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RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
LONDON : 
 KOBSON i>'B SONS. PRINTERS, PANCKAS BOAB, N.W 
 
RE8TLE88 HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
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 • » * 
 
 RICHARD JEFFERIES, 
 
 AUTHOR OF • THE SCARLET SHAWL.' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 
 
 1875. 
 
 [All rights reserved.] 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On strictly rational principles, Hotspur's ridi- 
 cule of Glendower's high pretensions is suffi- 
 ciently correct. ' When I was born/ says the 
 magician and mystic, 
 
 ' The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes.' 
 
 To which Hotspur, as pertly as a chamber- 
 maid, replies, that it was equally so when the 
 kittens of that year came into existence. The 
 advent of a comet may herald the birth of 
 a cat as much as a Caesar. 
 
 To trace any connection between the por- 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 f)2r)!r/s 
 
2 ESSTi;E6g 'Ht^MAN HEARTS. 
 
 tent in the sky and the earthly event is irra- 
 tional and absurd. All this is true enough. 
 But yet the lives of some among us do seem 
 in some peculiar way to correspond with the 
 singularities of nature. The coincidence may 
 be merely accidental — but there it is ; and a 
 highly-wrought mind, dwelling upon its own 
 aspirations and analysing its emotions, can 
 hardly help feeling its individuality increased 
 when it recognises these parallel circum- 
 stances. In their turn, the circumstances 
 react upon the creature, and tend to pro- 
 duce a frame of mind strangely susceptible 
 to mystic influences. It is thus that Renan, in 
 the famous Vie de Jesus, accounts for Avhat 
 he describes as the delusions which occupied 
 the mind of that central figure of history. 
 The scenery of Judea — the romantic hills and 
 plains, the seas and woods — heightened an 
 originally poetical temperament, till a tension 
 of the mind was produced in which it became 
 capable of the most extraordinary efforts. 
 
 So many of us now dwell in an atmosphere 
 of smoke and a scenery composed of brick 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 3 
 
 walls, that the existence ofpersons whose whole 
 bemg vibrates to the subtle and invisible 
 touch of Nature seems almost incredible, and 
 certainly absurd. Yet such men and women 
 are living at this day ; and well for the world 
 and society that they do, for they act as air- 
 holes, as breathing places, through the thick 
 crust of artificialism, which weighs us down 
 more and more year by year, and they let in 
 a little of the divine Hght and ether, to purify 
 the air and vivify the corrupting mass. 
 
 Laugh at them as much as ye please, ye 
 habitues of the glass-and-iron, veneer-and- 
 varnish palaces of our time. ' Eat, drink, and 
 be merry, ^ as they did of old. In modern 
 phrase, ' Smoke, swill, and sneer.' The tem- 
 ple in Leicester-square is the fit and appro- 
 priate dwelling for your god. Latterly the 
 approach has been cleared to do it honour : 
 fountains play, flowers grow, statues stand in 
 symbolical attitudes. In the warm autumn 
 atmosphere the Moorish pinnacles rise up, 
 glittering with the evening sunlight, and the 
 gaudy temple glows as its hour comes nigh. 
 
4 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 The dead brown leaves, driven by the wind, 
 penetrate even into stony London, and rustle 
 alone, the pavement and whirl round in eddies 
 at the corners of the street. They are a voice 
 from the woods, an echo from the forgotten 
 land, messengers from Nature, abiding still 
 in her solitudes, warning wilful and blinded 
 men to return ere it be too late. But listen ! 
 The music rises, and the great hall is full of 
 delicious sound. The dancers gather on the 
 stage, and the flow of wit and joy and song 
 begins. Go not to the Brocken-Walpurgis 
 Night comes here every evening. The lights 
 are° gleaming in magic circles; the beauteous 
 witches are floating round. Let us go in and 
 be happy. Who would care to stray on the 
 shore alone, watching the sunset over the 
 waves and the advent of the first lone silvery 
 Btar? They would sneer at us. The odour 
 of gas is better than the fresh and briny 
 breeze. Yet the deUght in the artificial is 
 not altogether an acquired taste only. How is 
 it, else, that the freshest and purest heart, 
 bating warmly with the generous blood of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. O 
 
 youth, longs so eagerly for the feverish ex- 
 citements of society ? 
 
 ' 0, isn't it lovely ?' cried impetuous 
 Heloise, settling herself upon her seat in a 
 box in the Hay market, with a radiant smile 
 upon her face. ^ But only think, we are late : 
 the first act is begun.' 
 
 ' Late !' said Louis, sneering as usual. ^ It 
 it ten minutes past eight. What fools we 
 must look ! There are only two other boxes 
 occupied, and one of those is full of children. 
 The cognoscenti will take us for paid ap- 
 plauders ; we come so regularly and so soon.' 
 
 ' Paid applauders ! What do you mean ?' 
 asked Heloise, never taking her gaze from the 
 stage. 
 
 ' The success of a piece, my dear, depends 
 upon the number of boxes taken. When the 
 pit people see the boxes full, they say, '' 0, 
 this must be good — see, they are here !" 
 Therefore the manager sends his superfluous 
 actors into the empty boxes. Have I made 
 it clear to you, my dear child ?' 
 
 But she was absorbed in the drama, and 
 
b RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 did not hear his mocking tone. Louis looked 
 at her fixedly for a moment or two, with his 
 mouth a little open — much as a country rustic 
 might stare at a real live duke ; then he 
 drew back somewhat, and, turning away from 
 'the stage, began to read the latest edition of 
 his evening paper. He soon tired of that. 
 
 This is ihe age of verbiage. Everything 
 must be so long and spun out. Xo matter how- 
 clever a novel may be, the publishers will not 
 issue it unless it will extend to six or seven 
 hundred printed pages. The same plot and 
 characters condensed into two hundred and 
 fifty would be interesting, even exciting; 
 but drawn out to this melancholy length, it 
 is simply a bore. It is equally so with 
 scientific books, and works that pretend to 
 some amount of solidity. They must all be 
 bulky, or they may remain in the author's 
 desk, unpublished and unread. Now it takes 
 a whole life to invent, and afterwards elabo- 
 rate and bring to a shapely form, one single 
 new idea. Take, for instance, any of the great 
 authors. Look at Goethe. It is all very well 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 7 
 
 to talk about Wilhelm Meister and the Auto- 
 biography^ and the rest— books which our 
 grandfathers read — but the one idea by 
 which Goethe became a living personality to 
 the multitude Avas his creation of Faust, and 
 Faust took him a lifetime to write— nay, it 
 was not finished when he died, for he cor- 
 rected it every year. If, then, such a genius 
 as Goethe could only produce one idea in a 
 lifetime, it may be safely taken for granted 
 that the common run of compilers cannot 
 put more than one in each of their works. 
 What an enormous amount of verbiage, then, 
 must there be in a book of a thousand pages ! 
 Say that it took one hundred pao-es to dve 
 a fair description of the one original thought 
 which prompted the author to commence, then 
 there remain nine hundred pages, of thirty 
 lines a page, and seven words a line, o-ivino- 
 a total of one hundred and eighty-nine thou- 
 sand waste words. Faust, which took a f^reat 
 genius, is not a long book either. The typical 
 writer of our time, Charles Dickens, is the very 
 impersonation of this verbiage and flow of 
 
8 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 words. His books, of five hundred closely- 
 printed pages, in small type and double co- 
 lumns, are standing marvels of word-accumula- 
 tions. Setting aside the cleverness of the author, 
 what is it but one ceaseless flow of sentences? 
 It is the newspaper correspondent spun out, 
 and bound in three volumes. The competi- 
 tion is to pile up the greatest heaps and pyra- 
 mids of words. So it is with our leaders of 
 politics : the post can only be held by men 
 who can talk, talk — talk, in good old homely 
 phrase, ' a horse's head off.' That is the 
 qualification for a statesman : neither talents, 
 nor genius, nor research, but 'jaw.' 
 
 Louis got tired of his paper. Yet the 
 Pall Mall is an honourable exception to the 
 vast mass of verbiage poured out daily, almost 
 hourly, by the metropolitan press. Here, at 
 least, they condense the news, however dull 
 and uninteresting it may be. But even here 
 they are obliged, by custom, by the mon- 
 strous appetite for words, to print colmnns 
 upon columns utterly idea-less, to coin a 
 phrase. As for the leading daily jjaper, its 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 9 
 
 contents every morning are equal in extent to 
 a three-volume novel. 
 
 Louis ya^vned, and, leaning back against 
 the side of the box, languidly fixed his 
 eyes upon the profile of Heloise. The man 
 €ould not make her out, nor himself out 
 either. ' He was puzzled. He could not 
 understand himself, and it made him irritable. 
 He was irritable enough by nature, without 
 this additional impetus. She worried him. 
 He wished her out of sight every hour, and 
 yet he was always studying her. They had 
 been married about six weeks. 
 
 If he had been left to himself, he would 
 have been on the Continent at that moment 
 —it was just his favourite time. jS^ot that he 
 would have been anywhere in the usual and 
 well-beaten track. It would not have been 
 the Spa, or the roulette-table, or any of the 
 other excuses for the congregation of human 
 beings, that would have attracted him. He 
 would have been in Antwerp. Did you ever 
 see the picture of the interior of Antwerp 
 Cathedral painted by a certain famous artist, 
 
10 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and now in a certain weU-known gallery not 
 far from Landseer's dirty lions ? This picture 
 is not much noticed ; there is never any 
 crowd about it. Yet it has a beauty which 
 is peculiarly its own. The aesthetic nature of 
 the artist, the intense sensual spirituality of 
 his soul, live in this work. It is a contradic- 
 tion in terms ; but it is a fact that there is 
 such a thing as sensual spirituality. Here 
 you may see it. The long dim arches of the 
 cathedral, solemn and still, are filled with an 
 undefined blue mist. You cannot see this 
 blue mist if you look straight at it, or even 
 if you think of it, or search for it. But it 
 grows out of the canvas as the gaze rests 
 upon it; it steals out from the dark places, 
 and clouds the outlines of the pillars till the 
 roof of the building floats upon azure colour. 
 The curve of the arch, the regularity of the 
 piUars, the beauty of the architecture, are 
 spiritual. This colour is sensual. The two 
 together form what can only be caUed a 
 sensual spiritualism; which is a union of the 
 beauty perceived by the chaste and some- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. H 
 
 what sad mind and of the beauty which 
 fascinates the eye. What a city must Ant- 
 werp be when the blue of heaven thus comes 
 down and dweUs iu the holy places, as the 
 Shechinah, the ' cloud,' rested upon the ark 
 behind the curtains of the Tabernacle! A 
 city pure and morally lovely thus to be 
 honom-ed by the celestial ether ! 
 
 Louis would laugh his horrid grating 
 laugh, if he could read this. He had other 
 ideas of Antwerp. He was aware of a certain 
 street of palaces and temples, yea, verily, 
 temples, devoted to the worship of a goddess, 
 nameless now, but highly spoken of by those 
 of olden time. An infamous place— infamous 
 far and near— this street. Do not misjudge 
 Louis so far as to think that he debased him- 
 self personally. But it was a congenial 
 atmosphere. Men were to be met there 
 who could not be seen elsewhere ; and these 
 men were— what ? They deserve a chapter 
 to themselves. If time allo^vs, they .shall have 
 It. They are foremost in the van of 2>rogress 
 without faith— progress without moral prin- 
 
12 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ciple. Alison, the voluminous (I was about 
 to say the great) historian, describes Napo- 
 leon I. as answering to the Christian's idea 
 of the devil, i.e. supreme intellect without 
 moral principle. These men are not Napo- 
 leons, but they influence the world collec- 
 tively, and almost as much as he did. Yet 
 they have no names, no cohesion — they are 
 wandering individuals. 
 
 It was these men whose society Louis had 
 loved. He was not quite certain whether he 
 loved it still or not. But he called to mind 
 the fact, that had it not been for Heloise he 
 would have been among them at that hour. 
 It was his time : whett the nuts began to 
 harden he took his way thither. He dwelt 
 in memory upon the scenes he had witnessed, 
 the splendid talk he had heard there ; the 
 splendid enchanting talk — so grand, so ig- 
 noble, so aspiring, yet so base and mean, 
 but in all things novel, new, exciting ! It 
 was a San Francisco saloon minus the in- 
 evitable revolver. Louis was a coward ; all 
 advanced men are — that is, advanced men of 
 
RESTLESS HU:\rAN HEARTS. 13 
 
 his order. There are reasons for that, too. 
 He dwelt still upon those scenes; they passed 
 before his mind's eye. This was an evil thino- 
 for Heloisje. 
 
 She did not disturb his billiards, or his 
 club-dinner, or his card-party, or his wine, 
 because he had no habits of that kind. She 
 simply upset him from beginning to end. 
 There was no personal inconvenience, no cross- 
 ing of his purpose— for he had no purpose, no 
 wilful interference with his pet pursuits, no 
 demands upon his time. He recognised it at 
 last. He discovered what it was. It was 
 simply her presence that ruffled him. He 
 could not sleep in self-contemplation while 
 she was near; he could not close his eves 
 surrounded with troops of old and familiar 
 ideas ; her presence jarred, some how, upon 
 him. The delicate sensitiveness of his inner 
 being was continually irritated ; like the gold 
 leaf of an electronometer, his repose was per- 
 petually disturbed by the influence that irradi- 
 ated from her. He had an ever-increasino- 
 desire to be alone, and yet he could not leave 
 
14 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 her side. He groaned under the mfliction of 
 having to wait upon her, and yet he watched 
 her sUghtest wish, and hastened to forestall it. 
 He chafed, and yet he tried to persuade him- 
 self that he w^as calm — so calm, that he had 
 settled down to a rationally happy existence. 
 He had not been to these theatres for ten 
 years. The whole thing was familiar, and yet 
 strange. Everything seemed the same; but 
 he had changed. The ghtter was gone ; the 
 charm had fled; the velvet had faded; the 
 fi-ildino- was tarnished ; the flarino^ oras was 
 dim. It was equally faded and tarnished and 
 dim ten years ago ; but his mind was fresh 
 then, his eye uncritical, his senses joying in 
 lio^ht and colour and brilliance. The brio^ht- 
 ness and beauty of the thing was in his own 
 soul, and he poured it out upon the theatre, 
 and lit it up with the light of his own abund- 
 ant spirit. But now the stage was wood, and 
 the drama itself mere words without mean- 
 ing — hollow sounds only ; his own heart, in 
 fact, was hollow and empty. He did not 
 reason all this out, but the sense and feelin"^ 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 15 
 
 of it made him irritable. Heloise had brouo^ht 
 him back into desert places; places he had 
 reaped and garnered beforehand, and now 
 they were barren and desolate. He had no 
 complaint to make, and yet he was dissat- 
 isfied. 
 
 
-^p 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 It was only a little way out of the dusty 
 highway, and yet it was a lovely spot. The 
 road there was flat, and the scene tame and 
 dull. There was an odour of stale beer and 
 coarse tobacco, a stable-like smell, at the en- 
 trance to the village, which came from a Ioav 
 whitewashed public-house, where the teams 
 stopped for refreshment. The carters drank 
 from a great quart cup, and the horses drank 
 a green unwholesome-looking liquor stagnat- 
 ing in a trough, and called by courtesy water, 
 as the viler beverage was called beer, and 
 each was about as muddy and thick as the 
 other. Near the horse-trough, on one side, 
 was a heap of manure, strewn w^ith egg- 
 shells and stumps of decaying cabbages and 
 pea-pods, tainting the air still further ; and on 
 the other, a rude bench — a plank unplaned, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 17 
 
 rough from the saw, supported on two un- 
 hewn logs. The end of the house faced the 
 road, and the thatch could be easily touched 
 by a man on horseback. There was one 
 small lattice-window, with three broken panes 
 at this end, close under the roof, and in this 
 window was a card with the inscription, ^ Good 
 Ginger-beer sold here,' with a couple of black- 
 ing-bottles by way of illustration; for the 
 spruce glass bottles of ' aerated- waters' manu- 
 facturers had not penetrated so far as this 
 yet. This end of the house had a yellowish 
 unhealthy look ; the whitewash was discoloured 
 with age and the weather. The place was 
 overshadowed with a great horse-chestnut- 
 tree, whose brown-and-yellow leaves and the 
 prickly cases of its fruit strewed the ground. 
 It was a noble tree, utterly inappropriate to 
 such a place; the very contrast, in its glorious 
 growth and beautiful proportions, to the coarse 
 rudeness of the house, and the people who 
 stayed there beneath its shade. In the spring, 
 when the clusters of blossom bung upon each 
 bough till the whole tree looked like a splendid 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 candelabra — each blossom a lamp — the contrast 
 was almost pamful. It seemed as if the jests 
 and the oaths, and the rank smell of beer and 
 horses, must pollute it ; but, utterly uncon- 
 scious of the foulness surrounding it, the tree 
 grew and flourished in cahn splendour, in 
 conscious superiority, unmoved. ' I am not 
 of thine order. I do not sneer at or condemn 
 thee and such as thee, thou rude and coarse 
 boor at my foot ; but I soar upwards, and 
 I put forth things of beauty, and I rejoice 
 in the sun and the wind and the rain, and 
 the sight of the sky above me, aud of the 
 stars by night. Thus absorbed I neither see, 
 nor hear, nor am conscious of the human 
 miasma beneath me. A time shall come — 
 only once perhaps in my whole lifetime — when 
 a traveller, journeying hither, and sore bruised 
 in spirit, but noble at heart, shall gaze upon 
 me and my flower-lamps, and, strengthened 
 thereby, yield no more to the depressing in- 
 fluence of the dusty ways of life, but hold on 
 his road with quickened step, seeking the true 
 and the beautiful.' 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 19 
 
 The muddy beer dulled tlieir hearing, and 
 they never guessed that the tree was thus 
 speaking. This was the Sun Inn, at Avon- 
 bourne. On the blue ground of the sign 
 there was painted a round human face, with 
 goggling eyes and open mouth, and sur- 
 rounded with sharp rays all in brightest yellow. 
 This represented the sun — the wondrous orb 
 of day, theme of the poets, supporter of life, 
 the god Ea of the Egyptians, thus insulted 
 and brought down to the level of the minds 
 of the carters and ploughmen, Avho hailed it 
 as the assurance of beer. They have taught 
 us from our youth up to despise the idolaters 
 of the bygone ages. We spit upon them, and 
 cry, ' Poor wretches, miserable creatures !' 
 But see here. Reflect upon the grandeur and 
 majesty of the sun, the king of heaven, the 
 centre upon which all earthly life depends, 
 the giver of heat and light — light, the noblest 
 of all material things ; is not the sim the 
 very highest triumph of the Creator's art — 
 the chef-d'oeuvre of Heaven? Is it not an ever- 
 present witness to the inscrutable God ? And 
 
20 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 degraded to an alehouse sign, represented in 
 sncli rude conventional style as the very 
 aborigines of America, the most uncultivated 
 savages, could easily surpass ! The carters 
 and the ploughmen fling stones at it, and 
 guflaw as a flint strikes the flat nose, or open 
 mouth, or glaring insane eyes. Consider : are 
 they not more ignorant than the idolaters who 
 knelt to the sun as the visible sign of God 
 in the ages long ago ? Have they a right 
 to cast a sneer upon the Magi — a right to 
 repeat Sunday anathemas upon the idola- 
 ters ? 
 
 There were a few houses right and left of 
 this inn. They do not concern us. But 
 there was a lane in front of the Sun, and 
 this lane led to the beautiful and lovely spot 
 where Heloise was born. Who. sojourning 
 an hour at that inn, under the shade of the 
 chestnut-tree, would have suspected it? — for 
 though the downs were near they appeared 
 brown and parched, nothing lovely. 
 
 AVinding and turning, the lane came 
 down to the bourne. The swallows ;:ra- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN PIE ARTS. 21 
 
 thered thickly in the osier beds at this time. 
 The tall yellow rods of willow were black 
 with the folded wings of tlie birds of summer, 
 as they lit down upon them in countless 
 crowds, and, pruning their feathers, chattered 
 incessantly of the voyage they soon must 
 take. How busy those little brains must be ! 
 how those little minds must work, and try 
 to think of this and that ! how the tiny bills 
 open and shut perpetually as they pour their 
 ideas out in a ceaseless stream of eloquence ! 
 0, for a shorthand reporter who understood 
 the language of birds ! what a newspaper that 
 would be which he could write! "Wherever 
 the beggars find an open door and generous 
 hearts ready to give, there they set up a mark 
 upon the wall that the next passer-by may 
 know he is sure of his reception. The fowls 
 of the air do likewise ; only we cannot see 
 their marks. They gather where the human 
 inhabitants are kindly-hearted. Those who 
 live in the country knovr that there are wide 
 tracts where birds are rarely seen, even 
 woods unpeoj^led with songsters ; and there 
 
22 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 are spots where they crowd together, and in 
 one smgie orchard specimens of almost the 
 whole tribe can be found. Why is this ? 
 There is some secret invisible chord of sym- 
 pathy. Pierce Lestrange said the birds came 
 about his home because he never offended 
 the fairies. This w^as Heloise's father. It 
 was his poetical way of expressing the fact 
 that he lived in accord with nature. Wher- 
 ever men swear and fight^ wherever houses 
 are unnaturally crowded together, and an un- 
 natural course of living is followed, almost 
 everywhere where brick and mortar come, 
 from thence the fairies fly away never to 
 return. But Pierce would have no lonely 
 dell or woody nook of his land defiled that 
 he might make ' filthy lucre.' Therefore the 
 birds gathered about that place. He would 
 not have the swallows' nests disturbed under 
 his eaves ; no nest w^as ever taken in his 
 precincts. The great thrush — the missel- 
 thrush — wildest and fiercest of all its class, 
 untamable, unsociable, had built for twenty 
 years every spring in the yew-tree just in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 23 
 
 front of the breakfast-parlour window. That 
 tree was his inheritance. The thrush of that 
 day had inherited it from his father, and he 
 again from his grandfather — three genera- 
 tions. Yery jealous the thrush was, too, of his 
 domain; no other bird dared build in that tree, 
 no other dared even perch upon the branches, 
 if he, the lord and master, was there. The 
 cooing of the wild doves was heard the whole 
 day long in the great chestnut-trees at the 
 lower end of the garden. The starlings 
 marched to and fro upon the lawn ; the 
 blackbird washed himself in the fountain be- 
 fore the door, fearless, unhesitatingly. On 
 the wall of the garden the peacock, slowly 
 and stately, stepped up and down, spreading 
 abroad his wealth of colour. The rabbits 
 had ventured in and burrowed under the 
 rhododendrons ; they peeped forth in the 
 evening, in the dusk, frisking their white tails 
 in joy of life. The goldfinches sang in the 
 morning on the apple-trees — trees which grew 
 almost under Pierce's window. ' I could not 
 be happy,' he said, ' unless I heard the finches 
 
24 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 sing when I wake.' He was an old man, too, 
 of seventy, and very gray ; yet such was his 
 pleasure in living creatures. The butterflies 
 were always in that garden; the humming- 
 bird moths came to the geraniums ; the hum 
 of the bees rose and fell perpetually as the 
 tiny insects flew hurriedly by ; the restless 
 wasps were hard at work on the plums now 
 — for Pierce had fruit-trees all round the 
 walls of his garden, in the centre of which 
 was a wide lawn, and in the centre of that 
 a vast thicket of rhododendrons and laurel, 
 where the rabbits hid themselves. The or- 
 chard branched out at one side, and at the 
 verv end of the lawn the bourne, the stream 
 flowing towards the Avon, wound along. A 
 treacherous bank it was, for the water-rats, 
 undisturbed, had bored it vrith innumerable 
 tunnels — utterly undisturbed, let alone to do 
 as they pleased. Bold and timid too they 
 were. A movement, a wave of the hand, the 
 slightest sound, and splash they had dived 
 out of sight. But remain still and silent, and 
 in a moment or two a brown head peeped 
 
UESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 25 
 
 out, a black eye twinkled; out came the 
 miniature beaver, and, seating himself upon 
 his hinder part, washed his face with his tiny 
 paws. The stream ran deep and strong here, 
 under this bank towards the lav\ai, so deep 
 that the eye could not penetrate its depth ; 
 but out yonder, half-way across to the other 
 side, one could see the waving weeds, slowly 
 vibrating along their length to the motion of 
 the water. Here the still patient pike lay 
 motionless for hours, awaiting his prey — the 
 roach, who restlessly swam to and fro in the 
 black pool under the lawn bank, seen occasion- 
 ally as they turned sideways and showed their 
 white glancing under part. Thence it shallowed 
 till the mud appeared, where the marks of the 
 moor-hen's foot could be traced, and the flags 
 grew green in the spring with yellow flowers ; 
 the iris, now brown and withered, rustling 
 in the breeze. There, too, grew the tall 
 reeds, with their graceful flower -bunches; 
 and beyond these the bank rose high, and 
 over it was a belt of impervious flr-trees and 
 pines, scenting the air with their exuding 
 
26 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 gum, and bearing cones high up towards the 
 topmost branches. 
 
 This was Pierce's garden — or rather this 
 is a dim outline of it ; for it contained inex- 
 haustible riches of this kind. The downs rose 
 up a short distance beyond the bourne — downs 
 upon whose slopes you might lie, and listen to 
 the whistling of the breezes through the ben- 
 nets, till all thought of the world and its con- 
 tentions passed out of the mind. The old house 
 rambled about, like Pierce's mind, and yet was 
 substantial and large, and even stately after 
 its Avay. These had been abbey lands, and 
 one small portion of the abbey itself remained, 
 and was built upon and all round by those 
 who erected the mansion. This was the break- 
 fast-parlour, Pierce's favourite room, with 
 the great yew-tree shadowing its muUioned 
 window, and the walls wainscoted, and the 
 furniture of oak, fantastically carved, as no 
 man carves in this our day: at once grim, 
 grotesque, and , artistic, there are none who 
 can grave in such guise now. Somewhat 
 sombre was this room ; there was an air of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 27 
 
 slumberous age about it. Here he had brought 
 some of the treasures from the old abbey 
 library. There was the ponderous chartulary, 
 3^ellow with age, lying, of all places, upon the 
 sideboard ; and close by it curious folios upon 
 astrology, and the rare and precious early 
 tomes of Shakespeare ; these all scattered about, 
 as novels and such works are in ordinary 
 rooms. He said that he liked this free con- 
 fusion better than the formal stateliness of a 
 library. His guests were free to open and to 
 read a few lines just as they pleased, or to en- 
 tirely pass the treasures by ; there was no cere- 
 monious unlocking of cases, no careful hand- 
 ling, no show. The other window of the room, 
 which looked out upon the orchard, and by 
 which there ran a path, he had -filled with 
 ancient glass, taken from a chapel in the old 
 abbey. The central figure of the window, in 
 bright and yet mellow colour, was a cardinal 
 blessing with the two uplifted fingers and the 
 extended thumb of the Roman Church. Near 
 by were saints and angels, with faces familiar 
 as those of the carters and ploughboys — 
 
28 EESTLESS HUMAN IIEAETS. 
 
 homely and yet lifelike; i3ortraits of men 
 whom the ancient artist had known, and whom 
 he had crowned in the Heaven of his fancy. 
 This was not one design; it was composed of 
 pieces from several windows — all that had 
 been preserved — arranged wiih no view ex- 
 cept to have the most brilliant colours, such 
 as the cardinal's hat, in the centre. The lands 
 were purchased in Queen Elizabeth's time 
 from one of King Henry YIII.'s favourites, 
 who had had them almost a free gift when that 
 monarch dissolved the monasteries. Pierce's 
 ancestor of that day had been a judge, and he 
 was the grandest of the family; there had 
 been none with any worldly ambition since. 
 They had one and all refused to be made more 
 than magistrates; one and all they had kept 
 out of politics ; one and all they had farmed 
 a o'ood share of the estates themselves. These 
 were not large, but large enough to place 
 them in the position of country gentlemen. 
 Pierce more than all the rest lived in seclu- 
 sion, yet spent the whole of his income. True, 
 that income was hardly more than half what 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 29 
 
 he could rightfully have claimed. He had 
 surrendered the other portion to his youno^er 
 brother, in order that he might remain near 
 him. Philip lived barely a bowshot distant, 
 in a house known as the Vicarage; for Pierce 
 w^as the lay impropriator, and took the great 
 tithes. This was a more modern mansion, 
 square and compact. A broad paved footpath 
 ran straight from one house to the other; 
 half-way it was parted with a door arched in 
 the wall; beyond this was another paved 
 footpath, running at right angles, and then a 
 second door opening into Philip's garden. 
 These doors were never locked, but they 
 were there. The paved footpath running 
 at Ti^ht an2:les went down the hill somewhat 
 to the church where Philip officiated, whose 
 low tower was hidden by the chestnut- 
 trees. 
 
 Why was it that the barns of the place 
 were always full ? Why was it that the sun 
 seemed ever to shine here, and even the 
 storm, Avhen it came, was altogether lovely? 
 For the coloured bow irleamed out from the 
 
30 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 angry cloud, and rested its ethereal arch — 
 the portal of heaven — upon the everlasting 
 hills, and smiling peace was there again. 
 Nature dealt lovingly with the old man 
 Pierce — most lovingly of all in giving him 
 Heloise. 
 
 He had married in his youth; what 
 came of that does not matter in this place. 
 He had married again in his middle age 
 — married a French lady too, above all 
 things, as the neighbours sneered ; and what 
 came of that was Heloise. The mother was 
 long dead. It had been left to Pierce to 
 watch the peach ripen, to see the bloom 
 gather upon the rind, and the delicate tints 
 and velvety softness grow to surpassing 
 beauty. 
 
 She was hardly strong enough even now 
 to carry him the abbey chartulary from the 
 shelf to his chair: a delicate slio^ht ^irl, not 
 tall, and yet not short ; delicate as the richest 
 exotic, and yet all impulse, all nervous ex- 
 citement. Perfectly healthy, the doctor said 
 — perfectly healthy; but beware how she was 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 31 
 
 shocked. As long as she was happy she woukl 
 flourish; but the whiter of sorrow, if such 
 should come, would most assuredly kill her. 
 He had kept that winter away as yet. Her bird- 
 like movements had never been fettered with 
 the dull clog of misery. She danced about 
 the house from morning till night; she rode, 
 she sang, she played, hajDpy as the day was 
 long. The long curling black hair Avas rarely 
 confined with band or ribbon; it flowed freely 
 upon her shoulders in luxuriant wilfulness, 
 and clung around her neck in ringlets. The 
 long, long eyelashes drooped upon her cheek, 
 half-hiding the eye, even when wide open. 
 They were large eyes— large and liquid— of 
 the deepest azure blue. The eyebrows were 
 narrow, black, and well marked, not too 
 arched; the complexion dazzlingly white- 
 white as the driven snow— with the flxintest 
 flush of colour, hke a blush rose, in the cheek. 
 But the mouth — who shall describe the 
 mouth? Mobile and ever-changing, its ex- 
 pression never fixed, what artist could ever 
 hope to transfer those lips to the canvas? It 
 
32 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 pouted, and it looked lovely ; it smiled, and 
 enchanted ; there was a flash of momentary 
 anger, and it bemtched you. Her soul ever 
 hovered near her lips. 
 
 * Sweet Helen makes me immortal with a kiss ; 
 Her lips draw forth my soul : see where it flies.' 
 
 Pierce in his inmost communings ever thought 
 of her as Psyche ; but she was too lively for 
 the conventional conception of Psyche — never 
 still ; ever in motion ; always eager for change 
 and excitement. Other people remarked this, 
 and said slightingly that it was a sign of her 
 French extraction. One thing only ever kept 
 her still — one thought only ever made her 
 silent and reflective; it was religion. She 
 could not have told you why, but the feeling 
 of rehgion was ingrained in her very inmost 
 being. It was a peculiar religion, it is true ; 
 an aesthetic longing rather than a tangible 
 realisation. It had no existence apart from 
 colour and light and joy. So she was rarely 
 seen at church ; it was too cold and damp and 
 dim and dull there. It was all stone — dead. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. ^j-) 
 
 Otlier people said this, too, was the result of 
 her French extraction. As the tree, so the 
 fruit; as the mother was Roman Catholic, the 
 child would not go to a Protestant church. 
 This was harsh and untrue ; she had been 
 carefully bred up in the Protestant faith. It 
 was not that ; it was the lack of life at the 
 church. There was no sunshine in it, no 
 colour, no light. Heloise's heart was full of 
 aspirings — after she knew not what, but which 
 she deemed were sacred hopes. She sat under 
 the old chestnut-trees, watching the shadows 
 dancing, and let these feelings have their 
 way. She climbed up the steep- sided do^vns, 
 and, choosino; a hollow sheltered from the 
 wind, lay down upon the soft thymy turf, 
 while the bees flew overhead and the lark 
 sang high above her, and dreamt day-dreams, 
 not of heaven, but of something — she knew 
 not what ; of a state of existence all and every 
 hour of which should be light and joy and 
 life. It was one of her fancies, this lying on 
 the broad earth, with her ear close to the 
 ground, that she could feel the heart of the 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
/)4 RESTLESS HUxATAN HEARTS. 
 
 ^Yorld throb slowly far underneath. Pierce, 
 living himself among the classics, desired that 
 she should share his pleasures, and had put 
 English translations of them into her handst- 
 and it '^vas perhaps from these, from old Dioge- 
 nes Laertius or Plato, that these fancies had 
 their birth ; for some of these old philosophers 
 taught that the world collectively was in itself 
 a vast animal or creature, v/ith heart and pulse 
 and soul. In the silence of the hills she could 
 hear this great heart throb. She was on these 
 hills often in the very early morning, riding 
 her pony, and watching the light and shadow 
 as the sun rose over the clouds of mist. 
 Pierce encouraged her in this ; the air did her 
 good. It was the air, the physicians said, which 
 made her, though so delicate, yet so healthy, 
 so to say, so fall of life. But the evening- was 
 her favourite time, when the sunset flamed in 
 the west, one gorgeous mass of gold and crim- 
 son and brilliant hues. She would slov,dy 
 ride about till the first planet shone forth, 
 and then homeward with a gentle and chas- 
 tened feeling, sending up, it might be, from her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 35 
 
 heart a prayer to the Heaven she had been 
 taught to believe in. 
 
 Looking at her from our distance, calmly 
 and critically, the question arises, Was she 
 or was she not a pagan? 
 
 It was a religion that mingled with every 
 hour of her daily life — no matter of one hour 
 every week, but an ever-present reality. Once 
 more, this was Heloise's home, these were the 
 influences under which she grew up. She 
 had seen nothing of life, nothing of society. 
 Her time had been passed in this ' dull coun- 
 try house.' What wonder that she entered 
 so eagerly into the excitement of the theatre ? 
 She was so absorbed with the rapid changes 
 of the six weeks they had been married, she 
 never even suspected Louis of sneering. She 
 did not detect the faint inflection of his tone 
 of voice ; she was unconscious of his mockery. 
 Louis, remember, was outwardly attentive and 
 considerate to a fault. She was too excited for 
 even her sensitive nature to as yet feel the jar 
 — to recognise the barely-perceptible shadovr 
 which had already fallen across her path. 
 
36 
 
 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Sweet Heloise — married but six weeks — 
 even lier best and sweetest temper was of no 
 avail. Unseen, the o^old of the wedding-ring 
 was tarnishing already. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A FATALIST, as all close observers of Nature 
 and all intense minds are, Pierce traced the loss 
 of Heloise to that first unfortunate marriage of 
 his. This was why he had kept her in such 
 strict sechision. He argued with himself — 
 told himself that it was for her health ; it was 
 better that she should not be excited ; in his 
 heart of hearts he well knew that he dreaded 
 her entrance into society, lest she should 
 marry, and leave him. He could not con- 
 template the possibility of so lovely a creature 
 passing unnoticed amidst the crowd; she 
 would be sure to be snatched away from him, 
 and he should be left alone. Therefore he 
 had kept her in the country, tortured at times 
 mth the fear lest he was doing her an in- 
 justice, doubting whether, in his selfishness, 
 he was not injuring her, whom he loved above 
 
38 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 all. But he could not bring liimself to part 
 with her, not even for three months. It 
 would have been different, he said, if she had 
 pined for change, if she had panted for the 
 legitimate pleasures and amusements of youth. 
 But Heloise, so impetuous and so fond of 
 motion, never showed the least inclination to 
 leave him, never asked to go out into the 
 world. She was contented, happy ; and he 
 was only too glad that she should be so. Kow 
 he traced events back to their beoinnino^, and 
 saw, or thought he saw, that the very pre- 
 cautions he had taken to secure her to himself 
 had resulted in precisely the opposite manner 
 to what he had hoped and intended. It was 
 fate. 
 
 Not the Fate conceived of by the ancients 
 — the overwhelming Necessity, 'which could 
 not be withstood, even by the gods; but to 
 which they, too, must succumb. Even in our 
 modern Christian and civilised, let us add 
 sceptical, time, such a Necessity is partly 
 acknowledged. For the great Founder of the 
 Christian religion, in the agony of the moment, 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 39 
 
 cried out that if possible the supreme hour of 
 torture might be averted. But no ; not even 
 for Him could the irresistible march of events 
 be stayed! It was not the Fate that drove 
 the hero of Sophocles' saddest drama to kill 
 his father, and wed his mother in mental 
 blindness. Nor did Pierce recognise the so- 
 called ' Providence' which in our modern 
 tongue is the synonym of the ' destiny' and the 
 ^ fate' of the olden times. What he meant by 
 fate was the singular and unexpected con- 
 catenation of circumstances which human in- 
 genuity could not foresee. Caesar Borgia said 
 that he had foreseen the death of his father, 
 he had calculated on that; he had foreseen 
 the animosity of the cardinals, and had cal- 
 culated the required amount of counter- action ; 
 he had foreseen that the troops would desert 
 him. He had taken measures to overcome all 
 these difficulties. But he had not foreseen 
 that he should be ill himself, and incapable of 
 action. That ruined him. They show a 
 tower in a city of the west of England, and 
 they call it a ' Polly,' because it was built by 
 
40 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 
 
 a man to shield his only son and heir from 
 the death, by bite of an adder, which was 
 foretold by the astrologers. The boy was 
 kept in the tower night and day, and the 
 father rejoiced, and cried, ' He is safe.' But 
 in the course of time the servants took in some 
 fagots of wood for fuel, and in those fagots 
 was an adder, which crept out and stung the 
 lad. Therefore they call it a Tolly,' as show- 
 ing that human wisdom is weak and powerless 
 to control the great Unknown. 
 
 Pierce had taught Heloise to find pleasures 
 and joys where girls of her age would usually 
 see nothing but dulness and inanity. He 
 had shown her heart-stirring things in the 
 woods, the downs, the sky, and in the very 
 grass under her feet. For he said, ' If she 
 joys in these, she will never leave me ; she 
 will never hanker after the artificial,' He had 
 built up a tower around her to bind her in 
 and secure her, and now he found it a ' folly.' 
 
 It was his first marriage. It came up even 
 at this distance of time, and flung itself in his- 
 teeth. Yet there vras nothino; criminal in it 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 41 
 
 either; nothing even inappropriate, as far as 
 man could see ; they were fairly matched, to 
 all appearance : but it was a mistake. In the 
 siirht of the irresistible laws which govern the 
 universe, a mistake is as fruitful of evil effects 
 as the oTeatest of all crimes. Out of that 
 marriao'e Louis came to Avonbourne. Yet 
 hoAv he came seemed wrapped in a dense 
 mist of obscurity. Pierce never could see the 
 reason as to why and wherefore. He came 
 out of a cloud. Nothing very obscure either, 
 looking at it in a commonplace way. Carlotta 
 came, and with her her husband and Louis. 
 
 Carlotta, Pierce's eldest daughter, by his 
 first wife. But why should she come that 
 spring to visit her old home ? The answer is 
 simple enough. It may sound strange, but 
 this man, her fiither, only knew her features 
 from a miniature painted ten years ago. He 
 had not seen her since her childhood. She 
 had passed from his sphere as a girl — a wilful, 
 pettish, ambitious, artificial creature. Pierce's 
 garden was not for her. She found friends 
 easily with her relations ; they brought her 
 
42 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 up. And this was how it was. She never came 
 back — not once in full five- and- twenty years. 
 For a whole quarter of a century he never 
 saw her face. She left him at fifteen, she 
 came back at forty — came back, unexpected, 
 unannounced, one lovely evening in spring. 
 AYith her Louis and her husband, or her hus- 
 band and Louis — which you please. She had 
 married early, and wondrously well, as every 
 one said she would. At twenty she went 
 to the altar with one whom Mammon fa- 
 voured as a man ' after his own heart.' A 
 buUionist, a discounter of bills, in Lombard- 
 street ; on the Continent, a raiser of loans for 
 tottering governments, a master in their 
 secret councils. Personally a man of pohshed 
 steel. Not brazen, or loud, or oily, or cant- 
 ing, nor ' gentlemanly' only ; but of polished 
 steel. A light spare form, well proportioned ; 
 a handsome face, only expressionless ; a low 
 voice, but a voice which you could hear at 
 double the distance of the hissing thick 
 sounds which issue from the great majoritv 
 of throats ; polished and hard — such was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 43 
 
 Hortoii Knoyle of Knoyle. He was no vulgar 
 speculator on the Exchange, no fortune- 
 hunter, but a prince — a pnnce by reason of 
 his power, a prince by reason of his aristo- 
 cratic position. Carlotta, in a single step, 
 rose to a sphere where she could not see 
 Pierce. He passed away entirely. Ambas- 
 sadors, dukes, princes of the blood, sovereigns 
 — these were her guests, these her hosts, now. 
 The garden at Avonbourne sank into the 
 ground and was hidden. After her marriage 
 her portrait w\as painted in oil by a famous 
 artist; from this a miniature was taken, and 
 sent to Pierce by the aunt who had brought 
 her up, who had launched her into ' society,' 
 as a sort of triumph. It represented Carlotta 
 in full dress, vrearing her diamonds — the 
 Knoyle diamonds. Pierce was not asked to 
 the wedding. The country gentry poured in 
 tj congratulate him; he received them with 
 exquisite politeness, but he was silent. They 
 saw they should get no entree into a higher 
 class through him, and the subject dropped. 
 Carlotta passed out of sight. Now and then 
 
44 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ihej saw in the papers that such and such 
 a grand reception had been held by Lady 
 Knoyle; for she was a peeress in her own right 
 now. Horton refused the minister's offer 
 for himself, but, as the papers said, gracefully 
 placed the coronet upon his consort's head. 
 If any man could have seen into his heart 
 as he did so ! Excepting these notices there 
 was an utter blank between the parent and the 
 daughter. 
 
 Till all at once she and Knoyle and Louis 
 came to Avonbourne in the still May eve — 
 in early May, before the June roses had 
 shown their opening buds. Without a note 
 of warning, without a letter giving notice of 
 their approach — as if Bourne Manor was an 
 hotel — superciliously they came. Till the 
 carriage stopped at the hall- door no one knew 
 of their coming. Pierce and Heloise were 
 out riding at the hour. They entered ; Car- 
 lotta took her old rooms ; they unpacked their 
 luggage, sent the horses to the stable, ordered 
 refreshment, and calmly awaited the return 
 of their host. Pierce had often pictured to 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 45 
 
 himself a meeting ^vith his long-lost daughter; 
 he felt that his hmbs would tremble when he 
 did see her at last. Now she had come, he 
 met her, kissed her, talked to her as if she 
 had been the most ordinary visitor. He ex- 
 pressed no surprise at their coming — he made 
 them welcome. He was far too highly-bred 
 to show the least resentment at the cool 
 supercilious manner in which he had been 
 treated. He accompanied Horton that very 
 evening to the famous trout-preserve on the 
 estate, producing the fishing-tackle as if he 
 had been his son-in-law's gamekeeper. He 
 showed Horton hoAV to fish. This man of 
 steel had been advised to try trout-fishing as 
 a relief to the mind ! It was the first time he 
 had ever held a rod. This was ostensibly the 
 reason of their arrival: Horton was over- 
 worked — wanted rest, the physicians said, 
 and prescribed him country air and fishing. 
 Horton smJled, and did as they bid. But 
 there was fishing enough elsewhere — why 
 Avonbourne was chosen was Carlotta's affair. 
 Also trout-fishinsf was not the cause of Louis 
 
46 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 accompanying them. And Heloise all this 
 time? Heloise was never tired of watching 
 her half-sister. She would gaze at her almost 
 for hours at a time. She could not under- 
 stand her; she was a creature so totally dis- 
 tinct from aught she had ever imagined or 
 seen. Carlotta was an enigma to her. 
 
 Oddly enough, Pierce and Louis became 
 great friends — rather let us say great talkers 
 together. Perhaps it was the extreme con- 
 trast between their habits of thought. In 
 their mode of life they had been the antipodes 
 of each other. Each in his peculiar way and 
 in his own j^articular walk had been a great 
 observer. Only Pierce observed the work- 
 ings of the laws of God Avith a reverential 
 feeling; Louis had watched the ways of men 
 with ever-increasing scepticism. Pierce knew 
 Xature ; Louis knew man. There was much 
 that was utterly repulsive to Pierce in Louis' 
 expressions, in his tone, his whole style of 
 life. But the old man made allowances for 
 the different calibre of his guest. He tried 
 to imagine himself in the other's place, with 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 47 
 
 completely opposite tastes, inclinations; under 
 a widely- varying chain of circumstances; 
 exposed to influences whicti he had never felt 
 the power of. He subtracted all the dross, 
 and threw it on one side, and believed that 
 there still remained no little ore at the 
 bottom. It was Pierce's own generous and 
 noble way of estimating men. 
 
 There was something singularly interest- 
 ino^ in Louis' conversation; not the talk of 
 the drawing-room, but his talk when he was 
 alone with men. He had seen so much of 
 human nature under such exceptional con- 
 ditions, he had a caustic epigrammatic method 
 of condensing his bitter truths into sharp 
 arrowy sentences, that left a sting, as it 
 Avere, behind. He had travelled widel}', and 
 travelled in out-of-the-way and unvisited 
 places. But it was never among the woods 
 and forests and seas. He had never pene- 
 trated the primeval forest; never sailed on 
 the unknown seas, or felt the simoom in the 
 midst of the desert. These were not what 
 he had sought. It was always cities, never 
 
48 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Nature, that lie had visited, and sojourned 
 within. And such phices within those cities 
 as the world never dreamed existed upon 
 the earth : the lowest beerhouse, the most 
 miserable estaminet, the worst, the dirtiest, 
 the most criminal and abandoned districts. 
 Xot that he lowered himself to intoxication, 
 or to still worse pleasures in those sties of 
 iniquity. He did not go there for what others 
 went; he visited them to watch, and study 
 the habits and thoughts of those who fre- 
 quented the place for the gratification of their 
 desires. As the student of medicine and 
 surgery is made acquainted with the filthiest 
 and most repulsive phases of disease, so Louis 
 studied the most loathsome and coarsely 
 outre states of life, not that he might gain an 
 insight, or learn a lesson from which to teach 
 or better mankind, but simply and solely 
 from a desire — a craving unnatural desire — to 
 see man in his ' nakedness.' Not the naked- 
 ness of the body, but the exposure of the 
 animal instincts, the hate, the cruelty, the 
 avarice, and the lust. He would stand for 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 49 
 
 hours by the bar of the lowest public-house, 
 sippincr a single glass of weak brandy-and- 
 water, lazily watching out of his half-closed 
 eyes the motions, or listening to the talk, of 
 the brutes in human form who made that 
 house their chief resort. With the microscope 
 of his mind he dissected the characters of these 
 creatures — they cannot be called men. 
 
 This was a strange occupation for a peer 
 of England ; for Louis was a peer, though 
 he rarely used the title. 
 
 What reason was there for this morbid 
 frame of mind? Was it that he was dimly 
 conscious of his own unutterable baseness, of 
 the total lack of moral consciousness within 
 him, that led him to take a miserable pleasure 
 in thus proving to his own satisfaction that such 
 was the normal condition of mankind? But 
 this was not all that he had seen. By the aid 
 of the acquaintances picked up in these dens 
 of infamy, he had penetrated into fraternities 
 whose very existence was utterly unsuspected; 
 even into that most secret and nameless band 
 some of whose members could be found at 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 BESTLESS IimiAlS' HEARTS. 
 
 AntAverp in the autumn of the year. Here 
 he had learnt strano-e and startling^ novelties 
 of thought ; here he had seen and studied 
 men whose minds and lives marked them out 
 as distinctly as if they had been inhabitants 
 of another world. He knew curious secrets 
 of the Commune, of the societies that still 
 pester the peace of the Continent. In one 
 word, he knew as no other man did the 
 weird, the bizarre, and the devilish in liuman 
 life. 
 
 This man became Pierce's constant com- 
 panion — Pierce the mild, the gentle, and the 
 blameless. It was the fascination of his talk 
 which threw a lio;ht over him. It was the 
 novelty, the utter antithesis. It was the 
 opportunity for a study which had never 
 occurred to Pierce, the great student, before. 
 It was reading the 'world' as in a book. 
 Through it all Louis made him and others 
 feel that whatever he had seen, whatever he 
 had heard, he, Louis, remained undefiled, an 
 Enoiish o;entleman still. That this was the 
 case his manner was strong testimon}- — ele- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 51 
 
 gant, and gentlemanly polite, pleasant; ever 
 ready to forward the amusement of others. 
 
 This man, of all others, married -Heloise. 
 Lookino; back afterwards Pierce said it was 
 occasioned by his 'folly' — his endeavour to 
 keep her to himself by secluding her. She 
 had seen so little of the world, she had had 
 no variety to choose from. Carlotta encou- 
 raged the match. Horton left them long 
 before anything of this was talked of — went 
 back to his bullion, his bills, his loans ; silent 
 as to where his care laid — here or there. Car- 
 lotta remained. She and Louis and Heloise 
 went about together as brother and sisters. 
 They rode together ; they rambled upon the 
 hills ; always these three — never Louis and 
 Carlotta alone, never Heloise and Louis 
 alone. There was nothing in this that any 
 one could disapprove of But yet at times 
 Pierce felt that there was a chord of sympathy 
 — a faint invisible connection — between Car- 
 lotta and Louis Avhich he could not under- 
 stand. Their bearino; towards each other AN^as 
 haughty aftd distant; yet they were, it seemed. 
 
52 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ever animated by the same impulses. It only 
 occurred to him at times ; it was a passing 
 impression — a dream that came and Avent, 
 and left no tangible mark behind. He was 
 glad, or professed to be glad — tried to argue 
 himself into being glad — that Carlotta and 
 Heloise were so friendly. It was a reunion 
 after so many }'ears. It was as it ought 
 to be. 
 
 Carlotta was very generous over the mar- 
 riage. She presented Heloise with a magni- 
 ficent set of diamonds; she showered presents 
 upon her ; she clothed her in garments of 
 priceless value, till Heloise cried out shrhik- 
 ingly that these things were not meet for iier. 
 Her innate modesty arose, and for the time 
 overcame the natural vanity of a mere child; 
 for she was but nineteen. But Carlotta, the 
 subtle, over-persuaded her, and she accepted 
 them, as she had accepted Louis — partly, at 
 least — at Carlotta's hands. 
 
 After the wedding the bride and bride- 
 groom went to the Lakes ; after that to 
 London, at Heloise's own special desire. 
 

 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 At least Louis believed lie loved her. It was 
 the fact, at any rate, that he had felt towards 
 her as he had felt towards no other human 
 being before. Xo other emotion had ever 
 occurred to him that he could not analyse, 
 that he could not destroy with merciless cri- 
 ticism — not sparing himself But Heloise 
 exercised an influence over him which he 
 could not analyse. It hurried him on too 
 rapidly. She was the last that, in his calmer 
 moments, he would have chosen — the last that 
 he had ever pictured to himself as occupying 
 the position of his wife. Like all other men 
 who belong, in however distant a manner, to 
 his class, Louis avoided the idea of a wife. 
 It was synonymous, in his accepted creed, 
 with innumerable vexations to which no rea- 
 sonable man could submit. But she had 
 
54 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 swept away these thoughts — subverted the 
 order of his mind. The idea of vexation, of 
 annoyance, never entered his mind as possible 
 in connection with her durino; that brief 
 period of -wild dreaming at Avonbourne — 
 wild, inasmuch as it carried away the re- 
 flective portion of the man. It was the 
 highest elevation that Louis ever reached in 
 his whole moral existence. The dormant 
 soul, latent even in the sceptical, reasoning, 
 questioning, ever- doubting Pyrrhonist, rose 
 to the surface — strus^oied itself out attracted 
 by the magnetism of Heloise's wondrous beauty 
 and purity. For a brief period it raised it- 
 self in conquest over the mind and the brain, 
 over the accumulated doubt of years. The 
 soul stood confessed in the man who disbe- 
 lieved in its existence. Louis' whole being 
 was wrapped up in her for those three or four 
 months in the natural life at Avonbourne. 
 He believed he loved her. Those who knew 
 his previous course would have pronounced 
 love impossible to him. To us, hovrever, 
 judging him impartially, it is clear that for 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 5a 
 
 the hour and the clay Louis did love Heloise 
 with the whole force of the divine passion. 
 Her single face, her single person, was power- 
 ful enough to overcome the influences which 
 had been growing up around him for years. 
 Her voice overcame the sophistries of the hun- 
 dreds with whom he had conversed ; it pene- 
 trated to his very heart. 
 
 And Heloise? She knew nothing of love, 
 so to say. She had had no experience in 
 these things. An innocent girl, hardly out 
 of her childhood, pure of heart and mind, se- 
 cluded from all society, how should she learn 
 to analvse her feelino-s, and to distin!2;ui&h be- 
 tweeu the real emotion and the transient 
 excitement? One thing she, in all her inno- 
 cence, could not help seeing — Louis' wildest, 
 blindest admiration of her. Inexperienced, 
 and uneducated in the science of the heart, 
 those symptoms thrilled a chord that existed 
 somewhere in her own bosom. The necessity 
 to love and to be loved existed in her heart; 
 he caused that string to vibrate, and how ^\ as 
 she to distinofuish whether or no his was the 
 
56 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 master-hand, if he only could play it aright ? 
 Shall we confess that Heloise, in her girlish 
 way, felt a little proud of her lover ? AVill that 
 lower her in one's estimation ? It was so na- 
 tural in a girl so much secluded, so purely 
 unartificial. She could not help a little, just 
 a little, warmth of pleasure in the thought 
 that this man of the world should see any- 
 thing to admire in her. This very pride in 
 his admiration arose out of the low value she 
 put upon herself. A man of the world — there 
 was no little charm in that. So deep, so pro- 
 found and original a thinker as he seemed to 
 be to her — such an apostle, as it were, of a 
 state of things and a mode of thought of 
 which previously she had had no conception 
 — he dazzled her. 
 
 So, too, he dazzled Pierce. Yet Pierce 
 had twinges of misgiving. But Carlotta 
 wound him about' with her logic of society. 
 Tliis man was a great match. He was rich, 
 he was titled, he had high connections. Such 
 an opportunity would never again happen to 
 the humble dwellers in Bourne Manor. It 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 57 
 
 would be a lasting honour to the family. The 
 man himself, too, had sown his wild oats. 
 He was old enough to settle down into a 
 good and affectionate husband. It was evi- 
 dent how deeply he loved her. Subtle Car- 
 lotta went one step farther. She just hinted 
 something more — she did not say so plainly, 
 but she suo'o-ested the idea to Pierce's mind 
 that unless the offer was accepted Heloise 
 would never have another chance of rising 
 to her half-sister's elevated position. This de- 
 cided Pierce. Heloise must be as high as Car- 
 lotta. His tender and affectionate mind felt 
 a jealous ambition for her. Yes: the offer 
 must be accepted. 
 
 Easy it is now to understand why Heloise 
 was so happy at the Haymarket. It was fairy- 
 land to her. These things, these sights and 
 scenes and amusements, long over-done and 
 nauseous to a satiated appetite, were new and 
 entrancing to her. How she entered into the 
 excitement of the hour ! her heart, glowing 
 with delight, expressing unaffected admiration. 
 
 This gushing palled upon Louis. He 
 
58 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 aro^ued with himself that it was rjo-ht and 
 proper and best that it should be so. It 
 was better that his wife should be pure, fresh, 
 and innocent; he could trust her. As a re- 
 fined student of human nature, he should, 
 even in his most passionless moments, have 
 chosen a new heart, so to say — one on which 
 no self-imposed task of deceit had as yet 
 stamped its mark. It was the greatest safe- 
 guard against those follies and those vexa- 
 tions which married life is certain to bring 
 in its wake. He could mould her, too, as he 
 pleased. Thus he tried to deceive himself — to 
 argue his own mind into satisfaction. How 
 many thousands of us are, at this moment, 
 earnestly engaged in the same attempt ! And 
 as soon as we have partially succeeded, Ave 
 shut our eyes and slumber, as if sleep could 
 assure us protection from the rising storm — 
 as if the lightning would pass us over. Sharp 
 is the awakening from this somnolency. 
 
 This perpetual gushing he tried to call 
 in his own mind the natural and health}' 
 delight of a new heart. But the very term 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEAllTS. 59 
 
 o'ushino'' would recur to liis mind. He 
 
 could not help but note it — it palled upon 
 him. Gradually and imperceptibly it engen- 
 dered a contemptuous feeling — a sense of 
 superiority. At Avonbourne she had ap- 
 peared so superior to him. Xow he slowly 
 grew conscious of a species of superiority 
 Avhich he possessed over her. By degrees he 
 came to criticise and analyse her, to watch 
 her face, to study her mind and her ways. 
 The result was the production of a process of 
 drawing parallelisms between her and those 
 low and brutal characters which he had lived 
 amongst so long. Heloise compared to them 
 — Heloise the pure at heart, the unaffected, 
 the natural, the very type of the creature 
 that 'thinketh no evil' — compared with the 
 ruffians of the gambling saloons, and a paral- 
 lelism instituted between her and such as 
 they were ! Louis argued in this way : she 
 has the same instincts as they have. How 
 greatly she enjoyed the fragrant bouquet of 
 the priceless wines he set before her, novel, 
 and unknown to her palate before — wines un- 
 
60 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 heard of in the simple life at Avonbourne ! 
 It was true that she drank but the merest 
 drop — the sipping of a bird was not more in 
 amount^ but the pleasure was there equally, 
 and was perhaps more than if she had par- 
 taken largely. These shows and theatres — 
 see how her eyes sparkled as they entered 
 the glittering palaces of the drama and the 
 song! DiiFerent in degree, it was the same 
 in kind with the maddening enthusiasm of 
 the wildest San Franciscan frequenter of the 
 lowest theatrical saloon — subdued, toned 
 down, it might be; but still she possessed 
 the same animal instincts as the rest of com- 
 mon humanity. Had she been exposed to 
 the vile influences that other unfortunate 
 women had been, doubtless she would have 
 succumbed as they had done, and become the 
 most degraded of all spectacles. Mark this : 
 Louis always assumed the possibility of the 
 good deteriorating to the bad. He never 
 gave a thought to the equal possibility that 
 the wicked and the degraded would have 
 been honest and true had they enjoyed the 
 
RESTLESS HUINIAX HEARTS. G 1 
 
 same favourable conditions. Thus in these 
 speculations he carried out his old habit of 
 studying the worst side of human nature. 
 He reduced Heloise, in the abstract, to the 
 level of the j)ariahs of society. 
 
 Contempt for her grew by degrees into 
 contempt for himself. He looked back upon 
 that dream at Avonbourne as a species of 
 insanity. He sneered at the recollection of 
 himself. All the old habits rose up strong 
 and irresistible in his heart. He }-earned to 
 go back to himself again ; for she had par- 
 tially, and for a time, drawn him out of 
 himself, made him for a while, at least, re- 
 cognise that another human being had feel- 
 ings and hopes and joys. But he could not 
 remain thus. All the old instincts, all the 
 habits acquired in so many years of perfect 
 freedom, pulled and dragged at him harder 
 and fiercer every day. They would not be 
 denied. He felt it to be a bondage to be 
 always with her. Though he had nothing to 
 do, even if he omitted^ all those tender cares 
 and little kindly efforts for her pleasure — as 
 
€2 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 lie began to omit them now — still there re- 
 mained her presence, in itself a weariness to 
 the flesh. He grew to detest the sight and 
 sound of her. He chose a solitary room, and 
 restlessly fidgeted at the echo of her approach- 
 ing footstep. He was always occupied when 
 she came near to him. He did not wish to 
 be disturbed. He, who had never done an- 
 hour's work in his life, began to be full of 
 business — important business that could not 
 be delayed, that must be attended to, that 
 required absolute solitude and silence, that 
 made liim irritable when intruded on, even 
 by her, his dear Heloise. 
 
 It was long before she noticed the change 
 that had come over him. She accepted his 
 explanation in all good faith — she attributed 
 all his irritable ways and desire to be away 
 from her to the cares of business. She had a 
 dim kind of idea that every man had a busi- 
 ness to attend to. She never thought of 
 doubting him. But when this went on for 
 weeks, when she found herself, night after 
 night, alone in the box at the theatre, a sense 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. b^ 
 
 of loneliness, almost a sense of a wrong done 
 to her, stole over her mind. She made no 
 complaint ; she did not even hint at her dis- 
 appointment ; but she tried, with unwearied 
 attention, to win him back to her side. It 
 was her own fault, she said to herself; she 
 had enjoyed the change and the excitement 
 and the amusement too much; she had ne- 
 o^lected him. She ceased to 2:0 to the theatres, 
 and came and sat with Louis. This made it 
 ten times worse. Secretly, as soon as her 
 carriage had left, he had of late gone out 
 into the town, alwaj's returning before the 
 time when she would return. He wished to 
 be free of her company. Xow she came and 
 forced herself upon him. For an evening or 
 two he bore it, without outward show, beyond 
 an ill-suppressed restlessness. Even at the 
 last he could not boldly say out that he 
 wished to be alone. There was something 
 about this girl, in her purity and her inno- 
 cence, which made it impossible to insult her, 
 or even to openly wound her. The third 
 evening he left the room for a moment, and 
 
64 RESTLESS HIBIAN HEARTS. 
 
 never returned. She did not see him till 
 breakfast ; still in her own mind she did not 
 accuse him. The scales were long in falling 
 from her eyes — so implicitly had she believed 
 every word that fell from him at Avonbourne, 
 so carefully had she treasured up the memory 
 of those impassioned tones. But this occurred 
 ao^ain and ao:ain. 
 
 She was always alone now. She could 
 not go out, and enjoy herself as before. A 
 heavy dulness began to overshadow her. 
 The presence of a trouble never left her. 
 Her wild and impetuous spirits fell. At last 
 she realised the fact that he avoided her, that 
 he wished her at a distance. Then she had a 
 hard and wretched task. It was to keep away 
 from him, and yet not to seem to avoid him 
 of her own accord ; to watch his mood, to be 
 ready at any moment to please him, and yet at 
 the same time not to interfere with his habits. 
 
 Why did she not go to Carlotta — her 
 elder sister, the woman of the world, skilled 
 in men and their ways? Might she not have 
 obtained assistance there ? 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. G.") 
 
 Heloise could not tell why, but although 
 this resource had presented itself to her mind, 
 yet she shrank from it — shrank from pouring 
 her tale into that woman's ears. Why was 
 it ? She had no reason whatever. It was 
 one of those inexplicable instincts which 
 seize upon the mind. Therefore she con- 
 sumed her grief in silence and solitude. And 
 Pierce, her father and her teacher — why not 
 fly to him for advice and help in this the 
 first misery of her young life? Because 
 she would not blame Louis. Pierce would 
 instantly come to the conclusion that it was 
 Louis's fault. The feeling of the wife revolted 
 against casting blame upon her husband ; 
 still greater was the dislike which arose after 
 a time in her mind to reveal his lack of the 
 qualities she had loved him for. Xo ; it 
 must remain a secret in her heart ; she would 
 show no sign. Heloise did not think all this 
 out in strict reasoning, but it passed half 
 unconsciously through her mind. So she^ 
 became an almost total recluse, seldom leav- 
 ing the mansion night or day. So he, too, 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 became an almost total absentee ; never seen 
 in the evening, coming home in the early 
 hours of the morning, sleeping till noon, sit- 
 ting by himself the afternoon, or passing out 
 into the Unknown ; for when he went out, 
 to her he passed into the Unknown. Her mind 
 could not suggest his probable course in that 
 great desert of London. 
 
 Gradualh' their habits became entirely 
 estranged. He had his rooms apart from 
 hers — unconnected in any way ; so that he 
 could come in or out utterly without her 
 knowledge. He never inquired after her 
 motions. 
 
 The days grew longer and longer to He- 
 loise ; the evenings almost unbearable. She 
 had ceased to use those affectionate caresses 
 and endearments to retain him at her side. 
 vShe recognised their utter powerlessness. Her 
 step grew languid and slow ; the old impetuous- 
 ness and perpetual motion left her by degrees. 
 The long evenings were her especial dread. 
 It was thus that she recalled to mind, one 
 night early in September, that they had been 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 67 
 
 married just three months, only a quarter of 
 a year. To her it seemed an age ago. That 
 morning, when the joy bells rang out at 
 Avonbourne, had faded away into the far-off 
 distance. She tried to recall her feelings on 
 that day. It was a vision ; the whole scene 
 had vanished — the hopes had fled. 
 
 Can you blame her, can you sneer at 
 her? The warm tears ivoidd force them- 
 selves into her eyes, and for the first time 
 Heloise, burying her face on the cushion of 
 the ottoman, lost her whole consciousness in 
 bitter, bitter weeping. 
 
CHAPTER V, 
 
 She was standino- on the broad steps that 
 lead up to the entrance of the British Mu- 
 seum. The afternoon sun of the autumn da}^ 
 shone yellow and lurid upon her tall and 
 commanding figure, while her wealth of 
 golden hair glittered in the rays. Her right 
 hand was slightly uplifted, pointing at the 
 edifice, and her face was turned somewhat 
 over her shoulder to address a gentleman 
 who followed immediately behind. She was 
 a grand and noble creature, this Georgiana 
 Knoyle, the banker's sister — tall as a god- 
 dess of the classic time, large limbed, moulded 
 in a generous and full-developed manner by 
 the great artist Nature. Xo miserable and 
 wretched tight-laced stays had disfigured her 
 waist. It would have been called large in 
 these artificial times, when the fetishes of 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 69 
 
 fashion are so devoutly worshipped. But 
 where in all the superb statues of antiquity 
 will you find one single woman, meant to 
 represent an ideal of beauty, with a small and 
 wasp-like waist ? The Yenus de Medicis, all 
 the statues of Yenus, even the very Psyche — 
 the ideal of fragility — one and all are sculp- 
 tured with a torso, lessening in diameter, it is 
 true, above the hips, but only gradually and 
 gently so. The curve is slow and gradual ; 
 there is no sharp ' dig' inwards, so to say. 
 The waist of the Yenus, if a person of the same 
 size were clothed in modern dress, would be 
 called coarse and vulgar in this modern day. 
 Yet the whole world has as^reed to reo^ard 
 these statues as the canon of female beauty. 
 Georgiana's shoulders, too, were called high 
 and masculine by her friends — in good truth, 
 they were perfectly developed, nothing more. 
 They did not slope rapidly from her neck 
 downwards, like the sides of a pyramid ; they 
 had a perceptible width, a breadth about 
 them ; m other words, she had a chesty which 
 is what few women have, and in that chest was 
 
70 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 a pair of vigorous lungs and a regularly-beat- 
 ing healthy heart. Falser taste there cannot 
 be than the artificial and acquired one which 
 delights in a neck sloping like the eaves of a 
 house, with prominent bust, no chest, small 
 waist, and large hips. Falser still the miser- 
 able, affected, stilted walk which has been the 
 rule of late years, as if all ladies suffered 
 from weakness of the spine, and had an iron 
 up it to keep the back at a certain angle 
 with the lesfs, much as children's leo-s are 
 sometimes ironed for weak ankles. The huge 
 and extended 'bustle' — horrid excrescence! — 
 found no place in Georgiana's dress. She 
 walked perfectly upright, as God had designed 
 her to walk, j)utting her feet firmly down 
 upon the ground, feet unencumbered with 
 narrow and high heels. Her Kmbs moved 
 freely ; hence her walk was striking and stately, 
 as those antique statues would have walked 
 could they have been warmed into life. Her 
 dearest female friends called her hio'h shoul- 
 dered, large waisted, gawky ; ' no figure, you 
 know, my dear, but a very estimable person, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 71 
 
 very, only somewhat eccentric' In that pecu- 
 liar hazy light, so soft and yet so lurid, her 
 face, turned towards him, and sculptured in 
 classic shape, with its clear and regular fea- 
 tures, shone to him almost as that of a god- 
 dess, or of a Genius at least — the very Genius 
 of that place they were about to enter. 
 
 Commonplace British Museum, ' open to 
 the public every day except' — what day is it? 
 — ' no refreshments allowed,' with its crowd 
 of commonplace people ; in Bloomsbury, poor, 
 paltry, and second-class Bloomsbury. A god- 
 dess here, a romance here, a Genius of this 
 place ? Pooh ! 
 
 But a goddess and a Genius she seemed 
 to him, a noble and inspired creature, as she 
 paused a moment on those broad steps, and 
 a light shone out from her large gray eyes. 
 
 ' This is the Temple, Neville,' she said in 
 a low voice, for there were others about, ' the 
 true and real sanctified place of worship, at 
 least of reverence. In these walls are collected 
 the fruit of man's inspirations and achieve- 
 ments, and the records of his thought, his 
 
72 KESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 mind, his soul, for full six thousand years. 
 What were the contents of the Delphic fane 
 to the treasures that are here? What were 
 the wretched gold and silver shields, the 
 trophies, the offerings of kings and princi- 
 palities — poor articles of uselessness stored up 
 at Delphi — compared with the accumulated 
 wisdom of ages carefully preserved here ? The 
 very Tabernacle itself, ay, and the temple of 
 Solomon at Jerusalem, did not contain one- 
 half the glory that lies hidden here. The spi- 
 rit of God that dwelt with the prophets and 
 the patriarchs, that inspired the founder of 
 the Buddhist religion, of the Sabasan, of 
 the Egyptian, of the Olympian — all these, 
 and many more — is here. Here are the 
 Bibles of the universe — not only the truths 
 collected by one race, be they Hebrew, or 
 Egyptian, or Hindoo, or Arabian, or Chinese, 
 but the truths discovered by the souls of the 
 mighty men, the chosen of Heaven, who have 
 lived in all countries since the world began. 
 And who, reading these in a proper and ap- 
 preciative frame of mind, shall not feel the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 73 
 
 spirit of God, the Sliechinah as it were, dwell- 
 ing in this place? This is the Temple ; this 
 is the true consecrated spot. To me, Neville, 
 it is grander far than the pretentious St. Paul's, 
 grander than the St. Peter's at Rome. He 
 who would find truth, let him come here.' 
 
 ' I agree with you partly,' said Neville, as 
 they passed on into the Museum. ' I think 
 that it is a temple in the truest and most 
 real meaning of the word ; but to me the 
 spirit, the divine inflatus, the Shechinah, 
 never has dwelt or can dwell in any building 
 or place which has been constructed by man. 
 There is a something, an invisible influence, 
 irradiating from the hewn stone, the mortar, 
 which repels my mind — forces it back upon 
 
 itself 
 
 '' There, on the benches, in the hall, 
 Thought, hearing, sight, forsake me all." 
 
 I cannot step, as it were, upon the tripod, 
 and feel the divine spirit animating me in any 
 spot where the mark of man's hand remains. 
 It is an instinct, Georgie; I cannot help it. I 
 recoil from the stone wall, the liewn stone. 
 
74 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 It is an instinct deep clo^vn in the human 
 soul; else how is it that the ancient worshipper 
 built his altar of unhewn stone, and the 
 Foundt-r of the religion of our day ever lived. 
 and spoke, and taught in the mountain, and 
 the grove and the garden, surrounded by the 
 vrorks of His Father, not by the ^vorks of 
 man s hands ? Beneath the shadow if only of 
 a sinofle tree, iraziuor dreamilv upwards throu^fh 
 the boughs and leaves at the azure sky. listen- 
 ing to the breeze — '* the sound of a going 
 in the tree-tops'' — there is a something that 
 enters into me. and carries me away with it 
 in lofty dreams and hopes. Here there is 
 none of that. The inspiration 'here is of piu'c 
 intellect only.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it is the difference between our 
 woman's and man's nature,' said Georgie ; 
 * but I can think so much better and feel so 
 much more indoors. (Outdoors I am distracted 
 with so many things : so many trifles distur]~> 
 me : my craze rambles and mv mind wanders. 
 I require walls round me to shut it in. These 
 are the cases we came to see.* 
 
HESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 75 
 
 Either for her blessing or for her curse 
 Georgiana Knoyle had been gifted with a 
 mind ample and vigorous beyond the usual 
 allowance of her sex ; not that exactly, for it 
 implies a want of mind in the majority ; but, 
 in other words, she had a mind which, for a 
 feminine one, was strongly scientific, logical, 
 and masculine. Her brother, the banker, was 
 conspicuous for the power and breadth of his 
 intellect ; but it had taken a different course. 
 He had bent it upon money, and the result 
 was evident in the enormous wealth which 
 flowed at his feet. Her parents were long 
 deceased, and left to herself entirely without 
 trammels — for she had a competent fortune, 
 and her brother never interfered — she deve- 
 lojoed a strongly-marked character. She was, 
 in fact, an advocate of the mental and moral 
 rights of women — not confining her concep- 
 tion of those rights to the poAver to sit in 
 Parliament, or to vote, but looking rather to 
 the cesthetic side of the question, arguing that 
 women should receive a higher education, 
 should be placed on a broader and freer 
 
76 RESTLESS UUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 platform. She did not attempt to prove that 
 woman was equal, or ever could be equal, to 
 man in strength, bodily or mental ; what she 
 did most earnestly believe and most earnestly 
 advocate was, that, in her own particular 
 way, woman had gifts parallel in utility to 
 those of man. Woman should not strive to 
 emulate or to mix indiscriminately with man. 
 Her platform should be distinct, but equally 
 high, and equally free and open. Strictly 
 logical in all her deductions, reflective and 
 contemplative to a superior degree, Georgiana 
 recognised what no other leader of her party 
 had done — that to place woman in such a 
 position as this, to admit that such was the 
 position she should occupy, was to reopen all 
 those questions which the world had settled 
 in effect, if not in detail, during the last six 
 thousand years. She boldly admitted that 
 the whole accepted theories of social govern- 
 ment, and consequently of religion, must be 
 reconstructed. They must be traced back to 
 their original beginnings, and rebuilt up. In 
 carrying out this idea to its conclusions, she 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 77 
 
 saAv that the very first commencement of such 
 a scheme must be the rewriting (to coin a 
 phrase) of history. The history of man 
 must be rewritten. His real, and not his 
 mythical, origin must be ascertained ; so that 
 his relations with other men, and with Nature 
 and Nature's laws, might be fully understood. 
 That his history v/as at best but very imperfectly 
 understood or suspected, Georgiana most fully 
 believed. She saw that even in comparatively 
 recent and well-recorded times vast popula- 
 tions, inhabiting whole continents of the 
 earth, had lived out their natural lives and 
 passed away without a monument, almost 
 w^ithout a name. What had become of the 
 enormous multitudes who had existed in the 
 interior of Asia, and about whom we absolutely 
 had nothing but faint traditions ? While the 
 deeds, the w^ars, and policies of a single small 
 state — a mere fraction of the human race — 
 had been so vividly described by its histo- 
 rians, while Greece lived in the pages of 
 Thucydides, Xenophon, and Herodotus, what 
 had become of the huge hordes, the mighty 
 
78 RESTLESS HUJMAN HEARTS. 
 
 millions of unknown men, contemporaneous 
 with these events, but who were utterly lost 
 to sight? Of the existence of such millions 
 the roll-call of Xerxes' army was a sufficient 
 proof. But before these — before the dawn of 
 any written history, before the dawn even of 
 mythical history — what myriads of nations 
 must have lived and passed away without a 
 sign ! Before these again, in the glacial 
 period, in the pre-glacial period, according 
 to modern science, men had existed. What 
 was their history? What were their social 
 relations? How did they stand in relation 
 to Nature and Nature's laws ? They had some 
 inkling of civilisation, it was clear; they had 
 weapons, tools, houses, tombs. But before 
 them ? The primeval inhabitants of. earth, 
 who were they, and what was their history? 
 Were they an indescribable race — higher than 
 an ape and lower than a negro; half-breeds 
 between brute and human intelligence ; or 
 were they as demi-gods, and were the exist- 
 ing- races but deteriorating^ descendants of 
 these wondrous beinors? 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 79 
 
 She saw that it was not her calliiio; to oro 
 forth to the world, to stand upon the public 
 platform or the week-day pulpit, preaching the 
 masses into the conception of the idea of wo- 
 man's equality. She was not gifted, with the 
 ready flow of speech, the quick repartee, neces- 
 sary to such a career ; neither had she the 
 peculiar strength of fibre, the calibre, for 
 such battling hand to hand. Hers was the 
 thoughtful part — her portion was the student's. 
 Therefore she had addressed herself to this — 
 to search out and discover the first begin- 
 nings of man upon the earth, to trace his 
 history and his development, to write his 
 prehistoric history. This was why she was 
 examining the cases of prehistoric weapons 
 in the Museum. 
 
 Neville did not agree with her in all 
 things, accepted lover as he was, thoughtful 
 and just to all who differed from him as he 
 Avas. But on this one point their diverging 
 theories met and held common course. Above 
 all things it was necessary to search into 
 the early history of man. Upon this must be 
 
So RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 based the premisses from which a new, and 
 yet an old, faith and belief and social super- 
 structure must be reared. For he, too, was 
 reconstructing in his own mind, with deep 
 thought and reverent search for truth, that 
 fabric of belief which is necessary for the 
 repose of the human soul, and which science 
 had shattered to pieces. 
 
 Hence he threw himself with ardour into 
 her study, and laboured hard to furnish her 
 with new facts and new conjectures for her 
 projected work on the ' Prehistoric History 
 of Man.' He had been with her to Brussels, 
 to Vienna, to Paris, to a dozen other places 
 where the learned and the curious had pre- 
 served fragments of the great wreck of Time. 
 They were only lovers, yet he had accom- 
 panied her. In any other than Georgie the 
 scandal would have been great ; but even the 
 gossip-loving coteries of highest and most 
 'particular' society could not even think of 
 wrong in connection with Georgiana Knoyle. 
 They laughed at her, sneered at her, but 
 secretly they acknowledged her depth and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 81 
 
 strenstli of character. And these two had tra- 
 veiled in the most open manner : she with her 
 maids, and even footmen; he with his attend- 
 ants; never living at the same hotels; scru- 
 pulously observing the requirements of the 
 strictest propriety. The banker her brother 
 did not interfere; he spoke of it openly be- 
 fore all. Still, of course, society would have 
 cavilled, had it not been for her intense indi- 
 viduality, which overcame the breath of slan- 
 der. They knew that evil was impossible to 
 her; her intellect would forbid it. Temptation 
 even would never enter in at those calm serene 
 gray eyes. Moreover, there were many who 
 in their secret hearts, although they pro- 
 fessedly sneered at such things, yet gladly 
 hailed the innovation as one step in advance 
 in casting off those trammels which bound 
 women down like slaves — slaves of the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 They were very happy, these two— Neville 
 and Georgie. He was a tall and noble-looking 
 man. That was not it ; they were in such 
 perfect accord of soul. Though their creeds 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 differed in detail, yet they were working out 
 the same great problems of existence. 
 
 This afternoon they were particularly inte- 
 rested in the large flint spear-head exhibited 
 in one of these cases. Dating from an un- 
 known antiquity, it showed a beauty of exe- 
 cution which seemed impossible in that rude 
 age, in that rude material — so true its edge, 
 so elegant its shape ! It was wonderful how 
 so hard and yet so splintery a substance 
 as flint could be worked, without the aid of 
 modern tools, to such perfection of form. 
 But in these flints — which could tell no 
 tales, which bore no inscriptions — Georgiana 
 lamented that they seemed to have reached 
 the limit of human research. The fragmen- 
 tary record broke off with these, and before 
 that all was darkness and obscurity. 
 
 Neville thought differently. He believed 
 that vast fields of research were as yet un- 
 explored. Lyell and other eminent geologists 
 had demonstrated that the surface of the 
 earth had been raised, and again lowered, 
 and raised ao^ain; so that whole continents 
 
RESTLESS HUxMAN HEARTS. So 
 
 once teeming with population, had been 
 buried by degrees below the waves; and this 
 ages before history began. The first thing 
 to do was to decide the probable position and 
 boundaries of these continents and countries 
 of a prehistoric time. Then, w^ith the aid of 
 modern appliances, the whole area at the 
 bottom of the sea should be trawled, which 
 would bring up any surface remains of an- 
 tique civilisation. 
 
 In all human j)robability the immobility 
 of the water at such great depths had pre- 
 served the remains of man's works in as 
 perfect a state as the pure air of Egypt had 
 preserved the temples of that land. The 
 diving-bell, too, at the present was a rude 
 instrument; in the future it mig^ht be so 
 improved as to allow of extended operations 
 under water ; and then, in interesting locali- 
 ties, excavations might be made, just as they 
 are on earth, in the tumuli of the watery 
 plains. 
 
 ^ But,' said Neville, ' what, above all other 
 things, has always filled my mind with a 
 
84 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 species of fascination is the tliouo-ht of the 
 unknown regions that may lie stretching in 
 vast sublimity of solitude in the extreme 
 South. The Northern Pole is commonplace 
 in comparison — it has been surrounded by 
 man, the edge has been visited; but the 
 South is a mystery. There the ice rises in 
 one immense wall or cliff of two hundred feet 
 in height, and this vast mountain of ice is but 
 the edge of an illimitable glacier, slowly 
 moving ^^ith the sea from countries utterly 
 luivisited even in the myths of man. They 
 tell us of the men of the glacier period — 
 the progenitors, the aborigines of the known 
 earth; may it not be possible that the rem- 
 nants of that race, retiring with the retiring 
 snow, may have followed the icy plains back 
 into those remote regions, as the ancient 
 Britons fell back before the invaders i]ito 
 Wales?' 
 
 ' Neville,' said Georgie, as they stood 
 again on the steps of the Museum, on their 
 way out, 'I had forgotten. I am ashamed. 
 I have never visited my new sister !' 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 05 
 
 ^ Your new sister ?* 
 
 *I mean Horton's wife's sister, then — 
 Louis's wife, Heloise. I have never seen her ; 
 they say she is lovely. We came back from 
 Paris a week ago — she must think it very 
 sti^ange of me. I will go immediately.' 
 
 Neville saw her to her carriage, and hail- 
 ing a hansom himself, drove to his chambers. 
 
5 
 ^'^^^^'^^"^M®?^^ 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 He knew that Knoyle was the name of his 
 mistress's sister : he knew the}- were family- 
 relations. He knew that his mistress was 
 always in the second drawing-room that over- 
 looked the garden in the evening. Thus it 
 was that the footman committed the sfi'eatest 
 mistake he had ever made in his life. With- 
 out first seeing that his mistress was ready to 
 receive, he ushered Georgiana straight into the 
 room, where Heloise was lying on the ottoman. 
 Hearing footsteps she started up. and her 
 tear-stained face and disordered hair gave 
 Georgie a shock. She felt, too, that she had 
 intruded ; but it was too late to go back. She 
 walked rapidly to Heloise, and took both her 
 hands, and kissed her. 
 
 It is impossible to recount in hard dry 
 words, in expressionless ink. how this grand 
 and noble woman soothed the throbbing 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 87 
 
 heart of poor Heloise, and by slow steps 
 strenorthened her to meet her misery with 
 greater firmness. Before that one evening 
 was past all had been confided to Georgie. 
 Instinctively Heloise felt that she had found 
 a friend on whose arm she might lean, to 
 whom she might cling, as it was necessary to 
 her fragile nature to cling to some one. And 
 Georgie found here a mission, it may be more 
 truly glorious, if not so high sounding, as the 
 search for prehistoric history. 
 
 From that evening the visits of Georgiana 
 became more and more frequent, until at last 
 not a day passed without her presence; and 
 she grew to be a part of Heloise's daily life. 
 There was something about Heloise which 
 was singularly attractive to one of Georgie's 
 temperament. She was so unafi'ected — so 
 purely natural, without any of the blase air 
 so common to those who have moved much 
 in society. Her heart was open. Georgie 
 soon found the way to it. Here, too, was a 
 new field for her mission. Here was a rare 
 opportunity to put into practice that work 
 
88 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 which she had in view. Very slowly, and by 
 imperceptible degrees, Georgie drew Heloise's 
 mind to dwell upon the destiny and the posi- 
 tion of woman in the abstract. This in itself 
 was a relief to Heloise's overburdened mind, 
 strained and tired with too much brooding 
 upon herself. And it was so entirely novel. 
 The very idea of attempting to alter the 
 social relations of woman had never been 
 presented to her before. She had never 
 questioned the present state of things ; never 
 doubted but that they were natural and right. 
 The very naiveness of her questions and re- 
 marks often disconcerted Georgie ; but she 
 persevered, and in time had so far succeeded, 
 that Heloise really did of her own will look 
 around her, and begin to compare the con- 
 dition of woman as she was with the condition 
 of woman as she might be. 
 
 But here arose a danger which Georgie 
 had not foreseen, but of which she afterwards 
 blamed herself as the originator and cause. 
 Heloise, from the consideration of the rio-hts 
 and wrongs of woman in the abstract, by a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 89 
 
 very simple process of reasoning began to 
 reflect upon the possibility of an improvement 
 in her own position. Was her contract of mar- 
 riao-e with Louis the right or the wrono; thinor ? 
 Was it a holy and perpetual bond, as she had 
 been taught to believe, or was it a tyranny 
 and an unjust repression of her nature? 
 
 Questioning herself in this way, Heloise, 
 after a while, came to ask herself, did she 
 love this man Louis? The question occurred 
 to her as it were suddenly, and as a shock. 
 It made her tremble a little, as she thought 
 of it. It made her feel guilty. She was 
 ashamed of herself — she felt so unfaithful to 
 him. She drove the idea out of her mind — 
 for the time at least. 
 
 Louis was less and less at home. But he 
 was quite aware of the growing intimacy 
 between his wife and Georgiana Knoyle, and 
 he knew, too, the nature of the teaching which 
 Georgie was striving to inculcate. When he 
 was at home he would come and sit with them, 
 and sneer at her in his Mephisto-like man- 
 ner. He did not repeat the old jibes of 
 
90 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 woman's incompetency, but he thrust in sharp 
 observations of his own completely new to 
 Georgie. They silenced her for the moment ; 
 but the very fact of an opposition was enough 
 to rouse her zeal, and she studied and 
 searched her authorities to discover a reply. 
 Then he treated her with contemptuous in- 
 difference. 
 
 Though she tried to be more than woman, 
 Georgie could not suppress a rising hatred of 
 this man, which she called to herself indig- 
 nation at his treatment of Heloise, but which 
 arose quite as much from her own wounded 
 self-esteem. Thus it came about that she 
 grew to some extent interested in his goings 
 out and movements. She watched him after 
 a manner. It was easy to track him, for his 
 steps led always to one place ; and the beaten 
 path was clear to follow, though Heloise, in 
 her simplicity, had never suspected it. He 
 was always at Carlotta's. The great banker 
 was at Berlin, or rather he vibrated between 
 Berlin and Paris, engaged in momentous 
 matters of statecraft and money commingled ; 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 91 
 
 but his peeress remained at her mansion in the 
 West-end, notwithstanding the fact that the 
 season was long over. Louis was there for ever. 
 He did not attend upon Carlotta in public; 
 but her house was rarely ever free of him. 
 
 Georgie soon learnt this. Her heart — her 
 untamable woman's heart — began to burn 
 fiercely with rage and hatred of Louis, and 
 mingled with it was no small share of dislike 
 of Carlotta, between whom and herself there 
 had never been the slightest approach to fami- 
 liarity. The peeress looked down with in- 
 effable contempt, from the height of her own 
 sublime elevation, her aristocratic position, 
 her unquestioned and striking beauty, upon 
 that poor ^ eccentric creature with the enor- 
 mous waist.' Georgie felt that Carlotta de- 
 spised her, and although she professed and 
 tried hard not to care a rap, it was impossible 
 to utterly subvert the workings of her heart. 
 She never would have admitted to herself that 
 she hated Carlotta, but such in fact was the 
 case. 
 
 Under the pretext, then, that it was in the 
 
92 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 interest of Heloise, she became an earnest 
 observer of what took place between Louis 
 and Carlotta. She began to debate in her own 
 mind the propriety of remonstrating with her 
 brother, and calling his attention to the super- 
 abundant familiarity, the rather too great in- 
 tercourse which existed between his wife and 
 Louis. She seriously contemplated a journey 
 to Berlin, to open his eyes, to disabuse him 
 of that fatuous and blind belief in his wife, 
 the peeress, which he appeared to have. But 
 Georgie was, be it remembered, a sharp and 
 logical reasoner. How would Horton receive 
 her ? Would he not, in his calmly practical 
 way, point out to her that she had over- 
 stepped even the bounds of sisterly affection 
 in thus coming between a man and his vdfe ? 
 He would assuredly ask her for proofs; and 
 where were her proofs ? Proofs of what ? She 
 was obliged to own to herself that she did not 
 even know what it was she required proof of. 
 Louis's simple visits went for nothing. And 
 a little self-condemnation arose in her mind 
 as she remembered that she herself had not 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 93 
 
 always acted on the strict lines of decorum 
 and propriety, as laid down by the world. 
 Her ramblings from one capital to another in 
 company with Xeville were much more sus- 
 picious, looked at in this light, than the mere 
 visits of Louis, es|)ecially to a mansion full of 
 servants, full of eyes and ears ever on the 
 watch. No ; she dared not go to Horton. 
 Thinking it over still more deeply, Georgie 
 became convinced that, whatever amount of 
 badinage or even strong flirtation there might 
 be, there was nothinsr worse between Louis 
 and Carlotta. She was forced, in spite of her- 
 self, to do this much justice to her sister-in- 
 law. She remembered Carlotta' s career ; her 
 imperious manner ; her overweening vanit}' 
 and self-reliance ; her almost fierce self-asser- 
 tion ; the potential force of her individuality. 
 A mind and soul so wholly given up to 
 vanity and to ambition was of necessity ar- 
 mour-proof against all dangerous affections. 
 It was a relief to her mind to feel that, what- 
 ever Carlotta might do, she was perfectly pure. 
 That there was something — that there was 
 
94 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 a secret undercurrent of something — was ob- 
 vious from one single fact alone : Carlotta 
 never came to visit Heloise. Regularly twice 
 a week her carriage called, and a polite inquiry 
 was made ; but never by any chance did she 
 call or invite Heloise to her own house. There 
 v/as a tacit suspension of relationship. 
 
 Heloise was calmer, even in a sense happy, 
 with Georgie ; but she did not recover her old 
 impetuous manner. The lightness, the spring 
 and elasticity, had gone from her movements ; 
 the flash had left her eye. She lived in a 
 subdued manner ; her vivacity was absent. 
 
 These circumstances of real life, so different 
 from any which she had as yet encountered, 
 brousfht home the difficulties of her theorv 
 vividly to Georgie's mind : how to arrange the 
 social relations so as to amend and ameliorate 
 these jars and discords; how provide against 
 their recurrence under any new system. And 
 as Heloise had done, so Georgie in her turn 
 began to contemplate the position in which 
 she herself stood with regard to the new creed 
 of the rights and wrongs of woman. She was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 95 
 
 engaged to Neville ; the marriage was rapidly 
 approaching. At such a time, when her feel- 
 ings were naturally peculiarly sensitive, the 
 spectacle of these two unhappy marriages 
 came before her eyes. She had heard of such 
 thinsrs before. But now the whole details of 
 the thing were laid bare to her eyes with a 
 trying minuteness. It was true that Neville, 
 as she recollected with a glow of natural satis- 
 faction, was not like either of those men, 
 Horton or Louis. It was also true — ah, 
 Georgie, your vanity peeped out there — that 
 she herself was different. But there were in- 
 definite possibilities of discord evidently in 
 married life. And what struck her as the 
 worst of all was the impossibility of escape 
 when once the ceremony was completed. Let 
 the wife be never so miserable, let the hus- 
 band be never so disagreeable, there was no 
 escape. It was only after the close intercourse 
 which followed marriasre that the true charac- 
 teristics of man and woman came out ; it was 
 in that familiar relation that the weak points 
 first came into view. 
 
96 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Louis had sneer ingl}' said the other day 
 that wives, in his opinion, ought to have 
 written characters, as servants had; and if 
 the character was false or overdrawn, the 
 husband should have the power to dissolve 
 the marriage, and to prosecute the parent or 
 guardian, who had given him a wrong esti- 
 mate of his bride. Georgie had bitterly re- 
 torted, that if the brMe should be furnished 
 with a Avritten character, the bridegroom 
 should be required to furnish two sureties in 
 large sums for his good behaviour. 
 
 Georgie, mth a smattering of physiology, 
 had heard that the human being, at the end 
 of three or seven years, at all events after a 
 certain period of time, became totally re- 
 organised. Every atom of the body was sup- 
 planted by another atom, new and strange. 
 How, then, could a person, after this period of 
 time, when this o'reat and or^'anic chano'e had 
 taken place, be supposed to retain the old 
 affections in their full entirety? After three 
 or seven years Neville might cease to love 
 her. To look at the wretched state of things 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 97 
 
 around her, one would think that this organic 
 change in some people took place much more 
 rapidly. Heloise had barely been married 
 four months. 
 
 Much as she loved him, Georgie began to 
 doubt and to hesitate greatly to take the final 
 and irrevocable vows with Neville. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
CHAPTER VIT. 
 
 Extreme ease and elegance of manner — an 
 abandon the result of the highest breeding 
 — curiously contrasted with an evident, and 
 therefore vulgar, satisfaction with the flavour 
 of a prime cigar. How inimitable the saunter ; 
 how Olympian the lounge! Ages of natural 
 selection must have passed away before the 
 survival of the fittest finally led to the pro- 
 duction of so perfect a specimen of idleness. 
 He was a very handsome fellow — there were 
 no two opinions about that — and it was clear 
 enough that he knew it. There was a delicious 
 complacency about him, as much as to say that 
 the whole world was contained within the com- 
 pass of his waistcoat. If all within that vraist- 
 coat was happy and at peace, the universe must 
 necessaril}^ be in the highest possible state of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 99 
 
 beatitude. Holding the cigar between the tips 
 of two white and slender fino^ers of the left 
 hand — fingers glittering with rings— he held 
 it at a little distance from his lip, and the 
 smoke rose up from the ash in graceful curls 
 over his shoulder, while at the same time he 
 cast sidelong glances at his figure reflected in 
 the plate-glass windows of Regent-street. The 
 wrists of a pair of lavender-kid gloves just 
 protruded far enough to be seen from the 
 bosom of his waistcoat — a bosom displaying a 
 breadth of snow-white linen, with diamond studs 
 flashing in the sunlight. A heavy gold chain 
 passed across, and as it were braced, his figure, 
 which diminished so elegantly at the waist as 
 to give rise to the suspicion of the agency of 
 stays. But that could hardly be : no stays 
 could ever allow that peculiar swaying easy 
 motion, obviously free from the least restraint. 
 The suit — ah, the suit! — wt^s indescribable. 
 There was an air about it — the beauty of per- 
 fect proportion. His right hand carried a light 
 cane, which he was perpetually swinging and 
 holding in various positions, so as to fully dis- 
 
100 KESTLESS HmiAN HEARTS. 
 
 play the dazzling whiteness of the small hand, 
 and to flash the diamond rino; on the fino;er. 
 Down to the very boots the same overween- 
 ing vanity exhibited itself. They were cer- 
 tainly very small feet, and very perfectly 
 proportioned, and the instep was high and 
 haughty; and not one of these advantages was 
 hidden. This man was not one of those who 
 hide their light under a bushel. A very dainty 
 individual indeed! Notwithstanding the ex- 
 treme affectation of the man, the most dis- 
 gusted observer must have admitted that he 
 was singularly handsome. The hawk-like eye 
 — so large and full and dark, and burning 
 with suppressed fire — was in itself a feature 
 which no one could pass by without noticing. 
 The nose was straight and delicately sculp- 
 tured — hardly long enough or decided enough 
 for a man, but exquisite in its carving. Long 
 dark eyelashes swept the cheek, and a wealth 
 of blue-black ringlets clustered round the ears 
 and back of the head. These ringlets had been 
 allowed to grow to a length almost too great 
 for a gentleman in our stiff modern time, but 
 
RESTLESS HUMA'n' TO:^VRTS. 101 
 
 the solecism might hi exciise<I rrr evciii' d, lilan 
 with such beautiful hair. But the lips were the 
 loveliest part of him — so large and yet so deli- 
 cately scarlet, and curved like the bow of the 
 god of love — sensuous warm lips, that looked 
 as if they fed on the dew of maidens' kisses. A 
 very Don- Juan-looking man — such a fellow as 
 you didn't very often meet. There was one 
 drawback even to all this elegance and beauty. 
 There is always a defect in all things mortal. 
 Nothing is ever absolutely perfect. Even in 
 the Venus de Medicis critics have been heard 
 to declare that one leg was a little longer than 
 the other. He was a trifle too stout. There 
 was an obvious inclination to stoutness, and 
 some indication of an excessive rotundity be- 
 low the waistcoat. But even this only added 
 to the air of complete complacency — the sleepy 
 repose of the whole being. 
 
 How daintily he sauntered over the clean 
 pavement, as gingerly as if it had been the 
 dirtiest road ! With what a hypercritical air 
 he glanced in at the shop- windows ! He paused 
 before the famous photographic shop, where all 
 
102 RESTLESS -HITMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the notabilities of the hour are shown — from 
 Bismarck and Don Carlos, or the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, to the latest ballet-dancers. 
 Raising his eyeglass he superciliously examined 
 the arm of that fair candidate for popular fa- 
 vour, and the leg of this. Easy enough to see 
 upon what particular limb or feature the artiste 
 depended to attract; it was always so promi- 
 nently, so carefully displayed. Don Juan found 
 fault with all ; his gaze rested on neither long. 
 This arm was too thick, too bulky at the shoul- 
 ders ; but then the public like size, something 
 palpable and palpitating. This leg had too 
 much calf, and that not enough; and 0, what 
 horrid hair! As for Bismarck and the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury — pah ! they were beneath 
 notice. So we stroll on — lazily, softly, with our 
 eyes half closed — taking no note of any passer- 
 by; seeing nothing, feeling nothing, conscious 
 of nothing but our own dear, delicious, darling- 
 self. Only we pause — we slacken our idle 
 pace — one moment by Rimmel's, that our nos- 
 trils may be refreshed with the odour of in- 
 numerable flowers, and our soul, smelling a 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 103 
 
 'sweet savour,' may be strengthened to pro- 
 ceed through this poor dusty London, graced 
 for a brief hour with our presence. 
 
 It was the time when the toiling artisans 
 of London had already lived half a day. Ris- 
 ing at six, working steadily till noon, they had 
 already finished half a day, and covered with 
 dust and grime, weary with labour, were about 
 to snatch a short hour of repose. They were 
 permitted as a favour to grind their hard 
 cheese and drink their vulgar porter; or, if 
 they could afford it, they might even swallow 
 a reeking mutton-chop. You see, some of us 
 are made of mud, and some of us are made of 
 cream and sugar, of almond paste, like the 
 rind of a weddinor-cake. 
 
 Our darling knocked at a friend's at this 
 particular hour, in order that he might enter 
 and breakfast. Louis's chambers were ex- 
 quisitely fitted up, particularly they were fur- 
 nished with every appliance for lounging. This 
 was his temple, which he had dedicated to him- 
 self. Heloise had never heard of these cham- 
 bers; Louis never thought of them while he 
 
104 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 was in love (about three montlis) ; now he had 
 recovered he found them extremely convenient. 
 Here, without the slightest fear of interrup- 
 tion, he could indulge to the utmost in that 
 cultivation of himself which was the very core 
 and centre of his philosophy. 
 
 ^ My dear Charles,' said Louis, not trou- 
 bling to rise from his couch, but extending the 
 tip of his fingers, ' I had given you uj), and 
 had commenced my coffee.' 
 
 ' My dear Charles' very leisurely deposited 
 his hat on the top of a Sevres vase, and with- 
 out taking the slightest notice of his host, sat, 
 or rather reposed, himself u|)on another couch; 
 for Louis allowed no chairs in his establish- 
 ment. The Romans, said he, were our masters 
 in luxury. Their civilisation had none of that 
 driving, hurrying, scurrying haste about it; 
 none of that dustiness — no smoke and steam 
 and shoeblacks. There was a graceful repose 
 in their very hurry. It was all a state offe.s- 
 tina lente. Even Julius Ca3sar himself, who 
 posted one hundred miles a day through path- 
 less forests, over rivers and deserts, with such 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 105 
 
 celerity as to anticipate intelligence of his 
 movements, nevertheless found time, in the 
 very moment of his death-agony, to fold his 
 gown gracefully around his falling figure. 
 There was a finish, a supreme polish, about 
 these classical people wdiich he, Louis, pecu- 
 h'arly admired. They carried it into the 
 very smallest matters. What, for instance, less 
 worthy of thought and care than the verj' dirt 
 — the common earth — under a house? But 
 these Romans — these artists — extended their 
 care to the minutest trifles. This was how they 
 prepared the foundation of a house or the floor 
 of their halls : firstly, the damp earth was all 
 carefully removed to the depth of several feet ; 
 then a layer of stones, rubble, and rough pieces 
 of broken tile Avas placed as a groundwork. 
 Over this was spread a layer of charcoal a few 
 inches thick; over this a layer of finer gravel, 
 and a fourth of hardest cement, on which 
 the mosaic pavement was superposed. AVhat 
 careful provision against damp feet! AYhat 
 finished beauty in the meanest matters ! These 
 men — ^vho were men, not ciphers who had 
 
106 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 to hasten hither and thither as mere parts 
 of some huge sum in figures — never sat on 
 chairs; except, indeed, their magistrates when 
 on duty. A chair was something so hard and 
 angular, so upright and stiff. They reclined 
 with graceful ease upon couches and pillows. 
 Thus they added to the zest and pleasure of 
 eating the charming sensation of repose. Louis, 
 following this example, rigidly excluded all 
 chairs, and all furniture approaching to the 
 definition of a chair, even a footstool, from 
 his rooms. Couches constructed from sketches 
 of his own surrounded a table upon three 
 sides. These couches were not flat, like the 
 ordinary sofa, but the bed of the couch rose 
 gradually like an inclined plane ; and thus the 
 body of the reposing person was prevented 
 from feeling that disagreeable sense of reple- 
 tion which must accompany eating in a lying 
 position. The fourth side of the table was 
 open to allow of the approach of the attend- 
 ant, who thus placed the dish or the plate at 
 once before you, without leaning over your 
 shoulder or shoving it edgewise in at your 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 107 
 
 side. But Louis had added the conveniences 
 of modern science to the elegances and com- 
 forts of ancient civilisation. By the side of 
 each guest, in a small depression in the table, 
 was a tiny ivory knob, the slightest pressure 
 upon which instantly summoned an obedient 
 slave by means of the electric flash. Each of 
 the four corners of the room was hung with 
 heavy purple curtains, leaving only a small 
 space of the wall visible; and these small 
 spaces, or panels, were painted, as at Pompeii, 
 with poses of the nude figure, much as were 
 Horace's chambers, according to that scurrilous 
 and libellous Suetonius. • Louis's defence of 
 these sensuous and luscious pictures was in- 
 genious and philosophical. He argued that 
 something of such pleasure was essential, and 
 indeed necessary, to the existence of mankind. 
 If, therefore, they were necessary, it was better 
 to enjoy them in this aesthetic and artistic way 
 than through the mediation of the ruder and 
 more primeval instincts. 
 
 There is nothing so difficult to furnish as a 
 breakfast-table. Of course it is easy enough 
 
108 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 
 
 for your lean and toiling rustic, whose rasher 
 of greasy bacon and hunch of bread pleases his 
 ravenous appetite. There are those who are 
 content with potted salmon or even kippered 
 herrings ! 
 
 But your true epicure — your noonday 
 riser — finds it extremely difficult to discover 
 new and charming delicacies for his breakfast- 
 table. It is easy comparatively to order a 
 dinner. There is a breadth, a largeness, about 
 dinner which affords ample room for the dis- 
 play of genius. The very succession of courses 
 gives a scope which the one single spread of 
 breakfast can never allow. Dinner is like a 
 three- volume novel ; breakfast is like an epi- 
 gram. In the one you may be diffusive ; in the 
 other you must be pointed, or you are no- 
 where. Alas, how many suffering individuals, 
 to whom Heaven has not vouchsafed an idea, 
 have to be content w^ith soda-water and brandy 
 for their 'matins'! But Louis's breakfast-table 
 was perfection — ever varied, ever delicate and 
 appetising. 
 
 'My dear Charles' appreciated it greath. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 109 
 
 He ate, he drank, he sipped, he tasted, and 
 said nothing; but his silence was more appre- 
 ciative than words. One could imagine now 
 how that rotundit}^ under the waistcoat came 
 into existence. People pay to see the lions 
 fed ; how much more to watch the gods at their 
 meals ! The cigar had not dulled the palate. 
 Then he leant back and sighed gently, closed 
 his eyes, and tapped slowly and musically with 
 a silver spoon upon the table. 
 
 ' My dear Charles,' said Louis, in a voice 
 of winning entreaty, soft and low ; and extend- 
 ing one hand he began to play with the wealth 
 of black ringlets. Charles opened his eyes 
 with a flash which made the other draw back 
 as if he had seen lightning. Then Louis 
 drew nearer, and began to purr. This old 
 serpent of five-and-thirty had a low melo- 
 dious voice (when he chose so to pitch it), 
 and his words, rolling out softly and sweetly, 
 hlled the room with a monotonous cadence, 
 like the murmur of falling waters — soft, en- 
 dearing words — till Charles closed his eyes 
 again. The spoon ceased to rap ; Charles was 
 
110 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 asleep. Then Louis fingered the ringlets, 
 and admired the long and drooping eyelashes, 
 and kissed the delicate white hand, and Hea- 
 ven knows where his caresses might have 
 wandered, only Charles, starting up, dealt 
 him a blow which flung him back, showing 
 that that shapely shoulder had much muscu- 
 larity. 
 
 ' Carlottal' hissed Louis, in a temper. 
 
 ^ Idiot!' replied the peeress, showing her 
 brilliant teeth; for it was the banker's con- 
 sort. Why did he go trout-fishing to rest his 
 mind? 
 
 ' I'll stand no more of it,' said Louis, 
 frowning. 
 
 Carlotta hummed the end of a favourite 
 opera tune, beating time with her forefinger 
 in the air like a leader of a band. 
 
 ' " Such is your old coquette, who can't say l^o 
 
 And won't say Yes, and keeps you in an offing 
 On a lee shore till it begins to blow — 
 
 Then sees your heart wreck'd with an inward scoff- 
 ing." ' 
 
 Not that Louis had much of a heart ; but 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. Ill 
 
 he had a little feeling, and she had just been 
 demolishing his exquisite breakfast, for the 
 preparation of which he deserved some trifling 
 reward. 
 
 ' It's that fellow Noel,' sneered Louis. 
 
 ' Yes, it's that fellow Noel,' smiled Car- 
 lotta. 
 
 ' I'll kick his—' 
 
 ' No, you won't.' 
 
 'AVith a face like brickdust, two teeth 
 o^one, a slit nose, and a hole in his ear!' 
 
 ' Man brave r 
 
 ' D— n !' 
 
 Silence, save the peeress's low hum. Sud- 
 denly she started, picked up her hat and 
 cane. 
 
 'Send me round this vase,' she said, 
 pointing to the one on which her hat had 
 hung. 
 
 ' I sha'n't,' said Louis snappishl}', like a 
 child deprived of its plaything. 
 
 There was a sound of a smash, and the 
 fragments flew about the room. Carlotta had 
 sent her cane through it. 
 
112 EESTLESS nmiAN HEARTS. 
 
 *Ta-ta!' 
 
 ' I'll never speak to you again.' 
 
 ' yes, my dear, you'll be round in the 
 evening.' 
 
 She was gone. Louis, listening to her boots 
 upon the stairs, swore to himself that she was 
 right; he should be there in the evening, 
 quarrel as they might. As for Noel, he re- 
 flected that Carlotta could never find a man 
 she would trust like him. He smiled as he 
 tliought of this ; she would never dare it with 
 another. How came she, then, to dare it with 
 him ? The thought filled him with inexpres- 
 sible satisfaction. The high and haughty 
 peeress, the woman of the world, had de- 
 scended to this for him ! It filled him with 
 a sense of his own personal charms. He lit a 
 cigar. He had not forgotten Xoel, nor for- 
 given Carlotta her flirtation with that bat- 
 tered warrior ; but a feeling had arisen in his 
 mind that he was quite capable of dealing 
 Avith them both, and it would go hard if 
 he could not turn this very detestable Noel 
 to some purpose of utility in the end. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 If you want to feel yourself a unit, a poor, 
 solitary, wandering iota of humanity, to realise 
 your impotent individuality, go to one of 
 those enormous hotels which grace, or dis- 
 grace, the termini of the chief railways in 
 London. There is a crowd on the platform, 
 and you are nobody very particular amongst 
 them ; but that is distinction itself compared 
 to what will follow a daring plunge into the 
 wilderness waiting to swallow you up. The 
 hurrying crowd of travellers, busied in getting 
 tickets, labelling their luggage (when v/ill the 
 nuisance of luggage be abated?), discussing 
 the probable time of starting, and driving the 
 guards wild with reiterated questions, — all 
 these are too much occupied to notice you. 
 Whether your necktie be a hair's breadth too 
 much on one side, or accurately placed with 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 compass and ruler, matters very little. No 
 one notices ; none think of anything but them- 
 selves. But there is a certain feeling of a 
 common humanity ; a degree of common in- 
 terest makes the crowd akin. One is not 
 quite alone here. Open those great glass 
 doors and once pass within, and you are abso- 
 lutely, incontrovertibly ' nobody.' Instead 
 of ' Railway Hotel,' they should write over 
 them, ' Yourselves abandon, ye who enter 
 here.' Two grand porters in scarlet and 
 black, with lace upon their coats, approach 
 you in state, and inquire if there is any lug- 
 gage. If the reply is no, you instantly fall 
 fifty jDcr cent in their estimation. No gentle- 
 man could possibly travel without luggage; 
 only a rambling idiot, only a fellow who 
 makes a convenience of our hotel for one 
 night, a mere nobody. They fall back dis- 
 gusted, and a gentleman clad in the highest 
 perfection of the tailor's art, whom you take 
 to be at least the Austrian ambassador stay- 
 ing here a day or two, and to whom you in- 
 voluntarily bow, glides up and asks, with a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 115 
 
 slightly foreign accent, if you would like to 
 see your room, to dress before dinner? Or 
 would you like to go to the coffee-room, or 
 any of the public rooms? (accent again.) You 
 feel that if }'ou say the coffee-room or the 
 smoking-room, you will be looked down upon 
 as still more a nobody ; so you say, 'My room, 
 certainly,' with as grand an air as you can 
 manage, though what on earth you have to 
 do when you get to it you can't conceive. 
 The gentleman then makes out a ticket, on 
 which your name and address are entered, 
 and with a graceful wave of the hand directs 
 you towards an iron door. In amazement, 
 not unmixed with terror, you behold an 
 octagon-shaped chamber, lighted up within, 
 through the bars of this iron door. In the 
 moment you pause you observe that the iron- 
 work is curiously carved or hammered out in 
 a mediaeval design, which word carries you 
 back to the davs of torture and duno-eons, 
 
 7 
 
 and you fancy you beliold the dungeon. 
 There is a man in uniform within, who holds 
 a rope in one hand, and glares at you malig- 
 
1 1 6 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 nantl3^ This is, no doubt, the executioner. 
 But the door swings open, some extraordi- 
 nary gibberish issues from the lips of your gen- 
 tleman-waiter, and you step in, in very dread 
 lest he should see you were a mere parvenu, 
 and unused to this sort of thing. In an in- 
 stant the floor rises up beneath you like the 
 deck of a ship at sea, the iron door passes 
 out of sight, and nothing remains but the man 
 who pulls hard at the rope. Before you can 
 speak another iron door appears, and behind 
 there stands a woman, say rather a lady, 
 smartly dressed. The door opens, you step 
 out ; the executioner brands you in a loud voice 
 as ' No. 70, Floor Three,' and you feel a con- 
 victed felon on the way to your cell. The 
 lad}^ marches before, and you follow, shruik- 
 ing every moment into a meaner wretch. The 
 corridor is broad enough to admit the whole 
 of your house, and nearly high enough, and 
 the floor is carpeted with what you take to 
 be red velvet. Glancing back you see it ex- 
 tends into the illimitable distance — empty, 
 vast, noiseless. There is not a soul but vou — 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 117 
 
 only in the extreinest dimmest distance there 
 flit to and fro a few vague shadowy figures. 
 After w^alking a quarter of a mile a door is 
 opened, your lady lights your gas, and this 
 is your room. It is as large as your dining- 
 room, and rather more lofty. The bedstead 
 of brass is hung with magnificent crimson 
 curtains; the furniture is solid oak, plain oak; 
 the very footstool is large, grand, covered 
 with red velvet. Reverently you look round, 
 and know not where to sit, or indeed what 
 to do with yourself. After a while, in the 
 belief that it is incumbent upon you to do 
 something, 3^ou feebly take out your Brad- 
 shaw and place it on the mantelpiece, as a 
 sign that you are in possession. Then you sit 
 down and gaze vacantly at the paper on the 
 walls, and wait till you think you have ' seen 
 your room' long enough — it is important not 
 to commit a solecism. Next comes the search 
 for the coffee-room. You debate whether you 
 had better ring the bell and ask the chamber- 
 maid the way, or whether it will be more au 
 fdit to walk boldly out and venture, as Ulysses 
 
118 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 did, out into the waste, not of water, but of 
 carpet : 
 
 ' It may be we shall find the happy Isles, 
 And see the great Achilles whom we knew.* 
 
 Very gently you open the door and peep 
 like a criminal down the gallery — an ocean of 
 unending space. No, you will ring the bell 
 — but where is it? Evidently there is no 
 bell. So at last out you venture, and after 
 rambling hither and thither in this silent and 
 enormous hall, and passing two or three 
 waiters, who take not the slightest notice of 
 you, you at last run right against your ' lady,* 
 and have to ask her the way. ' Why did you 
 not ring, sir ?' ' There was no bell.' ' yes, 
 sir, there is — by the bed. Press on the knob.' 
 In a crushed state, miserable, wretched, feel- 
 ing like a grain of sand under the base of the 
 PjTamid, you crawl down three flights of 
 stairs, swallow your coffee in a melancholy 
 mood, and go to bed at ten. Sure enough there 
 is the ivory knob by the bed-head — an electric 
 bell. But you console yourself that you w^ill 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 119 
 
 sleep well — the bed at least is as clean and 
 sweet as your own at home. In repose you 
 will forget all. No. You doze off, it may 
 be, an hour or two hours ; you wake up in the 
 belief that the last day has come, that the 
 trump of the archangel has been blown, and 
 all the thunders of heaven are let loose. You 
 listen, awe-struck. Koar succeeds to roar, 
 boom succeeds to boom — now dying away, 
 now rising again, now sustained, never entirely 
 gone — one long heavy roll of ceaseless ar- 
 tillery. Your heart beats violently, and you 
 expect every moment to hear voices shouting 
 ' Fire !' ' Murder !' ' Thieves !' or ' Earthquake !' 
 But there is not a step, not a voice ; nothing 
 but boom, boom, boom, boom ! You notice 
 that a light comes in through the glass over 
 your door ; the gas then is gently burning 
 in the gallery. This somewhat calms you. 
 But again you think that an earthquake is 
 taking place — that all the waiters have fled 
 and left you to }our fate; you will never 
 get out of that labyrinth of passages. Fly ! 
 Make the attempt; stay not for trousers or 
 
120 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 vest. At last you remember that jou are in 
 a railway hotel. It must be the trains under- 
 neath ; the heavy luggage trains coming in 
 at night with meat and corn and coal and 
 stores. Gods, what trains too! AVhat chop- 
 ped-up mountains they must be carrying to 
 make this enormous building vibrate as it 
 does ! You listen till your ears ache with the 
 sound. An insane desire comes over you to 
 rise and dress, and seek some quiet and small 
 private hotel, even some commercial estab- 
 lishment — anything away from this terrible 
 vastness, this void Avhich crushes you, this 
 boom which rolls over you like huge waves. 
 At last, wearied out, you sleep. 
 
