GIFT OF 
 MICHAEL REESE 
 
ANDROMEDA 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/andromedaidyllofOObuchrich 
 
ANDROMEDA 
 
 AN IDYLL OF THE GREAT RIVER 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 ' THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD,' * GOD AND THE MAN,' ETC. 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS 
 
 1901 
 
RETSE 
 
 ■X- -^ 
 
 ^ 7^/^^ right of dramatising this story is reserved by the 
 Author, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. ART ON CANVEY ISLAND - - - I 
 
 II. A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT- - - l6 
 
 III. ENTER ANDROMEDA - - - "32 
 
 IV. THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND - "52 
 V. THOUGH CONVERSATIONAL, IS RETROSPECTIVE - 67 
 
 VI. IS ALSO RETROSPECTIVE - - - 78 
 
 VII. THE FAIRY PRINCE - - - - 89 
 
 VIH. THE FLIGHT OF * PRINCE CHARMING' - - 105 
 
 IX. STRANGE TIDINGS - - - - I18 
 
 X. THE BOHEMIANS - - - - 1 38 
 
 XI. A FIRST NIGHT - - - " '53 
 
 XII. AT TENTERDEN's HOTEL - - - 1 66 
 
 XIII. AN AFTERNOON CALL - - - - 1 84 
 
 XIV. AT THE STUDIO - - • -197 
 XV. AT THE LAURELS - - - - 211 
 
 XVI. HIGH TIDE - - - - - 224 
 
 XVII. THE MAN FROM THE SEA - - - 243 
 
 XVIII. THE SPELL IS BROKEN - - -255 
 
 XIX. COMPLICATIONS - - - - 270 
 
 XX. SEAWARD ONCE MORE - - - - 292 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXI. BY THE GREAT RIVER - - - 307 
 
 XXII. THE HUE AND CRY - - - - 318 
 
 XXIII. A BLOW IN THE DARK - - "331 
 
 XXIV. AT THE LOBSTER SMACK - - - 347 
 XXV. FACE TO FACE - . . , 35^ 
 
 XXVI. A RESPITE - - - - - 38 1 
 
 XXVII. AT THE STUDIO - - _ _ 39^ 
 
 XXVIIL CONCLUSION ----- 409 
 
ANDROMEDA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ART ON CANVEY ISLAND. 
 
 Early in the fifth decade of the present century, 
 when the quaint fairy Crinolina was waving her 
 wand over merry England and transforming its 
 fair women into funny reproductions of their ances- 
 tresses under good Queen Bess ; when young 
 townsmen wore white hats and peg-top trousers, 
 and when nearly every house boasted its dismal 
 array of horsehair-stuffed chairs and sofas covered 
 with that most horrible invention the antimacassar 
 — early, that is to say, in the married life of her 
 Majesty Queen Victoria, there stood in the loneliest 
 part of Canvey Island, at the mouth of the Thames, 
 a solitary tumble-down inn, called the Lobster 
 Smack. 
 
 Its landlord was a certain Job Endell, who had 
 
 I 
 
2 ANDROMEDA 
 
 once been a deep-sea mariner and, if report did not 
 greatly belie him, a savage sea-dog and pirate ; its 
 patrons and customers, few and far between, were 
 such fishermen, bargees, lightermen, and riverside 
 characters as were driven in their various vessels 
 by stress of weather or freaks of the tide into the 
 little muddy haven close to the inn door. From 
 time to time the little Inn resounded with the 
 merriment of such wayfarers, but as a rule it was 
 as deserted as its surroundings, and the aforesaid 
 Job Endell was the lonely monarch of all he 
 surveyed. 
 
 Now and then, however, Job had the privilege 
 of entertaining a stray visitor from London, 
 attracted thither by the chances of fishing in the 
 river or sea-bird shooting in the creeks or along f 
 the sea-wall ; and at the time when our story 
 opens two such visitors, who combined the pro- 
 fession of Art with the pleasures of cheap sport, 
 were occupying the only habitable guest-chambers 
 in the inn. The little dark parlour was lumbered 
 with their guns, their fishing-rods, and their nets, 
 as well as with the paraphernalia of their profession 
 — easels, brushes, mahl-sticks, finished and un- 
 finished canvases, sketch-books, pipes, and cigar- 
 boxes. 
 
 The owners of this flotsam and jetsam had been 
 in possession of the place for weeks, and, as they 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 3 
 
 gave little or no trouble, were satisfied with the 
 simplest fare, and paid liberally enough for their 
 board and accomffiodation, they were in high 
 favour with the grim old landlord and his wife. 
 They had arrived there one day during early 
 summer in a small yawl-rigged yacht, which ' took 
 the ground ' at low water and floated at high tide, 
 and they had lingered on, sailing, boating, fishing, 
 sketching, until the summer was well advanced. 
 
 Canvey Island exists still, and so, curiously 
 enough, does the Lobster Smack ; and even 
 to-day, when the neighbouring shores of Kent 
 and Essex are covered with new colonies and ever- 
 increasing resorts of the tourist, Canvey is practi- 
 cally terra incognita^ and its one house of public 
 entertainment as solitary and desolate as ever. 
 Flat as a map, so intermingled with creeks and 
 runlets that it is difficult to say where water ends 
 and land begins, Canvey Island lies, a shapeless 
 octopus, right under the high ground of Benfleet 
 and Hadleigh, and stretches out muddy and slimy 
 feelers to touch and dabble in the deep water of 
 the flowing Thames. 
 
 Away across the marshes rise the ancient ruins 
 of Hadleigh Castle ; further eastward, the high 
 spire and square tower of Leigh Church ; and 
 still further eastward, the now flourishing town of 
 Southend, called by its enemies Southend-on-Mud. 
 
 I — 2 
 
4 ANDROMEDA 
 
 There is plenty of life yonder, and sounds of life ; 
 the railway has opened up every spot, and in the 
 track of the railway has followed the cheap tourist 
 and the Salvation Army ; but down here on 
 Canvey Island everything is still as silent, as 
 lonely, and as gruesome as it was fifty or a 
 hundred years ago — nay, as it was a thousand 
 years past, ere the walls of Hadleigh had fallen 
 into ruin, and when the loopholes of the castle 
 commanded all approaches of the enemy from the 
 shore or the deep sea. 
 
 In front of the Lobster Smack, under the shade 
 of a large white umbrella, a man sat before an 
 easel, painting. The light came over his shoulder 
 from the north, and he faced the little creek and 
 the river beyond. The sun was sinking over the 
 marshes and the river towards Gravesend, and the 
 air was still baking hot after a blazing summer's day. 
 
 The artist was a man of over forty years of age, 
 with a grayish beard and moustache, and a black 
 patch over his left eye. His face was stern and 
 somewhat cynical, but when he smiled, which he 
 did from time to time, his expression was grimly 
 good-humoured. He wore a loose painting blouse 
 of white linen, thrown over his ordinary suit ; on 
 his head, which was as bald as a billiard-ball, was 
 cocked a wide-awake felt hat, and in his mouth 
 was a short clay pipe. 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 5 
 
 He was painting a portrait, with the careless 
 yet precise touches which showed the skill of the 
 master. The subject of the portrait sat before 
 him in a cane-bottomed chair, and was no other 
 than Mr. Job Endell, the landlord of the inn. 
 
 Nearer seventy than sixty years of age, with 
 bushy white eyebrows, little keen black eyes, a 
 face the colour of mahogany, a low forehead, an 
 eagle beak, and a sharp slit of a mouth, short and 
 broad, with stooping shoulders, short legs, and 
 arms which seemed to have been made for a man 
 twice his size, they were so long and out of pro- 
 portion — such was the landlord. For the rest, he 
 wore a loose flannel shirt, breeches, and long sea- 
 boots, while a red flannel nightcap covered his 
 gray head. 
 
 * Getting on, master .f^' observed Endell, leaning 
 forward and resting his large freckled hands on his 
 knees. ' I don't wish to hurry ye, but I want to 
 go Benfleet ways, and pick up a rabbit.' 
 
 * Keep still another ten minutes,' grunted the 
 painter, ' and I shall have seen as much of your 
 ugly mug as I need to !' He added a few 
 dexterous touches, while the old man grinned ; 
 then he continued, pipe in mouth : ^ If your 
 looks don't libel you, Endell, what an old 
 scoundrel you must have been !' 
 
 The landlord grinned again, not at all off'ended. 
 
6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 'Allays fond o' your joke, Mister Bufton,' he 
 chuckled. * Well, I don't deny I've been a rum 
 un in my time — fond of a glass, and fond of the 
 gels, both the black uns and the white uns. I've 
 taken my fun where I found it, and Fm game to 
 take it still/ 
 
 ' Humph !' the painter returned, looking, with 
 the black patch over his eye, as wicked as his 
 interlocutor. * How long did you say you've 
 been living on this infernal island ?' 
 
 ' Fifteen years come Christmas, sir. I'd just 
 come ashore arter my last voyage to South Ameriky, 
 and, what with aguer and rheumatics and a touch 
 of the yellow fever, I was pretty nigh too played 
 out for living on weevelled biscuit and salt junk ; 
 so, as I'd saved a bit, thinks I, " I'll lock out for 
 some nice little pub where I can settle down." 
 Then a mate of mine says to me, says he, " I 
 knows the werry place to suit ye/' and he brought 
 me here, and I bought the goodwill of the crib, 
 where Tve resided ever since.' 
 
 * Right sort of hole for an old cut-throat like 
 you, Endell.' 
 
 ' There's mor'n me fond on it. Mister Bufton,* 
 returned Endell, with another self-satisfied grin 
 — ' gents from London, like yourself and Mister 
 Somerset. They likes the quiet, and the views, 
 and the sport roundabouts, and the wonderful 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 7 
 
 hair. There ain't such hair in all England as 
 comes in from the sea over them marshes. Why, 
 it set you up in no time, sir ! You're twice the 
 man you was when you come here.' 
 ' D'ye know why I came, old man.^' 
 ' Why, for the good o' your health, o' course ' 
 ' Rot ! It was to dodge the bailiffs and bilk the 
 tax-gatherer. You took in the friendless orphan, 
 you old ruffian, and found him a God-send, though 
 you tried at first to poison him with bad spirits 
 and coarse beer. There,' the speaker added, 
 rising to his feet, * that'll do. You can take 
 away your piratical figure-head to scare the 
 curlews !' 
 
 The landlord jumped up eagerly, and then, 
 coming in front of the canvas, looked at the 
 picture with complete approval. 
 
 * It's werry like me,' he remarked critically. 
 ' I should know it anywheres. What are you 
 going to do with it. Mister Bufton.'* — make a 
 present on it to my old missis .^' 
 
 Bufton cocked his uncovered eye at the landlord, 
 and rapped out a cheerful oath. It is to be noted 
 that this gentleman's general conversation was 
 liberally studded with expletives, the greater part 
 of which we shall take the liberty to suppress. 
 
 * I'm going to keep it, Endell,' he replied, ' as a 
 study for a larger picture — " Davy Jones opening 
 
8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 his Locker," " James Avery the Pirate boarding an 
 East Indiaman," or something of that sort. It'll 
 come in handily whenever I want something in 
 the Cain line, full of blood and murder.' 
 
 ' All right, sir,' said Endell cheerfully, as he 
 trotted off towards the inn door, by the side of 
 which his gun, an old Joe Manton, was lying. 
 
 ' Where's Mr. Somerset ?' the painter called 
 out. 
 
 ' I ain't seen him since the forenoon, sir, when 
 I see him a-going along the sea-wall.' 
 
 * Lazy young devil !' muttered Bufton. 
 
 By this time the old man had shouldered his 
 gun, and was preparing to follow the rough foot- 
 path which wound inland across the island. He 
 had only gone a few yards when he stopped short 
 and looked at the painter. 
 
 ' I forgot to tell ye, sir, our gel's coming back 
 to-night.' 
 
 'Girl.? What girl?' 
 
 ' Our gel,' returned Endell, with a curious 
 smile. ' She waits on the customers when she's 
 here, and makes herself generally useful.' 
 
 ' Your daughter, d'ye mean ?' 
 
 ' No, sir, she's no darter o' mine, though me an' 
 the missis has helped to bring her up. She's been 
 staying at Rayleigh Parsonage with one of the 
 young ladies, learning sewing and reading and 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 9 
 
 writing, and rubbish o' that sort, and now she's 
 a-coming home for good. I know what you'll 
 say when you see her, Mister Bufton. " I wants 
 to paint that gel " — that's what you'll say.' 
 
 * Oh, indeed ! Is she such a wonder ?' 
 
 * I say naught as to that, mister ; all I knows is 
 that she's a strapping lass, with a pair of eyes in 
 her head as bold and fine as ever you see. A 
 painter chap come down here last summer and 
 drew her wonderful, but he wasn't a slap-bang 
 painter like you.' 
 
 As the old man spoke, his eyes fell on the form 
 of a young man, dressed in a light-gray shooting- 
 suit and Panama hat, who was slowly emerging 
 from the marshes. 
 
 ' There's Mister Somerset,' he cried, with a jerk 
 of the elbow. 
 
 Bufton glanced towards the new-comer, and 
 strolling to a form in front of the inn, sat down 
 and awaited his arrival. 
 
 A handsome, powerful-looking fellow, at least 
 fifteen years Bufton's junior, with a frank, open 
 face, a thoughtful forehead, fair hair and light 
 moustache ; he carried a sketch-book in one 
 hand and a camp-stool in the other — this was 
 Charles Somerset, artist and Bohemian, like his 
 friend, but, unhke his friend, a bit of a dandy. 
 
 ' Where the thunder have you been ?' growled 
 
lo ANDROMEDA 
 
 Bufton as the other strolled up — only the word 
 he used was a stronger one than ' thunder.' 
 
 'Right over to the woods above Pitsea/ 
 answered Somerset. * Oh, Billy, such a sunset ! 
 Old Turner never painted one to touch it, and 
 Ruskin would have drivelled pages at the merest 
 glimpse of it !' 
 
 ' The sun hasn't been setting all day, and you've 
 been away since breakfast.' 
 
 ' True, Billy,' returned the young man airily. 
 ' The remark shows your usual perspicacity. To 
 be quite frank, I wanted a girl for a model, and 
 I thought I'd discover if any rural beauty was 
 wasting her sweetness on the desert air of Pitsea.' 
 
 * I thought so,' observed Bufton — * idling as 
 usual, and running after the petticoats !' 
 
 The young man seated himself on the form by 
 his friend's side, and drew out a meerschaum pipe, 
 which he proceeded to light. Then he smiled 
 slyly, and winked at his companion. 
 
 *Well,' said Bufton, answering the smile with 
 another, ' any luck .^* 
 
 Somerset shook his head. 
 
 *No, Billy Bufton, A.R.A.,' was his reply. 
 * Women seem nearly as scarce over there as here 
 — at least, women under the age of fifty. The 
 bashful village maiden of poets and painters 
 doesn't seem to grow among the marshes, and as 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 1 1 
 
 it's nearly six weeks since Tve seen a female 
 countenance, except old Mother Endell's, I'm 
 seriously thinking of chucking it and returning 
 to the beauties of Bloomsbury/ 
 
 ' Look here, youngster, we came down here to 
 paint, not to gallivant ! You lazy beggar ! you ve 
 not done a decent day's work since you arrived, 
 and I've done my '' Crepuscule " and two pot- 
 boilers !' 
 
 The young man laughed gaily. 
 
 ' You're different, Billy — you're a fogey, and an 
 A.R.A. In a year or two, when you're, say, 
 seventy, you'll be a full-blown Academician. I'm 
 a young thing, and need distraction ; what's more, 
 I'll be hanged if I don't have it !' 
 
 ' Bosh !' 
 
 * It may be bosh, Billy, but it's human nature. 
 I can't paint unless I'm inspired !' 
 
 ' You can't paint in any case !' 
 
 * That's rude, Billy ; but I set it down to 
 artistic jealousy. I repeat that I can't paint unless 
 I'm inspired, and to inspire me I need a model T 
 
 'Write for Polly Castle or little Juanna, the 
 organ-grinder's daughter. Either of 'em '11 come 
 fast enough.' 
 
 ' Now you're immoral,' cried Somerset, shrugging 
 his shoulders and proceeding in the same style of 
 banter. 'Besides, I'm sick of your horrid pro- 
 
12 ANDROMEDA 
 
 fessional creatures who hire themselves out at so 
 much an hour, drinks not included. I want fresh- 
 ness, purity, simplicity ; and alas ! Nature doesn't 
 seem to manufacture them down here/ 
 
 The sun now hung like a great crimson ball on 
 the edge of the marshes, filling the air with many- 
 coloured lights and flashing brightly on the faces 
 of the two men. Bufton rose and pocketed his 
 pipe. 
 
 * What rot youVe talking !' he cried. * Why, 
 you couldn't draw a woman if you'd the chance ; 
 you know about as much about the figure as I do 
 about Hebrew ; and, mind you, it's that want of 
 knowledge which plays dicky even with your land- 
 scapes.' 
 
 ' Turner can't draw the figure, Billy, yet Ruskin 
 says ' 
 
 ' Ruskin be ! A man who talks about 
 
 Art without having learned its rudiments, and 
 who thinks a picture is a sermon, or a sermon is a 
 picture ! Take my tip, sonny, and understand 
 that even a landscape painter can't get on without 
 first perfecting himself in figure-drawing, and that 
 the best preparation of all for him is the antique 
 marble and the modern nude !' 
 
 ^ Of course !' cried the other innocently, opening 
 his blue eyes wide. ' That's just what I think, 
 Billy ; and it's the very reason why ' 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 13 
 
 * Oh, hang your chaiF!^ said Bufton, pushing him 
 aside. ' Tm going in to have some grub/ So 
 saying, he entered the inn, followed by his laugh- 
 ing friend. 
 
 The two men who have just been introduced to 
 the reader had been close companions for several 
 years, and, despite the difference in their ages and 
 temperaments, were sincerely attached to each 
 other. They shared a large desolate-looking 
 studio in London, a studio which was the 
 abode of the elder man as well as his place for 
 work. Somerset, though he had very little 
 money, had wealthy relations, with one of whom 
 he lived and boarded. He was not, in the strict 
 sense of the word, an amateur, for he did careful 
 and persistent work as an artist ; but he had 
 some of the amateur^s limitations, and he had not 
 learned to take his profession seriously. 
 
 William Edward Bufton, on the other hand, 
 was one of those born artists who seem to have 
 come into the world brush in hand, with no object 
 in life but to paint pictures. After years of study 
 on the Continent under the best masters, years of 
 the greatest penury and privation, he had mastered 
 all the technique of his craft, and had returned to 
 England, at two-and-thirty years of age, full of 
 the highest hopes and aspirations. 
 
 Of his genius there could be no question ; un- 
 
14 ANDROMEDA 
 
 fortunately for his pocket, it was associated with an 
 eccentricity and an audacity which persistently 
 alienated both critics and picture-dealers. Every- 
 body admitted his power and cleverness, while 
 deploring his methods. He was, in fact, an im- 
 pressionist — at a time when impressionism was an 
 unknown quantity — and his works were as caviare 
 to the general or to the individual purchaser as 
 those of Millet or Courbet or any of his compeers. 
 Nowadays, of course, when pictures by ' the late 
 W. E. Bufton ' are often sold for fabulous prices, it 
 is hard to believe that the man who painted them 
 had, when living, the utmost difficulty in earning 
 his daily bread. 
 
 To further increase his ill-luck, had come, in 
 later years, great personal unpopularity. His 
 opinions were so strong, so strongly expressed, 
 and so destructive of the reputations of many 
 fashionable artists, that he was very generally 
 avoided and disliked. Until Somerset had joined 
 him, he had lived alone, and practically friendless ; 
 and as a consequence of this isolation he had 
 acquired the habit of bursting out at intervals in 
 the wildest and most intemperate manner, drinking 
 deeply, frequently in the worst of company, and 
 often closing the orgy by an appearance in the 
 police-court. 
 
 During his long spells of hard work he drank 
 
ART ON CANVEY ISLAND 
 
 15 
 
 nothing, or almost nothing, but directly the fit 
 was on him, and the moment for one of his 
 * sprees,' as he called them, had come, he lost all 
 self-control, and not unfrequently acted as if he 
 were raving mad. 
 
 * Poor Bufton !' his fellow-artists would say. 
 ' No one can dispute the fact of his talent, but he 
 is such a thorough Bohemian ! What a pity that 
 his is such a wasted life !' 
 
 Those who spoke thus of him only saw the man 
 on his darkest and most ignoble side, and knew 
 nothing of the deep and steadfast devotion with 
 which, during the best part of his life, he studied, 
 thought, and painted. He had the misfortune, as 
 we have explained, to be in advance of his time, 
 both in talent and genius. The hour for his 
 apotheosis had not yet come. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The cloth was laid in the small inn-parlour, an 
 old-fashioned chamber, furnished with a table and 
 two or three wooden chairs, a high chest of oak, 
 which served as a sideboard, a square of carpet, a 
 broken mirror, round the edge of which was 
 draped some flimsy yellow gauze, and two old 
 arm-chairs, one on each side of the fireplace. 
 Two or three wood engravings, cut from news- 
 papers and representing battles by land and sea, 
 were stuck on the walls. In every corner were 
 scattered the personal impedimenta of the two 
 guests, so that it was difficult to navigate the 
 room without tumbling over canvases, paint- 
 boxes, brushes, fishing-rods, or portmanteaus. 
 
 A grim little old woman in a very clean cotton 
 gown was placing knives and forks on the table. 
 Her face was wrinkled and weather-beaten, her 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 17 
 
 eyes keen and shrewd, but her expression not 
 unkindly. She looked up as Bufton entered the 
 room, followed by his companion. 
 
 * Your dinner's nigh ready,' she said. 
 
 * That's right,' cried Bufton. ' You can serve it 
 as soon as you like, mother, and the sooner the 
 better, for I'm infernally hungry. I say, mother,' 
 he added, ^ the youngster is talking about cutting 
 his stick and going back to London.' 
 
 The old woman glanced at Somerset, who had 
 seated himself, humming a tune, on the sill of the 
 open window. 
 
 ' Well, I don't wonder,' she said. ' The 
 Lobster Smack's a poor place for the likes of 
 him ! I've done my best to make ye comfortable, 
 gentlemen, but Canvey isn't London.' 
 
 ' Ah, but you don't know his reason for wanting 
 to go,' continued Bufton, standing with his back 
 to the fireplace. ^ He complains that our society 
 isn't sufficiently attractive, mother, and that he 
 wants something more stimulating.' 
 
 ' Don't believe him,' interrupted Somerset, 
 laughing. ' All I said was that I was hard up for 
 a model.' 
 
 * Just so,' said Bufton, with a wink. * Hard up 
 for a model, with you dying to sit for him !' 
 
 Mrs. Endell glanced from one to the other, and 
 shook her head indignantly. 
 
i8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * YouVe a couple of radicals, alius full of your 
 imperence. Me a model ! IVe heerd tell o* them 
 shameless hussies, and we don't take no count on 
 'em down hereaways ;' and with a toss of her head 
 she left the room. 
 
 A little later the two men sat at table enjoying 
 a plain but well-cooked meal of three courses : 
 flounders caught that morning, a boiled leg of 
 mutton, and a pudding, with cheese and water- 
 cress to follow. Somerset drank ale, served in the 
 tankard ; Bufton, just then on his good behaviour, 
 took only water. 
 
 The simple meal over, the men had lit their 
 pipes, and Mrs. Endell was clearing away, when 
 Bufton cried suddenly : 
 
 * Oh, by the way, mother, who's the young lady 
 who is soon going to join our family party.?' 
 
 The old woman looked at him in wonder,^ 
 peering at him sharply out of her keen dark eyes. 
 
 ' Bless the man ! what's he a-talking about.?' she 
 exclaimed. ' There's no young lady a-coming 'ere 
 as I knows on.' 
 
 ' Well, the " gel," as Job called her—" our 
 gel," who has been staying over at Rayleigh.' 
 
 The woman's expression changed instantly and 
 ominously. Her face darkened, her eyes grew 
 hard, and her mouth was grimly set. 
 
 ' Never you mind about her,' she muttered. 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 19 
 
 ' But we do mind — at least, my friend minds. 
 He's interested, frantically interested, in every- 
 thing feminine/ 
 
 Mrs. Endeirs face grew still darker. 
 
 ' Endeirs a fool — a born fool !* she said. 
 *Whatdidheteiree?* 
 
 'Just what Tve told you — that the young 
 woman may be expected at any moment.' 
 
 ^ She ain't expected neither,' returned the old 
 woman sharply. ' I've bidden her bide away till 
 you've cleared out ; and I suppose you ain't 
 a-going yet awhile ?* 
 
 Somerset, who had been listening in surprise to 
 the conversation, now broke in. 
 
 ' Hang me if I know what you're talking about ! 
 What girl ? What young woman ?' 
 
 ' Never mind,' cried Mrs. Endell ; ' it's only 
 more o' Mr. Bufton's imperence !' 
 
 Suddenly as she spoke she became aware of her 
 husband, who had just appeared at the open door 
 and was looking into the room. She turned on 
 him like a tigress. 
 
 ^ What ha' you been a-saying to the gentlemen 
 about a girl comin' over from Rayleigh, you old 
 thief of the world ? Alius with your silly mouth 
 open, you big baby, and can't keep nothin' to 
 yourself! What ha' you been a-saying?' 
 
 'Nowt,' returned Endell, with a scowl — 'nowt 
 
 2 — 2 
 
20 ANDROMEDA 
 
 but the truth, anyways. Anniedromedy's a-coming 
 home/ 
 
 ' Coming home ?* repeated his wife. ' When?' 
 
 * To-night, for all I knows on,' answered Endell 
 sulkily. ' Or maybe to-morrow. Or maybe the 
 day arter. When she pleases. She's sent a 
 message to say she can't stay over there no 
 more.' 
 
 So saying, with a nod to his guests, the land- 
 lord disappeared, followed quickly by his wife, 
 who seemed curiously excited. They retired to 
 a room beyond the desolate bar, and their voices 
 could still be heard in the distance, now raised 
 angrily, now sunk in whispers. 
 
 Left alone, the two friends looked at one 
 another. 
 
 * There's a mystery here, youngster,' said 
 Bufton. 
 
 ' There's a gal, at any rate,' returned Somerset. 
 * He called her '* Anniedromedy." Sounds rather 
 Greek — Perseus and Andromeda, you know.' 
 
 ' And Mother Endell for the dragon !' growled 
 Bufton ; and walking towards the fireplace, he 
 took a book from the mantelpiece, sat down in 
 one of the arm-chairs, and began to read. 
 
 It was now quite dark. The last dim gleams of 
 the almost tropical sunset had faded from the 
 western sky, and over the horizon, on a bed of 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 21 
 
 dim greenish daffodil, the summer moon had risen, 
 growing more and more luminous every moment, 
 as twilight deepened into night. Gazing through 
 the open window, through which the air stole 
 warm and heavy with the scent of sea-grass and 
 weed, Somerset saw the creek filled almost to over- 
 flowing with the spring tide and glancing like 
 mother-of-pearl in the brightening moon-rays. 
 Black against the sky loomed the silhouette of the 
 little yawl, now floating and swinging at anchor, 
 and out beyond, in the shadow for the most part, 
 but with here and there a glimmer of reflected 
 moonlight, lay the Great River. All was com- 
 pletely still, save for the occasional cry of a curlew 
 passing onward to join the flocks at rest on the 
 marshes till low water. Brighter and brighter 
 grew the moon, rising higher in the heavens, and 
 shedding further ablutions of silver., light, till all 
 the skies seemed flooded with her beams, while the 
 shimmering tide crept closer and closer to wash 
 her radiant feet. 
 
 ' By Jove !' cried Somerset, enraptured. * Come 
 and look at the moonlight, Billy ; it's simply 
 wonderful !^ 
 
 Bufton did not stir. 
 
 * Shut up, and let me read,' he muttered, settling 
 himself in his chair. 
 
 ' Nonsense !' persisted the young man. * Come 
 
22 ANDROMEDA 
 
 for a stroll. It's a positive sin to be indoors on 
 such an evening/ 
 
 Bufton made no reply. As a matter of fact, he 
 was tired and weary, for he had been hard at work 
 in the open air all day ; for the rest, he was, like 
 many another of his class, more or less insensible 
 to the charms of Nature on the sentimental side. 
 His genius was practical and creative, not con- 
 sciously emotional. It has been much the same 
 with many great artists — with Turner, for example, 
 and with Millais. Though their work was highly 
 imaginative, their personality was somewhat com- 
 monplace. 
 
 It was very different with Somerset. The 
 blood of five-and-twenty was warm in his veins, 
 and he was alive to all tender influences ; nor had 
 the artistic sense deadened, as it not unfrequently 
 does, his susceptibility to the glamour of the world 
 surrounding him. So it happened that, without 
 another word of remonstrance, he seized his hat 
 and wandered out into the open air. 
 
 He had not exaggerated when he had spoken 
 of the wonderful beauty of the night. Troops of 
 strange stars had gathered now in the wake of the 
 luminous moon in the west, and overhead the 
 Milky Way was throbbing, sown thick with lights 
 as a summer field with cowslips and daisies. All 
 the heaven was alive, and its rapturous brightness 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 23 
 
 made the earth beneath seem blacker and blacker, 
 save where the water was mother-o'-pearled with 
 moonlight and starlight, and edged with ripples 
 of argent foam. 
 
 Standing in the shadow of the old inn, Somerset 
 looked across the creek towards the river. Far 
 away across it dim red lights were twinkling on 
 the coast of Kent. Shadows went and came. 
 Then there was a deep sea sound from the 
 distance, and a black tug went by, churning up 
 the phosphorescence with its paddle-wheels and 
 dragging behind it the blacker shadow of a great 
 ship. Somerset stood and listened, as the sound 
 grew fainter and fainter, dying away up the river. 
 
 Familiar with every portion of the island, he 
 wandered inland among the innumerable creeks, 
 every one of which was full and overflowing with 
 the tide. Warm summer air, scented with the 
 breath of the sea-lavender, was wafted to him 
 from the marshes and half-flooded saltings. A 
 heron passed slowly overhead, with that strong 
 waft of wing which is so swift yet seems so 
 leisurely. Far away towards the Flats of Leigh 
 sounded the faint, troubled cries of the curlews. 
 
 Presently he gained the sea-wall, which protects 
 the central marshes from the full force of tide and 
 sea, and climbing up on its loose chalk and shingle, 
 strolled slowly onward in the direction of the open 
 
24 ANDROMEDA 
 
 sea. The moon was now at his back, but its rays 
 ran before him, now flashing like a torch on the 
 water, now dipped in momentary gloom. On 
 either side of the wall the water was slipping and 
 murmuring ; it was real sea-water now, salt with 
 the brine of ocean, and strong as that flowing 
 round the lightship at the distant Nore. Eastward 
 all was shadowy, but the lights burnt here and 
 there, many moving slowly up stream. Away to 
 the south-east the river broadened into an estuary, 
 bordered on the one side by the dark shores of 
 Essex, and on the other by the low-lying hills of 
 Kent. 
 
 The night was sultry as it was still. Over the 
 land, the water, the marshes and saltings, hung a 
 warm white vapour, the very breath of the sleep- 
 ing earth. 
 
 Slowly and dreamily, pursuing his own thoughts, 
 the young man wandered on, and at every step he 
 took the loneliness grew greater, the silence intenser. 
 At last he sat down on the side of the sea-wall, lit 
 his pipe, and resigned himself to meditation. 
 
 Can we guess his thoughts .^^ Let us try. 
 
 His imagination, as was inevitable, seeing the 
 nature of his education, was haunted by master- 
 pieces he had seen and books that he had read. 
 To him moonlight meant Art and Poetry, and Art 
 and Poetry meant shapes of marble, fair painted 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 25 
 
 forms, and scraps of enchanted verse. Sitting 
 there alone, he murmured to himself the witching 
 lines of Wordsworth, only just come to his rightful 
 kingdom in the realms of song. ' The world is 
 too much with us !' he repeated, and as he did so 
 he saw the sea ' baring its bosom to the moon,' as 
 in the poem, and continued : 
 
 * " Great Lord ! I'd rather be 
 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, 
 
 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
 Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
 
 Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea. 
 And hear old Triton blow his wreathM horn !" ' 
 
 Yes, that was his fancy, the fancy of so many 
 that are young and glad, and who find the world 
 bereft of the old sweet supernaturalism. He 
 longed to be a Greek — to live in a land haunted 
 by the beautiful shapes of fancy, the wondrous 
 shapes of old mythology ; and yet there he sat, a 
 tired Londoner, bored to death, and longing to 
 get back to the busy whirl of life. It was the 
 nineteenth century, not the morning of the world ; 
 it was Canvey Island, and not ancient Greece. 
 The gods and goddesses had flown for ever, and 
 even Puck and the quaint forms of fairyland had 
 vanished too. 
 
 Suddenly his heart leapt within him, and he 
 started in surprise, almost in terror. 
 
 Under the sea-wall, on the side on which he 
 
26 ANDROMEDA 
 
 had stretched himself, lay a creek of moonlit 
 water ; across it, almost fifty yards away, rose a 
 grass - covered slope leading to shadowy sea- 
 meadows ; and suddenly, moving rapidly in the 
 water below him, and floating up the creek, he 
 saw — what? Did his eyes deceive him? Was 
 he mad or dreaming ? Of course it was impos- 
 sible, but it seemed to his excited vision like the 
 form of some living being ! Something white like 
 marble ! Arms stretched out softly, and oaring 
 the still stream ; a form submerged, yet dimly 
 shining through the water as it swam along ; and 
 above, the moonlight shining down upon it, a face 
 set in black hair, which fell like seaweed over 
 ivory shoulders ! 
 
 He rubbed his eyes in amazement ; then he 
 looked again. The vision was still there ! 
 
 As he looked, the shape turned with a sound 
 like human laughter, and began to swim slowly 
 back the way it had come. It passed beneath 
 him, gleaming in the moonlight. 
 
 He trembled and held his breath ! He was not 
 dreaming. What he saw was real, and the shape 
 that was swimming past him in the warm summer 
 night was the shape of a Woman ! 
 
 Woman or goddess ? A human creature like 
 himself, or some strange visitor from the haunted 
 realms of fancy ? His mind had been full of the 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 27 
 
 old superstition ; he had been dreaming of ancient 
 Hellas, and now it seemed as if his wish had been 
 granted, and some strange naiad or sea-maiden 
 had come from the darkness to rebuke his un- 
 belief. 
 
 The thought was only momentary, and Somerset 
 was not poet enough to deceive himself long in 
 a matter to be easily determined by the senses. 
 Almost instantly he began to realize the humour 
 as well as the poetry of the situation, and it was 
 with difficulty he suppressed an amazed whistle. 
 The plain prose of the affair instantly appeared to 
 him. A human being, to all intents and purposes 
 of the feminine sex, was having a bath by moon- 
 light. Who the deuce could she be ? 
 
 As he asked himself the question, the vision 
 disappeared round a bend of the sea-wall. Quite 
 certain that his proximity had not been suspected, 
 Somerset rose softly to his feet, and crept forward 
 in a stooping position in the direction she had 
 taken. His conduct, of course, was not to be 
 excused ; as a moral young man, he ought to 
 have rushed away in the opposite direction ; but 
 as veracious chroniclers, we are bound to record 
 the truth, that curiosity prevailed over propriety, 
 and he wanted to discover who the person was 
 and whence she came. Besides, he was still 
 affected to some extent by the old superstitious 
 
28 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ideas which had been running through his mind. 
 If she was a Spirit after all — a Goddess of the 
 Sea, a Water-fairy ! 
 
 Determined to solve the mystery, he crept to 
 the bend where the swimmer had disappeared, 
 and, crouching down, looked stealthily along the 
 creek. 
 
 At that moment, to his annoyance, the moon 
 was hidden by a cloud, and there was comparative 
 darkness. He strained his eyes, but saw nothing, 
 though he heard, or seemed to hear, a sound as of 
 something splashing gently in the water. Suddenly, 
 with lightning brilliance, the moon swept out again 
 into the open heaven, and then, O wonder ! O 
 dreams of loveliness and Hellas ! he saw another 
 vision which filled his soul with awe and admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Standing eighty or ninety yards away, on a 
 small grassy promontory communicating with the 
 sea-wall, was a form like a statue of white marble, 
 dripping with silver dewdrops and glimmering in 
 the full rays of the moon. Psyche emerging from 
 her bath, Venus Aphrodite rising from the sea, 
 could not have startled him more. To paraphrase 
 the words of the sweetest of all English love 
 poems, Somerset 
 
 * Grew faint — 
 She stood, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint !' 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 29 
 
 Yes, it was no dream, but a strange and 
 startling reality. He could not discover, of 
 course, in the dimness of the moonlight what 
 the face was like, whether it was that of a girl 
 or a woman advanced in years ; but the form was 
 tall, slight, and beautiful, and seemed without a 
 flaw. 
 
 She was bending slightly forward, half-covered, 
 ^ like a mermaid in seaweed,' by her dripping 
 hair, from which she was wringing the water with 
 her hands ; and her face was averted, while her 
 eyes seemed to be searching the distant sky. She 
 paused and listened. The dull sound of the 
 heavy paddles of a distant steamboat broke upon 
 the night, and then, suddenly, the hoarse cry of a 
 heron sailing past, and startled by her presence. 
 She laughed lightly, ran up into the shadow of 
 the sea-wall, and disappeared from sight. 
 
 Scarcely knowing what to do, Somerset de- 
 liberated. It was quite clear to him now that 
 he was taking undue advantage of an accident, 
 and that he had no right to investigate the 
 mystery further. The person, whoever she was, 
 had no suspicion whatever that any * peeping 
 Tom ' had been watching her ; and if she did 
 know she would, of course, be naturally indignant. 
 Yet who on earth could she be, taking a sea-bath 
 at that hour, and in a place so solitary f Save for 
 
30 ANDROMEDA 
 
 a few straggling shepherds' huts, the island was 
 almost untenanted, and the place where he stood 
 was the loneliest place of all the island. He stood 
 hesitating, and wondered and wondered. 
 
 All was now silent. The vision did not re- 
 appear. The moon shone on, the stars twinkled, 
 but that was all. 
 
 At last, eager to solve the mystery, Somerset 
 decided to stroll on along the sea-wall ; but this 
 time, determined to give the stranger, if she 
 should be anywhere in hearing, due warning of 
 his approach, he whistled as he went — whistled 
 the gay tune of a nigger melody then very 
 popular, and paused from time to time to look 
 carelessly at the stars. His chivalry and delicacy 
 were successful : he saw no more of the shining 
 vision, and he was beginning to feel that it might 
 have been all a mere fancy, when he heard a faint 
 sound like a splash of oars, and saw shooting away 
 along a distant part of the creek a small boat, 
 rowed rapidly by a solitary form. He was too 
 far away to distinguish whether the rower was 
 man or woman, and before he approached nearer 
 both boat and form had shot into the shadows 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Although the mystery now seemed satisfactorily 
 explained, in so far that it was clear that what he 
 had seen was nothing supernatural, he was still 
 
A VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 31 
 
 greatly interested and puzzled, and, eager to retail 
 his adventure to the companion of his solitude, he 
 hastened back to the inn. 
 
 He found Bufton dozing in the arm-chair by 
 the fire. 
 
 ' Oh, Billy, such an adventure !* he cried, closing 
 the door behind him and facing his friend with 
 flushed cheek and flashing eyes. ' I've seen ' 
 
 * What have you seen, you moon-struck idiot?' 
 returned the cynic. 
 
 * A vision ! an apparition ! Billy, Tm a jolly 
 young Greek and not a Cockney ! And this isn't 
 Essex, it's a part of ancient Hellas !' 
 
 ^ Eh ? You've been drinking I' 
 
 * I have — at the very fountain of the Muses ! 
 And then — oh, Billy, '' out of the Baths of Night 
 came the divine one, naked and beautiful !*' ' 
 
 ' What ?' growled Bufton. ^ Whom are you 
 talking about?' 
 
 ' Aphrodite ! Astarte !' answered Somerset, 
 smiling delightedly. ^ Venus Anadyomene ! the 
 Goddess of Canvey Island !' 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 ENTER ANDROMEDA. 
 
 At first, of course, Bufton thought that his friend 
 was merely romancing, in the light-hearted manner 
 of youth. To convince him that this was not the 
 case, the young man described his adventure fully, 
 expatiating on all the details. 
 
 ' You d been dining, youngster,' observed Bufton, 
 when he had heard everything. 
 
 ' My dear Billy, Td only had a pint of bitter 
 ale, and I was as sober as a judge. I saw exactly 
 what I have described, and am entirely at a loss 
 what to make of it. Save for the circumstance 
 of the boat, I should be inclined to think that the 
 whole thing was supernatural ; but goddesses and 
 water-spirits don't go about in boats, and I'm 
 convinced that what I saw was flesh and blood.' 
 
 ' Rum affair,' muttered Bufton, ' if you re not 
 lying/ 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 33 
 
 *rm telling you the simple truth. Who the 
 deuce could the person have been?' 
 
 'Young bargee, perhaps, having a bath by 
 moonlight.' 
 
 ' Absurd !* cried Somerset indignantly. * I tell 
 you it was a woman.' 
 
 * Female labourer from one of the marsh farms, 
 having her annual wash !' 
 
 * There are no farms in that direction and no 
 females. It's the most desolate and out-of-the- 
 way part of all the island. Suppose we call in old 
 Endell and consult him.^ He may be able to 
 explain matters.' 
 
 ' Endell's busy,' said Bufton, nodding his head 
 towards the room-door, through which there came 
 the murmur of loud laughter and gruff voices. A 
 party of men from Gravesend had landed from a 
 barge, and, joined by some fishermen from Leigh, 
 was thronging the tap-room which adjoined the 
 bar. 
 
 * I should keep Endell out of it for the present,' 
 continued Bufton. ' He 11 only think we're chaff- 
 ing, as usual. Wait till morning, youngster ; 
 your wits will be clearer, and we may hear some- 
 thing.' 
 
 So it was decided, and presently the two fi-iends 
 retired to rest in their rooms upstairs, two small 
 but habitable chambers which the old woman of 
 
 3 
 
34 ANDROMEDA 
 
 the house had made fairly comfortable. Long 
 after they had retired the noise continued to come 
 from below, but at last the last wayfarer was 
 thrust out, the door closed and bolted, and silence 
 reigned in the Lobster Smack. 
 
 Too excited to rest, Somerset remained for 
 hours en deshabilU, smoking and gazing out into 
 the night. The window of his room commanded 
 the little haven and the dark reaches of the 
 adjoining river. He watched dark ships passing 
 to and fro, with strange, ghostly sounds in the 
 darkness ; barges and fishing-boats drifting down 
 with the tide ; lights flashing and moving ; and 
 over all the moon, still radiant, rising higher and 
 higher towards the zenith. But his thoughts 
 were elsewhere — far away in the old world of 
 Fable, or down among the lonely marshes where 
 his dream of the Past seemed to have assumed a 
 human form and likeness. 
 
 At last, tired and weary, he slipped into bed. 
 He was just dropping off, when he heard feet 
 moving and voices murmuring outside his bedroom 
 door. 
 
 * Quiet !' said a voice which he recognised as 
 that of his landlord — ' quiet, or you'll wake the 
 gentlemen.' 
 
 Another voice replied in a whisper ; it seemed 
 too clear for that of the old dame, but that, 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 35 
 
 Somerset thought, was only his fancy. The next 
 moment he was fast asleep, dreaming that he was 
 Adonis the hunter, or some such happy creature 
 of old days, chasing the Goddess of Love and 
 Beauty through the moonlit groves. Again and 
 again he came near and was about to seize her in 
 his arms, but again and again she vanished laugh- 
 ing, despite his prayers and entreaties. 
 
 He awoke very early, as was his custom, but 
 early as he was, the sun was up before him, 
 preparing the glories of a splendid summer 
 morning. He slipped on his clothes, threw a 
 towel on his arm, and went downstairs. No one 
 was as yet astir, for neither Job Endell nor his 
 wife belonged to the class which rises with the 
 lark. He peeped into the tap-room and bar ; 
 they were dark, and smelt unpleasantly of the 
 fumes of beer and spirits. Unbolting the door, 
 he slipped out into the fresh air, which was 
 already warm with sunshine, only the sun was 
 still low in the east. 
 
 A stroll of a quarter of a mile brought him to 
 a little inlet of the river, where he was accustomed 
 to take his morning bath. It was about mid-tide, 
 and the water, though brackish, was clear and 
 refreshing. After a plunge and a short swim he 
 returned to land, dressed, and went for a sharp 
 walk along the sea-wall. 
 
 3—2 
 
36 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Curiosity brought him again to the scene of his 
 last night*s adventure. How difFerent it looked 
 by daylight, bereft of the glamour cast by moon 
 and stars ! The water in the creek was low, and 
 the banks of hard mud looked black and ugly. 
 All around on the marshes hung folds of damp 
 mist, melting away with the warmth of the 
 morning sun. 
 
 He leaped down from the wall and stood on the 
 tiny promontory where the Vision had stood on 
 the previous night. It was covered with coarse 
 sea-grass and loose stones, with here and there a 
 tuft of white candywort and a flower of the 
 dandelion. He stooped down and, Crusoe-like, 
 saw, or fancied he saw, marks like the print of 
 naked feet ! 
 
 Then, still greatly puzzled, he walked back to 
 the inn. By this time the landlady was up and 
 astir. The front-door and the lower windows 
 were wide open, and he saw Mrs. Endell moving 
 about within, tidying the sitting-room. He sat 
 down on the seat in front of the inn, and lit his 
 pipe. 
 
 As he did so, his attention was attracted to a 
 small rowing-boat, stranded on the banks of the 
 haven — a canoe-like boat with two light paddles 
 lying in it, and its name, the Seamew^ painted in 
 white letters on the stern. It was drawn up close 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 37 
 
 to the tiny dingy of the yawl, which was anchored 
 out in the muddy bay. 
 
 ' Hullo !' shouted a voice, and looking up he 
 saw the head of Bufton projecting from his bed- 
 room window. 
 
 * Hullo, Billy ! Coming down ?' 
 Bufton nodded. 
 
 'I say,' continued Somerset, pointing to the 
 rowing-boat, ' whom does that belong to ? It 
 wasn't here yesterday.' 
 
 * Your Venus, perhaps,' returned Bufton, grin- 
 ning cynically and disappearing. 
 
 ' ril question the old man,' muttered Somerset, 
 rising and preparing to enter the house. He had 
 just crossed the threshold when he heard the land- 
 lord's voice in the bar talking eagerly to someone. 
 He pushed the tap-room door open, and strolled in. 
 
 The window had been thrown open, the fumes 
 of overnight had disappeared, and close to the 
 window, looking out, stood a young girl, at 
 whose unexpected appearance Somerset paused in 
 amazement, his surprise being twofold — surprise 
 at finding there a strange young person of the 
 opposite sex, and surprise at her wonderful 
 personal beauty. 
 
 Hair as black as night, yet shot through where 
 the sunlight struck it with chestnut gleams ; black 
 eyebrows which nearly met over the forehead, 
 
38 ANDROMEDA 
 
 giving to her face in moments of passion a 
 strangely troubled and almost sinister expression 
 of power and intensity ; eyes large and gray, shot 
 with agate rays ; a perfect Grecian nose, with 
 nostrils delicately dilated ; a full ripe mouth, 
 slightly open and disclosing ivory teeth ; and an 
 alabaster complexion, darkly tinted on the cheeks 
 with the sunny ruddiness of a ripe pear. Such 
 was the girl's face and head, and the form matched 
 them in comeliness, from the white throat to the 
 finger-tips, and thence to the shapely feet. Her 
 whole appearance gave an extraordinary picture 
 of youth and strength, combined with agility and 
 grace. 
 
 Her dress was that of a peasant girl or fisher- 
 man's daughter : a dark petticoat of blue serge, 
 reaching to just above the ankles; above it a white 
 jacket or short gown of cotton, open at the 
 throat ; coarse woollen stockings and rough leather 
 shoes. Her black hair was gathered up in a knot, 
 and secured by a net or snood. 
 
 As Somerset approached her, she looked at him 
 with the utmost self-possession and the faintest 
 shadow of a smile. 
 
 * I beg your pardon,' he murmured awkwardly. 
 * I — I was looking for Endell.' 
 
 As he spoke the landlord appeared behind the 
 bar. 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 
 
 39 
 
 * Now then, Anniedromedy/ he said, ' don't 
 stand idling there ; the missis wants ye.' 
 
 ' All right,' answered the girl, in a clear ringing 
 voice, and with another glance at Somerset, a 
 Parthian glance which met him full in the eyes, 
 she passed him by and left the room. 
 
 Utterly amazed, Somerset stood for some 
 moments looking after her ; then, glancing towards 
 the bar, he met the crafty eyes of the landlord, 
 who was leaning over and watching him keenly. 
 
 * Who's that?' asked the young man. 
 'That?' repeated Endell, with his stereotyped 
 
 grin. *Our gel. Anniedromedy we calls her, 
 and so she were christened.' 
 
 ' Curious name,' murmured Somerset. 
 
 * You're right, sir,' said the old man confi- 
 dentially, ' and she's a curious gel. But she's a 
 spanker, for all that, ain't she ? With a wonderful 
 pair of eyes in her figure-head, eh ? But, harkee, 
 governor,' he continued, sinking his voice : ' don't 
 let the missis catch you looking at her and 
 admiring of her! She watches her as a cat 
 watches a kitten, the old woman does. She 
 won't let even me be extra civil.' 
 
 ' Who is she, though ? Surely not your servant ?' 
 
 * Well, no, not exactly that, though she's got to 
 make herself useful. She helps my missis a bit 
 when she's in the humour, does Anniedromedy ; 
 
40 ANDROMEDA 
 
 but, bless ye ! she's a queer little devil, and does 
 pretty much as she pleases.' 
 
 * I didn't know she was here,' said Somerset, 
 more and more puzzled. ' When did she come ?^ 
 
 ' She came last night, sir, arter you was a-bed. 
 The old woman didn't expect her, but I did.' 
 
 Somerset started. A new light flashed suddenly 
 into his mind as he exclaimed : 
 
 * I've got it ! She came in that boat which is 
 lying on the shore in front of the inn. Am I right V 
 
 ' Sure enough, you're right,' was the reply. 
 ' She rowed herself over from Leigh at high 
 water, and dropped in like a ghost when me and 
 the missis was at supper.' 
 
 Somerset's next remark — or, rather, question — 
 was a peculiar one. Leaning eagerly across to 
 Endell, he asked in a low voice : 
 
 ' Can she — can she swim ?' 
 
 The old man opened his eyes, and then, tickled 
 by the question, burst into a hoarse chuckle. 
 
 ' Now, that's the rummest question ever I 
 heerd !' he cried. 
 
 ' Answer it, for all that' 
 
 ' Oh, I'll answer it straight enough,' returned 
 the landlord. ' Swim ? Lor' bless you ! she can 
 swim like a duck, she can, and slip under water 
 like an eel. There ain't much she can't do in that 
 line, mister, or in the boating line, or the sailing line. 
 
ENTER ANMSQi^^*^ 41 
 
 or the fishing line. She's half mermaid and half 
 able seaman, is our gel/ 
 
 At this moment the voice of Mrs. Endell, 
 calling ' Job ! Job Endell !' in peremptory tones, 
 summoned him away. He winked and touched 
 his lips significantly. 
 
 ' Mum's the word, sir,' he said, ' especially afore 
 the old woman.' 
 
 The effect on Somerset of that meeting with the 
 young girl and of Endell's mysterious hints con- 
 cerning her was somewhat peculiar. Instead of 
 hastening to pour his news into Bufton's ears, as 
 was generally his custom, he became suddenly 
 taciturn and uncommunicative. While they were 
 breakfasting together in the parlour, waited on as 
 usual by Mrs. Endell, he ate and drank like a 
 man in a brown study, fidgeted in his chair, and 
 once or twice began whistling a tune. 
 
 * What the devil's the matter with you .?' de- 
 manded Bufton, who had been observing him for 
 some time quietly. 
 
 'Eh.? What.f^' answered Somerset, starting. 
 * Nothing's the matter. We're going to have 
 another lovely day,' he added irrelevantly. 
 
 There was a long pause, Bufton began making 
 his preparations for work in the open air, while 
 Somerset sat smoking on the sill of the open 
 window, 
 
42 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * What are you going to be up to to-day ?' 
 asked Bufton presently. 
 
 The young man did not seem to hear, and the 
 question was repeated. 
 
 ^ Perseus and Andromeda/ murmured Somerset, 
 as if to himself. 
 
 ' Eh? What the deuce do you mean.^' 
 
 * Nothing, Billy, only ' 
 
 He paused, and met Bufton's astonished gaze ; 
 then, as if suddenly tickled by the humour of the 
 situation, he began laughing and singing the follow- 
 ing doggerel : 
 
 * Anniedromedy's her name, 
 
 And England is her nation, 
 Canvey is her dwelling-place, 
 And blessed be Creation !' 
 
 ' Hang me if I can make you out !' cried Bufton. 
 
 ' Hang me if I can make myself out !' said 
 Somerset, laughing. * It's this way, Billy : I'm 
 transmogrified, as I told you last night, into a 
 jolly young Greek of the prehistoric period. This 
 isn't Canvey Island at all — it's Hellas. Old 
 EndeU's a King of the Isles, and Mother Endell's 
 a Sybilline oracle. As for you ' 
 
 * Look here,' exclaimed Bufton, strolling over to 
 him and putting a strong hand on his shoulder, 
 ' either you've made some new discovery or you're 
 going off your head !' 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 43 
 
 ' Both, Billy — both/ was the instantaneous reply. 
 ' IVe made a new discovery, and Vm going off my 
 head. So would you,' he added emphatically, * if 
 you'd seen what I have seen.' 
 
 * Well, what have you seen, you moon-calf.?' 
 
 * First you must swear, by all the gods, to keep 
 my secret.' 
 
 * All right,' said Bufton, grinning. 
 
 * Well, then, hear and wonder. The vision 
 that I saw last night has become a reality this 
 morning. My Venus Anadyomene has clothed 
 herself in modern raiment, and is here — here in 
 the Lobster Smack. She came hither in yonder 
 shallop, as I suspected. She arrived at hush of 
 night, when you were snoring. I have seen her ; 
 I have spoken to her. Her name is Andromeda 
 — or Anniedromedy in the Doric of the vulgar — 
 and oh, Billy, I adore her to distraction !' 
 
 Whereupon he proceeded to explain in detail 
 what had taken place — his meeting with the 
 strange young girl, and his subsequent conversa- 
 tion with the landlord. Bufton listened quietly, 
 and then observed, with a shrug of the shoulders : 
 
 ' I see — Job Endell's " gel," as he called her. 
 A kitchen wench — a maid-of-all-work ! Your 
 swan turns out to be a goose, as usual.' 
 
 * Substitute the word " duck," and Til accept 
 your description. Wait till you've seen her, 
 
44 ANDROMEDA 
 
 that*s all. But mind, mine is the first call. If 
 she sits to anyone, she sits to me.* 
 
 * Take my advice, and, whoever the girl is, let 
 her alone,' said Bufton. * If you don't, I shall have 
 to warn her that you're a young fool who falls in 
 love with every petticoat he sees. We're down 
 here to study, not to gallivant, and, by Jove ! if 
 you don't behave yourself, I'll soon put a stop to 
 your philandering.' 
 
 So saying, Bufton sallied forth, carrying with 
 him his portable easel and other materials for 
 sketching. He was soon busy at work under the 
 shade of his umbrella. As for Somerset, he 
 seemed at a loss what to do. He fidgeted over 
 his sketch-book, toyed with his colours and 
 brushes, went in and out of the room, ever with 
 both eyes and ears alert towards the recesses of the 
 inn where the mysterious maid was hidden. At 
 last he joined his fi*iend outside, and sitting down 
 on the form in front of the inn, placed his sketch- 
 book on his knees and began drawing. 
 
 The day advanced, and there was no sign what- 
 ever of the new-comer. 
 
 From time to time Mrs. Endell appeared at the 
 windows or at the door, while Job was busy in 
 the bar, waiting for customers who never came. 
 The day was close and sultry, and a mist of 
 mingled sunshine and vapour hung over the 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 45 
 
 marshes. Beyond the little haven, steam-boats, 
 ships and barges passed to and fro continually on 
 the Great River, but the sounds they brought with 
 them only made the silence which followed the 
 deeper and intenser. 
 
 At mid-day the two friends partook of a frugal 
 lunch in the open air, for indoors the heat was 
 positively unbearable. Job brought out a small 
 wooden table, and placed it in the shadow of the 
 inn, Mrs. Endell laid the cloth and brought out 
 the meal — cold mutton and salad, with bread and 
 cheese. All the time Somerset kept his eyes on 
 the door, and made frequent excuses to run into 
 the house and up to his bedroom. Still there was 
 no sign of Andromeda. 
 
 ' This is beastly !' he muttered, scowling at his 
 companion. * Where, oh where is my Divinity f 
 
 Bufton grinned mockingly. 
 
 'Your Divinity is a female of the name of 
 Harris,* he said, alluding to a well-known creation 
 of the immortal ' Boz.' ' I don't believe there's 
 no sich person.' 
 
 His back was towards the door of the inn, 
 which Somerset sat facing. Suddenly he saw the 
 young man's face change and brighten. 
 
 * Don't you ? Look there !' 
 
 Turning quickly on his seat, Bufton saw at the 
 inn door the very individual whose existence he 
 
46 ANDROMEDA 
 
 had been doubting. She was standing on the 
 threshold, shading her eyes with her hands and 
 gazing across the haven in the direction of the 
 river. She was apparently quite unconscious of, 
 or indifferent to, the presence of the two men. 
 
 Somerset, however, saw his opportunity. Hold- 
 ing up a tankard which he had just emptied, he 
 knocked vigorously on the table with the handle 
 of his knife. The girl turned, nodded, and came 
 towards him. 
 
 * Yes, sir ?' she said quietly. 
 
 * I was summoning Mrs. Endell,' he replied, 
 looking up into her face with a self-assured smile. 
 * The fact is, I should like another half-pint 
 of ale.' 
 
 The girl nodded again, took the tankard, and 
 ran into the house. The eyes of the two 
 men met. 
 
 ' Well ?* exclaimed Somerset triumphantly. 
 
 ^ Is that the girl ?' said Bufton. 
 
 ' That, sir,' replied Somerset, with assumed 
 pomposity, ' is the individual whom you have 
 coarsely designated Mrs. Harris ! Tell me 
 honestly what you think of her. If you are any 
 judge whatever, which I doubt, of the female form 
 divine * 
 
 * Shut up !' growled the other, as the girl re- 
 appeared, carrying in her hand the replenished 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 47 
 
 tankard, which she placed down before Somerset. 
 The young man seized the tankard, and, bowing 
 smilingly to the girl, raised it to his lips, still with 
 his eyes fixed on hers. With perfect self-posses- 
 sion she returned his gaze, glanced quietly at 
 Bufton, and then, turning carelessly away, walked 
 down to the shore, and began examining the 
 rowing-boat, which was drawn up high above 
 water-mark. 
 
 ' " Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will 
 pledge with mine !" ' murmured Somerset, with a 
 wink. ' Your health, Anniedromedy.' 
 
 He had sunk his voice to a whisper, so that it 
 was impossible she could have heard him, but as 
 he pledged her, she looked towards him with an 
 amused smile. He waved the tankard towards 
 her, and she turned laughingly away. 
 
 ' Isn't she splendid ?' said Somerset. 
 
 * She's not bad,' replied Bufton. * Mind what I 
 said to you. She's a good little girl, I'm sure, and 
 you've got to let her alone. If you don't ' 
 
 He was interrupted by Mrs. Endell, who now 
 came from the inn bearing some fruit — apples and 
 oranges — on a willow-pattern plate. As she placed 
 them down on the table she glanced towards the 
 girl with an expression the reverse of amiable, and 
 then at Somerset, who sat smiling into her 
 face. 
 
48 ANDROMEDA 
 
 'Shall I get you some more ale, mister?* she 
 asked, frowning. 
 
 * Thank you,' replied Somerset ; * the young lady 
 has already done me that honour/ 
 
 * Chaffing, as usual,' muttered the old woman. 
 
 * There's no young ladies here, mister. If you 
 mean the lass yonder, she's no call to wait upon 
 you — that's my business. You let her alone, and 
 she'll let you alone ; that's my advice to you.* 
 
 ' Come, come, mother, don't lose your temper,' 
 cried Somerset, still with his provoking smile. 
 
 ' I ain't losing my temper neither !' returned 
 Mrs. Endell. 'But it's no use talking to you, 
 mister ; you're too full of your imperence.' She 
 turned to Bufton and addressed herself to him. 
 
 * You see, sir, she's under my care, and I've got to 
 look arter her.' 
 
 *A relation, I suppose?' asked the elder 
 man. 
 
 ' Well, not 'xactly a relation ; but I knows her 
 people and she's under my charge, so I'll take it 
 as a favour, sir, if you'll remember that. She's no 
 call to be hereaway s at all just now. I was hoping 
 she'd stay at Rayleigh till you and your friend had 
 gone.' 
 
 So saying, with another grim look at Somerset, 
 whose sentiments towards young persons of her 
 own sex she evidently distrusted, she sailed back 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 49 
 
 to the inn. On the threshold she paused and 
 called out : ' Anniedromedy !' 
 
 The girl looked up from the boat over which 
 she had been bending. Mrs. Endell pointed into 
 the house, as if to imply that the girl was wanted 
 there, and disappeared across the threshold. 
 
 * You heard what the old lady said ?' observed 
 Bufton. ' She has evidently the most perfect 
 comprehension of your rascally character. If you 
 don t mind, you may get both the girl and your- 
 self into trouble.' 
 
 * Rubbish !' cried Somerset, springing up and 
 looking eagerly towards the subject of their con- 
 versation. * There is a mystery, and I'm going to 
 solve it. By Jove ! she's launching the boat. I 
 suppose she's going out for a row.' 
 
 Such seemed to be the case. The girl, putting 
 out all her strength, was endeavouring to push the 
 boat into the water ; but although the boat was 
 very light, the shore was muddy, and the task was 
 no easy one. In a minute Somerset had joined 
 her, despite the remonstrances of his friend, who 
 tried to call him back. 
 
 ' Let me help you,' he cried eagerly. 
 
 She smiled and nodded, and with his assistance 
 the boat was soon floated. Indifferent both to 
 mud and water, Somerset stood holding the boat, 
 while the girl leaped in, seated herself, and seized 
 
 4 
 
50 ANDROMEDA 
 
 a paddle to push ofF. But the young man still 
 clung to the boat, though he felt himself sinking 
 ankle-deep in the muddy tide. 
 
