THE BEVERLEYS
 
 THE BEVERLEYS 
 
 a )tor of Calcutta 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY ABBOTT 
 
 AUTHOR OF "ALEXIA" 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 
 1890
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 BY A. C. MCCLURG AND Co. 
 A. D. 1890
 
 THE BEVERLEYS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T^HE Winterfords were at breakfast, and Eileen 
 -* had not yet come down. It was late ; but 
 it always is late in India, that is to say, in the 
 households of men in any of the services, civil, mili 
 tary, and forensic. The head of this one if it 
 could be said to have a head, or if Barney Winter- 
 ford could be said to be the head of anything 
 had nothing more exigent on most days than the 
 exercising of his saddle-horses to demand his early 
 morning attention. He had not even been out for 
 his usual gallop this time, but was sleepily assimi 
 lating a scolding, with his curry and rice, from his 
 wife, Philippa. 
 
 Philippa in other words, Lady Barney Winter- 
 ford had rarely allowed herself to descend to the 
 role of a fault-finder until lately, although she might 
 have done so at any moment for seventeen years, 
 with every excuse in life. Remonstrance, vain but 
 irresistible, was becoming more of a habit with her 
 latterly, however ; for she found her patience pretty
 
 6 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 well at an end. A long course of separation from her 
 children, of jungle-fevers, and all kinds of malarial 
 distempers, for they had not always been lodged 
 sumptuously in Calcutta, and a very long and trying 
 course of her husband, Barney, had worn a temper 
 once of the sweetest to a point, and that a sharp 
 one. 
 
 Philippa had been out in India a good many years. 
 Seven children had been born to her, from each of 
 whom, one after the other, she had been obliged to 
 sever herself with a mighty wrench. Until this last 
 year there had always been one child young enough 
 to stay with her ; but Biddy, the baby, was five, and 
 Philippa, in a real agony, had left the last precious 
 one with its grandfather in England, knowing it dan 
 gerous to the child's health to keep it any longer in 
 a hot climate. It was a terrible blow to her ; no 
 one, from her haughty and self-contained demeanor, 
 suspected how terrible. And although she had 
 never up to this time swerved from her fidelity to 
 Barney, who, to say truth, was not exactly the man 
 to be cast loose on his own recognizances in a gay 
 country like India, Philippa was fast losing her 
 steadfastness, and her self-control too, and showed 
 her utter weariness of spirit by ordinary apathy to 
 most persons and things, and now and then extraor 
 dinary severity to Barney. 
 
 It was his sixteenth year in India, this bad Barney, 
 and he was only now magistrate of the " 24-Pergun- 
 nahs " in Calcutta. Men who had never blinked at an 
 eastern sun until long after Barney had been dried 
 and seasoned by a many years' process of them, were
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 7 
 
 drawing handsome salaries as High Court Judges or 
 officers of the Viceroy's Council. It had been Bar 
 ney's own fault, his bad luck, of course he said. 
 He had done wild things in his youth, and middle 
 age had not steadied him to slowness. He was, not 
 to put too fine a point upon it, good for nothing ; and 
 Philippa knew it. 
 
 Besides all this as one may say chronic grievance, 
 the subject of the breakfast-table philippic was an 
 other and an acuter cause of complaint. 
 
 Anything sweeter or more peaceful than the scene 
 it would be hard to find. As Philippa sat in her 
 high-backed wrought-ebony chair, she could gaze, 
 through wide French window-ways, with arches of 
 shrubbery for further frames, at lovely flowering trees, 
 and ivies, and all kinds of tropic wonders, growing in 
 gay profusion. The air was blossoming with fairy 
 orchids ; pointzettias and bright red hibiscus made 
 flames of color in the glowing distance. In the fore 
 ground were the aloes and the yucca and the com 
 moner garden flowers, the brighter ones having 
 taken to themselves Oriental dyes, it seemed ; for a 
 color must be vivid in India or the sun fades every 
 vestige of hue from it. The air was filled with sweet 
 ness, not pungent, but languid. The very roses, 
 which are gay and self-asserting in a colder clime, 
 are delicate and faint, like women under the same 
 conditions, in an eastern air. The room in which 
 Philippa sat as discontented a woman as ever sat 
 was full of softness and luxury and perfume. 
 Crystal lamps hung from the ceiling by broad bands 
 of crimson silk ; the curtains were of the same rich
 
 8 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 hue and of a marvellous texture ; rugs of the deep 
 est, softest pile covered the tessellated floor, for this 
 was the cold weather, although its rigors were hardly 
 extreme. Turbaned and draped retainers awaited 
 in silence the faintest breath of behest. Everything 
 spoke of comfort and of ease. How little was of 
 either in that barren house ! 
 
 " You know very well, Barney," Philippa was say 
 ing, as she toyed with her fruit, " I have sacrificed 
 myself in everything. I was willing enough to bring 
 Eileen out the first time, and to do all in my power 
 to marry her well and to keep her from throwing 
 herself away on that wretch. And in spite of her 
 idiotic refusals of fine offers, and her suicidal accept 
 ance of the worst one she had ; in spite of her 
 escapades and follies, in every one of which you 
 encouraged her, Barney," a twinkle came into 
 Barney's eye, " you know how fond I have always 
 been of Eileen, even although you have spent more on 
 her than you have ever spent on your own children." 
 Barney sighed resignedly. " When it came to bring 
 ing her out the second time, a young widow, with 
 no signs of widowhood about her except her inde 
 pendence, and with all those shocking clouds hang 
 ing over her, it was too much for me to undertake, 
 I felt ; and yet I tried to do my best then. But now 
 that she is going on in exactly the same old way, 
 flirting wildly with ineligible men, spending no 
 end of money, and giving one more than one can 
 possibly do to look after her, without the excuses of 
 youth and inexperience she had before, I say, Barney, 
 that something must be done to stop it. And if you
 
 THE BEYER LEYS. 9 
 
 won't take some step, I must. I am not called upon 
 to endure this sort of thing any longer, and Eileen 
 is ruining herself." Philippa had never in her life 
 spoken so explicitly to Barney ; but her speech had 
 gathered impetus as it rose from her lips. 
 
 Ordinarily, Barney Winterford was one mass of 
 good-nature. Your harum-scarums mostly are. He 
 could not argue, for several reasons; one being his 
 ignorance of any coherent line, and another his lazi 
 ness, it was too much trouble. But Eileen was his 
 idol, his sister, and the one person who combined, 
 for him, all human attraction. He never heard her 
 disparaged without a protest. "My darlin','' he said, 
 sleepy still, but not without a flush, " when will you 
 learn not to exaggerate ? You mean Jack Beverley, 
 I suppose, when you say ' ineligible ' men and 
 Eileen is ' flirting wildly,' because he is no good as 
 a parti, and because she won't look at old Warwick, 
 who 's a catch. I wish she would marry Warwick ; 
 you know how I Ve tried to bring it about. But 
 she won't. If Jack were a match now, you would 
 say Eileen was behaving most discreetly in encour 
 aging him. I don't know that she is leading him 
 on any more than a dozen others. How the men 
 do like her ! " 
 
 "Like her? Of course they like her. No one 
 can help liking her. But only the poverty-stricken 
 younger sons and Mr. Warwick want to marry 
 her. Men like anybody who is pretty and fascinat 
 ing, and amuses them, and has a good seat on a 
 horse. But Eileen can't afford to go in for that sort 
 of thing alone. She must look for something else ;
 
 10 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 and she's not a girl any more, to be wasting her 
 time and her looks, as she does." 
 
 "Well, what is she then?" retorted Barney. 
 " Faith, she 's not one-and-twenty, and had misery 
 enough with that brute Beaufort to last a score of 
 years. As for giving you more than you can man 
 age to look after her, my love, when was that? We 
 sent you home from the Friths' ball at one ; and 
 did n't I look after the child myself, and I blind 
 in both eyes from sleep? " 
 
 " Yes, there 's an instance," quickly broke in Phi- 
 lippa, " that ball ! Eileen was fairly stared at the 
 whole night. So free and off-hand in her manner, 
 so gay, and as if she had not a care ! Valsing madly 
 about like a top, and going on for all the world like 
 an American ! Her looks, bearing, those of a girl 
 of eighteen, at most ! " 
 
 "And just as long as she can look eighteen, I 
 hope she will then," replied Barney, whose sleepi 
 ness had entirely departed. "If she keeps her 
 smooth skin and her merry laugh and her yellow 
 hair, like a baby's, I '11 be the last man to begrudge 
 them to her, the lamb ! " Barney had not shown 
 much anxiety to preserve Philippa's skin or her hair 
 or her laugh, but I doubt if he would have done 
 much more than talk about Eileen's. " If she 
 were to have nothing but wild merriment from now 
 till the day of her death, and that fifty years hence, 
 it would not make up for the agony that girl has 
 suffered. It 's precious few, now I tell you, Philippa, 
 who go through half Eileen has done, or bear it 
 with half her spirit."
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. II 
 
 " I know all about her sufferings, Barney, as well 
 as you," said Philippa; "and if it were a question 
 of mad merriment only, she might make the welkin 
 ring with it, and I should be charmed, I 'm sure. 
 But there's very little merriment ahead for her," 
 she said, changing her tone, and speaking gravely, 
 " unless she will honestly try to help herself. Why 
 can't she marry Mr. Warwick? He is not old, al 
 though you call him so (and I wish you wouldn't 
 before her, Barney), he is not a parvenu; he is 
 very gentlemanlike and fabulously rich." 
 
 " I don't know why she won't," said Barney, in 
 a low tone. 
 
 Philippa went on : " Eileen has never been taunted, 
 as she might have been with reason sometimes, as 
 the cause of all her own misfortunes. If she had 
 not run counter to all our wishes, and thrown her 
 self away upon a horrid wretch, she would never 
 have been in this ridiculous position. Then she 
 would pay off a lot of Aleck Beaufort's gambling 
 debts ; and the result is, our innocent pockets 
 innocent of money as well as of Eileen's obligations 
 suffer, for she can't dress even on her own in 
 come. If you were not so free with your money, 
 Barney, showering it on these men, who seem to 
 me to live at your expense, one might not have to 
 be so perpetually fretted. But to see our small 
 means squandered, our children never destined 
 to anything more than a writing acquaintance with 
 their parents, for I don't see but that we shall 
 have to stay here forever, our lives going, ray 
 health shattered ! "
 
 12 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 It was not like this most self-contained of women 
 to go on thus, and Barney thought he heard a faint 
 sob. This would have brought him to his knees, if 
 his wife had not resumed, having stopped to take 
 breath merely. 
 
 " Ida has written me only lately that it seems to 
 her grossly unfair that Gerald should have to sup 
 port their children, when you do not one thing for 
 ours." Ida was Philippa's sister, and Gerald her 
 husband. "Their Alan is old enough to go to a 
 public school, and they have to pinch to send him ; 
 and here is our Barney, she says, sailing off to 
 Rugby without a penny from you. It is an old 
 story, Barney, I know you are tired of hearing 
 about it, as indeed am I of talking, but a change 
 must come. Papa sees the justice of Ida's feeling, 
 as indeed must we, Barney. He writes so gently, 
 and yet I know he is embarrassed. It is terribly 
 trying to me." 
 
 And this time Barney was sure he heard a sob. 
 It was an unwonted sound from that quarter. He 
 might be coming to the end of his tether. He 
 must pacify her. " Don't cry, Flip," he said gently 
 across the table ; " don't worry, darlin' ! I sold 
 Polly for fourteen hundred rupees yesterday, and 
 the Governor has just sent me a hundred pounds. 
 I '11 soon have Dankipore," this was a magistracy 
 for which Barney had longed, not enough to make 
 an effort for it, however, for years, " and you shall 
 have Biddy on your knee in another six months, if 
 you choose to go home." 
 
 While Barney was uttering the first words, he
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 13 
 
 was regretting them. He had not intended to tell 
 Philippa of the money, nor indeed had he meant to 
 put it to any useful purpose whatever. And to tell 
 the truth, he had partly promised to lend a good 
 deal of it to an impecunious brother dare-devil with 
 less means than himself, and no conscience at all. 
 Well, he was in for it now. 
 
 Philippa brightened. It gave her a thrill to know 
 that they really had an extra penny ; but she knew 
 that unless she could get it into her own hands, 
 they might as well not have had it. She smiled 
 upon her husband. "What could have come 
 in more handily?" she said brightly. "Were you 
 going to surprise me with it? Send papa the hun 
 dred pounds ; it will relieve him and me, and it 
 will start Barney at school, at all events. Why, it 
 will almost keep him there a twelvemonth. You '11 
 do it, won't you, dear?" she asked anxiously, for 
 Barney's face had fallen. It no longer seemed odd 
 and unnatural for a mother to be pleading to a father 
 for his own children. Years had made a usage of 
 it. The first thing now was to make Barney promise, 
 and the next, to see that he kept his word ; for Barney 
 had been known to wriggle out of very minute aper 
 tures ; and slips betwixt cups and lips were familiar 
 commodities to the Lady Barney Winterford. 
 
 Barney had risen from his place, and was standing 
 now near the door. Philippa too rose, and ap 
 proaching him, looked appealingly into Barney's 
 face. " Yes, yes, my love, I '11 send it, I '11 send it," 
 he said with impatience. " I 'm sorry your father 
 has to pay my son's schooling. You see you ought
 
 14 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 never to have married a beggar." And Barney 
 drew himself up to his full height, as if he had said 
 prince instead. He could be very dignified on 
 ready money, even although it was a short-lived 
 glory. " I 'm grieved Ida should have had to write 
 you such a nasty, jealous letter." And Barney fan 
 cied himself wounded and indignant. If he was, it 
 was at having to pay the money. 
 
 But that promise he had not made it before 
 he had resolved to break it. Only, this tete-a-tete 
 must end. Barney did not care to repeat words 
 which might rise inconveniently to confront him ; 
 and Philippa might ask him to swear. She had 
 done that before. 
 
 Barney jarred his bearer, who was about to pre 
 sent a small silver stand upon which glowed a ball 
 of fire, for Barney was twiddling in his fingers 
 an unlighted cheroot. The ball fell to the floor, 
 and was dashed into a hundred fiery fragments 
 on the rug. " Son of a pig ! " remarked Barney, 
 calmly, in Hindustani, hardly glancing at the un 
 fortunate Hindu, who was dancing wildly upon the 
 glowing coals to put them out. Philippa did not 
 even turn ; it was too every day an occurrence ; 
 the goolies were forever dropping about, and the 
 servants never burned their feet. They would not 
 presume. 
 
 Barney lighted his cheroot at one of the still 
 burning bits, which the bearer had hastily placed 
 with his fingers back upon the stand. Then he 
 sauntered through the hall to the big middle door 
 way. He thought he heard a horse's step upon the
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 15 
 
 drive. What a fool he had been to tell Philippa 
 about that money ! " Barney," she said hastily, 
 " here comes somebody. Promise me that you will 
 say nothing about the fourteen hundred rupees until 
 I can talk with you further ; and send the hundred 
 pounds to England to-day." But there was no time 
 to answer ; the man had dismounted, and was run 
 ning up the porte-cochere steps. 
 
 The new-comer was named Stanhope, captain by 
 courtesy, in reality a lieutenant, and an aide-de 
 camp to the Viceroy, a short, thick-set fellow, 
 rather handsome, not very bad, but the very man 
 Philippa hated most in Calcutta. For he seemed to 
 possess the faculty all men had it, or could have 
 had it, for the cultivation, but this one possessed it 
 in a supreme degree of getting money out of her 
 husband ; and Philippa knew that Captain Stanhope 
 could smell fourteen hundred rupees in the air, and 
 come swooping down upon them like an adjutant 
 or a buzzard. So Philippa held out a gracious hand, 
 and smiled sweetly. He was to be conciliated above 
 all things, and fascinated if possible, and kept away 
 from Barney. 
 
 Most women are faded in India ; and Philippa 
 still passed for a beauty, when no fresher ones were 
 by. She had a statuesque, high-bred face, and had 
 been a beauty in her day. Her hair was still good, 
 and her eyes fine. As for her figure, it was perfect ; 
 and men said she alone in India knew how to walk. 
 
 "Your garden is so much better than mine, Lady 
 Barney," said Stanhope, "that I like to come in 
 and look at it. How well your hibiscus grows !
 
 1 6 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 That double yellow bush near the gate is the finest 
 thing I ever saw." 
 
 " Yes," said Barney, with a mocking look at 
 Stanhope, " thousands come to see that bush every 
 day ! Beautiful thing, is n't it ? Hibiscus is so un 
 common in India too. There are n't more than a 
 dozen bushes in every compound ! " 
 
 " Don't mind him, Mr. Stanhope," said Philippa, 
 playfully, making up her mind she would not allow 
 this man to leave her, unless to walk into Eileen's 
 hands. He should not have a private talk with 
 Barney, until that money was disposed of. "Will 
 you come up to the veranda," she said, " or shall 
 we go to the stables and see Eileen's new Arab ? I 
 want to ask you what you think of her mounting such 
 a wild animal." They walked in the direction of 
 the stables, a chuprassi running after them with a 
 scarlet umbrella, which he held over the lady's head ; 
 and Stanhope had hardly time for a word, Philippa 
 was so voluble and gracious. It was so overdone, 
 her manner, that neither Barney nor Stanhope was 
 deceived by it. 
 
 Barney still stood in the doorway smoking. He 
 could yet afford to be in tolerable spirits ; although 
 he had made promises to both his wife and Stan 
 hope, he might be able to escape both. Stanhope 
 would not be easy to shake off; but Philippa 
 pooh ! He blew a cloud of smoke and smiled se 
 renely. "Why, why" he said, after a moment to 
 himself, "must I be such an egregious idiot as to 
 tell everything I know? I 'm like a baby. The fact 
 is, I am so deucedly soft-hearted and confiding that
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 1 7 
 
 I injure myself all the time. I might have known 
 Flip would make me do some confounded useful 
 thing or other with that money. I 'm hanged if 
 I '11 pay a bill. Where 's the pleasure that lucre is 
 supposed to give a man, if he has to pay it right 
 away for worn-out coats, and dinners that were not 
 only eaten long ago, but which very likely disagreed 
 with him ? No, I '11 not " 
 
 As Lord Barney Winterford stood in the great 
 doorway, framed in thick verdure, his hands in the 
 pockets of his white flannel coat, his honest eyes and 
 his cravat as blue as the skies, his blond hair parted 
 carefully down the middle, and a general air of can 
 dor and fresh young innocence about him, you would 
 have staked your life upon his perfect truth ; and, gen 
 tle or ungentle reader, I need not tell you whether 
 you would have lost your valuable stake or not. 
 
 Barney was interrupted by another visitor, an 
 adorer of his sister's this time, the very Jack Bever- 
 ley whom Philippa had called ineligible. He was a 
 great favorite of Barney's, perhaps for the reason 
 that he was his exact antipodes. "Arrah, then," 
 called out the host, " keep off the grass ! What are 
 you doing in a gentleman's compound ? " and he 
 sprang down the steps, seized the Captain by the 
 waist, and threw him. The other was more than a 
 match for Barney, however ; and as, after a few mo 
 ments of wrestling, Captain Beverley stood over his 
 fallen foe, his hand outstretched in a theatrical atti 
 tude, he looked up suddenly and flushed with some 
 thing more than victory, for there was a vision in the 
 doorway.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A PRETTY, a very pretty creature was Eileen 
 *"* Beaufort. Tall and straight she was, and slight ; 
 with Irish eyes, those great, heavily veiled, dark 
 gray eyes, with no end to the possibilities in their 
 depth nor the depths in their possibilities ; with 
 gold wavy hair, deep gold, not the usual blond, 
 shading her white forehead; with lips that were 
 dewy and bright, and with a skin of cream and 
 roses, rare indeed in India. A mocking, sweet- 
 lipped goddess Eileen looked, as she stood, framed 
 by lycopodium and panax, in the wide doorway. 
 Her eyes were fixed upon the two men, one of 
 whom looked a trifle embarrassed, as he came 
 laughing up the steps. 
 
 " Oh, Barney, you baby ! " cried the goddess, 
 rippling into laughter, with a touch of scorn, as 
 Barney rose from the grass, displaying large green 
 spots upon his white raiment. " To wrestle in this 
 heat too ! You are just as foolish, Captain Beverley, 
 only I dare not say so ! Is not that truly Irish? " 
 she added archly, holding out a hand to the younger 
 man. " I have not breakfasted yet ; you may both 
 come and see me eat an egg and an ortolan, if you 
 like."
 
 THE SEVER LEYS. 19 
 
 " Ortolans for breakfast ! " shouted Barney. " You '11 
 ruin me with your extravagance. Besides, there are n't 
 any (Irish again) ; so don't deceive yourself." 
 
 " I only said it on account of the two vowels 
 sounding well together, literal person ! " said Eileen. 
 " Don't disturb yourself, embodiment of frugality ! I 
 have ordered nothing costly." 
 
 Barney patted his sister on the back. If he had 
 a strength, one could hardly call it a weakness in 
 such a character, it was his fondness for Eileen. 
 
 Captain Beverley followed into the breakfast-room 
 with joy undisguised in every movement. His ad 
 miration for Eileen was unfeigned and unconcealed. 
 
 Barney strode through the huge room, and stood 
 on the back veranda, whistling softly to the birds in 
 their cages there. He usually devoted a few min 
 utes each day to the birds, and a good many minutes 
 to the horses and dogs of his establishment. He 
 rode hard, but never abused an animal ; and all the 
 beasts adored him. The aviary included a large 
 cage of quail which had been bought to fatten for 
 the table. " I should as soon think of eating my 
 own children as those things I Ve been feeding and 
 petting ! " Barney exclaimed, when there was a talk 
 of despatching them. So the collection grew, owing 
 to Barney's soft-heartedness. And he who willingly 
 saw his own offspring fed and petted by his wife's 
 relations, and who knew little or nothing of his chil 
 dren's joys and sorrows, would shed tears at the sight 
 of one of his pets in pain. Barney's tears were near 
 the surface, and the water was shallow. 
 
 Another step was heard, on the gravel walk at
 
 20 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 the garden side of the house this time, and Barney 
 looked out. Jack's father, Colonel Beverley, a 
 magnificent, soldierly man, not sturdier than Jack, but 
 far more showy, had appeared upon the scene. He 
 might almost have been Jack's brother, if you did 
 not scan his face too closely and discover the lines 
 there. Jack was like his father in certain turns of 
 the head and motions of the shoulders and arms ; 
 and his face took on now and then, but rarely, that 
 sudden resemblance which disappears like a flash 
 light before you can recognize it or give it a name. 
 Jack was called a plain presentment of his father. 
 The Colonel was certainly handsomer ; his telling 
 eyes were in constant use and knew many wonderful 
 tricks ; these, together with his superb gray mus 
 tache, his impressed manner, and his great air of 
 distinction, had been fatal to the peace of mind of 
 many a woman, whereas Jack had hardly had a con 
 quest. Jack was younger naturally, and then he had 
 not learned as yet many arts. His mustache was a 
 trifle ragged, and his eyes were not trained to execu 
 tion. And then he was run in another mould. 
 
 Barney made a salaam to the new-comer, and 
 moved forward to meet him. The Colonel replied 
 to the salute by a cut across his host's legs with his 
 walking-stick. It was evident that Barney and his 
 friends were on informal terms. 
 
 " How are you, Paddy ? " said the visitor. 
 " Did n't I see Jack disappear into the house by the 
 other doorway? I thought I could cut him off at 
 this end. What is he doing here? Boring Lady 
 Barney and your sister, I '11 be bound. By the by,
 
 THE REVERLEYS. 21 
 
 Barney, what a glorious picture Lady Ellen made 
 last night at the Friths' ! She 's the handsomest 
 being Calcutta has seen for many a long day." 
 
 " Bad blood ! " said Barney, shrugging his shoul 
 ders and motioning over them, to show that he might 
 be overheard. The two sauntered down the gravel 
 walk. " Philippa has been giving me Cain about 
 her this morning." Barney always told everything 
 he knew to anybody. " There 's no accounting 
 for women, Bev, except that you may be sure the 
 pretty ones will have to catch it ! " 
 
 " And the ugly ones too," said the Colonel, dryly. 
 " I 'd rather catch what the pretty ones get and take 
 the risks. But what has Lady Ellen done now? 
 Has she been flirting too palpably with my poor 
 child? He's taken to poetry, Barney," said the 
 Colonel, stopping short and bursting into a laugh ; 
 "and when a fellow without a brain in his head 
 takes to that, he 's pretty bad. The boy is getting 
 beyond me though, truly. Here he is, an ugly dog, 
 without a farthing in his pocket, in debt, I believe, 
 and he 's already been going on so with that girl 
 the Olmsteads brought out, what's her name? 
 Sidney Markham, that I 'm positively ashamed to 
 meet any of the family. Now, here he is, boring 
 Lady Ellen into her grave. He 's really in earnest 
 this time, no doubt, or thinks he is. But the fool 
 can't marry, even if Lady Ellen consented to think 
 of such a cub. I wish you 'd stop the thing, Barney, 
 if you have any influence ; 'pon my honor, I do. I 'm 
 helpless, you know." 
 
 Barney, who liked Jack, felt the blood mounting
 
 22 THE BEVERLEYS, 
 
 to his temples. He hardly knew why he was angry 
 either. The Colonel had implied nothing derogatory 
 to Eileen exactly, and yet Barney was never quite 
 clear in his reasoning he had, a great deal. Jack 
 had been at Eileen's feet ever since he had met her, 
 not many weeks, to be sure. He had ridden with 
 her or after her every day ; had walked with her 
 in the Eden gardens, and in their own garden in the 
 early mornings, when she was up. He had been 
 fishing for invitations to dinner, Barney thought in 
 dignantly, so as to be near her ; he had come calling 
 at all hours, had even dared to start and blush when 
 ever Eileen's name was mentioned, or she looked 
 at him. Jack was too honest, Barney had always 
 thought, to dissemble. But whether he was honest 
 or not, Eileen could not afford to marry him. He 
 resolved to keep his eyes open now. If his sister 
 had been played with and by an unprincipled 
 beggar, by Jove ! The blood of all the Winterfords 
 boiled within him, and his manly brow mantled. 
 
 There was no time to reply, for his wife and Stan 
 hope now appeared from the stables, and Barney, 
 who had forgotten the green grass-stains, was now 
 reminded of them by Philippa, and went into the 
 house to interview his bearer on the subject of a 
 fresh coat. " Your papa 's out there, looking for 
 you," he said satirically to Jack, as he passed through 
 the room again. Jack showed no signs of stirring, 
 only smiled ; but at a word from Eileen, he went 
 out. 
 
 There were four in the party now ; for Captain 
 Carbury, another aide at Government House, had
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 23 
 
 joined the three. The air was delicious, out of the 
 sun ; but in the sun it was always hot. They were 
 standing, when Jack went out, under a huge banyan- 
 tree, near the gate. The banyan was old, and had 
 thrown half a hundred shoots into the ground at 
 various points in its career, each shoot being now 
 firmly rooted ; and some of them were as thick as 
 the trunk of a young maple. At some epoch the 
 banyan must have offered his hand and heart to a 
 young peepul-tree ; for the peepul had joined her 
 lot to the banyan's, and both were firmly rooted to 
 gether now in a common stem. They were not per 
 fectly of one mind, however, in minor matters ; for 
 the banyan shed his leaves at one season and the 
 peepul hers at another, and when the former was 
 rejoicing in dark glossy leaves and red berries, the 
 latter had just put forth her tender, light green 
 shoots. The venerable couple shaded the lawn for 
 some distance, and under the branches our party sat 
 down, servants having first spread a blue and white 
 durree. 
 
 The Winterfords' garden was the resort at this 
 time of day or earlier, usually, for this set of men. 
 Philippa usually appeared, and Eileen ; and some 
 times they had tennis, after their morning rides. 
 But in the coldest weather this was it ! they 
 did not always ride early, nor even rise, and after 
 a ball they were much later. This was a holiday 
 too. 
 
 " What early hours we all keep ! " the Colonel was 
 saying, when Jack joined the party. " Jack, you 
 hound, what were you doing in a lady's breakfast-
 
 24 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 room? Go to work and earn something to keep 
 your poor old father in idleness." 
 
 "Work on a holiday ! Unnatural father ! " said 
 Jack, laughing. " To tell the truth, I did do some 
 work this morning. I finished my day's labor before 
 you had stirred, Dad," he added, looking at his fa 
 ther with beaming eyes. "You may now lounge 
 with your hands in your pockets the rest of the day. 
 I have provided for you." 
 
 " Faith, there may be a good bit of truth in that 
 same," muttered Barney, who had just come out, to 
 Stanhope. He had not quite forgiven the Colonel 
 his taunt. 
 
 Philippa, poor soul, was devising a scheme by 
 which she could keep her husband and Captain 
 Stanhope apart. They were sitting a few steps from 
 the rest when Eileen came out, with a train of dogs 
 fawning upon her. Her filmy white dress draped 
 itself gracefully about her figure ; her hair gleamed 
 in the sun. Every man sprang to his feet; a 
 servant glided to her with an umbrella. "Well, 
 well, what a levee ! " she said in her bright young 
 voice and with her bright young smile, " and I out 
 of it ! I am sure you are going in for politics or 
 plots or some dreadful thing. Can't I know? No, 
 on second thought, don't tell me. I should be sure 
 to tell. I can't keep anything. Perhaps I had bet 
 ter withdraw? " And Eileen looked up archly at the 
 Colonel, who was gazing broadly at her. 
 
 " Don't ! " he answered solemnly. " There '11 be 
 ' plots ' to murder one another, if you do. If you 
 tell our secrets, Lady Ellen, you '11 convict yourself.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 25 
 
 I came to find Jack, the lost heir. When he is mis 
 laid, I usually look for him here. He came to look 
 for me, no doubt ! " Jack laughed, and flickered 
 a few leaves off the banyan-tree with his walking- 
 stick gayly. " Stanhope and Carbury can find their 
 own excuses." 
 
 " No excuse is needed, except for staying away," 
 said Captain Carbury. "A certificate of lunacy 
 would be required for a man who had the entree 
 here, if he did not make use of it. I came to see 
 the ladies, and I 'm the only one who dares own 
 it, it seems." 
 
 " Your house is the loveliest in Calcutta, and the 
 jolliest, Lady Barney," said Stanhope, throwing him 
 self at Philippa's feet, and ignoring the last speaker. 
 " I told the Viceroy so only yesterday." 
 
 "And didn't he say he knew it?" laughed 
 Eileen. " I trust our efforts were not thrown away 
 upon him on the last awful occasion of his dining 
 here. We had about twenty extra khidmutgars in," 
 she said, looking at the Colonel, " and an additional 
 cook ; consequently no decent food. We spent the 
 entire day in worrying and changing things about; 
 and all for a man one would entertain quite simply 
 in England. I don't know why we do it. The house 
 was a great deal nicer as it was ; and nothing is so 
 silly as unwonted splendor." 
 
 " There was no splendor about it," Philippa said, 
 a little impatiently ; " but of course, when one enter 
 tains the Viceroy, one must have more more " 
 
 " There ! you can't find a name for it, and that 's 
 why I hate it," cried Eileen, "that more some-
 
 2 6 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 thing that you have to have. My sovereign, or my 
 sovereign's representative, shall dine with me as I 
 am in the future, or not at all." (" He would pre 
 fer you as you are, I 'm sure," murmured Colonel 
 Beverley, fervently.) " Not one change will I ever 
 make again." 
 
 "What change did you make, pray?" laughed 
 Philippa, not without a tinge of tartness. " I ob 
 served nothing specially conventional about you." 
 
 " Oh, but there was ! " answered Eileen. " You 
 should have seen me ! " turning to Jack and Car- 
 bury, who were at her left. " I was almost regal 
 in my bearing, and I wore my very best frock. An 
 unknown khidmutgar spilled petits pois down my 
 back too, and ruined the frock in a scuffle, and 
 Barney's fish came in after the entrees. I saw it. 
 Our own simple ways are good enough for any 
 viceroy, and I shall tell him so the next time I 
 see him." 
 
 " Lord love you ! " exclaimed Colonel Beverley, 
 " you don't call an Indian establishment simple, 
 when an unpretending bachelor has to have twenty 
 servants in order to exist ! I call the simplest 
 household in Calcutta a mass of pure extravagance 
 and waste ! " 
 
 " You 're the last one to live without all that ' ex 
 travagance and waste,' " said Jack, laughing. His 
 tone was invariably affectionate to his father. " I 
 often wonder, though, when I see these black fellows 
 lying about, doing nothing most of the time, not 
 worth the dhal or ghee or whatever it is they feed 
 on, that we submit to such imposition. It 's little
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 27 
 
 enough each one costs ; but when it comes to forty 
 or fifty, it counts up enormously. Why doesn't 
 somebody take a stand and change things about 
 a bit?" 
 
 "Oh, because," Philippa replied, "you couldn't 
 teach them in a hundred years to do any more than 
 they have always done, or to do what they do differ 
 ently. You try dismissing what seems to you an ut 
 terly ridiculously superfluous servant, one whom 
 you have never seen do a single service, and your 
 household arrangements go to pieces. The next 
 time one wants one's punkah pulled or some little 
 thing fetched, they are a man short, and nobody is on 
 hand to do it. I know ; I 've tried so many times to 
 cut down our staff. Perfect misery was the result." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Barney, languidly, "what's the 
 use ? You 've got to submit, and you may as well 
 do it gracefully as fret yourself into heat apoplexy. 
 When the fellow who buttons your shoes won't 
 butter your toast, let them arrange it between them. 
 For my part, I have done my best to abolish the 
 caste-system. I try hard to mix my Hindus and 
 Mohammedans up, but it 's no go. They refuse to 
 sit on the same rug, even. Do you remember the 
 conflict you had with my bearer one day, Flip? " 
 
 " I do," said Philippa ; "I shall never forget it." 
 
 "What was it? " asked Eileen. " I never heard 
 of it." 
 
 " Oh, it was just an ordinary occurrence," Philippa 
 answered, " or might be. I never happened to 
 meet with that peculiar complication before. My 
 ayah, who is a Mehtranee, you know, was sitting in
 
 28 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 the carriage, with her back to the horses, holding 
 Biddy, and we were just starting out for a drive. It 
 looked a little like a shower, and I sent Barney's 
 bearer up for a cloak for Biddy. He gave it a toss 
 into the carriage in a most disrespectful way. I told 
 him to hand it me properly. He salaamed, gave 
 me an imploring glance, and told the syce to 
 take the cloak out of the carriage. The syce's 
 hands were just off the horses' bridles, and I did 
 not wish him to touch a white cloak. Besides, it was 
 too disobedient ; so I said to the bearer, ' Lift the 
 cloak from the floor yourself,' it had fallen down, 
 ' and hand it me.' No. The ayah then began to 
 weep, and Biddy joined in the outcry. I was firm 
 with the bearer, who kept on salaaming, and at last 
 prostrated himself nearly under the wheels. The 
 ayah thereupon got out, and the bearer hopped up, 
 and handed the cloak in. The ayah's clothes had been 
 touching mine, it seemed, and so the bearer would 
 have defiled himself, if he had given me anything, 
 while she was in such close contact. It was a 
 longer scene than I have made it even. I believe I 
 dismissed the bearer, who said calmly he would 
 rather give up his place than lose his caste." 
 
 " Poor little ayah ! " cried Eileen. " Worth a 
 dozen of him too ! How humiliated they must 
 feel, those low-caste creatures ! " 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said Philippa. " It was 
 the bearer who looked ashamed ; the ayah begged 
 me not to insist, and was triumphant, as she flew 
 out, with her little bare brown feet. This caste- 
 business does not prevent their being the best of
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 29 
 
 friends either. I heard the two discussing the affair 
 with great good-nature, later." 
 
 " We had a pathetic scene here one morning," 
 Eileen said. " One of our bearers yours again, 
 was n't it, Barney ? appeared suddenly before us, his 
 clothes dishevelled, his paint smudgy, his face dis 
 torted. Of course he wanted money. A hen had 
 walked in at the door of his hut, and had eaten out 
 of one of his lootahs or sorais, spread on the floor, 
 with his dinner in them. Every utensil had to be 
 thrown away, and we were to give him money for a 
 new set, of course." 
 
 " That 's a very old dodge," said Lady Barney, 
 " my father's servants did that. And yet, in spite 
 of all these tricks and bothers of Barney's bearer, 
 there is not a better servant in all India. He can 
 be trusted with anything ; he is temperate, clean, 
 patient, and hard-working, for a native." 
 
 The bearer's ears must have burned, if he un 
 derstood English ; for he was among the party 
 all this time, handing lights, bringing footstools, 
 looking after everybody's needs. His face betrayed 
 nothing not a ray of intelligence, even at compli 
 ment or its reverse. Even an English servant, of 
 the highest possible perfection, could hardly have 
 preserved a more stoical composure. And yet, if 
 Barney had spoken seriously of dismissing him, 
 Kali Dass would have come to his master at his first 
 opportunity, and implored patience and another 
 trial. Who can fathom the ways of these dusky 
 retainers ? 
 
 "All that nonsense about caste is tiresome and
 
 30 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 stupid," said Stanhope ; " and yet, if caste were 
 abolished we should not have the service we have 
 now. I took a Christian bearer once, to please 
 my mother, who goes in for missionary very strong 
 [" What a field opened before her in her own fam 
 ily ! " thought Philippa] ; and the result was 
 wretchedness. That man with caste had laid off 
 cleanliness and abstemiousness, drank my wine, 
 smoked my cheroots, wore creaking boots, answered 
 me disrespectfully in horrible English, did every 
 thing that was excruciating, in short, and I was 
 only too happy to exchange hin\ for one of the old 
 sort. Orthodox Hindus make the only bearable 
 bearers." 
 
 " I don't know why you call the creature you 
 described a Christian," said Eileen, rather warmly. 
 " He was simply de-Hinduized, and had nothing 
 in the place of his old creed." 
 
 " It 's astonishing," broke in Philippa, who could 
 not endure a religious discussion, and who thought 
 she saw one coming, " how little we put up with 
 from servants here. One fault, and off they go." 
 
 " That is the law of supply and demand," said 
 Carbury. " Perfection is a commodity ; and if one ; 
 can get it for the same price one pays for stupidity, . 
 of course stupidity goes." 
 
 " I wish," sighed Eileen in a low tone, as if she 
 were ashamed of it, " that we felt our responsibili 
 ties more in regard to these races. But people 
 yawn in one's face if one even mentions these 
 great daily problems. I must confess they worry 
 me." Eileen was blushing a little ; she seldom
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 31 
 
 spoke seriously, and nobody in this party had ever 
 heard her do so before. 
 
 "Your concern about the Hindus reminds me 
 of Philippa's alarms about fires and burglars, when 
 we are at home," laughed Barney. " Every three 
 months or so, she has a terrible fright ; wakes me 
 up, and says, ' Barney, I cannot sleep a wink ; I 
 hear such strange noises, and I 'm sure I smell 
 smoke. Do get up and see ! ' Before I can stir, 
 she is fast asleep again, and I never hear anything 
 more about it until the next quarterly scare." 
 
 " Now, Barney," pouted Eileen, flippant again, "I 
 am always devising schemes for the elevation of 
 these people. I don't get much encouragement, it 
 is safe to say, from you ! " 
 
 "What have you done so far?" asked Philippa, 
 a little satirically. 
 
 f " Nothing at all," answered Eileen, wearily. " I 
 / have talked to my ayah ; and her state, I find, is so 
 t much more hopeful than mine that I can't do any 
 thing for her. She goes to the Maidan once a year, 
 and hears preaching in a foreign tongue, not a word 
 of which does she understand. That is all the re 
 ligious instruction she ever has ; and yet, when I 
 told her one day in the hot weather to start up the 
 punkah-rope in my dressing-room, she folded both 
 hands behind her, and looked at me supplicatingly. 
 ' I cannot touch it, memsahib.' ' Who will know ? ' 
 I said impatiently. (The very idea of that stu 
 pid punkah-wallah downstairs calling himself her 
 superior, made me furious !) ' God will know,' 
 she replied reverently. I felt abashed in the pres-
 
 3 2 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 ence of such simple goodness. And then I need so 
 many improvements myself that I feel rather modest 
 about attempting to improve those who seem to 
 need it less. A pagan who has had every advantage 
 VUY^-W fc without excuse." 
 
 " I deny that you are a pagan, or that you need 
 improvement," broke in Colonel Beverley. (Jack 
 could not for the world have made a pretty speech 
 then ; that was one difference between them.) 
 4 " Oh, I am, and I do," laughed Eileen, shaking 
 off her seriousness again. " Not that I expect you 
 to believe me ; if I did, I should not say it." 
 
 " Eileen is right," said Philippa, gently, giving the 
 girl a tenderer glance than she had done for months, 
 " about the conscientiousness of some of the lowest 
 .^J^castes. But the question of awakening them to new 
 responsibilities is outside of all that. Of course it is 
 our duty to show them the right way, and we don't 
 do it. We don't lead the lives we should, to begin 
 with." 
 
 " It would be a case of the blind who won't see 
 leading the blind who can't, would n't it ? " laughed 
 Eileen. "We should have to begin at the begin 
 ning, and unlearn and forget first, then be taught 
 all over again. Right is wrong, and wrong right to 
 me, I am so perverted." 
 
 It was rather a singular group, Colonel Beverley 
 and Captains Stanhope and Carbury contented to 
 sit quietly by and listen to a conversation, the sub 
 ject of which ordinarily interested them so little. 
 When Eileen spoke, every man listened. It had done 
 much towards that perversion of which she had spoken.
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 33 
 
 " I have been out here only six months, to be sure," 
 said Captain Stanhope ; " but this is the first time, I 
 give you my word of honor, I have ever heard native 
 servants mentioned, that is to say, in society. I 
 wrote my mother last week that not a soul ever thought 
 of natives, or looked at them. I am glad to find that 
 somebody does occasionally bestow a thought on the 
 poor brutes." 
 
 "I'm not glad, then," said Barney, stifling a yawn, 
 " if that somebody is in my family. Their religion 
 is good enough for them, and suits them to a turn ; 
 and I don't want to bother, for one, with reconstruct 
 ing them. For pity's sake, let 's change the subject. 
 One would think this was a missionary meeting ! " 
 
 Eileen suddenly sprang to her feet. " Dear me, 
 Philippa," she said, "weren't we to go somewhere 
 this morning ? I am such a slave to my engagement- 
 book I don't try to remember ; but were n't we to 
 ameliorate somebody's condition?" 
 
 " And ' pessimate ' the condition of four men cor 
 respondingly ?" said the Colonel. " How lovely and 
 lazy it is here ! The only drawback to enjoying the 
 beauties of Nature in England is that you feel so en 
 ergetic ! Here there is a delicious lethargy which 
 completes one's idea of perfect enjoyment. May I 
 ride with you this evening?" he asked suddenly, as 
 Eileen was giving him her hand. 
 
 Jack was disappointed ; he had looked forward to 
 a long interview with Eileen, which should be deci 
 sive ; but his father's interest in her and admiration 
 for her pleased him, nevertheless. It was a tribute 
 to himself, he felt ; and after all, he was sure of her. 
 3
 
 34 
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 He managed, by following her up the steps, to say 
 one word. "There are ways," he said in a low tone, 
 " of doing something for our servants. I will help 
 you if I can. The missionaries know. Why should 
 we not go to them to find out how to begin? " 
 
 Eileen gave his hand a grateful clasp. " I may 
 not be in the mood long," she answered hurriedly. 
 " Don't think so well of me ! " 
 
 " Well of her ! " Jack's heart was bounding, as 
 he drove away. Think well of her ! He was filled 
 to the brim with joy and bliss of her ! The quick 
 glimpse she had given that morning of a desire to 
 live a higher life than the frivolous, butterfly exist 
 ence they were all leading here, gave him a throb of 
 pleasure. He felt it so often himself; and stronger 
 than ever, as he drove over the Maidan, was his resolve 
 to give up his present occupation, his flunkey work, 
 as he contemptuously called it, and if his special 
 appointment was not forthcoming, to rejoin his regi 
 ment, and be at least a good soldier. " I must be 
 a man, not a monkey any more," he said to himself, 
 " for her sake first and then for my own." And Jack, 
 who was as full of trust as of love, was flushed with 
 the happiness of eager anticipation. Would we could 
 all be content with our unrealized hopes !. They are 
 the only happiness most of us ever know. 
 
 Poor Philippa, her worn face wreathed in tired 
 smiles, was still conversing with Stanhope. It was 
 a bootless task, however ; she had no excuse for 
 staying out forever. 
 
 "Barney," she said at last, "will you come and 
 help me write that letter ? I must get off an impor-
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 35 
 
 tant English document," she said, smiling, and ex 
 tending a hand by way of farewell ; " and Barney 
 must do his share." 
 
 Barney looked at his watch. " By Jove ! " he ex 
 claimed. " It 's after eleven, and I promised to meet 
 Thorpe and Harcourt at half-past ten ! When I come 
 come back, Flip. There 's plenty of time ; the mail 
 does n't close until night, you know." And the 
 scamp called to his groom, who was sitting with his 
 head on his knees beside Barney's trap. Barney 
 hopped in, and took the reins. "Shall I drop 
 you anywhere, Bev, Stanhope, Carbury, anybody?" 
 he asked. No; they all had their own convey 
 ances or horses waiting. But Captain Stanhope, 
 who was riding, joined him outside the gate, and 
 trotted beside him. 
 
 Philippa's morning's work had been hard and 
 unavailing. -A gnat may sting an elephant, but it 
 can hardly retard that animal's progress by standing 
 in its way.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "DVERYBODY who knew Barney Winterford and 
 *-' everybody did know him knew that he had 
 sold his fast horse, Polly, for fourteen hundred rupees. 
 It was a public transaction, and Philippa must have 
 been dreaming to suppose that the thing was a se 
 cret. Stanhope not only knew it as soon as Barney 
 did himself, but it was through him that the sale was 
 effected ! Barney, out of gratitude, had promised to 
 lend the Captain part ; and a good deal more he 
 had lost at cards the night before, at the Friths' 
 ball. To tell the truth, Barney was a little uneasy ; 
 he was decidedly in difficulties. Of course, it was 
 only a question of time how soon he could squirm 
 out, as he had done scores of times before ; but he 
 was in for a pretty uncomfortable period until he 
 did get out. 
 
 Barney, usually so reckless and easy-going, was a 
 little sobered by his wife's serious air. She had 
 seemed really determined, and he felt that when he 
 went home to lunch no, he would n't go home to 
 lunch, that was too soon but when he went home 
 to dinner, she would have a draft of a letter to her 
 father made out, stating that enclosed he would find 
 one hundred pounds. Barney groaned.
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 37 
 
 Stanhope was at his side all this time. " Beverley 
 wants us to lunch with him at the club," he said. 
 " The new chef, you know, begins his regime to-day, 
 and they say he 's a wonder." 
 
