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THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
Y \»i
\I^ OtsV-Olv-. -U^
i
IIEGINALD HETHEKEGE,
BY
HENKY KINGSLEY,
AUTHOR OF " RAVENS HOE, "GEOFFREY HAMLYN, ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON :
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1874.
{All rights reserved.)
LONDON :
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARiNG CROSS.
P/Z
CONTENTS
»o«-
CHAPTEK PACE
I. Me,. Digby does the Best he can under
THE Circumstances .... 1
II. The Will 18
III. Reginald Commits the Crowning Villainy
OF his Life 22
IV. The Family Forget Certain Facts about
Digby, but Remember his Money . 30
V. Reginald Begins to Sow the Wind . . 67
VI. And Begins to Reap the Whirlwind . 67
VII. The Struggle 92
VIII. The Heir to the Property is Discussed 121
IX. The Second State of that Man . . 132
X. The Ogress's Castle is Stormed . . 153
XI. The New Home 169
XII. Charles Makes a Failure in his Sermon 178
XIII. GOODGE 191
XIV. An Important Family Conclave , . 209
XV. A Poor Bubble Bursts .... 224
XVI. Mending Matters 238
XVII. Footfalls 248
XVIII. Brother and Sister 274
%~J> •4-*' «._wfc' 4 <i_*- , W
RESERVE
EEGINALD HETHEREGE
CHAPTEE I.
MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN UNDER THE
CIRCUMSTANCES.
Eeginald Hetheeege made so many
failures, and accomplished such remark-
able successes in his life, that the story
of it would be worth teUing, even had he,
the principal character in it, no more
moral value or capacity of expression
than the buoy at the Nore ; to which
most excellent arrangement of staves
and iron hoops he has been frequently
likened by our mutual friend Goodge, the
VOL. I. B
2 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
great traveller, wtio was naturally an
excessively good-humoured man about
town, but who ended by being made
F.E.S. for verifying other people's dis-
coveries.
Whether Reginald was anything more
worthy of description than the buoy at
the Nore our readers must judge for
themselves, it is most absolutely certain
that he at one time earned the love and
respect of all who knew him. He floated,
like the gi'eat buoy, passively through
calm weather and foul weather, some-
times with the waves rippHng pleasantly
about him, sometimes with the great
northern seas pom'ing over his head,
until the last ship he waited to pilot
came safe into port ; and then he broke
from his moorings, and was towed com-
fortably into port himself. So much for
Goodge's simile.
In the long course of his life he had
MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 3
many opportunities for making friends
and enemies — for making, as we before
remarked, successes and failures. He
availed himself of these opportunities to
the utmost extent of his genius — which
we rank high — during all periods of his
existence. In the way of failures and
blunders, his genius never served him so
well through his hfe as it did on the
first instance when he utilized it. The
most magnificent blunder which Eegi-
nald ever made was being born at all,
or, to be more correct, being brought
into the world exactly when he was.
In all his future transactions, remarkable
as they were, he never approached his
first masterly fiasco.
He was humbly conscious of this
through his hfe : up to quite a late
period in his existence he would cooUy
and bravely face any member of the
family on any other point, but always
4 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
grew slieepisli wlien it was pointed out
to liim (as at one time it very often was)
that he liad inflicted awful wrong upon
the family by being born on Sunday
night. It was too fiightfully true to be
gainsaid, and he, the poor man of the
family, suffered for it heavily. The ma-
jority of the family, or, rather, of the
five families, were rich, and consequently
moral : at all events, it was not worth
their while to put him out of the way ;
still he went near expiating his crime, or
worse, his blunder, on many occasions.
The cii'cumstances smTOunding his bii^th
were nearly the same as those in the
Juif errant of Eugene Sue, and there
was nothing to prevent his having been
the hero of a similar romance, except
that he Hved in England, and that the
estate was contended for, not by Jesuits,
but by the legal advisers of some rich
families.
MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 5
The origin of tlie five families to whom
Eeginald was about to become the victim
is lost in the mists of obscniity. Their
names were Digby (the great merchant),
Simpson, Talbot, Murdoch, and Heth-
erege. They had originaUy, all of them,
it was said, come from the North, but
they never cared very much for going
into their ancestry, with the exception
of the Talbots, who had some very dim
and remote connection with Alton towers,
and also with the recently ennobled
family of Snizort : which, at the time
when our story begins, was represented
by Mac Snuffles of Sneeze : the Barony
of Cackle having been in abeyance since
1748.
At the time of Eeginald' s birth the
head of all the famihes was acknowledged
to be old Digby, the last of his name, as
he declared (though by looking about
him he might have found a few poor
6 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
relations). He, however, for reasons of
his own, liated all Ms relations, both poor
and rich, and even the richer relations
seldom darkened his doors at No. 1,
Bolton Eow, and when they did, met
with but a sorry reception. Other com-
pany was very welcome there, but it was
not of the sort, brilliant in one way as it
might be, which would in any way suit
a British merchant's wife. Whereby our
readers doubtless gather that old Bigby
was unmarried.
In the year 1780 few men were better
known in the mercantile world than Mr.
Bigby, M.P., the merchant. Originally,
people said at the time, of highly re-
spectable extraction, everything which he
had touched had turned to gold, and he
was one of the richest men in England,
though he had the reputation of being
one of the most disreputable. He had
never been married, and so had no heir,
MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 7
the destination of his money being utterly
unknown to all his relations, who were
not very numerous, and, with one excep-
tion, rich. Even the exceptional one,
however, was a clerk in the House of
Commons with a very good income, which
of course died with him ; and so, when a
man's poorest relation has an income of
J6800 a-year, he may be said not to be
plagued with those troublesome pests,
poor relations, at all — for kinship, with
some people, does not imply relationship.
Such was the account which the world
gave of the great Digby in his old age.
Mr. Digby was very much sought after
by his recognized relations, in spite of
his invariably bullying them when they
came to see him, and in spite also of a
great scandal, almost of European dimen-
sions, which ended in the House of Lords,
a duel, and the total exclusion of the great
capitaHst from court, or even from office,
8 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
for a long time. The loudly-expressed
anger of the King and Queen soured
him, and he retired from the world of
society, though not from that of poHtics.
Middle-aged when the scandal happened,
he was in the prime of his debating
powers, and his voice on certain subjects
which he had made the study of his life,
was law in the House of Commons.
The lady to whom the scandal attached
died without his having made her the
reparation in his power. That his con-
duct with regard to her in this respect
was considered highly dishonourable, in
a not very particular age, he was soon
made aware by the most free hving of his
acquaintances. What his reasons were
no one knew, but he used to say that no
one ever forgave his behaviour but his
own relations.
Towards these relations the old man,
disappointed and miserable with all his
MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 9
vast wealth, conceived a detestation bor-
dering, tliey tliouglit, upon lunacy. One
of tliem only was often admitted to see
him — WiUiam Hetherege, the clerk in the
House of Commons. He, as he roughly
expressed it, got more kicks than half-
pence.
Scandals die out to a certain extent
after a time, more easily, perhaps, in the
case of great capitalists and great orators
than in the case of common people ; as
for the great scandal of all in this case,
people began to say that the unhappy
cause had mainly brought it on herself,
and that old Digby had his reasons for
what he did. A man may be a con-
siderable villain in certain societies if
he has a million and a half of money;
and although certain people had helped
to treat Digby as a social Timon, yet
they remembered that Timon had not
lost his money by any means, and re-
10 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
membered tlie times when "Timon's gold
trod heavy on their lips " — for the mer-
chant used to entertain well, and was
generous with his money. After ten
years, Digby might have been pretty
much where he liked — in men's society,
at all events ; he liked, however, to be
at his office, his home, and the House
of Commons.
His family, though they paid him all
the court they were allowed to, spread
the most remarkable rumoui's about him,
which no one believed, and which, get-
ting round to his ears again, did them no
good at all. The most popular of these
rumours among the family was that he
had sold himself to the devil. This must
have come to the old man's ears, and
we shall see what very grim mischief he
made among them in return for their
kind suggestion. It was the most expen-
sive piece of nonsense ever set afloat
ME. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 11
by any human family, and, but for tbe
tender care of the lawyers, might have
paid off a large part of the national debt.
At last the old man failed rather sud-
denly ; he had a quiet warning which he
and his doctor kept to themselves, but
he knew his end was near. The doctor
asked him if he had made his will, "for
now," he said, "that you are recovered
it is the time to do so." The old man
grinned sardonically as he told the doctor
that he had made it the day before. He
then began laughing in a strange way,
and gave the doctor to understand that
"they," as he always spoke of his rela-
tions, would find themselves considerably
puzzled.
He sent for his four principal relations
(he had none — recognized — of his own
name, as we said before), Talbot, Simp-
son, Miu'doch, and Hetherege, and when
they came he received them with friendly
12 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
cordiality. He told tliem tliat his end
was near, and Talbot, Mnrdoch, and
Simpson all concurred in saying that
they hoped he had many happy years
to hve. Hetherege, on the other hand,
said not one single word, and looked so
exactly as if it was no business of his,
and a matter of profound indifference to
him, that the sardonic old sinner was
dehghted, and stepping across the room,
he took fi'om a glass cabinet a snuff-
box set in diamonds of immense value,
and gave it to Hetherege, who thanked
him, and put it in his pocket with an
unmoved countenance.
He then informed his relations that
his will was aheady made, and that the
various branches of the family were
handsomely provided for, to the latest
generation, which they were extremely
glad to hear. While he was speaking
the door opened, and a most beautiful
MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 13
boy, about eight years old, dashed into
the room, and climbed on the old man's
knee, throwing his arms round his neck
and kissing him. None of the four had
ever seen such a beautiful boy, so splen-
didly dressed. Three of them could not
conceal then- extreme vexation at the
boy's appearance, for they saw that the
rumoiu' was true which they had heard,
but had constantly denied : that there was
a son in the family on whose innocent
head was visited the merchant's anger
against the mother. This boy, they
thought, would run away with a large
sum of money.
Wilham Hetherege alone spoke —
" Cousin. Digby, you owe some repara-
tion here. Of your past affairs I know
very httle, of the motives for your
strange conduct nothing. But I hope
that you have done your duty by this
chHd?"
14 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
" Yes, I have," said old Digby. " He
returns to his natural position in life ;
he must make his own way in the world."
"It is a question between yourself
and your God, Digby," said Hetherege.
" Poor Httle innocent ! My child, if you
ever want a friend — and, God knows, I
am afraid you will — remember William
Hetherege."
The boy laughed and said, "Yes, he
would remember, and so would his sister
Isabel; " and the four said good-bye, and
departed, seeing their kinsman for the
last time.
The merchant sent the boy away, and
sat a long while musing, as if undecided
in purpose. At last he said, " No, I will
not give it up. Good heavens ! what a
rage they will be in ! " Here he laughed a
laugh rather horrible to hear than other-
wise. The grim, heartless old sinner,
with the power of his wealth only a
MK. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 15
matter of a few days, was laugMng as lie
thought of the fiendish mischief which
he conld make with it after his death.
He ordered his carriage, and, greatly
to his valet and housekeeper's dismay,
told the coachman to drive to the House
of Commons. " There will be a row
about the first clause in my will," he
said to himself, " and Murdoch and
Simpson are quite noodles enough to try
and set it aside on the grounds of
insanity. I must show in the House,
and talk the hardest common sense. Let
us see, the Canal Bill is on. That will
be just the thing."
Great astonishment was expressed at
seeing him come in to take his place ;
several members offered theu' arms, and
many more their congratulations. He
had scarcely sat down when he was on his
legs again, and made the speech known
as the " Tea-kettle Speech," in what
16 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
took place subsequently. For a short
time some people thouglit that the end
of his speech was a Httle flighty; but,
after a very few years, everybody recog-
nized it to be, what many knew it to be
at the time, a speech of consummate
power and abihty.
After aUuding to his illness, and asking
for then* patience if he spoke slowly, he
begged the House to pause before inflict-
ing a heavy tax on posterity by granting
excessive concessions to canals, as was
at that time proposed. After giving a
vast number of invaluable facts from his
own experience, he went on to say that
canals were merely the precursors of far
more rapid and extensive modes of trans-
port, and that he beheved that before
very long we should be doing the greater
part of our national work by means of
boihng water. He never was more calm
or logical in his life than when he pointed
MR. DTGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN. 17
out the fact of the great power exerted
by boiling water on the lid of a tea-
kettle. Knowing him to be a man who
had made great sums by buying inven-
tions before they were known to the
world, the House hstened and wondered ;
he passed to other things, and then
sat down, leaving even those who were
in doubts about the tea-kettle, forced to
say that scarcely any man in the House
could have made a more valuably lucid
speech, with that exception.
Three days afterwards the shutters
were up at his house : Mr. Digby was
dead.
TOL. I.
18 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
CHAPTEE II.
THE WILL.
The wiU came on the assembled family
like a thunderclap. The fii'st impres-
sion of every one was that the old man
was mad; the opening clause was so
astonishing and strange, that, as the old
man himself had foreseen, it ultimately
caused a few of his more foohsh relations
to try and set it aside on the score of
insanity. The first clause, combined with
his speech in the House of Commons,
made up a piece of mischief particularly
intended to plague the two most htigious
of his relations, and which was perfectly
successful. Here are the contents of the
will, abridged. It somewhat differs from
THE WILL. 19
Thelliisson's, but made nearly as much
trouble.
" I, Thomas Digby, having been a
great sinner, having accumulated vast
wealth, and having got no good from it,
but great evil, do by this, my last will
and testament, give and bequeath the
whole of my property to my friend the
devil, for his sole use and benefit during
his lifetime, hoping that he will repent
and make a better use of it than I have
done.
" In case, however, of his dying before
me, or his not appearing in person to
claim the property, I make the following
dispositions."
After the above beginning they were
pretty well prepared for anything, but
scarcely for what followed.
He appointed Geoffiiy Talbot and
William Hetherege his executors, leaving
them i^lOjOOO a-piece.
20 BEGIN ALD HETHEREGE.
"In order to secure my faithful ser-
vants, Eobert and Anne Dicker, from any
possibility of legal troubles, I have already
provided for them by deed of gift during
my hfetime. In the same manner I have
done aU which I intend to do for my
illegitimate son, who at present bears my
name, and for his haH-sister. Eobert
and Anne Dicker are appointed his guar-
dians, and the boy wiU bear the name
which I have given to them in my in-
structions. If the boy does well, he has
my blessing ; if he does badly, I love him
far too well to give him my curse."
The whole of his estate was then to be
reahzed and placed in the Enghsh funds.
No one of his fom' principal relations,
Hetherege, Talbot, Simpson, or Murdoch,
or any of their male descendants living
at the time of his death, were to take any
further benefit from his property. After
the death of his last Living relation in
THE WILL. 21
eitlier of tlie fom* families named, that
was to say, after the death of Alfred
Hetherege, son of WiUiam Hetherege
(who being now twenty-fom', might last
till sixty-fom^), possibly in the year 1820,
a settlement was to take place. The
eldest male descendant of the Heth-
ereges, not ahve at his death, was to
take one half of the property then
existing ; the other haK was to be
divided equally among the hving male
descendants of the Simpson, Talbot, and
Murdoch, who were ahve at his death.*
Such was the will. It entirely pre-
vented any one save the executors from
touching a penny, and left them exactly
as they had been before.
* The Thellusson ■will was far more absurd than this
one. The result would have been 170,000,000 of money.
22 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
CHAPTEE III.
REGINALD COMMITS THE CROWNING VILLALNY OP
HIS LIFE.
Not very long afterwards, Lord North
was speaking to Lord Tliurlow, of com*se
about indifferent matters, for they were
no longer colleagues. " Have you seen
tliis lunatic mercliant's will?" he asked.
''Who would have thought that Digby
would have gone mad at last ? "
" It is," said the great law^^er, " one of
the cleverest wills I ever saw. The man
has done as he always did, exactly what
he wanted to do. He wanted to annoy
his relations, and he has done it ; I could
not have succeeded in doing it better for
him myseK. Nothing could have pre-
THE CROWNING VILLAINY OF HIS LIFE. 23
vented liis locking up his property for a
certain number of lives, or leaving it to
Bedlam. He has done more — he has left
exactly such a will as will tempt his
relations into law."
"Why did he hate them so?" said
the other.
" It runs in some famihes," said Lord
Thurlow. "What would become of us
lawyers if it did not ? ' '
" Will the law set the will aside?" said
the other.
" Kill the goose that lays the golden
eggs? I should fancy not easily," said
the lawyer. " There will be money
enough come into the lawyers' pockets
to rebuild the temple at Jerusalem, if
the Templars will join us Lincoln's Inn
men. Good-bye."
The Hethereges, Like most poor people,
had the habit of marrying early. Wilham
Hetherege had married early, and his
24 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
son Alfred, the youngest male relative of
Digby, the last on the black list, had
been married nearly the prescribed time
which is laid down as that when an
addition to the family may be looked
for with tolerable certainty. The Heth-
ereges, father and son, were of no great
importance to the family, not being rich,
and the consequence was that the state
of health of Mrs. Alfi-ed was a matter
of profound indifference to them. The
nurse, however, was in waiting at the
very time when Mr. Digby made his
extraordinary speech in the House of
Commons on the subject of tea-kettles.
Alfred was a junior clerk in the House,
under his father, and of course heard his
speech. He was at first under the im-
pression that his cousin, the great Digby,
had been drinking ; but his speech was
so fine, and yet so very absurd, that he
determined to make his w^ife laugh about
THE CROWNING VILLAINY OF HIS LIFE. 25
it. She wanted a good laugti, for she
had been low m her mind ever since the
nui'se had come into the house.
In fact, Nurse Smart was not at all
a reassuring person. She was aristocratic
and expensive, or the Hethereges, as
poor people, would not have had her
at any price. She was very reHgious,
warranted very temperate, very lady-hke,
and was supposed to be the daughter
of an archdeacon or magistrate, no one
ever knew which ; but she was not
reassuring. And the only fault to be
found with her, said the doctors, was
that she was used by over-precaution to
make young mothers too nervous. One
of the great doctors of the day said that
she was the most ignorant old humbug
in London ; but he was always violent.
She had talked persistently about no-
thing but the coming event to Mrs.
Alfred, until that young lady was as
26 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
close on a nervous fever as need be. She
had got hold of a Prayer-Book and had
read the first sentence of the Churching
Service, which was less assuring than
the conversation of Nurse Smart. She
was very glad to forget the ''pain and
peril" mentioned there by seeing Alfred
come smiling in fi'om the House of
Commons.
" My darling," he said, " I have such a
joke for you ! Cousin Digby came down
to the House and made one of the most
masterly speeches ever heard, after which
he said that he intended to be dragged to
Manchester by a tea-kettle. He is as
mad as a hatter."
This was too much for Mrs. Alfred.
She shut up her Prayer-Book, rose to her
feet, stretched out her hand, and said in
a loud, shrill voice, —
" My child, my child ! My unfortu-
nate, neglected, unborn child ! My last
■ THE CROWNING VILLAINY OF HIS LIFE. 27
hope is gone — the hope that would have
sustained me through everything is taken
from me. I thought that Cousin Digby
would have taken to it, and provided for
it ; now I hear that he is a raving maniac.
Let me die."
She fell into his arms as Nurse Smart
came rushing in. " Why, what is the
matter with the poor lady, sir ? You
ought to be ashamed of yourself."
" Say it was me," said Alfred, with un-
grammatical recklessness. " Yes, say it
was me. Oh yes. Ha, ha ! I did it ;
quite so."
Here Mrs. Alfred, who had sank back
on the sofa, grew extremely faint, and
murmured, " Let me die."
She was really very ill indeed, and the
nurse told Alfred, with a scared face, that
she had received a severe nervous shock.
It was undoubtedly true. She was a
httle, fragile being, who had been a long
28 • REGINALD HETHEREGE.
time ailing. Any sudden intelligence
would have been most dangerous for her.
The intelligence which Alfred brought
appeared to her, in her over-wrought
state, to be overwhelming, and she sunk
under it. She, in fact, never ultimately
recovered the effects of that unlucky joke.
Nurse Smart begged Alfred in heaven's
name to fetch the doctor. Alfred fled
and roused Savile Eow, sending every
doctor he found at home away to his
house at once, and leaving word for every
one to follow post-haste. There were so
many carriages at his door that night
that the link-men thought he was giving
a party, and assembled in some force
until undeceived, when they sulkily de-
parted.
Actually before he got home the child
was born. The first doctor was only just
in time to usher the child into the world,
and be able, with the nurse and two other
THE CROWNING VILLAINY OF HIS LIFE. 29
hastily arrived doctors, to swear as to tlie
date of its birth. The minute was of
very httle matter, the hour was very
Httle matter : the tvretched little siuindler
was horn nearly tivo days before the
death of Dighy. And until that child
was dead and buried not a human being
could touch a penny of Digby's money,
with the exceptions previously mentioned.
30 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
CHAPTEE lY.
THE FAMILY FORGET CERTAIN FACTS ABOUT
DIGBY, BUT REMEMBER HIS MONEY.
There was fearful consternation among
tlie assembled relatives when the will was
read. Even Geoffry Talbot and Wihiam
Hetherege were disappointed. Practi-
cally no one was to feel the direct benefit
of the old man's money until after they
were as dead as he was : a rather
ghostly idea. When they first reahzed
the facts, the first effects on some of them
were muttered curses. If the old man
had risen fi'om his grave then and seen
them he would have been amply re-
venged, and might have altered his will.
THE FAMILY FORGET CERTAIN FACTS. 31
But the most able and benevolent of
our tbeologians doubt whether departed
spirits are allowed to see the fiTiition of
their actions in the next world, or the
sphit of the departed Digby might have
laughed a laugh so grim and happy as
to be enthely out of place either in the
nether or higher regions.
The youngest Kving man, as we have
said before, was Alfred, then twenty-four,
and of weak health. Before his death
nothing could be done — unless they
could set aside the will.
That was improbable, but possible.
Each man saw that at once ; but, then,
each man profoundly distrusted his neigh-
bour, and no man was lawyer enough to
say what the effect of success would be. It
was evident that unless something could
be done by united action they could only
calculate on their descendants inheriting
the money. That was something, for,
32 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
with, the exception of Hetherege, they
were all rich, and the possible succession
of their heirs male would reflect its
splendour on them. They had enough,
and might live the more easily and freely
as their descendants were provided for.
Still the will was a terrible disappoint-
ment.
Geoffry Talbot seemed to be out of the
reckoning altogether, for he was a child-
less widower, getting old.
William Hetherege had a son Alfred,
who was married and expecting a child.
As matters stood, this young man's child,
if a son, would be the first to participate
in the will. But none of them knew
exactly when the child would be born.
Richard Murdoch had one son, con-
sumptive and dissipated, who might
marry.
Robert Simpson had a daughter who
had married her cousin, was thirty-two
THE FAMILY FORGET CERTAIN FACTS. 33
years of age, and had not as yet had
any children.
Geoffry Talbot was the first man who,
spoke. ''You see, cousins, that we have
made a mess of it. We flattered and
harassed the old man so continually that
he lost confidence in all of us except
Hetherege. As it stands it seems to
me that Hetherege has every chance of
seeing his grandson in possession of half
the money — when he and his son are in
heaven. I take my £10,000, and retire
from the contest. Cousin Dick Mur-
doch, your son may marry. Let him be
quick about it, or he will die of drink ;
his son will share. Cousin Bob Simp-
son, your daughter will have no children,
and you are only forty-nine. Marry again.
To recur to you, Dick Murdoch, I should
say the same thing. You are a widower,
and if Tom sticks to the brandy bottle
you are as hkely to have a son as he
VOL. I. D
34 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
is — for, perhaps, no woman would marry
him. It is obvious, cousins, that the
money must come to our children or
our childi-en's children. Why worry our-
selves about the matter ? "
Mr. Robert Simpson said, '' Cousin
Talbot, you are laying down the law
without any evidence. My daughter
may have children yet."
" She may not have a boy. Cousin
Simpson," said Geoffry Talbot, who had
the family failing of dehghting in annoy-
ing his relations, though he was one of
the most agreeable and placid tempered
men in Europe. " Besides, in the case
of a vast inheritance hke this it would
cost j620,000 to prove whether the old
man, from his wording of the will, meant
the money to go through the female
branch at all. No ; I should marry again.
Alfred's expected child may be a girl, in
which case I might think it worth my
while to marry again, even at my age."
THE FAMILY FORGET CEETAIN FACTS. 35
William Hetherege spoke. '^ You are
not aware, then, that Alfred's wife was
confined two days before the old man's
death. The boy is a very fine boy, and
is hkely to do well. I did not mention
the matter, because I did not know, any
more than you, the contents of this will,
and I did not think that my affectionate
relations particularly cared to know of
the circumstance."
" This is a swindle," said Simpson.
*' There will be no settlement till about
1860, if the boy lives," said Murdoch.
Talbot burst out laughing. '^ Come,
Hetherege," he said, "will you walk? I
shall marry now. If I have a son, it will
be a race between him and Alfred's.