 What I was going to say when I began 
 this chapter was — Have hotels any con- 
 science ? This is not meant to refer either 
 to the price of the wines, or the fees to the 
 waiters, or even to the fleas, or the long bills. 
 Neither does it apply to railway hotels, which, 
 by the exigencies of their position, have no 
 means of knowing anything of their visitors, 
 for good or bad. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 121 
 
 But there is such a thing as a Divorce 
 Court ; and whenever a case comes on of suf- 
 ficient interest to be fully reported, the sin 
 is always charged on the hotel. Captain 
 So-and-so comes to such and such an hotel 
 with somebody else's wife ; and there they 
 lived very comfortably, and nobody ever 
 thought of anything wrong. Now have 
 hotels any conscience? Why do they permit 
 such things as these ? why do they pander to 
 vice? Surely after all the experience the 
 people who keep them must have gained, they 
 must be able to tell in a moment if any thing- 
 is wrong. But up drive a gentleman and a 
 lady, both well dressed, with plenty of lug- 
 gage — that's the grand point; obviously they 
 mean to stay, and obviously they have plenty 
 of money. The lady may have a ring on, 
 or she may not ; or the chambermaid may 
 note that the linen is marked with two dif- 
 ferent names, or what not. But here the 
 reverse is true of the old proverb — this is the 
 exception to Solomon's remark ; the walls 
 here have no ears. As the newspapers say, 
 
122 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ' improper familiarities' took place at ' an 
 hotel/ Conscience-stricken hotels, how they 
 must evince at these exposures ! 
 
 The felloAv knew how to dine, at all 
 events. The waiter saw that, and attended 
 on him the more obsequiously. Moreover, he 
 did not confine himself to one wine or two — 
 he had the right wine at the right moment, 
 and he only drank a glass or two of each. 
 And she ? She was very timid at first, and onh- 
 trifled with her plate ; but after a while the 
 potent champagne, taken in ever such small 
 quantities, rose up in the pretty little head, 
 and then the eyes began to lift themselves to 
 his face and to sparkle, and the conversation 
 began — the which, of course, the waiter took 
 good care not to hear, not he. Half-a-sove- 
 reign as a fee for serving at a dinner was not 
 got every day ; he would take precious good 
 care nobody disturbed them! So he said to 
 his sub. he would take good care nobody went 
 in, unless specially rung for. 0, the wicked- 
 ness of the world ! 
 
 There was nothing so very bad after all 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. I'^S 
 
 in a young man of five-and-twenty treating a 
 full-blown lady — quite able to take care of 
 herself, as far as forty-five years went — to a 
 really good dinner. Only it was the incon- 
 gruity ; highly incongruous — nothing more. 
 
 Virgil, in the Bucolics or Georgics^ or 
 somewhere (it is vulgar to quote correctly), 
 has a beautiful description of the fierce and 
 passionate love that animated the horses which 
 lived in his days. The whole passage must 
 be read to be appreciated. There were times 
 when the very abundance of this tenderness 
 carried them to excesses. 
 
 Smothered fires must burst out somewhere 
 and at some time. A hayrick, if fired near 
 the ground, will smoulder for days before it 
 bursts into flame. Modern society supposes 
 the existence of thousands of human creatures 
 — fairly well fed, well dressed, moderately 
 hand&ome, or at least not positively bad look- 
 ing; — but who, havinf]: the misfortune to be 
 ladies, are supposed to have no feelings. 
 They have every appendage for the produc- 
 tion of sensation, and every organ perfect — 
 
124 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 they have eyes and nose and ears and 
 hands, &c. — but they are supposed to have no 
 feelings at all. Some of them keep schools, 
 hundreds cro out as oovemesses, hundreds 
 dawdle about at home or Triih their rela- 
 tions. On the affo^reorate there must be some 
 hundreds of thousands of them. Nobody 
 vdll marry them ; they have no money. 
 They are not superlatively good looking ; most 
 of them are well bred and educated, and 
 have ladylike manners — but that counts for 
 nothing. Fellows may admire, even love, 
 but they will not marry. Xo feUow wiU 
 marry except for money ; this they learn 
 pretty speedily. No one boxes their ears 
 physically ; but their ears, poor girls, are 
 morally boxed all their lives — especially by 
 their employers, their mistresses, and their 
 richer relations who have to keep them. 
 They are snubbed for ever ; toned down : 
 used as dummies to heighten the contrast ; 
 trodden on. They have no feehng. They 
 are made to bitterly understand the value of 
 money by daily teaching of their own value- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 125 
 
 lessness. In the course of years all this 
 reacts upon them, and they, too, resolve 
 never to marry except for money. This is 
 as it should be ; the commercial spirit should 
 be introduced into everything — into agri- 
 culture and matrimony. As they cannot 
 marry, what are they to do? Do nothing, 
 says modern society ; feel nothing ; be O's — 
 ciphers. Xo one will ever put a permanent 
 unit against them. 
 
 This is all very well, and very proper and 
 decorous. Onlv one tinner is left out of sio:ht 
 and quite forgotten. This is Nature. Nature 
 is of no account, 'tis true, nowadays ; nobody 
 ever thinks of Nature, or natural things or 
 affections either, for the matter of that. The 
 railways stretch all over the country, and 
 bind Nature down in an iron web. The 
 artificial laws of society stretch over the 
 human heart and hold it down. There are 
 dangerous appearances, though, sometimes of 
 a certain amount of heaving and throbbing 
 underneath. Some socialist physicians think 
 the corset oiijrht to be loosened a little. Thev 
 
126 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 talked of introducing a Bill into the House of 
 Commons lesfalisino: marriao-e for a limited 
 period, for three or four years, or seven, as 
 the parties liked ; on the expiration of which 
 time they might renew the lease — if they 
 wished. They thought this would relieve 
 the throbbing hearts that throb in vain. 
 
 But Exeter Hall ! These three words are 
 a paragraph in themselves. Xothing need be 
 added to them. 
 
 As we said before, smouldering fires will 
 burst out in the end. Now in all these 
 thousands of female bosoms without feelings 
 there must of necessity be one or two, just a 
 berry or so on the topmost branch, who do 
 possess feelings, and very fiery Cleopatra- like 
 ones likewise. Screwed down, constrained, 
 restrained, chained, bound up, trodden on, 
 snubbed, still Maud, at five -and -forty, re- 
 tained some little beauty of a kind, and still 
 the smouldering fire in her burnt and smoul- 
 dered. Poor wretch, Avhat an existence hers 
 had been ! A galley slave's were preferable, 
 for galley slaves can at least swear — which is 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 127 
 
 a relief, though so awfully wicked. But a 
 governess, compelled to spend fifty out of 
 her sixty pounds per annum in dress to ap- 
 pear tolerably decent in a drawing-room, 
 must not swear. Such had Maud been from 
 her youth up. Poor wretch ! 
 
 At last the fire burst out, as it was bound 
 to do before she died, and all the worse, ay, 
 ten times, a thousand times worse, for this 
 quarter of a century of suppression. Her 
 eyes had been opened to a safe way of enjoy- 
 ing mischief by her present mistress's nephew, 
 Victor Knojde, Esq. Nominally she was taking 
 her holidays, with a distant relation far away 
 on the western shores of Scotland. Really 
 and truly she was dining at an hotel in the 
 heart of London, not three miles from her 
 employer's door, and with that employer's 
 nephew. 0, crime beyond forgiveness, 
 unpardonable sin ! Poor Maud ! It was, 
 perhaps, bad for you that Victor was some- 
 what of a genius. He had ideas; he had 
 shown her one or two of these. He had 
 made a discovery — somehow he managed to 
 
128 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 convey it to her. It was a safe way of in- 
 dulging mischief. 
 
 So they drank the champagne, and laughed 
 and talked and joked, and the world moved 
 on around them, and London rushed and 
 surged and roared unheard and unheeded. She 
 was indulging in a little innocent masculine 
 society all to herself — a thing for which she 
 had parched and burnt for a quarter of a 
 century. How many thousands are longing 
 for the same thing at this hour ! There is 
 a lesson in this book, or rather there will 
 be before the end is reached. But Exeter 
 Hall! 
 
 Victor did not love her — she knew that ; 
 but he was hind. He did not cheat himself 
 and his conscience by making himself believe 
 that he loved her — she was too old. He had 
 not the excuse of an all-absorbing love ; but 
 he felt an indescribable pleasure in placing 
 food before this famished creature — for fam- 
 ished she was for a little love, a little tender- 
 ness. And it was quite safe ; she would 
 receive no harm ; her reputation would 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 129 
 
 remain intact. He had arranged to utilise 
 his discovery if necessar3^ 
 
 They drank more champagne, and were 
 very happy. It was such a relief to Maud. 
 She sighed in the midst of her joy — a long- 
 drawn sigh, as an invalid does when first 
 taken out of the sick-chamber into the fresh 
 air. 
 
 m^h'^. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HoRTON Knoyle's brother Charles fell in love 
 with Carlotta at the same time that he did. 
 Carlotta chose Horton for several very good 
 reasons. Firstly, because Horton was richer 
 by far ; secondly, because he had a fashion- 
 able and distinguished connection ; thirdly, 
 because he was younger ; and lastly, because 
 Charles had been previously married and was 
 a widower with two young sons. There was 
 no question, no thought at all, as to which 
 loved her most. It was a pro and con, a 
 debit and credit, account in her mind. Hor- 
 ton had the largest amount of credit. Charles 
 never ceased to love her, and when he died, 
 which he did about ten years ago, his will 
 was so ordered that in the event of his sons 
 dying without children, the property, some 
 95,000/., went to Carlotta. Now Horton 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 131 
 
 was trustee and guardian to these young 
 men, Victor and Francis, neither of whom 
 could touch a penny of their fortune till 
 they were twenty-five. Curiously enough he 
 very carefully kept them put of the way and 
 influence of their aunt Carlotta. One would 
 have thought that a man busied with the 
 affairs of nations would have been glad of a 
 little assistance in training these charges ; but 
 no, he studiously secluded them from her. 
 She was nothing loth, she had no desire to 
 cumber herself with any concerns of theirs. 
 So the two boys were sent to school, and 
 finally to a private tutor's in a distant part 
 of Sussex, where they remained. Horton 
 would not allow them to go to college lest 
 they should contract bad habits. He had no 
 children of his own, and it seemed as if he 
 was more than fidgety over these two boys, 
 his nephews, and probably inheritors of his 
 enormous wealth. Therefore they remained 
 at the clergyman's in Sussex ; strictly, care- 
 fully trained in the ways of virtue, and never 
 so much as allowed to imagine the existence 
 
132 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 of vice. Even smoking, though not abso- 
 lutely prohibited, was discouraged. They 
 were required to be indoors at ten at latest. 
 They were restricted to twenty pounds per 
 quarter pocket-money ; a mere nothing to 
 young men from whom a knowledge of the 
 wealth awaiting them some day could not be 
 entirely concealed. Victor, the eldest, was 
 turbulent and restless ; Francis, the second, 
 was milder and feebler, more easily made 
 good. There existed between them the 
 strongest affection and friendship. Victor 
 had written letter after letter to his uncle 
 begging to be permitted to enter college, or 
 even to be placed in the counting-house, any- 
 thing but the monotonous mildness, the feeble 
 girlish existence under the charge of an aged 
 clergyman, as if they were weak in the in- 
 tellect. He never got a reply. Then he 
 made various plans of escape ; but the ques- 
 tion always came, what could he do without 
 money? So the time went on till Victor 
 was twenty -two and Francis twenty- one. 
 Then a violent fit of restlessness seized 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 133 
 
 Victor, and he persuaded Francis to join him 
 despite of the other's scruples. If they could 
 not permanently escape, they could at least 
 have a month or two of 'lark' in France. 
 Victor's plan was to wait till their next 
 quarter's allowance came, and then bolt. This 
 they did without the slightest trouble. They 
 went to London, and from there started for 
 Paris via Dover. In the train they fell in with 
 half-a-dozen very agreeable fellows, who pro- 
 duced some champagne and a pack of cards. 
 Now if there was one thing more severely 
 forbidden at the tutor's than another it was 
 every form of gambling. In consequence it 
 had irresistible attractions — even the mild 
 and good Francis could not help it. They 
 played the whole journey, and arrived at 
 Dover station with one pound ten out of forty 
 pounds with which they started. The half-a- 
 dozen agreeable gentlemen were in fact card- 
 sharpers, and had an easy prey. Francis, in 
 an agony of remorse, Avas for returning on 
 foot with that small sum of thirty shillings, 
 begging pardon, and being reinstated. Victor 
 
134 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 would hear of no such thing — he had started 
 to see France, and see France he would. Half 
 by threat and half by ridicule he overcame 
 Francis's reluctance, and they went to a pawn- 
 broker's to pawn their watches. Just as they 
 entered the shop two men pounced on them 
 and held them fast. They were detectives in 
 plain clothes. A great jewel robbery had 
 been recently committed. Francis turned 
 pale, not so much with affright as with 
 shame. Victor laughed, and went willingly 
 to the superintendent of pohce. A few ques- 
 tions from him elicited the fact that they were 
 no thieves, and they were allowed their liberty. 
 Francis pleaded hard to return. Victor shook 
 him and called him a milksop. He boldly 
 marched back to the pawn-shop and got five 
 pounds on their watches, about one-sixth of 
 their value. Then they inquired about the 
 steamer — the last had been gone about two 
 hours ; there was no other boat that night. 
 Nothing daunted, Victor dragged Francis 
 down to the beach, and hired a sailing boat, 
 in which they actually crossed the Channel, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 135 
 
 sick as dogs, and got into Calais about one in 
 the morning. The cash left, after paying the 
 boatman, was about two pounds. They slept at 
 a cabaret, where the chambermaid and maid- 
 of-all-work laughed in their faces when they 
 complained of the extreme narrowness of the 
 bed, and demanded four francs overnight. 
 Next morning they started to walk to Paris. 
 They got over four hours on one of those 
 straight and endless military roads with the 
 poplars on each side, and then, tired and 
 weary and hungry, looked round in vain 
 for refreshments. A peasant at his dinner 
 saw them staring about, and immediately 
 sprang up and rushed out to offer his assist- 
 ance. They asked for dinner; he took them 
 in; they found the soup admirable, and the 
 good man grateful for the five-franc piece 
 they gave him. Had it been an English 
 labourer's cottage they would have starved 
 on sour cheese and bread. Here they feasted 
 on delicious soup, and set out strong and 
 refreshed. But that was not all. Jacques 
 assured them that they were not on the 
 
136 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 straight road to Paris — monsieur must cross 
 the country to the right, and get into the 
 Abbeville track ; that would save twenty 
 miles. He would show them. They fol- 
 lowed his directions, and left the hard and 
 beaten road. They walked on briskly for 
 a couple of hours. The track had dwindled 
 down now to a bridle-path ; then it enlarged 
 into a lane ; presently it fell to a foot-path, 
 and they were again tired and hungry. There 
 was nothing in sight but ploughed fields 
 and a few willow-trees. A hundred yards 
 farther on and the foot-path ended in a sandy 
 field with a few bushes of furze. Pushing on 
 through this they entered a common minus a 
 road or path at all. This was encouraging at 
 four in the afternoon and the clouds threat- 
 ening rain. It was late in the autumn, 
 Michaelmas, and the sun was getting low. 
 The prospect was anything but cheering. 
 Poor Francis was in misery. His feet were 
 blistered, and his conscience pricked him. 
 This was the reward of wrong-doing. They 
 should have to spend a night in the open air. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 137 
 
 Exhausted, at last they sat down under a low 
 wall. Victor was still strong and ready to 
 march, but feebler Francis was completely 
 done up. All they could do was to sit still 
 and bewail their fate, which was night and 
 damp shirts, as the black cloud yonder pro- 
 phesied but too plainly. 
 
 While they were sitting here disconso- 
 lately they became conscious of a most sin- 
 gular and unaccountable noise. It was not 
 the crowing of cocks and hens, nor the mew- 
 ino; of cats, nor the barking and yelping of 
 puppies, and yet it seemed like the first at- 
 tempt at language by the young of some 
 animal. Xeither of them could make it out. 
 Francis had a weakness for pets, and he had 
 kept most animals, and he was quite sure it 
 was none of them. A most extraordinary and 
 remarkable row — such a cackling, and crow- 
 ing, and yelping, and shrill crying. Nothing- 
 like it ever assailed mortal ears before. They 
 listened for some time, making all sorts of 
 conjectures. Then Victor resolved to pene- 
 trate the obscurity, to ' thrust the mystery 
 
138 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 carte and tierce.' Francis begored him to 
 remember that there were wolves in France 
 even now ; those might be the cries of the 
 cubs. Victor laughed him to scorn, and 
 sprang over the wall. He disappeared round 
 a thicket, and came back in ten minutes shak- 
 ing with laughter. ' What fools we have 
 been !' he said ; ' come and see.' Rather un- 
 willingly Francis got over the wall and 
 limped after him. Victor took him round 
 the thicket, and pointed. It was a curious 
 spectacle. 
 
 There was a large rambling house, tiled 
 and rather dreary looking, though pierced 
 with innumerable windows. In front of it, 
 and reaching almost to their feet, was a broad 
 lawn closely mown and well kept. On this 
 lawn about one hundred babies, at the lowest 
 calculation, Avere tumbling, walking, jumping, 
 fighting, scratching, yelling, and generally 
 amusing themselves with true infant glee. 
 Two or three women were slowly walking 
 up and down side paths, busily knitting as 
 they went. This was the cause of the noise 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 139 
 
 which had alarmed them. No wonder they 
 could not make it out. They watched the 
 scene for a few minutes. Presently a bell 
 rang, and as if by magic all the troop began 
 to toddle towards the house, in which one 
 and all disappeared. 
 
 'Well,' said Victor, 'I'll go back now, 
 Francis, if you want ; if we go a thousand 
 miles we shall never beat this.' 
 
 But Francis was too footsore to attempt 
 further walking. What was to be done? 
 There was no other house within sight ; 
 clearly they must apply here for lodging and 
 refreshment. Finally they walked round to 
 the front door and hammered at the knocker. 
 A servant took them into a well-furnished 
 parlour, where in a minute or two ' monsieur' 
 made his appearance. It was evident on his 
 face that he was very much astonished at 
 their appearance at his mansion, and that he 
 did not know what to make of them ; but he 
 was extremely polite, and soon perceiving 
 that they were evidently young men of posi- 
 tion, possibly of wealth, he began to smell out 
 
140 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 a way in which they might be profitable. So 
 he begged them to accept a bed and to partake 
 of supper, and generally to make themselves 
 at home. They did not like the look of the 
 fellow, but there was no other alternative, 
 for by this time the rain was pouring down 
 in torrents. ^ At least,' said Victor, when they 
 were alone upstairs, ^ I've got a penknife, 
 and they can't rob us of much, at all 
 events.' 
 
 ' Monsieur' brought out some wine after 
 supper. Victor, always bold and inquiring, 
 asked outrio:ht what was the meanino^ of all 
 these children, despite Francis's frantic signs 
 to him to hold his tongue and make as if 
 they were quite ignorant. ' Monsieur' was 
 delighted to give any information — he would 
 be proud to show them over his establish- 
 ment. He assured them upon his faith and 
 his God that his beds were perfectly clean 
 and wholesome, and his system humane in 
 the extreme. They were well fed, well 
 dressed, well cared for by good nurses; what 
 more did they want ? If anything, they had 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 141 
 
 a good garden to play in; and when they 
 grew bigger — 
 
 ' But how the devil do they get here ?' 
 burst in Victor, interrupting the torrent of 
 loquacity. 
 
 Ah, that was a good joke. Monsieur 
 was really too good — and a young man too 
 (meant to be a wicked joke). It was a form 
 of maladie Anglaise. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say these infants are 
 English?' 
 
 Ma foi, but they were though, every 
 single one of them. 
 
 ' And how the deuce do they get here, 
 and whom do they belong to?' 
 
 ' Well, they arrived in the world in various 
 vague ways.' 
 
 But a hint was enough ; he need say no 
 more. They were well cared for, and their 
 papas and mammas could move in good 
 society, and no one the wiser. Que voulez- 
 vous? They had an agency in London. 
 Monsieur could see it in the daily papers. 
 Here was a copy. 
 
142 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Yictor read : ' Private agency, No. — 
 T — Road. Charges moderate. Strict con- 
 fidence. No inquiries.' 
 
 Francis, sickened at this horrible recital 
 of cold-blooded wickedness, nudged Victor 
 to silence ; but Victor would not till he had 
 mastered the whole detestable system in its 
 details. 
 
 Monsieur felt himself a benefactor to his 
 species — it made him feel so large-hearted 
 and benevolent to see these tiny creatures 
 luxuriating in his abode. Perhaps another 
 day his guests would recommend him ; per- 
 haps — 
 
 They slept there that night. In the morn- 
 ing they went back to Calais, and reached the 
 tutor's with sixpence left. The establishment 
 they had discovered was kept a profound 
 secret between them. 
 
 Francis tried to forget all about it. Not 
 so Victor. He pondered. He was a young 
 man of ideas. He evolved a plan out of this 
 discovery. 
 
 At this date he was free — he was twenty. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 143 
 
 five — he had come into his share of the 
 ninety -five thousand pounds under certain 
 restrictions. Francis had another year to 
 wait ; but they permitted him to live with 
 his brother in chambers in Curzon-street. 
 
 Victor had abeady applied his idea. He 
 had succeeded in persuading Maud into the 
 belief that it was an accurate and practicable 
 one. 
 
 Maud was Carlotta's lady housekeeper — 
 this was her* holiday time. She had risen to 
 be a lady housekeeper after five-and-twenty 
 years of governess life. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Louis began to hate Heloise ; not passively and 
 negatively, but actively. She was a tie upon 
 him; but it was not that altogether. It was 
 the consciousness that her whole life and 
 nature was a reflection upon his. Her purity 
 and truth and innocence were a slur upon him 
 and his ways. He hated her. The galling 
 knowledge that he could not escape from the 
 fetters binding him to her added to his pas- 
 sion. He considered how he could get rid of 
 her. There were but two methods, death or 
 divorce. He could murder her, but he 
 gnashed his teeth as he thought that it was 
 out of his power to divorce her. He could 
 kill her — he would not have hesitated at that. 
 A man who had associated with all the black- 
 guards in Europe, and with all the rowdies 
 of America, could not be supposed to possess 
 any terrors of conscience. He thought over 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 145 
 
 the idea thoroughly, and dismissed it as im- 
 practicable. There were so inany obstacles 
 in the way in this country of ci^^ilisation. He 
 believed he could do it easily enough, and 
 escape detection long enough to enable him 
 to get abroad and hide. But that was not 
 what he wanted. Such means as that would 
 defeat the end in view. He wanted to remain 
 in England. He had no idea of being hunted 
 over the earth like a human hare — and he 
 reflected that the world was so small nowa- 
 days. The electric telegraph had spanned 
 the globe, and brought California and Aus- 
 tralia within easy communication. The ex- 
 press train and the fast steamer had so 
 narrowed the expanse between one country 
 and another, that in point of fact the space of 
 the world contracted day by day. It was so 
 wretchedly small. There was no place a 
 man could get to where he could not be got 
 at in a very little time. But apart from that 
 he did not wish to leave the society he usually 
 moved in. 
 
 No. So far as he could see at present it 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 would not pay him to murder Heloise. This 
 man calmly worked out this conclusion, as he 
 smoked a cigarette, much as he would have 
 worked out a monetary calculation as to the 
 probable rise or fall of the funds. He was so 
 utterly devoid of conscience that it never 
 occurred to him to review the extreme 
 wickedness of his reflections. There are 
 those who may doubt that such a state of 
 mind as this can possibly exist. They may 
 say that the most hardened criminal feels 
 remorse at times. It is possible that the 
 most hardened criminal does, because such 
 men are generally very ill educated and con- 
 sequently superstitious. But Louis was highly 
 educated, and superstition had no terrors for 
 him. Moreover he had lived all his life in a 
 groove corresponding to what his nature 
 considered rational; in other words he had 
 been ^ faithful to the logic of his type' all his 
 life. Therefore he felt no prick of conscience. 
 He was, on the contrary, rather disgusted with 
 the conclusion he came to. It would not pay 
 to kill Heloise. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 147 
 
 There only remained the alternative of 
 divorce. So soon as he thought of that the 
 remembrance of her truth and purity rose up 
 and lashed him into a state of perfect fury. 
 He had no grounds for a divorce. He could 
 find no blame with her. She was so com- 
 pletely innocent, that even his evil mind could 
 find no fault with her. There was not the 
 slightest handle to lay hold of But Louis, 
 with all his temper, was a reflective man, and 
 a philosopher after his kind. He reflected that 
 if a handle did not exist, perhaps it was possi- 
 ble to make one. He reflected that even the 
 purest and noblest minds are not always 
 proof against temptation. He argued that in 
 a certain ' set' there was no game considered 
 so perfectly open and to afford such sport as a 
 young married lady possessed of superior per- 
 sonal attractions. Suppose he threw her open 
 to the efforts of these noble huntsmen ? He 
 growled as he remembered that Heloise was 
 not made of the sort of stuff to fall a victim to 
 their attentions. But fall a victim she should 
 He, her husband, would ruin her, and then 
 
148 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 out of that ruin, disgrace, and shame obtain 
 his freedom. This was a very pretty plan ; 
 the only difficulty was to put it into practice. 
 Where was he to obtain the tempter ? Where 
 could he find a man of sufficient attractions 
 or sufficient subtlety to reduce Heloise from 
 her normal path into one of misery and dis- 
 grace ? He thought over every person of his 
 acquaintance, and was compelled to own that 
 there was none that he knew of. Still he 
 believed in the infinite possibilities of time. 
 Such a man would turn up if only he watched 
 and waited. Meantime he must endure the 
 bondage. This chafed and irritated him to 
 an unendurable degree. As it was entirely 
 his own fault, as he had himself for months 
 studiously endeavoured by all the means in his 
 power to induce Heloise to marry him, and as 
 he had therefore no one to blame but himself, 
 it followed as a matter of course that he must 
 find some one else to wreak his rage and ill- 
 temper on. Ofi" he went to Carlotta. 
 
 That magnificent tigress received him 
 with a haughty toss of the head. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 149 
 
 ' It was your cursed fault/ he began ; ' you 
 persuaded me to marry her.' 
 
 She only sneered. 
 
 ' You said it would allow us to be together 
 more frequently, and w^ith less suspicion. Who 
 could find fault with the visits of a brother-in- 
 law ? She w^as to be our shield, under cover of 
 which we — ' 
 
 ' We ! You mean yourself.' 
 
 Louis stamped his foot with rage. 
 
 ' Yes, we /' he reiterated. ' That we might 
 enjoy an unfettered intercourse without fear 
 of that fellow Horton — ' 
 
 ' In order that you might have the plea- 
 sure of contributing to my gratification, I 
 certainly did favour your marriage with He- 
 loise.' 
 
 '0, you did, did you? Really how kind, 
 how considerate ! Then my pleasure was of 
 no account?' 
 
 ' Certainly not; you never entered into my 
 calculation. Poor fellow ! did he quarrel with 
 his toy ? Should have another — he should, 
 dear little boy !' 
 
150 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 * You are an unnatural monster !' 
 ' Am I really ? How charming — a new 
 sensation ! You have forgotten falling in love 
 with baby-face, I suppose ? Who was it fol- 
 lowed her about like a puppy at her heels? 
 Who was it hung on her lips and drank her 
 lisping words ? Who rode with her ? danced 
 with her ? sang with her ? Who asked my 
 assistance to secure her?' 
 
 Carlotta's eyes flashed, and her bosom 
 heaved, as she hissed out her words. 
 
 ' You double-dyed traitor ! I help you ! 
 yes, I helped you ! I persuaded Heloise, 
 I urged Pierce into accepting you. I hushed 
 up those ugly tales that floated about of your 
 doings in order that you might marry my 
 sister, that, as I foresaw, you might hate 
 her and writhe under her yoke, and come 
 to me and beg a httle of my love. Psha ! 
 you mean-spirited fool, I spurn you !' 
 
 Louis looked wildly about him for a few 
 minutes, as if he had been struck by apoplexy, 
 and then rushed out. He found his way home 
 mechanically. He met Heloise as he passed 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 151 
 
 through the dining-room, for it was close upon 
 six o'clock. Alarmed at his livid face, she 
 started and asked if he was ill. 
 
 ' Go to the devil !' was his reply as he struck 
 her full in the face with his clenched hand ; and 
 she fell senseless on the carpet. The sound of 
 her fall brought him to himself; he seized the 
 water on the table and dashed some in her 
 face, sneering as he observed the blood issuing 
 from her cut Up. He rang the bell, and told 
 the servants that their mistress had had a fit ; 
 let them carry her up-stairs, and send for 
 Georgiana Knoyle, he added. ' Let her console 
 her,' he said to himself as he went up-stairs. ^ A 
 new argument for her precious theories. What 
 a brute they will make me out! Stay!' An 
 idea struck him and he paused upon the stairs. 
 She might get a divorce from him as much as 
 he from her if he misbehaved himself— that 
 was a new idea — for cruelty, unfaithfulness, 
 desertion. Very good; he would give her 
 plenty of chances. This blow would make a 
 good beginning. He dressed carefully for 
 dinner, and had it all by himself in state, a 
 
152 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 thing he rarely ever did. He heard that 
 Georgiana had arrived. ' Now the folly will 
 begin,' he said to himself. He called for his 
 favourite wine, and sipped it with gusto. He 
 would call on Carlotta again in the evening — 
 not before nine. He would tell her of the 
 little incident, it would amuse her. He drank 
 more wine. The magnificent vixen, she was 
 jealous, ha, ha! More wine. Jealous of his 
 love for Heloise in that summer at Avon- 
 bourne. She was a splendid woman — a grand 
 creature — free of all those girlish airs and pre- 
 judices. Jealous of him — that was consoling. 
 She would never discard him. It revived his 
 spirits. The extraordinary command the tiger 
 had over her feelings — to actually encourage 
 him to marry her sister, to do all in her 
 power to accelerate the match, and then to 
 calmly wait for the inevitable result — for the 
 discord, and the cruelty, and unfaithfulness. 
 He chuckled as he thought of it. There was 
 no one like Carlotta. A grand creature. He 
 admired her subtlety. A boa-constrictor in 
 female form. What a pleasure there was in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 153 
 
 playing with the tigress! He would go and 
 see her again in an hour or two. 
 
 Just then the footman entered, bringing in 
 a telegram. Louis tore it open. It ran thus : 
 
 * Horton Knoyle^ Grand Hotel^ Paris, to Louis 
 
 Fontenoy, No. — G square, London. 
 
 ' Come over at once. Shebang has arrived.' 
 
 Louis sprang up, seized his hat, called a 
 cab, and drove to the London, Chatham, and 
 Dover. The tidal train for the night steamer 
 was at the platform with steam up. He took 
 his ticket, and was en route in five minutes. 
 
 In America, when a man by the force of his 
 character takes a certain amount of lead 
 among his neighbours, they call hitn ' General,' 
 or leader, just as in the olden time the head 
 of a marauding expedition was called dux hel- 
 lorum — the duke or leader of battle. 
 
 " General' Shebang was sitting with Horton 
 Kno3de, Esq., financier, in the private apart- 
 ments of the latter at the Grand Hotel. They 
 were in deep and earnest conversation. She- 
 bang was no vulgar Yankee. He was a 
 
154 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 polished and polite gentleman. The only sign 
 of the American was his boots. Somehow no 
 foreigner can ever wear thoroughly English 
 boots, try how he will. 
 
 Louis's theory was that you should never 
 depend upon your friends to have dinner, or 
 supper, or refreshment, or comfort of any kind, 
 waiting for you. This was what vulgar people 
 did. They imagined that their friends were so 
 eagerly awaiting their arrival, that they had 
 killed and cooked the fatted calf, and got 
 everything ready and pleasant. When these 
 ignorant fools arrived — tired, weary, dusty — 
 they found their friends cool, calm, easy, and 
 in a state of unostentatious repose, without a 
 room ready, or anything eatable or drinkable. 
 The man of the world took care of himself en 
 route. He refreshed his inner man. He washed 
 and dressed at the last railway station or hotel. 
 He had his boots cleaned, and the dust re- 
 moved. Thus he came in at the end of his 
 journey as fresh, as presentable in every way, 
 as comfortable, as if he only lived half a mile 
 off. So Louis came into the Grand Hotel 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 155 
 
 ready for instant conversation. It was seven 
 o'clock in the morning, but he had telegraphed 
 from Calais that he was coming, and Knoyle 
 was waiting for him, and waiting alone. 
 
 ' Shebang is asleep,' said Knoyle imme- 
 diately they had shaken hands. ' At least I 
 have ascertained he is in his room. He will 
 not rise till ten — we have three hours at least. 
 You had better depart before he rises, for thei/ 
 are keen.' 
 
 ' Very keen,' replied Louis. ' Now what 
 does he propose?' 
 
 ' He wants a million,' said Horton slowly, 
 as if reflecting on Shebang's proposals. ' He 
 wants a milHon in cash, and half of it at once. 
 To guarantee that million, he and ninety-nine 
 other gentlemen will mortgage their estates in 
 Carolina, Alabama, and Louisiana, each to the 
 extent of live thousand pounds. That would 
 cover five hundred thousand pounds. They 
 will each guarantee one thousand pounds per 
 annum, or one hundred thousand pounds, i.e, 
 interest at the rate of twenty per cent. The 
 other half-million I am to guarantee shall be 
 
156 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 forthcoming if they succeed in holding the line 
 west of the Mississippi for three months ; and 
 if it is not forthcoming, then I forfeit my 
 mortgages and interest. So that in point of 
 fact I must hold the other five hundred 
 thousand pounds ready in the bank, and so 
 lose interest upon it. This reduces the interest 
 they pay me to ten per cent. On final success 
 the draft agreement (I will show it to you in 
 a minute) provides that I take the sole mono- 
 poly of cotton exports for five years, and they 
 repay me in full, which, according to their 
 calculation, ought to give me a million over 
 ray outlay. Xow the question is, can these 
 men be trusted? We have conversed on this 
 matter before. I have sent for you now to 
 have your final opinion. Also I want your 
 opinion on the condition of the public mind in 
 the States. I know you are well acquainted 
 with the inner life of the cities' (there was a 
 sliofht accent of a sneer in the remark, but so 
 slight as to be barely perceptible). ' These 
 men, you see, have estates — enormous estates 
 — ^but they have no ready money, the last war 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 15-7 
 
 took it all — there's where they are beaten. 
 The question is, if they had the ready moneys 
 and spent it judiciously, is their propaganda 
 likely to meet with popular favour south and 
 west?' 
 
 ' Of this I am quite certain,' replied Louis: 
 'the South, as it rises from the effects of 
 the war, and regains its old wealth and poli- 
 tical coherence, has, and still further will, 
 unite itself with the vio^orous and thrivinor 
 West. Hitherto all the traffic — the enormous 
 goods and grain traffic — of the West has- 
 passed through the Northern States, and been 
 shipped at Northern ports ; it was carried oii 
 Northern lines, built by Northern enterprise. 
 But the companies, exhilarated at the success 
 of the North in the war, and confident of a 
 monopoly, have so risen their charges for 
 transit, that the cost of carriage clogs the en- 
 terprise of the Western people. Consequently 
 there exists the bitterest animosity against 
 them and against the Legislature, which^ 
 Northern in its sympathies, will afford no 
 redress. Hence the West gravitates hourly 
 
158 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 towards the South, and the South, rising 
 again, seeks an ally in the West. The move- 
 ment is national in its magnitude, but hitherto 
 it has been under the surface. If a leader or 
 band of leaders sprang up, without doubt both 
 South and West would rise; and the train 
 could easily be fired down South by exciting 
 the race-hatred of whites to blacks.' 
 
 ' Shebang,' said Horton, 'thinks that Cuba 
 would join the South, with the idea of curbing 
 the North, and retaining slavery. There is a 
 grandeur about the scheme of uniting the 
 South and West in a great autonomic republic 
 exceedingly captivating to my mind. And 
 Europe is so overdone, there is no market for 
 money. The old monarchs have borrowed 
 and borrowed, till they are waist-deep in debt; 
 their loans are merely makeshifts to pay the 
 coupons on old debts. I want something new, 
 fresh, with a prospect of vigorous extension. 
 Much depends upon the personal character of 
 these gentlemen. You are acquainted with 
 Shebang and the rest or most of them.' 
 
 Louis entered into a rapid but graphic 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 159 
 
 picture of the character and lives of these 
 men. He painted them as they were, and he 
 did not spare their evil traits. On the whole 
 it was satisfactory. 
 
 * But still,' continued Horton, 'there re- 
 mains to be considered the haiids for the work. 
 What of the men they propose to employ — 
 the agents, the military adventurers? Of 
 what stuff are these made ?' 
 
 Louis described them as desperate in the 
 extreme. Horton asked if there was not 
 a suspicion of Communism amongst them. 
 Louis admitted that there was. 
 
 ' I like a little Communism,' said Horton 
 thoughtfully. ' That affair in this Paris did 
 me a great deal of good. The monarchs had 
 got into a way of thinking themselves quite 
 safe; they were growing insolent, they even 
 attempted to drive terms with us capitalists. 
 Fancy that! Now they feel their lack of 
 stability — they are courteous, they pay us 
 attention, they take our terms. Ah, I am 
 not sure that the establishment of another 
 repubhc would not make them still more 
 
160 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 anxious to retain our good-will. I will not 
 detain you longer — Shebang will be down in 
 ten minutes. Adieu ; remember me to Heloise.' 
 
 There was a smile on the lips of both the 
 men as they parted. There was a very differ- 
 ent expression when the door closed between 
 them. ' He must suspect, he must know some- 
 thing at least,' reflected Louis, as he walked 
 out into the city of Xapoleon. ' So deep and 
 penetrating a mind cannot but suspect, even 
 if nothing more ; but I am useful to him — he 
 will make no noise, no disturbance, while I 
 play into his hands ; while I increase his 
 wealth mth my knowledge I am safe with 
 Carlotta.' 
 
 Horton was pondering too. His question 
 was — would Louis deceive him ? Had he a 
 motive, an interest to do so ? Considering the 
 peculiar relations which existed (a spasm of 
 pain passed over his forehead), he hardly 
 thought so. No ; Louis could be trusted not 
 to quarrel with his own interest. 
 
 Thus they plotted and schemed and wove 
 their webs, while poor Heloise lay at home in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 161 
 
 a darkened room, frenzied with fever, tended 
 by patient loving Georgie. The doctors said 
 her lip — her mobile, beautiful lip — would 
 show a scar to her dying day, even if she rose 
 from the bed of fever. They industriously 
 spread the report that it was a fall in a iit^ 
 Georgie reflected upon this ' little incident,^ as 
 Louis called it, as she sat by the bedside. Was 
 marriage so divine an institution ? Could she 
 trust herself even with Neville irrevocably and 
 for ever ? It was a deep and an anxious ques- 
 tion to her. It almost seemed as if the irre- 
 sponsible power given to a man by marriage 
 acted as the heat of a conservatory to force 
 up and strengthen the growth of the evil pas-^ 
 sions of his nature. The sense of irrespon- 
 sibility seemed to remove all the restraints of 
 society, and all the dormant evil burst out- 
 There appeared to be almost a curse upon it. 
 And poor Horton too, and that Carlotta ! It 
 was a most sad and serious thing. Could 
 nothino: be done to alter this — to evade this 
 terrible fatality attending marriage? How 
 was it possible to amend that institution ? 
 VOL. I. M 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Louis, by an impulse, when he left Horton 
 did not return at once to England. He took 
 the train almost immediately for Brussels. 
 The air of the Continent, the indefinable in- 
 fluence of the well-remembered architecture, 
 the very sound of the language, acting through 
 old associations, brought up an irresistible 
 desire to visit and confer with his old com- 
 panions. He slept almost the whole of the 
 journey. He could have gone on at once 
 from Brussels to Antwerp, but he preferred 
 to stay an hour or so for refreshment. Then 
 he started again. It was night when he began 
 to pick his way on foot through the jungle of 
 streets and corners, the convoluted congeries 
 of houses which constitutes the city of Ru- 
 bens. He had not come to study the works 
 of that great artist. But even in Rubens' day 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 163 
 
 Antwerp produced that fleshly sensuous style 
 of beauty which is one of its chief, though 
 unacknowledged, attractions in this modern 
 time. Louis strolled leisurely along, and 
 entered a large glass door flaringly illuminated. 
 On the right, as he entered, he saw through 
 the panes of another glass door an enormous 
 room surrounded with sofas of red velvet, 
 upon which a numerous company of hand- 
 some and well-dressed ladies were sitting, at- 
 tended by knots of gentlemen. He passed 
 these attractions, and ascended the staircase, 
 threading a maze of galleries with evident fa- 
 miliarity, till at the end of a narrow corridor 
 lighted by a stained-glass window he was 
 stopped by a gentleman, who extended his arm 
 across the passage. Louis smiled, bowed, and 
 whispered a single word. The arm was with- 
 drawn, a door flung open, and he entered a 
 small apartment, where -^.ye or six persons 
 were seated round a table upon which was 
 wine and fruit. It was only a conversation, it 
 was not a consultation night, to Louis's regret. 
 Nevertheless he sat down, neither of the party 
 
164 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 taking the slightest notice of him. He helped 
 himself to wine, none of the rest even so 
 much as pausing a moment in their remarks. 
 
 ' I do not agree with you,' said Grousset, a 
 Frenchman ; ' I think London most easily 
 assailable. A city that is mined underneath 
 from one end to the other must always be 
 an easy prey. All that you require is to fire 
 the gas-pipes in twenty different places, and 
 blow it up.' 
 
 'Or,' continued Pasqui, an Italian, 'you 
 can obtain access to the sewers, which are 
 enormous in London, and fill them with ni- 
 tro-glycerine ; about five tons' weight of that 
 substance would throw the city into the air.' 
 
 'Mere nothings to what I would suggest,' 
 interrupted a Prussian. ' I would dam up the 
 sewers, and shut off the escape of the solid and 
 liquid sewage into the river. When a certain 
 district, where the occupation of the inhabit- 
 ants was principally keeping horses for hire — 
 mews I think they call it — was declared in- 
 fected with some disease, it was ordered that no 
 manure or other refuse should be carted out 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 165 
 
 of it. The heaps accumulated, and in ten 
 days the whole place was attacked with 
 diarrhoea, which decimated the inhabitants. 
 A hostile fleet has, therefore, simply to dam 
 up the sewers and prevent the outflow of 
 noxious matter ; the accumulation of this 
 matter, and the penetration of poisonous 
 gases into the houses, would, in a fortnight, 
 infect the whole metropolis with typhus fever 
 and cholera.' 
 
 ^A sublime idea, by which slops would 
 conquer heroes,' cried Grousset. 
 
 ^ I would take England with three hundred 
 resolute men,' said Prognowski, a Russian; 
 ' such men, I mean, as Peter the Great com- 
 manded, who would throw themselves off a 
 tower into eternity for his pleasure. All you 
 want is three hundred such fellows, and a swift 
 steamer. I see an English firm offers to build 
 a steamer which shall travel twenty -five miles 
 an hour. Where is the cumbrous ram or the 
 swift clipper that could overtake such a ves- 
 sel as that ? Let fifty of the men land on the 
 Isle of Wight, where the English Queen walks 
 
166 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 about unattended, and seizing her and one 
 or two of the family, carry them off to the 
 steamer. At the same moment, the two 
 hundred and fifty men, conveyed by train to 
 London, and utterly unnoticed in the vast 
 multitudes who exist there, seize the Bank 
 of England, where thirty million pounds in 
 hard gold are dejDosited. It would be essen- 
 tial to hang some court official at the yard- 
 arm of the steamer, to enforce the threat of 
 destroying the Royal Family if the two hun- 
 dred and fifty men in possession of the Bank 
 were not allowed to depart in peaceful pro- 
 cession, carrying with them the stores of 
 bullion in the cellars. The English troops 
 would protect them from the fury of the po- 
 pulace, lest the royal party should suffer. 
 Once on board the steamer with their bullion 
 and away, who could catch them?' 
 
 ' And where could they go ?' asked Louis 
 with a sneer. ' What country could they fly 
 to where the telegraph would not anticipate 
 their arrival?' 
 
 ' 0,' replied Prognowski, ' I spoke suppos- 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 167 
 
 ing some nation was at war with Great Bri- 
 tain. By removing the thirty million pounds 
 in the Bank cellars the backbone of England 
 would be broken ; for although her patriot 
 soldiers might possibly fight without pay, it 
 would be impossible to transport them, to con- 
 centrate them, or to provide them with pro- 
 visions without money.' 
 
 ' The object of destroying England I can- 
 not see,' said an American. ' It is from 
 England that we derive the money which is 
 essential to our projects. If she collapsed, 
 where should we get the necessary funds ? 
 Depend lipon it, no continental nation will 
 engage in war with Great Britain. They may 
 foam at the mouth, and curse the English, 
 but they know full well that their interest 
 demands that England should be prosperous. 
 What would their governments do without the 
 English capitalist? Who paid the expenses 
 of the French war, thereby liberating French 
 territory and indemnifying the Germans? 
 It was the English capitalist. Who supports 
 the tottering cabinet of Vienna, the conspiracy- 
 
168 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 frightened cabinet at St. Petersburg, wbo props 
 riip France, and even keeps Spain from total 
 ruin? The English capitalist. As for Italy, 
 Iier existence depends upon the London Stock 
 Exchange. England is necessary to the world.' 
 
 'Talking of continental politics,' said 
 Grousset, ' I am certain that Bismarck corre- 
 sponds with the Prince Imperial. The astute 
 old German looks upon the restoration of the 
 Napoleons as a mere question of time. The 
 Prince Imperial and his advisers would be 
 delighted to see Bismarck tighten his reins, 
 and give a check, that he might pose himself 
 ss a leader, as the representative of popular 
 indignation. Bismarck wants the Republic 
 destroyed.' 
 
 ' He must take care, or he will find a re- 
 public in Germany spring up under his very 
 feet,' said the Prussian. ' It is just possible 
 that while the war -fever lasts, and men see 
 that leaders are necessary, that they will en- 
 sure the iron rule of the Government. But 
 kt once there be a prospect of peace, and 
 down go king and kaiser, and up goes a re- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 169 
 
 public. There is no animosity between the 
 great republican leaders on either side of the 
 Rhine. I know as a fact that the republicans 
 in France are at this moment considering on 
 the draft of an agreement between them and 
 the republicans of the states of the German 
 Empire. That agreement stipulates that in 
 consideration of the return of Alsace and 
 Lorraine, the French shall support the up- 
 rising of the German people in favour of a 
 republic' 
 
 ' Our society,' said the American, 'requires 
 neither monarchy nor republic. The one is 
 as fatal to our designs and belief as the other. 
 Our one grand fundamental doctrine is the 
 supremacy of natural genius.' (' Hear, hear !' 
 and applause.) ' Now the existence of a mon- 
 archy totally deprives genius of its natural 
 supremacy, since the head of the state is here- 
 ditary, and the greatest talent cannot elevate 
 the possessor to that position. Now the republic 
 supposes a president who is as frequently 
 elected by the jarring factions of ignorance as 
 from any true ability he possesses ; and when 
 
170 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 once he fills that place, there is no room for 
 another. What we truly want, then, is neither 
 a monarchy nor a republic ; nor is it precisely 
 the commune. The commune, it is true — the 
 local self-government of innumerable small 
 districts — gives an opportunity to the genius 
 of each district to assert itself, and take its 
 natural preeminence. That is so far good, 
 and what we wish. But there is something 
 further than this. Theoretically, the perfect 
 man needs no o^overnment at all. He is his 
 own king, his own lawyer, his own priest, 
 almost his oa\tl Deity. He requires no king 
 to command or compel him to obey the laws, 
 because he follows them from his own appre- 
 ciation of their application to the good of so- 
 ciety; no lawyer to expound these laws, or 
 apply them, because he thoroughly under- 
 stands the spirit of them ; and in such a state 
 equity, and not precedent, supplies the rule of 
 judgment. No priest, because he sees clearly 
 the relation between God and man ; no Deity, 
 because even if God did not exist, so strong is 
 his belief in the beauty of the social relations, 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 171 
 
 and in the sublime mission of man, he would 
 still remain truthful, upright, grand, and noble, 
 and worthy of immortality, even if there were 
 no such thing as a hereafter. When, through 
 education and the progress of time, every 
 man in this great and populous globe shall 
 arrive at such an elevated state of mind as 
 this, it is evident that no government could 
 be required. Thus, therefore, neither mon- 
 archy nor republic nor commune would be 
 required ; but still there must remain a cer- 
 tain degree of difference between men. 
 
 'Men would still be born who possessed a 
 greater share of talent and genius than their 
 friends and the surrounding population. 
 These, without any sign or badge of distinc- 
 tion, or any power of executing their ideas, 
 must still occupy the position of mental lead- 
 ers of the population, much as in the early 
 days of the Hebrew constitution the prophets, 
 without any legal status, exercised a great 
 influence upon the affairs of that remarkable 
 nation. This, I think, is our doctrine in out- 
 line.' (Applause.) 
 
172 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ^For many years/ said an old man, who 
 had hitherto been silent, 'I have revolved in 
 my mind the idea of founding an intellectual 
 priesthood, after the model of the priesthood 
 of Rome, with various degrees of deacon, 
 priest, cure, archdeacon, bishop, archbishop^ 
 cardinal, and lastly, a head answering to the 
 Roman pope ; which intellectual priesthood 
 should at once educate the masses, govern 
 them, and afford to the talent and genius of 
 the earth a true and certain method of rising 
 to their natural level : the greatest intellect, 
 the greatest genius taking the position of 
 head or pope.' 
 
 ' I differ from you entirely,' said Grousset, 
 'and for simple reasons. The machinery in 
 time would forget the great cause for which 
 it was instituted, and would live for and study 
 Itself only, just as the Roman priesthood, ori- 
 ginally instituted for the best of ends, finally 
 came to be what we see it now — an order 
 seeking only its own elevation, at the expense 
 of truth and of liberty.' 
 
 ' No, I think it much better that we should 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 173 
 
 remain as we are now/ said the American, 
 Mvithout organisation properly so called, 
 scattered all over the world. In that very 
 Avant of organisation our power, which is de- 
 rived from our originality, exists. And so 
 soon as one of our order succeeds in realising 
 his idea — let it be mechanical, let it be men- 
 tal or moral, let it be what it may — we one 
 and all, in various quarters of the globe, rush 
 forward to assist and aid him. In the rude 
 and rough press of Western America appear 
 articles praising and glorifying our friend and 
 his attempt ; in the civilised cities of Europe 
 books and pamphlets, lectures and meetings, 
 demonstrate the worth of the new prophet who 
 has arisen. We propagate the idea every- 
 where. We are bound together by an elec- 
 tric sympathy only, but that sympathy is the 
 strongest bond of all.' 
 
 'Well,' said Louis, rising to speak, 'I have 
 news for you all. One of our order has suc- 
 ceeded in realising his idea; it will be your 
 duty to hasten to assist him. At this very 
 hour General Shebang and the millionnaire at 
 
174 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Paris are exchanging the ratifications of the 
 treaty which secures Shebang a million 
 sterhng to unite the South and West in one 
 grand republic !' 
 
 A cheer greeted this announcement. 
 
 'They ridiculed Xapoleon,' said Grousset, 
 'because he went to war for an idea. The 
 fools ! All the nations of the earth had pre- 
 viously gone to war. For what? Out of 
 hatred and envy and jealousy — out of pre- 
 judice — for varying creeds and religious dif- 
 ference — to revenge imaginary insults, or to 
 add to their own glory and power. 
 
 'But Napoleon had neither hatred, env}^, 
 or jealousy, or creed, as his animating motive. 
 None of the base passions and the feeble 
 prejudices of the world influenced him. He 
 warred for an idea. It was a grand spectacle ; 
 it was the act of a Genius. It was no wish 
 of his to spill blood, or to kill a single man. 
 But he had an idea ; he had a conception. 
 To carry that idea into execution it was 
 necessary to make war, and he made it. It 
 was the only justifiable war that ever was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 175 
 
 made. But it illustrates another side of our 
 doctrine and order. We do not hesitate at 
 bloodj or at murder, or at force, or any other 
 act which prejudice calls crime, in order to 
 carry out our idea. Thus Samuel hewed Agag 
 in pieces in cold blood in order to secure the 
 execution of his idea, which was an Israel free 
 from idolatry. Thus, if one of our order di- 
 vulges our secrets, he is removed by knife or 
 by surer means. To us there is no crime. 
 Crime does not exist to us ; we are above it. 
 It is impossible that our hands should commit 
 it. Our ideas render our actions sacred.' 
 
 A slight smile passed over Louis's counten- 
 ance. His eyes were fixed upon the speaker, 
 studying him with delicious relish. This 
 last sentiment was caviare to him. It was 
 exquisite to see men who professed the highest 
 aims, and the deification of the human race, 
 declare that if they imbrued their hands in 
 blood it was no more than as if they had 
 washed them in water. It was a union of the 
 divine with the diabolical which exactly 
 suited his appetite. He left them to their 
 
176 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 wine and to their conversation and repaired 
 to his hotel, not without a certain uneasiness 
 in his own mind. There was some danger in 
 belonging to this order. He knew full well 
 that they possessed means of carrying out 
 their threats little dreamt of by those in 
 authority. He knew that no man's life, upon 
 whom their enmity was fixed, was safe for an 
 instant. It was true that at present he was 
 upon excellent terms with them. But he was 
 conscious that in the secret recesses of his 
 own mind a half-formed design had been 
 lingering of late to use them to his own pur- 
 pose, a use which they might call betrayal. 
 Still he laughed the momentary oppression 
 off, and turned his thoughts upon Carlotta, 
 whom he should see upon the morrow. He 
 sailed next morning straight for London in 
 the steamer. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 There are many of our friends who will 
 gather round us in the first flush of an acci- 
 dent, or of an illness, or of the incidence of 
 misfortune; there are few — very few — who 
 remain after their curiosity is satisfied, and 
 they can say, ' Well, we have done what we 
 could.' Even the devoted friend who has 
 nursed us through a desperate illness will 
 leave us as we are getting better, leave us to 
 the long restless hours of convalescence. But 
 Georgie, true sterling Georgie, remained with 
 Heloise not only through fever and prostra- 
 tion, but through the weary endless hours 
 the invalid could only lie on her sofa next 
 the window, and watch the shifting clouds. 
 As she was almost always with Heloise it 
 followed that Neville Brandon, her lover, came 
 here to see her. What was more natural? 
 
178 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 But Neville had a brother, and he too came 
 and was introduced to Heloise. That brother 
 was the very Xoel Louis had taunted Car- 
 lotta about, and showed his angry jealousy. 
 Thus it is that one cause or one circumstance 
 leads up to another, and effect follows cause, 
 and cause ao;ain follows effect, thouo^h no 
 one at the time ever dreamt of the ultimate 
 result of the very natural and simple chain of 
 commonplace circumstances. 
 
 This Noel Brandon was the battered 
 warrior whom Carlotta had favoured with her 
 smile, and thereby excited Louis's rage. He 
 was not very battered either; but jealousy can 
 see spots upon the sun. A small piece had 
 been shot out of one ear, but the deficiency, 
 not large in itself, was hidden by the curling 
 brown hair. There was a broad scar on his 
 neck, where a spear had penetrated and cut a 
 deep gash, but it was hidden, or nearly so, by 
 the shirt-collar. His left arm was sometimes 
 in a sling, especially in cold damp weather ; 
 it was the effect of an old musket-shot. His 
 nose was not slit ; that was purely an addi- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 179 
 
 tion of Louis's. He was dark by nature, and 
 tanned, by the sun and by incessant ex- 
 posure, to the hue of the darkest gipsy. But 
 his brilliant black eye betrayed an intensity 
 of animal life and vigour. His broad and 
 massive shoulders, his brown and rather large 
 hand, fitter for the sabre than the pen, the 
 general air of strength and resolution which 
 hovered over the man, spoke the inborn war- 
 rior, the Nimrod, the mighty hunter, not only 
 of the timid deer, but of men. Yet he held 
 no commission ; he was no parchment captain, 
 no spur-jingling colonel. His commission 
 was issued by the inbred necessity which ex- 
 isted for him to fight. Fight he must, and 
 fio;ht he had from earliest childhood. 
 
 What a contrast there was between him 
 and Neville! Never were two brothers so 
 utterly unlike. Neville was all thought, con- 
 templation; Noel was all deed. They had 
 both been great travellers; one at least had 
 been a great explorer. But Neville had al- 
 ways halted on the verge. He sought the 
 primeval forests of America, that he might 
 
180 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 commune with Nature in her oldest aspect. 
 But he penetrated a few miles only. Then 
 he sat down and thought. The narrow belt 
 of trees between him and the nearest culti- 
 vated plot was as deep a seclusion to him as 
 If it had been a thousand miles in breadth. 
 He retired within himself; he forgot all things 
 but [N^aturCj and Nature entered in, and per- 
 meated him. But Noel sprang forward, rifle in 
 hand, and, firing at beasts and Indians alike, 
 pushed his way across to the Rocky Moun- 
 tains. Seized with an uncontrollable desire to 
 investigate the origin of the mysterious Nile, 
 Neville departed for Egypt. But he paused 
 at the cataracts, on the very edge of the 
 desert. Then again he sat down — and thought. 
 The influence of the ocean of sand, the illimit- 
 able expanse of innumerable atoms, entered in 
 and dwelt in his mind. His mental eye saw 
 over and under and round about it, and saw 
 things which the physical eye suspected not. 
 But Noel went out straight into the desert 
 almost alone — straight as an arrow, south- 
 wards, ever southwards, right down through 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 181 
 
 the centre of Africa, till he reached the Cape of 
 Good Hope. A stupendous journey, of which 
 he thought and said and wrote nothing, not 
 a word. He replied to one questioner, that 
 the one thing he did was to ' Push on.' That 
 w^as his secret. He had no other. Those who 
 wished to know what was in the interior of 
 equatorial Africa could go and follow his track 
 and see for themselves. He should write not 
 a line; look at his hand, how could he? the 
 fingers were stiff from the use of the rifle. 
 The way was open to all — let them. go. The 
 secret was 'Push on.' 
 
 Neville threw himself doAvn to rest upon the 
 beach, and listened to the surge, and thought. 
 Noel swam out, with his bold breast front- 
 ing the waves — out, and still out, till his 
 head was hardly visible. Yet it is a ques- 
 tion which had seen the most. Noel had 
 been over the most ground. But Neville had 
 apparently seen as much in a limited space. 
 The secrets of the interior of the forest, the 
 desert, and the ocean, seemed of their own 
 accord to seek him as he sat upon the edge. 
 
182 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Calmly and with divine repose he collected 
 them, and stored them up in the treasure of 
 his mind; ever seeking to discover the true 
 relation of man to nature, ever seeking to dis- 
 cover the attributes of the Great Soul which 
 had called the world into existence. 
 
 Almost the one regret of Noel's life was 
 that he had been away, and had not been 
 with the Italian army when finally they 
 entered Rome. He would have given the 
 whole fortune he possessed — no small one — to 
 have marched into the Eternal City one of the 
 soldiers of truth and liberty. It was the one 
 regret of his life. 
 
 Almost the one regret of Neville's life was 
 that he never had time enough. People said 
 he was leisurely, even lazy, indolent ; that he 
 lingered over things that others passed by in 
 a few minutes. But his complaint was that 
 he never had time enough. He was always 
 hurried away by circumstances just as he was 
 beginning to see — just as his eyes got accus- 
 tomed to the darkness, and he could penetrate 
 into the unknown. It was so with life. He 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 183 
 
 mourned its shortness. He should never have 
 time enough. 
 
 Thus the soldier who fought for truth 
 reo:retted his absence from the active scene 
 at a critical moment. Thus the scholar who 
 thought and searched for truth regretted that 
 Time was not long enough to study the works 
 of his God, much less that God Himself. 
 
 There was a singular charm about both 
 these men. They were so deeply, so intensely 
 in earnest. There was no show, no stamping 
 of the foot, no waving of the hands, no loud 
 and angry controversy. But there was a 
 depth, a latent resolution which insensibly 
 impressed those who approached them. 
 
 Carlotta tried her best to induce Noel to 
 publish his enormous journey through Africa; 
 she knew that it would create a sensation ; he 
 must dedicate it to her ; there would be an 
 eclat In vain; he paid no attention. This 
 man saw Heloise. He saw too the mark of 
 the cut upon her lip. Some fragment of the 
 truth, despite all the care with which it was 
 hidden, oozed out. Could he help but feel 
 
184 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 indignation ? How could his heart, brave and 
 generous as it was, help warming to this poor 
 girl? Then Carlotta, hearing of it, also 
 laughed at it, jeered at it, to him ; exulted in 
 it. All the tiger jealousy in her burst out 
 with fierce exultation. She triumphed in it. 
 She gloated over it. Up till then Noel had 
 been fascinated to some extent by her mag- 
 nificent beauty; now he was disgusted. His 
 eyes were opened ; he saw the venom beneath 
 the many-coloured skin of the snake. He 
 recoiled. His thoughts dwelt in consequence 
 more upon Heloise. 
 
 Poor Heloise ; those were very weary days 
 to her. All her young life used to the free 
 fresh air and ceaseless exercise, all her days 
 spent in restless motion, now tied down to her 
 chair with sheer weakness. Nothing more ; the 
 fever had left her, the scar upon the lip was 
 healed, though the mark was inefi'aceble. 
 The physicians said that all she needed was 
 strengthening food, and as soon as possible 
 change. But it was slow, very slow. Some- 
 times the very weariness of waiting brought the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEABTS. 185 
 
 unbidden tears to her eyes, and she leant her 
 head back on Georgie's loving shoulder and 
 wept silently. AVhen first she rose, the leaves 
 were brown and gold and scarlet upon the 
 trees ; now they were gone and the boughs 
 were bare. The swallows had fled ; she 
 thought of Avonbourne ; how dreary it would 
 look now ! Yet she loved it whenever so 
 dreary. How she longed to see Pierce, ' dear 
 papa !' He had been kept in utter ignorance 
 of all this. ' Do not agitate his old age, ' pleaded 
 Heloise ; Georgie herself saw no good in it. 
 Pierce therefore knew nothing of it, else he 
 would have been instantly at her side. 
 
 And Louis? She did not hate him. She did 
 not resent the cruel and unprovoked blow ; 
 she did not recoil from the utter brutality of 
 the man. She simply forgot him; with the 
 blow that laid her senseless upon the carpet 
 all memory of him fled. Kot that she did 
 not recollect his existence as a person ; but 
 he was no more Louis. He wiped himself 
 out of the tablet of her mind at one stroke. 
 He entered no more into her thoughts. It 
 
186 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 was as if he had never spoken to her, never 
 come within ken of her vision. She never 
 saw him now, he never approached her. Per- 
 haps it was merciful that this strange forget- 
 fuhiess of the injury she had sustained had 
 come over her. It prevented her from dwell- 
 ing upon it. It enabled her to turn her mind 
 to other things, even to find amusement. But 
 Louis was her husband no longer. He was a 
 shadow of the Past which had fled and left no 
 mark. She heard his name, but it brought 
 up no vision in her mind. 
 
 There was at times a certain amount of 
 pleasure in this convalescence, especially when 
 she got a little stronger. There were pleasant 
 reunions in the evenings. Heloise sat in the 
 midst in her great arm-chair, well propped up 
 and supported by cushions, as a queen in the 
 centre of her court. Around her gathered 
 Georgie and NeviUe, and sometimes, more 
 frequently of late, the soldier Noel. Each, 
 one and all, followed their own occupations 
 — that was the convention. Georgie worked 
 at her book, making extracts, writing. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 187 
 
 Neville also worked — studying great tomes 
 which he brought with him, the works of 
 Cuvier and of Owen. Noel read a novel. 
 Heloise cared not to read — she worked a little 
 embroidery. They talked when they hked, 
 each when an idea occurred to him or her, and 
 all stayed to listen. But there was no effort 
 to prolong a conversation. Only one common 
 object animated them all by tacit consent — to 
 amuse Heloise. Whoever hit upon a subject, 
 or a discovery, or anything that could interest 
 her, the work was stayed, the book placed on 
 the table, and they joined to please her, to 
 bring the smile to the pale cheek, and the 
 sparkle into her large deep eyes. 
 
 And Noel — the restless soldier, the never- 
 tired traveller, the wanderer through desert 
 and forest — what of him ? He sat still as a 
 piece of furniture, fearful to move lest he 
 should disturb her. His novel was a mere 
 pretence. He cared for no novels. His eyes 
 were for ever upon her; not always her face, 
 but her dress, her foot, her hand, her work, 
 the chair she sat in. But alwa^'s Heloise. 
 
188 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 The physicians said she was strong enough 
 now to move. But still they delayed ; for the 
 early winter was coming on, and they feared 
 the cold weather, the exposure, the possible 
 damp. What they dreaded was consumption. 
 At present she was free from the slightest 
 taint. But a cold, a chill — no one could fore- 
 see its effect in her delicate state. So she 
 was compelled to sigh in vain for Avonbourne. 
 Perhaps it was better,' she said; 'Pierce 
 will not see me till I am strong ; then he will 
 not inquire too curiously.' 
 
 Why was it that Noel's wandering eye 
 fixed itself so often upon the slender hand? 
 why did he gaze so earnestly at that tiny toy 
 which ornamented the third finger ? It was 
 the wedding-ring — the small band of gold, of 
 ductile gold, which he could crush like an 
 egg flat in his strong fingers. But a band 
 of iron, and adamant; a circle strong as the 
 magic circle of the necromancer, which none 
 could overleap. The strong man to whom 
 the simoom of the desert, the spear of the 
 Arab, the roar of the lion, was as nothing, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 189 
 
 quailed, recoiled, drew back before this piece 
 of talismanic gold. 
 
 Never before had he paused; never, like 
 Neville, halted on the edge. Now he stood at 
 a distance abashed, afraid. For the first time 
 in his life he questioned himself — for the first 
 time doubted himself. Hitherto he had 
 rushed headlong forward, without sta}'ing to 
 calculate the cost or the consequences. Now 
 the very same influence which beckoned him 
 on also warned him away. 
 
 Those evenings were very happy to He- 
 loise. They soothed her. She never stayed to 
 think or analyse ; her life glided on smoothly, 
 and she gave no heed whither it tended. She 
 had no thought beyond herself and her dear 
 Georgie. At that time she lived, as it were, 
 with Georgie and herself There was no out- 
 ward influence that she was conscious of; only 
 she began to prattle and talk, as women will 
 to each other, of Georgie' s approaching mar- 
 riage with JSeville. It was time now to see 
 about the trousseau^ to begin to arrange the 
 innumerable details of dress. Into this He- 
 
190 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 loise was eager to enter. She did not notice 
 that Georgie seemed to avoid the subject. 
 All recollection of her own unfortunate ex- 
 ample appeared to have died away from her 
 mind. She was eager to see Georgie united 
 with her lover and happy. She talked of it 
 incessantly when they were alone. Georgie 
 did not repulse this conversation, but she did 
 not encourage it. She listened thoughtfully, 
 she replied correctly ; but she never began, 
 she never continued, the remarks which He- 
 loise had made. But at such times involun- 
 tarily Georgie's gaze fixed itself almost uncon- 
 sciously upon the mark on her friend's lip — 
 the lately-healed scar, small, slight, but dis- 
 tinctly perceptible. Heloise little thought 
 that hardly a night passed over when Georgie's 
 eyes were not wet with passionate tears, when 
 she did not pray earnestly to Heaven for 
 guidance in this hour of perplexity. Her 
 very heart and soul clung to Neville mth a 
 strength that nothing could shake. But mar- 
 riage — marriage with Louis before her eyes 
 daily — was it strange that she shrank from 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 191 
 
 it ? And it was not altogether self. She 
 really and truly believed in her own mission 
 — a woman sent to women. As such was it 
 her duty to set forth another example of 
 yielding up her entire being to the uncon- 
 trolled and irresponsible rule of man ? Was 
 it not rather her duty to defend her weak and 
 feeble sex against this assumption of irrespon- 
 sible power and its apparently inevitable 
 effect ? If she herself yielded, how could she 
 persuade others to stand out ? Of what avail 
 was precept without practice ? 
 
 But there sat Neville before her eyes, 
 handsome exceedingly, fair and comely, his 
 heart her very own. It was a terrible strug- 
 gle. Thus, on the one side, the Woman 
 strove to suppress her natural feelings to- 
 wards the man ; and upon the other, the Man 
 (Noel) struggled with his rising feelings to- 
 wards Heloise. 
 
 And Heloise was unconscious of both these 
 inward battles. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 In the midst of her toilette Carlotta, wearied 
 with the work of binding up her heavy hair, 
 had fallen languidly upon the ottoman, fling- 
 ing her nude arm negligently over a chair. 
 In this semi-unconscious state of indolent re- 
 pose, the peculiar power of her beauty was 
 stronger even than when full dressed and in 
 all the flow of her spirits and her stinging 
 epigrammatic wit ; for she had that species 
 of wit which, though weak in itself, takes 
 most — the wit de societe^ in the sense of ve7's 
 de societe — the light sparkling foam that bub- 
 bles on the champagne of conversation. 
 
 How is it there has never been written a 
 ^ vision of evil women,' as there was one of 
 * fair women' ? For what has been the in- 
 fluence and what the charm of the good and 
 noble compared with that of the subtly evil ? 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 193 
 
 It was well said that the wicked had fairly 
 earned their supremacy over the good in this 
 world by their superior energy. 
 
 The devil is always at work. ' The night 
 Cometh when no man can work,' was not said 
 of him. The parson and curate, the arch- 
 deacon and the bishop and the archbishop — 
 all the army of the cathedral — sleep the sleep 
 of the just, and dream dreams of a safe and 
 peaceful flock. But the devil never goes to 
 bed. He earns his power as lord of this world 
 by dint of sheer hard work. He has had 
 many historians. There was a catalogue of 
 books written about him published the other 
 day, itself quite a book. But wicked woman, 
 the prime mover, the very soul of the world, 
 has never had her history written yet. What 
 a roll of distinguished names, stretching from 
 Avhen time itself began down to our own day! 
 And over them all there hovers a singular 
 glory — a magnetic influence — a phosphoric 
 glow ; and the memory of them lingers in the 
 mind of man. Whence comes it, this irre- 
 sistible attraction ? for it is not all their 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
194 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 beauty alone, great as that may be. Noble 
 and faithful women have been beautiful too^ 
 even perhaps far more lovely ; but never have 
 they attained to the same effect. 
 
 Yes ; she was very beautiful, this Carlotta. 
 There was a sense of intense animal vigour, 
 a latent pantherism about her. The full vo- 
 luptuous contour of the form, the superb 
 neck and bust, the head set almost defiantly 
 in its balance, conveyed the impression of phy- 
 sical nature in its perfection and comj)lete- 
 ness. There was an animal grandeur about 
 her. As she reposed now, with her eyes gaz" 
 ing steadily into vacancy, there arose in them 
 a glittering phosphoric light, such as may be . 
 seen in the panther's prowling in the dusk. 
 She was fascinating ; but seen thus in the 
 abandon of solitude, there was an indefinable 
 horror^ as it were, hovering over her, much 
 as there is over the curling folds of a still 
 serpent glowing in colours. It seemed as if 
 her very slumber — her very repose — was an 
 attitude chosen expressly to enable her to 
 spring upon her victim, and ^:k her claws in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 195 
 
 him to the death. It was an unearthly beauty- 
 seen thus, without the consciousness of being, 
 observed. 
 
 One arm was thrown negligently over a 
 chair. It was round and full and firm, white 
 and smooth as the skin of the famous empress 
 who bathed in the milk of five hundred she- 
 asses to preserve the polish of her limbs. 
 What is there so graceful, so love-inspiring as 
 the arm of a handsome woman ? This was an 
 arm which, without bracelet, or anv contriv- 
 ance to give the proper apparent curve, might 
 have rivalled the statues of antiquity. The 
 flesh looked as firm as the very marble in 
 which they are carved, yet to the touch it was 
 softer than velvet, and sank into a dimple at 
 the slightest pressure. There was a smooth- 
 ness, a polish upon the surface of the skin as 
 if rubbed with oil; and here and there the 
 blue veins wandered around it. An arm such 
 as would have taken a theatre by storm ; how 
 many of the shouting, cheering amphitheatre 
 would have risked their necks to feel its 
 warm endearing embrace ! 
 
196 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 There was no effort about Carlotta ; no 
 airs, no display; she needed none to attract 
 attention. In the most crowded assemblies 
 she was invariably in a pose of perfect compla- 
 cency, calm ; there was no striving after effect. 
 Alone, and unseen, there was the same easy 
 unconscious grace, the ineffable charm of which 
 is greater than that of the most regular fea- 
 tures. 
 
 Yet she was no longer young. But the 
 very years which would have detracted from 
 the shape of the many had but added to the 
 perfection and completeness of this evil 
 woman. There was a finish, a fulness about 
 her to which youth aspired in vain. It was 
 this very finish, this fulness which made 
 almost a slave of Louis ; a slave whom all the 
 loveliness, the freshness, and the purity of 
 Heloise could never retain. Her very age, 
 her very worldliness, her astute cleverness, 
 attracted him irresistibly. There was a sense 
 of personal vanity gratified in walking with 
 this woman — her chosen companion — in the 
 path of flowery wickedness. He knew her 
 
RESTLESS HOrAX HEARTS. 197 
 
 thoroughly — he knew her venomous hatreds, 
 her insatiable conceit, her unscrupulous mind 
 — and he gloried in it. Gloried in the fact 
 that she had stooped to him ; that with all 
 her cleverness, and worldliness, and insatiable 
 vanity she had linked her arm with his. She 
 too understood him well. She did not hide 
 from herself his almost devilish delight in the 
 evil side of human nature. She knew that he 
 was no lover in the old and true sense. She 
 knew him thoroughly, and she too gloried in 
 the power of attaching him to herself What 
 was it, what glory was it, to attract the 
 young and inexperienced, the foolish, and the 
 still more foolish aged ? But Louis was a 
 Man : unutterably a bad and abandoned being, 
 but no half-hearted chicken, no poor creature 
 confined in narrow limits by creed or fear. 
 There was a sense of power gratified in at- 
 tracting him. A strange bond between them, 
 it may be ; but no less a real and efibctual 
 one. They did not spare each other. He 
 cursed her freely, v/ith all the foul-mouthed 
 vulgarity and brutality he had imbibed in 
 
198 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the low saloons of cities. She quailed not, 
 nor even averted her glance. She stung him 
 to the quick with her bitter words and sneer- 
 ing insinuations. He had struck her before 
 now. That splendid arm lying negligently- 
 over the arm of the chair had been bruised by 
 his blows, and shown the blue mark for many 
 a day. Then she would sit before the glass 
 and look at it and gloat over it. Such was 
 her power over him, that in his rage and jeal- 
 ousy she could make him forget his manhood, 
 forget that she was a woman. Perhaps it was 
 this occasional habit of striking Carlotta that 
 led him to hurl Heloise to the ground. And 
 she, Carlotta, had dug her nails into his flesh 
 till the blood spurted up, and relaxed not her 
 hold till Louis beat her off. He could have 
 shown the dint of her teeth and the print of her 
 sharp and pointed nails. At such moments how 
 intense and venomous was the hatred between 
 them ! Yet two hours afterwards they were 
 more closely bound together than ever. Who 
 could fathom the conditions, the emotions of 
 rage and jealousy and hatred which crowded 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 199 
 
 through her mind when she found that Louis 
 was in love with Heloise at Avonbourne, 
 in those months when Horton went trout- 
 fishing ? She never said a word to him ; she 
 encouraged him ; she aided him with all her 
 subtle touches and insinuating persuasions. 
 She entered into the warmest friendship with 
 Heloise. She painted Louis in the highest 
 colours. And all the while a red-hot jealousy, 
 a maddening hatred, was consuming her. With 
 that in her heart she ^ave Heloise the most 
 splendid presents, and arranged her marriage 
 breakfast, almost with her own hands and 
 vrith a smile upon her countenance. She 
 knew the inevitable result; she foresaw it 
 as clearly as Caesar Borgia could foresee 
 the results of his plans. She knew that 
 Heloise's very innocence, now so charming, 
 would in a few months first pall upon and 
 then disgust her fickle husband, stable only 
 in his vices. She knew that Louis would as 
 inevitably return to his allegiance to her. 
 And thus with double bitterness and double 
 gall she should pour the ashes and embers of 
 
200 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 misery over her sister, while at the same mo- 
 ment Louis would writhe under his yoke. 
 And this had come to pass exactly as she had 
 planned, and almost as precisely as if events 
 had happened by her order. She had triumphed 
 and glowed with exultation. She had gone 
 about with her heart elate and her step 
 elastic, swelling with self-satisfaction, as she 
 trampled upon Heloise. The period of her 
 glory culminated when Louis struck his wife 
 to the earth, and marked her with an indelible 
 scar. But even in that very hour the tide was 
 slowly turning. From that incident dated 
 the introduction of jSToel to Heloise. Noel 
 had been Carlotta's latest success. She had 
 tied him to her heels — this storm-beaten and 
 resolute man, whose fame was so great and 
 so well earned. With "a secret delight and a 
 mischievous joy she was busied in making a 
 fool of him ; holding him up to the finger of 
 society as her chattel and her toy. Hercules 
 had all but abandoned his club. In a few 
 more weeks his head would be slumberinof in 
 her lap. At this moment he saw Heloise. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 201 
 
 From that date he came no more. Suddenly 
 and without warnmg he left her and returned 
 not again : not even for farewell. She did not 
 reflect that her own indecent exhibition of 
 pleasure in the domestic trouble of her own 
 sister had disgusted him. Her familiarity 
 with Louis had blunted her flner perceptions. 
 She cast the blame wholly and solely upon 
 Heloise. The embers of jealousy and hatred 
 blew up again into a fierce and burning flame. 
 Not that she cared so much about Noel him- 
 self. It was Heloise. Her patience, her 
 purity, her innocence, were reproaches to her. 
 They were foils showing ofi* in contrast the 
 darkness of her own character. She had fully 
 expected that Heloise would have left Louis, 
 would have returned to Avonbourne, perhaps 
 would have even entered a suit for separation. 
 But no; she gave no sign. She remained at 
 Louis's house, silent, patient. This irritated 
 and annoyed Carlotta. It seemed as if her 
 darts, tipped with Are and stained with poison, 
 fell broken and unheeded against this mere 
 child. She chafed and raged inwardly. She 
 
202 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 had never intended that Heloise and her 
 affairs should become so prominent a subject 
 in her daily thoughts, should occupy so much 
 of her time. But the hatred and jealousy of 
 Heloise grew day by day and absorbed her 
 very being. Heloise was never long absent 
 from her mind. There was a natural repul- 
 sion — almost a necessity to destroy her. There 
 was no peace while Heloise existed, no repose. 
 Of all Noel's conduct — his visits with Neville, 
 his very attitude while there — Carlotta was 
 " fully and minutely informed through her 
 housekeeper Maud. Maud, once and for many 
 years a snubbed, and miserable governess, had 
 eagerly taken the post of housekeeper under a 
 peeress. But she had nothing to do with jars 
 and pickles, never hardly ever heard of 
 butcher and baker. These were not her con- 
 cerns. She was well educated, rather subtle, 
 though suppressed ; had some remains of 
 beauty ; was no bad foil to her mistress ; and 
 she was older. Carlotta had her constantly 
 about her. Her business was undefined, for 
 she had nothing to do with the toilette — in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 203 
 
 point of fact it consisted in ministering to the 
 tyrannical caprices of her mistress. A mistress 
 who in every other word sneered at her 
 poverty, her age, her small pretensions to 
 beauty; who flung the cruel usage of the 
 world in her face as if it had been her desert, 
 and occasioned by her fault. A mistress who 
 trod upon her finer feelings day by day, and 
 purposely with intent to wound, and with 
 delight in torturing. 0, but the gold ! The 
 salary was high. Poor wretch ! Through Maud 
 and the servants at Louis's place Carlotta 
 knew everything — had almost hourly informa- 
 tion. The sting of it was that Heloise made 
 no efi*ort ; was even unconscious, it seemed, of 
 Noel's admiration. Xow Carlotta had had to 
 make an unusual effort to secure him for a 
 brief and passing hour. But he followed 
 Heloise of his o^vn accord. Carlotta was un- 
 bearable at these times. Maud had serious 
 thoughts of leaving her, even despite the loss 
 of the salary, but for Victor. Victor was in 
 London, expected daily at Carlotta's — to see 
 his aunt for the first time. So she endured 
 
204 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 it, finding no peace but in the oblivion of 
 sleep. Carlotta conjured up in her mind a 
 vision of Heloise as described to her, sitting 
 surrounded with Georgiana, Neville, and Noel 
 in those happy winter evenings. She sneered 
 and laughed at this poor and silly amusement. 
 She expressed and she felt the uttermost con- 
 tempt for Neville and his science, for Georgie 
 and her theories. But in her heart of hearts 
 there was a bitter yet unconscious envy of 
 these men and women who could thus find 
 happiness and content in pursuits not only 
 legitimate but laudable, and even beneficial to 
 the world. Another reproach to her. She 
 hated them ; she almost cried for the power to 
 ruin them all. The thought of them embittered 
 the glittering joys of her life. She could not 
 enjoy Rome without destroying Carthage. She 
 listened eagerly to the whispers of society, to 
 catch the slightest hint, the merest indication 
 that the tide of scandal was setting on Heloise. 
 In vain ; she met instead inquiries after Noel. 
 People asked what had become of him — why 
 was he no more seen with Carlotta? Per- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 205 
 
 haps there was the faintest sound of an ill- 
 concealed delight in these whispers and mur- 
 murs that passed round from house to house 
 and circle to circle, the faintest suspicion of 
 a pleasure in the fading charms of Carlotta, 
 who had so long preyed upon society, to the 
 detriment, and the envy, and jealousy of the 
 marriageable female portion. i\Iaud caught 
 at this sound, and magnified it. It was a 
 chance to repay upon Carlotta some of the 
 bitterness she had herself suffered. She dwelt 
 upon it, delicately and by hints, but with suf- 
 ficient distinctness to bring it home to Car- 
 lotta's mind; and then sat down, and sated 
 herself with the sight of the raging tigress 
 tearing her heart to pieces with temper and 
 chafinof violence. It was in this mood that 
 Louis found her. She burst upon him, called 
 him a coward, a poltroon, a fool, to let 'Noel 
 flirt thus with his mfe, and remain looking 
 on unconcerned, unavenged. Louis stared: 
 to do him this much of justice, he had never 
 conceived the possibility of Heloise permitting 
 any such proceedings. Unconsciously, his 
 
206 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 faith in her was great ; so that although he 
 had sneered at Georgie and Neville and Noel, 
 he had never for a moment thought of any- 
 thing of the kind. Therefore he stared, and 
 finally burst into laughter. Carlotta ground 
 her teeth. 
 
 ' Let us consider,' said Louis, utterly un- 
 moved. ' If what you say is true, then we 
 may find a method to be rid of this idiot.' 
 
 Then Carlotta hissed into his ear a plan 
 that she had formed, and elaborated to seem- 
 ing perfection. Let Noel have every opportu- 
 nity; encourage him, throw Heloise upon him, 
 lead them to compromise themselves, then 
 expose them. Louis could thus obtain a 
 divorce. 
 
 The sister persuaded the husband to con- 
 nive at the projected disgrace of his wife. 
 Louis listened, and smiled assent. 
 
 m. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HoRTON KxoYLE, EsQ., the banker, even now 
 did not wish his nephews Victor and Francis 
 to be introduced to their aunt. But when 
 young men grow to the age of five-and-twenty 
 and four-and- twenty they are not to be kept in 
 complete seclusion any longer. It is a neces- 
 sity for them to enter into society. Xow when 
 once Victor and Francis entered into society, 
 society would very naturally soon begin to 
 talk and make remarks if they were not on 
 speaking terms with their aunt. When Victor 
 and Francis therefore left the clergyman's 
 house in Sussex and came to London, they 
 had instructions from their uncle and guar- 
 dian to call upon Carlotta. These instructions 
 were given with much anxiety and with great 
 reluctance ; but still they were issued. Both 
 the brothers were eager to see their aunt. 
 
208 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 The very fact that they had been carefully 
 hidden from her view all these years served 
 to stimulate their curiosity, and they had 
 heard rumours even in that quiet Sussex house 
 which added a zest and edge to their curiosity. 
 Victor especially, bolder and more energetic, 
 penetrating more into company, had heard 
 tales of her and her marvellous beauty which 
 filled him with a restless desire to see her. 
 She was no humdrum aunt of daily life. In 
 point of fact she did not seem like an aunt or 
 relation at all to them. She did not seem to 
 belong to Horton Knoyle. It was almost like 
 being introduced to a famous singer or ac- 
 tress. 
 
 Carlotta had looked forward to this ulti- 
 mate meeting with Horton 's probable, and 
 indeed announced, heirs with no little interest. 
 In the abstract she hated them. In the jDcr- 
 son she thought that most probably they 
 would be boorish and a fearful bore. But 
 they had about them the all-important fact of 
 Horton's enormous wealth. She had no chil- 
 dren. There it was, Horton was no longer 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 209 
 
 young. He was hard upon sixty. She more 
 than suspected that he suffered from heart- 
 disease. He was impenetrable — not a hint 
 ever escaped him ; his physician was a man 
 of strict integrity, and politely warded off 
 the soft insinuating questions even of his 
 patient's wife, as no doubt he had been in- 
 structed to do. ^N'ot that Horton was an in- 
 valid; but still he was occasionally visited by 
 a physician. That fact could not be concealed 
 from Carlotta. His declining physical vigour 
 was evident enough. All this had caused her 
 many anxious hours of thought. The money I 
 It was not that she was in any way dependent 
 upon the continuance of his life for the supply 
 of her daily necessities. Horton had made a 
 large and liberal settlement upon her at the 
 time of her marriage. But accustomed for so 
 long a time to unlimited resources, the income 
 arising from the sum which was absolutely 
 hers appeared absurdly small. It barely sup- 
 plied her dress. Not even the almost uncon- 
 trolled supply of cash which Horton allowed 
 her could meet her extravagant expenditure. 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Unknown to him she had contracted large 
 and heavy debts. She was, it is true, by law 
 entitled to a third of his personal property at 
 his decease. But Caiiotta, though she had 
 no conscience, had a brain. It never occurred 
 to her to stay her course, or to seek to rein- 
 gratiate herself with him. But she inw^ardly 
 recognised the reality that a breach had long 
 existed between her and Horton. She knew 
 that he was aware of her improper intimacy 
 with Louis. He was a man of steel. He 
 would not show it, or own it in any way ; but 
 she felt that he would never foro:ive it. Full 
 well she knew that her chance of recei^dng any 
 of his property apart from her own jointure 
 was entirely lost and gone. If he had made a 
 will she had no doubt whatever that her name 
 did not appear in it. Victor and Francis 
 would probably take it all. Therefore, and to 
 some extent not unnaturally, she hated them, 
 and at the same time dreaded the news of 
 Horton's decease. But for that reason, be- 
 cause she hated and detested them, all the 
 more she desired to see and know them. It 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 211 
 
 Avas her instinct to fondle and make much of 
 those whom she wished to destroy. 
 
 The brothers were in ecstasies with their 
 welcome, Victor especially. He talked of her 
 incessantly. He compared her to all the 
 famous and glorious women history has told 
 of or poets invented. He positively raved of 
 her. It was not wonderful that he did so. 
 He was young ; he had been much secluded ; 
 he was of a particularly ardent temperament ; 
 and he was inordinately vain. His youth and 
 inexperience allowed him to be dazzled ; his 
 ardent temper led him to form daring hopes ; 
 his vanity made him an easy victim. It was 
 so irresistible to have a woman so much 
 superior in age, so resplendently beautiful, so 
 admired and feted, devote so much of her 
 attention to him. He was her slave, her 
 bondsman. He would have done her bidding 
 let it be what it might. His whole mind and 
 soul was full of her, and her only. She be- 
 came a passion, and held him. She overthrew 
 all the ordinary landmarks of his mind and 
 conscience, making him insensible to the 
 
212 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 calls of honour or of natural affection. Victor 
 was entranced. And Francis ? Francis said 
 nothing. He was usually silent, undemon- 
 strative. After he had seen her, lie seemed 
 to retire more and more into himself; to 
 brood over his own existence. Gradually a 
 crevice opened between the two brothers, 
 till now so warmly affectionate. Victor, find- 
 ing no response to his enthusiasm, chafed and 
 sulked, and drew off, and spent his time either 
 with Carlotta or at least away from Francis. 
 Francis did not attempt to detain him. He 
 grew of a sickly hue — pale and sallow. The 
 truth was simple enough. If Carlotta had 
 excited the wildest ima2:inino^s in the mind of 
 the fiery Victor, she had absolutely over- 
 whelmed the weak and feeble younger brother. 
 She in all her glorious beauty had entered 
 into his soul, and driven out his own identity. 
 He brooded upon her night and day ; he kept 
 her photograph constantly before him, and 
 hung over it. Slowly but surely a smoulder- 
 ing fire of jealousy grew up between these 
 two. Francis could not talk as Victor could. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 213 
 
 He was shy, retiring ; nothing could draw him 
 out. Victor pressed forward, said his say, 
 laughed, and used the whole faculties that he 
 possessed. Thus it was that in all company 
 he received twice the attention of the other. 
 Till now Francis was rather glad of this. He 
 rejoiced in his brother's social success, espe- 
 cially as it left him alone and undisturbed. 
 But now he regretted his own shy manners, 
 which he could not shake off, and envied Vic- 
 tor's readiness, till in the end it grew to be a 
 bitter jealousy. Carlotta saw all this. It was 
 part of her plan. Thoroughly she understood 
 the old maxim, ' Divide and rule.' She paid 
 far more attention to Victor; this maddened 
 poor Francis. But secretly she eYery now 
 and then encouraged him, and at the same 
 time she contrived to rouse a suspicion in 
 Victor's mind that Francis received favours 
 unknown to him. This to Victor was worm- 
 wood. It was worse than open preference. 
 He boiled and raged inwardly. He cursed 
 his brother ; not in his hearing, but when 
 alone — a much worse sign. 
 
214 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 All this time there crept about C arietta's 
 mansion a pale and trembling miserable 
 wretch. It was Maud. A bitter, bitter jeal- 
 ousy arose in her mind. She had feared 
 this, foreseen it. It fascinated her to watch 
 Victor with Carlotta. The iron went right 
 into her heart, and festered there. She 
 saw his bright and happy face beaming with 
 joy if Carlotta favoured him. She saw his 
 frowning look, his fiery glance, if Francis 
 or any one else received a smile. She sa^v^ 
 his eager desire, his ardent worship. Her 
 very blood turned cold, and she shivered, as 
 she watched. And she knew that Carlotta 
 was playing with him — playing as a cat would 
 with a mouse. Can anything be imagined 
 more wretched, more miserable, than the posi- 
 tion of this woman — guilty herself, conscience 
 stricken, at least to some extent, and watch- 
 ing the partner of her guilty joy, the man for 
 whom she had risked all, thus throwing his 
 very soul at the scornful feet of her tyran- 
 nous mistress ? It was, indeed, a cruel punish- 
 ment for her. But it did not chastise her, it 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 215 
 
 did not reduce her to remorse and contrition ; 
 on the contrary, it roused up a fierce and 
 burning desire, not only for revenge upon 
 Carlotta, but to plunge headlong into irre- 
 trievable ruin and disgrace with liim — a dis- 
 grace and a ruin from which there should be 
 no withdrawal, but in which lowest infamy he 
 should be entirely hers. Before condemning 
 her utterly, listen to what Pierce at Avon- 
 bourne, the gentle and the good, has to say 
 upon these things. Victor had no eye for 
 Maud. He never saw her. Her poor and 
 watery sunset paled and faded away before 
 the brilliance of this starlit night, which 
 ' walked in beauty,' and shone with unap- 
 proachable glory. Maud longed to destroy 
 her, to trample her in the dust. With a burst- 
 ing heart she searched her breast, ransacked 
 all the old memories to discover if there was 
 no secret with which she could cast the proud 
 idol as with a lever from its pedestal. The 
 idea of writing to Horton and revealing the 
 fact of her mistress's familiarity with Louis, of 
 which she was perfectly well aware, and pos- 
 
216 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 sessed indisputable proofs of, often occurred 
 to her, but was as often put on one side by 
 the reflection that, in all probability — in fact, 
 she felt no doubt — Horton knew of it already. 
 But she watched and wished ; ready to pounce 
 upon Carlotta, and tear her to pieces with 
 unsparing hatred. 
 
 This playing with the brothers came as 
 a sort of interlude to Carlotta. It soothed 
 her mind a little. She did not forget Heloise; 
 but it distracted her attention for a while. It 
 sustained her over-wxening vanity to find that 
 her charms were still irresistible. She boasted 
 of this aloud to Maud in her dressing' -room. 
 She laved her magnificent bust, and called 
 to Maud to come and look upon it; and 
 taunted her with the want of such splendid 
 curves. She triumphed in her intense vitality. 
 ^ I am forty,' she said ; ' only five years younger 
 than you ; and look at me ! You are faded ; 
 your complexion is turning yellow and bilious. 
 I am white, firm, smooth, full. Ah, the men 
 cannot resist me. I am a goddess!' And she 
 laughed in Maud's face, and showed her white 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 217 
 
 teeth. It Avas insufferable ; it drove the 
 wretched creature frantic. She could have 
 stabbed her upon the spot. But this is the 
 pecuharity of these women : they hate each 
 other to the death ; they spit venom over each 
 other, and torture each other mth horrible 
 glee. But they lay no physical hands upon 
 the detested object. Such things only occur 
 in novels; in real life women never stab or 
 murder. They feel it ; but they never do it. 
 They fight with sharper weapons than steel, 
 with weapons which pierce to the very soul, 
 and sting it to torture and misery. Thus 
 Maud stood outwardly patient and calm, lis- 
 tening apparently unmoved, yet ready at the 
 sUghtest opportunity to dig the dagger of 
 moral and social vengeance into that shapely 
 and voluptuous form. Playing with these 
 boys was an interlude in the great drama 
 to Carlotta. It refreshed her, revived and 
 strengthened her. But the catlike in- 
 stinct within her drove her too far. She ex- 
 cited them too much. Thus thrilled to the 
 very inmost core with envy and jealousy, a 
 
218 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 collision was inevitable. It came at last, 
 simply enough. It was a dusky evening; 
 they were both at Carlotta's. Victor was in 
 the drawing-room with her. Francis had 
 somehow wandered into the conservatory, 
 where he sat alone, brooding, brooding, brood- 
 ing. Presently Carlotta left the drawing- 
 room. Victor chafed at her absence — grew 
 impatient ; at last determined to seek her. 
 At that very moment Maud was watching to 
 get an interview with him. She waylaid him 
 as he approached the conservatory ; but seeing 
 Francis, stepped aside. Victor heard the 
 rustle of her dress, but did not see her. He 
 thought it was Carlotta — Carlotta, who had 
 been alone in the dusky conservatory with 
 Francis. In an instant the long-suppressed 
 rage burst forth. He called his brother a fool, 
 and worse. Francis rose to his feet, pale as 
 death, but without a tremble in his limbs. 
 He faced his brother, but said nothing. In 
 an ungovernable rage, Vicror, construing this 
 silence into assent that Carlotta had been 
 there, struck him full in the chest. Francis 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 219 
 
 staggered, but with a cry returned, and feebly 
 hit out. Then the devil rose in Victor, as he 
 felt the weak blow, and with one strong fierce 
 thrust of his muscular arm he drove Francis 
 headlong down and through the frail support 
 of the plants, crashing into the hollow space 
 beneath. His head struck the brick pavement, 
 and he laid still and silent. Victor turned on 
 his heel with a curse, and left the place. Then 
 Maud stole out from her hiding-spot, and 
 helped up the fallen man. He was insensible ; 
 but her eau de Cologne brought him to in 
 time. He groaned once, and only once. 
 Then he besought her to help him to a cab. 
 She got him out somehow by the garden 
 entrance, and into a hansom. 
 
 Maud returned musing to the house, to find 
 Victor bending over Carlotta, as if nothing 
 had happened. She went upstairs, and taking 
 out her desk wrote to Horton an account of 
 what had occurred, of the terrible fascination 
 Carlotta exercised, of the fight, and Victor's 
 utter abandonment to the wiles of his idol. 
 At first she tried to disguise her handwrit- 
 
220 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ing, but she found all effort needless. Her 
 hand shook till the scrawl was barely legible. 
 She easily insured its safe postage. She 
 imust get Victor separated from Carlotta, or 
 her heart would burst. 
 
 There is a tragic and ancient story, a legend 
 of the far-off and distant past, which tells 
 how, of two brothers sacrificing to God, one 
 struck his fellow and killed him, and thus 
 introduced death into the world. It was one 
 of Louis's wicked sneering remarks, that he 
 never could understand how one man could 
 kill another over a mere difference in religion, 
 over a sacrifice. Had there been a woman 
 in dispute between them, he could have more 
 easily credited the death of Abel at Cain's 
 hands. 
 
 Not that Francis died, or was even se- 
 riously hurt. In a sense, it was not he who 
 was slain ; it was Victor who morally died. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was the more dangerous for Noel, because 
 he saw Heloise grow more and more beautiful 
 every day. He had not at the first seen 
 ]ier in the full splendour of her loveliness. 
 She was pale, weak, an invalid, shorn of half 
 her beauty; }^et even then she had fastened 
 his attention. But now, day by day, as she 
 grew better and stronger, and the hue of 
 health returned to her cheek, fresh loveliness 
 suffused her whole being, as the glow of the 
 dawn lights up the grey sky of morning. If 
 she had touched his heart before, how much 
 more dangerous was it not now! At first 
 he questioned himself — doubted, argued Avith 
 liimself; but that was a process that could 
 not long continue with Noel. He simply 
 ignored all questions and doubts and per- 
 plexities, and went on visiting and seeing her 
 
222 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 week after week, without once asking himself 
 to what all this must tend. He said nothing, 
 did nothing to hint in the faintest manner vt 
 his love ; but it was absolutely necessary to 
 him to see her. It grew upon him ; the 
 days when he was away from her were inex- 
 pressibly long and weary. Till now he had 
 looked upon Georgie as rather a bore — a 
 very estimable person, but too much occupied 
 with abstract ideas to afford amusement or 
 company. Now she became invested with an 
 attraction not her own ; the light of Heloise 
 lingered on her. Xoel cultivated her friend- 
 ship; he even entered so far as in him lay 
 into her theories. He did not do this from 
 any deep design ; he was incapable of forming 
 a deliberate plan to deceive. It was the un- 
 conscious outcome of his rising passion. 
 
 Georgie was constantly with Heloise ; it 
 was natural to pay attention to her. On her 
 part Georgie was delighted to find a new 
 proselyte. She worked hard at Noel; she 
 exhibited all her stores of aro-ument and 
 
 o 
 
 thought in the endeavour to enlist another 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 223 
 
 champion of women's right. In the heat of 
 this pursuit she never noticed that Noel's 
 gaze was for ever upon Heloise ; she did not 
 observe his abstraction, his abrupt answers 
 and disconnected questions ; nor did she no- 
 tice that she was herself giving him an oppor- 
 tunity of almost constantly seeing Heloise. 
 Thus unconsciously Georgie acted as a screen 
 to allow these two to meet ; and thus she 
 also afforded facilities for scandal to fix upon 
 Heloise's name. How bitterly she would 
 have blamed herself— how decidedly she would 
 have stayed the progress of things, if only 
 she had seen this ! But she was blinded. So 
 it was that for weeks and weeks Noel sat with 
 Heloise, and drank-in her increasing beauty 
 day by day, and watched her being in all its 
 outward manifestations. All this while there 
 was no thought of Louis in his mind. As he 
 had to Heloise, so Louis had struck himself 
 out of the sight of others. The scar upon 
 Heloise's lip had driven him from his rightful 
 position : Noel never thought of him. This 
 was absolutely true ; Louis never entered 
 
224 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 into his thoughts, yet the consciousness that 
 Heloise was married did. But the man she 
 was tied to was an abstract idea, no personal 
 reality. 
 
 Louis meantime was never seen. He 
 had completely abandoned his mansion. They 
 never heard his name ; they never saw him, 
 or had any conception of his whereabouts. 
 No one recollected when last he had been at 
 home, no one had heard for where he had 
 departed; they were left entirely to them- 
 selves. Gradually, too, it seemed as if all 
 old acquaintances dropped off one by one. 
 In the morning Heloise remembered that 
 friends used to call incessantly; even during 
 her illness the carriages were constantly at 
 the door. These had dwindled in number, 
 till now the roll of wheels was never heard, 
 the bell was never rung; the house was left 
 alone, solitary. Heloise recognised this with 
 a sigh of relief. While she had been ill she 
 could avoid seeing people under that pretext. 
 She had prolonged it as far as decency would 
 allow. Then she had seen several. They did 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 225 
 
 not make too curious inquiries, but her sen- 
 sitive organisation felt that they were criti- 
 cising the scar upon her lip; so that it was 
 a relief to see no one, and she did not remark 
 upon it. It was what she preferred ; and 
 in a little time all thousfht or notice of the 
 
 o 
 
 change passed away from her. A new enter- 
 tainment had opened for her. She was tired 
 of reading ; the fanciful heroes and heroines 
 had lost their interest from reiteration. She 
 had begun to cast about for a new mode of 
 passing the time. 
 
 Hitherto Noel had sat silent at their 
 evening meetings — silent and watching; but 
 by slow degrees the sense of restraint wore off, 
 and he spoke. Heloise learnt from Georgie 
 of his wondrous travels, and she pressed upon 
 him to relate them for her gratification. 
 Noel, who could never be persuaded to write 
 a book, hung back and hesitated ; but she 
 drew him on — she was really curious. Then 
 he began. At first it was a mere bald narra- 
 tive of journeys, how one day he was here, 
 and another there; but the questions of the 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 listeners drew from him minute particulars: 
 thus he was led on to details. In the end, a 
 glowing graphic narrative flowed from his 
 lips; such a tale of adventure and danger 
 as it had fallen to the lot of few to dare, 
 and to return to tell. Heloise became spell- 
 bound. Her gaze fastened upon this man, 
 her eyes never moved from his face ; but her 
 soul, her thought was far away, following the 
 ideal or abstract Xoel through these perils of 
 the forest, the desert, and the deep. That 
 abstract wanderer became endowed and sur- 
 rounded with all the halo of her own imagi- 
 nations, till at last she woke up and saw her 
 hero before her in tangible reality. Then 
 Heloise grew meditative and thoughtful ; 
 from her mind, too, Louis had utterly de- 
 parted — it was open, free, unoccupied. 
 Therein from that hour there grew up and 
 increased the image of another. The thought 
 of love never occurred to her. At that time, 
 perhaps, love had not been born in her heart. 
 But she dwelt upon him ; he was not as other 
 men. There was much in his complete con- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 227 
 
 trast to herself. He was so grandly, so 
 heroically bold — so godlike in disregard, in 
 command almost, of danger ; she was so sen- 
 sitive, so shrinking, and timorous. Never 
 before had she met a man of this class ; they 
 had all been commonplace — carpet-knights. 
 This man had fought with Nature, had met 
 her in the innumerable fearful shapes she had 
 assumed, like the magicians of old, and had 
 overcome her. He had encountered her in 
 the form of the desert, the blinding sand, the 
 fierce heat, the burning thirst; he had met 
 her in the forest, with its fever, its beasts and 
 serpents ; he had met her upon the vast and 
 illimitable ocean, face to face with her raging 
 storms and thunder; he had met her in a 
 still worse shape — in the shape of human 
 beings dead to all human feelings, brutes of 
 the wild and desolate places. Couching his 
 lance, he had rushed at them all, and over- 
 thrown all, and conquered all. In his own 
 person he had accomplished those very deeds 
 which others only read of and wondered at. 
 There was a fascination about the man — the 
 
228 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 fascination of ten thousand dangers. Multi- 
 tudes go to see the man who exposes himself 
 to danger. How many hundreds of thousands 
 hung upon the motions of Blondin on the 
 high rope ! With what eager anxiety and in- 
 terest men rush to the shore to watch a ship- 
 wreck, or tear through the streets to the site 
 of a fire ! But this man Noel, danger, death, 
 disease — all horror and fear sat upon his 
 brow, and played with him, and he with them, 
 as the snake-charmer toys with the fatal 
 serpents.- He stood apart — a being by him- 
 self ; and she mused upon him, thought of 
 him, and wondered at him, till there arose in 
 her gentle and affectionate breast an almost 
 motherly yearning and tender care for him — 
 a sympathy deep down in the very core of 
 her being. She could have stroked him 
 smoothly with her hand, she could have 
 arranged his pillow for him, and watched 
 him slumber, holding her breath lest he 
 should awaken. Deeper still arose a rever- 
 ence, an almost fearful reverence of him. He 
 was of another order — very Fate and Destiny 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 229 
 
 themselves had marked him. She never 
 thought of Louis; but subtle analysts of the 
 human heart and brain may perhaps claim 
 that there was something in all this of the 
 revulsion, the recoil from Louis's utter lack 
 of those qualities she now felt the influence 
 of. He was artificial to the very centre, a 
 scoffer, carefully avoiding all personal risk, 
 scoffing at the brave as fools. There is no 
 need to dilate on what Louis was — loe have 
 seen him. She herself never recognised this ; 
 daily her mind and soul centred themselves 
 more and more upon Noel. The manliness 
 of his bearing fixed itself before her mental 
 eye, and she saw him always. There came 
 a time, too, when she remembered the years 
 at Avonbourne, and the teaching she had 
 imbibed there at the hand of Pierce — the 
 teaching which drew its deepest lessons from 
 the works of nature ; from the sky, the sea, 
 the hills, and the trees. She remembered 
 her visions upon the hill-side, lying on the 
 soft and velvet turf, dreamily watching the 
 slowly-driving clouds, or the shadows over 
 
230 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the golden fields of wheat. Soft memories of 
 these dreams and aspirations — aspirations 
 without a name — came back upon her. 
 Verily it seemed as if this man Noel was the 
 very hero, the very human impersonation of 
 these idealities, these voiceless hopes and 
 imaginings. They had come to her at last 
 in shape and form and tangible reality. Thus 
 Noel came to be surrounded with an atmo- 
 sphere of all things beautiful and desirable. 
 Gradually and imperceptibly she grew to 
 dwell upon his coming and his going — to 
 watch and wait for his arrival, to sigh at his 
 departure, and to restlessly long for the in- 
 tervening time to pass. She entered upon a 
 new. existence; the monotony of her life 
 passed away; the days were dull and long 
 no more ; the weariness and ennui faded ; the 
 slow step, the lack of energy, the languidness, 
 were overcome. Her step once more was 
 quick and free, her eyes sparkled and danced 
 as they had done in the olden time at happy 
 Avonbourne. The restlessness, the vivacity 
 returned : she sang as she walked about. The 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 231 
 
 physicians saw this, and announced that she 
 was well; Georgie saw it and rejoiced, with- 
 out the slightest suspicion of the cause; Noel 
 saw it, and was overcome. This was still 
 more dangerous for him. He had pictured 
 her as quiet even to a fault ; now he saw her 
 in all the glory of her natural spirits and 
 buoyancy. The infection of her joy caught 
 him, and he put away all thoughts and per- 
 plexities to revel in the pleasant present. 
 Still no thought of Louis. 
 
 There was a magic about Heloise now that 
 she had not possessed at Avonbourne in her 
 earlier time. She was as young as ever — not 
 only in years, but in manner and ways. But 
 there was the additional charm now of a sense 
 of depth that had not previously existed. She 
 was almost too light and gieesome at Avon- 
 bourne — too childish, too much like the foam, 
 and the foam only. Now there was a solidity, 
 a depth behind the gladsome ring of her voice 
 and the sparkle of her eyes, which impressed 
 those who saw her with a more lasting me- 
 mory. Her form too had altered and ira- 
 
232 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 proved. She had been a little too slight, too 
 fragile. She was slender still ; but the arms 
 were firmer, rounder, the neck and bust 
 fuller. She had all the youth of the child, 
 with the charm of the full-grown woman. 
 Once — and once only — a thought crossed 
 Georgie's mind, as she looked at her, of how 
 dangerously lovely she was. Women, even 
 when the dearest of friends, are not apt to 
 dwell on the beauty of another. The thought 
 passed away as quickly as it came, but the 
 memory of it recurred to her in after times. 
 
 Thus, without a thought of evil, the germ 
 of unutterable love sprang up in Heloise's 
 heart. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It was a difficult task that Georgie had now 
 before her. Though they had lived so long 
 on familiar terms, though they had travelled 
 together, and had conversed upon almost 
 every possible topic, yet she hesitated and 
 faltered when the pressure of fast-flying time 
 brought on the necessity of discussing their 
 marriage. Had all gone on as it had begun 
 — had no difficulty arisen in her mind — there 
 would have been no reluctance on her part. 
 Previously she had not avoided the subject, 
 but spoken of it freely and without reserve. 
 But now that her mind had been shaken and 
 her confidence upset by the miserable conse- 
 quences of marriage as she had witnessed 
 them, she experienced the utmost reluctance 
 to speak upon the subject, and most of all to- 
 Neville. He noticed this, but he attributed 
 
234 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 it to the natural modesty of her sex, and it 
 caused him no alarm. He did not press her 
 for the cause, or question her as to her mean- 
 ing. This put her in still greater difficulties. 
 She had hoped that he would press and ques- 
 tion her, that he would open the subject : 
 instead of which, time went on, and Neville, 
 perfectly contented, said not a word, while 
 poor Georgie, ever growing more doubtful, 
 knew not what to do, and was afraid to 
 address herself to him lest he should doubt 
 her love and reproach her with deceiving 
 him. At last, however, she made up her 
 mind, and with many an inward tremble 
 launched out boldly into the inevitable argu- 
 ment which she knew must follow. She be- 
 gan about Heloise; she pictured poor Heloise's 
 unhappy alliance in strong and vivid colours, 
 and painted Louis in his true light. The 
 inference was plain, that marriage was a dan- 
 gerous enterprise — a voyage against which 
 there was no insurance. But still Neville 
 would not take her meaning. All he said was 
 that Georgie need not fear — all this did not 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 235 
 
 apply in any way to them. They had known 
 each other for a length of time ; they under- 
 stood each other's habits and grooves of 
 thought ; they were not as others ; they had 
 an evidently happy future. So that Georgie 
 was compelled to state in plain and unmistak- 
 able words her full meaning, conscious all the 
 time that Neville was listening, not only with 
 amazement, but too probably with a grow- 
 ing anger and distrust. What she meant 
 was this. Personally she feared the risk of 
 marriage. She knew and appreciated the 
 worth of Xeville — she never for a moment 
 supposed him capable even under provocation 
 of the atrocious conduct of Louis ; still she 
 had a dread of the unknown. Apart from her 
 own concerns also there arose the question of 
 the right and wrong of marriage. Was it as 
 it at present stood an institution truly and in 
 all completeness in accordance with those laws 
 divine T/hich Heaven had impressed upon hu- 
 man nature, in the same way as laws of mo- 
 tion, for instance, had been affixed to material 
 nature or matter? She confessed that she 
 
236 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 had many and great doubts on this point. As 
 a feeble instrument, as an earnest seeker after 
 truth, was it her duty thus to assist in her 
 own person at the perpetuation of marriage in 
 the present condition of that institution ? In 
 plain words, she did not want to marry under 
 the existing laws of matrimony. Neville lis- 
 tened to this confession in the most utter 
 silence and surprise. He was taken com- 
 pletely off his guard ; he had not the remotest 
 conception that anything of this kind had 
 been working in her mind. The first impulse 
 was one of anger and distrust, just as she had 
 feared. Why had she so long concealed this 
 from him ? But as she proceeded, and as he 
 marked her evident confusion and the diffi- 
 culty under which she laboured in explaining 
 herself, this feeling wore away, and in all love 
 and tenderness he set earnestly to work to 
 combat her decision. It was unfair, he said, 
 to judge of marriage by the unfortunate ex- 
 ample of Heloise and Louis. One example 
 did not prove a case. If she argued from the 
 evil result in this instance that all men were 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 237 
 
 liable to stray and to err as Louis had done, 
 he might as easily argue that all women were 
 evil and wicked and unfaithful because Horton 
 Knoyle's wife had done as she had. Georgie 
 in an instant snatched at this remark. It 
 proved her very own conclusions ; for, said she, 
 she admitted that the woman was as often at 
 fault as the man, and she could not guarantee 
 that she should never give him provocation. 
 This was all nonsense, cried Neville, really 
 cross for the moment ; it was impossible that 
 Jiis Georgie, his own true Geor^rie, could ever 
 be as Carlotta was. That woman was an ex- 
 ception, a rare occurrence. It was an insult 
 to him even to suppose that he should ever 
 even ask any one at all like her to marry him. 
 If she (Georgie) had ever exhibited the faint- 
 est trace of a disposition resembling Carlotta's 
 he would never have continued so long in her 
 society. Then Georgie, beaten and driven 
 back in the personal argument, but uncon- 
 vinced, widened the scope of the discussion by 
 bringing in the general aspect of the question. 
 To look at it in a philosophical and distinct 
 
238 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 light, was it a natural contract ? The man by 
 the very words of the marriage-service was to 
 be considered as a being immensely superior 
 to the woman — a creature so much grander 
 and nobler that the woman was made to swear 
 that she would obey him. Now one of the 
 first principles of that small but heroic band 
 of persons of which she had the honour of 
 being a member, however unworthy, was that 
 the woman was really equal to the man. How 
 could she then swear in all honour to ' obey' 
 — that was to surrender up her very soul, to 
 give up the right of private judgment? That 
 very right of private judgment for which the 
 martyrs of the Protestant cause had so cheer- 
 fully died, as the first and most fundamen- 
 tal of the relations between the creature and 
 the Creator. If, then, she as a Protestant 
 did not surrender her judgment to the priest, 
 the holy Church, the representative of Heaven, 
 how could she surrender it to a man, a person 
 of whom she believed herself to be the natural 
 equal ? 
 
