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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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