THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 
 
 

 
 LOUD OAKBUEFS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' EAST LY2JXE," " VERNER'S PRIDE,"' "THE SHADOW OF 
 ASHLVDYAT," ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY & EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. 
 
 1864. 
 
 [Right of Translation and Reproduction reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRJARS.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 — ♦ — 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. — THE ARRIVAL . . 1 
 
 II. — HAPPILY OVER 20 
 
 III. — THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION . . 38 
 
 IV. — AN ACCIDENT • . . . 54 
 
 V.— MR. CARLTON'S VISIT 75 
 
 VI. — WAS THE HOUSE HAUNTED? 87 
 
 VII.— THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT 93 
 
 VIII. — THE COBWEBBED JAR Ill 
 
 IX. — POPULAR OPINION IN SOUTH WENNOCK . . .128 
 
 X.— JUDITH'S PERPLEXITY 137 
 
 XI. — THE CORONER'S INQUEST 147 
 
 XII.— MR. CARLTON RECALLED 171 
 
 XIII. — THE TORN NOTE 188 
 
 XIV. — CAPTAIN CHESNEY'S HOME 197 
 
 XV. — CAPTAIN CHESNEY 211 
 
 XVI.— MISS CHESNEY'S FEAR. . . . . . . 228 
 
 XVII. — MR. CARLTON'S DEMAND 248 
 
 XVIII. — THE FACE AGAIN 264 
 
 558178
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 XIX. — THE LETTERS 
 XX. — DISAPPEARANCE 
 XXI.— A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT 
 XXII. — NEW HONOURS 
 XXIII. — THE RETURN HOME . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 282 
 299 
 313 
 332 
 351 
 
 [It may be as well to state that this novel was originally written 
 for America, and was first published in that country, but under quite 
 a different title. The plot of the story, however, has been to a very 
 great extent re-arranged and much enlarged ; and the entire work has 
 been re-written from beginning to end.]
 
 LOKD OAKBUKN'S DAUGHTEKS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 A small country town in the heart of England 
 was the scene some few years ago of a sad tragedy. 
 I must ask my readers to hear with me while I 
 relate it. These crimes, having their rise in the 
 evil passions of our nature, are not the most plea- 
 sant for the pen to record ; hut it cannot be denied 
 that they do undoubtedly bear for many of us an 
 interest amounting well nigh to fascination. I 
 think the following account of what took place will 
 bear such an interest for you. 
 
 South Wennock, the name of this place, was 
 little more than a branch or offshoot of Great 
 Wennock, a town of some importance, situated at 
 two miles' distance from it. The lines of rail from 
 London and from other places, meeting at Great 
 Wennock, did not extend themselves to South 
 Wennock ; consequently any railway travellers 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 arriving at the large town, had to complete their 
 journey by the omnibus if they wished to go on to 
 the small one. 
 
 The two miles of road which the omnibus had to 
 traverse were about the worst to be met with in a 
 civilized country. When it, the omnibus, had jolted 
 its way over this road, it made its entrance to South 
 Wennock in the very middle of the town. South 
 Wennock might be said to consist of one long, strag- 
 gling street, called High Street. Much building 
 had been recently added to both ends of this old 
 street. At the one end, the new buildings, chiefly 
 terraces and semi-detached houses, had been named 
 Palace Street, from the fact that the way led to the 
 country palace of the bishop of the diocese. The 
 new buildings at the other end of High Street were 
 called the Rise, from the circumstance that the 
 ground rose there gradually for a considerable dis- 
 tance ; and these were mostly detached villas, some 
 small, some large. 
 
 On the afternoon of Friday, the 10th of March, 
 18-48, the railway omnibus, a cramped vehicle, con- 
 structed to hold six, came jolting along its route as 
 usual. South Wennock lay stretched out in a line 
 right across it in front, for the road was at a right 
 angle with the town, and could the omnibus have 
 clashed on without reference to houses, and such-like 
 slight obstructions, as a railway engine does, it would
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 3 
 
 have cut the town in half, leaving part of High 
 Street and the Bise to its right, the other part and 
 Palace Street to its left. 
 
 The ornnihus was not so fierce, however. It 
 drove into High Street by the accustomed opening, 
 turned short round to the left, and pulled up a few 
 yards further at its usual place of stoppage, the Bed 
 Lion Inn. Mrs. Fitch, the landlady, an active, 
 buxom dame with a fixed colour in her cheeks, and 
 a bustling, genial manner, came hastening out to 
 receive the guests it might have brought. 
 
 It had brought only a 3 r oung lady and a trunk : 
 and the moment Mrs. Fitch cast her eyes on the 
 former's face, she thought it the most beautiful she 
 had ever looked upon. 
 
 " Your servant, miss. Do you please to stay 
 here ? " 
 
 " For a short time, while you give me a glass of 
 wine and a biscuit," was the reply of the traveller : 
 and the tone, accent, and manner were unmistake- 
 abby those of a gentlewoman. " I shall be glad of 
 the refreshment, for I feel exhausted. The shaking 
 of the omnibus has been terrible." 
 
 She was getting out as she spoke, and something 
 in her appearance more particularly attracted the 
 attention of Mrs. Fitch, as the landlady helped her 
 down the high and awkward steps, and marshalled 
 her in-doors.
 
 LORD OAKBUKn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Dear ma'am, I beg your pardon ! It does shake, 
 that omnibus — and you not in a condition to bear 
 it ! And perhaps you have come far besides, too ! 
 You shall have something in a minute. I declare I 
 took you for a young unmarried lady." 
 
 " If you happen to have any cold meat, I would 
 prefer a sandwich to the biscuit," was all the reply 
 given by the traveller. 
 
 She sat down in the landlady's cushioned chair, 
 for it was to her own parlour Mrs. Fitch had con- 
 ducted her, untied her bonnet, and threw back the 
 strings. The bonnet was of straw, trimmed with 
 white ribbons, and her dress and mantle were of 
 dark silk. Never was bonnet thrown back from a 
 more lovely face, with its delicate bloom and its 
 exquisitely refined features. 
 
 " Can you tell me whether there are any lodgings 
 to be had in South Wennock ? " she inquired, when 
 the landlady came in again with the sandwiches and 
 wine. 
 
 " Lodgings ? " returned Mrs. Fitch. " Well, now, 
 they are not over plentiful here ; this is but a small 
 place, you see, ma'am — not but what it's a deal 
 larger than it used to be," continued the landlady, 
 as she stroked her chin in deliberation. " There's 
 Widow Gould's. I know her rooms were empty a 
 week ago, for she was up here asking me if I 
 couldn't hear of anybody wanting such. You'd be
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 comfortable there, ma'am, if she's not let. She's a 
 quiet, decent body. Shall I send and inquire ? " 
 
 " No, I would rather go myself. I should not 
 like to fix upon rooms without seeing them. Should 
 these you speak of be engaged, I may see bills in 
 other windows. Thank you, I cannot eat more : I 
 seem to feel the jolting of the omnibus still; and 
 the fright it put me into has taken away my appe- 
 tite. You will take care of my trunk for the 
 present." 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am. What name ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Crane." 
 
 The lancllacty stepped outside to direct the 
 stranger on her way. Widow Gould's house was 
 situated in the first terrace in Palace Street, and a 
 walk of six or seven minutes brought Mrs. Crane to 
 it. It had a card in the window, indicating that its 
 rooms were to let. Widow Gould herself, a shrink- 
 ing little woman, with a pinched, red face, came to 
 the door. The lady wanted a sitting-room and bed- 
 room : could she be accommodated ? Mrs. Gould 
 replied that she could, mentioned a very moderate 
 charge, and invited her in to see the rooms. They 
 were on the first floor ; not large, but clean and 
 nice and convenient, the one room opening into the 
 other. Mrs. Crane liked them very much. 
 
 " You perceive that I am expecting to be laid 
 by," she said. " Would that be an objection ? "
 
 •> LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 "N — o, I don't see that it need,'* replied the 
 widow, after some consideration. " Of course you 
 would have proper attendance, ma'am? I could 
 not undertake that." 
 
 " Of course I should," said "Mrs. Crane. 
 
 So the bargain was made. Mrs. Crane taking 
 the rooms for a month certain, intimating that she 
 preferred engaging them only from month to month, 
 and the Widow Gould undertaking to supply all 
 ordinary attendance. Mrs. Crane went back to the 
 inn, to pay for the refreshment of which she had 
 partaken, and to desire her trunk to be sent to her, 
 having ordered tea to be ready against her return to 
 Palace Street. 
 
 She found everything prepared for her, a nice 
 fire burning in the sitting-room grate, the tea on 
 the table, and Mrs. Gould in the adjoining room 
 putting sheets upon the bed. The widow was in 
 spirits at the prospect of her rooms being wanted 
 for some months, as she believed they w r ould be, 
 and had placed the last weekly South Wennock 
 newspaper on the table beside the tea-tray, a little 
 mark of extra attention to her new lodger. 
 
 In obedience to the ring when tea was over, Mrs. 
 Gould came up to remove the things. Mrs. Crane 
 was seated before them. A fair young girl she 
 looked with her bonnet off, in her silk dress and 
 her golden brown hair. The widow kept no ser-
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 7 
 
 vant, but waited on her lodgers herself. Her par- 
 lours were let to a permanent lodger, who was at 
 that time absent from South Wennock. 
 
 "Be so good as take a seat," said Mrs. Crane 
 to her, laying down the newspaper, which she ap- 
 peared to have been reading. But Mrs. Gould 
 preferred to stand, and began rubbing one shrivelled 
 hand over the other, her habit when in waiting. " I 
 have some information to ask of you. Never mind 
 the tray; it can wait. First of all, what medical 
 men have } t ou at South Wennock ? " 
 
 " There's the Greys," was Widow Gould's re- 
 sponse. 
 
 A pause ensued, Mrs. Crane probably waiting to 
 hear the list augmented. " The Greys ? " she re- 
 peated, finding her informant did not continue. 
 
 " Mr. John and Mr. Stephen Grey, ma'am. 
 There was another brother, Mr. Robert, but he 
 died last year. Nice pleasant gentlemen all three, 
 and they have had the whole of the practice 
 here. Their father and their uncle had it before 
 them." 
 
 " Do you mean to say there are no other medical 
 men ? " exclaimed the stranger, in some surprise. 
 " I never heard of such a thing in a place as large 
 as this appears to be." 
 
 " South Wennock has only got large lately, ma'am. 
 The Greys were very much liked and respected in
 
 8 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 the place ; and being three of them, they could get 
 through the work, with an assistant. They always 
 keep one. But there is another doctor here now, a 
 gentleman of the name of Carlton." 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
 " Well, I forget where it was said he came from ; 
 London, I think. A fine dashing gentleman as 
 ever you saw, ma'am ; not above thirty, at the most. 
 He came suddenly among us a few months ago, took 
 a house at the other end of the town, and set up 
 against the Greys. He is getting on, I believe, 
 especially with the people that live on the Rise, 
 mostly fresh comers ; and he keeps his cabrioily." 
 
 " Keeps his what ? " 
 
 "His cabrioily — a dashing one-horse carriage 
 with a head to it. It is more than the Greys have 
 ever done, ma'am ; they have had their plain gig, 
 and nothing else. Some think that Mr. Carlton 
 has private property, and some think he is making 
 a show to get into practice." 
 
 " Is he clever— Mr. Carlton?" 
 
 " There are those here who'll tell you he is 
 cleverer than the two Greys put together ; but 
 ma'am, I don't forget the old saying, New brooms 
 sweep clean. Mr. Carlton, being new in the place, 
 and having a practice to make, naturally puts out 
 his best skill to make it." 
 
 The remark drew forth a laugh from Mrs. Crane.
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 9 
 
 " But unless a doctor has the skill within him, he 
 cannot put it out/' she said. 
 
 " Well, of course there's something in that," 
 returned the widow, reflectively. " Any ways, Mr. 
 Carlton is getting into practice, and it's said he is 
 liked. There's a family on the Rise where he 
 attends constantly, and I've heard they think a 
 great deal of him. It's a Captain Chesney, an old 
 gentleman, who has the gout perpetual. They 
 came strangers to the place from a distance, and 
 settled here ; very proud, exclusive people, it's said. 
 There's three Miss Chesneys ; one of them beau- 
 tiful ; t'other' s older ; and the little one, she's but a 
 child. Mr. Carlton attends there a great deal, for 
 
 the old gentleman Good heart alive ! what's the 
 
 matter?" 
 
 Mrs. Gould might well cry out. The invalid — 
 and an invalid she evidently was — had turned of a 
 ghastly whiteness, and was sinking back motionless 
 in her chair. 
 
 Mrs. Gould was timid by nature, nervous by 
 habit. Very much frightened, she raised the lady's 
 head, but it fell back unconscious. In the excite- 
 ment induced by the moment's terror, she flew 
 down the stairs, shrieking out in the empty house, 
 burst out at her own back door, ran through the 
 yard, and burst into the back door of the adjoining 
 house. Two young women were in the kitchen ;
 
 10 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 the one ironing, the other, sitting by the fire and not 
 doing anything. 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, come back with me, one 
 of you !" called out the widow, in a tremor. " The 
 new lady lodger I told you of this afternoon has 
 gone and died right off in her chair." 
 
 Without waiting for assent or response, she flew 
 back again. The young woman at the fire started 
 from her seat, alarm depicted on her countenance. 
 The other calml} r continued her ironing. 
 
 "Don't be frightened, Judith," said she. "You 
 are not so well used to Dame Gould as I am. If a 
 blackbeetle falls on the floor, she'll cry out for aid. 
 I used to think it was put on, but I have come at 
 last to the belief that she can't help it. You may 
 as well go in, however, and see what it is." 
 
 Judith hastened away. She was a sensible- 
 looking 3'oung woman, pale, with black hair and 
 eyes, and was dressed in new and good mourning. 
 Mrs. Gould was already in her lodger's sitting- 
 room. She had torn a feather from the small 
 feather-duster hanging b} r the mantelpiece, had 
 scorched the end, and was holding it to the unhappy 
 lady's nose. Judith dashed the feather to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Don't be so stupid, Mrs. Gould ! What good 
 do you suppose that will do ? Get some water." 
 
 The water was procured, and Judith applied it to 
 
 4
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 11 
 
 the face and bands, the widow looking timidly on. 
 As the lady revived, Mrs. Gould burst into tears. 
 
 " It's rny feelings that overcomes me, Judith," 
 said she. " I can't abear the sight of illness." 
 
 " You need not have been alarmed," the invalid 
 faintly said, as soon as she could speak. " For the 
 last few months, since my health has been delicate, 
 I have been subject to these attacks of faintness ; 
 they come on at any moment. I ought to have 
 warned you." 
 
 "When fully restored they left her to herself, Mrs. 
 Gould carrying away the tea-things ; having first of 
 all unlocked the lady's trunk by her desire, and 
 brought to her from it a small writing-case. 
 
 " Don't go away, Judith," the widow implored, 
 when they reached the kitchen. " She may have 
 another of those fits, for what we can tell — you 
 heard her saj^ she was subject to them — and you 
 know what a one I am to be left with illness. It 
 would be a charity to stop with me ; and you are a 
 lady at large just now." 
 
 "I'll go and get my work, then, and tell Mar- 
 garet. But where's the sense of your calling it a 
 fit, as if you were speaking of apoplexy ? " added 
 Judith. 
 
 When the girl came back — though, indeed, she 
 was not much of a girl, being past thirty — Mrs. 
 Gould had lighted a candle, for it was growing dark,
 
 12 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 and was washing the tea-things. Judith sat down 
 to her sewing, her thoughts intent upon the lady 
 upstairs. 
 
 " Who is she, I wonder ? " she said aloud. 
 
 " Some stranger. Mrs. Fitch sent her down to 
 me — I told Margaret about it this afternoon when 
 you were out, I say, isn't she young ? " 
 
 Judith nodded. " I wonder if she is married ? " 
 
 "Married!" angrily retorted Mrs. Gould. "If 
 the wedding-ring upon her finger had been a bear 
 it would have bit you. Where were your eyes ? " 
 
 " All wedding-rings have not been put on in 
 churches," was the composed answer of the girl. 
 " Not but that I daresay she is married, for she 
 seems a modest, good lady; it was her being so 
 young, and coming here in this sudden manner, all 
 unprotected, that set me on the other thought. 
 Where is her husband ? " 
 
 " Gone abroad," she said. " I made free to ask 
 her." 
 
 " Why does she come here ? " 
 
 " I can't tell. It does seem strange. She never 
 was near the place in her life before this afternoon, 
 she told me, and had no friends in it. She has been 
 inquiring about the doctors " 
 
 " That's her bell," interrupted Judith, as the bell 
 hanging over Mrs. Gould's head began to sound. 
 " Make haste. I dare say she wants lights."
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 13 
 
 " She has got them. The candles were on the 
 mantelpiece, and she said she'd light them herself." 
 
 A sealed note lay on the table when Mrs. Gould 
 entered the drawing-room. The lady laid her hand 
 upon it. 
 
 " Mrs. Gould, I must trouble you to send this 
 note for me. I did not intend to see about a medical 
 man until to-morrow ; but I feel fatigued and sick, 
 and I think I had better see one to-night. He may 
 be able to give me something to calm me." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. . They live almost close by, the 
 Greys. But, dear lady, I hope you don't feel as if 
 you were going to be ill ! " 
 
 Mrs. Crane smiled. Her nervous landlady was 
 rubbing her hands together in an access of trembling. 
 
 " Not ill in the sense I conclude you mean it. I 
 do not expect that for these two months. But I 
 don't want to alarm you with a second fainting fit. 
 I am in the habit of taking drops, which do me a 
 great deal of good, and I unfortunately left them 
 behind me, so I had better see a doctor. Was that 
 your daughter who came up just now ? She seemed 
 a nice young woman." 
 
 The question offended Mrs. Gould's vanity beyond 
 everything. She believed herself to be remarkably 
 young-looking, and Judith was two-and-thirty if she 
 was a day. 
 
 " No, indeed, ma'am, she's not; and I've neither
 
 14 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 cliick nor child," was the resentful answer. " She^ 
 nothing but Judith Ford, sister to the servant at the 
 next door ; and being out of place, her sister's mis- 
 tress said she might come there for a few days while 
 she looked out. I'll get her to carry the note for 
 me." 
 
 Mrs. Gould took the note from the table, and was 
 carrying it away without looking at it, when the lady 
 called her back. 
 
 " You see to whom it is addressed, Mrs. Gould ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gould stopped, and brought the note close 
 to her eyes. She had not her spectacles upstairs, 
 and it was as much as she could do to see anything 
 without them. 
 
 " Why— ma'am ! It— it— it's to Mr. Carlton." 
 
 The lady looked surprised in her turn. " Wiry 
 should it not be to Mr. Carlton?" she demanded. 
 
 " But the Gre} r s are sure and safe, ma'am. Such 
 a thing has never been known as for them to lose 
 one of their lady patients." 
 
 Mrs. Crane paused, apparently in indecision. 
 " Has Mr. Carlton lost them ?" 
 
 " Well — no; I can't remember that he has. But, 
 ma'am, he attends one where the Greys attend ten." 
 
 " When you were speaking this evening of the 
 doctors, I nearly made up my mind to engage Mr. 
 Carlton," observed Mrs. Crane. " I think men of 
 skill struggling into practice should be encouraged.
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 15 
 
 If you have anything really serious to urge against 
 him, that is quite a different thing, and you should 
 speak out." 
 
 " No, ma'am, no," was the widow's reply ; " and I 
 am sure it has been rude of me to object to him, if 
 your opinion lies that way. I don't know a thing 
 against Mr. Carlton ; people call him clever. I am 
 naturally prejudiced in favour of the Greys, for Mr. 
 John has attended me ever since he grew up, as 
 his father did before him. I'll send this down to 
 Mr. Carlton's." 
 
 " Let it go at once, if you please. I should like, 
 if possible, to see him to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Gould descended to the kitchen. On the 
 dresser, staring her in the face when she entered, 
 lay her spectacles. She put them on, and looked at 
 the superscription on the note. 
 
 " Well, now, that's a curious thing, if ever there 
 was one! 'Lewis Carlton, Esq.!' How did she 
 know his name was Lewis ? I never mentioned 
 it. I couldn't mention it, for I did not know it 
 myself. Is his name Lewis V* 
 
 " For all I can tell," responded Judith. " Yes," 
 she added, more decisively, " of course it is Lewis ; 
 it is on his door-plate. Perhaps Mrs. Fitch told 
 her." 
 
 " There ! that's it ! " exclaimed the widow, struck 
 with sudden conviction. " Mrs. Fitch has been
 
 1G LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 speaking up for him, and that's what has put her on 
 to Mr. Carlton, and off the Greys. There was a 
 traveller ill at the Red Lion in the winter, and he 
 had Mr. Carlton. It's a shame of Mrs. Fitch to 
 turn round on old friends." 
 
 " I can tell you where she got the name from, 
 though perhaps Mrs. Fitch did speak for him," 
 cried Judith, suddenly. " There's his card — as 
 they call it — in that newspaper you lent her, 
 ' Mr. Lewis Carlton : Consulting Surgeon.' She 
 couldn't fail to see it. Is she ill, that she is send- 
 ing for him ? She looks not unlikely to be." 
 
 " I say, Judy, don't go frightening a body like 
 that," cried the woman, in tremor. " She won't he 
 ill for these two months ; but that nasty omnibus 
 has shook her, and I suppose the faint finished it 
 up. Oh, it rattles over the road without regard to 
 folk's bones. You'll take this for me, won't you, 
 Judith?" 
 
 "I dare say!" returned Judith. 
 " Come, do ; there's a good woman ! I can't go 
 myself, for fear her bell should ring. It's a fine 
 night, and the run will do you good." 
 
 Judith, not unaccommodating, rose from her seat. 
 "There now!" she exclaimed, in a tone of vexa- 
 tion, as she took the note, " how am I to get my 
 things ? Margaret's gone out, and she is sure to 
 have bolted the back-door. I don't like to disturb
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 17 
 
 old Mrs. Jenkinson ; the night's coldish, or I'd go 
 without my bonnet rather than do it." 
 
 "Put on mine," suggested Mrs. Gould. "You 
 are welcome to it, and to my shawl too." 
 
 Judith laughed ; and she laughed still more when 
 arrayed in Mrs. Gould's things. The shawl did 
 very well, but the bonnet was large, one of those 
 called a "poke," and she looked like an old woman 
 in it. " Nobody will fall in love with me to-night, 
 that's certain," said she, as she sped off. 
 
 Mr. Carlton's house was situated at the other end 
 of the town, just before the commencement of the 
 Rise. It stood by itself, on the left ; a handsome 
 white house, with iron rails round it, and a pillared 
 portico in front. Judith ascended the steps and 
 rang at the bell. 
 
 The door was flung open by a young man in 
 liverv. " Can I see Mr. Carlton ? " she asked. 
 
 The man superciliously threw back his head. 
 Judith's large old bonnet did not tell in her favour. 
 " Is it on perfessional business ? " he questioned. 
 
 "Yes, it is." 
 
 " Then perhaps, mem, you'll have the obleegance 
 to walk round to the perfessional entrance ; and 
 that's on that there side." 
 
 He waved his hand condescendingly to the side 
 of the house. Judith complied, but she gave him a 
 word at parting. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Pray, how much wages do you earn ? " 
 
 "If ever I heered such a question put to a 
 gentleman ! ' cried the man in astonishment. 
 " What is it to you ? " 
 
 " Because I should judge that you get so much 
 paid you for clothes, and so much for airs." 
 
 Passing down the steps, and out of reach of 
 sundry compliments he honoured her with in re- 
 turn, she went to the side, and found herself in 
 front of a door with " Surgery " written on it. It 
 opened to a passage, and thence to a small square 
 room, whose walls were lined with bottles. A boy 
 in buttons was lying at full length on the counter, 
 whistling a shrill note, and kicking his heels in the 
 air. The entrance startled him, and he tumbled 
 off, feet foremost. 
 
 It was but twilight yet, and not at first did he 
 gather in Judith's appearance ; but soon the poke 
 bonnet disclosed itself to view. 
 
 "Hulloa!" cried he. "Who are you? What 
 do you want '? " 
 
 " I want Mr. Carlton. Is he at home ? " 
 
 " No, he isn't." 
 
 " Then you must go out and find him. This 
 note must be instantly given to him. A lady wants 
 io see him to-night." 
 
 " Then I'm afeard want must be the lady's 
 master," returned the impudent boy. " Perhaps
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 19 
 
 we might get this note tied on to the telegraph 
 wires, and send it to him that fashion ; there ain't 
 no other way of doing it. Mr. Carlton went off to 
 London this morning/' 
 
 " To London ! " repeated Judith, surprise check- 
 ing her inclination to box the young gentleman's 
 ears. " When is he coming home again ? " 
 
 " When his legs brings him. There ! He'll be 
 home in a couple of days," added the boj% dodging 
 out of Judith's reach, and deeming it as well to 
 cease his banter. " His father, Dr. Carlton, was 
 took ill, and sent for him. Now you know." 
 
 "Well/' said Judith, after a pause of considera- 
 tion, " you had better take charge of this note, and 
 give it to him when he does come home. I don't 
 know anything else that can be done. And I'd 
 recommend you not to be quite so free with your 
 tongue, unless you want to come to grief," was her 
 parting salutation, as she quitted the boy and the 
 house. 
 
 c 2
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 
 
 As Judith Ford went back through the lighted 
 streets, the landlady of the Red Lion was standing 
 at her door. 
 
 " Good evening, Mrs. Fitch/ 5 
 
 " Why, who — why, Judith, it's never you ! What 
 on earth have you been making yourself such a guy 
 as that for ? " 
 
 Judith laughed, and explained how it was that 
 she happened to be out in Mrs. Gould's things, and 
 where she had been to. " After all, my visit has 
 been a useless one," she remarked, " for Mr. 
 Carlton is away. Gone to London, that impudent 
 boy of his said." 
 
 " I could have told you so, and saved you the 
 trouble of a walk, had I seen you passing," said Mrs. 
 Finch. "*His groom drove him to the Great 
 Wennock station this morning, and called here 
 as he came back for a glass of ale. Is the lady 
 ill?" 
 
 " She does not seem well ; she had a fainting-fit
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 21 
 
 just after tea, and thought she had better see a 
 doctor at once." 
 
 " And Dame Gould could send for Mr. Carlton ! 
 What have the Greys done to her ? " 
 
 " Dame Gould thought you recommended Mr. 
 Carlton to the lady." 
 
 "I!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitch, " well, that's good ! 
 I never opened my lips to the lady about any doctor 
 at all." 
 
 " It was her own doing to send for Mr. Carlton, 
 and Mrs. Gould thought you must have spoken for 
 him." 
 
 " Not I. If I had spoken for any it would have 
 been for the Greys, who are our old fellow towns- 
 people ; not but what Mr. Carlton is a nice pleasant 
 gentleman, skilful too. Look here, Judith, you tell 
 Dame Gould that when the time comes for the 
 young lady to be ill, if there's currant jelly wanted 
 for her, or any little matter of that sort, she can 
 send to me for it, and welcome. I don't know when 
 I have seen such a sweet young lady." 
 
 Judith gave a word of thanks, and sped on towards 
 Palace Street. She had barely rang the bell when 
 she heard Mrs. Gould floundering down-stairs in 
 hot haste. She flung open the door, and seized 
 hold of Judith. 
 
 " Oh, Judith, thank Heaven you are come ! What 
 on earth's to be done ? She is taken ill ! "
 
 22 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Taken ill ! " repeated Judith. 
 
 " She is, she is, really ill ; it's as true as that you 
 are alive. "Where's Mr. Carlton ? " 
 
 Judith made no reply. Shaking off the timorous 
 woman, and the shawl and honnet at the same time, 
 which she thrust into her hands, she sped up to the 
 sitting-room. Mrs. Crane was clasping the arm of 
 the easy-chair, in evident pain ; the combs were out 
 of her hair, which now fell in wavy curls on her 
 neck, and she moaned aloud in what looked like 
 terror, as she cast her fair girlish face up to Judith. 
 Never, Judith thought, had she seen eyes so won- 
 drously beautiful ; they were large tender brown 
 eyes, soft and mournful, and they and their pecu- 
 liarly sweet expression became fixed from that hour 
 in Judith's memory. 
 
 " Don't be cast down, poor child," she said, for- 
 getting ceremony in her compassion, " Lean on 
 
 me. It wiU be all right." 
 
 She laid her head on Judith's shoulder. " "Will 
 
 Mr. Carlton be long?" she moaned. " Caunot 
 
 some one go and hurry him ? " 
 
 "Mr. Carlton can't come, ma'am," was Judith's 
 answer. " He went to London this morning." 
 
 A moment's lifting of the head, a sharp cry of 
 disappointment, and the poor head fell again and the 
 face was hidden. Judith strove to impart comfort. 
 
 " They are all strangers to you, ma'am, so what
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 23 
 
 can it matter ? I know you cannot fail to like the 
 Greys as well as you would Mr. Carlton. Nay, 
 dear young lady, don't take on so. Everybod}' likes 
 Mr. John and Mr. Stephen Grey. Why should you 
 have set your mind on Mr. Carlton ? " 
 
 She lifted her eyes, wet with tears, whispering 
 into Judith's ear. 
 
 "I cannot afford to pay both, and it is Mr. 
 Carlton I have written to." * 
 
 " Pay both ! of course not ! " responded Judith in 
 a warm tone. " If Mr. Carlton can't come because 
 he is away and Mr. Grey attends for him, there'll 
 be only one of them to pay. Doctors understand 
 all that, ma'am. Mr. Carlton might take Mr. Grey's 
 place with you as soon as he is back again, if you 
 particularly wish for him." 
 
 " I did wish for him, I do wish for him. Some 
 friends of mine know Mr. Carlton well, and they 
 speak highly of his skill. They recommended him 
 to me." 
 
 That explains it, thought Judith, but she was 
 interrupted by a quaking, quivering voice beside 
 her. 
 
 " What in the world will be done ? " 
 
 It was Widow Gould's, of course. Judith scarcely 
 condescended to answer : strong in sense herself, 
 she had no sympathy with that sort of weakness. 
 
 " The first thing for you to do is to leave off
 
 24 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 being an idiot; the second, is to go and fetch one 
 of the Mr. Greys." 
 
 " I will not have the Mr. Greys," spoke the young 
 lady peremptorily, lifting her head from the cushion 
 of the easy-chair, where she had now laid it. " I 
 don't like the Mr. Greys, and I will not have them." 
 
 " Then, ma'am, you must have been prejudiced 
 against them ! " exclaimed Judith. 
 
 " True," said Mrs. Crane ; " so far as that I 
 have heard they are not clever." 
 
 Judith could only look her utter astonishment. 
 The Greys not clever ! But Mrs. Crane interposed 
 against further discussion. 
 
 " I may not want either of them, after all," she 
 said ; " I am feeling eas3 r again now. Perhaps if 
 you leave me alone I shall get a bit of sleep." 
 
 They arranged the cushions about her comfort- 
 ably, and went down-stairs, where a half dispute 
 ensued. Judith reproached Mrs. Gould for her 
 childish cowardice, and that lady retorted that if 
 folks were born timid the} r couldn't help themselves. 
 In the midst of it, a great cry came from above, and 
 Judith flew up. Mrs. Gould followed, taking her 
 leisure over it, and met the girl, who had come 
 quickly down again, making for the front door. 
 
 " One of the Mr. Greys must be got here, whether 
 or not," she said in passing; "she's a great deal 
 worse."
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 25 
 
 / " But, Judy, look here," were the arresting words 
 of the widow. " Who'll be at the responsibility ? 
 She says she won't have the Greys, and I might 
 have to pay them out of my own pocket." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " retorted Judith. " I'd not bring 
 up pockets, if I were you, when a fellow-creature's 
 life is at stake. You go up to her then; perhaps 
 you can do that." 
 
 Judith hastened into the street. The two brothers 
 lived in houses contiguous to each other, situated 
 about midway between Mrs. Gould's and the Red 
 Lion Inn. Mr. John, generalty called Mr. Grey, 
 occupied the larger house, which contained the 
 surgery and laboratory ; Mr. Stephen the smaller 
 one adjoining. Mr. Stephen, the younger, had 
 married when he was only twenty-one, and he now 
 wanted a year or two of forty ; Mr. John had more 
 recently married, and had a troop of very young 
 children. 
 
 The hall door of Mr. John's house stood open, 
 and Judith went in, guided by the bright lamp in 
 the fanlight. Too hurried to stand upon ceremony, 
 she crossed the hall and pushed open the surgery 
 door. A handsome, gentlemanly lad of sixteen 
 stood there, pounding drugs with a pestle and 
 mortar. Not perhaps that the face was so hand- 
 some in itself : but the exceeding intelligence per- 
 vading it, the broad, intellectual forehead; the
 
 20 LORD OAKBURX's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 honest expression of the large and earnest blue eyes, 
 would have made the beaut} r of any countenance. 
 He was the son and only child of Mr. Stephen 
 Grey. 
 
 " What, is it 3 T ou, Judith ?" he exclaimed, turning 
 his head quickly as she entered. " You come gliding 
 in like a ghost.'' 
 
 "Because I am in haste, Master Frederick. Are 
 the gentlemen at home ? " 
 
 " Papa is. Uncle John's not." 
 
 "I want to see one of them, if you please, 
 sir. 
 
 The boy vaulted off, and returned with Mr. 
 Stephen : a merry-hearted man with a merry and 
 benevolent countenance, who never suffered the 
 spirits of his patients to go down while he could 
 keep them up. A valuable secret in medical treat- 
 ment. 
 
 " Well, Judith ? and what's the demand for 
 you?" he jokingly asked. "Another tooth to be 
 drawn ? " 
 
 " I'll tell my errand to yourself, sir, if you please." 
 
 Without waiting to be sent, Frederick Grey 
 retired from the surgery and closed the door. 
 Judith gave an outline of the case to Mr. Stephen 
 Grey. 
 
 He looked grave ; grave for him ; and paused a 
 moment when she had ceased.
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 27 
 
 "Judith, girl, we would prefer not to interfere 
 with Mr. Carlton's patients. It might appear, look 
 you, as though we grudged him the few he had got 
 together, and would wrest them from him. We 
 wish nothing of the sort : the place is large enough 
 for us all." 
 
 " And what is the poor young lady to do, sir ? 
 To die ? " 
 
 " To die ! " echoed Stephen Grey. " Goodness 
 forbid." 
 
 " But she may die, sir, unless you or Mr. Grey 
 can come to her aid. Mr. Carlton can be of no use 
 to her, he is in London." 
 
 Mr. Stephen Grey felt the force of the argument. 
 While Mr. Carlton was in London, the best part of 
 a hundred miles off, he could not be of much use to 
 anybody in South Wennock." 
 
 " True, true," said he, nodding his head. " I'll 
 go back with you, Judith. Very young, you say ? 
 Where's her husband ? " 
 
 " Gone travelling aboad, sir," replied Judith, 
 somewhat improving upon the information supplied 
 by Mrs. Gould. " Is there no nurse that can be got 
 in, sir ? " she continued. " I never saw such a 
 stupid woman as that Mrs. Gould is in illness." 
 
 " Nurse ? To be sure. Time enough for that. 
 Frederick," Mr. Stephen called out to his son, as he 
 crossed the hall, " if your uncle comes in before I
 
 28 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 am back, tell him I am at Widow Gould's. A lady, 
 who has come to lodge there, is taken ill." 
 
 Judith ran on first, and got hack before Mr. 
 Stephen. Somewhat to her surprise, she found 
 Mrs. Crane seated at the table, writing. 
 
 " You are better, ma'am ! " 
 
 " No, I am worse. This has come upon me un- 
 expectedly, and I must write to apprize a friend/' 
 
 The perspiration induced by pain was running off 
 her as she spoke. She appeared to have written 
 but two or three lines, and was thrusting the letter 
 into an envelope. Mrs. Gould stood by, helplessly 
 rubbing her hands, her head shaking with a tre- 
 mulous motion, as though she had St. Vitus's 
 dance. 
 
 " "Will you post it for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sure I will, ma'am," replied Judith, taking 
 the note which she held out. " But I fear it is too 
 late to go to-night." 
 
 " It cannot be helped : put it in the post at all 
 risks. And you had better call on one of the 
 medical gentlemen you spoke of, and ask him to 
 come and see me." 
 
 " I have been, ma'am," replied Judith, in a glow 
 of triumph. " He is following me down. And 
 that's his ring," she added, as the bell was heard. 
 " It is Mr. Stephen Grey, ma'am ; Mr. Grey was 
 not at home. Of the two brothers Mr. Stephen is
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 29 
 
 the pleasantest, but they are both nice gentlemen. 
 You can't fail to like Mr. Stephen." 
 
 She went out with the letter, glancing at the 
 superscription. It was addressed to London, to 
 Mrs. Smith. On the stairs she encountered Mr. 
 Stephen Grey. 
 
 " I suppose I am too late for the post to-night, 
 sir ? " she asked. " It is a letter from the lady." 
 
 Mr. Stephen took out his watch. " Not if you 
 make a run for it, Judith. It wants four minutes 
 to the time of closing." 
 
 Judith ran off. She was light and active, one of 
 those to whom running is easy ; and she saved the 
 post by half a minute. Mr. Stephen Grey mean- 
 while, putting the Widow Gould aside with a merry 
 nod, entered the room alone. Mrs. Crane was 
 standing near the table, one hand lay on it, the 
 other was pressed on her side, and her anxious, 
 beautiful eyes were strained on the door. As they 
 fell on the doctor an expression of relief came into 
 her face. Mr. Stephen went up to her, wondering 
 at her youth. He took one of her hands in his, 
 and looked down with his reassuring smile. 
 
 "And now tell me all about what's the mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 She kept his hand, as if there were protection in 
 it, and the tears came into her eyes as she raised 
 them to him, speaking in a whisper.
 
 30 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " I am in great pain : such pain ! Do you think 
 I shall die ? " 
 
 "Die!" cheerily echoed Mr. Stephen. "Not 
 you. You may talk about dying in some fifty or 
 sixty years to come, perhaps ; but not now. Come, 
 sit down, and let us have a little quiet chat 
 together." 
 
 "You seem very kind, and I thank you," she 
 said ; " but before going further, I ought to tell you 
 that I am Mr. Carlton's patient, for I had written 
 to engage him before I knew he was away. I am 
 come an entire stranger to South Wennock, and I 
 had heard of Mr. Carlton's skill from some friends." 
 
 "Well, we will do the best we can for you until 
 Mr. Carlton's return, and then leave you in his 
 hands. Are you quite alone ? " 
 
 " It happens unfortunately that I am. I have 
 just sent a note to the post to summon a friend. 
 You see I never expected to be ill for the next two 
 months." 
 
 "And very likely you will not be," returned Mr. 
 Stephen. ""When you shall have got half-a-dozen 
 children about you, 3 r oung lady, you will know what 
 importance to attach to false alarms. Your husband 
 is abroad, I hear ? " 
 
 She inclined her head in the affirmative. 
 
 But it was no false alarm. The lady got worse 
 with every minute; and when Judith came back
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 31 
 
 she met Mr. Stephen, coming forth from the bed- 
 room. 
 
 " You must help me, Judith," he said. " Dame 
 Gould is utterly useless. First of all, look in the 
 lady's travelling trunk. She says there are baby's 
 clothes and other things there. Make haste over 
 it. 
 
 " I'll do anything and everything I can, sir," 
 replied Judith ; " but I'd make her useful. I have 
 no patience with her/' 
 
 " I'll make her useful in one way if I don't in 
 another. Where is she now ? " 
 
 " Sitting on the stairs outside, sir, with her hands 
 to her ears." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Stephen, and he went out to 
 the widow. 
 
 " Mrs. Gould, you know Grote's Buildings ? " 
 
 " In course, sir, I do," was the whimpered answer, 
 as she rose. " Oh, sir, I'm shook ! " 
 
 " Go there without delay : you can shake as you 
 go along, you know. Ask for Mrs. Hutton, and 
 desire her to come here to me immediately. Tell 
 her the nature of the case." 
 
 Mrs. Gould lost no time in starting, glad to be 
 out of the house. She returned with a short, stout 
 barrel of a woman, with grizzled hair and black 
 eyes. She was attired in a light-coloured print 
 gown, and went simpering into the room, carrying
 
 32 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 a bundle, and dropping curtseys to Mr. Stephen 
 Grey. Mr. Stephen stared at the woman for a full 
 minute, as if in disbelief of his own eyes, and his 
 face turned to severity. 
 
 " Who sent for you, Mrs. Pepperfly ? " 
 
 " Well, sir ; please, sir, I came," was the response, 
 the curtseys dropping all the while. " You sent for 
 Hutton, sir ; but she were called out this afternoon ; 
 and I was a stopping at number three, and thought 
 I might come in her place." 
 
 " Hutton was called out this afternoon ? " 
 
 " This very blessed afternoon what's gone, sir, 
 just as four o'clock was a striking from St. Mark's 
 church. Mrs. Gilbert on the Pise is took with her 
 fever again, sir, and she won't have nobody but 
 Hutton to nurse her." 
 
 Mr. Stephen Grey ran over the sisterhood of 
 nurses in his mind, but could think of none available 
 just then. He beckoned the woman from the room. 
 
 " Hark ye, Mother Pepperfly," he said, in a stern 
 tone. " You know your failing ; now, if you dare to 
 give way to it this time, as you have clone before, 
 you shall never again nurse a patient of mine or 
 my brother's. You can do your duty — none better 
 — if you choose to keep in a fit state to do it. Take 
 care you do so." 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly squeezed out a tear. She'd be 
 upon her Bible oath, if Mr. Stephen chose to put
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 33 
 
 her to it, not to touch nothing no stronger than 
 table beer. Mr. Stephen, however, did not put her 
 to the ordeal. 
 
 There was sufficient bustle in the house that 
 night; but by the morning quiet and peace had 
 supervened ; and Nurse Pepperfly, on her best 
 behaviour, was carrying about, wrapped in flannel, 
 a wee wee infant. 
 
 Judith had not left Mrs. Crane's side during the 
 night, and the latter appeared to be drawn to her 
 by some attraction, to find comfort in her genuine 
 sympathy. 
 
 " You have been a good girl, Judith," Mr. 
 Stephen said to her as he was leaving in the 
 morning, and she went down to open the door for 
 him. 
 
 " Will she do well, sir ? " asked Judith. 
 
 " Famously," answered Mr. Stephen. " Never 
 had a safer case in my life. Give a look to Mother 
 Pepperfly, Judith. I trust her as far as I can see 
 her. I shall be back in a couple of hours." 
 
 Things went on well during the day. Mrs. 
 Pepperfly busied herself chiefly with the baby, 
 nursing it by the fire in the sitting-room; Judith 
 attended on the sick lady. In the afternoon, Mrs. 
 Crane, who was lying awake, suddenly addressed 
 her. 
 
 " Judith, how is it you are able to be with me ? 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 lord oakburn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 I thought the landlady told me you were in 
 service." 
 
 "Not just now, ma'am. I have been in service, 
 but have left my place, and am stopping with my 
 sister, at the next door, while I look out for 
 another." 
 
 " Does your sister let lodgings, as Mrs. Gould 
 does ? " 
 
 " A lady lives at the next door, a Mrs. Jenkin- 
 son," was Judith's reply, " and my sister is her 
 servant. Margaret has lived with her going on for 
 eleven years." 
 
 " So that just now you are at liberty? " 
 " Quite so, ma'am." 
 
 " See now how merciful God is ! " spoke Mrs. 
 Crane, placing her hands together in an attitude of 
 reverence. " Last night, when I began to feel ill, 
 and thought I should have nobody about me but that 
 timid Mrs. Gould, I turned sick with perplexity, — 
 with fear, I may sny, — at the prospect of being left 
 with her. And then you seemed to be raised up 
 for me, as it were on purpose, and can be with me 
 without let or hindrance. None but those who 
 have stood in need of it," she added, after a pause, 
 " can know the full extent of God's mercy." 
 
 A glow, partly of pleasure, partly of shame, came 
 over Judith's face as she listened. In a little corner 
 of her inmost heart there had lurked a doubt
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 35 
 
 whether it was all as straight as it oimht to be with 
 the young lady who had come there in so strange a 
 manner — whether that plain gold ring on her finger 
 had been a genuine %edding-ring, or but a false 
 bauble placed there to deceive. The above reveren- 
 tial words of trust convinced Judith that the lady, 
 whoever she might be, and whatever might be the 
 mystery, was as honest as she was, and she took 
 shame to herself for doubting her. No girl, living 
 a life of sin, could speak with that unaffected sim- 
 plicity of the goodness of God. At least, so felt 
 -Judith. 
 
 " I think, Judith, you must have been accustomed 
 to attend on the sick ? " 
 
 " Pretty well, ma'am. In my last place, where I 
 lived four years, my mistress's sister was bed- 
 ridden, and I waited on her. She was a great 
 sufferer. She died just three weeks ago, and they 
 did not want me any more : that's why I am 
 changing places." 
 
 " The mourning you wear is for her ? " 
 
 " Yes it is, ma'am. Mr. Stephen Grey was her 
 doctor, and never failed to come every day all those 
 four years ; so that I feel quite at home with him, 
 if that is a proper expression for a servant to use 
 when speaking of a gentleman." 
 
 " What was the matter with her ? " 
 
 "It was an inward complaint, causing her dis-
 
 36 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 tressing pain. AVc were always trying fresh reme- 
 dies to give her ease, but they did not do much 
 good. I don't fancy Mr. Stephen ever thought they 
 would; but she would have them tried. Ah, 
 ma'am ! we talk about suffering, and pity it, when 
 people are laid up for a week or two ; but only 
 think what it must be to lie by for years, and be in 
 acute pain night and day ! " 
 
 The tears had come into Judith's eyes at the re- 
 membrance. Mrs. Crane looked at her. She had 
 a large, full forehead, strongly marked. One, gifted 
 with phrenological lore, would have pronounced her 
 largely gifted with concentration and reticence. 
 Good qualities when joined to an honest heart. 
 " Judith, where was my workbox put ? " 
 " It is here, ma'am, on the drawers." 
 " Unlock it, will you ? You will find my keys 
 somewhere about. Inside the little compartment 
 that lifts up, you will see a locket set round with 
 pearls." 
 
 Judith did as she was bid, and brought forth the 
 locket. It was a charming little trinket of blue 
 enamel, the gold rim round it studded with pearls, 
 and a place for hair in the front. A very fine gold 
 chain, about two inches long, was attached ; so that 
 it could be worn to a necklace, or pendant to a 
 bracelet. 
 
 " Take it, Judith. It is for you."
 
 HAPPILY OVER. 37 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! " 
 
 " That is my own hair inside ; but you can take 
 it out if you like, and put in your sweetheart's. I 
 daresay you have one." 
 
 " A costly toy like this is not fit for me, ma'am. 
 I could not think of taking it." 
 
 " But it is fit for you, and I'm glad to give it 
 you ; and I owe you a great deal more than that, 
 for what I should have done without you I don't 
 know," reiterated the invalid. " Put it up in your 
 treasure-box, Judith." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know how to say enough 
 thanks," spoke Judith in her gratitude. " I shall 
 keep it to my dying day, dear lady, and store up the 
 hair in it for ever."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 
 
 " Hark ! what hour can that be ? " 
 
 The question came from Mrs. Crane. She had 
 been dozing, and awoke with a start at the striking 
 of the Widow Gould's kitchen clock. 
 
 " It is eight, ma'am," replied Judith from her seat 
 near the bed. 
 
 " Eight ! why, you told me the London train came 
 in at seven." 
 
 " To Great Wennock it does ; or, rather, a quarter 
 before it. The omnibus gets here about half-past 
 seven. It is in, I know, ma'am, for I saw it taking 
 a passenger through the town. 
 
 " Then where can she be ? — the — the person I 
 sent for yesterday/' returned Mrs. Crane in excite- 
 ment ; " she would get the letter this morning, and 
 might have come off at once. You are sure you 
 posted it in time last night, Judith ? " 
 
 " Quite sure, ma'am ; but there will be another 
 train in late to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Crane lay for a little time in thought. Pre-
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 39 
 
 sently she spoke again : " Judith, do you think my 
 baby will live ? " 
 
 " I don't see why it should not live, ma'am. It is 
 certainly very little, but it seems quite healthy. I 
 think it would have a better chance if you would 
 nurse it, instead of letting it be brought up by 
 hand." 
 
 " But I have told you I cannot," said Mrs. Crane, 
 and the tone bore a peremptory sound. " It would 
 not be convenient to me. Mrs. Smith will see all 
 about it when she comes, and it is on his account, 
 poor little fellow, that I am impatient for her. I 
 am so pleased it's a boy." 
 
 " Ma'am, do you think you ought to talk so 
 much ? " asked Judith. 
 
 " Why should I not ? " quickly returned the 
 invalid. " I am as well as well can be : Mr. 
 Stephen Grey said this afternoon he wished all his 
 patients did as well as I am doing. Judith, I am 
 glad I had Mr. Stephen Grey. What a kind man 
 he is ! He did nothing but cheer me up from first 
 to last." 
 
 " I think that is the great secret why all Mr. 
 Stephen's patients like him so much, observed 
 Judith. 
 
 "I am sure I like him," was the lady's answer. 
 " Mr. Carlton could not have done better for me 
 than he has done."
 
 40 LORD OAKBURX's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 The evening and night passed, bringing not the 
 expected visitor, and the invalid began to display 
 symptoms of restlessness. On the following morn- 
 ing Mrs. Smith arrived, having evidently travelled 
 by the night-train. This was Sunday; the baby 
 having been born early on the Saturday morning. 
 At least, some one arrived ; a hard-featured, middle- 
 aged woman, who was supposed by the household to 
 be the Mrs. Smith expected. Mrs. Crane did not 
 say, and caused herself to be shut up with the 
 stranger. 
 
 The sitting-room and bed-room, it has been re- 
 marked, communicated with each other. Each had 
 also a door opening on to rather a spacious landing, 
 spacious in proportion to the size of the house. At 
 one end of this landing was a large window that 
 looked out on the street ; at the other end, opposite, 
 was a closet, and the doors of the two rooms were 
 on one side ; the railings of the balustrades were 
 opposite the doors. It is as well to explain this, 
 as you will find later. 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfiy and Judith sat in the front room, 
 the sitting-room, the stranger being shut up with 
 the invalid. Their voices could be heard in con- 
 versation, it almost seemed in dispute. Mrs. Smith's 
 tones were full of what sounded like a mixture of 
 lamentation, complaint, persuasion, remonstrance ; 
 and the sick lady's were angry and retorting. The
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 41 
 
 nurse was of a constitution to take things coolly, but 
 Judith was apprehensive for the effect of the excite- 
 ment on the invalid. Neither of them liked to 
 interfere, Mrs. Crane having peremptorily ordered 
 them not to disturb her with her friend. Suddenly 
 the door between the two rooms was thrown open, 
 and this friend appeared. 
 
 The nurse was lying back idly in her chair, jogging 
 the infant on her lap with all the might of her two 
 knees, after the approved nurse fashion ; Judith sat 
 at the window, crimping a little cap border with a 
 silver knife. Mrs. Smith, who had taken off neither 
 bonnet nor shawl, caught up the child ; and carrying 
 it to the window, examined its face attentively. 
 
 "It is not like her" she remarket! to Judith, 
 jerking her head in the direction of the bed-room. 
 
 "How can you judge yet awhile ? " asked Judith. 
 " It's nothing but a poor little mite at present.'" 
 
 " Mite ? I never saw such a mite ! One can 
 hardly believe such an atom could be endowed with 
 life." 
 
 ' You can't expect a child born before its time to 
 be a giant," remarked Mrs. Pepperfly as she passed 
 into the next room. 
 
 "Before its time, indeed!" irascibly echoed the 
 stranger ; " what business had she to be exposing 
 herself to railway jerks and shaking omnibuses ? 
 Nasty dangerous things ! The jolts of that omnibus
 
 42 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 sent me 'flying up to its top, and what must they 
 li;:ve done by a slight young thing such as she is ? 
 Now, a mile of ruts to get over ; now, a mile of flint 
 stones ! I think the commissioners of roads here 
 must be all abed and asleep." 
 
 "People are continually talking of the badness 
 of the road between this and the Great Wennock 
 Station," observed Judith. "It is said that Mr. 
 Carlton made a complaint to the authorities, telling 
 them it was ruin to his horse and carriage to go 
 over it. Then they had those flint stones laid down, 
 and that has made it worse." 
 
 " Who's Mr. Carlton ? " 
 
 " He is one of the medical gentlemen living down 
 here." 
 
 " And why could'nt they attend to his com- 
 plaint ? " 
 
 " I suppose they did attend to it ; they put the 
 flint stones down in places afterwards, and they had 
 done nothing to the road for years." 
 
 " What has this child been fed on ? " demanded 
 Mrs. Smith, abruptly quitting the unsatisfactory 
 subject of the roads. 
 
 " Barley-water and milk, half and half," replied 
 Judith. " It was a puzzle to Mrs. Pepperfly at first 
 what to give it, as it's so small." 
 
 " I don't like the look of her," curtly returned 
 the stranger, alluding to Mrs. Pepperfly.
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 43 
 
 " If we were all bought and sold by our looks, 
 some of us would remain on hand, and she's one," 
 said Judith. " But she has her wits about her ; 
 provided she keeps sober there's not a better nurse 
 living, and when people know her failing they can 
 guard against it." 
 
 " What are you ? another nurse ? " 
 
 "I am only a neighbour. But the lady took a 
 fancy to me, and I said I would stop with her a few 
 days. My home just now is at the next door, so I 
 can run in and out. I am sure she is a lady," 
 added Judith. 
 
 " She is a lady born and bred, but she took and 
 married as — as I think she ought not to have 
 married. But she won't hear a word said against 
 him." 
 
 " Will he be coming here ? " continued Judith. 
 
 " It's no business of mine whether he comes or 
 not. They'll do as they please, I suppose. Where's 
 this infant's things ? They must be made into a 
 bundle ; and some food prepared for it." 
 
 " You are no*t going to take the baby away ! " 
 exclaimed Judith, looking all amazement. 
 
 " Indeed but I am. The trains don't run thick 
 on a Sunday ; but there's one leaves the station at 
 seven, and I shall travel by it." 
 
 "And you are thinking to take this little mortal 
 all the way to London ? " said Judith, breathlessly.
 
 £4 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " There's no reason why I shouldn't take it away, 
 and there's a cause why I should," persisted Mrs. 
 Smith ; " whether it's to London, or whether it's 
 elsewhere, is my affair. Wrapped in flannel and 
 lying in my arms in a first-class carriage, it will 
 take no more harm than in this room." 
 
 Judith felt that it was not her place to interfere 
 with Mrs. Crane's arrangements, whatever the}' 
 might be, or to put prying questions to the stranger 
 before her, and she relapsed into silence. 
 
 " You were expected last night, ma'am," said 
 Mrs. Pepperfly, returning to the room from the 
 inner chamber. 
 
 " I dare say I was," was the curt answer. " But 
 I couldn't come. I travelled all night to come as 
 soon as I did." 
 
 "And you'll travel all night again to-night?" 
 questioned the nurse. 
 
 11 It won't kill me." 
 
 At that moment Mr. Stephen Grey's step was 
 heard on the stairs. He went on at once to the 
 bed-chamber b} r the direct door, not coining to the 
 sitting-room. Mrs. Crane was flushed and feverish 
 with excitement, and the surgeon saw it with sur- 
 prise ; he had left her so calm and well at his early 
 visit that morning. 
 
 ""What have you been doing to yourself?" he 
 exclaimed.
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 45 
 
 " I feel a little hot," was the answer, given in a 
 half-contrite tone, "it is nothing; it will soon go 
 off. The person I told you of is come, and she — 
 she — " Mrs. Crane paused for a minute and then 
 went on — " she lectured me upon being so impru- 
 dent as to travel, and I got angry with her." 
 
 Mr. Stephen Grey looked vexed. " So sure as I 
 have a patient going on unusually well, so sure does 
 she go herself and upset it by some nonsensical 
 folly or other. I will send you a composing draught; 
 and now, my dear, understand me : I positively 
 interdict all talking and excitement whatever for a 
 day or two to come." 
 
 "Very well," she answered in a tone of acquies- 
 cence. " But let me ask you one thing — can I have 
 the baby baptised ? " 
 
 " Baptised ! why should you wish it baptised ? It 
 is not ill." 
 
 " It is going away to-day to be nursed." 
 
 "Have you heard of a fit person to undertake 
 it?" he rejoined, never supposing but the baby was 
 to be sent to some one in the vicinity. " I wish 
 you would nurse it yourself; better for you, and the 
 child too." 
 
 "I told you that circumstances do not permit 
 me to nurse it," was her answer; " and I am sure 
 my husband would not be pleased if I did. I wish 
 it to be baptised before it goes away ; perhaps there
 
 46 LORD OAEBUEN's DAUGHTI 
 
 is some clergyman or curate in the town who would 
 kindly come in and do it." 
 
 " I can arrange that," said Mr. Stephen. " Only 
 you keep quiet. What is the young giant's name 
 to be ? " 
 
 "I must think of that," said Mrs. Crane. 
 
 However, later in the morning, when church was 
 over, and the Reverend William Lycett, curate of 
 St. Mark's, called to perform the rite, Judith went 
 clown to him and said that the sick lady had changed 
 her mind with regard to having it baptised so soon, 
 and was sorry to have troubled him. So Mr. Lycett, 
 with a kind hope that both the lady and baby were 
 going on satisfactorily, went away again. The event 
 had caused quite a commotion in the little town, and 
 its particulars were known from one end of it to the 
 other. 
 
 The omnibus, so often referred to, allowed itself 
 half an hour to start and jolt over the unpromising 
 two miles of road. When ordered to do so. it 
 would call for any passengers in South Wennock 
 who might be going by it, and it was so ordered to 
 call for Mrs. Smith. At a quarter past six, — for it 
 liked to give itself plenty of time, — it drew up at 
 Mrs. Gould's house in Palace Street, and Mrs. 
 Smith stepped into it with two bundles : one 
 bundle containing the baby, the other the baby's 
 clothes.
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 47 
 
 It happened that she was the only passenger 
 that Sunday evening ; the omnibus, therefore, not 
 having a full load, tore and jolted along to its 
 heart's content, pretty nearly shaking Mrs. Smith 
 to pieces. In vain, when she dared free a hand 
 for a moment, did she hammer at the windows and 
 the roof; but her hands had full occupation, the 
 one taking care of the breathing bundle, the other 
 clasping hold of the cushions, the woodwork, any 
 part to steady herself. In vain she shrieked out to 
 the driver that her brains were being shaken out of 
 her, herself battered to atoms ; the driver was a 
 phlegmatic man and rarely paid attention to these 
 complaints of his passengers. He knew, shaken or 
 not, they must go by him, unless they had a private 
 conveyance ; and the knowledge made him inde- 
 pendent. The consequence of all the speed and 
 jolting on this particular evening was, that the 
 omnibus arrived at the Great Wennock station 
 unusually early, twenty minutes before the up- 
 train would start, and five minutes before the down- 
 train was expected in. 
 
 Mrs. Smith, vowing vengeance against the driver 
 and the omnibus, declared she would lay a com- 
 plaint, and bounced out to do so. But the clerk at 
 the station — and there was only one on duty that 
 Sunday evening, and he a very young man — aggra- 
 vatingly laughed in Mrs. Smith's face at the
 
 48 lord oakbtrn's daughters. 
 
 account she gave of her bruises, and said the 
 omnibus had nothing to do with him. Mrs. Smith, 
 overflowing with wrath, took herself and her bundles 
 into the first-class waiting-room, and there sat down. 
 The room opened on one side to the platform, and 
 on the other to the road, lately the scene of Mrs. 
 Smith's unpleasant journey. 
 
 Five minutes, and the down-train came steaming 
 in. Some five or six passengers alighted, not 
 more ; the English as a nation do not prefer Sun- 
 days for making long journeys; and the train went 
 steaming on again. The passengers all dispersed, 
 save one ; they belonged to Great Wennock ; that 
 one crossed the line when it was clear, and came 
 into the waiting-room. 
 
 It was Mr. Carlton, the medical gentleman whom 
 the sick lady had wished to employ. He was of 
 middle height, slender, and looking younger than 
 his years, which may have been seven or eight-and- 
 twenty ; his hair and complexion were fair, his eyes 
 a light blue, his features regular. It was a well- 
 looking face, but singularly impassive, and there 
 w T as something in the expression of the thin and 
 closely-compressed lips not pleasing to many an 
 eye. Altogether his appearance was that of a gen- 
 tleman in rather a remarkable degree. 
 
 Discerning some one sitting there in the dusky 
 twilight, — for the station generally neglected to
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 49 
 
 light up its waiting-rooms on a Sunday night, — he 
 lifted his hat momentarily, and walked straight 
 across to the door of egress, where he stood gazing 
 down the road. Nothing was to be seen save 
 the omnibus drawn up close, its horses steaming 
 still. 
 
 " Taylor," said Mr. Carlton, as the railway clerk 
 came out, whistling, and took a general view outside, 
 having probably nothing else to do, " do you know 
 whether my groom has been here with the car- 
 riage '? " 
 
 " No, sir, not that I have seen ; but we only 
 opened the station five minutes ago." 
 
 Mr. Carlton retraced his steps indoors, glancing 
 keenly at the middle-aged woman seated there. 
 She paid no attention to him ; she was allowing her 
 anger to effervesce. It was too dark for either to 
 discern the features of the other ; a loss not felt, 
 as they were strangers. He went again to the 
 door, propped himself against its post, and stood 
 peering down the South Wennock road, softly 
 whistling. 
 
 " Dobson," he called out, as the driver of the 
 omnibus came in sight to look after his patient 
 horses, " did you see my servant anywhere as you 
 came along ? I sent him orders to be here to meet 
 the train." 
 
 " Naw sir," I didnt see nothing on him," was 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 LORD OAKBUBN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Dobson's reply. " Like to take advantage of the 
 'bus, sir '? — it be a-going back empty." 
 
 " No, thank you," replied Mr. Carlton, some 
 sarcasm in his tone. " You had the chance of 
 bumping me to a jelly once; I don't intend to give 
 it you a second time." 
 
 " That was afore I knowed who you was, sir. I 
 don't bump our gentry. I takes care of my driving 
 when I've got any of them inside." 
 
 " They may trust you if they will. If my car- 
 riage is not here shortly, I shall walk." 
 
 Dobson, seeing no chance of a customer, ascended 
 to his seat, whipped up his horses, and set off home ; 
 his hat bobbing upwards with his speed, and his 
 omnibus flying behind him. 
 
 By this time it wanted ten minutes to seven : 
 the period, as Mrs. Smith had been informed, when 
 she could get her ticket. She deposited the live 
 bundle at the very back of the wide sofa, and went 
 to procure it. Mr. Carlton turned in at the door 
 again, whistling still, when a faint, feeble cry was 
 heard to proceed from the sofa. 
 
 It brought him and his whistling to a stand-still. 
 He stood looking at the sofa, wondering whether his 
 ears had deceived him. The cry was repeated. 
 
 " Why, bless my heart, if I don't believe it is a 
 child!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Approaching the sofa, he dived into the wrap-
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 51 
 
 pings and flannels, and felt something warm and 
 soft. He could not see ; the obscurity was too 
 great, although a distant lamp from the platform 
 shed its rays partially in. Mr. Carlton drew some 
 wax matches from his pocket ; struck one, and held 
 its light over the face of the child. He had rarely 
 in his life seen so small a one, and the little thing 
 began to cry as Mrs. Smith came in. 
 
 'So you have woke up, have you!" cried she. 
 " It's an odd thing to me that you could sleep 
 through the doings of that wicked omnibus. Come 
 along, baby ; five minutes yet before we get into 
 the train." 
 
 " I thought magic must be at work, to hear a 
 human cry from what looked like a packet of clothes," 
 said Mr. Carlton. " I lighted a match to make sure 
 whether it was a child or a rabbit." 
 
 " It is as much like a rabbit as a child j r et, poor 
 little thing; I never saw such a baby born." 
 
 "It is not at its full time," observed Mr. 
 Carlton. 
 
 " Full time ! " repeated Mrs. Smith, who had by 
 no means recovered the equanimity that had been 
 shaken out of her, and resented the remark as an 
 oifence. " Who are you, young man, that you 
 should offer your opinion to me ? What do you 
 know of infants, pray ?" 
 
 ' At least as much as you, my good lady," was 
 
 ^E 2
 
 52 LOUD OAKBURx's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 tlie answer, given with unruffled equanimity. " I 
 have brought plenty of them into the world." 
 
 " Oh, then, you are a doctor, I suppose," she 
 said, somewhat mollified. 
 
 'Yes, I am a doctor; and, as a doctor, I will tell 
 you that little specimen of humanity is not fit to 
 travel." 
 
 " I don't say it is ; but necessity has to do many 
 things without reference to fitness. 
 
 " When was it born ? " 
 
 " Yesterda} r morning. Sir, have you any in- 
 fluence in this neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask ? " returned Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " Because, if you have, I hope you will use it to 
 Jjut down that dangerous omnibus. The way it 
 jolts and rattles over the road is enough to kill any 
 body who's inside of it. I went by it to South 
 Wennock this morning, and that was bad enough, 
 as the other passengers could testify ; but in coming 
 back by it this evening I did really think I should 
 have lost my life. Jolting one's head up to the 
 roof, taking one's feet off the floor, jolting one's 
 body against the sides and seat ! I shall be sore all 
 over for a week to come ; and the more I knocked 
 and called, the faster the sinner drove. And I with 
 this baby to protect all the while." 
 
 " It is a shame," replied Mr. Carlton. " What 
 surprises me is, that South Wennock does not rise
 
 THE ENCOUNTER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 53 
 
 against it. There'll be some serious result one of 
 these days, and then it will be altered." 
 
 " The serious result has come," wrathfully returned 
 Mrs. Smith. " A young lady, hardly fit to travel in 
 an easy carriage, went in the omnibus to South 
 Wennock last Friday, and the consequence was the 
 birth of this poor little infant." 
 
 " Indeed ! And what of her ? " 
 
 " Well, she is going on all right, as it happens ; 
 but it might have been just the other way, you 
 know." 
 
 Mr. Carlton nodded. " One of the Messrs. 
 Grey's patients, I suppose ? Was it young Mrs. 
 Lipscome of the Rise ? " 
 
 " No, it Avas not, sir ; and who it was don't 
 matter. Whether it was a lady-in-waiting to Queen 
 Victoria or a poor peasant girl, the injury's the 
 same. And much that rascally omnibus cares ! " 
 
 " Now then ! Take seats for the up-train," cried 
 a man, thrusting in his head. 
 
 Mrs. Smith gathered her two bundles together, 
 and went out. And Mr. Carlton crossed to the 
 other door, for his ear had caught the sound of 
 carriage wheels in the distance.
 
 CHAPTEH IV. 
 
 AX ACCIDENT. 
 
 Dashing up with the speed of the omnibus came 
 an open carriage, driven by a servant in livery. 
 The man was the same who had been so super- 
 cilious to Judith Ford at Mr. Carlton's residence ; 
 the carriage, a light, elegant vehicle, was the same 
 spoken of by Mrs. Gould as the " cabrioily." 
 
 Mr. Carlton stepped out of the station as it 
 stopped, and peered at his servant, as well as the 
 dusky night would permit. The man had trans- 
 gressed against the rules of sobriety once or twice, 
 and his master suspected the delay might have had 
 its rise in the same cause now. But he seemed 
 sober enough as he jumped down. 
 
 " What were the orders you received, Evan ? " 
 
 " I'm very sorry to be late, sir ; I can't in the 
 least make out how it was/' was the deprecating 
 answer. " When I met the umnibus a-coming 
 back, sir, I'm sure you might have knocked me 
 down with a feather. I know I started in time, 
 and "
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 55 
 
 " No lie, Evan," quietly interrupted Mr. Carlton. 
 " You know you did not start in time.'" 
 
 He motioned the man round to the other side, 
 ascending himself to the driver's seat. It was not 
 often Mr. Carlton took the reins ; perhaps he still 
 doubted his servant's perfect sobriety on this night. 
 
 " You have not got the lamps lighted." 
 
 " No, sir, I thought they'd not be wanted. And 
 they wouldn't be, neither, but for them clouds as is 
 obscuring of the moon." 
 
 Mr. Carlton drove off. Not quite with the reck- 
 less speed that characterised the omnibus, but pretty 
 fast. The light carriage had good springs; those 
 of the omnibus had probably been gone long ago. 
 There was one smooth bit of road about midway 
 between the two towns, and they had reached this, 
 and were bowling along quickly, when, without any 
 warning, the horse started violently and fell. Mr. 
 Carlton and his man were both thrown out, and the 
 shafts of the carriage were broken. 
 
 It was the work of an instant. One moment 
 spinning along the road ; the next, lying on it. Mr. 
 Carlton was the first to rise. He was certainly 
 shaken, and one of his legs seemed not quite free 
 from pain ; but there was no material damage. 
 What had made the horse start he could not 
 imagine ; there was nothing to cause it, so far as he 
 could see. Mr. Carlton went to his head and strove
 
 OG LORD OAKB URN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 to raise him, but it was more than lie could accom- 
 plish. 
 
 " Evau," he called out. 
 
 There was no reply. Mr. Carlton turned to 
 look for his man, and found him lying without 
 motion on the ground. Evan appeared to be 
 senseless. 
 
 " Well, this is a pretty state of things ! " cried 
 the surgeon aloud. 
 
 "What's the to-do? What's up?" exclaimed 
 a voice in the rear. It came from a peasant woman 
 who was approaching a gate that led to a roadside 
 field. And at that moment the moon came out from 
 behind its obscuring clouds, and threw its light 
 upon the scene. 
 
 "Are there any men about?" asked Mr. Carlton. 
 " I must have help." 
 
 She shook her head. " There's nobody about but 
 me : my husband " — pointing to a hut just inside 
 the gate — " is down with fever. Did the horse fall? 
 Why — goodness save us ! There's a man a-lying 
 there ! " 
 
 " I must have help," repeated Mr. Carlton. 
 " Neither man nor horse can lie here.'" 
 
 The woman stooped over the horse. " I don't 
 think he's much hurt," she said, after touching the 
 animal here and there. " Some of them horses be 
 as obstinate as mules after a fall, and won't get up
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 57 
 
 till it suits 'em to do it. May-be one of his legs be 
 sprained. What caused it, sir ? " 
 
 " That's more than I know," was the surgeon's 
 answer. " He was always sure-footed until to-night. 
 His falling is to me perfectly inexplicable." 
 
 The woman seemed to muse. She had left the 
 horse, and was now regarding Evan. The man la} r 
 quite still, and she raised herself again. 
 
 " I don't like them unaccountable accidents," she 
 observed in a dreamy tone : " them accidents that 
 come, and nobody can tell why. They bode ill 
 luck." 
 
 " They bring ill luck enough, without boding it," 
 returned Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " They bode it too," said the woman, with 
 a nod of the head. " Take care, sir, that no ill 
 happens to you in the next few hours or few 
 days." 
 
 " What ill should happen to me ? " asked Mr. 
 Carlton, smiling inwardly at the woman's super- 
 stition. 
 
 " We can none of us tell beforehand, sir, what 
 the ill hanging over us may be, or from what quarter 
 it will come," was the answer. " Perhaps you were 
 going a journey ? — I don't know, sir, of course — or 
 who you may be ; but if you were, I should say halt 
 in it, and turn aside from the road you were bound 
 for."
 
 58 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " My good woman, I do think you must be out of 
 your mind ! " exclaimed Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " No, I am not, sir : but perhaps I have observed 
 more, and keener, than most folks do. I'm certain — 
 I'm convinced by experience, that many of these 
 accidents, these hindrances, are only warnings — if 
 we was but wise enough to take 'em as such. You, 
 now, sir, were on your road to some place " 
 
 " To South Wennock, a mile off," interrupted 
 Mr. Carlton, some satire in his tone. 
 
 " South Wennock ; so be it, sir. Then what I'd 
 say is, was I you I'd not go on to South Wennock : 
 I'd rather turn myself round and go back whence I 
 came. This may be sent as a warning to stop your 
 journey there." 
 
 But for the untoward and vexatious circumstances 
 around him, the surgeon would have laughed out- 
 right. " Why, I live at South Wennock," he ex- 
 claimed, raising his head from his man-servant, over 
 whom it had been again bent. " But the question 
 now is, not what luck, good or ill, may be in store 
 for me," lie added, turning to the horse, " but where 
 and how I can get assistance. Here's a helpless 
 horse, and there's a helpless man. First of all, can 
 you bring me a little water." 
 
 She went away without a word, and brought a 
 brown pitcher full of it, and a small cup. Mr. 
 Carlton took them from her.
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 59 
 
 " And now can you go to the lied Lion at South 
 Wennock, and tell them to send the necessary 
 aid ? " 
 
 " I'm willing, sir. My husband won't take no 
 harm at being left : though it's mighty ill he is." 
 
 " Who attends him ? " 
 
 " I've had nobody to him as yet. We poor folks 
 can't afford a doctor till things come to the very 
 worst with us, and life's a'most on the ebb." 
 
 " Which is unwise policy of you," remarked Mr. 
 Carlton. " Well, my good woman, you do this little 
 service for me, and I'll step in as soon as you bring 
 assistance, and see what I can do for your hus- 
 band." 
 
 " Are you a doctor, sir ? " 
 
 " I am. Let Mrs. Fitch send an easy carriage : 
 and a couple of men had better come with it. But, 
 I think as you do, that my horse is lying there in 
 temper more than in real hurt." 
 
 " Is he hurt, sir, do you think ? " she asked, 
 pointing to the man. 
 
 " I think he is only stunned. Make the best of 
 your way for this help, there's a good soul. Tell 
 Mrs. Fitch it is for Mr. Carlton." 
 
 The woman, strong and sturdy, strode away with 
 a will that Mr. Carlton himself could not have sur- 
 passed, and was back again with all requisite aid, in 
 a short space of time. Mr. Carlton had got his
 
 BO LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 horse up then. It appeared to have sprained its 
 leg, hut to have received no other damage. Evan 
 was still unconscious. The surgeon snatched a 
 moment to go in and look at the "woman's hushand, 
 whom he found suffering from low fever. He told 
 her if she would come to his house the following 
 morning, he would give her certain medicines suit- 
 ahle for him. 
 
 Great commotion the damaged procession caused 
 when it made its entry into South Wennock ; greater 
 commotion still at the dwelling of Mr, Carlton. 
 The horse was led round to the stable and a vete- 
 rinary surgeon sent for, and Mr. Carlton himself 
 attended to his man. Evan had recovered con- 
 sciousness during the journej", and his master found 
 his injuries were but slight. 
 
 Mr. Carlton had remembered the value of appear- 
 ance when he took this house, — one of more pre- 
 tension than a young surgeon need have entered 
 upon. On either side the entrance was a sitting- 
 room : a rather fine staircase led above to a hand- 
 some drawing-room, and to spacious bed-rooms. 
 The drawing-room and some of the bed -rooms were 
 not furnished ; but there was plenty of time for 
 that. 
 
 Evan attended to, Mr. Carlton went down to the 
 hall, and turned into the sitting-room on his left 
 hand, generally called the dining-room. It had
 
 AX ACCIDENT. Gl 
 
 two windows — the one looking to the front ; the 
 other, a large, low, hay window, looking on the 
 garden, at the side of the house. Both the windows 
 had the blinds drawn now, and the room was only 
 lighted by a fire. Mr. Carlton gave it a vigorous 
 poke to stir it into a blaze, and rang the bell. 
 
 It was answered by a maid-servant, a respectable 
 woman of middle age. This woman, Evan the 
 groom, and a boy, comprised the household. The 
 boy's work was to carry out the medicines, and to 
 stop in the surgery and answer callers at other 
 times. 
 
 " I want Ben, Hannah." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I'll send him in. You'll take some- 
 thing to eat, won't you, sir ? " 
 
 " I should like something ; I have had nothing 
 since breakfast this morning. What have you in 
 the house ? " 
 
 " There's cold beef, sir, and there's " 
 
 "That will do/' interrupted Mr. Carlton; "the 
 cold beef. Send Ben here." 
 
 Ben made his appearance : the same young gentle- 
 man who had been insolent to Judith Ford on the 
 Friday evening. He stood before his master the 
 very picture of humility. 
 
 " Any messages or letters for me, Ben ? " 
 
 " There haven't been any letters, sir," was Ben's 
 answer. " Two or three folks have been in to see
 
 62 LORD OAEBTTBN'B DAUGHTERS. 
 
 you, but they went away again when they found you 
 were out. And there came a message yesterday 
 from Captain Chesney, sir, and another from him 
 this morning. He was worser, the black man said, 
 and in a dreadful way at your being away ; and he 
 telled the man to say, that if you weren't with him 
 to-day, he should call in Mr. Grey." 
 
 " He may call in the deuce if he likes," was Mr. 
 Carlton's answer, spoken in momentary irritation. 
 " Is that all, Ben ? " 
 
 " It's all, sir." 
 
 Ben might have said with more correctness, all 
 that he remembered. He withdrew, and Mr. Carlton 
 stood a moment in thought. Then he went to the 
 hall and caught up his hat, just as Hannah was 
 coming from the kitchen at the back with a tray in 
 her hand. She looked surprised to see her master 
 going out, thinking he was waiting to take the 
 refreshment. 
 
 "When I come back," he said to her. " You can 
 put it ready." 
 
 He took his way to the Eise, intending to pay a 
 visit to the gentleman who had sent the irritable 
 messages, Captain Chesney. Some doctors might 
 not have been so ready to go off at an inconvenience 
 to a patient, whom they knew perfectly well to be 
 in no sort of danger : Mr. Carlton himself would 
 certainly not, for his disposition was more of a
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 63 
 
 haughty than a complaisant one ; but he was swayed 
 by a different motive from any connected with his 
 profession. 
 
 About three months previously, Captain Chesney, 
 a post-captain on half-pay, had settled at South 
 "Wennoek, removing to it from the neighbourhood of 
 Plymouth. The house he took was called Cedar 
 Lodge, a small white villa, standing back from the 
 high road amidst a wilderness of a garden. Not 
 that it deserved the name, " wilderness," from being 
 badly kept, but on account of the thick shrubs and 
 trees that crowded it. It was excellently kept ; for 
 the old naval captain was a precise man, and would 
 insist on things being neat and nice about him, 
 however short the money might run that kept them 
 so. Like man}* another captain in our navy, his 
 means were at all times lamentably low. 
 
 The captain had three daughters, Jane, Laura, 
 and Lucy. There was a wide difference in their 
 ages : as is frequently the case when the father of 
 a family serves his country, whether by sea or by 
 land, and his absences from home are of long dura- 
 tion : but there's no time to notice these young 
 ladies yet, and their turn will come. 
 
 Labouring under frequent attacks of gout, Captain 
 Chesney's naturally hot temper had grown irritable 
 and more irritable. The gout perhaps was the chief 
 cause : certainly the irritability was much more
 
 64 LORD OAKDURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 marked when tlie gout was upon him. , Accident 
 had led to his calling in Mr. Carlton. When the 
 captain first arrived at South Wennock, he was 
 suffering, and he sent out his black servant, Pompey, 
 an attached man who had been with him for years, 
 to " hring hack a doctor." Pompey, a stranger to 
 the place, made his inquiries and arrived at the 
 house of Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey and Mr. Stephen 
 were both out ; but their assistant promised Pompey 
 that one of them should attend before the day 
 closed ; and it was then late in the afternoon. 
 Pompey went back with the message, and it put 
 the captain into one of his fits of irritation. A 
 doctor he wanted at once, and a doctor he'd have : 
 and Pompey was ordered out again to find another. 
 He went direct to Mr. Carlton's, having noted the 
 plate upon the door in returning from Mr. Grey's : 
 " Mr. Lewis Carlton, Consulting Surgeon." Mr. 
 Carlton was at home, and from that hour to this 
 had attended Captain Chesney. The captain during 
 the winter had had attack upon attack, and Mr. 
 Carlton had been in the house most days; had be- 
 come, so to say, intimate with the family. 
 
 Mr. Carlton proceeded up the Rise. Captain 
 Chesney's house was on the right, about half-way 
 up the hill. Opening the gate, a winding path be- 
 tween the thick trees took him to the house door ; 
 and it was only through that path that a glimpse of
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 63 
 
 the road could be caught from the lower windows. 
 Before those windows was a sloping green lawn, to 
 which they opened ; and a flower garden lay on the 
 side of the house. It was a pretty place, though 
 small ; in every way, save for its size, fitted for the 
 abode of a gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Carlton glanced at the sitting-room windows, 
 and saw a faint glimmer of fire. But a bright light 
 burnt in the room above, the chamber of Captain 
 Chesney. 
 
 " Not home from church yet," murmured Mr. 
 Carlton to himself, as he rang the bell. " Miss 
 Chesney generally goes to that late one at the other 
 end of the town. I wonder if — all — are gone ? " 
 
 The honest black face of Pompey shone with 
 delight when he saw who was the visitor. " Massa 
 had been talking, only then, of sending him off for 
 the other doctor, Mr. Grey," he whispered ; and 
 Mr. Carlton with a haughty throw-back of his own 
 head as he heard it, — for, somewhat curious to say, 
 this irritation on the part of his patient tended to 
 render him irritable, — stepped up-stairs to the cap- 
 tain's room. 
 
 The captain was in bed. Mr. Carlton had just 
 brought him through one of his worst attacks of 
 gout, and he was really progressing towards conva- 
 lescence as fast as he possibly could. There was 
 no need whatever for Mr. Carlton or any other 
 
 TOL. I. v
 
 GG LORD OAKBURN'B DAUGHTERS. 
 
 doctor to visit him ; but it was always during the 
 period of recovery that Captain Chesney was most 
 impatient and irritable. He was a short man, as 
 are most sailors, with a pair of brilliant brown eyes, 
 overhanging grey eyebrows, and grey hair. The 
 daughter who was sitting with him, Laura Chesney, 
 and whom he dispatched from the room when he 
 heard the step of the surgeon, had just such eyes, 
 as brilliant and as beautiful. 
 
 Mr. Carlton took his seat between the bed and 
 the fire, facing Captain Chesney: and he waited until 
 that gentleman's explosive anger should be over, 
 before he proceeded to question his patient profes- 
 sionally. 
 
 " I could not help myself, Captain Chesney," he 
 quietly said when there was a lull in the storm ; and 
 it may be remarked that in the presence of the 
 captain, Mr. Carlton retained his own personal 
 suavity unruffled, however provoking the captain's 
 tongue might be. " I received a telegraphic mes- 
 sage from my father, desiring me to go to town 
 without a moment's delay if I wished to see him 
 alive. The hasty note I sent to you explained 
 this." 
 
 " And I might have died ! " growled the cap- 
 tain. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir. Far from dying, I knew you 
 were not in the least danger. Had you been so in
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 67 
 
 ever so slight a degree, I should have requested one 
 of the Messrs. Grey to attend you for me." 
 
 " Had you not come in to-night I should 
 have sent for them myself," retorted the cap- 
 tain. " It's monstrous to suppose I am to lie 
 here in this pain with no doctor to come near 
 me." 
 
 " But, Captain Chesne}-, I feel sure the pain is 
 nothing like what it has been. Have you not been 
 up to-day ? " 
 
 "No, I have not been up. And I don't choose 
 to get up," added the irritable captain. 
 
 " Well, we will have you up to-morrow, and you 
 will be all the better for it," said the surgeon sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Ugh ! " grunted the captain. " Did you find 
 your father dead ? " 
 
 "No. I am glad to say I found him a trifle 
 better than he had been when they telegraphed for 
 me. But his life, I think, cannot be much pro- 
 longed. The obligation to attend his summons 
 promptly ; to see him, if possible, before death, lay 
 urgently upon me, Captain Chesney ; for he and I 
 had been at variance," continued Mr. Carlton, 
 vouchsafing a piece of confidence into which he was 
 rarely betrayed. 
 
 It was nothing to Captain Chesney. His medical 
 attendant was his medical attendant, and nothing 
 
 F 2
 
 fi8 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 else ; none less likely than the haughty old man to 
 make of him even a temporary friend. 
 
 " He has not heen a good father to me," resumed 
 the surgeon, looking dreamily into the fire. "Any- 
 thing but that. And I lost my mother when I was 
 an infant. But for that loss I might be different 
 from what I am." 
 
 " Men in this life are mostly what their own 
 actions make them, sir ; without reference to their 
 father and mother," returned the captain in a hard 
 tone. 
 
 "Ah," said Mr. Carlton. "But I meant with 
 regard to happiness. You don't know what my 
 childhood and youth were — wanting my mother. 
 Had she lived, it would have been so different." 
 
 "Is your father a poor man ? " asked the captain, 
 taking a momentary interest in the question. 
 
 " Oh dear no. He is a rich one. And I " — Mr. 
 Carlton suddenly laid pointed emphasis on the 
 words — " am his only son, his only child." 
 
 " I think that physic ought to be changed." 
 
 The remark recalled Mr. Carlton to the present. 
 He stood up, reached the medicine bottle pointed 
 to by Captain Chesnejr, and was the composed pro- 
 fessional attendant again. A very few minutes, and 
 the visit ceased. 
 
 As Mr. Carlton left the chamber, the captain 
 caught hold of the silken ribbon tied to his bed-
 
 AN ACCIDENT. G9 
 
 stead, that communicated with the bell-rope, and 
 rang a peal loud enough to awaken the seven 
 sleepers. It was for Pompey to show the doctor 
 out ; and Pompey generally was favoured with this 
 sort of peal. 
 
 Mr. Carlton closed the bed-room door, stepped 
 along the corridor, and met a girl, young and beau- 
 tiful, who appeared at the door of another room. 
 It was Laura Chesney, and her luminous dark eyes 
 were raised to Mr. Carlton as he took her hand, and 
 then were dropped behind the dark lashes which 
 closed on her hot cheek. 
 
 A hot cheek then ; a cheek like a burning rose. 
 That his presence called those blushes up, none 
 could doubt ; and in Mr. Carlton's low tones, as he 
 addressed her, there was a trembling tenderness 
 which told its own tale. Never man loved woman 
 more passionately than he, the surgeon, had learnt 
 to love Laura Chesney. 
 
 " Oh, Laura ! I did not expect this. I thought 
 you were out." 
 
 " No. Jane and Lucy went to church, but I 
 stayed with papa. When did you return ? " she 
 softly whispered. 
 
 " To-night only. Laura ! " he continued, his 
 tone one of wild fervour, "to meet you thus, 
 unlooked-for, seems like a sudden glimpse of 
 heaven."
 
 70 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 One lingering pressure of the hands, and then 
 Mr. Carlton was on his way down again, for Pompey 
 had appeared on the scene. Laura listened for the 
 closing of the hall door ; for the last echoes of the 
 footfalls on the gravel-path, footfalls that for her 
 ear were as the very sweetest music ; and when 
 they had died away to silence, she heaved a sobbing 
 sigh, born of intense emotion, and stepped on to her 
 father's room. 
 
 Just as Mr. Carlton had gone through the gate, 
 two ladies came up to it— or, rather, a lady and a 
 little girl. He was passing them with merely a 
 word of salutation, a lift of the hat, when the lady 
 stopped, and addressed him in low and gentle tones. 
 "You are back then, Mr. Carlton. Have you 
 seen papa ? " 
 
 " I have been paying him a visit now, Miss 
 Chesney. He is very considerably better. The 
 pain has not gone, but I am sure it is nothing like 
 what it was, even when I left. A day or two, and 
 he will, I hope, be down-stairs again." 
 
 The little girl came round to him with a dancing 
 step. " Mr. Carlton, I want you to get papa well 
 soon. He has promised to take me out for a whole 
 clay's holiday as soon as he is well." 
 
 "Very well, Miss Lucv," answered the surgeon, 
 in a merry tone. " I'll get him well with all due 
 speed, for the sake of your whole day's holiday.
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 71 
 
 Good night, young lady ; good night, Miss 
 Chesney." 
 
 He held the gate open for them to pass through, 
 lifted his hat again, closed the gate after them, and 
 went on down the road. The moon had grown 
 brilliantly bright, and he glanced up at it. Not in 
 reality to look at it, for he had plunged into deep 
 thought. The few words he had spoken to Captain 
 Chesney had brought vividly before him his past 
 life; its good and ill doings, its discomforts, its 
 recklessness, its sins. His father, who was in the 
 same profession as himself, a surgeon, in large 
 practice in a populous but not desirable quarter of 
 London, lying eastward, had been rather given to 
 sins and recklessness himself, and no good example 
 had ever been placed before the boy, Lewis. Had 
 his mother lived, as he remarked to Captain Ches- 
 ney, things would have been widely different. 
 Allowed to have his own way in childhood, allowed 
 to have it in youth and in early manhood, insomuch 
 as that no control or supervision was exercised over 
 him, no fatherly guidance was extended to him, it 
 was little wonder that he got into various dangers 
 and difficulties; and, as a sequence, into displeasure 
 with his father. When an array of debts was 
 brought home to stare old Mr. Carlton in the face, 
 he flew into a terrible passion, and swore that he 
 would not pay them. A half peace was patched up
 
 72 loud oakburn's daughters. 
 
 after a while ; the tlehts were settled, and Mr. 
 Carlton the younger established himself at South 
 Wennock : but the father and son still continued 
 much at variance, no cordiality existing between them. 
 Now the thing was altered. Mr. Carlton senior on 
 a bed of sickness was quite a different man from 
 Mr. Carlton in rude health, and he had allowed 
 himself to be fully reconciled to his son. He had 
 shown him his will, in which he, Lewis, was named 
 sole heir ; and he had hinted at the good round sum 
 laid by in bank securities. And Mr. Carlton stepped 
 on now, dreaming a glowing dream ; a dream that 
 had become the one wild hope of his life — a mar- 
 riage with Laura Chesney. 
 
 His supper was laid ready when he got home. 
 Before sitting down to it, he drew three or four 
 letters from his pocket, took them from the enve- 
 lopes, and began to look over them as if for the 
 purpose of sorting. 
 
 • "I must keep that," he said to himself, as he 
 glanced down the writing of the one and replaced it 
 in its envelope ; " these I suppose may be burnt. 
 Stay, though — I'll have my supper first." 
 
 He sat down before the tray and cut himself some 
 meat. Barely had he begun to eat it, when Ben 
 came in with a face of contrition, holding a note in 
 his hand. 
 
 " What now, boy ? " asked Mr. Carlton.
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 73 
 
 " I am sony I forgot it, sir, when you asked me. 
 I put it in the letter-rack in the surgery, and it 
 clean slipped my memory. It was brought here, 
 sir, the same night that you went away." 
 
 Mr. Carlton, laying down his knife and fork, 
 opened the note and ran his eyes over its contents. 
 Ben, who had gone away, heard his master shoutiug 
 to him, — 
 
 " Come back, sir ! Who brought this ? " 
 
 Ben could not tell who brought it: except that it 
 was a woman with a big bonnet on ; a bonnet as 
 big as a house. 
 
 Mr. Carlton read the note again, read it atten- 
 tively. Then he rose, hastily sorted the letters on 
 the table, putting aside the one which he wished 
 to preserve, and throwing the rest indiscriminately 
 into the fire. "I'll take this down at once and then 
 it will be safe," he said to himself, alluding to the 
 letter he had preserved. " If I don't keep it as a 
 proof, the old man, when he gets well, may be for 
 saying that he never wrote it." 
 
 The " old man " thus somewhat irreverently 
 alluded to, was Mr. Carlton's father. Mr. Carlton 
 carried the letter down-stairs to a private safe and 
 locked it up. When he returned to the sitting- 
 room he put his hand in his pocket for the note just 
 brought to him by his servant-boy, and could not 
 find it. It was not in any of his pockets, it was not
 
 7 1 LORD OAKB URN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 on the table ; and Mr. Carlton came to the conclu- 
 sion that he had burnt it with the rest. 
 
 " How stupid I am ! " he exclaimed. " What was 
 the number, now? Thirteen, I think. Thirteen, 
 Palace Street. Yes, that was it." 
 
 He passed into the hall without further delay, 
 put on his hat, and left the house. Hannah heard 
 him, and went into the parlour to remove the tray. 
 
 " I never see such patients as his ! " she ex- 
 claimed wrathfully, when she found her master's 
 supper had been interrupted midway. " They can't 
 even let him get his meals in peace."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 mr. carlton's visit. 
 
 The moon shone brightly on the long street of 
 South Wennock, as Mr. Carlton the surgeon stepped 
 along it with a fleet foot. He was on his way to the 
 house in Palace Street, number thirteen. 
 
 The widow herself came to the door in answer to 
 his ring. She dropped a curtsey when she saw who 
 stood there. 
 
 " Is this Mrs. Gould's ? ! ' 
 
 " Yes, sir ; if you please, sir. I am Mrs. Gould, 
 sir. 
 
 "I have just opened a note, on my return from 
 London ; one that was left at my house a day 
 or two ago ; requesting me to call here to see a 
 patient," said Mr. Carlton. "A Mrs. — Mrs. " 
 
 " Mrs. Crane, sir," said the widow, supplying the 
 name for which Mr. Carlton appeared at fault. 
 "It's all happily over, sir, and she is doing 
 well." 
 
 Mr. Carlton stared at her as if he were thunder- 
 struck. " Over ! " he repeated. " Happily over !
 
 76 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 "Why she — I understood — if I read her note aright 
 — did not expect it for two months to come ! " 
 
 " No more she didn't, sir, and it was all that 
 omnibus's doings. It pretty near shook the life out 
 of her." 
 
 " Omnibus \" he returned, seeming completely at 
 sea. " What omnibus ? what are you talking of ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you don't know the circumstances yet, 
 sir," returned the widow. " The lady arrived here 
 from London, sir, a stranger, and was recommended 
 by Mrs. Fitch to my apartments. So young, she 
 looked, quite a girl " 
 
 "But about her illness ?" interposed Mr. Carlton, 
 whose time was being wasted. 
 
 " I was coming to it, sir. Afore she had well 
 done her tea that same evening, she got ill : the 
 omnibus had shook her frightfully, she said — and 
 you know what that omnibus is yourself, sir. 
 Instead of getting better she got worse, and early 
 the next morning the baby was born. Such a mite 
 of a baby, sir ! " added Mrs. Gould in a confidential 
 tone. " I have seen many a wax-doll bigger. Some 
 person came down from London this morning and 
 took it away." 
 
 A conviction came into the surgeon's mind that 
 the mite of a baby he had seen at Great Wennock 
 station, that evening, must be the one in question. 
 " Who attended ? " he inquired.
 
 mr. carlton's visit. 77 
 
 "Mr. Stephen Grey. But he only attended for 
 you, sir, I believe, as the lady wished to have you. 
 She had been recommended to you." 
 
 " Recommended to me !" 
 
 " Well, yes, sir ; we understood her to say so. 
 She'll explain to you herself, no doubt. Of course, 
 we can't but think the circumstances altogether are 
 somewhat strange." 
 
 " Is she doing well ? " 
 
 " Couldn't be doing better. "Will you walk up, 
 sir?" 
 
 The colloquy had taken place at the open door ; 
 the widow standing inside, Mr. Carlton out. He 
 made a movement to enter, but stopped in hesitation. 
 
 " It is late to disturb her to-night. She may be 
 asleep." 
 
 " She is not asleep, sir. Leastways she wasn't 
 five minutes ago, when] I went up to get Pepperfly 
 down to her supper, which she's now having 
 with me in the kitchen. I daresay she'd like 
 you to go up, sir, and to know that you are back 
 again." 
 
 He went in, and laid his hat on the stand that 
 stood in the passage. Mrs. Gould ran briskly 
 towards the kitchen. 
 
 " Just one moment, sir, while I get a light, for 
 there's none up-stairs," she said, in atone of apology 
 for leaving him waiting. " When the nurse came
 
 78 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 down Mrs. Crane sent the candle away by her, 
 saying she'd rather be without it." 
 
 Passing the parlour door and the room behind it 
 — which room was a bed-chamber, and Mrs. Gould 
 took the opportunity of sleeping in it when her 
 permanent lodger was absent — she tripped into the 
 kitchen, a very small apartment built out at the 
 back, seized the candle on the table, by the light 
 from which Mrs. Pepperfiy was eating her supper, 
 unceremoniously left that lady in the dark, and was 
 back in an instant to marshal Mr. Carlton up the 
 stairs. Arrived at the door of the sitting room, he 
 took the light from her hand. 
 
 " That will do, thank you, Mrs. Gould," he said, 
 sinking his voice to a whisper. " I had better go in 
 alone. She may have dropped asleep." 
 
 Mrs. Gould was nothing loth to be dismissed. 
 She had been disturbed at her supper, and was glad 
 to return to it. In consequence of her having gone 
 to church that evening, the meal was being taken 
 later than usual. She closed the door on Mr. 
 Carlton, leaving him alone. 
 
 He passed through the sitting-room, softly opened 
 the door of the bed-chamber and entered it, shading 
 the light with his hand. The chamber was quite 
 still, and he believed Mrs. Crane to be alone. In 
 point of fact, however, Judith was sitting at the 
 extreme end of it, behind the bed- curtains, which
 
 MR. caelton's visit. 79 
 
 were drawn round that side of the bed and at the 
 foot. Quiet as his movements were, they awoke 
 Mrs. Crane, who had fallen into a doze, and she 
 looked round with a start, and raised her head — as 
 we are all apt to do when suddenly awakened, espe- 
 cially in illness. 
 
 Mr. Carlton put down the light on a table by the 
 door, approached the bed, and addressed her. But 
 ere he had said many words or she had scarcely 
 responded, a sound, as of a rustling movement on 
 the other side of the bed, caught his ear. 
 " What is that ? " he abruptly called out. 
 " "What is what ? " repeated the invalid, whose 
 ears had not been so quick as his own. 
 
 Mr. Carlton stepped round the bed. " Is any one 
 here ? " he asked. 
 
 There appeared to be no one, for the question 
 elicited neither sound nor answer. Sufficient light 
 came from the candle to enable him to discern a 
 second door on that side. He drew it open : it was 
 pushed to, but not latched, and the moonlight 
 streamed full upon the landing from the staircase 
 window. But Mr. Carlton could neither see nor 
 hear any one, and he came to the conclusion that 
 he had been mistaken. 
 
 " I thought I heard some one in the room," he 
 said, in a tone of apology, as he returned to the 
 chamber.
 
 NO LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Indeed there is no one here," said the sick lady. 
 " The nurse went down to her supper. It must 
 have been in the next house : we hear the noises 
 there nearly as plainly as though they were in 
 this." 
 
 " That was it, then," said Mr. Carlton. 
 
 You will he at no loss, however, to understand 
 that the noise had been caused by Judith. Finding 
 it was Mr. Carlton who had entered, and not deem- 
 ing it right to make a third at an interview between a 
 doctor and his patient, she had hastened to escape 
 through the half-opened door, near to which she 
 was sitting. Her slippers were entirely of list — for 
 Judith Ford had been furnished with all the re- 
 quisites for a sick-room in her last place — and the 
 stairs were carpeted, and she ran swiftly and silently 
 down them, unconscious of, the commotion she had 
 so innocently caused. Mrs. Crane had not known 
 she was there ; in fact, it was but a minute or two 
 previously that Judith had entered. She, Judith, 
 made her way to the kitchen, where Mrs. Gould and 
 the nurse were in the full enjoyment of cold boiled 
 bacon and pickled onions, by the light of a fresh 
 candle. 
 
 " Where on earth did 3 r ou spring from ? " ex- 
 claimed the widow. 
 
 " From up-stairs," replied Judith. 
 
 " I never heard you come in. I thought you were
 
 MR. carlton's visit. 81 
 
 keeping house next door, while your sister had her 
 Sunday evening out." 
 
 " So I was, hut Margaret has come home now, 
 and I just stepped in to see if I could do anything. 
 I saw you two were at supper as I passed the 
 window, and didn't disturb you. Mrs. Crane was 
 asleep, however, when I got up-stairs, and Mr. 
 Carlton has come in now." 
 
 " I say, Judith," cried the widow eagerly, " did 
 Mr. Carlton say anything to you about the acci- 
 dent?" 
 
 " Mr. Carlton did not say anything to me at all. 
 He did not see me. As soon as I knew who had 
 come in, I stole away quietly. "What accident ?" 
 
 " There has been a shocking accident to-night, to 
 him and his carriage. They were talking about it 
 in the bar, at the Cross-Keys, when I went for our 
 supper beer." 
 
 "An accident to Mr. Carlton?" 
 
 Mrs. Gould nodded. She had just taken a large 
 onion in her mouth, and could not make it con- 
 venient to speak immediately. 
 
 " It happened as he was coming from Great 
 "Wennock, where his servant had took his carriage 
 to meet him at the train," she presently resumed. 
 " The carriage was overturned and smashed to 
 pieces, and his horse and servant were both killed." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " involuntarily spoke Judith. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " I was just telling Mrs. Pepperfly of it, when 
 the ring came to the door, and I assure you, Judy, 
 when I opened it and saw Mr. Carlton hisself stand- 
 ing there, it did give me a turn. Me and Mrs. 
 Pepperfly had been wondering whether he wasn't 
 killed too— for nobody seemed to know how it was 
 with him at the Cross-Keys— and there stood he ! 
 I couldn't make bold to ask questions, for he has 
 the character of being one of them proud men that 
 won't brook none. At any rate he's not dead. I 
 say, Mrs. Pepperfly, don't you think you ought to 
 go upstairs while he's there ? " 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly, fond of her supper at least in an 
 equal degree with the widow, resented the sug- 
 gestion, and held up her plate, in a defiant spirit, 
 for some more bacon. 
 
 " Tf he wants me he can ring for me," was her 
 answer, curtly delivered. " How is your face to- 
 night, Judith ? " 
 
 " Well, it has been very painful all the evening. 
 I think I shall go home and get to bed," continued 
 Judith. " It may become easier there." 
 
 She did not linger, but bade them good-night 
 and hastened away. She had suffered much from 
 tooth-ache or face-ache the last day or two. Mrs. 
 Pepperfly and the widow sat on at their supper, 
 until disturbed by the departure of Mr. Carlton. 
 He had not remained long.
 
 mr. carlton's visit. 83 
 
 " She'll do well, sir ? " said Mrs. Gould, as she 
 opened the street-door. 
 
 " Very well indeed ; quite well," replied Mr 
 Carlton. " Good night." 
 
 Of course tales never lose by carrying, especially 
 if they are bad ones ; and that you all know. The 
 current report of the accident in South Wennock 
 that night was precisely the one mentioned by Mrs. 
 Gould — that Mr. Carlton's carriage was smashed to 
 pieces, and his horse and man were killed. On the 
 following morning, however, things were found to 
 be looking a little brighter ; the groom, under his 
 master's treatment, was progressing quickly towards 
 recovery, the horse's sprain was going on well, and 
 the carriage had gone to the coachniaker's to be 
 repaired. 
 
 Mr. Carlton had to make his visits on foot that 
 day. Towards the middle of it, in passing through 
 High Street, he encountered Mr. Stephen Grey. 
 The two had never met professionally, but they 
 knew each other sufficiently well to nod in passing. 
 Mr. John Grey had more than once been in attend- 
 ance in conjunction with Mr. Carlton, but it hap- 
 pened that Mr. Stephen had not. Each stopped 
 simultaneously now. 
 
 As Mr. Stephen Grey had remarked casually to 
 Judith the previous Friday, there was plenty of 
 room for Mr. Carlton in South Wennock as well as, 
 
 G 1
 
 84 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 for themselves. Indeed, the death of their brother 
 Robert, combined with the increasing size of the 
 place, had caused the practice to be more than 
 John and Stephen Grey and their assistant could 
 manage, therefore they felt not a shade of jealousy 
 of the new surgeon, who had come to set up amidst 
 them. Honourable, fair-dealing, right-minded men 
 were the brothers Grey, entirely above rankling 
 spite and petty meanness. 
 
 Mr. Stephen Grey had halted to speak of Mrs. 
 Crane. He had been happy to attend her, he said, 
 and would now resign her into the hands of Mr. 
 Carlton. 
 
 " She is doing quite well," remarked Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " Quite so," said Mr. Stephen Grey, who had 
 taken the remark as a question. " I have not long 
 come from her. If you will step down there with 
 me now, I will explain matters, and " 
 
 " Would you oblige me by not giving up charge 
 until to-night or to-morrow morning ? " interrupted 
 Mr. Carlton. " What with the confusion caused 
 by last night's accident, and the patients who have 
 grown impatient at my absence, and are exacting 
 double attention, I am so busy to-day that I don't 
 know which way to turn. Before I take Mrs. — 
 Mrs. What's the name ? " 
 
 " Crane." 
 
 " Mrs. Crane. It is not a difficult name to
 
 mr. carlton's visit. 85 
 
 remember, and yet it seems to slip from me. 
 Before I take her from your hands I should wish to 
 meet you there, just for explanation, and I have 
 really not time for it now. When I reached home 
 last evening and read the note she had sent to me 
 on Friday last, I went to call, but it was late ; she 
 seemed drowsy, and I did not undertake charge. 
 Either to-night or to morrow-morning, Mr. Grey, I 
 shall have the pleasure of meeting you." 
 
 " Whichever may be convenient to you," returned 
 Mr. Stephen. " It's quite the same to me." 
 
 " To-night, then, at seven," said Mr. Carlton. 
 " If I find that I cannot by any possibility get 
 there " — he paused in consideration — " why then, 
 it must be left until to-morrow morning, at ten. 
 But I hope I shall be there this evening. She 
 seems young, this lady." 
 
 " Quite young. She says she's two-and-twenty, 
 but I should not have thought her so much. How 
 did you manage to meet with that unpleasant acci- 
 dent ? " 
 
 " I don't know any more than you know, who 
 were not present. I fancied the horse shied ; but 
 it all happened so swiftly I could not be sure. If 
 he did shy, it was very slightly, and I saw nothing 
 that could have induced it ; but why he should have 
 fallen, or over what, is entirely unexplainable. It 
 was on that smooth bit of road; the only smooth
 
 86 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 bit there is, midway between here and Great Wen- 
 nock. Evan is doing well, and as to the horse, he 
 is very slightly injured." 
 
 " The report in the town was, that you were all 
 clone for, all killed together ; you, the groom, horse, 
 phaeton, and all." 
 
 Mr. Carlton laughed. It was difficult to resist 
 the good-humour of Mr. Stephen Grey. And so 
 they parted, each walking a different way.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 WAS THE HOUSE HAUNTED ? 
 
 At seven precisely that evening Stephen Grey 
 went to Mrs. Crane's, to wait for Mr. Carlton. Mrs. 
 Crane was flushed, and appeared to be a little 
 feverish. 
 
 " There has been too much chattering going on," 
 he observed to Judith, who was sitting in the front 
 room. 
 
 " She will talk, sir," answered Judith. " Feeling 
 well, as she does, I suppose it's natural." 
 
 " But not expedient," he returned. " Where's 
 the nurse ?" 
 
 " She was here not two minutes before you came 
 in, sir. Perhaps she's gone down to get some- 
 thing." 
 
 Mr. Stephen rang the bell, and the nurse was 
 heard puffing up in answer. She was sure to puff 
 when going up -stairs, however slow her pace 
 might be. 
 
 " Mrs. Pepperfly, how's this ? You have allowed 
 your charge to talk too much."
 
 88 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " Well, sir, and she will tnlk," was Mrs. Pepper- 
 ilv's answer, nearly the same as the one given by 
 Judith. " She's all right, sir ; a little hot maybe 
 to-night ; but it's no harm : she's too young and 
 healthy for harm to come anigh her, through a bit 
 of talking." 
 
 " I'll not have her talk until she is stronger," 
 said Mr. Stephen. "You must stop it. I must 
 send her in a composing draught now, as I did last 
 night/' 
 
 Mr. Stephen Grey gave Mr. Carlton more grace 
 than most busy medical gentlemen would have given 
 — waiting for him until a quarter past seven. He 
 left then. After his departure, Judith went in home ; 
 her face was paining her very much ; and Mrs. Pep- 
 perfly stopped on guard. Scarcely had Judith gone 
 when Mrs. Crane called to her from the next room. 
 
 " Judith. Come here, Judith. I want you." 
 
 " Now, mum, you are not to talk," cried Mrs. 
 Pepperfly, hastening in. " Mr. Stephen have been 
 a blowing of me up like anything, for suffering it. 
 He as good as said it was my fault." 
 
 Mrs. Crane laughed ; laughed out merrily, the 
 nurse's tone was so resentfully serious. " Oh, well, 
 I'll be good," she said. "But I do want to speak 
 to Judith for a minute. Is she not there ? " 
 
 " No, mum, she's gone in home — and Mr. Stephen 
 had better have blown her up instead of me ; for
 
 WAS THE HOUSE HAUNTED ? 89 
 
 I'm sure it's to her you talk. Settle yourself just 
 for a wink or two of sleep, there's a dear lady." 
 
 About eight o'clock the nurse was called down to 
 supper. It was her usual hour for taking it, and 
 she had been exceedingly wrathful the previous 
 night at its having been delayed ; the wrath per- 
 haps causing the widow to get it ready punctually 
 on this. Almost immediately afterwards Mr. Carl- 
 ton arrived in a hot heat. He had walked from the 
 Pdse, he said to Mrs. Gould, who opened the door 
 to him, and was sorry Mr. Stephen Grey had gone. 
 The truth was, Mr. Carlton need not have missed 
 the appointment, but he had lingered at Captain 
 Chesney's. In Laura's society the time seemed to 
 have wings. Mrs. Gould attended him up-stairs, 
 for he said he would see the patient, and then she 
 went clown again. 
 
 Mr. Carlton had not been talking with the invalid 
 many minutes when a ring at the bell was heard, 
 and somebody ascended the stairs. The surgeon 
 went into the sitting-room, thinking it might pos- 
 sibly be Mr. Stephen Grey. It was, however, Mrs. 
 Pepperfly. 
 
 " It's the draught, please, sir," said she. 
 
 " Draught ? " he repeated, taking a small bottle 
 from her hand. " What draught ? One that Mr. 
 Stephen Grey has sent in ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, the sleeping draught. He said. she
 
 90 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 was excited to-night through talking, and must take 
 one." 
 
 Mr. Carlton undid the paper, took out the cork, 
 and smelt it. " How strongly it smells of oil of 
 almonds ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Do it, sir ? " 
 
 " Do it ! why, can't you smell it yourself ? " he 
 returned. And once more taking out the cork, 
 which he had replaced, he held the phial towards 
 her. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but I have got a cold. And when I 
 does have them colds upon me, my nose ain't worth 
 a rush." 
 
 The surgeon was still occupied with the draught, 
 smelling it. Then he tasted it, just putting his 
 finger to the liquid, and that to his tongue. 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " he remarked, in an under- 
 tone. " Why should Grey be giving her this ? 
 Here, take possession of it, nurse," he added. " It 
 is to be given the last thing." 
 
 He returned to the bed-room as he spoke, and 
 Mrs. Pepperfly placed the phial on the cheffonier, 
 where other medicine bottles were arrayed. Then 
 she put her head inside the bed-chamber. Mr. 
 Carlton was standing talking to the sick lady. 
 
 " Do you want anything, please, ma'am ?" 
 
 " Nothing at present," replied Mrs. Crane. 
 " You can go down."
 
 WAS THE HOUSE HAUNTED ? 91 
 
 The nurse did as she was bid, and not long after- 
 wards Mr. Carlton said good-night to Mrs. Crane, 
 and passed through the sitting-room to take his 
 departure. As he went out on the landing to 
 descend the stairs, he saw what he thought was a 
 face, leaning against the wall by the bed-roorn door 
 and staring at him ; a man's face with thick black 
 whiskers ; a strange face, looking stern, white, and 
 cold in the moonlight. Mr. Carlton was of remark- 
 ably strong nerve — a bold, fearless man ; but the 
 impression this made upon him was so great, that 
 for once in his life he was startled. 
 
 " Who and what are you ? " he whispered, his 
 voice insensibly assuming a tone of awe, of shud- 
 dering terror : for in good truth that face did not 
 look like any earthly one that Mr. Carlton had ever 
 in his life seen. 
 
 There was no reply ; there was neither movement 
 nor sound. Uncertain whether the moonlight was 
 not playing him some fantastic trick, the surgeon 
 strode back to the sitting-room, brought out the 
 solitary candle and threw its rays around. 
 
 Not a soul was there ; neither man nor woman, 
 neither ghost nor spirit. And yet Mr. Carlton felt 
 certain that a face had been there. An unaccount- 
 able feeling, vague superstition mixed with real 
 fear, came over him and shook him as he stood ; 
 and yet I say he was by nature a fearless man, and
 
 02 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 perhaps this was the first time in his remembrance 
 that such terror had assailed him. lie threw the 
 light around the landing ; he threw it down the 
 stairs; there was no upper story; but nothing was 
 to be seen, and all was silent and still. Carrying 
 the light still, he went into the bed-room by the 
 door on the landing and cast its rays there. Mrs. 
 Crane glanced up from the bed in surprise. 
 
 " Were you looking for anything ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nothing particular. Good night." 
 
 He went straight on to the sitting-room through 
 the intervening door, glancing around him still into 
 every nook and corner, and put the candle back on 
 the mantelpiece whence he had taken it — for Mrs. 
 Crane rather liked lying in the dark. Then he 
 wiped his hot face and descended the stairs, willing 
 to persuade himself that he had been mistaken. 
 
 " I think I must be a fool," he muttered. 
 " What has come over me to-night ? Is the house 
 haunted ? " 
 
 Soon, all too soon, ere ten o'clock had struck, the 
 house was haunted. Haunted by a presence that 
 had no business there — Death.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 
 
 It was Mrs. Gould who ran to open the door for 
 Mr. Carlton on his departure. He spoke with her 
 a minute or two, and then went out, she returning 
 to the kitchen and the society of Mrs. Pepperfly. 
 
 It may strike the reader that all these details 
 have been given at some length ; but, as was after- 
 wards found, every little event of that ill-starred 
 night bore its own significance. 
 
 Mrs. Gould and the nurse resumed their gossip, 
 and were plunged full tide into it, the former lean- 
 ing back in her chair at her ease before the supper- 
 table, on which stood a suspicious-looking green 
 bottle, its contents white, of which both ladies, if 
 the truth may be told, had been partaking. The 
 latter rose from her seat and was bending over the 
 fire, stirring something in a saucepan, when there 
 came a loud, sharp rap at the kitchen window. 
 Both started and screamed : the widow clapped her 
 glass and teaspoon down on the table, and Mrs. 
 Pepperfly nearly dropped the candle into the sauce-
 
 94 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 pan. Although they knew, had they taken a mo- 
 ment's leisure to reflect, that the knock came from 
 Judith, who frequently took that mode of making 
 her visit known on coming in from the other house, 
 it considerably startled them. 
 
 Judith it was. And she laughed at them as she 
 stepped inside the passage from the yard, and 
 entered the kitchen. 
 
 " What a simpleton you be, Judy, to come fright- 
 ening folks in that fashion ! " cried the widow, 
 irascibly. " One would think you were a child. 
 Can't you come into the house quiet and decent ? " 
 
 " It was as good as a play to see the start you 
 two gave," cried Judith. " My face is bad, and I 
 am going to bed," she added, changing her tone, 
 " but I thought I'd step in first and see if I could 
 do anything more for Mrs. Crane. I suppose she's 
 not asleep ?" 
 
 " She's not asleep yet, for Mr. Carlton's but just 
 gone. You can go up and ask her." 
 
 It was nurse Pepperfly who spoke : the widow 
 was resentful yet. Mrs. Pepperfly regarded Judith 
 with complaisance, for she took a great deal of care 
 and trouble off her hands, which must otherwise 
 have fallen to the nurse's exclusive share. 
 
 Judith proceeded up -stairs. She felt very tired, 
 for she had been up all Friday and Saturday nights, 
 and though she had gone to bed on Sunday night,
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 95 
 
 she had slept but little, owing to the pain in her 
 face. She was subject to this pain, feeling it when- 
 ever she took the slightest cold 
 
 "Is that you, Judith?" cried Mrs. Crane. 
 " How is your face-ache now ? " 
 
 " The pain's getting easier, ma'am," was Judith's 
 answer. " Mr. Stephen Grey said it would, now 
 the swelling had come on. I stepped in to ask 
 whether I can do anything more for you to-night ? " 
 " No, thank you, there's nothing more to be done. 
 I suppose the nurse won't be long before she brings 
 up the gruel. You can tell her I am ready for it 
 as you go down. You will be glad to get to bed, 
 Judith." 
 
 " Well, ma'am, I shall, and that's the truth. To 
 lie tossing about with pain, as I did last night, tires 
 one more than sitting up." 
 
 " And the two previous nights you were sitting 
 up. I don't forget it, Judith, if you do." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, that's nothing. It's a mercy that 
 you have not required more sitting up than that. 
 Manj r do require it." 
 
 " I ! " returned Mrs. Crane in a hearty tone. "I 
 don't believe I required it at all. I am as well as 
 I possibly can be. Mr. Carlton has just said so. I 
 should like to get up to-morrow, Judith." 
 
 Judith shook her head, and said something 
 about the danger of being "too venturesome."
 
 96 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " You'll get about all the surer, ma'am, for being 
 (jiiiet for another clay or two." 
 
 At that moment, in came Mrs. Pepperfly ; a 
 flaring candle in one hand, and a tray with a basin 
 of gruel on it in the other. Judith, generally sus- 
 picious of Mrs. Pepperfly, went close and glanced 
 attentively into the basin, lest that lady should have 
 seasoned it with a few drops of tallow in the ascent. 
 The light shone full on Judith's swollen face, swollen 
 on both sides, and Mrs. Crane burst into a fit of 
 laughter. 
 
 " I can't help it," she said, as they turned to her 
 in amazement. " It is your face that I am laughing 
 at, Judith. It looks like the moon at the full ; the 
 cheeks are so round." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, I don't mind the look, so that I am 
 easy. The swelling will soon go down again." 
 
 Judith wished her good night and departed. 
 Nurse Pepperfly arranged the basin of gruel con- 
 veniently on the bed, and stood by while it was 
 eaten. 
 
 " And now for my composing draught," said Mrs. 
 Crane. 
 
 " I can't give you that yet, mum," dissented the 
 nurse. " The idea of your taking it right atop of 
 the gruel ! " 
 
 " I don't suppose it would hurt. It came, didn't 
 it?"
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 97 
 
 " It came while Mr. Carlton was here, mum. It 
 was that what I brought up, and Mr. Carlton 
 he tasted of it. Just like them doctors ! they 
 are sure to put their tongues to each other's medi- 
 cines." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton's going to meet Mr. Stephen Grey 
 here at ten to-morrow," she observed. "And then 
 I shall be under his charge exclusively." 
 
 " I heered some'at on it, mum," was Mrs. Pepper- 
 fly's answer. 
 
 She turned to busy herself about the room, 
 making the night arrangements with Mrs. Gould, 
 who came up to assist her. By the aid of blan- 
 kets, a bed had been extemporised for herself on 
 the sofa in the sitting-room, and there she slept, 
 the door between the two rooms being left open that 
 the patient might be still under her supervision. 
 Mrs. Pepperfly had really been on her good beha- 
 viour hitherto ; afraid, perhaps, to run counter to 
 the strict mandate of Mr. Stephen Grey, given to 
 her on entering. 
 
 About half-past nine or a quarter to ten, when 
 Mrs. Crane had been made comfortable for the 
 night, the nurse pronounced it time for the com- 
 posing draught. 
 
 " Just light me to get it, will you ? " she asked of 
 Mrs. Gould, who happened to have the candle in 
 her hand. And they went into the sitting-room. 
 
 VOL. I. TT
 
 98 LOKD OAEBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 The bottle was on the cheffonier where the nurse 
 herself had placed it. She took it to the side of the 
 bed. 
 
 "Beady, mum?" 
 
 " Quite," said Mrs. Crane. 
 
 She, the nurse, poured the contents into a large 
 wine-glass, and Mrs. Crane drank them down, but 
 not before she had made some remark about cherry 
 pie. 
 
 " How it do smell ! " cried Mrs. Gould, in a 
 whisper, as she stood by with the candle. 
 
 " Mr. Carlton said it did," was the nurse's an- 
 swering whisper. " Them doctors' noses be quick." 
 
 " It don't want much quickness to smell this," 
 sniffed the landlady. 
 
 " It was just at the moment as I'd took my drop 
 short, and you know " 
 
 An awful cry ; bringing the nurse's confession to 
 a stand -still ; an awful cry of alarm and agony. 
 But whether it came from Mrs. Crane on the bed, 
 or Mrs. Gould by her side, or from both, Nurse 
 Pepperfly was too much startled to know. 
 
 Oh, then was commotion in the chamber ! What 
 was amiss with their patient ? Was it a fainting 
 fit ? — was it a convulsion '? — or was it death ? "Was 
 it the decree of God that was taking her from the 
 world ? or had some fatal drug been given to her 
 in error ?
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 99 
 
 There is no mistaking death by those accustomed 
 to the sight ; and Mrs. Pepperfly, more thoroughly 
 sobered in brain than she often was, wrung her 
 hands wildly. 
 
 " It's death ! " she exclaimed to the landlady. 
 "As sure as you and me's standing upright 
 here, it's death, and she is gone! That physic 
 must have been poisoned ; and perhaps they'll 
 try us both for giving it to her, and hang us 
 after it." 
 
 With a hullabaloo that might have been heard 
 over the way, Mrs. Gould tore down the stairs. She 
 was nearly out of her senses just then, scared out 
 of them with consternation and terror. Partly at 
 the event just happened, partly at the nurse's re- 
 mark as to possible consequences to themselves, 
 was she terrified. She burst out at the front door, 
 left it open, and ran panting up the street, some 
 confused notion in her mind of fetching Mr. Grey. 
 Before she gained his house, however, she en- 
 countered Mr. Carlton. 
 
 Without a word of explanation, for she was too 
 breathless and bewildered to give it, she seized his 
 arm, turned to run back again, and to pull him with 
 her. Mr. Carlton did not relish so summary a 
 mode of proceeding. 
 
 " Stop ! " he exclaimed, " stop ! What means 
 this ? What's the matter ? " 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " She's dead ! " shrieked Mrs. Gould. " She is 
 lying dead and stark upon her bed." 
 
 " Who is dead ? " repeated Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " Our lodger. The lady you came to see this 
 evening — Mrs. Crane. The blessed breath have 
 just gone out of her." 
 
 Almost with the first word of explanation Mr. 
 Carlton shook her arm away and darted off towards 
 the house, she following in his wake. He disap- 
 peared within it; and just at the moment the 
 Reverend William Lycett passed, the curate of St. 
 Mark's church. Mrs. Gould seized upon his arm 
 as she had previously seized on Mr. Carlton's, 
 sobbed forth some confused words, and took him up 
 the stairs. 
 
 The nurse was standing at the foot of the bed, 
 her eyes round with alarm ; and Mr. Carlton had 
 thrown down the bed-clothes and placed his ear 
 close to the heart that lay there. He felt the damp 
 forehead, he touched one of the hands. 
 
 "This is awful!" he exclaimed, turning round 
 his pale face. " I left her well little more than an 
 hour ago." 
 
 " Is she dead ? " asked Mr. Lycett. 
 
 " She is dead," replied the surgeon. " What had 
 you been giving her ? " he demanded of Mrs. 
 Pepperfly, his tone becoming stern and sharp. 
 
 It was the first indication of the consequences to
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 101 
 
 them, and Mrs. Pepperfly replied meekly, her apron 
 held to her lips. 
 
 " Sir, I give her her gruel, and after that I give 
 her her draught. It's of no good denying of it." 
 
 " That draught ! " repeated Mr. Carlton to him- 
 self in a low tone of reproach. Not so low, how- 
 ever, but Mr. Lycett caught the words. "I was 
 wrong not to take it away with me." 
 
 " Has she died from poison ? " whispered Mr. 
 Lycett. 
 
 " From poison — as I believe. What else can she 
 have died from ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton, as he spoke, had his head bent over 
 the mouth of the dead, inhaling the breath ; or,, 
 rather, the odour where the breath had once been. 
 
 "You are not acquainted with the properties of 
 drugs as may be gathered from their smell, I pre- 
 sume, Mr. Lycett, or else " 
 
 " Pardon me," was the interruption, " I am quite 
 well acquainted with them. My father is a surgeon, 
 and half my boyhood was spent in his surgery." 
 
 " Then just put your nose here and tell me what 
 you find." 
 
 The clergyman did as desired ; but he drew back 
 his face instantly. 
 
 "Prussic acid," he said in a whisper; and Mr. 
 Carlton gave a grave nod of assent. He turned to 
 Mrs. Pepperfly.
 
 102 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " "What do you say she had been taking ? Gruel ? 
 and the draught ? The gruel first, of course ? " 
 
 "In course, sir. She took that soon after you 
 left. There's the basin, by token, never took down 
 again." 
 
 Mr. Carlton laid hold of the basin pointed out to 
 him. A little gruel remained in it still, which he 
 smelt and tasted. 
 
 " There's nothing wrong here," he observed. 
 
 "And her draught, sir, we gave her some time 
 after, three-quarters of an hour, maybe. Not a 
 minute had she took it when — I shan't overget the 
 fright for a year to come— she was gone." 
 
 " A year ! " echoed Mrs. Gould from the door, 
 where she had stood trembling and sobbing, her 
 head just pushed into the chamber. "I shan't 
 overget it for my whole life." 
 
 " Where is the bottle ? " inquired Mr. Carlton. 
 
 "The bottle!" repeated the nurse. " Where 
 now did I put it ? Oh, it's behind you, sir. There, 
 on the little table by the bed's head." 
 
 The bottle which had contained the draught lay 
 there, the cork in. Mr. Carlton took out the cork, 
 smelt it, recorked it, and laid it on the table, an 
 angry scowl on his face. 
 
 " Do you smell anything wrong ? " asked Mr. 
 Lycett. 
 
 For answer the surgeon handed him the phial,
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 103 
 
 and Mr. Lycett removed the cork for one moment, 
 and put it in again. It was quite sufficient. 
 
 " Where did the draught come from ? " inquired 
 the curate. But the next moment his eyes fell on 
 the label, and he saw it had come from the surgery 
 of the Messrs. Grey. 
 
 Mr. Carlton replaced the phial from whence he 
 had taken it, and looked at the landlady. " Mrs. 
 Gould, I think you had better go up and ask Mr. 
 Stephen Grey to step here." 
 
 Glad to be away from the death chamber, yet 
 afraid to stay by herself alone, the woman was not 
 sorry to be sent upon the errand. The streets 
 under the bright moon were as light as da} r , and 
 she discerned Mr. John Grey standing at his own 
 door long before she reached him. The sight 
 seemed to give an impetus to her speed and her 
 excitement, and she broke into sobs again as she 
 made a dash at him. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! this will kill some of us." 
 
 Mr. Grey, a man of strong mind, decisive in 
 speech, — sometimes, if put out, a little stern in 
 manner, — looked calmly at the widow. Like Judith 
 Ford, he had no patience with nervous nonsense. 
 He was a tall man, with aquiline features and keen 
 dark eyes. 
 
 " What will kill some of us, Mrs. Gould ? Our 
 nerves ? "
 
 104 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Where's Mr. Stephen, sir ? Oh, sir, she's dead ! 
 And it is that draught which Mr. Stephen sent down 
 to-night that has killed her." 
 
 " Who is dead ? " returned Mr. Grey in wonder- 
 ment. " What draught '? What are you talking 
 of?" 
 
 " The lady Mr. Stephen is attending at ray house, 
 sir. He sent her a sleeping-draught to-night, and 
 there must have heen poison in it, for she died the 
 minute she had swallowed it. I mean the young 
 lady, Mrs. Crane, sir," she added, perceiving that 
 Mr. Grey appeared not to understand her. 
 
 " Dead ! " he uttered. 
 
 " Stone dead, sir. Mr. Carlton said I had better 
 come up for Mr. Stephen Grey. He's there with 
 Mr. Lycett." 
 
 Mr. Grey closed his own door and entered his 
 brother's house. Frederick Grey was coming across 
 the hall. 
 
 " Is your father in, Frederick ? " 
 
 " No. I don't suppose he'll be long. I don't 
 know where he's gone, though. Uncle John, we 
 had a letter from mamma this evening." 
 
 " Did he make up a draught to-night for Mrs. 
 Crane, do you know?" continued Mr. Grey, 
 passing unnoticed his nephew's gratuitous informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, I know he did, for I was in the surgery at
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 105 
 
 the time. A composing-draught. Why ? It was 
 sent." 
 
 " Why, it have just killed her, Master Frederick," 
 put in Mrs. Gould. " It were prussic acid, they say, 
 and no composing draught at all." 
 
 " What thundering nonsense ! " echoed the hoy, 
 who appeared to have caught only the latter words. 
 
 " Nonsense, is it, sir ? " sobhed the widow. " She's 
 dead." 
 
 Frederick Grey glanced quickly at his uncle, as if 
 for confirmation or the contrary. 
 
 " I am going down there, Frederick. Mrs. Gould 
 says she is dead. As soon as your father comes in, 
 ask him to follow me." 
 
 The lad stood looking after them as th.ej went 
 down the street, his brain busy. At that moment 
 he saw their assistant, Mr. Whittaker, approaching 
 from the opposite side of the street. Frederick 
 Grey took his cap from the hall where it was hang- 
 ing, and went out to meet him. 
 
 " Mr. Whittaker, they are saying the new patient, 
 Mrs. Crane, is dead. Do you believe it ? " 
 
 " Rubbish," retorted Mr. Whittaker. " Mr. 
 Stephen told me to-night she was as good as well. 
 Who says it ? " 
 
 " Mother Gould. She has been up here to fetch 
 Uncle John, and he has left word that papa is to 
 follow soon. Tell him, will you ? "
 
 106 LORD OAKBUENS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 He vaulted off ere he had well finished speaking, 
 caught up Mrs. Gould at her own door, and ran up- 
 stairs after his uncle. Mr. Grey had already en- 
 tered the chamber of Mrs. Crane. He first satis- 
 fied himself that she was really dead, and then began 
 to search out the particulars. Mr. Carlton directed 
 his attention to the bottle. 
 
 " Mr. Grey," he said, " you know how chary we 
 medical fraternity are of bringing an accusation or 
 casting blame on one another ; but I do fear some 
 most unfortunate error has been committed. The 
 phial has undoubtedly contained prussic acid in 
 some state, and it appears only too certain that it 
 is prussic acid she has died from." 
 
 " The phial has certainly had prussic acid in it," 
 returned Mr. Grey; "but it is impossible that it 
 can have been sent by my brother." 
 
 " He may not have made it up himself," re- 
 turned Mr. Carlton. " Is the writing his ? ' Com- 
 posing draught to be taken the last thing. Mrs. 
 Crane.' " 
 
 "That is his, and I believe he made up the 
 draught himself. But as to his having put prussic 
 acid in it, I feel sure he did not." 
 
 " I was here when it came, and I detected the 
 smell at once," said Mr. Carlton. "At the first 
 moment I thought it was oil of almonds ; the next 
 I felt sure it was prussic acid. Not that I sus-
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 107 
 
 pected for an instant there was sufficient to destroy 
 life, the slightest modicum of a drop, perhaps ; 
 though why Mr. Stephen Grey should have put it 
 in I did not understand. Now I cannot tell you 
 why it was, but I could not get that smell out of 
 my head. I think it may have been from reading 
 that case of fatal error in the ' Lancet ' last week. 
 You know what I mean ? " 
 Mr. Grey nodded. 
 
 " And before I left I told Mrs. Crane not to take 
 the draught unless she heard from Mr. Stephen 
 Grey again. As I went home I called at your 
 house; but Mr. Stephen was not at home. I in- 
 tended just to mention the smell to him. Had he 
 said it was all right, there was an end of appre- 
 hension ; but mistakes have been so frequent of 
 late as to put medical men on their guard." 
 " True," assented Mr. Grey. 
 " I have but a word to finish," continued Mr. 
 Carlton. " "When I found I could not see Mr. 
 Stephen Grey, I went home, made up a composing 
 draught, and was coming out with it when an urgent 
 message came for me to see a patient. It lay in 
 my way here, and I was as quick as could be, but — 
 as you see — not sufficiently so." 
 
 Mr. Carlton slightly pointed to the bed as he 
 concluded. Frederick Grey, who had stood by, 
 listening eagerly, suddenly stepped up to him.
 
 108 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Have you that draught with you, sir ?" 
 
 " Of course I have," replied Mr. Carlton. But 
 he did not seem pleased with the lad's tones, so 
 unaccountably abrupt and haughty. " Here it is," 
 he added, taking it from his pocket. " You will 
 find no prussic acid in that." 
 
 Frederick Grey received the small bottle in his 
 hand, uncorked it, smelt it, and tasted it, just as 
 Mr. Carlton had done by the fatal one. Doctors, 
 as Mrs. Pepperfly remarked, like to put their 
 tongues to physic ; and Frederick had possibly 
 caught the habit, for he was already being initiated 
 into the mysteries of the profession, under his uncle 
 and father. 
 
 " No, there's no prussic acid in that," said he. 
 " Neither was there in the draught made up by my 
 father. I stood by him the whole of the time and 
 watched him mix it." 
 
 They were interrupted by Mr. Stephen Grey. To 
 describe his grief and consternation when he saw 
 the dead, would be impossible. Mr. \Yhittaker had 
 given him the message, had told him Mrs. Gould 
 had been to them with a tale that the lady was 
 dead ; but Mr. Stephen, who knew of old Mrs. 
 Gould and her fears, had set it down in his own 
 mind that the lady had only fainted. Mr. Stephen 
 heard the details with astonishment. They were 
 unaccountable ; but he warmly repudiated the sus-
 
 THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT. 109 
 
 piciou as to the error having been made by him- 
 self. 
 
 " The thing appears to be perfectly unexplain- 
 able," exclaimed Mr. Lycett. 
 
 Stephen Grey laid his hand lightly on the brow 
 of the corpse. " I declare," said he, in an earnest, 
 solemn tone, " in the presence of what remains of 
 this poor young lady ; nay, I declare it in a more 
 solemn presence — that of God, who now hears me 
 — that there was no prussic acid, or any other 
 " poison whatever, in the sleeping draught I sent 
 here this night. Some foul play has been at work ; 
 or else some most grievous and unaccountable 
 mischance has been unwittingly committed. Mr. 
 Carlton, we must do our best in striving to fathom 
 this. You will aid me in it ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton did not hear the words. He had 
 fallen into a reverie. Perhaps he was trying to 
 account for the events of that night. His thoughts 
 at that moment were not so much given to the 
 unhappy dead, as to the face he had seen, or thought 
 he had seen, upon the staircase landing earlier in 
 the evening. That the face was none of his own 
 fancy's conjuring up ; that it was not an appearance 
 from the world of spirits, but one belonging to a 
 living, breathing person, he felt in his judgment 
 convinced. Did he connect that face with the dark 
 deed which had followed? Did he suspect that
 
 110 LOUD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 that stealthy visitor, whoever it might be, was the 
 serpent standing and waiting to deal the deadly 
 blow ? It cannot at present be told ; but it is cer- 
 tain that Mr. Carlton did attach a dread fear, not 
 the less strong for its being vague and undefined, to 
 that shadowy face. 
 
 Vague indeed ! More than once he caught him- 
 self fancying — nay, almost wishing — that it was but 
 a supernatural appearance from the other world.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE COBWEBBED JAE. 
 
 What was now to be done ? How were they to 
 set about fathoming — as Mr. Stephen Grey sug- 
 gested — this dreadful business ? It was so shrouded 
 in mystery ! The poor form, calm and still now, lay 
 upon the bed, and the wondering gentlemen stood 
 around it. Medical men come in contact with 
 strange phases of human life, as exhibited in man's 
 passage from the cradle to the grave, but this little 
 knot of the brethren could only acknowledge to 
 themselves, that of all strange occurrences which had 
 ever passed under their notice, this one appeared to 
 to be about the strangest. 
 
 Mr. Carlton suddenly left his place from the far 
 side of the bed, held the door open, and motioned 
 the two women from the room. He then in like 
 manner motioned young Frederick Grey. But the 
 boy, who was standing against the wall, close to it, 
 did not stir in answer. 
 
 "Fd rather stay in, Mr. Carlton," he fearlessly 
 said. " Is there any reason why I may not ? "
 
 112 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Mr. Carlton hesitated. The words of the boy, 
 spoken out so boldly, had caused the three gentle- 
 men near the bed to look round. Mr. Carlton 
 evidently did wish him to be outside the room, but 
 he as evidently did not see his way quite clear to 
 get him there. 
 
 " Is he discreet ? " he asked, looking to the two 
 brothers for an answer. 
 
 " Perfectly so," replied Mr. John Grey, who did 
 not himself see any reason why his nephew should 
 be expelled. 
 
 Mr. Carlton closed the door and returned to the 
 group. " Mr. Stephen Grey has suggested a doubt 
 of foul play," he began; "but is it possible that 
 there can be any feasible grounds for it ? I ask, 
 gentlemen, because you are all better acquainted 
 with these two women than I am. If either, or 
 both of them " 
 
 " Goodness, man ! " interrupted Mr. Stephen 
 Grey, in his impulsive fashion, " you can't suppose 
 I suspect Mother Pepperfly or the old widow ! 
 Pepperfly has her besetting sin, drink ; and the 
 widow is a foolish, timorous body; but they'd 
 no more commit murder than you or I would 
 commit it. What could you be thinking of, Mr. 
 Carlton?" 
 
 "Pardon me," rejoined Mr. Carlton; "I merely 
 drew the conclusion from your own remark. I'm
 
 THE COB WEBBED JAR. 113 
 
 sure I have no cause to cast a doubt on theni, but 
 there has been no one else about the lady." 
 
 " If I understood Mr. Stephen Grey aright, he 
 did not intend to cast suspicion upon any one," 
 interposed Mr. Lycett. " His remark arose simply 
 from the want of being able to account for the 
 mystery." 
 
 " Precisely so," assented Stephen Grey. " If 
 my thoughts had a bent one way more than another, 
 it was whether the medicine could have been ex- 
 changed or tampered with between my house and 
 this." 
 
 " It is not likely," said Mr. Grey. " Dick carries 
 out his medicines in a covered basket. But another 
 idea has suggested itself to me. Stephen, you have 
 seen more of this unfortunate young lady than any 
 one present; I never set eyes on her until now, and 
 I daresay 3-ou, Lycett, can say the same. Mr. 
 Carlton has seen her once only " 
 
 " Twice," interrupted Mr. Carlton. " Last night 
 and this. I should not have come down to-night 
 had I known the hour fixed for my meeting Mr. 
 Stephen Grey here had so long passed. But I was 
 with patients on the Rise, and the time slipped by 
 unheeded." 
 
 " At any rate you have not seen much of her," 
 rejoined Mr. John Grey. "My brother Stephen 
 has, comparatively speaking ; and what I was about 
 
 VOL I. I
 
 114 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 to ask him was this : whether it is at all probable 
 that she herself added the poison to the draught. 
 Was she in low spirits, Stephen ? " 
 
 "Not in the least," returned Stephen Grey. 
 " She has been as gay and cheerful as a person can 
 be. Besides, she could not have added anything to 
 the draught without being seen by the nurse ; and 
 we have her testimony that it was in her posses- 
 sion in the other room until the moment when she 
 administered it." 
 
 " Another thing," observed Mr. Carlton ; " if the 
 poison was added to the draught after it eame here, 
 how could it have smelt of it on its arrival ? " 
 
 " There lies the greatest enigma of all — why the 
 draught should smell . of poison when it got here," 
 cried Stephen Grey. 
 
 " Nay/' dissented his brother ; " there's no wonder 
 at its smelling of poison if the poison was in it ; the 
 mystery is, how and where it got into it. In my 
 opinion, setting aside her tragical end, there is a 
 great deal of mystery in the affair altogether. Who 
 was she ? "Where did she come from ? Why did 
 she come here, a stranger to the place and to every- 
 body in it ? And what a young thing she appears 
 to be!" 
 
 She did indeed look young. A fair, pale, sweet 
 face, lying there with its golden-brown hair falling 
 around it. In the alarm of the first moment Mrs.
 
 THE COB WEBBED JAR. 115 
 
 Pepperfly had snatched off the cap, and the hair fell 
 down. Her mouth was open, and the pretty pearly 
 teeth were visible. They sighed as they looked 
 upon her. 
 
 " May her soul have found its rest ! " murmured 
 the clergyman, bending over her for a moment ere 
 they took their departure. 
 
 Mr. Carlton lingered behind the rest. He visited 
 her box with his own hands, the nurse lighting him, 
 but it contained no clue whatever as to who she was. 
 Nothing but clothes were in it ; not a card, not a 
 scrap of paper, not a letter ; nothing was there to 
 solve the riddle. 
 
 " Was this one trunk all she brought ? " he asked. 
 
 "All, sir," replied Mrs. Pepperfly. "There's 
 her work-box a standing on the drawers there, by 
 the bed's head." 
 
 The surgeon turned to the work-box, and examined 
 it searchingly and thoroughly, as he had the trunk. 
 Its contents consisted of cotton, needles, and such 
 like accessories to work. There was a piece of 
 embroidery in a midway stage ; there was a baby's 
 little cambric night-cap just begun ; and there were 
 a few paper patterns. Nothing whatever that could 
 throw any light upon herself or her previous history. 
 Her pocket— a loose pocket which Mrs. Pepperfly 
 drew from under the pillow, where the invalid had 
 kept it — contained a purse alone. Nothing else: 
 
 i 2
 
 116 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 and in the purse there was not much money. Her 
 ke^ys lay on the drawers. 
 
 Mr. Carlton locked both the work-box and the 
 trunk, and sealed them with his own seal. " I don't 
 know much about the routine of these affairs," he 
 observed, " but it is right, I suppose, to make all 
 safe until the police come — they can break my seals 
 if they will." 
 
 Barely had he spoken when a policeman appeared 
 upon the scene. The news had travelled to the 
 station, and the sergeant himself had come down. 
 He was a big man, with round red cheeks. He 
 listened in silence to the details, which were given 
 him partly by Mr. Carlton, partly by the nurse, and 
 took possession of the basin that had contained the 
 gruel, and the bottle. 
 
 Next he laid hold of the candle and began to peer 
 about the two rooms, for what purpose, or how it 
 could at all help the inquiry, he alone knew. He 
 carried the candle out in the landing and examined 
 that, gazing up at the walls, raising his face to 
 the window, through which the moonlight shone so 
 brightly in. 
 
 " Is that a door ? " he suddenly asked. 
 
 "Without waiting for a reply he strode to the 
 opposite end of the landing to the window, and 
 pulled a door open. The walls had been grained 
 to imitate grey marble, and this door was grained
 
 THE COBWEBBED JAR. 117 
 
 also. It looked like part of the wall, and it opened 
 with a key only. It was that key which had attracted 
 the keen sight of the sergeant. 
 
 " It's only a closet for brooms and the slop- 
 pail, sir," spoke up Mrs. Gould, who was shiver- 
 ing timidly on the top stairs, holding on by the 
 balustrade. 
 
 Even so. It was a very innocent closet, con- 
 taining only a pail and a couple of brooms. The 
 officer satisfied himself on that point, and closed the 
 door again ; but Mr. Carlton, who had not pre- 
 viously known any closet was there, immediately 
 saw that it might have afforded a temporary hiding 
 place for the owner of that face he had seen so close 
 to it earlier in the evening — if indeed that face had 
 not been a myth of his own imagination. 
 
 Mr. Carlton could do nothing more, and he took 
 his departure, the face all too present to him as he 
 walked through the moonlit streets. It may be 
 asked why he did not speak of it to the police — 
 why he had not spoken of it to the gentlemen who 
 had been gathered with him round the death-bed. 
 But of what was he to speak ? That he thought he 
 saw a strange -looking face, a face half ghostly, half 
 human ; a face which had jet black whiskers on its 
 cheeks; that he had thought he saw this on the 
 staircase in the moonbeams, and that when he 
 brought out the candle and threw its rays around
 
 118 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 nothing was to be seen ? It could not, if it be- 
 longed to a human, walking being, have had time 
 to get down the stairs unseen ; that was impossible ; 
 and he had satisfied himself that it had not taken 
 refuge in the bed-room. It is true there was this 
 closet, which he had not known of, but he did not 
 believe it could have gone in there and closed the 
 door again before he was out with the light. Had 
 he spoken of this, nine persons out of ten would 
 have answered him — it was nothing but your own 
 imagination. 
 
 And he was not sure that it was not his imagina- 
 tion. "When he had descended the stairs after seeing 
 it, he put the question in a careless sort of way to 
 the landlady, as she came from the kitchen and Mrs. 
 Pepperfly's society to open the door for him — was 
 any strange man on the staircase or in the house ? 
 -"-and Mrs. Gould had answered, with some inward 
 indignation, that there was no man at all in the 
 house, or likely to be in it. Beyond that, Mr. 
 Carlton had not spoken of the circumstance. 
 
 He went straight on to his home through the 
 moonlit streets, and soon afterwards retired to rest, 
 or rather to bed, for rest he did not get. That 
 shadowy face haunted him in the strangest manner ; 
 he could get no sleep for it, but lay tossing and 
 turning until morning light ; and then, when he did 
 get to sleep, he saw it in his dreams.
 
 THE COBWEBBED JAE. 119 
 
 But we must go back to an earlier hour of the 
 evening, and to the Messrs. Grey. On leaving Mrs. 
 Gould's house they parted with Mr. Lycett at the 
 door, for their road lay in the opposite direc- 
 tion to his, and Mr. John Grey passed his arm 
 through his brother's as they went up the street, 
 young Frederick walking by their side. 
 
 " This is a most unfortunate event," began Mr. 
 John. 
 
 " It is to the full as mysterious as it is unfortu- 
 nate," was the reply of his brother. "Prussic acid 
 get into my composing draught ! The thing is an 
 impossibility." 
 
 " I wonder whether prussic acid had been mixed 
 with the draught, or whether the draught had been 
 poured out and prussic acid substituted ? " cried 
 Frederick. 
 
 "Don't talk in that senseless way, Frederick," 
 rebuked Mr. Stephen. " Who would pour medicine 
 out of a bottle and substitute prussic acid ? " 
 
 "Well, papa, it is pretty sure that she took 
 prussic acid : so it must have been given to her in 
 some way." 
 
 " From the drain left in the phial, it is apparent 
 that some drops were mixed with the draught, just 
 sufficient to destroy life, and no more," observed 
 Mr. John. "Stephen," he added, lowering his voice, 
 and speaking with hesitation, "are you sure — pardon
 
 120 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 the question — but are you sure you did not, in some 
 unaccountable fit of absence, mix it with it your- 
 self?" 
 
 In good truth the affair, to Mr. John Grey, a man 
 of sound practical sense, did appear most unaccount- 
 able. He had turned it over in his mind in all its 
 bearings as he stood by the bed at Mrs. Gould's, 
 and the only possible solution he could come to was, 
 that the poison must have been inadvertently mixed 
 with the draught when it was made up. And yet 
 this appeared most unlikely, for he knew how correct 
 his brother was. 
 
 " I have not mixed medicines for twenty years, 
 John, to make a fatal mistake at last," was the reply 
 of Stephen Grey. " No ; the draught was carefully 
 and properly mixed." 
 
 " I stood by and watched papa do it, Uncle John, 
 and I am sure it was carefully mixed," said Frede- 
 rick, rather resenting his uncle's doubt. " Do you 
 think he could have taken down the jar of prussic 
 acid from its corner in a fit of absence ? — why, he 
 couldn't reach it, you know, without the steps ; and 
 they have not been brought into the surgery to-day. 
 Mr. Fisher saw him mix it too." 
 
 " Mr. Fisher did ? " 
 
 "Fisher's seeing me happened in this wa}'," inter- 
 posed Mr. Stephen. " Upon leaving Mrs. Crane, soon 
 after seven this evening, I saw Fisher at his door,
 
 THE COB WEBBED JAE. 121 
 
 and he made me go in. It was Mrs. Fisher's birth- 
 day, and he had a bottle of champagne on the table, 
 about to tap it. I helped them drink it, and then 
 Fisher came out with me for a stroll, first of all 
 turning into the surgery with me, and waiting while 
 I mixed the draught for Mrs. Crane." 
 
 " And was the bottle given immediately to Dick ? " 
 
 " Not immediately," spoke Frederick: " it waited 
 a short while on the counter while Dick finished his 
 supper. But it never was lost sight of for one mo- 
 ment while it was there, as Mr. Whittaker can tes- 
 tify," he added, as if in anticipation of what might 
 be his uncle's next question. " Whittaker came in 
 before papa had quite finished the mixture — that is, 
 he was putting the paper round the bottle — and we 
 neither of us, I or Whittaker, quitted the room until 
 Dick had gone out with it." 
 
 "Well, it appears most incomprehensible," ex- 
 claimed Mr. John Grey. 
 
 The first thing they did on entering was to ques- 
 tion Dick. He slept at the top of Mr. John's house, 
 and they proceeded to his room, rousing Mr. Dick 
 from his slumbers : a shock headed gentleman of 
 fourteen, who struggled up in bed, his eyes wild 
 with surprise. 
 
 " Wake up, Dick," said his master. 
 
 " I am awake, sir," responded Dick. " Be I 
 wanted ? is there any physic to take out '? "
 
 122 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " No, nothing of that," returned Mr. John. " I 
 only want to ask you a question. Did you carry 
 any medicine to Mrs. Gould's to-night ? " 
 
 " I took some there, sir. A small bottle." 
 
 " Who gave it to you ? " 
 
 " It were Master Frederick as gave it to me, sir. 
 I took it down and give it to that there fat Pepperfly, 
 for it were she that come to the door." 
 
 " Did you go straight there ? or did you loiter on 
 your way and put your basket down ? " 
 
 "I went straight there," replied the boy earnestly. 
 " I never loitered once nor let go of the basket. Do 
 that Pepperfly say as I didn't take it, sir ? — or that 
 I took it broke ? " he added, believing this unusual 
 cross-questioning must bode some accusation 
 against himself. " She's a big story-teller if she 
 do." 
 
 " She has not said anything about you," returned 
 his master ; "I only want to know whether that 
 little bottle of medicine was delivered at Mrs. 
 Gould's untouched, in the same state that it was 
 given to you." 
 
 " Yes, that it was, sir," was the boy's ready answer, 
 and they could tell by his manner that he was 
 speaking the truth. 
 
 Telling him he might go to sleep again, they 
 went down to the surgery. No one was in it then, 
 and the gas was turned very low. Mr. Stephen
 
 THE COBWEBBED JAR. 123 
 
 turned it on, and brought in the steps from the 
 recess outside, where they were kept. In a remote 
 corner of the highest shelf was a glass jar, labelled 
 " Hydrocyanic Acid;'' he mounted the steps and 
 reached it down. 
 
 " See!" he exclaimed, "actually cobwebs upon it, 
 woven from the stopper to the jar, and the dust on 
 it an inch thick ! that proves it has not been touched 
 for some time. Why, it must be six weeks at least 
 since we had occasion to use it." 
 
 It was the only preparation of prussic acid in 
 their possession, of any sort, whether diluted or 
 otherwise, and the seeing the jar in this state com- 
 pletely did away with the half doubt on John Grey's 
 mind touching his brother — he saw that he could 
 not have used it. They leaned their elbows on the 
 counter where the medicines were usually com- 
 pounded, and talked together over the affair, unable 
 to offer any conjecture or surmise which might tend 
 to solve it. 
 
 Thus absorbed, they did not notice the move- 
 ments of Frederick. He, ever restless, ever seeking 
 to be in action, as boys of that age are sure to be, 
 laid hold of the white linen duster kept in the 
 surgery, and dusted well the glass containing the 
 poison. John Grey caught sight of the feat just as 
 it was accomplished. 
 
 " O, Frederick ! what have you done ?"
 
 .124 loud oakbukn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Only taken off the dust and cobwebs, uncle," 
 answered the lad, wondering at the tone of 
 alarm. 
 
 " Do you know," cried John Grey, speaking 
 sharply in his excitement, " that that meddling 
 action of yours may cost your father his life ? Or, 
 at least, his reputation." 
 
 The crimson of emotion rushed violently into the 
 face of Frederick. He made no answer. 
 
 " So long as that dust was on the jar, it was a 
 sure proof that it had not been opened. Did you 
 see the cobwebs spun from the stopper to the 
 jar ? "What could have afforded more certain evi- 
 dence that the stopper had not been taken out ? 
 Those friendly cobwebs might have saved your 
 father." 
 
 Frederick Grey felt as if a ball had come into his 
 throat and was choking him : as if it would take 
 his whole life to atone for the imprudence of which 
 he had been guilty. 
 
 " It is not likely they will suspect my father," he 
 exclaimed ; " and as to accusing him — no, uncle, they 
 will not do that." 
 
 " Whom will they accuse, think you ? you or me ? 
 The medicine went out of this house, and was de- 
 livered untampered with to Nurse Pepperfly, was 
 administered untampered with also to the patient, 
 so far as we can learn or suspect. Mr. Carlton,
 
 THE COBWEBBED JAR. 125 
 
 a man in honourable practice, as we are, testifies 
 that the draught did smell of prussic acid when the 
 nurse put it into his hand ; he spoke of it at once, 
 as the nurse proves. To whom, then, will people's 
 suspicions be directed but to him who made up the 
 medicine ? You have faith in your father and I 
 have faith in my brother that he could not be, and 
 was not, guilty of the careless error of putting 
 poison in the sleeping draught ; but that cob- 
 webbed, dusty jar would have been proof that 
 he had not, for those who have not faith in him. 
 And now you have destroyed it ! Go home to 
 bed, boy ! you have done enough mischief for one 
 night/' 
 
 The words, in all their full sting, told on Frede- 
 rick Grey. A remorse, amounting to positive agon} r , 
 was taking possession of him for the imprudence 
 he had committed. He did not reply ; he was too 
 completely subdued; he only longed to be away 
 from all eyes, where he might indulge his sorrow 
 and his repentance — where he might consider the 
 means, if there were any, of repairing his fault, and 
 pray to God to turn away the evil. He wished his 
 uncle good night in a humble voice, and turned to 
 his father. 
 
 "Good night, and God bless you, my darling 
 boy ! " said Mr. Stephen, warmly. " You did not 
 do wrong intentionally. Be at ease ; I am con-
 
 120 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 scious of my own innocence, and I can put my 
 hearty faith in God to make it plain." 
 
 Frederick Grey went home and threw himself on 
 his bed, sobbing as if his heart would break, in spite 
 of his sixteen years. There was nobody to whom 
 he could turn for comfort. He was an only child, 
 and his mother, whom he loved better than any- 
 thing on earth, Avas away in a foreign land, gone to 
 it in search of health. 
 
 Mr. John Grey and his brother remained in the 
 surgery, and were joined by their assistant, Mr. 
 Whittaker, who was a qualified surgeon. They 
 talked the matter over with him, but no solution of 
 it whatever could be arrived at. 
 
 " That the draught was given to the boy as Mr. 
 Stephen left it, I and Frederick can both testify," 
 said the assistant. " Dick, it appears, delivered it 
 intact to Mrs. Pepperfly, who took it straight to Mr. 
 Carlton, and he at once smelt the prussic acid. I 
 can't make it out at all. I have heard of magic, but 
 this beats it hollow. What a pity but Mr. Carlton 
 had brought the draught back here when he called." 
 
 " Did you see him, AVhittaker ? " asked Stephen 
 
 Grey. 
 
 " I saw him. There was only myself here. He 
 came in and asked if he could speak a word to Mr. 
 Stephen Grey. Mr. Stephen, I told him, was out, 
 and he went away."
 
 THE COBWEBBED JAR. 127 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Grey, " it does appear to be 
 utterly incomprehensible ; time, I suppose, will 
 bring its elucidation upon it. As it does upon 
 most things."
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 TOrULAR OPINION IN SOUTH WENNOCK. 
 
 Tuesday morning arose, the morning subsequent 
 to Mrs. Crane's death, and South Wennock was in 
 excitement from one end of it to the other. Every- 
 body was out of doors discussing the fatal event. 
 Groups gathered everywhere ; on the pavement, in 
 the high road, on the sills of shops, at private doors, 
 they congregated ; one only theme in their minds 
 and on their tongues. The previous da}% Monday, 
 had been pretty fruitful for the gossip-mongers, 
 inasmuch as they had found nuts from the accident 
 to Mr. Carlton and his groom ; but that paltry news 
 was as nothing compared to this. You are aware 
 how prone we are to pick up any little bit of mystery, 
 how we dive into it and strive to make it ours, never 
 resting until it is fathomed; you may then judge 
 what a dish this must have been for South Wen- 
 nock's inhabitants, enshrouded on all sides, as it 
 was, with mystery. 
 
 Mr. John Grey was right when he assumed that 
 it was on his brother the onus of the affair would
 
 POPULAR OPINION IN SOUTH WENNOCK, 129 
 
 fall. The opinion almost universally taken up was, 
 that Mr. Stephen Grey had committed the error in 
 carelessness, when making up the sleeping draught. 
 The fact that he had been a correct mixer of medi- 
 cines all his life, went for nothing now, 
 
 " I've druv my horses for fifteen year and never 
 throwed 'em down to kill my passengers yet ; but 
 that's no reason why I mayn't have the ill-luck 
 some day," spoke the coachman of a four-horse 
 stage, plying daily between two certain towns, and 
 halting at South Wennock for breakfast, at the Bed 
 Lion inn. " And that's just it, as I reckon, with 
 Mr. Stephen Grey. He have been a accurate mixer 
 of physic, up to now ; but he may have made 
 the mistake at last. The best of us is liable to 
 'em ; as I'm sure the gentlemen standing round 
 knows." 
 
 The gentlemen standing round nodded. They 
 formed part of a large group collected at the coach, 
 entrance of the Eed Lion. The group comprised 
 people of various degrees and grades — gentlemen, 
 tradesmen, and labourers. In a small country place 
 where the inhabitants are all known to each other, 
 they are apt to converse together familiarly on local 
 topics, without reference to social standing. 
 
 " Like me," struck in the blacksmith. " I druv 
 a nail right into a horse's foot last week, and lamed 
 him ; and I'll be upon my word such an awk'ard 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 accident hasn't happened to me — no, not for 
 years." 
 
 " Look at poor Toker, too ! " said a little man, 
 hovering respectfully on the outside of the crowd, — 
 "Wilkes the harher. " How many a hundred times 
 had he gone up the river in that punt of his, and 
 always came home safe till last Friday was a fort- 
 night, and then he got drownded at last ! " 
 
 " I am sorry for Stephen Grey, though," observed 
 a gentleman. " If it has been caused by any mis- 
 take of his he will feel it all his life. A tender- 
 hearted man is Stephen Grey." 
 
 " It appears to me altogether most unaccount- 
 able," remarked, the Reverend Mr. Jones, who was 
 the incumbent of St. Mark's Church, and who had 
 come out to join in the popular gossip and excite- 
 ment. Perhaps because he was a connection of the 
 Greys, his wife and Mrs. John Grey being sisters. 
 " I hear that there was every proof that the jar con- 
 taining the prussic acid — and they have but that 
 one, it appears, in their surgery — had not been 
 touched." 
 
 " Mr. John Grey told me so himself this morn- 
 ing," interrupted another eager voice. " As a proof 
 that their jar had not been touched, it was covered 
 in cobwebs, he said, and remained so covered after 
 the lady was dead; only young Master Fred offi- 
 ciously wiped them off."
 
 POPULAR OPINION IN SOUTH WENNOCK. 131 
 
 There ensued a silence. The crowd generally 
 were deliberating upon this last item of news. It 
 was the first time it had reached them. A substan- 
 tial grocer of the name of Plumstead spoke. He 
 was not particularly affected towards the Greys, for 
 they dealt at a rival shop ; and his voice had a 
 sarcastic tone. 
 
 " It had been better, then, that they had let the 
 cobwebs remain, so that the coroner and jury might 
 have seen them." 
 
 " John Grey is a man of honour. He would not 
 tell a lie." 
 
 One or two shook their heads dubiously. " We 
 don't know what we might do, any of us, toward 
 the saving of a brother." 
 
 "Look here!" broke out a fresh voice. "How 
 could the poison have got into the draught, except 
 when it was being made up ? And how could Mr. 
 Carlton have smelt it, if it had not been in it ? " 
 
 " Of course it was in it. She would not have died 
 if it hadn't been in it." 
 
 " There's the argument. The draught was sent 
 direct from the Greys' surgery to Palace Street, and 
 there's Mr. Carlton and Nurse Pepperfly to testify 
 that it smelt as strong as it could of prussic acid. 
 Why, Mr. Carlton, it turns out, had a sort of suspi- 
 cion that it might do some harm, and called in at 
 
 the Greys' to ask about it, only Mr. Stephen was 
 
 K 2
 
 132 lord oakeurn's daughters. 
 
 out and lie couldn't see him. I heard say that he 
 blames himself now for not having brought the 
 draught away with him." 
 
 " Then why didn't he bring it away ? " 
 ' Well of course he never thought that it was as 
 bad as it turned out to be. And there's a report 
 going about that he desired the sick lady not to 
 take the draught." 
 
 "Who says that?" 
 
 " I heard it." 
 
 " At any rate it seems to come to this," observed 
 a gentleman who had not yet spoken. " That when 
 the draught went out of the Messrs. Greys' surgery 
 it went out with the poison in it. And as Mr. 
 Stephen Grey himself mixed that draught, I don't 
 see how he can shift the dilemma from his own 
 shoulders." 
 
 " Pie can't shift it, sir," said a malcontent. " It's 
 all very well to say young Master Fred wiped the 
 cobwebs off the jar. Perhaps he did ; but not, I'll 
 lay, before they had been previously disturbed." 
 
 "Talking about young Fred," interposed the 
 grocer, " he was going by my shop just now, and I 
 asked him about it. 'My father mixed the draught 
 correctly,' he said ; ' I can be upon my word that 
 he did, for I saw him do it.' ' Can you be upon 
 your oath, Master Frederick ? ' returned I, just by 
 way of catching the young gentleman. ' Yes, I
 
 POPULAR OPINION IN SOUTH WENNOCK. 133 
 
 can, if necessary,' said he, throwing his head back 
 in his haughty, fearless way, and looking me full in 
 the face ; ' but my word is the same as my oath, 
 Mr. Plumstead/ And he went off as corked as 
 could be." 
 
 " Young Fred is a chip of the old Grey block, 
 open and honourable," cried the little barber. " He 
 may have noticed nothing wrong, and if the boy 
 says he didn't, why I don't believe he did." 
 
 " They says," cried another, dropping his voice, 
 " that Mr. Stephen had got his head full of cham- 
 pagne, and couldn't see one bottle from another. 
 That he and Fisher the land-agent had been drink- 
 ing it together." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " rebuked the clergyman. " Mr. 
 Stephen Grey is not one to drink too much." 
 
 " Why, sir," cried the coachman, willing to bear 
 his testimony — for the aspersion just mentioned 
 had not found favour with him, or with many of 
 those around him — " I heard that Mr. Fisher could 
 be a witness in Mr. Stephen's favour, for he stood 
 by and saw him make up the physic." 
 
 At this juncture Mrs. Fitch's head appeared 
 at the side door. She was looking for the coach- 
 man. 
 
 " Now, Sam Heath ! Do you know that your 
 half hour has been up this five minutes ? " 
 
 Sam Heath, the coachman, hastened up the yard,
 
 134 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 as fast as Lis size would permit him. The fresh 
 horses were already attached to the coach, the pas- 
 sengers were waiting to mount. 
 
 Sam Heath had heen gathering in the news of 
 the great event that morning instead of attending 
 to his breakfast, and had become absorbed in it. 
 
 Before the little diversion caused by this inter- 
 ference of Mrs. Fitch was over, another comer had 
 been added to the collected knot of gossipers. It 
 was the gentleman just spoken of, Mr. Fisher, the 
 land surveyor and agent, a pleasant-looking man of 
 thirty, careless in manner as in countenance. Con- 
 sidering what had just been avowed, as to his 
 knowledge of the affair, there was no wonder that 
 he was rapturously received. 
 
 " Here's Fisher ! How d'ye do, Fisher ? I say, 
 Fisher, is it true that your champagne was too 
 potent for Stephen Grey last night, causing him 
 to mistake prussic acid for wholesome syrup of 
 squills ? " 
 
 " That's right ! Go on, all of you ! " returned 
 Fisher, satirically. " Stephen Grey knows better 
 than to drink champagne that's too potent for him, 
 whether mine or anybody else's. I'll just tell you 
 the rights of the case. It was my wife's birthday, 
 
 and- " 
 
 " We heard wedding day," interrupted a voice. 
 " Did you ? then you heard wrong. It was her
 
 POPULAR OPINION IN SOUTH WENNOCK. 135 
 
 birthday, and I was just going to open a bottle of 
 champagne, when Stephen Grey went by, and I got 
 him in to drink her health. My wife had two 
 glasses out of it, and I think he had two, and I 
 had the rest. Stephen Grey was as sober, to all 
 intents and purposes, when he went out of my 
 house as he was when he came into it. I went 
 with him and saw him compound this identical, 
 fatal medicine." 
 
 " You can bear witness that he put no prussic 
 acid into it, then ? " 
 
 " Not I," returned Mr. Fisher. " If it was said 
 to be composed of prussic acid pure, I could not 
 tell to the contrary. I saw him pour two or three 
 liquids together, but whether they were poison, or 
 whether they were not, I could not tell. How 
 should I know his bottles apart ? And if I had 
 known them I took no notice, for I was laughing and 
 joking all the time. This morning, when I was in 
 there, Mr. Whittaker showed me the place of the 
 prussic acid, and I can be upon my oath that no 
 bottle, so high as that, was taken down by Mr. 
 Stephen. So far I can say." 
 
 "Well, of all strange, incomprehensible events, 
 this seems the strangest. If the draught " 
 
 " Take care ! we shall be run over." 
 
 The talkers had to scatter right and left. Sam 
 Heath, in all the pride and glory of his box seat,
 
 130 LORD OAKBURX's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Was driving quickly out of the yard to make up for 
 time wasted, his four handsome horses before him, 
 his coach, filled with passengers inside and out, 
 behind him. It was the break-up of the assemblage, 
 and they dispersed to fall into smaller knots, or to 
 join other groups. 
 
 The probabilities appeared too overwhelming 
 against Stephen Grey. A sort of tide set in against 
 him. Not against the man personally, but against 
 any possibilities that the draught could have been 
 fatally impregnated by other hands than his. In 
 vain a very few attempted to take his part ; to 
 express their belief that, however the poison might 
 have got into the draught, it was not put there by 
 Stephen Grey ; in vain his son Frederick reiterated 
 his declaration, that he had watched the draught 
 mixed, and that it was mixed carefully and correctly ; 
 their speaking was as a hopeless task, for the public 
 mind was made up. 
 
 " Let it rest, Frederick," said Mr. Stephen to his 
 son. " The facts will come to light sometime, I 
 know, and then they'll be convinced." 
 
 " Yes — but meanwhile ? " thought Frederick, 
 with a swelling heart. Ay ! what in the mean- 
 while might happen to his father? Would he be 
 committed for manslaughter? — tried, convicted, 
 punished ?
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JUDITH S PERPLEXITY. 
 
 Upon none did Mrs. Crane's death produce a 
 more startling shock than upon Judith Ford. The 
 hours kept at old Mrs. Jenkinson's were early, and 
 the house had gone to rest when it happened, so 
 that even the servant Margaret did not know of it 
 until the following morning. She did not disturb 
 Judith to tell her. Mrs. Jenkinson the previous 
 night had kindly told Judith to lie in bed as long as 
 she liked in the morning, and try to get her face- 
 ache well. Judith, who had really need of rest, 
 slept long, and it was past nine o'clock when she 
 came down to the kitchen. Margaret was just 
 finishing her own breakfast. 
 
 " How's your face, Judith ? " she asked, busying 
 herself to get some fresh tea for her sister. " It 
 looks better. The swelling has gone down." 
 
 " It is a great deal better," replied Judith. 
 " Margaret, I did not think to lie so late as this ; 
 you should have called me. Thank you, don't
 
 138 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 trouble. I don't feel as if I could eat now ; perhaps 
 I'll take a bit of bread and butter later." 
 
 Margaret got the tea ready in silence. She was 
 wondering how she could best break the news to her 
 sister ; she was sure, break it as gently as she 
 would, that it would be a terrible shock. As she 
 was pouring out the cup of tea her mistress's bell 
 rang, and she had to answer it ; and felt almost 
 glad of the respite. 
 
 "I wonder how Mrs. Crane is this morning?" 
 Judith said when she returned. " Have you 
 heard?" 
 
 " I — I'm afraid she's not quite well this morn- 
 ing," replied Margaret. "Do eat something, Judith 
 — you'll want it." 
 
 "Not well," returned Judith, unmindful of the 
 exhortation to eat. " Has fever come on ?" 
 
 " No, it's not fever. They say — they say — that 
 the wrong medicine has been given to her," brought 
 out Margaret, thinking she was accomplishing her 
 task cleverly. 
 
 "Wrong medicine!" repeated Judith, looking 
 bewildered. 
 
 " It's more than I can understand. But it — they 
 say that the effects will kill her." 
 
 Judith gulped clown her hot tea, rose, and made 
 for the door. Margaret caught her as she was 
 escaping through it.
 
 judith's terplexity. 139 
 
 " Don't go, Judith. You can't do any good. 
 Stop where you are." 
 
 " I must go, Margaret. Those two women in 
 there are not worth a rush, both put together ; at 
 least, the widow's not worth it, and the other can't 
 always be trusted. If she is in danger, poor young 
 lady, you will not see me again until she's out of it. 
 Margaret, then ! you have no right to detain me." 
 
 Margaret contrived to get the door shut, and 
 placed her back against it. " Sit down in that 
 chair, Judith, whil'e I tell you something. It is of 
 no use for you to go in. Do you understand ? — or 
 must I speak plainer ? " 
 
 Judith, overpowered by the strong will so pain- 
 fully and evidently in earnest, sat down in the chair 
 indicated, and waited for an explanation. She could 
 not in the least understand, and stared hard at her 
 sister. 
 
 " It is all over, Judith ; it was over at ten o'clock 
 last night. She is dead." 
 
 The same hard stare on Judith's countenance. 
 She did not speak. Perhaps she could not yet 
 realise the sense of the words. 
 
 " Mr. Stephen Grey sent in a sleeping draught, 
 to be given her the last thing," continued Margaret. 
 " He made some extraordinary mistake in it, and 
 sent poison. As soon as she drank it, she died." 
 
 Judith's face had been growing of a livid, death-
 
 140 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 like whiteness, but there was the same hard, uncom- 
 prehending look upon it. It suddenly changed ; 
 the hard look for intelligence, the uncertainty for 
 horror. She uttered a low shriek, and hid her eyes 
 with her hands. 
 
 " Now this is just what I thought it would be — 
 you do take on so," rebuked Margaret. " It is a 
 shocking thing ; it's dreadful for the poor young 
 lady ; but still she was a stranger to us." 
 
 Judith had begun to shiver. Presently she took 
 her hands from ker eyes and looked at her sister. 
 
 " Mr. Stephen sent the poison, do you say ? " 
 
 " They say it. It's odd to me if he did. But 
 her death, poor thing, seems proof positive." 
 
 " Then he never did send it ! " emphatically cried 
 Judith. " Oh, Margaret, this is awful ! When did 
 she die ?" 
 
 " Well I believe it was about a quarter or ten 
 minutes before ten last night. Mr. Carlton, it 
 appears, called there sometime in the evening, and 
 was there when the draught was brought in, and he 
 smelt the poison in the bottle. He went off to the 
 Greys to ask Mr. Stephen whether it was all right, 
 but she had taken it before he could eet back 
 
 again. 
 
 
 The hard, stony look was re-appearing on Judith's 
 face. She seemed not to understand, and kept her 
 eyes fixed on Margaret.
 
 judith's perplexity. 141 
 
 " If Mr. Carlton smelt the poison, why did he 
 not forbid it to be given to her ? w she said after a 
 while. 
 
 " Well— upon my word I forget. I think, though, 
 Mrs. Gould said he did forbid it. It was from her 
 I got all this ; she came in here as soon as I was 
 down this morning. She is in a fine way, she and 
 old Pepperfly too ; but, as I tell her, there's no need 
 for them to fear. It doesn't seem to have been any 
 fault of theirs." 
 
 Judith rose from her chair where she had quietly 
 sat during the recital. " I must go in and learn 
 more, Margaret," she said in a resolute tone, as if 
 she feared being stopped a second time. 
 
 " Ay, you may go now," was Margaret's answer. 
 " I only wanted to break the news to you first." 
 
 Mrs. Gould and nurse Pepperfly were doing duty 
 over the kitchen fire, talking themselves red in the 
 face, and imbibing a slight modicum of comfort by 
 way of soothing their shattered nerves. Judith 
 saw them as she came up the yard. She crossed 
 the house passage and pushed open the kitchen 
 door. 
 
 Both screamed. Too busy to see or hear her, 
 sitting as they were with their backs to the window, 
 her entrance startled them. That overcome, they 
 became voluble on the subject of the past night; 
 and Judith, leaning against the ironing-board under-
 
 142 lord oakeurn's daughters. 
 
 neath the window, listened attentively, and garnered 
 up the particulars in silence. 
 
 "It is next door to an impossibility that Mr. 
 Stephen could have mixed poison with the draught," 
 was her first rejoinder. " I, for one, will never 
 believe it." 
 
 The room up-stairs was in possession of the 
 police, but Judith was allowed to see it. The poor 
 young face lay white and still, and Judith burst into 
 tears as she gazed at it. 
 
 In going down stairs again she just missed 
 meeting Mr. Carlton. He called at the house, and 
 spoke to the policeman. He, the surgeon, had 
 undertaken to assist the police in their researches 
 to discover who the strange lady was, so far as he 
 could, and had already written to various friends in 
 London if perchance they might have cognisance of 
 her. He appeared inclined to be sharp with Mrs. 
 Pepperfly, almost seeming to entertain some doubt 
 of the woman's state of sobriety at the time of the 
 occurrence. 
 
 " It is a most extraordinary thing to me, Mrs. 
 Pepperfly, that the lady did not tell you I had for- 
 bidden her to take the draught," he said. "lean 
 scarcely think but that she did tell you. And yet 
 you went and gave it to her." 
 
 " I can be upon my Bible oath that she never 
 said nothing to me against taking the draught,"
 
 judith's perplexity. 143 
 
 returned Mrs. Pepperfly, scarcely knowing whether 
 to be indignant or to shed tears at the reproach. 
 11 Quite the conterairy. She wanted to take it, poor 
 soul, right atop of her gruel ; and would have took 
 it so, if I had let her." 
 
 Mr. Carlton threw his light grey eyes straight 
 into the woman's face. 
 
 " Are you sure you remember all the occurrences 
 quite clearly, Mrs. Pepperfly?" 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly understood the insinuation, and 
 fired at it. " I remember 'em just as clear as you 
 do, sir. And I'm thankful to goodness that as fur 
 as that night goes I've not got nothing on my con- 
 science. If it was to come over again to-night, me 
 being still in ignorance of what was to turn out, I 
 should just give her the draught, supposing it my 
 duty, as I give it her then." 
 
 " Well, it appears to me very strange that she 
 should have taken it," concluded Mr. Carlton. 
 
 In the course of the morning, Judith, in going up 
 the street, encountered Frederick Grey. 
 
 " Well, Judith," began the boy in a tone of 
 resentment, " what do you think of this ? " 
 
 " I don't know what to dare to think of it, sir," 
 was Judith's answer. " Nothing in all my life has 
 ever come over me like it." 
 
 " Judith, you know papa. Now, do you believe 
 it within the range of possibility — possibility, mind
 
 I I I LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 you — that he should put prussic ackl, through a 
 careless mistake, into a sleeping draught ? " he con- 
 tinued, in excitement. 
 
 " Master Frederick, I do not believe that he put 
 it in." 
 
 " But now, look here. I was present when that 
 medicine was mixed up. I saw everything my 
 father put into it, watched every motion, and I 
 declare that it was mixed correctly. I happened 
 to be there, leaning with my arms on the counter in 
 a sort of idle fit. When papa came in with Mr. 
 Fisher, he told me to go home to my Latin, but I was 
 in no hurry to obey, and lingered on. I am glad 
 now I did ! Well, that draught I can declare was 
 properly and safely compounded ; and yet, when it 
 gets to Mrs. Crane's, there's said to be poison 
 in it, and she drinks it and dies ! "Who is to explain 
 it or account for it ? " 
 
 Judith did not reply. The hard look, telling 
 of some strange perplexity, was overshadowing her 
 face again. 
 
 " And the town lays the blame upon papa ! 
 They say — oh, I won't repeat to you all they say. 
 But, Judith, there are a few yet who don't believe 
 him guilty." 
 
 " I, for one," she answered. 
 
 " Ay, Judith. I " 
 
 The lad paused. Then he suddenly bent forward
 
 Judith's perplexity. 115 
 
 and whispered something in her ear. Her pale face 
 turned crimson as she listened, and she put up her 
 hands deprecatingly, essaying to stop him. 
 " Hush, hush, Master Grey ! Be silent, sir." 
 " Judith, for two pins I'd say it aloud." 
 " I'd rather you said it aloud than said it to me, 
 sir." 
 
 There was a pause. Frederick Grey threw back 
 his head in the manner he was rather given to, when 
 anything annoyed him, and there was a fearless, 
 resolute expression on his face which caused Judith 
 to fear he was going to speak aloud. She hastened 
 to change the subject. 
 
 " I suppose there will be an inquest, sir." 
 "An inquest! I should just think so. If ever 
 there was a case demanding an inquest, it's this one. 
 If the verdict goes against my father, it will be my 
 fault." And he forthwith described to her how he 
 had wiped the cobwebs from the jar. " The worst 
 of it is, speaking of minor considerations," he went 
 on, " that nobody knows where to write to her friends, 
 or whether she has any. My father sa} r s you took 
 a letter to the post for her." 
 
 " So I did, and the police have just asked me 
 about it," replied Judith ; " but I did not notice 
 the address, except that it was London. It was 
 to that Mrs. Smith who came down and took away 
 the baby." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " They are going to try and find that woman. 
 Carlton says she ought to be found if possible, 
 because, through her, Ave may come at some know- 
 ledge of who Mrs. Crane was, and he has given a 
 description of her to the police ; he saw her on 
 Sunday night at Great "Wennock Station. And now 
 I must make a run for it, Judith, or I shall catch it 
 for loitering." 
 
 The boy ran off. Judith gazed after him as one 
 lost in thought, her countenance resuming its look 
 of hardness, its mazed perplexity.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 
 
 The rain was pouring down in torrents ; never- 
 theless the street of South Wennoek was alive with 
 bustle, especially in the vicinity of the Red Lion 
 inn. It was Thursday, the day appointed for the 
 inquest on the deceased Mrs. Crane. 
 
 The county coroner, whose residence was in the 
 county town, was momentarily expected, and pre- 
 sently his gig dashed up, he and his clerk in it. It 
 had been wished to hold the inquest on the Wednes- 
 day, but the coroner put it off to suit his own con- 
 venience. He was a lawyer; a short, stout man, 
 with black hair and a jovial-looking face ; and as he 
 emerged from under the large gig umbrella, he 
 shook hands with some of the bystanders, his 
 acquaintances. The clerk followed with a blue 
 bag. 
 
 The coroner popped into the bar, swallowed a 
 glass of hot brandy-and-water, and then proceeded 
 to the board-room to swear the jury. It was a long 
 room, the club-room of the inn : a table covered 
 
 L 2
 
 148 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 with green baize ran down it, at which they seated 
 themselves, and the coroner opened proceedings. 
 Then they departed to Palace Street to view the 
 body. 
 
 They went splashing through the rain and the 
 mud, their umbrellas of little use, for the wind, 
 remarkably high, kept turning them inside out. 
 A genteel attendance escorted them : all the gentle- 
 man idlers in the place, all the curious tradespeople, 
 the unwashed mob, and the street urchins. By the 
 pertinacity with which these last dodged the jury's 
 heels, it might be thought that they believed the 
 august functionaries to be living curiosities from a 
 travelling wild -beast show. 
 
 The necessary inspection over, they splashed back 
 to the Red Lion, and the business began. We may 
 glance at the evidence of two or three of the 
 witnesses, but not at all, for it would only be a re- 
 petition of what is already known, and tire the 
 reader. Difficulty the first was : What was the young 
 lady's Christian name ? Nobody could answer ; 
 her linen, it was said, was marked with a large C, 
 the initial letter of the word Crane, but with nothing 
 else. Some suggested that this was more probably 
 the initial of her Christian name — Caroline or 
 Charlotte — but it was impossible to say. Her 
 boxes had been examined officially, the large trunk 
 and the workbox ; but no clue as to who she was, or
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 149 
 
 what she was, was found ; no scrap of paper 
 indicated her previous abode, or why she came 
 there. 
 
 Mrs. Fitch, the landlady of the Bed Lion, told 
 what she knew of the stranger's arrival by the 
 omnibus, the previous Friday, and that she had 
 recommended her to the lodgings in Palace 
 Street. Mr. Stephen Grey testified to his being 
 summoned to her on the same night, to the sub- 
 sequent birth of the infant, and to her safe and 
 healthy condition afterwards, up to seven o'clock 
 on the Monday evening, at which hour he last saw 
 her alive. Mr. John Grey and Mr. Brooklyn from 
 Great Wennock, who had conjointly made the post- 
 mortem examination, gave evidence of the cause of 
 her death — poison, by prussic acid ; and there were 
 other points of evidence, technical or otherwise, 
 not necessary to go into in detail. 
 
 There had been a question raised by the coroner 
 as to whether Mr. Stephen Grey should give his 
 evidence ; that gentleman expressed himself anxious 
 and willing to tender it ; and at length the coroner 
 decided to admit it, warning Mr. Stephen that he 
 need not say anything to criminate himself, and that 
 what he did say might possibly be used as evidence 
 against him. Mr. Stephen smiled, and replied that 
 all he had it in his power to say might be used 
 against him if it could be. He spoke to the
 
 150 LORD OAKEURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 making up of the sleeping draught, to the ingre- 
 dients of which it was composed. Frederick Gre}', 
 his son, testified that he had seen it made up, 
 minutely describing what had been put into it, as 
 his father had done, and to the sending the draught 
 by Dick, the boy. Dick, who was the next witness, 
 protested, with a very red and startled face, caused 
 by finding himself before a coroner's court, that he 
 had taken it safely and given it into the hands of 
 Nurse Pepperfly. 
 
 " Call Nurse Pepperfly," said the coroner. 
 
 Nurse Pepperfly was called for in the adjoining 
 room and escorted in, in rather a shaky state, not 
 induced by the imbibing of strong waters — from 
 such she had that morning kept herself free — but 
 from the general agitation caused by the anticipated 
 proceedings. She had attired herself in her best, 
 of course ; a short black stuff gown, the worse for 
 stains and dirt, a scarlet woollen shawl, and a rusty 
 black bonnet with a bow at the top. The wind, as 
 she came along the street, had taken the shaw r ], 
 the bonnet, and the grey hairs underneath, and 
 played with them after its own boisterous fashion ; 
 so that altogether Nurse Pepperfly presented a 
 somewhat bewildered and untidy appearance. She 
 wore pattens and white stockings, the latter a mass 
 of splashes, and very distinctly visible from the 
 shortness of the gown ; but the extraordinary ro-
 
 THE CORONERS INQUEST. 151 
 
 tundity of Mrs. Pepperfly's person seemed almost to 
 preclude the possibility of any gown's being made 
 long enough to hide her legs. She took off her 
 pattens when close to the coroner, and held them 
 in one hand : her umbrella, dripping with rain, 
 being in the other. A remarkable umbrella, ap- 
 parently more for show than use, since its sticks 
 and wires projected a full foot at the bottom through 
 the gingham, and there was no handle visible at the 
 top. There was a smothered smile at her appear- 
 ance when she came in, and her evidence caused 
 some diversion, not only in itself, but from the 
 various honorary titles she persisted in according to 
 the coroner and jury. 
 
 " Your name's Pepperny ?" began the coroner. 
 
 " Which it is, my lord, with Betsy added to it," 
 was the response, given with as deep a curtsey 
 as the witness's incumbrances of person w r ould 
 allow her. 
 
 "You mean Elizabeth?" said the coroner, raising 
 his pen from his note-book, and waiting. 
 
 " Your worship, I never knowed myself called by 
 anything but Betsy. It may be as 'Lizabeth was 
 written in the register at my baptism, but I can't 
 speak to it. Mother " 
 
 " That will do," said the coroner, and after a 
 few more questions he came to the chief point. 
 "Did you take in some medicine last Monday
 
 152 LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 evening for the lady you were nursing — Mrs. 
 Crane ? " 
 
 "Yes, my lord, I did. It were a composing 
 draught; leastways, that's what it ought to have 
 been." 
 
 " What time was that." 
 
 " It were after dark, sir, and I was at my supper." 
 " Can't you tell the time ? " 
 
 " It must have struck eight, I think, your 
 worship, for I had begun to feel dreadful peckish 
 afore I went down, and eight o'clock's my supper 
 hour. I had just finished it, sir, when the ring 
 
 came ; it were pickled herrings that we had " 
 
 " The jury do not want to know what you had for 
 supper ; confine yourself to the necessary points. 
 Who brought the medicine ? " 
 
 " That boy of the Mr. Greys : Dick. An insolent 
 young rascal, Mr. Mayor, as you ever set eyes on. 
 He whips up the cover of his basket, and out he 
 takes a small bottle wrapped in white paper and 
 gives it me. I should like to tell you, my lord, 
 what he said to me." 
 
 " If it bears upon the case, you can tell it," replied 
 the coroner. 
 
 " 'Now, Mother Pepperfly/ said he, ' how are you 
 off for Old Tom to-night ? ' My fingers tingled to 
 get at his ears, my lord mayor and corporation, but 
 he backed out of my reach."
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 153 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly in her indignation had turned 
 round to the jury, expecting their sympathy, and the 
 room burst into a laugh. 
 
 "He backed away out of my reach, gentlemen, 
 afeard of getting his deserts, and he stopped in the 
 middle of the road and made a mocking face at me, 
 knowing I'd no chance of getting to him, for they are 
 as lissome as cats, them boys, and I'm rather stout to 
 set up a run." 
 
 " I told you to confine yourself to evidence," said 
 the coroner, in a reproving tone. " What did you 
 do with the medicine ? " 
 
 " I took it up -stairs, gentlefolks, and Mr. Carlton 
 came out of the lady's room, for he had just called 
 in, and asked what it was I had got. I said it was 
 the sleeping draught from Mr. Grey's, and he took 
 it out of mv hand, and said how it smelt of oil of 
 almonds." 
 
 " Oil of almonds ? Are you sure that's what 
 he said ? " 
 
 " Of course I am sure," retorted Mrs. Pepperfly. 
 " I didn't dream it. He took out the cork and he 
 smelt the stuff, and then he said it. ' What could 
 Mr. Stephen Grey be giving her oil of almonds 
 for ? ' he said." 
 
 " Did you smell it ? " 
 
 " I can't say I did, your lordship, much ; though 
 Mr. Carlton was surprised I couldn't, and put it
 
 154 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 towards ine ; but my nose hadn't got no smell 
 in it just at that particular moment, and so I 
 told him."' 
 
 " Why had it not? " inquired the coroner. 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly would have liked to evade the 
 question. She fidgeted, first on one leg, then on the 
 other, put down her pattens and took them up 
 again, and gave her umbrella a shake, the effect of 
 which was to administer a shower of rain-drops to 
 all the faces in her vicinity. 
 
 " Come/' said the coroner, sharply, " you stand 
 there to tell the truth. If the stuff emitted so 
 strong a smell, how was it you could not smell 
 it?" 
 
 "I had just swallowed a wee drop of gin, sir," 
 replied Mrs. Pepperfly, in a subdued tone. " When 
 my supper were over, Mrs. Gould says to me, 
 ' Just a drain, mum, to keep the herrings down, it's 
 obligatory for your health ; ' and knowing I'm weak 
 in the stomach, gentlefolks, which gets upset at 
 nothing,' I let myself be over-persuaded, and 
 took a drain ; but you couldn't have put it into 
 a thimble/' 
 
 " I daresay you couldn't," said the coroner, while 
 the room tittered. 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly's slip of the tongue took her 
 aback. 
 
 " I meant to say as 'twouldn't have filled a
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 155 
 
 thimble, gentry, I did indeed, for that was the 
 fact; but no wonder my wits is scared out of me, 
 a-standing up here afore you all. Just as I was a 
 swallowing of the wee drain, the ring came to the 
 door, so that I had, as you may say, the gin 
 actually in my mouth when I took the medicine 
 up-stairs ; and that's the reason I hadn't got no 
 smell for anything else." 
 
 " Who took possession of the draught ? You, or 
 Mr. Carlton, or the sick lady ? " 
 
 " I did, your honours. I put it by the side of 
 the rest of the bottles on the chefionier in the 
 sitting-room, and " 
 
 " Was there any other bottle there that could 
 have been mistaken for this ? ' ; interrupted the 
 coroner. 
 
 " Not one in all the lot/' responded the witness. 
 " They were most of them empty bottles, and bigger 
 than the one the draught was in ; and they are there 
 still." 
 
 " Had any person an opportunity of touching 
 that bottle in the intermediate time between your 
 placing it there, and your administering it to the 
 patient ? " 
 
 " There wasn't nobody in the house to touch it," 
 returned the witness. " I was nearly all the time 
 afterwards in the room, and there was nobody else. 
 When I went to get it to give it to the lady, Mrs.
 
 150 lord oakrurn's daughters. 
 
 Gould lighted me, and I'm sure it hadn't been 
 touched, for the shelf of that cheffonier's a tilting, 
 narrow sort of place, and I had put the draught 
 bottle right in the corner, slanting again' the back, 
 and there I found it." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton was gone then ? " 
 
 " Mr. Carlton ? Oh, he went directly almost 
 after the draught came. He didn't stay long, your 
 reverences." 
 
 " Witness, I am going to ask you a question ; be 
 particular in answering it. There has been a 
 rumour gaining credit, that Mr. Carlton warned } r ou 
 not to administer that draught ; is it correct ? " 
 
 " I declare, to the goodness gracious, that Mr. 
 Carlton never said nothing of the sort," returned 
 the witness, putting herself into a flurry. " My 
 lord — your worship — gentlemen of the honourable 
 corporation all round " (turning herself about be- 
 tween the coroner and jury), " if it was the last 
 blessed word I had to speak, I'd stand to it that 
 Mr. Carlton never said a word to me about not 
 giving the draught. He snifted at it, as if he'd 
 like to snift out what it was made of, and he put 
 a drop on his finger and tasted it, and he said it 
 smelt of oil of almonds ; but, as to saying he told 
 me not to give it, it's a barefaced falsehood, my 
 lord judge. He says he ordered Mrs. Crane not 
 to take it, but I declare on my oath that he never
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 157 
 
 said anything about it to me. And she didn't, 
 neither." 
 
 The coroner had allowed her to spend her wrath. 
 "You administered the draught yourself to Mrs. 
 Crane ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did, as it were my place to do, and Mrs. 
 Gould stood by, a-lighting of me. I put it out into 
 a wine-glass, sir, and then, my mouth being all 
 right again, I smelt it strong enough, and so did 
 Mrs. Gould." 
 
 " The lady did not object to take it ? " 
 " No, poor thing, she never objected to nothing 
 as we give her, and she was quite gay over it. As 
 I held it to her she gave a snift, as Mr. Carlton had 
 done, and she smiled. ' It smells like cherry pie, 
 nurse,' said she, and swallowed it down ; and a'most 
 before we could look round, she was gone. Ah, 
 poor young lady ! I should like to have the hand- 
 ling of them that put it in." 
 
 Mrs. Pepperfly, in her sympathy with the dead, or 
 rage against the destroyer, raised her hands before 
 her and shook them. The rings of the pattens clanked 
 together, and the umbrella was ejecting its refreshing 
 drops, when an officer of the court seized her arms 
 from behind, and poured an anathema into her ear. 
 '' A coroner's court was not a place to wring 
 wet umberellas in, and if she didn't mind, she'd get 
 committed."
 
 158 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " Were you conscious that she was dead ? " in- 
 quired the coroner. 
 
 " Not at first, rny lord judge, not right off at the 
 moment. I thought she was fainting, or took ill in 
 some way. ' What have upset her now ? ' I says 
 to Mrs. Gould, and, with that, I took off her night- 
 cap, and rose her head up. Not for long, though," 
 concluded the witness, shaking her head. " I soon 
 see she was gone." 
 
 " You know nothing whatever, then, nor have you 
 any suspicion, how the poison could have got into 
 the draught ? " 
 
 The coroner put this question at the request of 
 one of the jury. 
 
 " I ! " returned Mrs. Pepperfly, amazed at its 
 being asked her. " No ; I wish I did. I jvish I 
 could trace it home to some such a young villain 
 as that Dick who brought the bottle down ; I'd 
 secure a good place to go and see him hung, if I 
 had to stand on my legs twelve hours for it — and 
 they swell frightful in standing, do my legs, ray 
 lord." 
 
 " The boy had not meddled with the medicine in 
 bringing it ? " cried the coroner, waving his hand 
 to put down the introduced irreverence, touching 
 the legs. 
 
 " Not he, my lord mayor," was the reply of the 
 witness. " I wish he had, that I might have been
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 159 
 
 down upon him, the monkey ! But I be upon my 
 oath, and must speak the truth, which is that 
 the bottle came neat and untouched, the white 
 paper round it, just as the Greys send out their 
 physics." 
 
 They had done with Mrs. Pepperfly for the 
 present, and she made a curtsey to the four sides of 
 the room, and sailed out of it. 
 
 The next witness called was Lewis Carlton. His 
 gentlemanly appearance, good looks, and the ready 
 manner in which he gave his evidence, presented a 
 contrast to the lady just retired. 
 
 " Upon my returning home from a journey last 
 Sunday night," he began, when the coroner desired 
 him to state what he knew, " one of my servants 
 handed me a note, which had been left for me, he 
 said, on the previous Friday. It proved to be from 
 a Mrs. Crane, requesting to see me professionally, 
 and was dated from the house in Palace Street, 
 where she now lies dead. I went there at once, 
 found that she had been confined, and was being- 
 attended by Mr. Stephen Grey, who had been called 
 
 to her in consequence of my absence " 
 
 The coroner interposed with a question : 
 " Have you that note to produce ? " 
 Now the witness had not that note to produce, 
 and, what was somewhat singular, he did not know 
 for certain what had become of the note. "When he
 
 1G0 LORD OAKIU'Kn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 was going to visit Mrs. Crane on the Sunday night, 
 he looked for the note, as may be remembered, and 
 could not see it ; therefore he came to the conclu- 
 sion that he had thrown it into the fire with the 
 other letters. 
 
 " I really do not think I saved it," he answered. 
 " It is not my custom to keep notes of that sort, 
 and, though I do not positively recollect doing so, 
 I have no doubt I put it in the fire as soon as read. 
 I have looked for it since, but cannot find it. There 
 was nothing in the note that would have thrown light 
 upon the case ; half-a-dozen formal lines, chiefly re- 
 questing me to call and see her, comprised it." 
 
 " Was it signed with her full name ? " 
 
 " Her full name ? " repeated Mr. Carlton, as if 
 he scarcely understood the question. 
 
 " "We have no clue to her Christian name. This 
 note may have supplied it. Or perhaps it was 
 written in the third person." 
 
 " Oh, of course ; I scarcely comprehended you," 
 answered Mr. Carlton. " It was written in the 
 third person. ' Mrs. Crane presents her compli- 
 ments to Mr. Carlton,' &c. That's how it was 
 worded. I gathered from it that she did not expect 
 to be ill before May." 
 
 " In your interview with her that evening did you 
 obtain any information as to who she was ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest. It was late, and I thought
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 161 
 
 it unwise to disturb her ; what little passed between 
 us related chiefly to her state of health. I regretted 
 my absence, and said I was glad to find she was 
 doing well, under Mr. Stephen Grey. She wished 
 rne to attend her, now I had returned, and I under- 
 stood her to say she had been recommended to me by 
 friends, previous to her coming to South Wennock." 
 
 " Do you know by whom ? " 
 
 " I have no idea whatever, and I am not abso- 
 lutely certain that she did say it. She appeared 
 drowsy, spoke in a low tone, and I did not precisely 
 catch the words. I intended to ask her about it 
 after she got better and was more equal to con- 
 versation. There are none of my own friends or 
 acquaintance who bear the name of Crane — none 
 that I can remember." 
 
 " Did you take charge of her from that hour ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I should not do so without her 
 being professionally resigned to me by Mr. Stephen 
 Grey. I met Mr. Stephen in High Street the fol- 
 lowing day, Monday, and I requested him as a 
 favour to retain charge of her until that evening or 
 the following morning. I found so much to do for 
 my patients after my short absence, that I bad not 
 time to meet him, before that, at Mrs. Crane's. It 
 was arranged that I should be there at seven in 
 the evening, if I were able ; if not, at ten the next 
 morning." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 102 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Did you keep the appointment at seven ? " 
 
 " No, I could not. I did get down, but it was 
 more than an hour later, and Mr. Stephen had 
 gone. Mrs. Crane appeared to be very well, except 
 that she was a little heated ; she was in very good 
 spirits, and I told her I should take formal posses- 
 sion of her the next morning at ten. She seemed 
 to think I might ha,ve done so that day, and I 
 explained to her how I had been driven with my 
 patients. I inquired if she was not satisfied with 
 Mr. Stephen Grey, but she expressed herself as 
 being perfectly satisfied with him, and said he had 
 been very kind to her." 
 
 " Did you inquire of her then by whom she was 
 recommended to you ? " 
 
 " I did not. She seemed restless, a little excited ; 
 therefore I put no questions to her of any sort, save 
 as regarded her health." 
 
 " Did the draught come while you were there ? " 
 
 " Yes. Whilst I was talking with Mrs. Crane, 
 I heard a ring at the front bell, and some one came 
 up the stairs, and entered the sitting-room. I 
 thought it might be Mr. Stephen Grey, and stepped 
 there to see, but it was the nurse. She had a small 
 bottle of medicine in her hand, which she said was 
 the composing draught, and upon looking at the 
 direction, I saw that it was." 
 
 "Did you perceive that it bore any peculiar smell? "
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 163 
 
 " Yes, the moment I had it in my hands. Before 
 I had well taken out the cork, the strong smell 
 struck me ; I thought it was oil of almonds ; but I 
 soon found it was prussic acid." 
 
 " It smelt of prussic acid ? " 
 
 " Very strongly. The nurse professed not to be 
 able to smell it, which I could scarcely believe. I 
 wondered why Mr. Grey should be administering 
 prussic acid, especially in a composing draught, but 
 it was not for me to question his treatment, and I 
 returned the bottle to the nurse." 
 
 "You did not suspect there was sufficient in to 
 kill her?" 
 
 Mr. Carlton stared, and then broke into a sort of 
 bitter smile. 
 
 " The question is superfluous, sir. Had I sus- 
 pected that, I would have taken better care than I 
 did that she did not drink it. Minute doses of 
 prussic acid are sometimes necessary to be given, 
 and I could not tell what symptoms had arisen in the 
 patient that day. When I returned to Mrs. Crane's 
 chamber, which I did for a few minutes before leav- 
 ing, I could not get the smell out of my head. The 
 thought occurred to me, could there have been any 
 mistake in the making up of the draught? — for of 
 course we all know that such errors have occurred, 
 and not unfrequently, especially when inexperienced 
 apprentices have been entrusted to make them up. 
 
 M 2
 
 104 LORD OAKE-URN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 An impulse prompted me to desire Mrs. Crane not 
 to take the draught, and I did so. I " 
 
 " Did you acquaint her with your fears that there 
 might be poison in it ? " 
 
 Again the witness smiled. " Pardon me, Mr. 
 Coroner; you do not know much of sick treat- 
 ment, or you would not ask the question. Had 
 I said to the patient that I thought her medicine 
 might have been poisoned by mistake, I should 
 possibly have given her a dangerous fright ; and 
 all frights are dangerous for women in her con- 
 dition. I told her I did not quite approve of the 
 draught Mr. Stephen Grey had sent in, and that 
 I would go and speak to him about it ; but I 
 charged her not to take to it, unless she heard 
 again from me, or from Mr. Grey, that she might 
 do so." 
 
 "How do you account, then, for her having taken 
 it?" 
 
 " I cannot account for it : my words were as posi- 
 tive as they could well be, short of alarming her. 
 I can only think that she forgot what I said to 
 her." 
 
 "Did you also warn the woman — Pepperfly ?" 
 
 " No. I deemed my warning to Mrs. Crane suffi- 
 cient ; and I did not see Mrs. Pepperfly about, 
 when I left the house." 
 
 " Do you not think, Mr. Carlton, it would have
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 165 
 
 been a safer plan, had you pw# the suspected 
 draught into your pocket?" inquired one of the 
 
 jury. 
 
 " If we could foresee what is about to happen, 
 we should act differently in many ways, all of us," 
 retorted the witness, who seemed cross that his pru- 
 dence should be reflected on, and who possibly felt 
 vexed at there being any grounds for its being so. 
 " AVhen a calamity has happened, we say, • if I had 
 known, I would have done so and so, and prevented 
 it.' You may be sure, sir, that had I known there 
 was enough poison in that draught to kill Mrs. 
 Crane, or that she would disregard any injunction, 
 and imbibe it, I should have brought it away, with 
 me. I have regretted not doing so ever since. But 
 where's the use of regretting ? it will not recall her 
 to life." 
 
 " Go on, sir," said the coroner. 
 
 " I went to the Messrs. Grey's. My intention 
 was to see Mr. Stephen, to tell him of the smell 
 the draught bore, and inquire if it was right. But 
 I could not see Mr. Stephen : the assistant, Mr. 
 Whittaker, said he was out. I considered what 
 to do ; and determined to go home, make up a 
 proper composing draught, and bring it down. I 
 was rather longer over this than I thought to be, 
 for I found myself obliged to see a patient in the 
 interim."
 
 100 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " You deemecf a composing draught necessary for 
 her yourself, then ?" 
 
 "Mr. Stephen Grey had deemed so, and we 
 medical men rarely like to call in question another's 
 treatment. But I did think it expedient that she 
 should take a soothing draught, for she appeared 
 to be flushed — rather excited, I should say. I 
 was coming clown with the fresh draught in my 
 pocket, when I met the landlady in a wild state 
 of alarm, with the news that Mrs. Crane was 
 dead." 
 
 " Were you the first with her after death ?" 
 
 "I was the first, except the nurse; but I had 
 not been in the room above a minute when the 
 Reverend Mr. Lycett followed me. We found her 
 quite dead." 
 
 " And, in your opinion, what was the cause ? " 
 
 " The taking of prussic acid. There is no doubt 
 about it : there was no mistaking the smell from her 
 mouth." 
 
 " Look at this phial, Mr. Carlton," continued the 
 coroner : " does it bear any resemblance to the one 
 which contained the fatal draught?" 
 
 "It appears to be like it. The directions and 
 handwriting are similar. Oh, yes," he added, as he 
 took out the cork, " it is the same : the smell is in 
 it still." 
 
 " Did you observe where the last witness, Pep-
 
 THE CORONER'S INQUEST. 167 
 
 perfly, put the bottle containing the draught, after 
 you returned it to her ? I mean when it was first 
 delivered at the house." 
 
 " I cannot tell where she put it. I did not 
 notice." 
 
 "You did not touch the bottle again, before you 
 left the house?" 
 
 Mr. Carlton turned sharply round, facing the 
 audience at the back of the room. 
 " Who called me ?" he inquired. 
 There had been a great deal of talking, the last 
 minute or two, amidst this crowd, and Mr. Carlton's 
 name was mentioned in conjunction with others ; 
 but nobody would confess to having called him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Coroner," he said, 
 turning back to resume his evidence, " I certainly 
 thought some one called me ; and that, whoever it 
 might be, was guilty, considering the time and place, 
 of disrespect to the law. You were inquiring if I 
 touched the phial again before I left the house, after 
 resigning it to Mrs. Pepperfly : I neither touched it 
 nor knew where it was." 
 
 " If the proceedings are interrupted by specta- 
 tors, I shall order the room to be cleared," said the 
 coroner, directing his eyes and voice to the part 
 whence the noise had proceeded. " Those who 
 want to talk can go outside." 
 
 The coroner glanced over his notes ; he had
 
 1G8 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 apparently come to an end, or nearly so, of the 
 examination of Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " Before you retire, I must ask } r ou one more 
 question," said he, looking up. " Have you any 
 clue to this mystery — any suspicion of how the 
 poison could have got into the draught ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton remained silent. Was he dehating 
 with himself whether he should tell of the face he 
 had seen on the staircase but an hour before the 
 death — the strange, dread face on which the moon 
 was shining ? It is certain that that mysterious 
 face had haunted Mr. Carlton's mind more than 
 was pleasant, both at the time and since. Was he 
 doubting whether to denounce it now, as something 
 which had no business in the house, and which 
 might have been connected with the mystery ? or 
 did he shrink from the ridicule that would attach to 
 him, at confessing to superstitious fears ? 
 
 " You do not answer," said the coroner, amidst 
 the dead silence of the court. 
 
 Mr. Carlton drew a long breath. His thoughts 
 took a different bent, unconnected with the face. 
 
 " I cannot say that I suspect any one," he said, 
 at length. " Neither can I imagine how the poison 
 could have been introduced to the draught, except 
 in the making up, seeing that it smelt of it when it 
 came to Mrs. Crane's." 
 
 Another silence, which the coroner broke.
 
 the coroner's ixquest. 169 
 
 " Very well ; that is, I believe, all I have to ask 
 you, Mr. Carlton ; and I am sure," he added, " that 
 the jury feel obliged to you for the ready and candid 
 manner in which you have given your evidence." 
 
 Mr. Carlton bowed to the coroner, and was 
 retiring ; but the coroner's clerk, who appeared to 
 have certain memoranda before him to which he 
 occasionally referred, whispered something in the 
 ear of the coroner. 
 
 " Oh, ay ; true," remarked the latter. " A mo- 
 ment yet, Mr. Carlton. Did you not encounter at 
 Great Wennock, on Sunday evening, the person 
 called Mrs. Smith, who took away this unhappy 
 lady's child ? " 
 
 "I saw a person there in the waiting-room of 
 the station, who had a very young infant with 
 her. There is little doubt it was the infant in 
 question." 
 
 " You had some conversation with her. Did she 
 give any clue as to who the lady was ? " 
 
 " She gave me none. I did not know what had 
 occurred, and supposed the child to be the offspring 
 of some resident at South Wennock. I told her 
 that the child was too young and feeble to travel 
 with safety, and she replied that necessity had no 
 law — or something to that effect. I was talking 
 with her but a minute or two, and chiefly about the 
 omnibus, which she said had bruised her much, in
 
 170 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 its reckless jolts over the ruts and stones. That 
 was all." 
 
 " Should you know her again." 
 
 " I might ; I am not sure. I had no very clear 
 view of her face, for it was dusk." 
 
 " Did she say where she was going ? " 
 
 " No, she did not." 
 
 " That's all then, I think, Mr. Carlton."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 
 
 After Mr. Carlton's dismissal, the coroner and 
 jury spoke for some time together, and the result 
 was that Betsy Pepperfly was called for again. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Pepperfly," the coroner began, " do 
 you mean to repeat to me that the deceased lady 
 made no objection to take that draught ?" 
 
 " She didn't make none at all, my lord mayor. 
 If she had, why should she have took it ? she was 
 missis. Quite the conterairy of her objecting, it 
 were ; for she asked for it as soon as she'd swal- 
 lowed her gruel ; but I told her she must not take 
 one right atop of t'other." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton says he gave her a charge not 
 to touch the draught. And you tell me upon 
 your oath that she took it without making any 
 demur ? " 
 
 " I tell you so, Mr. Mayor, upon my Bible oath, 
 and I'd take twenty oaths to it, if you liked. But if 
 you and the honourable corporation" (turning to 
 the jury) " can't believe me, why don't you please
 
 172 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 ask the Widow Gould ? — From nine o'clock, or a 
 little before it, the time Mrs. Crane had her gruel, 
 the widow never was out of the room at all, and she 
 can speak to all that passed as correctly as me. 
 Not that you'll get much out of her," added Mrs. 
 Pepperfly, in a parenthesis, " for she's a-shaking 
 and sobbing with fright in the next room, afeard of 
 being called in here. She thinks it's like being 
 tried, you see, gentlefolks, and she says she never 
 was had afore a lord judge and jury in her life, and 
 never stood at a transportation bar." 
 
 After this luminous piece of information, Betsy 
 Pepperfly finally retired, and the shaky Mrs. Gould 
 was supported in, attired in the poke bonnet and 
 the plaid shawl she had lent to Judith. To try to 
 convince the widow that she was not about to be 
 arraigned at a criminal bar was a hopeless task ; 
 her mind upon the subject of bars in general and 
 courts in particular, presenting a mass of inextri- 
 cable confusion. She carried some pungent smell- 
 ing salts, and somebody had thrust into her hand 
 a pint bottle of vinegar, wherewith to bedew her 
 handkerchief and her face ; but her shaky hand 
 poured so much aside, that the whole room was 
 impregnated with the odour. 
 
 " What's your name, ma'am?" asked the coroner, 
 when the business of swearing her had been got 
 over with difficulty.
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 173 
 
 " Oh, dear gentlemen, do be merciful to me ! 
 I'm nothing but a poor widow ! " was the sobbing 
 answer. 
 
 " Well, what's your name, if you are a widow ? " 
 returned the coroner. 
 
 " It's Eliza Gould. Oh, goodness, be good to 
 me!" 
 
 " Now, if you don't just calm yourself and show a 
 little common sense, perhaps you'll be made to do 
 it," cried the coroner, who was a hot-tempered man. 
 " What are } r ou afraid of? — that you are going to be 
 eaten ? " 
 
 " I never did no wrong to nobody, as I can call 
 to mind — and it's a dreadful disgrace to be brought 
 here, and me a lone widow ! " hysterically answered 
 Mrs. Gould, while the vinegar was dropping from 
 her eyebrows and nose. 
 
 " How old are you, ma'am ? " snappishly asked 
 the coroner. 
 
 " Old ? " shrieked Mrs. Gould. " Is this a court 
 of that sort of inquiry ? " 
 
 " It's a court where you must answer what 
 questions are required of you. How old are you, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gould moaned, and brought out in a tone 
 scarcely audible, that she believed she might be as 
 much as forty-two. 
 
 The coroner looked at her grey hairs and her
 
 174 LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 wrinkles, and perhaps lie was not disinclined for a 
 minute's sport. 
 
 " Forty-two," said he, in a loud voice, to his clerk, 
 " take it down. You have spoken correctly, ma'am, 
 I hope," he added, turning again to the witness. 
 " This is a court of justice, remember, and you are 
 upon your oath ; you would not like to be tried for 
 perjury." 
 
 Mrs. Gould sobbed, and shrieked, and finally went 
 off into real hysterics. "When the bustle was over, 
 the coroner began again. 
 
 " We have not quite got over the question of age. 
 How old did you say you were ? " 
 
 " Must I tell it ? " sobbed Mrs. Gould. 
 
 " Of course you must. And now, ma'am, take 
 notice that I ask you for the last time ; I cannot 
 have the moments of the court wasted in this man- 
 ner. How old are you? "j 
 
 " I'm only fifty-six," howled Mrs. Gould, amidst 
 a torrent of tears and vinegar and a roar of laughter 
 from the room. 
 
 " Draw your pen through forty-two, Mr. Clerk ; 
 and now perhaps we can go on to business. What 
 do you know regarding the young lady who took 
 your rooms, Mrs. Gould ? " 
 
 " I don't know anything of her, except that she 
 had a ring on her finger, and therefore must have 
 been married," replied the witness, whose answers
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 175 
 
 in general life had a frequent tendency to veer from 
 the question. 
 
 " Do you know where she came from, or why she 
 came, or who her relations might be, or whether she 
 had any ? " 
 
 " She said Mrs. Fitch sent her to me, and she 
 said her husband was travelling, and she said no 
 more," continued the witness between her sighs. 
 
 " Did she say where he was travelling, or what he 
 was ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Oh me, I think I shall faint ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you'll be so complaisant as to wait till 
 your evidence is over, and then faint," suggested 
 the coroner, blandly. " Did she tell you that she 
 purposed making a long stay ? " 
 
 " She told me she meant to be ill at my house, 
 and that she did not expect the illness until May. 
 She made me tell her the names of the doctors at 
 South Wennock, which I did, and I spoke up for 
 the Mr. Greys, as was only neighbourly, but she 
 said she would have Mr. Carlton." 
 
 " Did she give any particular reason for choosing 
 Mr. Carlton ? " 
 
 " She said she had a prejudice against the Greys, 
 through something she'd heard ; and she said some 
 friends of hers had recommended Mr. Carlton. But, 
 I've had it upon my mind, all along, that it was the 
 cabrioily did it."
 
 17G LORD OAKBUltx's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " That it was what did it ? " exclaimed the 
 coroner, while the jury raised their faces. 
 
 " The cabrioily. She got me to describe about 
 the Mr. Greys to her, what they were like ; and she 
 got me to describe about Mr. Carlton, what he was 
 like, and I did, sir, meaning no harm. I said that 
 the Mr. Greys were pleasant gentlemen who con- 
 tented themselves with a gig; and that Mr. Carlton 
 was pleasant too, but grand, and had set up his 
 cabrioily. I think that did it, sir, the cabrioily ; I think 
 she couldn't resist choosing Mr. Carlton, after that." 
 
 There was a coughing and choking in the room, 
 and the coroner's clerk shook as he took down the 
 evidence. The witness called words after her own 
 fashion of pronunciation, and the stress she laid 
 upon the " oil " in cabrioily was something new, 
 indeed, the word, altogether, was new, in her lips— « 
 " cab-ri-oil-y." 
 
 " She wrote a note to Mr. Carlton," proceeded 
 the witness, " and I got it taken to his house. And 
 when the messenger came back with the news that 
 he was away, she cried." 
 
 " Cried ! " echoed the coroner. 
 
 " Yes, sir, she said the note she had sent to Mr. 
 Carlton engaged him, and she could not afford to 
 pay two doctors. But we told her that if Mr. Grey 
 attended for Mr. Carlton, she would only have to 
 pay one. And that, or something else, seemed to
 
 ME. CARLTON RECALLED. 177 
 
 reconcile her, for she let Mr. Stephen Grey he 
 fetched, after all ; and when it was over, she said 
 how glad she was to have had him, and what a plea- 
 sant man he was. The oddest part of it all is, that 
 she had no money." 
 
 " How do you know she had none ? " 
 
 " Because, sir, none has been found, and them 
 police gentlemen is keen at searching ; nothing- 
 escapes 'em. She had the best part of a sovereigu 
 in her purse — nineteen and sixpence, they say, but 
 no more. So, how she looked to pay her expenses, 
 her doctor and her nurse, and me — and Mother 
 Pepperfly a boarding with me at the lady's request, 
 and she don't eat a trifle — she best knew, and I say 
 that it does look odd." 
 
 " You regaled Mrs. Pepperfly with gin," spoke up 
 one of the jury, relaxing from the majesty of his 
 office. ' Was that to be charged, or was it a spon- 
 taneous treat ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, good gentlemen, don't, pray throw it 
 in my teeth," sobbed the widow. " I did happen to 
 have a drop of the vulgar stuff in the house ; which 
 it must have been some I got for the workmen when 
 I moved into it three years ago, and have stopped 
 ever since on the top shelf of my kitchen cupboard, 
 in a cracked bottle. I couldn't touch a drop of gin 
 myself without heaving, gentlemen; my inside would 
 turn against it 
 
 ii 
 
 VOL. I. x
 
 178 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Gould's eyes likewise turned 
 against it, for they were cast up with the fervour 
 of her assertion till nothing but the whites were 
 visible. 
 
 " Ahem !" interrupted the coroner, "you are on 
 your oath ; " and Mrs. Gould's eyes came down 
 with a start at the words, and her mouth with 
 them. 
 
 " Leastways unless I feel ill," she interjected. 
 
 " This is wasting time, ma'am," said the coroner ; 
 "we must hasten on. Can you account for the 
 poison getting into the composing draught sent in 
 by Mr. Grey ? Did it get into it after it came into 
 your house ? " 
 
 The witness was considerably astonished at the 
 question ; considerably flustered. 
 
 " Why, you don't think I'd go and put it in ? " 
 she uttered, subsiding into another fit of sobs. 
 
 " I ask 3'ou," said the coroner, " as a matter of 
 form, whether there was any one likely to do 
 such a thing ; any one of whom you can entertain a 
 suspicion ? " 
 
 " Of course, gentlemen, if you mean to accuse me 
 and Mrs. Pepperfly of poisoning her by prussic acid, 
 the sooner you do it the better," howled the widow. 
 " We never touched the bottle. As the Greys' boy 
 brought it, so it was given to her. And there was 
 nobudy else to touch it — although Mr. Carlton as
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 179 
 
 good as accused us of having got a whiskered man 
 in the house on the sty ! " 
 
 The coroner pricked up his ears. "When was 
 that ? " 
 
 " The night of the death, sir. He was there when 
 the draught came, was Mr. Carlton, and when I 
 heard him coming down the stairs to leave, I ran 
 out of the kitchen to open the door for him. f Is 
 there a man upstairs ? ' asked he. ' A man, sir,' I 
 answered. ' No, sir ; what sort of a man ? ' 'I 
 thought I saw one hiding on the landing/ said he, 
 1 a man with whiskers/ ' No, sir/ says I, indignant. 
 ' we don't want no man in this house.' ' It was my 
 fancy, no doubt,' answered he ; ' I thought I'd just 
 mention it, lest any blackguard should have got in.' 
 But now, gentlemen," continued the widow, wrath- 
 fully, "I just ask you, was there ever such an 
 insinuation put to two respectable females ? I can 
 bear out Mother Pepperfly, and Mother Pepperfly 
 can bear out me, that we had no man in the house, 
 and didn't want one ; we'd rather be without 'em. 
 And one with whiskers too ! Thank you for nothing, 
 Mr. Carlton ! » 
 
 The words seemed to strike the coroner, and he 
 made a note in the book before him. When Mrs. 
 Gould's indignation had subsided, she was again 
 questioned. Her further evidence need not be 
 given, it was only connected with points already 
 
 k 2
 
 180 loud oakburn's daughters. 
 
 discussed, and at its conclusion she was permitted 
 to retire to the next room, where she had a pro- 
 longed fit of hysterics. 
 
 The coroner requested the presence again of Mr. 
 Carlton. But it was found that Mr. Carlton had 
 gone. This caused a delay in the proceedings. 
 An officer was despatched for him in haste, and 
 found him at his own home, engaged with a patient. 
 He hurried him up to the court. 
 
 "What am I required for?" asked Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " I can't say, sir. The coroner said you were to 
 be produced." 
 
 " I thought you had understood, Mr. Carlton, 
 that it is expedient the witnesses should not de- 
 part until the inquiry be over," began the coroner, 
 when he appeared. " Questions sometimes arise 
 which may render it necessary for them to be 
 examined again." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," replied Mr. Carlton ; " I 
 had no idea I was not at liberty to return home ; or 
 that I should be wanted further." 
 
 The coroner placed his arms on the table beside 
 him, and leaned towards Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " What is this tale," asked he, " about your having 
 seen a man secreted on the stairs, or landing, on the 
 night of the mur — ," the coroner coughed, to drown 
 the word which had all but escaped his lips — " on 
 the night of the death ? "
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 181 
 
 A scarlet tinge, born of emotion, flushed the face 
 of Mr. Carlton. Were his superstitious feelings 
 going to be hauled out for the benefit of the crowded 
 court ? 
 
 " Who says I saw one ? " inquired he. 
 
 " That is not the question," sharply returned the 
 coroner. " Did you see one ? " 
 
 "No, I did not." 
 
 " The last witness, Eliza Gould, testifies that 
 you did — or thought you did." 
 
 " The facts are these," said Mr. Carlton. " As 
 I was leaving the patient, the moonbeams shone 
 on the landing through the staircase window, and 
 for the moment I certainly did think I saw a 
 f ace — the face of a person leaning against the 
 
 wall." 
 
 " What sort of a face ? " interrupted the coroner. 
 " A man's or a woman's ? " 
 
 " Oh, a man's, decidedly. A pale face, as it 
 appeared to me, with thick black whiskers. I 
 believe now it was my fancy : it was just a momen- 
 tary glimpse, or rather idea, and was over directly. 
 Moonbeams, it is well known, play the eyesight 
 curious tricks and turns. I fetched the candle and 
 examined the landing, but no person was to be seen. 
 Before I had well got down the stairs, a conviction 
 was stealing over me that I had deceived myself, 
 that there had been really nothing there, but I
 
 182 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 certainly did ask the woman, Gould, when she came 
 to open the door for me, whether or not any strange 
 man was in the house." 
 
 " She said, No ? " 
 
 "Yes: and was intensely offended at my putting 
 the question." 
 
 The coroner mused. Turning to the jury, he 
 spoke in a confidential tone. 
 
 " You see, gentlemen, had there been really any 
 one concealed upon the stairs, it would he a most 
 suspicious point ; one demanding full investigation. 
 That medicine was in the adjoining room, open to 
 the landing, and unprotected by any guard ; for the 
 lady in bed could not be supposed to see what took 
 place in the next apartment, and the two women 
 were down stairs. Nothing more easy than for 
 the cork to be abstracted from the medicine sent 
 by the Messrs. Grey, and a few deadly drops poured 
 into it. Provided, I say, the person so concealed 
 there, had a design to do so." 
 
 The jury looked grave, and one of them addressed 
 Mr. Carlton : 
 
 " Can't you take your mind back, sir, with any 
 degree of certainty? " 
 
 " There is quite a sufficient degree of certainty in 
 my mind," replied Mr. Carlton. "I feel con- 
 vinced, I feel sure, that the face existed but in my 
 fancy. I had gone out from the light room to the
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 183 
 
 dark landing, — dark, except for the moonbeams — 
 and " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Carlton," interrupted 
 another juryman, " but the witnesses, Pepperfly 
 and Gould, have deposed that the lady's chamber 
 was in darkness — that the candle was in the sit- 
 ting-room adjoining, where she preferred to have 
 it left." 
 
 " Have they ? I almost forget. Then in pass- 
 ing through the sitting-room I must have got my 
 eyes in contact with the light, for I know that the 
 landing appeared dark. You are right," added Mr. 
 Carlton. " I remember now that the candle was in 
 the sitting-room, for it was from thence I fetched it 
 to search the landing." 
 
 " Why did you not mention this, witness, when 
 you were first examined ? " asked the coroner. 
 
 " Mention what, sir ? That I fancied I saw a 
 face in the dark, which turned out to be all moon- 
 shine ? " retorted the witness. " Verily, I should 
 be only too glad to mention anything that would 
 bear upon the case, but I might have got laughed 
 at for my pains." 
 
 " You attach no importance to it, then ? " 
 
 " None whatever. I feel certain that it was but 
 a freak of my own fancy." 
 
 " Very well, sir. That will do for the present. 
 Are there any more witnesses to examine ? " con-
 
 184 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 tinued the coroner, addressing the summoning 
 officer. 
 
 There were one or two who gave testimony of no 
 importance, and they appeared to be all. Frederick 
 Grey, who had been an eager listener to the wit- 
 nesses, then stepped forward and addressed himself 
 to the coroner. 
 
 " Will you let me make a statement, sir ? " 
 
 " If it bears upon the case," replied the coroner. 
 " Does it do so ? " 
 
 " Yes it does," warmly replied Frederick, his 
 earnest, honest grey eyes flashing. " There has 
 been a cruel suspicion of carelessness cast upon 
 my father: I wish to state that it was I who de- 
 stroyed the proofs by which it could have been 
 refuted." 
 
 And forthwith he told the story of his heedless 
 wiping of the cobwebbed jar. 
 
 " Was any one present when you did this, besides 
 you and your father ? " asked the coroner. 
 
 " Sir, did you not hear me say so ? My uncle 
 John." 
 
 " Let Mr. John Grey be called," said the coroner. 
 " Gentlemen," he added to the jury, " I am going 
 somewhat out of my legal way in admitting these 
 statements ; but I must confess that it does appear 
 to me most improbable that Mr. Stephen Grey 
 whose high character we all well know, should have
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 185 
 
 been guilty of this fatal carelessness. It has ap- 
 peared to me entirely improbable from the first ; 
 and I deem it right to hear any evidence that can 
 be brought forward to refute the accusation — espe- 
 cially," he impressively concluded, " after the state- 
 ment made by Mr. Carlton, as to the face he saw, 
 or thought he saw, lurking near the chamber where 
 the draught was placed. I acknowledge, in spite of 
 Mr. Carlton's stated conviction, that I am by no 
 means convinced that face was not real. It may 
 have been the face of some deadly enemy of the 
 ill-fated young lady, one who may have followed 
 her to South Wennock for the purpose of destroy- 
 ing her, and stolen nefariously into the house ; and 
 then, his work accomplished, have stolen out again/' 
 
 " With all due deference, Mr. Coroner, to your 
 superior judgment," interposed a juryman, "the 
 suspicion that the poison may have been introduced 
 into the draught after it was in the Widow Gould's 
 house, appears to be disposed of by the fact that it 
 smelt strongly of it when it was first brought — as 
 sworn to by Mr. Carlton." 
 
 " True, true," said the coroner, musingly. " It 
 is involved in much mystery. Stand forward, Mr. 
 Grey. Were you present when your nephew wiped 
 the cobwebs and dust from the jar of hydrocyanic 
 acid ? " continued the coroner, after he was sworn. 
 
 " I was," replied Mr. John Grey. " My brother
 
 18G lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Stephen reached down the jar, which he had to do 
 by means of steps, from its usual place, and the 
 dust and cobwebs were much collected on it, 'the 
 cobwebs being woven over the stopper — a certain 
 proof that it had not recently been opened." 
 
 " This was after the death had taken place ? " 
 
 " It was just after it ; when we got home from 
 seeing the body. My brother remarked that it was 
 a proof, or would be a proof — I forget his exact 
 words — that he had not used the hydrocj^anic acid ; 
 and whilst he and I were closely talking, Frederick, 
 unconscious of course of the mischief he was 
 doing, took a duster and wiped the jar. I was 
 not in time to stop him. I pointed out what he 
 had done, and how it might tell against his father, 
 and he was overwhelmed with contrition ; but the 
 mischief was over and could not be remedied/' 
 
 " You had no other hydrocyanic acid in your 
 house, except this ? " 
 
 " None at all ; none whatever." 
 
 The coroner turned to the jury. 
 
 " If this statement of Mr. John Grey's be correct 
 — and it bears out his nephew's — we must acknow- 
 ledge that Mr. Stephen could not have put prussic 
 acid into the draught when making it up. He could 
 not, in my opinion." 
 
 The jury assented. " Certainly he could not," 
 they said, " if the testimony were correct."
 
 MR. CARLTON RECALLED. 187 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, we know John Grey to be an 
 upright man and a good man; and he is on his 
 oath before his Maker." 
 
 Scarcely had the coroner spoken when a strange 
 commotion was heard outside — a noise as of a crowd 
 of people in the street, swarming up to the Bed 
 Lion. What was it ? What could it be ? The 
 coroner and jury suspended proceedings for a 
 moment, until the disturbance should subside. 
 
 But, instead of subsiding, it only came nearer 
 and nearer; and at length burst into the room — 
 eager people with eager faces — all in a state of 
 excitement, all trying to pour forth the news at 
 once. 
 
 Some additional evidence had been found. 
 
 The whole room rose, even the coroner and jury, 
 so apt are the most official of us to be led away by 
 excitement. "What had come to light ? Imagina- 
 tions are quick, and the jury were allowing theirs 
 a wide range. Some few of them jumped to the 
 conclusion that, at least, Dick, the boy, had con- 
 fessed to having been waylaid and bribed, to allow 
 of poison being put into the draught; but by far 
 the greater number anticipated that the body and 
 legs belonging to the mysterious face had turned 
 up, and were being marched before the coroner.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE TORN NOTE. 
 
 The whole inquest-room, speaking metapho- 
 rically, was on its legs — coroner, jury, spectators — 
 as the rushing tide of eager faces surged into it. 
 What were the tidings they had brought ? — what 
 new evidence had come to light? Nothing very 
 great, after all. 
 
 It was only a part of a letter. In the pocket of 
 the dress which the unhappy lady had worn on the 
 Friday, the day of her arrival at South AVennock, 
 had just been found a half sheet of note paper, with 
 some lines of writing on it and a great blot. It 
 was a somewhat remarkable fact that this dress, 
 hanging up the whole of the time behind the bed- 
 room door, had been overlooked both by the police 
 and by Mr. Carlton, and was not searched by either. 
 The coroner smoothed the crumpled sheet of writ- 
 ing, read it aloud for the information of the jury, 
 and then passed it round for their inspection. It 
 ran as follows : —
 
 THE TORN NOTE. 189 
 
 " 13, Palace Street, South Wennock, 
 
 " Friday Evening, March 10, 1848. 
 "My dearest Husband, — You will be surprised 
 to hear of my journey, and that I am safe at South 
 Wennock. I know you will be angry, but I cannot 
 help it, and we will talk over things when we meet. 
 I have asked the people here about a medical man, 
 and they strongly recommend one of the Messrs. 
 Grey, but I tell them I would prefer Mr. Carlton. 
 "What do you say ? I must ask him to come and 
 see me this evening, for the railway omnibus shook 
 me dreadfully, and I feel anything but r" 
 
 In that abrupt manner ended the writing. There 
 was nothing more, except the great blot referred to. 
 Whether she had been suddenly interrupted, or 
 whether the accident of the blot caused her to begin 
 a fresh letter, could not be told ; and perhaps would 
 now never be known. 
 
 But with all the excitement, the noise, and the 
 expectation, it positively threw no light whatever 
 upon the mystery — of the mystery of who she was, 
 of her arrival, or the worse mystery of her death. 
 The coroner sat, after the letter had been passed 
 back to him, mechanically smoothing the creased 
 sheet with his fingers, while he thought. 
 
 " Call Mr. Carlton," he suddenly said. 
 
 Mr. Carlton was found in the yard of the inn,
 
 liiO LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 talking to some of the many outside idlers whom 
 the proceedings had gathered together there. After 
 the rebuff administered to him by the coroner, as to 
 his having gone away before, he was determined not 
 so to offend a second time, but waited within call. 
 
 "Wanted again !" he exclaimed, when the officer 
 came to him. " I hope the jury will have enough 
 of me." 
 
 " There's something fresh turned up, sir. You 
 might have heard here the noise they made, bringing 
 it up the street." 
 
 " Something fresh! " the surgeon eagerly repeated. 
 " What is it ? Not about the face ? " he added, a 
 strange dread mingling with his whispered tones. 
 
 " I don't rightly know what it is, sir. The crowd 
 jammed into the room so that I couldn't hear." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton, look at this, will you," said the 
 coroner, handing him the torn note, when he 
 appeared. " Can you tell me if it is in the hand- 
 writing of the deceased?" 
 
 Mr. Carlton took the sheet, glanced at it, clutched 
 it in his hand and strode to a distant window. 
 There he stood reading it, with his back to the 
 room. He read it twice ; he turned it over and 
 looked at the other side ; he turned it back and read 
 it again. Then he returned to the. table where sat 
 the coroner and jury, who had followed his move- 
 ments in eager expectation.
 
 THE TORN NOTE. 191 
 
 " How can I tell, Mr. Coroner, whether it is in 
 her handwriting or not ?" 
 
 " You received a note from her. Can you not 
 remember what the writing was like ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton paused a moment and then slowly 
 shook his head. " 1 did not take particular notice 
 of the handwriting. If we had the two together we 
 might compare them. By the way," he added, " I 
 may perhaps mention that I searched thoroughly for 
 the note in question when I went home just now, 
 and could not find it. There's no doubt I threw it 
 into the fire at the time." 
 
 Perfectly true. As soon as Mr. Carlton had got 
 home from his examination-in-chief, he had set 
 himself to search for the note. His conviction at 
 the time was that he must have burnt it with the 
 loose letters and envelopes lying on the table, those 
 which he had thrown on the fire in a heap ; it had 
 been his conviction ever since ; nevertheless he did 
 institute a search on going home from the inquest. 
 He emptied some card-racks which stood on the 
 mantelpiece ; he opened the drawers of the side- 
 board : he went up-stairs to his bed-room, and 
 searched the pockets of the clothes he had worn 
 that night ; he looked in every likely place he could 
 think of. It seemed rather a superfluous task to do 
 it, and it brought forth no results ; but Mr. Carlton 
 wished to feel quite sure upon the point.
 
 192 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 "Then you cannot speak to this handwriting?" 
 asked the coroner. 
 
 " Not with any certainty," was the reply of the 
 witness. " This writing, I fancj', looks not dis- 
 similar to the other, so far as my remembrance of it 
 carries me ; hut that's a very slight one. All ladies 
 write alike now-a-days." 
 
 " Few ladies write so good a hand as this," 
 remarked the coroner, giving the torn sheet a jerk 
 upwards to intimate it. "Are you near-sighted, Mr. 
 Carlton, that you took it to the window ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton threw his eyes full in the face of the 
 coroner, incipient defiance in their expression. 
 
 " I am not near-sighted. But the rain makes 
 the room dark, and the evening is coming on. I 
 thought, too, it must be a document of importance, 
 throwing some great elucidation upon the case, by 
 the commotion that was made over it." 
 
 "Ay," responded one of the jury, "we were all 
 taken in." 
 
 There was nothing more to be done ; no further 
 evidence to be taken. The coroner charged the 
 jury, and he ordered the room to be cleared while 
 they deliberated. Among the crowds filing out of 
 it in obedience to the mandate, went Judith Ford. 
 Judith had gone to the inquest partly to gratify her 
 own pardonable curiosity — though her intense feel- 
 ing of interest in the proceedings might be cha-
 
 THE TORN NOTE. 193 
 
 •racterised by a better name than that ; partly to be 
 in readiness in case she should be called to bear 
 testimony, as one of the attendants who had helped 
 to nurse the lady through her illness. 
 
 She was not called, however. Her absence from 
 the house at the time of the taking the medicine, 
 and of the death, rendered her of no avail in a 
 judicial point of view, and her name was not so 
 much as mentioned during the day. She had found 
 a seat in a quiet but convenient corner, and remained 
 there undisturbed, watching the proceedings with 
 the most absorbed interest. Never once from the 
 witnesses, and their demeanour, as their separate 
 evidence was given, were her eyes taken. Judith 
 could not overget the dreadful death ; she could not 
 fathom the circumstances attending it. 
 
 In groups of fives, of tens, of twenties, the mob, 
 gentry and draggletail, stood about, after their 
 compulsory exit from the inquest-room, conversing 
 eagerly, waiting impatiently. Stephen Grey and 
 his brother, Mr. Brooklyn, Mr. Carlton, and a few 
 more gentlemen collected together, deeply anxious 
 for the verdict, as may be readily imagined ; whether 
 or not it would be manslaughter against Stephen 
 Grey. 
 
 Judith meanwhile found her way to Mrs. Fitch. 
 She was sitting in her bar-parlour — at least, wh< n 
 any odd moment gave her an opportunity to sit; 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 lord oakdurn's daughters. 
 
 but Mrs. Fitch could not remember many days of 
 her bus} T life so full of bustle as this had been. 
 She was, however, knitting when Judith in her deep 
 mourning appeared at the door, and she started 
 from her seat. 
 
 "Is it you, Judith? Is it over? What's the 
 verdict?" 
 
 " It is not over," said Judith. " We are sent out 
 while they deliberate. I don't think," she added, 
 some pain in her tone, " they can bring it in against 
 Mr. Stephen Grey." 
 
 " I don't think they ought, after that evidence 
 about the cobwebs," returned the landlady. " Any- 
 way, though, it's odd how the poison could have got 
 there. And I say, Judith, what tale's this about a 
 face on the stairs ?" 
 
 " Well, I — don't know, ma'am. Mr. Carlton says 
 now he thinks it was all his fancy." 
 
 " It has got a curious sound about it, to my mind. 
 I know this — if the poor 3'oung lady was anything 
 to me, I should have it followed up. You don't 
 look well, Judith." 
 
 " I can't say but it has altogether been a great 
 shock and puzzle to me," acknowledged Judith, 
 " and thinking and worrying over a thing does not 
 help one's looks. What with my face having been 
 bad — but it's better now — and what with this 
 trouble, I have eaten nothing solid for days."
 
 THE TORN XOTE. 195 
 
 " I'll give 3 r ou a drop of cherry brandy " 
 
 " No, ma'am, thank you, I couldn't take it," inter- 
 posed Judith, more vehemently than the kind- 
 hearted offer seemed to warrant. "I can neither 
 eat nor drink to-day." 
 
 " Nonsense, Judith ! you are just going the way 
 to lay yourself up. It is a very dreadful thing, 
 there's no doubt of that; but still she was a stranger 
 to us, and there's no cause for its throwing us off 
 our proper meals." 
 
 Judith silently passed from the topic. "I am 
 anxious to get a place now." she said ; " I shouldn't 
 think of all this so much if I had something to do ; 
 besides, I don't like to impose too long on Mrs. 
 Jenkinson's kindness. I suppose you don't happen 
 to have heard of a place, Mrs. Fitch ? " 
 
 " I heard to-day that there was a servant wanted 
 at that house on the Rise — where the new folks 
 live. Their housemaid's going to leave." 
 
 " What new folks ? " asked Judith. 
 
 " Those fresh people that came from a distance. 
 What's the name ? — Chesney, isn't it ? The Ches- 
 neys. I mean Cedar Lodge. It might suit you. 
 Coming ! coming ! " shrieked out Mrs. Fitch, in 
 answer to a succession of calls. 
 
 " Yes, it might suit me," murmured Judith to 
 
 herself. " They look nice people. I'll go and see 
 
 after it." 
 
 o 2
 
 190 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 The words were interrupted by a movement, a 
 hubbub, and Judith hastened outside to ascertain 
 its cause. Could the deliberation of the jury be 
 already over ? Yes, it was even so. The door of 
 the inquest-room had been thrown open, and the 
 eager crowd were pressing on to it. A few minutes 
 more, and the decree was spoken ; was running like 
 wildfire to every part of the expectant town. 
 
 " "We find that the deceased, whose married name 
 appears to have been Crane, but to whose Christian 
 name we have no clue, came by her death through 
 swallowing prussic acid mixed in a composing 
 draught ; but by whom it was thus mixed in the 
 draught, or whether by mistake or intentionally, we 
 deem there is not sufficient evidence to show." 
 
 So Stephen Grey was yet a free man. His 
 friends pressed up to him, and shook him warmly 
 by the hand. "While young Frederick, with a cheek 
 of emotion, now white, now crimson, galloped home 
 through the mud and shut himself in his bed-room, 
 there to hide his thankfulness and his agitation.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY'S HOME. 
 
 Wretched as the weather had been with its wind 
 and its rain, the sun showed itself just before its 
 setting, and broke forth with a glowing red gleam, 
 as if it would, in compassion, accord a glimpse of 
 warmth and brightness to the passing day which 
 had been longing for it. 
 
 Its slanting beams fell on that pleasant white 
 house on the Rise, the residence of Captain Chesney ; 
 they came glimmering through the trees and danc- 
 ing on the carpet in the drawing-room. The large 
 French window opening to the ground looked 
 bright and clear with these welcome rays, and one 
 of the inmates of the room turned to them with a 
 glad expression ; an expression that told of some 
 expectant hope. 
 
 Seated at the table was the eldest daughter, Jane 
 Chesney: a peculiarly quiet-looking, lady -like young 
 woman of thirty years, with drooping eyelids, blue 
 eyes and fair hair. She had some bits of paper before 
 her that were wonderfully like bills, and an open
 
 198 lord oakbubn's daugiitehs. 
 
 account-book lay beside them. There was a pa- 
 tient, wearied expression in her face, that seemed 
 to say her life was not free from care. 
 
 Touching the keys of the piano with a masterly 
 hand, but softly, as if she would subdue its sound, 
 her brilliant brown eyes flashing with a radiant 
 light, and her exquisite features unusually beau- 
 tiful, sat Laura Chesney. Three »and-twenty years 
 of age, she yet looked younger than she was ; of 
 middle height, slight and graceful, with the charm 
 of an unusually youthful manner, Laura never was 
 taken for her real age. She was one of the vainest 
 girls living ; though none detected it. Girls are 
 naturally vain ; beautiful girls very vain ; but it 
 has rarely entered into the heart of woman to 
 conceive of vanity so intense, as that which tar- 
 nished the heart of Laura Chesney. It had been 
 the one passion of her life — the great passion 
 which overpowered other implanted seeds, whether 
 for good or for evil, rendering them partially dor- 
 mant. Not that vanity was her only failing; far 
 from it ; she had others less negative : self-will, 
 obstinacy, and a rebellious spirit. 
 
 Latterly, another passion had taken possession of 
 her ; one which seemed to change her very nature, 
 and to which even her vanit} r became subservient — 
 love for Mr. Carlton. It is her eyes which are 
 turning to this bright sunshine ; it is her heart
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY's HOME. 199 
 
 which is whispering he will be sure to come ! She 
 was dressed in a handsome robe of glittering silk, 
 hanging sleeves of costly lace shading her small 
 white arms, on which were golden bracelets. Jane 
 wore a violet merino, somewhat faded, a white 
 collar, and small white cuffs on the closed sleeves 
 its onty ornament. The one looked fit to be the 
 denizen of a palace ; the other, with her plain 
 attire and gentle manner, fit only for a quiet home 
 life. 
 
 And, standing near the window, softly dancing 
 to the time of Laura's music, and humming, in 
 concert, was the little girl, Lucy. Her frock was 
 of similar material to Jane's, violet merino, but far 
 more faded, the frills of her white drawers just 
 peeping below its short skirt. She was a graceful 
 child of eleven, very pretty, her eyes dark and 
 luminous as Laura's, but shining with a far sweeter 
 and softer light, and there was a repose in her 
 whole bearing and manner, the counterpart of that 
 which distinguished her eldest sister. 
 
 In the room above was the naval half-pay captain, 
 unusually fierce and choleric to-night, as was sure 
 to be the case when getting well from his gouty 
 attacks. Far more noisy and impatient was he at 
 these times than even when the gout was full upon 
 him. The means of the family were grievously 
 straitened, the captain having nothing but his half-
 
 J200 LORD OAKHl'RN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 pay — and what is that io live upon? They were 
 encumbered by debt. Life had long been rendered 
 miserable by it. And in truth, how can these poor 
 straitened men, gentlemen of connections as they 
 often are, keep debt from their door ? Captain 
 Chesney was, to use a familiar expression, over 
 head and ears in it. He had quitted the neigh- 
 bourhood of Plymouth, where they had lived for 
 so many years, simply because the place grew too 
 hot to hold him, his creditors too pressing to be 
 borne with. South Wennock was becoming the 
 same, and people were growing troublesome. 
 
 It was Jane who bore the brunt of it all. Perhaps 
 no father had ever been loved with a more yearning, 
 ardent, dutiful love than was Captain Chesney b} r 
 his daughter Jane. To save him one care she 
 would have forfeited her existence ; if by walking 
 through a sea of fire — and this is not speaking 
 metaphorically — she could have eased him of a 
 minute's pain, Jane Chesney would have stepped 
 lovingly to the sacrifice. Not upon him, not upon 
 the others, had fallen the daily pains and penalties 
 inseparable from a state of debt, but upon Jane. 
 The petty hourly cares and crosses, the putting-off 
 of creditors, the scheming how to make their ten 
 shillings go as far as other people's twenty, the 
 anxiety for the present, the sickening dread of the 
 future, and what might be the climax Jane
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNE^'s HOME. 201 
 
 bore it all meekly, patiently. But it was wearing 
 her out. 
 
 She sat now over the last week's hills, leaning 
 her aching head — aching with care rnore than pain 
 — upon her hand, and adding them up. Jane was 
 not a good accountant ; few women are ; they" are 
 not trained to be so ; and she had to go over the 
 columns more than once. It was not the work 
 which wearied and damped her ; it was the dread 
 glance at the sums total, and the knowledge that 
 these bills could only be put away with those of 
 many many weeks back, unpaid. She pushed them 
 from her, but with a gentle action — there was 
 gentleness in every movement of Jane Chesney — 
 and leaned back in her chair with a sobbing 
 sigh. 
 
 " Lucy, child, I wish you would not dance so. 
 It puts me out." 
 
 The little girl looked half surprised. " I am not 
 making a noise, Jane." 
 
 " But the movement, as you wave about, makes 
 my head worse." 
 
 " Have you the headache, Jane ? " 
 
 ' Yes. At least — my head is so perplexed that 
 it seems to ache." 
 
 Laura turned round, her eyes flashing. " You 
 are worrying your brains over those wretched bills, 
 Jane ! I wonder you will get them about ! I should
 
 202 loud oakburn's DATJGHTEBS. 
 
 just let things go on as they can, and not torment 
 myself." 
 
 " Let things go as they can ! " echoed Jane, in a 
 tone of pain. " Oh, Laura ! " 
 
 " What good can you do by worrying and fretting 
 over them ? What good do you do ? " 
 
 " Somebody must worry and fret over them, 
 Laura. If I were not to do it, papa must." 
 
 " Well, he is more fit to battle with such troubles 
 than you are. And it is his own imprudence which 
 has brought it all on. But for the extravagance of 
 bygone years, papa would not have reduced himself 
 
 to his half-pay " 
 
 " Be silent, Laura ! " interrupted Jane, her tone 
 one of stern authority. " How dare you presume 
 to cast a reflection on my dear father ? " 
 
 Laura's face fell, partly in submission to the 
 reproof, partly in angry rebellion. Laura, of them 
 all, most bitterly resented the petty annoyances 
 brought by their straitened life. 
 
 " Papa is as dear to me as he is to you, Jane," 
 she presently said, in a tone of apology for her 
 words. " But I am not a stick or a stone, and I 
 can't help feeling the difference there is between 
 ourselves and other young ladies in the same rank 
 of life. Our days are nothing but pinching and 
 perplexity ; theirs are all flowers and sunshine." 
 " There is a skeleton in every closet, Laura ; and
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY'S HOME. 208 
 
 no one can judge of another's sorrows," was the 
 quiet answer of Jane. " The lives that look to us 
 all flowers and sunshine — as you term it — may 
 have their inward darkness just as ours have. 
 Kecollect the Italian proverb, ' Non v e rosa senza 
 
 sjnna.' " 
 
 " You are going altogether from the point," 
 returned Laura. " What other young lady— in 
 saying a young lady I mean an unmarried otfe, still 
 sheltered from the world's cares in her father's 
 home — has to encounter the trouble and anxiety 
 that you have ? " 
 
 " Many a one, I dare say," was the reply of 
 Jane. " For myself, if I do but save the trouble 
 and anxiety to my dear father, I think myself amply 
 repaid." 
 
 Too true ; it was all that was thought of by Jane ; 
 the one great care of her life — the saving annoy- 
 ance to her father. In the long night watches, 
 when a dread of what these debts might result in 
 for Captain Chesney would press upon her brain, 
 Jane Chesney would lay her hand on her burning 
 brow and wish that England's laws could be altered, 
 and permit a daughter to be arrested in the place 
 of her father. Laura resumed. 
 
 "And who, save us, have to live as we live? 
 barred up — it's no better — in a house, like so many 
 hermits ; not daring to visit or be visited, lest such
 
 204 LORD OAKBURx's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 visiting might increase by a few shillings the weekly 
 liabilities ? It's a shame ! " 
 
 "Hush, Laura ! If we take to repining, that will 
 be the worst of all. It is our lot, and we must bear 
 it patiently." 
 
 Laura Chesney did not appear inclined to bear it 
 very patiently just then. She struck the keys of 
 the instrument loudly and passionately, playing so 
 for a few moments, as if finding a vent for her anger. 
 The little girl had leaned against the window in 
 silence, listening to her sister, and turning her 
 sweet brown eyes from one to the other. Suddenly 
 there came a sound on the floor above as if a 
 heavy walking-stick was being thumped upon it. 
 
 " There, Laura ! that's because you played out so 
 loudly ! " cried the child. " To-day, when I was 
 practising, I forgot myself and took my foot off the 
 soft pedal, and down came papa's stick as if he 
 would have knocked the floor through." 
 
 Laura Chesney rose, closed the piano, not quite 
 so gently as she might have done, and went to the 
 window. As she stood there looking out, her soft 
 dark hair acquired quite a golden tinge in the 
 light of the setting sun. 
 
 Thump ! thump ! thump ! came the stick again. 
 Jane sprang from her seat. " It is not the piano : 
 papa must want something." 
 
 A voice loud and imperative interrupted her
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY's HOME. 205 
 
 as she was hastening from the room. " Laura ! 
 Laura!" 
 
 Jane drew back. " It is for you, Laura. Make 
 haste up." 
 
 And Laura Chesney, as she hastened to obey, 
 caught up a small black mantle which lay on a 
 chair, and threw it over her white shoulders. It 
 served to conceal her rich silk dress and the golden 
 bracelets that glittered on her wrists. 
 
 Lucy Chesney remained a few minutes in thought 
 as her sister left the room. Things were puzzling 
 her. 
 
 "Jane, why does Laura put that black mantle 
 on to go up to papa ? It must be to hide her 
 dress. But if she thinks that papa would be angry 
 with her for wearing that best dress and mamma's 
 golden bracelets every evening, why does she wear 
 them ? " 
 
 A somewhat difficult question for Jane Chesney 
 to answer — to answer to a young mind which was 
 being moulded for good or for ill. 
 
 " Laura is fond of dress, Lucy. Perhaps she 
 fancies papa is less fond of it." 
 
 " Papa is less fond of it,' ' returned the child. 
 "I don't think he would care if we wore these old 
 merinos — oh, until next winter." 
 
 Jane sighed. "Dress is expensive, Lucy, and 
 you know "
 
 20G lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 "Yes, I know, Jane," said the little girl, filling up 
 the pause, for Jane had stopped. " But, Jane, why 
 should Laura put that best dress on at all ? She 
 had not used to put it on." 
 
 Now, in truth, this was a question which had 
 likewise occurred to Miss Chesne} r . More than 
 once of late, when Laura had appeared dressed 
 for the evening, Jane wondered why she had so 
 dressed. Not a suspicion of the cause — the un- 
 happy cause which was to bring ere long a great 
 trouble upon them — had yet dawned on the mind of 
 Jane Chesney. 
 
 "And I want to ask you something else, Jane. 
 What did you mean by saying there was a skeleton 
 in every closet ? " 
 
 " Come hither, Lucy." She held out her hand, 
 and the child came forward and placed herself on a 
 stool at Jane's feet. Jane held the hand in hers, 
 and Lucy sat looking upwards into her sister's calm, 
 placid face. 
 
 " If mamma had lived, Lucy, perhaps you might 
 not have needed to ask me this, for she would have 
 taught you and trained you more efficiently than I 
 have done " 
 
 " I'm sure, Jane," interrupted the child, her 
 large eyes filling with tears, "you are as good to 
 me as mamma could have been, and you teach me 
 well."
 
 CAI>TAIN CHESNEl'^S HOME. 207 
 
 " As we pass through life, Lucy, darling, troubles 
 come upon us : cares, more or less heav} T " 
 
 " Do they come to us all, Jane ? To everybody 
 in the world ? " 
 
 " They come to us all, my dear ; it is the will of 
 God. I do not suppose that anybody is without 
 them. We know what our own cares are ; but 
 sometimes we cannot see what others can have — 
 we cannot see that they have any, and can scarcely 
 believe in it. We see them prosperous, with pleas- 
 ant and plentiful homes; nay, with wealth and 
 luxury ; they possess, so far as we can tell, health 
 and strength; they are, so far as we can see, a happy 
 and united family. Yet it often happens that these 
 very people, who seem to us to be so fortunate as to 
 be objects of envy, do possess some secret care, so 
 great that it may be hastening them to the grave 
 before their time, and all the greater because it has 
 to be concealed from the world. Then we call that 
 care a skeleton in the closet, because it is unsus- 
 pected by others, hidden from others' eyes. Do you 
 understand now, Lucy ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. But, Jane, why should care come to 
 everybody ? " 
 
 "My child, I have just told you it is the will of 
 God. Sometimes we bring it upon ourselves, 
 through our own conduct ; but I'll not talk to you 
 of that now. You are young and light-hearted, Lucy,
 
 ^08 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 and you cannot yet understand the need of care. It 
 comes to wean us from a world that we can stay but 
 
 a little time in " 
 
 " Ob, Jane ! we live to be old men and women ! " 
 
 Jane Chesney smiled ; care and its bitter 
 fruits — bitter to bear, however sweet they may 
 be in the ending — had come to her early, and 
 made her wise. 
 
 "The very best of us live but a short time, Lucy 
 — for you know we must speak of time by comparison. 
 Threescore years and ten here, and ages upon ages, 
 life without ending, hereafter. Well, dear, care and 
 sorrow and disappointment come to draw our love 
 from this world and to teach us to long for the next 
 — to long for it, and to prepare for it. Care is per- 
 mitted to come to us by God, and nothing comes 
 from Him but what is good for us." 
 
 " Why do people hide their care ? " 
 
 "It is our nature to hide excessive care or joy; 
 they are both too sacred to be exposed to our fellow- 
 mortals ; they are hidden away with God. Lucy, 
 dear, you are too young to understand this." 
 
 " I shall look out for the skeleton now, Jane. 
 When I see people who seem a little dull, I shall 
 think, Ah, you have a skeleton in your closet ! " 
 
 " It exists where no dulness is apparent," said 
 Miss Chesney. " I remember meeting with a lady 
 — it was before we came to South Wennock — who
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY's HOME. 209 
 
 appeared to possess every requisite to make life 
 happy, and she was light-hearted and cheerful in 
 manner. One day, when I had grown intimate with 
 her, I remarked to her, that if anyone ever appeared 
 free from care, it was herself. I shall never forget 
 her answer, or the deep sadness that rose to her face 
 as she spoke it. ' Few, living, have been so afflicted 
 with anxiety and care as I have been ; it has come 
 to me in all ways ; and, but for God's support, I 
 could not have borne it. You must not judge by 
 appearances, Miss Chesney.' The answer took 
 away my illusion, Lucyj and the tears rose in- 
 voluntarily to my own eyes, in echo to those 
 which earnestness and remembrance had called 
 up to hers." 
 
 i: What had her sorrow been, Jane '? " 
 
 " She did not say ; but that her words and afflic- 
 tion were only too true, I was certain. She appeared 
 to be rich in the world's ties, having a husband and 
 children, brothers and sisters — having all, in short, 
 apparently, to make life happy. The skeleton exists 
 where we least expect it, Lucy." 
 
 " Suppose it ever comes to me, Jane. Should I 
 die ? " 
 
 "No, dear," laughed Jane Chesney, the little 
 girl's quaint earnestness was so droll. " It does 
 not come to run away with people after that fashion 
 it rather comes to teach them how to live. I will 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 21 LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 repeat to you a sentence, Lucy, which you must 
 treasure up and remember always, ' Adversity ' — 
 adversity is but another name for care and sorrow, 
 no matter what their nature," Jane Chesney broke 
 off to say, " ' Adversity hardens the heart, or it 
 opens it to Paradise.' When it shall come to you, 
 the great ugly skeleton of adversity, Lucy, you must 
 let it do the latter." 
 
 " That is a nice saying, Jane ; I like it," repeated 
 Lucy. " Adversity hardens the heart, or it opens 
 it to Paradise."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CAPTAIN CHESXEY. 
 
 Lauea bad hastened up-stairs at ber father's 
 summons. Captain Chesney was reclining in an 
 easy-chair, his feet extended out before him on what 
 is called a rest. The feet were swathed in ban- 
 dages, as gouty feet sometimes must be. He was 
 quite helpless, so far as the legs were concerned ; 
 but his tongue and hands were the reverse of 
 helpless, — the hands kept up the noise of the stick 
 perpetually, and the tongue its own noise, to the 
 extreme discomfort of the household. He bent his 
 eyes with displeasure upon Laura from beneath 
 their overhanging brows. 
 
 " Was that you, playing ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " Oh, it was not Lucy ? " 
 
 " Papa, you know that Lucy could not play like 
 that." 
 
 " A good thing for her," roared Captain Chesney, 
 as a twinge took him, " for I should have ordered 
 her to be whipped first, and sent to bed afterwards. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 LORD OAKB URN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 How dare you annoy me with that noisy squeaking 
 piano? Tllseliit." 
 
 As a day never passed but Captain Cliesney gave 
 utterance to the same threat, it made but little im- 
 pression upon Laura. 
 
 " Where's Jane ? " he went on. 
 " She's at those everlasting bills, papa," was 
 Laura's reply, who, truth to say, did not regard her 
 father with the excessive reverence and affection 
 that Jane did, and was not always in manner so 
 submissively dutiful. 
 
 " Ugh ! " retorted the captain. " Let her throw 
 them behind the fire." 
 
 " I should," put in Laura ; but the assenting 
 remark greatly offended him, and for five minutes he 
 kept up an incessant scolding of Laura. 
 " Is that inquest over ? " he resumed. 
 " I don't know anything about it, papa." 
 " Has Carlton not been up ? " 
 " No," replied Laura, bending to smooth the pil- 
 low under her father's feet, lest the sudden accession 
 of colour, which she felt rush to her cheeks, should 
 be noticed. In doing this, she unwittingly touched 
 the worst foot in the worst part ; and the unhappy 
 captain, one of the most impatient to bear pain 
 that the gout ever came to, shrieked, shook his 
 stick, and finally let off some of what Miss Laura 
 was in the habit of calling his quarter-deck language.
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY. 213 
 
 " Papa, I am very sorry ; my hand slipped," she 
 deprecatingly said. 
 
 " Did you ever have the gout, Miss Laura Ches- 
 ney?" 
 
 " No, papa." 
 
 " Then perhaps you'll exercise a little care when 
 jon are ahout those who do have it, and not let your 
 hand ' slip.' Slip, indeed ! it's all you are good for, 
 to agonise suffering people. What do you do here ? 
 Why don't you let Jane come up ? " 
 
 " Why, papa, you called me up." 
 
 " That cantankering piano ! I'll send for a man 
 to-morrow, and he shall value it, and take it away. 
 What's the reason that Carlton doesn't come? He's 
 getting above his business, is that fellow. He has 
 not been here all clay long. I have a great mind to 
 turn him off and call in one of the Grevs. I wish 
 I had done so when we first came here ; they are 
 attentive. You shall write him a note, and tell him 
 not to put his foot inside my gate any more." 
 
 Laura's heart turned sick. Sick lest her father 
 should execute his threat. 
 
 " He could not be dismissed without being paid," 
 she said, in a low tone, hoping the suggestion might 
 have weight ; and the captain growled. 
 
 " Has Pompey come back?" he began again, while 
 Laura stood submissively before him, not daring to 
 leave unless dismissed.
 
 214 LORD OAKBUEn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Not yet, papa. He has scarcely had time to 
 come back yet." 
 
 "But I say he has had time," persistently inter- 
 rupted the captain. " He is stopping loitering over 
 that precious inquest, listening to what's going 
 on there. One fool makes many. I'll loiter him 
 with my stick when he returns. Give me that." 
 
 The captain rapped his stick violently on a table 
 in his vicinit}'-, pretty nearly causing the saucer of 
 jelly which stood there to fly off it. Laura handed 
 him the saucer and teaspoon. 
 
 "Who made this jelly? " he asked, when he had 
 tasted it. 
 
 "I — I dare say it was Jane," she replied, with 
 some hesitation, for Laura kept herself entirely aloof 
 from domestic duties. She knew no more than the 
 man in the moon how they went on, or who accom- 
 plished them, except that it must lie between Jane 
 and the maid-servant. 
 
 " Is it made of calves' feet, or cow-heels, I won- 
 der ? " continued the captain, growling and tasting. 
 "If that's not made of cow-heels, I'm a story-teller, 1 ' 
 he decided, in another minute. " What does Jane 
 mean by it? I told her I would not touch jelly 
 that was made of cow-heel. Wretched stuff! " 
 
 " Then, papa, I believe you are wrong, for I 
 think Jane ordered some calves' feet a day or two 
 ago," protested Laura. But she only so spoke to
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY. 215 
 
 appease him ; and the irascible old sailor, somewhat 
 mollified, resumed his pursuit of the jelly. 
 
 "What did Clarice say?" he asked. 
 
 " Clarice ? " repeated Laura, opening her eyes 
 in wonder. Not wonder only at the question, but 
 at hearing so much as that name mentioned by her 
 father. 
 
 The ex-sailor opened his, and fixed them on his 
 daughter, " I ask you what Clarice said ? " 
 
 " Said when, papa ? " 
 
 " When ? Why, when Jane heard from her the 
 other morning. Tuesday, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Jane did not hear from Clarice, papa." 
 
 " Jane did, young lady. Why should she tell me 
 she did, if she didn't ? So you want to keep it from 
 me, do you ? " 
 
 " Indeed, papa," persisted Laura, " she did not 
 hear from her. I am quite sure that she did 
 not. Had she heard from her, she would have told 
 me." 
 
 A cruel twinge took the captain's right foot. 
 "You be shot! "he shrieked. "And serve you 
 right for seeking to deceive your father. A 
 pretty puppet I should be in your hands but for 
 Jane ! Here, put this down. And now you may 
 
 go." 
 
 Laura replaced the saucer on the table, and went 
 
 back to her sisters, thankful for the release.
 
 21G LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Papa is so cross to-night," she exclaimed. "He 
 is finding fault with everything." 
 
 " Illness does make a person irritable, especially 
 a man," spoke Jane, soothingly, ever ready to ex- 
 tenuate her father. "And papa, you know, has 
 heen accustomed to exact implicit obedience in 
 his own ship, just as if he were captain of a little 
 kingdom." 
 
 " I think the sailors must have had a fine time of 
 it," said Laura ; and Jane forbore to inquire in what 
 light she spoke it; she could not always be contend- 
 ing. " What was the jelly made of, Jane, calves' 
 feet, or cow-heel ? " 
 
 " Cow-heel." 
 
 " There ! papa found it out, or thought he did : 
 though I am sure the nicest palate in the world 
 cannot tell the difference, when it's well flavoured 
 with wine and lemon. He said he wondered at 
 you, Jane, putting him off with cow-heel. I was 
 obliged to tell him it was calves' foot, just to pacify 
 him." 
 
 Jane Chesney sighed deeply. " Calves' feet are 
 so very dear ! " she said. " I did it for the best. 
 If papa only knew the difficulty I have to go on at 
 all." 
 
 " And an}' one but you would let him know of 
 the difficulty," boldly returned Laura. But Jane 
 only shook her head.
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY. 217 
 
 " Jane, have you heard from Clarice lately ? " 
 resumed Laura. 
 
 Miss Chesney lifted her eyes somewhat in sur- 
 prise. " Had I heard, Laura, I should not be 
 likely to keep the fact from you. Why do you ask 
 that question ? " 
 
 "Papa says that you heard from her on Tuesday; 
 that you told him so. I said you had not heard, 
 and he inmiediately accused me of wanting to hide 
 the news from him." 
 
 "Papa says I told him I had heard from Clarice!" 
 repeated Jane Chesney in astonishment. 
 
 " He says that you told him you heard on 
 Tuesday." 
 
 " Why, what can have caused papa to fancy such 
 a thing ? Stay," she added, as a recollection seemed 
 to come to her, " I know how the mistake must have 
 arisen. I mentioned Clarice's name to papa, hop- 
 ing that he might he induced to break the barrier 
 of silence and speak of her. I said I thought we 
 should soon be hearing from her. That was on 
 Tuesday." 
 
 " Why do you think we shall soon be hearing 
 from her ? " 
 
 " Because — because " — Miss Chesney spoke with 
 marked hesitation — " I had on Monday night so 
 extraordinary a dream. I feel sure we shall hear 
 from her before long."
 
 218 LORD OAKBUKN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Laura Chesne3 r burst into a laugh. " Oh, Jane, 
 you'll make me die of laughter, some day, with those 
 dreams of yours. Let us hear what it was." 
 
 " No, Laura ; you would only ridicule it." 
 
 Lucy Chesney stole up to her eldest sister. 
 " Jane, tell me, do tell me ; I shall not ridicule it, 
 and I like to hear dreams." 
 
 Jane shook her head in that decisive manner 
 from which Lucy knew there was no appeal. " It 
 was not a pleasant dream, Lucy, and I shall not 
 tell it. I was thinking very much of Clarice on 
 Tuesday, in consequence of the dream, and I ven- 
 tured to mention her name before papa. That is 
 how the misapprehension must have occurred." 
 
 " Was the dream about her ? " asked Laura ; and 
 Jane Chesney did not detect the covert irony of the 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes. But I should be sony to tell it to any 
 one: in fact, I could not. It was a dreadful dream; 
 an awful dream." 
 
 They were interrupted. A maid-servant opened 
 the drawing-room door and put her head in. Ra- 
 ther a surly-looking sort of head. 
 
 " Miss Chesney, here's that coachman come again. 
 He is asking to see the captain." 
 
 " Captain Chesney is ill, and cannot see any 
 one," imperiously answered Laura before Jane 
 could speak. " Tell him so, Rhode."
 
 CAPTAIN CHESXEY. 219 
 
 " It's of little good my telling him, Miss Laura. 
 He declares that he'll stop there all night, but what 
 he'll see the captain, or some of the family. He 
 bade me go in, and not waste my breath over 
 him, for he shouldn't take an answer from me." 
 
 " I will go to him, Rhode," said Jane, in a faint 
 voice. " Laura," she added, sinking into her 
 chair again as the maid retired, " how sick these 
 things make me ! I could almost rather die, than 
 see these creditors whom I cannot pay." 
 
 At that moment Captain Chesney's stick was 
 heard in full play, and his voice with it, shouting 
 for Jane. He brooked no delay when he called, 
 and Jane knew that she must run to him. " He 
 may keep me a long while, Laura ; I do not know 
 what it may be for — I do wish he would let me sit 
 with him, to be at hand. Laura, could you, for 
 once, go out to this man ? " 
 
 " If I must, I must," replied Laura Chesney ; 
 " but I'd rather go a mile the other way. Though, 
 indeed, Jane, I have no more right to be exempt 
 from these unpleasantnesses than you." 
 
 " You could not manage with them as I do ; you 
 would grow angry and haughty with them," returned 
 Jane, as she ran up-stairs. " Coming, coming, 
 coming, dear papa," she called out, for the stick 
 was clattering furiously. 
 
 Miss Laura Chesney proceeded down the gravel
 
 220 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 walk which swept round the lawn, and looked over 
 the gate. There stood a respectahle-looking man 
 in a velveteen dress. He was the proprietor of a 
 fly in the neighbourhood, which Captain Chesney 
 had extensively patronised, being rather given to 
 driving about the country ; but the captain had not 
 been found so ready to pay. Apart from his strait- 
 ened means, Captain Chesney possessed a sailor's 
 proverbial carelessness with regard to money : it 
 was not so much that he ran wilfully into expense, 
 as that he ran heedlessly into it. It never occurred 
 to the captain, when he ordered the fly for an hour 
 or two's recreation, and would seat himself in state 
 in it, his legs up on the seat before him, his stick in 
 his hand, and one of his daughters by his side, that 
 the time of settling must come. Very pleasant and 
 sociable would he be with the driver, for there lived 
 not a pleasanter man, when he pleased, than Captain 
 Chesney ; and the driver would lean down from his 
 box and touch his hat, and tell about this place 
 they were passing, and the other place. But the 
 time of settling had come, was long past ; a good 
 deal of money was owing to the man, and he could 
 not get it. 
 
 " Captain Chesney is ill ; he cannot be seen," 
 began Laura, in a haughty, impatient tone. " Can 
 you not take your answer ? " 
 
 " I've took too many such answers, miss," replied
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY. 221 
 
 the applicant. " Here I come, day after clay, week 
 after week, and there's always an excuse ready. 
 ' The captain's out,' or ' the captain's ill.' It is 
 time there was a end to it." 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked Laura. 
 
 " Want ! why, my money. Look here, miss. 
 I'm a poor man, with a wife and family to keep, and 
 my wife sick a-bed. If I can't get that money that 
 the captain owes me, it'll be the ruin of me ; and 
 have it I must and will." 
 
 He spoke in a civil but yet in a determined tone. 
 Laura wished from her very heart that she could 
 pay him. 
 
 " Here you have been, miss, the captain and 
 some of you ladies, always a-riding about in my 
 fly, a-hindering me from letting it to other cus- 
 tomers that would have paid me ; and when I come 
 to ask for my just due, nobody's never at home to 
 
 me." 
 
 " Is it much ? " asked Laura. 
 
 "It's seven pound twelve shillings. Will you 
 pay me, miss ? " 
 
 She was startled to hear it was so much. " I 
 wish I could pay you," she involuntarily exclaimed. 
 " I have nothing to pay with." 
 
 " Will you let me in then, to see Captain Ches- 
 ney?" 
 
 " When I tell you he is ill, and cannot see you,
 
 222 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 I tell you truth," replied Laura. " You must come 
 when he is better." 
 
 " Look here, miss/' said the man. " You won't 
 pay me ; perhaps it's true that you can't ; and you 
 won't let me in to see the captain, who could. So 
 I'll be obliged to you to give him a message from 
 me. I'm very sorry to annoy any gentleman, tell 
 him ; but I must do it in self-defence ; and now 
 this is Thursday, and as true as that we two, miss, 
 stand here, if the money is not paid me between this 
 and twelve o'clock on Saturday, I'll take out a sum- 
 mons against him for the debt." 
 
 The man turned away as he spoke, and walked 
 rapidly down the hill. Laura leaned on the gate, 
 giving way to her vexation. She was not so often 
 brought into contact with this sort of unpleasant- 
 ness as Jane, and perhaps it was well she was 
 not, for Laura would not have borne it placidly. 
 She felt at that moment as if any asylum, any 
 remote desert, would be a haven of rest, in compari- 
 son with her father's home. 
 
 Suddenly she lifted her head, for one was ap- 
 proaching who had become to her dangerously dear, 
 and she recognised the step. A rich damask flushed 
 her cheek, her eyelids fell over her eyes that they 
 might hide their loving light, and her hand trembled 
 as it was taken by Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " My darling ! were you watching for me ? ''
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY. 223 
 
 She neither said yes nor no ; the bliss of meeting 
 him, of being in his presence, of feeling her hand 
 in contact with his, was all-sufficient; rendering her 
 far too confused to answer rationally. 
 
 And did Mr. Carlton love her ? Yes, it has been 
 said so — loved her with a powerful and impassioned 
 love. He had been a man of wayward passions, 
 stopping at little which could promote their gratifi- 
 cation, and perhaps there were some passages in his 
 bygone life which he did not care to glance back at ; 
 but his heart had never been awakened to love — to 
 pure, spiritualised love — until he knew Laura Ches- 
 ney. For some little time now it had been his 
 ardent desire, his purpose, to make her his wife ; 
 and for Mr. Carlton to will a thing was to do it. 
 Laura anticipated strong objection from her father 
 and her family. Mr. Carlton cared no more for 
 such objection than for the idle wind. 
 
 "Papa has been so impatient for you, Lewis," 
 she murmured. 
 
 " Is he worse to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. But he is very irritable." 
 
 "I did not intend to come in now," remarked 
 Mr. Carlton. " I have a call to make a little higher 
 up, at Mrs. Newberry's, and I thought I would take 
 Captain Chesney on my return. I could remain 
 longer by coming afterwards." 
 
 " I think you had better just come in to papa
 
 224 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 first, if only for a few moments," said Lauru. 
 " Perhaps," she timidly added, "you can come in 
 again when you have been to Mrs. Newberry's ? " 
 
 She touched the spring by which the gate was 
 opened, a spring unknown to troublesome customers, 
 and Mr. Carlton entered. He held out his arm to 
 escort her to the house. 
 
 " No, no," she whispered, with a deep blush. 
 " Jane is at the window." 
 
 " So much the better, my dearest. Yes, Laura, 
 I will have you take it," he said with firmness, 
 placing her hand within his arm. "You tell me you 
 prefer that they should become acquainted with this 
 by degrees, rather than that I should speak at once 
 to Captain Chesney. But, Laura, I promise you 
 one thing, — that I shall speak to him ere much 
 more time has passed over our heads." 
 
 Jane, who had merely been wanted for a minute 
 by her father, was in the drawing-room again, and 
 standing at the window with Lucy, when Laura 
 advanced, leaning on the arm of Mr. Carlton. 
 Jane's face expressed its astonished disapproba- 
 tion, and even the little girl was conscious that — 
 according to the notions of the family — it ought not 
 to have been. 
 
 "Jane, do you see Laura?" 
 
 "Laura is thoughtless, my dear. She forgets 
 herself."
 
 CAPTAIN* CHESNEY. 225 
 
 Mr. Carlton went up-stairs at once to Captain 
 Chesney. He did not stay ; and in coming down 
 stepped in at the open door of the drawing-room. 
 Lucy ran from it as he entered, and Laura had 
 evidently hut that moment gone in. Miss Chesney 
 returned his salutation coldly. 
 
 "You have made but a short visit to papa, Mr. 
 Carlton/' 1 she remarked. 
 
 " I am coming in again after I have seen a patient 
 higher up," he replied. " What an unfavourable 
 day it has been ! " 
 
 '-Yes it has. Do you know whether the inquest 
 is over ? " continued Jane, her reserve merging in 
 her curiosity. 
 
 " It is only just over. And that is why my visit 
 to Captain Chesney is so late this evening. They 
 had me before them three or four times." 
 
 " What is the verdict, Mr. Carlton ? " asked 
 Laura ; and the reader may remark that while she 
 had called him by his Christian name, had spoken 
 familiarly, when they were alone, she was formal 
 enough with him now, in the presence of her sister. 
 Deceit ! deceit ! it never yet brought forth good 
 fruit. 
 
 "'Nothing satisfactory," was the surgeon's answer. 
 " They found that the cause of death was the 
 prussic acid in the draught ; but how it got into it 
 they deemed that there was no evidence to show." 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " What should you have called ' satisfactory ? ' 
 asked Miss Chesney. 
 
 Mr. Carlton smiled. " When I sa}- not satis- 
 factory, I mean that the whole affair still lies in 
 uncertainty." 
 
 "Do you suspect any one yourself, Mr. Carl- 
 ton?" 
 
 " Not of wilfully causing the death. But," he 
 added, in a more hesitating tone, " I have, of course, 
 my own opinion." 
 
 " That it occurred through the careless mistake 
 of Mr. Stephen Grey ? " 
 
 The surgeon nodded his head. " Through some 
 mistake, undoubtedly ; and it is impossible to look 
 to any other quarter for it. But I should not care 
 to express so much in public. It is not agreeable 
 for a medical man to find himself obliged to cast 
 reflection on a brother practitioner." 
 
 " I do not see that there can be the slightest 
 shade of doubt upon the point," remarked Miss 
 Chesney. " The medicine was taken straight from 
 Mr. Stephen Grey's hands to the sick room, there- 
 fore how else could it have got in ? Aud your 
 having smelt the prussic acid when the draught was 
 brought up, is a sure proof that it must have been 
 done in the mixing. Has anything come out about 
 the poor young lady's connections? who she was, or 
 where she came from ? "
 
 CAPTAIN CHESNEY. 5J27 
 
 " Not anything," replied Mr. Carlton. " They 
 cannot even discover her Christian name." 
 
 " And have you not found out who it was who 
 recommended her to you, Mr. Carlton ? " inquired 
 Laura. 
 
 " I cannot find out at all. I wrote on Tuesday to 
 the various friends in London whom I thought at 
 all likely to have mentioned me, and have had 
 answers from some of them to-day; but they deny 
 all knowledge of Mrs. Crane. You see, there is 
 great uncertainty in every way ; for we are not even 
 sure that she did come from London." 
 
 Laura resumed. " It is said she was very beauti- 
 ful. Was she so, Mr. Carlton ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton paused ere he gave his answer. 
 "In health, and up and dressed, she may have 
 been so ; but I did not see her dressed, you know. 
 I saw her only in bed, and by candlelight." 
 
 He spoke the last final words as he crossed the 
 hall to depart, for he was in haste to pay his visit 
 to the house higher on the Rise. 
 
 Q 2
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 miss ciiesnky's fear. 
 
 Laura Chesney stood at the window, watching 
 the retreating form of the surgeon, Mr. Carlton, as 
 he passed hastily down the garden path in the 
 growing twilight. A short while, and he would be 
 back again as he had promised ; and Laura's heart 
 beat at the thought, at the anticipated rapture of 
 seeing him again, and she remained silent, losing 
 herself in dreams of the sweetest delusion. 
 
 Only to be rudely awakened. Miss Chesney 
 stepped to Laura's side and spoke, her gentle voice 
 sounding strange in its sternness. 
 
 " Laura, could it be that I saw you walk through 
 the garden when Mr. Carlton came, arm-in-arm 
 witli him ? " 
 
 Laura turned her face away from her sister's 
 view, or even in that fading hour Miss Chesney 
 would have seen the red flush that overspread it at 
 the words, dyeing it of a blood-red. She made no 
 answer. 
 
 " It was not seemly, Laura. Mr. Carlton is but
 
 miss chesney's fear. 220 
 
 a surgeon : a man, so far as we know, without con- 
 nections. And you are a Chesney." 
 
 " With connections," retorted Laura, who was 
 growing vexed and angry. " And much good they 
 do me ! " 
 
 " Laura dear, we are, as may he said, of the 
 noblesse : we may not lose caste." 
 
 " I think we have lost caste already, with these 
 wretched, paltry debts hanging over and following 
 us about from place to place like a shadow," was the 
 petulant answer. " The} r degrade us pretty well." 
 
 " You mistake, Laura. If you intend that as 
 a refutation to my argument, you look at things 
 in a wrong light. In one sense of the word the 
 debts degrade us, because there always is a degra- 
 dation attaching itself to these petty debts ; but 
 the}*- cannot in the slightest degree sully our caste ; 
 they cannot detract from our good birth or tarnish 
 it. Do not again allow Mr. Carlton to put himself 
 on a familiar level with you." 
 
 Loving him, as she did, with an impassioned, 
 blind, all-absorbing love, Laura Chesney in her heart 
 bitterly resented this reflection on Mr. Carlton. She 
 was fast falling into that sadly mistaken, unhealthy 
 frame of mind in which every consideration is lost 
 in the one swaying passion — love. Openly she did 
 not dare to dissent from her sister; it might have 
 brought on an explanation for which Laura was not
 
 230 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 prepared ; and Jane, deeming she had said enough; 
 passed to a different topic. 
 
 " What did the fly driver say ?" 
 
 " He insisted on the money's being paid to him 
 between now and twelve o'clock on Saturday; fail- 
 ing it then, he will proceed against papa publicly. 
 Jane, I am sure the man will carry out his threat. 
 He was not loud and angry, not even uncivil ; but 
 he was resolute." 
 
 "And how is it to be procured?" moaned Jane, 
 leaning her head upon her hand. " I would almost 
 sell myself," she added, with a burst of feeling, 
 " rather than bring these annoyances before papa ? 
 Oh, if I could but take these troubles more effec- 
 tuallv off him ! " 
 
 " Papa can do battle with them a great deal better 
 than you can, Jane," said Laura, who was far from 
 sharing Jane's ultra filial feeling on the point. 
 " And it is more fit that he should." 
 
 " It is not more lit," retorted Jane Chesney, 
 whose usually gentle spirit could be roused by any 
 reproach cast on him. " He is my dear dear father, 
 and I ask no better than to devote my life to warding 
 off care from his." 
 
 " Would you wish no better ?" asked Laura, in a 
 low, wondering tone, as she glanced at the bliss 
 presenting itself for her future life — the spending it 
 with Lewis Carlton.
 
 miss chesxey's fear. 231 
 
 " Nor wish better," replied Jane. And the 
 younger sister gazed at her in compassion and half 
 in disbelief. 
 
 " There are other petty cares coming upon us, 
 Laura," resumed Jane, in a different tone. " Rhode 
 has given me warning to leave." 
 
 "Rhode has \" quickly echoed Laura in surprise. 
 •'What for?" 
 
 " To ' better herself,' she said. I suspect the 
 true motive is, that she is tired of the place. There 
 is a great deal to do ; and she hinted, somewhat 
 insolently, that she did not like a sendee where 
 applicants were continually coming for money only 
 to be put off ; it ' tried her temper.' I told her she 
 might go the instant I could procure a fresh servant. 
 I do not choose to keep dissatisfied people in the 
 
 house longer than can be helped. She What is 
 
 it, Lucy ? " 
 
 The little girl had come running in, eagerly. 
 "Jane, a young woman wants to see you." 
 
 " Another creditor/' thought Jane with a sinking 
 heart. " Is it the woman from the fruit shop, 
 Lucy ? " 
 
 " Oh no. Rhode says it is a young woman come 
 after the place. She has taken her into the kitchen, 
 and wished me to ask if you would please to see 
 her." 
 
 ]\Iiss Chesney looked as though she scarcely
 
 ~32 loud oakburn's daughters. 
 
 understood. "A young woman come after the 
 place!" she repeated. "Why it is not an hour 
 since Rhode told me she must leave ! Ring the 
 bell, Lucy." 
 
 Rhode came in, in answer. Miss Chesney re- 
 quested an explanation with, quiet dignity, and 
 Rhode turned red, and put on a defiant look, as if 
 she could be again insolent if she saw fit. 
 
 " I have made up my mind to it some days, Miss 
 Chesney, and I daresay I may have spoken of it 
 abroad. The young woman says Mrs. Fitch at the 
 Lion told her of the place." 
 
 " Show the young woman into the dining-room/' 
 said Miss Chesney. And she proceeded thither, 
 encountering Pompey on her way, who informed her 
 of the termination of the inquest, and its result. 
 
 In the dining-room stood Judith Ford. She had 
 come straight up as soon as the inquest was over. 
 Neatly dressed in good mourning, steady in de- 
 meanour, her face full of sense and thought, Jane 
 Chesney took a fancy to her at the first glance. 
 Judith gave a few particulars as to herself, con- 
 cluding with observing that she had been informed 
 by Mrs. Fitch it was a housemaid who was required, 
 but the servant Rhode had now told her it was a 
 cook. 
 
 " In point of fact, it may be said to be both," 
 replied Miss Chesne}'. " We require a servant who
 
 miss chesney's FEAK. 23o 
 
 can undertake both duties — a niaid-of-all-work, as it 
 is called. We are gentlepeople and highly con- 
 nected," she hastened to add, not in a spirit of 
 proud, mistaken boasting, but as if it were due to 
 their own dignity to explain so far ; " but my father, 
 Captain Chesney, has a very limited income, which 
 obliges us to keep as few servants as possible. 
 Could you take such a place ?" 
 
 Judith reflected a moment before giving her reply. 
 In her time she had lived in the capacity of cook 
 and was equal to its duties, but it was not the place 
 she would have preferred. 
 
 "Should I be the only servant kept, ma'am?" 
 she inquired, feeling, in the midst of her demur, 
 that she should like much the gentle lady before 
 her for a mistress. 
 
 " The only maid servant. We keep a man who 
 attends on papa and waits at table ; he helps a good 
 deal also in the kitchen, gets in coal, cleans the 
 knives, and such-like ; and he answers the door in 
 a general way. I do not think you would find the 
 work too much." 
 
 " I think I might venture upon it," observed 
 Judith, half in soliloqivy. " I once lived sole in a 
 place. It was a gentleman's family, ma 1 am, too. I 
 have never served in any other." 
 
 " We could not take a servant from a trades- 
 person's family," returned Miss Chesney, who was
 
 23 J lord oakijurn's daughters. 
 
 deeply intrenched in lier aristocratic prejudices. 
 " Where is it that you say you are staying?" 
 
 " Number fourteen, Palace Street." 
 
 The sound struck on Miss Chesne}-'s ear. 
 "Number fourteen, Palace Street! Why! that 
 must be close to the house where that sad tragedy 
 has just taken place !" 
 
 " It is next door to it, ma'am," was Judith's 
 answer. 
 
 All Jane Chesney's curiosity, all her marvel — and 
 the best of us possess a good share of it — was 
 aroused. "Did you see the young lady?" she 
 inquired, quite breathless in her interest. 
 
 " I saw her several times ; I was with her," was 
 Judith's answer. " Mr. Stephen Grey could not 
 get the nurse for her that he wished, and he was 
 glad that I could be with her ; he saw a great deal 
 of me, ma'am, in my last place." 
 
 " It was a terrible thing," remarked Miss Chesney. 
 
 " It was an awful thing," said Judith, " wherever 
 the blame may lie." 
 
 " That of course lies with Mr. Stephen Grey. 
 There cannot be two opinions upon it." 
 
 " There can, ma'am," dissented Judith, in an 
 impressive but respectful manner. " The jury — to 
 go no further — were of a different opinion." 
 
 " I can understand their verdict ; that is, under- 
 stand the feeling which prompted them to return it.
 
 miss chksxey's fear. 235 
 
 They did not like to bring in one against their 
 fellow townsman. Mr. Stephen has been so much 
 respected in the town — as I hear; but we are little 
 more than strangers in South Wennock." 
 
 " The case is altogether shrouded in unaccount- 
 able mystery,:' said Judith, her own voice assuming 
 unconsciously a tone of awe as she spoke. " It 
 may come to light some time ; I trust it will ; when- 
 ever it does I am sure it will be found that Mr. 
 Stephen Grey was innocent." 
 
 " Do you think there was no mistake made in the 
 medicine ? " 
 
 " I feel persuaded there was none ; that it was 
 sent out from Mr. Stephen Grey's pure. That the 
 young lady was murdered, — as deliberately and 
 wickedly murdered as anybody ever was in this 
 world, is my firm belief." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 " Ah, ma'am, there it all lies. That is the 
 mystery that nobody can fathom." 
 
 " Pompey has been saying that the people were 
 talking when they came out of the inquest room 
 about the strange face on the stairs. They said 
 that, but for that, the verdict might have gone 
 against Mr. Stephen Grey." 
 
 This interposition came from Lucy Chesney; 
 she had come silently into the room to look at the 
 young woman who was seeking to live with them.
 
 236 loud oakburn's daughters. 
 
 The unfortunate affair in Palace Street, with its 
 strange attendant circumstances, had excited all 
 her interest — as such affairs will and do excite the 
 interest of children — and every little additional 
 detail was eagerly picked up by Lucy. 
 
 ' What strange face was seen on the stairs ? " 
 exclaimed Jane Chesney, forgetting reproof in her 
 surprise. 
 
 " Pompey says that Mr. Carlton saw a man with 
 a strange face by the lady's bed-room door, just 
 before her death, Jane.'' 
 
 Jane Chesney recalled her scattered senses. 
 " Lucy, go up to papa," she said. " You should 
 not have come in here without asking my per- 
 mission, and you must not listen to all the idle 
 tales brought home by Pompey." 
 
 The little girl went away in obedience, but half 
 reluctantly, and Miss Chesne}' inquired an explana- 
 tion of Judith. 
 
 " "When Mr. Carlton paid a visit to Mrs. Crane 
 the night of the death, he thought, in leaving, that 
 he saw a strange face on the stairs. Mr. Carlton 
 now says he thinks it was only his fancy ; but, 
 ma'am, the coroner seemed to attach a great deal of 
 importance to it. It is a pity," added Judith, 
 again falling into soliloqu}', " but all the circum- 
 stances could be brought into the full, clear light 
 of day."
 
 miss chesney's fear. 237 
 
 " Seemed to attach — you do not mean to say you 
 were at the inquest ! " exclaimed Miss Chesney. 
 
 " Yes, I was, ma'am. I have now come from it." 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing," cried Miss 
 Chesney, recovering from her astonishment. It 
 did sound very strange to her that a servant should 
 attend a coroner's inquest for — as she supposed — 
 pleasure. 
 
 " I was anxious to be there," explained Judith, 
 " and I did not know hut I might be called upon 
 also as a witness. Though I had known the young 
 lady but three or four days, ma'am, I had learnt to 
 love her, and since she died I have hardly touched 
 food. I could not have rested without hearing the 
 evidence. And I am very glad I did hear it," she 
 added, pointedly and emphatically. " My having 
 been at the inquest will not make me the less good 
 servant, ma'am." 
 
 Miss Chesney could not avoid a smile. Of course 
 it would not, she answered ; but the admission had 
 sounded strange. However, she was not one to 
 carry on gossip with a servant, and she quitted the 
 subject for the other, which had brought Judith to 
 the house. 
 
 The result of the interview was, that Judith's 
 character was to be inquired into of her late mistress, 
 and she was told to come again in a clay or two for 
 a final answer.
 
 23 i> oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Miss Chesney, deep in thought, entered the 
 drawing-room with a quiet step ; and a choking 
 sensation of pain, of dread, rushed over her, 
 for she fancied she saw her sister Laura's face 
 lifted hurriedly from the shoulder of Mr. Carlton. 
 She must have been deceived, she repeated to 
 herself the next moment ; yes, she must have been 
 deceived. 
 
 But he was certainly standing there ; they were 
 standing together in the slight remaining rays of 
 light that came in at the window. Jane Chesney 's 
 eyes suddenly opened to much that had hitherto 
 been obscure — to .Laura's fastidiousness latterly on 
 the subject of her own dress, to the beaming look 
 of radiant happiness sometimes to be seen on her 
 face, to her unaccountable restlessness when they 
 were expecting the daily professional visit of the 
 surgeon. Could it be possible that she was learning 
 to love him? 
 
 Crossing the room, she stirred the black fire into 
 a blaze, rang for the lamp, and turned to Laura ; 
 speaking sharply. 
 
 " Why are you in the dark, Laura ? " 
 
 " Because Pompey did not bring in the lamp, I 
 suppose," returned Laura, in a tone breathing some- 
 what of incipient defiance: 
 
 Jane pressed down her anger, her fear, and com- 
 posed her manner to calmness. " I did not know
 
 MISS CHESNEVs FEAR. 239 
 
 you had returned, Mr. Carlton," she said. " Have 
 you been back long ? " 
 
 " Long enough to talk secrets to Laura," he 
 laughingly replied, in a bold spirit. " And now I 
 will go up to Captain Chesney." 
 
 He met the black servant carrying the lamp in as 
 he quitted the room. Pompey was getting to be 
 quite an old man now ; he had been in Captain 
 Chesney's service for many years. 
 
 " Let the shutters be for the present, Pompey," 
 said his mistress ; " Come in again by-and-by. 
 What is all this, Laura ? " she added impatiently, 
 as the man left the room. 
 
 Laura Chesney remained at the window, looking 
 out into the darkness, her heart full of rebellion. 
 " What is what ? " she asked. 
 
 " "What did Mr. Carlton mean — that he had been 
 talking secrets to you ? " 
 
 "It was a foolish remark to make." 
 
 " And he presuming!}' spoke of you by your 
 Christian name ! " 
 
 " Did he ? " 
 
 "Did he ! Did you not notice it ? Laura, I — I 
 thought — I thought I saw your head leaning upon 
 him," returned Jane, speaking as if the very ut- 
 terance of the words choked her. 
 
 " You are fanciful," answered the younger sister. 
 " You always were."
 
 240 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Wfre the words spoken in subterfuge ? Jane 
 feared so. " Oh Laura ! " she exclaimed in agita- 
 tion, " I have heard of young ladies allowing 
 themselves to be on these familiar terms with men, 
 receiving homage from them in their vanity, caresses 
 even in their love ! Surely nothing of the sort is 
 arising between you and Mr. Carlton ? " 
 
 Laura made no reply. ^ 
 
 " Laura," continued Jane, in a sharp, ringing tone 
 of pain, " do 3-011 like him ? Oh, take care what 
 you are about ! You know you could never marry 
 Mr. Carlton." 
 
 " I do not tell you that I like him," faltered 
 Laura, some of her courage beginning to forsake 
 her. " But why could I not marry him ? " 
 
 " Marry him ! You ! The daughter of Captain 
 Chesney marry a common country apothecary ! 
 The niece " 
 
 " There ! don't go on, Jane ; that's enough," 
 — and the young lady stamped her foot pas- 
 sionately. 
 
 "But I must speak. You are Miss Laura 
 Chesney " 
 
 " I tell you, Jane, I won't listen to it. I am tired 
 of hearing who we are and what we are. What 
 though we have great and grand connections, — do 
 they do us any good ? Does it bring plenty to our 
 home? — does it bring us the amusement and
 
 miss chesney's FEAR. 24:1 
 
 society we have a right to expect ? Jane ! I am 
 tired of it all. There are moments when I feel 
 tempted to go and do as Clarice has done." 
 
 There was a long pause — a pause of pain ; for 
 Laura had alluded to the one painful subject of 
 the Chesneys' later life. Jane at length broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " It would be better for you, even that, than 
 marrying Mr. Carlton," she said in a hushed voice. 
 " Laura, were Mr. Carlton our equal, I could not 
 see you many him." 
 
 Laura turned round from the window now, turned 
 in her surprise. " Why ? " 
 
 "I do not know how it is that I have taken so 
 great a dislike to Mr. Carlton," continued Miss 
 Chesney in a dreamy tone, not so much answering 
 Laura as communing with herself. " Laura, I cannot 
 hear Mr. Carlton ; it seems to me that I would rather 
 see you in your grave than united to him, were he 
 the first match in England." 
 " But I ask you why." ; 
 
 " I cannot explain it. For one thing — but I 
 don't care to speak of that. You have accused me 
 before now, Laura, of taking prejudices without 
 apparent reason ; I have taken one against Mr. 
 Carlton." 
 
 Laura tossed her head. 
 
 " But — in speaking with reference to yourself — 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 we have been supposing for argument's sake that 
 he was your equal," resumed Jane. "He is not; 
 he never can be; therefore we may let the subject 
 drop." 
 
 " What were you going to urge against him, the 
 ' one thing ' that you would not speak of ? " returned 
 Laura. 
 
 " It may be as well not to mention it." 
 
 " But I shall be very much obliged to you to 
 mention it, Jane. I think you ought to do so." 
 
 " Well then — but you will think me foolish — Mr. 
 Carlton was so mixed up, and unfavourably, with 
 that dreadful dream I had of Clarice on Monday 
 night. I never liked Mr. Carlton, but since that 
 night I seem to have had a horror of him. I cannot 
 help this, Laura ; I daresay it is veiy foolish ; but — 
 we cannot account for these things." 
 
 How foolish Laura Chesney thought it, the 
 haughty contempt of her countenance fully told. 
 She would not condescend to answer it ; it was 
 altogether beneath her notice ; or she deemed it so. 
 
 Jane Chesney took her work-basket and sat 
 down near the lamp. She was looking at some 
 work, when a violent knocking overhead of Captain 
 Chesney's stick was heard, and Lucy came flying 
 down the stairs and burst into the room. 
 
 "Oh Jane!" she exclaimed, "Lady Oakburn's 
 dead."
 
 miss chesney's fear. 213 
 
 Jane dropped her work ; Laura moved to the 
 table, aroused to excitement. 
 
 " Dead !" repeated Jane. " And when she wrote 
 to me last week she was so well ! " 
 
 "Jane, Jane, you don't understand," said the 
 child. "It is young Lady Oakburn; not our old 
 aunt the dowager. And a little baby has died with 
 her." 
 
 The thumping of the stick overhead had never 
 ceased. Jane, recovering her scared senses, ran up- 
 stairs, the others following her. Captain Chesney 
 was on his couch, all turmoil and impatience, rap- 
 ping incessantly; and Mr. Carlton sat near him, 
 evidently at a loss to comprehend what caused the 
 tumult. A shaded candle was on the table, but the 
 blaze of the fire fell full on the surgeon's impassive 
 face, curious and inquiring now. It appeared that 
 he had been conversing with his patient when Lucy 
 saw something in the "Times" newspaper, which 
 was lying partially folded on the table, having only 
 recently been brought in, and she read it out aloud 
 to her father. 
 
 Captain Chesney lifted his stick and brought it 
 down on the table after his own fashion, as they 
 entered. " Take up that newspaper, Jane," he 
 exclaimed, " and see what it is that Lucy has 
 stumbled upon in the deaths." 
 
 Jane Chesney ran her eyes downwards from the 
 
 r 2
 
 244 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 top of the column, and caught sight of something 
 in the notice of births, which she read aloud. 
 
 " On the 12th instant, in South Audley Street, 
 the Countess of Oakburn of a daughter." 
 
 Then in the deaths : — 
 
 " On the 14th instant, in South Audley Street, 
 aged twenty-one, Maria, the beloved wife of the 
 Earl of Oakburn." 
 
 " On the 14th instant, in South Audley Street, 
 Clarice, the infant child of the Earl of Oakburn." 
 
 Jane's voice ceased, and the captain brought his 
 stick on the floor with one melancholy thump, as 
 did Uncle Toby his staff, in the colloquy with 
 Corporal Trim. 
 
 " Gone ! " uttered he. " The young wife gone 
 before the old grandmother ! " 
 
 " Did you know the parties, sir ! " asked Mr. 
 Carlton. 
 
 " Know them, sir ! " returned the choleric captain, 
 angry at having, as he deemed, so foolish a question 
 put to him, " I ought to know them, for they are 
 my blood relations." 
 
 " I was not aware of it," said Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " No, sir, perhaps you were not aware of it, but 
 it's true, for all that. My father, sir, was the 
 Honourable Frank Chesney, the second son of the 
 ninth Earl of Oakburn and brother to the tenth 
 carl ; and the late earl, eleventh in succession, and
 
 miss chesxey's fear. 245 
 
 father of the present earl, was my own cousin. It's 
 a shame that it should be true," continued the 
 captain, his stick noisily enforcing every other 
 word, " a shame that I should be so near the 
 peerage of England, and yet be a poor half-pay navy 
 captain ! Merit goes for nothing in this world, 
 and relationship goes for less. If the late earl had 
 chosen to exert himself, I should have been an 
 admiral long ago. There have been Admiral Ches- 
 neys who distinguished themselves in their day, 
 and perhaps I should have made no exception," he 
 concluded, with a violent accession of the stick 
 accompaniment. 
 
 " They named the little child ' Clarice,' you see, 
 papa," observed Jane, after a pause. 
 
 " As if the old dowager would let them name her 
 anything else ! " cried the captain. " You don't 
 know the Dowager Countess of Oakburn, probably, 
 Mr. Carlton ; the present earl's grandmother ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I do not." 
 
 " You have no loss. She is his grandmother, 
 and my aunt ; and of all the pig-headed, selfish, 
 opinionated old women, she's the worst. When Jane 
 was born"— nodding towards his daughter — "she 
 says to me, ' You'll name her Clarice, Frank.' ' No, 
 I won't/ I said, ' I shall call her by her mother's 
 name,' — which was Jane. The same thing over 
 again when Laura was born. ' You'll name her
 
 246 lord oakdurn's daughters. 
 
 Clarice, Frank, and I'll stand godmother,' cries the 
 countess. ' No I won't,' I said, ' I shall name her 
 after my sister Laura ' — who had died. And then 
 my lady and I had a lasting quarrel. Her own 
 name's Clarice, you see. Yes ! I am as near as 
 that to the great Oakburns (who are as poor as 
 church mice for their rank, all the whole lot), and 
 I'm a half-pay captain, hard up for a shilling ! " 
 
 "Are there many standing between you and the 
 title, sir ? " asked Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " There's not one between me and the title," was 
 the answer. " If the earl should die without chil- 
 dren, I become Earl of Oakburn. What of that ? 
 He is a young man and I am an old one. He'll 
 soon be marrying again, and getting direct heirs 
 about him." 
 
 " I think if I were as near the British peerage as 
 that, I should be speculating upon reaching it," said 
 Mr. Carlton, with a genial laugh. 
 
 "And prove yourself a fool for your pains," re- 
 torted the blunt sailor. " No ; it's bad enough 
 looking after old men's dead shoes; but it's worse 
 looking after young ones'. I thank goodness I 
 have not been idiot enough for that ; I never, sir, 
 allowed myself to glance at the possibility of be- 
 coming Earl of Oakburn : never. There was also 
 another heir before me, the young earl's brother, 
 Arthur Chesney, but he died. He got into a
 
 miss chesney's fear. 247 
 
 boating row at Cambridge a year or two back, 
 and was drowned. Jane, you must see to the 
 mourning." 
 
 Jane's heart sank with dismay at the prospect of 
 the unexpected cost. " Need we go to the expense, 
 papa ? " she faltered. 
 
 " Need we go to the expense ! " roared the cap- 
 tain, his tongue and his stick going together, 
 " what do you mean ? You'd let the young coun- 
 tess go into her grave, and not put on mourning 
 for her ? You are out of your senses, Miss 
 Chesney." 
 
 Mr. Carlton rose. He buttoned his coat over his 
 slender and very gentlemanly figure, and contrived 
 to whisper a word to Laura as he was departing. 
 
 " Be at ease, my darling. You shall be mine. 
 Should they deny you to me, I will steal you from 
 them." 
 
 Her hand was momentarily in his; his breath 
 mingled with hers, so low had he bent to her ; and 
 Laura, with a face of crimson and an apprehensive 
 heart, glanced round to see if Jane was watch- 
 ing. But Jane had stooped over the gouty foot, 
 in compliance with some sudden demand of Cap- 
 tain Chesney's.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 mk. carlton's demand. 
 
 A short while went by, just a week or two, and 
 the excitement caused by Mrs. Crane's death was 
 beginning in some degree to subside. No dis- 
 coveries had been made, no tidings obtained as to 
 who she was or what she was; no light whatever 
 had arisen to clear up the mystery of her death. It 
 is just possible the police did not bestir themselves 
 in the search so actively and perseveringly as they 
 might have done ; there were no distressed surviving 
 relatives to urge them on; there was no reward 
 offered as a spur to exertion : and the poor young 
 lady, who had arrived so strangely at South Wen- 
 nock, apparently friendless and unknown, seemed 
 likely to remain unknown. 
 
 Things were progressing at the house of Captain 
 Chesney. Progressing to an issue that not one of 
 its inmates as yet dreamed of. The Captain him- 
 self was not progressing. Through some impru- 
 dence of his own he had been thrown back in his 
 recovery, and was still a prisoner to his room.
 
 mr. carlton's demand. 249 
 
 The crape band placed on his hat for the young 
 Countess of Oakburn had not yet been worn, and 
 Jane Chesney was already beginning to be in trouble 
 over the bills, sent in for the mourning of herself 
 and sisters. The disagreeable servant Ehode had 
 departed, and Judith Ford had entered the house in 
 her place. 
 
 So far, so good. But that was not all. 
 
 The relapse of Captain Chesney afforded an 
 excuse for the more frequent visits of Mr. Carlton. 
 The fractious invalid complacently set them down 
 to anxiety for himself, and thought what an atten- 
 tive doctor he possessed. Jane was half in doubt 
 whether the two visits daily — the short one in the 
 morning, snatched while Mr. Carlton was on his 
 round to his other patients ; the long, gossiping one 
 in the evening — had their rise in any motive so 
 praiseworthy : but as she saw no further reprehen- 
 sible signs of intimacy between the surgeon and her 
 sister, she hoped for the best. 
 
 Unknown to Jane Chesney, however, Mr. Carlton 
 and Laura did contrive to snatch occasionally sundry 
 stolen moments of interview. In one of these, Mr. 
 Carlton told her that the time had come for his 
 speaking out to Captain Chesney. His father, who 
 had been — he emphatically said it — a bad father to 
 him for years, who had turned a resolutely deaf ear 
 to any mention of his son's possible marriage, who
 
 250 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 would never suffer a hint of such a future contin- 
 gency to be mentioned in his presence, nay, who 
 threatened to invoke all kinds of ill upon his head 
 if he contracted one, had suddenly veered round to 
 the opposite extreme. Nothing brings a bad or 
 careless man to his senses sooner than to find him- 
 self struck down with unexpected or desperate sick- 
 ness, where the grave is seen as a near vista, its 
 portals already opening. Such an illness had over- 
 taken Mr. Carlton the elder, and perhaps had been 
 the means of changing his policy. One thing it 
 certainly effected: a reconciliation with his son. 
 From his residence in the east of London, a hand- 
 some house in a bad district, where he lav, as he 
 thought, dying, he sent forth a telegraphic summons 
 to his son at South "Wennock, as you have already 
 heard tell of; and though the immediate danger 
 was soon over for the time, some of its penitential 
 effects remained. Mr. Carlton urged marriage upon 
 his son now, telling him it would keep him steady, 
 and he made him a present of a good sum towards 
 the setting up of his house for the reception of a 
 wife. 
 
 The money was only too welcome to Lewis 
 Carlton ; nobody but himself knew how he had been 
 pushed, how pinched. He paid certain debts with 
 some of it, and the rest he was appropriating to its 
 legitimate purpose — the decorating and embellishing
 
 mr. caklton's demand. 251 
 
 of his house inside. Many articles of new and 
 costly furniture were ordered to come in ; and Mr. 
 Carlton spared no pains, no money, to make it 
 comfortable for her whom he loved so passionately 
 — Laura Chesney. 
 
 It never occurred to him that he could be eventu- 
 ally refused. A demur at first he thought there 
 might be, for Laura had confessed to him how 
 exacting her family was on the score of birth, and 
 Mr. Carlton had no birth to boast of, hardly knew 
 what the word meant. But if Laura had birth, he 
 had a good home, a rising practice, and the expec- 
 tation of money at his father's death ; and he may 
 be excused for believing that these advantages would 
 finally weigh with Captain Chesney. 
 
 "With Mr. Carlton, to determine upon a thing 
 was to do it. He had no patience, he could not 
 wait and watch his time ; what he resolved to have, 
 he must have at once. This acting upon impulse 
 had cost him something in his life, and perhaps 
 would again. 
 
 He did as he resolved. He spoke out boldly, 
 and asked Captain Chesney for his daughter Laura. 
 The captain received the offer — well, you had better 
 hear how he received it. 
 
 It was proffered at an hour when Jane and Laura 
 were out. Mr. Carlton had an instinctive convic- 
 tion that Jane Chesney would be against him, and
 
 -52 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Laura had confirmed liim in it ; therefore lie judged 
 it well to speak when she was out of the way. The 
 captain's consent gained, he could snap his fingers 
 metaphorically at Miss Chesney. He had paid his 
 morning visit to the captain, and then gone further 
 up the hill to see other patients, hut he was not 
 long, and as he was returning he saw the two Miss 
 ( hesneys come out of the gate, in their hlack silk 
 dresses, and go toward the town. The^y did not see 
 him. A moment's hesitating pause in his own 
 mind, and Mr. Carlton entered. Lucy came looking 
 from the drawing-room as he invaded the hall, and 
 he went into the drawing-room with her, while 
 Pompey went up to inquire if his master would 
 allow Mr. Carlton five minutes' private conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Are you drawing ? " Mr. Carlton asked, as he 
 saw the signs of employment on the tahle. 
 
 " Yes," replied Lucy, " I am so fond of drawing, 
 especially landscapes. Jane draws beautifully ; she 
 teaches me. Laura likes music hest. See, I have 
 to fill in these trees before Jane comes home; she 
 set me the task." 
 
 " You won't half do it," said Mr. Carlton, looking 
 down at the cardboard at which Lucy was now 
 working steadily. " You will be wanting to run 
 away to play, long before that's done." 
 
 " I may want perhaps, but I shall not do it. I
 
 mr. carlton's demand. 253 
 
 would not disobey Jane. Besides, it is my duty to 
 attend to my studies." 
 
 "Do you always do your duty?" inquired the 
 surgeon, with a smile. 
 
 " Not always, I'm afraid. But I try to do it. 
 Mr. Carlton, I want to ask you something ? " 
 
 " Ask away, young lady/' said he. 
 
 Lucy Chesne} r laid down her pencil, and turned 
 her sweetly earnest e3'es on Mr. Carlton ; they 
 were beaming just now with saddened light. 
 
 " Was it really true that that poor sick lady was 
 poisoned wilfully ? — that some wicked man put the 
 prussic acid in the draught ? " 
 
 How his mood changed ! The question appeared 
 to excite his ire, and an impatient word escaped 
 him. 
 
 " AVhat have I done now ? " exclaimed Lucy in 
 excessive wonder. " Ought I not to have asked 
 it?" 
 
 " I must beg your pardon, Miss Lucy," he said, 
 recovering his equanimity. " The fact is, I have 
 not had a moment's peace since the inquest. South 
 Wennock has done nothing but din these questions 
 into my ears. I think sometimes I shall be turned 
 into prussic acid myself." 
 
 " But was it wilfully done ? " persisted Lucy, for- 
 getting the rebuff in her anxious curiosity. 
 
 " That question had better be asked of Mr.
 
 254 LORD oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Stephen Grey : perhaps he can answer it. No, of 
 course it was not wilful!}- done." 
 
 "And, Mr. Carlton, please tell me, have they 
 found out whose lace that was upon the stairs ? " 
 
 A sudden shade arose to the face of Mr. Carlton, 
 discernible even by Lucy. The child thought it 
 looked like dread. 
 
 " That was all nonsense," said he. " There was 
 no face there." 
 
 " The captain says Misser Doctor go up," inter- 
 rupted the black servant, coming in with his broken 
 English. And Mr. Carlton went. 
 
 Captain Chesney was a prisoner still, as to his 
 legs ; they were raised on the rest. A table was on 
 one side of him, bearing various articles that he 
 might want, and his stick at hand on the other. 
 
 " What are you back for ? " he asked, with some 
 abruptness. 
 
 " I have a petition to make to you, Captain 
 Chesney," began the surgeon, as he took, uninvited, 
 a chair opposite the invalid, and perhaps for the 
 first time in his life Mr. Carlton may have been 
 conscious of a nervousness of manner quite foreign 
 to him. " I have been hoping to speak to you these 
 many weeks, and the time has at length come when 
 I trust I may do so without great presumption. 
 Before I enter upon my immediate subject, you will 
 allow me a word of explanation as to who I am.
 
 mr. carlton's demand. 255 
 
 My father is a medical man in London, in extensive 
 practice ; I am his only child, and expect at his 
 death to inherit something very considerable. I 
 think— I fear — that death will not be long delayed, 
 and then I shall be what may be called a rich 
 man." 
 
 " Sir," interrupted the plain-spoken sailor, 
 " wherefore tell me this ? Were your father Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer, and could endow you with 
 the country's revenues, it would be no business of 
 mine." 
 
 A flush rose to the brow of Mr. Carlton. 
 " Permit me a moment yet, Captain Chesney, 
 while I speak of myself. I am well established 
 here ; am getting into extensive practice — for the 
 Greys are going down ; and down they will go, after 
 that fatal mistake of Mr. Stephen's. In a little time, 
 sir, I expect to be netting a thousand pounds a year." 
 " But what is it all to me ? " wondered the captain. 
 " I'm sure you're welcome to it." 
 
 " Even had I only that in prospect, it would not 
 be so bad an income ; but when my father's money 
 is added to it, I shall hold my own with any one in 
 Wennock. Captain Chesney, I want one to share 
 this with me. I want you to give her to me. Your 
 daughter." 
 
 Mr. Carlton spoke in a low tone of emotion, and 
 it may be doubted whether the captain heard him
 
 25G lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 aright. Certain it is that he made no reply, but 
 stared at Mr. Carlton as if he had become moon- 
 struck. 
 
 " I speak of Miss Laura Chesney," continued the 
 surgeon. " Oh, sir, give her to me ! I will make 
 her a loving husband. She shall want for nothing 
 to render her happy that the most anxious care and 
 tenderness can bestow." 
 
 Captain Chesney wondered whether he himself 
 had gone mad, or whether Mr. Carlton had. He 
 had a firm conviction that it must be one or the 
 other. He no more believed it within the range of 
 possibility that any common country practitioner 
 should presume to aspire to an alliance with the 
 aristocratic family of Chesney, than that he, the 
 captain, should dare to aspire to one of the royal 
 princesses. His stick trembled ominously, but did 
 not as yet come down. 
 
 " What did you say, sir ? " he demanded, with 
 set teeth. 
 
 " Sir, I love your daughter ; I love Laura Chesney 
 as I have never yet loved, and never shall love 
 another. Will you suffer me to make her my wife ? " 
 
 Down came the stick in all its thunder, and out 
 roared the captain's voice as an accompaniment, 
 shouting for Pompey. The black servant flew up, 
 as if impelled by something behind him. 
 
 " Was massa ill ? "
 
 mr. carlton's demand. 257 
 
 " 111 ! " chafed the captain. " He is ! " he added, 
 pointing the stick at Mr. Carlton. "He's mad, 
 Pompey ; gone stark staring mad : you've shut me 
 up here with a mad fellow. Get him out of the 
 house, somehow." 
 
 The bewildered Pompey stood in confusion. He 
 knew his choleric master said anything that came 
 uppermost, and he glanced at the calm face, the 
 still, self-possessed bearing of Mr. Carlton; cer- 
 tainly he looked like anything but a madman. 
 
 Mr. Carlton rose, his manner haughty, his voice 
 cold. " Captain Chesney, I am a gentleman ; and 
 my proposal to you at least required courtesy. 
 Have the kindness to favour me with an intelligible 
 answer." 
 
 " I'll be shot if you get any other answer from 
 me. You are mad, sir ; nobody but a fool or a 
 madman would dream of such a thing as you have 
 now been proposing. Do you know, sir, that my 
 daughter is a Chesney ? " 
 
 " And I am a Carlton. If the names were to be 
 picked to pieces in the Heralds' College, the one 
 might prove equal, if not superior to the other." 
 
 " Why — goodness bless my soul ! " retorted the 
 amazed captain, " you — you are a common apothe- 
 cary, sir — a dispenser of medicine ! and you would 
 aspire to a union with the family of Chesney ? " 
 
 " I am a member of the Royal College of Sur- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 LOUD OAKBUKX'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 geons," angrily repeated Mr. Carlton, who was 
 beginning to lose his temper. 
 
 "If you were the whole College of Surgeons 
 rolled into one, — their head, and their tail, and their 
 middle, — you wouldn't dare to glance at my daughter, 
 had you any sense of propriety within you. Do 
 you mean to show this gentleman out, you rascal ? " 
 added the inflamed captain, menacing with his stick 
 the head of the unhappy Pompey. 
 
 "Door open, Misser Doctor," cried Pompey. 
 But Mr. Carlton motioned him away with a gesture 
 of the hand. 
 
 " Captain Chesney, I have told you that I love 
 your daughter ; I have told you that my prospects 
 are sufficiently assured to justify me in marrying. 
 Once more I ask you — will you give her to me ? " 
 
 " No, by Jove ! " raved the captain, " I'd see your 
 coffin walk first. Here — stop — listen to me ; I'd 
 rather see her in her coffin, than disgraced by con- 
 tact with you. You wed Laura Chesney ? Never, 
 never." 
 
 " What if I tell you that her hopes — her life, I 
 may almost say — are bound up in me ? " cried Mr. 
 Carlton in a low tone. 
 
 " What if I tell you that you are a bad and wicked 
 man ? " shrieked the captain. " How dared you 
 take advantage of your being called into my house 
 professionally, to cast your covetous eye on any of
 
 mr. carlton's demand. 259 
 
 ray family ? Was that gentlemanly, sir ? was it the 
 act of a man of honour ? You confounded old 
 idiot, standing there with your great goggle eyes, 
 what possesses you to disobey me ? Haven't I 
 ordered you to show this — this person — to the 
 door ! " 
 
 The last two sentences, as the reader may divine, 
 were addressed to the bewildered Pompey. Mr. 
 Carlton wore a resolute expression of face just then. 
 He took it with him, and stood before Captain 
 Chesney, folding his arms. 
 
 " It is said in Scripture, that a woman shall leave 
 father and mother, and cleave unto her husband. 
 I would ask you a question, Captain Chesney. By 
 what right, her affections being engaged, and my 
 means suitable, do you deny me your daughter ? '' 
 
 " The right of power, sir," was the sarcastic 
 retort. "And, now that I have answered your 
 question, allow me to ask you one. By what right 
 did you seek her affections ? You came into my 
 house with one ostensible object, and clandestinely 
 availed yourself of your footing in it to pursue 
 another ! Sir, you had no right to do this, and I 
 tell you that you are a sneak and a coward. Begone, 
 Mr. Surgeon ; send me up your bill, when you get 
 home, and never attempt to put your foot inside 
 my door again, or to cast a thought to Miss Laura 
 
 Chesney." 
 
 s 2
 
 260 loud oakburn's daughters. 
 
 That is easier said than done, Captain Chesney," 
 concluded Mr. Carlton, but he did not turn to 
 leave. 
 
 " Now, you black villain ! the door, I say ; and 
 both of you may thank your stars that I am this 
 day powerless, or your skins might learn what it is 
 to beard a quarter-deck commander." 
 
 But Mr. Carlton was already out, and Pompey 
 also. A good thing that they were, for the stick of 
 the roused captain came flying through the air after 
 them ; whether meant for one or the other, or both, 
 the sender best knew. It struck the door-post and 
 fell clattering on the floor, denting another dent 
 into the gold top, which already had so many dents 
 in it — as the meek Pompey could testify. 
 
 Leaning against the door, shivering and sick, was 
 Lucy Chesney. The noise in the chamber had 
 attracted her notice, and she ran up, but stopped at 
 the entrance, too terrified to enter. She touched 
 the arm of Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " Oh, tell me what has happened ? I heard 
 Laura's name. What has she done ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton shook off her hand, and moved for- 
 ward, buried in thought. Before he had descended 
 above a stair or two, his recollection apparently 
 came to him, and he went back to the child. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, my dear; it is nothing to 
 tremble at. 1 made a proposition to Captain
 
 MR. CARLTOX*S DEMAND. 261 
 
 Chesney, and he forgot his good manners in an- 
 swering it. It will be all right ; mind, I tell yon 
 that it will, and you may tell Laura so, from me. 
 Forgive my having passed you rudely, Lucy ; at 
 that moment I was not myself." 
 
 He quitted the house, turned out at the gate, and 
 there came face to face with the Misses Chesney. 
 Something that the}' intended to take to the town 
 with them had been forgotten, and they were re- 
 turning for it. Mr. Carlton stood before them and 
 raised his hat. Jane wondered at his presumption 
 in stopping them. 
 
 "Can I speak a word with you apart?" he sud- 
 denly demanded of Laura. 
 
 She blushed violently, but after a moment's in- 
 decision would have stepped aside with him, had 
 not Jane interposed. 
 
 " You can have nothing to say in private to Miss 
 Laura Chesney, that may not be said in public, 
 Mr. Carlton. I must beg her to decline j'our re- 
 quest." 
 
 In direct defiance to her sister, Laura could not 
 grant it. Mr. Carlton saw she could not, and his 
 resolution was taken. He addressed Laura, allow- 
 ing Miss Chesney to hear, but taking no more 
 notice of her than if she was not by. 
 
 " I have been speaking to Captain Chesney. I 
 have been asking him to allow me to address you,
 
 262 LORD OAKBURx's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 and he received my proposals as if they were an 
 insult. He would not hear me make them, or listen 
 to any explanation ; he treated me as I should 
 think no gentleman was ever treated yet. Laura, I 
 can now only depend upon you." 
 
 She stood before him, her whole face glowing; 
 frightened, hut happy. 
 
 " But Rome was not built in a day," added Mr. 
 Carlton. " Brick was added to brick, stone to 
 stone, mortar to mortar, pillar to pillar. Ill as 
 Captain Chesney has this day received me, I for- 
 give him for your sake, and hope the time may 
 come when he will be induced to listen to us. We 
 must both strive to subdue his prejudices/' 
 
 Jane moved a step forward ; she knew what her 
 own course would be, had the proposition been 
 made to her, and she had little doubt it must have 
 been her father's. 
 
 " Has my father forbidden you the house, sir?" 
 
 " He has. But, as I say, I and your sister must 
 hope to subdue his prejudices. Miss Chesney," he 
 added, seizing her unwilling hand, " do not you be 
 against us. I cannot give up Laura." 
 
 "You say 'against us,'" returned Jane. "In 
 making use of those words it would almost lead to 
 a belief that my sister has an understanding with 
 you in this matter. Is it so ?" 
 
 "It is," replied Mr. Carlton, in a deep tone; "the
 
 mr. carlton's demand. 263 
 
 understanding of love. Miss Chesney, it is no 
 child's affection that she and I entertain for each 
 other ; it is not one that can be readily put aside, 
 even at the will of Captain Chesne}'. "Will you aid 
 us to overcome his opposition ?" 
 
 " No," said Jane, in a low but firm tone. " I am 
 deeply grieved, deeply shocked, to hear you say this. 
 "What you are thinking of can never be." 
 
 " I see," said Mr. Carlton, in a cold accent, " you 
 share Captain Chesney's prejudices against me. 
 Miss Chesney — allow me to say it — they may not 
 yet be unconquerable. I tell you, I tell Laura in 
 your presence, that I will do all I can to subdue 
 them ; I will do all I can to win her, for mine she 
 shall be. My darling " — and his voice changed to 
 tenderness — " only be true to me ! it is all I ask. 
 I am not to be admitted again to your house ; but I 
 shall see you elsewhere, though it be but a chance 
 road meeting, such as this. Good morning, Miss 
 Chesney." 
 
 He passed on towards the town, and a conviction 
 of future trouble arose in Jane Chesney's heart as 
 she gazed after him. But she never guessed how 
 bitter that trouble was to be.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 
 
 A conflict was going on in the mind of Laura 
 Chesney. Two passions, bad and good, were at 
 work there, each striving for the mastery. 
 
 Should it be obedience or disobedience ? Should 
 she bear on in the straight line of duty, and be 
 obedient to her father, to all the notions of right in 
 which she had been reared ; or should she quit her 
 home in defiance, quit it clandestinely, to become 
 the wife of Mr. Carlton ? Reader ! It has indeed 
 come to this, grievous as it is to have to write it, at 
 the present day, of a well trained gentlewoman. 
 
 On the day that Mr. Carlton had asked_for Laura, 
 Captain Chesney commanded her before him. He 
 did not spare her ; every reproach that the case 
 seemed to demand was lavished upon her by the 
 indignant captain ; and he finally forbade her ever 
 to give another thought to Mr. Carlton. The abuse 
 he heaped upon the unconscious surgeon would 
 have been something grand if spoken upon the 
 boards of a theatre ; it simply made Laura rebel-
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 205 
 
 lious. He told her that, except in his professional 
 capacity, he disliked Mr. Carlton, and that nothing 
 in the world would ever induce him to admit the 
 man to his familv. And this he confirmed with 
 sundry unnecessary words. 
 
 Laura retired, apparently acquiescent. Not to 
 him did she dare show disobedience, and the cap- 
 tain concluded that the affair was settled and over. 
 Whether Laura's rebellious feelings would have 
 subsided afterwards into duty had she been let 
 alone, it is impossible to say ; but Mr. Carlton took 
 eveiy possible occasion of fostering them. 
 
 He did not want for opportunity. Laura — care- 
 less, wilful, reprehensible Laura — had yielded to 
 his persuasions of meeting him in secret. Evening 
 after evening, at the dusk hour, unless unavoidably 
 kept away b}~ the exigencies of patients, was Mr. 
 Carlton in the dark grove of trees that skirted 
 Captain Chesney's house ; and Laura found no 
 difficulty in joining him. The captain and Miss 
 Chesney would as soon have suspected her of steal- 
 ing out to meet a charged cannon as a gentleman, 
 and Laura's movements were free. 
 
 But it was not possible that this state of things 
 could continue. Laura had not been reared to 
 deceit, and she did feel ashamed of herself. She 
 felt also something else — a fear of detection. Each 
 evening as she glided, trembling, into that grove,
 
 2GG lord oakb urn's daughters. 
 
 she protested with tears to Mr. Carlton that it must 
 be the last ; that she dared not come again. And 
 suppose she made it the last, he answered, what 
 then ? were they to bid each other adieu for ever ? 
 
 Ah, poor Laura Chesney's heart was only too 
 much inclined to open to the specious argument 
 he breathed into it— that there was but one way of 
 ending satisfactorily the present unhappy state of 
 things ; that of flying with him. It took but a few 
 days to accomplish — the convincing her that it 
 would be best for them in every way, and inducing 
 her to promise to consent. So long as she was 
 Miss Laura Chesne}'', Captain Chesney's obstinacy 
 would continue, he argued ; but when once they 
 were married, he would be easily brought to forgive. 
 Mr. Carlton believed this when he said it. He 
 believed that these loud, hot-tempered men, who 
 were so fond of raging out, never bore malice 
 long. Perhaps as a rule he was right, but in all 
 rules there are exceptional cases. With many tears, 
 with many sighs, with many qualms of self-reproach, 
 Laura yielded her consent, and Mr. Carlton laid his 
 plans, and communicated them to her. But for his 
 having been forbidden the house, Laura might 
 never have ventured on the step ; but to continue 
 to steal out in fear and trembling to see him, she 
 dared not ; and to live without seeing him would 
 have been the bitterest fate of all.
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 267 
 
 In the few days that had elapsed since the rup- 
 ture between her father and her lover, Laura 
 Chesney seemed to have lived years. In her after 
 life, when she glanced back at this time, she asked 
 herself whether it was indeed possible that but 
 those few days, a fortnight at most, had passed over 
 her head, during which she was making up her 
 mind to leave her home with Mr. Carlton. Only a 
 few days ! to deliberate upon a step that must fix 
 . the destiny of her whole life ! 
 
 But we must hasten on. 
 
 It was about a month subsequent to the death of 
 Mrs. Crane, and the moon's rays were again glad- 
 dening the earth. The rays were weak and watery. 
 Dark clouds passed frequently over the face of the 
 sky, and sprinkling showers, threatening heavier 
 rain, fell at intervals. 
 
 Gliding out of her father's door, by the servants' 
 entrance, came Laura Chesney. She wore a black 
 silk dress, the mourning for Lady Oakburn, and a 
 black shawl was thrown over her head and shoulders. 
 She stepped swiftly down the narrow side-path 
 which led from this entrance to the foot of the 
 garden, and plunged amidst the thick trees there. 
 It was between eight and nine o'clock, and but for 
 this watery moon would have been quite dark. 
 Laura was later than she had wished to be. Cap- 
 tain Chesney was about again now, and it had
 
 368 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 pleased him to keep the tea waiting on the tahlo. 
 before he allowed Jane to make it. Laura sat 
 in a fever of impatience ; was Mr. Carlton waiting 
 for her ? — and would he go away ? Swallowing 
 down one cup of tea hastily, Laura declined more, 
 and, saying she had a headache, quitted the room. 
 
 Unheeding the drops of rain which began to fall, 
 unheeding the many drops which fell when the 
 shrubs and trees were shaken, Laura plunged into 
 their midst. Leaning against the trunk of one 
 that was thicker than the rest, stood Mr. Carlton. 
 Laura, who was in a state of perpetual and con- 
 tinuous terror during these interviews, flew to him 
 for shelter. 
 
 " 0, Lewis, I feared you would be gone ! I 
 thought I should never get away to-night. Papa 
 was reading the newspaper, and Jane would not 
 make the tea unless he told her. I dared not come 
 away until it was made, because they would have 
 been calling me to it." 
 
 " Only one night more, Laura, and then it will be 
 over," was his soothing answer. 
 
 At least, he had meant it to soothe. But the step 
 she was about to take seemed to yawn before Laura 
 then in all its naked and appalling sternness. 
 
 " I don't know that I can do it," she murmured 
 with a shiver. " It is an awful thing. Do you 
 mind me, Lewis ? — an awful thing."
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 269 
 
 " What is ? " asked Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " The running away from my father's home. I 
 have read of it in books, but I never knew any one 
 who did it in real life ; and now that the time is 
 coming close, I cannot tell you how I seem to 
 shrink from it. We have been brought up to be so 
 obedient." 
 
 " Hush, Laura ! You are falling into an unne- 
 cessarily grave view of this." 
 
 She did not answer aloud, but she began asking 
 herself whether too grave a view could be taken of 
 a daughter's leaving clandestinely her father's home. 
 Laura's conscience was unusually alive to-night. A 
 gliuiiner of the watery moon fell on her face through 
 the trees, and Mr. Carlton saw how grave was its 
 expression. He divined her thoughts, as by instinct, 
 and answered them. 
 
 "Laura, believe me, you can take too grave a 
 view of it. When a father is unreasonably despotic, 
 a daughter is justified in breaking through her 
 trammels. Surely you are not wavering ! Laura, 
 Laura! you will not be the one to frustrate our 
 plans ! you will not draw back from me at the last 
 hour ! " 
 
 She burst into tears. " No, I would not draw 
 back from you," she sobbed. " But— I don't know 
 how it is, I feel to-night frightened at everything ; 
 frightened above all at the unknown future."
 
 270 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Mr. Carlton did his best to reassure her. Loving 
 arguments, all too specious ; sophistries, whose 
 falseness was lost in their sweetness, were poured 
 into her ear. It was but the old story ; one that 
 has been enacted many a time before, that will be 
 enacted many a time again ; where inclination and 
 conscience are at war, and the latter yields. 
 
 " I could not live without you," he passionately 
 reiterated. " You must not draw back now." 
 
 It may be that she felt she could not live with- 
 out him. She suffered herself to be soothed, to be 
 satisfied. Gradually, one by one, her scruples 
 melted away from her sight ; and she discussed 
 with him finally their plans for getting away unde- 
 tected, unpursued. The time for their purposed 
 flitting was drawing very near; four-and-twenty 
 hours more would bring it. 
 
 But it grew late ; time for Mr. Carlton to be 
 away, and for Laura to be in-doors again, lest she 
 should be missed. Mr. Carlton, with many a last 
 word and many another, at length quitted her. 
 Laura remained for a few minutes where she was, 
 to still the beating of her agitated heart, to live over 
 again the sweet, stolen interview. Only a few hours, 
 and, if all went well, she should belong to him for 
 ever ! 
 
 The shrubs and trees around afforded a secure 
 shelter. It was pretty dry there, and she had
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 271 
 
 suffered the shawl to fall from her shoulders, never 
 heeding where. But now she turned to look for it, 
 and just at that moment the moon burst from be- 
 hind a cloud, and Laura looked up at its glitter 
 through the leaves of the trees. It was brighter 
 then than it had been yet that night. 
 
 Gathering up the shawl, she had thrown it round 
 her, when a cry escaped her lips, and every pulse in 
 her beating heart stood still. There, amidst the 
 trees, stood some one watching her ; some one that 
 certainly bore the form of a human being, but a 
 strange one. It struggled itself forward and came 
 nearer ; near enough to speak in a whisper, and be 
 heard : 
 
 " Laura Chesney, what have you to do with Lewis 
 
 Carlton ? " 
 
 She stood paralysed with fright, with awe, leaning 
 against the trunk of a tree, and saying nothing : her 
 hands clutching the shawl, her eyes dilated. 
 
 " Have nothing to do with Lewis Carlton," went 
 on the voice ; " if you care for your own happiness, 
 perhaps your life, have nothing to do with him. 
 Ask him what he did to Clarice. Ask him if he 
 deals in poison." 
 
 With the faintest possible rustling, the figure and 
 the voice died away to her sight and hearing. Laura 
 Chesney felt as if her own heart, almost her life, 
 were dying with it.
 
 070 
 
 / 2 LORD OAKBURN S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Now it happened that Mr. Carlton, after letting 
 himself out at the gate, remembered a word he had 
 forgotten to say to Laura, touching those plans of 
 theirs for the following evening. He had gone a 
 few paces down the road when he thought of it ; 
 but he retraced his steps, put his hand over the 
 gate, pressed the spring, and turned in again. But 
 a few yards from him, right in front of the path, 
 enveloped in what looked like a travelling cloak and 
 cap, stood a man, a stout and very short man — as it 
 seemed to Mr. Carlton. He supposed it to be some 
 traveller coming perhaps from a journe}', who might 
 have business at the house ; he supposed he had 
 passed in at the gate in the minute that had elapsed 
 since he himself had passed out of it. Conscious 
 that he was not upon Captain Chesney's premises 
 on pursuits of the most honourable nature, the sur- 
 geon felt somewhat embarrassed. At that moment 
 the stranger turned and raised his cap, and to Mr. 
 Carlton's horror he saw beneath it the face he had 
 seen once before. 
 
 It was the same face he had seen on the stair- 
 case in Palace Street, the night of his patient's 
 death ; the same severe face, with its intensely black 
 whiskers, and its ghastly white skin. A creeping 
 horror, as if the dead were about him, overspread 
 Mr. Carlton : he knew not whether the figure before 
 him was ghostly or human ; he leaned his brow on
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 273 
 
 his baud for one single instant to recover self- 
 possession ; and when he looked up, the figure was 
 gone. 
 
 Gone where ? Mr. Carlton could not say, could 
 not think. That it had not come down the path 
 was certain, because it must have brushed past 
 him ; and it was equally certain it had not gone on 
 to the house, or it would not yet have been out of 
 sight ; neither was he disposed to think it had dis- 
 appeared amidst the trees, for he had heard no 
 sound of their being moved. He had hitherto 
 considered himself a brave man, a man bolder than 
 the common run, but he was strangely shaken now. 
 The same undefined terror which had unnerved 
 him that other night, unmanned him this. It was 
 not a fear that he could take hold of and grapple 
 with : it was a vague, shadowy dread, perfectly un- 
 defined to his mind, partly indistinct ; one moment 
 presenting the semblance of a real tangible fear, 
 that might be run from or guarded against; the 
 next, wearing to his conviction but the hues of a 
 fanciful superstition. Never, in all his life, had Mr. 
 Carlton believed in ghostly appearances ; he would 
 have been the first to laugh at and ridicule those 
 who did believe in them ; most singular, then, was 
 it that the face he had seen that ill-fated night 
 should have conjured up any superstitious fear in 
 his mind of its being a visitant from the other 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 27 i LORD CAKE-URN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 world ; it was singular that the same idea should 
 arise, uncalled for, now. 
 
 "With a face quite as ghastly as the one he had 
 seen, — with shaking nerves that he strove in vain 
 to steady, — with a sickening fear that ran through 
 every fibre of his frame, Mr. Carlton stood still as 
 death, taking a few moments' respite ; and then he 
 penetrated to the spot where he had left Laura 
 Chesney. Not to her did he purpose breathing a 
 syllable of what had passed ; what then was his 
 astonishment to find her dart up to him, clasp him 
 tightly for protection, and burst into deep sobs of 
 terror, a terror as great as his own ! 
 
 " Laura, my love, what means this ? " 
 
 " Oh, Lewis, did you see it ? did you see it ? " she 
 sobbed. " That figure which has been here ? " 
 
 Mr. Carlton's heart beat more violently than 
 before ; but still he would not betray that he knew 
 anything. 
 
 " What figure, Laura ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I don't know who or what it 
 was. It was behind me, amidst the trees, and I saw 
 it when I turned to look after my shawl. At the 
 first moment I thought it was a woman, its voice 
 sounded like a woman's, but afterwards I thought 
 it was a man ; I don't know which it was." 
 
 "Its voice!" repeated Mr. Carlton. "Did it 
 speak ? "
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. "27 5 
 
 " It spoke, ancTthat was the worst ; it warned me 
 against you. Otherwise I might have thought it 
 some curious passer-by, who had heard us speak- 
 ing, and came intruding in at the gate to look. Oh, 
 Lewis ! " she added, with a hurst of agitation that 
 almost shook Mr. Carlton as well as herself, " it is 
 not true, is it ? Lewis ! Lewis ! " 
 
 Her emotion was so excessive that she lost all 
 self-control, all recollection of the necessity for 
 secrecy. Another fear attacked Mr. Carlton — that 
 they might be betrayed. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " he whispered. " Be calm, and 
 tell me what you mean. Is what true ? " 
 
 " It — I say e it,' because I don't know whether it 
 was a man or a woman — it warned me against you," 
 panted Laura. " It told me that I must have no- 
 thing to do with Lewis Carlton; that if I valued 
 my own happiness, perhaps my life, I should not." 
 
 " Some envious fool who has penetrated our secret, 
 and who would step between us," interrupted Mr. 
 Carlton in a tone of bitter scorn. 
 
 " Hear me out," she continued. " It told me to 
 ask you what you had done with Clarice ; to ask if 
 you dealt in poison." 
 
 Mr. Carlton stood as one transfixed — as one 
 confounded. " What Clarice ? " he presently asked. 
 " Who is Clarice ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Laura Chesney, her sobs 
 
 I 2
 
 27 G lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 subsiding into a wail. " Do you know any one of 
 the name ? " 
 
 " I do not know any Clarice in the world," he 
 answered. 
 
 " But about the poison ? " shivered Laura ; 
 " what could the words mean ? ' Ask him if he 
 deals in poison ! ' " 
 
 " I suppose they meant ' deals in drugs,' " was 
 the answer. " A medical man, in general practice, 
 must deal in such." 
 
 There was something in Mr. Carlton's tone that 
 frightened Laura worse than anything that had 
 gone before. She started away to gaze at him. He 
 was looking forward with a vacant stare, as if he 
 had lost all consciousness of the present. 
 
 " Was it a pale face, Laura, with black whiskers," 
 he presently asked. 
 
 " I could see nothing distinctly, except that the 
 face was ashy pale — or perhaps it only looked so 
 in the moonlight. Why ? Have you seen it ? " 
 
 " I believe I have seen it twice," returned Mr. 
 Carlton. He spoke in a dreamy tone of self-com- 
 muning, quite as if he had forgotten any one was 
 present; and indeed it seemed that he had lost 
 self-control just as much as Laura had lost it. " I 
 saw it outside that room the night of the death," 
 he continued, " and I saw it again this minute as I 
 was coining back to you."
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 277 
 
 The particular information, and the associations 
 it conjured up, did not tend to re- assure Miss 
 Laura Chesney. 
 
 " The face you saw outside the lady's room in 
 Palace Street? " she said, with a faint shriek. "It 
 never could he that face," she added, relapsing into 
 another fit of trembling. " What should bring that 
 face here ? " 
 
 " I know not," cried Mr. Carlton ; and it seemed 
 that he was trembling too. " I am not sure, Laura, 
 that it is either man or woman ; I am not sure but 
 it is a ghostly apparition." 
 
 " Where did you see it ? Where did it 
 go?" 
 
 " I saw it in the path, but I did not see where it 
 went. It seemed to vanish. It is either that, or — 
 or — some base villain, some sneaking spy, who steals 
 into houses for his own wicked purposes, and de- 
 serves the halter. What should bring him here ? 
 here on your father's premises. Was he dodging 
 my steps ? or yours ? " 
 
 " Lewis, whose ivas the face, that night ? " 
 
 " I would give half my allotted life to know ? " 
 
 " There was a suspicion that he poisoned the 
 draught. I am sure I heard so." 
 
 " Just as he would poison the happiness of our 
 lives," exclaimed Mr. Carlton, in agitation ; — " as 
 he would have poisoned your mind against me.
 
 278 lord oakbuiin's daughters. 
 
 Laura, you must choose between me and him ; be- 
 tween his insidious falsehoods and my love." 
 
 " Do not speak in that way," she passionately 
 uttered ; " the whole world could not poison me 
 against you. Oh, Lewis, my best-beloved, soon to 
 be my husband, do not be angry with me that I 
 repeated his words ; had I kept them to brood over 
 alone, they would only have rankled in my heart/'" 
 
 " Angry with you," he murmured, "no, no. I am 
 not angry with you. I am angry with — with that 
 wicked one, who would have tried to separate us. 
 One more night and day, my love, and then we may 
 defy him and all the world." 
 
 Laura stole back to the house by the path she 
 had come, the side-path leading to the kitchen. Mr. 
 Carlton stood and watched her safely in-doors, and 
 then departed on his way to his home. The garden, 
 for all that could be seen of it, was perfectly free 
 from intruders then, and Mr. Carlton could only 
 believe it to be so. 
 
 But as he went down the road, lying so fanciful 
 and still — still in the calm night, in its freedom at 
 that hour from passengers, fanciful with its quaint 
 patches of light and shade — Mr. Carlton walked as 
 though he feared an enemy at every turn. Now he 
 peered before him, now he glanced over his shoulder 
 behind him, now he half turned to see what might 
 be by his side ; and once, as an old hare, lurking
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 279 
 
 in the hedge, sprang out before him and scudded 
 to the field opposite, he positively started from it 
 with a sudden cry. Strangely unnerved that night 
 was Mr. Carlton. 
 
 And Laura, after all, did not escape without 
 detection. It happened, subsequently to the re- 
 moval of the tea from the drawing-room) that Miss 
 Chesney wanted an embroidery pattern, and went 
 to Laura's bed-room to ask her for it. Laura was 
 not there : and Jane, fancying she heard a move- 
 ment overhead, turned to the foot of the upper stairs, 
 and called. 
 
 It was not Laura who was up there, but the maid, 
 Judith. She came out of her chamber, looked down, 
 and saw her mistress standing below. 
 
 " Did you speak, ma'am ? " 
 
 "I called to Miss Laura, Judith. Is she up- 
 stairs ? " 
 
 The only room in which Laura was likely to be, 
 if she was up-stairs, was the one occupied by Jane. 
 Jane Chesney, ever self-denying, had given up the 
 best lower rooms to her father and Laura, herself 
 and Lucy sleeping above. Judith went and looked 
 inside the chamber. 
 
 " No, ma'am, Miss Laura is not here. I'm sure 
 she has not come up-stairs, or I should have heard 
 her." 
 
 Jane called again, but there was no answer.
 
 280 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 She looked everywhere she could think of, and at 
 last went into the kitchen. Pompey was there 
 alone. 
 
 "Pompey, do you know where Miss Laura 
 is i 
 
 Pompey was, as the saying runs, taken to. He 
 had had his? eyes and ears open this last week or 
 two, and had not been unconscious of Miss Laura's 
 stolen interviews outside the house in the dusk of 
 evening. Pompey had no idea of making mis- 
 chief; old Pompey was fond of pretty Miss Laura, 
 and had kept the secret as closely as she could have 
 kept it ; but on the other hand Pompey had no 
 idea, could have no idea, of denying airy informa- 
 tion demanded of him by his mistress, Miss 
 Chesney. So Pompey stood and stared in bewil- 
 dered indecision, but never spoke. 
 
 " I ask you, Pompey, if you know where Miss 
 Laura is," repeated Jane, certain anxieties touching 
 Laura taking sudden possession of her and rendering 
 her voice sharp. " Why do you not answer me ? " 
 
 " She there, missee," replied Pompey at length, 
 pointing to the garden. " She not catch cold ; she 
 got great big black shawl over her." 
 
 " Who is with her ? Pompey, I ask }^ou who is 
 with her ? " 
 
 She spoke with quiet authority, though she had 
 laid her hand on her heart to still its tumultuous
 
 THE FACE AGAIN. 2 
 
 beating ; authority that might not be disputed by 
 poor Pompey. 
 
 " I think it Misser Doctor. But she no stay over 
 long with him, missee ; she never does." 
 
 Jane Chesney leaned against the dresser, feeling 
 as if an avalanche had fallen and crushed her ; 
 feeling that if an avalanche fell and crushed the 
 house for ever, it would be more tolerable than 
 this disgrace which had fallen on it. In that 
 moment there was a slight rustle of silk in the 
 passage ; it whirled by the kitchen door, and was 
 lost on the floor above ; and Jane knew that Laura 
 had come in and taken shelter in her room. 
 
 Come in from the clandestine meeting with Mr. 
 Carlton the surgeon ; and the words of Pompey 
 seemed to imply that these meetings were not 
 altogether rare ! Jane Chesney turned sick at 
 heart. The disgrace was keen.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE LETTERS. 
 
 Ax incident occurred the following morning to 
 cause some surprise at the house of Captain 
 Chesney. When Pompey brought in the letters he 
 presented them to Jane, as was customary. There 
 were three. The first was addressed to Captain 
 Chesney, and Jane immediately handed it to him 
 across the breakfast table ; the second was addressed 
 to herself; and the third bore the superscription 
 " The Bight Honourable the Earl of Oakburn." 
 
 It was not a pleasant morning, for the rain was 
 pattering against the window panes. The break- 
 fast table was laid near the window in the drawing- 
 room, where the captain, in his despotic will, chose 
 that they should breakfast. He had taken a liking 
 to the room ; to its pretty glass windows that 
 opened on the lawn. 
 
 Captain Chesney unsealed his letter the moment 
 it was handed to him, and became absorbed in the 
 contents. Jane kept glancing at the one addressed 
 to Lord Oakburn, but she would not interrupt her
 
 THE LETTERS. 283 
 
 father to speak of it. When he had finished 
 reading his letter he looked up. 
 
 " Are both those for you, Jane ? " 
 
 " Not both, papa. One is directed to Lord 
 Oakburn. See. I cannot make out why it should 
 have been sent here." 
 
 Captain Chesney stretched out his hand for the 
 letter, and turned it about to regard it, after the 
 usual manner of people when a letter puzzles them. 
 
 " Yes, it is for him, sure enough. ' The Right 
 Honourable the Earl of Oakburn, Cedar Lodge, the 
 Eise, South Wennock/ " continued he, reading the 
 full superscription aloud. " He must be coming 
 here, Jane." 
 
 " I suppose he must, papa. It is the only con- 
 clusion I can draw." 
 
 " Very condescending of him, I'm sure," growled 
 the captain. " It's an honour he has not accorded 
 me since he was at Eton. What is bringing him 
 here, I wonder ? Wants change of scene perhaps." 
 
 Jane took alarm. " You don't think he can be 
 coming here to stay, papa ? We have nothing fit to 
 receive him ; no establishment, no accommodation. 
 He cannot surely be coming to stay !" 
 
 "If he comes he must take things as he finds 
 them. I shall not put inyself out of the way, 
 neither need you. ' Not able to do it, my lord,' I 
 shall say to him ; ' Frank Chesney's too poor ; had
 
 28 1 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 his fan lily bestirred themselves, old Frank might 
 have carried his head a notch higher.' All you 
 need do, Jane, is to see that he has a shake-down, a 
 hammock slung for him somewhere. I suppose 
 that can be managed ; there's the spare room off 
 mine; and for the rest, let him take what he 
 finds." 
 
 " Still I can hardly understand why he should be 
 coming," resumed Jane, after a pause. " He " 
 
 "Is he in London, or at Chesney Oaks?" inter- 
 rupted Lucy, looking up from her bread-and- 
 milk. 
 
 " At Chesney Oaks, my dear," said Jane. " He 
 went down a month ago, when his poor young wife 
 was buried, and I think he has remained there." 
 
 " Whew ! " interposed the captain," I can under- 
 stand it. He is coming cutting across the country 
 from Chesney Oaks to Great Wennock for a day or 
 two on some political business, and so intends to 
 make a convenience of my house to stay in and to 
 have his letters sent to. Very condescending of 
 him indeed ! " 
 
 " Papa," said Lucy, somewhat anxiously, " don't 
 you like Lord Oakburn ? " 
 
 " Well — yes, I like him well enough, what I know 
 of him ; but I hold that I had great grievances 
 against his father. What's the post-mark of the 
 letter, Jane ? "
 
 THE LETTERS. 285 
 
 Jane Chesney turned the letter over and made 
 out the mark " Pembury." It was the post-town in 
 the vicinity of the Earl of Oakburn's seat, Chesney 
 Oaks. 
 
 " He must have started then, I should think," 
 remarked Jane, " and this has been sent after 
 him." 
 
 " How did he know our address here, papa ? " 
 asked Luc}^. 
 
 " How did he know our address here ?" repeated 
 the captain, in choler. " What should hinder his 
 knowing it ? Do I live with my head under a 
 bushel, pray ? When I changed from Plymouth to 
 this neighbourhood, the family received intimation 
 of it ; and didn't I write to the earl the other day 
 when his wife died ? Was I not asked to the 
 funeral, stupid ; and couldn't go because of that 
 confounded gout?" 
 
 " Lucy's only a child, papa," soothingly inter- 
 posed Jane. " She does not reflect." 
 
 " Then she ought to reflect," said the captain, 
 " and not show herself a simpleton. He'll be 
 wanting another wife soon, I suppose, so you had 
 better look out, Miss Laura, and set your cap at 
 him when he comes. You'd not make a bad 
 countess." 
 
 The grim sailor spoke in jest. To give him his 
 due, he was not capable of scheming for his
 
 280 lori> oakbubn's daughters. 
 
 daughters in any way. Laura, however, seemed to 
 take the words in earnest. She had sat silent over 
 her nearly untasted breakfast, her face bent ; but it 
 was lifted now, flushing with a vivid crimson. 
 Captain Chesney laughed ; he thought his random 
 and meaningless shaft must have struck home to 
 her vanny, exciting visions of a peeress's coronet, 
 pleasing as they were foolish. But Jane, who had 
 also noticed the blush, attributed it to a different 
 cause, and one that pleased her not. 
 
 " Papa," resumed Lucy, venturing on another 
 question, "how far is it from this to Chesney 
 Oaks ? " 
 
 "About thirty miles, little mouse." 
 
 " I think I ought to have holiday from my lessons 
 to-day, as Lord Oakburn is coming," continued the 
 child, glancing at Jane. 
 
 " Wait for that until he comes," said the captain. 
 " He's as uncertain as the wind ; all young men 
 arc ; and it may be days before he gets here. He 
 may " — the captain drew up his head at the thought 
 — " he may be coming to consult me on business 
 matters connected with the estate, for I am — yes I 
 am — the next heir, now he's a single man again. 
 Not that I shull ever inherit ; he is twenty-five and 
 I am fifty-nine. Have you the headache this morn- 
 ing, Laura?" 
 
 Again came the rush of red to her face. What
 
 THE LETTERS. ^87 
 
 self-conscious feeling induced it ? " No, not this 
 morning, papa. Why ? " 
 
 " You are as silent and look as down as if you 
 had fifty headaches. Jane/' concluded the captain 
 as he rose, " we must have soup to-day, in case he 
 arrives." 
 
 Jane acquiesced, with a sigh. This expected 
 coming of Lord Oakburn's was only an additional 
 care to the many household ones that oppressed her. 
 
 Breakfast over, the captain strolled out. There 
 was a lull in the storm, and the rain had momenta- 
 rily ceased. He looked up at the skies with his 
 experienced sailor's eye, and saw that it had not 
 ceased for long. So he did not go beyond the 
 garden, but went strolling about that. 
 
 Laura had departed immediately to her room. 
 Jane placed the letter for Lord Oakburn on the 
 mantelpiece and opened the one addressed to her- 
 self, which she had not done at breakfast. As she 
 was reading it Captain Chesney came in to ask her 
 for a* 1 piece of string to tie up some bush in the 
 garden. 
 
 " Is your letter from " 
 
 The captain stopped without concluding the 
 sentence, stopped abruptly, and Jane's heart flut- 
 tered. She believed he had been going to say 
 " from Clarice," and she felt thankful that the long 
 barrier of silence observed to her by her father in
 
 288 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 regard to that name, should at length be broken. 
 No such thing, however ; the captain's obstinacy 
 was unconquerable. 
 
 " It is only from Plymouth, papa." 
 
 " Oh," said the captain indifferently ; and, taking 
 the string which she had been getting for him, he 
 moved away, all unconscious that even in that slight 
 incident she was sparing him pain in her duty and 
 love. The letter was from a creditor at Plymouth, 
 pressing for money on account of some long-standing 
 debt. 
 
 Jane set Lucy to her lessons, and then went up- 
 stairs to her sister's room. Laura had flung herself 
 upon the bed, and lay there with her hands pressed 
 to her temples. It may be questioned which of the 
 two sisters had passed the most unhappy night. 
 The discovery of the previous evening had been one 
 of dire dismay to Jane Chesney, and she had lain 
 awake in her distress, wondering how it was to end, 
 wondering whether Laura could be recalled to a 
 sense of what was right. In her own simple recti- 
 tude of feeling, Jane looked on the affair, on Laura's 
 having allowed herself to meet in secret Mr. Carlton, 
 almost as a crime, certainly as a heavy disgrace. 
 And Laura ? Laura could not but regard with 
 shrinking fear the step she was about to take. She 
 had tossed on her uneasy bed, asking herself whether 
 she should not yet draw back from it. Even now
 
 THE LETTERS. 289 
 
 the conflict was not over, and she lay there in dire 
 perplexity and distress. 
 
 " Laura," began Jane in a low tone as she entered, 
 " this must end." 
 
 Laura sprang off the bed, startled and vexed at 
 having been found on it. " I feel tired this morn- 
 ing," she stammered, with a lame attempt at apology ; 
 " I did not sleep well last night." 
 
 " I say, Laura, this must end," continued Jane, 
 too agitated with grief to set about her task in any 
 artistic manner. " You have permitted yourself to 
 meet in secret that man — the surgeon, Carlton. O, 
 Laura ! what strange infatuation can have come 
 over you ? " 
 
 Laura laid her hand upon her chest to still its 
 heavy beating. Found out ! In her dismay and 
 perplexity it seemed to her that there was nothing 
 for it but denial. And she stooped to it. 
 
 " Who says I have ? Whatever -will you accuse 
 me of next, Jane ? " 
 
 " Hush, Laura ! falsehood will not mend wrong- 
 doing. Evening after evening you steal out to meet 
 him. Last night I wanted you, and I heard you 
 were outside. I saw you come in, Laura, with the 
 disguising shawl over your head. Laura, my dearest 
 sister, I do not wish to speak harshly, but surely 
 you cannot have reflected on how great is the 
 degradation ! " 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 290 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Strange to say, the effect of the discovery was to 
 harden her. With every moment, now that the first 
 startling shock had passed, Laura's spirit grew more 
 defiant. She made no reply to her sister. 
 
 " I speak only for your own sake," pleaded Jane. 
 "It is for your sake I beg you to break off all 
 intimacy with Mr. Carlton. Laura, I feel certain 
 that he is not the man to make you happy, even 
 were attendant circumstances favourable." 
 
 " It is a strange prejudice that you have taken 
 against Mr. Carlton ! " resentfully spoke Laura. 
 
 " I am not singular in it ; papa dislikes him also. 
 But, Laura, answer me a question ; what end do 
 you, can you, propose to yourself in this intimacy 
 with him ? " 
 
 Laura coloured, hesitated, and then took courage 
 to speak out. But the answer was a partially 
 evasive one. 
 
 " Mr. Carlton speaks of marriage. In time, when 
 all your prejudices shall be overcome." 
 
 " Do not cherish it, do not glance at it," said 
 Jane with emotion. " Our objections to Mr. 
 Carlton never can be overcome. And I tell you 
 that he would not make you happy." 
 
 " We must see — wait and see. If the worst 
 comes to the worst, and everybody remains obdu- 
 rate, we must then — we must then — join common 
 cause against you for ourselves."
 
 THE LETTERS. 291 
 
 Laura spoke with agitation, but her agitation was 
 as nothing compared to that which seized upon Jane 
 at the words. It was impossible for her to mistake 
 their hidden meaning. Her lips were white, her 
 throat was working, and she held her sister's hands 
 in hers. 
 
 "You do not know what you say. Never so 
 speak again ; you would not, were you to weigh your 
 words. I pray you — Laura, by the remembrance of 
 our dead mother I pray you — never suffer so mis- 
 taken a thought to enter your mind, as that of 
 quitting clandestinely your father's house to become 
 a wife. A marriage entered upon in disobedience 
 and defiance could not prosper. Laura, I don't 
 think you are happy." 
 
 Laura burst into a flood of hysterical tears and 
 laid her face down on the dressing-table almost in 
 abandonment. Never had the inward conflict be- 
 tween right and wrong been so great as at that 
 moment. Which should she give up ? her father, 
 her friends, her duty ? — or him whom she loved 
 with that all-impassioned love ? 
 
 Jane stooped to kiss her. " Let it end from this 
 day," she whispered. " Do not again forget what is 
 due to yourself and to us by running out of the 
 house for any stolen interview. It is not seemly ; 
 it is not right." 
 
 Jane quitted the room; it was best to leave 
 
 v 2
 
 292 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Laura's sobs to subside alone. As she descended 
 the stairs and passed the staircase window, she saw 
 her father coming up one of the garden paths. 
 Almost at the same moment, a blow, a crash of 
 glass, and a shriek of terror, sounded from below. 
 Jane flew down the stairs ; Judith rushed forth from 
 the kitchen ; and Pompey, his great eyes glaring, 
 emerged from some peculiar sanctum of his own, 
 sacred to knives and boots. They stared at each 
 other in the hall. 
 
 " Who is it ? " exclaimed Jane. " What has 
 happened ? I thought it must be you, Pompey, 
 come to harm amidst the bottles." 
 
 "Don't stand there asking who it is," burst from 
 the choleric captain, as he came flinging into the 
 hall. " It's Lucy. She has fallen against the 
 drawing-room window, and perhaps killed her- 
 self." 
 
 They ran to the drawing-room. Lucy lay on the 
 carpet close to the window, which opened, you 
 know, on the ground. In running heedlessly to- 
 wards it to say something to her father, her foot had 
 slipped and she fell with her arms against the 
 window, breaking two of its panes. The palm of 
 one hand was cut, and the inside of the other wrist. 
 They raised her and placed her in a chair, but the 
 wrist bled dreadfully. Judith grew pale. 
 
 " There may be an artery divided, sir," she whis-
 
 THE LETTERS. 293 
 
 pered to her master. " If so, she may bleed to 
 death." 
 
 " You rascal, to stand there gaping when the 
 child's dying ! " cried the hot captain. " Go along 
 and get help." 
 
 " Is it Misser Carlton I am to get ? " asked the 
 unlucky Pompey. 
 
 Down came the captain's stick within an inch of 
 Pompey's head, and Laura, all dismayed at the 
 disturbance, came in just in time to hear the cap- 
 tain's answer. 
 
 " That villain Carlton ! No, sir, not if the whole 
 house were dying together. Get Mr. Grey here, 
 you useless animal. Not the one who poisoned the 
 lady's draught, sir, do you hear ? He shouldn't come 
 within a mile of me. Find the other one, and be 
 quick over it." 
 
 Poor, affectionate, well-meaning Pompey would 
 certainly have been as quick as his best legs allowed 
 him, but he was saved the trouble of using them. 
 At the very instant they were speaking, Mr. John 
 Grey was seen driving past in his gig. Judith 
 ran out. 
 
 The groom heard her call, and pulled up, and 
 Mr. Grey hastened in with Judith when he found 
 what was the matter. In ten minutes the wounds 
 were washed and strapped together with adhesive 
 plaster. Lucy had cried very much with terror.
 
 2di LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Shall I die ? Shall I die ? " she asked of Mr. 
 Grey, her little heart beating, her hands trembling. 
 
 " No, of course not," he replied. " What made 
 you think of that ? " 
 
 " I heard them talk about my dying ; I am sure 
 I did," sobbed Lucy, who was of an excitable and 
 also of a timid temperament. " I heard them say 
 that perhaps the artery was divided : does that kill 
 people ? " 
 
 " Not always," said Mr. Grey. " Keep your 
 hands still, like a brave little girl." 
 
 " Are you sure I shall not die ? " 
 
 " Quite sure ; you are not in any danger. Look 
 here," he added, turning up his coat-sleeve and 
 wristband, and exhibiting his wrist to Lucy, while 
 the others stood around, the captain in rather a 
 subdued mood. " Do you see that scar ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," was Lucy's answer. 
 
 " Well, once, when I was younger than you, I fell 
 against a window just as you have done, and cut my 
 wrist. There was danger in my case, and shall I 
 tell you why ? — the cut divided the artery. Though 
 who made you so wise about arteries," added Mr. 
 Grey, smiling, " I don't know. But you see, Miss 
 Lucy — I think I heard them call you Lucy, and I 
 like the name, it was my mother's — you see, where 
 there is great danger there is generally great help. 
 My father, a surgeon, was in the room when I did
 
 THE LETTERS. 295 
 
 it: he took up the artery immediately, and the 
 danger was past. Now, with this foolish little hurt 
 of yours, although the strappings of diachylon look 
 so formidable, there has not been any danger, for 
 the arteiy is not touched. Do you understand me ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Lucy, "and I believe you. I 
 shall not be afraid now. Shall you come and see 
 me again ? " 
 
 "I will come in this afternoon just to see that the 
 strappings remain in their places. And now, good- 
 by, and be sure you keep your hands still." 
 
 " I think there must be holiday after this," said 
 Jane, with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, decidedly holiday," returned Mr. Grey, 
 nodding pleasantly to Lucy. "Nursing to-day, 
 lessons to-morrow." 
 
 Captain Chesney went out with him, and linked 
 his arm within his. A rare condescension for the 
 captain, and one that proved he had taken a fancy 
 to Mr. Grey. 
 
 " She will do well, Captain Chesney, and I am 
 glad I happened to be passing. It might have been 
 an awkward accident." 
 
 " Sir, I thank you," said the captain ; " and sir, I 
 see that you are a gentleman, and a man to be 
 esteemed. And I can only regret one thing," 
 
 " What is that ? " inquired Mr. Grey. 
 
 " That I ever took up with that fool of a Carlton.
 
 29G lord oakbuhn's daughters. 
 
 I dislike liim, sir, and he shall never darken ray 
 doors again : he has proved himself anything but a 
 gentleman. He's not fit to tie your shoes, socially, 
 Mr. Grey, I can tell you that ; and I don't suppose 
 he is, professionally." 
 
 John Grey laughed, said a word to the captain 
 to set him right as to Mr. Carlton's professional 
 skill, which was really superior, ascended to his gig 
 amidst the pelting rain, and drove awa} r . 
 
 The day went on. The evening post brought 
 another letter for the Earl of Oakburn, though the 
 day had failed to bring the earl himself. They 
 dined at five as usual, and afterwards Captain 
 Chesney went into the town to meet the omnibus 
 from Great Wennock, thinking it might possibly 
 bring the earl, or news of him. It was after his 
 departure that this second letter came, and Jane 
 saw that it bore the London postmark. Mr. John 
 Grey, who had not been able to get up before, 
 called in towards dusk. 
 
 As he stood at the table, talking to Jane, Lucy 
 sitting in an easy-chair at the fire, his eye happened 
 to fall on the letter that lay there, directed to the 
 Earl of Oakburn. 
 
 " Do you know the earl ? " he exclaimed, the 
 remark appearing to escape him involuntarily. 
 
 " Yes/' replied Jane ; " we are related to him." 
 
 ' Then perhaps you can tell me how he is ? "
 
 THE LETTERS. 297 
 
 " I suppose he is well. We have been expecting 
 him here all clay." 
 
 " Expecting him here all day ! " repeated Mr. 
 Grey in an accent of astonishment. " I beg your 
 pardon, Miss Chesney, I believe I cannot have 
 caught your meaning." 
 
 " We have been expecting Lord Oakburn here 
 since the morning/' resumed Jane, " and we still 
 expect him here to sleep. This letter and another 
 have come to await him." 
 
 " You must, I fancy, be labouring under an error," 
 returned Mr. Grey, in a tone that seemed to say he 
 he did not fully comprehend Miss Chesney. " Lord 
 Oakburn is dangerously ill; ill almost to death. 
 Two days ago, very slight hopes indeed were enter- 
 tained of him." 
 
 " What is the matter with him ? " exclaimed 
 Jane, thinking that the letters must contradict Mr. 
 Grey's assertion. " Is he at Chesney Oaks ? " 
 
 " He is lying at Chesney Oaks, ill of typhus fever. 
 I know it in this way. The day before yesterday I 
 had to go fifteen miles from this, to meet a physician 
 from Pembury : we were to meet half way. He did 
 not come, but sent a friend, another medical man, 
 who explained to me that the first was detained by 
 the alarming illness of Lord Oakburn. He has 
 been staying at Chesney Oaks since the funeral of 
 the countess, went into a house where the fever was
 
 298 lord oakburn' s daughters. 
 
 raging, and caught it. On the day I met this gen- 
 tleman he told me that a few hours would probably 
 terminate his life." 
 
 Jane was silent, silent from positive bewilder- 
 ment. Lucy spoke up from her chair. 
 
 " But, Mr. Grey, if Lord Oakburn should not be 
 coming, why should he have his letters sent here ? " 
 Lucy felt disappointed ; she had been anticipating 
 great pleasure from the visit of Lord Oakburn. 
 
 "That is what I am thinking of," said Jane. 
 " It is not only one letter, it is two ; the one is 
 from Pembury, the other from London. Unless 
 Lord Oakburn should be intending to come here, 
 why, as Lucy says, should letters be sent to meet 
 him ? " 
 
 " You may rely upon it that the Lord Oakburn 
 who was lying ill at Chesney Oaks is not intending 
 to come here yet awhile, Miss Chesney. Probahly 
 you may know the next heir ? " 
 
 " Papa is the next heir," said Jane. 
 
 " Captain Chesney is the next heir to the earldom 
 of Oakburn ?" quickly repeated Mr. Grey. 
 
 " Yes, he is." 
 
 " Then, my dear young lady, it is explained, I 
 fear," returned Mr. Grey, after a grave pause. 
 " Rely upon it, the young earl is dead ; and that 
 these letters are addressed to your father as Earl of 
 Oakburn."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 DISAPPEAEANCE. 
 
 Jane Chesney sat in the darkening twilight of the 
 evening, gazing at the outsides of the two letters 
 which had caused so much speculation. The con- 
 viction was gradually forcing itself upon her, that 
 the view taken of the case by Mr. John Grey was 
 the only one that offered any reasonable solution; 
 for if the young Earl of Oakburn was lying ill of 
 fever at Chesney Oaks, it was out of the range of pro- 
 bability to suppose that letters would be sent to him 
 to Captain Chesney's house at South Wennock. 
 
 Lucy's voice broke the stillness of the long pause 
 that had followed on Mr. Grey's departure. The 
 little girl, gifted with much sensitive feeling, had 
 not liked to speak before, and even now her tones 
 were timid and low. 
 
 " Do you think it can be true, Jane — that papa is 
 Earl of Oakburn ? " 
 
 " I — I think it must be, Lucy. I cannot see any- 
 thing else that the coming of these letters here can 
 mean."
 
 300 LORD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Lucy rose from her low seat by the fire, and was 
 running to the door. " I'll go and tell Laura," she 
 said ; but Jane drew her back. 
 
 " Not yet, Lucy. Let us he sure that it is true 
 first. Somehow I do not like to speculate upon it. 
 It is so sad, it is so grievously sad for the young 
 earl to have died like this — if he has died." 
 
 Lucy sat down again, disappointed. She had all 
 a child's Jove of imparting marvellous news. But 
 Laura would be coming down-stairs directly, she 
 supposed, and then Jane would no doubt tell her. 
 
 Jane sat on in silence. She was possessed of 
 extreme right feeling, she had no selfishness, was 
 just in her regard for others, and she did not like 
 to dwell upon the probability of this being true — or, 
 as she had phrased it, to speculate upon it. If Lord 
 Oakburn was dead, had been cut off thus early, 
 none would feel more genuine regret for him than 
 Jane. And yet, in spite of this, in spite of herself, 
 certain thoughts intruded themselves and would not 
 be driven back. No more privations, no more 
 pinching, no more care ; no more dread of that 
 horrible prison for one whom she so loved, which 
 had been ever present in her mind, a shadow and a 
 dread. Strive as she would, she could not wholly 
 drive these thoughts away from her brain; she 
 could not do it; and yet she almost hated and 
 despised herself for their being there.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 301 
 
 By-and-by, just as Pompey brought in the lamp, 
 the step of Captain Chesney was heard on the wet 
 gravel. The rain ever since morning had been in- 
 cessant, drenching ; but it had ceased now. 
 
 " I can't get any news of Oakburn," said the 
 captain, when he came in. " The omnibus brought 
 no passengers at all to-night. What's that Jane ? 
 Another letter for him ? Well, it's strange that he 
 should not be here to meet them." 
 
 " Papa," said Jane, her pulses beating at what she 
 had to say, " I fear we may have been under a mis- 
 take in expecting him at all. Mr. Grey has been here 
 since you went out, and he says Lord Oakburn was 
 lying at Chesney Oaks two days ago, dangerously 
 ill of typhus fever ; it was feared then that he had 
 not many hours to live. Mr. Grey thinks it certain 
 that these two letters are for you." 
 
 " For me ! " repeated the puzzled captain, not 
 having discerned the drift of the argument. 
 
 " Yes, papa," replied Jane, bending her head and 
 speaking in a very low tone. " For you, as Earl of 
 Oakburn." 
 
 Captain Chesney stared at Jane, and then made 
 her repeat exactly what Mr. Grey had said. It 
 subdued him greatly. He was as unselfish as Jane, 
 and he thought of the young earl's fate, not of his 
 own advancement. 
 
 " I'll risk it, Jane, and open one of the letters,"
 
 302 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 he said. "If — if it should be all right, why, the 
 poor fellow will forgive me ; he was always good- 
 natured. I'll just tell him how it happened, and 
 why I did it. Give me the one that came this 
 morning." 
 
 Jane selected the morning's letter, and Captain 
 Chesney opened it. He ran his e} T es over its con- 
 tents, standing by the lamp to do so, and then he 
 sat down in a very humble fashion and in deep 
 silence. 
 
 " It's true, Jane," he presently said, with some- 
 thing very like a sob. " The poor lad is gone, and 
 I am Earl of Oakburn." 
 
 The letter was from the steward at Chesney Oaks. 
 He wrote to acquaint the new earl of his young 
 master's death, and to request his immediate pre- 
 sence at Chesney Oaks. The earl (as we must 
 henceforth call Captain Chesney) flung it on the 
 table in a momentary access of his customary 
 choler. 
 
 " "Why didn't the simpleton write to me by my 
 own name ? " he exclaimed. " But that steward 
 always was wanting in common sense. Give me 
 the other letter, Jane." 
 
 The other letter proved to be from the lawyers in 
 London, solicitors for many years to the Oakburn 
 family. They were offering their services to the 
 new peer.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 303 
 
 The new peer seemed to have his work cut out 
 for him. Of course the first obvious step was to 
 depart for Chesney Oaks. With his characteristic 
 impulsiveness, he started up to go ; then ; without 
 the loss of a minute. 
 
 " I can't wait, Jane. "What do you say ? — stop 
 for tea ? Tea ! \Yhat other rubbish would you 
 like me to stop for ? If I can get a gig at the Lion, 
 I may catch the cross-train at Great "Wennock. 
 Dead ! - The poor fellow dead, and none of his kith 
 and kin near him ! " 
 
 " But, papa, you must take a carpet-bag with 
 
 you ! You will want " 
 
 " I shall take nothing with me," interrupted the 
 earl, catching up his glasses, and buttoning up his 
 coat in a desperate bustle. "You send Pompey 
 after me in the morning to Chesney Oaks with a 
 shirt and my shaving tackle. There ! there ! I have 
 not a moment to lose, Jane. One kiss apiece, girls, 
 and then — where's Laura ? " 
 
 Lucy rushed out of the room, calling "Laura, 
 Laura ! " The captain rushed after her, as well as 
 the stiffness left by the gout permitted. He caught 
 up his hat and his cloak as he passed through the 
 hall. 
 
 " Never mind her, Lucy, I can't wait ; she's gone 
 to sleep, I should think. Give her a kiss for me, 
 and ask her how she likes being my Lady Laura."
 
 3 04 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 It all seemed to pass in a minute, before Jane 
 had time to gather her bewildered senses. She 
 said something to him about the clanger there 
 might be of his catching the fever, but he was deaf 
 to it all, and walked down the garden path, fasten- 
 ing his cloak. Jane knew how useless it would be 
 to repeat her words, and she stood at the open door 
 with Lucy, and watched him out at the gate by the 
 light of the moon, which had struggled from amidst 
 the grey clouds. 
 
 Lucy ran back to the foot of the stairs and called 
 to Laura with all her might. But there came no 
 response. 
 
 " I think she must have gone to sleep, as papa 
 said, Jane. How strange ! " 
 
 " I will see, my clear. You go back to the drawing- 
 room, Lucy, and ring the bell for tea." 
 
 A disagreeable fear had come over Jane Chesney's 
 heart that Laura was not up -stairs; that she had 
 stolen out again to the garden to meet Mr. Carlton. 
 She looked into Laura's room and spoke. It was 
 empty. 
 
 "Yes! with him again!" she murmured. "I 
 will go after her, for it shall not be." 
 
 She went softly out at the front door, and walked 
 down the wet gravel in her thin home shoes. But 
 nothing came of it. It was quite evident that her 
 sister was not there ; and an idea arose to Jane
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 305 
 
 that Laura must have gone out with Mr. Carl- 
 ton. 
 
 Could it be possible that she had so far forgotten 
 herself as to go out walking with him at night, in 
 the face and eyes of South Wennock ? In the bit- 
 terness of the conviction that it was so, Jane almost 
 hoped that they might be met by her father, for 
 she was beginning to find that she was not herself 
 strong enough to cope with this. 
 
 She asked for a light, went into Laura's room, 
 and looked for the black cloth mantle and bonnet 
 that she ordinarily wore. They were not in their 
 places : a proof that her suspicions were correct. 
 
 Jane stood for a moment, her elbow resting on a 
 chest of drawers, her head pressed upon her hand. 
 She could do nothing, except wait until Laura came 
 in, and then remonstrate with her. • " This is the 
 result of my having discovered the meetings in the 
 garden," thought Jane. " She feared to trust her- 
 self there again." 
 
 Jane returned to the drawing-room. The tea- 
 things waited on the table, and Lucy looked up with 
 an air of expectancy. 
 
 " Where's Laura, Jane ? Is she coming ? " 
 
 "What was Jane to say to the child ? It was very 
 desirable that the fact of Laura's absence from the 
 house should be concealed from her; indeed Jane 
 trusted it would not transpire beyond herself. She 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 300 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 put Lucy off with an evasive answer, and told her 
 she might get out the book of fairy tales again that 
 she had been reading in the afternoon. 
 
 "But are 3 r ou not going to make tea now, 
 Jane?" 
 
 " Not just yet, dear. Papa's away, and there's 
 no hurry. I have a bit of work that I will do 
 first." 
 
 Of course she so spoke hoping Laura would come 
 in. She reached out her work and did it ; very 
 prosy work it was ; the mending some wristbands 
 of a shirt of Captain Chesney's. The rain was 
 pouring down again, and the time went on until the 
 clock struck nine : Lucy's bedtime, and the child 
 had not had her tea ! 
 
 Where could Laura be ? 
 
 Jane began to feel angry at the suspense, the 
 perplexity altogether. She could not longer delay 
 the tea, and then the household and Lucy would 
 inevitably know of Laura's absence. Just then 
 Judith came in. 
 
 " Why, where* s Miss Laura ? " she exclaimed, in 
 surprise. " I was in her room a minute ago, and 
 found this on the floor, miss. I came in to bring 
 it to her." 
 
 It was Laura's purse ; the one she ordinarily 
 used. Jane supposed Laura had dropped it from 
 her pocket. It was quite empty. Jane had seen
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 307 
 
 her recently making a new one with green silk 
 and steel beads ; perhaps she had taken that into 
 use. 
 
 " Is Miss Laura out ? " asked Judith. 
 
 There was no denying it ; there could be no 
 smoothing the fact down, no plausible excuse offered 
 for it ; and Jane Chesney's heart ached with its own 
 pain. 
 
 " She — she may have stepped out to purchase 
 something in the town that she was in a hurry for, 
 some trifles for her worsted work," breathed Jane. 
 " She is sure not to be long. I'll make the tea, 
 Judith." 
 
 The tea was made and partaken of, and still 
 Laura did not appear. But when the time went on 
 to ten, Jane grew terribly uneasy ; not that a sus- 
 picion of the dreadful truth — all too dreadful as it 
 would in every sense be to Jane — had yet penetrated 
 to her brain. 
 
 She threw a shawl over her head, took an um- 
 brella, and went to the garden-gate. There she 
 stood looking up and down the road, as well as the 
 darkness would permit — for the night had become 
 very dark now. Nothing could be seen ; nothing 
 heard save the rain as it pattered down. 
 
 Judith met her as she returned indoors, divining 
 her uneasiness. " Can I go after her anywhere, 
 Miss Jane ? " She was Lady Jane now — but let 
 
 x 2
 
 .'508 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 that pass. Jane herself never so much as thought 
 of it. 
 
 " You should, if I knew where to send," replied 
 Jane. " I can only think that she has taken shelter 
 somewhere, perhaps in a shop, waiting for the storm 
 to ahate. We do not know any one in South 
 Wennock." 
 
 There was nothing for it but to wait; nothing, 
 nothing. And Jane Chesney did wait until it was 
 hard upon eleven. An idea kept intruding itself 
 into Jane's mind— at first she rejected it as entirely 
 improbable, but it gained ground, redoubling its 
 force with every passing minute — that Laura had 
 been so thoughtless and foolish as to take temporary 
 shelter in the house of Mr. Carlton. 
 
 Lucy began to cry ; she got frightened : " Was 
 Laura lost ? " she asked. Judith came in with a 
 grave face, and Pompey stood outside the kitchen 
 door and stared in discomfort, the hall lamp lighting 
 up the alarm in his eyes. Such a thing had never 
 happened in all his service, and he was longing to 
 ask whether his favourite Miss Laura could be lost 
 — as Lucy had asked. 
 
 " Miss Jane," said Judith, apart to her mistress, 
 " I had better go somewhere. Perhaps— perhaps 
 she may have been overtaken by the heaviest of the 
 storm on her way home, and may have stepped into 
 Mr. Carlton's ? "
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 309 
 
 Jane felt almost thankful for the words ; they 
 saved her the embarrassing pain of confessing 
 to Judith that her own thoughts tended that 
 way. 
 
 " I cannot think she would do so, Judith ; but 
 she is very thoughtless ; and — Mr. Carlton's house 
 may have seemed like a welcome shelter from the 
 
 rain. Perhaps — if you don't mind going " 
 
 Judith gave no time for the sentence to be 
 finished. Another instant, and she reappeared in 
 her bonnet and cloak, a large umbrella in her hand. 
 She went splashing down the Rise. To a quick 
 walker, Mr. Carlton's residence was not more than 
 five minutes' distance from Captain Chesney's, for 
 it was all down hill ; but in the present sloppy and 
 muddy state of the road, Judith could not get on so 
 fast, and the church clocks were striking the quarter 
 past eleven when she turned in at the gate. 
 
 She turned in and felt somewhat embarrassed, 
 for the house appeared all dark and silent, as if 
 its inmates had retired for the night. Even the 
 coloured lamp was not burning. It certainly did 
 not look as if the young lady were inside the house 
 sheltering ; and Judith felt all the awkwardness of 
 ringing them up, with the question — was Miss Laura 
 Chesney there ? 
 
 She could only do that, however, or return home 
 as she came ; and she knocked at the house door.
 
 310 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 There was no answer ; and presently she rang the 
 night-bell. 
 
 Neither was there any answer to that, and Judith 
 rang again and again. At the third ring a window 
 was heard to open at the top of the house, and 
 Judith stepped from her shelter beneath the portico 
 and looked up. 
 
 " What's the good of your keeping on ringing like 
 that?" cried a woman's remonstrating voice — which 
 was, in fact, Hannah's. " You might have told by 
 seeing the perfessional lamp unlighted that Mr. 
 Carlton was away from the town." 
 
 " Is he away ? " asked Judith. 
 
 " He went away sudden this evening. Leastways, 
 it was sudden to us, for he didn't tell us of it till he 
 came down from his room with his hat on, and his 
 portmanteau in his hand, and his carriage at the 
 door to take him," continued the voice, in rather an 
 aggravated tone, as if the sudden departure had not 
 altogether given the speaker pleasure. "He said 
 then he was going out, and should not be home for 
 some days." 
 
 " Well," said Judith, " it's not Mr. Carlton I want. 
 I came to ask whether one of our young ladies had 
 stepped in here to shelter from the rain." 
 
 ' Who is your young ladies ? " came the next 
 question. 
 
 "The Miss Chesneys. One of them went into
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 311 
 
 town this evening, and, as she's not come home, she 
 must have taken shelter somewhere. We thought 
 perhaps it was here." 
 
 " No young lady has took shelter here. There's 
 been nobody here at all but Mrs. Newberry's ser- 
 vant, saying her mistress was worse, so I had to 
 send her on to Mr. Grey's. She was as impudent 
 as could be when she found Mr. Carlton had gone 
 away for some days, wanting to know why he could 
 not have told them of it." 
 
 " My young lady is not here, then ? " 
 
 " She's not here, and she has not been here. I'll 
 make Evan paste a notice on the lamp to-morrow 
 night, ' Mr. Carlton's out of town,' " pursued the 
 voice, wrathfully. " There's no fun in being rung up 
 for nothing, just as you get into your first sleep." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry to have done it/' said Judith, 
 " but I couldn't help myself. Good night." 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 Judith halted at the gate, wondering what should 
 be her next step. As she stood there, a sudden 
 thought, like a ray of light — only not a pleasant ray 
 — flashed upon her, and her mind was suddenly 
 opened to a conviction of the truth. A conviction 
 as sure and certain as though she had seen the 
 drama of the night enacted. Mr. Carlton's sudden 
 journey and Laura's disappearance only too fully 
 proved what the drama had been.
 
 312 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 She went home with lagging steps : — why hasten 
 to impart the news she carried ? Her mistress, 
 whose anxious ear had caught the sound of the 
 advancing footsteps, met her at the gate, and saw 
 that she was alone. 
 
 " Judith ! have you not found her ? " 
 
 " No, miss. I— I " 
 
 " What ? " said Jane. 
 
 Judith entered upon her task in the best manner 
 that she could, hinting at first very remotely at her 
 fears. Not immediately did the appalling meaning, 
 the truth, become clear to the unhappy listener — 
 that Laura Chesney had abandoned her father's 
 home.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 
 
 South Wennock, as you may readily imagine, 
 was up in arms the following morning. Such a 
 dish of news had not been served out to it since the 
 death of the ill-fated lady in Palace Street. There 
 were two dishes now : the accession of Captain 
 Chesney to the earldom of Oakburn, and the elope- 
 ment of one of his daughters with Mr. Carlton. 
 
 Very cleverly had the getting-away been accom- 
 plished ; and if some mishaps overtook the bride 
 and bridegroom elect before the close of the night's 
 journey, why, they did not materially retard the flight. 
 
 Mr. Carlton had laid his plans well. He was a 
 clever plotter. The scheme arranged with Laura 
 was that he should be in his open carriage at dusk, 
 in a lane leading from the Rise, and that Laura 
 should join him there. This lane, called Blister 
 Lane, and other lanes and by-roads, little fre- 
 quented, led to a small place named Lichford, where 
 some of the railwa} r trains stopped for passengers. 
 It was seven miles distant from South "Wennock,
 
 314 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 and Mr. Carlton knew that liis open carriage would 
 skim over the ground as quickly as any other con- 
 ve} r ance ; and it would have this advantage, that 
 nohody hut himself would then be cognisant of the 
 departure. He did not dare to appear with Laura 
 at the more frequented station of Great Wennock ; 
 a hundred eyes would have recognised them. 
 
 Cleverly did he keep the secret. He went about 
 his business that day as usual, seeing his patients ; 
 he visited them on foot, that his horse might be 
 fresh for the night journey. He said not a word to 
 any one of his invalids of his proposed absence ; it 
 might not have been expedient ; he said not a word 
 at home. He dined as usual ; afterwards he went 
 up-stairs to his room; and when it grew so dusk 
 that candles had to be lighted, he rang the bell and 
 ordered the carriage round. Not a minute did he keep 
 it waiting at the door, but came down with a portman- 
 teau in his hand. The woman servant was in the 
 hall as he crossed it, and looked at the portmanteau. 
 
 " I am going out for a few days," he said. 
 
 She was too much surprised to make any reply or 
 ask any question ; it seemed so strange that he 
 should be departing in that sudden manner. Mr. 
 Carlton passed out to the gate, where his carriage 
 waited. Evan was at the horse's head, dressed as 
 usual to accompany his master. It was the same 
 horse which had come to grief that Sunday night;
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 315 
 
 Mr. Carlton had had him in use again about a week ; 
 Evan had been well much longer. 
 
 " I shall not want you with me to-night, Evan," said 
 his master, when he had taken the reins to ascend. 
 
 Evan, as Hannah had done, wondered where his 
 master was going ; but it was no concern of his, and 
 he was rather pleased to hear he was spared driving 
 on that rainy night. He placed the portmanteau 
 under the seat, and Mr. Carlton settled himself com- 
 fortably in, under the protecting head of the carriage 
 
 " You need not wait up for me," said the surgeon. 
 
 " And the horse, sir ? " returned Evan, opening 
 his eyes. 
 
 " The horse will not be back to-night." 
 
 He drove away, leaving Evan standing there and 
 looking after him. Mr. Carlton was not a com- 
 municative master at any time, but Evan did marvel 
 that he had given no further explanation now. 
 Was he to be up earlier than usual in the morning 
 to receive the horse and Mr. Carlton ? All that 
 Evan supposed was, that he was going to some 
 patient where he was likely to be detained for hours. 
 But then, what of the portmanteau ? 
 
 " Where's the master gone ? " was Hannah's rather 
 sharp question to him as he turned into the house. 
 
 "Who's to know?" retorted Evan. "He told 
 me I was not to sit up for the horse. I suppose 
 they'll neither of 'em be home to-night."
 
 316 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 " To-night ! " somewhat sarcastically repeated 
 Hannah. " He's not coming home for some days, 
 so he told me. It's always the way ! I wanted to 
 have asked him for three parts of a day's holiday 
 to-morrow, and now I can't take it." 
 
 Mr. Carlton drove quickly up the gentle ascent 
 that led to the Rise, and was about to turn into the 
 lane, fixed upon as his place of waiting, when ad- 
 vancing footsteps met his ear. 
 
 " Good evening," said Mr. Grey. " A nasty night." 
 
 " Very," emphatically pronounced Mr. Carlton. 
 " Have you been far ? " 
 
 " Only to Captain Chesney's." 
 
 " To Captain Chesney's ! Why ! who is ill 
 there ? Not the captain, for I saw him go by my 
 house not half an hour ago." 
 
 " I have been to the little girl. She met with an 
 accident this morning ; fell against the window and 
 cut her hands badly. You don't happen to have 
 heard mention in the town whether the Earl of 
 Oakburn is dead, do you ? " continued Mr. Grey. 
 
 Mr. Carlton had heard nothing at all of the Earl 
 of Oakburn : but the name occurred to him as being 
 the one mentioned by Captain Chesney the night of 
 the coroner's inquest. "Why do you ask?" he said. 
 
 " Well, I have not heard of his death ; but it 
 strikes me that he is dead," replied Mr. Grey. 
 " Two days ago I know that he was lying almost
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 317 
 
 without hope, ill of typhus fever ; and as letters 
 have come to Captain Chesney's addressed to the 
 Earl of Oakburn, I think there's no doubt that the 
 worst has occurred. In fact, I feel sure of it. I 
 thought perhaps you might have heard it named in 
 the town." 
 
 Mr. Carlton was a little at sea. He did not under- 
 stand the allusion to the letters addressed to the Earl 
 of Oakburn which had come to Captain Chesney's. 
 
 " Why, if he is dead, Captain Chesney is Earl of 
 Oakburn, and the letters must be meant for him. I 
 have just suggested that view of the thing to Miss 
 Chesney." 
 
 Mr. Carlton was of too impassive a temperament 
 to betray surprise. Other men might have dropped 
 the reins in their astonishment, might have given 
 vent to it in fifty ways ; him, it only rendered silent. 
 Captain Chesney the Earl of Oakburn ? Why, then 
 his daughters were the Ladies Chesney 
 
 I 
 
 " You think it is so ? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't think," said Mr. Grey ; " I feel certain 
 of it. Good evening." 
 
 " Good evening," repeated the younger surgeon, 
 and touching his horse with the whip, he turned 
 into the lane and waited. 
 
 It was a somewhat singular thing, noted after- 
 wards, that John Grey should have encountered 
 both of them on that eventful night, in the very act
 
 318 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 of escaping. Laura Chesney, watching her time to 
 steal away unobserved, took the opportunity of 
 doing so when she knew Mr. Grey was in the 
 drawing-room with Jane and Lucy. But she was 
 not to get away without a fright or two. 
 
 She stole down-stairs, along the kitchen passage, 
 and out at the back door. There she saw Judith 
 coming from the brewhouse with a lighted candle in 
 her hand, and Miss Laura had to whisk round an 
 angle of the house and wait. When the coast was, 
 as she hoped, clear, she hastened on down the side 
 path, all the more hastily perhaps that she heard 
 the drawing-room bell give a loud peal, and was 
 turning into the broader walk near the gate, where 
 this path and the one conducting from the front 
 entrance merged into one and the same, when she 
 came in contact with Mr. Grey. The drawing-room 
 bell had rung for him to be shown out, but he had 
 forestalled it in his quickness. Laura Chesney's 
 heart gave a great bound, and she felt frightened 
 enough to faint. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Laura Chesney. Are you 
 going abroad such a night as this ? " 
 
 " Oh no. I — I — I was going to look at the 
 weather," stammered Laura, feeling that the Fates 
 were certainly putting themselves in opposition to 
 her expedition. 
 
 " The weather is nearly as bad as it can be 

 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 319 
 
 observed Mr. Grey. " It may clear up in a few- 
 minutes, but only to come on again. We shall have 
 an inclement night. Don't come farther, my dear 
 young lady; it's enough to drown you." 
 
 She turned back, apparently all obedience. But 
 she only slipped in amidst the wet trees until Mr. 
 Grey should be at a safe distance. Her heart was 
 beating wildly : her conscience, even then, suggested 
 to her to abandon the project. Of course, people 
 who are bent upon these romantic expeditions 
 cannot be supposed to remember common sense in 
 the flitting ; and Miss Laura Chesney had come out 
 in thin kid shoes and without an umbrella. Neither 
 was she wrapped up for travelling ; she had not 
 dared to put on any but her ordinary attire, lest it 
 should attract attention, were she met. Mr. Grey 
 gone, she came forth from her hiding-place, and 
 sped on in the mud and rain to the spot in Blister 
 Lane — it was not five minutes' distance — where Mr. 
 Carlton was awaiting her. 
 
 He had not waited for her long. Laura went up, 
 panting with agitation and fright. The storm was 
 then pelting cats and dogs, as the children say. 
 Mr. Carlton left his restive horse — for the horse did 
 seem untowardly restive that night — and sprang 
 forward to meet and welcome her. She burst into 
 a flood of tears as he hurried her into the carriage, 
 under cover of its shelter.
 
 320 lord oakjburn's daughters. 
 
 Oh, Lewis ! I could not go through it again," she 
 sobbed. " I was all but stopped by Mr. Grey." 
 
 They started. Mr. Carlton drove along at the 
 utmost speed that the lane and circumstances 
 allowed ; and Laura gradually regained tolerable 
 composure. But she felt sick with apprehension ; 
 her heart was fluttering, her ears were strained to 
 catch any noise behind, so apprehensive was she of 
 enemies in pursuit. Mr. Carlton asked her what 
 it was that had arisen in connection with letters 
 and the Earl of Oakburn, and Laura mechanically 
 answered. In a moment of less agitation, she 
 would have inquired how he came to know anything 
 about it ; but the question never occurred to her in 
 this. 
 
 " We have been expecting Lord Oakburn all 
 day," she said. " He is related to us ; his father 
 and papa were first cousins." 
 
 " You have been expecting him ? " 
 
 " Yes, but he had not arrived when I came away. 
 Two letters have come addressed to him ; and 
 therefore we know he must be coming. "When Jane 
 was worrying about a room for him this morning, I 
 could have told her, had I dared, that mine would 
 be at liberty." 
 
 It was evident that Laura knew nothing of the 
 earl's illness, or the view of affairs suggested by Mr. 
 Grey. Mr. Carlton suffered her to remain in igno-
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. o'2L 
 
 ranee. Did the idea occur to him that the Lady 
 Laura Chesney, daughter of the Earl of Oakhurn, 
 might uot he so ready to take flight with a country 
 surgeon struggling into practice, as Miss Laura 
 Chesney, daughter of the poor and embarrassed 
 half-pay post-captain, was proving herself to be ? 
 It cannot be told. South Wennock had its opinion 
 upon the point afterwards, and gave vent to it 
 freely. 
 
 They were within a mile and a half of Lichford, 
 and Mr. Carlton was urging his horse madly along, 
 like a second Phaeton, afraid of missing the train, 
 when there occurred a check. The horse fell down. 
 Suddenly, with as little warning or cause as there 
 had been on that memorable Sunday night, the 
 animal came suddenly down, and the carriage turned 
 over on its side, one of the wheels flying off. 
 
 Mr. Carlton and Laura were not thrown out. 
 The hood over their heads, the tight apron over 
 their knees, they were too well wedged in to be 
 spilled. Mr. Carlton extricated himself, he hardly 
 knew how, and got out Laura. 
 
 The horse was plunging violently. Planting the 
 terrified girl on the bank as much out of harm's 
 way as it was possible to place her, Mr. Carlton had 
 to turn his best attention to the horse. There was 
 nothing for it but to cut the traces. Fortunately he 
 had a sharp knife in his pocket, and succeeded in 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 lord oakbubn'b daughters. 
 
 severing them ; and the horse started off into space, 
 it was impossible to tell where. 
 
 Here was a pretty situation ! Did Mr. Carlton 
 remember the ridiculous words of the woman who 
 had come to his help on that Sunday night ? Had 
 he been of the same belief that she was, he might 
 surely have taken this upset to be a warning against 
 persisting in the present journe}\ Mr. Carlton was 
 not half so metaphysical. He simply threw an ugly 
 word after the offending horse, and blamed his own 
 folly for trusting to the surefootedness of an animal 
 that had once fallen. 
 
 Mr. Carlton looked around him in the dark night. 
 The rain, which had ceased for half an hour or so, 
 was coming down again violently. Laura shivered 
 against the bank, where he had placed her, too sick 
 and terrified for tears. It was of the utmost im- 
 portance that the} r should gain the station for the 
 next train that passed, and he away, if they would 
 escape the pursuit that might follow on detection at 
 South Wennock. But Mr. Carlton did not see how 
 they were to get to it. 
 
 He could not leave the disabled carriage in the 
 narrow road ; he could not — at least Laura could 
 not — get to the station without procuring another. 
 He did not know this locality at all personally ; he 
 had never traversed it ; it was a by-road that led 
 to Lichford, and that was all he knew about it.
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. o23 
 
 "Whether any assistance was to be obtained or not, 
 he was in complete ignorance. 
 
 As he peered about, wondering if anything more 
 human than trees and hedges was between the spot 
 and Lichford, a faint glimmer of light on one side 
 the lane gradually disclosed itself to view through 
 the misty darkness of the night. At the same mo- 
 ment the voice of his companion was heard, its 
 accents full of lamentation and affright. 
 
 " What is to become of us ? What shall we do ? 
 O Lewis ! I wish we had never come ! " 
 
 He felt for her situation more keenly than she 
 could. He implored her to be tranquil, not to give 
 way to fear or despondency ; he promised to extri- 
 cate her from the embarrassment with the best 
 exertion of his best efforts, and moved forward in 
 the direction of the light. 
 
 He found that it proceeded from a candle placed 
 in a cottage window. Mr. Carlton shouted, but it 
 elicited no response, so he went close up, through 
 what seemed a complete slough of despond, if mud 
 can constitute that agreeable feature, and opened 
 the door. , 
 
 The room was empty. A poor room bare of fire, 
 with a clock in one corner and the candle in the 
 window. Mr. Carlton shouted again, and it brought 
 forth an old man from some back premises, in a blue 
 frock and a cotton nightcap. 
 
 r 2
 
 ■i2i Lom> oakb urn's daughters. 
 
 A thoroughly stupid old man, who was deaf, and 
 looked aghast at the sight of the gentleman. He 
 hegan saying something about " th' old 'ooman, 
 who had gone to some neighbouring village and 
 ought to have been home two hour afore and hadn't 
 come yet, so he had stuck a candle in the winder 
 to light her across the opposite field." Mr. Carlton 
 explained his accident, and asked whether he could 
 get a conveyance near that would take him on. 
 
 " Not nearer nor Lichford," answered the old 
 man, when he had mastered the question by dint 
 of putting his hand to his ear and bending it for- 
 ward until it nearly touched Mr. Carlton's lips. 
 
 " Not nearer than Lichford ! " repeated Mr. 
 Carlton. "Are there no houses, no farms about ? " 
 
 " No, there's nothing o' the sort," the old man 
 rejoined. " There's a sprinkling o' cottages, a 
 dozen maybe in all, atween this and Lichford, but 
 they be all poor folks, without as much as a cart 
 among 'em." 
 
 " Halloa ! what's to do here ? " came forth on 
 Mr. Carlton's ear in hearty tones from the outside. 
 Glad enough to hear them, he hastened out. A 
 couple of labouring men, young and strong, had 
 come upon the overturned carriage in going along 
 the lane to their homes after their day's work. 
 They almost seemed like two angels to Mr. Carlton, 
 in his helpless position.
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. ,325 
 
 By their exertions — and Mr. Carlton also gave 
 his aid — the carriage and wheel were dragged under 
 a shed helonging to the old man's cottage. The}' 
 confirmed the information that no horse or vehicle 
 was to be had nearer than Lichford, and Mr. Carl- 
 ton was asking one of the men to go there and 
 procure one, when he was interrupted b}' Laura. 
 
 Oh, let her walk ! let her walk ! she said. She 
 should not dare to trust herself again behind a 
 strange horse that night ; and, besides, if they 
 waited the} r should inevitably lose the train. 
 
 " You cannot walk, Laura. Think of the rain — 
 the mud. You can have shelter inside this old 
 man's cottage until the conveyance comes." 
 
 But Laura, when she chose, could be as per- 
 sistent as anybody, and she was determined to bear 
 on at once to Lichford, braving all inconveniences 
 and discomforts. Poor thing ! the chance of pur- 
 suit, of discover}', appeared to her a vista of terror 
 and disgrace ; she had embarked on this mad 
 scheme, and there remained nothing but to go on 
 with it now. 
 
 So they started : one of the men carrying Mr. 
 Carlton's portmanteau and a small parcel brought 
 by Laura, and a lantern ; the other, bribed well, 
 entering on a search with another lantern after Mr. 
 Carlton's fugitive horse. But it was a comfortless 
 journey, that mile and a half of lane ; a wretched
 
 
 32 G loud oakburn's daugiitf.us. 
 
 journey. Umbrellas appeared to be as scarce an 
 article in the locality as were carriages; the old man 
 confessed to possessing one — " a old green un, wi' 
 ne'er a whalebone i' th' half o' him," — but his miss- 
 ing wife had got it with her. How they gained the 
 station, Laura never knew, Mr. Carlton almost as 
 little. He had taken off his overcoat and wrapped 
 it about her; but the rain was drenching them, aud 
 both were wet through when they reached the sta- 
 tion at Lichford. 
 
 "When within a few yards of it, the whistle and 
 the noise of an advancing train sounded in their 
 ears. Laura shrieked, and flew forward. 
 
 " Lewis, we shall be too late ! " 
 
 Instinct, more than the lights, guided her through 
 a waitiug-room to the platform. Mr. Carlton, in 
 little less commotion than herself, looked about for 
 the place where tickets were issued, and found it 
 closed. The rattle he gave at the board was enough 
 to frighten the ticket-clerk inside, had one been 
 there ; which did not appear to be the case : the 
 place maintained an obstinate silence, and the board 
 continued down in the aperture ; Mr. Carlton was 
 in a frenzy, and knocked and called, for the train 
 was dashing into the station. Not a soul was about 
 that he could see ; not a soul. The labourer with 
 the portmanteau and parcel stood behind him 
 staring helplessly, and Laura had gone through.
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 327 
 
 Yes, Laura Chesney Lad gone through, and she 
 stood on the platform hardly knowing what she did, 
 her upraised hands imploring by their gesture that 
 the train should stop. But the train did not stop ; 
 it did not even slacken speed. The train went 
 whirling recklessly on with the velocity of an ex- 
 press, and by the light of a lamp that hung in a 
 first-class carriage, Laura saw, quietly seated in it, 
 the form of Captain Chesney. 
 
 With a faint cry, with a shiver of dismay, she fell 
 back against the wall. We know how different was 
 the object of Captain Chesney's sudden journey, but 
 Laura naturally concluded that he had come in pur- 
 suit of her. He did not see her ; there was some 
 comfort in that ; he had his face bent rather from 
 her, as he conversed with a passenger on the oppo- 
 site side of the compartment, and never looked 
 towards her at all. Laura stood there in helpless 
 fear, gazing after the train, in expectation that it 
 would stop and backen. 
 
 Mr. Carlton came forth from the room in an 
 accession of rage not easily described, at the neglect 
 (as he supposed it) of the officials of the station. He 
 looked after the train also/ now nearly whirled 
 beyond view, and t could not understand why it had 
 not stopped. A man with a band round his hat, 
 who appeared to belong to the station, was advancing 
 leisurely from some remote part of the platform, a
 
 328 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 huge lantern in his hand. Mr. Carlton attacked 
 him vigorously. 
 
 What was the meaning of this ? Passengers wait- 
 ing to go by the train, and nobodj r in attendance to 
 issue tickets ! He'd complain to the Company; he'd 
 write to the ' Times ;' he'd — he'd — in Mr. Carlton's 
 explosive anger it was impossible to say what he 
 would not do. 
 
 The man received it all with stolid equanimity, 
 simply saying in reply that the gentleman was mis- 
 taking the trains if he had thought to get tickets for 
 the one just gone by. It didn't stop there. 
 
 " Not stop here ? " repeated Mr. Carlton, a little 
 taken aback. " But there is a train stops here about 
 this time ? " 
 
 The man shook his head. " One stopped here 
 twenty minutes ago," he said. " The one just gone 
 on never stopped at Lichford yet, since I have been 
 on the service." 
 
 And Mr. Carlton, hastilv taking out his watch, 
 which he might have consulted before, found that 
 they had lost their intended train by more than 
 twenty minutes, thanks to the accident. 
 
 When does the next train pass that stops here ?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 " At midnight. Take tickets ten minutes afore 
 it. 
 
 Mr. Carlton drew Laura's hand within his, and
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 329 
 
 asked for the waiting-room. There was no waiting- 
 room, -he had the pleasure of hearing, save the 
 small, cold, bare place where he had stood thumping 
 for the ticket clerk. The fire was nearly out ; Mr. 
 Carlton stirred it into a blaze and demanded more 
 coal. 
 
 Placing her in a chair before it, he paid the 
 man who had brought the portmanteau and dis- 
 missed him. Then he asked the porter, who had 
 gone into the little place where the tickets were 
 kept, whether refreshments could be obtained from 
 anywhere for the lady, and was answered by the 
 same stolid stare. Such a question had never been 
 put in that station before, and refreshments were no 
 more procurable than tickets. It appeared that 
 Mr. Carlton could only resign himself to his situ- 
 ation. 
 
 Laura was shivering inwardly and outwardly. 
 Mr. Carlton took off some of her things, shook them, 
 and hung them on a chair. Indeed it was not a 
 pleasant plight to be placed in : arrested midway in 
 this most provoking manner, in all this discomfort. 
 
 " I am so sorry ! " he murmured. " If you don't 
 mind waiting here alone, I'll go on to the village 
 and bring you back something in the shape of 
 refreshment. There's sure to be an inn in it. You 
 are trembling with the cold and rain." 
 
 "It is not that ; it is not that ; and for refresh-
 
 330 LORD oakburn's daughters. 
 
 ment, I could not touch it. Did you see him ? " 
 she continued in a shivering whisper. 
 " See whom ? " asked Mr. Carlton. 
 "Papa.*' 
 
 He looked at her in surprise. " See him ? 
 Where?" 
 
 " In that train just gone hy. He was in one of 
 the carriages." 
 
 Mr. Carlton truly thought she must be wander- 
 ing ; that the disasters of their unpropitious journey 
 had momentarily obscured her intellects. 
 
 " Lewis, I tell you he was there — papa. He was 
 in one of the carriages, sitting forward on the seat 
 and talking to somebody opposite. The light from 
 the lamp fell full upon his face. It was papa, if I 
 ever saw him." 
 
 That she was clear and rational, that she 
 evidently believed what she asserted, Mr. Carlton 
 saw. And though he could not give credence to so 
 improbable a thing, nevertheless a feeling of uneasi- 
 ness, lest Captain Chesney should be in pursuit, 
 stole over him. He went to look for the stolid 
 porter, who had disappeared, and found him at 
 length in an outer shed, doing something to an 
 array of tin lanterns. There he inquired about the 
 fast train just gone by, and learnt to his satisfaction 
 that it went whirling on, without stopping, on quite 
 a different line of rail from that on which he and
 
 A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT. 331 
 
 Laura were bound. He went back and told her 
 this, observing that she must have been mistaken. 
 
 "Lewis, it is of no use your trying to persuade 
 me out of my own ej'esight. I wish I was as sure 
 of forgiveness as I am that it was my father/" 
 
 He busied himself in many little cares for her, 
 quite neglecting his own wet condition. Happening 
 to look down, he perceived that of the two muddy 
 feet she was holding to the fire, one was shoeless. 
 
 " Where's your shoe, Laura ? " 
 
 " It's gone." 
 
 " Gone ! " 
 
 " It came off somewhere in the road as we walked 
 along. Oh, it is all unfortunate together ! " 
 
 " Came off in the road ! " repeated Mr. Carlton. 
 " But, my dear, why did you not speak ? We could 
 have found it ; the man had the lantern." 
 
 " I was afraid to stop ; afraid that we should miss 
 the train. And I don't think I knew w r hen I first 
 lost it : the mud was up to my ankles." 
 
 Not a very comfortable state of affairs, in truth ; 
 and poor Laura shivered and sighed, shivered and 
 sighed, as they waited on for the midnight train. 
 Don't you ever attempt a similar escapade, my 
 young lady reader, or the same perplexing griefs 
 may fall to you.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NEW IIONOrKS. 
 
 Jane Chesney's position was a trying one. In 
 the midst of the grief, it may be said the horror, 
 she felt at the step taken by her sister Laura that 
 eventful night, there was also the perplexity as to 
 what her own course ought to be. She was power- 
 less to prevent it now ; in fact everybody else was 
 powerless ; Mr. Carlton and Laura had gained some 
 hours' start, and could not be brought back again. 
 Had Jane known of the detention at the station at 
 Lichford, still she could have done nothing ; the 
 fleetest horse, ready saddled and bridled at her 
 door, would scarcely have conveyed her, galloping 
 like a second Lady Godiva, along that dark and 
 muddy cross-country road, in time to catch them 
 before the arrival of the midnight train for which 
 they waited, for it was well past eleven ere Jane 
 heard of it from Judith. 
 
 No ; stop the flight she could not. That thought 
 was abandoned as hopeless; and it must be remem- 
 bered that Jane did not know they were gone to
 
 NEW HONOURS. 333 
 
 Lichford ; she had no clue whatever to the line of 
 route taken. Her chief perplexity lay in the doubt 
 of how best to convey the tidings to her father, so 
 as to pain him least. To save him pain in any 
 shape or form, whether mentally or bodily, Jane 
 would have sacrificed her own life. Now and then 
 faint hopes would come over her that their fears 
 were groundless, that they were wholly mistaken, 
 that they were judging Laura wrongfully; and a 
 hundred suppositions as to where Laura could be, 
 arose to her heated fancy : certainly the fact that 
 Mr. Carlton had left the town for a few days, as 
 reported to Judith by his servants, was not suffi- 
 cient proof of Laura's having left it. But, even 
 while these delusive arguments arose, the convic- 
 tion of the worst lay all the deeper upon her 
 mind. 
 
 Perhaps Jane Chesney was nearly the last in the 
 town to hear the positive news of the truth by word 
 of mouth. With morning light there arrived at Mr. 
 Carlton's house the man whom he had charged to 
 look after the missing horse : which had been found 
 with little trouble, standing still with his nose over 
 a field gateway. Securing him for the night, the 
 man started before dawn to convey him to the 
 address at South "Wennock, as given him by Mr. 
 Carlton ; he had to be back to his own work 
 betimes, at the farmer's where he was a day
 
 33 1 LORD OAKBURN'fi DAUGHTERS. 
 
 labourer. When rung up, just as Judith had rung 
 them up the night before, the servants could scarcely 
 believe their own eyes, to see the horse arrive home 
 in that fashion, led by a halter and covered with 
 splashes of mud. The man explained, so far as 
 he was cognizant of it, what had happened on 
 the previous night; told his orders as to bringing 
 home the horse, provided he could find him, spoke 
 of where the carriage was lying, and said it had 
 better be looked after. 
 
 Whether it was from this circumstance, or whe- 
 ther the report arose in that mysterious manner in 
 which reports do arise, nobody knows how or where, 
 certain it was, that when South Wennock sat down 
 to its breakfast-tables on that same morning, half 
 its inhabitants were talking of the elopement of 
 the surgeon with Miss Laura Chesney. Mr. John 
 Grey was the one to convey its certain tidings to 
 Jane. 
 
 He was at the house very early — soon after eight 
 o'clock. Called to a distance that day, his only 
 chance of seeing Lucy Chesney's hands was to pay 
 them a visit before his departure; in fact he had 
 promised to do so on the previous night. 
 
 Jane was ready for him ; Jane alone : glad of an 
 excuse to keep the little girl in bed in that house 
 of perplexity and trouble, Jane had bade her not 
 rise to breakfast. Mr. Grey was pained at the
 
 NEW HONOURS. 335 
 
 look of care on the face of Miss Chesney — let us 
 call her so for a short while yet ! — at the too 
 evident marks of the sleepless and miserable night 
 she had spent. 
 
 " Do not suffer this untoward event to affect your 
 health ! " he involuntarily exclaimed ; and his low 
 tone was full of tender concern, of considerate sym- 
 pathy. " How ill you look ! " 
 
 Jane was startled. Was it known already ? But 
 there was that in Mr. Grey's earnest face that 
 caused her heart to leap out to him there and then, 
 as it might to a friend of long-tried years. 
 
 "Is it known?" she asked, her life-pulses seem- 
 ing to stand still. 
 
 " It is," he answered, with a grave face. "The 
 town is ringing with it." 
 
 Jane, standing before him with her quiet bear- 
 ing, gave no mark of pain, save that she raised 
 her hand and laid it for a few moments on her 
 temples. 
 
 " I have been hoping — againt hope, it is true, but 
 still hoping — that it might not be ; that my sister 
 might have taken refuge somewhere from the storm, 
 and would return home this morning. Oh, Mr. 
 Grey ! this has come upon me like a falling thun- 
 derbolt. If you knew how different from anything 
 like this she has been brought up ! " 
 
 " Yes, I feel sure of that," he said. " It is, I fear,
 
 LORD OAXBURX'S DAUGHTKi:s. 
 
 a most mistaken step that she has taken. Certainly 
 an unwise one." 
 
 " How has it become known ? " asked Jane, shad- 
 ing her eyes. 
 
 " I cannot tell," he replied. " For one thing, 1 
 heard that Mr. Carlton's horse had been sent back 
 this morning." 
 • Tlis horse ? " 
 
 " Pie drove your sister to Lichford, I understand, 
 to take the train there. I met him last night as I 
 left here ; he was close to Blister Lane — about to 
 turn into it, and I wondered what patient he could 
 have in that locality to call him out in his carriage 
 at night. I little thought of the expedition on 
 which he was bent ; or that he was waiting to be 
 joined by Miss Laura Chesney. I saw her also; 
 she must have been on her way to him." 
 
 Jane lifted her eyes. "Mr. Grey! you saw her 
 and you did not stop her ! " 
 
 John Grey slightly shook his head. " It was not 
 possible for me to divine the errand on which she 
 was bent. She was in the garden as I left here, 
 and I said something to her about the inclemency 
 of the night. I understood her to answer me — 
 at least I inferred it — that she was only going to 
 the gate to look at the weather. I know the thought 
 that crossed me was, that she was anxious because 
 her father was out in it. There's a report that
 
 NEW HONOURS. 33~ 
 
 some accident occurred to the horse and carriage 
 when they were nearing Lichford," continued the 
 surgeon, "and that Mr. Carlton and the lady with 
 him had to go the rest of the way on foot. It 
 is what people are saying ; I don't know the par- 
 ticulars." 
 
 " Nothing can be done to recall her now ? " said 
 Jane, speaking the words in accordance with her 
 own thoughts, more than as a question. 
 
 "Nothing. The start has been too great — a 
 whole night. They are probably married by this 
 time, or will be before the day is out." 
 
 " Mr. Grey — I seem to speak to you as to an old 
 friend," Jane broke off to say ; " a few minutes ago 
 and I had not believed that I could have so spoken 
 of this to any one. How shall I tell my father ? " 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Grey, " it will be sad news 
 for him. My eldest little daughter is but eight 
 years old, but I can fancy what must be the feel- 
 ings of a father at being told such. I think — I 
 think " 
 
 " What ? " asked Jane. 
 
 " Well, it is scarcely the thing to say to you just 
 now, but I think I would rather lose a daughter 
 by death than see her abandon her home in 
 this way," continued Mr. Grey in his frankness. 
 " My heart would be less wrung. Will you allow me 
 to ask whether Mr. Carlton was addressing her ? " 
 
 VOL. 1. Z
 
 LORD OAXBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " He had wished to do so, hut was peremptorily 
 forbidden by my father. That .was the cause of the 
 rapture which led to his dismissal from the house. 
 None of us liked Mr. Carlton, except — I must of 
 course except — my sister Laura." 
 
 That she spoke in pain — that she was in a state 
 of extreme distress, was all too evident ; and Mr. 
 Grey felt how useless would be any attempt at 
 consolation. It was a case that did not admit of 
 it. He asked to see Lucy, and Jane went with him 
 to her room. The hands were going on as well as 
 possible, and Mr. Grey said there was not the least 
 necessity for keeping her in bed. Poor Jane felt 
 almost like a deceitful woman, when she reflected 
 how far apart from the cuts had been her motive for 
 keeping Lucj r there. 
 
 " Can I be of use to you in any way ? " he asked 
 of Jane at parting. 
 
 Jane frankly put her hand into his and thanked 
 him for his kindness. Ah, she found now, it was 
 not Mr. Carlton's profession she had so disliked, 
 but Mr. Carlton himself. John Grey was but a 
 surgeon also, a general practitioner : and of him 
 Jane could have made a friend and an equal. 
 
 " You are very good," she said. " Can you tell me 
 the best way in which I can proceed to Pembury ? " 
 
 " Are you going there ? " 
 
 " I must go; I think 1 ought to go. Papa started
 
 NEW HONOURS. 339 
 
 for Chesney Oaks last night — and — you are aware 
 perhaps that it is as you feared ; that Lord Oakburn 
 is dead ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; his death has been confirmed ? " 
 
 " Papa left at once for Chesne}- Oaks ; and his 
 absence renders my position in this crisis all the 
 more difficult. But I shall go after him, Mr. Grey; 
 better that he should hear of this from my lips than 
 from a stranger's. None could soothe it to him in 
 the telling as I can." 
 
 Fond Jane ! She truly deemed that none in the 
 world could ever be to her father what she, his 
 loving and dutiful daughter, was. How rudely the 
 future would undeceive her, she dreamt not yet. 
 Just to " soothe this terrible news to him in the 
 telling," she had rapidly determined to make the 
 best of her way to Pembury. 
 
 Pompey was already preparing to go thither by 
 
 the earliest train, and Jane started with him, leaving 
 
 Lucy to the care of Judith. It was a long journey, 
 
 and she meant to come back the same day, but the 
 
 trouble and fatigue to herself were nothing, if she 
 
 could but spare ever so little trouble to her father. 
 
 There was the jolting omnibus to Great Wennock, 
 
 and there was the railway afterwards — thirty miles 
 
 of it; it may be questioned whether Jane, in her 
 
 distress of mind, so much as knew that the omnibus 
 
 made any jolts at all. 
 
 z 2
 
 340 lord oakimun's daughters. 
 
 Arrived at Pembury, Jane felt undecided what to 
 do. She did not much like to go on to Chesney 
 Oaks ; it would seem almost as though they wished 
 to seize upon their new possession by storm ere 
 the poor young earl was cold on his bed. Neither 
 did she know whether the imperious old dowager 
 Countess of Oakburn might not be there ; and Jane 
 felt that to tell her this disgrace of Laura's would 
 be a worse task than the telling it to her father. 
 
 She inquired for an hotel, and was directed to the 
 " Oakburn Arms." Then she despatched Pompey 
 to Chesney Oaks. 
 
 " You will tell papa, Pompey, that I have come 
 here, and am waiting to see him," she said. "You 
 must say that I have come all this way on purpose 
 to impart to him something of the utmost moment ; 
 something that he must hear without delay — that I 
 could not trust to anvone else to bring to him, for 
 it is unpleasant news. And Pompey, you must not 
 tell him : take care of that." 
 
 Pompey looked aghast at the bare suggestion. 
 He tell such news to his choleric master ! " I no 
 dare, missee," was the characteristic answer. 
 
 Chesney Oaks, a fine old place, whose park 
 stretched down to the very gates of Pembuiy, was 
 less than a mile distant. Jane, ever thoughtful, 
 despatched Pompey in a fly, that it might be at 
 hand to bring back her father. She then sat down
 
 NEW HONOURS. 341 
 
 in the room to which she had been shown, and 
 waited. 
 
 The room was on the ground floor, and she 
 watched eagerly the way leading from Chesney 
 Oaks. They appeared to have had as much rain 
 at Pembury as they had had at South Wennock, to 
 judge by the state of the roads, but it was a balmy 
 spring day, this, and the sun shone out by fits 
 and snatches : it shone on Jane's face at the open 
 window. 
 
 At length she saw the fly coming back again, and 
 the sick feeling at her heart increased, now the 
 moment was at hand when she must meet her 
 father with the dreadful news. But the fly, instead 
 of drawing up to the door of the inn, continued its 
 way past it, and Jane saw that it was empt}'. It 
 seemed like a welcome respite. She supposed her 
 father had preferred to walk, and she stood looking 
 out for him. 
 
 But she looked in vain. There appeared no 
 sign of him, and Jane was beginning seriously to 
 wonder what she should do in the emergency, when 
 a handsome chariot, bearing about it, although in 
 mourning, all the badges of rank and state — the 
 flowing hammer-cloth, the earl's coronet on the 
 panels, the powdered servants, the sparkling silver 
 ornaments on the fine horses — came bowling up to 
 the door. Another moment and the waiter appeared,
 
 342 loud oakburn's daughters. 
 
 showing in the powdered footman, who handed a 
 small bit of twisted paper to Jane. 
 
 " For me ?" she involuntarily exclaimed. 
 
 •■ Yes, my lady." 
 
 Jane quite started. My lady ! Why, yes, she 
 was my lady. But the salutation sounded strange 
 to her ears, and a deep blush arose to her fair face. 
 Opening the paper, she read the following charac- 
 teristic lines written in pencil. 
 
 " I cannot imagine whatever you have come for, 
 Jane, but you can come on to Chesney Oaks and 
 explain. Pompey's a fool." 
 
 By which last sentence Jane gathered that poor 
 Pompey must have managed to plunge into hot 
 water with his master, in his efforts not to tell the 
 secret. She also divined that the carriage had been 
 sent for her use. 
 
 "You have brought the carriage for me?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, my lady. My lord requested you would 
 go on without delay." 
 
 But Jane hesitated. She thought of the fever. 
 Not for herself did she fear it — at least it was 
 not her own danger that struck her, but she Avas 
 about to return home to Lucy, and might carry it 
 to her. 
 
 " There may be danger in my entering Chesney 
 Oaks," she said. " I am going home to a young
 
 NEW HONOURS. 343 
 
 sister, a little girl, and children take disorders so 
 easily." 
 
 " I don't think there will be much danger, my 
 lady," returned the man. " My lord is in the left 
 wing of the house, and the — the body of the late 
 earl is lying in the wing at the other extremity, 
 where he died. No one else has taken the fever." 
 
 How strange it was, too, to hear her father 
 called my lord; how strange to spring suddenly 
 into all this pomp and state. Jane did not see 
 that she could hold out longer, and passed out of 
 the room. 
 
 Gathered in the entrance passage, were the land- 
 lord of the inn, his wife, the waiter, and a chamber- 
 maid, ready to make obeisance to her as she passed. 
 Jane felt rather little as she received the honours ; 
 she had an old black silk dress on, a shabby warm 
 grey shawl, and a straw bonnet trimmed with black, 
 the worse for wear. But Jane need not have feared : 
 she was a lady always, and looked like one, dress as 
 she would. 
 
 " Who is she ?" asked the landlady in a low tone 
 of the footman, arresting him as he was marching 
 past her ; for she did not know as yet Avho the 
 stranger was, except that she was one of the family 
 from which their inn took its sign. 
 
 " The Lady Jane Chesney ; the new earl's 
 daughter."
 
 344 LOED OAKBURN's DAUGIlTl'.ItS. 
 
 And the footman stood with his imposing cane 
 and bowed -lane into the carriage, and the peoph- 
 of the Oakburn Arms bowed again from its entrance ; 
 and thus Jane was bowled off in state to Chesne\ 
 Oaks, the fine old place now her father's. 
 
 Winding through a noble avenue of trees, the 
 park stretching out on either hand, the house was 
 gained. A red-brick mansion, with a wing extend- 
 ing out at either end. The wings were of modern 
 date, and contained the handsomest rooms ; the 
 middle of the house was cramped and old-fashioned* 
 In the wing to the right, as they approached, the 
 poor young earl had lain ill and died ; what re- 
 mained of him was lying there now. Jane found 
 that the carriage did not make for the principal 
 entrance, but turned suddenly off as it approached 
 it, continued its way to the other wing, and stopped 
 there at a small door. 
 
 A gentleman in black — he looked really like one 
 — was at the door to receive Jane, evidently expect- 
 ing her. It was the groom of the chambers. He 
 said nothing, only bowed, and threw open the door 
 of a small sitting-room, where the new earl was- 
 standing. 
 
 " Lady Jane, my lord." 
 
 It would take Jane some little time to get accus- 
 tomed to this. Lord Oakburn was in conversation 
 with a grey-haired man wdio wore spectacles, the
 
 NEW HONOURS. 8-15 
 
 steward, as Jane afterwards found, and some books 
 and papers were lying on the table, as though they 
 were being examined. 
 
 " So it's you, Jane, is it ?" said the earl, turning" 
 round. " And now what on earth has brought you 
 here, and what's the matter *? That idiot says that 
 it's not Lucy's hands, and he'll say no more, but 
 stares and sobs. I'll discharge him to-night." 
 
 Jane knew how idle was the threat ; how often it 
 was hurled on the unhappy Pompey. Before she 
 could say a word, her father had begun again. 
 
 " The idea of your sending for me to Pembury ! 
 -Just like you! As if, when you had come so far, 
 you could not have come on to Chesney Oaks. It's 
 my house now — and yours. You never do things 
 like anybody else." 
 
 " I did not care to come on, papa," she answered 
 in a low tone. " I thought — I thought Lady Oak- 
 burn might be here, and I did not wish to meet her 
 just now; I have brought very bad news. And I 
 thought too, of the fever." 
 
 " There's no danger from that ; the poor fellow's 
 lying in the other wing. And Lady Oakburn's not 
 here ; but what difference it would make to you if 
 she had been, I'd be glad to know. And now, 
 what have you got to tell me ? Is the house burnt 
 down '? " 
 
 Jane looked at the steward, who was standing
 
 340 LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 aside respectfully. He understood the look— that 
 she wished to be with her father alone— and turned 
 to his new master. 
 
 " Shall I come in again by-and-by, my lord?" 
 
 Lord Oakburn nodded acquiescence. He had 
 slipped as easily and naturally into his new posi- 
 tion as though he had been bred to it. As the son 
 of the Honourable Frank Chesney, he had seen 
 somewhat of all this in his youth. Jane had not. 
 Although reared a gentlewoman, she had been 
 always but the daughter of a poor naval officer. 
 
 The room they were in, plain though it was as 
 compared to some, bore its signs of luxury. The 
 delicate paper on the walls, the gilded cornices, the 
 rich carpet into which the feet sank, the brilliant 
 and beautiful cloth covering the centre table! 
 Lord Oakburn had been shown to it that morning 
 for breakfast, and he intended to make it his sittincf- 
 room during this his temporary sojourn in the house. 
 How things had changed with him! and, but for 
 the terrible escapade of the previous night, what a 
 load of care would have been removed from Jane's 
 heart. No more pinching, no more miserable 
 debts, no more dread of privation for her dear 
 father. 
 
 She untied her bonnet strings, wondering how 
 she should break it to him, how begin. Lord 
 Oakburn pushed the steward's papers into a heap
 
 NEW HONOURS. 347 
 
 as they lay on the costly cloth, and turned to her, 
 waiting. 
 
 "Now, Jane, why don't you speak? What is 
 it?" 
 
 " It is because I do not know how to speak, 
 papa," she said at length. " I came myself to see 
 you because I thought none could break the news 
 to you so well as I : and now that I am here I seem 
 as powerless to do it as a child could be. Papa, a 
 great calamity has overtaken us." 
 
 The old sailor, whatever his roughness of manner, 
 his pett} r tyranny in his home, loved his children 
 truly. He leaped to the conclusion, in spite of 
 Pompey's denial, that something bad had arisen 
 from Lucy's hands. Perhaps the places had burst 
 asunder, and she had bled to death. He believed, 
 now that he saw Jane and her emotion, that no 
 slight misfortune had brought her. 
 
 " The obstinate villain ! Not to tell me ! And 
 you, Jane, why do you beat about the bush ? Is 
 the child dead?" 
 
 "No, no; it is not Lucy, papa; her hands are 
 going on quite well. It — it is about Laura. 
 
 Lord Oakburn stared. " Has she fallen through 
 a window?" 
 
 "It is worse than that," said Jane, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Worse than that ! Hang it, Jane, tell it out
 
 :; J -" LOUD OAKBURn's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 and have done with it," he cried, in a burst of passion., 
 as he stamped his foot. Suspense to a man of his 
 temper is not easy to bear. 
 
 " Laura has run away," she said. 
 
 " Run away ! " he repeated, staring at Jane. 
 ' She quitted the house last night. She must 
 have been gone when you left it. Don't you re- 
 member, papa, you called to her and she did not 
 answer? Not at first — not until it was too late to 
 do anything — did I know she had run away." 
 
 No suspicion of the truth dawned on Lord Oak- 
 bum, and Jane seemed to shrink from speaking 
 more plainly. Compared to what he had dreaded 
 — the death of Lucy — this appeared a very light 
 calamity indeed. 
 
 " I'll run her," said he. " Where has she run 
 to ? What has she run for ? " 
 
 " Papa, she has not gone alone," said Jane, 
 looking down. " Mr. Carlton is with her." 
 
 •' What ? " shouted the peer. 
 ' They have gone to be married, I fear. There 
 can be no doubt of it." 
 
 A pause of consternation on the part of the earl ? 
 and then the storm broke out. Jane had never been 
 witness to such. He did not spare Laura, he did 
 not spare Mr. Carlton ; a good thing for both the 
 offenders that they were not within his reach in that 
 moment of passion.
 
 NEW HONOURS. 349 
 
 Jane burst into tears. " Oh, papa, forgive me;' 
 she said. " I ought to have told it you less abruptly ; 
 I meant to tell it you so ; but somehow my powers 
 failed me. I am so grieved to be obliged to bring 
 you this pain." 
 
 Pain ! yes, it was pain to the honest old sailor, 
 pain of the keenest sting. His beautiful daughter, 
 of whom he had been so proud ! His passion some- 
 what subsided, he sat down in a chair and buried his 
 face in his hands. Presently he looked up, pale and 
 resolute. 
 
 "Jane, this makes the second. Let her go as 
 the other did. Never vou mention her name to 
 me again, any more than you mention the other 
 one s. 
 
 And Jane felt all the more sad when she heard 
 the injunction of forbiddance ; an injunction which 
 she should not dare to break. She felt it all the 
 more keenly because she had been confidently 
 hoping that her father's new rank as a peer of 
 England would cause the barrier of silence as to 
 that " other one" to be raised. 
 
 A dinner hastily served Avas brought in for her, 
 and when she had partaken of it, with what appetite 
 she had, she proceeded to the station at Pemburv 
 to retake her departure, conducted to it in all the 
 pomp and state that befitted her new position as 
 the Lady Jane Chesney.
 
 850 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 But on poor Jane's heart as she was whirled hack 
 to Great Wennock, there rested a sense of failure 
 as to the expedition of the day. If she had but 
 contrived to break it better! she thought in her 
 meek self-reproach. It never occurred to that loving 
 daughter that Lord Oakburn was just the man to 
 whom such things cannot be " broken."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 
 
 The weather seemed to have taken an ill-natured 
 fit and to be favouring the world with nothing but 
 storms of hail and rain. The flight of Mr. Carlton 
 and Laura Chesney had taken place on a Wednes- 
 day evening, and on that day week, Mr. and Lady 
 Laura Carlton returned to South Wennock in some 
 such a storm as the one in which they had departed 
 from it. They had been married in Scotland, and 
 had solaced themselves with a few days' tour since, 
 by way of recompense for the mishaps attending 
 their flight, but the weather had been most un- 
 propitious. 
 
 Mr. Carlton's servants had enjoyed a week of 
 jubilee. Orders had been received from that gentle- 
 man, written the day after his marriage, to have 
 everything in readiness for the reception of their 
 mistress; but the house had been so recently put 
 in order on the occasion of the bringing in of the 
 new furniture, that there was really nothing to do ; 
 a little impromptu cleaning, chiefly in the kitchens,
 
 332 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 they got a charwoman in to perform, taking holiday 
 themselves. 
 
 But on this, the Wednesday night, they had 
 resumed duty again, and were alike on their best 
 behaviour and in their best attire to receive their 
 master and new mistress. A post-carriage was 
 ordered to be at the Great Wennock station to await 
 the seven o'clock train, and the servants looked out 
 impatiently. 
 
 When a carriage is bringing home folks from a 
 wedding, it generally considers itself under an obli- 
 gation to put forth its most dashing speed. So 
 argued Mr. Carlton's servants ; therefore, long 
 before half-past seven they were on the tiptoe of 
 expectation, looking and listening for the arrival 
 as the moments flew. 
 
 The moments flew, however, to no purpose. 
 Nobody came. Eight o'clock struck, and half-past 
 eight struck, and the servants gazed at each other in 
 puzzled wonderment as to what could be the cause 
 of the delay. 
 
 Ben, the surgery boy, went out to the front gate, 
 inserted the tips of his boots between the upright 
 iron wires, and stood there taking a little riding 
 recreation on it, which he accomplished by swinging 
 the gate backwards and forwards. There was no 
 troublesome household authority near, either 
 Hannah or Evan, to box his ears and send him
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 353 
 
 off, so he enjoyed his ride as long as he pleased, 
 whistling a popular tune, and keeping his eyes fixed 
 in the direction of the town. 
 
 " I say," cried he, to a butcher-boy of his ac- 
 quaintance, who passed on his way home from his 
 day's work, " do you know what makes the train so 
 late to-night ? " 
 
 " What train ? " asked the young butcher, stopping 
 and gazing at Ben. 
 
 " The seven train to Great Wennock. It ought 
 to ha' been in a good hour ago." 
 
 " It is in," said the boy. 
 - " It isn't," responded Ben. " Who says it is ? " 
 
 " I says it. I see the omnibus come in with my 
 own eyes. Why, it's on its road back again to take 
 the folks to the nine train." 
 
 Indisputable evidence to Ben's mind. He jumped 
 off the gate and dashed in-doors, without the cere- 
 mony of saying good night to his friend. 
 
 " I say, the train's in ; it have been in ever so 
 long," he cried to Hannah and the others. 
 
 "No \" exclaimed Hannah. 
 
 " It have, then. Bill Jupp have just told me. He 
 see the omnibus a-coming back at its time with his 
 own eyes." 
 
 " Then something has detained them," decided 
 Hannah, " and they won't be here to-night." 
 
 Quite comforting assurance. A whole night's 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 354 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 farther holiday ! " Let's have supper," said Sarah, 
 the additional maid who had been this week engaged 
 by Hannah according to her master's written 
 directions. 
 
 " I say, though," cried Ben, " there's another 
 train. Bill Jupp, he see the omnibus a-going back 
 again for it." 
 
 " That don't come from their way, stupid ! " 
 corrected Hannah. " The trouble I've had, laying 
 out their tea and things in the dining-room, and all 
 to no purpose ! " she added crossly. 
 
 Of course, their master and mistress not being 
 home to tea or supper, there was all the more 
 reason why the servants should enjoy theirs. And 
 they were doing so to their hearts' content, sitting 
 over a well- spread table, at which much laughter 
 prevailed, and rather more noise than is absolutely 
 necessary for digestion, when a loud ring startled 
 them from their security. 
 
 " My goodness ! " exclaimed Hannah. " If it 
 should be them, after all ! What on earth — get 
 along, Evan, and open the door ! Don't sit staring 
 there like a stuck pig." 
 
 Thus politely urged, Evan sprang out of the 
 kitchen and into the hall. He opened the front 
 door with a swing grand enough to admit a duke, 
 and found himself confronted with nothing but a 
 woman and a bundle.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 355 
 
 A large awkward bundle, which appeared to have 
 been put hastily together, and was encased by a thick 
 old shawl to protect it from the rain. The bearer 
 of it was Judith. She passed Evan without cere- 
 mony or preface, and dropped the bundle on a chair 
 in the hall. 
 
 " Why, what's that ? " exclaimed Evan, in surprise, 
 who did not recognise Judith. In fact, he did not 
 know her. 
 
 " Can I speak a word to Lady Laura Carlton ? " 
 was the answer. 
 
 Evan looked at the woman. Hannah, who had 
 come into the hall, looked also ; the boy Ben 
 pushed himself forward and took his share of 
 looking. 
 
 " I come from Cedar Lodge, from Lady Jane 
 Chesney," explained Judith, perceiving she was un- 
 known. " These are some of Lady Laura's things ; 
 but her trunks will be sent to-morrow." 
 
 Hannah cast a contemptuous glance at the bundle. 
 She thought it rather an unceremonious way of 
 forwarding an instalment of a bride's wardrobe. In 
 truth, Judith felt the same herself, but there was no 
 help for it. 
 
 On the day of Laura's marriage, subsequent to 
 the ceremony, she had written a half-penitent note 
 to Jane for the escapade of which she had been 
 guilty, and stated that the ceremony had taken place. 
 
 A A 2
 
 3S6 lord o.akburn's daughters. 
 
 In this was enclosed a wholly penitential letter to 
 her father. The superscriptions " Captain Chesney, 
 B.N. ," and "Miss Chesney," proved that Laura was in 
 ignorance of the rise in their condition. Jane had 
 forwarded the note to her father at Chesney Oaks, and 
 he had flung it into the fire unread : her own letter 
 she did not dare to answer, for she had been strictly 
 forbidden to hold further communication of any sort 
 with her offending sister. The late earl's funeral 
 took place on the Monday ; Lord Oakburn returned 
 to Cedar Lodge on the Tuesday ; and on the Wed- 
 nesday morning there arrived another letter from 
 Laura to Jane, stating that she and Mr. Carlton 
 purposed to be at South Wennock on Wednesday 
 evening, and begging Jane to send her clothes to 
 her new home, to await her arrival at it, especially a 
 certain " light silk dress." 
 
 " Not a thread of them," cried the earl, bringing 
 
 down his stick decisively when Jane spoke to him. 
 
 " She shall have no clothes sent from here." 
 
 " But, papa, she has nothing to wear," pleaded 
 
 Jane. " She did not take with her so much as a 
 
 pair of stockings to change." 
 
 " So much the better," fumed the earl. " Let her 
 
 go barefoot." 
 
 But Jane, considerate even for the offending 
 
 Laura, and for the straits she would be put to 
 
 without clothes, ventured to appeal to her father
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 357 
 
 again in the course of the day. Not until evening 
 would the earl unbend. And then, quite late, he 
 suddenly announced that the things might go, and 
 that the sooner the house was rid of them, the 
 better. 
 
 It was eight o'clock then. Jane hastily put some 
 things together, the light silk dress particularly 
 named, and a few other articles that she deemed 
 Laura might most need, and despatched Judith with 
 them, charging her to see Lady Laura in private, 
 and to explain how it was that the things had not 
 been properly sent, and could not be, now, before 
 the morrow. Hence it was that Judith stood in 
 Mr. Carlton's hall demanding to see its new 
 mistress. 
 
 " They have not come yet," was the reply of 
 Hannah, given crustily. 
 
 " Not come ! " repeated Judith. " My lady 
 told me they were to return by the seven o'clock 
 train." 
 
 "And so they sent us word, and there's the 
 dinner-tea laid ready in the dining-room, but they 
 haven't come. The train's in long ago, and it 
 haven't brought 'em." 
 
 "Well," said Judith, slowly, considering how 
 much to say and how much not, " will you tell your 
 lady that we were not able to send her things to- 
 day — except just these few that I have brought —
 
 358 lord oakbuhn's daughters. 
 
 but that the rest will all be here to-morrow. I am 
 sorry not to see her ladyship, because I had a 
 private message for her from her sister." 
 
 "I'll tell her," answered Hannah, in an un- 
 gracious, grumbling tone ; for the advent of a new 
 mistress in the house did not meet her approba- 
 tion. " I think master might have said a word 
 to us afore he went away, and not have — what's 
 that ? " 
 
 The noise of a carriage thundering up to the 
 gate and stopping, scared their senses away. Evan 
 opened the door at length, but not immediately ; 
 not until the bell had sent its echoes through the 
 house. 
 
 They came into the hall; Mr. Carlton, and his 
 3^oung wife upon his arm. She wore two shoes now, 
 and a beautiful Cashmere shawl, the latter the pre- 
 sent of Mr. Carlton. He was a fond husband in 
 this his first dream of passion. Mr. Bill Jupp's 
 information as to the tram's arrival was incorrect. 
 It was true that the omnibus had come back, but it 
 brought no passengers ; it had waited as long as it 
 could, and then had to return to convey back its 
 customers to the nine-o'clock train. An accident, 
 productive of no ill consequences save detention, 
 had occurred to the seven-o'clock train containing 
 Mr. Carlton and his wife, and this caused the delay. 
 
 She came in with her beaming face, laughing at
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 359 
 
 something said by Mr. Carlton, and nodding affably 
 to the servants by way of her first greeting to them. 
 Very much surprised indeed did she look to see 
 Judith standing in the background. 
 
 " Judith ! " she exclaimed, " is it you ? " 
 
 Judith came forward in her quiet, respectful 
 manner. " Can I speak a word to you, my lady, if 
 you please ? Lady Jane charged me with it." 
 
 Laura dropped Mr. Carlton's arm and stared at 
 her. The salutation was strange in her ears. "My 
 lady ! " " Lady Jane ! " Had the world turned 
 upside down, Laura Carlton had not been more 
 surprised, more perplexed. 
 
 It must be remembered that she had known 
 nothing of the late earl's illness ; when she quitted 
 her home to fly with Mr. Carlton, he, Lord Oakburn, 
 was being expected at Cedar Lodge. Mr. Carlton 
 had said nothing to her of his surmised death ; and 
 during this wedding tour in the rather remote parts 
 of Scotland, not a newspaper had fallen under her 
 notice. Laura was therefore still in ignorance of 
 all that had taken place. 
 
 " What did you say, Judith ?" she asked, after a 
 pause. " Lady — Lady Jane sent you to me ? Do 
 you mean my sister ? " 
 
 " Yes, my lady. She wished me to say a word to 
 yourself." 
 
 No woman living had greater tact than Laura
 
 3G0 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 Carlton. Not before her new servants would she 
 betray her perplexity at the strange title, or give 
 the slightest mark of indication that she did not 
 know how it could belong to her. From the open 
 door of the dining-room on the side of the hall 
 streamed the light of fire and lamp, and she stepped 
 into it followed by Judith. Mr. Carlton had turned 
 back, after bringing her in, to see what had been 
 left in the post-carriage. 
 
 " Judith ! you called my sister Lady Jane. Has 
 anything happened to Lord Oakburn ? " 
 
 It would have been Judith's turn to stare now, 
 but that she was too well-bred a servant to do any- 
 thing of the sort. A whole week since the change ! 
 it seemed next to impossible that Lady Laura should 
 be in ignorance of it. She answered quietly, 
 
 " Lord Oakburn is dead, my lady — that is, the 
 late Lord Oakburn — and my master is Lord Oak- 
 burn now." 
 
 "I never heard of such a thing!" exclaimed 
 Laura, sinking into a chair in her astonishment. 
 ' When did he die ? How long have you known 
 it?" 
 
 " He died on the Tuesday, yesterday week, my 
 lady. He died of fever at Chesney Oaks, and the 
 letter that came on the Wednesday morning to 
 our house was not for him, after all, but for my 
 master."
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 361 
 
 " And when did you find out that it was for papa? 
 — when was it first known at home ? " 
 
 " My lady, it was known just about the time that 
 you left it. Mr. Grey was there that evening, if 
 you remember, and he told the news of Lord Oak- 
 burn's illness; that he was lying without hope a 
 day or two previous at Chesney Oaks. There could 
 be no doubt then, he said, that the letters had come 
 for my master as Earl of Oakburn." 
 
 "I wonder whether Lewis knew it?" was the 
 question that crossed Laura's heart. "Mr. Grey 
 spoke to him that night as he left our house. But 
 no, he could not know it," came the next thought, 
 in her unbounded love and confidence, " or he would 
 have told me." 
 
 Question after question she poured upon Judith, 
 and the woman told all she knew. Lord Oakburn 
 was at home again now, she said, but she believed 
 he and the young ladies were very soon to depart 
 for Chesney Oaks. 
 
 "Judith," resumed Laura at length, her other 
 questions being exhausted, and she lowered her 
 voice to timidity as she spoke, "was papa very — 
 very furious with me that night ?" 
 
 " My lady, you forget that I have said he had 
 gone before it was known that you were missing. 
 It was to tell him of it that Lady Jane went the 
 next day all the way to Chesney Oaks."
 
 302 LORD OAKBURx's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " True," murmured Laura. " Does he seem in a 
 terrible way over it, now that he is back ?" 
 
 "Yes, I fear he is," Judith was obliged to answer. 
 
 " And what did you come here for to-night, 
 Judith? You said you had a message from my 
 sister." 
 
 Judith explained about the clothes, why it was 
 that so few had been brought, and those at the last 
 moment. The message from Jane, though put into 
 the least offensive words possible, was to the effect 
 that Laura must not venture at present to seek to 
 hold intercourse in any shape whatever with her 
 family. 
 
 Laura threw hack her head with a disdainful 
 gesture. " Does that interdict emanate from my 
 sister herself ? " she asked. 
 
 " I think not, Miss Lau — my lady. She cannot 
 go against the wishes of the earl." 
 
 " I know that she will not," was Laura's scornful 
 comment. " Well, Judith, tell Lady Jane from me 
 that it's no more than I expected, and that I hope 
 they'll come to their senses some time." 
 
 " And the little girl whispered to me as I was 
 coming away to give her love, if you please," con- 
 cluded Judith. 
 
 " Darling child ! " echoed Laura. " She's worth 
 ten of that cold Jane." 
 
 Mr. Carlton entered as Judith departed. Laura
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 863 
 
 stood talking with hini on the new aspect of affairs, 
 but she was no wiser at the conclusion of the con- 
 versation than she had been at the beginning, as to 
 his having known of Lord Oakburn's death previous 
 to their flight. He drew her attention to the tea- 
 table, which looked inviting enough with its savoury- 
 adjuncts, that Hannah had prepared and laid out. 
 
 "Yes, presently," she said, "but I will take my 
 things off first. You must please to show me my 
 way about the house, Lewis," she added laughing, 
 as she turned at the door and waited. " I don't 
 know it yet." 
 
 Mr. Carlton laughed in answer, and went with 
 her into the hall. It was a handsomer and more 
 spacious residence than the one she had relin- 
 quished, Cedar Lodge, but it was a sadly poor one, 
 as placed in comparison with Chesney Oaks. On 
 the opposite side of the hall in front was a sitting- 
 room, where Mr. Carlton generally received any 
 patients who came to him, and behind that room 
 and at the back were the kitchens. On the opposite 
 side to the kitchens and behind the dining-room a 
 few steps led down to the surgery, which was close 
 to the side entrance of the house, and to a back 
 staircase. 
 
 The principal staircase wound round from the 
 back of the hall. Laura ascended it with Mr. Carl- 
 ton. There was plenty of space here. A hand-
 
 364 lord oakburn's daughters. 
 
 some drawing-room and three bed-chambers. In 
 the front chamber, Laura's from henceforth, stood 
 Sarah, unpacking the bundle brought by Judith, 
 and ready to attend on her new mistress. 
 
 " Any alteration can be made in these rooms that 
 you wish, Laura," observed Mr. Carlton. " If you 
 would like one of theni converted into a boudoir for 
 yourself " 
 
 Mr. Carlton's words were disturbed by a ring at 
 the front door; a ring so loud and violent as to 
 shake the house. He had broken off in vexation. 
 
 " I protest it is too bad ! " he exclaimed, angrily. 
 " Not a minute in the house yet, and I must be 
 hunted up and fetched out of it. I won't attend. 
 Go down," he added to the new maid. " Say I am 
 not at liberty to attend to patients to-night." 
 
 She obeyed, but came up again instantly. 
 
 " It is not patients, sir. It's a policeman. I 
 told him you could see no one to-night, but he 
 says he must see you." 
 
 Mr. Carlton seemed taken aback at the words. 
 " A policeman ! " he repeated, in a strangely timid, 
 hesitating tone. 
 
 " He was here yesterday and again this morning, 
 asking after you, sir," returned the girl. " Hannah 
 was very curious to know what he could want, but 
 he wouldn't say, except that it was something con- 
 nected with that lady that died in Palace Street."
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 365 
 
 Lady Laura, who had been taking off her bonnet 
 at the toilette glass, turned round and looked at her 
 husband. 
 
 " What can it be, Lewis ? " 
 
 Never had Mr. Carlton appeared so vacillating. 
 He took up the candle to descend, went as far as 
 the door, came back and laid it on the drawers 
 again. Again he moved forward without the candle, 
 and again came back. 
 
 " Where is the policeman ? " he questioned. 
 
 " He's standing in the hall, sir." 
 
 " It is a strange thing people cannot come at 
 proper hours," he exclaimed, finally taking up the 
 wax-light to descend. " I have a great mind to 
 say I would not see him, and make him come in the 
 morning." 
 
 Mr. Carlton recognised the policeman as one 
 who had been busy in the case in Palace Street. 
 He saluted Mr. Carlton respectfully, and the latter 
 took him into the parlour opposite the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " I'm sorry to disturb you at this late hour, sir," 
 he said, " but there is such a row at our station 
 about this business that never was." 
 
 " What about ? What row ? " asked the surgeon. 
 
 " Well, sir, we have got a new inspector come on, 
 
 through the other one being moved elsewhere, and 
 
 he makes out, or tries to make out, that the affair
 
 366 LORD OAKBURN's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 has been mismanaged, else lie says more would 
 have come to light about it. His name's Medler, 
 and goodness knows it seems as if he was going to 
 be a meddler. First of all, sir, he wants to ask you 
 a few particulars, especially as to the man you saw 
 on the stairs." 
 
 " Does he want to ask me to-night ; " sarcasti- 
 cally inquired Mr. Carlton. 
 
 " No, sir, but as soon as ever is convenient to 
 you in the morning; so I thought I'd just step 
 down and tell you to-night, hearing you had come 
 home." 
 
 " So he wants to rake it all up again, does he, 
 this new inspector ? " remarked Mr. Carlton. 
 " It seems so," replied the policeman. 
 " Well, he's welcome to all I can tell him of the 
 matter. I'll call in to-morrow." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. It would be satisfactory, of 
 course, if anything more should be found out; but 
 if it's not, Mr. Medler will just see what reason he 
 has to reproach us with negligence. Good night, 
 sir." 
 
 " Good night," replied Mr. Carlton. And he 
 shut the door on his troublesome and unseasonable 
 visitor. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, TRINTERfl, WUITEFRIAR3.
 
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