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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." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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