 Barney cheered up immediately. Not that he 
 cared for his lunch eon, his own cook was a marvel 
 too ; it was something to look forward to, something 
 to do. The conclusion was foregone, and so was 
 the money. Barney never could resist anybody or 
 anything, but his duty. 
 
 He appeared at home just before his wife started 
 for her drive before dinner ; bankrupt again, but as 
 easy and gay as ever. 
 
 Philippa had spent a very unhappy day. Pride 
 would not allow her to write a complaining letter to 
 her father ; she had never done that yet, and she 
 hoped, even knowing her husband so well, that he 
 would keep his word given to her in the morning. 
 But as soon as she saw him, her heart failed. He 
 looked conscious, and his gayety was a trifle over 
 done. 
 
 " Have you done what you promised, Barney? " she 
 asked anxiously, as they met on the upper landing. 
 
 Barney looked surprised. " Oh, you mean about 
 sending the money to England? Flip, my love, 
 I 'm awfully sorry, truly I am, but I can't do it. 
 I was in debt out here, and you don't know how 
 uncomfortable it made me." Philippa's lip curled. 
 He had never been out of debt, except when her 
 father had taken him out, since they had been married. 
 " So I thought it better to pay off something here 
 first."
 
 38 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 Philippa turned a little giddy, but she steadied 
 herself against the stair-rail. She had the letter in 
 her desk, ready for the remittance. " Have you 
 paid all we owe in Calcutta, Barney?" she asked, 
 with a slight tremor of the lip, but looking him full 
 in the face. 
 
 " Faith, no ! " he laughed ; " it would take more 
 than I shall get in some time to do that. I have 
 just quieted down a few of my creditors." 
 
 Philippa led the way into the drawing-room. 
 Barney could not tell why he followed her, but he 
 went like a lamb. Her desk was between two long 
 windows, and the light shone full upon her white 
 face, worn and set. Barney had never seen Philippa 
 in quite this mood. He might have battled with 
 hysterics or heroics ; this style he could not under 
 stand. " Barney," she said, in a low, distinct tone, 
 " I have a drawer filled with bills here ; the trades 
 men annoy me constantly about them. Will you 
 give me a list of those you have paid ? One hun 
 dred pounds is a thousand rupees, and fourteen 
 hundred rupees more makes twenty-four hundred 
 rupees. All the bills I have here amount to scarcely 
 that. Have you paid these?" 
 
 Barney had been shifting from one foot to the 
 other, and thrumming impatiently on the window- 
 pane. He thrust aside the package of papers which 
 Philippa held up, gently, however. He made an 
 attempt to laugh, and he took his wife's hand, which 
 was cold. He really pitied her for the moment. 
 She let him hold the hand, until he had answered 
 her.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 39 
 
 " My darlin','' said he, patting the hand, " you 
 know so little of business ! These tradesmen's bills 
 are a small part of what I owe. The debts I have 
 paid are my own private ones, debts of honor. I 
 have lost money at cards; I have had to lend 
 money ; then personal loans have been made me ; 
 I have borrowed, in short, from my friends." 
 
 " Will you oblige me with the names of those 
 friends?" asked Philippa, standing now, although 
 the room swam before her eyes. 
 
 " Why, how you go on, Flip ! " he said contemptu 
 ously, by way of answer. " You are not like your 
 self. Why should you be bothered with these things ? 
 I have often and often lost money, as you know ; 
 often lent it, and oftener borrowed it. These are 
 my own private affairs. I can't tell you about them. 
 But I swear to you, Philippa " His wife stopped 
 him with a violent gesture. She swept like a queen 
 to the stairway, down to her carriage, and into it. 
 Barney rushed out after her, and put her in. " If 
 you will wait a second for my hat, I '11 drive with 
 you," he said. 
 
 "Chello ! (Go on!)" to the coachman, was her 
 only reply. 
 
 That impressive Mohammedan, in his dark- 
 green Mahratta turban, made of twist after twist of 
 cloth, a twisted band of the green around his waist, 
 and his long white coat, cracked his whip ; and the 
 grooms running ahead swiftly until the lodge-gate 
 was passed, then springing up behind, the carriage 
 was lost in a minute to Barney's view. He stood 
 on the step slightly dazed. " Dignity is her new
 
 40 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 dodge, eh ? She won't speak to me now for a week. 
 I don't care. Stanhope is a good fellow, and will 
 pay me when he can. I could n't see him in dis 
 tress. How Philippa did glare at me ! I wish I 
 had gone with her. We should have had it out, at 
 all events, and she could n't have said much on the 
 course, with everybody looking on. Dear old Flip, 
 how pretty she was, and what sweet coquettish ways 
 she had ! How women do age and change ! This 
 one won't," he added, as he heard his sister's step 
 on the stair, and turned to look. 
 
 Eileen in her habit was Eileen at home. The 
 grace which marked all her movements was consum 
 mated when she was dressed for her favorite exer 
 cise. " If Colonel Beverley is not on time," she said 
 with a pout, " I shall not ride with him. I never 
 waited a minute yet for a man. And there 's noth 
 ing to detain one in Calcutta. Go and get ready, 
 Barney, to ride with me, and be quick ! " 
 
 But the clatter of hoofs was heard at that moment, 
 and the lady was appeased. Barney saw them off, and 
 his face was dark. He had lunched with the Colonel, 
 entirely forgetting his momentary wrath of the 
 morning. But as he saw them ride out together, 
 he wished Eileen could make up her mind at once 
 to marry Mr. Warwick and end all this nonsense. 
 Things were getting horribly mixed up, he said to 
 himself despondently, as he went to play tennis.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'HPHERE is one fashionable drive in Calcutta, the 
 * Strand. It lies along the river-bank for two or 
 three miles, a double line of beautiful stately ships 
 almost within touch. The road is exquisitely kept, 
 like all the streets of Calcutta, watered by bhistis 
 with goat-skins perpetually, and perfectly hardened 
 and levelled. In the cold weather, between the 
 hours of four or five and seven, this course is 
 thronged with vehicles of every description, from 
 the Viceroy's grand open carriage, with its smart 
 adornments, its postilions, outriders, and body 
 guard of Lancers, down to the modest or immod 
 est (for its unpretending driver is almost wholly 
 innocent of clothes) ticca ghari, the Calcutta cab, 
 or still lower, to the unassuming palanquin with its 
 plebeian inmate. At the height of the cold weath 
 er that is to say, in December the drive is 
 thronged ; and the Row, or riding-course, beside 
 it is alive with equestrians. After driving up and 
 down the Strand, or the crowded part of it, a few 
 times, one draws up at the gate of the Eden Gar 
 dens, where the band plays every evening. Philip- 
 pa's carriage was always surrounded ; for although 
 everybody knew Barney Winterford, and most persons
 
 42 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 rated him at his true lack of value, his wife was 
 always much sought after. She entertained inces 
 santly, and one met the best people in her drawing- 
 room and at her dinners. In India those two 
 items are the essentials of success. Even social 
 rank sinks before a well ordered kitchen and a well 
 chosen list of guests. As for the gulf of indebt 
 edness hi the bottom of which the Winterfords 
 wallowed, that was a social abyss too, and they 
 found plenty of good company there. How far 
 the tradesmen themselves are responsible for this 
 state of affairs, it is perhaps unsafe or unfair to 
 state. Certain it is that the redress which is in 
 their hands is one of which they seldom take ad 
 vantage. Men in both the army and civil service 
 are encouraged to run in debt, and discouraged 
 actually from its avoidance. The sons of peers, as 
 the youngest of these men are apt to be, are known, 
 or at any rate supposed, to have coffers somewhere 
 in prospective ; and shadowy as these coffers may 
 be, and dissoluble into thin vapor as they usually 
 are, tradesmen are, as a rule, willing to place de 
 pendence upon those unreliable securities. Their 
 customers are fashionable, at all events, and their 
 shops are patronized by paying people for there 
 are a great many such on that account. The 
 Winterfords were highly connected on every side, 
 and their patronage was in itself lucrative. 
 
 But a great change was working in Lady Barney. 
 Her veins were throbbing, her heart was burning 
 with indignation and impotence. She suffered Ab 
 dul to drive her up and down the Course, because
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 43 
 
 it was the custom, and she never in her maddest 
 moments had done anything unusual. She bowed 
 smilingly to everybody ; but when Abdul drew up, 
 according to custom and even in response to her 
 order, at the gate of the gay Gardens, and she saw 
 Captain Stanhope dismounting from his horse, and 
 knew in a moment that he would be at her side, she 
 felt that she could not see him. 
 
 " Drive on, Abdul, to the Red Road ! " 
 The Red Road, so named from the color of its 
 soil, is a more retired drive across the Maidan, 
 or big grassy field, called the Lungs of Calcutta. 
 Across that she drove at last, through Chowringhee 
 and Ballygunge and Alipore, and back through 
 Alipore and Ballygunge and Chowringhee, just try 
 ing to collect herself sufficiently to think. Some 
 thing, she knew, had to be done. What should 
 that something be? 
 
 Poor, poor Philippa ! She had had for years a 
 feeling of shame whenever she complained even to 
 herself of Barney's recklessness, his utter disregard 
 of truth, his lack of moral responsibility. For it 
 had been all her own doing; for every moment 
 of unhappiness she had Philippa Winterford and 
 nobody else to blame. She had broken her fa 
 ther's heart, in marrying exactly counter to his 
 wishes. She had insisted upon joining her lot to 
 that of a jolly, fascinating, careless, young ne'er- 
 do-weel of an Irishman. What mattered it that he 
 held a title by courtesy? Scant courtesy it had 
 brought him in the way of favors from government ; 
 and the fourth son of a rat-hunting, steeple-chasing
 
 44 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 peer of Ireland, is not considered high game for the 
 daughter of an English earl, equally impecunious 
 though that nobleman be. It was a bad match ; 
 and Barney had borne out to the letter his irate 
 old father-in-law's auguries. " Civil servant, indeed, 
 and bound to get on, is he ? " he said almost 
 fiercely to his pleading daughter. " Old Munger- 
 ford has never been out of debt yet, nor one of 
 his sons. They have broken every bone in their 
 disreputable bodies, racing ; and there 's not a wo 
 man in the family who has ever had a guinea to 
 spend." And the Earl paced the floor in absolute 
 anguish. But the Lady Philippa, loving her fa 
 ther desperately too, thought she loved Barney 
 more ; and pretty, piquant, and wilful, she made 
 her father consent to the marriage his soul loathed. 
 Her mother was dead. 
 
 Oh, that dear father ! How more than noble and 
 heroic he had been ! How he had gathered the 
 little flock of grandchildren, one after another, to 
 himself ! How stern he had been with himself, as 
 well as with Philippa, when longing wildly to keep 
 her, and to shield her from her wretched husband, 
 he had always counselled her to go back to Calcutta 
 with Barney. And even now that he had written 
 her Ida's complaint, it was only for her honor's 
 sake, and that of her children, that he wished their 
 father to do something, no matter how little, for 
 them. And what had Barney done? Yes, what had 
 he done? Spent every penny he could lay his 
 hands on, betting, cards, racing, extravagances of 
 all sorts. He had utterly failed as a man. Nobody
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 45 
 
 looked up to him ; nobody respected him ; nobody 
 loved him, but the children and Eileen and her 
 self; for Philippa did love him, why, she could 
 not say. 
 
 Then he never missed, or seemed to miss, their 
 children. If Barney Winterford had once sat down, 
 and burying his face in his hands, bemoaned the 
 separation from his dear ones and hers, it would 
 have covered a multitude of escapades in Philippa's 
 eyes. But he hardly mentioned them much ; and 
 he appeared to take it for granted that other people 
 would look after them and he had nothing to do but 
 enjoy himself. " What good will my not enjoying 
 myself do them?" he would ask, his blue eyes 
 beaming with childlike wonder. " I '11 be the bet 
 ter father when I get to them, for keeping myself 
 young, and not moping." So Barney grew younger, 
 and Philippa older, every day. And the money 
 grew less. Economy is unknown in India, and 
 impossible ; but it was not even economy Philippa 
 had urged, only that he should use his salary 
 in contributing something to his own family at 
 home. 
 
 But this was not all Philippa was reviewing ; here 
 was Eileen, indulging in all sorts of whims, at their ex 
 pense, new Arabs to ride, new habits to ride them 
 in, new driving-horses, carts, boxes of dresses out 
 from Paris, and, most expensive of all, a disastrous 
 order of flirtation with the wrong sort of men. 
 
 Then, last and worst, Barney had now deliberately 
 lied to her, in words. It was not the first time he 
 had deceived her, but it was the first time that she
 
 46 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 knew of his actually uttering a falsehood. Barney 
 would have called it a good record ; but to Philippa 
 a direct lie was equal to ten subterfuges. It is so 
 with many persons. 
 
 The alternative of leaving Barney, and going back 
 to her father and their children in England, had, of 
 course, often occurred to Philippa. It came to her 
 in the form of a horrible temptation sometimes, but 
 Philippa had always thrust it from her. Many wives 
 whose husbands were in India lived apart from them ; 
 her children needed her every instant ; their lives 
 and characters were shaping themselves without a 
 mother's guidance ; their small aches and pains 
 were suffered without a mother's soothing care. But 
 Philippa knew that many wives could leave their 
 husbands safely, trusting to those husbands to work 
 their best, love and anxiety acting as spurs of the 
 sharpest sort. She knew that leaving Barney in 
 India would be the end of him. If she left him in 
 anger, he would go to the dogs at once ; if she left 
 him simply upon the pretext that he would be less 
 hampered without a household and would be able 
 to come all the sooner to his family, he would never 
 make an effort. He would promise, and perhaps go 
 so far as to contemplate trying, but beyond an oc 
 casional visit, his family would never see him. Un 
 less, indeed, he should be dismissed from the service 
 for some misdemeanor, and come and quarter him 
 self penniless upon the old Earl. He was quite 
 capable of that. Whichever way she looked, there 
 was nothing, or at best, a high, black, blank wall. 
 She longed to sail for England the next day. But
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 47 
 
 how about the girl, Eileen, who was about as fit to 
 look after herself as the Winterford baby? Well, 
 Eileen was married, or had been, and should be able 
 to take care of herself. A little discipline might be 
 good for her. Philippa, you see, was hardening her 
 heart very fast. 
 
 And so Philippa drove and drove, but came to no 
 conclusion. She never drove so far nor so long. At 
 last she found herself close beside the Nullah, or 
 canal, shaded by palm and tamarind. Native boats 
 were drawn up on the bank or glided lazily down the 
 stream. It was dark now ; and an old, old woman 
 came tottering out from one of the thatched huts, 
 bringing a little light, which she set upon the water. 
 The tiny lamp bobbed and careened, righted itself, 
 then floated steadily on for some seconds, when it 
 suddenly came in contact with a stick. It tipped 
 and was nearly extinguished ; then the poor old 
 crone, who was hobbling after with eager eyes, 
 started and uttered a cry. Philippa sat quite breath 
 less, watching. It was steady again and burning 
 well, with a clear flame. A heavier current ran 
 against it, overwhelmed it, and out it went in an in 
 stant, without warning. A shriek now rent the air ; 
 for the old woman had offended the gods, and this 
 was the test by which she could see whether or not 
 she was forgiven. If the powers had smiled upon 
 her, the light would have burned until the oil was 
 spent ; they were unpropitious, so it was put out and 
 she with it into utter darkness. Her anguished cry 
 lingered in Philippa's ears, as she drove on and left 
 her crouching on the earth. Nothing Philippa could
 
 48 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 have done or said would have comforted her ; and 
 in truth, Philippa was in sore need of comfort her 
 self. She came to a worse place next, the burning 
 Ghaut, where well connected Hindus are cremated. 
 The flames darted high, and the smell of roasting 
 human flesh was in the air ; the naked figures were 
 distinct against the blaze, as they danced and jumped 
 about the pile, while they heaped on the fagots. 
 Philippa turned her face away, sickened and dis 
 gusted. The drive had done her no good. There 
 was no help anywhere. 
 
 She suddenly recollected that they had guests to 
 come, and she should not be ready for them, the 
 first time in her life she had committed a breach 
 of good breeding. The only thing she could deter 
 mine upon was to have a " good long talk " with 
 Eileen, in the course of which she would deliver 
 some startling home-thrusts. It was thus the wo 
 man in her found relief. As for Barney, there was 
 nothing she could do to him ; yes, she could pre 
 serve a freezing silence, when they were alone, which 
 would chafe him to frenzy, for Barney was an inces 
 sant chatterer. And then she could refuse abso 
 lutely to entertain, on the score of extreme poverty. 
 No longer would she be a party to dishonor; for 
 the way they went on was simply, to use plain Eng 
 lish, thieving. She herself would lead a life of strict 
 retirement after to-night, retrenching where she 
 could, and denying herself as many luxuries as 
 possible, without interfering with Barney's self- 
 indulgence. After all her excitement and despera 
 tion, however, she ordered the horses' heads turned
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 49 
 
 homeward, with the conviction that she was helpless 
 and might as well abandon herself to a ruthless fate. 
 She could make things a little unpleasant for Barney ; 
 but he had his Clubs, and would live at them mostly, 
 if she bored him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ride with Colonel Beverley had been 
 * one long triumphal trot, so to speak. She 
 had ridden with him before, and was always the 
 centre of admiration, wherever she went, in Calcutta, 
 so graceful and so indifferent was she. But this 
 had been a day when everything outward combined 
 to make the Lady Eileen feel herself a power. The 
 very air caressed her ; it was the flower of the In 
 dian cold weather. A little, a very little, bracing 
 quality in the atmosphere ; the last hour of a bril 
 liant glorifying sun ; a handsome, distinguished 
 escort, and every eye in Calcutta upon her. A 
 woman might scarcely wish more, and yet Eileen 
 was unhappier than she had been for a long time. 
 She had known for years that the moment when 
 she allowed herself to be disgusted with her life 
 would be the beginning of misery for her. The 
 misery faint and intangible, to be sure had 
 begun. 
 
 And yet my heroine, to whom acting, it would 
 seem, was more natural than nature, was never so 
 flushed and radiant as she appeared in the Row that 
 day. They had galloped over the Maidan first, 
 finding the Row crowded. Eileen, loving the exer-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. njt 
 
 cise, as she loved nothing else, her exquisite face 
 luminous and rosy, with the pure animal joy of it, 
 was fairly magnificent ; adding to her beauty of face 
 her supple slender figure and her superb seat, the 
 result was a marvellous moving picture. Everybody 
 said, "Have you seen Lady Eileen Beaufort?" 
 and those who did not approve of her stared at her 
 most. When they went back to the Row, which 
 was fuller than ever, they rode slowly and chatted ; 
 for the whole riding population was out, it seemed. 
 As soon as the lamps in the Gardens were lighted, 
 they got down and walked about ; and there Cap 
 tain Jack joined them, he flushed and radiant, too, 
 with Eileen's success. 
 
 The Eden Gardens are lighted by clusters of 
 lamps, like the Champs Elyse"es, and are prettily laid 
 out; and here the band plays every evening early, 
 and all the nationalities under the sun do congre 
 gate. Here are English, French, Germans, Span 
 iards, Italians, Russians, Greeks, Armenians, Jews of 
 half-a-dozen sorts, Turks, Chinese, and every kind of 
 Indians, pure and half breed. It is a bewildering, 
 kaleidoscopic mass of color and light. There is no 
 more cosmopolitan scene in the whole world, and 
 certainly no gayer one. 
 
 There had been a Durbar in the morning, and 
 twenty Rajahs and Maharajahs were driving up and 
 down the Course, resplendent in the most brilliant 
 hues and jewels. These potentates seldom walk in 
 public ; and there they are wise, for their legs are 
 their weak points, if what has length and length 
 only can be called a point.
 
 52 THE BEVERLEYS, 
 
 Close to the railing was a line of servants with 
 bird-cages taking a music-lesson of the band, not 
 the servants, but the occupants of the cages. Every 
 horse had his syce or groom squatting at his fore 
 legs or standing at his head or darting before him ; 
 and as the liveries were not of our sombre shades, 
 but as varied as the flowers of the field, if some 
 what debased indeed from Nature's tints, the effect 
 was of rainbows upon rainbows, moving and dart 
 ing and gleaming here, there, and everywhere. 
 
 Every man in Calcutta, it seemed to Eileen, had 
 come to talk and to walk with her ; sometimes their 
 group joined other groups, and they walked six or 
 eight or ten abreast, up the wide lawn and down, 
 and then the line would break up into pairs and trios 
 again. Colonel Beverley, instead of giving way to 
 the new-comer, clung to his post. He usually flitted 
 about like all the rest of the men, paying extrava 
 gant compliments, looking unutterable things. To 
 day he sauntered on by Eileen's side, watching her 
 face narrowly, and admiring every movement. Ani 
 mated always, she had never seemed so like mercury 
 to him. He did not feel for one moment that he 
 had her undivided notice ; and that fretted and galled 
 the proud chieftain, who was accustomed to slaying 
 his victims with those burning eyes. Eileen was 
 not more touched by his melting looks than she was 
 scorched by his fiery glances. 
 
 Jack Beverley reposed the most implicit confi 
 dence in the lady of his affections, if she were not 
 honest, she would be nothing to him ; and so he 
 trusted in her truth as part of the unit he loved.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS, 53 
 
 Lady Eileen had never rejected one advance of his ; 
 modest as Jack was, he had to own that for some 
 reason his ardor had been agreeable to her and 
 therefore he was sure of her. Jack had inherited a 
 very small sum from his mother. It was not enough 
 to marry upon, but he had the prospect of an ap 
 pointment soon ; and as soon as that matter was set 
 tled, was he not to lay that sum, with himself and 
 his appointment, his honest heart and his clean 
 hand, at her feet? And did not his father smile 
 upon the whole affair? Was there ever, in short, 
 such happiness ready at a man's call? He would 
 have fought for it gladly, eagerly, would have given 
 his blood, drop by drop, for every smile, every 
 touch ; and here he was, who had never deserved it, 
 who had done nothing in his whole life, who could 
 do nothing to begin to deserve it, actually at the 
 height of his maddest ambition at one step. His 
 eyes filled with tears, and his soul was full of 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 Jack Beverley, in vulgar parlance, had been " born 
 yesterday." He had been kept out of the world 
 by a father who had no notion of figuring as a pa 
 triarch. He had learned a good deal of men at 
 Aldershot ; but his experience of women, except at 
 second-hand, was of the slightest, limited to garri 
 son belles, who, as every one knows, are more or less 
 transparent in their wiles, and not so very fascina 
 ting, even to the inexpert. His vacations, from a 
 small child, had all been spent at school and at the 
 University by express command of his father, who 
 wished to keep the boy unfledged as long as pos-
 
 54 
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 sible. But a manly nature helped him on, and 
 manly tutors taught him the right things; so Jack 
 had come out to India, brought up, as far as he 
 went, in the right way. To-night, happy and expect 
 ant, as he approached Eileen, he saw a change in 
 her. Love had made him blind to her faults, but 
 he was keenly alert to her moods. She greeted him 
 sweetly, but without warmth. Eileen could be noth 
 ing but sweet to him ; and yet there was yes, 
 he noticed it more and more there was a decided 
 difference in her manner, although Jack could have 
 hardly given it a name. It was a fine, subtle differ 
 ence, and might not have been observed by any one 
 but a lover. The fellow tried to think of everything 
 he had done or had not done, or might have done 
 or might have left undone. He had lain awake all 
 night thinking of her, if that was a fault ; but that 
 could not be it, she did not know that. He had 
 ridden at a respectful distance after her, keeping her 
 well in sight all that afternoon ; he doubted if she 
 knew that. Well, thank Heaven, he could have an 
 explanation and a conclusive talk with her before 
 another twenty-four hours had passed. They all had 
 engagements for that night, but in the morning 
 
 This very misunderstanding, if it was a misunder 
 standing, startled him, and he made up his mind 
 to .ask Eileen to marry him. He said to her, in 
 a voice full of emotion, unmistakably a lover's tone 
 and manner, he meant it should be so, and Eileen 
 so understood it, that he hoped to see her next 
 day early, and asked if ten o'clock would suit her. 
 Eileen replied graciously but not gayly, as was her
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 55 
 
 wont with Jack, that she should be ready to see 
 him at ten. The Colonel heard it, and bit his lip. 
 Jack, satisfied, changed the subject, and tried to 
 keep from leaping into the air and uttering loud 
 huzzahs. 
 
 Captain Beverley had not been mistaken. Eileen, 
 with the color mounting in her cheek, her fire of 
 repartee running high, was in a turmoil within. She 
 knew men well ; and she had seen and recognized 
 and greeted with a ready response the truth and can 
 dor of this young fellow who was paying her such 
 devotion ; at least, she thought she had recognized it. 
 The devotion, Eileen had said to herself, meant 
 nothing to her or to him. It was boyish ardor, 
 and she had been brought up on that sort of thing ; 
 it was like her breath to her. As for love, it was 
 absurd, she said to herself perversely. Allowed 
 Jack's devotion? Why, yes, what of that? Her 
 conscience had never been trained. She had always 
 allowed men's devotion. Men were never the suf- 
 erers to begin with, she argued, an indifferent man 
 was one she never looked at, nor spoke to, if she 
 could help it ; a man must be, or pretend to be, 
 absorbed in her, a clever imitation would do, 
 in order to interest her at all. Jack had been de- 
 liciously devoted, either really or feignedly so. Here 
 her false logic was, of course, put utterly to rout ; for 
 if it was Jack's candor which charmed her, how 
 could he have been feigning? The last day or two 
 the logic had been torn to shreds, and Eileen had 
 allowed her eyes to see, through the rents in it, that 
 Jack Beverley was in love with her. As for herself,
 
 56 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 perhaps she was just the least bit in love with him. 
 That very admission, slight as it was, had made her 
 miserable, for her nature was so strange and way 
 ward that she could not promise to be of one 
 mind long. 
 
 That afternoon, during the ride, Colonel Beverley 
 had planted a sting in her breast. He had grown 
 confidential, and had spoken fondly and ardently of 
 his son ; but that son, he said, with a pained expres 
 sion, had been the cause of much uneasiness to him. 
 Jack had a way, it seemed, of devoting himself 
 madly, heart and head, to a girl ; and then, flinging 
 her aside, of plunging quite as hotly into another 
 affair of the heart and head. The fellow seemed to 
 possess a kind of chronic susceptibility, his father said. 
 He had tried to counsel him, to show him how 
 he was injuring not only himself, but the objects of 
 his attention. " But the boy [Jack was twenty-three] 
 has been so much away from me, and I know so 
 little about training boys, that now he is quite be 
 yond me ; he is headstrong, and scorns my advice." 
 The last victim (" Before me he means," thought 
 Eileen, angrily) had been Sidney Markham, the Olm- 
 steds' niece. Sidney Markham was a prim, pretty 
 girl, whom Eileen had seen dancing and walking 
 and riding with Jack, when she, Eileen, first came 
 out, and before he knew her. 
 
 Eileen was much disturbed, but she changed the 
 subject. Her respect and esteem for Colonel Bev 
 erley were largely the result of Jack's for his father. 
 Jack had sounded his father's praises for hours 
 together to her. She had rarely seen such perfect
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 57 
 
 regard. Sons in England, as a rule, are not abound 
 ing in veneration for fathers, and Eileen had re 
 marked this extraordinary case many times. It 
 raised both men in her estimation. Now, why had 
 Colonel Beverley a man of great dignity and family 
 pride, a man, too, whom she knew actually so little 
 told her these things about his own son, unless 
 because he felt it his duty to warn her against that 
 son whom he, like everybody else in Calcutta, must 
 have seen to be devoting himself to her? The 
 Colonel was executing a difficult and a humiliating 
 task. He must, therefore, be sincere in this. This 
 ride was for the purpose of opening her eyes ; and 
 the Colonel's own admiring air must be to soften 
 the hardness of his words. 
 
 Eileen could not help being cold to Jack, even 
 although she was angry with herself for her clum 
 siness. Why should she make a difference in her 
 manner, as if she had been mistaken in him and 
 cared ? 
 
 Eileen chatted on now, as if nothing in the world 
 were troubling her. The Lieutenant-Governor and 
 his party had joined theirs, and they all sat down on 
 one of the benches. There were some ladies with 
 the Lieutenant-Governor, and some other men, and 
 they were all talking about the Durbar in the 
 morning. 
 
 " I met a Maharajah," said Eileen, laughing, to 
 Sir Apleigh Eaton. " His name was Puttiala, and 
 he was very gorgeous, also extremely disagreeable. 
 He wore some of the Empress Eugenie's jewels in 
 his turban, and he had a tassel of brilliants depend-
 
 58 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 ing exactly over his right eye. I could think of 
 nothing but the jargon we speak to our servants, and 
 insulted his Royal Highness by using the contemp 
 tuous turn instead of ap. I was too confused to 
 know what to say. After I had struggled with a 
 long, choice sentence and been worsted, he an 
 swered me in Shakspearian English ! " 
 
 " Oh, all those men speak English," laughed Sir 
 Apleigh, " all those who were here to-day. You 
 ought to meet Jeypore ; he is really a most cultivated 
 man, and interesting too." 
 
 "How is Sindhia?" asked Mrs. Brabazon, one of 
 the party. " He is my hero." 
 
 " Puttiala is mine," said Eileen, laughing. " He 
 stared at me, and apparently considered me a solemn 
 object. Is he profound ?" 
 
 " No," answered Sir Apleigh ; " he is dissipated, 
 and not at all a good sort of man." 
 
 " What does one talk about with natives ? " asked 
 Mrs. Brabazon. " I often have to entertain them, 
 and never can find a theme. Your learned and 
 interesting Jeypore called my attention to the efful 
 gence or refulgence of the waxlights in the chande 
 lier, and descanted upon that. I never know what 
 subjects to broach with them." 
 
 " They are interested in inventions, and in topics 
 of general interest somewhat," said Sir Apleigh; 
 " in English and Indian politics, some of them, in 
 science, in metaphysics. They don't know much 
 about fashion, it's true. Of course they vary ac 
 cording to taste ; and they have not the social art 
 of concealing or changing their interests to suit their
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 59 
 
 company. A good many of them are very curious 
 about our sentiments and opinions." 
 
 " If the truth were told, they are too deep for us, 
 I suppose," said Eileen. " They think, and we don't. 
 What a tonic it would be to meet them all the time 
 for a few months, to be obliged to drop personali 
 ties, and talk upon real questions of the day ! " 
 
 " It would not be a tonic, in the sense of an 
 appetite-creator," laughed Colonel Beverley, who 
 had never taken his eyes off Eileen's face, " if one 
 had to live with them. Their ways of living are 
 horrible. I have been a bear-leader; I know." 
 
 "What is a bear-leader?" asked one of the 
 ladies of the party, who had just come out from 
 England. 
 
 " It is a person who travels with a dancing bear," 
 said Colonel Beverley, " and sometimes the bear 
 won't dance. In other words, my dear Mrs. Stuart- 
 Kendal, it is an English resident at the court of a 
 native prince. If a man survives that, he can stand 
 anything." 
 
 It was growing dark and late, and the Gardens 
 were nearly deserted now. The Winterfords' car 
 riage, which was always at the gate, had not been 
 seen there, although one of the suite had been 
 despatched every few minutes to look for it. 
 
 " I can't walk home in my habit," said Eileen, 
 aghast. " It 's too far, and so late too. I shall have 
 to come to a ticca for the first time in my life ; nearly 
 all the carriages have gone." 
 
 " How stupid of me to send the horses away ! " 
 exclaimed Colonel Beverley ; " but I made sure of
 
 60 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 Lady Barney's being here. She never misses coming 
 to the Gardens." 
 
 "My horse is here," Jack broke in; "but, of 
 course, a lady can't ride him with my saddle." 
 
 " Nor unattended either," said the Colonel, crossly, 
 in an aside to his son. " Why do you mention ab 
 surdities? Get the best-looking ticca you can find, 
 for Heaven's sake ! I never was so mortified in my 
 life," he said, turning to Eileen. 
 
 Jack came bounding back. " Blessed be native 
 stupidity for once ! " he cried. " Your men mistook 
 the order, and Lady Eileen's horse is waiting. You 
 take mine, father ! " And Jack raised his hat, and 
 walked off to prevent discussion. 
 
 Barney met the equestrians at the gate of his own 
 house. He was driving. 
 
 "Why, Barney," called out Eileen, reining up. 
 " You are surely not starting out at this hour. Every 
 body has left the Gardens. It 's time to dress for 
 dinner." 
 
 " I 'm going for a turn," said Barney. " I Ve had 
 no airing. It 's hot, and there 's no party to-night, 
 and Philippa 's not come in from driving. Dinner 
 will not be until nine." 
 
 " Oh, horrid ! " cried Eileen. " It 's only half- 
 past seven and I 'm starving. How unkind of you, 
 Barney, to change the hour without consulting us ! 
 Besides, Barney," and her eyes opened wide, " there 
 is a party; the Strahans and the Olmsteds are 
 coming to dinner. Do you suppose I could forget 
 such a prospect? Why, Barney, you're off your 
 head."
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 6 1 
 
 Barney looked startled. "Good gracious!" he 
 said, " you 're right, Eileen. But where 's Philippa, 
 then? She never drives as late as this!" And 
 Barney, with a remembrance of his wife's last lofty 
 look, really turned a trifle pale in the dark. 
 
 "Why, I don't know," Eileen said. "At home, 
 I supposed. And yet it seemed odd; she always 
 comes to the Gardens or sends the carriage for 
 me." 
 
 " I will ride out and look for her," Colonel Bever- 
 ley offered, with a show of concern. 
 
 " No, no," said Barney. " Thank you, Bev, I '11 go 
 myself. Philippa has driven a long way, I suppose, 
 without thinking." It was a thing she never did. 
 " I only hope that brute of a coachman had not had 
 too much arrak. Go in, Eileen," he said, seeing her 
 anxious look. " Nothing is wrong, of course. We 
 lead such ridiculously regular lives here that the 
 least deviation upsets one." 
 
 Barney, in turn indignant and indifferent with his 
 wife, had laid a small plan of his own, which was now 
 forgotten in his vague alarm. He had intended to 
 go out driving himself, and to stay out late enough 
 to make Philippa very anxious. Then, after she 
 had worried a good hour or so, by which time he 
 should have been very hungry, he was to come 
 home ; and Philippa, in her joy to see him, would 
 have forgiven and forgotten everything. Their own 
 dinners were the best in Calcutta, and Barney rarely 
 stayed away from one of them. 
 
 Philippa, all unconscious of the hour, had tunied 
 the tables upon Barney at his own game. He would
 
 62 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 not have dreamed of worrying, if it had not been for 
 the scorn and anger with which she had left him. 
 There was nothing she could do ; and Philippa was 
 not the person to " do " anything. Yet he was per 
 turbed, and he had a faint presentiment of evil. So 
 it was a great relief, after he had scoured the roads 
 about, to see Philippa's carriage coming into the 
 little street at one end as he entered it at the other. 
 
 The house-servants were standing about in the 
 driveway, which was unwonted for them. Eileen, 
 in dinner-dress, was pacing the veranda nervously. 
 Altogether there was an air of disturbance about the 
 house. Philippa pretended not to notice it. Barney 
 drove in just behind Philippa, and rushed to help her 
 out. Make up your mind, Philippa, what shall it be ? 
 Reserve, anger, indifference, concealed suffering, 
 what? Proud reserve it should be, thought Phi 
 lippa, and above all, silence. No arguments, no 
 threats, no pleas. Disdain, I am afraid it was, but 
 she called it reserve. 
 
 " Why, Flip," Barney said tenderly, as he handed 
 her out, " how you have frightened us ! Where on 
 earth have you been? " 
 
 "Just driving," answered Philippa, stepping out 
 leisurely. 
 
 " Driving at this hour by yourself is not safe," he 
 urged. " Don't do it again, dear ! " His show of 
 solicitude moved Philippa to more anger than she 
 had felt before ; her cheek flushed, and she walked 
 in a stately manner up the stairway, to be met by 
 another perturbed spirit at the top. 
 
 " Philippa ! " Eileen exclaimed, on the landing.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 63 
 
 " How naughty of you to frighten us so ! Barney 
 has been out looking for you ever so long." 
 
 Philippa smiled coldly. " I Ve been for rather 
 a long drive," she said. " Did you go to the 
 Gardens? I forgot about your riding. How did 
 you get back? " 
 
 " I managed," said Eileen ; " or my syce did for 
 me, by misunderstanding the order to go home, 
 luckily. It 's pretty late, and your dinner-people 
 will be here in twenty minutes." Philippa van 
 ished. She had no idea of being rude to her 
 guests, and was shocked at her own tardiness.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 r T > HE Strahans were high up in the civil ser- 
 * vice, and had to be conciliated. The Hon. 
 Alexander Hope Strahan was a tall, severe-looking 
 man, with long gray whiskers and no mustache. 
 His eyes were small and colorless ; his lips were thin 
 and firmly set. He disapproved most strongly of 
 Barney Winterford, personally, as did Mrs. Strahan 
 of Eileen. Lady Barney, somehow, commanded 
 respect. She, although as remote from brilliancy 
 as can be well conceived, and in fact brilliancy 
 would not have been in her favor with that set, 
 was dignified and decorous, and no one in Calcutta 
 had ever one word to say in her dispraise. Even 
 the men who voted her an icicle found her steady 
 and useful as a chaperone and a friend, if they 
 needed one. She was a woman whom no one knew 
 intimately ; and not to be known intimately is in 
 itself to be respected. 
 
 Mrs. Strahan was little, and plain, faded, and 
 rather dingy. She had large, pale blue eyes, and a 
 large smile ; the eyes never darkened, it was not 
 their fault, poor things ! they had no facilities, and 
 the smile was fixed. She sang, in the usual amateur 
 drawing-room voice, and drew in a mincing way. 
 It was the popular impression that she was clever,
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 65 
 
 and most persons were afraid of her. Next year her 
 eldest daughter was to be brought out, and that was 
 one reason why Mrs. Strahan showed open hostility 
 to Eileen. The Olmsteds and their niece Sidney 
 Markham were also at the dinner ; a Judge of the 
 High Court and his wife, sweet serene people, 
 wrapped up in each other, and one in all things, in 
 cluding an intense desire to get back to England as 
 soon as possible. Sidney Markham was stiff and 
 quiet; she had dovelike eyes and a sweet smile. 
 She was very pretty, very conventional, and very 
 easily shocked. It was just the party to bring out 
 Eileen's worst points, and to-night she seemed pos 
 sessed to air them all. 
 
 There were two extra men of the party also, Tom 
 Carbury, to keep Barney in countenance ; and Sir 
 William Mann, a member of the Viceroy's Council. 
 Lady Barney was not distinguished for the congruity 
 of her dinner arrangements. 
 
 She was out before any of her guests arrived, after 
 all. She moved restlessly about, adjusting a vase 
 here, straightening a table-cover there, and at last 
 she sat down at the piano and hummed softly for fear 
 of conversation with Barney. The Olmsteds came 
 first ; and while Philippa and Mrs. Olmsted were dis 
 cussing the next tea and the last novel, Eileen and 
 Sidney Markham were trying to carry on a girl's talk, 
 dreary, for the heart of neither was in it. Barney 
 and Mr. Olmsted were talking about matters at 
 home, and appointments and recalls in India ; and 
 then Tom Carbury with the Strahans entered the 
 room, and the conversation became more general. 
 S
 
 66 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 There were two coals, or perhaps three, in the draw 
 ing-room grate ; and the punkahs having been re 
 moved, one felt that winter had really set in. So 
 Eileen said laughingly to the Hon. Alexander Hope, 
 who was standing, with his back to the two coals, 
 in true English home-fashion. 
 
 " Do you remember Punch's remark, ' Summer 
 has set in with its usual severity ' ? " Eileen asked 
 Sidney Markham and Mr. Strahan, who was standing 
 by them. " I always think of it when we play at 
 winter here. Once I do remember drawing the 
 curtains and huddling up close to this mean little 
 grate, and once no, yes, could it have been? 
 yes, I did, I positively shivered ! " 
 
 Mr. Strahan looked solemnly at her. " I think 
 our evenings are really cold in December," he said. 
 " I wear a fur coat when I go to the opera." 
 
 " There is a chill in the evening air," replied 
 Sidney. 
 
 " It 's smoke and dampness," said Eileen, per 
 versely. " There 's nothing so chilly as smoke." 
 
 Philippa, who expected to pass a dreadful evening 
 with Eileen and these people, looked up, and tried 
 to convey a warning glance. Eileen knew too much 
 to look at her and went on. " That sealskin coat of 
 yours is painted to imitate fur, now own it ! " she 
 said, looking at the Hon. Alexander Hope. "It's 
 made of muslin really ; you can't deceive me." 
 
 Mr. Strahan smiled in a sickly fashion. He never 
 knew what to say in response to a joke. 
 
 Sidney Markham looked bored. " I wear furs," 
 she said, " all through the cold weather."
 
 THE SEVER LEYS. 6^ 
 
 " Another subject, quick ! " thought Eileen ; " this 
 one is done for. Speaking of operas," she asked 
 suddenly, "what are our operas to be this cold 
 weather?" 
 
 " Third-rate Italian this year," broke in Tom Car- 
 bury, offering Eileen his arm, at a signal from Lady 
 Barney. " Last year it was fourth-rate German ; 
 next year it will be fifth-rate French. What bad 
 music one does put up with in India, to be sure, and 
 what hags and patriarchs one has to sing it ! " 
 
 "Why is it?" asked Eileen. "Why can't we 
 have, say, second-rate talent at least? We have 
 never soared as high as that yet, have we? " 
 
 The Strahans had been always foremost in bring 
 ing opera to Calcutta. Mrs. Strahan, who was seating 
 herself next but one to Eileen, overheard this and 
 bristled. " I wish those who think it a simple matter 
 to import opera troupes would try it," she said with 
 acerbity. " We have had all we want of drudgery 
 and ingratitude." 
 
 "You have done beautifully," broke in Mrs. 
 Olmsted, with a smile ; " I 'm sure no one has 
 complained." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mrs. Strahan, " we hear our com 
 panies called -hird and fourth rate constantly." 
 
 Eileen, who loved a brush with Mrs. Strahan, 
 was opening her mouth, when Mrs. Olmsted spoke. 
 " The difficulties are well known," she said. " No 
 first-rate voices will come to the East. The voyage 
 is too trying, and the climate ; and then getting 
 out of the country is so doubtful ! We have had 
 two managers, you know, absconding with the sub-
 
 68 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 scription money, and leaving the poor wretches to 
 beg their way back to Europe. Shall you ever for 
 get," she said, turning to Philippa, " those pitiful 
 things, and the way they hung about for months? 
 Some of them, I am sure, are here now." 
 
 "/never shall forget them," said Barney, sighing. 
 " I used to shut my eyes, going round corners on 
 my way to my office, for fear I should see an elderly 
 ingenue or an aged coryphe'e begging for money to 
 get home with. Pickett married one of them, you 
 know, to get rid of her. Some of them were not 
 so lucky." 
 
 It is not often a dinner of ten becomes so 
 social, and perhaps Philippa thought Barney would 
 better devote himself to two persons at a time ; so 
 she began a low dialogue with Mr. Olmsted on her 
 right, and for a time general conversation died. 
 
 Captain Carbury and Eileen were friends, and 
 they might have had a jovial dinner of it, if it had 
 not been for Mrs. Strahan, on Tom's left. Mr. 
 Olmsted was busy with Lady Barney a part of the 
 time, and then Eileen would remind Captain Car- 
 bury of his duty to Mrs. Strahan ; and once or twice 
 that lady herself broke in upon Eileen's and Tom's 
 talk. Once Eileen was saying, " I don't know why 
 it is that women are always so mortally ashamed, 
 so afraid, of having it known that men have treated 
 them ill." 
 
 " It is because," said Mrs. Strahan, with a flush, 
 " it means disgrace." 
 
 " I don't agree with you at all," said Eileen, " if 
 you will excuse me. When a man jilts a girl, if /
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 69 
 
 were the girl, I should far rather the truth would 
 be known. I should be a thousand times more 
 ashamed of throwing a man over than of being 
 thrown over by him." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " exclaimed Mrs. Strahan, with 
 a horrified look. " It is a lasting disgrace to a girl 
 to be 'jilted,' as you call it." 
 
 " You would think so too, Eileen, if it were your 
 case," suggested Philippa, shaking her head sur 
 reptitiously at Eileen, who tossed hers in reply. 
 There was no use in airing out-of-the-way sentiments 
 before these people. They understood only cut- 
 and-dried opinions and ways of thinking. 
 
 " On the contrary," responded the Irrepressible, 
 boldly, and in rather a loud tone, " a man did once 
 treat me very ill." 
 
 "How old were you?" asked Barney, dryly. 
 " Six or seven ? You were married before you were 
 out of pinafores." 
 
 " Oh, I was old," answered Eileen, " old 
 enough, that is to say, to feel it a good deal. He 
 jilted me. I am not joking, truly." 
 
 Barney and Captain Carbury were the only ones 
 at the table who enjoyed this. Philippa thought re 
 marks of the sort in wretched form, Mrs. Strahan 
 was utterly horrified, Sidney Markham looked silly ; 
 and the others could not understand joking, if it 
 was joking, upon such a solemn subject. Captain 
 Carbury laughed aloud. 
 
 " You are the most amusing woman I Ve ever 
 seen in my life," he whispered to Eileen, "and 
 the women who say those things are the ones
 
 70 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 who are most beset by men. Much a man jilted 
 you ! " 
 
 " A man," said Eileen, soberly, and looking full 
 at Carbury, " paid me conspicuous and devoted at 
 tention, followed me about, made desperate love 
 to me, in short ; and when I thought he was going 
 to ask- me to marry him and I had every right to 
 suppose it he did n't ! I found that he was car 
 rying on the same performance with other women ; 
 that his honesty was the best kind of acting ; that 
 his impassionate utterances were drama of the first 
 order. I suppose it is a common thing ; it hap 
 pened to be my first experience of the kind. I do 
 not mind ; I am not ashamed. I was hurt and angry, 
 but I don't think I was in love, and I don't think 
 I suffered, except in my self-esteem ; and that was 
 the last rag of it, I have none left, not a shred." 
 
 " That was not jilting, surely," said Captain Car- 
 bury. " I don't believe you know what the word 
 means. The poor fellow saw, before it was too late, 
 that there was no chance for him ; and if you were 
 not touched, Lady Eileen, you must have had 
 a good deal of amusement and an easy escape. 
 Most men are not shaken off so easily. He perhaps 
 knew you could not be won, from the first. But I 
 believe, from what I know of the man " Eileen 
 turned pale. " No, no," he said, " I beg your 
 pardon ; I do not know that man, of course. I only 
 mean from what you say of him, and from what 
 I have seen of you, that he had to flee in time, 
 or to be burned to a crisp at your shrine. Every 
 man I know is afraid to see too much of you."
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 71 
 
 " I fancied," said Eileen, growing suddenly red, 
 and looking down, " that we were talking truth and 
 sense. I loathe flattery ; I abhor the kind of thing 
 you have just said. You don't believe me, I dare 
 say ; you do not know me." 
 