* Solvuntur risu tahulce,'' cousins. Let
the old man's money go to the devil, to
whom he originally left it."
Simpson and Murdoch, however, were
not quite so cynical as Talbot. They
36 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
laid their heads together, and resolved on
law ; and to law they went.
So began the great lawsuit, which, at
one time, seemed as though it would last
for ever. It began with an effort on the
part of Simpson to get it set aside on the
grounds of insanity ; but this was only
the beginning. Other pleas and other
interests came in, until in 1830 there
were nearly forty suitors in the case,
while the man who stopped the way —
Eeginald — was only fifty. But here we
anticipate. Much had come and gone
before that, which we shall have to nar-
rate. Geoffry Talbot married, and had
two sons ; they had eleven sons ; the two
eldest of these eleven had the one three
sons, the other two. Again, Murdoch
married, and had nine grandsons, who
assisted in peopUng AustraUa with sons.
Mrs. Simpson, who married her cousin,
had two sons, who had seven sons, who
THE FAMILY FOKGET CEETAIN FACTS. 37
assisted in the population of the United
States and British North America. All
these men and boys had some hazy-
interest in the estate, down to Murdoch's
youngest grandson James, and Simp-
son's eldest grandson George.
In startHng contrast to this wonderful
increase of possible claimants in the
other branches of the family, the Heth-
ereges did not increase at all. Alfred
died, leaving one son — the auctor mali —
Keginald, who, after the death of old
Talbot, Simpson, and Murdoch, was
devoutly wished dead by his numerous
relations. Eeginald, again, had only
one son, Charles, of whom we shall
see a great deal more ; but who had
rather less right (at least, so the family
considered at one time) to exist in this
world than his father had.
At the beginning of the great lawsuit
the family quarrelled pretty heavily ; but
38 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
in the lapse of ages, seeing that there
was no hkehhood of a settlement without
murdering our fidend Eeginald (who has
to go hand in hand with us through the
story), they became as fond of one
another as relations usually are, and
assisted one another to accumulate rather
handsome fortunes. They came origin-
ally of a hard griping stock, and were
all pretty weU off when the genius of the
family, Digby, died. We shall not see
very many of them out of all the host ;
but it is necessary to say something
about the numerous sons and grandsons.
Talbot had shaken the pagoda tree
rather heavily, and so the Talbots had a
perfect Pleiades of stars against their
name at the India House; and, besides
this, they had a tradition that if a certain
deed could ever be found, Alton Towers
was their own — a tradition which gave
them great prestige, and which caused
THE FAMILY FOEGET CEETAIN FACTS. 39
them to treat Lord Skrewsbury publicly
as an interloper.
Murdoch's specialite was woolstapling.
He was one of the first to see the capa-
bihties of Austraha, and so his nine
grandsons either ruled small principah-
ties in the new South land, or drove to
their offices in London in tilbury s.
Simpson was a Manchester man, and
his seven grandsons found both Man-
chester and Charlestown very agreeable
places.
Wilham Hetherege had started at a
disadvantage with his richer relations.
He was, as we have mentioned before,
a clerk in the House of Commons, and
was a man very highly resj^ected and
looked up to — a man of grooves and
routine, who had been so long in office
that he remembered Speaker Onslow and
Sir Eobert Walpole. He was in veiy
good society; indeed, in far better than
40 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
any of the others were, who, with the
exception of Talbot, were not by any
means refined. His son Alfred came to
the desk while his father was still there,
and married on his appointment. The
result was, as we have seen, the unfortu-
nate baby.
William Hetherege took his £10,000
without dispute, and partly spent it in
good Hving. Such as he did not spend
got into the whirl of the lawsuit and
disappeared, causing him to die very
poor, leaving Alfred nothing but his
salary, his young wife's grave, and his
motherless child Eeginald. The family
saw little of Alfred, and less of the child ;
indeed, the wit of the family averred that
the cliild Eeginald was never invited to
see any of his little cousins, unless they
had scarlet fever, measles, or small-pox.
Whatever truth there was in this cruel
allegation, one thing is certain — the boy
THE FAMILY FORGET CERTAIN FACTS. 41
grew up without any serious ailment,
and, not content with, robbing all his
young relations of their inheritance, in-
sisted on being much better looking,
more amiable, and more clever than any
one of them. Alfred, being a man of
moderate means, naturally chose an ex-
pensive school for the boy ; and he was
sent to Eton, with a view of going into
the army. He displayed considerable
talents at Eton ; and in the opinion of
all who knew him, he was much too
good for a marching regiment. However,
he entered one, and managed to be very
highly respected and loved by his brother
officers, and adored by his men. His
necessary allowances were, of course, of
some trouble to his father ; but Eeginald
was so very careful, that they got on
very well, to the great astonishment of
the family, who considered them as very
little better than mendicants. When
42 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
they heard that Reginald was about to
unite his fortunes and handsome person
to those of a young lady of beauty and
wealth, they said that it was really time
something did turn up in that quarter.
When it was understood, however, that
the young lady had only ^900, they
washed their hands of the whole beg-
garly business, and left father and son
to go to destruction together.
Reginald's charming manners and great
ability made him some powerful fiiends ;
and the young lady he had married,
though not rich, was exceedingly well
connected. It was thought eminently
necessary that he should be provided
for, and his friends, not his relations, con-
trived to ring such continuous peals of
bells in his praises into the ears of a
minister, that at length, with much bad
language, the minister gave Reginald
a place which he wanted for some one
THE FAMILY FOEGET CERTAIN FACTS. 43
else ; and he left tlie army for the writing
table with a salary of <£500 a year, rising
to ^800.
He lost his father and wife nearly at
the same time, and was left alone with
his only child Charles. One affliction
brought on another, each of which he
bore with a curious gentle endurance,
which was one of the most remarkable
traits in his character, and which never,
during all which followed, deserted him.
His father died, and he had scarcely
recovered the grief which this event
caused to an extremely sensitive and
affectionate disposition, when the over-
whelming affliction of his wife's death
followed ; she being the third Mrs.
Hetherege in succession who had died
leaving only one son, which the other
branches of the family considered a judg-
ment on the Hethereges for the iniquity
of existing at all. Eeginald had always
44 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
been a very careful accountant, but in tbe
absence of mind which followed his last
grief he let the affairs of his office get
into irretrievable confusion. By signing
wrong papers without examination, he
had permitted a fraudulent clerk to em-
bezzle some c£18,000, for which he was
made answerable ; he was left with a
growing boy and a salary of j£200 a year
until the monstrous debt was paid.
There now came to Keginald a period
of continual debts and duns and anxiety,
which would have soured for ever a man
with a less philosophical mind than his.
Executions in his house occurred more
than once — always, fortunately, when
the boy Charles was away. He made
acquaintance with the bailiff's man, and
learnt many curious things from him.
When he was arrested he used to make
friends in the sponging houses. All
these debts, which so cruelly worried the
THE FAMILY FORGET CERTAIN FACTS. 45
innocent, stricken man, were mere com-
parative trifles contracted when he was
in a good and rising position, perhaps
amounting to about one year of his old
income. The poKcy of the family invari-
ably was the same — to let matters come
to a crisis as above mentioned, then pay
the sum required, takiog it in turn ; and
afterwards have their money's worth out
of Eeginald in a good scolding; after
which they would go to church in pewsful,
and confess themselves miserable sinners
with extreme satisfaction. Charles used
to say that these were the only true
words they ever spoke ; but we shall see
what kind of young gentleman he was
immediately.
On more than one occasion, when the
deputed member of the family arrived
at the scene of disaster, he found every-
thing paid and most entirely comfortable.
Whenever this happened, and the mem-
46 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
ber asked who had paid, it was always the
same people — Messrs. Cox and Green-
wood, Craig's Court, Charing Cross. That
eminent firm seemed to have quite a pas-
sion for Eeginald, which was as great a
mystery to the family as it was to
Eeginald himself. Neither the family nor
he, however, had the least wish to make
impertinent inquiries, or to look at one
single tooth in the mouth of that gift
horse.
Well fitted for society, and liking it,
Reginald gave it up entu'ely, and, much
against his will, lapsed into a Bohemian
sort of life. He had no cause to com-
plain of his old friends, but he was per-
force shabby when not at his ofiice, at
which place one well-cut frock coat was
made to last him four years. He cer-
tainly kept up acquaintance with his more
intimate friends, but his visits to them
were few and far between.
THE FAMILY FOBGET CEETAIN FACTS. 47
The boy diaries grew np a fine, hand-
some lad, mth a great deal of promise,
and a very sharp tongue. He was in a
very different position to his father, as
far as the family were concerned. No-
thing could possibly take place until that
wretched Eeginald was out of the way.
Then the boy would be heir to untold
thousands. Lionel Talbot, a young bar-
rister mth nothing on earth to do but
to mind other people's affairs, made out,
by a careful calculation, that Charles
would be worth about three milHons of
money. Aunt Hester Simpson, on the
other hand, calculated the sum at five
hundred pounds ; the plain truth being
that, according to one theory, Charles
would have come into about ten milhons,
and to another that he would have to go
into the bankruptcy court the moment
he came of age. Charles and the vast
majority of the family, however, beheved
48 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
him to be possessed of almost incredible
wealth. The family, considering his
father a di-ug in the market, a person
only to be tolerated, and hardly that, took
considerable notice of the boy at one time
as a possible heir. The father, with some
of them, was a certainty and no good
whatever. He had gone to the bad.
The boy probably would also ; but, as
church-goers, they read in the Funeral
Service that a man brought nothing into
this world, and that it was certain that
he could take nothing out. Consequently
Charles Hetherege could not possibly
take a million or so of money away
with him. He must leave it behind
him : he might as well leave it in their
direction as in another. The boy, there-
fore, was a person to be cultivated. Un-
fortunately the boy knew his own power,
and was utterly bumptious, even with
Aunt Hester.
THE FAMILY FOEGET CERTAIN FACTS. 49
He liked her the best of his relations,
but he was utterly devoted to his father,
and looked on the family as his natural
enemies. Aunt Hester was supposed to
have testamentary designs towards the
boy to the sum of a few hundreds, but
she was entirely wrapped up in a certain
cousin James Murdoch, who would get
the main part of her property.
Miss Hester Simpson, the great novel-
ist, whose name is known fi'om China to
Peru, was the nearest relation which the
boy Charles had next to his father. She
was third cousin once removed. When
and how she was removed, we are unable
to find out ; but she was almost certainly
third cousin. She had no interest in the
lawsuit at all, but was generally con-
sidered head of the family, for what
reasons does not exactly appear. She
loved her relations as well as the dead
merchant Digby, or the boy Charles.
VOL. I. E
50 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
As regards the latter, tlie niention of
any one of tliek names brought a howl
from him. He had to go and stay at
their different houses, and his father was
always under pecuniary obhgations to
them. He repaid then- hospitahty by
behaving as badly as he could. He had
always a certain sense of reserved power,
and the knowledge that the family wished
his father out of the way. On one occa-
sion, in early youth, he was extremely
naughty in the house of Aunt Hester.
Aunt Hester rebuked him, pointing out
that boys who took stolen apples to bed
with them, not only lost their chance
of eternal bhss in the next world, but
ruined their insides in this. The boy
repHed, "Fiddle-de-dee! You are pre-
cious careful of my inside, because I
shall have a heap of money when pa
dies. But I wouldn't trust any one of
you" (meaning the family) ''to make
THE FAMILY FOEGET CEETAIN FACTS. 51
pa's tea." After Aunt Hester told this
to the family, some of them dehberated
whether poisoning the boy as well as the
father would not be a justifiable action,
and she sat silent.
Aunt Hester was as capable of doing
such a thing as we are. But she wrote
a great number of novels (we mean a
great many for that time ; the exact
number is six), and consequently had to
put herself, theoretically, into a vast num-
ber of situations, into which she could
not have got in the ordinary course of
affairs, any more than she could have
poisoned Charles Hetherege. She used
to get herself nearly sent to the bad by
a wicked man (a nobleman, of course),
and get out of the scrape in the most
wonderful manner; in her great novel,
a rpj^g Triumph of Virtue," she actually
marries the villain who has planned her
ruin. She wrote such a transcendently
52 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
virtuous novel, that the world read it
with awe, and went to its ordinary places
of amusement in sackcloth and ashes.
The very loosest people read it, because
Aunt Hester, in her tremendous virtue,
sailed a httle near the wind — as was
of com'se necessary, for how can you
make vice hideous v^dthout describing it ?
Aunt Hester saw that her great moral
pui'pose would fall dead unless she let
her readers know what she meant, and
she did it, so that there was no doubt
about her meaning. Her first four
great novels, after lying unread for a
time, were twenty years ago taken up
again and praised very highly. Some
people said that they were almost im-
proper, and others said that they are
outrageously dull : we consider the people
who said so to have been idiotic. Still
the four novels became the fashion again,
and it was demanded, in some quarters,
THE FAMILY FORGET CERTAIN FACTS. 53
that all writers of fiction must model
themselves on Amit Hester. Some of
them did so, and were highly successful.
Aunt Hester's fom^ novels were a great
success ; her fifth was not so. While
she wrote about yoimg ladies, she was
masterly ; whenever she attempted men,
she made a failure, for the simple reason
that she knew nothing of them. In
her fifth novel, however, she showed
reaUy great genius. She depicted the
boy Charles Hetherege as she thought
that he would be in his future life. She
was very nearly right, and all the twaddle
she ever wrote may be forgiven for that
one sketch. It is of no use to us,
because she wrote of him i7i posse, and
we only in esse. It was a dead failure,
because her mistakes about the details of
young men's lives were really too absurd.
Still we think it her best novel. It em-
bodied the idea that a boy Hke Charles
54 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Hetherege could come to no good; in
fact, that lie was wliat the Americans
call " a limb." She expressed that
opinion to Charles frequently, while
writing her novel, and the rest of the
family were quite of her opinion.
Charles was rather glad of this. He
liked his father's company best of all,
though his father talked very little to
him.
"You can't have any money till I
die," the father said once.
" Let us do without, then," said the
boy.
On another occasion the boy said, " I
say, pa, what do you think of Aunt
Hester's novels ? "
*' They analyze female souls which
are not m any way worth it," said the
father.
It is evident to all rightminded per-
sons that the more the boy was away
THE FAMILY FOBGET CERTAIN FACTS. 55
from tMs awful heretic of a father,
who denoimced Aunt Hester's novels
as " bread and butter spiced with
impropriety," the better for him. The
family took action. " Limb " as the
boy might be, it was evident that the
boy would have a large sum of money
some day, and that he would be a
valuable parti for some twenty pretty
young cousins — for the family had gone
in not only for wealth, but for beauty,
and, breeding from selected stocks, had
attained a very high average of the
latter quahty. The boy might have
married any one of his cousins. Had
the family been Mahomedan instead
of Christian, he might have had a
harem. As it was, the boy was a dis-
reputable young scapegrace — a limb of
Satan — a brand to be snatched from
the burning, in spite of its violent, and
partly successful efforts to get burnt.
56 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
The family continued to burn their
fingers more or less severely about this
brand for a number of years. At last,
in comparing excoriations of fingers in
a grand family conclave or palaver, it
was unanimously thought that the brand
must go to a hot place, with its father
Keginald, and that the only thing to be
tried was cold water. We anticipate
very much here, however, because that
resolution was only come to when Eegi-
nald was seen to be good for eighty.
( 57 )
CHAPTEE V.
REGINALD BEGINS TO SOW THE WIND.
Eeginald gave his son Cliaiies a very
good education. The obstructive Eegi-
nald had read a great deal, and he gave
the benefit of his reading to his boy. The
family had no difficulty at all in placing
the boy at Eton ; it was as easy to them
as apprenticing him to a blacksmith.
Eeginald thought that it was for the
best, the more so that by the boy's being
at Eton, he could go furtively down by
the coach and see him. The expenses of
a King's scholar were not large, and the
father worked extra hard at journahsm
so as to take a few guineas to the boy,
58 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
and possibly distribute a few to bis
friends. Cbarles remembered bimself at
Eton as a well-dressed and ricb boy,
well repandu witb every one except tbe
masters. Tbe Sunday afternoons on tbe
terrace at Windsor witb bis fatber and
bis companions were golden Sundays for
him. His fatber was, in tbe eyes of tbe
family, a man beggared by bis own care-
lessness ; be bad signed away, at one
stroke, .£18,000 of tbe public money, and
tbe nation bad treated bim very kindly
in allowing tbe cbance of signing away
£18,000 more, witb a salary of £200 a
year. But tbe boys cared notbing for tbis.
To tbem Hetberege's fatber was tbe most
agreeable and popular man tbey bad ever
met : a very easy-going gentleman in a
blue coat and brass buttons — a lazy gen-
tleman. But on one occasion tbe lazy
gentleman, wbo was sitting and watch-
ing tbe bathers, was seen to bmi bimself
EEGINALD BEGINS TO SOW THE WIND. 59
(blue coat, brass buttons, and all) in a
parabolic curve into the water, over tbe
heads of the assembled swimmers. A
boy in the middle of the river had got
the cramp ; another boy had tried to help
him in the struggle, but could not cry
out for the water in his mouth. Eegi-
nald Hetherege was the first to see the
disaster, and had got to the drowning
boys before any one. A hundred and
fifty bare young arms bore him to the
bank with his prize. After this the boys
would have done anything for him. He
was an old Etonian himself ; and if uni-
versal suffrage was anything but a sham,
he would have been head-master. He
was taken to the tutor to be dried, and
the tutor pointed out to him the awful
responsibility which he incurred in form-
ing the mind of a great capitalist such
as his son, a boy who would certainly,
if he gave up his eccentricities, be in
60 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
the House of Lords. Eeginald, who was
in a shirt and a pair of trousers belong-
ing to the tutor, looked at his di-ying
clothes dolefully, and wondered if the
tutor would want the five-and-twenty
pounds which he had to pay that after-
noon. He thought he had better not say
anything about it, but quietly pay it. If
he asked for time it would look mean,
for the money was for luxuries which
the boy had ordered for himself; and,
besides, the non-payment might hiu't the
boy. So he put on his own trousers
sorrowfully, and, with the independence
of a Briton not in debt, asked the tutor
whether he would explain to him what
his son Charles's eccentricities were.
" He," said Reginald, buttoning his
coat, " has been two years at Eton,
and tliis is the first complaint I have
heard of him."
The tutor called to his assistance a
EEGINALD BEGINS TO SOW THE WIND. 61
master, and then Eeginald heard such
a tale ahout his son's eccentricities
as surprised even him, Bohemian as he
was. It was ohvious that the "family"
were right, and that he had for a son,
either by incubus or succubus, a very
remarkable young gentleman indeed.
This perfectly graceless man went to
London on the box seat of the coach
next morning, and when he was de-
posited in London, the coachman deposed
that the box-seat was mad, for that he had
done nothing but giggle all the way from
Windsor, and had given him a sovereign.
Eeginald had chosen to laugh at his
son's eccentricities instead of rebuking
them ; though to his credit it must be
said he never heard a hundredth part of
them, or he would never have laughed.
Charles's eccentricities were grave
enough. Eton was pretty free and easy
in those days, and, by the noble old way
62 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
of giving boys liberty, of letting each boy
find bis place, was turning out men, not
dummies. It is objected to some of our
public scbools that tbey throw boys
into temptation. We ask which of them
throws a boy into half as much tempta-
tion as a boy of the labouring class has
to endure ? We ask the oldest college
tutor this question — What class of boys
are the most trouble to him, the pubHc
school boys, who have seen Hfe and know
to some extent the value of money, or
the poor unhappy babies who come
straight from their mothers apron-strings ?
We think that college tutors will say that
the pubhc school men give them least
trouble.
Free, easy, and Hberal as Eton was
and is, she might seem to some people
a httle behind the march of intellect in
the case of Charles Hetherege. Either
that audacious young fellow was before
EEGINALD BEGINS TO SOW THE WIND. 63
liis time, or Eton was behind hers. We
express no opinion whatever; in these
days of hberty, no one hkes to express
an opinion. If we dared to express an
opinion, however, we should be inchned
to say that Eton on the whole was right,
and that Charles Hetherege was wrong.
He kept both tutor and father in igno-
rance of things Hke these : they would
have thought that a boy of fifteen is not
the person to decide about the mortahty
of the soul. Charles Hetherege did that
at fifteen years old, and was very
emphatic on the matter.
Later on, he was in holy orders,
preaching beautifully at Arcis-sur-Mer,
after having gained a great reputation
as a preacher. That is perfectly correct.
Charles Hetherege tried to prove logic-
ally the mortality of the soul, and the
utter extinction of the spuitual part of
us after death. But that was at Eton.
64 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
It would have been a good thing if that
had been his only eccentricity in that
great school of learning.
The fact was that Charles was "fast."
So fast, in fact, that a poor, wretched
old lumbering machine hke Eton, felt
it very difficult to keep up with him.
Eton has seen her great radicals. She
has nourished to her bosom such as-
tounding democratic poets as Shelley,
but she will not stand everything. When
a youth at Eton takes to cursing things
in general in good iambics, Eton hopes
that the time may come when that youth,
if of promise, may take to blessing things
in general. But when a youth takes to
cursing things in particular, Eton will
not stand it without consideration. If
a youth sings the praises of wine in Latin
hexameters, that youth will be rewarded
and extoUed. But if that youth carries
out his theory of the pleasui'es of wine
REGINALD BEGINS TO SOW THE WIND. 65
by drinking mtli the soldiers in Wind-
sor, Eton will have none of it. Another
pleasiu'e to w^hich youth is addicted, that
of fighting, may he celebrated in theo-
retical Latin, but not in j)ractice. (Here
w^e are trenching on very low gi'ounds.)
Once more, a Latin ej^igram is a fine
thing against a Eoman Emperor, but
when directed against a blameless head-
master is not to be tolerated.
Here w^e .feel inclined to draw a veil.
Aunt Hester alw^ays used to tell us that
she was going to draw the veil, whenever
she came across anything at aU incon-
venient to be mentioned. She always
told you that she w^as going to draw the
veil very solemnly. Then she did it with
two rows of asterisks at the end of a
chapter. Then she started another
chapter, and told you every mortal thing
that she had said that nothing on earth
would induce her to reveal, and a great
VOL. 1. F
66 KEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
deal more. It was tliis feminine liabit
of not being able to hold her tongue
that gives that air of frank reality to
her stories, which Keginald called more
than once in print extreme improj^riety.
We will copy her method of art as little
as possible at this point.
( G7 )
CHAPTEE YI.
AND BEGINS TO REAP THE WHIRLWIND.
Charles Hetherege just saved going to
the bad publicly. His genius covered a
multitude of sins : with all his faults,
faults of which Eton knew little, Eton
as a whole was proud of him. The books
which had been put into liis hands were
almost exclusively pagan, and he not
only imitated their style in a marvellous
manner, about which Eton knew, but un-
fortunately assimilated their contents in
a manner which Eton coidd never Imow.
His splendid scholarship saved him
from expulsion, and he went in due
course of time to King's, where he was
68 BEGIN ALD HETHEKEGE.
received with more curiosity tlian wel-
come. Six months after he had been at
Cambridge his servant, coming into his
room, found that he had not been in bed
all night. No one had seen him go out ;
he had been cheerful, nay, more than
cheerful in Hall, but he was gone. A
tremendous sensation was made about his
disappearance, and the Cam was dragged.
A week after a letter came to the Provost
from his father, stating that his son was
with him ; that, finding himself sickening
for a dangerous fever, he had fled in the
beginning of his delirium to his natm^al
protector, his father. That was perfectly
satisfactory to the college authorities.
What passed in the week before his
father wrote ? Where was he during
those six days before his father wi'ote to
the Provost ?
Money was not very abundant with
Keginald Hetherege, yet Avery, the
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIELWIND. 69
Cookham boatman, mysteriously started
a beershox^, wliicli afterwards grew into
a pnblic-lioiise, witb a spirit licence. He
called bis beersbop Tbe Eeginald, and per-
sistently beld bis tongue to tbe day of liis
deatb wbilst tolerably sober. We will
not give tbe long details made by Avery
to Keginald Hetberege, wbicb were
ended by Avery saying tliat Cbarles
was as innocent about tbe matter as
a babe unborn. Mr. Avery's notions
of " innocence " are of one kind, yom-s
and oiu'S are different. It is perfectly
certain tbat Cbarles did not believe in
bis o^vQ innocence, tbougb be was in
tbe world's way innocent. Queer fellow
as Charles was, be was incapable of
villiany to a woman. Had be been less
romantic on tbat point, matters migbt
have gone differently witb bim ; and here
we must quit this part of tbe subject.
Tbere bas been a Eoman Catbolic
70 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
I
settlement and an old Roman Catliolic
family not one . hundred miles from
Cookliam ever since — when ? Let us
say since the times of Augustine himself.
The family fought against the Spanish
Armada, refused to have anything to do
with the Gunpowder Plot, and refused to
touch the later Stuarts with the tongs.