 Neville did not attempt to argue this point 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 239 
 
 with her. He knew that it would arouse the 
 dearest prejudices of her sect. He contented 
 himself with saying that the phrase ^obey' 
 need not in their case at least be taken in so 
 full and expansive a sense. She must know 
 full well that he had no desire to tyrannise 
 over her, to control her either morally, men- 
 tally, or physically. Had he ever shown any 
 disposition to do so? Had he not ever, on 
 the contrary, rather bent his own inclination 
 to favour her views ? But if the experience 
 she had had of him was not sufficient, he would 
 go still further. At least she knew she might 
 rely upon his honour. He would give her his 
 most solemn word of honour — he would take 
 an oath if she pleased — that he would in no 
 way attempt to control or interfere with her 
 in the slightest degree. That would surely 
 satisfy her and meet her objection. No, she 
 did not mean what she had said in that way. 
 She did not suppose that he would ever take 
 advantage of the power which the law would 
 give him — a power, by the bye, which no oath 
 or promise could deprive him of The law 
 
240 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 did not recognise illegal contracts. But he 
 really quite misunderstood her. He must re- 
 member that all men were not j^evilles ; all 
 men had not his intellect, his calmness, his 
 generous forbearance. She stood forward as 
 the representative of woman in general, she 
 did not demand her own rights ; it was in the 
 interest of her whole sex that she hesitated to 
 enter into matrimony. What then, asked 
 Neville, did she mean? What was the ulti- 
 mate meaning of all this ? Were they never 
 to marry — were they ever to remain apart, 
 mere friends, acquaintances, fellow-students, 
 no more ? Georgie was unprepared here. She 
 had no ready answer — her heart beat too fast. 
 This came home to her. She could not rise 
 completely superior to her own feelings ; yet 
 she managed to say that such must be the 
 case, at least till some alteration took place in 
 the marriage-laws. Then Neville threw his 
 arms round her and held her close, and gazed 
 earnestly into her eyes — eyes that faltered and 
 turned away from him. Did she really mean 
 this seriously, or was she only trying him ? 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 241 
 
 Surely she never could mean it ? Surely his 
 Georgie loved him ? Her head drooped on 
 his shoulder, and her eyes filled with tears. 
 Love him — love him ? He knew that her 
 whole heart was his. Then why not let love 
 assert its supremacy and overcome these mere 
 shadowy objections, these mere fancies of the 
 mind. To her — so highly intellectual — after 
 all, these acts of parliament, these institutions 
 as they were called, could be really of no con- 
 sequence ; she could see beyond and through 
 them. Let love assert itself and conquer all 
 thino^s. For the moment he almost convinced 
 her. She wavered and gave way. He pressed 
 a warm and lingering kiss upon her lips, his 
 embrace tightened. He pursued his advan- 
 tage. He could feel her heart beating and 
 throbbing tumultuously. But suddenly she 
 burst away from him, and stood up to her full 
 height in all the majestic beauty of her stature 
 and her statuesque shape. The mind within, 
 whether mistaken or not, exercised its do- 
 minance over the heart and the feelino^s. The 
 mind conquered. She hesitated no more. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 She declared her purpose firmly, decidedly: 
 she would never, never marry under the pre- 
 sent laws. She loved him — she confessed it 
 freely, openly. Never should she love any 
 other — never forget his memory, or what he 
 had been to her. Always he would be her 
 dearest friend, her chosen companion ; always 
 he would be her leader, her adviser. But 
 never, never would she reduce herself to the 
 level of a slave chained for ever. Then she 
 turned and fled, not trusting herself to say 
 more. 
 
 Neville was left alone. He was literally 
 overwhelmed, it came so unexpectedly upon 
 him. But yesterday happy in the anticipation 
 of the rapidly approaching union, and now in 
 a moment the ground was cut away from be- 
 neath his feet. He felt giddy, his head seemed 
 stunned. He hardly knew what he did, nor 
 could he fully realise the position. It was 
 days before he recovered himself, and once 
 more, with renewed love and affection, set 
 himself to overcome her rash resolution. He 
 did not attempt to argue, he even totally 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 243 
 
 ignored the subject; but he showed his love 
 more plainly than before. They had been so 
 long living on familiar terms and in such con- 
 stant intercourse, that to a certain extent 
 those little attentions and courtesies which 
 are the lano^uao;e of love had been neo;lected. 
 Seville renewed them. He watched her every 
 motion, he anticipated her very thought. His 
 hand lingered in hers ; there was an increased 
 warmth in his glance, a tender intonation in 
 his voice. The intense affection of the man 
 spoke out from his entire being. This was 
 very trying to Georgie. At first she attempted 
 to ignore it, to pass it off; but the endea- 
 vour was useless. She could not; her wo- 
 man's heart cluno^ to him, her beino; thrilled 
 at his touch, her heart hung upon his words. 
 Gradually she melted. Nothing was said 
 about marriage, but the reserve which Georgie 
 had begun to maintain melted away. She 
 basked in the sunshine of his love ; she gave 
 herself up to the intoxicating delight. She 
 told herself that this was allowable at least ; 
 in this she did not desert her post and her 
 
244 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 mission. She did not recognise that in this 
 very abandonment of herself to him she was 
 even then surrendering her private judgment ; 
 that at that moment she ' obeyed' him in the 
 true spiritual sense. Her soul answered to 
 his, and moved now this, now that way, as his 
 inclined ; her mind was absorbed in his mind. 
 This was obedience in its most absolute and 
 highest excellence. In the silence of the 
 night, alone in her bed, Georgie, unconsciously 
 to herself almost, was engaged in working out 
 the problem how to reconcile this complete 
 and utter devotion to Neville with the usages 
 and the requirements of modern society. 
 Was there no means, no way of enjoying the 
 intense and heavenly happiness without sur- 
 rendering her post and mission, and yet at the 
 same time satisfying those requirements of 
 morality and decorum which society properly 
 and rightly demanded should be observed? 
 She did not put the question before her in so 
 many words, but it was constantly present in 
 her mind. The instinct of love was certainly 
 implanted in the human creature by its Crea- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 245 
 
 tor ; it was born with it as much as the in- 
 stinct of eating and drinking. It was there- 
 fore as lawful to indulge in the one as in the 
 other. More than that, if society by a tradi- 
 tional usage — by the laws of marriage in fact 
 — prevented a rational creature from follow- 
 ing that instinct, then society constituted itself 
 a law-giver, and took upon itself to oppose 
 nature and Heaven. In other words, if she 
 was prevented from marrying Neville by the 
 irrational and unrighteous nature of this con- 
 tract, if she was compelled to accept an il. 
 logical contract or to abstain, it was evident 
 that society was not only wrong but guilty. 
 Heaven gave her a mind, and in giving her 
 that mind commanded her to use it. By using 
 that mind she discovered that marriage as at 
 present contracted was irrational and led to 
 the worst consequences. But Heaven had 
 also given her a heart and bade her love, and 
 it was her right to indulge that love as much 
 as it was her right to think and act for her- 
 self. Therefore those who opposed the free 
 exercise of both these endowments, of the 
 
246 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 mind and the heart, must be opposing the will 
 of Heaven. Was there no way of reconciling 
 the laws of nature with the laws of society ? 
 This was her problem night and day. 
 
 There came a time when an idea dawned 
 upon Georgie which seemed to promise to go 
 fairly towards solving the difficult and com- 
 plex question. Her modesty recoiled from 
 it at first; but she conquered her modesty, 
 at least this species of modesty, in the same 
 way as she had conquered the allurements 
 of her feelings. Slowly and by degrees she 
 thought it out and planned it all. Then 
 with this came a certain complacency, a glow 
 of satisfaction, that she had been chosen to 
 inaugurate a new era, to set an example for 
 all time to follow. Out of this feeling grew 
 up a resolution to carry out her purpose, let 
 the world say what it might, let whatever 
 difficulties occur. Her love and her enthu- 
 siasm in her cause she felt sure would carry 
 her triumphantly through. With one bold 
 step she should free her sex from the trammels 
 which bound them. She should be the Ma- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 247 
 
 hornet, the prophet of a new social dispensa- 
 tion. She would sacrifice herself unhesitat- 
 ingly, freely, to procure this great and 
 inestimable advantage to her kind. Upheld 
 by the strength of her faith and of her en- 
 thusiasm, she would face the burning fires of 
 scandal, and finally conquer the dark armies 
 of prejudice. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Perhaps of all the trash that was ever written 
 or printed nothing equals the abominable bosh 
 which issues day by day from the French 
 press as fiction. This is speaking of course 
 in the aggregate. French novels there may 
 be unoffending at least; but the mass are 
 infected with a corruption unsurpassed in its 
 foulness. Yet out of all this vast heap of 
 loathsome scurrility there may be gleaned at 
 least one exceedingly bright and resplendent 
 jewel. Among the odd and fantastic crea- 
 tions of the prolific pen of Alexandre Dumas 
 there exist three chapters worthy to be 
 enshrined in the very cathedral of literature. 
 And of all other books these chapters are to 
 be found in Monte Christo — that most impro- 
 bable work. Yet there they are — precious 
 gems set in lead and hidden beneath loads of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 249 
 
 verbiage, unnoticed by the careless, scarcely 
 alluded to or ever thought of in the works of 
 other authors. These chapters detail the life 
 and labours of the Abbe in the prison on the 
 French island. The sailor who is confined in 
 the deep dungeons of that structure for some 
 alleged political offence passes months in a 
 state of mind which changes from a madden- 
 ing rage and impotent restlessness to a con- 
 dition of mental stupor, utterly overcome 
 and conquered by the oppressive loneliness 
 and the war of his own passions. It is then 
 that, sitting in silence and perfect repose in 
 his cell, he becomes gradually conscious of a 
 slight knocking sound, a dull and muffled 
 thumping apparently proceeding from a depth 
 beneath his bed. By slow degrees this noise 
 becomes more and more loud; but it in- 
 variably ceases a few minutes before the 
 gaoler visits him with food; hence he natu- 
 rally concludes that it is some prisoner en- 
 deavouring to escape. Impressed with this 
 idea he waits till the sound recommences, 
 and then stamps with his foot ; instantly the 
 
250 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 noise ceases. In this way he estabhshes a 
 means of communication with the other, and 
 at length by the removal of a stone, a narrow- 
 tunnel is exposed, some twenty feet in length, 
 running through the solid wall of the prison 
 fortress. From this tunnel emerges the per- 
 son of a prisoner — the Abbe. These two 
 become friends, and the sailor is introduced 
 to the Abbe's labours. This man has been 
 confined there for many years. In vain he 
 waits for release, and offers millions to be 
 permitted to reenter life. This offer of mil- 
 lions leads the authorities to the belief that 
 he is mad. Even the sailor, struck as he is 
 with the Abbe's ingenuity, is a little staggered 
 with the other's persistent claim to be the 
 discoverer of enormous fortunes. However, 
 he listens to the story. The Abbe was secre- 
 tary to the Cardinal Spada, who, himself poor, 
 was the descendant of a cardinal tempore 
 Caesar Borgia, who possessed fabulous wealth, 
 and was in fact poisoned for that wealth by 
 the famous son of Pope Alexander VI. But 
 after his death not a ducat of this enormous 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 251 
 
 treasure could be found — it had vanished, and 
 Borgia was disappointed. A tradition sur- 
 vived that it had been hidden on some deso- 
 late and uninhabited spot from a dread of this 
 very assassination. The Abbe, secretary to 
 the modern cardinal, exercises his ingenuity 
 in endeavourino: to discover these lost mil- 
 lions, but fails entirely, till the Cardinal 
 dying bequeaths to him his books and a few 
 hundred scudi. After destroying the private 
 papers of the deceased, the Abbe sits in the 
 study mournfully recollecting his virtues and 
 friendship till the increasing darkness causes 
 him to light a lamp. For this purpose he 
 snatches up a piece of parchment lying as a 
 marker in a breviary that had belonged to the 
 assassinated cardinal three centuries previous. 
 As the parchment shrivels in the flame 
 he observes written characters stand out, re- 
 vealed by the heat from the secret ink in 
 which they were originally inscribed. He 
 blows it out, but on inspection only sufficient 
 remains to show that it was a memorandum 
 of the ancient cardinal of the spot where he 
 
252 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 had buried his treasure. All the directions 
 and indications of the spot are burnt, to his 
 intense chagrin. But the Abbe with ceaseless 
 patience, and with extraordinary ingenuity, 
 restores word by word, and letter by letter, 
 the missing guides, and at last produces a 
 perfect copy of the original paper, with full 
 directions as to the place of burial of the 
 treasures. These directions he is about to 
 follow, when he is arrested for j)olitical pur- 
 poses and cast into prison. There he remains 
 for years making applications to various parties 
 to release him, and oifering millions of money 
 to the prison authorities to connive at his 
 escape. They laugh him to scorn as mad. 
 During all the time that he does not abandon 
 hopes of release from without the Abbe is 
 eno^ao^ed on the most ino;enious works. He 
 constructs a sun-dial, by means of which and 
 a ray of sunlight that enters the window, he 
 is enabled to measure the flight of time. He 
 makes ink with the lampblack from his lamp 
 and the oil which feeds it. His paper he sup- 
 plies by tearing a linen shirt into narrow 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 253 
 
 strips. On this he composes a history of 
 Italy, writing the more important passages 
 in blood drawn from his own arm. His pen 
 is made of a piece of fish-bone, taken from the 
 fish supplied as food. He makes a geome- 
 trical calculation of the thickness and direc- 
 tion of the prison walls, and having laid down 
 the direction a subterranean tunnel must 
 pursue to enable him to escape, he sets to 
 work to drill it through the solid wall. His 
 food is supplied in an earthenware dish ; 
 this he breaks, till it is brought in a species 
 of iron pan with a handle. This handle he 
 uses as a chisel, and with it by degrees works 
 out stones and mortar, till at last, after years 
 of labour, he arrives under the sailor's cell, 
 only to find that by an error in his calcula- 
 tion he has deviated from the proper course, 
 and is no nearer escape, while his increasing 
 age and feebleness prevent him from further 
 effort. But even then he submits with un- 
 failing patience. The contrast between the 
 restless sailor and the calm, patient, persever- 
 ing, ingenious, and almost divine Abbe, is 
 
254 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 striking in the extreme merely as a dramatic 
 fiction. 
 
 These chapters ought to be printed in 
 gold letters, and distributed by the societies 
 in London which busy themselves with the 
 moral education of the masses. They should 
 be hung up in crimson and purple covers in 
 the study of every man who claims the pre- 
 rogative of thought. They should be printed 
 at the end of the Apocrypha, as in themselves 
 the finest record of human wisdom, worthy of 
 admiration in all time to come. The man 
 who could write them must have bfeen, with 
 all his faults, no common individual. The 
 lessons they teach are simply sublime. The 
 conquest of human patience, of human inge- 
 nuity and ceaseless labour over matter, over 
 all the obstacles that could be presented to it, 
 was never so strikingly shown. Out from the 
 very page starts up a voice crying, 'Go thou 
 and do likewise. With such patience, such 
 perseverance, such ceaseless labour and inge- 
 nuity, there is nothing thou canst not do, 
 nothing that need in any wise a23pal thee.' 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 255 
 
 This is the inestimable jewel in the toad's 
 head of French filth. 
 
 It was with this 'eternal patience/ this 
 endless ingenuity, and unfailing perseverance, 
 that HortonKnoyle, the millionnaire, had built 
 up his colossal fortune, bit by bit, and step by 
 step. From the low position of the second 
 son of a country gentleman, barely rich enough 
 to give his eldest a profession, and only able to 
 afibrd an education to the rest, Horton had 
 risen by the sheer power of his own mind to 
 be the companion of princes and the friend of 
 kings. By tiny morsels at a time his mind of 
 polished steel had bored its Avay clean through 
 the thickest walls of society — to emerge in 
 what? The story of the Abbe has its sad side 
 too. He emero^ed in a duno-eon. Horton 
 emerged in — But we shall see. 
 
 It was part of Carlotta's plan to avoid 
 alarming Heloise. If the slightest rumour 
 reached her ears that people had begun to 
 talk of Noel's visits, then her scheme was at 
 an end. Heloise would take the alarm, and 
 be upon her guard. Outwardly at least aU 
 
256 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 would be well. In this plan Carlotta did not 
 take into account the possible virtue of Noel. 
 She set him down as the same as other men. 
 Thoroughly she adhered to the belief that 'the 
 thoughts of men's hearts are evil continuously.' 
 It never occurred to her that possibly Noel 
 might admire Heloise, even love to the verge 
 of desperation, and yet stay at the verge, 
 and go no further. She did not believe in 
 human resistance to temptation. She had 
 tempted too many, and watched them fall. 
 Had she not, for a time at least, tempted this 
 very man? Louis's absence from home was 
 by collusion. He obeyed Carlotta's instruc- 
 tions to give the two every opportunity that 
 could lead to crime. He went further than 
 mere absence from home. He abstained from 
 all society in town — saving Carlotta's, which 
 he enjoyed by stealth — so that men said he 
 was on the Continent. Then Carlotta spread 
 one of those whispers which travel from house 
 to house, unseen, yet rapid as the telegraph. 
 There was a domestic difference — a slight, only 
 a slight disagreement — between Louis and his 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 257 
 
 wife. She wished to remain in total obscurity, 
 unvisited, unnoticed for the time. It would 
 be a kindness if people would not call, it was 
 painful to her to meet others. Traced to 
 Carlotta, to Heloise's own sister, the rumour 
 was at once accredited, and acted upon ; 
 while at the same time it roused vague expec- 
 tations of a possible denouement^ and prepared 
 the ground for the ultimate disclosure for 
 which Carlotta sighed. These steps succeeded 
 to perfection. No one visited Heloise. Louis 
 was supposed to be abroad. Noel went oftener 
 and oftener. But after a time Carlotta grew 
 dissatisfied with the progress of aifairs. She 
 could not wait. Her fiery vindictive temper, 
 if it was not employed in scorching up others, 
 must waste its energy in destroying herself. 
 She ate her own heart, to use the old proverb ; 
 she gnawed at herself, and lived upon her own 
 venom and hatred. This could not be borne. 
 Noel made no progress, her spies informed her. 
 He was no nearer now than he had been weeks 
 previously, or even than when he began. He 
 had not even opened his lips. Not a single 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 assignation had taken place between him and 
 Heloise; not a kiss had passed. The man 
 was a milksop. A fierce contempt for him 
 arose in her mind. She hated and despised 
 him at the same moment. The lackadaisical 
 idiot — the mere sentimental baby ! But with 
 this feeling there rose a parallel belief that 
 through ^"oel's instrumentality she should 
 never carry out her project of ruining Heloise ; 
 should never enjoy the spectacle of her dis- 
 grace and fall, to rise no more. Her hot blood 
 surged within her and turned blacker and 
 blacker with the violence of her spite. The 
 very sense of impotence embittered it all. 
 Never before had she failed ; never before been 
 baffled and made to feel her own powerless- 
 ness. Had she been Koel, how easily she could 
 have subdued and enchained a female heart! 
 With what ease she had conquered and en- 
 chained scores of proud men, the masters of 
 the universe, the lords of creation, pah ! 
 the fools. But if man was a fool, woman was 
 the merest plaything. Carlotta entertained 
 the most ineffable contempt for her own sex* 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 259 
 
 Here was a man who could not subdue a child 
 — a mere child such as Heloise. The very in- 
 capacity he exhibited was maddenino^. The 
 dulness of the dolt incensed her beyond all 
 measure. Something else must be done. She 
 must step in herself. Her hand must go to 
 work. A\^ith ease she should conquer. If she 
 were only a man, Heloise would fall within a 
 month ; and society should ring with her de- 
 struction. This creature longed to exchange 
 her sex, that she might effect the ruin of her 
 own flesh and blood. I call her 'creature;^ 
 the word ' woman' is disgraced in such a being. 
 But this Carlotta lived, for I knew her. 
 
 In this frenzied mood of rage and impo- 
 tent hatred there came a letter from Horton's 
 solicitors. This was what she read, slowly, 
 deliberately, as one spells out a death sentence : 
 
 *3 Gray's Inn, iSTovember 187 — . 
 * My Lady, — It is with extreme regret that 
 we are compelled to address you by the in- 
 structions of our much-respected client, your 
 honoured husband. In so doing, we are dis- 
 
260 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 charging a duty as painful to us as the resolu- 
 tion taken by our client must have been to 
 him. We are particularly requested to ap- 
 proach you with every mark of the most ex- 
 alted esteem, and in any negotiations which 
 may arise we are strictly instructed to extend 
 the deepest consideration and the finest deli- 
 cacy towards you. If in any particular we 
 appear to deviate from these instructions, we 
 beg you to attribute it to the lack of words in 
 which to express our client's meaning in an 
 entirely inoffensive manner: and not to any 
 want of study on our part how to spare you 
 the. fain test annoyance. 
 
 ' These were the words dictated to the ac- 
 tive partner of our firm by Horton Knoyle, 
 Esq., who telegraphed for his attendance in 
 Paris: ''You will endeavour to break this 
 decision to Lady Knoyle in a form which shall 
 spare her the slightest sensation of humiliation. 
 She is aware that in the early years of my 
 career, when fortune favoured me with the 
 honour of her hand, I experienced the effect 
 of a sustained and rooted passion for her equal 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 261 
 
 in intensity to my admiration of her unsur- 
 passed beauty. The memory of those times 
 therefore increases the difficulty under which 
 I labour in conveying the altered and es- 
 tranged sentiments of which you will be the 
 channel of communication. These are not 
 hasty steps. The germ of the present move- 
 ment on my part was sown many years ago by 
 the thoughtless — I would not use a stronger 
 expression — by the thoughtless conduct of 
 Lady Knoyle ; a conduct which exposed her 
 to the comments and criticisms of society. 
 These comments and criticisms pained me to 
 the quick, accustomed as I had been the whole 
 of my life to stand before the world unstained, 
 unassailed. But this I passed over without 
 remark ; bearing my wound unseen, and un- 
 spoken of, hidden in my own heart. Since 
 then there has been grooving in my mind an 
 increasing suspicion, warranted by facts that 
 have come to my knowledge, that Lady 
 Knoyle has overstepped the boundaries of 
 mere flirtation, and has indulged in improper 
 familiarities with Lord Fontenoy. My open 
 
262 KESTLESS HOLYX HEARTS. 
 
 use of tliat 2'entleman's name — a use which, if 
 I am mistaken, may subject me to the severest 
 punishment — proves beyond doubt or cavil 
 that I am in possession of credible information, 
 and that I do not act without warrant. Even 
 this, however, I have overlooked and borne 
 with; anxious that the fame and honour of 
 my name should remain pure and unsuspected 
 of an interior corruption by the world, willing 
 to bear my private disappointment with that 
 great object. Therefore I have permitted 
 this intercourse with Lord Fontenoy to exist 
 for a lengthened period; tmtil indeed at List I 
 had grown to bear the daily mortification of 
 my secret disgrace with some little patience, 
 hoping in the end that the better nature of 
 Lady Knoyle might triumph, and enable me 
 to heartily forgive her. But of late an occur- 
 rence has transpired which only came to my 
 ears through an accidental and anonymous 
 channel, but which I have since fully verified ; 
 an occurrence which it is utterly impossible 
 for me to ignore. Having no children myself, 
 I had designed that wealth with vrhich it 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 263 
 
 has pleased Heaven to endow me to descend 
 after my decease to the two sons of my la- 
 mented brother. Anxious that these young 
 men should escape the taints of the world, 
 and that the evil nature which is implanted 
 in every one should in this case at least receive 
 no encouragement to send forth noxious weeds, 
 I placed them, and continued them under the 
 care of a good and benevolent man, till a 
 period arrived at which it was no longer pos- 
 sible to retain them in tutelage. During that 
 time I had secluded them from the personal 
 acquaintance of Lady Knoyle. But I need 
 not dwell upon this painful subject. Suffice it 
 to say that on coming of age these youths were 
 by my orders instructed to call upon Lady 
 Knoyle. What followed it is indeed distress- 
 ing to me to relate to you. The two boys, 
 fascinated with the mature charms of Lady 
 Knoyle, grew jealous, their long friendship 
 was broken, and the elder struck his brother 
 senseless to the earth ; this demoniacal quarrel 
 being fomented by the aunt, their natural 
 adviser on the loss of their parents. On mak- 
 
264 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ing strict inquiries I find that this horrible 
 story is indeed true in every detail. I also 
 find, to my extreme regret, that all the care I 
 had taken in the education of these youths 
 had not prevented the elder from forming a 
 disgraceful liaison^ and from various acts dis- 
 playing a vicious temj)erament. The younger 
 appears to have been entirely misled by his 
 brother, and by — But I will add no further 
 words upon this matter. After this conduct 
 upon the part of Victor Knoyle it becomes, of 
 course, impossible that he can in any way 
 inherit any part of my fortune, or expect any 
 further interest to be taken in his career by 
 me. I feel it also my duty, as trustee for my 
 brother, in the fear lest the possession of too 
 ample means may encourage his propensity 
 to vice, to take the 42,000/. to which he is 
 entitled out of his control, and to pay him 
 instead a life annuity of 300/., which I am 
 empowered to do by the will of my de- 
 ceased brother. Francis will remain in my 
 will. It now remains for me to deal with 
 Lady Knoyle. This last and culminating in- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 265 
 
 discretion, to call it by no harsher words, ex- 
 hibits her character in a light upon which a 
 favourable construction cannot by any inge- 
 nuity be placed. The matter therefore does 
 not admit of argument or of compromise ; strict 
 measures are the only ones I can adopt. The 
 course which after serious consideration I have 
 resolved to follow is this ; and I must entreat 
 you to particularly impress upon her the ex- 
 treme desirability of her at once and without 
 opposition submitting to my decision, since 
 opposition can only lead to exposure, and as an 
 event is approaching which will inevitably and 
 inexorably condemn her. From my will the 
 name of Carlotta Lady Knoyle is, of course, 
 expunged. It will be necessary for me indeed 
 to entirely rewrite my testamentary disposi- 
 tion, which I propose to do speedily with your 
 assistance. The jointure of Lady Knoyle was 
 100,000/. This jointure she no doubt believes 
 she possesses entirely free from any inter- 
 ference upon my behalf And such indeed^ 
 was my intention at the time when my infatua- 
 tion of her beauty was at its height. But it so 
 
266 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 happened that at the very hour when the deeds 
 were to be completed, your late respected 
 partner was on his way to assist in the com- 
 pletion, fell a victim to an accident, and died 
 ere he could reach me. Thus it was that the 
 marriage took place without the formal com- 
 pletion of the document ; and in one word, as 
 you yourselves are perfectly well aware, Lady 
 Knoyle is entirely dependent upon my bounty. 
 While therefore I advise her to retire from 
 society, and to consent to a judicial separation, 
 I do so with full power on every hand to carry 
 out my intention. I propose that she should 
 retire to some spot on the Continent or in 
 America; and for that object I will allow her 
 an immediate sum of 1000/.. all her jewelry, 
 and a further annuity of 1000/. ; which will be 
 ample for all the necessities of life. The loss 
 of that social position which she has hither- 
 to enjoyed will be her punishment for that 
 wanton indiscretion which could not rest satis- 
 fied with these advantages. In the event of 
 her refusing to accept these conditions, there 
 remains but one alternative — a divorce, to which 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAliTS. 267 
 
 extremity I am resolved to proceed. You, 
 gentlemen, arc aware that I possess evidence 
 sufficient for that purpose ; and in that event 
 I shall absolve myself of all responsibilities as 
 to Lady Knoyle's future existence. These are 
 my unalterable decisions, and I request that I 
 may be spared the pain of needless pleading, 
 to which I shall lend a deaf ear. You will 
 oblige me by immediate attention to this busi- 
 ness." 
 
 'Such, madam, were our client's instruc- 
 tions ; and we are compelled to beg your early 
 reply to our communication. 
 
 ' We remain, very faithfully and obediently, 
 ' Your humble servants. 
 ' Williamson, YEimEY, & Co. 
 
 * Solicitors.' 
 
 This 'business'! Carlotta read the letter 
 through from beginning to end, sloAvly, deliber- 
 ately, weighing every word, while gradually a 
 faint tint of a ros}- colour appeared on her 
 cheeks, and deepened till as she ended her 
 whole countenance was in a scarlet glow, not 
 
268 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the healthy red of exercise or heat, but the 
 scarlet glow of inward fever. Her large dark 
 eyes flashed with unutterable brilliance as the 
 paper fell from her hand. But her lips did 
 not tremble. She remained there for a second 
 or two, and then extended her hand, which 
 did not shake, and rang the bell. Maud came. 
 Carlotta uttered but one word — 
 
 'Brandy!' 
 
 But in that one word, in that scarlet flush, 
 in the fallen letter, Maud saw that her bolt 
 had buried itself right to the head in Carlotta's 
 breast. 
 
CHAPTER XYIIL 
 
 Carlotta had for many years anticipated 
 an open rupture between herself and Horton. 
 In the beginning of their married life, when 
 she first used her fatal powers of fascination, 
 she had even then a premonitory sense of a 
 quarrel to come. But in those days she 
 did not fear it — she rather did her best to 
 provoke it, secure in her beauty, safe that he 
 would return again to her feet. But Horton 
 said nothing; never even let it be seen that 
 he noticed her proceedings. Then she grew 
 still more reckless and indifferent to his feel- 
 ings. Time went on, and Horton made no 
 sign. Yet even in the height of the excite- 
 ment into which she plunged, and which was 
 her daily bread, there still lingered in her 
 mind an indefinite dread of the finale which 
 instinct as well as reason told her must even- 
 
270 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 tually come. When Horton left her almost 
 entirely to herself ; when he was away for 
 months and months, without a letter, and 
 without a hint that he existed, she revelled 
 "svilder and wilder, and dipped deeper into the 
 sea of dissipation. This creature had no con- 
 science, but she had a mind, and she had a 
 subtle and unerring instinct. She knew that 
 Horton's nature, cold as polished steel, hard 
 as polished steel, would never bend; but the 
 fear was — would it break, and would the ruin 
 fall on her? Of late the sense that this ulti- 
 mate end could not be far off had driven her 
 faster and faster on the road of reckless in- 
 famy. She grew careless of disguise — she 
 resorted no longer to underhand processes by 
 which to obtain a guilty liberty ; she walked 
 openly in evil, as we saw her stalking bra- 
 zenly through the streets of London in the 
 dress of a man. There was a feeling that her 
 time Avas drawing near its close — that the 
 license granted by the fiend was near its 
 expiration. What, then, was the use of dis- 
 guise — disguise which was certain to be pene- 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 1^71 
 
 trated? She would waste no time — she would 
 do all the mischief she could whilst she had 
 the power. Thus it was that she exerted 
 herself to foment discord and hatred between 
 the brothers. Thus it was, too, that her envy 
 and bitterness against Heloise increased in 
 violence. She would not fall ; she would en- 
 dure when disgrace and infamy covered her 
 own name. Carlotta hated her for this. So 
 that it was not with any great surprise that 
 she received the letter from Horton's soli- 
 citors. This was the reason that she read it 
 through with such calmness; there was actu- 
 ally a certain amount of pure curiosity to see 
 what the blow would be like now it was about 
 to fall. But the end of it all stunned her. 
 She had never anticipated anything like this. 
 l^o such conception of utter ruin had ever 
 occurred to her. The utmost she had ex- 
 pected was a separation by mutual agreement, 
 with a handsome income to spend on dissipa- 
 tion and pleasure as she chose. But this cold- 
 blooded judgment, this sentence as of a judge 
 upon his throne, threw her completely off her 
 
272 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 balance. Even her iron nerves, her grand 
 physical organisation, shook and trembled. 
 In that hour the foundation of her life was 
 displaced more than it had been in the whole 
 of her years ; and a crevice opened in the 
 walls which never closed again. For days 
 she remained in a state of stupor. She went 
 through her toilette, through the usual daily 
 affairs, apparently unconcerned, except that 
 there was an absent expression in her eyes. 
 She was in fact sleeping — sleeping as she 
 walked about, and talked, and ate, and drank. 
 Her panther-like, her wild -beast nature fled 
 to slumber as its refuge and its medicine. 
 Slumber alone could restore her vitality. And 
 this species of somnambulance did restore her 
 vitality. About the fourth day she arose in 
 all her old fierce beauty, if such a phrase may 
 be used. Even Maud was staggered. Car- 
 lotta reared her head, like some magnificent 
 flower that had been bowed by the storm, but 
 whose stem was not broken. She stood up as 
 proud, as untamable, as vigorous as ever in 
 body and in mind. The gloss on her hair was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 273 
 
 as lovely, the glow of her dark eyes as bright, 
 the graceful sway of her motion as enchanting 
 as ever it had been. Maud was dismayed, 
 disconcerted. Was it possible ever to have 
 revenge upon this strange and inexplicable 
 being? Would nothing crush her? Maud 
 began to feel something of that superstition 
 which in the olden times led men to load 
 their guns with silver bullets, in the belief 
 that the evil one himself protected the bodies 
 of certain tyrants from the effect of leaden 
 balls. 
 
 Carlotta, recovered in body, bent her mind 
 resolutely to meet the difficulties which beset 
 lier as hrmly and with as little hesitation 
 as Csesar Borgia might have done. She would 
 conquer yet : it might be that she would be 
 revenged upon them yet. The first thing 
 .she did was to pen a short message to Wil- 
 liamson, Yerney, & Co., acknowledging their 
 letter, and saying that she would formally 
 reply to it after a few days of consideration. 
 The object here was to gain time. Her first 
 impulse was to send for Louis, that they might 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 consult togetlier. But she reflected that 
 Louis was utterly as selfish as herself, as un- 
 scrupulous, and as little to be depended upon. 
 He might even desert her entirely now that 
 she had fallen. That she was determined he 
 should not do. He should share her fall, 
 come what might ; how to secure this ? But 
 first, could she by any possibility outwit Hor- 
 ton? Could she throw any obstacles in the 
 way of his will — could she prevent by stub- 
 born resistance the execution of his decrees ? 
 Carefully she re-read the letter, and consi- 
 dered it point by point. She knew Horton 
 too well to attempt to move his heart by any 
 personal appeal, the day for that was gone by. 
 A hundred chances to one he would refuse 
 to see her; if she gained access to him un- 
 awares he would move away. He was as 
 cold, as hard as polished steel. It was im- 
 possible to bend him. The next question was : 
 had he in any Avay deceived her in order to 
 gain his end? Was there any statement in 
 that letter not grounded on fact ? She was 
 constrained to admit that there was not. She 
 
IIESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 275 
 
 felt positively certain that Horton even in the 
 last agony of hatred could never utter a false- 
 hood. He was truth, probity itself, even to a 
 fault. It was his pride that through that 
 very truthfulness he had invariably suc- 
 ceeded in everything he had undertaken. She 
 felt no doubt whatever that his statements 
 were absolutely accurate ; she remembered 
 the accident to the lawyer on his way to 
 make the marriage settlement. But up till 
 now, as she had always enjoyed the fullest 
 control over the interest of this 100,000^., she 
 had rejoiced in the fancied security of its be- 
 ing entirely her own. Did Horton deceive her 
 in this ? She recollected that once when she 
 had written a cheque for a heavy sum on this 
 very account it was returned to her. The 
 banker would cash nothing above the amount 
 of the annual interest. It was clear then that 
 she really had no control over the sum itself 
 Yes, without any doubt, what Horton had 
 stated was positively correct. He could leave 
 her utterly penniless. The 100,000/. was 
 completely in his hands. She had not a 
 
276 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 penny to call her own. Granted all this, now 
 what were his terms? — a miserable 1000/. per 
 annum and residence abroad. This sum was 
 not sufficient to keep her in the bare necessi- 
 ties of life. It meant total banishment from 
 all those scenes of pleasure — all those displays 
 in which the greater part of her life had been 
 spent, and which had grown to be second 
 nature to her. She would just as soon have 
 divorce, and freedom to marry again, without 
 a farthing of money from him. She felt con- 
 fident in her own power to attract some fool 
 to her side. But at the same time there rose 
 in her breast a raging hatred of Horton. 
 This monetary meanness excited her beyond 
 all bounds. Till she began to realise what 
 this 1000/. a year meant she had felt no 
 temper so far as he was concerned. But to 
 deprive her of the very spirit and soul of life, 
 and cast her in this wretched way into the 
 outer darkness of banishment, aroused the 
 latent ire within her. She registered a fierce 
 vow to have revenge for this ; but she had 
 control enouo^h over herself even in that hour 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 277 
 
 of mortification to throw aside her temper for 
 the time, and to bend the whole force of her 
 mind upon the question of ways and means, 
 upon dealing with matters as they stood. It 
 again occurred to her to face Horton; to defy 
 him; to run the gauntlet of public exposure 
 and of the inevitable inquiry. It would cost 
 him more than it would her. On her side 
 there would be an eclat about it; on his no- 
 thing but disgrace. For the moment she 
 even thought of going upon the stage, sure of 
 success in her splendid figure and fine voice, 
 for no other purpose than the humiliation of 
 Horton. But she abandoned this as inapplic- 
 able at present. The question remained : had 
 she any chance of successfully contesting an 
 action for divorce? Her memory, not her 
 conscience, quickly replied that she had none 
 whatever. She remembered too many open 
 works of darkness to entertain the faintest 
 hope from such a course. There was one 
 other thing too which she hardly acknow- 
 ledged to herself, but which through all this 
 maze of thought was ever present to her 
 
278 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 mind, and influenced every idea. It was the 
 
 sense that the time drew near when she would 
 
 be a parent — and a parent of what? There 
 
 was no hope. She could not fight — her steps 
 
 were fettered on every side : 
 
 ' I^ot only what we suffer, what we do 
 Fetters our course of life upon its way.' 
 
 One only thing remained, and that was to 
 drag with her as many to ruin as possible, 
 and like Samson to involve her enemies in 
 her own destruction. What was her best 
 plan y how could she insure the infliction of 
 the most pain upon them all ? There was 
 Heloise ; how cut her to the c^uick and cover 
 her with shame ? There was Horton ; how 
 humiliate him, and expose his age to sneer 
 and contempt ? How at the same time secure 
 to herself the greatest measure of security 
 from poverty ? After deliberate thought and 
 anxious consideration, it seemed to her that 
 she could best succeed in all these points 
 through the agency of Louis. He should go 
 with her ; he should elope with her. That 
 would at once fell Heloise to the ground with 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 279 
 
 bitter shame and misery. More than that, it 
 might even lead to Heloise's own disgrace. 
 Wretched, humiliated, demoralised by this 
 open desertion on Louis's part, Heloise might 
 succumb to the temptations of Noel, and soil 
 her own purity. Also, in all probability, He- 
 loise's friends would insist upon her suing 
 for divorce ; after Louis was divorced, she, 
 Carlotta, could marry him. With all her 
 subtlety, Carlotta here made a mistake, or 
 at least raised a nice point : Louis could not 
 marry his deceased -wife's sister legally ; how 
 then could he marry his wife's sister while 
 his quondam wife was still living ? But to 
 set that on one side, as it did not occur to Car- 
 lotta at the time. For the present Louis could 
 support her ; his means were ample. She 
 might move in very little less splendour and 
 indulge in very little less extravagance than 
 she had been accustomed to. On all these 
 grounds Carlotta determined upon attaching 
 herself to Louis. He should accompany her ; 
 he should be the partner of her fall. Once 
 decided upon this course, the question next 
 
280 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 arose, how to secure his attendance ? Should 
 she send for him ; show him Horton's letter ; 
 throw herself upon his breast ; confess her 
 dependence ; and conjure him by the pledge 
 of their guilty love soon to see the light to 
 stand by, and to accompany her flight ? 
 
 Carlotta actually sneered at herself as she 
 drew this not unnatural picture in her own 
 mind. She knew Louis better ; she knew that 
 the old cynic would turn from her the mo- 
 ment she displayed anything approaching to 
 feeling. To secure him she must contrive to 
 surround herself with the eclat and the subtle 
 attraction of a splendid wickedness. She did 
 not despair of playing the part to perfection. 
 Her spirits began to rise again, now that it all 
 resolved itself into the mere pleasure of de- 
 ceiving a man. Her crest rose ; her bosom 
 heaved with a proud consciousness of power. 
 This was her plan : first she would intoxi- 
 cate him with the delight of her beauty ; she 
 would dress as she had never dressed before ; 
 she would please his eye, his taste ; his con- 
 noisseurship should be bemldered with her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN IIEAUTS. 281 
 
 supreme loveliness. Gradually she would con- 
 fess to him that her love for him was greater 
 than words could tell; playing upon his vanity 
 till he lost his head. Then she would rouse 
 his hatred of Heloise, and hold out to him the 
 prospect of divorce from her. Since they 
 could not induce her to commit herself he 
 could commit himself, which would lead to the 
 same desirable result. She would inflame 
 him with a bitter hatred against Heloise, and 
 hold out to his cynical and devilish temper 
 the opportunity of heaping coals of fire on 
 Horton's head. She would dazzle him too 
 with her wealth; she w^ould w^hisper to him 
 that the 100,000/. of her jointure was entirely 
 at her own disposal ; he would readily believe 
 her, remembering her enormous expenditure. 
 She would display her jewels, her unsur- 
 passed diamonds. These would allay any 
 dread as to cash and annoyances which might 
 arise in his mind. But above all she counted 
 most on the intense though secret pleasure 
 she knew he would feel in the sense of his 
 own inordinate attractions. To elope with a 
 
282 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 peeress, the wife of a millionnaire, the guest of 
 empresses and queens, the admired, the much 
 talked of, the very centre of society ! He to 
 do this, the eclat would secure him safe — 
 certain. 
 
 And she did this. Why dilate on that 
 scene, that interview, in which Carlotta out- 
 played Cleopatra, and hoodwinked the sharp 
 wits of a man trained in the blackleg diplo- 
 macy of the lowest saloons of Europe and 
 America? Louis ao-reed : and e^loried in the 
 idea. 
 
 It was a strange and never-equalled elope- 
 ment. Carlotta coolly took the tidal train for 
 Dover and Paris, passing through the very 
 city where her husband was staying, and from 
 thence to Venice, where she aAvaited Louis. 
 Lord Fontenoy, having first calmly settled 
 his affairs, and drawn a heavy sum from his- 
 bankers, followed her in about three days as 
 if it was the commonest thing in the world. 
 How contrasted to the usual hurry, the wild 
 passion, the confusion of an elopement ! In 
 fact, it was merely a permanent assignation 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 283 
 
 on the other side of the Alps. Before leaving, 
 this precious couple left a parting sting be- 
 hind them, truly characteristic of their amiable 
 disposition. 
 
 Carlotta wrote a note to Victor Knoyle, in 
 which, with many expressions of endearment, 
 she told him that out of her indiscreet attach- 
 ment to him had arisen a coolness, and finally 
 a disruption, between her and her husband. 
 Thus her attachment for him had proved her 
 ruin. On the other hand, his attachment for 
 her had proved his ; for his uncle had resolved 
 to cut him out of his will, and had determined 
 to reduce him to 300/. per annum. All this, 
 she had no doubt, arose from the treachery of 
 Francis. Thus she hoped to foment the quarrel 
 between uncle, and nephew, and brothers ; and 
 to have at least one vassal at command. She 
 conjured him not to believe in any scandalous 
 stories that might be set afloat concerning 
 her; she was going to a friend's in Italy, and 
 she would write to his club and enable him to 
 join her. 
 
 Louis on his part carefully composed the 
 
284 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 following paragraph, which he sent to the 
 fashionable morning paper, and which duly 
 appeared, and was laid on every breakfast- 
 table in Belgravia and May fair : 
 
 ' The most singular and exciting rumours 
 have been current during the last two or 
 three days concerning the destination of a 
 lady and gentleman who have lately left the 
 metropolis, en route, it is said, for the Con- 
 tinent. The lady, who is a peeress in her 
 own right, and the spouse of one of those 
 princes of specie Avho are the real rulers of 
 the world, has long been renowned for the 
 remarkable and fascinating beauty which has 
 proved irresistible in the saloons of society 
 for a lengthened period. Her beauty, her 
 caprice, her extravagant expenditure, have 
 centred an extraordinary amount of interest 
 in her proceedings. The gentleman, who is 
 a peer of the realm, and himself only recently 
 married, as it appears, to the sister of the lady 
 with whom he has now eloped, has also earned 
 no little reputation for the eccentric, and at 
 the same time cynical, composition of his 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 285 
 
 character. The most peculiar feature of this 
 startling rumour is, that the elopement did 
 not take place in concert, mth the usual ac- 
 companiments of confusion, and under the 
 cloud of night; but that each party quietly 
 proceeded by different routes, and after an 
 interval of some days, to the rendezvous, which 
 is said to be some city in the north of Italy. 
 This event, with the expose which must 
 eventually follow, promises to prove one of 
 the most striking: features of the season.' 
 Thus Louis secured the eclat of publicity. 
 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Season after season the walls of Burlington 
 House are huns: with the works of artists in 
 all varieties of skill : innumerable landscapes, 
 portraits, historical scenes — memory cannot 
 recall the kaleidoscopical changes rung upon 
 the colours of the palette. They rest for 
 a time upon these walls, and then pass away 
 as the gorgeous clouds of sunset, in gold and 
 crimson and bronze, linger a while in the west 
 and finally sink into the darkness. Yet in all 
 these innumerable pictures there are no two 
 exactly alike; no two in which the colours 
 are the same, the conception identical, the 
 combinations of light and shadow p)recisely 
 similar. Each artist lends his own ' colour' 
 to his work ; and so infinite are the resources 
 of the mind, so infinite the possibilities of the 
 soul, that perfect similitude is never found. 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 287 
 
 Our feeble powers of reckoning cannot con- 
 ceive the numbers of human creatures existing 
 at this present moment upon the earth. 
 Ehrenberg, the great microscopist, was accus- 
 tomed to say that the remains of two millions 
 of once living and breathing insects might be 
 found in a single cubic inch, I think it was, 
 of mountain limestone. Take this cubic 
 inch of stone in the hand, and one has a tan- 
 gible realisation of the idea of two millions ; 
 this tiny square piece of solid stone repre- 
 sents them ; it is the tangible idea. But it is 
 not possible to apply this process to the 
 human inhabitants of the globe. They cannot 
 be estimated in the concrete. All that we can 
 say is that they number so many hundred 
 millions ; a million of them cannot be held in 
 the palm of the hand. And of all these, as 
 Xerxes said, not one shall be alive in a hun- 
 dred years ; what incalculable numbers then, 
 looking back, have existed upon the earth 
 since time began ! Every one of these beings 
 more or less felt the influence of love, and 
 not two of them in a similar manner. Each 
 
288 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and every one in the studio of the heart 
 worked eagerly and enthusiastically at his 
 painting, portraying an image called up by 
 the instincts of his being. Yet no two of 
 these pictures were alike. 
 
 Heloise's love for Xoel was a love peculiar 
 to her OA\Ti nature. She had never loved 
 Louis. A mere child, she had been interested 
 in him, even dazzled by him, led onward too 
 by the influence of Carlotta, whom she had 
 not then learnt to distrust. When once her 
 hand was given, then she never questioned, 
 never analysed her feelings, but endeavoured, 
 in so far as in her lay, to do and feel all that 
 love could dictate towards Louis. So pure 
 was her heart, so entirely unoccupied her 
 imagination, that the thought of a lack of love 
 never occurred to her. She had never known 
 that emotion, and the want of it did not affect 
 her. Thus it was that she did not recognise 
 her sensations towards Noel as love. The 
 idea of analysing them never struck her — she 
 did not pause or think, but walked on her 
 way as if through a garden of flowers, uncon- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 289 
 
 scious of the yawniDg precipice beneath her 
 feet. Partly this was Pierce's fault. He had 
 trained her to be too unsuspecting. He had 
 not taught her enough of that worldly wisdom 
 which is essential in these days even to the 
 most innocent of doves. As she trusted him, 
 so she trusted others. She had no suspicion, 
 neither of them nor of herself. Therein lay 
 one of her greatest charms. The ladies of our 
 day are so knowing. They look you through 
 and through, and appraise you at your value. 
 They count the buttons on your w^aistcoat, 
 and spy out if the w^atch-chain be aluminium 
 or pure gold. They see a trap in all your 
 doings, a pitfall in your words. They are 
 constantly looking behind you, as a cat will 
 behind a looking-glass, to see what reality 
 lies at the back of the reflection. But Heloise 
 accepted the reflection, the image that met her 
 eye in all good faith. So too she accepted her 
 OAvn emotions as good, and did not question or 
 analyse them. You see, practically she had 
 had no mother; that parent had died in her 
 earliest infancy. She had been left to herself 
 
 VOL. I. u 
 
290 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and to Pierce. A motlier would liave inocu- 
 lated her with an innate suspicion of the other 
 sex. She would have been taught to ask 
 herself what her feelings towards them were — 
 to distinguish between the permissible and 
 the non-permissible. Pierce had never thought 
 of these things. Simple old man, such ideas 
 had never occurred to him. He had trained 
 Heloise up in all that was true and good and 
 lovely in his mind. He had made her be- 
 lieve the true and the good; but he had not 
 instructed her how to perceive the advance of 
 evil. The mothers of our day do just the 
 reverse ; they instruct their daughters how to 
 instantly detect the approach of the cloven 
 foot, and therein consists the whole virtue 
 they impart. Heloise asked herself no ques- 
 tions. Just as with Louis in the early days 
 of their marriage she had revelled, absorbed in 
 the beauty and pleasure and excitement of 
 the theatre, oblivious of all else ; so now she 
 gave reins to the most exquisite pleasure of 
 Noel's society, and never once said, ^Is this 
 good? Is it right?' Do not judge her too 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 291 
 
 harslily. Even now she was but a child, barely 
 twenty in years; hardly seventeen in ideas, 
 in knowledge of the world. Louis, remem- 
 ber, had not taught her any of this know- 
 ledge; he had only sneered at her lack of 
 it. But she was married — a matron; she 
 should have remembered that sacred tie. 
 Heloise had not been taught, as the daughters 
 of the day are taught, the supreme importance, 
 the overwhelming sanctity of that contract. 
 She had had practically no mother; no one to 
 invest the ceremony of marriage with all its 
 full mystery and title to reverence; no one 
 to show her how to fold her hands, and bow 
 the head, and kneel down and worship the 
 idol. Her education had been lamentably ne- 
 glected. We Protestants sneer at the Roman 
 Catholics because they say that the simple 
 word of the priest transforms the consecrated 
 wafer into the body of the Lord. Yet our 
 mothers most religiously impress upon their 
 children's mind, training them up from the 
 earliest infancy to the belief, that the breath 
 of the priest saying the marriage words trans- 
 
292 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 forms them into somethinf^ essentially differ- 
 ent — absolutely new — from what they were 
 before. By this magical mystical ceremony 
 they are born again — renovated — transformed 
 — utterly metamorphosed. They are no longer 
 what they were before. Their very inmost 
 being is changed. And so deeply is this creed 
 W0711 in and engraved into the faith of the 
 daughters, that the latter, reading these lines, 
 will no doubt exclaim that of course it does 
 alter them, l^ow, pray, in what way? Do 
 they not possess the same souls as before? or 
 does the miracle -workino; ceremony endow 
 them with a new soul? Have they not the 
 same hearts, the same organs, hands, feet, 
 features ? In what then does the change con- 
 sist? Purely mythical and imaginary. That 
 it is so, that it is purely imaginary, you may 
 learn from Heloise. She had never been 
 taught these curious lessons. She had not 
 the slightest idea that after marriage she was 
 supposed to be composed of entirely different 
 elements; not the faintest suspicion that she 
 was expected to be metamorphosed. The con- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. iyo 
 
 sequence was that she did not in any way 
 attempt to repel the impact of emotions 
 pleasant to herself. Just as she would have 
 welcomed them when living the old life at 
 Avonbourne, so she welcomed them now, and 
 rejoiced and was happy exceedingly. You 
 see that no magical change, no wonderful 
 mystical renovation and new birth had taken 
 place in her. Xoel was not long in perceiving 
 the change that had come over the spirit of 
 his reception. He was no longer merely re- 
 ceived^ he was met. He could not but mark the 
 sparkle in her eye, the pressure of her hand, 
 the slight flush upon her cheek, the flutter 
 of her manner. i\.nd he gave himself up to 
 these. He was a man of few companions. 
 
 His time had been spent in perpetual war- 
 fare, the warfare against the wilderness of the 
 hunter and explorer. He had had no chance 
 nor desire to make to himself a wide circle 
 of acquaintances. He had a club, but rarely 
 used it ; therefore it was that, when in Lon- 
 don, his time hung heavily upon him. He 
 had no amusement here — he was out of place. 
 
294 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 When he saw Heloise, and grew gradually 
 enamoured of her, it followed that he devoted 
 the whole of his time to her. There was 
 nothing to call him away, nothing to distract 
 his attention. It would have had no per- 
 manent result if there had been ; but such 
 things might have caused a delay. As it was, 
 he gave himself up entirely to Heloise. He 
 could not be always with her in person, but 
 she Avas always with him : in the morning, in 
 the day-time, in the silence of the night, she 
 was ever at his side. The man loved with 
 all the fierce tropical heat of his nature ; the 
 same savageness — if such a phrase may be 
 used — which drove him on through untold 
 dangers and difficulty, from one end to the 
 other of Africa, now drove him headlong on- 
 ward in this career of passion. A new world 
 was opening to him. Till now the hemisphere 
 in which he had moved had been one in 
 which the greatest pleasure had been the 
 exercise of the bodily powers — the glory and 
 glow of labour — the wild delight of the chase 
 — the stern resolution which overcame hunger 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 295 
 
 and thirst, braving all in the pursuit of one 
 object. The world of thought and feeling — 
 perhaps more particularly the latter — had 
 been a closed book to him. At two-and- 
 thirty he was a mere boy, a youth, in these 
 matters. He had never loved before — he had 
 never even flirted. This was wonderful in- 
 deed in this age of dramng-room passion, of 
 carpet adoration. The reason of it existed in 
 the immense physical development of the 
 man. He found it impossible to stay in- 
 doors. The air, the sunhght, even the bitter 
 frost, were a necessity to him ; he revelled in 
 it, he bared his chest to it, his mighty muscles 
 rushed to meet it. The vigour of the man 
 forbade his pursuit of the ordinary amuse- 
 ments of budding manhood ; which amuse- 
 ments are these : to rise at eleven for twelve ; 
 to languidly breakfast at noon; to dawdle 
 away the morning (!) ; to ride in the Park at 
 five ; eight, dine : the chief business of the 
 day between seven and eight, and at all 
 times, to follow wherever petticoats do show. 
 To Noel such a life was simply impossible. 
 
296 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 He did not despise it ; in point of fact, he 
 never thought about it. He broke away clear 
 at once, and never returned. Thus it was 
 that he, strong man as he was, was nearly as 
 foolish as Heloise in these matters. It never 
 occurred to him in what light his constant 
 visits and his evident devotion to Heloise 
 might be seen by society, for the very plain 
 reason that he hardly understood what 'society* 
 meant. So without check, under the uncon- 
 scious shelter of Georgiana's friendship, these 
 two pursued their way, getting hourly more 
 and more entangled in the inextricable web 
 which men call love. Heloise was so very, 
 very happy; everything seemed so dehcious 
 just at that time — the mere fact of existence 
 was an inexpressible pleasure; she said so to 
 Georgie. Profound and philosophical Georgie 
 said that this feeling arose from her state of 
 convalescence. In good truth, it was the 
 dawning of a new moral and spiritual life, 
 not the renewal of the physical and tangible. 
 Once more, as she had done in the olden time 
 at Avonbourne — only so much more intensely 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 297 
 
 now — Heloise saw beauty in everything. The 
 very apples on the poor old costermonger s 
 truck, as it was wheeled along before the 
 door in the street, had a glory and a beauty 
 about them. The lovely tints of gold and 
 red and green, so delicately intermingling, 
 and lit up with the last departing rays of the 
 autumn sun, shone out with a splendour in 
 its ray equal to those luscious fruit-scenes 
 which painters love to limn. The sunlight 
 of her love lit up everything upon which it 
 fell with hues and tints borrowed from her 
 own soul. She moved in a dream — a dream 
 that ever grew more absorbing, that ab- 
 stracted her day by day more and more from 
 the outward and visible world, till she dwelt 
 in the circle of her 'own consciousness, utterly 
 unaffected by the passing of time ; — a dream 
 from which the rude hands of fact and fate 
 were on the very verge of awakening her. 
 
 Georgie had stayed the night. The morn- 
 ing paper had been placed on the table as 
 usual, but no notice had been taken of it. 
 The day passed away till in the afternoon Ne- 
 
298 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ville and Xoel came in together. Neville 
 had seen the paragraph written by Louis ; 
 he had heard too at his club the interpreta- 
 tion the world put on it, and a few inquiries 
 had elicited the fact that it was only too true. 
 He had immediately started to tell Georgie, 
 and had been met and joined by Noel. Ne- 
 ville said nothing to his brother ; for in good 
 truth he, and he alone, half suspected his at- 
 tachment to Heloise. At any other time 
 he would have endeavoured to turn NoePs 
 thoughts into another channel : but then he 
 was too occupied with Georgie — he half sus- 
 pected it, but he did not plumb the depth. 
 But now at this crisis he held his tongue. 
 So they arrived at Heloise's — the one know- 
 ing too much, the other in ignorance, chatting 
 
 gaily. 
 
 Neville saw Georgie, and told her all. 
 Georgie broke it to Heloise. Just at that 
 very moment it so chanced that Noel in im- 
 patience had wandered from the reception- 
 room, and came upon them. Heloise's face — 
 pale as death, with an indescribable expres- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 299 
 
 sion of mute and fearful questioning — struck a 
 chill to his heart, and he paused at the door. 
 In a moment the poor lip — the lip with the 
 scar — began to tremble ; she tottered, and 
 would have fallen had not Georo^ie cauo^ht 
 her. ' 0, take me to papa !' she cried, while 
 a few tears forced themselves out and rolled 
 down her cheek. Xoel, in alarm, had sprung- 
 forward, and forgetting all in the excitement 
 of the moment, he was about to take her in 
 his embrace, when a shudder passed through 
 her frame, she recoiled from him with horror 
 in her face, and motioned him away. ' Leave 
 us,' said Georgie, ' she is ill.' Much wonder- 
 ing, Noel went. 
 
 In that hour a sense of what she had been 
 doing — not a full, but an awakening sense of 
 her own guilt— had rushed upon Heloise's 
 mind. Louis was guilty, but was she inno- 
 cent ? She remembered Noel, and her con- 
 science smote her. The scales fell from her 
 eyes, and she saw the incipient crime she 
 had been committing. Thus it was that she 
 shrank from Noel. On him too, when he 
 
300 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 learnt from Neville the truth, there fell a dark 
 shadow, which dulled and deadened the indig- 
 nation he would otherwise have felt against 
 Louis. He marvelled at himself that he did 
 not feel that indignation. He asked him- 
 self why; and his conscience taunted him 
 with a secret joy that Louis had left her. A 
 shadow of guilt fell upon him. He recog- 
 nised his moral criminalitv : he started, and 
 he recoiled, but it was for the moment only. 
 Xoel had never been accustomed to control 
 his desires. His heart beat fast, and there 
 was a giddiness in his head ; but the strong- 
 purpose held good in his heart of hearts, and 
 he knew it. Heloise must be his — as the 
 very words of the Prayer-book put it — for 
 better for worse, for richer for poorer. 
 
 -^i5J^ 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 With Pierce at Avonbourne it was summer 
 the whole year round. Not the hot glaring 
 summer of the middle of June ; but the sun- 
 shine lingered with him in the drear days of 
 November. It lingered with him for this 
 reason : that he studied how to catch it, 
 how to retain it. His winter-room faced the 
 south, and opened upon his garden, the gar- 
 den where the birds congregated; onh^ this 
 portion of it was enclosed with high walls, 
 and these walls hidden with thickest hedges 
 of cropped yew-trees. Thus it was that the 
 reflection from the house of the rays of the 
 sun whenever it shone, and the total exclu- 
 sion of all winds and draughts, rendered this 
 small square plot of ground, carefully laid 
 down with thick tiles, warm even in winter. 
 The great window let in every particle of 
 
302 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 warmtli and heat and light ; but the projecting 
 balcony over it sheltered it from the driving 
 rain, and the double shutters and the thick 
 red curtains made it cozy, and impenetrable 
 to wind at nio;ht. In this tiled courtvard 
 Pierce could walk even when the cold winds 
 of November howled around the place. At 
 this window he could sit when the white No- 
 vember sun shone out for a few moments, 
 and enjoy its warmth, perceptible even then. 
 The beams of the sun lingered lovingly on 
 his grand old head, and cast its shadows on 
 the broad folio pages which were his delight 
 and study. I shall not stay to tell how Pierce 
 received Heloise when she came one day un- 
 expectedly, just as Carlotta had done, rush- 
 ing to him in her misery and disgrace. His 
 darling — how could he receive her but in one 
 way? There was a time when even in his 
 breast there smouldered an anger and a 
 hatred, a just anger and a just hatred, against 
 the destroyer of her peace. There was an 
 involuntary clenching of the fingers, and the 
 teeth ground together. Why did he not la- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 303 
 
 ment for Carlo tta? — his own daughter, too, 
 remember. He knew that she had inherited 
 her mother's nature, the mother ^vho had 
 made his life a hell. He hesitated to pity 
 her, for he was not certain that she had not 
 been the ringleader. These were days of 
 tumultuous passions — days of whirl and ex- 
 citement, in which all normal conditions were 
 reversed. But after a while the long peace of 
 his mind came back again. He had been in 
 a state of repose too many lengthy years for 
 even this hurricane of infamy to do more 
 than rujffle the surface, and then die away in 
 waves foUowino; each other at lono;er and 
 lono^er intervals — the 2rround-swell of the 
 mind. Shall we own it? — the presence of 
 Heloise, unhappy as she was, had something 
 to do with it. She was with him again. 
 There was a fond, an inexhaustible, though 
 secret delight in that. Georgie had accom- 
 panied her, and stayed at Pierce's pressing 
 request, not only out of her own desire to do 
 so, but because she saw the imperative need 
 that Heloise had then of feminine companion- 
 
304 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ship. Even the affection of Pierce, deep as 
 it was, could not altogether supply what He- 
 loise wanted then. She begged Georgie to 
 stay so piteously that the latter could not re- 
 fuse. Hence she wrote to Neville, and asked 
 him to come down to her own estate. That 
 estate was not four miles from Avonbourne. 
 When her father died, knowing that his eldest 
 son's children were provided for — for that 
 son had succeeded in his profession — and 
 knowing, too, that the younger Horton was 
 rich, beyond all need of help, he left his small 
 property entirely to Georgiana. It was while 
 visiting his aged parents that Horton Knoyle 
 first saw Carlotta, and felt her fatal fascination. 
 So it was that Knoylelands, as it was called, 
 was but four miles from Avonbourne : and 
 so Georgiana, anxious to have Xeville near 
 her — anxious, too, for her happiness — asked 
 him to come down there while she stayed 
 with Heloise. He could see her then easily. 
 In the proximity of Knoylelands there ex- 
 isted the latent possibilities of infinite mis- 
 chief; for when Georgie asked IS^eville there. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 305 
 
 she once again left out of sight the fact that 
 Neville had a brother, and that that brother 
 was Noel. But for the present there fell a 
 lull upon them. Heloise, shaken to the core, 
 sorely needed rest and quietness ; and where 
 could she get that rest and quietness so well 
 as in the old, old house, with the familiar 
 things around her, with Pierce ever near ? — 
 Pierce, to whom she clung as the frail creeper 
 clings to the decaying tree, weak though its 
 support may be. He was no true father, no 
 loving parent, this Pierce, you will say, else 
 he would have followed the guilty pair, and 
 have drawn down vengeance upon them. 
 Vengeance upon them — upon his own eldest 
 daughter, upon the husband of his youngest 
 — would you have had this ? Or would you 
 have had him go into the courts of law, and 
 rake up the details of this miserable drama of 
 evil passions for the delectation of all the 
 prurient perusers of the papers, for the g^ra- 
 tification of the million ? Carlotta reckoned 
 wrongly when she calculated that Pierce, 
 mth his detestation of evil, would at once 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
306 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 take proceedings to procure a divorce. For 
 Pierce, though he was a father, had in all 
 these years of life learnt to be something 
 a little more than man. Yes ; let it stand as 
 it is written. He had learnt to be somethins; 
 a little higher than man. Even to him this 
 sudden revelation of wretchedness — it was as 
 much to be considered wretchedness as de- 
 testable crime — ^had proved too great a strain 
 at first. The old passions, the hot blood of 
 youth, was not so completely dead but that 
 there rose up a little of the rebellious spirit, 
 rebelling against this terrible and never-to-be- 
 recovered fall. But after a while it passed 
 away, and the old peace came back upon him. 
 Then there ensued a remorse, yes, an actual 
 regret, that in his heart he had cursed them. 
 He blamed himself : he saw that he too was 
 guilty, in that he had given way to his 
 anger and to his hatred. For Pierce had a 
 belief, inconceivable to those who do not 
 possess the metaphysical faculty, who are so 
 absorbed by the outward things of this world, 
 by what is written, and printed, and preached, 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 307 
 
 that they cannot retire into themselves and 
 cahnly examine the truth. Not only incon- 
 ceivable, but even heretic and wrong : a belief 
 founded upon no creed or religion whatever, 
 be it Pagan, Christian, or what not. As such 
 it is difficult to convey it faithfully and to do 
 him full justice. Words are so treacherous. 
 All must have had experience of that. One 
 writes a letter to a friend ; there is a phrase 
 in it of which one took no note at the time 
 of penning it. Yet that phrase is caught up 
 by the friend, and bitterly resented, and it is 
 of no use to say that one did not mean it. 
 So here, in endeavouring to write out this 
 belief of Pierce's in words that shall convey 
 offence to no one, it is difficult to do so with- 
 out penning a phrase which some one or other 
 will take offence at. Broadly, his faith was 
 this: that there was no crime, no e\dl; that 
 man could do no wickedness. In these times, 
 as for many centuries, the very name of Epi- 
 curus is held synonymous with all the sensual 
 indulgences which flesh is capable of. The 
 term epicurean is one of reproach, of con- 
 
308 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 tempt ; a term of luxurious and carnal mean- 
 ing. Yet those who have read all that re- 
 mains of that truly great and wise philo- 
 sopher know full well that his system — the 
 creed which he taught — was in no way con- 
 ducive to such a belief. Only he, or some one 
 unfortunately for him, summed up his theories 
 in the short and epigrammatic sentence : that 
 the chief good was pleasure. This therefore 
 the evil-disposed seized upon and put into prac- 
 tice in their own corrupt and sensual manner. 
 Whereas, declare Epicurus's own disciples, 
 there never lived a man of purer and holier 
 life ; and what he intended to convey was that 
 the chief good consisted in rational enjoyment, 
 and principally in contemplation. But with all 
 due deference to these same disciples, and to 
 the glosses and commentaries of a later age, 
 there is very sufficient reason to believe that 
 Epicurus truly enough did mean that the 
 chief good luas j^leasure, and pleasure of any 
 and whatever description. But since he was 
 a philosopher, and one of holy and pure life, 
 and a man accustomed to metaphysical and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 309 
 
 ethical discourse, it still remains to be dis- 
 covered what was the true meaning he in his 
 own mind attached to this most unfortunate 
 phrase. Let us throw upon it the light of 
 modern science. Darwin informs us that the 
 chief aim of all plants and animals is to de- 
 velop themselves, to so expand and increase 
 their size and extent as to reach to the fullest 
 organisation which nature has made them 
 capable of And nature has so endowed 
 both the animal and the plant with sensations 
 contrived to act as incentives to thus expand 
 and develop themselves. Such are the sen- 
 sations of eating and drinking — the plants 
 throw out their leaves and roots for that 
 very purpose — and these incentives consist of 
 a pleasure in performing those functions which 
 lead to expansion and development. From 
 this we see Epicurus's own true meaning. 
 The jrrand desio;n of the Contriver of the 
 universe is the perfection of the whole of 
 His creation, and that perfection is reached 
 through the development of each individual. 
 That development is attained through the 
 
310 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 incentives to pleasure, which its peculiar 
 organs make it capable of procuring. It was 
 in this sense that Epicurus said that the chief 
 good Avas pleasure, since it led to the fulfil- 
 ment of the design of the Deity. 
 
 Pierce applied this principle to his own 
 daily life, and examined it as applied to the 
 daily life of the multitudes around him, and 
 to the whole social structure. He saw men 
 drink and get drunk. This, society declares, 
 is a crime. Our own sense of right and wrong- 
 declares that it is a crime. But what is 
 drinkino; ? It is one of those incentives to 
 physical development; for without drinking 
 no human being can survive. So too with 
 all the physical passions. But murder, rob- 
 bery, and so on? All these, argued Pierce, 
 are committed through some belief on the 
 part of the criminal that thereby he shall 
 attain a certain pleasure, a certain better po- 
 sition. They are all striving for something 
 better. The most coarse and brutal pleasure 
 is in reality, when traced to its source, but a 
 vague and rude aspiration towards a higher 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 311 
 
 state. Of this higher state the man may 
 have no conception ; but he has the insthict 
 to long for it. His action may destroy his 
 chance of attaining it ; yet that action was 
 nevertheless though involuntarily done with 
 that view. Now the great God of the uni- 
 verse is so wondrously, so inexplicably great 
 and grand, that no human intellect can fathom 
 His marvellous wisdom. It may, then, be just 
 possible that since He has impressed these in- 
 stincts upon man — this instinct to rise — that 
 in His sight and before Him there may be no 
 crime and no sin. Considered as man to- 
 wards man, there is sin and crime ; but in 
 the celestial and before God there may be 
 none whatever. For these evil things exist 
 and go on day by day, notmthstanding that 
 ' God so loved the world that He sent His 
 only Son ;' notvvithstanding, too, that God is 
 illimitable in power, and that He is directly 
 opposed to evil. Plato had shown, thousands 
 of years before, that this God could neither 
 originate nor connive at evil. Hence it fol- 
 lowed that in the abstract, and when entirely 
 
312 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 taken out of all human consideration,* there can 
 be no evil, and no crime, and no sij-» ' ' These 
 only exist in the relations between mnn and 
 man ; there are none such in the sigT'? of the 
 great Designer. That such is the ca^^Hhere 
 is the example of the Lord, who pardonGsji'^he 
 very woman taken in adultery — in the very 
 act. She had sinned towards man, but to 
 Him she had not sinned. Let the mind for 
 a moment raise itself above human considera- 
 tions and social relations. Consider our posi- 
 tion towards the lower animals. We slay 
 them day by day ; and not only when abso- 
 lute necessity drives us, but for pleasure. In 
 the eye of the Maker of these creatures this 
 too must be sin, if there were any. But let 
 it not be thought that Pierce would therefore 
 in any way connive at crime in man. Only 
 he hesitated to judge. He withheld himself 
 from that great and awful office. Even in 
 his own house, in the secrecy of his own 
 heart, he tried, in so far as in him lay, not 
 to forgive those who had injured him, but 
 to abstain from judging them, to abstain 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 313 
 
 from sa^ aig in his soul, ' These have sinned.' 
 This ^'' If Pierce's creed. This was what he 
 had lor years impressed upon himself. This, 
 ap nn the considerations of delicacy, was 
 
 tl .t.son why he did not follow or in any 
 attempt to chastise the guilty pair. 
 Safe at Avonbourne, Heloise heard no- 
 thing of the storm of surprise, of sneer, of 
 witticism that passed over ' society' when the 
 flight of Carlotta mth Louis became generally 
 known. It was a sensation such as could not 
 die out in a day. Georgie rejoiced that she 
 had come down into the country. She was 
 so closely related to one of the actors in the 
 drama, that she felt as if the arrows of criti- 
 cism would whistle very near her. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 lokdon: 
 
 IIOBSON A^-D SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
LOMDON : 
 EOBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, TANCPJ^S EOAD, N.W. 
 
EE8TLE88 HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 % iobti, 
 
 RICHARD JEFFERIP]S, 
 
 AUTHOR OP ' THE BCARLET SHAWL." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TIN8LEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 
 
 1875. 
 
 lAU rights reserved.^ 
 
RESTLESS nUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Although Knoylelands was barely four miles 
 distant, of course Neville found it very differ- 
 ent from what it had been in London. He 
 could only see Georgiana at intervals. Pierce 
 welcomed him at Avonbourne, but still he 
 felt that he could not intrude there at the 
 present unfortunate time ; so that the only 
 occasions on which he saw Georgie were when 
 she came over to Knoylelands, or when they 
 met by appointment. He missed the ready 
 and easy intercourse of London ; there was a 
 void ; he could not look forward with cer- 
 tainty to seeing Georgie in the evening, or 
 indeed even in any particular week. He had 
 brought his books and papers with him, and 
 at first he had deluded himself into the belief 
 VOL. n. B 
 
Z RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 that the quiet repose of a country mansion, 
 only inhabited by himself, where he could 
 indulge free of observation in each and every 
 one of his own peculiar little ways and habits, 
 would be favourable to study, and that he 
 should really enjoy it. He found himself 
 strangely mistaken. It was not that it was 
 dull, or that he found its solitude oppressive. 
 What other people called dull had through 
 life been a pleasure to him. He detested ex- 
 citement, he hated parties, and everything 
 appertaining to what is called amusement. 
 He never went to balls, suppers, dinners; in 
 short, he never went anywhere: fond as he 
 was of music, he never went to a concert. 
 
 Essentially Neville was a man who lived 
 in himself; not that he Avas selfish, but, on 
 the contrary, foolishly generous with his 
 money. Certainly he was polite and well- 
 bred — the reverse of the boorish recluse. He 
 had no feeling of contempt or dislike for any 
 other person ; he even sometimes began to 
 wonder if it was not he himself that was 
 worthy of contempt for this very love of soli- 
 tude. The truth was, that he lived in dreams ; 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 3 
 
 his mind was constantly occupied in weaving- 
 visions, if that can be understood. They 
 were not always mere fancies or imaginings ; 
 they were frequently hard calculations, ab- 
 stract reasonings in mathematics, though often 
 enough purely and simply dreams, in which 
 he constructed a state of things sublimated, 
 as it were, from the actual realities of life. 
 In his own mind he had created an ideal 
 world, and peopled it with innumerable 
 beings, which were tangible enough to him; 
 and amongst these he dwelt. The approach 
 of other persons distracted these mental fa- 
 brics — they fell down and were destroyed 
 before the jar of a coming footstep. It was 
 like looking at one's face in a basin of water. 
 So long as there is perfect stillness — a com- 
 plete absence of volition — the surface of the 
 mobile liquid acts as a reflector, and mirrors 
 every feature with distinctness ; but the slight- 
 est jar or shake, the trembling of the floor 
 caused by a heavy footfall, disturbs it, ruflies 
 the water with miniature waves, and the 
 image is a blurred and shapeless distortion. 
 It required the most perfect repose, a total 
 
4 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 immunity from the most minute irritation, to 
 enable the mind — that extremely subtle and 
 mobile thing — so to settle and become smooth, 
 as to reflect upon its surface, clear to his in- 
 ternal sight, the image of those thoughts and 
 dreams which arose in his soul. The very 
 tiniest motion, the smallest sound, the very 
 faintest disturbance, immediately upset the 
 fragile and delicately-balanced mirror, and the 
 image was in a moment a broken and dis- 
 figured mass. 
 
 Neville had grown to enjoy the utmost 
 pleasure in the perfection of this ethereal 
 picture -painting. It was a species of mental 
 opium-eating. The noise of a fashionable 
 party, the incessant excitement, the constant 
 succession of fresh faces, the utter absence of 
 anything approaching to repose, irritated his 
 nerves, and he could not settle down to his 
 own internal amusement. They were con- 
 stantly tearing his web as fast as he wove it, 
 destroying its contour, and blotting its beau- 
 tiful colours. Solitude was to him only an- 
 other world, filled with creatures and with 
 shapes as far superior to the realities of life 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. O 
 
 as the mind is to the matter which supports 
 it. He welcomed the quiet and complete 
 retirement of Knoylelands, as a place where 
 he could indulge to the very utmost, and 
 without the least dread of interruption, in this 
 lotos-eating. He dignified it to himself by 
 the name of ' study.' For a few days all went 
 as he expected; the very driving of the rain 
 against the Avindow, and the rise and fall of 
 the wind as it howled around the house, pro- 
 duced a somnolent complacency, particularly 
 favourable to that species of reverie in which 
 he delighted to indulge. After a day or two 
 he grew a little restless; in a week he did 
 nothing but walk up and down, and venture 
 out of doors till the ceaseless rain drove him 
 in. It was not the solitude nor the dulness 
 that made him thus ; it was the want of 
 Georgie. Previously he had not recognised 
 what a large portion of the quiet enjoyment 
 he had hitherto felt in life had arisen from 
 the constant intercourse he had had with her. 
 She had become necessary to him; without 
 her he could settle down to nothing — not 
 even to dream. When Geor^xie did at last 
 
b RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 come and stay with him a few hoCirs, he made 
 use of the opportunity to persuade her, with 
 all his powers, to join their fates and hands 
 at once, for he said that then they could be 
 always together; and he explained to her 
 how impossible it was to him to study, or to 
 feel any pleasure in his old pursuits, without 
 her presence. She could not but feel an 
 amount of pleasure in this eager desire for 
 her society, yet it terribly embarrassed her. 
 She had not yet perfected her plan, nor had 
 she yet gathered sufficient courage to com- 
 municate it to him, incomplete as it was. 
 Xeville saw her de^Dart without having suc- 
 ceeded in moving her one jot, and saw him- 
 self again reduced to the companionship of 
 his books, from between whose covers the 
 soul that used to rise up to meet his glance 
 had fled, leaving nothing but cold dry letters, 
 whose meaning he could not grasp. 
 
 Have you never ^viitten an address upon 
 an envelope, while at the same time thinking 
 of something else, and then trying to read it, 
 found it for a moment meaningless? The 
 letters convey no idea, not even the idea of 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 7 
 
 a certain sound — they are black splotches — 
 nothing more. The printed lines of his books 
 were thus to Neville. Suddenly it struck him 
 that he would ask Noel down; Noel Avould 
 cheer him with his talk, perhaps he would 
 even entice him out with a gun or on horse- 
 back. Neville had a certain amount of love 
 for field sports, but it halted at love ; it never 
 arrived at action unless some one dragged 
 him into it. 
 
 Noel came only too willingly : he should 
 be near Heloise — perhaps he should see her. 
 To him the last fortnight had been positive 
 misery; he had no resources, no books, no 
 favourite studies, no day-dreams to which to 
 fly, when the events of the hour left him to 
 himself. And we have seen that even these 
 resources were of very little avail to studious 
 Neville. His more vigorous brother knew 
 knew not what to do. He wandered about 
 town like a spectre, restless night and day. 
 He began to have foolish ideas of going down 
 into the country near Avonbourne, lodging 
 at one of the roadside inns, and walking daily 
 in sisht of Bourne Manor. That w^ould at 
 
8 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 least be something to do ; this waiting was 
 maddeninof. Xaturallv he snatched at Ne- 
 ville's invitation. 
 
 As Neville had expected, they were speedily 
 out of doors on horseback together. By 
 chance, or by a mysterious instinct, they rode 
 close by the old manor-house, close to Pierce's 
 garden. Here, too, was Neville's hope. Thus 
 it came about that day after day, by common 
 consent, they passed that way ; always talking 
 of the most indifferent matters, each in his 
 heart full of one shape and one well-beloved 
 face. They never called; but of course the 
 proximity of two strange gentlemen could 
 not long remain a secret. It became known at 
 Bourne Manor that not only Neville, but his 
 brother, was staying at Knoylelands, and 
 Pierce of course had already fathomed the 
 attachment existing between Georgiana and 
 Neville. Anxious to pleasure his guest, who 
 had been so kind to Heloise, Pierce, always 
 ready to be hospitable, lost no time in in- 
 viting them to visit him, — than which, of 
 course, nothing was more natural. On the 
 two first of these occasions it so chanced that 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. ^ 
 
 Heloise was not visible; in truth, she had 
 purposely secluded herself, not from any feel- 
 ing of shame or humiliation, but because of 
 the secret conscientiousness in her own heart ; 
 but on the third Noel saw her. This was 
 early in December, when Pierce asked them 
 to join in a pheasant battue. AVith one of 
 those singular inconsistencies which mark 
 human nature, Pierce, the protector of the 
 timid creatures in his garden — the humane 
 and the gentle — was passionately fond of field 
 sports, be it hunting, shooting, or fishing. 
 His shooting parties were acknowledged to 
 be the best in the county, the preserves were 
 so well stocked, and the host was so courteous 
 and so thoroughly e7i rapport with his friends. 
 But this year Pierce had issued no general 
 invitations ; the cloud that had overshadowed 
 his house forbade anything approaching to a 
 public entertainment. There were only a few 
 old friends asked, and out of deference to 
 Georgiana, Neville and Noel. The first of 
 these disgraced himself for ever. Beyond 
 barking a few ash-poles -svith his shot, and 
 peppering a dog, poor Neville hit nothing that 
 
10 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 he knew of. Yet he handled his gun in true 
 sportsmanlike fashion : he did not point it at 
 his neighbours, or endanger the lives of the 
 beaters. He came of a sporting stock, and 
 the blood would show even in this unbroken 
 descendant ; but he hit nothing whatever. 
 Noel, on the contrary, a practised shot, dis- 
 tinguished himself beyond all others. He 
 had had no shooting for some time : soon as 
 he smelt the powder the old instincts rose in 
 him savage and fierce; he forgot Heloise — 
 he forgot all, save the wild delight of de- 
 struction, the maddening pleasure in one's 
 own skill. His shooting was superb ; the old 
 gamekeeper swore Vvith an oath that he had 
 seen nothing like it since he was a lad. Pierce 
 was dehghted. Then, in the evening, when 
 Noel was feted and made much of as the 
 hero of the day, his latent powers of conver- 
 sation came out again as they had done when 
 Heloise unlocked his lips. She was then ever 
 listening to him ; what he spoke of now he 
 had never alluded to before. Those tales 
 that he had related to her were mere stories 
 of adventure, wild and picturesque, but un- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 11 
 
 stained with the blood of others than the 
 beasts of the forest. 
 
 Now among men — in the company of 
 those who had shared the brutal sport of the 
 morning, who had dipped their hands with 
 him in the blood of hundreds of innocent and 
 timid creatures, who had thus partaken of 
 'fetish' with him — now the inner nature of 
 the man came out. He told them of his wars, 
 of the horrible deeds of the man-hunters of 
 Western America with whom he had lived 
 and worked ; of the slovf and patient follow- 
 in 2: of the trail of the doomed Indian, the 
 gradual concentration of the beaters in an 
 ever-narrowing circle, as a vast serpent slowly 
 and silently glides after its prey, and then 
 surrounds it within its gigantic folds. 
 
 But why linger on these narratives ? It 
 is enough to indicate them, without polluting 
 the page with blood. A fierce light shone in 
 his eyes. Heloise had entered the room with 
 a deadly paleness and trembling limbs. The 
 sense of guilt clung to her like the folds of a 
 wet garment, hampering and destroying her 
 natural grace. The company amongst whom. 
 
12 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 she mingled were far too highly bred either 
 to treat her with the extreme deference which 
 is the common mode of meeting misfortune, 
 or to ignore her with the idea of putting her 
 at her ease. All that they did was to make 
 her feel that to them she was still the Heloise 
 of the olden time — as welcome, as innocent, 
 and as well beloved. Nevertheless her shy- 
 ness, her labouring awkwardness did not wear 
 off, for Noel was there. He had barely 
 touched her hand, he had but murmured the 
 simplest words demanded by courtesy, yet he 
 had thrilled her to the innermost heart. She 
 could no longer meet him with the open brow 
 and the ready smile, bold in the innocence of 
 her mind. The first pair in the Garden of 
 Eden, so soon as they felt the consciousness 
 of guilt, hid themselves among the trees and 
 clothed themselves with leaves. In like man- 
 ner Heloise fiiltered and recoiled ; the firm- 
 ness, the frank openness of her mind was 
 gone. Even Georgie noticed this, but put it 
 down to the remembrance of the elopement of 
 Louis, and did not therefore wonder at it. 
 Neville too attributed it to the same cause. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 13 
 
 But when Noel late in the evening began to 
 talk thus, her embarrassment Avore oiF. The 
 sound of his well-remembered voice, the dear 
 tones that had roused up the echoes of her 
 heart, passed like waves over her soul, and ' 
 washed away the weeds and choking sand- 
 banks that had begun to raise their heads 
 above the waters. She forgot all but him. 
 She hearkened to him wonderingly. Her lips 
 parted slightly, her cheek faintly flushed, her 
 eyes glittered. Why was it that Heloise, the 
 gentle, the timid, listened thus with rapt 
 attention to these tales of fiercest bloodshed ? 
 She never analysed the morality of his deeds. 
 They were his deeds. Their cruelty, their 
 brutality did not occur to her ; they were 
 glossed over by the eagerness of her mind. 
 She felt as he felt ; the danger rose up before 
 her and confronted her, and her mind fol- 
 lowed out his plans to escape from it with 
 thrilling interest. It was Noel — not the blood 
 he had shed — that drew her with unutterable 
 interest. If any conception of the character of 
 these deeds did ever pass across her thought, 
 it was only to give rise to a sense of wonder, 
 
14 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 of marvelling delight in his prowess, his terri- 
 ble arm, his unerring eye. The glamour of 
 love was over her, and the sound of his 
 voice minoded that nioht with her feverish 
 dreams. 
 
 Pierce himself, carried away by the enthu- 
 siasm of the moment — admiring the brilliant 
 shooting of his guest, and gratified by the 
 evident interest of his friends — overlooked 
 the savageness, the inhuman ferocity of these 
 doings in far-off lands, and forgot their true 
 character. Out of Noel's narrative there had 
 sprung anecdotes and touches of observation 
 which had excited Pierce's interest. On the 
 morrow he questioned Xoel ; and Xoel, eager 
 to please Pierce, and so to obtain a footing in 
 the house, bent his mind to recollect what he 
 had seen of nature and nature's ways in the 
 dense jungle of Africa and the j^rimeval woods 
 of the New World. This fascinated Pierce. 
 Ever a student of nature, yet scarcely even 
 having stirred from his own country, Pierce 
 dwelt with intense interest on the discoveries 
 of this bold explorer. Aided by his questions, 
 which suggested long-forgotten facts to his 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 15 
 
 memory, Noel laid before his host a wealth of 
 new material almost bewildering. 
 
 This, and the delight that he showed in 
 the sports of the field, in a few weeks made 
 Xoel the almost constant companion of Pierce. 
 Together they strolled over the fields and the 
 breezy downs, with the bitter wind beating in 
 their faces — the old man of seventy winters 
 stepping out in a pardonable vanity, proud 
 of his o^\-n still strong vitality. Together 
 they met in the evening smoking and talking, 
 while Heloise by slov/ degrees grew once more 
 accustomed to his presence, and the fatal ease 
 of intercourse overcame the warnings of her 
 conscience. Neville, only too glad of these op- 
 portunities to see Georgie, shut his eyes to 
 what was going on, with the true selfishness 
 of a genuine lover, and Georgie was blinded 
 by his presence. 
 
KiiM^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 There came a time at last when Georgie, 
 reluctant as she was, was compelled to give 
 an answer to Neville's continual questionings 
 and persuasions. He could not be put oiF for 
 ever. He was ready to agree to any proposal 
 she liked to make, to consent to anything so 
 that only she would be his. How she told 
 him she never could remember, and Xeville 
 was too much amazed to have any dis- 
 tinct recollection of the manner of the com- 
 munication. But the matter of it was plain 
 and evident enough. It was glaring, startling, 
 something which could not be misunderstood. 
 She wanted him to inaugurate a new era by 
 marrying her for three years, and not for life. 
 As it was impossible to do this legally, she 
 proposed that they should take such steps to 
 make the proceeding perfectly open and in 
 the sight of all, so that the contract — though 
 
KE8TLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 17 
 
 it miglit want the consecration of the priest 
 and the sanction of the State — might neverthe- 
 less be a good and true marriage in the eye of 
 the world. This was what she at last conveyed 
 to him, with many circumlocutions and much 
 hesitation and stammering, for she was afraid 
 that this extraordinary proposal would give 
 him cause to suspect her maidenly modesty. 
 
 But Neville never thought of that; he was 
 simply overwhelmed with amazement. Then 
 he began to rapidly controvert her ideas, and 
 to show the utter absurdity of her design, 
 besides its thorough opposition to all the re- 
 ceived canons of social relationship. 
 
 This course at once put Georgie on her 
 mettle, and gave her a full flow of speech. 
 As soon as it came to argument she was at 
 home. Forgetting the personal application of 
 the subject, she treated it as if it had con- 
 cerned some one afar off and invisible. As to 
 the mere novelty of the thing, that she de- 
 clared was not the slightest reason against it ; 
 and as for the sensation it would cause in 
 society, any rational being was of course quite 
 indifferent to society. What on earth had 
 
 VOL. II. C 
 
18 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 this intangible creation of men's minds, this 
 vague and ill-defined cloud called ' society,' to 
 do with her grand mission for the regenera- 
 tion of her sex? What prophet, what re- 
 former, what great name of the ages past had 
 ever cared for 'society'? Invariably 'society' 
 had been against them — not only in words 
 and remarks, but in hard and cruel deeds. 
 For facing these hard and cruel deeds, these 
 tortures and these flames, these men had been 
 dignified as martyrs, and were admitted to a 
 niche in the world's Pantheon. If they could 
 withstand the fierce and biting fire, the 
 scorching tongues of flame that licked up the 
 glorious human form as if it had been a heap 
 of dried leaves, could not she, in the con- 
 sciousness of a great cause, face the mere 
 carpet inquisitions, the mere paltry sneers and 
 criticisms of that miserably weak and childish 
 aggregate of effete particles called ' society' ? 
 What had he ever seen in her to indicate that 
 she lacked stability of character or firmness 
 of purpose ? W^hat she preached that she was 
 determined to practise, and ojDcnly before the 
 world. There were thousands and thousands 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 19 
 
 of her sex who thought the same as she did, 
 but whom the lack of stamma and the force 
 of uTesistible circumstances prevented from 
 asserting themselves. She had all these things. 
 She was firm and bold — ready to dare and 
 resolved to bear the consequences. She had 
 an independent fortune, not large, but suf- 
 ficient for her wants. Xot a human being 
 could in any way hamper her proceedings. 
 Of full age, with special powers under her 
 father's will exempting her from any control 
 — of a sound and vigorous mind, entirely un- 
 fettered by any prejudice — what better con- 
 ditions could there be for such an assertion of 
 woman's rights and woman's independence ? 
 She did not suggest they should sneak into 
 this contract and hide themselves as if ashamed 
 from the faces of their friends. Here her fair 
 and excited face blushed a little. On the 
 contrary, she wished it to take place openly, 
 and with every accompaniment that could 
 make the contract solemn and in every respect 
 a true marriage. Very well she knew what 
 some people would say — that, try how they 
 might, they could never succeed in legalising 
 
20 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 such a marriage ; it must still be illegal, or 
 rather unrecognised by the law. But truth 
 was superior to law; right was better than 
 technical routine. Ill-natured people would 
 say that she was a 'mistress' — let them say 
 so. Fully she recognised all these disagree- 
 able, all these cogent objections ; and she 
 was determined to override them all. It 
 was her belief that if two persons, man and 
 woman, solemnly met together and pledged 
 their troth in the presence of others, and with 
 just sufficient ceremony to give a tangible 
 reality to it, that man and woman were really 
 and truly man and wife in the sight of Heaven. 
 After all, what were these laws ? They were 
 certainly not inscribed on the tables that 
 Moses took from the outstretched hand of 
 Deity. Though undoubtedly in their spirit 
 sanctioned by Heaven, the letter was purely a 
 human invention ; and she contended that the 
 time had come when that letter should be 
 altered. By taking this bold initiative, she 
 should in one single step proceed farther on 
 the road than hundreds and thousands of mere 
 talkers could accomplish. The Fact would 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 21 
 
 preach with irresistible force. It Avould take 
 root and spread. On what did she ground her 
 adherence to the three-year system of mar- 
 riage ? On the plainest and most straight- 
 forward ground — that in that time the parties 
 oould ascertain if they were fitted for each 
 other and if their anticipations w^ere realised ; 
 and if so, they could then enter upon the con- 
 tract for life ; or if not, it was infinitely better 
 that they should part. It w^as hardly neces- 
 sary for her to allude to those painful events 
 which had only recently taken place to illus- 
 trate this. As for the old superstition about 
 the sacrament of marriage, and its being a 
 juncture which no earthly power could de- 
 stroy, she laughed it to scorn. If both the 
 parties were heartily and cordially agreed to 
 live tos^ether, and to remain in that condition 
 of life in which they were, then she certainly 
 beheved that there teas no earthly power, no 
 tribunal or authority which could in any way 
 interfere with their right to do so. That right 
 was the very birthright of every human being. 
 In that light, and under such conditions as 
 these, the tie was sacred and could not be 
 
22 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 separated. But, on the other hand, when 
 either party found that the other was un- 
 suited, or that their anticipations had not 
 been realised, or that — not to particularise 
 the reasons — there was a desire to part, then 
 she held that no earthl}^ power, tribunal, or 
 authority had the right to compel them to 
 dwell together, or to continue to merge their 
 legal identity. Others — weak women — talked 
 of this, and believed it, and sighed for it. 
 Thousands of them sighed for it, for this 
 reason : it would give such an impetus to 
 marriage. Hundreds and hundreds — countless 
 numbers — of marriages would take place, if 
 there was the certainty that in a reasonable 
 period, if disagreement arose, they could part. 
 As it was, young men were naturally shy of 
 matrimony. Now it was confessedly a lot- 
 tery : her plan would reduce it to something 
 approaching to rational investment. 
 
 Ne^dlle, knowing that it would be of no 
 avail to contradict her flatly, or to attempt to 
 draw her away from her conclusions, attacked 
 her in detail. Suppose these parties married 
 in such a system did not both agree in quar- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 23 
 
 relling ; suppose one wished to be free and 
 the other did not ; how meet that contin- 
 gency? Georgie replied that no person had 
 a right to control another ; therefore, in such 
 a case, the person who fished to remain in 
 the married state must give way. 
 
 Neville was about to bring up the still 
 more difficult question of possible children, but 
 delicacy forbade him. Georgie seeing him 
 pause, went on to attack him in return. They, 
 Neville and she, were not required to lay down 
 a piece of legislation so framed as to meet 
 every possible emergency that might arise. 
 They had but themselves to deal with ; there- 
 fore they need not waste their time in discuss- 
 ing how to arrange imaginary alternatives. 
 No such discords would arise between them ; 
 they should not disagree. 'Then why not 
 marry in the old way for life ?' asked Neville. 
 She quickly replied that it was the principle 
 she stood up for. Nothing could move her 
 from the principle. 
 
 And nothing could move her. Neville 
 argued with her till he got angry. Then he 
 left her. This he repeated day after day and 
 
24 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 week after week ; till it seemed as if the con- 
 troversy would length en into months. But it 
 was in vain. And after a time, by the con- 
 stant reiteration of her argument, aided by 
 the pertinent remarks that occurred to her, 
 she actually succeeded in making some im- 
 pression upon Neville. He was obliged to 
 admit her fundamental principles ; that was 
 the worst of it ; that gave her such force, such 
 a standpoint to make way against him. Ac- 
 cepting, as he had always done, the political 
 theory which centres in the one word 'Li- 
 berty,' he could not conscientiously attempt 
 to controvert the premises upon which she 
 built her edifice. So that in time it came to 
 this : he opposed her wishes upon one ground 
 only ; and that was that as a man, as her 
 lover, and her husband, he could not endure 
 to hear her conduct spoken of slightingly, or 
 made a subject for sneering criticisms. For 
 himself he did not care ; but for her. Out of 
 this she partly argued him, partly laughed 
 him, partly coaxed him. It is just possible 
 that if in the first place he had given way to 
 her, and offered to carry her whim into imme- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 25 
 
 diate execution, that before the day came she 
 would have wavered and paused. All this 
 argument, all these discussions and persua- 
 sions only acted as a spur to thoroughly rouse 
 up her energies, and to bend them with un- 
 flinching determination upon this one end. 
 In the end it was her beauty that carried the 
 day. Neville could not resist her when she 
 resorted to the feminine arts of j)ersuasion. 
 Finally he yielded conditionally, that the 
 ' marriage' should be solemnised with every 
 possible outward show and ceremony that 
 could make it a genuine one in the eyes of 
 the world. He had a lingering hope that 
 when it came to lawyers and settlements, and 
 all the details of the subject, that she would 
 recoil alarmed. Georgie readily assented to 
 this condition ; it was indeed her own Avish, 
 and part of her original plan. So it was set- 
 tled between them. 
 
 Georgie had, however, yet to stand the fire 
 of those friends, those immediate and inti- 
 mate friends, to whom the project was dis- 
 closed. Pierce in his quiet gentle manner 
 placed before her in striking colours the sin- 
 
26 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 gular position in which she would be placed. 
 His calm manner had far more effect upon her 
 than all the ardent language of Neville had 
 done. Heloise pleaded affectionately, begging 
 her dearest friend not to take so dangerous a 
 step. These two alone made any impression 
 upon Georgie. They shook her a little. Her 
 heart beat faster as she thought of them ; but 
 though her senses might waver, her mind re- 
 mained unchanged, firm as before. 
 
 This marriage now became the one topic 
 of conversation at Avonbourne. After a while^ 
 so much talking, such constant consideration 
 of the aspects of the matter had its natural 
 effect uj^on them. They grew to look upon it 
 as not so very much out of the way after all ; 
 nothing so extremely astonishimg and re- 
 markable. The angularities of the idea wore 
 off, if such a phrase may be used, and the 
 strong points rooted themselves in their minds. 
 It Avas spoken of as a topic no longer of 
 weight or moment, but just as if it was an 
 ordinary event. This tended to reassure 
 Georgie, and to fill her with spirit to carry 
 out her undertaking. There was but one 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 27 
 
 now who opposed it. This was Philip, Pierce's 
 brother — the clerf^yman of the parish — who 
 lived in the adjacent house. Philip ceased 
 not day and night to do whatever he could to 
 discourage this proceeding. He argued against 
 it ; he preached against it ; he produced au- 
 thorities against it. Filled with all the tradi- 
 tions of his Church, zealous even to officious- 
 ness, he reproved them in one breath, and 
 endeavoured to persuade them in the other. 
 In time they grew to be perfectly indifferent 
 to him. Then in secret he changed his tac- 
 tics : he said no more, but he resolved to do 
 what he could to make the ceremony as bind- 
 ing as possible. In this matter he had a cor- 
 dial though unpronounced friend in Xe^ille. 
 Between them they endeavoured so to arrange 
 matters as to give the affair an aspect at least 
 of being sanctioned by authority, even if it 
 was not really so. 
 
 There had been a time, when in London, 
 when Heloise had looked forward to her friend's 
 marriage with delight and anticipation. She 
 had talked of the dresses, of the bridesmaids, 
 of the thousand-and-one details which ladies 
 
28 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 alone can bear in mind. That was months ago. 
 But now that it was rapidly approaching, and 
 in a most singular and exceptionable manner, 
 Heloise seemed to lose all interest in it. Even 
 Georgie remarked this apparent coldness ; and 
 Heloise, hurt at the idea of seeming indif- 
 ferent to Georgie's fate, endeavoured to rouse 
 herself, and ^:s. her mind upon it. But Noel 
 had been too potent. The very idea of a 
 marriage brought up feelings which would 
 not be controlled. This throbbing of her 
 heart would not be stilled. Ah, Noel, Noel ! 
 what mischief he had caused ! It was at this 
 time that Philip, the clergyman who had 
 been in private on the watch for these things, 
 produced a copy of a London paper, in which 
 the approaching event was alluded to in plain 
 and not over-flattering terms : ' We hear that 
 a remarkable marriage, which will signalise 
 the commencement of a new era in the amials 
 of matrimony, will be celebrated in the now 
 fast-coming season. This marriage will pre- 
 sent the novel and exceptionable peculiarity 
 of being for three years only. As no such 
 marriage is recognised by the law, it follows 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 29 
 
 of course that the parties to this contract can 
 be under no binding engagement, and will be 
 practically free to leave each other the very 
 next week. Under the specious pretext of 
 forwarding women's rights, this " new sensa- 
 sation ' may captivate the novelty-seeking por- 
 tion of the public ; but those who possess the 
 power of penetrating beneath the surface of 
 things will feel unfeigned regret at a pre- 
 cedent which may be made to let in a flood of 
 corruption.' 
 
 Georgiana laughed at all this, except the 
 'specious pretext.' That stuck by her — it 
 was always before her. It rose up when she 
 was alone — it confronted her, as the mystic 
 writing on the wall confronted the astonished 
 king. 'Specious pretext!' "Was it just pos- 
 sible that she was deceiving herself? But she 
 would not admit such a possibility. She shut 
 her ears, determined not to hear. And the 
 preparations went forward, and grew near 
 completion. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 This was how the formalities were arranged. 
 The lawyers had been busy at them for some 
 time, and many were the consultations before 
 all parties were agreed. Out of the chaos of 
 numberless suo^o-estions an order was at leno^th 
 evolved. Georgiana's property consisted of 
 the estate at Knoylelands, covering about 
 eight hundred acres, and a very fine dwelling- 
 house, lawns, and gardens. This was entirely 
 her own ; she could devise it by will to whom- 
 soever she chose. Neville Brandon's sole 
 estate was 20,000/. in Consols. It had ori- 
 ginally been double that amount ; but he had 
 never paid the least attention to his monetary 
 affairs, either to obtain a better interest, or to 
 retain what he possessed. He had spent fully 
 one-half of his fortune in his travels, and in 
 prosecuting scientific researches at a great 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 31 
 
 cost. As the law could not be twisted in any 
 way so as to sanction the marriage of these 
 two for a limited number of years, they 
 searched about for a way to bind them to- 
 gether by other means. Indirectly this could 
 be accomplished through their respective pro- 
 perties. In other words, Georgiana Knoyle 
 on the one part, and JN^eville Brandon on the 
 other part, entered into partnership as a firm, 
 and executed the proper deeds, and were duly 
 registered and gazetted as such. The part- 
 nership was nominally to work and farm 
 Georgiana's estate of eight hundred acres. 
 She found the land, he found the capital ; and 
 thus the partnership became a real and genu- 
 ine one. Such an engagement as this could be 
 broken off at any time by consent ; or if one 
 objected, could be severed by his or her dis- 
 charging all claims that the other had upon 
 them. In this way there was a real, tangible, 
 and substantial bond between Georgiana and 
 Neville, entirely independent of and superior 
 to any mere declaration they might make. 
 
 This bond was so far better and more in 
 accordance with the fundamental principles of 
 
32 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 justice than the legal effect of an ordinary 
 marriage, that it was perfectly just to both 
 parties. To provide for the possible advent 
 of children, Neville executed a deed binding 
 himself to allow a stated sum per annum 
 towards the maintenance and education of 
 the same, be they male or female. Up to ten 
 years of age both sexes were to remain with 
 the mother ; after that the girls were to become, 
 as it were, the absolute property of the mother 
 and the boys of the father, who were each to 
 be respectively responsible. 
 
 To meet the contingency of either party 
 dying Georgiana also executed a deed (which 
 she could do, as, not being legally married, 
 she did not incur legal disabilities), leaving 
 a proportion of her property to trustees for 
 the education and maintenance of children. 
 Neville did the same. So that in fact the 
 money for the maintenance of children was 
 in reality placed in the hands of trustees. 
 Over and above this, it was, of course, com- 
 petent to either party to devise their estates 
 to any or all of the possible heirs ; but the 
 above arrangement was adopted as one pro- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 33 
 
 tecting either party against any breach of 
 faith by the other. 
 
 In the event of there being no heirs at 
 the expiration of the three years, or Avithin 
 one year from that separation, these deeds 
 were to become null and void. It was then 
 open to either party either to renew them or 
 to let them drop. The partnership could be 
 dissolved at any time ; but these other deeds 
 held good for three years and the year of 
 grace, which year of grace was provided in 
 order to meet a possible contingency which 
 will suo^o^est itself to the reader. 
 
 Practically this partnership and these pro- 
 visions for possible heirs were the only real 
 bonds that all the ingenuity they exercised 
 could devise. There remained only the cere- 
 mony. The lawyers rather pooh-poohed this 
 part of the matter. It was quite superfluous, 
 quite useless, and of no effect. They might 
 just as well go at once and reside together ; 
 there was no other step they could take that 
 would be of the least practical good. 
 
 Georgiana and Neville both thought very 
 differently. As far as possible they were 
 
 VOL. n. D 
 
34 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 determined to satisfy that traditionary re- 
 quirement of society which demands that in 
 all these great events of life there shall be a 
 certain amount of ceremony — an outward 
 show to exhibit the inner sentiments. Anti- 
 quarians may say that this is a remnant of 
 the times when there were no records, when 
 the art of writing was in a bald and imperfect 
 state. To preserve the memory of an event 
 as much ceremony as possible was gone 
 through, and as great a crowd of persons 
 collected together, so that there might be 
 many witnesses, and that the fact might be 
 widely sjDread and published. In fact such a 
 gathering answered exactly the same purj)ose 
 as the modern announcement in the news- 
 papers. 
 
 The solicitors rather satirically remarked, 
 for they neither altogether relished these ir- 
 regular proceedings, that if one thing was 
 done away with they might as well do away 
 with all. If they could do without the sanc- 
 tion of the Legislature and without the sanction 
 of the Church, why be so anxious to secure 
 the approbation of the public ? They might 
 
RESTLESS nmiAN HEARTS. 35 
 
 just as well sign the deeds, drive to the rail- 
 way, take their tickets, and start off to Paris 
 for the honeymoon at once. 
 
 But Xeville's idea Avas that more than 
 a mere traditionary prejudice existed under 
 the popular faith in a certain amount of pub- 
 licity and ceremony at these important events 
 of life. His idea was that these ceremonies 
 were the tangible outward signs, the mani- 
 festations of the internal and unseen thought. 
 
 They, he and Georgie, might each sit 
 apart in different rooms and think over all 
 those oblio^ations towards each other which 
 they were about to incur ; and having so 
 thought rise up and meet and go forth to- 
 gether into the world. But there w^as no 
 responsibility about this; no other person 
 was made acquainted with what their pro- 
 mises towards each other were. No one 
 could be a witness to the fact that they had 
 made such promises. The ceremony might 
 in itself be a very ridiculous thing, consi- 
 dered jper se and in the abstract, but it was 
 a public declaration of responsibility. The 
 law had in all times prescribed that no inten- 
 
36 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 tion was complete till some act, often very 
 trifling in itself, had been gone through ; 
 deeds for instance had to be completed, 
 signed and sealed, before they had a legal 
 force. The mere act of affixing a paltry 
 piece of sticking substance to a sheet of 
 parchment Avas in itself absurd ; but it was 
 an outward act or sign of the intention of the 
 man. Therefore both he and Georgiana were 
 resolved that there should be some amount of 
 ceremony and some amount of publicity. 
 
 By this time Neville had grown thoroughly 
 interested in the matter. Having once given 
 his consent he threw his mind ardently into 
 it. Since they were to do this thing they 
 might as well do it in such a fashion as to set 
 an example to all time, and to furnish a pre- 
 cedent which others might follow. Together 
 with Georgiana he set to work to compose a 
 ncAV marriage service, adapted to the thought 
 of modern days, and in accordance with the 
 theory that man and woman were socially 
 equal. It was in fact a draft of a new mar- 
 riage service w^hich future legislators might 
 take as a model, and which thev could alter 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 37 
 
 or improve upon — filling up the first imper- 
 fect outline with the lights and shadows of 
 experience. 
 
 First they agreed that the law ought to 
 be altered so as to give greater facilities to 
 marriage. The document they drew up ran 
 as follows, and was afterwards to be published 
 in the form of a pamphlet : 
 
 ' The increasing population of these isles, 
 and the varying phases of public thought, 
 demand that the social contract of marriage 
 should be greatly modified and simplified; 
 and the s|)read of education of late years 
 has been so great, that many of the cumbrous 
 instruments which were necessary in an age 
 of ignorance, and of slow communication, 
 may safely be removed. At present it is 
 not considered that the age at which marriage 
 can be contracted by the simple will o^the 
 parties concerned should be reduced below 
 the age of twenty-one years, as to do so 
 would so largely interfere with the existing 
 laws respecting property. But it is to be 
 hoped that in the future these laws will be so 
 modified as to allow of marriages under that 
 
38 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 age without the necessity of obtaining any con- 
 sent, and at least as early as eighteen, since the 
 aforesaid higher education of this age must 
 be held to make persons responsible agents 
 much sooner than formerly, and therefore 
 to entitle them to an earlier immunity from 
 control. 
 
 ' In these times, when almost every person 
 can read, and when the day is rapidly ap- 
 proaching when the ''almost" of this sentence 
 may be omitted Avith truth, it behoves the 
 legislature of the country to acknoAvledge this 
 altered condition of affairs. Every person is 
 now aware, from the information disseminated 
 by the public press, that persons committing 
 bigamy or marrying within the prescribed 
 degrees, are either liable to severe punish- 
 ment or the contract is null and void. Those 
 requirements which were necessary in bygone 
 times to prevent the recurrence of these of- 
 fences are therefore now superfluous. Such 
 are the publication of banns — with the power 
 of forbidding the same, and so stopping a 
 marriage — and the statutes requiring residence 
 in the parish over a given period. This latter 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 39 
 
 is especially onerous and utterly opposed to 
 the spirit and social life of a period in which 
 such vast multitudes of people are compul- 
 sorily engaged in travelling ; and also when 
 the easy and rapid means of communication 
 permits engagements to be entered into at 
 the distance of several hundreds of miles 
 from home. 
 
 ' With reference to the prevention of the 
 crime of bigamy or the marrying within the 
 prohibited degrees, since all persons may now 
 fairly be held to understand that such prac- 
 tices are reprehensible, there can be no need 
 of any enactments permitting other persons 
 to step in and interfere. If they choose to de- 
 clare that there is no affinity and to incur the 
 penalty, they do so with their eyes open and 
 wittingly; and on this ground there can be 
 no claim to retain these cumbrous processes. 
 
 ' The power given to persons to stop the 
 publication of banns, and thus to hinder, 
 if not to prevent, the solemnisation of matri- 
 mony, is invidious to the liberty of the sub- 
 ject and opposed to the spirit of modern 
 society. It is simply and solely a remnant of 
 
40 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 that period when the feudal laws were in full 
 force, when the lord could interfere with 
 almost every step taken by his vassal ; and it 
 seeks to confer upon parents and trustees 
 powers similar to these. If it practically fails 
 in this respect, it does practically result in a 
 great hindrance and loss of time. Therefore 
 both the publication of banns and the resi- 
 dence for a given number of days in the 
 parish ought to be done away with. 
 
 ' There is indeed no reason, apart from the 
 dogmatical prejudice handed down from gene- 
 ration to generation, why marriage should 
 not be as easy and as expeditious as the mere 
 handing of a cheque for a sum of money to 
 another and the cashing of the same, or of 
 any other banking process. 
 