 ' Take care, sir!' cried the girl ; ^ youll get your- 
 self wet.' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind,' was the desperate reply. 
 * May I ask where you are going?' 
 
 The girl laughed and waved her hand towards 
 the river. 
 
 'I suppose I mustn't come with you?' said 
 Somerset. 
 
 She looked at him, with a little shrug of the 
 shoulders, her dark eyebrows contracting, her eyes 
 inspecting him curiously. Then she shook her 
 head, with a glance towards the inn. 
 
 ' At least, you'll do me a favour ? That's our 
 yawl floating there at anchor. I want to get on 
 board, and ' 
 
 ' All right ; jump in,' answered the girl care- 
 lessly. 
 
 In a moment he had sprung into the boat, 
 almost upsetting it in his eagerness, and had sunk 
 down in the stern, while the girl seized the 
 paddles and rowed from the shore. The yawl was 
 only a hundred yards away, and they approached 
 it rapidly. 
 
 ^You needn't row so fast,' cried Somerset, 
 smiling. ' I'm not in a hurry.' 
 
ENTER ANDROMEDA 51 
 
 The hint was entirely thrown away, and before 
 any further remonstrance could be made they 
 were alongside the yawl. 
 
 Somerset did not stir. 
 
 * It seems a shame to leave you/ he said. 
 * Shall we change places, and ' 
 
 Another emphatic shake of the head, and 
 another glance towards the inn, close to which 
 Bufton was standing in company with Mrs. Endell. 
 
 * Would you mind telling me your name i* said 
 Somerset. 
 
 * Annie,' answered the girl. 
 
 * Anniedromedy ?* 
 
 The black eyebrows were again contracted, and 
 the eyes flashed almost angrily. 
 
 *Just Annie,' answered the girl, with evident 
 impatience, motioning him to step on board. 
 Thus urged, he clambered on to the yacht, and 
 swift as an arrow the little boat shot away towards 
 the river. He took off his hat and waved it to 
 his new acquaintance. She looked back and 
 nodded. The frown had faded from her face, and 
 her eyes twinkled merrily. 
 
 * Annie — not Anniedromedy,' muttered Somer- 
 set. * She's Andromeda to me for all that, and if 
 there's any Dragon to be polished off, I'm on to 
 play Perseus.' 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND, 
 
 Leaving Somerset to gaze after her admiringly 
 from the deck of the little yawl, the girl rowed 
 rapidly across the pool or basin in the direction of 
 the river. 
 
 The tide was running out, and the boat needed 
 little or no propelling as soon as it was caught in 
 the current. In a few minutes it swept through 
 the narrow passage communicating with the 
 Thames, while the girl, only leaning on her oars, 
 just touched the water with the blades from time 
 to time to keep the little craft steady. The sun 
 was blazing down on the great river. Vessels of 
 all kinds v/ere coming and going — barges drifting 
 down with the tide, brown-sailed fishing-boats 
 creeping far away along the Kentish shore, home- 
 ward-bound vessels crawling slowly in the wake 
 of fussy little tugs. The water was low, and 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 53 
 
 along the shores of Canvey Island stretched banks 
 of sand and mud, crowned here and there with red 
 iron beacons, and haunted by flocks of screaming 
 gulls. Out towards the middle of the stream 
 large buoys marked the deep channel. 
 
 Keeping near to the shore in the shallows, 
 Annie suffered herself to be drifted slowly along 
 in the slack ebb until she reached the grass- 
 covered promontory, at the end of which stood a 
 beacon, a sort of iron cage, the favourite resting- 
 place of black-backed gulls and kittiwakes. Here 
 she paused, and, running the boat on a dry spot, 
 half mud, half shingle, drew it well out of the 
 water and secured it to the shore by throwing out 
 the anchor. A minute later she stood under the 
 beacon, shading her eyes with her hands, and 
 gazing out towards the distant Nore. 
 
 Beyond Canvey Island the Thames spread out 
 into a broad estuary, mingling its waters with 
 those of the distant sea. To the left — that is to 
 say, to the north-east — lay the cliffs and low head- 
 lands of Essex, with the red-tiled fishing village of 
 Leigh, facing muddy flats and deep pools sprinkled 
 with shrimping boats, some floating at anchor, 
 others stranded on the mud ; to the right, dimly 
 visible through the twinkling banks of heat, were 
 the hills of Kent and the mouth of the river, with 
 the naval station of Sheerness ; further away to 
 
54 ANDROMEDA 
 
 the south were the island of Sheppey and the little 
 low-lying town of Heme Bay ; while due east- 
 ward, right before her eyes, was the great estuary 
 itself, covered with vessels of all sizes and degrees, 
 and rippling with a breeze blowing fresh from the 
 English Channel. 
 
 It was a beautiful scene, full of life and motion, 
 yet very still and silent, like a picture seen in a 
 mirror. No sound disturbed the air, save now 
 and then the cry of a sea-gull or the sharp whistle 
 of a passing curlew. 
 
 Quietly and earnestly, like one seeking for some 
 sign or expecting some message, the girl watched 
 the great waters, glancing from shore to shore, 
 from ship to ship, and as she gazed her face grew 
 troubled, angry even, and her black eyebrows 
 were knitted ominously over her eager eyes. 
 Then, with an impatient gesture of the arms 
 and a shrug of the shoulders, she threw herself 
 down on the thin grass at the foot of the beacon, 
 and, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin 
 in her hands, gazed sullenly at vacancy. Her 
 face grew darker and angrier. From time to 
 time she sighed heavily, as if in pain, and as her 
 eyes fell again on the dark waters and the dreary 
 flats of the island surrounding her, they grew dim 
 with unshed tears. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when she reappeared 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 55 
 
 at the inn. The two artists had wandered ofF to- 
 gether for a stroll about the island, the inn-keeper 
 was in the bar attending to two or three stray 
 customers who had landed from a barge, and his 
 wife was alone in the kitchen. The girl came in 
 slowly and wearily, and, without a word, threw 
 herself down on a stool by the kitchen fire. 
 Seated there, she rested her chin in her hand, 
 and gazed at vacancy, with the same dull ex- 
 pression she had worn out of doors. The old 
 woman watched her quietly, and then, breaking 
 the oppressive silence, said sharply : 
 
 ' Where have you been, Anniedromedy ^ T ve 
 been waiting for you all day to help me to tidy 
 up.' Then, as the girl returned no answer, she 
 continued : * It's about time, ain't it, you made 
 yourself a bit more useful ? Young gels like you 
 wasn't born to idle and waste their time away, and 
 Tm sick and tired of your goings on this year 
 past.' 
 
 * You ain't more sick and tired than I am,' cried 
 the girl, with a flash of her dark eyes. * I hate the 
 place — I hate myself! I'd sooner drown myself 
 than live on here like this/ 
 
 'Now don't you be a fool,' returned Mrs. Endell. 
 a little cowed by the angry rejoinder. 'Don't you 
 forget, neither, which side your bread's buttered, 
 miss. We promised to keep you till he come 
 
56 ANDROMEDA 
 
 back, and weVe done it, and see as no harm came 
 to you ; but you owe us mor'n two years' board 
 and lodging, and the Lord knows whether we'll 
 ever be paid. Joe thinks never ; and look you, 
 we re poor folk and can't afford to keep a fine 
 lady about the house.' 
 
 ' A pretty lady !* cried the girl, with a bitter 
 laugh ; but she added, rising to her feet and 
 still looking down at the fire : ' You needn't 
 be frightened, though; I shan't stop here much 
 longer.' 
 
 * Now look 'ee here, Anniedromedy.' 
 The girl wheeled round fiercely as if stung. 
 ' Don't call me that !' she cried. 
 ' It's your name, ain't it V asked the old woman. 
 ' I don't know and I don't care ; but I hate it, 
 and I won't be called by it. Call me Annie, if 
 you like, but not the other. It makes me sick — 
 
 it makes me remember ! It makes me ' 
 
 She paused suddenly, shuddering and hugging 
 herself with her arms as if chilled. Her face had 
 grown quite gray and colourless. 
 
 ' Come, come !' said Mrs. Endell, more gently, 
 walking to her and placing a hand upon her arm. 
 , Don't be contrary, my gel. You know you've 
 got a friend in me as long as you behave respect- 
 able and do what's told you. Just you be patient 
 and bide a bit. P'raps things will right them- 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 57 
 
 selves before long ; p'raps hell come back, and 
 then ' 
 
 Darker and darker grew the girl's face. 
 
 ' He'll never come back,' she said, ' and I'm 
 glad of it.' 
 
 * Don't say that, my lass ; he's the best friend 
 you ever had.' 
 
 ' Friend or no friend,' was the answer, * he's 
 gone for evermore. If he was living, he'd have 
 been home long ere this. It's four long years 
 now, mother, since he went away, saying he'd be 
 back in a year. I've waited long enough, and now 
 I'm tired of waiting ; so I'm going away, first 
 chance I get, to seek my fortune.' 
 
 The old woman smiled pityingly, and shook 
 her head. 
 
 ' No, no,' she cried, * you ain't going away yet 
 awhile. Time enough for that when I bid you 
 pack, and it ain't come to that yet, if you behave 
 yourself and make yourself useful. Don't you 
 forget that I've promised to look after you and 
 keep you out of trouble. Fortune, indeed ! Gels 
 don't make their fortunes so easy, and even if they 
 did, you ain't free to do as you please.' 
 
 * I am fi-ee !' cried Annie. ' You can't keep me 
 if I want to go !' 
 
 ' I can, though,' replied Mrs. Endell, ' and the 
 law will uphold me. You're left under my care 
 
58 ANDROMEDA 
 
 till the man that owns you comes back to claim 
 you!' She added more gently, seeing that the girl 
 was about to retort passionately : ' Come, lass, 
 don't be foolish. You know well enough you've 
 got a good home here, and have always been used 
 kindly. IVe held my tongue, and so has Job, 
 about you. Folk think youVe a free, unbespoken 
 gel, and neither wife nor widdy, though the Lord 
 knows you're one of them two, and maybe both. 
 If they knew what we know, they'd be talking, 
 and we don't want that.' 
 
 Her voice sank to a whisper as she spoke, and 
 when the girl answered her it was also in hushed 
 tones, almost of entreaty. For some time they 
 conversed thus together, and presently the girl 
 grew quieter and more resigned, until at last, quite 
 subdued to the other's will, she began to assist her 
 in the housework. 
 
 Later on in the day, while Somerset and Bufton 
 were still absent, Annie entered the rooms upstairs. 
 The bedroom occupied by Bufton resembled its 
 owner, in its carelessly arranged and untidy 
 character ; clothes, books, and artistic materials 
 were scattered about everywhere, and pipes and 
 cigar - boxes covered the mantelpiece. Quite 
 different was the room adjoining, where Somerset 
 slumbered nightly. The contents of an elegant 
 dressing-bag were arranged before the mirror — 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 59 
 
 ivory-backed brushes, with the monogram * C. S./ 
 bottles of scent, packets of perfumed soap. 
 Everything was daintily and neatly arranged, for 
 Somerset was an elegant and a luxurious )oung 
 gentleman. On a small table near the window 
 were some books, tastefully bound, and among 
 them, in a double frame of yellow plush, two 
 photographs — one of Somerset himself in boating 
 flannels, the other of a young lady. 
 
 Full of feminine curiosity, Annie examined the 
 photographs very carefully. That of Somerset was 
 a capital likeness, with the happy, open face and 
 bold eyes of the original. While she looked at it 
 it seemed to smile at her roguishly, as the man 
 himself had done, and in answer to the smile her 
 own eyes sparkled and her face flushed eagerly. 
 Then she turned to the other picture, and her 
 expression grew less amiable. The young lady 
 was certainly very pretty — a blonde, with blue 
 eyes and golden hair. 
 
 She was wondering to herself who the young 
 lady could be — the young man's sister or his 
 sweetheart — when she heard voices below, and 
 then someone running lightly up the stairs. She 
 had just time to put down the photograph frame 
 and to reach the door, when she found herself 
 face to face with the tenant of the room. He 
 drew aside, smiling, to let her pass, which she did, 
 
6o ANDROMEDA 
 
 with her face burning, her eyes averted. He 
 laughed. She did not turn. Then he called to 
 her in his clear, boyish voice, and she turned and 
 looked him in the face. 
 
 ' Would you mind asking Mrs. Endell,' he said, 
 * to send me up some warm water ?* 
 
 She nodded, and turned to go. 
 
 * Stop a bit,' he continued, laughing. ' You 
 needn't be in such a hurry.' Then, as she hesi- 
 tated, he continued : ' It was rather a shame of 
 you to leave me perched out yonder on the yawl. 
 I thought you would have come back to fetch me 
 and take me ashore. As it was, I had to wait 
 there till I was relieved by a sweep of a bargee.' 
 
 There was something so frank and so good- 
 humoured in his nature that it was impossible to 
 be angry v/ith him for his impudence, or to refrain 
 from answering his smile. Their eyes met, and 
 Annie vanished, carrying the message to the 
 kitchen. The old woman received it with an 
 angry toss of the head. 
 
 ' Sit ye down there,' she said. * I'll take Mr. 
 Somerset his hot water.' 
 
 Annie smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Her 
 fit of gloom seemed to have quite passed away. 
 She had heard the first note of the charmer, and 
 was quite in the mood to wait and listen for 
 more. 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 6i 
 
 Several days passed, during which the young 
 man saw little or nothing of his new acquaintance. 
 When they did meet, Mrs. Endell was always 
 close at hand, jealously watching her charge, and 
 spiriting her away at the slightest overtures at 
 conversation. Somerset, however, being a past 
 master in this sort of business, was only biding 
 his time. He was determined to know more 
 of Annie — or ' Anniedromedy,' as they called 
 her — and he was not easily beaten or daunted. 
 The chance he was waiting for came at last, 
 early one morning, about a week after their first 
 meeting. 
 
 He had wandered away to take his early plunge, 
 and was turning back to the inn for breakfast, 
 when he saw the girl in the distance, her face 
 turned inland in the direction of Benfleet. She 
 was strolling slowly and carelessly along, carrying 
 on her arm a small basket, and the road she 
 followed wound right across the island, to a farm 
 which was situated a couple of miles away, near to 
 the Benfleet Woods. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation Somerset gave 
 chase, just keeping his quarry in sight till the inn 
 was hidden behind the sea-wall, and there was no 
 likelihood of espionage in that direction. Then 
 he spurted, and, being a swift pedestrian, soon 
 overtook the girl. She heard his footsteps behind 
 
62 ANDROMEDA 
 
 her, looked back, saw him approaching, and walked 
 quickly away. 
 
 In another minute he was close to her, raising 
 his hat politely, and giving her ' Good-morning.' 
 With head averted, she returned his greeting, and 
 he noticed, with the keen eye of a sportsman, that 
 her white neck was suffused with crimson, a sign 
 that she was blushing nervously, or, as it might 
 be, flushing indignantly. 
 
 ' May I ask where you are going ?' he inquired, 
 keeping pace with her as she hurried on. 
 
 She answered that she was going on an errand 
 to the farm. 
 
 'May I accompany you?' he asked, with his 
 most insinuating smile. 
 
 She turned, and looked him full in the face. 
 The blush, if blush it had been, was gone, and 
 her gaze was quite calm and self-possessed. 
 
 ' I'd rather you didn't,' she said, with de- 
 cision. 
 
 ' I'd rather I did,' he returned, not in the least 
 abashed. ' You see,' he continued easily, * I've 
 been longing to have a talk with you ever since 
 we first met. It's so awfully dull down here with 
 no one to talk to, and I was thinking of packing 
 up my traps and returning to London, when you 
 appeared, like a bit of new sunshine.' 
 
 She did not reply, but her pace slackened and 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 63 
 
 her face grew thoughtful, as they strolled on side 
 by side. 
 
 'Do you come from London, sir?' she asked 
 presently. 
 
 ' Indeed I do,' was the reply — * from the part 
 of it they call Bohemia. Perhaps you've heard 
 of it.?' 
 
 * No,' she answered, with a shake of the head. 
 Tve only been in London once, and that was 
 years since, when I was little. I've often thought 
 I'd like to live there.' 
 
 *I don't think you'd like it,' said Somerset. 
 * To a country girl like you ' 
 
 To his surprise she interrupted him impatiently, 
 saying : 
 
 ' I ain't a country girl ; I hate the country ! I 
 hate Canvey Island most of all ! It's right enough, 
 perhaps, in summer-time, but in winter, when the 
 fogs come, and the sun scarcely shines, and there's 
 nothing to look at but the black marshes and the 
 river, and the rainy sea out yonder, it's like being 
 dead and buried.' 
 
 * Have you lived here all your life ?* 
 
 * Not much !' cried Annie, with a toss of the 
 head. * I came here four years ago, and IVe never 
 left it, except to stop now and then with the young 
 ladies at Rayleigh.' 
 
 ' And before you came here ?' 
 
64 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Her face darkened, her black eyebrows were 
 contracted, while the old look of desolation came 
 into her face. She made no answer. 
 
 ' If you were not born in the country,' he per- 
 sisted, 'where were you born.^ Not in London, 
 surely.?' 
 
 * You want to know too much,' she said, turn- 
 ing her face away, and speaking to him over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' I am rather inquisitive,' he returned cheerily. 
 * You see, you interest me. Such a pretty girl as 
 you ' 
 
 Her eyes flashed at him, as she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Now you're chaffing ! I'm not fool enough to 
 think I'm pretty — and even if I was, it wouldn't 
 matter.' 
 
 ' Beauty always matters, and I can assure you, 
 speaking purely as an artist, that I'm neither 
 chaffing nor flattering. You're as handsome as 
 your namesake must have been, I assure you !' 
 
 'My namesake.? Who's she.?' 
 
 ' Why, Andromeda — the Greek maiden who 
 was rescued by Perseus from the Monster. The 
 name is rather an unusual one, and I should like 
 to know how you got it.' 
 
 * My name's Annie !' returned the girl em- 
 phatically ; ' I hate the other !' 
 
 'Why.?' 
 
THE MAID OF CANVEY ISLAND 65 
 
 * Because !* was the irrelevant reply, emphasized 
 by compressed lips and flashing eyes. 
 
 They wandered on side by side. Presently 
 Annie paused, glancing back in the direction of 
 the inn. 
 
 * I think you'd best go,' she said. * Your break- 
 fast's waiting, sir.' 
 
 ' I'm not hungry,' he replied ; ' and if you don't 
 mind, I'd ratl^r keep you company.' 
 
 * Oh, I don't mind,' said Annie, with a little 
 shrug of the shoulders. * But if they see you and 
 me walking together, they'll be scolding. Mrs. 
 Endell doesn't like me to talk to gentlemen.' 
 
 *Whom does she expect you to talk to.'*' 
 demanded Somerset, laughing. *Only to water- 
 side characters and bargees.'* Besides, what right 
 has she to shut you out from civilized society and 
 polite conversation like mine.'* That's the worst 
 of these superannuated country folk ! They think 
 a man can't look at a young person of the other 
 sex without making love to her.' 
 
 Their eyes met, and the girl laughed. 
 
 * Some men can't,' she said — * or, at least, pre- 
 tending.' 
 
 ' I'm difl^erent.' 
 
 * I'm sure I hope so, sir,' she returned simply. 
 * Love - making's all nonsense. Folk can be 
 friendly without that, and I'm sure it's a pleasure 
 
 5 
 
66 ANDROMEDA 
 
 to talk now and then to someone who looks like 
 a Christian/ 
 
 With talk like this they beguiled the way, and 
 presently came within sight of the farm for which 
 Annie was bound — a small, low-lying cluster of 
 buildings situated in the centre of marshy fields, 
 on which forlorn cattle were amphibiously grazing. 
 Annie's restraint and embarrassment had vanished, 
 and she talked quite freely about herself and her 
 solitary life, only darkening and resuming some- 
 thing of her former gloomy manner when Somerset 
 questioned her about her birth and antecedents. 
 
 Close to the farm they parted, the girl refusing 
 to accept his escort any further. More puzzled 
 than ever about his new acquaintance, Somerset 
 strolled back to the Lobster Smack for breakfast. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THOUGH CONVERSATIONAL, IS RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 Naturally of an inquiring mind, and being 
 peculiarly interested in the person whom he had 
 encountered under such romantic circumstances, 
 Somerset determined to go to the fountain-head 
 for information. That fountain-head was Job 
 Endell, and the way to make it flow freely was to 
 pour ardent spirits into it. So that very day 
 Somerset beguiled the old sea-dog on board the 
 little yawl, took him down to the tiny cabin, 
 where there was a supply of excellent whisky, and 
 when, under the influence of several drams. Job 
 was beginning to grow talkative, prepared for his 
 cross-examination. 
 
 'You don't keep stuflF like that ashore, Job,* 
 he said, refilling Job's glass from a fast-ebbing 
 bottle. 
 
 Job grinned and shook his head. 
 
 5—2 
 
68 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * We've no call for it, mister/ he replied. * The 
 customers who come our way ain't of much 
 account, and don't know good drink from bad. 
 It's a poor place, Canvey Island, a rotten poor 
 place, and if it wasn't for stray gentry like you 
 and Mister Bufton, 'twouldn't hardly be worth 
 my while to keep the place going. Lord! when 
 I think of the times I've had, and the things I've 
 seen, afore I settled down in this 'ere wilderness, I 
 feel inclined to curse and swear.' 
 
 * I don't wonder.' 
 
 ' Why, just look round you, sir. What is there 
 to see, year's end to year's end? Only mud and 
 sand and brackish water, the marshes this side, 
 the river that side, and the ships a-going past like 
 ghosts, outward and homeward bound — shut up 
 with the old woman like a toad-in-the-hole, and 
 me still hale and hearty, as fond of a bit of fun as 
 ever.' 
 
 *No doubt it's dismal enough,' said Somerset, 
 lighting a cigar, * If you find it so, what must 
 that young girl think who lives with you and the 
 mistress !' 
 
 The old man shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 'Well, you see, she's only a gel, and gels is 
 different,' he remarked ; then with a wink of the 
 eye, and a crafty look, he added : ' I see you've 
 taken notice on her, Mr. Somerset.' 
 
RETROSPECTIVE 69 
 
 'Of course I have/ said Somerset, smiling. 
 * Petticoats are scarce hereabouts, you see.' 
 
 Job leaned forward with his hands on his knees, 
 and grinned significantly. 
 
 ' You'd better not let the old woman see you 
 looking at her! She looks arter her wonderful 
 sharp, does the old woman, and so does I for that 
 matter, for a bargain's a bargain. You see, sir, 
 Anniedromedy's under our care, and we've got to 
 see no harm comes to her.' 
 
 ' A relation, I suppose V 
 
 * Well, she's a sort of a kind of a relation of the 
 missis's, not of mine.' 
 
 * Lived with you long ?' 
 
 * Four or five years, on and off,' answered Job 
 dryly. ' If you'll promise to keep it dark, I don't 
 mind telling you a secret. Well, it's this way. 
 Anniedromedy's a sort of a orphan — without 
 father or mother ; what's more, no one knows, 
 and no one ever will know, what stock she sprung 
 from. She was born out there at sea, and they 
 christened her arter the ship on which she was 
 found. Anniedromedy was the ship's name, and 
 Anniedromedy's hers, though we calls her Annie 
 for short, as you're aweer.' 
 
 * What you tell me is awfully interesting,' said 
 Somerset, disguising his eager curiosity under a 
 careless languor. ' Fill up your glass.' 
 
70 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * No, no ; I've had enough, mister/ returned 
 Endell, chuckling. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! A seasoned old salt like you ! 
 Why, there isn't a headache in a whole hogshead 
 of this whisky !' 
 
 * Well, just another thimbleful, and then I 
 must get ashore. You was asking about Annie- 
 dromedy, and wondering no doubt how she came 
 to Canvey Island. Well, I'll tell ye ; but mind, 
 not a word of this to the old woman/ 
 
 'Of course not.' 
 
 'Nigh on twenty years ago, when I was still 
 going afloat, and the missus was keeping a lodging- 
 house for sailors over there in Gravesend, a 
 relation of hers, sort of a second cousin, one Matt 
 Watson, come home arter a long woyage. He'd 
 been to South Ameriky, and round the Horn, and 
 then, coming back, had been shipwrecked on the 
 shores of Patagonia. He was only a lad then, was 
 Matt, but a born devil as ever you see, fearing 
 nothink under the sun, as black as a Cuban, and 
 as ready as any furreigner for to draw a knife.' 
 
 ^Well.?' 
 
 * Well, sir, this 'ere Matt Watson had a sister — 
 a single woman, living along shore at Northfleet, 
 and this sister o' course was a pal of my missus's. 
 One morning, just arter Matt come back, the 
 missus goes over to make a call, and she finds 
 
RETROSPECTIVE 71 
 
 Matt's sister — Liza was her name, Liza Watson — 
 a-sitting by the fire and nussing a kid — a little 
 black-eyed babby about a year old. " Lord save 
 us!" said the missus. ^' Who's kid's that.f^ not 
 yourn.^" Liza laughed. *' No, it ain't mine," 
 she says ; " it's Matt's." " Then," says my 
 missus, "you don't mean to tell me as Matt is 
 married !" Liza, she laughed again. " No, he 
 ain't married," she said ; " but all the same, this is 
 Matt's kid, and I'm a-goin' to keep it for him !" 
 Now, I needn't tell you, sir, for you knows my 
 old woman, that she was alius werry particular! 
 She bridles up and cries out that Matt ought to be 
 ashamed of hisself, and at that moment in comes 
 Matt hisself, grinning like a monkey.' 
 
 * Go on,' said Somerset, ' I begin to understand. 
 The child was ' 
 
 *Jest you give me time,' said Endell, with a 
 tipsy chuckle. ' In comes Matt, swaggering, his 
 eyes like coals, his black hair tumbling over his 
 head, his sailor's knife in his belt ; and when the 
 missus turned on him and began abusing of him, he 
 laughed and smacked her on the shoulder. Then 
 it come out that the young devil had sailed back 
 on a ship loaded with cattle from South Ameriky 
 and carrying a few steerage passengers homeward 
 bound ; and among them passengers was a young 
 woman who shipped at Buenos Ayres, who was 
 
72 ANDROMEDA 
 
 dreadful bad with some sort of a fever, and who 
 died one night, giving birth to that kid. No one 
 knowed who she was, except that her name was 
 entered in the ship's books as Mary Costello, 
 nor where she come from, or where she was going, 
 and she'd only a bundle with her with a few 
 clothes and no money ; and when they sewed her 
 up in her canvas shroud and dropped her over the 
 vessel's side, there was a hend of her. But the 
 puzzle was what to do with the babe she'd left 
 behind her.' 
 
 ' A little girl ?' 
 
 ' Right you are — a little gel ; and, to cut a long 
 story short, that little gel was Anniedromedy.' 
 
 ' I guessed as much.' 
 
 ' They was a rough lot aboard that ship, but 
 they had the little un christened, and the name 
 they give her was the name of the ship as she was 
 born on, the Anniedromedy, Another poor woman 
 nussed her and looked arter her till they come to 
 Plymouth, and landed the cargo and passengers 
 and paid off the crew. Then the puzzle was what 
 to do with the little un. She'd no home, and no 
 friends, and no belongings, d'ye see — and Lord 
 knows what would ha' become on her if that wild 
 devil Matt Watson hadn't up and volunteered to 
 take her and adopt her, and give her to his sister 
 to be brung up by hand.' 
 
RETROSPECTIVE 73 
 
 ' He did that !' exclaimed Somerset. ' He must 
 have been a good fellow !' 
 
 'Good in his 'art, sir, good in his 'art,' 
 murmured the old man patronizing! y. ' Alius free 
 with his pay, and kindly to women-folk, though a 
 savage chap when he lost his temper among men. 
 Now, you'll never guess what first drawed him to 
 the little kid, and made him take the fancy to 
 bring her up. It was this. Mister Somerset. 
 Arter the poor mother was put overboard, and 
 they was looking at the lettle gel, one of the 
 women larfs and says, " Why, she's the very moral 
 of yourself, mate, an' you might ha' been her 
 daddy 1" And sure enough 'twas so ; for she'd 
 black eyes like his, and blacker eyebrows, and 
 she was dark and wild-looking as a little imp 
 o' the sea. Well, somehow that pleased Matt, 
 and he took to the kid from that minute forrard, 
 and from that day to this he's been her best 
 
 friend.' 
 
 The old man rose a little unsteadily, and, 
 muttering something to himself about the 'old 
 woman,' made his way on deck. Somerset followed, 
 his curiosity only whetted by what he had heard. 
 The tide was out, and the little yawl had taken 
 the ground, so that it was just possible to scramble 
 over her side and walk ashore across the mud. 
 
 ' Finish your story. Job,' said Somerset, as they 
 
74 ANDROMEDA 
 
 stood on deck. * What became of the child after- 
 wards?' 
 
 ' Why, she grew, and she grew/ answered the 
 old man, ' till she come to be what you now see 
 her. Liza Watson reared her, and Matt he paid 
 the piper, coming and going from his work at sea. 
 Then, close on five year ago, when Anniedromedy 
 was a dark slip of a gel, Liza died sudden, and 
 Matt, he come ashore arter a long voyage the 
 werry day o' the burying, and finds Anniedromedy 
 a-crying in the empty lodging. Just about that 
 time rd inwested my savings in the Lobster 
 Smack, and one day, as I was a-sitting at the door 
 smoking my pipe, up comes Matt Watson, and 
 the gel follering him, looking full o' trouble. He 
 nods to me, and he goes in and talks to the missus. 
 They was a long time talking together, and when 
 I went in to look arter them, I found 'twas all 
 settled that Anniedromedy was to stay under my 
 old woman's care, while Matt went back to sea.' 
 
 * Then you were not consulted ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I was,' answered Endell, with a wink, 
 * when it come to business. We couldn't afford to 
 board and lodge a stranger for nothing, and I 
 settled the terms, money down. But, mind you. 
 Matt didn't go afloat again for nearly a year arter 
 that, and afore he sailed away there was rum 
 doings down here and up in Gravesend. Don't 
 
RETROSPECTIVE 75 
 
 ax me any more, though, for I ain't a-going to 
 tell you. All the rest consarns only Annie- 
 dromedy, myself, and my old woman.' 
 
 He was scrambling over the yacht's side when 
 Somerset detained him by placing his hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 ^ Only one question, Job. Where's that sailor 
 fellow now?' 
 
 Endell looked up with a doleful shake of the 
 head. 
 
 * That's the puzzle, mister,' he replied. * It's 
 over four years since he went away on his last 
 woyage, and since that time we've heard no word 
 on him. I doubt he's dead and drownded, though 
 the missus she alius holds he'll come back. I wish 
 he would, and pay me what he owes me. Mean- 
 time, you see, here's the gel on our hands, and 
 Lord knows what we're to do with her, seeing 
 she's neither kith nor kin of ours.' 
 
 Away he floundered across the mud, leaving 
 Somerset thoroughly puzzled and amazed. 
 
 The young man had tapped the fountain indeed, 
 and discovered nearly everything he desired to 
 know. When all was told, however, Annie her- 
 self remained as great a mystery as ever. The 
 child of an unknown woman, born miserably on 
 shipboard, christened unconventionally on the deep 
 sea, adopted by a savage sailor-lad, brought home 
 
76 ANDROMEDA 
 
 to England like a monkey or a parrot, to be reared 
 in a lodging alongshore, and then finally left, a 
 maiden all forlorn, on Canvey Island. It was a 
 strange tale, rendered still stranger and more 
 wonderful by the singular beauty of the girl. 
 
 The reader has doubtless gathered by this time 
 that Somerset was a highly volatile young gentle- 
 man, prone to follow his own amusement with a 
 somewhat reckless disregard of consequences. In 
 following and opening up an acquaintance with 
 the young girl of the inn, his idea was merely to 
 pass the time, and to enjoy a little innocent 
 flirtation. It never occurred to him that the 
 consequences might be serious ; for, to do him 
 justice, he was not vain enough to fancy himself 
 a lady-killer, or a man capable of awakening a 
 grand passion. 
 
 Nor was he, with all his frivolity, addicted to 
 coarse and degrading amours. He was simply a 
 good-looking and somewhat feather-brained young 
 fellow, who took life lightly, and knew little or 
 nothing of its stormier emotions ; romantic, of 
 course, in an easy-hearted way, but very little 
 inclined to lose his heart irretrievably. In fact, if 
 the truth must be told, his matrimonial arrange- 
 ments had been already made for him in connec- 
 tion with a near branch of his own family, and he 
 had no intention whatever, at the time of which 
 
RETROSPECTIVE 77 
 
 we are writing, of disturbing those arrangements 
 in any way. 
 
 Nevertheless, little as he suspected the danger, 
 he was playing with fire. He happened to come 
 into the girl's life at the very moment when she 
 was most eager and willing to give such a visitor 
 welcome, and whatever he might be, she was 
 made of perilous stuff, to its inmost essence com- 
 bustible. 
 
 Like most young girls brought up in solitude, 
 she had been dreaming for many a day of a 
 Fairy Prince, young, ardent, adorable, who would 
 awaken her with a kiss, and lead her away into 
 the world of happy fable. 
 
 The moment she first saw Somerset her heart 
 leaped up to give him greeting, for nothing quite 
 so sunny had hitherto crossed her path. His bold 
 advances to her completed the conquest. Her 
 passionate nature, long in revolt against its sur- 
 roundings, began to stir and quicken within her. 
 Time alone could decide whether the event for 
 which she had longed was to be fatal to her or 
 beneficent. All she yet realized was that the 
 wonder-working moment had arrived. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IS ALSO RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 There was in the life of Andromeda a secret 
 which has yet to be told, but which must be 
 reserved for full narration later on. For one 
 reason and another, it was carefully kept by the 
 old couple with whom she dwelt, even Job Endell, 
 garrulous and loose-tongued as he was, drawing a 
 careful veil over one portion of her romantic story. 
 For the rest, what the old man had told to 
 Somerset, under the soothing influence of his 
 favourite cordial, was true in the main. The 
 girl, when an infant, had been brought home 
 from sea by a wild young sailor, and confided 
 to the care of his sister ; afterwards, on the sister's 
 death, to be passed over into the keeping of Endell 
 and his wife, who undertook, for a substantial con- 
 sideration, to look after her while her sailor guardian 
 was away afloat. Money had been paid liberally 
 
ALSO RETROSPECTIVE 79 
 
 to them in advance, for Matt Watson was open- 
 handed, in the manner of his class, and, having no 
 blood relation of his own to drain his substance, 
 was both eager and willing to pay for the support 
 of the little foundling. 
 
 But four years had passed, and he had not 
 returned ; the money he had left was long ex- 
 hausted, and the presumption appeared to be that 
 he had died at sea or at some foreign port, whither 
 he had sailed as able seaman. 
 
 At the time of his departure, Annie, as we shall 
 henceforth call her, was just sixteen, slight, and 
 thin, and showing few traces of that singular 
 beauty to which she had attained on her first 
 meeting with Somerset. Black -eyed, tawny- 
 skinned, quick of temper, she still bore a strange 
 likeness to the man who had elected to maintain 
 her. 
 
 Her senior by many years, the man had always 
 exhibited towards her a strange and ever-growing 
 affection. Though he saw her seldom, being con- 
 stantly away on voyages more or less protracted, 
 he had never returned home without bringing 
 manifold gifts and tokens picked up abroad — silk 
 stuffs from India and China, quaint barbaric 
 trinkets, strange birds, and other such presents 
 as sailors bring home to their friends and sweet- 
 hearts. His visits were naturally associated in 
 
8o ANDROMEDA 
 
 the child's mind with all sorts of pleasure, and 
 she grew to regard the wild and kindly visitor 
 as a kind of foster-father, to whose devotion and 
 kindness she might always look forward. Often, 
 however, she was terrified by his savage ways and 
 fits of violent passion. He drank deeply when 
 ashore, and when in liquor was about as amiable 
 as a wild beast. 
 
 A few months before Annie attained her six- 
 teenth year. Matt Watson returned from the far 
 East just in time to follow his sister to the grave. 
 He found the girl plunged in genuine grief, for 
 Liza had been kind, though somewhat coarse and 
 domineering, and her care for the child had been 
 that of a rough foster-mother. At a loss what to 
 do, he had consulted Mrs. Endell, and had finally 
 arranged that she should shelter Annie for the 
 time being. 
 
 His sister dead and buried, and Annie con- 
 signed to Mrs. Endell's care. Matt Watson re- 
 mained for several months on shore, dividing his 
 time in sailor fashion between Gravesend and the 
 Lobster Smack. He had saved a good sum of 
 ready money, the bulk of which he placed in 
 Mrs. EndelFs hands for Annie's maintenance, 
 reserving the residue to spend among the rough 
 companions he encountered in his favourite haunts. 
 
 He was now over thirty years of age, or nearly 
 
ALSO RETROSPECTIVE 8i 
 
 fifteen years Annie's senior — a short, strongly-built 
 man, with muscular chest, long, powerful arms, 
 and somewhat stunted lower limbs. With his 
 swarthy, weather-beaten face, long black ringlets, 
 rough black beard and moustache, black, deep-set 
 eyes, he looked more foreign than English, and 
 his strange and somewhat sinister appearance was 
 emphasized by the tattoo-marks on his sinewy 
 hands and arms and hairy breast, and by large 
 golden rings suspended to his ears. His voice 
 was gruflF and deep, his gestures violent, his 
 manner reckless and domineering. 
 
 Rough and aggressive towards others, to Annie 
 he was gentle and even shy. He would sit and 
 gaze at her with a sense of kindly ownership, his 
 grim features softened, his white teeth gleaming 
 in a smile. ' My gel,' he called her. He spoke 
 little, but now and then, when he had been 
 drinking, he would draw her to him and fondle 
 her approvingly. Gradually, through some 
 natural instinct, she began to avoid his caresses. 
 His coarse affection repulsed her and filled her 
 with a secret dread. 
 
 The dread increased when Mrs. Endell began 
 to throw out hints that she might some day 
 marry her benefactor ; that, indeed, marriage 
 ought to be the best solution of the difficulty 
 which made her, with no blood-claim upon him, 
 
 6 
 
82 ANDROMEDA 
 
 a burden on his hands. Although as yet too 
 young and simple-minded to realize what marriage 
 meant, the girl shrank terrified from the prospect 
 of a closer personal relationship with one who 
 repelled her so completely on the physical side. 
 
 The time at last came when it was necessary 
 for the man to return again on shipboard. He 
 had been ofFered the berth of mate on a large 
 sailing-vessel, bound for the Fiji Islands and 
 thence to the western shores of South America, 
 and he was certain to be absent at least eighteen 
 months, and possibly longer. 
 
 The date of his departure once fixed, he became 
 unusually morose and taciturn. Day after day he 
 came to the Lobster Smack, and would sit silent 
 in the kitchen for hours, gazing at Annie. Some- 
 times he was closeted with Mrs. Endell, for the 
 purpose of mysterious conversation. At last the 
 cause of his curious conduct was made manifest. 
 One morning, to Annie's amazement, Mrs. Endell 
 informed her that Matt Watson desired, before 
 departing, to go through the ceremony of marriage 
 with the orphan girl. 
 
 At first all Annie's nature rose in revolt against 
 the proposition. Marry Matt Watson! Marry 
 the man who, although no blood relation, had 
 been all her life a foster-father to her! She 
 shrank in shame and terror at the very idea. 
 
ALSO RETROSPECTIVE 83 
 
 Gradually, however, as the old woman talked 
 to her, she listened more attentively. After all, 
 Mrs. Endell argued, the ceremony would be only 
 a matter of form, and seeing that she owed every- 
 thing to the free-handed sailor, it was right that 
 she should humour him in his wish to make her 
 his wife. What other prospect had she in the 
 world .^ Without friends or money, how could 
 she hope to make her way in the world .^^ And 
 how, moreover, could she expect the man to 
 continue to support her if she had no lawful 
 claim upon his kindness ? 
 
 * You see, deary,' said the old woman, ' it's the 
 poor chap's fancy to make sure of you before he 
 goes away to sea. If you're married to him afore 
 he goes, he'll know there's a little wife awaiting 
 him when he comes back ; and after all he's done 
 for you, after the years and years he's been your 
 only friend, it ain't much to ask by way of pay- 
 ment. He's a good sort, is Matt. He's proved 
 that, ain't he.^^ So just you take my advice and 
 do what he asks you, and I don't think you'll ever 
 regret it, my gel.' 
 
 What could the child say ? She could not deny 
 to herself that she owed everything in the world 
 to her benefactor, and though she shrank from 
 him as a possible husband, he had proved himself 
 almost her only friend. She yielded the more 
 
 6—2 
 
84 ANDROMEDA 
 
 easily because the man, with curious and awkward 
 timidity, forbore to press his own suit, while 
 appearing to plead silently for the wished-for 
 proof of her grateful affection. Had he pursued 
 her roughly and aggressively, she would have 
 struggled with her last breath against him. Pity 
 and gratitude prevailed, and she consented at last 
 to go through the formal marriage ceremony. 
 
 So it came to pass that Matt Watson, mariner, 
 and Andromeda Costello were married by special 
 license in Gravesend, the very day before the man 
 joined his ship and sailed away. The affair was 
 kept very quiet, and when the Endells and Annie 
 returned to the Lobster Smack, no one suspected 
 that the dark, childlike slip of a girl was actually 
 a married woman. It was settled, moreover, that 
 the secret should be kept carefully until the sailor s 
 return to claim his bride. 
 
 At the end of a year a letter was received from 
 the wanderer, enclosing a money draft and sending 
 loving greetings to his ' little girl ' at home. By 
 this time the whole business of the marriage 
 seemed to Annie like a gruesome dream, faint and 
 almost forgotten. She had grown in health and 
 strength, and at seventeen was beginning to give 
 signs of unusual personal beauty. Her heart was 
 light ; the man she was bound to was far away, 
 and might perhaps never return, and with the 
 
ALSO RETROSPECTIVE 85 
 
 eagerness of girlhood she turned her thoughts 
 away from the only recollection that was a shadow 
 on her young life. 
 
 Months passed on, spring and summer came 
 and went, and there was no further sign or 
 message from the sea. The second year passed 
 and the wanderer was still absent, still silent. 
 The third year and part of the fourth came, and 
 there seemed little or no likelihood that the 
 missing man would ever return. 
 
 ***** 
 
 * Tell 'e what it is,' said Job Endell to his wife 
 as they sat together in the kitchen late at night, 
 about a week after Annie's return from Rayleigh 
 — * tell 'e what it is : that gel's gettin' too much 
 for you and me. She gives herself airs like a lady, 
 ever since she was picked up by them young ladies 
 up at the Rectory.* 
 
 'You let her alone, my man,' returned the 
 partner of his bosom. ' She's all right enough, 
 if you don't meddle.' 
 
 ' I dessay. Then I'm to keep her on my hands 
 all her life, I suppose ? Don't you believe it. If 
 she don't find out some way of earning her own 
 living, or get married again ' 
 
 * You know well enough she can't do that,' 
 cried Mrs. Endell sharply. ' Isn't she a wedded 
 woman ?' 
 
86 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' Much o' that !' said the landlord, with an ugly 
 grin. ' Matt Watson's a dead un — has been a 
 dead un any time these three year. D'ye think if 
 he was alive he wouldn't have come back long 
 afore this ? Unless,' he added, chuckling, * he's 
 changed his mind about Anniedromedy, and settled 
 down with some black donna in Fiji or South 
 America.' 
 
 ' You're a fool, Job Endell !' returned the old 
 woman. 
 
 * Oh, indeed. Am I a fool ? — and why ?' 
 
 * Because only one thing would keep poor Matt 
 from coming back to the gel he loves and has 
 married, and that one thing's the end which comes, 
 soon or late, to all of us. Ah, dear ! ah, dear ! I 
 begin to think that he's dead and drownded, arter 
 all.' 
 
 ' O' course he is.* 
 
 * And if that's so, what's to become of that poor 
 lass ? Not twenty years old, and a widdy woman 
 already.' 
 
 Job grinned again, and winked diabolically. 
 
 * She's a handsome gel, a strapping gel, and it'll 
 be her own fault if she remains a widdy. What's 
 to prewent her taking the first chance as comes her 
 way .^^ Nothink as I knows on. But she turns up 
 her nose at folk in her own spear of life ; a man as 
 gets his bread by the sweat of his brow ain't good 
 
ALSO RETROSPECTIVE 87 
 
 enough for her. She's set her 'art on catching a 
 swell, or somethink else out of the ordinary. 
 Well, I've no objection, only I wish she'd look 
 sharp about it' 
 
 *She talked t'other day,' said the woman 
 thoughtfully, ' of going right away from here. I 
 s'pose we couldn't force her to stay if she'd a mind 
 to go ?' 
 
 'I don't know about that,* returned Endell. 
 * But didn't I tell 'e her head was turned ?' 
 
 Upstairs in a little attic bedroom the subject of 
 their conversation was lying awake, and watching 
 the white rays of the summer moon as they crept 
 through the narrow window and flooded the floor 
 with silver. Her bed was hard and narrow, the 
 room she occupied wretchedly furnished ; but on 
 a coarse table by the bedside were some wild- 
 flowers — marigolds from the marshes, and daffx)dils 
 from the Benfleet shallows, in a jug of spring 
 water, and the nightdress she wore, though of 
 coarse stuff, was of virgin whiteness. Her black 
 hair fell loose upon the pillow, framing her fair 
 face in jet, and her eyes shone brightly, full of the 
 joy and the brightness of her young life. 
 
 She had tried in vain to sleep ; yet, though 
 she was awake, her thoughts were far away — in 
 Dreamland, following her Fairy Prince. Hour 
 by hour she had been yielding more and more to 
 
88 ANDROMEDA 
 
 the charm he had woven round her, and now she 
 was ready to obey the lifting of his finger, if he 
 only cared to beckon. 
 
 Her face darkened, her eyes grew wild and 
 troubled. 
 
 A dark shadow was passing before her — the 
 shadow of the man who was far away, living and 
 waiting, or lying at the bottom of the deep sea. 
 She saw him again, monster-like, with those 
 strange marks upon his arms and breast, the 
 rings in his ears, the wild locks falling round 
 his swarthy face. He looked at her and smiled, 
 showing his white teeth. With a sob, she hid 
 her face on the pillow, putting out her hands 
 as if to thrust him away. 
 
 And down below, in another chamber, her Fairy 
 Prince was sound asleep, dreaming the lightsome 
 dreams of a soul as yet untouched by great love or 
 sorrow. Although he had woven the charm, he 
 was quite unconscious that he had done so. To 
 him Annie of Canvey was merely a pretty girl, 
 with whom it was pleasant to beguile a summer 
 hour. Little did he fancy that Chance or Time, or 
 that Love which influences both so strangely, would 
 ever bind her to him in a chain which only Death 
 might sever. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE FAIRY PRINCE. 
 
 At breakfast one morning Bufton announced his 
 intention of returning to London without delay. 
 He had finished his most important picture ; he 
 was longing again for the dingy pastures of 
 Bohemia ; and there were, moreover, certain urgent 
 private affairs which demanded his immediate 
 attention. 
 
 * And you're coming, too, youngster,' he asserted. 
 * I don't mean to leave you behind me. From 
 what I've seen and heard, youVe been here too 
 long already, so pack up your traps at once, and 
 prepare to follow your leader.' 
 
 * Where is the hurry?' said Somerset. ' London 
 is empty ; all the world is away shooting or yacht- 
 ing, and the cry of the early milkman rings through 
 the desolate squares and houses with the blinds 
 drawn down. I'm very comfortable here, and 
 mean to remain/ 
 
90 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * No, you don't ; you mean to go, unless you're 
 a howling cad, which I hope isn't the case.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' cried the young man, 
 darkening. 
 
 * I mean this, sir,' returned Bufton, leaning 
 forward and fixing the other with his baleful, 
 blood-shot eye. ' Every day you remain here 
 you are doing more and more mischief. IVe 
 been watching that girl. I thought at first it 
 was only a lark — on her side as well as yours — 
 
 but, by ! she's taking you seriously, and if 
 
 the thing goes on there'll be the devil to 
 pay !' 
 
 Somerset forced a laugh, but it was clear that 
 the suggestion made him exceedingly uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 ' Then you think I'd better levant V he muttered. 
 
 ^ If you don't, I'll warn the old woman to turn 
 you out neck and crop. She doesn't suspect the 
 length to which things have gone, but I can open 
 her eyes in a jiffy.* 
 
 * My dear Billy,' said Somerset, resuming his 
 usual light manner, ' things have not gone to any 
 serious length, I assure you. I admire the girl, I 
 like to talk to her — in fact, we're quite friendly 
 and chummy — but upon my soul that's all. The 
 fact is, she's a thoroughly sensible little woman, 
 and not at all addicted to spooning. Neverthe- 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE 91 
 
 less, if you in your supreme wisdom think it 
 advisable, Tm quite willing to cut it' 
 
 ' Very well,' replied Bufton dryly ; ' we're off 
 to-morrow/ 
 
 ' Then we'd better take the yawl as far as Erith, 
 and leave it there till we want it again. I wish 
 we could have stayed another week, for I've almost 
 persuaded Annie to sit to me for her portrait. 
 However, to show you I'm not a cad, have it all 
 your own way.' 
 
 The greater part of that day was spent in 
 preparing the little yacht for departure. They 
 had used her very little during their stay at the 
 inn, and she needed overhauling. Somerset, 
 in his shirt-sleeves, busied himself on board, 
 while Bufton on shore began packing his im- 
 pedimenta. 
 
 The news of their imminent departure caused 
 little surprise to the innkeeper and his wife. Job 
 was a little sorry, for the presence of his visitors 
 meant many a glass of his favourite tipple, 
 to say nothing of much pleasant conversation. 
 Mrs. Endell, on the other hand, felt relieved ; for 
 she had foreseen from the first, with a woman's 
 keen instinct, that Somerset was a dangerously 
 fascinating person. 
 
 And Annie ? If her spirit was troubled by the 
 prospect of parting with her new acquaintance, 
 
92 ANDROMEDA 
 
 she gave no sign whatever of either annoyance or 
 regret. On the contrary, she was unusually lively 
 that day, singing about the house, and laughing 
 aloud on the slightest provocation. 
 
 * What did I tell you ?' whispered the old 
 woman to her husband. * She ain't fool enough 
 to care about gentlefolk.' 
 
 Job grinned and shook his head, without 
 troubling himself to reply. 
 
 It rained heavily that evening, after several 
 weeks of summer sunshine. Between eight and 
 nine o'clock, when the two artists sat smoking 
 their pipes in the sitting-room after dinner, 
 Mrs. Endell came to her husband, who was busy 
 among the bottles in the bar. 
 
 ' Where's Anniedromedy ?' she asked. ' I've 
 been looking for her all over the house, and I 
 can't find her.' 
 
 * I ain't seen her,' replied Job. * She can't be 
 out of doors in this weather.' 
 
 * She was here right enough just before I took 
 in the gentlemen's dinner,' exclaimed his wife. 
 * Take a look at the door, and see if you can find 
 her.' 
 
 Job went to the fi-ont-door, and looked out and 
 around. The sun had set, and a black pall of 
 smoky cloud was drawn over the sky ; the rain 
 was pouring down in torrents, and thick folds of 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE 93 
 
 damp mist were hanging over the marshes and the 
 river. 
 
 * Anniedromedy!' he called, but the only answer 
 he received was the loud murmur of the rain and 
 the whistle of the rising wind. His wife joined 
 him, and they stood at the door together. 
 
 ' No sign on her,' muttered Job ; ' she must be 
 somewhere about the house.' 
 
 However, they looked everywhere, and could 
 not find her. An hour later, as they sat anxiously 
 waiting in the kitchen, in she came, bareheaded, 
 and soaked through and through. The moment 
 she entered Mrs. Endell sprang up excitedly, and 
 demanded where she had been. 
 
 'Out on the sea wall,' she replied sullenly. 
 
 ' Lord save us ! in such weather ! Be ye going 
 mad.?' 
 
 The girl laughed curiously, and strolling over 
 to the fire, stood looking down into it, while her 
 thin raiment steamed with the warmth. 
 
 ' I ain't sugar, mother/ she said, * to melt with 
 a drop of rain. There's going to be a storm. It's 
 lightning out yonder at the Nore, and you can 
 hear the growling of the sea.' 
 
 Mrs. Endell glanced at her husband, who 
 shrugged his shoulders significantly. 
 
 ' You're a queer girl,' he cried. ' Well, you'd 
 best be off to bed.' 
 
94 ANDROMEDA 
 
 'I ain't tired,' answered Annie, seating herself 
 on a stool by the fire. 
 
 ' Do as I tell you. If you sit up with them 
 things on, you'll maybe catch your death/ 
 
 ' No fear of that, mother,' answered the girl, 
 with another short laugh ; ' and if I did, p'r aps 
 you'd think it was good riddance. All right,' she 
 added in answer to another angry exclamation, 
 ' I'll go directly ; I'm snug enough here by the 
 fire.' 
 
 Just then the bell of the sitting-room rang, and 
 Mrs. Endell answered the summons. She returned 
 immediately with the intimation that the gentle- 
 men wanted her husband to join them in the 
 parlour. Off Job went, and found his guests 
 seated in a cloud of smoke, with a bottle and 
 glasses before them. They requested him to sit 
 down, while Somerset poured him out a glass of 
 whisky. 
 
 * This is our last night at the Lobster Smack, 
 as you're aware,' said the young man. * To- 
 morrow, Job, we shall vanish away into the great 
 world, and you'll forget that we have ever been.' 
 
 * No, no, Mr. Somerset,' replied the old man, 
 leering and chuckling, ' I shan't forget you in a 
 hurry, nor Mr. Bufton neither. Your 'ealth, 
 gents, and I 'ope you'll soon be back to Canvey.' 
 
 He tossed off his glass and smacked his lips. 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE 95 
 
 * Canvey will never see one of us again,* said 
 Bufton dryly. ' I don't know about myself, but 
 this youngster here has other fish to fry. He's 
 going to be married !' 
 
 ' Shut up, can't you !' cried Somerset, flushing 
 angrily. 
 
 ' Why should I shut up? It's the fact, isn't it?' 
 
 * That's my business. And I'll trouble you to 
 mind your own afFairs !* 
 
 Bufton grinned diabolically, and winked with 
 his Cyclopean eye at Endell. 
 
 * He's bashful, you see, and doesn't like it to be 
 talked about ; but I know how interested you 
 must be in his future, and I want you to remind 
 him to send you a bit of cake. It's no use 
 swearing, youngster ; you know I'm only speaking 
 the truth. After all, what is there to be ashamed 
 of? Most men marry, don't they. Job? And 
 philosophers tell us it's better to get the operation 
 over early.' 
 
 He ceased with a grim laugh, while Somerset, 
 pale with annoyance, sprang to his feet and stood 
 looking out of the window. The landlord lingered 
 a few minutes longer, and then, with more good 
 wishes, left the room, closing the door softly 
 behind him. 
 
 The moment he had gone Somerset wheeled 
 round and faced his tormentor. 
 
96 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' I know why you did that/ he cried, between 
 his set teeth. 
 
 ' Of course you do/ returned Bufton quietly. 
 * You'd be a fool if you didn't/ 
 
 ' You want the girl to know it. You want to 
 make her think ' 
 
 * I want the little fool to know the truth/ in- 
 terrupted Bufton quietly. * I don't want her to 
 fret her heart out after you're gone away.' 
 
 ' How kind we are ! how considerate !' sneered 
 the young man, walking angrily up and down the 
 room. ' To think of it ! Billy Bufton posing as 
 a moralist ! Billy Bufton putting on the airs of a 
 parson ! Why, confound you ! you ought to wipe 
 your own slate clean before you presume to set me 
 sums in good conduct.' 
 
 Bufton leaned back in his chair and laughed 
 good-naturedly ; then his face grew serious again, 
 and he said : 
 
 * I don't set up for a saint, but on the other 
 hand, I do my bad deeds in the open. I don't lie, 
 and cheat, and pretend to be better than I am. I 
 don't attempt to gammon anyone into the notion 
 that I'm a wingless angel, as you do. I don't, 
 above all, pose as a moralist or a parson ! No, my 
 son, I judge things by the standard of common- 
 sense ; and if you did the same, you'd see that 
 you're not playing a square game/ 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE 97 
 
 * How, pray ?' 
 
 * Because, in the first place, you've flattered a 
 certain person into the belief that your admiration 
 for her is serious, and that your ulterior views 
 might be matrimonial ; whereas you have been 
 aware all the time that nothing can ever come of 
 the flirtation. It wouldn't matter, I dare say, if 
 the girl belonged to the ordinary chuckleheaded 
 species. She doesn't — she's different. She's a 
 good little girl, and too much in earnest.' 
 
 Somerset continued to pace to and fro, while 
 Bufton sat quietly watching him. At last he 
 paused, saying: 
 
 ' I dare say you're right, Billy, but upon my life 
 I never meant any harm. It's a hard thing that 
 a fellow can't be civil to a pretty girl without 
 having his attentions so abominably misconstrued.' 
 
 ' Gammon !' growled the cynic. ' I've heard 
 that story before. Civility's one thing and 
 spooning is quite another. The sooner you get 
 back to Bloomsbury the better.' 
 
 While the two friends were thus exchanging 
 compliments, Job Endell had carried his report out 
 to the kitchen, where Annie was still sitting in 
 company with the old woman. The announce- 
 ment of Somerset's engagement and approaching 
 marriage was soon made, and was heard by Annie 
 with seeming indiff^srence, only the deep sullen 
 
 7 
 
98 ANDROMEDA 
 
 flame in her eyes giving any indication of emotion. 
 Presently she rose and announced her intention of 
 retiring for the night. A few minutes later she 
 was in her little room at the top of the house. 
 
 The rain was beating fiercely on the pane, and 
 the wind was whistling shrilly as she walked to the 
 window and looked out. Beyond her and around 
 her all was darkness and desolation. The storm 
 had come, but a more terrible storm was rising in 
 her heart. 
 
 Until the announcement of Somerset's departure 
 she had scarcely realized how much his bright 
 presence had meant to her. His sunny smile, his 
 winning ways, his elegant and courtly manners, 
 had been a revelation to her of the world in which 
 she had never lived, of a world where men were 
 fair and gentle, and not rough and wild, and where 
 fairy princes were still possible. All her instincts, 
 for some mysterious reason, were refined ; the only 
 human creatures she had envied were the ladies 
 who wore delicate raiment, and were soft-spoken, 
 and lived in an atmosphere of gracious gentleness. 
 How she had longed to be one of them ; to 
 escape from her coarse surroundings, and to ex- 
 change her homely associations for the light, the 
 life, the music, of good society ! All the men she 
 had known were clowns and boors, or semi-savages, 
 like the man who had brought her from the Sea ; 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE 99 
 
 nearly all the women were coarse creatures, vulgar 
 shrews and viragos for the most part, subject to 
 ignorant prejudices and ignoble passions. As long 
 as she could recollect, however, she had felt herself 
 to be different, loathing everything that was coarse 
 and common, yearning towards everything that 
 was refined and pure. Yes, God had meant her, 
 she thought, for a ' lady,* though a fatality had 
 cast her into the social mire. 
 
 Feelings like these had been strongly fostered at 
 Rayleigh, where she had gone at her own request 
 to learn dressmaking, and where she had attracted 
 the attention of the young ladies at the Rectory. 
 Ever eager to escape from her surroundings, she 
 had clutched at every opportunity of self-education, 
 and had endeavoured by sedulous imitation to 
 refine her manners and her speech. The young 
 ladies had lent her books — semi - religious 
 romances for the most part — and these, with other 
 tales less orthodox and more enthralling, had 
 developed her dreams and fancies still more. 
 
 With all this she had remained a true child of 
 the Sea, vigorous, fearless, full of health and 
 power. She could row and sail a boat, swim 
 like a duck, and was familiar with the winds and 
 tides. 
 
 Then, just as the weight of loneliness lay most 
 heavily upon her, and she was longing to escape 
 
 7—2 
 
loo ANDROMEDA 
 
 for ever from her desolate environment, she had 
 come face to face with Somerset, the very incarna- 
 tion of her ideal. Had he passed her by without 
 notice, it might have been different ; but her 
 beauty had drawn her to him, and his flattering 
 tongue had completed the conquest of her heart. 
 
 And now he was going away, possibly for ever ! 
 And they had told her that he was to marry, in 
 the near future, a lady in his own sphere of 
 society. She remembered the photograph she had 
 seen in his room, and had no doubt in her mind 
 that it represented the lady of his choice. 
 
 As she stood gazing forth into the desolate 
 night, and listening to the murmur of rain and 
 wind, her face was white as death, and her eyes 
 were misted with burning tears. Her thoughts 
 went out in dread to the man who had left her 
 there and wandered out on the Sea — the strange, 
 wild, half-savage sailor who had given her his 
 name. If he should return! If, after all, he 
 should be living and sailing back to claim her! 
 A little while ago she could have borne to think 
 such a contingency possible, but now her soul 
 sickened at the very thought. 
 
 9|C "^ ^|v ^P ^^ 
 
 The next morning, when she descended, after a 
 sleepless night, there was a brief respite to her 
 anxiety. Although the rain had ceased, it was 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE loi 
 
 blowing * great guns * from the south-east, and the 
 two artists decided that it would be unwise to 
 navigate the little yawl up the Thames in such 
 weather. They determined, therefore, to wait 
 until the next day, when the storm would, in all 
 probability, have blown over. 
 
 Early in the forenoon Annie left the inn and 
 wandered across the island in the direction of the 
 mainland. She yearned, yet dreaded, to have a 
 last meeting with Somerset, and finally her instinct 
 led her to avoid the meeting if possible by keep- 
 ing carefully out of the way. So she seized the 
 opportunity of going on a message to Benfleet 
 village and bringing back certain household stores 
 of which Mrs. Endell stood in need. 
 
 She was absent the greater part of the day. At 
 last, towards sunset, she left Benfleet, carrying a 
 loaded basket on her arm, and wended her way 
 through the woods which led towards Hadleigh 
 Creek, and thence across to Canvey. The weather 
 was still dark and threatening, but the wind had 
 fallen, and it was clear that the worst of the storm 
 was over. 
 
 Slowly and wearily, for her heart was heavy 
 within her, she passed through the shadows of the 
 woods, following an old cart-road overgrown with 
 weeds and grass and shadowed with overhanging 
 trees, which shook their raindrops down upon her 
 
I02 ANDROMEDA 
 
 as she passed. All was dark and still, but now 
 and then a startled rabbit rose from the grass and 
 shot away before her, and from time to time a jay 
 cried discordantly from the neighbouring umbrage. 
 