 Eileen turned away from Carbury, angry with him, 
 with herself, with everybody. She had been natu 
 ral and ingenuous just to see what the effect would 
 be. It had ended, as everything else did, in a 
 fulsome compliment. Everybody thought that was 
 what she expected and needed, and must have. 
 Bah! 
 
 Sir William Mann had been talking temperance 
 and early hours and good habits generally to Sidney 
 Markham. Not that she needed suggestions on 
 these points ; she was exemplary to a degree. But 
 she was a good listener ; so they had got on very 
 well. Eileen now joined in. " Then you believe in 
 shutting up shops I don't mean shops, but eating- 
 places, restaurants, early at night, Sir William?" 
 said Eileen. " What are poor, hungry theatre-goers 
 to do then?" 
 
 " I 'm afraid poor, starving theatre-goers would 
 have to sup at home, or go without," said Sir Wil 
 liam, smiling down upon Eileen; and Eileen, with 
 the crimson flush in her cheek, in her pale blue 
 dress, with the candle-light upon her, was something 
 to smile upon. " I disapprove of this eating in pub 
 lic, which seems to have proved so fascinating of late 
 years to our people. It is entirely un-English, to 
 begin with, and I certainly disapprove of keeping 
 the worn-out men and women who have to be at
 
 72 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 their posts early next day up to unheard-of hours of 
 the night. It is barbarous." 
 
 " Oh, if you come to that," said Barney, " no 
 body wants to work. Everybody is tired. If you 
 sup late at home, you keep your own servants up ; 
 and as for making coachmen and footmen wait out 
 in the cold all night, why, think how we have to do 
 it in England ! And if we spare our own servants, 
 as some persons do, and hire livery-men, why, 
 there 's the same cruelty again. One could have no 
 service at all, if one stopped to think of servants' 
 fatigues all the time." 
 
 " I never thought about the waiters at restaurants, 
 poor things ! " said Eileen, pensively, and rather ig 
 noring Barney's remark. The new turn in the con 
 versation had attracted listeners ; and seeing Mrs. 
 Strahan's pale eyes upon her, Eileen went on to 
 her destruction. " I remember once being put out 
 of a restaurant in London at midnight by the po 
 lice." (Philippa positively gasped, and Barney looked 
 severely for once at his sister. " Is the girl mad? " 
 he thought.) " You were with me, Barney, I think, 
 or perhaps it was papa ; at any rate, it was a man, 
 of course, it doesn't matter who." ("I should 
 think it did matter who," remarked Philippa. Mrs. 
 Olmsted had a serious notion of marching Sidney 
 Markham out of hearing of these extraordinary rem 
 iniscences.) "Yes, it was papa," laughed Eileen. 
 " How frightened you look, Philippa ! We walked 
 into this place calmly and unsuspectingly, after the 
 theatre, ordered our supper, and were just eating it, 
 most delicious oysters, or something, when a
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 73 
 
 policeman came in, if you please, and ordered us 
 out. You may imagine papa's language," said 
 Eileen, turning to Barney. " If it had not been for 
 me, he would have fought the whole police force 
 (my relations have tried that sort of thing before) ; 
 but I made him come out quietly, although I was 
 furious too at having my supper spoiled. But I do 
 remember now how tired the poor thing looked who 
 was waiting upon us, ready to drop. I 'm glad 
 he got to bed a little earlier, if one did lose one's 
 oysters." 
 
 There was nothing very reprehensible in what 
 Eileen had been saying; but Philippa, who had 
 heard something startling from her sister-in-law 
 every time she had heard anything, and who saw that 
 most of her prim guests were neither amused nor 
 edified, was thankful when the dinner ended. Phi 
 lippa was hopelessly depressed in mind, body, and 
 spirit ; and although she had seemed as usual, it was 
 with the greatest difficulty that she had been civil to 
 her guests. And Eileen did nothing but say shock 
 ing things, and injure herself with important persons 
 in Calcutta, whose favor might mean much to her. 
 Poor Philippa ! she felt even more indignation with 
 Eileen than with Barney at the moment, and was 
 glad to give the signal to withdraw. 
 
 It was not very lively in the drawing-room after 
 dinner. They talked of a young wife who had been 
 sent home in disgrace for flirting, of a new engage 
 ment, an old divorce. Eileen and Sidney talked of 
 tennis and their horses and the next Government 
 House ball. The question of trains or no trains at
 
 7 4 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 the next Drawing-room was a subject which was 
 absorbing the population feminine of Calcutta just 
 then, and that was discussed in all its bearings. Jack 
 Beverley's name was mentioned, casually, by some 
 body; and Sidney blushed. 
 
 " I hope I did not blush," thought Eileen. " I 
 know I did not. I can conceal everything I feel, I 
 am glad to say. It is a great art." 
 
 " We are going to England in March," said Mrs. 
 Strahan, " quite unexpectedly. My husband ap 
 plied for leave, for his health, but we really hardly 
 expected to get it." 
 
 " Does Milly come out with you?" asked Sidney 
 Markham. 
 
 " Yes, she will come out for next cold weather. 
 She is a tall, handsome child." 
 
 "Is she like her father?" said Eileen. 
 
 " My own family is tall," said Mrs. Strahan, not 
 looking at Eileen, as she bit off the words, " and 
 there have been some celebrated beauties in it. 
 How hard it must be for you, dear Lady Barney," 
 she said in an undertone a minute later, "to look 
 after a headstrong creature like that ! She must 
 be frightful to manage." 
 
 Philippa flushed. The angrier she was with 
 Barney, and the readier to scold Eileen, the more 
 she constituted herself the outward champion of 
 both. "I find no difficulty in guiding her," she 
 said with a smile, which had a kind of hauteur 
 about it, a combination for which Philippa was 
 noted. The exact point at which the freeze melted 
 and the thaw congealed, nobody knew. But it was
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 75 
 
 an effective process, and Mrs. Strahan said no 
 more. 
 
 The custom of sitting over wine had almost gone 
 out at the period of which I write, although old- 
 fashioned people, like the Strahans and Olmsteds, 
 who detested innovation, still clung to it. Out of 
 deference to them, therefore, Barney kept his guests 
 a quarter of an hour after the ladies had gone up. 
 But Tom Carbury stayed hardly five minutes. Eileen 
 had a new and strange charm for him to-night. He 
 perhaps was one of the very men of whom he had 
 himself spoken, those who had dared see little of 
 such a priestess, but he felt drawn to her to-night, 
 particularly as he remembered that he had offended 
 her. Eileen was sitting in the corner of a high- 
 backed sofa, with her feet on a cushion. Her dress 
 was of a blue so pale that it was nearly white, except 
 in folds where the shadows made color. There was 
 soft lace about it, and she was sitting in the simplest 
 attitude a young woman can take, and the hardest 
 to take gracefully, her hands were lying in her lap, 
 and her head was thrown slightly back. She did 
 not stir as Carbury approached her, nor smile, nor 
 make room for him. So he went and sat beside 
 Sidney Markham, and looked at Eileen. 
 
 Later, when the other men came upstairs, Tom 
 went and stood behind her. He leaned over her 
 sofa. She did not look then. " I 'm sorry," he 
 murmured softly, "very sorry." Eileen did not 
 move. " Whether you forgive me or not, I am still 
 sorry," he said. 
 
 " If you are sorry, then," exclaimed Eileen, sud-
 
 76 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 denly, sitting upright, and looking over her shoulder 
 at him, " come here and talk to me like a rational 
 being. Tell me why life is so empty when people 
 like these are by. Why can I not smile and be 
 gracious and yet distant, like Philippa? And why 
 would n't I be, if I could ? Why do good, stupid 
 persons, who are worth a hundred of me apiece, bore 
 me to the verge of shrieking? And why do I show 
 the worst in me, and shock them, and hate them, 
 and let them all see it? Don't tell me they are not 
 stupid on account of their goodness ; I know that, 
 or at least I should know it, I have been told so 
 enough. What do you think, honestly?" 
 
 All this was rather beyond Tom, who had never 
 analyzed a sensation in his life. But he recognized, 
 with true manly instinct, that a fellow-creature, and 
 a beautiful one, was suffering the pangs of self-dis 
 gust. He had come to her side long before this, 
 and was sitting on the couch by her. " I am for 
 bidden to make fine speeches," he said, "so I can 
 not tell you what I truly think. You have never 
 learned perhaps to get the best out of people. I 
 suppose many can do that. I eat my dinner, and 
 thank God for a good one. I enjoy the lively 
 guests, and let the dull ones alone as much as possi 
 ble. Then I go home and forget the stupid parts 
 of the evenings and dwell on the bright ones. 
 That 's all the philosophy I have. I try not to of 
 fend these prim creatures ; perhaps you are too 
 young to have learned that. It does n't pay, you 
 know. You oblige me to speak roughly. Now, if I 
 said what I really felt, I should "
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 77 
 
 " No, you would n't," interrupted Eileen, smiling 
 brightly upon him. "You are good to me, and I 
 forgive you now and thank you. I will tell you 
 something. I am worthless, I know nothing, I care 
 about nothing, I make nothing of my life, I make 
 nothing of others' lives. This looks like penitence, 
 does n't it ? and I suppose you think it 's a hopeful 
 sign ; but it is not even that. It 's only a fit ; it 
 won't last. I shall be just as bad to-morrow; in 
 fact, I am just as bad now. But I don't want you, 
 nor anybody, to think that I don't know what a fool 
 I am, that 's all." 
 
 Mrs. Strahan was singing ballads ; Sir William 
 Mann was turning over the music for her. After 
 she had sung her two songs, with ten verses each 
 (the regulation number), Sir William, contrary to 
 all precedent, urged her to sing again. She sim 
 pered, and complied with the request. Her style 
 evidently suited him, for after even the third ditty 
 he clapped his hands gleefully together, and ex 
 claimed, " Oh, more, more ! " 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Eileen, " Sir William, you are 
 as bad as Oliver Twist ! " 
 
 "Was Oliver fond of music? " asked the august 
 member of Council, innocently. 
 
 Tom Carbury was flattered by Eileen's confidence, 
 but he need not have been ; for Eileen that night 
 would have confided in anybody who could under 
 stand her language. And Carbury was the only 
 person in the house who had a ray of intelligence, 
 she said to herself impatiently. Philippa would 
 have called this disgust of herself vulgar, I don't
 
 78 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 think Eileen understood Philippa. Barney would 
 have roared at her and called her silly. The Olmsteds 
 and Strahans and Sidney Markham and Sir William 
 Mann well, he might have looked upon her as a 
 convert, to be sure, and hailed her symptoms with 
 joy, but the rest would have gaped at her in dismay. 
 Mrs. Olmsted would have given her a soothing drink, 
 and put her to bed perhaps ; but the Strahans, 
 oh, what was the use of even thinking of them ! 
 They never entered into her calculations for a mo 
 ment, except on an occasion like this. 
 
 They sat, Eileen and Carbury, ostensibly listening 
 to the song, but really waiting for an opportunity to 
 go on with their talk. 
 
 Tom spoke when there was a chance. " I 'm glad 
 you have said this to me," he said, " and I 'm aw 
 fully obliged to you. You shall speak of it first, if 
 you like, or not at all when we meet again. I sha'n't 
 allude to it. It is only women who are every 
 thing, who speak of themselves as nothing." This 
 was very eloquent for poor Tom, and he grew very 
 red. " If I had any ambition, I should feel as you 
 do all the time. Jack Beverley does feel so. ' Here 
 am I,' he said to me only to-day, ' a great, strong, 
 hulking man, leading a flunkey's life ; when for a 
 good mount, comfortable quarters, pretty clothes, and 
 a French chef, I settle down into a fool's Paradise, 
 and let life and all its obligations go over my head. 
 I tell you, Carbury,' he said, ' this India can be so 
 much, and is so little, to us English. What do we 
 know of the lives of these miserable wretches about 
 us ? ' I think, Lady Eileen, that it was our little
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 79 
 
 talk under the banyan-tree this morning which 
 started you both out in such a doleful strain." 
 
 Eileen looked happy. It pleased her to hear 
 Captain Carbury speak in that interested way of 
 Jack Beverley, even although she could no longer 
 believe in him. What a pity it was about that sus 
 ceptibility of his ! she thought. He had so many 
 good points, and was so superior to all the other 
 men out here ! 
 
 "What are you two ranting about?" broke in 
 Barney at this moment. " Eileen, for Heaven's 
 sake, let one of those 'grimmers' [Barney's name 
 for stern officials] talk to you. You are awfully 
 selfish." 
 
 Tom frowned. " Don't, Barney ! " he said, " your 
 sister has been only too good to me in letting me 
 keep her here all this time ; and as I see the fair 
 Strahan making her adieus, I will say good-night to 
 Lady Barney." 
 
 " ' Good-night,' " mocked Barney ; " what ails 
 you, Tommy ? Are n't you going to stop and talk 
 over this bewitching evening with me ? I want to 
 talk to you about a lot of things." 
 
 But Philippa motioned to Barney, and he was 
 obliged to go. Carbury hurried away. He would 
 not stay and chatter now. He was a lazy, indif 
 ferent fellow, but only from habit ; and Eileen had 
 awakened something in him which had lain asleep 
 for a long time. He was, for the first time in years, 
 going home to think. If a personality bore a promi 
 nent position in his thinking, the thinking in itself 
 was a great advance.
 
 CHAFFER VII. 
 
 CILEEN BEAUFORT did not even know that 
 *"' she had fascinated Captain Carbury, particu 
 larly, that is. She was full of uncertainty that night, 
 and was not dreaming of conquest. She was 
 ashamed of herself for being piqued with Jack 
 Beverley, when, as she repeatedly said to herself, 
 she did not care for him, and did not mean to 
 marry him, of course. The prospect of the inter 
 view in the morning was rather perplexing to her. 
 " Why is he coming," she said, " if he is treating 
 me badly ? And why am I not glad he has deserted 
 me? Because I thought he was the first true man 
 I had ever seen," she answered herself. " There 
 fore I must needs wish him for a footstool. I 
 wish I knew what I did want. If I only knew 
 something^to wish for, it would be an improvement." 
 Eileen leaned her head wearily against the sofa- 
 cushion. After bidding the guests good-night, she 
 had sat down as she was sitting before. 
 
 " Will you ask an informal lot in for to-morrow 
 night, Philippa?" Barney asked, coming back to 
 the drawing-room, as his wife was disappearing. 
 " I want something to take the taste of this out of 
 my mouth. The Bedloes and Veseys and Brabazon,
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 8 1 
 
 and perhaps Stanhope, or Beverley, or Jack. Car- 
 bury is a good fellow, but those others ! Oh, why 
 should we undergo such grinding torments? They 
 don't like us and never will; and as for you, 
 Eileen" 
 
 Philippa interrupted him. " I shall ask no one," 
 she said grimly. ' I have given my last dinner in 
 Calcutta." 
 
 Barney stared at her in amazement. " Your ' last 
 dinner ' ! " he repeated. " What do you mean by 
 those tragic accents and that solemn phrase? Are 
 you going to die? " 
 
 " I have decided not to entertain," replied Phi 
 lippa. " We need not discuss the point. Eileen, 
 will you come to my dressing-room? " 
 
 Barney's eyes positively glared. " What under 
 the sun " he began, and stopped. " Neither will 
 I discuss the point. We '11 eat our dinners, and ask 
 our friends to eat our dinners, as long as I am the 
 master of this house ! " 
 
 "Will you come, Eileen?" repeated Philippa, as 
 if she heard not. 
 
 Barney fairly flung himself from the room and 
 into the veranda. He was nearer real anger than 
 he had ever been in his life, against Philippa ; and 
 to tell the truth, it was a sudden turn for a long- 
 suffering wife of seventeen years' standing to take. 
 
 Eileen followed Philippa, looking a little scared. 
 Was a crisis coming in all their lives? Philippa sat 
 down before her dressing-glass mechanically ; and 
 the ayah, her ankle and arm bangles tinkling as she 
 walked, began to take the pins from her mistress's 
 6
 
 82 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 hair. Philippa looked so handsome, so regal in the 
 candle-light, the red roses on her breast giving her 
 a flush, her eyes bright with excitement, her lips 
 quivering with the effort just made, for Philippa 
 was at heart gentle, that Eileen lay on the flowered 
 couch, gazing admiringly at her. Neither of the 
 women spoke until Eileen, slipping from the couch, 
 threw herself at her sister's feet, and clasping her 
 knees, looked up into the stern face. 
 
 " Don't ! " said Philippa, almost crossly. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" asked Eileen. "What has 
 happened to trouble you to-day ? Tell me ; let me 
 be something to you." 
 
 Philippa had not known of Eileen's inward strug 
 gles, how should she ? Eileen, always wild and 
 incorrigible, had certainly not shown much desire 
 for self-improvement that evening. Besides, Phi 
 lippa was just then too much engrossed by her own 
 misery to notice any change in Eileen. Eileen 
 was always sweet and affectionate to her, or usually 
 so. The beautiful face looked beseechingly into the 
 face which had once been beautiful, and an implor 
 ing look rilled the upturned eyes. " If only," she 
 thought, "while I am in this mood, I can be of 
 some service to somebody ! " But Philippa was too 
 grimly miserable to be stirred much, even by Eileen's 
 appealing look. There was nothing to say about 
 herself, nothing to be done. Her husband had sim 
 ply turned out turned out ? he had always been 
 worthless. It was not an original grievance; a 
 great many husbands had done the same. And 
 there was nothing picturesque in her situation. She
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 83 
 
 was not young ; nobody cared for middle-aged mis 
 ery. And besides she had not called Eileen in for 
 that, but to talk seriously to the girl herself. It 
 was hard to begin with that girl, already melted at 
 her feet. It was impossible, she felt, to begin as she 
 had intended. She must make an explanation first ; 
 so, being full of her own grievance, she glided into that. 
 
 " Eileen," she said at last, with a painful effort, 
 " I 'm sure you do not know what a spendthrift 
 Barney is. He throws away every penny he earns. 
 He is over head and ears in debt ; he does nothing 
 for his own children, and that is why I will give no 
 more dinners. You see that I am right." 
 
 " Yes," said Eileen, softly. " Barney cannot help 
 being a spendthrift, we are all so ; but we can 
 help encouraging him, Philippa." Here she laid her 
 small hand upon the other's, and spoke abruptly, 
 " Am I a worry to you ? " 
 
 Philippa turned away her head. Eileen was cer 
 tainly lovely, and so innocent in her sins ! What 
 should she say? "Yes, you are, Eileen," turning 
 her head, that she might not see the other's sweet 
 face. " You are a great worry to me. You spend a 
 great deal of money ; you flirt like a school-girl, and 
 you shock people horribly with your wild ways. I 
 speak the truth to you, since you ask it. 1 am 
 beside myself sometimes when I see you, and know 
 what a penniless lot we are, and how this must all 
 sooner or later end." 
 
 "Do you want me to go away, Philippa?" Eileen 
 asked, her eyes full of glistening tears, some of sorrow 
 and some of anger.
 
 84 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 " No ; I want you to marry Mr. Warwick," an 
 swered Lady Barney, looking full at Eileen, who hid 
 her head in the folds of her sister's gown. " I do 
 not ask you to make a great sacrifice of yourself. 
 He is not old ; he adores you, and " 
 
 " I do not love him," said Eileen, in a low tone, 
 not looking up. " That sounds babyish, I suppose, 
 and is, of course, nothing in the way of my marrying 
 him." There was something unspeakably sad in 
 the world-worn look which came over the fresh 
 young face at these words. "But the trouble is, 
 I like him very much." 
 
 " There," said Philippa, brightening, and taking 
 the face in her hand, raising it in spite of itself, " I 
 knew you did not dislike him. Then why can you 
 not marry him ? " 
 
 " Because," said Eileen, " because I like him 
 very much." Then after a pause she added, " If I 
 did not like him, I might marry him." 
 
 " I suppose these are called subtleties," said 
 Philippa, drawing her hand away and shutting 
 her eyes wearily. " I confess I do not understand 
 them." 
 
 " Philippa," said Eileen, resting her head upon 
 her sister's knee, " I could not make a sacrifice ; it 
 would be impossible, because I have nothing to give 
 up. If Mr. Warwick were not the kind of man he 
 is, I would agree to make him miserable, for your 
 sake and Barney's. I have no conscience, particu 
 larly, but I could not bestow myself upon him and 
 see his life ruined. I could not, indeed. He has 
 been too kind to me. I will write him the truth, if
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 85 
 
 you like ; and if he wants me under such circum 
 stances to marry him, I will do so." 
 
 "Of course," answered Philippa, "putting it in 
 that way is equivalent to refusing. As for my sake 
 and Barney's, you know very well that you wrong 
 me, at least, when you say that. You are in our 
 charge, and it has come to this that we cannot look 
 after you any longer, unless you will help yourself. 
 Mr. Warwick came to see me to-day about you. 
 He says you fill his thoughts ; he cannot give up 
 the idea of possessing you. He is a fine man, and 
 not a parvenu ; he is well enough looking, and rich 
 beyond words, and he will make you a perfect 
 husband." 
 
 " That comes last, of course," said Eileen, with 
 proud disdain. " I will write him, Philippa, but I 
 shall tell him the truth ; and if he wants this rare 
 bargain, he may have it. Perhaps if he knew it was 
 going begging, he would not care so much for it. 
 Still, he 's a simple soul, and his liking will last. I 
 deserve my fate, Philippa ; I shall not cry out against 
 it. I know I have led a selfish life, although there 
 has been precious little pleasure in it, and that I 
 have made myself." Eileen was standing now, and 
 moving toward the door. " If Mr. Warwick does 
 not want me," she said wearily, " I dare say I can 
 stay here until papa sends me money enough to 
 take me to Ireland." 
 
 "Have I deserved this?" cried Philippa, seizing 
 the girl's hand and drawing her back by main force. 
 " I cannot sustain you in luxury any more, but it is 
 only because I cannot sustain myself in it. My last
 
 86 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 crust is yours, Eileen, and you know it ; but an end 
 is coming to the crusts. Some change has got to 
 be made, and I am thinking of you entirely when I 
 urge your marrying a man who will look after you 
 handsomely to the end of your days. Do you think 
 I do not writhe at having to make this petty wretched 
 money the theme of my whole existence ? Do you 
 think I do not hate the pride which makes it impos 
 sible for me to go out as a servant, and earn my 
 children's bread with my own hands?" 
 
 Was this Philippa? Eileen threw her arms round 
 Philippa's neck, in a sudden revulsion of feeling. She 
 was eager to seize upon the favorable moment ; for a 
 glimpse of the pent-up woman in her sister had never 
 been granted her before, and she was starving for 
 sympathy. But the opportunity fled. The haughty, 
 self- repressed Philippa was already ashamed of her 
 emotion, and with an almost rough movement she 
 disentangled Eileen's arms. Eileen, now that the 
 vista had once opened, was not immediately dis 
 couraged, however. She drew Philippa down on 
 the couch, to sit beside her. "Why don't you talk 
 seriously to Barney? " she said gently. 
 
 "Talk to him ! " echoed Philippa, her lip curling. 
 " For seventeen years, it seems to me, I have done 
 nothing but talk to Barney; and I have told him 
 that he is ruining his children's lives and his own, 
 not to speak of the trifling circumstance of breaking 
 my heart. He does n't care, Eileen. He loves you, 
 I think, not to the extent of making any sacrifice 
 for you, perhaps, but his affection for you is greater 
 than anything he feels. I simply fret and bore him,
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 8^ 
 
 because I can no longer laugh at follies which in a 
 man of his age are crimes. It is a vital point with 
 me, and a stupendous joke with him, that our chil 
 dren have no dependence upon their parents, and 
 that we are disgracefully in debt. If Barney were 
 to come into one large fortune to make ducks and 
 drakes of, and another were tied up for me and the 
 children, we might live bearably while his held out. 
 There is no use in saying all this to you, Eileen, 
 except as an explanation of what you think is ex 
 treme harshness to you." 
 
 " Never mind me ! " cried Eileen. " Barney 
 does love you; he does, he does," she exclaimed. 
 "You shall not say that. He was born careless, 
 brought up carelessly, and will die careless. My 
 father is the same ; I am the same ; Terence and 
 Ulick are the same. Barney should never have 
 married. I 've often heard papa say so. Philippa, I 
 shall speak to him. He does not realize what he is 
 doing, and perhaps if I let him see that I know " 
 
 Philippa recited the episode of the fourteen hun 
 dred rupees to Eileen. " What do you think now? " 
 she said. " Will talking do good to such a man ? 
 No, Eileen, I shall make no more pleas, certainly 
 none through you. You 'd better go to bed now. 
 You have your future in your own hands, and if you 
 do not choose to take it, I shall say nothing more. 
 I 'm sorry to have been betrayed into so much vul 
 gar temper." And she held out her hand in her 
 usual formal fashion. Eileen went so far as to kiss 
 the cold cheek timidly. She did not dare attempt 
 to make a further demonstration. No one could
 
 88 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 pierce that icy coating, when the surface had frozen 
 over. 
 
 Eileen went downstairs and found Barney in the 
 dining-room, smoking and playing Patience. A long 
 tumbler of whiskey and soda was beside him, and his 
 anger was apparently appeased, for he looked up at 
 Eileen and laughed. "Well," he said, "it's dull 
 times for the old man, when he has to make shift 
 with himself for a partner. I say, Eileen, what did 
 Flip want of you? By Jove, what a mood that 
 woman 's been in to-day ! It 's more than flesh 
 and blood can stand." 
 
 Eileen smiled, but faintly. She had been too 
 long on rollicking terms with Barney to change her 
 base suddenly ; yet a solemn purpose was firing her. 
 She laid her hand upon her brother's arm. " Come 
 up in the veranda, Barney, out into the air. I want 
 to talk to you." 
 
 " Talk ! Let 's not talk ; I 'm tired of talk. Let 's 
 play dcartd, if we do anything." 
 
 " Come ! " said Eileen. Her face was so earnest 
 that Barney looked up into it with a kind of comic 
 gravity, like a monkey. 
 
 " Whatever 's up? " he asked. "Tears, as I live, 
 in the girl's eyes, and such a scarey, scolding face ! 
 And Philippa in a grand, stagey, Lady Macbeth 
 temper ! I know what 's the matter with her ; she '11 
 be all right after a night's sleep. But this bonny 
 little thing in its sulks ! Faith, I don't know what 
 to make of that ! " 
 
 " Don't, Barney ! " said Eileen, really distressed. 
 This sort of thing was so new to her and so thor-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 89 
 
 oughly out of her line ! And she did love Barney, 
 and alas ! was so in sympathy with him. 
 
 " Don't scold me if I go with you, will you ? " 
 said Barney, getting up and yawning, yet gazing at 
 her in mock supplication. 
 
 " Come ! " she said. After all, how much more 
 agreeable and amusing the bad ones are than the 
 good, thought this naughty person. She did not 
 realize at the moment that there would be no 
 danger in them if they were not. Satan in 
 horns and hoofs would repel at once. It is Satan 
 in cap and bells and in wreathed smiles who 
 fascinates. 
 
 When they were seated, or recumbent rather, 
 on lounging-chairs, and Barney had had his peg re 
 plenished, and a fresh cheroot had been lighted, 
 Eileen cleared her throat ominously. 
 
 " Gracious ! " ejaculated Barney, turning to look 
 at her. "A sermon ! " 
 
 But the long chair was not suited to Eileen's pur 
 pose. She could never be severe in that attitude. 
 So she got up and sat in a straighter one. " Bar 
 ney," said she finally, in a trembling voice, " do 
 you know that you are ruining nine lives by your 
 course?" Eileen meant his own life, and his 
 wife's, and those of their seven children ; but it was 
 an unfortunate beginning. 
 
 Barney burst into a loud peal of laughter, which 
 stung Philippa, grieving in her chamber. 
 
 " Am I a cat then? " he asked. " I have broken 
 nine bones in my body steeple-chasing, but each of 
 those was not a life, was it? What are you talking
 
 90 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 about, stupid little girl, eh?" And he laughed 
 again and looked wonderingly at Eileen. 
 
 " You have seven children," said Eileen, slightly 
 daunted by her false step. " You have not forgotten 
 their number, I suppose? and you have Philippa, 
 and you have yourself." 
 
 " And I have you," broke in Barney, still gazing 
 at Eileen with a look in which curiosity and disdain 
 were equally mingled ; " and faith, I 'm afraid I 
 sha'n't have you long, for your reason seems to be 
 tottering." 
 
 " You are making every one of those lives 
 wretched, indeed you are, Barney," Eileen went 
 on, ignoring the interruption. 
 
 Barney laughed nervously. It was not very amus 
 ing, for all that. " Now, my girl," he said, sitting 
 up and looking full at Eileen, " I understand this 
 whole affair. You are primed. Philippa 's been 
 coaching you. There 's something the matter with 
 her, and she must needs contaminate you. I never 
 saw two women so changed. You need n't say any 
 more, Eileen, no, not one word ! " for Eileen's lips 
 were beginning to move. " I 've had enough of hy 
 sterical women for one bout. Only remember this : 
 I 'm not to be meddled with, nor advised by chil 
 dren like you ; so go to bed and take that to your 
 heart and keep it." And Barney stalked angrily 
 through the long drawing-room, down the stairway 
 and out. 
 
 Eileen stood for a few minutes, gazing into the 
 soft starry night. The perfumes of citron and 
 orange oppressed her, and the sweet-scented jasmine
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. gi 
 
 was stifling. She had not made much by her 
 somewhat theatrical move, but even that was not 
 troubling her most. She did go to bed at last, but it 
 was not Philippa nor Barney nor Mr. Warwick who 
 haunted her dreams. Through them all she saw, 
 first in one face and then in another, but always 
 gazing reproachfully at her, the great dark eyes of 
 Jack Beverley.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 \ WOMAN who can be described in a few words 
 ** is not worth describing. If her complexities 
 blend and infuse so harmoniously like the primary 
 colors as to make what we call simplicity, the 
 white of the spectrum, she is the most artistic, the 
 most successful artistically of beings, also the most 
 womanly. If she is simple, actually, that is to say, 
 either blue or green, or violet or red, she may be 
 pretty and sweet and lovable, or horrid, ungainly, 
 peevish, but she will not be worth much as a study. 
 I doubt if a book could be written about her. And 
 the question is, Would she be a real woman? The 
 height of simplicity is the concealment of art. Jack 
 Beverley was simple, or rather, simplex ; he never 
 could have been a hero by himself, in our modern 
 acceptation of the word. 
 
 I have read lately that the mysteriousness of the 
 soft sex is a tradition only ; and that women are as 
 easy to understand as men (honest creatures !), if 
 only one did not blind one's capability of understand 
 ing them by presupposing them to be darkly complex. 
 These opinions, coming from one of our keenest pens, 
 made a decided impression ; but that impression was
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 93 
 
 shortly afterward blurred by reading a story of 
 the same writer's into which he introduces women 
 most irrelevant and unreasoning, the most femi 
 nine of their sex, in short, and makes remarks 
 about them like these : " Who knows what is in a 
 woman ? How many moods in a quarter of an hour ? 
 And which is the characteristic one ? " His first 
 utterances were in the nature of an essay ; his story 
 was life. Woman is complex and contradictory; 
 and everybody who knows anything, knows that. 
 
 My heroine, Lady Eileen Beaufort, fulfilled these 
 requisites of complexness and contradictoriness in a 
 supreme degree. She herself went so far as to say 
 that she woke up in the morning with an entirely 
 new set of traits from those she had taken to bed 
 with her the night before ; and I go so far as to be 
 lieve that the old ones were obscured for the time 
 being. 
 
 A great many things had occurred in Eileen's 
 life to form strengths in her character. The powers 
 were working in the dark, and the " splendid pat 
 tern " that they wove " their wistful hands between," 
 had as yet taken on neither form nor semblance. 
 Throw an arithmetic and a grammar and a geography 
 at a child's head, and keep on pelting him with books 
 of learning, and I doubt if he will come out edu 
 cated. Eileen had never learned her alphabet yet. 
 The lessons of life had all been hurled at her; 
 she had not slowly assimilated or digested one. 
 She had never yet known the desire to know, which 
 is the A B C of acquirement. 
 
 Eileen had tumbled up in Ireland ; her childhood
 
 94 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 had been lawless and wild. She had broken in 
 horses principally, and had been indulged to ex 
 cess by a doting father and adoring brothers. (Bar 
 ney had married when she was a small child, and 
 her mother had died at her birth.) An aunt in 
 London provided conventional gowns three or four 
 times a year, so that Eileen was fashionably at 
 tired without knowing it, and at eighteen she was 
 sent to the aunt for a season in London. The sea 
 son had been short and severe. Captain Beaufort 
 the fastest man in England, and the wickedest had 
 fallen pitched headlong into the most desperate 
 kind of so-called love (why is our vocabulary, rich 
 in unnecessary nomenclature, so poor here?) ; at all 
 events, an excellent imitation of that much abused 
 passion, more like the original than the original it 
 self, transfiguring himself temporarily and envelop 
 ing its object. It might have burned itself out 
 in a short time, this white heat, or cooled, so that 
 one could have discerned the real metal, had not 
 the anxious aunt anxious with a cause, poor soul ! 
 telegraphed the alarming condition of things to 
 Lord Mungerford, the father, who came speeding 
 down from Tipperary ; and Barney and Philippa, 
 who were luckily just departing for Calcutta, bore 
 the girl secretly from the very jaws of the feverish 
 Captain. 
 
 Eileen, who was more overwhelmed than con 
 quered by the Captain's mad wooing, made the 
 best of her position, and took to the gay life in 
 India as a duck takes to the water. She was mak 
 ing conquests by the score, when Beaufort whom
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 95 
 
 Overland Routes could not daunt, nor P. & O. 
 steamships destroy appeared in Calcutta, and, 
 fair means failing, resorted to foul, and absolutely 
 forced Eileen to elope with him. He was cashiered 
 the army for gambling; his passion burned itself 
 out; he brought every kind of disgrace upon his 
 young wife. Disgrace could not taint her nature, 
 however, for she did not perceive it. She did not 
 know, far away in a small watering-place on the 
 Continent, that her husband was suspected and dis 
 honored, for they were living among people who 
 had no right to enlighten her. She accepted her 
 fate, not meekly, but with airy fortitude, and thought 
 she was learning the lesson of life. Yet her true 
 nature was never touched. It remained gay and 
 light and sound and sweet after a year of horrible 
 discomfort. When she discovered that her husband 
 loved nothing but drink and dice, she was relieved 
 rather as regarded herself, because she felt she 
 owed him small duty in the way of wifely affec 
 tion. When Beaufort was killed in a bout, an 
 orgy of three days ending in a fight, Eileen was 
 terrified and anguished much as a child might be ; 
 and although for years she could not shut out cer 
 tain terrible sights with which that season was filled, 
 little of the truth reached her, through the kindness 
 of those whose hearts she had won, and her father's 
 coming and seizing her from her surroundings be 
 fore she had time to realize the facts. It all seemed 
 like a figment of a disordered dream. 
 
 Eileen stayed with her father in Ireland for two 
 or three years. She had become more serious and
 
 96 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 sober, and read a good deal, and imbibed some 
 cynicism, but was otherwise outwardly not much 
 changed. In three years Lord Mungerford felt 
 that the affair had blown over, and that Eileen, 
 with her bitter experience in mind, might be trusted 
 to see the world again and to make a wiser choice. 
 But the aunt would have none of her. The wild 
 alarm and frightful anxiety of Eileen's first season 
 would never "blow -over" with her, and she de 
 clined gently, but firmly, to become a raving maniac 
 again, for anybody's sake. So Eileen stayed in Lon 
 don at Philippa's father's house in Eccleston Square, 
 " looking after " Barney's children, she said, and 
 " trying to feel that she was of some use in the 
 world." 
 
 Eileen was a little wild yet for a perfect guide to 
 the young ; and the boys somehow were engaged in 
 more escapades than they had ever indulged in in their 
 lives before, and in fewer elevating pursuits. Young 
 Barney, at this period, lured a London cabby from 
 his box, and seizing the reins, drove wildly through 
 the crowded streets, bringing up ignominiously against 
 a lamp-post and smashing twenty pounds' worth of 
 property. He was horsewhipped by the frenzied 
 cabman, too, and cursed loudly on the public high 
 way; and as his grandfather had the mortification 
 of his disgrace to bear, and also the annoyance of 
 disbursement, Eileen, who, she herself now nobly 
 allowed, had in a moment of impulse suggested the 
 wild step to the boy, was voted by the old Earl, 
 not unnaturally, to be an improper adviser for 
 his grandson.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 97 
 
 The old gentleman wrote Philippa that she was 
 impossible. "What is to become of her, I don't 
 know. The bogs of Ireland are the only place for 
 her. She is so pretty and so girlish, so amiable too, 
 except for a peppery spirit, which burns itself out in 
 two or three wild flickers, that it is extremely hard to 
 be severe with her. I confess myself wholly unequal 
 to the task of managing her, and to tell the truth, I can 
 not see my own responsibility in the matter. Hav 
 ing been married, she cannot be disciplined or even 
 chaperoned ; and her widowhood is the most incon 
 gruous thing about her. She is a kind of monstrosity 
 viewed in that light, for anybody so distinctly un- 
 widowed I never have seen. She is very gay at 
 dinners and At Homes and balls now, and of course 
 her career is canvassed everywhere, particularly I 
 have no doubt at those cankers of civilization known 
 as luncheon-parties. It is not very agreeable having 
 her affairs raked up again, and it will be hard for her 
 to marry well here, in spite of her beauty, with such 
 a record. Barney and Ulick madly love her, but 
 she is not a safe companion for them. Don't you 
 think it would be better for Barney to write his 
 father to take her home? I can't suggest it very 
 well. Dear, dear ! " 
 
 Philippa told Barney, of course ; and Barney im 
 mediately insisted upon having her out in India 
 again. This was how she came to be there a 
 second time.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 O fascinate was Eileen's fate. She had rare 
 charms of person, of bearing, and of manner ; 
 she was bursting with spirits, which nothing could 
 extinguish, it seemed. Philippa's position went far 
 toward reinstating Eileen's. Everybody in Cal 
 cutta bowed at Philippa's shrine, and society there is 
 so migratory that after three or four years there were 
 not many who knew personally of Eileen's past. 
 Philippa's conscience had never ceased to prick her 
 for the negligence of which the men her father 
 and brothers had been guilty toward the only girl 
 in the Winterford family ; and she honestly tried 
 to do her duty by Eileen, as she conceived it. But 
 her duty, as she conceived it, was not to teach or 
 to tame or to employ the strange nature, which, 
 to tell the truth, she but dimly understood, but to 
 marry it off to a rich man with the greatest possible 
 speed. 
 
 The morning after Eileen had promised Philippa 
 to write Mr. Warwick, she had remained in her 
 room, and had seen nobody. She expected Jack 
 Beverley, as we know. That interview would not 
 alter the state of the case now. She was to marry 
 Mr. Warwick, if he would take her on the terms she
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 99 
 
 offered. She had already refused him three times, 
 and the last time he had gone away promising never 
 to trouble her again. Now she would trouble him. 
 Eileen was not yet safely started on the right road ; 
 but she was earnest and sincere this time on the 
 wrong one. She wrote : 
 
 MY DEAR MR. WARWICK, You will be surprised 
 at this note. It is going to be a strange one, and I 
 may not be able to express myself at all. I like you 
 very much, although I do not, and never can, love you. 
 Will you take me for your wife under those conditions ? 
 I ought to tell you, of course, that my reason for chang 
 ing my mind is a financial one. That sounds and 
 looks so base that I hardly dare send such insolence 
 to a man like yourself. Alas ! it is true. I await your 
 reply. 
 
 Yours, in all candor, EILEEN BEAUFORT. 
 
 The answer came, long before Eileen expected it, 
 in the person of Mr. Warwick himself, pale as a 
 ghost, with sad eyes and trembling lips. He was 
 hurt, cut to the quick ; but his love for Eileen was 
 so great that it was not even affected by the indig 
 nity put upon him. He was a good, honest, middle- 
 class Englishman, a man who had made his fortune 
 in banking, and who had never been unscrupulous. 
 He was considered a great catch by the mothers of 
 the nobility even ; was rather handsome, very digni 
 fied, a little bald, and a little inclined to be stout. 
 
 Eileen drew aside the red curtain of her boudoir, 
 and came into the drawing-room with a faltering 
 step. A realizing sense of her presumption now 
 overwhelmed her. She had been impulsive and 
 had given way to her impulses so long that she
 
 100 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 could hardly grasp the situation even now, that she 
 had insulted a man who had offered her his best, 
 his all, and that she was in his presence. She hesi 
 tated in the doorway, not daring to advance. Her 
 eyes were cast down, her face was bright crimson. 
 
 Mr. Warwick felt his heart bound and rebound, 
 and then sink like lead into an abyss from which it 
 could never be recalled ; but he went quickly to her, 
 and led her gently to a seat. She did not look at 
 him. Mr. Warwick tried to speak. " What did you 
 think I would do ? " he asked huskily. " Did you 
 think I loved you so little that I would accept your 
 sacrifice, and see you pine and die in your chains? " 
 (If she thought he would refuse, then why subject 
 herself to this humiliation?) 
 
 Eileen sank on the floor, and covered her face 
 with her hands. "You said last week," she mur 
 mured, " that whether I loved you or liked you or 
 hated you or were indifferent to you, you wanted 
 to marry me. You said that to see me was joy 
 enough. I told you I did not love you ; you said 
 that was no matter, if I loved no one else." 
 
 Mr. Warwick smiled bitterly. " I did say all that ; 
 I meant it. But I did not want you to marry me 
 for financial reasons alone." 
 
 There could be no other, Eileen was on the point 
 of saying; but she checked herself, and put it in 
 another way quite as insulting. " If I had yielded 
 then, what would have been my reason ? " she 
 asked, taking courage and removing her hand, yet 
 still looking down. She might as well make herself 
 as bad as she could. " 1 said I did not love you,
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. IOI 
 
 I said I did not wish to marry you. You kept on 
 urging me. If I had yielded, what would have 
 been the reason?" 
 
 Mr. Warwick smiled sadly. " I fancied," he said, 
 not without a touch of pride, " that my devotion 
 might have gone for something ; but I was wrong, 
 of course. I thought I might teach you to love me 
 in time." 
 
 " No," burst in Eileen ; " it is all nonsense to be 
 lieve that love comes after marriage. I am poor 
 and have lived long enough upon my family, which 
 is poorer than I. I might help them and you, and 
 lead a useful, perhaps a happy life. But if I have 
 mortally offended you, and I know I must have 
 done so " 
 
 Mr. Warwick stooped and lifted her to his side. 
 " Oh, my child," he said, " my child, I do love you 
 so, and I did long to guide that flaming spirit of 
 yours ! But I am using all my strength now to 
 thrust you away from me. I would not let you 
 marry for money alone, my child ; it is an awful 
 fate. I wish I could give you my whole fortune, 
 and see you enjoy it ; but that, in this censorious 
 world of ours, would not do. You must promise to let 
 me know if you are ever in need of anything ; and if 
 there is something I can do now, perhaps " Eileen 
 shuddered. " I believe there is difference enough 
 in our ages for me to do it without comment." 
 
 Eileen grasped his hand, and pressed it ; but she 
 shook with shame all the time, and not once had 
 she lifted her eyes to Mr. Warwick's. " Why can't 
 I love him? " she thought. " He is the best man I
 
 102 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 have ever seen. I don't believe I have ever seen 
 a really unselfish one before." Suddenly, and like 
 the bursting of flame, she looked up into Mr. War 
 wick's face. " Perhaps I can love you ! " she said 
 joyously. " I think I feel it coming. I never liked 
 you so much, certainly." 
 
 Mr. Warwick flushed with pain, and tears came 
 into his eyes. " Dearest girl ! " he said, and thrust 
 her gently from him. He could not bear the strain 
 another moment. It was harder every instant to 
 give up this extraordinary treasure. Once he turned 
 after he had started to go, and kneeling, kissed her 
 hands ; then he walked quickly away. 
 
 Eileen sat dazed. To her this man would always 
 appear with a halo round his head. And she she, 
 worthless coquette, she said, could not love this 
 saint ; and Barney had contemptuously called him a 
 " business man " ! 
 
 At last Eileen got up wearily, and crossing the 
 drawing-room, tapped at Philippa's door. The bad 
 things might as well all be got over at once now. 
 The next in order was to tell Philippa of this inter 
 view, and after that to go through an equally painful 
 one with Jack Beverley, who, strange to say, although 
 it was twelve o'clock, had not yet come ; for 
 whether he asked her to marry him or not, she 
 could not help remembering with pangs the words 
 of the Colonel his father. 
 
 Philippa opened the door herself. She was very 
 pale, and held a note in her hand. The note was 
 from Barney, and announced that he had gone pig 
 sticking, and had no idea when he should be back,
 
 THE BEVERLEYS, 103 
 
 perhaps in a week, perhaps not for a month ! He 
 hoped he should find some rational comfort in 
 his family when he came back; and when their 
 senses had returned, they might pen him a line 
 (giving a remote address). He was sure to do or 
 say something disagreeable if he stayed now, as he 
 was much annoyed ; so he took himself off. 
 
 Philippa took the note back from Eileen's limp 
 hand when she had read it. She did not speak. 
 
 " It 's a joke, of course," said Eileen, "a ghastly 
 one, but still a joke. Have you asked the servants ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Philippa, " it was not necessary to 
 do that. I knew he was about something. The 
 bearers were stirring all night downstairs, and Bar 
 ney too, I dare say. I have not seen him at all. 
 I heard him drive off this morning too." 
 
 They stood, the two women, for some time with 
 out a sound. Finally Philippa turned to leave the 
 room. She spoke over her shoulder. " You 've had 
 Mr. Warwick here?" she said. 
 
 "Yes," answered Eileen, "he has been here. I 
 asked him to marry me, and he refused." Eileen 
 was ashamed of her flippant tone, but she did not 
 know really how to express herself. 
 
 "You put it, no doubt, on the ground of our 
 poverty?" sneered Philippa, turning half round and 
 glaring angrily at Eileen. 
 
 " No, dear," said Eileen, gently, throwing her 
 arms around Philippa's neck, " but on the ground of 
 my own. I could not do otherwise." 
 
 " Knowing, of course," retorted the almost dis 
 tracted woman, " that there was nothing for him to
 
 104 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 do, but to ' refuse ' you, as you coarsely express it. 
 One more of your unconventional, extraordinary 
 performances ; that 's all. I can imagine just how 
 dramatic and ridiculous you made yourself." And 
 Philippa, who had shaken off Eileen's arms at the 
 beginning of her speech, beside herself at her own 
 troubles, and only too glad of an excuse to be 
 violently angry with somebody, dashed into her 
 bedroom. 
 
 Events were happening with a rush in the Winter- 
 ford family. Eileen was beginning to live ; and life 
 so far was frightfully unpleasant.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HPHE following week Philippa spent in preparing 
 * for a voyage to England, home, never to 
 come back any more. This last act of Barney's had 
 driven her to a decided step. It was so cowardly, 
 so cruel, that she seemed to find no vestige of man 
 liness in him ; and she could not, would not, feel 
 herself bound to stand by him any longer. The 
 preparations were made quietly, and even Eileen 
 was not told. 
 
 Everything but Philippa' s own personal belongings 
 was to be left, so that there was not much bustle 
 necessary. " Why should I trouble myself to look 
 after things ?" said Philippa. "Let the master of 
 the house attend to his own affairs. I have done." 
 She even felt a kind of malicious glee in wondering 
 how a man who had never had one domestic care 
 in his life would manage under the circumstances. 
 
 Of course, Philippa's conscience pricked her about 
 Eileen. It seemed cruel to leave her behind, and 
 still more cruel not to tell her; but Philippa was 
 transformed, distorted by her wrongs. She saw 
 everything with lurid, savage eyes. Barney had 
 never in his life done this kind of thing before. 
 With all his carelessness and extravagance, he had
 
 106 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 never been brutal to her personally. Now he had 
 gone away, for no one knew how long, leaving 
 her absolutely without money and with perplexing 
 financial difficulties. Philippa had no intimate 
 friends in Calcutta, and she would appeal to no 
 one. She sent her own brougham and country- 
 bred horse to the stables, and the price they fetched 
 would pay her passage home to England. She 
 paid visits, went out to luncheon, drove, chatted as 
 always, and preserved a proud equanimity. She 
 did not mention the coming trip, for fear Eileen, 
 and perhaps Barney, indirectly should hear of it. 
 After she had gone, it mattered not what people 
 said ; she should never, never see India again, and 
 Barney might bear the brunt of gossip. It was high 
 time he bore something. 
 
 It was difficult to know what Barney's thoughts 
 were at this crisis, or if he had any. After seven 
 teen years of absolute, colt-like freedom, a man 
 could hardly be brought up with a tight rein and a 
 stiff harness in a minute. He chafed and champed, 
 I may say, at such a sudden and unexpected round 
 turn. He had always done what he liked ; and Phi 
 lippa, although she had never gone so far as to like 
 it too, had borne what he chose to do. Why had 
 she not taken this stand when they were first mar 
 ried ? " Egad ! if she had, she never would have 
 come out of England with me ! " thought Barney, 
 chuckling at his own savage pleasantry, She had 
 never had any money ; neither had he. What did 
 she want money for? She had always been clothed 
 rather expensively, had lived in rather handsome
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 107 
 
 houses, had given and eaten good dinners, had 
 plenty of friends. Debts need not worry her ; he 
 had to bear the brunt of those. On the whole, he 
 began to feel that he had given his wife a pretty 
 easy time, as times go. It was degrading, of course, 
 to talk so much and fret so much over the everlast 
 ing wherewithal, which was so vulgar and yet so 
 important. "But that's what this row is about," 
 Barney soliloquized. "In fact," he added, "it's 
 the unfortunate and unlooked-for incident of my 
 having a little money, by Jove, that has parted us ! 
 Well, I '11 go back next week, and Flip will make 
 up, she will be so glad to see the good-for-nothing 
 old man safe again. If she won't, why, let her go. 
 I can amuse myself without her. It will be dull at 
 home, of course. Philippa has made things bright, 
 dear old girl ! " and then a tear would actually 
 steal into the miscreant's eye, and trickle down his 
 cheek. But he was roaring with laughter the mo 
 ment afterward, and had forgotten wife, home, 
 everything, he would have forgotten his children, 
 only he had not thought of them in that connec 
 tion, at some sally of Stanhope's ; for Stanhope 
 was outdoing himself in jollity and good-fellowship. 
 Eileen seemed to have more engagements than 
 usual during this week, and had been out a good 
 part of the time. All day Saturday she was busy in 
 her room, and Saturday afternoon she announced 
 to Philippa that she was going to Barrackpore with 
 the Viceroy's party for Sunday. At this Philippa 
 turned pale. Her own plan had been to spend the 
 next day tete-&-tete with Eileen and to tell her,
 
 108 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 for Sunday would be too late for demurral or ob 
 jection to have weight, and to arrange that Eileen 
 should stay with a Mrs. Granby an elderly woman 
 who had been a friend of Eileen's mother until 
 Barney came back; then, if Eileen and Barney 
 chose to keep house together, they could do so. 
 It was none of Philippa's affair. Well, she would 
 write her a long letter on Sunday, explaining every 
 thing; and whether Eileen judged her harshly, or 
 everybody judged her harshly, or not, nothing 
 mattered now. She would be the solace of her 
 father's declining years and the stay of her own 
 dear children. 
 
 Once the thought did come to her, what if 
 Biddy, darling, sweet little Biddy, come to Eileen's 
 age, herself dead and Barney in charge, should 
 marry as Eileen had done, and be left as Eileen 
 had been, a young widow? Philippa gasped; but 
 her grim resolution was taken, her wrongs must be 
 avenged. 
 
 She kissed Eileen affectionately, put her arms 
 about her neck, and the tears did gather in her 
 eyes. Her resolution weakened, but she spurred 
 herself on by thinking of her bitter wrongs. 
 
 " It will be dull for you, darling, and I hate to 
 leave you," said Eileen, fondly. Philippa shud 
 dered. " But I am obliged to make this little 
 visit. There are reasons which I will explain to 
 you on Monday." Poor Philippa ! She could not 
 utter a sound. How Eileen would hate her when 
 she found that she had deliberately deceived her ! 
 
 Eileen detached herself from her sister's arms.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 109 
 
 " On Monday, then, dear," she said, and went away. 
 If Philippa could have seen what Eileen had been 
 doing in her room, if she had heard the directions 
 given to the servants, and if she could have ob 
 served the look, sly and sad too, which came into 
 Eileen's eyes, she would not have been so sure 
 that her own secrecy had been so wonderfully 
 maintained. 
 
 Philippa stood near the door, lost in a confusion 
 of thoughts. Riotous, mad, ugly thoughts they were, 
 new and unwonted for that gentle spirit. Revenge 
 was uppermost. Even the " dear children's " images 
 were visible to her mind in a kind of halo of fury. 
 The picture of Barney returning, gay, careless, full 
 of apologies, confident of finding his wife anxious, 
 alarmed, and consequently ready to forgive as always, 
 
 Barney coming to his house to find her gone, 
 
 what joy she felt in the prospect of so circum 
 venting him ! All her regret at her conduct toward 
 poor Eileen was swallowed up in this grim joy. 
 Poor Philippa ! Her eyes were of steel and her 
 lips of white lead, as she dragged herself to her 
 lonely dinner. She busied herself Saturday evening 
 by destroying all her letters. On Sunday she went 
 to church as usual; but the strain was too great 
 there, and she came out " feeling faint," she ex 
 plained to the person next her. " Forgive us our 
 trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against 
 us." The words choked Philippa, who in what 
 ever angry frame she had gone to church before, 
 had always melted and forgiven Barney everything 
 at those words ; for Philippa meant every word
 
 HO THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 she uttered, in prayer and out. The gentle peti 
 tion excited her to frenzy. She knew she could 
 not reason against it. Of course it was her duty to 
 forgive, she knew, but she could not see her duty 
 then in the whirlwind which surrounded it ; so she 
 went home, nursing her wrath all the way. 
 
 She was in terror all day, for fear Barney would 
 appear. He might be in Calcutta all the time ; she 
 knew nothing of his movements, but at all events 
 the thing was a dead secret. Her ayah knew that 
 she was going away, and perhaps one or two of the 
 bearers ; but until the boxes went on the following 
 morning to the steamer, not a soul would know, 
 and it would be too late for even Barney to stop 
 her then. 
 
 After church various men came to pay visits, as 
 is the custom. Philippa saw them all. Yes, Barney 
 was off with Captain Stanhope. Her manner had 
 always been languid and indifferent concerning her 
 husband's movements, so she had not much to affect 
 now. Pig-sticking? Yes, she believed they had 
 gone pig-sticking. Coming back ? Oh, she did n't 
 know. "Whenever the pigs stopped biting," she 
 laughed. Fred Barnet, who was calling, said after 
 ward he had never known the icicle in such a melt 
 ing mood ; she was even droll, and made jokes ! 
 
 All the afternoon it took to write Eileen. Then 
 there was a short drive, a shorter dinner, a long 
 evening, a wakeful night, dawn, and the early start.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "CILEEN had had a hard week of it. Captain 
 *-' Jack Beverley had disappeared, without a word 
 or a sign. The last time she had seen him was 
 that evening when she had ridden with Colonel 
 Beverley in the Row. He had asked, with great 
 earnestness, which was feigned, of course, if he 
 might see her the next day, and that was all. He 
 had not come, he had not sent. He had not been 
 seen. 
 
 Colonel Beverley had been kind and thoughtful, 
 and really devoted to her. Eileen supposed he 
 thought her moping for his wretched son. She 
 would let him see that no such thought disturbed 
 her. Jack went off a day or two ago, he said. 
 Calcutta was getting too hot for him. He did not 
 explain what Jack had done, of course ; but he im 
 plied that it had something to do with Sidney 
 Markham. 
 
 It was while she was in this state that she dis 
 covered Philippa's secret. It seemed a pitiful thing 
 to Eileen, this lame and ineffectual attempt at con 
 cealment. Eileen was sure ; and to make assurance 
 double, she had gone to the P. & O. Steamer Office 
 and found " P. W.'s " cabin engaged. It was a 
 simple matter to engage one for " E. B." near it.
 
 112 THE SEVER LEYS. 
 
 For Eileen's mind was made up to leave India. 
 She was wasting her life here. She must go to Eng 
 land with Philippa, and be of service to her. She 
 had only hampered and hindered Philippa hereto 
 fore ; now all that should be changed. And Eileen's 
 sparkling face took on a sober, fixed look, as she 
 vowed to be nothing but a drudge forever. 
 
 The Sunday at Barrackpore helped Eileen out 
 immensely in her machinations. She must come 
 into Calcutta Sunday night by train, stay with Mrs. 
 Gillespie, the military secretary's wife, over night, 
 confide in her at that late moment (that was the 
 worst of it) , go on board early, and hide in her own 
 cabin until the vessel was under way. It was a bold 
 plot ; and Eileen was nervous and excited all day 
 Sunday. She had never been quite so gay. The 
 men were all at her feet. There were all the aides, 
 gay, dashing, young captains, and there were visitors 
 from England, and there was Colonel Beverley, whom 
 Eileen had not expected to see, and whose presence 
 embarassed her somewhat. At luncheon she sat at 
 the Viceroy's right hand, and he devoted himself to 
 her; devouring her beauty with his large, round 
 black eyes, set close together and hedging in his 
 large aquiline nose in a manner that suggested 
 a bird of prey, and was not altogether pleasant to 
 the objects of his admiration. His compliments 
 were fulsome ; and Eileen was always glad when a 
 prettier woman than she appeared, and released her 
 from these blushing honors. 
 
 "We are to have an operetta in two weeks," said 
 the Viceroy, " and you are to take a part. It is to
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 113 
 
 be the ' Crimson Scarf,' and you are Tessa. The 
 costume will suit you perfectly ; all that network of 
 velvet skirts, you know, and the pretty Venetian 
 head-dress. I see you in it now." 
 
 " You do more than others will, then," said Eileen, 
 with a laugh. "I cannot do the part, truly," she 
 uttered. " I pray your Honor's clemency ; give it 
 to Sidney Markham." 
 
 The Viceregal brow clouded ; its owner was not 
 accustomed to contradiction in his absolute dicta 
 torship at Calcutta. " I hoped my request was a 
 command," he said pettishly; " it is usually so con 
 sidered. I have given out that the Lady Eileen 
 Beaufort is to do Tessa. We can't possibly do 
 without you. I pray you to reconsider this freak." 
 The Viceroy's ill-humor alarmed the others at the 
 table, who hastened to amuse and interest him. 
 
 " We 've got a first-rate artist to paint Moonbeam 
 [his favorite horse]," broke in Captain Carbury, 
 " a man who was just passing through Calcutta, and 
 glad to do it." 
 
 The august host looked through the daring inter 
 rupter, and turned completely round, facing Eileen. 
 " My wishes in this matter seem to me reasonable," 
 he said in a low tone. " You will offend me mortally 
 by refusing to grant them." 
 
 Eileen looked pathetically childlike, as she raised 
 her eyes imploringly to his birdlike countenance. 
 " There are good reasons," she returned, in a tone 
 as low ; " you will know them to-morrow. And 
 how sly and horrid you will think me too ! " was 
 her mental addition to the remark. 
 8
 
 114 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 The Viceroy showed his annoyance so plainly 
 that Eileen was a little uncomfortable. " Have me 
 bastinadoed," she laughed, tossing her head, " for a 
 bad subject." 
 
 "For an incorrigible, disobedient piece of wilful 
 loveliness," rejoined his Viceregal Majesty, half smil 
 ing and half cross. " I know you will reconsider and 
 do my behest. Come, I ask it as a favor. Is it pos 
 sible you can resist an appeal like that ? " 
 
 " I would do it, if I could ; but I can't," Eileen 
 said decidedly ; and then reflecting that she should 
 be off in the morning, she added defiantly, " This is 
 my ultimatum." 
 
 The Viceroy was so seriously vexed that he left 
 the table. 
 
 Colonel Beverley strolled by Eileen's side to the 
 cool, dark morning-room. Eileen was not anxious 
 to be alone with him. It had troubled her rather 
 to find him at Barrackpore. And yet he was such a 
 noble, fine man that Eileen felt, after all, that he was 
 about the only stanch friend she had in India, except 
 Mr. Warwick. " How unreliable first judgments are ! " 
 she said to herself. " I could have sworn at first that 
 Jack was far the better man of the two. A fig for 
 perception ! " They sat down on a low sofa near 
 the long windows. Hedges of scarlet pointzettia 
 glowed in the sunlight. The day was perfection. 
 
 "You are looking lovely, dear Lady Ellen," said 
 the Colonel, gallantly. "Are you tired of hearing 
 that ? It was the first thing that rose to my lips, I 
 assure you. It is useless to try to think of anything 
 else with that face before one."
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 115 
 
 It was the worst course the Colonel could have 
 chosen. Eileen was in no mood for trivialities ; 
 and barefaced compliment always angered her. 
 
 "You must know me little, and respect me less," 
 she said, gazing angrily at her admiring companion, 
 " if you think that sort of thing pleases me. I want 
 to be serious ; I want to live. I 'm trying to shape 
 a course. You hinder instead of helping me 
 when you make me feel like a simpering wax-doll. 
 No, never mind disclaiming," she said hastily, for 
 Colonel Beverley was about to break in. " Don't 
 apologize, nor say anything more of the same sort. 
 I loathe compliments of the kind men give me. 
 The highest flattery would be to consult me about 
 some important question, something that is of 
 value, of weight." 
 
 The Colonel sat looking on, highly diverted. He 
 had resumed his easy attitude, and was watching 
 every turn of the pretty head, every turn of the 
 proud lip. She never looked so lovely, he thought. 
 The new role suited her better than any other. 
 
 He looked fondly upon her. "Forgive me," he 
 said softly, tenderly, " I spoke from impulse en 
 tirely. Your beauty is inward as well as outward ; 
 no one appreciates that fact better than I. Com 
 mon compliments are vulgar, and I am ashamed. 
 Most women like them," he added to himself; 
 " how is one to know? Truly," he went on ear 
 nestly, " I know you are in perplexity. Can I be 
 of the slightest service ? Pardon me for saying that 
 Barney is frightfully thoughtless, and that I under 
 stand how much worry he is giving you both."
 
 Il6 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 Eileen started. She might almost confide in 
 Colonel Beverley ; he would help her, and after she 
 and Philippa were gone, he would have an eye to 
 Barney, at all events. But, no, a man like Colonel 
 Beverley, wise, strong, deliberate, would certainly 
 oppose her scheme, and call it girlish, headstrong. 
 She dared not tell him. 
 
 It was impossible to leave Calcutta forever with 
 out learning something more definite about Jack. 
 She might ask quite calmly now, and not appear to 
 pine for him. " Did you say Captain Beverley had 
 gone for very long? " she asked, with an assumed air 
 of carelessness. 
 
 "No," answered Colonel Beverley, with a slight 
 flush. He was unprepared. (" How sensitive he is 
 about that boy ! " thought Eileen ; "I am sorry I 
 have distressed him.") " No, he has gone to the 
 Mofussil, I hardly know where or why. He made 
 some excuse about shooting, or visiting chummeries, 
 or something. He is an odd chap. With every 
 appearance of an infant's candor, he is really as 
 deep as a well." 
 
 " He has always seemed straightforward and honest 
 to me," answered Eileen. " I am often mistaken in 
 faces, but I hardly thought I could be in his. How 
 ever," she added hastily and laughingly, " I have 
 not made a study of his physiognomy, and might easily 
 be wrong. There is one thing I have not quite un 
 derstood " (this rather timidly). " He made an ap 
 pointment with me for the morning after he left. It 
 was not an important appointment, to call ; but a 
 man should keep the most trivial engagements with
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 117 
 
 a woman, and he never came nor sent me word. I 
 was annoyed. It is not like your son to be rude." 
 
 Colonel Beverley bowed gravely ; he looked pale. 
 He walked to the window with an anxious air, and 
 looked out. " My dear Lady Ellen," he said, as if 
 it cost him an effort, " do not judge Jack harshly. 
 He really means well, but I cannot tell you how 
 sometimes he distresses me. As for his rudeness 
 to you, that I am quite sure was unintentional. He 
 received letters which threatened his peace of mind, 
 and he went away ; his engagement even with you 
 and I know he admires you excessively " (Eileen's lip 
 curled) " forgotten for the time being. It may be 
 that he left a note, which his bearer, who was dis 
 missed that night, forgot to deliver. I cannot be 
 lieve even Jack to be so careless, and then he has 
 had plenty of time since to write." 
 
 " It is of no consequence," said Eileen, in her 
 heart very angry with Jack. To decide not to 
 keep the appointment to flee from her was 
 one thing ; to forget all about her was another ! 
 She had seldom been forgotten, this sovereign 
 lady! 
 
 A man who gazes into your eyes with all the ar 
 dor he is capable of putting into his, and asks you 
 in a heartfelt manner to receive him at the earliest 
 possible moment next morning, must not be per 
 mitted, for the sake of example, to ignore you from 
 that moment with impunity. There are certain 
 duties one owes one's sex. 
 
 " I do not think he meant to be rude, and I 
 forgive him, especially as there is so little to for-
 
 Il8 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 give," she said, with a jerky laugh. This was her 
 compromise. 
 
 "You are too good," replied the Colonel, dryly. 
 " He is not worth your clemency." 
 
 " I am going into Calcutta to-night," said Eileen, 
 rising suddenly, "with the Gillespies, and I must 
 really go and talk to all these people." 
 
 The Colonel drew aside the purdah for her and 
 bowed. " I 'm going in too," he said. " I shall see 
 you at home to-night? " 
 
 Eileen grew crimson. " No," she said hastily ; 
 "don't come to-night." 
 
 Another day of this would be too much for her. 
 Heaven ! If he should go to see Philippa and tell 
 her she had come into Calcutta ! Ah, well, Phi- 
 lippa's gates would be closed to visitors that night 
 anyway, so nobody would know whether she was 
 there or not. 
 
 Colonel Beverley seemed ruffled after his interview 
 with Eileen. That interview had not been what he 
 had intended. The conversation had taken a turn 
 for which he had not been prepared.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 JACK BEVERLEY, when he went home that 
 night, after seeing Eileen in the Row and lend 
 ing his horse to his father, was not quite happy. 
 Eileen's manner had been cold to him, as we know, 
 for the first time in their short but full acquaintance. 
 He knew her well he felt, thoroughly ; and uncer 
 tainty, except of a surface sort, was one of the 
 last of her attributes. She had always had a frank 
 smile for him every time he had seen her, and 
 their intercourse had been of the simplest and most 
 untrammelled sort. 
 
 However, as we also know, he had not really 
 worried, because he felt it such a simple matter to 
 set things straight. Jack's nature was of that lim 
 pid, crystalline kind, which knows no guile, and does 
 not admit the possibility of mystery. " If you don't 
 know what people mean, ask 'em," Jack always said ; 
 and that rule had worked to the extent of simplify 
 ing and making clear a life absolutely without poke- 
 holes and corners. It is true that some persons, not 
 recognizing the possibility of perfect guilelessness in 
 this world of ours, probably thought he was insincere. 
 A perfectly transparent nature might be incredible to
 
 120 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 such. A character without subtleties has ordinarily 
 no occupation in a world of subtleties. But this young 
 man saw dishonesty and shunned it. He was not 
 good-looking enough quite to be spoiled by women, 
 a circumstance for which he should have been 
 truly thankful. He was modest without being shy, 
 which is, after all, another name for self-conscious. 
 
 Colonel Beverley was irritated, on the whole, by 
 Jack. The fellow had the audacity to look older 
 than his years, and at twenty- three had a few gray 
 hairs on his temples, and was often taken for thirty ! 
 The gray hairs the Colonel resented especially, as a 
 personal affront to himself. " The very idea of a 
 boy turning gray!" he exclaimed. "I never had 
 a white hair until I was five-and-forty." The Colo 
 nel was not much over that age now. 
 
 The announcement of his orders for India made 
 Jack very happy. He had longed always to be with 
 his father. They were the only two in the family 
 now, and Jack had pictured to himself a thousand 
 times the joys of ministering to "dear old dad ; " but 
 "dear old dad" had no idea of being ministered 
 unto, and Jack was given to understand that fact 
 very early in his Indian career. 
 
 Colonel Beverley did everything better than Jack. 
 He rode superbly ; was an admirable tiger-hunter 
 with a great record ; was also a renowned slayer of 
 boars, fencer, tent-pegger, sheep-quarterer, there 
 was nothing he could not do. He was an Adonis 
 in point of looks too ; every unattached woman in 
 India sighed for him, and some of the attached. 
 And Jack learned soon that his role was that of a
 
 THE BEYER LEYS. 121 
 
 very young son, following, as well as he could, a very 
 long way after, an accomplished parent. Admiring 
 and revering that parent, perfectly contented with 
 his position in regard to him, Jack found no diffi 
 culty in leading a happy and jolly life in Calcutta, for 
 he had no vanity. His duties were light ; and therein 
 lay Jack's only source of discontent. He was aide- 
 de-camp to the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, and 
 that kind of work did not suit him. It was only 
 temporary, however, this position, for soon he 
 expected to be detailed on special duty. 
 
 A few weeks before our story opened, he had met 
 Lady Eileen Beaufort, who had just arrived in India 
 for the second time. She had come to play tennis 
 at Belvedere, the Lieutenant-Governor's house ; then 
 to dinner on the same night, then to a ball. Every 
 day after that saw them together somewhere. Op 
 portunities were frequent ; and when they did not 
 come of themselves, they were easily brought about 
 by the smitten Captain, who at the end of a very 
 few days was in love to his finger-tips and the roots 
 of his hair. His love was violent ; yet finding no op 
 position, he was not unhappy. On the contrary, he 
 grew sunnier and more genial ; pensive at times, of 
 course, but smiling, as a rule, broadly on all the 
 world. His was no cankering passion to gloom and 
 grow morbid over. It was so patent that all the 
 world might see ; and if she had refused him, Jack 
 would not have minded the world's seeing his misery, 
 either. 
 
 He had asked Eileen on the Row if he might see 
 her the next day. He must tell her tell her ?
 
 122 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 he had already told her in a hundred ways he 
 must tell her with his lips that he loved her with all 
 his heart, and that he hoped to make her his wife, 
 bold as the hope might seem. 
 
 Colonel Beverley was standing in the doorway 
 when Jack came home to dress for dinner. The 
 Lieutenant- Governor had been away on an unoffi 
 cial tour, and Jack was living with his father at his 
 father's house on Outram Street. 
 
 "There 's a despatch for you," said the Colonel. 
 
 Jack strode in, tossed his whip to the bearer, and 
 stood by the table reading it. His face clouded, 
 " I say, father," he called out, " I 'm sent for to go 
 to Dinapore to-night. It 's a beastly bore. How 
 can I do it with two or three engagements on 
 hand?" 
 
 The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. " Social en 
 gagements have to fly when duty calls," he laughed. 
 " It may be about your appointment. You ought 
 really to go. What 's up that you can't? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Jack, trembling, " nothing, 
 really. My own selfish pleasure, that's all; that 
 can wait. I must go at ten. But, oh, father," he 
 called out again, " I must tell you sit down a 
 minute," for the Colonel was looking at his watch 
 uneasily and turning toward the door. " I know you 
 have to dress. I won't keep you a minute. Father, 
 you know how I feel about Lady Eileen Beaufort. 
 You have seen us together. You approve of it; 
 why should you not? I was going to see her to 
 morrow to settle the matter. I will write to her 
 to-night instead. You will look after her a little,
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 123 
 
 father ? Tell her I shall be back soon, that I 
 have no other thought " 
 
 "Jack, "said his father, laughing, "you are maud 
 lin. For Heaven's sake, don't slop over like that 
 to anybody but me. It takes a father's affection to 
 stand it. Write your letter and send it. I shall not 
 say a word to Lady Eileen, nor anybody, until you 
 come back. It would be indelicate in me. You do 
 not know yet that she cares for you ; you are letting 
 your conceit carry you a little too far." 
 
 Jack's eyes gleamed ; he knew. His father's 
 shots glanced off him ; he was sure of her. " All 
 right, then, dad," he said merrily. " I shall be back 
 in a few days, perhaps to-morrow. You need n't stop 
 any longer. I know you have a dinner on to-night. 
 I will send my bearer with the letter to Lady Eileen, 
 and she will understand and wait. Good-night, old 
 chap ! take care of yourself." And Jack's honest 
 face shone with filial love. 
 
 Colonel Beverley went to his dressing-room. He 
 had no engagement out ; but he dressed and went to 
 the Club, and dined by himself. When he came 
 back, it was early, and Jack had not gone. The 
 Colonel must have bolted his dinner, for he sat al 
 ways an hour, even when he was alone. Colonel 
 Beverley did not see his son again, however; he 
 stole quietly up the veranda ladder, the servants' 
 way, and entered his dressing-room. 
 
 Jack had dined hastily, and busied himself even 
 during dinner by scribbling on a few pieces of paper. 
 A letter of the kind he intended sending would 
 really have required two or three whole days. He
 
 124 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 was not a ready penman ; but he made up his mind 
 that nature, not art, must be his guide, and that he 
 would write what came uppermost, without regard 
 to rhetoric. The result of his struggles would not 
 have reflected immense credit upon the average 
 school-boy ; but Eileen would know what he meant, 
 there was no doubt of that. 
 
 Kali Dass, the bearer, was then charged, by all 
 that was good and all that was bad, to deliver that 
 note that night. " You are to go directly from the sta 
 tion, after leaving me, to Winterford Sahib's house." 
 These directions were, of course, delivered in Hin 
 dustani, or the jargon which passes for that stately 
 tongue among the English residents of Calcutta. 
 " You are not to loiter on the way, to speak to one 
 of your Ooriah friends, do you hear? You are to 
 go straight to WINTERFORD Sahib's house, and de 
 liver this note into the hand of a chuprassi, do you 
 hear?" The bearer, who had been salaaming in 
 dustriously, took the note and put it carefully in his 
 breast. "Take the peon-book and get a receipt 
 for it in the Memsahib's own handwriting." More 
 salaams. 
 
 After Jack had steamed away in the train from 
 Howrah, Colonel Beverley, who had followed him 
 out of the house and seen him off at a distance, told 
 the bearer that he was going to the Winterfords' 
 house himself, and that he would take the Captain's 
 note. Kali Dass positively hesitated ; his orders had 
 been so strict. But, of course, the Colonel Sahib 
 was equivalent to his own Sahib ; so he gave up the 
 charge, and thought no more about it. That night
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 125 
 
 the letter was reduced to ashes by the fond father ; 
 and the next morning Kali Dass, on some trifling 
 pretext, was dismissed. He made himself so trou 
 blesome by his outcries, however, that a place was 
 found for him out of town and he disappeared 
 quietly at last. 
 
 The next thing was to keep Jack away ; for it is 
 unnecessary now to state that Colonel Beverley's 
 role was anything but that of a devoted father-in- 
 law, and that he had decided prospects in the matri 
 monial line for himself, prospects with which Jack 
 materially interfered. 
 
 He had been cool and crafty. It would not have 
 done to say one word against Eileen to Jack, of 
 course, nor much against Jack to Eileen. The only 
 thing to be done was what he had done, to poison 
 Eileen's mind a little against Jack, and to remove 
 Jack and to muzzle him for a time until he could 
 press his own suit. He knew well that the moment 
 for his own declaration had not come ; he did not 
 dare hurry it, nor did he dare let his real feeling 
 show for an instant. Eileen had still a soft spot in 
 her heart for Jack, and she might suspect if he over 
 did by one jot his interest in her. It galled him hor 
 ribly that Jack should have made the impression he 
 himself had aspired to make. The Colonel's vanity 
 formed a large share of him. He was vain of his 
 looks and of his fascinations ; and here was Jack, 
 ugly, awkward, untrained, winning the smiles, at any 
 rate, and the approval of the sweetest creature in 
 Calcutta, while he could not boast of anything so 
 far but a kind of girlish admiration which turned his
 
 126 THE m BEVERLEYS. 
 
 very soul sick, because it made him feel that he was 
 looked upon as elderly. Now, however, he could 
 devote himself to the task in hand ; and to say 
 truth, he had made good strides up to the Sunday 
 at Barrackpore. 
 
 Colonel Denham-Browne at Dinapore was an inti 
 mate friend of Colonel Beverley's, and was under 
 great obligation to him on account of some pecu 
 niary affair in which the Colonel had obliged him. 
 Colonel Beverley had been so eager to get Jack off at 
 once that he had written Colonel Denham-Browne 
 to send for Jack by telegraph. " I want you to see 
 him and find out what stuff he is made of," wrote 
 Colonel Beverley ; " and keep him a few days, a 
 week, if you can, or longer. Busy him. He 's in 
 mischief here, the dog, and I want the thing to blow 
 over. Only a boyish escapade, but awfully annoying 
 to me, you know. If you have an errand up in the 
 remote Northwest, send him there. I will manage 
 that affair of the shekels for you, and be glad. Don't 
 fail me in this, that 's all ; and above everything, 
 don't let the boy come back, not even 'just to at 
 tend to a little business,' for that 's the excuse he '11 
 make. He 's headstrong, and will cook his goose in 
 fifteen minutes, if he comes back here. I shall be 
 more grateful than I can ever tell."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 |\/[R. WARWICK, in Calcutta colloquial, "lived 
 ^'*- over his office ; " that is to say, he dwelt in 
 luxurious bachelor-apartments on the first floor of 
 the great banking-house of Millanders, Farquharson, 
 & Co., the most important of all the English firms 
 in Calcutta at that time. Mr. Warwick, being the 
 senior partner of the firm and the only bachelor in 
 the establishment, lived alone, or nominally so. 
 He usually had two or three young fellows stopping 
 with him, and often whole parties of travellers. 
 
 Just now he was entertaining a Mr. and Mrs. 
 Maynard from America, " New York or Chicago 
 or somewhere," as Lady Barney Winterford would 
 have said. 
 
 Mr. Maynard was a constituent of the great firm, 
 and his orders were so massive as to entitle him to 
 respect. In addition to that recommendation he 
 had a charming wife. Mr. Warwick, on his way 
 back from England the last time, had been on the 
 same steamer with the Maynards, and had become 
 intimate with them, perhaps more so with the wife 
 than with the husband. Mr. Maynard was a little 
 loud-talking, a little " fussy," and a little pompous, 
 and Mr. Warwick was almost silent. Mr. Maynard
 
 128 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 was going round the world in search of " pointers," 
 as he called them, and was collecting them at the 
 rate of a dozen a minute. Nothing escaped him ; 
 he was watching incessantly, listening, poking, peer 
 ing here, there, and everywhere. To Mrs. Maynard, 
 who was as exquisitely refined as the traditional 
 duchess is supposed to be and is not, he must have 
 been at times mortifying. But she bore him in 
 every phase without a flinch. His deference to her 
 was almost courtly ; and the ground upon which she 
 trod, he had the air of adoring. 
 
 Mrs. Maynard had been twice married, and had a 
 history. There were faint lines of suffering in her 
 face, upon which a kind of heroic peace had settled ; 
 but her smile was brilliant still, and her manner told 
 of anything but weariness of spirit. She was cheer 
 ful, handsome, dignified, and utterly un-American, 
 as Mr. Warwick, who did not know, conceived that 
 adjective. He had talked with her by the hour, 
 found her deeply read, intelligent even to learning, 
 and possessed of conversational powers which daz 
 zled the sober Englishman. 
 
 Eileen had been on this same voyage, and she 
 had grown intimate with Mrs. Maynard too. It was 
 by means of this friendship between the two women 
 that Mr. Warwick had learned first to observe, then 
 to adore. Eileen was a little bit wild on board, 
 bewitchingly and picturesquely so, doing unconven 
 tional things, flirting a good deal ; but there was 
 hardly a moment when she was not glad to leave 
 her admirers and sit down by Mrs. Maynard for a 
 quiet talk. Mr. Warwick usually joined them. At
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 1 39 
 
 first he was dazzled by her quickness. She left him 
 out of sight by the rapidity of her speech, motion, 
 and thought. But slowly and steadily he found him 
 self unable to imagine life without her absorbing 
 presence. 
 
 Mrs. Maynard did not know Eileen's history per 
 fectly, but she knew enough to feel certain that 
 there must be sad moments in her life now. Of 
 the early marriage Mrs. Maynard had learned that 
 it was disastrous, wretched, damning, at least it 
 would have been this last, if her husband had lived. 
 Of the effect upon this seemingly airy nature, it was 
 impossible to judge in the very least. The older 
 woman watched for undercurrents of unhappiness, 
 for wistful far-away looks, for any of the traditional 
 signs of hidden sorrows. All were wanting, and 
 Mrs. Maynard came to think in time that Eileen 
 was not acting a part ; for if ever sincerity and 
 honesty shone from truthful eyes, they seemed to 
 look out from Eileen Beaufort's. Yet how could it 
 be, thought Mrs. Maynard, that a girl of twenty-one 
 even could have gone through so fearful an expe 
 rience without a trace of it, without one line, to 
 mark the channel of shot and shell? A girl of 
 twenty- one, who possessed intelligence and sensi 
 bility too, how could such an anomaly exist? 
 And Mrs. Maynard was miserable at the conclusion 
 forced upon her that so beautiful a creature could 
 be so callous. 
 
 On the evening of the day that Eileen had 
 dismissed Mr. Warwick, or he had dismissed her, 
 the conversation turned at dinner upon her, to the 
 9
 
 130 
 
 THE BEVERLRYS. 
 
 great discomfiture of the host, Mr. Warwick him 
 self. There were some bankers and their wives 
 who had been asked to meet the Maynards, and 
 Mr. Maynard had, with his usual thirst for informa 
 tion, propounded a great many questions about Cal 
 cutta society (having in the daytime mastered the 
 Calcutta methods of doing business) . Thanks to Mr. 
 Warwick's position, the Maynards had been asked 
 to various entertainments at Government House, to 
 large parties, and to dinners ; but of a certain set 
 they as yet knew nothing. Eileen had been to see 
 Mrs. Maynard, and had driven her out, and had 
 taken her to call upon Philippa, after the fashion 
 of society at Calcutta, which decrees that new-comers 
 shall pay the first visit. Philippa had punctiliously 
 returned the visit, appearing at her stififest and most 
 conventional. She had then asked the Maynards to 
 dinner ; but they had left Calcutta then for a tour in 
 the northwest, and when they came back, no more 
 civilities had been exchanged. Mrs. Maynard was 
 disappointed, for she had hoped to know Eileen 
 better and better, and to penetrate beneath the sur 
 face or behind the mask. She had made no head 
 way, and as Eileen was always with a party of persons 
 of whom she knew nothing, she really made slight 
 progress. 
 
 "You ask me," said Mr. Carruthers-Smythe, one 
 of the guests, " about the sets in Calcutta. I can 
 hardly answer that. Rank here is purely official. 
 When the Prince of Wales was here, the Viceroy 
 outranked him officially. I, as a banker, have the 
 lowest position above a broker. Some of the Vice-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 131 
 
 roy's aides outrank him socially. But they are usu 
 ally last at a dinner. Our English ideas are really 
 reversed out here." 
 
 Mr. Maynard's eyes and ears were very wide 
 open. This was all grist for his mill. How he 
 would talk when he got home ! He was not sure 
 that he could not, with his wife's assistance, she 
 who had " grammar and spelling for two," write a 
 book. 
 
 "Where do I come in?" he asked with a kind 
 of solemn twinkle. 
 
 " I doubt if you come in at all," his wife said, 
 laughing, " except by courtesy. Any visitor, of 
 course, is given a proud position. I am sure we 
 have been treated royally here." 
 
 " Oh, there are American merchants living here," 
 said Mr. Carruthers-Smythe. "They hold, I sup 
 pose, a position under the English in the same class. 
 How is that, Warwick?" 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure," answered that gentle 
 man, who had been given leeway, by the glibness of 
 the conversation, for his own gloomy thoughts. " I 
 remember one night at Belvedere at a dinner an 
 American merchant was standing by me, when the 
 aide whispered him to take a lady rather a swell 
 into dinner. ' What ! ' he exclaimed, ' that woman 
 given to me? There must be a tin-pedler here, if 
 I am exalted like that.' It amused me very much. 
 I fancied that the poor fellow had usually been one 
 of those left-over men at Calcutta dinners, who, it 
 seems to me, are asked simply to be fed." 
 
 " But you see there are so many extra men in
 
 132 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 India," spoke Mrs. Gedbourne, the wife of another 
 merchant, " one would never get through one's 
 visiting-list, unless, indeed, one gave dinners to men 
 alone, now and then, to catch up." Mrs. Gedbourne 
 looked as if Indian suns had faded every vestige of 
 color from her hair, her eyes, her lips, her skin. 
 She was very pale, and almost a skeleton. She had 
 been in India twenty-five years ; danced even now, 
 in the hot weather ; entertained madly ; never 
 missed a festivity of any kind, and was known as 
 the Salamander. 
 
 Mr. Maynard turned to her. " Do you have to 
 have everybody on your visiting-list to dinner? " he 
 asked, amazed. 
 
 "Why, yes, naturally," answered Mrs. Gedbourne. 
 " If a man calls, one writes him down in one's book ; 
 one's husband calls upon him, and then one asks 
 him to dinner. After that I mean, after his din 
 ner-visit is paid one's conscience is easy. One 
 can drop him or ask him again." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Maynard, " that is hospitality ; 
 but I should think you would grudge all this enter 
 taining people you don't care anything about." 
 
 " It keeps us out in India a little longer, no 
 doubt," said Mr. Carruthers-Smythe, " those of 
 us who are trying to scrape a living and get home." 
 Mr. Carruthers-Smythe's firm was the richest in 
 Calcutta, after Mr. Warwick's. 
 
 "But how do these other fellows live," asked 
 Mr. Maynard, " fellows like Lord Winterford, I 
 mean." 
 
 Everybody laughed.
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 133 
 
 " Lord Barney Winterford ! " ejaculated Mr. Ged- 
 bourne, a very stout, bald man ; " oh ! he lives on 
 the interest of his debts. He 's one of our privi 
 leged class out here, privileged, that is, to cheat 
 every tradesman out of every pice he owes him, and 
 yet to go on gayly at the very top of the swim. 
 Those are the fellows who exasperate us honest 
 men, he, and Captain Stanhope, and Carbury, 
 and half those army chaps, leading a silly, frivo 
 lous life of idleness and worse, drawing pay from 
 the government for no services rendered, and 
 looked up to as our superiors." 
 
 " I don't mind them at all," said Mr. Warwick, 
 calmly. " It 's the same, only far worse, in England. 
 Nobody here does look up to Barney Winterford 
 nor Vernon Stanhope. We rate them for what they 
 are worth. We go to their houses, at least to Lord 
 Barney's, for his wife's sake." 
 
 "And his sister's," added Mr. Maynard. "Lady 
 Eileen Beaufort is the attraction there, I guess." 
 And he winked knowingly at the eye which caught 
 his first. 
 
 "Lady Eileen Beaufort is, unfortunately, in the 
 best set here," Mrs. Gedbourne said. " She is not 
 a type, believe me, Mrs. Maynard, of that set. Her 
 sister-in-law, Lady Barney Winterford, is a type ; 
 and Lady Eileen, being her husband's sister, is re 
 ceived, of course, and in fact is the fashion here in 
 a way, although she is fast." 
 
 Mrs. Maynard had been gradually growing redder 
 and redder. She was genuinely fond of Eileen her 
 self, and she had long ago guessed Mr. Warwick's
 
 134 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 secret. He was very pale, in spite of himself, and 
 hardly had let Mrs. Gedbourne go so far. But Mrs. 
 Maynard put a word in first. 
 
 " Lady Barney may be a type," she said, " but 
 Lady Eileen is infinitely more interesting to me. 
 As for her being objectionable, I was on board ship 
 with her, and had a chance of observing her con 
 stantly. She was a delight to me. What you call 
 her fastness, I call originality. She is out of her 
 element here." 
 
 "She certainly is," broke in Mrs. Carruthers- 
 Smythe, " and I wish she were out of Calcutta for 
 the sake of her example." 
 
 Mr. Warwick hastened to the rescue of his friend 
 Mrs. Maynard. He did not wish to see her be 
 coming unpopular, and he knew the virulence of 
 Calcutta women under certain conditions. " Lady 
 Eileen is original, not fast," he said. His lips 
 trembled, but he mastered himself with an effort. 
 " But her brother is so wild and untrained that she 
 is credited with all his curious actions. Don't you 
 think there 's something in that?" he asked, almost 
 apologetically, taking in both of the somewhat ruffled 
 champions of virtue, and smiling at the same time 
 encouragingly at Mrs. Maynard. 
 
 " Nothing whatever," said Mrs. Gedbourne, de 
 cidedly, shutting her thin white lips together with 
 a snap. " She is the worst-behaved young woman 
 I have ever seen in good society. She has actually 
 compromised herself " 
 
 Mr. Warwick's face grew black. " I am old 
 enough to be Lady Eileen's father," he said, in a
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 135 
 
 distinct voice, there was no tremble on his lips 
 now, " and if I were not, I could say with pro 
 priety that she is the most maligned child in India. 
 I deny your charges, Mrs. Gedbourne, and in this 
 house no one says a word against Lady Eileen 
 Beaufort." 
 
 Mrs. Maynard, who was acting hostess, had risen 
 hastily, the port and claret appearing most oppor 
 tunely at that instant ; but she was not in time to 
 prevent an outbreak. 
 
 " Will you order the carriage a ticca any 
 thing?" said Mrs. Gedbourne to her husband, who 
 sat looking like a perfect idiot, as indeed might 
 the best of men under these trying circumstances. 
 " This is most singular conduct," she said, turning 
 to her host, her face having taken on a ghastly 
 pallor really green in its tint, " and needs an ex 
 planation." 
 
 Mr. Warwick had not the slightest idea how to 
 act. He had been furiously angry with a lady at his 
 own table, and had reproved her openly. Yet she 
 had insulted his dearest friend, his love, his idol. 
 He was indignant, ashamed, and angry still. 
 
 Mrs. Maynard stepped across the room, and 
 seized Mrs. Gedbourne's hand. " I am hostess 
 here by courtesy," she said. " May I not persuade 
 you to stay and finish the evening? I am well 
 aware what the general opinion is here of the lady 
 in question, incorrect as I believe it to be. But 
 would you not defend a dear and intimate friend, 
 no matter what the occasion?" She turned and 
 smiled beseechingly at Mr. Warwick, who now came
 
 136 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 forward and asked Mrs. Gedbourne civilly not to 
 go. The green hue deepened, however ; and Mrs. 
 Gedbourne, inplacable, glided from the room, her 
 husband after her. 
 
 A quarrel with the Gedbournes meant much to 
 Mr. Warwick ; but he would have quarrelled with 
 anybody for Eileen's sake. For weeks he had lived 
 only for her. She had died to him to-day. Only 
 as a defender from women's tongues could he ever 
 exist for her now. Poor darling ! She was so rare, 
 so exquisite ! How could he forego the right of 
 protecting her, of removing her from her odious 
 brother and his odious associates? He sat down 
 by Mrs. Maynard after the guests, stiff and awk 
 ward from the recollection of Mrs. Gedbourne's 
 wrath, had departed, and Mrs. Maynard noticed 
 how haggard and weary he looked. " Perhaps you 
 know," he gasped, after a pause, looking at his 
 hands, " that I am a rejected suitor of the lady who 
 was so foully slandered at my own table. It was a 
 hard position for me, you see; I am afraid I be 
 haved very ill. This quarrel will be very bad for 
 her for Eileen if the thing gets about." 
 
 Mrs. Maynard had suspected the fact concerning 
 Mr. Warwick long before. " I do not pretend to 
 understand the girl," she said ; " she baffles me at 
 every turn. I, knowing you as I have the good 
 fortune to do, wonder at her refusing you. She 
 may have been startled, surprised into it." 
 
 Mr. Warwick shook his head, and a sad smile 
 flickered for an instant on his lips. 
 
 "Well, I repeat, I don't understand her, and I
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 137 
 
 truly don't know what to say to you. She may be 
 the very person in the world to have made you most 
 wretched." 
 
 There was no time to say more, for Mr. Maynard 
 joined them just then. 
 
 That night, before Mr. Warwick slept, if he slept 
 at all, he wrote wrote, do I say ? he dashed off 
 a note to Eileen. He was shaken out of himself; 
 he hardly knew what he did. For the first time in 
 his life he behaved like a madman or a school-boy. 
 " Eileen darling," the steady old banker began, " if 
 you can make up your mind to bear with a clod 
 under your pretty feet, let me be that lump of earth. 
 Let me be your slave. I cannot bear it without you, 
 Eileen. The world is dark without the sun. Come ! 
 You shall live on a golden throne, and be clothed in 
 diamond stuffs. Only be my adored wife ! " There 
 was more, but it grew worse instead of better. And 
 when he had traced these youthful phrases and 
 signed them with his name, had sealed the envelope 
 and written the worshipped object's title thereon, 
 our middle-aged man of business went to bed from 
 sheer exhaustion. 
 
 And Eileen, crying as she did so, wrote him that 
 she could never be his wife, only his truest and best 
 and most loving friend forever. Her mood had 
 changed, and to save her very life she could not 
 have said yes to Mr. Warwick's frenzied appeal. 
 Better filthy rags than cloth of diamonds, taking all 
 from a man like that and giving him nothing but 
 respect, which might turn into hatred, if she were 
 tied to him. The sight of his piteous, agonizing
 
 138 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 love would have chilled her marrow, instead of firing 
 her with a like passion. 
 
 Jack Beverley trampling upon her, and she tram 
 pling upon Mr. Warwick ! What a criss-cross, mud- 
 dled-up universe it was ! she thought. Poor Eileen ! 
 and poor Jack ! and poor, poor Mr. Warwick !
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 r PHE morning Philippa was to start for England 
 * came at last. Of course she had not slept ; 
 and of course she was much excited, in a tragic 
 way. It was necessary to egg herself on, every 
 moment, with recollections of Barney's disgraceful 
 behavior, in order to keep up her courage at all. 
 Often and often she had been on the point of break 
 ing down, and giving up her project; but usually 
 from timidity only, and not from any failing of her 
 purpose. She was afraid of attempting the voyage 
 alone. A woman whose husband had died in India 
 and who had been left destitute there, was anxious 
 to get back to England, and Philippa had engaged 
 her as her maid for the passage. 
 
 Of Barney in a sentimental way Philippa would not 
 think. Barney had treated her like the earth be 
 neath his feet, and the earth beneath his feet had 
 given way ; he might well be cast into the depths 
 beneath. 
 
 Philippa a little behind time, she feared 
 seated herself in the carriage, and gave orders to the 
 coachman to drive to the Ghaut. The servants had 
 been giving her some slight trouble for the last few 
 days, scenting her departure in the air. They had 
 approached her with low salaams, and begged for
 
 I 4 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 recommendation. She had assured one and all that 
 the Sahib would be back soon, and that he would 
 look after them. They were not wholly satisfied, 
 and this morning the whole staff was out, all the 
 bearers and khidmutgars and chuprassis, even the 
 cook, whom she had never seen, with his scantily 
 clad minions, the gardeners, grooms, lodge- 
 keeper, washermen, the large retinue in a body, 
 in short ; looking, poor Philippa fancied, as if they 
 meant to be troublesome. It was nearly the end of 
 the month, and their wages were due. She had not 
 money enough in the world to pay them. They 
 might hinder her from going. How foolish, how 
 foolhardy she had been, to attempt this tremendous 
 step without a man to help her ! And she had let 
 Eileen go too. There was nobody. She was terri 
 fied. Several naked grooms were gesticulating 
 rather wildly among themselves. The coachman, 
 one of the most loyal of her retainers, was looking 
 at Lady Barney, only waiting for her signal to lay 
 about him with his whip ; and Philippa, almost faint 
 ing from fright, drew herself up on the seat and 
 spoke boldly and loudly in Hindustani. " I am go 
 ing away," she said, "on a visit. The Sahib will be 
 back in a few days. If you do not take the best 
 care of everything, you will not be paid one pice 
 for the whole month. Go on ! " And the coach 
 man flourished his whip, and started up his horses. 
 Two of the disaffected grooms seized and held them 
 plunging. Those who were running with this pair, 
 and who were already at the gate, hearing the 
 coachman shout, came dashing to the rescue. A
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 141 
 
 fight now followed ; and the poor woman, white to 
 the lips, sat as if petrified. There were only a few 
 disloyal servants among the others, and a faithful 
 Hindu bearer rushed to the carriage to help the 
 frightened creature to alight. The grooms, who 
 had tried to impede her progress, seeing the car 
 riage empty, now sneaked away to the stables. It 
 had been only a scare ; none of the others had 
 really joined in. But Philippa was afraid to try to 
 make another attempt. 
 
 While she was standing upon the steps, deliberat 
 ing the most dignified and at the same time severe 
 course to pursue, for the prestige of being worsted 
 was a fatal one, a telegraph peon appeared with a 
 despatch for her. Philippa opened it mechanically. 
 It was from Captain Stanhope. " Barney has been 
 badly hurt in foot; we are bringing him home." 
 The revulsion of feeling which shook Philippa was 
 magical. Barney hurt ! What if she had gone to 
 England and he had died from neglect, her neg 
 lect ! Great Heaven ! How near he was to her now, 
 she knew not, but the first thing demanded was ac 
 tion. She ordered the two faithful grooms to ride to 
 the steamer instantly and see that the luggage did not 
 get off. She gave the coachman orders to dismiss 
 the grooms who had barred her progress, and to call 
 in the police if necessary. They were skulking in 
 the shrubberies, and were immediately driven out 
 with blows. So much for example ! Then Lady 
 Barney singled out the faithless or lukewarm, and 
 sent them away too, five or six in number. She 
 looked like an avenging goddess ; her face was
 
 142 
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 blazing. Now, to get new servants, a nurse, every 
 thing in readiness for the injured man. Eileen 
 would help immensely when she came. 
 
 In the midst of the confusion Philippa ran to her 
 bedroom and fell upon her knees. How grateful 
 she was that she had been saved this wild step ! 
 She was grateful for the privilege of nursing the 
 scapegrace who had run away from his home, his 
 wife, his responsibilities. No matter ; she had very 
 nearly run away from hers, for she saw now, so dis 
 tinctly that it almost took tangible shape, her duty 
 to this helpless mortal, her husband. There was no 
 mistake about it now. Those who cannot walk 
 alone, must be carried. The children others could 
 look after; no one could take care of the reckless 
 father but herself. This was her lot ; and just now, 
 by contrast and revulsion, it seemed a blissful one. 
 She rose and dried her eyes, for she had wept for 
 joy at her deliverance from evil and her power to 
 forgive him who had trespassed against her. 
 
 The luggage could not be recovered, the syces 
 reported. The steamer was off when they got there. 
 So Philippa's clothes had gone to England without 
 her; her pet pictures, her books, all her pretty 
 ornaments. The woman who was anxious to go 
 home to England had gone too. Well, that was 
 lucky for her, and she could idle all the voyage. 
 
 Philippa did not know the worst yet. She did 
 not know that Eileen was at that very moment sail 
 ing away in the " Kaiser-i-Hind." 
 
 While Philippa was busying herself putting matters 
 as straight as she could, and she positively blushed
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 143 
 
 when she realized how bare of woman's comforts she 
 had left the house for Barney, Colonel Beverley 
 was announced, and followed the announcement 
 himself, pale and wild of eye. Philippa was only 
 too glad to hear his name ; he could be of so great 
 assistance to her. But at the very sight of his face 
 she turned sick and sank into a chair. Barney was 
 dead. She knew it all now. The two gazed at each 
 other in silence. 
 
 " Tell me ! " at length gasped Philippa ; " I can 
 bear it." 
 
 "Telljy<?#/ " said the Colonel, in a tone as severe 
 as he dared use to Lady Barney Winterford. " Tell 
 me! What does it mean?" 
 
 " End my suspense," she cried, " I implore you ! 
 Let me know the worst. Is Barney " 
 
 " I know nothing about Barney," answered the 
 Colonel, his sternness hardly relaxing. But he did 
 not go on, for Lady Barney Winterford had laid her 
 head upon the arm of a chair and had fainted. 
 
 Colonel Beverley shouted for ayahs and bearers, who 
 came flying wildly in, losing their heads completely 
 when they saw their mistress white and still. " Pina- 
 ka-pani, juldi ! (Drinking-water, quick !)" called the 
 Colonel. And he himself bore Philippa to the ve 
 randa, where he laid her down and fanned her vio 
 lently. It was some time before she rallied, and he 
 spent the whole morning in the house, afraid to leave 
 her, and unwilling to go away until he had found 
 out what she had been doing. 
 
 For it had been Philippa's work, of course, send 
 ing the girl off to England to keep her away from
 
 144 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 him. Never mind ! He would get leave and would 
 follow her to the ends of the earth, if necessary. 
 Nothing should balk him when he chose to accom 
 plish an end. When Philippa was better he began 
 to sound her. 
 
 " I have heard nothing of Barney," he said gently. 
 " Are you specially anxious about him? " 
 
 " Yes," Philippa answered. " Captain Stanhope 
 has telegraphed that he is hurt. I expect them at 
 any moment. I wish Eileen would come. I want 
 her to help me." 
 
 Colonel Beverley started, although he dared not 
 excite her by saying too much. Could it be that 
 Eileen had sailed for England all alone without a 
 soul knowing it? Perhaps she had not gone ? There 
 was no doubt about that, for several persons who had 
 been to see the steamer off had seen her ; and Mrs. 
 Gillespie, at whose house she had stopped over night, 
 had told him she was going. What could it mean ? 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Gillespie herself was an 
 nounced and was shown up. It was as well to see 
 everybody this morning. Philippa had her plans laid. 
 
 Now that the responsibility was off Colonel Bev 
 erley, he was only too relieved that the truth was 
 about to be told. 
 
 " Lady Barney," burst forth Mrs. Gillespie, " you 
 got the news of Lord Barney in time then? How 
 lucky ! I have just heard it. But what will that 
 poor, dear child do when she finds you are not there ? 
 Oh, I forgot you did not know she was going to 
 England, so as to be with you. We tried every 
 means in our power everything but locking her
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 145 
 
 up to prevent it, but she would go ; and now you 
 are here and she is alone." 
 
 Philippa did not faint this time. She staggered 
 to her feet, a little tottering, but perfectly calm. 
 She would not confide in Mrs. Gillespie. " Eileen 
 is a wild madcap," she said, with a nervous laugh. 
 " She has been unhappy and discontented lately, 
 and has run away, naughty girl ! We must telegraph 
 to Colombo or Suez to bring her back, that 's all." 
 Her heart was heavy. It was not so simple a matter, 
 after all, to retrieve a misstep. Roots spread, and 
 branches ramify, and things are out of one's grasp 
 before one knows it, and for Philippa could not 
 forget the world in her calculations, although a few 
 hours before she had defied it everybody in Cal 
 cutta would know in twelve hours of all the wretched 
 planning and counter-planning of which she, the 
 daughter of an earl, the leader of Calcutta society, 
 had been guilty. " I am so worried about Barney," 
 she said, smiling faintly at Mrs. Gillespie, " that I 
 can hardly grasp the fact of Eileen's disappearance. 
 We shall miss her so ! But she will be back before 
 long, and I have no doubt she thought I was going 
 off secretly too." The mask was ill-adjusted and 
 came near tumbling off, but Lady Barney held it 
 close. 
 
 Mrs. Gillespie pretended to fall into the trap. 
 " She did think so, really, silly child ! " she said \ " but 
 as you say, we will have her back and undeceive her. 
 Now, dear Lady Barney, what can I do for you ? 
 You are worn out with all this excitement, I can see. 
 I heard of Lord Barney's accident through a man 
 10
 
 146 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 who said Captain Stanhope was at Mogul Serai when 
 he sent the message. Of course, they will be here 
 to-day then. Do you want anything done ? " 
 
 Philippa gave some directions gladly, and the two 
 guests departed. Mrs. Gillespie offered Colonel 
 Beverley a seat in her brougham ; he undertaking to 
 telegraph Eileen, of course in Philippa's name, to 
 return by next steamer from Colombo or Suez. To 
 make surety sure, he sent a telegram to each place. 
 And later, one of the Winterford servants sent a 
 second despatch relative to Lady Barney's luggage, 
 which Eileen was to bring back with her. Poor 
 Philippa did not send that message by Colonel 
 Beverley ! 
 
 If she had heard the conversation in Mrs. Gilles- 
 pie's brougham, however, she would not have felt 
 her precautions so needful. 
 
 " What a wonderful woman it is ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Gillespie to Colonel Beverley, almost before 
 they had begun to move. " Lady Eileen was 
 obliged to tell me the story, and, of course, she 
 thought it would all be out a few hours later. 
 Lady Barney Winterford was going home to Eng 
 land without letting a soul know why, I have 
 no idea; and Lady Eileen, who was uneasy and 
 worried about her, and anxious to lead a 'useful 
 life ' (little goose !) in England, hid on board, 
 intending to surprise her sister. I do not pretend 
 to know the ins and outs of the affair ; there is, of 
 course, much more behind ; but it is wonderful how 
 that woman bore herself, worried and ill as she 
 was too. You know, even if Eileen had not told
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 147 
 
 me, I should have found out Lady Barney's secret ; 
 for we ourselves, when we took Eileen down, hap 
 pened to see her luggage lying on the pier ! " 
 
 " I would n't mention it, if I were you," suggested 
 Colonel Beverley. " Barney Winterford is a black 
 guard, and it was his treatment which drove his wife 
 to such a step. I know them all well, and Lady 
 Barney has stood until she can stand no more. He 
 went off without a word, and left her without a rupee, 
 I should be willing to wager. I don't like her going 
 off and leaving that poor girl, though. But I sup 
 pose she was desperate, and was afraid of confiding 
 her secret to anybody. It 's a rare muddle now, 
 but how lucky Lady Barney did not get off! It 
 would have made a horrid scandal." 
 
 " Oh, horrid," answered Mrs. Gillespie. " But 
 I cannot help thinking of that poor thing's simpli 
 city. Why, all her pretty things were taken from the 
 drawing-room ! There was nothing but chairs and 
 tables, it seemed to me, none of the thousand and 
 one prettinesses that woman has always had about 
 her. Well," for Colonel Beverley was about to be 
 dropped at the Club, " do let me know further de 
 velopments. It 's a most thrilling episode." 
 
 Colonel Beverley dashed up the Club steps and 
 sent the despatch to Eileen before he had time to 
 breathe. He then ordered a whiskey and soda to 
 clear his brain. He was the most determined man 
 in the Indian army. This girl was not only beautiful 
 and bewitching, but she was what inspired him, 
 more than any other quality, with a mad resolve to 
 win her at any cost she was baffling.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 '"TO say that Eileen was aghast at Philippa's non- 
 * appearance is to use a mild expression. 
 She was seriously alarmed, not knowing the cause. 
 But after all, she thought, Barney might have arrived 
 unexpectedly. The idea of hiding in her cabin was 
 a little impracticable, because she had met so many 
 acquaintances face to face, getting on board ; so she 
 put on a bold front, bowed and chatted to everybody, 
 and talked as if she too were seeing friends off. 
 
 The scene was a curious one. The Hughli was 
 literally crowded with vessels. Besides the large 
 steamers, of which there must have been dozens, 
 there were all the sailing-vessels, many of them with 
 graceful lines and lofty spars like yachts. Little 
 steam-launches and larger tugs and pilot-boats were 
 lying there or puffing up and down the river, and a 
 P. & O. steamer arrived from England while they 
 were waiting. But the most curious part of the 
 scene was the native element. Here were varieties 
 Eileen had never dreamed of. Some of the native 
 boats are dwellings, like canal-boats, and the in 
 habitants are more like Africans than the ordinary 
 Indian. Now, one great characteristic of Bengalis
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 149 
 
 is their fondness for oil in the toilet. They are 
 rubbed all over with it as babies, and then laid on a 
 board in the sun to dry and to season ; and they 
 love it ever after. Their faces shine with it, and it 
 has a most tidy and glossy effect upon their hair. 
 These boatmen were innocent of any such unguent. 
 Their hair was matted with filth. Then there were 
 hundreds of Hindus on the banks, going to bathe 
 and to worship. The fat Brahmins sat about to re 
 ceive offerings, and to bless the worshippers, and to 
 touch up their faces with a paint-brush. Coming 
 down one of the ghauts or flights of steps, Eileen saw 
 a strange procession. Two natives, followed and sur 
 rounded by a screaming, howling, surging crowd of 
 black men, bore in their arms a third, an old gray- 
 haired man, emaciated and feeble, in fact dying. 
 
 They laid him flat upon the ground, and then 
 proceeded to fill his mouth and ears and nose with 
 mud. The poor moribund started at first, and al 
 most rose to a sitting posture ; but he was too weak, 
 nor had he the wish to resist. In a few moments 
 the struggle was over, and he fell back dead. This 
 was not murder. Oh, no ! This was one of the 
 sacred rites performed over the dying Hindu. If 
 he can only depart in the full flavor of holy Ganges 
 mud, he enters paradise purified and prepared for 
 the pleasures of his new life. 
 
 But now and then there is an obstinate invalid 
 who refuses to die under this treatment. Perhaps 
 he has been brought too soon ; perhaps his symptoms 
 have been mistaken. Mud may agree with him ; it 
 may have been the one thing needed to call back
 
 150 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 the fleeting spirit. At all events, be the reason what 
 it may, the wretched being lives, and henceforth is 
 a pariah. His estates are confiscated, and so are 
 his wives and his children. He is worse than no 
 body, and his only crime is living. The British Gov 
 ernment has reformed nearly all these abuses ; and 
 the many terrible sacrifices of life of which one used 
 to hear and read so much, like the burning of 
 widows, the throwing of infants to crocodiles, and 
 the horrible immolation under the wheels of Jugger 
 naut, are prohibited under extreme penalties. This 
 other custom, however, seems to have been allowed 
 to stand, one hardly knows why. 
 
 While Eileen was surveying the scene with mingled 
 feelings of sadness and loneliness, keeping one eye 
 carefully upon the gang-plank, so as to be ready to 
 dodge Philippa, who should touch her on the shoul 
 der but Mrs. Maynard ? And behind her was Mr. 
 Warwick. The Maynards were going to England. 
 Eileen could not help feeling a mighty sensation of 
 relief at the thought of Mrs. Maynard's companion 
 ship on board, for it really seemed now as if Philippa 
 were not coming at all. 
 
 It was the first time Eileen had seen Mr. Warwick 
 since she had had that painful interview with him in 
 Philippa's drawing-room. They both flushed, but 
 Eileen put out a timid little hand. " Are you going 
 away, Mrs. Maynard ? " she said. " How short a 
 time it seems since we landed at Bombay ! What a 
 delightful voyage it was ! " If Eileen had felt sure 
 even yet of Philippa's defection, she would have 
 gone ashore with Mr. Warwick ; but she did not dare
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 151 
 
 count upon it, neither did she dare make an in 
 vestigation, for fear of being sent back by Philippa. 
 
 Mr. Warwick, of course, had no idea she was going. 
 " Come," he said ; " we have not a moment to lose." 
 Just that minute he was happy ; it was something to 
 hold her hand, and lead her down a precarious plank. 
 She looked lovelier and dearer than ever. 
 
 "Good-by." she said to him, with a mixture of 
 sadness and shyness ; and then looking up implor 
 ingly into his face, she said fervently, " Do your best 
 to forget me. I have done everything ill here. 
 Perhaps I can do good at home." 
 
 Mr. Warwick gave Eileen a look of absolute an 
 guish. There was no time for even a syllable. He 
 raised his hat to both ladies, gave Mr. Maynard's 
 hand a parting grasp, and rushed away. Every one 
 of these shocks was greater than the last ; and when 
 he fancied himself at the very bottom of the black 
 gulf, still another opening yawned and he sank still 
 farther down. As he fell, rather than stepped, into 
 his carriage, he shut his eyes and everything swam 
 before them. " It has come late in life," he said, 
 " and it is pain such as I have never known." And 
 then, as he thought of this headstrong, wilful child- 
 woman, allowed, because a worthless wretch had 
 once flung upon her his blackened name, to go 
 through the world protectorless, sailing now by her 
 self Heaven knows where, to fall into Heaven knows 
 what new hands, he shuddered. It was keen, horrible 
 torture. He could think of nothing else. He felt 
 himself growing feverish. And to be denied action 
 too ! Oh, how could he go on heaping up worthless
 
 152 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 dust, when millions would cure not one pang of his 
 aching heart ! The only ray of comfort he had was 
 his confidence in Mrs. Maynard to look after Eileen. 
 She would do so for Eileen's sake, for her own, and 
 for his.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 T^ILEEN stood on the deck, looking after Mr. 
 
 *-' Warwick. She had not realized before what 
 she had made him suffer ; but the look he gave her 
 had revealed an extent of misery which she had not 
 thought herself capable of causing. She watched 
 him out of sight. He had grown thin, she saw, and 
 worn and ill ; different altogether from the man she 
 had first met on shipboard. " Perhaps I am his 
 curse," she said. " How gentle, how tender he has 
 been with me, giving me a soft return for every in 
 sult ! What a wretch I am not to have married him ! 
 It would have made Barney and Philippa and papa 
 happy, and him, and horrid, good-for-nothing me 
 utterly, hopelessly wretched. I have lost the oppor 
 tunity of my life.''^ 
 
 The steamer got off in time, and still there was 
 no Philippa. Eileen was frantic now. She told her 
 story to Mrs. Maynard, who reassured her by de 
 claring that she must have been mistaken in her 
 surmises. " Lady Barney might have decided to 
 give up housekeeping, to take a journey ; but that 
 she intended sailing to-day, I doubt." 
 
 "But I saw her going to the steamer office," 
 Eileen urged, " and her initials were down for her
 
 154 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 cabin." That did look odd, certainly; and when 
 the indigent female appeared who was to administer 
 to Lady Barney Winterford, and whose passage had 
 been paid in advance by that personage, it was ad 
 mitted that something must have happened to keep 
 the lady at home in spite of herself. 
 
 " If Barney had forbidden her coming simply, she 
 would have come just the same," said Eileen ; " and 
 if Barney had coaxed her and prevailed upon her to 
 stay, they would have sent to the office and cancelled 
 the order, and they would have told this poor woman 
 about it," Eileen argued. 
 
 Eileen only hoped that Philippa would understand 
 her conduct, and know that she had not run away 
 and left her to bear the brunt of Barney or of 
 solitude. 
 
 " The Gillespies will tell that part," laughed Mrs. 
 Maynard. " You will be understood ; but Lady Bar 
 ney will be horrified, won't she ? It would serve 
 her right," Mrs. Maynard added mentally. She had 
 no patience with Lady Barney's proposed desertion 
 of her sweet young sister. 
 
 The lightning current, laden \yith sand and mud, 
 bore them by Garden Reach and Diamond Harbor ; 
 the turbid yellow stream became wider, Fort Gloster 
 with its towers and its hum of machinery was left 
 behind, together with the villages and rice-fields on 
 both sides, and they entered the Bay of Bengal. It 
 was a crowded vessel, and there was very little com 
 fort. Children, and ayahs whose voices were shriller 
 than the children's, swarmed on the deck and in 
 the saloons, and made life terrible on board. There
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 155 
 
 was one family of six returning to England after a 
 long residence in a tea-growing district ; and they 
 were like half-a-dozen Rip Van Winkles of assorted 
 sizes, coming back to life, Eileen said. These chil 
 dren had never seen anything but tea and natives 
 and their father and mother, and they were almost 
 stupefied with amazement at the commonest sights. 
 Eileen thought she could have borne it if several 
 more had been stupefied with amazement or any 
 thing, for the noise was terrific. There was a tem 
 porary revenge now and then, when winds rose and 
 the ship lurched, and there was great unhappiness 
 among the small fry \ but it was noisy misery, and 
 afforded no real respite. The tea-growers aforesaid 
 having had no opportunities of conversing except 
 with coolies for Heaven knows how many years, 
 talked all the time. There was no peace. 
 
 Eileen was making the best of her somewhat 
 ridiculous situation, but she was much perplexed. 
 She had meant to devote herself to Philippa, who 
 had done so much for her ; but without Philippa she 
 could not go to the old Earl's house in London, 
 except temporarily. She had not the slightest idea 
 where her father was ; but Mrs. Maynard eased her 
 mind by joyfully offering her a place with her in 
 London as long as she could possibly stay. So 
 Eileen let the future take care of itself in her old 
 way; and yet she pondered and was serious at 
 times in her new way. There was a change in 
 her. She had, to Mrs. Maynard's joy, taken on a 
 shade of the sadness her face had lacked before. 
 One does not want a woman who has suffered to
 
 156 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 look unchastened ; it is a duty she owes her friends 
 and the public to show her grief occasionally, not 
 long enough to throw a gloom over society, but a 
 little, just to stamp her, so that one may read her 
 record as one runs. The last few weeks had tem 
 pered Eileen's gayety. She had worried a good 
 deal over her brother ; the affair with Mr. Warwick 
 was still in her mind, and she had lain awake parts 
 of nights thinking of Jack Beverley. A good deal 
 more sleep she had lost on account of these three 
 men than her wicked husband had ever cost her. 
 He had only disturbed her comfort and roused her 
 anger. , 
 
 The intimacy between the two women thrown to 
 gether so strangely for a second time throve, ripened, 
 and bore fruit. Mrs. Maynard was cautious and 
 slow, preferring that Eileen should expand gradually 
 like a garden flower, rather than be forced like an 
 exotic. 
 
 There was a young clergyman on board the " Kai- 
 ser-i-Hind," an earnest, zealous churchman, who 
 had been working wonders in India. Such sermons 
 as his had seldom been heard there. His was a 
 missionary work ; he was a celibate from choice, be 
 cause marriage would have interfered with his work. 
 He held services on deck, and Eileen was deeply 
 stirred, as she fancied, by his touching and inspired 
 words. This young man, Edward Mayne by name, 
 sat opposite Eileen at table. He had been a class 
 mate of Jack Beverley at Rugby, and had seen him 
 in India. 
 
 "The army spoils men," he said, "and society
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 157 
 
 ruins what there is left ; but I doubt if Jack Beverley 
 can be hurt by those influences. He has a heart 
 of gold." 
 
 " Gold is hard," said Eileen, laughing. " I don't 
 think any young man is proof against the battering- 
 rams of the army and society. Captain Beverley 
 is like other men, I fancy, unscrupulous when it 
 pays him to be so, honest when that is the best 
 investment." 
 
 " WomMi have no right to expect much of society 
 men," he said gravely, "because they demand so 
 little ; at least, they demand only one thing. The 
 only thing they resent, it seems to me, is neglect. 
 A man may be full of vices, and women shut their 
 eyes to %very one, until the weapons are turned 
 against themselves ; then they rebel and rail against 
 the sex, which they themselves have refused to 
 improve." 
 
 Eileen had no parry for this thrust. "Women 
 don't know much about men," she replied weakly. 
 
 "Pardon me," said the other, "they know more 
 than they pretend. You are very young; and yet 
 I have no doubt even you wink at follies in men 
 which should be stamped out like vermin. Pure 
 and beautiful women often do," he said, looking at 
 her solemnly. " I am shocked to hear them, as I do 
 sometimes, gossiping lightly of matters with which 
 they should never soil their lips." 
 
 Sometimes Mr. Mayne grew very eloquent, and 
 Eileen and he paced the deck every evening to 
 gether after dinner; he evidently feeling that he 
 had a noble mission in converting her. He often
 
 158 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 brought up some flaming argument which silenced 
 her and made her ashamed. 
 
 One night Mrs. Maynard spoke to him about 
 Eileen. " You are doing her a great deal of good," 
 she said to him. " She needs to be taught steadfast 
 ness. She has fine impulses, but I doubt if in all her 
 life she has stopped to think more than a minute at 
 a time, and she has such wonderful capabilities that 
 I long to see them turned into the right channel." 
 
 " I can do such a woman little good," said the 
 
 % 
 
 clergyman, sadly, " and I sometimes think sh^ is do 
 ing me harm. I am only human, andAe fascinat 
 ing way in which she says flippant things is^tat a YMV 
 good tonic for me. She is not trained to tKtgJtjftb 
 does thinking appeal to her as desirable, flrcept for 
 the moment. If I could make her do for others, I 
 should be accomplishing something, I mean sys 
 tematically. I know she is kind." For as he spoke, 
 Eileen was seen soothing and petting one or two 
 forlorn little girls whose mothers were ill or flirting. 
 
 "She is so remarkable!" sighed Mrs. Maynard, 
 gazing fondly at the girl. " She has too much beauty 
 for her temperament, and a great deal too much 
 charm. Half as much would have done," she 
 laughed. " She is wildly admired all the time, and 
 it keeps her from anything useful." 
 
 The clergyman turned again to look at her. 
 Eileen was sitting in a swing, with a child on each 
 knee, swaying very gently, telling the little girls a 
 story, apparently. She was looking down at her 
 charges, smiling and fairly dazzling them with her 
 luminous face. Presently she left them, and came
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 159 
 
 toward the two who had been discussing her. The 
 light had entirely faded. "Well done," said Mrs. 
 Maynard ; " you are a good girl." 
 
 Eileen hardly spoke to Mr. Mayne. She took a 
 book from a chair and went and sat by herself, pre 
 tending to read. After a few minutes the clergy 
 man strolled away, and then Eileen came back to 
 Mrs. Maynard. " I Ve tried introspection," she 
 said, " and this is what it has done for me. I had 
 to acknowledge to myself that when I sat with those 
 children, pretending to amuse them, I was thinking 
 >how well I must look doing it, and 
 i/*that man noticed me. I also forced 
 fdmit that last night and the night before, 
 talking religion, I was posing too, and 
 trying to make an impression. Fine creature I am, 
 well worth your interest ! I think I shall tell Mr. 
 Mayne all about it," she said, hurling the book 
 down and starting up ; " then he will be thoroughly 
 disgusted with me, and I shall have done real pen 
 ance, for I want him to like me." 
 
 Mrs. Maynard smiled. " My dear child," she 
 said, " you are rushing to an extreme now. To tell 
 Mr. Mayne what you have just said to me would be 
 to complete the conquest which I fancy has been 
 already begun. An original penitent like yourself 
 would be dangerous even to a man like him." 
 
 Eileen turned on her heel in disgust, and Mrs. 
 Maynard did not see her .again for some hours. 
 
 Late that evening, when they were all sitting 
 together, Mr. Mayne asked Eileen to walk with him. 
 She hesitated, but could hardly refuse ; so they strolled
 
 160 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 off together. Mr. Maynard saw them sitting in the 
 moonlight long after. Eileen's face was in the 
 shadow, but the young clergyman looked sad and 
 pale. He left Eileen at the head of the companion- 
 way, and came to say good-night to Mrs. Maynard 
 rather wearily. 
 
 "Have you converted the sinner?" she asked ; 
 " you remember our talk of the morning? " 
 
 He looked grave. " I am much interested," he 
 said, not noticing her question, " in a poor old wo 
 man on board, who is going home penniless after 
 years of life in India. She has had a little money 
 raised for her, but that will not hold out more than 
 a month, and she is too old to work. I perhaps 
 can find a place for her in some asylum, but I 
 doubt if even that is possible." 
 
 The young man stayed only a minute and went 
 away. That night in his cabin he prayed for Eileen 
 long and fervently ; but he prayed longer and more 
 fervently for the old woman who was going to Eng 
 land a beggar. 
 
 Eileen sought her berth a good deal out of sorts. 
 She had thought seriously in the morning of making 
 a confession to the young priest ; he had forestalled 
 her by reading her a long and dismal lecture upon 
 her shortcomings. Eileen, like most self-made peni 
 tents, objected decidedly to seeing her own weap 
 ons turned against herself by the hand of another. 
 " We have left undone those things we ought to 
 have done, and we have done those things we ought 
 not to have done," we repeat fervently and publicly 
 ourselves ; but woe betide the man or woman who
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. l6l 
 
 shall an hour later charge us with having deviated 
 by so much as a hair's breadth from the strict line 
 of our duty. " Instead of liking me, he sees through 
 me and hates me," Eileen said almost bitterly. " I 
 overrated my powers. He is shrewder than I. I 
 deserve it, but I don't like it. I am not even sin 
 cere when I say I am sorry ; " and she recalled a 
 little passage which her aunt had written in her 
 Prayer-book long ago : " Beware that your repent 
 ance is not a repentance to be repented of." 
 
 She little knew, and it was as well she did not 
 know, that the Rev. Edward Mayne was very busy 
 exorcising an image of dark gray eyes and golden 
 hair, and upbraiding himself for his sin in having 
 allowed that interesting illusion to beguile him for 
 one instant. 
 
 ii
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 E morning Mrs. Maynard and Eileen were sit- 
 ting together, Mrs. Maynard with her work, 
 and Eileen with her drawing, on deck in a favorite 
 spot of theirs, high on the poop, sheltered from the 
 sun by the double awning with which the whole 
 upper deck was screened, very comfortable indeed, 
 with books beside them, from which flow and then 
 one of them would read ; soda-water tumblers near 
 at hand, filled with lemonade ; Philippa's deserted 
 handwoman flitting about to wait upon them ; Mr. 
 Maynard and a few devoted Englishmen running 
 up every few minutes to crack a feeble, time- 
 honored P. & O. joke, Poor and Old as well as 
 Peninsular and Oriental. It was the time when most 
 of the men were below smoking or playing vingt- 
 et-un, and Mrs. Maynard was telling Eileen a part 
 of her own history. 
 
 " Let me guess," Eileen had said, looking eagerly 
 into the other's face, " whether yours has been a 
 bright or a sad life. I guess a sad one," she added, 
 lowering her tone, and lying back in her long chair. 
 "You are too cheerful to have had an altogether 
 pleasant life." It was the first time Eileen had
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 163 
 
 ever employed metaphysics in speaking to Mrs. 
 Maynard ; and the fact, with the remark, was duly 
 noted by that lady. " Happiness makes most 
 persons cross in time," said Eileen, " and real 
 trouble either crushes or excites. My sister Phi- 
 lippa has had great worry for years, and it has made 
 her hard externally ; at heart she is as soft as a 
 baby. I was wondering in fact, I have wondered 
 ever since I knew you what it was that has made 
 you so uniform. I should think it would take years 
 of suffering to do that." 
 
 Mrs. Maynard was struck with the girl's powers of 
 observation and of inference. " It has," she said ; 
 " that is, if I am uniform, as you call it. I have 
 had years of trouble, all sorts of it, death, 
 disaster whicn was worse than death, injustice, pov 
 erty. At thirty I had known every kind of woe. 
 I am nearly forty now, and for six years I have been 
 surrounded by affection, tenderly guarded, shielded 
 from the world. But, Eileen," here she put her 
 hand upon Eileen's arm, " the care came too late. 
 At heart I am as hard as a stone ; not as regards 
 others, I am still deeply interested and moved for 
 everybody in pain, only as regards myself. When 
 I was young and malleable, I was hammered out of 
 shape. I shall never be symmetrical again. Mr. 
 Maynard restored my faith in human nature to 
 some extent ; he is the best and sweetest of men, 
 but nothing can restore the original fabric when a 
 heart has been torn to shreds." 
 
 Eileen, deeply interested, was leaning on the 
 arm of her chair, her eyes dark with animation.
 
 164 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 "Have you been married only six years?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " I was married at eighteen," Mrs. Maynard said, 
 trembling, " to a boy three years older than I. We 
 had loved each other, as we supposed, from our 
 cradles ; had played together, our parents were in 
 timate, we were considered to have been born for 
 each other. Each of us had a small fortune, so we 
 could be married without waiting for my husband's 
 practice. He was admitted to the bar the day be 
 fore our marriage. Our devotion to each other was 
 wild, extravagant ; one could not live for an instant 
 without the other's society. I was perpetually in 
 terrupting his studies at his office ; he was always 
 making me a cause of offence to some visitor or 
 relation, by dashing in, and eitnef^>retending to 
 consult me on some important errand, or dragging 
 me off to drive or to walk. Of course we were 
 both hideously jealous of shadows. We had three 
 children. After the second child was born, I 
 observed certain changes in my husband. He was 
 preoccupied, absent, often away for hours. I re 
 proached him; he said my exactions wore him 
 out, mine, when he had absolutely once wept 
 from terror because I was half an hour late to din 
 ner ! I accused him at last of preferring some one 
 else. He rushed from the house, moved by what 
 feeling I don't know ; I thought then it was guilt. 
 That was our first rupture. They grew more and 
 more frequent, and I degenerated into a tearful in 
 valid. The third child came, and then I took an 
 entirely different stand. Dignity came to my res-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 165 
 
 cue. I affected utter indifference ; was calm, polite, 
 almost gay ; went out, flirted, and in six months he 
 was at my feet again. But I would none of him. 
 My love had entirely vanished ; I felt nothing but 
 loathing for one who without reason had suddenly 
 turned from her who had surrendered her reason, 
 her conscience, with her being, to him. I did not 
 know, then, that mad, selfish, unreasoning love con 
 sumes itself in time, and dies of starvation. We led 
 a horrid, frightful life for three years ; an occasional 
 passage-at-arms the only break in an existence of 
 outward indifference. Our positions were reversed ; 
 he was the suitor now, I the flinty one. One day he 
 came home very ill. My heart softened. I nursed 
 him as tenderly as I knew how ; but he died." 
 
 Mrs. Maynarcl, after the first tremble, had gone 
 on in a low monotone, as if she had nerved herself 
 to the task, and could tell anything. Her voice had 
 grown a little hoarse, and her throat seemed dry; 
 but she pushed away gently the glass which Eileen 
 offered her. 
 
 "We had been living on our poor little moneys, 
 and now I had nothing. I said I would rather earn 
 my own living " Eileen gave a shudder " than 
 depend upon any one. My father and mother were 
 both dead ; my brothers had their own families. 
 It is quite a common thing in America," Mrs. May- 
 nard explained. " Marriage settlements are almost 
 unknown, and women with children who have lived 
 in luxury always are left penniless, every day. I 
 taught music and drawing, and we somehow existed. 
 I had many kindnesses done me by new friends,
 
 166 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 and many rudenesses done by old friends, the usual 
 experience of the nouveaux pauvres. I sold my 
 household things; and the very persons who had 
 raved over them in our prosperous days turned them 
 over and over, and belittled them then. Those who 
 had treated me with respect and deference before, 
 now either showered me with rasping advice, or 
 neglected me altogether. I suffered a good deal 
 in my native town, from that sort of thing ; but of 
 course that was nothing to the mental agony I un 
 derwent, going over the past. What I had done, 
 what I had not done, oh, to this day I shriek aloud 
 when I am alone, as a sudden memory seizes me 
 and shakes me." 
 
 "You did right" ejaculated Eileen, indignantly. 
 " You need never fear that you wtitoqg^ong." 
 
 " I did wrong," said Mrs. Maynard. " I made 
 many mistakes in other matters too. I had no really 
 sensible adviser, and I had had no experience. But I 
 have not told you half. My children, one after the 
 other, were taken from me ; and, Eileen, I thanked 
 God for rescuing the dear white souls from lives of 
 poverty and its concomitants. Now that I am rich 
 in everything else, think how I long and cry and 
 rend my heart for those darling babies ! " Mrs. 
 Maynard could not go on ; her last words were 
 hardly heard for choking sobs. 
 
 " Oh, don't, don't ! " cried Eileen. "You shall tell 
 me no more ; you are a martyr, a heroine. How 
 thankful I am that good, kind Mr. Maynard came 
 to take care of you ! How broken you must have 
 been ! "
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 167 
 
 But Mrs. Maynard had hurried away to her cabin. 
 The harrowing recital had been too much for her, 
 and she appeared no more until evening. She had 
 never told her story before. 
 
 After Mrs. Maynard had gone, Eileen sat for a 
 moment, thinking, when she was interrupted by Mr. 
 Maynard, who asked for his wife. 
 
 "She will be back in a few minutes. Will you 
 play tcarte with me?" asked Eileen, knowing that 
 he was perhaps not the person of all others his wife 
 just then cared to see. 
 
 "You and my wife are great friends," said Mr. 
 Maynard, smiling at Eileen. " She 's fonder of you 
 than any woman I have ever seen her with. She 
 hardly ever gets intimate with anybody." 
 
 " I am highly flattered," said Eileen, smiling back 
 at him. She was deeply grateful to him just then 
 for having married Mrs. Maynard. 
 
 "What a queer medley this is !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Maynard, looking about at the variegated groups. 
 It was growing hot, and the ladies were in muslins and 
 bright ribbons. " It 's like a big drawing-room." 
 
 " Say rather like a tenement-house at the east end 
 of London. These children, some of them, are cuffed 
 and kicked about by their parents. I have been 
 amusing a whole family myself this morning, who were 
 perfectly overcome at a kind word. That woman 
 over there, who ogles the men so, has come out to 
 marry, and having failed, is making the most of her 
 last chance." 
 
 " Do you remember the girl on board the ' Khe 
 dive,' who came out to marry a man she 'd never
 
 !68 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 seen?" said Mr. Maynard, laughing. "If we didn't 
 have sport over her ! What do you suppose has 
 ever become of them, eh?" he asked Eileen. 
 
 "Why, we don't even know that the man was 
 found," said Eileen. " He sent his friend to repre 
 sent him, you know, because he was ill, and the young 
 lady fell into the substitute's arms, and who knows but 
 that both were suited, without looking farther, and 
 that the poor fevered youth was left to die ? To tell 
 the truth, a girl who would secure a husband by an 
 swering an advertisement would throw him over 
 in a minute, if she got a better chance, don't 
 you think so?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Maynard, shaking his 
 
 head. "I wish I could find out w^at happens in 
 
 < ^v 1 * 
 
 these cases. I've known one rrr^fgy home, in 
 country towns ; but they were elderly people, who 
 were just mercenary, and one or the other always 
 got cheated. I got a letter once by mistake," he 
 went on, "from a woman who thought she was answer 
 ing an advertisement. She wrote her age, complex 
 ion, disposition ; said she was affectionately inclined 
 to the right one, and gave a description' of her house, 
 the room she was sitting in, and all. Some wretch 
 got her, I suppose, robbed her of every cent, and left 
 her. It 's a shame the law can't protect 'em ; but 
 they make their own ropes to hang themselves with." 
 
 " I wish I could go to America," said Eileen, 
 " not because of the advertisements, but because I 
 am full of curiosity and interest about it, especially 
 now that I have known you both." 
 
 " There are a good many Americans in England,"
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 169 
 
 said Mr. Maynard ; " that is, they were Americans 
 once, but most of 'em have forgotten it." 
 
 " I always imagine," said Eileen, " that all those 
 women who have married Englishmen must have 
 been brought up in England. There is nothing 
 foreign about them, and they take to our ways so 
 easily." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Maynard, "I don't know how it 
 is ; but there 's a large class at home who live only to 
 be thought English. With some of 'em it must be a 
 struggle pretty much all the time. They 're always 
 making mistakes. I don't wonder at people's improv 
 ing themselves ; and if they think an English accent 
 is better than their own, and English ways than ours, 
 why, let 'em gqp^er and study 'em, just as they do 
 French and CSerman. But why they should make 
 themselves uncomfortable and ridiculous by pretend 
 ing they were 'born so,' I don't see. When we 
 were first married, we went abroad, and Mrs. May 
 nard thought five-o'clock tea was such a pretty meal 
 that she 'd introduce it at home. It made a great 
 sensation; and people came out of curiosity, al 
 though most of 'em would n't spoil their suppers by 
 drinking tea an hour or two before. Now these very 
 people can't remember the time when they did n't 
 have dinner at seven and tea at five, and talk as if 
 they had been born in England." 
 
 "I hate shams," said Eileen, forcibly; "but I 'm 
 sure there must be some genuine persons in your 
 country. Your wife, for instance, there is no 
 pretence about her, and couldn't be." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Mr. Maynard, decidedly,
 
 170 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 " she 's as natural as the day she was born. And 
 there are lots of people as natural as she is at home ; 
 but the other class is growing and overshadowing 
 the whole country. I dare say it will work off in 
 time. I don't know. We have everything English, 
 but I can't find fault with that always. Our car 
 riages are better than they used to be ; we import 
 a good many of 'em from England. We import our 
 coachmen too, and our liveries." 
 
 "Liveries?" cried Eileen; "do you have live 
 ries? Then you have distinctions in rank? Surely 
 not." 
 
 " Ah, but we do," said Mr. Maynard. ^pfc don't 
 know where we get 'em. I wish^Bu could come 
 over to America and see how ve|y English we are 
 in some of our large cities." 
 
 " I would rather come and see how American you 
 are," said Eileen. 
 
 Just then came the summons to luncheon, and 
 they went below. That night there was dancing on 
 deck. Eileen, who was usually up to most things 
 in the way of jollity, hid herself for a time ; but be 
 ing discovered, declined absolutely to dance, on the 
 score of a headache. She had been thinking all 
 day of poor Mrs. Maynard. There was a question 
 she longed to ask her, but she dared not renew the 
 subject. Mrs. Maynard possibly had spoken un 
 guardedly, and might be regretting it. It was hard 
 to find opportunities for tete-b-tetes on board, but 
 Eileen longed to go to her new friend and hear 
 more. A Mr. Bartruffe, a barrister, insisted upon 
 walking, or at least standing by her. It was a
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 171 
 
 magnificent night, and they were at the very bow, 
 looking up at the sky. 
 
 "Do you know where Mrs. Maynard is?" asked 
 Eileen, abruptly, of the young man, who had just 
 paid her a fulsome compliment. And indeed Eileen 
 never looked more beautiful. In her light dress, 
 with a dark blue cloak fastened at the throat and 
 floating open, her hair a trifle disordered, her eyes 
 big and dark, her lips slightly parted, she might 
 have been a Victory such as the old Greeks loved 
 to place at their prows. 
 
 Mr. Bartruffe, who had been days seeking this 
 opportunity, and who was very comfortable and 
 happy, answered that he fancied Mrs. Maynard 
 must be in heffcabin. He had not seen her on 
 deck since dinner. 
 
 " As if anybody could stay in those stuffy cabins ! " 
 said Eileen. " Do please go and look for her ! " 
 
 " You must come with me, then ; I can't leave 
 you here alone," said Mr. Bartruffe, rising as if it 
 hurt him. 
 
 Eileen started. Anything to be rid of this bore ! 
 They found the Maynards on the high deck, in 
 their accustomed places. Mrs. Maynard smiled, 
 and made room for Eileen ; but Bartruffe was not 
 to be dismissed like this. He sat down facing them, 
 feeling aggrieved at Eileen's treatment of him. 
 
 "Won't you give me one turn?" asked he, at 
 last. "This valse is delicious." 
 
 " I told you I would not dance," said Eileen, 
 wearily. " Do go and ask somebody else ! There 
 are quantities of girls on board."
 
 172 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 " It 's an imposition," laughed Mrs. Maynard, " to 
 keep that poor man at the piano all night." 
 
 " Keep him?" ejaculated Eileen; " I would have 
 gone on my knees to him at any time during the past 
 four days to beg him to cease his jangling. He 
 has played incessantly. I wish they would n't put a 
 piano on deck. It 's a premium on pounding." 
 
 " But fancy a piano below, with the same sort 
 of thing going on," laughed Mr. Bartruffe. " The 
 babies would howl louder than they do now." 
 
 " They could n't," answered Mrs. Maynard. 
 "Those in the cabin next me put forth their best 
 efforts at about three in the morning, when even 
 pianos cease from troubling." 
 
 "And the holystoning has n't *begun," laughed 
 Eileen. " I wish once the donkey-engine, the 
 washing of decks, the piano, and the babies would 
 do it all up together, and let us have a blissful 
 silence. Luckily we all catch naps in the day, or 
 we should be insomniacs. Last night there were 
 some new noises, invented, I suppose, for fear 
 the shrieks of the infants should have become 
 monotonous and lulled us to slumber. This is the 
 noisiest ship I ever was on." 
 
 " We shall be at Colombo soon," said Mr. Bart- 
 ruffe. "We stay a day there, I fancy, and can go 
 on shore and take a short rest from all this." 
 
 " I shall buy tortoise-shell," said Mrs. Maynard. 
 " I understand Ceylon is noted for it." 
 
 Eileen suddenly changed the current of talk. 
 " Mrs. Maynard," she said abruptly, " you were 
 reading a tale to me this morning. I forget whether
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 173 
 
 the heroine really lost her love for the man or not ; 
 did she? Excuse me," she said to Mr. Bartruffe, 
 " but I have been longing to learn." 
 
 " I don't know," answered Mrs. Maynard, in 
 rather a faint voice. "She did despise him, I 
 think, for a time ; but when he was ill she thought 
 of what his love had been, and forgot everything 
 but the past. If he had lived, it would never have 
 been the same ; they would have drifted back to 
 indifference." 
 
 <f Was this a novel? " asked Mr. Bartruffe. 
 
 " No," said Eileen, " it was not in a book, and 
 it is too long to tell now. I ought not to have 
 introduced it." 
 
 After they had 'all gone below for the night, Mrs. 
 Maynard went to Eileen's cabin. Eileen threw her 
 arms about her neck. " I have thought of nothing 
 but you all day," she said. "Forgive my awful 
 intrusion to-night. I could not rest until I knew. 
 Then, if you ceased to love, you did not suffer so 
 much quite, perhaps?" Eileen asked as if to end 
 her own suspense. 
 
 " No ; perhaps not," said Mrs. Maynard. " I have 
 never quite known what I felt. It was a strange 
 thing. One cannot criticise those who are gone. 
 I don't know why I told you, dear child, such a 
 horrible story. But you surprised me into it by 
 reading my history so wonderfully in my face. I 
 have no such gift in your case. I read nothing but 
 innocent mirth in yours, and yet I know you have 
 not always been happy." 
 
 " Happy? " cried Eileen, looking into her friend's
 
 174 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 face with a look of something like horror, " happy? 
 I have no story, nothing but a jumble, a patchwork 
 of disordered thoughts and unkempt actions. My 
 one mania has always been to be amused or to 
 amuse myself; and to tell the truth, I have hardly 
 ever done it. I am full of animal spirits. I have 
 to do something all the time, every minute, to 
 keep myself from bubbling over, like a kettle, and 
 scalding somebody. I committed a frightful sin in 
 running away, against everybody's wishes and my 
 own better judgment, to be married. I hope I have 
 been the greatest loser by it. As for suffering, I 
 did not know it as you did. I would not suffer ; I 
 would not think. I loved my yoath ; I knew that 
 without it I should command no sympathy, no 
 admiration. I would not worry. I did not care 
 so very much. I used to wish something would 
 come to end my ghastly life. Something came ; 
 but even then I shut my eyes to the worst. I had 
 been faithful to the shifting sands, to be sure, but 
 still faithful. I had been truthful to falsehood. I 
 never pretended for one instant to like what I 
 loathed. I did not complain when I knew that at 
 any moment I might be houseless, roofless. I was 
 glad when I was free. I was absolved from every 
 thing ; in fact, nothing need have been demanded 
 of me from the first. But do not pity me. I did 
 not suffer; I writhed and winced, and dodged my 
 misfortunes, that was all, my punishment, rather. 
 The greatest grievance I have had for years has 
 been to bear the name of Beaufort. I don't know 
 why I was so callous when I was younger, and
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 175 
 
 should have been more impressionable. So much 
 slighter events make so much deeper marks upon 
 me now." 
 
 " You and I have made strange confidences to 
 each other, dear," said Mrs. Maynard. " I used to 
 anticipate our deep intimacy ; but circumstances were 
 against us me, I mean for a time. I will tell 
 you why you were callous, as you call it, when you 
 were younger. Your nature was not awakened. 
 The key had not been found. A rude hand tried 
 to force the lock, and failed. With me it has been 
 the reverse. I was stirred in those early days ; I 
 did love, passionately, madly. The love of your life 
 is yet to come ; I feel it." 
 
 " No, no," said Eileen, blushing ; " I shall not 
 love. I wish I knew what I am going to do, all 
 through this long life which yawns before me, big 
 and empty, like a tunnel. I do not care for any 
 thing but riding and admiration, that 's the truth ; 
 and one of these is laid behind me. Tell me," she 
 cried suddenly, " what can I do ? There must be 
 something useful even an idiot can turn her hand 
 to. If you could suggest something with a little open 
 air in it, I might stick to it longer." 
 
 "Why," said Mrs. Maynard, almost abruptly for 
 her usual gentle manner, " why can you not marry 
 Mr. Warwick?" The same old question! Eileen 
 did not change color. " He is a fine creature," 
 Mrs. Maynard said simply. 
 
 " Wonderful ! I don't know why I can't. I am 
 rather fastidious about men, and something about him 
 some trifling thing turned me a little against him
 
 176 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 at first, I think. Then I heard my brother and his 
 friends laughing about him, and oh, I don't know, 
 he grew ridiculous to me, before I knew him. I 
 like him now, I admire him, I do everything but the 
 right thing. I offered once to marry him, but my 
 reason was an insult. He bore my insolence like a 
 lamb too. I hope he will hear the horrid things 
 Calcutta people say of me, even if they are not true. 
 Those may change him, if nothing else will." 
 
 " Don't depend upon ' things people can say ' 
 changing a man like that," said Mrs. Maynard, with 
 a tender smile. " I am very anxious about him." 
 
 " Coming away was the best thing I could do for 
 him," said Eileen, thoughtfully. " I hope he will for 
 get me. I never tried to fascinate him ; I did not. 
 He never occurred to me as a possible lover." 
 
 " No, no, I know that," exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, 
 hastily. " There is nothing to reproach yourself with. 
 If you could n't marry him, you could n't. I only 
 wish, for both your sakes, you could. He is as true 
 as steel and, oh, so pathetic ! " 
 
 " I wish he had n't been pathetic," said Eileen. 
 " One can't marry that kind of pathos. It is manly, 
 I suppose, but one would far rather see a man fly into 
 a fury than be meek through everything. Am I 
 awfully wicked ?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 Eileen sat thinking after this talk. She had never 
 felt more discouraged. To have lived a long life of 
 failure, that was simple enough ; thousands do that, 
 poor wretches ! But to be young, handsome, fasci 
 nating; to have been married, widowed, without 
 much suffering ; to be different from young girls, dif-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 177 
 
 ferent from wives, different from widows ; to be 
 pointed at as careless, even wild, when she meant 
 no harm ; and hardest of all not to care at all about 
 anything, that was her fate. " At forty / shall 
 be what ? Perhaps fat, perhaps a spectre ; but 
 always a restless, dissatisfied fool ! " Eileen was hav 
 ing a serious time with herself. 
 
 " Let us talk more about you in the morning," 
 Mrs. Maynard said affectionately, taking the girl's 
 ludicrously forlorn face in both her hands, and 
 stooping to kiss it. Eileen sat on the floor, a de 
 jected heap. " There is plenty of work for you to 
 do, good, easy work, too, with your powers. You 
 have a wand before which men and women, too 
 fall. It needs a little guiding, that magic stick ; 
 that's all." 
 
 Eileen gazed wistfully at her new friend. " If I 
 know what you mean, I must have done with that 
 kind of ' work,' " she said sadly. " You have no 
 idea with what loathing I regard all that I have done 
 heretofore. And yet even my resolutions are made 
 in defiance, in desperation. I feel sure I shall hate 
 even your advice, and go my own way, and come to 
 grief. What does it all come to in the end? " 
 
 The same old question, asked by despairing 
 men and women every day ! It was the " youngest " 
 thing Eileen had ever said to Mrs. Maynard ; and it 
 betrayed the fact that old and weary as Eileen's 
 phrases often sounded, her youth still claimed her. 
 It was a hopeful outlook for both women, Mrs. May 
 nard thought. She determined to take Eileen with 
 her to America, if it could be managed. If she 
 
 12
 
 178 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 were really as poor as she talked, Mrs. Maynard 
 thought she might be made more self-satisfied (in 
 its best sense) by some sort of real work. Her pen- 
 and-ink sketches and caricatures were excellent. 
 She might do something with those. But then Mrs. 
 Maynard reflected that poverty in England or 
 among the best Irish, which is the same thing was 
 only comparative. She had heard a man complain 
 ing bitterly of extreme poverty, and had discovered 
 that his income was larger than the average well-to- 
 do clerk in America, and that he was only " poor for 
 a peer," as he expressed it. Eileen might have 
 plenty to live on if her ideas could be subdued a 
 little. Then, too, Mrs. Maynard had not counted 
 upon the horror with which her suggestion would 
 be regarded by Eileen's family. Marrying a black 
 leg was not half the disgrace earning sixpence would 
 be, to a woman ; and Eileen herself might share that 
 popular prejudice. It would be necessary to take 
 soundings at every step, and cautiously. Mrs. May 
 nard was happier than she had been for months, 
 years, believing that she was going to be busy. 
 Eileen was poor, at any rate, if not financially.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TT was a bright, fresh morning when they reached 
 Colombo. The long jetty stretched far away 
 before them. The green grass and trees looked en 
 ticing to the shipworn travellers, for the first week 
 is always the longest at sea. Eileen, as well as the 
 others, was wild to set her foot on shore, and Mr. 
 Maynard had promised her that she should have a 
 horse to ride at once. But a telegram was handed 
 her on board, sent from the Company's office. 
 
 It was from Philippa. " Barney hurt, but not 
 dangerously. Come back at once ! " and signed 
 " Philippa Winterford." 
 
 This, then, was the explanation ; but she did not 
 require it now. Barney, poor Barney, hurt, ribs 
 crushed, perhaps, legs broken, arms, oh ! what 
 could it be ? If she could only know ! Go back ? 
 Of course she must fly back. She rushed to the May- 
 nards, to the captain. The " Bhopal," with her blue 
 Peter flying at the fore, was getting up steam, and 
 would be off for Calcutta in an hour. How lucky ! 
 
 The Maynards helped her pack her few little cabin 
 things, her boxes and Philippa's were lugged and 
 banged up from the hold, and Eileen, clinging to 
 Mrs. Maynard, at last tore herself away. She had
 
 l8o THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 found a treasure in this sympathetic friend, this 
 priceless adviser. It was hard to lose her, now 
 that she herself was just beginning to improve ; for 
 Eileen had no confidence in her own resolutions, 
 and she knew that the very moment she got back 
 to that odious Calcutta, she should backslide.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "DHILIPPA had not many hours of suspense ; her 
 * anxiety for Barney was almost swallowed up in 
 her new anxiety about Eileen. What must she not 
 be suffering alone on board ship, thinking her per 
 haps treacherous, at least weak and vacillating? 
 Poor, dear, faithful Eileen ! How many times Phi- 
 lippa saw those pathetic eyes glowing before her ! 
 She admitted now that Eileen had certainly im 
 proved of late ; and she, what had she done ? 
 Nothing but repel and chill and at last forsake her. 
 " I did not think Eileen was a finer woman than I," 
 her thoughts said. " I have no very high opinion 
 of myself, but I did think I was her superior. She 
 is infinitely mine." Then a fresh shock and a new 
 sinking at heart overcame her as she pictured Barney 
 horribly injured, dying or dead. How could she see 
 him brought in? She sat and waited. Barney's 
 bedroom was in beautiful order. If he were not 
 bad enough to be in bed long, her own sitting-room 
 should be his. Alas ! it was a desolate spot, this love 
 liest of boudoirs, now. 
 
 In time Colonel Beverley arrived with a telegram. 
 The party must be following it closely. " Barney 
 was bitten in the foot by a pig, it seems," said
 
 182 THE SEVER LEYS. 
 
 Colonel Beverley to her. " The bite did not seem 
 poisonous at first, but there is a good deal of fever, 
 and they will have to take him immediately to the 
 hospital." 
 
 Philippa and Colonel Beverley started at once ; 
 and by the time arrangements were made, the poor 
 sinner arrived. He was haggard, unshaven, drowsy 
 from opiates, and carried on a stretcher. It was 
 necessary now to amputate the foot at once, in order 
 to save his life. Philippa knelt by his side and kissed 
 his hands, his white forehead, his lips, passionately. 
 Barney was suffering every instant, and had been for 
 forty-eight hours, Captain Stanhope said. The first 
 words he uttered were not altogether satisfying, but 
 they were words, and that was something. " Stan 
 hope 's a brick ! " murmured Barney, looking fondly 
 into his wife's face, then sinking into stupor. 
 
 The operation was not performed a moment too 
 soon. Well, Barney was a cripple now. It was a 
 choice between cripple and corpse. What a fright 
 ful, never-ending time it seemed to Philippa ! The 
 two men, Beverley and Stanhope, hardly left the 
 place. Philippa felt herself under everlasting obli 
 gation to them both. After the first bad days were 
 over, Barney was taken home, and there he was 
 nursed and amused and petted to his heart's con 
 tent. Philippa was almost gay in her relief. Stan 
 hope seemed full of regret and of real affection for 
 the sick man ; and Colonel Beverley made himself 
 a great deal more agreeable than he felt. He was 
 biding the time when Eileen should be back, and 
 he should have his reward.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 183 
 
 The first conversation Barney and his wife had 
 was one day in the hospital when Barney was still 
 light-headed from the chloroform and still suffering 
 great pain. He looked always tenderly and grate 
 fully at his wife now, and every look brought a blush 
 to her cheek when she thought of her wickedness. 
 " I can see a halo round your head, Flip," he said ; 
 " you are a saint." 
 
 She put her hand over his lips. " Hush, Barney, 
 you don't know me," she replied. 
 
 "Where 's Eileen? " he asked abruptly. " Why 
 has n't she been to see me ? " 
 
 Philippa grew crimson. " She will be here soon, 
 darling," she said. " She is away now." 
 
 " Away ! Where ? There 's nowhere to go at 
 this time of year. Everybody's here." 
 
 " I am forbidden to talk to you now," said Phi 
 lippa. " Eileen will be here soon, and I will tell you 
 everything as soon as I can." 
 
 Barney shut his eyes. He held Philippa's hand 
 tightly when his eyes were shut. " I don't want to 
 let you go again, and when I can't see you I must 
 feel you," he said. 
 
 Philippa was happier than she had ever been in 
 her life. A new day had dawned for her. Barney 
 had been snatched from death, and he was dearer 
 than all the world to her. What she had called 
 worthlessness before was helplessness now. He 
 should never know the loss of his foot, for she would 
 be his staff. 
 
 As for Barney, he had not changed as much as 
 Philippa thought. He was somewhat in the condi-
 
 184 THE BEVERLEYS, 
 
 tion of a child who has done a naughty act and been 
 so injured in the doing that his guilt is lost sight of 
 in joy at his sparing ; so petting takes the place of 
 punishment. It was very nice and comfortable to 
 feel that instead of averted looks and haughty words 
 he got only sweet devotion. He was sorry, and 
 said so, for his escapade ; yet he said that more to 
 make Philippa happy, than from motives of deep 
 contrition, for he honestly thought he had been 
 driven from home by cruelty. And then he had 
 suffered so too. It was easy to forgive this loving 
 minister, however, and he felt at peace with all the 
 world when once his pain had stopped. When that 
 was on, nothing else troubled him at all. 
 
 When he realized what life would be to an ath 
 letic, out-of-door man without a foot, or with one, 
 rather, he was not so patient ; and there were 
 days and weeks of irritability yet to come. 
 
 It seemed to Philippa and to Colonel Beverley 
 that Eileen would never get back. One day, after 
 Barney was settled at home again, she came, look 
 ing a little sunburned, a little tired, very anxious. 
 Philippa flew down the stairs to meet her, and her 
 first syllable was that of an apology. " Forgive me, 
 dear sister ! " she said, with tears ; and Eileen hugged 
 her and kissed her, and smiled radiantly and glori 
 ously, and it seemed as if the sun which had strug 
 gled through the clouds lately, was shining now 
 indeed full upon the head of the poor woman, who 
 for the first time in her life was humbling herself. 
 
 Colonel Beverley had met Eileen and brought her 
 home, and in the carriage, feeling that a moment's
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 I8 5 
 
 -delay might be dangerous and that he had borne 
 enough, he had declared himself to her. He had 
 told her of Barney first, every scrap of detail she 
 had demanded ; he had told her of Philippa, how 
 bravely she had borne up and how much happier 
 she seemed ; and then he had told her of himself. 
 It annoyed, confused, and enraged Eileen. It was 
 a horrid time to think of such things, much less to 
 speak of them. 
 
 " There are no ' horrid times ' for telling you I 
 love you," said Colonel Beverley, fervently, realiz 
 ing how. ridiculous his words were, even at that 
 moment. " I think of you every instant. I have 
 suffered agony ever since you left me. If you 
 had gone on to England, I should have followed 
 you. -You cannot get away from me, from my love. 
 It will always envelop you. I will not say another 
 word to you now. Take time to let me know my 
 fate, but remember my last breath on earth will be 
 the one with which I shall renounce you." He was 
 a magnificent lover ; even Eileen had to admit that. 
 He did not try to touch even her hand. He gazed 
 at her with intense longing at first ; then, as his words 
 grew more serious, his eyes grew more fateful, and he 
 turned away from her. He wore a fixed gaze, then, 
 that was almost appalling. 
 
 What a superb enemy he would make ! The old 
 devil stirred in Eileen, and she thought for an in 
 stant how interesting, how much more picturesque 
 than marriage, life would be with a man like that, 
 following one about the world with those great eyes 
 transfixing one wherever one went and never losing
 
 1 86 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 sight of his aim. A man who could be gloomy over 
 one, oh, how much finer than the lovesick kind ! 
 And in her naughty heart she made comparisons 
 between this man and Mr. Warwick. Where was 
 Mrs. Maynard's heart-broken penitent now? 
 
 Colonel Beverley spoke again. " Let us say 
 nothing more about this for a few days," he said ; 
 " only, for Heaven's sake, don't shun me ! Let me 
 be near you, with you. I am accustomed to do all 
 sorts of things for the Winterfords ; so it will be per 
 fectly natural if I do them still." 
 
 " Go on doing whatever you like," said Eileen, 
 shutting her eyes. rt I am not in the mood nor the 
 state of mind for this. I don't know what to say, 
 and I don't want to say anything. I am surprised 
 and overcome. I did n't know you cared for me, 
 and I do not wish you to care for me. I have come 
 to relieve Philippa, and to nurse my brother, and to 
 make everybody happy, if I can. You will have to 
 be the honorable exception. I can't make you so ; 
 that 's evident." And Eileen looked languidly out 
 of the window. 
 
 " You are a sorceress," said Colonel Beverley, bit 
 ing his lips. He had with the greatest labor and 
 difficulty, rising early and taking a great many 
 journeys to the post-office, been able to seize three 
 letters addressed to Eileen in Jack's handwriting ; 
 but he could not be perfectly sure that in some way 
 she had not got a fourth. Jack might have taken 
 extraordinary means when ordinary methods brought 
 no answer. Still he felt sure that that avenue had 
 been effectually blocked. Could she love any one
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 187 
 
 else? Would she slip through his fingers now? 
 By all that was good, she should not, he swore 
 again. 
 
 But he was making a mess of it. He had not 
 even kept his temper ; and then, horrible thought ! 
 it occurred to him that he had not shown the slight 
 est solicitude for her, open solicitude, that is. He 
 cared not one rap for anybody's comfort but his 
 own. What a mistake he had made, though, to let 
 his selfishness appear ! He only hoped it was not 
 too late to rectify the error. 
 
 "You are tired," he said gently, looking at her 
 with melting eyes. " What a brute I am ! A man 
 in love is a selfish animal, I have always heard. 
 You must rest to-day, and to-night before dinner 
 we'll have a gallop. Your horse is looking fitter 
 than I ever saw him." 
 
 Eileen brightened a little ; he had touched one 
 responsive chord. " If I can be spared," she said. 
 " I hardly know how much work there is in a sick 
 room." 
 
 " There 's no work at all," said Colonel Beverley, 
 "except amusing Barney. He is in bed still, but 
 will soon be on a sofa. He has fellows in to sit 
 with him now." 
 
 "He can't drink nor smoke, I suppose?" said 
 Eileen. " I 'm glad of that." 
 
 Just then they drove through a flowering gateway 
 by a salaaming, red-turbaned lodge-keeper; and 
 there, standing between rows of ebony retainers in 
 snowy raiment, was Philippa, waiting. Colonel 
 Beverley, as soon as he had handed Eileen out, ran
 
 l88 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 up to the invalid, and left the two women to make 
 their greetings. 
 
 " Does Barney know all about it? " asked Eileen, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Everything," answered Philippa. " I have told 
 him all. We have both longed for you now to com 
 plete our happiness. We are perfectly reconciled, 
 Eileen. I have had such a fright that no matter 
 what Barney does, I shall never find fault again." 
 
 "That is all wrong," began Eileen, very moral 
 with the person she had come to benefit. But she 
 was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a 
 bearer. Barney had sent her a salaam, which meant 
 that he could not wait another minute to see her ; 
 so Eileen ran up to him quickly. She stopped 
 before the door to enter quietly, and was all ready 
 to whisper softly to him, when she heard a loud 
 voice shouting out. " Don't leave the house, will 
 you, Bev? " the voice called ; " stop to luncheon ! " 
 
 Then Barney turned on his pillow and saw Eileen. 
 " Why, my girl," he cried, " my beautiful, beautiful 
 girl ! " and he patted again and again the golden 
 head which had hidden itself on his breast. 
 
 It was a strange relief to find Barney so well and 
 so strong apparently. He was convalescing very fast ; 
 but, oh, how cross he was ! Nobody could wait on 
 him quickly enough ; and as for the servants they led 
 curs' lives. Eileen, who had come to her brother's 
 bedside full of stern resolutions, found that her mis 
 sion was to prevent him from becoming a terrible 
 tyrant. He bemoaned his fate a good deal to 
 Eileen.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 189 
 
 "Think of me, an old dot-and-go-one ! " he said 
 pathetically. " No more tennis, no more racing, 
 the first fool of a doctor at the hospital told me, 
 and he said I could never ride again. Then I said, 
 ' Give me poison.' But I find I can have a very 
 handsome foot glued on, and hobble round on it 
 respectably." 
 
 One day Eileen attempted to preach a little to 
 him. " Philippa is not made of molten brass," 
 she said ; " at least her throat is not. She can't read 
 aloud more than four hours at a time." 
 
 " She never seems to get tired," said Barney ; 
 " why does n't she say so, if she is ? How do I 
 know?" 
 
 "Oh, Barney," cried Eileen, out of all patience, 
 " you know she would never say so, if she died read 
 ing. And why shouldn't you know? You can't read 
 yourself twenty minutes without getting husky, and 
 you have never allowed her to read to you before. I 
 know she goes away and sprays her throat after one 
 of these recitals, because I have seen her do it." 
 
 The little lecture had some effect, but not much. 
 Philippa was only happy ministering to her husband, 
 whom she seemed to feel, with some flaw in her 
 logic, that she had bitterly wronged. They were all 
 going to England as soon as Barney was well. That 
 was settled. Stanhope had paid Barney the money 
 he had borrowed, and remittances had come from 
 England, so they were eased of their cares for a 
 time. 
 
 Colonel Beverley was at the Winterfords' every 
 day, mornings, afternoons, and evenings. He rode
 
 1 90 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 with Eileen every day, but kept a respectful silence, 
 as far as his own wishes were concerned ; and Eileen 
 felt that in spite of her own will he was becoming a 
 very close friend. Although he was not the man 
 to understand or follow her with the least real sym 
 pathy, although his nature was never in touch with 
 hers, determination taught him, an imitation of the 
 keenest sympathy, and Eileen felt him to be at times 
 useful, valuable, and intimate. She asked herself 
 every night if she loved him and the " no " grew 
 fainter and fainter. The defences were weakening ; 
 the garrison was on the point of capitulating. The 
 old soldier first stormed with shot and shell, and 
 found the fort bomb-proof. He was now under 
 mining the fortifications.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 JACK had been sent on some mysterious errand 
 to the Northwest. He chafed bitterly against 
 the fate which kept him from Calcutta and Eileen. 
 Not one word, one syllable, had she ever written in 
 response to his passionate declarations of love, and 
 at last his appeal for even an acknowledgment of 
 his letters, if nothing more. He had no means of 
 registering his communications, but he finally wrote 
 to the postmaster in Calcutta. An answer came to 
 him. " Colonel Beverley inquires always for Lady 
 Ellen Beaufort's letters. A great many have been 
 delivered to him, or to his jemadar, Colonel Bev 
 erley being an intimate friend of the family. As 
 for the particular letters of which you speak, nothing 
 special has been noted, but a watch will be kept." 
 Then the letters must have been lost before reach 
 ing Calcutta. But how about the note he had writ 
 ten to Eileen the night he went away? Why should 
 that have failed too ? He wrote again to the post- 
 office, sending at the same time a letter to Eileen. 
 No answer came, except from the postmaster, and 
 containing the tidings that that letter had been de 
 livered into the hands of Colonel Beverley. In the
 
 192 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 note to Eileen, Jack had asked her to acknowledge 
 by telegraph the receipt of that letter. 
 
 For hours and hours Jack Beverley sat in his tent 
 staring at nothing. No son who has not reverenced 
 and idolized a seemingly perfect parent knows how 
 he suffered. The first pangs were the worst ; after 
 that he tried to disbelieve. His father knew and 
 approved of his love. The bearer had taken the first 
 letter, which Eileen must have received. It was 
 natural that in their state his father had written 
 him of Barney's mishap an intimate friend should 
 get their letters ; and yet it was an almost unheard- 
 of thing for a gentleman in Calcutta to go to the 
 post-office himself. But if his father had given the 
 letters to Eileen, why had there been no answer? 
 Even his going away without sending word would 
 hardly disqualify him for receiving common civility. 
 Tom Carbury wrote Jack, at last, of Eileen's departure 
 and return. That ended all Jack's doubt. The con 
 sciousness of his father's part in the performance 
 was forced upon him ; for when Colonel Beverley 
 was writing him, as he pretended, every scrap of 
 Calcutta gossip, he had omitted to mention the very 
 circumstance in which of all others he knew Jack 
 would take most interest. And, indeed, his father 
 had taken particular pains to write casually of Lady 
 Eileen several times, as if she were there as usual. 
 Did he expect that he, Jack, could be packed off 
 like this to separate him from the object of his pas 
 sion in a small country, where he could hear from 
 people and find out things for himself? But his 
 wrath was not as strong as his sorrow. His faith in
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 193 
 
 his own father gone, alas ! how could he believe in 
 Eileen or anybody ? If a father could prove treach 
 erous, how much more a woman of whom he knew 
 so little ! But in spite of this reasoning, Jack knew 
 that he did trust Eileen. 
 
 And now for Calcutta and the truth. 
 
 Colonel Beverley had arranged matters so that 
 leave was the most difficult of all things to be ob 
 tained, but one day Jack pleaded illness and left for 
 Calcutta ; and indeed he was ill without feigning. 
 He was no longer a happy, serene boy ; he was a 
 wretched, suffering man. If Eileen loved him now, 
 even if she married him, his life was spoiled forever. 
 Treachery and duplicity in his own family ! He 
 could neither sleep nor eat. He sat staring, starting, 
 as the truth would grow more shapeful suddenly 
 after some inevitable diversion in the course of 
 travel, a word to the guard, perhaps, or to a fellow- 
 traveller. He arrived in Calcutta haggard, blood 
 shot. He would not go to the house in Outram 
 Street ; he went to Carbury's rooms at Government 
 House. Carbury told him he looked fearfully seedy ; 
 so he tried to rest and make himself a trifle more 
 presentable, for he did not wish to frighten Eileen. 
 
 Carbury gave him some particulars of the Winter- 
 fords. "There's a mystery somewhere there," he 
 said. " Lady Eileen sailed for England and came 
 back from Colombo." 
 
 " When she heard of her brother's accident, I sup 
 pose ? " said Jack, dryly. " That 's simple enough." 
 
 "Yes," said Carbury, "that doesn't sound so 
 odd ; but there were various queer things about it. 
 '3
 
 194 
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 However, I 'm not a tabby, and I 'm not going to 
 gossip." 
 
 "Is Lady Eileen as pretty as ever?" said Jack, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Prettier than ever or anything," rejoined Car- 
 bury. " She is the only woman I take the faintest 
 interest in out here." He did not like to chafe Jack 
 about his father's attentions to her, for he more than 
 suspected Jack's condition. " Have you seen your 
 governor?" he asked while they were at luncheon. 
 
 " Not yet," said Jack. He wondered at himself 
 a little. His indignation had been terrible on the 
 train. With the impetuousness of a boy. he was level 
 ling thunderbolts in anticipation at his father's head. 
 He was growing calmer and more collected every 
 minute ; bitter and almost cynical he felt. 
 
 He waited nearly all day in Carbury's rooms. It 
 was not like him to delay, but he felt a kind of 
 paralysis of volition. When Carbury went out, he 
 called after him, " Don't mention my being here, 
 Tommy, will you?" 
 
 Carbury came back. " Look here, Jack ! " he said 
 kindly ; " if you 're in trouble, let it out to me. I 
 may not be able to help you, but it will be a relief 
 to tell it anyway. Something 's happened. Now, 
 out with it ! " 
 
 Jack had walked to the window and stood with 
 his back to Tom. " I 'm going to show myself this 
 afternoon," he said, " and then you can speak." 
 
 " I don't want to ' speak,' " laughed Tom, con 
 temptuously. " It is n't that ; you can stay here a 
 month if you like, and not a soul shall know it. But
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 '95 
 
 I never saw you in the dumps before, and I want to 
 help you out. If you can't talk about it, all right. 
 I did n't know your kind, that 's all. I can't tell 
 things, either. Good-by, old man ; I '11 be back. 
 Take Sepoy, if you want him, or Caradoc. They 're 
 both eating their heads off." 
 
 "He's a good fellow," said Jack. "There are 
 lots of good fellows." Then a sharp pain shot 
 through him. " And I thought my father the best 
 of them all in the world. Oh, how could he do 
 this, how could he ? If he loved her, why did he 
 not tell me so? I would have given up, or at any 
 rate we could have fought fairly. If I could n't draw 
 one breath without her, I 'd win her like a man or 
 I'd go without breath." 
 
 The truth must be known, at any rate ; he would 
 be satisfied with that. If there was to be no happi 
 ness for him in this world, there was still honor and 
 perhaps in the distance glory. " I am a soldier," 
 he said. " A soldier's happiness is a secondary con 
 sideration." Then he thought with scorn of the 
 time he had wasted. " Tent-life for me henceforth ! " 
 he said. " Fighting, if I can get it ; but the life of a 
 soldier ! " And he pitied in his heart just then the 
 plain citizen who has to bear his pain in a daily 
 grind of small duties. 
 
 It was four o'clock before Jack started from the 
 house. He dressed carefully, like a man in a dream. 
 His razors looked too shining for comfort ; he felt 
 dimly what temptations they might prove. Some 
 times the thought occurred to him that he would go 
 away altogether, and not contest the prize with his
 
 196 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 own father. Such an unnatural, horrible state of 
 affairs ! It was so repugnant to him that if he had 
 not really loved Eileen better than himself or his 
 father, he could not have seen her again, or if he had 
 not felt that his father would be unsuccessful. 
 
 Lady Ennen memsahib was in the drawing-room, 
 the bearer said, receiving visitors; and Jack, who 
 had always had the freedom of the house, went up 
 at once. It was Philippa who was in the drawing- 
 room ; and through the veranda door, directly 
 behind her, he saw his father and Eileen sitting side 
 by side on a small sofa in the corner. His father 
 was leaning over her ; she was looking up into his 
 face laughing. She was in a beautiful yellow gown, 
 embroidered with gold ; her face was angelic. He 
 saw everything, everything but Philippa, who was 
 directly before him holding out her hand. He 
 took in every detail, including the happy look in 
 that other's lovely eyes. He had lost her. A voice 
 recalled him. 
 
 " Why, Jack Beverley ! " said Philippa, " how 
 delightful ! And your father never told us. Eileen, 
 come here quick ! Colonel Beverley has planned a 
 surprise for us." 
 
 Eileen, rising quickly, came through the French 
 window. Captain Beverley bowed stiffly. His father 
 came rushing out, and with great heartiness shook 
 him by the hand. 
 
 " Well, Jack, old boy, you have sprung it on us 
 this time. How are you, child? You look pre 
 cious seedy. Are you too overcome to speak? " 
 
 Jack controlled himself by a mighty effort. Fool
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 197 
 
 that he had been, he had never counted upon his 
 father's presence here, his, who was probably 
 never anywhere else. He smiled faintly. 
 
 " I Ve been a little ill," he said to Lady Barney. 
 "How's Barney? I was sorry to hear such bad 
 news of him." 
 
 Eileen had shaken hands with Jack, in a daze too. 
 She had, not five minutes before, promised to be 
 Colonel Beverley's wife. Jack was faithless, good 
 for nothing. His father was a hero. She was tired 
 of saying no. He was a man to be proud of. As 
 for love, she did not care for it for herself; but she 
 nearly loved him, she thought, and he fairly buried 
 her in his affection. He never wished to leave her 
 side ; he anticipated her faintest breath. She was 
 lucky, after all, to be so adored by this superb, sol 
 dierly creature. 
 
 The sight of Jack shook her a little, Jack stand 
 ing before her, mute, reproachful, awkward. This 
 boy a deceiver ! It was preposterous to believe it of 
 him. If Jack had been in doubt, if there had been 
 a shadow of a loophole for it, he would have spoken 
 then. He had come for the truth ; that was all he 
 wanted, he said, and he had found out the truth. 
 These two would never have been sitting like that 
 if they had not been lovers. He thought he had 
 been prepared for the worst, but he had not been 
 prepared at all. 
 
 " Come in and see Barney," said Philippa. " He 
 is so fond of visitors, and he will be rejoiced to see 
 you." Philippa was gay, almost girlish ; but Jack 
 hardly noticed her.
 
 198 THE BEVERLEYS, 
 
 Barney kept him a long time, asking him ques 
 tions, and telling him all their affairs ; and when he 
 came out into the drawing-room again, tea was 
 ready, and Eileen gone to dress. 
 
 " I 'm going for a ride with Lady Ellen. I shall 
 see you at dinner? " asked his father. 
 
 " No," answered Jack, averting his face. " I 'm 
 stopping at Government House." 
 
 " Government House ! " echoed Colonel Beverley. 
 "You mean as the guest of the Viceroy? Well, 
 you are a swell." 
 
 " I 'm with Carbury," said Jack, " and I leave 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 " What foolery ! " said the Colonel, in a low tone. 
 Philippa was not with them then, but Colonel 
 Beverley was afraid of being overheard. " What is 
 this new dodge of yours? Shunning me because I 
 am successful where you failed ? " 
 
 Then it was true ! Jack grasped the table. His 
 strength came back to him then. "I failed!" he 
 said, in a tone of bitter contempt. " May I tell 
 Lady Eileen Beaufort how I failed?" 
 
 " I will see you later on," said his father. " No 
 heroics here, if you please. Remember where you 
 are, in a lady's drawing-room." 
 
 "My language was perfectly suited to a lady's 
 drawing-room," said Jack, in a low tone. " I have 
 not even raised my voice. You are my father, and 
 to tell the story of your disgrace is to publish mine ; 
 but I have too sincere a regard for Lady Eileen to 
 allow her to marry a man who would commit crimes 
 to win her."
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 199 
 
 " Crimes ! " choked out the Colonel, making his 
 voice still lower. " Hound ! to utter that word to 
 me, when you know I cannot resent it in this house ! 
 If you are not afraid to meet me, as you should be, 
 come to my house and get what you deserve, snivel 
 ling cur ! " 
 
 " I believe that intercepting letters is a crime," 
 said Jack, " and I have proof which do not alarm 
 yourself ! I shall not use, that you have done a 
 great deal of that." 
 
 " A liar too," said Colonel Beverley, with a sneer. 
 " My precious offspring ! If you had died at your 
 birth instead of your poor mother, what a blessing 
 it would have been for all of us ! " 
 
 Jack's face grew black, his throat swelled ; he 
 rose hastily as Eileen approached. 
 
 " We can't ask you to dinner, Captain Beverley," 
 she said with only a half-smile, " because we don't 
 dine any more. Philippa and I have a little table 
 in the veranda just outside Barney's door, and we 
 jump up forty times to wait upon him ; and we have 
 simple, horrid food, because he can't deny himself 
 anything he sees, and rich things are bad for him. 
 Shall we see you to-morrow?" 
 
 " My leave is short," said Jack, not even attempt 
 ing a smile, but looking her full in the eyes now. 
 " I came to see you," he started to say, but he would 
 not give his father that gratification. " Perhaps I 
 may see you for a moment to-morrow." 
 
 Philippa appeared now in her hat. " What ! " she 
 said; "going? Oh, pray don't go so soon ! I was 
 going to ask you to drive me in Barney's mail
 
 200 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 phaeton. I 've ordered it, and can't go if you don't 
 drive me." 
 
 Jack bowed gravely. The others started, and 
 Philippa motioned to Jack to sit down again while 
 she drank her tea. 
 
 " Did Eileen give you any? " she said. " Things 
 are rather irregular in this establishment, but Barney 
 is improving now, although he will always be 
 lame, and I am so relieved about him. You look 
 so ill, Jack ! " she said, looking at him earnestly ; 
 " can't you stay in Calcutta till you are better? " 
 
 " I shall never be better, in Calcutta or any 
 where else, Lady Barney," said Jack, melting 
 suddenly under this interest. "I have an incurable 
 disease." Philippa started. " It is mental, but it 
 will finish me, I think. I hope so." 
 
 Philippa knew that very young men were ready to 
 consign themselves to the silent tomb on slight 
 provocation and at short notice, but this she had 
 never thought to be Jack's sort. 
 
 " It 's about Lady Eileen," Jack burst forth, when 
 they had started and were driving down Chow- 
 ringhee. The air had revived him ; and Philippa 
 sitting beside him, looking so kind and gracious and 
 sweet, made him feel that he had one friend left at 
 least. " I have loved her for a long time, and almost 
 told her so, and made an appointment with her, and 
 had to go away, and wrote letter after letter to her, 
 and now I come back to find her to find her " 
 He would never speak to a living soul about his 
 father's treachery. He was out of breath and pale 
 with passion.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 2OI 
 
 '' I used to think Eileen cared for you," said 
 Philippa, slowly. " It is hard to tell about her, but 
 she certainly seemed like it. Lately I think Colonel 
 Beverley is devoted to her. She has been confi 
 dential with me of late, and she told me not a fort 
 night ago that she did not love him and would not 
 marry him. 'Then, Eileen,' I said, 'you must not 
 have him constantly about you.' ' He knows,' she 
 answered me ; ' we understand each other. The 
 moment he speaks one word of love to me, off he 
 goes or off I go, one of the two ! ' " Jack's face 
 brightened. "Still, these last few days things have 
 seemed changed. Last night Eileen said, ' That man 
 is simply irresistible ; I feel as if I were struggling 
 against fate.' " 
 
 " I ought to have spoken to her the moment I 
 saw her," thought Jack ; " I may be too late." He 
 knew how his father would work during this ride 
 to extort a promise from her, if he had not done so 
 already. His boast of success might be another of 
 his cheats. " I am too simple," said Jack to him 
 self, sadly, " to cope with my father." The drive 
 was helping him however to see, and to shape a 
 course. 
 
 " Come to-night," said Lady Barney, " and dine 
 with us in the veranda. I will not tell Eileen you 
 are coming, but you shall see her, and have a dis 
 tinct understanding. These gropings are horrible. 
 If anything prevents or hinders you, I will talk with 
 Eileen myself. Colonel Beverley, I know, dines 
 somewhere else. Be sure and come ! " 
 
 " Sure ! " said Jack, turning upon Philippa with his
 
 202 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 soul in his eyes. " You are a ministering angel, 
 Lady Barney. I should have died if it had not 
 been for you." 
 
 " I can't promise you much," answered Philippa. 
 " Eileen may have changed regarding you. I know 
 she was piqued at your not keeping your appoint 
 ment with her; and once she told me you had 
 flirted wildly with other women, including herself." 
 
 " I ' flirt ' ! " said Jack. " Not since I knew her, 
 certainly, if I ever did before ; and I should as soon 
 think of deserting the Venus de Medicis or Helen of 
 Troy ! She has held me in a perfect spell, a 
 glamour. I love to know she is under the same 
 roof; it makes me quiet and happy." 
 
 " There is a great charm about Eileen," said 
 Philippa, musingly ; " and you '11 find her a great deal 
 lovelier than ever, unless," she added hastily, for 
 fear he would not find her at all, " some new change 
 has come over her. Eileen is of the chameleon 
 stripe ; she varies from day to day and from minute 
 to minute. Still, the growth is steady all the same. 
 Perhaps I am wrong to encourage you," she said 
 suddenly. " Eileen may be quite the reverse of 
 interested in you, even ; but I think you should 
 really have one conversation with her for your own 
 sake, to clear your doubts and to make your 
 explanations." 
 
 " It will be better," said Jack, " and I am nerved 
 to give her up now." 
 
 They drove a long way out of town. Philippa 
 wisely thought it might annoy Jack to meet every 
 body, until matters were settled for him ; so she
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 203 
 
 suggested the jungle. They talked of Barney ; and 
 then his wife, in a strange burst of confidence, told 
 Jack about her determination to go to England, and 
 Eileen's brave decision to go with her, and what 
 had happened since. Philippa, who had never 
 thought much about tact, was more delicate than 
 she knew, in thus confiding in Jack. He had 
 opened his heart to her, and it was a boon to him 
 to find his own frankness reciprocated. 
 
 When the drive was ended, and Jack went back 
 to Carbury's room to dress, he felt that he should 
 die unless he could perform some great service for 
 Lady Barney Winterford, who had enlightened him. 
 If Eileen did not love him, he could go away, still 
 comforted and refreshed by one woman's kindness, 
 frankness, and sympathy. He felt now only pity 
 for his father ; he knew that a low, one-sided sort 
 of happiness was all he had to expect at best. 
 Eileen did not really care very much for his father. 
 Oh, to take back the bitter words he had spoken 
 to him ! 
 
 A clatter of hoofs was heard behind him, and 
 glancing over his shoulder Jack saw who was com 
 ing up. "Jack," said his father, with a smile, 
 " you owe me satisfaction for a disgraceful attack 
 upon my honor. I waive that. You are my son, 
 and I forgive you. I lay it all to disappointment 
 and bodily suffering, for you seem deucedly ill. 
 I am unfortunately dining out to-night, but I will 
 slip away early and come home. Meet me at ten 
 o'clock there, and we can talk the matter out." 
 
 Jack bowed respectfully. " I '11 meet you at
 
 204 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 your house, sir," he said. The Colonel rode off. 
 "He waives the satisfaction I owe him, does he?" 
 said Jack, bitterly. " It is much safer for him." 
 
 Jack met Stanhope, as he was going in; and 
 while they stood talking, the Viceregal party came in 
 from driving. Jack was no longer incognito, and 
 he rushed forward to assist the ladies with his old 
 warmth of manner. The prospect of a ttte-a-tete 
 with Eileen acted upon him like champagne ; but 
 the thought of the shattered idol, his father, whom 
 he had adored, came before him and soiled and 
 spoiled every vision. That a father should coolly 
 plan to ruin his son's happiness, that was a small 
 matter, in Jack's estimation, compared with his re 
 sorting to foul means to do it. If Colonel Beverley 
 had said to Jack, " I love Lady Ellen too, and mean 
 to win her, if I can," Jack would have withdrawn 
 forever, unless, indeed, he had known his father's 
 case to be hopeless. But stealing letters, lying, 
 cheating, his own father, his mother's husband, 
 oh, it was worse than death, a hundred, thousand, 
 million times ! And then to live in enmity 
 
 " Tom," said Jack, abruptly, while they were 
 dressing, " have you ever been deceived in a person 
 you trusted as you did yourself? " 
 
 " Lots of times," said Tom. " It 's the rule, not 
 the exception, especially with women. If you 're 
 having your first experience of the kind, let me give 
 you some advice. Keep your mouth shut, and 
 lock up your pens and ink. It does n't pay to work 
 yourself up and lose sleep and appetite and get 
 fever, as you 're sure to do in this climate. Nobody
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 205 
 
 cares for yourself but yourself, you '11 find. I don't 
 get taken in any more, because I distrust everybody. 
 I used to call Heaven to witness, and fly about like a 
 March hare with its head cut off. But that was 
 when I was young. It 's hard lines, Jack, but it 's 
 part of the business they call life. Not a paying 
 concern, you '11 find, my boy ! " 
 
 Then Tom had suffered too ; probably not in this 
 way, however. His was a unique case, Jack still 
 thought. " I Ve expected too much, I dare say," 
 he said, " and yet I Ve only asked for common 
 honesty. Any losses such as come in the course of 
 things I could stand, but to be deliberately cheated 
 and " 
 
 " Why, bless you, to be deliberately cheated is the 
 course of things, you sweet infant ! " said Carbury. 
 " You '11 have to get used to it. Learn not to put 
 yourself into anybody's hands." 
 
 " You don't understand and you could n't," an 
 swered Jack, quietly. " This thing of mine was like 
 a thunderstorm out of a clear sky. I had done 
 nothing to bring it on ; it was no fault of mine." 
 
 "Fault, no; but you probably confided in 
 somebody." 
 
 Jack started. That was it, after all. If he had 
 not been a baby and prated to his father of his love, 
 there would have been no such trouble as this that 
 he was in now ; and yet it was best, after all, that he 
 should have known the worst as early as possible. 
 " You 're right, old man ! " said Jack ; " that 's just 
 what I did do. I Ve learned my lesson." 
 
 " ' Experience does it,'" laughed Tom. " There is
 
 206 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 a kind of platform of bare boards upon which a man 
 can lead an even life. Without sentiment, to be 
 sure, and with rather a monotonous outlook ; but 
 that 's where I live. Don't borrow much ; lend as 
 little as you can. Tell nothing ; leave thoughts of 
 suicide for boys and fools. Jog on with an unmean 
 ing smile. Be as honest as this world will let you, 
 and that 's about all you can attain to in this 
 precious sphere." 
 
 " You don't make the prospect alluring," said 
 Jack, with a sad smile. " I suppose I am very 
 young and raw even for my age. Somehow I have 
 found things so smooth that I never suspected they 
 could be rough for me. I thought the reason men 
 had so many bothers was because they were not 
 straightforward. I was taught that an honest man 
 might have misfortune, but never disgrace. Now, I 
 find that the reason things were smooth was because 
 I had n't set my heart on anything in particular. I 
 had no wants, so I had no disappointments." 
 
 " That 's just it," Tom said. " But as for disgrace 
 not coming to honest men, that 's the greatest mis 
 take in the world ; it 's the innocent ones who suffer 
 most. Don't you know those who are perfectly 
 frank and tell everything they know, are always 
 'done'?" 
 
 " Well," Jack said, " I 'm going now to dine with 
 the Winterfords. I may be off in the morning be 
 fore you 're up, and I may be about here for a week. 
 If I don't see you again, ta-ta, old fellow, and good 
 luck ! I wanted to grumble a bit, and I feel better. 
 We 're all in the same boat, after all, and I was
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 207 
 
 a fool to think I was the only one who had got 
 hurt." 
 
 " Good-by, Jack Beverley," said Tom. " After 
 all I 've said about distrust, there 's not a fellow I 
 would come to in trouble sooner than that one ; 
 he 's one mass of honor," this last was a soliloquy, 
 " and transparent as a piece of glass in his very 
 resolution to be guarded. ' I 'm going to propose to 
 Lady Eileen,' sweet innocent ! ' and if she ac 
 cepts me I shall hang about for a week,' he might 
 just as well have said ; ' if she does not, you won't 
 see me again.' Well, he 's as refreshing as Kinchin- 
 junga in the hot weather, and I wish to Heaven he 
 might stay so ! " And Tom dragged himself off to the 
 dullest of dull dinners at the Olmsteds'. Colonel 
 Beverley was there, and spoke affectionately of 
 Jack. 
 
 Lady Barney was in the drawing-room when Jack 
 ran upstairs. " 1 just a minute ago told Eileen you 
 were coming," she said, as she gave him her hand, 
 " and she declared she had a headache and was go 
 ing to bed. I have insisted upon her staying up and 
 giving you an interview." 
 
 Tom's words about frankness jarred upon Jack's 
 ears then, in recollection. How would it have been 
 to him to-night if Philippa had not been frank ? But 
 he felt a great sinking of the heart, for he thought 
 he divined the reason of Eileen's repugnance. If 
 she were his father's promised wife and knew that he 
 was going to make love to her, of course she would 
 try to avoid the interview. 
 
 Eileen, in her yellow tea-gown with its golden
 
 208 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 flowers, sitting in the pale light of the moon and the 
 yellow light of a high lamp, with her golden hair a 
 little disordered, her cheelcs a trifle pale, her eyes 
 somewhat heavy, Eileen, even distant and pre 
 occupied, was a sight which electrified Jack into 
 utter and unutterable happiness. Eileen sitting be 
 side him at the little table; Eileen handing him a 
 spoon, a cruet, anything, it was rare bliss after 
 all these weeks of cruel separation and suspense. 
 His condition now was almost worse than one of 
 suspense. But simple contact was enough for him 
 to-night. Jack himself was thin and interesting. 
 His cheeks were burning, and his eyes like coals. 
 Barney was in the highest spirits, and Philippa 
 charming, although she felt very nervous about her 
 own responsibility in this matter. 
 
 Eileen was positively glum. She did not know in 
 the least what Jack wanted to say to her, to hurl 
 reproaches at her possibly, as the men who have tri 
 fled with one are just as apt to do as not, but an 
 interview with him of any nature would be embar 
 rassing under the circumstances. 
 
 Colonel Beverley, for obvious reasons, wished 
 their engagement made public instantly. It would 
 be the easiest way to silence Jack. He had urged, 
 and begged, and nearly insisted. But Eileen, who 
 was cross and silent all through the ride, told him 
 that she had only given him a half promise, and that 
 if he uttered a syllable on the subject to a living be 
 ing she would end the whole thing. 
 
 Eileen's reason was a sentimental one. Mr. War 
 wick was very ill, and was to sail for England in a
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 209 
 
 week if the doctors would allow him. He should 
 not have the violent shock of hearing of her engage 
 ment to Colonel Beverley before he went. It might 
 kill him, and at any rate it would be cruelty of the 
 worst kind. She had seen him in the morning, but 
 had heard to-night that he was worse, and that was 
 one reason of her depression. Another was that she 
 knew she had made an irretrievable blunder, and 
 that she cared no more for Colonel Beverley than 
 she did for Mr. Warwick. It was her fate to choose 
 the wrong path, to have the wrong likings, to stum 
 ble and err and pitch headlong into difficulties 
 always. She tried to be rude to Jack, but the effort 
 was apparent. Jack did not wonder and did not 
 care. 
 
 " One used to think blondes should never wear 
 yellow," said Barney, gazing at Eileen fondly; "yet 
 I never saw you look better, my girl, than you do in 
 that goldy thing you have on to-night." 
 
 " It 's old and horrid," said Eileen. " I have a 
 headache, and don't care how I look to-night." 
 
 " You 're tired, dear," said Philippa, gently. " Do 
 you know how ill Mr. Warwick is, Captain Beverley? 
 Eileen and I went to see him this morning. We are 
 deeply attached to him, and it was a most exciting 
 visit. We shall not see him again, I am afraid." 
 
 "He may be much better," said Eileen, petu 
 lantly, " if he can only get away from this climate, 
 which is killing him." Eileen's voice was full of 
 sobs. (A murderess too, probably; that was all 
 she needed to complete the list of her crimes.) 
 
 " I don't wonder you are tired and anxious too," 
 14
 
 210 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 said Jack. " Warwick will be a great loss here, 
 that is, if he dies. He 's one of the leading 
 merchants." 
 
 " He '11 leave a pot of money," said Barney ; " I 
 wonder who '11 get it." 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " cried Eileen. " How can you 
 administer the poor man's estate before he is even 
 dangerously ill?" Eileen had nearly lost her self- 
 control, and the subject was changed. 
 
 "What are you eating? " said Barney, raising his 
 head from his pillow and trying to examine the 
 dishes on the table. " If you 've got marrow-bones 
 there " 
 
 " Oh, Barney," said Eileen, " when will you learn 
 not to tease for food which is bad for you?" 
 
 " Why, you cross, little naughty thing ! " said 
 Barney, looking at her in amazement. " Jack Bev- 
 erley will tell his father what a mistake he is making. 
 You did n't know how far gone the governor was, 
 did you, Jack?" There was never any peace or 
 safety with Barney. 
 
 " How can you be so coarse ! " said Eileen, in 
 dignantly ; then conscious that the guest was badly 
 treated, she tried to laugh, and very nearly went 
 into/ hysterics. Instead of the lovely, little pictur 
 esque dinners they usually had in the veranda, this 
 was a horrible, wretched one. Eileen wished it over 
 a thousand times. But Jack could have sat there 
 forever. 
 
 When coffee was brought, Jack asked Eileen to 
 walk with him in the garden. It was too damp, 
 Eileen said, and she could not walk in a long gown.
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 211 
 
 "Shall we sit in the drawing-room, then?" said 
 Jack ; " I really must ask you to listen to me for 
 five minutes." 
 
 The little sofa in the corner of the veranda 
 had always been a favorite seat of theirs, but both 
 avoided it instinctively now. Eileen, with a re 
 signed air, which would have been provoking to 
 Jack if he had not felt himself proof against annoy 
 ance to-night, seated herself in a large armchair 
 and sighed. There was no seat for Jack near her ; 
 so he leaned over her. 
 
 " Let me begin at the beginning," he said, speak 
 ing with great distinctness. " I wrote you a letter 
 the night I was called away. I gave it to my bearer 
 to deliver. [It was pretty hard on even a native 
 servant, Jack thought, to charge him thus unjustly.] 
 In it I told you what I thought you knew before, 
 that I loved you, and you only, and that I should 
 be back in three days to tell you again with my own 
 lips." He went on without waiting for an answer, 
 although Eileen was now sitting bolt upright and 
 looking at him with gleaming eyes. " The bearer 
 did not deliver it, I know ; because if you had re 
 ceived it, you would have answered it and put me 
 out of my misery," he answered gravely. " I was 
 sent, at about two hours' notice, to Afghanistan. I 
 wrote from Dinapore, I wrote from Cabul. I wrote 
 twice, in fact, from Cabul. Not a word in reply 
 have I ever heard from you." 
 
 "Why should your letters not have been deliv 
 ered?" asked Eileen. "You ask me to believe 
 too much."
 
 212 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 " I wrote them," said Jack, " and posted them, 
 and they were received in Calcutta." 
 
 " Your own father sent for our letters for weeks," 
 said Eileen, scornfully ; " you would hardly accuse 
 him of intercepting your letters, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I accuse no one," said Jack, sadly. " The let 
 ters were written and sent. I want to explain to 
 you my apparent rudeness in breaking my appoint 
 ment with you, without word." 
 
 " I accept your apology," said Eileen, wearily ; 
 " the thing was of no consequence, and I am bound 
 to believe the word of your father's son." 
 
 Jack straightened himself. " Please believe the 
 word of John Beverley," he said, " on its own 
 merits. I have only that with which to vouch for 
 my truth. You do not know that my word has 
 never been broken. I do." 
 
 Eileen sat gazing at him with parted lips and 
 bright eyes. She partly believed in him. Alas, it 
 was too late ! 
 
 " Whether you heard from me or not, my love for 
 you remains." 
 
 Eileen started to her feet. " Not another word," 
 she said ; " I cannot listen." 
 
 " Well, then," cried Jack, hastily, understanding 
 her, " I will not speak of that. Let us confine our 
 selves to history. Before I left Calcutta that night, 
 I told my father of my love, and asked him to plead 
 for me." 
 
 Eileen put her hand upon his arm. " If it is a 
 question of your father's honor, sir," she exclaimed 
 with flashing eyes, ''you have come to the wrong
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 213 
 
 person to attack that. I wonder at your lack of 
 delicacy in making such an accusation." 
 
 " That was not an accusation," answered Jack, 
 getting hotter and hotter, as he felt himself more 
 and more powerless. " It was a simple fact. I did 
 not say that he had not done so. I simply stated 
 that my father was my confidant." 
 
 " Captain Beverley," said Eileen, " you do your 
 self great wrong, and your father a much less one. 
 I cannot see the faintest object in your visit to-night, 
 or this interview." 
 
 " Eileen," said Jack, seizing her hand and trem 
 bling, "what shall I do? As there is a heaven 
 above us, I am an honest man. As there is a 
 heaven above us, I love you ; and as there is a 
 heaven, I only ask you to believe me. Will you 
 answer one question? Did you care for me when 
 you seemed to do so? If you did, I will live for 
 ever on that blessed recollection. I see I am 
 powerless. I only ask to know the truth. Tell 
 me." 
 
 " Answer me one question," said Eileen ; " why 
 did you leave Calcutta so suddenly?" 
 
 " Because of a telegram from Dinapore," answered 
 Jack, "from Colonel Denham-Browne. He behaved 
 very oddly when I got there, and treated me as if I 
 were in disgrace about something. He kept ad 
 vising me not to go back to Calcutta ; in fact, he 
 prevented me from doing so. I was in no trouble 
 at all. I have never been in debt ; I had no em 
 barrassments of any kind. I was sent off to Cabul 
 without any opportunities for explanation."
 
 214 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 "Did you write your father regularly?" she 
 said. 
 
 " Of course." (Colonel Beverley had declared 
 to Eileen that he had never heard from Jack.) 
 
 Eileen now interrupted him. " I do not under 
 stand it at all," she said. " When you went away, 
 as your father supposed and as I supposed, without 
 a word for me, he tried his best to make excuses for 
 you. He told me how good you were, that you 
 were only boyish and thoughtless." 
 
 It was hard for Jack to hear this. " Eileen," he 
 broke in, " I have loved that man as no man was 
 ever loved by a son. I would have died to vindi 
 cate his honor. I have never admitted that he had 
 a fault." Then, stopping suddenly, he said to her 
 in a low voice and with great emotion, " Are you 
 engaged to my father?" 
 
 Eileen looked at him and nodded her head 
 slowly. "I am," she said, "partly engaged to 
 him." 
 
 " Then, for Heaven's sake, withdraw ! " he said. 
 " If it were for his good or yours that you two 
 should marry, I am the last man on earth to wish 
 it otherwise. Leave me out of the question. I will 
 take myself off to-morrow ; but I can't, I can't see 
 this thing done." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Eileen angrily. "You seem 
 to imply some fearful misconduct. Name one act." 
 
 " Eileen," broke in Jack, " for weeks I was by 
 you, with you, wherever you went. I read in your 
 eyes that you were willing it should be so, did 
 I not? I don't understand women very well, but
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 2I 5 
 
 I thought I could not be mistaken. I asked you 
 to grant me an interview. You knew as well as 
 I what that meant. I could not keep the appoint 
 ment, and I wrote you so. I asked my father to 
 explain to you why I could not come, and to assure 
 you of my love. To do him justice, he did not 
 undertake to do so. I wrote you three times from 
 the northwest, I came as soon as I could to tell you. 
 I have done my very best. Now I will go, only 
 informing you that there are reasons why it would 
 be wrong for you to marry my father." 
 
 " Was there ever a woman on the face of this 
 earth who suffered at such disadvantage as I?" 
 exclaimed Eileen. " I cannot listen to your words 
 of affection, I mean I should not have listened to 
 them. It is dishonorable. I told Colonel Beverley 
 this very day that I would be his wife on certain 
 conditions. He has been, he is, more than kind, 
 more than lover-like. If he has shirked doing for 
 you what you asked him to do, it was because he 
 loved me too. It is a fearful complication. I shall 
 break it all off. I could not stand such a state of 
 affairs or such a life. There would be enmity be 
 tween you two, and I should have caused it. Hence 
 forth, we will all be strangers. I shall believe nothing 
 ill of either of you." 
 
 Jack had accomplished his object in ending the 
 affair with his father, and it mattered little to him 
 how it was done. 
 
 In the course of their conversation Eileen and 
 Jack had strolled down and out, and found them 
 selves outside the lodge-gate. The street was quiet
 
 2l6 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 like a lane, and they walked on in the cool of the 
 evening. Neither of them took note of anything 
 but this wretched crisis. When they were coming 
 back, a crouching figure, trembling, cowering, rose 
 from the ground, and slouched shrinking beside 
 Captain Beverley, mumbling in a low tone. 
 
 "Jao!" called the Captain, pushing the fellow, 
 whom he supposed to be a beggar, aside roughly. 
 
 But the man, with great, eager, imploring eyes, 
 clasped his hands together and besought one word. 
 " Protector of the poor, hear me ! " he cried. Jack 
 looked at him a second time. It was his own 
 bearer, Kali Dass. " Oh, why does your Honor 
 send his slave away?" cried the poor wretch. 
 " What has his Honor's suppliant done ? If he has 
 for one moment forgotten anything, let him be 
 beaten, but let him not be dismissed from the light 
 of his Master's face." 
 
 " May I speak to him? " asked Jack, turning to 
 Eileen. " I want to ask him something." Eileen 
 nodded. " Where is the letter I gave you with a 
 thousand directions for this lady? " asked the 
 Captain, in a low tone ; for he did not wish Eileen 
 to hear. 
 
 "The Colonel Sahib took it from my hand!" 
 exclaimed the bearer, fervently, rushing directly be 
 fore Eileen. " He said I will give it myself into 
 the hand of the Lady Ennen. Oh, Sahib, I speak 
 truth, I speak only truth." 
 
 " If they only ever did speak truth ! " said Eileen. 
 
 But constant dripping wears away a stone, and 
 Eileen began to think that the Colonel had cer-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 2I 7 
 
 tainly had some objection to her receiving Jack's 
 letters. 
 
 " Come to me in the morning," said Jack to the 
 servant, " to the Great Lord Sahib's house, I will 
 see you there." Jack was shaking all over. "I 
 promised to meet my father at ten. It is that now. 
 Let me take you in." 
 
 Affairs had taken an unexpected turn for which 
 Jack was unprepared ; but he thought Eileen had 
 had excitement enough for one night, and he wished 
 to leave her to be quiet. Perhaps sometime she 
 would see him as he was. 
 
 " Good-by to you both," said Eileen, gravely. She 
 walked up to the steps, and gave her hand to him at 
 the door. 
 
 "I must say good-night to Lady Barney," he said. 
 He stalked up the stairway, and found her on the 
 veranda by Barney's door. Eileen disappeared into 
 her room. " Good-night, dear Lady Barney," he 
 said ; " I shall be off in the morning. Good luck 
 to you, Barney ! " he called out cheerily ; and in a 
 lower tone, " A heartful of thanks to you, kind 
 friend." 
 
 Then he turned to go. Philippa followed him. 
 " It 's all wrong, then? " she said anxiously. 
 
 "All wrong," said Jack, wiping his forehead. 
 " Wish me a bloody war now. I 've got to fight it 
 off, and the quicker the better." 
 
 " Good-by," said Philippa, sadly. " I don't know 
 what Eileen does want, I 'm sure."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 /COLONEL BEVERLEY paced his veranda for 
 ^- / an hour before Jack came. He had left his 
 dinner as soon as the guests had risen, and was try 
 ing to think what he should say to Jack to keep him 
 quiet. He was not anxious to be regarded in a 
 favorable light particularly, except in so far as that 
 would keep Jack from speaking to Eileen about 
 him. 
 
 He was out of sorts. A vainer man never lived ; 
 and throughout this singular courtship, in which he 
 had figured as a suppliant, and Eileen as a queen, 
 doling out her favors or withholding them, he 
 had been uncomfortable and out of his element. 
 Women had always flattered and cajoled Colonel 
 Beverley. He was the idol of at least a dozen. 
 Eileen was no match for him. She was not really 
 in society at home, nor more than scantily approved 
 of in Calcutta. Tolerably well born, yes ; well, 
 very well born ; not rich, not influential, not even 
 dignified, but bewitching, fascinating, alluring. No 
 man could withstand that indescribable charm. 
 Variety was the soul of it. She was never twice 
 alike. He had seen her cross and angelic in five
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 219 
 
 short seconds. Each mood was more captivating 
 than the one before it. Indifference became her ; 
 preoccupation, listlessness, industry in fitful gusts, 
 as it usually swept over her, everything sat well 
 upon her dainty shoulders. Her voice was sweet, 
 her tones were cool and yet exciting. Everybody 
 listened when Eileen spoke. There was a freshness, 
 a breeziness which caught the ear instantly. She 
 seemed less active than she had before that little 
 voyage to Ceylon, not in the quality of her move 
 ments, but in the number of them. Grace was still 
 the feature of them all. There was never a trace 
 of real languor about Eileen, although she some 
 times feigned it. Even in her fatigues she was keenly 
 alert. 
 
 Colonel Beverley had not really wished to marry 
 her, until he found that she had never dreamed of 
 him as a suitor. Then his vanity was touched, his 
 ambition fired. If only he could shake off the con 
 suming passion he felt for her now, he would gladly 
 give her up. Marriage was a bore, was distasteful 
 to him. He had been free so long ; his nature was 
 fickle. He wanted a rich wife, if any ; at all events, 
 a distinguished one. But this Irish girl, with her 
 irresistible allurements, kept him more on the rack 
 than if he had been the rawest of raw fledglings, and 
 this his first affair of the heart. To-night his heart 
 throbbed with the pleasure of his day with Eileen as 
 if he had been a school-boy. He could afford to be 
 pleasant and fatherly and forgiving to Jack. Poor 
 fellow ! It was vulgar, this expedient of his. Inter 
 cepting letters was only fit for cads. But it made
 
 220 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 a simple thing out of what might have been a lon 
 ger and more complicated task. Of course he was 
 sure to win. 
 
 Jack walked in with a dark frown on his face. 
 His father might say what he chose without inter 
 ruption ; he should not speak, except to let him un 
 derstand that he knew everything. And after the 
 lame explanation or whatever the pretext of this 
 interview was had been made, he, the son, would 
 leave his father forever. Eileen was lost to him, too ; 
 but a legitimate loss was at least one that could be 
 faced. And he had still her image ; the other was 
 broken into a million bits. 
 
 Jack's mood was no bitterer than before. He 
 had gained his point in that he had succeeded in 
 preventing this unholy marriage, and the rest he 
 could bear. Still, his state was a trifle dangerous 
 for the tone Colonel Beverley was about to adopt ; 
 and a touch of fever, which tent-life had begun, and 
 to which excitement, rage, and despair had lent im 
 petus, was sending the blood through his veins at a 
 more rapid gait than was normal, even to a desperate 
 man. 
 
 " Sit down, Jack ! " the Colonel said affably. 
 " Have a cheroot, and I will send for a peg for you ; 
 then I can explain this little misunderstanding to 
 your satisfaction." 
 
 Jack's resolution not to speak flew to the winds. 
 "The only misunderstanding, sir," he said sternly, 
 " is yours now, if you think I am to be put off with 
 baby-talk. When you tell me what you did with 
 the letter you took from my bearer, and the three
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 2 2l 
 
 letters you took out of the post-office addressed to 
 Lady Eileen Beaufort, what you meant by telling 
 her that I was thoughtless, and had forgotten my ap 
 pointment with her, together with a variety of other 
 strange actions of yours in reference to me, it will be 
 time to talk about sitting down in your house, and 
 smoking and drinking with you." 
 
 " Even the missionaries atlach slight importance to 
 the word of a native, I believe," answered Colonel 
 Beverley, lying back comfortably in his chair, his arm 
 behind his head, and puffing at his cigar. " Your 
 belief in the race does you infinite credit, I 'm sure. 
 You have alluded and ' alluded ' is a delicate way of 
 stating your rough language to ' letters ' before, and 
 I should like to know what you meant. Your bearer 
 was dismissed for stealing, and has hunted you up, 
 I suppose, with a cock-and-bull-story of his having 
 given your letter to me. As for the other effusions, 
 they probably burned themselves up with sponta 
 neous combustion, if they were in your inflammable 
 style when you left. My jemadar, who is another 
 artistic liar, took the Winterfords' letters from the 
 office, and if there were any for Lady Ellen among 
 them, it was when she was away, possibly, and they 
 are lying about now somewhere, in which case they 
 can be found. When you accuse your own father of 
 stealing your idiot trash, and I can't put any other 
 construction on your talk, you simply show your 
 tender age. It 's time you were a man, and learned 
 to bear the ordinary reverses of life with some sense. 
 Trumping up tales against me to make your defeat 
 look like treachery on my part, is the dodge of an
 
 222 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 infant, and does your intelligence small credit, to say 
 nothing of its insufferable insolence. You are lying, 
 and you know it, when you make such an attack 
 upon an honor which should be as dear to you as 
 your own." 
 
 " Have a care, sir ! " retorted Jack, striding forward 
 a step. " It is the second time to-day you have 
 given me the lie. Listen to me for a moment ! I 
 send a letter to Lady Eileen Beaufort, which she 
 never sees. My bearer says you took it from him. 
 That alone would be nothing, I admit. I send a let 
 ter from Dinapore, and two letters from Cabul, im 
 ploring just acknowledgment at last, that 's all. She 
 never gets these. I write to the post-office here, to 
 make investigation ; I am assured that all the Win- 
 terfords' and Lady Eileen Beaufort's letters have 
 been put into your hands, not your jemadar's, 
 but yours ! A fourth letter is sent, and you are seen 
 to take it. Lady Eileen never " 
 
 Colonel Beverley sprang to his feet. He had been 
 growing gradually whiter and whiter, and livid spots 
 appeared upon his face. "So you set spies upon 
 me, do you ? spies upon your father in a pub 
 lic way ! The postmaster has been watching me, 
 eh? and at your instigation? Do you know what 
 you have done ? Do you know that you have been 
 guilty of the lowest, dirtiest trick a man can be guilty 
 of? This serves me right," he said, still glaring at 
 Jack, " for presuming to suppose that birth and 
 breeding would come out of themselves, and that 
 a gentleman's son could be trusted alone. Here 
 you are, grown to manhood, only to develop a set
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 223 
 
 of traits that would not do credit to the average 
 bootblack ! " 
 
 Jack went on, without answering these flings, al 
 though he felt himself growing more and more hot. 
 "Added to all this," he went on as calmly as he 
 could, " you wrote me evasive letters, pretending to 
 give me news of Lady Eileen, and giving me less 
 than none, telling absolute falsehoods about her, 
 while all the time you were paving the way 
 for your own schemes. I have not set spies upon 
 you ; I wished to know why my letters were kept 
 back. The postmaster knows nothing of the truth, 
 nor will he know. I am not such a fool as to pub 
 lish my family disgrace. But your explanation, as 
 you call it, goes for nothing in the face of such 
 damning proof as I have." 
 
 " And this is what one gets for devotion ! " the 
 Colonel said, with a sneer. " I try to save you from 
 defeat, from being badly hurt at the hands of a 
 woman of the world who was playing with you." 
 Jack clinched his fists. "I thought I would not 
 tell you this before ; but you are so confoundedly 
 hot-headed and go off so at half-cock that one has 
 to be brutal with you. Ellen Beaufort never cared 
 for you ; she was amusing herself. I saw that di 
 rectly you went away. I suspected it, and sounded 
 her carefully. I tried to tell her why you did not go 
 that morning, although, as I knew you had written 
 her yourself, there was no special need of my in 
 terference. ' He is a silly boy,' she said ; ' the ap 
 pointment was nothing. If he cares for me, he 'd 
 better stay away and forget me.' Of course, with
 
 224 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 things in that condition, I did not think best to feed 
 your flame with bits of detail about Lady Ellen's 
 movements. I purposely made slight, misleading 
 allusions to her, or none at all, in my letters to you. 
 I admit so much. I was thrown with them con 
 stantly in this recent trouble of theirs, with Barney 
 and all that. They depended upon me and confided 
 in me, and I grew more intimate than ever with the 
 family. As for Ellen," here the Colonel looked 
 gentler, and in fact he had relaxed from his haughty 
 anger somewhat as he talked, "I have grown 
 deeply attached to her, as her affection for me has be 
 come more and more evident. To-day we became 
 more than friends. Now let us be friends, Jack, and 
 forget all this boyish nonsense of yours. If I choose 
 to forgive black insults from you, surely you can meet 
 me half-way, if you are sore from defeat. You will 
 adore Lady Ellen as a young stepmother, and we 
 shall have great larks together. You could never 
 have won her for your wife ; it was absurd to dream 
 of it." 
 
 The blood had surged and ebbed and raced and 
 receded from Jack's forehead, his cheeks, his throat. 
 His eyeballs burned, his lips grew white as snow. 
 He grasped the table, to steady himself. His voice 
 trembled so that he was hardly articulate when he 
 spoke at last. 
 
 " Lady Ellen Beaufort does not intend to marry 
 you, sir ! " he could not resist saying. " I bring you 
 this news, although not as a message. She will 
 communicate with you herself." 
 
 Colonel Beverley sprang at his son, and caught
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 225 
 
 him by the collar. " You whelp ! " he ejaculated 
 between his teeth ; and this time his voice shook. 
 
 Jack remained passive in his hands. " I shall 
 not strike you, sir," said Jack; "but perhaps you'd 
 better keep your hands off me." 
 
 "Strike me?" gasped the other, shaking Jack vio 
 lently, and throwing him off so abruptly and with 
 such force as to send him against the edge of the 
 doorway, inflicting rather a severe cut upon Jack's 
 head. A fight with his son would put the last 
 touches to Eileen's contemplated rejection, if this 
 were authentic news the boy brought, and he must 
 be well and strong in the morning to begin the bom 
 bardment again. He would marry her or die. 
 " I can't fight with you," he said contemptuously. 
 " I have a right to thrash you soundly, and you 
 richly deserve it. But I won't fight with you. Dogs, 
 children, and fools are barred. We '11 meet publicly 
 as friends, although I shall have hard work to keep 
 my hands off you ; one must keep up the decencies 
 of life. But let me hear of your seeing my promised 
 wife, and trying to poison her mind with your infa 
 mous lies about me, and I '11 " 
 
 " Two can play at infamous lies, but one won't," 
 replied Jack. " I leave you, sir, and I advise you 
 to rap the next rival over the head, or put a bullet 
 through him. You '11 find it a more paying invest 
 ment than trying to circumvent him with trickery." 
 And Jack left the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 JACK wandered on and on, not knowing or car 
 ing where he went. Fever was racing through 
 him ; he knew nothing could save him now from a 
 bout of it. " My father gone," he almost mumbled, 
 " no father any more. Where is the man I have 
 worshipped? There never was such a man; this 
 was in him, or it couldn't have come out. And 
 Eileen lost, what have I left? My trade, that's 
 all. I shall petition to join my regiment. Never 
 one peaceful breath will I draw again ; and as for 
 Calcutta, to-morrow I will leave it forever." 
 
 Jack staggered in at Government House, and 
 found Carbury just going to bed. 'It was nearly 
 morning. " Come, Tommy ! " said Jack, feigning 
 joviality, " let 's have a game of pool. Don't go to 
 bed, there 's a good fellow ! Some of them are up ; 
 I heard the balls clicking. Stanhope and Villars are 
 there, I know. Come on ! " 
 
 " Then you 're not ' off in the morning,' " laughed 
 Tom, deceived for a moment by the manner; 
 " you 're going to ' hang about for a week,' eh? I 
 congratulate you."
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 227 
 
 " On what? " said Jack, " on the death and bur 
 ial of every tie I had, all I cared for in the world ? 
 I Ve just been to all their funerals, and I 'm feeling 
 jolly, because there is nothing left I can possibly feel, 
 a pang about in future. That 's a good deal to 
 be thankful for, is n't it? I 'm really to be envied, 
 now I tell you, Tom ! " 
 
 Carbury turned and looked at Jack. He was fa 
 miliar with this phase of misanthropy too. It usu 
 ally followed hard upon the other. " I don't want 
 to celebrate your misfortunes, if you do," he said, 
 " and I 'm deuced sorry to see you so ill, for that 's 
 what 's the matter. You 're well on for jungle fever, 
 old man ! " Tom added anxiously, grasping Jack's 
 wrist, and feeling his pulse throb wildly, " and you 
 must go to bed ! " 
 
 " Bed ? " sneered Jack. " I 'm not going to bed 
 in this hole. I can't sleep till I get to my own 
 rough cot in my own little tent, the bed of a 
 soldier." 
 
 Could it be that he had been drinking? thought 
 Tom. No, he was excited and very feverish. 
 
 " I don't want to see any of your down pillows 
 and satin counterpanes. What I want is a " And 
 here Jack burst into rather an unintelligible strain, 
 which settled Tom in his determination to get him 
 off to bed, and send the surgeon to him. 
 
 "What on earth can it be?" Tom thought. 
 " Lady Eileen's refusal would not account for all 
 this. There 's something wrong with his governor. 
 There was blood on his shirt-collar too. Oh, I see ! 
 It 's a case of father versus son. and of course the
 
 228 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 father in this case wins. I 'm awfully sorry. I 
 wonder if that lovely thing is going to marry that 
 man. You never can tell what a woman will 
 do." 
 
 Jack could not be kept quiet just then. He came 
 rambling back into Tom's room, and insisted upon 
 talking. He was not exactly delirious, only ex- ' 
 cited ; and Tom at last thought it better to let him 
 go on. 
 
 " Tom," he said, " I know you think I 'm an aw 
 ful baby, but I Ve had such hard blows. You 
 don't know, Tom. Don't think it 's all because of a 
 woman I am so cut up. It "s worse than that ; that 's 
 simple. Until I get used to it a bit I shall be deuced 
 eccentric, I know. It drives me perfectly mad. It 
 settles down and over me like the black cap a man is 
 hanged in. I can't see straight, I can't, Tom. I 
 don't know much," he went on. " A fool could cheat 
 me. I Ve never suspected any one. Soldiering 's all 
 I Ve got solid, and that 's all I want now. Thank 
 God ! I have n't done a dirty action yet. I Ve got 
 clean hands ; and if ever I do anything mean, I hope 
 I shall be drawn through the Hooghli current, at the 
 tail of a dinghi, with crocodiles biting me at every 
 step." 
 
 " You won't think you 're mean, if you ever get 
 to be so," said Tom, quietly. " A man falls into it 
 gradually. What he wants he thinks he deserves ; 
 and if he does n't get it, he thinks it 's others who 
 are cheating him." 
 
 " No," said Jack, " it does n't come gradually. 
 It 's in a man, and comes out. Never mind, Tom !
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 229 
 
 You 're a good fellow ; and if I had n't had you 
 here, I should have made a good deal bigger ass 
 of myself." 
 
 Of course Jack was not able to go away in the 
 morning, nor for several mornings. Carbury wanted 
 to send for his father, but Jack announced decidedly 
 that that was not to be done.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 T 17 HEN Jack Beverley had gone, after that ex- 
 * * tremely unpleasant evening at the Winter- 
 fords', Eileen was as thoroughly unhappy and 
 uncomfortable as she had ever been in her whole life. 
 Although she had been as discreet as she knew how to 
 be with Jack on the subject of his father, nothing but 
 a guilty recollection of the tie she had herself been 
 coaxed into forming that day had kept her from re 
 nouncing Colonel Beverley' s acquaintance forever, 
 and letting Jack see the real state of her feeling toward 
 him. For Eileen knew, when she saw the young 
 man, so honest, so good, so manly, standing before 
 her, almost tongue-tied, that he was the only being 
 she cared for sufficiently to marry. And he was the 
 very one she could not marry. There was her fate 
 again ; self-rushed upon, but no matter ! It was 
 fate, just the same, and she could not escape it. 
 Marry the Colonel ? Never .' He had forfeited the 
 right to her esteem ; for if Jack was truthful in even 
 the little he had said or implied, his father was the 
 opposite. He must have intercepted her letters 
 from Jack, and he had deceived her about him. 
 Jack would never have made the statements he 
 had made to her that night, if they had not been
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 2 3 I 
 
 true. And all the Colonel's sadness and his apolo 
 gies for his son's negligence were feigned. It was a 
 relief to know it ; for to believe ill of Jack Beverley 
 had been hard for her, whereas she cared so little in 
 her heart for his father. " Oh, Jack, dear Jack," 
 she called aloud, " I could not tell you, darling boy, 
 but I do love you. Perhaps if I could have you, 
 I should not, I am so unprincipled ; but now that 
 you are lost to me, I cannot live without you ! " 
 He wanted truth, she said ; and truth he shall have, 
 now that it is too late. And so, after she had framed 
 a startling resolution, which was to take her world 
 by surprise in the morning, she penned Jack a com 
 forting little note, or at least it was comforting to 
 her to write it. The note was laid beside Jack's 
 bedside ; and when he could, he read it. But it did 
 not cure his fever, and in fact he was decidedly 
 light-headed after reading it. It was, as the French 
 say, thus conceived : 
 
 MY DEAR JACK [that was good for two degrees of 
 temperature, at least], Is truth best? And do you 
 really want to know it ? Then I will tell you it. I have 
 cared for you more than for any other man. I say 
 "have cared," because, dear Jack, we are the victims of 
 fate, and have been vanquished. Do not try to see me. 
 We cannot trust ourselves yet, and we must not see 
 each other. A shadow is between us, and we can 
 never drive it away. Bear it, Jack, as I shall ; and when 
 you hear what I have done, do not despise me. It is 
 for the sake of one who loves me as I do not deserve to 
 be loved, and who is better than either you or I, or 
 anybody else in the world. By and by we can be 
 friends; not yet, because we cannot trust ourselves. 
 
 Yours, ELLEN.
 
 232 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 "When you hear what I have done for the 
 sake of one who loves me better than I deserve 
 who is better than anyone else in the world " 
 Jack's head swam, and strange lights flickered be 
 fore his hot eyeballs, as he went over and over the 
 unintelligible words. It was not long before he 
 learned what they meant ; but Tom Carbury, seeing 
 the effect of the note, took care he should not learn 
 any startling tidings until he was out of the woods. 
 But all that day he murmured and mumbled, " Who 
 is better than you or I, who loves me as I do not 
 deserve to be loved," and fell into little troubled 
 naps, still mumbling. 
 
 Eileen was busy nearly all night ; and Colonel Bev- 
 erley received one of the fruits of her industry, which 
 sent him into paroxysms of wild rage. It began : 
 
 MY DEAR COLONEL BEVERLEY, I retract the half 
 promise [" Half promise ! " he muttered. " Most mem 
 ories add ; hers subtracts "] I made you yesterday. I 
 never should have made it; but having done so, I 
 now assure you that no power on earth shall make me 
 keep it. Consider me absolved, and by no means come 
 to see me at present. 
 
 Yours sincerely, ELLEN BEAUFORT. 
 
 A thousand devils ! Jack's work, of course ! He 
 had told her about the letters. The Colonel swore 
 until the air was dark about him, bright, sunny 
 morning though it was. He had been prepared, 
 and had got up early, determined to open the cam 
 paign before Jack could arrive on the spot. The Colo 
 nel's bearer had never gone through quite so much
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 233 
 
 at his master's hands or his lips, rather as in that 
 morning's dressing. Jack, thought the Colonel, Jack, 
 the cub, the un dutiful, hypocritical, moral son who 
 had worried him more by his candor and virtue than 
 if he had run into debt or scrapes, a thousand times, 
 Jack has done me this turn. " I should like to kill 
 him," gasped the Colonel. " ' She will not marry 
 you ! ' " he quoted mockingly. "She won't, won't 
 she ? We shall see about that ! I '11 marry her in 
 the teeth of Satan, and I '11 marry her in a month 
 too ; and if we ever have a son, I '11 strangle him 
 the moment he is born." 
 
 There was no time to be lost ; he was in the habit 
 of strolling in at the Winterfords' in the mornings. 
 Choking, apoplectic, yet outwardly calm enough, he 
 went out his door and into his brougham. The syce 
 had brought his buggy as usual, and he found he 
 could not drive, his hand shook so. He wanted to 
 carry Ellen off on a pillion, like Lochinvar, while 
 the fools looked on and gaped. Oh for the old 
 days when men fought and won the women they 
 wanted ! That was what Jack had thought too. The 
 point of view changed the aspect somewhat. Colo 
 nel Beverley looked upon himself as an injured man. 
 " Love her ! " he said. " I don't know and I don't 
 care whether I love her or not, or whether she loves 
 me or not. She 's beautiful, the minx, and bewitch 
 ing ; and I '11 tame her, that 's all. She thinks she 
 can play her men as she chooses ; I '11 teach her how 
 to treat this one." 
 
 Arrived at the Winterfords', he strolled about, and 
 found no one. They had not breakfasted, the ser-
 
 234 
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 vant said. The brougham was ordered at ten. Colo 
 nel Beverley wrote on his card, and sent it to Eileen, 
 " I must see you ; I will wait." 
 
 The bearer returned. " Lady Ennen was asleep," 
 the ayah said, " and was not to be disturbed." But 
 the Colonel did not go. 
 
 After a time Philippa came downstairs. Colonel 
 Beverley asked anxiously if he might not see Eileen. 
 " I feel I have a right now," he said, with a smile half 
 knowing, half tender, and throwing his promise of 
 the day before to the winds. Why should he keep 
 it now? 
 
 " I advise you not to talk about ' rights,' with her 
 Imperial Highness," laughed Philippa. " Her ayah 
 is on guard, and I was not allowed to put my head 
 inside the dressing-room door even. I received a 
 written request to drive with the lady at ten, and I 
 fancy she breakfasts in her own room, for it is that 
 now." 
 
 The brougham could hardly be brought to Eileen's 
 bedroom-door, but Eileen was determined not to be 
 waylaid by her indignant lover. The bathrooms had 
 staircases leading down from them outside, spiral 
 ways enclosed in a kind of turret. She ran down 
 the spiral stair, and got into the carriage, for which 
 she beckoned. Then she sent a salaam to Lady 
 Barney, who was waiting at the door. Colonel Bev 
 erley went with Philippa, to put her in at the tower- 
 door. He was as resolute as Eileen. " Ellen," he 
 said in an authoritative tone, " I am waiting to speak 
 to you. Will you grant me five minutes now?" 
 
 " I am going on an important errand now,"
 
 THE D EVER LEYS. 
 
 235 
 
 she said ; " I will give you an interview at twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 Colonel Beverley put his hand on the carriage- 
 door. " Forgive me for being so persistent," he 
 urged, in a peremptory tone which belied his gentle 
 phrase ; " two minutes will do, but they must be 
 these." He felt sure she was on her way to meet 
 Jack, and he must talk to her before that, or all was 
 ended. 
 
 Eileen drew herself up haughtily. " Is a woman 
 at the mercy of a man, then," she asked, " that she 
 may not choose her own times? At twelve o'clock 
 you may see me, Colonel Beverley, and not an instant 
 before." 
 
 The enraged Colonel bit his lip, raised his hat, 
 shut the door which he had opened for Philippa, 
 and they were gone. "Damn her!" he muttered. 
 " She has beaten. She will come back engaged to 
 Jack, and together they will defy me. Engaged to 
 him ! No money, not a pice, either of them, and 
 no prospect of any. Fools ! She shall be publicly 
 engaged to me, I swear; and if that is the most 
 I can do, I will publicly throw her over, by Jove ! 
 I have a thousand minds to go to the Club now 
 and proclaim our engagement. Perhaps I 'd better 
 wait until after twelve. This errand of life and death 
 may be an appointment with the dressmaker. Curse 
 her ! What frightful airs she gives herself ! And 
 what an exquisite hussy it is too ! " 
 
 "What is all this ? " asked Philippa, anxiously, when 
 they were outside the gate. "Why do you treat 
 Colonel Beverley so, and where are we going?"
 
 236 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 Philippa did not repose that blind confidence in her 
 pilot which enabled her to approve, uninformed, of 
 the purpose of the expedition. She had supposed 
 it to be a shopping-tour. In fact, when Colonel 
 Beverley had asked what order to give the coach 
 man, as he shut the brougham-door, Eileen had 
 given him the name of an English shop in the town. 
 But that did not quite satisfy Philippa now. 
 
 " Philippa," Eileen said, clasping her sister's hand 
 and drawing close to her, " I am going to that dear 
 man who loves me so, and whom I have almost 
 brought to death by my wickedness. I am going to 
 give myself to him ; please God, I can bring him 
 back to health, and at least I know I can make him 
 happy." 
 
 Philippa's eyes were nearly out of her head. Her 
 brain reeled at the suddenness of the girl's gyrations. 
 " Eileen ! " she exclaimed, " you shall not do this 
 insane thing ! Why should you ? What has brought 
 you to it ? Not our affairs, Eileen ? You know we 
 do not need you to do it for us ; and as for yourself, 
 you know you are always to share with us. Besides, 
 Eileen, you must stop these wild, madcap actions of 
 yours. I will not lend my countenance to them. 
 What have you done to Colonel Beverley? Yester 
 day you two were like lovers, and you must have 
 given him definite encouragement, for he said he 
 had a right to see you this morning." 
 
 " A right to see me, has he ? " broke in Eileen, 
 her 'face crimson. " Philippa, he did have a right. 
 I can't tell you how he has forfeited the right, or the 
 right to a decent woman's esteem; but he knows
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 237 
 
 perfectly. I made him a promise, you know how 
 he has pursued me, and I was so tired of this 
 everlasting restlessness, I wanted an anchorage ; but 
 that is over. As for Mr. Warwick's money, I shall 
 not touch it ; it has nothing to do with the question. 
 I wish he were as poor as Job, that 1 might work for 
 him. I hate Colonel Beverley," she went on, with 
 a ring of rage in her voice which would not have 
 pleased the Colonel, nor encouraged him, "and I 
 cannot marry Jack." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Philippa, quickly. "He is 
 devoted to you too, and such a fine fellow, near your 
 age, and I know you like him." 
 
 " It 's not a question of liking, either," answered 
 Eileen, firmly, shutting her eyes. " Marriage with 
 him is not to be thought of. To marry Mr. Warwick 
 is my intention. This is not an impulse, Philippa ; 
 you will see. If I am ever to do anything for a hu 
 man being, this is my opportunity. It is no use to 
 try to cross me now, Philippa. I shall go alone if 
 you don't go with me, for I am determined." 
 
 Philippa shook her head, and a very anxious frown 
 was on her forehead. She hardly knew what to do ; 
 but it was very evident that Eileen would do exactly 
 as she chose. There was no restraining her now 
 any more than there ever had been. The coach 
 man's order was changed ; and when they arrived at 
 Mr. Warwick's house, Eileen marched up the steps 
 with a proud, firm tread, while the stately Philippa, 
 mortally ashamed of herself and Eileen and the 
 whole affair, walked guiltily behind with a very red 
 face. In her heart she had always wished Eileen to
 
 238 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 marry the rich banker, for she knew what a " stead 
 ier " wealth would be to her ; and of course forswear 
 ing it was nonsense. At the same time this was 
 not legitimate, this extraordinary morning visit to a 
 man in his sick-room, as a preliminary to matrimony. 
 It was an indecent escapade, Philippa said to her 
 self; and being a party to it was abhorrent to her. 
 But letting Eileen go through her absurd scene 
 alone would be worse ; so she allowed herself to be 
 drawn in. 
 
 Philippa could not bear, either, to see a young 
 girl sacrificed to an invalid. Mr. Warwick was hope 
 lessly ill, they had been told, but he might live on 
 and on for months or years. However, there was 
 no more use in trying to stop the young woman 
 now, than in requesting the breezes of heaven not 
 to blow; so she followed in the girl's wake, with 
 downcast eyes. 
 
 Mr. Warwick had had a bad night, the English 
 nurse, whom they summoned, said, but perhaps 
 they might see him for a moment only. He was 
 very weak, but the doctor did not find that the 
 ladies' visit of the day before had done him harm. 
 
 "Could I see him for a minute alone?" asked 
 Eileen, boldly. 
 
 Philippa blushed more scarlet than ever. " I will 
 go with you," she said reproachfully to the girl. 
 
 So they went into Mr. Warwick's room ; and there 
 they found him, oh, so pale and weak, but brightened 
 at the thought of seeing them. Perhaps he was 
 buoying himself up with a ray of false hope again, 
 foolish man that he was ! Nothing but death, it
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 239 
 
 seemed, could extinguish the spark which glowed 
 whenever he saw Eileen. 
 
 Eileen went to the bedside, and took one of the 
 thin hands in both her own. " You are going to be 
 well soon," she said, smiling. " I am to make you 
 so. Listen, dear ! " Her lips quivered a little as 
 she uttered the last word, and Mr. Warwick flushed 
 painfully. 
 
 Philippa sauntered into the dressing-room, and 
 entered into a low dialogue with the nurse. 
 
 " You are not strong enough to talk about it now, 
 nor even to hear me talk much. I shall announce 
 our engagement as soon as I leave here ; and as soon 
 as you are able, we will be married." 
 
 The poor man shook his head, and put his hand 
 over his eyes. Eileen kissed the hand. " That 's 
 all now, darling. I only wish you were poor and 
 not rich. Will you lie here, and think of my happi 
 ness and yours until I come again ? I must not tire 
 you ; I shall come again to-morrow. I am yours, 
 and you are mine." And slipping a ring off her 
 finger, Eileen placed it upon Mr. Warwick's ema 
 ciated hand. "Come, Philippa !" And she burst 
 from the room before the bewildered man could find 
 breath wherewith to utter a word. Even then he 
 could not call her back, although he tried. He 
 looked at the ring in bewilderment; he imprinted 
 a timid little kiss upon it ; and sinking back upon 
 his pillow and closing his eyes, he lay dreaming, 
 half unconscious, of the most blissful moment of 
 his life. 
 
 " Oh, Eileen," said Philippa, her face blazing, as
 
 240 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 they entered the carriage again, to go home (the 
 whole thing had taken hardly five minutes) , " what 
 have I been a party to? " 
 
 " To the one transaction of my career of which I 
 am not ashamed," returned Eileen, looking heroic, 
 although she seemed on the point of breaking down. 
 " It is odd to you ; but you don't know how the dear 
 thing has worshipped me, and how I have driven 
 him about until he has been nearly demented, and 
 he so sweet and gentle and kind through everything ! 
 Philippa, love is a word I shall never take upon my 
 lips ; but every other noble feeling inspires me 
 when I think of that man." 
 
 " And yet without love all the other feelings are 
 nothing," sighed Philippa. " How I wish you were 
 not such a whirlwind, Eileen ! And how I wish I 
 knew whether I have done an absolute wrong in 
 letting this thing go on or not." 
 
 "You couldn't have stopped it," said Eileen; 
 " so don't disturb yourself on that score." 
 
 " I am afraid of you, Eileen," resumed Philippa, 
 " you make my brain reel ; and yet I believe I am 
 more in sympathy with this move if it could only 
 have been made sooner and not so theatrically 
 than with any of the others. However, let us keep 
 this strictly private at present." 
 
 " Private ! " cried Eileen ; " I shall make my en 
 gagement to Mr. Warwick public in another hour." 
 
 "I forbid it," said Philippa. "If you have any 
 regard for me, you will not do this and displease me. 
 Mr. Warwick is too ill now ; he may not live, Eileen. 
 Wait a few weeks, at least."
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 241 
 
 " Not a moment ! " said Eileen, firmly ; and her 
 chin was set beyond appeal ; " I can't. I hurried 
 about this because I cannot be rid of Colonel Bev- 
 erley without something positive to tell him. You 
 don't know him, Philippa ; he would never let me 
 go. He is the only man I am afraid of. I am 
 afraid of him when I am alone with him." 
 
 " I will stay in the room with you, dear, if you 
 wish it," urged Philippa. "You have a right to 
 change your mind, and he is not coward enough to 
 intimidate you. He is a gentleman." 
 
 " Yes, he is; no, he isn't," answered Eileen, to 
 the last two statements. " He had a gleam in his 
 eye, and he means to alarm me into submission. I 
 know him. I shall tell him that I am engaged. He 
 won't tell anybody, you may be sure, and we won't 
 tell any one else for the present, if that will please 
 you, Philippa. But I will see him alone, I would 
 rather ; he will never be contented until he does see 
 me, and it 's much better to have it over." 
 
 Philippa had to content herself with this 
 compromise. 
 
 Eileen, the bold, the daring, felt herself very small 
 and weak when twelve o'clock came, and with it her 
 outraged lover. But she went to meet him, as he 
 came in, with a front of steel. " Colonel Beverley," 
 she said, looking up at him unflinchingly, although a 
 tell-tale trip-hammer in her breast was sending the 
 blood irregularly into her face and out, " I have a 
 piece of news for you." 
 
 It was what he had feared then ; Jack had lied to 
 him again. He had said he was going off in the 
 16
 
 242 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 morning ; and when Colonel Beverley, in his despera 
 tion, trying every means to circumvent him, had 
 gone to Government House, one of Carbury's ser 
 vants told him as a blind, of course, that the 
 Captain Sahib (Jack) was ill upstairs. So much for 
 true morality ! 
 
 " A piece of news? " he repeated, with kindly sur 
 prise ; " well, let me hear it. Let 's sit down, dearest ! 
 Is your Arab dead? or has Barney eaten one of 
 his quail ? It 's sad news, I judge, from your 
 expression." 
 
 " No, not altogether sad," said Eileen, forcing a 
 smile. " I am engaged to Mr. Warwick, and he, 
 you know, is frightfully ill. That is the sad part 
 of it." 
 
 Colonel Beverley fastened a piercing look upon 
 his promised bride of the day before, as well he 
 might. Eileen was frightened, but she had nerved 
 herself up to go through any kind of scene, and did 
 not show her fright. 
 
 "Is there insanity in your family?" he asked 
 with pretended anxiety; and indeed a stronger 
 man might have been staggered by the rapidity of 
 Eileen's changes of base. 
 
 " Don't speak to me like that ! " said Eileen, losing 
 her temper and stamping her foot angrily. She saw 
 her mistake now, in not having either refused this 
 interview altogether, or placed herself on the right 
 footing, which was disgust at Colonel Beverley's con 
 duct, and a determination to have nothing more to 
 do with him. Her fear of dragging Jack into a 
 quarrel with his father had caused her to appear
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 243 
 
 undignified, erratic, and in fact almost insane. " I 
 do owe you an explanation, I am aware," she said 
 more quietly, "and I will give it you." 
 
 " Well, considering the fact that I left you late 
 yesterday only my affianced wife, that 's all, I may 
 not deserve any explanation of this sudden over 
 turning of the whole system of the spheres; you 
 know best about that. Don't trouble to tell me 
 about it, if it's a bore. Besides, at this rate of 
 speed, you may be promising yourself to another 
 man by night ; so why bother about so many ex 
 planations ? One at the end if there comes an 
 end will do for all." 
 
 Eileen stood before the Colonel, a picture of un 
 appeasable wrath. " I am accountable to no one 
 for my actions," she said. "I have changed my 
 views concerning you, and I would not on any 
 account marry you, that is all." 
 
 "Then you are not engaged to Mr. Warwick?" 
 Colonel Beverley asked. " Pardon me "if I do not 
 understand, quite. You have engaged yourself to 
 him since last night, and he very ill in bed ? 
 Your story has an air of unreality about it. It 
 seems incredible, in fact." 
 
 " I am going to marry Mr. Warwick," she said 
 boldly, with a large lump in her throat nevertheless. 
 
 Colonel Beverley had really grasped the situation 
 perfectly. He knew that Eileen in a fit of pique 
 at having been deceived, and really not daring to 
 change so rapidly from father to son, had thrown 
 herself, perhaps by letter, into Mr. Warwick's arms. 
 " Daring little scatter-brain ! " he thought. " Fool-
 
 244 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 ish baby ! A dead man my rival, eh? " And then 
 there occurred the pleasing thought, to his machi 
 nating mind, that Eileen would be a more suitable 
 match a year hence, as inheritress of the Warwick 
 millions. Still, that was only passing ; he could not 
 let slight and humiliation go by so easily. 
 
 " Eileen," he said very softly, changing his tone, 
 " you are only a child, and you have had so much 
 worry lately that it has unstrung you. You are 
 mine, you know ; I have not released you from our 
 engagement. It is my duty to look after you. 
 Now think no more about marriage at present. 
 Let us be quietly happy. Warwick is very sick ; 
 and much credit as your sweet, sacrificing spirit does 
 you, you cannot be allowed to go on with that step. 
 Jack has tried to injure his own father, who, old as 
 he is in the ways of the world, has no weapon 
 with which to reply to his stabs in the back. Let 
 us be patient and wait. Time will right me ; I only 
 ask for that." 
 
 "Jack has not tried to injure you," answered 
 Eileen, loftily. " It is you who tried to injure him, 
 and succeeded. My peculiar lot forces me into 
 strange complications, and sometimes I have to 
 act with lightning-quickness. I cannot argue with 
 you. I would not listen to you again, if you fol 
 lowed me to the ends of the earth. I shall marry 
 Mr. Warwick, or remain unmarried." 
 
 " And where is Jack? " asked the Colonel, whose 
 gentleness was fitful. " You have been engaged to 
 him, I suppose, and thrown him over within the last 
 twenty- four hours? "
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 245 
 
 Eileen curled her lip, and started toward the 
 door, without a word. Colonel Beverley caught her 
 by the wrist, and forced her to sit beside him on 
 the sofa. He drew her close to him, and kissed her 
 angry face wildly with fiery kisses. " Eileen," he 
 begged, " don't send me away, don't, in Heaven's 
 name ! What have I done but love you too well ? 
 What proof can I give, do you ask? My son is 
 estranged from me on your account ; and now you 
 leave me. No, no, darling," for Eileen was mak 
 ing a mad struggle to get away, "you cannot go. 
 You must stay. Let me tell you, dear, I have never 
 begun to tell you the extent of my burning love for 
 you." 
 
 Eileen had ceased to struggle ; she lay passively 
 against his shoulder, her eyes shut, her muscles 
 relaxed. Colonel Beverley looked anxiously at the 
 quiet figure. He laid her upon the sofa, and seeing 
 her still rigid, ran to ask for water, for fear of alarm 
 ing the house if he called. 
 
 As soon as he was at the end of the room, Eileen 
 opened her eyes, started to her feet, and was out in 
 a fraction of a second. By the time the Colonel 
 returned to the empty sofa, she was in her dressing- 
 room sponging her face vigorously, trying to remove 
 the insulting stains of the kisses which had put the 
 crowning touches to the loathing she should always 
 feel for Colonel Beverley.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " "\/"OU may hear strange ' gup ' about me," said 
 
 * Colonel Beverley, laughingly, at the Club, to 
 Tom Carbury, whom he had asked to lunch with 
 him. Colonel Beverley was looking very well ; 
 bright and easy, and as young as Jack. " A good 
 deal younger than Jack," thought Carbury, who 
 knew how the poor boy was tossing and turning on 
 his bed at that moment. 
 
 " I don't take much stock in ' gup,' " answered 
 Tom, carelessly. He was in rather an uncomfort 
 able position, as regarded Jack, and was lunching 
 with the Colonel partly that he might learn better 
 what to do. There was a wound on Jack's head, 
 which had not been noticed at first ; but it had bled 
 and bled, quietly, and had bidden fair to be ugly at 
 one time, owing to delay. It would be a satisfaction 
 to know something. 
 
 " I '11 tell you the truth, Carbury," the Colonel 
 went on ; " it 's better you should know. You are a 
 friend of us all, and have been in it somewhat." 
 
 Tom looked up. " I 'm Jack's friend, you know, 
 Bev," he said distinctly ; " you understand that. 
 Nobody says a word against the boy to me. Now 
 go on, if you like."
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 247 
 
 " Oh, who is n't his friend ? " laughed Colonel 
 Beverley, gayly. " Rustic simplicity always fetches 
 the populace. No. Jack, as you know, as everybody 
 knows, was wild gone mad over Lady Ellen. 
 I did n't know it for a long time ; at least, I did n't 
 choose to know it, because I thought it would die 
 out. I was getting rather deep in that direction 
 myself. I offered to withdraw in Jack's favor, 
 ridiculous situation, was n't it ? but Jack, who is a 
 filial dog, if I do say it, who should n't, offered 
 to withdraw in mine, and did withdraw, by Jove ! 
 The very idea of a father and son competing for the 
 same matrimonial prize was distasteful to us both, 
 naturally. In vain I assured Jack that I was not 
 hit ; the thought was enough for him. He 's an 
 odd, sentimental dog ; and my lady, in a fit of pique 
 at what she calls the desertion of both, is going to 
 marry old Warwick, with both feet in the grave, I 
 hear." 
 
 Carbury was not anxious the Colonel should take 
 him for a gullible fool. But he had sworn to Jack. 
 " You are lucky," he said, " in having a son like 
 that ; they don't grow on every bush, and I don't 
 know one like him. He 's too honorable ; that 's 
 the trouble." 
 
 " I 'm not worrying over that," said the Colonel. 
 " His honor won't keep him awake nights. He 's 
 too confoundedly romantic ; that 's the trouble. He 
 quarrelled with me for nothing, and won't make up. 
 I don't even know where he is now, do you? " 
 
 " Yes," said Carbury, " I know. Old Warwick, 
 they say, can't pull through. Does the girl prefer a
 
 248 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 corpse to two fine figures of men, like you and 
 Jack?" 
 
 " It was not a question of preference," answered 
 the Colonel, mysteriously. " But," he added with a 
 sigh, " I am awfully fond of that charming creature, 
 and life seems dark without her, and really " 
 And Colonel Beverley tried to pull a long face, and 
 look sad, with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Carbury kept his counsel, but he remembered too 
 distinctly Jack's bitterness to believe this tale. A 
 simple withdrawal would have raised Jack's esteem 
 for his father, not laid it in the dirt. But he told 
 Jack nothing of all this. And when Jack was able, 
 and just before he left Calcutta, he wrote Eileen a 
 note ; and this is what he said : 
 
 " I understand. It is better. The shadow is on our 
 hearts, and you could not have been happy. When we 
 are both old, we can see each other, and my pain may 
 perhaps be dulled, although I do not see any chance of 
 it now. I hope you are not suffering one millionth of 
 this." 
 
 And Eileen, who had been through everything 
 lately, with her head high, and who seemed able 
 to bear things which laid strong men low, Eileen, 
 who had hardly given way once, burst into wild sobs 
 over the little letter. 
 
 "Happiness," she said, "what is it? There is 
 never any for me. And since Jack has known me, 
 he has had little. And that other, that dear one to 
 whom I belong now, he is just beginning to know 
 it now that he can have almost none."
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 249 
 
 There was a short, a very short period of hap 
 piness for Mr. Warwick. He rallied temporarily 
 under Eileen's ministrations, and at one time they 
 thought he might be got on board ship to go home. 
 But he failed again steadily. It was too late to save 
 his life. 
 
 But Eileen retrieved a part of the trouble she had 
 made him, and indeed she exaggerated her own 
 fault in the matter. 
 
 And then he died, brave, patient, happy Mr. 
 Warwick ! He had had three weeks of bliss unspeak 
 able, with Eileen reading to him, talking gently to 
 him, or when he grew too weak for reading or talk 
 ing, sitting with her hand in his, giving him his 
 draughts, and letting him see her complete serenity 
 in his presence. He had worried a little over one 
 thing. He did not like to think that she had come 
 simply out of pity, and to nurse him ; and he could 
 not bear to think of her young life ruined for the 
 second time. " Dearest," he said once feebly, " did 
 you care for either of the Beverleys? " 
 
 " For Jack, dear," she said softly ; " but I was 
 engaged to his father for about a minute," she 
 added archly. 
 
 " For Jack," he repeated a long time after ; " can 
 you not marry him by and by? " 
 
 She shook her head. " No, darling." 
 
 " I wish you could," he said wearily. " I could 
 die so much more easily if I thought you would be 
 happily married." 
 
 " I am happy now," she said, " or I should be if 
 you were well. If you will get strong, and leave
 
 20 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 the horrid money to somebody else, I shall be the 
 happiest woman in the world." 
 
 That night he died. And when Eileen came in 
 the morning to sit with him, they told her. She 
 had learned to live for him ; he filled all her 
 thoughts, and she mourned him very sorely.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 years after Mr. Warwick's death, the Win- 
 terfords and Eileen were living in London, 
 where they had been for a year. Barney had some 
 kind of an appointment in the India office, and was 
 enjoying London life like a school-boy, happy and 
 gay with his children, not in the least fatherly, but 
 knowing enough not to set a bad example to his 
 boys. Altogether the Winterford star was high in 
 the firmament. 
 
 Eileen had had the Warwick millions forced upon 
 her, after all. There were no relatives to contest the 
 will, as she had at first hoped. The will had been 
 made while Eileen was on her way to Ceylon with 
 the Maynards. 
 
 Eileen could not change her nature, and she was 
 still gay in her manner. But the gayness was sub 
 dued, and she had lost her wildness in a great 
 measure. The money had brought heavy respon 
 sibilities, and she had insisted upon devoting half 
 her income to her nephews and nieces. This eased 
 the whole household in Eccleston Square, for Phi- 
 lippa would always live with her father, and gave 
 Eileen a happy feeling of usefulness.
 
 252 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 Colonel Beverley had been intimate at their Cal 
 cutta house up to the last minute. He wore a dis 
 tant, yet reverential air, to which Eileen outwardly 
 paid no attention, but which she saw, of course. 
 He spoke most feelingly of Mr. Warwick, and ex 
 tended deep sympathy in little ways to Eileen, who 
 refused to receive it. But after they sailed they had 
 heard only occasionally from him. 
 
 Mrs. Maynard was stopping with Eileen at her 
 house in Mayfair; and one day when Eileen and 
 Philippa were driving home, expecting to find her 
 there, they came upon two familiar figures turning 
 a corner. "Why," exclaimed Philippa, without 
 noticing a very crimson change which had bespread 
 Eileen's cheek, " if there are not Captain Carbury 
 and Jack Beverley ! How delightful ! " And leaning 
 from the window she bowed to the two men, who 
 instantly came to the carriage. 
 
 " Well, if here is not a bit of India ! " cried Car- 
 bury ; " the largest half, rather. Do let us both 
 come and see you this very day ! We 're lost in 
 London, where nobody remembers us, or cares about 
 us, if they do." 
 
 Philippa gave them her number, and begged them 
 to come at once. 
 
 " And are you living with Barney? " asked Captain 
 Beverley, in a low voice, of Eileen. He had hardly 
 spoken before. He had been doing some great 
 work in the Transvaal and the Soudan, and had 
 had decorations without number. 
 
 " Oh, no," Philippa laughed, " Eileen 's a grand 
 lady now, with a house of her own right here."
 
 THE REVERLEYS. 
 
 253 
 
 "And may I come there? " 
 
 Eileen bowed. They were both awkward. 
 
 After the men had gone, Philippa took Eileen's 
 hand in hers. " Don't be silly any longer, Eileen ! 
 Jack Beverley is evidently as much in love as ever ; 
 he deserves something from you. You let him get 
 where he is now. I heard he was in London, and 
 I hope he has come to some purpose. You have 
 acted hitherto on your own impulses, Eileen, and 
 they have brought you into great unhappiness. Be 
 ruled by me now, dear ! " 
 
 " Two years is a long time," remarked Eileen, 
 quietly. " I have no reason to think Captain Bev 
 erley unchanged." But although her tone was 
 quiet, she had very hard work to keep herself so. 
 The sight of Jack had brought back everything, 
 harrowing scenes, exciting crises, wild actions, 
 miserable moments. She had not grown pale 
 and pined, as most women do under unhappiness. 
 Something her hard heart, she said had almost 
 always kept her from giving way or being ill. It 
 often mortified her to think how much she could 
 stand. Now, to Philippa's surprise, she seemed 
 thoroughly unnerved. She trembled, and for once 
 she did not go on with the talk. When they had 
 reached home, she threw herself on a couch, and 
 sobbed until Philippa grew alarmed. When the fit 
 subsided, " I am afraid of life," Eileen sobbed ; " I 
 am afraid to live on. There is always some ques 
 tion to decide, and I always decide wrong. I am 
 forever doing theatrical, extravagant things, you tell 
 me. I can't help it. I blush, Philippa, when I
 
 254 THE B EVER LEYS. 
 
 think how frantic I must have driven you by my 
 extremes when we were in Calcutta ; and yet I am 
 so little changed that if I had it all to do over 
 again, I could do no differently, that is, if matters 
 came to such crises." 
 
 "You make matters difficult, Eileen," said Phi- 
 lippa, " by seeing them in out-of-the-way lights, and 
 by taking things into your own hands. Of course 
 I don't know now about Jack Beverley ; but if he 
 asks you to marry him, and you love him, why, do 
 so, that 's all." 
 
 " I can't make a quarrel in a family," said Eileen. 
 "If I go into this one, I do that. If I stay 
 out, I do not make Jack any more miserable than 
 he has been all this time, nor myself either, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " There you are," said Philippa ; " that 's what I 
 mean. You have to decide this momentous ques 
 tion of the quarrel between father and son, when 
 you have nothing to do with it. Let them settle it 
 between themselves. You need not marry Jack's 
 father; and as there is no longer a family house 
 where you are all obliged to meet, there will be no 
 disagreeable encounters." 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Eileen, burying her face in the 
 pillow again, " I don't see why I can't have a little bit 
 of happiness. I never have had any, not real, per 
 sonal happiness of my own, I mean. Lately I have 
 had reflected and impersonal happiness, but I am 
 selfish enough to want some of the other kind. I 
 never have been happy," she went on, in a patheti 
 cally childish way, " except that little time in Cal-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 2 55 
 
 cutta when Jack was with me ; and then I was n't 
 really," she added, half laughing, "because I didn't 
 know enough to be." 
 
 Mrs. Maynard, who had worried over Eileen not 
 a little, arrived later in the day, and found her 
 quite recovered from her outburst of the morning, 
 bright and apparently happy. "I must talk about 
 that dear man," Mrs. Maynard said. (Eileen had 
 written her often, and she knew what had hap 
 pened.) " It was a blessed thing you went to him, 
 dear girl." 
 
 " I did the thing in my usual way," said Eileen, 
 sadly, " helter-skelter, thunder and lightning ; but 
 I am thankful I went. He was ecstatic ; and I had 
 a glow about my heart I shall never cease to feel. 
 I only regret we could not have been married. I 
 wanted the right to mourn him and to bear his 
 name." Eileen always spoke in this calm way of 
 Mr. Warwick. 
 
 " It was better as it came about," said Mrs. May 
 nard, gently. " I was proud of you, dear, and I know 
 he enjoyed more in those few weeks of your pres 
 ence than he had suffered in his life. A great, noble 
 heart he had ; and curiously enough, such a sensitive 
 organization that he could not help giving way 
 under your rejection." 
 
 " Do you think it killed him? " asked Eileen, in 
 a horrified tone, with great round eyes. 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Maynard ; " he was under a 
 doctor's care for something, an Indian liver, I be 
 lieve, when we first knew him, Mr. Maynard 
 says. He could not have lived many years."
 
 256 THE BEVERLEYS, 
 
 " Jack Beverley is in London," said Eileen, shyly. 
 " Did you see him at Calcutta? " 
 
 " I never met either of the Beverley men," an 
 swered Mrs. Maynard. "I have heard so much 
 about them, however. A Calcutta woman told 
 me that both were devoted to you, the father 
 particularly." 
 
 " He was devoted to untruth," said Eileen, " and 
 me incidentally. I disliked him extremely at last. 
 Jack is quite different, and one of my best friends." 
 So Eileen admitted the Captain to her friendship ; 
 that was one point scored for him. 
 
 Philippa came in for a cup of tea, and to see 
 Mrs. Maynard, at five. " I left word for our two 
 Calcutta men to come here," she said. " They had 
 not appeared when I left." And the words were 
 hardly out of her mouth before the two appeared. 
 
 Captain Carbury asked them all to go to the the 
 atre that night. " And to dine at the Criterion too," 
 he said. " Will you ask Barney? That is, if you will 
 dine in a restaurant, Lady Barney, and you other 
 grand ladies? " 
 
 " We were to dine here," Philippa said. " Eileen 
 can't waste a whole dinner ; so I invite you in her 
 name to come here too ! " 
 
 So it was settled ; and there was a merry, reunited 
 lot that night dining together. Jack had the post 
 farthest from that of honor ; he sat where he could 
 see Eileen, however. She was in white and gold, 
 and looked like a piece of rare porcelain, he 
 thought. Her voice was like the music of the 
 spheres to him, and her face was a poem and a pic-
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 257 
 
 ture combined. He should not tell her of his love, 
 nor approach her. But to be in the party was un 
 safe, and Jack resolved he could not come so near 
 the fire again. 
 
 All Eileen's old frank manner with him was gone ; 
 she addressed him rather timidly, and her hand was 
 cold when he took it. Eileen's impulse might be to 
 throw herself into Mr. Warwick's arms ; she was as 
 shy as a school-girl with this boyish lover. Jack's 
 boyishness, however, had nearly departed; he was 
 really perceptibly gray, and his face was worn, for so 
 young a man. 
 
 " Now," said Barney, gayly, " here 's to our very 
 jolly reunion, and to these good visitors of ours, 
 and to you Jacky and Tommy, returned Anglos ! 
 I 'm as good as I was, barrin' a foot, and the rest 
 of you look better than never ; and all we want now 
 is old Bev, to complete the party." 
 
 Barney knew little of the revolutions in the family. 
 He had seen Colonel Beverley's devotion, but sup 
 posed that it had died out somehow, and was glad 
 of it. 
 
 " Where is your father? " asked Philippa, gently. 
 
 " In England," answered Jack ; " he has been 
 here for a few weeks, and is coming to London 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Eileen did not change her countenance in the 
 least. Jack's was the only name which had ever had 
 the power to make her show outward agitation. 
 
 In the carriage, at the theatre, the two were still 
 separated, although Philippa tried to arrange their 
 seats together. Eileen deliberately turned her chair
 
 258 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 so that no one could speak confidentially to her, and 
 Jack had no idea of trying to do so. She knew he 
 loved her ; he knew she loved him ; neither would 
 ever dare give the first sign. His father's treachery 
 had humiliated Jack; his own hand seemed soiled 
 now. 
 
 " I have not had my dinner yet," said Tom Car- 
 bury, as he was putting on Eileen's wrap. "My 
 leave is so short, and I hate so going back to that 
 wretched India, that I am going to make the most of 
 you dear people. Shall we say Friday ? And where 
 shall the dinner be? " 
 
 " Oh, don't throw away your money, Tom ! " said 
 Barney. " Come and dine with us on Friday. 
 Our cook has the touch of a Meisonnier, and his 
 dinners are as finished." 
 
 " They taste of oil too," said Eileen. " He has a 
 decidedly Italian bent." 
 
 " Not at all," argued Barney. " Frenchmen 
 use oil too ; you 're not half trained if you don't 
 know the proper use of olive oil." And Barney 
 went on explaining his theories, as they left the 
 box. 
 
 " Another evening with Jack," thought Eileen. 
 " Another evening with Eileen," thought Jack. Not 
 two words had they exchanged, nor one glance ; but 
 whole discourses and all the eyesight in the world 
 would not have meant more than their constrained 
 silences. They both felt, every instant ; and all 
 through the play, Eileen knew that Jack was think 
 ing only of her. Jack himself was not so sure of 
 Eileen.
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 2 59 
 
 Mrs. Maynard was not deceived long. She saw in 
 a few hours that Eileen was still unsettled, still ill at 
 ease. " There is no use in prescribing employment 
 for her," she said to herself. "To marry is her 
 vocation." 
 
 Eileen would not speak of Jack again. She 
 thought about nothing but the Friday night when 
 she was to see him again, estranged, awkward, to be 
 sure, but still breathing the same air. How little 
 she knew of his past now ! How she longed to ask 
 him about it ! She did not dare open the flood 
 gates, however; for there would be no stop then, 
 she knew. 
 
 One night coming home from a dinner, she saw him 
 walking near her house. " Patient boy ! " she said to 
 herself. And yet she did not know whether it was 
 the patience of hopeless resignation or of stifled 
 hope. Jack did not know which it was, either. 
 
 Jack was dreading the sight of his father. 
 He had not seen him at all, and he hoped he 
 should not. On the Thursday, Barney and Jack 
 were at their Club together, when Colonel Beverley 
 came in. 
 
 " Well, Paddy," he exclaimed joyously, at sight of 
 them, " I was just thinking of looking you up ; and 
 you, my dear boy," he said, shaking Jack warmly 
 by the rather limp hand, " come to me ; I 've a 
 lodging for you next mine." 
 
 " I 'm very comfortable, sir, thank you, with Car- 
 bury," answered Jack, quietly. He was amazed to 
 find his father looking so young and well. He him 
 self had had no good looks to lose, but he knew he
 
 260 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 was looking poorly. It was a strange feeling the 
 sight of the man who had once been everything to 
 him awakened. He was ashamed of him now, and 
 once he had been so proud ! 
 
 "Come to-morrow and dine," said Barney. 
 "We've an Indian party, and some Americans 
 awfully good sort stopping with Eileen. Do 
 come ! " 
 
 Jack said not a word ; but he felt an indisposition 
 coming on which would prevent his attendance on 
 the following night. 
 
 "Will you dine with me here to-night, Jack?" 
 asked Colonel Beverley, kindly. 
 
 Barney had turned away to speak to a group of 
 men. 
 
 " No," said Jack, curtly, " I '11 not dine with you, 
 sir." 
 
 " Now look here, Jack," said the Colonel, taking 
 him by the arm, to Jack's disgust, and leading him 
 into a window-recess from which they could be seen 
 on the street, looking very familiar and happy to 
 gether. " It 's our misfortune to have had bitter 
 words. But I am your father, and I have a right to 
 demand civil treatment from you, at least in public. 
 That 's all I ask ; do you hear me ? " 
 
 Jack bowed. " I hear you, sir ; you shall have 
 civil treatment from me in public." And he 
 turned to walk away. 
 
 " Nonsense, boy ! you know what I mean," said 
 the Colonel, testily. "You must come and stay in 
 the same lodgings, or people will talk." 
 
 " I will leave London at once, sir, this very night,"
 
 THE B EVER LEYS. 26 1 
 
 Jack replied, " rather than do that ; and in fact I 
 have decided to do so, at any rate." And he turned 
 quickly back to a knot of men, to avoid further 
 argument. 
 
 Colonel Beverley grated his teeth together, and 
 ground his heel into the floor. " I should n't mind 
 quarrelling with the fool nor killing him, but every 
 body knows what the quarrel is about. Well, I shall 
 take the bull by the horns, and walk straight into 
 the enemy's camp now." And he hailed a hansom 
 outside, having learned Eileen's number from Bar 
 ney, and drove to her house. 
 
 Jack, when he left the Club, had walked aim 
 lessly, and yet in the direction of Park Lane, uncon 
 scious of it as he thought himself to be. To leave 
 London, and not to see her again ; to be thrust 
 out of Paradise for the second time when he was 
 contented with just looking at her, oh, how cruel 
 his fate ! He must explain to Eileen and to Phi- 
 lippa his proposed defection. One visit would have 
 done for both ; but he went, it is needless to say, to 
 Eileen's house first. 
 
 Mrs. Maynard and Eileen were in the morning- 
 room, and his father was with them ! Impotent 
 rage and despair seized poor Jack. It was too 
 late to draw back, so he went boldly forward. 
 "Thank Heaven for Mrs. Maynard's restraining 
 presence ! " both Jack and Eileen fervently ejacu 
 lated to themselves. The visit was cold and formal. 
 Eileen had never meant to see Colonel Beverley, 
 but it could not be helped. 
 
 After a few minutes Jack rose stiffly, and said,
 
 262 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 " I am going to see Lady Barney now, to make my 
 excuses for to-morrow night." 
 
 " Excuses ? What a pity to spoil our cosey party ! " 
 said Mrs. Maynard. 
 
 " I want to show you a painting of my niece 
 Biddy Winterford," said Eileen, desperately. "Will 
 you come to the drawing-room? " 
 
 " May I not see it too? " asked Colonel Beverley. 
 But Eileen, although he spoke distinctly, pretended 
 not to hear, and he could not leave Mrs. Maynard 
 alone. So Jack and Eileen were together. 
 
 They went into the drawing-room, and Jack looked 
 at the portrait of Biddy, although he did not see a 
 feature nor a stroke of it. " I am going away, 
 Eileen," he said, " to-night. It is of no use ; I 
 cannot bear it. I am a coward ; not to be with 
 you always is the awful thought which is coming 
 before me every moment, and I must run away 
 from it." 
 
 Eileen did not know how she came to lure Jack 
 off in this fashion. It was the straw at which the 
 drowning man clutches, she thinks now. She could 
 not see him leave her forever without a word. This 
 sight of him had roused the old feeling, strength 
 ened it, and added a hundred new feelings. She 
 must at least say good-by to him alone ! 
 
 She stammered out a criticism of the portrait. 
 "It wants something," she said; "I don't know 
 exactly what it wants." 
 
 " I know exactly what /want," said Jack. "And 
 if I can't have it, the next thing I pray for is numb 
 ness, the capacity not to suffer. Oh, Eileen, your
 
 THE BEVERLEYS. 263 
 
 little note, when you told me you did care, put 
 new strength into me, but only to love you more 
 with. It all goes to that. In other respects I am 
 as weak as a baby." 
 
 " So am I," said Eileen. And then she turned 
 her head away, and Jack could not help seizing her 
 hand. " I loved you when you were poor, Eileen," 
 he said softly. " I wish you were so now. But if we 
 love each other and we do ? " Eileen looked up 
 into his face with a gaze which settled that point 
 beyond a question, " why should anything come 
 between us, after all?" 
 
 " Something has come between us," answered 
 Eileen, sadly ; " but I sometimes have thought we 
 both of us exaggerated the shadow a little, now 
 that I am older and have learned wisdom." 
 
 "Oh," said Jack, with almost a groan, "you pre 
 cious thing ! " 
 
 This was not a logical answer, but they were be 
 yond logic. To repeat what they said now would be 
 taking an unfair advantage of both. Jack looked 
 down upon the golden hair, the sweet face down- 
 turned, the little hands folded in her lap. He whis 
 pered softly to her, and Eileen's face looked at him 
 then full of radiance, and in her eyes were tears. 
 The happy fate of the strong, steadfast man and the 
 wilful, capricious woman was settled. 
 
 Colonel Beverley prolonged his visit far beyond 
 the customary limit, and at last, with a farewell for 
 his impolite hostess, went gayly (and angrily) away. 
 Mrs. Maynard sat smiling softly to herself as the 
 hours went, and the two wanderers did not return.
 
 264 THE BEVERLEYS. 
 
 She was just going to dress for dinner, when she saw 
 their shadows in the doorway. 
 
 They thought she had gone. Eileen's face was 
 luminous; her eyes were gleaming softly, her lips 
 quivering with joy. Mrs. Maynard slipped out by a 
 side door. " This is her rightful lover," she said. 
 " No one has ever called that look into her face 
 before. How thankful I am she is happy and 
 at rest ! " 
 
 THE END.
 
 UPTON'S HANDBOOKS ON MUSIC. 
 
 Comprising The Standard Operas, The Standard Oratorios, 
 The Standard Cantatas, The Standard Symphonies. 
 
 By GEORGE P. UPTON. i2mo, flexible cloth, extra, per volume, 
 $1.50; extra gilt, gilt edges, $2.00. 
 
 The same in neat box, per set, cloth $6.00 
 
 ,, ,, ,, ,, extra gilt 8.00 
 
 ,i ., ,, ,, half calf, gilt tops . 13.00 
 
 ,i ,, ,, ,, half mono., gilt tops 14.00 
 
 i, ,, ,, ,, half moro., gilt edges 15.00 
 
 i, > ,i tree calf, gilt edges 22.00 
 
 Of the Standard Operas, R. H. Stoddard, in " Evening Mail 
 and Express" (New York) says: 
 
 " Among the multitude of handbooks described by easy-going writers 
 of book-notices as supplying a long-felt want, we know of none which so 
 completely carries out the intention of the writer as 'The Standard 
 Operas,' by Mr. George P. Upton, whose object is to present to his 
 readers a comprehensive sketch of each of the operas contained in the 
 modern repertory. . . . There are thoi sands of music-loving people 
 who will be glad to have the kind of knowledge which Mr. Upton has 
 collected for their benefit, and has cast in a clear and compact form." 
 
 Of the Standard Oratorios, the "Nation" (New York) says: 
 
 " Music-lovers are under a new obligation to Mr. Upton for this 
 companion to his "Standard Operas," two books which deserve to 
 be placed on the same shelf with Grove's and Riemann's musical 
 dictionaries." 
 Of the Standard Cantatas, the " Boston Post" says: 
 
 " Mr. Upton has done a genuine service to the cause of music and to 
 all music-lovers in the preparation of this work, and that service is none 
 the less important in that while wholly unassuming and untechnical, 
 it is comprehensive, scholarly, and thorough." 
 
 Of the Standard Symphonies, the " Home Journal " (New 
 York) says: 
 
 " None who have seen the previous books of Mr. Upton will need 
 assurance that this is as indispensable as the others to one who would 
 listen intelligently to that better class of music which musicians ^con 
 gratulate themselves Americans are learning to appreciatively enjoy." 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price \ by 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVE. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 TALES FROM FOREIGN TONGUES, 
 
 MEMORIES. A Story of German Love. By 
 
 MAX MULLER. 
 
 GRAZIELLA. A Story of Italian Love. By 
 
 ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. 
 MADELEINE. A Story of French Love. By 
 
 JULES SANDEAU. 
 MARIE. A Story of Russian Love. By 
 
 ALEXANDER PUSHKIN. 
 
 In cloth, gilt top, per volume $1.00 
 
 The same, in neat box, per set 4 oo 
 
 In half calf or morocco, gilt top, per set .... 9.00 
 In half calf or morocco, gilt edges, per set . . . 10.00 
 In flexible calf or russia, gilt edges, per set . . 12.00 
 
 The series of four volumes forms, perhaps, the choicest 
 addition to the literature of the English language that has 
 been made in recent years. 
 
 Of " Memories," the London Academy says : " It is a prose 
 poem. ... Its beauty and pathos show us a fresh phase of a 
 many-sided mind, to which we already owe large debts of 
 gratitude." 
 
 Of " Graziella," the Boston Post says: " It is full of beauti 
 ful sentiment, unique and graceful in style, of course, as were 
 all the writings of this distinguished French author." 
 
 Of " Madeleine," the New York Evening Mail says : " It is 
 one of the most exquisite love tales that ever was written, 
 abounding in genuine pathos and sparkling wit, and so pure in 
 its sentiment that it may be read by a child." 
 
 Of " Marie," the Cincinnati Gazette says: " It is one of the 
 purest, sweetest little narratives that we have read for a long 
 time. It is a little classic, and a Russian classic, too." 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of price, by 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVE. AND MADISON ST., CnrcAGO.
 
 SESAME AND LILIES. 
 
 THREE LECTURES BY JOHN RUSKIN. 
 I. OF KINGS' TREASURES. 
 II. OF QUEENS' GARDENS. 
 III. OF THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. 
 I2mo, 201 pages, gilt top. Price, $1.00. 
 In half calf or half morocco, gilt top, $2.75. 
 In limp russia or limp morocco, gilt edges, $3.50. 
 
 One of the most popular as well as most valuable of Ruskin's 
 works is " Sesame and Lilies," and this has been brought out by 
 McClurg & Co. in a neat and handy volume of good print and 
 excellent paper. The publishers have wisely inserted in this volume 
 Ruskin's admirable and thoroughly characteristic preface which he 
 prepared for the new and revised edition of his works in 1871. 
 The size, shape, and compactness of this issue make it an admira 
 ble pocket companion for desultory reading in the cars, in the 
 woods, or at the shore. Evening Transcript, Boston. 
 
 Other editions of this notable and popular book have been 
 printed, but none so tastefully as this. Of the book itself it may 
 not be inopportune to say that it shows the author at his best, 
 being devoted to life instead of art, and embodying Ruskin's ear 
 nestness and gift of language without calling attention to any of 
 his oddities and hobbies. Herald, New York. 
 
 It would be hard to find a better book to put into the hands of a 
 youth boy or girl at that epoch of life when the spiritual and 
 intellectual faculties seem to leap out with a bound from the chrysa 
 lis of the animal nature and determine their direction for life. 
 Home Journal, New York. 
 
 The book is one by all means to be commended to young women 
 and young men who care for refinement of character and purity of 
 heart and earnestness of purpose, and who are able to appreciate 
 noble thought clothed in exquisite diction. Evangelist, New York. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed, on receipt of price, by 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVE. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 
 By the Hon. ISAAC N. ARNOLD. With Steel 
 Portrait. 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 471 pages. Price, $2.50. 
 
 In half calf, $4.75 ; half morocco, $5.00. 
 
 It is decidedly the best and most complete Life of Lincoln 
 that has yet appeared. Contemporary Review, London. 
 
 Mr. Arnold succeeded to a singular extent in assuming the 
 broad view and judicious voice of posterity and exhibiting the 
 greatest figure of our time in its true perspective. The Trib 
 une, New York, 
 
 It is the only Life of Lincoln thus far published that is likely 
 to live, the only one that has any serious pretensions to depict 
 him with adequate veracity, completeness, and dignity. The 
 Sun, New York. 
 
 The author knew Mr. Lincoln long and intimately, and no one 
 was better fitted for the task of preparing his biography. He 
 has written with tenderness and fidelity, with keen discrimina 
 tion, and with graphic powers of description and analysis. The 
 Interior, Chicago. 
 
 Mr. Arnold's " Life of President Lincoln " is excellent in 
 almost every respect. . . . The author has painted a graphic and 
 life-like portrait of the remarkable man who was called to decide 
 on the destinies of his country at the crisis of its fate. The 
 Times, London. 
 
 The book is particularly rich in incidents connected with the 
 early career of Mr. Lincoln ; and it is without exception the 
 most satisfactory record of his life that has yet been written. 
 Readers will also find that in its entirety it is a work of absorb 
 ing and enduring interest that will enchain the attention more 
 effectually than any novel. Magazine of American History, 
 New York. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of f rice, by 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVE. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 HTHE AZTECS. Their History, Man- 
 
 -* ners, and Customs. From the French of LUCIEN 
 BIART. Authorized translation by J. L. GARNER. 
 Illustrated, 8vo, 340 pages, price, $2.00. 
 
 The author has travelled through the country of whose former 
 glories his book is a recital, and his studies and discoveries leaven 
 the book throughout. The volume is absorbingly interesting, 
 and is as attractive in style as it is in material. Saturday 
 Evening- Gazette, Boston. 
 
 Nowhere has this subject been more fully and intelligently 
 treated than in this volume, now placed within reach of American 
 readers. The mythology of the Aztecs receives special attention, 
 and all that is known of their lives, their hopes, their fears, and 
 aspirations finds record here. The Tribune, Chicago. 
 
 The man who can rise from the study of Lucien Biart's inval 
 uable work, "The Aztecs," without feelings of amazement and 
 admiration for the history and the government, and for the arts 
 cultivated by these Romans of the New World is not to be 
 envied. The Advance, Chicago. 
 
 The twilight origin of the present race is graphically presented ; 
 those strange people whose traces have almost vanished from off 
 the face of the earth again live before us. Their taxes and trib 
 utes, their marriage ceremonies, their burial customs, laws, 
 medicines, food, poetry, and dances are described . . . The 
 book is a very interesting one, and is brought out with copious 
 illustrations. The Traveller, Boston. 
 
 M. Biart is the most competent authority living on the sub 
 ject of the Aztecs. He spent many years in Mexico, studied 
 his subject carefully through all means of information, and wrote 
 his book from the view-point of a scientist. His style is very at 
 tractive, and it has been very successfully translated. The gen 
 eral reader, as well as all scholars, will be much taken with the 
 work. Chronicle Telegraph, Pittsburg. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of price, by 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVE. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 THE BOOK-LOVER. A Guide to the 
 Best Reading. By JAMES BALDWIN, Ph.D. 
 Sixth edition, i6mo, cloth, gilt top, 201 pages. Price, 
 $1.00. 
 
 In half calf or half morocco, $2.75. 
 
 Of this book, on the best in English Literature, which has 
 already been declared of the highest value by the testimony of 
 the best critics in this country, an edition of one thousand copies 
 has just been ordered for London, the home of English Liter 
 ature, a compliment of which its scholarly western author may 
 justly be proud. 
 
 We know of no work of the kind which gives so much useful 
 information in so small a space. Evening- Telegram, New 
 York. 
 
 Sound in theory and in a practical point of view. The courses 
 of reading laid down are made of good books, and in general, of 
 the best. Independent, New York. 
 
 Mr. Baldwin has written in this monograph a delightful eulo- 
 gium of books and their manifold influence, and has gained 
 therein two classes of readers, the scholarly class, to which he 
 belongs, and the receptive class, which he has benefited. 
 Evening Mail and Express, New York. 
 
 If a man needs that the love of books be cultivated within him, 
 such a gem of a book as Dr. Baldwin's ought to do the work. 
 Perfect and inviting in all that a book ought outwardly to be, i^s 
 contents are such as to instruct the mind at the same time that 
 they answer the taste, and the reader who goes carefully through 
 its two hundred pages ought not only to love books in general 
 better than he ever did before, but to love them more wisely, 
 more intelligently, more discriminatingly, and with more profil 
 to his own soul. Literary World, Boston. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of price, by 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVK. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 THE STORY OF TONTY. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 By Mrs. MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD. 
 i2mo, 224 pages. Price, $1.25. 
 
 " The Story of Tonty " is eminently a Western story, beginning 
 at Montreal, tarrying at Fort Frontenac, and ending at the old fort 
 at Starved Rock, on the Illinois River. It weaves the adventures 
 of the two great explorers, the intrepid La Salle and his faithful 
 lieutenant, Tonty, into a tale as thrilling and romantic as the de 
 scriptive portions are brilliant and vivid. It is superbly illustrated 
 with twenty-three masterly drawings by Mr. Enoch Ward. 
 
 Such tales as this render service past expression to the cause of his 
 tory. They weave a spell in which old chronicles are vivified and breathe 
 out human life Mrs. Catherwood, in thus bringing out from the treasure- 
 houses of half-forgotten historical record things new and old, has set her 
 self one of the worthiest literary tasks of her generation, and is showing 
 herself finely adequate to its fulfilment. Transcript, Boston. 
 
 A powerful story by a writer newly sprung to fame. . . . All the 
 century we have been waiting for the deft hand that could put flesh upon 
 the dry bones of our early heroes. Here is a recreation indeed. . . . One 
 comes from the reading of the romance with a quickened interest in our 
 early national history, and a profound admiration for the art that can so 
 transport us to the dreamful realms where fancy is monarch of fact. 
 Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 "The Story of Tonty" is full of the atmosphere of its time. It 
 betrays an intimate and sympathetic knowledge of the great age of ex 
 plorers, and it is altogether a charming piece of work. Christian 
 Union, New York. 
 
 Original in treatment, in subject, and in all the details of mise en 
 scene, H must stand unique among recent romances. News, Chicago. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed, on receipt of price, by 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVH. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 THE HUMBLER POETS. A Collec 
 tion of Newspaper and Periodical Verse. 1870 to 
 1885. By SLASON THOMPSON. Crown 8vo, 459 pages, 
 cloth, gilt top. Price, $2.00. 
 
 In half calf or half morocco, $4.00. 
 
 The publishers have done well in issuing this volume in a 
 style of literary and artistic excellence, such as is given to the 
 works of the poets of name and fame, because the contents richly 
 entitle it to such distinction. Home Journal, Boston. 
 
 The high poetic character of these poems, as a whole, is sur 
 prising. As a unit, the collection makes an impression which 
 even a genius of the highest order would not be adequate to pro 
 duce. . . . Measured by poetic richness, variety, and merit of 
 the selections contained, the collection is a rarely good one 
 flavored with the freshness and aroma of the present time. 
 Independent, New York. 
 
 Mr. Thompson winnowed out the chaff from the heap, and 
 has given us the golden grain in this volume. Many old news 
 paper favorites will be recognized in this collection, many of 
 those song-waifs which have been drifting up and down the 
 newspaper world for years, and which nobody owns but every 
 body loves We are glad for ourselves that some one has been 
 kind and tender-hearted enough to take in these fugitive chil 
 dren of the Muses and give them a safe and permanent home. 
 The selection has been made with rare taste and discrimination, 
 and the result is a delightful volume. Observer, New York. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of price, by 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. WABASH AVE. AND MADISON ST., CHICAGO.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000032802 1