 ' The only canons that remain to be satis- 
 fied are these (granted of course that both 
 parties freely consent): First, there should be 
 a certain amount of pubhcity after the act. 
 Secondly, that there should be some duly 
 authorised person to perform the ceremony. 
 Thirdly, that there should be a registration 
 by the State. The last two of these canons 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 41 
 
 cannot be satisfied in our case; let us trust 
 that they will be in the future. 
 
 'The principle of the proceeding having 
 been thus cleared of incumbrances and nar- 
 rowed down to its true proportions, there 
 only remain the technical formalities to be 
 laid down. To arrive at these it is necessary 
 to amplify the bare canons alluded to above. 
 The authorised persons should be magistrates, 
 lawyers, physicians, clergymen ; and, in short, 
 all persons who hold a recognised position, 
 and diplomas proving that they possess a 
 higher education than the mass of people. 
 They should be empowered to solemnise mar- 
 riage at any place and any hour, and should 
 be required by Act of Parliament (magistrates 
 particularly) to do so between the hours of 
 eio'ht in the mornino- and twelve at noon, 
 zvithout any previous notice whatever. Other 
 hours should be matters of arrano-ement. For 
 
 o 
 
 such solemnisation they should demand the 
 sum of one shilling and one shilling only ; and 
 this not as a matter of remuneration, but as a 
 recognition of the fact that a certain work 
 has been done and an act committed. 
 
42 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ^ In addition to the above authorised per- 
 sons, the registrars of births, deaths, and mar- 
 riages, now appointed by Government, should 
 also have the same power. All marriages 
 must be notified to the registrar at his oilice 
 within four-and-twenty hour^ after the event, 
 and a fee of one shilling must be paid for re- 
 gistration. The neglect to make this notifi- 
 cation should be punishable. The registrar 
 should be required, by virtue of his office, to 
 insert a notice of the marriage in the next 
 issue of one local paper ; and every local paper 
 throughout the kingdom should be compelled 
 to insert such notice for the sum of one shil- 
 ling : this shilling must be paid by the par- 
 ties to the registrar. The whole amount of 
 the fees, therefore, should be three shillings, 
 and neither more nor less. The form of an- 
 nouncement in the newspapers to be as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " Eegistrar's Announcements. 
 
 ''June 11. By R. E. D. Powell, Esq., J.P., 
 at his residence, Emily, daughter of Jas. Far- 
 nell, aged nineteen, of Bideford, county Devon, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 43 
 
 to John Frampton, aged twenty-two, of Bris- 
 tol, for three years. 
 
 ''June 12. By S. C. Charles, M.D., F.R.C.S., 
 at his surgery, Eliza, daughter of &c. (fcc, 
 for seven years. 
 
 " Published by authority of 
 
 " "W^iLLiAM Thompson, Registrar ^ 
 
 ' The ceremony to be performed before the 
 authorised person should be of the simplest 
 and shortest description. Standing before the 
 magistrate, one on either hand, the man should 
 be first sworn upon the Testament, to tell the 
 truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth, in the usual manner. The woman 
 should likewise be sworn. By these means, 
 all the old checks upon bigamy and illegal 
 contracts will be superseded, since, after this 
 oath, either party would become liable to a 
 prosecution for perjury, if they wrongfully 
 answer the questions then to be put by the 
 magistrate. 
 
 'Magistrate (to the man). What is your 
 full and correct name, your parish, your 
 county, and your age ? 
 
44 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 * The Man. My name is John Frampton, 
 of the parish of St. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, in 
 the county of Bristol, and my age is twenty- 
 two. 
 
 ^Magistrate (to the woman). [The same 
 question and the same answer.] 
 
 ' Magistrate (to the man). Is this woman 
 related to you in any of the prohibited de- 
 grees, or is there any other legal impediment 
 to your marriage? [At the same time hand- 
 ing to him a printed card Avith the prohibited 
 degrees and legal impediments plainly dis- 
 played.] 
 
 'The same question should then be put to 
 the woman, and if their answers are in the 
 negative the magistrate then presiding should 
 say: 
 
 ' Magistrate. For what period are you mu- 
 tually desirous of being joined together in 
 marriage ? 
 
 'Having received their answers, say for 
 three years — 
 
 ^Magistrate (to the man). Repeat these 
 words after me : I, John Frampton, am de- 
 sirous of entering into the state of marriage 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN -HEARTS. 45 
 
 with thee, Emily Farnell [placing his hand in 
 the woman's], for the period of three years. 
 
 'Altered so as to suit the feminine gender, 
 the same sentence should be repeated by the 
 woman. The magistrate should then direct 
 the man to take the ring and to repeat after 
 him as follows : 
 
 ' I take thee, Emily Farnell, to be my wife 
 for the space of three years ; and I place this 
 ring upon thy finger in token that I accept all 
 the responsibilities which the law of this realm 
 places upon me for so doing. 
 
 'Then the woman shall say after the magis- 
 trate : 
 
 ' I take thee, John Frampton, to be my 
 husband for the space of three years ; and 
 I permit thee to place the ring upon my 
 finger in token that I also accept all the legal 
 responsibilities of that position. 
 
 ' They should then both wiite their names 
 in a book provided to all magistrates and pro- 
 fessional persons for that purpose, and the 
 magistrate afterwards should say, after receiv- 
 ino^ the shillino; fee : 
 
 ' As the representative of the Queen's ma- 
 
46 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 jesty upon this occasion, I pronounce ye man 
 and wife for the period of three years. 
 
 'This should conclude the ceremony ; and 
 it would then only remain for the magistrate 
 to communicate with the registrar, by tear- 
 ing off the duj)licate form from his book, pro- 
 perly fiUed up to correspond with the half he 
 retains, and which should pass through the 
 post free as a govermnent document. Of course 
 any magistrate or any person marrying par- 
 ties either of whom should be drunk or inca- 
 pacitated from understanding what was going 
 forward should be liable to heavy punishment; 
 and any drunken person demanding marriage 
 should be also liable to a severe penalty ; as 
 also persons attempting to occasion the mar- 
 riage of an incapable or insane individual. 
 The above is the outline of what we consider 
 to be the only rational method of marriage, 
 and as such suited to the requirements of our 
 day. Therefore, so far as lies in our power, 
 we are about to carry these principles into 
 effect. In our case, being the first of the kind, 
 we propose to sign an additional document, 
 making a formal statement of our opinions. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 47 
 
 but this is not intended to form a precedent. It 
 should be added to the above, that in the case 
 of persons, at the expiration of three years or 
 any other term for which they have been mar- 
 ried, wishing to renew the contract, this should 
 be done by a simple repetition of the cere- 
 mony, with the addition of the words '^renewal 
 for such and such 3^ears" in the sentences re- 
 peated by the man and woman, and also in 
 the registrar's announcement in the newspa- 
 pers. It would also be desirable that three 
 witnesses should be present — one for the ma- 
 gistrate, another for the man, and a third for 
 the woman — each of whom should sign the 
 certificate of marriage in the magistrate's 
 book; 
 
 This w^as the pamphlet they together com- 
 posed and subsequently published. 
 
CHAPTER lY. 
 
 At Pierce's own particular desire the mar- 
 riage was to take place at Bourne Manor. It 
 was of course impossible to hold it in any 
 church; the ceremony, such as it was, must 
 be gone through in a private house. It was 
 hardly the thing to hold it in the bride's o^vn 
 residence at Knoylelands, and they did not 
 care to return to London. There was no de- 
 sire to shun the publicity that must ensue, 
 but they did not wish a crowd of lookers-on ; 
 the actual fact must be accomplished as 
 quietly as possible, whatever noise might ul- 
 timately follow. When the day drew near, 
 Philip, the clergyman, left them entirely, 
 and came no longer to the place. He shunned 
 it as accursed, and would not run the remotest 
 risk of having it said that he sanctioned the 
 unholy alliance by his presence. There was 
 some relief in his absence. However con^^nced 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 49 
 
 they might feel in their own minds that they 
 were doing no wrong, but rather inaugurating 
 a desirable state of things, yet it was not plea- 
 sant to have a man perpetually at your elbow 
 labouring to upset your views. Besides which 
 there was a certain amount of traditionary re- 
 spect, a halo of indefinite reverence, surround- 
 ing the representative of the Church, and this 
 caused just the faintest sense of guilt, as if 
 they were engaged in desecration. So that 
 they were cordially glad that he kept at a 
 distance. 
 
 Heloise could not refrain from reflection 
 on the coming event. Till now, whatever had 
 been her passive guilt in loving Xoel, she 
 had at least not taken so decided a moral 
 step as to desire separation from Louis. But 
 this three years' system, this marriage for a 
 limited period, could not fail to arouse reflec- 
 tion. It reacted upon her. She could not 
 help wishing that her marriage with Louis 
 had been contracted on similar principles, so 
 that she might, after a little waiting, be free 
 again. There was nothing in this unnatural, 
 and it is difficult to blame her, yet it was the 
 
 VOL. ir. E 
 
50 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 first decided step she took on the downward 
 road. It was the beginning of the eager de- 
 sire which soon after rose in her mind to be 
 completely and for ever separated from all 
 bonds and connection with Louis, who, what- 
 ever he might be, was still her wedded hus- 
 band, whom she had sworn to adhere to till 
 death. Such a desire could not fail to let in 
 other thoughts as actively mischievous as 
 this was passive. Those who with Philip 
 will look upon this social marriage of Neville's 
 with horror may trace in this its effect upon 
 Heloise a confirmation of their dislike. From 
 this feeling Heloise grew to be excitedly anx- 
 ious about the success of the design. How 
 supine and indifferent she had hitherto been 
 we have seen. JSTow she became deeply inte- 
 rested, and spent her time entirely with Geor- 
 gie, giving those delicate little attentions which 
 none but a woman, and that woman a loving 
 admirino; friend, could ^ive. Out of this evi- 
 dent interest grew up another effect upon 
 Georgie, who, thus strengthened and sup- 
 ported, eased the tension of her mind, and 
 prepared for the event as if it was of ordinary 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 51 
 
 importance only. Xocl held no share in the 
 deliberations of those preliminary days. In 
 his heart of hearts he rather despised this di- 
 lettante method of procedure. If his brother 
 and his lady really believed and felt Avhat 
 they alleged, why could not they quietly go 
 oiF arm-in-arm, take the first train, and say 
 no more about it ? 
 
 If a man really loved, he would not care 
 for marriage on lease, with option of renewal. 
 He would wish to possess the object of his 
 affection for ever, and through all the phases 
 which existence may possibly assume after 
 death. He would not hesitate, nor she either, 
 to consider whether they were legally inde- 
 pendent, or jto take into consideration cobwebs 
 of moral ri2:hts and wrono-s. Such ideas never 
 
 "fe 
 
 occurred to him with reo'ard to Heloise. Bu 
 
 o 
 
 he o:ave not the slioiitest sio;n of these his real 
 sentiments. The greater the fuss and the 
 more it was necessary for NeviUe to be at 
 Bourne Manor, the better it was for Xoel. It 
 gave him almost daily chances of seeing He- 
 loise. Literally seeing, for it was rarely that 
 he got an opportunity to exchange a word 
 
52 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 with her. She avoided him, not openly, but 
 with all the tact of her nature. She rejoiced 
 to feel that he was in the house with her — 
 that he was near — and yet hid herself with her 
 love from his view. The pretext of constant 
 attendance on Georgie afforded her ample 
 means of concealing herself. These two were 
 now constantly together. Georgie, with all her 
 strong nature, her rather masculine mind and 
 firmness, cluno; to the fraofile creature now 
 much as Heloise had clung to her in the com- 
 mencement of their friendship. Love Neville 
 as she might, and know him and his disposi- 
 tion ever so well, still there Avas an uncer- 
 tainty in the prospect of continual life with 
 him. Even to those who are about to enter 
 matrimony on the old and approved terms, 
 with the sympathy of every one or at least 
 the disapproval of none, there is to the sen- 
 sitive girl or more thoughtful woman a degree 
 of hesitation and uncertainty ; and we know 
 that the mind fears the unknown dangers far 
 more than those which are familiar. 
 
 Georgie had none of the moral support ob- 
 tained from ancient usafre and the strong: feel- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 63 
 
 ings of society ; she was not only about to en- 
 ter an entirely new social relation, but she was 
 flinging herself boldly in the very face of the 
 world, possibly to be reviled and spit at ; at 
 any rate to be the object of criticism. Naturally, 
 therefore, she clung to Heloise — to woman's 
 society — much as the sailors who accompanied 
 Columbus must have strained their eyes upon 
 those native shores from which they were 
 speeding into the great Unknown. For hence- 
 forth how many women would acknowledge 
 her? In their secret hearts they might ap- 
 plaud her, and be glad that she had broken 
 the spell that hung over the sex, confining 
 them to the feudal usages of a bygone time ; 
 much as the spells of the magicians in the 
 fairy tale bound the princess in sleep for a 
 hundred years, still clothed, when awakened, 
 in the curious and gorgeous garments long 
 since discontinued. But outwardly would 
 they not sneer and carp and cavil and 'run 
 her down,' as the phrase is, to the full extent 
 of their nimble and bitter tongues, holding up 
 their hand in utter failure even to compre- 
 hend that extraordinary creature who had 
 
54 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 thus — It was too painful a subject, really! 
 Georgie had her misgivmgs that from the day 
 she marked herself out in this way the doors 
 of society would be shut to her. It was all 
 very well in her enthusiastic moods to declare, 
 as she had done to Xeville a2:ain and ao-ain, 
 that she rose superior to the breath of depre- 
 ciation and detraction — far above the preju- 
 dices of society. And so she did rise above 
 those prejudices. But it was not in human 
 nature, however firmly moulded, to utterly 
 divorce itself from all fellow-feeling and want 
 of sympathy from its kind. Especially is this 
 hard to a woman, taught from her youth up 
 to revere the usages of society as much or 
 more than the precepts of the Church. Geor- 
 gie, like Heloise, having lost her mother early, 
 had not had all the advantages or disadvan- 
 tages of this training; but she had had enough 
 to leave an impression on her mind. Heloise 
 was a great comfort to her in these days. 
 
 The old house at Avonbourne contained a 
 really fine hall. It had been built when the 
 hall was a part of the daily life of the men 
 and women of those times ; when the various 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. iJO 
 
 ranks of societ}' there met and took their posi- 
 tions openly. There was the dais or lord's 
 seat — the raised platform upon which the lord 
 of the place, with his chosen friends and equals, 
 sat — at the head of the board overlooking the 
 long range of tables. There was the huge 
 fireplace, high enough for a man to ride 
 under on horseback, almost dark and cavern- 
 ous enough for him and horse to disappear 
 within. Over this there was a carving of a 
 shield, with the arms of an ancient knight, 
 surrounded with oak-leaves cut in the stone, 
 and beneath it the motto in dog Latin, ' Strike 
 not but to destroy;' meaning that a blow 
 should not be given unless it entirely disabled 
 the opponent. The enemy should never be 
 irritated and roused to greater vigour with 
 feeble hits and weak thrusts, the only effect of 
 which was to fill him with contempt. Wait 
 till renewed strength and golden opportunity 
 combined, then deliver one fatal overwhelm- 
 ing blow, and crush him never to rise again. 
 Por fully sixty feet this rare old hall extended, 
 and rather more than twenty in breadth, pan- 
 ■elled with black oak. The roof rose on an 
 
56 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 arch, as if one stood under the keel of an 
 overturned ship, upheld on huge beams and 
 polished rafters. There was one large window 
 at the western end, where there was a court- 
 yard, but all the length of the hall was onl}^ 
 lighted from narrow arrow-slits. The western 
 extremity, overlooking a courtyard, was safe 
 from assaults, but the side wall was an outr 
 side wall, hence the narrow windows. This 
 western window, large and mullioned — larger 
 than would otherwise have been required in 
 order to give as much light as possible — was 
 full of stained glass in its lower panes. There 
 was the rose of the Tudors, and the arms of 
 many a knight and abbot. The panes above 
 these Avere green, and some nearty yellow 
 with age. So that this vast and lofty hall 
 was full of a subdued light, a misty radiance, 
 an intangible cloud, which hovered in the 
 corner, but fled at one's approach and took 
 refuge in the recesses of the roof. The eastern 
 end, where the dais was, rising about two steps 
 above the level of the floor, was thus always 
 in a twilight, not dim enough in any way to 
 obscure the view, but sufficient to soften down 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 57 
 
 the ano'les and reduce the colour. The floor 
 had origmally been paved with stone, but 
 Pierce had this removed, many slabs being 
 worn into holes, and the damp rising through 
 the joints. He laid doAvn a solid foundation 
 of concrete imper\^ous to damp, and on this 
 a mosaic, a facsimile of the pavement of an 
 ancient chapel he had seen ; the lion of the 
 Bigods — or griffin may it be called? — figuring 
 upon each tile. This mosaic was not slippery. 
 It was glazed, but not highly so. It did not 
 shine. Pierce's taste objected to both these 
 things — slipperiness and a shining surface. 
 They might do for an Alhambra, but not for 
 such a hall as this. 
 
 Long since the walls of this mighty cham- 
 ber had been hung with lance and axe, match- 
 lock and pike, shield and sword, with a dusty 
 moth-eaten banner beneath each arrow-slit. 
 There they still hung untouched, frowning 
 upon those who passed, each instinct with its 
 tale of the turbulent old times. Swords were 
 there still, notched at the edge ; axes splotched 
 with great brown stains; the chronicles of 
 fierce strugglings — man with man. These very 
 
58 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 weapons, and the sense of rude savageness 
 which they called forth, brought out mto still 
 greater contrast the picture which hung upon 
 the eastern wall, high over the dais. It was 
 a very large painting, so that the artist could 
 represent his figures of fully actual size, 
 adapted to be hung at a height, and seen from 
 some little distance. The tarnished oildino; of 
 the heavy frame spoke of vanished time. It 
 was indeed by an old master — it matters not 
 by whom — a master who has left few evidences 
 of his power, but those enough to bear wit- 
 ness to his transcendent genius. It was a 
 painting of Christ. His was the only human 
 figure in it. Xot the dead Christ tenderly 
 lifted down with loving hands from the cruel 
 cross, instinct as it were with death. Not the 
 Christ sitting at the table with the disciples, 
 with John leaning on his bosom hearkening to ' 
 the mysteries. Nor the injured, the insulted, 
 yet divine Being quitting the Praetorium. 
 This was the Nazarene as He might be met 
 upon the road, passing on foot unnoticed from 
 one village to another ; alone, communing with 
 his thoughts. The only accessories were the 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 59 
 
 palm-tree, and a few ears of wheat indicating 
 a corn-field. Else there was nothing but the 
 dusty sandy track, with the print of his foot- 
 steps behind — ' footprints,' indeed, ' upon the 
 sands of Time' — nothing but the common road 
 and Him. He was in no agony, no dis- 
 tortion; simply walking slowly, thoughtfully, 
 just as you might have met Him, just as 
 the wayfarers met Him in those wonderful 
 days. But the Divinity shone out and irra- 
 diated the very road, throwing upon it a 
 mystic and beautiful light, as the autumn 
 moon would transform the white track to a 
 thing of exquisite beauty. The painter had por- 
 trayed Him after the famous Letter of Len- 
 tulus, a description which, however the critics 
 may dispute it, the heart at once accepts and 
 the soul ratifies as the only possible human 
 impersonation of Deity. ' He was a man of 
 lofty stature, of serious and imposing counte- 
 nance, inspiring love as well as fear in those 
 who beheld Him. His hair was the colour of 
 wine, straight and without lustre as far as 
 the ears, but thence glossy and curly, flowing 
 upon the shoulders and divided down the 
 
60 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 centre of the head, after the manner of the 
 l^azarenes. The forehead was smooth and se- 
 rene, the face without blemish, of a pleasant, 
 slightly ruddy colour. The expression noble 
 and engaging. The nose and mouth of per- 
 fect form. The beard abundant and of the 
 same colour as the hair, parted in the middle. 
 The eyes blue and brilliant. He is the most 
 beautiful among the children of men.' Out 
 of this bald and meagre outline the painter 
 had evolved the animation of the original, 
 giving it a life and a lustre beyond all words. 
 
 This was no mere mechanical carpenter, a 
 man who sawed wood and yawned over it; 
 this was an immortal, a o;od, a divine beinof. 
 The man could not conceal the divinity; the 
 flesh could not hide the immortal majesty. To 
 stand before and gaze upon this picture was 
 to receive an unconscious elevation of the 
 soul ; it felt that it had imperfectly, and 
 through a glass darkly, seen tlie aspect of a 
 heavenly existence, and soared upvrard, en- 
 larged in thought, ^ to regions of a heavenly 
 ancestry.' This was no square, bony-chested, 
 angular, mediaeval lay figure. When a man 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 61 
 
 is full of a grand and noble idea, when his 
 whole soul is filled with a high aspiration, with 
 the inflatus of genius, does not his face shine, 
 his eves o:low, his whole form 2:row laro^er? 
 does not his humanity expand ? 
 
 ' Tlie warrior goddess gives liis frame to shine 
 "With majesty enlarged and air divine.* 
 
 How, then, should it be otherwise with 
 Him ? How could the divine soul, busy with 
 the thought of a world redeemed, inflated with 
 the genius of God, do otherwise than shine 
 forth and show itself? 
 
 Under this picture stood a great carved 
 oaken chest, standing on four legs as the old 
 presses did, and bound with iron clamps. This 
 was the muniment chest of the family. This 
 was the altar before which Georgie had to 
 stand. On it they had placed the antique 
 family Bible open, its brazen clasps undone. 
 The corners of the dais were filled with ferns 
 and a profusion of those beautiful plants 
 with variegated leaves, interspersed with here 
 and there exotic flowers and strange shrubs 
 and aloes from far-ofl* lands, till it seemed a 
 recess in a tropical forest. They had filled 
 
62 RESTLESS HUMAX HEAriTS. 
 
 the old hall with chairs and seats, and these 
 were crowded with the immediate friends of 
 the bride and bridegroom, behind whom stood 
 the servants of the house. A lane or aisle 
 was left np the centre, and this was laid 
 down with crimson cloth, as was the whole 
 floor of the dais. On the right of the dais 
 was a loAV arched doorway leading into the 
 house ; this too was hung w4th crimson cur- 
 tains. The novelty of the event, and the 
 striking scene, filled the audience with in- 
 tense interest, and they waited with impa- 
 tience. Precisely at eleven o'clock, Neville, 
 accompanied by Noel as best man, entered 
 the hall by the arched doorway near the dais, 
 and walking rapidly to the steps that led up 
 to it, stood there awaiting Georgiana. He 
 was dressed in the only costume possible on 
 such occasions, a costume that did not become 
 him. He would have looked better in a velvet 
 jacket and straw hat. Noel's brown face was 
 paler than usual, and occasional twinges of 
 pain passed across his brow. His arm was in 
 a sling J the old shot wound found out the 
 cold weather and the proximity of the Avon. 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 63 
 
 As he passed through the arched doorway, 
 closely behmd N^eville, he saw a figure, that 
 of a slender woman, crouchmg at one side, 
 half hidden by the scarlet curtains. His 
 heart gave a bound, and he half involuntarily 
 whispered, ' Heloise.' She shrank still more 
 into her hiding-place, but an ice-cold hand 
 just touched his for a second and no more. 
 Heloise it was. 
 
 With the cloud of her husband's guilt 
 hanging over her, she could not take open 
 part in any of these ceremonies, and she could 
 not even be persuaded to be present. Still 
 there was a natural desire to witness these 
 exceptional proceedings ; and with that view 
 she had hidden herself in the archway, 
 where, out 'of sight herself, she could see all. 
 This was the first time their hands had met 
 in that surreptitious manner. It was partially, 
 at least, involuntarily ; it lasted but a second, 
 but it did take place, and in that second 
 another barrier was broken down. Even 
 more than the pain he was suffering, the sense 
 of that trembling touch paled Noel's face as 
 he stood beside his brother. A moment more. 
 
64 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and Pierce came up the aisle, attended by 
 Yerney, of the firm of Williamson, Yerney, 
 & Co., for Georgiana, and by Tournell, of 
 Tournell, Tournell, & Co., for Neville. Pierce 
 ascended the dais, and took his stand right in 
 front of and close to the muniment chest, 
 facing the body of the hall. The two solici- 
 tors ranged themselves one on each side, but 
 somewhat in the rear. Hardly had this ar- 
 rangement been completed when a general 
 agitation tokened the approach of the bride. 
 With a slow and stately step, her noble and 
 well-poised head held upright, not defiantly, 
 but with a certain sense of self-assertion, 
 Georgie, in all the radiance of her beauty, 
 passed up the whole length of the hall. She 
 was dressed in white satin, trimmed with 
 antique lace, the train trailing far behind her. 
 She did not wear the traditional orange wreath, 
 nor the veil, but she carried a superb bouquet ; 
 and above her forehead, in the masses of hair, 
 shone and glittered a magnificent diamond star, 
 by the side of which was one large bell-shaped 
 white flower. Eight bridesmaids followed her : 
 there had been a difliculty in selecting these, so 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 6 3 
 
 many pressed forward for the office, on account 
 of the novelty of the whole thing. Neville 
 met her half way, and together they went up 
 on the dais, and stood facing each other, one 
 on either side of Pierce. The bridesmaids 
 ranged themselves, four upon each hand. 
 Then Pierce, without a moment's delay, taking 
 one step forward, swore each of them upon 
 the Testament in the usual manner (he was a 
 magistrate). He showed them a document, 
 and asked if that was their signature, and re- 
 ceiving an answer in the affirmative, deli- 
 berately read as follows, in a low but distinct 
 voice, audible at the farthest corner of the 
 haU: 
 
 ' We the undersigned, Georgiana Knoyle 
 and Neville Brandon, desire to make this 
 public statement in order that the step we are 
 about to take may not be misunderstood. Pri- 
 marily our reasons are that man and woman 
 are socially equal; and that they are both 
 therefore entitled to equal liberty of action. 
 By marriage in the ordinary way, the woman 
 abjures her own identity, and the man pro- 
 mises to take upon himself responsibilities 
 
 irrvT TT 
 
GG EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 which no human being can ever fulfil, while 
 at the same time both, but particularly the 
 woman, incurs disabilities degrading, and con- 
 trary to common sense. We therefore desire 
 in this act to record a solemn protest against 
 the retention of a semi-feudal institution. 
 The formalities we are about to go through 
 are established by no recognised authority, 
 but we prefer to thus publicly proclaim our 
 union out of respect for the esteem of society, 
 and with the view of setting a precedent. 
 Our other reasons are set forth at length in a 
 document which we have composed together. 
 Copies of this paper will be handed to every 
 person in this assembly, and it will afterwards 
 be printed. (Signed.)' 
 
 Pierce then took up a small manuscript 
 book, and turning to Xeville said, 'What is 
 your full and correct name, your parish, your 
 county, and your age ?' 
 
 Neville. My name is Xeville Brandon, of 
 Bramleigh parish, county Surrey ; and my age 
 is thirty. 
 
 Pierce put the same question to Georgiana. 
 
 Georgiana. My name is Georgiana Knoyle, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 67 
 
 of Knoyle parish, county H ; and my age 
 
 is twenty- four. 
 
 Pierce (to Neville). Is this woman related 
 to you in any of the prohibited degrees ; or is 
 there any other legal impediment to your 
 marriage ? 
 
 Neville. She is not related to me, nor is 
 there any legal impediment. 
 
 Georgiana answered the same question. 
 
 Pierce. For what period are you mutually 
 desirous of being joined together in marriage ? 
 
 Neville and Georgiana. For three years. 
 
 Pierce (to Neville.) Repeat these words 
 after me : I, Neville Brandon, am desirous of 
 entering into the state of marriage with thee, 
 Georgiana Knoyle, for the period of three years. 
 
 Neville did so, and Pierce taking Geor- 
 giana's hand placed it in his. Then he loosed 
 her hand, and she repeated the same state- 
 ment after him, and he put her hand again in 
 Neville's. 
 
 Pierce. Take the ring, and repeat after me: 
 I take thee, Georgiana Knoyle, to be my wife 
 for the space of three years, and I place this 
 ring upon thy finger in token that I accept all 
 
QS EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the responsibilities which the laws of the realm 
 place upon me for so doing. 
 
 Georgiana repeated much the same for- 
 mula; and then Neville placed the ring upon 
 her finger. Up till now the ceremony had 
 proceeded with such rapidity that the specta- 
 tors had had no time to reflect. But while 
 placing the ring on her finger there was a 
 pause for a moment. In that pause, the sun 
 shone out. It was only the weak February 
 sun, but it streamed through the narrow 
 arrow-slit, and fell in a long beam of light on 
 Georgiana's splendid golden hair, lighting it 
 up with a glow like a halo round her head, 
 and then passing on, rested upon the dusty 
 sandy roadway in the picture at the feet of the 
 Christ. A murmur of admiration arose ; one 
 of those slight movements rather than sounds 
 by which a critical audience testifies its appro- 
 bation ; but it was perhaps rather the artistic 
 effect than anything else that they applauded. 
 
 Neville and Georgiana then wrote their 
 names in the fly-leaf of the old family Bible, 
 which in the absence of any authorised regis- 
 try they had chosen to take its place. Messrs. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 69 
 
 Yerney and Tournell (the solicitors) and Noel 
 also signed it as witnesses, and Pierce added 
 his own at the foot. He then rapidly turned, 
 and said : ' I pronounce ye man and wife for 
 three years.' This completed the ceremony. 
 Georgiana placed her arm in Neville's, and 
 retraced her steps down the aisle, while 
 at the same moment the strains of the ' Wed- 
 ding March' of Mendelssohn, that beautiful 
 burst of music, came pealing through the 
 arched doorway from the organ in the library. 
 The spectators rose, as if by instinct, as the 
 pair passed, and watched them till the folding 
 doors were shut, and they had gone out of 
 sight ; then they dispersed to prepare for the 
 dejeuner. With that we have nothing to do, 
 except to remark that Heloise was not present, 
 and that Noel excused himself, on the plea of 
 his aching arm, and rode away abruptly. 
 When a man is deeply, madly in love, it is 
 not a pleasant sensation to watch another, even 
 if that other is his own brother, tangibly 
 realising his happiness. 
 
 In the afternoon, Neville and Georgie 
 departed for the Continent. 
 
70 BESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 That entry in the old family Bible, and 
 their signatures to it, was not the only re- 
 sult of this singular proceeding. Philip the 
 clergyman, who would not be present, no 
 sooner heard that it had actually taken place, 
 than he retired to the vestry -room of his 
 church, and taking out the old register-book (the 
 new ones admit of no such entries), he wrote 
 on one of the vacant pages at the end : 
 
 ^February 17, 187 — . This day was con- 
 summated a very freak and imagmation of 
 the Evil Principle under the guise of so- 
 called Progress' (Philip was fond of capital 
 letters), ' my misguided brother acting as offi- 
 ciator. Neville Brandon andGeorgiana Knoyle 
 were united in unholy Matrimony at his 
 house, for Three years. Heaven save the 
 mark, in the presence of two solicitors and a 
 cloud of witnesses. May Heaven grant them 
 grace to see the error of their Ways, and to 
 return, and be joined together by Me in this 
 my Church, as the Rubrics of the Establish- 
 ment do direct ! And to this end will I bend 
 my Prayers till this be happily accomplished. 
 — Philip Lestrange, Vicar of Avonhourne' 
 
CHAPTER y. 
 
 Of all the secret police that ever oppressed 
 a nation there is none equal to the press for 
 ubiquitousness. The French police are no- 
 torious as a power, to whom even the very 
 head of the government must bow, whether 
 that head be Louis XIV., N^apoleon III., or 
 Marshal MacMahon. No one knows who the 
 agents of such a police are — they are a species 
 of social Jesuits. The very dearest and near- 
 est friend to whom you have been telling your 
 most hidden concerns may be greedily listen- 
 ing with the view of retailing it afterwards to 
 his chief. But our press is worse than this ; it 
 actually beats the police. It acts as a police 
 upon the poHce — espying out all their faults, 
 their folHes, mistakes, and lack of insight. 
 Therefore the police hate the press with a 
 sincerity impossible to exaggerate. And the 
 two classes are so civil to each other too, out- 
 
72 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 wardly — ahvays ready to exchange informa- 
 tion. The police vdll never accept a theory 
 from the press ; they invariably set to work to 
 disprove the theory started by the press, and 
 just as invariably succeed in proving the very 
 facts they denied with such fatuous compla- 
 cency. But this press is a terrible police. Its 
 agents are everywhere ; they stand behind the 
 throne, and they chat amicably "svith the peas- 
 ant in his cottage. The very banker in his pri~ 
 vate country house, in his most secret study, 
 surrounded with his telegrams in cipher, his 
 enigmatical correspondence, and equally enig- 
 matical books of figures, is conscious that 
 through the very walls, of even the ceiling 
 overhead, a power is watching him, listening 
 to the scraping of his pen. You may call a 
 meeting of your private friends, rigidly exclud- 
 ing the reporters, admitting only by ticket, 
 watching the door yourself; yet the next morn- 
 ing all the proceedings are in print. How is 
 this ? It is because everybody writes in this our 
 day — clergy, lawyers, doctors, telegraph clerks, 
 post-office people, literally everybody — and 
 how can you tell which of your private friends 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 7S 
 
 may not conceal under his smilincr face and 
 dress-coat a fatal faculty for writing and a 
 strong memory ? At Avonbourne, of course, 
 they all knew that the aiFair would be talked 
 of and alluded to in the newspapers, but they 
 did not dread that much. Most people of any 
 social rank at all see their names and their 
 affairs in the newspapers once a year at least. 
 We live so much in public nowadays. Time 
 was when only great potentates, such as the 
 emperor of this, or the king of that, and am- 
 bassador so-and-so, had then' private move- 
 ments recorded. But now Mrs. Brown or 
 Miss Robinson no sooner arrives at the sea- 
 side than their names appear in the local 
 gazettes. Every one gets so accustomed to it 
 that nobody cares much about it, except some 
 of the poor thin-skinned ones, -with an over- 
 whelming sense of their own importance. So 
 that they really never gave a thought about 
 the newspapers. But some one must have been 
 at that marriage party with a quick ear and a 
 vigorous memory; for the very next morning 
 the most enterprising of the morning papers 
 had two columns of large print and one of 
 
74 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAliTS. 
 
 small type — first, a description of the whole 
 scene, painfully graphic, with all the real 
 names of the persons in any Avay concerned ; 
 next, the text of the formalities of the mar- 
 riage ; and, lastly, the text of that document 
 which Georgie and Neville had drawn up to- 
 gether. In addition to this there was a lead- 
 ing article upon the report — one of those arti- 
 cles for which that paper is famous. 
 
 It is the fashion, by the way, to sneer at 
 the Daily Telegrajjli; to point and gibe at the 
 classicisms, at the mixture of the far-fetched 
 analogy with the ready slang of the hour. 
 Considered in the abstract, in the calm retreat 
 of the study, with the window open, and a cool 
 breeze fanning the brow, a scent of clover, and 
 the hum of bees, all this criticism may be well 
 enough. Those who can sit and write thus, 
 surrounded with every pleasure, with plenty 
 of time to pick and choose not only their 
 thoughts but their words, may find it easy 
 enough to spot the ungrammatical expressions 
 — the omission of a diphthong in the Latin 
 quotations, or to sneer at the tawdry sen- 
 timent. But put them in the place of the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 75 
 
 author of the despised article — let them be 
 driven to minutes in Avhich to compose ; let 
 them have to rapidly scan a rough proof of 
 some report, and then to reflect upon it and 
 to choose those reflections which will not only 
 be most picturesque and amusing, but also 
 best suited to a peculiar class of readers — 
 and where would be these same sneerers and 
 gibers then ? They would write, if they wrote 
 anything at all, the most commonplace and 
 dullest of trash. Without a doubt, it displays 
 an immense genius, a capacity for adaptation, 
 a plastic mind, to be able to compose such 
 articles as these on the spur of the moment. 
 How admirably, too, they are suited to the 
 popular taste — the taste of a half-educated 
 public, that likes to be reminded of its studies 
 or its ' crams,' and yet not be obliged to hunt 
 out the translation for itself, but to see it 
 plainly indicated in the context; that likes, 
 too, the well-turned, sharp, epigrammatic 
 periods, and a seasoning of anecdote fresh and 
 unexpected. The poet is born and not made, 
 and so is the writer of a Daily Telegraph arti- 
 cle. Latterly, this much derided and abused 
 
76 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 paper lias taken a stand which elevates it far 
 above its wobbling crippled companions. It 
 has moved with the age, and expanded its 
 functions to suit the requirements of the social 
 life of the times. Every one now takes an in- 
 terest in science and in discovery. Every one 
 reads the addresses of men like Professor 
 Tyndall, and the journeys of men like Living- 
 stone. All take an interest, a deep and abid- 
 ing interest, in these things ; and this interest 
 grows daily with the spread of education. 
 People want to go further than these explorers 
 have gone ; they long to hear of the great 
 work being carried on to its logical conse- 
 quence and conclusion. If Livingstone went 
 very near the source of the Nile, the public feel 
 an anxious desire to go still nearer ; if Sherard 
 Osborne or Markham point out a channel by 
 which the XorthPole can be reached, the public 
 desire to see some vessel start upon the adven- 
 turous voyage. But no one fulfils this legiti- 
 mate, this even laudable public wish. ISTo 
 millionnaire comes to the front and offers his 
 superfluous gold to fit out an Arctic expedi- 
 tion, or to construct a telescope capable of solv- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 77 
 
 ing the problems of space, or to build a macliine 
 that shall really fly. What on earth do they 
 do with their money ? They cannot eat it nor 
 drink it all, nor spend it all on horse-racing 
 and yachting. Why does not some one or 
 other of them come forward and endeavour to 
 satisfy this craving of the public mind, and at 
 the same time cover themselves with honour? 
 Are they all blind and fktuous ? does the very 
 fact of the possession of unlimited means close 
 the eyes to the perception of how those means 
 can be utilised and turned to the highest plea- 
 sure, besides popularity, and therefore profit ? 
 For in our days popularity is another word, 
 an equivalent, for profit, not only to newspa- 
 pers, but to millionnaires and gentlemen. Years 
 succeed to years, and yet no one comes forward, 
 and says, ' I will satisfy the curiosity and the 
 laudable wishes of the people.' At last the 
 Daily Telegraph has stepped boldly into the 
 gap, and nobly intends to devote some portion 
 of its gains to clearing up what human in- 
 genuity can of the obscurities which sur- 
 round the Past and the Distant. It began by 
 sending the Assyrian student, Mr. Smith, to 
 
78 RESTLESS HUMAN KEAKTS. 
 
 the mounds at Koyunyik to search for more 
 leaves of the library of the old world. Now it 
 is busy with an expedition into the centre and 
 heart of Africa to set at rest the vexed ques- 
 tion of the Nile source. A glorious triumph 
 it would be indeed to journalism if the attempt 
 should succeed, after failures on every hand — 
 failures by men of talent, of armed forces, of 
 kings, and even of nations, — if at last a news- 
 paper, a despised newspaper, a common penny 
 print, should clear away the mystery. And a 
 triumph not only for journalism, but for all 
 men of intellect, now disgusted and tired with 
 the old trammels of routine. If the tone of 
 newspaper writing is coarse, in bad taste, vul- 
 gar — if it be so, whose fault is it ? Not of the 
 writers, most decidedly, for there are those 
 among them educated to the highest pitch, and 
 possessing every refinement ; but the fault of 
 those for whom they write, to whose mental 
 condition the articles must be adapted, just in 
 the same way as they try to teach children to 
 read through pictures in the primers. 
 
 None of them at Avonbourne had antici- 
 jiated this fame. It came on them with a rush, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 79 
 
 and took away their breath — this report, and 
 leader in addition. It stunned them for a few 
 moments ; then they began to awake to the 
 criticisms and the remarks which must ensue 
 throughout the length and breadth of the land. 
 This report, this leader, had that morning been 
 laid upon a hundred thousand breakfast-tables 
 at least. As it was so important to them, they 
 naturally imagined it would be so to others ; 
 and they fancied the bold type staring every- 
 body in the face, immistakable, not to be es- 
 caped from. What is there so light as conver- 
 sation? The gossamer, the thistle-down, the 
 tiniest insect floating in the air, is heavy, 
 cumbrous, compared with it. It flies swift as 
 the telegraph; it penetrates walls and roofs, 
 this mystic and invisible thing. You cannot 
 hide yourself from it — you cannot escape it. 
 You may go away, and leave no address, so 
 that your letters may not reach you ; you may 
 sit in solitude on the beach or in the forest. 
 Let it be where it may, the murmur will reach 
 you ; it will force itself upon you. It may be 
 only the waiter, who drops a word in sheer wish 
 to be civil and informing. It may be a remark 
 
80 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 
 
 casually made by one to another in a crowd, 
 not meant to be heard farther. But this con- 
 versation is irresistible — you must hear it. 
 You may just as well go and sit by the road- 
 side at once, and have it over. They heard 
 enough of it at Avonbourne. There was a 
 buzzing in the air, a hum overhead, like the 
 sound of the 'midsummer hum,' the noise of 
 myriads of invisible creatures mingling in an 
 endless dance. 
 
 The mammas and papas were especially 
 bitter upon this horrid innovation. ' So highly 
 improper; so immoral; how could any wo- 
 man, any lady^ do such a thing ? Dear me, 
 dear me!' 
 
 They had a sufficiently good reason for 
 disliking it. If the daughters only married 
 for three years, how many of them would 
 come back ? A man would never get entirely 
 rid of his olive-branches. They would be per- 
 petually returning Hke the traditional bad 
 halfpenny. The mammas had had too much 
 experience of their daughters, too famihar 
 accjuaintance with their pets and tempers, 
 their secret faults, not to know full well that 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 81 
 
 barely a tenth of the lot could be relied upon 
 to remain. They dreaded the possibility of 
 such an innovation as limited matrimony com- 
 ing into fashion ; therefore they turned the 
 vials of their wrath and venom upon it, and 
 called in the odium. tlieoJogicum to demolish its 
 merest chance of success. It was so immoral, so 
 unscriptural. Dreadful, shocking, horrid ! An 
 a^vful Woman ! They did not so much wonder 
 at the Man, though he must be a Wretch ! 
 The clerg}^, one and all, agreed in carrying 
 on this cry of immorality and unscripturality. 
 They raged and foamed against it. They boiled 
 over it. They got up indignation everywhere. 
 They, too, had a very good reason for all this ; 
 they had vested interests to consider. So on 
 this point they all agreed ; Ritualist, Broad, 
 Low, High, Nonconformist, Methodist, Itin- 
 erant, the whole jing-bang, as the Americans 
 say, never ceased their cuckoo cry, ' Immoral, 
 unscriptural !' 
 
 The philosophers looked at it in another 
 light. They referred you to Sir John Lubbock's 
 book; and advised you to read about the 
 conditions of social relationship among the 
 
 VOL. IL G 
 
82 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 savages, as illustrating the primeval state of 
 affairs. In this most primeval state, the sexes 
 only dwelt together so long as fancy sug- 
 gested. 
 
 j^ow, said the philosophers, see how the 
 outcome of the highest civilisation bears the 
 strongest analogy to the proceedings of the 
 darkest savagery! Hence, behold the source 
 where civilisation should go for its lessons 
 and its inspirations. It should study prime- 
 val man, and then apply all the modern arts 
 and discoveries to carry out these original 
 instincts to their grandest development. 
 
 The lawyers, like the clergy, were unani- 
 mous in condemnation. They had a sharp 
 discussion as to whether or no Pierce, as a 
 magistrate, and sworn to uphold the laws of 
 his country, was not liable to a prosecution, or 
 at least to be struck off the list of magistrates, 
 for this daring step. They ridiculed the whole 
 idea as wild and impracticable to the absurd- 
 est extent. They pointed out what injurious 
 effects it would have upon the rights of pro- 
 perty. They likewise had very good reasons 
 for their excitement. The new process was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 83 
 
 SO simple and so natural that it quite dis- 
 pensed with the necessity of employing legal 
 gentlemen. People could manage their own 
 affairs, a most undesirable state of things. 
 But the bitterest critics of all were those very 
 persons upon whose sympathy and cordial ap- 
 proval Georgiana counted, the women, namely, 
 who called themselves advocates of woman's 
 rights, and went about the country spouting 
 and lecturing on the same. They ran her 
 down as having spoilt the cause in her over- 
 zeal ; in good truth they were jealous and 
 envious, not only of the strong will which, in 
 one single step, had done more than all the 
 lot of them together in twenty years, but 
 jealous and envious too of the notoriety she 
 had thereby gained. She stood out in a strong 
 light, and they were reduced to shadows. This 
 they could not bear ; for these so-called strong- 
 minded women were the weakest and feeblest 
 of their sex, mean, envious, paltry to the last 
 degree. 
 
 Georgie's own private friends in London 
 were, after all, the most lenient. First of all 
 
84 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 they heartily laughed at her, and revelled in 
 the enjoyment of a new sensation. Then they 
 felt an accession of vanity — always a pleasur- 
 able sense — how infinitely superior they were 
 to this eccentric individual. Lastly, they took 
 to pitying her, and it became the fashion in 
 this select circle to bitterly resent the news- 
 paper attacks upon poor Georgie. They re- 
 solved, since all the world ran her down, to 
 patronise her, and make much of her, when 
 she returned to London. She should go with 
 them everywhere. In point of fact, they were 
 anxious to appear difi*erent from any one else 
 — distingue. To do them justice, there were 
 one or two who really did take an interest in 
 this novel social experiment. 
 
 After a while they began to long for the 
 return of this new lion, that they might pat it 
 and pet it, and especially that other people 
 might see them patting and petting. But 
 Georgie had at least one class of enthusiastic 
 champions. All the young men in the country, 
 without exception, were hers to a man. They 
 lauded her to the skies. And the young 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 85 
 
 ladies? Well, they tossed their heads and 
 never read of such things, not they; and all 
 you could get out of them was a simper, and 
 ^ Keally now — now really !' 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 How refreshing it is to pick up Froissart or 
 even Machiavelli's Florence. Everybody had 
 something to do in those days, and if they 
 did not always enjoy doing it, they experi- 
 enced, at all events, a great deal of genuine 
 emotion. This is just exactly what we never 
 get now. It is all so languid and smooth and 
 soft, so delicate and refined, it all passes over 
 like gossamers, tickling a little but leaving no 
 impression. What ever we shall do mth our- 
 selves in another half a century no one can 
 surmise. Possibly every one will be dead of 
 ennui before then. But in the old Anglo- 
 Xorman days, when the very proprietors of 
 the land had to maintain their possessions by 
 sheer force, and were always on the alert lest 
 the serf should rise, or a powerful neighbour 
 invade, — in those days of warfare and rapine 
 they had something to do. It was a wicked 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 87 
 
 and cruel time ; a time which no one can ever 
 Avish to return. But the perpetual fighting, 
 the ceaseless clash of steel, the restlessness of 
 the day, left no space for ennui ; they were 
 all busy, hard at work threshing men as the 
 rustic threshes corn with his flail. 
 
 Later down, too, in the age of the subtle 
 politician, in the age of Machiavelli and Csesar 
 Borgia, what a glittering show it is, and a 
 glittering show with this difference from 
 modern pageants, that it is alive ! Behind 
 the banners and the j^i'ocessions ; behind the 
 marching soldiers and the dancing mounte- 
 banks ; behind the very music, the gay scarfs, 
 and the incessant laughter, there is a life, a 
 verve^ a reality. These men felt as well as 
 acted. In our day they act alone. It is a 
 wonderful history, this tale of the Florentine 
 republic, written by the model of all politi- 
 cians. It is one long web of human ingenuity 
 from beginning to end ; a record of men and 
 women striving and struggling against each 
 other for the mastery ; and this same eager- 
 ness and anxiousness lends a reality to all 
 they did, and excites a corresponding interest 
 
88 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 in the chronicle of their times. True it is 
 that in our day we too have something to 
 strusfo-le for — somethins; to do — but it is an 
 incentive which does not touch the deeper, 
 grander chords of human nature. There is 
 Money — the one object and aim of the mil- 
 lions. This is something to do. But it does 
 not bring out the chivalry, the finer feelings ; 
 it does not stir the heart and intellect, and 
 waken up all the courage and resolution of 
 the soul, like the trumpet blast of the knights 
 as they charged to the battle. On the con- 
 trary, it gradually deadens and dulls all the 
 passions but one, the most despicable of all ; 
 it centres the man in himself, and of himself 
 he soon gets tired, and then comes ennuL 
 Worse than this, it requires no reaUty. 
 
 Your old knight of steel could not put a 
 dummy in the saddle and send that to the 
 charge. He must be there in person, full of 
 manly vigour and iron determination; sha- 
 dows and shams were of no avail then. Now 
 all the study and effort is to make a counter- 
 feit presentment pass for true ; and it is no 
 very difficult matter, since all the world is 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 89 
 
 agreed to accept shams, and to require no- 
 thing more than that they shall conform to 
 the usages of the hour. If by any chance 
 the sham is a noveltv, if it is not in strict 
 conformity, there is a great sputtering ; but 
 provided it tallies with the shams that have 
 preceded it and to which we are accustomed, 
 all is well. There is no reality in it. It is all 
 Paper and Credit. But these fellows in Flor- 
 ence were not satisfied with shams ; or if they 
 did succumb to such things, it was as the 
 clever guise of a reality really deceived and 
 not affecting to believe. 
 
 What, then, has become of all the origi- 
 nal energy of man's nature ? Has the race 
 which nov/ exists none — has it all vanished? 
 How hard people work at paring down and 
 subduing their own inward vigour, both 
 physical and mental 5 how singularly hard 
 they labour to reduce themselves to lay 
 figures, passionless, purposeless, mere ma- 
 chines for eating and drinking and sleeping ! 
 The slightest evidence of an effort is enough 
 to condemn a man utterly as a rude being, a 
 barbarian, an uncivilised savage. It is fash- 
 
90 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ionable to be languid, delicate, refined ; to be 
 undecided and careless, indifferent, yawnish. 
 But pare away the natural energy, reduce the 
 original vigour as much as ever they may, 
 still there remains an ineradicable vein of 
 restlessness. So that we see, every now and 
 then, society rush hither and thither in great 
 waves, seeking in some new sensation to find 
 an outlet for the pent-up motion. 
 
 What a curious system it is to teach 
 us, not only at school, but at home, and in 
 the early part of our life, ideas and feelings 
 which we must afterwards spend years in 
 endeavouring to unlearn, while we meantime 
 sufi'er no little deception and misery ! Next 
 after the alphabet and the primer, they teach 
 us, or try to teach us, to be ' good.' That 
 is to obey, to believe, to choose the right and 
 eschew the wrong, to be conscientious, to fiy 
 to the help of the distressed, to subdue our- 
 selves, and to consider others before us ; above 
 all things to be truthful. Even the least im- 
 pressionable of us cannot help but imbibe a 
 certain amount of faith in these doctrines. 
 Yet those who teach us must know very well 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 91 
 
 that ^ye shall have to spend years unlearning 
 these lessons by bitter experience. Follow 
 these instructions, and what is the result ? Dis- 
 appointment, loss, deceit, fraud ; we become 
 mere carcasses for the vultures to feed upon. 
 As for the right, of what avail is that ? The 
 technical invariably overrides equity, till we 
 curse the very day in which we learnt to 
 trust a reed which broke and pierced us. So, 
 too, with another old tradition, the tradition 
 of Work; that work we must, because the 
 ground is cursed, and we must eat bread in 
 the sweat of our brow. That work, moreover, 
 is ennobling and dignifying; that it enlarges 
 man's nature and makes him nearer a god ; 
 that there is something grand about it. Also, 
 on more practical grounds, that by work alone 
 money can be made, and position and inde- 
 pendence assumed. All these are the merest 
 traditions, the sheerest fallacies. Society has 
 found out long ago that it is by no means a 
 matter of necessity to work in order to eat 
 bread; for do not thousands who never lift 
 their hands to their mouths revel in wine and 
 sweetmeats, in purple and fine linen? As to 
 
92 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 work being ennobling and dignified, look at 
 the drunken meclianics and labourers. But 
 taking this as a piece of special pleading, look 
 at the case of a man who really does work as 
 a man should, is it not a very sorry sight to 
 see the intellect so busy over a trifle? That 
 money can be made by work alone is a do^vn- 
 right lie, and nothing less. Astute society 
 has learnt long ago that in ninety-nine times 
 out of the hundred, money is made by a com- 
 bination of circumstances, by luck, by calcu- 
 lation, and most of all by Humbug. Why, 
 then, should we all be brought up in these 
 antique and exploded beliefs — why should we 
 all have to work our way through the experi- 
 ences and miserable disappointments arising 
 from these fond and delusive hopes? Why 
 not tell us at once the bitter truth, and teach 
 us to meet it in the beginning face to face, 
 and hand to hand — this ' hard hand-play' of 
 the old Saxon poet — so that we may be pre- 
 pared, and lose no time in following the ignis 
 fatuus^ and believing it to be the rising sun ? 
 
 We know so much nowadays. Everything 
 has been done. Everything has been thought. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 93 
 
 Every possible emotion has beeh felt in every 
 imaginary manner. Every combination con- 
 ceivable of human relationship has been 
 worked out, and the quarry is empty. The 
 world has grown so small. Time was (it was 
 a long time ago) when there was a Verge, 
 an Edge, beyond which there was an unknown 
 something for man to seek. All the continents 
 are found now; the geographers assure us 
 that no more remains to be discovered. Ex- 
 cepting only a few small spots, and these, too, 
 narromng daily, the whole surface of the 
 earth has been surveyed and mapped out 
 and reduced to scale. So, too, it is with social 
 life. It is grooving narrower hour by hour, 
 simply from sheer exhaustion. There is no- 
 thing to do. All the emotions and pleasures 
 have been surveyed and mapped out and re- 
 duced to scale. We know to a hair's breadth 
 how much we ought to cry, and how much 
 to laugh, on every occasion ; nothing can 
 possibly take us by surprise and shock us into 
 originality. We are a great deal worse off 
 than the Athenians, who stood gossiping and 
 crying for 'something new;' for we do not 
 
94 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 believe in the probability of anything new 
 ever turning up, and if it did it would make 
 us yawn as rather a bore. We got so refined 
 and delicate at one time, that some one started 
 the idea of refreshment by means of mingling 
 with the rude and uneducated. 
 
 So everybody became a district-visitor, 
 and climbed up dirty staircases, and looked 
 at crippled people, and smelt horrid smells. 
 Then came the Red Cross mania — everybody 
 became a nurse. But it was of no avail. 
 Simplicity itself was nothing new ; and a hor- 
 rible bore too. Was it not of Budha or some 
 Oriental deity that they fable has to pass 
 through every phase of existence, from the 
 humblest insect up to man, and from man 
 up to the angels, and in each existence to go 
 through all the emotions and combinations 
 possible to it, till finally, having completed 
 the whole round of life, he became merged in 
 the Deity? In our time society has nearly 
 done all this; but there is no sign of the 
 approaching apotheosis. It grows sandier, 
 duller, dustier, more desert-like, year by year. 
 As Heine said, translated by a true poet, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 95 
 
 whose name does not remain in memory at 
 this moment, the world has got so dusty — 
 
 ' So rotten, crooked, cold, and small. 
 That were there not a hit of loving, 
 There'd he no living here at all.' 
 
 Since then, hoAvever, all the 'loving' is ex- 
 hausted. The highest and most ethereal 
 of all the passions has been fathomed, sur- 
 veyed, mapped, and reduced to scale. The 
 theodoHte of analysis has levelled it to com- 
 monplace. We do not travel on foot now. 
 "We step on a moving platform, and ivait till 
 we reach our destination. We do not love 
 now; it is all done for us, — in books. By 
 the bye there is, speaking of walking, some- 
 thing horrible in boots. Have you ever 
 been to a public meeting, and sat rather to- 
 wards the front, near to the platform, so as 
 to be able to see under the long table they 
 generally place on it, and behind which the 
 platform people sit ? Just after listening to 
 some wonderful peroration, full of sentiments 
 and aspirations which you, a student, know 
 full well to be as old as the hills, and to have 
 filtered down into their present form from the 
 
96 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 time of Plato — just then you drop your gaze, 
 and it rests upon the row of boots under this 
 platform table. Boots of all descriptions — 
 shining boots, dull boots, dusty boots; big, 
 little, medium, square-toed, narrow, broad, 
 splodgy, all sorts — but hoots. Socrates and 
 Plato, Leonidas and Caesar — all the heroes — 
 the gods too, walked mth naked feet, or in san- 
 dals. They laiew nothing of Day & Martin, 
 of ugly squat earthenware bottles, of a thick 
 odoriferous liquid, of brushes, nor of scrapers. 
 Their feet were open, free, unrestrained. 
 Look at the feet of the statues, how beau- 
 tiful they are. But the feet in those boots — 
 ' cabined, cribbed, confined,' distorted. Some- 
 how there is something about these boots at 
 which my mind revolts. Xo man can be a 
 god in boots. They are the very symbols of 
 our dirty macadamised times. Our very souls 
 are getting macadamised, laid down, levelled, 
 and metalled, so that we may run in grooves 
 for ever — smoothly, without the slightest 
 fear of seeing anything fresh. Everything is 
 labelled now; you can find it all in books 
 of reference. What with dictionaries, gazet- 
 
KESTLESS IIUMxVX IIEArvTS. 97 
 
 teers, concordances, indexes, guides, and so 
 forth, the universe can easily be packed in a 
 moderately- sized bookcase. Why study — why 
 learn botany, or geology, or physiology, or 
 any other science — why exercise your mind or 
 memory ? All the memory requisite is to re- 
 collect the letters of the alphabet under which 
 the subject can be classed, and then turn to 
 the innumerable encyclopaedias. Original re- 
 search is labour lost, especially as after it is 
 found there is nothing new in it. 
 
 The men can swear, and drink, and play 
 billiards, and back horses, and ruin them- 
 selves, and generally go to the devil ; very 
 tame and used-up amusements, it is true, but 
 still something to do. But the poor ladies — 
 what on earth are they to do in the years to 
 come? With flirting a science — dressing a 
 mere mechanical imitation — parties, balls, 
 visits, simply matters of monotonous business 
 — what ai^e they to do ? Even illness is no 
 excuse to ^yo\^ ennui ; for all the Spas are ex- 
 hausted, and all the seaside resorts explored. 
 The limits of human ingenuity appear to 
 be reached, and we cannot as yet add a new 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
98 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAHTS. 
 
 hemispliere to tlie brain, and so discover 
 novel combinations. The flattest and tamest 
 of all are the ' spirits' who promised so much 
 at first, and turned out to be as dull as the 
 most ej2nu{-esiten mortal. 
 
 All of us go tramping round and round 
 like a horse turning a mill, each following in 
 the other's footsteps ; and even in this there 
 is a little relief, for it saves us the trouble of 
 attempting to discover a new path only to be 
 disappointed. There never was a time when 
 invention and discovery were at such a pre- 
 mium. Witness a new colour, for instance, or 
 rather a new shade, for the possible colours 
 were all in the dusthole long, long ago. When 
 gas tar was found to be so prolific a source of 
 new tints, what a rage there was for them! 
 Everybody wore magenta within a month of 
 its discovery; even the fearfully odious eau 
 de Nil took amazingl}- for a while. But the 
 elder and more experienced are not satisfied 
 even with this. They have seen go many 
 new inventions, the charm has gone by ; it is 
 impossible to feel once more the charm of 
 novelty. The worst of it is that we are 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN IIEAKTS. 99 
 
 all growdng so old now. Xobody is young 
 any longer ; at least, no one is youthful. It 
 is the greatest crime we can commit. But, 
 alas ! the youngest know such a lot, that 
 there is little fear, if any, of them falling into 
 that sin. 
 
 At this moment two young creatures — 
 one of each sex — are engaged in working 
 out this very problem, to their own satisfac- 
 tion at all events ; their wandering planets 
 are rapidly drifting across our orbit. 
 
 The problem is a new life. These two 
 were unconscious of what they were doing, 
 but they were working it out. As Georgiana 
 and Xeville faded away in the west, these 
 arose in their turn in the east. But as yet 
 and for some time there is but a faint 
 glimmer of them, or rather of one of them. 
 
 
CHAPTER YIL 
 
 There was no society in Venice, so they 
 moved to Vienna. Their idea was not to 
 conceal themselves ; in point of fact, their 
 primary wish was to be the observed of all 
 observers. And they had their desire to the 
 full. 
 
 It was one of the gayest winters ever 
 known in the gay Austrian capital, and Car- 
 lotta was seen everywhere. She did not re- 
 strict herself to the fashionable plainness in 
 dress of tamer London; here she blazed forth 
 in all that gorgeousness of colour which suited 
 her tulip-like beauty. Her dress was mag- 
 nificent, her extravagance unequalled. This 
 is a sure way of attracting attention. 
 
 The nameless Americans who come to 
 Paris, dating from impossible places in the 
 Avestern wildernesses, without a pedigree, 
 without a title, a reputation, or even a 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. lOl 
 
 Sfood face, make to themselves circles of acl- 
 mirers, crowds of spectators, simply and solely 
 by the power of the almighty dollar. There 
 is a fascination in watching a gambler at the 
 rouge-et-noir table whose stakes are fortunes, 
 who wins ten thousand or loses twice as much 
 in a few^ minutes — there is a glamour about 
 it. Carlotta obtained all the eclat that the 
 most lavish expenditure could arouse. Where 
 did she get the money from ? When she 
 received Horton's communication from her 
 solicitor, she had revolved the necessity of 
 taking plenty of cash with her, for she knew 
 full well that without money Louis would 
 soon tire of her. The mean detestable cynic 
 would soon weary of charms for which he had 
 to pay dearly. It was absolutely necessary 
 that she should have money Avith her. She 
 reckoned up her resources, and found that 
 out of her own annual income — the interest 
 on the 100,000/. which she had thought her 
 own — she had not one shilling left. Of the 
 cheques she received from Horton, over and 
 above this, there was about 250/. remaining. 
 This was a mere bagatelle. She had her 
 
102 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 diamonds and other jewels it is true ; but she, 
 with the instinct of her type, clung to those 
 ornaments almost as closely as to life itself. 
 Dimly and in the far distance she foresaw a 
 time when they might be extremely useful to 
 her. They must not be sold or pa^^Tied ; she 
 must find some other way of raising money. 
 
 At last it occurred to her that as yet no 
 one but Williamson, Verney, & Co., the soli- 
 citors, were aware of her rupture with Horton. 
 To the world she was still the wife of the 
 famous millionnaire, almost certain to succeed 
 to his countless wealth. There still remained 
 Hor ton's reputation for wealth to trade on. 
 Carlotta in her most off-hand and indifferent 
 way wrote a note to one of those bill-discount- 
 ing firms with whom she knew Horton had 
 largre dealino\s. The head of the house waited 
 upon her obsequiously within half an hour of 
 receiving it. With an air of contemptuous 
 scorn for the mere commoner, she handed 
 him a slip of paper on which was inscribed a 
 list of her debts, and with a few words ex- 
 plained to him that she had inadvertently 
 exceeded her allowance, and did not desire 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HE ARTS. 103 
 
 (this she hinted) to ask her husband for more 
 at that moment. Horton, she mentioned 
 casually, allowed her 50,000/. per annum. 
 These debts were only 25,000/. ; she could 
 pa}' them hi three months, but could not be 
 annoyed with people pestering. The bill-dis- 
 counter, eager to get the wife of the mil- 
 lionnaire into his hands, certain in his own 
 mind thai Horton would pay anything rather 
 than have an action brought against his 
 countess, saw a chance of making a superb 
 coup, and fell into her trap in a moment. 
 On her note-of-hand alone he advanced her 
 25,000/., Carlotta not even troubling with im- 
 perial disdain to ask what interest he charged. 
 The bill-discounter inserted 25 per cent in 
 the note, and believed he saw his way to 10. 
 
 Within an hour after his departure Car- 
 lotta had cashed his cheque, and filled one 
 compartment of her dressing-case with two 
 hundred and fifty 100/. Bank of England 
 notes. A week afterwards she was in Vienna 
 with Louis. The Austrian banker with whom 
 she deposited her money bowed to the ground 
 in very humiliation of amazement as Carlotta 
 
104 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 tossed him the piles of notes, as much as to 
 say, ' This is nothing.' It is wonderful what a 
 respect they have abroad for a Bank-of-Eng- 
 land note. They have as superstitious a vene- 
 ration for the oblong bit of j^aper as they have 
 for the Host itself Its eifect is magical, far 
 superior to solid gold. Imagine, then, the stu- 
 pefaction of the man to whom a lady brought 
 two hundred and fifty all at once, and all for 
 a large amount. The story flew over the city 
 in two hours ; it crept into the papers. Car- 
 lotta was marked out in a moment. 
 
 These dear Viennese are not so straitlaced 
 as we are in England. With the report of 
 her wealth there soon also flew about the 
 equally interesting report of her elopement 
 and of her rank. Instead of everybody turn- 
 ing up their noses, the efl'ect was precisely 
 the reverse. They look upon these matters 
 in a romantic way abroad ; or if they think 
 upon them seriously at all, it is philosophi- 
 cally, as students engaged in dissecting a new 
 phase of human life. They crowded round 
 her ; they feted her ; they invited her to their 
 houses, and gave her grand receptions. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 105 
 
 An archduke, one very near tlie throne, 
 let it be understood that he was her devoted 
 slave. Her beauty became the talk of the 
 city. In all this they left Louis quite out 
 of sight. Nobody ever thought of him. 
 He was but the accessory — the canvas on 
 which this great artist worked, merely the 
 horse which bore her burden ; quite out of 
 the question — a shadow ; a sort of chaperon, 
 nothing more. Carlotta rose daily on the 
 breath of popular ardour. She wore her 
 diamonds — an archduchess saw them, and 
 envied them. 
 
 The archduchess had many friends— a 
 strong and impregnable position ; but she 
 had also many enemies. She imprudently 
 attacked Carlotta. Carlotta sneered, and at- 
 tacked her in turn. It became war to the 
 knife between them ; yet neither had ever 
 spoken a word to the other. A faction formed 
 round each. After a while these factions took 
 a pohtical aspect. The archduchess became 
 the centre of a purely Austrian circle ; Car- 
 lotta as a foreigner, and from England, natu- 
 rally attracted the Hungarian section. So 
 
106 EESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 they ranged themselves one against the other. 
 It so happened that just at this time there 
 were great battles in the political arena. The 
 Hungarians were pressing hard to obtain the 
 recognition of their independence. Eager to 
 gain their point, the great chiefs of the party 
 made use of Carlotta. On the Continent 
 women — always beautiful women — have pla}'ed 
 an important part in the rise and fall of na- 
 tions; a part prosaic England can never com- 
 prehend. These chiefs recognised in Carlotta a 
 genius to their heart's delight. She was the 
 very agent they wanted. Deak himself waited 
 upon her. The archduchess, dying with envy 
 and jealousy, had recourse to her family, who 
 were very powerful ; and they moved the 
 throne for an order to invite her to depart. 
 But at that moment the Austrian Govern- 
 ment was in a critical condition. The Bohe- 
 mians, the Hungarians, the Czechs, the Slavs, 
 were all in a ferment ; Roumania was in an 
 unpleasant state ; all was in dangerous uncer- 
 tainty. Especially the Hungarian party were 
 domineering ; Carlotta was notoriously fa- 
 voured by them. Then they remembered 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAllTS. 107 
 
 that they had heavy loans due to a certain 
 Horton Knoyle, a millionnaire. This Enghsh 
 lady, report said, was his wife. It was quite 
 true that she had eloped from him ; still one 
 never knew ; she might return to him again. 
 She was a dangerous woman ; she might 
 through him upset the money market. No, 
 it Avas too dangerous. Carlotta could not be 
 invited to depart. 
 
 This defeat of the archduchess became 
 known, and the result was of course a tre- 
 mendous impulse to Carlotta's importance. 
 The Hungarian party began to have a genuine 
 faith in her. A certain ambassador from a 
 certain State, very anxious of foreign support, 
 called upon her privately, and did his utmost 
 to bring her round to his views. Meantime 
 there was the most incessant succession of 
 operas, balls, parties. Heaven knows what — 
 dissipations of every conceivable kind, and 
 Carlotta the central figure everywhere — Car- 
 lotta and her diamonds. She well understood 
 the value of these diamonds. 
 
 To add the finishing touch, it came to 
 pass that the Austrian Government, dismayed 
 
108 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 at the aspect of affairs, recognised Hungary 
 as an independent State, and granted import- 
 ant privileges. At that ceremony Carlotta 
 was present, not as a visitor and as a spec- 
 tator, but as a principal actor ; and the Em- 
 peror himself, not a little curious over this 
 wonderful creature, of whom he had heard so 
 much, paid her some little but marked atten- 
 tion. He dared not go any farther, though he 
 was dying of curiosity to converse with her. 
 He was too closely watched to leave the palace 
 on the sl}^ Poor, wretched creatures, these 
 emperors, mere stalled beasts, tended mth 
 such reverent care. 0, yes ; but never al- 
 lowed one moment of real freedom. Carlotta 
 all the while ^^'as hard at work while the sun 
 shone. She knew very well she could not 
 depend upon Louis ; she watched him con- 
 stantly, and detected a few slight but unmis- 
 takable symptoms. It was all very well 
 while she could keep the balloon in the air ; 
 but afterwards? Therefore she made hay 
 while the sun shone; the hay she made was 
 the admiration of men. This is not exactly 
 the precise definition. Men in our day are 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 109 
 
 much too clever to admire anything. They 
 have seen so much, and been so terribly 
 wicked in their time, that there is no genuine 
 emotion left in them. 
 
 But there is a species of fashionable emu- 
 lation which passes very well for emotion. 
 Carlotta knew her power in exciting this 
 fashionable emulation, and she used it un- 
 sparingly. Specially she played on the poor 
 archduke. These archdukes have never been 
 famous for much wisdom since the great Na- 
 poleon gave them such a rapping on the head. 
 He woke them out of their slumber ; but he 
 hit them too hard — the poor wretches have 
 never recovered it. This particular archduke 
 was softer than most of his kind. He was a 
 good horseman ; a splendid figure ; he was 
 really handsome in his full military costume. 
 If he could have been set up in a shop-window 
 in Regent- street, dressed in that costume, and 
 slowly turned round, like a leg of mutton 
 before the fire, he would have made the 
 fortune of an outfitter. There it began, 
 and there it ended. There was only one 
 chance for this beino- — it was the chance of 
 
110 RESTLESS HU:\rAN HEARTS. 
 
 his getting a handsome wife. He might then 
 have been useful in one way ; there might 
 have ensued a perpetuation of handsome peo- 
 ple. But they tied him up to an inane, fiat- 
 faced German woman — a creature about four 
 feet high, and four feet six in circumference 
 — they who had the pick of all Austria, Hun- 
 gary, and Bohemia, to say nothing of Italy 
 and the eastern shore of the Adriatic, famous 
 for beautiful women. So that he grew softer 
 and more useless than ever. He had begun 
 to drink, but not furiously yet. Then he saw 
 Carlotta ; she intoxicated him quickly. As 
 the man was a booby, and could not under- 
 stand delicate flirtation — a creature ujDon 
 whom all the refined machinery of titillation 
 ■was lost — she allowed him certain familiarities : 
 for instance, he was allowed to mumble her 
 hand ; and once she even went so far as to 
 make no objection to his kneeling down and 
 kissing her foot, or rather her boot. He was 
 very far gone indeed, this poor fellow. He 
 really loved her in his way. He wished his 
 v»'ife at the devil. He would have married 
 Carlotta with the greatest pleasure. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. Ill 
 
 He forgot one thing — first, that Carlotta 
 was not exactly marriageable; secondly, that 
 if he was himself eligible, the Austrian 
 Government, with true paternal care, would 
 have packed him off on a voyage round the 
 world, out of arm's way. In Rasselas^s time 
 they had no very great difficulty with these 
 shambling princes. They had only to shut 
 them up in a valley and forget all about them. 
 Unfortunately there is no such valley nowa- 
 days. Therefore we see in the papers everj^ 
 now and then telegrams from New Zealand 
 and the Cape of Good Hope, Japan and such 
 places, how such and such a prince, or such a 
 royal noodle, with his suite had called there 
 en route round the universe. 
 
 The voyage a la Captain Cook is the 
 Happy Yalley of our days. But the archduke 
 being married they let him alone, and he had 
 no difficulty in entangling his heart. Carlotta 
 thought the thing over seriously. He was 
 about the best of the lot — i.e. he had most 
 money. It did not take her long to make up 
 her mind. He was evidently the very man 
 for her purpose. It was tune too that she 
 
112 KESTLESS HUMAN HEAllTS. 
 
 made some decisive step, for the winter season 
 was rapidly drawing to a close, and a certain 
 event grew inconveniently near. She looked 
 round her; the archduke had these to recom- 
 mend him: first his money, next his rank, 
 thirdly his stupidity. He was sincere enough 
 to really love her. Therefore she loosened the 
 reins a little with which she drove him, and 
 patted him on the back. Thus encouraged he 
 grew bolder, and at last asked her to come 
 with him down to a quiet place of his in 
 Bohemia. 
 
 This hardly suited Carlottajust then; so 
 she was virtuously indignant, but not too in- 
 dignant. Archduke grew more and more 
 pressing — offered to leave the country, and all 
 his claims to distinction, to be with her. 
 This hardly suited Carlotta either. At last 
 she consented to put him to the test. She 
 would meet him in Venice quietly in three 
 months' time ; if he still loved her, why per- 
 haps — The archduke rapturously kissed her, 
 and then went on his knees to beg pardon, 
 and Carlotta kicked him. 
 
 Now it so happened that the very arch- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 113 
 
 duchess over whom Carlotta had triumphed in 
 the Hungarian victory was herself unmarried. 
 She had a title, but nothing else in particular. 
 These creatures are apt to turn out white 
 elephants, people are shy of marrying them. 
 This archduke — we will call him Leopold, to 
 save trouble, though that was not his real 
 name — was her cousin; and she had had de- 
 signs on him, designs of which Leopold was 
 utterly oblivious. She was disappointed at 
 the paternal arrangements made by the Go- 
 vernment; but that was after all not his fault. 
 But this Carlotta — this English lady (she did 
 not use ' lady,' but a very unflattering name) — 
 was quite a different thing. She hated Car- 
 lotta as none but women who have had their 
 whole lives subdued and screwed down can hate 
 their more free sisters. She cared so little 
 who saw it, and became so open in her enmity? 
 that Leopold, stupid as he was, noticed it. 
 The lout went straight to her and boxed her 
 ears in the midst of a crowded assembly, just 
 as he used to do when they were children and 
 played together. The archduchess scratched 
 him, and then fainted in sheer spite. 
 
 VOL. IL I 
 
114 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Vienna rang with it. Carlotta was satis- 
 fied; she had made a reputation. She would 
 retire now for a little while. She took a 
 country house in Styria and left Vienna, 
 taking good care that Leopold should not dis- 
 cover her whereabouts. A little event was 
 about to happen which it was very undesirable 
 he should know anything about. That little 
 event was the birth of a son, but not an heir, to 
 Louis. 
 
 And Louis himself?' 
 
 And the two hundred and fifty 100/. Bank- 
 of-England notes? 
 
CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 Louis stood under a chestnut-tree, sheltering 
 himself from the heavy rain, not only with the 
 branches, but by means of an umbrella. This 
 chestnut formed one of a number in a certain 
 famous grove not far from Vienna. He was 
 dressed in the very height of fashion — as ex- 
 quisitely as if he were going to a ball for the 
 first time with his bride : he seemed scarcely 
 able to stand for fear of soiling his boots, and 
 there was an evident dread lest a drop of rain 
 should spoil the sleek gloss of his coat. He 
 had a pistol in his right hand. 
 
 You see Louis had not gone with Carlotta 
 into Styria. AVhen he met Carlotta at Venice 
 by appointment in that cool, off-hand, mat- 
 ter-of-fact, modern style, there was a sense of 
 intense self-complacency. He looked upon 
 her much as an old Roman general might have 
 looked upon the captive of his bow and spear, 
 
116 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 reserved to adorn his triumph. His heart 
 swelled with vanity and conceit as he glanced 
 over her with a critical eye. 
 
 Yes, she was faultlessly dressed, not a 
 doubt of that. Those who are a la mode in 
 London too often let themselves become dowdy 
 and flat so soon as the Continent receives 
 them, or else fly into the other extreme and 
 flare like hollyhocks. 
 
 Carlotta was an artist in dress. She could 
 bear it for one thing. She was a species of 
 canvas, which could be painted on as deeply 
 as you liked; you could not lay it on too 
 thick. She could bear it all. What would 
 have sunk other women she carried off v/ith 
 conscious ease. I^ot a colour she could wear, 
 not a tint she could choose, but heightened the 
 effect of her own singular and striking beauty. 
 But then she had good taste, and never chose 
 anything outre. Artists in these things know 
 very well that the real dress lies in the fit and 
 in the trimmings; the material, the ground- 
 v»^ork is only of secondary importance. Louis 
 recognised in a moment the fact that he carried 
 with him a woman who could not be concealed ; 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 117 
 
 she would be safe to have a crowd round her. 
 This was just what he wanted. People would 
 envy him, wonder at his fortune, and think 
 what a devilish clever scamp that Fontenoy 
 was. And so the foreigners did — for a time at 
 all events, till they understood the man. Neville 
 Brandon had a curious theory about the moon 
 and the sun, and in short the whole solar sys- 
 tem. It was grounded on the doctrine of the 
 conservation of energy or force. The force 
 that carries a bullet along in the air at an 
 enormous speed is not lost when the ball 
 finally reaches the earth ; it is only transmitted 
 to something else, and there stored up. 
 
 So, said Xeville, this great sun of ours has 
 been 'burning, baking, broiling us' for some 
 few trifling millions of years, but it is quite 
 certain that it cannot go on so for ever, and that 
 it has not been going on so all through half 
 eternity. His idea was that, of the heat given 
 out by the sun, the earth and all the planets 
 were gradually absorbing a part, and so grow- 
 ing hotter and hotter, like a ball of iron before 
 a bright fire, while meantime the sun grew 
 cooler and cooler. In the end the sun would 
 
118 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 
 
 be exhausted, and grow cold and habitable; 
 while at the same time the earth and the 
 planets would become glowing suns, and re- 
 turn to the original sun the heat and light 
 absorbed from it during myriads of centuries. 
 There was nothing particular to support 
 this idea beyond the prophecy that the earth 
 should become a burning mass ; and the fact 
 that the heat had ali'eady risen up as near to 
 the surface as half a mile. Xeville had no seri- 
 ous faith in this suggestion, still he threw it 
 out. Louis had no knowledge of astronomy, 
 but he had an idea that if the multitude ad- 
 mired and feted Carlotta till she became a sun, 
 some part at least of the force thus generated 
 would be transmitted to him. While she 
 grew more and more notorious in Vienna, and 
 people admired and crowded about her, Louis 
 smiled with the utmost complacency, and me- 
 taphorically patted himself on the back. But 
 after a time — it took a long time to do this, 
 he was so crusted over with conceit — he beo^an 
 to have uneasy feelings that he was left very 
 much in the shade. This canker gTcw in his 
 mind, and fed upon his life, till he became 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 119 
 
 ridiculously restless. His first idea was that 
 after all perliajDs people did not know who he 
 was, and what relation lie bore to Carlotta. 
 Perhaps he did not appear in her company 
 sufficiently; he had left her to herself too 
 much. To remedy this, he accompanied Car- 
 lotta everywhere, much to her ill-concealed 
 contempt, but somehow or other he was passed 
 over. Louis sulked, and even growled. With 
 her sweetest smiles Carlotta asked what was 
 the matter. He got up and went out. These 
 were the first symptoms that set Carlotta upon 
 her oruard, and made her anxious to secure a 
 friend. Still time went on, and nothing ma- 
 terially changed. Louis lived pretty much as 
 he had always done, and there was no open 
 quarrel. But there was a gap, a tiny crevice 
 between them. He began to grow tired of 
 her — that was the long and short of the mat- 
 ter. It was all very well for a time, while the 
 novelty of mischief was in it. But when he 
 came to have her always at hand, always 
 easily accessible — when the difficulty of meet- 
 ing, and artifices and concealments, were no 
 longer needed — then there gradually ensued a 
 
120 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 flatness, a dull tameness — -just the very thing 
 he detested most of all. However, he managed 
 to pass the time away through the winter, 
 gambling a great deal. He fancied himself, as 
 the phrase is, at gaml3ling. In the low saloons 
 of America and Europe he had learned every 
 trick and dods^e that the ino;enuitv of man 
 had contrived with the object of cheating; and 
 some of these were so extremely clever that 
 not even the watchful eyes of the spectators in 
 the Viennese saloons could detect them. For 
 Louis, though in no want of money, did not 
 hesitate to put in practice these cunning little 
 plans, not only out of the pleasure of winning, 
 but because he really revelled in the enjoyment 
 of making hatfuls of money. But at last in- 
 toxicated with success he lost his head. He left 
 ecarte, and such games where human skill is 
 of some avail, and where the very charm of the 
 game consists in the perpetual struggle of the 
 intellect against Chance, and attempted to carry 
 the roulette-table. Here there was no oppor- 
 tunity to cheat — at least not on the players' 
 side — it was all blind chance, and he was as 
 much in the dark as any one. But possessed 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 121 
 
 with the true gaming mania he went eagerly 
 to work to stump the proprietors of the table, 
 utterly regardless of the repeated losses he 
 sustained. His theory w^as that the sitting 
 gamester sweeps the board, a maxim which 
 soon bid fair to ruin him, as it has ruined 
 scores of others. Fellows lose a note or two, 
 and then double, till it makes a good sum, and 
 then say, ' 0, we can't retreat ; we will go on, 
 in time our luck must change.' So they keep 
 on till all is lost. The only way to win is to 
 rise and leave the game the moment one be- 
 gins to lose — an apparent paradox. Put it in 
 practice if ever you take to play, and don't be 
 sneered or lauo;hed out of it, nor even bullied. 
 Louis kept on till he lost the whole of 
 the money he had previously won, and made 
 serious inroads in the sum he had brought 
 with him. Excited as he was, however, he 
 had quite sufficient steadiness of mind left 
 not to ruin himself He did at last leave off 
 and look round him. He reckoned up his 
 finances ; he had two or three hundred left, a. 
 mere nothing. But he must curtail his ex- 
 penses. Carlotta was an expensive article. 
 
122 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 The mean wretch left out of sight the fact 
 that he had not spent a pound upon her. She 
 knew better than to come to hhn for money. 
 Louis, however, was now in a reflective mind; 
 and he began to think over many things. What 
 had he gained by this wild freak, as he called 
 it to himself? They did not make much of 
 him in Vienna — quite the other way. He was 
 tired of Carlotta's style of beauty, he wanted a 
 change. He had anticipated much envy and 
 much congratulation from the English ac- 
 quaintances whom he met in the saloons. But 
 no such thing. They rather shunned him. 
 They did not refuse to acknowledge his pre- 
 sence ; but they sidled away as soon as possible, 
 and left him to himself. Not a word was said 
 about his glorious exploit. There was a dead 
 silence on that. The fact was it fell flat. They 
 did not like it — it revolted them. They were 
 a free-and-easy lot, none too strict in their 
 morals. If he had run away with any other w^o- 
 man but his own wife's sister they would have 
 laughed and joked, and crowded round him, 
 and swore it was the best lark out. But this 
 form of dissipation disgusted them. It was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 123 
 
 out of their code; it was a cold -blooded piece 
 of wickedness, for wliicli they had no taste. 
 They avoided him, though they sought Car- 
 lotta. This stung Louis to the c[uick. . As a 
 matter of course, instead of casting the blame 
 where it was justly due — i.e. on himself — he 
 threw it all on Carlotta. She had led him into 
 it — he actually grew virtuously indignant Avitli 
 her — he ! Not that he ever said a word to 
 her, but he sulked and avoided her. Latterly 
 a new subject had occupied his mind — this 
 money. He had learnt by his correspondence 
 in England that Carlotta had no 100,000/. 
 to fall back upon. liorton's solicitors had let 
 that fact be known ; it soon got into the clubs ; 
 from the clubs it reached Louis. He did not 
 know how much money she had brought with 
 her, nor how much her diamonds were worth; 
 but this he was certain of, that let her plunder 
 be ever so great it would not last long at the 
 rate she had been going. To compete with 
 archduchesses and head a faction in the State 
 is no light matter. He marked her expendi- 
 ture — noted it for six vreeks in his quiet sar- 
 donic way. What was she to do when all her 
 
124 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 money was gone ? He should not keep her, 
 that was certain. Altogether Louis made up 
 his mind to be rid of her at the first favour- 
 able opportunity. So when Carlotta went 
 into Styria on pretence of her health (try- 
 ing above all things to hide from him the 
 real cause, which she knew Avould set him 
 against her more than anything else), he 
 shrugged his shoulders and said he should re- 
 main in Vienna. Very well, said Carlotta; so 
 they parted somewhere about the latter end 
 of January, after about nine weeks of each 
 other's company. When she had gone, Louis 
 felt rather dull for a while. Though he had 
 ceased to care for her, yet she had been some- 
 thing to occupy his mind. He felt the Avant 
 of it. He did not care to return to England 
 yet. He was thoroughly disgusted with all 
 Carlotta's tine schemes of getting him divorced 
 from Heloise. No step whatever had been 
 taken in that matter, nor ever would be, said 
 Louis to himself, with one of his hateful sneers. 
 ' She may hate me, and rail at me, but a 
 woman thinks twice before she gives up a 
 man. How eager they all are to marry !' He 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 125 
 
 had very little money, that was another reason 
 why he did not care to go back yet ; life would 
 be intolerable in London without plenty of 
 cash. Here he could dawdle about at all 
 events ; so he dawdled about. DawdUng about 
 with Louis meant penetrating into all the odd 
 corners — all the dustholes of humanity. He 
 ferreted his way through the burrows that 
 the thieves and vagabonds had bored for 
 themselves underneath the fair structures of 
 the rare old Austrian capital. Some of these 
 he had been in before. Others were new to 
 him. Meantime an Avenger was on his 
 track. 
 
 When Carlotta's note reached him, Victor 
 was stupefied. He could not believe his eye- 
 sight, still less comprehend that all this was 
 true, and not some trick played off upon him. 
 He rushed to her house ; she was out. This 
 struck a chill into him. He rambled about 
 near her mansion all day — he was too restless 
 to go in and wait — calling at intervals, but 
 always meeting with the same answer — ' My 
 lady is out.' She was out all next day, and 
 the next, and the next. A growing convic- 
 
126 KESTLESS iru:jAX HEAr/rs. 
 
 tion sprang up in his mind tliat the note 'svas 
 literally true, and that she had really gone. 
 Then he saw the paragraph in the papers 
 announcinfr the fli^^ht of Carlotta with Louis. 
 He raged, and boiled with hatred, jealousy, 
 and excitement. Yet even then he did not 
 blame or doubt her. It was all Louis's doino-s. 
 
 o 
 
 He read his note again, and the sense dawned 
 on him that he was disinherited — cast off — 
 reduced to a poor paltry three hundred a 
 year ; he who had always looked upon himself 
 as the heir of millions, and had planned out 
 his life accordingly. Who could have be- 
 trayed him? Without a doubt it was Louis. 
 His love for Carlotta actually increased now 
 that she had covered herself with infamy. 
 Till then there had been a certain amount of 
 reluctance, a secret sense of guiltiness even 
 in his wildest moods. Xow that was o-one: 
 she had flung herself open, made herself fair 
 game, and he, the hunter, thrcAv himself with 
 added ardour into the chase. To Venice, eh 
 — she had gone to Venice ? To Venice went 
 Victor. He searched high and low, but found 
 no Carlotta. He made inquiries by the aid 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 127 
 
 of the police, and ascertained one fact at last 
 — that no such person existed in that city. 
 Where then could she have gone ? Paris was 
 liis first idea; but he reflected that Horton 
 was there. Then Florence, Rome, Brussels, 
 Berlin, and so on. He had no reason to sup- 
 pose that she was in either of these places; still 
 he would make sure. He determined to search 
 them all. He began with Florence ; then 
 Rome and Naples, so to Sicily, and then back 
 again to Switzerland. This took up eight or 
 nine weeks. Finally, on his way to Berlin, 
 he called at Vienna. By this time he began 
 to feel what it was to be * reduced to the 
 ranks.' His money ran short; he had barely 
 ten pounds left. Thus it was that he could 
 not prosecute his inquiries in the royal way 
 he had hitherto done. All he could do was 
 to post himself in the frequented places and 
 watch. This he did, and once Carlotta passed 
 within a few feet of him, and he saw her not ; 
 for the simple reason that he did not look for 
 her in that guise. She was rolling along in a 
 grand equipage with a lady whom he had 
 previously heard was the wife of an ambassa- 
 
128 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 dor. Victor never dreamt of Carlotta's 2:oin2: 
 out openly into the world. He felt sure slie 
 was living in retirement. So he passed over the 
 ambassador's carriage without a glance. ^ The 
 eyes see what they come to see,' as the old 
 maxim goes ; and he had not come prepared 
 to see her in this position. For a whole fort- 
 night he watched and waited — in vain; Car- 
 lotta had departed for Styria at the end of the 
 first week. His money was now fast disap- 
 pearing, though he half starved himself and 
 slept ' rough' till he had a wild and haggard 
 appearance, still his clothes were those of 
 a gentleman. He had reached his two last 
 napoleons Avhen he saw Louis. Wild with 
 rage, he rushed after him, followed him up 
 the steps of a clubhouse, pushed past the 
 waiter, overtook Louis in the midst of a saloon 
 crowded with gentlemen, and first tapped him 
 on the shoulder till he turned round, and then 
 felled him to the ground with one blow. If 
 he had taken his time, and been cool, he would 
 have aimed at the face; but he struck out 
 wildly, blindly, and hit Louis on the breast. 
 The force of it threw him ofi" his balance : but 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 129 
 
 he was not hurt or stunned. He sprang up 
 instantly, but before Victor could renew his 
 assault the gentlemen present had crowded 
 round and interfered. Victor was too furious 
 to explain himself; the one word his parched 
 lips could articulate was ' Carlotta!' 
 
 At this Louis faintly sneered, and some of 
 those present looked at each other. It was 
 plainly a case for a duel. 
 
 Victor hearing that fatal word snapped at 
 it, ^ Yes, yes, there must be a duel.' 
 
 Louis turned pale, and looked from one 
 side to another to see if there was no way of 
 escape. Then he began to cast doubts upon 
 Victor's position, a mere nameless vagrant. 
 But this the spectators would by no means 
 alloAv. Victor was well dressed, and he had 
 the unmistakable air of a gentleman. 
 
 ' Very well,' said Louis, with affected com- 
 posure, ' let it be at once, then — this hour.' 
 
 'This hour!' cried the ao-o-ressor. 
 
 Louis asked for a second. At this there 
 was an awkward pause. They did not like 
 him. At last a Russian gentleman stepped 
 forward. Victor had to choose between 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
130 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 several, for they pressed their services on him. 
 They knew nothing of the cause of the quarrel, 
 but the popular feeling was against Louis. 
 He had already bitterly repented his affected 
 indifference. The cabriolets were at the door ; 
 only two could be got, and as it was raining 
 hard, no one cared to go on foot or horseback, 
 especially as the evening was closing in, and 
 there was every evidence of a stormy night. 
 Victor insisted upon walking to the scene of 
 action beside the cabriolet in which his second 
 rode. The second remonstrated with him — 
 told him the jar of walking would unsettle his 
 nerves. Victor was in a burning heat and 
 fever, and he would not get out of the cooling 
 rain. Thus he reached the chestnut grove 
 perfectly saturated. 
 
 Louis, meantime, had reflected. He re- 
 covered himself a little. From so mad a 
 fellow as this little danger need be appre- 
 hended. All he had to do was to aggravate 
 Victor and make him lose his head ; he would 
 be sure to miss. Louis, like a true coward, 
 had made pistol-shooting a study ; he thought 
 it made him safe, and he really was a splendid 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 131 
 
 shot in a gallery. But this was a different 
 matter. Still he recalled to his memory, as 
 he drove along, the feats he had performed, 
 the fingers he had shot oiF gloves, and the 
 aces he had spotted on cards. He arranged 
 his tie, ran his fingers through his hair, curled 
 his moustache, and tried to gain courage by 
 cultivating his natural conceit. He wanted to 
 appear diabolically cool, and thus to shake 
 Victor's nerves. When they arrived, he cried 
 out that it would be much more pleasant to 
 sit in the dry and be shot ; suppose they drew 
 up the cabriolets ten paces distant, flung open 
 the doors, and fired at each other thus ? 
 Victor, who wanted to kill his man, utterly 
 refused. Louis had to get out ; but he secured 
 an umbrella, and insisted upon being allowed 
 to hold that over his head at all events. So 
 the dandy duellist stepped daintily down and 
 picked his way across under a chestnut tree, 
 and then posed himself, declaring that he 
 really could not stand anywhere else. Victor s 
 second strongly objected to Louis holding an 
 umbrella; but Louis would not give it up, 
 and Victor did not care a button. This point 
 
132 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 granted, Louis's hopes rose a little, for tlie 
 lower part of the handle of this umbrella was 
 made of metal, and so was the curve of the 
 handle, and he calculated he should be able 
 to so place it as to possibly intercept a ball 
 speeding on its way to his heart, for he fired 
 from his hip and not with outstretched arm. 
 Victor, on whom all these minutice had been 
 totally lost, waited in a species of stupor to 
 receive his pistol. At that moment his 
 thoughts were far, far away. Through the 
 drenching rain, through the thick grove, he 
 saw a form of beauty, a shape which had 
 stolen his heart. He was full of Carlotta, 
 dreaming of that fatal woman, when they 
 placed the pistol in his hand. 
 
 So the nej)hew of the fallen wife stood 
 opposite the seducer, armed with deadly 
 weapon, waiting the word to kill. ' Fire !' 
 
 As Victor's second had anticipated, the 
 umbrella disturbed his principal's aim. Un- 
 consciously it attracted his sight. His ball 
 was too high — it drilled a hole through the silk 
 umbrella. Louis's first shot missed entirely. 
 
 ^Aim low,' whispered the second, as he 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 133 
 
 placed another pistol in his hand — ' aim at 
 his legs.' 
 
 Victor did so, and a wild fierce pleasure 
 rose in his head as he glanced along the barrel ; 
 this time he felt sure. His ears strained 
 themselves to catch the first letter of the 
 signal word. It came — he pulled the trigger. 
 Louis, with a violent effort, had regained 
 still more his equanimity ; he wound himself 
 up to the highest pitch, and resolved to wait till 
 Victor had fired, and then take a steady aim. 
 Victor pulled the trigger ; there was a snap 
 as the hammer struck the cap, but no explo- 
 sion ; one drop of rain had damped the ill-made 
 foreign cap. Louis's nerves, strung to the 
 highest pitch, heard that sharp click, and in a 
 moment divined that the pistol had missed 
 fire ; and in that same moment, too, so incon- 
 ceivably rapid is the glance of thought, he 
 foresaw that if he did not fire at once he 
 should have to wait in suspense and dread till 
 the pistol Avas reloaded. His finger pressed 
 the trigger almost simultaneously with the 
 click of Victor's hammer, and while the 
 seconds were in the very act to rush forward. 
 
134 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 There was a spurt of flame hissing through 
 the rain, a little heavy smoke, and a form fell 
 with a thud upon the earth and dashed 
 up the mud and the water. They ran to 
 him — all who were there. But they did not 
 touch him. A horror fell upon them. There 
 was a round red spot in his forehead. He was 
 dead. The ball had gone straight to the brain. 
 As if -with one consent they made for the 
 cabriolets, and hurried off. As they neared 
 Vienna Louis bes^an to o^row conceited with his 
 skill, and asked if he had not made a good shot. 
 There was no reply — it grated upon them. 
 
 On the eve of the very day that Georgiana 
 and Neville Brandon were married (after their 
 own fashion) a still and silent form lay upon 
 its back, staring up at the black louring sky 
 with glaring lustreless eyes in the far-away 
 Austrian wood. The raindrops fell upon 
 those eyes, yet they did not shrink or close* 
 The subtle essence which gave the clay its 
 power to feel had fled. 
 
 Louis had escaped the Avenger this time ^ 
 but had he not piled up still another rock to 
 fall upon him in the hereafter ? 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The very absence of all the society that had 
 so recently enlivened Avonbourne tended to 
 make Pierce fall back upon Noel, and scarcely 
 a day passed when he was not at the Bourne 
 Manor-house. Heloise was not often visible ; 
 she still shunned him ; but he was not dis- 
 heartened thereby, for he had already learnt, 
 so quick is the mind to discover what it longs 
 to find, that the more emotion she felt towards 
 him, the more she would try to hide it. He 
 remembered the cold touch of her hand in 
 the arched doorwd-y — that very coldness, the 
 perceptible tremour, the rapid withdrawal, all 
 informed him that if her heart was not his, at 
 least he had made some way with her. Else 
 why should she touch his hand at all — they 
 had seen each other before that day — why did 
 her taper fingers involuntarily meet his ? The 
 blood rushed to his temple ; wild hopes surged 
 
136 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 through him. He grew bolder, and only 
 wanted an opportunity to take steps of which 
 till now he had not even dreamed. In love 
 the heart is a most sensitive thermometer; 
 the faintest encouragement, and the mercury 
 rises to an altogether disproportionate height, 
 or on the other hand falls as low. The diffi- 
 culty was to find an opportunity. Noel only 
 saw her at intervals, and then in the presence 
 of Pierce, or some third person ; never by any 
 chance alone. For a time he bore this with 
 tolerable equanimity, calm in the beUef that if 
 watched for an opening must at last occur ; but 
 when weeks lengthened out, and early spring 
 came, his ancient restlessness returned. They 
 were hunting hard and fast now. The sharp 
 frosts had gone, the horses could jump without 
 fear of breaking their legs, and the scent laid 
 beautifully in the damp dew}^ mornings. The 
 southerly wind and the cloudy sky brightened 
 up the last few weeks of a dull and dishearten- 
 ing season. Therefore they made the most 
 of it. The Duke's hounds met every day 
 almost without exception, now here, now 
 there, leaving no spot untried, and all this 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 137 
 
 enthusiasm led to some very splendid runs 
 being achieved. Noel was a bold rider ; he 
 had ridden in more dangerous chases than 
 these; and Pierce, passionately fond of the 
 sport, old as he was, he missed no meet ; his 
 gray head, his beaming face full of health and 
 a subdued species of joviality, was to be seen 
 day by day amongst the crowd of horsemen — 
 ever welcomed heartily and cordially, if not 
 loudly. They thought him an honour to the 
 hunt. Noel made no friends among them. 
 He bowed distantly, nor sought any man. He 
 never volunteered a remark; he answered, and 
 that was all. There seemed nothing genial 
 about him ; and his dark swarthy face, with the 
 somewhat stern mouth and glittering eye, was 
 barely English. They did not take to him 
 kindly. It was not long either before they 
 envied him, not only his superb horses, his 
 reckless boldness, but above all things his 
 wondrous good luck. Go at what he would — 
 timber, stone, or fence, water or what not — it 
 was the same. He never fell. This was an 
 unpardonable offence. If as a novice he had 
 rolled over and crushed a hound or two, or 
 
138 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 broke some one else's leg, it would have been 
 forgiven, for every one would have had a kind 
 of fellow-feeling ; all had fallen in their time, 
 all might fall again. But this unfamiliar good 
 fortune — this inviolability, as it seemed, from 
 accident — made an unfavourable impression. 
 It was a reproach to them. It was as much 
 as to say, 'lam not of thine order;' and the 
 disdainful manner of the man added not a 
 little to the general discontent. They would 
 have given hundreds to see him roll in the 
 dirt. There was even a sort of ill-defined 
 conspiracy among them to unseat him if pos- 
 sible. When he appeared the hounds were 
 taken to the worst and most impracticable 
 country. This, however, they soon abandoned, 
 for it did not upset him, but it materially 
 damaged many of the others. If a chance 
 occurred by which any of them could have 
 cannoned Xoel into a deep lime or chalk 
 pit, not one would have missed it. jN^oel was- 
 unconscious of all this. Reall}^ and at heart 
 he was the reverse of being ungenial. He was 
 fond of the company of sportsmen and of men 
 of action ; he was ready to drink a glass, to 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 139 
 
 join in any game ; but at this time he was full 
 of a passion which absorbed him. The motion, 
 the excitement, the danger of the chase only 
 seemed to more eagerly inflame him. Heloise 
 was his only thought as they raced over the 
 pasture or waited at the corner of the wood. 
 The very freeness, the open frank character 
 of the sport tended to develop his feelings, to 
 bring them out of their retreat, to strengthen 
 them. Action invariably makes a man bolder, 
 more determined, less thoughtful and antici- 
 pative of obstacles. When he was speeding 
 along at headlong pace, with the breeze fan- 
 ning his face, the hounds crying in front, and 
 the blast of the horn echoing from the hills, 
 Noel gave the rein to his imagination and his 
 passion. He seemed as if he were galloping 
 to her arms, as if she beckoned him on. 
 Absorbed in this one great passion he was 
 careless of the people amongst whom he 
 moved; excepting always Pierce. Pierce 
 could not understand the evident dislike sho^vn 
 by the hunt to Noel. He saw it, and won- 
 dered at it. To him Noel was invariably 
 attentive, courteous, ready to forward his 
 
140 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 views either for pleasure or in more serious 
 matters. Why, then, should the rest so ob- 
 viously avoid him? It pained good-natured, 
 simple-minded Pierce. 
 
 Xever once did he suspect that Noel en- 
 tertained the slightest feeling towards Heloise ; 
 how should he? They were never together; 
 they neither played, nor sang, nor rode, nor 
 in any way sought each other's company. 
 The very absence of Heloise from the room 
 argued an utter indifference to his guest ; and 
 so blind was Pierce, that once or twice he 
 hinted to her that it was uncourteous, and 
 that she should show him a little more re- 
 spect. 
 
 Noel grew more and more restless — ^less 
 companionable. It was a hard task to him 
 now even to make himself agreeable to Pierce. 
 The old man was busy now with an idea that 
 had often occurred to him, but which he 
 had never attempted to put into execution": 
 it was to form a garden entirely of wild 
 flowers. He was passionately fond of them — 
 he had been so all his life — and the thought 
 had often occurred to him how sweetly pretty 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 141 
 
 they would look, and what pleasure he might 
 feel in having a garden completely occupied 
 with them alone. It was difficult to discover 
 their retreats at any other time than in the 
 spring — it was hardly late enough yet; but 
 he busied himself with the foundation of the 
 scheme. He built a rocky mound for the 
 ferns, and beside it a pile of great logs and 
 roots and stumps of trees, in which the tree- 
 ferns and mosses and the parasites might find 
 a congenial soil. These he erected where 
 some tall elms overshadowed the gardens, so 
 that they might be sheltered from the heat, 
 and grow in the coolness and the damp. Then 
 he prepared a piece of ground for the plants 
 delighting in a sandy soil, and another strip 
 full of chalk and rubble, and a third he laid 
 down with the thymy turf from the downs. 
 The idea, as he worked at it, gradually grew 
 upon him, and he ceased to hunt so continu- 
 ously, and Noel went alone. 
 
 But just at this time an interruption 
 occurred. There came a letter in a blue en- 
 velope one morning, addressed to Pierce, 
 in the unmistakable handwriting of a soli- 
 
142 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 citor. He opened it, and an exclamation of 
 astonishment burst from his lips. Heloise 
 glanced up from her coffee with a look of 
 inquiry. 
 
 ' Lord Henry is dead !' 
 
 ' Indeed !' 
 
 ^ The Lestrange estates come to us now.' 
 
 This \ras how it was : Pierce Lestrange, 
 of Bourne Manor, Avonbourne, was the re- 
 presentative and head of the younger branch 
 of the family — called younger by mere heraldic 
 etiquette, for it had been a distuict family for 
 fully two hundred years. The elder branch, 
 which had taken the major part of the pos- 
 sessions of the original founders, and had 
 added very largely to them by intermarriages 
 with heiresses, had entirely separated from 
 the younger, and, as often ha23pens, in the 
 course of generations a void had sprung up 
 between them. They neither visited nor in 
 any way spoke of each other except as utter 
 strangers. This Henry Lord Lestrange was 
 the last of the elder branch, and he had never 
 married. Smce, however, the families had so 
 long been separated, the idea of a possible 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 143 
 
 reversion to him or his heirs had never oc- 
 curred to Pierce. Henry Lestrange had been 
 a physician — that is. nominally. He learnt 
 the profession, not as a means of gaining 
 money, of which he had plenty, but out of 
 intense love of science. He practised a little 
 — he studied more ; he was, moreover, a man 
 of the most original genius. Thus it was 
 that he chanced to cure a patient — his own 
 guest — who was a cabinet minister. Two 
 years afterwards he was made a peer. This 
 was how the title came to be his. 
 
 Not even after he had carefully read and 
 re-read the solicitor's long letter, and satisfied 
 himself that he was in all reality not only the 
 possessor of a vast estate, but also a noble- 
 man; not even after he had explained it all 
 to wondering Heloise, could he realise that 
 it was a fact. He, Pierce, who had all his 
 life been a simple country gentleman, of mo- 
 derate estate only, holding no position, assert- 
 ing no claim to grandeur, had in a moment 
 ascended in the social scale almost as high as 
 was possible. Though so recently created, 
 the title gave some social precedence. Then 
 
144 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 there was the property, the vast acreage, the 
 enormous rent-roll, the numerous tenantry, — 
 these conferred an importance which could 
 not be ignored. And all these had fallen to 
 an old man busied with making a garden of 
 simple wild flowers. It was days before he 
 could realise the new position he occupied. 
 Had there been any necessity for his attending 
 Lord Henry's funeral, had he been obliged 
 to be present at the opening of the deeds, or 
 anything of that kind, it would have been 
 brought home to his mind ; but it so happened 
 that the dead man had left particular instruc- 
 tions that Pierce, if possible, was to be kept 
 in utter ignorance till after he was buried. 
 So it was that Pierce, who rarely read a news- 
 paper, and never the list of deaths, knew 
 nothing of the matter till a fortnight after 
 the physician was consigned to his tomb. 
 There was no need for him to hurry away to 
 these new possessions in a distant county, to 
 assert his right or take formal possession ; 
 there was no dispute, no cavil — it was his. 
 But he did not hasten to seize it. Now that 
 the truth had come home to him, now that 
 
RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 145 
 
 people drove up daily to congratulate him, 
 Lord Lestrange (he liad given strict injunc- 
 tions that no one of his household should use 
 the title, from which he shrank) was not alto- 
 gether elated ; in fact, he felt depressed. His 
 was not a mind to quarrel with the decrees of 
 Heaven; but as he cast his gaze backwards 
 alono; the course of his life, he could not but 
 remember the many unfulfilled aspirations — 
 the desire to travel, the natural longing to 
 see other climes ; and still more than this, the 
 ideas that had occurred to him, the great and 
 glorious things he could have done, if only 
 this Power — this money — had been his when 
 he was young and full of life and vigour, 
 untrammelled by the iroii chains of age and 
 habit and accumulated circumstances. It was 
 a melancholy and depressing thought — one 
 that he could not shake off at once ; so that 
 he did not hasten to seize his good fortune, 
 but rather lingered and shrank from it. Had 
 not this happened he might have died con- 
 tented, but it awoke vain regrets even in his 
 peaceful and well-ordered mind. 
 
 About a week after this Heloise came 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
146 RESTLESS HUMAIT HEARTS. 
 
 rushino; into his study, to ask if he had 
 thought of Ella. 
 
 ' Of whom ?' said Pierce, evidently quite 
 in the dark. 
 
 ' Of Ella. Don't you remember Lord 
 Henry's protegee — the shght girl we saw with 
 him once at the railway-station? 0, papa, 
 you must do something for her. She will be 
 homeless ; perhaps she has gone already. I 
 ought to have remembered her before.' 
 
 And Heloise oTew hot and flushed with 
 the thought of her carelessness. Pierce was 
 shocked at his o^^i inhumanity. He wrote 
 at once, and despatched it by one of his ser- 
 vants, who was instructed to proceed express 
 by railway — that would be quicker than the 
 post. They waited eagerly for the reply ; it 
 came at last, late in the eveninsf of the follow- 
 ing day. These were the words, written in 
 a thin peculiar hand, very slightly flourished, 
 not unlike the angular manuscript in the 
 registers and documents of the seventeenth 
 century : 
 
 'Dear Lord Lestrange, — I have to thank 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN IIEAPvTS. 147 
 
 you most sincerely for your kind and thought- 
 ful letter, but I feel obliged to decline your 
 invitation. My late friend and patron has 
 happily provided for me amply, and, with 
 every respect, I prefer to lead a life of inde- 
 pendence. Lord Henry purchased me an 
 annuity of 250/. some time previously to his 
 demise; and he did more — he educated me 
 in an art from which I am enabled to draw a 
 considerable income. It is my intention to 
 travel on the Continent. I leave here imme- 
 diately, and I must request your forgiveness 
 for my neglect to quit before. — I am, with 
 the deepest respect, yours very faithfully, 
 
 ' Ella Furnivale.' 
 
 * And she is hardly twenty-one,' said He- 
 loise. ' I never read such a letter — so inde- 
 pendent, so off-hand. This art — it is painting ; 
 I remember something of a j^icture of hers 
 in the Koyal Academy. To travel on the 
 Continent alone at her age ! The old doctor 
 has given her some of his queer notions; don^t 
 you think so?' 
 
 ' Most probably ; still I do not blame her 
 
148 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 for wishing to feel independent. I am glad 
 Lord Henry left it in her power to be so. 
 Perhaps we may even yet be of some assist- 
 ance to her, dear.' 
 
 So Ella passed out of sight, and Pierce 
 began to think at last of visiting his new 
 estates. Heloise begged him to take her with 
 him; she dreaded so much being left alone 
 with Noel. Pierce readily consented, and the 
 day was fixed for their journey. ^ La femme 
 propose, et I'homme dispose' — a man inter- 
 fered and upset the whole matter. 
 
 It was the last day of the season: the 
 meet was crowded. Pierce had delayed his 
 departure on purpose to be present on the 
 occasion. The Duke himself was out. The 
 fox broke cover well, and raced away, as it 
 happened, for the downs. Now this, though 
 it seemed the very best thing that could 
 happen at first, since everybody could follow 
 where there were no hedges or ditches, yet 
 soon turned out the very reverse ; for the 
 brute went straight away like an arrow, and 
 the incessant hills pumped the horses, espe- 
 cially as they had to cross miles of arable 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 149 
 
 land. The fox ran steadily on ; such a run 
 had been rarely known, but the chase thinned 
 as rapidly. In two hours there were but 
 seven in the field, amongst w^hom were the 
 Duke, who had changed horses once already, 
 the huntsman, who had done the same, and 
 Noel. About half an hour more disposed of 
 the other five, and left Noel and the hunts- 
 man alone, speeding along the springy down 
 with a fierce rivalry; for it was obvious that 
 the fox could hold out but little longer; his 
 brush drooped and swept the grass, and he 
 had swerved from the direct course, and was 
 now making a sweep to the right, evidently 
 in search of the vale and of a friendly copse. 
 Noel had a general idea that the valley lay 
 on the right, but he had no knowledge of the 
 locality ; he guided his course therefore partly 
 by the hounds, and partly by the motion of 
 the scarlet jacket on his left. It seemed to 
 him that scarlet jacket w^as making a long 
 detour to the left, and in the wild desire to 
 forge to the front — to be alone, the first — Noel 
 gave way to his own impression, and wheel- 
 ing a little to the right, sought to cut ofi" a 
 
150 RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 corner by galloping through a field of beans. 
 His weary horse urged its way heavily 
 through the beans, snorting and plunging 
 along, flecked with foam and with a drooping 
 head. 
 
 Noel, looking over his left shoulder to 
 watch scarlet jacket, was not so much on the 
 look-out as he should have been; so that 
 it came on him like a horrible and frightful 
 apparition, — a snort and a sudden rearing of 
 his horse as the animal tried to stop itself, 
 and rose up almost upright upon its hind 
 legs. 
 
 The fore feet, where were they? Reaching 
 right over a precipice ! 
 
 In that moment of intense sensation Xoel 
 saw the distant vale, the trees and woods, the 
 pasture-fields, the dim horizon, towns and 
 villages and church-towers, blue smoke from 
 the hamlets, windmills revolving — a panorama 
 of landscapes. 
 
 It rushed up to meet him, he knew not 
 how; the air rushed by his ears — he felt as 
 if he was taking a tremendous leap. Then 
 there ^vas a jar, a shock, a sharp pain, and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 15 i 
 
 unconsciousness. And all this had occupied 
 barely a second. 
 
 The chalk cliff fell twenty feet sheer from 
 the edge of the field, and he had galloped 
 right over it. Then at the bottom of the cliiF 
 there was a ledge, along which a narrow road 
 wound; below this a deep 'combe,' or steep 
 down, dropped another hundred feet, steep as 
 the roof of a house. 
 
 The horse fell on its legs on this road, 
 and the legs instantly snapped up under it 
 like icicles, and the animal came down on its 
 belly ; but that saved Noel, else the hard 
 road must have brained him on the spot. 
 He rolled off senseless, and lay in a rut. The 
 horse raised its head and writhed in agony. 
 That writhe overbalanced it, for it was on the 
 edge of the road, and over it fell and rolled 
 with fearful velocity down the steep and 
 slippery combe fully a hundred feet, crash 
 through a hedge at the bottom, and there lay 
 still as a stone, and all in a heap — dead. 
 
 In after days a loving heart that came to 
 that spot to see it, and to realise the horrible 
 danger, grew angry, and even thirsted for 
 
152 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 revenge ; for why had not the huntsman, the 
 man in the scarlet jacket, shouted and warned 
 him? Instinct told her that it was jealousy 
 — hatred of a bolder rider and a better steed 
 — the outcome of that general feeling against 
 Xoel. 
 