 She was walking slowly along, full of her sad 
 thoughts, when the sound of a footstep startled 
 her. She looked up and found herself face to face 
 with Somerset. 
 
 As she drew back startled, he approached her, 
 not bright and smiling as usual, but looking 
 almost as pale and troubled as herself His old 
 light manner had departed, he was constrained, 
 almost awkward. 
 
 ' Forgive me for coming to meet you,* he said. 
 ' I wanted to speak to you before I went away.' 
 
 Her eyes dilated, her breath came and went 
 quickly ; she tried to be calm, but could not, and 
 in her embarrassment she looked almost angry. 
 
 * That basket is too heavy for you,' he cried, 
 while she hesitated. ' Let me carry it for you.' 
 
 'No, no!' she murmured, moving forward im- 
 patiently, as if to avoid further conversation. 
 
 But he kept by her side. 
 
 ' YouVe not angry?' he asked 
 
 Her eyes flashed. 
 
 ' Why should I be angry .?' she cried. ' Oh, 
 please leave me, sir ; I've got to hurry home.' 
 
 He said nothing, but continued to keep pace 
 
THE FAIRY PRINCE 103 
 
 with her, glancing ever and anon at her averted 
 face. Presently he spoke again, nervously and 
 rapidly : 
 
 ' I don't want you to think me a howling cad, 
 and that's why I've come to meet you. You see, 
 Annie ' (as he named her her face went crimson, 
 then deadly pale), ' I've been so glad to meet you, 
 and to think we might be friends. I didn't quite 
 realize at first — upon my soul I didn't ! — that other 
 people might regard the aifFair differently and 
 fancy that I was a selfish fool, trifling with your 
 affections, but now I see my mistake, and I want 
 you to forgive me.' 
 
 Her bosom heaved, while her face darkened. 
 As the reader may guess, the nature of his apology 
 was not diplomatic. 
 
 ' It doesn't matter what other people think,' 
 she returned coldly. ' I never thought you were 
 a fool, sir, or fancied that you were anything but 
 a true gentleman.' 
 
 'Thank you for saying that.' 
 
 She stopped short, looking him full in the face, 
 and breathing quickly. 
 
 ' Is it true you're going to be married, sir V she 
 asked. 
 
 ' I'm afraid it is,' he answered, averting his eyes. 
 Then, noticing the strange expression on her face, 
 and seeing her eyes full of tears, he cried im- 
 
I04 ANDROMEDA 
 
 pulsivdy, with a forced laugh : * I'm engaged to 
 my cousin. It's an old affair, with not much 
 sendment on either ade. You don't mind, do 
 you?' 
 
 As he spoke, he placed his hand softly upon 
 hv arm, and looked keenly into her face. In 
 a moment she shook herself free, and then, 
 trembling, held out her hand. 
 
 • Good'-byc, sir, I hope you*ll be very hi^ppy/ 
 she said 
 
 She endeavoured to draw her hand away, but he 
 retained it in his grasp. 
 
 *You won't forget me altogether?' he said 
 softly. * You'll forgive me if I've ever offended 
 yoU) and think of me sometimes?' 
 
 Thdr faces were dose tog^er. Suddenly, to 
 his amazement, she bent forward, her cheeks 
 burning, her ej^es streamii^ with tears, and kissed 
 him full upon the lips. Then, before he could 
 recover finom lus surprise, she fireed herself from 
 his hold, and ran rapidly away. 
 
 Too troubled andstupdMl to follow, lie witched 
 her till she disappeared in the ^ndow of the woods. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF ' PRINCE CHARMING.' 
 
 J^ARLY the next day, the storm having abated, 
 and the gale having changed to a stifF breeze from 
 the south-east, the friends started up the Thames 
 with a fair wind and a free sheet, on the first flow 
 of the rising tide. Bufton held the tiller of the 
 little yawl, while Somerset was at work forward. 
 Before many minutes had passed they were slipping 
 swiftly up towards Gravesend, keeping close to the 
 Kentish side of the river. 
 
 It was a dark and somewhat chilly morning. A 
 dull, rainy mist hung over Canvey and the low 
 hills of Essex. Gloomy as the prospect on which 
 he gazed, Somerset sat down on the ' coach-roof/ 
 lit his pipe, and looked back towards the lonely 
 island. 
 
 All the morning, while they had been preparing 
 to sail, he had seen nothing of Annie, who appeared 
 to have hidden herself away ; but just as he had 
 
io6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 hoisted up the anchor, and they were drifting out 
 towards the river, he saw her standing at the inn 
 door, behind Job Endell and his wife, who were 
 waving their farewell. He had taken off his hat 
 and waved it, but, though the others had eagerly 
 and effusively responded, the girl had made no 
 sign. 
 
 So he sat and smoked gloomily, while the wind 
 and tide set up river, and numberless barges and 
 small craft swept in the same direction as the little 
 yawl. At last Bufton, who had been quietly 
 watching him, broke the silence. 
 
 ' Cheer up, youngster,' he said. ' Think of the 
 other little woman waiting yonder.' 
 
 * That's all very well, Billy,' was the reply, ' but 
 I can't help feeling awfully hipped and sorry. I'm 
 afraid I've made a fool of myself. That's nothing 
 new, I suppose you'll say ; but it's the girl I'm 
 thinking about, not myself. What is to become 
 of her in that infernal solitude ? Upon my life, 
 I believe she'll break her heart ; I don't mean for 
 me, but out of sheer misery in her surroundings.' 
 
 ' Her surroundings are no worse than they were 
 before you turned up,' said Bufton dryly. ' She 
 belongs to the amphibia, and is happier there than 
 she'd be high and dry with a landlubber like you. 
 Besides, Mister Right may come back from the 
 briny ocean, and then ' 
 
FLIGHT OF ^PRINCE CHARMING' 107 
 
 ' Oh, hang him !^ cried the young man im- 
 patiently. * I hope he's at the bottom of the 
 Sea/ 
 
 ' That's a nasty wish,' returned Bufton, with a 
 grin. 
 
 ' She's a girl in a thousand,' continued Somerset, 
 pursuing his own reflections, and not heeding the 
 interruption, ' and her heart is breaking in the 
 horrid atmosphere she is doomed to breathe. Well 
 might they christen her Andromeda ! There she 
 is, chained to a rock as it were, waiting in despair 
 for the appearance of the marine Monster. No 
 hope for her, no friend to advise and succour her. 
 It makes me sick to think of it — heart-sick — and 
 sicker still to know that I can't help her.' 
 
 Bufton nodded grimly. 
 
 * Of course you can't, and you should have re- 
 membered that before you began spooning her. 
 She was happy enough, no doubt, before you 
 appeared on the scene, posing as a sort of Blooms- 
 bury Perseus.' 
 
 *I don't believe she was happy,' answered 
 Somerset. ' How could she be with such a life 
 behind her.'^ God meant her for a lady. You 
 don't know how good she is — how refined. And 
 then her beauty ! Did you ever see anything to 
 surpass it, even on canvas.'^ Ah, well, it's all 
 over, I suppose ! I can only hope and pray that 
 
io8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 she'll find some sort of deliverance. Even now 
 I'd cut off my right hand to help her.' 
 
 So the two men talked as the little yawl ran up 
 the river. 
 
 Meantime, left alone on Canvey Island, Annie 
 was conscious of an aching heart indeed. Her 
 Fairy Prince had vanished, never perhaps to 
 return. She knew now — it had come upon her 
 on that night of their last parting — that there 
 was no rest for her, no peace, without his sunny 
 presence. Had he been content to take her away 
 with him, how willing she would have been to 
 remain his slave, his handmaiden, asking nothing 
 for her life-long service but a kindly look, a loving 
 smile ! But had he not told her with his own 
 lips that it was hopeless, that he belonged to 
 another ? and had she not seen in his eyes, even 
 as she kissed him in the moment of impulse and 
 despairing passion, that his only wish was to spare 
 her pain ? 
 
 Unable to bear the scrutiny of Endell and his 
 wife, but forcing a happy smile to hide her utter 
 misery, she crept from the dreary house and passed 
 quickly inland across the marshes ; then, following 
 a path she knew, she gained the sea wall on the 
 northern side of the island, and gazed with eager 
 eyes up the river. Far away towards Gravesend, 
 on the Kentish shore, among the countless barges 
 
FLIGHT OF * PRINCE CHARMING' £09 
 
 creeping along shore, and beyond the great vessels 
 passing homeward in mid-channel, she saw one 
 little sail, small as a sea-bird's wing — the sail of 
 the little yacht that was carrying her Fairy Prince 
 away. Fainter and smaller it grew, till the mist 
 and smoke hid it altogether from her gaze. Then, 
 with her dark eyes dim with burning tears, she 
 threw herself down on the sea wall, murmuring 
 the lost one's name. 
 
 Presently her tears ceased, and her face grew 
 fixed in pallor, while her black eyebrows contracted 
 and her eyes grew full of angry flame. 
 
 All her spirit was rising in revolt against the 
 cruelty, the misery, of her fortune. Why had she 
 not been born a lady, like her whom he was to 
 marry .^ Why, all her days, had she been sur- 
 rounded with hateful scenes, hateful people.'^ 
 Why had she not died, a little child, on the ship 
 from which she took her name, instead of being 
 snatched from the waters and reserved for such a 
 wretched future ? Why, she asked herself, should 
 she not die now, when she realized at last, in all 
 its fulness, the utter hopelessness of living ? 
 
 As she asked herself the question her eyes fell 
 on the Great River, on the deep tide rushing past 
 her Londonward, and lapping with its black lips 
 the oozy shores of Canvey. One leap down from 
 the sea wall, and she would be at rest for ever. 
 
no ANDROMEDA 
 
 The dark mood passed, for the girl was young 
 and full of the will to live. Passion, moreover, 
 rather than sentiment and self-pity, was the master 
 current of her nature, and passion soon swept her j 
 thoughts into other channels. How if she followed ] 
 her dream out into the world, even to London 
 yonder, and sought for some other, even for some 
 stormier, environment ? Other women fought for 
 themselves and earned their own bread; why should 
 she not do so ? Anything surely would be better 
 than the dreary and empty existence on that 
 wretched island, so near to the murmur of the 
 world, and yet so far removed. Yes, she would 
 go away ! 
 
 Some hours later, when she returned to the 
 desolate inn, she appeared quite calm and self- 
 contained ; but the storm within her was only 
 stilled, not laid, and her face was full of quiet 
 resolve. 
 
 The old woman watched her keenly, but 
 discovered no trace of sorrow or regret. The 
 grim old man joked her once or twice on the 
 subject of Somerset ; her dark eyes flashed, but 
 that was all. 
 
 Several days passed, and she remained strangely 
 taciturn and preoccupied ; but this was nothing 
 new, and was set down to mere ill-temper. 
 
 * The gel grows worse and worse,' growled old 
 
 1 
 
FLIGHT OF ' PRINCE CHARMING ' 1 1 1 
 
 Job to his wife. ' There ain't a word to be got 
 out of her.' 
 
 At last, about a week after Somerset's departure, 
 Annie left the house at early morning, and with- 
 out any intimation of her intention, set out for 
 Rayleigh. It was low water, and her way lay 
 right across the island towards Hadleigh Creek, 
 crossing which by a narrow plank, she gained the 
 meadows between Hadleigh and Benfleet, and 
 thence, passing through the woods, she emerged 
 on the highway. 
 
 It was a fine summer day, the sun was shining 
 brightly on wood and meadow, the birds singing, 
 and a soft breeze blowing inland from the south- 
 west. Familiar with every footstep of the way, 
 she wandered on by highway and byway till she 
 came in sight of Rayleigh village, and ascending 
 the steep hill leading into the main street, halted 
 at last at the garden gate of a small cottage on the 
 roadside. Roses and pinks brightened the garden, 
 and at the open window of the house a girl sat 
 sewing. 
 
 As Annie opened the gate and crossed the 
 garden path the girl looked up surprised, and 
 then nodded and smiled. In another moment 
 Annie was at the open window, looking in and 
 shaking hands. 
 
 ' Sakes alive, Annie !' cried the girl, ' where have 
 
112 ANDROMEDA 
 
 you dropped from ? I thought you were over at 
 the island/ 
 
 She was a pale, rather sickly-looking girl, several 
 years younger than Annie. Her hair was very 
 fair, almost flaxen, her eyes blue and wistful, her 
 features somewhat pinched, and not at all pretty. 
 Her shoulders stooped as if under a load, and 
 when she stood up she scarcely reached to the 
 other's shoulder. 
 
 The table of the room in which she sat, a poorly 
 furnished parlour, was littered with dressmaking 
 materials, and she herself was busily working at a 
 cotton gown. Over her head, attached to the 
 window-sash, was a printed card with the legend : 
 
 Elizabeth Lawrence, Dressmaker. 
 
 Annie seated herself on the window-sill, and 
 leaning back, looked down quietly at her friend. 
 Her face was set and pale, but her eyes were full 
 of light and fire. 
 
 ' Yes, I've been down there right enough,' she 
 said, after a pause, ' but Fm sick of it — sick and 
 tired — and I'm going away.' 
 
 ' Going away ! Where ?' 
 
 ' I don't know,' was the troubled reply. ' To 
 London, perhaps. Anywhere out of Canvey.' 
 
 ' That's strange,' said the other, looking at her 
 thoughtfully. ' You were glad enough to go back, 
 
FLIGHT OF 'PRINCE CHARMING' 113 
 
 Annie. You soon got tired of dressmaking — now, 
 didn't you ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose so. I get tired of most things. 
 I think Mother Endell was right when she said 
 there was a devil in me.' 
 
 And indeed as she spoke she looked the very 
 reverse of angelic. The hot blood came back into 
 her face, her mouth quivered angrily, and her 
 black eyebrows gathered in a frown. 
 
 ' Something has been going wrong, Annie,' said 
 the dressmaker gently. ' You're different since 
 you went back home.' 
 
 Annie nodded, and the frown on her features 
 softened to a curious smile, so that her face almost 
 brightened. 
 
 * You're right, Bess, and you're wrong,' she 
 replied. ' It's true enough I've been worried, but 
 it's true also that I've been happier than I've been 
 for many a long day. Can you guess why.'^' 
 
 Bess, as she had called her, looked at her 
 thoughtfully for some moments, and then gazed 
 down at the dress on her lap as she replied : 
 
 ' I heard that you'd folk staying at the inn — 
 gentlemen from London.' 
 
 Annie nodded again, and her face grew still 
 brighter. Bess looked up quickly, and their eyes 
 met. The look was like a charm to open the 
 full heart, and loosen the eager tongue. A few 
 
 8 
 
114 ANDROMEDA 
 
 minutes later Annie, girl-like, had poured all her 
 secret into the ears of her sympathetic friend, who 
 dropped her hands into her lap and listened spell- 
 bound. She told of her meeting with Somerset, 
 of his grace and fascination, of his quietly expressed 
 admiration, and of the spell which he had succeeded 
 in casting over her. Poor Bess, who had often 
 dreamed of such a lover, heard her rapturously to 
 the end. 
 
 * That's why I came over,' said Annie. * I 
 wanted to tell you what had happened, for oh, 
 Bess, you don't know how good he is and how I 
 love him ! All this time I've had no one to tell 
 it to, and it made my heart ache to keep so silent ; 
 and now he's gone away ' 
 
 ' Gone away !' echoed Bess. * He is gone, 
 then ?' 
 
 ' Gone, and maybe for ever. Gone away to 
 London, Bess, where his friends live. He sailed 
 up the river a week ago, and I suppose he'll never 
 come back. But I don't mind. I love him ! I 
 love him ! I love him ! And I don't care now 
 who knows it ; and, more than that, in his heart 
 I believe he loves me' 
 
 Bess sighed and shook her head. 
 
 ' If he'd have cared for you like that,' she said, 
 ' he'd have said so, wouldn't he, and asked you to 
 marry him.^' 
 
FLIGHT OF * PRINCE CHARMING^ 115 
 
 Whereupon Annie had to confess the truth, that 
 she had heard from the young man's own lips that 
 he was pledged to marry his cousin. As she made 
 the confession, her face darkened again, while the 
 old fire flashed from her eyes. 
 
 * I don't want him to marry me T she cried 
 passionately. ' Maybe I couldn't marry him if he 
 asked me. All I want is just to love him, to think 
 about him, to remember how good he was to me — 
 as good, and as respectful too, as if I was a lady. 
 Oh, Bess dear, you don't know what it is to feel 
 like that. It's just as if I'd been born again and 
 filled up with warmth and sunshine. Yes, it's fine 
 to be in love, even when you know it can come to 
 naught, for it makes all the world seem different, 
 just like the first summer day after a long winter.' 
 
 Poor Bess sighed again, for it was quite true 
 that she had never experienced the emotions so 
 rapturously described. Her heart, however, 
 palpitated with girlish sympathy. 
 
 Annie went on : 
 
 ' But what I wanted to say, Bess dear, is this. 
 Now that he's gone away, I feel that I can't stay 
 with the folk at Canvey. I should go mad if I 
 stopped any longer, or I should drown myself, or 
 do something dreadful. I can't breathe — I can't 
 live there. I must go away, as I told you ; and 
 what I was thinking of was that you and me might 
 
 8—2 
 
ii6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 go to London together, and start dressmaking 
 there. I wouldn't idle, I'd work hard, and 
 
 perhaps — perhaps — some day ' 
 
 She paused, for Bess was looking at her in 
 positive stupefaction, the proposal was so amazing, 
 so unexpected, the scheme, to Bess's simple country 
 intelligence, so quixotic. 
 
 * Oh Annie, you can't be serious !' she exclaimed. 
 * London is a dreadful place for those who have 
 neither friends nor money. It's easy enough to 
 earn one's living down in Rayleigh here, where 
 everybody knows me, but in London people 
 would only laugh at me, and I should starve. 
 I've never been rightly prenticed, you see, and 
 don't know the dressmaking like London women ; 
 and, besides that, I like the country best, and 
 should never think of trusting myself so far from 
 home.' 
 
 * Very well,' said Annie emphatically, * I shall 
 go alone, that's all.' 
 
 * You'll never think of it !' cried Bess. * You 
 don't know what might happen to you, all alone 
 in the City, Many and many a girl has gone 
 there to seek her fortune, and found it only in 
 the streets or down in the black river.' 
 
 *And what then.?' returned Annie, almost 
 fiercely. * It would be living, at any rate ; it 
 wouldn't be creeping and crawling, like a snail on 
 
FLIGHT OF 'PRINCE CHARMING* 117 
 
 the sea-wall. I want to be something, to do some- 
 thing, and not to live on useless down here.' 
 
 ' But they ^11 never let you go/ 
 
 * Won't they ? Perhaps I shan't ask them. 
 They're neither kith nor kin of mine, and they've 
 no rights over me. Besides, they'll be glad 
 enough to get rid of me — make no mistake 
 about that.' 
 
 Presently, as the excitement of that first con- 
 fession wore away, Annie grew calmer, and, enter- 
 ing the little sitting-room, sat down by Bess's side, 
 and talked to her more quietly. But she had quite 
 made up her mind that she would not remain on 
 Canvey Island. She would rather, she said, go 
 into service of some kind far away. 
 
 Not a word did she breathe to Bess, who knew 
 nearly all her secrets, of the ceremony which united 
 her to the man who was still absent on the great 
 ocean. That secret had been well kept from the 
 beginning, and now, more than ever, she shrank 
 from revealing it to any living soul. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 STRANGE TIEWNGS. 
 
 Elizabeth Lawrence, or Bess, as everybody 
 called her, was the orphan daughter of a Leigh 
 fisherman, who had been drowned during her 
 infancy in a great storm off the Nore, and who 
 had been soon followed to the grave in Leigh 
 churchyard by his wife, a delicate young woman, 
 who had never quite recovered from an illness 
 following on the birth of her only child. Left 
 alone in the world, the little girl had been 
 sheltered under the roof of a kindly neighbour, 
 and secured from complete destitution by the 
 interest of a small sum of money accruing from 
 an insurance on her father's life. Frail and 
 delicate, like her mother, she had learned at 
 an early age to add to her slender means by 
 dressmaking and millinery work, and finally had 
 settled down in business at Rayleigh. 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 119 
 
 Annie and she had been close friends for some 
 years, the very contrast in their temperaments 
 being the secret of their attraction for each other. 
 Bess, though plain and unattractive, was thought- 
 ful and fond of reading, while Annie, strong and 
 fresh as the ocean breezes, and fair to look on as a 
 ship at sea, was too full of the joy of life to care 
 much for books or sedentary pleasures. For a 
 time, at her own request, she had assisted her 
 friend at the dressmaking ; but the occupation 
 had soon wearied one who was yearning for the 
 air and sunshine, and she had returned again to 
 the wild and comparatively independent life on 
 Canvey Island. 
 
 Nevertheless, under the little dressmakers 
 influence, she had grown gentler and more 
 refined, and Bess opened to her eager vision the 
 fairy world of poetry and romance. Little as 
 she cared for reading generally, she had found 
 boundless pleasure in the stories and romances 
 they had read together — poor enough rubbish for 
 the most part, dealing chiefly with the love affairs 
 of unreal and impossible lords and ladies, but 
 appealing on that very account the more strongly 
 to Annie's sympathies. And Bess, moreover, with 
 her shrinking delicacy, was full of romantic fancies 
 and dreams, so that her influence fostered and fed 
 all that was most fantastic in Annie's imagination. 
 
I20 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Another influence, to which we have formerly 
 alluded, came from the neighbouring Vicarage. 
 The Vicar of Rayleigh, a cheery widower of sixty, 
 had two daughters, one about Annie's own age, 
 the other five or six years older. The elder. 
 Miss Jane Nettleship, was a gentle and very 
 reserved young woman, deeply religious, and with 
 few or no personal attractions ; the younger. 
 Miss Mary, was a buoyant and tolerably good- 
 looking young lady, very energetic in district- 
 visiting, but not indisposed, in an innocent way, 
 to pleasant flirtations. In all affairs that were 
 agreeable in life, the senior sister sacrificed her 
 own wishes to gratify those of her junior, whom 
 she was content to regard as her superior in 
 personal charm and attraction. 
 
 When Annie had come over to assist Bess 
 Lawrence at the dressmaking, she had made the 
 acquaintance of these young ladies, the Misses 
 Bountiful of the district, and they had taken a 
 strong fancy to her from the day of their first 
 meeting. Miss Jane particularly had treated 
 her with characteristic kindness, and so from time 
 to time, when there was dressmaking to be done, 
 Annie had been a welcome visitor at the Vicarage. 
 There, among the refinements of a well-to-do 
 English household, among surroundings as pleasant 
 and subdued as the shadows in the Vicarage garden, 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 121 
 
 the girl's stormy and passionate nature had found 
 peace and restful ness, and her latent instinct 
 towards refinement of thought and feeling had 
 been permanently aroused. 
 
 That night Annie stayed with Bess at the 
 cottage. The girls slept together — or, rather, 
 lay awake together ; for a goodly part of the 
 night was occupied in further exchange of con- 
 fessions and confidences. Next morning Annie 
 went ofF alone to the Vicarage to interview the 
 young ladies. 
 
 On the summit of a hill on the outskirts of 
 the village stood the old stone church, surrounded 
 by the graves of many generations, and adjoining 
 the churchyard were the Vicarage and the Vicarage 
 gardens. The front of the house, covered with 
 ivy and creepers of all descriptions, looked out 
 across a little green lawn on to the dusty highway, 
 and busy in the front of the house, with a straw 
 hat on his head and an old alpaca coat on his 
 back, was the Vicar. A large pair of garden- 
 scissors in his hand, he was pruning the creepers 
 which overhung the porch. A tall and somewhat 
 portly man, gray-haired and clean-shaven, he 
 scarcely looked his age. His face was plump 
 and brown, his eyes bright and cheerful, his 
 whole appearance that of a man at peace with 
 all the world, as indeed he might well be, for 
 
122 ANDROMEDA 
 
 his living there was worth nearly a thousand a 
 year, and his parishioners gave him very little 
 trouble. 
 
 As Annie entered the gate and came up the 
 path towards the house, he turned his face towards ' 
 her, recognising her with a nod and a smile. 
 
 * Welcome, Annie of Canvey !' he cried play- 
 fully, holding out his hand. ' You find me busy 
 as usual among my creepers and my roses. My 
 girls were talking about you only this morning, 
 and wondering whether you had forgotten them 
 altogether.' 
 
 ' I hadn't forgotten, sir,' replied Annie, smiling ; 
 
 * IVe been coming over again and again, but some- 
 thing always kept me back.' 
 
 ' No doubt, no doubt,' returned the Vicar. 
 
 * We must not forget, my dear, that you belong 
 to the human amphibia, born on the ocean, cradled 
 by the storms, surrounded from birth by sea and 
 tide, eh.'^ Ah, what a pity you were not born a 
 man, for then, Annie, you might have been a 
 sailor in good earnest.' 
 
 ' I hate the Sea,' cried the girl, while her face 
 clouded. 
 
 * So I've heard you say ; but the sea-salt is in 
 your blood, for all that, and you'll never be a 
 landsman, Annie. Well, how is Job Endell, and 
 the good woman who owns him ? Tell them 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 123 
 
 when you return that I'm coming over soon for 
 another day's coursing.' 
 
 'Can I speak to the young ladies, sir?' asked 
 Annie, after a pause. 
 
 ' My daughter Mary is out visiting/ replied the 
 Vicar, ' but you'll find Miss Jane in the old garden. 
 By-the-by, what about the dressmaking ? Do 
 you still think of following it, or have you given 
 up the notion altogether .^' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, I think so.' replied Annie. 
 
 ' Just so,' said the Vicar, laughing. ' Didn't I 
 warn you.^^ Sitting indoors, needle in hand, will 
 never suit you, my dear. The sea-salt again, 
 Annie! There's no shaking it away. You'll 
 have to be a sailor's wife or nothing.' 
 
 Her face was averted, so that he could not 
 perceive the black shadow that passed over it, or 
 the angry light that flashed out of her eyes. She 
 turned away trembling, and passing through the 
 open door, along a broad lobby, entered the garden 
 at the back of the house — a large, old-fashioned 
 garden on the slope of the hill, and commanding 
 the summer landscape for many a mile. There, 
 in a corner of the large, smooth-shaven lawn, 
 surrounded with shrubs and arbutus-trees, she 
 found Miss Jane seated, with a work-table before 
 her, busy at needlework. 
 
 Thin and tall, with kindly dark eyes and 
 
124 ANDROMEDA 
 
 features somewhat pinched, was the Vicar's eldest 
 daughter. Her dress was plain and simple, her 
 whole appearance suggestive of modest tastes and 
 wishes. She looked up as Annie approached, and 
 greeted her with a pleasant smile. Then, motion- 
 ing her to take an empty garden-chair which stood 
 at her side, she said : 
 
 * Mary has gone up the village. She'll be back 
 almost directly.' As Annie stood hesitating, 
 with the shadow still upon her face, she added, 
 'Is anything the matter, Annie.'^ Why have you 
 come over.f^' 
 
 ' Nothing's the matter, miss,' answered Annie, 
 while her under-lip trembled and her eyes filled 
 with tears, * only, only — I want to go away.' 
 
 * To go away !' repeated Miss Jane. ' I don't 
 understand.' 
 
 Then, in her impulsive way, the girl explained 
 that she was weary of dwelling on the lonely 
 island, and yearning to earn her bread somewhere, 
 preferably in London. Here the confession 
 ceased, for she said nothing of her acquaintance 
 with Somerset, or of the stormy emotions which 
 had been awakened in her by her recent expe- 
 rience. The Vicar's daughter listened to her 
 quietly, watching her all the time with grave, 
 thoughtful eyes. 
 
 ' Sit down, Annie, and tell me all about it,' she 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 125 
 
 said presently. ' You didn't always feel as you 
 feel now. You used to love your home. What 
 has changed you?' 
 
 The girl's face flushed, and her breath came 
 and went sharply. She sat down In the garden- 
 chair, and averting her eyes, answered in a low 
 voice : 
 
 * Tm not changed, miss ; I'm not changed at all. 
 I've always felt like that about Canvey Island.' 
 
 ' But only the other day you were so eager to 
 get back.' 
 
 ' Only because I was tired of dressmaking. 
 But when I did go back the place seemed dreadful 
 — so dull and lonesome even after Rayleigh — and 
 now I hate it, I do indeed, and feel as if I couldn't 
 breathe in it ! So I thought I'd ask you if you 
 knew of any place away from there where I could 
 earn my own living as other girls do, and not be 
 a burden on anybody.' 
 
 * That's not so easy, Annie,' returned Miss 
 Jane, ' You wouldn't care to go out to service, 
 and even if you did, you've no experience. What 
 does Mrs. Endell say about it ?' 
 
 ' I haven't asked her advice,' was the short 
 
 reply. 
 
 ' That's wrong. Surely she's your best friend r 
 ' I don't know,' returned Annie ; * and at any 
 
 rate she'd never consent to let me go away. She's 
 
126 ANDROMEDA 
 
 always telling me I oughtn't to be so restless, and 
 that I must be contented down yonder.' 
 
 ' And so perhaps you ought to be/ said Miss 
 Jane. ' Remember, we can't have everything we 
 want in this world, and it's your duty as a good 
 Christian to make the best of what God gives you. 
 I'm afraid, Annie, you're a little restless. Father 
 says it's only natural, seeing that you were born 
 on the stormy Sea.' 
 
 * I wish I'd never been born at all!' cried Annie, 
 stung anew by the allusion to her birth. 
 
 ' You mustn't say that,' said Miss Jane, smiling 
 gently ; ' it's wicked.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is, miss, and I suppose I am 
 wicked — I can't help it. If I was a lady like you, 
 miss, with kind friends round me, and all things 
 peaceful and pleasant. It would be different.' 
 
 * We all have our troubles,' cried the Vicar's 
 daughter sadly. * Some girls would envy you 
 your good looks and your splendid health — yes, 
 and even the fresh air you breathe. You might 
 have been born among the smoke of London — in 
 some dreadful slum, where there is neither pure 
 air nor sunshine. Ah ! many and many a poor 
 creature yonder would think it a blessing to have 
 the freedom and the light which you despise.' 
 
 As she spoke thus, placing her hand softly on 
 Annie's arm, a clear, girlish voice cried, ' Jane ! 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 127 
 
 Jane !' and almost instantly the younger sister ran 
 out into the garden. She wore a light straw hat, 
 and a pretty muslin dress with a pink sash, and 
 in her hand she waved a stylish parasol. The 
 moment she perceived Annie, who stood up to 
 salute her respectfully, she greeted her with an 
 eager cry : 
 
 ' You here, Annie ! It's lucky that I've found 
 you. Do you know, they're looking for you 
 everywhere T 
 
 * Looking for me, miss !' cried Annie tremu- 
 lously. 'Who.'^' 
 
 ' Why, old Mr. Endell from Canvey Island, 
 He says you left the house yesterday afternoon, 
 and didn't come back all night.' 
 
 * That's quite true, miss ; I slept with Bess at 
 the cottage.' 
 
 ' But didn't you tell them where you were 
 going ?' cried Miss Mary. ' Oh, you naughty 
 girl ! Poor Mr. Endell looks quite worried and 
 excited, and wants to speak to you at once.' 
 
 It seemed that poor Annie was doomed to look 
 unamiable that day. Her face darkened again, 
 and her form trembled angrily. 
 
 ' You had better go to him, Annie,' said Miss 
 Jane. * He is naturally anxious. Mary is quite 
 right : you ought not to have stayed away without 
 any warning.' 
 
128 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Where is he, miss?' asked Annie sullenly. ^ 
 
 * I left him close to the Falcon,' answered Miss 
 Mary. ' He has someone with him — a gentleman 
 from London.' 
 
 A gentleman from London ! Annie started and 
 went from red to pale. Who could the gentleman 
 be.^ Li a moment her thoughts turned towards 
 the one being in the world whom she would have 
 been rejoiced to see. 
 
 Taking a respectful leave of the young ladies, 
 and promising to return, Annie passed through 
 the Vicarage, and hastened into the open road 
 leading into the wide main street of Rayleigh. 
 She had only gone a little distance when she saw, 
 close to the door of the Falcon, an old-fashioned 
 inn facing the main street, old Job Endell standing 
 in animated conversation with two persons — one 
 the Vicar of Rayleigh, the other a short, elderly 
 man in black broadcloth, who looked like a 
 stranger. In her annoyance and irritation at 
 Endell's appearance she took no notice of the 
 significant fact that the Vicar, a most precise and 
 particular person, still wore, out in the main street, 
 the old coat and straw hat which he had been 
 wearing in his own garden. 
 
 As she approached the group, Endell saw her, 
 started, and pointed towards her — angrily, she 
 thought. The Vicar and the elderly stranger, the 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 129 
 
 latter of whom wore spectacles, also turned and 
 surveyed her. Then the old publican, leaving the 
 others, ran forward to meet her. 
 
 His weather-beaten face was running down with 
 perspiration, his eyes gleaming excitedly, as he 
 came up to her with hands extended. She shrank 
 back, expecting a volley of abuse, but to her 
 amazement his sinister face was wreathed in smiles. 
 
 * Thank the Lord I've found 'e !' he cried. 
 * Fve been looking up and down for 'e every- 
 where, Anniedromedy.' 
 
 'Well, what do you want with me.'^* she 
 returned, frowning. 
 
 ' Want with 'e !' chuckled the old man, seizing 
 her eagerly by the hand. 'Ah, that's tellin's, 
 that's tellin's, my gel ! The old woman nigh 
 fainted when she heard on it, and there was a fine 
 to-do arterwards at the Lobster Smack. Here, 
 mister,' he cried, drawing her forward, ' here she 
 be ! Here's Anniedromedy !' 
 
 Startled and amazed by his manner, she suffered 
 herself to be led face to face with the elderly 
 stranger, who smiled on her, and politely raised 
 his hat. The Vicar stood by, beaming good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 ' My name is Letterstone,' said the stranger, ' of 
 Letterstone and Letterstone, solicitors, Gravesend. 
 I came over personally this morning via Tilbury 
 
 9 
 
130 ANDROMEDA 
 
 to communicate with you on a matter of the 
 utmost importance.' 
 
 Annie looked at him in wonder. Could he be 
 addressing her, with that bland, paternal smile and 
 almost deferential manner? 
 
 ' Don't be alarmed, my dear,' exclaimed the 
 Vicar, patting her on the shoulder ; ' it is good 
 news the gentleman brings, I assure you.' 
 
 ' Ay, that it be !' chuckled Job Endell, wiping 
 his brow with the back of his hand, and grinning 
 delightedly. 
 
 * I think, gentlemen,' said the solicitor, while 
 Annie stood pale and trembling, ' that we had 
 better go indoors, where we can be entirely 
 private. I can then make my communication in 
 due form.' 
 
 So saying, he led the way into the Falcon, and 
 into a quiet parlour at the back of the old 
 inn. Scarcely knowing what she did or what 
 was happening, Annie followed, and after her the 
 Vicar and Job Endell. Then Mr. Letterstone 
 closed the door mysteriously, and, opening a small 
 black bag which stood upon the table, produced a 
 number of legal documents, letters and papers. 
 
 'Sit down, Anniedromedy,' whispered Endell, 
 drawing to her a chair. ' You'll need all your 
 courage to bear it, when you hear what the gentle- 
 man has got to say.' 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 131 
 
 Annie sat down and waited, open-mouthed. 
 
 * It's good news, however, as I told you,' said 
 the Vicar ; ' so don't be afraid/ 
 
 ' O' course it's good news,' murmured Endell, 
 still smiling delightedly. 
 
 The solicitor drew a chair to the table, sat down 
 solemnly, placed his papers before him, coughed, 
 and addressed himself to Annie. 
 
 ' I assume,' said the lawyer, ' that I am address- 
 ing Andromeda Costello, who was born on the 
 high-seas, and who was afterwards adopted by a 
 seaman named Matthew Watson, and brought up 
 in the house of his only sister, now deceased?' 
 
 ' Yes, that's right,' cried Job Endell, now inter- 
 posing. 
 
 ' Permit the young lady to reply for herself,' 
 said Letterstone, motioning Job aside, and glancing 
 at Annie over his spectacles. ' You are, I believe, 
 Andromeda Costello.^' 
 
 * My name's Annie,' was the reply, * and Liza 
 Watson brought me up.' 
 
 ' Just so — Annie, or Andromeda, Costello. 
 Afterwards, when Watson sailed away from 
 Gravesend on his last voyage, you were consigned 
 to the care of Mrs. Endell, of the Lobster Smack, 
 Canvey Island.'^' 
 
 Annie nodded. 
 
 ' Before your guardian sailed away on his last 
 
 9-2 
 
132 ANDROMEDA 
 
 voyage, when you were a young girl of only 
 sixteen, you were married at the registrar's office 
 at Gravesend to this same Matthew Watson?' 
 
 Annie started, and her face went crimson ; 
 then, in another moment, pale as death. Her 
 lips quivered, the dark lines of her eyebrows met 
 in a nervous frown, and she shrank as if she had 
 received a blow. 
 
 * It's all right, Anniedromedy,* murmured Endell 
 soothingly. * Don't 'e be afraid ; answer the 
 gentleman !' 
 
 But Annie could not answer, so strange a shame 
 fell upon her and so deep a dread. She knew now 
 that all present, including the Vicar, had learned 
 her secret, and she sat with darkening brows and 
 averted eyes, without uttering a word. 
 
 The lawyer looked puzzled. 
 
 * Kindly answer me,' he said, after a pause. 
 * You are Andromeda Costello, and in your six- 
 teenth year you were married to Matthew Wat- 
 son.'^' 
 
 Still there was no answer ; the girl seemed 
 paralyzed and stupefied. 
 
 ' O' course you were, Anniedromedy !' cried 
 Job Endell. * Me and missis was there as 
 witnesses ; ard afterwards ' 
 
 Then Annie found her tongue, and, rising to 
 her feet as if to fly from the room, she exclaimed : 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 133 
 
 ' I don't know ; I don't remember ! I don't 
 want to remember !' 
 
 ' My dear child,' said the Vicar, rising and 
 taking her hand, ' there is nothing to be afraid 
 of or ashamed of. You were very young — a 
 mere child, in fact — and the marriage was, of 
 course, a mere matter of form. You remember, 
 however, that it took place .^' 
 
 The girl's agitation increased. She fluttered 
 and trembled like a bird in the net, panting to 
 escape from some deadly terror. 
 
 *What is it all about .^' she panted, her dark 
 eyes flashing from one face to the other. ' Why 
 have you brought me here to ask me such silly 
 questions .f^ Has he — has he come back.'^' 
 
 There was no mistaking the look of shame and 
 terror which accompanied the query. 
 
 ' Pray calm yourself,' said the lawyer. * I 
 regret, deeply regret, to inform you that, to the 
 best of our information, your husband is dead.' 
 
 ' Dead?' she echoed. ' Matt Watson.?' 
 
 ' I fear so ; I am advised so. The last com- 
 munication sent to us from him was despatched, 
 I understand, only a few days before his de- 
 cease.' 
 
 As he spoke, Annie sank again into her chair, 
 and, leaning forward on the table, covered her 
 face with her hands. Her form was shaken with 
 
134 ANDROMEDA 
 
 sobs, tears were streaming through her fingers, 
 but she uttered no sound. 
 
 ' Your grief is natural, Annie,' murmured the 
 Vicar ; ' nevertheless, I must entreat you to control 
 it, and to listen to what our friend has further to 
 communicate. It will comfort you, no doubt, to 
 learn that the poor fellow's last thoughts were of 
 you, and that he did not pass away without proving 
 his devotion.' 
 
 ' No, indeed !' muttered Endell. * Tell her, 
 mister.' 
 
 Thus appealed to, Mr. Letterstone again turned 
 over his papers and proceeded : 
 
 ' Some weeks ago, Mrs. Watson ^ (as he 
 addressed her by her married name, Annie 
 shuddered through and through and raised her 
 right arm as if to avert a blow), * we received 
 through our agents in Western America these 
 papers, containing Matthew Watson's last will 
 and testament, duly witnessed and attested, to- 
 gether with a large sum of money, which has been 
 left solely and unconditionally to you. This 
 money we hold at your disposal, and after the 
 requisite preliminaries and legal proof of your 
 identity, we shall be prepared to pay it over. All 
 that your husband possessed, in fact, is yours, and 
 I am pleased to congratulate you on your good 
 fortune.' 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 135 
 
 Annie remained in the same position, her face 
 hidden in her hands, but her convulsive sobs had 
 ceased, and she was evidently listening. 
 
 ' D'ye hear, Annie, d'ye hear ?' cried Job Endell 
 excitedly. ' Sakes alive, my gel ! ain't ye ready to 
 jump out of your skin ? You're rich now, Annie- 
 dromedy ! Matt Watson has left you twenty 
 thousand pounds! And me and the old woman 
 ain't forgotten neither! There's a thousand golden 
 sovereigns for «j, my gel — ain't there, sir, ain't 
 there .^' 
 
 The lawyer nodded, glancing still at Annie and 
 motioning Job to silence. There was a long 
 pause, a troubled silence. At last, with a deep 
 sigh, Annie uncovered her face and sat up in her 
 chair, looking white and strange, more like one 
 who had received tidings of some great calamity 
 than the recipient of lucky news. Her dark eyes 
 were dilated, her lips and throat were dry. 
 
 ' Tell me more, sir,' she said faintly, moistening 
 her lips with the tip of her tongue. * I don't seem 
 rightly to understand. Matt Watson's dead, you 
 say, and has left me a heap o' money ? How's 
 that, sir.'^ Where did he get so much to leave .f^' 
 
 ' I am informed,' replied Letterstone, glancing 
 again at the papers before him, * that your husband* 
 (again that curious gesture on the girl's part as if 
 to avert a blow) ' left his ship at the Fiji Islands, 
 
136 ANDROMEDA 
 
 and made his way, like many others, to the gold- 
 fields of Western America. For some time he 
 was lost sight of, but he was among the first lucky 
 discoverers of gold in the neighbourhood of San 
 Francisco. From there, after acquiring large 
 sums, he passed up the country towards Alaska, 
 and again he was fortunate. The amount re- 
 mitted to us is possibly only a portion of the 
 wealth he had accumulated. Stricken down by 
 illness, and in daily expectation of his death, he 
 made his will in your favour and forwarded the 
 twenty thousand pounds, to be paid to us to your 
 credit. We still await the official certificate of his 
 decease, but in any case, whether he is dead or 
 living, we are instructed to pay over to his wife 
 the sum I have named.' 
 
 ' Then maybe he isn't dead at all !* cried Annie. 
 ' Maybe !' 
 
 * I am afraid,* said the lawyer, interrupting her 
 gently, ' that I can hold out no hope of his 
 survival. The words of the will are explicit. 
 " I, Matthew Watson," he says, " being stricken 
 down by mortal sickness, and having only a few 
 hours to live, and being at this moment of sane 
 mind," etc., etc. I have a copy of the document 
 here which you can examine for yourself. Very 
 shortly, no doubt, we shall' receive full particulars 
 of your husband's decease, and instructions con- 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS 137 
 
 cerning the residue of his property, which I have 
 no doubt IS considerable. In the meantime I have 
 again to congratulate you on the fact that your 
 worldly wants are so fully provided for/ 
 
 The rest of that interview, as far as Annie was 
 concerned, was like a troubled dream. The girl 
 listened on, feeling neither glad nor sorry, but 
 simply stupefied. The Vicar's kindly advice. Job 
 EndeU's boisterous congratulations, only bewildered 
 her the more. She could not think, she scarcely 
 seemed able to feel. All that she realized was 
 that some extraordinary and mysterious change in 
 her fortunes had occurred, at the very time when 
 she had felt most hopelessly adrift. Only one dim 
 light seemed visible to her in the midst of the 
 darkness, and that light was the face of the Fairy 
 Prince she had met on Canvey Island. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BOHEMIANS. 
 
 Right in the heart of Bloomsbury, and within a 
 small bird's flutter from the gates of the British 
 Museum, was the studio where William Bufton, 
 dear to his comrades as ' Billy/ and as yet un- 
 known to the fame which was » to overtake him too 
 late in life, worked late and early, whenever the 
 Lord sent him Light, on pot-boilers for the picture- 
 dealers, and masterpieces which no one would buy. 
 He had two companions — young Somerset, to 
 whom our reader has already been introduced (and 
 who is, in fact, our hero, or our apology for one), 
 and George Constable Leroy, artist, dramatist, and 
 out-and-out Bohemian. Bufton was a born artist ; 
 Somerset was an amateur with a certain amount of 
 talent ; Leroy was a man of letters who was full of 
 enthusiasm for art, but who painted execrably. 
 The three occupied the studio together, and the 
 
THE BOHEMIANS 139 
 
 two elder men slept there as well as worked, in a 
 couple of dingy cupboards, which were dignified 
 with the name of ' bedrooms.' Somerset had a 
 room in the neighbourhood, whither he retired 
 from time to time and slept. 
 
 But alas ! Bohemia still existed in those days, 
 and it was very much the fashion to lengthen (or 
 as the result proved, to shorten) one's days ' by 
 stealing a few hours from the night.' It was the 
 period of pipes and beer, and midnight gatherings, 
 and the Judge and Jury and Cremorne Gardens. 
 Artists and literary men still affected the manners 
 of the passing generation ; they were generally hard 
 up, careless in matters of raiment, free, not to say 
 coarse spoken, and still freer of morals. They 
 worked very hard, were paid very little, and spent 
 the little they earned very recklessly. The three 
 dwellers in the studio were no exception to 
 this rule. 
 
 As for the studio itself, the approach to it was 
 down a mews, and in all probability it had once 
 been a portion of the neighbouring stables. It 
 was a large glass-roofed chamber, with a good 
 light from the north, and it was dining-room, 
 drawing-room, room of all work, as well as studio. 
 Littered about it were plaster casts, canvases, 
 easels, lay figures, sketch-books, palettes, brushes, 
 articles of apparel, pipes, empty bottles, flots:im 
 
I40 ANDROMEDA 
 
 and jetsam of all kinds. The air, when the 
 window was closed, smelt faintly of hay and 
 manure. In one corner of the room was a raised 
 platform for models, and close to that a rusty- 
 looking stove, where the three cooked such meals 
 as they partook of en famille. They generally 
 dined out at some cheap restaurant in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Tottenham Court Road ; but their 
 morning repasts of coffee and rolls were taken at 
 home, and sometimes they supped in the studio, 
 Leroy, who was a first-rate cook, preparing the 
 repast. Servant they had none, if we except a 
 certain middle-aged being, playfully known as the 
 ' slavey,* who came in at stated intervals to clean 
 and tidy the place, and who, being generally 
 execrated and saluted with missiles if she dared 
 to disarrange the artists' property and working 
 materials, made her ofHce as much a sinecure as 
 possible. 
 
 One morning, late in the month of January, in 
 the year succeeding the one when the two artists 
 had visited Canvey Island, Bufton sat in the 
 studio, busy on some blocks for the wood- 
 engraver, on which he was working with the aid 
 of a magnifying-glass fixed in his one available 
 eye. He wore a velvet painting-jacket and loose 
 pantaloons, and a Turkish fez was cocked upon 
 his forehead. George Constable Leroy, a tall, 
 
THE BOHEMIANS t4i 
 
 pale-faced man of about forty, blinking mildly 
 through gold-rimmed spectacles — he was very 
 short-sighted — was busy over the stove, warming 
 the coffee for a late breakfast. His lips were 
 clean-shaven, but he wore what were termed 
 ' mutton-chop * whiskers. His thin form was 
 wrapped in an old dressing-gown, covered with 
 stains of paint and splashes of ink. 
 
 ' Charles is unusually late,' soliloquized Leroy, 
 bending over the coffee-pot, which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 ^ Everyone hasn't your head. Constable,' returned 
 Bufton. 'The more you tipple overnight, the 
 livelier you seem in the morning.' 
 
 Leroy smiled, a feeble, good-humoured, watery 
 smile, and then, going to a table set at a little 
 distance from the stove, arranged two or three 
 breakfast-cups, a milk-bowl, and a broken sugar- 
 basin, and proceeded to pour out the coffee and to 
 cut up two enormous loaves of French bread. 
 
 As he did so, he glanced across the studio to a 
 large wooden easel, on which there stood an un- 
 finished painting in the manner known as the 
 ' antique ' — a nude female figure chained to a rock 
 in the moonlight. 
 
 ' He was getting on very well with that picture,' 
 he said thoughtfully ; ' he hasn't touched it, how- 
 ever, for at least a month/ 
 
142 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Shows his sense,' growled the cynic. 'The 
 next wisest thing he could do would be to chop 
 it up to light the fire. Why, just look at the 
 thing ! It's about as like an Andromeda, or any- 
 thing else human, as Fm like Shakespeare.' 
 
 ' The human figure is so difficult/ murmured 
 Leroy. 
 
 'Of course it is/ returned Bufton, rising and 
 walking over to the breakfast-table. ' No English 
 man since Etty has ever got within a hundred 
 miles of it, and Etty's things are glorified cows, 
 not women. Yet this youngster thinks he can 
 paint an Andromeda, as he calls it, all out of 
 his own head, without even a decent model ! 
 Hang his impudence !' 
 
 So saying, Bufton sat down and began vigor- 
 ously discussing the coff'ee and the French bread. 
 His companion sat down opposite to him, poured 
 himself out a cup of cofi^ee, but ate nothing. 
 
 'Hot coppers. Constable.^' demanded Bufton, 
 with a grin. 
 
 ' No, Billy, no ; only I've no appetite so early 
 in the day. I've been thinking, you know, that 
 Charles has not been quite himself lately. That 
 experience down on the Thames has touched him 
 more sharply than you suspected. Eh.? Don't 
 you think so?' 
 
 Bufton shrugged his shoulders. 
 
THE BOHEMIANS 143 
 
 * I don't think about it/ he answered ; * but it's 
 lot him I'm sorry for. He spooned the girl 
 ihamefuUy, and left her almost broken-hearted. 
 [f I hadn't got him away in time, there would 
 hiave been trouble.' 
 
 ' A fisherman's daughter ?' 
 
 ' Something of that sort. A little beauty, with 
 ill the airs and graces of a lady. What right had 
 :he youngster to go fooling over her, knowing as 
 ie did that it could come to nothing.? Selfish 
 )^oung monkey ! I had to talk to him like a 
 father, I can tell you. Lucky I was there !' 
 
 Leroy blinked gently across the table and 
 [leaved a heavy sigh. 
 
 ' I sometimes think, Billy ' 
 
 Here he paused, sighed again, and took a large 
 draught of hot coffee. 
 
 'Well, what do you think .'^^ Bufton demanded. 
 
 ' I sometimes think that these things ought to 
 be left alone, to be worked out, for good or evil, 
 by the persons chiefly concerned. Take my case, 
 Billy. Fifteen years ago I was in love, madly, 
 desperately in love, with a girl far below me in 
 social station — for I was a bit of a swell then, 
 and my people thought I ought to look high up 
 for a suitable wife. Well, they interfered, they 
 worried my life out, till at last they succeeded in 
 separating us. I've never married, and she, poor 
 
144 ANDROMEDA 
 
 dear ! she married an infernal tradesman and died 
 of a broken heart last summer/ 
 
 ''A'prh ?' growled Bufton, who did not fail to 
 notice that the other's voice was broken and his 
 spectacles dim with tears. 
 
 ' Apres, Billy, both our lives were wasted, while, 
 on the other hand, if our kind friends hadn't 
 interfered, it might have been so different. She 
 was too good for me, I admit, and perhaps 
 — perhaps I shouldn't have made her happy ; 
 but, at any rate, I should have tried, and she, 
 in her turn, might have made me a different 
 man/ 
 
 He took another gulp of hot coffee, and blinked 
 pathetically. 
 
 ' The cases are not parallel,' observed Bufton. 
 ' Charles is engaged to be married.' 
 
 ' Quite so,' answered Leroy. * I am afraid, 
 however, that his mother, not himself, has done 
 the courting in that quarter. His cousin is a very 
 nice girl, I admit ; but he seems in no hurry to 
 marry her.' 
 
 ' Of course not. He can't keep himself, let 
 alone a wife. Well, what's the matter now, you 
 precious old sentimentalist.^' 
 
 The last question was provoked by a loud 
 exclamation from Leroy, who set down his cup 
 with a clatter, and rose quickly to his feet. His 
 
THE BOHEMIANS 145 
 
 mild face was flushed and excited, his whole 
 demeanour agitated. 
 
 ' In matters of true love, Billy,' he cried, ' I 
 protest against worldly interference. I return to 
 my first position and assert, without any fear of 
 contradiction, that young lovers should be let 
 alone. I am, as you suggest, a sentimentalist, and 
 my sentiment is that it is better to go wrong at 
 the dictates of the affections than to go right 
 through worldly calculation. Yes — a thousand 
 times, yes!' 
 
 ^ I see,' returned Bufton, with a sneer. * So in 
 your opinion I ought to have let the youngster 
 play the gay Lothario to the bitter end ? I ought 
 to have stood by quietly and suffered him to lie, 
 and lie, and lie, on the principle that true 
 love, as you call it, ought to have its fling ? Rot, 
 Constable, rot! Love's a myth, and generally 
 another name for infernal selfishness. If I had 
 the stage managing of this planet, I'd make it a 
 criminal offence for men under forty to make love 
 at all.' 
 
 Leroy smiled. 
 
 * It would be very nice for old fogies like you 
 and me, Billy,' he said, ' but a very bad look-out 
 for the fair sex. No, sir, youth is the time for 
 love, and the world can't have too much of it.' 
 
 ' Oh, bosh !' interrupted Bufton, with a mocking 
 
 10 
 
146 ANDROMEDA : 
 
 laugh. ' You know as much about the world 
 and about real men and women as I do about 
 Sanscrit, duantum sufficii ! How's the play 1 
 shaping ?' 
 
 The allusion was to a new piece by Leroy, 
 which was just then in rehearsal at one of the 
 theatres in the Strand — a poetical piece in which 
 the new tragedian, Mr. Eugene Aram, had a 
 leading part. It was Leroy's first attempt at this 
 kind of play. Hitherto he had confined his efforts 
 to shorter pieces of modern character, for which 
 he had been wretchedly paid, the palmy days of 
 dramatic authorship not having yet arrived. 
 
 ' It's shaping splendidly,' answered Leroy. 
 ^ Aram will be immense as Earl Tancred.' 
 
 'Aram would be an excellent actor,' returned 
 the cynic, ' if he could but walk the stage and 
 articulate the English language. His elocution is 
 a caution, and his legs are a nightmare.' 
 
 ' He is a genius, Billy,' cried the dramatist, ' and, 
 mark my words, the world will one day acknow- 
 ledge it. In the scene where he finds Paolo and 
 Francesca together, and stabs them without a word; 
 he is absolutely Dantesque.' 
 
 Just then the outer door of the studio was flung 
 open, and in ran, rather than walked, the youngest 
 member of the artistic trio. He was elegantly 
 dressed in the fashion of the period — a somewhat 
 
THE BOHEMIANS 147 
 
 high-waisted coat, peg-top trousers, patent leather 
 boots, and tall hat. His face was flushed, and his 
 whole manner betokened unusual excitement. 
 
 With a nod to the pair he passed across the 
 studio, turned on his heel, and finally, without a 
 word, sank into a large rocking-chair in front of 
 the unfinished canvas which Bufton had just been 
 criticising so severely. Then, with his hat poised 
 on the back of his head, he sat silent, regarding 
 the unfinished form of his creation. 
 
 ' Who's the swell ?' cried Bufton mockingly. 
 ' What is he doing in our poor diggings ?' 
 
 Without even looking round, Somerset heaved 
 a deep sigh, and murmured something in an under- 
 tone to himself 
 
 ' I can understand his feelings,' continued Bufton. 
 * A picture like that would make a cat sigh, and 
 a saint swear. Bear up, young man ; it's only a 
 nightmare!' . 
 
 In a moment Somerset swung round in the 
 chair, and faced his friends. 
 
 ' Go ahead, Billy, chaff away ! Your chaflf 
 reminds me, at any rate, that I'm awake, not 
 dreaming.' 
 
 ' Anything the matter ?' inquired Leroy gently. 
 
 The young man shook his head, and gave vent 
 to a curious laugh. 
 
 ' Oh, nothing — at least, nothing unusual. I'm 
 
 10 — 2 
 
148 ANDROMEDA 
 
 haunted — that's all !' He rose to his feet, and 
 pointed to the figure on the canvas. 'You see 
 that face ?' 
 
 ' We do/ cried Bufton pitilessly, ' and no one 
 who has seen it is likely to forget it!^ 
 
 * Laugh away, Billy, laugh away,' said Somerset. 
 ' I know as well as you do that it's about as like 
 the original as a plaster Italian cast is like the 
 Venus in the Louvre ; but for all that, it recalls 
 the face of the real woman — at least, to me. Well, 
 until quite recently I thought there was only one 
 such face in the world — only one face with such 
 eyes, and such a divine mouth. Well, either I'm 
 going crazy or I'm mistaken. I saw that very 
 face the other night at the theatre, and this morn- 
 ing by broad daylight I have seen it again.' 
 
 Bufton shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' I dare say,' he observed. 'Nature is economical, 
 and turns out her masterpieces in moulds. I've 
 often observed the torso of Cleopatra on the body 
 of the Italian organ-girls, and even in Italy living 
 copies of Raphael's " Fornarina " are as thick as 
 gooseberries.' 
 
 ' But I tell you, Billy,' said Somerset, striding 
 over to the breakfast-table, and looking down at 
 his tormentor, * that I've seen her very living self! 
 You remember her — Andromeda, the maid of 
 Canvey Island?* 
 
THE BOHEMIANS 149 
 
 ' Fm not likely to forget her so long as you 
 continue to libel her on canvas. Sit down and 
 have some coffee, unless you've breakfasted already.' 
 
 The young man threw himself into a chair, and, 
 placing his elbows on the table and resting his 
 chin in his hands, looked thoughtfully at Bufton. 
 Leroy, in the meantime, poured him out a cup of 
 coiFee, with a look indicative of kindly sympathy. 
 
 * If I didn't know that it was impossible,' said 
 Somerset, ' I'd swear that she was here in London.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she may be,' suggested Leroy. 
 
 * No, no. Constable, it can't be. The girl I 
 knew belonged to poor people, and dressed like a 
 country maiden. The girl I've seen here in 
 London is a lady, who wears silk and jewels, 
 and drives about in her own carriage.' 
 
 ' And she resembles so closely the young maiden 
 you call Andromeda ?' asked Leroy, 
 
 ' Resembles her ? By George, Constable, she is 
 Andromeda! Don't I know every glint of her 
 glorious black eyes, every expression of her 
 wonderful face.^ If she isn't Andromeda, she 
 is her very living image. You remember that 
 night, about a fortnight ago, when we went to 
 see Robson at the Olympic.^ You left me just 
 before they began the burlesque, and went on to 
 the club. Well, I stayed on to the end ; and 
 just as I rose to go, and was glancing up at the 
 
I50 ANDROMEDA 
 
 dress-circle, I saw the face I knew, smiling and 
 beaming in the distance. I recognised it in a 
 moment, and you could have knocked me down 
 with a feather. There was an awful crush to get 
 out, and the way was blocked with people, so that 
 it was over ten minutes before I could reach the 
 box-lobby of the theatre. When I did so, I 
 caught a glimpse of her again, gorgeously dressed, 
 bare-headed, with an opera-cloak on her shoulders, 
 stepping into a brougham. In another instant she 
 was gone.' 
 
 ' I understand,' said Leroy ; ^ that's why youVe 
 been so queer and absent-minded lately.' 
 
 * I suppose so. Try all I could, I couldn't get 
 the vision out of my mind. Sleeping or waking. 
 Constable, I've been haunted by it. Well, that's 
 not all. The queerest part of all has yet to be 
 told.' 
 
 ' Tell it to the marines, youngster !' interposed 
 Bufton, rising and returning to the wood block on 
 which he had previously been working. ' I've got 
 to get to work.' 
 
 Then, fixing a magnifying glass into his eye, he 
 proceeded with his sketch, pricking up his ears, 
 nevertheless, to hear the conclusion of the narrative, 
 which Somerset was eagerly confiding to Leroy. 
 
 ' This morning I had just been to call on my 
 mother, and was strolling along here, when I saw 
 
THE BOHEMIANS 151 
 
 at the corner of Bloomsbury Square a carriage 
 rapidly approaching. Though there was snow on 
 the ground, and more going to fall, the carriage 
 was open, and seated in it, wrapped up in furs and 
 sealskins, was my Andromeda, or her double. I 
 stopped short on the pavement as if I had been 
 shot. Our eyes met, and then — you may believe 
 me or believe me not — she seemed to recognise 
 me — she did, by Jove ! — for she started on her 
 seat, and flushed as red as a rose. In another 
 instant, as before, she was gone. I tried to 
 follow the carriage, but it disappeared in the 
 traffic — and, so far as I could see, she didn't 
 even look back.' 
 
 There was a long pause, during which Somerset 
 strolled to a side-table, found a briar-pipe, filled it 
 with tobacco, and began to smoke, glancing ever 
 and again questioningly at Bufton and Leroy. It 
 was clear that he was greatly perplexed and agitated, 
 and anxious to hear their opinion on the subject 
 which he had opened. 
 
 ' It's very singular,' observed Leroy at last. * Of 
 course, it cannot be the same person.' 
 
 * How can it be.^' cried Somerset. 'My 
 Andromeda was a poor girl, and this is an 
 out-and-out swell. But why should she start 
 and seem to know me.^ That's the puzzle!' 
 
 * Perhaps,' Leroy suggested, ' she was struck by 
 
152 ANDROMEDA 
 
 your look of amazed recognition, and may have 
 fancied for a moment that you were an acquaint- 
 ance.' 
 
 ' That may account for it/ muttered Somerset 
 dubiously. * On the other hand, the likeness is 
 simply wonderful. It's not merely the contour of 
 the face, the shape of the figure, the colour of the 
 eyes and hair — it's the expression, the look in the 
 eyes, the whole appearance. If this isn't Andro- 
 meda, Andromeda has a twin sister !' 
 
 Bufton looked up from his work with a cynical 
 gleam in his Cyclopean eye. 
 
 ' In which case, I suppose, you're in love with 
 both of 'em ? Well, the swell for choice ; I 
 advise you to hunt her up.' 
 
 Somerset seized a cushion from a chair, and 
 hurled it at the cynic's head, just missing it, as 
 he replied : 
 
 ' You're a soulless beast, Billy ! All the same, 
 I'm determined to get to the heart of the mystery. 
 In the meantime, I'll have another go at my 
 picture.' 
 