Yet Roman Catholic they remained,
ruling a large tenantry of Protestants
with a gentle, kindly rule, and making
ahout one convert in a century, and
that rather against their mils and after
due examination. This family always
had a priest as their spiritual director,
who was always a finished gentleman,
and who was very often consulted by
Protestants in matters which related
more to tliis wicked world than to those
of the next.
Monseigneur Morton, the family priest
of these times, had two objects in
AND BEGINS TO REAr THE WHIRLWIND. 71
view: tlie one to keejD tlie family
in tlie faith, and the other to demolish
and destroy Mosheim. The first of
his objects was a very easy one. A
was as hkely to turn Protestant,
as the Sultan is to turn Jew. To begin
wdtli, it would be bad ton; and, more-
over, it w^ould carry with, it an incalcu-
lable loss of prestige in the best society
in France and Italy. Conversion in that
family was never thought of; the idea
was impossible ; so, as far as regarded
his spiritual cure, Monseigneur Morton
thought that he earned liis position
rather easily. The heretic Mosheim,
however, gave him more trouble than
he had calculated on, and he worked
like a horse to demolish him, not even
staying to supper after complines,
giving to the housekeeper great anxiety.
"Woman," he said to her once, when
she brought liim up some cold chicken
72 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
and a glass of ^dne, " Avaiint ! I am
fighting the devil, and, Hke St. Anthony,
I will do it fasting."
It was the feast of the patron saint
of the house he loved so well. The
family were away — the main of them in
Italy and France. The three boys of
the family, sons of the good old man's
heart, were at their different employ-
ments in the world — one in the armv,
one in the na"v^, and one, his own
Benjamin, with the Austrian mission
on the Upper Nile — and so the old
man determined to have a dissipation,
and the housekeeper assisted him in his
nefarious object. He had giilled chicken,
with weak claret and water, in his own
room, and then he got out Mosheim and
his manuscript.
Under the influence of the weak claret
and water Mosheim appeared to him a
low contemptible dog. Mosheim had
AND BEGINS TO REAP THE WHIRLWIND. 73
made the same petitio principii as him-
self, therefore Mosheim had no right to
carry it out half-way. Then he took
some more weak claret and water, and
saw the end of all Protestantism. He
was so elated that he looked round, and
then locked the door of his room.
He went to a closet guiltily, imlocked
it carefully, and took out sometlnng
stealthily. It was a box. He listened
carefully at the door, and then he opened
the box.
He shut it again. " The servants may
not be gone to bed," he said; "I might
be discovered." The silence of night
was over the house, however, and his
was the only light bm-ning. He opened
the box again, and took out
A cigar. He lit it, and, as he sank
back in his chair smoking it, the beau-
tiful old face seemed to ripple into
quiescence ; and our opinion is that if
74 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Moslieim and his patron, Frederick the
Great, could have entered the room at
that moment, they would have had a
hearty welcome.
A-ha ! Captain Morton, of Napoleon's
Cuii'assiers, you are not the first man
whom the women have driven into the
Church. Let us see, Monseigneur Mor-
ton, it was before you went to Moscow
that she gave you the last kiss. When
you met her after Leipzig she had just
been married. A-ha ! Captain and Mon-
seigneur Morton, she seduced you from
3^our allegiance to England, and then
threw you over like an old shoe. The
women will do it.
Monseigneur, they will never fight fair.
They stab you to the heart and leave
you to groan. Cruel ? Yes ; but who
would miss their cruelty ?
" Yet," said Monseigneur, ''she drove
me into the bosom of the Chm'ch, and I
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIELWIND. 75
have found peace. Yes, yes ! yes, yes !
81ie has boys now. I should like to get
hold of one of them and train him for
the — Church Well, her boys ought
to make good soldiers, if they have their
mother's eyes.
" He is an infidel, and so I suppose
that her boys will go to mischief. I
should like to save one of them, for I
was very fond of her. I shall have
another cigar, I think ; tobacco seems
to bring back old memories. Ealeigh
was not a real heretic, you know; that
old catamaran. Queen Bess, believed in
the real presence ; besides, it stands
to reason that no heretic could have
invented tobacco. Ho ! I am getting
sleepy, and the ghost of Mosheim may
rest in his grave for to-night. The baro-
meter is very low. Ha ! I thought so ;
there is hail."
It was not hail, however, but gravel
76 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
thrown against the window. He opened
it at once, and asked, " Who is there ? "
"A soul in desperate distress," said a
young voice.
"Go to the door at the left," said the
old priest promptly, " and I will let you
in. Are you alone ? "
" Yes ; she is gone where I shall never
go," was the answer.
" Come in quickly. It might be one
of her boys," he added.
He went down to the postern door
with a shaded candle. He admitted
some one. When he came up to his
own room he looked to see who it was.
A tall, handsome young man, with a
budding beard, and a deadly pale face,
evidently in the first phase of some
desperate illness.
The priest laid liis hand on his
shoulder, and said, " What are you? "
*' An infidel, a villain, and a murderer.
Qan you give me peace ? "
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIKLWIND. 77
" No. Do you mean that you are an
actual murderer, or only one by con-
struction ? "
" By construction."
" A woman, I suppose," said the priest.
'^Yes."
" That is bad, very bad. What do you
want me to do ? Can the law convict
you?"
" No ; I wish to God it could."
"Once more," said the priest, "what
am I to do?"
"You Romanists have monasteries,
places of seclusion, where a man may
repent of his sins, and lead a new life.
I want to go into one of them. I have
heard of you, and I want your assistance.
I will beheve anything, and accept any-
thing, if you Vkdll give me peace."
" I know nothing," said Monsigneur
Morton. "You have a conscience, which
is something. Have you any relations ? "
78 KEGINALD HETHEREGE.
"Yes; my fatlier is Keginald Hetli-
erege, of the Home Office."
" And your name ? "
" Charles."
" It is a pity that you half ruined some
at Eton with your opinions before you
left," said the Roman Catholic. "But
you have come to me for advice. We
must go to your father — you are not in
a fit state to judge for yourself. Drink
that glass of claret, and keep awake."
The Roman Catholic gi'ooms and
their horses were not long in getting
ready on the summons of the director.
On this occasion the doctor and the
master of the house were away, and so
the spiritual head had the grooms out of
bed in five minutes, and the carriage
ready in twenty. The master of the
house might have whistled to get
the same arrangement accomplished in
an hour. We heretics, who have had
AND BEGINS TO KEAP THE ^YHIELWIND. 79
tlie tliunders of the Vatican hurled at
our heads so long, and without any
visible effect, may wonder at this, but
it is undoubtedly the fact that, although
the anger of the Vatican may pass over
the head of a king without hurting it,
yet that at second hand, in the hands
of a priest, it is very powerful. A sen-
sible priest acting on Irish servants is
either the master of the house or a weak
man.
It was in the cold, dull daybreak of
a rainy morning, when Eeginald was
awakened from his sleep by a double
knock. His servants paid not the
smallest attention to it, and by long
experience he knew that he must answer
the door himself. He did so. He was
at once pushed aside by a Popish priest
and an Irish groom, who carried a young
man between them into the dining-room,
and laid him on the sofa. Eeginald
80 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
recognized liis own son, and in his con-
fusion said, " Is he dead ? "
"No," said the priest, "not yet; he
is very ill. Thank God, he gave me your
direction correctly. See, he is going to
speak again. Dennis, away with you in a
hurry. Take the carriage to the nearest
mews, and run to that dii-ection and fetch
the doctor out of his bed."
The priest and Keginald were alone
with the sick man. Charles was fear-
fully ill, and was beginning to mutter.
" Send your servants out of the way,
he is going to talk," said Monseigneur
Morton.
Eeginald locked a door at the end of
the passage, and then said, "What is
the matter ? ' '
" I can't say ; something terrible, I
fear. He came to me last night, appa-
rently believing himself to have com-
mitted some awful crime. He wanted
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIELWIND. 81
to join the Holy Cliiircli, and become a
monk. I, as an old soldier, saw that it
was a case more for the doctor than the
priest, and so I brought him to you."
" Yes. I thank you a thousand times,"
said Eeginald. "Has there been any
esclandre .^ "
' ' I fancy not from what he told me on
the road, before he got utterly delirious ;
I should say not. What he says to me
persistently is that he was not the prin-
cipal in some great crime. Hush ! he is
going to speak again. You have locked
»
the outside door."
The sick man rose up in one of those
paroxysms of brain fever which are more
horrible than insensibility — even then
death. He knew his father, and spoke
to him with a dreadful hoarse voice : — -
" Father, father ! come to me, my
own father ! "
Eeginald had his arm round his neck
VOL. I. , G
82 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
iu a moment. He kissed his son, and
the breath of the imhappy boy's body
came on his face Hke a hot flame.
''Father, it was the wretch himself;
she told me so."
" What wretch, my darling? "
"James Mm'doch. Hell gapes for him."
" Has he been with yon, my boy ? "
" Always, when yon were not. Has he
any reason to drag me to the devil ? "
''Yes, he may have his objects to serve;
but he is our relation, and Aunt Hester's
favourite. Confide in me, my boy ; I
would die to help you."
"Is it true what James insists on —
that death is extinction? "
" No ; you know it is false. Where did
you get such notions ? Put your trust in
God."
"Ay, ay; so cold, so calm. She
hardly seemed dead. I thought that she
smiled when I kissed her forehead. They
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIRLWIND. 83
liad done up her liair as she used to wear
it. They had dried it, too — that was
kind of them. Be good to Mrs. Avery
for doing that, father ; the child looked
so pretty in death.
"Hark! " he cried in a terrible voice,
" that is the last trump. We are all
ready here. Arraign James Murdoch first,
oh, Lord of Heaven! Dogi come from
yom- hiding-place, or I will take you
single-handed before the judgment-seat.
To kill my father — my poor innocent
father ! Gentlemen, I have done my best,
and I thank you for your compliments.
My father will be glad to hear of my
double first. How they knock at her
coffin hd, but she sleeps sound."
Dr. Benson, whose loud knock had pro-
duced the last outbreak, was of opinion
that Charles w^as suffering fi'om brain
fever brought on by overwork. He
had a son at Trinity, who had told him
84 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
this. Charles, with an excitable brain,
had taken up with the most singular
opinions at Eton. He had read Enghsh
and French authors until the last few
months, to the neglect of real study, and
had utterly overworked liimseK to keep
a high place in classics. Dr. Benson felt
it his duty to say to the young man's
father that he had a character for dissi-
pation — not, however, in the way of
drink. There was nothing to prevent
the young man saving both his life and
his reason, if he were kept from bad
companions.
"When I speak of bad companions,
sir," said Dr. Benson, " you know- to
whom I allude. How could you possibly
allow such an intimacy to spring up ?
Your feelings as a father, sii', might have
prevented you from handing over your
only child to the machinations of a
young man like James Murdoch, whose
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIELWIND. 85
character at Cambridge is pretty noto-
rious, according to my son."
The unfortunate Eeginald was so used
to getting into trouble on every possible
or impossible occasion, that he was not
in the least degree surprised by this out-
break of the doctor's. He had not the
very wildest idea what the doctor was
talking about. He supposed he was in
the VkTong, he always was. He had long
come to the conclusion that to be in the
wrong might be predicated of him as an
inseparable accident, almost a quahty. So
he only asked the doctor about his son's
medicine,, and bowed him out. After
that, he and the priest carried the now
quiet Charles upstairs, and put him to bed.
"He is right enough now," said the
priest, when they came downstairs ; "let
us have some breakfast."
"I do not expect we shall get any,"
said Eeginald; "at least, not before the
86 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
usual time. Yon see that I have no
power of command — I never had ; and if
I tell my servants to do anything, they
at once leave the honse with a portion
of my plate. I never prosecute, they
know that. My family object to me that
I do not prosecute ; but, then, if I did they
w^ould equally object to my doing so. I
am mainly dependent on my family, and
my family naturally object to me. Still,
being always in a state of siege by my
servants, I keep my garrison furtively
victualled. If you can breakfast off pork-
pie and claret, I can unlock that cuj^board
and give it you. I never have any words
with my servants, because I let them
have their own way. On two occasions
they have set the house on fire by read-
ing the novels of my cousin Hester in
bed; but, although I have put the fire
out, I have never complained. On one
occasion, when I saved a young woman's
AND BEGINS TO REAP THE WHIRLWIND. 87
life, she violently assaulted me and said
what was not true. Since then I have
doubled my insurance, and they may all
burn together. As a matter of detail,
Hester Simpson is not my aunt at all ;
we only call her so for testamentary pur-
poses ; she is, as I beheve, my third
cousin. I only retain the key of this cup-
board as the last remnant of my indepen-
dence as a man and a Briton. Will you
breakfast on such fare as I can give you ?
You will have this sauce with it — the
gratitude of a broken heart, which still
beats on, for your conduct to my boy."
" I want to talk to you," was the
priest's sudden answer, with a keen look.
"I want to talk to you very much. I
know more about you than you think.
You WTote that article in the about
the action of the Bishop of Macon."*
* Of course we mean tlie Bishop of A n, but
there are personalities enough flying about in the
world without our adding to them.
88 EEGINALD HETHEKEGE.
''Yes."
" You onglit to be ashamed of yourself,
that is my opinion."
" I always am," said Eeginald.
" That is a sign of repentance," said
Monseigneur. " I hardly know how to
go on with the dialogue. At your death
your son has a large fortime ?"
"Yes."
"And others?"
" Others? I tried to make it out once,
and stopped short at sixty of them, or
forty, or some number."
"Is James Mm-doch one ?"
" Yes. James Murdoch will come in
for a considerable sum ; that is to say, in
the bounds of possibility. If he is hung
his share of the money goes to the king."
" You know his character ?"
" I don't know much about him. He
was in the Turkish army, but he made
a mess of his affairs, and they would not
AND BEGINS TO EEAP THE WHIELWIND. 89
stand Mm ; lie returned to England mth
a view of taking holy orders. He will
have Hester Simpson's money. He is
needy, because he came to me to borrow
ten pounds as a relation. I had eight-
and-sixpence in the house, and I gave him
five shillings, which he afterwards paid."
'' That looks very black ; I never knew
him do that before," said Monseigneur.
"It so happens that I know the man, and
so does Benson, who attends most of our
Eoman Catholic families. When he
mentioned his name I knew it. If he
has an interest in your death, be careful."
"But I don't want to live," said
Eeginald.
" Then your interests are identical,"
said Monseigneur. " I hardly know
what to say. I can tell you this : that
fellow whom you allowed your son to
associate with — is — no better than he
ought to be. You heard what your son
90 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
said, and lie will tell you more, I dare say.
The young man is a renegade from
nothing to Catholicism, from Catholicism
to Mahomedanism. From that faith he
returned to the bosom of the Church,
from which he has been excommunicated.
I wish to say little about him. We have
young fools in our faith as you have in
yours, and the man knows more than
Well, I would not trust my hfe in his
hands. He is a spy to begin with, and
he lives on that."
" A Jesuit spy ? " asked Eeginald.
"You foohsh man! do you suppose
that the Jesuits trust their work to such
foul hands as his? You little know
them."
" What the boy said just now w^as only
babble," said Eeginald.
" Was it ? " said Mons eigne lU'.
" Then I had better Hve on eggs, so
as to avoid poison," said Eeginald.
AND BEGINS TO REAP THE WHIRLWIND. 91
"Nonsense! only take care of that
man."
" But there are forty others, as I make
out," said Eeginald. " Let us talk no
more nonsense. Hark ! the boy is talk-
ing again. Come to me in the after-
noon."
" I will," said Monseignem', and walked
away, saying to himself, "I will do
nothing unfair, but if that boy Hves he
is almost certain to come to us. The
terror of the crime which has evidently
been proposed to him, and the reaction
from his infidehty will certainly bring
him."
There were, how^ever, accidents in the
way, and Charles Hved to be an ornament
of the Established Chm'ch of Great
Britain and Ireland.
92 BEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
CHAPTEE VII.
THE STEUGGLE.
Charles's ilkiess was a long one, bnt
Dr. Benson and his fine constitution
pulled him through. By degrees, after
being utterly delirious for a long time,
he began to recover consciousness.
During his extreme delirium he had
always sho^wn the greatest horror at the
sight of his father — so great that the
poor gentleman was forbidden the room.
The first sign of his mending was his
asking for his father. He asked this
of a tall gentleman in black, who was
sitting beside him, and with whom he
had been feebly trying to join in prayer.
THE STEUGGLE. 93
There was a little stii- in tlie room, and
liis father was beside him.
''Father," he said, "I had an evil
dream, hut I am thoroughly awakened
from it. Is James Mm-doch dead ? "
'.' No, my hoy."
" Ah ! I suppose it was all a di-eam,
was it not ? "
"Oh, all a di-eam," said Reginald.
" Was it not, Mr. Morley ? "
But Mr. Morley was gone, and had
left father and son alone together.
"I am very weak, father; shaU I
die?"
"No, boy, no."
" I am glad of that. I was not fit for
it. I wish, father, that you would send
for Monseigneur Morton."
That was promised, and Reginald went
away to talk to the Rev. Mr. Morley.
" He is better," said Reginald.
" I know it," said the rector. " I am
94 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
glad you sent for me. The boy lias been
trying to pray with me."
" Thank God ! " said Eeginald.
*'I am glad to hear you say even that
much, Mr. Hetherege."
" I am going to be scolded, I know,"
said Eeginald ; " but I am so used to it,
that I really have ceased to care much
about it. But might I ask what you
mean, for you mean more than you say?"
"I do," said the rector. "It is
notorious that you winked at the boy's
dissipation, and encouraged him in his
infideUty."
" Who told you that ? "
" Several members of your own family,
sir."
" My family. Oh, I see. Yes, I quite
understand."
" Is it true, Mr. Hetherege ?"
"Well, if it is," said Eeginald, "it is
the first word of truth they have ever
THE STRUGGLE. 95
spoken of me or the boy. All wliich. the
schoolmasters practically told me about
him was that he was a strange boy, and
held strange opinions. I have been
with them since ; they knew no more,
and they could tell me no more. I
never rebuked the boy, for I knew
nothing either; and if I had rebuked
him, he might have quarrelled with me,
and then I should have quarrelled with
the only friend except my father Alfred,
which I ever had in this wicked world,
so help me God ! "
Eeginald did not bluster or talk loud
when he said this, but he said it so
quietly and so mournfully that the rector
was deeply touched, and said, Hke a man,
" Can you make a fiiend of me, Mr.
Hetherege?"
"I'll try," said Eeginald, without a
spark of emotion, "if God takes my boy
from me. Do you think He will ? "
96 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
'' No, no ! I do not think He will.
Come, Mr. Hetherege, tell me every-
thing; you must have some confidence
in me, or you would not have sent to
me when your hoy was dying."
" I have. I have fought your battle
pretty hard for you, when every shiUing
was of value to me. I have suffered for
you, and so I sent for you to sufi'er with
me."
"That was natural; but where have
you fought my battle, my dear sir ? "
" In the Apollo — who else ? "
" Good heavens ! Was it you who took
my part? "
" Yes ; I saw that you were as foully
misrepresented as I was, and I stuck to
you. The last famous article I delayed
until nearly one o'clock in the day, and
tbe editor was gone. I knew that they
could not go to press mthout it, and I
knew that it would lead to my dismissal.
THE STRUGGLE. 97
I was dismissed ; the Apollo, instead of
disclaiming it, tried to back out of it. I
lost cSlOO a-year, and the Apollo was
ruined."
" I owe you more than I can repay,
sir ; that was the turning-point of our
success — more of this another time.
Tell me, your boy has been very dissi-
pated."
" I have not known of it. I have
hushed up a great scandal, in which
I believe my boy to be innocent. If he
had ever been ruined it would have been
from the harm he did not do, more than
from the harm he has done. Come, sir,
here is the truth : I got it all at Eton —
from the men by the water side."
And then followed the truth, and it
was very bad. But the rector said —
" He has been punished in a fearful
manner. Will no justice overtake this
scoundrel ? "
VOL. I. H
98 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
" The justice of God, I suppose," said
Keginald.
" But it is tlie most infernal villany
I ever heard of, to entrap your son into
a promise of marriage. Still, there is
always reason to believe your son in-
nocent, as far as the world's ideas of
innocence goes ; in fact, the result proves
his innocence."
" So I always thought since I knew the
truth," said Eeginald.
''Well, now we will all hope for the
best," said the rector. " He has had a
frightful warning ; if he neglects it, he is
hopeless."
"I wish to tell you, rector, that he
has asked to see Monseigneur Morton."
" That is good," said the rector.
'' Is there not danger that, in his pre-
sent state of mind, he may become a
Komanist ? "
" H'm! Well, he might do worse," said
THE STRUGGLE. 99
the rector, " but I tliink that I will take
care of that, if no one else gets at him.
Mind, if Morton brings or with
him, I won't answer ; but I think that I
am safe with a pragmatical old gentleman
like Morton."
" He is a man of seductive and per-
suasive manners," said Reginald.
" Quite so," said the rector. " Add also
an extremely vain man, who thinks him-
self quite a match for any tln-ee of his
more highly-instructed co-rehgionists ;
an old English Cathohc, who considers
himself sHghted by Eome, and will take
this case in hand himself jealously as his
own, and already sees the Digby money
— if there is such a thing — safe in the
Church's coffers, he the divine agent.
I think I know the length of Ids foot.
A Jesuit would, if he got hold of the
boy now, begin by frightening into fits,
and then take dominion of him body
100 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
and soiil. Morton will do notliing of the
kind. He will only offer him rehgious
peace, without any freedom at all ; I shall
ofier him rehgious peace, with fi'eedom of
dehate and discussion. Morton will cut
him off from one-half of the literature
which he loves ; I wiU read Machiavelli
with him if he likes. The Church of
Eome, sir, is founded on such a rotten
basis that she is afraid of the truth ; the
Chmxh of England, sir, is so firmly
founded, that she takes science to her
bosom as her twin sister, and says "
What the Church of England was
supposed to say to science, according
to the rector, we do not know, because
Keginald interrupted him, and said, —
"I wanted to tell you how he came
to go to this Monseigneur Morton."
"A-ha!" said the rector, very atten-
tive at once. "Yes ; tell me that. I was
puzzled, and I meant to have asked you."
THE STEUGGLE. 101
" Why, one of his great friends at
Eton was Lord Kotherfield, who has
since tiu-ned Romanist ; and he, in his
arguments with my boy, used often to
talk about this Monseigneur, his holy,
quiet life, and that sort of thing."
" No mystery there ^ then," said the
rector, disappointed.
Charles, during liis convalescence, was
very penitent and humbled, and received
both his clerical friends with quiet grate-
fulness, without the least idea that his
two mentors were playing for him, and
that his father was looking on, an in-
tensely interested spectator, wondering
whether Cuddesdon would win, or Stony-
hurst. (This is a slight historical an-
ticipation, because one at least of those
seminaries was not in existence, but it
expresses our meaning.) His son never
talked to him about religious matters at
all — it was the only closed book between
them ; he merely knew the result.
102 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
"Father," said Charles suddenly, one
morning when they were walking slowly
under the elms in Kensington Gardens,
" have you got any money ? "
Eeginald's trembhng hand went on
his son's arm. " How much ? " he said.
" I mean this — have you enough to
send me back to Cambridge with ? "
"Thank God!" cried Eeginald, and
straggled to a seat. Even when he was
there, a tail Life-guardsman came sud-
denly and put his arms round him.
" Your father is ill, sir," he said ; " hold
him while I get him some water."
"No, my good man, thank you," said
Eeginald; " I am only overj^owered with
joy."
"Cmious, ain't it?" said the Life-
guardsman, " the day I got my first stripe
I was just the same. Why, you are all
abroad, sir, now. What is this guinea
for ? "
THE STEUGGLE. 103
" For you," said Eeginald ; " and now
go away, like a good young man."
The corporal looked at the guinea,
looked at Eeginald, looked at Charles,
and tried to look at himseK. It was
all unreal; nothing was real but the
guinea. That even might tm-n to be a
withered leaf, like a witch's money,
the next time he looked at it ; so, having
saluted, he marched off quickly to the
nearest tavern, to change it into silver
and beer.
"Father," said Charles, "why are yon
so agitated? "
" I am agitated at your decision, my
son. I feared that you might go to
Kome ; and that the priests would come
between you and me, and take you fi-om
me — or, at least, take your heart from
me. But now you have decided, and we
are both free. Oh, God be blessed that
this load is off my mind ! "
104 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
" Father," said diaries, " I see that
I have been very inconsiderate. I ought
to have told you before, that I never
really wavered. But "
" You did not like to speak to me on
the subject. It was quite natiu'al ; we
have never spoken on religious subjects,
more shame to me. You have cast in
your lot with the Church which allows
freedom. Say not another word. About
money to go back to Cambridge — yes,
I have plenty of money to keep you
there in decency. You need want for
nothing to live like a gentleman."
''Where on earth did you get the
money, father?" said Charles. "Have
you got any great appointment on a
newspaper ? "
" No — on my honour."
" Has the family ? "
"Is your delirium returned that you
ask the question, Charles ? "
THE STEUGGLE. 105
"Is it Mr. Morley?"