 The senseless body, jolted about for an 
 hour and a half m a cart without springs, 
 came to Bourne Manor just as the bell rang 
 for dinner. Heloise, coming down the stair- 
 case, looked out of the Avindow as she passed, 
 and saw what made her heart stand still — a 
 cart coming up the drive, where no carts ever 
 came, with a black heap in it. At first she 
 thought it was Pierce, for he had returned 
 while she was dressing unknown to her. Then 
 she heard Pierce at the foot of the stairs 
 asking if Noel had returned; then she fell, 
 too, senseless on the landing, for it shot 
 through her like a bullet. It was Noel in 
 the cart, and he was — dead, or he would not 
 lie so still, heaped up in that ghastly way. 
 
 They put him on a bed, and they sent 
 for doctors in post-haste. Thus it was that 
 Pierce did not go to visit his estates as soon 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 153 
 
 as he had arranged; thus it was that when 
 he did go, a week later — for the solicitors 
 urged him to — he left Heloise behind to see 
 to their unfortunate guest. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 What shifts, what ingenious contrivances and 
 innumerable excuses Heloise invented to be 
 near and with Noel as he lay maimed and 
 agonised, and at times insensible, u^oii his 
 bed ! That is at first, for she imagined all the 
 household were watching her; but after a 
 time her mind grew accustomed to it, and she 
 entered his room boldly and openly as a mat- 
 ter of right, as the mistress of the mansion 
 looking after her guest, as a matron too, and 
 not to be deterred by any ideas of false deli- 
 cacy. Who could analyse her heart, as she 
 sat by that bedside, and say which most pre- 
 dominated — love or dread ; dread lest he 
 should never recover ? For there were days 
 when he seemed infinitely worse, and beyond 
 the skill of man or the renovating powers of 
 nature. Yet sometimes a secret pleasure stole 
 through Heloise's mind — that she might now 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 155 
 
 look at liim, watch him, tend him, be some- 
 thing of service to liim, without fear, openly. 
 So great was the delight in serving him, in 
 ever so small a degree, that it at intervals 
 overcame even her fear, and made her happy. 
 Then there were relapses of doubt and uncer- 
 tainty ; but it was always Noel, always. Her 
 mind was occupied and bent upon him, to the 
 total exclusion of everything and everybody 
 else. Her love lit up the chamber, and made it 
 a holy place. Yet, you will say, it was an un- 
 holy and wicked love. That may be ; never- 
 theless it was love of the deepest, intensest 
 kind — an almost maternal love — and it did fill 
 the chamber with a presence that soothed 
 everything, even the irritable nerves of the 
 sufferer. This love dignified everything. Even 
 what was repulsive in the sick chamber be- 
 came sacred and beautiful under her touch. 
 But her greatest delight of all was to watch 
 him ; to sit in the great window-sill, with the 
 monotonous sound of the driving spring rain 
 beating against the panes, and pretend to read 
 a novel which was lying upon her knee. Her 
 eyes were not on him, and yet she could see 
 
156 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 him, feel him, and she knew by instinct whe- 
 ther he slept or turned, if his eyes were open 
 or closed. It gave her a peaceful slumberous 
 sensation ; she seemed as if in this sick cham- 
 ber she had at last found a haven of rest. 
 Here her heart was quiet; no doubts, no 
 torturing suspicions, no questionings of con- 
 science ; nothing but peace, quiet, rest. It 
 was slumberous, it was happy ; and this while 
 she was wild at times, maddened with alter- 
 nate hopes and fears, as Noel's state varied. 
 
 His most dangerous state was only just 
 be2:innino^. His arm had been broken in the 
 very place where it had pained him so long, 
 just where it had imperfectly joined again 
 after the matchlock bullet smashed it years ago. 
 The bone had cracked there like a pipe-stem 
 — snapped across instantly. He was bruised 
 and shaken ; but the worst part was his head. 
 A flint had lain on the road where he fell, and 
 had it not been for his hat his skull would 
 have been crushed in much as a spoon dashes 
 through an egg-shell. As it happened, the 
 hat intervened between the skull and the stone, 
 and deadened the blow. But it was a terrible 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 157 
 
 place, not only from tlie gash and the bruise, 
 but from the horrible aspect it had, as if it was 
 indented, as the side of a teapot might be. 
 Heloise's heart grew sick when she saw this ; 
 it acted upon her like violent medicine ; she 
 nearly fainted again. But she only saw it 
 once ; entering the room by mistake, when 
 the doctor was there examining the wound. 
 She had to lean against the wall when she got 
 outside. This flint had done the mischief. 
 There was a stupidity about the patient. He 
 seemed dazed when he awoke, or rather when 
 he opened his eyes he appeared to be still 
 asleep ; the brain was in a state of torpor. 
 He could recognise no one ; he only uttered 
 an inarticulate noise when he tried to speak. 
 That strange gurgling sound went straight to 
 Heloise's heart. Pier blood stood still in the 
 veins, her face paled, her knees trembled. Yet 
 she would not quit her post — always by the 
 window, waiting. 
 
 Noel remembered nothing after that mo- 
 ment when he saw the landscape rise up to- 
 wards him, as it seemed, in a violent convulsion 
 of nature. All from that moment was a blank, 
 
158 RESTLESS PIUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 till he slowly struggled back into conscious- 
 ness about eight clays after they laid him on 
 the bed at Bourne Manor. His physical 
 organisation had been aAvake, so to speak, long- 
 before that. The heart had beaten, the veins 
 had flowed with blood, the pulse had throbbed, 
 the lungs had inspired, the very eyes had 
 opened. The material part was alive. But the 
 mind was dead. He was not conscious that 
 his heart was beating, or his lungs inspiring. 
 It was like a deep sleep. At last came the 
 painful awakening. It resembled the dawning 
 of the morning. 
 
 Xoel had a faint feeling of light ; such a 
 feeling as the partially blind have ; he saw 
 a dim grey twilight — as we see a greyness 
 indicative of the coming claTVTi, early in the 
 morning after the cocks have crowed the se- 
 cond time. For a while this was all ; all his 
 consciousness was in his head. His soul 
 seemed to be there alone; he was not con- 
 scious that he had a body ; his soul was con- 
 fined to that spot. But in time he grew to 
 feel the pain of his arm, the ache of the set- 
 ting bone, the sharp twinge, as he moved in a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. J 59 
 
 helpless way, like one walking in the thick 
 darkness. This was the first indication he 
 had that he still retained a body; at least, it 
 would have been the first indication if he 
 could have thought and reasoned ; but he did 
 not think. He had no power of thought. He 
 did not say, ' This is light ; this is pain.^ 
 He did not recognise it ; but he felt it. But 
 after a while there shot up to his shoulder the 
 sharp twinge of the broken arm ; and then, 
 for the first time, he regained his conscious- 
 ness. The light grew brighter, and, as it 
 were all in a minute, he knew where he was. 
 There was Heloise sitting in the window-seat. 
 He gazed at her dreamily ; he longed for her 
 to turn and look at him ; he eagerly desired 
 her to come and sit near him. Yet he did not 
 attempt to speak; the memory that he had 
 such a power as the power of speech did not 
 occur to him. 
 
 Presently the nurse came and moved his 
 wounded arm, and a sharp twinge forced a 
 low cry from his lips. Then he regained 
 speech, and said faintly : ' Heloise.' She 
 came to him instantly, and hung over him, 
 
160 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 her face beaming, her lips quivering. He was 
 better, be would recover, he had spoken ; and 
 his first word was her name. It set her heart 
 in a glow. Almost involuntarily she laid 
 her hand on his forehead. She had been 
 sittino; so lono; in the window that she had 
 grown cold; her hand was cool and refresh- 
 ing. Then, too, for the first time, Xoel was 
 aware of the intense heat which seemed to 
 surround him. The coolness of her hand sup- 
 plied the contrast — just as people who have 
 been blind cannot judge of distance till they 
 have found a fulcrum, some fixed spot, and 
 learn how to correct the sight by the mental 
 powers. He moved uneasily ; but he did not 
 moan or cry out now. He had recovered his 
 consciousness; he would not moan in the 
 deepest pain. It was only when he was un- 
 conscious that he cried out. Xow his mind 
 had returned, he subdued it. The moan only 
 came when the physical organisation alone 
 existed ; directly the mind came into play all 
 the old instincts of courage and fortitude re- 
 turned. Even the touch of her hand could 
 not keep him still, now that he was conscious 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 161 
 
 of the intense heat. It grew on him ; the at- 
 mosphere of the room seemed to be made of 
 wool^ so to sa}^, through which no air could 
 pass. He was in a high fever, in fact. He 
 would have rolled from side to side ; but the 
 pain of the wounded arm stopped him. He 
 had to remain still in one place till that spot 
 grew intolerable. How shall any one describe 
 the horrors of fever ? That night was a period 
 of unutterable torture. The feeble glunmer 
 of the night-lights lit up what seemed to his 
 distempered vision a hellish apartment used 
 by the Inquisition. They were killing him by 
 heat. The air was rarefied and heated till it 
 took away from him the power to breathe ; 
 the atmosphere weighed upon him, laid on 
 his breast as if it was a lump of ponderous 
 lead. The ceiling pressed it do^vn ; the whole 
 weight of the house was on him. The clothes 
 suffocated him, they clung to him, and stopped 
 up every pore in his skin. Xow his head 
 swelled, till it felt like an enormous vacuum — 
 a vast globe, filling the whole bed, and his 
 soul and mind and sensation a mere tiny speck 
 within it ; and then it fell in ; and a horrible 
 
 VOL. IL M 
 
162 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 sense of crushing came upon him, as if his 
 head was placed between two boards, and 
 pressed together till the bones of the skull 
 bent. His eyes ached, as if they had been 
 open for weeks without closing. His hands 
 felt large, puffed up, as if the blood would 
 burst through the veins. He could not keep 
 his feet still ; they fidgeted perpetually. Then 
 came a feeling as if his eyes would start out 
 of his head. In vain he tried to sleep. His 
 mind was at work now ; and he recollected 
 that probably if he could sleep he should be 
 better ; he should escape this awful heat. 
 What he must do was to lie still, and close his 
 eyes till slumber came. He tried this ; he 
 kept still till he felt he should be smothered ; 
 then he moved again, and all his work was at 
 an end. Forgetfulness would not come. And 
 thus it went on, all through the dreary hours 
 of the night. Still the same horrible oppress- 
 ing heat — a heat which nothing could cool. 
 He was better in the daytime ; but the nights 
 were an ever-increasing misery to him. He 
 slept a little in the daytime, a restless, surface 
 sleep, waking at the least sound; an unre- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 163 
 
 freshing sleep. He thought that, perhaps, 
 this made it more difficult to slumber at night. 
 To avoid this he resolved not to sleep in the 
 day; but it was of no use. He was ten times 
 more restless than ever. And Heloise ? He 
 saw her, but he did not think of her; this 
 heat occupied his whole being. 
 
 And so it went on, till the extreme pros- 
 tration reduced him to utter speechlessness ; 
 and the doctor whispered that he must die. 
 Noel that afternoon was lying as peaceful as 
 if he was already dead. He lay on his side, 
 with his face towards the mndow, still, silent, 
 motionless; gazing, as it seemed, in dreamy 
 abstraction at the lio-ht. Heloise sat and 
 watched him. This peacefulness was terrible 
 to her. It was as if he had given up the 
 struggle, as if he had succumbed, and battled 
 no more for life. The love that was in her 
 rose up, and would not be denied. 
 
 The nurse was about to get a little refresh- 
 ment ; she looked round the room stealthily, 
 and stole slowly across to Noel. He did not 
 appear to see her come ; there was no light in 
 his eye, no change in the face, no motion, no 
 
164 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 variation from that trance-like state. She 
 bent down, and fondled his hand ; she bent 
 lower, and her tears fell on his face; still 
 lower, till she kissed him on his lips. Then 
 she started back, not with guilt, as it seemed, 
 but as if amazed. Had she really heard 
 aright? Had he spoken? Was it really a 
 low, almost inaudible whisper that had reached 
 her ear? The words were these, or seemed 
 to be these : 
 
 ' Air, air, or I die.' 
 
 She bent her head down close ao;ain, and 
 listened. Yes, it was true ; he spoke ; he 
 whose voice had not been heard for four days, 
 how weak, how low it was now ! Heloise, 
 wild with excitement, ran for the nurse, and 
 begged her to assist in carrying him to the 
 window. 
 
 * Window, ma'am?' said that stolid crea- 
 ture. * Why, the doctor ordered he should be 
 kept from draughts ; to catch cold would kill 
 him.' 
 
 She would not do it. Heloise frantically 
 tried to drag the bed along. The nurse calmly 
 sat on it: and Heloise could not move her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 165 
 
 weight. Heloise rushed out of the room, with 
 her hands clasped, her eyes dilated, wild, to 
 find some one to assist her. At the foot of 
 the stairs she met Pierce. She had tele- 
 graphed for him so soon as Noel was in dan- 
 ger. More by gesture than by words she 
 made him understand, and begged him to 
 assist her. Pierce looked grave, graver still 
 when the nurse said, that if it was done she 
 should leave the room; it should not be on 
 her responsibility. 
 
 'Whoever heard of moving a man to a 
 window, and him only just out of a blazing 
 fever, and a- dying ?' 
 
 * Dying, you wretch !' screamed Heloise, 
 ready to kill her for uttering the ominous 
 word. ' He's not dying ! papa, papa, do 
 help ; come, listen to him !' 
 
 And she dragged Pierce to the bed, and 
 made him lean down, and listen at Noel's 
 lips. Sure enough, that was what the injured 
 man begged for, repeating it slowly and con- 
 stantly, with his eyes towards the light. 
 Pierce hesitated. Heloise seized the bed, to 
 pull at it. 
 
166 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ' Stay/ said Pierce ; ' at any rate it cannot 
 hurt him to put the window open.' 
 
 Heloise had it wide in a minute. A draught 
 of cool air, fresh from passing over April pas- 
 tures, rushed into the room, fanning the pa- 
 tient's pale brow. His lips opened, his eyes 
 glistened ; there was an expression in his face. 
 He seemed to drink it in. They left the win- 
 dow so for half an hour. Then Heloise seized 
 Pierce's arm, and pointed, with terror in her 
 eyes. Noel's eyes were closed ; his chin had 
 fallen; she deemed him dead. Pierce went 
 to him, felt his side. The heart beat very, 
 very faintly. Just then the doctor came ; he 
 looked at the patient, laid his hand on his 
 mouth, and beckoned them to come out of the 
 room. Heloise obeyed, ready to sink, be- 
 lieving that Noel was passing away from her. 
 Once outside, the doctor shut the door. 
 
 ^ He is asleep,' he said. ' He will live.' 
 
 On her knees that night Heloise thanked 
 the Almighty. Her tears flowed abundantly ; 
 she bowed her head, even to the dust, in in- 
 tense gratitude. For a fortnight — while Noel 
 was in the balance — she had not prayed ; her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 167 
 
 heart was too dry. Now she praised and 
 acknowledged the Power that had saved him, 
 and asked forgiveness for her neglect to kneel 
 before. 
 
 Was it wicked of her to praise for his Kfe ? 
 If it was, she could not help it. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 The warm breath of spring and the genial 
 sunshine have ahnost the power of the ' spirit 
 moving on the face of the waters' — brooding 
 till the barren chaos grew instinct with life. 
 The dark green mosses are full of tiny insects 
 hastening hither and thither through this to 
 them enormous forest, and the blades of grass 
 are bent down with the weight of creatures 
 trying to crawl up into the sunshine. The 
 trees are awake — they have not only opened 
 their eyes, the buds, but have put forth their 
 bright green leaves. How many shades of 
 green there are ! Even this tall oak, not yet 
 in full leaf, has a tinge of a bronzy green in 
 its coppery boughs. 
 
 Noel and Heloise were walking slowly 
 upon the SAvard in the sunny morning. The 
 tall pine-trees on their left emitted a resinous 
 odour, sweet and spicy, scenting the warm 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 169 
 
 air, and high up in their branches the squirrels 
 leapt, and hid themselves behind the trunk. 
 The ground beneath these pines was barren, 
 covered with millions upon millions of brown 
 leaflets— spiky leaflets— slowly decaying, and 
 killing all vegetation in those shady recesses : 
 so that by stooping they could see along the 
 level earth far on among the trunks, and 
 watch the rabbits running to and fro, and 
 here and there a pheasant making a stately 
 retreat. There is something exquisitely beauti- 
 ful about a flr-tree. It rises up so straight and 
 high, each branch sloping do^vn wards, and 
 diminishing in regular proportion — shorter 
 and less sloping as the top is neared. They 
 are beautiful, graceful trees, to my eye far 
 superior to any other that grows on English 
 ground. There is a mysticism about them: 
 they seem to typify something, though it is 
 hard to define what, unless the cones are 
 taken in the Assyrian sense as the symbol of 
 the power of nature — that recuperative, reno- 
 vating power which even at that moment was 
 working in Xoel's limbs, bringing back to him 
 little by little the old strength. He still 
 
170 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 walked with a stick, leaning on it heavily, 
 but his face had lost its sickly pallor. It was 
 not yet as brown and healthy as of old ; but 
 there was a glow on it — the glow of the air, 
 the sunlight — the reflection of the morning. 
 Xever in all the course of his life had he felt 
 so entirely peaceful — so much at rest — so calm 
 — and so happy. There was much in this of 
 the returning vigour, but more still in the 
 presence of Heloise. They spoke rarely, and 
 then on the most trifling topics, as they saun- 
 tered slowly on, but there was a feeling be- 
 tween them. This illness had done it. All 
 the barriers wxre broken down. They did not 
 attempt to conceal what they felt from them- 
 selves nor from each other. They knew by 
 instinct that each was aware of the other's 
 passion. Not a w^ord passed — no demonstra- 
 tion, no reference; but as they walked to- 
 gether beside the pinewood, breathing the 
 scented air, they felt that their love was 
 mutual, full, and overflowing. So it was that 
 they spoke rarely, and then on indifi'erent 
 matters, for love is silent. Nominally they 
 were at work for Pierce — searching out wild 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 171 
 
 flowers, ferns, and mosses, to adorn his garden 
 of Nature as he called it ; his garden of wild 
 flowers only. In truth they were searching 
 out the wild flowers — the graceful ferns of 
 passion, filling their garden with beauty, 
 and colour, and odour. Noel's eyes dwelt 
 almost always upon Heloise. Heloise rarely 
 looked at him — her gaze was upon the trees, 
 the grass, and the sky. These had been to 
 her of old time her lovers — these too she had 
 wooed. Wooed the sun, whose ardour in re- 
 turn burnt her cheek ; wooed the wind, who in 
 return filled her with 2:race and lively ease of 
 motion. But in all these — in the sun, and sky, 
 and breeze, in the lofty rolling downs, in the 
 deep shadow of the forest — there was still 
 a something wanting, and as she had gazed 
 upon them, and drunk in their unutterable 
 meanings, she sighed, she knew not why. Now 
 she knew: with Noel, her enjoyment in na- 
 ture, in the trees, and the sunlight, reached 
 its highest and most exquisite pitch. She felt 
 with them. Felt with the fir-tree and the 
 chestnut the delight of springing into life — 
 the pleasure of putting forth the green bud, 
 
172 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and watching it expand into the perfect leaf 
 — itself a marvel of beauty of design — just as 
 the mother watches her child grow and deve- 
 lop in size and proportion. Felt with the 
 sun his warm, genial love of the earth and 
 its living things, and with the sky its brooding 
 beauty. It hung over the earth — a blue dome, 
 j)ainted here and there by the hand of a divine 
 Michael Angelo, with flecks of graceful cloud 
 floating along, the thistledown of heaven. The 
 sun was the window in this grand dome, through 
 which the light of the upper ether streamed 
 in upon the earth. She could feel with the 
 squirrel on the topmost boughs of the iir- 
 tree — she could enter into his pleasure, and 
 enjoy with him the sway, the gentle swing- 
 ing motion of the delicate branches }T.elding 
 to the breeze. Whatever living creature, be 
 it plant or flower, animal or insect, on which 
 her eyes rested, her soul seemed to enter into 
 its existence, and she felt with and under- 
 stood it. This delicate faculty of perception, 
 this exquisitely sensitive organisation, which is 
 the attribute of the true poet, gave her an in- 
 tense but indescribable delight. It was as if 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 173 
 
 her own enjoyment of the sunlight and the 
 spring were multiplied a hundredfold — as if 
 her own identity were divided into innumer- 
 able portions, each an '1/ each basking in the 
 sunshine. She did not attempt to communi- 
 cate these feelings to Noel. Heloise was a 
 poet by nature, but a poet to whom expres- 
 sion was denied. Hers was the plastic nature, 
 the delicate and sensitive organisation, upon 
 which the words of the singer acted as the 
 breeze upon the fir - tree bough, swaying it 
 hither and thither, putting it into graceful 
 motion. Her soul rippled up like water be- 
 fore the wind, and glittered with innumerable 
 points of light reflected from the sun. But 
 she could not speak — could not originate 
 these impulses. She was a passive poet. Her 
 being was that of a harp played upon by 
 nature, emitting the softest, most enchanting 
 sound, but originating nothing in itself. She 
 could not play upon herself. So she was silent. 
 Noel felt none of these refined plea- 
 sures; the glow of returning health, the 
 strength that stole through his veins and 
 along his limbs, with the delight of watching 
 
174 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 her face, — this was enoup^h for him. It was 
 indeed a face to watch. Be not too harsh — do 
 not judge her too severely — this artless poet- 
 child, who never could be in equity dealt with 
 as others should be. Noel watched her face, 
 as she had watched his when he lay helpless 
 in pain. Slowly there grew upon his mind a 
 sense that he could not understand her. The 
 radiance upon her countenance came from he 
 knew not where ; the emotions that were re- 
 flected there were not such as he had known 
 — they came from no source of which he had 
 the key. They flowed up from a well at 
 which he had never drunk. A superstitious 
 feeling, almost reverential, took possession of 
 him : he felt as though he had been walking 
 by the side of an immortal, of one of those 
 divine beings which in the old time came 
 down to mortals, and brought with them an 
 indefinable Presence. His feelings towards 
 her underwent a change. He had looked 
 upon her as a child, as something weaker, 
 lower than himself — something to be pro- 
 tected and watched over. Now it dawned 
 upon him that she was in reality higher and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 175 
 
 more divine than he was — that she could watch 
 over and protect him. His was the lower 
 existence. So he came to watch her motions 
 almost with reverence, as if her step was 
 holy, as if her face shone with divine light, 
 and a halo went about her. Heloise knew but 
 one thing — that she was happy. It was like 
 this that they searched for the wild flowers : 
 or rather Heloise did, pointing them out to 
 Noel, showing him their beauties and their 
 graces, teaching him their names and his- 
 tories. For these wild flowers have a history. 
 The orchids and splendid aristocrats of the 
 greenhouse and conservatory are like the vast 
 plains of America, the steppes of Russia, the 
 boundless plains of Australia — they are beau- 
 tiful, but they have no history. There is no 
 human interest about them. But Greece — 
 that small territory, only half a dozen parishes 
 in comparison with the continents — has for us 
 a charm and an enduring beauty because of 
 its human interest; because of the passions 
 and the subtlety, the wars and the hatreds, 
 and all the circle of man's joys and griefs, 
 hopes and fears, that were there enacted in 
 
176 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 their unrestrained fulness. And so our wild 
 flowers of tbe copse, the meadows, and the 
 downs have about each and all of them a 
 human aroma — an odour of the Past. They 
 have with them the associations from our 
 childhood, when we played amongst them, 
 gathered them by multitudes in sport. They 
 brino; with them strano-e tales of centuries 
 since, when knights wore them on their hel- 
 mets, when ladies rode a-hawking over them. 
 They have a history, or rather a mythology, 
 of their own. Pierce's instructions were that 
 they should not disdain the humblest — not 
 even the buttercup and the daisy — and he 
 wanted, too, the very grasses, each and all. 
 Noel, whose life had been spent in violence 
 and in motion, marvelled at the infinite variety 
 of the life that he had trampled under his feet 
 and disdainfully passed away from. In one 
 day — one single walk — Heloise gathered, or 
 rather took up root and all, no less than five- 
 and-thirty varieties of common grass. These 
 Noel carried in a basket provided for that pur- 
 pose. Heloise said there were nearly sixty dif- 
 ferent grasses ; but they had much more diffi- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 177 
 
 culty after the thirty-five. Some of them had 
 not yet come up ; others only grew in distant 
 spots ; all were hard to find. But it was of 
 the flowers that Heloise told him most— of the 
 monkish legends, the strange old superstitions 
 of the days gone by, all of which Pierce had 
 taught her in childhood. Day by day the 
 garden grew ; and day by day the love that 
 Avas in them grew stronger and stronger. 
 
 Noel was at Knoylelands now, but he rode 
 over every day, usually before lunch, and stay- 
 ed there till late in the evening. Even then 
 he could barely tear himself away. Fre- 
 quently he walked, in order that after he had 
 left the mansion he mio-ht still lino;er near, 
 watching for the light in her window. His 
 favourite spot was away from the highway. 
 He left this, and went in among the fields, 
 and made a circuit till he stood near the edge 
 of the garden under a great oak-tree. There 
 he leant against the trunk — the sturdy iron- 
 bound trunk — with its thick bark and gray 
 lichens. Overhead the innumerable stars 
 shone down, glittering through the spaces be- 
 tween the branches. In the south a great 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
178 RESTLESS HUI^IAN HEARTS. 
 
 planet glowed like a ball of molten silver 
 till it paled as the full moon slowly rose over 
 the downs, casting a huge shadow of the oak- 
 tree on the damp grass. Lines of light clouds 
 lingered in the sky towards the east, rippled 
 like the sand at the edge of a pool where 
 the tiny wavelets break, but these were 
 rippled with the yellow light of the moon. 
 The grass at his feet glistened and glittered 
 with emeralds, the dew-drops reflecting the 
 moonlight. Bourne Manor was in the shadoAv 
 of the downs, dark and solemn, save and ex- 
 cepting the southern gable, where the light 
 fell, bringing it out into sharp relief. Far on 
 the left of this, and lower down, there shone 
 out one pale lamp— paled by the curtain — and 
 this Noel knew as Heloise's chamber. She 
 had chosen years ago this room, because its 
 great window faced the south and let in the 
 sun and the light, which to] her were as meat 
 and drink. 
 
 How should Xoel, the rude and violent 
 soldier, the traveller, the travailleur over 
 ^many deserts — how should he, the man of ac- 
 tion, analyse his thoughts and feelings? How 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 170 
 
 could he tell the names of the passions, and 
 their varying phases, as they surged through 
 his breast? He could have no more sepa- 
 rated and defined them than he could have 
 translated into human language the moan of 
 the waves as they broke upon the beach. But 
 those passions, those changes and phases, did 
 surge through him. He knew not how he 
 spoke it ; but so it was at last. 
 
 AYhere the nut-tree hedges met in a green 
 angle; where a great chestnut -tree reared 
 over them its candelabra of blossoms ; where 
 the bracken grew luxuriously in the unseen 
 ditch — unseen because filled with brambles 
 and mth ferns — where the sunlight came 
 softly, and the breeze was still — this was where 
 it was done, where their fatal words were 
 spoken. They were sitting on the sward — on 
 the soft moss — sitting so still and so silent 
 that the mice peeped out of their tiny bur- 
 rows, and ran about among the grass, darting 
 hither and thither. A rabbit came to the 
 mouth of his cave, and sat there in wonder, 
 gazing at them out of his full black eyes. A 
 pair of wild doves came into the chestnut-tree, 
 
180 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and softly cooed at intervals. A great black- 
 bird with his ^ tawny bill' splashed himself in 
 a rill not three yards from their feet, and then 
 sat on a bough, and plumed his feathers, and 
 uttered his loud and defiant cry. The shy 
 kingfisher flew over them on his way to his 
 nest — a flying rainbow, glittering with crim- 
 son and blue — a streak of azure passing across 
 the sight, as if he had been bathing in the sky. 
 They were so still and silent, so peaceful, that 
 all nature saw it; all these tiny creatures, 
 these mice, and rabbit, and doves, and shy 
 kingfisher, saw that it was a truce, that they 
 had nothing to fear, for these human beings 
 were in accord with them. But in the full 
 o^lare of the sunlio^ht, when it fell on the bare 
 sandy mound of the hedge behind them— oufc 
 of sight, yet there — lay coiled up a green and 
 spotted snake, basking in the heat. 
 
 Noel knew not how his arm came round 
 her. She lay in his arms, as if asleep — unre- 
 sisting, still, only he could feel the heaving of 
 her bosom, the throbbing of her heart. Her 
 ripe rich lips were a little open; he gazed 
 at them; he drew near; he fastened upon 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 181 
 
 tliem. They did not move; they did not 
 avoid him. Another, and yet another. As 
 the mice and the doves were unconscious 
 of them, so they grew unconscious of the 
 sun and the sk}^ ; unconscious of all but the 
 thrill of unutterable love. The subtle iire 
 ran through them; their souls grew as one. 
 Her breath came in long deep gasps, till at 
 last her lips dropped from his, her head 
 bowed, and she buried it in his breast, hiding 
 away her face. There he held her, gently 
 stroking down the lovely hair, whose curling 
 tendrils cluno^ to his fino-ers. 
 
 The shadows moved. The spaces of light 
 and the spaces of darkness, or the lack of light, 
 the shadow of the interlaced branches of the 
 chesnut-tree, moved round and farther out 
 into the field, till the hot beams of the early 
 summer sun showered down upon them. Still 
 they moved not, spoke not. Only she clung 
 to him — he bent over her. The sunbeams 
 glistened on her glossy hair. She held his 
 hand — not the one that strayed among her 
 hair, but the other — and her lips were wander- 
 ing over it, he could feel her warm breath 
 
182 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 upon it. The shadows moved. The topmost 
 branches of a tall ]3me-tree intercepted the 
 rays of the sun, and the shadows fell across 
 them once more. Still they moved not, 
 spoke not. He saw and felt nothing but her; 
 she felt him only. That sense of each other 
 was all ; and it was enough ; more would have 
 been pain. The shadows moved. One streak 
 of sunlight lit up the lower extremity of her 
 hair. One arm was thrown out — the sleeve 
 had got drawn up — and the soft white skin 
 shone like marble in the sunlight. Then he 
 became conscious of a warm stream trickling 
 down his hand — his hand that she had kissed. 
 It was her tears. That woke him — then he 
 spoke. Hurriedly, passionately, in low pierc- 
 ing tones that stirred her very soul. He was 
 pleading — she could not answer — pleading with 
 her to go with him away, away, no matter 
 where, but ever into the sunshine. She lis- 
 tened and answered not; till suddenly she 
 started away from him, and rose up and turned 
 to go ; and, silently rebuked, he followed her. 
 But the fatal words had been spoken ; the 
 fatal seed sown, the idea implanted. Hence- 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 183 
 
 forth this desire to go forth with him was ever 
 in her heart. 
 
 The snake which had crawled out into the 
 grass came to the spot where they had sat, 
 and crushed it down, and there coiled himself 
 up in the full glare of the sunlight, for the 
 shadows had moved again. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 While Noel and Heloise were rapt in that 
 long embrace beneath the horse-chestnut tree 
 in its wealth of blossoms, another pair were 
 wandering side by side, but not hand in hand, 
 in the Bois de la Cambre, Brussels. They 
 had passed beyond the limit of civilisation, 
 wandered beyond the laid-out drives and 
 walks notified to the visitors as allee^ chaussee^ 
 on the direction-posts; they had got away 
 from the sham lakes, from the noise of wheels 
 and the laughter of the gay pleasure-seekers ; 
 away, too, from the corks and broken bottles 
 of the British tourist. The smooth drives had 
 vanished behind them; they had gone in 
 among the beeches. The ^Siih. was barely 
 wide enough for them to walk side by side — 
 a mere green track strewn with the beech-mast 
 of the previous autumn, entangled at times 
 with the long shoots thrown out by the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 185 
 
 briers, whose young prickles had not yet 
 had time to harden. The thick roofing of 
 leaves was impervious to the sun, and they 
 walked in a crj^pt of shadow ; but the warmth 
 of the spring penetrated into the deep forest, 
 and surrounded them with its genial glow. 
 The beech trunks rose up on either hand, 
 smooth and round, dotted here and there 
 with broad bands of gray lichen, and clothed 
 at the foot with green moss. Their boughs 
 met overhead, forming a pointed arch, which 
 extended as far as the eye could see, till the 
 effect of perspective lessened its distinctness, 
 and the path seemed to lose itself in a wall 
 of leaves which receded as they advanced. 
 There was not a sound; the wind was still, 
 and not a branch creaked nor a leaf rustled. 
 No sportive rabbit crossed their path, no bird 
 chattered in the recesses of the wood. Slowly 
 they walked on — on — into the depth of the 
 gloomy shadow, till the path split into two, 
 the one diverging at an angle from the other, 
 and each overarched in the same way with 
 meeting beech branches. At the very spot 
 of the divergence there was a broken trunk. 
 
186 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 A great beech had grown unsound and rotten 
 within, and the blast of the winter storms had 
 twisted it off— snapped it about ten feet from 
 the ground — and the dead trunk lay across 
 the path on the left hand, with its boughs 
 crushed beneath it. The stem stood upright, 
 gaunt and ragged at the top, where a huge 
 splinter pointed at the sky. But the para- 
 sites, the green mosses, and the tree-ferns 
 had found their rooting-place already where 
 the tree had been rotten within, and long 
 creepers were winding their way about the 
 branches of the fallen trunk. There the gaunt 
 stem stood, a sentinel in the way, challenging 
 all who passed. Here there was an opening 
 in the leaf-roof caused by the fall of this giant 
 — this pillar of the blue dome of the sky — and 
 the sunlight fell full upon the upright stem, 
 bringing it out into bright relief. Beyond it 
 the two pathways branched off — caves of dark 
 shadow — going no one knew how deep into 
 the wood. There was a streak of blue sky 
 overhead, and the earth was covered with 
 moss. 
 
 Ella paused here, and took from her com- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 187 
 
 panion her sketching materials. He stretched 
 himself on the ground and began to study a 
 book from his pocket, while she drew and 
 studied the beauty of the scene before her 
 till it was photographed in her mind. This 
 was Ella Furnivale, the late Lord Lestrange's 
 protegee; this, on the grass, was her friend 
 Claudius Lovel — neither her husband, her 
 lover, nor her brother, but her friend. 
 
 Carelessly walking through the wood, 
 Ella's hair had caught in a brier; the hooks 
 of the branch held tight in the convoluted 
 folds, and down it came, and away rolled one 
 frisette, while another hung in the air. Down, 
 too, fell her own beautiful hair, far down to 
 her very waist in ripples of pale gold, till her 
 face seemed like a portrait set in a gilded 
 frame. Even Ella was not exempt entirely from 
 the short-sightedness of her sex. To roll up 
 and twist and conceal such a wealth of beauty, 
 to cover it with plaited bundles of false hair, 
 filthy stufi" taken from no one knows where 
 or from what head, — what madness, what in- 
 sanity ! These bundles of false rubbish, 
 these disgusting pads, are not only bad in 
 
188 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 themselves (possibly even dangerous, despite 
 all the precautions taken in their manufacture), 
 but they kill and destroy the natural covering 
 of the head. Young ladies at five-and- twenty 
 complain that their heads are growing bald, 
 that the hair splits at the end and will not 
 grow, cut it as often as they may. The comb 
 each morning drags out a handful of hair, 
 which they look upon with dismay ; for each 
 morning diminishes the already scanty stock, 
 and no new springs up to supply its place. 
 Then they rush off to the chemist, or the bar- 
 ber, w^ho recommends some patent renovator, 
 some marvellous balm and oil of Heaven 
 knows what, which will produce a crop that 
 Absalom might envy. The chemist knows 
 better than this ; but it is his interest to push 
 the sale, for the profits are tremendous, the 
 demand ever increasing; for the more that is 
 used the more will be w^anted, for the simple 
 reason that these oils and balms kill what 
 little life still remains in the hair of the fool- 
 ish virgin who uses them. For the hair is 
 alive; it is a living growing thing — a plant, 
 if you please ; it is a tube, as most of you 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 189 
 
 know in these days, of course. All young 
 ladies have seen a microscope ; they have 
 seen a hair magnified ; they know it is a tube 
 — a plant — with its roots, its sap and juices, 
 its exuding oil, but it never occurs to them 
 to apply this knowledge. This is the great 
 fault of our days. Our forefathers had but 
 few facts to build uj)on, but they studied 
 these facts and applied them till they had 
 exhausted their uses. But we, with a wealth, 
 an almost illimitable ocean of facts, pass them 
 by, throw them aside without a thought into 
 a dustbin — it's only a microscope, only a mag- 
 nified hair, a matter for a moment's wonder, 
 a mere show got up for our amusement. 
 Depend upon it, its Creator did not get that 
 slender and delicate tube up for mere show, 
 as a toy to look at in the microscope, as a 
 fashionable amusement to while away a mo- 
 ment of ennui while the ices were beimr 
 brought or the champagne uncorked. It is 
 a real living thing, having its birth, its life, 
 and its death — as much a living thing as the 
 human being is that bears it about with her. 
 But why describe the physiological structure 
 
190 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 of what is familiar to every fashionable young 
 lady ? This is how they treat this living crea- 
 ture the hair, the most delicate and sensitive 
 of plants. They comb it; so far so good, 
 provided the comb does not rake hard at the 
 roots, and start them, if not pull them up. 
 You may do as much harm by pulling a 
 flower half out of the flower-pot, and kill it 
 quite as quickly, as if you had taken it clean 
 up. So they comb at it, drag at it impatiently, 
 dragging out scores, starting scores more, snap- 
 ping off* scores additional. Then the brush. 
 This does little harm if moderately vised, and 
 not one of those horrid patent things war- 
 ranted to mesmerise or what not. Xow 
 comes the torture. Tie it up, twist it up, 
 plait it up, bundle it up, crush it up, squeeze 
 it up, screw it, wind it, thump it, drag it, 
 force it down by every unnatural means, till 
 it occupies the least possible space; in fact, 
 get it out of the way, conceal it in corners 
 anywhere, make a mere groundwork and 
 foundation of it to bear the weio-ht of fashion's 
 superstructure. Build up on it great masses 
 of a warm thick substance — pads, horsehair, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 191 
 
 Heaven knows what, smelling not exactly 
 nasty, but close — through which no air or 
 light could possibly penetrate ; bind over 
 these plaits of false hair, cut from the heads 
 of dirty German peasant women, cut perhaps 
 from the heads of the dead and dying in the 
 foreign lazar-houses and hospitals — a stuff 
 that has been subjected to blasts of hot air 
 in order to do what ? to hill the germs of insect 
 life that cling to it. They may be dead, these 
 germs, but they are there still, or at least thou- 
 sands of them were there. These delicate crea- 
 tures, these sensitive ladies, could not rest in a 
 bed which was reported to contain a single — 
 no matter what ; if they rest in a strange bed- 
 room, no matter how respectable, they must 
 sprinkle it with spirits of camphor as a charm 
 which no insect can pass. Yet they can con- 
 tentedly bear about with them the whole day 
 long piles of hair to which even now innumer- 
 able germs of life may be clinging, to which 
 such germs certainly did cling not so very 
 long ago. Having thus most carefully co- 
 vered over and hidden the original hair, and 
 replaced it by a mere human contrivance ; 
 
192 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 having, in fact, put on a wig — yes, an abso- 
 lute downright wig, the equivalent, if not in 
 shape, in effect, of the disgusting things our 
 oTandmothers used to wear ; having done 
 this, they fasten it down with iron nails, with 
 hair-pins artfully disposed and out of sight, 
 but there by dozens. A fashionable lady 
 can easily dispose of three dozen hair-pins — 
 long strong pieces of iron wire on her head, 
 no light weight, these, in themselves. Many 
 of these stick almost in the skin of the head ; 
 others at first only just touch it, but by de- 
 grees, by the pressure of the bonnet, they 
 work down till the sharp points dig in, and 
 then each motion of the head sways them to 
 and fro and scrapes the skin till it is most ex- 
 quisite torture, and it grows red and inflamed. 
 All the while she bears a smiling face, and 
 walks erect and proudly. This horrible 
 parody of the Creator's natural covering for 
 the head is put on at a comparatively early 
 hour; it is kept on never less than twelve 
 hours, often much longer, and never once re- 
 moved or eased in anyway. Xow what is the 
 effect of all this ? The hair is a plant, at least 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 193 
 
 it may be called a plant for the convenience 
 of illustration. Now what do plants want 
 first of all? Why, air and light. These 
 thousands upon thousands of tiny tubes, these 
 delicate organisms called hah\ thus treated, 
 thus covered, never know what the impact of 
 air or light is from one year's end to another. 
 The next thing a plant wants is room to grow 
 and ex2:)and, to put forth tendrils and extend 
 itself. If you covered up a geranium with a 
 door-mat, could you expect it to flourish? 
 If you twisted twenty fuchsias together and 
 tied them mth tight bands, and held them 
 down ^\ith chafing iron pins, could you ex- 
 pect them to bear blossom, and to charm your 
 visitors with their graceful shape? In one 
 word, the hair is smothered — suffocated. It 
 is like making a man lie in bed for ever, 
 thickly padded doAvn with blankets and mat- 
 tresses, unable to turn or stretch his legs. 
 What a pale emaciated creature he would be 
 at the end of the year — if he survived so long ! 
 And so it is with the hair : it dies by thou- 
 sands, it comes out by handfuls ; then in order 
 to encourage nature, when the young lady 
 
 VOL. II. o 
 
194 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 grows alarmed, she carefully sets to work to 
 prevent its renovating power from replacing 
 tlie dead tubes. This she does by washing it 
 with oils and balms, which is about the same 
 as pouring scalding water on grass with the 
 idea of making it grow. These oils, &c., stop 
 up all the pores of the skin ; literally plug 
 them. Suppose a gardener sowed seeds, and 
 then carefully covered the earth over with a 
 layer of plaster-of- Paris. Some ladies' heads 
 are sheer surfaces of raw red skin in conse- 
 quence of this treatment, this suffocation, this 
 deprivation of nir and light, this check to all 
 perspiration, this torture from prodding hair- 
 pins. It is at night, when the pads and fri- 
 settes and the three dozen hairpins — the half- 
 pound of iron — are removed, that the smart is 
 acknowledged, and '0, my head is so sore; 
 my head is so hot!' is the order of the hour. 
 How many headaches may be traced to this 
 cause, for which anxious mammas are drench- 
 ing the poor ])atient's stomach with pill and 
 powder ! When the night does come, and 
 the miserable hair is let free to wander away, 
 and breathe if it can, then what do they do? 
 
KESTLES.S HUMAN HEARTS. 195 
 
 Not a few damp the top of the head with a 
 sponge, under the impression that that will 
 make the hair grow. If it does any good at 
 all, it is simply in cooling the inflamed skin ; 
 but that effect is gone in ^ve minutes ; and it 
 is questionable if the heat of the head drying 
 up the water may not be unhealthy. This is 
 an outlme of the Hair Fetish. 
 
 Even Ella was not entirely superior to this 
 weakness of the feminine mind, this singular 
 fetish worship. Is it a remnant of the old by- 
 gone ages, w^hen the dwellers on the earth, the 
 primeval men and women, the aborigines, 
 worshipped sticks and stones and odd bits of 
 rubbish, as the natives of Africa, the co- 
 existents with the baboon, do at this day? 
 Has the tradition lingered with the weaker 
 sex longer than with the men? Without a 
 fetish no woman can exist. Yet Ella had no 
 need of any assistance from art ; and she knew 
 it well. She knew that she had splendid hair 
 — hair which hundreds of women would have 
 envied her for ; yet she buried it, hid it out 
 of sight under her pads and rubbish— under 
 her fetish. 
 
196 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Claudius, walking behind her, raised his 
 stick, and struck the frisette hanging from 
 the brier far away high up out of reach ; he 
 kicked another that fell upon the ground into 
 the nettles, while the hairpins went in a 
 shower among the moss. Ella smiled, lifted 
 her hat, and shook her hair about her shoul- 
 ders, till it surrounded her like a golden cloud. 
 
 'Paint your hair,' said Claudius; 'if you 
 can, you will make your fortune, for you will 
 paint sunlight.' 
 
 She did not blush at this remark ; she 
 did not resent his rude destruction of her 
 materials, but walked on as before. Was this 
 childishness, was it high-bred ease or famili- 
 arity? Not the last, certainly, but a mixture 
 of the first two. They were always together, 
 yet never familiar. I use that word in its 
 worst sense. Their ideas were familiar to 
 each other, indeed; their persons, their ways 
 were not. Claudius watched her as she 
 went before him with admiration, unmistak- 
 able admiration ; but it was calm, cool, cri- 
 tical, as he might look at a picture in the 
 Royal Academy ; and she, turning round and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 197 
 
 meeting his gaze, did not blush or even smile, 
 but was as calm, as unmoved as he was. She 
 was very lovely. A slender figure, hardly up 
 to the usual height, not embonpoint enough 
 for the Yenus ; slender and graceful, with the 
 gracefulness of a child. Her face was a de- 
 licate oval, a low forehead, rather broad at the 
 temples, but not in any way what is called in- 
 tellectual or high. (How I hate a high, so- 
 called ' intellectual forehead' in woman ! It 
 is unnatural, looks strained.) Her brow was 
 smooth as polished marble, without a line, 
 without a wrinkle. The eyebrows were nar- 
 row, distinct, and finely arched, the eyes deep 
 blue, fringed with long eyelashes; but these 
 not being black did not show so much as 
 might have been desired. Her nose was 
 straight and delicate ; her lips perfectly cut, 
 but rather cold, not full or red enough for 
 passion. Her hands were small, taper, finer 
 than even handsome women's hands usually 
 are, and exquisitely white. They seemed made 
 for the brush and the pencil ; true artist hands. 
 She looked more a child than a woman, dressed 
 in that pale-blue silk, with the masses of golden 
 
198 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 hair flowing over her shoulders. Yet she was 
 twenty-one. This was the dead Lord Le- 
 strange's pupil and protegee. He was but just 
 dead, yet she was in colours. She owed him 
 everything, but she did not look unhappy; 
 and still with all the colours of her dress, and 
 the smile upon her face, she did not forget 
 him. vShe was wandering in a Belgian forest 
 with a man, a very young man too, who was 
 neither her husband, her lover, her brother ; 
 who was only a friend. But he was her friend ; 
 and that was a distinction with a difference. 
 
 Claudius read wliile she sketched ; it was 
 a book upon architecture, and he did not raise 
 his eyes from the page to Avatch her as a lover 
 would have done. He grew so absorbed in 
 the mental reconstruction of the ruined temj^le 
 described that he started when she called 
 to him to come and look at her drawing. 
 Even then he did not come till he had made 
 some notes in his pocket-book and inserted a 
 marker in the page he was reading. Then he 
 went to her, leaned over, and looked long and 
 steadily at the sketch, comparing it with the 
 original — with the gaunt and broken stem be- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 199 
 
 fore him. Very politely, but distinctly, in a 
 cool tone of voice, he pointed out a slight de- 
 fect here and there. In one spot the shadow 
 was too deep, in another the leaf of a plant 
 laro'e in the foreo^round, thouo:h drawn mi- 
 nutely correctly, was turned the wrong way — 
 a way in which nature could never place it. 
 Generally, he said, he found the same fault 
 with it as with all her work ; it evinced too 
 much study of detail, too little general appre- 
 ciation. Ella listened to him in the same 
 calm, almost languid manner. Then she de- 
 fended herself as logically as if disputing in 
 the Schools. There was no pout upon her 
 lips, no angry spot on her cheek, no disap- 
 pointment in her countenance, as there would 
 have been had they been lovers. She did not 
 resent the unfavourable criticism ; she set to 
 work to controvert it. Details were neces- 
 sary; how were the inimitable masterpieces 
 of nature — the forests, the hills, the land- 
 scapes, even the vast waves of ocean — produced 
 except by the collection of innumerable de- 
 tails, each perfect in itself, and so building up 
 a superb Avhole? 
 
200 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Claudius objected that the artist had some- 
 thing more to do than to merely copy nature, 
 as it were, word for word. To him the can- 
 vas looked flat, and the picture flat as the 
 canvas, unless there was an idea behind the 
 colours. Then the idea carried away the 
 mind, and the paint w^as paint no longer, but 
 reality. Without the idea the mind saw the 
 paint as paint, and flat; when it received the 
 idea it cast a glamour over it, and the pic- 
 ture lived. Now this idea could never be 
 produced by the most minute attention to de- 
 tail ; it could not be copied from nature ; it 
 must come from the artist's own mind, must 
 originate mth him, and be transferred, put, 
 as it were, into nature. Landseer's pictures, 
 for instance, were ' paintings,' rude, anything 
 but well painted ; but the idea carried away 
 the mind, filled it with glamour, and his pic- 
 tures Hved, even without colour, as was shown 
 by the popularity of engravings from them. 
 This was the magic charm of the marvellous 
 Dore, as distinguished from the stern minute 
 reahsation of Holman Hunt. Dore was rude, 
 rough, almost gi^otesque in his manner; he 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 201 
 
 never worked out the details, but his pictures 
 were instinct with Mind, with Idea, and with 
 Life ; so that the coarse lines, the incomplete 
 outlines, the Itardness of the sketch passed 
 unheeded, the glamour of the idea entered the 
 soul of the beholder and filled him with the 
 feeling of the artist. This was the true artist ; 
 in this power Ella was deficient, or at least 
 she had not cultivated it. 
 
 Ella listened to every word and bowed 
 her head once or twice in acquiescence ; then 
 silently put up her materials, bound up her 
 hair, and they slowly returned into the city. 
 In the Place Royale they shook hands calmly, 
 as acquaintances would. Ella passed on to 
 the Hotel de France, Claudius to the Hotel de 
 Belle Vue, each to their separate table-cVhote. 
 Ella had said in her re|)ly to Pierce that she 
 intended to travel on the Continent, and this 
 was how she commenced it. 
 
 -^^ 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The old coach for Waterloo came 'tootling' 
 and rattling through the Place Roy ale early 
 on the bright May morning. Ella and Clau- 
 dius had taken places over night. They were 
 not rich enough to have a carriage to them- 
 selves, and to drive through the lovely beech 
 avenues of the forest of Soignies, pausing when 
 they pleased to admire the scenery. Ella had 
 the 250/. per annum long since made over to 
 her by her patron ; but that was not much to 
 travel on, even when supplemented by the 
 200/. she had realised by her first picture in 
 the Academy, and carefully preserved for this 
 very purpose. Claudius had something more 
 than this. His mother had left him her own 
 fortune, between 300/. and 400/. per year from 
 land ; he had expectations, remote, but large. 
 An entailed estate, held by an uncle, must of 
 necessity fall to him, provided he lived long 
 enough, provided too no heir intervened, for 
 the uncle was seventy-two and infirm. From 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 203 
 
 this source, at present, he received nothing; 
 for the old man hated the boy as only a 
 narrow-minded old man can hate, and refused 
 so much as to see him. This too was not 
 much to travel on, and Claudius, not so 
 fortunate as Ella or so clever, had not yet 
 been able to suj^plement his income by the 
 exercise of his profession. Nominally, Clau- 
 dius was an architect ; in truth, he was a 
 sculptor. Hence they endeavoured to practise 
 economy as far as possible \ instead of hiring 
 a carriao-e from the well-known ao'ent in the 
 Montao-ne de la Cour, and viewin^: the field of 
 Waterloo in luxurious ease, they were perched 
 up high on the coach top, among the motley 
 assembly who daily traverse the space be- 
 tween Brussels and the famous plain. They 
 rattled on over the hard stony road, stones 
 which no amount of passing wheels can ever 
 wear smooth, with a beech wood on one side 
 and an open country on the other. The beech 
 wood was partly dead or dying, and the gaunt 
 trees looked as if the ' dun hot blast of war 
 had only blown over them a week ago. Past 
 direction-posts and branching lanes, directing 
 
204 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the traveller to ' ville Louise' or ' ville' this 
 and ''ville that; through villages where the 
 men stood smoking in blue blouses and wooden 
 shoes at the doors, and where the girls, great 
 grown-up girls, ran after the coach chattering, 
 and tucking their gowns between their knees 
 turned somersaults, to be rewarded by coppers 
 and nickel from the coach-top, flung by grin- 
 ning boobies, who encouraged the miserable 
 wretches m this sorry exhibition of clumsiness 
 and immodesty. Out again into the broad 
 road and past a dog-cart — a literal dog- cart, 
 drawn by a large, but not very large, dog of 
 a tawny colour, patiently plodding on with a 
 heavy load of potatoes, and his master sing- 
 ing in the rear, totally oblivious of coach and 
 everything else. Ella wanted to sketch the 
 dog- cart, the first that she had seen, but the 
 motion of the coach would not permit her. 
 On again — But why go over the well-known 
 route? A motley group they were on the 
 plain of Waterloo. There was a Russian, a 
 Yankee, two ladies from Australia, a French 
 gentleman, our two English, and a sullen 
 Spaniard. The lion on the top of the monu- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 205 
 
 merit spoiled all in Claudius's idea — such a 
 monstrosity had been rarely seen out of a 
 London square. They parted again the same 
 evening at five, to their separate dinners. 
 They met again at eight and visited the The- 
 atre de la Monnaie, to be first charmed with 
 Robert le Diahle., and then disgusted with the 
 ballet-dancers among the tombs by moonlight, 
 meant, no doubt, for fairies and spirits, but 
 much too 'leggy.' They parted again at eleven, 
 for their hotels; always meeting and taking 
 leave, just as two friends might; never the 
 faintest show of demonstration — no gentle 
 pressure of the hand, no lingering glance, no 
 half- suppressed sigh — but in the most common- 
 place manner. Yet they were by no means 
 a commonplace pair, and they were working 
 out a great problem — a problem in which 
 society was deeply interested — all unconscious 
 to themselves. 
 
 Henry, Lord Lestrange, was worse than 
 eccentric, his neighbours said. A man who 
 resided constantly on his own estate, yet 
 never shot or hunted or fished or gave par- 
 ties, could not be estimable in their idea. As 
 
206 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 he neither went to church nor paid the volun- 
 tary church-rate, nor subscribed to the vo- 
 luntary school-rate, nor in any way counte- 
 nanced parish schemes of relief, of course the 
 clergyman and his two curates were dead 
 against him. They feared he was an infidel; 
 they were deeply concerned. The parson him- 
 self, backed by his parishioners, paid the peer 
 a visit. The peer, who was sitting at a late 
 breakfast with a young lady pouring out his 
 coffee, and who did not trouble to rise, asked 
 the parson what he had come for. Says the par- 
 son, out of courtesy, good- will, and what not. 
 Says the physician-peer, that he wanted nei- 
 ther courtesy, good-will, nor what not. If the 
 ]3arson came for subscriptions, he might go at 
 once ; if he came to play a game at billiards, 
 he might stop. The parson bowed and left 
 in high dudgeon, and described the physician 
 as rude, boorish, an atheist, a gambler, and a 
 man of loose morals ; all because he refused 
 to be intruded upon ; because he spoke of bil- 
 liards, and had a young lady at breakfast 
 with him; he, an unmarried man, and no 
 aunt or chaperone in the house. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 207 
 
 This young lady was Ella Furnivale. The 
 physician, in his pre-peerage days, had been 
 called in by an old friend at the confinement 
 of his wife. The mother died ; the physician 
 only saved the child by the exercise of all his 
 skill and constant attention ; then the old 
 friend died, and Lestrange took the child and 
 bred it up; at first in sheer charity, for there 
 was no money; then out of curiosity to see 
 how it would turn out ; lastly, out of love. Not 
 the love of the sexes, not the passion or the 
 sentiment of a man for a woman, but the love 
 of a parent for his daughter. For Lestrange, 
 who was over sixty and had no children, grew 
 to look upon Ella as his daughter, and had 
 intended to make her his heiress, so far as 
 was in his power. The estate he knew must 
 go to Pierce, but he had a large amount of 
 personal property; this he had intended for 
 Ella, and he had actually during his lifetime 
 settled an annuity on her ; but he delayed 
 making his will, as men even of the highest 
 intellectual calibre will delay it, till too late. 
 A stranore education Ella had received at his 
 hands. The primary part of it, the very 
 
208 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 foundation and groundwork, was a contempt 
 so deep as to amount to positive indifference 
 for the opinions or the remarks of society. 
 She imbibed from him a cahn determination 
 to do what she thought fit without the shght- 
 est concealment, without the slightest ostenta- 
 tion, let it be never so opposed to the gene- 
 ral custom — let it be the greatest sin of all, 
 the sin against conformity. Lestrange sub- 
 stituted for the judgment of society the judg- 
 ment of her own soul. He taught her to 
 watch not the tone of other persons' rude and 
 often thoughtless and unmeaning conversa- 
 tion, but to perceive the slightest warning in 
 the delicate balance of her own mind and soul. 
 Of the one she was to take no notice ; of the 
 other she was to be the devoted servant. This 
 man, who repulsed the parson, yet sneered at 
 and reviled the men of modern science — at the 
 great anatomist (no matter what his name) 
 who proved to his own satisfaction that the 
 thing (save the mark!) called a soul had no 
 separate existence from the body ; and at the 
 still greater man who discovered that matter 
 was the origin of all things, and God, if there 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 209 
 
 was a God, was a sort of vapoury mystery, 
 an ignis fatuus playing over a vast infinity of 
 bog. For, said Lestrange, the two greatest dis- 
 coveries ever made by the mind of man were 
 these : the existence of God and the immor- 
 tality of the human soul. These two had 
 been discovered by man after ages — ay, thou- 
 sands upon thousands of years — of the dark- 
 ness which reigned when the Neanderthal 
 skull was the type of the then race of man. 
 By degrees the conception and finally the de- 
 finition of a God was arrived at, and also by 
 similar steps the immortality of the soul. 
 These two greatest discoveries they were now 
 trying to disown — they^ the men of science, 
 who should be engaged in making further in- 
 quiries. He hated them all, he resisted them 
 all, he hardly knew which most — the scientific 
 fools icho denied their own existence^ or the so- 
 called ministers of heaven who denied the right 
 of the soul to aspire beyond a certain fixed 
 limit, fixed by their narrow minds and ex- 
 ploded traditions. Lestrange's great dogma, 
 the faith of the man, was the Human Soul. 
 The body, said he, has been trained since the 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
210 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 world began ; trained to endurance, to labour 
 and fatigue; trained to be useful in a thousand 
 ways ; and the result of this training is handed 
 down from generation to generation, till the 
 result is called an instinct. The mind has 
 been at work too for these last six or eight 
 thousand years at all events, a proof of which 
 is that we possess a written history for that 
 period. Philosophers have examined into the 
 method of the mind, and we have S3"stems of 
 logic, codes of deduction and synthesis, deter- 
 minate canons of analysis. But the Soul, the 
 grandest, the highest, the noblest, has never 
 yet received attention. "What little attention 
 it has got has been by fits and starts, by 
 spurts, and after each of these it was neg- 
 lected for another thousand years or so, till 
 another great soul- expounder, called a prophet, 
 made his appearance upon the earth. But 
 these spurts gave no real progress ; only 
 just preserved the soul from relapsing into 
 utter ignorance. For the soul, like the mind 
 and body, was ignorant in itself and required 
 to be taught, and the first step towards that 
 teaching was an analysis of itself L estrange, 
 
liESTLESS HUMAN IIEAKTS. 211 
 
 in fact, wished to found a science of the soul; 
 not a so-called j^sychological science of mes- 
 meric and magnetic and psychic force, and 
 so forth, but a science of the higher instincts, 
 the higher perceptions and aspirations, which 
 we perceive by the abstract soul. With this 
 view he had shut himself up in retirement to 
 study his own soul. This he had done day 
 by day for forty years, never wearying, ever 
 urged on by increasing pleasure in the pur- 
 suit, ever finding greater mysteries, greater 
 beauties. All these he had noted down in his 
 memoranda ; carefully written out in a plain 
 handwriting, plainly expressed. A record in- 
 deed was this ! A forty years' history of the 
 soul ! It was only a man living by himself, 
 in silence and solitude, possessed of an im- 
 mense power of self-concentration, who could 
 accomplish such a work. He shrank from 
 publishing it, as he naturally might, during 
 his lifetime ; but he had made arrangements 
 for its issue two years after his decease. 
 
 In Ella he had seen early indications of an 
 artistic spirit, of high aspirations, of an ethereal 
 nature, little clogged, if at all, with earthly or 
 
212 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 animal passions. He had chosen her to be the 
 living exponent of his faith, and he had trained 
 her up in it from the earliest youth. For this 
 purpose it was necessary that she should be 
 almost constantly with him, and in fact she 
 never attended a girls' school, or had a gover- 
 ness, from the age of twelve. She was always 
 with him, ever listening, ever imbibing. He 
 taught her all; not by books or lessons, but 
 by conversation, down even to the method of 
 interpreting the Assyrian inscriptions ; for he 
 was a man of varied learning and boundless 
 reading. But above all things, he showed her 
 how to listen to the promptings of the soul 
 within her ; to distinguish between the pseudo 
 soul and the true ; to choose between the 
 promptings of passion and even the decisions 
 of the mind, and the still inner voice, the 
 real revelation that came in silence and self- 
 communion. This was her Bible, her Koran, 
 her guide, her judge, her friend, her deathless 
 Mentor. To this she was to listen, this to 
 follow, utterly heedless of all else. It was 
 part of his theory that the excessive cultiva- 
 tion of the mind alone which distinguished 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 213 
 
 this time was, more than even the cultiva- 
 tion of the body, destructive of the soul. It 
 overlaid the soul with a thick impenetrable 
 armour of logic and conceit ; turned away its 
 attention from itself; makino^ it deal with the 
 outward instead of the inward, and taught it 
 to seek God in machinery. So that although 
 he told Ella everything, and told her in such 
 a way that the fact and its general scope re- 
 mained in her memory, yet he did not drill 
 her in geography, or geology, or any of the 
 innumerable sciences. Her science, her study, 
 was to be her own soul. Finding that she 
 had a tendency to interpret herself through 
 the beauties of colour and proportion, he edu- 
 cated her in drawing, and engaged the very 
 first and most expensive assistance in teaching 
 her painting. She had a great natural talent ; 
 and as no pains were spared in developing 
 that talent, she made incalculable progress, 
 and became a recognised and a paid artist 
 before Lestrange's death. He saw that in this 
 painting, in this exercise of the artistic faculty, 
 she would see her oAvn soul reflected ; she 
 would bring it out. And she did so, as 
 
214 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Claudius pointed out; for the detail predomi- 
 nated, that inherent defect of the feminine mind. 
 There was a time, long years ago, when 
 even Lestrange, then a young man, had felt 
 a little of that passion which we call love ; and 
 it had been for a woman beautiful exceedingly, 
 who, for a time at least, showed a disposition 
 to resign the follies of her class and to culti- 
 vate her real self But it was for a time only ; 
 she saw Colonel Lovel, and left the mind for 
 the body, or rather for the body's clothing. 
 The handsome military officer far outshone 
 the pale student. She was Claudius Lovel's 
 mother. The Colonel was killed in the Cri- 
 mea ; his widow died of consumption, leaving 
 Lestrange trustee to her son. Lestrange took 
 him, brought him up, educated him as he was 
 doing Ella, but in a rather different way. He 
 did not make such a companion of the boy; 
 He threw him out more into the world that 
 he might gather hardness and experience, 
 knowledge of his fellow creatures — for he 
 deemed this needful to a man. Nevertheless 
 he tutored him deeply ; trained up the im- 
 pressionable mind in his own grooves. Clau- 
 
RESTLESS HU]\tAN HEARTS. 215 
 
 clius, too, showed signs of an artistic nature, 
 but he did not take to painting. He com- 
 plained that the canvas and the millboard 
 always looked flat to him — instead of standing 
 out, the drawing or the picture appeared flat. 
 He had not that perception of perspective and 
 light and shadoAV which Ella had. He drew 
 beautifully, but it was only in outline — cor- 
 rect, elegant ; but he could not fill-in the 
 shades. His idea of beauty in form was more 
 proportion than colour. So that he admired 
 a superb piece of architecture more than a 
 picture, when harmony reigned ; when it was 
 outline solidified, so to say. But his passion 
 was sculpture. This to him w^as divine. Ella 
 said that the statue, the cold marble, always 
 looked to her dead, the eyeballs vacant, the 
 attitude stiff, the whole thing stone, and no- 
 thing more. To Claudius, the harmony of 
 the outline, the proportion, gave it life. He 
 dignified sculpture, worshipped it. Therefore 
 he was taught architecture as a profession ; 
 for a man, saidLestrange, even if removed from 
 want, and in prospect of wealth, should still 
 know some means of gaining his bread; and he 
 
216 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 was taught sculpture as a pleasure. He, too, 
 was initiated into the doctrine of the soul ; 
 but he too frequently confounded it with the 
 mind, with the highest exercise of the intellect, 
 and looked upon that as inspiration which 
 was really the result of thought. These two, 
 Ella and Claudius, were of late much together 
 at Lestrange's. They certainly did not look 
 on one another as brother and sister ; certainly 
 not either as strangers ; least of all as possible 
 lovers. The sentiment of love never entered 
 their minds. Their life at Lestrange's forbade 
 it, or rather prevented their thoughts dwelling 
 upon such matters. Just as Agassiz 
 
 * Wander'd away, away, 
 
 With ^N^ature, the dear old nurse, 
 Who sang to him night and day 
 
 The rhymes of the universe; 
 And still as the way grew long, 
 
 Or his spirits began to fail, 
 She would sing a more wonderful song, 
 
 Or tell a more wonderful tale,' — 
 
 SO these two wandered away, with L estrange 
 for their guide, into the mysteries of nature, 
 into the realms of human thought, ever seek> 
 ing, ever finding, till they arrived, by slow 
 degrees, at that almost divine state, the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 217 
 
 ohne hast, oline vast of tlie star doing its God- 
 appointed work in tlie sky, as their souls were 
 doing their God-appointed work upon the 
 earth. 
 
 Long before his death, Lestrange had 
 marked out for them a course of foreign 
 travel, which they were to accomplish in 
 company, together and yet apart. Ella to 
 study the works of the old masters, Claudius 
 the architecture and sculpture of our teachers 
 in these things, and both to acquire that in- 
 describable taste and tact in art matters which 
 can only thus be obtained. He had taught 
 them too much about the soul for them to 
 mourn his death in the hackneyed way. They 
 left shortly afterwards for the Belgium 
 capital ; they had seen Paris with Lestrange 
 himself some time since. 
 
 They went to Waterloo out of the ineradic- 
 able British patriotism (! ) ; but they were sati- 
 ated with that one sight-seeing expedition, and 
 resolved upon no more. Next day Claudius 
 departed to study the Plotel de Yille and cathe- 
 drals within easy reach of Brussels, and Ella 
 entered the picture-galleries. 
 
CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Ulysses wearied even of Circe. The great 
 enchantress, the daughter of the sun and 
 friend of the sirens, who could turn men to 
 swine, failed in this one thing, like weaker 
 w^omen. She could not enchant the man who 
 lived always with her. Ay, but this Ulysses 
 was pining for Penelope. Very good, and 
 when he got her, how long did he care for 
 her? Tennyson tells us he waited a year or 
 so, and then sailed away again with his friends 
 far out into the illimitable ocean, commencing 
 a voyage from which he never returned. It 
 was not Penelope, therefore, who acted as the 
 herb ' moly' to counteract the charms of 
 Circe. It was Circe herself. The very flowers 
 sprang up as she walked upon them, ferns 
 bordered her path, fruit hung over her, the 
 warm rays of the sun were softened and sub- 
 dued and fell in a radiance like a halo round 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 219 
 
 her form. She walked a goddess, an immor- 
 tal and divine being, made of no clay, but 
 shaped of Light itself — Light the daughter 
 of the sun — and no man who once saw her 
 could take his gaze from her countenance. 
 The land bloomed perpetually with all the 
 glories of a tropical clime without its over- 
 whelming heat. The ferns grew thirty feet 
 high, shadowing the plain like trees ; the 
 mosses were up to the shoulders, great forests 
 of dark green moss — there was a luxuriance, 
 an intensity of growth, a fulness of life. 
 Here Nature put forth her grandest efforts — 
 here in one spot concentrated her beauty and 
 her glory. The bell -shaped flowers hung 
 over the path — deep enormous bells, under 
 which a man could hide from the noontide 
 heat, and look up at an azure dome with pen- 
 dent lamps of jDurest white and brightest yel- 
 low — the stamens of these wondrous flowers. 
 The breeze shook them, and the pollen snowed 
 upon the earth; the honey dropped from 
 them, and there was an odour as of heaven. 
 And she, who can describe the whiteness of 
 her skin, the magic of her glance, the mellow 
 
220 RESTLESS HIMAN HEARTS. 
 
 tones of her voice, the wave of her exquisite 
 hand? She sings, and lo the very clouds 
 move slowly in the sky, the sun pauses, the 
 trees forget to Avave and the wind to blow, 
 the flowers droop, a hazy yellowy mist rises 
 and clothes all things in a slumbrous vapour, 
 blotting out the horizon, smoothing away all 
 angles and outlines, till the earth seems in a 
 dream. And still the voice floats through the 
 air, as a lark warbling from on high, till 
 high heaven grows drowsy with the song. 
 Bronzed with the iron blasts of the stormy 
 wind, beaten hither and thither by raging 
 seas, the victim of misfortunes of every kind, 
 cast out from among men to die in wilder- 
 nesses — hither Ulysses comes, and sits under 
 the shadow of this mighty lotos -tree. The 
 circling year goes round unnoticed. The 
 Pleiades rise and set, are seen no more, and 
 once again come into view; the starry Orion 
 spans the sky, sinks beneath the wave, and 
 spans it once again. Then he wakes, this 
 man of toils, and longs to leave her whose 
 merest word can make rude earth a Paradise. 
 Not even Circe can enchant the man who is 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 221 
 
 always with her. The wand is waved in 
 vain, the fatal words are uttered ; the wand 
 is but a stick, the magic words but breath, 
 they fall unheeded upon the man armed with 
 the herb ' moly' — that is, with knowledge. 
 The moment that knowledge is attained the 
 Paradise fades away ; we are driven forth by 
 flaming swords into an earth of thorns and 
 thistles, there to wander, finding Eden never 
 more. 
 
 Georo^iana was no Circe. Her lono^ and 
 lovely hair was no magic net, her fine arms 
 no irresistibly divine limbs, her voice no siren 
 tone; yet she was lovely and noble, good and 
 even grand in her own particular way. I do 
 not think she Avas ever conscious that Ne- 
 ville was weary, that either of them really 
 recognised the fact that they were tired of 
 each other. They laid the blame upon their 
 surroundings. It was better that they should 
 do so. The air of the Continent w^as not 
 so good as the English ; there was a dryness 
 about it, a too great dryness, as if it had 
 been burnt. The fields were brown ; they 
 had never that lovely green of the country 
 
222 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 at home. The trees were unnatural, they 
 did not grow so Lirge and full ; they looked 
 stunted, sleepy. The hotels were miserable ; 
 half-carpeted, cold, draughty, unhealthy. In 
 one they were placed on the ground floor ; in 
 the next, close to the sky, with the tiles over- 
 head, and the stars visible through the sky- 
 light. Xothing was clean ; everything oily, 
 even the floors. People were so rude, and 
 even indecent. The famous cookery was a 
 myth ; the politeness equally so. The railway 
 travelling was abominable ; their trains crept 
 along slow as a caterpillar with a hundred 
 legs, ninety-eight of which are an encum- 
 brance. Even the dresses were a sham, for 
 the women who wore them were horridly 
 dirty. The pictures were no better than 
 those in England by our own native artists, it 
 was only the name of the thing. 
 
 The Spas were the most wretched holes on 
 the face of creation — lazar spots where all the 
 bodily infirm and the morally crippled re- 
 sorted ; where the population was composed of 
 miserable invalids, feverish gamblers, cheating 
 landlords, and silly people who thought they 
 
RESTLESS HUiMAN HEARTS. Lib 
 
 were fashionable. This did not come all at 
 once ; the change from pleasure to discontent 
 was slow and imperceptible. The first two 
 months went smoothly, without a check. 
 Each readily gave up little habits to the 
 other. Georgie was by nature an early riser ; 
 she invariably rose at seven in her own house, 
 breakfasted, and walked an hour, wet or shine, 
 before study. Xeville had for years con- 
 tracted a habit of remaining in bed till nearly 
 noon, and scarcely ever went out till evening. 
 The moonlio^ht was better than the sunlio^ht, 
 he said, if you were in the country ; if in the 
 town, the gashght threw a glamour over the 
 defects and deficiencies which the glaring sun 
 brought into too great prominence. His true 
 reason was his love of dreaming — of solitary 
 day-dreams. He did not sleep after nine, 
 though his eyes were closed. A vast multi- 
 tude of images were passing through his 
 mind. By long practice he had arrived at 
 that state when his mental vision could see 
 those ' images of Epicurus, composed of in- 
 finitely small atoms, which are constantly 
 ghding about us like phantoms.' It was then 
 
224 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 that he really lived. This sleep was really a 
 waking existence. It was bad, very bad no 
 doubt, for his mind ; it destroyed all sense of 
 reality, so much so that he could hardly 
 understand the sense of what he had written 
 once the pen was laid aside. While he was 
 writino' he knew because of the idea in his 
 own mind ; let that idea once filter into words, 
 -and, althoucrh he could recall the idea, he 
 could not gather any sense or meaning from 
 the black scrawl. His existence had in fact 
 become itself an abstract idea, and he could 
 not bear to be awakened from it. If he locked 
 his desk, or any other place which he wished 
 to be particularly secure, he never felt certain 
 that he really had locked it. He would un- 
 lock it again to convince himself, then relock 
 it, lift it up to see if the two parts held to- 
 gether, and even then return to it to see that 
 he had left no paper or document out on the 
 table. He seemed to have lost all feeling of 
 matter — matter did not exist ; it was all ab- 
 stract ideas. From these he could not bear to 
 be awakened and brought back to the material 
 world. It jarred upon him ; he frowned and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 225 
 
 sulked till silence and solitude brought back 
 bis invisible world to him ag^ain. 
 
 From nine till noon every morning was 
 his favourite time for this dreaminsr. He felt 
 then that he was by himself, totally alone. 
 His room was not in darkness by any means ; 
 he had the curtains open, so that he could 
 see out into the fields or garden. All that he 
 wanted was a field or a garden across which 
 no person walked while he looked out on it. 
 That garden he peopled with beings — whether 
 men and women, or other creatures of his 
 own imagination — each intent on his own 
 ends and purposes, and forming endless com- 
 binations. All the while he was perfectly 
 conscious that these images were shadows 
 only, creatures of his own brain ; but he re- 
 velled in them just as much, and was as inter- 
 ested in their fate, though he wove their 
 course of destiny himself. He could enjoy 
 nothing with others, let it be sea, or sun, or 
 forest, beauty of any kind. If he stood before 
 a picture, and slowly reconstructed it in his 
 own mind, till he saw, not the rude daub (for 
 the very best of pictures are rude daubs), not 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
226 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the paint or even the colour, but the artist's 
 idea; till he saw the picture the artist had 
 tried to paint — a voice, a word, the presence 
 of another person instantly destroyed the 
 vision, and the canvas became flat and dead, 
 •painty,' white and black, red and blue. If he 
 stood before a bust of the great Julius till the 
 lines in that wondrous face deepened into a 
 divine anxiety, and the mouth was drawn 
 back with a more than mortal suspense ; till 
 the blank eyeballs filled with a liquid orb, 
 piercing into the very heart, seeing throuo^h 
 all disguise ; till the star on his forehead, the 
 cold marble star, lit itself up and glittered 
 and shone ; till this Human Fate came into 
 life — then the sound of a footstep, the lightest 
 laugh, and the whole was gone, and nothing 
 remained but the dusty inanimate blank mar- 
 ble. He reposed upon the grass under the 
 shadow of a tree, till the warmth of the sun 
 filled his veins with a drowsy, slumberous, 
 yet intense vitality^ while the leaves danced in 
 slow and intricate measure between him and 
 the sky, and the clouds sailed . onwards to 
 their havens far away below the horizon. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 227 
 
 The grass grew alive around him with count- 
 less numbers of tiny living things, barely 
 visible to the eye, yet each with its organs, 
 its senses and sensations, its hopes and fears 
 and griefs, its life, and its hour of bitter death 
 to come. He lost all sense of his own sepa- 
 rate existence ; his soul became merged in the 
 life of the tree, of the grass, of the thousands 
 of insects, finally in the life of the broad 
 earth underneath, till he felt himself as it 
 were a leaf upon the great cedar of existence. 
 Then he lost all sense of joy or pain, of hope 
 or fear, of ambition, of hatred and jealousy, 
 even of love. He was merged in the great 
 soul that binds all things together. It was 
 the Nirvana — the extinction of existence, and 
 yet the entrance into true existence. Time, 
 thought, feeling, sense, were gone, all lost ; 
 nothing remained but the mere grand fact, 
 the exquisite delight, the infinite joy of exist- 
 ence only. Then a word, a noise, the sound 
 of his name awoke him. The sunlight lost its 
 glamour, the dancing leaves moved no more 
 in regular rhythm, but helplessly and pur- 
 poselessly, the clouds became vapour only, 
 
228 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the azure only the result of extreme distance 
 and tenuity ; matter jarred on him again. 
 He was unreasonably peevish at these inter- 
 ruptions. So it was that in those journeys 
 he had taken about the world he had invari- 
 ably started with Noel, and as invariably 
 parted from him the moment they arrived at 
 the verge of the unknown, where he lay 
 down and dreamt, and the other sprang for- 
 ward and stripped the desert of its mirage, 
 the forest of its illusion, and the ocean of its 
 infinity. So he had shunned society, dwell- 
 ing much by himself, reading much, convers- 
 ing little. Why then had he taken Georgiana 
 to be with him always and ever ? Though 
 he was so fond of the abstract, yet Neville's 
 body, his organs, and his senses were not 
 dead. The life in him loved her as other 
 men love ; the abstract idealism of the man 
 clouded her round about with an atmosphere 
 of hazy splendour. His mind really admired 
 her. He was solitary ; he could find none 
 who understood him, who appreciated him, 
 even who could tolerate him ; certainly none 
 whom he could tolerate. He clung to her as 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 229 
 
 nearest his own being, as of his own order. 
 He invested her with all his dreams ; he built 
 about her a palace of his own ideas. Why 
 should he anticipate her habits more than 
 the millions of men who have married before 
 him? 
 
 She was in deed and in truth much that 
 he imagined her to be. She was not a lay 
 figure dressed to suit his taste. She was in- 
 deed such a statue as his soul could put life 
 into. The beauty and glory with which he 
 had invested her -were really and genuinely 
 her due in great measure. He did not marry 
 her to discover afterwards that she was a 
 mistake. 
 
 But their habits ! Now Georgie was fond 
 of society ; not of noise and excitement, but 
 she was sociable in the best sense. She liked 
 to exchange her ideas, to receive new ones, to 
 discuss others. She could not enjoy the finest 
 picture, the noblest sculpture, w^ithout some 
 one to speak to, some one to join in her ad- 
 miration, or at least to dispute it. The 
 abstract did not exist to her as it did to 
 Neville. Her mind w^as active, but it w^as 
 
230 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 busy with material things, with living beings ; 
 not with the dead, and with the abstract x 
 of the imagination. She had a deep fellow- 
 feeling with her friends and with human 
 nature at large — a fellow-feeling in which 
 Neville was almost entirely wanting. He 
 had much more communion with an inanimate 
 tree, with a tiny insect, with the senseless 
 and soulless sun, than with any man or wo- 
 man. He was not cruel, nor in any way in- 
 humane, but he did not seem to realise that 
 other creatures had feelings. His indiffer- 
 ence to suffering had shocked her many 
 times. Georgie was peculiarly liuman^ if that 
 word may be used in such a sense. She felt 
 far more than the generality of her sex, who 
 surround themselves too often with dress and 
 affectation till misery and death itself lose 
 their real significance and become mere words 
 alone. To her misery was real, poverty a 
 mighty evil, death a reality, pain a visible 
 and tangible thing. How tenderly she had 
 devoted herself to rouse poor unhappy He- 
 loise.; how many, many times had the poor 
 had occasion to bless her ministrations ! 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. . 231 
 
 Neville rather shrank from the poor ; not 
 that he disdained them, or that he had any af- 
 fected notions of ' porcelamity,' but because they 
 disturbed him ; their rags, their groans, their 
 very smell banished the halo which he wished 
 to have always round him. He gladly gave 
 them money, but the direst necessity could 
 not draw him personally to their side. His 
 was the most idealised, etherealised, abstract 
 selfishness that could be imagined ; but selfish- 
 ness it was nevertheless, and of a character 
 that nothing could ever modify, fixed for the 
 whole term of life. 
 
 Georgiana never enjoyed anything alone ; 
 even the assistance she gave to the poor and 
 wretched gave her no pleasure unless she had 
 a companion ; not that she wished her good 
 deeds blazoned afar, but because it was her 
 nature to be ever sociable. She had been 
 weak and womanish enough, with all her 
 mind and penetration, to fondly delude her- 
 self into the belief that when she married 
 Neville she should always have an apprecia- 
 tive companion. She believed that she could 
 bring him to find a pleasure in accompanying 
 
232 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 her in her missions of relief and kindness. 
 She had the fullest faith that he would be to 
 her an hourly companion. She looked for- 
 ward to hanging on his arm in those noble 
 cathedrals of the Continent, and listening to 
 the conceptions of his mind — a mind which 
 she revered and almost worshipped — as a dis- 
 ciple might listen to a master, till her soul 
 gloAved with Ms inspiration. She looked for- 
 ward to standing by his side on the glacier 
 and at the edge of the fearful precipice, feel- 
 ing with him the dread and yet at the same 
 moment the pleasure of the immense and 
 measureless height. With him she should 
 read and study, the same subject and the 
 same book, his hand in hers, their eyes upon 
 the same page. The very soul of this loving 
 and noble woman clung to him. In a month, 
 in two months, in the beginning of the third 
 month, how different from what she had so 
 eagerly longed for! How gladly would she 
 have accommodated her habits to his — fore- 
 gone her early meal, her early healthy walk, 
 her joy in the sunshine and the fresh air of 
 the morning ! Willingly she would have 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 233 
 
 granted to him hours of lonely study, just as 
 she wished for herself a few minutes at least 
 daily of solitary prayer. But this was not 
 enough. The man grew utterly irritable, 
 discontented, restless. The woman grew 
 thoughtful, unhappy ; still tender and loving, 
 but doubting her own power to content him. 
 It was nothing but his long and ineradicable 
 habit of dwelling with himself. He did not 
 love her the less, he would not have parted 
 with her for the world ; but he sighed for his 
 old existence, his ancient silence and solitude, 
 his halo of imagination, his communion with 
 the soul of the world. He could not recon- 
 struct the ideal of the painter standing before 
 a picture with Georgie on his arm ; he could 
 not enter into the conception of the artist in 
 stone with her beside him in the gloom of the 
 cathedral ; the statue remained dead and cold 
 while he felt her touch. The inspiration died 
 in his mind ; he felt matter always. Then he 
 grew irritable. The more he grew irritable, 
 she — wishing to please him, and divining the 
 cause — left him to himself. With long 
 hours of solitude came back part of the old 
 
234 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 dreams and imaginings. The old life reas- 
 serted itself, and he clung to it more and 
 more. In the beginning of the third month 
 they had ceased to occupy the same rooms. 
 Georgie rose for her seven-o'clock stroll, but 
 depressed and unhappy. Neville slept till 
 noon ; but even through his abstract ideas 
 there ran a thin streak of pain. He was 
 irritated with her for disturbing him, and yet 
 at the same time angry with himself for not 
 appreciating her more than he did. But 
 wisely and lo^dngly they said nothing of this 
 to each other. They blamed the Continent 
 and its ways. It was in this mood they re- 
 turned to England very early in June. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ' I'll ^ay a level hundred they marry outright 
 in ten months,' said Corney Yilliers. 
 
 'I'll take it,' said the Duke. 
 
 ' Good — is it a bet ?' 
 
 A nod from the Duke indicated that it 
 was ; and dowai went the record in Yilliers' 
 red memorandum-book. 
 
 These two were languidly reposing on one 
 of those double-backed seats at- the Eoyal 
 Academy, in front of one of the pictures of 
 the season. 
 
 ' For,' said Yilliers, ' if you want to see 
 who's in town, sit here, and they'll all pass in 
 review in the course of an hour or so.' 
 
 So they saw Georgiana Brandon and her 
 husband standing before the said picture, and 
 the bet was the result. 
 
 This picture was only a horse's head — a 
 mere head and neck — ^just such a design as 
 one sees every day in crayons hung up in 
 
236 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Miss This or Master That's bedroom, framed 
 as a trophy of school talent; a mere tame 
 design, lacking all spirit and soul. But it 
 was the extraordinary finish of detail that gave 
 it its success. The head itself, the ears, the 
 mane, the eye, were all complete, so minutely 
 perfect that the picture seemed to literally 
 live and to stand out from the canvas. Espe- 
 cially the eye ; it was looking as full at you 
 as animals ever do look. Save and except for 
 a moment, horse, dog, or cat will not gaze 
 into your eyes. They shrink from it ; their 
 eyes turn away, so that you can see the eye- 
 ball, but not direct into the mind of the 
 creature, as it were. Why is this ? Is it the 
 innate sense of inferiority, of shame, or of a 
 fear, even when most familiar ? But so it is ; 
 and the artist had faithfully reproduced the 
 peculiar sidelong glance — half at you, half 
 away — of a horse at which persons are in- 
 tently gazing, so that, as you looked at this 
 picture, the eyeballs, that at first appeared to 
 stare straight into your face, gradually turned 
 away, as the living creature's would have 
 done, and you saw the sheen of reflected light 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 237 
 
 upon them. A dark deep eye, full of mean- 
 ing and life — that strangely liquid eye that 
 horses have — brown in itself, and yet with a 
 blue tint in the extreme depth, like a pool in 
 shadow. There was a fly — 'One of the pests ot 
 equine life — gradually crawling with those 
 short quick runs and pauses (you could seem 
 to see it move) towards the eye ; it was 
 alreadv on the ed^e of the lid : in anothe:* 
 moment it seemed as if the lids would twitch 
 in the attempt to throw off the tormentor. 
 In the corner of the eye there was a liquid 
 drop, a tear. Sylvia Vane declared it made 
 her want to wipe it away with her handker- 
 chief But perhaps the most wonderful part 
 was the hairs ; they were so minutely painted 
 that each hair was perfect in itself The neck 
 was no blotch of brown colour ; it was com- 
 posed of innumerable hairs, each perfectly 
 painted — a marvellous effort of skill and that 
 eternal patience which an apostle of art called 
 genius. There was no action in this head, 
 its jwse vv^as languid, its outline languid ; its 
 execution made it live, and people — especially 
 the ladies, whose instincts the completion of 
 
238 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 detail appealed to — crowded about it as the 
 sensation of the season. The picture was 
 signed in one corner ' Ella.' 
 
 It was at this Georgie and Neville stayed 
 to gaze. There. Neville left her; and Georgie, 
 a trifle tired with pacing the long galleries, 
 sat down side by side with the Duke and 
 Villiers, who knew her story, but not herself 
 personally. 
 
 Neville wandered away in a dawdling 
 listless manner, looking more at the crowd 
 than at the walls, for he knew that it was in 
 vain for him to attempt to enter into the 
 spirit of the artists in his own peculiar w^ay in 
 the midst of that rustling assembly. 
 
 Georgie had sat there half an hour, now 
 dwelling on the horse's head, now examining 
 her catalogue, now the dresses of those who 
 swept about her — for Georgie, with all her 
 strength of mind, was not proof against a 
 bonnet ; 
 
 ' No woman's eye, however large her head, 
 Can pass a bonnet or a feather-bed.' Pseudo Pope. 
 
 Lady Clanbarris pounced on her while she 
 was absorbed in a fascinating polonaise. A 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 239 
 
 tall Scotch peeress, angular in the cheek-bone, 
 angular hi her own will, but dressed to — per- 
 fection. There was much hand-shaking and 
 inquiry, and why ever had not Georgie called 
 on her ? 
 
 Georgie hesitated ; said they had only re- 
 turned four days, and — and (she blushed ever 
 so slightly) the circumstances were singular. 
 
 '0, nonsense!' cried her ladyship, loud 
 enough to be heard across the room. 'We all 
 honour your courage, are all proud of you. 
 Where is he ? ' By which she meant Neville. 
 
 ' 0, look, mamma,' cried Sylvia Yane, who 
 was a rather o-ushino- oirl of seventeen ; ' there's 
 that extraordinary Georgie Knoyle, I do de- 
 clare ! 0, do come ! We used to know her, 
 Cecilia. 0, do, mamma, let us see her; let ine ; 
 I must P 
 
 'Hush!' whispered the Hon. Mrs. Yane; 
 ' she'll hear. 1 do not approve of such people.' 
 
 ' But I take an interest in them,' said Ceci- 
 ha, in a calm cool tone (as much as to say, ' My 
 will is law'), as she took a step towards the ob- 
 noxious person. Cecilia was a belle, if not the 
 belle of the hour ; a tall fine girl of nineeten 
 
240 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 cool as high-pressure education, both school 
 and social, could make her, with a fortune of 
 80,000/., and heiress to a title. She had been 
 thoroughly well 'put up.' If a boy is left heir 
 to a dukedom and 30,000/. a year, as a mat- 
 ter of course his trustees teach him the ex- 
 treme value of money by making a lawyer of 
 him. This girl — for girl she was in years — 
 thoroughly understood her position. She knew 
 her chaperone, the Hon. Mrs. Yane, Avith this 
 portionless, or nearly so, daughter to marry, 
 could not dispense with her services. All the 
 men, you see, who fluttered round the heiress 
 could not marry her; ten chances to one but 
 somebody out of the lot would be smitten 
 with a Vane. So the cool Cecilia calmly 
 stepped up to the unconscious Georgie, and 
 the Hon. Mrs. Yane had to make the best of it, 
 at the same time frowning sideways at Sylvia. 
 
 ' You need not frown at me, mamma,' said 
 that pert young lady, thereby heating the ma- 
 ternal wrath to boiling-point. 
 
 A moment afterwards Mrs. Yane's softest 
 tones were introducing the heiress to that 
 ' creature.' The heiress had hardly spoken to 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 241 
 
 Georgie wlien the Duke and Yilliers, Avho were 
 sitting at the other side of the seat, came round, 
 shook hands with Cecilia, and were introduced 
 likewise. Then there ensued a smart colloquy. 
 
 ' I think,' said Cecilia, in her cool deliber- 
 ate tones, ' that you deserve a medal of the 
 very best gold, and that you ought to be made 
 a viscountess. I wish I had such a mind and 
 such courage.' 
 
 'Mrs. Brandon — no, I mean Knoyle — I 
 mean Brandon — I — I — ' the Duke actually 
 blushed and stammered. He did not know 
 what to call her. 
 
 . 'Mrs. Brandon,' said Georgie, 'if you 
 please.' 
 
 'Mrs. Brandon,' said the Duke, annoyed 
 with his own want of tact, ' I have wished to 
 make your acquaintance for months. I was 
 never so interested in a thing in my life. 
 Howard — that's my brother, he is in the House 
 — spoke of it for two hours ; made a capital 
 speech, 'pon my honour ; ought to be the duke, 
 did Howard — man of talent — astonishing cle- 
 ver — you must know him. By the bye, we 
 give a garden party at our place by the Thames 
 
 VOL. II. Pv 
 
242 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 next week ; the Duchess would be delighted ; 
 told me specially to look out for you.' 
 
 Georgie had by this time recovered her 
 self-possession. For a moment she shrank from 
 the position which her singular marriage had 
 placed her in, and hesitated. Then she cast a 
 glance at the Hon. Mrs. Vane, and saw that 
 woman's face working with mortified rage, and 
 in an instant she determined to accept. 
 
 Villiers and the Duke took them through 
 the whole range of the rooms. People saw this, 
 and Georgiana in one short hour became the 
 fashion. 
 
 ' She's a fine woman, by Jove,' said the Duke 
 to Villiers as they parted at last, and the two 
 drove ofi" to Lord's Ground. ' A contrast to our 
 puny girls. Look at her waist ! Now I hate a 
 waist you could put a bracelet round ; it's un- 
 natural; it's absurd.' 
 
 For an hour or so Neville was proud of her 
 at the garden party by the Thames. Society 
 gathered round her like wasps round a ripe 
 plum. Rank, title, wealth vied to exchange a 
 word with her — she was not left a moment to 
 herself. They would have killed her with ices, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 243 
 
 drowned her in wine and cooling drinks ; 
 and she bore it all so queenly, so calmly, with 
 such superb and natural grace, as if she had 
 been born to it, and it was her due. Truth to 
 say there was a little feminine triumph in her 
 heart, as how indeed could it be otherwise? 
 She remembered the spiteful things that had 
 been written and said of her by these very 
 persons — those fellow-labourers in the cause — 
 from whom she had expected the heartiest 
 co-operation. They had had this effect— they 
 had made her feel isolated, lowered in her own 
 esteem, let it be ever so slightly. Now the tide 
 had turned, now she was above them, they 
 would cower at her feet and cringe to her ; and 
 why ? Because fashion was with her. How she 
 detested and despised the whole band of weak 
 and fickle creatures, Avho had the impudence 
 to call themselves the equals of men ; who even 
 hinted at their apostleship ! Her beauty had 
 not a little to do with her success. It was not 
 a drawing-room beauty; it was a beauty natu- 
 rally associated with boldness, resolution, with 
 Athene, the blue-eyed maid of Homer. There 
 was something Homeric in her /?(?5'^— something 
 
244 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 grand and even heroic in the style of her very 
 walk, in her very simplicity and straightfor- 
 wardness. The men especially crowded about 
 her. They admired her upright walk; her 
 total abstention from the minauderie of the 
 day ; the freedom of her movements ; her ease 
 and grace. It so chanced that just then Glad- 
 stone and the Contemporary had managed to 
 draw a passing attention to Homer in the 
 fashionable throng; so the fellows dubbed her 
 La Athene — she was so called even in the 
 Morning Post SLTidJoIm Bull — that strange mix- 
 ture of religion and dress, and, despite the odd 
 mixture, one of the best papers of the day. 
 With the women her success was more partial 
 but more decided : they split into two factions. 
 The younger girls took her part — those that 
 were marriageable, lively, and full of hopes. 
 So did the married ones — those whose hojDCs 
 were crowned with fruition, who were settled. 
 But the widows and the elder daughters hated 
 her with a venom peculiarly their own, and 
 assisted the clerical party to throw the odium 
 theologicum on her. This very fact brought 
 up a fresh reinforcement to her assistance. Ail 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 245 
 
 the socialists and reformers, all the atheists, se- 
 cret or pronounced, especially the secret ones, 
 whose number in our day is legion, rushed to 
 her side, and made a battle-cry of her. Headed 
 by Howard, the Duke's brother, who, as the 
 younger son of a peer, and consequently shut 
 out from the title, was a rabid republican, they 
 went dash into Parliament, and put a bill upon 
 the orders of motion for next session lesfalis- 
 ing such a method of marriage. Just then 
 came on the annual discussion over the de- 
 ceased wife's sister, and Howard and his friends 
 contrived easily to introduce the whole ques- 
 tion of marriage. The solid ranks of respecta- 
 bility, the villa people especially, were alarmed 
 to their very centre. The pulpits rang with 
 denunciation; the press teemed with animad- 
 versions on either side. The more the villa peo- 
 ple cried out against her, the more the titled peo- 
 ple upheld her, for there is an instinctive aver- 
 sion between the two classes. These nameless 
 respectabilities who dwell in villas, dotted by 
 thousands round London, in Kent, Surrey, and 
 such home counties, have taken a prominent 
 part lately in the affairs of the nation. They 
 
^46 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 have grown conscious of their power and of 
 their numbers. They possess a command of 
 money in many cases far superior to that of 
 the pure aristocracy, and their money is imme- 
 diately available. It is not locked up in land, 
 requiring months, and even years, to realise it 
 if wanted. A man may be worth half a mil- 
 lion in land and yet want a thousand. Cash 
 is not so readily lent on that security as some 
 people imagine. There is always a suspicion 
 of mortgage about it ; and if it is entailed, and 
 the owner cannot sell, what security has the 
 lender that his capital will ever return ? Even 
 when an estate is sold the process is tedious in 
 the extreme. But these villa folk have their 
 capital at their fingers' ends ; in shares, stocks, 
 consols, debentures, or at worst, in manufac- 
 tures, ships, merchandise. They can get the 
 command of immense sums at a day's notice, 
 because their affairs are well known, and their 
 means of repayment estimated to a sovereign. 
 Into any movement, therefore, they can throw 
 a monetary weight and influence unsurpassed 
 by that of any class in the kingdom. In addi- 
 tion, they have the power that the employment 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 247 
 
 of thousands of artisans gives in these times. A 
 landed proprietor may have five or six thou- 
 sand persons living on his estate, of whom his 
 tenants-in-chief, his farmers, tradesmen, and 
 so on, may number from two to even three 
 hundred; but such estates as these are few, and 
 besides they have this weakness, they cannot 
 carry the rank and file with them, even if the 
 rank and file be willing. The rank and file 
 either have no votes, or if they have, and even 
 if they actually do 'go right,' yet they throw 
 no verve^ none of that ' cry' into it, which is 
 above all things necessary in a time when 'cry' 
 is everything. But the artisans of London have 
 votes by the thousand, and they register them 
 all. They are more or less educated men — 
 they read the papers, they discuss politics, 
 they enter into the religious questions of the 
 day. Nine out of ten follow the lead of 
 their employers — not from direct compulsion, 
 but from indirect influence. For these em- 
 ployers, though strict anl even 'finical' to a 
 fault, spare no pains and no expense for the 
 comfort and well-being of their men. If a man 
 is sick there is wine, medicine, rest — even in 
 
248 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 some cases the seaside; if he dies his widow is 
 looked after. His wages are punctually paid; 
 he receives an annual rise. Then there is the re- 
 ligious organisation, chiefly evangelical, which 
 issues books, pamphlets, tracts by the million, 
 and some of these at least take root, and act 
 like a bearing-rein uj^on the masses. So it 
 is that these merchants and manufacturers, 
 these printers and sugar people and silk peo- 
 ple and draper people, and so forth, who spend 
 their days in town, and go out in the evening 
 to their villa ten, twenty, thirty miles from the 
 metropolis, possess a power and an influence 
 almost irresistible. And between them and the 
 aristocrats of birth and landed possessions 
 there exists the bitterest antagonism ; far bit- 
 terer than ever existed between the aristocrat 
 and the proletarian. Indeed the patrician of 
 our time has almost come to hob-nob with the 
 proletarian, and it is the villa class who exhibit 
 hostility to mob-rule. These villa people, 
 chiefly evangelical or nonconformist, raged 
 with boiling hatred against the innovation 
 made by Georgie and jN^eville ; therefore the 
 patricians sided with them more and more, till 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 249 
 
 their days became a round of fashionable 
 amusement, till they had more invitations than 
 they could possibly have disposed of in half a 
 dozen years. And Georgie ? The woman was 
 strong enough in her to make her throw her- 
 self into the vortex with a delight all the more 
 intense that she had hitherto lived quietly out 
 of the charmed circle. And Neville? He 
 watched her at hrst with satisfaction; then he 
 grew restless ; then he too yielded to the fas- 
 cination of excitement. 
 
 With a species of abstract astonishment he 
 found himself on the stand at Ascot with the 
 Duke and Villiers, betting — not heavily, but 
 enough to make the game exciting — on the 
 dark favourite, of whom Villiers' agents had 
 given the best account. He, the abstract ideal- 
 ist, the transcendentalist, was intent upon the 
 charge of the 'light brigade' to success or 
 failure. 
 
 Georo^iana was with the Duchess and her 
 daughter at Madame Louise's. Such exquisite 
 bonnets ! This was how the firm of Knoyle and 
 Brandon were eno^aci^ed in June 187 — . 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Claudius did not admire the famous stained- 
 glass window in St. Gudule. There was an ex- 
 quisite finish, a delicate colouring, a noble pro- 
 portion about it ; but it lacked the one essen- 
 tial feature. Gaze at it as long as you might, 
 you never saw the mind of the artist rise up 
 before you. It was a picture — nothing more 
 — not a thought. He had a memory of an- 
 other window far away, on the edge of an 
 English county, buried in the obscurity of a 
 wretched little town, or rather village, out of 
 the track of tourists or seekers after art. 
 This window fell flat " on the eye at first. 
 Taught to expect a sudden surprise by the 
 gossip of the country-side, as the traveller ap- 
 proaches it the eye wanders over it disap- 
 pointed, dulled, and deadened. But by and 
 by, with silence and with steady gazing on this 
 window, the grotesque legends grow into a 
 grim life, and the figures move and shriek and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 251 
 
 writhe in agony in that horrible hell. A vast 
 mass of colour in purple, blue, and yellow — 
 the great daubs of blue resolve themselves into 
 demons thus represented of the most intense 
 flame. For the hottest lire is blue — look at a 
 candle, look at the jet of gas, there is a blue 
 spot, an azure circle; therefore has the artist 
 made his demons purplish and blue, whose 
 very approach shrivels up the damned. And 
 where is he — the dweller in the pit ? See, he 
 is at the bottom, as if supporting the whole 
 diabolical scene upon his shoulders, the Atlas 
 of Hades. Here is an awful toad ; here and 
 there grow flowers — yes, absolutely yellow and 
 blue flowers — the lilies of the valley of the 
 shadow of death. Gaze at it, and gradually the 
 rudeness, the utter want of cohesion in the pic- 
 ture, the contempt of all perspective, fade away 
 out of sight, and it becomes a breathing reality, 
 breathing fire and torture and misery inde- 
 scribable. The mind of the artist, his ideas, 
 stand out before you, fasten on and fascinate 
 you, and form a picture on your mind which 
 time cannot efikce. To Claudius this was ge- 
 nius ; and the window at St. Gudule, with all its 
 
252 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. - 
 
 delicate proportion, its exquisite colour, was 
 tame and flat — a mere drawing-room sketch in 
 copybook handwriting, like the flourishes on 
 the first page of the ciphering-book — clever 
 penmanship, but meaning nothing. The un- 
 known artist who wrote his signature in these 
 marvellous pictures upon the windows in the 
 obscure Gloucestershire village had a meaning, 
 and has left it plain to all who choose to see it. 
 He was the Dore of those days ; and in our time 
 what would be Dante to us without Dore to 
 give form and shape to the ideas of the poet ? 
 
 Ella listened to the music of his lips that 
 lovely day in June as they stood in the gloom 
 of the vast old cathedral. Her mind was 
 wrapped up in his words, her cheek glowed a 
 little, her mouth slightly open, her eyes 
 glistened; to this girl art was life itself, and 
 Claudius was art in human shape. 
 
 What were those gods and goddesses who 
 walked upon the earth in the olden time, who 
 came down all glory and majesty, yet subdued, 
 that man might not be afraid, who filled the 
 very air with their sweetness and their beauty ? 
 Were they not art in its true shape, visible 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 253 
 
 divinity, the essence of all loveliness? Was 
 there no danger of Ella loving him, and lov- 
 ing him too deeply for her own peace of mind ? 
 The woman of the world must sneer at this 
 pair, and believe them utter myths, impossi- 
 bilities. With such opportunities mischief 
 must have ensued. But mischief did not 
 ensue. For remember Ella had not been 
 bred up as the daughters of men are usually 
 bred, tutored from morning to night in the 
 knowledge of evil. Here is a scoffer and a 
 liar, a traducer of mothers and aunts, a slan- 
 derer of academies and seminaries! Shriek 
 at him — down with him ! True it is that the 
 very word of evil, the very existence of it, is 
 politely ignored — there is no such thing. A 
 careful mamma once attacked a certain novelist, 
 abusing him for mentioning a certain class of 
 women in his books; her child should not 
 read them, she had never heard of such crea- 
 tures, and had no idea that such could live. 
 'Then, madam,' replied the novelist, 'she has 
 never read her Bible.' And the mamma, over- 
 come, retreated under cover of ' sacrilege and 
 profanation,' and such similar cries. ' She 
 
254 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 thinketh no evil;' such should be the words 
 which our parents ought to be able to truth- 
 fully say of their children. Why then teach 
 them so incessantly to be on their guard 
 against the scandal of society, the wickedness 
 of the men, the deceit of the world, the value 
 of money, till the girl thinks of nothing else 
 but evil ; not with the idea of following it, but 
 for the purpose of avoiding it ? How can her 
 mind be pure if she is taught day and night 
 the wiles of deceit, in order that she may avoid 
 them? Till in the end it comes to this: we 
 all, one and all, little and great, agree in this 
 one thing only — to mistrust each other, to 
 disbelieve in the existence of purity unless ac- 
 companied by its outward signs, i.e. the ring 
 upon the finger. We have totally forgotten 
 the Honi soit qui mal ypense of our royal arms. 
 Did she love him ? I cannot answer that 
 question. Certainly no word of love had ever 
 passed between them. He had never pressed 
 her hand ; their lips had never met. Day by 
 day for hours and hours together, yet never 
 had there been a mutual flash of the eyes; 
 never the slightest familiarity. Art threw her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 255 
 
 holy mantle over them — her children, and 
 they walked as in the first garden of man, un- 
 conscious of their nakedness. For, morally 
 speaking, they were naked in the eyes of the 
 world, wandering about shamelessly together, 
 travelhng in company, and no ring, no blood 
 tie even, no chaperone. not even a servant. 
 
 Those who have done the world most harm 
 are those who preach perpetually day and 
 night of the infinite wickedness, of the inalien- 
 able streak of evil in our nature. Granted 
 that in theological argument such may be the 
 case; even then how much better to keep it 
 out of sight ! Let us veneer it over and hide 
 it, till mayhap, in the time to come, it may be 
 partially eradicated. We may be as fierce 
 now as savages in our hearts, as bloodthirsty^ 
 as revengeful; bat how rarely we seek gratifi- 
 cation in bodily violence ! That natural in- 
 stinct has been veneered over — glossed over 
 by long processes of civilisation ; and we walk 
 about in safety unalarmed, even if our known 
 enemy dwells next door. Why should it be 
 preached day and night that man and woman 
 cannot live in each others daily company 
 
256 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 without sin ? It may be now, and it may be 
 that to the end of time, the animal passions 
 may endure ; but is that any reason, any more 
 than in the case of the enmity, that bodily evil 
 shall follow? If the mind and the long pro- 
 cesses of civilisation can efface the resort 
 to material violence, why can they not also 
 efface this other mischief? Why should we 
 be for ever divided into two great armies, each 
 resting in its separate camp, protected by 
 truce, but ever distrustful — afraid to wander 
 away a mile from the watchfires, or out of call 
 of the sentinels, lest hovering horsemen should 
 sweep away the stragglers? Where is the 
 mind, the march of intellect, the genuine pro- 
 gress of our day, if two creatures made in 
 God's own image, educated with all the know- 
 ledge of the ages past, and inspired with all 
 the hopes of the ages to come, cannot pass to 
 and fro on the earth together without falling 
 into sin ? Why should even the thought of 
 evil occur to them? 
 
 The thought of evil did not occur to Ella, 
 neither did it to Claudius. Their days they 
 spent together ; often their evenings also. They 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 257 
 
 breakfasted and dined apart, and lived in 
 different hotels. Tliey visited the famous 
 spots of the world, and stood before the 
 human revelations of the times gone by in 
 reverent awe and wonder. For these, Yenus 
 de' Medicis, Apollo Belvidere, Laocoon, and 
 Antinous, are they not revelations of the 
 human mind — prophecies of what is to come 
 to pass? The patriarchs and the prophets 
 told us truths of the soul, truths which grow 
 year by year and spread over the earth, and 
 lead slowly onward to the emancipation of 
 humanity from the iron bands of ignorance, 
 superstition, and cruelty. Those great sculp- 
 tors were the p)rophets of the body, the apos- 
 tles of matter; and their prophecies are per- 
 haps even farther off from fulfilment than 
 those of the prophets of the soul. When 
 shall we see men shaped as Antinous, women 
 as the Yenus? We have seen both men and 
 women not perfect, but lovely exceedingly in 
 the beauty of their lives. The day may yet 
 come when we shall see them perfect in their 
 bodily frames. For there shall be a new earth 
 and an incorruptible body. Is not perfection 
 
 YOL. II. s 
 
258 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 incorruptible? do not tliese statues shadow 
 forth human perfection? And Art, under whose 
 shadowing mantle these two children walked, is 
 daily teaching and preaching, telling the mul- 
 titude to eschew the "ugly and the dispropor- 
 tioned, just as the moral preachers tell it to es- 
 chew the morally ugly or evil. While we pursue 
 the beautiful, so long as our souls are ^vrapped 
 up in the contemplation of loveliness, so long 
 is it impossible for us to commit sin. There- 
 fore the artist builds about him a temple, and 
 carries it with him as he walks. 
 
 She did love him. But marriage — the 
 thought of being joined together for ever by 
 the ceremonies of the Church — never entered 
 into her heart. Sooth to say she had no idea 
 of a time in which she should be apart from 
 him. Therefore she went calmly on, never 
 looking back, never attempting to anticipate 
 the future, happy in the hour. He had not 
 only taken the dead peer's place — he was not 
 only to her patron, father, brother, family and 
 all, but he had taken a place the peer had 
 never occupied. She had no more idea of 
 ever parting from him than from the sun, the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 259 
 
 air, and the sky. Nothing could part them 
 but death. Of death I am afraid she never 
 thought. To these artists, these pagans, who 
 live on beauty, who worship it and deify it, 
 and pursue it day by day, I fear the thought 
 of death, of the judgment beyond the grave, 
 never comes, unless indeed to some poor un- 
 fortunate drink-sodden, outcast Bohemian. 
 Never to the prosperous, who dwell in the 
 sunshine perpetually. They cannot conceive 
 the non-existence of matter — that is the 
 psychological reason. They have no idea of 
 the non-existence of beauty. 
 
 * A thing of beauty is a joy for ever ;' 
 
 they shall never part from it. Their life is 
 the life of the soul, and the soul feels itself 
 immortal; the thought of dissolution, of an 
 outer darkness, cannot enter into it. Change 
 there may be ; but change is a pleasure, a va- 
 riety from one landscape to another, from one 
 garden to a distinct successor. 
 
 She did not know that she loved him. 
 Her heart did not beat quicker at his approach ; 
 her pulse was regular, her cheeks pale, her 
 eyes met his fully, and without hesitation. 
 
260 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Her fingers did not linger in his, asking for a 
 pressure. Her love was in this — she had no 
 idea of parting from him ; and in this — the 
 intense enjoyment she felt in her art, working 
 mth him. 
 
 Claudius never questioned himself In 
 truth he loved her, but the consciousness of 
 it never occurred to him. How should it to 
 either of them? They had been so constantly 
 in each other's society at Lestrange's that the 
 thought of anything unusual, of any pecu- 
 liarity in the connection between them, never 
 occurred to them. Yet they did not look on 
 each other as brother and sister. 
 
 The world is sneering again. Could such 
 a model young man as this exist, to ramble 
 about mth a handsome, or at least good-look- 
 ing, girl, to be in love with her, and yet to 
 refrain from the slightest familiarity ? But he 
 had not got to refrain; the impulse did not 
 seize him. Claudius was a gentleman. He 
 was no wild Bohemian in a velvet dress and 
 smoking-cap, a mere man of meerschaum, 
 smelling always of smoke and paint ; he was 
 not the traditional artist wanderer, the dis- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 261 
 
 grace to art and to humanity. His dress was 
 the outward token of his character, quiet, sub- 
 dued even to a fault, even here on the Con- 
 tinent, where so much license in these matters 
 is allowed. 
 
 They wandered on from Brussels to 
 Cologne, thence to Dresden, afterwards to 
 Prague, and meant to visit Vienna, still living 
 in the same manner — together and yet apart. 
 But at Prague they saw English newspapers, 
 in which Ella's horse's head was loudly ap- 
 plauded, and the crowds around it mentioned. 
 Claudius at once decided that they had better 
 return if the picture was so famous and so 
 popular ; buyers would be sure to turn up, and 
 Ella ought to be on the spot to secure the 
 largest price. They returned to London, and 
 here again followed the same plan — Ella was 
 accommodated at a private hotel near Euston ; 
 Cladius took apartments in Russell-square. 
 The apartments were cheaper than hotel life ; 
 he cculd thus contribute more to her ex- 
 penses, and be satisfied that so far as menu 
 was concerned she did not suffer much. They 
 went day after day to the Academy; they 
 
262 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 wandered about the room, and had the intense 
 satisfaction of seeing scores of people stop- 
 ping before Ella's marvellous piece of detail. 
 Timidly she called Claudius's attention to the 
 fact that his theory was not shared in by all 
 persons ; here was a work in which detail was 
 all, and yet see — and she nodded with a glow 
 of natural pride in the direction of the head. 
 Claudius granted that if success was a proof 
 she was right, but he still remained firmly 
 fixed in his own belief that the idea was all in 
 all in a painting. Discussing thus they had 
 drawn nearer to the spot where it was hung, 
 and thus overheard the criticisms of a party of 
 friends. It was Georgiana, the Duchess her 
 inseparable companion, Cecilia, and Mrs. Yane, 
 who had brought with them Xoel Brandon, 
 who was in London, to see this famous picture 
 which Royalty itself had paused to gaze on. 
 No sooner had Noel glanced at it than he 
 exclaimed, 'My horse, my horse !' in tones that 
 drew all eyes upon him. They questioned 
 him, and he said that it irresistibly reminded 
 him of his favourite animal which had dashed 
 with him over the cliff. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 263 
 
 ^ Who is the artist? I will give anything 
 for this,' cried Noel in excitement. 
 
 * I painted it,' said Ella very faintly. 
 