 So saying, he stripped off his walking-coat and 
 waistcoat, put on a painting -jacket of brown 
 hoUand, and set to work. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A FIRST NIGHT. 
 
 The winds blew somewhat chill that winter in 
 Bohemia. All the three were hard up, for 
 Somerset was too proud and independent to 
 accept much help from his widowed mother, 
 whose means, though sufficient for her own 
 purpose, were strictly limited. 
 
 As for Bufton, he was at once so badly paid 
 and so liberal-handed that he was generally 
 behindhand financially, and the same remark 
 applied to Leroy, who no sooner received money 
 than he distributed it broadcast among all the 
 needy ones of his acquaintance. 
 
 A golden prospect, nevertheless, seemed to be 
 opening up for Leroy. He had received a certain 
 sum on account of the purchase-money of the new 
 play which was then in rehearsal, and he was to 
 be paid a further and much larger amount if the 
 
154 ANDROMEDA 
 
 piece turned out to be a success. It was very 
 unusual in those days of the early sixties for 
 dramatic authors to be paid as they are paid 
 nowadays — in proportion to the receipts taken at 
 the theatre doors. The famous Mr. Tom Taylor, 
 the leading dramatist of the day, was content to 
 accept one hundred pounds an act as the entire 
 purchase-money of an original play, and fifty 
 pounds an act for a piece adapted (like many of 
 his successful works) from the French. For the 
 ' Ticket-of-Leave Man,' an admirable work, to 
 all intents and purposes original, he only received 
 about a couple of hundred pounds. 
 
 Literary men and artists, in fact, were still 
 Bohemians— that is to say, they lived on the 
 fringe of good society, and were wretchedly paid 
 for their labours. Now, of course, all that has 
 changed, and artists as well as authors, when 
 successful, wear purple and fine linen. In the 
 early sixties Bohemia was still Bohemia, and even 
 successful litterateurs and painters were all Bohe- 
 mian, more or less. 
 
 Living as they did together, with much the 
 same aims and aspirations, the three might be said 
 to possess one common purse, which was open to 
 each alike. No one of them ever wanted money 
 if either of them happened to be in funds. Luckily 
 or unluckily, as the case might be, all three were 
 
A FIRST NIGHT 155 
 
 equally improvident and indifferent to personal 
 gain. When they earned money, they spent it 
 or gave it away in the lordliest fashion, and when 
 they were hard up, as was generally the case, they 
 dined cheerfully ' with Duke Humphrey,' and 
 never bewailed their condition. 
 
 All three were now looking forward with 
 almost equal interest to the production of the 
 drama which was to make, they hoped, the 
 fortune of Leroy. Nor was their interest entirely 
 selfish, for in their hearts they were deeply attached 
 to each other, and Leroy's success would bring 
 abundant satisfaction to both his comrades. As 
 the great day drew near their excitement increased, 
 and was expressed in each case characteristically — 
 by Somerset with the utmost enthusiasm and admi- 
 ration for his friend's work, by Bufton Vv^ith cynical 
 chaff that entirely failed to hide an underlying 
 tenderness and sympathy, and by Leroy himself 
 with modest confidence in the merit of his own 
 creation. 
 
 The bills were out, and all the advertisements 
 were in the newspapers. ' Francesca dei Rimini, 
 a new poetical play, by George Constable Leroy/ 
 was posted all over the walls of London. At last 
 the great day dawned, and the friends prepared to 
 go to the theatre together. 
 
 There were difficulties. Somerset, always a bit 
 
156 ANDROMEDA 
 
 of a dandy, was all right in the way of wardrobe, 
 but neither Bufton nor Leroy was quite as fortu- 
 nate. Bufton, however, purchased a second-hand 
 frock-coat for the occasion, while Leroy hired a 
 dress-suit from a Jewish clothier, who supplied 
 wardrobes of all sorts to the leading theatres. 
 
 Too modest to ask for stalls, Leroy had secured 
 three excellent seats in an obscure position at the 
 back of the dress-circle, and thither, on the 
 eventful evening, he repaired with his friends. 
 The theatre was crowded, and scattered here and 
 there among the audience were friendly Bohemians, 
 who idolized Leroy and had had countless occasions 
 to remember his goodness. 
 
 Pity the sorrows of the poor dramatist ! Pant- 
 ing, perspiring, poor Leroy sat and trembled as 
 the overture began and the critics of the great 
 newspapers began to gather in the stalls. 
 
 Suddenly his arm was clutched, and turning, 
 with a start of terror, he saw Somerset gazing 
 wildly towards a private box on the dress-circle. 
 
 * What's the matter.^' murmured Leroy. 'For 
 Heaven's sake don't make me more nervous than I 
 am already !' 
 
 But Somerset, leaning forward, addressed Bufton, 
 who was seated on the other side of Leroy. 
 
 'Look there!' he said. *Look there, Billy, 
 •and then tell me again that I was dreaming.' 
 
A FIRST NIGHT 157 
 
 Bufton gazed towards the private box, and saw, 
 to his amazement, leaning forward from the box, 
 and looking round at the crowded house, the face 
 of the maid of Canvey Island ! 
 
 Yes, there could be no mistake whatever. It 
 was either Andromeda, or (as Somerset had averred) 
 her living image. But although the face was the 
 same, with its one unmistakable peculiarity, that 
 of the dark powerfully- pencilled eyebrows which 
 nearly met across the forehead, it seemed trans- 
 formed and idealized. 
 
 The girl, whoever she was, wore an evening 
 dress of white silk, cut very low, and revealing 
 shoulders white as alabaster, and white ostrich 
 feathers in her hair attached by a diamond brooch, 
 and on her neck and throat there were more 
 diamonds, sparkling in the gaslight. Her beauti- 
 fully moulded arms were bare like her neck and 
 shoulders, but on her hands she wore long gloves, 
 and held a large fan of ostrich feathers. 
 
 Seated with her in the box were two persons — 
 a pale, delicate-looking girl somewhat plainly 
 dressed, and an elderly lady gorgeously attired in 
 black. 
 
 The overture was proceeding, and the theatre 
 was full of the rustling murmur of the large 
 audience. The girFs face looked radiant with 
 delight in the glory of its youthful beauty. 
 
158 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' My God !' murmured Somerset ; ' am I drunk 
 or dreaming? It must be herself! Who else can 
 it be?' 
 
 ' Wonderfully like, no doubt,' said Bufton ; 
 ' but one can see at a glance that this girl's a lady.' 
 
 ^ So was she !' cried Somerset impatiently — ' a 
 lady in heart and soul, at any rate. Look how 
 she's smiling. As if I could forget that smile!' 
 
 * Sh ! sh !' murmured through the audience as 
 the curtain rose on the first act of Leroy's drama. 
 The girl turned towards the stage and settled 
 herself in her seat, only leaving visible the back ot 
 her head and the gleam of one ivory shoulder, on 
 which Somerset feasted eagerly without once turn- 
 ing his eyes to the stage. What cared he now for 
 the play — for all the plays in the world ! All he 
 looked and waited for now was another glimpse of 
 his mysterious ideal. 
 
 Loud cheers and applause. Enter Eugene Aram 
 as my lord of Rimini — a dark, sinister, hunch- 
 backed figure, with a strangely fascinating smile. 
 As the dialogue went on the interest of the piece 
 deepened, and when the drop fell on the first act 
 the applause was both loud and spontaneous. 
 
 ' It's going all right,' said Bufton, which was 
 rare approval, coming from him. Leroy turned 
 to Somerset, but his seat was vacant ; he had 
 disappeared. 
 
A FIRST NIGHT 159 
 
 The two men left the dress-circle, and made 
 their way to the refreshment-room, which was 
 crowded to suffocation. Everyone was talking, 
 and here and there a cocksure critic was laying 
 down the law. From time to time they exchanged 
 a nod and a greeting with some friend from 
 Bohemia, and at last, after a long struggle, they 
 succeeded in procuring some whisky-and-soda. 
 
 The bell rang, and they returned to their seats, 
 but there was no sign of Somerset. 
 
 ' Where can he have gone to ?' murmured 
 Leroy plaintively. * Tm afraid he'll miss the 
 second act.' 
 
 ' Much he cares about that !' was Bufton's 
 response. 
 
 At that moment the young man joined them, 
 looking very pale and worried. 
 
 * Forgive me, old fellow,' he said to Leroy, 
 ' I've been making inquiries at the box-office ; 
 she's in Box C, and Box C has been let to a 
 Mrs. Watson. That's all I can learn ; they won't 
 give me any address or other information.' 
 
 ' I suppose Mrs. Watson is the old lady,' 
 returned Leroy, whose thoughts, however, were 
 concentrated on the play. 
 
 The act-drop rose again, and the attention of 
 everybody except Somerset was fixed upon the 
 stage. From that time forward the play was a 
 
i6o ANDROMEDA 
 
 succession of triumphs for the author and the 
 leading actor. Mr. Eugene Aram surpassed all 
 anticipations, even those of his most sanguine 
 admirers. His representation of a sardonic yet 
 impressionable creature, driven to madness by love 
 and jealousy, was pronounced masterly, and the 
 end of the play, when Earl Tancred deliberately 
 kills his wife and her paramour, and ends by 
 destroying himself with his own hand, produced 
 an outburst of the wildest enthusiasm. 
 
 Almost before he could realize what was taking 
 place, the happy dramatist found himself swept 
 away by a perfect torrent of friendly congratula- 
 tions ; eager hands grasped his, friends and even 
 strangers felicitated him, and finally, borne round 
 through the pass-door on to the stage, he was led 
 on by the manager of the theatre to make his 
 bow before the applauding public. 
 
 Bufton, as well as Somerset, had long since dis- 
 appeared. Trembling with delight, Leroy made 
 his way to the leading actor's dressing-room, and 
 found Aram, still clothed in his war-paint, stretched 
 upon a sofa, and gasping with fatigue. The 
 manager, the acting-manager, and a group of 
 friends from the front were congratulating him 
 volubly ; but when the dramatist entered, flushing 
 timidly, Aram cried : 
 
 * There's the real hero of the evening ! Leroy, 
 
A FIRST NIGHT i6i 
 
 old man, I think youVe got home this time ! 
 Birchington, give Leroy a brandy-and-soda.' 
 
 Birchington was the actor's dresser, and was 
 busily engaged just then handing round drinks 
 and cigars to the company assembled. 
 
 A little later Leroy went round to the Bohemian 
 Club, of which he was a familiar member, and here, 
 too, the chorus of praise was in full voice. Actors 
 from the various theatres, critics of the minor news- 
 papers, divers hangers-on of the theatrical and 
 literary professions, were all full of the new play, 
 and eager to hob-nob with the distinguished 
 dramatist. As a natural result, poor Leroy, who 
 had only one weakness, which he shared with too 
 many able men of that generation, was soon half 
 tipsy. 
 
 It was an hour past midnight, and most of the 
 early birds had gone home to roost, when Somerset, 
 flushed with excitement, entered the club, and, 
 after an eager search, found his friend alone, and 
 half asleep, in the smoking-room. 
 
 ' Forgive me again, old fellow !* he cried, wring- 
 ing Leroy's hand. ' I hear on every hand that it's 
 a success, an immense success, and I can't tell you 
 how glad I am — how awfully glad. I met old 
 Cackleford of the limes on the doorstep, and 
 he's simply raving.' 
 
 ' He told me to my face, Charles,' said Leroy, 
 
 II 
 
i62 ANDROMEDA 
 
 with a tipsy hiccup, ' that rm a gr — great drama- 
 tist. But the success isn't mine, dear boy — it's 
 Aram's. He was simply wonderful !' 
 
 ' Your play gave him his opportunity. Without 
 the play he could have done nothing.' 
 
 Leroy smiled with feeble self-satisfaction. 
 
 ' Quite right, Charles — quite right ! But where 
 have you been all this time ?' he demanded ; ' and 
 how's Mrs. — Mrs. Andromeda.^' 
 
 Somerset saw that the dramatist was too elated, 
 both mentally and spiritually, to be a fit recipient 
 of amorous confidences, so he simply wrung his 
 friend's hand again, and said, with a nervous 
 laugh : 
 
 *Oh, Andromeda's all right, old fellow. I'll 
 tell you all about that in the morning,' 
 
 * * ^ ^ i^ 
 
 It was twelve o'clock next day before Leroy 
 rose from his bed, made a hasty toilette, and 
 hastened into the studio, where he found Bufton 
 hard at work. 
 
 * It's all right, Constable,' said Bufton, pointing 
 to a pile of newspapers ; * all the idiots on the 
 papers are cracking up the play and Aram, except 
 the man on the Morning Planet^ who says that 
 the play is a crib from the Italian, and that the 
 actor, as usual, was inarticulate.' 
 
 Poor Leroy, whose head ached terribly from the 
 
A FIRST NIGHT 163 
 
 excesses of the previous evening, and who looked 
 the picture of misery, sank into a chair and held 
 his hand to his forehead. 
 
 ' What time did you get home, Billy ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I was snug between the blankets by half- 
 past twelve,' was the reply. ' 1 knev/ you'd be 
 keeping it up, so I trotted home. I heard you 
 come in with the milk.' 
 
 ' It was really too much excitement,' sighed the 
 dramatist. 
 
 'You mean too much champagne and brandy.' 
 
 ' And the excitement, too, Billy. I really 
 couldn't stand it very often. Well, thank good- 
 ness it's all over.' 
 
 Half an hour later Somerset entered the studio, 
 looking spick and span as usual. His face, how- 
 ever, was very pale, and his manner strangely sub- 
 dued. After again congratulating Leroy on his 
 success, he seemed to fall into a brown study, 
 from which he was aroused by the voice of Bufton 
 saying : 
 
 ' Well, what about your Andromeda ? Did you 
 ascertain anything about her.'*' 
 
 The young man looked quietly up and nodded. 
 His expression was so curious, his manner so 
 peculiar, that his friends saw clearly that some- 
 thing unusual had occurred. 
 
 After waiting some minutes for him to speak, 
 
 II — 2 
 
164 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Bufton said again, with a slight sneer : ' Well 
 who was right, youngster?' 
 
 'I was,' replied Somerset. 'I knew that such 
 an extraordinary likeness between two human 
 creatures was impossible.' He paused, and then 
 added very quickly, almost sadly : ' The girl we 
 saw last night was our Andromeda — the girl we 
 met on Canvey Island.' 
 
 ' Nonsense !' cried Bufton, genuinely astonished. 
 
 ' It's no nonsense, but the fact. I've seen her 
 face to face — I've spoken to her. She has come 
 into a fortune — large or small, I don't know 
 which — and she's living here in London.' 
 
 It was Bufton's turn to look troubled, for he 
 had assumed all along that the person he had seen 
 in the theatre, in spite of her resemblance to the 
 maid of Canvey, was a stranger. He gave a pro- 
 longed whistle, got up from his work, and strode 
 across the room. 
 
 ' Did you follow her home ?' he demanded, 
 suddenly wheeling round and facing Somerset, 
 who sat looking quite miserable and dejected. 
 
 ' rd no need to do that,' the young man 
 answered gloomily. * I met her face to face in 
 the lobby of the theatre, and she gave me her 
 hand with the air of a duchess ! I was so 
 staggered that I could hardly get out a syllable. 
 '* I'm living in London now," she said, " and that 
 
A FIRST NIGHT 165 
 
 IS my address. Any afternoon you are disengaged 
 we shall be very pleased to see you." Then she 
 took out a card and gave it to me — and — and — 
 then she went away. I was never more astonished 
 in my life.' 
 
 ' Well/ said Bufton, ' the mystery is at any rate 
 explained ; so what are you looking so glumpy 
 about !' 
 
 ' Nothing,' returned Somerset, 'only — only ' 
 
 He paused, drew out a piece of pasteboard from 
 his pocket, and tossed it to Bufton, saying : 
 * There's the card she gave me ; you can look 
 at it.' 
 
 Bufton took the card, screwed up his one avail- 
 able eye to examine it, and read as follows : 
 
 Mrs. Annie Watson, 
 
 Tenterden's Hotel, 
 
 Hart Street, Bloomsbury. 
 
 'By the Lord Harry !' cried Bufton, ' then she's 
 a married woman P 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AT TENTERDEn's HOTEL. 
 
 At the very moment when the friends were staring 
 in wonder at the card which bore her name and 
 address, Annie herself was seated, not a quarter of 
 a mile away, in a prettily furnished private sitting- 
 room on the second floor of Tenterden's Hotel. 
 She wore an elegant peignoir^ which could only 
 have been manufactured by a fashionable dress- 
 maker, and was languidly reclining in an armchair 
 close to the window of the apartment. Near to 
 her, in another chair, sat Bess Lawrence, the dress- 
 maker of Rayleigh, also very nicely dressed, 
 looking anxiously at her companion. For Annie's 
 face was clouded, and her black eyebrows met 
 ominously, as she gazed out on the gloomy street, 
 where the wintry snow was falling. Her little feet 
 tapped the ground impatiently, and from time to 
 time she uttered an angry exclamation. 
 
AT TENTERDEN^S HOTEL 167 
 
 ' But why worry yourself about it, Annie ?' said 
 Bess gently. ' Of course, you only did what was 
 right. After all, he was bound to know.' 
 
 * He wasn't !' cried Annie. ' We might never 
 have met at all. And then — and then ' 
 
 ' But you wanted so much to meet him, didn't 
 you?' 
 
 ' Of course I did, but somehow when we came 
 face to face I felt angry with him, with myself, 
 with the whole world. Then, like a fool, I 
 handed him my card. Oh, what will he think of 
 me ? What will he think of me ?' 
 
 She sprang to her feet and paced up and down 
 the room. 
 
 'But,* murmured Bess, 'didn't you explain.^' 
 
 ' Of course I didn't,' cried Annie. * I was too 
 startled and ashamed. All I did was to ask him 
 to call. If he does, I won't see him ! But there, 
 I dare say he won't take the trouble.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not, dear,' said Bess, ' for if you didn't 
 explain, he may fancy that you've got married since 
 you last saw him, and are living here with your 
 husband.' 
 
 Annie uttered an exclamation. Such a con- 
 tingency as her friend described had not even 
 occurred to her. 
 
 ' Worse and worse !' she exclaimed. ' I never 
 thought of that. Of course, when he reads my 
 
1 68 ANDROMEDA 
 
 name, " Mrs. Annie Watson," he'll never think 
 for one moment that I'm a — a widow !' She 
 gulped out the word with a wry face, and then 
 continued : ^ But there, anything is better than 
 that he should know the truth. If he ever did 
 know it, I think I should die of shame.' 
 
 ' But you've nothing whatever to be ashamed of, 
 Annie. Although you were married when only a 
 child ' 
 
 ' Don*t speak of it ! don't speak of it !' Annie 
 exclaimed, her dark eyes flashing and her lips 
 trembling. ' When I look back, I feel as if I 
 should go mad. Often and often when I think of 
 it I hate myself for having taken that money. 
 And after all, what has it brought me ? Misery 
 — only misery ! I was happy down there in 
 Canvey. I'm sick of being here in London and 
 trying to be a lady !' 
 
 Bess smiled, for she remembered well how ill at 
 ease Annie had been latterly in her wild surround- 
 ings, and how, at the very moment when fortune 
 came to her, she had been planning to escape to 
 the great city. 
 
 At that moment there was a sharp tap at the 
 door. In a moment Annie's manner changed, and 
 she put her finger on her lips. 
 
 ' It's Mrs. Garthorne,' she whispered quickly. 
 ' Don't say a word of this to her/ 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL 169 
 
 The door opened and an elderly lady of large 
 proportions, attired in a dress of black silk, on the 
 ample breast of which was a gold chain, sailed 
 into the room. She was the same individual who 
 had sat with Annie in the box on the previous 
 evening. 
 
 * Good-morning, my child,* she said, smiling and 
 kissing Annie coldly on the forehead. * I would 
 not disturb you before, although you did not come 
 down to breakfast. How do you feel, dear, after 
 the excitement of last evening.'^' 
 
 * Oh, I'm all right,' returned Annie carelessly. 
 Mrs. Garthorne sank into a chair and arranged 
 
 her rustling silk skirts with her white hands, on 
 which were massive gold rings. 
 
 ' Had I known the play was to be so tiresome, I 
 should certainly not have suggested your taking a 
 box for the first night ; but on such an occa- 
 sion, love, one sees all the smart people, all the 
 clever people, and I thought that would interest 
 you.' 
 
 ^I liked the play very much,* said Annie. 'So 
 did Bess. It made us both cry.' 
 
 Mrs. Garthorne glanced somewhat patronizingly 
 at Bess, in whose opinions, it was clear, she took 
 but little interest. 
 
 ' I do not approve of pieces of that sort,' she 
 proceeded, with an air of authority. * They are 
 
lyo ANDROMEDA 
 
 unreal ; they lead to false conceptions of the 
 world in which we live. Some of the expressions 
 they contain, moreover, are in very bad taste. 
 The name of the Deity was again and again 
 introduced with a most deplorable want of taste 
 and reverence.' 
 
 With the advent of this mentor, Annie seemed 
 to have recovered her good-humour. She looked 
 with twinkling eyes at her little companion, and 
 said with a clear laugh : 
 
 ' Well, you see, Mrs. Garthorne, Bess and I 
 haven't much experience of theatres. It all seemed 
 so dreadfully true, and very interesting.' 
 
 The elder lady sighed, and thought it best not 
 to pursue the subject. 
 
 ' You noticed Lord Willington in the box 
 opposite .f^' she said. 'The lady with him was his 
 second wife, and the governess of his first wife's 
 children. The family were very much shocked 
 when he led her to the altar/ 
 
 ' Indeed !' 
 
 ' It was very natural, for it was certainly a 
 mesalliance. Did you observe the tall, elegant- 
 looking young man to whom I bowed after the 
 second act ? That was Sir Frederick Christchurch, 
 who was one of my late husband's brother officers. 
 I thought he would have come up to the box, in 
 which case I would have introduced you ; but I 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL 171 
 
 presume that he could not leave the lady whom 
 he was escorting/ 
 
 More conversation of this elegant kind followed, 
 but to relate it would scarcely entertain the reader. 
 We prefer to seize the occasion for a few words ot 
 necessary retrospection. 
 
 It was not until some time after she had received 
 the news of her so-called good fortune that Annie 
 realized the change it was bound to make in her 
 worldly position. At first she had been simply 
 stupefied. But when day by day the truth became 
 clearer to her, she began to think more and more 
 of her Fairy Prince, and to feel her old longing to 
 follow him to London. At first old Mrs. Endell, 
 who felt for her a really unselfish affection, tried 
 to dissuade her from going away at all ; but every 
 hour her longing grew to see something of the 
 great world. At last, when all the preliminaries 
 were settled and the large sum sent over was 
 placed in her hands, she made up her mind to bid 
 farewell to Canvey Island, at least for a time, and 
 to reside in London. 
 
 After not a little consultation, she persuaded 
 her friend the little dressmaker to be her com- 
 panion. They arranged to take rooms in town 
 and to join together in a round of innocent 
 amusement and sight-seeing. When all was thus 
 settled, the Vicar's eldest daughter gave them a 
 
172 ANDROMEDA 
 
 letter of introduction to the mistress of Tenterden's 
 Hotel, a highly respectable boarding establishment 
 in the then select region of Bloomsbury. 
 
 Conceive the change — wonderful as any change 
 in a fairy tale ! The wild maid of Can vey Island, 
 a widow almost before she was a wife, found her- 
 self the mistress of some twenty thousand pounds, 
 with a cheque-book, elegant rooms of her own, 
 and carte-blanche to dress herself as she pleased, 
 and to come and go as her fancy willed. In the 
 course of a very few weeks Annie was positively 
 transformed ; and no one would have recognised 
 in the graceful and elegantly-dressed young lady, 
 who was the admiration of all the men at Tenter- 
 den's, the wild young girl who had spent so many 
 years amid almost savage surroundings on Canvey 
 Island. 
 
 Annie's instincts, however, had always been 
 refined, and she had been fortunate enough to 
 come under the influence of the young ladies of 
 the Vicarage. The companion she had chosen, 
 moreover, was a girl of great sense and discretion, 
 and with no coarse propensities or sympathies. 
 To her advice and influence was due the fact that 
 Annie, although she had a true feminine love for 
 dress, which she did not fail to gratify now she 
 had the means, avoided all vulgarities, and clothed 
 herself with both taste and judgment. Her 
 
AT TENTERDEN^S HOTEL 173 
 
 manners, always refined, were now carefully and 
 diligently corrected, and if by an occasional 
 solecism of speech she now and then betrayed her 
 lack of education, she was too much mistress of 
 herself to do so very often. 
 
 She was assisted, moreover, in her secret 
 ambition to look and act like a lady by a fellow- 
 boarder to whom she was introduced very early 
 during her stay at Tenterden's. This was Mrs. 
 Major Garthorne, with whom the reader is already 
 acquainted, and who was the widow of an officer 
 who had died abroad, leaving her a small annuity. 
 Mrs. Garthorne, who speedily gathered something 
 of Annie's story from the gossip of the boarding- 
 house table, soon contrived to ingratiate herself 
 with the young stranger, and having completely 
 won her confidence, proceeded to make herself 
 useful, even necessary, as a friendly guide and 
 mentor. Annie, whose judgment was very keen, 
 did not fail to perceive that the officer's widow 
 was a somewhat selfish and worldly woman, but 
 her very worldliness and worldly folly amused and 
 interested one who had had little or no social 
 experience. So it came to pass that Mrs. Garthorne 
 became, on a tacit understanding that her services 
 might be recompensed later on, a sort of informal 
 chaperon to the friendless girls. 
 
 Such was the position of affairs when Annie 
 
174 ANDROMEDA 
 
 encountered at the theatre the young man who 
 had contrived to awaken the first passion of her 
 life. Day and night she had been thinking and 
 dreaming about him, hoping, yet dreading, that 
 they might meet ; and once before, as we know, 
 she had caught a glimpse of him in the streets. 
 That one ghmpse had been enough to cause her 
 infinite suspense and agitation. Wherever she 
 went, in private or in public, her eyes had searched 
 for the one familiar form, and always in vain. 
 To Bess, and to Bess only, she confided her fears 
 and her yearnings, w^hen Mrs. Garthorne was 
 sleeping the sleep of virtue, and the two girls were 
 left alone. 
 
 The guests or boarders at Tenterden^s were 
 exceedingly select, consisting for the most part of 
 well-known people who had come dov/n in the 
 world and found it necessary to practise rigid 
 economy. There were one or two retired officers, 
 several officers' wives and widows, a few American 
 families, and one or two young civilians. Ten- 
 terden himself was a mild, unassuming person, who 
 held some obscure Government appointment, and 
 Mrs. Tenterden, who always presided at the head 
 of the table, was a stately person of most aristo- 
 cratic manners. Nothing low or vulgar was 
 countenanced at Tenterden*s. The meals were 
 served solemnly by men-servants, always of German 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL 175 
 
 nationality, and after dinner there was music and 
 whist in the drawing-room. 
 
 Poor as the social environment might have 
 seemed to one brought up in luxury, to Annie it 
 was quite delightful. She felt, as it were, in the 
 very odour of sanctity, and she loved the quiet 
 ways and refined manners of the persons to whom 
 she was introduced. Naturally enough she was 
 soon regarded as the belle, or beauty, of the 
 establishment. The men surrounded her like a 
 small court, and even the sourest spinster treated 
 her with civility, having heard whispers of her 
 wealth. 
 
 Under the guidance of Mrs. Garthorne, she 
 made several acquaintances outside the establish- 
 ment, and was invited to one or two quiet balls 
 and evening parties, chiefly in Bayswater and the 
 suburbs. On these occasions, as at theatres and 
 concerts, she enjoyed herself immensely, and her 
 bold, uncommon beauty, her grace and simplicity, 
 were the theme of general admiration. 
 
 Nor was she content to remain as she was with- 
 out making any effort at self-improvement. A 
 young Parisian lady who was boarding at the 
 house gave her lessons in French, and twice a 
 week, accompanied by Bess, she went to the 
 Portland Rooms, close to Cavendish Square, where 
 the two girls were instructed privately in all the 
 
176 ANDROMEDA 
 
 fashionable dances. The result of all this was 
 speedily seen. Always exquisitely graceful, Annie 
 became easy and at home in any company, so that 
 few, looking at her and hearing her speak, would 
 have suspected her lowly origin. 
 
 The wonder among all who saw her and were 
 introduced to her was that she, still so young a 
 girl in appearance, had already been married, and 
 was now actually a widow. This was indeed a 
 mystery which no one could fathom ; but as she 
 herself vouchsafed no information, and as the only 
 person altogether in her confidence discreetly held 
 her tongue, a mystery it remained. 
 
 Since being informed by the Gravesend solicitor 
 of the large amount sent over for her disposal, she 
 had also received from the same source informa- 
 tion of her husband's death. Their agents in San 
 Francisco reported that Matt Watson had died of 
 fever, up country, leaving behind him considerable 
 property, concerning which they were making 
 careful inquiries. They suggested, indeed, that 
 Annie should come out forthwith to America, 
 with the view of making her claim good to the 
 rest of her inheritance. This, however, she 
 absolutely declined to do — at least, on the spur of 
 the moment. She would wait for further com- 
 munications, and then decide. 
 
 To Bess alone she confided her true feelings- — 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL 177 
 
 the curious dread and repulsion which had grown 
 up in her heart towards the man who had been 
 her benefactor, and the hesitation she felt in con- 
 sequence at accepting his legacy. 
 
 * It's just like a horrid dream/ she said, ' my 
 being married at all. He was more like my 
 father than a man I could care for in that way ; 
 and even now, though it isn't a long time since 
 I saw him, I don't seem to remember him rightly. 
 All I see is a strange face with a great beard, and 
 big earrings in his ears, and big hands with tattoo 
 marks all over them. I was sick whenever he 
 touched me, and downright glad when he went 
 away.* 
 
 ' He must have been very fond of you, Annie,' 
 said the little dressmaker. 
 
 ' I suppose he was,' answered Annie thought- 
 fully, ' and when I was a little child I was very 
 fond of him. It wasn't till he began to make love 
 to me that I felt afraid of him. He'd sit and look 
 at me for hours with his face smiling and his white 
 teeth gleaming, and though he never said a word 
 about it, I knew what was in his mind, though I 
 was too young to understand it altogether. Then, 
 before he went away, they wanted me to marry 
 him, and at first I was afraid, but at last I thought 
 it only a bit of fun.' 
 
 The dark line gathered over her forehead, and 
 
 12 
 
178 ANDROMEDA 
 
 her face was full of shrinking dread, as she] 
 continued : 
 
 ' After he was gone I tried to forget all about | 
 him, and as the time passed on I began to feel as] 
 if he'd gone away for ever. I kept my own name, 
 and no one knew on Canvey that Td been married ; 
 for Mrs. Endell always said it was only a sort of 
 form of marriage, and that if Matt returned we'd 
 maybe go through it again. When I thought of 
 that I prayed and prayed that he'd never return 
 at all.' 
 
 ' After all,' suggested Bess, * it's been for the 
 best. If you hadn't married him, he might never 
 have left you all that money.' 
 
 * It would have been better, perhaps, if he 
 hadn't. I shouldn't be so sick and ashamed. 
 It's bad to feel as I feel about him, for he was 
 always very good to me, and it doesn't seem fair 
 to take his money, and be glad that he's dead and 
 buried. Sometimes I wake at night and fancy 
 that he isn't dead, but coming back. If he ever 
 did, I think that I should die of fear.' 
 
 * Well, there's no chance of that,' returned 
 Bess. ' The lawyers say, don't they, that he died 
 directly after sending the money and making his 
 will ?' 
 
 ' Yes, that's so,' answered Annie, * but somehow 
 or other I can't get it into my heart that he's dead 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL 179 
 
 and gone. He was so big and strong, so full of 
 life, and his comings and goings were always so 
 strange. He*d be here in England one day and 
 gone the next ; and then, when months and 
 months had gone by, and it would seem as if 
 he was never coming back, in he'd walk at the 
 door laughing, his hands full of queer things from 
 over seas. He was a strange man, Bess, and I 
 always felt uneasy with him, and I feel now as 
 if he was waiting in hiding somewhere — waiting 
 to spring out on me.' 
 
 Fortunately for Annie, the feelings thus graphic- 
 ally described only represented a passing mood. 
 She was too young and high-spirited to yield 
 altogether to nervous fancies, and before long she 
 had ceased to distress herself about the man who, 
 she was confidently assured, had died over seas. 
 With the assurance that he had passed out of her 
 life for ever came a gentler recollection of his 
 many kindnesses and his lifelong devotion. She 
 tried to think of him as of a rough parent and 
 guardian, and melted towards him accordingly, 
 full of gentle gratitude for the crowning service 
 which he had done for her. 
 
 On the same day following her meeting with 
 Somerset at the theatre Annie lunched downstairs 
 at Tenterden's, and after lunch Mrs. Garthorne 
 proposed that they should drive out for a couple 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o ANDROMEDA 
 
 of hours in the park ; for, acting under her 
 chaperon's advice, Annie had made arrangements 
 with the proprietor of a livery stable, who, for a 
 fixed sum per week, placed a horse and carriage 
 at her disposal. That afternoon, however, she 
 elected to stay at home, and Mrs. Garthorne 
 took the carriage to make a few ceremonious 
 calls. 
 
 'Why wouldn't you go out?' asked Bess, as 
 they returned to their private sitting-room up- 
 stairs. ' The drive would have done you good.' 
 
 Annie gave a curious little laugh. 
 
 ' I don't know,' she answered ; * I felt that I 
 preferred to stay at home.' Then, laughing again 
 nervously, she added : ' Well, if you must know 
 the truth, I fancied that perhaps someone might 
 call.' 
 
 'But I thought that you had made up your 
 mind not to see him ?' 
 
 ' Yes, so I had,' returned Annie ; ' but I should 
 like to know, for all that, whether he means to 
 come. And, after all, why shouldn't I see him.^ 
 What harm can it do.'*' 
 
 Bess looked dubious. 
 
 ' I suppose it can do no harm, only ' 
 
 ' Oh, he won't ask me any questions,' said Annie 
 lightly. ' He'll only be curious to know how I 
 come to be here, and whether I'm really a married 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL i8i 
 
 lady. It will be good fun to see how he takes it, 
 won't it?' 
 
 She spoke eagerly and carelessly, but a troubled 
 look on her face belied her words. Bess did not 
 answer, but her face grew troubled too. 
 
 An hour passed. Bess sat at needlework, while 
 Annie fidgeted about the room, now dropping 
 into a chair and trying to read a book, again 
 springing up and walking up and down, and 
 again going to the window and gazing out on 
 the dismal street. 
 
 The atmosphere was dark and dismal without, 
 and snow was still falling. 
 
 ' Of course,' Annie murmured, ' he's hardly 
 likely to come in such weather.' 
 
 Bess sighed, then smiled quietly, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 * What's the matter now?' demanded Annie. 
 
 ' Nothing, dear, only I was thinking ' 
 
 ' What were you thinking?' 
 
 ' That perhaps you were right, and you'd better 
 not meet again — only trouble can come of it. 
 You told me that he was engaged to be married, 
 and you — well, you're not free.' 
 
 ' Not free ?' cried Annie indignantly. ' I like 
 that ! Isn't Matt Watson dead and buried ?' 
 
 ' No doubt ; but you can't prove it, dear, yet 
 awhile.' 
 
1 82 ANDROMEDA 
 
 'I don't want to prove it/ said Annie. ' It*s 
 not fair of you to talk as if I was running after 
 Mr. Somerset, and wanting him to marry me. 
 I like him, of course, but only as a friend. He 
 was very kind to me when we met on Canvey, 
 and, of course, Tm pleased to meet him again.' 
 Then, seeing that her friend looked still very 
 dubious and quite unconvinced, she added quickly : 
 ' Well, then, I love him ; I worship the very 
 ground he walks on ! Does that satisfy you ? 
 I do, and I'm not ashamed to own it. I'd rather 
 beg my bread with him than share all the riches 
 of the earth with anyone else. If he lifted up his 
 little finger and said "Come!" Td follow him to 
 the furthest end of the world. Yes, I love him ! 
 I love him ! I love him !' 
 
 Her face shone, her eyes were full of fire. 
 
 ^ Oh, Annie!' murmured the little dressmaker. 
 
 ' " Oh, Annie!" and " Oh, Annie!" ' repeated the 
 other mockingly. ' It's all very well to say that, 
 and look shocked ; but you've never been in love. 
 You don't know how soft and kind his voice is, 
 and how sweet his breath ! I tell you, I'd give 
 away all my money, my life, everything, just to 
 feel his arms round me for a few minutes, or to 
 lie down at his feet and wait for a loving look 
 and word. I've been waiting and waiting all 
 these months only to see his face again, to hear 
 
AT TENTERDEN'S HOTEL 183 
 
 his voice. It's the only thing I care for, the only 
 thing that makes me wish to live/ 
 
 As she spoke thus, panting out the words with 
 flushed face and sparkling eyes, there was a tap at 
 the door, and the man-servant entered, carrying a 
 card on a salver. 
 
 ^A gentleman to see you, madame,' said the 
 man, in a strong German accent. 
 
 She started, trembled, and took up the card. 
 Then her face went pale, but she forced a laugh, 
 and waved the card to her companion. It bore 
 the name of ' Charles Somerset.' 
 
 She glanced at Bess, who was looking at her 
 with wondering eyes and open mouth. Then, 
 after a moment's hesitation, she said, pressing her 
 lips firmly together : 
 
 * Show the gentleman up.' 
 
CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL. 
 
 The moment the man-servant left the room Bess 
 also made a movement towards the door, saying : 
 
 'I'd better go; you'd like to see him alone.' 
 And Annie offered no objection ; she felt, indeed, 
 that the presence of even Bess would be irksome 
 at such a time. When Somerset entered, hat in 
 hand, a minute later he found Annie seated in an 
 arm-chair near the window, with her eyes fixed 
 upon a book which she held in her hand, and so 
 well had she mastered her emotion that he did not 
 notice that she was trembling, and that her face 
 was unusually pale. 
 
 While he stood hesitating in wonder she rose, 
 and held out her hand. 
 
 ' So you've come to see me after all,' she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 ' Did you think I would not ?' was his reply. 
 
^' ""' 
 
 AN AFTERNOOl'^ 
 
 He hardly knew what to say, he was so taken 
 aback by her calm air of lady-like self-possession. 
 It was so difficult to believe that she was the same 
 person whom he had encountered among the wilds 
 of Canvey. 
 
 There was an awkward pause, during which he 
 continued to grasp her hand and to look wonder- 
 ingly into her face. Her dark eyes met his quite 
 fearlessly ; then her face flushed slightly, and 
 drawing her hand away, she motioned him to a 
 chair. He sat down and stared. 
 
 ^ How are they all at the island ?' he stam- 
 mered. ' How's old Job, and dear old Mother 
 Endell r 
 
 ^ Quite well, I believe,' she answered, moving 
 towards the window, and looking at him with her 
 face in shadow. * They were all right, at any rate, 
 when I last heard from them. Tve been in London 
 for some time.' 
 
 He was dying to question her concerning herself, 
 but he had not the courage. He began, awkwardly 
 enough, to tell her how astonished he had been 
 when he first recognised her in the street, and how 
 impossible it had seemed to him that she could 
 be his former acquaintance. She listened to him 
 quietly while he uttered the usual polite common- 
 places of an ordinary caller ; then, as he struggled 
 more and more in the meshes of his embarrass- 
 
1 86 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ment, the humour of the situation seized her, and 
 she broke into a peal of laughter, turning her face 
 away. In an instant the spell was broken, and he 
 sprang up with extended arms. 
 
 ' Annie !' he said, * don't laugh at me. Tell 
 me what has happened. Tell me why it is that I 
 find you here in London.' 
 
 Still laughing, she waved him back. 
 
 * You must behave yourself,' she said, ^ or I 
 shall be sorry I invited you to call. London isn't 
 Canvey Island.' 
 
 ' More's the pity !' he exclaimed ; * but the 
 Annie I met at Canvey — the dear little girl I've 
 so often thought of since — was the same Annie 
 who met me last night at the theatre, and who 
 told me, or at least conveyed to me, that she was 
 married. Are you married.'^ I can't believe it 
 possible !' 
 
 She laughed still, but very differently ; her face 
 had darkened, and there was the old angry flash in 
 her eyes. 
 
 ' I wish you wouldn't question me,' she said. 
 ' Suppose I am married — what then ? It doesn't 
 matter, does it ?' She added carelessly : ' How's 
 your friend Mr. Bufton ? As funny and cross as 
 ever ?' 
 
 Their eyes met, and he made another step 
 towards her, but she sailed past him and crossed 
 
I AN AFTERNOON CALL 187 
 
 the room ; then, turning on the hearthrug and 
 gazing at him earnestly, she cried : 
 
 ' Suppose I ask you the same question, 
 Mr. Somerset ? Are you married yet ? You 
 know you told me you were going to be — to 
 your cousin, wasn't it ?* 
 
 ' Oh, Tm still a bachelor,' he replied, ' and likely 
 to remain so. Much too hard up to think of 
 matrimony, even if my fancy turned that way. 
 You see, Annie, I'm a poor painter — a very poor 
 painter, that cynic Eufton expresses it — and I have 
 to work very hard to keep body and soul together. 
 Th-at reminds me, you must come and see me at 
 the studio — it's only a stone's-throw away. I 
 should like to show you some of my sketches, 
 and — and ' 
 
 He paused with a flush, remembering suddenly 
 his study of the Andromeda, the picture painted 
 from memory and hanging at that moment on his 
 easel. 
 
 * How clever you must be,' she said softly, ' to 
 paint such beautiful pictures ! It must be splendid 
 to be an artist.' 
 
 ' Billy says I'm only a duffer,' answered Somer- 
 set, now completely at his ease, and recovering 
 much of his old impudence. * Of course I know 
 I'm not a heaven-born genius — very few of us are 
 that. But I know the tricks of the trade, and 
 
1 88 ANDROMEDA 
 
 some day I shall do something decent. But let 
 us talk of yourself — a subject far more interesting. 
 I want you to explain to me ' 
 
 She interrupted him. 
 
 ' I suppose rd better do so, or you'll never be 
 satisfied/ she said, sinking into a chair. ' Since 
 we met on Canvey I've been left some money — a 
 good deal of money for a girl like me — and I've 
 come to London to spend it — some of it, at any 
 rate. I was sick and tired of living down yonder 
 like a savage ; I was just going to run away when 
 I heard the news.' 
 
 * I congratulate you,' said Somerset. ' But who 
 left you the money ? Some relation V 
 
 * A sort of relation,' answered Annie, looking 
 down. 
 
 ' That explains something, but not everything. 
 YouVe changed your surname. Is it possible that 
 youVe married ?' 
 
 For nearly a minute she did not answer, but 
 continued to look down ; then, as he leaned eagerly 
 towards her, she raised her eyes and looked into 
 his face. Her brow had darkened and she was 
 very pale. 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Somerset,' she answered, ' I was 
 married when we met on Canvey.' 
 
 ' Married then ? You don't mean it !' he 
 exclaimed. 
 
AN AFTERNOON CALL 189 
 
 * It's true, though — and the person who left me 
 the money is the man I married. It was years 
 and years ago, when I was only sixteen, and 
 directly after the marriage he went away to sea, 
 and I didn't think it a real marriage at all, till I 
 got news the other day that he was dead/ 
 
 She had drawn her chair close to the table, and 
 leaning on one elbow, rested her cheek on her 
 hands. Her voice was low and weary, and her 
 whole manner strangely sorrowful and subdued ; 
 but her eyes still met his with the old fi-ank fear- 
 lessness. 
 
 ' How strange !' he murmured. ' Married, and 
 so young ! And now you say you are a widow. It 
 sounds like a fairy tale.' 
 
 ' It doesn't seem real even to me,' said Annie. 
 ' It seems like something that happened in a 
 dream ; and, indeed, all my life seems much about 
 the same. Often and often, when I've thought of 
 it, I've wished I'd never been born.' 
 
 Then, as he continued to question her, she told 
 him, still with the same air of weariness, the whole 
 story of her childhood — how Matthew Watson 
 had brought her home, how she had been reared 
 in his sister's house, and how, finally, she had 
 gone through the marriage ceremony with him 
 before he departed on his last voyage. As she 
 proceeded her voice broke, and her dark eyes filled 
 
I90 ANDROMEDA 
 
 with tears ; but amidst all her emotion there was 
 a curious tone of anger and resentment, not un- 
 mingled with shame and dread ; and she never 
 mentioned her husband without a kind of shudder, 
 as if she shrank from the thought of him, the very 
 mention of his name. 
 
 When she ended, Somerset, who had risen to 
 his feet and stood looking down at her, said 
 quietly : 
 
 * Then you're maid, wife, and widow all in one ? 
 I suppose you parted at the church door ?' 
 
 ' Something like that,' she replied. * He went 
 away directly afterwards, and I'd almost forgotten 
 all about it when the news came that he was dead.' 
 She added quickly : * I am sure I don't know why 
 I tell you all this, since it's no concern of yours.' 
 
 * It's very much my concern,' he answered 
 gently, taking her hand in his. 
 
 * How's that .'*' she said, with a flash of the dark 
 eyes. 
 
 * Because — because ' He said no more, but 
 
 bent his face towards hers as he pressed her 
 hand. 
 
 ' Oh, that's all nonsense !' she cried, releasing 
 herself and rising quickly. ' You're a gentleman, 
 and I'm only Matt Watson's girl. Please don't 
 let us talk of it any more. It makes me sick. 
 You'd better go now, Mr. Somerset. I'm very 
 
AN AFTERNOON CALL 191 
 
 glad indeed to have met you again ; but now we'll 
 say good-bye/ 
 
 * Annie/ he said, as she turned away from him, 
 trembling, ' do you remember that day I followed 
 you over the marshes towards Benfleet ? Do you 
 remember the kiss you gave me before we parted?' 
 
 Did she remember? Her face answered him 
 without a single word, and for a moment she 
 averted her head, but almost instantly she turned 
 and looked at him, her eyes full of passionate 
 light. 
 
 'Did you think I'd forgotten?' she replied, 
 ' and do you think I'm ashamed to remember ? 
 I know I kissed you, and I don't care. I liked 
 you ; I liked you from the time we first met. 
 But that's all over now, isn't it? This isn't 
 Canvey Island.' 
 
 ' I wish to God it was !' cried Somerset. 
 
 ' Wishing won't mend things. You've got to 
 go your way, and I've got to go mine. Perhaps 
 it's a pity we ever met again. Perhaps it will be 
 better for us never to meet any more. Oh, don't, 
 don't ! I can't bear it !' 
 
 The last cry turned into a sob, for he had 
 caught her in his arms, and was showering his 
 kisses on her face. She struggled for a moment, 
 then, unable to control the impulse of her happi- 
 ness, she rested quietly in his embrace. 
 
192 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Annie dear/ he whispered, * where is the need 
 for you to talk like that, when you know you're a 
 free woman? I believe that it is Fate that has 
 brought us again together. At any rate, I know 
 now that I love you better than any woman in the 
 world/ 
 
 * You don't mean that ? You can't mean it !' 
 
 * But I do. When I saw you first I thought 
 you beautiful, so beautiful that I could only look 
 at you and wonder ; but then I remembered too 
 late that Td pledged myself to someone else, and 
 so, like a coward, I ran away. But I didn't forget 
 you, hard as I tried to do so. Your face was 
 always with me, and the touch of your kiss upon 
 my lips. I couldn't work. I couldn't take an 
 interest in anything. I went about mooning like 
 a man in a dream. Then, when I was half-crazy, 
 I saw you again, as beautifiil as before, and it was 
 all over with me for ever. Yes, that's it,' he 
 added, with a touch of his old lightness, * there is 
 no use fighting against the inevitable. The gods 
 have settled it : the only woman in the world for 
 me is my Andromeda !' 
 
 ' Don't call me that,' she murmured ; * call me 
 Annie.' 
 
 ' My Annie, then, if you like it better,' he said, 
 drawing her close to him. 
 
 * But your cousin — the young lady you ' 
 
AN AFTERNOON CALL 193 
 
 * Which would be the wickedest/ he inquired, 
 * to marry her without caring for her, and to 
 make both her and myself miserable, or to tell her 
 frankly that I care for someone else ? You see, it 
 has only been a sort of family arrangement. We 
 drifted into it before we knew what we were about. 
 I don't fancy she 11 mind very much — she 11 only 
 be a little piqued/ 
 
 ' I don't believe that !' said Annie, gently dis- 
 engaging herself from his hold ; ' and if she loves 
 you, as I believe she must, it wouldn't be right to 
 break your word. Besides, as I told you before, 
 you're a gentleman, and I'm only Matt Watson's 
 widow. I always knew nothing could come of it, 
 nothing but trouble ; but for all that Tm glad, I 
 can't tell you how glad, to think that you like me, 
 and that if I'd been a lady ' 
 
 ' A lady !' repeated Somerset. * You're better 
 than that. At the theatre last night you looked 
 like a princess ! Come, Annie, there's no escape ; 
 I'm not going to let anyone else run away with 
 you.' 
 
 She smiled and looked delighted, for never, 
 indeed, had she felt so happy; but, looking at 
 him wistfully, she asked : 
 
 ' Then you don't mind my being married ?' 
 
 ' Such a marriage as that doesn't count,' he 
 replied, shrugging his shoulders. ' Of course, I 
 
 13 
 
194 ANDROMEDA 
 
 should like it better if nothing of the sort had 
 ever taken place; but, after all, you were only a 
 child, and since the man is dead, and can never 
 return to claim you ' 
 
 ' He died out in America,' said Annie eagerly ; 
 ' and before he died, he left me all his money. It 
 was very good of him, wasn't it?' 
 
 ' Awfully good,' returned Somerset ; but his 
 face darkened, and he turned away as if dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 * There, now you're angry !' she cried ; ' I knew 
 you would be when you knew.' 
 
 ' No, no ; you're quite mistaken. What I was 
 thinking of was this : now you've got money, my 
 dear, it makes things rather more difficult. Some 
 people would think it mean of me to come after 
 you under the circumstances ; for, you see, I'm 
 only a poor devil of an artist, and they might 
 fancy ' 
 
 ' No one would think that,' she cried ; ' and if 
 they did, it wouldn't be true.' 
 
 ' Certainly it wouldn't. But all the same, my 
 dear, I want you to understand that I'm not going 
 to take advantage of your good-nature. I'm not 
 asking you to marry me now, and I shan't ask 
 you till my position is very different ; but if you 
 care for me enough to wait for me, and to give 
 me a chance of establishing myself in the world, 
 
AN AFTERNOON CALL 195 
 
 why then,' he added, with a laugh, ' we can snap 
 our fingers at everybody.' 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Mrs. 
 Major Garthorne, resplendently attired, sailed into 
 the room. On seeing Somerset, she drew back 
 with a dignified gesture of surprise, and seemed 
 about to withdraw; but Annie, smiling somewhat 
 nervously, called her back and introduced her. 
 
 ' My friend Mrs. Garthorne. Mrs. Garthorne, 
 this is Mr. Somerset, whom I met last night at 
 the theatre.' 
 
 The lady gave a stately bow, which Somerset 
 returned smilingly. Then, conscious of the 
 embarrassment caused by her intrusion, Mrs. Gar- 
 thorne again moved towards the door, and with a 
 little significant cough, to imply that she knew 
 herself to be de trop^ and another stately inclina- 
 tion, disappeared. 
 
 ' Who's the dragon V asked Somerset, with 
 twinkling eyes. 
 
 Annie explained, and the young man seemed 
 mightily amused. 
 
 ' My dear Annie,' he cried, * what on earth can 
 you want with a chaperon like that ? For my 
 part, I much prefer Mother Endell.' 
 
 ' She has been very kind to me,' answered Annie, 
 ' and she knows all about London. There, now 
 you're laughing at me !' 
 
 13—2 
 
196 ANDROMEDA 
 
 His arm stole round her waist. 
 
 * What a queer world it is !' he said, drawing 
 her close to him. She thought it a very sweet 
 world, as he bent down his head and kissed her on 
 the lips. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AT THE STUDIO. 
 
 Early on the forenoon of the following day 
 Somerset burst into the studio, looking radiant and 
 handsome as a young god. Bufton was hard at 
 work as usual, busy on an unfinished landscape, the 
 sketch of which he had made on Canvey Island. 
 Leroy was at the club, mildly enjoying his triumph 
 as the theatrical hero of the hour. 
 
 The cynic saw in a moment that something 
 unusual had occurred, but he said nothing, only 
 smiling to himself as Somerset, singing aloud from 
 sheer gaiety of heart, threw off his coat, donned 
 his linen painting-jacket, and began working, with 
 flushed cheek and eager hands, on the unfinished 
 picture of Andromeda. 
 
 At last, with an eager cry, he threw his palette 
 and painting-brush away, and began striding up 
 and down the room. 
 
198 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * It's no use/ he at last exclaimed ; * I can't do 
 it. Vm a duiFer !' 
 
 ' So you've discovered it at last/ said Bufton. 
 
 ' You may chafF your fill, Billy, but there are 
 some subjects which are beyond the power of even 
 genius, and that's one !' Here he pointed to the 
 canvas. ' Besides, it's profanity to attempt such a 
 picture — downright profanity ! It was like my 
 cheek to think of it.' 
 
 He threw himself into a chair, and, leaning back, 
 continued : 
 
 * From this time forward, however, I'm going 
 to work in good earnest. No more idling — no 
 more dawdling at the clubs. I've got my living 
 to earn, and, in order to insure that most desirable 
 object, I shall devote myself for a time to pot- 
 boilers. Then, when my worldly position is 
 secure, I shall return to high art, and paint to 
 please myself.' 
 
 Bufton only grunted and made no comment, for 
 he felt certain that something more was coming. 
 
 After a pause the young man said, with a forced 
 laugh : 
 
 ' Did I tell you that Fd seen her again ?' 
 
 ' Seen whom ?' queried Bufton, though he knew 
 perfectly well to whom his friend was alluding. 
 
 ' My Annie — my Andromeda. She's staying at 
 rather a swagger boarding-house in Bloomsbury. 
 
AT THE STUDIO 199 
 
 I think I told you that she had come into some 
 money?' 
 
 * Yes/ answered Bufton, ' and that she was a 
 married woman.' 
 
 ' Just so,' answered Somerset thoughtfully — ' a 
 married woman, if you like to put it in that way. 
 But between you and me, Billy, she's only a very 
 little bit married, and the little bit don't count. 
 If you'll promise not to make nasty remarks, I'll 
 tell you all about it.' 
 
 Bufton did not promise anything of the kind, 
 being quite certain that Somerset was dying to 
 communicate his information. Before many 
 minutes had passed he knew as much as Somerset 
 knew himself about Annie's extraordinary marriage 
 and subsequent history. 
 
 * It's quite a romance, you see,' Somerset ob- 
 served when he had finished the explanation. 
 ' Didn't I always tell you that she was no 
 ordinary girl? I shouldn't be surprised if she 
 turned out to be ' 
 
 *bf noble birth, and all that sort of thing,' 
 interposed Bufton, with a chuckle. * The regular 
 stereotyped heroine of a penny dreadful ! Make 
 your mind easy ; these things don't happen. It's 
 a queer story, though, and the most interesting 
 figure in it, to my fancy, is that poor devil of a 
 sailor who brought the girl up.' 
 
200 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ^ Yes ; I suppose he wasn't a bad sort/ said 
 Somerset dubiously. 
 
 * A bad sort ? He was a trump, I tell you. 
 It*s not every man who would rescue a strange 
 brat, and educate it, and look after it like a 
 father, as this fellow did. So he married her, 
 did he ? Well, he might have done worse. Was 
 she fond of him ?' 
 
 ' How could she be ? He was old enough to 
 be her father.' 
 
 * Humph ! That's what she tells you ; but 
 women are queer cattle, and ' 
 
 ' Annie was only a child,' exclaimed Somerset 
 angrily. 
 
 * She was sixteen,' returned Bufton dryly, * and 
 from what I've seen of her she must have been pre- 
 cocious. Is she certain that the poor chap is dead ?' 
 
 * Oh, quite certain. He died in Alaska, leaving 
 her everything he possessed.' 
 
 ' Didn't I tell you he was a trump ? I like that 
 fellow ! I should like to shake him by the hand.' 
 
 This ebullition of opinion on the part of Bufton 
 rather disconcerted his hearer, who rose again to 
 his feet, and began pacing up and down the studio. 
 
 * Well, what next?' demanded Bufton, watching 
 him keenly. ' I suppose the little fool has had her 
 head turned with her good fortune, and is spending 
 the money without so much as a thought for the 
 
AT THE STUDIO 201 
 
 man who left it to her? What's she doing in 
 London, dressed up like a fine lady ? Why didn't 
 she stop in the country, and, if she must marry 
 again, pick up some decent fellow in her own 
 walk in life?' 
 
 ^ Who said she was going to marry again ?' cried 
 Somerset angrily. ^ What beastly things you say ! 
 You haven't a grain of sentiment !' 
 
 Bufton grinned diabolically, and was about to 
 reply when there was a tap at the studio door, 
 which opened softly to admit two ladies, who stood 
 hesitating on the threshold. One was a grave, 
 sharp-featured matron of about fifty, dressed in 
 widow's weeds ; the other a young girl of about 
 twenty, tall, slightly built, and elegantly attired, 
 wearing a long cloak of sealskin and a coquettish 
 little hat to match, of the same material. 
 
 ' May we come in ?' said the elder lady, smiling 
 and suiting the action to the word. 
 
 ' Come in ? Of course,' returned Somerset, 
 crossing to meet her. ' My dear mother, what- 
 ever brings you here? Ethel too? This is a 
 surprise !' 
 
 Judging from his expression, the surprise did 
 not seem an altogether pleasant one, but he forced 
 a smile while glancing rather uneasily at Bufton, 
 with whom the elder lady was shaking hands. 
 
 * We were in the neighbourhood,' said 
 
202 ANDROMEDA : 
 
 Mrs. Somerset, ' and Ethel thought we might 
 look in. I hope weVe not interfering with your 
 work.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' answered Bufton, offering her a 
 chair ; ' we were only talking. I was giving your 
 son good advice, and being hanged for my pains, 
 as usual.' 
 
 As he spoke the younger lady was glancing 
 curiously around the studio. She was decidedly 
 good-looking, with clear, well-cut features, reddish 
 auburn hair, a somewhat pronounced nose, and fine 
 gray eyes; but being short-sighted, she used an eye- 
 glass, which she held in her hand by its tortoise- 
 shell handle, and placed before her eyes fi*om time 
 to time. She had a habit, moreover, of hal 
 closing her eyelids when looking closely at any- 
 thing, and this, combined with a somewhat scornful 
 curve of the lips, made her lopk at once high-bred 
 and supercilious. 
 
 * Well, how are you.'*' she asked carelessly, 
 looking with a half-smile at Somerset. * All right, 
 I hope, and not working your poor self to death ? 
 You never invited me to see the studio, so I 
 thought I'd invite myself You don't mind ?' 
 
 ' Of course not,' replied Somerset. ' I'm 
 delighted. Won't you — won't you sit down .?' 
 
 ' No, thank you. I've been driving with aunt 
 all the morning, and prefer to stand or move 
 
AT THE STUDIO 203 
 
 about. What are you working at? Something 
 new ?' 
 
 So saying, she again looked round the studio, 
 glancing at the finished and unfinished canvases, 
 the lay figure, the books and sketches scattered 
 about, until suddenly her eyes fell on the un- 
 finished picture of the Andromeda. In a moment 
 her face grew mischievous, and up went the eye- 
 glass. 
 
 ' Oh !' she said in mock surprise, while Somerset 
 flushed red with annoyance ; ' is that a fancy 
 sketch, or a study from the life ^ 
 
 * Ethel !' cried Mrs. Somerset. 
 
 ' Oh, Charlie doesn't mind me, aunt — he knows 
 I'm not a prude. What's the subject, Charlie ? 
 Something antique ?* 
 
 ' The subject of that masterpiece,' said Bufi:on, 
 laughing, * is Andromeda, the Grecian Princess 
 who was chained to a rock in order that she might 
 be eaten by a sea-monster.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed !' returned Ethel, calmly continuing 
 her scrutiny. ' I think I remember. Perseus or 
 somebody came and rescued her, didn't he ? But 
 where's Perseus, and where's the monster ? All 
 I see is a very pink lady, in the costume of the 
 bath.' 
 
 With an angry exclamation Somerset strode 
 across the room, and threw a cloth over the 
 
204 ANDROMEDA 
 
 canvas. Ethel laughed lightly, then shrugged 
 her shoulders, while the elder lady vainly motioned 
 her to be silent. 
 
 * Never mind, Charlie,' continued Ethel, turning 
 and looking at him through her eyeglass, as 
 coolly as she had looked at the picture ; ' I'm 
 not at all shocked. One gets well seasoned, you 
 know, at both the Academy and the Salon. But 
 I always wonder where our artists get such 
 subjects. They can't manufacture them out of 
 their own heads.' 
 
 ' They do, though, very often,' exclaimed Bufton, 
 while Somerset, red and furious, bit his lips to 
 subdue his mortification. *You see, the antique 
 comes easy to most of us, because it can't be 
 judged by ordinary standards of experience. You'd 
 perceive at once if a street urchin or a modern 
 young lady was out of character or out of drawing, 
 but you can't apply the same tests of accuracy to 
 an unreal goddess.' 
 
 'But people, real people, sit for such subjects, 
 don't they.^' persisted Ethel, with a sly glance 
 at Somerset. *In the costume of the bath, I 
 mean?' 
 
 ' Ethel ! Ethel !' cried Mrs. Somerset, * you are 
 really dreadful !' 
 
 ' Oh, aunt,' replied Ethel, * if such pictures are 
 not fit to be discussed, they're surely not fit to be 
 
AT THE STUDIO 205 
 
 painted. Unto the pure, however, all things are 
 pure. Eh, Mr. Bufton ?' 
 
 ' Decidedly !' cried Bufton. 
 
 ' Then why should Charlie be so annoyed with 
 me for looking at that picture.^ Fm sure I see 
 no harm in it if he doesn't. *' Honi soit qui mal 
 y pense," you know/ 
 
 By this time Somerset had recovered himself. 
 
 ' My dear Ethel,' he said, ' Tm not the least bit 
 annoyed. I suppose I'm a little thin-skinned, and 
 I — well, I thought you were chaffing. Come, let's 
 talk of something else. Shall I get you something 
 to take — a glass of wine, or a cup of tea?' 
 