" Mr. Morley has euough to do to keep
himself, as you know ; every atom of his
income goes in his parish."
''Then who is it?"
" The moment I tell you that the
money stops," was Eeginald's reply,
given so full in Charles's eyes that he
asked no further questions, but kissed
his father, and promised that he would
be a good boy. So they walked happily
home to tea.
Charles could not sleep for thinking
about this money, and how his father
got it. His father was an attractive
man, and might be going to marry a
widow. He had half a dozen of theories,
none of which would fit. Perhaps we
had better tell our readers more than
Charles ever knew.
Charles had not been ill three weeks
when Reginald received the following
letter : —
106 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
" Craig's Court, June 20th, 1828.
" Messrs. Cox and Greenwood are re-
quested by their client, General Anders,
to make the following communication to
Mr. Eeginald Hetherege : —
"In case of his son Charles making
the determination, of his own free will,
to retm-n to Cambridge, and to behave
himself there with tolerable decency and
propriety, all his necessary expenses will
be paid by General Anders, under these
conditions —
" First. That his father never mentions
this fact to him until he has made his
own decision ; for the carrpng out of
this stipulation, General Anders entirely
trusts to the honom- of Mr. Reginald
Hetherege.
" Secondly. That the General's name is
never mentioned to any human creature,
including Mr. Charles Hetherege. The
General has his private reasons for
THE STEUGGLE. 107
making tliis stipulation. He has no
desii'e to get the name of being free
mth his money — he has been cheated
and robbed in his hfe quite enough
aheady. The money will be immedi-
ately stopped if Mr. Reginald Hetherege
violates his word in this respect.
" The General would be glad to know
if Mr. Reginald Hetherege requires any
assistance from the General, who wishes
to say that he tliinks, although Mr.
Hetherege has been very indiscreet, he
has not been dishonest.
"If Mr. Hetherege is at all surprised
at this assistance coming fi^om a man
whom he never saw or heard of in his
life, he begs to inform Mr. Hetherege
that it is part of a very old debt.
" Any inquiries as to General Ander's
antecedents will be singularly offensive, as,
indeed, will be any allusion to this matter,
direct or indirect, in any way whatever."
108 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Eeginald scratched his head, and wrote
a suitable reply. For himself, he wanted
nothing, but accepted the General's
assistance to his son with profound grati-
tude, and promised to com.'plj with all
stipulations. " Of course," he added, " as
the General puts it in this way, I will
not allude to the transactions between
us, and will scrupulously attend to his
wishes." He took this letter, open, to
Craig's Court himseK, and saw the head
of the firm, who said that nothing could
be more proper, and who made arrange-
ments for his drawing the money.
' • Then you ask nothing, Mr. Hether-
ege?"
''Nothing."
"I have the i^leasure to hand you a
cheque for ^£200, however," said the head
partner. "Will you give me a receipt,
please ? This is a present from the
General to yourself, personally."
THE STEUGGLE. 109
Reginald cashed the cheque, putting the
notes in his breeches pocket. He then
walked away, wondering more than ever
at the mystery of Cox and Greenwood.
The fact of the matter was that
General Anders and he were intimate
acquaintances, and that he ow^ed General
Anders five shillings, for which he was
certain to be asked the next time he
met him. The General and he had got
uj) a small paper on military matters,
and the General had found the money ;
the paper did not pay, and the General
and he had had words over the matter,
each saying that it was the other's fault.
The General was notoriously poor, and a
fearful screw with wjiat money he had
got ; so Reginald could not understand
it. He went, however, to General
Anders's house, determining to pay the
five shilHngs.
" He is one of the best men in the
110 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
army," said Eeginald to himself, "and
a really good and noble person. It was
only last week tliat he told me that he
had taken his children's bread and cast
it to the dogs, over the Bed^ White, and
Blue Gazette. Well, he will be at home,
and I shall know. Can he be the man
who has helped me so often before? If so,
why did he keep his secret until now? "
He was shown in to General Anders
who received him with kind-hearted fury.
"You will never do any good in this
world, Hetherege," he said, wringing his
hand. " The whole thing is a smash,
sir. We must stop, sir — stop, sir —
do you hear me ? — and I shall lose £50.
The Duke won't stand it, sir ; he men-
tioned the Gazette to me at levee angrily.
Gazette ! I shall be in the Gazette, and
my poor little beggars will be cast into
the street. Banknipt, after so many
years' honourable service to my country
THE STRUGGLE. Ill
— Ju500 gone in one smash, all my poor
savings of a Hfetime. I am sorry for you,
Hetherege — you always were a good,
genial, biddable fellow ; but you stand to
lose nothing, because you have nothing
to lose. You don't know what it is to
get a snub fi'om the Duke and lose
£5,000, as I do this day."
"^£5,000!" said Eeginald, "you began
with £50."
" I say £5,000 ; prospectively, I grant
you. I'll say £50,000 if I choose, sir.
The property of that journal, well con-
ducted, was worth all £50,000."
"He is not the man," thought Eeginald,
who said —
" Pray, General, remember one thing
— you insisted on conducting the journal
yourself."
"I did, sir. I aUow it. I did not
blame you ; dare you look me in the face
and say I did?"
112 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
''No, General."
" Then don't bully me, sir. I am a
quiet fellow." (He looJced it, as lie was
rampaging up and down the room, with
his clenched fists rammed to the bottom
of his breeches pockets, and his face
scarlet.) " But I will have you know, sir
— aye, and I will have His Grace the
Duke of Wellington know, that I am not
to be bulHed either by him or by you.
What are you looking at, sir ? What are
you waiting for?"
' ' I was waiting until you had done
making a fool of yourself," said Eeginald.
"Lord bless you!" said the General,
sitting down, " we all do it at times.
I dare say you do, quiet as you are.
There, it is all right ; I shan't drop more
than fifty. I did lose my temper, not
so much over the fifty — though that is
the deuce to a screw like me, who has
to lie awake aU night, tliinking how the
THE STRUGGLE. 113
dickens he can live without getting into
debt — as over the Duke's snubbing. We
must not kick against the pricks. I am
glad you came in, because I wanted some
one to quarrel with, and you take it so
quietly, and yet stand up in such a
manly, kindly way, that you are the very
best fellow to quarrel with in the world.
Let us have a cigar. Hang this fifty
pounds, though ! "
'' Does it really bother you ? " said
Keginald, when they began smoking.
"I should think it dicl,''^ said the
General, biting his nails ; ''I don't know
where the deuce to turn for it. It is
for compositors' wages, you see, and the
other fellows' wages. I have paid down
on the nail until now. I say, Hetherege,
you have been very poor."
''Yes."
" Did you ever — I don't know how to
speak exactly, but these men are to be
VOL. I. T
114 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
paid this week — honour binds me, yon
know. Did yon ever, eh ? "
" I don't know."
" Go to the— jeweller's ? "
"Yes."
" Would you go for me ? I can give
you diamonds to the amount of J6100 ;
can you take them to a jeweller's for me ?
I canH go."
a There is no need, Anders. I can lend
you J£100," and he pulled out his notes.
There was no mistake about one thing —
the astonishment of this General Anders
was utterly genuine.
"Where did you get that money?"
he asked aghast.
" I don't know. Will you borrow
some ? "
" I will take fifty for a month, as you
are in luck. Heaven is my witness I
woidd have seen you further before I
would have lent you fifty."
THE STEUGGLE. 115
" I know that," said Eegiuald, laugh-
ing; "and I know, also, that you are about
the only man in England who would have
had the rare honesty to say so."
"To say what?"
" That you would have seen me fui'ther
before you would have lent me that sum."
"Did I say that?" said the General,
blushing deeply ; " that was a most
blackguardly thing to say. But I never
can keep my tongue in order. It is true,
however. The only words I ever had
with my poor wife, who is gone, were
about that habit of saying what I meant.
Shall I give you a biU ? "
" No, name a day : your word is as
good as your bond. How many Anders
are there in the army of whom one could
say the same ? "
" Well," said the General, going over
them on his fingers, " there are only two
generals in the King's service besides
116 REGINALD HETHEREaE.
me : you might say tlie same of both of
them. Then there is another in the
Indian service, but he is a hmatio — re-
hgious, or something of that sort. Eeads
the Bible, you know, and prays before he
goes into action. Been in India aU his
hfe, and had a coup de soleil, for aught I
know. As for the two men in the King's
service, there is Bob ; that is my cousin ;
retired — the man the row was about with
the organ-grinders — always disputing
hackney-coach fares, you know] ; fellow
with a bumble foot and a cast in his
eye. You iliust have seen him a hundred
times at Crooks's."
Eeginald had never seen anything of
that establishment but the outside, and
mentioned the fact.
*' True," said the General. " A-ha! my
boy, the play would be too high for
you ; I have dropped my thousands there.
Well, then there is Doddery Anders —
THE STRUGGLE. 117
you know him, of course. Bless me, I
was forgetting the old fellow onl}^ died
last week, and I have never called on
him since. The poor fellow will be
buried before I have time to leave my
card on him. I must really go this
very afternoon. Good-bye, Hetherege,
and thank you. I wiU be true to the
day, and thank you."
Eeginald departed, musing as to which
General Anders it was who had done
him this especial kindness. It was not
his acquaintance, that was certain. It
was certainly not the bumble-footed, one-
eyed General ; that also was certain. It
was not Doddery Anders either, because
he had been dead a week. Therefore it
was evidently the Indian General with
the coiq:) cle soleil.
This seemed the more probable, as it
was exactly the sort of thing which a
man with a coup cle soleil would have
118 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
done. In fact, it seemed perfectly cer-
tain that no one short of a lunatic could
have done it. Not that his Indian
General was a lunatic — he was a most
sensible fellow. No man could have be-
haved in a more reasonable way than to
give him £'200 to spend, and keep his
son at college, mthout knowing any-
thing whatever about them. Such things
certainly, he argued, were more often
done inside Bedlam in intention, than
outside Bedlam in practice. Still, there
were a great many people called mad
who were not mad, and the merchant
Digby was a case in point. No, the
Indian General was the man, and a most
sensible fellow, too.
Yes ; the mad General was the man.
Yet, what did he mean by talking about
an "old debt?" That, doubtless, was
part of his innocent delusion. He was
evidently the man ; and he, Keginald,
THE STRUGGLE. 119
was bound in honour to make no en-
quiries, so lie went home peacefully.
His friend General Anders never had a
new Army List, from motives of economy,
otherwise he would have known that
there had been a new General Anders
this four years — a man he had known
as Colonel Anders, and whom he was to
know better before he died. This was
Eeginald's benefactor. Eeginald, how-
ever, settled on the Indian General, and
remembered him in his prayers, as often
as he said them, the Indian General
never having heard of him in his Ufe at
that time, and, after having made his
acquaintance, considering him as an ob-
jectionable person, entirely without any
hopes of happiness in the next world,
in consequence of his rehgious opinions,
which were entirely different from those
of the General.
One particular effect of the conversa-
120 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
tion between Eeginald and his quaint,
honest friend the General was this :
Eeginald fixed upon the Indian Colonel
as his benefactor, and, retiring into his
books, asked no further questions. We
hope that when you see the real General,
you will not dislike him, or think that
he is a lunatic in any way.
( 121 )
CHAPTEE VIII.
THE HEIR TO THE PROPERTY IS DISCUSSED.
Charles, therefore, departed to Cam-
bridge with money in his pocket. The
least that Eeginald could do was to ask
the rector and Monseigneiir to meet
him at dinner before he started. They
came, and everything went off very
pleasantly. At half-past ten the two
reverend gentlemen were in the hall,
putting on their coats and hats. Mon-
seigneiir, who was nervous about the
night air on his tonsure, had a natty
little velvet cap, which fitted under his
hat. In putting it on he di'opped it,
and the rector picked it up and gave
it to him.
122 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
"Yes," said the rector, ''yon create
wants, and gain yonr power by supplying
them."
" How utterly dead yonr argument
falls!" said Monseigneur, promptly.
"What power is there in my poor little
cap?"
The rector laughed heartily. " Well,
I am no match for a Jesuit, and you
had me there. I like to exasperate a
Romanist, though, on every occasion."
" Yom* logic must be a little better
before you exasperate me, you good
man," said the priest heartily. "But
walk with me, I have something to say
to you very particularly." And so they
walked away.
"Will you come to my hotel?" said
the priest ; " it is close by."
" I will, with pleasure. I am unhappily
a widower, and there is no one to wait
up and scold me if I am late."
THE HEIR TO THE PROPERTY DISCUSSED. 123
" A widower ! " said the priest. "Have
you any cliildi-en, rector ? "
"Yes; three."
"That was the unfiiliilled dream of
my heart. Yet why should I say so,
for I have three whom I love most
dearly, the sous of my patron. Enough
of this — here is our hotel."
" Did you ever hear of Sir Walter
Kaleigh?"
" What about him just now ? "
" Oh, many tilings. He lost his head
for trying to do one too many. He was
a hero ; he discovered tobacco, a thing I
like."
" Then we will smoke, if you never
tell your bishop. Here are cigars. Now,
forget all that I have said, and we will
talk of your youth."
"What do you think of him?" said
the rector.
"Well, I have been talking so very
124 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
freely to yon, tliat I will continue my
confidence. I ani glad yon have won
liim ; I conld never have done any-
thing with him — Heaven send you
may."
"You really mean that?" said the
rector. " But I see you do. I join in
your prayer, and perfectly agree with
you. He is a difficult suhject. Now we
are so comfortable together, will you
tell me, as one Enghsh gentleman to
another, what do you think of him ? "
" I will, most heartily," said Mon-
seigneur. " He is not to be trusted."
"Quite so," said the rector. "I have
no doubt that his Cambridge tradesmen
will be of the same opinion three years
hence."
"I don't mean in monetary matters
— I mean morally."
"Yes."
" He has undergone, in consequence of
THE HEIR TO THE PROPEETY DISCUSSED. 125
his late lamentable catastrophe, what you
heretics would call "
'' I am not a heretic," said the rector ;
"the arch heretics are those of the
Eomish Chm'ch."
" You Protestants then "
"I am not a Protestant, save always
against the heretics of Eome. I am an
Anglican."
"You Anglicans then — he has under-
gone a very rapid conversion, I should
say too rapid a one ; and I hope it may
be as lasting. I don't think that it will
myself. There is a large spice of the
old Adam in him yet, and it gets more
obvious day by day, as he gets well.
He is cursed with a genius or devil ;
and it shows itself in the rapid assimi-
lation of knowledge, and incalculable
speech about that knowledge immediately
afterwards, without thought. He has
immense powers of speech and argument.
126 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
and I see notliing to prevent his be-
coming quite as sliallow-pated a char-
latan as the great "
" He might do worse than that," said
the rector.
"I think not," said Monseigneur. "But
to go on. When you get under the out-
side crust of the boy, you find little except
selfishness. At first, when he was fairly
frightened, he ran to me ; and I think
you will say that I behaved well then."
"Most nobly."
" He, in his first religious exaltation,
told me everything — how he had been
tempted to murder his father among
other things. He will say nothing of
them now. Have you noticed anything
of the same kind ? "
"Yes," said the rector. "While he
was being shaken over the bottomless pit
he seemed different to what he is now.
But remember his youth, remember his
THE HEIR TO THE PROPERTY DISCUSSED. 127
life, remember Ms previous opinions,
and hope for the best."
"I do," said Monseignem-, " but I can-
not disguise fi-om myself that I am glad
that you are answerable for his soul —
not I."
" Nay, nay, my good fiiend ; I am
not answerable for his soul. I think the
lad has warm affections, and is capable
of much good, and not a Httle evil.
As for talking about the character of a
boy hke this, you might as well talk
about a block of marble as a statue
before Praxiteles got hold of it. Of
course you are sore that you did not get
him, but be fair on him. He will enter
the Church as a matter of course now,
and he will be a splendid preacher. I
wish I had his way of putting things. To
more worldly matters : the thing which
will ruin a lad like him, is the expect-
ation of money."
128 EEGIXALD HETHEREGE.
" Then this story about the will ^5
true?"
'' I suppose so. What do you know ? "
" Come," said Monseigneur, laughing,
"you are rather too frank, my friend.
Tell me what you know first."
'' Veiy httle. Old Dighy, in the last
centmy, left his property to the devil, to
prevent it falling into the hands of the
Romish Chiux-h. Ever since which the
Romish Chiu'ch has been negotiating
with the devil for it, hitherto unsuc-
cessfriUy."
" That is very frmny, Mr. Rector," said
Monseigneur; "but, unfortunately, it is
not tme ; and, saving yom- presence,
you commit a piece of bad manners in
making the joke."
" I beg a thousand pardons," said the
rector; " j'ou correct me most right-
eously. I reaUy know very httle about
the matter— forgive my poor joke."
THE HEIR TO THE PEOPERTY DISCUSSED. 129
"Forgiven at once. As for knowing
anything about the matter, very few do.
There are an innumerable number of
claimants under tliis will, and at the
death of our friend Reginald there wdll
be an immense sum of money to divide.
I have heard it said, on Jesuits' autho-
rity, that Charles Hetherege will take
two millions of money."
"■ Two milhons ? That is impossible ! "
" Well, I think not. Charles beheves
that he will come into a larger sum at
his father's death, and that will make
him very careless."
" But if there was any truth in this
the Jews would advance him money."
" General Anders asked that question;
not of the Jeivs, but of people who stand
higher. The answer was that Reginald's
life was as good as Charles's, if not
better ; that if Charles died without issue
they were nowhere ; and that if Reginald
VOL. I. K
130 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
were to dia out of the way, the Chancery
suit raight go on for another twenty years
before any one touched one penny."
" General Anders got that opmion, did
he?" said the rector; "and who is
General Anders, and what earthly busi-
ness is it of his ?"
Monseigneur had said a little more
than he meant. " You see, my dear
rector, the boy beUeves he will have
money, and that will do him aU the
harm in the world. Let us hope for
the best."
"But who, in the name of all confusion,
is General Anders ? " asked the rector.
" Bless me ! " said Monseigneur, " it is
half-past one, and they have turned the
gas off. Let me Hght you down. Mind
that step ; now there are three. Oh,
there is the hall porter. Good-night,
and good-bye ; I am off to Henley to-
morrow."
THE HEIE TO THE PEOPERTY DISCUSSED. 131
Naval and Military Intelligence. —
Greneral Artliur Anders, C.B., sailed
yesterday for the Cape, in H. M. S.
Blonde. In military circles his mission
is considered important. From the
Cape the gallant General will proceed in
the Blonde to Aden, at the mouth of
the Ked Sea, and Perim, an island in
the neighbourhood. The Blonde will
then pass up the Eed Sea to Suez ; at
which point, it is understood, the gallant
General will disembark and proceed to
Acre.
That was Eeginald's General Anders,
and it will be a long time before we meet.
132 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SECOND STATE OP THAT MAN.
Charles returned dutifully to Cambridge,
and no one knew anything at all about
bis affairs. He was received very well
by all the dons, and only a few of the
undergraduates had heard that there was
a strange story about him.
What that story was exactly the under-
graduates themselves could not make out.
In fault of knowing anything about him,
they invented several different stories.
All these inventions tended one way —
that he had had a desperate affair de
coeur, and that did him no harm at all.
He worked very hard in a college
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 133
where he need not have worked, and
then, ;per contra, he Hved very expen-
sively in a college where he might have
hved cheaply. He was extremely reli-
gious in Ms way, and yet he and his
friend, the rector, had a few woi-ds now
and then about sumptuary extravagance.
" Charles," the rector would say, " you
are not keeping your first promise."
"As how?"
." You are so extravagant."
'' I can pay."
" I doubt that," said the rector.
" "VMiat did that ring cost?"
"^125," said Charles.
''Is it paid for?"
'' No ; but it will be."
" At your father's death ? "
" No ; I can raise money."
'' A hundred thousand times I tell you
that you cannot. Don't be a perfect
fool ! "
134 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
" I do not think that I am."
" There is nothing to prevent your
being a beggar at present. In case of
your father's d^-ing, you may have to
wait twenty years for a sixpence. And
are you moral ? You went to Eton on
charity — your father could never have
afforded to send you there ; and even
now the money you spend on luxuries
is out of yom- father's pocket. Such is
gratuitous education."
Charles always turned the matter off at
these points. There was money coming
somehow, and so he did not very much
care. His perfectly blameless hfe, and
his hard and successful work, told well
for him ; still, the Provost and tutors
lamented over a singular and remarkable
extravagance on his part.
His old^ Atheistic theories were sent to
the wind now. A certain division began
at that time in the Chm-ch, and Charles
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 135
took his side with the rector in the
strongest manner. He was utterly in-
discreet in his partisanship. Certain
good men required a subscription for
certain purposes, and had a sermon for
the furtherance of their cause. Charles
dropped liis diamond ring into the plate
(having no cash), which was not paid for,
and which was pohtely returned.
He got a great deal of credit, both in
Cambridge and in London. He was a
ward in Chancery, and although cash was
scarce — none, in fact, being obtainable in
spite of all his efforts — yet credit was
abundant. The only cash he had was
that which he had from his father,
which, as we know, came through
General Anders.
When he entered holy orders he had
these things in hand. He was third
wrangler, and second in classics. He
had a fellowship of ^250 a year ; and he
136 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
owed .£2500. The fact that he had been
quietly married, three months before he
came into his fellowship, to a young
orphan governess mthout a prospect, was
a matter unknown, at first, to the world.
But so it was. There was no earthly
reason for his getting married in that
private way. Before he committed this
crowning act of folly, he had made him-
seK a name which would have pulled any
woman through. He would have had to
forfeit his fellowship, but he could have
put a bold face on the world. To save
the <£250 a year he forfeited his own
honour, and dragged his wife's name
through the dirt. He took his ordina-
tion vow with a he in his mouth. He
alienated every old friend from him ex-
cept his father. Poor Mrs. Charles, in
her anxiety about her firstborn, went to
the rector and told him the truth.
The rector refused to keep the secret,
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 137
and Charles was forced to acknowledge
his wife and resign his fellowship. He
had entirely ruined himself, and the
family were the first to acknowledge the
fact. They had certainly never done
much for him, but now they openly dis-
carded him. Until Eeginald's death he
was nobody, and Eeginald's quiet, tem-
perate habits were likely to keep him
alive for forty years.
Five years of alternate success and
disaster followed. Charles took to tutor-
ship and preaching, and made a small
success at the first, and a very gi-eat
success at the second. He might have
preached himseK into a good living had
he been left alone ; but, in this wicked
world, people who have money owing to
them like to see it paid. His fellowship
was gone, and nobody after that seemed
to beheve in his inheritance ; at aU
events the Jews did not, and so Charles
138 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
could get no money, not even at sixty
per cent.
His creditors closed on him. Mrs.
Charles exerted herself as far as she
could, but, with all her fine words, she
could not butter the parsnips. Cox and
Greenwood wrote to Eeginald to mention
the fact that General Anders dechned,
for the present, to assist the Hethereges
any further.
Eeginald was not entirely broken-
hearted by this. He had his ^250 a
year, and Charles got half the same sum
for each pupil. There were no children
alive, for the first two had died in
infancy. It was when George was first
born that the crash came.
Reginald had done all he could. His
salary, such as was left of it, was secure
for his lifetime, and he raised money
A
on it to help his son Charles with his
most furious creditors. By this act he
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 139
made himself a beggar, and lie had to
go and live with his son Charles, eking
out their income with his literary work.
A garret was good enongh for him, so
long as he could keep the roof of it over
Charles's head.
Eeginald, Charles, and Mary really
worked hke horses to keep the house
from ruin, but it was an extremely difficult
thing to do. At the time when the first
of his infants which lived, George, was
born, Charles had but one pupil — George
Barnett, its godfather, only son of the
great county baronet, Sir Lipscombe
Barnett, of Somersetshhe. From Sir Lips-
combe Charles could often get an advance,
though that a^^ul personage had but
little idea of the real state of Charles's
affairs. Eeginald also got plenty to do
from the pubhshers, and was very well
paid; but he, with the time consumed
at his office, had not sufficient leisure
140 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
to do any vast amount of his extremely
careful and refined work. Charles actu-
ally advertised writing sermons, and
got a good many ; but it did not pay.
He advertised for a religious lady in
a clergyman's family, but be never
got one. He then advertised for an
imbecile or aged lady requiring the
comforts of a home ; and lastly, for a
lady of intemperate habits, desiring to
be cured; but in everything he failed.
He at that time had a small church,
with almost nominal duties, and an
almost nominal income, which gave him
abundance of time to use his talents
for preaching nearly every Sunday ; but
it went very little way. It was perfectly
obvious that a break-down must come,
sooner or later, and it came sooner
instead of later.
For three years Charles had taken the
summer duty of Arcis-sur-Mer, by which
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 141
he got a holiday free of expense. This
particular year he arrived at that water-
ing-place before his congregation had
come, or before the gravel was laid
down at the etablissemejit . So small a
number had he of Enghsh permanent
residents, that he considered it scarcely
worth while to distm^b the Huguenot
minister, and held his services in the
apartments of General Talbot, a distant
relation, who acted as his churchwarden.