 Together they had drawn up close to the 
 group. These details need not detain us. 
 After a few days Noel bought the head for a 
 thousand guineas, and Ella became the friend 
 of Georgiana Brandon. Inquiring into her 
 friends and relations, Georgiana found out the 
 truth which Ella stated without the slightest 
 reserve. Georgiana become full of interest. 
 She tried to introduce Ella into the whirling 
 circle of fashion in which her days were 
 passed, but society would not have it. 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Vane hit the mark for once 
 at least. ' You, my dear,' said she, addressing 
 Georgiana in her most dulcet tones, ' you have 
 at least gone through some form of marriage ; 
 but these two are wandering — well, I will not 
 say vagabonds — without a tie upon each 
 other.' 
 
 Neither would Ella have it. She shrank 
 even from the glitter and bustle of those few 
 private friends to whom Georgie brought her. 
 She wished to be alone with Claudius. The 
 
264 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 very glimpse slie caught of this life — this in- 
 cessant whirl and crush — sent her back shiver- 
 ing, afraid lest ever it should be her lot to 
 dwell thus in restlessness. Then came the 
 dread, for the first time in her life, that 
 Claudius might be drawn into the vortex and 
 separated from her. It was the first time that 
 the idea had occurred to her — it frightened 
 her ; she used her gentle influence to draw 
 him away. He was nothing loth. Something 
 of the same kind had passed through his 
 mind. Iso course could be so happy as theirs 
 — no life so entirely joyful, so peacefully deli- 
 cious. Promising to keep up a correspondence 
 wdth Georgie, Ella left by herself, and re- 
 joined Claudius in Paris, whither he had 
 preceded her a few days. Finding they were 
 there, Georgiana wrote to Horton, and he called 
 upon them. 
 
 To Georgiana the sj)ectacle of these two 
 was doubly interesting : first, because in some 
 degree it recalled her own experiment; but 
 chiefly because of the gnamng worm in her 
 heart — the consciousness that Neville had 
 tired of her society since their marriage — 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 265 
 
 only since they had become one. But these 
 two never tired of each other. All the 
 romance of love cluns: to them, shorn of its 
 stormy passions, shorn of the dulness, the 
 heaviness, the indiiFerence which is, or seems 
 to be, the inevitable result of marriage, if 
 indeed nothing worse occurs. Being natu- 
 rally of a logical turn, and in long habit of 
 reducing her ideas to writing, Georgie found 
 time, even in the incessant business of visiting 
 and pleasure, to draw up a scheme for the 
 regulation of such wanderers as these. They 
 should be, she wrote, persons of highly edu- 
 cated mind, polished and high-bred, trained 
 in the traditions of politeness. They should 
 have some object in view — some real study or 
 work. Each should possess some means, and 
 these means should be either nearly equal, or 
 the one that possessed the larger share should 
 consent to forego that advantage, and be con- 
 tent to live in a style suited to the slenderer 
 income of the other; so that in fact there 
 might be perfect equality and perfect inde- 
 pendence. To some extent, the route to be 
 follow^ed should be laid down before starting. 
 
266 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Perhaps it would be better if the parties were 
 not too great friends, or too closely connected 
 — rather advantageous that they should be 
 introduced to each other by the medium of 
 advertisement, as travelling companions are 
 now. All these details the experience of so- 
 ciety could work out. To her mind there was 
 nothing absurd or in any way difficult for a 
 rational man and a rational woman to walk 
 together through the world, pursuing a 
 mutual object, lending each other mutual 
 assistance, cheering each other by company, 
 and perhaps even preserving each other from 
 ignoble pursuits by that very companionship. 
 The grand beauty of it was that this plan pos- 
 sessed that romance, that delicate apprecia- 
 tion of each other, which marriage — even the 
 partial engagement of her own — evidently de- 
 stroyed. She wrote very earnestly to Horton 
 about them. 
 
 And Noel was in London. 
 
CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 Heloise had no peace ; Noel had destroyed it. 
 She could have lingered about the fields and 
 woods, wandering with him in a dream of 
 pleasure for ever and ever, had he not asked 
 her to fly with him. Disguised as it might be 
 under the softest and most specious guise, 
 the proposal, though barely more than hinted 
 at, went full to her heart in all its naked evil. 
 It awoke her from her dream— it dispelled the 
 pleasure — the fields and woods smiled no 
 more; for it brought to her mind the con- 
 sciousness of guilt. She had never, as it were, 
 seen herself before. This proposal put a mir- 
 ror before her, and she saw the crime of which 
 she had been guilty, and the still more tre- 
 mendous crime upon whose edge she had 
 trembled. In the silence and solitude of her 
 own chamber hot burning blushes suflfused 
 her cheeks. She felt the embraces Noel had 
 
268 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 showered upon her in that lonely nook — they 
 clung to her, and she could not shake them 
 off, miserable as she was with shame. Yet 
 underneath those very blushes, that very 
 shame, her heart beat faster and faster. An 
 idea had been planted in her which grew and 
 flourished and bid fair to occupy her whole 
 soul — an idea which, guilty and wretched as 
 it was, promised her the most exquisite happi- 
 ness. Till by degrees the wild desire to fly — 
 to rush away with him, even into outer dark- 
 ness — rose to an almost irrepressible strength ; 
 and as she sat by her open window, watching 
 the shadows stealing over the downs, her feet 
 longed to be away — away over the hills. She 
 could have almost started up and run off by 
 herself. The poor child was shaken with pas- 
 sion. She would fling herself upon her bed, 
 and clutch the pillow with hysterical excite- 
 ment, and then burst into a silent fit of weep- 
 ing tni it seemed as if her very heart would 
 break. She paced up and down her room 
 till her head was giddy, then she sat by the 
 window and watched for him. She had given 
 out that she was unwell, that she had a head- 
 
RESTLESS IimiAN HEARTS. 269 
 
 ache, and so on. She could not show herself; 
 she must be alone — alone with him. For he 
 was with her, even here in the solitude of her 
 chamber. The great sun was blotted out from 
 the sky — the sky itself had vanished — the 
 down was a chaos ; she saw nothing but Noel, 
 felt nothino^ but his burnino; kiss, the fierce 
 pressure of his arms. That long night 
 through she never rested, never slept ; she did 
 not toss, she was calmer now. She lay 
 thinking, thinking, thinking, and still it was 
 Noel. Till towards the morning, when the 
 dawn was breaking, her eyes closed involun- 
 tarily. Near noon she awoke refreshed and 
 strengthened, but the first thought was Noel. 
 But with the new strength and the rest there 
 had returned to her some little dignity of mind, 
 the waters of passion had subsided sufficiently 
 to allow her reason to raise its faint cold 
 voice. She must avoid him. It was her 
 duty to do so, not only for herself, but for 
 him. Yes, for his sake. That was the bur- 
 den of her thought the whole day long. For 
 his sake. Not for her own; but for his. 
 This seemed to strengthen her, to cast aside 
 
270 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 temptation. Strange that she should dwell 
 upon his salvation, not her own. The truth 
 was, though she would not have owned it to 
 herself, that she did not wish to be saved. 
 For her own sake was of no avail ; she dared 
 not trust to that — it was too feeble, too weak 
 an inducement ; therefore she reiterated ' For 
 his sake — for his sake !' She must avoid him ; 
 she had helped to save his life, she must save 
 his soul now. And all the while her fingers 
 trembled, her knees w^ould not support her 
 weight in that firm unyielding manner of old ; 
 they shook, she could not walk wdth her old 
 elasticity of step. Her hands were constantly 
 ready to outstretch themselves, to save her 
 from falling She w^as obliged to hold to the 
 banisters as she descended the broad stair- 
 case with its easy descent. How should she 
 avoid him? She could go on a visit, and so 
 escape the torture of his daily call. She 
 almost made up her . mind to do this ; but 
 somehow there seemed so many obstacles. 
 First, she had been at home so long, there w^as 
 a natural reluctance to leave the old place. 
 She had never made many female friends. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 271 
 
 She had aunts, but they had shaken their 
 heads at the education Pierce gave his child, 
 and whenever she met them, lectured her on 
 her ridings, her walks, her scampering ex- 
 cursions, her fishing, and her boating. They 
 were detestable creatures, and since — no mat- 
 ter ; no, she could not go to them. 
 
 But Georgiana was in London. Geor- 
 giana would be glad to see her. But she was 
 too unwell for so long a journey — the weather 
 was so warm — there had been such dreadful 
 railway accidents, and Georgie herself was so 
 good and grand, it would make her feel so 
 small. These were the reasons why she did 
 not leave Bourne Manor. 
 
 Heloise, unhappy girl, was hard at work 
 deceiving herself She clung to the spot ; her 
 heart was there, and her body could not move 
 away from it. She must avoid him at home. 
 How to do that? At least she could plead 
 that she was indisposed, and so escape walk- 
 ing out with him alone. She must see him 
 in the house ; that could not be avoided, with- 
 out absolute rudeness. Was there not danger 
 in that — danger to him? No. Noel would 
 
272 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 see that she was right — he would even come 
 in time to bless her for her firmness. And 
 herself ? What danger could there be in the 
 house? She could never, never start with 
 him from the house, with Pierce within 
 call; her cheeks burnt at the thought. No, 
 she was quite safe here. It was better too 
 to face the temptation — to conquer it — to get 
 accustomed to it, till it had no power. And 
 then I^oel; she must gently persuade him out 
 of his infatuation. So for a whole week He- 
 loise remained within doors; steadfastly re- 
 fusing Noel's hints, his praise of the weather, 
 his suggestions of pleasant excursions, resist- 
 ing even when unconscious Pierce begged her 
 to go out. She plumed herself on this strength 
 of resolution. After all she was not so very 
 weak, not so very guilty. It was fortunate 
 that she had not gone for a visit. Then per- 
 haps she should have been always thinking of 
 him, always longing to be back home and near 
 him; as it was, she saw him daily, and no 
 harm ensued. Her heart grew calmer, more 
 peaceful. There was no danger ; she was not 
 afraid now. Perhaps in time, when Noel was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 273 
 
 cured of his frenzied excitement, when she 
 had persuaded him out of his infatuation, 
 Avhen she had saved him from himself, perhaps 
 then the old happy times might come back, when 
 they should again wander over ' forest, field, 
 and fell,' seeking for flowers for Pierce's gar- 
 den, discoursing of nature, when this fever-fit 
 should be past, and all again be placid. He- 
 loise dreamed of joyful times to come. She 
 was very gentle now; singularly affectionate 
 to Pierce — gentle exceedingly to the servants, 
 thoughtful of their little wants, of their rela- 
 tions, their private cares. She was loving to 
 all around her, except Xoel ; at least the 
 except was her own idea. She remembered 
 her poor pensioners — unthought of now for 
 many a day — and began to visit them again, 
 carrying with her food and wine and money, 
 and a glow of sunlight into the wretched 
 cottages of the poor. But always alone — 
 always when she knew Noel was absent, and 
 when he would not overtake her. 
 
 Noel was mad at this time — literally and 
 genuinely mad. His face was smooth, his de- 
 meanour calm and gentlemanly, his voice 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
274 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 had its usual tone. But the man's heart was 
 boiling with wildest passion, with fierce and 
 frenzied rage, working and seething like the 
 veritable witches' caldron. Minp-lino: with the 
 savageness of his love there came a growing 
 feeling against Heloise — against her in this 
 way. She had led him on — encouraged him 
 — allowed him to proceed ; then, just at the last 
 moment, when her own safety was concerned, 
 she turned away from him. 0, yes, her own 
 safety — her own good name ; these women 
 were so utterly selfish, they could love deeply, 
 passionately, up to that^ but no further ; pah ! 
 he hated them. Had she really loved him, 
 had those kisses she had showered upon him 
 been real, she would have clung to him — 
 begged him to take her. She was not a co- 
 quette — she was worse. She loved artificially 
 — she could put a bound and fence to her 
 passion; rail it ofi*, as one might a garden. 
 He despised her ; he sneered at her ; he hated 
 her. He used this very contempt, this very 
 hatred and rage, as a justification of his own 
 wicked and evil thoughts. Yerily at that time, 
 if he could have caught hold of her alone,^he 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 275 
 
 would have attempted to drag her away by- 
 sheer physical force. And he did watch for 
 such an opportunity, but Heloise remained in- 
 doors. Finding that he could not tempt her 
 forth, he tried fraud: he gave out that he 
 should be away for a day; then he mounted 
 his horse, and hovered about within easy 
 reach of the house, feeling sure that Heloise 
 would come out; and he determined to snatch 
 her up in the saddle before him, and to ride 
 away with her. He even went so far as to 
 telegraph to his yacht to anchor in the road 
 at the mouth of the river — the river which 
 ran at the end of Pierce's garden. The man 
 was literally mad. But Heloise did not ven- 
 ture forth all that week. Then he raged 
 against her inwardly still more, though out- 
 wardly polite and attentive when they met — 
 always in Pierce's presence — but with a de- 
 mon in his heart, boiling to wreak his ven- 
 geance on the fragile creature whom his hand 
 could crush as it might a delicate rose. By 
 the end of the week his frenzy had so far sub- 
 sided that he gave up the idea of carrying her 
 off by force. He would resort to fraud — to 
 
276 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the same arts with which she had decoyed him 
 onward ; he would deceive her with a show of 
 penitence, with a semblance of regret for his 
 wicked attempt; then when she was once in 
 his hands, he would lead her on — he would 
 fascinate her as he had done in that shady 
 nook, till she reposed in his embraces unre- 
 sistingly. It was about this time that Heloise 
 recommenced visiting her poor pensioners, 
 and Noel at once seized the opportunity. 
 
 One afternoon Pierce suggested that she 
 should visit Betsy Farmer, the bedridden 
 old lady at Wick. 'At Wick?' said Noel; Hhat 
 is down the river, is it not ? Will you allow 
 me to row you down?' He said this in a 
 deprecating tone of voice. Heloise, little 
 versed in the arts of deception, strong too 
 in her new-found armour against temptation, 
 readily accepted the proposal ; and in an hour 
 they were slowly proceeding down the stream. 
 There was silence for a while. Noel's 
 heart was leaping wildly with eager hopes and 
 fierce anticipation of success. Heloise let her 
 hand hang over the gunwale in the clear and 
 warm water, and averted her gaze, full of a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 277 
 
 pleasure she dared not o^vn to herself. Thus 
 it was that when the river broadened to a 
 pool — shallow but not muddy — and Noel left 
 the mid-stream and began to carefully steer 
 his frail craft towards an island, she made no 
 remark and no resistance. Perhaps it was 
 the dreamy warmth of the day — perhaps it was 
 the sultry sun, the closeness of the air — 
 made her slumberous and idle ; but she said 
 not a word, nor looked where they were 
 going. She remembered how she herself had 
 taught Noel the channel to this very island — 
 the channel she had learnt long, long ago in 
 childhood, ^vinding in and out — now round a 
 sandbank, now by the thick weeds— over the 
 shallow bottom, clearly visible with its pebbles 
 and its white nodules of chalk — winding in 
 and out, till they left the mid -stream far 
 away, and the prow of the skiff shot into a 
 natural arbour formed by the tall green 
 osiers, and grounded in the sand. Then Noel 
 laid his oars aside, and turned to her, but 
 was silent still. She was drooping as it were 
 over the side of the boat, toying with a water- 
 lily, her face mirrored in the dark water — 
 
278 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 dark here because in shade. Tall reeds just 
 beginning to push forth their feathery flowers 
 hung over her, and the great bulrush was 
 within reach. The green osiers, thick and 
 impenetrable, lined them round on three sides, 
 and almost shut them in completely, save for 
 one narrow opening, through which every now 
 and then a cool air blew intermittently from 
 the river. They sat so still, so silent, that the 
 fish disturbed by the boat returned to their 
 feeding grounds, where the air blew the insects 
 off the osiers and the reeds into the water, 
 and slight splashes, and a circle of tiny wave- 
 lets now and then, showed where the trout or 
 perch had risen to the fly. The timid moor- 
 hen stole out from the osiers, and swam to 
 and fro in the mouth of this green cove, peck- 
 ing at the weeds floating on the surface of 
 the water. Overhead the swallows flitted 
 through the clear blue sky, and the mono- 
 tonous cry of the coot sounded over the 
 river. 
 
 ' Heloise.' 
 
 She turned and looked at him, the quick 
 blush risino^ into her cheek. He took her 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 279 
 
 hand — he came nearer, he pressed it, he 
 kissed it; still she said nothing. He was 
 about to take her in his arms, but she held 
 him away, and said in a faint voice, 
 
 ' Noel, this must not be.' 
 
 ' I do not wish to — to—' said Noel. * I 
 wished to apologise for my indiscretion the 
 other day. Will you forgive me? You 
 know that 1 must love you. I cannot help 
 it, Heloise. Am I to blame for what I cannot 
 resist ? Do you blame me ?' 
 
 ' I do not blame you, clear' (the word 
 escaped her unawares); 'but it must not be 
 again.' Then with sudden earnestness, *Noel, 
 let us be friends — let us be companions — 
 let us wander about as we used. Bury 
 this old dream, dear, cast it away — it is un- 
 worthy of you. I will never remembe^ it 
 if you will not. 0, do let us be friends 
 again.' 
 
 And she took his hand in both of hers, 
 and actually deceived herself that she was 
 persuading him out of his infatuation. They 
 were playing the same old comedy — they 
 were playing before themselves ; wearing 
 
280 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 masks to deceive themselves, to prevent the 
 recognition of the true self. 
 
 'I will, indeed,' said Noel, returning the 
 pressure of her hands, and laying his other 
 hand on her arm. ' I will indeed, dear. For- 
 give me, darling ; but I must tell you how I 
 love you; then you will do me justice; you 
 will see how hard it has been for me ; you 
 will pity me, Heloise.' 
 
 And he came near her, and poured out 
 what I cannot write — a low murmur of wildest 
 passion and love and entreaty, till she sighed, 
 and their lips met, and in a moment friend- 
 ship and companionship was thrown to the 
 winds, and they were fast in each other's em- 
 braces. She heard the loud thump of his 
 heart as her face pressed against his breast, 
 nesting there. She looked up, half smiling, 
 and placed her hand there, and asked him 
 why it beat so loudly ; and of course he told 
 her it was for her, and for her only. And 
 she kissed the spot, and put her ear there, 
 and listened, and believed, till the tears came 
 into her eyes. Then he kissed them away, 
 and held her close, and murmured more wild 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 281 
 
 love, and played with her arm, and kissed 
 and fondled it, and placed it over his shoulder 
 and round his neck. Then he whispered words 
 again, and drew a picture of the walking 
 for ever hand in hand through sunshine and 
 over flowers, and gradually brought it round 
 to a foreign country, and drew descriptions 
 of the beauty and the wondrous marvels he 
 had seen ; and 0, if she had been with him ! 
 till she sighed, and clung to him, and deceived 
 by this — But wait. It may be that if Xoel 
 had had patience, and gone on thus long 
 enough — if he could have repeated the game 
 day after day for a month, and gradually 
 accustomed her mind to the idea, till it failed 
 to alarm her and grew familiar — perhaps he 
 might have won easily. But women cannot 
 be taken all at once; they must be prepared, 
 educated up to the desired point, by slow and 
 imperceptible degrees, but in the end they 
 most eagerly desire the very thing they 
 dreaded a few weeks previously. Noel was 
 too impatient, and deceived by those warm 
 arms clinging to him as he painted his pic- 
 ture, he ventured too far, and once more 
 
282 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 made the fatal proposal that she should fly 
 with him. In an instant Heloise had started 
 away. 
 
 ' Take me home, sir P she said, trembling 
 and turning pale. ' Take me home — this in- 
 stant — this instant !' 
 
 And she snatched at one of the oars ; and 
 before he could prevent her, sent the boat out 
 of the cove into the pool ; and Noel glancing 
 round saw a punt with a man fishing, and 
 cursed that j^unt bitterly in his own heart. 
 Then his wrath rose against her, and he re- 
 proached her and raged against her, and called 
 her evil and hard names, and swore, and de- 
 clared that he hated her — hated her — hated 
 her. 
 
 And she, trembling still, cried faintly to 
 him to take her home ; trembling till the frail 
 craft fairly shook. He seized the sculls, and 
 forced the boat bumping and swaying and 
 scraping over sandbank and stones and weeds, 
 till they swept into the mid-stream. Then 
 she put forth her hands, and pointed wildly at 
 the shore; and he still cursing and raving ran 
 the boat against it, and she sprang out, and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 283 
 
 fled away across the fields, soon out of sight 
 behind the hedges. Then Noel burst into a 
 fit of discordant laughter. 
 
 ' What shall I do with this ?' said he aloud, 
 looking at the two bottles of port Heloise was 
 taking to the cripple. ' Ha, ha, ha !' And 
 his wild laugh sounded over the waters. 
 
 He gave way with the oars, and drove out 
 into the pool till he came to the punt, in which 
 some man, baked and scorched with the sun, 
 was fishing, and asked him if he would help 
 drink them. The man, nothing loth, joyfully 
 assented, and they drank together; and Noel 
 continually laughed and made jokes. The 
 fisherman thought it odd; but the wine was 
 good, and he was exceedingly thirsty, and so 
 lie said nothing. When they had finished it, 
 Noel flung the bottles at a huge stone that 
 stood up out of the water, and rowed back to 
 the boat-house at Bourne Manor. There he 
 secured the boat, and went away to Knoyle- 
 lands, and so up to London in the evening by 
 the express, cursing Heloise in his heart, and 
 mad with passion, rage, and disappointment, 
 swearing that he would see her no more. 
 
CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 In a long-forgotten number of a magazine 
 there once appeared a piece of the truest 
 poetry with the saddest meaning that was 
 ever written by human pen. It had an un- 
 attractive title ; it was barely noticed in the 
 reviews ; it fell into total oblivion. How 
 utterly fatuous it is to believe that a thing 
 survives if it is but worth survival! Look 
 at those famous classics, for instance. Here, 
 it is true, are Plato and Xenophon, Thucy- 
 dides and Lucretius ; but are there not also 
 Martial, Catullus, and others, the only beauty 
 of whose books is their learned lewdness ? 
 The fittest does not survive ; the noblest and 
 the best too often pass away utterly unnoticed, 
 while some trashy gaudy thing works itself 
 into the very heart of the public, and lives 
 there for years. 
 
 This poem told how a little goose-girl, a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 285 
 
 child who minded the geese on the common, 
 ' went singing' along the road one fine day in 
 the year 1999, and came to a school, where 
 the scholars — girls and boys of her own age — 
 instead of playing in their dinner time, were 
 hard at work studying — reading, reading, 
 reading; poring, poring, poring — till the bell 
 rang, and they returned to their forms, and 
 pored and read in chorus as they had previ- 
 ously done individually. 
 
 The school-children and their teachers were 
 horribly scandalised with the little goose-girl, 
 who came along in the middle of the broad 
 day idly singing, slowly sauntering in the sun- 
 light ; and they came round her and wanted 
 her to learn too, to read and write and pore, 
 as they did, from morn till night, through 
 spring and summer, autumn and \vinter, till 
 the face grew pallid and the shoulders stooped. 
 ' I do not know what you mean,' said the lit- 
 tle goose-girl ; 'I live in the sunshine all the day 
 long, and I watch the clouds in the sky, and 
 listen to the birds singing, and I sing too al- 
 ways.' ' But this is very wrong,' the teachers 
 and the school-children argue, ' for we must all 
 
286 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 work, work, work, and learn, learn, learn, as 
 hard and as long as ever we can ; still adding 
 two to three, and three to five, for everybody 
 does ;' eve7'yhody through the whole of the land 
 in that year 1999 was learning and reading 
 and studying hard, hard, till their brows ached, 
 and their lives were shortened ; still they must 
 learn. To do otherwise were Avi^ong and evil. 
 ' I do not know,' said the little goose-girl. 
 
 ' The mills of the gods grind slowly, 
 But they grind, exceeding small.' 
 
 She will have none of their teaching ; she can- 
 not understand what it matters, whether this 
 row of figures is added to that to-day or to- 
 morrow ; to her, life is not in books nor figures, 
 it is not spent on a slate. Life is in the sun 
 and the sky, in the wind and in the wood. So 
 she will away, and have none of their teaching. 
 
 ' The mills of the gods grind slowly, 
 But they grind exceeding small ; 
 I will sit on the hills, by the gods' mills, 
 And watch the slow atoms fall.' 
 
 So she goes away into the sunshine, and 
 leaves the children and the teachers still 
 teaching, teaching, learning, poring, reading, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 287 
 
 wearing out their very eyes. There is a deep 
 and sad significance in this poem of the little 
 goose-girl. I cannot but think that she was 
 wiser far than the teachers and the school- 
 children. We have become so imbued with 
 pen, ink, and paper — we have grown up among 
 figures and calculations, among learning and 
 teaching, till it has become to us a second 
 nature, and we exclaim at the bare idea of the 
 little goose-girl, 'What shocking ignorance!' 
 But think a while, in what does this knowledge 
 consist — this arithmetic for instance, these 
 rows upon rows of figures, which the little 
 goose-girl saw them adding up with such 
 feverish anxiety. This arithmetic — add up ten 
 thousand times ten thousand slates and copy- 
 books, work up forty million sums absolutely 
 correctly; and how, in what way, have you 
 really benefited — have you lived the time that 
 you were thus employed? Would not the 
 sunshine, and the air, and the forest, and the 
 clouds in the sky have benefited you more, 
 had you spent the time among them, learning, 
 as the little goose-girl did, that the ' mills of 
 the gods grind slowly,' than all this purely 
 
288 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 artificial labour? Ay, but it must be done; 
 we cannot live without it ; we must learn and 
 teacb, these figures are essential to our modern 
 life. Granted that that is true, and is not this 
 the saddest part of it all, that we cannot all 
 dwell in the sun and the sk}^ — that these arti- 
 ficial labours, these miserable, petty, unreal 
 works should be necessary to our existence? 
 I once knew a gentleman, a man of business, 
 who declared and firmly believed that figures 
 were everything; you could do nothing with- 
 out them, and everything resolved itself into 
 figures ; and he meant account-book figures — 
 ledger and day-book marks, literally 1, 2, 3, 
 4, 5, and so on. Poor fellow, what an utter 
 blindness must have possessed him ! he forgot 
 that man had a soul. Now the little goose-girl 
 was nearer the God of the soul than all the 
 teachers and school-children ever would, be. 
 All these vast towns of our day, these millions 
 upon millions of houses, full of millions upon 
 millions of people — these whole provinces built 
 over — what are they but great schoolhouses, 
 in which the men of money, the capitalists (I 
 mean no reflection upon them) are as the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 289 
 
 teachers in the school, and the workers as the 
 scholars — all of these capitalists and workers 
 hard at it, poring, poring, poring for ever; 
 -with their eyes shut to the sun and the sky, 
 and for ever cast upon the wretched earth, 
 mth its mud and moisture, its coal-dust and 
 smoke. All arithmetic and no God! The 
 little goose-girl upon her common, with the 
 cackle of her geese coming down upon the 
 breeze, with the light of heaven upon her 
 open brow, with the song on her lips, was 
 happier and far nearer the ultimate search of 
 all men than the whole of these. 
 
 But we cannot all be little goose-girls, 
 and there is the sadness of it. We bless the 
 railways, and the manufactories, and the coal, 
 and the iron, and the cotton; and yet some- 
 times are we not tempted to think that the 
 men who invented these things cursed their 
 race more than the fatal crime of Adam did ? for 
 they have caused the enormous population of 
 our time. There are millions upon millions of 
 human beings, each with a brain, a heart, and 
 a soul ; and yet not one in ten thousand has 
 ever the chance to commune with Nature, 
 
 VOL. II. u 
 
290 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 to walk reverently in the temples slie has 
 built, and to know the mysterious awe which 
 falls upon the mind in the near presence of its 
 Creator. I know not what will be the end of 
 it; all I know is that nothing but evil and 
 disaster can ultimately result from it. 
 
 And watch society, the faithful reflex of 
 the motions of the great heart of the people. 
 Society, that thinks it leads and lays clo^vn a 
 model for the people to copy, and which is 
 in reality but the elastic representative, the 
 outcome of the populace, or rather the logos of 
 the multitudes. What does it do? Is it not 
 ever restless, dissatisfied ? See hoAV it runs to 
 any new diversion. iS^ow it is canoe travel- 
 ling, now it is Alpine climbing, then polo, pigeon 
 shooting, bicycling, croquet, spiritualism (this 
 the saddest of all) ; weary of all things, dis- 
 satisfied with all; artificially born, artificially 
 bred, reared artificially, fed with artificial 
 mental pabulum, till it is incapable of under- 
 standing the natural, till it sees nothing in 
 the sun and the sky but space and a candle, 
 and beheves that the Whole Duty of Man is — 
 Arithmetic. It is very miserable to think of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 291 
 
 And after all it is no one's fault; we did not 
 make the circumstances, we cannot alter 
 them. 
 
 Neville had lived almost the life of the lit- 
 tle goose-girl; he had dwelt in the sunlight, 
 lain upon the grass, inhaled through every 
 pore of his body the influence of Nature. He 
 had been happy in this. He had believed that 
 with Georgiana he should be happier still. 
 Somehow with familiarity that happiness 
 slowly departed, and he could not return to 
 the old, old ways. Then came the whirl and 
 excitement of a novel life — the life of the up- 
 per ten thousand. He flattered himself at first 
 with the reflection that after all, as a student 
 of the earth, he should not confine himself to 
 Nature alone, to trees and woods and sun- 
 shine. He ought to study Man. He studied 
 man at Ascot, at Hurlingham, at Kensing- 
 ton, by the Thames. He grew more and more 
 restless. While he had lived with Nature, 
 though he could not penetrate behind her 
 veil, and though he could discover nothing 
 new, no sensation, yet he had been peaceful, 
 wantins; nothing;. Now he never rested. And 
 
292 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 he found it the fashion not to rest ; to be ever 
 seeking new sensations — to rush hither and 
 thither. He found it to be ultra-fashionable 
 to do worse than this; to languidly remain 
 in one place, and be ever bored, convinced 
 that nothing that may possibly turn up, how- 
 ever well it may promise at first, can result in 
 anything but a bore at last. But being a man 
 who still retained his habit of thought, though 
 people told him thinking was a bore, and acted 
 on their precept, he turned to those about 
 him, and began to inquire if there were no 
 remedy for all this vacuity. 
 
 ^Remedy!' said the Duke. * By Jove! 
 the only remedy is — to get clritnJc. That's 
 the long and the short of it. Fearfully im- 
 moral, degrading, and all the rest of it, of 
 course ; quite agree myself with all that. 
 But look here, you may safely bet that the 
 experience of all the world goes farther than 
 our mere maxims. And just see what the 
 world does. The world, my dear fellow, the 
 world tales its drops. And opium-smoking is 
 gaining ground in London — fact; I've been 
 and seen it out of curiosity. The fellows look 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 293 
 
 in a dream ; they are happy, they forget every- 
 thing. Depend upon it, the only remedy is to 
 get drunk.' 
 
 ' But the devil of it ith,' said the Hon. Mr. 
 Vane, lisping, ' I can't get intoxicated ; I mean 
 — I — I get sthoopid, you know, but I alwayth 
 knoio I'm dwunk.' 
 
 ' Effect of education,' said the Duke sen- 
 tentiously. 
 
 ^I think,' said ^ Billy' (heir to a viscount), 
 ^ that the very best thing we could do would 
 be to go to Arizona and hunt the Indians. 
 Murder Avould be a new sensation ; you read 
 in the novels and see that blood gives a pecu- 
 liar feeling. It would be rare fun potting the 
 bronzed beggars.' 
 
 'I think,' said Neville, speaking in a 
 dreamy, far-off manner, 'the ver}^ best thing 
 for us ail would be the discovery of a new 
 continent ; not one like America, where one 
 can get across it and find the sea the other 
 side, but an illimitable continent — a forest, a 
 plain, mountains, rivers, lakes without end — 
 stretching away for ever ; a continent into 
 which men might wander day by day for ever 
 
294 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and for ever, beginning in youth and going on 
 till death came, straight away as the crow 
 flies, and never reach the other side ; a con- 
 tinent which hundreds of generations of men 
 might take up each other's tracks — as the one 
 dropped the other taking up the journey — • 
 and yet never arrive^ but be always travelling 
 onwards, onwards, onwards. Then we should 
 have a resource — somewhere to hide our- 
 selves; noiv the world is so small.' 
 
 ' There's something in what you say,' said 
 the Duke ; * not that I can bring my mind to 
 believe that the world is so small as our phy- 
 sicists define it. One's natural sense goes 
 against it ; one cannot understand the pos- 
 sibility of travelling round it in a few months. 
 It is quite true that all the calculations come 
 right ; but then they say that so they will if 
 you treat the earth as a plane. I would rather 
 it was proved a plane, for then it may be of 
 greater extent, and there may be, as you sug- 
 gest, more continents yet to be found.' 
 
 * "Where the wicked cease from troublin£>\ 
 and the weary are at rest," ' said the embryo 
 viscount. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 29;> 
 
 ' " If that's the true definition of heaven," 
 said Dean Swift, "then it is clear there are no 
 women there. For — who is the woman?" 
 However, Pll lay you odds on Merry's lot,' 
 said the Duke ; and they were soon busy with 
 their note-books and pencils. 
 
 ^ They tell us,' said the Duchess to Georgi- 
 ana that very afternoon, * that the ladies are 
 the weaker vessels ; but, my dear, look how 
 wretched they are with all their hunting and 
 shooting and betting, and all their barbarian 
 " sports." See how they yawn and talk about 
 ennui. My dear, they have not got the re- 
 source of the bonnet ; there we are immea- 
 surably superior.' 
 
 But Georgiana did not smile at the jest so 
 merrily as had been her wont of late. In 
 truth, the great doctrine, the grand law of 
 nature — reaction — had begun to set in in her 
 case also. This whirl, this excitement with- 
 out emotion, this constant seeking for some- 
 thing new and its concomitant ennuij had had 
 its effect upon her also. She too grew weary, 
 restless, dissatisfied. Had she been brought 
 up in the millinery school, in the fashionable 
 
296 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 liopes and fears, in the petty circle of ideas 
 that are crammed into the heads of the girls 
 of the period, no doubt The Bonnet would 
 have satisfied her too ; and she would have 
 gone on to the end of her life studying the 
 grand philosophy of trimming, of flowers and 
 feathers, and occupied with the vital question 
 as to whether heavy masses of fruit were or 
 were not distingue. But Georgiana had been 
 accustomed for years to think, and now that 
 the novelty of their new life was wearing off, 
 the old habit of reflection returned to her. 
 She asked herself if she was happy. A sigh 
 was the reply. She had gone a good way 
 through nature, she had walked in the forest 
 and the field, though, to tell truth, it was 
 a superficial detail study ; and now she had 
 studied, i.e. lived among — for true study means 
 to live among — the ways of men and women, 
 the drift of the Gulf Stream of the world. 
 
 Many hundreds of years ago certain valor- 
 ous men of might, especially one Pantagruel, 
 much vexed in a deep and knotty question, 
 stepped on shipboard, and sailing over ocean's 
 waste, sought in unknown lands the famous 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 297 
 
 temple and the truthful oracle of the Bottle. 
 They found this wondrous Bottle at last, and 
 all the ans^ver the oracle made to their in- 
 quiries was 'Buc, buc,' or as we say 'Good, 
 good,' when we imitate the noise of port-wine 
 as we pour it out of the bottle into the decan- 
 ter. That was all — Buc, buc ; at least so say- 
 eth that flimous chronicler Rabelais. 
 
 Now Georgiana had travelled the perilous 
 road, the strait and narrow way, only open 
 to the few and the select, which leadeth to this 
 deep and wondrous oracle of The Bonnet; and 
 the answer of the high priestess was what ? 
 that strings were not so becoming as no 
 strings. There it ended. She was weary, rest- 
 less, dissatisfied, like the rest of them. She 
 drew away from them that evening ; the jest 
 of her grace had brought it to a point. She 
 wished to be alone, and to think. From the 
 window of her room she could see over the 
 expanse of the Park, and the gathering gloom 
 hid away the houses at the horizon, and there 
 was nothing but a heavy, black, and thunder- 
 ous cloud in the west; and on the edge of that 
 black and inky sullen vapour there glittered 
 
298 liESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 n glorious planet, a ball of white light — Yenus. 
 She was weary, dissatisfied. This ennui^ this 
 impossibility of finding satisfaction, led to a 
 still greater mischief — to doubt. After all, 
 was she — with all her high ideas of her mis- 
 sion, of the equality of women, their rights 
 and natural prerogative — any better, wiser, 
 nearer the truth and satisfaction than the rest 
 of these butterflies, who never stayed to think, 
 but took things as they found them? 
 
 Better fiir that we should believe, even if 
 our fliith be in a false idol. The devil has no 
 instrument in all his arsenal that will blunt 
 the edge of our better nature like a want of 
 fliith. When Chatterton, the boy-poet, lost 
 faith in himself, he killed himself. The Book 
 does not say so in distinct words, but does it 
 not hint at it ? When the greatest Prophet of 
 them all struggled forty days in the wilder- 
 n ess, was not a doubt of His own mission — 
 did the devil leave that temptation untried? 
 
 No better than the feeble, weak, frivolous 
 creatures she had despised ; no nearer the 
 great goal, humanly still as low, herself even 
 incapable of improvement ; no better than 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 299 
 
 those who hiid taken things as they were, 
 ller marriage, perfect in her theory, how had 
 it tttrned otit — better than theirs? She gazed at 
 the noble and lovely planet on the edge of the 
 deej) black cloud, and thought of Neville and 
 the first transports of their love. If that 
 would return — if she could have had that 
 always — if Neville — 
 
 But the great planet sank beneath the 
 murky vapour, and the slow tears gathered 
 in her eyes. 
 
 END OF VOL. IT. 
 
 LONDON : 
 KOBSO>" A>D feO^S, riUNTKRS, rANCRAS RUAD, N.W. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
LONDON : 
 KOBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ^ iotjci. 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD JEFFERIES, 
 
 AUTHOR OP ' THE SCARLET SHAWL.' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. III. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TmSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 
 
 1875. 
 
 lAll rights reserved.] 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN DEAETS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Noel hated her, hated her, hated her. This 
 was the one burden of his mind ; it rang in 
 his ears the whole day long. With all her 
 loveliness, her indescribable grace, her slender 
 graceful form, like the slowly nodding wheat- 
 stalks in the gentle western breeze ; with her 
 deep, deep eyes, her overhanging eyelashes, 
 and the delicious glances that shot from 
 them; with her white and delicate hands, her 
 tiny feet, her voice — ay, her very voice,— he 
 hated her. Noel stormed about London. He 
 went straight to his club. He dined — he 
 blamed the soup, the fish, the wine ; the first 
 was sour^ the second was stringy, the third 
 was hot. The waiters stared at the odd taste 
 of the man. The fact was, he had no taste. 
 VOL. in. B 
 
"Z RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 He had lost it for the time. Violent passion 
 had acted upon him like a fever ; when the 
 tongue refuses to distinguish between one 
 flavour and another, and even tea, which one 
 rushes to as a grateful refreshment, is un- 
 recognisable. It might as well be ditch-water. 
 The turbot might as well have been a ropy 
 turnip, for aught he could tell. He did not 
 eat, he gulped it down in large pieces ; he did 
 not drink, his throat burnt up the liquor as it 
 ran down, just as the dry sands of the deserts 
 burn up the rivers that try to run over them. 
 He stormed at the papers. He turned over 
 the Times, the Daily News, the Standard, the 
 Telegraph, the Globe, the Pall Mall, mechani- 
 cally. His eyes ached — they glared — they 
 smarted as if he had been walking on the 
 Parade at Brighton in a high wind, and got 
 them stuffed full of sand in the orthodox sea- 
 side way. The evening was warm — he was 
 stifling. His dress, light as it was, clung to 
 him. Outrao;ino: all usao^es, he tore his shirt 
 open, undid his collar, and stormed out of the 
 place into the open air. Much good it did 
 him. He gasped— then he stormed along the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. o 
 
 streets, tearing away till the perspiration stood 
 in great drops on his forehead. This man had 
 been used to hard exercise all his life ; lat- 
 terly he had had none. In his excitement, 
 all unconsciously, but quite naturally, he re- 
 verted to his old associations; his steps led 
 him down to the river-side. He hired a boat 
 — one of those long racing skiffs carrying one 
 only. It was thirty feet long, or nearly ; nar- 
 row as a knife's edge ; thin, shallow — a lath 
 upon the water. As he rowed away with 
 quick feverish strokes up the river, the boat- 
 man shouted to him to take care of the sand- 
 banks up by Richmond — since those dams had 
 been built the banks had risen. Noel swore 
 at him and held on rapidly, tearing his arms 
 out with the long sweep-like oars. They were 
 oars indeed, no spoons to shove a boat along 
 with ; but thin delicate spars, well balanced, 
 broad at the blade, taking a grasp upon the 
 water, so that the boatman could feel it ; and 
 moved by his nervous arms, the skiff shot 
 through the water swift as a swallow throuo;h 
 the sky. It was a lovely night, a June night, 
 which is only a second day. In the north the 
 
4 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 sky was white, with a little yellowy tinge — 
 the sunset lingered there all the night through. 
 The west was still rosy, and in the east the 
 full moon shed her light upon the water, and the 
 trembling beams played upon the waves made 
 by his progress. Noel saw neither the moon, 
 nor the sunset, nor the water. All his idea 
 was to work his passion out of him — to drive 
 it out with still more violent exercise. The 
 narrow skiff rose, as it were, in the water, 
 with every stroke ; rose and skimmed along 
 the surface, and before it could sink, rose 
 again, and slid over the glittering moonlight. 
 Heedless of drifting barges, heedless of heavy 
 sailing-boats tacking slowly across the stream, 
 heedless of an occasional steamer, he rowed 
 on straight as an arrow up the river, on, on, 
 till the banks grew wilder and more natural, 
 and though he saw them not, great patches of 
 weeds stretched out into the stream — huge 
 nets spun by the spider Death to catch the un- 
 wary. Panting now, foaming as it were with 
 heat, his hat thrown off, his arms bare, his 
 forehead set in a stern frown, he rowed and 
 pulled and struggled against the inevitable 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. O 
 
 moment when strength, though ever so great, 
 must fail, and endurance pass away. He 
 grew wilder at it as the boat slowed, it 
 angered him ; he pulled less regularly, feathered 
 more slovenly, and swung his body too much 
 to aid his arms, till the skiff trembled and 
 shook; and still on, on, heedless of the course, 
 till- 
 
 The broad blade of the scull in his right 
 hand dipped deep into a thick patch of rope- 
 like weed — a ^reat web, a net of vegetation — 
 and refused to rise out as he finished the 
 stroke. Now Noel, as an old boatman, should 
 have simply lifted the oar out of the rullock, 
 and let it drift after him in the water, by which 
 means it would have disengaged itself easily. 
 Had he been calm he would have done so in- 
 voluntarily, and out of long practice. But he 
 was heated and tired; heated in mind and 
 body, ready in an instant to fly into an out- 
 rageous and unreasonable storm with anybody 
 or anything. Therefore he gave a violent 
 pull at the oar as soon as he felt the weed. 
 Result— the oar refused to move; meantime 
 the left oar went swiftly through the water, 
 
b RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and gave an impetus to that side of tlie boat, 
 so that it swung round the oar in the weeds 
 as on a pivot, and the prow of the skiff ran up 
 into the weeds. Left wrist raised the left oar 
 out of the water involuntarily, preparatory to 
 another stroke ; right wrist, finding it impos- 
 sible to pull its oar through the weeds, in- 
 voluntarily set to work to back water. Balance 
 of the boat lost, and Noel in the water. The 
 cold dip chilled him for a second, and he 
 barely knew where he was. The next he rose 
 to the surface, with a mouthful of muddy 
 water, and his hair in his eyes — but his mind 
 cleared. The shock had driven away the 
 feverish excitement, the maddened excite- 
 ment of the moment previous ; he was cool in 
 body and mind at the same instant. He 
 stretched out his arm to seize the keel of the 
 skiff, which had turned bottom upwards; but 
 his reach was not quite long enough, and his 
 hand fell on the smooth side, which afforded 
 no hold. His hand slipped do^^^l it into the 
 water, and the skiff, sensitive to the least touch, 
 glided away out into the stream, and floated 
 off. Left oar had floated down the stream 
 
EESTLESS nUMAN HEARTS. / 
 
 long ago ; right oar, which had done the 
 mischief, was sticking out of the weeds, half 
 in and half out, about three yards off, aslant, 
 but between an impassable mass of weed. Noel 
 saw all this in a second, and struck out boldly, 
 and without a thought of fear, for the opposite 
 side of the river, which he could see was clear 
 of weeds in the bright moonlight. He struck 
 out, and the water bubbled around him, and 
 his arms passed through it. He could barely 
 believe his senses. He did not move. He 
 struck out again — the water bubbled and 
 gurgled in his ears, a wave dashed some into 
 his nose ; but he did not move. It flashed 
 through his mind in an instant that it was his 
 trousers which had prevented him from feeling 
 it. He knew what it was, he knew the sensa- 
 tion of old — ^the cold slimy, twining, snake-like 
 Thing that wound round the leg, and stuck to 
 it, and could not be shaken off. Only when 
 bathing naked you felt it ; with the trousers 
 on you got the effect, but not the sense of 
 feeling the slimy Thing. The effect was this 
 — that you struck out harder and harder, and 
 instead of moving forwards, your head bobbed 
 
8 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 down, and your mouth went under w^ater. 
 
 y 
 
 You kicked and kicked, and you could not 
 get rid of it; and the more you kicked, the 
 more it curled round you. Then there was a 
 sense of a great weight all round you — an op- 
 pressiveness ; you panted, and feebly cried for 
 help, and struck out again, and every stroke 
 weakened you. You tried to float ; but the 
 moment you ceased to strike out your head 
 sank under water, for your leg would not rise 
 to the surface, and it was impossible to get 
 the lungs in their proper position. The whole 
 thing flashed through his mind in an instant. 
 The weed had got hold of his leg. Unless he 
 could get that weed free, or unless some boat 
 picked him up, in ten minutes, ay, less than 
 that, he must infallibly drown, and no swmi- 
 mer's skill could save him. And Heloise ? The 
 drops of sweat stood on his brow as he thought 
 of her. All his love rose up in his heart strong 
 as death itself. 
 
 Remorse ? Of course I know all that ; he 
 ought to have beheld his o^^^l conduct — his 
 own attempt to carry her away with him — 
 with the deepest contrition, with penitence, 
 
RESTLESS HU:MAN HEARTS. 9 
 
 gasping for forgiveness, longing for life only 
 to receive her pardon and the pardon of 
 Heaven. He did nothing of the kind, being 
 a real man, who took his feelings from him- 
 self, and did not persuade himself into feeling 
 what books told him he ought. 
 
 Instead of remorse and penitence came a 
 remorse indeed, but of a very different kind. 
 A remorse that he had not continued with her 
 till he did do it, till he did succeed. Con- 
 tempt, hatred of himself for his miserable 
 impatience, his poor wretched feeble bursts of 
 passion — above all for running away from her. 
 He a man ! Heaven give him life again, if 
 only for a little while, till he could have her, 
 he must — he icould ! He tore at the weed — 
 he struggled — he kicked — and the more he 
 kicked the tighter the accursed Thing wound 
 itself around his limb, and clung to him, and 
 pulled him down. He shouted for assistance, 
 he cast his eyes Avildly up and down the river : 
 not a sign, not a sound. There was a great 
 black barge moored a hundred yards away, 
 laying like a hearse upon the water. The 
 idea struck him that possibly one of the barge- 
 
10 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 men might have remained on it to sleep under 
 a tarpaulin, as they often do. If he could only 
 wake him ! He shouted— he literally screamed, 
 his voice rose so shrill into the night air — 
 his breast panted. A wave dashed into his face, 
 and half choked him for an instant, and all 
 the while his arms had to keep cleaving the 
 water, or down he went over his mouth. De- 
 spite all his skill, great gulps of water Avould get 
 down his throat and turn him sick. Once he 
 glanced up at the calm round moon, and her 
 soft light fell full upon the agony of his face. 
 The memory of the last time he had seen the 
 full moon rushed into his mind — it was as he 
 stood under the oak-tree at Bourne Manor 
 watching the light in Heloise's window. He- 
 oise ! In a moment he had forgotten moon 
 and sky again, and was in a desperate struggle 
 for life. He felt that his strength was failing 
 him. The long hard row, the savageness of 
 the way he had pulled, spending double the 
 strength that was necessary, had almost ex- 
 hausted him before. Then the chill of the 
 water, and now this perpetual struggling and 
 shouting. The shouting, perhaps, more than 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 11 
 
 anything ; for what is most dreadful to swim- 
 mers is growing shortness of breath. "When 
 the lungs labour, the strength of the arm is of 
 no avail, the muscles refuse to fulfil their 
 office, the power to make an efibrt, the least 
 spurt, dies away. He grew awfully conscious 
 that he must husband his strength. It had 
 become an affair of moments now. He would 
 shout once more, and see if by one last despe- 
 rate hail he could wake the sleeping barge- 
 man in the hearse upon the water. He threw 
 himself as high as he could out of the water, 
 and sent forth a stentorian cry. Then he sank 
 back and listened, striking out with as little 
 splash as possible, his ears acute. Nothing. 
 All was still : no answer came over the water ; 
 nothing but a gentle puff of wind, which blew 
 against his forehead. He dared not shout 
 ao:ain, he felt so weak. How little can our 
 wisest decisions be accepted as the best ! How 
 true it was of the ancient Grecian who said 
 that, after all, our wisest attempts to discrimin- 
 ate between this course and another are no 
 better than as if we threw the dice, and guided 
 ourselves by the chance of the numbers ! Noel 
 
12 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 determined not to shout again, lest he should 
 exhaust his breath. Had he done so he would 
 have been heard ; for that last long hail had 
 penetrated the tarpaulin, and had gone through 
 the still thicker tympanum of the half-drunken 
 bargeman asleep upon the hearse. He rose 
 up on his knees, lifted one edge of the tar- 
 paulin, and sleepily peered out on the water, 
 and listened. There was no repetition. He 
 could see nothing, hear nothing, save the 
 wash of the tiny waves against his boat. He 
 yawned, cursed his folly, and laid down 
 again. 
 
 Noel's time was nearly up ; either he must 
 be saved, or must die. That he knew now: 
 the suspense was nearly over. 
 
 Then in the silence of the night, on the eve 
 of the great change, there came back to the 
 man all the instincts of his own savage nature 
 — all the instincts of the prairie, the desert, and 
 the sea ; all the instincts of the mind trained 
 to battle with Nature and to beat her by 
 superior cunning. If he could have only time 
 to think ! 
 
 There must be some way of beating the 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 13 
 
 weed, if he had only time to think. If he had 
 only spent the time in that he had uselessly 
 spent in struggling ! This weed : he tried to 
 consider its nature. It was long, it was 
 tough, it was like a piece of string. He could 
 easily break it with his hands if he could get 
 hold of it, but he could not drag it apart with 
 only water as a fulcrum. He slipped one 
 hand first and then the other down to try and 
 reach it ; he could not. Should he twist him- 
 self up, shut his mouth, hold his breath, 
 sinh^ and grasp it ? He might find it, he might 
 not. He mio;ht entangle his arms and even 
 his head in another ; then it would be all over. 
 Kick as he would he could not throw it off— it 
 rather grew tighter. How, then, had it got 
 round his leg — in what form? Clearly it was 
 twisted — it was round his leg in a spiral. 
 How to undo a spiral ? Why, of course, he 
 must untwist it — that was the secret. But 
 which way must he turn to do so ? Experi- 
 ment only could decide. He rolled over and 
 over in the water three times, turning with 
 the sun — then kicked and struck out. Evi- 
 dently he had twisted it tighter, for now he 
 
14 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 could feel it like a band round his leg. With- 
 out a second's delay he rolled round the other 
 way three times, and paused. It was still 
 there, but not so tight ; he had reverted to the 
 old state of things. He gave another turn, 
 and instead of kicking struck out with his 
 arms onl}^, letting his leg drag behind him. 
 He moved, he felt the accursed Thing slide 
 down his leg; it lingered at his foot, he kicked 
 with his other foot, and it was gone — he was 
 free ! He struck out all of a tremble — not 
 with joy but exhaustion — twice, thrice, four 
 times, which carried him well into the stream. 
 Then the sky whirled round, bubbles seemed 
 to burst into his ears ; he was afraid he should 
 faint. Mechanically he threw himself on his 
 back. He could float now. The relief was 
 intense. He forgot everything but the relief, 
 the sense of the removal of strain. He half 
 closed his eyes, and paddled with his hands. 
 He grew drowsy, even dreamy. He thought 
 he saw the moon over Bourne Manor-house, 
 and the great mansion rose towering over him 
 black and threatening. 
 
 Bump ! bump ! bump ! Drifting with the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 15 
 
 stream, his boots (tliey were very light 
 ones, but they were boots) had come bump 
 against the moored barge, not a foot from 
 the bargeman's uneasy head. The man did 
 not wear a crown, but his head lay uneasy 
 for all that, even on a coal-begrimed plank. 
 He had not been able to get to sleep again. 
 This bump startled him. He was up in an 
 instant ; he looked out, saw what he took to 
 be a corpse in the water, seized his boat- 
 hook, and thrust at it. This was a new danger 
 for half-unconscious ISToel, for a boat-hook is 
 in fact a spear, with a great fish-hook on one 
 side. At the first thrust the spear-head part 
 went just between his arm and his body, and 
 the rounded part of the hook pushed him 
 under water. At the second the spike nar- 
 rowly missed his neck ; but as the pole was 
 drawn back, the fish-hook part hitched in one 
 of his braces and held fast (he had his coat 
 ofi* for rowing, remember). Up the boatman 
 hauled him, till his head and shoulders were 
 brought out of water. 
 
 'D— n!' 
 
 The bargee half dropped this swearing 
 
16 RESTLESS HUHAN HEAETS. 
 
 corpse into tlie water again, and remained 
 staring at the horrid thing with great mouth 
 wide open. The braces had begun to half- 
 choke Noel. Then this dialogue took place 
 between the fisherman and the fish he had 
 hooked : 
 
 ^ Who's there?' 
 
 'FooL' 
 
 'Where didst th' come from?' 
 
 ' Help me in, ass.' 
 
 'Be'e alive?' 
 
 ' Sha'n't be long.' 
 
 ' Give us yer hand !' 
 
 ' Pull me nearer.' 
 
 ' Hold tight— there.' 
 
 Xoel had half scrambled and been half 
 dragged into the heavily-laden barge. He 
 asked for some brandy. Bargee had no brandy 
 — there was some beer in the can; couldn't 
 get it all down, or there Avouldn't have been 
 any of that. Noel oj^ened his mouth, and mo- 
 tioned : bargee lifted up the can, and poured 
 it in. Noel drank steadily on, shutting his 
 eyes. The strong liquor stole through his 
 body, warming his chilled frame. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 17 
 
 For a sovereign bargee rowed him ashore 
 in a ding}', took him to a small public, where 
 he got a suit of somebody else's clothes, ra- 
 ther grimy, but dry. Another sovereign to 
 bargee, and his name and address on a slip of 
 paper, and in an hour Xoel, by means of a 
 cab, reached his hotel. Strange to say he was 
 not tired now. The liquor, beer and brandy, 
 he had taken had strengthened him. On the 
 whole the bath had refreshed him now it was 
 over. He dressed again in another suit, and 
 went down to his club. It was midnight — 
 they were hard at cards. He watched the 
 play, for he could not go home and rest. His 
 mind was at work. It w^as Heloise, Heloise, 
 Heloise ! He must have her. Rage, passion, 
 impatience, should never interfere again. 
 Thus it was that he overheard a short conver- 
 sation. 
 
 ' Saw him last night. Shouldn't be sur- 
 prised to see him here any day.' 
 
 * Good brass to show himself.' 
 
 ' Pooh ! Louis is equal to — knave, and 
 odd^^trick, by Jove.' 
 
 ' And the other— Lady Knoyle ?' 
 
 VOL. in. c 
 
18 
 
 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 'Hasliad' (a whisper) — 'misdeal, by G— d!' 
 A light shot through Noel. His cheeks 
 
 glowed, his eye glittered. He left the club. 
 
 An idea had occurred to him. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Even Pierce, blind as such men are, might 
 have noticed something unusual in Heloise at 
 this period ; but he was much occupied with 
 the realisation of an old dream — what he 
 called his ' Cantonal System' — which he was 
 putting into operation on part of the estate he 
 had inherited. This necessitated a great many 
 days of absence, and often, when he returned, 
 he was tired, and not so sensitive to those 
 slio-ht variations in the domestic barometer 
 which are at once perceived by those who 
 have nothing to do. 
 
 Not that there was such a marked differ- 
 ence in Heloise after she fled from Noel out of 
 the boat ; but for the whole time— the remark 
 about Pierce applies to the weeks preceding 
 that event, as well as those which followed — 
 she was in a state of dumb terror for days 
 and days. The abyss upon the edge of which 
 
20 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 she had stood, and which had almost, almost 
 tempted her to throw herself over it, still 
 seemed to yawn close to her feet. She 
 dreaded Xoel's approach; she sat with the 
 door of the room partly open, and listened to 
 every sound. But he came not ! Days passed 
 — a week; no Noel. Timidly she ventured 
 down to the boat-house; there was the skiff 
 moored to the stage. He had returned with 
 it, then, but he had not come to the house. 
 It shot through her mind in an instant 
 he was angry, he was in a terrible pas- 
 sion, with her! Must it be owned that she 
 brooded over this thought; that it made her 
 miserable? She who had just escaped from 
 the ruin and disgrace into which the step 
 he had proposed must inevitably plunge her 
 now made herself wretched in the fear of his 
 being angry with her. If she could only see 
 him; if he would but come and speak with 
 the most distant politeness ; if only she could 
 see him ! She walked about the garden — she 
 moved restlessly about the place ; she went out 
 into the roads — into the lanes — into the well- 
 remembered places where she had walked with 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 21 
 
 him in those happy hours in the spring, find- 
 ing the flowers for Pierce's garden — in a 
 vague hope of meeting him. She was not 
 afraid of meetino- him now as she had been 
 after the first time she rejected his attempt. 
 Was it that she felt her own power to reject 
 him— to repel him ? Was it that she forgave 
 him, believing in the wildness, the madden- 
 ing depth of his love for her which drove him 
 to these courses; that she saw his love — his 
 former passion — and in her heart of hearts 
 clung to him more and more for it, though it 
 had given her such horror and such pain ? 
 
 The idea of fear, of hidins^ from him, the 
 dread of violence, never occurred to her now; 
 her one thought was to see him. This first 
 week lengthened on, and became ten days ; 
 then she began to blame herself, to call her- 
 self cruel, unkind. He loved her beyond all 
 words, and she had tied from him rudely, ab- 
 ruptly. She could have sat still, and told him 
 that she could not do that one thing. Instead 
 of which she had rushed away, as if he had 
 been the pestilence, rudely. She had reject- 
 ed his love, thrown it away. He was angry ; 
 
22 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 she should see him, perhaps, no more. And 
 then this foolish girl began to weep. Watching 
 and waiting for him thus, too much absorbed 
 in her own feelings to note anything very 
 much, it still, in time, grew upon Heloise that 
 she was watched in return. She grew to have 
 an ill-defined idea — a sense that some one was 
 following her from field to field; that a pair 
 of eyes peered at her from behind the hedges; 
 that through the bars of distant gates a form 
 observed her. She felt that it was not Noel. 
 It could be no one else^ — it must be fancy, 
 but it was a fancy she could not shake ofi"'. 
 It grew on her till she, fearless all her life, be- 
 came timid, and shunned the footpaths and 
 the fields, choosing only the broad and open 
 roads, and these in sight of Bourne Manor; 
 or, at furthest, not beyond view of the old 
 sign of the Sun Inn, beneath the tall chestnut- 
 tree. The superstition folded itself round her 
 like a snake, gradually narrowing, tiU she hesi- 
 tated to pass beyond the garden — till she even 
 disliked to look forth from the window. 
 
 ' It seemed as if there was a presence — a 
 sense of some one in the neisfhbourhood — that 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 23 
 
 came wpon the very air, and was most oppres- 
 sive in the evening, so that she came to pass 
 her time within the house again, waiting wea- 
 rily for Noel, listening to the footstej^s, to the 
 opening of the door, listening to the voices. 
 
 But he came not. Not a word — not a 
 sound — not a glimpse of him. The poor 
 foolish heart yearned for him, and hoped 
 against hope. 
 
 'He is so passionate,' she said to herself, 
 ' he is offended ; he thinks I despise him, I do 
 not value him ! He will not come — he will not 
 come !' 
 
 Pierce too remarked Noel's absence. At 
 last he sent a servant over to Knoylelands to 
 inquire after Noel's health, fearing that he 
 was ill. The answer was that he had gone to 
 London. This confirmed all Heloise's worst 
 fears — he had left her, he would not return ! 
 
 She had worked herself up into a low 
 fever like this. There was a look of dejection 
 in the eyes, dark circles under each eyelid, a 
 red spot on each cheek. ' Anything but that/ 
 she kept repeating to herself, 'anything but 
 that ! Noel, Noel, I will do anything but 
 
24 ' KESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 that !' Once, and once only, she thought it was 
 cruel of him ; then she turned against herself^ 
 and called herself hard-hearted, cold, indiffer- 
 ent. What was her love to his? Hers was 
 poor, weak, thin. There was no vigour in it 
 — no fierce hot passion, no lava-flow. His 
 was the love. Her cheeks burnt as she thought 
 of it. A true woman, she could not help the 
 natural pleasure of feeling that this love was 
 for her. She grew more and more miserable. 
 All this time Noel was ' storming' away in 
 London, telling^ himself that he hated her, 
 and that she did not love him one jot. Even 
 when a note came from Georgie saying that 
 she was coming do^^m to see her for a week — 
 just a week— all by herself, it failed to rouse 
 Heloise. For months she had looked forward- 
 to a promised visit from her friend with the- 
 warmest anticipation ; now it was only a few 
 days distant she waited without impatience, 
 cool, uninterested. When the day came at 
 last, she took the pony-carriage, and drove to 
 meet her at the railway station. She drove 
 herself, and, intent on her ponies (she had a 
 pair), did not notice the passengers on the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 25 
 
 road. She had gone a mile from Bourne 
 Manor, when a voice cried ^ Stop !' In a mo- 
 ment all her old dread of being Avatched re- 
 turned, notwithstanding the presence of the man 
 beside her. Involuntarily she cut at the ponies^ 
 and then just as involuntarily dropped the 
 reins, for there came on the wind ' Heloise !' 
 
 It was Xoel ! The man caught the reins 
 and stopped the ponies. She held out her 
 hand. Had he been less occupied, he must 
 have been gratified with the warm welcome in 
 her eyes. 
 
 'You frightened me so.' 
 ' Come down,' said Xoel, not heeding the 
 remark. ' I have news for you.' 
 
 His white face, pale from suppressed pas- 
 sion, struck her in an instant; as it were, the 
 pallor was under the brown of his skin. Her 
 first thought was Pierce ; no, he was safe at 
 home. 
 
 ' Come down,' said Xoel again, seizing her 
 hand ; ' I know Georgie is at the station, tell 
 the man to drive on and meet her. I saw her 
 — we came down by the same train unwit- 
 tinglv,' he added in a lower voice, as Heloise 
 
26 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 stepped out of the carriage. ' I slipped aAvay 
 unseen. I want one moment with you — one 
 moment before I leave you for ever.' 
 
 Her heart beat; the blood rushed into her 
 .temples. The driver went on with the ponies. 
 Noel led her unresistingly out of the road 
 into a field. There was a stile, and beside it a 
 pool, and a small osier copse and tall rustling- 
 reeds. Heloise, trembling with excitement, 
 unable to speak or to look at him, leant against 
 the trunk of a willow. For a moment he was 
 silent. His breath came in short pants. 
 
 ' Heloise darling,' said Xoel, laying one 
 hand on her shoulder. 
 
 Her eyes met his : there was such a look 
 of the deepest devotion, the gentlest love in 
 them, that might have melted the heart of a 
 panther. But man in his passion, how can 
 he be compared to a panther? The brute 
 suiFers from the comparison. That look drove 
 the blood tingling through all his frame. He 
 gazed down at her — his statue was much 
 greater than hers; and the colour came and 
 went in the strong man's cheek. He paused, 
 he hesitated, even now that his hour was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. " 27 
 
 come. The very look of devotion — this un- 
 selfish unquestioning love, that did not upbraid 
 him, but forgave, forgot, and loved on — this 
 look told him in an instant that the day was his. 
 And yet he lingered — he paused. The words 
 he had come so many miles by express train to 
 say would not leave his lips. His gaze fastened 
 upon her ; her head drooped. He passed his 
 arm round her shoulder and drew her to him, 
 and again, yes, once again, a long, long kiss. 
 
 ' Ha, ha, ha ! a la Les Huguenots P cried a 
 metallic voice. 
 
 They started asunder as if the electric bolt 
 had fallen. 
 
 ' Tie your handkerchief round his arm, 
 ma chh^e. How do, sir?' This to Noel, with 
 a mocking bow. 
 
 Louis, Lord Fontenoy, stood before them. 
 Heloise saw him and shuddered, and shrank 
 away ; not nearer Noel, but away from 
 Louis — away from her lawful husband, whom 
 she had sworn to honour and obey. But even 
 above her horror of him arose a new feeling — 
 an inexplicable curiosity, a strange dread and 
 yet desire to know what was that behind him. 
 
28 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 Was it a baboon trained to follow its master, 
 and to peer over his shoulders ? Was it — there 
 flashed through her mind ghostly tales of the 
 nursery, used to frighten children from star- 
 ing at themselves in the glass, lest they 
 should see the devil looking over their 
 shoulders. Behind Louis was a man, a tall 
 thin shabby man, grinning. There was no- 
 thing peculiar in the man except his eyes. 
 He peered over Louis's shoulder. He peered 
 on one side of hun, always keeping in the 
 rear. This was the presence that she had 
 dreaded and instinctively shrunk from. 
 
 ' 0, don't let me interrupt you,' said 
 Louis, bowing again. * Beg pardon ; really 
 quite distressed;' and he made a motion as 
 if about to pass on, though it did not for a 
 moment deceive either of them. 
 
 ' Quite an accident, I assure you ; nothing 
 further from design. Was it, Randal — eh, 
 mon cher Randal? This is my shadow, you 
 see. Monsieur Randal and I have been — well, 
 well, on the qui vive, dodging madam here, as 
 they say ; but we didn't wish to be seen— 0, 
 dear no. We thought you had gone on further. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 29 
 
 to a quiet spot not so near the road ; so we 
 came through the stile abruptly — a great mis- 
 take. Beg your pardon, sir ; beg your pardon, 
 ma'am. Randal, we had better move on — hem !' 
 
 Shame, horror, distress, poured upon poor 
 Heloise. How she stood she knew not ; her 
 knees faltered, her frame trembled. Her face 
 grew pale as death. Her hands tAvisted in and 
 out each other nervously. Her mouth worked 
 piteously. She could 'not move. She was 
 fascinated. The presence of Louis fastened 
 her to the spot. And Xoel? For one brief 
 moment in him, too, shame was triumphant. 
 He shrank back before the man who, bad as 
 he was, was the Husband. So great a power 
 has moral right, it drives back even the strong- 
 man, wild with stronger passions, but only for 
 a moment. In an instant rage rose in his 
 heart ; he raised his hand, that hand which 
 could have smitten the little wretch — Louis 
 was of a small stature — into dust, as it seemed, 
 with a blow. He stepped forward. 
 
 ' By what right — ' he began. Had Louis 
 wavered he would have struck him ; but the 
 Husband stood still and sneered. Sneered in 
 
30 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the strong man's face. And Heloise shuddered, 
 and saw the Eye peering over his shoulder. 
 That horrible eye, which quivered and flashed 
 and twinkled, and winked and flashed ao:ain: 
 the watching eye, the evil eye. 
 
 ' Whom God hath joined, let no man put 
 asunder,' said Louis. ' But that's an old- 
 world fable, of course.' 
 
 The strong man's arm fell. Louis sneered 
 again, and advanced a step nearer Heloise. 
 
 'One kiss, just for old acquaintance' sake, 
 dear,' said he. 
 
 Heloise stepped backward, and stretched 
 out her hands as if to keep him away. 
 
 ' Ah, well,' said Louis , ^ let bygones be 
 bygones. Here, kiss my wife ; and he seized 
 poor unresisting Heloise and pushed her to- 
 wards Noel. ' I don't mind it — really I rather 
 like it; now do.'' 
 
 You might have heard the teeth grind in 
 Noel's mouth. 
 
 ' You cold-blooded scoundrel, you villain, 
 ruffian !' he hissed. ' You — you left with your 
 v/ife's sister, and she has had — an— an— ' 
 
 Even in that hour of rage, of fiercest con- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 31 
 
 flict of emotion, the love tliat was in him made 
 him hesitate out of delicacy for Heloise. What 
 he could whisper he could not say out loud 
 before these men. 
 
 ' Has— had — an — illegitimate — child,' con- 
 tinued Louis, pronouncing each word slowly. 
 
 ' Is this true ?' cried Heloise, suddenly 
 starting forward, and seizing Louis by the 
 arm ; she literally hung on his lips, her very 
 soul seemed to listen to the answer. 
 
 ' It is true, my lady ; isn't it, Randal ?' said 
 Louis jauntily. 
 
 ' Quite true,' said Randal. 
 
 Heloise turned to Xoel, and looked ap- 
 pealingly at him. This was as much as to say, 
 ' Save me ! dispel this horrible dream ! say it is 
 untrue !' Xoel's face turned away from her. 
 He had come all this way to tell her this; 
 now that she knew it his tongue refused its 
 office. But she understood him. Her form, 
 which a moment before was limp, in an instant 
 grew rigid. She drew herself up to her full 
 height, and said calmly : ' Then God have- 
 mercy on my soul !' 
 
 ' Devil of devils !' swore Noel in a frenzy 
 
32 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 of rage. Those simple words, that tone, he 
 grasped the meaning in a moment, because he 
 had anticipated it — she could resist him no 
 longer. He threw out his hand as he would 
 have thrown a stone. Louis, quick as thought, 
 sprang backwards; but, quick as he was, he 
 did not entirely escape it. He rolled crash 
 through osiers and reeds, with a dull thud on 
 the earth, felled as he had felled Heloise a 
 year ago. Randal fled like the wind. Xoel, 
 bestowing no more thought on Louis than on 
 so much dead carrion, turned to Heloise. 
 
 'I must go,' she said slowly. 
 
 He placed her arm in his, and drew her 
 away across the fields towards the station. As 
 he walked, he begged her to be calm — not to 
 faint, not to weep. She answered him never a 
 word, but she did neither. She walked steadily, 
 swiftly, holding herself upright, looking neither 
 to the left nor to the right. 
 
 This blow, for the time at least, had turned 
 her to very stone. It tore away the veil, the 
 gauzy film, which time and distance had thrown 
 over Louis's desertion. The true significance of 
 his elopement with Carlotta had now come 
 
EESTLESS UUMAX HEARTS. 33^.. 
 
 upon her with its full force, its overwhelming 
 horror and repulsion. Now it fell on her like 
 a thunder-bolt. It paralysed her. Her one 
 thought was to go — to get away. It would 
 be a lie to say that she did not know she Avas 
 going with Noel— she did ; but at that moment 
 the thought of the guilt of the act was not 
 present to her. Her one impulse was to get 
 away — to fly with and to whom but Noel? 
 She hurried along; he asked her not to do so, 
 she would overheat herself, strain herself. 
 She did not heed him. On, on, over the green 
 meadows, smelling with the new-mown hay, 
 fresh wdth the fragrance of a thousand flowers. 
 The well-remembered stiles, the hedges covered 
 wdth the dear dog-roses, her favourite flowers 
 — all passed as in a dream. The road again^ 
 now, then the station and the waiting-room; 
 and still she had seen nothing, felt nothing, 
 but the one irresistible impulse to escape with 
 Noel. She sat down on the velvet-covered 
 sofa in the waiting-room. Noel inquired for 
 the next train to London. It was due in ten 
 minutes. He got the tickets and came and 
 stood by Heloise, but said nothing. 
 
 VOL. III. D 
 
34 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Two, three, four, -^ve minutes. She was 
 growing impatient beyond all control. He 
 left her and went out on the platform. Anxi- 
 ous as he was not to be noticed, not to be 
 seen by any stray acquaintance, he walked up 
 and down on the open platform, totally un- 
 able to remain still. He glanced at the books 
 on the stall — he turned over the Graphic — 
 glanced in through the window at Heloise, 
 and walked again up and down to and fro. 
 He stood on the edge of the platform, and 
 gazed down the long, long lines of rail, then up 
 and down once more, and back to Heloise, to 
 stand by her a few moments — then out again. 
 A sharp ring on a bell — a perceptible bustle 
 — the train is in sight. Heloise walks out be- 
 side him calmly, and stands on the platform, 
 pale, but apparently emotionless. 
 
 They see the great, engine coming nearer 
 and nearer, growing larger and larger — ^they 
 see it shake and vibrate, they hear the shriek 
 of the brake as it is screwed down hard and 
 fast. A crowd comes out and jostles them; 
 and in a moment there shoots through He- 
 loise's mind the memory of a long-past day — 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 35 
 
 that afternoon when she stood here arm-in- 
 arm with her husband, a newly-made bride, 
 blushing, hiding her face, glad to escape into 
 the shelter of the carriage. And now ? An- 
 other man stands beside her, and he is lying 
 still, motionless— perhaps maimed— among the 
 osiers and the reeds. But she stands erect 
 and fails not, for the brutal boast, the hor- 
 rible disclosure, is still ringing in her ears. 
 The train draws up, she steps in, seats her- 
 self. To Noel it seems an age, to her a mo- 
 ment only, and the bell rings, the whistle 
 sounds, and they are on their way. On their 
 way to what? She does not ask herself; she 
 is frozen. And Noel? 
 
 When we have long striven for a thing, 
 worked for it, studied and schemed for it ; 
 when we have waited and dreamt of it, and 
 time, slow time has passed away, and still it 
 is afar ; then, when at last it comes, and we 
 grasp it, the mind refuses to realise it. How 
 easy for Heloise to step into this carriage, 
 what a simple act! yet what a world of 
 thought, of emotion, of passion, and misery, 
 that little act contained in itself! He hardly 
 
36 
 
 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 knew it yet — hardly recognised the stern fact 
 that she was sitting by him — Ms Heloise — 
 speeding away with him into the dark and 
 unknown future as fast as steam could carry 
 them. 
 

 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Somehow Noel was not altogether sorry that 
 they had not got the compartment entirely 
 to themselves. He did not wish to pause, 
 to draw back. He felt not a moment's hesita- 
 tion ; but he knew instinctively that it was 
 better, for a little while at least, that Heloise 
 should not be alone with him. She was so 
 white, so cold-looking, so utterly absorbed in 
 herself, that there could have been no plea- 
 sure, no trembling love, no delicious kiss. 
 These people in the carriage with them acted 
 as a kind of tonic upon her. She was obliged 
 to conceal her bitterness — obliged to try and 
 appear to be in a state of mind conforming to 
 the usages of society. Noel thought that this 
 would help her to get over the shock of the 
 revelation which had been made to her, and 
 to forget in some measure the significance of 
 the step she had taken. These commonplace 
 
38 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 surrounding's — these strano;ers — would in 
 some slight measure prevent her from dwell- 
 ing upon the violent course they were pur- 
 suing. 
 
 So the train rushed on, and they did not 
 even speak to each other, and the silence of 
 the compartment was only broken by the 
 rustling of newspapers or the noise of the 
 paper-knife tearing its way through the leaves 
 of a book. Station after station, and still no 
 word. Noel in truth knew not what to say 
 to her. He felt that her mind must be in 
 a most critical state, and he dreaded lest he 
 should strike a wrong chord, and even now 
 she should escape from him; for there were 
 plenty of opportunities. She had but to leave 
 the carriage at either of the platforms they 
 stopped at; she had only to call the guard, 
 and no force he could employ would be of 
 any use. Even as it was, when they reached 
 London, she might turn from him with a sud- 
 den horror, as she had done twice before. 
 He racked his brain to find some means of 
 coercing her : he would get her into a cab 
 quick, that was certain, and that was the only 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 39 
 
 thing he could think of. He would have 
 given worlds to know what she was thinking 
 of, what unconscious resolves were growing 
 up out of her reflections. Heloise did not 
 think; she was still; her brow was pale — 
 just the faintest indication of a line on it, as 
 of pain ; her eyes gazed far away with an ab- 
 stracted look; there was every outward sign 
 of thought, but she did not think. One great 
 fact stood before her, one fearful wrong, one 
 miserable sinful deed, but which did not 
 strike her then so much as a sin, but as an 
 inexpiable wrong done to her, justifying any 
 course on her part. This was why she had 
 called the God of heaven to have mercy upon 
 her soul. When Louis unblushingly avowed 
 the truth, she felt that all bonds were broken; 
 henceforth she must go where Xoel chose to 
 lead ; she had no power of resistance. She 
 would not rush from him now — she had no 
 incentive to do so. The wrong and the right, 
 the evil and the good, had all got so inex- 
 tricably mixed up with each other, there 
 was no choice. 
 
 And shall it be owned — it was human 
 
40 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 nature, she could not help it — there was a 
 bitter resentment, a fierce hatred growing up 
 in her heart, the germ of which had been 
 sown, and had budded at the moment the 
 truth came out ? She had been too miserable 
 and too astonished when Carlotta left with 
 Louis to hate her. Perhaps she despised her 
 also too much for that. She did not think 
 of Carlotta then. You will remember that 
 she had been ill, and had been brutally ill- 
 treated by Louis. They were at that time 
 mere shadows, having no tangible existence. 
 But now — Heloise, you see, had had no oiF- 
 spring — the hatred that springs from a fierce 
 and instinctive jealousy was raging in her 
 heart. This was Carlotta's work. This is the 
 terrible result of all evil work — the beginner 
 of it knows not where it will end. It spreads 
 and spreads, like waves, each succeeding the 
 other, till it passes out of sight. Not that 
 Carlotta would have cared. Could she have 
 seen the swelling heart in this poor girl's 
 bosom, it would have filled her with fiendish 
 delight — it was a torture she had not reckoned 
 upon dealing out to her half-sister. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 41 
 
 Heloise did not think; her mind was full of 
 one vision, her heart full of one passion. The 
 vision was the avowal of Louis ; the passion 
 was this fierce ineradicable jealousy. For 
 Noel her feelings at that hour were naught; 
 her love slumbered. It was as strong as ever 
 underneath, but it flowed like a warm spring 
 under a glacier. It was sheeted over, weighted 
 down with an icy coldness which it could not 
 move awav in an hour, but throusrh which it 
 must inevitably eat its course in process of 
 time. To Xoel she had but one feeling — a 
 passive one — that he must lead her wherever 
 he chose. She must follow him as a child 
 follows its parent; she had no thought of the 
 consequences; she did not, indeed, at that 
 time recognise what they must be. Her great 
 impulse was to go, and Noel was her guide. 
 If he had known this, he would not have 
 racked his brains for means to detain her, 
 should any turn of her mind carry her away 
 from him again. 
 
 In time — after an hour or so of this dull 
 travelling — it did slowly dawn upon him in 
 a degree. He watched her pallid face ; he 
 
42 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 saw the line of pain in the otherwise smooth 
 forehead; he saw the eyes so set in a deep 
 and abiding agony. Then his gaze fell upon 
 her lips — the lips that had clung to his so 
 warmly and so full of love — that he had seen 
 only a little while ago working so piteously. 
 He saw the scar on the lower one : it did not 
 move him to indignation now. She seemed 
 so like a child, tossed hither and thither be- 
 tween the passions of men. A tender pity 
 welled up in his heart, all hardened with 
 passion as it was. They had used her so 
 ill — his sweet Heloise ! What had she done, 
 to be injured thus ? A pure and loving heart, 
 an innocent fragile creature, born to dwell in 
 the sunshine only, what had been her history? 
 They had sinned against her deeply. A pang 
 of genuine remorse shot through him as he 
 remembered that he had done his best — he 
 who loved her so dearly — to add to the un- 
 deserved misery which had been showered 
 upon her. He had persecuted her with his 
 evil love; he had pushed her on to the j^ath 
 she Avas now pursuing. The man's mind 
 trembled in the balance. He looked at her, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 43 
 
 and he pitied her. He looked away from her, 
 and the hot fierce love in his heart rose up 
 and revolted. Should he let her go? He 
 was half persuaded to do so. And then his 
 heart hardened again. Now that he had 
 got her to a great extent in his power — at 
 all events, unless he gave up his attempt, and 
 returned with her, she had inextricably com- 
 promised herself — now that the long-chased 
 creature was caged at last, his soul smote 
 him in secret. He worked himself into a 
 fever, trying to decide. What should he do ? 
 Should he take her back, confess to Pierce, 
 and beg the old man's forgiveness, saying that 
 it w^as his and his fault only — that Heloise 
 was innocent and pure, a mere gossamer 
 blown about by the evil ways of men ? It 
 would be a miserable confession to make — 
 for him, who had shared the old man's noble 
 hospitality, all unsuspecting the corruption his 
 guest was introducing into his most cherished 
 treasures. The shame of the very thought 
 of it brought the red glow into the brown 
 skin of his cheeks. But he conquered it ; he 
 would face that ; he was not afraid even of 
 
44 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 disgrace ; if his mind was firmly set on it, he 
 would face that. 
 
 But could he give her up ? Let him ask 
 himself fairly. After all the trouble and the 
 toil — the long, long months of love and rest- 
 lessness — the waiting — ah, that was worst! 
 — the waiting? He remembered the slow 
 hours — the days that would not pass — the 
 long-wished-for moment of bliss, which never, 
 never came. He remembered the manner 
 of his approach; he recalled the scene in the 
 shady nook, and that other on the island on 
 the river — how, just as he had held her in 
 his very grasp, strained to his heart, she slipped 
 from him like a shadow. And his heart 
 hardened again. 
 
 So the struggle went on ; his love fought 
 against his better nature; and the ultimate 
 result was a truce between them. He de- 
 termined that if Heloise showed the least 
 desire to return — if she showed the least re- 
 luctance to accompany him — he would not 
 oppose her. He would do all in his power to 
 facilitate her return — even to kneeling on the 
 ground at Pierce's feet. He would watch her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 45 
 
 face, her words, and the tone of her voice. 
 He would be guided by her wishes. 
 
 fatal sophistry — miserable self-deceit ! 
 It was thy duty, Noel, to have led her, and 
 not to be led by her; thy duty to save her 
 from the evil of thine own ways. 
 
 This was London. The long, long plat- 
 form ; the crowds of eager faces waiting for 
 friends lit up by the innumerable gaslights, 
 for it was evening now ; the lines on lines of 
 cabs; the porters holding on by the door- 
 handles, and running beside the train. They 
 had reached it without a word on either side. 
 Xoel had not spoken. Heloise had not ut- 
 tered a syllable. She followed him on to the 
 platform mechanically. He paused then an 
 instant, beset with porters asking if he had 
 luggage — did he want a cab. He looked at 
 Heloise. She was standing close beside him, 
 apparently looking at the cab line. She 
 made no sign. He took this for an answer 
 in the affirmative — that she wished to o^o on. 
 He ordered a cab: he handed her in and 
 gave directions for the Strand. He chose an 
 hotel there because he was afraid that if he 
 
46 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 went to one in the West-end he might meet 
 an acquaintance, or even some one who knew 
 Heloise. He wished to pass on to the Conti- 
 nent, but it Yv^as too late that night, the tidal 
 train had gone. They must wait till morn- 
 ing. The cab rattled out of the station into 
 the streets. His hand stole over her lap and 
 took hers. It was cold, it did not return 
 the pressure. But he could feel that she 
 was shivering — shivering that warm summer 
 night. He put his arm round her and drew 
 her nearer to him. She did not resist. She 
 leant against him wearily. He whispered her 
 name tenderly. She said ' Yes,' and no more. 
 He remained silent, only pressing her gently 
 at times near to him. More rattle and shake ; 
 more street; more noise and gaslight. He 
 could not hold her to him now in this glare, 
 with these armies of people on the pavement. 
 The cab stopped — there was a great door- 
 way. A boy in buttons ran out and threw the 
 cab-door open; a waiter came slowly down 
 the steps. Noel got out, and held out his 
 hand. She followed him unhesitatingly. He 
 paused upon the pavement in front of the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 47 
 
 hotel. She paused too. The boy in buttons 
 stared at them. The waiter stared. The 
 cabman stopped in the act of descending 
 from his box. Tliere was something they 
 could not understand. Noel looked at her. 
 She was standing near him, her face turned 
 away, her gaze down the narrow street. The 
 wind up from the river blew her hair and 
 ruffled it; the flickering gaslight played upon 
 her pallid countenance. There was no sign 
 of reluctance. He took it for consent. But 
 he never asked her — he stopped short of that. 
 It would have been the same if he had; but 
 he ought to have done so. He stepped up 
 the hotel steps. She followed him like a 
 dog down the passage, she still behind him. 
 There was a lady behind a species of bar here 
 (not for the sale of liquors — an office in fact), 
 who watched their approach pen in hand. 
 
 ' Two bedrooms and a sitting-room — my 
 sister,' whispered Noel. He had to write his 
 name and her name. He made it Browne 
 on the spot, and wrote it clearly and dis- 
 tinctly. These little details were not the 
 things to deter Noel. 
 
48 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ' Any luggage, sir?' said the waiter behind 
 him, rather suspiciously. 
 
 Mt is at the station — we go on to the Con- 
 tinent by first train,' said Noel. 
 
 They showed him the drawing-room. He 
 walked to the window: Heloise sat down 
 w^earily. 
 
 ' Bring some wine,' said Noel. 
 
 He approached her and laid his hand on 
 her forehead. Her head fell forward on his 
 hand, leaning heavily. 
 
 ' You are very tired,' said Noel, as the 
 waiter entered with the Avine. ' You must 
 have a glass of port.' 
 
 He poured it out ; she drank it as he 
 bade her to. Then her head sank on his 
 hand again. He drew it on to his shoulder, 
 and there it lay as if dead. He stroked her 
 hair down as he had done in the old days in 
 the shady nook. He whispered to her of 
 his love : he dwelt upon her name, giving 
 it that tone which love alone can give. She 
 did not reply, but he fancied she came a little 
 closer to him. Then his voice fell and he 
 was silent too. 
 
EESTLESS HUMA^J" HEAETS. 49 
 
 Up through the open windows came a 
 low dull hum — the hum of the living multi- 
 tudes still moving in the streets. The shriek 
 of the railway engine echoed now and again; 
 the curtains of the windows moved to and 
 fro with the current of air from without. 
 Noel glanced round the room — it was large 
 and lofty. The pictures on the walls, dimly 
 seen by the gaslight, frowned down upon 
 them. Out through the windows he could 
 see one faint star. Deeply as he loved, the 
 situation became painful after a time. He 
 whispered to her to retire — it was late. He 
 pointed to the door of her room, which opened 
 on the drawing-room. 
 
 ' That is mine,' he said, pointing to an- 
 other door on the opposite side. 
 
 She got up and walked across, away from 
 him. 
 
 'Heloise!' 
 
 She paused, and looked round. 
 
 ' Will you not say good-night to me ?' He 
 came nearer. 
 
 ' Good-night,' she said, quite calmly. 
 
 He seized her by the shoulders; he im- 
 
 YOL. III. E 
 
50 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 printed a kiss on her lips. They did not 
 return it. 
 
 * Go/ he said, almost hoarsely. 
 
 She went. The door closed behind her. 
 He was alone. He went into his own bed- 
 room and sat down. He was almost angry 
 with her. She was so cold, so unloving, so 
 utterly devoid of all feeling. It did not seem 
 like the Heloise he had loved. After he had 
 wound himself up too, to give way to her if 
 she wished to return. Resentment struggled 
 hard to find a complaint against her. He 
 paced up and down the room. A deep frow^n 
 grew on his face. He began almost to think 
 that he had made a great mistake. He had 
 applied violence to a delicate flower, and 
 even as he grasped it in his hand the flower 
 withered, lost its perfume, and its beauty 
 ceased to please him. Did she cease to please 
 him — was his love already dead? And the 
 first evening — his anger turned upon himself. 
 He was weak — he could not wait : it was his 
 own fault. She was tired, overwrought, ex- 
 hausted : in the morning she would be better. 
 He had been cruel to her — he regretted that 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 51 
 
 cold harsh ' Go,' as if she had been his slave. 
 He would go back, knock at her door and 
 beg forgiveness. No, he had better not; she 
 would be frightened. He dared not intrude 
 upon her privacy. But he would be very 
 kind and gentle to her on the morrow. The 
 morrow he must arrange about their journey. 
 He took from his pocket a ' Bradshaw' he 
 had purchased, and began to study it. 
 
 Mechanically Heloise began to undress. 
 Her shoulders were bare now — their beautiful, 
 glossy, sheeny skin, white as snow — were bare, 
 and her long dark hair flowed down upon 
 them in all its loveliness. She was about to 
 brush it, and then she discovered she had no 
 brush. She glanced round the room. Then 
 her position rushed on her with full force. 
 This simple want of a brush brought it before 
 her mind vividly; what all the railway jour- 
 ney, the cab, the waiters, had failed to do. 
 Then she was with Noel ; now she was alone. 
 She rose, and walked involuntarily round 
 the room. When she entered it, she had 
 stepped across it as boldly as if it had been 
 her own at Bourne Manor; now she had 
 
52 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 realised the change her step was s1ot\^, hesi- 
 tathig. She walked as if she had no right to 
 be there. She glanced at the pictures— out 
 at the windoAV. It was a lovely night. The 
 river was before her, a great broad sheet of 
 glistening water. The moon sent a long path 
 of trembling light across it. Dark boats shot 
 hither and thither. A sailing barge stole out 
 of the shadow into the moonbeams ; a steam- 
 tug went by. To the right there was the clock 
 tower of Westminster Abbey. A loud whistle, 
 and a rattle that made her start, and a train 
 went noisily across an iron bridge. It was 
 London. She turned away, and went back 
 to the glass. You see, the sense of guilt had 
 not entered into her yet ; it was the strange- 
 ness, the novelty of the position that affected 
 her. She tried to think. She felt thirsty 
 and parched. She walked across to the wash- 
 ing-stand, taking with her the candle. She 
 put the candle on the stand, and poured out 
 a glass of water. She had her handkerchief 
 in her hand. There was a little noise just 
 then— some one moved in the next room. In 
 an instant she remembered Noel was there, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAX HEAllTS. Oo 
 
 and a sense of delicacy overcame her — a faint 
 colour came into her face— she involuntarily 
 raised her hands to conceal her neck, and turn- 
 ing to seize her shawl, dropped the handker- 
 chief. One edge of the handkerchief, as it flut- 
 tered down, touched the candle and burst into 
 flames. The smell alarmed her ; she turned 
 and saw the handkerchief in a blaze upon the 
 floor. It burnt the carpet and smelt horridly. 
 Now there w^ere several courses she could 
 have pursued with equal safety. She could 
 have calmly watched the handkerchief burn 
 itself out; the thick carpet would not have 
 caught, it would only have smouldered a 
 minute or two. The handkerchief would have 
 been ashes in a minute. She could have let it 
 alone with perfect safety. But no mortal can 
 let the thing of which it is afraid alone. Or 
 she could have flung the shawl over it, and 
 stifled it instantly. Or she could have emptied 
 the water-jug on it, and put it out with ease. 
 It is simple enough for us at this distance of 
 time, and sitting at our ease, to devise plenty 
 of means by which so trifling an accident could 
 have been met and overcome. Nothing 
 
54 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 maddens one so much as to liear people com- 
 menting on these things : ' 0, if she had done 
 so and so !' Just so, if she had ; — forgetting that 
 in her place, ten chances to one, the speaker 
 would have equally lost presence of mind. 
 
 Heloise, dreadfully frightened, did not al- 
 together lose her presence of mind. She saw 
 in an instant two resources — the water-jug, 
 or to stamp it out. Her mind was rather in 
 favour of the water -jug — water is an instinc- 
 tive remedy against fire — but as she stepped 
 forward to get it, her foot seemed to almost 
 involuntarily raise itself and stamp on the 
 handkerchief It was her very terror that 
 thus made her rush at her enemy. Her fiery 
 enemy lying there on the floor wished for 
 nothing better. The moment her foot 
 stamped on it, the sharp tongue of flame leapt 
 up like an adder, and seized hold of her light 
 muslin dress. She had the skirt on still. 
 The light muslin dress shot up to her waist, 
 circled her with flame in an instant. Instinc- 
 tively she put her hands down to push it away, 
 and they were burnt, and the sharp pain 
 pricked her. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 55 
 
 A terrible scream rang through the room, 
 out into the passage, through the corridors, 
 over the whole hotel they heard it. Another 
 and another. 
 
 The ^ Bradshaw' fell from Noel's hands. He 
 did not know where the scream came from; 
 but it seemed near, and his heart in an instant 
 was with Heloise. He rushed across the draw- 
 ing-room. Fortunately Heloise did not prac- 
 tise that sheerest folly of locking her door — he 
 opened it ; a fearful curse burst from his lips. 
 
 She was flying round the room, screaming 
 piteously and horribly ; her white arms ex- 
 tended, her dark hair floating behind her — to 
 her waist a mass of fire ; no higher, thank God ; 
 he saw that even in that instant. The stays 
 did so much good, with all their evil, and the 
 body of her dress was ofl", remember. He met 
 her as she came round. In this awful moment 
 the man's coolness came to him readily, the 
 coolness acquired in a thousand dangers. He 
 met her ; he did not attempt to seize her — to 
 do so would have burnt his hands, and made 
 him powerless. He struck her full in the 
 chest, not heavily, but a smart blow. She 
 
56 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 fell instantly. Then he flung shawl, quilt, 
 pillow, sheet, blanket, under-sheet, and was 
 tearing at the mattress, and all this before the 
 first alarmed waiter came to the door. The 
 waiter helped him ; in half a minute the fire 
 was smothered under that heap of things. 
 
 Then they lifted her up tenderly. Her 
 head drooped ; her arms fell by her side. Her 
 eyes were closed, her face pale as death. 
 They laid her on the bed — rather, on the bed- 
 stead. The clothes dropped from her, ashes. 
 There was a smell — of wool and linen, of 
 course : that was nothing ; but a smell of — 
 
 Noel, who had been so cool and so prompt, 
 walked backwards, repelled from the bed, 
 right into the drawing-room, and fell upon 
 the sofa. He held his head in his hands. He 
 felt sick. Yes, sick. This strong man, this 
 very Hercules, who had faced hell itself, felt 
 faint and sick, like a girl who has seen a horse 
 run away from her v/indow. His bowels 
 literally heaved, the muscles of his internal 
 organs quivered ; it was that horrible sick- 
 ness without vomit. 
 
 It was the smell of burnt flesh. 
 
CHAPTER lY. 
 
 HoRTON Knoyle, the banker, had been in the 
 City that very night that the accident hap- 
 pened in the Strand hotel. He had been in 
 London a week for the first time since Car- 
 lotta's disappearance with Louis. His proud 
 and sensitive spirit could not brook the eyes 
 of his fellow-men after that event — not, at 
 least, the eyes of those who knew him most 
 intimately — the men of the Stock Exchange, 
 the workers in Lombard-street. He remained 
 in Paris, making no sign. He did not conceal 
 himself there, but he could not come to Eng- 
 land, large as was his business there. He 
 transacted it still in the old cool successful 
 way; but he never saw the Exchange for a 
 whole year or nearly. 
 
 Then at last, when it was all forgotten, or 
 seemed to be so — when forty new scandals 
 had succeeded to the public favour — then he 
 
58 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 persuaded himself once more to go to the 
 old familiar places. He returned to his deso- 
 late house in Mayfair — the house that he had 
 furnished so nobly for Carlotta so many, many 
 years ago. There were other reasons than 
 business that brought him back — other rea- 
 sons than even the old memories, the old ties 
 and associations. These latter he would sooner 
 have escaped; but there was a certain yearn- 
 ing — a yearning that his iron heart had not 
 felt this many a day — for the company of his 
 own kin. 
 
 Georgiana's long letter about Ella and 
 Claudius had aw^akened a chord long vibrat- 
 ing in his heart. He called her up in his 
 memory — his sister — the only relative now 
 left to him, as it seemed. He acknowledged 
 to himself that it would have been better, 
 perhaps, if he had cultivated her society more 
 in the olden time, rather than allowing his 
 whole existence to be concentrated upon gold. 
 He might then have had a warm heart to 
 cheer him in these latter days ; for the man 
 knew that he was growing old. It was not 
 so much the actual years ; it was the sense of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 59 
 
 the death, one by one, of all the old hopes, 
 the old ambitions that had animated him. 
 
 This letter of Georgiana's brought her 
 before him so vividly that with all his mind 
 he forgot the years that had passed over her 
 too, and thought of her as the tall girl in her 
 teens who used to worship her elder brother. 
 For her sake, he was exceedingly kind to Ella 
 and Claudius. To Claudius he took a par- 
 ticular fancy; but he longed for Georgiana. 
 So he went to England, thinking to be near 
 her always ; determined, if possible, to get 
 her to be with him as much as was prac- 
 ticable. 
 
 There was still another reason why he 
 now sought London : this was his nephew 
 Francis. Victor had entirely disappeared. 
 He had never claimed his 300/. per annum; 
 it had accumulated at the bank : he had 
 passed completely away. Horton never 
 thought of him ; he was a man of steel still ; 
 he did not forgive, he did not overlook the 
 faults of others, not even with his declining 
 years. But Francis he had sought for dili- 
 gently and ceaselessly, and in vain. He too 
 
60 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 had disappeared, and no amount of money, 
 no energy on the part of the police, could 
 discover the whereabouts of the fair, the 
 sickly-looking, but rather handsome beard- 
 less boy, whose photograph was placed in 
 their hands. He too had never drawn his al- 
 lowance ; it had accumulated at the same 
 bank as Victor's. 
 
 Feeling as he did the burden of his years, 
 and anxious about his heir, Horton deter- 
 mined to conduct the search for Francis in 
 person. On the spot, he could urge on the 
 police, and direct them by the power of his 
 own mind. He came to the old, old house 
 in Mayfair — to the deserted rooms, to the 
 stately furniture, to all the evidences of the 
 reckless expenditure, the princely magnifi- 
 cence in which Carlotta had revelled. He 
 passed into her private apartments. Nothing 
 had been touched. For a whole year, the 
 things had lain just where they had fallen. 
 On the dressing-table her jewel-case was 
 lying open. He looked at it ; the great and 
 noble diamonds were gone, but there was the 
 glitter of two or three more ignoble rings. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 61 
 
 He took these out ; one of them was the rmg 
 he had given her when they were engaged — 
 a single emerald of large size. It had been 
 her fancy then. She had taken the valuable 
 diamonds; she had left the ring, which had 
 no value comparatively but its associations. 
 Horton noted this. He replaced it carefully 
 in the box, and shut it up out of his sight. 
 There was her shawl, thrown down on a chair ; 
 a scarf fallen on the floor; a few of those long 
 raven hairs still adhered to the brush on the 
 dressing-table. It seemed as if but yesterday 
 she had been here. 
 
 The old man did not sigh ; he did not 
 regret her ; but he sat down on the fauteuil, 
 and buried his face in his hands, and looked 
 back through the vista of his life, far away to 
 the days when his heart as well as his mind 
 had had a life— when there was a romance, a 
 glamour over his labours, thrown by the mar- 
 vellous beauty of his young and glorious bride. 
 He did not regret her ; he was even glad that 
 she was gone ; it was a relief, and he had felt 
 it so this year past. But he did regret the 
 feelings and the days gone from him for ever. 
 
62 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 But it was not his nature to be weak thus. 
 He left these rooms, locking them behind him 
 as he went, and called the carriage to go to 
 Georgian as in Curzon-street. 
 
 When he arrived, she had left that very- 
 day for Bourne Manor. This was a disap- 
 pointment, not great, but bitter to some ex- 
 tent. He had longed for family ties, for an 
 affectionate friend ; he had come for it, and 
 he had to wait. He knew that it was his own 
 fault entirely — that if he had kept up the 
 connection with his sister, as he should have 
 done, she would have been here awaiting his 
 arrival. He had not even telegraphed that 
 he was coming. Still he turned avvay dulled, 
 dispirited. Then he went down into the City, 
 to the office in Lombard-street. The clerks 
 had gone, save the two who constantly re- 
 sided on the premises, and one of these was 
 out ; the other stared in dumb amazement, 
 but of course showed him the deepest respect. 
 He shut himself up in his private office ; it 
 smelt close and unpleasant. He opened the 
 wdndow, and the roar of the great City came 
 in, and the warm wind of the summer even- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 63 
 
 ing blew the papers about. He gathered to 
 him some that had lain about his desk — 
 that had been there for twelve months — rough 
 memoranda of things to be done. Among 
 them he picked up one — a half-sheet torn 
 across, and on it these words : ' Mem. to alter 
 will.' That was all. He stared at it as in a 
 dream. He had not before realised the full 
 significance of the events that had passed over 
 him. Carlotta had fled ; Victor and Francis 
 had disappeared; Georgiana was married (after 
 a fashion). He was alone; he had no kin. 
 This vast wealth which had grown up around 
 him, till its ramifications extended he hardly 
 knew where — if he died, where would it go ? 
 It would be wasted, frittered away. Geor- 
 giana would, indeed, have her share ; it should 
 not be a small one. But Neville, her husband, 
 he had hardl}^ seen; he had no afi'ection for 
 him ; he was a dreamer — no man who could 
 step into that ofiice, and learn to work that 
 enormous organisation. Who else was there? 
 Absolutely no one. For a second he thought 
 of Pierce — of the old man who had been so 
 delicately considerate, so thoughtfully kind to 
 
64 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 him always when he had been at Bourne 
 Manor. Despite all his lack of sympathy with 
 Pierce's nature, he could thoroughly appre- 
 ciate his nobility, his upright simplicity. He 
 could appreciate it ; he felt its worth, though 
 he could not enter into it or understand it. 
 He recollected that Pierce was a peer now, 
 with wealth, if not so large as his own, yet 
 very considerable. He wanted nothing. 
 
 Then, strangely enough — born, perhaps, 
 of those strange things he had seen that even 
 ing — there came to him a memory of the boy 
 Claudius and the girl Ella, whom he had seen 
 in Paris, wandering away hand-in-hand into 
 the unknown of the art-land, seeking after 
 beauty and truth in all innocence and trust 
 of each other. The deepness of the contrast 
 between their young lives and the life that he 
 had led came home to him full and bitter^' 
 Why had not he had those artistic tastes, 
 those aesthetic yearnings, that insatiable love 
 of the beautiful, that all-satisfied pleasure in 
 in it, of these two — this happy pair? He 
 envied them for a moment. They sought no 
 power among men, no gold ; they attempted to 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 65 
 
 build up no mighty business to overshadow 
 the whole earth, and to fill the thoughts of 
 the world. They dwelt in the sunshine : it 
 was their gold. They sought for beauty : it 
 was to them a power. For truth : it was 
 their ambition. 
 
 Then there arose in his mind — in the mind 
 of this millionnaire, whose days had been spent 
 in the counting-house, heaping up the hard 
 cash, the idol of the world — an almost rever- 
 ence for the bright hair of the child Ella; for 
 the oval face, the earnest eyes of the boy 
 Claudius. Through a world of sin and shame, 
 of misery and of sorrow, filled with hard- 
 struggling men, they walked calmly as gods, 
 and as with the fabled gods, the flowers of 
 beauty and of love sprang up around their 
 feet. In that hour these two became to this 
 man, whose heart had been dry so many years, 
 as his own children. A love was born in his 
 soul, and went out after them. He formed 
 no definite plans, he thought of no material 
 good that he could do them ; but his mental 
 vision followed them; he could seem to see 
 them now. Through the thick walls, the far 
 
 VOL. III. F 
 
66 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 distance, across the sea and tlie smiling plains 
 of France, tliose forms came to him. 
 
 The moonbeams fell through the window 
 upon his head, as he leant it on his hands in 
 the silence of that chamber, surrounded by 
 his books, his book of gold, his safes, his pa- 
 pers — all the signs of worldly might. The low 
 roar of the City fell lower, till it almost fell 
 unheeded on his ear. The silence of the room 
 was unbroken, save by the rustle of some 
 errant paper now and again, as the breeze 
 came for an instant or two through the win- 
 dow. How long he leant thus over his desk 
 he knew not. Possibly he might have 
 slept. 
 
 I cannot give the rationale of these things. 
 Possibly it may be that the body possesses 
 organs of which even the delicate researches 
 of our day have not given us any clear idea. 
 They may have powers, a sensitiveness, of 
 which we are perfectly ignorant. In the dark- 
 ness, in the silence, and in the solitude of the 
 night the ear becomes conscious of sounds 
 which even in the silence and solitude, pro- 
 vided only it be day, are utterly inaudible. You 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 67 
 
 may try this for yourself. Sit in a country 
 house in a room alone in the broad daylight. 
 Let the wind be still ; you hear nothing. The 
 furniture is wood, and iron, and leather, and 
 velvet only; it has no innate life of its OAvn. 
 The doors are still, the handles devoid of 
 motion; you are not conscious of anything. 
 Sit in the same room at night under the same 
 circumstances. "What is the difference ? The 
 table creaks, the chairs crack, the door- 
 handles rattle, the doors move, there are odd 
 indescribable noises in the passages. There 
 seems a presence all round you. May it not 
 be that the soul, or the mind, whatever it is 
 that receives the senses of sound and sight, 
 and is conscious of the visions they evoke, may 
 at times possess, in the same way as the ear, 
 greater sensitiveness? May there not be a night 
 of the mind, when noises afar off may reach 
 and penetrate to us? All history and all 
 experience tell us that these things do happen 
 at any rate. 
 
 He distinctly heard a low faint scream, as 
 if afar off, coming through many walls and 
 doors, and even across miles of distance. He 
 
6S RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 hardly recognised what it was at first; but the 
 thought of it grew on him, till he could seem 
 to realise what a fearful, heart-piercing shriek 
 that must have been. Then a species of awe, 
 a strange new sensation ran through him, a 
 desire to be gone out of this silencrand soli- 
 tude, a yearning for some human voice. He 
 had never felt this before; he was ashamed of 
 it now; but it grew on him. He felt that he 
 must go. The noise of his footstep, deadened 
 on the floor-cloth of the office, sounded low 
 and ghostly; the door creaked as he opened 
 it; the passage was dim and fuU of shadows. 
 The sharp metallic chck of the lock as he 
 turned the key of his private room sounded 
 preternaturally loud. Hastily he walked out 
 into the streets, and with the first sight of the 
 human life which still partially filled them a 
 load was lifted from his mind. He was step- 
 ping out briskly, determined to walk to his 
 house, or at all events part of the way, on this 
 beautiful summer's evening, when he passed 
 into a small crowd at the corner of the 
 street. There was much talking and excite- 
 ment, yet it did not look as if a drunken man 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 69 
 
 or a hysterical woman was the cause. He saw 
 that most of the people had papers in their 
 hands. Some news had arrived no doubt. 
 He would not trouble himself with it; but the 
 newsboys saw him, thrust their bills into his 
 face, sang out their headlines volubly : 
 
 * Extraordinary intelligence ! News from 
 America ! Civil war ! War of races ! Ex- 
 termination of the negro !' 
 
 Horton started at this — the negotiations 
 with General Shebang were hardly con- 
 cluded. He had not anticipated so speedy a 
 result. He took the newspaper, paid for it, 
 and stood and read it. There had been a 
 smart fight in Arkansas, ten negroes killed, 
 more wounded ; a town besieged by the blacks 
 a thousand strong, a steamer full of armed 
 whites sent ofi* to repulse them, large bodies 
 of whites marching by land. If the whites 
 could hold out till morning they would be 
 saved ; if their ammunition failed they would 
 be massacred to a man. The bitter hatred 
 of black and white had found a fearful vent, 
 the passions of the people were already at an 
 awful height. 
 
70 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 He walked on again, slower now, swinging 
 the paper in his hand. A week ago, and he 
 would not have felt like this. He would have 
 watched the progress of the struggle as un- 
 moved as he would have the mimic warfare 
 of the chessboard. The actors would have 
 been mere puppets, shadows to him, not tan- 
 gible realities of flesh and blood, capable of 
 feeling pain and suffering death. Whether 
 it was that he really was growing aged and 
 less firm of nerve ; whether it was that the 
 events of the day, the visit to Carlotta's dis- 
 used rooms, the memories of their past life 
 and disappointments, the strange scream he 
 had heard, or fancied he heard; whether he 
 was growing more human, less a machine, or 
 what ? But a deep sense of guilt hung over 
 him. He had not, it was true, set these 
 wretched men at the miserable trade of war, 
 and at the most awful form of that war — of 
 race and of domestic revolution. He was not 
 the leader, not the spirit of the movement. 
 He had not planned it ; but he had furnished 
 the sinews, he had found the money. Every 
 coin that he had handed over to Shebang was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 71 
 
 the price of a human being's life. It would 
 cause the shedding of blood that would out- 
 weigh it — it was worth its weight of blood. 
 Not till now had the awful responsibility, the 
 horrible responsibility of his position flashed 
 upon him. He had looked upon it as purely 
 a commercial speculation. He had looked at 
 the pros and cons of profit and loss in that 
 light. He had considered its probable success, 
 he had endeavoured to guard against its pos- 
 sible failure. He had taken every precaution 
 to guard himself against pecuniary loss. But 
 this, this had never occurred to him. These 
 men were even at that moment slaughtering 
 each other; blood was flowing, wounds and 
 death were doing their miserable work. Pain 
 was stalking triumphantly over that wretched 
 land. And he, walking safely, in perfect 
 bodily health, along the quiet and orderly 
 London street, respectable and esteemed in 
 the eyes of the world, was the cause and the 
 support of this terrible wholesale murder. 
 He had encouraged it, his money had supplied 
 the ammunition. He shuddered for the first 
 time in his life. The devil seemed to dog his 
 
72 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 heels. ' The death and murder of a world be 
 on thee, monster !' 
 
 Who does not remember the fearful loath- 
 ing with which Faust contemplates Mephisto- 
 pheles after Marguerite is thrown into prison, 
 and the consciousness of his evil deeds comes 
 back on the unhappy scholar ? Horton shud- 
 dered at himself first, then — how prone is 
 human nature to throw its faults upon some 
 one else ! — he turned on Louis. Louis had 
 inspired him to do this thing; Louis had 
 advised him, convinced him of the practica- 
 bility of the enterprise ; Louis had betrayed 
 Carlotta; Louis had betrayed him into this ; 
 Louis had been the fiend of his life. This was 
 not just, Horton ! He will not remain in this 
 mind long ; but for the time it contracted his 
 brow into a lowering frown. Then he began 
 to calculate whether Shebang had arrived yet; 
 he hardly had — at any rate he could be but 
 just landed in Orleans, carrying with him the 
 fatal money. These preliminary riots must 
 have been fomented by his agents; on his 
 arrival the great flame would burst forth. 
 The misery of his mind, the loathing which 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 73 
 
 filled him at these sickening thoughts, told 
 on his bodily frame. He paused, and looked 
 round for a cab. There was none in sight. 
 He stood and waited, a hansom was sure to 
 pass in a few minutes. Just then a boy rush- 
 ing out of a dark court, a short cut, into the 
 full light of the crowded thoroughfare, his 
 market, almost stumbled up against him. The 
 boy had a great bundle of damp papers 
 under his arm, a flaring bill in his hand. 
 He cast this last at Horton's feet, flung two 
 stones on it to keep it from blowing away, and 
 began to shout : 
 
 ' Fifth edition ! Latest from America — ar- 
 rest of the leader of the revolution — more 
 slaughter — horrible scenes !' 
 
 Horton held out his hand. He did not stay 
 for the change of his sixpence — he motioned 
 the boy away. He read as he stood : 
 
 'New York, Night. 
 
 * General Shebang, the notorious Com- 
 munist, was arrested at New Orleans at six this 
 evening, by order of the President. He had 
 on his person funds to the amount of a million 
 
74 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 dollars, which he was carrying to the heads 
 of the revolution. The fighting — ' 
 
 Horton read no more ; a cab passed, he 
 hailed it, and stepped into it. 
 
 ' Thank God !' he muttered, ' no more 
 blood.' 
 
 He did not regret the loss of the money 
 — a load was lifted from his heart. As he 
 passed up the steps of his mansion he did 
 not notice a form that shrunk away into the 
 darkness — a slight bent figure, prematurely 
 old, with untrimmed beard and whiskers. ' It 
 is him,' the form was muttering; 'but her — 
 how long? how long?' And the creature 
 shivered in the warm summer night. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Maud's eyes were red and swollen with secret 
 weeping. She was not handsome at her best; 
 these red eyes disfigured her greatly. They 
 were in Paris, at the toilette ; she acted as 
 Carlotta's maid now. Carlotta, who had not 
 noticed these eyes before, now that she came 
 to sit before the glass, saw them reflected in 
 the mirror, and began to sneer and rail at her, 
 and bitterly stung her with cutting sarcasm. 
 The day before they had learnt of Victor's 
 death. As he had no papers about him, and 
 no one claimed his body, it was almost a year 
 before the news filtered about and reached 
 them. But it did at last ; and it struck Maud 
 down Hke a blow from a hammer. She had 
 spent the night in silent weeping. She had 
 tried her best to remove the traces of tears, 
 knowing that her mistress would taunt and 
 torture her, but could not quite succeed. 
 Carlotta sneered at her for an old fool. 
 
76 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 He was only twenty-five, she said ; Maud was 
 forty -six. Was she crying for her son, poor 
 girl? There, she should have a new bonnet. 
 She taunted her with her want of luck, with 
 the manifest failure of her life, the plainness 
 of her face. She actually rejoiced, or affected 
 to rejoice, that it was /i^r lover who had killed 
 Victor. 
 