 ' Not for me, thank you. I think we must be 
 going. We only just dropped in to see what you 
 were about.' 
 
 * Like angels' visits, short and far between,' 
 interposed Bufton. 
 
 ' Not much of that sort of thing about me, I'm 
 afraid,' the girl replied, laughing. ' To tell you 
 the truth, Mr. Bufton, I was curious. I'd read 
 such dreadful things about artists and artists' 
 studios, and I wanted to see with my own eyes 
 what Charlie's workshop was like.' Here she 
 raised the eyeglass, and glanced again round the 
 studio. ' I don't see anything very improper. 
 Things are a little chaotic and not particularly 
 clean, that s all. With the help of a charwoman 
 
2o6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 the place might be made to look quite respect- 
 able.' 
 
 As she spoke, lightly and airily, her eyes fell on 
 a piano standing in a corner of the room — an old 
 semi-grand, on the top of which were piled all 
 sorts of odds and ends. 
 
 * Why, there's actually a piano !' she exclaimed, 
 walking over to the instrument, and throwing it 
 open ; then, moving her fingers rapidly over the 
 keys, she continued : ^ Awfully out of tune, as I 
 expected.' 
 
 ' It's not often used,' explained Bufton. ' Leroy 
 plays a little, and now and then one of the models 
 amuses herself with it.' 
 
 Meantime Ethel had drawn a chair to the piano, 
 no music-stool being available, and seating herself, 
 had taken off her gloves and begun to play. It 
 was clear that she was an accomplished musician. 
 She began with the air of an old German folk- 
 song, passed from that to the motif of a sonata by 
 Beethoven, and then, without the slightest transi- 
 tion, struck the notes of a street song, then very 
 popular, ' In the Strand.' 
 
 ' My dear Ethel,' cried Mrs. Somerset, ' for 
 goodness' sake don't play that horribly vulgar 
 thing ! If you must play, let it be something 
 different. You know how Charles loves to hear 
 you when you play those lovely sonatas.' 
 
AT THE STUDIO 207 
 
 'Do you, Charlie?' asked Ethel, glancing over 
 her shoulder. 
 
 ' Of course I do !' said Somerset, with a lame 
 attempt at tenderness. 
 
 Ethel replied by laughing merrily and plunging 
 into another popular and equally vulgar air ; then 
 springing up, she cried : 
 
 ' What a horrid piano ! One could get as much 
 music out of a tin kettle. Well, aunt, are you 
 ready to toddle .^^ 
 
 Mrs. Somerset gasped and looked imploringly 
 at her companion. After a little more careless 
 conversation, ending with a promise on Somerset's 
 part to look round on his mother that evening, 
 the two ladies departed. At the door Ethel held 
 up her cheek, and the young man just touched it 
 with his lips. She half-closed her eyes and looked at 
 him quietly with the critical air peculiar to her, and 
 then with a little shrug tripped away. Somerset 
 re-entered the studio looking as haggard and 
 upset as if he had seen a ghost. Bufton had 
 settled himself again to work, but had lighted his 
 pipe. He glanced up quickly, and the eyes of the 
 two men met. Somerset groaned. 
 
 ' You see how the land lies, Billy ? Vm the 
 most miserable fellow in creation.' 
 
 ' What's the matter with you ^ demanded the 
 cynic. 
 
2o8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * As if you need to ask !' said Somerset. ' I'm 
 engaged to marry my cousin Ethel, and IVe given 
 my heart and soul to another woman. How the 
 devil am I to get out of it ? Tell me that. For 
 God*s sake don't chaff me, old fellow, but give me 
 your honest advice/ 
 
 Bufton pulled at his pipe and painted quietly for 
 some minutes, then asked : 
 
 ' How far have you gone with the other one — 
 I mean this time ; that business down at Canvey 
 Island needn't count.* 
 
 ' IVe told her that I love her — IVe told her that 
 I hope to marry her some day, if she'll only wait 
 till IVe a home to offer her.* 
 
 'What did she say.^' 
 
 ' Oh, she didn't say much, but she let me under- 
 stand that she would wait.' 
 
 ' Does she know about your engagement ?' 
 
 * Yes, I told her about that long ago — when we 
 parted at Canvey.' 
 
 Bufton knocked the ashes from his pipe on the 
 side of the easel. 
 
 * It's an ugly affair, youngster. I'm afraid you 
 haven't acted like a man of honour.' 
 
 Somerset started and flushed crimson, while the 
 other continued : 
 
 ' I warned you from the first as to what would 
 come of it. You'd no right whatever to be on 
 
AT THE STUDIO 209 
 
 with the new love before you were off with the old. 
 You say IVe no sentiment, and I don't want any, 
 if this is what it leads to.* 
 
 ' But look here, old fellow,* pleaded the young 
 man, *isn*t it as clear as daylight that Ethel 
 doesn't care a rap about me ? She has only 
 dropped into the engagement to please my 
 mother.' 
 
 ' What a fool you must be to think so !' ex- 
 claimed Bufton, almost angrily. ' Why, the girl 
 is as fond of you as she can possibly be, and she 
 shows it in everything she does. She knows well 
 enough, however, that youVe drifting away from 
 her. The moment she entered the studio and 
 began to talk, I saw that she was only acting. 
 All that supercilious manner of hers, all the chafF 
 and laughter, are only put on. Her instinct tells 
 her that you're running after someone else.' 
 
 'I don't believe she'd mind,' said Somerset. 
 ' She's not a girl of very deep feeling.' 
 
 ' Don't make too sure of that,' was the reply. 
 * It isn't always the dreamy, lackadaisical, soft- 
 spoken women that feel the most. Your cousin's 
 a high stepper, but she feels a great deal more than 
 you suspect.' 
 
 ' I hope not, Billy, — I hope not, with all my 
 soul !' said Somerset earnestly. * God knows I 
 don't want to do anything mean or caddish or dis- 
 
 14 
 
2IO ANDROMEDA 
 
 honourable, but the long and the short of it is I 
 don't love her — IVe never loved her — and since 
 I've met Annie again, I feel more and more that 
 I can never marry my cousin. For Heaven's sake 
 advise me what to do !' 
 
 Bufton shook his head grimly. 
 
 ' You must get out of it the best way you can/ 
 he said. ' Perhaps the best and honestest way 
 would be to tell her at once that you want to 
 break it. She already guesses there's something 
 wrong — trust a clever woman for discovering that ! 
 — and she may not be as much surprised as you 
 fancy when you make a clean breast of it.' 
 
 ' rU do it r cried the young man. ' As you say, 
 the sooner the better. I've promised to dine at 
 home to-night.' 
 
 Then, lifting up the cloth which he had thrown 
 over the easel, and sighing deeply, he looked long 
 and sadly at his picture of Andromeda. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AT THE LAURELS. 
 
 Mrs. Somerset lived in a small but genteel 
 cottage on the fringe of Holland Park, not then 
 abandoned utterly to the suburban architect and 
 the jerry-builder. The Laurels, as the villa was 
 called, was quite an old-fashioned place, with 
 wainscoted reception rooms, a large wainscoted 
 hall, a fine staircase of old oak, and a splendid 
 old-fashioned garden. It was a matter of tradi- 
 tion that the great Edmund Burke had once spent 
 a summer there, while writing certain portions of 
 his famous ' Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful,' 
 and close at hand in Holland Park, the later 
 coterie, illumined by the effulgence of Count 
 D'Orsay and the lovely Blessington, had held 
 their literary revels. 
 
 Associations such as these were far from dis- 
 tasteful to Mrs. Somerset, despite the fact that 
 
 14 — 2 
 
 I 
 
212 ANDROMEDA 
 
 she was the widow of an obscure gentleman in the 
 Civil Service, who had lived for many years in 
 India, and had finally retired on a small indepen- 
 dence. He had died when Charles was a boy of 
 fifteen, studying at Harrow, but after his death 
 the widow, on an income of about six hundred a 
 year, left to her by her husband, had contrived to 
 send the boy to Cambridge, where he had taken 
 his Bachelor's degree. Finally, to his mother's 
 surprise, and not a little to her disgust, he had 
 announced his intention of becoming a professional 
 artist — a modus vivendi not quite so profitable in 
 those Bohemian days as it has become since, and 
 infinitely less fashionable. 
 
 The late Mr. Somerset had purchased The 
 Laurels on a long lease, many years of which had 
 yet to expire, so that the widow lived practically 
 rent free, and kept up a quite respectable position 
 on her modest income. Charles was her only child, 
 and she was an affectionate if not a very demonstra- 
 tive mother. No sooner, therefore, was it made 
 quite clear to her that her son was determined to 
 follow Art as a profession than she did her very 
 utmost to forward his views and supply him with 
 the necessary money. It was a pinch, of course, but 
 she made it cheerfully enough. Thanks to her, he 
 was able to study under the best masters both in 
 London and Paris, until he had become, in the 
 
AT THE LAURELS 213 
 
 course of time, a very fair painter. Of late years 
 he had chummed with Bufton and Leroy, only 
 staying with his mother at intervals ; and at the 
 time when the two ladies made their unexpected 
 visit to the studio, he had not visited The Laurels 
 for several weeks. 
 
 This was the more extraordinary as his cousin, 
 Ethel Norman, to whom he was informally 
 engaged, was just then staying on a long visit to 
 her aunt. Ethel, we may explain, was the eldest 
 daughter of Mrs. Somerset's half-brother, who was 
 one of the lesser magnates on the Stock Exchange, 
 but who lived on a small estate at Woodford, 
 where he had brought up a large family. It will 
 be gathered from this that Ethel was likely to 
 inherit money ; her mother, indeed, had possessed 
 a considerable fortune of her own, which was to be 
 divided equally among her children. 
 
 Ethel, as we have seen, was a somewhat uncon- 
 ventional girl of rather free and independent 
 manners. She had only one sister and half a 
 dozen brothers, two of them, her elders, being 
 employed in the City ; and constant intercourse 
 with these brothers of hers, who had the go-ahead 
 manners and habits of their class, had prevented 
 her from acquiring the timid, mock-modest airs of 
 less sophisticated young ladies. For the rest, she 
 was clever, not unamiable, and very accomplished, 
 
214 ANDROMEDA 
 
 especially in music, for which she had a natural 
 gift. 
 
 On the evening of the day when they had called 
 at the studio in Bloomsbury, Ethel and her aunt 
 sat together in the drawing-room at The Laurels. 
 Mrs. Somerset was seated by the fire, reading one 
 of the journals ; Ethel had just risen from the 
 piano. Both the elder and the younger lady were 
 attired in the dinner costume of the period — a 
 costume hideous enough from our modern point 
 of view, since, alas ! large skirts and crinolines were 
 then the fashion. 
 
 ' I don't suppose he'll come after all,' said 
 Ethel carelessly. ^He didn't seem over keen 
 about it.' 
 
 * But he promised,' returned Mrs. Somerset, 
 looking up from her journal, ' and you know he 
 always keeps his word.' 
 
 ' Always, aunt ?' queried the girl, with a curious 
 little laugh. 
 
 * Why, of course. I'm afraid, however, that 
 you annoyed him exceedingly this morning. I 
 was shocked at you, Ethel — really shocked. The 
 way you discussed that unfinished picture was 
 really too dreadful !' 
 
 * Think so.^^' murmured Ethel thoughtfully, 
 rubbing the tip of her nose with the edge of her 
 eyeglass. * Well, somehow or other Charlie and 
 
AT THE LAURELS 215 
 
 I always manage to rub each other the wrong 
 way.' 
 
 * There again !' exclaimed Mrs. Somerset, lifting 
 up her hands. ' Your expressions ! Sometimes 
 they positively make my blood run cold V 
 
 ' I suppose I pick them up from the boys.' 
 ' Then I must entreat you to consider before you 
 use them. You see, poor Charles is so sensitive, 
 and has such a lofty idea of our sex. Little 
 things like that shock him, dear. I have often 
 heard him say that the most beautiful thing in all 
 the world is maidenly modesty.' 
 
 Ethel made a pretty little grimace, and shrugged 
 her shoulders. 
 
 * What do you mean by that, you provoking 
 girl ?' demanded her aunt. 
 
 * I was thinking, aunt,' was the reply, * that 
 there can't be much "maidenly modesty " knocking 
 about among the models in Bloomsbury.' 
 
 ' " Knocking about !" ' echoed Mrs. Somerset ; 
 * What an expression ! Who ever would think to 
 hear you that you'd had such a perfect education ? 
 As to what you say about models, Ethel, you 
 certainly exaggerate. Charles has again and again 
 assured me that they are most respectable, well- 
 conducted persons, and that it is a quite unusual 
 thing for any one of them to sit for the — the 
 undraped figure. Of course, dear, it is sometimes 
 
2i6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 necessary, though I certainly cannot say that I 
 approve of it' 
 
 * Oh, it's all right, I suppose/ said Ethel, turning 
 to the fireplace, and drumming with the fingers 
 of her right hand on the mantelpiece, while she 
 glanced at herself in the mirror above it ; then, 
 after an inspection of a few minutes, she said very 
 quietly, still with her eyes on the reflection : 
 
 ' Aunt, do you think Charlie really cares for 
 me?' 
 
 ' My dear child !' cried Mrs. Somerset, in honest 
 amazement ; * what are you saying ? Cares for 
 you ? Of course he cares for you ! Are you not 
 engaged to be married ?' 
 
 ' Yes, of course, I know that,' said Ethel, still 
 in the same quiet tones, and with her eyes half 
 closed, peering into the mirror. * But I've thought 
 sometimes, and especially lately, that he doesn't 
 find much fun in our engagement. I seem to bore 
 him, rather. Of course, I don't expect him to be 
 always spooning me, like a lover in a novel, but I 
 think he ought to show me, now and then, at any 
 rate, that I'm something more to him than a mere 
 cousin.' 
 
 ' Your expressions are terrible,' answered the 
 elder lady. ' However, you may rest assured that 
 Charles loves you dearly. You mustn't mistake 
 his buoyant manner for indiflference. You see, he 
 
AT THE LAURELS 217 
 
 is not at all demonstrative to anyone. He is like 
 yourself, Ethel — he very often assumes a light 
 and careless tone to conceal the depth of his 
 attachments.' 
 
 ' Is that really so, aunt ?' asked the girl, with 
 a quiet smile. ' Of course you understand him 
 better than I do. I rather thought his tendency 
 was to err the other way, and be all enthusiasm. 
 At any rate, he used to be a great deal livelier. 
 Fve noticed a change in him ever since he went 
 away holiday-making last year.' 
 
 * Only your fancy, dear. You see, the poor 
 boy is so anxious to get on in his profession, and 
 it worries him a great deal that he is able to earn 
 so little money. It is a thousand pities, I think, 
 that he ever became a painter. If he had only 
 been willing, your father could have secured him 
 a splendid opening in the City, and he might have 
 become a rich man.' 
 
 * I rather admire him for that,' said Ethel. 
 
 * For what, dear V 
 
 ' For sticking to his art, and despising stocks 
 and shares,' was the reply. ' I hate everything 
 connected with the City ; I've been so overdosed 
 with it between father and the boys. And you 
 don't think he's really sorry about our engage- 
 ment ? If he was, you know, Fd be quite willing 
 to let him off.' 
 
21 8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Don't mention such a thing !' exclaimed 
 Mrs, Somerset. *Why, it has been a settled 
 thing ever since you were boy and girl !* 
 
 It was now close on seven o^clock, an unusually 
 late hour for dinner in the early sixties. 
 
 ' I don't think he'll come/ said Ethel, looking 
 at the clock on the mantelpiece. 
 
 However, they waited until nearly half-past 
 seven, and then, as there was still no sign of the 
 young man, Mrs. Somerset ordered the dinner to 
 be served. They had just finished their soup 
 when there was a knock and a ring at the door, 
 and directly afterwards Somerset was shown into 
 the dining-room. He explained, eagerly and 
 apologetically, that he had been detained by some 
 unexpected business, and then sat down to the table. 
 
 During the meal he was very talkative, and 
 drank — Ethel noticed this, though his mother did 
 not — an unusual amount of wine. His tone was 
 light and gay enough, but to Ethel's thinking 
 there was a certain constraint in his manner, and 
 she observed that he seldom, if ever, looked her 
 in the face. 
 
 After dinner, in the drawing-room, Ethel played. 
 Presently Mrs. Somerset stole quietly from the 
 room, leaving the young couple together. There 
 was a long silence, filled only by the low music of 
 the piano. 
 
AT THE LAURELS 219 
 
 ' How beautifully you play !' cried the young 
 man, as the girl paused with her fingers on the 
 keys. She waited quietly, half expecting that he 
 would come over to her, as he had done on former 
 occasions, and steal a caress ; but he was sitting 
 motionless in an arm-chair, with his eyes on the 
 fire. 
 
 Her fingers trembled on the keys ; then, turning 
 round on the music-stool, she gazed at him quietly 
 through her eyeglass. Her under-lip quivered 
 slightly as she said, with her usual careless manner: 
 
 ' You're not angry with me, Charlie, for what 
 I said in the studio? I was only chaffing, you 
 know/ 
 
 ' Of course,' he answered, still not looking 
 at her. 
 
 * Then what's the matter ? You don't seem 
 yourself to-night.' 
 
 . ^ Tm not myself,' he said. * I'm — I'm worried 
 out of my life.' 
 
 * About money ?* 
 
 * Oh no, not about money.' 
 
 * What then ? Can't I help you ? I'd try, you 
 know, if you'd frankly tell me what troubled you.' 
 
 He did not reply, nor did he turn his eyes 
 towards her. After watching him quietly, she 
 walked over to him and placed her hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
220 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Look here, Charlie/ she said quietly ; * cards 
 on the table, please. Is it anything about our 
 engagement ?' 
 
 He was still silent, but she felt him trembling 
 beneath her touch. 
 
 * I thought so,' she said, withdrawing her hand 
 and moving towards the mantelpiece, on which she 
 leaned one elbow while she looked down at his 
 averted face. * Well, why need that worry you ? 
 If you want to carry your goods to another 
 market, I shan*t make any objection — only you 
 might have been straight with me and told me a 
 little sooner.' 
 
 * I was afraid,' he murmured. * I dreaded to 
 give you pain.' 
 
 * Awfully thoughtful of you, I'm sure,' she re- 
 turned, not without a certain bitterness. ' Well, 
 better late than never. You want to be free? 
 All right ! Cut the traces and gallop off!' 
 
 He looked up at her at last, his eyes sparkling, 
 his face flushed, 
 
 ^ Do you mean to say you don't mind ?' 
 
 * That's my business, not yours. I certainly 
 don't want to keep you against your will, and I'm 
 not likely to break my heart for any man. I'm 
 thinking more of your mother than myself. She'll 
 be awfully worried, you know.' 
 
 ' But you yourself.^' he exclaimed, rising and 
 
AT THE LAURELS 221 
 
 standing by her. * You re quite sure that you 
 dont care?* 
 
 He took her hand, but she drew it away a little 
 impatiently. 
 
 * Tve told you the truth,' she answered. 
 * YouVe free to go. Please don't be sentimental 
 about it. I think you'd better leave me to break 
 it to your mother ; I'll choose my own time, and 
 I promise not to give you away.' 
 
 * I hate myself for what I'm doing — it makes 
 me feel so mean.' 
 
 She smiled coldly and shrugged her shoulders. 
 ' We shall always be friends ?' he pleaded. 
 
 * Of course. Aren't we cousins ? By the way, 
 Charlie, who's the party ? You might as well tell 
 me all about it.' 
 
 She seemed so careless, so indifferent, that he 
 was almost on the point of doing as she requested, 
 when she continued : 
 
 ' On reflection, perhaps you'd better not. Fm 
 not at all curious, only I hope, for aunt's sake, that 
 she's a lady, and not one of the girls you paint in 
 natural bathing costume.' 
 
 So saying, she walked over to the piano and 
 began to play a lively tune out of the last Strand 
 burlesque. 
 
 Very little more was said, for she seemed to 
 resist all further attempts at conversation ; and a 
 
222 ANDROMEDA 
 
 little later, before the reappearance of his mother, 
 he hurried from the house. 
 
 When Mrs. Somerset entered the room, she 
 found her niece still at the piano, playing softly 
 one of Beethoven's songs without words ; and in 
 answer to her inquiries Ethel explained that the 
 young man had had to hurry away to meet an 
 important engagement. No suspicion that any- 
 thing was wrong crossed the elder lady's mind ; 
 but if she had been a little more observant, she 
 might have seen that the girl's lightness of manner 
 was only assumed, and that she had been quietly 
 crying. For a long time Ethel continued to play, 
 and all the time her bosom heaved painfully and 
 her eyes were misted with tears. 
 
 Meantime Somerset had bounded in on Bufton, 
 who was seated by the studio fire, reading a 
 volume of Ruskin's * Modern Painters.' In a few 
 words he explained what had taken place, and ex- 
 pressed his satisfaction that Ethel had taken the 
 disclosure so phlegmatically. 
 
 ^ I told you she wouldn't mind,' he concluded. 
 * She was as willing to release me as I was willing 
 to go.' 
 
 Bufton looked him from head to foot and 
 grinned ferociously. 
 
 ' You miserable young cad !' he replied. ' Do 
 you think that those feel most who shriek and 
 
AT THE LAURELS 223 
 
 blubber, and wear their hearts upon their sleeves ? 
 Your cousin's a brick, and worth a dozen of you ! 
 If you stuck a knife into her heart, she'd be too 
 proud and plucky to utter a word.' 
 
 ' I know her better than you do,' retorted 
 Somerset. * She took it quite coolly, and almost 
 wished me good luck.' 
 
 ' Much of that you deserve !' growled the cynic. 
 * It would serve you right if the Monster came up 
 from the sea after all, and made a meal of your 
 precious Andromeda.' 
 
CHAPl ER XVL 
 
 HIGH TIDE. 
 
 The course of true love, or of selfish love for that 
 matter, never does run smooth. For a brief 
 period after that blissful interview with her Prince 
 Charming, Annie was in a high state of ecstasy ; 
 she felt her lover's kisses still upon her lips, the 
 music of his voice was still ringing in her ears as 
 pleasantly as the chime of wedding bells. As the 
 hours wore on, however, a reaction came, and she 
 felt far less happy. Naturally sympathetic and 
 superstitious, she could not avoid thinking of that 
 other girl to whom Somerset had first given his 
 love ; nor could she help feeling that the nature 
 which had changed once so rapidly might be likely 
 to change again. She realized, moreover, that the 
 young man's friends and relations might regard 
 very unfavourably his love affair with one who 
 was practically nameless, and far beneath him in 
 social position. 
 
HIGH TIDE 225 
 
 The morning after their meeting she rose late, 
 after an almost sleepless night, and her beautiful 
 face looked worn and troubled as she joined Bess 
 Lawrence in their private room at Tenterden's. 
 She had ordered their breakfast to be sent upstairs, 
 but she could eat nothing, and sat dejectedly 
 sipping her cup of tea. Bess watched her 
 anxiously, not daring to say a word. The change 
 surprised her little friend, for when they had 
 parted on the previous night Annie had appeared 
 the very picture of delight. 
 
 At last Annie rose and began walking nervously 
 up and down the room. 
 
 * What's the matter.?' Bess cried at last, * Are 
 you not well, Annie ?' 
 
 * I don't know,' was the reply. ' I feel creepy, 
 just as if someone was walking over my grave.* 
 
 * And yet last night you seemed so happy, dear.' 
 
 * I'm happy still,' said Annie. ' All I hoped 
 and prayed for has come to pass. And yet for all 
 that it seems as if it couldn't last, as if something 
 was going to happen.' 
 
 She paused at the window, gazing out into the 
 dark street, and then said over her shoulder : 
 
 * I had a horrible dream, Bess, when I dropped to 
 sleep in the gray of the morning.' 
 
 ' Oh, dreams don't matter !' returned Bess. 
 ' At any rate, they go by contraries.' 
 
 15 
 
226 ANDROMEDA 
 
 But Annie went on without heeding her, still 
 fixing her eyes on the street : 
 
 * I thought I was all alone in a boat at sea, and 
 it was lovely golden weather, and the water was as 
 calm as glass ; and I was rowing myself along and 
 singing, when another boat came dancing over the 
 smooth waves, and he was seated in it and singing, 
 too ; and we rowed along together, laughing and 
 smiling at one another, and sometimes reaching 
 over and joining hands. Then, Bess, he leaned 
 over and kissed me, and just as our lips met I saw 
 something rising out of the water like a seal or a 
 big black dog. Well, it came closer and closer 
 and clung on the stern of my boat, and when I 
 looked at it I saw that it was Matt Watson, all 
 wet and dripping, with long hair like seaweed and 
 a great beard all over foam ; and he looked at me 
 and rolled his black eyes at me and ground his 
 teeth in rage, while he tried to climb into the 
 boat ! Then all at once the waves grew white and 
 stormy, and the wind shrieked, and there was a 
 flash of lightning from the sky, and he was creep- 
 ing nearer and nearer, groaning and dripping and 
 reaching out his hands to seize hold of me, when 
 I screamed and woke.' 
 
 As she spoke in a low voice, almost in a 
 whisper, she trembled with dread, but the dark 
 line met over her eyes in an angry frown. 
 
HIGH TIDE 227 
 
 * You mustn't think about it/ said Bess sooth- 
 ingly. ' As I said, Annie, dreams go by con- 
 traries ; and if the dream means anything, it only 
 means perhaps that youre going to be married 
 again/ 
 
 ' Do you think that, Bess ?' cried Annie, 
 turning eagerly. 
 
 ' Of course I do,' answered the girl. * You see, 
 dear, you were thinking about Mr. Somerset, and 
 your mind went back naturally to the man who 
 wedded you when you were a child/ 
 
 ' I shouldn't wonder,' said Annie thoughtfully. 
 * Yes, you're right. I've often had bad dreams 
 like that, and they meant no harm.' 
 
 She crossed the room and dropped into a chair 
 by the fire. 
 
 Presently she said : 
 
 ' He wished me to go round and see him at the 
 place where he paints. Suppose we go ?' 
 
 ' To-day do you mean ?' 
 
 ' To-day or to-morrow, or some day soon. It's 
 close by, he told me.' 
 
 * If I were you, Annie, I shouldn't run after 
 him,' said Bess primly. ^ The best way to keep a 
 lover is to make him run after you.* 
 
 Annie laughed, and her face brightened. 
 ' Oh, you needn't be afraid,' she cried ; ' he's far 
 too fond of me to be frightened away so easily. 
 
 15—2 
 
228 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Besides, I want to see his friend, Mr. Bufton, who 
 came with him to Canvey/ 
 
 The day passed away and there was no sign of 
 Somerset. Annie felt a little disappointed, for she 
 had rather expected him to call. In the evening 
 she dined at the general table, and seemed as 
 bright and merry as anyone there. When she 
 kissed Bess and wished her good-night she looked 
 radiant ; the cloud of the morning had altogether 
 passed away. 
 
 * We'll go round to-morrow,' she whispered. 
 * I'm longing to see Mr. Bufton.' 
 
 Early on the afternoon of the following day 
 the two girls went out together. The snow had 
 melted and the weather was quite fine and clear ; 
 so they walked through Bloomsbury and soon dis- 
 covered the region in which the studio was 
 situated. Bess was simply dressed in a dark stufF 
 gown, a plainly cut cloth jacket, and a rather 
 Puritanical bonnet. As for Annie, she wore 
 black silk, of which she was very fond, a jacket of 
 sealskin, then very fashionable, and a stylish hat 
 with a feather ; nothing in her attire or manner 
 suggested the country girl. So pretty did she 
 look, and so bright and graceful was her carriage, 
 that more than one person turned to look after 
 her as she passed. Thanks to her early training 
 in the open air, she walked with the strength and 
 
HIGH TIDE 229 
 
 ease of a young athlete, and even the crinoline 
 which she wore, following the detestable fashion 
 of those days, could not altogether conceal the 
 grace and symmetry of her perfect form. 
 
 In the course of time they found themselves 
 standing nervously at the door marked * Studio/ 
 They had been directed to it by a horsey-looking 
 person connected with the mews, who grinned at 
 them facetiously when Annie asked for Mr. 
 Somerset. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, Annie rang the 
 bell. It was answered almost immediately by a 
 mild-featured, bald-headed gentleman in his shirt- 
 sleeves, whom Annie did not know, but who was 
 no other than George Constable Leroy. 
 
 *Does Mr. Somerset live here.^' asked Annie, 
 smiling. 
 
 Leroy gazed in admiring wonder at the radiant 
 apparition, and answering her smile, he replied : 
 
 ' He doesn't exactly live here, but he has a share 
 of the studio. He hasn't been here this morning, 
 but Tm expecting him every moment.' 
 
 *And Mr. Bufton.'^' asked Annie, hesitating 
 what to do. 
 
 ' Oh, Bufton is inside. Would you like to see 
 him? If so, will you step in?' 
 
 Annie nodded, and tripped into the studio, 
 followed by her companion. The room was in 
 
230 ANDROMEDA 
 
 its usual untidy condition, with canvases, paint- 
 pots, books, and odds and ends scattered every- 
 where in confusion. The picture on Somerset's 
 easel was still covered with a cloth ; it had not been 
 touched, indeed, since the visit of Mrs. Somerset 
 and her niece. 
 
 ' If you'll sit down,' said the dramatist, point- 
 ing to a couple of rickety chairs, ' Fll tell Bufton 
 you are here. What name shall I say?' 
 
 ' Never mind the name,' replied Annie. ' You 
 may say it's a friend from the country.' 
 
 Leroy disappeared into one of the bedrooms, 
 where Bufton was at that moment making his 
 toilette, preparatory to going out, and as the 
 girls waited, they heard the following conversa- 
 tion : 
 
 * Someone to see you, Billy.' 
 
 ' To see me? Who the deuce is it?* 
 
 ' Friends from the country — two ladies.' 
 
 ' The devil ! But I haven't any friends in the 
 country.' 
 
 ' One of them is a lovely girl, Billy.' 
 
 'Rubbish!' 
 
 ' Upon my word, she is simply charming. And 
 she looks a swell. She may have come after one 
 of your pictures.' 
 
 ' All right,' growled the voice of Bufton. ' I'll 
 be there directly/ 
 
HIGH TIDE 231 
 
 Annie, immensely amused, could scarcely refrain 
 from bursting into a peal of merry laughter, while 
 Bess, who was more retiring, smiled timidly. 
 Presently Leroy re-emerged, having put on a 
 shabby velvet jacket ; and the moment afterwards 
 Bufton followed, dressed for the street, and look- 
 ing, in his long walking-cloak and wide-awake 
 hat, like an amiable brigand. He still wore the 
 black patch over his eye, and it did not improve 
 his appearance. 
 
 The moment his eyes fell on Annie, who rose 
 smiling to greet him, he uttered an exclamation. 
 
 ^ By Jove, if it isn't Andromeda !' 
 
 Annie, much as she disliked the appellation, 
 laughed merrily. 
 
 'Didn't you know I was in London, Mr. 
 Bufton.'^' she asked, as they shook hands. 
 
 ' Yes, the young un told me something about 
 it,' he replied grimly, inspecting her critically 
 with his Cyclopean eye. * But let me look at 
 you. You're the same, yet not the same. Fancy 
 the maid of Canvey in a crinoline !' 
 
 ' This is my friend Miss Lawrence,' said Annie, 
 introducing Bess. 
 
 *How d'ye do, miss.f^' returned Bufton, with an 
 aifable nod ; then, turning again to Annie, 
 ' How's the old pirate of the Lobster Smack ? 
 And Mother Endell, and everybody ? All right, 
 
232 ANDROMEDA 
 
 I hope. Leroy, this is the original of the 
 youngster's chromo-lithograph.' 
 
 Leroy smiled and bowed, blinking blandly 
 through his spectacles. 
 
 ^ Now I remember/ he observed. * I saw you, 
 I think, at the theatre the other night. I hope 
 you liked the play? I — in fact, I wrote it.' 
 
 Of course, Annie had liked it very much, and 
 she honestly said so. Bess also stammered her 
 admiration, gazing in simple wonder on the first 
 live author to whom she had ever been intro- 
 duced. 
 
 * Somerset isn't at home,' observed Bufton 
 presently. ' You see, he doesn't live here, but 
 turns up now and then with the milk — not every 
 day, though, for he's a lazy beggar.' 
 
 * But I came to see you,' said Annie, laughing. 
 * I thought I'd like to tell you that I was living in 
 London.' 
 
 ' I knew it,' he answered, * for I, too, saw you 
 at the play, though I couldn't believe it was the 
 same. You were such a swell, you see. Excuse 
 me for saying so, but I liked you better in your 
 country togs. Nature never meant you for a fine 
 lady, my dear ; if she had, she wouldn't have 
 given you such a figure.' 
 
 The ice thus broken, they chatted together in 
 familiar fashion, and even Bess began to feel 
 
HIGH TIDE 233 
 
 quite at home with the two Bohemians. Bufton's 
 manner, though rough and not very polite, was 
 always so full of real respect for womanhood that 
 women of all degrees were invariably at ease in 
 his company ; and as for Leroy, he was the 
 gentlest, kindest, and most pure-minded of men, 
 in whom all honest natures felt immediate confi- 
 dence. 
 
 They were chatting quite merrily together when 
 the door opened and Somerset entered. He wore 
 a light-coloured overcoat, of the kind fashionable 
 in those days, and what was then known as a ' top- 
 hat.' We mention these insignificant details to 
 explain certain allusions in the subsequent 
 dialogue. 
 
 ' So you have come !' he cried gaily, glancing, 
 nevertheless, with some uneasiness at Bufton. * I 
 hardly expected you so soon,* he added as they 
 shook hands. 
 
 ' Bess and I were passing,' returned Annie, ' and 
 we thought we'd accept your invitation.' 
 
 ' Well, I hope these fellows have been entertain- 
 ing you properly.' 
 
 ' Oh yes !' cried the girls in one breath. 
 
 ' We've been telling her,' said Bufton, ' what a 
 swell you are, and how good it is of you to con- 
 descend to chum with poor devils like us, who 
 haven't a top-hat between us. We haven't shown 
 
234 ANDROMEDA 
 
 her the chromo-lithograph ; we've left that for 
 you/ 
 
 Somerset coloured up and glanced at the easel. 
 
 ' Is it a picture of yours?' asked Annie. ' You 
 will show it to us, won't you ?* 
 
 ' Not yet/ he stammered ; * it's not finished. 
 Perhaps it never will be.' 
 
 He took a rapid turn across the studio, adjusted 
 the cloth more closely over the canvas, and then, 
 returning, held out both hands and took those of 
 Annie. 
 
 * I want these friends of mine to understand one 
 thing,' he cried — ' that you've promised to be my 
 wife.' 
 
 ' But I haven't promised,' Annie said, blushing 
 and turning away her face. 
 
 'Well, then, you shall promise now. You've 
 dropped into the lions' den, you see, and I'm not 
 going to let you escape without that condition. 
 Billy here has been chaffing me about you ever 
 since we met at the theatre, and I want him to 
 distinctly understand that it's no chaffing matter.' 
 He threw his arm round her waist and presented 
 her to his comrades with a mock bow : ' Gentle- 
 men, permit me to introduce to you my fiancee-y 
 Mrs. Charles Somerset that is to be.' 
 
 Absurd as the situation was, Annie did not seem 
 displeased ; she was far too unsophisticated, indeed, 
 
HIGH TIDE 235 
 
 to be conscious of any betise in such an introduc- 
 tion. Bufton, however, looked serious, and Leroy, 
 who knew vaguely of the other engagement, 
 seemed rather uncomfortable. 
 
 ' So you've settled it that way, have you ?' 
 Bufton remarked dryly. ' Then it's too late, I 
 suppose, to offer you any good advice V 
 
 ' Much too late,' responded Somerset, laughing. 
 ' Isn't it, Annie V 
 
 Annie smiled. She was far too happy to con- 
 tradict him. They chatted together a little longer, 
 and then Somerset volunteered to see the ladies 
 home. They went off in high spirits, even Bess 
 being quite gay and delighted. 
 
 Left alone together, Bufton and Leroy looked 
 at each other. 
 
 *Well, what do you think .^' demanded the 
 cynic, 
 
 ' I think,' said Leroy, * that the young lady ' 
 
 * She isn't a young lady,' growled the other ; 
 * she's a young savage ! She was snatched from 
 the sea by a common sailor, whom she afterwards 
 married, and she has lived all her life among sea- 
 weeds and salt water.' 
 
 'Wherever she has lived,' said Leroy mildly, 
 ' I'm sure she has a beautiful nature. Surely you 
 don't despise her because, as you suggest, she is of 
 lowly birth?' 
 
236 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Bufton smiled sardonically. 
 
 'Did you not notice her face?' he asked. 
 
 ' I did indeed, and I don't remember ever having 
 seen a face more lovely.* 
 
 ' It's the face of a woman who will stand no 
 nonsense, my friend. Quiet enough now, with 
 the sunshine on it, but with the devil's own 
 tempests waiting below. It would need a strong 
 man to master that girl's spirit, if ever the storm 
 rose and the wind began to blow.' 
 
 ' I trust that the sunshine will continue,' said 
 Leroy. ' She deserves to be happy, she seems so 
 trustful and affectionate.' 
 
 'And what about him?' demanded Bufton. 
 ' The young snob has managed to make one 
 woman miserable, and he's quite capable of play- 
 ing the same trick on another. He ought to have 
 married his cousin. She'd taken his measure, and 
 had no insane notions about his character. This 
 girl thinks him an angel in a top-hat, and if she 
 ever discovers what he really is, look out for 
 thunder !' 
 
 Meantime Annie, leaning on her lover's arm, 
 with Bess walking meekly by her side, was pro- 
 ceeding leisurely towards her abode in Bloomsbury. 
 Her face was radiant, her eyes full of youthful 
 happiness. London was Fairyland at last, for her 
 Prince Charming had claimed her, and all the 
 
HIGH TIDE 237 
 
 world was enchanted. The dismal streets were 
 full of sweet music ; the sky above seemed all 
 brightness. She seemed to be lifted up over all 
 the troubles of life, and to be walking on air. 
 
 So absorbed was she in looking at her companion, 
 and in listening to his tender words, that she did 
 not notice the figure of a man which emerged from 
 a side street, started on seeing her face, and then 
 stood looking after her. The man was dressed 
 like a seaman, in a suit of rough serge, and his 
 whole appearance was strange and foreign. He 
 was short, but powerfully built, with broad 
 shoulders and narrow hips ; his jet-black hair and 
 beard were sprinkled with gray, and his wild, 
 weather-beaten features were worn and haggard, 
 as if from recent illness. There were tattoo-marks 
 on his large muscular hands, and heavy earrings in 
 his ears. 
 
 He stood gazing after her quietly for some 
 moments, then he followed her slowly at a dis- 
 tance, with a curious smile upon his face. 
 
 The man's smile darkened more than once into 
 a frown as he watched the young couple talking 
 merrily together, and Annie clinging closely to the 
 arm of her escort, with her face turned eagerly to 
 his. As they entered the more busy thoroughfares, 
 the crowd of foot-passengers coming and going hid 
 them momentarily from view, but the man, though 
 
238 ANDROMEDA 
 
 he kept always at a respectful distance, never quite 
 lost sight of them until they halted in front of the 
 hotel in Bloomsbury, and stood outside the door 
 talking together. 
 
 He paused then at the corner of the street, 
 partially hidden from view, and peering at the 
 distant figures. 
 
 The frown on his face grew black as night when 
 he saw Annie and the young man shake hands, and 
 draw close together for a moment for a parting kiss. 
 Then the girl and her companion entered the house, 
 and the young man came smiling up the street. 
 
 Wholly unsuspicious that anyone was taking an 
 interest in his proceedings, Somerset approached 
 the spot where the man was standing. For a 
 moment the man seemed about to turn away and 
 avoid him, but after hesitating, he left his place 
 of ambush, and swaggered with a scowl towards 
 Somerset. The two came face to face, and their 
 eyes met. 
 
 Somerset had lit a cigar, and seemed in the 
 seventh heaven of delight, his face shining, his 
 eyes sparkling, his head held proudly erect. So 
 full was he of his own happiness that he scarcely 
 noticed the wild, hungry eyes that looked after 
 him, or the fierce, restless hands that fingered 
 the sailor's belt as if feeling for a knife. He 
 passed by. 
 
HIGH TIDE 239 
 
 The man turned and watched him go ; then, 
 after a long, baleful gaze, turned and walked down 
 the street, towards the house in which Annie had 
 disappeared. 
 
 A man who was possibly close on forty years of 
 age, but who might have been years older ; for his 
 black beard and hair were thickly strewed with 
 gray, his face was deeply lined, and on his forehead 
 and temples there were great dark veins. A notice- 
 able man anywhere, but more than commonly 
 noticeable in the London streets ; clearly a sea- 
 farer, weather-beaten, and worn with exposure to 
 the elements. He had a curious panther-like walk, 
 as if he were barefooted, and the movements of 
 his slouching figure were suggestive at once of 
 swiftness and of silence. His black eyes gleamed 
 dangerously — clearly an ugly man to encounter 
 when his blood was up. 
 
 The street was very quiet, and the man had the 
 pavement to himself, as he walked or rather 
 slouched past Tenterden's with his hat drawn over 
 his face and his hands in the pockets of his sailor's 
 jacket. He glanced at the door, over which, on a 
 sheet of glass, were the words * Tenterden's Hotel'; 
 then he peered into the windows of the rooms on 
 the ground floor, but he passed without pausing or 
 looking back. After walking some fifty yards, 
 however, he turned and passed the house again. 
 
240 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Twice or thrice he repeated this proceeding, 
 hesitating each time that he passed the door, and 
 on each of these occasions his swarthy face was 
 dark and troubled. At last, after halting at the 
 street-corner and looking wistfully at the house, 
 he turned away and moved, still with the stealthy, 
 slouching motion peculiar to him, in the direction 
 of Tottenham Court Road. 
 
 Reaching that busy thoroughfare, he drifted this 
 way and that for some time, as if uncertain what 
 to do or whither to go. He stood musing at 
 street-corners, looked with a vacant gaze into the 
 shops, as if all he saw and heard was strange to 
 him — as indeed it was. At last, turning into a 
 side-street, he found a dismal-looking and dingy 
 coffee-house, with a card in the window intimating 
 that beds could be had within. He entered, and 
 sat down at a table in one of the compartments. 
 The place was empty, but in answer to his rap 
 on the dirty table, a man in his shirt-sleeves 
 appeared. 
 
 ' Are you the landlord, mate.^' asked the sailor, 
 in a deep, hoarse voice. 
 
 The other nodded, and looked suspiciously at 
 his customer. 
 
 ^ Can I have a berth here to-night, mate ?' 
 demanded the sailor. 
 
 The landlord hesitated. He was a thin, foxy- 
 
HIGH TIDE 241 
 
 looking person, with the eyes of a weasel, and, 
 in all likelihood, with a weasel's predatory in- 
 stincts. 
 
 ' I don't know, mate,* he muttered ; ' you're 
 a seafaring man, ain't ye ?' 
 
 * I ain't a beachcomber, if that's what you 
 
 mean !' snarled the sailor, showing his white teeth 
 and flashing his eyes. 
 
 ' No offence, mate. Of course you can have 
 a bed if you want one. Can I get you anything 
 to take .?' 
 
 ' Bring me a cup of coffee and a biscuit,' was 
 the reply. 
 
 The landlord disappeared, and returning presently 
 with the refreshment asked for, lingered as if for 
 payment. The sailor thrust his hands into his 
 trousers pockets and, drawing forth a handful of 
 sovereigns, threw one of the shining pieces on the 
 table. 
 
 * Take it out o' that,' he said. 
 
 The landlord still lingered, fascinated by the 
 money which he had seen. 
 
 'Stranger in London.^' he said, more deferen- 
 tially. 
 
 * Ay,' answered the sailor, nodding and gulping 
 down a mouthful of hot coffee. 
 
 * Been long ashore ?' was the next query. 
 
 * Three days or thereabouts. I slept last night 
 
 16 
 
242 ANDROMEDA 
 
 down Wapping way, and my traps are there. Tve 
 a pal hereabouts. I shan't go back to-night.* 
 
 Still very curious and interested, the landlord 
 continued to hang about his customer, throwing 
 out fragments of conversation, to which the 
 stranger, munching his biscuit and drinking his 
 coffee, replied in monosyllables. It was clear that 
 the sailor, though not averse to society, was 
 sudden and quick of temper, and inclined to resent 
 familiarities ; but before long the art of the 
 Cockney prevailed, and the two men sat opposite 
 to each other, exchanging confidences. The land- 
 lord, by a series of leading questions, soon dis- 
 covered that his customer had been living for a 
 long time beyond seas, and had acquired a con- 
 siderable amount of wealth in the Californian gold 
 diggings. He appeared to have no friends or 
 relations in London, and to be there on a visit of 
 curiosity, without any particular object or destina- 
 tion ; for he said nothing to his new acquaintance 
 about his chance encounter with our heroine in the 
 streets of Bloomsbury. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MAN FROM THE SEA. 
 
 After parting with her lover at the house door, 
 and making an appointment with him for the next 
 afternoon, Annie was in the seventh heaven of 
 delight ; all the nervous apprehension she had once 
 felt had departed in the bright blaze of her new 
 happiness. She hugged and kissed her friend the 
 little dressmaker ; she laughed, she sang aloud with 
 a buoyancy and abandon that fairly astounded 
 Mrs. Major Garthorne ; and that evening at the 
 dinner-table, surrounded by the admiring members 
 of the Tenterden circle, and dressed like a duchess 
 in the prettiest evening costume *she possessed, she 
 fairly gave way to merriment. When she retired 
 to rest her heart was still bounding joyfully, as if 
 to the sound of wedding bells. 
 
 The next morning she rose early, and after break- 
 fast was over, put on a sealskin jacket and hat to 
 
 1 6 — 2 
 
244 ANDROMEDA 
 
 match, and announced that she was going out for 
 a walk. Bess volunteered to accompany her, while 
 Mrs. Garthorne suggested that they should go 
 together in the carriage, but Annie informed them 
 with a happy smile that she would rather go forth 
 alone. 
 
 * I want to be by myself,' she said. ' I don't 
 want anyone to talk to, or to talk to me. I shall 
 be back to lunch, if I'm not run away with or run 
 over.' 
 
 So saying, she tripped downstairs and into the 
 street. It was fine, clear wintry weather, and the 
 sun was shining almost brightly through the clouds 
 of Bloomsbury, as she made her way northward, 
 reached the Euston Road, and then turned west- 
 ward in the direction of Regent's Park. Instinct 
 guided her in that direction, for she was very fond 
 of the park, but on the present occasion she was 
 too full of her own pleasant thoughts to mind 
 much whither she was going. All she knew was 
 that the day was fine, her spirits high, the blood 
 flowing gladly in her veins. So full did the dark 
 city seem of music, that it might have been alive 
 with singing birds. 
 
 She walked with a light elastic step, as she had 
 walked on the lonely flats of Canvey Island. She 
 would have sung aloud, only she felt that if she 
 did so the people might wonder. For the rest, 
 
THE MAN FROM THE SEA 245 
 
 she was in Dreamland, too full of her own sweet 
 thoughts to notice the houses or the shops, or the 
 clattering vehicles, or the faces that passed by. 
 Almost before she knew, she had entered the park 
 gate, and was wandering up the main avenue in 
 the direction of the Zoological Gardens. 
 
 The place was very quiet. Here and there was 
 a nursery maid wheeling a perambulator, and here 
 and there a few playing children. She walked on 
 and on, and found herself at last, after passing over 
 the open space to the right of the park, standing 
 and looking at the ornamental water near to the 
 Western Gate. 
 
 She sat down on a seat and mused, gazing at the 
 water. It was sparkling in the winter sunshine, 
 and everywhere upon it the aquatic fowl were 
 busy. The cry of a tame brent goose from one of 
 the tiny islands reminded her of Canvey, and 
 when a pair of ducks sped quacking by, high over 
 her head, and alighted with a splash on a distant 
 part of the lake, she was transformed in imagina- 
 tion to the lonely flats and marshes at the mouth 
 of the Thames. She was a girl again, amid the 
 loneliness of sky and water ; London, with its 
 sights and sounds, had faded utterly away. And 
 yet, though it was still the old life, it was different, 
 for Heaven had opened, and something bright and 
 beautiful, the vision of her dreams, had descended. 
 
246 ANDROMEDA 
 
 What more did she want in all the world, now he 
 had told her that he loved her, and had avowed in 
 the presence of his friends that he had chosen her 
 to be his wife ? She recalled the scene at the 
 studio, and laughed as she thought of Bufton's 
 stupefaction. She had no need to dread any 
 change in her lover that might come of later 
 knowledge, for he knew — she herself had told him 
 — the story of her life. 
 
 Remembering this, her thoughts turned back 
 quite gently to the man who had been to her a 
 kind of foster-father. After all, he had not 
 destroyed her happiness ; rather, he had created 
 it. She owed him everything, even perhaps the 
 love of her Prince Charming ; and he had done 
 her the last supreme service of all, by passing out 
 of her life as mysteriously as he had entered it 
 long, long ago. 
 
 The park was almost deserted at that early 
 hour. So still and quiet was it that she might 
 have imagined herself seated on the sea-wall at 
 Canvey and listening to the sea. A pair of black 
 swans came to the water's edge and looked at her ; 
 she gazed at them smilingly, absorbed in her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 So rapt was she in pleasant meditation that she 
 did not notice a stealthy figure moving quietly 
 towards her over the grass behind her seat. It 
 
THE MAN FROM THE SEA 247 
 
 had followed her like a shadow from the moment 
 when she had left the door of Tenterden's ; quiet, 
 tenacious, like an animal pursuing its quarry and 
 certain of securing it, it had crept behind her 
 through the streets. When she had entered the 
 park, it had followed behind her still, at a greater 
 distance, and for some minutes it had been stand- 
 ing watching her, partly hidden by a clump of 
 trees. The figure of a man in sailor's costume, 
 with tattoo marks on his hands and heavy rings 
 in his ears — the man who had seen and followed 
 her on the previous day. 
 
 He was now approaching her swiftly, with that 
 curious, easy motion of one who is barefooted. 
 In another moment he was close to her side and 
 looking down at her. She started, looked round, 
 and met his eyes ; at the same moment she heard 
 his voice : 
 
 ' Annie ! Anniedromedy !* 
 
 She leaped to her feet and would have screamed, 
 only something like a cold hand gripped her heart 
 and seemed to stifle her. Ghastly pale, she 
 tottered and shrank back, looking at him in 
 horror, while he made a movement as if to take 
 her in his arms, then, hesitating, stood smiling 
 awkwardly at her, his white teeth gleaming, his 
 black eyes full of wistful admiration. 
 
 * Anniedromedy !' he repeated. ' My gel — my 
 
248 ANDROMEDA 
 
 little gel ! My little lady ! Don't ye know me ? 
 It's me — Matt Watson !' 
 
 How dark and horrible the world grew ! It 
 was as if a black cloud had passed suddenly over 
 the sun, veiling the happy light. She stood 
 fascinated, shrinking and shuddering, unable to 
 believe the evidence of her eyes ; then, with a 
 faint gasping cry, she sank half swooning on the 
 seat. 
 
 Something in her look, her manner, seemed to 
 trouble him. She seemed so different, too, from 
 the girl he had left behind him. She was so fair 
 and delicate, so elegantly dressed. But his hesita- 
 tion only lasted for a moment. With a low 
 laugh he threw himself on the seat by her side, 
 and throwing his arm round her, drew her to him. 
 She moaned and tried to release herself, but he 
 held her firmly. She could feel his heavy breath 
 upon her. 
 
 ' IVe startled ye, Anniedromedy. But don't 
 you be afeared. It's me right enough, come home 
 at last ! Come, let me look at ye, my dear — let 
 me look at the little gel I've made a lady on. I 
 should ha' knowed ye anywheres — ay, in a shipload 
 o' people. I knowed ye the minute I saw ye in 
 the street !' 
 
 ' Let me go !' she cried. ' Don't touch me ! 
 Don't speak to me ! O God, it can't be you !' 
 
THE MAN FROM THE SEA 249 
 
 He released her in a moment, and sat gazing at 
 her with a strange, wistful light on his dark, sun- 
 tanned face. 
 
 * It's me right enough, my gel,' he said quietly. 
 
 * I thought — I thought you were dead.' 
 
 ' I was near it, Anniedromedy,' he replied. 
 * Many and many a long watch I lay out yonder 
 in Californy, and they thought once that I'd 
 slipped my cable. But I thought of you a- waiting 
 for me here in England, and I was worth a dozen 
 dead uns! My gel! My lady! I've come 
 back! I landed three days ago at Gravesend, 
 and here I am !' 
 
 Horrified, fascinated, she turned her face 
 towards him at last, and looked at him in wonder- 
 ing terror. Yes, it was real ! He was older and 
 more worn-looking, but in other respects he was 
 unchanged. She remembered the weather-beaten 
 face, the great eager eyes, the savage mouth, the 
 earrings, the tattoo marks on the powerful hands. 
 How often had she pictured them to herself 
 during the years that he had been away ! 
 
 He drew a pouch from his pocket, and taking 
 out a piece of negro-head tobacco, cut off a piece 
 with a large sailor's knife, then, as he closed the 
 knife and put the quid into his mouth, he said : 
 
 * You don't seem over glad to see me, neither. 
 Maybe because you're a lady now, and I'm a bit 
 
250 ANDROMEDA 
 
 rough-and-ready. Well, it's my fault, my gel. I 
 should ha' warned you as I was coming. But I'd j 
 a notion to give you a surprise like. Well, well,^ 
 won't ye shake hands, my dear, and tell me yej 
 ain't sorry I'm come back V 
 
 What could she do.? She reached out her hand^ 
 timidly. He seized it with both his hands, and 
 held it firmly but gently, gazing eagerly at her. 
 His eyes were full of tears. 
 
 * I never thought to see ye again, my lass,' he 
 murmured in a broken voice. * I thought I was 
 booked for '' kingdom come," and all my thought 
 then was for my little gel at home. I did the 
 right thing by ye, didn't I, Anniedromedy ? I 
 sent ye all I had in gold and dollars, and when I 
 lay a-dying, I made over everything to the little 
 gel at home. *' Mind," says I, '' she gets it all — 
 gold and land, stock and dollars. Her name's 
 Anniedromedy Watson," says I, " and she lives 
 with old Job Endell on Canvey Island. She's my 
 wife," says I — " my little wife as I married in 
 Gravesend before I come away last voyage." And 
 they took it down, and they made it all right 
 accordin' to law, and I signed my name to it afore 
 witnesses : '^ Matt Watson, Englishman — his last 
 will and testament afore he goes to face his 
 God." ' 
 
 She listened, shuddering. Every word he 
 
THE MAN FROM THE SEA 251 
 
 uttered was like a knife-point thrust into her 
 heart. When he uttered the word ' wife ' her 
 horror and repulsion almost stifled her, but she 
 continued to look at him with eyes wide open and 
 lips apart. His face brightened, and, forcing a 
 nervous laugh, he continued : 
 
 ' But it's all right now, Anniedromedy. I didn't 
 die that journey, but I got up dazed and stupid, 
 like a chap as has been lying drowned at the 
 bottom of the sea. It was many a long day afore 
 I was fit to travel, and 'twas a long road, many a 
 day's journey up among the mountains, and I'd to 
 sell out my claim, and what they calls " realize my 
 property," afore I started for home. Well, I done 
 it at last — I done it, and come away a rich man, 
 with more money for my little gel than ever she 
 can spend ; and now I'm here, there's nothing she 
 shan't have that money can get for her all the 
 days of her life. I kept it for her, and it's hers to 
 spend. Yes, it's yours, Anniedromedy ; so you 
 needn't be afraid but I'll keep ye a lady still.' 
 
 * How did you know I was here ?' she asked 
 faintly. 
 
 ' Why, I waited for ye outside all the morning,' 
 he replied, smiling ; * and then I followed ye, my 
 dear.' 
 
 ' I mean in London. How did you know I was 
 in London ?' 
 
252 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Why, this ways/ answered the sailor. * Moment 
 I landed I went down river to Canvey Island, and 
 found old Job and the missis. When they see me 
 they thought I was a ghost ! But I up and cries 
 to them, '' Where*s my Annie ?" And then they 
 told me you was living in London, and enjoying 
 of yourself ; and old Job was for coming with me 
 to search for ye. But I laughed, and I says to 
 him, " You leave that to me, mate ; I'll find her 
 out myself, and give her a surprise/^ says I ; and 
 I thinks to myself, " Til take a look at her first on 
 the sly, and not let on as I'm alive." And the 
 night afore last I waited outside the house, and 
 wondered if I should knock at the door and ask 
 for my little gel ; but I peeped through the 
 window, and see you sitting and smiling in fine 
 clothes among your swell friends, and thinks I to 
 myself, '* There's no hurry ; I'll wait a bit." Then 
 yesterday I see you in the street, though you 
 didn't see me — you was too busy talking with 
 a gentleman. Yes, you was a-laughing and 
 a-talking, but I was follering behind you all the 
 time.' 
 
 He still held her hand, and his grip tightened, 
 while the wistful expression on his face suddenly 
 changed to one of fierce suspicion. Drawing her 
 towards him, and looking full into her eyes, he 
 said : 
 
THE MAN FROM THE SEA 253 
 
 ' There's one thing Fm a-going to ask my gel : 
 who was the gentleman you was a-talking to 
 yesterday ?' 
 
 She tried to release her hand, but he held it 
 firmly. 
 
 ' A friend/ she said. 
 
 *A friend.?' he echoed. *Well, that's right 
 enough ; but afore you parted, my gel, he kissed 
 you, as if he'd been your brother. He kissed you 
 on the cheek, Anniedromedy. Maybe that's the 
 fashion among the fine folk here in London, and 
 if so I've no call to say anything about it ; but 
 I want ye to tell me, fair and square, why he 
 done it .?' 
 
 The sudden question and the keen look which 
 accompanied it seemed to break the spell which 
 had hitherto held her. Her own face darkened, 
 and the black line of her eyebrows, always so 
 evident in moments of passion, gathered suddenly. 
 With a sudden movement and an exclamation she 
 tore herself free, and sprang frowning to her 
 feet. 
 
 He did not rise, but kept his eyes fixed upon 
 her, while he shot a stream of tobacco juice from 
 between his teeth. 
 
 * There's no call to be angry, my gel,' he said 
 quietly. 'I ain't angry yet. But you've got to 
 tell me, fair and square again, who that friend of 
 
254 ANDROMEDA 
 
 yourn is, and why he kissed ye when you shook 
 hands/ 
 
 She turned away with a slight hysterical laugh. 
 
 * That's my business,' she said nervously. ' Vm 
 not afraid of you or any man, Matt Watson ! The 
 gentleman's a friend of mine — that's all.' 
 
 ' Does he know you're a wedded woman, Annie- 
 dromedy?' asked the sailor, still very quietly. 
 ' I'm not !' cried Annie. 
 
 * You're my wife, Anniedromedy ! We was 
 married in Gravesend afore I went away !' 
 
 ' A marriage like that doesn't count,' she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 ' Don't it, by !' cried the man, rising and 
 
 showing his white teeth. ' Then if it don't, we 
 will have one that does count right away. Don't 
 be afeared,' he continued, seeing her shrink as it 
 from a blow ; ' I ain't angry, I tell ye — I'm too 
 downright glad to see my little gel again. And I 
 don't blame ye neither, if maybe ye thought I was 
 dead and buried, and wouldn't never come back. 
 But here I am, and here I'm agoing to stay ; and 
 you're my wife — Anniedromedy Watson, as was 
 married to me in church afore witnesses, and the 
 man ain't born as shall come between you and me !* 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE SPELL IS BROKEN. 
 
 It was true, then. The sea had yielded up its 
 dead. What Annie most dreaded and hated had 
 come to pass. At the very moment when heaven 
 had seemed to open, and when all the world had 
 seemed full of the music and joy of fairyland, the 
 solid earth had yielded beneath her feet, revealing 
 gulfs of utter shame and darkness. Yet her heart 
 had not broken ; all she seemed to feel was a horrid 
 fascination and stupefaction. She breathed, she 
 moved, she still existed, but everything had 
 changed. She was no longer a lady, happy and 
 beloved, she was again the waif from the Sea, 
 conscious only of utter loneliness and desola- 
 tion. 
 
 As she looked at the man her horror grew. How 
 diiFerent he was to the lover of her girlish fancy ! 
 Coarse, savage, hideous even, yet showing in every 
 
256 ANDROMEDA 
 
 look and gesture the strangest devotion and admira- 
 tion. She would have loathed him less, indeed, if 
 he had been less gentle. The wistful tenderness in 
 his face, the gentle, almost pitiful respect that lay 
 behind his roughest words, sickened her. It was 
 clear that he felt, in some dim fashion, that she had 
 withdrawn herself partially out of his sphere — that 
 she was a lady indeed, and he only a rough, 
 common man. 
 
 And after all he was her benefactor. He had 
 saved her from the Sea — he had sacrificed himself 
 year after year to secure her happiness, and even 
 when he had lain under the very shadow of Death 
 his only thought had been of her. It was wrong 
 and wicked, therefore, to hate him so much ; but 
 she could not help it. He seemed to her like 
 some fabulous monster, slimy and dreadful and 
 foul. His coarse, rough speech, the horrid tattoo 
 marks on his hands, his breath, his manner of 
 rolling the tobacco between his cheeks and spitting 
 on the ground, were all horrible to her. She felt 
 for him now what she remembered to have always 
 felt, even when she was a child — a sickening 
 physical repulsion. And to think that the man 
 loved her, and was actually, in the eyes of the 
 law, her husband ! 
 
 She had thought herself a lady ; all her instincts, 
 indeed, had been, ever since she could remember, 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 257 
 
 towards what was refined and elegant and gentle. 
 She had always hated common people, and had 
 never felt much sympathy for even virtue, when it 
 was coarse and vulgar. Somerset himself had first 
 fascinated her because he was a gentleman, refined 
 and cultivated to the finger-tips. She loved his 
 white hands, his honeyed breath, his dudish airs 
 and graces, the refinement and elegance of the very 
 clothes he wore. She remembered how, at Canvey, 
 she had found a pocket-handkerchief of his, silken 
 and scented, and how she had held it to her 
 nostrils for hours in secret, inhaling the perfume 
 as if it were his breath. 
 
 Then the time had come when all her dreams 
 could be realized, and she, too, could be elegant 
 and refined, and meet with people who were 
 educated and soft-spoken, and wear beautiful 
 raiment, and forget that she had ever been coarse 
 and common. How she had loved to clothe 
 herself in softness, and to have dainty under- 
 clothing, and to feel the shimmer of silk and satin 
 around her, and to go among the lights and the 
 music like a lady indeed ! That was the only life 
 she had cared for, and to crown all she was to 
 have shared that life with her Prince Charming, in 
 the Fairyland of soft speech and gentle breeding. 
 
 And now, to think of it ! The good fortune 
 which came to her out of the clouds, the money 
 
 17 
 
258 ANDROMEDA 
 
 she possessed, the very clothes she wore, were not 
 her own at all — they were his, the savage man's 
 who had arisen before her like a monster from the 
 sea. She possessed nothing of her own — not even 
 a name ! She was Matt Watson's wife, the wife 
 of a man who was as coarse and common and 
 horrible as some unclean creature crawling among 
 the ooze of the seashore. 
 
 What was most horrible about it all was that 
 the man cared for her so deeply, and opposed to 
 her own physical repulsion, moreover, a silent and 
 overmastering passion. Every look he cast at her, 
 every smile of the mouth and eyes, betokened this. 
 He was tamed and subdued, as animals are so 
 often, by the sexual attraction. Had it been 
 otherwise she might have felt less helpless. She 
 might even have appealed to him, and persuaded 
 him to go his way, break the bond between them, 
 and leave her in peace. She felt already, with a 
 woman's instinct, that this was precisely what he 
 would never consent to do. 
 
 They walked along side by side on the margin 
 of the lake. Gradually her strength was coming 
 back to her, and she began asking herself how she 
 could temporize until she had decided how to act. 
 From time to time she glanced at her companion, 
 and noticed that his face looked almost happy. 
 He appeared quite content to accompany her 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 259 
 
 silently, soothed by the mere physical fact of her 
 presence. 
 
 ' Matt/ she said at last. 
 
 His eyes brightened as she named him. 
 
 ' Well, my dear ?' he answered gently. 
 
 ' Don t mind what I said to you just now. I 
 was startled and frightened ; you came upon me 
 so suddenly. Tm glad, very glad, to see you, for 
 you've always been good to me, as good to me as 
 if you'd been my own father.' 
 
 He nodded a little doubtfully, and watched her 
 thoughtfully as she walked on. After a little time 
 she spoke again. 
 
 ' YouVe seen no one since you came to London ? 
 I mean you ve told no one about — about me ?' 
 
 ' No, Anniedromedy,' was the reply ; * there 
 was no one I could tell even if I wanted. Job 
 and the missis are the only folk I know in 
 England.' 
 
 * Where are you living V 
 
 ^ Vd a berth last night in a coffee-house off Tot- 
 tenham Court Road. I left my traps in Wapping. 
 Tve heaps of things for you, my gel, and the 
 missis is taking charge of some of them.' 
 
 ' What do you mean to do ?* 
 
 ' That's for you to settle,' the man replied. * I 
 know you're enjoying of yourself, and I don't want 
 to interrupt. I'll bide your time, my dear. As 
 
 17 — 2 
 
26o ANDROMEDA 
 
 soon as youVe ready we can settle down some- 
 where comfortable, but there ain't no hurry/ 
 
 It was clear that he took it for granted that she 
 would join him, and that they would live together. 
 The black line of her eyebrows darkened, as with 
 face averted she answered : 
 
 ' I want you to do me a favour, Matt.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay.' 
 
 ' Don't tell anyone yet about me. Wait a few 
 days, and don't come to the house where Tm 
 living. They're strange people, and very proud.' 
 
 ' I see,' said Matt, with a scowl. ' Well, just as 
 you please ; only remember, my gel, I haven't seen 
 ye all these long years.' 
 
 ' I'll meet you again in the same place to- 
 morrow,' returned Annie quickly. ' I want to go 
 home now and to think it over. You see, it all 
 seems so strange. I never thought you'd come 
 back.' 
 
 ' Are ye sorry I come V he asked huskily, spit- 
 ting on the ground. 
 
 * No, of course I'm not sorry ; only it makes 
 everything so different. Everyone will have to 
 know in time, but not yet. In a day or two 
 perhaps — but there, we'll see.' 
 
 * All right,' said the sailor. * I ain't quite strong 
 yet, and I shan't be rightly better till I'm berthed 
 comfortable, with my little wife beside me. Look 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 261 
 
 here, Anniedromedy, my luck's been wonderful 
 out yonder, and the money's all yourn. You'll 
 have a splendid time, if money can buy it for you ; 
 it's all yourn to spend, as I told ye — all yourn to 
 spend.' 
 
 They crossed the open park together and reached 
 the central avenue. There Annie paused and held 
 out her hand. 
 
 ' Please don't come any further,' she said. ' Til 
 meet you at the same time to-morrow.' 
 
 * Down yonder by the water?' 
 *Yes.' 
 
 ' Let me take one more look at you before you 
 go,' cried Matt, holding her hand. * My beauty ! 
 My lady !' 
 
 ' Don't ! You'll be seen !' she cried, as he drew 
 her towards him. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 * Well, if they do — a man's a right to kiss his 
 own wife, hasn't he ^ And he threw his strong 
 arms round her and kissed her in spite of her 
 resistance. Pale as death, she shook herself 
 free, then, looking back at him, said in a low 
 voice : 
 
 ' To-morrow !' 
 
 He laughed and nodded, as she flew rather than 
 walked down the avenue, while he stood and 
 watched her. Only for a moment, however, did 
 
262 ANDROMEDA 
 
 he pause ; in another minute he had overtaken 
 her. He cried as she paused trembling : 
 
 * Just another word, my dear, afore you go. 
 Answer me fair and square. There's nothing, is 
 there, atween you and that young chap I see you 
 a-talking to yesterday.'^ Come, out with it, 
 honest T 
 
 * Of course there is nothing,' she answered, 
 almost angrily. ' Why should you think so.^' 
 
 *I doTi!t think so, Anniedromedy,' he replied, 
 showing his white teeth and feeling for the sailor's 
 knife in his belt. ' God help him if I did, for I'd 
 have his life !' 
 
 The next moment she had escaped, speeding 
 down the avenue like a lapwing and never once 
 looking behind her. He watched her quietly 
 with a grim smile of admiration till she disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Out from the park and through the busy streets 
 she made her weary way, her eyes fixed on vacancy, 
 her soul in a tumult, and ever as she v/ent she 
 seemed to hear the sound of his footsteps behind 
 her. Terror and despair kept her strong, or she 
 would have fainted in the open street. All her 
 thought now, however, was to reach the house 
 where she lodged, and to hide herself away from 
 everybody, and to think it all over. At last, 
 panting and trembling, she reached the hotel. 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 263 
 
 knocked and was admitted, and ran swiftly to the 
 little sitting-room upstairs. 
 
 Bess was seated by the window, sewing. As 
 Annie entered she looked up eagerly. 
 
 'Why, Annie, wherever have you been.?* she 
 cried. ' I was growing quite frightened — I was 
 afraid ' 
 
 She paused, for Annie stood looking at her 
 wildly, with dilated eyes, her cheeks streaming with 
 tears. 
 
 ' What's the matter, Annie dear ? Are you ill?' 
 
 Annie made no reply, but gave a low, hysterical 
 sob, between a laugh and a cry ; then, clutching 
 at the air, fell back upon the carpet in a dead 
 swoon. 
 
 Bess was by Annie's side in a moment, kneeling 
 by her, supporting her head, and chafing her 
 hands, which were cold as ice. For some minutes 
 she lay as dead, and the little dressmaker was 
 terribly frightened ; but at last she began to 
 recover consciousness, sharp, spasmodic thrills ran 
 through her frame, and she moaned wearily as if 
 in pain. There was nothing for it but to get her 
 to bed as soon as possible, and this Bess did, 
 undressing her deftly and soothing her with gentle 
 words ; but when she questioned her, Annie only 
 shook her head and motioned her to be silent. 
 Fortunately, tears came at last to relieve her — 
 
264 ANDROMEDA 
 
 great silent tears that swelled up from her over- 
 burdened heart. 
 
 ^Go away, Bess dear/ she sobbed, 'and don't 
 let anyone else come near me. It's nothing — I 
 shall be all right to-morrow ;' and Bess, always 
 obedient, presently withdrew, not, however, with- 
 out much compunction and sad conjecture. 
 
 Left alone in the darkness, Annie lay in silence, 
 thinking it all over, and the more that she thought, 
 the more strange and incomprehensible it all 
 seemed. Shame and terror possessed her — shame 
 at the revelation which was bound to ensue, terror 
 at what might happen in the near future ; for 
 come what might, she was determined that she 
 would never yield to Matt Watson's demand and 
 entreaties, and unite her lot to his. The very 
 thought nearly drove her mad. She still felt with 
 horror his kiss upon her mouth, a kiss so different 
 from the sweet, gentle, soul-compelling kiss of the 
 man she loved. Another such kiss, she thought, 
 would kill her. Well, if that were all, there 
 would be a way out of the trouble — she would 
 die ; but, alas ! she knew that she was young and 
 strong, and that life ran too powerfully in her 
 veins to be destroyed even by what she dreaded 
 most. 
 
 All night she lay awake, and at last, when the 
 cold gray light of the winter morning was creeping 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 265 
 
 into the room, she fell into a troubled sleep. 
 When she awoke again she found it was broad 
 day, and that Bess was seated by her side. 
 
 At the sight of her little friend she felt the 
 warm tears welling up from her heart again, and 
 reaching out her arms with a piteous cry, she 
 sobbed : 
 
 ^Oh, Bess, Bess! what shall I do.? What shall 
 I do?' 
 
 ' What is it, dear.?' asked Bess eagerly. ^ Some- 
 thing has happened ! Tell me ; perhaps I can 
 help you. Is it about Mr. Somerset .? Have you 
 quarrelled ? Has he told you that he must marry 
 his cousin after all .?* 
 
 Annie looked at her vacantly, and began to 
 moan hysterically. 
 
 ' Don't, Annie, don't ! I can't bear to see you 
 doing that ! Tell me your trouble, do !' 
 
 Suddenly drying her tears and shaking back her 
 hair, which hung loose upon her shoulders, Annie 
 sat up in bed, gripping Bess by the wrist and 
 looking wildly into her face. 
 
 ' Do you remember,' she cried in a low voice, 
 * the sermon the Vicar preached once at Rayleigh, 
 about the Sea giving up its dead ? I thought it 
 foolish then, thinking in my heart that the dead 
 never came back to life. But they do — they do ! 
 And I might have known it by my dream — the 
 
266« ANDROMEDA 
 
 dream I told you the day after Mr. Somerset was 
 here. O God, why didn't I die long since ! Why 
 didn't the water drown me when I was down on 
 Canvey, dreading and fearing that he'd come 
 back !' 
 
 Then in hurried whispers she told her friend of 
 Matt's return — of how he had followed her the 
 previous day, and how they had met in Regent's 
 Park. Poor Bess began to share her terror, 
 though she could not quite understand the sicken- 
 ing horror with which this man's very presence 
 filled poor Annie. Bess was a simple country 
 girl, brought up to respect the conventions and to 
 regard marriage as the holiest of sacraments, not 
 to be broken under any circumstances whatever. 
 Matt Watson was Annie's husband, married to 
 her in church ; and moreover, he had been her 
 friend and benefactor all her life. Naturally 
 enough he had come to claim her, and who had 
 the better right.? She hinted her thoughts as 
 broadly as she dared, but the moment she did so 
 Annie turned upon her like a mad thing, and lost 
 all self-control. 
 
 ' I hate him ! I hate him !' she cried. ' Can't 
 you understand that ? And the more he cares for 
 me the more I hate him ! His face sickens me, 
 his touch burns me ; if he kissed me again, I 
 should kill him, Bess ! All my life, ever since I 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 267 
 
 remember, Tve felt the same. And I Jove Mr. 
 Somerset as much as I hate Matt Watson. I'd 
 rather be his servant or his dog, though he only 
 threw me a crust to eat, than Matt Watson's wife, 
 though I was richer than a queen. Don't you 
 understand — don't you understand?' 
 
 Bess did not understand at all. She was shocked 
 to the heart's core that Annie, whom she adored, 
 should have such awful thoughts. But she offered 
 some commonplace consolation, nevertheless. 
 
 ' Perhaps, dear,' she said, ' you won't always 
 feel like this. It's the shock of it all, the surprise. 
 When you and your husband are better friends, 
 and everything is explained ' 
 
 'Do you think I'll ever live with him.'*' cried 
 Annie, livid and trembling. ^ Do you think I'll 
 ever let him touch me or come near me ? I'll kill 
 him first, as I said, or make him kill me! Oh, 
 I'm not afraid of him ! He shall see ! I'll show 
 him how I hate him — how I wish he'd been dead 
 and buried ; and then, when I've raised the devil 
 in him, he may strangle or stab me for all I 
 care !' 
 
 Presently she grew calmer, and, in spite of 
 Bess's entreaties, began to dress. The storm of 
 angry passion had secured at least one purpose — 
 it had aroused all the strength and determination 
 latent in her nature, and saved her perhaps from 
 
268 ANDROMEDA 
 
 utter physical collapse. She chose the plainest of 
 her dresses, and put it on without a glance at the 
 mirror. Bess did up her hair. 
 
 * All Tve got belongs to him/ said Annie, ' and 
 I shan't keep anything ; it wouldn't be right, 
 feeling about him as I do. Tm not going to wear 
 his clothes and eat his bread ; and you, you 11 
 have to get a place in London, or go back to 
 Rayleigh.' 
 
 ' Don't think about me,' said Bess ; ' I shall be 
 all right. I can always earn my living by my 
 needle.' 
 
 * Oh, Bess, I'm so sorry !' said Annie, throwing 
 her arms around her. ' I brought you away, and 
 made you think that I was rich. Will you ever 
 forgive me.^' 
 
 Bess's only answer was a loving kiss. 
 
 * You won't do anything rash or foolish ?^ 
 pleaded the little dressmaker. * Think it well over 
 before you decide. And remember, dear, it isn't 
 altogether your husband's fault. How could he 
 ever guess that you'd feel towards him as you do ? 
 If he's coarse and common, as you say, he isn't to 
 blame, and he has proved — now hasn't he ? — that 
 he loves you very dearly.' 
 
 ' Yes, that's the worst of it,' replied Annie 
 wearily. 
 
 ' You must think, too, what you will say to 
 
THE SPELL IS BROKEN 269 
 
 Mr. Somerset. Of course you'll have to tell him 
 he mustn't think about you any more.' 
 
 Annie did not reply, but her face went scarlet, 
 and her eyebrows met ominously over her stormy 
 eyes. Presently she seized her hat and cloak, and 
 intimated that she was going out. Bess entreated 
 her to remain at home and rest. 
 
 ' Besides, you haven't had any breakfast. Let 
 me fetch you some before you go.' 
 
 * I can't eat,' returned Annie ; ' the food would 
 choke me.' 
 
 But she was at last persuaded to drink a cup 
 of tea, which Bess fetched for her from below. 
 Then Bess begged and implored to be allowed to 
 accompany her ; but Annie set her lips firmly 
 together, and shook her head. 
 
 ^ But where are you going, dear ?* 
 
 * I'm going to sec him,' was the reply. 
 
 * Your husband ?' 
 
 * No, Mr. Somerset,' replied Annie, with a 
 strange laugh. ' I shall find him round at the 
 studio perhaps. The sooner he knows the better. 
 He is sure to be coming here, and I don't wan't 
 him to come here any more.' 
 
 By this time she seemed quite calm, but her 
 friend had no suspicion of the reason. She left 
 the house immediately, and hurried away. Bess 
 watched her from the window until she disappeared. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 COMPLICATIONS. i 
 
 At the very moment when Annie was leaving the 
 door of Tenterden's Hotel in Bloomsbury, Charles 
 Somerset was at The Laurels, face to face with his 
 mother. He had been summoned there by an 
 urgent telegram, and he discovered, on arriving 
 at the house, that his cousin Ethel had on the 
 previous evening returned home to her father^s 
 residence in the neighbourhood of Epping Forest. 
 Before leaving she had explained to her aunt that 
 her engagement was broken ofF. Mrs. Somerset, 
 greatly distressed and chagrined, had wired ofF to 
 her son at once ; he had received the telegram at 
 the studio next morning, and had duly presented 
 himself at The Laurels. 
 
 ' You must be mad !' cried Mrs. Somerset. 
 ' Ethel is heart-broken, and will never forgive you/ 
 
 The young man only smiled, 
 
COMPLICATIONS 271 
 
 ' My dear mother, Ethel is only too glad to be 
 released ; in fact, she as good as told me so, and, 
 in any case, feeling as I do on the subject, I could 
 never have married her.' 
 
 ' It is shameful !' exclaimed the widow. * Who 
 is this woman who has come between you? 
 Remember, Charles, I will never exchange a word 
 with her, never receive her in my house. Either 
 you have grossly deceived her as to your position, 
 or she must be an abominable creature to encourage 
 you in such conduct !' 
 
 ' Stop there, mother !' exclaimed Somerset, flush- 
 ing angrily. ' I won't be accused, even by you, 
 of acting dishonourably. If you want the truth, 
 Ethel herself broke off the engagement.* 
 
 ' I don't believe it !' 
 
 ' It's the truth, though. The night I dined 
 here, and you left us alone together, she frankly 
 put it to me whether it wouldn't be better to cry 
 '"off," and I — well, of course, I was only too 
 willing. I might have " dreed my weird " in 
 silence, though, if she hadn't spoken.' 
 
 'She was naturally indignant,' returned the 
 widow, ' at your constant neglect. Ethel is very 
 proud. Oh, Charles, let me write to her ; let me 
 tell her that you are sorry ! Remember how fond 
 she is of you, and what a chance you are throwing 
 away. She is a dear, good girl, the very wife for 
 
272 ANDROMEDA 
 
 you, and she will have her share of her mother's 
 fortune.' 
 
 ' Too late, mother,* answered Charles, striding 
 up and down the room. ' I have pledged myself 
 to another woman/ 
 
 * Who is she ? Where did you meet her ? What 
 is her name ?' questioned his mother angrily. 
 
 * Her name is Annie Watson, and I met her 
 last summer in the country.' 
 
 ^ Is she a lady ?' 
 
 'The very question Ethel put to me,' replied 
 Somerset, forcing a laugh. ' Well, I suppose so. 
 At any rate, she's the dearest, sweetest, prettiest 
 little woman in all the world, and directly I bring 
 her to see you ' 
 
 * I forbid you to do so ! I will never meet her.' 
 
 * Nonsense, mother ! you've no right to judge 
 her so harshly. I should never have been happy 
 with Ethel, or Ethel with me ; whereas with my 
 darling Annie ' 
 
 * Some vulgar country girl ! some common 
 creature, with only good looks to recommend 
 her ! Well, as you please. You'll be sorry some 
 day for your folly. Such heartless conduct is 
 certain to be punished, and this girl, whom you 
 have picked up Heaven knows where ' 
 
 ' Has only one fault, mother,' laughed the 
 young man. ' I'm afraid she's a widow.' 
 
COMPLICATIONS 273 
 
 Mrs. Somerset gasped in mingled amazement 
 and horror. 
 
 ' YouVe afraid she's a widow ! Good heavens ! 
 don't you even know what she is V 
 
 * Well, then, she is a widow. She was married 
 many years ago to a man with whom she never 
 lived, but who left her to go on a long voyage on 
 the very day they were married. He died the 
 other day, leaving her a heap of money.' 
 
 As the explanation proceeded, the widow grew 
 more and more aghast, and her storm of protest 
 yielded to a flood of angry tears. Gradually, by 
 skilful questionings, she contrived to elicit the 
 whole story of her son's acquaintance with the girl 
 of Canvey Island, and when she had done so her 
 indignation knew no bounds. 
 
 ' I was right, then,' she cried. * An uneducated 
 fisher-girl, without even a name of her own ! A 
 common sailor's cast-off wife! And you would 
 actually marry her ! What did I tell you ! You 
 are simply raving mad !' 
 
 It would be useless to prolong the report of the 
 conversation, which went through the usual phases 
 of domestic disputes — threats, entreaties, protests, 
 and sneers. After an hour's discussion mother 
 and son parted on very bad terms. Mrs. Somerset 
 adhered to her determination of having nothing 
 whatever to do with her son's so-called fiancee^ 
 
 18 
 
274 ANDROMEDA 
 
 and Somerset was just quitting the house in the 
 very worst of tempers when a messenger arrived 
 with a telegram addressed to him. He opened 
 the telegram on the doorstep, and read as follows : 
 
 * Come back here as soon as possible. You're 
 wanted. — B u fto n .' 
 
 Waving adieu to his mother, who stood pale 
 and indignant at the open door, he strode away 
 to the nearest cab-stand, chartered a hansom, and 
 leaping in, ordered the cabman to drive to the 
 studio. En route he asked himself what the 
 telegram could mean. Possibly some small com- 
 mission from a dealer who wanted to discuss 
 terms with him. He did not for a moment 
 connect the message with Annie. Full of annoy- 
 ance at what he deemed his mother's worldliness 
 and want of sympathy, and of virtuous indignation 
 at the general selfishness of society, he sat fuming 
 and fretting as the hansom whirled away towards 
 Bloomsbury. 
 
 Crossing Tottenham Court Road, his attention 
 was suddenly attracted to a man who stood staring 
 at him from the centre of the street, and almost 
 succeeded in getting himself run over ; indeed, he 
 would have been run over if he had not seized 
 the horse's head in his powerful hands and hurled 
 
COMPLICATIONS 275 
 
 it aside, and forced the animal back almost on its 
 haunches. A wild, weather-beaten man, who had 
 tattoo marks on his hands and wore heavy rings 
 in his ears. His eyes were still fixed intently on 
 Somerset, as the driver with oaths lashed at him 
 with his whip, and a crowd began to collect. 
 Then he released the horse and stepped aside 
 without a word. 
 
 The cabman drove on, and in a few minutes 
 deposited Somerset close to the studio door. 
 
 ' Rum start that !' said the driver, as he received 
 his fare. 'The man seemed to know you, sir. 
 He stepped right into the road to look at you, 
 and I nearly ran him down.' 
 
 ' I never saw him before,' replied Somerset ; 
 ' he looked like a sailor.' 
 
 ' Looked more like a lunatic, sir,' said the cab- 
 man with a grin, as he drove off. 
 
 Fixed on the outer door of the studio, Somerset, 
 to his surprise, found a scrap of paper, bearing the 
 following words, in Bufton's handv/riting : 
 
 * We've had to go out. Somebody's waiting 
 for you inside.* 
 
 He opened the door and entered. As he did so 
 a woman, who sat waiting, rose to her feet and 
 turned her face towards him. 
 
 ' Annie ! You here !' he cried, recognising her ; 
 then drawing back startled, as he became aware 
 
 18—2 
 
276 ANDROMEDA 
 
 that she was agitated and deadly pale, he added, 
 ' How strange you look ! Is anything the 
 matter?' 
 
 She did not reply, but sank into a chair again, 
 covering her eyes with her hands. He made a 
 movement to bend over her and take her in his 
 arms, but she drew one hand from her face and 
 motioned him away. 
 
 ' Annie, my darling,' he cried, ' for God's sake 
 tell me what ails you ! Why do I find you here ?* 
 
 As he spoke she rose and looked at him. Her 
 eyes were tearless, but the lids were swollen as if 
 with weeping, her cheeks like alabaster. 
 
 ' Did you mean what you said to me ?' she 
 demanded in a clear, unfaltering voice. ' Do you 
 love me very much.^' 
 
 ' Oh, Annie, can you ask !' he cried, making 
 another movement to embrace her. But she still 
 motioned him back, and he noticed as she did so 
 that her hands were bare and gloveless, and that 
 her hair had fallen loose and was raining on her 
 shoulders. Never, he thought, had she looked 
 more beautiful. Yet her beauty was that of 
 supreme piteousness and sorrow. 
 
 ' Then swear to me,' she said, ' that you will 
 not turn away from me, that you will still be my 
 friend, whatever happens.' 
 
 ' Of course,' he answered, more and more 
 
COMPLICATIONS 277 
 
 amazed. * Haven't I sworn to you that I love 
 you ? Have you not promised to become my wife ?' 
 ' I can never be your wife,' she answered, gazing 
 at him steadfastly. 
 
 * Annie ! what are you saying ?^ 
 
 In another moment she had sprung towards him, 
 flung her arms round his neck, and was sobbing in 
 his embrace. 
 
 ' Love me ! Love me !' she cried. ' Love me 
 more than ever ! Never mind what people say — 
 never mind whether it's right or wrong — never 
 mind anything ! Love me ! Love me, or I 
 shall die 1' 
 
 And swept away in the storm of her passionate 
 emotion, she kissed him on the lips again and 
 again. His head went round in mingled wonder 
 and delight. He clasped her close to him, 
 answering her kisses with kisses even more passion- 
 ate, until, faint and trembling, she lay smiling in 
 his embrace, her dark eyes seeking his, her heart 
 fluttering against his own. 
 
 * Now tell me,' he whispered : * what has 
 happened?' 
 
 * You must promise, first.' 
 
 * What must I promise, Annie ?' 
 
 * To hide me. To take me away abroad, far 
 from here. I must go away from London. I 
 must not remain another day/ 
 
278 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * But why ?' he demanded, stupefied. 
 
 She hesitated for an instant, then replied, speak- 
 ing quickly and impetuously, as if fearful of her 
 own words : 
 
 * Because what I dreaded most of all has come 
 about. Because just as we were so happy they 
 want to take me from you. I learned it only 
 yesterday, and ever since I've been wondering 
 what to do. At first I thought I would go away 
 and never see you again ; but afterwards I thought 
 to myself, '' Why should I be afraid ? He loves 
 me ; he will save me." Then I came to find you, 
 and to tell you everything, and your friends were 
 here, and when they saw that something was 
 wrong, they tried to question me, but I told them 
 that it was you I wanted to see, and you only — 
 and they sent for you, and I waited till you came.' 
 
 ' But I don't understand, my darling,' said 
 Somerset, more and more perplexed. ' What is all 
 the trouble ?' 
 
 * He is not dead !' she cried, clinging to him as 
 if dreading he might repulse her. ^ He has come 
 back !' 
 
 ' Good God ! Do you mean your husband ?' 
 *I have no husband. I have no one in the 
 
 world but you.' 
 
 ' But the man you married when you were a 
 
 child .'^ That sailor who left you the money .'^^ 
 
COMPLICATIONS 279 
 
 She inclined her head, while her eyes filled again 
 with tears. 
 
 ' He is alive, you say. How do you know 
 that?' 
 
 ' I have seen him/ she replied. * He has been 
 following me for days. Yesterday he spoke to me, 
 and made me promise to meet him again to-day.' 
 
 Suddenly a thought occurred to Somerset, and 
 he asked eagerly : 
 
 ' What is the man like ? Is he a wild-looking, 
 bearded man, with rings in his ears? Very black 
 complexioned, with hair and beard sprinkled with 
 gray.?' 
 
 She nodded again, still clinging to him. 
 
 'Then I have seen him. My hansom nearly 
 drove over him as I came here.' 
 
 And he described what had occurred. She 
 listened quietly and then said : 
 
 ' That was Matt Watson. He has seen us to- 
 gether, and if he knew that we cared for each 
 other, he would kill you. I am not afraid of 
 him, but I'm afraid for you.' 
 
 Frowning nervously, the young man released 
 himself gently from the arms that clung around 
 him, and placing Annie in the chair where she had 
 been sitting when he entered, began striding up 
 and down the room. At last he paused and said, 
 looking at her thoughtfully : 
 
28o ANDROMEDA 
 
 * All this is horrible. It is like an earthquake 
 opening under one's feet. But we must try to be 
 calm, to discuss it quietly, to ascertain what it is 
 best to do.* 
 
 ' There is only one thing,' replied the girl, 
 ' I must hide myself from him. I must go 
 away.' 
 
 * How long has he been in London ?* 
 ' Two or three days.' 
 
 ' And what did he say to you ? Did he ask you 
 to join him.f^* 
 
 ' Yes — at least, he let me see that he expected 
 me to go to him. Til never do it ! I would 
 rather die !' 
 
 Her tone was sadder and more despairing, for 
 already something in her lover's manner had 
 chilled and startled her. She had expected more 
 warmth, more sympathy, more readiness to fall in 
 with her own mood. She could not fail to see, 
 however, that her suggestion that they should 
 escape together had awakened no enthusiasm. 
 
 Again he began striding up and down the floor, 
 biting his lips and muttering to himself 
 
 *Do those fellows know anything about this.'^' 
 he asked presently. 
 
 ^ Your friends.? Oh no P 
 
 * So much the better. They'd only laugh at 
 me. It's a frightful complication. After all, you 
 
COMPLICATIONS 281 
 
 see, you're married to this man, and he has a 
 certain kind of claim over you/ 
 
 ' No, no !' she cried, springing up. * I tell you 
 I hate him ! I will never go back to him !* 
 
 * I hope you never will,' said Somerset ; ' but 
 it's the devil's own business. He looks an ugly 
 fellow, and he has the right on his side. Well, 
 there's only one way : you must keep him at arm's 
 length until we arrange something.' 
 
 Her heart fell more and more. Instead of 
 championing her eagerly, like a hot-headed young 
 knight-errant, Somerset was offering her the usual 
 platitudes of good advice, just as Bess had done. 
 He looked more vexed than really sorrowful. 
 Eager to sound the depths of his sympathy, she 
 approached him again, and placed her arms round 
 his neck — this time more quietly, with less loving 
 confidence. 
 
 'You will keep your promise?' she murmured. 
 * You will save me? You will take me away?' 
 
 He kissed her gently on the forehead. 
 
 ' My darling, do you know what you are asking ? 
 You are married to this man. If we went away 
 together, what would be said of you ?' 
 
 ' Then you do not love me ?' 
 
 * I love you too much to lead you into trouble 
 and disgrace. No, I'm not quite such a cad as 
 that !' he exclaimed magniloquently. 
 
2 82 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' I want nothing in the world but you/ she said, 
 looking earnestly into his eyes. ' I don't care 
 what people say about me. I don*t mind what 
 happens so long as you love me and protect me.' 
 
 ' Don't tempt me, Annie. Give me time to 
 think. Perhaps I can find a way out of this.' 
 
 * There's no way but one/ she replied, while the 
 black line of her eyebrows darkened ominously. 
 ' If you don't love me, I shall go away alone, and 
 you will never see me again/ 
 
 ' But what could we do ? I'm a poor man 
 without a shilling but what I earn ; my mother 
 would not assist me.' 
 
 * We could work,' she said. ' God would send 
 us bread, and if not, we could starve together.' 
 
 ' If you remained in London, what would 
 happen ?^ 
 
 ' I cannot remain,' was the reply. ' Everything 
 I have is his — I could keep nothing ! And every 
 day he would be watching me — waiting and 
 watching. He's quiet enough now, for he thinks 
 he has me safe ; but if he knew that I would never 
 go to him he would be very different. You don't 
 know him as I do. He's like a wild beast when 
 he's angry. When I was a child he used to terrify 
 me, and everybody was afraid of him.' 
 
 As she spoke Somerset remembered the wild 
 figure he had seen in the street, with its fierce eyes 
 
COMPLICATIONS 283 
 
 fixed on his, and he realized fully the danger of 
 the situation. He was no coward, however, and 
 under other circumstances he would have been 
 ready to risk even greater peril for Annie's sake. 
 But underneath this young fellow's gay veneer of 
 Bohemianism there was latent a certain strong 
 respect for public opinion ; nor were his views on 
 moral questions either daring or original. He 
 loved Annie very much, or had persuaded himself 
 that he did so ; he had been quite ready and eager 
 to unite his fortune to hers, even although she was 
 a penniless girl ; but to take possession of another 
 man's wife, and to throw his own future to the 
 winds by an unprecedented act of folly, was quite 
 another matter. 
 
 While he hesitated and pondered Annie watched 
 him keenly. For the first time since they had 
 met she had begun to doubt him. Why did he 
 hesitate ? If he loved her, as he said, why did he 
 not take her in his arms and bear her away to 
 hiding, as she proposed ? You see, she was still a 
 somewhat unsophisticated child of Nature. Society 
 meant little to her beyond luxury, fine dresses, 
 musical, pleasant company, and those she was ready 
 to abandon instantly, greatly as she had learned to 
 love them. She knew little or nothing of the 
 conventional proprieties, or of Society's power to 
 crush the individual into nothingness by simply 
 
284 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ignoring his or her existence. As yet no stones 
 had been flung at her ; she did not even suspect 
 that it was so common to throw stones. 
 
 ' You'd better go home now/ said Somerset, at 4 
 last. ' ril think it all over, and come round to 
 you in the evening.' 
 
 She looked at him in wonder. 
 
 * I promised to meet him again this afternoon/ 
 she answered. ' I won*t meet him ! That's why 
 I've come to you. I want you to take me away.' 
 
 ' To-day ? You must know that it is im- 
 possible ! There, there,' he added soothingly, * I 
 am sure you exaggerate the difficulties of the 
 situation. This wretched man cannot compel you 
 to live with him against your will. The law will 
 protect you.* 
 
 * No one can protect me but you,' she answered, 
 turning away from him ; * and I see now that you 
 won't.' 
 
 ' My darling girl,' he began, following her and 
 putting his arm round her waist. She shook her- 
 self free in a moment, and faced him, panting and 
 trembling. 
 
 'If you loved me as you said,' she cried, 'you 
 would not lose me ! Do you think that if you 
 were in trouble, if all the world was against you, 
 I would have turned away from you? No! The 
 wretcheder you were, the more I'd cling to you 
 
COMPLICATIONS 285 
 
 and try to help you. I believe that if Matt 
 Watson came in at that door, and tried to drag me 
 away by force, you wouldn't have a word to say !' 
 
 He argued, protested, assured her of his devo- 
 tion ; but he had shaken her faith in him, perhaps 
 for ever. He was still talking to her earnestly, 
 and she was listening wearily, when Bufton and 
 Leroy walked in. 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 * Good-bye,' she said. 
 
 ' I'm coming with you,* he whispered ; * Til see 
 you home.' 
 
 Again she looked him in the face with a strange 
 far-off expression which he did not understand. 
 
 ' rd rather go alone,' she said. * I've to meet 
 him again this afternoon.' 
 
 ' Be careful what you say to him. Temporize 
 — persuade him to remain quiet. I'll come round 
 in the evening. 
 
 * Don't come round till to-morrow,' she replied. 
 'Very well, I'll come round early to-morrow. 
 
 You're sure you wouldn't like me to accompany 
 you.'^' he asked. 
 
 She shook her head, and without even glancing 
 at Bufton and Leroy, who stood quietly looking 
 on, walked to the door. He followed her, and as 
 they parted drew her gently towards him. 
 
 ' My darling !' he said, offering to kiss her. 
 
286 ANDROMEDA 
 
 She held up her mouth to his, and her lips were 
 like ice ; then, with another long look into his 
 face, she turned and walked away. 
 
 He walked back into the studio, and with a 
 groan of agony threw himself into a chair. 
 
 ' My God, my God !' he murmured, ' what a 
 fatality !' and his tears began to fall. His friends 
 said nothing, but waited for him to speak, Leroy 
 full of pitying sympathy, Bufton with a curious 
 frown. At last he spoke out and told them 
 everything, and as he did so his tears flowed and 
 he seemed heart-broken. 
 
 Leroy, always tender-hearted, condoled with him 
 sincerely ; but Bufton put on his working jacket, 
 and began to paint. 
 
 * It's a terrible position for you,' said Leroy 
 gently. 'My heart bleeds for you, Charlie; what- 
 ever is to be done ?' 
 
 ' What can be done ?' cried Somerset wildly. 
 ^ The man's here and he's her husband. He can 
 claim her at any moment.' 
 
 Bufton, who was muttering to himself and 
 uttering what sounded like imprecations, looked 
 round from his canvas, and cocking his Cyclopean 
 eye at Somerset, asked suddenly : 
 
 ' What did she want you to do V 
 
 ' She wanted me to go away with her. Poor 
 child! she was willing to sacrifice everything — 
 
COMPLICATIONS 287 
 
 reputation, even life itself — for my sake. She is 
 so simple-minded, so ignorant of the world !' 
 
 ' Well, how did you answer her ?' grunted the 
 cynic. 
 
 * Of course I told her that it was madness. She 
 implored and appealed, and didn't seem to under- 
 stand.' 
 
 Bufton dashed down his brush and palette, and 
 turned fiercely on Somerset. 
 
 ' You infernal cad !' he cried. ' You 
 
 chicken-livered hound !' 
 
 ' Billy, Billy !' cried Leroy, while Somerset 
 sprang up with clenched fists. 
 
 * That's right,' returned Bufton, ^strike me if 
 you like. You're young and strong, and I'm an 
 
 old un, but by I'd like to horsewhip you. 
 
 Do you know what you've done ? You've wrecked 
 the happiness of one woman, and now you've 
 broken the heart of another. Are you blind as 
 well as an idiot ? Couldn't you see in that girl's 
 face as she left you that you've simply murdered 
 her living soul, and killed the last hope she 
 had.?' 
 
 ' What do you mean.^*' gasped Somerset. 
 
 ' I mean this : either you'd no right to win 
 her love at all, or you should have been prepared 
 to face the consequences. I warned you. I told 
 you what would come of it. She's no ordinary 
 
288 ANDROMEDA 
 
 woman — she's a mad thing when her blood's up. 
 God knows what she'll do now !' 
 
 * Do you mean to tell me,' cried Somerset, ' that 
 you think I should have met her half-way and 
 gone away with her?' 
 
 ' I do, by !' returned Bufton. ' There was 
 
 only that way out of it. I don't say it would 
 have been right, I don't say it would have been 
 wise ; but anyone but a cad would have done it. 
 Look here, youngster. I've only seen that look 
 on a woman's face once before, and that was in the 
 face of a girl whom I saw sitting on the kerbstone, 
 and looking at the sky, ten minutes before she 
 threw herself over Waterloo Bridge !' 
 
 Before he could say another word Somerset had 
 seized his hat and rushed from the studio. With 
 a savage shrug of the shoulders Bufton took up 
 his painting materials and began to work. 
 
 * Do you think he'll overtake her ?' murmured 
 Leroy sadly. 
 
 * I don't think it. She's got ten minutes' start 
 to the devil, and London's a big place.' 
 
 * Surely, Billy, you don't fancy she'll destroy 
 herself?' 
 
 * I don't think anything about it,' was the reply. 
 * I'm sick of the whole business. I saw all this 
 corning, while you, with your sentimental slush 
 about young love, were blind as a bat.' 
 
COMPLICATIONS 289 
 
 *But how could the poor fellow suppose that 
 the girl's husband would return?* 
 
 ' He ought to have been prepared for it. It's 
 the sort of thing that happens. At any rate, he's 
 a heartless cub, and I've done with him.' 
 
 Bufton continued to paint frowningly. Pre- 
 sently Leroy put on his coat and took up his hat, 
 and prepared to leave the studio. 
 
 ' I think I'll go and see if I can find him,' he said. 
 
 Bufton grinned savagely, and nodded. 
 
 Late in the afternoon Leroy returned with the 
 report that his search for Somerset had been in 
 vain. Bufton made no comment, but painted on. 
 
 Evening came, and the young man did not 
 return. The wind had risen during the afternoon 
 with squalls of sleet and rain. The two men sat 
 opposite to each other by the fire, both looking 
 very dejected. Neither had dined, but Leroy had 
 prepared some coffee and brought in some boiled 
 ham and rolls, of which they had partaken. 
 
 Ten o'clock was striking when there was a 
 timid knock at the studio door. Leroy sprang 
 up, opened the door, and admitted Bess Lawrence. 
 The little dressmaker's face was ghastly pale, and 
 her eyes were streaming with tears. 
 
 'Where is Mr. Somerset?' she cried. 'I must 
 see him at once.' 
 
 They told her that he had gone out early in 
 
 19 
 
290 ANDROMEDA 
 
 the day and had not returned. She uttered a cry 
 and burst into a flood of tears. Then, still sob- 
 bing, she showed them a scrap of paper which she 
 had received that evening. It was brought by a 
 ragged lad and left at Tenterden's. Written on 
 it in pencil were these words : 
 
 ' Good-bye, Bess. Take care of yourself, dear, 
 and try to forgive me. Fm never coming back. 
 
 — Annie.* 
 
 ' I waited for her all day,' cried Bess, wringing 
 her hands pitifully, 'and then when she didn't 
 come back, I grew frightened, and as I was coming 
 here I got the letter. Oh, Annie, Annie ! She has 
 gone away with your friend — with Mr. Somerset !' 
 
 As she spoke the door was flung open, and 
 Somerset himself, dripping wet and ghastly pale, 
 staggered into the studio. 
 
 'IVc searched everywhere,' he cried, 'but I 
 can't find her. I called twice at the house, but 
 the servant told me she hadn't returned.' Then, 
 as he recognised Bess, he added : ' Where is she ? 
 For God's sake tell me !' 
 
 They placed the letter in his hand. 
 
 Somerset glanced at the paper and went pale 
 as death ; then he turned wildly to Bess, who was 
 weeping silently. 
 
 ' She says she will never come back,' he cried, 
 
COMPLICATIONS 291 
 
 'What do you think she has done? Has she 
 gone back to that man?' 
 
 'I think so, sir/ answered Bess, 'unless — 
 
 unless ' She paused, sobbing, and then 
 
 added : * You don't know Annie, sir, as I know 
 her. She's like a mad girl sometimes, when the fit 
 is on her ; and I thought last night that her heart 
 was broken. She may not have gone to her husband 
 after all. She may have done worse than that, sir.' 
 
 ' Killed herself, do you mean ?' asked Somerset. 
 
 'I don't know — I don't know!' sobbed Bess. 
 ' She was so miserable !' 
 
 Somerset sank into a chair and covered his face 
 with his hands. His body shook convulsively, 
 and presently they saw tears stealing through his 
 tremulous fingers. Touched to the quick by the 
 exhibition of sorrow, Leroy stepped forward and 
 placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. 
 
 'Don't give way, old chap,' he said gently. 
 * Perhaps things are not so bad as you fancy. We 
 shall have news about her soon — perhaps it will be 
 good news.' 
 
 Somerset sprang up, and dashing the tears fi-om 
 his eyes, cried in a broken voice, looking wildly at 
 Bufton : ' You were right, Billy ; I acted like a cad ! 
 I ought to have faced the music. If you knew how 
 I hate myself for it all ! I've killed her ! I've broken 
 her heart ! Oh, what a fool I was to let her go !' 
 
 19 — 2 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 SEAWARD ONCE MORE. 
 
 On parting with Somerset at the studio, Annie 
 walked out into the streets with the look of a 
 woman who has received her death-sentence. 
 Her eyes were blank and despairing, her cheeks 
 ashen gray, her bloodless lips pressed tight 
 together, as she walked rapidly on, glancing 
 neither to the right nor the left, seeing nothing, 
 hearing nothing, not knowing whither she was 
 going, but instinctively moving onward and 
 avoiding the few pedestrians she met on the way. 
 In a little while she found herself in the Euston 
 Road, moving mechanically westward, as on the 
 previous day, close to the southern gates of 
 Regent's Park. Then, for the first time, she 
 realized that she had been drawn involuntarily 
 towards the place where Matt Watson would be 
 waiting for her, and turning suddenly, as if she 
 
SEAWARD ONCE MORE 293 
 
 had received a blow, she fled back along the track 
 of her own footsteps, eastward, never resting or 
 pausing until she was close to St. Pancras railway- 
 station. 
 
 By this time her resolve was taken, never to 
 meet her husband again or to return to the 
 place where Bess was waiting for her. She had 
 no home now, she said to herself; and without 
 thinking or caring what was to become of her, 
 she decided to escape from London. Had she 
 been able to reason more calmly, she would have 
 realized that the great city was the very place in 
 which she ought to have remained, if she wished 
 to efface herself from both friends and enemies 
 and altogether avoid pursuit ; but she did not 
 reason, any more than a panic-stricken creature 
 reasons when flying from some deadly peril. 
 
 She was sufficient mistress of herself, however, 
 to feel that it would be both wise and kind to 
 send some sort of message to poor Bess, who 
 would be looking for her so anxiously in Blooms- 
 bury. So she entered a small stationer's shop, 
 and procuring a sheet of paper, she wrote down in 
 pencil the message with which the reader is 
 already familiar, and, placing it in an envelope, 
 addressed it to Bess, at Tenterden's Hotel. Then, 
 sallying forth again into the street, she found a 
 ragged newsboy, who leaped at the chance of 
 
294 ANDROMEDA 
 
 earning a shilling by running with the letter to 
 the hotel, which was little more than half a mile 
 away. Then, having despatched her message, she 
 hastened onward up the City Road. 
 
 Fortunately she was not in debt at Tenterden's, 
 her weekly account having been settled on the 
 previous day, and she knew, moreover, that Bess 
 had a little money of her own. She had about a 
 guinea in her pocket — half a sovereign in gold 
 and the rest in silver. Even this, she reflected 
 with a shudder, was his money, for in all the 
 world she had not a farthing of her own. Well, 
 she would keep this, since it was impossible to 
 return it ; some day, perhaps, she might be able 
 to repay it. She must keep, also, the clothes she 
 wore, which also, indeed, belonged to him, but 
 that was all. All the rest of the money in the 
 bank, the clothes and trinkets which she had 
 bought with her supposed inheritance, she had 
 left behind her, utterly indifferent as to what 
 became of them, all her thought being how to 
 escape from the life of shameful luxury which she 
 had lately led. 
 
 Had the actual and visible form of Death been 
 before her, beckoning to her from the distance, 
 she would have only flown along more rapidly ; 
 indeed, she felt within her a dim and confused 
 instinct that it was to her grave she was going, 
 
SEAWARD ONCE MORE 295 
 
 since there was no longer any peace or happiness 
 for her under the sun. Her yearning now was for 
 silence, for solitude, for the open country far 
 beyond the city ; the crowded thoroughfares 
 seemed hateful, and the roar of the traffic stunned 
 and stupefied her, and she had within her a vague 
 terror that she might be arrested and seized, and 
 dragged back by force to Matt Watson, who was 
 legally her master. This terror made her shrink 
 away nervously whenever she came face to face 
 with the police. 
 
 Despite her despairing agitation, however, she 
 was outwardly calm, and seemed to a careless eye 
 only a pretty girl hurrying to some appointment. 
 A closer and shrewder inspection would, of course, 
 have told a different tale. 
 
 Hours had passed away, and she was still upon 
 her feet, rambling up and down the crowded 
 thoroughfares. Late in the afternoon rain began 
 to fall, but she did not even put up the umbrella 
 which she carried. Sometimes she halted at a 
 shop, looking quietly in at the windows, but in 
 reality she saw nothing real — only Matt Watson's 
 wild and angry face, glaring at her with hungry 
 eyes. 
 
 Night had quite fallen when she found herself 
 on the platform at Liverpool Street Station. 
 Someone, a porter or a guard, asked her where she 
 
296 ANDROMEDA 
 
 was going. She glanced at a train which was 
 about to depart, and inquired its destination. 
 Enfield, the man told her, and she gave him the 
 money to run and get her a third-class ticket. 
 He did so, and when he brought it she gave him 
 a few pence for himself. He hurried her into a 
 crowded compartment, just as the train was begin- 
 ning to move away. 
 
 As the train sped onward through the darkness 
 she sat in silence among her fellow-passengers — 
 artisans returning from work, clerks from the City, 
 women and girls and children. They glanced at 
 her curiously and not unsuspiciously; for her dress 
 was above the common, and she looked like a 
 fashionably-attired lady ; but she was far too full 
 of her own thoughts to heed or care. 
 
 After stopping again and again at small stations 
 on the way, the train arrived at Enfield. Leaving 
 the platform and delivering up her ticket, she 
 found herself in the dark street of a small suburban 
 village. The rain was now falling heavily. Such 
 few shops as the place possessed were closed, and 
 the street was almost deserted. 
 
 How dark and quiet it seemed after the roar 
 and turmoil of the great city ! Everything was 
 quite still, save for the patter of the rain and the 
 moaning of the wind which drove the cold drops 
 against her face. The silence and the darkness 
 
SEAWARD ONCE 
 
 were grateful to her, and for the first time that 
 day she felt as if she were safe. 
 
 Wandering on, she found herself on a small 
 bridge spanning the waters of a dark canal. 
 Beyond were the lights of a few scattered houses, 
 and still further beyond the signal lights of some 
 railway. She halted on the bridge, and, bending 
 over its arch, looked down on the black, sluggish 
 water, glistening dimly in the darkness. 
 
 Had she come there to die ? Had God drawn 
 her there in her desolation to find rest ? She had 
 not hitherto thought of suicide, but her impulse 
 now was to leap over and let the water swallow 
 her up. She looked round furtively ; no one 
 seemed near. It would be easy, she thought, to 
 die that way. 
 
 But in spite of her utter misery, the blood of 
 her young life ran strong within her, and she 
 shrank from the thought of dying. No, she 
 would live on, at least, for a little ; perhaps she 
 would be able to find some quiet country place, 
 where she could abide till she had thought out 
 her future destiny and decided whether to die or 
 live. She was standing in silence looking down at 
 the canal, when she felt a strong hand gripping her 
 arm, and involuntarily she uttered a cry of terror. 
 
 * Hullo, my girl !' said a gruff voice. ' What 
 are you doing here?* 
 
298 ANDROMEDA 
 
 She turned and found herself face to face with a 
 rough-bearded man, who looked like an artisan. 
 He had gripped her firmly, and was leaning 
 forward to look at her. Without answering, she 
 tried to free herself, but she was held as in a vice. 
 
 * Who are you?' demanded the man. 'You 
 don't belong hereabouts, I think.* 
 
 ' No,* replied Annie ; ' I come from London.' 
 
 * Ye come from London ?' repeated the man. 
 ' You're not the first neither as I've found here 
 looking at the canal, or fished out o' that there 
 water. But you don't look like most on 'em. 
 They don't wear sealskin jackets, like yours.' 
 
 ' Please let me go,' said Annie quietly. ' You're 
 hurting my arm. Did you think I was going to 
 drown myself.^' she added, with a forced laugh, as 
 he released her. 
 
 ' I doubt you were thinking about it, my girl. 
 What's the matter .f^ Are ye in trouble.'^' 
 
 ' No particular trouble,' answered Annie. * I 
 came from London this evening by the train, and 
 walked along without thinking, till I found myself 
 here.' 
 
 ' Nice night for a walk, ain't it.^ Why, you're 
 soaking wet !' 
 
 * Oh, I'm not sugar, and shan't melt,' Annie 
 cried. ' Good-night.' 
 
 ' Here, stop a bit,' cried the man, following her 
 
SEAWARD ONCE MORE 299 
 
 as she was walking on. 'Where might ye be 
 bound for?' 
 
 ' I want to find an inn, or a cofFee-house of some 
 kind, where I can shelter till the morning.' 
 
 * There ain't no respectable inn hereabouts, and 
 no coffee-house,' answered the man. 
 
 ' Is there no place where I can find a lodging?' 
 inquired Annie ; for the man's manner, though bluff, 
 was honest and kindly, and she felt that he was to 
 be trusted. 
 
 * Come along with me and speak to my missis,' 
 he said. * P'r'aps she can put you up.' 
 
 So saying, he led the way across the bridge in 
 the direction of a group of cottages adjoining the 
 canal. Annie followed him listlessly. As they 
 walked on, the man said : 
 
 * When I first saw you, missie, I thought you 
 was going to jump down into the water. P'r'aps 
 ye were, and p'r'aps ye wasn't ; that's your business. 
 But any ways, it was lucky I came by.' 
 
 ' Do people often come to that place to — to put 
 an end to their trouble ?' asked Annie, glancing 
 back at the gloomy canal. 
 
 ' No mistake ; and what's more singular, they 
 comes from all parts. Somethink in the water 
 seems to draw them like. Sometimes it's a mill 
 girl who's got into trouble ; sometimes it's a work- 
 man's wife gone mad with drink ; sometimes it's a 
 
300 ANDROMEDA 
 
 flash girl from London. Since I come here a year 
 ago I've fished out three, and two on 'em was 
 stone-dead.' 
 
 Annie shuddered and looked back again. She 
 had had no serious thought of suicide, and yet 
 perhaps, if the man had not appeared so oppor- 
 tunely, she, too, might have been drawn by the 
 black water to her death. Better, perhaps, she 
 thought, if she had been, for by that time her 
 troubles would have been all over. 
 
 They reached a row of whitewashed cottages, 
 and the man, approaching one of them, and open- 
 ing the door, led the way into a small sitting- 
 room in which a cosy fire was burning. The 
 room was very plainly and poorly furnished, but 
 looked quite cheerful and clean. By the fire sat a 
 woman, whose hair was almost white, although her 
 face showed no sign of age. It was a very sad 
 face, lit with very wistful and gentle eyes. 
 
 * Here, mother,' said the man, ' I've brought ye 
 a young miss who wants a night's lodging.' 
 
 The woman rose, looking wonderingly at Annie. 
 She was evidently astonished, as well she might 
 be ; for, seen in the bright light of the room, Annie 
 looked a lady to the finger-tips. 
 
 ' It's only a poor place, ma'am,' said the woman 
 doubtfully, ' and I'm afraid ' 
 
 She hesitated, looking nervously at the man. 
 
SEAWARD ONCE MORE 301 
 
 ' If you'll let me rest by the fire a bit/ Annie 
 said. * I'm a little tired ;' and she walked over to 
 the fireplace and crouched down, holding her hands 
 over the glow. Her dress was dripping with the 
 rain, and her hair had fallen loose over her 
 shoulders. 
 
 The man and woman whispered together, 
 glancing from time to time curiously at their 
 visitor, whose appearance seemed to impress them 
 not unfavourably. Then the man left the room, 
 and the woman, quietly approaching Annie, and 
 looking down at her, said gently : 
 
 ' My husband tells me you're a stranger, and 
 that he thinks you're in some sort of trouble. I 
 don't want ye to tell me nothing about it unless 
 ye want to, but I'd like to be of service to you if 
 I can. We live all alone now, my husband and 
 me, but there's a little bedroom upstairs you can 
 have and welcome, if you'd like to stay.' 
 
 The tone was so sweet and kindly, the expression 
 of the woman's sad face so sympathetic, that Annie 
 was deeply touched and in danger for a moment of 
 losing her self-control. 
 
 She turned her eyes away and murmured her 
 thanks. 
 
 ' You see, miss,' said the woman, * we'd a dear 
 daughter of our own, and if she was with us now, 
 she'd be about your age. It's her room upstairs 
 
302 ANDROMEDA 
 
 as 1 can give you. No one has slept in it since 
 she went away/ 
 
 ' Is she dead?' asked Annie. 
 
 The woman's voice broke as she replied : 
 
 ' No, miss ; she's living. Perhaps it would be 
 better if she was dead, though I can never bring 
 myself to think that. She's living somewhere in 
 London, and sometimes we gets a line from her, 
 but not often. She was prenticed to the dress- 
 making, and had a good place, but afterward — 
 ah, well, miss, I'd rather not speak about it, but I'm 
 in hopes she'll come back to us some day. There's 
 always a home for her here, miss, for she was the 
 only child we ever had.' 
 
 In spite of herself, Annie was deeply moved by 
 the woman's patient sorrow. For the first time 
 since she had fled from the studio, her own tears 
 began to fall, and when the woman sat down 
 beside her, and placed a gentle, motherly hand 
 upon her head, the kind touch seemed to dissolve 
 the last icy band around her heart, and she began 
 to sob hysterically. 
 
 Presently she grew calmer, and told the woman 
 something of her story, just enough to suggest 
 that she had a potent reason for escaping from 
 London. 
 
 They were soon talking together freely, and ex- 
 changing womanly confidences, and when the man 
 
SEAWARD ONCE MORE 303 
 
 returned, he found them sitting side by side by the 
 fire, holding each other s hands. 
 
 Fortunately for Annie, in her deep despair 
 and isolation, she had fallen among sympathetic 
 surroundings. The man and woman were worthy 
 folk, of a type not too common among the 
 English lower classes. The man worked at the 
 canal-lock hard by, while the woman kept the 
 house, and both waited anxiously for the day when 
 they would again clasp the errant daughter to their 
 hearts. 
 
 Annie slept there that night, a heavy, dreamless 
 sleep, for, despite her youth and strength, she was 
 worn out. When she woke, long after daylight, 
 she found her clothes carefully dried and placed 
 beside her bed, and the woman brought her up a 
 cup of tea. 
 
 ' My man's gone off to work,' said the woman. 
 ' But he bade me say that you can bide here with 
 us a bit longer, my dear, if you've a mind to stay. 
 We're only poor folk, but you're welcome for the 
 sake of our poor girl.' 
 
 But Annie, grown calmer and clearer, had had 
 time to think over her plans, and had at last 
 determined what to do. As soon as she had 
 dressed herself, therefore, she told the good 
 woman that she was compelled to go away. 
 
 ' I've friends down yonder in Essex,' she said, 
 
304 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' and I shall go to them and ask their advice. 
 They'll help me if they can, I know/ 
 
 The woman looked at her sadly. 
 
 * But you'll promise me, won't you, my dear, 
 never to think of doing what maybe you were 
 thinking of last night, no matter how great your 
 trouble ?' 
 
 ' You needn't be afraid,' answered Annie. * I 
 am too fond of my life, though God knows what 
 will become of me.' 
 
 The woman kissed her on the forehead. 
 
 Before she went away she tried to force her 
 kind hostess to take payment for the night's lodg- 
 ing, but the woman would not take a farthing. 
 Annie was only too welcome, she said, for the 
 sake of her own dear daughter. So they parted, 
 and never in this world did Annie see the woman 
 again. 
 
 The rain of the previous day had passed, and 
 the wintry sun was shining brightly, as Annie 
 walked rapidly along the highway, and, leaving 
 Enfield behind her, approached the neighbourhood 
 of Epping Forest. She had now determined to 
 make her way to Rayleigh, and to take counsel 
 with her old friends the Vicar's daughters, who 
 might be able, perhaps, to shelter her, and to put 
 her in the way of some honest work. Rayleigh, 
 she gathered, was at least forty mile3 away, but she 
 
SEAWARD ONCE MORE 305 
 
 meant to wander thither on foot instead of again 
 taking the train. She was a good walker, and she 
 loved the freedom of the quiet road. She shrank 
 still from observation, with a nervous dread of 
 being recognised and pursued. 
 
 Early in the afternoon, after a long walk through 
 the forest, she reached the little village of Chigwell, 
 on the highroad to Chelmsford. Here she rested 
 for a short time outside a small wayside inn, and 
 ate a little bread-and-cheese ; for, thanks to the 
 fresh air and exercise. Nature was rapidly asserting 
 its needs, and she was quite hungry. When she 
 fared forward again her eyes were brighter, her 
 tread stronger and firmer on the ground. She 
 began for the first time to feel like herself, with 
 the pulse of her young life beating powerfully 
 within her. She felt herself a girl again, careless, 
 strong, and free. There was a faint flush on her 
 cheek, a flash of pride and determination in her 
 eye. 
 
 The highway was very quiet, and she encountered 
 very few people. Now and then a waggon passed, 
 or the cart of some farmer driving to the neigh- 
 bouring market town ; and from time to time she 
 met a tramp on his way to the great city, or a 
 gipsy loafing by the wayside. No one, however, 
 molested her, though more than one passer-by 
 looked at her in surprise, and gave her a greeting 
 
 20 
 
3o6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 to which she carelessly responded. Out there in 
 the open country, to which she had been accustomed 
 all her life, she was no timid maiden, afraid of 
 being rudely dealt with. The roughest man she 
 met inspired her with no fear. It was the great 
 world behind her, and the one solitary figure, that 
 she dreaded ; and from these she was escaping, as 
 she thought, for ever. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 BY THE GREAT RIVER. 
 
 Late that evening she found herself in the town 
 of Chelmsford. It had been market-day, and the 
 streets were still crowded with country folk of all 
 descriptions, who were mainly celebrating the 
 occasion by keeping the public-houses busy. But 
 she found a quiet coffee-house in a by-street, and 
 slept there for the night. At daybreak she rose, 
 and, guided by the finger-posts, proceeded along 
 the country road towards Rayleigh. She walked 
 rapidly, with an ever-growing sense of strength 
 and freedom, and early in the day she reached her 
 destination. 
 
 Here, however, she was doomed to disappoint- 
 ment. Both the Vicar and his two daughters were 
 away in London, and were not expected back for 
 at least a week. To her annoyance and embarrass- 
 ment, moreover, two or three people seemed to 
 
 20 — 2 
 
3o8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 recognise her, as wearily and dejectedly she made 
 her way out of the village. 
 
 She walked quickly on till she passed the last 
 straggling cottages, and then, climbing a small 
 hill, saw, far away in the distance, dark clouds 
 hanging over the shimmering estuary of the 
 Thames. The wind was blowing freshly from 
 the Channel, and the air she breathed was salt with 
 the foam of the sea. 
 
 She paused, gazing seaward, and the spirit of her 
 old life descended upon her. She was again Annie 
 of Canvey Island, free to come and go as she listed. 
 It seemed as if all that had passed was a dream, as 
 if she had never been away at all. 
 
 What was she to do ? Where was she to find 
 a hiding-place ? It was clear to her that if she 
 returned to her old home on Canvey Island, she 
 would be virtually delivering herself up to her 
 pursuer ; for doubtless Matt Watson was in com- 
 munication with the Endells, who would not fail 
 to side with her husband against her. Mrs. Endell 
 she might have trusted, but she knew well that the 
 old man would do anything for money. Yes, If 
 she reappeared at the Lobster Smack, Matt Watson 
 would be certain to seek her and find her, and 
 then 
 
 Her cheek flushed and her eyes flashed, while 
 the old passionate line grew above her eyes. If 
 
BY THE GREAT RIVER 309 
 
 he did find her, what then? She would resist 
 him and defy him with a strength that had seemed 
 denied to her when she was a fine lady, and if he 
 persisted, there would be always one final refuge — 
 the Great River, for ever flowing past the door. 
 Her dread of the man had already grown less ; it 
 was growing still less with every breath of the 
 free air she drew. In London, surrounded by 
 strangers, conscious of an alien and stifling atmo- 
 sphere, spellbound also by her love for Somerset, 
 she had felt paralyzed by the mere propinquity of 
 her husband. At Canvey Island Nature would 
 help her to defy him. 
 
 She was yearning, moreover, to look at the old 
 place — to walk among the lonely scenes where she 
 had spent her early girlhood, and where the Spirit 
 of Love had first found her. She was drawn 
 towards it now as those poor girls had been drawn 
 to the black canal pool at Enfield. She felt that 
 she must go there again, even if it were to die. 
 
 She walked on, following the lonely road which 
 led towards the woods surrounding Hadleigh and 
 its ruined castle. Scarcely a soul passed her on 
 the way. As the sun was just beginning to set, 
 she stood among the castle ruins, looking down. 
 
 Below her, on her right hand, lay the lonely 
 island, with every creek and inlet distinct as on a 
 map ; the great marshes a vivid green, the sea- 
 
3IO ANDROMEDA 
 
 walls black and gray, the pools and creeks flashing 
 like quicksilver. Beyond lay the river, with its 
 great silent vessels creeping to and fro ; and away 
 eastward to the left of her, the shrimping-fleet of 
 Leigh lay at anchor, rocked on the sparkling 
 waters of the Sea. 
 
 It was nearly high-water, and the tide was still 
 creeping upward, so that every creek and inlet 
 was flooded, and it was difficult to tell where land 
 ended and water began. Flocks of white gulls 
 were hovering over the creeks. From time to 
 time out of the silence came the shrill scream of 
 the curlew. 
 
 As she gazed down, the spirit of revolt within 
 her grew stronger and stronger. When she had 
 dwelt yonder almost alone, she had always been 
 haunted by the fear that her husband might some 
 day return, and the fear had poisoned her happi- 
 ness, so that she had yearned to fly away. But 
 now for the first time a great peace came upon 
 her — out of the solitude, out of the great river, 
 out of the circumjacent Sea. It seemed to her as 
 if she had always loved the place, instead of really 
 hating it, as she had so often done. The tears 
 came into her eyes, and blotted the vision from 
 her sight. 
 
 To gain the island at high-water, it was neces- 
 sary for her to pass along the ascents leading 
 
BY THE GREAT RIVER 311 
 
 towards Benfleet, until she could cross by the only 
 available road. She soon found herself, therefore, 
 among the leafless woods, close to the spot where 
 she had first held her lips to those of her young 
 lover. She reached the spot, she paused there, 
 and falling on her knees, covered her face with her 
 hands and wept like a child. 
 
 He had deserted her cruelly in her hour ot 
 need, but her first feeling of dishallucination and 
 indignation against him had passed away, and she 
 remembered only his charm, his tenderness, his 
 personal beauty and attraction. He was still her 
 Prince Charming, though she had left him for 
 ever. If he had never come into her life, she 
 would scarcely have lived at all. She still felt 
 that she was ready to sacrifice all the world, her 
 very existence, for one kind look from him, one 
 embrace, one kiss ; and the more her yearning 
 grew towards him, the stronger grew her resolve 
 never to yield herself to the embrace of any other 
 man. 
 
 Down the lonely path she wandered, till she 
 crossed the great creek and stood upon Canvey 
 Island. By this time it was already growing 
 dark, but she knew every footstep of the way. 
 At last she saw the lights of the Lobster Smack 
 gleaming before her. She hastened forward with 
 the light wind blowing keenly in her face, and 
 
312 ANDROMEDA 
 
 approaching the windows, looked in. There was 
 a light in only one of them — that of the little 
 parlour — and there, all alone by the fire, engaged 
 in some coarse needlework, Mrs. Endell was 
 sitting. 
 
 The next moment Annie ran in at the open 
 door, threw open the sitting - room door, and 
 stood, panting and smiling strangely, before the 
 old woman, who sprang to her feet with a cry. 
 
 * Who's that ? Sakes alive, Annie ! is that you ?' 
 
 With something of her old air of boldness and 
 abandon, Annie approached the old woman, and 
 throwing her arms around her neck, kissed her on 
 both cheeks. 
 
 ' Yes, mother, I've come back,' she cried. ^ I 
 hope youVe glad to see me.' 
 
 Her eyes flashed, and her cheek flushed. For 
 the moment she was again the Annie of Canvey 
 Island. 
 
 But the old woman's face was clouded, her 
 expression sadly troubled. She looked keenly at 
 Annie and shook her head. 
 
 'What brings 'e here, lass.^' she questioned. 
 * I thought ye was up in London. How did 'e 
 come?' 
 
 'I walked, mother/ Annie cried. 
 
 'Walked.^ Sakes alive! All the way from 
 London, d'ye mean.'^' 
 
BY THE GREAT RIVER 313 
 
 ' All the way from London/ was the reply ; 
 ' but I slept two nights upon the way. Where's 
 Job?' 
 
 'He were sent for yesterday/ said Mrs. Endell. 
 
 * I guess you know who sent for him ?' 
 
 * Matt Watson ?' 
 
 ' Ay, Matt Watson/ answered the old woman. 
 
 * What's come over between ye, Annie ? IVe a 
 notion that there's trouble, and that's why you've 
 come down here.' 
 
 Annie threw herself into a chair. A wild spirit 
 of hysterical gaiety seemed to possess her, she 
 knew not why. She took off her hat and placed 
 it on the table. 
 
 *rm glad I came, mother,' she cried, with a 
 low, nervous laugh. ' It feels like home.' 
 
 * But Matt, my lass. What about Matt ?' said 
 Mrs. Endell. * Where is he ? Is he a-coming 
 down home, too ?' 
 
 Annie shook her head. 
 
 * No, mother.' 
 
 * Then what do it mean, Annie ? He's your 
 husband, ain't he ? And as good a man as ever 
 drew breath. He saved 'e from the sea, and he 
 made 'e a lady. It's my belief he'd cut off his 
 right hand to please 'e.' 
 
 ' Listen to me, mother,' said Annie quietly, 
 ' and when I've told you everything, perhaps 
 
314 ANDROMEDA 
 
 you'll understand. I know Vm wicked and un- 
 grateful, and that I ought to care for Matt, seeing 
 all that he's done for me, but I can't — I can't. 
 Tve run away from him for ever ; and at first I 
 think I meant to kill myself, but I didn't, and you 
 see Tm still alive. And I didn't mean to come 
 here, but I think the sea drew me, and I couldn't 
 keep away.' 
 
 ' Just the same mad thing as you used to be !' 
 cried Mrs. Endell. ' But you're Matt's wedded 
 wife, my lass, and he's a right to claim ye. Don't 
 'e know he's a rich man now — a heap richer than 
 we thought ? And it's all yours, Annie ; and he 
 loves 'e dearly, and — and ' 
 
 * I can never live with Matt Watson, mother,' 
 Annie answered, while the flush faded from her 
 cheeks, and the dark line gathered over her eyes. 
 
 * Never live with him.^ Why not.^' 
 
 * Because I hate him ! Because I've always hated 
 and been afraid of him. His very touch makes me 
 sick. I know he's been good to me, but I can't 
 help that. All I want is never to see his face 
 again.' 
 
 ' But you don't know what you're saying !' cried 
 Mrs. Endell. ' He's your husband, ain't he ?' 
 
 * No !' answered Annie. ^ He is not my husband 
 — and whether he is or not, it doesn't matter. Our 
 marriage doesn't count — if it was a marriage at all.' 
 
BY THE GREAT RIVER 315 
 
 The old woman looked at her keenly, and then 
 said angrily between her set lips : 
 
 ' I know what this means, you mad fool ! 
 You've been carrying on again with that young 
 painter chap who was down here. I wish we'd 
 never seen his face. But mind *e, there's right 
 and wrong in everything, and it's a bad job for 
 him if he's come between man and wife.' 
 
 With a shrug of her shoulders, Annie rose. 
 
 *You needn't be afraid, mother. There's 
 nothing whatever between Mr. Somerset and me. 
 If there ever was anything, it's all over long 
 ago.' 
 
 *The better for him. If Matt thought he'd 
 been making up to 'e, he'd have his life.' 
 
 *I dare say,' returned Annie carelessly, and 
 crossing to the window, she gazed out into the 
 darkness, while the old woman watched her 
 anxiously. Presently she turned and said : 
 
 ' I suppose, mother, you won't drive me away ? 
 You'll give me the run of the house at least to- 
 night ?' 
 
 'You can stay and welcome, Annie,' replied 
 Mrs. Endell. 'You know that well enough.' 
 
 ' And Job's in London.'^ Well, I'm rather glad. 
 It's better to have you all to myself. It seems 
 like old times, doesn't it ?' 
 
 The next minute she ran from the room into the 
 
3i6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 kitchen, and returned with a glass of milk in one 
 hand, and a slice of bread in the other. 
 
 ' This is my supper,' she said, nodding gaily to 
 Mrs. Endell. ' You see, I'm making myself at 
 home.' 
 
 She ate the bread and drank the milk as if she 
 had not a care in the world. She herself scarcely 
 knew what possessed her, she felt so wild and 
 light-headed. 
 
 The old woman continued to watch her in un- 
 disguised suspicion and alarm, for she saw clearly 
 that the girl's wild mood was merely hysterical, 
 and guessed that it would soon be succeeded by 
 something very different. Moving restlessly to 
 and fro, with the quick eager motion of an animal 
 just escaped from captivity, Annie looked strangely 
 beautiful even in the weary sight of Mrs. Endell. 
 Her face was marble, but her eyes burnt brightly, 
 even dangerously ; her hair, which she had un- 
 loosened, fell upon her shoulder ; her lips were 
 parted, and her white teeth gleamed as if she were 
 smiling. But in spite of all this, there was some- 
 thing in her manner which was less sane than 
 despairing, more reckless than really self-possessed. 
 
 ' Annie, my lass,' the old woman cried at last, 
 * don't go on like that ! Sit down and talk to me 
 serious, if ye can. You can't deceive me, my lass — 
 I know 'e too well. Your heart's full o' trouble !' 
 
BY THE GREAT RIVER 317 
 
 Annie stood still and looked her In the face. 
 
 ' You're right, mother,' she replied ; * it's 
 broken!' And throwing herself on her knees, 
 she buried her face in her hands, moaning and 
 sobbing and laughing hysterically, all as it were 
 in one breath. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE HUE AND CRY. 
 
 In the studio there was silence for a space after 
 Somerset's wild outcry of grief and self-reproach. 
 Bess checked her tears, and by a strong effort 
 subdued the sobs which shook her, half frightened 
 by the breakdown of a man whom she had hitherto 
 known to be so strong and self-restrained. Leroy, 
 his tender heart wrung by his friend's grief and 
 his own utter inability to help or relieve it, pottered 
 about the room with a shuffling tread, dabbing at 
 his eyes with his handkerchief, without in the 
 least trying to hide his emotion, the long tails of 
 his torn and patched old dressing-gown flapping 
 about his heels. Bufton, sitting apart in a gloomy 
 corner of the studio, beside a table supporting a 
 shaded lamp, which threw a restricted circle of 
 vivid light on the etching on which he had been 
 at work when Bess entered, cleared his throat 
 noisily, but made no other sign. 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 319 
 
 * Cheer up, old chap, cheer up !' said Leroy at 
 last, ambling up to Somerset's chair and patting 
 the young man on the shoulder, as he sat with 
 his head bent forward and his face hidden in his 
 hands. ^ We shall find her — we're bound to find 
 her. Miss Lawrence ' (here he bowed politely to 
 Bess) ' will help to look for her. So will I. So 
 will Billy ; won't you, Billy ? Why,' he exclaimed 
 in a sudden tone of triumph, which made even 
 Somerset turn round and look at him, ' in my 
 opinion, she's as good as found already !' 
 
 * What do you mean?' asked Somerset, with a 
 gasp of hopefulness in his voice. 
 
 ' I'll tell you where she is,' continued Leroy. 
 ' What a pack of dunderheads we all must be not 
 to have thought of it before ! She's gone back to 
 the place where you first met her ; that old inn 
 on Canvey Island — the Lobster Smack, or what- 
 ever it is. Why, where else should she go? 
 Naturally, in a trouble like this, she'd run back to 
 them. Eh, miss? What do you think, my dear?' 
 
 Bess shook her head, with the tears running 
 silently down her cheeks. 
 
 ' No, sir, she isn't there — that's the very last 
 place she'd go to.' 
 
 * But why not ?' 
 
 * Because it's the first place he would go to look 
 for her.' 
 
320 ANDROMEDA 
 
 The hope and triumph went out of the 
 affectionate old fellow's face, leaving it as blank 
 as a transparency from which the light has been 
 withdrawn. 
 
 ' I'm afraid that's true,' he said dolefully, and 
 resumed his agitated trot about the room. When 
 next he spoke it was with a sudden, sharp, angry 
 querulousness, which no one there had ever heard 
 in his gentle voice before. 
 
 ' Hang it, Billy ! don't sit there like an old 
 Japanese idol, while weVe all in such trouble. 
 You're the cleverest of the whole gang of us. 
 Speak out and tell us what we should do. Make 
 some sort of suggestion, I implore you!' 
 
 At this appeal Bufton laid down his needle, and 
 after a minute's thoughtful puffing at his pipe, rose 
 from his chair. 
 
 ' There's only one thing to be done that I can 
 see, and that is to put the matter into the hands 
 of the police.' 
 
 * The police !' repeated Bess, in a tone of horror. 
 Like most women of her class, she had only the 
 vaguest ideas on the subject of the civil force, and 
 the name in connection with her beloved Annie 
 sounded terrible to her. 
 
 ' The police,' repeated Bufton ; * they'll find her 
 if she's — if she's findable.' He had had the words 
 * above ground ' on his lips, but checked them and 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 321 
 
 substituted the softer phrase. * The first thing to 
 do is to draw up a full description of her. If we 
 let the police have that to-night, it will be in the 
 hands of every policeman for a hundred miles 
 round by this time to-morrow night. You do 
 that, Leroy ; you're the literary member of the 
 trio, and you'll do it best. You ve got a photo- 
 graph of her, haven't you, young un.'^' 
 
 Somerset sprang to his feet, ran to a desk, and 
 after a brief search produced a carte-de-visite of 
 the type fashionable in those days. It would be 
 thought but poorly of in these latter days of 
 artistic photography, but it had the best of all 
 recommendations for the purpose for which it was 
 needed ; it was a speaking likeness. 
 
 * Good !' said Bufton, after a glance at it. * Cut 
 round to Dickens and Bilton in Tottenham Court 
 Road, and tell 'em you want a hundred copies of 
 that as soon as they can manage 'em. If they're 
 shut up, knock 'em up and say it's an affair of life 
 and death. Then come on to the police-station, 
 and you'll find us there.' 
 
 Somerset snatched up his hat and stick, and 
 rushed out of the studio to perform his errand. 
 Leroy had already seated himself at his writing- 
 desk, and was engaged in minutely describing the 
 appearance of the missing girl. Prompted by Bess, 
 he remembered with perfect accuracy every detail 
 
 21 
 
322 ANDROMEDA 
 
 of the costume worn by Annie at the moment of 
 her departure ; he produced a verbal portrait of 
 her almost as life-like and telling in its way as the 
 photograph itself. 
 
 ' Good !' said Bufton again, after reading it with 
 the most searching attention. ' And now we'll 
 take it to the station. You needn't come, my 
 dear,' he continued to Bess. * You look worn and 
 worried out of your life. You'd better go home 
 and try to get a little sleep.' 
 
 ' Oh no,' said Bess ; * please let me go with you. 
 I feel nearer to Annie, and more as if she'd come 
 back to me, when I'm with you.' 
 
 * You're a good little girl,' said Bufton, He 
 struggled into his overcoat, and as he did so Leroy 
 returned from his bedroom equipped for the street, 
 and the two friends and the girl set out together 
 to the police-office in Tottenham Court Road. 
 
 It was a chill, raw night, with a searching wind 
 and frequent passing showers of rain. The streets 
 were thick with mire, and overhead the sky was 
 clouded with a sullen, slow, travelling wrack which 
 promised a heavy downfall before the dawn. 
 Neither of the trio spoke a word as they trudged 
 together through the mire, but the thoughts of all 
 three were busy with fancies dreadfully in keeping 
 with the wild, black night about them and the sad 
 errand on which they were bound. Here and 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 323 
 
 there they passed a shrinking figure, lurking in 
 the deeper shadows or at the corner of the 
 by-streets, and when the figure thus dimly seen 
 was that of a woman, each knew, however deep 
 might be the gloom around them, that the eyes of 
 the other two were, like his own, turned on it 
 with a dreadful, eager, shrinking scrutiny. The 
 thought that Annie might be abroad, homeless, 
 unfi*iended, on such a night, was so horrible to 
 Bess that for a moment she almost fainted under 
 the stress of horror caused by the idea. But she 
 conquered her weakness resolutely, and fought the 
 hysteric spasm down. If she could only do so little 
 to aid the two strong men beside her, at least she 
 could refrain from troubling their thoughts and 
 embarrassing their motions. 
 
 They reached the station. It was the first time 
 Bess had ever entered such a place, and, though 
 she had no definite idea at all of what it might be 
 like, she was vaguely disappointed by its aspect of 
 quiet cleanliness and business regularity. In the 
 trim, rectangular room, lit by a pair of gas-jets, a 
 clear fire was burning in a brightly-polished grate. 
 At the further end was a railed space, of whose use 
 Annie could form no idea, and which was in fact 
 the dock. At the opposite end two officers were 
 methodically filling in and ticking off piles of 
 printed forms, and apparently getting through a 
 
 21 — 2 
 
324 ANDROMEDA 
 
 good deal of work in a quiet, methodic fashion. 
 They looked up as the visitors entered, and one of 
 them, advancing, set a chair for Bess, and looked 
 at Bufton with an expression of alert and business- 
 like inquiry, perfectly prepared for any sort of 
 communication relating to anything between 
 larceny and murder. 
 
 ' We have come,* said Bufton, * to give informa- 
 tion regarding the loss of a young lady who has 
 been missing since yesterday, and to ask your 
 assistance in tracing her. Here,' he continued, 
 handing the paper which Leroy had drawn up to 
 the officer, * is a detailed description of her dress 
 and appearance.' 
 
 The officer took the paper, and read it in a low 
 murmur to himself, marking his approval of its 
 clearness and conciseness with an occasional nod. 
 Having finished it, he stood scratching his cheek 
 in a thoughtful manner for a moment, and then 
 struck a bell upon the desk. The summons was 
 answered by a third officer. 
 
 ' Send Barney here,' said the sergeant. 
 
 The man withdrew, and immediately after a 
 fourth officer made his appearance, a man with a 
 face so comically and indubitably Irish that, even 
 in his distressed anxiety of mind, Bufton marked 
 him as a model for some future picture. The 
 sergeant drew him apart, and, giving him the 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 325 
 
 description, talked with him in a low tone, 
 pointing out certain phrases in the paper to his 
 attention. 
 
 * Not a bit loike it,* said the new-comer, in an 
 accent which was the veritable vocal counterpart 
 of his face. ' Not the laste taste loike it, sor.* 
 
 ' You're quite sure ?' said the sergeant. 
 
 * Wasn't it me that found her?' asked the other. 
 ' This is a gurl of twinty, her that I found was 
 five-and-thirty, if she was a day. The description 
 says a " sealskin jacket " ; t'other one had no 
 jacket.' 
 
 * I suppose you're right then,' said the sergeant. 
 'Get your helmet on, and take this to the printers'. 
 Say we must have five hundred copies by three 
 o'clock.' 
 
 He came back to the three friends, who had 
 listened to such scraps of the dialogue as had 
 reached their ears with a strained attention. 
 
 * I thought perhaps I might have had informa- 
 tion for you, but it turns out to be another case. 
 The matter will be put in hand at once, and you 
 shall have the earliest news we get.' 
 
 A little, a very little, comforted by having at 
 least taken a step towards solving the dreadful 
 mystery of Annie's disappearance, they left the 
 office, meeting Somerset coming from the photo- 
 graphers'. He turned homeward with them, and 
 
326 ANDROMEDA 
 
 they related the gist of their interview with the 
 sergeant. He heard it silently, and silently still 
 they walked back to the door of the studio. 
 
 * ril see you home/ said Somerset to Bess. She 
 shook hands with Bufton and Leroy, thanking 
 them for their help and sympathy, though she 
 was almost afraid to trust her voice, and she and 
 Somerset went on to Tenterden's. 
 
 ' Do they know here what has happened ?' asked 
 Somerset, as they paused before the door. It was 
 the first time he had spoken since they had left 
 the studio. 
 
 ' No,* said Bess. * They know she*s away, but 
 not why or how. I don't want Annie to be talked 
 over by them.' 
 
 ' Thank you,* he said simply ; and the door 
 being opened in answer to his ring, they said 
 * Good-night,' and parted for the time. 
 
 Somerset turned his face towards home, but, 
 arrived almost at his own door, turned on his 
 heel, and walked in another direction. His whirl- 
 ing brain and twitching nerves made sleep the 
 most hopeless of impossibilities, and called aloud 
 for physical action. He seemed incapable of any- 
 thing like definite thought, but his mind was full 
 of short-lived pictures and broken phrases. He 
 saw Annie's face as he had last beheld it, and as 
 he had seen it on many former occasions, full of 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 327 
 
 the joy of life and love, and groaned bitterly at 
 the contrast. He remembered Bufton's words 
 about the face of the woman he had seen a few 
 hours before she had ended her miseries. He 
 heard his voice scathingly denouncing him as a 
 cad and a coward, and sickened with alternate 
 rage and self-accusation as he recalled the words. 
 It was not true, it was not just, and yet, oh, if 
 the good God would only restore him to Annie 
 — Annie as he had known her, brave and frank, 
 honest and beautiful, tender and true — he would 
 show her and Bufton and the world that he was 
 no such poor creature as they took him for ; he 
 would hold her, guard her, against the world. 
 What was there that the world could yield worthy 
 to be set against the love of such a woman ? 
 
 He had walked fast and far before he became 
 aware that the threatened storm had burst, and 
 that it was raining heavily. He had turned to 
 walk again towards his home, when a curious 
 sensation of being watched and followed took 
 possession of him. He listened as he strode on 
 along the shining pavement, and was certain that 
 he could hear, through the sighing of the wind 
 and the splashing of the rain, a footstep pursuing 
 him. He slackened his pace, but the step came 
 no nearer, though it still lingered in his rear, per- 
 sistent, not to be shaken off. He turned off into 
 
328 ANDROMEDA 
 
 a street at right angles, and drew himself into the 
 shadow under the wall of a house. A figure 
 turned the corner, and Somerset, stepping out with 
 the intention of challenging it, and asking why he 
 was thus dogged and spied upon, found himself 
 face to face with Leroy. 
 
 * You, old chap ! Why, what are you wander- 
 ing about in this wild way for ?' 
 
 * I couldn't sleep,* answered Leroy. * I saw you 
 take Miss Lawrence home, and then when you 
 started to walk I followed you.' 
 
 * What a good fellow you are!' said Somerset, 
 taking his arm. ' I wish, Leroy, I was more like 
 you !' 
 
 ' Like me !' said the old artist. ' That's a queer 
 wish, dear boy !' 
 
 ' It's a true one,' said Somerset. ' Billy spoke 
 the truth about me. I — I'm a cad. I'm a selfish, 
 cold-hearted, cowardly trifler. IVe neither heart, 
 nor brains, nor courage. The best and most 
 beautiful girl I ever met, the best that ever lived, 
 I think, loves me — God knows why ! — and I fling 
 her love away and break her heart.' 
 
 ' My dear fellow,' said Leroy gently, ' don't be 
 too hard on yourself Billy spoke harshly, as he 
 often does. You're neither a cad nor a coward, 
 and you prove you're not by accusing yourself. 
 You're young, Charlie, and that's all that's the 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 329 
 
 matter with you. Being young, you're a bit selfish, 
 a bit egotistical, a bit thankless, perhaps, for the 
 good the gods have given you. You wanted to 
 learn what trouble was ; you wanted to learn what 
 poor creatures we all are till we have learned to 
 face the tragedies and disappointments of life. 
 Perhaps if we knew all, this trouble has come on 
 you to teach you that lesson, and I know, Charlie, 
 that you're the man to learn it, and profit by it. 
 There's good stufF in you, my lad. I've watched 
 you this many a day, and I know it. You'll make 
 a strong man yet.' 
 
 Humbled and chastened even by the comfort 
 Leroy's words brought to his sore heart, Somerset 
 walked on by the side of his gentle old friend in 
 silence for a time. He paused for a moment at 
 the corner of the street in which he lived. 
 
 * Tell me, Leroy,' he said, ' tell me what you 
 really think. Tell me your true thought what- 
 ever it may be. Do you think that Annie ' 
 
 He could not speak the question, but stood 
 staring at his old friend with haggard eyes. 
 
 ' No,' said Leroy, who understood the awful 
 fear which haunted him. ' Tm sure she would 
 not. She's too brave, too good, to take the 
 coward's way out of trouble.' 
 
 * Do you think we shall find her i^' 
 
 * As for that, God knows. We must hope and 
 
330 ANDROMEDA 
 
 do our best. But wherever she is, she is alive, I 
 feel sure of that.' 
 
 ' God bless you for saying that !' said Somerset, 
 and with a long hand-shake they parted for the 
 night. 
 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A BLOW IN THE DARK. 
 
 Some days passed, full of miserable perplexity for 
 Bess and for the three friends. They haunted the 
 police-office in Tottenham Court Road by day, 
 and spent hours of every night in wandering about 
 the streets, hoping against hope for some trace of 
 their lost darling. In the depth of her misery an 
 idea suddenly occurred to Bess, which, improbable 
 as it was, brought with it a faint gleam of hope 
 and comfort — the idea that Annie might after all 
 have joined the wild, strange Man of the Sea who 
 claimed her as his wife. She did not dare to hint 
 this hope to Somerset, to whom such a consumma- 
 tion would have been almost as terrible as Annie's 
 death, and though she yearned to speak it to 
 Bufton and Leroy, forbore to do so, fearing that 
 they might repeat it to the young man. As the 
 days went on, and no news of the wanderer 
 arrived, the idea grew and strengthened in Bess's 
 
332 ANDROMEDA 
 
 mind. It was not the lot for Annie that she would 
 have desired, but it was better to think of her 
 alive and well, even as Matt Watson's unwilling 
 bride, than cold and dead beneath the gloomy 
 waters of the Thames. 
 
 ' She must be with her husband — with that 
 man,' said Bess to herself ' If she isn't, how is it 
 that he hasn't been here to look for her ?' 
 
 But even this poor hope was destined to be 
 rudely dispelled. Finding the little stock of 
 money in her possession melting rapidly, Bess had 
 determined to quit Tenterden's Hotel, to find a i 
 cheaper lodging, and to support herself again with ^ 
 her needle. She was packing up her simple ward- 
 robe, and looking with affectionate and tearful 
 eyes at the garments and trinkets which had been 
 given to her by her lost friend, when a rap came 
 to her room door. It was one of the maids of 
 the hotel, who announced that she was wanted 
 down below by a stranger. 
 
 * A stranger !' repeated Bess. ' Is it Mr. Somer- 
 set.? Mr. Bufton.? Mr. Leroy.?' 
 
 The maid shook her head at the mention of 
 each name in turn. 
 
 * No, miss, it's none of them. It's a strange- 
 looking person — some sort of a foreigner, I should 
 think, with a lot of black hair about his face and 
 rings in his ears.' 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 333 
 
 ' Matt Watson,' said Bess to herself, and never 
 before did any name sound so sweet. He had 
 come with news of Annie ! She ran past the girl 
 without another word, and tore downstairs to the 
 visitors* sitting-room. There he was standing, an 
 uncouth figure enough, though he had made con- 
 siderable improvement in his dress. His back was 
 towards the window, so that Bess did not for the 
 moment distinguish the curious look, half-savage, 
 half-cunning, which he bent upon her as she 
 entered. 
 
 *Mr. Watson?' she panted, breathing hard 
 with her excitement and her rapid run down- 
 stairs. 
 
 ' Ay, Watson's my name,' he said ; * Matt 
 Watson ! Tm Annie's oldest and closest friend.' 
 
 * Oh, Mr. Watson, where is she ? Tell me she's 
 alive and well and happy, for pity's sake !' 
 
 He stared at her through his tangled mane of 
 hair, like a half-puzzled, half-angry bull, and was 
 silent for flill half a minute, while Bess stood 
 before him with clasped hands, panting with eager- 
 ness to hear his news. 
 
 * Stow that !' he said roughly at last. * It's me 
 that wants to know where my gel is.' 
 
 Bess started forward with a frightened, imploring 
 gesture. 
 
 'Oh, sir!' she cried, * don't you know?* 
 
334 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * How the thunder should I ?' he asked in 
 return, ' Look here, my lass, quit your play- 
 actin' and talk straight. I want my wife, and I'm 
 going to have her. So now out with it. Where 
 is she to be found ?' 
 
 Between the ruin of her hope that Matt Watson 
 had brought news of her lost friend and her terror 
 at his threatening aspect, Bess was nearly dis- 
 traught. 
 
 'I don't know, Mr. Watson. I don't know 
 where she is. I thought — I hoped that she was 
 with you, and that you had come to give me news 
 of her.' 
 
 * With me ?' he repeated. He fell silent for a 
 moment, still with his burning eyes fixed on Bess's 
 face. As he looked at her a conviction that she 
 was speaking the truth grew in his mind. He 
 went pale under the deep bronze of his face, and 
 his hands began to tremble. * D'ye mean it V he 
 asked in an altered voice. * Are ye tellin' the 
 truth, my lass, when you say you don't know 
 where Annie is ?' 
 
 * Nobody knows where she is,' said Bess. * We 
 set the police to search for her five days ago, and 
 they can't find her. Oh, Annie ! Annie ! She must 
 be dead !' 
 
 It was not in nature to doubt the genuineness of 
 her grief and despair. Watson felt that she was 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 335 
 
 speaking truly. With a scared face and trembling 
 limbs he dropped into a chair. 
 
 ' Annie !' he groaned. ' My wife ! My little 
 geir 
 
 The strong, rude man broke down, and Bess, 
 her heart torn with grief for Annie and pity for 
 him, could find no word of comfort. But he was 
 little prone to the melting mood, and soon pulled 
 himself together. He turned to the window for 
 a moment, and when he next fronted Bess his 
 face wore its old familiar expression of obstinate 
 ferocity. 
 
 * She's gone,' he said, * and you don't know 
 where she's gone t' Bess shook her head. * Then 
 it's my business to find her, and I'll do it. And 
 
 when I find her ' he paused for a moment, 
 
 and then drove one fist into the palm of the other 
 hand — * I hope I'll find her alone. D'ye under- 
 stand, lass ? If she's with him * 
 
 ' With whom ?' asked Annie. 
 
 * That dandified, lily-fingered, sneerin' swell as 
 I met her with in the street.' 
 
 ' Mr. Somerset .?' 
 
 ' Ay, if that's his name.' 
 
 'With him.?' cried Bess. * Why, he's helping 
 to try to find her. He's nearly mad with grief 
 about her loss. I — I — mean ' 
 
 Watson cut her short with a horrible laugh. 
 
336 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' Nearly mad with grief about the loss of my 
 wife, is he? He'll be madder if I catch him 
 alongside of her !' 
 
 ' You have no right,' cried Bess hotly, * to think 
 such things of Annie !' 
 
 ' Maybe I haven't,' said Watson — ' maybe I 
 have.' 
 
 He took up his hat from the table. 
 
 ' Where are you going ?* asked Bess. 
 
 * I'm going to look for my gel,' said Watson. 
 * Don't you be afeared for her, my lass. I wouldn't 
 hurt a hair of her head for all the gold in Cali- 
 forney. But if it's him as has led her astray out 
 of my bearings ' 
 
 He left the sentence unfinished, but his face was 
 frightful as he spoke. 
 
 * Oh dear ! oh dear !' cried Bess, distracted by 
 grief and terror. ' Why didn't you come sooner 
 and take her away with you.'^' 
 
 * Why V repeated Watson. ' Because Fm a soft- 
 hearted fool. I could see as it was a good deal of 
 a shock to her, seeing me after all those years as 
 she'd thought me dead ; so I thinks to myself, " I'll 
 give her a day or two to get used to the notion." 
 If I'd ha' claimed my rights straight off, this would 
 never have happened. But I'll find her — I'll find 
 her if she's livin', and if it's him as is hiding her 
 from me, by the living Lord I'll have his life !' 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 337 
 
 Without another word he went away. Bess, 
 peeping fearfully after him from behind the 
 curtain, saw with a great sigh of relief that he 
 did not turn towards Somerset's studio, but 
 walked rapidly in the contrary direction. With 
 a sudden thought she ran upstairs, hastily donned 
 her hat and jacket, and walked to the studio as 
 quickly as she could cover the ground. 
 
 The trio of friends were all there in the old 
 familiar room. Bufton was at his easel, Leroy 
 was writing at his desk, Somerset opened the door 
 to her, brush in hand. All these looked at her as 
 she entered, and her pale face and labouring breath 
 told them that something had happened. 
 
 * For God's sake, my girl,' cried Leroy, * what 
 is it ? Have you any news ?* 
 
 * Not of her,' replied Bess. * But I have news 
 that Mr. Somerset must hear at once. Matt 
 Watson called at the hotel this morning.* 
 
 ' Well .^' asked Leroy, the most excitable of the 
 party. ' Has he heard anything of her ?' 
 
 ' No,' said Bess. ' He did not even know that 
 she had left the hotel. When I told him he got 
 into a terrible taking. He thinks that Annie has 
 run away with you, Mr. Somerset ; or at least that 
 you know where she is, and are hiding her from 
 him — and he said — he said ' 
 
 Bess went so white and trembled so violently 
 
 22 
 
338 ANDROMEDA 
 
 that Bufton, with kindly violence, placed her into 
 a chair. 
 
 * Well ?' repeated Somerset. * He said ?' 
 ' He said he'd kill you !' 
 
 Somerset gave a mirthless laugh and went back 
 to his easel. 
 
 * Is that all ?' he asked calmly. He seemed the 
 least moved of the party. 
 
 ' He's a dreadful man/ said Bess. * Oh, 
 Mr. Somerset, please be careful !' 
 
 * ril be careful, my dear,' replied Somerset. 
 * Thank you very much for the trouble youVe 
 taken, but please don't worry about it. Threatened 
 men live long, you know !' 
 
 His unspoken thought was that he would as 
 soon meet death at Matt Watson's hands, or in 
 any other way, as go on living without the woman 
 whose love he had won and lost. Without Annie 
 life looked very bleak and desolate to him, and 
 the uncertainty of her fate was an abiding torture. 
 Between baffled love and terrible uncertainty, and 
 the self-contempt which Bufton's scornful words 
 had awakened in his heart, he was well-nigh mad 
 at moments. He controlled himself to outward 
 calm by constant effort of will, such as he had 
 never supposed himself to possess — had not, in 
 fact, possessed a month before. He had settled 
 down to work on his picture for the next Spring 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 339 
 
 exhibition with a dogged constancy which had 
 surprised his two chums, and only the pallor of his 
 cheek and the darkening circles round his eyes 
 betrayed the terrible condition of emotion in which 
 he lived. 
 
 * The cub's beginning to show a bit of grit/ 
 muttered Bufton to himself. He had begun to 
 repent of the harshness of his first outbreak 
 against Somerset, and showed as much in his 
 softened manner towards him. It was rarely his 
 fashion to apologize in set phrases. 
 
 That night, and several nights afterwards, when 
 Somerset went out for his usual gloomy ramble 
 about the streets, poor Leroy insisted on ac- 
 companying him. 
 
 ' It really is not safe, dear boy,* he said, * to 
 have you wandering about all kinds of places, 
 alone and unprotected, with that murderous villain 
 hanging about and waiting his opportunity.* 
 
 With the strength of a fly, Leroy had the heart 
 of a lion, and fully believed himself an escort 
 capable of discomfiting a whole army of midnight 
 assassins. He used solemnly to arm himself with 
 an enormous blackthorn cudgel, and with this 
 under his arm, ambled at his young friend's side, 
 ready to do battle for him against any odds. His 
 quaint devotion touched Somerset, and at any other 
 time would have vastly amused him. 
 
 22 — 2 
 
340 ANDROMEDA 
 
 One night, however, he managed to give his 
 faithful old friend the slip, and got out into the 
 streets alone. He wandered about till long past 
 midnight, in the aimless, wretched fashion now 
 grown habitual with him, and then, feeling tired 
 enough to hope for sleep, which had of late visited 
 him but rarely, turned his steps towards Blooms- 
 bury. It was a cold, wet night, the sky was thick 
 with cloud, and the streets at that hour were 
 deserted by all but the utterly destitute. As 
 Somerset turned the corner of the street in which 
 the studio was situated, a figure leaped out of the 
 dark shadow of a doorway. There was a gas 
 lamp at a little distance, and Somerset's quick eye 
 caught the gleam of a weapon. He struck out 
 smartly at his assailant, but too late to save 
 himself; he felt a sudden spasm of pain, succeeded 
 by a sensation of deathly sickness, and fell to the 
 earth unconscious. 
 
 How long he lay there he never knew, but 
 when he came to himself it was in the familiar 
 lamp-light of the studio. A man, whom he 
 recognised as a surgeon practising in the neigh- 
 bourhood, was bending over him, and Leroy and 
 Bufton were standing near the couch on which he 
 lay. His head was throbbing violently, and along 
 his left side he felt a sensation of burning pain. 
 ' He'll do now,' said the surgeon. ' It's a nasty 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 341 
 
 cut, and the effusion of blood has been consider- 
 able ; but all things considered, it's not so bad as 
 it might have been.' 
 
 * You — you don't think,' began Leroy with a 
 tremor in his voice. 
 
 * I don't think there's any real danger,' said the 
 surgeon. ' He will probably get feverish in a little 
 while, light-headed, perhaps^ but don't let that 
 alarm you. I'll send round a bottle of medicine 
 at once, and look in again in the morning. Shall 
 I communicate with the police, or would you 
 prefer to do so yourselves.^' 
 
 ' We'll attend to that,' said Somerset. 
 
 The sound of his voice made them all start. 
 
 ' Pray, pray be calm, Mr. Somerset !' said the 
 surgeon. * And — you will excuse me, I am sure — 
 under the circumstances, the less you speak or 
 exert yourself in any fashion the better.' 
 
 * Thank you,' said Somerset. 
 
 The surgeon went away after giving a few 
 general directions and reiterating his promise to 
 look round again in the morning. When he had 
 gone Somerset called to Bufton and Leroy to come 
 and sit beside him and rehearse to him what had 
 passed during the period of his unconsciousness. 
 He felt as weak as a child, and it was only by a 
 great effort that he could make his voice audible. 
 
 ' Take it as quietly as you can, young un,' said 
 
342 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Bufton, ^ and don*t speak a word that you can 
 help, ril tell you all I know. I'd been reading 
 all the night, and an hour ago I went to the end 
 of the mews to get a breath of fresh air. I hadn't 
 been there a minute when you came round the 
 corner of the street, and you were only three doors 
 away when the fellow, who must have kept him- 
 self precious close, for I hadn't an idea that there 
 was a living soul in the street, sprang out at you. 
 It was all so rapid that I was fairly paralyzed, till 
 I saw you fall. Then I came out and grabbed at 
 the fellow, but he dodged like a cat and ran like 
 a greyhound. I followed him as far as Great 
 Russell Street, and then saw it was hopeless to 
 pursue him any longer, and besides, I didn't know 
 how you would be getting on. So I doubled back 
 and found you where you had fallen. You were 
 quite unconscious and you were bleeding badly. 
 Leroy helped me to carry you in, and I managed 
 to stop the bleeding, while he ran round to fetch 
 the doctor.' 
 
 ' Oh, Charles, Charles,' said Leroy, * why would 
 you go out alone ? This would never have hap- 
 pened if I had been with you.' 
 
 ' Did you see the fellow V asked Somerset. 
 
 ' Not distinctly,' answered Bufton. * I saw that 
 he wore a beard and looked like some sort of a 
 foreigner.' 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 343 
 
 Somerset lay quiet for a moment, then he asked : 
 ' You have said nothing to the police yet ?' 
 ' No/ said Bufton, interchanging a look with 
 Leroy. 
 
 * I am glad of that. Say nothing, even if the 
 doctor tells you that I am in serious danger. And 
 remember this ' — his feeble voice strengthened for a 
 moment — ' if suspicion should fall on Matt 
 Watson, the man who threatened me, Annie's 
 husband, remember that I told you that I saw the 
 man who wounded me quite plainly, and it was 
 not Matt Watson. Do you understand ?' 
 
 The two men looked at each other again and 
 were silent. 
 
 * Do you understand ?' repeated Somerset. 
 ^ The man who struck me was not Annie's 
 husband. It was a stranger — a man I never saw 
 before in my life. You will say that on my 
 authority, if it is ever necessary to say anything at 
 all about the matter.' 
 
 * We'll remember,' said Bufton. 
 
 Leroy silently pressed Somerset's hand, and 
 turned away to hide the tears with which his eyes 
 were full. Somerset, weak with loss of blood, and 
 fatigued by the few words which he had spoken, 
 fell immediately into a heavy sleep. 
 
 * This is a pretty kettle of fish,' said Bufton, as 
 he and Leroy sat smoking beside the stove, each 
 
344 ANDROMEDA 
 
 turning a frequent eye on the patient as he slept. 
 ' Of course it was that " Ancient Mariner " who 
 wounded him. He hasn't another enemy in the 
 world, poor chap !* 
 
 * The Monster beyond a doubt/ said Leroy. 
 * He only denied it to save his Andromeda from 
 annoyance and disgrace- He's a good fellow, 
 Billy, isn't he now ?' 
 
 ' He's shaping better than I gave him credit for,' 
 growled Bufton. * If he'd only shown as much 
 grit a day or two ago as he's showing now, all this 
 cursed business need never have happened/ 
 
 ' I say !' said Leroy, with a sudden new accent of 
 trouble in his voice, ' his mother must know about 
 this, you know/ 
 
 ' Of course she must,' said Bufton. * I hadn't 
 thought of her.' 
 
 * She must be told/ said Leroy. * She'd never 
 forgive us if — if anything serious happened.' 
 
 * We'll wait till the morning, anyhow/ said 
 Bufton, * and see what the doctor says. If he 
 gives a bad report, she must know at once, of 
 course. If the news is good, there might be no 
 reason to tell her at all. She won't miss him 
 much for a week ; he often stays away from home 
 as long as that, and in that time he might be fairly 
 on his feet again. And now, look here, old chap, 
 the poor boy mustn't be left alone. He must 
 have somebody with him constantly. I'll stand first 
 
A BLOW IN THE DARK 345 
 
 watch till SIX o'clock, and then FU rout you out. 
 We must get a nurse for him in the morning/ 
 
 Leroy went to bed as bidden, and Bufton, having 
 deftly and silently brewed himself an enormous 
 jorum of coffee, lit up his etching lamp and fell to 
 work, pausing from time to time to listen to the 
 deep, regular breathing of his wounded friend. 
 
 Not feeling in the least disposed for rest, he let 
 Leroy sleep on till he awoke as usual at ten 
 o'clock, and laughed good-humouredly at his 
 protests against that * breach of faith,' as Leroy 
 stigmatized it. The doctor came shortly after 
 that hour, and Somerset awoke as he was bending 
 over him. 
 
 ' Very satisfactory,' said the doctor ; ' skin cool 
 and moist, pulse a leetle stringy — but not so bad, 
 not so bad. No sign of fever. We shall do 
 pretty well, I think, if we can get up our strength 
 again. You had better have a nurse,' he continued 
 to Bufton. * Half the battle in these cases depends 
 on good nursing. I know an excellent woman 
 who lives near at hand. Shall I send her round .^' 
 
 At that moment Bess entered the studio. She 
 started at the sight of the group — Somerset lying 
 on the bed and the others standing about him — 
 but at Bufton's warning gesture she repressed the 
 exclamation which rose to her lips. 
 
 ' Mr. Somerset has met with a bit of an accident,' 
 said Bufton. 
 
346 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' An accident ?' repeated Bess, with her eyes on 
 Somerset's white face. 
 
 ' Well, yes ; but don't be alarmed, he's coming 
 round,' said Bufton, *and we're just arranging 
 about his nurse.' 
 
 * Can't I be of any use.'*' asked Bess. 'I'm a 
 good nurse, Mr. Bufton. I nursed my brother 
 when he broke his leg, and I attended mother 
 before she died.' 
 
 Then and there Bess was installed , and an ex- 
 cellent nurse she proved, quick to read every un- 
 spoken wish of her patient, deft and light-handed 
 in all the offices of a sick-room. She had left 
 Tenterden's Hotel and taken a cheap lodging in a 
 street 'off Russell Square, and had entered the 
 service of a firm of dressmakers. She sat beside 
 Somerset's bed stitching through the entire day 
 and half the night, tireless in industry, good spirits 
 and kindliness. 
 
 ' By Jove !' said Bufton to her one afternoon 
 when Somerset had fallen asleep, ' I'm glad I didn't 
 meet you twenty years ago.' 
 
 ' Why V asl^ed Bess, looking up from her sewing 
 in innocent wonder at this curious utterance. 
 
 ' I should have carried you off and made you 
 Mrs. William Bufton.' 
 
 Bess laughed and blushed a little. 
 
 ' It takes two to make a marriage,' she said. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AT THE LOBSTER SMACK. 
 
 There is an old and wise proverb which tells 
 us that we get through life a day at a time. On 
 Canvey Island, living in the old place, and among 
 the old familiar forms and faces, Annie was proving 
 the truth of the saying. Sick at heart and weary 
 of her life, seeing nothing ahead of her but a dull 
 repetition of the passing day except in those 
 moments when she was haunted by the fear of the 
 apparition of the man who called her wife, Annie 
 watched the hours slip by in a kind of vague and 
 continuous vision. Her brief period of happiness 
 with Somerset, the time when they had been so 
 happy in each other's society, and had looked 
 forward with such gay confidence to the time 
 when they should come together as man and wife, 
 seemed years ago, farther away than the time 
 when she had roamed at her own wild will, as she 
 
348 ANDROMEDA 
 
 did now, about the lonely island, a child, innocent 
 of present care or trouble and free of foreboding 
 for the future. She fell back into the old life, the 
 daily routine of the little inn, with a sort of dull 
 enjoyment, and had been back there scarce eight- 
 and-forty hours before the brief bright interlude 
 of life in London began to look to her like a half- 
 forgotten dream which had never had any place 
 at all in her real experience. 
 
 Job Endell still remained away from home, and 
 Annie had extorted a promise from the old woman 
 that her husband should know nothing of her 
 return to the Lobster Smack — a promise which 
 Mrs. Endell faithfully kept. Secretly she was 
 greatly troubled by Annie's strange repulsion 
 against Matt Watson. She could not understand 
 it. Matt had saved the girl's life, had paid for 
 her boarding and education, had in his rough 
 way given a thousand proofs of affection to 
 the girl, and had crowned all his acts of kind- 
 ness towards her by endowing her with his 
 entire fortune. To her unfastidious sense there 
 was nothing about Matt Watson which was not 
 either interesting or else quite infinitely to his 
 credit ; she looked on him, as it was natural that 
 she should look, as a free-hearted, generous speci- 
 men of the class to which she herself belonged. 
 There were moments when she thought and 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 349 
 
 said that Annie must be mad to entertain 
 for him any sentiments but those of grati- 
 tude and respect. With a tact she did not often 
 show, she refrained from any allusion to him 
 during the first day or two after Annie's re- 
 turn to the Lobster Smack ; but at last her out- 
 raged sense of duty and decorum fairly forced her 
 into speech, and she took Annie roundly to task 
 about her conduct to her benefactor. 
 
 * Flying in the face o* Providence and despising 
 what God sends 'e ! That's what I call it ! You Ve 
 got fine-ladyfied and stuck up wi' meeting grand 
 folk in London — folks as you'd never ha' knowed 
 if it hadn't been for Matt Watson's money ! Oh, 
 don't talk to me ! I'm sick at ye — I fairly am ! 
 A man as any girl might be proud on — as good a 
 sailor as ever walked on deck, who has saved your 
 life, and fed ye, and took care on ye for years and 
 years out o' the kindness of his heart, and your 
 own lawful wedded husband, too, and a man as is 
 regular made o' money, as could give ye all as any 
 woman's heart could desire, and asks no better 
 than to do it. Ye ought to think shame, that ye 
 ought, of the way you treat him. And I'll be a 
 party to it no longer. Til sit down this very 
 minute and write to him, and tell him you're here.' 
 
 Annie sat immovable through the story of 
 reproach, but at the last words she rose. 
 
350 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * You're not going to do that, mother ?' she asked 
 quite quietly, but with a heightened colour and a 
 burning eye. 
 
 * I am/ said the old woman. ' It's my duty as 
 a Christian creature ; and do it I will !' 
 
 ' Then listen to me,' $aid Annie. 
 
 'I've listened to too much o' your rubbish 
 already, Anniedromedy/ said Mrs. Endell, sitting 
 down at the desk in the little bar and taking up a 
 pen with an air of decision. 
 
 * Listen to me, I say,' said Annie again, ' and 
 mind what I tell you. If Matt comes here to 
 claim me as his wife, as sure as you sit there, as 
 sure as Tm a living woman. Til kill myself!' 
 
 Mrs. Endell dropped the pen and turned in her 
 seat with a start. 
 
 ' Annie !' she cried. * Why, what on earth ' 
 
 * rU kill myself!' repeated Annie. ' You write 
 to Matt Watson that I'm here, and you'll murder 
 me as surely as if you threw me into the water 
 and held me down with your own hands !' 
 
 Mrs. Endell stared at her, gasping and speech- 
 less, and Annie looked back at her with a long 
 steady regard. 
 
 * Sakes alive !' said the old woman at last, 
 speaking below her breath, * I believe she 
 means it !' 
 
 ' I do mean it,' said Annie. ' 1 mean it as 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 351 
 
 much — more than I ever meant anything in my 
 life before. I would kill myself a hundred times 
 over rather than go and live with that man/ 
 
 She spoke the words quite quietly, but with a 
 gravity and weight which quite convinced the 
 elder woman of their truth. She broke out anew 
 with reproaches and entreaties, but Annie silenced 
 her with a motion of the hand. 
 
 ' Never mention his name to me again. If ever 
 you do I shall take it as a sign that I have out- 
 stayed my welcome here, and I shall relieve you 
 of my company.' 
 
 She turned away, leaving the old woman 
 thoroughly cowed. More days passed by, during 
 which she faithfully obeyed Annie's will, and 
 made no reference to Matt. She even went the 
 length of writing to her husband, making hypo- 
 critical inquiries as to whether he or Watson had 
 yet learned of Annie's whereabouts, saying that 
 she hoped he was enjoying his holiday in London, 
 and enclosing him money to enable him to pro- 
 long it. 
 
 This kind of thing was all very well as a tem- 
 porary expedient, but it was obviously a situation 
 which could not last for ever, and must sooner or 
 later find its natural end. A morning came which 
 brought a letter from Job Endell, announcing 
 his return to the Lobster Smack that night. 
 
352 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Mrs. Endell managed to hide from Annie the per- 
 turbation into which she was thrown by this 
 message, and took counsel with herself during the 
 day as to how she should act. By much thinking 
 she arrived at a course of conduct which satisfied her 
 conscience. She decided that she could do her 
 duty to Matt Watson and yet not break the 
 implicit pledge she had given to Annie. A little 
 time before her husband was due she slipped out 
 of the inn and walked down to the causeway 
 where the rowing-boat landed. 
 
 Endell was on board the boat, and jumping out 
 as it touched, gave his wife a hearty smack on 
 both cheeks. 
 
 * Job,* she said, when they were alone and out 
 of earshot of the boatmen, ' Tve got news for 'e.' 
 
 'Ay?' said Job ; ' let's hear it, old woman.' 
 
 * Annie's back !' 
 
 Job started and stopped short. 
 
 * Annie !' he repeated. ' When did she come ? 
 To-day .?' 
 
 ' No. She's been here nigh on a week. 
 
 ' A week.^' cried Job. His wits, never of the 
 quickest, were quite bewildered by the intelligence. 
 ' Why, you wrote to me only t'other day, askin' if 
 I'd heard on her.' 
 
 ' I know I did. Job. It's the first time as I've 
 deceived ye in all our wedded life, but I couldn't 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 353 
 
 help it — but goodness only knows how IVe 
 sufFered in my conscience !* 
 
 She told him, in simple, rugged phrases, the 
 experiences of the past few days, and Job listened 
 like a man thunderstruck. 
 
 * Kill herself!* he said. * Rubbish, woman! 
 Maidenish tricks — that's all it is.' 
 
 * She means it, Job,' said the old woman. * She 
 means it ; and what to do is more'n I know. If 
 you'd seen her when she said it, you'd know she 
 meant it.' 
 
 * What the thunder are we to do ?' asked Job, 
 in dire perplexity. * Matt Watson's sure to be 
 down here afore long, and if he finds as it's us as 
 has been hidin' the gel away from him, he'll murder 
 the lot on us. Ye never saw a man in such a 
 state of mind in all your life. He's just mad 
 about her !' 
 
 ' I'll tell ye what to do, Job — though if ever you 
 tell her as it was me as put ye up to it, I'll never 
 forgive ye. I can't stand the worrit of it no 
 longer. I feel as if my head was bursting at times, 
 and I'm that scared and nervous, especially at 
 night, as I wish I was dead. I can't bear it any 
 longer, and I won't ! You go straight back to 
 London and tell Matt Watson as Annie's here, 
 and bring him here permiscous-like, as if he wasn't 
 expectin' to find her here. And then when they're 
 
 23 
 
354 ANDROMEDA 
 
 face to face they can fight it out atween 'em, and 
 make some sort of a end of it. For stand things 
 as they're a-going on at present I will not, not for 
 fifty millions of Annies and Matt Watsons, and so 
 I tell ye, straight !' 
 
 * That's a powerful good idea, gel,' said Job. 
 * I'm off back to London, and I shall bring Matt 
 along to-morrow morning.' 
 
 So said, so done. Mrs. Endell returned to the 
 Lobster Smack alone, and Job went back to 
 London, where, in a tavern in the neighbourhood 
 of RatclifFe Highway, he found Matt Watson 
 solacing himself with neat rum, and diligently 
 spelling his way through a newspaper. Watson 
 was sorely puzzled, in fact, by the silence of the 
 papers regarding his attack on Somerset. He had 
 read every sheet he could lay his hands on, and in 
 none of them could he find a word of reference 
 to it. Yet if Somerset had been killed, or even 
 seriously wounded, surely the assault would have 
 been chronicled ? Had his blow failed altogether ? 
 Bufi:on's rush upon him had been so sudden that 
 he had had no time to examine the prostrate body 
 of his foe. He had dropped the knife as he ran, 
 but he had paused afterwards to recover his breath, 
 and in the light of a street lamp had found blood 
 upon his hand. 
 
 ' I couldn't ha' done him much harm after all,' 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 355 
 
 he said to himself ; * a bit of a flesh-cut I reckon. 
 And yet I seemed to feel the knife bite into him, 
 him! I'll be even with him yet !' 
 
 ' Hullo !' he said, looking up and seeing Job 
 standing before him. * What brings you back 
 again so soon ?' 
 
 ' IVe got news for 'ee, Matt/ 
 
 * News ? News of — of Annie ?* asked the 
 sailor, with glittering eyes. 
 
 ' Yes. Now, now, take it quiet, lad.* 
 *What is it.? Speak out, ye old figure- 
 head, speak out !* 
 
 * IVe found out where she is,' said Job, 
 Watson sprang to his feet. 
 
 * Where ? Where is she ?* 
 
 * She's down on the island, at the old Lobster 
 Smack. She^s been there more'n a week.' 
 
 Watson stared at him for a moment in silence, 
 and then turned his eyes away, trembling and 
 murmuring strangely to himself. 
 
 * Easy does it,' said Job. * Take it quiet, ship- 
 mate ; it wasn't my old woman's fault. The gel 
 frightened her into deceivin' ye by saying as how 
 she'd drown herself if she gave you the office where 
 she was.' 
 
 He told Watson the story much as his wife had 
 told it to him, and Watson listened in alternate 
 rage and mystification, drinking more rum mean- 
 
 23—2 
 
356 ANDROMEDA 
 
 I 
 
 while. It was all Endell could do to prevent him 
 setting out at once for the island. Between his 
 excitement at the news of Annie's discovery and 
 the raw spirit he swallowed, he was like a maniac. 
 At last emotion and alcohol took their natural 
 effect, and staggering to his bed, he flung himself 
 upon it and fell into a heavy sleep. 
 
 When Job Endell descended in the morning to 
 breakfast, which had been provided in the sawdust- 
 strewn room behind the bar, foul with the reek of 
 last night's pipes and rum. Matt Watson did not 
 appear. Inquiry elicited the information that he 
 had risen a couple of hours earlier, and gone out. 
 Job supposed that he had already started down to 
 the island. 
 
 * There'll be a blow up when he gets there,' said 
 Job to himself. * There'll be a devil of a blow 
 up ! Taking it fine and large, Tm just as well out 
 of it !' I 
 
 After which philosophical reflection, he pro- 
 ceeded with his meal, and had well-nigh finished 
 when Matt Watson made his appearance. He 
 looked but little the worse for his excess of the 
 previous night. 
 
 * Tell me again what the old woman told ye,* 
 he said. He lit his pipe, settled his elbows on the 
 table and listened intently, nodding his head from 
 time to time to check off^ the details of the 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 357 
 
 narrative. When Endell had finished he gave a 
 series of nods, with a curious expression of 
 cunning, and after smoking in silence for another 
 minute or two, rose to his feet. 
 
 ' We'll go down together,' he said. 
 
 During the walk to the railway-station and the 
 journey in the train he kept silent, and it was not 
 until they were picking their way over the muddy 
 shore that he spoke. 
 
 ' I've got my plan,' he said then, ' and I think 
 it'll work if it's managed proper. I met Bill Peters 
 last night, cap'n of the Dolphin^ as is lyin' in the 
 roads out yonder. She starts for Plymouth to- 
 night, and from Plymouth she goes to Panama, 
 and then down the coast of South Ameriky. 
 She'll be away a year, and I'm goin' with her.' 
 He nudged Endell meaningly, and the latter 
 looked at him with a puzzled face. 
 
 ' You're goin' with her ?' repeated the old 
 man. 
 
 * First mate, with a share in the profits of the 
 voyage,' said Watson, with a strange look and 
 another nudge. 
 
 He looked so cunning and self-satisfied that 
 Endell stopped short, staring at him and scratch- 
 ing the back of his head in sheer bewilderment. 
 
 *Well,' he said at last, * you mean something, I 
 suppose, but if I know what you mean, sink me !' 
 
358 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Then you re a greater fool than I thought you,' 
 said Watson, and nudged him again. 
 
 * Can't ye speak straight ?' said the old man. 
 
 * What d ye mean ?' 
 
 'You ain't over spry. Job,' said Watson, * and ^ 
 that's a fact. My plan's this : I'm a-agoin' to 
 meet Anniedromedy as mild as milk. I'm a-goin' 
 to say to her as I've come to see as it was a 
 mistake to marry her, and I'm a-goin' to leave her 
 and give her her liberty again, with you and the 
 missis for witnesses. Then we has a parting glass 
 together, and I start out for the Dolphin^ where 
 my traps is already. You goes along with me to 
 see me off, and then you go back to the Lobster 
 Smack and fetch the old woman.' 
 
 A light broke in on Endell's mind. 
 
 *By the Holy!' he cried, slapping his thigh, 
 
 * but you have got a head of your own, Matt. 
 But I tell 'ee,' he continued, after a pause, 'it's 
 dangerous. That gel's a reg'lar wild-cat when 
 she's aroused. She's the only creetur as I ever met ^ 
 as could frighten my missis ; and she has frightened 
 her — she's scared her well-nigh out of her wits.' 
 
 ' I'll manage her,' said Watson, ' once we get to^ 
 close quarters. Now, are you sure as ye under- 
 stand.'^ Bill Peters is the man I've signed to go 
 with ; fust mate is my quality, with a share in the 
 profits of the voyage ; and the Dolphin now a-lyin' 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 359 
 
 in the roads, and starting to-night for Plymouth, 
 Panama, and the coast of South Ameriky, is the 
 vessel. You was by when the bargain was struck, 
 and you back me up in all I say.' 
 
 Endell promised acquiescence in the plan, not 
 without some dismal forebodings of failure, which 
 he kept to himself, having a wholesome dread of 
 his companion's wild temper. 
 
 They arrived at the Lobster Smack and passed 
 through the passage leading to the little back 
 parlour, in which Annie and Mrs. Endell were 
 seated together. At Watson's entrance the girl 
 rose, and standing with her hands on the back of 
 her chair, looked at him with the aspect of a 
 trapped animal which, feeling itself in the toils, 
 still means making a last fight for life and liberty. 
 The old woman rose too. 
 
 * Annie,' she said warningly and imploringly ; 
 ' Annie, my gel T 
 
 She had had her own personal fears of how 
 Watson might take her share of the deception 
 practised upon him, and turned her eyes to his 
 face as if fascinated. 
 
 ^ ' There's nothin' to be frightened about,' said 
 Watson gruffly. * Sit down, Annie ! Sit down, 
 mother ! I'm only here to say good-bye. I shall 
 be far enough away from ye by this time to- 
 morrow !' 
 
36o ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' To say good-bye !' Annie echoed the words 
 in a barely audible voice, and with an accent of 
 complete surprise. 
 
 ' That's what I'm here for/ continued Watson, j 
 ' I've come to see, Annie, as it's all been a mistake ; 
 I was wrong to tie a young gel to myself. I was ' 
 wrong to go away and leave ye all these years. 
 Havin' stopped away so long, I was wrong to 
 come back. I ought to ha' stopped away for 
 good, and let you go on thinkin' I was dead. I've 
 had time to think it all out, and it seems to me as 
 the very best thing as I can do, to make up for all 1 
 the mistakes as I've made, is to go away again and 
 leave things quiet.' 
 
 He kept his eyes on Annie's face as he spoke, 
 and the glad light which shone from it tore his 
 heart with a pang of anguish, which almost broke 
 down the assumed calm to which he had schooled 
 his voice and expression. He had had little 
 practice in the arts of duplicity, having pretty 
 generally been able to get what he wanted by the 
 power of a furious temper and great personal 
 strength. But his mad passion for Annie over- 
 rode all others, and enabled him to act a part 
 quite foreign to his real nature. 
 
 ' And so,' he went on, ' I take ye. Job Endell 
 and Mrs. Endell, to witness as I give up all. claim 
 on Anniedromedy Watson here present, as my 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 361 
 
 wedded wife. I start to-night — Job will tell ye, 
 as was by when the bargain was struck and the 
 papers was signed — on board the Dolphin^ Cap'n 
 Bill Peters, now lyin' in the roads, for a voyage to 
 South Ameriky. I shan't come back to these here 
 latitudes for a year, anyhow ; p'r'aps I shan't 
 never come back at all. But here or there, 
 at home or abroad, Anniedromedy Watson as 
 aforesaid is no wife of mine. What Tve 
 already given her I hope she'll keep — and that's 
 
 aiir 
 
 The first amazing shock of delight had passed, 
 and Annie's heart had had time to realize the 
 generosity of the man she had hated and repulsed. 
 She hunted her bewildered brain for words in 
 which to thank and bless him, but could find 
 none, and in the extremity of her joy and 
 thankfulness and admiration she crossed the 
 room, seized his hand, and held it trembling 
 in her own. He shuddered, forced a curious 
 laugh, and drew his hand away. 
 
 ' No nonsense, Annie !' he said hoarsely ; * is it 
 a bargain ?' 
 
 Again she placed her hand in his, and for a 
 moment he seemed about to break down under 
 the stress of his passionate emotion. 
 
 ' I am so sorry,' she murmured, touched in spite 
 of herself by the sight of his distress. 
 
362 ANDROMEDA 
 
 Again he forced a laugh, and drew his hand 
 across his lips. But still his eyes never left hers, 
 but watched her as if under strange fascination. 
 His swarthy cheeks were drawn as if in pain, and 
 his mouth trembled convulsively. 
 
 * And now, mate,' he cried, with a wild effort at 
 mirth, ' bring out the old case-bottle, and we'll 
 have a glass together before I go aboard. Don't 
 you mind me, Annie, my gel ; you get along to 
 bed, and leave Job and me and the missis to settle 
 up accounts.' 
 
 After lingering for a minute, as if eager to 
 thank him for the strange turn which his affection 
 for her had taken, Annie escaped to her bedroom 
 at the top of the house. There the mad mingling 
 in her bosom of many emotions found relief in a 
 copious flow of tears. There were moments when 
 her gratitude to the rude, wild man who had given 
 her back her liberty almost moved her to return 
 to him and place her hand in his as a reward of 
 his magnanimity ; but those brief flashes of softer 
 feeling could not overcome the all-mastering re- 
 pugnance he still inspired. An hour passed by, 
 and then, standing on the top of the stairs, she 
 heard voices from the lobby below. It was clear 
 to her that Matt Watson was departing, and, after 
 a brief hesitation, she slowly descended, eager to 
 bid him a last good-bye, and to assure him again 
 
AT THE LOBSTER SMACK 363 
 
 of her deep sorrow at the fatality which had come 
 between them. 
 
 To her surprise, she found Mrs. Endell alone 
 in the parlour, wearing her bonnet and cloak. 
 
 ' He's gone,' said Mrs. Endell, as Annie looked 
 round the room. 
 
 'Gone?' echoed Annie. 
 
 ' Yes. " It isn't worth while to trouble her/' 
 he said, when I offered to call you down. '* Say 
 good-bye to her for me." So he's gone, and Job 
 and me is going to see him off as far as Gravesend.' 
 
 ' Going with him ? So late at night ?' 
 
 ' Yes, Annie. They're waiting for me in the 
 skiff down yonder. You won't be afeared to bide 
 in the house ? We'll be back early in the morning. 
 You see, my lass, there's a heap o' things Matt 
 wants to settle with Job and me after he sails ; 
 and more'n that, the poor chap's drefful cut up, 
 and it'll be a kindness to go with him to the ship's 
 side,' 
 
 The old woman walked to the door, and joined 
 the two men who were waiting for her on the 
 shore. Annie saw their dark figures in the 
 distance ; then she heard a murmur of voices 
 and a splash of oars. She listened till the sounds 
 died away ; then she returned to the house. 
 
 She was not afraid to be alone, but she locked 
 and bolted the doors, both front and back, before 
 
364 ANDROMEDA 
 
 she went up to her bedroom. Then she sat there 
 in the darkness for a long time. She could hardly 
 be said to think ; her brain was in a dull, dim 
 whirl ; she sat as in a trance. At last she rose 
 and undressed ; but before she stepped into bed 
 she locked and bolted the door of her room. For 
 a long time she lay awake, thinking, thinking. 
 She felt relieved and free ; but mingling with the 
 sense of relief was pity for the man whom she 
 had used so untenderly. At last she fell asleep. 
 She had scarcely done so, when there was the creak 
 of a stealthy footstep on the stair. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing 
 heavily in troubled sleep, as the footsteps came 
 nearer and nearer, ascending the narrow flight of 
 stairs that led to her bedroom-door. At the 
 same time there was a low, moaning sound all 
 over the house, as if a window somewhere had 
 been left open, admitting the bleak air of the 
 night. 
 
 The room where Annie lay was no longer quite 
 dark, for the moon had broken through the clouds, 
 and was throwing ghostly beams upon the bed. 
 The night was fine, but the wind was rising in the 
 north-west, with threatenings of storm. 
 
 The footsteps still ascended, while Annie still 
 slumbered on. At last they paused before the 
 door, and had she been awake she would have 
 heard a heavy breathing outside. Then the 
 
366 ANDROMEDA 
 
 handle of the door moved, as if turned softly 
 from without, but both bolt and lock were firm. 
 Finally, the handle was turned more quickly and 
 impatiently, and the door was shaken. The 
 sound awoke the sleeping girl. She started, 
 listened, sat up in bed, and gazed wildly towards 
 the door. 
 
 ' Who's there ?' she cried, while her heart stood 
 still within her. 
 
 There was no reply, but, listening intently, she 
 was distinctly conscious of something stirring out- 
 side. With a cry she sprang from her bed. 
 
 * Who's there .f^' she cried again, in terror. 
 
 There was a pause, during which she was con- 
 scious of someone moving on the landing, which 
 creaked beneath the tread of heavy feet. Then 
 the handle of the door was shaken, and a voice 
 said : 
 
 ' Open the door ; it's me — Matt Watson !' 
 
 Matt Watson ! Her heart stood still again, and 
 the blood ran cold within her. What brought him 
 back there in the stillness of the night, at the very 
 moment when she had thought that he had passed 
 out of her life for ever ? A sudden fear possessed 
 her that some trick had been played upon her, 
 and 
 
 ' Don't be afraid, Anniedromedy,' he whispered. 
 * The missis forgot to tell ye something, and she's 
 
FACE TO FACE 367 
 
 waitin* for ye below. Come down and speak to 
 her just a minute ; she won*t keep ye.' 
 
 * I can t come down ; Tm undressed/ she 
 answered. 
 
 ' Ye must !* returned the man, while the door 
 shook and trembled as if a strong shoulder had 
 been pressed against it. 
 
 * I won't ; it's a trick ! Go away, or Til throw 
 myself out of the window !' And so saying, she 
 moved back, with lips panting and dilated eyes, 
 till she stood in her long white nightdress in the 
 full gleam of the moonlight. 
 
 The man seemed to hesitate ; then he said : 
 
 * If I go away, will you come down ? There's 
 naught to be afraid on ; no one will harm ye. No 
 need to dress — jest throw on a wrap. There, my 
 gel, I'm goin' !' 
 
 She heard his heavy feet passing down the stairs. 
 She stood trembling and wondering what to do. 
 After all, why need she be afraid ? The explana- 
 tion of his return seemed simple ; it doubtless 
 concerned some last message which Mrs. Endell 
 wished to deliver to her in his presence. He 
 himself had released her, freely and voluntarily, 
 and it was unlikely that his mind had changed. 
 At the worst, the old woman and Job would be 
 there to protect her, if the need arose. 
 
 She looked out of the window. All was dark 
 
368 ANDROMEDA 
 
 and silent without, save for the fitful gleams otj 
 moonlight on the water and the low murmuring 
 of the wind. She had never felt afraid in the 
 lonely house before, but now a nameless terroij 
 seemed to possess her. Nevertheless, she dre\ 
 on a petticoat, threw a shawl over her shoulders,^ 
 and prepared to descend. Then she drew back 
 the bolt, turned the key softly, and, opening the 
 door a few inches, peered out and listened. All 
 was dark and still, but, listening again, she seemed 
 to catch the sound of voices from below. 
 
 'Are you there, mother?' she called, stepping 
 out cautiously on to the landing and looking down. 
 There was no answer, but again she caught the 
 sound of a voice or voices. Naturally brave and 
 fearless, she drew herself together and prepared to 
 descend ; but first she returned to her room, struck 
 a match, and lit a candle ; then, holding the light \ 
 in one hand, she descended the stairs. Her feet 
 were bare, her hair Ml loosely on her shoulders, I 
 and she held the shawl closely around her as she 
 descended. 
 
 On the landing beneath she paused and listened 
 again, and as she did so a gust of wind blew out 
 the candle. But, gazing downward, she saw the 
 glimmering of a light in the passage below. This 
 gave her fresh courage, and she crept on. 
 
 She had almost reached the passage when 
 
FACE TO FACE 369 
 
 she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She 
 looked round and caught a glimpse in the darkness 
 of a form and face emerging on the landing above 
 her. With a low cry she ran on and rushed into 
 the parlour, on the table of which a lamp was 
 dimly burning. To her amaze and terror there 
 was no one there. 
 
 As she turned to escape from the room, Matt 
 Watson appeared in the doorway, looking white 
 and wild, with his black eyes fixed on hers, and a 
 strange smile upon his face. 
 
 She shrank back with a faint scream. 
 
 * Let me pass !' she cried. ' I was right. It's 
 a trick after all ! Where is Mrs. Endell.?' 
 
 * She's up yonder in Gravesend, and Job along 
 with her,' answered Matt Watson quietly. ' You 
 needn't scream or cry, my gel, for there's no one 
 here to mind ye. We're alone in the house, my 
 dear. Yes,' he said, with the same strange smile, 
 *rm alone in this house to-night, along o' my 
 wife! 
 
 He entered the room, closed the door, and stood 
 with his back against it, with folded arms. As she 
 shrank in horror from him, she saw the great ear- 
 rings in his ears, and the tattoo-marks on his 
 breast, from which his shirt collar fell open, and 
 on his powerful hands. He on his side seemed to 
 regard her with a sort of savage admiration, 
 
 24 
 
370 ANDROMEDA 
 
 looking with the same curious smile on her 
 shrinking form, her bare feet, the trembling hands 
 that clutched the shawl and held it round her, and 
 on the hair that fell loosely on her shoulders. 
 
 Helpless, terrified, like a trapped bird, she 
 shrank away towards the fireplace, placing the 
 table between them. 
 
 ' Tm not your wife !' she cried. ' You gave me 
 my liberty. Matt ! Matt ! Let me go ! Don't 
 be so cruel ! If you touch me, if you come near , 
 me, I shall go mad !* 1| 
 
 The smile on the man's face faded ; a pained, 
 wistful expression took its place. He drew the 
 back of his right hand across his mouth — a gesture ^ 
 peculiar to him — and then pointed to a chair by f 
 the fire. 
 
 ' Sit down there, Anniedromedy, while I talk to 
 ye. I'm not going to harm ye if ye do as I bid 
 ye ; but don't 'e rouse the devil in me to-night, 
 or God knows what I may do !' 
 
 ' Will you swear not to touch me V she panted. 
 
 ' I'll swear naught,' he answered ; * but you've 
 got to do my bidding. Sit down, my gel, sit down.' 
 
 She sank into the chair, huddling herself up in 
 it like a scared child. He moved from the door, 
 threw himself into a chair on the other side of the 
 table, and leaning forward, with his chin supported 
 by his hands, gazed at her steadily. 
 
FACE TO FACE 371 
 
 * Understand, Anniedromedy, there's no way out 
 o* this but one. The doors are all locked and 
 bolted, Job and the old woman are far away, and 
 you and me are alone together for the first time 
 this many a year. Now youVe going to tell me 
 fair and square the meaning of all this. I want 
 to hear it from your own mouth, honey, without 
 one word of lies. Ye hear ? Well, what's 
 wrong ? Why did ye run away from me as if I 
 was pison ? I never did you no harm that I 
 knows of, and I don't quite understand why the 
 sight o' me should turn so sick on your stomach. 
 But there's something maybe you can explain ? If 
 ye can, out with it. I'm here to-night to find out 
 what you've got to say.' 
 
 As he spoke thus in a low, almost gentle voice, 
 and without the slightest sign of violence towards 
 her, Annie felt her courage come back. After all, 
 she thought, he seemed reasonable and rational, 
 and she might be able to temporize with him. 
 Otherwise it was clear that there was no escape ; 
 she was completely at his mercy, for no living soul 
 ever came by night to that solitary place. 
 
 ' Well, my gel, I'm waiting to hear ye,' said the 
 man after a long silence, during which he con- 
 tinued to regard her steadfastly. ' Have ye lost 
 your tongue ?' 
 
 She forced a feeble laugh and murmured : 
 
 24 — 2 
 
372 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' I don't like you in that way, Matt, that's all. 
 I know you ve been very good to me, more good 
 than I deserve ; but I don't want to be your 
 wife.' 
 
 His face contracted as if in pain, and once more 
 he drew the back of his hand nervously across his 
 mouth. 
 
 ' Ye don't like me in that way ! Ye don't want 
 to be my wife !' he repeated in a low voice. 
 ' Well, there wasn't much need to tell me that. 
 But why, my gel, why ? That's what I want to 
 know. You used to like me well enough when 
 you was a gel, and I — I've only had one thought 
 all these years — how to bring fortune and good 
 luck to the little wife I left behind.' 
 
 His voice choked and his eyes grew dim. 
 What could she answer him? Every word he 
 uttered was only too true. 
 
 * Out there in Ameriky,' he continued, * I 
 worked night and day till I made my pile and 
 became a rich man. Why ? Not for my own 
 sake, but for yours. When I was struck down by 
 the fever and thought that I was booked for 
 Kingdom Come, I took care as you should never 
 want. I made a lady on ye — didn't I ? — and gave 
 ye all I had to give ; and afterwards, when I come 
 back, I thought — I thought that maybe my little 
 gel might give me a welcome and be a bit glad to 
 
FACE TO FACE 373 
 
 see me. Ye wasn't glad, Anniedromedy ; ye was 
 sorry. My little gel, my wife that ought to ha' 
 bin, was sick and sorry that I wasn't dead.^ 
 
 ' No, no, Matt ; it isn't true !' cried Annie, 
 touched to the quick and bursting into tears. ' I 
 wasn't sorry ! I didn't wish you dead ! I was 
 only frightened ! I ' 
 
 He held up his hand and interrupted her. 
 
 ' Frightened o' me ? Frightened o' the man as 
 plucked ye from the sea when ye was a babby, 
 and had given ye all he had in the world, as if ye 
 was his own begotten child ? That's queer, very 
 queer ! Why should you be frightened of Matt 
 Watson, unless' — here his face changed, and the 
 old savage look came back into his eyes — * unless 
 there was someone who had come between you 
 and me, and had taught ye to hate me, and to 
 want me dead and buried out o' the way.' 
 
 * You're wrong, quite wrong,' she replied. ' It 
 wasn't that. What I did, I did of my own free 
 will.' 
 
 * That's a lie !' he cried, smiting the table with 
 his fist, and leaning over towards her with flashing 
 eyes. ' There was someone, and I seen him one 
 night with his mouth to yourn. It was him that 
 come between us, Anniedromedy, curse him !' 
 
 She sprang up terrified, but he motioned her 
 fiercely to keep still. 
 
374 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * Well, that's over. We needn't take any count 
 of him. He's paid his reckoning, and won't trouble 
 us no more.* 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' she cried, a new terror 
 seizing her. 
 
 * I mean that I've done for your fine gentleman,' 
 he replied. ' I followed him one night, and put 
 my knife into him for luck, as I'd put my knife 
 into you if I thought you and him had gone too 
 far.' 
 
 * You coward !' she exclaimed, rising erect and 
 facing him, with all the hot blood mounting to 
 her face. * If you dared to lay a finger upon 
 Mr. Somerset ' 
 
 ' I don't know about his name, but I tell 'e I'm 
 square with him. It was a bad day for him when 
 he come atween you and me.' 
 
 She sprang towards the door. Her shawl fell 
 off, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. But 
 almost before she could utter a cry, he had seized 
 her by the wrists, and was holding her as in a vice. 
 
 ' Let me go !' she moaned ; * let me go !' 
 
 ' I was right, then,' he hissed between his 
 clenched teeth. ^ If it hadn't been for him — that 
 doll-faced, lily-fingered fool ' 
 
 ' It would have made no difference,' she gasped, , 
 defiant amidst all her weakness. ' I could never 
 have cared for you. Matt Watson. Even when I 
 
FACE TO FACE 375 
 
 was a little child I was afraid of you — your touch 
 made me sick ; but now I know what you have 
 done I hate you ! I hate you more than I ever 
 hated you before !' 
 
 But his arms were round her, and though she 
 tried to escape he held her to him, raining kisses 
 on her lips and eyes, while she fought and cried 
 and sobbed in his embrace. 
 
 ' My Annie ! my little wife !' he murmured. 
 * Prettier than ever, my beauty !' 
 
 She had almost fainted, when the terror awakened 
 by his words seemed to give her new strength. 
 With a shriek she tore herself free at last. He 
 fell back laughing, and pushing the wild hair out 
 of his bloodshot eyes. Then, as he approached 
 her again with open arms, she sprang to the door, 
 opened it, and flew out into the passage and up the 
 stairs. 
 
 He gazed after her for a moment, laughed 
 again, and shrugged his shoulders ; then he began 
 to follow her in the darkness, slowly, cautiously 
 like a wild beast certain of its prey. 
 
 On reaching the first landing and hearing him 
 following slowly, she ran into the bedroom on the 
 first floor — the very room which Somerset had 
 occupied during his stay at the inn. Swift as 
 lightning she closed and locked the door ; then, 
 running to the window, she saw to her surprise 
 
376 ANDROMEDA 
 
 that it was wide open. Then for the first time it 
 occurred to her that Matt Watson must have 
 entered that way, all the doors having been locked 
 and barred before she retired to rest. With the 
 nimbleness and dexterity of a sailor, he had 
 managed to climb up — how, she scarcely realized, 
 but it had been done. The window was not very 
 high above the ground, and outside it swung, 
 attached to an iron support, the old sign. If he 
 had entered, might she not escape, that way ? 
 
 The moon was now hidden and the wind was 
 blowing strongly, with great gusts of sleet and 
 rain. The sign swung and creaked. As she 
 stood at the window, looking down, the rain 
 swept in and soaked her to the skin. The shawl 
 had fallen from her in her flight, and all she wore 
 was her white nightdress, and the petticoat she 
 had drawn on over her lower limbs. She sobbed 
 and shivered, gazing out into the windy dark- 
 ness. 
 
 Then she heard the room door shaken, and the 
 man's voice calling her name : 
 
 * Annie ! Anniedromedy !' 
 
 She did not answer, but she leaped out over the 
 window-sill preparatory to swinging herself out 
 and dropping to the ground, with the certainty of 
 being maimed and perhaps killed. Heavy blows 
 rained upon the door, and then, as if with the 
 
FACE TO'^fi^i^G^-^ 377 
 
 full force of the man's strength, it was nearly 
 forced open. 
 
 'Are ye there, my gel?' the deep voice said. 
 ' Can't ye speak?' 
 
 She crept towards the door. 
 
 ' Listen to me, Matt Watson !' she cried. 
 
 ' Tm listening,' he answered. 
 
 * You may break the door open, but before you 
 can lay a finger on me I shall have leaped out. 
 The window's open ready. I mean what I 
 say.* 
 
 The door ceased to move. The man seemed 
 deliberating. 
 
 * Don't 'e be a fool,' he said presently. ' I 
 won't harm 'e. Let me in, my gel.' 
 
 * I'll never trust you again,' she replied. ' You 
 lied to me before, and you're lying to me now ! 
 And if it's true what ye told me, that you've 
 harmed my friend, I'll never forgive you. Matt 
 Watson! You may kill me, as you say you've 
 killed him, but you can't do more than that. Do 
 you hear ?' 
 
 ' I hear right enough,' he answered with an oath, 
 ' but I'm coming in, for all that ;' and again the 
 
 1*^ door shook under his blows. 
 
 I She ran to the window, ready to spring out, as 
 she had threatened, the moment he entered ; then, 
 to her amazement, she heard voices beyond her in 
 
378 ANDROMEDA 
 
 the darkness. Mad and terrified, she screamed 
 aloud. 
 
 'Lobster Smack ahoy!' cried a clear voicej 
 ' Who's that up there ? Anything wrong V 
 
 ' Yes, yes !' she cried. ' Open the door ! break 
 it open ! Save me ! save me !' 
 
 As she spoke she saw the figures of several mer 
 gathering below her. The door no longer moved. 
 Matt Watson was also listening. 
 
 ' Who are you, mistress ?' a voice cried again, 
 *and what's the matter.'^ Can't you come down 
 and open the door.'^' 
 
 * I can't come !' she panted. ' He's there ; he's 
 waiting for me ! For God's sake don't go away !' 
 
 The men seemed whispering together and con- 
 sulting. At last the man who had already spoken 
 spoke again : 
 
 ' Don't be afraid, mistress. We're here, and no 
 one shall harm you. We're on night duty, and 
 rowed in from the river to get shelter from the 
 storm.' 
 
 As he spoke some of his companions were 
 knocking at the inn door and demanding admit- 
 tance. 
 
 * Who's in the house .^' demanded the man. 
 ' Isn't Job Endell at home ?' 
 
 ' No ; he's away at Gravesend,' answered Annie. 
 'And who is it you're afraid of, my woman .^' 
 
FACE TO FACE 379 
 
 She didn't reply, for she heard Matt's voice 
 calling to her again : 
 
 * Anniedromedy !' 
 'Yes?' 
 
 * Hold your tongue if you love your life ! I'm 
 going down to let them in.' 
 
 With a gasp of relief she heard him creeping 
 down the stairs, while the rain of blows on the 
 outer door still continued. She crept across the 
 room and listened eagerly. Then she heard the 
 bolts shot back, the chain released, and the tramp 
 of feet in the passage. She threw the room door 
 open and ran downstairs, forgetting in her excite- 
 ment how slightly she was clad ; and then, in the 
 light which streamed from the lighted lamp in the 
 parlour, she saw that the men who had entered 
 were river police, wrapped in dripping oilskins, 
 and accompanied by two boatmen, also in oilskin 
 coats. Standing in the shadow, gazing at them 
 with angry, bloodshot eyes, was Matt Watson. 
 
 The leader of the party, a powerful, thick-set 
 man with a beard, addressed her, and she recog- 
 nised the voice she had heard before. 
 
 * Now then, my girl, what's up.^^ Why did you 
 scream out like that, as if you were in peril ot 
 your life?' 
 
 She glanced at Matt Watson, and saw his stern 
 eyes fixed upon her. He had not uttered a word. 
 
38o ANDROMEDA 
 
 *It's — it's nothing/ she replied hysterically. 
 * I was afraid, and — and Tm glad you Ve come, 
 that's all; 
 
 She led the way into the parlour, and the leader 
 of the men followed her. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A RESPITE. 
 
 Now that help had come so unexpectedly, Annie 
 quickly recovered her self-possession. Lying on 
 the floor, where it had fallen, was the shawl which 
 had slipped from her in her effort to escape ; she 
 stooped and lifted it, throwing it over her shoulders. 
 The man looked at her in wonder. 
 
 * A lonesome place this for a pretty girl like you,' 
 he said. ' Who's the man with you ? Was it him 
 you were afraid of, missie?' 
 
 She glanced round and saw Matt Watson, still 
 silent, with his eyes fixed on hers, standing in the 
 doorway. 
 
 ' Never mind that now,' she answered. * How 
 did you come to be passing this way at this time 
 of night .^* 
 
 * Well, missie, we'd been having a chase down 
 river, and my mates and I were tired out and in 
 
382 ANDROMEDA 
 
 need of a rest ; so when the storm came down, we 
 made for shelter in the old inn, and I reckon we'll 
 stay here, if you don't mind, till morning.' 
 Here the officer's eyes fell on Matt Watson. 
 
 * Who are you ?' he demanded sharply. ' What's 
 up between you and this young woman?' 
 
 ' Nothing, mate,' answered Matt in a low voice, 
 showing his white teeth as he spoke. 
 
 ' Here, let's have a look at you. A sailor by 
 the cut of your jib ! What are you doing at the 
 Lobster Smack ?' 
 
 ' If you want to know,' answered Matt quietly, 
 * I'm a-looking after my wife,' 
 
 * Your wife ! Do you mean this young woman V 
 ' I mean my wife, mate — Anniedromedy Watson. 
 
 Whoever you are, I warn you to mind your own 
 business, and not to come between us. It may be 
 worse for you if you do.' 
 
 ' Do you threaten, you ugly blackavised son of 
 a squeegee !' cried the officer, while his men looked 
 on, laughing. ' D'ye know I'm a police officer and 
 within my rights in asking you to give an account 
 of yourself.'^' 
 
 * I don't know and I don't care,' answered Matt 
 fiercely. 
 
 'Then I'll learn you. — Here, lads, take a hold 
 of him, and if he gives any more of his jaw, put 
 the handcuffs on him.' 
 
Matt's hand reached for the knife in his belt, 
 but before he could stir he was seized by the 
 police. He made no further attempt to resist, 
 but still kept his eyes fixed on Annie. 
 
 ' Now, my girl,' said the officer. ' Do you charge 
 this man ? If you do. Til take him into custody, 
 for I've seen enough to know that you're in deadly 
 fear of him.' 
 
 Trembling still, Annie looked at Matt again and 
 their eyes met. She returned no answer. 
 
 ' He says he's your husband. Is that true?' 
 
 * It's true, and it's false,' she replied. 
 
 ' That's a rum telling !' exclaimed the officer, 
 while his men laughed again. ' Either he is your 
 husband or he isn't. Which is it.^*' 
 
 * I don't know. I — I was married to him many 
 years ago.' 
 
 ' If you're married to him he's your husband, 
 isn't he ? Well, let that pass. Has he been mal- 
 treating you ? Do you charge him ?' 
 
 ' No,' answered Annie. ' I'm not afraid of 
 him now. He hasn't harmed me. I don't think 
 he meant to harm me. I was afraid of him, 
 that's all.' 
 
 ' All right. It's your affair, not ours. You 
 may let the man go, lads, but keep an eye on him ; 
 don't leave him. Now, my girl, if you'll take my 
 advice, you'll go back to bed. You needn't be 
 
384 ANDROMEDA 
 
 afraid ; me and my men are going to make our 
 selves snug here till daylight. But before you go^ 
 ril ask you to get us a bottle of rum out of the 
 bar, for which I'll pay you in the morning/ 
 
 Quite at her ease now, Annie ran to fetch the 
 bottle of spirits and glasses, while the men, throw- 
 ing oiF their oilskins, made themselves comfortable 
 by the parlour fire. Matt made no attempt to 
 follow or molest her, but sat quite quietly by the 
 police and the boatmen, with whom he soon began 
 to converse. 
 
 When Annie returned, the officer, after filling 
 his glass and pushing the bottle to his men, looked 
 at her admiringly and said : 
 
 ' Your health, missie ; and I hope you and your 
 husband will make it up.' 
 
 Annie flushed crimson. 
 
 * I've your promise. YouVe going to stay here 
 till morning ?' she said. 
 
 * Make your mind easy,' was the answer. * The 
 night's ugly and we're too snug here to want to go 
 further. I'll warn you before we go afloat again.' 
 
 She lingered for a few minutes, looking 
 dubiously at Matt Watson. Without raising his 
 eyes, Matt said presently : 
 
 * Go to bed, my gel ; I shan't come near you.' 
 She lighted a candle and carried it with her up- 
 stairs to the room at the top of the house. Once 
 
A RESPITE 385 
 
 there, she locked and bolted the door again, and 
 placed the light on a chair beside her bed. Then 
 she walked to the window and looked out. The 
 rain was falling in torrents and the wind had risen 
 to half a gale. All without was darkness and 
 tumult. Far away through the sheets of rain she 
 saw the lights gleaming and passing on the Great 
 River. 
 
 She knew that she was safe now, at least for a 
 time. The police were there, and would see that 
 no wrong or insult came to her. But her whole 
 spirit was shaken by the ordeal through which she 
 had passed, and her passionate indignation found 
 vent in a torrent of tears. It was clear to her now 
 that the Endells had left her there at Matt 
 Watson's mercy, trusting and believing that the 
 result of their treachery would be a final reconcilia- 
 tion between herself and her husband. Her soul 
 revolted against their cruelty and unkindness, and 
 she vowed again to herself that she would never 
 yield. When daylight came she would leave the 
 place. If Matt followed her and continued to 
 make her life a torment, she would carry out her 
 old threat and destroy herself. That would be 
 the only means of escape left to her, and she 
 would take it without hesitation. 
 
 She listened at the door, and heard the sound 
 of laughing and talking from below ; then she 
 
 25 
 
386 ANDROMEDA 
 
 threw herself sobbing by the bed, and prayed to 
 God for help in her dire distress. When she rose 
 from her knees she was somewhat calmer. Only 
 one memory lay like a black shadow on her mind — 
 the memory of what Matt Watson had said con- 
 cerning the man she loved. Had he spoken the 
 truth ? Had he really taken Somerset's life, as he 
 asserted ? She did not believe it ; she felt certain 
 that he had been lying, but nevertheless she felt 
 strangely anxious concerning her lover's fate, and 
 determined to ascertain at any cost the truth con- 
 cerning him. 
 
 At last, wearied out and sick at heart, she threw 
 herself on the bed. Lying there, she still heard the 
 reassuring sounds from below, and after a little 
 while she fell asleep. She was awakened by a 
 loud knocking at her door. She started up in 
 terror, thinking that her tormentor was again 
 there, but a voice from without reassured her — the 
 voice of the officer of the river police. 
 
 ' Now then, missie, it's break of day, and we 
 must soon be off.' 
 
 It was daybreak indeed, and the thin, rainy 
 beams of the wintry dawn were filling the room. 
 She sprang out of bed, called to the officer that 
 she would be down directly, and then proceeded 
 to dress, first washing away from her face the 
 traces of last night's tears. Then she put on the 
 
A RESPITE 387 
 
 hat and sealskin cloak which she had worn on her 
 journey from London, and which were hanging in 
 the room, for the thought had come to her that 
 she could go away under the protection of the 
 police, and so escape Matt Watson. 
 
 When she descended she found some of the 
 men gathered round the door, while others were 
 down on the shingle baling out a large rowing- 
 boat, in which they had come to the anchorage. 
 The head of the party was in the parlour waiting 
 for her. She looked round for Matt Watson, but 
 he was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 ' Well, ma am, Tm glad you slept comfortably,' 
 said the officer, after a surprised look at her dress ; 
 for she looked strangely refined and lady-like, in 
 contrast to her appearance overnight. ' We must 
 be off to Gravesend, but before I go I want a few 
 words with you.' 
 
 * I wish you to let me go with you,' returned 
 Annie quietly. 
 
 * D'ye mean it ?* asked the officer, with a smile. 
 ' But what about your husband ? — if he is your 
 husband, as it appears he holds himself to be.' 
 
 * I cannot stop here ; I wish to go away,' said 
 Annie. 
 
 *A11 right, if that's your fancy, but you'll excuse 
 me for saying it's rather queer. Come now! if 
 you're really married to the man, as he says you 
 
 25 — 2 
 
388 ANDROMEDA 
 
 are, can't you settle your mind to make the best 
 of your bargain?' 
 
 But Annie set her lips together and shook her 
 head. The upshot of the conversation was that 
 the officer agreed to give her a place in the police- 
 boat, and to escort her as far as Gravesend. 
 
 As they walked from the inn together she came 
 face to face with the man she feared. He looked 
 strangely sad and crestfallen ; his cheeks were 
 sunken, his lips trembled, and his clothes were 
 soaked with rain. At first she shrank back, then, 
 yielding to an impulse of contrition, she held out 
 her hand. He did not take it, but looked at her 
 with a gaze so wistful, so despairing, that her 
 heart bled for him. 
 
 * Good-bye, Matt,' she said. * I'm going away. 
 I want you to try to forget me, to ' 
 
 ' Are you really going, my gel ?* he asked. 
 * Are you really and truly bent on going .^' 
 
 * Yes,' she answered. 
 
 *Then let me have jest one word with you 
 before you go. If you do that, I'll promise never 
 to trouble you again.' 
 
 She looked at the officer. 
 
 *Let me speak to him,' she said. 'I'm not 
 afraid.' 
 
 And while the officer somewhat dubiously and 
 suspiciously walked a few paces aside, she stood 
 
A RESPITE 389 
 
 and looked sadly at her husband, waiting to hear 
 what he had to say. But he did not speak ; he 
 seemed too smitten down and overcome. His 
 face twitched, and again and again he drew his 
 hand nervously across his mouth. 
 
 ' Oh, Matt !' she cried, * forgive me ! I'm cruel ! 
 I can't bear to see you take on like this !' 
 
 He turned his eyes upon her with a long wistful 
 gaze, and she saw that the tears were rolling down 
 his cheeks ; but when she put out her hands as if 
 to take his, hev shrank back at first as if from a 
 blow, then, dashing the tears from his eyes with a 
 nervous laugh, he seized her hands in his and 
 thrust his wild face close to hers. 
 
 * It's maybe the last look Til have of my little 
 gel in this world,' he said, while his hot breath 
 came and went upon her cheek, ' so don't you be 
 angry with me, and don't you be afraid. I've 
 been thinking it all over out there in the storm 
 while you was asleep ; and at first I was mad 
 against ye, and all my thought was to take my 
 revenge upon ye for what you'd done. But now 
 I don't feel like that. I feel too sick and tired 
 and 'shamed. I ought to have knowed you could 
 never care for me ; I ought to have behaved 
 myself decent, seeing as 'twasn't your fault alto- 
 gether, but the will of God Almighty. Lord! 
 Lord ! what a fool I've been!' 
 
390 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' It is my fault, Matt,' sobbed Annie, ' and I'm 
 an ungrateful girl ; but I couldn't live with you 
 like that.' 
 
 ' O' course you couldn't, Anniedromedy ; I see 
 that plain enough now/ the man answered ; and 
 as he spoke he released her, and, turning his eyes 
 away, looked sadly and wearily towards the river. 
 
 The masts of a great ship, which was being 
 towed seaward, appeared above the sea-wall, 
 moving slowly southward, and he watched them 
 quietly as he continued : 
 
 * I thought I was a man, Annie, but now I see 
 I'm only a complainin' fool. I was drunk, too, 
 last night, and I've been drunk too, ofF and on, 
 ever since I come home ; but I'm sober this 
 mornin', and so I want to have it out with you 
 before I get drunk again and change my mind. 
 My gel, ever since I can remember you've been 
 more to me than meat and drink, clothes and 
 fresh air — the light of my eyes and the pulse of 
 my heart. When you was a little child I took ye 
 and sheltered ye, and thinks I to myself, *' Now 
 I've got something to live for." And I did my 
 best for ye, afloat and ashore, didn't I.^* And 
 afterwards, when I made a fortun', it was all 
 for my little Annie. So I thought when I come 
 home, being only a blamed fool, as IVe told ye, 
 that you'd maybe be glad to see me, and that you 
 
A RESPITE 391 
 
 and me would be happy together on the money 
 rd earned. I soon saw there was something 
 wrong. I was a kill-joy, Annie, and I ought to 
 have stayed away and died out there in Ameriky. 
 *Twould have been better for me — better a heap 
 for you. But it wasn't to be, my gel — it wasn't 
 to be !' 
 
 Annie felt the very heart within her breaking 
 with pity as she listened. 
 
 'Don't talk like that, Matt! You make me 
 feel the wickedest girl in all the world. It's 
 not too late. FU stay with you ; Til try to care 
 for you ; Til ' 
 
 He stopped her with an impatient motion of his 
 hand. 
 
 ' No J my gel,' he answered. ' You'll go your 
 ways, and I'll go mine. If you did what you say, 
 'twould only breed more trouble ; it's best as it is. 
 I'm like a sick man ; I don't like my physic, but 
 I've got to take it. But before you go I want to 
 tell you this: the money I've made is yourn — 
 every penny. I earned it for you ; I saved it for 
 you, and I've no use for it. So if you'll let Job 
 Endell know where you be, I'll make that 
 straight.' 
 
 ' I can't take your money !' cried Annie. ' It 
 would be too shameful, after the way I've treated 
 you ' 
 
392 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * That*s another coil o* ropes,' returned Watson, 
 with a sad smile. * If ye don't take the money — 
 if ye don't let me be a friend to ye — I shall think 
 ye hate and loathe me more'n I want to believe. 
 It will be a pleasure to me to think that arter all 
 I haven't wasted my time, and that someone will 
 be the comfortabler for my saving.' 
 
 ' 1 won't take it ! I won't take it !' 
 
 ' My God, you will though !' the man exclaimed, 
 with a touch of his old fierceness. * It's yourn, not 
 mine ; it would blister my hands if I touched it. 
 If ye like,' he added, ' ye may count on it as some 
 payment for having robbed ye of your fancy man.' 
 
 Her face went white. 
 
 ' It was true, then ? You were not lying to 
 me.'^ You have dared to harm him ?' 
 
 * I see you know who I mean,' he returned, with 
 a grim nod. * Yes, I've settled that reckoning, I 
 fancy.' 
 
 She shrank back from him with an exclamation 
 of horror. 
 
 * Then I'll never forgive you ! Oh, you — you 
 coward !' 
 
 ' I suppose it was a bit cowardly, but I couldn't 
 help it, and he deserved it. At any rate, it's no 
 use crying over spilt milk. Well, good-bye !' 
 
 He held out his hand, but she pushed it from 
 her passionately, crying : \ 
 
A RESPITE 393 
 
 ' If you have harmed him, as you say, you shall 
 be punished. I will denounce you — I will !' 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and spat upon the 
 ground. 
 
 * All right, my gel,' he said, ' as soon as ye like ; 
 I'm ready. It don't matter much to me now what 
 becomes of me, and if it's a hanging job — why, it's 
 as good to hang as to drown ! If I can't have the 
 one thing I wanted, all the rest don't count. So 
 good-bye again, and God bless ye, Anniedromedy !' 
 
 He turned and walked away from her slowly, 
 his eyes upon the ground. But she ran after him. 
 
 ' I don't believe what youVe told me,' she 
 panted. * Tell me it isn't true, and I'll stay with 
 you.' 
 
 * It's God's truth. But p'r'aps he ain't dead, 
 only hurt a bit. I hope it's so, for your sake.' 
 
 * Oh, Matt, Matt,' she sobbed, ' there was never 
 anything wrong between us. But he was kind to 
 me, I liked him, and — and if any harm has come 
 to him through me, it will break my heart !' 
 
 He placed his hand gently on her shoulder. 
 
 * So bad as that?' he said huskily. * Well, then, 
 I'm sorry. It warn't your fault, my gel ; we can't 
 help our likes and dislikes — and he was a young, 
 handsome chap, and me nigh old enough to be 
 your father. Good-bye.' 
 
 * Good-bye,* she moaned ; and, still sobbing 
 
394 ANDROMEDA 
 
 hysterically, bent forward and kissed him on the ; 
 cheek. Then she ran down to the boat, where the 
 men were waiting. 
 
 Matt Watson stood and watched her go. Then 
 he saw her lifted into the boat, and seated by the 
 officer in the stern. As the boat rowed rapidly 
 away, he noticed that she did not look back, but 
 was seated with her face hidden in her hands. 
 He stood like a marble man, watching the boat 
 until it disappeared ; then, with his teeth set 
 tight, and his face as ghastly as a mask of death, 
 he walked slowly and wearily in the direction of 
 the Lobster Smack. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 AT THE STUDIO. 
 
 The wound which Somerset had received from his 
 midnight assailant, being neither deep nor given 
 in a vital part, would have healed with tolerable 
 rapidity save for the state of mental tumult into 
 which the young man had been thrown by the dis- 
 appearance of Annie. As it was, fever ensued, 
 signs of blood-poisoning supervened, and the re- 
 covery was very tardy. However, Bess proved a 
 capital nurse, and both Bufton and Leroy were 
 constant in their attentions, so that at last the 
 patient was able to get up from bed, and be made 
 comfortable in the one arm-chair of the studio. 
 
 His mother, distracted with anxiety when she 
 heard the news of his illness, came to see him 
 daily. The good lady was a little shocked at his 
 surroundings, and would gladly have removed him 
 to her own house, had that been possible ; but, to 
 
396 ANDROMEDA 
 
 tell the truth, he was much happier where he was 
 During his mother's visits not a word was said ol 
 their estrangement, but the fact that it had existed 
 gave a certain amount of discomfort to their interJ 
 views. 
 
 Meantime every inquiry had been made foi 
 Annie, with no result whatever. The police, ag 
 usual in such cases, confined their researches tc 
 the very area where the missing girl was leas 
 likely to be found, and again and again Bufton 
 and Leroy were summoned to inspect the remains 
 of some miserable castaway who had been found 
 drowned in the Great River. Bess, however, 
 firmly persisted that the last thing Annie would 
 do would be to take her own life. 
 
 To make absolutely sure that Annie had not 
 returned to her old home, Bufton had written to 
 Job Endell, and had received a reply expressing 
 surprise at the inquiry, and stating that nothing 
 had been seen there of the girl since she had left 
 on her visit to London. At this very time, how- 
 ever, Annie was living at the Lobster Smack, and 
 the old man and woman were taking measures to 
 reconcile her with her husband. With this object 
 in view, they had resolved to plead ignorance as to 
 her whereabouts, and to throw her London friends 
 completely ofF the scent. Their ruse was success- 
 ful, no one at the studio thinking it necessary to 
 
AT THE STUDIO 397 
 
 go In person to Canvey, with the view of verifying 
 in person the truth of Endell's communication. 
 
 With his characteristic impetuosity, Somerset 
 fretted through his convalescence like a spoiled 
 child, and his friends had all their work to do to 
 restrain him from continuing the search personally 
 before he was strong enough to get about. 
 
 He was sitting one afternoon in his chair, and 
 dozing over a new number of Dickens which had 
 just come out, when Annie walked quietly into the 
 studio. The two men were out, Bess was sitting 
 near to the invalid busy on some needlework, 
 when the missing girl appeared. Bess screamed 
 out, and Somerset started and sprang up as if 
 he had been shot ; then, with a low cry, fell back 
 fainting. In a moment Annie was bending over 
 him, her arms round his neck. 
 
 ^ Look up ! Speak to me, dear !' she cried. 
 ' Oh, Bess, Tve killed him !' 
 
 Bess, who was hysterically weeping, gently inter- 
 posed, and drew her friend's arms away. 
 
 ' He's not strong yet,' she murmured, * and he's 
 been grieving so about you. Oh, Annie, you've 
 frightened us all to death ! Wherever have you 
 been ?' 
 
 At this moment Somerset opened his eyes, and, 
 heaving a heavy sigh, looked eagerly at Annie. 
 
 ' Then it is you ?' he murmured. ^ Thank God !' 
 
398 ANDROMEDA 
 
 She was at his feet now, kneeling and kissing 
 his hands. 
 
 ' He told me that he had killed you/ she sobbed. 
 ' That is why I came back ! But you live — you 
 live ! Forgive me for being so unkind to you ! 
 Forgive me ! Forgive me !' 
 
 His eyes were fixed upon her face, tenderly 
 though inquiringly. 
 
 ' Then you have been with him ? You are 
 reconciled ?' 
 
 She laughed — a thin, faint laugh that was more 
 like a sob. 
 
 * I've been down at the old place,' she said — 
 * on Canvey Island. Something drew me there, 
 God knows what, and it was there he found me ; 
 but now we re parted, and I shall never, never see 
 his face again.' 
 
 Again Bess interposed and warned Annie that 
 the invalid was only just convalescent, and that 
 any violent emotion might indefinitely retard his 
 recovery. Annie took the hint at once and became 
 very gentle and subdued. But she quickly divested 
 herself of her hat and cloak, and prepared to take 
 her place as nurse by her lover's side, as if she 
 had a perfect right to occupy that position. 
 
 Poor little Bess, whose notions of love and duty 
 were sadly conventional, felt very uneasy. She 
 could not forget that Annie was still a married 
 
1. X J. J_i kJ 1. \^ Jl^XV-^ 
 
 ^yy 
 
 woman, and that her presence in the sick-room was, 
 under the circumstances, a breach of the proprieties. 
 She did not dare to say as much, but both her 
 looks and her words betrayed her discomfort. 
 Somerset himself, moreover, seemed somewhat 
 constrained and reserved. He, too, felt that the 
 situation was one of no little difficulty. 
 
 A little time after Annie's arrival Mrs. Somerset 
 I came to pay her daily visit to her son. She found 
 Annie seated at the young man's side, holding his 
 hand, while he lay back in his chair with half- 
 closed eyes. She said nothing, but her face grew 
 hard and severe, and it was with difficulty that she 
 suppressed her indignation. After a little while 
 she kissed her son and took her leave, but as she 
 left the studio she exchanged looks with Bess, who 
 followed her to the door. 
 
 ' Is that person going to remain.^' she demanded, 
 as they stood in the open air together. 
 
 Bess trembled and her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 ' He thought her dead — we all thought so, and 
 that we should never see her again,' she answered 
 somewhat irrelevantly. 
 
 ' But who is she ? And what are the exact 
 relations between them.? Her manner is most 
 extraordinary. Only a wife would assume so 
 much authority in a sick-room, and they were 
 actually sitting hand in hand !' 
 
400 ANDROMEDA 
 
 * They love each other very much/ answers 
 Bess, sighing heavily, and wiping her eyes. 
 
 * Love each other ? Am I to understand that 
 my son, in spite of all my remonstrances, has 
 engaged himself to this girl?' 
 
 Bess did not know how to reply. She saw 
 clearly that Mrs. Somerset knew little or nothing 
 of the real facts of the case, and she hesitated to 
 confide them to her. The result, unfortunately, 
 was that the mother drew her own deductions, and 
 assumed the existence of a degrading connection 
 between the stranger and her son. Even had she 
 been informed of the truth, her judgment would in 
 all probability have been equally severe, although 
 she would doubtless have been relieved to hear 
 that Annie was hopelessly bound in the legal sense 
 to another man. Bess did not dare to make a 
 confidante of her, and the worthy lady sailed away 
 haughtily, convinced that her son was indeed in 
 desperate straits, socially and morally as well as 
 physically. 
 
 Later in the afternoon Bufton and Leroy re- 
 turned to the studio and found Annie in the same 
 place by Somerset's side. They greeted her very 
 kindly and refrained from asking her any questions, 
 but when evening fell, and Annie still remained, 
 Bufton beckoned Bess from the studio, and 
 questioned her as to how matters stood. She told 
 him all she knew. 
 
 I 
 
AT THE STUDIO 401 
 
 * It's an ugly tangle, little woman/ he said, 
 ' and Tm afraid I see more trouble ahead. The 
 girFs husband is still alive and at any moment he 
 may be following her here. Besides, the world's 
 so censorious. You'd better let me have a quiet 
 talk to her, and then we shall know how the land 
 lies.' 
 
 The quiet talk took place in the open street, 
 while Bess resumed her place at Somerset's side, 
 and Leroy officiated as assistant nurse in waiting. 
 Bufton and Annie walked up and down under the 
 lamplight for a good hour, and at the end of that 
 time the former had gathered a pretty good notion - 
 of what had taken place. 
 
 * He wished me good-bye,' said Annie, ' and 
 promised that he'd never trouble me again. I 
 think he'll keep his word. Oh, Mr. Bufton, he 
 looked miserable ! I was so sorry for him !' 
 
 ' And so am I,* grunted the cynic. * After all, 
 he's your husband, and you can't throw him off 
 like an old glove in order to put on another.' 
 
 * I know that,' said Annie quietly. 
 
 * Then there's another thing to be reckoned 
 with : the man may only be lying low in order to 
 see what you'll do. Although he may have been 
 sincere enough for the time being, the savage in 
 him may emerge again and he again become 
 dangerous. In any case my advice is that, for the 
 
 9.6 
 
402 ANDROMEDA 
 
 present, at least, you show yourself here as little 
 as possible.' 
 
 ' I did not mean to stay !' Annie cried. * I only 
 wanted to find out if Mr. Somerset was safe and 
 well, and then ' 
 
 She paused, choking with tears, then added with 
 firmness : 
 
 * I will go away at once if you tell me to do so. 
 1 don't want to bring more trouble to him, and 
 now that I know that he's alive and — and happy, 
 I don't much care what happens to me.' 
 
 ' Don't say that, my girl,' said Bufton, placing 
 his hand gently on her arm. ' You're young and 
 strong, and have all the world before you. We 
 must think things carefully over, and see what is 
 to be done. The mischief is that the youngster's 
 so infernally fond of you — as fond as he can be of 
 anything.' 
 
 ' I'm not sorry for that, sir,' said Annie, her 
 eyes sparkling. 
 
 ' I dare say not, but it adds to the tangle. If he 
 had more unconventional pluck, I should suggest 
 that you and he should make a bolt of it, and defy 
 worldly opinion altogether. But he isn't knit that 
 way — he has too much of the Snob left in him — 
 and the result in the long-run would be misery to 
 both of you.' 
 
 ' I shouldn't care for that,' replied Annie, after 
 
AT THE STUDIO 403 
 
 a pause. ' I shouldn't care what people thought 
 of me if he cared for me. And at first when the 
 trouble came I thought the way you speak of 
 would be best ; but now, sir, I feel different. I 
 should be dragging him down and disgracing him, 
 and I'll never do that ! Besides, I feel now what 
 I never felt before — I felt that it wouldn't be fair 
 to poor Matt, whose heart IVe broken, and who 
 would be ten times more miserable if he heard that 
 Mr. Somerset and I had gone away together.' 
 
 ' You're a good little girl !' exclaimed Bufton 
 warmly. 
 
 It was settled then and there that Annie, now 
 her mind was satisfied as to Somerset's condition, 
 should come to the studio as little as possible. 
 She would stay for a few days with Bess in the 
 lodgings which Bess had taken, and then — ah ! she 
 did not know what would become of her, nor could 
 she think of it without almost breaking down. 
 
 When the two girls withdrew and the three men 
 were left alone preparatory to Somerset's retirement 
 for the night, there was a little scene. 
 
 * My mind is made up, Billy,' Somerset said 
 very quietly. * I shall take your advice, and 
 directly I am strong enough go away with Annie 
 to some lonely place where the scandalmonger 
 ceases from troubling and the newsman is at rest.' 
 
 ' So that's your programme !' muttered Bufton, 
 
 26 — 2 
 
404 ANDROMEDA 
 
 while Leroy, who had taken Bess's place by the 
 invalid's chair, blinked not unapprovingly. 
 
 ' Certainly it is/ replied the young man in his 
 old airy manner ; * or, rather, I ought to say it's 
 the programme of William Bufton, philosopher 
 and A.R.A.' 
 
 ' IVe changed it,' said Bufton. ' You missed 
 the critical moment, and it's too late now. You're 
 going to say good-bye to your Andromeda! If 
 you sail for the Scilly Isles, or elsewhere, she won't 
 go with you.' 
 
 'No?' answered Somerset, smiling. *I think 
 she will. Perhaps your suggestion is that she 
 should return to the Monster and be devoured ?' 
 
 ' The Monster is worth a dozen of Perseus,' 
 cried Bufton, and he thereupon told his friend all 
 that he had heard from Annie — of Matt Watson's 
 strange magnanimity, of his pitiful parting from 
 the woman he loved, and of his extraordinary 
 generosity in offering her everything he possessed. 
 Somerset was startled and impressed. 
 
 * Poor devil !' he murmured ; then, with a shake 
 of the head and a tremor in his voice, he added : 
 * Very possibly he'll change his mind ; but, in any 
 case, I shan't change mine. He has resigned his 
 claim, however, and Annie is now morally free to 
 do as she pleases.' 
 
 'She is still the man's wife,' returned Bufton, 
 
 I 
 
AT THE STUDIO 405 
 
 'and she herself now feels that she is bound to 
 him by gratitude, if not by affection. It lies with 
 you whether she is to degrade herself further in her 
 own and the world's opinion, or to make a fool of 
 herself in your company. If you're the man I 
 hope you are, you'll not tempt her. Leave her to 
 decide for herself.' 
 
 Several days passed, and Annie came every day 
 to the studio. A great struggle was going on in 
 " her heart, as well as in that of her lover ; but the 
 struggle was no longer a stormy one, and reason 
 was gradually subduing impulse. The interviews 
 of the two were now very sweet and peaceful. 
 Not a word was uttered concerning the future. 
 Both Somerset and Annie seemed to feel for the 
 first time that they were meeting on terms of 
 honour, and that any strong exhibition of passion 
 would be disloyal. 
 
 At the end of a week Somerset was up and 
 about, in so far as he was able to take some long 
 carriage-drives. Sometimes Annie and Bess ac- 
 companied him, at others Bufton or Leroy. On 
 the borders of the little group of Bohemians 
 hovered Mrs. Somerset, like a hen which has dis- 
 covered that it has hatched a duckling, and is 
 distracted on seeing it take to the water. 
 
 The wild winter of that year was drawing to its 
 close, but the weather was still tempestuous and 
 
4o6 ANDROMEDA 
 
 broken, and February was ushered in with one of 
 the fiercest gales that had ever raged around the 
 English coast. Nearly every morning brought 
 the report of some casualty at sea. Then there 
 came a temporary lull, followed by a recurrence of 
 bad weather. The wind, which had been blowing 
 persistently from the north-east, had suddenly 
 swept round to the south-west, and the full force 
 of the storm was being felt in the English Channel 
 and at the mouth of the Thames. 
 
 One night, after Somerset had retired, and 
 Bufton was sitting up alone, Leroy, who had been 
 spending the evening at the club, entered the 
 studio. His face was pale, his manner agitated. 
 He looked wildly at Bufton, put his finger on his 
 lips, and then, after listening for a moment at the 
 closed door of the little room where Somerset was 
 sleeping, produced an evening paper. 
 
 * Read that !' he whispered, pointing to a portion 
 of the printed page. Bufton took the newspaper, 
 and read as follows, in a column headed ' The 
 Great Gale ' : 
 
 * All along the Essex coast the storm raged in 
 its greatest fury from Harwich to Brightlingsea, 
 and thence along the English Channel, Innumer- 
 able casualties are recorded. An account will be 
 found in another column of the total loss of a 
 Norwegian merchantman on the Goodwins. For- 
 
AT THE STUDIO 407 
 
 tunately, the lifeboat was in readiness, and no 
 lives were lost. At the mouth of the Thames, 
 however, a terrible calamity occurred. Late last 
 night signals of distress were seen from a large 
 vessel which had been driven on to the dangerous 
 sands of Shoeburyness. The sea was rolling 
 mountains high, and the people of the district 
 crowding on the shore saw, amid fitful gleams of 
 moonlight, the waves sweepmg over the doomed 
 ship and gradually breaking her to pieces. Many 
 of the poor souls on board had already been swept 
 away ; the survivors had taken refuge in the 
 rigging, and appeared to be frantically gesticulat- 
 ing to the spectators on shore. Two or three 
 attempts had been made to launch the lifeboat, 
 but the seas were terrific and the crew short- 
 handed. At last one or two fishermen from 
 Leigh volunteered. Among them was a seafaring 
 man who had been living for some time in the 
 neighbourhood. To this man, more than any of 
 the rest, the successful launching of the boat was 
 due ; for he not only encouraged the men when 
 they shrank back, but forwarded their brave work 
 with what seemed a giant's strength. On coming 
 near the doomed vessel, however, it was found 
 impossible to approach close enough to take off 
 the survivors on board. It was then that the man 
 we have already mentioned volunteered to swim to 
 the wreck with a cord communicating with the 
 
4o8 ANDROMEDA 
 
 lifeboat ; and this feat of heroism he actually 
 accomplished, with the result that the life-saving 
 apparatus, rope and cradle, was attached to the 
 rigging, and one by one the shipwrecked persons 
 were passed on to the lifeboat, which hung by. 
 Several persons perished, but the majority, fifteen 
 souls in all, were saved. The man to whom, 
 under Providence, they owed their lives was the 
 last to leave the vessel, and he had just sprung 
 towards the cradle when the entire wreck broke up, 
 and he was swept into the sea. A little later he 
 was picked up by the lifeboat near the spot where 
 the wreck had disappeared ; he was still living, 
 but dangerously wounded, having been struck by 
 a fragment of the splintered mast, and before the 
 lifeboat reached the shore he was a dead man. 
 
 * Later Particulars. — On inquiry this 
 morning, we have learned that the name of the 
 courageous sailor who lost his life last night while 
 aiding the heroic efforts of the lifeboat's men was 
 Matthew Watson, and that he was a native of 
 Gravesend. He had only recently returned from 
 America, where he had gained a not inconsiderable 
 fortune at the gold-diggings, and had been on a 
 visit to some relations on Canvey Island.' 
 
 Bufton and Leroy looked at each other, too 
 touched and stupefied to utter a word. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 More honoured and beloved in his death than in 
 his life, Matt Watson — or, if we must use the 
 horrible phrase current in modern newspapers, 
 his * remains * — lay cold and coffined in one of 
 the rooms of a little inn on the shore at Leigh. 
 He had been carried there under the direction of 
 Job Endell ; for he was to be buried in Leigh 
 Churchyard, almost within a stone's-throw of the 
 estuary of the Great River. The rumour of his 
 heroism had spread all over the neighbourhood, 
 and crowds of seamen, fishermen, and country- 
 folk of both sexes filled the narrow streets of the 
 little shrimping village, and passed through the 
 room which was being used as a mortuary. 
 
 Early in the afternoon of the day after the news 
 had reached the studio Annie had arrived at Shoe- 
 buryness, accompanied by Bufton and Leroy. 
 
4IO ANDROMEDA ; 
 
 Somerset would have also been one of the party, 
 but a little reflection had shown him that it would 
 be more delicate and wise to stay away. From 
 Shoeburyness the three had driven on to Leigh, 
 and almost the first person they encountered on 
 entering the village was Job Endell. 
 
 In answer to their inquiries, the old man 
 described somewhat garrulously the course of 
 events which had culminated in the sailor's 
 heroism and tragic death. His manner towards 
 Annie was a little reproachful, yet not unsym- 
 pathetic. 
 
 *Arter you left that day,' he said, without 
 alluding further to the circumstances which had 
 led to the parting, * me and the old woman come 
 back to the Lobster Smack, and found Matt sitting 
 alone by the fire ; and when he told us you'd 
 parted, the missis she begun to cry out against 'e ; 
 for she was angry, Annie, and thought you should 
 have stayed with him you'd married. But Matt 
 bade her be quiet, and told her straight that you'd 
 gone away with his own free-will and consent. 
 He seemed dazed like and wonderful quiet, like a 
 man who's had a knock-down blow. Poor chap ! 
 he was dreadful cut up in his 'art, for he was 
 fonder o' you, Annie, than of his own life.' 
 
 ^ I know that !' cried Annie, sobbing. ' I shall 
 never forgive myself for leaving him as I did.' 
 
CONCLUSION 411 
 
 ' Well, he kept quiet like that for the whole 
 day and the night arter ; and what was curious to 
 me, knowing his ways, he never took a drop o' 
 drink. Next mornin' he axed me to go over with 
 him to Gravesend, and o* course I went ; and what 
 do you think it was for ? 'Twas to see the lawyer, 
 and to fix it all right about his money, my dear. 
 It's all yourn still, Annie — left to you in a will 
 (juite reg'lar ; and he didn't forget me neither, 
 nor my old woman, tho' he'd remembered us afore. 
 Ah, he was the right sort, was Matt Watson ; and 
 though it was alius a word and a blow with him, he 
 bore malice to no man, and never forgot his friends/ 
 
 'After that?' interposed Bufton, seeing that 
 Annie was too distressed to speak. 
 
 * Arter that, I says to him, *' Mate," says I, 
 " shall I go arter Annie, and talk to her, and try 
 and persuade her to come back? She*s only a 
 gel," says I, " and pVaps she don't know her own 
 mind." Well, he wouldn't hear o' that — he was 
 too proud, though I could see he was downright 
 miserable and lonesome. Then I axed him what 
 he meant to do. He wasn't quite clear about 
 that, but I think he'd a notion of going back to 
 sea, and never coming home no more.' 
 
 Job paused. They had been walking on slowly 
 together, and were now near the door of the little 
 inn on the water-side. 
 
412 ANDROMEDA 
 
 ' Well, we went back to Canvey together, and 
 my old woman did all she could to cheer him up^ 
 as if she'd been his own mother. He didn't seer 
 to fret much, but he'd talk werry little, and he'( 
 sit for hours smoking and looking at the fire.l 
 Most days he'd go walking alone all over the 
 island, and strolling along the sea-wall and looking 
 out at the sea, and sometimes he was out almost 
 till break o' day. The night the big storm came 
 he didn't come back at all, and me and the missis 
 was terrible anxious, fearing some harm might ha' 
 come to him. Then at last we got news that he'd 
 been away down at Shoebury, and there I found 
 him yesterday — leastways, what was left of him — 
 lying dead and broken on the seashore.' 
 
 They entered the crowded inn. It was speedily 
 whispered round that Annie was closely related to 
 the deceased man, so folk made way for her, and 
 she was shown at once into the room where Matt 
 was lying. Leroy was following, but Bufton drew 
 him softly back. 
 
 * Leave them alone,' Bufton whispered ; * our 
 place isn't there now they're having their last 
 meeting.' He added, as he walked with Leroy to 
 the outer door of the inn : ^ A new turn to the 
 old fable, isn't it? This time Andromeda is a 
 modern missie, our friend Perseus a bit of a prig, 
 but the Monster has turned out to be a Man.' 
 
CONCLUSION 413 
 
 Meanwhile Annie stood alone in the death-room, 
 looking down sadly through a mist of tears on the 
 face of Matt Watson. . 
 
 As the mist cleared away and she saw more 
 clearly, she was astonished and awestruck at what 
 she beheld ; for it seemed to her that the darkness 
 of years had passed, and the face she looked upon 
 was quite young, just as she remembered it when 
 a child. How peaceful Matt looked ! how 
 thoughtful and still ! His hair and beard had 
 been smoothed and arranged by some gentle 
 hand ; the wild, weather-beaten features were 
 composed ; the heavy lids lay softly over the 
 dark eyes. He might have been only asleep, 
 he looked so calm. The great rings were still 
 in his ears, and on his waxen hands, which were 
 crossed upon his breast, the tattoo-marks were still 
 faintly visible. 
 
 She bent forward and kissed him on the fore- 
 head, which was cold as ice. Then her heart 
 seemed to break within her, and she knelt by the 
 coffin sobbing pitifully. Her old dread and 
 physical repulsion had passed away for ever. She 
 seemed to have lost her only friend. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. 
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