London had got far too hot for him,
and he had fled, leaving his father, his
wife, his infant son, and his pupil to
take the best care of themselves they
could with an execution in the house.
Three of the four considered his retreat
as one of the most masterly things ever
done, and, never thinking of themselves,
rejoiced in his safety ; for Charles was
one of those men who somehow got
all their women folks, and many of
142 EEGINALD HETHEKEGE.
their friends, to take them at their own
valuation. Young George Barnett (who,
Hke almost every one else, succeeded
afterwards in getting Eeginald into
trouble) considered his tutor as a model
man, with perhaps a few of the eccen-
tricities always to be found with great
genius, and assisted at Charles's depar-
ture for Arcis with great shrewdness
and devotion, forgetting, in the hurry
of affairs which immediately followed it,
to mention the matter to his father.
How long he would have continued this
very culpable omission, we cannot say
— possibly until Eeginald had written
himself; but the great Sir Lipscombe
became acquainted with the state of
things with his own horrified eyes.
Sir Lipscombe Barnett, on looking over
his banking-book, discovered that Charles
had drawn two quarters in advance, and
was, at the same time, rather surprised
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 143
that he had heard nothing very lately
from his son and heir. The most
anxiously indulgent of fathers, he at
once determined to go to town and
make inquiries of his son's welfare. He
put on his buff waistcoat and trousers,
his blue coat and brass buttons, and
came to town, determining to hear a
debate or so on the Reform Bill, then
in the moment of projection in the
House of Commons, before he went
down.
On ahghting at the garden gate before
Charles's house, he was surprised to see
an abnormal quantity of straw and paper,
not only in the garden, but scattered
all about the road, evidently having con-
nection with the reverend gentleman's
house, for it lay thicker at his door than
it did anywhere else. On knocking, he
was at once admitted by a greyish,
mihtary-looking man, who drew himself
144 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
up and saluted Ms old officer, and to
whom Sir Lipscombe said, " What are
you doing here, Malony ? Have you
left the army ? "
"Yes, yom' honom' ; I have served
my time, and I am engaged by Mr.
Eichards, the auctioneer. I am watch-
ing the few things which have not been
sould, your honom\"
"■ Sold ! Has there been a sale here ? "
" Surely. His riverence is sould up
entirely."
" And where is he ? "
"Diwle a body knows," said Malony;
"you surely wouldn't have him here.
Mayhap he's been trated so bad in this
country, that he's gone abroad to convart
the hay then."
" Where are the others ? "
" Upstairs, in the top of the house,
wid the baby. There is the scholar there
that his riverence was teachinof all the
elegant diversions. I never-
5>
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 145
'^ Good heavens ! my son ! " said Sii-
Lipscombe, giving five shillings to the
old soldier, and walking up.
Why had not his son fled to his aunt's
— anywhere ? What a scene for him !
Sir Lipscombe went up the bare stair-
case, looking into the empty rooms — so
cheerless, even on the bright April day.
How hollow and loud everything sounded !
What echoes came to answer the intrud-
ing footfalls, as if the ghosts of all the
people who had lived and died there
before, were come to see how the last
tenants had treated their old haunts, and
in what state they had left them. The
voices of some people talking upstairs
sounded very out of place and loud, and
when some one bm-st into a roar of
laughter above, it soimded strangely — the
more so as, in the laugh. Sir Lipscombe
recognized the voice of his son and heir.
It was a very catching laugh, however,
YOL. I. L
146 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
and he joined in it himself, though in a
more subdued tone.
Peeping into a top front-room, he saw
the family groujD encamped there. Eegi-
nald was at a table, writing ; on one side
of the fireplace was Mrs. Charles, with
an infant, and in fi'ont of the fire was
his son and heii', actually helping to
cook the dinner, under Mrs. Hetherege's
instructions. It was the laughter at
this humorous arrangement which the
worthy baronet had heard when he was
coming upstairs.
He ought to have been very angry,
but he was so very sorry for the Heth-
ereges that his anger was changed to
pity. Moreover, the chief culprit was
' absent, taking his usual course of leaving
others to bear the brunt, and so there
practically was no one to be angry with,
except his son — and it was very hard to
say what he had done. Besides, Sir Lips-
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 147
combe was one of those soft-hearted men
who can't stand the sight of a woman
and cliild in distress, and that poor, pale,
pretty, defenceless Mrs. Charles Heth-
erege with her baby, sitting amidst the
poor remains of her furniture in her dis-
mantled nursery, made the kind widower's
heart full in thinking of days gone by
for him for ever. He advanced quickly,
saying,—
" Mr. Hetherege, my dear sir, you have
been unfriendly in not wiiting to me ;
my good sir, pray tell me all about it at
once. My dear madam, pray do not rise,
I beg of you. Eeally, I am angry with
you too ; surely I am a sufficiently old
friend to be trusted. Come, I must
scold you. George, my dear, how do you
do?"
" I was waiting for instructions from
Charles before I could do anything, Sir
Lipscombe," said the poor lady.
148 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
" Surely, surely— quite right," said Sir
Lipscombe. " My dear Mr. Hetherege,
I wish for a word or two with you down-
stairs," and so they went into an empty
room.
" Dear, dear ! " said Sir Lipscombe, " I
suppose when things have come to the
worst that they must mend, Mr. Heth-
erege."
" They have not come to the worst,
my dear sir," said Eeginald.
''Can that be 2"
"We have a roof over our heads to-
day, to-morrow we shall have none. She
is rapidly sickening, and her life and the
child's will be in danger unless I can
nourish and house her better — and that
baby the heir to millions ! "
'' Well, well ! he must anticipate some
of his property. I will lend the child
a himdred pounds, and put it into your
hands, to do as you please with ; but the
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 149
wife and cliild must be permanently pro-
vided for by a member of tbe family."
"Ab!" said Eeginald, witb a gi'eat
laugh, " but by which ? "
" Is there more than one, that you
could hesitate ? Get that mother and
child once inside Miss Hester Simpson's
house, and I will be sworn that she will
not go out again in a hmiy. Don't you
see what I mean ? "
"I do— but I tremble."
"Tremble at what? You are the
only one of the family who was never
afraid of her. She can't eat you."
" But she hates Charles so."
"Bad taste on her part. When she
knows what a perfect charming little
jewel his wife is, she won't hate her."
" But I have given her such desperate
offence ; I have abused her novels
so."
"The last woman in the world to
150 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
resent tliat ; you know she has never
been different to you on that score."
" That is true ; but how am I to
manage it ? "
"You do right to ask an old soldier.
I will tell you how. Knock at the door
when she is at home ; go in, — for you are
never refused, — show the mother and
child into the dining-room, and go coolly
upstairs and take the bull by the horns.
Is Goodie in town ? "
"No."
"Confound that fellow! he never is
when he is wanted. Still I would only
have used him after I had failed, were
I in your place. You must dp without
him."
" It is a ^dld plan."
" It is a perfectly certain one. Another
thing, has she or any other member of
the family been apprised of this child's
birth?"
THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 151
''No."
"That was extremely foolish, and the
sooner it is known the better ; you will
see that for yonrseK if you think it
out."
^ " Su' Lipscombe," said Eeginald, "I
am profoundly in your debt, and the
thing shall be done, or risked. The
deuce is in it if I don't succeed in such
a good cause ; but I wish Goodge was
here."
" Well, I will make my adieux upstaii's,
and take the boy home. Let me know
at once of your success or ill-success.
I will write that little document up-
stairs, in case of failm^e."
From the parting scene between
young George Barnett and Mrs. Heth-
erege and Eeginald, few would have
guessed that the boy was leaving a
squalid, uncomfortable house, to go to
every pleasure of a country house and
152 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
the arms of an over- indulgent father.
The boy cried heartily, and was so very
sorry, that even the pleasures of the
town, to which his father had resort to
calm him, were only partially successful.
Years after, when Sir Lipscombe joined
in the great quarrel against Eeginald,
two parties, at all events, remembered
his great kindness. But we must bid
good-bye to him and to his son for a
very long time, and follow Eeginald
while he unfolded to Mary part of his
desperate project.
Terrified as poor Mary was, for the
child's sake she consented to go and see
the terrible Miss Simpson. And so those
two babes in the wood started together,
taldng the unconscious baby George.
( 153 )
CHAPTEE X.
THE OGRESS'S CASTLE IS STORMED.
Although Reginald was very anxious to
follow tlie suggestion of Sir Lipscombe,
and get Mrs. Charles and the baby into
Aunt Hester's house, he knew perfectly
well that it would require all his audacity
and courage to do it. " Once in," he
said to himself, "the old girl" (so dis-
respectfully did he speak of that gTeat
genius) " dare not turn her out, for shame's
sake ; and Charles's wife is a woman who
will win her way to any one's heart, leave
alone that of a sentimental old woman."
Aunt Hester was so far from being
considered in any way sentimental by
154 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
the family, that they trembled when they
mentioned Fitzroy Square — the square
which was honoured by the residence of
that great authoress. The younger and
more audacious of the Talbots, Mui'dochs,
and Simpsons used flatly to refuse to go
and see her on some occasions. She was
extremely wealthy, having been left an
heiress by a partial failure of the Simp-
son's main branch. Whether she would
take anything under the great will was
not very clear, but she always said she
would stand by her rights, if they were
only fifty pounds. If the ■will was set
aside to-morrow, however, she would
have a fine penny to leave ; and so,
with the more thoughtful of the family —
though most of them were very well off —
she was considered as most eccentric
relations are considered who have <£3000
a year and spend one, with the power of
leaving it where they choose ; that is to
THE ogress's castle. 155
say, as a relation not to be lost sight of.
Her money, if one of the Talbot or
Murdoch girls were to have it, might
bring a peerage into the family — a thing
which General Talbot, of Arcis-sur-Mer,
always prayed against.
From the conduct of Aunt Hester to
her relations, however, the chances seemed
very strong that the family would never
be blessed with a peerage, unless they
could get it with their o^ti money. She
seemed to entertain an objection to her
relations quite as strong as that of the
great Digby himseK. She had made one
exception, and that exception was so
utterly hopeless a one, that she was
apparently confirmed in considering her
relations as her natural enemies.
She had loved one of them, and there
were dark rumours afloat about the
strange old woman, to the effect that
she loved him still. James Murdoch had
156 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
been a handsome, clever, bright lad when
she took him up, sent him to school,
where he did badly, and to college, where
he did worse. He treated her with the
most utter ingratitude. Some said — that
is to say, her own servants said — that he
robbed her, and got money by threats
from her. She was not a young woman
when she saw his evil boy's face, but
even now, w^hen she was getting old, it
was noticed that this spendthrift and
blackleg was never without money, and
held his own somehow. The family's
theory about him was that he knew
something about her, and traded on it.
Eeginald, more shrewd in his way, saw
the truth ; never having had a child of
her own, she had loved and adopted this
one, and though her heart was half
broken by disowning him, she would not
cast him entirely away. Perhaps that if
why Eeginald felt some confidence in his
THE OGEESS'S CASTLE. 157
designs on this old woman now over fifty,
whom he called a fool at one time, and
a sentimental old woman at another.
"I wish," Eeginald had often said to
himself, "that she could have taken a
fancy to my Charles, instead of to that
fox-eyed young vagabond, James Mur-
doch."
But she never could, and Charles
had always remained her pet abomi-
nation. These reflections forced them-
selves on Eeginald' s mind now, when
he was going to thrust Charles's wife
(whom Aunt Hester had never recog-
nized) into Aunt Hester's house.
Aunt Hester had heard something of
Charles's escapades, and from that day
forbade any of her relations to mention
his name in her house. Miss Rose
Talbot, hearing of this restriction,
called on Aunt Hester at once, though
she had not been near her for a year.
158 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
and persistently talked of no one but
Charles. Aunt Hester was perfectly civil
to her, and the day she was married to
George Talbot, her cousin, sent her a
splendid jewel, on which was engraved,
"For her who spoke well, at all risks,
for her unworthy cousin." That circum-
stance, among others, illustrative of the
softer side of Aunt Hester's character,
naturally came into Eeginald's mind this
day.
The society of Aunt Hester, like that
of many great geniuses, could not be
enjoyed without the persons enjoying it
becoming aware of certain trifling matters
of manner different from those usual
among the mere herd. Aunt Hester, for
example, used to say exactly what she
thought, which was tolerably dreadful;
but then, she would consider it necessary
to say nothing at all sometimes during
a whole visit, but sit looking at her visitor
THE ogress's castle. 159
with a strong gaze from beMnd spec-
tacles. Slie was also reported to have
resorted to personal violence on more
than one occasion, but of this there was
not the slightest proof. Goodge cer-
tainly never denied it when he was asked
about it, but became silent, and left her
younger relations to infer what they
chose ; and they chose to infer that, on
the whole, they had better leave Aunt
Hester alone, which was probabty what
he wanted.
She tolerated fi'om Reginald a great
deal more than she would fi'om any one
else. Reginald was a poor courtier, and
had actually done her considerable injmy.
He thought some of her novels non-
sense, and he wrote reviews of them
saying so. She was no less friendly to
him after this than before ; and although
she never helped him openly, yet Regi-
nald had some assistance from certain
160 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
quarters wliicli lie was often inclined to
put down to Aimt Hester.
Aunt Hester still continued to dress
in the fashions of 1815, which rendered
walking exercise highly inconvenient for
her, in consequence of the boys. She
therefore confined herself to carriage
exercise, and di'ove in her carriage round
the park at regular houi^s in the season.
Eeginald calculated on those hours very
carefuUy, and intended to arrive with his
perfectly submissive companion during
her absence. On arriving at her door,
he was informed that she was at home,
whereupon he said audibly to the butler,
" Confound it ! I'U see her, Jamieson."
He indeed saw nothing for it now but
to follow Sir Lipscombe's plan of the
campaign. " Just wait while I help this
lady in."
Jamieson showed the way into the
dining-room, where the poor trembling
THE OGEESS'S CASTLE. 161
lady sat down with the baby, and then
took Eegmald upstairs, announcing him.
Hester Simpson was sitting at a Httle
table, writing. She rose.
A tall, hawk-nosed woman, with a pair
of keen grey eyes, and heavy eyebrows.
Her grizzled hair was nearly as short as
some boys, with only a few Httle cm-Is in
front. She was a woman of fine presence,
with a well-formed figure. Her di*apery
was very scanty, though long, and her
waistband was under her armpits. She
swept a most beautiful ciu'tsy, and said, —
' ' To what have I the honour ? ' '
when Eeginald interrupted her.
'' Now, don't get in a tantrum, mj
good Hester, but be a reasonable woman ;
you and I can be fiiendly enough if we
like. I am in trouble, and I want your
help — I must have it."
Aunt Hester sat down, put on her
spectacles, took her cheque-book h'om
TOL. I. M
162 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
her desk, dropped the pen in the ink,
and said, sepulchrally —
''How much?"
" I don't want any money, I tell you,"
said Keginald.
Aunt Hester shut up her cheque-book,
put it back in her desk, wiped her pen,
took off her spectacles and put them in
their case, and then sat utterly silent,
waiting for instructions.
" I tell you I don't want any money,
Hester."
Aunt Hester pointed to the last ar-
rangement which she had made in her
writing-table, elevated her eyebrows,
waved her hands, and then folded them.
Still she was utterly silent.
" Confound it, Hester, won't you speak
to me ? "
" I was waiting for you to speak."
"Well, then, I will. Charles is sold
up, and is gone to his old quarters
THE ogress's castle. 1G3
at Arcis-sur-Mer. His wife lias had
another baby born — a son and laeii to
a bedstead, a couple of chairs, and a
million or so of money, and I have
brought her hereto be under your pro-
tection for the present, as she is far
too ill to be moved about. You cannot,
as a Christian woman, turn her out of
your house, and she is downstahs in the
dining-room now, with her baby."
Aunt Hester suddenly arose and feU
upon Eeginald. She seized him by one
breast of his coat with her left hand,
while with her right she pummelled him
soundly, imtil the dust flew out of his
old unbrushed coat in clouds.
" Oh, you villain, you villain, you vil-
lain ! " she said when she was tired, and
paused for breath.
"Are you better, Hester?" he asked
quietly.
She immediately flew at him again, and
pulled his right ear violently.
164 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
"You are a villain!" she said wlien she
sank down in lier chair. " You have
plotted that the child shall he brought
into my house, and that it shall be under
my protection. As for yoiu' worthless
son's wife, she shall stay here to-night,
but I shall provide for her elsewhere in
the morning. The hospital is the best
place for her, but I will see to her for
to-night — and to-night only, mind. You
write to your precious son by this post,
and tell him that. Tell him that he
may make his mind assured of that.
You leave my house instantly, Eeginald.
I never thought or spoke ill of you, and
you have served me this cruel trick. It
is unworthy of you, Eeginald. I am a
lonely old woman, and every one plots
against me ; tu quoqiie — the man I did
trust before every one except Goodge.
Go away, and tell yom^ son that
nothing shall harm his wife ; but that
out of my house she goes."
THE OGEESS'S CASTLE. 165
'' You will be kind to her to-night, at
all events, Hester," said Eeginald.
"Am I a savage ? " said Hester Simp-
son.
''MaylteUherso?"
*' That I am a savage — certainly."
" No, don't be siUy. That you wiU be
kind to her."
*' Y6u had just better march out of
this house and mind your own business
until to-morrow morning," said Hester.
And Eeginald, quite agi-eeing with her,
departed hurriedly, past an astonished
butler, leaving Aunt Hester a terrible
figure on the lower staii's.
''Where is Mrs. Prodit?" said Aunt
Hester in a lofty voice. Mrs. Prodit
was the housekeeper, and was at once
fetched.
" Mrs. Prodit," said Aunt Hester to
the housekeeper, butler, and also the foot-
man, who had joined from a laudable
166 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
curiosity, and was detected putting his
coat on before lie had shut the staircase
door. The servants were all attention.
" In all well regulated houses it is con-
sidered customary for servants to dress
themselves in their offices, and not in the
haU."
This awful allusion to James discon-
certed the party, and made James's face
the colour of his plush breeches.
''Mrs. Prodit."
" Yes, madam."
" I am expecting a baby and its
mother — "
''La!" said Mrs. Prodit.
" And its young mother, to stay in the
house for a considerable time," continued
Hester sternly.
"Pretty dear!" said Mrs. Prodit, not
exactly knowing what to say in her
astonishment.
"I do not know whether she is pretty
THE ogress's castle. ,167
or ugly, Prodit ; I suppose she is hand-
some, for these fools always do raarry
pretty girls. But I am not pretty, Prodit,
and you are for a woman of your age ;
you women without any brains always
keep your looks. It is the same with the
men. If Jamieson there had not been
originally ugly, he would have kept his
looks tiU he was seventy." (Jamieson was
very handsome, like every one who was
allowed near Hester.) '' You, Prodit, take
your doU's face into the dining-room, and
tell the lady that Miss Simpson wiU have
the pleasure of waiting on her directly;
then come out at once. Jamieson, teU
the coachman to slip round to the mews,
and have the street laid down in straw
at once — instantly. You also tie up the
door-knocker with a white kid glove, and,
if any one calls — any one, mind — and asks
how I am, say I am as weU as can be
expected. If you say one word more,
168 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
old services shall count for nothiDg, and
yon leave my liouse."
'' I beg your pardon, madam, a thou-
sand times," said Jamieson, ''but if Mr.
Goodge were to come ? "
" Of course, send him up directly. I
forgot him — thanks, Jamieson, for re-
minding me. But I fear that there is
no such luck to be looked for as his
advice just now."
( 169 )
CHAPTEE XI.
THE NEW HOME.
Alas ! poor, fluttering, trembling deserted
Mary, where was she all the twenty
minutes ?
In the cold, cruel, inexorable dining-
room of a power which she knew to be
hostile, and which she feared to be inex-
orably so. "A mad doctor with a paying-
connection ought to furnish his rooms
with dark mahogany, horsehair, and
mirrors in black frames. He would
never lose a patient as long as hfe
lasted," thought Mary; "I should soon
go mad in this room."
Here she made a low curtsy, and
flushed up with a trembhng at her heart.
170 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
It was herseK, or rather lier shadow, to
whom she was bowing, shown in one of
the looking-glasses. She lay down on
one of the cold, black horsehair couches,
and began to cry, and also to think. ALL
this time Httle George was behaving as
good as gold, as he continued to do
during all which ensued. Let us pay
him a compliment which we can rarely
pay to babies or schoolboys ; he was so
little of a nuisance that we need not
mention him any more at present, and
only do so now to show that we have
not forgotten his existence.
What an insane folly, she thought, she
had committed in allowing Eeginald to
bring her here ! and yet she had never
known Keginald's judgment go wrong.
She knew, poor lady, that she was utterly
beyond thinking for or helping herself,
and so she must trust utterly to him.
She could not understand, and had given
THE NEW HOME. 171
lip trying, for she knew from previous
experience that she w^as beyond the
regions of clear judgment. She would
have given half her life to have had
Charles with her now — her own gallant,
brave, tender husband — who in their
worst straits had given her the kindest
words, and made fun of all their troubles.
Poor boy, he could not be here — he would
be in prison if he stayed in England.
Reginald w^ould not leave her — no, he
would never leave her without assistance,
in the hands of this terrible old woman.
She heard the fi'ont door shut, and
looked out of the window. Reginald was
crossing the square slowly, evidently in
no great hurry to come back again.
Then she felt alone and utterly deserted,.
and a dead sickness, which she knew too
well, came over her.
Some one was in the room, who said —
" Miss Simpson, madam, desires me to
say that she will see you directly."
172 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
"I wish to be taken to a hospital,"
said Mary, and, getting back to the sofa,
sank heavily upon it, and became almost
imconscious.
The door was opened again, and the
tenible Hester Simpson, previously de-
scribed, as far as our feeble art would
aUow us (she was infinitely more awful
in reaUty), approached her. Mary knew
it must be Aunt Hester, and feebly re-
curred to the request about the hospital.
" Why, my pretty one," said Aunt
Hester, Imeeling beside her, ''you are
m the hospital. You are in my house,
and you are going to stay in it until you
are fit to go back to your husband."
"Where is Eeginald, madam? Let
Beginald write and tell him that."
*' Good, to think of Charles first," said
Aunt Hester; "but the fact is, that I
have packed Master Eeginald out of the
house with a flea in his ear. He is not
THE NEW HOME. 173
going to play the fool with me, so I tell
him. Now, first and foremost, what do
you fancy ? Are you hungry ? ' '
"No, madam; hut "
" She wants champagne and water —
that is what slie wants," said Hester,
ringing the bell violently ; '■ ' that will
hring hack her appetite. Bring some
champagne here, some of you, or am I
to he eaten out of house and home by
idle servants ? "
The champagne and water came, and
it refi'eshed Mary so much, that she sub-
missively mounted two flights of stairs ;
and after several efforts to thank Hester
Simpson, which, like all other conversa-
tion, were ni]3ped in the bud, she found
herself in a most luxurious bed, in a
handsome room, mth waving plane trees
outside the window. As she sank back
among the fresh smelling sheets, she said
hazily, by way of saying something, —
174 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
''Yon don't take long to air sheets,
Migs Simpson."
" My dear," said Hester Simpson, " we
always keep tliem aired for Mr. Goodge.
You never know wlien lie is coming. He
miglit be here to-night, or he might not
be here for three weeks. There are
another pair airing for him now."
"I hope I haven't incommoded "
began Mary.
" What, Goodge ? Bless yon ! no ; he
would as soon sleep in the sink as any-
where ; and, in my behef, would, if he
wasn't seen to bed Hke a Christian.
General Anders says he would pull down
a tatty and sleep in that if he could get
nothing better. Does that noise annoy
you, dear ? "
'' No, Miss Simpson."
" It does me. It's his cockatoo, and if
it belonged to any one else I would make
the page wring its neck. But what I say
THE NEW HOME. 175
is, when you get a real profound man
of science like Goodge, you must allow
for his peculiarities. Goodge's pecu-
liarities show him to be the man of
genius that he is. I said to him myself,
^ Goodge, you are a fool to go to Tacks-
hend.' He rephed to me, ' Hester, it is
you that are the fool. Come also.' ' As
what ? ' I said. ' As my wife,' said he.
But I did not see my way to it at fifty,
and he not thirty-five, though he looks
sixty. Well, now, my dear, a bit of this
chicken, a little more champagne, and
then to sleep. Eeginald will be here in
the morning."
" I should hke to talk a Httle to you,
Miss Simpson," said Mary.
" Well, do, my dear, if it does not tii-e
you."
" I am sm-e my darling Charles is very
sorry for all that has happened."
"So he ought to — I mean, no doubt
176 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
he is, dear. An affectionate husband, I
suppose? "
'' The kindest, best of men."
^' With the best of wives," said Aunt
Hester cheerily.
" I have done my best since the
troubles came upon us. But I was only
used to poverty, you know, and it came
easy to me. Any home would be a
heaven to me with him."
" Well, everything will come right, I
dare say. I am not going to give him
money, because I might just as well put
it into a watering-pot and water the
flowers with it. But I'll mayhap do so
some day or another; and I'll consult
Goodge. Come, I can't say anything
more than that."
Hester Simpson considered this tanta-
mount to saying that she would behave
in the handsomest way. Poor Mary was
obHged to be content.
THE NEW HOME. 177
Keginald repaired to a coffee-shop,
from which, he WTote a succinct account
of the day's proceedings, winding up bj'
saying that, if Aunt Hester did not relent
in the morning, he should make an effort
to bring Mary and the child over to
Arcis-sur-Mer. " The poor girl has
been pining for you, my own boy, and I
should be glad to bring you together. I
can get leave from the office, and I have
over £120. Expect us when you see us."
vor,. I. N
178 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
CHAPTEE XII.
CHARLES MAKES A FAILURE IN HIS SERMON.
*'GiVE tliem according to their deeds,
ajQd according to the wickedness of theii-
endeavours : give them after the work
of their hands ; render to them their
desert." — Psalm xxviii. 4.
Such was the text given out by the
Eev. Charles Hetherege to the con-
gregation of Ai'cis-sur-Mer in General
Talbot's di-a^ing-room. The habitues of
the pretty Httle chm-ch in the Rue des
Chenes at once settled themselves com-
fortably to Hsten to a good thing — much
CHAELES'S LAST SEEMON. 179
as in a theatre one settles one's self com-
fortably when the curtam goes up on a
favourite, well-known piece, with a few
of our best liked actors in it. A good
thing seldom fails — men never get tired
over Hamlet or Twelfth Night — the con-
gregation knew from the text that they
were going to have a denunciatory sermon
from the Eev. Charles, against some
persons unloiown. These sermons used
to come nearly every Sunday in the
season, and no man could preach them
better than the handsome temporary
chaplain of Arcis-sur-Mer.
Among the permanent Enghsh resi-
dents, and among those of the visitors
who stayed long enough to become
initiated into the ways of the place,
there were many theories as to the
people who had so greatly aroused the
Eev. Charles's anger ; for — although the}'
might be the Assyrians one day, the
180 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Canaanites another, the Babylonians a
third — it was perfectly clear, obvious,
and evident that no man, not even
such a genius as the Eev. Charles, could
o-et into such a state of white heat
against people who had been dead many
thousand years, and who had never
done him any wrong. It was certain
that he had his enemies in the flesh,
and that he used his pulpit, like some
others of his reverend brethren, to ease
his mind without the remotest chance of
contradiction.
The young men of the small Easter
vacation reading party were unanimously
of opinion that the denounced ones were
his University creditors, and that, as he
could not pay them in cash, he took
this rather pecuHar method of paying
them in kind. Their tutor, however,
who had been a contemporary of the
Rev. Charles, was of another opinion —
CHAELES'S LAST SEEMON. 181
it was evidently, £i-om liis point of view,
the Londo7i creditors who were de-
nounced. He was accustomed, in fact, to
use the Rev. Charles Hetherege as an
example, to illustrate some of those
invaluable pieces of worldly wisdom with
which, in more confidential moments
with his pupils, he varied conic sections
and Juvenal.
" See," he would say, " what a fool a
man makes of himself by getting in debt
in London, where people won't wait,
when he may have any amount of tick
at his University, where people will.
Charles Hetherege might owe three
times as much as he does, and walk the
streets of Cambridge now."
These invaluable bits of advice were
treasured up and acted on duly by his
fortunate pupils.
General Talbot, the gentle, wise Indian
officer, who lived here for his health, and
182 EEGINALD HETHEKEGU.
who was the richest of all Charles's con-
gregation, knew a great deal more about
Charles's enemies than any one else. He
was Charles Hetherege's churchwarden,
his guide, and his friend. He knew
perfectly well that the Hivites, Hittites,
aud Perizzites, who were doomed to
eternal perdition in such masterly lan-
guage, were only the people who refused
to lend Charles any more money, or who
impertinently asked for their own back
again. He never was denounced from
the pulpit. In the first place, he always
did lend the money ; in the second place,
he never asked for it back again ; and
in the third, Charles never came to him
as long as he had a franc to pay for his
morning's bath in the sea.
General Talbot used to say to himself,
" The handsome, scatter-brained genius
is honest enough, after all. When he
gets the money he will pay it, and I can't
chaeleb's last bekmon. 183
see what is to prevent his getting it.
The devil of it is that he can't raise
money on his chance."
It was evident, on this particular Sun-
day (to General Talbot), that there was
something rather more wi'ong than usual
with the reverend gentleman's affairs.
General Talbot said once that his elo-
quence in the pulpit was so great that
Arcis-sur-Mer would have gone into
moui-ning had any one paid his debts and
launched liim on his legitimate career as
a great popular preacher in England.
Talbot said that people stayed at Arcis-
sm--Mer on then* way to Paris to hear
him. The vice and frivolity of the latter
city he continually denounced, pointing
out, per contra, the gentle, pastoral life
of Arcis-sur-Mer, of which town his
churchwarden. General Talbot, used to
say very Httle.
The Enghsh hotel-keepers declared
184 BEGIN ALD HETHEREGE.
tliat he filled the place, and would have
died on their own hearthstones for him.
If Charles had chosen to borrow money
in Arcis-sm'-Mer, he could have done
it ; but he was a queer fellow, and paid
his way, partly with his own money,
and partly with other people's. He
once owed a tradesman 1000 francs
at Arcis, and the tradesman pressed.
M. Victor, of the Hotel Eoyal, came to
Cliarles Hetherege, and offered him the
money.
Charles Hetherege said, " No, M.
Victor — you, as a foreigner, have no
security, as it seems to me. My
EngHsli friends will all be paid when I
have my own, either by myself or my
famil3\ But I cannot answer for any
money."
Was this only to make a better name
here than he had at home, or was it from
real care ?
. CHAKLES'S LAST SEKilOX. 185
Ivnowiug liis man, General Talbot was
very miicli puzzled by the sermon. As
a general rule liis usual sermons were
characterized by splendid eloquence,
always manly, like the man himself, and
never florid. He used to begin with a
magnificent text of Scripture, written by
the Jews, the first gi'eat nation of all
time, and translated by the English, the
second great nation of all time (as he,
o^ing money to both nations, was per-
fectly assured). Before you had re-
covered from his magnificent text, in
which you were bound to beHeve, he at
once made a splendid and audacious
petitio principiij in which you were not
bound to believe, but to which you were
obhged to submit, because the rules of
modern civiKzation prevent you rising in
yom- pew and telHng the clergyman that
he is talking nonsense. But when once
you had swallowed the petitio prmc^pn,
186 1 BEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
the man had you body and bones. He
then became faultlessly logical, and if lie
bad proved to you that Jacob wore Abra-
ham's stockings, you would scarcely see
the flaw in his sorites.
As a general rule, he was more logical
in these denunciatory sermons than in
any others. It is very easy to get up a
case against the world ; a man must be
a poor fool if he cannot do that. The
repentant garotter, who has had the mis-
fortune to hammer an old gentleman's
head flat, tells the chaplain that it aU
came from his mother not having warned
him against Sabbath brealdng. Any one
can make a case against the world, and
the Eev. Charles Hetherege could make
a very good one, all said and done. In
these sermons he spoke only out of the
lips of David, Daniel, Susannah, Mor-
decai, and other ill-used persons. Every-
body knew he meant himseK, even when
CHAELES'S LAST SEEMON. 187
he got logically furious about the wrongs
of Susannah ; but his argument was
always good, after the first start. On
one occasion, by using an old argument
about the divisions of the soul, he proved
clearly, and in his best style, that he
was three people, and that no one had
been ever worse treated than himself
since the three holy cliildren.
Everybody, on the day of the sermon
we speak of, was rather disappointed
at first with it. The Cambridge men,
who always watched for his j^^i^Ho iwin-
cipiij found it wanting ; there would be
no fun for them at lunch. The ladies
were utterly puzzled with him. General
Talbot hardly knew what to tliink of it —
his pet, nay, his fiiend seemed to have
lost his head ; he wandered from his text.
He was furious enough and angry enough
— some one had offended him terribly.
Was it his Bishop? Was it any indi-
188 EEGINALD HETHEBEGE.
vidiial creditor? That was hardly pos-
sible, because none of his creditors
expected any money at present. Was
it a French creditor ? He had none.
There was some deadly offence given,
however, and the Eev. Charles seemed
very angry about it, though there was
a, strange light in his eyes which General
Talbot could not fathom.
The preacher jumbled matters strangely.
Magniiicent and awful as his words were,
even General Talbot could not follow
him. He was putting the words of David,
quoted at the head of this chapter, into
the mouth of Hagar, when she was turned
into the desert by Sara. His burning
fury against Sara was something awfal
to hear. The young men from Cambridge,
used to good sermons, looked at one
another in amazement ; and Mr. Dormer
said to his favourite pupil, " I have never
heard anvthine- like this."
Charles's last sermon. 189
All in a moment the preacher, in
describing the desert scene, bent down
his head and burst into tears ; for the
first and last time in his pubHc Hfe. He
was no whimpering preacher — he despised
a man who was capable of tears ; yet here
he was, with his head down on the velvet
cushion, not whimpering, Hke a beaten
hound, but fairly sobbing from his great
chest, like a strong man beaten down to
the level of a woman by great, overpower-
ing emotion.
"My friends," he said, when he raised
Ms head, " I beg your pardon for this
emotion. I cannot explain it here. My
heart is too full of mingled joy and sorrow
to explain anything. Stay — some of you
who have borne with my petulant ways
so long deserve confidence. I have de-
nounced Sara, departing fi'om my text,
and putting the words of David in her
mouth. Will you forgive me when I tell
190 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
you tliat Sara lias sent Hagar into the
desert as soon as Islimael is born, and
that there is no one to meet her there
hut myself? "
( 191 )
CHAPTEE XIII.
GOODGE.
Eeginald, having written to Charles, found
himseK once more in the street, quite
unconscious of what he was going to do
with himself. He had been so long used
to worry, duns, and vexation of all kinds,
that he felt like a boy with a hohday.
He considered what use he would make
of that holiday, for he felt very much
inchned to think that Aunt Hester would
do no more than put Mary into lodgings,
and see after her. However, she had a
roof over her head that night, at all
events, and he would enjoy himself.
Where? Why, where an EngHshman
naturally goes to — his club.
192 REGINALD HETHEKEUE.
He belonged to a cheap but very select
club at the West End, wbicli was insti-
tuted for poor gentlemen mainly, though
frequented by many rich ones. His ten
pounds entrance fee had been paid long
ago, and he had always kept up his sub-
scription. Since the more fantastic of
Charles's pecuniary irregularities, he had
not cared to go there, for in the latter
of the few years we have slapped over
so cavalierly, Charles, also a member,
had owed money to the waiters, had
even owed money for cards, all of which
he (Eeginald) had paid, but which trans-
actions were not in any way pleasant.
^' I'll go, however," he said to himself ;
" I don't owe anything. I shall meet
some one there, and can get a bed at an
hotel once in a way." So he turned
south-westward, musing.
'' Charles has made a fearful mess of
it ; he will never reinstate himself after
GOODGE. 193
this. Hiindi'eds of men without a tithe
of his prospects owe six times as much,
but he owes it in such an absurd fashion.
And adversity has done him no good.
At the time of his great trouble, when
those priests fought for him, I thought
that there was some stuff in him, and
that he would make a spoon, whereas he
has only spoilt a horn. He has dete-
riorated very much — there is a total
want of moral energy about him which
develops every year. He does not drink,
he does not do anything which you could
exactly lay hold of; but in some of his
moods he would laugh if his house was
bm-nt down. He had a faith at one time,
but I would not give much for it now.
How he preaches so splendidly now with- '
out brandy I don't know, but he is as
sober as a judge ; and yet, after a fit of
apathy, pat him in the pulpit, and there
is no one like him. It is a puzzling
VOL. I.
1.94 EEGINALD HETHEKEGE.
world. It has treated me very well,
however, and so I won't grumble. I
never pretended to deserve anything from
the world at all : I made one fiasco far
greater than any of Charles's, and yet here
I am with really all I want. Charles,
instead of making one fine and really
grand mess, as I did, has made fifty
small ones, which in the aggi'egate do not
amount to my one, and he is a beggar
and a outcast, while I am in clover. By-
the-by, I have <£100 of his which I must
account for. What the deuce is to be-
come of it ? Here is another example
of his way of managing matters. If I
send it to him, I assist him in defi-auding
his creditors ; if I don't, what has his
wdfe to live on if Aunt Hester were to
turn Turk ? Charles was born to trouble
as the sparks fly upwards. I'll pay that
wusherwoman out of it, though — be
hanged if I don't ! Good heavens ! what
GOODGE. 195
an a^'fiil Bedlam tliat liouse has been
lately ; it is like awaking fi'oni an evil
dream to get out of it."
He was awakened from liis reverie by
a smiling face, and be found tbat be bad
walked into tbe coffee-room of bis club,
and bad sat down in bis old familiar place.
Tbe smiling face was tbat of tbe steward.
"It is a pleasure indeed, sir," said be,
'' to see two such old faces, and yet two
sucb unfrequent ones, on tbe same day,
and in tbe same bour."
"You mean mine for one, I suppose,"
said Eeginald cbeerfully, "and yoiu" own in
tbe looking-glass bebind me for tbe otber.
Tbougb wby you call your own an un-
frequent one, I don't know, for you must
see it pretty often. Perbaps you bave
arrived at tbe same conclusion tbat I
bave — tbe older one gets tbe less one
cares to look in tbe glass. Tbe otber face
not yom's ! wbose tben ? "
196 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
" Mr. Goodge's,'sir."
" Goodge ! " cried Keginald, ''where
is lie ? "
"In the smoking-room, sir; just fresh
from California — somewhere in the
Indies. And ain't he laying down the
law neither?"
Eeginald asked if he had ordered
dinner, and finding that he was alone,
told him to order double portions, for
that he should dine with Mr. Goodge.
He opened the door of the smoking-
room, the first sanctum of that kind
instituted at any club in London, and
looked in.
Before the fire stood an immensely tall
man, narrow shouldered, beardless, and
without any colour in his face save a
dark brown, evidently got from the sun.
His hair was closely cropped, showing
the splendid form of his skull. He might
be any age from five -and- thirty to sixty :
GOODGE. 197
that gTey blue eye, in its quaint expres-
sion, might belong to a clever, mischiev-
ous schoolboy; that firmly-set mouth,
mth the large, almost ugly jaw beneath
it, belonged to a man, and no common
one. His dress was well cut, but made
to show his figure more than the common
hideous dress of 1831, when handsome
men like Palmerston or Melbourne
swathed themselves up in the ghastly
garments invented by an unhealthy king.
His thi'oat, for instance, was bare and
loosely knotted in a blue handkerchief
under a turn-down collar ; and that wiry
throat was as brown as his face or his
long sinewy hands.
Such was Goodge the traveller, as
Eeginald looked at him. He had only
to say " Eobert," when the giant strode
towards him, and raised him fi'om the floor.
" Here is a welcome for a fellow," he
said, in his usual cheery voice. " ^^Tiy,
198 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Eeginalcl, I have got a liundredweiglit of
talk to have with yon ! You must dine
with me."
" I have made that arrangement
aheady," said Eeginald. "Welcome
home, scalps and all ! "
" Scalps, quotha," said Goodge. "Mind
your own, you old capitalist, or that curly
wig of yours, without a grey hair in it
yet, as I see, will hang in a wigwam of
the tribe of Murdoch some day. How's
scapegrace ? Over the water, I hear,
saving Ids scalp. Well, Wolff says that
the Indians are the lost tribes of Israel,
but I'U be hanged if I wouldn't face all
the Indians in America sooner than their
brethren of Cursitor Street. Depend
upon it, the lost tribes are not half so
bad as those who have taken the trouble
to remain with us. Here, however, is
dinner. I am going to kick up a row
with the committee, because there was
GOODGE. 199
no buffalo Immp : it is just in season now.
Well," lie continued, when they were
settled at dinner, ''now tell us every-
thing about yourself."
" Charles has not been going on well."
" He never did, did he ? " said Goodge.
"I won't go as far as to say that,"
said Eeginald, "but he is going on
worse than ever."
" That must be pretty bad," said
Goodge.
"It is," said Eeginald; "there is no
moral tone about him at all. He is
sold out of house and home, and has
left his wife pretty much on my hands.
I have a hundred pounds of his, and I
don't see what to do with her when that
is gone. Meanwhile, she has a boy ; the
other two children died at once, I have
a presentiment that this one will Hve."
"Well, we must quarter it on Hester
then," said Goodge.
200 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
"I have already done so," said Regi-
nald, — " perspectively, that is. I have got
her into Hester's house. She declares
that she will turn her out to-morrow
morning."
"Fiddle-de-dee!" said Goodge. "Don't
trouhle your mind about her. Hester
would never do that ; if she proposed
it, I would forbid it. I thought you
and Hester. were at variance. How did
you manage it ? "
" The courage of desperation, which
gives one impudence."
" What do you expect from it ? "
" I don't very much know. I had an
idea — you will think me a fool — that the
child ought to be under her protection,
for it has none other."
" Not a bad notion. With a kind
fool of a woman like Hester — a very
good notion. Wliat is the mother like ? "
" A sensible, sharp, plucky little
woman."
GOODGE. 201
"It is possible, then," said Goodge,
"that the child may not tnrn out as
great a fool as its father. And so the
Jews won't have anything to say to
Charles?"
" No ; they don't see their way to it.
My life is as good as his."
"And a precious sight better!" said
Goodge. " Now, tell me fairly, do you
expect that Charles will ever take any-
thing under this will ? "
"At my death there will be, of course,
a settlement of some kind, and a vast
deal must come out of the fire."
"A gi-eat deal will come out of the
fire," said Goodge; "there must be a
million, or a dozen, somewhere. With all
that the lawyers have taken, there must
be twelve milhons at least."
"There is nothing like that — there is
nothing approaching to it," said Kegi-
nald. "If it were the case, why have
202 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
not my family moved more strongly in
the matter ? They never cared about
the suit at all. And if Charles is to
have such a vast sum of money, why
have they not helped him more ? "
"Because they are all rich, because
you are eternally in the way, because
your Hfe is better than Charles's, because
half a hundi'ed things may happen —
there are innumerable reasons why they
should let things drift. Charles has
lost two children lately, for example.
Will this one Hve ? If it dies, what
becomes of the whole will? — the devil,
to whom the money was originally left,
only can tell ; the Lord Chancellor
could not. Old Thellusson made some
wild provision, after scheming out an
almost impossible succession, to spite
his relation, that his money should go
to pay the national debt. Do you think
Digby was such a fool as that ? There
GOODGE. 203
^5 only one man alive noiv, who ever
knew Digby in the flesh intimately.
He knew him as intimately as one
human being can know another."
" Of whom do you speak ? " said
Eeginald. " What yon say is almost im-
possible. Any one who was old enough
to know Digby as intimately as you
say, would now be between eighty and
ninety, for he would not have confided
his affairs to a man under thirty."
" Never you mind about that," said
Goodge. '' I am not here to mention
ih.Q age of this man, of whom I am
speaking. I only say that he is one of
my most intimate friends. One of them
— why, he is the truest and bravest friend
I have in the world, and the best comrade
in bush or jungle I ever wish to have.
We shot tigers together last year — he
wanted to show me the sport, and it is
poor work. This friend of mine knew
204 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Digby well, and his opinion is that the
whole suit, will and all, will blow up
together like a burst balloon some day."
"Has he got any reason for thinldng
so?"
"Apparently not, or none which he
would tell, even to me. I have told you
more than I ought, Eeginald, because
things spoken of over pipes in jungle or
bush are not supposed to be repeated. I
only tell you that I sometimes have a
suspicion that the whole lawsuit is a
moonshine. The old man made his will
to plague his relations; like all spiteful
people, he has failed at present. Your
grandfather was the only one he cared
about and really provided for, and he
and his descendants are the only ones
who have suffered. My friend does not
think that that was the old man's wish."
" Then you think "
"On the contrary. I only suppose
GOODGE. 205
that the old man did not wish his money
to be wasted entirely among lawyers, or
to go into unworthy hands. Fmther
than that I say nothing. I say that if
you were to die to-morrow I would not
give sixpence one way or another, unless
something happened."
" And what is that ? " asked Eeginald.
" Never mind. I don't know, so how
can I tell you ? I want to say some more
to you. You to a certain extent give
your hfe to this son of yours — I know
more about you than you have ever told
me yourseK, fi'om a certain quarter. The
boy began very badly ; he mended for a
while, and did well. He is now, accord-
ing to your own showing, doing worse
and worse every year. Did you do your
duty by him, old fiiend ? "
" No ; I was a fool with him. I put
notions into his head, or, rather, let
notions gi"OW there, which I should have
206 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
combatted. I let him liave Ms own way
too mucli. But what would you have,
Goodge ? He — the only friend I have —
could I quarrel with him ? I am so
used to be blamed, that I am hanged if
I care for it ; but you are right in saying
that I did not do my duty by that boy —
if I had he would have gone to the devil
years ago."
This view of matters struck Goodge
as something new. Never in all his
travels had he met with such a singular
sentiment ; and yet it was, apj^arently,
true.
" I fancy you are right there, Eeginald.
You are certainly the only confidant he
ever made. But I put a case to you.
This child just born is a boy, will you
allow him to grow up under his father's
influences ? "
" I am not his father."
"But would you use your influence
GOODGE. 207
with Charles to make him put the child
under the care of other people, who
would provide for him ? I do not say
separate him fi'om his mother until his
education began ; I mean, do you think
that Charles would to some extent give
the child up to other influences ? "
"I should say that Charles, the most
affectionate fellow in the world, would
never stand in his child's light. But the
child is very young."
" Well, I can only tell you that the
child has more friends than you know of.
Could you do nothing with the father to
save him fi'om ruin ? "
"Yes, if I could pay his debts and
give him a chance of contracting fresh
ones," said Eeginald.
ic There is where it is," said Goodge.
" You yourself could have what you liked
to-morrow : you had it once, and then
you gave it all to him. I could get you
208 EEGINALD HETHEKEGE.
money, if you could give your honour
that it did not go to your son."
"Ah! but, you see, I can't," said
Eeginald.
" It is a great pity," said Goodge that
evening to himself, " that that fellow
Charles stands in the way so. Anders
would do anything for Eeginald if he
could get rid of Charles."
( 209 )
CHAPTER XIY.
AN IMPORTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE.
A MEMBER of the family, more than a
week afterwards, coming to call on Aunt
Hester, found Fitzroy Square down in
straw, and the door knocker done up
with a white kid glove. He at once
drove round to the other members of the
family, and announced that Aunt Hester
was dying. An immediate family con-
clave was ordered, and invitations sent
out for the next day, at lunch- time.
Jamieson, the butler, had merely done
as he was told, and said that the lady was
as well as could be expected. He had
also added, on his own account, that she
VOL. 1. I*
210 BEGINALD HETHEKEGE.
was very weak, and that tliey were very
anxious.
The family assembled solemnly at the
house of Alh'ed Mm-doch ; they ate their
lunch, and then, instead of [separating as
usual, began to drink sherry. The ladies
not only stopped with the gentlemen,
but drank sherry also. Each member
primed his or herself pretty Hberally
before any of them belled the cat.
Everybody knew what everybody else
had come about, but no one liked to
begin. At a funeral the conversation
is very often much more about the
deceased's property than about deceased.
So in the present case, the conversation
was led up to by the Mrs. Simpson of
that generation asking the Mr. Mm'doch
of that generation over the table what
he thought " Aunt Hester would be worth
now."
" Three thousand a year, Jane, and
AN IMPORTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 211
ias never spent ^61500, that is my
opinion," said Murdocli.
Mrs. Simpson, a fat and viciously ill-
tempered woman, whose fat had exasper-
ated her temper, instead of softening it,
as it does in most cases, replied, —
'' She has paid snch sums away for
that wicked boy of yom'S, that I doubt
if she has much left."
Mr. Murdoch at once rose, and re-
quested of Mr. Simpson to ask his wife
" what the devil she meant by that."
Mr. Simpson who like most men with
violent wives was a peaceable person,
begged Murdoch to pretermit the ques-
tion.
''They were not there," he said, "to
inquire about the amount of Hester's
property, but to see what the state of
her health was, and, if it were possible,
to find out what testamentary disposi-
tions she had made."
212 REGINALD HETHEREGE. -
He was proceeding to say that it was a
matter in wliicli tliey were all interested^
when Miss Laura Talbot rose and spoke.
Her words were very few ; she only asked
of her Cousin Simpson whether her
Cousin Murdoch had ever been in the
dock for forgery, and then sat down.
The fact of the matter was that there
was a blacker sheep in the Simpson fold
than ever there had been in the Mur-
doch. Things not to be spoken of
happen in the best regulated famihes.
James Murdoch was a very great rascal ;
but George Simpson had come under
the clutches of the law for bad speUing
— he spelt some one else's name instead
of his own ; let us hope that such mis-
takes will become less frequent with the
spread of education. Miss Laura Talbot
was, hke most other young ladies, very
fond of James Murdoch, and, although
he had treated her rather badly, stood
AN IMPORTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 213
up for liim because, as she liad told
her sister, Cousin Simpson's manner was
enough to exasperate a mouse.
She, however, had rather rudely called
her fat Cousin Simpson's attention to the
fiasco of her firstborn, and had con-
structively reminded her of the JC5000
bail she had had to pay to get the
sweet youth out of the country. It was
necessary for Cousin Simpson to say
something, or for ever to lose her position
as being the worst tongued woman in
every branch of the family.
It is always supposed that she would
at once have withered the audacious
Laura Talbot, and left her in tears. But
she never did so — she, hke Bazaine, lost
her opportimity. She often told her
friends afterwards what she was going
to say to that young lady, but she never
said it. She was interrupted, as many
another orator has been, by excited in-
214 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
terpellations, delivered without previous
notice.
" They did not come there to quarrel,"
said one. " Pray," said another, " let
them discuss the matter in hand tempe-
rately." It was unanimously voted that
the family was to observe the utmost
decorum, and the assembled members of
it sat down with wi'ath in their hearts, to
see if they could be civil to one another
for the first time in their hves when
gathered in conclave : though some times^
when divided into groups, they got on
very well, and only abused one another
behind each other's backs.
They got on tolerably for a consider-
able time. The sherry, however, while it
made the ladies amiable and even reason-
able at first, acted differently on the men,,
who wanted to smoke.
The drinking even of the best brown
East India sherry in the middle of the
AN IMPOETANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 215
day would produce its effect on tlie
temper of a saint. The family hauled
Aunt Hester over the coals in the most
handsome manner, under the firm im-
pression that she was very ill in bed, and,
in fact, bound to a better world. They
were all pretty well to do people, and her
property was not of very much con-
sequence to any of them ; still it had
better be kept in the family. If she had
made her will, why she had made it ;
anyhow, it would be well to know which
way the money was gone — or, better, to
see if any member of the family could use
his influence with her to make her do
her duty to her kindred, a thing in which
she had been sadly remiss. At this point
(of the sherry), there was not a more
imited family in Christendom, for each
member had a son or daughter which he
would have been most glad to marry to
his or her cousin, provided extraneous
216 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
cash was forthcoming. Aunt Hester's
cash waSj^so to speak, extraneous, and
any member of the family would have
married his son or daughter for it, though
he knew that he gained the imdying
enmity of the rest of his kindred. It
was a free game, Hke football : some one
would have to kick some one else's shins
in it, and apologize afterwards. But as
no one was in the least degree aware as
to. whose shins were going to be lacked,
or who was going to kick them, there
was really no mutual animosity, and the
whole matter might perfectly well be
looked at quietly under a haze of sherry.
But "Canary" (Avhich one may sup-
pose the sherry of Shakspeare's time) is
— says Mrs. Quicldy — a very searching
wine ; and, as the conversation proceeded,
the gentlemen of the party began to get
snappish and h'actious towards one
another.
AN IMPOKTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 217
" Has any one heard anything of Cousin
Eeginald, lately ? " said Mr. Mm'doch.
''I shoidd not much care if I never
heard of him again," said Mr. Simpson.
"Very Hkely," said Mr. Murdoch; "but
everybody may not be your way of think-
ing, you see. I rather Hke poor Eeginald
— he is nobody's enemy but his own."
" I ask your pardon," said Mr. Simp-
son, "he is my enemy, and the enemy of
every one in this room."
" Pray do not enter into an altercation,
Mr. Simpson," said his wife.
" I will not be quiet, I tell you, Jane,"
said Mr. Simpson, vahant with the three
glasses of wine which he had taken. " I
consider that Eeginald could be very
easily spared out of this world indeed.
He has not adorned it so much as to
justify him in hving over sixtj^"
" He is not fifty," said Mr. Talbot.
Mr. Murdoch knew that he was about
218 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
fifty, but as lie tlionglit it would annoy
Mr. Talbot to contradict him, he did
so, and said that Keginald was seventy.
Keginald's name being thus brought on
the carpet, a rather lively wi-angle
followed on the subject of the will.
"It would be a rather curious thing,
after all, if Charles were to die without
children," said Mr. Simpson. "He has
lost two, and it is quite possible that he
may lose another, or, indeed, not have
any more."
"I would not take any more of that
wine if I were you, Mr. Sunpson," said
Mrs. Simpson. "Your last remark was.
as nearly as possible imbecile."
"Yes," said Mr. Murdoch, " Simpson's
last remark was not a very bright one,,
certainly."
" It was as bright as any you are likely
to make, Mr. Murdoch," said the
offended lady, who allowed no one to
AN IMPORTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 219
abuse her husband but herself. " My
husband has not much brains, maybe,
but he has as much as some who think
themselves wiser. I don't hold with
the way he put what he said, but I
hold with the substance of it. It luould
be a curious thing if Charles died with-
out children; it would be curiously
hicky for some of us. I don't know
whatever he will do now, until his
father's death — he can't go on as he is
doing much longer^ that is very certain."
"My firm behef is," said Mr. Talbot,
" that if Hester had lived, she would
Yery hkely have done something for
him, to spite the family. Perhaps it is-
better as it is."
There was a general murmm* of assent.
Mr. Talbot was, fi'om that remark, head
of the family for at least ten minutes.
*'You are right, Cousin Talbot," said
Murdoch. '' Have you heard anything
220 REGINALD HETHEKEGE.
as to what is going on in the law business
lately?"
''It is a dead lock till Reginald's
death, I \mderstand," said Talbot. "I
am going to spend no money ; are you ? "
"Not I; Eeginald is good for twenty
years, and the suit is good for fifty. I
have given up thinking about the
matter." And they all agreed that
they never gave the thing a thought.
The conversation had become general
and noisy; it principally ran on the
approaching decease of Aunt Hester.
Mrs. Simpson by dega-ees talked ever}^
one else down by superior lungs, and
possibly an extra glass of sherry. She
was nodding the Paradise bird in her
bonnet, she was smoothing her green
satin gown with one of her cream-
coloured gloves, while she extended her
other arm, from which drooped a black
lace shawl, oratorically. She was going
AX IZiirOllTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 221
away; lier carnage liad been rung for,
and she stood up to conclude.
'' Mark my words, my dear souls,"
she said, with her back towards the
door, in the midst of a strange silence,
which she was too excited to notice.
"Mark my words, I say — that man
Goodge has designs upon Hester, and it
\vill be well if we are not all left out in
favoiu' of that man. If ever I saw
villany, in a human face, I see it in the
face of Goodge. You take my ad\dce,
you two gentlemen, the moment the
breath is out of Hester's hody^ dash
off to Pitzroy Square, and put your
seals on everything, and see after the
machinations of that villain Goodge."
She tm-ned to go majestically, but
brought up short with a loud scream.
Goodge and Aunt Hester were standing
before her, waiting until she had done.
There was nothing for it but to roar
222 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
with laughter — the discomfiture of Mrs.
Simpson, the most disagreeable of the
whole kith and kin, was too ahsm'd. It
was exactly the joke for sardonic old
Aunt Hester. Had Mrs. Simpson been
less eager to hear her own voice she
might have heard the servant announce
the new comers, but Aunt Hester had
heard quite enough to suit her grim
humour.
Still Aunt Hester looked like anything
but laughing. Her air was wild, her eyes
were red with weeping, and there was an
appearance of horror in her face. Goodge,
too, the man of a thousand escapes,
looked very anxious and uneasy. There
was something about the pair which
produced a terrified silence among those
who had been so noisy just before. Aunt
Hester spoke vath a trembling voice.
" My dear souls, have you seen Eegi-
nald?"
AX IMPOKTAXT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 223
" No, no ! " was the murmured answer
from all quarters.
Aunt Hester began to weep again.
" He has heard all about it, and has
gone, God knows whither. I fear he mil
make away with himself. I am afi-aid
he has done so ah-eady, for he went
away with nothing but his hat, the
moment he got the news."
'' News ? what news ? " said Mr. Tal-
bot.
"About Charles, of course."
"What about him?" asked Mr. Mur-
doch.
" Dead, dead, dead ! drowned last
night, coming across to see his wife.
Alas, poor Charles ! alas, poor Charles ! "
And they all echoed in a frightened
whisper —
"Dead!"
224 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
CHAPTER XV.
A POOR BUBBLE BURSTS.
A DAT or two after the descent on Aunt
Hester, Reginald wrote to Cliarles to
say that everything was going well, and
that Aunt Hester had entirely taken to
"both the mother and son. But by the
next post came a letter saying that the
mother had been suddenly and violently
seized with illness, and was in danger.
Poor Charles ! What could he do. He
loved his wife tenderly, and the thought
of never seeing her again overwhelmed
him. To go to England was madness,
and yet how could he stay? He took
his griefs to General Talbot.
A POOR BUBBLE BURSTS. 225
'' My dear cousin," said General Talbot,
" you ought to go certainly, but the risks
are very great."
^'WeU, I mil risk it aU. I would
sooner go to prison than suffer what I
do. She may be dead now."
'' But the packet does not sail till the
day after to-moiTOW."
" I wonder how much a fishing-boat
would charge to take me across ? "
" Make youi' bargain, cousin, and I will
be your banker."
" When is there a tide ? "
" At seven o'clock."
" Then I will go to Pollet at once."
The bargain was not long in making,
for both parties were willing. A large
fi.shing-boat with a crew of thi-ee men
was hu'ed, and they were to sail for
Brighton on the top of the tide at seven.
General Talbot bid good-bye to him
at the door of his house, and walked
VOL. I. Q
226 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
along the quay to tlie end to see him off.
He had not long walked up and down by
the lighthouse, when he noticed that
Charles would have a wet passage, for
there were heavy clouds away towards
Treport, to the east, from which the
thunder growled ominously. Still there
was but little wind, and that off shore.
At last the long-di-awn row of toiling
women in blue and red petticoats with
white caps was seen approaching. They
were tomng the fishing-boat out, whose
red sails were scarcely full.
When the women came to the end of
the pier they ceased towing, and stood
in a group, casting the tow-rope into the
water. Then they began talking.
" Ha! " said one, ''it is the luck of Pere
Roncy always. He gets a fine price for
to-night's work — five thousand £i-ancs,
they say."
" But that is impossible."
A POOK BUBBLE BURSTS. 2'27
'' Truly, then, impossible, but true. He
is paid beforehand also."
" I tell you," said another, "that the
passenger is the Protestant clergyman
whose wife is ill, and that Eoncy gets
two hundred and eighty francs."
The truth was unpalatable ; women like
wonders. The first speaker said —
"It is either Charles X., I tell you,
or one of his com't. Why, we all know
that the King left Paris four days ago,
and at once we have a stranger flying
from our port. He is a great man, this
one. If my husband had had the chance
he would have asked a thousand francs."
"And not got it," said another. "There
is the man, standing by Pere Eoncy
himself; it is the Protestant EngHsli
minister."
The boat was underneath the General's
feet now, and he hailed Charles.
" Good-bye ; be sure you will meet hei
in safety. Good-bye."
228 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
Charles waved Ms hand, hut said no-
thing audihle, and the boat, catching the
shore wind, sped away over the darken-
ing waters, under the continuous bhnk
of the approaching hghtning. With a
heavy heart the General tui*ned away,
with none hut gentle thoughts for his
eccentric and unfortunate Idnsman.
The Blonde higate, one of the swift-
est of her class, was in the Channel, off
Brighton, with orders to look out for any
open boats or small craft making for the
English shore. The astonishing events
at Paris had only just reached London,
and it was believed, in the liighest
quarters, that nothing short of a Eed
Kepubhc would settle down on that un-
happy city before the end of July. Some
fugitives were, it was thought, very likely
to make in open boats from Dieppe to
Newhaven. The Blonde, having nothing
to do, was ordered to look out for them.
A POOR BUBBLE BUESTS. 229
The Captain of the Blonde^ looking
at his glass and at the weather, and con-
sidering also that he was on a lee shore,
sent down his top-gallant -masts, and gave
himself plenty of sea room. He was
wise. He would have liked to pick up
Charles X., as well as another, but it was
going to blow, and he had six hundred of
the King's men to think about.
The night of the 3rd of August, 1830,
settled down with a most fearful thunder-
storm from the south-east, followed by a
gale of wind from the same quarter, so
sudden and so terrible, that the Blonde
put her pretty sides into it, and thrashed
■away to sea with every bit of canvas
she could carry. Sudden and sharp as
the wind was, it hardly blew long enough
to lash up a sea, when it lulled for half-
an-hour, and then came down again from
west stronger than ever. The Captain
of the Blonde had been in the China
230 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
seas, and had seen the same thing before ;
but the cyclone was a little too quick
for him, and he lost his foretop-mast.
During the temporary confusion caused
by this, they sighted a fishing-boat flying'
French colom'S, with one rag of a brown
sail (her jib), lying too, and apparently
making good weather of it. She was
undecked, however, and something was
evidently wi'ong with her, for she ceased
riding over the seas in a very few minutes,
and went down head foremost, a httle to
the windward of them, leaving only one
man visible, floating on a spare spar in
the ugly cross sea.
It was impossible to launch a boat just
then, but the Blonde would do any-
thing but talk, and her head was put
towards the Frenchman, who was now
being borne rapidly towards them, chng-
ing to a spar.
''It is an old man," said Tom Robert-
A POOE BUBBLE BUBSTS. 231
SOU, captain of the foretop. " You will
let me go, sir, won't you?" and the
Captain of the Blonde said, "Yes."
Kobertson, with a rope under his arm-
pits, pitched himself into the sea just in
front of the old man, who was driving
upon them. The spar struck him heavily
in the chest, but he held on, and brought
his man alongside. When they got him
on deck they found that he was very
old, and that he could not talk Enghsh.
It was Pere Roncy.
" You have had a narrow escape, my
man," said the Captain in French.
'' The devil drives when one has a
handsome offer and a rotten boat well
insured. Hein ! I am sorry for the
young men, and I am sorry for my pas-
senger."
"Who was your passenger? was he
escaping from Paris ? "
" No. Had he been a Parisian he
232 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
would have had the peculiar protection
of the patron saint of Paris — the devil.
As it was, he was merely a heretic, a
sort of Christian, to whom the devil
himself gives no protection. They say
you should not sail with heretics, but
this one has brought me good luck. I
net a thousand francs by this. I never
could have insured my boat for another
voyage, so thanks to the ever Blessed
Virgin. I will walk barefoot through the
streets to her shrine for this."
" For your preservation ? "
" No ; for my new boat and my thou-
sand francs in pocket. A man must
die, and I am safe ; heaven owes me
much."
"■ You infernal, ungrateful old scoun-
■drel ! who was your passenger ? "
"The EngHsh Protestant minister at
Arcis."
*' Charles Hetherefre ? "
A POOR BUBBLE BUBSTS. 233
^' Yes."
" Go and get yourself diied, you old
rascal," said the Captain. " I knew that
man somewhat," he said to his first lieu-
tenant. " A gi-eat many people will be
sorry for his loss. Goodge told me that
he was the most splendid preacher alive.
We must bear up for Portsmouth, and
I will send an enclosure to Goodge to
be forwarded, for I think he is in town."
The ship reached Portsmouth in ten
hours. The letter to the Admiralty,
detailing the reasons of the Blonde's
coming into Portsmouth, reached White- v
hall in nine hours. The Secretary to
the Admiralty was at his post, and he
knew Eeginald very well. Without for-
warding the enclosed letter to Goodge, he
wrote round to Eeginald at his ofQce,
which was close by, and gently told him
the whole truth as told him by the
Captain of the Blonde.
234 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
Eeginald read the letter, and then
looked at the messenger. He was deadly
pale, but he rose and got his hat and
coat, and walking steadily, went round
to the Admiralty, where he was at once-
admitted.
"Mr. Secretary," he said in a calm
Yoice, " do you believe this ? "
"My dear Mr. Hetherege, there is
not the remotest doubt about the matter.
Your son is drowned, sir. Pray do not
build up idle hopes about his safety.
God knows how I feel for you, and how
every one feels for you : but I must say
that, from Captain Arkwright's letter,.
there is no doubt at all. I could tell
you a piece of good news, sir, if any
news could be of value to you now ; I
heard your chief speak of it to-day."
" What is that ? "
"In consequence of yom- long and
honourable services, your one mistake
A POOR BUBBLE BURSTS. 235-
lias been overlooked. You are not
only reinstated in your original income,
but you are raised one grade, and are
considered as entitled to a pension,
wlien the ordinary time of your service
expires."
" Yesterday I should have been glad,"
said Eeginald, ''but to-day this ridiculous
report has unnerved me. I am away to
seek my son ; if it is true, there is room
enough in the sea for both of us."
It was his not beheving in the disaster
at first which saved him fi-om suicide
or madness. He went away to the sea-
side, not believing that it was true.
But it was true enough. Charles wa&
drowned on the very eve of a new
lease of prosperity. Eeginald's last wild
words being reported to Goodge by the^
Secretary, made him fear that the father
would thi'ow himseK into the arms of
his drowned son.
236 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
For two or three days there was an
awfal suspense in the family, for nothing
at all was heard of him. The great case
of the will was brought up again, after
lying dormant so long; they talked of
nothing else. If Beginald was dead,
there would be a settlement; and the
heads of the family began to hint to
one another about a compromise. It
was a terrible time for all of them.
But at the end of a week he returned
to Hester quietly, telling her that he
had been seeking for some tidings about
Charles's remains, and that he had
satisfied himself that it was nearly
impossible that the sea would give up
her dead.
At Hester's soHcitation he took up
his abode at her house, and his tem-
porary residence with her soon was
recognized as permanent. Few ever
knew how near poor Eeginald, in the
A POOR BUBBLE BURSTS. 237
first burst of his despair, had been to a
suicide, which the family thought would
have solved much, and made most of
them rich. Keginald never knew the
deep curses wliich came from one
throat, at all events, when he reappeared.
238 KEGINALD HETHEREGE.
CHAPTEE XVI.
MENDING MATTEES.
For a long time tlie life of the poor
widow trembled in the balance. For live
long years she had stood faithfully beside
Charles, thi'ough poverty and evil report,
and now she only heard the news of
better days with a dull, aching sorrow —
he had been taken from her just as he
would have been enabled to take his
place in the world, wiser through mis-
fortune, and with an increased motive
for exertion should the child live. To
her poor affectionate Httle heart every
pleasure now became as pain, because
MENDING MATTEKS. 239
he could not share it. The very beauties
of her child were a disappointment to
her, for tliey were admired alone.
It was determined silently by Aunt
Hester, that she was never to be sepa-
rated from her. Aunt Hester discovered
that she had lived too long alone, and
determined to have a little more com-
pany about her, in the shape of a brood-
ing woman, and a melancholy stricken,
middle-aged man. The care of these
two did her gi'eat good, and very much
softened her heart towards her relations,
— even the implacable Mrs. Simpson.
There is no doubt that had Charles Hved
she would have set him right in the
world for his wife's sake, and have given
him another chance ; but it was too late
— affairs were to take another course.
It was pretty evident now which way
Aunt Hester's money would go. It was
a bad job, but it could not be helped,
240 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
SO there was no use thinking any more
ah out it.
As Hester evidently, in remorse for her
wicked conduct in shielding Eeginald
and Mary, and openly speaking of her
testamentary designs on the hahy, was
more pleased than before to receive the
visits of her relations, why, the relations
had no objection to pay those visits.
They were not only accepted, hut re-
turned. In a very short time Hester
was received on famihar and affectionate
terms by the family generally, as one
who had been for a time estranged
through a misconception which had
now been cleared away.
Eeginald also was in a very different
position with his amiable connections.
He was a well-to-do man now, and ap-
parently a great favourite with the kind
Minister, who had reinstated him: he
had done yeoman's service, and had his
MENDING MATTEES. 241
reward. They treated him with great
respect, and Reginald, though his hair
got rather quickly white, was a very
handsome and agreeable man, w^ho might
marry any day ; and should he show an}^
tendency that way, he would find very
little difficulty in being accommodated
in the family. But Reginald had no
such intention ; he was quite settled on
far other matters.
Aunt Hester was found to be a most
valuable person in the family conclave,
as she was the only person w^ho could
manage the fat and furious Mrs. Simp-
son. Miss Lam-a Talbot always gave
battle to that estimable woman ; but^
though they might both scold them-
selves red, there was never any decided
victory on either side. Aimt Hester
showed herself mistress, from the very
first — after what may be called the re-
conciliation — by letting Mrs. Simpson
TOn. I. K
242 EEGINALD HETHEREGE. '
scold herself hoarse, while she, ou the
other hand, sat perfectly dumh, looldDg at
her. Wlien Mrs. Simpson was morally
and physically exhausted, and everybody
thought that it was all over, then Aunt
Hester began !?uch a withering onslaught
on to the fat woman, that she was re-
duced to tears and a glass of sherry in
five minutes.
Poor Mary was voted a very gentle
and biddable person, with whom no fault
could be found. The story went that
Charles had married her for her wit ;
she showed none now — she seemed a
pecuharly colourless person.
The child grew and throve amazingly.
A cliild of many prayers and many
anxieties, it was called George, after
young Barnett and Mr. Goodge, the latter
of whom was soon to be away again ou
one of his expeditions. Aunt Hester and
Beginald had many a long talk as to the
MENDING MAT TEES. 243
/
future ; one thing was always determined
on, that George Hetherege's education
was to he diametrically opposite to that
■of his father.
Goodge demurred ; he always did.
" You should wait and see what the
child promises to be before you decide.
If he exhibits the same qualities as his
father, educate him differently; but if
he seems different, why trouble ? His
father had a very good education, but
did not make a good use of it ; some
do, and some don't. Give the boy a
faith of some kind, however, and don't
leave him as his father was left."
And so time went on. There were
many marriages and many funerals,
among the numerous family, who were,
between the weddings, generally in a
chronic state of black for some relation
or another. There were some gi'eat
events, as when the Talbots moved to
244 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
Higligate into a grander house, and
when Mr. Mnrdoch's housemaid was
murdered by the butler, who was
hanged; on which occasion Aunt
Hester made all her servants go to
the execution, in order to show them
the probable end of their careers. But
in general they talked about httle but
dressing, eating, and going out to parties,
principally among themselves and their
own business connections. Something
was occasionally heard about the
Chancery suit, but no one cared much
about it. When the suit had been
started fifty years before, there had
been some interest in it. Two members
of the family only were never men-
tioned, James Mm^doch and George
Simpson, though they were occasion-
ally heard of — the first by Aimt Hester,
the second by his mother. Goodge,
after each retm-n from his expeditions,
MENDINa MATTEES. 245
used to ask if either of tliem were
authentically hiing, and on being told
no, used to express the most profound
disgust and disappointment.
With these few exceptions, there was
nothing hut peace mthin their walls, and
prosperity within theii' palaces, while
at the same time none of them got
any younger. Meanwhile, a theory was
■erected by the family, which gi-ew into
a deep and settled behef. The theory
and the behef ahke were that they
were the most profoundly respectable
and prosj^erous family in England, and
that, as there had never been any
scandal in it in the past, so there would
never be any in the future. James
Murdoch and George Simpson were
both ahve, certainly; but in spite of
those facts, the family passed into such
a state of complacent infalhbility, that
Aunt Hester and Eeginald began to
246 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
believe in it. The attitude of the
family was the attitude which the
Papacy assumes at certaiu times, that
of being beyond human accidents. We
shall show how this illusion came to-
be dissipated.
Eeginald grew more and more quietly
famous in what was now the speciality
of his life, theoretical finance ; as a
writer, he had few equals in this hne^
and his undoubted talents were such as-
to meet with solid recognition in his
department. Mr. Mm'doch, and other
merchants not of the family, spoke of
him as one of the longest-headed men
of the day, as he certainly was theo-
retically. Murdoch actually offered him
means to reduce his theories to practice.
But Eeginald at that time said no ; that
he preferred to study finance in the
abstract, without any of the anxieties
of the concrete, which might disturb'
MENDING MATTEES. 247
Ms judgment. A man wlio will decline
a loan of ten thousand pounds for such
excellent reasons was, undoubtedly, the
first financier of his age.
248 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
CHAPTEE XYII.
FOOTFALLS.
Absolute silence in London proper is
now almost impossible ; even in a place
■\vliere there is no thoroiiglifare, a few
footsteps are sure to break the stillness
of the night, at uncertain times, and
■cheer the sick wakers with a sense of
companionship. In a place like Bolton
Kow, with the narrow alley behind the
Duke of Devonshire's gardens, into
Berkeley Square, open to pedestrians at
all times of the night, silence is never
secured at all; footsteps come and go
until morning, with intervals long enough
to enable the waking listener to give a
FOOTFALLS. 249
character to each one in liis imagina-
tion. He liears tliem coming in the
distance, he says ; now he is by that
himp, now he is by another ; now he is
passing, now he is between the walls,
now he is in the square, for he is sing-
ing, and by the sound of his voice he
is past the alley. It is easier to sleep
in the noisiest thoroughfare in London,
w^here even the confused roar of the
traffic becomes no more to you than
the rhythmical breaking of the waves
upon the shore, than it is to sleep in
the end of Bolton Row, nearest to the
Duke of Devonshire's garden, where
■each footstep becomes individuaHzed.
Gentlemen who have been in the late
l)ombardments have said that, after the
first, silence awoke them more than
the roar of the cannon kept them fi'oni
sleep. The reason of this is obvious :
the bombardment had become the normal
250 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
state of things, and silence was a start-
ling incident, not without hope of escape,
80 at some time in the world's history,
the cessation of footfalls in Bolton Row
became events, because two who lay in
bed together would say to one another,,
*'He may come to-night; the next foot-
step may be his."
Watching, at intervals, for many years^
for the sound of one footfall among the
many thousand which passed at night,.
is a habit which begets morbid dreams,
and fancies. With our two watchers^
these fancies grew on them more and
more strongly as many years ];)assed on,^
and their wish was only gratified every
two or thi'ee years. They were a child-
less husband and wife, and they had
peopled the house with ghosts before
many years were over their heads. They
bad, after about ten years, filled the
house with so many, and had seen them
FOOTFALLS. 251
too, that tliey did not care for tliem.
Tliey were latterly much more fearful of
robbers than of ghosts, and so they
suborned a strong young man, of unim-
peachable principles, to take care of them
Avith a blunderbuss. This young man,
who gi'ew tolerably old in the service,,
was born on the second Friday in Leap
Year, and consequently had not the j^ower
given to ordinary mortals of seeing ghosts-
and spectres. He being supposed to be
an honest young man always declared
that he never saw any ghosts in the house
at all, a fact which he attributed, most,
modestly, to the unfortunate day of his
birth, adding that he was not to be
blamed for it.
Consequently our coujole never used to
arouse the man in the mere case of a.
ghost, though as years went on they saw
more and more. At last the husband,
having seen a ghost in broad daylight
252 EEGIN^iLD HETHEREGE.
without tlie mfe's assistance, Mrs. Dicker
insisted that he should see no ghosts un-
less they were seen by her, and received
the stamp of authenticity from her hand.
"It was bad enough," she said, " at night."
It would have been very disagreeable
at night had they distm-bed any one but
themselves, but they never did ; they
lived in an atmosphere of complacent
horror. There was a closed room in the
house, at the back of the first floor, which
contained the ghosts. Iron shutters had
been put outside the windows when they
first took possession, and they had caused
the door to be closed with lath and
plaster and papered the same as the
walls. Whenever the paper was renewed,
the new paper was put over the old, so
that the inhabitants of the room never
had any idea of the fact that there was
a room beyond. Yet tliis was the room
ivhere the ghosts Hved.
FOOTFALLS. 253
lu 1784: 3^oung Mr. Pitt, finding a
deficit of three millions, boldly reduced
tlie tax on tea, fi'oni fifty per cent, to
tweh^e and a-liaK per cent., so as to stoi>
smnggling. It was a great success in the
end, but for the time doubtful, and so he
laid on other taxes with a view to avoid
mistakes ; amongst other things he in-
creased the mndow tax, and bade the
collectors see that it was properly col-
lected. Nay, if a Chelsea legend be true,
he was riding down the King's Eoad,
Chelsea, to meet the King, when he saw
them building a bay Tvindow with three
muUioned divisions. He at once deter-
mined that three windows should be
charged for in such cases, and not one.
The tax was more carefully collected. A
cei*tain sharp tax collector of St. George's,
Hanover Square, noticed that there was
a blocked window at the back of No. 1,
Bolton Eow, which was not paid for.
.254 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
He entered tlie house to verify it, but
to his horror he found that there was one
more ivindoiv outside the house than in-
side. The Dickers had to admit him to
their confidence, and paid for the window.
The collector asked, as a matter of curi-
osity, to see the room out of which the
shut room opened, which the ghosts
haunted. It was impossible to see the
place where the door was. He never let
the story out in its truth, for he knew
the Dickers as acquaintances and regular
payers, but he let out quite enough to
frighten the watchman, and possibly the
watchman (and the young man with
the blunderbuss) frightened the thieves.
No. 1, Bolton Eow, got rather an ill
name in the neighbourhood.
But not out of it. For many years — a
few, indeed, before the footfall came at
night for the first time — the house was
well known, among a certain connection,
FOOTFALLS. 255
tis a fasliiouable lodging-house during the
season. Possibly the first recommen-
dations to it may have come from the
'•family" of vrhich we have been lately
reading, but fi-om vrhich we are at present
dissociated. At all events, the Dickers
and their house got a reputation for com-
fort, good cookery, and first-rate attend-
ance, and were seldom ivithout customers
— getting large prices among the most
recherchr people during the season, and
respectable prices off and on during the
rest of the year. Possibly the guests
were all born the second Friday in Leap
Year, for none of them ever saw any
ghosts ; and as for the resolute young
man, he was dressed in livery, and waited
at table without the blunderbuss.
It was the ground and first floors that
were let ; the third floor, which was more
handsomely furnished even than the
other two, was kept sacred,' amply swept
256 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
and garnislied expectant of tlie footfall^
tliougli it miglit be far away, dragging
"wearily througli tlie fever marshes of
Holland, brnsliing tlirougli tlie vines
of Spain, or aw^akening the echoes of
American forests. All the house was fiu'-
nished in a singularly luxurious manner,
hut the precious treasures were all col-
lected on the third story. Sometimes a
very favoiu'ed lodger would be allowed
to see the rooms, which v^eie always kept
ready, — there were few more sumj)tuous
suites of rooms in London.
"I clean them with my own hand,"'
Mrs. Dicker would say. " My boy may
come at any time, and he always comes
at night, and on foot — that is an old
fancy of oui's. If he is killed, we shall
hear the footfall just the same, for he
will come to us in the spirit, if not in the
flesh."
The owner of the footstep had been
FOOTFALLS. 257
bred in tlie house, whicli was the onlj^
home he had ever known. Until 178o
the step was frequent enough about the
house in every direction ; but then it
went away for a time, and then the in-
tervals between it became more and more
lengthy, and the house, to its permanent
inhabitants, more and more dull. At last,
in 1787, the brightest creatm^e which the
house contained went away into the
world, followed by prayers and tears.
Erom 1790 to 1793 his absence was
continuous, and at last a wandering
soldier came to them and told them that
their boy was lying wounded at Dunkirk.
Three months afterwards, in the night,
a halting step was heard at the door, and
in two minutes a handsome young officer
was in their arms—- a Heutenant now,
highly mentioned by the Duke of York.
As years went on, the boy officer
became a man — captain, major, and at
VOL. I. S
258 EEGINALP HETHEEEGE.
last colonel, covered with honour in every
quarter of the world — always the hero of
these two faithful old people, he kept to
his bargain, half humorous, half melan-
choly, of coming back after a campaign
at night on foot and alone.
Time di-agged along with the old
people ; the roar of London invaded
theh locality, and rendered the passing
footsteps a httle more difficult to hear.
The unimpeachable young man began to
get mature in the service, but they still
considered him a youth. The world had
been fiercely ablaze ever since they had
entered on the possession of that house,
and wherever the fire had blazed fiercest
their boy had been, not without glory,
but very much the reverse. Wherever
blows were going he, backed by both
luck and interest, was to be found.
He found time to get married, and to
make a splendid match; he married the
FOOTFALLS. '259
•gTeat East India heiress of the day, re-
membered by the dwellers in Bolton
Eow as a pale, feeble lady, wlio occupied
the whole house for eight months, when
she died there, leaving behind her the
impression of a gentle, kindly woman,
with nothing whatever remarkable about
her except ninety thousand pounds and
haK a province worth of jewels, which
were entirely her husband's property.
The Colonel seemed to have found some-
thing more remarkable about her than
her money, however, for he utterly re-
fused to be comforted, and moped and
brooded so about the house after her
death, that they heard liim tramping
about the house, regardless of ghosts, at
all hours in the night. He had never
had time for love in his busy and con-
tinually active Hfe. He had loved her
with the passion of a man who falls in
love for the first time at thirty-four, and
260 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE,
she was taken from him before he thought
that he had reahzed his happiness. She
may have had faults, which he might
have discovered later : she died in the
odour of love's sanctity, and remained a
saint to him, though she was but a kind
ordinary mortal to others.
A short pause took place in his Hfe
after her death ; his service had been
almost continual since he joined the army
in 1787, until 1802. The antecedents
of his wife were little known ; very httle
more was known about her than that
she was a great heiress, a little older
than himself it was said, and that her
name was Kitwell. Her father had been
a friend of Clive and of Hastings, but
had made most of his money under the
Portuguese flag. No one remembered
him very much, and in a few years no
one thought of her ; still people were
sm-prised at the Colonel mourning so
FOOTFALLS. iibl
mucli for such a rather second-class
woroan, whom he coiild not have seen
very often before he married her, and
who had left him worth half a milHon
(in reahty .£100,000) of money.
He married at the peace of Amiens,
and stayed with her until she died in
November. Then he mourned for her
five months, Hving at the house in Bolton
Eow, during which time his footsteps
came and went every night. The peace
lasted but Httle over the year; during
that time he had seen what perfect
happy married life was, and the old
23eople said, " He will marry again."
But he never did. The breach of the
peace of Amiens started him again, and
Bolton Eow knew him only at long and
uncertain intervals. Meanwhile, his wife
was the last lodger ever seen there.
After her decease and her husband's
Jeparture, no other lodgers darkened the
262 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
doors except the permanent lodgers, the-
ghosts.
The old couple — for they were getting-^
very old now — put the whole house in
order for his retui-n, but he very seldom
came. The house was now his own ;
during the peace of Amiens the old
couple had made it over to him with
nearly all its contents by a deed of gift^
and only remained tenants-at-will. He
accepted the gift with a laugh, and alsa
acquiesced gladly in the provisions of
their will, which he witnessed, thereby
proving that he was not interested in it.
He then went away, only to return thrice
before Waterloo ; for in good truth, what
had once been his happy home, now only
represented the gi'ave of his dearest hopes-,
and Bolton Eow for many years was
hateful to him. He came to see the place
only three times between the peace of
Amiens and the pause after Waterloo.
FOOTFALLS. 263
He never neglected Ms kind old Mends.
He would wL'ite to them from bloody-
fields after each victory (and there were
little but victories then). He would say
fi'om Spain, at the end, "We caught them
again yesterday; if we go on like this
you will hear my footfall on the stones
soon; " but the last they heard of them
was when he came home on important
business in 1812. He stayed three days
with them then, and told them that he
was General and C.B. Then he went
away, and they found that he stayed at
an hotel before he returned to Spain.
"He has not forgotten her," they said;
"he hates the house now, though he
loves us as weU as ever." Then he went
back to Spain, to Welhngton, and was in
London no more until the gi-eat peace,
though he wrote to them until the last,
and after the last.
They wrote to him sometimes, but not
204 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
often. Tlie last letter they wrote was
signed by both of them, and gave the
General singular anxiety, although it was
just after the battle of Vittoria, an event
which had given him great personal satis-
faction. What that letter contained is of
no great consequence at present, but he
considered it important and disturbing in
the highest measure.
A brother general asked him if he had
had bad news fi-om home.
'' I have had the worst of all bad news.
I have to decide on a point of duty, and
I cannot decide."
" Put me your case."
" The wishes of a dead man on the one
side, and the possibility of preventing a
gi'eat injustice on the other."
"H'm," said General H ; "you
are a sound Churchman ? "
''Yes."
"Well, neither the wishes nor even
FOOTFALLy. '2(56
the bequests of dead men have found
much favour since the Eeformation. Do
you suppose that Wolsey meant Christ
Church to be what it is now ? "
''Ay, ay!" said our General, "that
is all very well ; but at the same time,
suppose the dead man's wishes were those
of the man to whom you owe everything
m the world?"
" Well, Arthur, the man to whom you
owe everything in the world is yourself :
no one knows that better than I do. Bictj
if you put it that way, respect the dead
man's wishes, and let the injustice right
itself."
" And either of us might fall to-mor-
row," said our General.
In the glorious confusion of events
which hurled themselves so thick on
Europe during the three years between
1812 and 1815, and which are so con-
266 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE.
sistently vast, that the grand bouleverse-
ment of 1870-71 reads like a pantomime
after a tragedy ; the General was never
in England at all until the antnmn of
1815. It was entirely his own fault — he
might have heen in England fifty times
over, but he always preferred some mis-
sion on the Continent. He cared little
for England, for he said that he had few
friends there, and had forgotten insular
manners. On the night of the 14th of
November, 1815, he delivered despatches
at the Horse Guards, and turned away up
ParUament Street towards Bolton Bow.
" They will expect me," he said to
himself; " they always wait for my foot-
fall, and they must have got my letter
from Paris. But it is cold, and London
is hateful. Who could get men to fight
such a night as this ? The devil ! If
that arch rascal Napoleon, guided by his
patron saint, could have come on London
FOOTFALLS. " 267
in a fog like this, he might have sacked
the bank."
It was a deadly night. The fog was so
dense that the new gas, or, as he called
them, gauze lights, could do nothing at
all with it. His nearest way would have
been across the Mall, but he preferred
the streets. He had to ask the way of
the watch twice before he could find Pall
MaU.
He had a club there, one of the fev*'
there then, and he went into it and
looked round. He had not been in the
place for nearly four years. They had
altered it, and there was a new porter,
who asked his name. He gave it, and
walking on into the coffee-room, sat
down, and laid his sword on the table
before him.
There was not a man in the room
whom he knew. It was miserable — so
many years away, and not a hiend to
'2(dS beginald hethekege.
welcome him — and tlie cm"sed fog was
in here, too. He rose, put on his sword
again, and went to the fire.
A waiter, seeing a general officer in
fiill war paint and orders (he had posted
to the Horse Guards, it must be remem-
bered) standing by the fire, went up to
him humbly, and asked for his orders.
"I beg your pardon?" said the terrible-
looking General very gently.
The waiter, alarmed at a gentleness
very uncommon in those times, asked
feebly if he wanted anything.
"Yes," said the General, " I want sun.
I also want forgetfulness of the past, and
guidance for the futm-e. How do you
get these things in England, you people ?
The scared waiter, knowing nothing
but his trade, said, —
"Port, SU-? Yes, sir."
" He is right, this fellow," said the
FOOTFALLS. 269
General; ^' tlie cKmate would make
Eecliab drink. That is exactly the way
some of onr people have been managing-
matters lately. I never tried it in my
life ; I wonder what it is like ? I'll trj^
it, I want a Httle Dutch com^age before
I go out into the fog. But it strikes me
that I am hungry ; I have eaten nothing
since breakfast."
The General soon found himself before
a plate of beef, with a bottle of port wine
beside him. In a short time he felt
better, and more courageous. He rose,
paid, gave haK a guinea to the waiter
for himself, and walked out with > his
sword under his arm. .
" Pitt used to drink four bottles a da^'
of that stuff," he remarked, as he walked
along ; " half a bottle is quite enough
for me. I am perfectly com-ageous with
regard to the fog now, but I doubt if my
moral sense is any higher. Another
"270 EEGINALD HETHEREGE.
bottle, and I woiild do tlie deed to-niglit. '
Sliall I go back and have one ? Wliy,
no. Hang them all ! let them be plagued
with tbe wbips wbicli tliey make of tbeir
own avarice. No, my father, I will do
yoiu' bidding — at least for the present."
The fog was denser and denser, and
when lie had mounted into Piccadilly,
and was walking westward, he could not
tell where the houses on the other side of
the street ended ; but at last he found
the east wall of Devonshire House, and
guided himself by it until he came to the
alley.
What if anything should be amiss ?
He had not heard from them for some
time. What if they were dead, and had
left the house with the secret room un-
protected ? He paused, and in mere
absence of mind mechanically took off
his cocked hat and looked at the featherS;
while he drummed with his foot.
FOOTFALLS. 'Zll
Not a step moved in the Eow, and the
front of the house was dark. He passed
it stealthily and watched, then he came
towards it quickly, at his accustomed
pace, and knocked loudly at the door.
For a short time there was no response,
and the footsteps were heard approaching
the door. His heart grew cold within —
they were steps he knew, hut not those
of either of his old fiiends. A man's
voice said, —
''Who is there?"
''It is I, Thomas, the General."
The door was at once unfastened, and
a man admitted him, once the young man
of the blunderhuss.
"You are welcome. General. God
knows I am glad to see you."
" Is anything the matter ? "
" They are both dead."
"IwiU come in," and he passed into
the dining-room.
272 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
((
And when did tliis happen ? "
" Six montlis ago, General."
''And you?"
" I have done as they ordered ; I have
kept the house for you."
" Intact ? "
" Perfectly so, General."
"You have been a good servant, and
you shall be rewarded. Have you been
alone ? "
" No, General. The old people sent
at last for Miss Mortimer. She came, of
course, and has remained ever since.
She has seen to all business matters."
" I am very much obhged to her and
to you. Go and rouse her, and tell
her I am here."
" I think it is unnecessary, General,
I hear her coming down stairs."
The door was at once opened, and a
tall, pale lady di'aped in black entered
the room, with a candle held close to her
FOOTFALLS. 273
face. She looked about forty, and her
hair was looped up carelessly on each
side of a calm, beautiful face, over which
sorrow never seemed to have passed, if
one only looked at it when it was ani-
mated, but which showed hard w^orn
lines in repose. It was now animated.
Isabel Mortimer advanced and kissed
the General, who hastily returned her
kiss.
'' Brother, dear, has Thomas told you
that they are dead ? "
"Yes. Why, sister, you look young
again ! "
" I knew your footstep, and I was ten
years younger at once, Arthur. I have
been waiting for your step a long while.
Your clothes are ready in yoiur room ; you
have been so long away that they are old
fashioned."
VOL. I.
274 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
CHAPTEK XYIII.
BROTHEE AND SISTER.
" Light some fire for your master,
Thomas," said Isabel, " and air the
sheets which are ready laid for him in
the wardrobe in his room. You know
where to find them. Now, Arthur," she
added, sitting down, " you are come
home to live with me at last."
" No, Isabel, I shall not be at home
for long. But now, my dear, a hundred
thanks for coming to my house so
promptly."
"My dear, why should I not? I sold
the school, and was for the first time in
my life an idle woman. I could do no
BKOTHEE AND SISTER. 275
less tlian come to tliem. Tliey have
urged me all their Kves to come and live
with them, but, as you know, I refused
to eat the bread of idleness at their
expense, and chose to provide for myself.
I have worked on and made money, and
they have left me all except the house and
its contents. How much do you think ? "
"I can't tell at all. In my father's
time they saved much ; I cannot guess
by a thousand pounds. I know that I
witnessed their will in your favour."
" They have left me eighteen thousand
pounds. Dicker had, from intercourse
with our father, some of his knowledge of
speculation, and his speculations turned
out w^ell. This eighteen thousand pounds
will be a vast sight more some day. In
short, I am a rich woman."
" They were a strange couple," said
the General, thoughtfully.
'' Yes, they were very strange. How
276 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
strange it was tliat tliey slioiild have
loved lis botli so truly ! "
" Eighteen thousand pounds, Isabel ! "
said the General, still in amazement.
" Why, they were letting lodgings when
they could have hired them."
"It is true. They gave themselves
few pleasures in this world, and one of
them was amassing money ; another was
being generous with it to two people who
had less than no claims on them. The
solution is very simple : they had no
children, and they loved you and myself.
They gave me such a splendid education
that I utilized it for the sake of inde-
pendence, beheving them to be poor.
This they disapproved of until I suc-
ceeded, and after that I was nearly as
much a goddess to them as you were a
god. Yom- footstep was more precious
to them than mine ever was. You
know that.'''
BEOTHEE AND SISTEE. 277
" It is time yon should rest, old sister."
" I have had a wearisome life, Arthm-,
and I want rest. I have worked so many
years, that the past is only a dream of
faces which I shall never see again as
they once were. I am not old, yet
I seem to have hved a hundred lives.
Arthur ! "
'' Yes, old sister."
" How many comrades and friends have
you lost in these wars ? "
"Ah, Isabel! how many? Nearly
every one of them, so help me God ! "
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"And young ? "
"Yes ; for I always took to the young,
even in preference to those of my own
age. It was a pecuharity."
"And you have seen many of the
young comrades you have loved lying
dead on an honourable field ? "
278 REGINALD HETHEREGE.
"Ay, Isabel, I have helped to drag
many fine young fellows wliom I loved
into the trenches before now."
" Thank God for it, ArthiK ; it is better
so. Have you never thought so youi'-
self ? See, I will put it in another way:
have you never seen a young man join
your regiment who has not been killed,
but has lived on, and have you never
said, ' It would have been better that he
should have fallen while some nobility
was left in him, than have lived on to be
what he is now? ' "
"Yes, I have often envied the dead,"
said the General; "and some are alive
now who had much better be lying under
the Spanish vines. WeU, sister?"
"It is the same in our profession,
brother. I have sent girls into the world
as I thought formed, but the world has
spoilt them, and they have come to see me
vain, frivolous, worldly, silly, extravagant,
BROTHEE AND SISTER. 279
having forgotten even tlie mere mecliani-
cal teaching wliicli I gave them. Two,
whom I beheved angels, have dragged
their names down to degradation, and have
ruined famihes. I say to you, as I would
say before God, that I have striven to do
my duty by every girl who has been put
under my charge. When they first came
to me I studied then* characters ; where
I found wrong instincts I combatted
them, where I found good ones I en-
couraged them. I made the mistake of
tr3'ing to form God's creatm'es, in w^hich
He has put such infinite diversity of dis-
position, into Mrs. Hannah More's and
Mrs. Chapone's models. I have made
ten failures for one success. In spite of
all I can do, the woman, shortly after
she has left me, becomes very much the
same as the girl was when she came to
me, only her faults seem rather intensi-
fied. My forming is only varnishing,
280 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
brother, after all, aud the world soon
nibs that off, and the real wood niost
inexorably appears underneath it. I don't
know anything about boys, I consider
them a mistake on the part of Providence.
You may be able to form a boy after he
is ten, but you can't form a ghl — at least,
I can't with my system."
''Yet you have had great successes,
sister. Your name ranks high."
"Yes, with girls who were made too
good for me to spoil. My girls are
perfect gentlewomen ; no fault can ever
be found with their manners, and they
know a great deal ; yet two of them
have turned Roman Cathohc, and two —
never mind — they are not received. In
short, I have toiled hard, and have made
a failure. I will toil no more, at present.
Do you know why I have failed ? "
"Because you beheved that every girl
and woman was as good as yourself."
BEOTHEE AND SISTEE. • 281
'^ Nonsense ! I liave failed because my
profession was to train girls for the
world. What do I know of the world?
why, absolutely nothing. I ask you how
could I ? I was only a nameless, penni-
less child, from some whim of our
strange father's utterly unprovided for —
but for those dear folks lately dead I
might have gone to the workhouse.
Well, no more of that — it was long
before I knew that you were my half-
brother. I had no means of knowing
the world. As a governess, what could
I hear ; and when, through my own exer-
tions, I made a connection, what could I
learn ? In that set the very book of the
world is closed. I sent my gMs into the
world utterly innocent, to sink or s^\im.
Most of them have swum, thanks more
to themselves than to me. I am tired
of the whole thing, in short, and I am
going to see the world for myself."
282 REGINALD HETHEEEGE.
"Yon; can't do that, my Isabel; yon
can't know abont men."
"I don't want to; I want to know
abont women. If I want to know abont
men, I can always get the tnith from
yon."
" Yes ; and yon propose ? "
" That yon shonld let me have this
honse, and I wiU start as a fine lady. I
am not old, I am not ill-looking, I have
money, I have a connection, I know- as
mnch of society as will keep me in tall^
— there is nothing to prevent my seeing
this world into which I have sent so
many girls."
"As for the honse," said the General,
"why, it is yonrs as long as yon choose.
No one knows who yon are."
" Oh no ; the secret has been well
kept. I am not snre that I know the
whole trnth myself."
"Take the house, my dear, by all
BEOTHEK AND SISTER. 283
means, and ask me to your parties ;
you will end by keeping a school for
dowagers. But, Isabel, come upstairs
mth me. Do you know the secret of
the house ? "
She looked so puzzled that it was
evident she did not.
" I see you do not," he said, when they
were on the third floor. " But here,
beyond this room there is a third. If
you have this room re-papered, keep the
old paper up."
" Another room ? "
"Yes. Did the old folks say nothing
to you about it ? "
" Not a word."
" Did they ever mention anything ? "
" Never one word."
"It is, perhaps, as well," he said.
" The secret of Vittoria shall be kept.
I say, Isabel, have you seen anything of
the great family lately ? "
284 BEGIN ALD HETHEEEGE.
" I see some of them, sometimes — Miss
Simpson oftenest. I liave made a very
queer discovery."
" What is that ? "
" That not one of the living members
of that family have the remotest, idea
who yon are."
" That is extremely amnsing," said the
General. "Now bed, my dear, and to-
morrow an inventory of the furnitnre.
They don't know who I am, that is
very good. Pray do not tell them."
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