 Then Maud's temper, so long subdued, 
 began to rise. The crushed worm turned ; but 
 it was only to give its tormentor the pleasure 
 of seeing it writhe and make vain impotent at- 
 tempts to sting, the very failure of which was 
 another torture to itself. Maud had put up 
 with the tempers and the insults that had 
 been poured upon her these months and 
 months, in the secret hope, nay the conviction, 
 that Victor would most assuredly follow Car- 
 lotta. Wherever Carlotta was, there he would 
 be sure to come. Her only chance of ever 
 seeing him again was to remain in the service 
 of this woman, who knew her failing, who 
 whipped her with it. But now, after these 
 weary months of waiting, Victor was dead — 
 slain by the brutal lover of this very woman. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 77 
 
 her bitter task-master. And that gorgeous 
 creature, still blazing in the very zenith of her 
 fatal beauty, turned and laughed at her — 
 laughed at her for ill-luck, triumphed in the 
 good luck, the magnificent fortune that had 
 attended her, and everything belonging to her, 
 even to Louis' pistol, which had slain Victor. 
 Maud's hand trembled, and her fingers 
 clenched till the nails dug themselves into her 
 very flesh in the eager desire to clutch the 
 neck of this evil thing that sat all lovely in 
 the chair before her — to clutch the beautiful 
 neck till a red mark grew round it, till the 
 eyes started from their sockets, till the face, so 
 white now, grew dark and livid, till the heart 
 of this cruel tyrant ceased to beat. She 
 knew not how she restrained herself, but 
 she did — crushing herself down to the last, 
 trampling her feelings under-foot. Carlotta 
 saw the eiFort, and laughed at her. She picked 
 up a sharp stout bodkin that lay upon the 
 table, a miniature stiletto, and told Maud to 
 take it and plunge it into her neck, 'just 
 here,' she said, 'here,' pointing to the soft 
 swelling beauty of her bust. * Drive it in — 
 
78 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 kill, kill, kill!' And a bright light shone in 
 her eyes; and it looked almost as if she wished 
 Maud would attack her, in order that she 
 might fly at her in return, and tear her in 
 pieces. 
 
 Then, as Maud busied herself with the 
 hair, and affected to take no notice of the bod- 
 kin, Carlotta jeered at her for being afraid, 
 a coward — and with a backward jerk of her 
 arm sent the sharp point of the tiny stiletto 
 into Maud's wrist. Maud uttered a cry, and 
 dropped the hair, and sank down on an otto- 
 man, and burst into tears. Then Carlotta bit 
 and stung her again with bitter words. 
 
 ' I shall go,' said Maud at last. 
 
 ' Go, with pleasure ; and where to ? Who 
 will take you after being in my service, you 
 fool ? No lady would admit you into the house. ' 
 
 ' I know it,' said Maud ; ' I shall become a 
 sister of mercy.' 
 
 'A sister of mercy! to foment old sores 
 and watch the dying ! How nice ! what a de- 
 licious amusement ! there are no smells in that 
 occupation. Imagine Victor now brought in 
 on a door — pale, wounded, bleeding — ' 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 79 
 
 Maud rushed from the room. She left 
 within the hour, fully determined, as she had 
 said, to become a sister of mercy. But she 
 first went back to Vienna, sought out Victor's 
 burial-place. It was in one of the cemeteries 
 unmarked ; but she had no difficulty in find- 
 ing the spot, for the authorities had taken pre- 
 cautions to identify it if inquiries should ever 
 be made respecting the English stranger 
 found dead in the grove with the bullet 
 through his forehead. Maud set up a monu- 
 ment to him, and waited till it was finished, 
 and came day by day for weeks to sit by this 
 the grave of her one only hope, her one only 
 romance. She was a guilty woman, no doubt — 
 a fool you may call her, with her five-and- 
 forty-years — a dupe, an idiot. But remember 
 the crushed feelings, the long, long years of 
 petty tyrannies, of miserable repressions ; re- 
 member the heart screwed down, suppressed 
 for so many weary years. She was but another 
 victim of the circumstances of our social life. 
 Victor was more to blame than she was. He 
 had youth, freedom, money, every blessing. He 
 ruined her for the gratification of the hour. 
 
80 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 In return slie worshipped him. Noav she alone 
 — the despised, the contemned — sat by his 
 tomb and wept, and grew pale, sighing her 
 very heart away. An old fool at forty-six! 
 His tomb was not only the tomb of the 
 only one who, however cruel in the end, had 
 ever been kind to her, but was the tomb oi 
 all her hopes. Never again would the flower 
 blossom for her. The flower, of love, which to 
 some blooms afresh time after time, had in 
 her crushed life come to perfection but once ; 
 and that once was withered and snapped off 
 and trampled in the dust. If he had lived — 
 let him be ever so cruel, ever so unfaithful — 
 if he had lived ! But he was dead, and the 
 world was dead to her. 
 
 She waited there a full month, weeping 
 daily by the tomb, and then left for England, 
 and, as she said, became a sister of mercy. In 
 Carlotta's service she had saved a considerable 
 sum of money. She had other references of 
 her early days. They were glad to get this 
 subdued, quiet woman of forty-five, with her 
 soft touch, her gentle ways, into their ranks. 
 She is there now : still subdued, quiet. To 
 
EESTLESS IIUMAX IIEAETS. 81 
 
 the last she will be subdued and quiet. All 
 the life has been beaten out of her, all the feel- 
 ings and hopes and joys have been trampled 
 down and pressed into the dust, from her 
 earliest youth upwards. How many are there 
 like her — for this Maud is no fiction, but a 
 real woman who lived and breathed and had 
 her being — and hundreds like her exist at this 
 hour ! Poor crushed miserable creatures, will 
 not their one sin — that of a craving for a little 
 love — be forgiven them ? 
 
 And Carlotta calmly brushed her own hair, 
 smoothing out the splendid sweep of the glossy 
 magnificence, and gloried in the fulness of her 
 own life. She marked the richness of her eyes, 
 the dehcate fringe of the eyelid, the well- 
 marked eyebrow, the smoothness of the fore- 
 head. There was not a wrinkle in it. Why is 
 it that these women escape the march of 
 time? Even in the Antinous, there is a 
 grove between the eyebrows, as if the brow 
 contracted, if not with care or anxiety, with 
 thought. But here there was no wrinkle, no 
 line ; all was smooth as polished marble. Is it 
 not their sublime selfishness ? Or rather, per- 
 
 TOL. III. Q 
 
82 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 haps sublime self-concentration. They carry 
 this concentration of themselves to a length, 
 that even the cares and troubles, the anxious 
 thoughts that must beset them in their career 
 of guilt, pass away like the hours of the day, 
 unnoticed. Even remorse fails to touch them ; 
 they may feel it, but it glides away, leaving 
 no mark behind. But Carlotta never felt 
 remorse. Her sublime self-concentration was 
 so great, so perfect, and she had always acted 
 with such perfect adherence to what is 
 called ' the logic of her type,' that she never 
 knew what it was. What is remorse ? It is 
 regret that we have committed an act, or left 
 undone an act that would have contributed 
 to our moral happiness. If we had done so 
 and so, we should be much nearer to moral 
 perfection than we are now. The regret that 
 we have not done so is remorse. Now Car- 
 lotta had no image of moral perfection in her 
 mind to which to aspire. The concep- 
 tion of such an idea was impossible to her. 
 Her only idea of perfection was physical and 
 mental gratification of self. The only remorse 
 that was possible to her was the regret that 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 83 
 
 she had omitted to enjoy some gratification 
 that had been in her power ; or that she had 
 neglected to seize an opportunity which might 
 have led to pleasure in the future. But so 
 consistent had been her pursuit of pleasure, 
 that she could not reproach herself with any 
 deviation, however slight, from the ideal per- 
 fection of her mind. Therefore she could not 
 possibly feel remorse. Those who are con- 
 sistent to their own belief never can ; and she 
 had been consistent. Was she happy ? With- 
 out any hesitation, I say that she was — that 
 she had been happy, far happier than thou- 
 sands — even sublimely happy in her own self- 
 concentrated way. The grandest absurdity 
 with which poor humanity tries to console 
 itself is the miserable fallacy that only the 
 good can be really happy. This is in itself a 
 contradiction ; for the really good will feel 
 the wretchedness of others too much ever to 
 enjoy themselves. It is one of those fallacies 
 with which the disappointed human mind tries 
 to console itself. It has failed to get the 
 carriage and pair, the furs and ermine of the 
 wicked ; therefore it says, ^ Ah, but only the 
 
84 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 good can be happy.' This evil woman, this 
 being in human form who did not deserve 
 the name of woman, had been, and still was, 
 transcendently happy. She enjoyed herself 
 She was to herself an unfailing source of ex- 
 quisite delight. The glossy smoothness of her 
 hair as she brushed it filled her with an in- 
 ward pleasure. The richness of her eyes, the 
 smooth forehead, the swelling bust, reflected 
 in the glass, the beauteous curves of the grace- 
 ful arms, — all these filled her with a joy un- 
 speakable. She lingered over her toilette that 
 she might enjoy herself There was much in 
 this that kept Time from touching her. He 
 ripened her as the sunshine ripens the peach. 
 Her beauty was like that of the hot-house gra^De, 
 it came to j)erfection just when all the fruits 
 of the garden faded away, and withered up 
 with the cold and the blasts of winter. Just 
 when other women were withering and decay- 
 ing — when their skin turned yellow and dry, 
 when the hair came out of their heads, and 
 here and there was a streak of gray, when 
 the hands grew thin and bony, — she, instead of 
 this, grew even lovelier, richer, full of a mag- 
 
EESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 85 
 
 nificent overpowering beauty. It was the time 
 of the full moon with her. She did not even 
 regret the loss of the position she had held as 
 Horton's wife ; she had had excitement and ad- 
 miration far greater than ever she could have 
 had there. The dull splendour of their home 
 had palled and deadened on her long before 
 she left with Louis. She had longed for a 
 wild maddening life ; a life of feverish excite- 
 ment, in the midst of which she could exhibit 
 her own grand coolness, her own insulting 
 calm. And she had had such a life. 
 
 The Archduke was sucked as dry as an 
 orange. He had never been very wealthy. He 
 had vast possessions somewhere, with an un- 
 pronounceable name ; but though they were 
 teeming with oil and wine, a veritable garden 
 upon the earth, and filled with a noble popula- 
 tion, — tall men and handsome women, in- 
 genious, industrious — yet they returned but a. 
 small income comparatively. This is a puzzle, 
 to us English. We cannot understand how 
 lands like these, full of fertility, smiling wdth 
 corn, tilled by a fine race of men, can exist 
 side by side with so singular a deficiency 
 
86 itESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 of hard cash. But such is, and has always 
 been, the fact upon certain parts of the Con- 
 tinent. So the Archduke had very little 
 money. She soon spurred him on to get 
 some, when she rejoined him in Vienna after 
 the rustication in Styria. She soon taught 
 him the way to get money. She opened the 
 eyes of the dull militaire to the capabilities for 
 borrowing which a man in his position pos- 
 sesses. Under her directions he used these 
 powers to the farthest extent, and she flung the 
 money about, and carried away Vienna with 
 her this time more violently than ever. The 
 Archduke, at her instigation, built a theatre 
 for her ; and here she tried her voice and her 
 figure for the first time on the stage, with a 
 success that was positively a triumph. These 
 southern excitable people worshipped this god- 
 dess of beauty and song, and — it must be owned 
 — this goddess of guilt. Sin in its poverty- 
 stricken state is repulsive, disagreeable — it 
 smells of sin — pah ! take it away. But sin in 
 the palace, draped with silk and scarlet, adorned 
 with rubies and precious stones, glittering in 
 diamonds, walking upon velvet — clad too in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 87 
 
 all the glories of bodily beauty — sin then 
 becomes a goddess, an Astarte ; and as we 
 one and all have a streak of evil in our nature, 
 that streak goes out to meet her, and strews 
 the path before her with flowers and incense ; 
 so they rushed to see her in the theatre, and 
 applauded her to the skies; and the fooUsh 
 Archduke, who had begun to be a little 
 alarmed at the cost, which had in part 
 become apparent even to his dull head, was 
 carried away again, and rejoiced, and went 
 about in a glory of joy, in the treasure that 
 he had found. Then the poor fool, who had 
 previously felt secure enough, grew jealous 
 of her, and watched her day and night ; and 
 Carlotta, seeing his folly, fed it day and night, 
 first with love and caresses, then with meetings 
 with other lovers, till his frenzy reached its 
 height, and he was as wax in her fingers, 
 wax that she moulded to her own ends, and 
 those ends were Money. 
 
 Our wretchedly feeble moralists make such 
 a fuss about racing and cards ; but especially 
 racing. It is so dreadful, so horrid, so awful. 
 It leads to ruin and to suicide. People lose 
 
88 RESTLESS HUilAX HEARTS. 
 
 their last half-sovereign and cut their throats, 
 by dozens, all through this terrible racing, 
 this betting and gambling on horses. Verily, 
 for one who is ruined by horses and by 
 betting, ten are ruined by women ; for their 
 cry is ever the same : Money, money, money. 
 The daughter of the horseleech is a moderate 
 person compared to them; they suck away 
 the very sap of the oldest tree, they undermine 
 it till it falls. 
 
 He was sucked as dry as an orange. The 
 money-lenders would advance no more. He 
 could sell nothing — he tried to. Then he ap- 
 plied to the paternal government for a grant 
 to pay his debts. This they listened to in part. 
 They gave him a large sum ; he gave it to 
 Carlotta — she spent it. Then he asked for 
 more. A second time he did the same with 
 the grant they made him. The third time 
 they refused him, and he was finished. He 
 actually had not the money with which to pay 
 his personal attendants. In good truth the 
 paternal government — which, now that it had 
 the chance, was going to use it, and put a stop 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 89 
 
 to his extravagance — was very glad that he 
 could not pay his servants. 
 
 They knew what that meant. He must re- 
 turn to his estates in the country; there, if 
 he had no money, he could at least live — his 
 tenants would supply him with every neces- 
 sary of life. His rivers would supply him 
 with fish ; his forests with game. Corn and 
 wine grew in his fields and vineyards. He 
 would be only short of actual cash. But the 
 prospect was as death to the poor Archduke. 
 This excitement, this leading the rout, had 
 become a part of his very existence. He could 
 not leave it — could not stand it. He asked 
 Carlotta to sell her diamonds; that would 
 keep them going another three months at all 
 events. 
 
 Carlotta met the proposal with a storm of 
 indignation. Then would she come with him 
 to his house in the country ? ' To that dull 
 hole !' exclaimed the lady. Not she. He must 
 be a fool to suppose she would. 
 
 They lingered on till the crisis came : the 
 theatre was closed. The Archduke's very 
 valet left him ; his friends stood aloof, the 
 
90 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 very friends who had cheered him on, whose 
 admiration of her had been his ruin. At last 
 there was nothing left but starvation or re- 
 treat to his estate. Fool as he was, the Arch- 
 duke chose the latter. He left for his place, 
 in vain begging Carlotta on his knees to ac- 
 company him. She laughed at him. He had 
 to go, and be satisfied with his forests, his 
 rivers, his game and fish, his mansion, and 
 his wife — without this inestimable jewel. 
 Hard fate, poor fellow ! 
 
 There were no lack of aspirants for Car- 
 lotta's favour after his departure ; but she was 
 wary. She was not going to sell her charms 
 too cheaply. These men, who had seen her 
 extravagance, were no fools ; they wanted to 
 have the eclat of possessing her, just as they 
 wanted the eclat of possessing the finest horse 
 or the latest thing in fashion. But they 
 wanted to get her as cheap as possible. They 
 wanted to bind her down to so much a month. 
 Carlotta turned up her nose. She wanted a 
 fool; another fool was not to be got in Vienna. 
 You see, even the fools had had their eyes 
 opened by the departure of the Archduke. For 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 91 
 
 a moment she thought of taking an engage- 
 ment in one of the Vienna theatres, but gave 
 it up ahnost immediately. For the opposite 
 faction — the Archduke's cousin's faction — now 
 that the Archduke had fled, would fall upon 
 her with all their might. She should be 
 hissed. No ; Vienna was no place for her at 
 present. So she left for Paris. Here she 
 found herself at a discount. Her beauty was 
 superb — her voice excellent ; but then, said 
 the manager, she had no reputation. Car- 
 lotta replied that she could make a reputation 
 for voice in one night. Madame mistook him ; 
 really, ah, -well — madame understood the repu- 
 tation he meant was a la Boulevard. In point 
 of fact she was not notorious enough in a 
 guilty sense there — the voice went for no- 
 thing, the beauty ditto. 
 
 Carlotta smiled ; she knew she could soon 
 create that reputation; but her difficulty was 
 money. Except diamonds, and these she 
 would not even pawn; she had nothing 
 wheremth to make a sensation. This kind 
 of reputation requires capital to make it, just 
 like any other. On examination she found 
 
92 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 her capital to consist of just 500/. That would 
 not serve her a month. This was a day or two 
 before Maud left her. Then Carlotta set her- 
 self seriously to work to think. The result 
 was this : she was still Horton's wife. He had 
 taken no suit out ao^ainst her. He was afraid 
 of the exposure ; he dreaded it evidently. 
 She w^ould go to England, see him, demand 
 an annuity large enough to keep her from 
 want at all events ; she would insist upon it. 
 She would dog him everywhere. If he 
 refused, his only alternative was to enter a 
 suit of divorce; till then she could live as 
 his wife, and he was answerable for her debts. 
 If he entered such a suit, she would op- 
 pose it and appear in court in person. The 
 exposure would be tremendous — the revela- 
 tions would fascinate the public ; she should 
 gain a tremendous reputation ; at all events, 
 she should find what she wanted — a rich fool. 
 This was her best grame. She hastened to 
 carry it into execution. She started for Eng- 
 land. She went back to the house in Mayfair, 
 the scene of her triumphs in the long, long 
 past. The servants were struck dumb at the 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 93 
 
 sight of her. They dared not oppose her, for, 
 as she said, she was still their master's wife. 
 She entered her private room, taking the key 
 from the major-domo, as Horton had done but 
 a few weeks previously. She looked with a 
 smile at the shawl on the chair, the scarf on the 
 floor. At all events, he had felt sufficiently to 
 let these remain. He was not quite steel; she 
 should move him yet. She might even — who 
 knows? — these old men, with all their iron 
 wills, were weak and vain as water. Her spirits 
 rose. She determined to work uj)on him well. 
 He had gone to Avonbourne ; she would follow 
 him — she would throw herself on her knees — 
 call on her father Pierce to help her — shed 
 tears — hold his hand and refuse to let it iro. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! It would be quite dramatic — quite. 
 Her spirits rose higher still. She ordered the 
 carriage to take her to the station. As she 
 stepped into it, a form — the same that had 
 turned away disappointed when Horton came 
 — ran forward from the corner of the street, 
 gesticulating wildly to the coachman to stop. 
 The footman on the step of the mansion saw 
 him— breathless, but still beckoning— come to 
 
94 
 
 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 a stand, and then walk as fast as possible after 
 the carriage. The form was muttering to 
 itself, ' I knew it, I knew it ! I knew she would 
 come back if only I waited long enough. I 
 will not lose sight of her again !' 
 It was Francis. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 If there is one thing more than another 
 the remembrance of which may fairly give us 
 some hopes of a real progress towards a better 
 state, to some approach to an earthly mil- 
 lennium — if there is one thing which may 
 give us some reasonable belief in the pos- 
 sibility of such a state of things, it is the 
 science of medicine. Of course there still 
 remain cases which are hopelessly incurable — 
 is there not a hospital for incurables ? Of 
 course even now death in the end takes away 
 those who, in their person, exhibit the won- 
 derful length to which the art of healing has 
 been carried. But what a marvellous advance, 
 what an almost miraculous progress, the 
 science of medicine has made ! We live among 
 such constant proofs of it, it is daily and 
 hourly before our eyes, that we do not realise 
 it. If there is any sign of illness among us, 
 
96 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 we say, ^ Send for the doctor;' just as we should 
 say, ' Send for the carpenter and mend this 
 chair;' and, unless in extreme cases, with 
 scarcely any more concern. We live in such 
 security, we feel that we have got a body- 
 guard of clever and accomplished men ever 
 on the alert around us, keeping disease at bay 
 — ever ready to rush to our assistance, and 
 armed with unascertained powers. It is so 
 common for people to be cured, that we think 
 nothing of it. Nevertheless there was a time, 
 and that not so very long ago, when these 
 very common simple cases that are now 
 thought nothing of were almost always fatal, 
 from the want of knowledge of the right way 
 of dealing with them. The medical school of 
 that day had its remedy for them ; but that 
 remedy was a fallacy. Those lived who had 
 the streno;th — those died who had it not. 
 This is particularly exemplified in cases 
 where surgery is required. How many thou- 
 sands of wounded and maimed human crea- 
 tures have lingered for days and weeks in 
 horrible agony, in the times gone past, simply 
 for want of knowledge on the part of the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 97 
 
 surgeon of those times ! Now what magiiifi- 
 cerit operations arc performed — what truly 
 marvellous skill is exhibited — and crushed 
 and wounded humanity recovered from the 
 very jaws of death ! The discovery of vac- 
 cination, chloroform, Peruvian bark, quinine 
 — these, and these alone, mark an era in the 
 history of man. But besides these more broad 
 illustrations, there is an advance in a thou- 
 sand lesser matters — in the general style of 
 practice, in the degree of intelligence versus 
 traditionary usage now brought to bear. 
 Speaking within certain limits, and these of 
 very wdde extent, there is, humanly speaking, 
 hardly anything that modern medical science 
 cannot cure. This is a cheerino; and srrateful 
 thought amid so much that is miserable and 
 discouraging in our days. At least we are 
 slowly gaining an empire over pain: some 
 are even sanguine enough to prophesy that it 
 is the first step towards a victory over death 
 — at least over death from natural decay. 
 The popular impression this progress has 
 made is very conspicuous — it has resulted in 
 an almost child-like faith in the doctor. Send 
 
 VOL. III. H 
 
98 EESTLESS hu:man hearts. 
 
 for the doctor — he can do anything : and cer- 
 tainly it often seems as if he really could 
 do anything. This progress more especially 
 affects the poor. In the old days they had 
 little better chance of escaping, if disease or 
 accident befell them, than the savages in the 
 woods, whose only resource was a charm or a 
 spell or some traditionary herb. Now, good 
 medical advice is within the reach of almost 
 all; and if the death-rate is not materially 
 lowered (other causes contribute to keep it 
 high), yet there must be an immense diminu- 
 tion in the extent of human suffering. 
 
 When Noel felt faint, and staggered till 
 he reached the sofa, the waiters and those 
 who had rushed to the spot, took the lead in 
 his place, and they speedily had a surgeon 
 in the place. He had them all out of the 
 room in a twinkling, and sent a piece of paper 
 with a few lines scribbled on it to a certain 
 establishment, from whence, in the course of 
 half an hour, there came two fine and rosy- 
 cheeked women, glowing with health from 
 the midst of disease. They were trained 
 nurses, those blessings of our day. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 9^ 
 
 How shall I describe the sensation that 
 tore poor Noel's heart as he sat in the draw- 
 ing-room, idle perforce, and listened to Heloise's 
 groans when they brought her back to con- 
 sciousness and to the feeling of her pain? 
 The man had no idea of what he felt himself 
 A choking lump rose up in his throat. He 
 dared not walk up and down lest he should 
 disturb her. Disturb her? There was no 
 chance of her going to sleep to be disturbed. 
 To sit still was a torture — almost a hell. 
 Another surgeon came in an hour or two. 
 Noel havino^ recovered from his faintness had 
 given orders that further assistance should be 
 called in ; and had himself sent to a man 
 whose name he had heard as high in the pro- 
 fession. He wished to go and fetch this gen- 
 tleman in person ; yet he could not tear him- 
 self away. If she died while he was absent ? 
 He dared not go. This surgeon who had just 
 come in heard him give the address to the 
 messenger, heard the urgent appeal for haste, 
 and slipped out at another door and inter- 
 cepted the man. He gave him a note telling 
 the man of reputation that he need not come 
 
100 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 till morning — there was no immediate danger 
 at all events. By these means he knew he 
 should gain the favour of the man of reputa- 
 tion, who would be enabled to have a quiet 
 night's rest. The man of reputation would 
 remember him, would throw fees in his way. 
 There really was no need of further advice 
 at present. These two men were good and 
 clever surgeons — they saw in an instant they 
 had got hold of a good paymaster ; they were 
 determined to do their best, and they did it. 
 In an hour or so of the most miserable wait- 
 ing that he had ever experienced in his life, 
 one of them came into the drawing-room and 
 told Noel that there was no present danger. 
 She was not so very badly burnt; it was 
 more the shock to a delicate system that they 
 feared — more the after effects. The lower 
 limbs and extremities had chiefly suffered. 
 Noel shuddered, and his teeth ground toge- 
 ther. The feet had entirely escaped, thanks 
 to the fact that she had not taken her boots 
 off having no slippers, you see. The stays 
 had prevented the flames rising higher than 
 her waist— luckily she had taken the body of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 101 
 
 her dress off, and there was nothing to carr}^ 
 the fire higher. The burns were in fact super- 
 ficial, not dangerous — extremely painful even 
 after the use of every, appliance, but not 
 dangerous. What they dreaded was the after 
 time, when she began to recover from them. 
 It seemed to them that her body was in a 
 low state — had been so for some time — as if 
 she had been suffering mental trouble that 
 had worried and worn upon her (this cut into 
 Noel like a whip). There was the danger of 
 fever — perhaps the brain might be affected. 
 However, they must hope for the best : she was 
 going on favourably at present, at all events. 
 
 This he said in a low voice ; Noel listening 
 intently, and barely a word that was not ac- 
 companied by groans from the bedroom. The 
 surgeon went back to the bedside. Noel got 
 up and went into his room, and leant his 
 head on his hand, and tried to shut out these 
 low groans. It was in vain; they pierced 
 through the walls, through his hands ; nothing 
 could deaden or stop them. Tired as if he 
 had walked twenty miles, exhausted with ex- 
 citement and anxiety, he lay down on the 
 
102 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 bed witli his clothes on, and tried to sleep, 
 knowing that he could not see her. But the 
 groans came at regular intervals — now low, 
 now loud, but ever the same; it seemed as 
 if they came with every second breath she 
 drew; so he calculated, comparing them with 
 his own inhalation. 
 
 He thrust the pillow against his head — he 
 covered himself with the counterpane. In 
 vain — the low groan penetrated through all; 
 he could not shut it out. He grew hot and 
 feverish, the night was warm —he sat by the 
 window again, and gazed out upon the Thames, 
 as Heloise had done but a little hour before. 
 The great clock-face in the tower at AVest- 
 minster was still illuminated, showing him the 
 time ; the moon had shifted a little, and the 
 shadow of the opposite shore reached half 
 across the river, and the tall shot-towers cast 
 great bridges of darkness sheer from shore 
 to shore. But underneath, close underneath, 
 where the white granite of the embankment 
 was softened into marble by the light, there 
 the moonbeams fell as a silver shower upon 
 the waves, the restless tidal waves. Lifting 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 103 
 
 his eyes, the calm cold moon met them full, 
 as it had done that dreadful night when he 
 struggled among the weeds with his over- 
 turned boat drifting away with the current, 
 and his strength failing him ; he remembered 
 the stern resolution of that hour — the re- 
 proach he had cast upon himself for his feeble- 
 ness, his impatience — the stern resolution, if 
 life were only granted him, to return to Avon- 
 bourne, to win her by fair means or foul, to 
 tear her away. And he had done so, and 
 now he would have given the whole world 
 to have her back again, sleeping peacefully, 
 safely in that room whose light he had seen 
 again and again from beneath the old oak- 
 tree. No thought of the guilt, the crime into 
 which he had been leading her, came to him 
 then. It was her bodily pain that he thought 
 of only ; that bodily pain which drove those 
 low and regular groans through him minute 
 by minute. 
 
 If he could but undo the work of the last 
 few hours ! If he could but put her back into 
 that pony- carriage from w^hich he had assisted 
 her — almost compelled her to descend ! If the 
 
104 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 train had only broken down, injured him and 
 spared her, that she might have returned ! If 
 he had only sunk that terrible night among 
 the weeds — yes, sunk out of sight — and lain 
 unheeded at the bottom, covered with the mud 
 and slime, so that only she could have es- 
 caped! He rebelled against Heaven — the 
 very Heaven that had saved him, and cursed 
 it for putting the thought into his mind, the 
 idea of untwisting the spiral coil of the weed 
 around his leof. It should have interfered. 
 Heaven had given him his wish, and this 
 was the result. He cursed himself, he hated 
 himself. His hands went twisting ever in and 
 out. The great drops of perspiration stood 
 upon his brow, and the breeze from the river 
 seemed like the hot blast from the mouth of 
 Hades. It might have been that the fire, as 
 people say, had got into his eyes; it might 
 have been the effect of the extraordinary ex- 
 citement into which he had been thrown or the 
 working of that marvellous unconscious cere- 
 bration of which our physiologists tell us — 
 his weary body almost slept as he sat — but 
 his mind, or whatever it was, filled the room 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 105 
 
 with fire. The red flame shot up the walls — 
 glided up them with a horrible irresistible 
 motion, and as it seemed a silent sicisli^ as 
 waves of water might over a smooth sand. 
 The ends of the great tongues of flame curled 
 over and met in a pointed arch in the ceiling- 
 overhead, and a stifling wind, a hot blast, 
 filled his nostrils with sufi'ocating heat. The 
 moon turned a dark red, a blood red, and 
 a mist of fire — a glowing yelloAvy ignis fatuus 
 filled the space without, and rolled up the 
 river and blotted out the stars, till it seemed 
 as if the whole world was on fire. A silent 
 fire — no crackle, no hiss; a silent blaze that 
 wrapped everything in its all- enveloping arms, 
 and circled him round on every side. And 
 Heloise stood before him, and he pursued her 
 — she a mass of fire, a pillar of flame ! 
 
 He rushed after her, and she fled before 
 him ; and still he followed and followed, and 
 yelled to her to stop that he might save her; 
 and still she ran on, and instead of screaming, 
 groaned as she went, and great drops of blood 
 fell from her and spotted the path as he ran; 
 and a horror filled him, and he woke. 
 
106 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 It was the phantasmagoria of an over- 
 wrought and exhausted bram. He woke and 
 found it but just past midnight ; and still the 
 groans — ceaseless, regular as the tick of the 
 clock. He could not rest. With a stealthy 
 footstep he went out into the night, and 
 paced the Strand, past the Charing- cross Sta- 
 tion and over Westminster-bridge, and still 
 the groans followed him and rang in his ears ; 
 and the burden of them was now that he was 
 deserting her — she was suffering unknown 
 agony, and he was afraid to stay and listen 
 to her. Coward ! 
 
 Then he went back and sat in his room 
 again, and waited ; and still the groans went 
 on. Till the moon sank in the west, and the 
 river faded out of sight in the mist, and the 
 pale stars grew fainter and the dawn broke; 
 and still the groans. 
 
 At his mockery of a breakfast — groans. 
 At his mockery of a lunch — groans. At his 
 dinner, at his tea — groans. At his supper — 
 groans. The whole night through — groans. 
 Thus it lasted three days and three nights, and 
 neither skill nor science, not even Money, the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAJf HEARTS. 107 
 
 all-powerful, could quiet those awful sounds. 
 They could hear it all through the house. 
 They heard it in the smoking-room, and men 
 laid do^vn their pipes and looked grave, and 
 the words of the old, old Book came into 
 their hearts, if it was but for a moment, ' In 
 the midst of life we are in death.' It pene- 
 trated into the dining-room as they sat at the 
 table-d'hote, and the chink of the glasses and the 
 rattle of the knives could not drown it; and 
 the talk was hushed, and the laugh repressed, 
 and the wine flowed less freely. Down even 
 to the very kitchen, where the cooks toiled in 
 the grimy heat ; and they turned pale even 
 in that furnace, and said, ' Poor thing, poor 
 thing ; may Heaven have mercy on her !' 
 Out even into the street, till those who had 
 business that way hurried by, as by the door 
 of a place where a pestilence dwelt. At last 
 the landlord, good-natured and forbearing as 
 he was, finding his purse suffer, could not re- 
 press a complaint to Noel, and Xoel hired of 
 him the whole floor upon which Heloise lay, 
 and paid him part in advance. This was in 
 some sense a daily comfort to him, for now 
 
108 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 he could go out into the long corridor, all his 
 own, and walk from end to end in his stock- 
 ings. There he paced to and fro restlessly 
 night and day, day and night ; till at last, as 
 the fourth day drew on, the physician, the man 
 of reputation, came to him and whispered a 
 few words ; and Noel went back into his bed- 
 room, and held by the very sill of the window 
 to keep himself still — for she, slie was sinking 
 into a sleep, and from that sleep she must 
 wake to live or — die. There he sat till tired 
 Nature claimed her due of him also ; and his 
 head fell heavily on the window-ledge, and his 
 slept. A total unconsciousness, a living death. 
 One of the surgeons stole in and closed the 
 window gently, flinging a light shawl — Heloise's 
 shawl — over his shoulders, and laid a pillow so 
 that his head would roll on it if he moved. He 
 slept heavily in that rude position hour on 
 hour, and when he awoke his first whisper 
 was ' Is she awake ?' No ; she was not. Then 
 a waking watch began. Would she ever 
 wake? The long, long day darkened into 
 night, and the night became day, and then 
 she woke. And the physician came and told 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 109 
 
 Noel that she would live; and the strong 
 man's head was lowered m silent gratitude, 
 and the tears— ay, the tears gathered in his 
 eyes, and rolled down his bronzed cheek un- 
 noticed and unfelt. 
 
 Then after a while came the time when he 
 was allowed to enter and to see her. He had 
 prepared his mind for a dreadful shock — he 
 had expected to see her looking ghastly. To 
 his extreme surprise she was not. There Avas 
 no sign on her face of what she had gone 
 through ; but the voice — it was so low and 
 faint that he could scarcely hear it. But we 
 are quick to catch the sound of our name 
 uttered by those we love. He bent over her ; 
 he knelt at her side. She saw and understood 
 the light in his face ; she knew the deep, deep 
 love, the unutterable tenderness, and she 
 smiled, a smile of the deepest joy. He took 
 her hand ; her hand showed it more than 
 anything — so thin and shrunken. He caressed 
 it, kissing it gently, as gently as if that kiss 
 could hurt it. 
 
 Then came the time when he was not only 
 allowed to see her, but watched by her bedside 
 
110 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 hour after hour, sitting still and silent — 
 motionless if she slept. He read to her when 
 she showed impatience and restlessness. It 
 was his turn now, as it had been hers when he 
 was brought into Bourne Manor all maimed 
 by the fall from the cliff. She was propped up 
 now, and could talk for a little while. They 
 were feeding her with stronger meat — the 
 chief difficulty was her extreme weakness. 
 Then the patience, the great patience of this 
 girl won upon the strong man's hardened 
 heart; and all his wild passion was subdued 
 to an almost holy reverence, and he shud- 
 dered as he thought of the injury he had done 
 her — not this tangible injury of the burning, 
 but the taking of her from her home to dis- 
 grace and infamy. In the silence of the night 
 he determined to make amends, if that might 
 be ; to take her back ; to restore her pure as 
 he had reft her away. But not yet; he 
 could not surrender her to her friends yet — 
 he could not part with her. He could not 
 call them round her. He argued with him- 
 self that she was satisfied — happy with him. 
 Thev could not nurse her better than these 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. Ill 
 
 trained and noble women did. She did not 
 ask for any one except once, and then it was 
 Georgie. But it was only once. In those 
 long, long hours of slow convalescence she 
 did not attempt to think ; her whole soul was 
 wrapped up in Noel. She forgot Louis, Car- 
 lotta, the miserable avowal of guilt; forgot her 
 own flight, her own position. It was all Noel. 
 She was happy, quietly, peacefully happy with 
 him. And as she grew better, and could 
 leave her bed, and even sit in the drawing- 
 room with him a little while, there returned 
 to him his own fierce love and passion for her, 
 and he asked himself if even now he could let 
 her go. He hardened his heart against his 
 better nature. He gazed at her returning 
 loveliness ; he saw the expression in her face, 
 the love in her deep eyes. Could he part with 
 her ? Could he let her go ? Then again at 
 times, when he remembered her gentle pa- 
 tience, her quiet suffering, his better nature 
 woke up within, and fought within him, and 
 said, Do that which is right; wrong not this 
 pure and innocent creature. Restore her. 
 Ah, that was the question ; could he do so now 
 
112 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 — could he restore her ? This, you see, was 
 the sophistry of his passion. It was a long, 
 long time now since they had left together. 
 Scandal must have been busy with her name. 
 Was it in his power to restore her ? Would 
 they not jeer at his story; refuse to believe it ? 
 Then he looked at her again, and balanced it 
 in his mind, and suddenly sprang up, and 
 kissed her and said that he loved her better 
 than his own life, and rushed out of the room. 
 He was on his way to Avonbourne in an hour 
 — afraid to wait lest the fit should leave him. 
 Thus the roads of life of these people were 
 converging together. Thus the threads of the 
 woof of their destiny were about to cross at 
 that old, old house far away by the side of the 
 river. Thither had gone Georgiana to visit 
 Heloise ; there had gone Horton to see her ; 
 Carlotta had followed Horton, Francis fol- 
 lowed her. Now Noel was on his w^ay. Fate 
 w^as drawing them to meet each other in this 
 strange and mysterious way. 
 
CHAPTER YIL 
 
 Georgiana, driven in the pony-carriage to- 
 wards Bourne Manor from the station, passed 
 along the road within a few feet of where 
 Louis and Noel and Heloise were contending ; 
 but they were hidden by a thick hedge. She 
 actually heard loud voices as of quarrelling ; 
 and with a horror of scenes of violence which 
 was inherent in her nature told the man to 
 drive as fast as he could. The ponies stepped 
 out swiftly, and tossed their heads as they 
 started away, and Georgiana was carried on 
 past the dearest friend whom she was going to 
 see ; whom, if she could but have kno^vn what 
 was going forward, she would have rushed to 
 save and support in that terrible hour of trial. 
 She actually passed within a few feet of that 
 cyclone of human passion, and yet knew it 
 not. This is one of the saddest things of all 
 in the life of our poor humanity. With all 
 
 VOL. IIT. I 
 
114 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 our organs — with our delicate sense of touch, 
 sight, and sound; with all our intellect, our 
 power of foresight ; with all the appliances of 
 science and invention, — yet our dearest ones 
 may be dying within a mile of us, and not the 
 faintest sign or indication reach us. While we 
 are breakfasting so comfortably and cosily, 
 reading our letters with a languid pleasure, 
 the very hand that traced those lines upon the 
 paper may be trembling w^ith vain struggles 
 to avert the coming doom. And no monition, 
 no presentiment, no secret still voice tells us 
 to be up and doing — rushing to the rescue. 
 Try for one moment to realise what your 
 dearest ones are doing at this hour. Only let 
 them be out of sight, and you know no more 
 what is happening to them than you know 
 what is happening to the souls of the dead. 
 There is a wall between you and them — a 
 thick impenetrable veil, through which you 
 cannot see. Will ever science and thought 
 penetrate this thick darkness ? Will they ever 
 endow us with keener senses — with acuter 
 sight, with extended hearing? w^ll they ever 
 afford us a means of seeing our dearest ones 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. Il5 
 
 at a distance? Let us hope so at least. Surely 
 man, with all his intellect and marvellous 
 powers, is not doomed through ages to remain 
 in the same weak and imperfect state. Just 
 consider what a small and tiny space each of 
 us lives in now; our consciousness of what is 
 happening barely extends beyond the walls of 
 the room in which we are sitting. Compare 
 that limited space with the vastness of the 
 world mthout, of which we are in absolute 
 ignorance. Nothing gives a greater sense of 
 our own helplessness, the feeble impotence of 
 the wisest and strongest of us, who can see no 
 farther, have no more consciousness of what is 
 proceeding, than can an invalid ever confined 
 to his room. 
 
 Georgiana would have given almost a 
 year of her life to have known what was going 
 forward just behind that hedge. But she, 
 the dearest friend, the chief reliance of the 
 tempted and tortured one, drove on unheed- 
 ing, stopped her ears, actually asked to be 
 driven away faster. And so the evil took its 
 way, and the mischief was done. Georgiana 
 was disappointed at not seeing Heloise at the 
 
116 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 station. The man told her she had got out 
 and walked back towards Bourne Manor witli 
 Mr. Brandon, who appeared to have some 
 news to tell her. She accepted the explana- 
 tion in all good faith. She reached Bourne 
 Manor, saw Pierce, who welcomed her in his 
 own genial manner, and asked for Heloise. 
 
 Heloise had not returned. Still they 
 thought nothing of it, except in this way. 
 Georgie was a little hurt at the apparent in- 
 difference to her visit. Taking off her bonnet 
 she did feel a little resentful. Had she only 
 known, could she have had acuter senses, 
 keener sight, could she have seen Heloise at 
 that very moment standing on the platform at 
 the station, how that resentment would have 
 melted away, and all the womanly sympathies 
 of her nature would have rushed out to the 
 poor fate-driven creature, to the innocent 
 heart, to drag her back from the very verge of 
 ruin ! But the thick veil, the dull wall of ob- 
 scurity was before her senses and theirs. 
 
 The day wore on, the evening came on, 
 still no signs of Heloise or Mr. Brandon. 
 Xot the slightest thought of any evil entered 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 117 
 
 the minds of Pierce or Georgiana. Whatever 
 the sharper servants may have conjectured, 
 they kept it to themselves. 
 
 The night fell, and still no returning wan- 
 derers. Pierce, as indeed he might, grew a 
 shade annoyed — not for himself but for 
 Georgie. ' They are taking a walk,' he said ; ' at 
 all events, they might have returned to dinner.' 
 Tea — a silent one — and no Heloise. 
 
 Ten o'clock. Pierce, now alarmed, began 
 to think of measures for discovering them. 
 Surely Heloise could not have gone to Knoyle- 
 lands? The moment he started that idea 
 Georgiana, now thoroughly alarmed, insisted 
 upon driving over there ; and, together with 
 Pierce, she went. No ; Mr. Brandon had not 
 returned to Knoylelands since he went to Lon- 
 don three weeks before. This was extremely 
 strange ; stiU no thought of evil entered their 
 minds ; they grew anxious about an accident. 
 They sent men to scour the woods and foot- 
 ways towards the station and along the river's 
 bank. 
 
 It was past midnight now. They called 
 up the driver to detail the conversation that 
 
118 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 took place between Heloise and Noel. He 
 did so. Sometliing in the man's face made 
 Georgiana call him apart and offer him a 
 sovereign. The man pushed it aside. He did 
 not want that, he said; but, lowering his 
 voice, he was afraid Lady Fontenoy had left 
 with Mr. Brandon. Left ! what did he mean? 
 In plain words — eloped. Her cheeks tingled, 
 her e3^es lit up. Georgiana went as near to 
 swearing as ever she had been in her life, and 
 told him not to mention such a thing. The 
 man civilly said he meant no harm, but the 
 goings-on for some time past — 
 
 Georgiana walked away in a glow of indig- 
 nation ; and yet somehow — A sickening 
 sense of coming calamity forced itself upon 
 her. 
 
 Three o'clock. The men sent to search 
 the roads returned ; no trace of the missing 
 pair. By this time the household had talked 
 the matter over, and come to their own con- 
 clusion. Pierce looked white and haggard; 
 Georgie was absent, and spoke in mono- 
 syllables. They could do nothing till the 
 morning. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 119 
 
 At six Georgie sent her maid downstairs to 
 despatch a man to telegraph for Neville. 
 
 At midday she sent for the driver again, 
 and asked him what he should do. He should 
 go to the station and ask the 2:)orters there ; 
 that's what he should do. Georgie had the 
 ponies out, and drove herself, without even a 
 boy, to the station ; she wanted no one to hear 
 the result.. She inquired. Yes ; they had seen 
 Lady Fontenoy in the waiting-room. The 
 stationmaster distinctly remembered her being 
 there just before the up express with a gentle- 
 man ; he saw the gentleman get into the train ; 
 did not see my lady get in ; but did not see 
 her afterwards. Georgie left the station sick 
 at heart. But why go into the miserable 
 details ? 
 
 Neville came and made more inquiries, till 
 at last the full significance of the fatal truth 
 dawned upon them. Then it seemed as if this 
 last blow would prostrate Pierce to the very 
 dust. Bravely he struggled against it ; then 
 he succumbed. He was taken ill — was con- 
 fined to his room for weeks. Meantime Neville 
 scoured the country ; went to London ; set 
 
120 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the private detectives at work ; and failed ut- 
 terly in discovering a single trace. A keener 
 man than he in such a search had failed in 
 the same attempt. This was Louis and his 
 detective Randal. They were beaten by the 
 very simplicity of the fugitives. They looked 
 at the West-end hotels — no one there. They 
 never dreamt of the commercial hotels in the 
 City. 
 
 Neville believed they had gone abroad, and 
 ceased his search. Meantime Georgie nursed 
 Pierce, in so far as he wanted nursing. He 
 was about again now ; but exceedingly weak. 
 The great difficulty was to get him to take an 
 interest in anything ; his mind seemed more 
 listless than his body. His soul had received 
 a blow which stunned it. Thus they were 
 when Horton came down. He grew to have 
 a certain influence over Pierce which did the 
 other good. The silent support of his iron 
 character aided the older man — acted like a 
 tonic. They grew greater friends than they 
 had ever been previously. The subject of 
 Heloise was never mentioned. Horton drew 
 Pierce out with him again, fishing as they had 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 121 
 
 done so long before. This served to divert 
 the old man's mind a little from the one over- 
 whelming misery : and Horton kept him en- 
 gaged perpetually. He pretended an interest 
 he did not feel in the history of the county, 
 in the places of antiquarian renown. Pierce, 
 well-informed, was roused up, and accom- 
 panied him as guide. Horton kept him con- 
 stantly occupied. Even this great blow was 
 passing away ; a peace — a mournful peace, it 
 is true, but still a peace — was falling over 
 this old house by the river. 
 
 Little they dreamt of those converging- 
 roads of fate which even then were bringing 
 the actors in the drama of their life, fast as 
 steam and sail could carry them, there to 
 strut their little hour, there to rant their part. 
 Could they have had that keener sight, that 
 acuter hearing, and farther vision we longed 
 for just now, it is possible that they would 
 have fled away, eager to escape the jar of 
 meeting passions — the fiery ordeal that was 
 approaching. 
 
 June was over now ; July had partly 
 passed ; the corn was yellowing before it 
 
122 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 bronzed ; tlie convolvulus had taken the place 
 of the dog-rose- — Heloise's favourite flower — 
 upon the hedges. The stillness and haze of 
 early autumn were coming. It was near the 
 end of July. Pierce and Horton and Neville 
 had gone to visit an ancient cromlech far away 
 in a dell upon the downs. Georgiana had 
 ridden on horseback over to her own house 
 at Knoylelands. In the afternoon Carlotta 
 came. She drove up in a fly from the sta- 
 tion. The footman who opened the door — 
 an ancient servitor of the family — knew her 
 at a glance. Oddly enough, his mind went 
 back some five-and-thirty years in that in- 
 stant of time. 
 
 'Miss Carlotta/ he said, and then flushed 
 up and stammered. 
 
 ' Ah, John !' said Carlotta, bent on con- 
 ciliation, and extending her hand; 'do you 
 remember pulling me out of the brook when 
 I got in after the watercresses ?' 
 
 And she laughed her silvery laugh, and 
 smiled on him, and slipped a sovereign into 
 his hand. "What could they do, these ser- 
 vants ? They knew the whole history of the 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 123 
 
 woman ; but she was their master's eldest 
 daughter — they dared not disobey her. They 
 took her up-stairs. When she heard they 
 were out, she asked for a room. Carlotta 
 was conscious that eyes were watching her 
 from every avaihible corner as she walked up 
 the broad staircase. She knew that they knew 
 her history, and that they were gazing upon 
 her with, curiosity. She walked the slower, 
 and stajed to look out of the staircase win- 
 dow upon the lawn, and turned again as she 
 reached the landing, and looked down upon 
 them calmly without a smile, without a blush, 
 full of her own beauty, not even condescend- 
 ing to defiance. She went through her toi- 
 lette, she changed her travelling-dress herself 
 She came down into the sitting-room a glory 
 of beauty and splendour — a very queen — 
 and waited for them thus — for her injured 
 husband, for her disgraced father. She knew 
 better than to put on a brown-holland dress, 
 to heap her head with ashes. It is the tears of 
 these superb and glorious creatures that move 
 men's hearts, not the tears of commonplace 
 dowdies. 
 
124 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 So thev found her. The servants dared 
 not even tell Pierce, who had arrived. They 
 could not tell him. All he knew was, that a 
 visitor was waiting in the drawing-room to 
 see him. He opened the door, he stepped in, 
 he saw, and the power of speech left him. In 
 all her wonderful beauty, a vision of loveli- 
 ness, she stood before him. He knew not 
 what he felt. His frame was weakened by 
 late illness; he tottered and fell into a chair, 
 gazing at her as he might at a phantom. You 
 see, she had taken him by surprise; he had 
 no time for resentment. She took his hand ; 
 she kissed his forehead lightly, and her per- 
 fumed breath played with his grey hair ; the 
 odour of her scented robes filled his nostrils. 
 The old man had the eye and the heart of an 
 artist. Her beauty — let us tell the truth — 
 cast out the very memory of her misdeeds, 
 at least for that moment. She threw herself 
 on her knees beside him ; she flung her arms 
 around him. 
 
 'Father,' she said softly, pleadingly; 'fa- 
 ther, have mercy on me!' 
 
 The simple words went right to their 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 125 
 
 mark. You see, she was so beautiful. Had 
 they come from a commonplace woman, their 
 effect would have been nil. He have mercy 
 on her ! He, an old and weakened man, who 
 had begun to ask himself of late whether or 
 no even his highest philosophy (which was 
 to him as religion is to others) was not a 
 dream of the mind, a delusion — who had 
 begun to ask himself if he was even compe- 
 tent to be the judge of right and wrong for 
 himself — he have mercy on her! The old 
 man's heart, you see, had been weakened by 
 repeated blows; there was no anger left in 
 it. ' Father, have mercy on me !^ These 
 simple words had left his own lips many times 
 lately in this last great trouble with Heloise ; 
 thus he had cried, in the bitterness of his 
 spirit, to that great God whom he worshipped. 
 Suddenly the old man burst into tears, 
 and his trembling hand fell on her shoulder. 
 Carlotta was unprepared for this. For bitter 
 words, for revilings, for sharp blows of the 
 tongue : for these she was prepared. For cold 
 sneers, for the indifferent refusal to see her: 
 this she had expected. But this — it did not 
 
126 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 affect her, it did not work upon her hardened 
 heart. For a second it puzzled her. Then 
 she put her arm round his neck, and drew 
 down his head till it rested on her own lovely 
 bust, and whispered low words of deep affec- 
 tion. So it came about that the sinner con- 
 soled the sinned against. 
 
 Pierce kissed her when he recovered him- 
 self a little ; he kissed her twice, and smiled at 
 her faintly; he let his hand glide over the 
 raven glossy hair, and looked at her fondly. 
 After all, she was his daughter, his eldest daugh- 
 ter ; and she was a noble woman to look at — 
 a daughter any man might be proud of. 
 
 ' My child,' he said, speaking to her as he 
 would have done five- and-thirty years before. 
 
 ' I have come back to you, father,' she 
 said, casting her eyes down meekly. He ac- 
 cepted her as the returned prodigal ; he asked 
 no questions ; he welcomed her. The man 
 was too good, too kind for this world of ours. 
 She saw her advantage and pursued it re- 
 lentlessly. She knelt at his knee and poured 
 into his ear a tale of deception and delusion, a 
 tale of penitence and contrition. Always she 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 127 
 
 cast the blame upon Louis ; he had been the 
 bane of her life. Pierce, remembering and re- 
 senting Louis's desertion of Heloise, believed 
 this. In a measure it was true. Always she 
 spoke of Horton with tenderest regret. She 
 did not regret her own misery, her own dis- 
 grace; it was not herself she thought of, it 
 was always him. For him she had dared this 
 — dared the sneer and the finger of scorn — 
 dared even to face her justly incensed father. 
 For him — for Horton. Surely Pierce would 
 aid her, he would help her into the strait 
 and narrow path again. She could not hope, 
 she said, to become his wife again, to live 
 with him, to share his society. But she did 
 hope that he would not take from her the 
 name of his wife (she knew there was no 
 danger of such proceedings, unless forced on 
 by herself) ; she did rely on Pierce's offices 
 to procure her a small share of his bounty, 
 that she might live in quietness away from 
 the world (away from the world!). 
 
 Pierce interrupted her. There was no 
 need of her asking for that ; he would sup- 
 port her ; she should not want ; he had plenty. 
 
128 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 But he applauded her desire to seek Horton'& 
 forgiveness; gladly he promised his aid; he 
 would intercede for her; he would go at 
 once. 
 
 'Let no one come to me,' said Carlotta, 
 ' till — till he comes.' 
 
 She hung her head. Pierce kissed her. 
 No one should enter the room. Then he 
 sought Horton, and found him in the library, 
 whither he had gone to while away an hour 
 before dintier. Pierce paused when he saw 
 him. The task seemed easy and light from 
 a distance ; now that he looked into the steel- 
 grey eyes of this man of iron, his heart failed 
 him ; he hesitated ; his lips would not frame 
 the opening words. But he had promised — 
 he would do it, and he did. Horton listened 
 in utter amazement; well he might. It was, 
 indeed, a strange sight. The poor and aged 
 father, brought down to the very verge of 
 the grave by his daughters' misdeeds, urging 
 earnestly, eloquently, that the deepest sin- 
 ner, the most degraded of them all, might be 
 spared, might be restored to some Kttle posi- 
 tion of womanly dignity. 
 
HESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 129 
 
 Horton gazed first with amazement; then 
 he listened with incredulitj^ He could not 
 conceive the possibility of it at first. After 
 a while, as he marked the trembling eagerness 
 of the old man, he grew to feel that it was 
 true — that the father was really pleading for 
 the evil woman whom he called his daughter. 
 Then there rose up in his heart a bitter 
 hatred — a red-hot glow of indignation, not 
 against the unfortunate man, but against that 
 degraded and horribly -unnatural creature who 
 had brought the grey hairs of her parent to 
 this wretched office. All the strength of his 
 mind rose up in a fiery rage — a bitter and 
 unutterable loathing of the creature whom 
 once he had strained to his heart in fondest^ 
 most fatuous admiration. She had deceived 
 him into this, wheedled him, melted him with 
 crocodile tears, stroked him down with her 
 white hands, made him submissive to her 
 will. Out of respect to Pierce he listened 
 patiently, he even nodded his head ; but 
 when he paused, he said quietly, 
 ^ She is here, then?' 
 
 YOL. III. K 
 
130 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Pierce said she was. 
 
 ' Take me to her/ he said, in a voice so 
 low and gentle as to deceive Pierce, who 
 thought that he had gained his point. 
 
 Then he led him to the drawing-room, 
 and left him there, to pace the library and 
 wait for the result. 
 
 Carlotta was standing by the window when 
 he entered. The blaze of the man's eyes — 
 the fierce light that shot from under the bent 
 eyebrows — the frown upon the forehead — the 
 quick step — the outstretched hand : these told 
 her in an instant what to expect. He came 
 closer to her; he gazed her in the eyes, as if 
 the steel-blue of his would drive her down 
 to crouch at his feet. She did nothing of the 
 kind. She stood and faced him as calm as 
 he was passionate, unmoved even by the con- 
 sciousness of the clenched hand, that might 
 strike her to the earth. She met his eyes fully 
 with her own. His breath came short and 
 thick ; he gasped for utterance. Her breast 
 rose and fell gently, regularly. She blenched 
 not one step. He was astounded, in spite of 
 himself, by the calm, the unbounded audacity 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 131 
 
 of the woman. It forced an admiration out 
 
 of him even then. 
 
 ' Carlotta,' he hissed at last — 'devil, be 
 
 gone !' 
 
 ' Horton,' she said calmly. 
 
 But his lips once opened, he poured upon 
 
 her all the scorn, all the wrath of his passion. 
 
 AU the years of his suffering and silence — all 
 
 the suppressed misery of those years and 
 years — rushed out from his mouth, till even 
 she, yes, slie^ the heart of adamant, quailed 
 before him, and trembled, for never before 
 had she known the resistless strength of man's 
 passion. His hands held her arms as in a 
 vice ; but she did not feel the pain. Her soul 
 for one instant saw its own blackness, its own 
 ineffable infamy, and fled horror - struck at 
 the sight. His violence forced away the thick 
 veil of her vanity and her selfishness ; he 
 compelled her to see herself. Gradually she 
 sank before him ; her knees touched the 
 carpet ; he towered over her, still holding her 
 arms, pouring upon her the fiery storm of his 
 just and Rhadaman thine wrath. Had he 
 struck her it would have been different ; she 
 
132 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 fully expected that when he came striding to- 
 wards her. Then she would have taunted and 
 sneered at him, and bared her breast, and 
 dared him to kill her, and laughed in his face. 
 But this — this was something beyond her ex- 
 perience — what she had never dreamt of as 
 possible. For he tore away the veil of her 
 vanity and intense selfishness, and for one 
 brief minute he filled her with shame. Pierce 
 pacing the library waited till he grew im- 
 patient; then he came out into the passage — 
 he heard loud voices — he could stay no 
 longer. He opened the door ; he saw her at 
 Horton's feet, crouching like a beaten hound. 
 He rushed forward ; he, too, fell on his knees. 
 Seizing Horton's arm, he begged him, prayed 
 him, conjured him, all injured as he was, to 
 forgive; and Horton paused and looked from 
 one to the other, a dull wonder even then 
 filling his mind. Then he looked at Carlotta's 
 drooping head, and let go her arm, and stepped 
 back ; but she clung to his knees, and fell on 
 the floor at his feet, and a passion of sobs, 
 real sobs, forced from her by the violence of 
 her excitement, shook her form. Pierce, rising. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 133 
 
 took Horton by the shoulders, and spoke to 
 him hurriedly and low, and the burden of his 
 words was ever the same : that he had been 
 wronged, cruelly wronged; but it was nobler 
 to forgive. And Horton, his chest heaving 
 with passion, looked from one to the other, 
 from the wretched creature grovelling at his 
 feet to the trembling old man hanging upon 
 his lips. And a deep compassion, a pitiful 
 sympathy for Pierce rose up in his heart, and 
 he took Pierce's hand and bowed his head, and 
 said in a low voice hastily, ' As you will, as 
 you will.' Then with Pierce he raised up Car- 
 lotta, and placed her on the sofa ; and they sat 
 one on each side of her, the injured husband 
 and the still more injured father, and consoled 
 her, drying her tears, supporting her form, 
 till the storm of unwonted passion passed 
 away, and they helped her gently up-stairs to 
 her room, and left her there. 
 
 As the door closed behind her Horton held 
 out his hand, and took Pierce's and pressed it 
 significantly, and they parted to sweep away 
 the traces of the storm before they met again 
 at dinner. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Riding over to Knoylelands, Georgiana could 
 not help contrasting the real state of things 
 with that which she had planned with Neville 
 when they first entered upon their new life, 
 after the novel ceremony of their marriage, or 
 rather contract. The very primary ground of 
 that contract, the foundation upon which it 
 was all built, was the deed of partnership, 
 by which she contributed her 800 acres and 
 her house, and Neville gave his 20,000/. as 
 the capital to work it. They were to pass a 
 few weeks upon the Continent ; then they were 
 to return and to spend the rest of their lives 
 together in that seclusion, studying, and en- 
 joying each other's society within easy reach of 
 her friend Heloise. This was a fair and plea- 
 sant prospect, and, as it had seemed at the 
 time, one easy of realisation. Is it not often 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 135 
 
 rather the difficulties that arise in ourselves, 
 changes of our own mental drift, that cause 
 the dispose to be so entirely different from the 
 propose^ quite as much as the interference of 
 circumstances over which we have no control? 
 There had been no absolute obstacle to pre- 
 vent the realisation of this very modest ideal. 
 The difficulties had arisen in themselves, in 
 the drift of their own minds. 
 
 Neville had wearied of her — she did not 
 disguise the fact from herself — he had, in a 
 manner at least, wearied of her during that 
 time upon the Continent. He did not say so, 
 he did not even imply as much, but she felt 
 it. She knew what his irritation and rest- 
 lessness meant. She was glad when, on re- 
 turning to England, society encircled them 
 in its folds, and gave him an opportunity of 
 escaping from the dull bonds that had become 
 irksome to him, of escaping from her. 
 
 This woman loved in a noble manner. It 
 is questionable if she could have given up 
 Neville, even for his own good, totally and for 
 ever, not even to save him from ennui; but 
 she had a broad and liberal mind : she ab- 
 
136 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 solved him from any unfaithfulness ; she did 
 not even charge him with a lack of affection ; 
 she put the difficulty down to its true cause 
 — the total disruption of all his old habits. 
 She did not wish him ever to return to these 
 old habits again. The best thing was obviously 
 plenty of society — amusement. Gladly she 
 saw him going about, even to Ascot and the 
 betting- ring. It would rouse him, his latent 
 powers would come to the surface ; in time 
 he would return to her. Then she herself 
 became involved in the vortex of fashion. So 
 it was that neither of them ever proposed the 
 carrying into execution the original plan of 
 settling do^\Ti at Knoylelands. Till, at last, 
 Georgiana, tired of fashion and excitement, 
 weary of waiting for the return of that love 
 which never came, thought of Heloise, and 
 longed for the old happy life at Avonbourne. 
 She came, to find Heloise gone — more sin, 
 more misery, less faith than ever in her own 
 kind. But out of this very sin and misery 
 grew up a good and a joy to her. She tele- 
 graphed for Neville. He came. He too was 
 tired of fashion and excitement ; a mind of his 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 137 
 
 description could not be satisfied long with 
 the artificial pabulum of the betting - ring. 
 The inevitable reaction set in with him also. 
 He came to unconsciously compare the wo- 
 men, ay and the men too, with whom he 
 associated with Georgie, and she shone out as 
 gold placed beside dull brass and lead. The 
 old, old love awakened in his heart. Yet he 
 hesitated to go back to her. 
 
 Habit is strong; besides there was, perhaps, 
 a little reluctance to tacitly ow^n himself in the 
 wrong. He lingered on in those ways, though 
 his heart was not in them. He might have 
 lingered on much longer had it not been for 
 Georgiana's telegram; he came at once. He 
 did his best to discover Heloise, and when he 
 failed he came back to Avonbourne and stayed 
 there ; he showed no disposition to leave her 
 side again. All the woman awoke in her as 
 she became gradually aware that he did not 
 want to leave her. She could not help it ; the 
 warmth of her love poured itself out upon 
 him. She said nothing — it was all very quiet 
 and undemonstrative ; but she made him feel 
 that he was welcome, that bygones were by- 
 
138 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 gones, that she did not reproach him, that her 
 arms were open to him. 
 
 In the weeks they lived at Bourne Manor, 
 while Georgiana nursed Pierce, and while 
 Heloise, all unknown to them, was lying in 
 agony, in that time a perfect understanding 
 grew up between them. No words were 
 spoken, but they knew full well each of them 
 that they had met to part no more. So 
 Georgiana, riding over to Knoylelands out of 
 curiosity and to amuse herself while the gen- 
 tlemen visited the ancient cromlech — a crom- 
 lech which she had seen many times — was in a 
 degree happy. The thoughts of the past that 
 came over her rolled away, and left her re- 
 joicing in the hope of the future. They should 
 yet come to Knoylelands, she and Neville, 
 and live in perfect accord, with a quiet but 
 deep joy in each other. Why should they 
 not go there at once? They could go over 
 daily and see poor old Pierce. She would go 
 over the house and see if any alterations re- 
 quired to be made. She did so; she spent 
 the best part of the day laying out her plans, 
 making inventories of things she should have 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 139 
 
 done here— new furniture that she should have 
 brought in there— little alterations to be made 
 in a third place. But the greatest joy of all 
 was arranging Neville's study, his own pri- 
 vate especial room, where he could sit in his 
 own particular chair, at his own particular 
 table, smothered in literary litter of books 
 and paper, and so forth, undisturbed and 
 happy. He had himself selected the room 
 when he was living there before their mar- 
 riage. It was not large, but very lofty, with a 
 window to the south-west ; a deep embrasure, 
 where he could sit and muse in the sunset, 
 and look up from his book to gaze on the 
 glorious painting of the clouds. 
 
 Georgiana sat down in this window-seat, 
 and looked out thoughtfully upon the green 
 meadows, swelling on slowly into an upland, 
 crowned with the golden wheat, and beyond 
 that the outline of the hills which closed in 
 Avonbourne. Then she set to work with her 
 pocket-book to note down the things she must 
 o^et and the alterations she must make. It 
 had been a bedroom ; the bed must be taken 
 away, the fireplace must be enlarged, new 
 
140 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 carpets — Neville was particularly fond of thick 
 carpets, that deadened the sound of the foot- 
 steps, soft as if walking upon moss. She knew 
 his favourite picture — it was a Rembrandt in 
 the dining-room; that must be moved up 
 here, and hung yonder, just opposite where 
 his writing-table must be placed, and the table 
 must be put where the light was not strong. 
 It must be a heavy oak table — one that would 
 not jar or quiver as he wrote ; one that would 
 bear thick tomes without tilting. He would 
 like a lamp swung from the ceiling, so that 
 the light might fall from above, it was much 
 better for the eyes ; she made an inventory of 
 all things, even to a footstool for his feet. 
 
 By this time it was afternoon, and she 
 mounted her horse to return. She rode over 
 the downs, and thus it was that from the ridge 
 she could see the old house at Avonbourne 
 long before she came to it. Heloise rushed 
 into her mind almost as a reproach; she had 
 been so happy, and her friend — Heloise ? Not 
 even for one moment did a detestation of the 
 guilt disturb her love, nor indeed would she 
 ever admit that Heloise was morally guilty. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 141 
 
 She had been over-persuaded ; even now it 
 was just possible that her instinctive purity 
 had saved her from utter and irretrievable 
 ruin. Never would she give up hope — never 
 cease to believe in Heloise. She reproached 
 herself with the plans for her own happiness, 
 in which she had lost all thought of her friend. 
 She grew thoughtful and sad as the horse, left 
 to himself, paced slowly along the smooth 
 and velvet turf of the hills. The memory of 
 Heloise brought up a train of thought which 
 of late had begun to work in her mind. Al- 
 ready she had doubted her mission. Now 
 there came a doubt of the very possibility of 
 progress. Could the human being progress? 
 Inventions and mechanics could, and did ; see 
 the steam-engine and the telegraph. But was 
 the man who drove that steam-engine, or the 
 man who rode at his ease in the first-class car- 
 riage behind it, in any way really superior to 
 or improved upon his ancestors, who roamed, 
 clad in the skins of beasts and spear in hand, 
 over these very downs? Under the thin crust 
 of civilisation were they not subject to the 
 same passions ; did they not under greater or 
 
142 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 less disguise engage in the same guilt and 
 corruption? And women — her own sex — 
 were they capable of improvement ; was it pos- 
 sible to change their nature? After all, it might 
 be that the laws and the customs which had 
 grown up out of the experience of thousands 
 of years might be as nearly adjusted to the 
 true relationship of the sexes as any human 
 machinery could be. She had lost her dog- 
 matic assertion, her unvarying consistency; 
 she had lost her belief in her own arguments. 
 The ground seemed to fall away so beneath her 
 own feet. Her o'svn case — with all her inge- 
 nuity, with all her inspiration, had not she 
 failed? It was not the method of their mar- 
 riage that had brought Neville back to her 
 again. It had had no more effect than as if 
 it had been the most ordinary and customary 
 process. To a certain degree, Georgiana felt 
 humbled in her own estimation — sad, and 
 with less faith in herself as she reentered 
 Bourne Manor : had not even Heloise — But 
 that was too painful to dwell upon. 
 
 If so pure and divine a nature as Heloise's 
 gave way to guilt, what could be expected of 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 143 
 
 coarser and ruder creatures ? There might be 
 many excuses for them. 
 
 Georgiana had been meantime the subject 
 of much anxious conversation between Pierce 
 and Horton. They could not tell how she 
 would meet Carlotta. They knew her theories, 
 and her rather violent and decided character 
 of old ; they did not know the change that 
 had been going on Avithin her. They called 
 in Neville. It was a deep humiliation to 
 Pierce to talk of his own daughter's deeds to 
 Neville ; yet it was necessary, and in some 
 degree palliated by the other's acquaintance 
 with the facts. Neville voluntarily promised 
 his aid to effect at least an apparent friend- 
 liness; an absence of outward scorn, if not an 
 actual pleasantness. He did not anticipate, he 
 said, that there would be much difficultv. So 
 it was that when she returned and went up to 
 her room, Horton the brother, and Neville 
 the husband, went up and saw her. Georgiana, 
 saddened and humiliated in her own esti- 
 mation by her late thoughts, heard them with 
 deep surprise indeed, but with no retort. God 
 forbid, she said at last, that she should in any 
 
144 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 way presume to set herself in the place of a 
 judge ; still less to prevent the return of an 
 erring person. Nothing on her part should 
 indicate in the slightest degree that she was 
 even acquainted with Carlotta's history. To 
 tell the truth it was with no little curiosity 
 that Georgiana entered the dining-room, and 
 shook hands with Carlotta. 
 
 It was a strange and unparalleled dinner- 
 party. The father sat by his lately-recovered 
 daughter ; the husband on the other side of 
 his wife ; next to Horton, Georgiana ; beside 
 her, Neville. While there was anything to eat 
 it went smoothly enough ; between the courses 
 there was an awkward pause. The father 
 could not start a conversation ; his mind, 
 heavily burdened, refused to rise on the light 
 waves of talk. The husband was silent and 
 meditative. Neville gallantly did his best; he 
 started at least twenty different ideas ; Geor- 
 giana seconded him; but one and all fell 
 flat. A dulness, an inevitable silence reigned. 
 Strangely enough, it was the very person who 
 had caused this constraint who now rose to the 
 occasion and removed it. When she left Pierce 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 145 
 
 and Horton, and retired to her own private 
 room, the very vigour of her physical frame 
 had ah-eady begun to renovate her mental 
 condition. This vigour — this intense life — ut- 
 terly forbade her ever remaining long in a 
 downcast condition. She washed ; she re- 
 freshed herself; removed all traces of her late 
 disorder. There was still a quarter of an hour 
 to think before dinner. Deliberately she sat 
 herself down to do so. She reviewed her 
 position. She had gained Pierce on her side, 
 first; that was an immense advantage. More- 
 over, she had made a discovery. Till this day 
 she had had no idea that Pierce was a peer, 
 that he had succeeded to large estates, that 
 he was in fact wealthy. There w^as much to 
 be made out of him by skilfid manoeuvering. 
 She had gone even further : she had secured 
 Horton. He had reviled her, he had humili- 
 ated her ; but in the end he had given way. 
 By delicate treatment she might yet succeed, if 
 not in a total restitution, at least in occu- 
 pying a good position as far as cash was con- 
 cerned. It would go hard with her if she did 
 not improve these advantages, and w^ork upon 
 
 VOL. III. L 
 
146 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the natures of these men to her own profit. 
 To her own profit. For the momentary humili- 
 ation, the flush of shame, had passed away 
 as quickly as it came, leaving no impression 
 upon her mind. She smiled as she thought 
 of it ; yes, absolutely smiled at herself; a 
 smile that quickly died away into a sneer at 
 the weakness of these men, the ease with 
 which she had wound them round her fingers. 
 Then she looked in the glass, and swelled 
 with a proud triumph, and admired her own 
 beauty ; and set her foot firm, and inwardly 
 resolved to rule the roast yet. Such was the 
 indomitable strength of her mind, the almost 
 total absence of moral consciousness, the in- 
 tense physical energy of the woman. There 
 was something absolutely grand and yet re- 
 pulsive in the very audacity, the cool unpar- 
 alleled effrontery of this sin-stained gorgeous 
 creature daring to present herself at the very 
 door of this mansion ; and now sailing down 
 to dinner in full dress, calm, lovely, magnifi- 
 cent, with the port of a queen. With one 
 jewelled hand lightly laid on Pierce's arm she 
 swept to the head of the table — her place by 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 147 
 
 rio^ht as eldest dauf^rhter — and seated herself 
 there, rustling in silk, odorous with delicate 
 perfume, glowing with tropical beauty. Shall 
 truth be confessed ? Georgiana grew jealous 
 of her. 
 
 Neville's eyes were on her constantly. He 
 could not withdraw them. The flashing South- 
 ern eyes, the regular features, the noble well- 
 poised head, the splendid bust, the dazzling 
 whiteness of the skin, they fascinated him. 
 Her slightest motion was grace; her voice low 
 and sweet — a beautiful thing in woman. An 
 irresistible influence seemed to surround her, 
 to move with her. Georgiana marked his gaze, 
 and grew jealous. She, the reformer, the 
 woman of mind, grew jealous of this creature, 
 this mere woman of matter : 
 
 ' It is from matter that light streams and flows, 
 And light clothes matter in its rarest hues.' 
 
 The very materialism of her nature, the firm 
 full oro-ans, seemed to emit a mao^ical radi- 
 ation, a subtle ether that stole into the very 
 hearts of men. And Georgiana, proof against 
 this attraction herself, saw and recognised its 
 power over the opposite sex : and hated her. 
 
148 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 as far as such a woman could liate who tried 
 all the while to subdue her rising passion. 
 Even Pierce brightened and smiled when Car- 
 lotta addressed him ; even Horton could not 
 refrain a glance occasionally at her. Georgiana 
 verily believed that for the moment at least 
 he, the injured husband, was proud of his 
 wife. How weak these men were ! So it vras 
 that Carlotta, whose presence was the cause of 
 the restraint, in a little while, by sheer dint of 
 her liveliness, overcame and conquered ; at 
 least she overcame the men ; and there en- 
 sued an ease — the stiffness vanished — the con- 
 versation grew lively. And she actually con- 
 versed, and laughed, and showed her beautiful 
 white teeth ; positively laughed, as Georgiana 
 said to herself. This creature dared to laugh. 
 Georgie, where is your own self-humiliation 
 now ; where is your readiness to welcome back 
 the sinful to the path of virtue? A black drop 
 of ill-humour was gathering in her heart. Of 
 course she did not show it ; she joined in the 
 laugh. The men encouraged the smile; the 
 jest began to circulate— absolutely jesting, said 
 Georgiana, at the table of the man she had 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 140 
 
 disgraced for ever. By the time the wine ar- 
 rived a Lethe of oblivion of the past seemed 
 to have fallen over the company^ Georgiana 
 only excepted. Poor old Pierce, to whom Car- 
 lotta paid the most attention, brightened up, 
 and became genial, almost happy. Horton un- 
 bent and relaxed the severity of his features. 
 Neville was lively and talkative. With one 
 consent the gentlemen refused to remain over 
 their wine, but accompanied the ladies to the 
 drawing-room at once. This was a great re- 
 lief to Georgiana. She had dreaded being left 
 alone with Her. She had even an inward 
 inkling that this creature was quietly, and in 
 her own heart, enjoying her triumph, gibing 
 at the only one who could see through her, 
 and yet was powerless ; and this was the fact. 
 This one drop of honey was added to the 
 sweet cup of Carlotta's triumph, in the 
 thought that one of her own sex was there 
 jealous, annoyed, half wretched. She knew 
 that Georgie saw through her and despised 
 her — that increased the pleasure ; for it in- 
 creased Georgie's annoyance. 
 
 In the drawing-room, Neville, judging by 
 
150 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the mellowness of her voice, begged her to 
 sing. And she did sing, as only such a woman 
 can. Her voice floated up and filled the 
 room, and her throat gurgled and trilled 
 with those delicious indescribable sounds 
 which the Opera calls singing, and which is 
 rather an inarticulate attempt on the part of 
 a divine being, deprived of speech, to express 
 the feelings of its soul. In that music they 
 forgot her past, they dwelt in her present 
 only. Pierce was lulled, Horton soothed, 
 Neville intoxicated. Even Georgiana gave 
 way to this — she could not resist it. The very 
 love of truth, the very justice of her mind, 
 compelled her to applaud with the rest ; for 
 it was indeed singing. Then she played, and 
 the marvellous suppleness of the white taper 
 fingers filled them with wonder ; and Georgie, 
 herself a fine musician and passionately fond 
 of the art, moved up nearer and watched her. 
 The woman was lost now in the genius, the 
 sinner was out of sight ; the inspiration alone 
 remained. The charm of it was her own self- 
 possession, the calmness of her face, the ease 
 and grace of her motions. There was no 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 151 
 
 strain, no feverish anxiety, no hesitation; 
 the notes flew beneath her touch, as if she 
 were sowing pearls of sound. Once there 
 they could not let her move. They made her 
 sing and play, alternately, the whole evening 
 through. There were intervals of course : in- 
 tervals in which she turned upon them the 
 full glow of her beauty. Intervals in which 
 the ready wit, the amusing anecdotes, the 
 lively sparkle of her talk enchanted them 
 almost as much as the music had done. 
 Georgiana was studying her now. The envy 
 and jealousy had departed since the singing 
 and the playing. IShe could not feel jealous 
 of a genius : that was no part of her nature. 
 She had nothing but admiration, worship for 
 genius. It was only when the woman in her 
 was roused that the weakness of the sex 
 affected her. She could not yet like her; she 
 could not even prevail upon herself to address 
 her familiarly: but she studied her. And 
 the more she dwelt upon her the more her 
 wonder grew. Carlotta was sketching the 
 continental manners now for Pierce's amuse- 
 ment. The sparkle of her wit lit up her de- 
 
152 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 scriptions like the sunliglit upon the falling 
 spray of a fountain. Her spirits had risen 
 now to the highest pitch. She saw that her 
 success was secured; she saw that Pierce was 
 in the hollow of her hand ; she felt that 
 Horton was won over. She marked Neville's 
 evident admiration. His face acted to her 
 as a mirror. She watched it. . In it she could 
 see her progress reflected ; could tell in an 
 instant that she had struck a right chord, or 
 that her hand was approaching a wrong one. 
 Thus it vras that she became dimly conscious 
 that something was wrong with Heloise. 
 Her quick wit had already noticed that no 
 allusion was made to her: she hazarded a 
 hint — she did not even mention the name — 
 she hinted at something in connection with 
 Heloise, and she saw in an instant that she 
 was treading upon dangerous ground. A 
 shade passed over Neville's face— that was her 
 mirror. Like a sensitive horse she obeyed 
 the slightest indication. Away she rattled 
 again, steering away from the rock with 
 ease. It must be remembered that Carlotta 
 had had no connection with any one in Eng- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 153 
 
 land for a length of time ; that she had only 
 just returned from the Continent, and had 
 had no intimation either of Pierce's being a 
 peer or of Heloise's elopement. But she felt 
 that something was wrong. 
 
 The evening was gone before they were 
 aware of it. Time had passed unnoticed. 
 Even Georgiana could not refuse a certain 
 cordiality in the pressure of her hand, the 
 tone of her voice. Carlotta sailed upstairs 
 in triumph; and glancing back caught Ne- 
 ville watching her, and flashed on him the 
 brilliance of her eyes. In her room she in- 
 quired of the maid who had been sent to 
 attend to her of Heloise, and soon learnt the 
 truth. No words can picture the intense de- 
 light, the thrill of malignant triumph that shot 
 through her. A flush mounted to her cheeks, 
 a flash left her eyes. She — the pure, the 
 innocent — had fallen at last. The much- 
 adored idol was down, with its face in the 
 dust. The whole woman swelled and enlarged. 
 There arose in her a still deeper enjoyment in 
 her own existence, a fulness of life; she 
 panted with very accession of vigour. He- 
 
154 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 loise, the innocent, had fallen, was degraded. 
 Herself, the gorgeous smner, was enthroned 
 in her place. Pierce and Horton and Neville 
 were all doinor homao^e at her feet : even this 
 other woman, Georgiana, was forced to be 
 civil and polite. She was master of the 
 house. Her lips set firmly, her teeth met in 
 a stern resolve to turn that success to the 
 fullest advantage she could work out of it. 
 She had them all in her net. And Heloise, 
 the innocent, was fallen. The pure idol was 
 down in the dust. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The charm of Carlotta's manner did not 
 evaporate with the daylight. But by this 
 time she had had plenty of opportunity to 
 study the scene of action, and to be prepared 
 with her part accordingly. She was more 
 subdued by daylight. She did not flash her 
 beauty and her magic so much in their faces. 
 Her theory was that that did very well in the 
 evening, when men wished to be amused ; 
 in the middle of the day it was better not to 
 be too gorgeous. Therefore she dressed 
 quieter. She had only brought a single port- 
 manteau with her ; in that there were only a 
 few dresses, barely enough for the changes de- 
 manded by civilisation ; yet somehow she con- 
 trived to make a variety, as only a clever 
 woman can, out of these slender materials. 
 Meantime she lost no time in telegraphing to 
 London for some of her luggage left at an 
 
15G EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 hotel. Her manner corresponded witli her 
 dress. She wished to show that she was 
 equal to ordinary life ; that she could bear 
 her part in every-day existence as well as take 
 the lead and become the centre of admiration 
 in the hour of amusement. At first she had 
 had thoughts of depending entirely upon her 
 powers of dazzling, but second thoughts bore 
 down the balance in favour of an attempt to 
 enter into their daily life. In this she suc- 
 ceeded as well as she had done on her first 
 arrival. Towards Pierce her demeanour was 
 one of the deepest reverence and affection. 
 She was to him the dutiful daughter, ever 
 ready to fall in with his suggestions, to adopt 
 his merest hints, waiting upon his eye-glance 
 with ever-ready wit. So she wound herself 
 into the heart of the old man, and became to 
 him almost a necessary part of his daily life, 
 and all this in the course of one short week. 
 It was her beauty. The words, the glances, 
 the tone of her voice, the graceful movement, — 
 it was these that lent so strong a power to her 
 smallest effort. She had so much attention. 
 They could not but note her merest word, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 167 
 
 her merest act. Then those acts, those words, 
 were winged with grace and soft delicious 
 languor. A plain woman might have striven 
 for years in vain : she might have said 
 precisely the same words, done precisely the 
 same things, put her whole heart into the 
 labour, and yet failed utterly, simply because, 
 in the first place, she could not get the atten- 
 tion paid to her, and because her words and 
 acts were not emphasised by loveliness. For 
 which of us could not persuade another per- 
 son to our Avill if only that other person would 
 listen to us carefully, attentively, and try to 
 realise the complete meaning of our language, 
 and not fly off at a tangent every five minutes ? 
 If they would only try to follow out the 
 sequence of our thought, if they would cor- 
 dially try to see things as we saw them, how 
 speedily we should carry them away with us ! 
 This was how Carlotta succeeded. Her beauty 
 obtained for her this very attention, this 
 silent and appreciative auditory ; hence she 
 easily swayed them to her purpose. To 
 Georgiana she was deferential in the extreme, 
 disarming her by very humility. But her 
 
158 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 cleverest stroke was with Neville. She re- 
 fused to flirt with him. Not that Neville, 
 under the very eyes of his wife, would have 
 plunged into a downright flirtation — such a 
 flirtation as his late residence among the 
 fashionables had taught him was permissible, 
 and really the very salt of society — but he was 
 ready to admire her to the very top of her 
 bent. Carlotta denied herself this pleasure ; 
 she refused to let him admire her; she kept 
 him coldly at a distance. This was to disarm 
 Georgiana, and it most efl'ectually attained the 
 object. There even grew up to some small 
 extent a cordiality between them — the small 
 amenities of daily life were exchanged without 
 grudging upon the part of Georgiana. Carlotta 
 cared for nothing more ; all she wanted was a 
 clear field in which to use her powers un- 
 checked upon Pierce and Horton. To Horton 
 she was respectful. No other word can de- 
 scribe her conduct. She did not attempt to 
 be even distantly aff'ectionate ; to remind him 
 by any covert advance on her part that he was 
 the lawful possessor of her charms. She did 
 not even sit near him, and she carefully 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 159 
 
 avoided being in a room alone with him. Her 
 idea was to ignore all that had passed, to act 
 and behave as if they were good friends, but 
 nothing more. !N'ow this was very clever, 
 for Horton was a man who, above all other 
 thino^s, hated demonstration, hated all ffushino: 
 and sentiment. These things were repulsive 
 to his practical nature. He feared in his 
 secret heart that now he had forgiven her she 
 would attempt to show her gratitude, and that 
 he should have to submit to scenes. He soon 
 found he should have to do nothing of the 
 kind. He appreciated her good taste, and it 
 went farther with him than any other method 
 could have done. This man had been deeply 
 sinned against; he had bitterly resented it; 
 but his was not a vindictive spirit. He really 
 thought that Carlotta had repented ; that she 
 had seen the miserable guilt of her life, and 
 was sincerely desirous of amendment. He 
 was not a religious man ; far from it. He at- 
 tended church, it is true, but merely as a 
 matter of form ; he had no heart in the ser- 
 vice. Too much a business man all his life; 
 too much accustomed to exact reasoning, to 
 
160 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the results of precise calculation to accept un- 
 questioningly the broad statements and the lax 
 logic of the pulpit, — he was at the same time 
 rigidly just, rigidly truthful, sincere, equitable, 
 and even kind after his first anger was over. 
 He was far more forgiving than many Of the 
 most pious Christians would have been. He 
 recalled his own experience of life; he recalled 
 the many temptations that had been thrown 
 in her way. To some degree he cast blame 
 upon himself. He had left her too much to 
 her own devices, instead of interfering, 
 stepping in, and staying her downward pro- 
 gress when she first began ; he had stood 
 proudly aloof till she fell, and then he had 
 turned upon her savagely. He admitted to 
 himself that he had done wrong in this; 
 that he ^had not fulfilled his duty as a hus- 
 band ; he had got so far as this — he saw 
 no absolute obstacle to her return to her 
 old position. They could never, of course, be 
 as they had been to each other. There must 
 always be a distance between them — a certain 
 degree of mistrust and coldness. But there 
 was no reason that she should not retain her 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAKTS. 161 
 
 name, her title; that she should not live ac- 
 cording to that position — always a little toned 
 down and quieted. He would not allow of 
 the former extravagance — he should not per- 
 mit her to be subjected to the same tempta- 
 tions. ^ A certain amount of watch must be 
 kept over her surroundings. He had got as 
 far as this in his inward resolutions towards 
 her. The saddest and bitterest part of it all 
 was that he blamed himself in a point over 
 which he had no control. No children had 
 resulted from their union. He had always 
 bitterly regretted this. The man of millions, 
 the possessor of untold wealth, had no son, no 
 child, to fondle upon his knee, whom he could 
 watch with pride developing into manhood. 
 Had they had children, he said to himself, 
 Carlotta would have remained at his side ; the 
 mother would have retained her pure. When he 
 remembered this he could not so deeply blame 
 her. He knew that she had had an illegitimate 
 child; he knew also (what Noel did not) that 
 it had been stillborn. The thought of that 
 very thing which had driven Heloise into guilt, 
 into a paroxysm of irrepressible agony, rage, 
 
 VOL. III. M 
 
162 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and passion, — this very thought cooled the 
 husband's resentment. He could understand 
 the deep longing for oJSPspring ; he had felt it. 
 The man was no feeble, narrow-minded bigot, 
 no weak idealist of self; he could pardon 
 others at his own expense ; and out of this her 
 deepest guilt — her blackest crime — arose Car- 
 lo tta's pardon. He forgave her. He did not 
 love her again ; he did not even feel the 
 slightest affection towards her ; he hardly 
 overcame the natural repulsion he had felt for 
 her so long; but he forgave her; he would in 
 no wise punish her. Had all these resolves 
 originated in Horton's own mind unprompted, 
 he would have been worthy of the name of a 
 great and noble man. As it was, it was no 
 light thing. But behind it there was the 
 subtle influence of Carlotta's beauty, the 
 magic of her grace. Would he have thus par- 
 doned a plainer woman ? Even as it was, he 
 had to pass through a bitter trial, a severe 
 strain upon his resolution. It came in this 
 way. 
 
 Louis was of course only stunned by Noel's 
 blow. Foreseeing it, he had stepped partly 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 163 
 
 backwards, as the prize-figliters do, and thus 
 he had received only a portion of the impetus; 
 but that was enough to cast him headlong 
 into the osiers and the reeds. Randal, the 
 private spy, fled at the sight; but so soon as 
 he was aware that Noel was not pursuing him 
 he stopped, watched Noel and Heloise care- 
 fully out of sight, and then returned to his 
 employer, whom he found sitting on the 
 ground in a half- dazed state, and stained 
 with blood from his mouth. With the aid of 
 a little brandy from his pocket-flask, Randal 
 got him round, and then dipping his hand- 
 kerchief in the pool close by, washed away 
 the traces of the blow; except that on the 
 lower lip, just in the centre, there was a cut, 
 the scar of which must show till the grave 
 hid it. That cut, singularly enough, was 
 almost in the exact spot where Heloise had 
 been marked by the force of her husband's 
 arm. Louis, still half dazed, his head giddy, 
 his limbs tottering, was led by his spy back 
 to the Sun Inn, where they had been lodging 
 for some little time. It was not till the next 
 morning that Louis entirely recovered him- 
 
164 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 self ; and then his rage rose to a blasphemous 
 pitch, mingled with a demoniacal joy at the 
 news which Randal brought in — that Heloise 
 was gone, and gone with Noel. His lip pained 
 him very much, and impatient of pain, as such 
 cowardly natures are, he cursed and raved 
 and stamped about the small apartment in a 
 perfect fury of hatred, burning for revenge. 
 His first idea was to summon Noel before the 
 justices of the peace for that division — the 
 very bench on which Pierce sat. He laughed 
 at the thought of the consternation, the scandal 
 it would cause, the exposure and the misery 
 and wretchedness it would bring upon the 
 family. But on second thoughts he changed 
 his plans. He had come down to Avonbourne, 
 and taken up his residence at the ruinous old 
 inn under the chestnut-tree, with the express 
 purpose of watching Heloise, of detecting her 
 in too familiar intercourse with Noel; and for 
 that purpose he had brought with him a spy 
 and witness, the object being to obtain a 
 divorce from the hated yoke of marriage. He 
 had gathered together a good deal of informa- 
 tion from the labourers of the place, who had 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 165 
 
 SO frequently seen Lady Fontenoy and Mr. 
 Brandon together, but nothing that would 
 serve his purpose ; and it so happened that the 
 very time he came down was the time that 
 Noel left Heloise, vowing never to see her 
 again. So that it was not till that fatal 
 morning that he saw them together, and then 
 came upon them unexpectedly, and facilitated 
 the very catastrophe he most of all desired. 
 She had gone with Noel, eloped with the very 
 man w^ho had felled him to the earth. His 
 better course by far was to pursue his orginal 
 intention — to seek for a divorce, laying heavy 
 damages upon Noel. He would then have 
 a bitter revenge upon him, upon her, and 
 upon the family. To summon Noel, though it 
 might make an exposure, would only place him 
 in a ridiculous light, as the husband who had 
 fainted, who had been knocked down; and 
 Louis, who was sensitively vain, shrank from 
 the sneers of men. Success in a divorce suit, 
 with heavy damages on Brandon, would turn 
 the scales quite the other way; it would kill 
 three birds with one stone : it would mulct 
 Noel, make him pay heavily for that scar on 
 
166 EESTLESS HUMA]^ HEARTS. 
 
 the lip; it would disgrace the family; it 
 would fix an irremovable stain upon Heloise. 
 His best course would be to follow up the 
 eloped pair, to get evidence of their residence 
 at hotels, and so forth. 
 
 Off he went, leaving Randal to watch Avon- 
 bourne, and communicate the course of events 
 to him. He first endeavoured to trace Heloise, 
 but utterly failed in that. Then he went to 
 his lawyer, and instructed him to open a case. 
 The lawyer, an old friend of his father's, a 
 man of ability and an estimable character, 
 who had watched the progress of the son with 
 sorrow and anger, presented the most deter- 
 mined opposition. This only inflamed Louis 
 the more, till he declared he would seek other 
 professional assistance. Gently, very gently, 
 but firmly, the solicitor reminded him that 
 he was deeply in debt, and in point of fact 
 completely in his power. Louis flamed up, 
 showered the most abusive epithets upon him, 
 and declared he would have his way if he 
 were ruined ten times over. Finally, seeing that 
 the man was resolved, and losing all respect 
 and all professional etiquette, in the natural 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 167 
 
 resentment he felt at this treatment, the soli- 
 citor drasrsfed him back into the office, shut 
 the door, and placed his back against it ; and 
 plainly told Louis to his face that his own 
 conduct was so bad that it was hopeless for 
 him to persevere in such a suit. A divorce 
 he might get, but damages never. No Eng- 
 lish jury acquainted with the facts of the case 
 • — with Louis's own guilt with Carlotta — 
 would ever give him damages. It would cost 
 him a heavy sum, that was all, and where 
 was the money to come from? He should 
 not supply it; he should take good care to 
 inform the Jews and bill-discounters of Louis's 
 true financial position — let him see if he 
 could get the cash then. Louis grew silent, 
 thoughtful ; then he dashed out of the office 
 with an oath that seemed to growl itself out 
 from the very depths of his being. 
 
 Arriving at his hotel, he found there a 
 note from Randal, who, having taken advan- 
 tage of his master's absence to spend a week 
 in a state of idiotic intoxication, had at last 
 woke up to the fact that Horton Knoyle, 
 Esq., had arrived at Bourne Manor. Louis not 
 
168 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 unnaturally immediately thought of money. 
 The very name of the banker was synonymous 
 with ' ambrosial cash.' Out of this trivial in- 
 cident grew a new plan. He would go down 
 and see Pierce, face him out with brazen 
 hardiness, coolly tell him that he intended 
 to bring a suit for divorce against Heloise; 
 tell Horton that Carlotta's name must inevit- 
 ably appear very conspicuously in it; taunt 
 them both coarsely and rudely with the ex- 
 posure, the fearful scandal the details must 
 produce, the stigma that would attach for 
 ever to the families; and coolly demand 
 fifty thousand pounds to stay proceedings. 
 The very hardiness, the utter brazen impud- 
 ence of the idea recommended it to Louis. 
 He laughed loud and long at it. He drank 
 a quantity of champagne, and brooded over 
 it till he filled out every detail. Then, with 
 unparalleled effrontery, he took the train to 
 Avonbourne-road Station, and half an hour 
 afterwards knocked at the door of Bourne 
 Manor. 
 
 His chief fear was lest Pierce should refuse 
 to see him; he was apprehensive lest the ser- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 169 
 
 vants should receive orders to eject him from 
 the premises. To avoid this, as soon as the 
 door was opened he slipped a five-pound note 
 into the man's hand, and told him to conceal 
 his name ; to say that a gentleman wished to 
 see Lord Lestrange and Horton Knoyle, Esq. 
 By these means it came about that Pierce and 
 Horton, entirely unsuspecting, stepped into 
 the room, and found themselves face to face 
 with the arch-traitor himself Louis bowed 
 low, and the old mocking smile stole over 
 his face. Horton stiffened into stone ; Pierce 
 absolutely started back, as at the sight of some 
 deadly serpent. Horton frowned at Pierce, 
 and motioned to the bell. Pierce for the mo- 
 ment did not comprehend him. Louis wasted 
 no time. 
 
 ' Unexpected visit,' he said ; ' eh, quite un- 
 expected! Nice morning, though, for a jour- 
 ney. Partridges strong this year, ch, Pierce ?' 
 
 The cool audacity of the fellow, who had 
 thrown himself into a chair, and was regard- 
 ing them with a smiling face, absolutely took 
 away their breath. Horton was the first to 
 recover himself Seeinir that Pierce was 
 
170 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 irresolute and knew not how to act, he stepped 
 to the bell and rang it violently. The man 
 who had opened the door came in imme- 
 diately — in fact he had been listening outside. 
 
 ' Turn him out, Roberts,' said Horton au- 
 thoritatively. 
 
 'Yes, turn him out!' said Pierce, his anger 
 rising. 
 
 Horton pointed at the door. Louis smiled. 
 The servant approached him hesitatingly — 
 the five-pound note was crisp in his pocket, 
 he could feel it rustle as he moved. He was 
 in no hurry. 
 
 'I — I — I'll call the butler,' he said, and 
 hastened out of the room. 
 
 ' Begone !' thundered Horton, who had 
 now regained his power of speech, and whose 
 form was shaken with passion ; 'liar and 
 traitor, begone!' 
 
 'Easy, easy,' said Louis. 'At your age 
 anger is dangerous — apoplexy, you know. Now 
 come, listen to me. This is business.' 
 
 ' T will have no words with this fellow,' said 
 Horton, choking down the almost resistless 
 impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat ; and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 171 
 
 he turned away and stepped back a pace or 
 two, and again rang the bell violently. 
 
 ' Hush, stop,' cried Louis, rising and ap- 
 proaching Pierce. ' Stop ; you are master 
 here. I have come on business. I will leave 
 the moment I have stated that business — as a 
 gentleman, you are bound to hear me.' 
 
 Pierce, angry, and fast losing control over 
 himself, Avas yet still sensitive enough to halt 
 at the word ' gentleman.' 
 
 ' Speak, then,' he said; and quickly Louis 
 did so. Horton, at the first word ' divorce,' 
 returned, and stood beside Pierce, his breast 
 heaving with suppressed passion. Louis coolly 
 laid down his ultimatum, 50,000/. or divorce 
 — with disgrace to Heloise, reflected disgrace 
 upon Carlotta, upon both families. 
 
 ' Blackguard !' cried Horton, furious and 
 utterly beyond control; and he struck out 
 violently at him. Louis sprang back, escaped 
 the blow, and dragged a table in front of him, 
 shouting to Pierce for protection. But Horton 
 was not to be denied. Before Pierce could 
 lay his hand on his shoulder, before he could 
 beg him to desist, the enraged banker over- 
 
172 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 turned tlie table, which fell with a fearful 
 crash, laden as it was with cut-glass flower- 
 stands and books; and seizing Louis b]^ the 
 shoulders, shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. 
 His years, his weakness were gone ; his rage 
 filled him with vigour, and Louis, always a 
 coward, and much shorter in stature, was but 
 a reed in his grasp. Pierce tried to pull Horton 
 away. The uproar of the falling table, the 
 violent ringing of the bell, and now the shouts 
 and cries of Louis, and the stamping and 
 hurrying of feet, aroused the whole household. 
 The butler, whom the footman, after much 
 pretended difficulty, had found in his pro- 
 per place, the cellar, rushed up-stairs. The 
 two other footmen, the page, the coachman, 
 who chanced to be in the kitchen, followed. 
 The cook went to the foot of the stairs ; the 
 maid-servants gathered on the landings ; one 
 screamed, another fainted ; all was noise, 
 confusion. Neville, in the morning-room with 
 the ladies, ran out ; they rushed after him, and 
 being on the same floor, got to the scene of 
 the row quicker than the servants. Neville 
 dashed at Horton to restrain him ; but at that 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 173 
 
 very moment the banker cast the scoundrel 
 away with his last remaining strength. Louis, 
 shoved backwards, staggered, caught his foot, 
 fell, and sent another table flying through the 
 French window, bringing down a shower of 
 glass. Neville, never seeing or imagining who 
 it was, ran to his assistance, and had him up 
 in an instant, and placed him panting and 
 breathless upon the sofa. There, shaken as 
 he was, and mad with rage and pain, Louis 
 contrived to mutter ' assault and battery, law 
 and police,' and he ground his teeth, and gibed 
 and swore. As for the banker he fell into a 
 chair, and wiped his forehead, and asked for 
 a glass of wine. Georgiana and Carlotta at 
 the door saw Louis, and started back. Georgie 
 involuntarily glanced at Carlotta. She never 
 showed what must have passed in her mind 
 by the movement of a muscle of her face. 
 She dragged Georgie in ; and turned and shut 
 the door slam in the face of the servants, 
 now crowding in the passage,and calmly turned 
 the key. 'It is all right,' she said boldly. ' Mr. 
 Brandon has stopped the — the disturbance. 
 Go down- stairs, or every one of you will be 
 
174 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 dismissed.' Pierce, at his wits' ends, utterly- 
 unfit for such emergencies as these, thanked 
 her with a glance. Neville, at last perceiving 
 who it was he had helped to seat, started back 
 with disgust and loathing. 
 
 ' What !' he cried—' what !' 
 ' Peace,' said Pierce, coming forward and 
 holding out his hand. ' This is my house. I 
 am master here.' 
 
 ' Peace !' shouted Louis, now recovered, and 
 starting up. ' You shall have no peace. I'll 
 dog your grey hairs till you hate your very- 
 life. I'll— ' 
 
 ' Silence! or I'll kiil you,' said Neville, ad- 
 vancing and lifting his arm. 
 Carlotta seized it. 
 
 'This is my fault,' she said, drooping her 
 head. ' This is my guilt returning on me. 
 For God's sake, Horton, be calm. Pierce, help 
 me keep him back ;' for the banker, refreshed, 
 was returning to the attack. Pierce held him 
 on one side, Carlotta on the other. Neville 
 smiled, and refused to aid; he would have 
 been delighted to have seen Louis pitched 
 into the yard. Georgiana, almost helpless in 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 175 
 
 such a melee, clung to his arm, with a face pale 
 as a sheet. Louis seized the opportunity. 
 
 ' I came here for business,' he said. ' I 
 will go the moment that business is over. I 
 have been assaulted, cowardly assaulted ; two 
 to one,' he cried, almost hysterically. ' It is 
 ungentlemanly. Hear me first — I claim it.' 
 
 'Listen to him' said Pierce, struofalino- 
 with Horton. ' On my honour, he shall be 
 kicked out afterwards.' 
 
 ' On your honour ?' 
 
 ' On my honour.' 
 
 On this strange assurance, Horton, the 
 banker, usually the most peaceful of men, 
 ceased to struggle, and Louis returned to the 
 attack. He abandoned his coarse and insulting 
 taunts — he saw that Xeville would not stand 
 them — he painted vigorously the exposure, 
 the fearful scandal that would follow. Then 
 he changed his tactics, and pleaded for one 
 more chance of reforming — Neville felt sick — 
 to pay his debts, and go for ever and for ever ; 
 otherwise the result would be wretched, for he 
 was desperate. Lady Knoyle's name would 
 be dragged in the dirt. He glanced at Car- 
 
176 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 lotta. She had started back as if recognising 
 who it was for the iirst time. His reference, 
 his glance, turned all eyes upon her. Her 
 face was pale; her eyes dilated, her lips 
 apart, her hands clasped. Her breath came 
 short and thick. Her attitude, her whole ex- 
 pression, indicated the most intense fear, 
 loathing, horror, shame. It was admirable ; 
 it would have won plaudits at Drury Lane. 
 Here its effect was magical. Every one there 
 pitied her but Louis. He sneered. Georgiana 
 ran to her sex's assistance, and passed her 
 arm round to support her. Horton started, 
 and held out his hand. Pierce cried, 'My 
 child ! my child !' ' father,' shrieked Car- 
 lotta; ' save me, save me,' and she fell at his 
 knees and burst into a passion of sobs and 
 crying. Then Pierce and Horton and Neville 
 lifted her up, and carried her out of the room 
 on to the lawn, through the French window, 
 for she seemed to be gasping for air; and 
 Georgiana swept after them with a fierce 
 backward glance at Louis, as much as to say, 
 ' You brute !' Carlotta, a little better, begged 
 to be removed out of sight. ' Hide me', was 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 177 
 
 her cry. ' Hide me' ! They were on the point 
 of assisting her in-doors and up-stairs, when 
 another person appeared upon the scene. 
 Noel walked round the great thicket of ever- 
 greens and rhododendrons, and came plump 
 on them. When he reached Avonbourne he 
 had hesitated ; he had reconnoitred the place ; 
 finally he had walked on to the lawn behind 
 the shrubbery, to look at the house ; at last 
 summoned up courage and stepped out, and 
 saw Carlotta supported by Horton and Ne- 
 ville ; Georgiana bathing her forehead with eau 
 de cologne; Pierce eagerly intent upon his 
 daughter's face ; Louis standing at the smashed 
 window, sneering ; and a crowd of eager faces 
 peering out of every available place of obser- 
 vation — the servants. He would have drawn 
 back; but it was too late — he had been seen. 
 He came forward, screwing up his courage. 
 He was not afraid of the lion or of death ; but 
 he had within him the consciousness of guilt. 
 
 'Welcome!' sneered Louis, from the 
 smashed window. ' Welcome !' 
 
 Carlotta turned wildly on Noel, as if in a 
 delirium. 
 
 "VOT. TTT V 
 
178 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 'Where is my sister — my sister?' she 
 shrieked. ' Give her back, traitor !' 
 
 ' Ay, traitor !' said Pierce. 
 
 ^ Traitor !' said Neville. 
 
 ' Traitor !' said Georgiana. 
 
 'Where is she — my Heloise — my darling 
 child ?' screamed Carlotta, darting up to him, 
 shaking him. 
 
 ' I — I — really — ' began Noel, utterly dumb- 
 founded. ' I am come to bring her — ' 
 
 'What, tired of her already?' interrupted 
 Louis, who was now on the lawn. ' So soon T 
 
 'Blackguard!' said NoeL 'Sir,' address- 
 ing Pierce, ' believe me, your daughter is pure 
 as when she left.' 
 
 'Where is she, sir?' said Pierce sternly, 
 striding forward and grasping his shoulder. 
 
 ' Where is she ?' screamed Carlotta. 
 
 ' Where is she ?' echoed Georgiana. 
 
 'Hear me, hear me!' said Noel, in utter 
 confusion. ' You at least, Neville.' 
 
 But Neville coldly turned his head aside. 
 Thus abandoned, a species of despair took pos- 
 session of Noel's mind. He tried again to get 
 a hearing ; they demanded Heloise. 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 179 
 
 ' My wife !' suddenly shouted Louis, 
 springing right in front of Noel. ' My wife ! 
 whom you decoyed away before my very eyes- 
 He knocked me down, gentlemen, senseless, 
 stunned — see, here is the mark of his hand on 
 my lip; he stole her away — forced her away 
 while I was helpless.' 
 
 'Before God!' cried Noel, seeing that the 
 feeling was setting against him still more vio- 
 lently. 
 
 'Sir,' said Pierce, quite calmly, 'call not 
 that name into this discussion.' 
 
 Frantic with rising rage, Noel shook off 
 Carlotta — who instantly fell to the earth and 
 lay there as if helpless, while Georgiana tried 
 to lift her up — shook off Pierce, who staggered 
 backwards. 
 
 ' I say I will be heard.' 
 
 ' It is his virtue,' cried Louis. 
 
 ^ His virtues,^ cried Georgiana. 
 
 ^ Where is Heloise?' asked Pierce. 
 
 ' Heloise !' said Neville. ' Traitor, where 
 is Heloise?' 
 
 ' Before God, she is pure as when — ' 
 
 ' He is a liar,' shouted Louis ; ' he has had 
 
180 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 her six weeks — now he wishes to be rid of 
 her!' 
 
 'Devils in hell!' swore Noel, stamping his 
 foot. 
 
 But they crowded round him ; they called 
 for Heloise ; they would not hear him ; and 
 Louis danced about in an ecstasy of excite- 
 ment ; and Carlotta still lay apparently sense- 
 less on the green lawn at his feet. 
 
 ' Pure !' cried Louis mockingly. ' Six 
 weeks with this fellow, and pure — pah !' 
 
 ' I tell you she was burnt ! She has not seen 
 — I mean been in my company — I mean — I 
 mean — ' 
 
 'Listen/ cried Louis; 'he means we are 
 fools to be duped by such trash.' 
 
 'Fools indeed!' said Horton, still bitter 
 with his own wrongs. 
 
 ' Fools !' echoed Pierce. ' It cannot be 
 believed.' 
 
 ' Then, by Heaven !' cried Noel, mad with 
 rage, with humiliation, with the bitter sense 
 of his own position — this his attempt to return 
 met with sneer and contumely— this that had 
 cost him so much flung back on him as a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 181 
 
 worthless thing. He turned to leave, and 
 caught his foot in Carlotta's dress and stag- 
 gered; and Louis, seizing his opportunity, 
 darted forward and struck him from behind. 
 He fell, and his head struck a flower-pot hea- 
 vily. It did not stun him, but it staggered him 
 for a moment as he rose on his knee. Then the 
 whole posse of servants, who had gradually 
 drawn nearer, set uj)on him — upon the man who 
 was down— and dragged and hounded him off 
 the place, hustled him to the gateway, and 
 thrust him staggering and dazed, but smarting 
 with bitter, bitter, bitterest sense of injustice, 
 into the dirty road, and slammed the gate and 
 fastened it behind him, and with all the ser- 
 vant's true gallantry mounted on the wall and 
 gibed at him. And thus they thrust away the 
 man who repented from the very gate. 
 
 Then they lifted up Carlotta, and carried 
 her within, and bathed her with eau de co- 
 logne, and poured brandy upon her lips, and 
 cut away her stays, and sent post haste for 
 the nearest medical man ; and Georgiana never 
 left her for a moment till she opened her eyes 
 and asked where she was. 0, it was admir- 
 
182 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 ably done; it would have brought down the 
 house at Drury Lane. 
 
 Meantime, the storm of passion being ex- 
 hausted, they had come to business, as Louis 
 called it, down-stairs. Pierce and Horton, 
 after holding a hurried consultation with Ne- 
 ville, came to the decision that anything was 
 better than the law-courts, the terrible expo- 
 sure, the coarse comments, the gibing sneer, the 
 irremovable infamy, especially for Carlotta's 
 sake. You see, she was the returned prodigal, 
 they were careful over her. She had moved 
 their hearts only a few minutes since; they 
 could not forget her agony ; her disinterest- 
 edness too, she who had been so distressed for 
 Heloise, so indignant — who now lay in a deep 
 swoon up-stairs; for Carlotta — yes, for Car- 
 lotta's sake ! 
 
 Horton and Pierce agreed to pay 50,000/., 
 to discharge Louis's debts, as Louis pretended? 
 though none of them could swallow that. 
 Still they did not openly question it — they 
 could not descend to chaffer with such a fellow. 
 They promised that the money should be paid 
 in three days, Horton engaging to advance 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 183 
 
 the whole, as he could do easier than Pierce, 
 whose wealth was more in land. Thev offered 
 him an I.O.U., but Louis loftily disclaimed 
 any doubt of the good faith — 'among gentle- 
 men!' he said. They bowed; Louis left them. 
 He went back to the station, en route for 
 London. On the Avay he passed in the ga- 
 thering gloom a man lying on the sward beside 
 the dusty road, with his head on his arms, and 
 his arms on a flint-heap. He hurried by — 
 always a coward — thinking it might be a 
 drunken man. 
 
 It was Noel. He had fallen, overcome with 
 utter misery, and was sobbing — dry sobs, not 
 yours, madam, which throw out with every 
 gasp a shower of tears — but dry sobs that 
 shook his form. For the man loved Heloise 
 now as never he had done before. He had 
 really and truly repented. He wished to re- 
 store her ; but if her own father, his own bro- 
 ther, if Georgiana refused to credit him, even to 
 hear him — And he had been brought up in the 
 school of gentlemen. The sneer, the gibe ! But 
 it was not this, it was the love of Heloise, the 
 reaction of the long anxiety, the fever-heat of 
 
184 EESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 his passion fighting his better nature. Yet he 
 would not have fallen so had it not been for 
 that treacherous blow, which had left him still 
 half dazed. After a while his strong physical 
 organisation renovated him. He arose and con- 
 tinued his way to the station, full of a fiery 
 burning hatred, a frenzied shame, a stern de- 
 termination that, as they had re23ulsed him, 
 he would go on — on, even if he and Heloise 
 descended to the dust. 
 
 About that time Carlotta recovered and 
 sat up, and spoke feebly — just before the doctor 
 came. She was wise, very wise, in her genera- 
 tion. Beauty, they say, is only skin deep; 
 so sometimes are hysterics. 
 

 CHAPTER X. 
 
 After an inconceivable period of idiotcy the 
 detectives and agents so long employed by 
 Horton Knoyle to trace his nephew Francis 
 woke up to the idea that possibly a man who 
 did not shave might in time come to possess 
 a beard and moustache; that a man who 
 rarely washed might look dirty ; that a man 
 who had little ready money might look half 
 starved and pallid. Hitherto they had con- 
 fined their search for such a well-dressed, 
 well-fed, generally gentlemanly-looking young 
 man as the nephew of so great a millionnaire 
 might naturally be supposed to be. Now 
 they woke up to the idea that as he had not 
 applied for his allowance, and as he had no 
 visible means of subsistence, they must look 
 for this man among the dirty and cadaverous, 
 and not among the well-dressed beef-eaters. 
 Shortly after this astounding piece of infor- 
 
186 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 mation was arrived at they telegraphed to 
 Horton Knoyle, Esq. — telegraphed, as if a 
 letter would not answer the pur]3ose, after a 
 twelvemonth of do-nothingness — to say that 
 they believed they were on the track of the 
 'person;' and that he had been seen walking 
 up and down the street in front of the said 
 Horton's house in Mayfair. Horton had had 
 so many beliefs and possibilities and con- 
 jectures sent to him, that he took no notice of 
 this one, and made no comment upon it. It 
 is my belief that the said detectives and agents 
 had found out Francis's whereabouts long, long 
 enough ago, but preferred drawing a good sum 
 monthly for expenses to finding the object of 
 their search. Till at last, knowing that 
 Horton had returned to England, they be- 
 came apprehensive lest he should take up his 
 residence in London, and not impossibly look 
 out of window and see his nephew pacing up 
 and down the pavement in front of the house. 
 Francis certainly had made no effort to conceal 
 himself The blow which had sent him crash- 
 ing among flower-pots and fuchsias, smash 
 down ten feet into the brick flooring of the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 187 
 
 conservatory, had done him no great physical 
 injury. There were no bones broken, no 
 ribs cracked. But his head — that was the 
 point. He had never been bright from a boy 
 — always pale, languid, fearful and timorous, 
 afraid of the dark, and superstitious. 
 
