
 
 " Tell me," said Baptist, leaning towards 
 her like a reservoir of sympathy, " Is it 
 this dreadful money again ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Alice Meldrum. "I am 
 beaten to my knees," 
 
 " But that will soon be over when you 
 marry George Sleaper." 
 
 "George Sleaper was married this 
 morning to Mademoiselle Blanchatre." 
 
 " Impossible ! Wh}^, she is ugly. And 
 he loses his membership, having married 
 an actress." 
 
 " She wooed him with open breast and 
 stage caresses," said Alice Meldrum. 
 
 " "VYliich, of course, you couldn't do." 
 
 Alice Meldrum smiled disdain. 
 
 "Ah!" thought Baptist, "I have done 
 too much to-day. My mind has lost its 
 fineness." 
 
 " You might sup with me to-morrow 
 night," he said again. " I have asked Julia
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 151 
 
 Cakebread, and a new Scotchman of force 
 and high quahty." 
 
 " Is he rich ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is he unmarried ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Baptist, unhesitatingly. 
 
 "Couldn't you marry me yourself, 
 Baptist — after all ? " 
 
 " I ? " said Baptist, in his most dulcet 
 tones. " I have broken your heart already. 
 My wife must be heart-whole." 
 
 " When will you cease breaking your 
 toys ? " 
 
 "It is well said. I am satisfied with 
 nothing until I have broken it. A man 
 like me should have a dispensation to shed 
 blood, to poison at his own sweet will. 
 The pleasure I would have in killing people 
 who had become tiresome to me would 
 transcend the whole life's enjoyment of an 
 entire generation of the Enghsh-speaking 
 races." 
 
 " Yes, I could kill too," said Mrs. Meldrum. 
 " And perhaps I shall, if I ever tire of life."
 
 152 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 *' You mean me ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I shall live to tip your grand- 
 child." 
 
 " Assez. I have a new frock ready at 
 Madame Hortense's, but I owe her a 
 hundred pounds — my smallest debt to a 
 dressmaker, in London at least. She has 
 refused to deliver it for a fortnight now. 
 My subscription here has been due for six 
 months ; if it is not paid in a week I am 
 to be posted. I cannot sup with you to- 
 morrow night unless you can give me three 
 hundred pounds. I wish to look my best 
 and must have peace of mind." 
 
 " You shall have the money in half- 
 an-hour," said Baptist rising. " But can 
 you get your frock to-morrow — to-day, 
 Sunday ? " 
 
 "If I should have to break open 
 Madame's door. She lives above her 
 shop." 
 
 " In half~an-hour," said Baptist. 
 
 " I was writing to — no matter whom,"
 
 BAPTIST LAKh. 153 
 
 said Mrs. Meldrum with a shudder, tearing 
 up her unfinished letter. " May I have 
 some supper ? " she added, following 
 Baptist to the door. " I have had nothing 
 to eat all day. I haven't a penny." 
 
 Baptist gave her the ten sovereigns he 
 had received from Mrs. Tiplady.
 
 VIII. 
 
 IsLAY Inglis walked into Pilgrimstow 
 about nine on Sunday morning, and a fine 
 morning it was, with a fresh breeze, a clear 
 blue sky, and the whole - hearted mid- 
 summer sun. There was hardly anybody 
 stirring in the streets. Late milkmen 
 passed him with jangling cans or rattling 
 carts, a few Salvationists on errands of 
 their own, and one or two early pleasure- 
 seekers sauntering^ about until the busses 
 should begin, or hurrying to railway- 
 stations. Mrs. Macalister, in a wrapper 
 and curl-papers, was opening the door of 
 Salerne's shop when Islay arrived. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Macalister," he 
 said, in great spirits, after his tramp from 
 London. 
 
 " A}^, it's a fine mornin','' replied Mrs. 
 Macalister ; but there was no response in
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 155 
 
 her voice or her look to May's glowing 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes. On the 
 contrary, Mrs. Macalister had a very 
 gloomy and dismayed appearance. Islay 
 noticed her distress, and asked what was 
 the matter. 
 
 " Oh, naething," said Mrs. Macalister. 
 " It's the Lord's Day, that's a'." 
 
 " Don't you like Sunday in London, 
 then ? " asked Islay, who shared his father's 
 sympathy with the English Sabbath- 
 breakers. 
 
 "Me like it! It's jist awfu'," said Mrs. 
 Macahster. " Soadum an' Gamorrey ! 
 Soadum an' Gamorrey! I've been here 
 the feck o' a year ; but I'll ne'er agree wi't. 
 There's a maist awfu' jidgment comin'. 
 But gang in owre." 
 
 Islay entered the shop, followed by the 
 prophetic Mrs. Macalister, and asked if he 
 might go to the parlour. 
 
 " 'Deed ye'll no'," said she. " Breakfast's 
 no' jist ready, an' they're no' doon either. 
 Tak' a seat."
 
 1£6 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Islay took the onl}^ chair in the shop, 
 and Mrs. MacaUster took a pinch of sniifF 
 from the silver-mounted ram's horn. 
 
 " Ye'U won'er maybe," she said, " what 
 way I stay on here, an' me sae ill-pleased wi' 
 thae' Sunday on-gaun's." 
 
 " Well," said Islay, " if I thought that 
 London were in danger of immediate 
 destruction by fire and brimstone, I think 
 I should take an early train for the north." 
 
 " Would ye ? " said Mrs. Macahster, 
 rubbing her nose where the bone shone 
 through, and winking her big sunken eyes. 
 " An' what about Kose ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I would take her with me." 
 
 " Jist so, ye see. But I canna' dae that. 
 I'm a' the mother Eose has had since loim 
 afore she put aff short frocks, an' I canna' 
 leave her, an' I canna' take her. But it's 
 an awfu' way o' daein'. As sure's death, I 
 canna' get slep}) on Saturday nights, for 
 thinkin' o' the Sunday, for as lang's I've 
 been here. The croods o' misleared lads 
 an' laddies, an' women wi' cleckans o'
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 157 
 
 weans, sweatin' — an' swearin' some o' them 
 — an' rimnin' up an' doon cars an' busses, 
 on ladders, for a' the warl' like the riggin' o' 
 a ship, as bauld as ye like. An' the men 
 — be gude tae us ! — buyin' tabaccy an' 
 seegaurs wi'oot a blush, an' birlin' awa' the 
 siller in the public-hooses as if it was 
 Glesca' fair. I tell ye, the hrst Sunday I 
 was here I hid mysel' under the blankets 
 half the day, like my auntie when the 
 thun'er cam'. I'll ha'e nae peace o' mind 
 noo' till twal' o'clock strikes an' it's the 
 
 morn." 
 
 Mrs. Macalister rapped the ram's horn 
 and took a second pinch of snuff with 
 vehement inhalation. Then she rushed like 
 a gust of wind into the back premises, 
 exclaiming, " Losh keep me ! tiiae eggs '11 
 be hard-biled." 
 
 "No," she said, re-entering the shop. 
 " They're done to a turn. I ken by the 
 way they dried." 
 
 She had a bowlful of wet tea-leaves in 
 her hand, and proceeded to scatter its
 
 158 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 contents over the linoleum-covered floor, 
 preparatory to sweeping. 
 
 " There's that Eose an' Croon," she said, 
 "no' a hun'er miles frae here, an' Mrs. 
 Tipleddy or Tippleleddy, or whatever they 
 ca' the alewife. If it wasna' for that I 
 would run awa' efter a'. Twa black's 
 dinna' mak' a white, I ken weel, but a 
 pubhc-hoose is a hantle blacker than a 
 tabaccy-shop ; an' whatever's done tae us 
 it'll no' be ill tae thole gin we're allooed tae 
 see them daelin' oot tae Mrs. Tiptapleddy 
 the tiptap scoutherin' she's earn't a' her 
 days, forbye Sundays — her an' that limmer 
 Florrie." 
 
 " What's wrong with Florrie, Mrs. Mac- 
 alister." 
 
 " A'thing. For impidence, doonricht 
 cheek, an' fair wicked pleesure in thrawin' 
 folk, she hasna' her match, no' in the Hisfh 
 Street o' Glasca' nor yet in Stockwa'l. I've 
 nae patience wi' her. But there's them 
 comin'. Awa' ben." 
 
 There were two doors, enterincf from the
 
 BAPTIST LAKE, 159 
 
 house to the shop. By one of these Mrs. 
 Macalister vanished into the kitchen; by 
 the other, ' IsLay found his way into the 
 parlour, on the threshold of which he met 
 Eose Salerne. Behind her on the stair 
 that led to the bedrooms came her father. 
 He hailed Islay, and the three were soon 
 seated at table. In several gusts, Mrs. 
 Macalister blew in from the kitchen with a 
 brown earthenware teapot, a large rack of 
 toast, a plentiful supply of rashers of bacon 
 and a nest of boiled eggs. She then 
 surveyed the scene rapidly, nodding her 
 head as she counted the dishes and the 
 people, and in a final tempest, running her 
 short steps into a lightning-like slide, blew 
 out and in with a plate, a salt-cellar, and a 
 teaspoon, required to complete her mathe- 
 matical arran2:ements. Then was heard a 
 whirlwind in the shop, as she plied her 
 broom, and after that she sank to rest for a 
 time. 
 
 Yery little was said by the young people. 
 They had not spoken when they met ; their
 
 160 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 hands and eyes had told more than their 
 tongues could have uttered ; and they had 
 almost no need to talk, even if there had 
 not been the restraint of Paul Salerne's 
 presence, for their feet touched under the 
 table. 
 
 " "Well," said Salerne, breaking a silence 
 of several minutes, " well Eosey, what are 
 you going to do to-day ? " 
 
 " I don't know father ; but you're not 
 going away till the afternoon ? " 
 
 " Our train's at half past two," said 
 Salerne. " So you've got from then till 
 bedtime to put in alone, for we won't be 
 back till to-morrow — at least, I don't think 
 we can." 
 
 " Oh," said Eose}^ " I'll read. I've just 
 begun ' Quentin Durward '. I'U read it till 
 nine, and then I'll go to bed." 
 
 Islay pressed her foot ; it was he who had 
 started her on Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 " That's a good girl," said Salerne. 
 
 " Won't 3^ou tell us now," asked Islay, 
 " what kind of adventure we are going on ? "
 
 EAPTIST LAKE, . 161 
 
 *' No," said Saleme. " Half the pleasure 
 of an adventure — you said it yourself — is in 
 its unexpectedness. I sliouldna' have even 
 told you that we're going on one." 
 
 There was again a silence of several 
 minutes. Salerne was preoccupied. His 
 dreamy blue eyes looked out across the 
 table — across the sea, and he drew his 
 fingers often throuojh his silkv beard. 
 
 "Good morning, ma'am," in a shrill 
 young voice, came suddenly from the shop. 
 
 Ordinary tones uttered in the shop were 
 quite audible in the parlour, if the door of 
 either apartment happened to be open. 
 On this morning, Mrs. Macalister had left 
 the parlour door ajar and the shop door, 
 opposite, wide to the wall ; but even 
 without these facilities, the talking in the 
 shop soon grew so loud that it would have 
 reached the parlour through a greater 
 impediment than the thin partitions of a 
 suburban building. 
 
 "That's Mrs. Tiplady's Florrie," said 
 Salerne. 
 
 11
 
 1G2 • BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 a 
 
 There'll be a passage of arms then," 
 said Tslay. " Mrs. Macalister has an ill-will 
 to her." 
 
 "And Florrie," said Eose, " delights in 
 tormenting- Mrs. Macalister. Listen." 
 
 Mrs. Macalister, resorting mechanically 
 to the silver- mounted ram's horn, had 
 returned Florrie's salutation with dry 
 civilit}^ and Florrie had rejoined with a 
 remark about the weather. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Macalister, who, when 
 she liked, could speak what she called 
 English, " it is fyne. But I wonduh 
 sometymes if God is not afryed to send 
 such lovelly weathuh to tempt peo[)le into 
 bryekingg His Holy Dye." 
 
 " 'Ow bootiful ! " exclaimed Florrie. 
 " You talk like a duchess and a harcli- 
 bishop all in one, you do." 
 
 " If some people," retorted Mrs. Mac- 
 alisler, " would think maur of their own 
 speakingg and less of others', they might 
 learun in caurse of tyme that aitch belongs 
 to some words and not to others."
 
 EAPTIST LAKE. 163 
 
 " 'Go's dropphi' haitclies ? " cried Florrie 
 tliorouglily angiy, to the surprise and 
 deliglit of Mrs. Macalister, who had never 
 before got quite the better of the barmaid's 
 easy impudence. " 'Ere Scotchey, wot 
 d'3'er mean ? Talk to me wi' them screws 
 o' tobaccy in yer 'air — snuffy ! " 
 
 Florrie's wrath was a great triumph for 
 Mrs. Macalister. She winced a little at the 
 reference to her curl - papers, but the 
 allusion to her snuffinr^ braced her for the 
 combat. With a most severe countenance 
 and a snort of defiance, she inhaled an 
 extra large pinch from the ram's horn, and 
 blinked at Florrie out of her cavernous 
 grey eyes. 
 
 " Haitclies ! " exclaimed Florrie, still red 
 with anger. " I'll make you a present of 
 all the haitclies I drop." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Macalister ; 
 " but they wouldn't buy all those you 
 misplyce." 
 
 " 'Ere, w'en yer goin' to open school ? " 
 asked Florrie, always mistress of herself 
 
 11*
 
 101 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 when a jest occurred to her. " Speakin' 
 with the use of haitches an' the globes 
 taught 'ere by the fust class Scotch school- 
 marm, sixpence a' hour, no extries for 
 spankin'. Ho ! I say, you should go on 
 the slangs, you should — the champion 
 female snuffer as never dropped a haitch. 
 You'd look lovely in them dried cork- 
 screws, a kissin' of yer 'and, an' kickin' up 
 3'er 'eels in short flounces an' tartan tights." 
 Florrie lauG'hed loud at the ima^e her 
 
 CD O 
 
 own words called up, and before Mrs. 
 Macalister could reply delivered the 
 message which was the cause of her visit. 
 
 " Mrs, Tipladj^'s comj^liments to Mr. and 
 Miss Salerne and Mr. Inglis, an' will they 
 lunch with her at twelve ? " 
 
 Mrs. Macalister took no notice of the 
 invitation. " Tartan tights," she muttered ; 
 " tartan tights." Then suddenly stretching 
 out her hand with the quivering forefinger 
 extended, she shook it at Florrie, and 
 discharged a volley of Scotch in a frenzied 
 tone, e3'es glowering, body shaking, her
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 165 
 
 wliole being bent on the perdition of her 
 opponent. 
 
 " Ye randy," she cried. " When that 
 ill-scrapit tongue o' yours is dangiin' oot 
 o' the crackhn' o' yer rizzert niou' hke a 
 coahe dug's, an' you an' Mrs. Tippleleddy's 
 sittin' on yer hunkers, groanin' for a drap 
 watter, an' auld Mekie Ben puUin' awa' 
 at the brimstane-tap, wi' nae ' mild or 
 bitter ' aboot it, but jist ' here, doon wi't,' 
 pint efter pint, scaudin' het, it'll come intae 
 yer mind when ye're se'rt wi' a spaecial 
 drap that rives yev boesum an' gars yer 
 'een reel like a sicht o' green cheese, 
 ' This is for lauchin' at a daecent Scotch 
 bodie that only keepit a tabaccy-shop an' 
 me a barmaid ! ' Tartan ticlits ! Ye'll hae 
 tartan tichts wi' a vengeance, when ye're 
 skelpt an' scored frae tap tae tae wi' the 
 de'il's cat-o-nine tails. It'll be casten up 
 tae ye, that it wull, ye ill-faured, towsy 
 limmer ! Awa' wi' ye ! Get oot o' my 
 .-icht ! " 
 
 Florrie muttered somethiDi:?, but her
 
 166 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 light nature was quite cowed by the 
 deep-seated anger she had stirred up so 
 unexpectedly, and in part by the incom- 
 prehensible speech she had heard. She 
 hung on her toe a moment and then left 
 the shop. 
 
 As soon as she had gone, Mrs. Macalister 
 folded her arms, threw back her head, and 
 walked with her short quick steps — she 
 seemed never to bend her knees — straight 
 out into the middle of the street and back 
 again, like a wagtail on a lawn. She 
 looked neither to the right hand nor to 
 the left, until she found herself beside the 
 ram's horn, when she celebrated her 
 triumph with two double pinches of her 
 favourite Taddy. 
 
 "Florrie brought a message, didn't 
 she ? "' said Salerne, stepping into the shop. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Mrs. Macalister, quite 
 tranquilly, and employing her English 
 pronunciation. "Mrs. Tiplady's compli- 
 ments and will Mr. and Miss Salerne and Mr. 
 Incflis lunch with her to-dve at twelve ? "
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 167 
 
 "Has the messenger gone?" asked 
 Salerne, a gleam passing across his eyes. 
 
 " She went awye in a hurry," said Mrs. 
 MacaUster. " Something seemed to stryke 
 her." 
 
 " Then you sent no answer ? " 
 
 " How could I, wdien she would not 
 wyte. But I can tyke the answuh," said 
 Mrs. Macahster alertly, scenting the battle 
 again. 
 
 " No, I shall go myself," said Salerne. 
 
 He told the young people to be punctual 
 at Mrs. Tiplady's, gave a few instructions 
 to Mrs. Macalister, and w^ent over to the 
 " Eose and Crown."
 
 IX. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady sat in lier parlour counting 
 up her money, the breakfast thincfs beino- 
 pushed to one side to make room for a 
 bank-book, a cheque-book, etc. ; and no 
 landlady could have looked better. Her 
 comely face was wreathed in smiles ; and 
 her small, grey eyes, shrewd and satisfied, 
 glanced up and down columns of figures. 
 
 Her stiff, black silk dress, with sprays and 
 cascades of black beads, rustled and clicked, 
 as she scribbled little multiplications and 
 divisions on the back of an old letter. 
 Salerne kissed her rosy cheek and her 
 small, muscular mouth, and she stroked 
 his hair softly and gave his beard a little 
 pull. 
 
 " My treasure," she whispered, with a 
 break of pleasure in her voice. 
 
 Salerne pulled a chair close to hers, and
 
 BAPTIST LAKF. IG'J 
 
 with his arm round her waist watched her 
 makinsf her calculations. Thev were soon 
 complete. 
 
 " Three thousand four hundred and sixty 
 pounds," she said, dropping her pencil, and 
 giving her hand to Salerne. " You had no 
 idea I was so rich, had you ? " 
 
 "No! we can leave England now, 
 surely ? " 
 
 " We can, my blessing. As soon as ever 
 you like — before another week." 
 
 " It wouldn't do to be too sudden." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Tiplad}^, rising from her 
 chair, and plumping down on the viking's 
 knee, " 'twouldn't." 
 
 " But where got ye all this money, 
 Jane ? " asked Salerne. 
 
 " Where I £fot the rest — from old Sir 
 Harry. He gave it me, he said, instead 
 of leaving it. I'm the only friend he has, 
 and he's so grateful is old Sir Harr}^" 
 
 " But you've five or six — nearly seven 
 hundred pounds more this week than you 
 had last week."
 
 170 BAPflST LAKE. 
 
 " Of course I have. He began asking 
 me liow I was ijettino- along; — if I wasn't 
 
 CO o 
 
 tliinkin' of marryin' again ; and I out with 
 the whole story to him ; how I loved a 
 handsome sailor as had made up his mind 
 to go and settle in America, and buy a 
 fine bit o' land as he knew there and cows 
 and sheep and himpiements, and we was 
 waitin' till we had made up three thousand. 
 I tells him it was the desire of our hearts, 
 and you as impatient as a duke, and I 
 couldn't tell what you mightn't do. So he 
 give me seven hundred pounds there and 
 then, and his blessin', and he was sorry, 
 for I was the only friend he had, but he 
 wouldn't stand in the way of any woman's 
 'appiness. So like old Sir Harry." 
 
 " He must be a very good sort," said 
 Salerne. " This'll be my last visit to 
 Belminster, then ? " he added. 
 
 " It will, my blessing. You can marry 
 me, Paul, on Wednesday. First, on 
 Monday, I'll see my cousin Kate, who'U 
 take charr>-e here and sell the business for
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 171 
 
 me when we're gone. And she'll drive a 
 bargain, will Blate. You take a state cabin 
 for Friday, and we'll spend our honeymoon 
 on the Atlantic, singin' : 
 
 " ' Kule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves ! 
 Britons never, never, never 
 Shall he mair-i-ed 
 To a merma-id 
 At the bottom of the deep, deep sea.' " 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady sang these charming lines 
 in a pleasant undertone. Skipping off 
 Salerne's knee, and lifting her dress 
 sufficiently to show a trim foot with a 
 good instep and neat ankle, she accom- 
 panied her snatch of song with a few steps 
 danced as lightly as though she had not 
 been a plump landlady of forty-live ; then 
 she returned to her viking's knee like a 
 bird to her perch. 
 
 Salerne was infatuated about her. He 
 had been a sailor until the death of his wife, 
 many years before the date of our story. 
 He loved the sea. When he stowed away
 
 172 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 as a boy, it had not been simply to escape 
 the restraint of home and in expectation 
 of exciting adventures and a speedy 
 fortune. He never had been a reader ; 
 like all sailors, he knew a little of Byron, 
 but had no acquaintance Mdtli even the 
 cheapest piratical literature. Born at 
 Belminster, quaintest of Sussex sea-coast 
 towns, where his father had been a boat- 
 builder, the wind and the waves got into 
 his blood, and he went to sea as a drowsy 
 child goes to bed. Ilis mind was in a 
 perpetual doze. The death of his wife 
 wakened him briefly to a keener life than 
 he had ever known ; but as soon as he had 
 determined to stay on land for the sake of 
 his little Eose, whom he loved even better 
 than the sea, he became again like one 
 enchanted. He settled in Glasgow. It 
 was there that his wife had died, while on 
 a visit to him on his return from a voyage 
 to Melbourne ; and her grave was there in 
 Sighthill Cemetery — most lugubrious of all 
 burying-places. Work was found for him
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 173 
 
 at the docks. He became a stevedore, soon 
 with a gang of men under him, in the 
 employment of the firm of which John 
 Inglis was at the time the principal partner. 
 He worked like an automaton, faithfully 
 and well, for over a dozen years, when he 
 suddenly left London and turned up at 
 Pilgrimstow as a tobacconist. In Pilgrim- 
 stow, Mrs. Tiplady biraply took possession 
 of him. People wondered what might be 
 between them, because he had stayed with 
 her during the preparation of a house and 
 shop for the advent of his daughter and 
 Mrs. Macalister ; and all kinds of things 
 were whispered. But when at last it was 
 known that Mrs. Tiplady and he were 
 engaged to be married, it was finally 
 settled that he and she had been sweet- 
 hearts when they were children. 
 
 For an hour and more, Mrs. Tiplady 
 entertained Salerne with gossip — light, if a 
 little muddy, like the froth of porter — with 
 bits and bobs of music-hall songs and step- 
 dances, and with caresses brief and bird-
 
 i:4 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 like — the wariest of landladies, deep in love 
 with her viking as she was. She had had 
 no children by her first husband, and there 
 was a dim feeling of maternity in her 
 affection for Salerne ; althous^h he was as 
 old as herself, much in her treatment of 
 him resembled the cajoleries that some- 
 times pass l)etween a mother, if she be still 
 3'oung, and her grown-up son. And some- 
 times she liufTged him and hushed him, and 
 bestowed unnecessary pity upon him — 
 unnecessar}' except in so far as he was in 
 her bonds — like a girl with her first doll ; 
 and Salerne was as subservient to her in 
 most things as if he had been a doll. 
 
 " And now Paul," she said at length, 
 " what is to be done with Bose ? " 
 
 " Ay," answered Salerne, " what about 
 Eose ? " 
 
 " She will have to do something."' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I mean, something for a living." 
 
 " That she'll never do while I live," said 
 Salerne quietly.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 175 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady's muscular mouth grew 
 very tight, and a look came into her little 
 eyes, which Salerne noticed, but hardly 
 even wondered at — still less did he detect 
 the malice in it — Mrs. Tiplady's expression 
 had chamred so often in the course of the 
 morninf};. 
 
 " You ain't wini? to take her with us ? " 
 she said. 
 
 "No, Janey ; I've a better plan than 
 that." 
 
 " What is it, my treasure ? " 
 
 " You'll never guess." 
 
 " Never," said Mrs. Tiplady. 
 
 "May Inglis'll marry Eose the day I 
 marry you." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady bounded from Salerne's 
 knee, the very picture of astonishment, 
 
 " Islay Inglis ! " she cried. " He ain't 
 seventeen yet." 
 
 "No matter. He's to marry Rose. I 
 couldn't do better for Hose than that, 
 Islay is the onh^ son of his father, and he 
 can do what he likes with his people.
 
 17G BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 When he came stepping into my shop 
 three weeks ago, and I found out who he 
 was, and saw him faUing in love with 
 Kosey, I tell ye, Jane, I thought God had 
 sent him. At first I thought it was a 
 dream. But it's all meant ; it's foreordained 
 Jane, as they used to say in Glasgow. Just 
 as it was foreordained that I was to meet 
 your grandfather, and come staggering 
 away down south frae honest employment, 
 to get into such a pitifu' mess that I'm fain 
 to flee the country." 
 
 " My treasure ! There's no mess yet," said 
 Mrs. Tiplady. " Islay Inglis shall marry 
 Eose, and away we go with light hearts. 
 But are you sure he means honourable by 
 her ? Will he marry her on Wednesda}'' ? " 
 
 '• And proud to do it." 
 
 " I'm so glad," said Mrs. Tiplady, looking 
 in spite of her efforts to the contrary 
 anything but overjoyed. "I thought he 
 was foolin' her." 
 
 "The man that would try to fool 
 Eosey "
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 177 
 
 " Might as well try to fool your little 
 Janey — eh, my blessing ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Salerne slowly. 
 
 "I love Eose," said Mrs. Tiplady. 
 " When a woman loves a man, she loves 
 his daughter by his first wife excruciatin', 
 don't she?" 
 
 "Not always," said Salerne looking un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 " My treasure and goose, that's wit what 
 I said." 
 
 " Maybe." 
 
 "My poor dear," murmured Mrs. Tip- 
 lady at Salerne's ear, in a burst of soothing 
 pity, as she seated herself on his knee again, 
 " never mind when I say witty things. The 
 more vou don't understand them the wittier 
 they are, and the prouder you should be of 
 your little Janey. An' she never says 'em 
 to bother her own Pretty Poll " — this was 
 her pet name for Salerne — " but just 
 because she can't help it when her brainy- 
 painies boils over. An' I'll teach my 
 Pretty Polly how to do it too. Goodness 
 
 12
 
 178 . BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 an' mercy! It's so easy. You just say 
 what's not the case, and that's wit. Xow 
 I'll give you a lesson, dear. I'll say a thing 
 straight, and you'll put it into wit. Hark 
 to me, my angel ! This is what I say." 
 
 « Well ? " 
 
 " This : A man's wife is his better half. 
 Put that into wit." 
 
 " A man's wife is his better half ? But 
 it is wit already," said Salerne innocently. 
 " It's not the case." 
 
 " Kow, that's very good," rejoined Mrs. 
 Tiplady, surprised and delighted, as a girl 
 might have been if her doll had suddenly 
 developed a capacity for making faces. 
 " That's a kind of wit too ; that's what's 
 called rappartee. My kind of wit has 
 another name I never could remember, till 
 I thought of an umbrella, then of a parasol 
 — which it was all the better as .they can 
 be turned outside in — and it's name is 
 paradox. If I say ' England expects that 
 hevery man this day will do his duty,' 
 that's straight. But if I say 'There ain't no
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 17'J 
 
 such thing as dut}", therefore blessed be 
 England as expected nothing and couldn't 
 be disappointed,' that's a paradox." 
 
 " I see," said Salerne, smiling vaguely. 
 
 " Now then, put this into wit. ' There's 
 many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' " 
 
 "Well, you know," rejoined the viking, 
 scratching his head ; " seems to me there's 
 a lot o' truth in that. You can't just turn 
 it the other way about. How does this do ? 
 ' There isn't many a slip 'twixt the cup and 
 the lip ; one's about enough as a rule.' " 
 
 "Not bad," said Mrs. Tiplady. "I had 
 another way to turn it, but I believe yours 
 is best. But it ain't wit ; you didn't half 
 think it was wit when you said it ; and it's 
 only wit when you intend it, and make it 
 up. There aint no wit in bein' killed in a 
 railway accident, but there's wit in 
 shootin' yourself, as it were ; that's my 
 
 meaning." 
 
 "What fools coroners' juries must be 
 then, makinii it out that it's want of wit 
 
 that's wrong with suicides ! 
 
 12 
 
 o*
 
 ISO EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Xow, that's sarcastic," said Mrs. Tip- 
 lady, " which is another kind of wit. Why 
 you're as witty as me without knowing it, 
 which is just the same as if you wasn't 
 witty, you know." With which reassuring 
 remark she kissed her innocent and abashed 
 vikiniT. 
 
 She had hardl}' time to skip off his knee 
 after a knock at the door, when Florrie 
 announced Islay and Eose. 
 
 "Goodness and mercv ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Tiplady, making a great fuss. " Is it that 
 time already ? I declare I hear Eebecca 
 setting the table. Why it's five minutes 
 to twelve. How the time has passed ! 
 And where have you been, my dears ? " 
 
 "Along the Enfield road a bit," replied 
 Islay. 
 
 " We watched the fish in the New Eiver 
 for a while," said Eose in her quiet, more 
 or less irrelevant, way." 
 
 "Oh! that New Eiver!" cried Mrs. 
 Tiplady, with a reminiscence of Baptist 
 Lake. "Why don't they join it with the
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 181 
 
 sea somehow, and have salmon and 
 'addock in it ? Why it's a shame to be 
 seen ! — so plain, you know. How easy it 
 would be to make it beautiful, with lamps 
 along it, and crowds o' people — a reg'lar 
 street it might be if they liked." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady's remarks were not received 
 with much favour by Islay, to whom they 
 were specially addressed, and she herself felt 
 that she had not quite hit it oflf. 
 
 "Well," she said, "it don't matter. 
 Come, Paul." 
 
 Salerne gave her his arm, and Eose took 
 May's. They crossed one passage, turned 
 along another, and went down a few steps 
 into Mrs. Tiplady's best room, where a leg 
 of lamb, with peas and new potatoes, and 
 bottles of beer and a jug of claret, crowned 
 the board. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady did nearly all the talking. 
 She chattered of many things, and made 
 frequent witty remarks in her own peculiar 
 style, at which Islay was more amazed 
 than amused, and at which Salerne smiled
 
 182 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 vaguely as was liis wont. Eose, dressed in 
 a biscuit-coloured holland gown, that smelt 
 as fresli as the morninof, with the most 
 beautiful crimson blushes mounting in her 
 cheeks, the combined result of her walk 
 and of the claret with which Mrs. Tiplady 
 plied her, looked at everybody very 
 sweetly, and kept of course her sweetest 
 looks, which were in the majority, for Islay. 
 A gooseberry tart followed the leg of lamb. 
 While they were engaged on it, the sky 
 began to be overcast, and Mrs. Tiplady 
 was afraid of rain. 
 
 " There's a thunder - shower coming," 
 said Salerne ; and sure enough a flash and 
 peal was soon followed by big sparse drops, 
 which gradually thickened into a down- 
 pour. There was no more thunder, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " Well, that keeps you prisoners," said 
 Mrs. Tiplady to the young folk, who had 
 thought of taking another stroll before the 
 time arrived for Islay to start on his 
 adventure with Salerne. "Poor dears!'*
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 183 
 
 she added. " But you can stay here, and 
 have tlie room entirely to yourselves. We 
 can go back to the parlour, Paul." 
 
 The arrangement was quite agreeable 
 to Salerne, and when Rebecca, the well- 
 groomed maid of all work — Mrs. Tiplady's 
 underlings were all clean and tidy, and 
 kept well in hand — had removed the cloth, 
 and turned up the pedestal table, and 
 pushed it to one side (a twofold act by 
 wdiich Mrs. Tiplady's best apartment 
 changed in a trice from a dining-room to 
 a drawing-room) Islay and Eose were left 
 to their own devices, with a piano and 
 some old bound volumes of illustrated 
 papers. 
 
 When they found themselves alone, they 
 watched the rain together for a little while. 
 The bay-window of Mrs. Tiplady's best 
 room looked out on a bowling-green 
 surrounded by seats and rustic tables, and 
 with half-a-dozen dingy arbours on one 
 side for the accommodation of customers 
 who preferred, weather permitting, to
 
 ]84 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 drink their beer in the open air. Dilapi- 
 dated stucco figures of fauns, and draped 
 and undraped creatures intended to seem 
 " female of sex," stood on little rockeries 
 and pedestals of painted wood, and gave 
 the place a mingled air of decay and 
 unreality, like a stage scene viewed in 
 daylight. About a dozen old lime-trees 
 grew round the enclosure, and took a little 
 from the depressing vulgarity. 
 
 " Come and play something," said Islay, 
 moving away from the window in disgust. 
 
 Eose Salerne, nothing loth, went to the 
 piano and rattled off some " Sparkling 
 Dewdrops," and " Marches of Halberdiers," 
 and other school-girl morceaiix, much to 
 her own satisfaction and to May's, who 
 never ceased adoring his sweetheart, and 
 everything she did. It was to him an 
 endless source of wonder that she should 
 do anything at all ; it seemed eno.ugh, 
 being so lovely, that she should simply be. 
 
 " How charming, my dear ! " said Mrs. 
 Tiplady coming into the room. " But I
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 185 
 
 must ask you to stop playing. It's just 
 one o'clock, and as soon as tlie doors are 
 open, in they come you know. If tliey 
 heard music, they'd start singing and 
 dancing, which I can't abide — on Sundays, 
 too, of all things. Here's a picture-book 
 for- you, better than those old papers. 
 Now you have a full hour to yourselves, 
 my dears, and nobody won't molest you, 
 for I'll lock the door. This room always 
 has to be locked, when the shop's open. 
 It's easy to get at, and people used to 
 wander into it often of a Sunday with their 
 dirty boots, smoking and spitting, confound 
 them. There's a saying I've heard, ' Love 
 laucjhs at locksmiths ' — but not in 
 mockery — eh, my dears ! — when the lovers 
 are locked in together." 
 
 The end of the last sentence was uttered 
 in the passage as Mrs. Tiplady locked the 
 door of her best apartment on the outside, 
 and took the key away with her. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady's passionate attachment to 
 Salerne was equalled in intensity by her
 
 186 BAPTIST LAKK. 
 
 hatred of his daughter, Eose she knew 
 divided his heart, and represented the 
 summer of his hfe. Mrs. Tipkdy was 
 devoured with jealousy of the dead woman 
 who had been Salerne's first love. Salerne's 
 former marriage would have given her no 
 more concern than hers gave him, had it 
 not been that Eose made it such an 
 actuality. She used to say to herself 
 musing over her account-books, or waiting 
 for custom in her private bar, " There's no 
 Eose without a thorn, and my thorn's a 
 Eose." Salerne and she had never spoken 
 of Eose until that day, both having avoided 
 an inevitable subject, which might create 
 disagreement, until its discussion could no 
 longer be put off. Mrs. Tiplady had at 
 first determined in her own mind that Eose 
 should be sent to service, but the appear- 
 ance of Islay Inglis on the scene brought 
 other thoughts. A vision of Eose at night 
 on a London pavement, rouged and 
 powdered, loitering about a lamp-post in 
 the rain, solaced her vicious hate ; in her
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 187 
 
 imagination there could be no other 
 conclusion to a love affair between a 
 wealthy merchant's boy, and the girl of 
 a suburban tobacconist. She had been 
 w^ell pleased with Salerne's simplicity in 
 the matter— it was a good augury for her 
 own future happiness ; but that morning's 
 revelation of what she looked upon as a 
 very deep-laid though ingenuous plot, had 
 dashed her hopes of vengeance for Salerne's 
 former marriage. The idea of Eose the 
 wife of a rich man, happy, and her 
 superior, was unendurable. The accident 
 of the rain's keeping them in the house 
 gave her, she thous^ht, a last opportunity 
 to destroy the innocence of the lovers ; 
 and blindly she took advantage of it. She 
 shut her eyes to the possible marriage of 
 Wednesday. Eose might be ruined yet, 
 and loiter, rouged and powdered, about 
 that lamp-post in the rain. 
 
 It was a New^ York edition of Byron, 
 with an illustration on almost every page, 
 that Mrs. Tiplady had given to Islay Inglis.
 
 188 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 The book, once the property of the late 
 iinlamented Tiplady, and the companion 
 of his idle hours during some three or four 
 years of stewardship on an Atlantic liner, 
 opened at a well-thumbed passage in " Don 
 Juan " — a passage Islay knew well, the 
 adventure in the Seraglio : what boy does 
 not know it ? He went back a number of 
 pages and stopped at the picture of Haidee 
 finding Juan. Eose sat beside him on a 
 sofa, looking at the illustrations as he 
 turned the leaves. This one attracted her. 
 She bent over the page and read the lines 
 inscribed beneath the euOTavinj? : 
 
 " And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen 
 A lovely female face of seventeen. 
 'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth 
 Seemed almost prying into his for breath." 
 
 " What is ' Don Juan ' about ? " she 
 asked, looking up. " I remember some 
 verses about a shipwreck in a reading-book 
 at school. Was this the shipwreck ? — was 
 this boy wrecked in that shipwreck, I mean?"
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 189 
 
 Islay told her of the shipwreck, and she 
 asked to see the quotation which had been 
 in her reading-book. " It was only two 
 verses," she said. " I used to know them 
 by heart, for I had to learn them as a task 
 once for being rude to the teacher. It began: 
 
 * Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, 
 Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave, 
 And some sprang into ' 
 
 I forget it." 
 
 The passage was soon found, and Eose 
 
 looked at it with much curiosity. She felt 
 
 it very strange that these two stanzas, 
 
 hitherto occupying — although only half 
 
 remembered — an immense space in her 
 
 mind, should have such an insignificant 
 
 appearance in their position in the long 
 
 poem of which they formed a part. She 
 
 read them through and then glanced at 
 
 Islav v.ith a dreamv, far-off look in her 
 
 splendid eyes. He wished to speak, but 
 
 dared not, and sat adoring. As for Eo^e 
 
 she had only summoned up the scene in
 
 190 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 the scliool ill Glasgow, and the concern she 
 had felt as to the nature of her punishment 
 — lines to write, or lines to commit. It was 
 not a pleasing memory, so she turned to the 
 book again, and the picture of Haidee find- 
 ing Juan. 
 
 " Who was Haidee, Islay ? Tell me 
 about Haidee." 
 
 Islay told her, halting and blushing, the 
 story of Haidee and Juan and the anger of 
 Lambro, and read passages here and there 
 — the whole of " The Isles of Greece " for 
 one. " I remember that somewhere," said 
 Eose. He read also the "Ave Maria," with 
 a deep thrill of passion in his young voice, 
 that yet had no effect on Eose except to 
 startle her a little. 
 
 " Ave Maria I blessed be the hour, 
 The time, the clime, the spot where I so oft 
 Have felt that moment in its fullest power 
 Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, 
 "While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, 
 Or the faint djdng day hymn stole aloft, 
 •And not a breath crept through the rosy air, 
 And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 191 
 
 *' Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of prayer ! 
 Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! 
 Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare 
 Look up to thine, and to thy Son's above ! 
 Ave Maria ! Oh, that face so fair ! 
 Those dovrncast eyes beneath the Almighty dove." 
 
 He stopped there, not because lie had 
 any precocious critical power, but simply 
 because he could not understand the con- 
 cluding couplet of the stanza, unaware that 
 it had neither sense nor form. He laid 
 down the book, and put one arm round 
 Hose's neck, hardly touching her, the other 
 round her waist, hardly touching her, and 
 kissed her, and looked at her long. He 
 was very pale, and she wondered and 
 shrank a little from liis blazing eyes. And 
 she shrank still more when the blood surged 
 into his face and he kissed her again, still 
 hardly touching her, although his arms 
 trembled. Her wonder reached a climax 
 when he sprang with a cry from the sofa, 
 and stood in the middle of the room 
 pressing his hands to his eyes. Some
 
 192 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 words of another poet had flashed across 
 his memory : 
 
 " That day they read no more." 
 
 He grew breathless with astonishment. 
 He saw it ail at a glance ; Mrs. Tiplady's 
 remark about love and locksmiths ; her 
 imprisoning them and giving them Byron's 
 poems. Why should she want them to 
 fall ? What a satanic creature ! But it 
 was impossible ; there was some other ex- 
 planation : no woman would betray the 
 daughter of the man she was about to 
 marry. And they, May and Eose, were 
 also to be married in a day or two. Again 
 all that Mrs. Tiplady had done and said 
 passed through his mind in a flash. There 
 was no escape. She had connived at, con- 
 spired their ruin. Had she ? In the obscure, 
 though rapid workings of his mind, " Per- 
 haps," it occurred to him, " perhaps she 
 did it out of kindness, out of sympathy. 
 Perhaps from her point of view — perhaps
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 193 
 
 indeed, it didn't matter. Were they not to 
 be married on Wednesday ? " 
 
 He looked at Eose. She had risen, and 
 was approaching him with outstretched 
 arms and meUini]^ eyes of childish wonder 
 and compassion. For a moment he stag- 
 gered irresolute, then he plunged at the 
 window. It was not made to open, the 
 room being ventilated by two revolving 
 panes in the upper part. He turned to the 
 door and thundered at it with feet and 
 hands. In a minute Mrs. Tiplady came and 
 unlocked it. 
 
 " Be quiet, you beast," she said. 
 
 People were crowding into the passage 
 from the shop. 
 
 As Islay sped past her he struck her a 
 hard blow on the cheek with his open 
 hand, and Mrs. Tiplady fell against the 
 wall. Eecoverins^ herself almost imme- 
 diately, she cried, " What do 3^ou want ? 
 This is private." At which the little crowd 
 withdrew slowly, muttering and looking 
 back. 
 
 13
 
 194 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Where away, Islay ? " asked Salerne. 
 leisurely following Mrs. Tiplady. 
 
 " I'll see 3'ou at the station," said Islay, 
 seizinir his hat, and rushino;' out into the 
 rain. 
 
 When Salerne got to the room, Eose lay 
 on the sofa sobbing, with Mrs. Tiplady 
 bendinsf over her. 
 
 " Hush my dear," Mrs. Tiplady was 
 saying. " There's no harm done. Tuts ! 
 tuts ! this'll never do. And here's vour 
 father too." 
 
 At the mention of her father, Eose raised 
 her head, and cried, " Oh, father, there's 
 something wrong with Islay. He's ill." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady stared at the girl with open 
 mouth. 
 
 " What's all this ? " asked Salerne, his 
 slow mind beginning to bestir itself at the 
 sifrht of his dauE^hter in distress. " Jane, 
 what's that mark on your face ? " 
 
 " It's the excitement," said Mrs. Tiplady, 
 covering with her handkerchief the cheek 
 Islay had struck. In the turn things had
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 195 
 
 taken she was uncertain wliat course to 
 follow. 
 
 " It's very like tlie mark of fingers," said 
 Salerne simply. 
 
 "Eose," lie continued, turning to his 
 daughter, "was it Islay that made that 
 noise i 
 
 " Yes, father ; he turned ill suddenly," 
 said Eose, with such perfect candour that 
 Mrs. Tiplady again stared at her. 
 
 "Eose," she said, "you'd better come 
 with me. It's your mother, you need, I 
 think." 
 
 " It's me she needs then," said Salerne. 
 
 " Me ! " cried Eose. " There's nothing 
 wrons with me. It's Islav that's ill." 
 
 "The child's an idiot," thought Mrs. 
 Tiplady, grinding her teeth. Chagrin 
 nearly choked her ; her plot had failed 
 utterly ; and, worse still, her intention had 
 evidently been detected by Islay. 
 
 *'I can't wait just now," she said, con- 
 trolling herself. " You'll tell me all about 
 it when we shut at three, Eose." 
 
 13*
 
 196 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Salerne made a motion to detain her, but 
 thou<T;]it better of it. He was now con- 
 vinced that something very unusual had 
 happened, and, taking the key from the 
 outside, he locked the door, and sat down 
 beside Eose. Holding her face in his 
 hands, he looked into her eyes. Slowly, 
 courageously, he said, "Eosey, my little 
 daughter, could j^ou tell me everything 
 that happened in this room after I left 
 it?" 
 
 " I think so, if I can remember every- 
 thing," answered Eose, a little frightened. 
 
 " If you can remember everything. Is 
 there anything you don't want to remem- 
 ber ? " 
 
 " Nothing, father. At least, I wish I 
 didn't have to remember that Islay turned 
 ill." 
 
 Salerne kissed her, and, rising, took a 
 turn across the room ; a slow smile on his 
 dreamy face looked very subtle, but was 
 only an expression of his deep content. 
 
 " Islay's not ill ," he said. " He's been
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 19T 
 
 having an adventure, Eose — one to the 
 bargain." And he smiled again, a slow 
 smile, which was really this time almost 
 as subtle as it seemed. 
 
 " What made you think he was ill, 
 Eosey ? " 
 
 " We were reading Byron together, and 
 
 he " 
 
 " Byron ? Where got ye Byron ? " 
 " Mrs. Tiplady gave it to us," answered 
 Eose, showing the book, which her father 
 took and threw down again. " She came, 
 and gave us Byron, and locked the door 
 to keep people from bothering us." 
 
 " Locked the door ! It was she locked 
 the door ! " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Gave ye Byron and locked the door ! " 
 " Yes ; she was very kind — just like a 
 mother. She told us nobody would look 
 near us for a whole hour, and we were 
 very happy, playing and reading Byron. 
 It was when Islay stopped reading that he 
 turned ill. He 2;rew white, and kissed me ;
 
 198 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 and then he grew red and kissed me again. 
 Then he screamed and tried to get out by 
 the window, and when he couldn't, he beat 
 against the door with his hands and knees 
 and feet ; and I got frightened and began 
 to cry." 
 
 " You love Islay, Eosey .? " • 
 
 " Yes, I love him." 
 
 " But ye'll love him better some day. If 
 I had the whole world to choose from, 
 Eosey, Islay's the man I would pick out 
 for ye."' 
 
 He paced the room again, muttering, " I 
 thought Jane would have had more sense." 
 Then it flashed into his mind as it had 
 flashed into Islay's, "What if she meant 
 it ? " He drove the idea away, but it kept 
 returning. 
 
 After a httle he took his daughter home 
 without seeing Mrs. Tiplady, and told her 
 not to leave the house a,gain that day. On 
 going to join Islay at the station, he gave 
 Mrs. Macalister instructions to reject all 
 invitations for his daughter from the " Eose
 
 BAPriST LAKE. 191) 
 
 and Crown." " I don t want her," lie said 
 bluntly, " to see Mrs. Tiplady till I come 
 
 back." . 
 
 Mrs. Macalister made no verbal repl}^ 
 but smiled grimly and took a xoincli of 
 snuff.
 
 X. 
 
 The day was bright again when Islay and 
 Salerne met at the station. Islay looked 
 confused, but Salerne put him at his ease 
 by taking his arm, and walking up and 
 down the platform with him. Nothing was 
 said except that it was well the rain had 
 gone off. They took a train to King's 
 Cross, and there got a bus for Waterloo 
 Station, where they booked to Highbourne. 
 By the time the Highbourne Sunday 
 afternoon express had started, Islay's 
 experience of the morning had become 
 very indistinct in his thoughts. He was 
 bound on an adventure at last, had 
 reached the very threshold of it, and his 
 excitement filled the foreijround of his 
 mind with images of battle and darinof. 
 All the deeds of the heroes he loved rose 
 before him in an endless pageant. He saw
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 201 
 
 the Black Knight — like most boys, he 
 preferred the Black Knight to Ivanhoe — 
 splintering the postern-gate of Torquil- 
 stone ; and at the same time — for he had 
 been a very celebrated dunce at the High 
 School of Glasgow only a month before — 
 he remembered that he had never been 
 able to understand in the sentence, " What 
 dost thou see, Rebecca? again demanded 
 the wounded Knight," why the first clause 
 was the subordinate one. He saw 
 D'Artagnan quarrelling on his first day 
 in Paris with Porthos, Aramis and Athos ; 
 Hamlet leaping into Ophelia's grave, and 
 Hotspur crying out : 
 
 " Let them come ; 
 They come like sacrifices in their trim ; 
 And to the fired-ey'd maid of smoky war 
 All hot and bleeding shall we offer them ; 
 The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 
 Up to the ears in blood." 
 
 He knew Hotspur's speeches ; he had 
 recited them at exhibitions. (" Strange,"
 
 202 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 a classical master had said, applauding 
 Islay's recitation, " that fellows good at 
 elocution should be such duffers at every- 
 thing else." It was a stock remark of that 
 classical master's on exhibition - da3^s.) 
 Quentin Durward, Amyas Leigh, Here- 
 ward the Wake, crowded the melee in his 
 mind alono- with Harold of England and 
 Hector of Troy. 
 
 When they arrived at Highbourne and 
 got into a cab which was waiting for them, 
 Islay's meditation was interrupted for a 
 little ; but as soon as they were clear of 
 the town, and rollino- aloncf the coast- 
 road to Belminster, the pageant reappeared. 
 Scotch heroes gradually pressed to the 
 front — Claverhouse, and Montrose, and 
 Douglas, and Wallace, and Bruce, and the 
 famous admirals — Sir Andrew Wood, who 
 fought the English for two days at the 
 mouth of Tay and beat them ; and Sir 
 Andrew Barton, who fought them for as 
 long and was beaten. Salerne, sitting 
 opposite Islay, saw with concern the
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 203 
 
 passage of strong emotions across liis face, 
 and at last the moisture gather in his eyes. 
 
 " What is it, Ishay ? " he asked, thinking 
 the boy was in misery about the morning's 
 doings. 
 
 "Fight on, my men," said Isla}^ in a 
 subdued tone, intense with feeUng — 
 
 " ' Fight oil my men,' Sir Andrew says, 
 ' A little I'm hurt, but yet not slain ; 
 I'll but lie down and bleed a while, 
 And then I'll rise and fight again.' " 
 
 With the third line Islay's voice broke ; 
 and he burst into a passion of tears at the 
 end of the verse. Salerne said nothing ; 
 he had never heard of the " Ballad of Sir 
 Andrew Barton," but he understood dimly 
 Islay's emotion : there was never anybody 
 so dull-witted or so much of a coward as 
 to be out of sympathy with the fighter : 
 battle and the romance of battle is as 
 constant in the blood of the world as love 
 and its dream. 
 
 The cab drew up at the " Leg and Seven
 
 204 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Stars," an old tavern a little to the west 
 of Belminster, and Salerne and Islay went 
 in and drank some beer. A few whispered 
 words passed between Salerne and the 
 innkeeper. The latter, Islay saw, made 
 a reference to his presence, which Salerne 
 explained, evidently to the innkeeper's 
 satisfaction. They were shortly joined 
 by the cabman, who had been attending 
 to his horse. A brief conversation took 
 place between the three, and some arrange- 
 ments were made, which each repeated in 
 turn to see that he had them right. Then 
 Islay was introduced to the innkeeper, a 
 jolly-looking red-faced man of the name 
 of Mawcap, and to the cabman, called 
 Slowse, also red-faced and jolly-looking, 
 with an almost inaudible voice which 
 sounded like an attempt at speech across 
 a valley in the midst of a high gale. 
 
 " Aha ! captain," said the innkeeper to 
 Islay. " So you want to go a-fishing for 
 dulse in deep water — hey ! We're safe 
 this time, Salerne. They say as how no-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 205 
 
 body ever was caught for no sort of first 
 offence." 
 
 " I've seen it in the papers," said 
 Slowse, whispering tlirougli the tempest. 
 " First offence — often." 
 
 " Gammon, old cools:. It don't follow 
 that the first offence as is 'ad up, is the 
 first offence as was committed." 
 
 This seemed a sort of revelation to 
 Slowse. He winked one eye at Islay, and 
 nodded his head over his left shoulder at 
 Mawcap, to indicate to Islay that Maw cap 
 was the shrewdest man on the Sussex coast, 
 and that he, Slowse, was proud of his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 After a little more whispering Salerne 
 and Islsij left the " Leg and Seven 
 Stars." Slowse came to the door with 
 them, and putting his mouth close to 
 Islay's head, whispered as if a faint 
 voice had made itself heard from the 
 interior of a sounding shell, " Go on, 
 young 'un. We want more o' the like 
 o' you — in our trade. Slowse is my
 
 206 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 name, Slowse. I'm your man on any lay. 
 Slowse." 
 
 Islay stared at tlie speaker without other 
 reply, and then followed Salerne. 
 
 Instead of going straight down to the 
 sea, from which the " Leg and Seven Stars " 
 was distant about a quarter of a mile, 
 Salerne took an oblique course leading to 
 a point on the shore two miles to the west 
 of Belminster. In the coombes and denes, 
 breaking the rounded outline of the low 
 down over which they went, there nestled 
 clumps of hardy old trees — ash and oak 
 and hazel, dark hawthorn and bright. green 
 box. At any other time Islay would have 
 cast lingering looks at every patch of wood 
 and every well-kept spinney, but they had 
 now no attraction for him. No gabled 
 manor-house, nor grey church tower half- 
 hidden among the tall elms that clustered 
 here and there along the slopes, made any 
 impression upon him. The sweet thymy 
 grass seemed to have no effect upon his 
 senses ; and the fairy rings trod by elvish
 
 EAPTISr LAKE. 207 
 
 footsteps — by the " pliarisees," as the 
 Sussex shepherds call the good folk — did 
 not set his fancy alight as they were used 
 to do. He hardl}^ looked at the sea, visible 
 from the shore to the horizon when the 
 road kept the crown of the down, or seen 
 through the trees as they crossed lower 
 land only in l^lue splashes that were hardly 
 to be distinguished from the blue sky. 
 Even the note of the down - haunting 
 wheatear had no charm. When the cab 
 stopped at the " Leg and Seven Stars," Islay 
 had been deep in his dream of heroic 
 adventure. He had therefore left the 
 pageant of which he had been now a 
 spectator, now a principal figure — the com- 
 panion of kings and warriors, or moved to 
 tears by the imagination of noble deeds — 
 for a mean hedge-tavern where he must fra- 
 ternise with frowsy, ill-smelling drawers and 
 cab-drivers ; and the change made him sick 
 at heart. For a mile and a half he went 
 silent and downcast, odancinsi now and 
 again at Salerne, who seemed too pre-
 
 208 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 occupied to notice liis condition. At length, 
 pulling himself together, and adopting as 
 cheerful a tone as he could, he came close 
 to Salerne, and asked him what the inn- 
 keeper had meant by '' fishing for dulse in 
 deep water." 
 
 " That's the adventure we're on," said 
 Salerne. " You'll know in time." 
 
 " And are these men, Mawcap and Slowse, 
 to be with us ? " 
 
 " Well no, not till the adventure's nearly 
 done." 
 
 " Then," said Islay, much relieved, " you 
 and I are to do it alone." 
 
 " No ; we'll have a companion," said 
 Salerne. "But a different sort a'theoither 
 frae these two." 
 
 "Oh! what is he?" 
 
 " He's the devil, I think sometimes," 
 replied Salerne. "At any rate he's Mrs. 
 Tiplady's grandfather." 
 
 Islay lauglied. 
 
 " Which is not by no means the same 
 thing," continued Salerne rather testily.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 209 
 
 *' No, no ! I didn't mean that," exclaimed 
 Islay ; and Salerne was on the instant as 
 unruffled as usuah 
 
 "He's the strangest man or creature I 
 ever met, is old Wat Inglebeard. Mrs. 
 Tiplady's not the least like him. To be 
 sure he is her mother's father, and girls 
 take mostly after the other side, they say. 
 He's a bit over eighty, but as wiry as a 
 thorn-bush, and as straight's an ash. I've 
 been east and west with him in sail and 
 steam three or four times, and there wasn't 
 a better man before the mast. That's more 
 than a dozen years ago, but he's as brisk 
 still — it's not a twelvemonth since he gave 
 up the sea. Many's the story he used to 
 tell me of the life he led in his young days, 
 and he always swore he would go back to 
 it before he died. His ship came into 
 Glasgow last summer, and there I met him 
 with a plan all ready to start on his old 
 courses, which looked so promising to make 
 a lump o' money that I joined him, and 
 
 ever since I've been " 
 
 14
 
 210 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Been what ? " 
 
 Salerne shook his head and they went on 
 in silence, till they came in sight of some 
 low ruins about a furlong from the shore. 
 
 " What's that ? " asked May. 
 
 " The old minster," said Salerne. 
 
 " That was burned by the French after 
 the battle of Agincourt ? " 
 
 " Was it ? Yes, I believe it was. I re- 
 member something about it ; but I was only 
 a boy when I left Belminster." 
 
 " Oh yes ! " said Islay, who had found out 
 much about Belminster, as soon as he had 
 learned that it was to be the scene of their 
 adventure. " Some ships from Boulogne 
 came and burned the minster, and sacked 
 the town, while Henry V. was conquering 
 France ; and the people would never go 
 back to it, so they built a new town further 
 east." 
 
 " Aye," said Salerne, " maybe. — You 
 must be carefu' what you say to Inglebeard, 
 mind. He'll no' thank me for bringing you 
 I'm? thinking."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 211 
 
 " I thouglit," said Islay, halting a second 
 and then going on again, " that you were 
 the leader." 
 
 " I never told ye so." 
 
 Islay had to admit that. 
 
 " No," continued Salerne. " Inglebeard's 
 the leader. If old Inglebeard had had any 
 book learning, he could have been anything 
 he liked — and always leader. But he don't 
 know the alphabet." 
 
 "And when shall we see Mr. Ingle- 
 beard ? " 
 
 " At once. He's in the ruins." 
 
 Islay scanned the few remaining portions 
 of the walls of the first Belminster Abbey, 
 but could see no trace of a human being. 
 
 " He's underground," said Salerne. 
 " We're goino^ down to the shore first." 
 
 Islay had almost got over his disappoint- 
 ment at the non-heroic appearance of some 
 of their associates, and the account of 
 Inglebeard renewed his hopes of a reaUy 
 romantic adventure. When they arrived 
 at the shore and Salerne led the way into a 
 
 14=*
 
 212 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 cave — a fissure in a clifT wliicli it pleased 
 Islay to consider a cave — liis spirits rose to 
 a rapturous height ; in the whole course of 
 his adventure, this was the only moment at 
 which his actual experience was accom- 
 panied by anything like the high happiness 
 he had so often enjoyed in reading or con- 
 templating the adventures of others. 
 
 " Now," said Salerne, " let's see if you 
 can find the wa3\" 
 
 " The way ? " 
 
 " Yes. There's an underground pas- 
 sage." 
 
 Islay searched the fissure round and 
 round, but could find onl}^ the one opening 
 — that by which they had entered. 
 
 " See here," said Salerne, movino- from 
 the position he had taken up against one 
 side of the opening, just within the fissure 
 and no more, 
 
 Islay looked, and saw that Salerne had 
 been liidino- a niche about six feet hig-h, a 
 foot across and two deep. 
 
 " But there's no wav here," he said.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 213 
 
 "Follow me," rejoined Salerne ; and 
 pulling Islay back he pressed sideways into 
 the niche and vanished. 
 
 With beating heart Islay stepped after, 
 pushing against the rock as if he expected 
 to force a way through it. A quiet laugh 
 behind him seemed like a murmur from the 
 grave. 
 
 " Step out and come on left side first," 
 said Salerne laughing again. 
 
 Doino- as he was directed, Islav imme- 
 diately felt himself opposite his companion. 
 
 " Uold my coat," said Salerne, " and 
 keep close to me." 
 
 Six sharp turns in alternate directions 
 brought them panting with the narrowness 
 of the twisted passage, into a tunnel about 
 three feet wide and seven or eight feet 
 high. Here Salerne lit a small lamp which 
 he had brought with him from the inn. 
 This underground path was fully a furlong 
 in length, exactly the distance between the 
 shore and the ruins of Belminster Abbey. 
 It led them into a large crypt, the groined
 
 214 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 roof of which was supported by many rows 
 of pillars ; it impressed Islay with a sense 
 of vastness and c^loom. Salerne's little 
 lamp flashed on pillar after pillar, and 
 threw long, wavering shadows, that seemed 
 to be sucked back, as the light passed on, 
 into the darkness from which they had 
 momentarily escaped. Having traversed 
 the full extent of the crypt, Salerne and 
 Islay ascended a stair, and entered on an- 
 other long passage. 
 
 " We're going back now, on a higher 
 level," said Salerne. 
 
 This second path was as long as the first 
 plus the length of the crypt ; and as both 
 floor and ceiling were very irregular, some- 
 times approaching so closely that a passage 
 could be effected only by crawling on the 
 hands and feet, it took the two adventurers 
 fully a quarter of an hour to traverse it. 
 The lamp had been extinguished owing to 
 the exigency of the way, and they were in 
 total darkness almost up to the very end. 
 Then the light blazed out on them so
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 215 
 
 suddenh', that it was some time before 
 they recovered the full use of their eyes. 
 
 When he was able to see distinctly, 
 Islay found himself in a wide and lofty 
 apartment, lit up by three slits in the face 
 of the clifT. It was nearly square, the 
 cliff side, if anything, being longer than 
 any of the other three. There were signs 
 of rough hewino; on all the walls, and the 
 three openings on the cliff side had been 
 cut to the ordinary shape of loop-holes. A 
 tarpaulin, and some rugs and blankets lay 
 in one corner, and a wood fire was 
 smouldering in another, near it some 
 dishes and cooking utensils. An old man, 
 very broad, and a little under the middle 
 height, was shaving himself at a small 
 looking-glass which hung beside one of 
 the loop-holes. 
 
 " You, Salerne ? " said the old man 
 without turning round. " And what fresh- 
 water, fairweather fowl is this you've 
 brought ? " 
 
 "This is Islay Inglis," replied Salerne
 
 216 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 witli some difRdence. " I told ye about 
 liiiii last Sunday, and ye wouldn't say 
 whether I was to bring him or not ; but 
 I've brought him." 
 
 " We don't want no lubberly sons of 
 kite-strings here," said the old man. " But 
 we'll see, we'll see." 
 
 When he had finished shaving he wiped 
 his face on a rag, seated himself on a block 
 of wood — several lay about the floor — and 
 without speaking, beckoned Islay to 
 approach him. The boy went straight 
 up, and Ingiebeard — for it was he — gazed 
 at him for some time. Islay was too 
 interested to be much put about, and the 
 look of curiosity wdth which he had 
 returned Inglebeard's gaze, was soon 
 changed to one of unconscious admiration. 
 Extraordinary power distinguished the old 
 man's face and head. A pair of enormous 
 dark eyes blazed under eyebrows like a 
 double-spanned bridge. The nose was 
 large, straight, and thick, but not fleshy ; 
 the mouth large and tightly closed. The
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 217 
 
 brown, leathery-looking cheeks were clean 
 shaven, a little white hair being allowed 
 to crow under the broad chin. The head 
 was almost entirely bald, but its great 
 breadth and length, and fulness in every 
 part, made the beholder think that here 
 was a skull of which, though naked, the 
 owner need never be ashamed. Baldness 
 is many a man's Judas ; but his deep, 
 broad, compact head, was a constant 
 witness to Inglebeard's power and magna- 
 nimity. The lines in his brow and cheeks, 
 especially about the mouth, indicated 
 viciousness, greed, petty cares, slyness, 
 and much inferioritv, to be referred as 
 their main source to the want of education. 
 Inglebeard was dressed like a fisherman 
 with long sea-boots and a jersey, and in 
 attitude, gesture, speech, and general 
 command of his faculties, conveyed the 
 impression of a particularly hale man, of 
 between fifty and sixty ; it was only the 
 dark brown parchment of the face, meshed 
 with innumerable small wrinkles, and
 
 218 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 trenched with many deep ones, that told 
 of his four-score years. 
 
 Inglebeard was completely satisfied with 
 Islay Inglis's appearance. 
 
 " Sit down, boy," he said, indicating a 
 block of wood near him. "You're as 
 brave a lad as any that ever cracked 
 biscuit. And you blush too — that's a 
 good sign. Honest men can blush till 
 they're past sixty ; I've seen it. And so, 
 boy, you want to have an adventure ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Islay. 
 
 " It's but a wishy-washy adventure we 
 can give you ; but I suppose it's the only 
 sort of tack on which you can come 
 athwart an adventure at all now-a-days. 
 Lord bless you, though, there's no risk. 
 What's a year's imprisonment ? M^hat's a 
 fine ? There was some excitement when 
 you risked your neck. But it was a good 
 death that too, lad. They hung you up 
 in chains, and you swung there merrily in 
 the sweet air within sound of the sea and 
 sight of the ships. I would like that
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 21'J 
 
 better than rotting under ground, plugged 
 down in a coffin. But God send me to 
 be drowned ! Every voyage, lad, every 
 voyage, for tlie last dozen years I hoped 
 for death, and a shroud in mid-ocean. But 
 it seems I'll have to die of old age, unless 
 I can get drowned." 
 
 "You've had many adventures, have 
 you not ? " said Islay. 
 
 "Ay, ay," replied Inglebeard. "I was 
 eight years old when Waterloo was fought. 
 My father shipped over many a bag of gold 
 for Boney. I've seen the smugglers in 
 Belminster playing pitch-andtoss with 
 guineas, lad, and the poorest lass that 
 danced on the green with a silk skirt and 
 a bit of right Mechlin at her bosom." 
 
 " Salerne never told me, but I guessed 
 it was smuggling," said Islay. 
 
 " Smuggling, ay. It made men of us I 
 can tell you. There were no seamen like 
 the smugglers ; the navy stopped taking 
 them ; they got on so well the crews 
 rebelled. Honest fellows, they were. By
 
 220 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 God, they were honest fellows I I've seen 
 two informers whipped to death ; and 
 they deserved it." 
 
 " I suppose the smupfglers thought it was 
 right to smuggle ? " said Islay. 
 
 " Eisht ! " cried Inoiebeard. " It was 
 the only thincf for a man born in these 
 parts to do. I know there's nothing 
 against it in the Bible ; read I can't, but 
 I know that. Is there anythiiio- wronj^ in. 
 shipping tobacco and spirits from one 
 port to another ? Xothing ; it's the law 
 that's wron", not the smugo-lino-. Every 
 smuo-crler's conscience was clear and briolit 
 
 CO c 
 
 as a fresh run anker of brandy. There's 
 no man safer of a berth aloft than a 
 smuggler, if smuggling's all that's against 
 him ; and there's a bunk in hell for every 
 informer, lad." 
 
 " Egmont ahoy ! " said Salerne, who had 
 been watching at one of the loop-holes 
 with a telescope. 
 
 Inglebeard joined him at once, and Islay 
 having pushed his seat to another of the
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 221 
 
 loop-holes, stood up and looked out too. 
 A long, ugly, screw-steamer, high both in the 
 bows and the stern, moving westward at 
 a i:rood rate about two miles from the 
 coast, soon came within his range of vision, 
 which was much circumscribed by the 
 depth and narrowness of the outlook. 
 Islay noticed, or thought he noticed, 
 somethino- white flash at the bows of the 
 Egmont as it passed Belminster Abbey. 
 When it was out of sight, Inglebeard 
 returned to his seat, and Salerne set about 
 makino" tea. 
 
 " I hear people talking and laughing on 
 the shore," said Islay. 
 
 "Yes," said Inglebeard. "On Sunday 
 evenings, people walk about hereaway." 
 
 " But are you not afraid that they'll find 
 you out ? " 
 
 " What would they fnid out about me ? 
 There's no tobacco or spirits here. But 
 they won't find me. I'll swear there's been 
 nobody here till now, since I left fifty years 
 an-o. It was me found it out, lad, in the
 
 222 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 spring of 'tliirty-eiglit. We ran a crop of 
 tubs one niglit, that had lain off the shore 
 here for a week. Straight inland to a 
 farm over the downs we went — six of us, 
 with two tubs a-piece strapped over our 
 shoulders, back and front. We shouldn't 
 have done it all together, but we had got 
 so confident, it was a w^onder we didn't do 
 it in broad daylight. Just at the farm, the 
 coast-guardsmen caught us. I was the 
 only one that escaped — with a bullet in my 
 sleeve. Two others were shot down. I 
 ran straight for where I knew a boat was ; 
 but when I got to the shore, there were 
 two men waiting for me. I rushed up to 
 the cliff and into the cave, hoping that 
 these fellows misjht be new hands. But 
 they both knew the place. I squeezed 
 myself into the little sentry-box at the 
 opening, meaning to jump out if any one 
 entered. Many a time when I was a boy 
 I had been in it, and two turnings more ; 
 ]3Ut nobody had ever gone further than 
 that. Nobody thought it was possible to
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 223 
 
 go further. Senseless and breathless with 
 the long race, I stuffed myself in as far as I 
 had been before. I had not been in since I 
 was a boy. We used to dare each other to 
 go in the three turnings ; as soon as w^e had 
 done it we hustled out again what we 
 could, more dead than alive — it was so 
 dark, and there was such a cold smell, and 
 the sheer rock all round, so close that you 
 couldn't move a hand to brush away a 
 spider ; you felt as if the earth had taken 
 3^ou in its jaws, and was going to crunch 
 you up and swallow you. We were always 
 as pale's a sheet, and covered with sweat 
 when we came out, and only one or two of 
 us dared to do it. Well, I remembered of 
 this and thought — what nobody ever 
 thought before — me being hunted ; and 
 forced and twisted myself round and round 
 three more turns, and came out into the 
 broad path. I had my tinder-box, and 
 struck a light, and explored the whole 
 place that night. As I dursn't show my- 
 self in the neighbourhood, I got away to
 
 224 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 London, and have followed the sea pretty 
 much ever since. In a few years the days 
 of smuggling were done ; it wasn't worth 
 while, the duty on foreign spirits was made 
 so small ; and then the coast-gfuard cot 
 joined to the navy, and there was no squar- 
 ing of them, or dodging of them. But we're 
 dodging them now, eh, Salerne ? " 
 
 The old man was glad to speak to Islay. 
 He felt the bo3^'s sympathy with him. 
 Besides, Islay had never heard any of his 
 talk before, and Inglebeard's need to 
 gossip about the old days was all the 
 keener, that he hardl}^ got speech of 
 anybody from week's end to week's end. 
 He crave Islav a whole history of smucrcflincf, 
 and spoke of fighting armed with swingles 
 and bats, and of the disgust of the coast- 
 guard when they came across a crop of 
 stinkibus — i. ^., a cargo of spirits that had 
 lain under water so long as to be spoiled. 
 He talked of the hovering limits, of batty- 
 fagging, of scorage tubs, of spotsmen, of 
 shifting quarter-pieces, of sweeping and
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 225 
 
 creeping ; and it was all wonderful and 
 partly incomprehensible to Islay. He told 
 him of many a strange and cunning device, 
 invented when smuggling ceased to depend 
 for success on numbers and strength of 
 arm, and became a craft ; and mentioned 
 many a famous smuggling boat — the Mary 
 Aim of Eye, the Tarn 0' Shanter of Ply- 
 mouth, the Rival of Chichester, the Black 
 Rover of Sandwich. Then he harked back 
 to the times of old, and his father's stories 
 of the hey-day of smuggling during the 
 French War. He told him all about the 
 smugglers' camp at Gravelines, which 
 Napoleon kept for them ; and how the 
 smugglers' little boats carried spies back- 
 wards^nd forwards right under the prows 
 of the great English sevent^^-fours. 
 
 " But wasn't that treachery ? " asked 
 Islay. 
 
 " No ; the smugglers were a nation by 
 thsmselves. They weren't English, for 
 they were outlawed, and they never had 
 been French. They couldn't be traitors 
 
 15
 
 21G BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 except against themselves, wliicli they never 
 
 were." 
 
 Along with the tea, Salerne cooked some 
 fish which Ino-Iebeard had caufrlit in the 
 morning.. Ship-biscuit was produced, and 
 the three made a rousfh meal. Both the 
 tea and the fish were badl}^ smoked, and 
 Salerne and Islay could take no more than 
 was sufficient to blunt the ed^e of their 
 appetites ; but Inglebeard ate heartil}-, 
 moistenimr the hard biscuit in his tea — of 
 which he drank four large cups. He was 
 very brisk afterwards, and began to talk to 
 Islay again, of his voyages, of shipwrecks, 
 and of a campaign he had served in the 
 Confederate Army. He told him too of an 
 attempt he had made in his eightieth year 
 to live an ordinary landsman's life, 
 
 "I couldn't stand it," he said. "Ever}-- 
 body that came athwart of me sings out, 
 ' Ay, ay ! eighty years old, and so fresh and 
 hearty.' And they asked me what was the 
 price of things in such and such a year, 
 and if I'd ever seen Byron. In a month I
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 227 
 
 tired of tellin£2: all kinds of cuts and crafts 
 of lubberly sons of kite-strings, that I 
 couldn't rightly remember whether the 
 quartern loaf had ever cost one and eleven 
 or not, me never having bought a loaf in 
 my life ; and as for sugar having been two 
 and six, and tea fifteen shillings a pound — 
 might a' been, but I never dealt in them. 
 Nobody thought of being told that the 
 anker of brandy once cost two pounds in 
 France, and was sold for six pounds here, 
 so that there was a profit of nearly a 
 hundred per cent, if we saved only one 
 cargo out of three. But I did have to tell 
 them that if I was at the battle of Trafalgar 
 it was without my knowledge, being only 
 three weeks old at the time, d'ye see. So 
 I overhauled my box and sheered off again, 
 hungry for a taut gale and the salt in my 
 teeth. But last year it came to an end. 
 I'm as good as a young 'un when I'm awake, 
 but I sleep too much. My last voyage I 
 toppled over nearly every watch ; standing 
 or walking down I flopped, and was 
 
 15*
 
 228 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 dreamin^f of orang;e trees and octoroons, 
 the moment my head struck the deck. It 
 was all up with old Wat Inglebeard, 
 hugging the fireside in the sloop Armchair^ 
 on the voj^age to kingdom come ! Xot me. 
 I've had enough of your stuffy parlours 
 and walks on the Esplanade, and your 
 bread-and-butter men and misses Oh-inir, 
 and Ah-ing, and telling me I'm a marvel, 
 and asking me, was I ever shipwrecked, 
 damn them. Here I came a month ago, and 
 here I'll stay, with the wind humming about 
 me day and night, and the sea for my next- 
 door neighbour. Me and the sea. I'm 
 always at home to the sea, and something 
 tells me, we'll take up house together 
 
 soon." 
 
 The old man had risen, pacing the deck 
 of his cave and filling his pipe while he 
 talked. He smoked at one of the loop-holes 
 watching the sea, and when his pipe was 
 out, he lay down on the tarpaulin, wrapped 
 himself in a blanket, and was soon sound 
 asleep.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 229 
 
 Salerne whispered to Islay that they 
 could not start on the conchision of their 
 adventure, till it was quite dark. The sun 
 was already down, but the moon was in the 
 sky, and they would require to wait till it 
 set, which would not be till about eleven. 
 At ten, they would waken Inglebeard, and 
 all three leave the cave for a little bay, not 
 far from the " Leg and Seven Stars," where 
 a boat awaited them. In the meantime he, 
 Salerne, meant to stay where he was and 
 smoke. Islay smoked for a while too ; but 
 soon the sea air overcame hira. He fell 
 asleep with his head on a rug, and Salerne 
 had the watch to himself. 
 
 Punctually at ten he roused his sleeping 
 companions. They left the cave, and by 
 unfrequented ways arrived, shortly before 
 eleven, at the nook where their boat lay.
 
 XL 
 
 Saleene pushed off tlie boat under a dark 
 sky in which the stars were deeply sunk. 
 Islay and he took an oar a-piece, and 
 Inglebeard steered. The wind was light 
 and wandering ; it moved about on the 
 water restlessly, as if seeking to start a 
 quarry ; the vast dome of night felt very 
 empty with nothing stirring on the sea, 
 except their little boat, and the light 
 questing wind. They rowed at their ease 
 in silence for half an hour, when Inglebeard 
 ordered them to lay their oars aboard. 
 Having himself unshipped the rudder, he 
 went to the bow, while Salerne put out an 
 oar in the stern roUock, and waited Ingle- 
 beard's orders. 
 
 " Will ye manage it, think ye ? " asked 
 Salerne. 
 
 " I see every float from here. They have
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 231 
 
 drifted about half a mile inshore, just as I 
 reckoned, and a point or two to the east." 
 
 Islay looked adiead, but could see 
 nothing, except the black sheen of the 
 water, and that only for a yard or two in 
 front. He then fixed his gaze on Ingle- 
 beard, and watched him with intense 
 interest. The old man had become a piece 
 of the boat. He was, as it were, the head 
 and neck of a great sea-bird, fishing at 
 nisht with the whole sea to himself. He 
 seemed to move along a well-known path, 
 taking, as he whispered, " la'board " or 
 *' sta'board," and Salerne plied his oar, 
 every turning or winding with the utmost 
 precision ; and each time that he said 
 *' stop her," he pulled aboard, with Islay's 
 help, a strong cord a fathom or two in 
 length, wdth a cork float at one end, and a 
 case of some kind, or a barrel at the other ; 
 there were seven cases,and three barrels inall. 
 
 " That's the crop," said Inglebeard. 
 
 Salerne adjusted the rudder, and the 
 three resumed their former positions.
 
 232 EAPllST LAKE. 
 
 "And were they dropped from the 
 steamer? " asked Islay. 
 
 " Yes, lad," answered Inglebeard. " The 
 stokers are our men." 
 
 " And where's the Etjmont bound for? " 
 
 " For Bristol from Hamburg, with beet- 
 sus^ar — and tobacco and Schiedam for 
 Ino^lebeard, Salerne and Co." 
 
 In reply to further questions Islay 
 learned that, Salerne and Mrs. Tiplady 
 fniding the capital, Inglebeard had es- 
 tablished about a year before taking up his 
 abode in the cave a sort of depot for smuggled 
 goods in Hamburg, and organised the 
 system which he had just seen in operation. 
 Slowse and Mawcap were fully in the 
 secret ; their business being to distribute 
 to commercial travellers and others, less 
 initiated, those goods, a very large pro- 
 portion, which Mrs. Tiplady and Salerne 
 were unable to dispose of. 
 
 On the whole Islay was not enchanted 
 with his adventure. Inglebeard was inte- 
 restino-, romantic even ; but the business
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 2£3 
 
 itself was so absolutely mercenary, that 
 as lie rowed Lack, and tliouoht of his 
 sweetheart and of the heroes he loved, 
 the tears fell hot and fast on his hands. 
 He let them fall ; nobody could see him. 
 Then he began to wonder why it was that 
 he cried so often — he, a great fellow, 
 nearly sixteen, with hair on his chest and 
 a deep voice ; and grew ashamed of himself, 
 and pulled so hard that he had turned the 
 boat round against the helm and Salerne, 
 before Inglebeard saw what was the matter 
 and called on him to keep time. 
 
 At the shore they were met by Mawcap 
 and Slowse, each with two large port- 
 manteaus, into which Ingiebeard and 
 Salerne thrust the " crop " in less time 
 almost than it takes to tell, while the 
 others fastened the boat. In half a minute 
 they and their burden were inside Slowse's 
 cab with Slowse on the box ; and they 
 drove off. 
 
 But they had hardly started, when a 
 loud voice called out " Halt, in the Queen's
 
 234 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 name ! " and a couple of sliots were fired 
 Avitli such a rendinu' noise in the darkness, 
 and so unexpectedly, that they seemed to 
 tear up the night ; they were, however, only 
 blank cartridges from navy revolvers. 
 
 " I remember," said Inglebeard, like one 
 waking from a dream, " walking hereabouts 
 with my wife in the spring of 'thirty- five, 
 and I never saw her again. I wish they 
 had buried her in the sea." 
 
 Slowse was captured at once. Mawcap 
 jumped out first and was caught without 
 a struo-oie. Salerne following him on the 
 
 Co o 
 
 same side, made a stout resistance ; he 
 was, however, soon secured. Islay tried 
 the other side ; but the cab was surrounded 
 by a strong body of the coastguard, rein- 
 forced by a number of excisemen. Seeing 
 several figures at the cab door, Islay 
 hesitated, stumbled, and fell out. The men 
 at the door thought as he struck against 
 them in his fall that he was attacking 
 them, and drew back a step, while one 
 fired a blank cartridge with the intention
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 235 
 
 of frightening- him. Islay was not 
 frightened. He grasped the pair of legs 
 nearest him upsetting their owner, rose, 
 and ran. Two men followed him, and 
 several shots were fired, but the darkness 
 prevented pursuit and he got off. 
 
 " Caught ! " cried Inoiebeard in astonish- 
 ment stepping out of the cab. 
 
 Either his seeming passivity deceived his 
 captors, and they held him slackl}-, or the 
 strength of his 3'outh came back to him 
 once more ; for he wrenched himself free 
 and was down at the shore and into the 
 boat before his escape was realised. Four 
 men followed him, and found that he had 
 pushed the boat out as far as he could, and 
 was cutting the rope that moored it ; but 
 his blunt knife delayed him. They waded 
 into the water, and laying hold of the boat, 
 ordered Inglebeard to surrender. 
 
 " No," he replied in a clear voice. 
 
 He flung both oars overboard, and 
 leaping after them swam out to sea. His 
 pursuers stood motionless, amazed and
 
 236 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 silent, listening to the plash of his arms. 
 In little more than a minute the sound of 
 his swimming ceased. When they told 
 Salerne he said, " His sea-boots sunk him. 
 He and the sea have taken up house 
 together now." And the coastguard 
 wondered if it was a crew of escaj)ed 
 lunatics tliey had captured. 
 
 As for Islay, finding himself unpursued 
 he ceased runnincr althouf?h he still 
 hurried, continuing at a rapid pace in the 
 direction he had first taken, and which he 
 guessed rightly w^ould lead to the cave, 
 lie had some difficulty in picking out his 
 w^ay, and in finding the entrance ; still, 
 within an hour after the surprise of his 
 part}', he was lying on Inglebeard's 
 tarpaulin, comfortably wrapped in the 
 blankets the old man would never use 
 again. He took it for granted that the 
 other two had been caught ; but it 
 concerned him little, and his excitement 
 was so great, that he gave no consideration 
 as to what course he himself should follow.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 237 
 
 Tlie wind, still light and wandering, swept 
 its airy garments past the loop-holes at 
 intervals. It paused sometimes as if it 
 were looking in ; but finding Inglebeard 
 gone, and not being very sure of Islay, it 
 went past instead of entering. All night 
 it kept on lingering, and going, and 
 pausing, and sighing softly. Gradually it 
 soothed Islay to rest — it and the waves 
 that fell in full chords on the beach, or 
 wdiitened their dark oleamino- leno'ths in 
 long runs and pearl}^ passages, always, to 
 May's ear, with the soft pedal down. 
 
 His last thoughts before he fell asleep 
 were of the future, when he should have 
 a boy of his own, and bring him to see this 
 cave, and tell him the story of Inglebeard ; 
 and Eose should come with them — Eose. 
 He stretched out his arm and clasped her 
 in fancy to his breast, and was murmuring 
 in her ear when sleep took him. 
 
 There were fine moments in Islay's 
 adventure, he recognised afterwards ; but 
 the finest of all was that in which he first
 
 2CS BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 entered the cave with Salerne, and felt as 
 if the time were bii? with fate. When told 
 of the death of Inglebeard, he was inclined 
 to lament that he had nut been present ; 
 then he thought perhaps it was better to 
 have escaped — to have slept a whole night 
 in a cave lulled by the wind and the waves.
 
 XII. 
 
 The flittinn- to Lancaster Gardens had 
 been accomplished. There was little 
 except clothes to take from Whit- 
 groom's ; but some old furniture that had 
 been brought from Glasgow and stored, 
 required many hours to remove, unpack, 
 and arrange. The arrangement indeed 
 Mrs. Inglis gave up in despair, and sat 
 down to read the newspaper, and wait her 
 husband's home-comino-. He was alreadv 
 late for dinner. He had been out all day, 
 an unusual thing for him at any time, and 
 especially so in such a domestic crisis as 
 the change to a new dwelling. Mrs. Inglis, 
 gracious-hearted, sweet-tempered woman 
 as she was, could not help fretting a little. 
 She had been very busy ; had borne the 
 burden of the day alone ; had bruised one 
 of her knees too, scratched her hand, and
 
 240 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 torn lier dress. Her two daughters, who 
 were in the drawing-room with her, on 
 couches reading novels, suddenly as if by 
 mutual consent, dropped their books, 
 looked at their watches, and coughed 
 patheticall}'. 
 
 Mrs. Inglis glanced up from her paper, 
 and her nerves, very well strung, of the 
 very finest fibre — they were hardly ever 
 out of tune — jarred a little at the aspect 
 of her daughters. They had that mingled 
 air of injured innocence, proud resignation, 
 self-pitv, and contempt for things in 
 ixeneral, which women who are not 
 expecting their time find so aggravating 
 — the misapplication of this word has 
 taken too deep a root to be eradicated —   
 so aggravating in those who are expecting 
 their time, and which drives most men 
 to distraction, especially the prospective 
 fathers. 
 
 "Don't look like that, Lizzie — Agnes," 
 said Mrs. Inglis. " One would think a 
 woman had never been that way before."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 241 
 
 " Mamma ! " said Lizzie, who had been 
 married only a year. " How dreadful ! 
 Why will you say such coarse things ? " 
 
 Agnes, who was about to be a mother 
 for the third time, sighed, blushed, and 
 did her best to look happy and careless. 
 
 "Oh bother!" said Mrs. Wlis. " You 
 ought to have walked six miles before 
 dinner, instead of moping about the house. 
 The day before you were born, Agnes, I 
 shopped all the forenoon, and scrubbed 
 the staircase and the lobby afterwards, as 
 it was the servant's day out, and we had 
 only one then." 
 
 " How could I go shopping, such a 
 fright ! " said Lizzie. 
 
 "I don't think it's at all fair of you 
 mamma,'"' said Agnes, still trying to look 
 serene. "You know what often happens 
 if women exert themselves, especially their 
 arms. I wouldn't mind the shopping. I'll 
 go shopping to-morrow, and walk as many 
 miles as you like." 
 
 " Fiddlededee ! " said Mrs. Inslis. " Great, 
 
 IG
 
 212 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 thumping women like you may exert their 
 arms as much as they hke without any 
 danger — clean windows even." 
 
 " If papa was here," said Agnes, breaking 
 down, " you wouldn't talk like that." 
 
 " Ay ; if papa was here," said Mrs. 
 Ingiis ; " but where is papa, that's what 
 I should like to know. Oh ! — Aggy, dear ! 
 — don't cry. My pet ! — whisht ! — Lizzie, 
 come." 
 
 The three women were all seated on one 
 couch, Mrs. Ingiis in the middle with an 
 arm round either dauo-hter, swayinfr them 
 gently backwards and forwards, and 
 crooning a lullaby, when the housemaid 
 brouo-ht a teleOTam. 
 
 " From papa ? "' 
 
 Yes ; it was from papa, and ran : 
 
 " Won't be for dinner ; gone to the 
 theatre." 
 
 " He will not be for dinner," said Mrs. 
 Ingiis, catching her breath. " Well, we
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. Ji43 
 
 sliall just take dinner without him. Come, 
 dears." 
 
 Her daughters were very ij^ood to Mrs. 
 IngHs at dinner. They could scarcely 
 understand, nor did she quite know 
 herself, why she should be so troubled 
 about her husband's absence. It was 
 annoying certainly ; and Islay away too, 
 although that, to be sure, was no unusual 
 occurrence, and in the present instance 
 expected. So they soothed her with 
 compliments about her new house, and 
 praised the electric light ; and remarked 
 on her own fresh looks and youthful spirit. 
 And she understood them ; and when they 
 returned to the drawino'-room, arran^-ed 
 cushions on their couches for them, and 
 talked to them "gently of their husbands 
 away in Glasgow, and to Agnes of her two 
 bo3^s. At half-past ten, she put them to 
 bed very lovingly ; and brought them with 
 her own hands a wonderful posset made 
 by herself, from a recipe which had been in 
 her mother's family from time immemorial. 
 
 IG*
 
 244 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Jolin Ino'lis came home at midiiii>'ht, and 
 found his wife waitino- for him in the 
 library. It was a room of moderate size, 
 with unpolished oak furniture. Books, 
 concealed by dark-green velvet curtains 
 ruiniino- on brass rods, were rano-ed round 
 the whole room, the shelves reaching from 
 the floor to about the hei^-ht of a dado. 
 T3usts in marble and bronze, and various 
 bric-a-brac stood on the tops of the cases, 
 and some water - colours, pastels, and 
 engravings hung on the dark-green wall. 
 Mrs. Inj^lis, who had been reclinim? on a 
 lounge, rose on the entrance of her 
 husband, poured out some whiskey, and 
 cut a cigar for him. She looked at him 
 the while with her soft, laughing, grey 
 eyes — no question, only welcome in them. 
 She was dressed in a dark - coloured 
 gown, cut very low, with lace on her 
 arms and bust. Part of her hair had 
 escaped from the loose coil in which she 
 alwavs dressed it — thick brown hair with 
 no fire in it, but as soft as silk. She had
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 215 
 
 connived at its escape, as a general will 
 sometimes permit a prisoner to get off, 
 having taken care to charge him with false 
 information. She wished to render her 
 husband verj^ submissive ; and then she 
 would talk to him ! But he recfarded her 
 with smiling defiance ; and she thought 
 she detected a secret in his glance. He 
 looked exceedingly well, a little flushed, 
 with his ruddy hair and beard, pure 
 complexion, and bold eyes. 
 
 He lit the cigar, and drank some of the 
 whiskey. 
 
 "Well, Mary," he said, "How do you 
 like your new house ? " 
 
 " I've been too busy to like or dislike." 
 
 *' Have YOU ? Yes, of course ; there 
 must have been things to do. I'm sorry 
 I was away." 
 
 " You couldn't help it, I suppose. The 
 Scotch furniture I could do nothing with, 
 so I told the men to come back to-morrow. 
 Y^ou will help me to arrange it, won't 
 you ? "
 
 246 BAPTIST LAKE, 
 
 " Is it not rather out of place here ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! Most of it will suit well enough." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " What was the play ? " 
 
 "An opera — it wasn't a ])lay. Don 
 Giovanni.'''' 
 
 " And who were with you ? " 
 
 " Baptist Lake." 
 
 " Oh, he !— only he ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I never knew you take such a sudden 
 fancy before." 
 
 " No ; but did you ever meet a more 
 fascinatino; man ? " 
 
 '• I suppose he is fascinating." 
 
 "I should think -so." 
 
 " Well, dear ; I hope you enjoyed it. 
 Do you remember when you and I saw 
 Don Giovan7ii for the first time ? " 
 
 "No— yes." 
 
 Mrs. Inglis was losing her pleasantness ; 
 the defiance in her husband's manner had 
 not been at all modified by the "gentle 
 treatment he was receivinfr.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 247 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to finish your 
 cigar alone," she said. 
 
 " Are you tired ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm going to bed." 
 
 " Well, good-night." 
 
 " Good-night ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 Her grasp was on the handle, but she 
 kept the door closed. 
 
 " Mary, I'm not coming with you," he 
 said. *'In fact, I've been thinking that 
 it's time you and I had separate rooms. 
 We can't continue our old-fashioned ways 
 in London you know." 
 
 The brutality of his words was altogether 
 beHed by the pallor of his face and his 
 gasping utterance. He had risen and was 
 close beside her, both leaning against the 
 door — her right side and his left ; his 
 cheeks as pale as his shirt ; hers as red 
 as her lips. She said nothing, and he 
 continued. 
 
 " I want to read in bed at night, and " — 
 She laughed scornfully. " The short and 
 the long of it is, Mary, it's ridiculous for
 
 C48 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 people who have been married so long as 
 you and I to <jo on as we've been doino- 
 especially when we can afford separate 
 rooms." 
 
 "John," she said, becoming at once as 
 pale as he, " we've been married twenty- 
 eight years come the third of July, and 
 we never had a quarrel that we couldn't 
 kiss away wdien night came. But this 
 won't grow to a quarrel, John. We'll 
 have one room till •we die ; for we love 
 each other, don't we ? and our love won't 
 change even although w^e no longer — even 
 when we are old and frail. If love doesn't 
 mean that, it's not love but shamefulness." 
 
 She put her arm in his — she was almost 
 as tall as he ; and " blinkit on him bonny." 
 
 " Come, my own," she said, her mouth 
 close at his ear. 
 
 " No," he cried, withdrawing his arm. 
 
 " There's another woman then," she said 
 slowly : adding^ with a sudden blaze of 
 anger, " and you've lied to me. She was 
 with you at the theatre."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. l-'-lO 
 
 He shrank from her, and then grew 
 boisterous, like the best and the worst of 
 men when their wives find tliem out in 
 deceit. 
 
 "Look here, Mar}^, I won't have a scene 
 — I won't have it. I'll be master in my 
 own house. Go to bed. By the way, 
 who are coming to dinner on Wednesday ? 
 I foriiet." 
 
 " Dr. Cairncross and his wife, and Hector 
 Almond." 
 
 " Well, Baptist Lake and Mrs. Meldrum 
 are comincf too." 
 
 " Mrs. Meldrum ? " 
 
 " Yes, a friend of Baptist's." 
 
 " But I have never heard of her before. 
 I haven't asked her." 
 
 " But I have." 
 
 ''• You ? Then — perhaps I'm too old- 
 fashioned again — what kind of women 
 accept men's invitations, without knowing 
 their wives ? " 
 
 " But she doesn't know I'm married." 
 
 " What ? •'
 
 250 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " This is how it happened," said Inglis, 
 becoming more and more exasperated as 
 the necessity for explanation grew. " Mrs. 
 Meldrum is a widow, and Baptist told her I 
 was a bachelor when he introduced us. 
 Mrs. Meldrum thinks she is coming to a 
 bachelor's house." 
 
 " To be mistress of it." 
 
 " I don't know. But I'm pa3'ing off 
 Baptist, for I haven't told either that the 
 other's coming." 
 
 " But you have deceived this woman, 
 too." 
 
 " I haven't. It happened — that's all ; 
 and went on. It will be cleared up on 
 Wednesday, and Mrs. Meldrum will have it 
 out with Baptist." 
 
 " In our house, John ? " 
 
 "It will be evident only to you and me." 
 
 " Oh, John ! I was so glad to come to 
 London. We've only been here a month, 
 and I wish I was back in Glasgow. I 
 would never complain of the filthy east 
 winds in Sauchiehall Street again."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 251 
 
 Inglis laughed ; and Mrs. Inglis herself 
 could not help smiling at such an un- 
 expected turn. She was about to continue ; 
 but feelinc^ somethino- else than laughter 
 rising in her throat, she opened the door 
 quickly, and went upstairs to her room. 
 
 Candles were burning on her toilet-table ; 
 but she turned on the electric light, with 
 which all the rooms in the house were 
 fitted, and fronted herself in the mirror. 
 
 " Mary McClymont or Inglis," she said, 
 " you're forty-five, you're forty-five." 
 
 Much she thought that night, but these 
 were the only words she said aloud. 
 
 She peered at her face. It was haggard 
 now ; but she had sense left to deduct the 
 effect of the sudden and deep wound she 
 had received. Here and there were dints 
 in her cheeks. She thought they were 
 liker dimples than wrinkles still. She let 
 aU her hair fall about her : it came to her 
 waist — thick, soft, and silky, a dead brown. 
 Many a time her husband had twined his 
 hands in it ; what need had he of other
 
 202 I3APTIST LAKE. 
 
 bonds ? She took her hand glass, and 
 looked at herself on all sides, and sighed a 
 little. It was true, she was not so slender 
 as she once had been : but she had a fisjure 
 still. Then she tore the lace from her arms 
 and bosom : all was white and clear — and 
 shoulder-blades and collar-bones, smooth, 
 no more than marked, like snow-wreaths, 
 or things hidden under powdery snow. 
 She pressed her mouth on her upper arm ; 
 surely it was warm and soft. She was 
 forty-five ; but she thought, happily in the 
 midst of her distress, that any man might 
 be proud to lay his head on her bosom. 
 She sat down on a lar<2:e rockino;-chair — 
 almost the only piece of the Glasgow 
 furniture that had been placed ; her 
 husband had bouirht it for her when 
 
 CD 
 
 her hrst baby, a boy, was born. Her 
 first baby ! It had not lived long. Then 
 had come her three daughters at intervals 
 of two years : then Islay, at a loncrer 
 interval : and seven A'ears after his birth, 
 another boy, which, like her first, had died
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 253 
 
 in infancy. For lialf-an-lioiir she sat 
 rocking in her chair, and thinking of her 
 nursing times ; she had suckled all her 
 children. Then she rose and paced the 
 room. Her whole life passed before her. 
 Her happy childhood among cows and 
 sheep and milk ; the long, long summer 
 evenings when the hay was won, and the 
 hot autumn days of the harvest. Her 
 first school-days — how miserable they had 
 bean ! She never could learn ; was 
 always at the foot of the class, and 
 being caned and kept in. And the 
 crusty old parish schoolmaster, who 
 seemed to hate all his pupils except the 
 pale ones. Her two years at a boarding- 
 school in Edinbur"-h ; still boobv, and not 
 much liked by her companions ; but 
 growing indifferent, leaping with joy 
 when the holidays came, and she could 
 go rabbit-shooting and fishing with 
 Johnnie Inijlis. Then her marriaoe at 
 seventeen. She smiled at the memory of 
 the utter unintellicfence with which she
 
 254 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 had wedded John Inghs ; and the sudden 
 and wonderful revelation of spirit and 
 sense. How her mind and her body had 
 wakened together — the very rules of 
 2frammar and arithmetic, before so 
 obscure, becoming as clear as noon-day ; 
 and she had learned to sing and plaj^, 
 and even to read French with her 
 husband. Thus she came round to her 
 babies ao-ain, and went over all her 
 nursing times. And the father of her 
 children had left her for ever ; the lover, 
 who had made her understand her woman- 
 hood, and opened knowledge to her in 
 books and the secrets of nature, had 
 thrown her aside ; the man she loved 
 was no longer hers. How suddenly it 
 had happened — in twenty-four hours. 
 On Sunday nio-ht when her husband left 
 Whitgroom's with Baptist Lake for the 
 Middle-class Club, he had been hers ; and 
 now on Mondav ni^fht he was hers no 
 longer. A flash of pride in her husband 
 shot through the gloom for a moment :
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 255 
 
 he had hed to her, she felt certain, when 
 he had said his sole companion was 
 Baptist Lake ; he had tried to mislead 
 her — so clumsily ; but he was not going 
 to live a lie, he had left her at once. 
 Yes ; it was better to have a husband 
 like that than to be deceived and not to 
 know it. And he had been so defiant, 
 and shame-faced, and blusterous about it 
 too — always his way when in the wrong. 
 Then slowly a sense of the immeasurable 
 and intolerable wrong done her rose like a 
 black tide flooding her heart and brain, 
 and drowning every other thought. She 
 bit her lips, clenched her teeth, and twisted 
 her hands behind her back. No thought 
 of vengeance — not once did an}" faintest 
 dream of vengeance assail her. She 
 suffered blankly, blindl}^ the intolerable 
 sense of wrong, until the black flood of 
 misery changed into a bright flood of tears, 
 and her heart and mind were relieved. 
 Over-wearied she undressed, put out the 
 liijhts and went to bed. Her tears flowed
 
 256 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 for some time after she lay down, and then 
 sleep began to fall upon her, but before 
 oblivion came, the idea that he would 
 return to her dawned at last. Half sleep- 
 ing, half waking she rose, set her door ajar, 
 and turned on the light. She would leave 
 her door open and her lamp burning every 
 night till her husband came back. Upon 
 that thought she fell asleep almost as soon 
 as she lay down airain.
 
 xrii. 
 
 Mrs. InGtLIS was very astonishing to her 
 daughters on Tuesday. At breakfast she 
 talked as if for a wager, and made fun of 
 her husband unmercifidly, alway.s caUinc^ 
 him " grandpapa," and referring to his 
 " bald spot," a locality which had no 
 existence except in her imagination. Inglis, 
 sombre and ill at ease, made n) reply to 
 his wife's chaff. Lizzie, the more recently 
 married dauorhter, thousrht Mamni was 
 
 CD ^ O 
 
 ver}^ vulgar, and Agnes pressed her foot 
 more than once to stay iier galloping 
 tongue, till Mrs. Inglis flashed a look from 
 her grey eyes, not laughmg now, but 
 sparkling, like struck Hints, thai put an 
 end to her daughters' atienipts at 
 mediation. 
 
 " Poor old man," said Mrs. In^iis. " You 
 must take care of yoarself and n )t stay 
 
 17
 
 258 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 out too late. You have no idea how old 
 grandpapa has grown, girls — all of a 
 sudden, too. Last night was his farewell 
 to the theatre. It's all over. He has given 
 up the follies of his youth and turned 
 anchorite, with a cell of his own and a 
 hair shirt, and a whip ; and when he's 
 tired, I'm to lay it on ; and won't I flay 
 liim. Well, I had no idea grandpapa had 
 been such a sinner ; but it's never too late 
 to mend, and he has turned over a new 
 leaf at last, like Thomas a Becket." 
 
 Inglis left the breakfast-table much 
 sooner than usual. 
 
 " He's o'oinfT; to confession, now," said 
 Mrs. Inolis, "Who would have thought 
 that the apostle of the Xew Calvinism, the 
 gospel of damnation, would have become a 
 Eoman Catholic ? " 
 
 " But has papa become a Catholic .^ " 
 asked Lizzie innocentlv, when Infrlis had 
 gone. 
 
 "No, Lizzie," replied Mrs. Inglis. "It's 
 your mother that's become mad. And for
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 259 
 
 madness they say music is tlie best cure. 
 So we'll have some music." 
 
 Mrs. Inoiis crave instructions that when 
 the men came about the furniture, they 
 were to be sent away again till Friday. 
 Then she took her daughters to an isolated 
 apartment — once the housekeeper's room ; 
 shortly to be the nursery — where there was 
 a serviceable piano. Mrs. Inglis had not 
 been known to touch the piano for years ; 
 Islay played and sang so much better than 
 she, that she could not endure her own 
 performance. That Tuesday forenoon, how- 
 ever, she practised her old songs and her 
 vocal exercises for a good two hours, until 
 her daughters implored her to desist. 
 
 " Mamma," said Agnes, very wittily for 
 her, " you surely don't want to cure your 
 own madness by driving us insane ? " 
 
 After lunch the three women drove 
 through the Park, and by PiccadiUy, Eegent 
 Street, and Oxford Street, home through 
 the Park again. In Piccadilly Mrs. Inglis 
 stopped the carriage at a hairdresser's, and 
 
 17*
 
 260 13APTIST LAKE. 
 
 ordered a man to be at Lancaster Gardens 
 early on Wednesday evening. 
 
 " That's for grandpapa's tonsure," she 
 said. " The sooner it's done the better. 
 He'll die in the odour of sanctitj'." 
 
 "I don't understand you, mamma,'' said 
 Agnes, looking scared, and wondering if 
 her mother were going mad in reality. 
 
 " I thought, perhaps, it was for yourself," 
 said Lizzie; "shouldn't you have a maid 
 now that you're in London ? " 
 
 "A maid? No— I " Her mouth 
 
 trembled ; she would have burst into tears 
 had she said more. For twenty-eight 3'ears 
 her husband, her lover, had helped her 
 with a string or a pin when she needed it. 
 There had been, when the full tide of 
 Inglis's prosperity set in, some talk of a 
 lady's-maid for her, but she had dismissed 
 the idea, never to revert to it. Having been, 
 like all her class, unaccustomed to much 
 help at her toilette, a woman " constantly 
 fraking about her,'' as she put it, would 
 have been a great nuisance ; and she had
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 261 
 
 none of the pretence of that other hour- 
 geoise who, when she became wealthy, kept 
 a lady's-maid for the look of the thing, but 
 never allowed her across the threshold 
 either of her dressing-room or her bedroom. 
 
 Inglis was punctual at dinner, and quite 
 pleasant ; his wife, more subdued and 
 gentle than she had been at breakfast. 
 He asked about the Scotch furniture, and 
 Mrs. Inoiis said she was re-considerinix the 
 matter ; there was somethino; in his suo-- 
 gestion about its being out of keeping with 
 the Boxtree splendours. Perhaps it might 
 be better after all to sell it, or divide it 
 between Agnes and Lizzie. Inglis disap- 
 proved of both proposals. 
 
 " Out of keeping or not," he said, " when 
 it comes to be a question of giving it up 
 altogether, I can't do it." 
 
 For the rest of the evening^ and when 
 she w^ent to bed, that remark of her hus- 
 band's kept coming into her head : " When 
 it comes to be a question of giving it up 
 altogether, I can't do it." If he could say
 
 262 BAITIST LAKE. 
 
 this of old furniture, lie would surely feel 
 more strongly about an actual separation 
 from liis wife. And so when she went to 
 her lonely bed a second time, and left her 
 light burning and her door open, Mrs. 
 Ingh's thought, " If he doesn't come back 
 to me next Monday I shall leave the house ; 
 and if that does not make him mine again, 
 why then I know I shall die, and he can 
 marry the other." 
 
 She fell asleep crying ; but not without 
 the deep, though for a woman, dreadful, 
 satisfaction of having a plan of her own, 
 independent of the will of others. 
 
 On Wednesday morning she was up early, 
 having so many things to see to. As she 
 had no butler yet, the entire management 
 of the dinner came on her ; but she arranged 
 everything so well that she was quite ready 
 for the hairdresser at half-past five. 
 
 Dr. Cairncross and his wife, old friends 
 of the Inglises, settled in London for over a 
 dozen years, arrived first. Inglis was alone 
 in the drawing-room when they came.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 263 
 
 Agnes and Lizzie, mucli to their own con- 
 tent, were not to be in evidence at all that 
 night. 
 
 " I wonder what's come over my wife," 
 said Inalis, havinjx shaken hands with the 
 Cairncrosses. After a remark or two, get- 
 ting impatient, he ordered Sandy Gow, the 
 coachman-in-waiting, to call his mistress. 
 Sandy brought back word that Mrs. Inglis 
 would be in in a minute or two. 
 
 "But isn't this very bad form, Mrs. 
 Cairncross ? " said Inglis. 
 
 " The lad}?- of the house ought to receive 
 her guests, certainly," rejoined Mrs. Cairn- 
 cross, one of those bridling women, not ill- 
 natured, but taking microscopic views of 
 things. 
 
 " Oh ! what does it matter ? " said Dr. 
 Cairncross, bluff, and with a great reputa- 
 tion for common-sense, not by any means 
 undeserved. He had married a stupid 
 woman for her money, and yet had suc- 
 ceeded in making himself and his wife 
 actually respected : one of those impossible
 
 264 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 feats, acliieved sometimes b}' common-sense, 
 never by genius. 
 
 "How many are you going to have, 
 Inglis ? " he asked. 
 
 " Three, besides yourselves." 
 
 " Small — not too small," 
 
 "One of them is a host in himself, Hector 
 Almond ; and another, although I suppose 
 his name is not known, is a most delightful 
 companion." 
 
 " You amaze me. How did you secure 
 Hector Almond ? " 
 
 " I asked him to come." 
 
 " But, my dear Inglis, Hector, I under- 
 stand has become most exclusive of late. 
 You have simply beaten the record. To 
 have Hector Almond at your first dinner 
 party, and you only a month in London ! 
 Wli}^, you can have anybody you like 
 now ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose he is very fashionable," 
 said Inglis. " His father was one of the 
 heritors in the parish of Balsharach, and so 
 was mine. I used to ^ee a lot of Hector
 
 BAPTIST LAKI-:. 26-> 
 
 when he was a boy at Glasgow University. 
 He came to my house in Ghisgovv, and 1 
 don't see why he shouldn't come to it in 
 London, famous and fashionable as he is." 
 
 " Now that you tell me, I remember 
 something of that. Oh ! if there's anything 
 at all in the shape of friendship in the 
 matter, Hector would as lief go to a pot- 
 house as a palace. His worst enemies, 
 who are his most intimate acquaintances, 
 admit that with envy." 
 
 " Well, he's coming to my pot-house," 
 said Inglis drily. 
 
 Dr. Cairncross laughed with the utmost 
 unconcern. 
 
 "Have you heard Hector's latest nick- 
 name ? " he asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It was Lady Betty Macalpine told me. 
 She caught a cold at the French Ambas- 
 sador's, when Hector was there one night, 
 and called me next day. Hector had been 
 very brilliant, lounging about with his 
 huge body, half-asleep or half dead you
 
 2GG BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 would have said, and then bhazing out into 
 wonderful sayings and speeches ; and the 
 French Ambassador called him Phoenix- 
 leviathan ! " 
 - " I see." 
 
 " And who is your other Phoenix ? " 
 
 " You won't know him. Baptist Lake.'" 
 
 " You don't mean to say so ! Good God ! 
 I know Baptist, and what's more, Hector 
 knows him. Let me see now, let me see. 
 You're in a box, Liglis. Y^ou must stop one 
 or the other of them at the door, or j'our 
 dinner's spoiled, and yourself the enemy of 
 both for life." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 "Because Baptist Lake was for a year 
 the ame damnee of Hector Almond, and is 
 now his imitator and traducer." 
 
 " By Jove ! Yes. I haven't seen Hector 
 for some years, but there j.s something 
 about Baptist like him." 
 
 " Baptist's imitation is very good ; but 
 there's this difference. Hector's brains are 
 the nimblest, the most working, the best
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 267 
 
 supplied with blood, I've ever encountered ; 
 whereas Baptist invents before and com- 
 mits to memor3'his sayings and stories, and 
 prepares one or two Latin quotations to 
 serve him for the week. Oh! he's been 
 smoked many a time ; but he has the 
 stoutest of hearts and the toughest of 
 heads." 
 
 " I'll risk it," said Inglis, taking a turn 
 across the room. 
 
 " You'll rue it all your life." 
 
 " I'll risk it," repeated Inghs, thinking 
 deep down in his soul that this was a 
 slight risk compared with another he was 
 running. " But what is Mary about ? " 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Meldrum was 
 announced ; shortly after her Baptist 
 arrived ; and still no Mrs. IngUs. 
 
 Inglis bit his hp with vexation. Five 
 minutes more passed, and his wife had not 
 come. Had she been in the room, the 
 difficulty with Mrs. Meldrum would have 
 been over by this time ; he could hardly 
 hide his anojer and chagrin.
 
 268 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 "Your house is delightful," said Mrs. 
 Meldrum. 
 
 " I'm glad you like it," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Meldrum cast a rapid look at the 
 elegant white Boxtree furniture ; the ceiling 
 painted like a summer sky, the azure- 
 panelled walls, and the carpet, white, 
 with soft blue o-arlands woven in it, as if 
 thrown from the hands of tired revellers ; 
 and she sighed with pleasure at the thought 
 of queening it here — with regret when she 
 glanced at her red velvet robe and red silk 
 skirt. But doubtless the contrast between 
 her dress and the surroundinors would not 
 be so glaring in the dining-room ; and when 
 she returned to the drawing room she 
 would take care to have about her two or 
 three men, whose black coats would keep 
 her red robe in countenance. And jet as 
 she glanced in a mirror and saw what 
 Baptist Lake had once called the rich 
 pallor of her complexion and her coal- 
 black hair, she thought to herself that 
 nobody, no man at least, looking at her.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 269 
 
 would have any eye for surroundings, or 
 power to criticise. 
 
 Mrs. Meldrum after her rapid survey of 
 the field was on the point of addressing 
 Inglis, when Mrs. Inglis came in. There 
 were the two groups in the room ; Inglis 
 and Mrs. Meldrum on one hand ; with two 
 yards between, Baptist and the Cairncrosses 
 on the other. Mrs. Inglis went up to the 
 latter. 
 
 " I'm so sorry," she said ; " but, you 
 see, IVe been having my hair dressed, a 
 thing I never did before." 
 
 She had done another thing she had 
 never done before— ^used a little powder 
 and rouge and pencilled her eyebrows. 
 This she had done twice, having washed oil' 
 the cosmetics the first time in a tremor of 
 shame. Her daughters, with her in the 
 dressing-room, had been somewhat scanda- 
 lised at first ; but they both declared when 
 they saw her face in its natural state again 
 that the colour made her look fifteen years 
 younger, and insisted on a re-application.
 
 270 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Yet she had turned back twice on her way 
 to the drawing-room ; and it was only after 
 she had oone to the dining-room, and 
 astonished tlie coachman-in-waiting by 
 drinking half a pint of champagne, that 
 she mustered courage to present herself 
 before her husband and her guests. Once 
 in the drawino--room she became cool and 
 resolute, rememberinn- the irame she was 
 playing and the heavy stake. Her hair, 
 divided in her old Madonna fashion, rippled 
 crisply to her temples and was coiled in a 
 labyrinth of braids on the back of her 
 head. She wore, as Mrs. Meldrum noticed 
 with a twinge, a turquoise blue silk and 
 diamonds. 
 
 Mrs. Cairncross pursed up her mouth at 
 Mrs. Ino-lis's inijenuous remark. Dr. Cairn- 
 cross muttered some compliment, and 
 Baptist said "How charming ! " 
 
 " Who is that very frank lady ? " asked 
 Mrs. Meldrum in a whisper. 
 
 " That ? My wife— Mrs. Meldrum." 
 
 *' Your wife," said Baptist. " I thought
 
 J3APTIST LAKE. 27J 
 
 Mrs. Inglis had been your daughter- 
 m law. 
 
 It was clever of Baptist ; but Mrs. 
 Meld rum saw that she had been tricked, 
 and that Iniylis had allowed himself to 
 drift. 
 
 " Mr. Hector Almond ! " 
 
 Baptist turned a little pale and looked 
 suspiciously at Inglis when he heard that 
 name, and Hector Almond failed to conceal 
 a glance of surprise at the sight of his 
 former friend. But they bowed to each 
 other. 
 
 " Mrs. Inglis," said Hector Almond, " I 
 think it is nearly a dozen years since we 
 met, and you look two dozen years j^ounger 
 and more adorable than you did when I 
 was in love with you in Glasgow. But 
 your husband I see has ^jrown vouncjer too, 
 so I must pocket up my sighs again." 
 
 There was a little hardness in Hector's 
 voice. Baptist was a pleasanter speaker, 
 and his regal insolence had an instantaneous 
 fascination ; but he was frequently loud
 
 272 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 and rapid, and with him there was much 
 conscious effort. Hector was always sub- 
 dued, often careless, hesitating, recasthig 
 ]iis sentences. It was an endless mystery 
 to Baptist how Hector had succeeded, and 
 he had not. They had been at Oxford 
 together, and there Baptist, although 
 nothing of a student, had been the leader ; 
 and when they came to London it was 
 Baptist who started Hector in Society. 
 For a year they had been the closest of 
 friends, and gone everywhere together. 
 Then Baptist began to notice that his 
 friend was not to be seen so often in the 
 same houses as himself, and soon dis- 
 covered that Hector was leavino- him 
 behind. At the end of their second season, 
 they hardly met anywhere, and Hector's 
 name had begun to be noised about. The 
 envious said of him that he was ambitious 
 of being a nineteenth-century Beau Brum- 
 mel ; his friends said that they had never 
 read or heard of an3'thing like the quality 
 or suddenness of his social success. A
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 273 
 
 fashionable writer remarked that " to be 
 "without brains, Hector Almond was pro- 
 bably the greatest man that ever livedj" ; 
 and something like that was the current 
 opinion. " He has the most wonderful 
 temperament," was a common saj'ing. 
 " He feels and can express without 
 troubling? his head the true inwardness of 
 everything," said an American Duchess. 
 That was an immense portion of his 
 success ; people voted him unintellectual ; 
 they themselves were much cleverer than 
 he and could think better ; but he had 
 temperament, instinct : thus they could 
 admire ungrudgingly just as people used to 
 pay deference to idiots. It was much in 
 the same way that the wits of Queen 
 Anne's time reconciled their pride with the 
 cult of Shakespeare ; and it is in this way 
 too that many people are enabled to wor- 
 ship God — a great genius, as it were, very 
 uneconomical, and sometimes wromr headed, 
 but flashing out wonders. 
 
 Dr. Cairncross's account of Baptist as 
 
 18
 
 £74 PAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Hector's ame dainnee was a mere invention 
 after the latter's success. And as for the 
 imitation, it had been mutual, probably 
 much greater on Hector's side than on 
 Baptist's. Baptist was the actor ; and it is 
 always the simple-minded who imitate the 
 self-conscious. There never had been any 
 quarrel between the two ; but as Hector's 
 star rose, and his own remained barely 
 visible above the horizon, Baptist took to 
 malio[nino[ and avoidinc^ his more fortunate 
 rival. Hector heard of the ill-natured 
 things said of him by Baptist ; but nobody 
 was able to repeat anything of a like kind 
 emanating from him. Of course satirical 
 remarks were invented and quoted to 
 Baptist about himself as being Hector's ; 
 but Baptist knew from internal evidence 
 that not one of them was authentic, and 
 his bitter feelino- increased. Three things 
 above all made Baptist gnash his teeth 
 when he thought of them — which was not. 
 often latterly, as his orbit and Hector's no 
 longer intersected, nor even touched each
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 275 
 
 Other ; and these were the contrast between 
 his own gracefulness and good looks, and 
 what he called Hector's loutishness ; that 
 between the brilliancy and dash of his own 
 memorised speeches and remarks, and the 
 hesitancy, nimble as his wits were, wdiich 
 accompanied much of Hector's improvisa- 
 tion ; and that between his own elegant 
 profligacy and Hector's obedience to wliat 
 he, Baptist, considered an antiquated 
 code. 
 
 As soon as Hector Almond arrived, Inglis 
 hurried his guests to the dining-room. They 
 sat in the following order : Inglis, Mrs. 
 Meldrum, Baptist, Mrs. Cairncross, Hector, 
 Mrs. Inglis, Dr. Cairncross. The coachman- 
 in-waiting, a boy, the table -maid, and the 
 housemaid attended. Mrs. Meldrum was 
 happy to fmd her red robe a match for 
 the dark hangings of the room and the 
 Boxtree antique oak furniture. 
 
 Baptist talked to Mrs. Meldrum for a few 
 minutes, gradually raising his voice until it 
 was audible to everybody. 
 
 18*
 
 276 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Did I ever tell you about the substitute 
 for soul, Mrs. Meldrum ? " he asked, in a 
 moment of sxeneral silence. 
 
 " Xo," said Mrs. Meldrum, inattentive, 
 bitter, fierce. 
 
 " I think I told you, Mrs. Inglis ?'" 
 
 " Oh, yes, Mr. Lake," said Mrs. Inglis. 
 " It wns very nice." Mrs. Inglis said this 
 in a tone of indifferent patronage which 
 Baptist himself could not have beaten ; and 
 Baptist wondered if there was an actual 
 plot against him. 
 
 " I don't know it ; tell it to me, Mr. 
 Lake," said Mrs. Cairncross, who had been 
 waiting anxiously for an opportunity to say 
 so.iielhing. 
 
 " khall I ? " said Baptist ; and he told his 
 story of " The Substitute for Soul." Then 
 he dexterously introduced his passage about 
 London which he had recited to Islay in 
 the drive from Pilgrimstow. " The dreadful 
 entrails of the place," " you cannot crush it 
 into an epigram," and " do you know, I 
 sjn:etimes think that, centuries hence, some
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 277 
 
 great painter will paint a wonderful picture, 
 some great novelist will write a wonderful 
 description, of London, each as unlike the 
 actual city as Turner's or Flaubert's Car- 
 thage is unlike Dido's town ; but the 
 contemporaries of these artists will have 
 a truer idea than we have of immensity, 
 of innumerable crowds, of frantic expeidi- 
 ture, of pleasure and misery, of greatness 
 and meanness, because they will imagine 
 what we must contemplate." 
 
 " Very admirable," said Hector, and 
 Baptist's eyes sparkled with pleasure in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 "Say something, Hector," whispered 
 Mrs. Inglis, with the familiarity of a 
 dozen years before. 
 
 " Mr. Lake is talking so well that there 
 is no need," said He3tor in an ordinary 
 tone. 
 
 " Whether do you like London or Paris 
 best ? " asked Dr. Cairncross, not because 
 he was a fool, but lecause he liked these 
 stock subjects.
 
 278 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " It is all one to me," said Baptist. " I 
 say with Horace — 
 
 ' Jam moeclius Eomee, jam mallet doctus Athenis 
 Vivere.' " 
 
 " I prefer Paris," said the doctor. 
 
 " Oh, doctor, I thought you were such a 
 patriot ! " said Mrs. Inglis. 
 
 " I'm not ashamed to say," rejoined the 
 doctor, — again, not because he was a fool, 
 but because — if he had a reason at all — he 
 had been for a month in Paris, and had 
 made up his mind never to return, " I'm 
 not ashamed to say that I prefer the Bois 
 de Boulogne to Hyde Park, and almost any 
 boulevard to Piccadilly." 
 
 " Ah, well," said Baptist, " you remind 
 me of some lines in Propertius — 
 
 * Tuscus ego et Tuscis orior ; nee poenitet inter 
 Proelia Volsinos deseruisse focos. 
 Hoec me turba juvat ; nee templo Isetor eburno ; 
 E-omanum satis est posse videre forum.' " 
 
 Inglis had not recognised the first quo- 
 tation, but he did the second : " Tuscus ego
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 27'J 
 
 et Tuscis orior " — lie remembered the sound 
 of tliat quite well ; yet Baptist made the 
 lines so musical that Inglis was too well 
 pleased to feel any resentment at the man's 
 quackery. Even Hector Almond, although 
 well aware of Baptist's want of scholarship, 
 was thrilled by the soft, rich voice, and the 
 strange unnecessary pathos thrown into "nee 
 templo lector eburno," and wondered that a 
 man of ability and of instinctive delicacy in 
 many things should mahe uncalled-for pre- 
 tensions to learning he had never possessed. 
 Baptist, pleased with himself and the 
 effect he was producing, forgot his sus- 
 picions of a conspirac}^, and said some more 
 of his best things. A remark about 
 religion roused Dr. Cairncross's Scotch 
 prejudices. 
 
 " I prefer the conventional opinion," said 
 the doctor. " Don't you think you are too 
 extravagant ? " 
 
 "It is impossible, Dr. Cairncross, to be 
 too extravagant," said Baptist. "The most 
 imperative of duties is to be extravagant,
 
 -SO BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 to be uiiconveiitioiial. The nostrums of 
 the agitator and the place-hunter would 
 have no sale if people knew how to be 
 themselves. To be unconventional is to be 
 one's self, and is therefore to be happy — is 
 the only happiness, in fact ; and that 
 accounts for the small sum of happiness in 
 the world. The men of most leisure and 
 wealth are as unaware as the most ignorant 
 and meanest in the land that the only 
 source of delight is in being different. 
 Perhaps one in a million knows it. Un- 
 conventionality, extravagance, doctor, is 
 the soul transcending limits. You will find 
 that the few accidental moments of happi- 
 • ness in the life of the world are those of 
 extravagant thoughts and deeds, and since 
 the whole duty of man is to be happ}-, it 
 is imperative to be unconventional." 
 
 " It is not so," said Hector Almond ; and 
 Baptist, who had forgotten the presence of 
 his successful rival, started at the sound 
 of his low, slow voice, with the metal in it. 
 " It is not so," said Hector. " It is
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 281 
 
 impossible to be unconventional. Sup- 
 pose we can escape time by committing 
 suicide, it is only flying to another con- 
 vention. One cannot avoid being born — 
 childhood, manhood, old age. You cannot 
 choose to be in Saturn instead of the 
 Earth ; you cannot even select which age 
 you will live in, nor what countryman 
 3^ou will be. You have to accept the past 
 of the world ; your ver}' parents are out of 
 your selection. You have to accept flesh 
 ajid blood, hope, fear, desire, language. 
 You must eat and drink, you must sit and 
 walk and sleep. You must be born and 
 die, and wear furs in winter and silk in 
 summer. It is impossible to be uncon- 
 ventional. A man may eschew railways 
 and busses, for example, and use hansoms 
 as his only means of locomotion ; but he 
 has to move, or be moved, if he wishes 
 to get froui one place to another ; and 
 that is the convention. We have no choice 
 at all. We can't be unconventional ; and 
 these externals, whose form seems to lie in
 
 282 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 our control — dress, speech, daily habits or 
 want of habits, are even less ours to com- 
 mand in their mode than in their essence, 
 less in our control than the past, or the 
 farthest star. We drift into them. We 
 seem to choose a grey glove or a tan, 
 but it is a whim of God's, not ours, 
 we obey. Our habits are less substantial 
 than our dreams. No man ever did an 
 unconventional thing. It is impossible to 
 act outside of law; and if it were possible 
 to do an unconventional thins]!:, the moment 
 of its execution would make it a conven- 
 tion, and call into being a new system of 
 law, a new universe for a home to it." 
 
 " Wh)^, you are a Calvinist ! " said 
 Inglis. 
 
 " I would never call myself anything in 
 ' ist,' " said Hector. 
 
 "No; but I see now," rejoined Inglis, 
 " what I mean b}^ my theory of inferiority. 
 Those men who are obedient slaves of law 
 have the world at their feet; and those 
 men who seem to be superior and rebel
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 283 
 
 and become martyrs on the one hand, and 
 terrible examples on the other, are disobe- 
 dient to law. The damned and the saved : 
 the saved are those that struggle against 
 law ; the damned are those that obey it 
 blindl}^" 
 
 " There are no such distinctions, I think," 
 said Hector, " as those between inferiority 
 and superiorit}^, the saved and the damned ; 
 they are on all-fours with conventional and 
 unconventional." 
 
 " Damnation and salvation," began Bap- 
 tist, but Hector said to Mrs. Inglis, " I have 
 not been north for a long time. Does Kel- 
 vinside expand ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, it grows." 
 
 "Have there been many changes in 
 Glasgow ? " 
 
 " Not many, I think. They have a steeple 
 on th^ University now — and that's all I 
 remember." 
 
 " And Dixon's Blazes," said Hector. 
 " They have gone out of the night sky for 
 ever, I'm told."
 
 284 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " Have the}' ? I really didn't know." 
 
 " I hope I am mistaken. It is the last 
 thing- a Glasgow man can forget — the homely 
 blush at night in the southern sky." 
 
 Several times Baptist tried to lead the 
 talk ; but Hector kept it steadil}- in hand, 
 and broui^ht Mrs. Cairncross into it and the 
 doctor ; and even Mrs. Meldrum half forgot 
 the gridiron on which she writhed under 
 the sweet influence of that quiet, sane gossip 
 which most people think they despise. 
 
 When the ladies had gone Hector suc- 
 ceeded very deftly in keeping Baptist out 
 of the talk by starting Dr. Cairncross on 
 an account of a new disease of the throat 
 just discovered in teachers. Baptist was 
 amazed and alarmed at himself ; he had 
 not deemed it possible that he could be 
 overpowered by another personality. He 
 had had the worst of more than one en- 
 counter with Baptist during the days of 
 their intimac}^, but had always been able 
 to capitulate with the honours of war. 
 Now he felt utterly shent, his standard and
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 285 
 
 his side-arms pfone. As he found the word 
 taken from him again and again he gave 
 up the attempt to speak, and quite lost con- 
 fidence in himself for the time being. All 
 his best things were as if they had not been 
 said. It was enough to drive a man mad 
 to have been the life and soul of a dinner 
 part)^, and then at the end of it for some- 
 body to step in and reap, at a single stroke, 
 all one's laurels. He was so dismayed at 
 his defeat and so irritated by Hector's 
 presence that he left the house when 
 the gentlemen went to the drawing- 
 room ; and, forgetting altogether his suspi- 
 cions of an organised attempt to put 
 him down, was unable to console hmiself 
 with the saying that anyone can be crushed 
 by a plot. His humour was not much im- 
 proved by the sardonic gleam in Inglis's 
 eyes as they parted. This Scotchman, 
 whom he had wanted to make a butt of, 
 had seen him silenced ; and had also, 
 although Baptist's conceit did not dream 
 of that, found him out a mere hirceur,
 
 C8t5 BAPTIST J.AKE. 
 
 very pleasant, but on a level with a hired 
 entertainer, committing Ins pieces and his 
 quotations to memory, and making one 
 programme last throughout the week. 
 
 Had Baptist waited only five minutes 
 more he would have seen a thing happen 
 in the drawing-room which might have 
 given him a subject for his next week's 
 story. 
 
 " You used to sing," said Hector to Mrs. 
 Inglis. " Will you sing one of your old 
 songs ? " 
 
 " Surely," said Mrs. Inglis in a ringing 
 voice that startled her husband and Mrs. 
 Meldrum, talking closely over an album. 
 Mrs. Cairncross put up her glasses, and 
 watched Mrs. Inglis, who certainly went to 
 the piano too precipitately. 
 
 " There's something the matter with Mrs. 
 Inglis," she whispered to her husband. 
 " This attempt to be somebody all of a 
 sudden, and to be so very young too, is 
 turning her head." 
 
 " Mary, do you know what you're doing? "
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 287 
 
 asked Ingiis, Lis wife not having played or 
 sung, to his knowledge, for years. 
 
 " Yes, John," said Mrs. Ingiis, " I prac- 
 tised all forenoon." 
 
 " That's not naivete," said Mrs. Meldrum, 
 with a sarcastic glance at Ingiis. " Your 
 wife means somethino-." 
 
 Ingiis lay back in his chair with his 
 hands in his pockets and his heart in his 
 mouth. 
 
 It was Lonofellow's " Brido-e " that Mrs. 
 Ingiis sang, to an old, forgotten tune. One 
 of her first sono-s, it had been a favourite of 
 her husband's. From it she had first felt 
 something of what poetry is ; and she still 
 thought it a very exquisite poem. Her 
 voice was a light contralto, but the wine 
 she had drunk, and the wild passion her 
 heart was in at the presence in her house 
 of the woman she thought her husband 
 preferred, gave a depth and richness to her 
 singing which it had not possessed even in 
 her best days. The look of disdain with 
 which Mrs. Meldrum had recoo-nised the
 
 288 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 words died away as tlie song, gradually 
 mastered by the memories it recalled, and 
 the thought of the present horror, became 
 burdened with the misery of the singer. The 
 Cairncrosses looked inexpressibly shocked ; 
 and the doctor, at first distressed, soon grew 
 collected, anticipating hj^steria or a fit of 
 some kind. Hector stood beside the piano. 
 
 " How often, oh, how often, 
 
 In the days that have gone bj', 
 I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 
 And gazed on that wave and sky ! 
 
 " How often, oh, how often 
 
 I had wished that the ebbing tide 
 Would bear me away on its bosom 
 O'er the ocean wild and wide. 
 
 " For my heart was hot and restless, 
 And my life was full of care, 
 And the burden laid upon me 
 Seemed "' 
 
 Here her voice broke ; her eves, dim from 
 the beginning of the song, were flooded ; 
 and her hands fell discordantly on the key- 
 board.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. , 289 
 
 " Oh, I can't bear it ! " she screamed. 
 What sanctity had an evening party — this 
 evening party — for her ? She rose and 
 rushed from the room, her mouth twisted 
 with anguish, and the tears pouring from 
 her eyes. 
 
 Instinctively the Cairncrosses and Mrs. 
 Meldrum looked to Hector Almond. He 
 simply said, " Good- night, Mr. Inglis. I 
 am i^oinn; on to Count T3orodino's." 
 
 The Cairncrosses left at once also. The 
 doctor, taking his cue from Hector, made 
 no reference to Mr. Inaiis ; but Mrs. Cairn- 
 cross hoped there was nothing really w^rong. 
 
 Inglis was left alone with Mrs. Meldrum. 
 
 19
 
 XI Y. 
 
 Agnes and Lizzie had been sitting on the 
 stairs, eating raw tomatoes and listening to 
 their mother's song. When it suddenly ceased 
 unfinished, and some one left the drawing- 
 room, they hurried " with pretty and with 
 swimmiiw o;ait " to their rooms, and leavimr 
 their doors ajar peered out. Seeing their 
 mother alone and in distress they came to 
 her with tender sympathy, but she kissed 
 them both twice and bade them leave 
 her. 
 
 Hardly had Mrs. Inglis sunk into her 
 rocking-chair than she heard the departure 
 as she thought of all her guests. What a 
 scandal she had caused ! She loathed her- 
 self for what she had done. She felt as if 
 she would like to hang herself. How weak 
 she was ! How very weak ! How could 
 she expect her husband to love her again
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 291 
 
 and she so weak ? The triumph she had 
 meditated to end so ! The painting and 
 the hairdressing, and the practising ! — she 
 blushed fiery red for shame. She had made 
 thino-s worse and worse : she had set the 
 skeleton a-dancing in the drawing-room ; 
 with her tears she had rinsed the soiled 
 linen in the face of her guests. What 
 could she do now ? Whatever could she 
 do ? It was very easy to decide. Go 
 straicrht to her husband and on her knees 
 beg his pardon. 
 
 But he was not alone in the drawing- 
 room — Agnes and Lizzie doubtless. It was 
 a woman's voice that sounded — a woman 
 talking so intensely, so hotl}', that she and he 
 failed to hear the movement of the listener 
 on the landinsf. It was neither of her 
 dauixhters. It was Mrs. Meldrum. 
 
 U [^stairs to her room again she hurried — 
 to the rocking-chair in which she had 
 suckled all her babies. If her mind would 
 only rest ; if she could only get peace for a 
 minute she could bear it better. She thrust 
 
 19*
 
 292 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 lier handkerchief into her mouth to prevent 
 her screaming again. Perhaps he and she 
 were talking of her ; of her painting her- 
 self to look youn<? and desirable in her 
 husband's eyes ; of the novice's music she 
 had sung, and the words which hard- 
 headed, sensual people sneered at, but 
 which had been too powerful for her. 
 Perhaps they were laughing at her, and 
 calling her childish. She ! And she had 
 borne all her children without a crv, and 
 nursed them at her own breast, every one 
 in that rockino-- chair. If she only had a 
 baby now, a little child of her very own 
 again, to grow up slowly into a handsome 
 boy or girl, she could bear her husband's 
 desertion. She thought of her first child 
 that had died, and how she herself had 
 wished to die ; and that reminded her of a 
 wonderful present one of her father's 
 cottars had given her on her marriage. 
 She remembered well the cheerful solemnity 
 with which the white-haired old woman 
 had undone a bundle in the parlour in her
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 2'J3 
 
 father's house, and laid before her a grave- 
 dress of the finest linen. 
 
 *' Ye were aye my bairn," the cottar had 
 said, " an' I made this for ye wi' my ain 
 hands. Many a time when 1 hae' seen ye 
 fleein' aboot the country-side wi' young 
 Injrhs o' Balshara', I hae' said tae mysel', 
 * Gin I could mak' my lassie's bride-sark I 
 would be a prood woman.' But I couldna' 
 mak' it sprush enough, kennin' naethin' 
 aboot yer fancy sewin'. So, I e'en sewed a 
 grave sark, an' there's no a stitch agley in't. 
 An' yell promise tae wear't when the time 
 comes, Mary. Death's no' sae warm a 
 nee'bour as a husband, lass ; but ye'll lie 
 langer by him, an' no' need to change yer 
 claes till ve ^et a whiter robe than folk can 
 bleach here awa'." 
 
 She had taken the woman's present 
 without any deep feeling, knowing that her 
 old friend, and other cottars' wives, kept 
 o-rave-clothes in their chests of drawers 
 ready for themselves and their husbands ; 
 that they took them out, washed and
 
 294 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 bleached tliem every summer, and folded 
 them away again, reverently, cheerfully : 
 so to her there had not been anything 
 wonderful in the gift. Then she thought 
 again as she had thought two nights 
 before, of the dulness of her apprehension, 
 and the sudden chano-e that marriage 
 brought. But it was all over and 
 done. 
 
 " A shroud ! a shroud ! " she said. 
 
 From a drawer in her wardrobe she took 
 the grave-clothes her old friend had given 
 her — she had never o'one anvwhere without 
 them — and spread them out on the bed. 
 Snowy white, and so cool, they were. Her 
 husband would kiss her in her coffin, if 
 not till then ; and his tears would fall on 
 her pale calm face. She lifted the head- 
 cloth, and putting it round her temples, sat 
 in her rocking-chair once more. She was 
 now the bride of death ; and the imagina- 
 tion of her cofhn, and of the burial, deep 
 in the earth far from every fear and care, 
 solaced her. , Her thoughts found their way
 
 BAPTIST LVKE. 25'J 
 
 back to the past, and she saw a funeral 
 party she had attended when she was a 
 mere girL After the burial she had gone, 
 uninvited as a child will, to the cottage of 
 the new-made widower, and found the 
 neighbours gathered together to condole, 
 with whisk}' and plain food. She had been 
 surprised at nothing, but she remembered 
 now how strangely cheerful the talk had 
 been. The good qualities of the deceased 
 were often referred to, humorous stories 
 were told, and one old woman, a sort of 
 character, was asked to sing. A verse of 
 her sono- which recurred as an irregular 
 chorus, had remained in Mrs. Inglis's 
 memory, although perhaps she hadn't 
 recalled it twice before, and certainly had 
 never repeated it. She went over it in her 
 mind, but it would not come right ; she 
 hadn't the rhymes ; and one line halted. 
 She crooned at it, her lips moving like a 
 mad woman's, until she struck out a verse 
 that chimed. Then she tried to remember 
 the tune, and when she had a chant that
 
 296 BAPTIST LAKE, 
 
 satisfied lier, she sane tlie verse in a low 
 tone : 
 
 " When I was young and in my prime 
 He happit me in his arms twa, 
 But noo' I'm past my loving time, 
 
 And I maun lie wi' my face tae the wa'." 
 
 Many times over she sang it, staring in 
 front of her. A shadow moved, but she 
 did not turn towards it : it might be any- 
 thing — a ghost; it might be Death himself : 
 she was indifferent. The shadow moved 
 again, and stood directly in front of her. 
 It was almost a minute before her vision 
 could resolve the shadow into substance; 
 then she saw, watching her, her husband, 
 pale and astonished. 
 
 " Mary — Mary ! " he said. 
 
 She rose trembling, and burst into a 
 lau£jh. 
 
 " Have you come — back to me ? " she 
 said, her voice rent to fragments. 
 
 "Mary — Mary," was all he could say, 
 forcinii; her into the chair a^ain. 
 
 Her tears had streaked her cheeks with
 
 BAPTIST LVKE. 2^7 
 
 powder and rouge ; and, with the head- 
 cloth and her eyes red from weeping, her 
 face had the strangest appearance. 
 
 She put her arms round her husband as 
 he stood bv her, and tried to make him sit 
 on her knee, but he withdrew .from her 
 grasp. First he pulled off the head-cloth ; 
 then he put a sponge and water into a 
 basin, and knelt with it before her. She 
 washed her face and dipped it in the 
 cool water, and her hands and her wrists. 
 Then he gave her a towel ; and when she 
 had used it, she tried again to make him sit 
 on her knee. But he repelled her, and 
 went to the other side of the bed from her, 
 and leaning against a post tried to speak. 
 At first he couldn't. Then he burst out 
 quite broken. 
 
 "God help me!" he said. "I didn't 
 know what I was doing. I thought myself 
 somebody, Mary. I thought myself — I 
 thought " 
 
 "Dinna', John, dinna'. Say nothing 
 about it. Come to me."
 
 298 B.iPTl.ST LAKE. 
 
 He fell on the bed at the sound of the 
 Scotch, but pulled himself together at once. 
 
 "Let me speak, Maiy. You know I 
 had my own notions of thino's ; thouo-ht 
 my own thoughts, and went my own 
 way. And they flattered me these 
 people : how original I was ; and the 
 woman made love to me ; and the man 
 kept telling me — he kept telling me that 
 a man ought to loye more than one 
 woman, else his mind grew dull ; that all 
 great men had mistresses " 
 
 " I would have died, John ; I would 
 have died. I was dying." 
 
 "And the woman aro-ued ao-ainst him, 
 supposing me unmarried, and defended 
 marriage. And I saw her every day, and 
 she turned ni}- head ; and I thought — I 
 meant-^God knows Avliat I meant ! " 
 
 " But you don't mean it now, John ? " 
 
 " It was all this cursed Calvinism ! " 
 
 Mrs. Inglis laughed through her tears ; 
 and a smile flickered round her husband's 
 mouth too.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 299 
 
 " Oh, damn all words, Mary ! They 
 have nearly driven me mad. They have 
 nearly made me break your heart and 
 my own — all for a pitiful paradox ; be- 
 cause I thought myself cleverer than 
 others. But the woman was honest. She 
 didn't know I was married ; and she paid 
 me home just now ; she paid me home ; 
 and I think she'll kill Baptist Lake. But 
 what I'm to say or do now, Mary, I 
 don't know. I've been unfaithful in my 
 heart." 
 
 " Dinna', John, like a man. Dinna'." 
 
 " When vou came into the room, into 
 the drawing room, and I saw what you 
 had done to your hair and your 
 cheeks " 
 
 She would have interrupted him here 
 again ; but the}' were both choked by their 
 tears. 
 
 " I saw what a coward and ass I 
 
 had been. I understood you. I dined off 
 my own heart. And your song ! I think, 
 maybe, I've suffered almost as much as
 
 300 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 you — only to-day I mean, not all these 
 days — since you came in with the rouge 
 on 3'our cheeks, and the barber's fingers in 
 your hair." 
 
 In a moment a shower of pins fell on 
 the floor ; her brown hair was all about 
 her ; and he, on his knees, buried his face 
 in her lap, and clasped her waist. 
 
 " Mary, Mary ! " 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 A knock at the door — the open door, 
 for Inoiis had left it wide — startled them. 
 The housemaid, keeping discreetly out of 
 sight, announced that Mr. May had come 
 home, and wished to see his father and 
 mother. " Miss Salerne is with him," the 
 servant added. 
 
 "Miss Salerne?" said Inoiis, troinof to 
 the door. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Mr. Islay told me to say that 
 Miss Salerne was with him." 
 
 " Very well. Do j^ou know anything 
 about Miss Salerne, Mary ? " 
 
 " No, John."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 301 
 
 " Salerne — Salerne," repeated Inglis, 
 with a very rueful countenance. " It 
 sounds like the ballet. I've heard it 
 before." 
 
 " You had a stevedore of that name in 
 Glasgow." 
 
 " Of course ! By Jove ! If it should be 
 his daughter. They left Glasgow shortly 
 before we did." 
 
 "We'll "O down and see," said Mrs. 
 Inglis. 
 
 She put up her hair rapidly in her own 
 old way, and Inglis smoothed his. Then 
 they kissed each other without a word 
 more, and went down to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 "Well, Islay, have you had your ad- 
 venture ? " said Inglis, shaking hands with 
 his son. 
 
 Mrs. Inglis kissed Islay, and made a very 
 slisfht inclination to Eose. 
 
 " Yes," said Islay ; " and it's not over 
 yet. This is Eose Salerne. I was to have 
 been married to her to-dav, but her father's
 
 302 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 in prison. You remember him in Glasgow 
 — lie used to work for ^^ou ; and I will have 
 to go to prison too, it seems. So father, 
 mother, will you keep Eose till I get 
 out?" 
 
 His father was speechless with astonish- 
 ment ; and his mother exclaimed " Islay 
 Inglis!" 
 
 " This is an adventure with a vengeance," 
 said Ino-lis-at last. 
 
 " Do you remember what Baptist Lake 
 said ? — that we should all have adventures,'' 
 said Mrs. Inoiis. 
 
 " Yes," replied her husband. " He took 
 care of that. Won't you sit down, Miss 
 Salerne ? " 
 
 Eose, dressed in her every-day muslin, 
 had been standing, breathing somewhat 
 quickly for her, looking, with her flushed 
 cheeks, and flashing eyes, and her tall, well- 
 developed figure, full}^ five years older than 
 Islay. She sat down immediately at Inglis's 
 unf^allant invitation. 
 
 " In the first place, Islay," said his
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. SO:i 
 
 father ; " j'ou must tell us why you are ta 
 be imprisoned." 
 
 Islay, whose nerves were strung to the 
 utmost tension, told M'ith remarkable clear- 
 ness and succinctness the whole course of 
 his adventures in Pilgrimstow and Bel- 
 minster. Whenever he mentioned Rose's 
 name, there was so much of adoring 
 passion in his voice, and in the blush 
 deepening the hue of his ruddy ojieek and 
 the hre of his e3'es, that the hearts of his 
 father and mother ached for the boy ; and 
 before his narrative ended the hope of both 
 was to find Eose Salerne not wholly un- 
 worthy of the love she had inspired, 
 
 " But you seem to have got off? " said 
 Inglis. 
 
 "I did get off; but Slowse, the cabman 
 that drove us, has turned Queen's evidence. 
 It was in the papers to-night ; so they are 
 certain to be after me." 
 
 " And Mrs. Tiplady, too," said Rose. 
 
 " I don't know," said Islay. " Slowse 
 mav have known nothincf about her."
 
 o04 BAPTIST LAKE, 
 
 " And Avliat about yourself , Miss Salerne?" 
 said Inglis. 
 "Me!" 
 
 " Eose ! " exclaimed Islay. " They can- 
 not arrest lier ; she knew nothing about 
 it, and she never served in the shop. 
 They might arrest Mrs. Macalister, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " Mrs. Macalister knew nothing about it 
 either," said Eose. 
 
 " And where have you been since you 
 returned from J3elminster, Islay r " asked 
 In»lis. 
 
 " Oh, I took a room in Pilgrimstow to 
 be beside Eose until her father should cfet 
 out of prison. But now I'm to be arrested 
 too. There's no need to be dreadfully 
 serious about it. I shall give myself up 
 to-morrow ; father will go bail for me — 
 won't you, father ? Then w^e'll all be fined 
 — they can't imprison us without the option 
 of a fine for smuggling ; and it's all over. 
 It's not worth while thinking any more 
 about it, just now. But Eose, father —
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 305 
 
 Eose, mother. Can she stay here ? _ Say- 
 she can stay here." 
 
 " We'll see," said Mrs. Inglis. 
 
 She questioned Eose about her age, her 
 mother, her education ; very callously, 
 Islay thought — was she not there for them 
 to see, the loveliest woman in the world ? 
 Eose answered all Mrs. Inglis's queries in 
 her meaningless girl's voice, so little in 
 keeping with her physical maturity, the 
 splendour and seeming high intelligence of 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Weh," said Mrs. Ino-lis, when she had 
 ended her catechising, "your father and I 
 will have to talk about this. Islay. You 
 might go to the dining-room for a little. 
 Miss Salerne, would you not like some 
 supper ? " 
 
 " Yes," Eose said. She was hungry, and 
 so was Islay. 
 
 When the young folks had left the room, 
 Inglis said, " The girl's a fool : she has no 
 brains." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Mrs. Inglis. 
 
 20
 
 306 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " It's mere calf-love between the pair." 
 
 " Our love was calf-love to begin with, 
 John." 
 
 " Calf-love ?— first love ! And it's calf- 
 love, still to go on with, Mary," said Inglis, 
 seating himself beside his wife. " There's 
 no love except calf-love ; any other love is 
 sophisticated. I love you like a boy, my 
 dear." 
 
 " My dear boy." 
 
 " Like a girl, Mary ? Do you love me 
 like a girl ? " 
 
 " I love you as I loved you when you 
 had made me 3'our wife. Yours — all — to 
 break in pieces, if you want." 
 
 " Always be a girl. A woman is 
 strongest when she yields most." 
 
 '• But I always yielded, John. I was 
 always glad to." 
 
 "Let it pass." 
 
 " AVe'U have this girl to stay with us in 
 the meantime, won't we ? " 
 
 " I suppose we must. But she seems to 
 be stupid."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. SU7 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 " She has nothing to say. She's very 
 pretty certainly, and looks tremendously 
 intelligent. But she talks hke a girl of 
 ten. I'm afraid I have trusted Islay too 
 far ; he would have married her without 
 our knowledge. Still I understand him ; 
 it is his concern alone, he thinks ; he has 
 made up his mind to it, and wants 
 nobody's permission. I understand him." 
 
 " He is his father's son." 
 
 "But the girl is no match for him in 
 brains." 
 
 "I doubt that. I watched her, I 
 studied her, and I'm sure she's very 
 intelligent." 
 
 " She's unutterably so then." 
 
 " Xow that's truer than you mean. 
 Don't you remember what a goose I was 
 when you married me ? " 
 
 " You ? Why, you were as bright and 
 clever as you are now, and almost as 
 lovely." 
 
 " Oh ! be a boy ; but don't kiss me so 
 
 20*
 
 208 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 loudly. Even very little boys know that 
 quiet kisses are the sweetest. No ! But I 
 was ver}^ dull when you married me. I 
 knew nothing, understood nothing, felt 
 nothing " 
 
 " Felt nothing ? " 
 
 "Nothing, except that I liked to be 
 near you. I was just like this girl. You 
 didn't see it, just as May doesn't see it. 
 He thinks her as wonderful in every way 
 as you thought me. And so she is ; but 
 she needs to be married before it will 
 appear. Now, I'll say something very 
 clever. Listen, John. A girl is like a 
 block of marble ; and a husband is hke 
 the sculptor that carves the woman out of 
 her — only visible to him in the girl." 
 
 " Ah ! But that's only true of some 
 women. ' 
 
 " Of some women ? Perhaps. Now, I'll 
 say something very daring. Shut your 
 eyes. Listen. But you must shut your 
 eyes. It only applies to— Oh, for a word ! 
 — but keep your eyes shut — to wom^en of
 
 BAPTIST LAKF. 309 
 
 sanguine complexions — shut ! — to girls 
 whose bodies overwhelm their souls, till 
 marriage delivers them, and then they 
 love much." 
 
 " The best kind of women." 
 
 " That was me, and that's Eose Salerne. 
 It's not stupidity ; it's innocence. And 
 she's such a lovely girl." 
 
 " She is. Seventeen — and Islay about 
 sixteen. Well, in five years they'll know 
 each other better." 
 
 " Islay won't wait five years." 
 
 " For some time at any rate. They may 
 change their minds." 
 
 " God forbid ! We mustn't let them 
 change their minds. I see things to-night 
 very clearly. Of course they would change 
 their minds in five years — in less — many 
 times, perhaps ; and become cynical and 
 sophisticated— that's your word; just be- 
 cause they had learned to distrust their 
 hearts. That's what makes cynics, isn't it ? 
 and woman-haters, and woman-betrayers — 
 men who have betrayed themselves, as
 
 310 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 most men do. Oh, it's so simple ! If I 
 were absolute queen of a country I would 
 make a law requiring the marriage of every 
 pair of first lovers. First, I would make a 
 law requiring everybody to be strong and 
 health}^, and that would insure that ever}^- 
 body would love a first time, because 
 people often at present never know first 
 love. I mean they are unhealthy, weak, 
 too clever — I've known lots of them, con- 
 scious of all love's things except the one 
 thing needful before the}' ever experienced 
 it ; and so " 
 
 " What is the one thing needful ? " 
 
 " I don't know, dear. Nobody knows ; 
 but true lovers know that they have it. 
 Now, you understand me. Let Islay grow 
 up a man among ten thousand. Married, a 
 boy, to his first love, he will never learn to 
 distrust his own heart, but be a king like 
 you, for you are a king beside all the men 
 I know." 
 
 " A sorry king, Mary." 
 
 " King John ! Ah ! but I love you more.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 311 
 
 because j'ou tlioiigiit to be false. Hush ! 
 Come ; we'll go and talk pleasantly to these 
 two wanderers, and let them have their 
 own way as far as possible." 
 
 " A year — we'll ask them to wait a 
 year." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " You're very strange to-night, Mary ? " 
 
 " Hadn't I cause to be ? Hush ! No, no ! 
 I shall never say — I shall never think of it 
 again. Forgive me for this once." 
 
 They found Islay and Eose devouring 
 some remnants of the dinner with the 
 placid enjoyment of young animals. Mrs. 
 Ingiis seated herself close to Eose, and laid 
 her hand on her shoulder now and again 
 while talking to her in occasional whispers 
 during the conversation between Islay and 
 his father. 
 
 " I read," said Ingiis, " of the death of 
 Inglebeard in the papers, and the arrest of 
 the smugglers, but never thought of con- 
 necting you with the matter." 
 
 " I wish I had seen the death of Ingle-
 
 312 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 beard," said Islay ; " but I escaped. I slept 
 all night in the old man's cave." 
 
 " It was a real adventure, then ? " 
 
 " I think so. At any rate it's the only 
 adventure of the kind I am ever likely to 
 have, as I'm going to be married." 
 
 "You've made up your mind about that ?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 " Your mother and I think it might be the 
 best thing you could do — in a year or so." 
 
 " In a 5^ear or so ! But we want to get 
 married now. Don't we, Eose P " 
 
 " Yes," said Eose, shyly. 
 
 " But consider, Islav. At sixteen what 
 kind of a husband will you make ? your 
 education not half done, with no experience 
 of the world — not fully grown either? 
 You'd better bide a wee." 
 
 Islay put down his knife and fork, and 
 pushed back his chair. 
 
 " Father," he said, pressing his hands 
 together, " I want to get married now. 
 I'm only a boy, I know — a schoolboy ; but 
 how wojiderful and splendid it would be for
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 313 
 
 a sclioolboy to be married. I remember 
 wlien I was ten I cried a whole day in 
 Glasgow because you wouldn't take me to 
 see the Tower of London. I thought at the 
 time that there was nothing else in the 
 world worth seeini?. But now I don't care. 
 I haven't been to see it yet, although I've 
 been in London a month. I feel if I don't 
 get married now as if my heart would 
 break. It's not just to be married ; it's to 
 be married to Eose I want ; and it wouldn't 
 be the same a year after this, because I 
 would have been thinkino- of marria<:je all 
 the time, and imagining myself married. 
 But now when it's new and fresh and great ! 
 Father — think for me ; mother, speak for 
 me. I need to be married ; it's right I 
 should be married. Piose, speak ; try and 
 speak. I can say nothing like what I feel, 
 Eose." 
 
 " I should so like to be married too," 
 said Eose, shyly — " To Islay," she added, 
 more shyly, more wistfully. " I love Islay," 
 she went on, as nobody else seemed inclined
 
 314 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 to speak at the moment ; " and I'll love 
 him better yet. My father said so." 
 
 " Your father, child ? " said Mrs. Inglis. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Your father's a wise man, then." 
 
 " And he said too if he had all the world 
 to choose from for a husband for me, he 
 would take Islay." 
 
 " But you mustn't let Islay know these 
 things, my dear," said Mrs. Inglis. " He's 
 vain enough already." 
 
 " What I can't get over, Islay," said his 
 father, " is the state of your education." 
 
 " My education is only beginning, I know 
 that ; but I want to educate myself in my 
 own way, and marriage is the first lesson 
 I've set myself ! You've taught me to be 
 independent, father, and you mustn't thwart 
 me now. I'm sick of schools ; I've never 
 learnt anything in them. I could read 
 before I went, and anything I know worth 
 knowino- was not learnt in text-books." 
 
 " Well, then, suppose marriage is the first 
 lesson. What do you intend to be the second?"
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 315 
 
 " Oh, father ! We sliall have a child, T 
 hope." 
 
 The gravity of the boy made it quite 
 impossible for his parents to laugh. Eose 
 hung her head, but hardly blushed. 
 
 " Yes," said Inglis slowly, " that will be 
 the second lesson." 
 
 " My good, brave, dear boy," said Mrs. 
 Inglis, kissing Rose. 
 
 " Since you're facing life in this way," 
 said Inghs, " I feel certain you don't mean 
 to neglect your subordinate studies." 
 
 "Of course not," said Islay. "I'll tell 
 you what I mean to do. But first, can 
 Eose and I get married after the trial's over, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Father ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 Islay pulled in his chair, and resumed 
 his knife and fork ; and Eose, wdio had 
 desisted out of sympathy, began to eat also. 
 
 "And your educational plan ? " said Inglis.
 
 316 BAPTISL' LAKE. 
 
 " We will ao to Paris for a year," replied 
 Islay ; " to Leipsic and Dresden for a year ; 
 to Florence and Piome for a year, and to 
 Spain for a year ; and come home to Eng- 
 land, just in our majority you see, knowing 
 Europe, and its languages and its literatures. 
 That will be better for me than Oxford, 
 and better for liose than Girton." 
 
 " By Jove, it wih ! " 
 
 " Oh, I know several boys that would 
 like to do that. I thought of askinsf vou a 
 year ago, but I didn't see how it was to be 
 done, as I couldn't stand a tutor. But a 
 wife is better than a tutor." 
 
 " A wife is better than a tutor ! " 
 
 Islay himself smiled, and his father and 
 mother laughed outria-ht. 
 
 "But w^e will see you now^ and again 
 durino- these vears ? " said Mrs. Ino-lis. 
 
 " Surely," said her husband. " The 
 second lesson must begin in my house. — 
 Come, Eose, and let me see 3'ou." 
 
 Eose went obediently to Mr. Ingiis, who 
 held her at arm's length.
 
 EAPTIST LAKE. 317 
 
 " You're a beauty ; you are a beauty," lie 
 said, embracini:^ her. 
 
 Then he led her to Islay, and made them 
 join hands. And he said, " God bless you, 
 my dear children ! " and Mrs. Inglis said, 
 " God bless you, my dear children ! " 
 
 "Now it's one o'clock — it's after one," 
 cried Mr. Inglis. " To bed, to bed ! " 
 
 Mrs. In"lis took Eose's arm, and said she 
 would show her to a little room beside her 
 two daughters — her other two daughters ; 
 and o'et her a night-dress. 
 
 "But I have my things with me," said 
 Eose. 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Islay ; " I made her bring 
 them.' 
 
 " You're a lad ! " said Mrs. Inglis. " And 
 what have you been doing for clothes all 
 these days ? You took none with you." 
 
 " I bought clean shirts and things when 
 I needed them," said I.sla3\ 
 
 " Eh ! you are a lad, Islay ! " said his 
 mother, pinching his ear.
 
 XV. 
 
 When Baptist Lake left Lancaster Gardens 
 lie went straight to his hotel, drank a 
 quantity of brandy, wrote a letter to Mrs. 
 Tiplady, went out again, walked to Hyde 
 Park Corner, and slowly up Piccadilly. 
 As the moon went down behind the houses 
 he kissed his hand to her, and bade her 
 *' Good nio-ht." 
 
 Baptist was a member of three other 
 clubs besides the Middle-class, and he 
 visited them all that nio-ht, o-atherins^ about 
 him in each of them a number of young 
 men to whom he told his story of the 
 Substitute for Soul, and made his quotations 
 from Horace and Propertius, supplying 
 humorous translations. The applause of 
 his young acquaintances soon brought him 
 into thorough (rood humour with himself. 
 
 About one in the morning he went to the 
 Middle-class Club for supper, and, finding
 
 EAPriST LAKE. 31'J 
 
 that it was a " musical nigiit," elected to 
 remain there till bedtime. He looked about 
 for Mrs. Meldrum, thinking to enjoy a 
 passage of arms with her, but she was not 
 to be seen. On musical nights in the 
 Middle- class Club, the best orchestra and 
 the best singers to be had for money enter- 
 tained the members and their guests from 
 one till live. Baptist, with immense 
 capacity for enjoyment, and almost no 
 critical power, revelled in any kind of 
 music, and sat out the whole programme 
 in the great crimson-and-gold saloon of 
 the Club ; drank two bottles of Rudesheimer, 
 and smoked fifty cigarettes. Then he 
 walked to the Park in the cool morning 
 air, crystalline even in London, and up 
 Piccadilly again to Applegarth's ; took a 
 cold bath, and slept soundly till three on 
 Thursday afternoon. Having breakfasted 
 he drove to Pilgrimstow, arriving at the 
 "Rose and Crown" shortly after five. 
 
 Pilo-rimstow Market wore its forlornest 
 aspect. The shops were nearly all shut, for
 
 320 EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Tliursday afternoon was the shopkeepers' 
 weekly half-holiday. The short street in 
 which the crowd had surired and whirled 
 on Saturday night was almost entirely 
 deserted, and bits of paper, orange-peel, 
 and cabbage-blades littered the pavement 
 and the roadway. The railwa3'-bridge 
 across which Baptist had seen the train 
 speeding awa}- to Heaven, and the signal- 
 box that had looked like a OTeat sflass of 
 Eudesheimer, brimmino- over with uasliffht 
 and the sunset, were mean and c^rimv and 
 rusty. Baptist took it all in at a glance, 
 and shivered as he entered the private bar 
 of the " Rose and Crown.'' He shut the 
 door behind him, sat down on the cushioned 
 bench, lit a cigarette and smoked slowly. 
 No lauq-hter and loud talk filled the other 
 compartments ; the buzzing of flies was 
 quite audible. Baptist noticed the mirror, 
 and went to it as delightedly as if he had 
 never seen one before. He took off his 
 hat, ran his fingers through his copper- 
 coloured hair, and donned his hat again,
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 321 
 
 adjusting it carefully with the slight tilt 
 forward and the still slioiiter inclination to 
 one side. Then he stared himself com- 
 placently in the face, and turned his side to 
 the mirror, and tried to get a glimpse of 
 his shoulders. Just as he resumed his seat, 
 Florrie — not Mrs. Tiplady this time — 
 entered from the front of the inn. 
 
 " Ah, Florrie ! " said Baptist. " What has 
 gone wrong with Pilgrimstow ? The street 
 out there looks as if it had been swept by 
 the plague. It would require a dead-bell 
 and a funeral to make it tolerable." 
 
 " 'Olida}^, sir," said Florrie. " The green- 
 grocers is away a-worshippin' the greens, 
 and the butchers a-skippin' with the lambs " 
 
 "And is Mrs. Tiplady a-drinking with 
 the drunks ? " 
 
 " Oh, no sir ! Mrs. Tiplady never takes 
 an 'oliday. It's all-l-'oliday with her. 
 She's gone to Garland 'All." 
 
 " How lon^f aso ? " 
 
 " Half-an-hour, sir." 
 
 " Ah ! I am rather before the time I 
 
 21
 
 322 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 said I would be. Doubtless she expected 
 to be back before my arrival." 
 
 "Baptist pressed the gold nob of his cane 
 ao-ainst his nose and meditated. It was 
 still three weeks to quarter-day, and his 
 money was done again. He had written 
 Mrs. Tiplady to get him three hundred 
 pounds, and the question with him now 
 w^as, whether he should, as he had 
 threatened, go to Garland Hall, and 
 attempt to have an explanation with his 
 father. It would be a simple matter to 
 say that he had only come in their mutual 
 interests, as he was certain Mrs. Tiplady 
 was cheating them both. Having once got 
 his father to talk with him, he might lead 
 him on to other subjects. Yes, he would go. 
 This would be the third trial he had made 
 to see his father since their final separation 
 ten years before ; and it might succeed. 
 
 " I shall go and meet Mrs. Tiplady," he 
 
 said. 
 
 As he was leaving Florrie said, " 'Ave 
 you 'eard sir, wot 'appened the Salernes ? '*
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 323 
 
 " The Salernes ? " 
 
 " The girl as you talked to on Saturday, 
 and her father." 
 
 " I remember. Well, has young Inglis 
 run off with Eose ? " 
 
 " 'E 'ave, sir ! 'Ow did you guess it ? 
 An' her father's in jail for smugglin', an' 
 Mrs. Macalister's bolted to-day. Gone 
 'ome to bonny Scotland, an' the shop's shut. 
 She did take the bloomin' 'ump, sir, when 
 Eose went off. Oh, she was bad ! It was 
 worse than Sunday cigars, she said, worse 
 than Sunday smugglin'. 'Ell was openiif 
 at her feet, an' the hangels of God hascendin' 
 and descendin'. So she went to Glasgow. 
 She's mad, she is. But the langwidge, an' 
 the workin' of herself up, an' the coalin' of 
 herself with snuff " 
 
 " Mrs. Macalister must have been very 
 charming," interrupted Baptist. " I am 
 sorry she has thought it prudent to retire 
 to Glasgow, for much as I should like to 
 meet her, I shall certainly not follow her." 
 
 Without waiting for Florrie's reply, 
 
 21*
 
 S24 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Baptist left the " Rose and Crown " and 
 drove in his hansom to his father's house. 
 The gate was open, and also the door of 
 the lodge, although the lodge-keeper was 
 not to be seen. And the house door was 
 open too when he came to it, although 
 there was no servant in the hall. Baptist's 
 thoughts, which had gone away back to his 
 bojdiood, were recalled to the present by 
 this unusual appearance of carelessness. 
 He wondered a little, but concluded that 
 his father, originally a man of forms and 
 courtesies, had grown indifferent in his old 
 a<^e. As he ascended the broad stairs he 
 heard shrill voices and prolonged laughter 
 cominix from his father's room. Ag;ain he 
 paused and listened attentively. What 
 could have happened ? Should he enter 
 his father's presence, or should he go back 
 and wait for Mrs. Tiplady ? He failed to 
 distinguish his father's voice. Perhaps his 
 father Avas ill : perhaps he was dead. He 
 decided to enter. 
 
 This is what had happened. About a
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 325 
 
 quarter of an hour before Baptist arrived, 
 just as Mrs. Tiplady went through the iron 
 gate in the Enfield Eoad, the lodge-keeper, 
 who had been so uncivil to her on her 
 last visit, darted after her, passed her, ran 
 on in front, and entered the house, leaving 
 the door open. Mrs. Tiplady, in her 
 anxiety to know what was toward, did 
 not pause to close the door, but hurried 
 upstairs to ^ir Henry's room. There she 
 found the lodge -keeper and Sir Henrj^'s 
 two domestics standing tos^ether in the 
 middle of the floor, with Sir Henry, in 
 the plain office-chair beside the Heppel- 
 white table, staring in astonishment. A 
 chop and a bottle of wine, Sir Henry's 
 simple dinner, were on the table. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Tiplady appeared, Sir 
 Henry rose and stepped feebly towards 
 her. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Tiplady," he said, " do 
 you knov/ what has gone wrong with my 
 servants? See how they have arrayed 
 themselves against me."
 
 326 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 The male domestic, an old man dressed 
 in rusty black, with unshaven cheeks and 
 tangled grey hair, stood about a pace in 
 advance of the female domestic and the 
 lodge-keeper. The lineaments of the three 
 were as unhuman as thirty years' domestic 
 service could make faces originally mean ; 
 and their rigid attitudes, compressed lips, 
 and lowered brows, indicated that their 
 master had rightly divined their intention. 
 
 " I am very glad you have come, Mrs. 
 Tiplady," continued Sir Henry, when his 
 visitor had taken a seat, and he himself 
 had resumed his office -chair. " I can't 
 imasfine what these three want ; and it's 
 well that I should have a friend Avitli me." 
 
 " We have come, Sir Henery," said the 
 male domestic, whose name was Mathews, 
 and who spoke in a high, cracked voice, 
 " because Mrs. Tiplady is here. We have 
 been faithful servants to you. Sir Henery, 
 for nigh on thirty year, and our respects is 
 due ; but these ongoin's we can't abide, and 
 so we give notice."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. ^27 
 
 " What is it ? What does he mean, Mrs. 
 Tiplady ? " asked Sir Henry. 
 
 "This is what we msaii, Sir Henery," 
 continued Mathews, in his screeching voice, 
 but very dehberately. " We mean to give 
 notice, we do. Mrs. Goodhart, gatekeeper 
 and laundry-maid ; Mrs. Bowles, house- 
 keeper, cook, housemaid, kitchen and-scul- 
 lery-maid ; and me, Mr. James Mathews, 
 butler — upper and under — lacquey, foot- 
 man, gardener, etc., gives notice, not because 
 we have too much work, multifarious as 
 are our offices, but because of things that 
 have come to our knowledge." 
 
 Here Mathews paused to note the eflect 
 of what he felt to be a weighty period. 
 
 "What does he want? What is it?"' 
 asked Sir Henry, already half-crazy with 
 irritation and undefined fear. 
 
 " We have given notice. Sir Henery," 
 continued Mathews. " And now we come 
 to our second portion." 
 
 " Portion ! What portion ? " cried Sir 
 Henry. "The prodigal's portion Ah!
 
 J'28 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady, have you come about that 
 agam ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Tiplady," said Mathews, advancing 
 
 a step, and taking the word from that lad}', 
 
 "has nothing to say, I expect. "We have 
 
 the game in our hands, Sir Henery, and we 
 
 mean to pla}^ it. The short and the long 
 
 of it is this : We want hush-money. There ; 
 
 it's out. We're old and grey, and we may 
 
 as well call things by their names. You 
 
 understand us now. And it's not a bit of 
 
 monev in our hands that'll choke us off, 
 
 mind. We have discussed the matter and 
 
 settled it among ourselves. We have a 
 
 goodish trifle saved each of us, and don't 
 
 want no hundred pounds a-piece. We want 
 
 annuities : Mrs. Goodhart, a hundred a year ; 
 
 Mrs. Bowles, a hundred and fifty ; and me, 
 
 two hundred ; and we'll take nothing less. 
 
 We know what you're hiding ; and you know 
 
 you must pay. We might ask a lot more, 
 
 but we don't want to be hard on you." 
 
 "I'll give you— I'll— AVhat shall I do, 
 Mrs. Tiplady ? "
 
 BAITIST LAKE. 329 
 
 *' Send for the police,"' said Mrs. Tiplady. 
 
 " No, no ; it would all come out then. I 
 can't have that." 
 
 " What'll all come out ? What do they 
 know ? " said Mrs. Tiplady scornfully. 
 
 " Know ! " cried Sir Henry. " Thev know 
 it all. They have said so." 
 
 *'■ Know all what ? Let thern say what 
 they know." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady rose and planted herself 
 with arms akimbo beside Sir IIenr3^ She 
 usually attempted to play the fine lady on 
 her visits to Garland Hall ; but now, as she 
 meant to fight, she stood forward to give 
 and take in her own proper character, 
 
 " Mathews," she said, " what is it you 
 think 3^ou know ? " 
 
 " Tiplady," said Mathews with a sneer, 
 " I know enough to do for you." 
 
 " I told you," said Mrs. Tiplady, turning to 
 Sir Henry. " They know just as little as there 
 is to know, and that's nothing. — Go away, 
 you old fool," she continued to Mathews. 
 " You're dotty, an' you're dreamin'."
 
 33U EAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " You think yourself very clever, don't 
 3'ou ? " said Mathews. " You think nobody 
 could possibly have found it out. But 
 three can put three and three together. 
 What do you come here for so often? 
 "Why does somebod}- visit the ' Eose and 
 Crown ' ? and what's the meaning of 
 this ? " 
 
 Here he took from his pocket a used order- 
 book, and turning over the counterfoils 
 read out, " ' To Mrs. Tiplady, three hundred 
 pounds,' ' to Mrs. Tiplad}'^ five hundred 
 pounds,' ' to Mrs. Tiplady, a thousand 
 pounds.' Do you think," he continued, 
 *' there's a drawer in the house I don't 
 know the contents of? Come, come ; you 
 can't brazen it out. We mean to be com- 
 fortable in our old age. We want our 
 share. Last time you called, Tiplady, we 
 laid our heads together and arranged this. 
 Our minds are made up ; we'll not go back 
 a step, or bate a farthing." 
 
 " I'll do it," said Sir Henry. " I'll do it ; 
 but you'll not live long. Such cruelty.
 
 13APTIST LAKE. 331 
 
 such baseness ! — God won't allow it to 
 enjoy — He won't ! " 
 
 " But what is it they know ? Goodness 
 an' mercy ! Sir Henery, do nothing till they 
 say what they know." 
 
 " I couldn't — I wouldn't hear it. I 
 would die if anybody said it. I have 
 never said it myself." Here he glanced 
 with a shudder at the picture that hung 
 with its face to the wall above the Hepple- 
 white table. 
 
 " Goodness an' mercy ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Tiplady, " I'll bet my life they know 
 nothing : a pack of idiots as ought to be 
 drowned in a cesspool." 
 
 " Vile creature ! vile creature ! " said 
 Mrs. Bowles, the housekeeper, sjDeaking for 
 the first time. " You're brazenins^ of it 
 out is a sure siQ:n that it's true." 
 
 " I told you," said Mrs. Tiplady, turning 
 in triumph to Sir Henry. " An' I'll take my 
 solemn affidavy if I don't begin to guess 
 what they think they have discovered. Oh 
 my! Oh Lord!"
 
 332 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 With that Mrs. Tiplady fell into a 
 Sheraton chair and laufrhed till her sides 
 were sore. 
 
 "We'll see who laiio'hs last," said 
 Mathews doggedly. " If you want your 
 son to be master here, Tiplady, you'll 
 have to change your tune." 
 
 " I knew it ! I knew it ! " cried Mrs. Tip- 
 lady, through the laughter that nearly 
 suffocated her. 
 
 " What ! " said Sir Henry, starting from 
 his chair. " What do you say ? " 
 
 " I say," said Mathews, " that him you 
 call Baptist Lake is your child but not 
 your heir ; and that Mrs. Tiplady is his 
 mother." 
 
 Sir Henry was too astonished at first to 
 speak. At last he cried, " My God 1 if 
 that were only true ! " 
 
 Hardly had the words escaped him, when 
 Baptist entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady was the first to realise 
 thoroughly who had come in. It was all 
 over now, she knew. Her fast-and-loose
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 333 
 
 dealings with the money given her for 
 Baptist would be exposed. What of it, 
 though ? The money had been drawn in 
 her name ; they couldn't make her dis- 
 gorge. But there was nothing more to be 
 made in Garland Hall. She would ^o. 
 She had meant to beg money for the fine 
 which would be imposed on Salerne for 
 smucfoiino; : that thouo-ht G'ave her a twin2;e. 
 Still, she had enough and to spare. She 
 would go. 
 
 " No, my dear Mrs. Tiplady," said Baptist 
 as she crossed the room. " Xot yet." 
 
 He locked the door and put the key in 
 his pocket. 
 
 " I learned that trick at the ' Eose and 
 Crown,' " he said with a smile. 
 
 "Ah! you are all here," he continued, 
 moving slowly towards Sir Henry. " The 
 mystery can be cleared up now." 
 
 " How dare you ! how dare 3^ou ! " said 
 Sir Henry under his breath. Then he 
 shouted, making a violent gesture, " Go 
 away ! "
 
 'cM BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 " No, father," said Baptist, the comedian 
 strong in him, " I shall not leave this room 
 until we come to an understanding^. I have 
 been and am extravagant, and have caused 
 3'ou pain. Forgive me. I am thirty now, 
 father, and you are old. Let us be recon- 
 ciled." 
 
 Baptist held out his arms ; but Sir 
 Henry again, with a violent gesture and 
 in a loud voice, called on him to keep 
 away. 
 
 " Bid me to some penance if I am un- 
 worthy of your embrace ; do not cut me of! 
 entirely. I have never known what it is to 
 have a father." 
 
 " Away ! away ! " cried Sir Henry. 
 
 " If it must be so," said Baptist, mourn- 
 fully, wiping the tears from his eyes. " But 
 not before I know why I am kept from 
 3'our presence." 
 
 Having said that, he folded his arms and 
 stood facing Sir Henry. They were within 
 six feet of each other. 
 
 " Take him away," said Sir Henry.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. ^3.3 
 
 " Surely you four can take him away, big 
 as he is." 
 
 Baptist took a step nearer. 
 
 " Keep back ! " cried Sir Henry frantically. 
 
 " I shall stand here till I know what I 
 have come to know," said Baptist. 
 
 Sir Henry sank into his chair, panting for 
 breath. He rubbed his knees, clutched the 
 chair-arms, and looked despairingly at the 
 faces ranged around him, and at the re- 
 versed picture on the wall. 
 
 " Tell him," he said at last, addressing 
 Mrs. Tiplady. " Tell him, you ; he has 
 brought it on himself." 
 
 "Turn the others out, then," said Mrs. 
 Tiplady. " There's no need to give our- 
 selves away." 
 
 " No," said Sir Henry, " let them stay. 
 It has come. I knew it would, though I 
 struCTQ-led ao-ainst it. Let the whole world 
 know." 
 
 Mrs. Tiplady again offered to remon- 
 strate ; but Sir Henry, whose weak face 
 had assumed a remarkable aspect of
 
 33G BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 stren^Hli — briijlit colour in the cheeks and 
 strange fire in the eyes — gave her a look 
 she was unable to disobey. 
 
 " Well, Master Baptist," she said, really 
 pleased with the importance of her part, 
 but yet with wonderful diffidence for her, 
 " you must know that }'our father in his 
 young days was a bit of a lady-killer like 
 yourself." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Sir Henry. 
 
 " Beggin' your pardon, sir, you must let 
 me tell it my own way or not at all." 
 
 " Go on, then," said Sir Henry ; " but 
 don't lie about me." 
 
 " These three idiots," said Mrs. Tiplady, 
 somewhat ruffled, " thought that I was the 
 lady. But it was another lady altogether. 
 Your name is not Baptist Lake. Your good 
 father " 
 
 " Would God that were true ! " said Sir 
 Henry, rising to his feet again. " Are you 
 madvOr dreaming, Mrs. Tiplady ! " 
 
 " Tell it your own way, then," said Mrs. 
 Tiplady sulkily.
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 337 
 
 "You have never known it, not even 
 you. This was what you meant b}^ 5^our 
 hints and nods. Hear ! You'll all know it 
 now." 
 
 Stepping alertly on to the table he turned 
 the picture face outwards. 
 
 " Ah ! My motljer," said Baptist. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; that is your mother and my 
 wife," said Sir Henry, returning to the floor. 
 " I was twenty and she was eighteen when 
 we were married. I loved her with all the 
 strength and folly and aspiration of my 
 youth ; but she deceived me in the very 
 first month of our marriao-e. Look at her. 
 It is written in her face : luxury and lust. 
 Her son is like her. But he is liker his 
 father." 
 
 Quickly unlocking a drawer in the 
 Hepplewhite table. Sir Henry took from it 
 a photograph and handed it to Mrs. Tip- 
 lady. 
 
 " Oh," said she, . " Master Baptist ! But 
 he was never in the army." 
 
 Baptist snatched the photograph from 
 
 22
 
 338 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 her. It was very like what he had 
 been at twenty — a young man in a French 
 uniform. 
 
 He threw it from him. Mathews picked 
 it up, and the three servants looked at it, 
 turned it about, and made foolish excla- 
 mations. 
 
 " Did you know that was in one of my 
 drawers ? " asked Sir Henr3^ 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mathews ; " but I thought 
 it was Master Baptist." 
 
 Sir Henry held out his hand for the ])ho- 
 tograph, and when it was returned to him 
 he locked it in the drawer, saying, " That 
 was your father, sir ; the son of a Paris 
 banker. We met him on our honeymoon. 
 For five years after your birth I suffered 
 the tortures of the damned, as I saw you 
 growing liker and liker the French lieu- 
 tenant. I schooled myself, and when your 
 mother died would have taken you to my 
 heart, but you would not let me love you. 
 As a child 3'ou were elvish, a liar, and 
 stole money wherever you could lay hands
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 339 
 
 on it. And you mocked at me. I sent you 
 to school. Ever}^ year you grew worse ; 
 before you were seventeen your debts were 
 enormous. I sent you to Oxford. Your 
 career there cost me twenty thousand 
 pounds. The money was nothing ; but 
 you Hed and cheated, and ruined girls and 
 men's wives. You were your father's and 
 your motlier's son. I came to hate you. 
 The sight of you made me mad ; the very 
 sound of your name — the sight of it made 
 me tremble, made ni}^ heart stop. When 
 you left college 1 tried to drive the misery 
 out of my life. I bought you off, as I 
 thought, with three thousand a year. You 
 were never to come near me, your name I 
 was never to hear, never to see. In a 
 month you applied for more money 
 through this good creature : Mrs. Tiplad}^, 
 I should say before these what I have often 
 said to yourself, that joii have been a great 
 consolation to me. I gave you the money 
 then and often since through Mrs. Tiplady, 
 and saved myself the hideous torment of 
 
 •T .) *-
 
 340 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 writing 3^our name. It was your plan> Mrs. 
 Tiplad}^ I have thanked you for it, and I 
 thank you again. — But your name haunted 
 me. 1 heard it bandied about in strange 
 mouths — Baptist Lake. If men stopped 
 speaking in my club when I came near, I 
 knew Avhat the subject had been. Your 
 name liaunted me in the papers — twice in 
 the first year after you left college, ' Mr. 
 Baptist Lake, the son of Sir Henry Lake, of 
 Pilgrimstow,' co-respondent with some fool- 
 ish actress. I gave up London, I ceased 
 reading the newspapers ; the long torture 
 of my life had cowed and broken me. For 
 five years I have not stirred beyond my 
 own walls. Here, with books, or in my 
 garden, I could sometimes forget. But you 
 have come to me, you have forced your 
 way to me — you, whose name is a byword 
 for every iniquity that men commit, who 
 are none of my flesh and blood — a bastard. 
 You ! vou ! you have no rioht to exist ! 
 You have no soul. How can God put souls 
 into bastards ? He can't. He .oughtn't. I
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 341 
 
 loved your mother. I gave her all my love 
 — all my true love, and she gave me you in 
 return. Thirty years of hell on earth has 
 been my punishment for marrying ray first 
 love. M}^ friends tried to dissuade me, to 
 laugh me out of it ; they told me no good 
 ever came of calf-love marriaws. I wouldn't 
 listen to them ; I denounced them for snarl- 
 ing, worldly-wise fools. 1 was young and 
 hot and loyal to my dreams, to my trust in 
 men and women ; and I married my first 
 love. It was but a little sin to be punished 
 so dreadfully. And joii stand calmly and 
 listen, onl}^ slightly amazed. You have no 
 soul. God daren't put souls into bastards. 
 You don't exist ! I don't believe you exist. 
 You are a phantom, a vampire ! IIow many 
 men have j^ou made as wretched as your 
 father made me ? That a dream should do 
 such wrong — a mere shadow ! Away ! 
 Cease to appear ! It is there still, breath- 
 ing, handsome, quiet, only a little amazed. 
 What does it want here ? How came it 
 here? Who sent it here, a thing that
 
 342 BAPTIST LAKK. 
 
 doesn't exist, to trouble tlie world so ? 
 Steel won't harm it." 
 
 Utiering a loud cry Sir Henr}^ sprang 
 forward, clutched Baptist's hair, and 
 hacked at him with a dinner knife he had 
 seized from the table. The two men fell, 
 Baptist screaming with pain. Mrs. Tiplady 
 and Mathews took Sir Henry by the 
 shoulders, while Mrs. Bowles and Mrs. 
 Goodhart with difficulty disengaged his 
 hand from Baptist's hair. Sir Henry was 
 motionless in their grasp ; they tried to lift 
 him up, but his body wouldn't bend. They 
 then laid him on his back ; and saw that he 
 was dead. 
 
 Baptist lay moaning. In the struggle 
 his left cheek had been laid open from the 
 eye to the chin. Mrs. Tiplady put her 
 hand in his pocket, and taking out the key 
 of the door handed it to Mathews. 
 
 " The doctor for Sir Baptist Lake at once," 
 she said. " Mrs. Bowles, prepare a room for 
 your master. Mrs. Goodhart, you stay and 
 help me to get Sir Baptist Lake to bed."
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 343 
 
 The three servants, after a moment's 
 hesitation, obeyed her in silence ; and the 
 last of the Lakes was left lying dead among 
 the Sheraton and William III. chairs, with 
 the Flemish bnffet and the Elizabethan oak 
 cnpboard, full of silent memories of all the 
 Lakes, overlooking them. The windows 
 were open and the ivy leaves rustled softly, 
 but the sad soul of Henry Lake was 
 beyond their soothing now.
 
 XVI. 
 
 Agnes's and Lizzie's babies were born in 
 due course — large, fat, solemn, sleeping 
 babies ; and somewhat less than a year 
 after that double event, Mrs. Ino-lis's eldest 
 daughter, Mary, arrived at Lancaster 
 Gardens also expecting a large, fat, solemn, 
 sleeping baby. And again the event was 
 to be double for Mrs. Liglis was in a 
 delicate state too. Mary had brought with 
 her Tier eldest bo}^ a little fellow of six, 
 who plagued his grandmother all day long 
 for stories, for one story in particular, the 
 Story of Uncle Islay. It mattered not how 
 many other stories Mrs. Inghs might tell at 
 a sitting, she had alwaj's to finish up with 
 the Story of Uncle Islay ; so she tried 
 telling it first. But the plan was not 
 successful, for the little rascal alwaj^s 
 wanted other stories, and always the Story 
 of Uncle Islay, his own uncle, whom he 
 knew, to finish with.
 
   BAPTIST LAKE. 345 
 
 And this was the Story of Uncle Tslay as 
 Mrs. Inglis told it to her grandson : — 
 
 " There was once a giant called Salerne, 
 who had a beautiful daughter called Eose, 
 and Uncle Islay fell in love with Eose and 
 wanted to marry her. But the giant said 
 that Uncle Islay couldn't marr}^ his 
 daughter unless he did somethinir wrong" : 
 so Uncle Islay and giant Salerne went down 
 to Belminster to do somethino' wrong. And 
 there thev met another jriant called Ingle- 
 beard, and went to his cave, and waited till 
 it was dark. Then they rowed out in a 
 boat and gathered out of the sea tobacco 
 and brandy that had not been taxed. Some 
 other people who were also in the power 
 of these giants had dropped the tobacco 
 and brandy from a steamer. 
 
 "Now there were two more giants who 
 had to do with tlie thing, and their names 
 were SLowse and Maw cap, and they had a 
 cab ready when the other giants and Uncle 
 Islay came ashore with the tobacco and 
 brandy. But they didn't get away ; because
 
 346 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 tlie Queen had sent her officers to take 
 them up. And they took up the three 
 giants, Salerne, Slowse, and Mawcap ; but 
 Uncle Islay and giant Inglebeard escaped. 
 Uncle Islay escaped to giant Inglebeard's 
 cave, and giant Inglebeard escaped out 
 into the sea, away away, into eternity. 
 Now, although Uncle Islay escaped, he had 
 done wrong, and he couldn't be happy 
 until he had given himself up to the 
 Queen's officers. And he was taken before 
 the judge along with the three giants, 
 Salerne, Slowse, and Mawcap. And the 
 judge thought that Uncle Islay hadn't done 
 very much wrong, and although a very 
 stern officer of the Queen, called the Com- 
 missioner of Customs, caused a great deal 
 to be said against Uncle Islay, the judge 
 would not punish him ; because the judge 
 liked Uncle Islay for coming and giving 
 himself up, and for being so fond of 
 adventures. But the three giants were 
 sentenced to pay very heavy fines. And as 
 Mawcap and Slowse could get nobody to
 
 EAPTIST LAKE. 347 
 
 pay their fines for them they were con- 
 demned to be imprisoned for a year. But 
 Slowse was set free after a week, because it 
 was he who had told the Queen's officers 
 how to catch the giants. The year is not 
 up yet, so Mawcap is still in prison. 
 
 "Grandpapa paid the fine for giant 
 Salerne, because he liked him. Giant 
 Salerne had a little money of his own, but 
 he had given it to a very bad giantess 
 called Mrs. Tiplady. They tried to take her 
 up too, but they found none of the untaxed 
 brandy in her shop : she was too clever 
 for them. At first she said she would pay 
 the fine for giant Salerne, and they would 
 get married and go to America. But as 
 soon as she saw that grandpapa was in- 
 terested in giant Salerne she refused to pay 
 it. And when grandpapa paid it she came 
 to giant Salerne, and tried to show him 
 how clever she had been in saving giant 
 Salerne's money. But giant Salerne had 
 changed his mind. He had become quite 
 sure that Mrs. Tiplady had tried to make
 
 348 BAPTIST LAKE. 
 
 his daugiiter do a very wicked thing ; so he 
 wouldn't marry her, and Mrs. Tiphidy went 
 away to America alone. She was a very 
 strano:e fjiantess : I think she was also a 
 witch and had sold her soul to the devil. 
 
 "Now giant Salerne was a very good 
 sailor and wanted to go back to sea ; so 
 grandpapa got him made captain of a four- 
 masted, iron, clipper-built, sailing vessel ; 
 and he sailed away to Calcutta, and will 
 soon be home again, and he'll bring some- 
 thin": from India for all grandmama's little 
 boys and girls. For he is a very good 
 giant, although he and Uncle Islav once 
 did wrong. 
 
 " And Uncle Islay married the beautiful 
 Eose, giant Salerne's daughter, and went 
 away to Paris, and they lived happy ever 
 after, learning to speak French." 
 
 One forenoon while Mrs. Inglis for the 
 hundredth time was telling her grandson 
 the Story of Uncle Islay, Mr. Inglis came 
 in from his morning walk, and when she 
 had done he said : " Yes, and there's
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 349 
 
 another giant that once tried to make 
 somebody else do wrong, and nearly 
 succeeded, giant Baptist. I have just seen 
 him. A voice hailed me suddenly from a 
 hansom, and there was Baptist beckoning 
 me. He asked me to go a little way with 
 him, and I did so. He told me that he has 
 been travelling' since his father died, and 
 returned to Ensjland onlv a fortnight aj^o. 
 I couldn't keep my eyes from a long scar 
 on his left cheek. 'Ah ! ' he said, * I must 
 tell 3'ou about that. The Marquise— but I 
 had better not mention names. A lovely 
 French Marquise and I were great friends 
 for a week. Her husband, an Angiophobe 
 of the bitterest type, had made only one 
 stipulation when he married her, and that 
 was that she should never be friends with 
 an Englishman. He surprised us in the 
 drawing-room of the Marquise's friend, 
 bringing with him swords and seconds. He 
 locked the door ; Madame la Marquise, 
 greatly excited, greatly delighted, had a 
 chair placed on a table, and sat there to
 
 350 BAPTIST LAKE, 
 
 witness the light. The Marquis, a httle 
 black fellow, diabolically expert, cut me 
 on the cheek at the very moment that I 
 wounded him. The Marquise nursed us 
 both, and the three of us have been great 
 friends ever since. I am V Anglais unique' 
 He put me down in Bond Street. He 
 was going to a marriage, he said." 
 
 " Poor giant Baptist ! " said Mrs. Inglis. 
 " Do 3'ou believe his story ? " 
 
 " Hardly." 
 
 " I should sav that a certain widow must 
 have had something to do with that scar." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 " An attempt to spoil his beauty." 
 
 " Or to kill him." 
 
 The verv mornino- after the meetinijf 
 between Mr. Inglis and Sir Baptist Lake, 
 there'was a letter from Islay. 
 
 " Thev're comincf home," said Infrlis, 
 after reading it. " Another grandchild, 
 Mary. Imagine ! Two nephews and an 
 uncle all to be born together." 
 - " Oh, my boy ! " said Mrs. Inglis, catch-
 
 BAPTIST LAKE. 351 
 
 ing her breath. "And Rose, too. Poor 
 things ! " 
 
 " You were speaking of a Sir Baptist 
 Lake yesterday," said Mar}^, who had the 
 newspaper. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He was going to a marriage, wasn't he ?" 
 
 *' He was." 
 
 " Here's the marriage : ' 25th inst., by 
 license, at St. George's, Hanover Square, 
 by the Yicar, Sir Baptist Lake, of Garland 
 Hall, Pilgrimstow, to Mrs. Alice Meldrum.' " 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Liglis. " She has 
 changed her mind then. When I saw her 
 nine months ago she swore she would kill 
 him." 
 
 " Perhaps this is the way she has taken 
 to do it," said Mrs. Liglis. 
 
 " Or perhaps it's simpler than that," 
 rejoined Mr. Liglis. " Finding his beauty 
 spoiled, Baptist may have been glad to 
 return to his early love." 
 
 THE END.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 DaEiNG the printing of this book I learned that the 
 quotations on pp. 116-118, which were taken from an 
 actual manuscript series of fourteen prayers written by an 
 Ayrshire farmer between August 5th, 1693, and August 
 10th, 1710, form part of Richard Alleine's "Alarm to 
 Unconverted Sinners." The prototype of the first 
 John Inglis had evidently followed Alleine's " Author's 
 Advice," which I copy from the "Alarm" of 1678, 
 
 " This Covenant I advise you to m:ike, not only in Heart, but 
 in Word ; not only in Word but in Writing, before the Lord, as if 
 you would present it to him as your Act and Deed. And when you 
 have done this, set your hand to it, Keep it as a memorial of the 
 Solemn Transactions that have passed between God and you, 
 that you may have recourse to it in Doubts Temptations." 
 
 Alleine's books, " distinguished for their searching 
 spiritual force," had a great vogue in his own time. 
 The prayers quoted are so apt an expression of a certain 
 phase of religious fervour, that they are still regularly 
 used by the Methodists . 
 
 My thanks are due to Mr. E. J. Fitchett, who directed 
 me to Alleine's works. 
 
 J. D.
 
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