 Whether the hard brick floor beat out 
 what little sense had ever existed in him or 
 not, or whether some injury was done to his 
 brain, certain it is that from that moment he 
 grew morose, melancholy, careless of dress 
 and appearance, intent on one idea only, 
 and that idea was Carlotta. A belief took 
 possession of him that they were all leagued 
 against him — his brother, the Cain who had 
 stunned him, — his uncle, her husband — all 
 of them. His instinct was to hide himself 
 away from them — that is, to avoid them. He 
 changed his lodgings into a cheaper and worse 
 neighbourhood, and got his living by joiner's 
 work, at which he was very clever. Down 
 in Sussex at the clergyman tutor's he had 
 fitted up a lathe and furnished himself with an 
 endless number of tools ; and this knowledge 
 and natural ability he now turned to account. 
 
188 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 He would have none ofHorton's money; he 
 hated him and all the world but Carlotta. She 
 was his god. But she was gone. Before he 
 awoke from the kind of stupor into which the 
 illness that followed the blow and fall had 
 thrown him she was gone, he knew not 
 whither. In his half-silly state he had no 
 idea how to follow her. His plan was to 
 watch her mansion till she returned. And 
 this he had done for a whole long year — 
 working all day, walking all the evening up 
 and down in front of the mansion. He had 
 ceased to take any pride in his appearance ; 
 his beard and moustache had grown in the 
 most ragged manner; his hair hung down his 
 back; his face was dirty and unwashed, hag- 
 gard and wretched to look at. His friends 
 might have passed him in the streets, and 
 absolutely did do so at times and knew him 
 not ; because they were not looking for him 
 in such guise as that. At last Carlotta re- 
 turned, and left for Avonbourne ; he followed 
 her. His own idea was to get to speak with 
 her ; he had a dumb idea that she would 
 right his wrongs ; she would put everything 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 189 
 
 all right for him — even his stupid head, that 
 seemed filled with a thick cloud. But at 
 Avonbourne he waited and watched for her 
 in vain. He dared not go to Bourne Manor ; 
 he learnt that Horton was there, and he hated 
 Horton; but he watched about the place. 
 Carlotta did not come out. About this time 
 the agents missing him from his usual beat, 
 and afraid lest anything should be discovered 
 without their assistance, telegraphed again to 
 Horton that his nephew had certainly gone 
 down into the country ; had he been to 
 Bourne Manor — should they come down ? 
 Horton answered that they were to come at 
 once. They went; but they arrived too late. 
 Carlotta believed that she had gone as far 
 as was in her power — as far as was safe at 
 present. She had completely gained over 
 Pierce ; she had blinded Horton and wheedled 
 him round ; she had made a great impression 
 upon Georgiana, almost made a friend of her. 
 In the disturbance consequent upon Louis's 
 appearance she had made a great stride in 
 advance. The very circumstance that might 
 have been fatal to her she had turned to the 
 
190 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 utmost advantage. Since then they had 
 doubled their attention to her ; they had 
 treated her as one who had been wronged; 
 that was a very different thing from one who 
 had done wrong and had repented. There 
 was a marked change in their manner towards 
 her ; it was less the manner of tolerance, more 
 the manner of cordiality. But Carlo tta, having 
 gone thus far, having succeeded so admirably, 
 grew afraid of that very success. She feared 
 to be too constantly before them ; she feared 
 a possible reaction. It was extremely difficult 
 for her to be incessantly doing something, or 
 saying something that would interest them in 
 her. Moreover, the affection of the best of 
 human beings, and of the most impressionable 
 of them, is liable at times to waver. And to 
 tell the truth she was growing weary of the 
 part she had to play; weary of the assumption 
 of virtue and humility. She longed for a 
 little excitement; at least for an opportunity 
 of doing as she chose ; so she determined to 
 leave Bourne Manor. She broke this inten- 
 tion to Pierce; in the most humble manner 
 asked his advice and permission. Pierce 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 191 
 
 thought she was right ; it was perhaps wise 
 not to be too much with Horton at present. 
 He would speak to Horton. Horton gravely 
 concurred ; he was quite willing that she 
 should go. He wrote a cheque for 1000/., 
 and gave it to Pierce for her. She was to go 
 to the house in Mayfair ; but to keep quiet — 
 not to be seen in public places where her 
 presence would call for remarks. Then came 
 the leave-taking. Horton shook hands mth her 
 for the first time.^ He did not offer to accom- 
 pany her to the station ; but he came to the 
 hall- door. Georgiana kissed her — yes, kissed 
 her; so did Pierce. Neville wished her a plea- 
 sant journey. Standing in the porch they 
 watched the ponies, in the very pony-carriage 
 Heloise had driven in, carry her swiftly away 
 out of sight round the turn of the road. Then 
 they felt as if the house was empty; she filled 
 a space which was now void. They missed 
 her, they admitted to themselves as much. 
 Past the Sun Inn, under the spreading chest- 
 nut-tree—past the green meadows, over which 
 Heloise had walked with Noel ; past the 
 golden cornfields, ripe now, and ready for the 
 
192 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 sickle ; past the very flint-heap, the cold hard 
 pitiless heap, upon which Noel had flung him- 
 self in an agony of shame and rage and misery 
 when they cast him out from the gate. This 
 was the station; she was none too soon, the ex- 
 press train was waiting at the platform. Men 
 and ladies were hurrying to and fro, snatching 
 a glass of wine, a biscuit, a few spoonfuls of 
 burning hot soup, buying a book and papers, 
 swallowing ices, trying to lay up a preparation 
 to fortify themselves against the long run 
 before them, for the train did not stop till it 
 reached London. Carlotta took her ticket 
 from the coachman, who got it for her; asked 
 if her luggage w^as labelled, and stepped out 
 for the platform purse in hand. As she ap- 
 proached the carriage a hand was laid on her 
 arm. She turned, and seeing a dirty cada- 
 verous face, long ragged beard, and un- 
 trimmed moustache, her first thought was for 
 her purse, in which was the 1000/. cheque; 
 and she snatched her arm away, and was in 
 the very act of calling for assistance, when 
 Francis — for it was he— whispered his name 
 in her ear. 
 
liK.STLESS HUMAN HEARTS. ] 93 
 
 'Francis Knoyle !' said she, surprised, and 
 Avondering at the same time, for she had totally 
 forcrotten his existence in the turmoil of the 
 last t^Yelvemonth. 
 
 'Yes, me,' Avhispered Francis, in a low 
 hurried voice, thick with passion and eager- 
 ness. ' It is me ! I love you ! I worship you ! 
 I have waited for you a whole year ; up and 
 down — up and down in front of your house. 
 I always knew you would return. Give me 
 one kiss, Carlotta. Carlotta, come with me ; 
 let me come with you.' 
 
 ' Have you any money ?' said Carlotta, 
 sneering; yet suddenly recollecting that 
 Francis was Horton's nephew, and with a 
 momentary vision of wild excitement possibly 
 within her reach out of this cadaverous face. 
 
 'Money I' said Francis, in a dazed stupid 
 way. ' Yes, I have money ; fifteen shillings. 
 I earned it myself.' 
 
 ' Fifteen shillings !' sneered Carlotta. ' You 
 are mad.' 
 
 ' Any more going ? train about to start — 
 get in, if you please, ladies,' cried the guard, 
 hastening by. She shook off his hand and 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
194 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 stepped into the carriage nearest her, for the 
 doors were slamming and she feared to lose 
 the train. There was a whistle, a puff, and 
 the train left the platform ; leaving Francis 
 stunned, stupefied, motionless as a statue. 
 Not so another gentleman, who rushed from 
 the refreshment-room, his bald head aglow with 
 excitement, shouting to them to stop the 
 train. The guard laughed and said it was 
 impossible ; and the old gentleman with the 
 bald head stamped and swore and flung his 
 arms about, a spectacle which afforded the 
 greatest amusement to the officials, who 
 grinned without an attempt at concealment. 
 This served to divert attention from Francis ; 
 when suddenly an exclamation of horror — 
 genuine horror, no fractious rage — burst from 
 the bald-headed old fellow, and he pointed 
 speechless out upon the rails. 
 
 ' Mad !' The word rano^ throuo^h Francis's 
 head like the report of a cannon. He had 
 sense enough to know that he was stupid ; his 
 fellow-workmen at the shop laughed at him, 
 jeered at him, said he was silly. In a dull 
 way he had half wondered at himself, and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 195 
 
 could not understand why he did not live as 
 he used to do, in every expensive luxury, with- 
 out toiling for his daily meal. Why was he 
 not as he used to be ? When he attempted to 
 answer this problem a thick cloud seemed to 
 rise up in his head, and stand between him 
 and the light. Then he gave it up with a 
 sigh, and resolved to wait till Carlotta came. 
 She would explain it ; she would clear his 
 head and return him to the old state. He 
 should be as he had used to be when she 
 came. She had come ; she had not known 
 him ; she had jeered at him, shook him off, 
 laughed in his face, called him 'mad.' The 
 cruel word rang through his head; it rose 
 upon him like the subtle fumes of brandy, 
 higher and higher into his brain. He lost all 
 sense of his position, where he stood, what he 
 was doing ; the memory of his long, long year 
 of waiting ; the toil in the cabinet-maker's 
 shop ; the scanty earnings ; the tedious watch 
 in the streets; the thick cloud in his head. 
 She was right — he was mad. He looked 
 wildly round — on one side the express train 
 was fast diminishing in apparent size as it 
 
19G RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 rushed with increasing speed out of sight. It 
 carried with it his god — his Carlotta — who 
 had shaken him oiF and discarded him. On 
 the other side a pilot engine was sliding into 
 the station, with steam shut off, gliding along 
 noiselessly. He was mad. He uttered a yell, 
 and sprang oif the high platform, clearing 
 ten feet at a bound, right into the six-foot 
 way, across the first line of metals, and falling 
 on his knees, laid his head down on the rail 
 in front of the advancing pilot engine, just as 
 a condemned criminal might lay his head 
 upon the block. This was what the old gen- 
 tleman saw — what so suddenly stopped his 
 frantic rage, and converted it into as frantic 
 horror. We all know what happens at these 
 times; everybody is for the moment struck 
 helpless — the mind refuses to grasp the pos- 
 sibilities of the case — the mental machine stands 
 still, and while it stands still the moment is 
 gone, salvation impossible. Death has seized 
 his victim. The engine-driver, on the alert 
 as he was going through a station, instantly 
 saw the frenzied act, reversed his engine, and 
 blew his w^histle. The shriek of the Avhistle, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 197 
 
 and the horrible scream of the brake as the 
 fireman screwed it down to the last turn, 
 rang like the yells of demons through the 
 station. But the impetus was too great — the 
 locked wheel glided along the rail, grating, 
 shrieking, tearing off powdered steel, and 
 sending a shower of sparks into the air. The 
 reversed gear could not act so speedily; the 
 steam could not in an instant overcome the 
 impetus of forward motion, and the inertia of 
 the vast mass of iron and steel and brass. 
 The breath of the spectators was drawn thick 
 through the teeth in that hiss which is the 
 inarticulate expression of fearful suspense. 
 But the bald-headed old gentleman with an 
 awful oath rushed forward, sprang as Francis 
 had done clean over the first metals, seized 
 the madman by the tail of his coat as he knelt, 
 and dragged him backwards. Francis's hat, 
 which had fallen off, was crushed the same 
 instant by the ponderous engine. Then there 
 was a rush — spectators, porters, guards, careless 
 of danger, wildly rushed on to tlie line and sur- 
 rounded the pair, and dragged them on to the 
 platform. Well it was that there were plenty 
 
198 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 of them, for they had to hold Francis, to 
 bind him down like a wild beast. For he 
 was mad indeed; frantically, violently mad; 
 and three of them could barely hold him. 
 The old bald-headed gentleman was the first 
 to recover his coolness; he drew out a long 
 bandanna handkerchief; he twisted it up, and 
 they tied the madman's arms w4th it. The 
 irascible old fellow remained with him till a fly 
 was brought, and Francis placed between two 
 porters, with his preserver, who, by the bye, was 
 an Indian officer just returned from Calcutta, 
 in front. They took him to the superintendent 
 of police at the nearest town ; there they left 
 him till his identity could be discovered, if 
 that were possible. Ten minutes after this hor- 
 rible affair, the agents arrived from London by 
 the down train in search of Master Francis. 
 When they heard what had just happened, 
 and listened to the description of the mad- 
 man, they turned pale, and went to the refresh- 
 ment-bar. It takes a good deal of brandy to 
 drown the remembrance of a neglected duty, 
 when it has so narrowly escaped a close re- 
 semblance to moral manslaughter. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 199 
 
 It was some few minutes before Carlo tta, 
 who had so hastily entered the carriage, had 
 composed herself sufficiently to look round 
 her, and to become aware that she had mis- 
 taken the compartment — her dressing-bag was 
 not here. There was a gentleman's hat-box 
 on the luggage-net ; a smoking-cap was on 
 the seat opposite her ; and in the corner, away 
 from her, a great railway rug. She resented 
 Francis's detaining her, and so making her get 
 into the wrong carriage. He was mad, she 
 said to herself; utterly mad. There was a 
 wild look in his eyes ; so dirty too — what could 
 have come to the stupid fellow? She had 
 utterly forgotten the flirtation — the detestable 
 system of encouraging one and leading the 
 other to be jealous which she had pursued 
 with these two young men. It was so little 
 to her ; she forgot that it might be something 
 serious to them. They had passed out of her 
 mind entirely ; no wonder, after the life she 
 had been leading. With an effort of the 
 mind she cast Francis's haggard face out of her 
 mental vision. It was disagreeable. For years 
 she had cultivated the art of forgetting the 
 
200 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 disagreeable; she had learnt how to ignore it; 
 to pass it on one side. The train rushed on 
 with gathering speed. The steady easy motion 
 composed her — she nestled down in her seat, 
 gazed out of window ; the warm summer day 
 made her feel slumberous, luxurious. In a 
 little basket she carried in her hand were 
 several splendid plums — the egg-plum — ripe, 
 delicious. Carlotta was peculiarly fond of 
 fruit. She gloated over these plums. She 
 held them up ; admired the gloss upon the 
 skin — the bloom ; admired the size, the ful- 
 ness, the ripe luxury of the fruit. She en- 
 joyed it thoroughly. Lounging on the soft 
 cushion, eating the fruit, swiftly drawn along 
 at fifty miles an hour, the haughty beauty 
 revelled in her own inner self. She looked 
 back upon the last few days; she reviewed 
 her triumph. She gloated over it; a mock- 
 ing smile rose on her lips, especially the re- 
 pulse of Noel — Heloise's champion. The 
 bitter irony of it amused her, even interested 
 her. For one moment in her life she tried to 
 think not for the sake of herself, but to dis- 
 cover the why and the wherefore of these 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 201 
 
 strange anomalies of life. Why was she, she 
 the evil and wicked (she admitted this can- 
 didly to herself and gloried in it), so readily 
 welcomed — made so much of — petted and 
 praised? Why was the one who had fallen 
 once only, who tried to creep back into society, 
 repulsed, driven away with blows and curses 
 and revilino'S ? Pooh, it was too much trou- 
 ble for her ; she could not worry herself 
 with such trash ; Heloise had fallen — there 
 was the glory of it. The hated baby-face, 
 the detested living reflection upon her own 
 course of life, was herself a mock and a gibe. 
 Her beauty and her innocence were in the 
 dust — the dust — the dust And Carlotta 
 laughed to herself; and held up an egg-plum, 
 and drew back the curtain of the carriasfe 
 that the golden sunlight might fall uj^on it, 
 and light up its translucent lusciousness. The 
 train rushed on — ceaseless, unwearied — 
 strong as a giant, cleaving its way through 
 the forests and over the rivers, by the ripe 
 grass, by the meado\\'s and farmsteads; with 
 a roar under the arches ; witli a clatter, a 
 shriek, a thunder through the stations, and a 
 
202 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 rattle over the points ; out again upon the 
 smooth and level way, tearing ahead, ahead, 
 ahead, driven along by the irresistible power of 
 fire. Carlotta could not for ever think of her 
 triumph, could not dwell for hours upon 
 Heloise's fate and the repulsion of Noel. She 
 looked out of window and amused herself 
 with the passing scenes : the slow barge on 
 the canal, the children playing in the road, 
 the carriage driving along, the distant 
 churches and downs and woods. But she 
 wearied soon of this. She was angry that 
 she had brought no book ; nothing to amuse 
 herself She took out her purse and looked 
 at the 1000/. cheque, and gloated over it. 
 It was not much to what she had had in the 
 times past; but it was a good round sum — a 
 good beginning. With this there was ex- 
 citement, pleasure, fashion, dress. She was not 
 to go out — not to be seen. She laughed a low 
 musical laugh at this idea. Not to be seen ! 
 Wait. Then she began to weave plans and 
 methods ; passed on to dress and bonnets, and 
 Madame Louise unvisited these many a day. 
 They would stare at her at that establish- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 203 
 
 ment, that is they would in their hearts. Per- 
 haps they would ask her for a deposit — very 
 well, they should have it. But this work of 
 imagination, this creating pleasures in her 
 mind, could not go on for ever. She replaced 
 the cheque, and grew restless, anxious to ar- 
 rive. She blamed the train for its slowness ; it 
 was travelling at that moment at fifty-three 
 miles an hour. She looked at her watch ; still 
 an hour to run, not much more than half way. 
 How tedious these trains were! She looked 
 round the carriage; at the hat-box and the 
 smoking-cap. Evidently some one had got out, 
 and either missed the compartment in his hurry, 
 or had lost the train. The railway rug at- 
 tracted her attention. It was a large and 
 beautiful rug, imitating a panther's skin. It 
 was not the rug itself; it was the oddness of 
 there being a rug at all at that season of the 
 year, when the heat was so great. What on 
 earth did the fellow want with a rug? She 
 yawned— it was nothing to her. She looked 
 out of the window again. She moved rest- 
 lessly upon her seat. She flung her feet up 
 on the opposite cushions. As she did so, she 
 
204 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 fancied she heard a slight noise, and looked 
 quickly round ; there was nothing. In throw- 
 ing her feet on the cushion she must have 
 disturbed it a little, for the contour of the 
 rug was slightly altered ; she had shaken 
 down some of its folds. That perhaps was 
 the cause of the noise— only a slight rustle. 
 
 She looked out of window again, looked at 
 her watch, took out her pocket-book and 
 pencil to make a note ; and by the time she 
 had got it ready forgot what she wanted to 
 write. Rattle and roar, hiss and thunder, 
 over a viaduct, between high embankments 
 shutting out all view of the country, out again 
 on level ground, with tall poj)lar-trees and 
 firs. As she gazed out of window the corner 
 of her eyes became conscious of a motion in 
 the rus: — that is, she fancied it. She looked 
 quickly round. The rug was still, motionless. 
 She watched it, playing with her watch-chain. 
 She watched it quietly, lazily, out of a desire 
 for something to amuse her. Queer old 
 stories ran through her mind. Somewhere 
 she had read, or some one had told her, a 
 trick of the Indian juggler. You sat in your 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 205 
 
 own room ; he sat beside you ; he took your 
 handkerchief, you saw there was nothing in it ; 
 he rolled it up into a ball, and told you to 
 fling it to the uppermost corner. You did 
 so ; it lay there as a handkerchief would do. 
 You watched it ; in a few minutes it began to 
 swell, it puffed out, it rolled towards you ; 
 your blood curdled as it came right to your 
 very feet, rolling over the carpet. Just as you 
 were about to run screaming away the juggler 
 kicked it, and it fell prone, flat, motionless — 
 only a handkerchief I 
 
 The chain fell out of her hand, her eyes 
 fastened themselves upon the rug. Surely that 
 w^as a motion ? A fold had certainly disap- 
 peared. Yet the rug had made no movement ; 
 the fold had simply fallen. It was only the 
 effect of the shaking and jarring of the car- 
 riaire; but somehow she could not take her 
 eyes off it. She laughed at herself ; she made 
 herself look out of window. She quickly 
 glanced back again. It certainly had moved. 
 She gazed fascinated, an intense curiosity pos- 
 sessed her. The folds of the rug rose slowl}^, 
 very gradually, but perceptibly, rose and 
 
206 EESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 swelled outwardly, puffed out as if air had been 
 blown into themfrom ben eath. Carlotta stared ; 
 it must be a lap-dog, a rabbit, a cat mth kit- 
 tens — some one's pets. Pooh ! it was nothing. 
 Look ao^ain — the ruo^ rose hio^her ; some hard 
 substance seemed to move forward under it and 
 then fall. The rug collapsed, and a species 
 of shiver seemed to run through it ; then it was 
 still again. Roar and rattle, thunder, jar, 
 shake; they went through a station, over the 
 points again, out into the level way. Carlotta 
 was intent upon the rug ; it puzzled her, it 
 filled her with an intense and eager curiosity, 
 not unmixed with a little terror, a vague 
 horror, which at once repulsed and impelled 
 her to investigate. She reflected that her feet 
 were on the cushion close to the rug; she 
 took them down. The same species of shiver 
 ran through the rug again, and there was a 
 slight sound. Unmistakably there was some- 
 thing under the rug, or was that noise the 
 sound of escaped air ? Gazing she could not 
 believe her senses ; the rug slowly inflated 
 itself and moved bodily towards the edge of 
 the seat. It was a cumbrous muffled motion. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 207 
 
 but it came. She watched it, her heart beat 
 high, but she did not shrink. There was no 
 sound; she looked in vain for any legs, any 
 tail, any ears, any sign of animal life. She 
 made a sound with her lips as persons do 
 when they call a dog; no wagging of tail 
 answered her. 'Puss!' she said, ^ Pussy! 
 Pussy!' There was no mew, no sound. The 
 rug moved slowly in a helpless fashion to the 
 very edge of the cushion. Then it seemed to 
 get confused; it rolled itself up together, it 
 shivered; the folds rose and fell. Carlotta's 
 amazement rose to the extreme. Finally it 
 fell over the edge — bump, an unmistakable 
 bump of something heavy ; it was no spectre, 
 then, no juggling feat. 
 
 A fearful scream. 
 
 Carlotta had sprung upon her seat, and was 
 clinging to the rail of the luggage-net. Her 
 dilated eyes were fastened upon the floor of 
 the compartment. Out from under the edge of 
 the rug — released at last — protruded the ham- 
 mer-like head, the black glittering eye of a 
 snake. The two gazed at each other for a 
 moment. Another scream rushed from Car- 
 
208 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 lotta's lips, drowned in the roar and rattle 
 of the train. All the woman's mnate horror 
 of the serpent tribe, all the instinctive hatred 
 and fear, the convulsive dread rose in her 
 mind, intensified by the very vigour of her 
 physical organisation. She screamed again 
 and again in rapid succession. Her eyes were 
 fixed upon the snake. 
 
 For a few seconds the serpent remained 
 still, for the first time aware of human pre- 
 sence, still and watchful. The orlitterino" 
 bead-like eyes were bent upon her, the forked 
 tongue darted in and out. Then it rose a 
 little higher, then the rug shivered ; she 
 understood that now — it was the folds of the 
 serpent moving, uncoiling. The neck rose up, 
 then a part of the body. A turn of the fine at 
 that moment, and the brilliant summer sun- 
 shine rhone in upon the floor of the compart- 
 ment. The colours of the serpent's neck 
 gleamed and glistened in the sunlight, its 
 eves flashed, the blackness of its tono^ue was 
 intensified. It drew its length out from 
 under the rug, and stood revealed in all its 
 horrible size and power. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 209 
 
 Her eyes were fjistened on it, her breast 
 panted, the colour had left her cheek, the 
 drops of perspiration stood upon her brow; the 
 basket of fruit had fallen from her hand, 
 the last egg-plum had rolled right on to the 
 rug close to the snake's tail ; one great blue 
 flower they had placed over the fruit had 
 fallen upon the creature's body. Her hand 
 grasped the rail with convulsive force, her 
 frame shook with the sway of tlie carriage as 
 it rushed alons^. 
 
 Even her terror could not destroy for 
 lono; the strono' hardness of her mind. In a 
 few moments the convulsive shudder of her 
 frame ceased ; her eyes did not cease to watch 
 the snake ; but her mind began to work. She 
 knew the creature in an instant, she knew its 
 power — it was the cobra di capello. Even in 
 the agony of the moment she marvelled in her 
 mind how it had got there. This was the 
 use of the rug, then — to keep this creature 
 warm. But that was nothing to her; the 
 snake was there ; could she save herself? She 
 had no weapon; her fruit-knife had fallen on 
 the floor; it was useless, the blunt silver 
 
 VOL. III. p 
 
210 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 would not cut a stick. She had no pocket- 
 knife. In her dressing-bag she had a stiletto, 
 one the Archduke had given her. But the 
 dressing-case was in another compartment. 
 Even had it been there would it have been of 
 any use? Before she could kill the creature 
 one single snap of its yellow teeth would be 
 sufficient. She looked at her thin summer 
 dress ; the teeth would go through it into her 
 arm or bust as easily as if it had been paper. 
 While she pondered the train rushed through 
 a small station. She started and screamed for 
 assistance ; she looked out of the window, she 
 saw the signalman with his white flag; he 
 was holding the flag out, with his head turned 
 away, smiling at his child who was bringing 
 him his tea. Her voice was lost in the rattle 
 of the train. She looked at her watch, they 
 had still half an hour to run. 
 
 The cobra moved; the shudders returned 
 to her. Her mind was calm now ; but the body 
 could not conquer its convulsive tremor. 
 The cobra moved ; it glided along the floor, 
 it reared itself up against the door, its head 
 almost looked out : it lowered its head and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 211 
 
 went under the seat opposite. She saw a box 
 there with the lid open. That was the crea- 
 ture's box, no doubt. Wild hopes floated in 
 her mind ; if it crept in she could shut the lid 
 on it. She watched it, her heart bounding 
 like a racehorse, her breath held tif^ht. The 
 cobra moved round the bo^, glided over it, 
 past it, right to the other door of the carriage. 
 Then it reared itself again, and again lowered 
 its head, and then passed under the seat on 
 which she was standing. 
 
 Car lotta tried to think of another resource. 
 The heavy cushions — should she lift one up, 
 hurl it on the snake, and stamp on it? To 
 do so she must get down and stand on the 
 floor, otherwise she could not lift the cushion. 
 Was there anything else she could throw at 
 it ? Her boots. Instantly she lifted her foot 
 and tore ofl* one boot, and held it ready ; it 
 was a light thin thing. How she longed for a 
 heavy-clouted shoe ! 
 
 The cobra crept out again, stayed in the 
 centre of the floor ; she poised her hand and 
 aimed, and was in the act to throw, when the 
 creature moved again towards the box. Hope 
 
212 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 again raised itself in her mind ; she paused. 
 Yes, the snake was going into the box; its 
 head went in, its body followed ; she saw its 
 head go all round the edge of the box inside, 
 then fall, and all was still. Her heart gave a 
 bound; she was in the act to spring down 
 and close it when she drew back with a 
 shudder. The tail was out The box was not 
 long enough. The snake's tail, just the end of 
 it, was out — about ^\e inches hung over the 
 edge of the box. Her hopes fell to the earth. 
 She paused, she looked at her watch again; 
 three minutes had passed, seven-and-twenty 
 minutes before they were due. Should she 
 remain still standing there, and trust to the 
 snake staying in the box, or should she make 
 a desperate attempt to close the lid ? She 
 paused, her mind was in favour of waiting ; 
 her body, shuddering still, drove her on to 
 the attempt. Just then the snake raised its 
 head, looked out of the box, and hissed. A 
 jar of the carriage had disturbed it. She de- 
 termined instantly. Any moment the crea- 
 ture might come out. The head sank back. 
 She sprang down, she seized the lid, she 
 
EESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 213 
 
 crushed it down with all her strength. The 
 sharp edge of the deal box snapped on the five 
 inches of tail and crushed it flat. The cobra 
 hissed frightfully, flung itself about, shook the 
 box with its desperate struggles. Carlotta 
 pressed on the lid with all the might of her 
 arms; but thev trembled with excitement, 
 and the box being under the seat she could 
 not bring her weight to bear. The forked 
 tongue of the snake shot out, where the edges 
 of the box did not meet, within three inches of 
 her arm. Still she pressed it down — firm. 
 
 Thus there Avas a moment when victory 
 was nearly with mind over brutal vigour and 
 venom. Had she only let the lid rise ever 
 so little the snake would have instinctively 
 drawn its tail in, and she might have shut the 
 lid and fastened it. But in her agony or her 
 fright she did not think of this. How should 
 she? There are some people who believe that 
 the thoughts of the mind, at least in emer- 
 gencies like this, do not arise in the mind 
 itself: that they are prompted b}' Heaven or — 
 Carlotta did not pray : she had long for- 
 gotten, as it were, the idea of a God. In this 
 
214 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 terrible struggle for life it was life alone she 
 thought of. But we have no right to judge her. 
 
 The cobra, mad with pain, smarting with 
 the wound inflicted by the sharp edge of the 
 box, swelled and hissed and put forth all its 
 strength to get out. In these struggles the 
 reptile naturally turned its head round to the 
 agonised part — its head sought its tail; then 
 the head saw that here the edge of the box 
 was wider apart, and slipped its head out. 
 Just the head — nothing more. The forked 
 tongue, the yellow teeth, were within three 
 inches of Carlotta's arm. A lump rose in her 
 throat, a sickening sensation overcame her ; her 
 arm relaxed its pressure, the head was thrust 
 out further ; she shrieked — sprang back. The 
 cobra was out ! 
 
 Carlotta leapt on the seat again, clung to 
 the bar of the luggage -rail, screamed fear- 
 fully. All her courage, her strength of mind, 
 left her. She shook, she trembled, convulsive 
 shudders of horror and loathing passed over 
 her, and scream upon scream rushed from 
 her lips. The people in the next carriage at 
 last heard this; they thrust their heads out 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 215 
 
 of window and asked what was the matter. 
 She did not hear them — the rattle of the 
 train, the sound of her own hysterical shrieks 
 drowned their voices. 
 
 The cobra! Mad with rage and pain, the 
 fearful brute raised itself, and darted at the 
 seat on which she stood. She rushed to the 
 door furthest away; sprang down and put 
 her hand out, and tried to open it to get out, 
 and spring on to the tender mercies of the 
 hard earth. A wild phantasmagoria of tree 
 and sky and river passed before her eyes ; she 
 struggled at the handle, straining her hands. 
 
 It was locked ! She turned. The cobra 
 was close to her. She kicked at it with her 
 right foot, forgetting that she had taken her 
 boot off. Instantly the reptile struck at it. 
 She felt the sharp smart of its teeth in her 
 instep ; she trampled on the beast in her 
 agony, and — unutterable horror! — spurning 
 it under foot, she reached the other door — she 
 turned the handle. 
 
 With one shriek of fearful agony, that 
 rose above the roar of the rushing train, she 
 hurled herself out. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 Louis, when lie got back to London next day, 
 after the scene at Bourne Manor, took a han- 
 som cab and went down to his solicitors' office 
 in the City. Nominally the office was already 
 closed; but the principal was there, still busy 
 over a great law- case. Louis saw him, and 
 professed that he had come with the express 
 purpose of withdrawing the hasty words of 
 which he had been guilty. He said that he 
 had forgotten himself; he had been much ex- 
 cited ; he had acted most ungentlemanly. The 
 solicitor received him respectfully, but smiled 
 rather grimly at these professions, till Louis 
 declared that he had come over to the other's 
 opinion, that a law-suit with a view to divorce 
 was unwise and impolitic. At this the other 
 brightened up and became cordial. He was a 
 man who had spent so much time in the en- 
 deavour to persuade other people into his way 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 217 
 
 of thinking, that at last it had grown to be a 
 kind of monomania with him. The moment 
 Louis said that he agreed with him, he was all 
 delight, all politeness. He was extremely busy 
 at that hour. This case — pointing to some 
 papers on the table — was coming on next day. 
 Several important witnesses from Australia 
 were expected that evening to confer with 
 him ; else, if my lord would do him the 
 honour, he should have great pleasure in 
 seeing him at dinner. Would my lord deign 
 to do him the extreme honour of dining with 
 his wife, his daughters, and their party that 
 evening ? They would be delighted ; they 
 would welcome him most cordially, if he 
 w^ould but excuse the absence of the host. 
 He w^ould telegraph that he was coming. 
 
 Louis thought a moment, then he accepted 
 the invitation. 
 
 ^ I'll go,' he said. ' It's at Croydon, isn't it?' 
 The solicitor wrote him the address, and 
 away w^ent Louis for the 6.30 train from 
 London-bridge. He had dined there several 
 times before ; the solicitor was, in fact, an 
 old servant and friend of his family. That 
 
218 RESTLESS HUMAi^ HEARTS. 
 
 was not his reason now. The truth was, he 
 hardly knew how to amuse himself on that 
 particular evening, and he knew his host's 
 daughters were decidedly pretty. They would 
 make much of him as a real live lord. Louis 
 liked to be petted, even in this way. He 
 would go — yes, decidedly he would go! 
 And he went. 
 
 He walked past St. Paul's, down Cannon - 
 street towards the bridge. He had had so 
 much sitting the day previous in the train, 
 that it was a relief to walk, it stretched him 
 out, and there was plenty of time. So he 
 strolled leisurely down Cannon-street, joining 
 in the vast throng of City men and clerks who 
 were just beginning to flow out of the great 
 gold-mine towards their homes in the suburbs. 
 His reflections were of the most gratifying 
 character. He lit a cigar; he placed his 
 hands in his pockets : he sauntered along in 
 the very extremest height of the dawdler, if 
 such a phrase is permissible. He enjoyed the 
 contrast to the hurrying crowd around him. 
 His own motives were superior; his own life 
 was so loftily superior, so much higher than 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 219 
 
 those miserable toilers, glad of their little 
 hour of rest. These fellows toiled hard day 
 after day, hour after hour, till the hours and 
 the days mounted up into weeks, and months, 
 and years, and thought themselves extremely 
 fortunate if they succeeded in acquiring a 
 competency after a quarter of a century of 
 labour. Look at the life they spent to get 
 it : all the elasticity and youth and vigour was 
 taken out of them by the time they had got 
 the cash wherewith to enjoy themselves. Poor 
 wretches, how inferior ! 
 
 Contrast his own course. He had made 
 50,000/. in one hour; and how? Xot by a 
 previous life of self-denial, of hard work, of 
 weary, weary hours of plodding industry ; but 
 by simply indulging his worst passions — by 
 plunging into the most wicked pleasures. He 
 glanced back at the dome of St. Paul's. The 
 declining sun lit up the golden cross till it 
 shone like fire. A sneer mounted to his 
 mouth; he took out his cigar, and puffed out 
 a cloud of smoke, which rose curling up in 
 the still evening air. He stood still and 
 watched it rise, heedless of the obstruction he 
 
220 RESTLESS HU:\rAX HEARTS. 
 
 caused in the hurrying crowd; they could get 
 out of his way. 
 
 The cross ! The sneer lingered on his lip 
 as he cast his glance upwards at it. Truly, 
 he had led a Christian life. These myriads 
 straining, struggling around him, they had at 
 least worhed — that was in itself, to a degree, 
 a part of the duty of man ; and see how they 
 were rewarded ! Look at their faces, old and 
 young, all full of an anxious care — a desire 
 to get forward — a restless trouble. Look at 
 himself : he had ease, comfort ; his pleasure 
 was his labour, and truly it paid well — 50,000/. 
 He glanced at the golden cross again, shining 
 like fire. Truly, the cross had rewarded these 
 struo'orlinp; millions well. He smiled, and his 
 
 coo - 
 
 smile was worse than his sneer, and turned 
 and strolled on again, still slower and more 
 indolently. He was quite satisfied ; he had 
 done exceeding well. He did not believe 
 there was a devil; but if there was, he paid 
 his servant liberally. ^For if there should 
 be a devil,' thought Louis, ' I have been a 
 faithful henchman of his.' He was fall of an 
 indolent complacency — a sublime self-satisfac- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 22 L 
 
 tion. He bad revenged himself on Xoel ; he 
 had seen him driven from the garden, thrust 
 out into the dusty road, despised, condemned, 
 reviled. Xo need to summons him; no need 
 to sue him for damages a la divorce. There 
 was a sweeter revenge by far. He had struck 
 him too in return — not so strong a bloAV, 
 perhaps, as he had received, but as strong as 
 his arm could deliver; and — ha, ha, ha! — 
 it had had its effect. He had examined the 
 great terra -cotta flower -pot against which 
 Xoel's head struck afterwards, and it was 
 cracked from top to bottom. He must have 
 had the devil of a black eye — ha, ha, ha! It 
 was quite refreshing to think of. Noel would 
 not get over the memory of it this many a 
 year to come. Very likely his face was marked 
 — he hoped so devoutly. To see him roll 
 over — it was as good as watching a scamper- 
 ing hare shot in the head turn summersaults 
 till it fell dead. To watch him jostled and 
 hustled and shoved along by the crowd of 
 footmen and servants and maids — even but- 
 tons and the butler pushing behind — it was 
 delifrhtful to think of. 
 
222 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Heloise too — ah, she would begin to feel 
 it now ! Her lover was tired of her ; he would 
 turn her away. This repulse would disgust 
 him ; he would hate her ; she would be throAvn 
 upon the tender mercies of the streets — the 
 sooner the better. He Avas about to bleed 
 Horton and Pierce. Pierce he cared little 
 about, one way or the other. Horton he 
 hated — hated as men only hate those whom 
 they have injured. Even now a dark frown 
 shot over his brow as he thought of Carlotta's 
 husband. He had not forgotten Horton's 
 attack — the push, and his own ignominious 
 fall. He should have his reveno^e ; he should 
 bleed him of that very money upon which he 
 set the hio^hest store. He had had his reveno-e 
 already, though Horton did not know it. Se- 
 veral times at Avonbourne it had been on 
 the tip of his tongue to blurt it out — to throw 
 it in Horton's teeth, to glory in it, and mock 
 at him. It was he who had betrajed General 
 Shebang to the United States Government, 
 thereby taking fully a quarter of a million out 
 of Horton's pocket. Luckily he had restrained 
 himself, otherwise no threats would have pre- 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 223 
 
 vailed upon the banker. With this additional 
 sum to come, he should have robbed him 
 of 300,000^. He positively revelled in the 
 thought. If only he could have put the whole 
 of this sum in his own pocket — if: his mouth 
 watered at the idea. What a spree it would 
 have been ! Why, he might — ah, he might 
 do that even now ! 
 
 Behind all his thoughts and reveries there 
 had lurked a treacherous ill-formed desis^n, 
 when once he had got hold of this 50,000^., to 
 go on with the divorce suit after all; only he 
 was afraid that Horton might sue for a di- 
 vorce from Carlotta in return, and so make 
 him pay damages. But a better thought had 
 struck him now — an exquisite refinement of 
 revenge. 
 
 Once he had n'ot hold of this 50,000/., 
 he would go back to Carlotta, and get her to 
 fly with him the second time. That would 
 cut them all to the heart — that would be the 
 bitterest pill of all. Her redemption — her 
 reformation ! The man laughed at it. Why, 
 he had seen through her acting even in the 
 excitement at Bourne Manor. He knew she 
 
224 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 was a liar to tlie backbone. He should not 
 be surprised if, out of sheer contrariness, out 
 of the mere delight of inconsistency, she should 
 cast away these puritanical airs, and join him 
 at the first mention of the idea. 
 
 It was capital ; it grew upon him ; he 
 began to sketch it out. In three days he 
 should have 50,000/. It was true, he had 
 debts ; but he had managed that : he had 
 made his peace with his solicitor ; he was 
 about to dine with his solicitor's wife and 
 daughters. His host would go to any length 
 to serve him, to preserve so profitable a con- 
 nection. Why, the mere fact of his dining 
 with Mrs. So-and-so in a villa was enough to 
 give her a social superiority sufficient to turn 
 her brain. No, his debts were all right. He 
 should not fly abroad with Carlotta ; they 
 would reside in London, and go openly about. 
 They would become the sensation of the town, 
 the lions of the season. It was quite a plan, 
 quite a novelty. He began to think of what 
 class of turn-out he should invest in — some- 
 thin 2; new and strikino^. He had half a mind 
 even now to turn back and go to some of the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 225 
 
 carriage people, and see what there was new 
 in that line. He paused irresolute. 
 
 Just at that time he had got to the be- 
 ginning of the bridge, at the top of tlie stairs 
 .where the steps lead down on the Westminster 
 side of the bridge to the dark passage that 
 leads to the steamboat pier on the City side 
 of the river. Involuntarily he took his cigar 
 out of his lips as he paused to think. He 
 cauo^ht sio'ht of a man comins: over the bridge 
 with rapid strides, but wdio was forced to 
 pause by the force of the human current which 
 had set across it, and against w^hich he had 
 to battle his w^ay; a tall man, with a dark 
 bronzed face, and a black bruise on his left 
 temple. It was Xoel. Louis dropped his 
 cigar; his colour fled; he stepped back into 
 the shade of the staircase, pressing close 
 against the dirty wall. Always a coward, he 
 dreaded lest Xoel should see him — lest he 
 should pounce upon him there. Had Xoel 
 seen him, he was ready to shout ' Police !' in 
 an instant. He was in an agony of terror — he 
 who a few^ minutes previously had been exult- 
 ing in self-complacency; and yet at the same 
 
 VOL. HI. a 
 
126 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 time he jeered to himself over the mark on 
 Noel's temple — itwasthe mark of the terra-cotta 
 flower-pot. In another moment Noel was past. 
 
 Louis stole from his hiding-place, peering 
 out as a rabbit does at the mouth of his hole. 
 The coast was clear; his spirits rose again; 
 he laughed, buttoned up his coat, and was 
 about to step forward agaiu, when — 
 
 When a woman in a yellow dress, who 
 had come up the dark staircase behind him, 
 tapped him on the shoulder. Louis started 
 and turned; saw her, smiled, and held out 
 his hand. 
 
 It was clear what her avocation was. She 
 had come up that dark and slimy staircase — 
 you know it, no doubt; where the old woman 
 with the apples crouches ever in the corner 
 of the landing; where there is a close and fetid 
 odour, born of many nuisances; where dirty 
 boys and girls play in the darkness at the 
 bottom. Even in the early August evening 
 it was gloomy, cavernous. She had come up 
 it, out of the black arch, the narrow pass- 
 ages, the underground cellars, the stink, and 
 smell, and dirt below ; as it were, out of the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. :227 
 
 very mud of the Thames — the sewer mud ; not 
 the clean mud of a country pond, but the 
 sewer mud of the Thames. A bright and 
 gUttering creature, just as you see many-hued 
 moths drag themselves out of the loathsome 
 larva, out of tilth and dirt and all abomina- 
 tions. A moth, a night moth, preying upon 
 men. She was handsome in her way ; tall, 
 well shaped; her cheeks were red — it was 
 rouge ; her eyebrows dark — it was paint; her 
 eyes large, lustrous — it was belladonna; her 
 fingers flashed with jewels. They were real — 
 diamonds and rubies, nothing less — mark that. 
 Her dress was yellow — at least we poor men, 
 with our feeble command of knowledge, would 
 call it yellow, though doubtless there was a 
 proper name for this particular shade. There 
 was no mistaking her bold and forward air. 
 She laid her hand on his shoulder, she shook 
 hands with him, and smiled and showed her 
 white teeth. She turned, and Louis followed 
 her. In three steps he was out of sight. 
 
 One of the greatest of great French writers 
 — I shall not call him a moralist — has most 
 marvellouslv described a certain loathsome 
 
228 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and abominable inhabitant of the deep, which 
 he calls a sea-devil, which it is the modern 
 fashion to speak of as an octopus. We have 
 all seen it at the Aquarium ; we know its filthy 
 hideous shape, we have crept all over at the 
 sight of it. It fascinates us, sitting in the 
 corners and secret places of the rocks, armed 
 with its suckers, its deadly fingers. This 
 writer tells us how a man full of projects, on 
 the eve of success, a mischievous and evil 
 man, boasting to himself that he should suc- 
 ceed to the fullest of his hopes, with every 
 sign of it around him, went out to bathe, and 
 cooling himself in the sea, complacently passed 
 over his prospects in triumphant review. Then 
 he dived and struck the shallow bottom, and 
 prided himself on the feat; and was about 
 to return to the surface of the water when 
 something caught his foot and held it fast. 
 Weeks after, when the tide was exceptionally 
 low, they found his skeleton. The devil-fish 
 had chained him, and sucked his blood with 
 its hideous arms. 
 
 In the rocks and caves, the silent places 
 of our daily life, there sits waiting for us the 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 22!) 
 
 octopus, the devil-fish of Fate. While we 
 swim upon the surface it is w^ell ; but once 
 turn to the left or to the right, once dive out 
 of the common track, and the fatal clasp of 
 the unseen arm holds us, never to return. 
 
 Louis dived after the w^oman in yellow. 
 In three steps he was out of sight. 
 
 Noel too had been cramped in railway 
 carriages till he was glad to escape and walk. 
 He had been to Dover. This was how it was. 
 The night that he had returned to London 
 Heloise sat up for him. She had so far re- 
 covered that the doctors rarely visited her, 
 though one nurse remained, more as a com- 
 panion than out of necessity. She had to 
 take streno^thenino^ medicine. Her face was 
 pale and much thinner, otherwise she was 
 quite well. She had marked Noel's absence 
 of manner, she had grown alarmed at his 
 lengthened absence; she could not rest, could 
 not retire to her room, the sanctity of which 
 Noel had never invaded. He came at last, 
 towards midnight. His face struck her with 
 a fear. It was pale, wearied, and there was a 
 dark mark upon one temple. He threw him- 
 
230 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 self into a chair. She went to him, and passed 
 her cool hand lightly over his burning fore- 
 head. He sat silent for a few minutes ; then 
 it burst from him. He told her all — all, w^ith- 
 out reserve — what his intentions were; what 
 he had done, seen, and suffered; and her 
 face showed the varying turns of her thought. 
 Shall it be admitted ? The one great absorb- 
 ing thought that swallowed up the rest, the 
 one idea that shaped itself into a form, and 
 stood before her in almost a tangible body, 
 was the presence of Carlotta at Bourne Manor. 
 Carlo tta — the woman who had wa^onged her 
 so deeply, whose very evil had thrust her too 
 into outer darkness — sitting there in her fa- 
 ther's house, enthroned as a queen! Noel 
 repulsed, pushed away as a leper might have 
 been; and That Woman, that incarnation of 
 all sin and devilry, seated, as it were, on 
 Pierce's knee — Pierce, the father w^ho had 
 loved her so, or seemed to love. 
 
 What w^onder was it that at that moment 
 belief in Heaven failed her for the hour ? that 
 she lost all perception of right and wrong, 
 that her moral strength gave way; and, as 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 231 
 
 Job was tempted to do, cursed God in her 
 poor fluttering heart ? There was no one but 
 Noel to fly to. She sobbed upon his breast ; 
 there in the middle of the night, alone with 
 him in that hotel. She beo-o^ed him to take 
 her away, to carry her over the seas, any- 
 where. She cried to him to hide her, to have 
 mercy on her — to him to have mercy on 
 her, since even Pierce and Georgie thrust her 
 away. What wonder that Koel gave way? 
 This was the first time that she had lain in 
 his arms since they had left Bourne Manor. 
 Her tears made her sacred in his eyes; he 
 kissed her reverentially ; he promised to take 
 her on the morrow. Then he left her, and 
 retired to his own room. Next day, early in 
 the morning, he went by the express to 
 Dover, to order up his yacht. He might 
 have done this by telegraph. But the man 
 was wild with passion and excitement, he 
 burned with an inward fever, he could not 
 rest, the journey was rest to him. He gave 
 his instructions, then he came up by the after- 
 noon express — thus it was that he passed 
 over London -bridge. The yacht was to 
 
232 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAllTS. 
 
 steam up to Gravesend on the morrow, he 
 should come on board the same evenino;. In 
 his haste and excitement he had forgotten the 
 simple expedient of taking Heloise to the 
 yacht, instead of bringing the yacht to Heloise. 
 He dined with Heloise, he was even cheerful 
 and in a measure happy. It was at last settled, 
 the storm was over, his mind was at rest. 
 The struggle between his better nature and 
 his love w^as over — love had prevailed. 
 
 Next day he waited for the telegram that 
 was to tell him the yacht had come up the 
 river. Noon, evening, no telegram. He grew 
 restless; dinner-time, and still no message. 
 The fever of his impatience made him thirsty, 
 he took too much wine; this increased the 
 fever — he must go out. He took up his hat, 
 and saw his pocket-book lying on the mantel- 
 piece, where he had thrown it as useless, 
 soaked with water that night when he fell in 
 the river. This reminded him of the barge- 
 man and the promised reward. He took out 
 two ten-pound notes from his portmanteau, 
 and started off to find his preserver. He had 
 taken the address at the time. It took him 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 233 
 
 much trouble to discover the whereabouts of 
 the low public-house in Deptford where bargee 
 said he was to be found. When he got there 
 at last, about ten o'clock, bargee was gone — 
 gone to sleep in his barge, they told him. 
 One of them, tempted by a crown, took him 
 to the river and rowed him out in a ding}^ 
 to the barge. Bargee was smoking his pipe 
 quite contentedly under the cover of the 
 tarpaulin. He was not drunk, for a wonder. 
 He received Noel with a species of clumsy 
 politeness. Noel gave his guide the two half" 
 crowns, and the man shoved off; he relied 
 on bargee to row him ashore. So soon as 
 the fellow in the dingy was out of sight, for 
 Noel did not precisely relish the kind of com- 
 pany there was in this neighbourhood, he drew 
 out his pocket-book and gave the notes to 
 bargee. Bargee's eyes glistened with de- 
 light. 
 
 ' You be a gemman, you be,' he said. 
 ' D — d if you ain't ! Look yere, I never 
 thought to see you again. Will yer smoke ?' 
 ' Thanks,' said Noel, ^ I have a cigar.' 
 He lit it, and sat, not unamused with his 
 
234 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 position ; watching the lights upon the shore, 
 and the reflection of the stars upon the rest- 
 less water. 
 
 ' No moon to - night,' said the bargee, 
 chuckling ; ' not so fine a night for a swim, 
 sir, as that one you chose.' 
 
 Noel laughed. 
 
 'It was dark last night, sir,' added the 
 man. 
 
 'Was it?' said Noel carelessly. 
 
 ' Look here,' said the bargee, ' I s'pose I 
 med as well tell yer, though the p'lice spe- 
 cially said I wasn't to. But you're a gemman — 
 that's what you be.' And he told the follow- 
 ing curious story : last night his barge was 
 lower down a mile or so; nearer the shore, too. 
 It was dark — that is, there was no moon, but 
 there was light in the sky ; and as he was near 
 the shore, the glare from a farnace in a manu- 
 factory at the river-side cast a long path of 
 red light out upon the water, right across in 
 front of the bows of his boat. He was sitting 
 much as he was at that minute, under shelter 
 of the tarpaulin, but with his head out and 
 smoking. It was hot, close, and he did not feel 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 235 
 
 inclined to go to sleep. He sat and smoked. 
 Somehow he got to think of the strangeness 
 of his pulling ISToel out of the water that night 
 with his boat-hook. In a dim rude kind 
 of way he expressed his sense of the responsi- 
 bility that for the hrst time in his life he had 
 found to rest in a manner upon him as a 
 watcher upon tlie water. But for the merest 
 accident of the current drifting Noel's feet 
 against the side of his boat, he must have been 
 lost. So he came round to the idea that it 
 was his duty, once at least in the night, to 
 lift up the tarpaulin and look out upon the 
 water. Well, he determined to begin that 
 night. He had long had a habit of waking 
 with the first crow of the cock, about one 
 o'clock. True to his habit, he woke at one. 
 True to his determination, he sat up and peered 
 out into the water. The lamps shone all along 
 the river-side; he could see the position of 
 the bridges, distant as they were. The glare 
 from the manufactory still shone out upon the 
 water ; but the noise of the rushing wheels 
 was still. The fires were banked up for the 
 night. There was a fog on the surface of the 
 
236 RESTLESS HUMAN HEAPwTS. 
 
 water. No sound but the ' sock, sock, sock' of 
 the restless wave against his boat. He was 
 about to turn in again, when he saw a dark 
 object float into the streak of light from the 
 manufactory. He was up in an instant. He 
 seized his boat-hook — he brought it up — he 
 lifted it out of the water partly ; but it was 
 heavy. He hailed it; it did not reply. He 
 grew queer ; for in the uncertain light of the 
 furnace glow it looked like the head and 
 shoulders of a man. He tried to haul it in ; 
 he could not ; it was a dead weight — a lifeless 
 lump. He shouted for help ; the hail was 
 returned ; a boatful of river police rowed up. 
 They lifted the lifeless body of a man out of 
 the water. Rum, was it not — very rum? The 
 body was now lying at the Lamb and Flag, 
 waiting an inquest; would Noel like to see it? 
 Certainly not, said Noel. He did not alto- 
 gether like the story ; it sent a cold shiver 
 through him. He remembered that such as 
 this so he might have been hauled out of the 
 cold and restless waves. He asked bargee to 
 row him ashore. ' Here's the Lamb and Flag,' 
 said the man, as they stepped out; 'come and 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 237 
 
 see, sir.' Half unwilling, half impelled by a 
 morbid curiosity, Noel went. 
 
 In a small stifling room, with a sickening 
 odour, on a truckle bedstead, there lay some- 
 thing under the sheet. The woman who car- 
 ried the one guttering candle drew it back ; 
 and he saw the livid and naked head and 
 shoulders of a dead man. The thought rushed 
 into his mind that thus he might have lain. 
 He stepped forward — he looked again — he ut- 
 tered a cry of horror and amazement. The wo- 
 man dropped the candle in alarm, and it 
 went out. The bargee, strong as a lion on the 
 water, was afraid in the dark with a corpse. 
 He shoved his way out, pushing Noel before 
 him. Noel staggered against the wall in the 
 passage, as white as the whitewash against 
 which he leant. 
 
 It was the face of Louis that he had seen. 
 He called for brandy when he had recovered 
 somewhat. With a beating heart he summoned 
 up courage to look once more on the face of 
 the dead. Yes, it was Louis. Even now, in 
 the rigidness of death, the lips were drawn 
 back in the old, old sneer. It was ghastly. 
 
238 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 He shuddered and drew back. Still even now 
 he was unconvinced; he asked to see the dead 
 man's clothes. They refused to let him do so 
 without the permission of the police. He had 
 to wait till a sergeant came ; then he saw 
 them. He saw too a pocket-book, and in it 
 the name Louis Fontenoy. Then he was sa- 
 tisfied. He turned to the sergeant. ' How did 
 he — ' he asked, pointing to the chamber of 
 the dead. 
 
 'When folk get into the water,' said the 
 sergeant, ' the water tells no tales ; but they 
 donH always get there of their own will,^ 
 
 Noel left his name and address, and beo^ored 
 the sergeant to give him the help of his arm 
 till they could get out of this neighbourhood, 
 and he could get a cab. 
 
 These details are nothing to us. How 
 he reached the hotel matters little to us. 
 Before he went there, he had done one thing. 
 He had acted upon his first impulse — he tele- 
 graphed to Georgiana to come as fast as a 
 special train could bring her. 
 
 Then he went into his own bedroom, locked 
 the door, and fell upon his knees ; and in a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 239 
 
 speechless address to the Throne of mercy 
 thanked God that his yacht had been delayed. 
 For upon the table lay a telegram to the effect 
 that the yacht had broken her screw — she was 
 a screw steamer, and could not get up. 
 
 Had he taken Heloise to Dover, had the 
 yacht met with no accident, they would have 
 been far away on the ocean ; he would not 
 have known of this. Heloise would have been 
 irretrievably ruined. Noiv the nurses, the 
 hotel people, could prove her perfect purity. 
 Louis was dead. He could marry her. 
 
 

 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 They had finished lunch at Bourne Manor, and 
 had gone out on the lawn, placing their chairs 
 in the shade of the great thicket of rhododen- 
 drons and evergreens. Neville threw himself 
 at length upon the sward ; Georgiana was 
 languidly looking at the last Idi/ls of the King 
 issued by the Laureate. Horton had received 
 letters by the second post, in which he was 
 deeply interested ; they bore the official mark 
 of the United States Government. Pierce 
 was smoking, idly watching the circles of 
 vapour rise in the still August air. 
 
 ' This is extraordinary,' said Horton, who 
 since he had been at Bourne Manor had lost 
 much of his usual reserve, and communicated 
 his affairs comparatively freely. ' This is 
 very extraordinary ; the States are going to 
 repay me the money found on Shebang.' 
 
 ' Yery honourable of them,' replied Pierce. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 241 
 
 * I cannot understand it. The money was 
 justly forfeited — it is a large sum, too, and the 
 States are not overflowing with coin. I cer- 
 tainly deserved to lose it. I have never in 
 all my life regretted entering into any specula- 
 tion but this one ; and that was through 
 Louis.' 
 
 Now this was partly true, and partly 
 not. The vast possible profit had tempted 
 him ; Louis had only quieted his fears. But 
 the best of us are only too ready to cast our 
 faults upon others' shoulders. 
 
 'I think I see through it,' said Neville. 
 ' Depend upon it, it is your position as a 
 capitalist that has influenced them. They 
 know that at any moment they may be in 
 want of a loan ; they think that by acting in 
 this manner they will secure your services, 
 and at the same time make a very favourable 
 impression upon the English money market. 
 This quarter of a million will, in that way, 
 aid then to borrow perhaps ten million.' 
 
 'Probably that maybe the case,' said Horton. 
 * At all events, here are formal documents in- 
 forming me that the papers and money found 
 
 VOL. III. R. 
 
242 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 on Shebang will be paid over to my agents 
 in New, York on the 21st of this month; save 
 and except 3000/., which they retain to pay 
 their expenses.' 
 
 At that moment Philip Lestrange came 
 round the thicket of evergreens, and joined 
 them. He was polite to Georgiana and Neville ; 
 but ever since their disregard of his advice 
 about the marriage, he had very faintly but 
 distinctly marked them out. He could not 
 be said to avoid them, because he never altered 
 his ordinary course of life in the slightest to 
 escape meeting them. But there was a faint 
 distance in his manner, which said as plainly 
 as words, ' I tolerate you. I even enjoy your 
 company; but I do not approve, and I never 
 will approve, of the deed of which you have 
 been guilty.' He never missed an opportunity 
 of indirectly attacking Georgiana's prin- 
 ciples ; curiously enough, he never attacked 
 Neville, and the reason was obvious — he con- 
 sidered that Neville had been tempted, drawn 
 into the step he had taken. Neville had not 
 originated it. Now the effect of this con- 
 stant undercurrent of attack, this slow un- 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 243 
 
 dermining incessantly followed up, was not 
 inconsiderable upon Georgiana. She had 
 long since begun to doubt her own mission ; 
 latterly she had begun to doubt the excellence 
 of the material upon which she had to work. 
 She questioned whether it was possible to im- 
 prove either sex. In this doubting, irresolute 
 state of mind she naturally paid more atten- 
 tion to Philip's arguments than at a time when 
 she was firm in her own belief, dogmatic in her 
 assertions. She did not assent to his views ; 
 she would not admit that he had in a single 
 point worsted her; but in her own secret 
 mind she was more than half convinced. After 
 all, what an overwhelming weight the authority 
 of antiquity carries with it ! We may despise 
 it — laugh at it as mere tradition and prejudice ; 
 but over the busy spirit of our time there 
 looms and hovers the brooding past, per- 
 meating into all our habits ; impelling us and 
 filling us with those very hopes, for the fulfil- 
 ment of which we are straining -every nerve 
 — making use of steam and electricity, machi- 
 nery and science. For a while one of us may 
 soar aloft, upborne on the wings of his own 
 
244 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 imagination; but in time, experience, like the 
 sun, melts away those very wings, deadens the 
 impulse that worked them, for he sees that 
 these thoughts and aspirations are nothing 
 new. They have been before of old time. 
 Men and women have felt thus and hoped thus 
 and striven thus ages and ages ago ; they are 
 striving and aspiring in the same way even 
 now. But the world, that wise old being, has 
 in its weary life found out all the difficulties, 
 the insuperable obstacles that stay its way; 
 and it has therefore settled down, and instead 
 of attempting to ignore the harness, has ac- 
 cepted it, and works on doggedly and patiently, 
 too wise to exhaust its strength in vain efforts 
 to get free. All this hath been before of old 
 time. The spirit of Ecclesiastes hung heavily 
 over Georgiana and weighed her down. Now 
 Philip, through his holy orders, through the 
 consecration by laying on of hands, was the 
 very representation of this old, old world, of 
 this time that hath been. He brought with 
 him the silent but cogent arguments of the 
 centuries. It was as if he had said, ^ Do you 
 think that all these hundreds of generations of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 245 
 
 men and women, with their throbbing hearts, 
 their restless minds, their iron sinews, would 
 have toiled and moiled, and submitted to the 
 yoke as they have done, had there been any 
 method by which they might have been free? 
 Have all these incalculable millions been idiots, 
 and you only wise ? It is the most inordinate 
 vanity, a madness to suppose so. The ages 
 silently mock at you — laugh at you — point 
 their finger in scorn at you. Why persist in 
 such folly?' And Georgiana was more than 
 half convinced, only the woman in her, the 
 will of the woman, would not yet give way. 
 She would not be persuaded. Philip was 
 attacking her now. He avoided the question 
 of the sexes, the direct problem; he attacked 
 her in flank and rear. Take, for instance, the 
 education of children. The kitten and the 
 puppy, the callow fledgling and all those 
 creatures who come to maturity so soon, did 
 not require that their parents should remain 
 united for any length of time. But the hu- 
 man infant, feeble and weak, could not be 
 left alone, especially in civilised countries, till 
 at least sixteen years of age. 
 
246 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 'If/ said Philip, 4n our country, for in- 
 stance, children were let to run at large as 
 the children of savages are, in two generations 
 we should return to barbarism. Forests would 
 grow up where the cultivated fields are now. 
 The steam-engine would be silent — the mines 
 unworked. The bow and arrow would re- 
 sume their reign, the wild beasts roam over 
 the sites of the cities.' 
 
 Excited with his eloquence, Philip was 
 growing heated, and gesticulated as he did 
 in the pulpit, when a footman announced 
 that two ' persons' — emphasising the word 
 • persons' — had called to see Mr. Knoyle. 
 What eloquence could withstand so prosaic 
 an announcement ? He stopped ; and Hor- 
 ton, begging them to excuse him, walked to 
 the house. He had been gone barely three 
 minutes when the footman returned in great 
 haste and agitation. Mr. Knoyle begged them 
 all to come to him immediately. These ' per- 
 sons' were, in fact, the private agents who had 
 come down to see Horton, and who had ar- 
 rived just after Francis committed his mad 
 act. They had told him the sad story; they 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 247 
 
 now repeated it to the rest. Little by little, 
 and by dint of close questioning, Philip and 
 Neville — Horton was too much shocked to in- 
 quire curiously — arrived at a rude outline of 
 the event as it really happened. But they 
 could not understand two things: first, why 
 Francis came down to Avonbourne ; secondly, 
 why he should attempt to commit suicide 
 there immediately after speaking to a lady. 
 
 *Why,' said Neville, 'Lady Knoyle must 
 have been on the platform at the time — she 
 must almost have seen this accident.' 
 
 Horton did not reply. A sickening sensa- 
 tion had risen up within him. Out of sight 
 is truly out of mind with most of us; nor 
 was he any exception. Francis had been 
 entirely out of his sight for a whole year. 
 He had forgotten the miserable breach be- 
 tween him and his brother; he remembered 
 it now. Francis had attempted to commit 
 suicide after speaking to a lady. Carlotta was 
 on the platform at the time. A horrible dread, 
 a fear of he knew not what, arose in Horton's 
 mind. He felt that he must know the worst. 
 He must see Francis. Together with Neville 
 
248 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and Philip and the two agents Horton drove 
 over to the market-town, where Francis was 
 still retained at the office of the constabulary. 
 The man in charge said that his condition was 
 unchanged. He was not violent ; that is, he 
 did not attempt to injure any one; but he 
 roamed round the room like a wild beast in 
 its lair, seeking to escape. The superintendent 
 opened the door; they stepped in, closing it 
 behind them. But the wretched maniac, see- 
 ing it open, rushed at them to force his way 
 out. Quick as lightning, two men who had 
 been in the room stepped forward and inter- 
 posed. Horton saw his nephew struggle 
 furiously for a few moments with these men, 
 then relinquish the struggle as useless, and 
 resume his ceaseless walk to and fro in the 
 cell, like a wolf in its den. He took no notice 
 of the visitors. 
 
 ' He has been talking of Carlotta some- 
 body,' said one of the men in a low tone. 
 
 Francis caught the name; he repeated it; 
 he stamped ; it seemed to fill him with a furi- 
 ous frenzy. He cursed her, he swore and 
 howled with blasphemous rage. They shud- 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 249 
 
 dered as they listened. Then he seemed to see 
 her in the cell ; he fell on his knees and 
 begged and prayed to her as to a god, wor- 
 shipping, bending his forehead to the ground. 
 Then he sprang up with a yell, and his eyes 
 glared like a cat's in the dark. ' She said I 
 was madj'' he cried, 'and I am mad — mad, 
 mad, mad ! Carlo tta !' and he burst into a 
 passion of tears, and cried and shook and trem- 
 bled like a child. They could not stand the 
 miserable spectacle any longer. They went out. 
 Horton was pale as death. He laid his hand 
 on his heart — he had a strange pain there. 
 Xeville understood him to some extent. 
 
 ' Even yet,' said he, ' we may be mistaken.' 
 He called to the two railway porters who had 
 assisted to bring Francis to the office, and who 
 still hung about to see the conclusion of the 
 affair. He questioned them. They were ready 
 enough to describe the scene. They described 
 the lady Francis spoke to. Their attention had 
 been called to her by the singular contrast 
 between her rich dress and the wild look and 
 dirty clothes of the man who addressed her. 
 There was not a doubt that it was Carlotta. 
 
250 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Horton whispered to Neville to leave direc- 
 tions, and went out to his carriage ; he could 
 stay in that place no longer. The miserable 
 and evil past rose up before him. The ruin 
 that this woman — his wife — had caused rose 
 up in a gigantic spectre before him: A spec- 
 tre that blotted out the great sun in the sky ; 
 a phantom that darkened the August day with 
 its dread wings ; that hovered over him like a 
 cloud. A horror, an unutterable loathing, 
 fell upon him. And he had been on the point, 
 nay, he had practically already received her 
 again ; he had, as it were, strained her to his 
 breast. The man cowered in his carriage, 
 struck down with the bloAV — he, the million- 
 naire, the man of countless wealth, cowered in 
 his carriage ; and as he did so, the yells of 
 the madman in the cell close by came out, 
 muffled, but distinctly audible, and smote upon 
 his ear. 
 
 'My brother,' he groaned, 'my brother!' 
 For he thought of his brother who had left 
 these two boys to his care. One was a mad- 
 man, and the other was — where? It was 
 merciful that he never knew. This vampire, 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 251 
 
 this ghoul, this fearful and incredible creature 
 — he had forgiven her, he had received her. 
 The man's whole being revolted; his gorge 
 rose at it. 
 
 Neville, from the door of the office, saw 
 that he was ill, and hastily saying he would 
 write, ran out, sprang into the carriage, and 
 told the coachman to drive on immediately. 
 
 ' The oddest part of it all,' said Philip, who 
 sprang up after him, ^ the most singular thing 
 is that the life of this — this madman was saved 
 by a madman.' 
 
 ' I do not think that a man who gallantly 
 imperils his own life to rescue another is 
 mad,' said Neville sharply, ever ready to cavil 
 at the clergyman, resenting his attacks upon 
 Georgie. 
 
 ' I did not say that. God forbid that I 
 should ever utter so disgraceful a sentiment ! I 
 said that Francis was saved by a madman ; 
 or at least it would appear so. While you 
 were giving directions I spoke to the porters. 
 I asked them about this bald-headed gentle- 
 man, for he ought to be — ' 
 
 ' He ought to be communicated with, and 
 
252 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 his courage warmly acknowledged,' said Ne- 
 ville. ' I had forgotten that; of course — ' 
 
 'Well. I have got his address — it is Major 
 Scone ; but he is mad. These porters declare 
 that after he had saved Francis, and come 
 with him all the way to the police-station, he 
 suddenly struck his bald head with his hand, 
 shrieked out some unintelligible gibberish, 
 and set off as hard as he could run back to 
 the station in this burning sun.' 
 
 'Afraid of losing his train, perhaps.' 
 'Wait a bit; he had lost it. That other 
 guard, who has just come up by the station- 
 master's orders to see about Francis, heard the 
 porter telling me this, and he struck in laugh- 
 ing, and told me that the bald-headed man 
 w^as " ramping" (that was the word he used) — 
 ramping mad, raging up and down the plat- 
 form, swearing horribly because the station- 
 master would not, as he wished, telegraph and 
 have the express stopped. He declared that 
 he had left a cobra di capello in the carriage 
 under a railway-rug, which he had brought 
 from India. If any one had got into the car- 
 riage he must certainly — ' 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 253 
 
 * I don't see how that makes him mad.' 
 
 ^ Well, I don't say he is. Only it sounds 
 like it ; at all events the station-master refused 
 to stop the express, and the old gentleman 
 at once ordered a special train, and produced 
 the money to pay for it in advance ; and away 
 he has gone tearing after the cobra; and 
 vociferating that he forgot it in the danger 
 of Francis, and calling himself a murderer.' 
 
 ^ If it should be a fact,' said Neville, ' that 
 he really has left a cobra in the carriage, I 
 can conceive nothing more horrible. Imagine 
 being shut up in a compartment from which 
 there is no escape with such a creature !' 
 
 Philip's object in narrating this story, 
 which he was himself inclined to consider 
 apocryphal, was to interest Horton, who was 
 deadly faint, to try and change the current 
 of his thoughts ; but it failed utterly. Horton 
 Knoyle had to be assisted to his room, and 
 the doctor they sent for immediately declared 
 he was in a dangerous state. His heart, long 
 slightly affected, had, as it were, suddenly 
 failed. The greatest care was necessary — he 
 should like more professional assistance. Two 
 
254 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 London physicians of the first eminence were 
 at once telegraphed for. A gloom once more 
 fell over Bourne Manor. Pierce retired to 
 his study. None of them but Philip had the 
 heart to tell him the truth. 
 
 'But,' said Philip, 'it is my duty. He 
 too was deceived by that woman; it is my 
 duty to tell him all ;' and he did so. 
 
 Pierce said nothing. In the bitterness of 
 his heart he turned again to the child whom 
 he had so dearly loved. Forgetting what had 
 happened, he asked for Heloise. 
 
 'My brother,' cried Philip, utterly over- 
 come, • my brother !' 
 
 Let us leave them. I fear that neither 
 the offices of the Church nor the deep affec- 
 tion of blood relationship could console this 
 wound. The day wore slowly on, but its 
 troubles were not over yet. Towards six o'clock 
 there came a telegram for Horton Knoyle. 
 The doctor absolutely refused to let him see 
 it. His only chance of life was perfect quiet, 
 complete repose. His mind must not be 
 disturbed. In this emergency they had a 
 consultation, and at last decided that Geor- 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 255 
 
 giana, as the nearest relation of the invaUd, 
 should open it. She did so. She glanced over 
 it, and the colour left her cheek. She held 
 it out to them. Philip took it, and read 
 aloud : 
 
 ''Major Scone to Horton Knoyle, Esq,^ 
 
 Bourne Manor ^ Avonhourne, 
 ^ Come at once. Lady Knoyle fell from 
 train. Injuries very serious. My train sent 
 for you, at my expense.' 
 
 It was dated an hour previously, at a 
 small station about ten miles the Avonbourne 
 side of London. The t<jlegram puzzled them 
 exceedingly. They could not understand 
 how it was that Major Scone, the bald-headed 
 gentleman who had saved Francis's life, could 
 come to know that Lady Knoyle had met 
 with an accident. They even began to look 
 upon the affair as a possible hoax. 
 
 ' I am not of that opinion,' said Philip. 
 'I begin to believe that it is only too true. 
 Look at this : Knoyle is up-stairs, and in a 
 critical state; Francis is a maniac. Depend 
 upon it this family has incurred the wrath of 
 
256 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Heaven. We are punished as (Edipus was — 
 a fatal fate pursues us.' 
 
 'Then you think that there really has 
 been an accident?' 
 
 ' I shall certainly go and see,' said Philip. 
 ' Say nothing to Pierce,' he added ; ' he has 
 enough grief, let him be.' 
 
 Neville and Philip then left for the station. 
 Georgiana remained to attend to her brother. 
 At the station (fatal confirmation) they found 
 the special train — an engine and two carriages 
 — awaiting them. They got in, and were 
 whirled up to the small third-rate station 
 near London Scone had telegraphed from. 
 He met them on the platform. 
 
 ' I am a murderer !' he said. These were 
 his first words. He led them to a small room 
 used by the station-master. The blinds were 
 drawn ; a small knot of men were gathered 
 outside whispering. They entered. Coats, 
 rugs, pieces of carpet were spread upon the 
 floor in one corner, and on them a woman 
 richly dressed was lying, her back propped 
 up against the wall, her head supported in a 
 woman's hands. It was Carlotta. Her lovely 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 257 
 
 features were white, deadly white — her arms 
 lay by her side, utterly useless. There was 
 no apparent motion ofthe breast, no breathing. 
 
 ' Is she—' they asked in a low voice, hesi- 
 tating to form the dread question. 
 
 'No,' said the surgeon who had been 
 called; 'she is not dead. There is a faint, 
 a very faint breathing; a mirror is stained by 
 her breath; there is a perceptible motion of 
 the heart. But I am afraid to move her, else 
 you would not see her lying there. My house 
 is scarcely a quarter of a mile distant. But 
 I dare not move her. While she lies still 
 she lives ; a jar, a shake, and the feeble spark 
 may be extinguished.' 
 
 'Where are the injuries?' said Philip. 
 
 Neville was too shocked to speak. It was 
 but a few hours before that he had seen this 
 woman in the full glory of her beaut}^, swell- 
 ing with the vigour of her life, prouder than 
 the peacock in his wondrous colours. Now 
 she was lying helpless, unconscious, on the 
 edge of the Dark Valley. Notwithstanding 
 the memory of the miserable maniac, not- 
 withstanding the reflection of her incalcu- 
 
 VOL. III. S 
 
258 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 lable guilt, he could not, seeing her condition, 
 help pitying her. They had cut open her 
 dress, her lovely neck was partly visible. He 
 could not take his eyes from those exquisite 
 curves, from that marble whiteness. The 
 surgeon said he had as yet formed no opinion 
 as to the extent, or even the true position, of 
 her injuries. There were no bones broken ; 
 and so far as he had been able to ascertain 
 there were few bruises. Her dress had saved 
 her. The injuries must be internal, and he 
 greatly feared it was the brain. He could 
 not examine her head till he could remove 
 her hair. He was waiting for authority to 
 remove her to his house. His assistant, under 
 the direction of Major Scone, had constructed 
 a species of litter to convey her to his house ; 
 but knowing the extreme danger of the at- 
 tempt, he had hesitated, and waited till some 
 relatives of the patient arrived to authorise 
 him. It was the only chance of her life. The 
 cobra had bit her in the foot; but he appre- 
 hended little or no danger from that, as the 
 teeth had had to pass through the stocking, 
 which in all probability had intercepted most 
 
KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 25^ 
 
 of the venom. Philip and Neville at once 
 assured him that they were willing to take 
 the responsibility, and they assisted to carry 
 her. Scone, bringing his Indian experience 
 to bear, had constructed a litter wiih a few 
 poles and blankets, by the aid of which they 
 carried her safely to the surgeon's house. 
 Here he shaved away the glorious hair — Car- 
 lotta's pride — and examined the skull. As he 
 expected, there was the wound. The pressure 
 of the bone upon the brain was the cause of 
 this lengthened insensibility. He dared not 
 perform the operation alone ; he did not feel 
 certain that she could bear it. 
 
 They telegraphed to London, and in two 
 hours a great surgeon arrived. He pro- 
 nounced the operation safe. He relied upon 
 the intense physical vigour of the patient — a 
 vigour obvious at first sight, and confirmed 
 on examination. Two hours afterwards Car- 
 lotta became sensible, spoke a few words about 
 a snake, and then fell asleep. Philip and 
 N eville, after hearing this intelligence, left the 
 house, as they would have done had it con- 
 tained the plague. While the life was trem- 
 
260 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 bling in the balance Carlotta was lost sight 
 of; she was a human being ; the identity was 
 not present to their minds. Now that the 
 dano^er of immediate death was over, the me- 
 mory of her character and her crimes returned 
 to them; their disgust drove them from the 
 place. It was too late now to return to 
 Bourne Manor. They accepted the hospi- 
 tality of the station-master, humble as it was, 
 and resolved to remain till the morning. 
 Now it was on that very night that Noel tele- 
 graphed to Georgiana to come at once by 
 special train to Heloise. The telegram sent 
 at ten o'clock did not reach Georgiana till 
 nearly midnight, as she had just lain down to 
 rest after watching Horton. She knew not 
 what to do. Her whole heart went out to 
 Heloise; she had never ceased to love her. 
 Noel, in his passion and excitement, mistook 
 the disgust that was shown against him 
 to extend to Heloise also. Georgiana was 
 driven wild for a few moments by conflicting 
 anxieties. She dared not leave Horton ; she 
 trembled mth eagerness to see Heloise, whose 
 whereabouts she now knew for the first time. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 261 
 
 By the morning, perhaps, Noel would remove 
 her, would change his mind, and Heloise 
 might be lost for ever. It was useless going 
 to Pierce ; the old man was utterly exhausted. 
 Philip and Xeville were gone. At- last she 
 determined to telegraph to them to go on to 
 London, or to come back and relieve her. 
 She wrote a telegram and gave it to a groom. 
 Sleepy and tired, the man ventured to say 
 that it was too late; no telegram could be 
 sent after ten o'clock. 
 
 ' 0, give the man a sovereign 1' cried 
 Georgiana ; ' make haste, do ! Here, give him 
 three, ^ye, if you like !' 
 
 The groom galloped off with the message. 
 At the platform he found one solitary watcher. 
 The watchman declared that the office was 
 closed. The groom offered the reward. 
 
 'All right,' said the watchman ; ' give me 
 the money, I'll manage it.' 
 
 The groom gave him the money and the 
 message, and departed. As soon as he was 
 gone, the watchman quietly pocketed the five 
 sovereigns, and thrust the message under the 
 locked door of the telegraph office. 
 
262 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 So Noel waited all that night in vain. 
 Next morning, still saying nothing to Heloise, 
 he removed his own luggage to another hotel 
 adjoining, and telegraphed again. But before 
 he received an answer, Philip and Neville, who 
 had now received Georgiana's telegram, reached 
 the hotel where Heloise was stopping, and met 
 Noel carrying his dressing-bag. Noel bowed; 
 Philip drew himself up stiffly; Neville did 
 not extend his hand. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Then there ensued perhaps the strangest court 
 of inquiry that had ever been held. In a 
 small sitting-room of the hotel Noel con- 
 fronted them. He was at once the prisoner 
 and the prisoner's solicitor. He called his 
 witnesses. His case was that Heloise was as 
 pure and as innocent as when she had left 
 Bourne Manor. 
 
 •Will you swear to this?' asked Philip. 
 
 Philip and Neville were the magistrates. 
 Philip was the chairman. 
 
 'I will,' said Noel firmly; 'before God 
 I avow that I return her as she came to me.' 
 
 Philip took a small Testament from his 
 pocket. ' Swear it upon this,' he said. 
 
 Noel swore. Then he called the hotel 
 people; first the waiter who had rushed to 
 help him extinguish the fire which had seized 
 on Heloise's dress. Meantime he had sent for 
 the doctor and the two nurses. These arrived, 
 
264 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 proved positively that Heloise had never been 
 alone with Noel. She had occupied her own 
 rooms the whole of the time. She had had 
 female companions np to that very hour. 
 
 'And is it true that Louis is dead?' 
 
 Noel took them with him to see the corpse. 
 They, the judges, went with the prisoner and 
 viewed it. They left the awful presence of 
 death convinced. Philip laid his hand on 
 Noel's shoulder. 
 
 ' We believe you,' he said ; ' but, mark me, 
 this was none of your doing. God forbid 
 that I should judge you ; but I see the hand 
 of Heaven in all this guarding my brother's 
 child. Had not she dropped that handkerchief, 
 had your yacht not met with an accident, 
 had not you narrowly escaped drowning, and 
 so gone to see the bargeman, I shudder to 
 think what might have happened. Sir, I tell 
 you straight your guilt is as great. There is 
 my hand. I do not judge you.' 
 
 Noel took it ; his bronzed face flushed up 
 to his brow. There was a time when the 
 wrathful spirit of the man would have thrown 
 all these words back into his teeth. But he 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 265 
 
 loved Heloise. In his very soul he humbled 
 himself, rejoicing that she had been saved. 
 They went up now to see her. 
 
 'She must return with us to Bourne 
 Manor/ said Philip. 
 
 They entered the apartment. Heloise 
 started, flushed, turned pale, ran to Noel and 
 seized his arm, then thrust him away with a 
 gesture, as much to say, ' You have betrayed 
 me, you have brought this open disgrace on 
 me.' But she could not speak. 
 
 ^ We have come to take you home,' said 
 Philip, advancing and speaking in a kindly 
 tone. He felt that she had been more sinned 
 against than sinning. 
 
 Heloise receded, and grasped Noel's arm 
 again. 
 
 ' I will not leave him !' she cried, the hot 
 flush mounting to her forehead. 
 
 *I have not told her,' said Noel in a low^ 
 voice, ' 1 dared not. Do you, Neville, or you, 
 Philip — Louis I mean.' 
 
 'Heloise,' said Philip, 'your husband is 
 dead; Louis, Lord Fontenoy, is no more.' 
 
 ' What !' cried Heloise ; ' I will not believe 
 
266 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 it ; this is some plan to deceive me, some sub- 
 terfuge. Noel, help me, protect me 1 0, do 
 you desert me ? 
 
 For Noel hung back and did not rush to 
 her assistance. The words, the tone pierced 
 him to the heart. ' My darling,' he said. 
 
 * Hush,' interrupted Philip, ' do not insult 
 the dead. Yes, Heloise, Louis is dead; he 
 was drowned ; I have seen his body ; it is in- 
 deed true.' 
 
 ' Then — then — ' began Heloise, bewildered. 
 
 ' We can marry,' whispered Noel, so low 
 that the others did not catch the sense of his 
 words, though they heard the sound of his 
 whisper. 
 
 Heloise then turned red as scarlet, then 
 pale again. ' I cannot go home,' she said more 
 gently ; ' anywhere else — not there, Carlo tta is 
 there;' and anger flashed in her eye, a frown 
 darkened on her forehead. 
 
 ' Carlotta is not there,' said Philip ; ' she is 
 
 lying crushed and helpless at Station. 
 
 She fell from the tram.' 
 
 'I will not — I cannot believe it,' said 
 Heloise ; ' it is all part of a plan to deceive 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 267 
 
 me, to disgrace and humble me. I will not 
 go. Noel, Noel, help me !' 
 
 'Dearest, it is true,' replied Noel. He 
 could not refrain from the term of endear- 
 ment. His hand sought hers ; he held it in 
 defiance of Philip's gesture ; he pressed it to 
 reassure her. ' It is true.' 
 
 ' And,' said Philip, ' Pierce and Horton 
 are disabused; they have seen her guilt too 
 plain at last. She will never return to insult 
 you. Come, Heloise, this is no place for you; 
 Pierce is longing for you. We have all for- 
 gotten, all is forgiven. Come.' 
 
 ' I will not,' said Heloise. 'I will not leave 
 you,' turning to Noel. ' I care not what has 
 happened ; why did we not go on board last 
 night ? Noel, Noel, why did you let these 
 people come?' 
 
 ' Because I love you, dearest ; believe me 
 it is best.' 
 
 ' Will you come with me ?' 
 
 ' I cannot to Bourne Manor ; I will as near 
 as I dare ; I will go to Knoylelands — that is if 
 Georgiana will permit.' 
 
 ' Georgiana will permit,' said a voice ; and 
 
2G8 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 turning they saw her enter. She had received 
 Noel's second telegram, and Horton, being 
 better, had come up by the early express. 
 
 "While Philip and Neville held their court of 
 inquiry steam had brought her to the scene. 
 Heloise rushed to her, fell into her arms, 
 sobbed and cried. By one consent the men 
 left the room. An hour afterwards Heloise 
 left the hotel with Georgiana. Shortly after- 
 wards the gentlemen in another cab followed 
 them. 
 
 The journey to Avonbourne was not a 
 pleasant one ; but it came to an end at last. 
 Noel went on to Knoylelands ; Philip, Neville, 
 Georgiana, and Heloise returned to Bourne 
 Manor. Pierce received her as one from the 
 tomb. He would not let her go out of his 
 sight an instant. He clung to her, she clung to 
 him. For days these two sat together, silent, 
 hand in hand; for days the rest carefully 
 abstained from intruding on them. Pierce 
 remembered his momentary infatuation with 
 Carlotta; he hated himself, he strove to make 
 amends to the child he loved, whose heart had 
 ever been innocent, though she had taken a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 269 
 
 miserable step. He heard from her own hps 
 the cause, the fatal intelligence, that had 
 made her take that step. He did not wonder 
 at it; it was the iirst time he had heard of 
 this. Horton had not told him ; how could 
 the husband communicate his disgrace ? The 
 rest did not wish to add another sorrow to his 
 cares. The old man rose in his wrath and 
 paced the room. 
 
 ^ It is well that he is dead,' he cried, ^or, 
 aged as I am — ' 
 
 The feeble hand clenched, a light shone in 
 the eyes that years had not dimmed. In his 
 joy over Heloise, in his detestation of Louis, 
 the revulsion of feeling against Carlotta, he 
 forgave Noel, he forgot his conduct. He 
 sent for him to Bourne Manor. 
 
 Noel came reluctantly. It was as much as 
 all his strength of mind, all his hardihood 
 could face. He did it from love of Heloise. 
 He rode through the gates from which he had 
 been thrust — despised, jeered at, condemned, 
 wounded, covered with infamy — into the dusty 
 road. The door was opened for him by one 
 of those very servants who had stood on 
 
270 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the wall and mocked him. It was bitter as 
 wormwood, as gall in his mouth. He felt 
 that he was punished; but for Heloise's sake. 
 He strengthened himself with the thought 
 that she Avas saved. He had not been guilty 
 of her ruin. He had escaped that. What 
 cared he for the rest? Pierce met him 
 frankly. He took his hand; he made no 
 allusion to the past; he had seen into his 
 daughter's heart. This was about three weeks 
 after Heloise's return. Heloise, little by little, 
 had told him all — her love for Noel, her 
 deep unutterable affection. The old man's 
 heart warmed towards the man whom his 
 daughter loved. He remembered the days 
 when he and Noel had tramped the stubble 
 a year ago. He met him with a smile. 
 
 'There is a gun for you,' he said; 'it is 
 the 1st to-morrow. You must stay ; we will 
 beat Cranberry Moor; the birds are strong 
 there this year.' 
 
 Noel looked at him in amaze. He had 
 expected a cold reception ; at the most a mere 
 acknowledgment of his presence ; possibly re- 
 vilings and taunts. For a moment he could 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 271 
 
 not understand it ; he could not conceive the 
 kindly interest. Then he sat down and burst 
 into tears. The strong man wept ; the weak 
 and feeble old man soothed him. 
 
 'Hush!' said Pierce; 'I know all. She 
 is w^orthy of deep love, of extreme passion. 
 I forgive.' 
 
 'Then you did not mean to repulse me 
 that — that day ?' said Noel at last. 
 
 'I did not — I did not! Forgive me; I 
 was wnld ; I cried for Heloise — you did not 
 answer. I — but we w^ere all deceived that 
 day. I tremble w^hen I think of the misery 
 that so nearly resulted from our injustice. 
 But hush! say no more. It is over; let it 
 be buried in oblivion. You must stay. Jones 
 shall go over for your traps. There is a gun 
 for you. Horton will accompany us. We 
 two must ride,' he said with a smile — 'we old. 
 fogies. You are young, and can walk.' 
 
 For Horton had risen from his chamber, 
 and was allow^ed gentle exercise. He had 
 expressed a wish to see the sport. All this 
 was barbarous, you say. Louis only dead 
 barely a month ; Carlotta still weak and ill. 
 
272 KESTLESS HUMAN HEAETS. 
 
 But remember what Louis had been : could 
 they be expected to linger over his memory ? 
 That evening they did discuss his singular 
 death. No inquiries had elicited any informa- 
 tion upon it. He had been found by the 
 bargeman : that was the beginning of the 
 evidence — that was the end of it. There was 
 not a tittle of evidence to show how he came 
 into the water. One thing was certain : if 
 he was thrown in, it was not for the purpose 
 of robbery ; for his watch and purse, even his 
 gold toothpick, were untouched. Not a thing 
 had been taken. There were no marks of 
 violence. Undoubtedly death had resulted 
 from drowning alone. They talked it over 
 calmly, without a show of regret, or even of 
 particular interest. How could they feel 
 any? 
 
 This was in the smoking-room; for there 
 was a room set apart for that purpose at 
 Bourne Manor. Neville and Pierce were of 
 opinion that he had accidentally fallen in. 
 Philip suggested that he might have com- 
 mitted suicide. (Philip, though a clergyman, 
 and one with a very high opinion of his sacred 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 273 
 
 character, was nevertheless very fond of his 
 cigar ; with him it was the one touch of 
 nature that made him kin with the world.) 
 Noel had no theory. To tell truth, he did 
 not trouble to think of it ; he had seen many- 
 dead men in his time ; thousands of men had 
 died the cause of whose death was unknown. 
 
 Horton at last said very slowly and rather 
 gloomily that he believed he could suggest a 
 cause. Louis, he said, belonged to several 
 secret societies, both foreign and English. 
 
 Particularly he belonged to the , w^ell 
 
 known as a most dangerous and unscrupulous 
 sect of men — the more dangerous because they 
 had no definite course of action. No one 
 knew which w^ay they would turn next. He 
 had reason to believe that Louis had turned 
 traitor to one of these societies, and revealed 
 their secrets. (He referred to the capture of 
 Shebang ; he thought that that was Louis's ; 
 doinor thouo;h he had no intention of reveal- 
 ing his suspicions.) Now these secret socie- 
 ties thought very little of human life ; a man 
 more or less was of no account in their ideas. 
 
 * But surely,' said Noel, ^ such an assassina- 
 
 VOL. III. T 
 
274 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 tion could not take place in England; the 
 police — ' 
 
 ' I do not know,' said Horton thought- 
 fully. ' This I do know : every year certain 
 statistics are published; and from these you 
 may gather that a large number of murders 
 are committed in the course of a year, and 
 the murderers are never discovered, and the 
 motive of many of them seems utterly inex- 
 plicable.' 
 
 'All murders are found out,' said Philip 
 dogmatically, ' sooner or later ; a murderer 
 never yet descended to the grave unpunished. 
 You smile, sir.' 
 
 Noel could not repress a smile. 
 
 'Well,' he said, 'in San Francisco a dead 
 man is as common as a dead dog. These 
 men are never punished, at least not once in 
 ten times.' 
 
 Philip rather avoided this aspect of the 
 question. He changed the subject, and ex- 
 pressed his detestation of secret societies. For 
 his part, though a thorough Protestant and 
 an opponent of Ritualism, still he thought that 
 the Church of Rome was right upon this one 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 275 
 
 point, in refusing to admit even Freemasons 
 to the communion. 
 
 Pierce — a Freemason himself— warmly op- 
 posed this remark. Noel did not join in the 
 conversation. His thoughts were with Heloise. 
 He had not seen her yet ; she did not appear 
 at the dinner-table that evening. He did not 
 see her that night, nor in the morning. As 
 he paced the stubble, and fired at the brown 
 coveys, his heart was full of her. His aim 
 was not so steady as it had been the previous 
 September. Pierce shot better. This pleased 
 the old man: he had beaten the young one. 
 ^ An old man can do somewhat still,' he 
 laughed ; and pleased with himself, communi- 
 cated his geniality to the others. Noel saw 
 Heloise that evening ; she came in to dinner. 
 He had longed for and yet dreaded this inter- 
 view. When it came it passed over easy as an 
 ordinary meeting. She took his hand calmly. 
 Perhaps the eyes drooped a little, the mouth 
 quivered, the voice trembled. What of that ? 
 In that large room, with the bustle of sitting 
 down to dine, who noticed it save he ? Noel 
 saw it, and his heart leapt. Her love was his, 
 
276 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 then, the same as ever. He answered her with 
 one quick fiery glance. She turned away, un- 
 able to sustain that look. She sat by Georgi- 
 ana. He had no opportunity to exchange 
 anything but the most common of common- 
 places with her that evening. Nor the next, 
 nor the next; though he still stayed on at 
 Bourne Manor. She was always with Georgie. 
 Time passed, months slipped away. The 
 winter was at hand. Then there grew up a 
 tacit understanding. Noel was the accepted 
 suitor. He had left Bourne Manor, of course. 
 He was living at Knoylelands with Neville 
 and Georgie. He came over daily, yet he 
 never saw her alone. She seemed to shrink 
 from it ; yet it was plain that her heart was 
 ever with him. Philip asked them to stay 
 out the year from Louis's death. Pierce 
 pleaded for six months. Noel was resolute 
 for six months. How could she be supposed 
 to mourn ? The whole county — at least those 
 who knew anything at all — knew the circum- 
 stances; it was sheer folly sacrificing happi- 
 ness to an imaginary code. So Philip had to 
 give way, and the marriage was fixed for the 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 277 
 
 second week in January. Noel stayed at 
 Bourne Manor the whole time, with Neville 
 and Georgie. 
 
 Georgie had her wish at last. Tiie plan 
 she had laid out in her own mind so long ago 
 had come to pass now ; at least partially. 
 She had the circumstances, but not in all 
 things the spirit. The letter of her wish was 
 fulfilled, but not the spirit. Neville's study 
 was complete. She could go up there, and 
 find him at work in it. She had the quiet and 
 the rest of the country house. Heloise was 
 within easy reach. They saw each other al- 
 most daily; either one drove over to Knoyle- 
 lands, or the other rode to Bourne Manor. 
 It was the business, as it were, of their lives ; 
 yet Georgiana was not contented. The fer- 
 ment of that leaven Avith which her mind had 
 been tinged was not over yet. It worked and 
 worked, and made her restless, brooding over 
 the great problem. Slowly, very slowly, but 
 surely, her heart came round to the great 
 temple of woman — the Hearth. In the end 
 the Hearth conquered the rest. She saw, or 
 thought she saw — Georgiana must find a 
 
278 KESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 reason for everything slie did — that after all 
 the true sphere of woman was her home. 
 These enormous problems could not be solved 
 by one person, nor in one lifetime, nor in the 
 lifetime of a generation. They required cen- 
 turies to smooth away the angles, to prepare 
 the gi'ooves before the new machinery could 
 fit and run easily. The framework of society 
 must not be blown up from beneath — scat- 
 tered in all directions. We must place scaf- 
 folding around it ; we must buttress up its 
 falling towers ; clamp and bar its pinnacles ; 
 labour at it year after year, season after 
 season, as the builders of our great cathedrals 
 did. It could not be done in a day. Such 
 hasty attempts only made matters worse. She 
 had overshot the mark. The world had been 
 wiser than her. The true temple for woman 
 was the Hearth. To the hearth she had come; 
 but had she a right to sit there; was she really 
 and truly in the sight of Heaven Neville's wife? 
 She had restless thoughts on this point. Had 
 she been singled out to overstep the bound- 
 aries prescribed by usage and time, honoured 
 and accepted by so many myriads? Had she a 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. ii79 
 
 divine mission to lead the van in this violent 
 way ? Since she had doubted her mission, and 
 doubted the materials upon which she had 
 tried to A^ork, she had be^un to think that 
 she was guilty. She had no right to sit there ; 
 no right to enter the temple. She had thrust 
 her way in unconsecrated. Still there lingered 
 in her mind the old vanity and conceit ; there 
 was a natural hesitation to own herself in the 
 wrong. After a while she consoled herself in 
 this way : they had tried this marriage con- 
 tract for a year and a half. They were satis- 
 fied with each other ; they did not wish for 
 change. They could now, with every show of 
 consistency with their original declared prin- 
 ciples, enter into a more lasting contract. 
 But how to break these thino;s to Neville? 
 There was but one way — to force herself to 
 do it. One evening she came into his study. 
 It was near Christmas, and the fire was burn- 
 ing briskly, as it does in time of frost. The 
 pendent lamp lit up the lofty chamber. Neville 
 was reading — as he always liked to read — in 
 his dressing-gown. His face welcomed her. 
 She fell on her knees, and looked up at his 
 
280 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 face. Frankly she told him, while her face 
 flushed scarlet, that she wished him to marry 
 her. Contrary to her dread, Neville did not 
 taunt her with the change in her feelings. He 
 raised her up tenderly, and kissed her. He 
 told her that he was only too glad. He had 
 yielded to her urgent wish — he had even tried 
 to carry it out to the very fulness of com- 
 pletion when once he had yielded. He had 
 carefully concealed from her his real feelings ; 
 but now that she had come to him, he was only 
 too willing. So it was after a time arranged 
 that they should be married, or re-married, 
 on the same day with Heloise and Noel. And 
 they were. Philip officiated at the double 
 marriage. It took place in the old grey church 
 at Avonbourne. It was a quiet affair ; there 
 was no show of any kind. Beyond the ringing 
 of the bells there was no sign of anything ex- 
 traordinary going forward. After the cere- 
 mony, Georgiana and Neville returned to 
 Knoylelands. Noel and Heloise went to Paris. 
 Horton had long ere this recovered his 
 health ; but his old strength and vigour were 
 gone. He retired from business, and realised 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 281 
 
 his wealth. The very name of Knoyle dis- 
 appeared from the places of shares and loans. 
 He purchased a large tract of land at no great 
 distance from Avonbourne, but nearer to the 
 sea. He ^took up his residence in a mansion 
 upon this property within easy reach of Bourne 
 Manor, and he rarely passed a week without 
 calling on Pierce. He occupies his time with 
 building a magnificent palace — such a struc- 
 ture as shall eclipse all the mansions of Eng- 
 land, and be a worthy memorial of his wealth. 
 He has chosen for the architect of this palace 
 Claudius Lovel, who lives in the same house 
 with him, to be near his employer. His heart 
 warms towards the student. Claudius little 
 suspects that he is building a palace for him- 
 self; that he mil be the chief heir to Hor- 
 ton's wealth, on condition of his marriage 
 with Ella. Ella is at Knoylelands, still paint- 
 ing. Her love of horses makes her a great 
 favourite with Pierce. He is ever buying her 
 some new and expensive animal to sketch and 
 draw from, ever sending for her to visit some 
 famous stud with him. 
 
 And Francis? Francis is well cared 
 
282 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 for. He is becoming less violent every 
 month. The physicians hold out hopes of his 
 ultimate recovery. The}^ indulge him in his 
 favourite amusement — turning and joining. 
 He has made some handsome furniture. If 
 he recovers, he will be well off; for his bro- 
 ther's money comes to him in addition to his 
 own. For it has now become known to them 
 that Victor is dead, though they never learned 
 whose hand fired the shot. But Horton will 
 never go to see him. He spares no money 
 on his behalf; but he cannot face the sight of 
 him, it recalls too many miserable memories. 
 
 Carlotta did not die. As the surgeon had 
 foretold, the poison of the cobra scarcely af- 
 fected her at all. The stocking cleaned the 
 teeth a,nd absorbed the poison. She com- 
 pletely recovered from the effects of the fall 
 upon her head. Her intense ph3^sical vigour 
 — the immenseness, so to say, of her organisa- 
 tion — carried her through what would have 
 killed hundreds. She is at Torquay. Every 
 luxury that gold can furnish is hers. She is 
 cared for almost to the extreme of over-watch- 
 fulness. She cannot express a wish that is 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 283 
 
 not immediately gratified. But she is not 
 happy ; she cannot revel as of yore in the 
 consciousness of her own surpassing beauty. 
 It is true that there is no scar, no disfiguring 
 wound; but her face has lost its colour, her 
 skin its dazzling whiteness, her arms their 
 lovely polish. This worries her — maddens 
 her. She spends money lavishly on all kinds 
 of cosmetics ; it is in vain. That deadly 
 paleness will not depart, neither will her 
 hair grow in the old luxuriousness. She 
 feels that she has aged. The last year has 
 done more to age her than all the preceding 
 forty. Yet she will not give up hope. The 
 physicians candidly tell her that her only 
 chance of ever recovering her colour, her 
 polish, and her wealth of hair is a return of 
 the old superabundant health and vigour. 
 That was the cause of it when it existed ; to 
 that she must look for the restoration of her 
 beauty. 
 
 Therefore she has gone to Torquay, to 
 escape the bitter cold; for her constitution is 
 better suited to a tropical climate, and she is 
 too weak for a bracing air. She drives up 
 
284 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and down; she sees people turn and look at 
 lier; even this slight tribute of — not respect, 
 certainly, nor admiration, but of distinction — 
 pleases her. Remorse? Not one whit. Her in- 
 domitable nature supports her still. She has 
 been faithful to the logic of her type ; she has 
 consistently followed the law of her own exist- 
 ence; she regrets nothing, she hopes for nothing 
 but the restoration of her strength, and with it 
 her fatal beauty. But this waiting, this long 
 tedious waiting, drives her half frantic. Her 
 mind resembles the dark and stormy winter 
 sea — tossing, restless, gloomy, yet full of fierce 
 and untamable vigour : 
 
 ' Ocean old, centuries old, 
 Strong as youth, and as uncontroU'd.* 
 
 There is something grand and statuelike in 
 the very consistency, the firmness of this crea- 
 ture. Her living pose was as unalterable as 
 the firmness of those marble groups which all 
 the world admires, but which no one wishes 
 to imitate. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The spring has passed away, the summer, 
 and the autumn is at hand. The corn is 
 down; the yellow stubble and the ripening 
 apples of the orchard, gold and red and crim- 
 son among the fading leaves, indicate that 
 .the year has reached its utmost height, its 
 fullest development ; henceforth it must de- 
 chne. 
 
 Noel has taken a house in the New Forest. 
 It is built on the side of a hill ; and from the 
 uppermost story he can see the distant sea. 
 Of late, Noel has begun to spend much of his 
 time in this uppermost story, or walking to 
 ^ind fro on the ridge of the hill, where he has 
 but to turn his head and the white foam-flecks 
 dance before his eyes. Over the landscape 
 around him there is a yellow haze ; the wood- 
 lands are asleep, and the heavens have drawn 
 a gauzy curtain over them. The leaves are 
 
286 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 brilliant in colour — yellow and gold and 
 crimson, on a background of green. The 
 beeches are marked with great spots of ruddy 
 gold. A faint breath of air steals over the 
 land at times, and there is a rustling sound — 
 it is the ghosts of the leaves descending. But 
 the softness and the haze, the warmth and the 
 slumberous beauty do not soothe Noel; he 
 walks to and fro, to and fro on the ridge of 
 the hill where he can see the sea. 
 
 Heloise, down in the house there, is very 
 happy. All days are alike to her; do you 
 know why? She carries the year and all its 
 seasons in her arms. The whole globe swings 
 slowly from side to side in yonder cradle — 
 her globe. For the sad and wretched me- 
 mories of the past have faded into utter and 
 complete oblivion. Her whole life is here; 
 it is her child, little Noel. In him she has 
 forgotten all; in his birth she entered upon 
 a new life ; with him she was born asfain. 
 There are no vain regrets, no vague longings, 
 no unsatisfied desires with her. A liofht beams 
 in her eyes ; her step is proud and elastic ; 
 her voice rings as it never rang before. She 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 287 
 
 is very beautiful. Noel, looking at her 
 thoughtfully, thinks that she is even more 
 beautiful than when he first knew her. She 
 is lighted up from within with a divine glory. 
 Yet he turns away and seeks his solitary ter- 
 race on the hill — to and fro, in sight of the 
 sea. He has picked his apple ; he has reached 
 it at last. It hung high and lovely on the 
 topmost branch of the moss-grown" trunk — 
 higher than the mistletoe-bough — far up, 
 next the sky. The dead branches gave way 
 beneath his feet, and bruised and injured him. 
 His heart failed; once again, yet once more. 
 At last he has it, all colour and odour. It 
 is no Dead-Sea apple, no painted hollow thing 
 It is real, sohd, ripe, sweet to the taste, plea- 
 sant to the palate, good and wholesome with 
 all its beauty. There are no ashes inside it. 
 To the very pips, the brown ripe pips, it is 
 sweet, delicious. He has seized upon his 
 beam of sunlight. 
 
 Deep in some forest we have all of us 
 found some shady nook, where the boles of 
 the trees were grown over thick with lichens 
 and moss; where the boughs hung near us. 
 
288 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 and the silence of the primeval wood was 
 around us. Aslant through an opening in 
 the branches, far away in the depths of the 
 bracken, there fell one long beam of sunlight ; 
 behind it all was shadow, mystic, beautiful. 
 But we could go no farther. We could only 
 rest here in the cool arbour but a few mi- 
 nutes. Time was short ; money, labour, called 
 us away on to the dusty high-road. All our 
 lives we remembered the deep wood and the 
 beam of sunlight aslant far in among the 
 bracken. If we could but have thrown aside 
 our cares and troubles, flung off for ever the 
 toil for money, forgotten the dusty road, and, 
 plunging into the shadow, followed that beam 
 of light into the mystic forest, ever among the 
 ferns and the mosses, listening to the sound 
 among the tree-tops, gathering the wild ber- 
 ries, dreaming the day away ! 
 
 Noel had grasped his sunlight. He had 
 stepped into the shadowy mystic wood ; no 
 need to labour and toil, no cares of money 
 no necessity to follow the beaten dusty track, 
 had held him back. He had followed it, laid 
 hands on it. It did not slip from his grasp. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 289 
 
 a mere sham. He held it ; it was tangible — 
 more lovely now than in the distance. This 
 beam of sunlight was down there in the house 
 beside the hill ; yet he strode to and fro alone 
 on the terrace, and his glances were away far 
 over the boundless sea. 
 
 They tell us that ennui dwells in gilded 
 halls, on sofas, in the boxes at the theatre, on 
 the deck of the yacht, in the saloons where 
 rank and fashion, even royalty, lingers. It 
 may be so ; but the deepest, the worst of all 
 ennui dwells not there, but with the earnest 
 man. After the toil of long years — after the 
 self-denial, the slow process of building up the 
 fortune — there comes a time when, in the eye 
 of the mind, the whole scaffolding fades away. 
 The office, the desk, the ledgers, and the books, 
 the distant throb-throb of the engine, — all feels 
 like a vision, and the man comes back to him- 
 self His hair is growing grey and thinner. 
 There are lines upon his brow ; the hands are 
 white and nervous ; they have lost the brave 
 vigour of youth. The dreams, the hopes of 
 that youth are here, all around — wealth, 
 honour, wife, children, success; and what is 
 
 VOL. Ill, IT 
 
290 EESTLESS HUMAX HEARTS. 
 
 it ? All artificial. While he has been build- 
 ing the ship, the heart that was to sail in her 
 has withered up and passed away. The hollow 
 winds of the late autumn howl around the 
 corners ; the heavy rain beats against the 
 window ; there is a dull depression in the 
 atmosphere. The pen falls from the finger ; 
 the letter is unwritten ; the head leans upon 
 the hands. This is enmii. "What shall we do 
 with ourselves ? Tliis is the cry of our age. 
 We have exhausted all passions and all plea- 
 sures. Y^e have left these, and believed for 
 a while that in earnest work was the true life 
 of man. We have yavs-ned over this too, and 
 found that we were grinding the wind. For 
 what are our works? The fire comes and 
 sweeps them away; years follow years, and 
 they sink out of sight. There is nothing that 
 v»^e can do that is really something after it is 
 done. We can no longer deceive ourselves 
 into feeling that it is in the doing ^ not the 
 afterwards, that all lies. We have been doing^ 
 you see, .so long — so many thousands of 
 years ! 
 
 Come here to this garden-path. Bend 
 
EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 291 
 
 down, and look closely. Here is a tiny streak, 
 a line, a mark running across it. Watch, and 
 an ant comes alono- it — another and another. 
 This is a highway in the ant-world, a great 
 thoroughfare, the track of a whole nation. 
 Look for it after a rain: where is it then? 
 Our cities and our castles, our canals, our 
 roads, our piers into the sea: what are all 
 these compared with the vastness of the world, 
 still more with the vastness of the universe, 
 but mere scratches on the surface, as little, as 
 despicable as this track of the ants across the 
 garden-path? If only, you see — if only we 
 could be like the ants, who see no farther — 
 who look not beyond their track — whose 
 minds from birth to death never conceive 
 a thought beyond their work — who never 
 imagine the vastness around them — then we 
 too might say, ^ See what great things we 
 have done !' But we have souls ; and the soul 
 cannot be satisfied with the city, that is but 
 a grain of sand upon the desert ; the pier, 
 that is but a grain of sand upon the shore. 
 The soul sees the littleness of it all. Our 
 minds look into our souls as upon the surface 
 
292 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 of some divine mirror, and there see reflected 
 the despicable littleness of it all. Even this 
 littleness lasts but for a little time. ' The 
 thought of death casts upon life a lurid glow, 
 like that of a conflagration lighting up what 
 it is about to devour.' So said an evil man, 
 but a deep student of human nature. This 
 lurid glow lights up some of our lives. It 
 lit up Carlotta's. There was a burning lurid 
 light over her whole nature, over her whole 
 existence. Strong shadows compassed her 
 about — darkness, and flames, and vast clouds 
 of smoke. There hangs over her now a gloom 
 like the gloom of Hades ; for she is still beside 
 the restless ocean. 
 
 We are all tired of our lives ; we have 
 done everything, felt everything, tried every- 
 thing. What shall we do with ourselves? 
 
 Neville is building what he calls the Tem- 
 ple of Nature. Thick fir-trees encompass it 
 on three sides — the north, the west, and partly 
 the bitter east. But those lines of fir-trees 
 are open towards the south, so that the sun 
 and the soft southern winds may waft warmth 
 over it. There he has reared up columns of 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 293 
 
 white marble, roofed with marble too, like 
 unto a Grecian temple. The front is towards 
 the south ; there the steps go down to the 
 green lawn. There are no statues, no gods, 
 no altar. The columns are open, and the 
 wind wanders through them. The swallows 
 build under the eaves. There are no carv- 
 ings, no processions of men and women and 
 horses trooping along the frieze. But the 
 columns are crowned with Corinthian capitals 
 — the acanthus ; the frieze is carved with 
 leaves and boughs. There is a room: no 
 ascetic cell^ but fitted up warmly for the win- 
 ter-time, even with a stove, and a window, 
 and a closed door, and carpet. Here in the 
 summer you can sit at the door of the room, 
 and gaze down the long aisle of columns out 
 upon the rolling downs stretching away to 
 the far south; and between a cleft of the hills, 
 far away at the horizon, there stretches a dim 
 line, and that line is the sea. For Neville 
 too has built his temple where he can see 
 the sea. When the leaves rustle, and the fir- 
 trees moan in the autumn wind, and the rain 
 dashes against the white columns, he sits in 
 
294 EESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 the temple -cell warm and comfortable at the 
 window, and hearkens to the ^ sound of the 
 going in the tops of the trees,' and watches 
 the mists drive across from hill to hill, and 
 ever and anon catches a glimpse of the distant 
 dark line — the line where the sea and the sky 
 meet. This is his Temple of Nature. Will 
 Nature always fill his heart? Will the sun^ 
 the sea, the sky, the woods content him ? He 
 hears a song as he sits here : the trees lift up 
 their voices, the hills chant, the sun swells 
 the song ; and that song you may find, all 
 wondrous as it is, in the most commonplace 
 of all books, the Book of Common Prayer, 
 Benedicite^ omnia ojpera : ' ye heavens, 
 ye waters, ye sun and moon, ye stars of 
 heaven, ye showers and dew, ye winds, 
 ye fire and heat, ye dews and frosts, 
 ye nights and days, green things, moun- 
 tains, earth, praise Him and magnify Him for 
 ever !' 
 
 These two alone, Neville and Heloise, each 
 in their separate places, in their separate way, 
 have found peace — Heloise in her child, Ne- 
 ville in his Nature, which is, in plain words. 
 
RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 295 
 
 only another word for the Book in which he 
 reads of God. To Heloise, her child is this 
 book ; his cradle is her temple. She does not 
 notice Noel's ways; he is ever so loving, so 
 kind; his heart is ever with her, but his 
 soul? The man, vou see, has travelled far 
 and wide. "What can we do that does not 
 bring its own reaction on us? It is long 
 ago; but the jungle and the forest, the desert 
 and the ocean, — these have been his home. 
 He has his apple, he has his beam of sunlight; 
 yet he paces to and fro on the ridge of the 
 hill, and his oiance is afar to the sea. 
 restless, restless ocean ! restless human 
 heart ! 
 
 ' It little profits that an idle king- 
 By this still hearth 
 
 I cannot rest from travel ; I will drink 
 Life to the lees ; all times I have enjoy'd 
 Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 
 That loved me and alone ; on shore, and when, 
 Through scudding drifts, the rainy Hyades 
 Vext the dim sea. 
 
 Come, my friends, 
 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world ; 
 Push off, and, sitting well in order, smite 
 The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
 To sail beyond the sunset and the baths 
 Of all the western stars until I die.' 
 
296 RESTLESS HUMAN HEARTS. 
 
 Heloise has read this to him; for to her 
 he is Ulysses, and she looks on him as heroic ; 
 but he walks to and fro on the terrace, and 
 smiles faintly; for he thinks that the moderns 
 have sailed beyond the sunset, even beyond the 
 Happy Isles. And where— where is there an 
 ocean into which he could sail to the unknown 
 — to that which will satisfy him? Then he 
 turns and smiles on her, and she beckons 
 from the terrace to her boy at the window 
 far below. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 ROBSON AND SONS, PBINTERS, PANCEA8 ROAD, ir."Vf. 
 
OTT* CALTF'^'^NT 
 
r)2r)".»7s 
 
 n 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY