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 LOS ANGELES
 
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 COFET EOYAL
 
 COURT EOYAL 
 
 A STOEY OP CEOSS CUEEENTS 
 
 BY THE 
 AUTHOR OF 'MEHALAH' 'JOHN HEEEING' &c. 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 > J J ^ n 
 
 LONDON 
 SmTH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1887 
 
 \.All 7-ights reserved]
 
 \ V 
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 When in 1880 the author published ' Mehalah,'his critics, public and 
 
 1 ~^ private, attacked him or remonstrated with him because there was no 
 
 moral to the story — because ' Mehalah ' was not, as the Germans would 
 
 ^ say, a Tendenzi'oman. No doubt that life is but an acted yEsop's Fables, 
 
 V in which the actors are human, but it is surely allowable in an author to 
 
 j\:i,take wings occasionally, and fly away from the stings and goads of 
 
 \ moral applications which prog one in everyday life, into the region of 
 
 <r>;;;Unmoralising fancy. However, ta his second attempt, ' John Herring,' 
 
 K he did have a moral purpose throughout his story, and his critics, 
 
 4 public and private, with one accord — only excepting a couple of 
 
 % Scottish reviewers' — failed to see it. He complained of this one day 
 
 2. to one of his critics, who replied, 'We have no time to dive for pur- 
 
 -J poses, we skim f«r story.' That is true genei-ally of the English 
 
 reader, specially oJ the novel reader, who dips but does not plunge. 
 
 Therefore the author acknowledges that he made amistake. A pui-pose, 
 
 a moral, must not be sunk in the depths like a pearl, but tossed up on the 
 
 margin as the amber, conspicuous to the first passer-by. 
 
 His object in ' John Herring ' was to show that man's character is 
 only moulded by mistakes. His reviewers objected that his hero was 
 characterless : that was his pui*pose — to show an amiable, well-inten- 
 tioned man, shaped by his misfortunes. There was another, and 
 deeper, purpose in the story, which was to show how a noble character 
 can only be formed which has before it an ideal, and that the ideal 
 which elevates character is ever, and ever must be, unattainable. The 
 man without an ideal sinks ; the man with one rises ; but in so rising 
 passes through agonies. This life is his purgatory. Only the man 
 without an ideal is happy — brutally happy. 
 
 And now the author will correct his previous error, and expose 
 the purpose of this new story at the outset. To do this, he will tell 
 the story of its inception. 
 
 In the summer of 1883, as he was returning from his holiday in 
 Tyrol, he came across an account of a Croatian mother who, in a 
 state of absolute destitution, pawned her child to save its life and pro- 
 
 48S8vi 
 
 EKaiSH
 
 VI PREFACE 
 
 long her own. lie occupied and amused himself, duriu<? his railway 
 journey homo, in tning to work out what would be the moral and 
 mental result in .such an instance, supposing the child to be a girl 
 endowed by nature with generous emotions and considerable shrewd- 
 ness. It struck him that such a character, so developed, would be 
 typical of the individualism and impatience of restraint, social, moral, 
 and religious, combined with impulsive generosity, which is the 
 feature of the new civilisation, about also to be the motive force of 
 the future, that is coming everywhere to the front. 
 
 He had read recently a Polish story, entitled ' Morituri,' which 
 depicted the decay of a Polish princely race, and it occurred to the 
 author to take such a fitmily, steeped in traditional culture, infused 
 with feudal-Christian morality, as the representative of the old civili- 
 sation which is melting and disappearing everyTvhere, as the other 
 becomes concrete and asserts itself. 
 
 Again, the author asked himself, TMiat would be the result, what 
 the mutual action and reaction, if such a line of life as that which he 
 had ideally traced in one of his heroines — the representative of the 
 Coming Age — were run athwart the threads of old culture and ethics? 
 Would each act on the other at all, to modify its peculiarities and 
 broaden its view of life.P To take another simile, would such a vein 
 of molten, fiery, nineteenth century individuality, operating vertically, 
 do other than shatter the superincumbent, horizontal social beds? 
 Would it be itself at all metamorphosed in the process ? 
 
 The author was teased by the problem that rose continually in his 
 brain. He felt that he could only work it out by calling his represen- 
 tative characters out of the vasty deep of conjecture, and setting them 
 on the table giving them souls and letting them move and act towards 
 each other automatically, and work out the problem for themselves. 
 Such, then, is the history of the genesis of this story, and the reader 
 is requested to bear its purpose in mind as he skims it. Two types in 
 two groups are opposed to each other ; each group represents a set of 
 ideas, social and moral, the one coming on, conquering, overwhelming, 
 the other disappearing and likely soon to be looked back upon as 
 having become extinct in the moral world like asceticism and mysticism. 
 There are two heroines each the focusing of the good qualities of the 
 two groups, and two heroes each the concentration of the infirmities 
 of the same.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. A Little Devil 1 
 
 II. Pawned . 9 
 
 III. Lazarus 16 
 
 IV. Joanna's School 21 
 
 V. Grudge, Solicitor 28 
 
 VI. The Ducal Family 36 
 
 VII. Bbavis 48 
 
 VIII. The Marquess 59 
 
 IX. Lord Konald 64: 
 
 X. The Fifth of November 73 
 
 XL Who was Rachel ? 84 
 
 XII. Charlie Cheek 91 
 
 XIII. The Ems Water 98 
 
 XIV. The Moj okeratic Principle 105 
 
 XV. Wanted, a Housemaid Ill 
 
 XVI. Venite 115 
 
 XVII. Stock-taking 121 
 
 XVin. Lady Grace 129 
 
 XIX. Sleepy Hollow 138 
 
 XX. DULCINA 144 
 
 XXI. Home-thrusts 148 
 
 XXII. A Family Council 153 
 
 XXIII. Replorescence 160 
 
 XXIV. Caught Napping 168 
 
 XXV. Without Warning 178 
 
 XXVI. Unstable as Water 185
 
 VI u 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTKrt lACa 
 
 XXVU. Revolt 191 
 
 XXV^III. A Playbill i;»9 
 
 XXIX. Two Stage Boxes 2O0 
 
 XXX. Palma 213 
 
 XXXI. A Spoke in the Wheel i;i9 
 
 XXXII. A Drop op Comfort 226 
 
 XXXIII. Broken off 2.34 
 
 XXXIV. Incurables ... 239 
 
 XXXV. A Card Castle 247 
 
 XXXVI. The Council of Court Royal 256 
 
 XXXVII. A Sister op Mercy 262 
 
 XXXVIII. Reformation 269 
 
 XXXIX. Over a Snail 276 
 
 XL. Cheek Senior 283 
 
 XLI. An Entanglement 291 
 
 XLII. NlBBtlNG 297 
 
 XLIII. 'Shares 7 • :?02 
 
 XLIV. A Startling Proposal 309 
 
 XLV. Retribution 316 
 
 XLVI. E Tenebris Lux 323 
 
 XLVII. Leigh 331 
 
 XLVIIL The Fall op a Pillar 337 
 
 XLIX. An April Fool 345 
 
 L. To the Rescue 352 
 
 LL The Flying-fish 359 
 
 LII. On the Pier 368 
 
 LIII. Another Disappointment 375 
 
 LIV. A New Leaf ........ 380 
 
 LV. In Vain , . . 384 
 
 LVL Preparatory 391 
 
 LVII. Release 393 
 
 LVIIL The Last of the Ems Water 400 
 
 LIX. Without a Watch-doo 406 
 
 LX. Two Pictures .,,,,,.. 414
 
 OOUET EOYAL. 
 
 A STORY OF CROSS CURRENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A LITTLE DEVIL. 
 
 At the top or at tlie bottom 1 At wliich shall we begin 1 
 Sediment to-day is scum to-morrow. That which is on the 
 surface sinks. Therefore, does it matter ? The universe is in 
 revolution, so is the social order. We will begin at the bottom, 
 as most philosophical. Only the builders of Lagado began 
 their edifices at the apex. The Barbican is the oldest portion 
 of ancient Plymouth. It consists of a collection of crazy houses 
 built along the quay of Sutton Pool, which was the ancient 
 port of Plymouth. The houses are tall, with slated fronts and 
 bow windows, much out of the perpendicular, of various dates. 
 In these houses dwelt the old merchants of Plymouth, who 
 equipped vessels against the Spaniards and carried Tavistock 
 friezes to all the ports of Europe. From Sutton Pool Drake 
 sailed against the Armada. The grand merchant-houses have 
 become the habitations of dealers in marine stores, drinking- 
 shops, and eating-houses. 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 The houses on the Barbican are so crowded that they are 
 devoid of back yards, and when the inhabitants have a wash- 
 ing they thrust their garments from their windows on poles to 
 dry in the sea-breeze and the sun. Some ingenious dwellers in 
 these old houses contrive a system of rigging between their 
 poles whereby a much larger wash can be exposed. On every 
 day that lends itself to drying, the Barbican flutters its flags 
 
 B
 
 2 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 and streamers. The tta^s vary in shape, more than in colour, 
 and most of all in their heraldic achievements. Some are ' en- 
 hanced ' with llaunches, others Avith bendlets, frets, bordures, 
 even with bars sinister. Certain bifurcated pennons show a 
 leaning towards ' escutcheoning.' The banners are for the 
 most part white, tawny as old Tiber, or Isabelle. Some few 
 are azure of a deep and dingy blue. From one window a 
 circular mass of drapery, gules, bulges in the wind. It is the 
 petticoat of the lady of the ham and sausage shop. 
 
 One corner house, standing between two thoroughfares, 
 never displayed its bunting. Apparently, no washing was ever 
 done in it. Over the door of this house hung three golden 
 balls, and in scaling paint over the window was inscribed the 
 name — * Lazarus.' 
 
 The Barbican is not a savoury place. Here the fish are 
 unladen and sold, and here the little lish that fall out of the 
 baskets get trampled out of shape, and rot in the mire. 
 
 When the tide is out, the ooze in Sutton Pool sends up its 
 romplement of effluvium. Providentially, the sea-tangles, 
 hanging fi'oni the wharf in fringes of dull green, exhale chlorine, 
 and the sea-breeze brings in ozone, to disinfect and disperse 
 the pestilential odours. 
 
 The Barbican is a busy place all day, and late into the 
 night ; but at noon, for an hour, it drops into quiet. Then all 
 the sound that habitually pervades it is sucked in at the doors 
 of the taverns and eating-houses, and fills them to repletion. 
 
 It was precisely at this hour, one hot day in early June, 
 that the stillness of the Barbican quay was broken by 
 piercing and protracted shrieks. 
 
 Two persons and a cat alone occupied the wharf at that 
 time : the one was the pier-guard, who was then lounging on 
 the wall looking seaward ; the other was an old woman sitting 
 under a large umbri'lla with her back to sun and sea, fast 
 asleep before the table of gingerbeer-bottles of which she 
 disposed. The cat took no notice of the screams, nor did the 
 old woman, Avho only woke when the quay ])ecame repeo]iled 
 and l)usiness looked alive. The guard tunuKl leisurely round, 
 drew his hands out of liis pockets, walked to the steps by 
 which passengers disenibarkcd from the Oreston steamer, 
 descended them, cast ofi' a boat, and, stepping in, shouted, 
 ' Hold hard, you little devil ! ' 
 
 Some faces, attracted by the cries, appeared at the windows, 
 but the x'mw was obscured by fluttering drapery. The lady
 
 A LITTLE DEVIL. 3 
 
 over the ham and sausage shop, Thresher by name, saw what 
 was the matter ; her visual ray was not cut off by the washing. 
 She shouted some practical advice, then turned and scolded 
 her husband, who lay on the bed with his boots upon the 
 pillow, reading a Radical paper. After that she drew on a 
 jacket and descended to the quay. 
 
 Some men, moreover, who had finished their dinner, 
 issued from the eating-houses to ascertain what was the 
 matter, and those who had not done bolted the rest of their 
 food, fearful of being too late for an accident, yet unwilling to 
 leave unconsumed good victuals for which they had paid. 
 
 The screams became louder, shriller. Then they were 
 interrupted for a minute, again to ring forth as loudly as 
 before. 
 
 The cries issued from the lungs of a child — a girl — of 
 twelve, who was in the arms of a wretched-looking woman. 
 They were near the edge of tlie quay when the screams began. 
 The woman was attempting to fling herself and the child into 
 the water. The girl had her arms about an old cannon, 
 planted in the granite coping as a hold for hawsers, and clung 
 to it desperately. Finally, the superior strength of the woman 
 prevailed^ and she precipitated herself and the child over the 
 edge into the Pool. Then, for a moment, the cries were 
 silenced, for a moment only, while the child was under water. 
 Both rose to the surface, covered with mud, near a chain. In 
 a moment, the child saw her opportunity, grasped the chain, 
 and crawled up it, with the water streaming from her, looking 
 like a drowning rat, and again she shrieked as loud as her 
 lungs would allow. 
 
 In a moment, also, the pierkeeper was at hand in the boat. 
 He lifted the woman out of the water, and then laid hold of 
 the child. The latter, unable at first to distinguish that the 
 hands grasping her were not those of her mother, and that the 
 object for which she was grasped was not to drown her, clung 
 frantically to the chain, and yelled with such force and pene- 
 tration in the tones, that the guard lost patience, and said 
 angrily, ' Let go, you squalling cat, will you ? ' 
 
 Instantly the child relaxed her hold, and allowed herself to 
 be lifted into the boat. She knew, by the voice, that she was 
 in the hands of a man, come to save her. When she was in 
 the boat, she dipped her palms in the water, and washed the 
 mud from her eyes and mouth and nose. After that she set 
 
 b2
 
 4 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 herself to clean the face of her mother with the skirt of lier 
 frock. 
 
 ' What is the meaning of this ? ' said tlie man. 
 
 *I wouldn't be drowndcd,' answered the cliild. 'I told 
 mother as much, but her paid no heed to what I said.' 
 
 'Now then, missus,' said lie, addressing the woman with 
 rough kindness, ' what did you do it for ? ' 
 
 The poor creature made no reply. She sat, cuddled into a 
 heap in the bottom, hugging her knees, with the water pouring 
 oti" her. Her head was bowed on her bosom. 
 
 ' Did y' hear, now 1 ' shouted the child, raising the sodden 
 hair off the mother's ear. ' The gemman asked you a civil 
 question, and you must answer him civil too. He asked you 
 what made you do it.' 
 
 ' I am wretched,' she replied in a faint voice ; ' my husband 
 is dead. We have been starving. I can lind no situation 
 because of Joanna, and get no woi'k. I did not know what to 
 do with myself and her, and as us couldn't lind a situation on 
 earth, I tliought we'd go and get one in heaven.' 
 
 ' But I wouldn't,' put in the girl, emphatically, looking the 
 boatman level in the eyes. ' I told mother plain I was not 
 agreeable. I don't want to go to heaven — and,' with a stamp 
 on the bottom of the boat, ' I won't go.' 
 
 'You've a will of your own, apparently,' said the man, 
 smiling. 
 
 ' I don't choose to be drownded,' answered the girl. Then 
 she thrust her wet and dirty hair out of her face, and triad to 
 knot it behind her liead, ' and I don't choose as mother shall 
 be, neither.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what, ma'am,' said the pierkeeper ; ' two good 
 things have combined for the saving of you to-day. First 
 comes I. I was on the spot luindy. Secf)ndly, the tide was 
 running out and leaving the Pool dry ; so there was no depth 
 available for drowning purposes.' Tlie Ijoat touched the steps. 
 ' Up with you, both,' he said, ' and mind, no more of these 
 games.' 
 
 The wretched woman obeyed meekly. The child strode up 
 the stone stairs full of confidence, saying, but hardly in a tone 
 of apology, 'You know, mother, I was not agreeable.' 
 
 The woman staggered after her daughter to the pier, and 
 then stood there lielpless, dazed, looking about her without 
 light in her eyes. 
 
 The water ran off her and formed a pond at her feet ; the
 
 A LITTLE DEVIL. 5 
 
 slime was smeared over her hair and face and hands. Her 
 soaked garments clung to her, revealing at once how few and 
 thin they were. 
 
 By this time several persons had assembled. They sur- 
 rounded the little group and eyed them curiously. These were 
 mostly men, still chewing the remains of their dinner or pick- 
 ing their teeth. Mrs. Thresher, from the ham-shop, was there 
 in a black body over a red petticoat, very short, exposing dirty 
 stockings and slippers down at heel. 
 
 Questions showered on the poor creature, which she did 
 not answer, perhaps did not catch. She clutched her child's 
 hand convulsively, and with disengaged hand wiped the water 
 from her eyes. 
 
 'Now look you here,' said the pier-guard, 'you oughtn't to 
 have done it, or if you did ought to do it, you ought to have 
 done it in a less dirty place. Sutton Pool is not a palatable 
 place in which to end existence.^ Wait till the tide is out, and 
 have a look for yourself. I reckon further acquaintance won't 
 make you more friendly. It will rinse all taste of felo-de-se 
 out of your mouth. Dead cats, rotten cabbage, decayed pota- 
 toes, cracked cloam (crockery), old tobacco-pipes, kettles and 
 pans full of holes, boots bursted, and soleless shoes, scatted 
 (broken) bottles, anything, everything that goes to make filth 
 is chucked in there, and rots away into black paste which is 
 proper consolidated smeech (smell). I reckon that Sutton 
 Pool bottom is made of the dirtiest dregs of civilisation. That 
 is what we've hauled you and your brat out of. If you've any 
 sense of decency in you, keep out of Sutton Pool. The blue 
 sea is a different crib altogether.' 
 
 ' I won't be drownded neither in the blue sea, nor in Sutton 
 Pool, nor in a pickling- tub,' said the child resolutely ; ' I'm 
 damned if I be.' 
 
 The circle of lookers-on burst out laughing. 
 
 ' Oh, you wicked child ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Thresher, of the 
 ham-shop. ' Where do you expect to go, using them swearing 
 words 1 ' 
 
 ' Father said it when he meant a thing — much/ answered 
 the child. 
 
 ' Your father smoked, I reckon.' 
 
 ' Yes, he did.' 
 
 ' But you don't see ladies smoke.' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 • Well,' said Mrs. Thresher, ' pipes and cusses are nat'ral in
 
 6 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 a man's mouth, but natur' herself protests when you see cither 
 in the mouth of a Avoiiuin.' 
 
 ' Did you licar liow tlio little creature squealed 1 ' asked the 
 pierkeeper. 
 
 ' Her cries drew me from my dinner, and lost me the 
 pickin<T of my rabbit-bones,' said one of the men. 
 
 ' I'd have had another glass of ale,' said a second,' * but I . 
 thought two foreigners was lighting and sticking knives into 
 each other. I wouldn't ha' missed that. I was always a bit of 
 a sportsman since I was a boy.' 
 
 ' I cried,' said the girl, ' because I would not let mother 
 drown me.' 
 
 ' And cry tha' did, by jiggei's ! ' exclaimed a skipper, a large 
 man from Yorkshire. ' I was down in my cabin when tha' 
 piped.' 
 
 ' Look here,' said the pier-guard ; ' if us stand liere in a 
 knot, tlie police will be suspecting something and turn their 
 beaks this way. Then they'll have this unfortunate female up 
 before the magistrates on the double chai-ge of felo-de-se and 
 felo-de-child, and transport her for it to Dartmoor. So let us 
 be moving. Now then, ma'am ! ' — he spoke to the woman, 
 planting himself before her, legs apart, and his hands on his 
 hii^s — ' if you will pass your word that you won't play no 
 more of these pranks, I'll let you go ; if not, I'll tow you into 
 custody myself.' 
 
 'No, sir, I won't do it no more,' said the miserable creature. 
 
 ' Her sha'n't ! ' protested the child. 
 
 ' What is to be done with them ? ' asked the pierman. ' They 
 are both wet to the marrow of their bones.' 
 
 No one was prepared with an answer. One man, suspect- 
 ing a subscription, tailed away. 
 
 ' You must go home and have a change,' said the pierman 
 kindly. ' And let me counsel a drop of hot grog. It will drive 
 the chill out of you and the squealer.' 
 
 ' I have no home — I have no change ! I have nowhere and 
 nothing,' answered the woman mournfully. 
 
 'There is that l>lessed institootion, the Work'us, always 
 open,' said one man in a tone of sarcasm. 
 
 'I'd rather drown tlian go there,' answered she j 'there 
 they'd take my Joanna from me.' 
 
 A grunt of a.s.sent. 
 
 *Her's got the proper principles of a Chri.stian,' said the 
 woman in the red petticoat. ' I'd go into Sutton Pool myself
 
 A LITTLE DEVIL. 7 
 
 rather than into the House. I reckon in the matter of dirt 
 they're about equal, only in the House it's moral, and in the 
 Pool its physical.' 
 
 ' Sither, lass,' said the skipper, in strong Yorkshire accent, 
 ' how didst 'a come here ? Tell us all aboot it.' 
 
 ' My husband died,' she answered timidly ; ' I sold every- 
 thing I had, bit by bit, till all was gone. I couldn't pay my 
 ' rent, and I couldn't buy no food. I went from place to place 
 after work, but I could get none. No one would give me a 
 situation till I got rid of the child. All were in one song — • 
 " Send her to the Union." I couldn't do that ; so I thought 
 we'd both go to heaven together.' 
 
 ' Have you no change of clothes anywhere ? ' asked Mrs. 
 Thresher ; ' because, if you have, you may change in my room, 
 and I'll turn my old man out while you do it.' 
 
 ' I've naught but what I stand up in,' said the poor creature, 
 * nor has Joanna, neither.' 
 
 ' Now, then, my lads,' said the pierman, casting his eye 
 round, ' I propose we raise a few shillings among us to rig out 
 the pair afresh.' 
 
 ' I reckon Mr, Lazarus can fit them out,' said one of the by- 
 standers. 
 
 ' O' course he can,' said the skipper ; ' but he'll not do't 
 "wi'out brass. Here's half-a-crown to start wi'. Who'll give 
 something upon that ? Here's my cap as collecting-box.' 
 
 ' It '11 come expensive,' remarked a bargeman in sepulchral 
 tones ; ' I know what the rig-out of my missus costs me.' 
 
 ' A gown can be had secondhand for a trifle.' 
 
 ' A gown ain't all,' said the bargeman mysteriously. 
 
 ' What else, then 1 ' 
 
 ' What else ? Why, there's stays,' growled the bargeman. 
 'Them figures — new — seven and eightpence three- farthings ! ' 
 
 ' Then there's a petticoat,' suggested a pilot, timidly ; ' if 
 you doubt my word look around at all the fluttering bunting. 
 Women must wear them things somehow, and they don't use 
 'em as caps.' 
 
 ' A petticoat ! ' exclaimed the north-country skipper. ' Every 
 respectable lass has two — one coloured, t'other white.' 
 
 ' Must the little maid have stays, too 1 ' asked the pier- 
 keeper. 
 
 ' All females has stays,' answered the bargeman. ' Girls haa 
 'em without bones. The bones come later in life.' 
 
 ' What more ? ' asked the skipper.
 
 8 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 A dead silence. The men were thinking and looking 
 inquiringly at the drijiping woman, who was too hewiklpred to 
 reply. 
 
 ' Where is INIrs. Thresher 1 her can tell us,' said the pilot. 
 
 But Mrs. Thresher was gone to her room to turn her old 
 man out of it and prepare for the contingency of recei\ing the 
 poor woman into it. 
 
 Still silence. The men's brows were wrinkled with hard 
 thought. It was broken Ity the rumbling bass of the barge- 
 man. ' Dress-improver ! ' 
 
 ' Must the little maid have one ? ' 
 
 * Of course. All females have dress-improvers,' said the 
 bargeman, putting and swelling with consciousness of superior 
 knowledge. ' Four-and-ten is about the figure.' 
 
 ' That makes five articles apiece, mates,' said the pierkeeper, 
 checking them oflf on his fingers : ' thumb for gown, fore and 
 middle fingers stand for petticoats, the last but one for stays, 
 and the little chap is dress-improver. Now, then, mates, see 
 what we can raise among us for the poor creatures.' 
 
 The party moved along the quay towards the pawnshop, 
 the Yorkshire skipper revolving, cap in hand, among the 
 members. 
 
 'I've been considering,' said he, after a while, 'as how I 
 might find the lass a berth aboard my vessel if she could get 
 shut (rid) of the bairn. We could do wi' a woman to cook and 
 wash for us ; and shoo might addle (earn) a few shillings that 
 road. What do you think o' that, mates ? And what dost' a 
 say to it thysel', lass 1 ' 
 
 The dazed woman looked at the Yorkshireman without 
 understanding his proposal, lie repeated it in more intelligible 
 form ; then she comprehended it, and her wan face lighted up, 
 only to dull again. 
 
 ' jNIay I take my Joanna 1 ' 
 
 ' That's the scratch,' said the skipper. ' Shoe's wick as a 
 Bcoprill (lively as a teetotum), and I'd be glad if I could ; but 
 we can't find room for little bairns.' 
 
 The pilot explained : ' Can't find room on board for little 
 maidens.' 
 
 ' What is to become of my Joanna ? ' asked the bewildered 
 woman, looking with blank eyes about her. 
 
 The man with a vein of sarcasm in him, who had before 
 suggested the Union, threw out another srggestion, likewise 
 ironical. ' As you're about to get clothes of Mr. Lazarus,
 
 A LITTLE DEVIL. 9 
 
 perhaps you can pawn the child to him, and raise a few 
 shillings on her ! ' 
 
 The suggestion elicited a general laugh. The woman, how- 
 ever, took it seriously, and walked towards the pawnbroker's 
 shop, drawing the child along with her. 
 
 ' Here is t'brass a've gotten together for thee,' said the 
 skipper, pouring the coin from his cap into her hand. ' Take 
 it, and get the ten articles thyself.' 
 
 Then he signed to the others to withdraw, and they, with 
 great delicacy, did so, whilst the woman entered the pawn- 
 broker's shop. 
 
 ' Mates,' said the skipper, ' leave the lass to do the shop- 
 ping alone. It's more decent. She'll get the ten articles. 
 Trust a woman to bargain. And whilst shoo's aboot it we'll 
 put heads together and consider what is to be done wi' the 
 little baii'n.' 
 
 ' Did you hear her sci'eam ? ' asked the pilot. 
 
 ' Her 'd do as a syren (steam whistle) to an ironclad, and 
 rouse the Three Towns (Plymouth, Stonehouse, and Devon- 
 port) when coming into harbour.' 
 
 ' Scream ! ' exclaimed another man, ' I should like to know 
 what man or woman but the old lady under the umbrella by 
 the ginger-beer could fail to hear her. Mark my words ! 
 That little maid ain't born to be drowned. How her worked 
 her way up the chain out o' the slime ! Well,' sententiously, 
 ' there be other chains than that in this Avorld ; and may she 
 work herself up the next she catches as well as she went up 
 that!' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PAWNED. 
 
 The woman entered the shop of Mr. Lazarus. When there 
 she stood trembling and looking down, confused or frightened, 
 whilst the child at her side peered about with eager eyes at 
 the articles with which the shop was crowded. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus was a dark man, of distinct Israelitish type, 
 his hair cut short, like moleskin, but his jaws and chin covered 
 with a bristly scrub. He Avas wont to shave once a week, and 
 went bristly and black between times. His eye ran over the
 
 10 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 customer, and took stock of wliat she wore. He soon satisfied 
 himself that she liad nothing about lier in liis way, except a 
 gold wedding-ring. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus looked suspiciously and threateningly at the 
 child. He detested children. They played marbles, ball, tip- 
 cat on the pavement, and broke his windows. They shouted 
 after him, ' Rags and bones ! ' or ' Old clo' ! ' through their 
 noses, or put their heads into his shop, and asked liow lie 
 was off for soap, or * Any black puddings or bacon rashers to- 
 day.' 
 
 The pawnbroker was frequently engaged, behind his counter, 
 whittling at a stick, lying in wait to rush forth with it upon 
 the urchins who offeiided him. It was rarely, however, that 
 he caught the delinquents. He more often fell upon, or fell 
 over, an inoffensive and unoffending child, and rattled his stick 
 about its sides. Then the parents — the mother certainly — 
 would appear on the scene and join in the noise, belabouring 
 ]\Ir. Lazarus witli her tongue. When matters reached this 
 point, Mr. Lazarus would return to his shop, with the stick 
 tucked under his arm, growling Levitical imprecations. 
 
 ' What do you w-ant V asked Mr. Lazarus, looking up from 
 an account-book, and laying the stick on the table. 
 
 ' Please, sir,' answered the woman in a faint, frightened 
 voice, ' I want a set of dry clothes for myself and Joanna.' 
 
 * Certainly,' answered the Jew with alacrity. ' Tumbled 
 into the Pool, eh 1 About what figure, pray ? ' 
 
 ' This is all I have,' answered she, extending her hand and 
 opening it. 
 
 'One half-crown, two shillings, one' — he rang it — 'bad, 
 two sixpences, and eight threepenny bits, also one French 
 lia'penny, which don't pass current. I return you the shilling. 
 You may be able to get othei's to take it, less wideawake. 
 That makes six-and-six. Can't do much for you at that price.* 
 
 Then the poor creature said, ' Please, sir, you'll be liberal, 
 I hope. I've nothing else, and am wet to the marrow, I have 
 brought the child. I thought to raise a few shillings on her.' 
 
 ' The child ! What do you mean 1 ' 
 
 ' My darling, my Joanna.' 
 
 Mr. Lazarus turned a green hue. 
 
 * You're trying to make sport of me ! ' he exclaimed, 
 clutching at his stick. 'You've been put up to it. I won't 
 stand this sort of game. Get out at once.' 
 
 'Please, sir,' said the woman, trembling with cold and
 
 PAWNED. 11 
 
 alarm, * the gentleman outside as fished me from the Pool got 
 up a subscription for me, that I might have dry clothes. I've 
 no more, but if you'd consent to take the child ' 
 
 ' I take the child — I — I ! ' screamed Mr. Lazarus. 'Children 
 are the plague of my life. I wouldn't have one if offered for 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' Then, sir, I must take the money elsewhere.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said the pa-svnbroker, ' six-and-six is it ? Pity it 
 should be lost. Do you think the gentlemen would subscribe 
 a little more 1 The charitable feelings, when well worked, are 
 very yielding. If you'd make believe to be desperate, and 
 about to fall or throw yourself in again, maybe the collecting 
 cap would go round again, and the sum disposable mount to 
 eleven-and-six. At eleven-and-six I might consider you. I 
 can't so much as look at you for six-and-six. Just cast your 
 eyes over this myrtle-green trimmed with cream lace ! Don't 
 it make your mouth water 1 ' 
 
 ' I'm watering all over,' sighed the woman. ' I only want 
 ordinary dry clothes.' 
 
 ' Or this Dolly Yarden with panniers, a little passed in 
 style, and a kiss-me-quick bonnet. Make you quite irresistible, 
 miss — beg pardon — ma'am, I mean.' 
 
 ' I have no more. I can get no more. I need only a cotton 
 dress and underclothing.' 
 
 ' Lor' bless you ! ' exclaimed the Jew, ' Avhat does that 
 latter signify so long as tlie gown is gorgeous 1 Try to screw 
 some more from the gents outside. If you cried, now, in a 
 proper heart-rending way ? ' 
 
 The woman shook her head despairingly. ' I did not ask 
 for this. I want only necessaries. Why did they not let me 
 dro^vn, and be at rest ? ' 
 
 ' What, ma'am 1 ' said the Jew. ' Drown with an available 
 six-and-six on the quay awaiting you ! The thing is ridi- 
 culous ! ' 
 
 * Please, sir, will you take the child ? ' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' asked Lazarus testily, turning green 
 again. 
 
 ' I mean my Joanna,' answered the woman, pointing to the 
 little girl at her side. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus waxed wroth. * Do I take little girls 1 Eh ! 
 look round and see what are the articles in my shop. Dolls ; 
 yes, they don't eat. China figures ; yes, they don't wear out 
 clothes. I'm not a cannibal. Can't make butcher's meat out
 
 12 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 of children. I wisli I miglit. I'd set up shambles and reduce 
 their nuniliers.' 
 
 ' I don't want to sell Joanna,' said the woman in a dull, 
 distressed voice, ' I wouldn't sell her for a tliousand guineas. 
 But I tliought, no offence, I might pawn her for a time, so as 
 to make up the difference, and get a iit out of dry clotlu>s for 
 botli of us.' 
 
 * Be off with you ! This is no foundling hospital Avhere 
 every troublesome child may be left. Get out of this, or I'll 
 rattle my stick about the bones of the monkey.' 
 
 ' I have nowhere to go to, sir. I have passed my word not 
 to fling myself into the sea again. You shall have Joanna, sir, 
 for half-a-sovex'eign.' 
 
 ' Half-a-sovereign ! ' cried Mr. Lazarus, starting back. 
 ' Have I liuman ears to hear such a proposition ? Half-a- 
 sovereign for a little maggot that'll eat her own weight of 
 nourishing victuals every day ! I won't have her at any price. 
 Chuck her into Sutton Pool.' 
 
 ' I won't be drownded,' said the child resolutely. 
 
 ' I throwed lier in once, and her crawled out like a spider 
 running along its cobweb.' 
 
 ' Do with licr what you will. I'll liave nothing to say to 
 her,' cried the angry pawnbroker. Then working hiinself 
 into fury, 'Will you be off? Look wliat a pond you two have 
 made in my shop. The floor is swimming. A mop won't take 
 it up in a week ; and all the iron-ware, and the forks and 
 knives, will be rusted, and the cloth and leather mildewed.' 
 
 ' Well, sir,' sighed the woman, ' give me back the money, 
 and I'll go.' 
 
 * Six-and-six ! ' said Mr. Lazarus in a softer tone, ' six-and- 
 six is six-and-six. Can't we deal reasonal)ly and quietly? 
 WJiat is the advantage of your Avorking yourself up into fever 
 and fury V 
 
 ' Please, sir,' said the woman with pertinacity, such as could 
 liardly be looked for in one so timid and dazed, ' I can have a 
 situation if I get rid of the child.' 
 
 ' Well, what is that to me 1 ' 
 
 ' I won't sell lier, sir ! and I won't send her to the Union. 
 If you'll be so kind as to take lier, and lend me half-a-sovereign 
 on her, I'll throw in my wodding-ring lioside.' 
 
 ' Let me look at it. I dare be sworn it is brass.' 
 
 * We were well off when us married, and could afford it,' 
 explained the woman. Then, whilst the Jew was examining
 
 PAWNED. 13 
 
 the ring, and testing it with acid, she said, ' ]My Joanna is of 
 pure gold. You'd better take her, sir. You'd never repent. 
 I reckon she can do most things. Her can wash ' 
 
 'I have no washing done here,' said Lazarus, shortly. 
 ' Never found the need. The Barbican is poisoned with the 
 smell of yellow soap and the reek of drying linen.' 
 
 ' Then, six', her can cook you a rasher of bacon ' 
 
 ' I never eat of the pig,' screamed Lazarus, and spat on tlie 
 floor. 
 
 ' Her can kindle a fire ' 
 
 ' And waste tons of coal.' 
 
 ' Her can nurse the babies ' 
 
 ' I've no babies. I don't want 'em. I wouldn't have 'em.' 
 
 ' Her can run messages like a greyhound, and mind the 
 shop when you are out ; and should burglars try to break in, 
 her would scream, and scream, and scream.' 
 
 ' Eh ! ' said Lazarus, looking up, interested. ' Was that 
 she screaming half-an-hour ago 1 ' 
 
 ' It was. Her can scream when proper. Other times she's 
 as still as a mouse.' 
 
 JMr. Lazarus considered for a few moments. He rubbed 
 his bristly chin, blew his nose in a fashion almost lost in this 
 age of refinement. Then he leaned both elbows on the counter 
 and stared at the girl. Mr. Lazarus was nervous about burglars. 
 Unwittingly the mother had touched a fibre in his soul that 
 quivered. Report credited him with vast wealth, with money, 
 plate, jewellery, stored in the crazy old house. More than once 
 lie had been alarmed by attempts to break in. He had an in- 
 firmity which he could not master. He slept so soundly that 
 nothing woke him. The Bai-bican was a noisy place by night 
 as well as by day. Tipsy sailors rambled about it, drunken 
 women squabbled, foreign sailors fought on the quay. The ear 
 in time became so accustomed to noises that they ceased to 
 disturb. Lazarus had resolved to get a dog, but begrudged the 
 food it would consume. Following this train of thought, he 
 said to himself, ' Half-a-sov. ! I could get a mongi^el pup for 
 less.' 
 
 ' Sir,' argued the woman, ' with a pup you wouldn't get a 
 gold wedding-ring.' 
 
 ' That is true, but a dog eats bones, and girls eat meat.' 
 
 ' Oh ! my Joanna hasn't much of that. A crust of bread 
 and some dripping — her never gets beyond that. Besides, you'd 
 have to pay tax on a dog, not on a girl.'
 
 14 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' That also is true, but a dog grows his own coat, and a girl 
 grows out of every suit you put her into.' 
 
 ' Tlie girl is a golden girl, gold through and through,' said 
 the mother. ' Slie wakes early, and has her hand in work all 
 day ; is never idle, never plays, never neglects a duty ; try 
 her.' 
 
 jNIr. Lazarus came from behind the counter, put his hand 
 under Joanna's chin, and thrust the wet hair from her brow. 
 He pursed up his lips, half closed his eyes, and studied her 
 critically. 
 
 Then Joanna, surmising that Mr. Lazarus was about to re- 
 lent, put forth her full powers of resistance. She clawed af 
 liis coat, which being rusty gave way ; she bit at his hands, 
 and made them bleed ; she kicked his shins, and forced him to 
 caper ; and she yelled, as surely no mortal lungs had yelled 
 before. 
 
 The men outside drew near the shop, flattened their noses 
 against the window-panes and looked in, then grinned, rubbed 
 their hands, laughed in each otlier's faces, and said : ' Her's 
 born to make a noise in the Avorld, no mistake — an irrepres- 
 sible.' Then they backed. The screams pierced the drums of 
 their ears like Ijradawls. 
 
 Joanna danced and tore, and shrieked and writhed. ' I am 
 not good,' she cried ; ' I am not golden. I am bad, and brazen. 
 I'm a little devil. Don't buy me. I'm worth nothing at all. 
 I scream all day. All night as well. No one can sleep in the 
 house where I am, I never work. I scat (break) all the cloam 
 (crockery). I smash the windows. I set a house on fire. I'm 
 a devil ; I'm a devil.' 
 
 In vain did the poor mother reason with, and try to pacify 
 the child. The little creature was as one possessed. She .shook 
 herself in convulsions of rage, so that the water spirted oil" her, 
 as from a poodle drying itself after a l^ath. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus was fain to put the counter between himself 
 and the child. He was not angry ; he looked on approvingly. 
 
 ' With burglars,' said he, nodding to the mother, ' this 
 would be first-rate.' 
 
 Then the girl tore round the shop, kicking the counter, and 
 dashing against the goods piled in the corncis. 
 
 ' Look here ! ' said Mr. Lazarus. ' Do you see all these 
 walking-sticks ? Thorn and bamboo they are. Ill try their re- 
 spective merits on your ribs, you w ild cat, unless you desist.' 
 Then to the mother, ' She will do. I take her. You shall have
 
 PAWNED. 1 5 
 
 the money. I must stop the noise first ; there is no dealing 
 because of it.' 
 
 Then, feebly assisted by the woman, the pawnbroker carried 
 the child, kicking, tearing, howling, into the kitchen, to the 
 coalhole, into which he thrust her. Then he tried to lock her 
 in, but she dashed herself against the door, and beat the lock 
 when he attempted to fasten it. After many efforts he suc- 
 ceeded in turning the key. 
 
 ' There,' said he, ' squall yourself hoarse. Bang your hands 
 and knees raw. ISTo one will heed.' 
 
 He returned to the shop with the mother, who was trem- 
 bling and crying. 
 
 He shut the kitchen door, and the shop door leading into 
 the house likewise ; nevertheless the cries and thumpings from 
 the coalhole were still audible, though distant and muffled. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus wiped his brow. ' There is life in the child. 
 There are will and pertinacity,' he said. ' She knows her own 
 mind, which is more than do many. Here is the half- 
 sovereign.' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir. You understand, I don't sell her.' 
 
 ' Of course not, of course not.' 
 
 ' I only pawn her,' said the woman, timidly. 
 
 ' To be sure, to be sure.' 
 
 ' And, sir, I want my ticket.' 
 
 ' What ticket 1 ' 
 
 ' The pawn-ticket, sir, so that Avhen I bring the money I 
 may have my child back out of pawn.' 
 
 ' By all means,' said Mr. Lazarus. ' And when shall we 
 say the time is up ? ' 
 
 ' Well, sir, if I may make it seven years, I'll take it as a 
 favour. Joanna is now twelve, and in seven she'll be nineteen. 
 I may be able to redeem her in a few months, but I cannot tell. 
 I'm going away in a ship, and I don't know where to. I should 
 like a margin, so as to give me plenty of time to look about, 
 and scrape.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said Mr. Lazarus. ' Seven years let it be. The 
 interest will be ten per cent. A shilling a year. In seven years 
 that will be seven shillings for intei-est. I'll write you out the 
 ticket at once. Hand me over the wedding-ring again. You 
 took it up just now. The half-sovereign and the six-and-six — 
 less twopence for the ticket, that makes sixteen-and-four. This 
 is what you want to lay out in dry clothes. We will see if we 
 can suit you. The myrtle-green and cream lace won't do.
 
 J 6 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 Style unbecoming. Sometliing warm and useful. I under- 
 stand. Here is the ticket. Number six hundred and seventeen 
 your daughter is, ma'am. Six hundred and seventeen. Now 
 your name, please ? ' 
 
 ' !Mai-ianne Rosevere.' 
 
 ' And my little maid is * 
 
 'Six hundred and seventeen.' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LAZARUS. 
 
 \yHEN the mother was gone, with dry and decent garments, 
 and the drumming and roaring at the cellar door had ceased, 
 Mr. Lazarus went to the coalhole and unlocked it. 
 
 Tlien Joanna walked forth. She had gone in wet ; she 
 emerged caked in coal-dust, black as a sweep. Clothing, 
 hands, face, hair, were all black. Nothing was clean about 
 her but the white of licr eyes, her red lips and shining teeth. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus held the door and stood back. He expected 
 her to fly fortli, snapping and snarling like a spiteful dog. He 
 feared for his shins, and therefore held a stick for protection. 
 But Joanna came forth composedly, without a word. 
 
 ' I must confess,' said the pawnbroker, reassured, ' you do 
 look like a little devil. I don't think you could come it more 
 aiatural, got up for the occasion with theatrical properties.' 
 
 ' I am not a little devil,' said the girl, standing in the midst 
 of the kitchen, and looking at ]\Ir. Lazarus. ' I am a girl ; I 
 am not bad, I am good ; I am gold, not •l)rass ; I am not idle, 
 I work hard ; I rise early ; I break nothing ; I knit ; I sew ; 
 I cook ; I scream. Where is my mother ? Is she gone? ' 
 
 ' Gone, gone right away on end. She lias pawned you to 
 me for seven years ; raised ten sliillings on you — more than 
 you are worth, if coined.' 
 
 . ' I am worth more than ten shillings ; I am worth ten 
 pounds.' 
 
 ' You understand you can't go to mother ; you are pawned. 
 If your mother does not come back in seven years, then you 
 fall to me altogether as my own. Do you understand 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the girl. ' ^Mother has pawned everything else 
 she had down to me. Now is my turn. I will stay.'
 
 LAZARUS. 
 
 17 
 
 'Your number is six hundred and seventeen. Look in my 
 ledger ; there you are till cancelled. Why did you scream so 
 horribly '? ' 
 
 ' Because I wanted to be with mother.' 
 
 ' And now you are content to remain with me ? ' 
 
 ' I am pawned ; I can't help myself. Mother has raised 
 the money on me. I must stay till she returns with the ticket 
 and the half-sovereign.' 
 
 'And the interest— the interest at ten per cent.,' insisted 
 Mr. Lazarus. 
 
 ' I know nothing about that,' said the girl. ' I will stay 
 till mother brings the money. I cannot help myself.' 
 
 ' Come along, you squalling cockatoo,' said the paA\nibroker ; 
 ' I Avill show you over the place, and tell you what your work 
 ft'ill be. This is the kitchen.' 
 
 'And that is your nose. I have eyes. You wouldn't 
 make me believe this a parlour if you swore to it.' 
 
 ' You are a queer imp.' 
 
 ' I am good,' said the girl. ' I will cook the dinner, and 
 then you will say the same.' 
 
 ' No waste of coals here,' observed Lazarus gravely. ' To 
 think of the profligate waste among the rich ! The tons of 
 coal they burn ; nothing to show for it but smoke and ashes ! 
 I never turned a penny by coals in all my life, never.' 
 
 ' I have,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' I shall be glad to hear how you managed that.' 
 
 ' It was this way. We'd a little garden ran down to the 
 water, where the coal-barges went by. I corked an empty soda- 
 water bottle and hung it to the branch of an apple-tree. 
 When the bargemen went by they couldn't hold off having a 
 shy at the bottle, and they shied lumps of coal. I went out 
 every day with a shovel. We kept the kitchen fire with that 
 bottle, and the beauty was she never broke. Couldn't, you 
 understand, because her swung when hit.' 
 
 Lazarus looked at the child with admiration. ' Beautiful ! 
 upon my word, beautiful ! You are a genius. Six hundred and 
 seventeen. Follow me.' 
 
 He led her into the shop. ' There,' he said, ' you sleep 
 under the counter. There are blankets about to make a bed 
 of. Only mind everything goes back into place in the morn- 
 jing ; nothing torn and no tickets off.' 
 
 * I understand.' 
 
 ■' Look at me. You see I hold a stick that I've been 
 
 c
 
 18 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Avliittling. Not out of ornament, I tell you, but for use. Now 
 rack your brains for a reason.' 
 
 ' To lick me with,' said the girl. 
 
 ' Hit it, Six hundred and seventeen. If you tear, break, 
 or -waste anything, this stick will be a paintbrush to your back, 
 making you like an ancient Briton, blue and yellow. Now 
 look at this stick. You don't suppose I whittle and shape it 
 for such as you ; you ain't worth the exertion.' 
 
 ' You thought me worth ten bob, or you wouldn't have 
 given it,' said the child. 
 
 * You worth ten shillings ! ' sneered the Jew ; ' not a bit. 
 Your mother gave her gold ring as well ; that was worth six.' 
 
 ' Well, then, I'm valued at four.' 
 
 ' Four ! You're worth nothing. I reckoned on your clothes 
 and boots.' 
 
 ' ^ly boots are scat at the sides, and wore out at the soles. 
 They are fit for notliing but making soup. My clothes ai'e 
 that dirty with mud and coals that they'll never wash clean 
 again.' 
 
 'What! given to argufying, are you?' exclaimed the 
 pawnbroker. ' No more of that with me. Hook up the steps 
 if you please, you blackbeetle. I must find you a change 
 somehow.' 
 
 He made her ascend a set of dark steps into an upper 
 story. There they Avent through three rooms, full as they 
 could hold of vai'ious goods, old furniture, clocks, china, 
 mattresses, looking-glasses, military accoutrements, uniforms, 
 mufts, jackets, gowns, nautical instruments, books, tools. 
 
 ' There,' said he, pointing about him with his stick, ' you 
 see all these garments. This is tlio uniform of a general, that 
 of an admix'al. Here are sable and sealskin jackets, ral^bitskin 
 ermine opera cloaks, silk dresses for servant-maids, and cotton 
 prints for ladies, linen jackets of dockmen, worsted jerseys of 
 sailors. Tliese must all be hung on yokes. They accumulate. 
 Unless exposed they don't attract attention. I fashion the 
 yokes and pegs on which they hang. That is what I was 
 whittling at. I always have one in hand. I have one great 
 enemy with which to battle. These clothes don't eat, but they 
 get eaten. The moth is my enemy. I said he was a great 
 one, but really he's a very little one. Bless me ! what valu- 
 able time is wasted at whack, whack, whack ! with a bamboo 
 to dri\-e the moth out of the cloth and fur. I've tried camphor ; 
 I've tried bitter apple ; I've tried pepper. Nothing answers
 
 LAZARUS. 19 
 
 but tlie bamboo. Now you know what will be one of your 
 regular duties — duties ! pleasures, exercises. You will liave 
 to beat the clothes every day for a couple of hours. If after 
 tliis I find a moth I'll beat you, whack, whack, whack, with 
 the bamboo, till I've beat the laziness out of you. You are 
 intelligent. You can understand plain English, I suppose 1 ' ■ 
 
 Joanna nodded. 
 
 'You will have to work hard in this house,' said Mr. 
 Lazarus further. He had beaten a carpet to illustrate his 
 meaning, and raised a cloud of dust that made him cough. 
 ' No idleness is tolerated here. No spare hours are given 
 during which you may slip into mischief. Not much food to 
 tire the blood and make you want it. You will rise at five and 
 get me a cup of coffee. No lighting of fires, mind. The 
 coffee is made in an Etna. Then you beat the clothes in the 
 back yard till the shop opens. About noon the fire is kindled 
 and dinner is cooked for me. You can eat what I leave. 
 There is often gravy in which to sop bread. Gravy is nourish- 
 ing. I don't consume it all myself. I am not greedy. Children 
 only are greedy. In the afternoon you mind the shop, and 
 mend Avhat clothes are torn. About five o'clock I shall want a 
 cup of tea. I take bread and cheese for supper at nine. My 
 teeth are bad. I don't eat the crusts and rinds ; you may have 
 them, and- be grateful. There are many poor children with 
 less. I had forgotten. You must have a change of clothes.' 
 He looked carefully about among the female garments. ' There,' 
 said he, ' I don't think I could dispose of these traps ; they 
 are much worn. I bought 'em cheap ; came off a girl as died 
 of scarlet fever. Look sharp ; go behind a heap of furniture, 
 off with your wet and coaly rags, and tumble into these 
 beauties. Then, if you like, you may wash your face and 
 hands at the pump. Water costs no money. I allow no soap.' 
 
 Joanna did not take many minutes in changing. She went 
 into the back yard — this house had one — and soused her head 
 and arms well. Then she returned with the utmost prompti- 
 tude to her master. 
 
 'I couldn't find a comb,' she said, 'so I used a broken 
 kitchen fork.' 
 
 ' That's right,' answered the Jew approvdngly ; * never ask 
 for two things where one will suffice.' 
 
 Mr. Lazarus relaxed into amiability. He was pleased with 
 the ready instinct of the child to meet his views, 
 
 ' Let me tell you,' he said, ' Avhen you've been a good girl, 
 
 c2
 
 20 COIRT ROYAL. 
 
 and worked hard and eaten next to nothing, I'll allow you, as 
 a treat, to put on tho ^oiicral's uniform, sword, epaulette, and 
 all ; or the adiniral's, with his cocked hat ; or my lady's silk 
 and ermine, bare arms and low body. It will be as i^ood as 
 going to the play, and it will air the suits also, and prevent 
 'them getting mouldy.' 
 
 Joanna clapped her hands and laughed. 
 
 ' There is one thing further,' said Lazarus. 'You'll have to 
 go to bed in tho dark, winter and summer. I never allow 
 waste of candle. Who knows ? you might take to reading in 
 bed — under the counter — and set everything in a blaze. Why, 
 bless me ! if this establishment caught, the lire would run 
 throuch it. Nothin" in the world would arrest the flames. 
 Now you may go down stairs. No — stay. There is one point 
 more to particularise. I spend a penny every week in getting 
 shaved, and fourpence a quarter in ha\ing my hair cut. That 
 amounts to tive-and-fourpence in the twelvemonth — clear 
 waste, nothing to show for it. You will have to learn to shave 
 me and cut my hair. Here is an old \n\\iY that the moth has 
 played the mischief with. I don't think it will sell. Practise 
 on that. Lather it first, and then work along it gently with a 
 razor. You'll soon get into the way, and save me five-and-four 
 per annum. Only — mind ! Don't Avaste the soap I ' 
 
 In all the many years that Enunanuel Lazarus liad done 
 business he had never made so good a bargain as when he took 
 Joanna in pawn. Ten shillings ! She was worth to liim over 
 ten pounds a year, that is two thousand per cent, interest. He 
 soon disco\ered her worth, and congratulated himself on 
 having secured her. 
 
 Joanna worked from grey dawn to late at night liarder 
 than any day-labourer. She slept under the counter, and slept 
 so lightly that at the least alarm of burglars she woke and 
 screamed loud enough to scare away the rogues, arouse the 
 neighbours, and collect the police. 
 
 She dusted the weevils out of their lurking-places; not a 
 grub could conceal itself under the felling ; the bamboo re- 
 duced it to pulp. Not a moth could spread wing ; it was 
 clapped to dust between her palms. Wherever, in cloth, dress, 
 or fur cloak, she spied a rent, her dexterous needle mended it 
 so neatly that it remained unperceived l>y purchasers. She 
 never forgot to lock the doors, bar and liell the windows, at
 
 LAZAEUS. 2! 
 
 night. Her clothing cost nothing, and was always neat, so 
 ■well was it washed, so neatly was it mended, darned and 
 patched. As she was denied coals, she washed the house 
 linen and her own garments in cold water. 
 
 When winter set in, Joanna found means of economising 
 that had not entered the brain of Lazarus. Charitable people 
 had instituted a soup-kitchen. The girl had gone thither with 
 her mother in their abject poverty. She went there now clothed 
 in rags, and brought away sufficient nourishing broth to form 
 the staple of her own and her master's dinner. Some potatoes 
 and bread completed the meal. No one supposed that the 
 wretched girl with worn face and appealing eyes was the raaid- 
 of-all-work to the rich Jew pawnbroker and money-lender of 
 the Barbican. 
 
 Joanna had dark hair and large shining dark eyes too big 
 for her face ; the face was thin and sharp, but well cut. She 
 was but twelve years old, therefore only a child ; but the face 
 was full of precocious shrewdness. The eyes twinkled, gleamed, 
 flashed. Wonderful eyes, knowing eyes, without softness in 
 them ; eyes that saw everything, measured and valued every- 
 thing, that went into those she encountered and found out 
 their weakness. Her face was without colour, but the skin 
 was clear and transparent. 
 
 ' Who and what are you, my child ? ' asked a charitable 
 woman once at the soup-kitchen. 
 
 'I'm a pawn— Six hundred and seventeen!' she replied, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Joanna's school. 
 
 Seven months after Joanna had been left in pawn with Mr. 
 Lazarus, the Yorkshire skipper was again in Plymouth with a 
 load of coals from Goole. He came to the shop to see the girl, 
 and tell her about her mother. Captain Hull — that was his 
 name — had bad news to communicate. Mrs. Rosevere had 
 probably caught cold from her immersion, when she tried to 
 drown herself, and on her voyage northward had been taken 
 ill. On reaching Goole, she was carried on shore and sent to
 
 22 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 the nearest hospital, where she had been pronounced ill "with 
 rheumatic fever. 
 
 After that Mr. Hull had been to Belgium for iron. Tliere 
 had been a strike at iNIiddlesborough, and the furnaces liad 
 been let out, and the ironmasters had executed their contracts 
 by purchasing their iron at Verviers. When next Captain 
 Hull came to Goole and inquired after the Avoman, he learned 
 that she had been discharged, but whither she had gone, and 
 what was her present address, he was unable to ascertain. 
 Joanna was much troubled. She had a tender spot in her 
 lieart. She was passionately devoted to her mother. Not a 
 line had reached her from Mrs. Rosevere. Whether she were 
 alive or dead she could not tell. She cried bitterly at night 
 under the counter, and could not sleep for sobs. But she did 
 not allow the skipper to see her tears. She shook and turned 
 white when he told his tale, and then fled to the kitchen to 
 conceal her emotion. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said the pawnbroker, when she had disappeared, 
 •this is my fate. I advanced ten .shillings on the child, and 
 now she is thrown on my hands. This is the second time this 
 sort of thing has occurred — before it Avas white mice.' 
 
 ' What about the white mice ? ' 
 
 ' I advanced money on a couple of white mice to a school- 
 boy, and was not repaid. I had to feed those mice for weeks, 
 and they cost me a fortune. I put them in the window, but, 
 though it brought all the Barbican children to the glass, there 
 came no buyer. At last I was forced to drown them, to be rid 
 of the daily burden of their maintenance. The law won't let 
 me deal like that with children. I'll never advance money on 
 live animals again — never. I've been bitten twice, once by the 
 mice, now l)y the girl. Ten shillings ! I gave a half-sovereign 
 in gold. I shall never see the colour of the coin again.' 
 
 * Now, ]\Ir. Lazarus, speak nobut the truth. You gave 
 ne'er a penny in cash. It was all took out in clothes.' 
 
 ' Was it ? Dear me, I had forgot. W^ell, it does not matter. 
 I made a bad bargain. The creature eats with a voracity per- 
 fectly appalling. Did you ever see a cow or a horse in a meadow, 
 how it goes on, never stopping ? It is just the same Avith this 
 child. The cost of her food is frightful, the cost of her clothes 
 sickening. She outgrows her dresses as fast as they are fitted 
 on her. Why did I take her ? Why Avas I such a fool 1 This 
 is Avhat comes of having a feeling heart. Take her aAvay, 
 Mr. Hull, take licr away, chuck her as ballast into the bilge-
 
 juanna's school. 23 
 
 water in your hold. I've had her seven months, now it is your 
 turn.' 
 
 ' I — I ! ' stammered the good-natured skipper, ' I am nae 
 responsible for t' little lass.' 
 
 ' You are. You sent her here. You persuaded the mother 
 to put her with me, and offered her a place in your vessel. Aa 
 you took the mother, you're part bound for the child. Now 
 I've had enough of her gorging herself on butcher's meat, and 
 swilling bottled ale, and burning candles at both ends, and 
 flaunting in silks and satins.' 
 
 ' None so much o' t' latter, I take it, Mr. Lazarus.' 
 ' Only on Sundays, I allow. But, consider, Mr. Hull, a 
 child can neither be clothed in nor on nothing. You, by the 
 cut of you, I take to be a married man, and know what the 
 cost of dressing children comes to.' 
 ' This is but one bairn.' 
 
 * I know that ; but this child is a girl, and girls cost more 
 in clothes than boys.' 
 ' Shoo works for you.' 
 
 ' Works ! Not she — loiters about the Barbican playing with 
 the boys and girls at hopscotch and prisoners' base. Works ! 
 I've paid for her schooling.' 
 
 ' Does she go to t' National school ? ' 
 
 ' National school ! ' jeered the Jew. * A first-rate private 
 school. She is slow at learning. I wish I could extract from 
 her sufficient work to pay for her schooling. Take her away. 
 I'll turn her out of doors if you don't. Not under half-a- 
 sovereign would I consent to retain her.' 
 
 Mr. Hull considered for a while, then thrust his hand into 
 his pocket and drew forth some money. ' If this be but a 
 matter o' brass,' he said, ' take it. But I tell thee, I don't 
 acknowledge the responsibility.' 
 
 'Very well,' said the Jew, 'I've a feeling heart, and I 
 accept the trifle. It don't cover her breakages. I had as 
 beautiful a pair of Oriental jars as you might wish to see. 
 They were worth fifty pounds. The child knocked one over 
 with a broom. What did she have a broom in her hand for ? 
 Cobwebs ! Cobwebs don't hurt. Spiders break no china. 
 Brooms does. Now there is but one jar remaining, and that 
 is worth seven-and-six, because the pair is broken. That is a 
 loss to a poor man. Take seven-and-six from fifty pounds, 
 and it leaves forty-nine pounds twelve and six. You wouldn't 
 like to lose forty-nine pounds twelve and six of a morning,
 
 24 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 would you, Mr. Hull ? You see -vvliat sacrifices one makes 
 throu,ij;h having a feeling heart. ]\Ir. Hull, I'll take the money, 
 and set it oil" against the breakages : you contribute ten shil- 
 lings and I forty-nine pounds twelve and six.' 
 
 i\Ir. Hull grew red, and fumbled in his pocket. * Dang it ! * 
 said he, ' here's another half-sovereign.' 
 
 ' Thank you, captain, thank you. You understand, it don't 
 release her from pawn. The mother pawned her, and has the 
 ticket.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't want t' bairn out. Keep her till her mother 
 redeems her. I'm a'most feared though t' old lass is dead. 
 Shoo were but a weakly creetur' at best.' 
 
 ' I'll keep her till then,' said Lazarus, and added to him- 
 self, ' I wouldn't do without her for five-and-twenty pounds.' 
 
 As Mr. Lazarus said, Joanna was at school, and tlie school 
 was the private establishment of Mr. Lazarus, in which he 
 was head and second master and usher rolled into one, and in 
 which she was the only scholar. Consequently on her was 
 concentrated the full teaching power of the academy. She 
 knew her letters and could sum when she came there, but her 
 knowledge of men and the world was rudimentary. This was 
 the speciality of Mr. Lazarus's teaching. Under his tuition 
 she rapidly acquired an insight into the shady ways of the 
 woi'ld and acquaintance with the skeletoits in the cupboards 
 of a good many houses in Plymouth. 
 
 Joanna also gained insight into her master's business, and 
 unfolded a remarkable aptitude for it. The business was one 
 that ramified in all directions, a fungous, cancerous growth 
 with fibres extracting nutriment from every social l)ed. 
 
 ]Mr. Lazarus visited extravagant ladies at their homes, and 
 lent them money on their diamonds. He gave out coppers on 
 the flat-irons of drunken washerwomen. He took the gold 
 repeaters of officers and the tools of artisans. He lent money 
 on bills of sale, notes of hand, and post-obits. He was yield- 
 ing about renewals. 
 
 The house was crowded from garret to cellar with articles 
 of every description on which money had been advanced, or 
 which had been seized in default of payment. A retentive 
 memory was in d(Mnand to recollect where anything was, when 
 wanted by a depositor, who came, money in liand, to release 
 it ; to know what pledges had lapsed, and when, without 
 hunting them out of the ledger. 
 
 Dealers of various kinds visited Mr. Lazarus : slop-shop
 
 Joanna's school. 2.') 
 
 men to purchase a lot of secondhand clothing, curiosity dealers 
 to overhaul his china and engravings, jewellei^s for his watches 
 and rings and bracelets, furniture-makers to buy up cracked 
 mahogany-veneered chests of drawers for conversion into 
 Florentine antiques by coating them with Dutch marquetry. 
 
 Thus the goods in Mr. Lazarus's establishment went into 
 circulation. Old things went and new came. But there 
 always remained some deposit which no tide swept away, and 
 which lay as a burdeii on tlie Jew's mind. The articles 
 occupied space and were unsaleable. Joanna applied her 
 mind to the solution of this difficulty, and showed a rare 
 sagacity in converting them into usable, and therefore saleable 
 goods, and thus launching them. 
 
 As Joanna grew up, and grew into the business, she 
 exhibited a rare talent in negotiating with both sellers and 
 purchasers. She did not become the right hand of Lazarus, 
 only because he had no right hand. Even he, with his long 
 experience, was unable to surpass her in disparagement of 
 articles offered, in shaming a poor pledger into yielding them 
 for a trifle. The expressions she threw into her face, the 
 scorn that quivered in her finger-tips, the keenness of eyesight 
 that overlooked no defect, cowed the spirit of the pledger, and 
 took the value out of the piece of goods before a word was 
 spoken. On the other hand, in treating with dealers, her 
 genius was equally conspicuous. She praised the articles, 
 dexterously disguised their defects, flattered and cajoled the 
 purchasers, and sent them away to find that they had been 
 overreached. But what delighted Joanna especially was to 
 have to do with an amateur antiquary or china fancier : then 
 she became simplicity itself, profoundly ignorant of the real 
 value of rare articles, and she sent the greenhorns off deluding 
 themselves that they had secured treasures ' in a poky out-of- 
 the-way odds-and-ends shop,' whel^ they had paid heavy gold 
 for utter rubbish, 
 
 Joanna, as has been said, developed admirable skill in 
 turning unsaleable goods into articles of commerce. We give 
 one instance. Mr. Lazai-us was unable to resist the temptation 
 of purchasing, at a low figure, a large number of scarlet 
 uniforms slightly damaged and discoloured. No one would 
 buy the red-cloth jackets. Joarnia unpicked them, sent them 
 into the dye-vat, and with a pair of scissors and a needle and 
 black thread converted them into fashionable short coats. The 
 breast of one made the tail of another.
 
 26 COURT ROVAL. 
 
 Tlie demand for i\rr, Lazarus's Rinkin^, Lome, and 
 Brighton suits, at a price with wliich tlie ready-made dealers 
 could not compete, koou exceeded the supply. 
 
 When one of lI.M.'s vessels was put in commission the 
 mess was furnished with new linen, plate, china, glass. When 
 discharged — sometimes at the end of a few months — every- 
 thing was sold otr at miserably low prices. Mr. Lazarus was 
 a large and constant purchaser at these sales. Sometimes he 
 took the entire lot in a lump, by negotiation, without auction. 
 Then he and Joanna went over all the acquisitions with care. 
 The markings were removed from the linen. If the table- 
 cloths were much cut, they were converted into napkins ; if 
 slightly injured, Joainia darned and disguised the cuts. The 
 plate was subjected to much polishing, till it bore the appear- 
 ance of new, or was redipped and sold as new — possibly to the 
 same vessel when recommissioned. The glass was sorted into 
 complete lots ; the knives and china found their way among 
 the poor. 
 
 In their views of life Joanna and her master agreed per- 
 fectly ; but then Joanna's mind had been formed by i\Ir. 
 Lazarus, and she drank in his doctrines as freely as he let her 
 drink water. 
 
 jNIi'. Lazarus was a conscientious man in a way. He in- 
 structed Joanna in morals. He taught her that great sin would 
 lie at her door if she acted towards himself dishonestly, and 
 untruthfully and wastefully. 
 
 They had ample opportunity for exchanging ideas whilst 
 feather-picking. 
 
 The pawnbroker received many pillows and bed-tyes as 
 pledges. When he did so ho slit them at a seam, put in his 
 hand and extracted feathers ; from a pillow he withdrew one 
 handful, from a bed four. In their place he put hay, so as not 
 to alter their weight. Then Joanna sewed up the seams .so 
 neatly that it could not be told they had been opened ; and 
 the feathei's were stored in chests to be sold at tenpence per 
 pound. Whilst thus engaged Joanna and her master discussed 
 the Avorld, the prolligacy of the rich, the meanness of the poor, 
 the greed of rival pawnbrokers, the universal corruption of men 
 and morals. 
 
 What was the world coming to, when debtors bolted to 
 America, and when those on whose furniture jNIr. Lazarus had 
 made advances ' flitted ' by moonlight, leaving him out of 
 pocket, Avithout power of recovery ? What w as the world
 
 Joanna's school. 27 
 
 coming to, when the police poked their noses into his shop, and 
 found there stolen goods, which they carried off, in spite of his 
 having paid hard cash for them, or were extortionate in their 
 demand for palm-greasing, to overlook the purchases ? What 
 was the world coming to, when charitable institutions were 
 allowed to come to the aid of the distressed — clothing-clubs, 
 coal-clubs, savings' banks^and hold them back from flying to 
 their proper refuge, the Golden Balls ? What was the world 
 coming to, when the Jews were becoming so numerous and so 
 unscrupulous as to interfere Avith one another's business 1 And 
 what was the world coming to, when Gentiles were becoming a 
 match for Jews in plucking the geese, and shearing the silly 
 sheep, that asked to be plucked and shorn ? 
 
 Thus Joanna grew up under this schooling, and the teach- 
 ing became the grain of her mind. There was natui'al aptitude 
 to receive it, but the aptitude was that of an active, eager, 
 intelligent mind, ready to assimilate any instruction given it, 
 with daily opportunity for testing and exercising it. 
 
 She was entirely without sympathy with her fellows. She 
 looked upon men as the j^rey on which the clever lived ; they 
 were fair game when brought within reach through necessity 
 or imbecility. Of human nature she had a low opinion, but 
 she was brought into contact with no noble specimens. 
 
 Lazarus was without tenderness towards her ; she grew up 
 with no one to love, no one to love her, consequently there was 
 no sympathy, pity, softness about her. The one leading motive 
 of Lazarus's life seemed to be Individualism. He thought, 
 worked only for himself. He concerned himself about no one ; 
 he was indifferent to the sufferings of mankind. His code of 
 ethics was based on self. That was right which did him good, 
 that was wrong which did him harm. He insisted to Joanna 
 that the secret of success lay in rigidly attending to self-in- 
 terest ; that the failures of men were due to their yielding to 
 their good-nature, to their vibration between self-interest and 
 the care for others. 
 
 Thus passed several years. Joanna grew in stature, and 
 her mind accommodated itself to what was exacted of it. She 
 became indispensable to her master, but he was too shrewd to 
 let her see how highly he appreciated her. No further news 
 reached the Barbican about her mother. The skipper no more 
 returned to Plymouth. 
 
 Still Joanna clung to the belief that her mother lived, and 
 would return and redeem her before the lapse of the seven years.
 
 28 COURT ROYAL 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CRUDGE, SOLTCITOU. 
 
 Onk evening, after Mr. Lazarus had sliut up sliop, his private 
 door-bell was rung sharply. Joanna answered it, but opened 
 only so nnich of the door as allowed a portion of lier face to 
 appear, whilst she inquired the name and business of the 
 visitor at so unwonted an hour. 
 
 ' Grudge,' answered the caller ; ' Grudge, solicitor. Come, 
 open, and let me in. Here is my card.' 
 
 ' Grudge, is it ? ' exclaimed Lazarus, wlio was behind the 
 girl. ' Let in ]Mr. Grudge, Joanna, and don't keep him there 
 under the drip of the door. Gan't you see that it is raining, 
 and that he has on his best hat ? Joanna, be careful, lock and 
 chain after the gentleman.' 
 
 Lazarus backed, bowing before his visitor, till he backed 
 against a wall ; then he stood hesitating, looking about him, 
 doubtful whither to conduct Mr. Grudge. 
 
 ' Really, sir,' said the Jew, ' I am sorry to see you in so 
 unworthy a den ; but a shop is not the rose-garden of Gulistan, 
 and the seat of business is not the lap of luxury. Where shall 
 we go ? Will you condescend to step into the kitclien 1 ' 
 
 ' Anywhere you like,' answered tlie lawyer. ' No ceremony 
 with me. Give me a chair to sit on, and a light by which to 
 find one. I want no more.' 
 
 ' There is a nice easy arm-chair, leather covered, with springs 
 in the seat ; but it is upstairs. It would take a quarter of an 
 hour to get it down, iiesides, Inchball's " British Theatre," 
 in twenty-five vols, half-bound, the rest in paper parts, occupy 
 the seat. Time, INIr. Grudge, is too precious a commodity witli 
 you to let us think of that thin buoyant-seated chair.' 
 
 'I will content myself with one that is cane-bottomed,' 
 said Mr. Grudg(\ 
 
 ' I'm afraid I must ask you to take one that was cane- 
 bottomed, but is now sat through, but will be re-caned in a 
 fortnight,' said the Jew, apologetically. ' If you don't mind 
 taking a place between the pni'terite and the future tenses, 
 nothing can be better. It is not so far gone that you will slip 
 through. I will put a baking-tray from the oven over the 
 hole, and then you will run no risk. Don't be afraid of grease.
 
 CRUDGE, SOLICITOR. 29 
 
 Nothing fatty ever goes into my oven. If you shirk it, take 
 the dustpan.' 
 
 Mr. Grudge did r.ot, however, relish tlie appearance of the 
 chair offered him, cr the kitchen into wliich he was introduced. 
 He remained standing. Joanna entered after barring the door. 
 
 ' I want to see you in private,' lie said ; ' I have come on 
 business. We may need a table, and pens and ink. Besides,' 
 he added, ' the place is full of feathers, and I don't want my 
 coat covered with down.' 
 
 Mr. Lazarus laughed. 'Joanna has been plucking geese. 
 Eoast goose for dinner to-morrow. I would invite you to par- 
 take, Mr. Grudge, but your time is precious, and my house ill- 
 suited as a place of entertainment. Plenty of goose-plucking 
 done in this establishment, my dear sir, 1 assure you.' 
 
 No goose was visible, not even a fowl, but bolsters and 
 pillows strewed the floor, and Mr. Grudge had to step over 
 them by the light of a tallow candle stuck in the neck of a 
 broken brandy bottle. 
 
 ' If I might be allowed to propose,' said Lazarus, ' I would 
 suggest your following me into my sanctum sanctorum. There 
 we can talk together alone. Not that Joanna is to be con- 
 sidered. Step this way, IMr. Grudge. Joanna, let me have 
 the light. You must sit in the dark, and pluck the goose after 
 the gentleman is gone. Take care, IMr. Grudge, solicitor, there 
 is a broken slate in the floor. Kick that bolster aside, it lies 
 in your way. Don't strike your head against this butcher's 
 steel-yard. IMind the floor ; there is a dozen of mineral water 
 ranged along the wall. You may notice an unpleasant savour. 
 It is occasioned by nothing more than a dead rat. Overrun 
 with them ; so near the water ; and I have poisoned them. 
 They die in their holes, and under flooi's and behind wainscots. 
 In a fortnight the smell will be gone. Here, sir, is my little 
 room. You will excuse the bed bein^' in it. Here is a seat 
 for you, jMr. Grudge. It may be peculiar, but it is not un- 
 comfortable. In fact, it is an old sedan-chair with the front 
 knocked out. If you will look round the room you will see 
 sedan-chairs let in between the presses. I got a stock of 
 them, when they went out of fashion, and lay rotting in a 
 yard. They came in handy, fitted with shelves for keeping 
 sundries, my papers, and poor valuables. One I use as a 
 chair. I sit on it at the table. The sides cut off draughts. 
 I'll turn it round. I can seat myself on the bed, if you will 
 condescend to occupy the sedan-chair.'
 
 30 COLRT ROYAL. 
 
 i^Fr. Crudgc looked almut liiin. The room was small, Hc;hted 
 by day through a window, half of which was blocked up. 
 Under the window was a table strewn with strips of paper, 
 numbered — tickets to be affixed to pledges. Ink was in a 
 broken liqueur-glass stuck into a cup full of shot. In an old 
 dirty marmalade-pot M-as paste, and a brush. The paste was 
 sour and watery. Against the wall on one side was a bedstead 
 with a straw mattress on it, and a feather-bed to which hung a 
 ticket. The bolster was labelled 145, the coverlet 37-1. Pro- 
 bably there were tickets to the blankets, but these Mr. Grudge 
 did not see. Apparently no sheets were on the bed. Out of 
 economy Lazarus used pledged goods ; it saved the wear of 
 what was his own. In the recesses on each side of the chimney 
 were sedan-chairs, converted into cupboards. One was filled 
 with bottles — laudanum, ipecacuanha, castor-oil, ic. 
 
 *Ah !' said Lazarus, marking the direction of his guest's 
 eye. ' That was a bad bargain. Never able to dispose of this 
 lot. Taken from a chemist. If either Joanna or I had been 
 ill, and could have used some of them, the loss would not have 
 been so dead. I keep 'em here, safe, as some of the lot may 
 be poison.' 
 
 On the tops of the presses and sedan-chairs Avere boots, 
 bottles, and crockery. On the chimneypicce were Chelsea 
 figures. On a stool beside the table lay a scrap of newspaper, 
 in which were a couple of onions and some salt. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus put the candle on the table, turned the chair 
 about, and insisted on ensconcing the solicitor in it. Then he 
 seated himself on the bed opposite his visitor. 
 
 ]Mr. Grudge was a tall, well-dressed man, of middle age, 
 with reddish-brown hair. He wore whiskers and a moustache, 
 but had his chin and jaw shaven below the moustache. He 
 had grey eyes and a pair of bushy reddish eyebrows. His face 
 expressed intelligence without imagination ; it was a strong, 
 practical, business face. His manner was that of a gentleman, 
 easy and possessed. He took his place in the sedan-chair 
 without a twitch of the muscles of his mouth. He was as 
 insensible to the ludicrous as he was to poetry. Yet the situa- 
 tion was eminently grotesque. The sedan-chair had a roof 
 and glass windows at the sides. It was open only in front, 
 and ]\Ir. Grudge was planted, as in a sentry-box, face to face 
 with the Jew, sitting on the bed, with his legs folded like 
 those of a Turk. 
 
 ' Now,' said ]Mr. Lazarus, ' let us proceed to business.
 
 CRUDGE, SOLICITOR. 31 
 
 Something of importance must have occurred to bring you 
 here at such a time.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' answered IMr. Grudge. ' Nothing of vital 
 importance that I am aware.' 
 
 ' Then why have you come 1 ' exclaimed Lazarus, dropping 
 his legs over the side of the bed. ' Sur-ely a letter would have 
 sufficed. I could have run up to town to see you. You have 
 travelled first class ; I would have gone third. You are not 
 going to charge me for your time and trainage 1 ' 
 
 ' Make yourself easy,' said the lawyer. ' I had to come to 
 Plymouth on other business than yours, and as I was here, I 
 thought best to give you a call at a time when I knew you 
 would be disengaged. I am staying at the Royal. I did my 
 business during the afternoon, had my dinner, and then 
 strolled down here.' 
 
 Lazarus breathed freely. ' You gave me a scare,' he said. 
 ' What an expense I should have been put to ! Staying at 
 the Royal ! Wouldn't a commercial inn have done as well 1 
 However, the other client pays, so it does not matter.' 
 
 ' Not at all to you,' said Mr. Grudge with composure. ' I 
 know your idiosyncrasies, and accommodate myself to them.' 
 
 ' Quite so. When you act for bloated plutocrats, make 
 them pay. Letting off blood does them good. When you act 
 for poor hard-working labourers like myself, cut the expenses 
 down. Our blood is watery.' 
 
 ' Enough on a topic that leads to nothing,' said Mr. Grudge. 
 'You can guess what has brought me hither.' 
 
 ' I am afraid to guess. Is it the affairs of the Duke ? ' 
 
 Grudge nodded. 
 
 ' How do matters stand ? ' 
 
 ' That depends on the point of view from which the coup 
 d'ceil is taken. From yours, excellent ; from theirs, desperate. 
 The family are constantly in want of money — renewing, mort- 
 gaging, and there must be a crash shortly. Npw they want 
 about five thousand towards finishino: them.' 
 
 'Finishing them ! Finishing for ever the great Kingsbridge 
 family ! Breaking down his most noble and exalted mightiness 
 the Marquess of Saltcombe ! Sweeping away, clearing away, 
 and utterly effacing ' — he jumped off the bed, and with the tail 
 of his dirty coat brushed the table — ' clearing away and utterly 
 effacing the most gi-acious and ancient Eveleighs ! ' 
 
 'Mr. Lazarus,' said the solicitor coldly, craning his neck out 
 of the box to watch the proceedings of the pawnbroker, ' pray
 
 32 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 observe that you have upset the ink and paste over the table in 
 your effort to clean it. Instead of mending, you have messed 
 the table.' 
 
 ' I do not care. My fancy ran away with me. I am an 
 Oriental, a child of the sun, with a rich imagination that 
 Hashes into poetry. What care I about these noble mushrooms ? 
 They date from the Conquest, but what is the Conquest to us ? 
 An affair of yesterday. I have done. Go on. Tliey want 
 more money, do they t ' He reascended the bed, and sat on it 
 with legs depending over the side. 
 
 ' The end must come ; it is inevitable,' said the solicitor. 
 ' Everything is in your hands. You may bring the walls about 
 their ears when you will. If you choose, we can proceed to ex- 
 tremities at once. Nothing can save them. You are practi- 
 cally the sole creditor, for you have got the home mortgages 
 into your own hands. You have no rivals to contend against. 
 The estate must be sold, and if you choose to become possessor 
 of Court Royal you may.' 
 
 Lazarus rubl)ed his hands, and crowed, rather than laughed. 
 
 ' I — I have the estates ! What good would they do to me 1 
 I set up as a grand English squire ! Not I. That is not my 
 ambition. I have Court Royal ! I could not keep it up.' 
 
 ' Well, there is no accounting for tastes. For the coup de 
 grdce we must have five thousand pounds. As usual, I suppose, 
 the money is to go through a third party, so that your name 
 may not appear 1 I will manage that. I suppose some debts 
 are pressing, and the usual annual expense is becoming burden- 
 some — that is the occasion of this fresh demand.' 
 
 ' Mr. Crudge,' said the Jew, ' you seem confident that the 
 end is near. I do not share your confidence. A great house 
 like that of the Duke of Kingsbridge will not go to pieces all 
 at once. It has its supports, on all sides, in rich and powerful 
 families. When the rumour spreads that the Kingsbridge house 
 is trembling, the noble relations from all parts will hasten to 
 uphold it. There are a thousand means to which such a family 
 may have recourse, inaccessible to such as us. They are like a 
 tent pegged all round into the soil, and if this or that guy 
 snaps, what does it matter 1 — the rest will hold.' 
 
 ' Who are to help them ? The central pole of your tent is 
 sawn through, and the guys will not uphold a fallen and flap- 
 ping ma.ss of rag. They stay it while upright, but are worthless 
 when it is down.' 
 
 ' But the house is not down yet. Why, Lord Edward is
 
 CRUDGE, SOLICITOR. 33 
 
 rector of a fat Somersetshire living, an archdeacon, and Canon 
 of Glastonbury.' 
 
 ' He may be worth some twelve hundred at the outside. He 
 cannot help. Besides, he is already in debt. Lord Ronald, 
 the general, has only his half-pay.' 
 
 ' But the family of the late Duchess ? ' 
 
 ' They will do nothing. However, I do not see in what 
 way their fall can concern you, so long as you save your shekels. 
 Whether the sur\ivors of the wreck come to land or sink — that 
 is nothing to you or me.' 
 
 'Nothing to me ! ' exclaimed the Jew, jumping off the bed 
 and pacing the room. ' Nothing to me ! It is everything to 
 me. What do I care for money except as a means whereby I 
 may lever them over, and throw them in the dirt under my 
 feet 1 ' He stopped abruptly, thinking he had said too much, 
 and looked at the solicitor out of the corners of his eyes ; but 
 Mr. Grudge was leaning back in the sedan-chair, and Lazarus 
 could see only his profile in shadow through the glass side. 
 
 ' You speak as though you entertained a spite against the 
 family,' he said — 'as though you were moving in this matter, 
 actuated by revenge for some personal wrong. But that is im- 
 possible. What can you, the mole that burrows at the root of 
 the social tree, have against the pui'ple emperor butterfly who 
 flutters about its very top on shining wing 1 The distance be- 
 tween you is too great for you ever to have come in contact.' 
 
 ' To be sure, I have expressed myself over-strongly. My 
 feeling is not personal, it is political.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said the lawyer. 'Now I understand.' 
 
 ' Of course you understand. Political feeKngs fire the pas- 
 sions as surely as personal wrongs.' 
 
 ' To be sure they do,' said Grudge, with indifference. 
 
 After a pause, Lazarus got oft' his bed and said, ' If five 
 thousand more is necessary, you shall have the sum. I have 
 waded too deep into the morass to think of retreat ; I must 
 wade on. Tell me candidly : in your opinion, is there no sal- 
 vation for them ? ' 
 
 ' That I will not say. There is a desperate resource. The 
 Marquess may marry an heiress, and with her fortune disen- 
 cumber the property.' 
 
 ' He is capable of doing it,' cried Lazarus in great excite- 
 ment. ' He will do it ; curses be upon him ! Why, any 
 American plutocrat, or Liverpool merchant, or London corn- 
 factor would throw his millions into the Kingsbridge chat-moss 
 
 P
 
 34 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 to make a way over it for his daughter to "vviii a coronot. Tho 
 !Marquess is only forty, is a handsome man — that Avill be the 
 checkmate tliey will play ! ' 
 
 ' The ]\Iarquess is forty, as you say, or thereabouts. He has 
 been languidly looking out for heiresses these ten years, but 
 heiresses don't fly into your mouth like roast partridges in tho 
 land of Cockaigne. He must stalk them. He must make 
 efforts to And them. However, that is no concern of mine. 
 All I have to look to is your pecuniary interest in the Kings- 
 bridge estates.' 
 
 * Five thousand will nigh upon linish them up, will it ? ' 
 said the Jew. ' They take a deal of finishing, like a painting 
 by Meissonier. I thought the last loan would have done that. 
 What is the property Avorth 1 Have you an idea ? What are 
 the old mortgages on the other estates ? ' 
 
 ' That is more than I can say. I know what is owing to 
 you. You have the mortgage on the manor of Court Koyal, 
 the sun and centre of the whole system.' 
 
 Lazarus considered, then drew a key from his pocket, opened 
 an iron box walled into tho side of the house, and drew from it 
 an account-book and his clieque-book. 
 
 ' Now,' said Mr. Crudge, ' see the result of getting excited. 
 You upset the ink, and now j^ou want to use it.' 
 
 ' If you do not mind being left a moment in the dark, I 
 will fetch some ink,' answered the Jew. ' I see that what lies 
 on the table is useless ; it is a flux of coalash, ink, and paste ; 
 a picture of our social system, eh, Mr. Crudge ! — a mixture of 
 messes.' 
 
 Lazarus withdrew with the candle. 
 
 Mr. Crudge sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. A 
 very little grey light stole in through the upper part of the 
 window. 
 
 ' Bah ! ' said he to himself. ' This sort of people object to 
 fresh air. What with the onions, and the sour paste, and tho 
 dead rats, and the pervading Levitical savour, I am asphyxiated. 
 No washing apparatus in the room, I perceive. I should have 
 perceived it without a light.' Then he heard soft steps ap- 
 proach. The door was thrown open and feet entex'ed the room. 
 In another moment a match was struck and flared. Mr, 
 Crudge, who had turned his head, saw through the window of 
 the sedan-chair that tho girl stood in the room. Joanna canio 
 forward and held the match before his face, studying him in- 
 tently. She said nothing, I\Ir. Crudge was too surpi'ised to
 
 GRUDGE, SOLICITOR. 35 
 
 speak. He looked at her. She was a girl of about seventeen, 
 tall, slightly built, with olive complexion, very dark hair, and 
 large shrewd eyes. The match flame repeated itself in them as 
 red stars. She had outgrown her garments, which were too 
 tight and too shoi't. Her arms were bare. She was in her 
 stocking-soles. Her lips vrere compressed ; she remained im- 
 movable till the match burnt to her Angers ; then, instead of 
 throwing the red end on the ground, she extinguished it in her 
 mouth. She said not a word, but turned in the dark and went 
 away as softly as she had come. 
 
 Presently Lazarus came back with the candle in one hand 
 and a bottle of ink in the other. 
 
 ' I could not remember where I had put it,' he said ; ' at 
 last I found the ink in the howdah.' 
 
 ' In the what 1 ' 
 
 ' There was an elephant brought over from India for a show- 
 man a few years back, and the howdah was brought over with 
 it. Sixpence a ride, children half price, would soon have re- 
 couped the howdah and the beast. But it was not to be. It 
 was to be dead loss. Such is life ! The elephant died oil board 
 ship, and the howdah was sold. I bought it, but have not yet 
 been able to dispose of it. Do you happen to want a howdah 1 ' 
 
 ' Certainly not ? ' 
 
 ' You needn't pay cash down,' said the Jew. ' You'd 
 deduct the howdah from your bill. Perhaps you'll consult 
 your missus about it when you get home.' 
 
 The Jew put candle and ink on the table. 
 
 ' I've been considering,' he said, ' that it would be well for 
 you to go down to Court Royal and have a look at the place 
 and the people. Then you will be able to give me an account 
 of how the land lies. I can't go myself ; I have my loan 
 office, as well as the shop, and I can't leave the girl to manage 
 both.' 
 
 ' A queer piece of goods she seems,' said the lawyer. 
 
 ' That she is ; queer here,' said the Jew, touching his head ; 
 ' an idle minx with an egregious appetite. Eats everything, 
 even the candle-ends. But enough of her ; she has nothing 
 to do with Court Royal, and never will have. What do you 
 say to my proposal 1 ' 
 
 ' I can't travel and spend valuable time without proper 
 remuneration.' 
 
 ' You shall be paid,' answered the Jew. ' I will not grudge 
 a small sum in this instance. I shall be easier in my mind 
 
 D 2
 
 36 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ■when you have been down to the place and taken stock of 
 what is there. You see, I've had myself to lean on friends to 
 find all the money I wanted ; if thoy pay me — they at Court 
 Royal — it is not all proiit. I have to pay interest also for 
 what I took up to help me to get hold of the main mortgages. 
 There,' he continued, 'is the difference between us Jesvs and 
 you Christians. We hang together like a swarm of bees, one 
 holding on by another ; and you are like a hive of wasps, 
 stinging each other, and when one gathers honey the other eats 
 it, so that their combs are always empty. Will you go to 
 Court Royal 1 ' 
 
 ' I will. Indeed, it is as well that I should have a personal 
 interview with the steward, as the negotiations are carried on 
 through him.' 
 
 ' You will travel second class, not first,' entreated Lazarus. 
 ' Money spent on the railway in comfort is waste. From 
 Kingsbridge Road there is a coach. You will travel outside. 
 The inside places are secured several days in advance. If you 
 return the next day you need not tip the driver two shillings ; 
 eighteenpence will suffice.' 
 
 ' Very well ; I will go to-morrow.' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 
 
 In the afternoon of the next day the coach deposited Mr. 
 Crudge at the principal inn of Kings])ridge, ' The Duke's 
 Arras.' After depositing his valise and securing a room, he 
 ordered a fly to take him to the steward, who, he ascertained, 
 lived out of the town, near the park gates. 'An open 
 carriage,' said Mr. Crudge ; ' it don't seem likely to rain, and I 
 like to look about me.' 
 
 The drive was not a long one, through a pleasant wooded 
 vale, commanding glimpses of the inlet of sea, now that 
 the tide was flowing, Hushed with water. The hills and moors 
 over which the coach had run from the station had been bare, 
 and the contrast of the luxuriant vegetation and stately 
 growth of trees in the hollows was therefore the more striking 
 and agreeable. 
 
 The carriage drew up before a neat white house, with a
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 37 
 
 green veranda, and roses and westeria trained over it. Here 
 lived Mr. Christopher Worthivale, steward of the Duke of 
 Kingsbridge. 
 
 A maid answered the bell, and informed Mr. Grudge that 
 the steward was at home and disengaged. She showed him 
 into a drawing-room which, though well furnished, looked as if 
 it were never used. The walls were white, with gold sprigs, 
 the carpet very green, the table cover and the covering of the 
 chairs greener still. The window curtains lace, stiff with 
 starch, and smelling of it. On the wall, over the fireplace, 
 was a proof engraving of His Grace, Beavis, seventh Duke of 
 Kingsbridge ; against the fireplace — there was no fire, and no 
 appearance of there ever having been one — a banner screen of 
 needlework, glazed, representing the ducal arms, with sup- 
 porters and coronet. On the table was an album, containing 
 photographs, at which Mr. Grudge looked whilst waiting 
 First came His Grace, in cabinet size ; then one of Lord 
 Edward, Rector of Sleepy Hollow, Ganon of Glastonbury, and 
 Archdeacon of Wellington ; one of General Lord Ronald 
 Eveleigh, K.G.B. ; one of Lady Grace Eveleigh, and one of 
 the Marquess of Saltcombe. Then two blank pages, with 
 places never occupied, and after that, at a respectful distance, 
 photographs taken from faded daguerreotypes of the late Mr. 
 and Mrs. Worthivale, parents of the present steward. The 
 late Mr. Worthivale had been steward to the last, and pen- 
 ultimate, and the present duke ; a stout, grey-haired old 
 gentleman, in a white beaver, with high collars, and a plaid 
 waistcoat. The old gentleman had probably possessed blue 
 eyes. They had not taken in the daguerreotype, and conse- 
 quently had not reappeared in the carte, but both insisted 
 emphatically on the plaid of the waistcoat, as if this was, 
 taken all in all, the thing about Mr. Worthivale, senior, which 
 demanded perpetuation. Judging from her photograph, Mrs. 
 Worthivale must have been a cast-iron woman, in black silk 
 that also looked like iron, with twisted iron wire for curls. 
 After these portraits followed those of Mr. Ghristopher 
 Worthivale ; of his deceased wife, a sweet, patient-looking 
 woman ; of his son Beavis, called after the duke, who had 
 graciously condescended to stand godfather; and of his daughter 
 Lucy. On a cabinet stood a beautiful carved alabaster vase, 
 with swans, forming the handles, drinking out of it, under a 
 glass bell. Into the pedestal of ebony was let a silver plate, 
 on which was engraved a notice that this vase was presented
 
 38 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 to Mr. Christopher Worthivalc l)y his Grace, Beavis, seventh 
 Duke of Kingsbridse, G.C.B., as a small testimonial of esteem, 
 on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his stewardship. Above 
 this hung a painting in oils, by a local artist, of Court Royal ; 
 and on each side of it a portrait, also in oils, the one of a 
 favourite horse of the late Duke, the other of a favourite dog 
 of the late dowager Duchess. 
 
 Mr. Christopher Worthivale entered, whilst IMr. Crudge 
 ■was studying these pictures. He was a hale, fresh-coloured 
 man of about five-and-lifty, in a li.uht grey coat and a white 
 waistcoat. He entered briskly, rubbing his hands. Judging 
 by his appearance and manner, one would have supposed that 
 the property of the Duke was in a flourishing and unencum- 
 bered condition, and that the steward's management of it had 
 been most successful. Not a shadow lay on his cheerful face. 
 His manner was perfectly easy. On his left-hand little finger 
 he wore a ring with a red cornelian, on which were cut the 
 three pheons of Worthivale of Worthivale, an old respectable 
 Cornish family which he claimed to represent. 
 
 * Allow me to introduce myself,' said JNIr. Crudge. ' My 
 name is familiar to you— Crudge, solicitor, Exeter. I have 
 come on business about which we have had some correspondence.' 
 ' Ah ! Mr. Crudge, to be sure. The maid got hold of your 
 name wrong. I did not anticipate the pleasure. Goodie was 
 what she said. Pray take a seat. Neither your name nor 
 business are strange to me. INIutual accommodation, eh 1 Do 
 sit down. Really, I am delighted to see you. You could not 
 have done me a greater pleasure.' 
 
 The expression of Mr. Worthivale's face belied his words. 
 On hearing the name of his visitor some of his cheerfulness 
 had faded from his countenance and his lips twitched. 
 
 'I entreat you to be seated,' he went on, nervously 
 offering one chair, then another, then, noticing an arm-chair, 
 rolling that up, then falling back on a fourth, a low light seat 
 of papier machc. ' You have come a long way. By coach ? 
 May I ofTer you refreshments 1 ' 
 
 'Thank you, I will not take anything. My time is 
 precious. If you have no objection, I would like at once to 
 proceed to business.' 
 
 ' Oh ! business,' echoed Mr. Worthivale, taking out his 
 pocket-handkerchief, and dusting the books on the table. ' Dear 
 me ! how provoking the servants are. They take advantage 
 of there being no lady in the house to neglect the primary
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 39 
 
 obligations of domestic service. I cannot see to everything — 
 liis Grace's affairs and the dusting of my drawing-room. I 
 beg your pardon, wliat was the business on which you wished 
 to consult now 1 ' 
 
 ' That mortgage held by the Messrs. Stephens. It must be 
 paid, I understand. It is called up. There is a little diffi- 
 culty, I am led to suppose, some tightness ' 
 
 'Nothing to speak of, notliing at all,' interrupted the 
 steward airily. ' Of course we can find the money. We can 
 offer such excellent security, that it can always be got. You 
 are certain you will take nothing 1 Not some claret ? ' 
 
 ' Excuse me, I should like to settle this matter at once. I 
 believe the interest has been falling in arrear. I have called 
 on Messrs. Stephens. They do not wish any scandal ; the sum 
 is, comparatively, not large. All Messrs. Stephens want is 
 their money, and I have a client who will advance it, the 
 mortgage to be transferred to him.' 
 
 ' That is exactly what I should propose,' said the steward, 
 drawing a long breath. ' All we require to clear off these 
 encumbrances is delay. A calling in of the sums standing on 
 the estates would be inconvenient just at present. The 
 seasons have been bad of late — five detestable years ; several 
 farms are thrown on our hands, and we have no tenants 
 offering ; others we have had to reduce to keep them occupied. 
 The old-fashioned seasons must return eventually — a matter of 
 time only. Then we shall be afloat again. That little sum 
 about which I wrote ? ' 
 
 ' Five thousand. That will also be lent by my client on 
 note of hand at five per cent.' 
 
 ' Who is this client, may I ask ? ' 
 
 ' A Mr. Emmanuel.' 
 
 ' Emmanuel ! ' echoed the steward, moving uneasily on his 
 chair. ' I must say I do not relish the idea of being so deeply 
 indebted to Jews. Unfortunately we are already somewhat 
 teased with them. The Marquess, when he was in the army, 
 was rather reckless. It lasted a few years, and then he learned 
 discretion ; but when sowing wild oats he bought his grain of 
 bad seedsmen.' 
 
 ' Indeed, are the debts serious 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! not at all — not for a marquess, heir to a ducal 
 estate. We only want him to clear these off. Emmanuel ! Who 
 is this Emmanuel 1 He seems to be getting a much tighter grip 
 on us than I like. First one tiling, then another, goes to Mr.
 
 40 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Emmanuel. You see this present mortgage is a very important 
 one, it is on the manor of Kingsbridge. He holds that on Court 
 Royal already. Wlio is this Emmanuel 1 ' 
 
 ' A client who wants safe iuvestinent in land. He is trustee 
 to an orphan, and must put the money where it can be secure. 
 What security better than his Grace's property ? ' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale considered a moment ; then lie said, ' You 
 will allow me to talk the matter over first with the ISIarquess. 
 You are aware, no doubt, that his Grace is getting on for eighty 
 years, and unable to devote his attention to business — except 
 quite subsidiary matters — partly on account of liis advanced 
 age, partly because he suffers from heart complaint, and must 
 be spared excitement. The ]Mari|ucss looks after things for 
 him — that is, he is supposed to do so, and he does sometimes. 
 I am in his confidence. Indeed, I am his most trusted adviser. 
 I act for the best, always in the; interests of the family, but I 
 consult the Marquess in everything, and he does me tlie honour, 
 sometimes, of listening to me, and quite devoting his mind to 
 what I suggest.' 
 
 Grudge nodded, but said nothing. 
 
 ' Your time, I think you said, was precious. You will pro- 
 bably be returning to Exeter to-morrow.' 
 
 ' To-morrow afternoon.' 
 
 ' Then the business will have to be settled as soon as may 
 be. Let me see Have you a dress coat with you V 
 
 'In my portmanteau at the inn.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale drew a sigh of relief. ' That simplifies 
 matters. If you see no reason against it, I will send a note up 
 to the Marquess ' (really it was down liill all tlie way to Court 
 Royal, nevertheless with ]\Ir. Worthivale it was np). ' I will 
 ask if I may take you there to dine to-night, quite en famille, 
 you understand. There are only Lord Ronald, and Lord 
 Edward, and the Vicar, and a neighbour or two there. Half- 
 past seven is the liour. Will you return to Kingsbridge, and 
 get on your evening dress, and drive back ? You can come 
 here, pick me up, and we will go on together. You are positive 
 you have a dress suit with you ? — I couldn't, you understand 
 — without ' 
 
 ' Set your mind at rest. I have dress clothes with me.' 
 
 ' I am so thankful to hear it; I thouglit it possible you liad 
 not. When travelling on business wo don't aiways care to 
 cumber ourselves with superfluous luggage, you understand. 
 To-day is his Grace's birthday, and Lord Edward lias come
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 41 
 
 from Somersetshire to see the Duke and to dine with him. 
 Lord Ronald lives at Court Royal. There are no others, but 
 the Vicar and a neighbouring squire or two. I was invited 
 as a devoted adherent to the family. Very kind. Also my 
 son Beavis, who has the honour of being his Grace's godchild. 
 My daughter, Lucy, is companion to Lady Grace. They were 
 brought up together, and Lucy lives at the Court. Dear me ! 
 Bless my soul ! The housemaid has left the duster in the 
 room, stuffed it under the fender, and thinks it out of sight. 
 As I am alive, there are the stove brushes also. Under the 
 circumstances, you understand, if you had been without a dress 
 coat' — he looked down at JNIr. Grudge's feet — 'and patent- 
 leather boots 1 ' 
 
 ' I have slippers and red silk stockings.' 
 
 * They will do. Quite the thing. I feel so light of heart. 
 You are supplied in every other particular ? I should be so 
 proud 1 ' 
 
 ' I always take about with me paper collars, cuffs, and 
 dickies.' 
 
 * Paper ! Dickies ! ' echoed Mr. Worthivale. * You will 
 excuse me, I know — but I hardly like to — that is, I hardly 
 think that — in a word, I would not for the world show any dis- 
 respect to his Grace, especially on his birthday. You see a 
 duke stands at the very summit of the social scale — next to 
 Royalty. Archbishops only go before by order of precedence, 
 but that is a relic of pre- Reformation priestcraft w^hich set the 
 Church above the State. An ai'chbishop may be any Jack or 
 Tom. You will not take it amiss if I offer to lend you one of 
 my shirts.' 
 
 ' Not at all ; not at all.' 
 
 ' And you will not fail to be here at seven.' 
 
 * I will not fail.' 
 
 Mr. Grudge, as a lawyer, was punctual. Precisely at seven 
 his fly drew up at Mr. Worthivale's door, and the steward 
 joined him. 
 
 ' Do you see,' asked the steward, as a woman in a scarlet 
 cloak opened the gates of the drive, ' all the females who appear 
 in the grounds are expected to wear old-fashioned red cloth 
 cloaks and hoods ? His Grace supplies them at Christmas. 
 The effect is charming among the green shrubs and on the shaven 
 lawns. Do look about you at the trees. Are not these arau- 
 carias superb ? I believe these were the first planted in 
 England. The mildness of the climate and the fertility of the
 
 42 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 soil have made them tlirive. Look at the liydrangeas. Did 
 you ever see anything like them ? Blue, all blue, owing to the 
 iron in the soil. The rhododendvon and azalea season is the 
 time to see this place to perfection. The two-mile drive be- 
 tween banks of flowering shrubs is scarcely to be surpassed. 
 I should have liked to take you through the vineries, orchard 
 houses, pinery, and conservatories. Tlu; Duke and the Lady 
 Grace are passionately fond of flowers. He grudges no money 
 on his garflens and glass houses. You like this gravelled road, 
 do you not 1 Wo have to send to the Tamar copper-mines for 
 the gravel. It comes in barges from Morwellham to Kings- 
 bridge. It is so charged with mundic and arsenic as to poison 
 tbe weeds for seven years. It comes rather costly, but there 
 is no gravel like it, a beautiful white spar. His Grace can en- 
 dure no other gravel. We have some six miles of gravelled 
 walks and driv(>s done with it in the park and gardens. You 
 have a pair of gloves with you, I hope ? I myself wear them 
 until I enter the room, lest my fingers should get dirty. Are 
 your hands moist ? Hold them against the glass to cool them. 
 I do not myself like shaking hands when my hands are warm. 
 There, from this point you get a lovely glimpse of the estuary 
 and the beautiful hills behind, with the tower of Stokenham 
 on the height. It is too dai'k for you to distinguish the tower, 
 but you can see the water. I call the creek an estuary, but, 
 as a fact, no rivers run into it. The Avon flows away behind 
 that bank of hill. There is the Coui't: a tine pile of buildings, 
 is it not 1 all built of Yealmton limestone. I call it limestone, 
 but, in fact, it is marl)le. By this light you cannot see how 
 prettily it is veined. The late Duke began the mansion, and 
 the present Duke completed it, about forty-three years ago. It 
 is in the Doric order.' 
 
 ' It must have cost a pot of money,' observed Mr. Grudge. 
 
 ' It cost a great deal of money,' said the steward coldly. 
 ' Dukes do not keep their money in pots, like old women.' 
 
 * Is it paid for ? ' asked the lawyer. 
 
 ' Well . It is rather unfortunate that their Graces 
 
 were obliged to build, but, really, they could not help them- 
 selves. The old house was Elizabethan, very suitable for a 
 country squire or for a baronet. I am not sure that even a 
 baron might not have put up with it, but it was not of a scalo 
 — of a sort — it had not the height' (Mr. Worthivale spread 
 his hands illustrative of its dimensions) 'you understand. A 
 duke is a duke, and must be ducally lodged. If you have a
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 43 
 
 sun, yoiT must have a firmament to contain it. Even the dome 
 of St. Paul's would be ridiculous. You understand.' 
 
 The fly drew up under the Doric portico, and the steward 
 and his companion were received into the house by men in the 
 ducal livery of buff and scarlet. 
 
 An expression of humility and of piety diflused itself over 
 the face of JNIr. Worthivale as he ascended the broad marble 
 staircase, thickly carpeted, towards the drawing-room. Crudge 
 was not oppressed nor surprised at what he saw. He looked 
 round him with curiosity. The entrance-hall Avas stately, with 
 polished marble pillars and pilasters. It was lighted by a 
 chandelier. Beautiful paintings adorned the walls. Footmen 
 in buff" and scarlet flitted about like moths on a hot day. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale whispered, ' Yonder is a Gainsborough, of 
 Lady Selena Eveleigh, afterwards Countess of Grampound. 
 This is a Rubens — splendid colouring. But you should see 
 those at Kingsbridge House, Piccadilly. Pity they are so 
 fleshy that really a curtain over them is needed. The subject 
 of this I do not understand. It is allegorical. Hush ! here 
 we are.' 
 
 They were conducted through the state drawing-room, 
 which was lighted, but empty, into a smaller room, whence they 
 heard the sound of voices. This was a charming boudoir, white 
 and gold, with rose silk curtains and rose satin coverings to the 
 sofas and chairs. In a large easy-chair by the fire sat his 
 Grace the Duke of Kingsbridge, a tall, white-haii'ed, noble- 
 looking man, with a high ivory forehead, a pale transparent 
 complexion, caused by the disease from which he sufiered, 
 his eyes dark and piercing. His face was oval, his features 
 finely modelled, the nose aquiline, but not so much as to give 
 the idea of strength to his face. The face was refined, dignified, 
 and cold. It wanted vigour, but was modelled with inflexible 
 obstinacy. 
 
 Lord Ronald, the general, was like him, but richer in colour, 
 and his features were bolder. He was erect, decided in his 
 movements, and looked what he Avas, a soldier. His hair was 
 grey, and he wore grey whiskers and moustache. Lord Edward, 
 the Archdeacon of Wellington, was a smaller man than his 
 brother, grey headed, with a sallow complexion, much wrinkled. 
 His eyes were wanting in brilliancy, and his face bore an 
 expression of nervous timidity. He had lost his front teeth, 
 and this had altered the shape of his mouth, and given him a 
 look less aristocratic than his brothers.
 
 44 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 The IMarquess of Saltcombo, wlio was also in the room, was 
 a handsome man of about forty, with dark hair, dark eyes, and 
 military moustache. The rest of his face was shaven. His 
 eyes were line, but wanting in fire ; indeed, the general expres- 
 sion of his face lacked animation. He was gi-ave, dignified, 
 with a pleasant smile, which he put on when spoken to, but 
 the smile never mounted to his face spontaneously. He laughed 
 without merriment, argued without enthusiasm, pitied without 
 sympathy, and acted without impulse. He hail been in the 
 army, but had left it ; not caring for political life he had not 
 attempted to enter Parliament. He lived at home, was too 
 inert to go to town, and entered without eagerness into country 
 pursuits. 
 
 Other gentlemen were present, but INIr. Grudge did not 
 notice them particularly. Among the ladies present the only 
 one who was conspicuous was Lady Grace Eveleigh, the 
 daughter of the Duke. She was tall, like the rest of the 
 family, and had the family refinement and nobility of type ; 
 but to this was added great purity and sweetness, and a very 
 gentle, almost pleading manner. Mr. Worthivale introduced 
 the lawyer to the INTarquess, who was nearest to the door, and 
 was apparently expecting their arrival. Then Lord Saltcombe 
 took on himself the task of introducing Mr. Grudge to his 
 father and uncles and sister. The Duke slightly rose from 
 his seat and bowed with courtesy, but without encouragement ; 
 Lord Edward held out his hand, and made some general 
 remark, his kind face relaxing into a friendly expression. 
 Lord llonald shook hands and said a few words. The lawyer 
 felt that, although he had moved in all sorts of society, he was 
 as a fish out of water here. The brothers looked on him as a 
 stranger from another sphere, whose presence must be tolerated, 
 who would never rise even to the level of acquaintanceship. 
 The Duke exchanged a few words with him on the weather, 
 and the drive from the station, and on the prospect of a branch 
 line being made to Kingsbridge, ' which,' .said he, ' I shall 
 oppose,' and then turned to the vicar and Sir Edward Sheep- 
 wash, and continued with them a conversation which had been 
 interrupted by the introduction of Mr. Grudge. 
 
 The Marquess and Worthivale engaged him in desultory 
 talk, and after a while shook him ott'. Then Lady Grace, 
 seeing that the lawyer looked ill at ease, drew towards him, 
 and provoked a conversation as lively as was possible under 
 the conditions of their having no points in common.
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 45 
 
 * Let me introduce you to my dearest friend, my almost 
 sister, INIiss Lucy Worthivale/ said Lady Grace ; ' and perhaps 
 you will take her in to dinner 1 ' 
 
 ]\liss Worthivale was a pretty young lady, with bright 
 colour and large, soft, dark eyes. Her face brimmed with 
 good-nature. It was, perhaps, a little flat and moon-shaped, 
 but its effect was sunny. Her eyes were everywhere. Mr. 
 Grudge saw that she was made useful in the house in many 
 ways to relieve Lady Grace of irksome duties, and stand 
 between her and annoyances. 
 
 Grudge observed that her attention was generally directed 
 to Lady Grace, whom she evidently admired and loved with 
 her whole soul. Lady Grace occasionally caught her friend's 
 eye during dinner, smiled, and then a flush of pleasure kindled 
 the honest face of Lucy. Because his companion looked so 
 much towards the end of the table, the solicitor found his eyes 
 also wandering in the same direction. Lady Grace was clearly 
 not very young. Mr. Grudge conjectured that her age was 
 about five-and-twenty ; but though not a girl, her pure face 
 was luminous with the light of a child's innocence. The com- 
 plexion was transparently white, with a little colour that came 
 and went as a flicker in her cheek, and yet it was so faint and 
 doubtful that it was difficult to say whether what flickered there 
 was colour or a smile. There was something almost sad and 
 appealing to pity in her eye and mouth ; yet Lady Grace had 
 known no sorrow, had met with no contradiction. Her life 
 had been unclouded and unvexed. Her mouth was flexible, 
 fine, and tremulous ; her voice soft, low, and sweet. 
 
 Mr. Grudge was a man utterly without idealism. He 
 could read no poetry except Grabbe. Yet he could hardly 
 withdraw his eyes fi*om her face. She fascinated even the 
 commonplace man of business. She puzzled him. He thought 
 within his mind how he should get on with her if he had 
 business transactions with her. Women's minds, as he believed, 
 were made up of so much care about servants, so much about 
 dress, so much solicitude about the goings on of their neigh- 
 bours, a screwyness about money, a pinch of good nature, and 
 a spice of spite, all stirred up together till well mixed. But 
 there was nothing of this in the face before him. He shook 
 his head ; it was like the dish before him, made up of unknown 
 ingredients. 
 
 Beside her on one side sat the Vicar, an elderly and gen- 
 tlemanly man, with views like a rose of wax, to be moulded by
 
 46 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 any man who put his hand to it and thumbed it. He was so 
 much of a i,'outlemau that he would diiler witli no one. Next 
 ]iini sat a young man wlio was speaking to no one, and was 
 only occasionally addressed by Lady Grace, who, with ready 
 tact, saw that he was out of the conversation. 
 
 'That is my brother,' said Lucy, in answer to a query of 
 the solicitor. ' There was no lady for him to take in to dinner. 
 He has been in a lawyer's office. Papa thought it a good 
 training for him. Of course he will be steward after papa. 
 His Grace did us the favour of standing as his godfather. I 
 fancy he would rather not have been here this evening, thougli 
 he is quite at home in Court Royal, but my father pressed him 
 to come.' 
 
 Grudge looked across at him with interest. Here, at all 
 events, was a man who belonged to his world — who felt uncom- 
 fortable, out of place, in the sphere in which he found himself. 
 
 When the ladies withdrew, he moved his glass, so as to be 
 opposite him and enter into convei'sation, but found the steward 
 come up beside him and engage him. 
 
 ' The Lady Grace,' said Mr. Worthivale, ' is very lovely. 
 Do you not think so 1 We are all her worshippers here — from 
 a distance, looking up at her as an unapproachable star.' 
 
 ' A little passce, eh 1 ' 
 
 ' Not at all, not at all,' said Worthivale, colouring. ' She is 
 a most charming person.' 
 
 ' I should suppose so,' answered the solicitor. 
 
 ' And the Duke ? You have had some conversation with 
 him. I heard the weather and the branch spoken of. A com- 
 manding intellect. A most charming person ; wonderful man 
 for his age. Seventy-six to-day, and in full command of his 
 faculties.' 
 
 ' Obstinate, eh 1 ' 
 
 ' Not at all — firm,' said Woi*thi\'ale with a frown. When 
 he says a thing he sticks to it. You see that Lord Edward is 
 a delicate man. He had not the physique of the rest, that 
 was why he was put into the Church. Yet it was a pity, as 
 his intellectual powers are considerable, and he might have 
 done well in the diplomatic service. A most charming man. 
 Lord Ronald is a fine old soldier ; was in the Crimean war, 
 where he distinguished himself. A man full of information on 
 all military matters — perfectly charming. You have, I believe, 
 had a chat or two with the Mar(|uess ; he is now talking to my 
 son. They have known each other since boyhood, and there
 
 THE DUCAL FAMILY. 47 
 
 is almost the attachment of friendship between them — as far 
 as friendship can subsist between two so widely removed in the 
 social scale. I hope that eventually my son will succeed to the 
 stewardship. Of course he is young now, and the affairs demand 
 an old head ' He paused, and moved uneasily. 'Alto- 
 gether the jNIarquess is a most charming man.' 
 ' Quite so,' said Mr. Grudge. 
 
 ' There is our Vicar,' pursued the steward. 'An agreeable 
 person, but tiresome. To-morrow he will dine with a gentle- 
 man of means, but no birth, in the town, and be quite Liberal, 
 if not Radical, when his feet are beneath his mahogany. He 
 leads a life of it ; he is pulled this way and that by the ladies 
 of his congregation, who have their various and discordant 
 views.' 
 
 ' That,' said ]Mr. Grudge, ' strikes me as the weakness of the 
 Ghurch of England. She is trying to balance herself between 
 two stools, a position neither dignified nor secure. 
 
 ' Still,' said the steward, ' with this abatement he is a charm- 
 ing man.' Then he held up his finger : ' His Grace is speaking.' 
 ' I do not myself see how we can escape a complete political 
 and social revolution,' said the Duke to the Vicar, Sir Edward 
 Sheepwash, and the Archdeacon of Wellington. ' If the fran- 
 chise is entrusted to the Have-nots, the Haves must go down. 
 
 They must go down for this reason ' 
 
 ' Which is the Ducal family 1 ' whispered Grudge. ' Haves 
 or Have-nots, or Have and Have-not in one 1 ' 
 ' Hush,' said Worthivale. 
 
 ' They must go down for this reason, that the appeal to the 
 electors will be an appeal to Gerberus, and Gerberus must be 
 given cakes. Now, it is absurd to affect indignation against 
 bribery and corruption in boroughs, and yet extend the francliise 
 to the needy. If the needy have the franchise, you must appeal 
 to their cupidity. It is the only appeal they can understand. 
 The new class of electors are earthwonns, all stomach. Which- 
 ever party desires to get into power must appeal to their cupid- 
 ity, or for evermore stand out of power. Hitherto bribery has 
 meant the candidate throwing away his own money ; hence- 
 forth he will throw away that of others, and that will not be 
 bribery. I bribe the electors of Kingsbridge if I allow them 
 to shoot rabbits over my preserves. I do not bribe if I promise 
 them the land of the aristocracy and the tithes of the Ghurch.' 
 ' Already,' said the Archdeacon, ' the farmers are crying out 
 that they are crushed by the rates.'
 
 48 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * Very well,' said the Duke ; ' let the Liberals go to the 
 country with the oiler of disostablishinent and disendow ment, 
 the titiie to go to cover the rates and relieve the farmers, and 
 you will see the farmers to a man will turn Radical.' 
 
 'If the Church were disestablished we should have to be- 
 come definite,' said the Vicar, a white-haired, round, red-faced, 
 good-natured man. ' I cannot imagine anything more disas- 
 trous to the Church than to become definite.' 
 
 ' The House of Lords will never pass disestablishment,' said 
 the Archdeacon. 
 
 ' The House may go too,' said the Duke. 
 
 * The country is gone crazed,' said the General, ' or it would 
 not have endured the short-service system. What should you 
 say to those who trained men to be cai-ponters, or engineers, or 
 lawyers, and, as soon as they had mastered their professions, 
 told them to get about their business and take to something 
 else?' 
 
 The Duke sighed : *I may not live to see it, but the House 
 of Lords will go.' 
 
 'And with it the Church will fall,' said the Archdeacon. 
 
 'The ai'my is gone to the dogs already,' said the General. 
 
 IMr. Crudge leaned across the table, and said to Beavis 
 Worthivale : ' I see by the direction of your eyes you are try- 
 ing to decipher an inscription over tlie chimney-piece that has 
 been puzzling me. I am too shortsighted to read it from where 
 I sit.' 
 
 ' It is the iiiotto of the family,' said the young man, 'written 
 all over the house — " Quod antiquaiur et senescit, prope iyiteri- 
 htm est."' 
 
 ' Scripture, eh 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, Scripture, " That which dccayeth and waxeth old is 
 ready to vanish away." ' 
 
 * Very good — very appropriate. " Prope interitum est."* 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 BEAVIS. 
 
 ' I REALLY think,' said INIr. Crudge, as he stood in the hall, 
 being helped into liis overcoat, and while the fly wag at the
 
 BEAVIS. 49 
 
 door to take him to his inn — ' I really think, as it is dry under- 
 foot, that I will walk to Kingsbridge. The night is lovely, the 
 moon is full, and I have a pair of goloshes in my greatcoat 
 
 pocket.' 
 
 'I will accompany you, if you have no objection,' said 
 Bcavis Worthivale. ' I also would enjoy tlie walk. My father 
 can return in your fly. He is without an overcoat, and he will 
 not lock up till I reappear.' 
 
 ' Is Miss Worthivale coming 1 ' 
 
 ' Lucy 1 Oh, no ! She lives at the Court, and only visits 
 at the Lodge,' answered Mr. Worthivale, ' We see little of 
 her. She is always with the Lady Grace.' 
 
 ' If you are ready,' said Mr. Grudge to the young man, ' I 
 am at your service.' 
 
 The night was indeed lovely. The moon hung unclouded 
 over the sea, which gleamed in vistas opened among the trees 
 of the park. Myrtles, magnolia, geraniums luxuriated in the 
 warm, equable climate of the south coast, uncut by east winds, 
 unchecked by late frosts. Above, the silver moon, walking in 
 brightness ; below, Mr. Grudge, walking in his goloshes. Mr. 
 Grudge turned and looked back at Gourt Royal. The moon 
 was on the front of the mansion. It was a noble pile of build- 
 ings, worthy of the residence of a duke. Behind rose hills 
 covered with oak and beech woods, interspersed with Scottish 
 fir and silver pines. In the moonlight, with the lighted win- 
 dows, and the bank of park trees behind, it resembled a beauti- 
 ful ivory sculpture, studded with golden points, reposing in a 
 bed of black velvet. 
 
 But Mr. Grudge had no thought of the loveliness of the 
 scene. ' To live in a place like this,' said he, ' and in this style, 
 a man should have forty or fifty thousand, and the family have 
 not that — clear. It is the poorest ducal house in England. 
 You seem to me down here to go by contraries. You have an 
 estuary without a river, a Kingsbridge without a bridge, a 
 ducal state kept up without a ducal estate on which to keep it 
 
 up.' 
 
 Beavis did not reply. Grudge turned and looked at him. 
 The moon was full on the young man's face ; it was clouded, 
 and his eyes were on the ground. 
 
 ' You and I belong to the law alike,' said Grudge ; ' you are 
 peeling your potato and I am eating at the floury ball, that is 
 the difference. Hope you'll soon get your teeth in.' 
 
 G
 
 50 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * I am in the office of the Duke's lawyer in town ; but I am 
 not to continue in a solicitor's otiice.' 
 
 ' Why not 1 The atlairs of the family will give you plenty 
 of occupation. Believe me, my hoy, there are more pickings to 
 be got out of tottering than standing houses.' 
 
 Younff Worthivale walked on without answerinjj. He 
 struck a match and lighted a cigar. 
 
 'The parrots in Jamaica used to eat nuts,' said Crudge, 'in 
 the days of their ignorance. They have learned to do better for 
 themselves now. They put their claws into the avooI of a sheep 
 and swing themselves, bob, bol>, bob, against the side of the 
 creature till with their beaks they get at the fat about the 
 kidney, and they make their repast off that. Better than nuts 
 that, eh ? You've your hold on a fat wether ; I wish I had your 
 place. All I can say is, bob, bob, bob, till you get at the 
 fat ! ' 
 
 Beavis said nothing, but set his lips tight on his cigar and 
 puffed rapidly. 
 
 ' I must confess,' said Crudge, ' that what I have seen to- 
 day will remain with me as long as I live. What a remark- 
 able family ! The dignity, stateliness, old-worldishness of the 
 lot makes them interesting. They belong to tlie past. I seem 
 to have come out of Madame Tussaud's, and to have seen wax- 
 work notabilities. I hope you are not offended ; I mean no 
 offence. Do you remember the story in the " Arabian Nights" 
 of the man — a Kalendar, I dare say — who got into a palace 
 where everyone was petrified except a prince, who was semi- 
 petrified ? I feel like that Kalendar. I am not sure that you 
 are not half-fossilised also. I do not see how anyone can live 
 in this enchanted atmosphere and not be enchanted.' 
 
 ' I see what you mean,' said young Worthivale. ' You are 
 right, the atmosphere in Court Royal is not that of the nine- 
 teenth century, but of the last.' 
 
 'There are different atmospheres at diff(Teiit levels,' said 
 Crudge. ' Theirs is too exalted for me. At the top of ]Mont 
 Blanc men's ears and noses bleed ; and I have had great op- 
 pression there aloft. I breathe freer now I am down again 
 with you. But you — you belong to the upper crust, after a 
 fashion ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Beavis, laughing, ' after the fashion of the 
 pigeon in the pie ; it has its feet there, but the feet only, I 
 was at table to-day, but not one of the family. My father 
 and sister belong to this exclusive world ; they have been like
 
 EEAVIS. 51 
 
 sponges, they have sucked in the surrounding element. They 
 share the views, the prejudices, the delusions of the family and 
 class. To you, what you have seen this day is amusing ; to 
 me it is depressing.' 
 
 ' Exactly so. I am reminded to-day of what is said in 
 Scripture of the world before the Flood. They were eating 
 and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the flood 
 came and swept them all away.' 
 
 ' You are not far wrong. The flood is surely rising which 
 will sweep them all away. According to popular tradition, 
 the inlet where now the blue waters roll up to Kingsbridge 
 was once a fertile valley, with towns and churches and man- 
 sions. The ocean broke in one stormy night and swept them 
 clean away — no, I am wrong — buried them deep, deep in mud. 
 Where was once waving corn is now mud — nothing but mud, 
 and mud that stinks. First the age of gold, then of silver, 
 then of iron, then of clay mingled with iron, and now we are 
 on the threshold of the age of vulgar mud. Sea-wrack for 
 corn, barnacles for men, winkle-shells for palaces ! ' 
 
 ' I see you also have a hankering after what is death-doomed ! ' 
 
 ' I regret the decay of what is noble and generous ; but it 
 is inevitable. Out of the clay God made men, and out of the 
 coming mud He will mould a new order. When the flat-fish 
 are in the deep sea they have their deep-sea flavour. When 
 they come into our creek their flesh assimilates itself to the 
 flavour of our slime. We shall have to accommodate ourselves 
 to be vulgar, commonplace, to think mud, to taste mud, to 
 have muddy aspirations.' 
 
 ' I see,' said Grudge impatiently, ' you belong to the upper 
 crust more fully than by the feet. I don't, and I don't want 
 to ! However, the upper crust -will have to go under shortly 
 and get sodden in the gravy.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Beavis, sadly, ' it will go down. Everyone out- 
 side can tell the time better than the man in the clock-case. 
 I am in the ofiice of the Duke's lawyer, and am son of his 
 steward : I have plenty of opportunity of noting the tendency 
 of affairs. What, I ask myself, will become of these people, 
 accustomed to the state of a ducal mansion, to the respect and 
 consideration that surrounds them, when cast out, encumbered 
 with a title and a history, reared in one world, hurled into 
 another 1 To me the scene to-day was one of infinite pathos.' 
 
 ' The end is not so near as you suppose,' said Grudge. 
 
 ' It cannot be very distant,' exclaimed Beavis. ' I would give 
 
 e2
 
 52 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 my best heart's blood to save them fi-om ruin, for they are the 
 wortliiest people in the world. But I am not blind to their 
 faults. Look there ' — he pointed to a row of handsome alms- 
 houses in the * cottage-Gothic; ' style, each with its pretty garden 
 before it — 'Here live superannuated servants of the family 
 rent-free, on pensions. Yonder is the school, entirely sup- 
 ported by his Grace.' 
 
 'Almshouses are mischievous institutions; they superin- 
 duce a habit of improvidence.' 
 
 ' That may be true. According to modern doctrine, charity 
 impoverishes. To give to the poor is to harm them, and should 
 be made penal. The survivals of the old world do not see this.' 
 
 ' Why should the Duke maintain a school ? He should 
 throw the cost on the rates and have a Board.' 
 
 'So he should ; but he thinks it his duty and privilege to 
 provide the children of all who live on his land with education 
 free of cost, and with religious instruction on the pi'inciples of 
 the Established Church. He belongs to a past order of ideas, 
 and that is his view. We who belong to the new order object 
 to gratuitous and to denominational education. The Duke is 
 a patriarch, full of patriarchal notions of obligation to and 
 care for all wdio belong to him. He would provide for every- 
 one bom on his estates if he ^\•ere able, like the Incas of old 
 Peru.' 
 
 ' That interferes with individualism,' said Grudge. 
 
 ' Of course it docs ; but he belongs to the old school of 
 moral responsibilities. The General, Lord Konald, belongs to 
 the old school in military ideas ; and the Archdeacon, Lord 
 Edward, belongs to the old school in theology. The jMarquess 
 lias an honourable soul, but he belongs to the old school of 
 Laissez /aire. Lady Grace belongs to the old school of sweet 
 womanly culture. Not one of them has any idea how near the 
 edge of the precipice they stand. They look on political 
 dangers as the rocks in their course, and not on financial l>reak- 
 ers among which they are running and in which tliey will go 
 to pieces. It is true that they know they have not the wealth 
 which once belonged to tlie family ; but they sigh over the 
 past without bestirring themselves for the present. What is 
 to be done for these blind people 1 To rob them of their illu- 
 sion is impossiljle. It circulates in their blood. To save tliem 
 in spite of themselves — how is that to be done ?' 
 
 The solicitor listened attentively. He said, with a smile, 
 • Before the Flood they married, and that did not arrest the
 
 BEAVIS. 53 
 
 tide. Before this flood it may do wonders. The Marquess 
 may make a marriage which will save the property.' 
 
 ' He may do so,' answered Beavis, ' but then he must go 
 about the country heiress-hunting, and this he will not do. 
 He is too proud. Heiresses will not come in troops to be 
 marched past him, as were maidens in the days of Ahasuerus 
 the king. The Marquess postpones marriage to the Greek 
 Kalends. He reads, smokes, hunts, fishes, yachts, shoots, 
 plants rare pines, believes in his family, and is glued to Court 
 Royal.' 
 
 ' But has not your father done something to rouse them to 
 a sense of their danger ? ' 
 
 'My father sees with their eyes, hears with their ears, 
 thinks with their brains. To him, the ruin of the Kingsbridge 
 family is impossible ; Providence cannot allow it, and reign 
 above the spheres as a moral power.' He tui-ned sharply round 
 to Mr. Grudge, and said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, 
 ' Why are you here 1 No doubt you have not come here for 
 change of scene, and air, and society 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh dear, no,' answered Mr. Grudge ; ' I cannot afFord that. 
 I am here on business — Kingsbridge business. Here we are 
 at my inn. Good-night.' 
 
 ' May I come in ? I will detain you from your bed only a 
 few minutes longer ; but I cannot return till I am satisfied.' 
 
 ' Satisfied ! ' echoed Mr. Grudge. ' What satisfaction can I 
 give you ? However, come in, and take a glass of something.' 
 
 ' You must excuse me that,' said Beavis, entering the coftee- 
 roora with the solicitor. 'You understand my position, my 
 relation to the family. I hope I am committing no indiscre- 
 tion when I ask you for light on your object in coming here. 
 You say that the end is not so near at hand as I anticipate. 
 You speak, then, with some authority. You know the circum- 
 stances. I am warmly attached to the whole family. I have 
 been reared in the tradition and reverence for it. My father 
 and grandfather have been stewards for more years than I can 
 tell. If the Kingsbridge family goes to pieces, some of the 
 blame will attach to my father. Is it not possible that some- 
 thing can be done to save them ? I have no right to appeal to 
 your sympathy, but I cannot bring myself to believe that you 
 desire the ruin of one of the grandest names among the English 
 aristocracy.' 
 
 ' I really care little or nothing about them ; the name of 
 Eveleigh has no more merit with rue than that of Smith/
 
 54 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 answered Mr, Grudge. ' But you must not expect of me to 
 confide to you matters concerning my clients, and to assist you 
 •with advice which may thwart their interests, whicli I am 
 here to advance.' 
 
 * Of course not. I merely ask your purpose in coming here,' 
 said Beavis. 
 
 ' That is no secret,' answered the solicitor. ' Among other 
 debts weighing on the pi'operty is a mortgage on the Kings- 
 bridge estate, lield by the Stepliens Brothers, which has been 
 called in. The Duko finds a difticulty in raising the money, 
 and he further wishes to i"aisc a trillc of a few thousand. I 
 have a client who will advance the entire sum. There is 
 nothing extraordinary in this, nor is the Duke threatened in 
 any way.' 
 
 Beavis considered. 
 
 ' What is the name of your client 1 ' 
 
 ' Emmanuel. The transfer of the mortgage will not affect 
 the Duke in the least. The debt remains, and the interest 
 will be paid to Mr. Emmanuel instead of to INIessrs. Stephens.' 
 
 'I do not like this,' said Beavis. ' An Emmanuel, I sup- 
 pose the same man, has the mortgage on the home estate, with 
 park and mansions. Does this fellow, Emmanuel, know tho 
 condition we are in 1 ' 
 
 ' I know his thoughts as little as yourself,' answered Grudge, 
 who wished to bring this conversation to an end. 
 
 * This is the third time the name of Emmanuel has turned 
 up in the affairs of the Duke.' 
 
 ' It is possible.' 
 
 ' I see,' said Beavis ; * you will say no more. Well, good- 
 night. At what time will you be at my father's office to- 
 morrow 1 ' 
 
 ' At half-past ten or eleven.' 
 
 ' Say eleven. Allow me time to have an interview first 
 with the Marquess. Good-night.' 
 
 When Beavis was gone. Grudge shrugged his shoulders. 
 ' No good in that fellow. Bitten with the aristocratic craze. 
 Wouldn't I only like to have my claws as firm as himself in the 
 wool ! Bob, bob, bob — till I fed on the fat of the dying wether.' 
 
 On Beavis's return, he saw that there was a light in the 
 study. His father had not gone to bed. Beavis was glad of 
 it, as he felt in no mood for sleep, so he knocked at the door 
 and went in. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale was sitting over the fire, with a slipper-
 
 BEAVIS. 55 
 
 less foot against each jamb of the mantelpiece, smoking and 
 lookin" dreamily into the coals. 
 
 ' Well, Beavis, seen your friend tucked in between the 
 sheets 1 ' 
 
 * No friend of mine,' answered the son. ' I never saw him 
 before you introduced him to Court Royal.' 
 
 ' Look here,' said Mr. "Worthivale, pomting with the 
 mouthpiece of his pipe at a book that lay open on the table, 
 page downwards, to mark the place. ' I've been reading 
 Ouida's last. What do you think of the story, Beavis 1 I 
 rather like it,' 
 
 ' Never read anything of Ouida's in my life,' answered the 
 young man. ' Don't care if I never do. Xow I want a 
 w^ord with you on business, father, if you can spare me ten 
 minutes.' 
 
 ' Business ! ' sighed the steward. ' Eternally business. 
 After I had done my work for the day, as I hoped, in dropped 
 that solicitor. Grudge, to badger me ; and now that I thought 
 to di'owse over my pipe and Ouida, in you come, blowing a 
 blast of business cold in my face to rouse me. ISTo, I'll talk no 
 business to-night. Pour yourself out a glass of cold whisky 
 and water, and smoke a cigar, and then to bed. You will 
 have to find a tumbler for yourself. There are plenty in the 
 pantry, with thumb-marks imprinted on their rims. I told 
 Emily to put out two whilst you are here, but the girl's head 
 is like a sieve. She is courting, I presume. The sugar-bowl 
 is empty ; the housekeeper has forgotten to fill that. When I 
 say empty, I am wrong ; there is a cake of brown moist sugar 
 at the bottom, solid as pie-crust. The lumps of white had 
 been tumbled in on top — to save trouble, I suppose.' 
 
 ' I really must have a word on business with you to-night, 
 father. The solicitor from Exeter Avill be here to-morrow 
 
 morning.' 
 
 ' Well, what of that ? ' 
 * He will come about the mortgage ; and what I want to 
 say concerns the family we alike love, and would save from 
 
 rum ' 
 
 ' Ruin I Fiddlestick's ends ! ' 
 ' ]\Iy dear father, the situation is desperate.' 
 ' My dear Beavis,' answered Mr. "Worthivale testily, ' I 
 am steward, and I ought to know the state of afiairs better 
 than anyone else, and I refuse to have it spoken of as 
 desperate.'
 
 5Q COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' You may refuse, father, to iillow tlicir affairs to he called 
 desperate, but desperate tlioy arc.' 
 
 ' You forc^ot yourself, IJeavis. You take too much upon 
 you. A raw liaud lays ou the paint too thick.' 
 
 ' Tlieir affairs have got into such a condition that nothinpf 
 save a miracle can stave off ruin ; and the age of miracles is 
 past.' 
 
 ' Now, Beavis, you impeach my administration of their 
 property. If they come to ruin, I shall be Idamed.' 
 
 'Of course you Avill, father,' said the young man. * I do 
 not for a moment dispute your devotion to the Duke, your 
 readiness to do all you can to promote his interests ; you have 
 looked at the sun so long, father, that you are dazzled, and 
 cannot see the specks — specks ! — the total eclipse that is steal- 
 ing on.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale was both surprised and offended at his 
 son's plain speaking, lie who is dissatisfied with himself is 
 readiest offended. He smoked without speaking, then took a 
 sip at his cold whisky and water. 
 
 ' Who asked you to interfere 1 What right liave you to 
 meddle ? ' he asked grumblingly. 
 
 'No one has asked me to interfere ; but my love for the 
 family, and the long chain of obligations which binds me to it, 
 forces me to break silence, and bark when burglars menace the 
 house.' 
 
 ' Menace ! What cock-and-bull story have you got hold of 
 now 1 ' 
 
 'Por heaven's sake, father, be serious. 1 am down here 
 for a short Avhile, and I cannot in conscience allow matters to 
 proceed without raising my voice to arrest them.' 
 
 ' Go on ! ' said his father ill-humouredly. ' Lord bless 
 me. It seems to me that you were in petticoats oidy a few 
 days ago, and I whipped you over my knee with the back 
 of the hair-brush, and now you are grown so old that you 
 sta id up in judgment against your fatlier, and put me on the 
 rack.* 
 
 ' I entreat you to listen to me,' said the young man. * No 
 one will free you from bUune when the crash comes.' 
 
 ' What crash 1 ' asked his father doggedly. 
 
 * Open your eyes, your ears. I am not steward, but for all 
 that, L can perceive the ripple and the run of the water before 
 Niagara. Consider, what are the estates valued at ? ' 
 
 ' 'i'luit is more than I can say now. W^itli these bad years
 
 BEAVIS. 57 
 
 the land has depreciated one-half. In some places there is no 
 sale at all for it' 
 
 'Guess.' 
 
 ' Let me see — no, hang it, I can't tell. We only value for 
 succession duty, and, thank God, the Duke is still alive.' 
 
 ' What are the annual receipts ? ' 
 
 ' There I can meet you. In good years forty thousand ; 
 now about thirty, perhaps not as much — but this is temporary, 
 tempoi^ary depression, only. The seasons have been against 
 us, and American competition. Farmers, again, will not now 
 put up with the outbuildings and the dwelling-houses that 
 contented their fathers. Everything must be new. I assui'e 
 you we have been forced, literally forced, to spend some thir- 
 teen or fourteen thousand on the property of late.' 
 
 ' What are the debts 1 ' 
 
 'You know that the old Duke was an extravagant man. 
 He spent a great deal on the turf — more on the green baize. 
 When the present Duke came of age, he consented to a mort- 
 gage on the Loddiswell estate and on the Awton property, to 
 relieve his father from pressing difficulties, to the tune of 
 four hundred thousand pounds. I know we have to pay 
 sixteen thousand per annum on it, which is an awful pull. 
 Then there was the house, which was begun by Duke Frederick 
 Augustus. 'Ponmy word, what with building, and new furni- 
 ture, and ornamental laying out of the grounds, I believe 
 seventy thousand would be under the mark. Then, when the 
 Duke's three sisters were married, they were given fifteen 
 thousand each, which was little enough. That had to be 
 raised by a mortgage on the Ivingsbridge manor. The Mar- 
 quess got among a Avild set when he was in the army, and was 
 thrown on the Jews. I wish Ave could clear off his embarrass- 
 ments. The sum is not, in itself, much ; say ten thousand, 
 but the interest is extortionate.' 
 
 ' Stay,' said Beavis ; ' the items you have mentioned come 
 to nigh on five hundred thousand.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said his father, ' you won't be under the mark when 
 you say six hundred thousand. There is the mortgage on 
 Court Royal to ]\Ir. Emmanuel, and there are other matters. 
 You understate at six hundred thousand.' 
 
 ' Why, that makes an outleak of twenty-four thousand per 
 annum on a nominal income of forty thousand.' 
 
 ' I dare say. Then the charities of the Duke — subscrip- 
 tions, pensions, and the like — come to something under twelve
 
 58 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 hundred. And Lady Grace has her pin-money, and the !Mar- 
 qucss his allowance, and both the General and tlie Archdeacon 
 have something — no, I wrong Lord Edward, he has abandoned 
 his claim.' 
 
 ' What is the expenditure on the house and grounds, the 
 household expenses, wages, and the like 1 ' 
 
 * I cannot tell you, offhand, the items are so many.' 
 
 'Now, father, if, as you say, thirty thousand be nearer the 
 present income of the Duke than forty thousand, and twenty- 
 four thousand goes out in mortgages, that leaves but six thou- 
 sand for everything.' 
 
 ' These are exceptionally bad times ; forty thousand is the 
 true income.' 
 
 ' The rate at which they are li\ing is beyond even sixteen 
 thousand. You have deducted nothing for all the outs that 
 bleed a property in land. For five or six years the income 
 has not been forty thousand, but there has been no reduction 
 in the style of expenditure. Whence comes the money 1 Not 
 a burden has been shaken off, fresh are annually heaped on. 
 Let but one of the larger mortgages be called up, and the 
 crisis has arrived.' 
 
 His father put his hands to his head. ' You exaggerate. 
 Things are not as bad as you represent them.' 
 
 ' They are as bad as they well can be. Is there a single 
 estate that is not mortgaged 1 There must be a sale of some 
 of the property. On the death of the Duke it will not be 
 possible.' 
 
 'Sell !' exclaimed the steward, 'sell the estates ! Impos- 
 sible. Neither the Duke nor the IMarquess will consent. One 
 would not dare to make the suggestion to his Grace, it would 
 kill him.' 
 
 ' If not done voluntarily, it will be done compulsorily.* 
 
 ' The Marcjuess will marry an heiress, and clear the pro- 
 perty with her money. That is simple enough. How can 
 you be so pig-headed, Beavis ? Do you not see that all wo 
 want is time. With time everything will come right.' 
 
 Beavis sitrhed. 
 
 ' What liave you to say to this ? ' asked his father tri- 
 um])liautly. ' Have I the la.st trump V 
 
 ' I have nothing, nothing more to say,' answered the young 
 man ; ' I will trouble you no further, father.'
 
 59 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE MARQUESS. 
 
 Next moming Beavis Worthivale walked to Court Royal. He 
 had access to the house at all times. His sister was there per- 
 manently, and he had been about it since he was a boy. 
 
 The house was large, forming a quadrangle, with the state 
 rooms on the garden side. The Duke had his own suite of 
 apartments ; so had the Marquess, so also Lady Grace, and so 
 also Lord Ronald. Indeed, the Archdeacon had his own rooms 
 there kept for him, to which he could come when he liked, and 
 be at home. He was a married man without a family, and he 
 found life dull at his Somersetshire parsonage, witli only three 
 hundred people to instruct in honour and obedience to the 
 powers that be. He had an admirable, managing wife, and a 
 safe curate, very ladylike, absolutely transparent, whom he 
 could trust to do nothing to surprise or shock anyone, so per- 
 fectly good and colourless was he. The Archdeacon's health 
 suffered in Somersetshire, and he was nowhere so well as at 
 Court Royal, where the sea air and the society and good en- 
 tertainment agreed with him. Moreover, he was the man 
 whom the whole family consulted in every difficulty, and he 
 was thought and believed himself indispensable to his brothers. 
 
 The Marquess had his own valet and groom, and sitting- 
 room, and bed-room, and smoking cabinet. He was a man of 
 considerable taste, and he and his sister had amused themselves 
 in fitting up his apartments in the most perfect modern style. 
 The walls of the sitting-room were gilt, with peacocks' plumes, 
 spread, painted on the gold. The curtains were peacock blue, 
 sprinkled with forget-me-nots. 
 
 The carpet was an unfigured olive drugget with blue, green, 
 and gold-coloured mats and rugs cast about it. He had a fancy 
 for old Chelsea figures, and for Plymouth ware, and his cabinets 
 and chimney piece were crowded with specimens bought at a 
 time when Chelsea was run up by the dealers, and fetched 
 fancy prices. His sister kept his room gay with flowers. That 
 was her special care, and she fulfilled her self-imposed task 
 well. The Marquess always pretended to distinguish between 
 her bouquets and those arranged by other hands during Lady 
 Grace's absence. He told her so privately, that he might not
 
 GO COURT ROYAL 
 
 hurt poor Lucy Wortliivale, ou whom the obligation devolved 
 Avlion hor friend was from homo. 
 
 Lord Saltcoml)o's cabinet was not invaded or interfered 
 with. Tliero he kept his hunting-whips, his guns, his lishing- 
 rods, and the walls were adorned with the heads and brushes 
 of foxes, tiger skins, and antlers of red deer. In one corner 
 was an easel, for he sometimes painted. Against the wall a 
 cottage piano, which he sometimes played. Also a rack of 
 budding-knives and grafting tools, for he sometimes gardened. 
 In the window hung a cage with a canary, which he sometimes 
 fed, sometimes starved, and sometimes overfed. One wall was 
 occupied by his library, a mixed collection of books : Rabelais, 
 S. Thomas a Kempis, Jean Paul, Spielhagen, Herbert Spencer, 
 ' The Lyra INIessianica ' and Algernon Swinburne, Victor Hugo, 
 Emile Souvestre, Zola, The Duke of Argyll, Thackeray, ' Ex- 
 plorations of Africa,' and ' Smith's Dictionary of the Bible,' 
 with ' Cometh up as a Flower ' and ' Is Life worth Living ? ' 
 thrust in between the volumes, and a pamjihlet on Poultry upon 
 the top of it. 
 
 Beavis Wortliivale had known the ^Marquess from child- 
 hood, but it cannot be said that he understood him. In fact, 
 no one understood him, yet everyone liked him. He resembled 
 an audience-chamber, accessible to all, containing a closet of 
 which no one possessed the key. He spent his time in reading 
 or in out-door pursuits, yet he had no favourite study and no 
 darling occupation. He was accomplished, knew several 
 languages, was a fair classic, fond of history, and liked books 
 of travel. He read whatever came in his way, changing his 
 style, and subject, and language for the sake of contrast. He 
 skimmed the work he took in hand, but never studied it. 
 Pleading with him was a distraction, not a pursuit ; a narcotic 
 which enabled him to forget life and its burdens. 
 
 The Marquess was already forty, was full of the vigour and 
 beauty of manhood, but it was easy to see that life was to him 
 without object ; that he exacted of it little, and cared little 
 for it. Always amiable, cheerful, agreeable, with plenty of 
 conversation and pleasant humour, he was attractive in society, 
 but was unattractcd by it. He could enter into an argument, 
 but was indilierent to the side on which he argued. He argued 
 to kill an hour, not to convince an opponent. His uncle, the 
 Archdeacon, was sometimes alarmed about him, lest he should 
 become a sceptic ; but he was deficient in the earnestness of 
 purpose which would make him take a line. He accepted
 
 TfiE MARQUESS. 61 
 
 traditional creeds, religious and political, and customs social 
 and domestic, without consideration, with an undercurrent of 
 doubt. He never hurt anyone's feelings, never transgressed a 
 canon of good taste. His eyes were open to the errors and 
 follies of men, and to the virtues of humanity, but the former 
 roused in him no indignation, the latter no admiration. Al- 
 though he was cheerful in society, tliis cheerfulness carried 
 with it an appearance of artificiality, and when he was alone 
 he lapsed into melancholy or indiffei-ence. 
 
 He now and then made an e>:cursion to Brittany or Swit- 
 zerland ; he had been even to Brazil and South Afi'ica. He 
 came back with embroidered kerchiefs and carved spoons, lion 
 skins and stuffed humming-birds, and a good deal to say about 
 what he had seen, but with no ambition to ascend peaks or 
 explore wildernesses. In politics he took no interest. He 
 rarely visited relatives and acquaintances, disliking the trouble. 
 He professed, and no one doubted his sincerity, that he was 
 happier at home than anywhere else ; and more content 
 lounging out a purposeless existence than making an effort to 
 observe and please among strangers and in strange places. 
 
 This had not always been the case. He had been in the 
 army, though never on active service. The few years in which 
 he was in the army formed the one epoch in his life in which 
 he had been lost to the sight of his family. The young INIar- 
 quess, who had been somewhat spoiled at home, with great 
 personal beauty, fascinating manners, a kindly disposition, 
 little knowledge of the world, and a ducal coronet hanging 
 over his head, had suddenly been transferred from the quiet of 
 Court Royal to the vortex of the whirlpool of life. The Duke, 
 owing to his heart disease and advancing years, had been 
 obliged gradually to withdraw from town, and to retire from 
 an active part in the social and political spheres to which he 
 belonged. Lady Grace was always with him ; she would not 
 leave her father for long, consequently tlie world of Court 
 Royal had become a very quiet and a very small world. The 
 temptations to which a young man like the Marquess would 
 be exposed on entering the army were hardly realised by his 
 father and by the Archdeacon. His sister had not the vaguest 
 suspicion of them. ' He is a Christian and a gentleman,' said 
 the Duke, ' and a Christian and a gentleman, put him where 
 you will, does nothing unbecoming.' 
 
 At Court Royal none knew how he fared, whether he 
 fought or whether he fell. His father heard, indeed, that he
 
 62 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 was greatly admired 1iy tlie ladies and liked by liis brothor- 
 otlicers, and accepted this as his due. Tlien the Duko found 
 that his son was unable to live on the annual sum allowed him. 
 He heard that the ]\Iarquess was in debt, and he wrote him a 
 stately reprimand, but he said to Lord Ronald, ' It is natural. 
 He must live up to his name and title. It is unfortunate that 
 the property is so burdened and shrunk.' 
 
 After that, rumours got abroad that Lord Saltcombe had 
 been entangled in an intrigue which was not creditable — with 
 an actress according to one version, with a married woman 
 according to another. Nothing very definite was known, and 
 it was sedulously kept from the ears of the Duke, Lord Edward, 
 and Lady Grace. 
 
 Lord Ronald alone knew the particulars, but he was re- 
 served. He never mentioned the matter to anyone. 
 
 Presently the news came that the Marquess was ill at 
 Palermo. ' I did not know that he had gone abroad,' said the 
 Duke. ' Ah ! I sec there have been signs of activity in Etna, 
 no doubt he went to witness an eruption.' 
 
 A few months after, Saltcombe returned home, with tlie 
 General, who had gone out to him. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe was greatly altered, apparently a broken 
 man. 
 
 He had been brought to the edge of the grave by typhoid 
 fever, 'owing,' explained the Duke, ' to the absence of sanitary 
 arrangements, which are indeed deficient in the best Con- 
 tinental hotels. I sent out our own medical attendant, other- 
 wise Saltcombe would have been bled to death by those Italian 
 Sangrados.' 
 
 Gradually the Marquess recovered from his illness, but 
 though his physical health was restored, his elasticity of spirit, 
 Ids energy of character, were gone. He remained a prey to 
 apathy, and, as he made no efTort to shake this ofl', hal)it made 
 it permanent. No one inquired into the truth of the rumours 
 tliat had circulated, the best-disposed persons rejected them as 
 slanderous gossip. 
 
 The Marquess left the army, remained at Court Royal, and 
 settlod into the uniform existence of a country gentleman. 
 
 When Mr. Worthivale told his son that the marriage of the 
 Marquess was to solve the family ditliculties, he expressed his 
 liope and conviction of the entire Kingsliridge family. Tlie 
 Duke was desirous of seeing his son settled ])efore ho diod, and 
 both the General and the Archdeacon urged him to bestir him-
 
 THE MARQUESS. 63 
 
 self, and find a wife. Lady Grace also, in her sweet, fondling 
 manner, approached the subject and endeavoured to arouse 
 him to the duty of marrying. Lord Saltcombe listened with 
 a smile, turned aside the advice of his uncles with a jest, the 
 entreaty of his sister with a compliment and a kiss, and his 
 father's injunction with a promise to lay it to heart. There it 
 ended. He took no step to find a wife, and though Lady Grace 
 invited friends to Court Royal with the hope that one of them 
 might arrest the attention of her brother, the heart of Lord 
 Saltcombe remained invulnerable. 
 
 He saw through his sister's schemes and laughed at them. 
 He was warmly attached to her, indeed she was his closest 
 companion. She loved him with equal sincerity and with even 
 greater tenderness. When his foot paced the terrace garden 
 she heard it, came down, linked her hand in his arm, and 
 walked up and down with him as he smoked. 
 
 They had plenty to say to each other, but he never allowed 
 her to sound the depths of his soul. The convei'sation between 
 them concerned the outer life, the events and interests of every 
 day. This association with his sister had a refining and a puri- 
 fying effect on Lord Saltcombe. She was ignorant of what 
 had occurred during his brief career in the army, and did not 
 inquire. Whatever it was, it had troubled and stained his 
 mind and conscience, and daily intercourse with his sister 
 restored the purity to the mind and the sensitiveness of the 
 conscience, but it did not give him energy and ambition. 
 
 Beavis Worthivale was very little younger than the INIar- 
 quess ; they had known each other from childhood, and had 
 always been on familiar and friendly terms. Beavis, as a boy, 
 had shared tutors with Lord Saltcombe, and had been his 
 companion in play. Of late, the friendship had been inter- 
 rupted ; Beavis had been from home, and Saltcombe in the 
 army. Since the illness of the Marquess, Beavis had been 
 unable to recover his place in the intimacy of the young noble- 
 man that he had occupied as a boy. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale, in his devotion to the Kingsbridge family, 
 had readily given up his daughter to be the companion of Lady 
 Grace, without considering whether it was to his, her, and his 
 son's advantage. By surrendering Lucy he had deprived his 
 widowed old age of its chief comfort, his house of its proper 
 mistress, and his son of his best companion. Lucy, moreover, 
 was reared in the lap of luxury, which she could not expect 
 elsewhere ; she was not likely to marry anyone of rank, and
 
 G4 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 she ^vas ■witlidrawix from the spliere wliore she mii^lit liav<* 
 found a husband suitable in birth and fortune. Slie would 
 grow up at Court Royal to be an old maid, a hanger-on of the 
 ducal house, unable to endure the roughs and chills of life 
 outside its walls. 
 
 In social intercourse men and women act and react on one 
 another unconsciously. IMeu's minds give to those of women 
 the impulse they require, and women's minds afford a corrective 
 and softening inlluence to those of men. Uy daily association 
 women ai'e stimulated to mental activity, and men's opinions 
 are rounded and smoothed. Fx'ora the clash of minds, male 
 and female, the latter take body, the former acquire temper. 
 Woman stimulates man's imagination, man awakes her reason. 
 
 Through the Straits of Gibraltar How two currents — one, 
 setting outward, is warm, and light, and sweet ; the other, 
 setting inward, is cold, and heavy, and salt. It is the presence 
 of these opposed currents gliding past each other that saves 
 the INIediterranean from stagnating into a Dead Sea. It is 
 the constant movement of the male and female currents, one 
 giving warmth, the other salt, which preserves civilisation in 
 purity and health. Lucy had suffered by her separation from 
 her lirothor and father. She had lost mental and moral inde- 
 pendence, and Worthivah^ and his son had lost the comforts of 
 home and the polish wliirli tlic ])resence of a lady can alone 
 impart. The stewai'd was unconscious of the sacrifice he had 
 made, but his son saw and regretted it. 
 
 As Beavis was walking along the corridor towards Lord 
 Saltcombe's apartments, the General's door opened and Lord 
 Ronald appeared in his dressing-gown, a fez on his grey hair, 
 and a pljjc in his hand. 
 
 ' What, Beavis, you here this morning 1 No use going on 
 to Saltcombe ; he is not out of bed. Here, step into my room 
 and have a chat till the lazy fellow is ready to receive you.' 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 LORD RONALD. 
 
 Lord Roxald Evelkigh, K.C.I3., was a widower. He had 
 lost both his wife and his children. His wife, a very sweet and 
 beautiful woman, whom he had tenderly loved, had died of 
 consumption, after having given him two children, a boy and
 
 LORD RONALD. 65 
 
 a girl. He, as a soldier, had tried to harden his little ones by 
 exposure, convinced that all delicacy is due to 'molly-coddling.' 
 The consequence was that just as he was congratulating 
 himself that his theory was successful, his children died of 
 congestion of the lungs. They had inherited their mother's 
 delicacy, and injudicious treatment precipitated the inevitable 
 end. Left a widower, and childless, the old General had 
 accepted his brother's invitation, and had settled for the rest 
 of his days at Court Royal, a spot dear to him as no other spot 
 on earth, because associated with his childhood. 
 
 He had inherited all the Eveleigh pride of birth, and 
 though he cared nothing for his comfort, and despised luxury, 
 yet he believed tlie state maintained at Court Royal to be 
 indispensable to the dignity of the family, and respected it 
 accordingly. His own rooms were plainly furnished. Their 
 arrangements were stiff and tasteless. Over the chimney hung 
 his sabre ; at the side, on a level with his eye, as he sat in his 
 arm-chair, were three medallion portraits of his wife and his 
 two children. 
 
 In manner he somewhat lacked the polish of his brothers 
 and nephew, and in features he was more rugged. His mind 
 was simple, and his heart tender. The ambition of his life 
 ended when the earth fell on his boy's coffin, but not its pride : 
 that would remain as long as the family lasted. When Lord 
 Ronald came to settle at Court Royal, he had no idea of the 
 financial conditions of the Duke. There had been hitches in 
 the payment of his annuity, which was charged on the estates ; 
 eventually tlie money had come, though it came irregularly. 
 He recollected the splendour of the house when he was a boy, 
 under the splendid Duke Frederick Augustus, his father — the 
 annual season in town at Kingsbridge House, Piccadilly, the 
 balls, the round of dinners, the whirl of entertainments, the 
 drawing-rooms, the concerts, the carriages, the stables, the 
 army of domestics. Now the Duke never went to town. The 
 doctors forbade his travelling by rail. Lord Ronald chafed at 
 this banishment to the country, not because he liked a season 
 in town, but because he thought the presence of the family in 
 London during the season comported with its dignity and duty 
 to society. The retirement of the Duke had synchronised with 
 the entry of the Marquess into the army. A residence in town 
 was requisite only for Lady Grace, and Lady Grace least of all 
 desired it. At Court Royal the customary state was kept up, 
 but tlien, a palace on the south coast of Devon, ten miles from 
 
 F
 
 66 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 a railway, is not the place where many people can be found to 
 be impressed by that state. 
 
 After a while his eyes opennd to the real condition of afT.iirs, 
 and he was fain to admit to himself that it was a happy thing 
 for the family it had an excuse for not spending the season in 
 town. The General tried to shut his eyes to the truth, tried 
 to disbelieve what he could hardly credit. "Without being 
 remarkably sharp-sighted, Lord Ronald had a sound judgment. 
 The future began to alarm him. He was much attached to his 
 nephew, but he was angry with him. 
 
 ' Why the deuce does he not marry an heiress 1 ' he 
 muttered to himself, as he sat smoking, oppressed with low 
 spirits. ' It is high time that the wretched affair which came 
 to an end at Palermo should be forgotten, and the consequences 
 effaced. The creature was not worth fretting over. It was a 
 bad job, but it is done with, and the volume containing that 
 romance should be shut and put away. Is the title to become 
 extinct, the family to die out, because of that piece of damaged 
 goods 1 What is Saltcombe waiting for ? There is nothing 
 to expect. Why is he not man enough to shake himself free 
 of the recollection as he shook himself free of the entangle- 
 ment 1 The hope of the family hangs on him. Upon my 
 soul, Saltcombe is enough to drive one mad.' 
 
 Heated by his reflections. Lord Ronald had attacked his 
 nephew on the subject more than once, and had been repelled 
 with such coldness that he had retired each time without 
 effecting anything, and thoroughly disconcerted. He lost 
 patience, but did not know what to do. He spoke to the 
 Duke, and his Grace once or twice addressed his son on the 
 advisability of his marrying. But that led to no alteration 
 in his conduct. 
 
 Lord Ronald suspected more than he knew. As there 
 was a constantly recurring difficulty about the payment of his 
 annuity, he allowed it to fall into arrears, content if he had 
 enough to defray his ordinary trifling expenses. The jMarquess, 
 who was supposed to see to business for his father, apologised 
 to him for the delay, but the General always passed the 
 matter over with a joke about his having no wants in a house 
 where his wishes were forestalled. As his annuity was in 
 arrear he forbore making inquiries, lest ho should seem Avanting 
 in delicacy. He was told by the steward that the years were 
 bad, the value of land was depreciated, rents were reduced 
 30 per cent., the fanners could not pay, farms were thrown on
 
 LOED RONALD. 
 
 67 
 
 liand. He was, moreover, not a man of business, had no idea 
 of balancing accounts, and never could distinguish between 
 creditor and debtor in a ledger. The uneasiness of the steward, 
 his running to and fro to consult with the Marquess, the 
 periodical invocations of the Archdeacon to advise, the 
 troubled face of Lord Saltcombe at times, the difficulty in 
 meeting pressing payments, the appearance, finally, of that 
 hard, practical-looking lawyer at dinner on the Duke's bii'th- 
 day, like Banquo's spectre at the table, had made him very 
 uneasy. 
 
 'What the devil keeps Saltcombe from marrying, and 
 relieving the situation 1 It is his duty. Sometimes \fe go at 
 the enemy in direct charge, at others sweep round and take 
 them in rear. We can't dislodge those who hold the mortgages 
 with the bayonet. Saltcombe must execute a flank move- 
 ment, with an heiress. Years slip away, the cloud grows 
 denser, debts become heavier, creditors more pressing. Salt- 
 combe is forty, the age is passing at which he can pick and 
 choose. He will soon have to take whom he can get.' 
 
 The General was thinking this, when he heard the steps of 
 Beavis, and opened the door. 
 
 'Come in, my boy, come in,' he said. 'Saltcombe will 
 not be ready to see you for another hour. What do you want 
 with him 1 ' 
 
 Beavis hesitated. He did not know what to say. His 
 heart was full, he could think of nothing but what troubled 
 him. He considered a moment, and then resolved to be plain 
 with the General. It could do no harm, it might do good. 
 
 ' I want to see Lord Saltcombe on business.' 
 
 * AVhat 1 — connected with that lawyer fellow here last 
 night ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Lord Eonald. I have no message from him, but I 
 have asked him to postpone meeting my father and the 
 Marquess till I have had an interview with the latter.' 
 
 ' What is the matter 1 Is there a secret 1 ' 
 
 ' No secret — at least, none to be kept from you, my Lord. 
 It concerns the family affairs.' 
 
 ' Family affairs ! ' groaaed the General; 'then I want to 
 hear nothing about then^. I am an old soldier, and not a 
 steward, or a lawyer, or xn accountant.' 
 
 ' For all that,' said the young man, ' I wish greatly to talk 
 the matter over with you. It seems to me that you. Lord 
 Ronald, may do here that which no one else can eflfect.' 
 
 F 2
 
 68 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * What is that ? I can do nothing. I am the last in the 
 liouse.' 
 
 * You can do mucli if you ■will make the attempt, my Lord. 
 Excuse me if I am presumptuous, but I am in earnest.' 
 
 ' I am sure you are. You are a good boy. Go on. Speak 
 out.' 
 
 ' It is a very unpleasant thing to speak words that cut the 
 ear they enter ; however, in tliis case it is a duty. I suppose 
 you know that, what with bad years, and the heavy burdens 
 on the property that have been accumulating, and with the 
 inaction of the INIarquess, the state of atUiirs is about as bad 
 as it cap be. ISIy dear father will not realise it. His Grace 
 knows, and, I suppose, must know nothing of it. The 
 Marquess is aware, but does not take the initiative, and you, 
 Lord Ronald ' 
 
 ' I shut my eyes,' interrupted the General. ' No, that is 
 not altogether the case. I sco, and am bewildered. I cannot 
 move in the matter. I am awkwardly situated. In fact, the 
 Duke is behindhand with me— not that I want the money, I 
 have my half-pay, but the fact ties my hands, I cannot 
 interfere. I have touched on the subject indeed to the Duke, 
 but he supposes I refer to the losses sustained by the family 
 in my grandfather's time. He was a sad rake. I do not 
 like speaking about it to Saltcombe for certain reasons of my 
 own. He is reserved with me ; he never invites my confi- 
 dence. So we go on in faith. Times will mend. Something 
 will turn up. Legacies will rain gold. We don't eat our 
 soup as scakling as it is served.' 
 
 ' Expenses ought to be cut down in every way at once.' 
 
 ' It has been done. The Duke no longer goes to town for 
 the season. How any further economy is to be practised here 
 I do not see. The house must be kept up, the gardens and 
 grounds maintained in order, — the stables — where would you 
 l)egin ? A Duke cannot live like a curate, in furnished 
 lodgings, on chops alternating witli cutlets and steaks, and a 
 maid-of-all-work to cook and dust, and make the beds.' 
 
 'Would it not be advisable,' isked Beavis in a low tone, 
 with his eyes on the carpet — ' would it not be well to make an 
 effort, and put up with inconveniences, rather than allow the 
 avalanche to rush down on your head/ V 
 
 Lord Ivonald took Deavis l)v tlie arm, and paced the room 
 with liim, l)efore he replied. The old Ceneral's face was pale, 
 and his lips quivered.
 
 LUKD RONALD. 69 
 
 * My dear boy, you imagine matters worse than they really 
 are. You have allowed your mind to prey on your fears, and 
 they have assumed the appearance and weight of a nightmare. 
 It is impossible for such a catastrophe to overtake us. Think 
 what we are, what our family is, and has been ' Think what 
 magnificent estates we have owned — and, indeed, we are not 
 denuded yet.' 
 
 Beavis looked up, and saw that the old man was trying to 
 silence his own convictions. Beavis was pained to have made 
 him suffer, but it was necessary for every individual member 
 of the family to be roused to face the danger. 
 
 ' Dear Lord Ronald, I am not frightened by fancied 
 dangers. The danger is knocking at the door. Would to 
 God it were not so, but I caiinot deceive myself. It is. I see 
 you all here lulled in unconsciousness, losing time, letting slip 
 opportunities of recovery which may never return, and delay- 
 ing reti'enchment, whilst retrenchment is availing.' 
 
 The General sighed. ' There is a God over all,' he said ; 
 ' we must trust to Providence.' 
 
 ' And do nothing 1 ' asked Beavis. 
 
 ' What is to be done ? I dare not speak to the Duke. 
 Saltcombe would not listen to me, or, if he did listen, would 
 shrug his shoulders and go his way.' After a pause, during 
 which he smoked hard, he asked, ' What was that lawyer 
 lugged in here for yesterday ? What has he come to Court 
 Royal about ? ' 
 
 * He has come concerning a transfer of the mortgage held 
 by the Messrs. Stephens to a certain Emmanuel, who has 
 already his hand on the home estate, with park and house, and 
 has negotiated a loan or two besides.' 
 
 ' What of that ? ' 
 
 ' And there is to be another loan of five thousand.' 
 
 ' That is not much, A trifle.' 
 
 * A trifle ! but there have been so many of these trifles 
 accumulated, and now they are an intolerable burden. A 
 pound of feathers weighs as much as a pound of lead. Lord 
 Saltcombe should be roused to look into the debts of the 
 family, and form some decision as to what is to be done.' 
 
 ' You want me to stir him up ? I do not relish the task, 
 and I doubt my ability to wake him.' 
 
 ' He must be shaken out of his apathy.' 
 
 ' I do not believe it is possible,' 
 
 'Then everything remains in stahc quo — captain, pilot,
 
 70 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 crcNV, all must have their sleep out whilst the vessel fills. It 
 is cruel to Avako them. They need repose. It is impossible 
 to rouse some, they sleep so sound. All at once the shij) gives 
 a lurch, and the waves engulf her, as all wake up and rub 
 their eyes, and ask where they are 1 ' 
 
 The General's pipe was out. He turned his face to the 
 window to hide the emotion painted on it. Beavis had spoken 
 strongly — possibly too strongly ; the words had poured scald- 
 ing from his heart. He was a young man. He was not 
 called in by the family to consult on its affairs. He had 
 assumed the office unsolicited. Perhaps he was troubling the 
 old man in vain. 
 
 The silence remained unbroken for some while. 
 
 Lord Ronald struck a match, but could not relight his pipe ; 
 his hand shook, so did the pipe between his lips. He threw 
 the match away, and laid his pipe on the chimney-piece. 
 Then he held out his hand to Beavis, without looking him in 
 the face, and said, 'God bless you, dear boy ! You are acting 
 as your honourable and kind heart prompts. At a time when 
 everyone thinks of self, it is pleasant to meet with one who 
 cares for the fortunes of others.' He sighed. ' You arc all of 
 you good, true, all of you, — your worthy father, your dear 
 sister, whom we love as our own child, and yourself. You 
 have spoken to me sharply, and I know Avhat it has cost you 
 to do so — you who have been reared in reverence for the 
 family. You have acted as a man of principle should act, 
 but then, what is the good 1 The transfer will be executed, 
 the fresh loan contracted, in another hour. It is too late to 
 prevent that.' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Beavis, ' it is too late to prevent that, but 
 it is not too late to say, " This shall be the last. We have let 
 matters slide their downward Avay, now we will put on the 
 drag. And the first step towards stopping will be to find out 
 where we stand." ' 
 
 ' You are quite right, but I am no accountant. Your 
 father has the books. ISaltcombe is supposed to audit them.' 
 
 * Lord Saltcombe must not only look over the accounts, but 
 take an interest in them.' 
 
 ' Beavis,' said the old General, ' my debt against the estate 
 shall be cancelled ; but that is nothing, as it would not be 
 exacted. Let it go. What is this five thousand for ? ' 
 
 ' Current household expenses, I presume ; but I do not 
 know for certain.'
 
 LORD RONALD. 71 
 
 ' Let rue find the money. Decline this five thousand. It 
 will be a relief to my mind that I have stopped one additional 
 loan. I have my half-pay, and am able to put aside some 
 money. I have more than I want. If I drop this into the 
 gulf it is only a drop. 1 know I am robbing my heirs without 
 benefiting the house ; but then — the house is my heir. I 
 should leave everything to my dear niece, except a little remem- 
 brance to Lucy and yourself. When that hard-faced lawyer 
 comes, tell him the five thousand is not wanted. Damn it, 
 Beavis, I have a mind to throw all my savings into the same 
 hole, but then ' 
 
 ' No, my Lord, you must not do this. It will only prolong 
 the agony, and rob Lady Grace, as you say, of what in the end 
 she may need. We must get a clear view of the situation 
 before anything further is done.' 
 
 A tap sounded at the door, and Lord Saltcombe entered. 
 
 ' You here, Beavis ! Good morning, Uncle Ronald. I 
 heard that Woi-thivale had been rampaging after me, and 
 suspected you had trapped him. I overslept myself. I sat 
 up very late last night.' 
 
 ' Doing nothing, I suppose,' said the General, dryly. 
 
 ' Exactly — doing nothing,' answered the Marquess, slightly 
 colouring. 
 
 ' We have been discussing family affairs,' said Lord Ronald ; 
 ' family embarrassments, I had better say.' 
 
 ' Then I am in the way. I will withdraw.' 
 
 ' Stay, Saltcombe, we want you to look into matters.' 
 
 ' ]My dear uncle, I am at Mr. Worthivale's service every 
 morning, whenever he calls me, to sign leases, audit accounts, 
 and consent to the reduction of rent. I limit him to an hour ; 
 I cannot allow more time than that. The oftice exercises 
 a soporific influence on my brain.' 
 
 ' You really must be serious. Matters are desperate. Do 
 you know that a lawyer is coming here to-day about a 
 transfer ? ' 
 
 ' Well ! a transfer is not a nitro-glycerine bomb. I am im- 
 patient to make it. I am going to take Grace and Lucy out in 
 the yacht. We must catch the tide. The Sheepwashes are 
 going to meet us at Portsmouth. We are bound for Eddy- 
 stone.' 
 
 ' Saltcombe, you do not know how in earnest I am,' said the 
 General ; ' I entreat you to stay. I have much to talk to you 
 about, and Beavis here has more.'
 
 72 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Young Wortliivale was vexed. Tlie old man wanted tact, 
 and he was doing miscliief. 
 
 * Beavis is coming with us,' said Lord Saltcombe. ' Ho 
 wants a whitf of sea-breeze to take tlie oflice-dust out of his 
 lungs, and blow the cobwebs from his brain.' 
 
 Beavis seized the opportunity to turn the conversation. 
 He saw that the General irritated hisnoplicw, without advanc- 
 ing the cause he had at heart. But the old man could not 
 understand his tactics. 
 
 ' What a man you are, "Wortliivale ! ' he said. Two minutes 
 ago you were crying, " House on fire ! " and now you are agog 
 to be junketing with the girls. I will not be put ofF like tliis. 
 You have stirred me up. I will have it out with Saltcombe.' 
 
 ' My time, then, is yours,' said the INIarquoss, stiffly. 
 
 * Very well,' said the General, hotly. ' You must marry.' 
 
 * Whom ? ' 
 
 Lord Ronald did not answer ; the question was not an easy 
 one to answer. 
 
 ' You remind me of the magistrates of the old German 
 towns, who had the bachelors before them on attaining their 
 majority, and bade them marry within six weeks, or forfeit 
 their rights of citizenship.' 
 
 ' There was sense in that. You must marry, Saltcombe.' 
 
 ' Uncle, I will contemplate the five Misses Sheepwash to- 
 day with that view.' 
 
 ' Do not be absurd. You must marry money.' 
 
 ' Beavis,' said the Marquess, aside, ' you will be at the pier 
 at half-past twelve.' 
 
 The General was angered by his nephew's coolness. 
 
 ' Saltcombe,' he said, ' time enough has elapsed since that 
 Palermo aflhir ' 
 
 'For you to have learned. Uncle Ronald, that I will endure 
 no allusion to it,' said the Marquess, gravely, whilst his colour 
 went. 
 
 The old man looked him full in the face, and Lord 
 Saltcombe met his eye firmly. He said not another word, 
 but turned with a sigh to the window. The Marquesa 
 Reckoned to Beavis, and they left the room together.
 
 73 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 The Fifth of November was a great day at the Barbican. 
 Was, it no longer is. The reason why it is so no longer may 
 be gathered from what follows. 
 
 The Barbican offered about the only open space in old 
 Plymouth where a bonfire might blaze, and fireworks explode 
 without certainty of setting the houses round in flames, or of 
 frightening horses and impeding traffic. Moreover, about the 
 Barbican swarm and multiply indefinitely the urchins who most 
 love to celebrate the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot. They 
 are deterred by no dread of injuring good clothes, are restrained 
 by no respectable parents. They burn Ouy Fawkes out of no 
 deep-seated enthusiasm for the Crown and the Bible, but out 
 of pure love of a blaze. 
 
 Now, stillness reigns on that momentous anniversiry at the 
 Barbican ; no crackers spurt, no pyre burns, for the police are 
 there in force on the evening to prevent a repetition of such an 
 event as that which took place on the occasion we are about to 
 record. 
 
 The broad quay, the proximity of the waters and the coal 
 barges, the good open space before the houses, had impressed 
 the youth for many generations that no place was fitter for the 
 fiery celebration than the Barbican. There were bits of old 
 timber to be had for the asking or for the taking. The owners 
 of the tar and tow and tallow store always contributed a cask, 
 and some black fluid highly combustible. The colliers that lay 
 in Sutton Pool were ready to give baskets of coal. 
 
 The adult population of the neighbourhood was in sympathy 
 with the exhibition, turned out to see it, and contributed howls, 
 cheers, and groans. 
 
 The Barbicanites had no pronounced political or religious 
 antipathies. It was one to them whose effigy was burnt, 
 they hooted and howled with equal enthusiasm whether the 
 object represented ' Old Boney,' Pius IX., or a Puseyite. All 
 they bargained for was that some one should be burned — who 
 mattered little. 
 
 On the last occasion when the Barbican was illuminated by
 
 74 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 a bonfire, the pjuy represented a local celebrity. Before that 
 evening closed in, avIio tlie guy was to be was known to every 
 inhabitant of the Barbican, except the individual himself. 
 Never had contributions flowed in more copiously, and been 
 given with greater alacrity. Not a householder refused when 
 solicited, except only Lazarus, who, when solicited, responded 
 with an oath, a lunge, and a whirl of his stick. 
 
 Darkness fell. Joanna put up the shutters as usual, and 
 locked and barred the doors. Lazarus looked with evil eye on 
 the Fifth of November celebrations as a criminal waste of 
 excellent fuel, and he made or pretended business for the 
 evening which would take him to the other end of the 
 town. 
 
 Lazarus had come to entrust the care of the house and the 
 business of the shop very much to Joanna, whilst lie carried 
 on business of an analogous but more respectable kind else- 
 where. He could place perfect confidence in Joanna. She 
 took as keen a relish as himself in driving a bargain and 
 in ' doing ' a purchaser. He suspected her, indeed, of secreting 
 for her own use some of the money she received, but this was 
 solely because he suspected everybody ; and in this case his 
 suspicions were unjust, for Joanna was scrupulously conscien- 
 tious in accoui^ting to him for every farthing she spent and 
 received. It was part of her duty to screw down the poor 
 and bleed them of their last drop of blood ; it was part of her 
 duty to throw dust into the eyes of a buyer, and deceive him 
 ■with lies and disguises ; it was her duty to be true to her 
 master. Joanna was conscientious. 
 
 During the day Joanna had observed the growth of a pile 
 of combustible materials before the house, and had engaged in 
 many passages of arms about it. She had remonstrated as to 
 its size and position ; and, finally, she had pillaged it. She 
 had, by watching her opportunities, succeeded in carrying off 
 from it a quarter of a ton of coals which she had stowed in the 
 closet under the staircase, till detected, and then the urchins 
 engaged on the erection of the pyre kept a guard against 
 further pilfering. 
 
 When she found that she could no longer plunder the pile, 
 she stormed against the pile-builders, she invoked the aid of a 
 policeman to demolish it. It was in dangerous proximity to 
 the Golden Balls. What if the wind set that way 1 When 
 the ]>olicoman failed to give hor redress, she appealed to the 
 bystanders, the inhabitants of the houses on the quay, but they
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 7o 
 
 were all participators in the pyre, had subscribed coin, or con- 
 tributed fuel for its erection. 
 
 After she had locked up the house, Joanna retired to a 
 window of the first floor, whence she could follow the proceed- 
 ings. The Barbican was alive with people, and heads were pro- 
 truded from all the windows. The evening was fine, no rain fell, 
 no fog hung over the water and wharf. Joanna was girl enough 
 to enjoy a blaze ; though old beyond her years in her views of 
 life and of men, she had not lost childlike pleasure in what is 
 beautiful and what is exciting. 
 
 Presently Joanna heard the bray of a horn, and the hubbub 
 of voices mingled with jeers, laughter, and whoops. A moment 
 after a crowd of boys, young men, and girls poured down the 
 narrow street that debouches on the quay, carrying in their 
 midst, supported on their shoulders, seated on a chair above 
 their heads, the Guy Fawkes. Torches were borne and waved 
 about the figure, and on its reaching the open space a Bengal 
 light blazed up. 
 
 Joanna saw at a glance whom the effigy was designed to 
 represent, and why the celebration had evoked so much in- 
 terest on this occasion. 
 
 The figure was that of Mr. Lazarus. There could be no 
 mistaking it. His peculiarities of costume and attitude had 
 been hit off with real genius. A mask had been made or 
 obtained with a sausage nose, like his, and a smirk on the thick 
 lips, like his. His old fur cap, with flaps to cover the ears, which 
 he wore in the shop, was faithfully reproduced ; so also his 
 long-tailed greatcoat ; his black tie, which would turn Avith 
 the knot under the ear, without a vestige of linen collar. The 
 effigy was represented holding a ham-bone, which it was 
 gnawing. 
 
 The crowd flowed from the street, and spread over the 
 Barbican open space. The figure was planted in front of the 
 Golden Balls, and three groans were given for Lazarus the 
 Jew. 
 
 Joanna withdrew from the window that the people might 
 not have the satisfaction of seeing that they were observed. 
 Her face flamed with indignation and desire of revenge. She 
 ascended a chest of drawers in the store chamber nearest the 
 face of the house, whence she could watch proceedings un- 
 observed. After the groans for Lazarus, a silence fell on the 
 mob, and expectant looks were cast at his door. They sup- 
 posed that the Jew, frenzied with rage, would rush forth,
 
 76 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 cudgel in hand, to belabour all whom he could reach. Disap- 
 pointed in this anticipation, they removed tlie guy to the bon- 
 fire, and planted the figure, in its chair, on the top. Torches 
 were applied, and amid huzzar; and capers, and a ring of urchins 
 dancing round the pile, the bonfire burst into lurid blaze. 
 
 Joanna saw the faces of the crowd illuminated by the fire. 
 She saw those who lounged out of their windows looking on, 
 laughing and applauding. She gnashed her teeth witli im- 
 potent rage, and clenched her hantls. She sat crouched, frog- 
 like, on the top of a chest of drawers, with her fists closed, and 
 her chin resting on them. 
 
 *Ah!' slie muttered, 'you come to Lazarus, all of you, 
 when in need ; you can't do without him, and yet this is the 
 reward he gets for helping you in trouble. Never mind, he 
 has you all in his grip. He will not scruple now to give a 
 squeeze, and your blood will run between his fingers. You 
 also ! How dare you ! ' she exclaimed, and pointed to an attic 
 window from which peered a Avomau's face. The flames lit up 
 the room, and cast Joanna's shadow against the wall, distorting 
 and exaggerating the length of her extended arm. Her finger 
 indicated the woman leaning forth from the garret window, 
 watching what went on below, and enjoying the scene. That 
 woman was the mother of two children. She pawned the 
 blankets every morning that had covered her and her sons by 
 night, for "t;hree-halfpence, and redeemed the children's clothes 
 for the day. At night she pawned their rags and released the 
 blankets. Six per cent is the legal rate of usury, but Lazarus 
 obtained from this widow five hundred per cent. And this 
 woman dared to applaud his being burnt in elhgy ? Whither 
 is gratitude flown ? 
 
 Suddenly a report, a roar, then a burst of cheers, followed 
 by a crash, and dead silence ! 
 
 The ham-bone had gone ofT! That ham-bone was a rocket 
 disguised in coloured paper. The designer of this exquisite 
 piece of humour liad planned that the rocket, on exploding, 
 should shoot out to sea and extinguish itself innocuously in 
 the Avater ; but in the haste and excitement of planting 
 Lazarus on the pyre no thought liad been given to the pointing 
 of the head of the ham-bone. The only idea prominent in the 
 minds of the urchins was to set the figure opposite the door of 
 the Golden Balls. The rocket was from the Government 
 coastguard stores, liberally contributed by the man invested 
 with charge of them.
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 77 
 
 When the flame ignited the rocket it went off with a rush 
 and roar in quite the opposite direction to the sea, crashed 
 through a window, and disappeared in the tow, tallow, and tar 
 warehouse. 
 
 One precious gift of nature is accorded freely to Englishmen 
 of all ranks and ages — tlie aptitude of doing the right thing 
 at the right moment ; in a word, presence of mind. Those 
 present, the whole crowd of men and boys — instantly realised 
 the gravity of the situation, and did that which was best to be 
 done — they took to their heels. The first to go was the store- 
 keeper who had contributed the rocket, and he went home as 
 fast as the rocket had gone into the tow and tallow shop, 
 slipped into bed, and called his wife's attention to the clock to 
 enable her to swear that he had been laid up at that time of 
 the evening with a bronchial catarrh. He was followed by 
 everyone who had lent a hand or given a halfpenny towards 
 the celebration. Thus the explosion of the ham-bone cleared 
 the quay in five minutes. 
 
 The bargemen looked on from their boats in complacent 
 expectation of a bonfire bigger than that on which Lazarus 
 was burning. Only a few men stood about the pyre, and 
 endeavoured with rakes to tlirust it over the edge of the wharf 
 into the pool before the police appeared. 
 
 Joanna had not observed what had taken place. She had 
 indeed seen the flasli of the rocket and heard the cheers, but 
 from her chest of drawers she could not see the tow and tallow 
 store. 
 
 Why had the crowd dispersed so suddenly ? Why was 
 the bonfire being put out, and tlie half-consumed Lazarus in 
 his flaming chair toppled into Sutton Pool 1 
 
 Joanna was roused by the sound of her master's key in the 
 side doer. She remembered that she had bolted the door, so 
 she descended to withdraw the bar and admit him. Then her 
 pent-up wrath found vent, and she told him of the outrage. 
 
 ' Well,' said Lazarus, without signs of discomposure, ' it 
 won't cost me a penny. Have they singed one of my coats ? 
 burnt my cap ? Not a bit ! so it don't matter to me. Run 
 out, Joanna, with your shovel, and see if you cannot rescue 
 some of the coals which are being wasted, and then look sharp 
 and get me my supper ready. Dear, dear ! The figure was 
 dressed like me, and all the beautiful clothes burning. Don't 
 you think that we might fish liim out of the water and see 
 what can be done with the garments — they cannot be utterly
 
 78 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 spoiled 1 So they are raking out the fire, are they ? Scared 
 by tlie police, I suppose. It is "wicked, inconsiderate waste to 
 toss coals and sticks into the pool. The supper can wait ; the 
 apple won't get cold, and it may ripen by delay.' 
 
 ' What is that 1 ' exclaimed the girl, as a flash of vivid 
 yellow light smote in at the window. * They've surely never 
 gone and lighted the bonfire again.' 
 
 * They are burning what remains of the coal. Oh, the 
 wicked waste ! ' 
 
 ' No ! ' said Joanna, excitedly ; ' the light strikes from the 
 wrong side of the street.' 
 
 She ran to the door, threw it open, and uttered an excla- 
 mation of dismay. 
 
 The tow and tallow store was in flames ; it had burst into 
 blaze at once ; all the windows on the second floor were vividly 
 illuminated, and from one a spout of fire issued and ran up the 
 walls. No one lived in the storehouse ; but an old woman, very 
 deaf, occupied an attic, and she was wont to retire early to bed. 
 
 A light wind was blowing, likely to carry the flames across 
 the street upon the house of the Jew. 
 
 Lazarus stood in the doorway behind the girl. He shai-ed 
 her dismay, but gave louder and more violent expression to it. 
 He swore and stamped. 
 
 ' The fire will catch me ! The fire will burn me and all my 
 pretty, pretty things ! Where are the police ? Where are the 
 fire-engines ? What can I do to save myself? ' 
 
 ' IMaster,' said Joanna, recovering herself, ' the shutters 
 are up below, so that the basement is safe. There is not much 
 danger to be apprehended till the flames issue from the roof ; 
 then it is possil)le they may l)e carried our way, or that sparks 
 will be dropped on our roof and make the slates so hot that 
 they will snap and the rafters ignite.' 
 
 'Oh, Joanna! run, run with all your legs after the fire- 
 engine ! ' cried the Jew, wringing his hands. ' If my house 
 catches I am lost — ruined past recovery ! I may as well die 
 in it. I could not survive its destruction. I cannot bring my 
 pretty things down ; I have no place where to store them. If 
 they are taken into the street they will l)e stolen. There are 
 thousands of beautiful things here no money can replace. It 
 would take an army of men to clear them all out in twenty- 
 four hours ; and the wicked flames allow no time. Run, 
 Joanna, run for the engines ! I'll give a sovereign if they 
 will save my place.'
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. ^^ 
 
 *l\raster,' said Joanna, 'lock the door and admit no one. 
 The five-engines will be here before long. Come with me to 
 the roof ; ^ve must protect that. We must carry up carpets, 
 and spread them over the slates.' 
 
 ' Carpets ! ' exclaimed Lazarus. ' They will be burnt.' 
 
 ' The carpets rather than the whole house.' 
 
 ' Kot number 247, that is a lovable old Persian, worth a 
 lot of money, not much worn. Don't take that.' 
 
 ' Not if we can do without. We will carry up the worst, 
 and I will scramble on to the ridge, and spread the carpets 
 over the roof. Then you must pass me water, and I will keep 
 them moist. I'll take a mop, and when sparks fall I'll mop 
 them out.' 
 
 ' Oh, Joanna, you are a clever girl ! Run ! This is better 
 than the engines ; I sha'n't have to pay for salvage if they 
 send a little squii't over me.' 
 
 Joanna made no answer, but fetched buckets. At the top 
 of the house was an open lead rain-water tank. 
 
 'You must help me with the carpets,' said she, hastily. 
 ' Come, this is not the time to stand bewildered and irresolute.' 
 
 The light shone fiercely, brilliantly illumining the room 
 where they stood, like sunlight. Everything in it was dis- 
 tinctly visible. 
 
 ' Not that Brussels ! ' cried the Jew ; ' it is worth four 
 shillings a yard, and there are a hundred in it, that makes 
 twenty pounds. I cannot aff'ord it ; I will not throw away 
 such a lot of money. Here, if it must be, take this old bed- 
 room Kidderminster, it is full of holes. No, Joanna, keep 
 your hands off the Axminster, it is good as new, and has a 
 border round it.' 
 
 ' Give me the Axminster, I must have it — it is thick and 
 will keep sopped with water longest. Help me up with it.' 
 
 Joanna went out upon the roof dragging the heavy carpets 
 after her by means of a rope which she had looped about 
 them, assisted by Lazarus from below, who thrust the bundles 
 up the ladder a:id through the trap-door. He assisted, but 
 tempered his assistance with j^rotests and groans. The girl 
 scrambled, cat-like, up the low pitched roof, and flung the 
 carpets across the ridge, or fastened two together, and spread 
 one on each side upon the slates. 
 
 ' Give me another,' she shouted. ' Time is precious ; I 
 must, I will, have both the Persian and the Brussels.' 
 
 ' The Persian is not to be parted with under fifteen guineas,'
 
 80 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 moanpcl Lazarus, and tlien half to himself, 'Guineas are an 
 institution ; say pounds when a purchaser asks the price, and 
 when lie conies to pay swear to guineas. Will you have this 
 Kidder. 1 ' 
 
 ' It is too thin,' answered the girl. ' See ! The fire is in 
 the upper storey, and in ten minutes will be through the roof. 
 When that gives way we shall be buried under a rain of fire. 
 Hark ! ' 
 
 ' You hear the engine coming,' said the Jew, ' and the 
 squealing of the old woman in the garret. Joanna, take the 
 Persian, take everything, but save my house.' 
 
 In a brief time Joanna had covered the roof on both sides 
 with carpets and rugs of all sorts and values, and had soused 
 them well with water. The Jew stood in the tank, up to his 
 waist, and filled the pails. The girl drew them up to her by 
 the rope attached to their handles. She was seated astride on 
 the apex of the roof, and poured the contents of the pails over 
 the carpets. 
 
 Whilst Joanna and her master were taking these pre- 
 cautions for the protection of the house of the Golden Balls 
 great excitement prevailed below. Tlie street and the quay 
 were crowded ; the fire-engine played on the roofs adjoining 
 the burning house. At a window high up stood the deaf old 
 housekeeper, wringing her hands and shrieking for help. The 
 crowd roared, women sobbed. The ladder was fixed, and a 
 fireman mounted to the rescue. The mob was silent, then 
 cheered as the man put his arm round the poor creature, and 
 endeavoured to bring her down. But she was too frightened 
 by the aspect of the depth she had to descend to yield, and she 
 struggled, and cried, and escaped back into the room filled with 
 smoke and twinkling with fire, bewildered, and in her mazed 
 mind unable to decide whether to risk a fall or to perish in 
 flames. The struggle was of engrossing interest to those in 
 the street ; neither Joanna nor tlie Jew wasted a thought on 
 it. They were concerned only with the precious house of the 
 Golden Balls, and were supremely indiilerent to the fate of a 
 stupid old woman of seventy-three. 
 
 The firemen and the mob had eyes only for the tow and 
 tallow shop, and the rescue of the housekeeper. When, at 
 length, in spite of her resistance, she was carried down the tire- 
 escape, and received unhurt at the bottom, then only did they 
 observe the proceedings on the roof opposite. 
 
 A gush of vivid flame rushed up into the air, over the pawn-
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 81 
 
 broker's house. Joanna saw the peril, and slipped down the 
 opposite incline of roof into the tank. Directly the danger 
 was over, she rose, scrambled again to her perch, drawing a pail 
 of water after her, which she emptied over some fire-flakes that 
 had fallen on the roof. The spectators had held their breath, 
 believing that the flame had swept her away and cast her down, 
 broken and burnt. When she reappeared she was greeted by a 
 cheer, of which she took no notice, not supposing it was given 
 to her. 
 
 ' There is a hole burnt in the Axminster,' she called to 
 Lazarus. 
 
 The Jew, standing in the tank, streaming with water, held 
 up his arm and answered, ' Oh, Joanna, don't say so ! If that 
 occurs again I'll whack you.' 
 
 ' I cannot help it. I will mend the hole after, if I can.' 
 ' Ah,' said Lazarus, dipping a bucket, ' mend it, mend it ! * 
 In the meantime a consultation had taken place in the 
 street. ' That girl must come ofi" the roof,' said the Captain. 
 ' We must throw our water over it. We can't send the jet till 
 she removes ; it would knock her down. Lord ! she is like a 
 monkey cutting about up there.' 
 
 Joanna had seen a spark resting on the roof beyond her 
 reach, and had gone after it with a mop and extinguished it. 
 The firemen knocked at the house-door, but met with no reply. 
 They tried to force it open, but it was so firmly barred that it 
 resisted their efibrts. 
 
 ' Let be ! ' shouted a gentleman in evening dress. ' Captaia 
 James, let me run up and dislodge her.' 
 
 ' If you like, Mr. Cheek. It must be done at once.' 
 A ladder was appKed to the Jew's house, and the gentleman, 
 mounted, armed with an axe, broke one of the windows, and 
 swung himself into the house. Joanna and Lazarus, who had 
 observed nothing that went on below, were amazed to see him 
 emerge from the attic door upon the roof. 
 
 * Robbers ! burglars ! ' screamed the Jew. ' I'll call the 
 police and have you taken into custody. I'll shoot you I 
 What is it that you want here 1 ' 
 
 ' Come down at once ! ' shouted the gentleman in evening 
 dress to the girl. ' Come down from the roof immediately.' 
 
 ' She is protecting my house from fire ! ' said the Jew. 
 'She shall 'bide where she is.' 
 
 ' Come down ! ' called Mr. Cheek, disregarding Lazarus. 
 ' The roof of the house opposite will give way in a minute, and 
 
 G
 
 82 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 you will be overwhelmed with fire. The engine must play 
 upon this roof.' 
 
 ' I'll have no squirting here,' said the Jew. ' Joanna and 
 I can manage beautifully.' 
 
 ' She will be killed if she stays there,' .said tlie gentleman. 
 
 ' Not she ; she'll slip into tlio tank and duck, as before.' 
 
 ' The engine cannot play till she descends,' remonstrated 
 Mr. Cheek. 
 
 'She sha'n't stir. You only want an excuse to make me 
 pay. ]\Iark my protest. Squirt as you will, you'll pump no 
 money out of my pocket. Joanna and I can manage first-rate 
 without you.' 
 
 Without wasting another word on the Jew, Mr. Cheek 
 crept up the slope of the roof, and seated himself on the ridge, 
 astride, opposite Joanna. The girl was wet through and 
 through. Her dark hair was loose, flapping about her neck 
 and shoulders, dank with moisture. The yellow glare of the 
 burning house was on her face, the flames leaping in her dark 
 eyes ; she held the mop in one hand, and the empty pail 
 dangled from the other. Opposite her was Mr. Check, in fine 
 black cloth evening suit, patent leather boots, white tie, and 
 diamond studs. 
 
 ' Come do^vn, you wild cat ! The roof yonder will be in 
 with a crash directly. Come down at once, and let the engines 
 play over this house.' 
 
 ' Who are you ? Go your way, or I will knock you into the 
 street with my mop.' 
 
 ' Come down, you fool ! do you not realise the danger 1 
 You will bo burned in a wave of flame in another moment. 
 Down at once, or I give the signal, and a jet of water will 
 knock you over as sure as if you were shot.' 
 
 Joanna looked down into the street, and realised the posi- 
 tion. ' I will come,' she said quietly ; * you are right.' 
 
 She threw her foot over the ridge, and slipped down. Mr. 
 Cheek followed. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! ' exclaimed the Jew. ' Young gent ! you've 
 done for your dress suit ; but I've some second-hand articles 
 below you shall have cheap.' 
 
 ' Come out of the tank,' said Mr. Cheek. ' Come under 
 cover at once, before the fire-shower falls. Come in, as you 
 value your life.' 
 
 ' Mr. Charles Cheek ! ' exclaimed Lazarus. ' Bless me ! I 
 did not recognise you at first. We've done business together
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 83 
 
 already, and, I hope, not for the last time. I beg your pardon, 
 if I addressed you without proper respect.' 
 
 ' Come in ; come in at once. The hose is playing.' 
 
 He drew the Jew after him down the step, and fastened 
 the door. Joanna had already descended. They heard the 
 rush of the water above their heads on the slates. 
 
 ' Upon my word,' said the young man, ' that was a clever 
 idea of yours, covering the roof with wet carpet.' 
 
 ' My Joanna suggested it,' answered the Jew. ' A girl that, 
 with the head of a man on her shoulders — but eats like rust, 
 and grows like a debt.' 
 
 ' Well done, you girl ! ' said the young man. ' I must have 
 a look at you.' 
 
 He turned, and saw Joanna, hanging behind, in shadow. 
 He caught her by the shoulders, and drew her to the window, 
 where the glare of the burning warehouse would fall over her 
 face. She was self-composed, and thrust her wet hair back 
 behind her ears, and then, full of confidence, raised her eyes and 
 encountered his. 
 
 ' Upon my word, a fine girl. Of course there are wits 
 behind such great clever eyes. By Jove ! there is devilry 
 there as well.' 
 
 He dropped his hands, as with a crash the roof of the house 
 opposite fell, and they seemed to be enwrapped in flame and 
 light as of the sun. Then they heard the rattle of falling ashes 
 on the slates above them, and the redoubled roar of the water 
 extinguishing the fire that had lodged overhead. 
 
 None of them spoke for some minutes. 
 
 Presently Mr. Cheek said, ' I believe the girl's expedient 
 has saved your house, Mr. Lazarus. I must have a look at her 
 again by daylight. Now I am off. You did not know me as 
 an amateur fireman, Lazarus, did you ? I am hand-and-glove 
 with Captain James. Often help. What is the name of the 
 little devil ? Joanna ? Farewell for the present, Joanna, we 
 shall see each other again. Au revoir ! ' 
 
 G 2
 
 84 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 >vnO WAS RACHEL? 
 
 On the morrow of the fire, Lazarus ascended to the roof and 
 wailed over the spoilt carpets. Joanna consoled him as best 
 she could ; she pointed out to him the masses of charcoal that 
 had fallen on thorn, and which, llaming or glowing, would 
 infallibly have split the slates had they fallen on them. 'Then, 
 even if the timbers did not burn, you would have had to call 
 in the masons to mend tlie roof, and tradesmen, as you well 
 know, are shameless. They would put their nails through the 
 lead gutters to make work for the plumbers, and break addi- 
 tional slates to run up their own bills, and smash windows to 
 force you to call in the glazier, and let the water in on the 
 rafters to rot them, and necessitate the coming of the carpenter.' 
 
 ' That is true, very true, Joanna ; tradesmen are scoundrels. 
 Nevertheless, I must lament over my loss ; it is terrible, it 
 goes to my soul, it corrodes it like canker. The Persian was a 
 real beauty, and the tapestry Brussels was a joy to contemplate. 
 Such colours, such posies of flowers, and no defect anywhere, 
 except an oil-stain in one spot where a lamp had been spilt, 
 and that might have been cleaned for a few shillings. We must 
 have the carpets down as soon as they are dry, and go over 
 them carefully. With a darning needle and some coloured 
 wools, and little patches put in from old carpets, I dare say 
 you may disguise the worst blemishes. Then, my dear, when, 
 you unroll them before purchasers take care to expose the 
 uninjured end. There is a great deal, Joanna, in the rolling of 
 fabrics. Always look well which end is most damaged, and 
 bpgin rolling with that ; then, when you show your goods you 
 show to advantage.' 
 
 When they redescended to the storerooms, Mr. Lazaru8 
 said, ' Dear me ! a window broken ! That was done last night 
 by Mr. Charles Cheek. He meant well, no doubt, but he has 
 done us a damage that will cost many shillings to repair. Not 
 only are the panes broken, but the woodwork is cut away. He 
 is a gentleman, and when he returns, as he said he would, you 
 had l)etter point out the damage, and make out a case to him 
 that I hold you responsible, and that you will have to repair it 
 from your own pocket. If you manage matters well you may
 
 WHO WAS RACHEL? 85 
 
 get twice the value of the repairs from him, and I think I can 
 patch up the window myself. I am skilful Avith my knife, and 
 I have diamonds by the dozen wherewith to cut glass. Putty 
 is easily made with white lead and boiled oil. I don't want 
 any tradesmen in my repository. Light-fingered gents they.' 
 He looked round his storerooms and rubbed his hands. ' What 
 a mighty piece of good luck it was that the tow and tallow 
 shop burnt instead of this emporium of beauty and utility ! I 
 am sure, Joanna,' he added, with unction in his tones, 'we 
 ought to be truly thankful for mercies ; and I hope, my child, 
 you will take this to heart, and be thankful that the old 
 housekeeper over the way was burnt instead of me and you,' 
 
 ' She escaped,' said the girl. ' She was saved by the fire- 
 escape.' 
 
 ' That modifies the case,' observed the Jew. ' Still, though 
 things did not go as far as they might have gone, we sha'n't do 
 wrong to be thankful. At least, you can.' The Jew looked 
 with complacence at his collections of glass, china, furniture, 
 and clothing, and sighed. ' What a quantity of beautiful 
 things we have here ! ' he exclaimed. 'I could sit by the hour 
 looking at them, watching the play of light over the cupboards 
 and washhandstands, and in and out among the old clothes. 
 It is lovely. Don't talk to me about landscape ! I've seen 
 folks sit on the Hoe and look out over Plymouth Sound, and the 
 Mount Edgcumbe woods, and Maker Point, and say it was all 
 a lovely, ever- varying scene. I can make nothing of it ; but 
 I do see a feast of beauty in these storerooms. This is the 
 sort of landscape to gratify the healthy eye. Dear ! dear ! 
 dear ! how could Rachel ever make up her mind to leave this 1 ' 
 
 ' Rachel ! ' exclaimed the girl. ' Who was she 1 ' 
 
 Lazarus shook his head. ' This is a vale of tears,' he said, 
 
 • full of moths. There is one yonder, Joanna ; kill it.' 
 
 ' Who was Rachel 1 ' asked Joanna. 
 
 ' I wish you would go sharp after that moth,' said the Jew. 
 
 * Dear alive ! the mischief these moths do is awful.' 
 
 ' Who was Rachel 1 ' asked Joanna again. ' I will catch 
 no moths till you have satisfied me.' 
 
 ' I will tell you by-and-by.' The Jew sighed. ' Ah ! 
 Joanna, I am not the ungrateful old master you may have 
 supposed me. You have done me many a service, but none 
 greater than that of last night. I know I am indebted to you, 
 less the value of the carpets spoilt by the fire. Deduct them from 
 the total and still something remains, not much, but a balance
 
 86 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 — a small balance. It is pleasant to liave a balance in one's 
 favour, is it not, Joanna ? I will show you my gratitude. We 
 shall liave a regular royal debauch for supper. I have some 
 tinned tomatoes. Tomatoes are said to be nutritious, and 
 clear the complexion. I had half a dozen tins and one over 
 from a broken grocer in Courtney Street. We'll debauch on 
 the odd tin. I am double your age, Joanna, and therefore 
 require twice as much nutriment as you, so I shall cat two 
 tomatoes to your one. You, however, may enjoy the gravy. 
 Sop your bread in that, and close your eyes whilst it lies on 
 your tongue. A tin of tomato is sold for one-and-threepence 
 at the grocers and tenpence at the stores. Hang the expense ; 
 we will revel in good things for once ; and we will wash down 
 the tomatoes with water. That, Joanna, is the drink of the 
 Quality. No more tawny old port, its day is done. Not nutty 
 sherry any more. Not claret, nor Burgundy ; not even 
 champagne. They are all played out. Now the Quality are 
 teetotal. Let us be of the Quality also, and teetotal too. 
 Fashions change in drinks as in dross. Now it is cardinal red 
 and marsala, then crushed strawberries and water. Prepare 
 the table, Joanna.' 
 
 The girl obeyed without enthusiasm. She placed broad on 
 the table in the kitchen, lighted the fire in the stove to heat 
 some vegetables, and threw a ragged but clean cloth over the 
 table. One candle and the fire in the stove illumined the 
 wretched kitchen. 
 
 ' I take a little whisky with my water,' said the Jew, pour- 
 ing some spirits into his glass, ' but I do not approve of alcohol 
 for the young. It stunts their growth, and sows the seeds of a 
 craving for strong liquor which may in after-life bring them 
 to D. T.' 
 
 ' Who was Rachel 1 ' asked Joanna. 
 
 ' Upon my word, Joanna ! What persistency you liave ! 
 When you have set your head on doing a thing you do it, and 
 when you have sot your head on knowing a thing you give a 
 body no peace till you know it.' 
 
 ' You promised to tell me.' 
 
 * I must keep my promise ; I am a conscientious man, and 
 when I say a word I hold by it. That is the principle of busi- 
 ness. Only at the last moment give your word a twist in your 
 direction, if you can. When you have agreed to sell for three 
 sovereigns don't make out the bill for four, but for three 
 guineas.'
 
 WHO WAS EACHEL? 87 
 
 •Who was Rachel?' 
 
 ' SnufF the candle, Joanna, with your fingers, and — there — • 
 don't throw the snufF on the floor lest you set it on fire ; and 
 don't wipe your fingers in your apron where the smut will show, 
 but in your hair, where it will not be seen.' 
 
 ' Who was Rachel ? ' 
 
 ' I will tell you, child, but really you irritate me with your 
 pertinacity. I will first light a pipe. I don't offer you one, as 
 it is not decent for a woman to smoke. The habit might grow 
 and interfere with your matrimonial prospects. Some women 
 take cigarettes on the grounds that they suffer from asthma or 
 bronchitis. You are sound in throat and lung, Joanna, sound 
 as a bell. Never knew anything the matter with you except 
 inordinate appetite. Let me have that chair, Joanna. It is 
 the only one with a seat. You can accommodate yourself on 
 the fender.' 
 
 An old flour-barrel stood in the corner. Joanna sprang on 
 it and seated herself thereon. Then, fixing the Jew with her 
 keen eyes, she asked again, ' Who was Rachel 1 ' 
 
 ' Really, Joanna,' said the pawnbroker, ' your ways are in- 
 human, and give one a cold shiver. You squat there on the 
 cask like a goblin in an illustrated fairy-tale. You ai'e not a bit 
 like an ordinary girl. There is no buoyancy and freshness in 
 you. Yet — I'll tell you what — I'll do something splendid to 
 show you my gratitude, and wipe off" my indebtedness. I'll learn 
 you to dance.' 
 
 ' What ! ' exclaimed the girl, starting. 
 
 ' I have a bad debt with a dancing master,' said the Jew ; 
 • and the only way in which I can recover my money is to take 
 it out in lessons. You want refinement and deportment, and 
 I will do what is magnanimous, and have you instructed by 
 Mr. Deuxtemps in what becomes a lady. You shall learn to 
 polk and jig and curtsey like a blue-blooded born marchioness.' 
 
 ' That's grand,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' I thought I should please you,' said the Jew ; ' I'm not a 
 master to be served without reward. Now I will do something 
 more for you. I will show you the jewels I have, and perhaps 
 let you put some on. I have diamonds, carbuncles, and sapphires 
 fit to make a cat scream. Put out the fire, give me the candle, 
 and follow me to ray room.' 
 
 He led the way into his private chamber, where was his 
 bed, and where he kept his most precious articles, his money, 
 and his account-books. He set the candle on the table, and
 
 88 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 unlocked one of the sedan chairs. At the bottom was an iron 
 chest. He opened it and took out some jewel cases. ' No, my 
 daughter,' he said, ' you cannot appreciate the darlings by this 
 light. See this necklace, Joanna, it is made of pearls, and this 
 brooch is of diamonds, so is the circlet for the hair. Get along 
 with you ; light another candle, curse the expense ! and put 
 the rose silk dress on you. Do up your hair as if for a ball, 
 and I will try the jewels on you. I allow you a quarter of an 
 hour for rigging yourself out. Take Avhatever you require, but 
 mind and replace all when you have done ; also, don't remove 
 the tickets.' 
 
 In about twenty minutes Joanna returned. When she 
 entered she found a brass chandelier hung from the ceiling full 
 of candles and alight, filling the room with unwonted splendour. 
 The Jew sat on his bed rubbing his hands, and when she came 
 in he laughed aloud and clapped his palms on his knees, and 
 kicked his heels against the board at his bedside. 
 
 Joanna looked taller in her dress of rose silk. Her neck, 
 bosom, and arms were bare. She had edged the breast and 
 sleeves with rich old lace. Her raven hair was brushed back 
 and rolled over her head, exposing her ears. Thinking her 
 boots too heavy, she had thrown tliem off, and came in her 
 stocking soles, but as the gown was long her lack of shoes was 
 unperceived. She entered the room of Lazarus without a blush 
 or a smile, perfectly composed in manner, and stood before him 
 under the chandelier. 
 
 ' Give me the diamonds,' she said, 
 
 'No,' he answered, 'you shall have the pearls. An un- 
 married woman does not wear diamonds. I have a chain of 
 Roman pearls for your hair, and another for your pretty throat.' 
 
 Lazarus looked at her with amazed admiration. She was 
 extraordinarily beautiful ; her neck long and graceful, her hair 
 rich and lustrous, her features finely cut, and her magnificent 
 eyes full of intelligence. The grub had developed into a gor- 
 geous butterfly. 
 
 The Jew contemplated her in silence for some minutes, and 
 then he screamed with laughter. 
 
 •Joanna ! your liands, your hands ! ' 
 
 She put her hands behind her, and coloured. ' I could find 
 no gloves,' she said, looking down. 
 
 ' A pair of dirty hands is a liadge of honour,' said the pawn- 
 broker. ' Don't be ashamed of them.' 
 
 'They are not dirty,' answered the girl, sullenly, 'but grimy
 
 WHO WAS EACHEL? 89 
 
 from -work. I have washed and washed, but the black grain 
 will not out.' 
 
 ' "Work, work, work ! ' said the Jew ; * now dance.' 
 
 ' I cannot. I do not know how,' answered Joanna. ' Give 
 me the jewels.' 
 
 He offered her the cases, and she put the pearls about 
 her throat, then wove a chain in and out among her black 
 hair. 
 
 'You are very beautiful,' said the Jew. 'If your hands 
 were gloved you would do famously.' 
 
 ' For what 1 ' asked Joanna. 
 
 ' For showing off dresses and jewels. When the ladies saw 
 you they'd buy, thinking everything was sure to become them 
 as they suit you.' 
 
 Then Joanna said quietly and determinedly, ' Who was 
 Rachel ? ' 
 
 ' Rachel, my dear ! Bless me, for the moment I had for- 
 gotten her. I doubt if even she was as splendid a beauty as 
 yourself, and you are handsome enough. She hadn't your per- 
 tinacity. How you do fasten on one, and stick till you have 
 extracted what you require ! ' 
 
 ' I want to know who Rachel was.' 
 
 * There, sit down in the sedan, and I will tell you.' 
 
 * I prefer to stand.' 
 
 ' Then stand, if you will. It costs less ; you are not wear- 
 ing out the leather of the seat. Besides, I like to look at you. 
 I could sell that rose silk for half as much again if I could show 
 you in it to a purchaser. Well, I'm sorry I said a word about 
 Rachel. Her name slipped off my tongue, when my mouth was 
 ajar. Rachel, my dear — Rachel was my wife.' 
 
 ' Your wife ! — is she dead 1 ' 
 
 * No, Joanna, I believe not.' 
 
 * Where is she 1 ' 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 * Did she leave you ? * 
 
 * She was young, only seventeen, when I married her — one 
 of my own faith and race, and beautiful — superbly beautiful. 
 She did not fancy the business. She did not take to the house. 
 Her taste lay in stage plays and dances, and gallivanting. We 
 couldn't agree, and after we had been married about a year she 
 took herself off. How ever she could have the heart to leave 
 all this furniture, and the carpets, and the second-hand plate, 
 and the red coats, and a sweet Florentine marqueterie cabinet
 
 90 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 I tlicn liad, and afterwards sold for twenty-seven guineas, is 
 amazing.' 
 
 ' Whither did she go ? ' 
 
 * I do not know.' 
 
 ' And you do not know where she is now ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 ' Has she ever shown a desix'e to I'eturn liome 1 ' 
 
 ' Never, never ! ' 
 
 ' Would you receive her if she did return ? ' 
 
 ' I would not.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 The Jew was silent. Joanna looked hard at him and 
 asked, ' Did she go alone ? ' 
 
 He sprang from the bed, and paced the room. His face 
 was changed, and Joanna, who watched him, was startled 
 and drew back ; the expression of his features was so threat- 
 ening and repulsive. 
 
 'I have told you enough,' he said hoarsely. 'I will tell 
 you no more.' 
 
 He continued to pace the room. His face was livid, his 
 eyes glared, his thick coarse lips were tightly drawn, and his 
 fleshy cheeks were lined and shrunk. 
 
 Presently he turned his head towards her, but he seemed 
 scarcely to observe hor. ' Let me have him firm here, in the 
 liollow of my hand,' he said in hard tones vil:)rating with 
 passion, ' and I will squeeze and squeeze till the life is squeezed 
 out of him. Let me grasp him, and I will tear him down, 
 him and all his family. I will not spare him, and then I Avill 
 caper over him, and you shall dance with me up and down 
 and in and out over their broken bones and crushed flesh, and 
 beat out their brains with our feet, and stamp their marrow 
 into the mire.' Tlion tlie door-bell rang. 
 
 Lazartis stood still, looking about him confusedly. He put 
 his hand to his brow, to help his brain to recover its thoughts. 
 Again the bell rang. 
 
 Joanna moved to the door to answer the summons. 
 
 ' No, no,' said the Jew, ' not in silk attire, not bedecked 
 ■with pearls. I will go and see who rings.'
 
 91 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CHARLIE CHEEK. 
 
 Joanna remained standing under the lustre, awaiting her 
 master's return. She heard him in the passage speaking with 
 some one, and then his feet sounded, shuffling in his slippers 
 towards the door, followed by a firmer footfall. Then the 
 door was thrown open, and he stood back, and bowed, to 
 admit Mr. Charles Cheek. 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' exclaimed the young man, * a lady here ! ' 
 
 ' Look at her ! Look at her well ! ' exclaimed Lazarus, 
 crowing and rubbing his hands. ' I'll bet you a foreign coin 
 that you don't recognise my Joanna.' 
 
 Charles Cheek looked at the tall, beautiful girl with as- 
 tonishment, and then broke into a merry laugh. 
 
 ' Excuse me,' he said, ' but I cannot help myself. One 
 night we meet on the roof of the house, I in evening dress 
 and you in working clothes ; and to-night we meet again, 
 under the roof, I in my morning suit and paletot, and you 
 dressed for a ball, and certain to be its belle. Whither are 
 you going, Miss Joanna, for positively I must go there also, 
 and secure you for half a dozen dances ? ' 
 
 * I am going nowhere,' answered the girl, coldly ; ' I cannot 
 dance. I am merely dressed, like the block in the milliner's, 
 for the display of the goods.' 
 
 ' Joanna is going to learn to dance,' said the Jew. ' I in- 
 tend indulging her in that expensive luxury. She behaved 
 herself, on the whole, well last night, and I must show her my 
 satisfaction. I am a free-handed, liberal-hearted man, as aU 
 who have dealings with me can testify.' 
 
 ' Going to learn to dance, are you 1 ' asked Charles Cheek, 
 looking at the girl with amused curiosity. ' What next — 
 French and the pianoforte ? ' 
 
 Joanna was nettled, and flaslied an angry glance at him. 
 
 ' Now don't she look well V asked Lazarus. ' Who'd think, 
 seeing her now, that she was drawn out of Laira mud, like a 
 drowned rat, and pawned for ten shillings ? ' 
 
 The girl coloured and her brow darkened. 
 
 'Never mind whence she came. I was discovered in a 
 box of preserved figs. She looks as if the rose silk and the
 
 92 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 pearls bolongod to her, and slie was born to wear them. 
 Why, if Joanna were to appear at the hunt or the subscrip- 
 tion ball, the gentlemen would swarm round her, and the 
 ladies die of envy.' 
 
 ' She shall go,' laughed the Jew, * I will send her there.' 
 
 Charles Cheek shook his head and laughed. 
 
 * Why do you shake your head ? ' asked Joanna, looking 
 hard at him. 
 
 * It wouldn't do,' he answered. 
 ' Why not 1 ' she asked. 
 
 ' There are reasons that make it impossible.' 
 ' What reasons ? ' 
 
 ' There are none,' broke in the Jew. ' If I choose to send 
 her to the subscription ball, who is to say nie nay ? ' 
 
 * You could not send her alone. A lady must chaperone 
 her,' explained the young man, hesitatingly. He did not wish 
 to hurt Joanna's feelings by entering into particulars. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' shouted Lazarus. ' If I will that she go, I 
 can find plenty of ladies to take her, who must take her be- 
 cause I desire it. Ladies of good position will do me a favour 
 if I ask it. They dare not refuse.' 
 
 ' I do not dispute your power, Father Lazarus ; I say the 
 thing is impossible, because Joanna has too much common 
 sense to venture where she does not know her ground.' 
 
 Joanna fired to her temples and said nothing more. 
 
 The Jew was more obtuse ; he said, ' What ! don't she 
 look every inch a lady 1 It is the dress — the dress makes the 
 lady.' 
 
 ' Put that rose silk on one of the rowdy women or girls 
 quarrelling or rollicking in the street now, and she will look a 
 bedizened monkey, or something worse. No, Mr. Lazarus ; 
 it is not the dress that makes the lady, it is the lady that 
 makes the dress. When are you going to learn dancing, 
 Joanna 1 ' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 « Where 1 ' 
 
 ' Here.' 
 
 ' Who are going to dance with you 1 * 
 
 ' No one.' 
 
 'Then you will never learn. I will come and be your 
 partner. Lazarus ! sweep together some of your Mosaic girls, 
 and I'll bring a friend or two, and we will have the j oiliest 
 dancing lessons imaginable.'
 
 CHARLIE CHEEK. 93 
 
 The pawnbroker frowned. * Mr. Cheek, I am not going to 
 turn this house into a casino. I promised Joanna she should 
 learn to dance, and I stick to my word. I can't get my money 
 out of the dancing-master, so I may as well get its worth. 
 That is better than nothing.' 
 
 * May I come and help ? I am an accomplished dancer.' 
 
 ' That is as you choose,' answered the Jew ; ' only I won't 
 have any of your fast friends here. If you will come in a 
 quiet way, come ; only, don't expect to find Joanna dressed 
 up like to-night.' 
 
 ' Of course she must be in proper attire. No one can 
 dance in working clothes.' 
 
 ' She has no other.' 
 
 ' What !— not Sunday clothes 1 ' 
 
 ' Sunday is nothing to us.' 
 
 ' What ! no go-to-meeting clothes ?' 
 
 ' She never goes to meeting.' 
 
 * Nor to church 1 ' 
 'No.' 
 
 * Nor synagogue, nor chapel ? ' 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' exclaimed Charles Cheek, * what is Sunday 
 instituted for 1 What are churches and chapels built for, but 
 the display of smart clothes ? Lazarus, what a heathen of a 
 Jew you are, not to allow the girl a day on which to shake off 
 her rags and put on fine feathers ! Lazarus, we have a little 
 account together ; put down the rose silk to it, and let me 
 present it and that necklet of Roman pearls to Miss Joanna. 
 Will you accept the present, my lady Joan, and wear them at 
 our dance rehearsals ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' answered the girl, looking do\vTi. 
 
 ' Of course she will,' said the Jew, nudging Joanna. 
 
 ' I said, I did not know.' The girl spoke firmly. ' I will 
 tell you some other time.' 
 
 ' Will you stop and have a bite of supper 1 ' asked the Jew. 
 * The festive board is spread. The tin of tomatoes is on the 
 table, so is the bread. True, we have had our light refection, 
 but we will share the remains with you. Water, sparkling 
 and pure off" Dartmoor, brought all the way by the great Sir 
 Francis Drake in a conduit. Who'd have thought the great 
 navigator such a fine engineer ! ' 
 
 ' Lazarus,' exclaimed the young man, ' I know you can play 
 Ji fiddle ; you tried once to sell me a violin for twice its worth,
 
 94 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 and played mo something on it. Get do\vn an instrument at 
 once, and let me put Joanna into the way of waltzing. She 
 has it in her 3 a hint, and away she goes. I bet you a 
 sovereign, in a quarter of an hour she will be able to step in a 
 waltz as well as an experienced dancer of seven seasons. Look 
 here, Mr. Lazarus, you whispered the word " supper." I don't 
 like your suggestion of cold tomatoes and cooling draughts. 
 What do you say to pigeon or beefsteak pie and a bottle of 
 champagne 1 ' 
 
 The Jew's eyes twinkled. ' Very well,' said he, * so let it 
 be. I'll run down the street and get what you desire — I can- 
 not send Joanna in her present costume — and be back in three 
 seconds. Then I'll give you a scrape on my fiddle — Strauss or 
 Waldteufel — and do what you can with Joanna. I know her. 
 She don't want twice telling to learn a thing, not she. Of 
 course you pay for the pie and the champagne. I am not 
 responsible.' 
 
 ' Certainly. Tell me what I have to pay, and I will re- 
 fund the outlay.' 
 
 ' Would you mind advancing half a sovereign V said Lazarus. 
 ' I have only three-halfpence in my purse.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek tossed him the money. Lazarus caught it as 
 sharply as a dog snaps at a bit of meat. When Lazarus had 
 disappeared, Joanna looked steadily at the young man, and 
 asked, ' Why is it impossible for me to go to a ball 1 ' 
 
 ' I did not say that you could not go to a ball.' 
 
 ' No, you implied that I had too much sense to appear in 
 the society of gentlemen and ladies.' 
 
 Charles Cheek slightly coloured, stammered, and said, 
 'Well, I did mean that.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' You ask me 1 Do you not yourself understand 1 ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 He thought for a moment, and then he said, * My girl, you 
 would not tliink of going to a grand ball as I saw you last 
 night, astride on a gable, a pail in one hand and a mop in the 
 other, clothes and hair streaming with water, and a black 
 smirch of soot across your forehead — with, moreover, a smock 
 in holes, and one slipper on, the other oftV 
 
 ' No, I would not.' 
 
 ' Very well. You would appear as you are now.' 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 ' But more dress than this is expected. Your mind must
 
 CHARLIE CHEEK. 95 
 
 be in rose silk and pearls. Your tongue must be in full dress ; 
 your manner must be the same. Let me tell you that, among 
 ladies, their tongues and their minds are never with one slipper 
 off, the other on, never with sooty smears across them, but 
 always wreathed with pearls and rustling in rose silk. They 
 have never known anything else. Do you understand me 1 ' 
 
 Joanna put her finger to her lips and considered. As she 
 thought, she put forward one of her feet ; Charles Cheek 
 noticed it at once. ' Joanna,' he said, ' you are dressed like a 
 princess, but you betray yourself by your stocking. You are 
 not only shoeless, but you have a hole in your sock.' 
 
 The girl started, and drew back her foot. 
 
 ' I do not want to hurt you,' he said goodnaturedly ; ' I use 
 this only as an illustration of what I mean. If you were in 
 the society of gentlemen and ladies, you would betray yourself 
 by your stocking holes.' 
 
 ' I would not wear ' She stopped. 
 
 *No. I do not mean stockings. I mean the gaps and 
 shortcomings in speech and culture.' 
 
 She looked intently at him for a minute. 
 
 ' I have never seen real ladies and gentlemen — never, that 
 is, except on business. Are you a real, proper gentleman ? ' 
 
 Charles laughed. ' That is a cruel question, Joanna ; I 
 cannot answer it. You must inquire of others.' 
 
 Joanna considered again. Presently she said, ' Here I see 
 nothing but raggedness, wretchedness, and care. I know 
 nothing of a richly clothed, happy, and careless world. Here 
 I am surrounded by poverty, and the air is charged with the 
 dust of old clothes and the reek of Laira mud ; the light that 
 comes through these windows is never clean ; the air is always 
 stale. Why should not I sometimes spring up into the region 
 of light and liveliness 1 Lazarus often tells me I am a maggot, 
 but a maggot becomes a moth with wings of silver. Am I to 
 be always a grub — never to rise 1 If Lazarus offers me the 
 chance to have a short flutter, may I not accept it ? ' 
 
 'You are a queer girl,' answered the young man. 'Take 
 care not to leave your proper element. Have you ever heard 
 of the flying fish ? The fish have fins so long that they can 
 rise on them a little way out of the waves, and the silly 
 creatures think they are birds ; so they spring above the water, 
 and are immediately snapped up by gulls.' 
 
 Joanna laughed. ' I am not afraid of that ; I am more 
 likely to snap the gulls than the gulls snap me.'
 
 96 CX)URT ROYAL. 
 
 ' You are a comical girl,' said Charles. ' It is a pleasure 
 to hear you talk. Are you happy in this den 1 ' 
 
 ' How can I be ? Look about at the den. I will show you 
 where I sleep, on a sack full of shavings under the counter. 
 My food consists of crusts of bread, rinds of cheese, and apple 
 pai'ings, which Lazarus cannot cat. My playground is a back- 
 yard in which the only green thing is the slime on the pave- 
 ment. Lazarus has no Sundays and I no Sabbaths, so I never 
 have a holiday.' 
 
 ' Then why do you not leave ? ' 
 
 ' Because I caniiot. I am pawned.' 
 
 ' Pawned ! ' 
 
 ' Pawned by my mother. I cannot leave. She expects 
 me to remain till she redeems me. There is no help for it. I 
 must abide where I am till she returns.' 
 
 ' Where is your mother ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! and you are enslaved all this while, with- 
 out power of obtaining your freedom ! — Till when 1 ' 
 
 ' Till I am nineteen years old — that is, seven years since 
 mother pawned me. If she does not bring the ticket and re- 
 lease me before then ' She did not finish the sentence. 
 
 ' Well then 1 ' 
 
 ' I will kill myself.' 
 
 'Nonsense, Joanna. You are a little goose. I can't 
 follow your scruples. I see no right and wrong in the matter 
 — no such obligations as you fancy.' 
 
 ' I do not suppose you can. You belong to the gentry.' 
 
 ' Well ! ' Charles Cheek laughed. ' Have gentlefolks no 
 consciences 1 ' 
 
 ' No, none at all,' she replied. 
 
 ' How do you know that 1 ' 
 
 ' Because I know them through Lazarus' books and the 
 society papers.' 
 
 * And you have no other sources of information ? ' 
 
 ' I want no other. Lazarus deals with gentlefolks of all 
 kinds, and through his account books and what he tells me I 
 know about most of the officers and officers' wives and gentle- 
 folks of every sort here, and the society papers tell us what the 
 rest are like in London.' 
 
 'Every picture has two sides, Joanna. You see only the 
 back.' 
 
 * Has society another side 1 *
 
 CHARLIE CHEEK. 97 
 
 * Of course it has.' 
 
 ' I cannot believe it. The world of men is cut into two 
 halves — the rich and happy and vicious, and the poor and 
 miserable and deserving. I will not say that the poor are 
 good — I see too much of them to assert that, but they deserve 
 what is better than they have. They cannot be good because 
 they are wretched. No one can be good under a hundred and 
 fifty per annum.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek laughed. ' Or with an income above that limit.' 
 
 ' Below that sum, come gnawing care, and grasping for coin, 
 and biting and eating one another. Above that sum, idleness 
 and waste and luxury.' 
 
 ' And so, you comical socialist, you take as gospel all you 
 read in the society papers, and believe in the utter corruption 
 of the aristocracy.' 
 
 ' It is in print. What I read is read by tens of thousands. 
 The old woman who sells shrimps and ginger-beer, the barge- 
 man in the coal-boat, the men in Eddystone, the board-school 
 children, all read the society papers, and gather from them con- 
 victions that the upper ranks of life are corrupt to the core, 
 and burn with desire to tear them down in the interests of 
 morality, and cast them in the gutter. Why should we lie 
 on sacks of shavings and eat cheese rinds, and never leave the 
 Barbican and escape the smell of Sutton Pool, and they bed 
 in down and fare sumptuously, and go to opera and ball in the 
 season and to their parks or to the sea out of season ? I would 
 I had the remaking of the world. I would cut the rich down 
 to a hundred and fifty, and pull up the poor to the same figure. 
 Then we should have an equalisation of happiness. Hark ! 
 here comes Lazarus ; I hear his key.' 
 
 ' Joanna, it is rare fun to hear you talk ! Tell me, will you 
 accept my present of the dress and chain 1 ' 
 
 ' I will,' she answered. ' I would not at first, because I 
 doubted whether you laughed at me or pitied me.' 
 
 'I certainly pity you.' 
 
 ' Then I take your present, and thank you.' 
 
 The Jew entered, a basket on one arm, a bottle under the 
 other. He was elated and chuckling. 
 
 ' I have been absent some time,' he said ; ' I found the wine 
 merchants closed, and I would not have bad gooseberry at the 
 tavern. Here is the pie ' — he opened the basket — ' and a 
 dozen raspberry tartlets, and a pound of clotted cream. I 
 understood you to say tartlets, Mr. Cheek,' 
 
 B
 
 98 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' As you will.' 
 
 ' I am positive you desired me to buy thoni; I particul.arly 
 remember tliat you specitied raspberry. Also cream at one 
 and four. The pot I can return, so it will not be charged. 
 I had to carry the cream very tenderly, so as not to spill a drop. 
 Then,' he added, ' I have added my own contribution to the 
 feast, one apiece. "Blow the expense ! " said I, " oranges are 
 now at a price within the reach of the poor — twenty-one for a 
 shilling." ' 
 
 ' You will produce your violin 1 ' 
 
 ' Certainly. I hope Joanna has entertained you whilst I 
 have been away.' 
 
 'Famously. She is a comical girl, and I enjoy a talk with 
 her — the first of many, I trust.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EMS WATER. 
 
 Joanna was unable to sleep that night. The champagne 
 had excited her brain, and she lay watchful under the counter 
 in the shop, tossing on the sack of shavings. The night 
 was cold, so she had thrown a military greatcoat over 
 her, and a black rug across her feet. She mused on what had 
 taken place — the wonder in the eyes of the young man when 
 he saw her in the silk attire, the interest she had awakened in 
 him by her conversation and her good looks. She had a cool 
 head, and was able to weigh the value of his admiration. She 
 had measured the man. She knew him to be amiable, with 
 fair abilities, but shallow. He was good-natured and weak. 
 He had promised to I'eturn, but she placed no reliance on his 
 promises. If he had nothing better to amuse him, he would 
 come, not otherwise. But though she was aware that his 
 liking for her was not deep, easy to be effaced, she was pleased 
 with having aroused a transient fancy. A light had flashed 
 into her dull life. She was unaccustomed to amusement of any 
 sort. She had not associated with the children of the Barbican, 
 nor shared in their games. Her master's unpopulai-ity had 
 affected her ; the exigencies of his service had cut her oft" from 
 social pleasures.
 
 THE EMS WATER. 99 
 
 She had spoken to Mr. Cheek with force and freedom on 
 the distinction between the lots of rich and poor. She had 
 spoken more strongly than she felt. Her ideas formulated on her 
 tongue as she spoke. She had no sympathy with the poor ; 
 they were the proper pi'ey of a usurer. That they brought 
 wretchedness on themselves by their own recklessness, im- 
 providence, and idleness, she knew very well. She took ad- 
 vantage of their necessities without compunction. But she 
 felt keenly her own condition and her powerlessness to escape 
 from it. The enigmas of life, that lie unperceived in savage- 
 dom, rise into prominence with civilisation, and as culture ad- 
 vances become more perplexing and insoluble. 
 
 Joanna sat up under the counter. Lazarus was asleep. She 
 could hear his snoring. He was a noisy sleeper, and though 
 his door was shut and locked, his nasal trumpetings were 
 audible in the shop, and annoyed the girl. On the counter 
 above her was a tin case containing a ball of twine ; the end 
 of the twine hung down over the edge, and as she tossed on her 
 sack touched and tickled her face. She laid hold of the end of 
 string and threw it up, but it fell back on her face. Then she 
 began to pull at it, and unwind the ball, and rewind on her 
 fingers. The ball seemed interminable. She was engaged on it 
 half an hour, running the twine out and rolling it again. She 
 did it for a distraction, and as she did it the thought came on 
 her that it was thus with her life ; she was drawing out yard 
 after yard of existence, all alike, with a knot here and there, 
 all much the same, and then, suddenly — there was an end. It 
 mattered nothing when the end came, the entire string was so 
 utterly uninteresting. 
 
 As sleep would not come to her, she shook off the rug and 
 crawled from her bed. The night was cold, and she was par- 
 tially undressed. Therefore she drew on the military greatcoat. 
 Thus attired, in her stocking soles, she stole out of the shop to 
 the stairs. She had a favourite retreat on the roof, where she 
 could be quiet and think. There she had a few pots of flowers 
 and a little stool. Perhaps the night air would bring drowsi- 
 ness to her lids. A problem was perplexing her restless mind ; 
 she could not sleep with that unsolved. The problem was 
 this : Why were artisans and domestic servants dissatisfied, 
 and why were shopkeepers content with their lot 1 All were 
 workers alike. Lazarus worked harder than most day labourers ; 
 the man at the ham and pork shop worked like a slave, so did 
 the greengrocer, so did the paperhanger next door but one. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 COURT IIOYAL. 
 
 These were cheery folk, and did not grumble at their conditioai 
 It was otherwise with the journeyman plumber, and carpenter, 
 and tlie factory hand, and the maid-of-all work. These were 
 impatient of their position and hated their labour. 
 
 Joanna traversed the storerooms. The gas-lamp in the 
 street threw in sufficient light for her to see the furniture, and 
 to thread her way without touching and upsetting anything. 
 Had the lamp indeed been extinguished she would have found 
 her way noiselessly about those rooms, and brought from them 
 whatever was required. Slie went to tlie window, and looked 
 across the way at the ruin of the house that had been consumed 
 the night before. Every pane of glass was broken ; the 
 entire roof had fallen in. Then Joanna went into the room 
 from which the carpets had been removed to protect the roof, 
 and which still covered it. Here alone was an empty space. 
 Joanna cast off the thick coat, and sprang lightly into the 
 middle, stood on tiptoe and threw about her arms and twirled 
 as she had seen in pictures of ballet-dancers. Then she 
 hummed to herself a waltz of Strauss, and began to dance, 
 with fantastic gesture, the step she had acquired that evening 
 from Charles Cheek. 
 
 Presently, fearing lest her tread should disturb the Jew, 
 she reinvested herself in the long grey overcoat, and ascended 
 the ladder to the roof. 
 
 The cold air made her shiver, but it was fresh after the 
 close, dust-laden atmosphere of the house. The stars were 
 burning brightly overhead. 
 
 She looked at her plants ; several of the pots were knocked 
 down. One was broken, and the earth had fallen from the 
 roots. She had the l)all of twine in the pocket of the coat, 
 and she took from it sufficient to bind together the broken 
 sherds. She cut the string with her teeth ; then she put in 
 the earth again. The geranium in the spoutless teapot must 
 come in, and sleep for tlie winter. The fuchsia must have 
 fresh earth about the roots ; the Guernsey lily needed to be 
 divided. All this would have to be done by daylight on the 
 morrow. Then she took up a pot in which was heather, a 
 little heather in peat she had taken up wild and carried home 
 on one rare occasion when she had been in the country for a 
 holiday, on Roborough Down. She loved the heather above 
 every flower she had, yet it was sickly in confinement. Perhaps 
 it was cold up there on the slates. So she took the pot in 
 her arms seated herself, hugging it, with the greatcoat wrapped
 
 THE EMS WATER. 101 
 
 round her and the heather, and began to think. She could 
 not see into the streets from where she sat, as the parapet cut 
 them off, but she saw the yellow haze that hung over Plymouth, 
 the reflection of the lights in the fine vapour that overarched it. 
 The taverns were shut ; no drunken men were about the Bar- 
 bican. The outline of the citadel stood dark above the harbour. 
 She could see the lighthouse at the pier-head, and far out, 
 reflected in the quivering water, the spark of Mount Batten 
 light. Joanna thought first of her flowers, and then, last of 
 all, of the problem she had climbed to the roof to solve : 
 Why did the labouring class hate work, and the trading class 
 love it greedily ? The girls from the country streamed into 
 Plymouth, because they had been taught to read and write — 
 to read novels and write love-letters — and therefore counted 
 themselves superior to feeding pigs and making butter. They 
 went into service, and when they found that there they were 
 expected to dust chairs and wash up breakfast things they 
 went on the streets. That was an everyday story. They fled 
 work because work was hateful. The young men poured into 
 town from the country to escape the plough and the spade, 
 and when they found that they were expected to work at a 
 trade, they earned their bread with resentment at their hearts, 
 because 7:>rara necessitas insisted on labour ; and they blas- 
 phemed God and dreamed of upsetting the social order 
 because forced to work. Why was this 1 The moment, how- 
 ever, that the parlour-maid became a married woman and had 
 a home to care for, she toiled without grudging time or labour. 
 The moment the artisan opened a shop and worked for himself, 
 he was reconciled with Providence and the social system. 
 Why was this ? Unconsciously, Joanna had struck the solu- 
 tion. Content came when man or woman worked for self. 
 Discontent was consequent on working for others. ' This is it,' 
 she exclaimed ; ' to be happy and good one must care only for 
 self, and not a brass farthing for anyone besides.' That was 
 Joanna's philosophy of life, hammered out of her experience 
 and observation. 
 
 Having arrived at this conclusion she stood up. * I am 
 cold,' she said, ' so is the pot of heath. We must go in.' 
 Then she stole downstairs. 
 
 Joanna descended very softly, lest she should rouse 
 Lazarus. She listened on the stair for his snore. If that 
 were inaudible, it would behove her to walk warily. He might 
 be lurking in a corner or behind a door, ready to leap forth
 
 102 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 witli liis stick and batter lior. No — she did not hear it. She 
 put foot after foot before her most cautiously, listening and 
 peering about her in the dark. Then — she heard a sound, an 
 unusual sound, which made her heart stand still ; she stood 
 with poised foot and uplifted hand to her ear. 
 
 The sound came from the back kitchen, and simultaneously 
 she heard the choking snort of ]\Ir. Lazarus in his bed- 
 room. 
 
 She crept so noiselessly down the last steps that she would 
 not have scared a mouse, and craned her neck to see who or 
 what was in the back kitchen. In that back kitchen was a 
 low, square window over the sink. Her eyes were sufficiently 
 accustomed to the dark for her to see that the window was 
 obscured by a dark body. She made out that the sash had 
 been thrown up, and that a man was crawling in at the narrow 
 opening. She saw also, by a feeble glimmer, that a second man 
 stood in the outer kitchen, holding a dark lantern, waiting for 
 his fellow to enter as he had come in. 
 
 Joanna did not scream. Her lungs were more powerful 
 than when, as a child, her mother had commended her powers 
 of screaming. She knew that if she set up an alarm the first 
 impulse of the burglar would be to stop her voice, and that 
 he •would have no scruples as to the manner in which he 
 attained his object. Joanna had matches within reach, but 
 she did not strike a light. She was too wise to expose herself 
 to observation. She preferred observing unseen. She con- 
 sidered what she had better do, and, having rapidly determined, 
 proceeded to take her course with celerity, circumspection, and 
 silence. She stepped, unobserved, from the stair into the 
 passage leading to the chamber of her master and to the shop. 
 She was sure that the burglars would not ascend to the store- 
 rooms, to burden themselves with sets of bedroom crockery or 
 chests of drawers. They would look for what was most valu- 
 able in the smallest portable form, money and jewels and 
 plate ; and all these were in the bedroom of Lazarus. This 
 was the point of attack that must be defended. 
 
 Now the thought crossed the mind of Joanna that she 
 might slip into the shop, close the door between and open the 
 shop door, run into the street and give the alarm ; but her 
 blood was up. She was a brave girl, she was also a girl 
 quickly roused to anger, and she was now, not afraid, l)ut 
 furious. If men had dared to break into her master's house, 
 she was determined they should not leave it without a lasting
 
 THE EMS WATER. 103 
 
 lesson not to do so again, at least while she was there to 
 protect it. 
 
 Joanna was unprovided with firearms. Lazarus had a 
 revolver in his room, always loaded; but he took time to rouse, 
 being a heavy sleeper. Against the wall ranged in the passage 
 were the bottles of Ems water. Above, on nails hung a large 
 locked saw. She took it down, and removed the wooden cover 
 to the teeth. Then she crouched on the ground, waiting, 
 watching like a terrier at a rat-hole. Her eyes were on the 
 back kitchen door. 
 
 Presently she saw the faint light of the closed lantern in 
 the front kitchen, and heard the fall of bare feet on the floor. 
 She raised her arm with deliberation, with eyes riveted on her 
 object, and flung a bottle of Ems water, not under hand, as a 
 girl casts, but as a boy hurls. A gasp, a crash, and a 
 smothered cry ! The lantern fell on the kitchen floor. At 
 once Joanna glided forward, secured the lantern, and retired 
 whence she had crept, and covered the light with her coat. 
 The kitchen was dark as pitch. She heard a spluttering 
 and grumbling, then a whispered query from the second 
 burglar — what was the matter ? where was the light '{ 
 Suddenly she sent a ray across the space ; it fell on a face 
 with staring eyes, a coarse ragged beard, and a great cut 
 across the brow from which blood was running. That was 
 all. With a click the lantern was closed, the light cut ofi", 
 and with level directness another bottle struck the same 
 mark. 
 
 Then came a scuflle, a cry, and curses. She listened, 
 holding the light under the flap of her greatcoat, and did not 
 stir till she was sure that the burglars, hurt, frightened, 
 bewildered, were scrambling back through the outer kitchen, 
 one falling over or clinging to the other. Then, once again, 
 she sent a beam of light upon them. She let it travel from 
 one to the other. She marked both faces. One man had his 
 hand to his head, and hand and face were smeared with blood. 
 Again she flung a bottle, and the man went down. Then she 
 retired to the shop and put on her shoes. She drew on her 
 shoes because the floor of the kitchen was strewn with broken 
 bottles, and she did not choose to cut her feet. Then she took 
 the saw and pursued the burglars. One was already through 
 the window over the sink, the other was making his way 
 through. With that generosity which is found even among 
 criminals, the uninjured burglar had helped his wounded com-
 
 104 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 panion through before he attempted escape himself, Joanna 
 attacked this man with the saw. 
 
 Hitherto tlie only sounds to -which thoy had given vont 
 were muffled cries and groans. Now this second l)urglar 
 uttered screams terrible to hear. 
 
 Presently Lazarus appeared in his nightgown, liolding a 
 candle, white with fear, with a pistol in his trembling hand. 
 
 ' Put down the revolver,' called Joanna. ' I've done tlie 
 job without you.' 
 
 ' What is the matter 1 Wliat is it 1 Joanna ! Lord ! 
 
 Lord ! Whose are these horrible shrieks ? ' 
 
 ' He is like to shriek,' said the girl, wiping her brow with 
 the left hand; 'you'd shriek, I reckon, if sawed at whilst 
 crawlincf throucrh a little window.' • 
 
 ' What are you doing ? ' asked the bewildered, frightened 
 Jew. 
 
 'Sawing, I tell you,' answered the girl. 'Don't come for- 
 ward ; you'll cut your feet on the broken bottles. There ! we 
 are clear of them.' 
 
 ' Clear of Avhat 1 ' 
 
 Joanna quietly shut the sash of the window over the sink. 
 
 ' I see how it was done,' she said ; ' they removed a pane, 
 and so got their hands in to turn the hasp.' 
 
 'Who, child, who?' 
 
 * Burglars, of course. Who else ? ' 
 
 * Burglars in my house ? ' 
 
 * They won't come again,' said the girl dryly. * Stay wliere 
 you are, and let them get away through the back-yard door. 
 TJiey came over the wall, but neither of them is in a fit 
 condition for scrambling now.' 
 
 'But, Joanna ! ' 
 
 ' When my mother pawned me,' said the girl, ' she said I 
 could scream enough to scare away robbers. I'm older now. 
 
 1 make the robbers scream.' 
 
 So Joanna was false to her philosopliy ten minutes after 
 having formulated her view of life.
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MONOKERATIC PRINCIPLE. 
 
 * You are a capital girl,' said Lazarus, ' and I will not forget 
 what you have done. The Ems water was no loss to cry over, 
 as the demand for it is slack. I am grateful, and to show you 
 my gratitude I will give sound advice.' 
 
 ' Advice ! ' echoed Joanna contemptuously. ' That costs 
 nothing. Take mine, and get into your clothes.' 
 
 ' To be sure I will,' said the Jew. ' Whilst I am getting 
 on my garments, do you, Joanna, see that the back-yard is 
 clear, and bolt and bar the door. I'll provide that the sink 
 window is fastened up to-morrow. Every downstair window 
 but that has iron bars. That, I suppose, was neglected because 
 it looked into the yard. How did they get the window open ? ' 
 
 'Go to your room and get on your clothes, and I'll find 
 out.' 
 
 ' To be sure. I am shivery, and might catch cold, and be 
 forced to send for a doctor. Look here, Joanna ; after this 
 affair there will be no more sleep to-night for either of us, so 
 I will allow you to light the fire. We will sit up and talk 
 matters over till daybreak.' Then he retired to his room, 
 taking the candle with him, and locking his door behind him. 
 
 Joanna took the lantern. She examined the window that 
 had been entered. The burglars had affixed a diachylum heart- 
 plaster to a pane of glass, and cut the pane out. By this 
 means it had been removed noiselessly, and was laid outside 
 against the wall, unbroken. She found the door in the yard 
 open, as she expected. The burglars had come in over the 
 wall, but had escaped by means of the door. 
 
 She made all the doors fast, and put a tray before the pane- 
 less window to exclude the cold. Then she lighted a cheerful 
 fire in the stove. By this time Lazarus was clothed and came 
 out of his room. 
 
 ' I think,' said he, ' as there is a good fire, we might get the 
 Persian carpet down from the roof and dry it. Always kill 
 two birds with one stone, if they will stand for it.' 
 
 Assisted by the Jew, the carpet was brought down and hung 
 on a horse in the kitchen.
 
 106 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Then Lazarus drew his chair to the fire and warmed his 
 pahns at the blaze. 
 
 ' When I consider,' said lie, ' the deliberation and coohiess 
 with which you worked oQ" those burglars, all I can say is you 
 ought to have been a Jew.' 
 
 The girl made no reply. It was a matter of indifference to 
 her whether she were a Jew or a Gentile. She collected the 
 broken stone bottle sherds from the floor and mopped up the 
 slop of mineral water. 
 
 ' I have been counting the Ems water,' said Lazarus ; ' there 
 are but six bottles left.' 
 
 ' You are not going to make me drink the remainder, are 
 you,' asked Joanna, standing up, ' to show that you are grateful 
 because I saved your house from being burnt and your throat 
 from being cut ? ' 
 
 ' No, I am not,' answered Lazarus. 
 
 'Whatever you do won't cost you much,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' Now, don't say that,' Lazarus remonstrated, nettled with 
 the truth of the observation ; ' I am not bound to do anything 
 for you.' 
 
 ' Nor was I bound to save your roof from flames and your 
 throat from the knife.' 
 
 ' How coarsely you speak ! ' said Lazarus. Then he was 
 silent, looking into the lire and then at Joanna, with some- 
 thing trembling on his tongue, yet doubtful whether to utter 
 it. Probaltly he had resolved not to speak, for he merely said 
 to himself, ' Ems ain't bad ; but its day is over. Double 
 dahlias one day, single next. Such is the world. So the 
 pendulum swings.' 
 
 Joanna continued her work without a reply. 
 
 'You are a good girl,' he added, looking into the fire ; 
 ' there is a splendid future in store for you, only you 
 don't know it. When that does l)rcak on you you will 
 cry out, " Lazarus ! O Lazarus ! " and swoon away for 
 delight.' 
 
 ' I'd rather have something now,' said Joanna ; ' the gift of 
 a sheet in winter is better than the promise of a blanket in 
 summer.' 
 
 ' You are fed, clothed, shod at my expense,' said the Jew. 
 'Your mind has })een formed and your morals moulded by me. 
 You have no cause to gruinl)le.' 
 
 ' Fed on scraps, clothed in rags, and educated to keep your 
 accounts,' muttered the girl.
 
 THE MONOKERATIC PRINCIPLE. 107 
 
 ' You are discontented, peevish, and don't know when you 
 are well off.' 
 
 ' Eveiy man knows the warmth of his own jacket,' said 
 Joanna, 
 
 ' How I've stored your mind with knowledge ! ' exclaimed 
 the Jew, ' You know the value of an article as well as I, 
 whether furniture, plate, clothing, china, I've taught you a 
 lot of useful information, summing, bookkeeping,' 
 
 ' What is the good of striking matches for those who don't 
 want light ? ' asked the girl, sullenly. 
 
 ' What has put you out of temper to-night, Joanna ? ' 
 
 ' I have good reason to be in bad humour. What have I 
 done for Mr. Cheek that he should give me the silk dress and 
 the necklace ? Nothing but amuse him for an hour. What 
 have I done for you ? Everything. I have saved your house 
 from fire and your throat from the razor. What do I get in 
 return ? Nothing,' 
 
 ' I am not ungrateful,' said Lazarus, seriously, ' Wait a bit 
 longer, my girl, and I will show you that I am not, I cannot 
 tell you now what I will do for you, but I will in time, I 
 promise you this — you shall have a reward such as you have 
 not dreamed to possess. Have I ever failed to keep my word, 
 Joanna 1 No, never ; it don't pay in business to be shifty 
 about promises. Now you have alluded to Mr. Charles Cheek, 
 I wish to speak to you about him, and to give you a word 
 of advice.' 
 
 ' Which agam will cost you nothing,' threw in the girl. 
 
 * It is clear to me, Joanna, that Mr. Charles Cheek is 
 interested in you. Now, you are no longer a child. You have 
 swelled on my good fare into a big, handsome gii'l, not at all of 
 the ordinary type. If Mr. Cheek continues to come here, you 
 are the attraction. I am well pleased that he should come 
 here, and provide beefsteak pie and champagne, and if you 
 behave discreetly all is well. He is weak and careless, and 
 you may entangle him in a web whilst I suck his blood ; but 
 let it be understood between us that I will not have you 
 entangled in any thread of his spinning — not caught by finger 
 or toe, Joanna. Keep your head clear and your heart cool. 
 Be very careful of yourself, not to allow the smallest feeling of 
 regard to lodge in your bosom ; if you do you lose all control 
 over yourself.' 
 
 'What is the advantage of offering a wig to one with a 
 head of hair ? ' asked the girl, contemptuously. ' I know how
 
 108 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 to take care of myself. Tell me now, who is this Charles 
 Cheek ? ' 
 
 ' He is the offspring of the jMonokeratic principle.' 
 
 « Of what 1 ' 
 
 * Of the ISIonokeratic system of business,' answered Lazarus. 
 
 'I do not understand.' 
 
 'I will explain to you. Sit down, child, on the other side 
 of the fire. Old Joe Cheek — Lord ! I knew him well, years 
 ago, with a little shop and a long head. He was in Devonport 
 when he began, but Devonport wasn't a sphere for one like 
 him, so he moved up country. Not content with a small retail 
 shop, he opened a store of combined grocery, haberdashery, 
 stationery, hosiery, wines, drugs, and oriental goods, and sold 
 everything for ready money. Others have done the same, but 
 not on the Monokeratic system.' 
 
 ' What is that 1 ' 
 
 ' Well, he advertised all over England, " Try Cheek's 
 Monokeratic system." " Monokeratic " is a Greek word, and 
 means " the unicorn." Cheek's system is the unicorn system. 
 That is the principle on which he does business and realises a 
 great fortune.' 
 
 ' What is the unicorn system ? ' 
 
 ' The system of ready money. Most tradesmen liave two 
 systems — the cash system and tlie credit system, and they do 
 business on both. Cheek does solely ready-money business.' 
 
 'So do others, but they don't call it by so wonderful a 
 name.' 
 
 ' Exactly, and that is why they don't make it answer so 
 well. It is because Check calls a simple thing by a sounding 
 name that he does a roaring trade. You know nothing, 
 Joanna, Avorth calling knowledge if you do not know this, that 
 English people love humbug as Italians love oil and Spaniards 
 love garlic. Nothing goes down with them in politics, religion, 
 business, unless it be seasoned to rankness with humbug. Mr. 
 Cheek is sufficiently man of the world to know that, and 
 sufficiently clever to take advantage of it. If old Joe Cheek 
 did as others, and sold for tenpence cash what his neighbours 
 sold for a shilling credit, he would not have many customers, 
 but he has managed very cleverly. Every article is priced at 
 credit value, and when a customer leaves his sliop lie is given 
 a cheque for the discount. Ho pays full credit price as cash, 
 and receives the discount back as a cheque to be deducted from 
 his bill when next he purchases at Cheek's. Do you under-
 
 THE MONOKERATIC PRINCK'LE. 109 
 
 stand ? By this means lie secures the return of the customer, 
 ■who thinks he must come back and buy something more so as 
 to recover the money on his cheque.' 
 
 * But if he does not go back ? ' 
 
 'Then he forfeits it. He has paid credit price in cash. 
 This is the IMonokeratic principle of business. You have no 
 idea what a fascination the name and the cheque exercise on 
 simple people.' 
 
 ' But what has this to do with the unicorn 1 ' 
 
 ' Nothing whatever. The unicorn has one horn, and Cheek 
 one way of doing business. That is the connection of ideas. 
 The great charm lies in the word " Monokeratic," of the 
 meaning of which the purchasers have not the smallest idea.' 
 
 ' And he does a good business ? ' asked Joanna, interested. 
 
 'A roaring business. I wish I did one half as good. I 
 lent him money when starting ; but I knew my man. He 
 slipped out of my fingers very quickly.' 
 
 ' He must have brains,' said Joanna with admiration. 
 
 ' He has indeed.' 
 
 * Then Mr. Charles is his son 1 ' 
 ' Yes — without the brains,' 
 
 * Is he in the business ? ' 
 
 ' Oh dear no ! Charlie is far too fine a gentleman to soil 
 his fingers with trade. He can spend money, but cannot make 
 it. Old Joe Cheek was very anxious to have his son in the 
 concern. His idea was not bad. The old man is a Dissenter 
 and a Radical, and he wanted Charlie to be a Churchman and 
 Tory. Then he calculated each could milk his own cow. But 
 Charlie had not the pluck and energy for it. There is where 
 we Jews have the pull over you Christians. Now and then 
 you have among you a man of genius who makes a business, 
 but the son has not his ability or perseverance, and lets it fall. 
 With us the faculty of business is transmitted hereditarily, 
 like our features ; it never fails, leaps a generation, dies out.' 
 
 ' And Mr. Charles — what does he do with his time ? ' 
 
 ' Throws it away. Faculties 1 Throws them away. ]\Ioney 1 
 Throws it away. He has come to me for money, and I have 
 helped him. The old man turns rusty at times ; but every- 
 thing must go to Charlie in the end, as he is the only son ; and 
 then the business also will be thrown away.' 
 
 *I suppose,' said Joanna, 'if he be such a fool, he may 
 pven throw himself away.' 
 
 Lazarus looked at her in surprise. ' You are clever,' said
 
 110 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 he, * but not clever enough to manage that. The thing you 
 must consider is, to keep yourself secure. I don't want to lose 
 you as I lost ' 
 
 * Lost what ? ' 
 ' Rachel.' 
 
 ' Who ran away with Rachel 1 ' 
 
 ' Never mind. No one you ever heard of.* 
 
 ' Where is she now ? ' 
 
 ' I have told you I do not know.' 
 
 ' Is she alone 1 ' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 ' Is he with her 1 ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' I suppose,' said the girl, ' if the burglar had cut your 
 throat to-night, that Rachel would have heard of it, and come 
 and claimed everything — your money, your jewels, your plate 
 — and turned me out penniless.' 
 
 The Jew was startled, and looked at Joanna speechlessly. 
 
 'You have never been legally divorced V 
 
 'No. I don't fling money among lawyers. We are 
 separated for ever practically, though perhaps not legally.' 
 
 ' Then she could take everything you have — or had, sup- 
 posing your throat cut ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose so,' was his slowly uttered reply, and he rubbed 
 his legs before the fire, frowning and studying the coals. 
 
 ' Joanna,' he said, after consideration of some minutes, 
 which she did not interrupt, ' that shaU never be. Rather 
 than that I will bequeath everything to you, every stick in the 
 storerooms, and crumb in the larder, and farthing in my chest.' 
 
 ' That is your most sensible course,' said Joanna ; ' that 
 suits me better than stale advice and flat Ems.' 
 
 ' I will do it,' said the Jew. ' I will write to Grudge.' 
 
 ' I will bring the pen and ink at once.' 
 
 ' Not now — there is time. 1 11 do it some time.' 
 
 ' That will not suit me,' said Joanna. ' W^hat has to bo 
 done must be done on the spot. Do you not see that your 
 interests are at stake 1 You secure me in the shop, ensuring 
 my caring for everything as if it Avere my own, protect your- 
 self against peculation by me,' she laughed mockingly. ' You 
 tie me to you as a faithful servant for ever. I shall no more 
 grumble. I shall be active, and on the alert to drive hard 
 bargains. I shall be bound to you i\Ionokeratically.' 
 
 ' What do you mean 1 How Monokeratically 1 ' 
 
 * By one principle, the strongest of all — self-interest.*
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WANTED, A HOUSEMAID. 
 
 A FFW days after the events related in the foregoing chapters, 
 Lazarus plunged into the kitchen with the newspaper in his 
 hand, in hot excitement. 
 
 'Joanna ! ' he exclaimed, ' my dear Joanna, put down the 
 saucepan at once, and follow me into my room. I have some- 
 thing very particular to say. Providence is playing into our 
 hands. Look at the paper, read that ! ' 
 
 He thrust it towards her. 
 
 ' My hands are wet,' she said ; * I cannot take the paper 
 without reducing it to pulp. Read what you want me to 
 know ; I can listen and scour the saucepan.' 
 
 ' You cannot. I want your close attention. Put down 
 the pan. Here, come into my room, away from the distrac- 
 tions of a kitchen. Take a seat. I have much to explain to 
 you. Now, at last, you may render me valuable service.' 
 
 ' I have rendered you that for many years. I have recently 
 saved your house from fire and your throat ' 
 
 ' Do leave my throat alone ; you are continually makmg 
 allusions to it which are painful.' 
 
 Joanna followed him into his room, and wiped her hands 
 on her apron. He held the sheet to her, and indicated the lines 
 she was to read. The paper was a Plymouth daily newspaper 
 of local circulation, widely distributed in the West of England. 
 The Jew had indicated the advertisement columns. 
 
 ' Well,' said Joanna, ' this does not concern me. " Wanted, 
 a housemaid, immediately, in a gentleman's family ; steady, 
 experienced, not under twenty, a churchwoman ; must have 
 good recommendations. Wages, 16Z. Apply, Mr. C. Worthi- 
 vale. Court Royal Lodge, Kingsbridge." ' 
 
 ' It does concern you.' 
 
 ' Only so far as to show me how little I get working 
 for you. I am not going into service elsewhere — no such 
 luck.' 
 
 ' But I do want you to go into service with the advertiser.' 
 
 ' What ! Leave you 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, for three months ; then to return.'
 
 112 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * Why so 1 • 
 
 ' I will give you my reasons presently.' 
 Joanna looked again at the advertisement with a puzzled 
 face. 
 
 * I am a maid-of-all-work. I am not an experienced house- 
 maid, fit to go into a gentleman's family.' 
 
 ' That does not matter. There is no mistress — no lady in 
 the house to see if you do your work well or badly. Gentle- 
 men do not care how they pig.' 
 
 ' Steady,' said Joanna, thoughtfully ; ' I am steady as 
 the Eddystone, but I am not more than seventeen, and the 
 advertiser requires a servant to be over twenty.' 
 
 'That does not matter. Gentlemen are no judges of the 
 ages of ladies. Besides, you look old for your years.' 
 
 ' A churchwoman,' mused Joanna ; ' I am nothing ; I have 
 not been to any place of worship except the board-school, and 
 there we worshipped the inspector. How can I say I am a 
 churchwoman when I've been neither to church nor chapel 1 ' 
 
 ' That does not matter,' answered the Jew. ' It is all a 
 matter of sitting and standing. When church does one thing 
 chapel does contrary. Go to church for a Sunday or two, and 
 you'll get enough scrape of ideas to pass muster.' 
 
 ' Then, how aV)out references ? I do not suppose a character 
 from you will count heavy.' 
 
 * I do not suppose it will,' answered the Jew. ' I'll get 
 Mrs. Dclany to give you one, the wife of Colonel Delany — a 
 tip-top respectable party that.' 
 
 ' She has never seen me.' 
 
 ' That don't matter. I have lent her money.' 
 
 Presently Lazarus said, ' Go to the table, Joanna, and we 
 will rough out a character for jNlrs. Delany to put in form and 
 write in her best hand.' 
 
 Joanna took a pen, dipped it in the ink, and drew a sheet 
 of old dirty letter-paper before her. ' Go ahead,' she said, 
 somewhat sulkily. 
 
 ' " Mrs. Delany presents her compliments to Mr. C. Worthi- 
 vale, and begs to recommend a strong, healthy young woman, 
 who has been in her service three years, Avith whom she Avould 
 not have parted on any consideration had not the girl been 
 called to nurse a dying mother." ' 
 
 ' No,' said Joanna, putting down her pen, * I will not write 
 that.' 
 
 ' It is as true as the rest.'
 
 WANTED, A HOUSEMAID. 113 
 
 ' That is not what I scruple about. I will not liavp. my 
 mother mentioned. She may be back any day with my ticket 
 and ten shillings.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said the Jew, ' then w^e will make it " white 
 swelling." Ko — that won't do. Say, " domestic affliction." ' 
 
 ' Domestic affliction,' repeated Joanna after her dictator. 
 
 ' " When released," ' continued Lazarus, ' " Mrs. Delany had 
 supplied her place, and could not in conscience dismiss her new 
 housemaid."' 
 
 'Go on,' said the girl. 'I have written as far as "house- 
 maid."' 
 
 ' Full stop after " maid," ' said the Jew. ' Begin again 
 with a capital. " Mrs. Delany has always found the girl 
 Joanna steady, conscientious, and hard-working ; very clean, 
 both in her person and her work ; and, though young-looking 
 for her age, is turned twenty." ' 
 
 ' This is the first time you've said a good word for me,' 
 muttered the girl, ' and now it is half lies. Shall I add " eats 
 voraciously and grows at a gallop " 1 ' 
 
 ' On no account, my dear child. Continue writing from 
 my dictation,' said the Jew; ' "Joanna is unable to read or 
 write."' 
 
 Joanna laid down her pen. ' Why do you say that ? ' 
 
 ' Because it is the best recommendation that can be given. 
 It is as much as saying that you are a good servant. Besides, 
 Mr. C. Worthivale will be less afraid of leaving about letters 
 and account -books if he thinks they are unintelligible to you.' 
 
 ' I have written after your dictation that I cannot write. 
 Is that all 1 ' 
 
 'Yes, that will suffice. I will take the letter to Mrs. 
 Delany, and get her to transcribe and post it — and put the 
 penny stamp on also. You are sure of the situation.' 
 
 ' You have not told me yet why I am to take it.' 
 
 ' I will tell you now. Mr. Christopher Worthivale is 
 steward to the Duke of Kingsbridge. I have advanced a 
 great deal of money on the property of the duke — more money 
 than was prudent to put in one bag. The estate is so hampered 
 with mortgages, and the requirements of the duke are so great, 
 that Court Royal must come to the hammer. The family is 
 pretty well in my hands. I have the mortgage on the home 
 estate, which is the same as a grip on their very heart. Now 
 I want you to ascertain for me how matters really stand there. 
 You must pry and discover. I want to know when to close 
 
 I
 
 114 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 \he trap on the noldo duke, and whether I sliould leave it open 
 a little longei'. All the requisite inforinatiou can be had at the 
 steward's. You will have access to his office, and must look at 
 his books. You are keen of wit as myself, and cunning at 
 accounts as a banker's clerk.' 
 
 * I must give up my dancing lessons for this ! ' exclaimed 
 the girl, pouting, and disposed to cry. 
 
 ' The dancing lessons ! I had forgotten them.' 
 ' I have not ; nor iMr. Charles Cheek, and his suppers, and 
 the rose silk dress, and the Roman pearls.' 
 
 ' You shall have the lessons on your return.' 
 
 * By that time IMr. Cheek will have forgotten me/ 
 
 * That is possible.' 
 
 ' But that does not suit me. / tvill not go.' 
 
 ' I have my plans, Joanna.' 
 
 ' And I have mine, Lazarus.' 
 
 He looked at her for some minutes, irresolutely. Her 
 brow was clouded, her eyes dull ; the tears were filling them, 
 and her lips quivered. She restrained the fall of the rain with 
 effort. 
 
 ' Joanna, I am sending you where you may observe the 
 manners of the gentry. You are sharp enough, and can use 
 your knowledge. You must study their habits of action and 
 their monies of speech. Some day you may have to assume a 
 position in which this knowledge will be of service to you. 
 Remember, you are my heiress.' He opened a locked drawer, 
 and drew forth his will. ' Look ! I have kept my word. I 
 have left everything to you. Now, in your own interest 
 it behoves you to see after my investments at Court Royal. 
 Look well at the place. It may bo yours some day. Such is 
 the way of the world. That which is at the top comes down, 
 and that which is at the bottom mounts. It is so in every 
 saucepan, in every stew, and the world is but a boiling cauldron 
 where the currents cross one another unceasingly.' 
 
 Joanna's face flushed, and the tears disappeared from her 
 eyes, which waxed bright and eager. * I will go,' she said ; ' I 
 will do everything you desire ; I will find out everything.' 
 
 * Very well,' said Lazarus, laughing. ' Now hunt up the 
 sort of clothes you will need to wear, and let me see how you 
 look in the rig-out of a respectable, sober-minded, and stupid 
 English housemaid.' 
 
 After a few minutes she returned. 
 
 She had assumed a dark, quiet gown, with a white apron.
 
 WANTED, A HOUSEMAID. 115 
 
 Slie had brushed back her hair, and put on her a pretty white 
 cap. 
 
 ' Oh lio ! on my word ! ' exclaimed the Jew. ' What sweet 
 simplicity ! Holloa, my pert Betsy Jane ! ' He chucked her 
 under the chin insolently. 
 
 Joanna flushed crimson, and, striking him in the chest, sent 
 him staggering back, to tumble over a stool and sprawl on the 
 ground. 
 
 ' I will do what you bid,' she said, angrily, ' but touch me if 
 you dare.' 
 
 Then the shop-door rang, and Joanna heard a voice calling 
 her. She left Lazarus on the floor, rubbing his shin, and went 
 into the shop. There stood Charles Cheek. 
 
 ' Well now ! ' exclaimed the young man, ' this is a trans- 
 formation scene in a pantomime. What is the meaning of 
 this?' 
 
 ' Mr. Cheek,' said Joanna, ' I have been considering what 
 you said to me the other day. I am going into another ele- 
 ment, to learn tlie manners of the gulls. It is a voyage of 
 discovery. I know no more of the habits and speech and 
 thoughts of those I am going to see than if I were about to 
 visit Esquimaux.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 VEXITE. 
 
 On the last day of November Joanna was deposited with her 
 box at the gate of Court Royal Lodge. A servant came out, 
 and helped her to carry the box round by the back door into 
 the house. She was taken to her room, where she rapidly 
 divested herself of her travelling clothes and assumed apron 
 and cap. The fellow- sei-vant looked critically at her, and 
 said, ' Oh my ! how young you be ! How many sweethearts 
 have you had ? Among them a redcoat, I reckon, if you've 
 been in Plymouth. I should dearly like to have a redcoat. 
 They be beautiful creatures.' 
 
 ' I have no sweetheart,' answered Joanna. 
 
 ' Then I reckon you won't be long without one here. There 
 be gamekeepers here and the footmen. But of that another 
 
 i2
 
 116 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 time. I tell you this is an easy place. Tlicre is nO 
 missus. Tliere ought to be propcr-ly, but tlie young lady is 
 swallowed up by the folks at the Court, so she is never here. 
 All the better for us. JNIaster is a good sort of a man — very 
 soft. Lets us have our own way, and believes all the crams we 
 tell. As soon as you're ready the master '11 want to see you.' 
 
 ' I am ready now.' 
 
 'And,' continued the servant, 'I'll bet you a shilling I 
 know what he'll say to y'.' 
 
 ' I never bet. Shillings are too hardly earned to be cast 
 away.' 
 
 ' I didn't mean naught, really. I'll tell y' exactly what 
 master '11 say. He'll begin like the minister in church : " O 
 come, let us worship, and fall down." He always does with 
 every lady who comes into service here for the first time. 
 There is his bell. I reckon he won't think you can be old 
 enough, judging by your looks. I shouldn't believe you was 
 twenty, if you swore it till black in the face.' 
 
 Joanna was shown into the drawing-room, where Mr. 
 Worthivale stood on the mat, with his back to the tire, 
 moving his feet uneasily. He disliked an interview with 
 servants, not from pride, but from consciousness that he was 
 helpless in their hands — a defenceless fort. 
 
 ' Good day,' he said ; ' please shut the door. ]\Iiss Worthi- 
 vale is not here at present, so I must tell you what you have 
 to do. Your name is Joanna ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' And your age is twenty ? * 
 
 ' So I am told, sir. I don't remomlier my birth.' 
 
 ' I suppose not. Of course not. You are highly recom- 
 mended to me. Mrs. Delany is the wife of Colonel Delany, of 
 the Royal Engineers, I presume. One cannot make too sure. 
 I turned up the name in the Directory. I understand you 
 have sufTered a domestic affliction. I see you wear a black 
 gown. I am soi-ry. I hope you have not lost a very near 
 relative — not a father or a mother 1 ' He spoke in a kind, 
 sympathetic tone. 
 
 ' IMy father is dead, sir,' she answered, looking down and 
 slightly colouring. 
 
 'Dear me — how sad ! and your poor mother is alone in the 
 world — a rough world for a fresh-bleeding heart to battle with. 
 Have you brothers and sisters ? ' 
 
 Joanna answered, in a low voice, 'None, sir.'
 
 VENITE. 117 
 
 * It must have been a hard matter for your poor widowed 
 mother to make up her mind to part with you. Sad also for 
 you to have to leave her in her bereavement and desolation. 
 Well, you have the comfort of knowing that a Hand is ex- 
 tended over the widow and the fatherless. Don't cry, child.' 
 
 Joanna was strangely agitated. The kind tone touched 
 her, conscious of, and beginning to be ashamed of, her false 
 position. Her cheeks darkened and her eyes clouded. She 
 hung her head to conceal her face. 
 
 'You must write to your mother by this evening's post. 
 Tell her you have arrived here quite safely, and — I think you 
 may add you are in a house where you will be treated with 
 consideration. Oh ! I forgot — you cannot write. I beg you a 
 thousand pardons ; it had escaped me. Shall I drop your 
 mother a line 1 It would comfort her. Or, if you prefer it, 
 get your fellow-servant, Emily, to write. I will let you have 
 paper and envelope and stamp from the office shortly.' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir,' said Joanna, looking up. She had re- 
 covered herself. 'My mother — I do not knovv where she is. 
 She is not dead, but lost ! ' 
 
 ' Good God ! — poor child ! — Lord bless me ! — what tragedies 
 are played in the depths below the sui'face on which we swim 
 serene ! But, for the matter of that,' he added Avith a sigh, 
 ' there are sad enough stories, cares, and breakdowns about and 
 above us. I suppose happiness and sorrow are pretty equally 
 distributed through all the strata of life — only differing in 
 kind, hardly in intensity. You look very young, my child ; I 
 should not have thought you as old as Mrs. Delany affirms.' 
 
 ' I have had more experience than many who are much 
 older.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt about that. Trouble and responsibility 
 ripen the character prematurely. Sit down, Joanna ; you 
 must be tired with your long journey. I hope Emily has 
 given you something to eat. The drive from the station is 
 long and cold, over exposed moor. Lord bless me ! when shall 
 we have a junction line ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you kindly, sir, I am not hungry. The cook is 
 going to give me some dinner presently.' 
 
 ' That is right. I will not detain you long. I must put 
 you in the way of things at the outset, and then all will go 
 smoothly afterwards. I dare say your attention was called to 
 a wall for nearly two miles along the roadside 1' 
 'Yes, sir.'
 
 118 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 'Very fine trees on the other side. Unfortunately, the 
 trees are not now in leaf, so that they do not show to advantage. 
 I always think that a park tree in winter is like a man of 
 family without a landed estate. You know he is great, but ho 
 does not look it.' 
 
 ' I saw tlie trees, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, Joan. That is your name, is it not 1 The wall en- 
 closes the park, and the tre(>s you saw grow in the park enclosed 
 by that wall.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, I understand.' 
 
 ' The park covers nearly — not quite — a thousand acres, and 
 some of the timber is magnificent.' After a pause, to allow of 
 the absorption and assimilation of what he had communicated, 
 JVIr. Worthivale said slowly, ' That park is Court Royal.' 
 
 ' Does it belong to this house, sir 1 ' asked Joanna, with 
 affected simplicity. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale fell back against the mantelshelf, dropped 
 his coat-tails, which must have touched the bars of the grate, 
 as an odour of singed wool pervaded the room. 'Good 
 heavens ! what are you thinking of? You must indeed be 
 ignorant, very ignorant, to suppose that so magniliccnt a park 
 could belong to this humble residence. This house is Court 
 lloyal Lodge. Not, you understand, tlie lodge at the park 
 gates, but aii ornate cottage situated on a patch of ground cut 
 out from the park, where was once an overgrown, ragged, and 
 unsightly bed of laurels. His grace was pleased to erect the 
 lodge for my late father. It is the house of the stewai'd. I 
 am the steward.' 
 
 'Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' And the park and the land as far as you can see — that is 
 to say, almost all, not quite all — belongs to his grace the Duke 
 of Kingsbridge. I am the steward of his grace. Now you 
 understand my position.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, and I am to bo housemaid to the steward of his 
 grace the Duke of Kingsbridge 1 ' 
 
 ' Quite so,' said Mr. Worthivale ; ' you have grasped the 
 situation. Bless my soul ! I have burnt my tail. I thouglit 
 I smelt something. How can I have done that 1 Now, what 
 I want you particularly to understand, Joan, from the outset 
 is this — the proper manner in whicli to address those of the 
 ducal family who do me the honour of calling. As it happens, 
 one or other comes here nearly every day. You, of course, 
 have not had to do with people of title at Mrs. Delany's ? '
 
 VENITE. 119 
 
 ' Mrs. Delany's husband is a colonel, sir.' 
 
 ' A colonel ! ' echoed Mr. Worthivale, looking offended and 
 disgusted. ' What is a colonel ? Nothing.' 
 
 ' Then,' continued Joanna, running over the uniforms in 
 Mr. Lazarus's store with a mental eye, ' there was a field- 
 marshal, and an admiral of the Blue, and half-a-dozen generals, 
 and a silk cassock, red hood, and college cap.' 
 
 The steward silenced her with a wave of the hand. 
 
 ' What I pai'ticularly wish you to understand, Joan, from 
 the beginning is how you are to comport yourself at the door 
 should his grace, or Lord Edward, or Lord Ronald, or the 
 marquess, or Lady Grace ring the bell. Emily and you will 
 have alternate afternoons at home. She likes to go out every 
 other day, and I dare say you will be glad to do the same ; 
 exercise and fresh air are good for health. When Emily is 
 out you will answer the bell. Open that photographic album 
 on the table, and look at the first carte-de-visite — no, cabinet- 
 size portrait. You perceive a venerable gentleman with white 
 hair and fine aristocratic countenance. That is the duke. He 
 does not come here often. He cannot walk so far. If he 
 comes, the carriage brings him. You cannot mistake him if 
 you observe his waxlike complexion, and if you notice that the 
 carriage stands at the gate. It is essential that you make no 
 mistake in addressing him. I could pardon a lapse with the 
 others, but not with him ; so impress his features on your 
 memory. When you open the door to him, mind you curtsey. 
 Can you curtsey ? The art is dying out. Ask Emily to put 
 you in the way, and practise it till you are proficient. You 
 must address the duke as " your grace." He will probably 
 say, "My child, is Mr. Worthivale at home?" Then you 
 curtsey a second time and say, " Yes, your grace." If I am 
 out — which God forbid ! — then say, " No, your grace." If you 
 are uncertain, say, " Will it please your grace to step in, and I 
 will inquire." You understand ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 * Turn the page, and you will see two dignified gentlemen. 
 One is Lord Ronald, the other Lord Edward. Look at them 
 well. They are like the duke, but have not quite his presence 
 and beauty. They are his brothers — younger brothers, of 
 course — which accounts for their slight inferiority ; of course, 
 I mean relative — relative only to his grace. You address them 
 each as "my lord." "Is Mr. Worthivale at home 1" "Yes, 
 my lord," or " No, my lord," as the case may be. Here,
 
 120 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Joan, I will go into the passage and knock at the door. Then 
 you open and curtsey, and I will represent — I am ashamed to 
 do it — the Duke of Kingsbriilgo, and you will receive me 
 according as I have instructed you. Let me see if you have 
 taken the lesson to heart. After that I will represent Lord 
 Ronald or Lord Edward. Let me have the satisfaction of 
 knowing that you liave apprehended my instructions.' 
 
 So jNIr. Worthivale rehearsed with Joanna what he had 
 taught her. He was void of all sense of humour, and uncon- 
 scious of the absurdity of his conduct, and that the girl was 
 laughing in her sleeve. 
 
 ' Turn the page again,' said the steward. ' You see the 
 marquess. You address him also as " my lord." You under- 
 stand 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' said Joanna, distractedly. She was looking at 
 the next portrait with interest. * Oh, sir ! please, sir, who is 
 this beautiful lady 1 ' 
 
 'That lady is as perfect and sweet in mind and soul as she 
 is in feature,' answered Mr. "Worthivale. ' That is the Lady 
 Grace Eveleigh. And, remember, she is not Lady Grace, but 
 the Lady Grace. A Knight's wife is a Lady, you know. The 
 makes all the difference in the world. Everyone who knows 
 that lady loves her, she is so good, so kind.' 
 
 ' I am sure they do,' said Joanna, eagei-ly. ' I am certain I 
 shall love her, too.' 
 
 The steward was pleased ; he smiled and nodded. 'You 
 will address her as " my lady," you understand 1 ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * Turn the page again, and you will see a photograph of 
 Court lloyal.' 
 
 ' That house 1 ' inquired the girl ; ' why, it has got pillars 
 before the door just like the Royal Hotel at Plymouth.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale shuddered and drew back. 
 
 'My good girl ! For heaven's sake don't liken a ducal 
 mansion to — to — an — an inn, however respectable and old 
 established. It is possible that the Royal Hotel may have a 
 portico ' 
 
 ' It has two,' said Joan, eager for the credit of the Plymouth 
 house. ' Has this place got two 1 I only see one in the 
 picture.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale Avas silenced ; he coloured, and looked 
 down on the rug, frowning. Court Royal had but one portico. 
 Presently he said in ^n embfirrassed tone, ' It may be true — I
 
 VEXITE. 121 
 
 do not dispute it — that the iiin in question has two porticos. 
 But there is a difference, my girl, between porticos. Some are 
 shams, shabby, and stucco ; two, even five, porticos would be 
 insignificant beside one real portico, such as that which graces 
 the front of Court Royal. The pillars are of granite, red 
 granite from Exmoor. When your eyes rest on the mansion 
 you will feel at once the temerity of drawing comparisons 
 between it and — and — an inn. Upon my word, I think you 
 had better go there at once — that is, after you have had some- 
 thing to eat and drink. By the way, do not speak of the 
 mansion as " the house ; " that is scarcely respectful, and is 
 contrary to usage. You mention it always as " the Court." 
 You shall go down, Joan, to the Court after you have partaken 
 of some refreshment. I will write a note which will serve as 
 an excuse for sending you. "When there, ask to see the house- 
 keeper, Mrs. Probus, a most admirable woman. She will show 
 you over the state apartments. His grace is out. He has 
 gone for a drive. I saw the carriage pass half an hour ago, 
 and unquestionably the Lady Grace is with him. Lord Edward 
 is away, back at his Somersetshire living, superintending the 
 preparations for Christmas and the charities. The marquess, I 
 have no doubt, is out shooting, and you are not likely to come 
 across Lord Ronald. Mrs. Probus knows what to do and where 
 to take you. Rely upon her. Do not put oif your walk too 
 late. The days close in rapidly, and I want you to see the 
 Court to advantage, and to be impressed by the influences of 
 the Place and the Family.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 STOCK-TAKING. 
 
 Joanna was given the letter by Mr. Worthivale, and walked 
 through the park to Court Royal. The evergreen shrubs on 
 both sides of the drive relieved the monotony of winter bleak- 
 ness. The pines were clothed ; of them there was great variety. 
 The oak, though turned brown, was not divested of all its 
 leaves. The day was fine and the air mild. Joanna knew 
 nothing of the country ; she was surprised at and delighted
 
 122 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 with all she saw. She stood watching the fallow deer, till she 
 was fri,L,'htened by tlio rush past hor, on wing, of a pheasant. 
 The wood-pigeons were flying in hundreds from one beech 
 clump to another, rejoicing over the fallen masts. The after- 
 noon sun shone yellow o\'er the front of Court Royal, making 
 the windows glitter like sheets of gold leaf. Joanna went 
 round to the back of the house, and delivered her letter and 
 message. She was taken into the servants' liall, where some 
 of the maids were receiving visitors from Kingsbridge, and stuff- 
 ing them with veal pie, ham, tarts and clotted cream. They 
 ate cream with their ham, heaped it on their bread, and jam 
 on top of the cream equally deep ; they draidc it with their tea, 
 and hllcd the cups with lump sugar till the lumps stood out of 
 the tea like Ararat above the flood. Some of the servants' 
 friends had brought their children with them ; these over-ate 
 themselves, were unwell, retired, and came back to repeat the 
 process. 
 
 Joanna looked on in amazement. She was invited to 
 take her place with the rest, but declined, as she had dined 
 recently. 
 
 Then the housekeeper came in, smiled benevolently on 
 the visitors, bade tliem enjoy themselves, and called Joanna 
 away to see round the Court. 
 
 The housekeeper had heen bred in the traditions of the 
 knowledge and love and fear of the great Kingsbridge family. 
 Her father had l)een a footman, her mother (a lady's maid in 
 the service of the late l)uke), who had married and kept the 
 lodge. The first recollection of her infant mind was being 
 noticed as a healthy, pretty child, by the late Dowager Duchess. 
 She had been educated, gratis, at the school supported by his 
 Grace, a school which had in its window the Ducal arms and 
 supporters in stained glass, and outside, in the gable, the Ducal 
 coronet and initials of Bevis, seventh Duke of Kingsbridge. 
 At an early age she had served the family by opening the gates 
 of the drive, and had worshipped the family with curtsies 
 before she had been found old enough to go to church and 
 worship God. Then she had Ijeen taken into the Court, and 
 been a servant there all her life, first in one capacity, then in 
 another, till she married the red-faced coachman, who wore a 
 white wig and sat on a hammerdoth emblazoned with the 
 Ducal arms. Upon the death of the coachman, Mrs. Probus 
 returned to the great house as housekeeper. It was unneces- 
 sary for lier to do so. She had saved, during lier long service,
 
 STOCK-TAKING. 123 
 
 a good deal of money. The pickings had been considerable. 
 But the pickings were too considerable, the living too good, 
 the work too light to be resigned hastily, and Mrs. Probus felt 
 that it would be banishment to hyperborean niglit to be con- 
 signed to an almshouse for the rest of her days, away from the 
 splendour of the Ducal system, illumined only by the flicker of 
 consciousness that the almshouses had been founded for the 
 reception of worn-out Ducal retainers. So, though Mrs. Probus 
 often spoke of retiring, she postponed the evil day. 
 
 Her little sitting-room, into which she introduced Joanna, 
 was furnished with memoi'ials of the Eveleighs. Over the 
 chimney-piece, of course, Avas the portrait of the present Duke ; 
 over the sideboard, the picture of the late Duke. On the 
 chefFonier were the silver tea-kettle given her by the Duke on 
 her marriage, and a silver salver with a long inscription, pre- 
 sented to the late lamented coachman on his completion of the 
 fiftieth year of service. On all sides were presents — remem- 
 brances of the Dowager Duchess Anna Maria, of the late 
 Duchess Sophia. On her bosom she bore a brooch containing 
 the hair of the Marquess and Lady Grace, whom she had nursed 
 as infants ; and about her finger was a white ring woven of 
 silver hair, cut from the head of Frederick Augustus, sixth 
 Duke of Kingsbridge, Marquess of Saltcombe, Viscount Church- 
 stowe. Baron Portlemouth, Baronet, Grand Commander of the 
 Bath, Knight of the Garter, of Saint Patrick, of the Black 
 Eagle, etc. etc. etc., cut ofi* his head when she had laid him 
 out for burial. 
 
 Mrs. Probus was proud to show the house to Joanna. 
 When she learned that Joanna was the new servant come to 
 the Lodge, she understood at once that she had been sent down 
 there to be impressed, and Mrs. Probus was never happier 
 than when stamping the Ducal family on young minds. A 
 reverent fear and love of the family was the best preservative 
 youth could have against the trials and temptations of life. 
 It would save a girl from flightiness. Everyone who moved in 
 the Kingsbridge system was respectable to the tips of little 
 finger and little toe. Imprudence was impossible to one 
 nurtured in the Kingsbridge atmosphere. When the butler 
 heard of a young man who had taken to drinking and gone to 
 the bad, ' Poor fellow,' he said, ' if only he could have been 
 received as a stableboy here ! ' When the housekeeper was 
 told of a young woman who had lost her character, 'How 
 dreadful ! ' she exclaimed ; ' would that she had been kitchen-
 
 124 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 maid at Court Royal ! ' As tlie monks and nuns of old believed 
 that salvation was hardly possible outsido tho cloister, the 
 domestics in the Kingsbridge constellation held that no one 
 •went to hell from Court Royal or Kingsbridge House, Picca- 
 dilly. The same feeling pervaded tho entire estate. Tho 
 tenants were steeped in it. They were all respectable ; the 
 farmers Conservative, churchgoers, and temperate ; their wives 
 clean and rosy-cheeked, attending to their dairies themselves, 
 and curtseying like schoolgirls, and standing with their hands 
 under their aprons, when visited by one of the family. The 
 cottagers reared their cliildron to abstain from evil and do 
 that which is good, because there was a great Duke far above 
 them who knew everything that went on upon his estates, and 
 wlio, if the children were clean and respectable, would take 
 them up into service in the Great House, and provide for them 
 and make them happy for ever. No more moral, respectable, 
 orderly, religious people were to be found in the West of 
 England than those on the Kingsbridge estate ; but all this 
 morality, respectability, order, and religion rested on the 
 foundation of the love and fear of the Duke. One Sunday, 
 when the Rector's wife was catechising the school children, 
 she inquired who were ' the elect people of God,' whereupon 
 they responded, as with one voice, ' The tenants of the Duke, 
 ma'am.' And wliat they said, they believed. 
 
 Mrs. Probus took Joanna up tlie grand staircase, turning 
 and glancing at her face at the landings, to see that the proper 
 expression of wondering awe was there. She bade her look 
 at the pictures, and narrated the hackneyed story of their 
 acquisition on the Continent by the great Duke who was a 
 general in the reign of George I. The keen eyes of the girl 
 were in every corner, not on tho pictures, which she did not 
 understand, but on the cabinets, the Chinese vases, the pile 
 carpet, the exotic ferns. In the state drawing-room she made 
 a halt, and caught her breath. 
 
 ' O my goodness ! ' she gasped ; ' the Chippendale ! ' 
 
 ' Tho irhatV 
 
 ' Tlie Chippendale ! ' exclaimed Joanna. ' What first quality 
 chairs and tables and cabinets. Why, they are worth a pot of 
 money, just now that the fashion runs on Chippendale.' 
 
 ' Of course tlie furniture is valuable,' said Mrs. Probus with 
 dignity. ' But pray do not speak of it as though it were about 
 to be sold at an auction.' 
 
 ' And the china ! ' cried Joanna excitedly. ' That pair of
 
 STOCK-TAKING. 125 
 
 Sevres vases any dealer would give a hundred pounds for, and 
 ask for them two hundred and lifty, and take two hundred.' 
 
 ' No doubt the vases are precious. They were given to the 
 late Duke by King Charles X. from the royal manufactory.' 
 
 ' That nude figure of a woman seated on a dolphin is hue,' 
 said Joanna. ' Oh, please may I look at the mark ? Double C 
 crowned — Ludwigsburg, modelled by Ringler. Look at the 
 glaze. Observe the moulding ! ' 
 
 * It is scarcely delicate,' said Mrs. Probus. 
 
 ' On the contrary, it is most delicate, and considering the 
 delicacy in admirable condition. Only some of the flowers on 
 the pedestal are chipped.' 
 
 ' I did not allude to the fragility of the china, but to the 
 impropriety of a lady going about with only a scarf over her. 
 However, the subject must be right, or it would not be here.' 
 
 ' Of course it is right,' said Joanna, excitedly. ' It is splen- 
 did ; worth thirty pounds to a dealer, double to a purchaser. 
 That is a pretty First Empire clock.' 
 
 ' It don't go,' said Mrs. Probus. 
 
 ' Who cares for that ? ' answered Joanna. ' The shape is 
 the thing. The ornaments are very chaste. There you have 
 some old Plymouth.' 
 
 ' You seem to know a great deal about porcelain.' 
 
 * I do know something.' 
 
 ' Ah, you ought to see the collection the Marquess has in 
 his room. He is a fancier, and does not care what he pays to 
 secure a piece to his taste.' The housekeeper was gratified at 
 the enthusiasm and delight of the girl. 
 
 ' May I — oh, may I see it ? ' 
 
 ' Let me see — the Marquess has gone out. I think it would 
 be possible, though not allowed. We may not show strangers 
 over the private apartments inhabited by the family. Still, 
 this is a difierent case ; you are a servant, almost I may say, of 
 the family, as you are in the house of the steward. Follow me 
 through the dining-room. I must show you the Rubens and 
 Ostades and Van Dycks, and the Murillo bought by the late 
 Duke Frederick Augustus ; he gave for it seven thousand 
 pounds.' 
 
 Joanna sighed. ' I am ashamed to say I know nothing of 
 the value of pictures. That requires a special education, which 
 I have not had. It is a branch of the business — ' She stopped 
 abruptly, and then said, ' I dare say you have a catalogue of 
 the paintings, which you could let me have. I should so much
 
 126 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 like to know Avliat you liave here ; wliat to admire. Then, on 
 another occasion, I shall be better able to enter into the merits 
 of the pictures. You see, ma'am, with so much that is wonder- 
 ful about one, the mind becomes bewildered. I will not look 
 at the paintinf]jR to-day, I will look only at the china and the 
 furniture.' 
 
 ' Certainly,* said the housekeeper, ' what you say is just. I 
 will give you a printed catalogue — privately printed, you under- 
 stand.' 
 
 ' That is a magnificent inlaid Florentine cabinet,' said 
 Joanna ; ' worth a hundred guineas. Oh, what treasures you 
 have here ! ' 
 
 ' Treasures indeed,' said Mrs. Probus ; ' you see their Graces 
 the Dukes of Kingsbridge have always been patrons of art, and 
 have collected beautiful things in their travels through Europe.' 
 
 ' If only there Avere to be a sale here ' 
 
 ' Sale ! ' exclaimed the housekeeper ; ' good heavens above ! 
 What do you mean 1 Sale ! — sale in a Ducal mansion ! Young 
 woman, restrain your tongue. The word is indecent.' 
 
 She tossed her head, frowned, and walked forward stiffly, 
 expressing disgust in every rustle of her silk gown and in the 
 very creak of her shoes. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, ma'am. I was dazzled, and did not 
 know what I was talking about.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Mrs. Probus, ' tliat alters the case. Now we are 
 in the wing containing the private apartments. Here every- 
 thing is more modern and comfortable. You admire the flowers 
 I perceive. Yes, there are camellia and ferns in the corridor. 
 If you like it, I will conduct you over the conservatories — not 
 now — presently. His Grace sets great store on the green- 
 houses and the winter-garden.' 
 
 ' Dear ma'am, I should so greatly like to see them. I love 
 flowers above everything in the world. I have only five little 
 pots at home, on the roof, and one of them contains a bit of 
 wild heather I dug up with my scissors, on the rare occasion of 
 a holiday. Now that I am away, I do not know who will at- 
 tend to my poor plants, and whether I shall find them alive 
 when I return. I have no one in the world whom I can ask to 
 do a thing for me.' 
 
 * This is the apartment of Lord Ronald,' said the house- 
 keeper. ' I will not show you in there. It contains nothing 
 of interest — that is, nothing very extraordinary. His lordship 
 "vras a soldier, and loves to have everything plain. No doubt
 
 STOCK-TAKING. 127 
 
 it contains much that would interest military men, but such as 
 you and me don't understand those pursuits. Here is the 
 Marquess's door. Wait a moment, whilst I tap and peep in to 
 make sure he is out. I am sure he went out shooting, I saw 
 him with the keeper and the dogs — that is,' she corrected her- 
 self, ' I saw the keeper and the dogs with him.' 
 
 Mrs. Probus tapped timidly, and then opened. ' Look about 
 you,' she said, ' at the costly china. He is out, as I supposed. 
 It is very bold of me to enter and introduce you. See what 
 abundance of porcelain there is here. The Marquess is most 
 particular. He will not allow the housemaids to touch it. 
 When dusty. Lady Grace takes it down and cleans it. He 
 allows no other fingers than hers to touch his valuable collec- 
 tion.' 
 
 * How pretty the flowers are,' said Joanna, looking at the 
 bouquets on the table and on the chimney-piece. ' So many 
 posies — and specimen glasses everywhere.' 
 
 ' Lady Grace always arranges them for her brother/ an- 
 swered the housekeeper. 
 
 ' No wonder that they are lovely,' said the girl. ' I should 
 so much like to see Lady Grace.' 
 
 ' You will do so some day. Yes — ' she said, as she saw that 
 Joanna was looking at a miniature on the wall over the fire- 
 place, ' that is her ladyship when she was younger — when she 
 was about eighteen.' 
 
 Joanna looked at the portrait with interest for a long while. 
 Reluctantly, at last, she turned away and began to examine the 
 china. 
 
 ' This is Chelsea,' she said, contemptuously, ' bad of its kind.' 
 
 ' It cannot be bad,' protested Mrs. Probus, ' or it would not 
 be here.' 
 
 ' This group — ' began Joanna, putting forth her finger. 
 
 Mrs. Probus arrested her hand. ' For heaven's sake do not 
 touch. You might break — and then — dear life ! I should sink 
 through the floor in shame and sorrow.' 
 
 ' I shall not break anything,' answered Joanna. ' I could 
 walk like a cat among Dresden figures, or a best Swansea ser- 
 vice, and not upset or injure one article. Besides, if that group 
 ■were broken, what odds ! It is a modern imitation.' 
 
 ' What ! a connoisseur among my china ! Condemning it, 
 moreover ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Probus turned, shivered through all the gathers of her 
 silk gown, raised her hands deprecatingly, and turned pale.
 
 128 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Joanna looked round at the speaker and recognised tho 
 Marquess from the photograph she had been sliown. She said, 
 %vitli perfect composure, 'Yes, my lord, this piece is not 
 genuine. I can tell it by the colour of the glaze.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I gave a long price for it.' 
 
 ' You were taken in, my lord. It is <not worth fifteen 
 shillings,' 
 
 ' Oh, my lord,' gasped Mrs. Probus, ' I beg your pardon ten 
 thousand times. I thought you was out, and I dared take the 
 liberty — the inexcusable liljcrty — of bringing this young person 
 in, who pretended to be interested in porcelain — and her to 
 dare and say your lordship was taken in ! You'll excuse my 
 audacity, my lord, I pray, and Iier ignorance and impertinence.' 
 
 ' My dear Probus,' said the Marquess, smiling, ' I am over- 
 pleased to have my collection sliown to one who has taste and 
 knowledge, and discrimination.' Turning to Joanna, he added, 
 * I believe, to my cost, that you are right. Doctor Jenkyn, who 
 knows more about china than anyone else in this county, has 
 pronounced unhesitatingly against this piece. You are of the 
 same opinion.' 
 
 ' I know it, my lord. I know where it was made. There is 
 a manufactory of these sham antiques. I can tell their articles 
 at a glance.' 
 
 ' You seem to have an accurate eye and considerable know- 
 ledge.' 
 
 ' In my former situation I was with a master who collected 
 china, and so I learned all about it — if I broke any, I got 
 whacks.' 
 
 'Don't be so familiar,' whispered Mrs. Probus, greatly 
 shocked. 
 
 'And,' continued Joainia, 'my master, after a while, so 
 trusted my judgment, that he would let me spend pounds on 
 pounds on porcelain for him.' 
 
 ' Were you never taken in 1 ' 
 
 Joanna laughed. She taken in ! ' Never, my lord.' 
 
 * I should like to know your opinion of these bits of Chelsea.' 
 
 'I have already given it,' said Joanna, disregarding the 
 monitions of the housekeeper. ' I told Mrs. Probus it was a lot 
 of rubbish.' 
 
 The Marquess laucfhed. 
 
 ' Right again. That is exactly Dr. Jenkyn's opinion, not 
 expressed quite as forcibly as by you.' 
 
 ' Here, my lord, you have a charming little Dresden cup
 
 STOCK-TAKING. 129 
 
 and saucer ; really good ; canary yellow, witli the cherubs in 
 pink. It is Avell painted, and good of its kind.' 
 
 ' Keep it,' said the INIarquess. ' I make you a present of it 
 as a remembrance of my den which you have invaded.' 
 
 ' Thank you, thank you ! this is kind,' said Joanna, with 
 sparkling eye. ' I will never part with my little cup, never ; 
 and I beg pardon, my lord, for having persuaded jMrs. Probus 
 to bring me in here, against her better judgment. It was not 
 her fault, it was mine. I entreated her to let me see your 
 china.' 
 
 ' Not another woi^d ; you are heartily welcome. If I want 
 to buy china again, I will consult you.' 
 
 Joanna withdrew with a curtsev. Lord Saltcombe signed 
 to the housekeeper to remain behind. 
 
 ' Who is the little china-fancier ? ' he asked, in a low tone. 
 
 ' Oh, my lord ! I am so ashamed. Only the new house- 
 maid at the Lodge.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! How education advances ! ' laughed the Mar- 
 quess. ' In the march of culture we are being overtaken. 
 Who would have supposed to find a housemaid so thorough a 
 connoisseur ? Well, she looks brimming over with brains, she 
 has plenty of assurance, and is deucedly pretty.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 LADY GRACE. 
 
 The words of commendation spoken by the IMarquess were 
 sufficient to make ISIi's. Probus think of Joanna with more 
 favour than before. She had recovered fi'om her panic, Jo- 
 anna had cleverly taken all the blame on herself, so the old 
 woman's face was wreathed with smiles, and she professed her 
 readiness to show the girl whatever she desired. The Marquess 
 had pronounced on her abilities — a word of commendation from 
 him was enough for Mrs. Probus. 
 
 ' I daresay, my dear,' said she, confidentially, ' that Mr. 
 Blomfield, the butler, will let you see the plate.' 
 
 'I am a judge of plate,' said Joanna, gravely. 'I know the 
 hall marks on silver as I do those on china.' 
 
 ' You do 1 Lord bless me ! ' exclaimed the housekeeper. 
 
 K
 
 130 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Well, what is education conun;^ to 1 That shows his lord- 
 ship was right. He said you had brains.' 
 
 ' Did he 1 Then he can judge people as I judge china. I 
 should very much like to see the plate.' 
 
 I\Ir. Blomheld did not require much pressing ; he was proud 
 to show the splendour of the house in his department. He 
 allowed Joanna to enter the plate room, and he opened for her 
 the iron doors of the cupboards in the wall, and e.Khibited the 
 shelves, lined with green cloth, on which shone centre-pieces, 
 goblets, urns, tea and coffee pots, spoons and forks, salvers large 
 and small, candlesticks and candelabra. All were in perfect 
 order, shining brilliantly. 
 
 ' This,' said Mr. Blomfield, opening another case, ' contains 
 very old family plate. It is only brought out on the grandest 
 state occasions. Here is a silver gilt ewer, magnificently 
 chased, said to be throe hundred years old ; the present Duke 
 was baptized out of it, but I believe it was a punchbowl for- 
 merly. Much of this is admired, but I cannot say I like it. 
 The forks have but two prongs, and the spoons are rat-tailed. 
 There is no accounting for the taste that can admire such things 
 as these.' 
 
 ' I suppose, sir, you have an inventory of all the plate,' said 
 Joanna timidly, raising her large dark eyes to those of the 
 butler. 
 
 ' Of course, miss, I have ; and I go over it with the steward 
 on occasions. Very proper it should be so, though a mere 
 matter of form. You will not find many mansions where there 
 is such choice of plate. There is a great salver which was pre- 
 sented to Field-iMarshal John, Duke of Kingsbridge, when he 
 was Lord Saltcombo, in King George's reign, by the mayor and 
 citizens of Ghent. I've heard,' continued the l)utler, ' that in 
 some of your parvenu families there is a lot of plate, a great and 
 vulgar display — but the quality is not there. All this is old 
 and line, and in good style. The new plate looks to-dayish ; 
 there is not the character about it that our ancestral store 
 possesses.' 
 
 ' Do you know, sir, what you have got in each 
 cupboard ? ' 
 
 * Of course I do, miss. Do you not see that a list of the 
 contents of each is pasted against the iron door, inside 1 And 
 with the list is the w(!iglit in silver and gold.' 
 
 'What is the weight of the whole amount of silver, Mr. 
 Blomfield ? ' asked the housekeeper.
 
 LADY GRACE. 131 
 
 * I have never counted,' was ]iis reply. ' It is easily done ; 
 sum the totals affixed to each list on the doors.' 
 
 ' I should dearly like to know,' said Joanna. ' Where I 
 was before I came here there was a good deal of plate ; but 
 nothing like this, oh, nothing ! ' 
 
 ' I suppose not,' said Mr. Blomfield with dignity. ' No one 
 with a title, I suppose 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh dear no. What about now, do you think, sir, is the 
 weight?' 
 
 ' I will take the numbers down and add them up,' said Mrs. 
 Probus good-naturedly. 
 
 ' Excuse me, sir,' said Joanna ; ' you have a very beautiful 
 bread-basket there. Might I look at it more closely, and see 
 the hall mark 1 ' 
 
 ' Certainly.' He handed the basket to her. Joanna looked 
 at the handle. ' It belongs to the reign of William and Mary. 
 The year I cannot say without a book.' 
 
 ' Dear, now ! To think you have found that out ! I have 
 had to do with plate all my life, and know nothing more of the 
 marks than to look for the lion and the head.' 
 
 ' Here is the sum of the weight of plate,' said Mrs. Probus. 
 ' The silver in this column, the gold in that.' 
 
 ' All that 1 ' exclaimed Joanna. ' Why, the silver at six- 
 and-six an ounce, without allowing anything for workmanship, 
 is — five thousand ounces — sixteen hundred and twenty-five 
 pounds ; but it would sell at a pound an ounce. Five thousand 
 pounds' worth of plate at the lowest.' 
 
 ' You can calculate pretty quickly,' laughed the butler. 
 
 ' The Marquess said she had brains,' said Mrs. Probus aside 
 to Mr. Blomfield ; ' he was quite taken with her cleverness.' 
 Then to Joanna, ' Now I will show you over the conservatories. 
 You may keep the sum of the plate if you like.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' answered Joamia. ' I shall like it very much.' 
 
 Joanna was one of those children of this century, and of 
 town civilisation, in whom shrewdness and simplicity, precocity 
 and childishness, are strangely mixed together. When in the 
 house among the furniture, china, and plate, she was reserved, 
 observant, calculating, storing her observations in her retentive 
 memory, prizing everything she saw ; but when she entered the 
 greenliouses, that calculating spirit left her, and she was an 
 unspoiled girl, overflowing with fresh delight, full of exuberant 
 spirits. In the house, amidst the artistic valuables, she was in 
 a world with which she was acquainted ; in the conservatories 
 
 k2
 
 132 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 she had passed to another and unfuniiliav sphere. Slie had 
 been reared in the midst of manufactured goods, apart from 
 nature ; now she was introduced to nature's best creations. 
 Mrs. Probus was amused at the girl's expressions of rapture at 
 the l)eauty of wliat she saw. Grapes she saw for the lirst time 
 hanging from the vines, and oranges shining among the glossy 
 leaves of the trees, side by side with silvery flowers. The 
 dwarf apricots and nectarines were still burdened witli fruit. 
 
 When she saw the llowers her excitement was unbounded. 
 She laughed and cried at once. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes 
 sparkled, hands and feet were in incessant agitation. The pri- 
 mulas, the cyclamen, were in full, delicate bloom. The wax- 
 like camellias, white and crimson, were in flower ; chrysanthe- 
 mums, screened from frost, were in tufts of every colour. The 
 air was scented with white Roman hyacinths. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Joanna, with hands uplifted, * I would that 
 the Barbican and all the world would sink into the ocean, and 
 leave me alone here, to be happy with the flowers, for e\er.' 
 
 At that moment the door from the next, the orcliid house, 
 opened, and Lady Grace Eveleigh appeared, dressed in silvery 
 grey, with a quiet, close bonnet on her head. Slie looked at 
 the excited girl with a sweet, confidence-inspiring smile, and 
 came forward. 
 
 ' Dear alive, my lady ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Probus, ' I am a 
 most unfortunate body to-day. I took the lil)erty of taking 
 tliis young woman through the conservatories, without a 
 thought tliat your ladyship was here. I have been unfor- 
 tunate, indeed, this afternoon.' 
 
 'Not at all, not at all, Probus,' said Lady Grace, 'I am 
 always delighted that others shoulde njoy our pretty flowers. 
 You like flowers,' she added, turning to Joanna, her voice 
 Boft as the cooing of a dove. 
 
 ' I love tliem,' said the girl, clasping her hands together. 
 
 * What were you saying as I came in ? ' asked Lady Grace. 
 
 Joanna answered, half laughing, lialf crying, ' I said that I 
 wished the world would sink under the sea and leave me alone 
 with the flowers.' 
 
 .'That was rather a selfish wish,' said Lady Grace. 'Do 
 you not car(! tliat others should sliare your jileasure 1 ' 
 
 ' IS'o, not at all,' answered Joanna, bluntly. 
 
 'Excuse her, my lady,' put in Mrs. Probus, witli a 
 frightened look, 'she doesn't mean really to difler from your 
 ladyship ; she doesn't understand what she says.'
 
 LADY GRACE. 133 
 
 ' I do ! hold your tongue,' said Joanna, turning sharply on 
 the housekeeper. 
 
 ' Do not trouble yourself, dear Probus. Whoever loves 
 flowers has a kindred feeling with me. I love them with all 
 my heart.' She looked at Joanna, who stood undecided what 
 to say or do. Then, turning to Mrs. Probus, she said, ' Will 
 you do me a favour, and yield your place to me, nurse ? Let 
 me take her round the houses. You do not know the pleasure 
 it gives me to show the flowers to one who can feel towards 
 them like myself.' 
 
 ' Very well, my lady,' said the old woman, ' but you must 
 not take it amiss — if this young person ' 
 
 ' I shall take it greatly amiss,' interrupted the lady, ' if 
 she does not admire what I admire. I can see in her bri2;ht 
 eyes that she is happy with my pets. Leave us alone together ; 
 we shall perfectly understand each other. We flower fanciers 
 have a language of our own, understandable among ourselves, 
 sealed to outsiders.' 
 
 When IMrs. Probus was gone, Lady Grace, looking kindly 
 into the girl's excited face, asked, ' Will you tell me what is 
 your name ? ' 
 
 'Joanna.' 
 
 ' Joanna ! ' repeated Lady Grace. ' That name is un- 
 common. It is pretty, very pretty, and quaint. I like 
 it.' 
 
 The girl flushed with pleasure and pride. 
 
 ' I am glad you like it,' she said ; ' I never thought a 
 button about my name before. Now I shall like it.' 
 
 ' I hope you like Probus,' said the lady. ' She was my 
 nurse long, long ago^ She used to scold me a little and caress 
 me a great deal.' 
 
 ' Please, my lady,' Joanna spoke timidly, ' may I go verj'-, 
 very slowly along, because all this is so new and so beautiful 
 that I cannot bear to miss anything. Mrs. Probus walked so 
 fast, and was afraid of staying long anywhere.' 
 
 ' I will go as slow as you like, and stop as long as suits 
 you beside any flower. That is a yellow primula ; look, under 
 the leaves is white flour, it comes off on your finger, and that 
 gives the plant its Latin name. It has a sweet scent. Whence 
 do you come from, Joanna 1 ' 
 
 The girl pointed downwards. 
 
 The questioner looked at her with surprise, not under- 
 standing the significance of the indication.
 
 134 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Out of tlie depths. Picked out of tlic iiuid — true as my 
 word uuvaniished,' explained Joanna. 
 
 ' So is it with the water-lily,' said Lady Grace, ' one of 
 the purest and most cjlorious of llowers. Its roots are in the 
 basest slime, its llowers in the sunshine Avithout soil. I am 
 sure, Joanna, you will p,row up as the water-lily.' 
 
 The girl shook her liead. 'You don't understand. lam 
 not a flower, but a grub.' 
 
 ' And the grub becomes a butterfly, that soars far above 
 the garbage on which it crawled and fed.' 
 
 ' I can never be a butterfly.' 
 
 'You can rise.' 
 
 ' I am rising,' said Joanna, firmly ; ' I intend to rise. But 
 you think your way and I think mine. You rise your way, 
 which I cannot understand or copy, and I rise mine as I may, 
 in whatever direction chance gives me an opening.' 
 
 Lady Grace looked into the girl's face and tried to decipher 
 its language. She saw that the mind was full of intelligence, 
 precociously developed. She saw that ideas were working 
 Avhich Joanna was powerless to express. The girl misunder- 
 stood the intent look of the lady, and said, ' I have made you 
 angry. Everyone here is taught to agi-ce with you. I say 
 what I think. Whether it jumps or jars with the opinions of 
 others matters little to me.' 
 
 ' I like you to speak out of your heart freshly what you 
 think.' 
 
 ' Then,' said Joanna, eagerly, ' I think there is not a flower 
 in all this place so sweet and so beautiful as you, lady.' 
 
 ' You must not say tliat.' Lady Grace coloured. 
 
 ' Why not ? It is true.' 
 
 ' No, it is not true.' 
 
 'I think it.' 
 
 ' Never mind. Do not speak such things. I do not like 
 them, and they will make me distrust you.' 
 
 Both Avere silent for a few minutes, and then Joanna said, 
 * How very, very happy you must Ije here, my lady.' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered the lady, in her soft, sweet voice, in which 
 was a tone of sadness, ' I am happy.' 
 
 Joanna noticed the omission. 
 
 * Why do you not say very happy ? ' 
 
 ' I am indeed happy and thankful.' 
 
 .Joanna now looked at her as intently as Lady Grace had 
 previously observed her. The expression on Joanna's face was
 
 LADY GRACE. 135 
 
 one of perplexity. At last she said, ' I don't understand, and 
 I can't understand.' 
 
 ' What, Joanna 1 ' 
 
 ' My lady, you do not and you cannot understand me, and 
 I do not, and try as I may I cannot, understand you. We be- 
 long to different worlds.' 
 
 ' And are forgetting the bond between us — the flowers.' 
 
 Presently Lady Grace pointed to an arcade, where, against 
 the wall, oranges, limes, and citrons were groAving. 
 
 ' Do you notice these trees 1 ' she said; ' they are very ancient, 
 one or two of them are as much as two hundred years old.' 
 
 'What a pity!' answered Joanna; 'they must be worn 
 out. You should stub them out and plant new, improved sorts.' 
 
 Lady Grace went into the vinery, and brought thence a 
 large bunch of green INIuscatel grapes on a leaf. She presented 
 it, smiling, to Joanna. 
 
 ' It is a pleasure,' she said, ' to have gi'apes for the sick and 
 those who have no vineries of their own. They do enjoy them 
 so greatly.' 
 
 ' Do you give grapes away 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, of course we do.' 
 
 ' But you might sell them and make a lot of money — 
 enough to pay the gardener's wage.' 
 
 Lady Grace coloured and laughed. ' We couldn't possibly 
 do thaK' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 * For one reason, because then we should have no grapes to 
 give away.' 
 
 ' But you are not obliged to give them away ? * 
 
 ' To the sick, of course we are.' 
 
 ' Why of course 1 ' 
 
 ' Why, because they are sick.' 
 
 ' They should buy grapes for themselves if they require 
 them.' 
 
 ' They arc poor, and cannot do so.' 
 
 ' Then let them do without. You are not bound to them, 
 nor they to you.' 
 
 Lady Grace, with a little sadness on her brow, but a smile 
 on her lips, said, observing her, ' It is a pleasure to give them 
 what they cannot get themselves. There, it is a greater 
 pleasure to me to watch you enjoying that bunch of Muscatel 
 than if I were eating it myself.' 
 
 Joanna shook her head. ' We belong to different worlds,'
 
 136 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 she said. ' If these f^reenhousps were mine I would keep 
 everyone out but myself, and I would spend my life in them, 
 lookinj^ at the flowers and eating the grapes/ 
 
 ' You would not spare me a bunch V 
 
 ' I would give you everything,' said Joanna, vehemently. 
 
 ' Why 1 ' 
 
 'Because I love you, and would want to make you love me.' 
 
 'You ought to love the sick, the suflfering, and the needy, 
 and be ready to relieve them.' 
 
 ' They are nothing to me. They can do nothing for me.' 
 
 'We are all one family, tied together by common blood, 
 bound by mutual duties, members of one body ; and the hand 
 cannot say to the foot, " I have no need of you," nor the head 
 to tlie hand, " I have no need of you." ' 
 
 ' W^e are individuals,' answered Joanna. ' To look out for 
 self is the law of life and of progress. I have heard Laz — I 
 mean my late master — say that this it is which makes the 
 United States so great and prosperous, that every man lives 
 as an unit, cares nothing for his fellows, and beats his way 
 through and over all who stand in his path. This it is which 
 makes the old order fail, that every man under it was en- 
 tangled in responsibilities to every man around him, above, 
 below, and on his level, and was not free. The old order 
 must give way to the new. That is what my master said.' 
 
 ' I do not like your theory, Joanna. It grates with my 
 notions of rii;ht and wronij.' 
 
 ' I daresay not, my lady. You have been reared under 
 the old principle of social life, I under the new. Each man 
 for himself, my master said, is the motto of the coming age, 
 and those who are hampered with the old doctrines of mutual 
 responsibilities must go down.' 
 
 ' Y^ou are a very extraordinary girl.' 
 
 ' No, my lady, I am not. I am merely the child of the 
 period, a representative of the coming age ; there are thou- 
 sands and tens of thousands like me, trained in the same 
 school. To us belongs the future.' 
 
 Lady Grace Eveleigh sighed, and put her hand to her 
 brow, unconsciously. ' I have no doubt you are right,' she 
 said ; ' I feel rather than see that it is so. Y''es — perhaps it 
 is well. I do not know. I suppose I am prejudiced. I like 
 the old order best.' 
 
 Joanna was frightened. She had spoken too boldly ; not 
 insolently, but confidently. She feared she had hurt her
 
 LADY GRACE. 137 
 
 guide. "When Lady Grace put her hand to her brow, it was 
 as thou£;h she had received a blow. Joanna touched her. 
 
 ' "Was I rude ? Have I pained you 1 I am very, very 
 sorry. I would die rather than hurt you.' She caught Lady 
 Grace's hand and kissed it. 
 
 ' No, not a bit,' answered the lady. ' It does one good to 
 know the truth. Sooner or later it must be brought home to 
 us, and rather from your lips than from a ruder tongue. We 
 go on in a dream, with the poor always about and with us, 
 and will wake up with surprise to find them above us. I hear 
 my father and uncles forecasting the future, with dismal faces ; 
 I did not expect to hear the same foi'ecast animating the rising 
 power. Do not let us talk of that longer. Let us consider 
 the flowers. By the way, I suppose you will be at our Christ- 
 mas tenants' ball. We give one in the winter to the farmers 
 and their families, and to the servants and their friends. Of 
 course you will be there.' 
 
 ' Oh what a pity, what a pity, what a pity ! ' 
 
 Lady Grace was unable to refi'ain a laugh at the girl's ex- 
 clamations and droll consternation. 
 
 ' What is such a pity 1 ' she asked. 
 
 ' I was to have learned to dance, but my coming here in- 
 terfered with my lessons, so I can only look on and not be 
 able to take a part.' 
 
 ' You shall have some lessons,' said Lady Grace Eveleigh, 
 with a sweet, kind smile. ' I will see to that. Miss Worthi- 
 vale will arrange what times will suit best, and you shall be 
 taught by me, in my own room. Miss Worthivale is so good 
 and sweet that she will help me.' 
 
 * Oh, thank you, thank you,' exclaimed Joanna ; ' that is 
 prime ! ' 
 
 ' There is one thing more,' said the lady ; ' as you are fond 
 of flowers, I suppose you must have something like a garden 
 at home.' 
 
 ' I have five pots — one cracked, and an old teapot without 
 a spout.' 
 
 ' What grow in them ? ' 
 
 ' Fuchsias, Guernsey lilies, geranium, and wild heath.' 
 
 'Will you accept this from me 1 It is nothing to look at 
 now ; only a crowd of little horns poking out of the earth ; 
 but they will expand in time into lilies of the valley, full of 
 beauty and fragrance. Keep them as a remembrance of me.' 
 
 ' I will never, never part with them,' said Joanna. ' Thia
 
 138 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 is the second present I have had to-day. Look liere ! Your 
 brother gave nie this.' She showed the porcelain cup and 
 saucer. 
 
 ' Lord Saltconi])e ^ave you that ! Wliat — have you been 
 talkiiit:^ to and astonishing liim 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the girl, ' I did astonish him a bit. He gave 
 me this ; but I like your flowers best.' 
 
 ' I must leave you now ; I saw my father return in the 
 carriage.' Lady Grace hesitated a moment, looked question- 
 ingly at Joanna, and then touched her, drew her to her, and 
 pressed a light kiss on her brow. ' We are travellers over one 
 pass. Some ascend as others go down ; as they meet and 
 pass, they salute,' she said, and slipped away. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SLEEPY HOLLOW. 
 
 The Venerable the Archdeacon of Wellington, Bachelor of 
 Divinity, Canon of Glastonbury, Rector of Sleepy Hollow, and 
 Chaplain to liis Grace the Duke of Kingsbridgo, was sitting 
 in his study with his wife one morning in November, dis- 
 cussing the list of poor people to Avhom Christmas benefactions 
 were to be given. 
 
 The Archdeacon regarded himself, and was regarded, as a 
 man of business. He was secretary to several diocesan socie- 
 ties ; he was a stay to the Kingsbridge family. Whenever a 
 spasm recurred in the financial condition of the Eveleighs, a 
 telegram summoned him to South Devon, and he spent some 
 hours in consultation with the steward at Court Royal. 
 W^hen he returned to Somersetshire he felt that his presence 
 liad been of use. So it liad on more occasions than one, for 
 he had advanced money to relieve the strain. 
 
 ' Really,' said Lady Eliza])cth Eveleigh — the Venerable 
 the Archdeacon(\ss, and GreyI\[areof Sleepy Hollow — ' I think 
 we do a great deal more than is necessary. There are the coal 
 club, and the clothing club, and the blanket club, and the shoe 
 club, and the Sunday school club, and the widows' alms, and 
 the three yards of llannel to every married woman in the 
 place, and the Christmas largess and the Christmas beef.
 
 SLEEPY HOLLOW. 139 
 
 This comes very heavy. You cannot put our charities at a 
 less figure than sixty pounds per annum ; then that great im- 
 posture, Queen Anne's Bounty, absorbs sixty pounds more, 
 and the rates come to eighty, and the curate gets one hundred 
 and twenty-five. Church expenses amount to ten pounds ; 
 the living is worth three hundred and forty pounds — that 
 leaves us just five pounds on which to keep house, pay five 
 servants, and entertain all the neighbourhood, subscribe to 
 every church restoration, and contribute to every bazaar.' 
 
 ' My dear Elizabeth, I have my canonry.' 
 
 'Worth eight hundred pounds, which goes into that Good- 
 win Sand, the Kingsbridge debt. I know it does. Do not 
 pull a face ; I knoAv it. I never finger the money.' 
 
 'Then there is my archdeaconry, worth two hundred.' 
 
 ' Out of which we pay the servants and keep the carriage, 
 Edward, it is really too bad ; you ought to have been a 
 Bishop.' 
 
 ' Elizabeth, how is that possible, with the Liberals in 
 power ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure that ought to be no hindrance to your promo- 
 tion. You have never oflfered an opinion decidedly on any 
 topic, political or ecclesiastical, that could be objected to by 
 anyone. You have been most tolerant. Your charities have 
 been given indiscriminately to Dissenters and Church people. 
 You never have taken a side. You have been scrupulously 
 via media.' 
 
 'I do not want to be a Bishop. I have not the physical 
 strength.' 
 
 ' I do. A bishopric means a good deal more than the four 
 thousand set down in " Whitaker " — it means getting a haul 
 out of Queen Anne, and some pickings, may be, from the 
 Ecclesiastical Commissioners.' 
 
 ' Let us return to the lists, Elizabeth. We are considering 
 Betty Perkins, not me.' 
 
 ' Betty Perkins puts me out of patience,' said the Vener- 
 able the Grey Mare. ' She has only just paid into the clubs 
 one lump sum. I cannot see the good of clubs and rules, if 
 she is to be allowed to reap the benefit of the former whilst 
 violating the latter. She has sent in four-and-fourpence for 
 the coal club, four-and-fourpence for the clothing club, four- 
 and-fourpence for the shoe club, four-and-fourpence for the 
 blanket club, and twenty-one shillings and eightpence for her 
 five children, who only attend Sunday school now and then —
 
 140 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 just before the treat and the Cliristmas tree. I Iiave her 
 money in my pocket now — listen liow it rattles — thirty-nine 
 shillings in, all. She will get her cards with seventy-eight 
 shillings on them, just thirty-nine shillings allowed her for 
 putting in her money to-day, to receive it out with interest 
 to-morrow. It is prepost(!rous. I believe she borrowed the 
 sum for the occasion. I refuse to be treasurer and secretary 
 to the charitable clubs if you wink at such flagrant cases.' 
 
 ' ]My dear Elizabeth, there is no one else in the parish 
 capable of managing the clubs. As to Betty Perkins, con- 
 sider how poor she is, with a husband given to drink, and five 
 children.' 
 
 ' Rules are rules,' said Lady Elizabeth. 
 
 'Yes, my dear, but justice must be tempered with mercy.' 
 
 ' I do not think the clubs and alms do good. The people 
 take what is given them as a right. They are not grateful; they 
 do not come to church a bit the better for being bribed at the 
 rate of five pounds per house to come.' 
 
 ' We cannot give up the clubs, Elizabeth. They really are 
 a great comfort to the people.' 
 
 ' You pauperise them, Edward. Well?' to the man-servant 
 who appeared at the door ; ' what is it, Thomas 1 ' 
 
 ' Please, my lady, there is a gentleman in the drawing-room 
 who wants to see his lordship.' 
 
 ' Let me look at the card,' said the Archdeaconess, ' Rigsby ! 
 Rigsby — I do not know the name. Some traveller for a wine 
 merchant, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Bless me ! ' exclaimed Lord Edward Eveleigh, when, by 
 his wife's kind permission, lie was allowed to look at the card ; 
 'my old college friend Rigsby. I thought he was in Ceylon, 
 coffee-growing. I heard he had realised a great fortune. 
 Excuse me, my dear Elizabeth. Settle Betty Perkins as you 
 like — that is, no, let her off" this time, and I will have a talk 
 with her. She will be more regular next year. Elizabeth, I 
 must ask Rigsby to lunch.' 
 
 ' There is cold mutton and mince,' answered Lady Elizabeth. 
 'Also tapioca pudding.' 
 
 ' I haven't seen Rigsl)y for forty years — no, not for forty 
 years. I must insist on his paying us a visit. You can 
 manage it, Elizabeth ? ' 
 
 ' The sheets in the best bedroom are aired.' 
 
 The Archdeacon hastened into the parlour, where he found 
 a tall brown man, with grey hair, seated, awaiting him.
 
 SLEEPY HOLLOW. 141 
 
 'I am so glad — so delighted to see you again,' said Lord 
 Edward, extending both hands. 
 
 ' I have come,' said IMr. Rigsby, * on my daughter's account. 
 We have been visiting Glastonbuiy, and she has been taken ill 
 there, whether with neuralgia or toothache it is not for me to 
 determine. She is a sad sufferer — and I thought, being in a 
 strange place, that I might venture on calling, trusting you 
 might not have quite forgotten me ' 
 
 'My dear Eigsby ' interrupted the Archdeacon, with 
 
 overflowing cordiality. 
 
 ' Excuse me,' said the visitor, putting up his hand to stop 
 him, ' I will say what I desire first, and then shall be thankful 
 for your remarks on it. I was observing that I relied on your 
 kindness, which I well remembered, to help me with your 
 advice. I am a stranger in Glastonljury, indeed a stranger in 
 England. You have a local dentist here— that is, at Glaston- 
 bury. I want to know ' 
 
 ' Vigurs is the maia for you,' said Lord Edward. 
 
 ' One moment, and I have done,' continued Mr. Rigsby, 
 looking with impatience at the Archdeacon. ' I have no 
 confidence, myself, in local practitioners ; if there be real 
 genius it will unquestionably gravitate to town, and the dregs 
 of the profession be left in the countiy.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ' 
 
 ' You will allow me to finish what I was saying.' Eigsby 
 looked Lord Edward down. ' One hears atrocious stories of 
 the misdeeds of these men — breaking jaws, drawing the wrong 
 teeth, and so on. I could not suff"er Dulcina to run such a risk 
 unless I were perfectly satisfied that the man was really first- 
 rate.' 
 
 'Vigurs is a splendid fellow; a thorough Churchman, and 
 always stays ' 
 
 ' Excuse me if I say that this is neither here nor there. I 
 do not care a snap for the religion and politics of ]Mr. Vigurs, 
 but I do care for his being a first-class dentist. It is a long 
 way to town, and Dulcina's sufferings are so intense that I am 
 inclined to place my sweet child in the hands of a man, even 
 if in the country, if he may be trusted. 1 suppose that in 
 Bath or in Bristol a dentist of some experience and intelli- 
 gence - 
 
 ' I can assure you ' 
 
 ' I shall have done directly. I was observing, when inter- 
 rupted, that in Bath or Bristol a dentist of experience may be
 
 142 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 found, but that would entail a journey to Bath or Bristol. 
 Uulcina, ])oor child, is so prostrated Ijy her pains last night 
 that I hardly like to move her so far. If you saw the sweet 
 flower, you would say the same — so fragile, so fair, so languish- 
 ing.' 
 
 * You may rely on Vigurs,' said the Archdeacon. ' lie has 
 drawn many of my teeth and stopped others. Vigurs is quite 
 a first-rate man.' 
 
 ' If tlie tooth be drawn, ether or nitrous oxide must be 
 used. Can I trust this man to employ such means ? My 
 child's life is too precious to be played with. She is my only 
 child, heiress to all the fortune I have toiled for forty years to 
 gain. She will be worth ten thousand a year after I am gone. 
 Judge if the world can do without one so gifted. As for me, 
 I live only for Dulcina. Wore she to expire under nitrous 
 oxide I sliould blow out my brains.' 
 
 ' Have perfect confidence in Vigurs. He is a man of note. 
 This neighbourhood is well peopled with county families, and 
 they all go to Vigurs in prefei'ence to London dentists. Where 
 is your daughter now ? ' 
 
 ' She is at the White Hart. Miss Stokes, her aunt, is with 
 her. She has administered soothing drops, and Dulcina is 
 asleep. Poor soul, she needs rei^ose after tlie tortui'e of tooth- 
 ache or neuralgia. I do not pretend to determine which it is, 
 but she has a carious molar. I have seen it. You are positive 
 that Mr. Vigurs may be allowed to look at my daughter's jaw V 
 
 'Positive. First-rate man, gentle as a lamb with ladies. 
 Now Rigsby, as your daughter is asleep, spare me a few 
 minutes to tell me something aljout yourself. You look well 
 burnt like a coffee-berry, but hearty — more so than myself, 
 who am but a creaking gate. Have you definitely left Ceylon?' 
 
 'Yes; Dulcina and I came here to look at a house and park 
 that is for sale. Dulcina and 1 intend to settle in the country. 
 I have sold my estates in Ceylon, providentially before the 
 cofTee disease invaded the island, so that I sold tliem well, and 
 the purchaser, not I, has lieen ruined, for which I cannot bo 
 too thankful. We like this county, and this part of the 
 country. It is rich, well wooded, and there seem to be many 
 gentlemen's seats about. I cannot say that Shotley Park is 
 (juite to our taste, but Ave will thiidc over it, and discuss it 
 together when Dulcina's tooth ceases to distract lu r. Poor 
 dear, she can give her attention to nothing now but her tooth 
 and the nerve that runs up into the heatl across the cheek from 
 the jaw.'
 
 SLEEPY HOLLOW. 143 
 
 * Will you take anything ? ' 
 
 ' I should not object to a glass of sherry and a biscuit. 
 Nervousness about my daughter has rather sliaken me.' 
 
 ' Now look here, Rigsby. I will not hear of your staying 
 at the White Hart. You must positively come to my house 
 and stay a fortnight. Under that time I will not let you off ; 
 stay over it as long as you like.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I do not mind if I accept. If anything has 
 to be done to my dear Dulcina's jaw, it would be more satis- 
 factory to be in your Rectory than in an inn. One cannot 
 secure all the comforts requisite for an invalid at an hotel. 
 Should the tooth be extracted or the nerv^e destroyed, my 
 daughter will be so shattered that further travel will be 
 impossible for some days. The people at the White Hart are 
 good and kind ; still an inn is not a place for a person with a 
 carious tooth. Dulcina is made uncomfortable by the scream 
 of the engines. Glastonbury is a terminus, and every engine 
 that comes in shrieks to announce its arrival, and every one 
 that leaves shrieks to proclaim its departure. Dulcina's nei-ves 
 are in that quivering state of irritation that the least noise 
 upsets her.' 
 
 ' She shall come here at once. I will send my carriage.' 
 
 ' We will come in the afternoon. I must go and see the 
 dentist myself. I shall be able to judge by his looks whether 
 he is intelligent — as for his experience, of that I cannot form 
 an opinion. Has he studied in America ? The Yankees are 
 far ahead of us in dentistry. They transplant teeth as we do 
 trees.' 
 
 ' Wait a moment,' said the Archdeacon ; ' I will fetch Lady 
 Elizabeth.' 
 
 He ran out of the room, and found his wife still engaged 
 over the club accounts. 
 
 ' My dear Edward,' said she, 'I will meet your wishes half- 
 way ; I can do no more. Betty Perkins shall have two-and- 
 twopence instead of four-and fourpence in each club.' 
 
 ' Elizabeth,' exclaimed the Archdeacon, ' come into the 
 drawing-room and see Rigsby. But stay — first give me the 
 telegraph forms ; I must send off at once for Saltcombe.' 
 
 ' Why so ? AVhat has occurred ? ' 
 
 ' My dear Elizabeth, Rigsby has an only daughter, worth 
 ten thousand a year. That represents about two hundred and 
 fifty to three hundred thousand pounds. Oh, Elizabeth, if 
 only some of the Kingsbridge estates might be cleared with 
 this sum, how happy we should all be ! '
 
 '•1-1 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 DULCIXA. 
 
 In the afternoon Lord and Lady Edward Eveleigli called on 
 the Kig.sl)ys._ Tlie Archdeaconess was full of civility. She was 
 a pleasant, fine-looking woman, with grey hair, and very clear 
 eyes. She spoke in a decided manner. She had ruled her 
 house, her husband — almost the Archdeaconry— for many 
 years. She had ruled society — at least clerical society — for a 
 wide radius. This had given decision to her character and a 
 determination to be obeyed which few were strong enough to 
 stand against. 
 
 Miss Kigsby was seated on a sofa. She had expected the 
 visit, and was prepared for it. She wore a crude blue shawl 
 thrown over her shoulders, and a mauve handkerchief was tied 
 round her aching jaws. She had bracelets on both arms, and 
 her fingers were encrusted with rings. She was a pale, freckled 
 young lady, not ugly, and not pretty, with very light eyebrows, 
 and hair thick and coarse. She was proud of Jier red hair, and 
 had it frizzed into a mass. Her grey eyes were dull, but the 
 pain she had endured had perhaps quenched their light. 
 
 ^ ' I am going to carry you oil" to the Kectory,' said Lady 
 Elizabeth. 'It is of no use your protesting. AVhat I Iiave 
 made up my mind to I carry out, as the diocese well knows. 
 I restored Sleepy Hollow church myself. I said to the Arch- 
 deacon, " It must be done," and as he would not put his 
 shoulder to the wheel, I begged, got up a bazaar, and did it. 
 I am going to malco much of you. You want the quiet and 
 comfort of an English home. We'll soon set you on your feet 
 again, and screw up the relaxed nerves. I know exactly what 
 you want.' 
 
 Mr. lligsby looked cntreatiugly at his daughter. He had 
 made up his mind to spend a fortnight at Sleepy Hollow, but 
 he did not dare to accept the invitation without the consent of 
 his spoiled child. 
 
 J^ulcina answered, in a condescending tone, * I am afraid wo 
 shall be in your Avay,' 
 
 ' Not at all, or I would not have asked you.' 
 
 Mr. liigsby brightened. His daughter waa yielding.
 
 DULCINA. 145 
 
 * The invitation is kind,' said Dulcina, ' and if I did not fear 
 trespassing on your goodness I should like to accept.' 
 
 ' Then accept,' said Lady Elizabeth. ' There — the matter 
 is concluded. I gave orders for the rooms to be got ready 
 before I left the Rectory.' 
 
 ' You are perhaps expecting visitors 1 ' 
 
 ' Only Lord Saltcombe — he could be stowed anywhere if we 
 were hard put to, but we are not. Our predecessor at Sleepy 
 Hollow had fourteen children, and added to the Rectory to 
 accommodate them. We have no family, and so there are any 
 number of spare rooms.' 
 
 ' I am not in a visiting condition,' protested Miss Rigsby ; 
 'my nerves are shaken ; I have suffered a great deal.' 
 
 ' We will put you to rights,' said Lady Elizabeth ; ' I under- 
 stand all that is needed. I doctor the parish — I may almost 
 say I feed it ; my opinion is that most maladies proceed from 
 overfeeding or underfeeding. With the poor it is over and 
 underfeeding simultaneously ; they overfeed themselves with 
 heavy, lumpy pastry without much nutriment in it, that weighs 
 like lead in them, and they underfeed themselves by not 
 taking good blood and tissue-making diet. You understand 
 me?' 
 
 ' I think so,' answered Miss Rigsby, listlessly. The poor 
 interested her little or nothing — she occupied her own entire 
 horizon. ' But I,' she said, ' eat neither what is lumpy, nor 
 what is insufficient.' 
 
 ' My dear,' said the Archdeaconess, ' here in an inn you 
 cannot have the requisite comforts. There is no house in the 
 world like an English house for a person who is sick or con- 
 valescent. So it is settled that you come.' 
 
 ' I really am not up to meeting strangers and making con- 
 versation,' said Dulcina. 
 
 ' Strangers ! Oh, Saltcombe ! He is my nephew ; a nice 
 young man, very agreeable. He will talk, and I can always 
 talk. Besides, Miss Rigsby, if you are going to buy Shotley 
 and settle among us, we must introduce you to the neighbours, 
 when you are well.' 
 
 ' I do not think papa has settled about Shotley yet.' 
 
 ' I'll go over the place with him. I will manage every- 
 thing. I know the quality of the soil on which it is built, the 
 nature of the drainage, and the water supply. I can tell you 
 all the advantages and disadvantages of the place, and I should 
 •\vish to have a word about the price. I do not choose to have 
 
 L
 
 146 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 you taken in and pay a fancy price. There is not a glut of 
 country-liouses in the market. Leave it to me.' 
 
 ' Lady Elizabeth is a most knowing and business-like per- 
 son, you will find,' said the Arclideacon. ' Dear young lady, 
 be persuaded, and spend at least a fortniglit with us.' 
 
 ' Besides,' said the Venerable the Archdeaconcss, ' I should 
 like to have Vigurs under my eye. You have no conception 
 what a stimulus it gives to activity and genius when I overlook 
 the workmen. Vigurs, the dentist, has a great respect for 
 me. He Avould take inlinite pains over you, if he knew I was 
 watching him. Vigurs is a good man — still, the best need 
 supervision.' 
 
 ' There's something in that,' said Mr. Rigsby. 
 
 ' Then, again,' said Lady Elizabeth, ' I am bent on getting 
 my niece. Lady Grace Eveleigh, to us after Christmas, and I am 
 eager that you. Miss Rigsby, should know her, and see, if that 
 could possibly be contrived, the Duke's beautiful place. Court 
 Royal, which I assure you is one of the finest residences in the 
 West of England. The Duke would be so interested to hear 
 from your father all about Indian all'airs ; his Grace is particu- 
 larly interested in India, and, of course, also Ceylon. It would 
 be a treat to him to talk them o^•er with your father, and you 
 — you will be enraptured with the beauty and comfort of Court 
 Royal. Leave this to me : I am a manager. I will get Lady 
 Grace to visit us, and she will invite you there. You are sure 
 to get on well together.' 
 
 Lady Elizabeth played to her husband's bat, but the Rigsbys 
 did not see her play. Father and daughter were flattered. The 
 invitation was accepted. 
 
 As the Archdeacon and his Avife drove home in their 
 brougham, Lord Edward said to his better half — 
 
 ' What do you thiidc of her 1 She is not ugly.' I 
 
 ' Not pronouncedly ugly, certainly. She is simply un- 
 interesting. I do not think that Saltcombe will care for 
 her.' J-'' 
 
 ' He micst take her,' said the Archdeacon, agitated, putting 
 his hand on that of his wife, and it shook. ' If he does not, 
 the whole house of Kingsbridge will collapse. My dear Eliza- 
 beth, the crash is imminent. I cannot see how it can be 
 averted except by Saltcombe's marriage.' 
 
 ' But he is so inert. He will not realise the state of 
 a flairs.' 
 
 ' That is true. But I take on myself to make him realise
 
 DULCINA. 147 
 
 it, and that excellent young fellow, Beavis "Worthivale, who 
 regards him as a brother, will help me.' 
 
 "^ Lady Elizabeth shook her head. ' The time is past when 
 men sacrificed themselves for their families. I do not believe 
 that Saltcombe cares sufficiently for his position, and the 
 family dignity, to saddle himself with a wretched, selfish, 
 inane, pasty-faced East Indian, so that he may redeem the 
 family from ruin and give his position a new lease of 
 splendour.' 
 
 ' I will Avrite to him directly I get home,' said Lord 
 Edward. ' I have sent a premonitory tele.gram. He is not so 
 dead to duty as to reject a solemn appeal from me.' 
 
 So the Archdeacon, on his return, took up his pen and wrote 
 his nephew the following letter : — 
 
 ' My Dear Saltcombe, — I particularly want you to come 
 here at once. Pack your portmanteau and start as soon as you 
 possiljly can after the receipt of this letter. There are reasons 
 which make me desire your presence here. My dear fellow, 
 you must allow an old man like me to give you a word of 
 advice. You are supposed to know that the property of your 
 dear father, which will one day be yours, is so involved as to 
 be almost past recovery. I say almost, not altogether. It de- 
 pends on you whether a grand family of historic renown shall 
 sink and disappear. I have no family, your uncle Eonald lost 
 his wife and children. You are unmarried. If you die a 
 l)achelor the Ducal title goes, the family becomes extinct. 
 You are bound to continue a race which lias been illustrious 
 and honourable. I cannot bear to think of dear Court Royal 
 passing into other hands. iSTow, if you marry, you must marry 
 so as to recover the property from its embarrassments. Such 
 an opportunity presents itself. I will speak to you more fully 
 on this when we meet. I pray you, as an old man, your uncle 
 — one who has your welfare, and that of dear Grace, at heart — 
 do not shrug your shoulders and write to say you cannot come. 
 Come at once. Rouse yourself to the emergencies of the case. 
 Rouse yourself to your duty. An Eveleigh has never hitherto 
 wanted goading to perform a duty ; never — when required — 
 to commit an act of self-sacrifice. 
 
 ' Till we meet — which will be to-morrow, 
 
 ' Yours most affectionately, 
 
 ' Edward Eveleigh. 
 
 'P.S. — Elizabeth sends her tenderest love to dear Grace. 
 
 Kiss her sweet face for me.' 
 
 l2
 
 148 COURT ROYAL, 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IIOME-TIIRUSTS. 
 
 The INIarquess of Saltcombe sat in his pretty room of gold and 
 peacock blue and green, in an easy-chair, holding a book in his 
 hand, without reading it. On the table was a zither. Every 
 now and then he put the book down and struck a few chords 
 on the instrument, but lie could not play a melody through. 
 The zither demands much practice, and Lord Saltcombe could 
 not or would not devote time to mastering the instrument. 
 
 At his side was a desk, open. He put his hand into one of 
 tlie drawers, from which issued ascent of rose-leaves, and drew 
 forth a red miniature case. He touched the spring, with a 
 sigh, and exposed a portrait on ivory. The portrait repre- 
 sented a young and beautiful woman, with large lustrous dark 
 eyes, full of dreamy idealism. The ivory lent the face a pearly 
 whiteness, and gave brilliance to the coral of the lips. The 
 painter had succeeded in giving to the countenance an ex- 
 pression of tender yearning, tinged with melancholy ; it was 
 one of those exquisitely expressive faces which is sometimes 
 given by nature to angels, but sometimes also, in irony, to 
 Ijeings with little of heaven in their souls. The picture, as a 
 work of art, was a masterpiece ; the original, unless greatly 
 idealised, must have been irresistible. The face combined in 
 it the simplicity of the child and the earnest of an eager mind, 
 the charm of })erfect l)eauty and the promise of a gifted soul, 
 liveliness and pathos blent together. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe looked long at the lovely picture, and his 
 brow clouded. Then he closed the morocco case, laid it on his 
 knee in his hand, and looked dreamily before him into space. 
 The past rose before him, full of pleasure and of pain. Presently 
 lie sighed, put his hand to his bi-ow, made a motion of again 
 opening the case, refrained from doing so, and replaced it in 
 the drawer of his desk, which he closed and locked. 
 
 He was removing the key from the lock, when Beavis 
 came; in. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe was sufficiently man of the world to have 
 control over his features. Every trace of his late sadness de- 
 parted, and his face cleared to meet Beavis' eye. Ko one would
 
 HOME-THRUSTS. 1 49 
 
 have supposed that, a moment earlier, he had been a prey to 
 the most mournful recollections. 
 
 ' Well, Beavis,' he exclaimed ; ' what has brought you here 1 ' 
 
 ' Have you seen the paper ? ' 
 
 ' No — there can be nothing in it to interest me.' 
 
 ' Our member is dead.' 
 
 ' What, Woodley ! My father will feel this. Does he know 
 
 itr 
 
 'I think so. He reads his daily paper. Besides, the tele- 
 graph boy was up here last night, and no doubt ' 
 
 ' O no, that was with a message for me from Uncle Edward. 
 He wants me immediately at Sleepy Hollow.' 
 
 ' Are you going 1 ' 
 
 'I don't know ; I may. I have nothing to detain me here.' 
 
 ' Saltcombe, will you not go into Parliament ? Now that 
 Woodley is dead, we must have a new election.' 
 
 The Marquess made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 ' There will be no opposition.' 
 
 ' I do not see why I should go into the House. I have no 
 opinions. I have not made up my mind on any question that 
 now agitates the political world, and I do not want the trouble 
 of thinking and studying these questions.' 
 
 ' This is unworthy of you.' 
 
 ' You shall be our new member.' 
 
 ' No, I have no ambition that way. You are the proper 
 person to represent our pocket borough of Kingsbridge. Of 
 course you have principles. You have inherited those of the 
 family. You are Conservative.' 
 
 ' I will open my breast to you, dear Beavis. I know that 
 my father's and uncles' opinions are all right, but then I have 
 no doubt that the opinions of the other side are all equally 
 right. My father's views are exaggerated, and the Radicals 
 are exaggerated in their views, and with Aristotle I hold that 
 in equilibrium is safety.' 
 
 ' Both cannot be right,' said young Worthivale. 
 
 ' Yes, they can be, and they are. There are two sides to 
 every question, and he who only sees and becomes hot and 
 vehement on one side is a bigot, narrow-minded and purblind. 
 I am sure that in politics, and in religion, and in ethics — in 
 everything, in fact, much is to be said on each side, quite as 
 much on one side as on the other ; so I make up my mind to 
 have no fixed opinions on anything, I shrug my shoulders, and 
 let the world go on and muddle its way from one blunder into
 
 150 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 another. There now, Beavis, you have my creed. How can I 
 go into Parliament with such doctrine in my licart ? ' 
 
 ' That is not a crood at all ; it is the confession of a mind 
 that is too lazy to think.' 
 ' You are very rude.' 
 
 ' I speak the truth, Saltconibe. You know it.' 
 Lord Saltcombe laughed. ' Of course you are right, Beavis. 
 It is not pleasant, however, to hear the truth put so plainly. 
 Nevertheless, I maintain that my position is a right one. No 
 man can be a partisan in any cause unless he is ignorant of 
 \vliat is to be said on the opposite side. To be an enthusiast 
 you must be narrow. The man of culture is an all-round man ; 
 he sees good everywhere, is tolerant of every form of faith, 
 religious and political, because he believes that no party holds 
 a monopoly of the right. The man of culture, then, must be 
 indifForent to all parties.' 
 
 ' With your abilities, and your position, it is wicked to waste 
 your life over shooting partridges and pheasants, collecting 
 china, and reading ephemeral literature.' 
 
 ' Upon my word, Beavis, you are sharp on me ' 
 ' I am plain-spoken, Saltcombo, because you must be roused. 
 You are throwing away life in that most miserable of all follies 
 — killing time.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe was annoyed. He raised his eyebrows, and 
 lit a cigar. 
 
 ' You are striving to deaden the impulses of your nobler 
 nature, which would force you into active life.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said the Marquess, coldly, ' I do not contradict 
 you. You feel strongly, speak over-vehemently, because you 
 know only one side.' 
 
 ' I know what is right, what your own conscience tells you 
 is right ; and I say it at the risk of forfeiting your friendship.' 
 ' You strain the relation between us, Beavis,' said Lord 
 Saltcombe. 
 
 Young Worthivale was silent a moment. Lord Saltcombe 
 crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. He did not look 
 at Beavis, whom he allowed to stand. He was annoyed, and 
 wanted tlie young man to go. Presently, as Beavis did not 
 move, he said : * Life is either a blank or a torture chamber. 
 If we act in it, we involve ourselves in annoyances ; if we aim 
 at anything, we bring on ourselves disappointment; if we take 
 a part in politics, we are covered with obloquy by our opponents 
 — that is, by the press of the opposite party ; if we appear in
 
 HOME-THRUSTS. 151 
 
 society, we are subjected to the insulting inquisitorial eyes of 
 the Society papers ; if we attempt anything in literature, we 
 are cut to pieces by critics who know nothing of the subject to 
 which we have devoted our lives. No, Beavis, a mau with 
 self-respect should shut himself up in a walled garden and 
 never leave it, but die there of ennui.' 
 
 * And the enthusiasm of youth is given us only to drive us 
 to disenchantment and disbelief.' 
 
 ' That is all.' 
 
 ' You look on life, really, from this point of view ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, ever since my disenchantment. Let me alone, Beavis. 
 
 It may be pleasure to you to anatomise me, but I have no 
 
 desire to be the subject of your vivisection.' 
 
 * It is no pleasure to me to vivisect you,' answered Beavis 
 Worthivale. ' I speak strongly because I feel strongly. Here 
 is Kingsbridge vacant, and you are the right person to repre- 
 sent it. I speak out what everyone thinks. The Duke, I am 
 sure, wishes it.' 
 
 ' I have told you, I am no politician.' 
 
 ' But, surely, you could master the subjects of debate as 
 well as another. Where there is a will there is a way.' 
 
 ' Exactly — but I have not the will.' 
 
 Beavis sighed. 
 
 ' You are not the only man who has been at me to-day. 
 Look at my uncle Edward's letter, if you like ; it lies on the 
 table.' 
 
 Beavis took it up, and read it with growing interest. 
 When he came to the end a slight agitation overcame him. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' asked the Marquess, who had been watching 
 him. The young man coloured. 
 
 ' Oh, Saltcombe,' he said, ' the chance has come at last. 
 You must not delay. Why are you now here smoking and 
 reading a book 1 Have you told Robert to pack your port- 
 manteau ? You must catch the next train.' 
 
 ' I do not like to be brought up to Glastonbury to have 
 my uncle and aunt show me an heii-ess, and say, " There, look 
 at her coat, how glossy; her hoofs are sound, so is her wind, 
 and she is worth her weight in money." She knows she is on 
 show. I know I am there to ci'iticise. The situation is 
 detestable. We both look absurd, and the natural result is, 
 we dislike each other, and fly in opposite directions. Besides, 
 I do not want to marry.' 
 
 ' You must accept Lord Edward's invitation. He would
 
 152 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 not write so pressingly unless he had found the right person 
 for you.' 
 
 ' But I should prefer to find the right person myself.' 
 
 'Where? In the walled garden in wliich, as you say, a 
 man of self-respect immures himself. Ko Avoman with self- 
 respect will come over the wall to you ; you must go about to 
 see women.' 
 
 ' I do not want to see any, much less to haxe one hang 
 herself round my neck. Tlie more she is weighted with gold 
 the more burdensome she will be to me. Besides, here I have 
 the society of the best and sweetest women that ever bloomed 
 outside Paradise, Grace and Lucy ; they have spoiled me for 
 others.' 
 
 ' You cannot decline Lord Edward's invitation. It is too 
 urgent to be neglected, couched in too tender a tone to be 
 denied. You must go.' 
 
 * I shall return as I go. I want rest ; to be left alone.' 
 
 ' You cannot be left alone. Go out of the world if you 
 want rest. You are building yourself, like a child, a sand 
 castle against the advancing tide ; the waves will sweep your 
 walls away and overwhelm you. You desire the impossible. 
 As your uncle says, you have duties to perform, and you will 
 not Ije the coward to shirk them. You may have to sacrifice 
 much that is dear to you, liut every man is made better by 
 self-sacrifice. You are not happy as you are, wasting your 
 days in reading books that do not interest you, following 
 sports that do not amuse you, and collecting cups and saucers 
 that are valueless to you. The books weary you because they 
 are books, and your proper study is life. Your sports fail to 
 distract you because you pursue such poor and wretched 
 game, and the cups and saucers — ' Beavis did not finish his 
 sentence ; his brow was red, he was excited, angry — his face 
 expressed contempt. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe did not interrupt him. Beavis went on : 
 * My father and I devote our lives to your affiiirs, which are 
 desperate ; but we are met at every turn by your inactivity. 
 We cannot save you because you will not put out a finger by 
 which you can be caught. For the sake of your father, your 
 uncles, your sister, tlu'ow aside this paralysing indiflerence 
 and Ix'stir yourself. You must marry, and marry an heiress, 
 such as your uncle has found for you because you would not 
 put your head outside your walled garden to find one for 
 yourself. You — you must save the family. You alone can
 
 HOME-THRUSTS. 153 
 
 do it. Your father — all — look to you, and you take no step 
 propria motu, but have to be driven on with sharp, perhaps 
 cruel, reproacl:\°s. Your father does not know the desperate 
 state of your atiairs You ought to know, but will not face it, 
 though the books have been shown you. Your uncles know 
 it, but you repel them when they offer you advice. Lady 
 Grace suspects it, but is too gentle to speak what may give 
 pain. There is absolutely no hope of salvation anywhere else, 
 except in your marriage. If I urged you into political life, it 
 was in the expectation of your being thrown in the way of 
 choosing for yourself. If you stood alone, I would say, 
 sacrifice the estate, sell Court Royal, and begin life on 
 straitened means, working hard, and working your w^ay 
 upward. Seek a regeneration of your family by work. Work 
 makes happy. But you are not alone, Saltcombe, and love 
 for your family forces you to make some sacrifice to maintain 
 it in its proper position. You have no choice. Be a man, 
 brace your heart, and face the necessity.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe became deadly pale. He stood up, and 
 looked at Beavis, who spoke with flushed brow and sparkling 
 eye. After a moment's silence he held out his hand and 
 caught that of Beavis. 
 
 ' My dear fellow,' he said, pressing his hand, and speaking 
 in a choking voice, ' I honour and love you more than ever. 
 I know what it has cost you to speak to me thus. I feel your 
 reproaches. I will not make a promise to — to — ' he looked 
 down. ' Beavis, ring the bell for Robert. He shall pack my 
 traps at once, and to-night I shall be at Sleepy Hollow. 
 There, give me Uncle Edward's letter, I will go see my father 
 at once.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL. 
 
 Mr. WoRxniVALE had summoned Lucy from the Court. 
 Beavis was there. A consultation was to be held on family 
 afiairs. The fire was lighted in the drawing-room, and father 
 and son were there awaiting the arrival of Lucy. 
 
 ' Father,' said Beavis, ' I do not like that new maid you 
 have got.'
 
 154 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Why not 1 Slie is very respectable and respectful.* 
 
 ' She puzzles me. There is a shrewd look aljout her face 
 that one does not generally meet with in a slavey.' 
 
 'And you dislike her because she is not an unthinking 
 machine 1 ' 
 
 ' No, father, that is not it. I expressed myself too strongly 
 when I said that I did not like her ; I should rather have 
 said that I mistrusted her.' 
 
 ' Why mistrust her 1 ' 
 
 ' Because I am continually lighting upon her in the 
 office.' 
 
 ' What of that 1 Is not that the most used room in the 
 house 1 Because it is so much used, and so many people come 
 in there to see one, it requires more sweeping than any other 
 part of the establishment. Besides, I make a litter there with 
 my papers. No other maid has arranged the papers so well 
 before. Joanna puts everything where I can lay my hand on 
 it at once.' 
 
 ' You leave books and papers about, without locking them 
 up, more than I think wise.' 
 
 * My dear Beavis, who is there to read them 1 Do you 
 suppose a chambermaid cares one farthing for the accounts, 
 and is greedy to know tlie clauses of a lease ? Besides, Joanna 
 cannot read. Here comes Lucy.' 
 
 ' I suppose she has heard the news,' said Beavis. 
 
 ' I don't know. Lady Grace would be told it last of 
 all.' 
 
 Lucy entered. She did not look herself that morning. 
 Generally bright and smiling, with a brilliant colour in her 
 cheeks, she was on this occasion dispirited and somewhat 
 pale. 
 
 ' Why, Lucy, what is the matter 1 ' asked her father. 
 
 * I have had a headache,' she answered. ' But I am better 
 now. I could not sleep last night.' She brightened with an 
 eftbrt, came to her fatlier and kissed him tenderly. 
 
 ' How are all at the Court 1 ' asked Mr. Worthivale. 
 (Here be it noted that he asked this question, however often 
 he met his daughter during the day, before he approached 
 affairs of private interest. The health and welfare of the family 
 stood before everything.) 
 
 ' The Duke is not so well this morning,' answered Lucy. 
 ' He has heard news which has excited him, and excitement 
 always upsets his heart.'
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL. 155 
 
 ' The news is of a joyful nature,' said tlie steward. 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose so,' answered Lucy, faintly, and her eyes 
 fell involuntarily before the observant look of her brother. 
 
 ' Stay a bit,' said the steward ; ' I had clean forgotten old 
 Barberry, who is in tlie kitchen waiting to speak to me. My 
 memory is going, I believe. It was high time for me to recall 
 Beavis to assist me. I shall be back directly.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale left the room. 
 
 ' You have heard, Lucy,' said Beavis in a low tone. 
 
 ' Yes, dear, I have heard what I presume you allude to — 
 that the Marquess is engaged.' 
 
 ' It is both his father's wish and that of his uncles. I 
 urged it strongly on him.' 
 
 ' I am very glad,' said Lucy ; ' I hope she is worthy of 
 him. Grace is startled, and does not know what to make of 
 the tidings. She ought to rejoice, but cannot till she knows 
 the lady.' 
 
 Beavis took his sister's head between his hands and kissed 
 her on the forehead. ' What is for the good of the house gives 
 us the greatest happiness,' he said. 
 
 She looked him frankly in the eyes and smiled, but tliere 
 was moisture in her eyes and her lips quivered. She saw that 
 Beavis had read the secret of her heart, which she had never 
 confessed even to herself. She pressed his hand to her bosom. 
 Then Mr. Worthivale came in. 
 
 ' Tiresome old man ! ' said the steward. ' Like all the rest, 
 Barberry wants something. The farmer must have a new 
 calves' house, and the cotter a fresh pigsty. No one is content 
 with the accommodation that suited his forefathers. Bar- 
 berry came here with a box for Joan, which he had brought in 
 his cart from the station, and being here, thought he might as 
 well make a demand on his Grace's pocket. I have said I 
 would look to the linney. He wants to have one for his 
 carrier's cart. I can't see that the Duke is bound to build 
 him one. If a man buys a donkey his Grace must build a 
 shed for it ; and if a woman catches a bullfinch the Duke 
 must provide her with a cage. Hark ! Good Lord, what is 
 the matter ? ' He ran to the door and opened it. 
 
 ' What is that noise 1 Who is squalling ? ' 
 
 ' Please, sir,' said Emily, ' it is only Joanna.' 
 
 ' Only Joanna ! Has she scalded herself ? What is 
 the noise about ? Send her down to me. Why are you laugh- 
 ing ■" 
 
 1'
 
 156 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' said the maid ; ' I'll tell her you want to seo 
 her, sir.' 
 
 Presently Joanna came down, her face flushed, in great 
 excitement. 
 
 'What was that row about?' asked Mr. Wortliivale, still 
 in the hall. ' Were you and Emily having romps or tickling 
 each other 1 Or have you Ivurt yourself 1 I care not. I will 
 not have a caterwauling in my house. Why, bless my soul ! 
 the Duke or one of their Lordships might have been liere, and 
 then — ^what would have been thought of my house, I should 
 like to know ? What made you scream, or laugh, or cry, or 
 whatever was the noise I heard 1 ' 
 
 ' Please, sir,' said Joanna, half crying, ' it is too bad ! I 
 had set my heart on it, and now it is utterly spoiled.' 
 
 ' What is spoiled ? ' 
 
 ' The pink silk.' 
 
 * Pink silk ! What pink silk 1 ' 
 
 * Oh, sir ! I had a beautiful pink silk dress, and as there 
 was to be a dance at Court Royal for the tenants and servants, 
 I sent to Plymouth to have it forwarded.' 
 
 ' Pink silk ! W^hat next ! Yoio come out in pink silk ! ' 
 
 ' Lady Grace has been teaching me to dance. Miss Lucy 
 can tell you, sir ; she lias helped.' 
 
 ' But — that does not justify pink silk.' 
 
 'I can't wear it ; it is spoiled,' said Joanna in a doleful 
 voice. ' The Ems Water has run all over it.' 
 
 * Ems Water ! ' gasped Mr. Worthivale. 'What have you 
 to do with Ems Water 1 ' 
 
 ' Please, sir, the master put in three bottles with the pink 
 silk, because, he said, the change of diet here might liave 
 heated my blood, and something cooling and lowering ' 
 
 ' The master ! — What master ? — Colonel Delany t ' 
 
 * No, sir, not Colonel Delany ; another master.' 
 
 ' What, a doctor ? I did not know you had been with a 
 doctor.' 
 
 ' He was not exactly a doctor — but he did bleed people 
 pretty freely.' 
 
 ' Oil, a surgeon. Right. Only the ignorant call surgeons 
 by the titU; of doctor.' 
 
 ' And one of the bottles of Ems Water is broken. I found 
 it broken in the box, and the water has wetted and stained my 
 dear, beautiful dress. I shall never be able to wear it now — 
 never ! '
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL. 157 
 
 *That is what you cried out about, is it ?* 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 'Go upstairs, and thank your stars the Ems Water did 
 spoil your pink silk ; you would only have made yourself 
 ridiculous had you appeared in it.' 
 
 Then Mr. Worthivale returned to the drawing-room. There 
 was no need for him to repeat the story. The door had been 
 left open, and his son and daughter had heard, and were laugh- 
 ing over, Joanna's misadventure. 
 
 Joanna went to her room, half in wrath, half in sorrow. 
 She opened the window and dashed from it the two re- 
 maining bottles, casting them into a large bank of rhodo- 
 dendrons. 
 
 ' That is the end of you,' she said. ' Now there are but 
 three left at the Golden Balls. I wonder what will become of 
 them.' 
 
 ' Sit down,' said Mr. "Worthivale. ' I have sent for you, 
 Lucy, and you, Beavis, to meet me here, because a crisis has 
 arrived in the afiairs of the Kingsbridge house — because an 
 emergency has arisen which we shall have to meet, and I do 
 not see how it can be met — except in one way.' He paused 
 and looked at his daughter, then at his son. ' I suppose you 
 know that the Marquess is engaged to be married to a young 
 lady of immense fortune, a lady not in his position, a commoner, 
 but of respectable family. Her father Ijelongs to a Norfolk 
 house ; he was a younger son, and sought his fortune in Ceylon, 
 coffee-planting. AVhat lie sought he found. He has returned 
 to England worth enough to extinguish some of the charges on 
 the Kingsbridge estate. Now we may look to tlie Ducal 
 House flourishing and putting forth leaves in old style once 
 more. I am glad. I confess I was despondent at one time. 
 But one should not despair. I have learnt a lesson. There is 
 a special Pi-ovidence which watches over our great and glorious 
 Aristocracy.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale drew a sigh of relief and touched his 
 breast with his right hand, much as though he were crying 
 'Peccavi, I have sinned, in that for a season my faith in the 
 English Aristocracy was shaken. I have now passed through 
 tlie trial ; my faith is restored to me.' 
 
 ' There is one thing I must mention,' continued the steward. 
 * I have called you together, not only to announce to you that 
 a turn in the affairs of the House has been reached, but also to 
 impress on you the fact that a supreme effort is needed to
 
 158 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 brincf tlioso aflairs to a conclusion. Of course the father of the 
 young lady, and the young lady herself, have been invited to 
 Court Royal for Christmas. Their reception must be splendid. 
 It will never do to allow Mr. Rigsby to see that the family is 
 pinched. Now Christmas is one of the most distressing seasons 
 to a well-ordered mind. It means the influx of bills, the de- 
 mand for boxes, the payment of annuities, and what is due on 
 mortgages and loans of various sorts ; add to these the very 
 copious customary eliaritios. I know that, theoretically and 
 tlieologically, Christmas is all right, and a festival, and a time 
 of rejoicing, but practically it is the contrary, even to those in 
 affluent circumstances. They cannot escape the annoyances if 
 tliey are not sensible of the suffering caused by Christmas. 1 
 am sorry to say that the closing year will find us in a worse 
 predicament than last. I have strained every nerve to meet 
 our liaV)ilities, but have not been as successful as 1 could have 
 desired — indeed, to be plain, I have been Aery unsuccessful. 
 Very heavy charges have to he met, and I do not know where 
 to turn to liud the money. The older mortgages ai-e held by 
 insurance offices, and I am afi'aid to fall in arrear to them. 
 Tlie newer mortgages I do not see how I can meet; and find 
 the money that is wanted for current expenditure. Just now 
 the expenses of the house cannot be reduced. The Rigsbys are 
 coming, and we must find a good deal of money for their 
 entertainment ; balls and dinner-parties must be given on a 
 large scale. The old gentleman must be impressed with the 
 greatness of the family into which lie is to be received. I do 
 not see how we can press payment from the farmers ; their 
 sbeep have been diseased, and they have lost entire flocks. 
 The Americans have beaten the wheat they grow below the 
 cost of growing. The importation of foreign cattle has re- 
 duced the price of home-grown meat. I have sounded the 
 tenants, and they give me no hope of paying arrears. Now all 
 "we want is time. The marriage of the Marquess will relievo 
 tlie pressure, if not remove it altogether. We must manage 
 somehow to tide over the time till that takes place. Lord 
 Ronald very generously placed three thousand pounds at our 
 disposal, but we want at least as much more. We must pre- 
 vent the evil from coming to a head before the marriage takes 
 place. As I said before, we have only one thing to consider — 
 liow to gain time.' 
 
 ]Mr. Worthivale looked at his son, then at his daugliter, 
 questioningly, cntrcatingly.
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL. 159 
 
 *I apprehend your meaning,' said Beavis, 'You ask me to 
 Banction what you have already resolved on in your own heart, 
 the sinking our little savings — I mean yours : I have nothing 
 — in the Eangsbridge debt. Tlie money is yours. It is what 
 you have laid by. Do with it what you will. I will not 
 reproach you.' 
 
 * It is not that exactly,' said Mr. Worthivale, rubbing his 
 hands nervously together. ' 3Iost providentially, most pro- 
 videntially, I say,' with great emphasis on the word, ' I took 
 my money out of Argentine bonds in time — before they went 
 to zero.' 
 
 ' Well, father, and then.' 
 
 ' Then — I looked about for a safe investment, and really, 
 upon my word, I saw none better than a small mortgage on 
 the Charlecombe estate of the Duke's.' 
 
 ' Very well. It is there. "What then do you want ? ' 
 
 * If I had left it in the Argentines,' argued Mr, Worthi- 
 vale, ' I should have had nothing for it.' 
 
 ' And have you drawn your interest since ? ' 
 
 ' Not of late,' answered the steward. ' There have been 
 other and more pressing demands.' 
 
 ' Then what do you want us to consent to, father 1 ' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale fidgeted with his hands and feet, then, 
 whilst feeling the button of his collar, which he pretended was 
 coming off, he said, shyly, ' There is Lucy's four thousand 
 pounds, left her by her mother.' 
 
 ' No,' said Beavis sharply ; ' they shall not be touched.' 
 
 ' Beavis,' exclaimed his sister, ' I entreat you, do not 
 deprive me of the pleasure, the pride, of contributing my little 
 share.' 
 
 ' No,' said her brother hotly, ' I will never consent to 
 this.' 
 
 ' Then you will deprive me of a great happiness. I have 
 spent my life, so far, at Court Royal, lived on the kindness of 
 the dear people there. They have loved me as if I were of 
 their blood. The Duke makes no distinction between me and 
 his own daughter. Lord Ronald is kindness itself. I would 
 give my heart's blood for Lady Grace. Oh, Beavis ! you are 
 cruel. Do you not understand that it is a privilege and a 
 pleasure to do something, to sacrifice something, for those 
 one loves ? Let the money go. Who cares 1 ' 
 
 ' No, Lucy, emphatically no,' said Beavis firmly. 
 
 ' The money is now m the Consols at three per cent.,' said
 
 IGO COURT ROYAL. 
 
 I\lr. Worthivale. ' Really, Beavis, I think you unreasonable. 
 I can get four-and-a-half for Lucy if I lend it to the Duke — 
 on security of course. There is absolutely no risk. Lord 
 Saltcombe will be married within six months, and at once, if 
 you desire it, the money can l)e replaced in the funds.' 
 
 ' It shall not be taken out.' 
 
 ' Beavis,' said the steward, testily, ' I am not responsible to 
 you. I am trustee of my daughter's money, and she is old 
 enough to know her own mind. I did not wish to do anything 
 without your knowledge, but I am not bound to follow your 
 advice. If I thought there was the smallest doubt about the 
 safety of the money, I would not make this ])roposal ; but I 
 have not a shadow of doubt. All I want is time ; with time 
 everything will come right.' 
 
 ' I protest,' said Beavis. 
 
 * Beavis ! ' exclaimed Lucy, throwing her arms round his 
 neck, and hiding her face on his shoulder, to conceal the tears 
 that were gathering in her eyes ; ' Beavis, it goes to my heart 
 to oppose you in anything, but in this I am as resolute as 
 yourself. Father, you have my full consent. Do not listen to 
 my brother. Oh, Beavis ! I am ready to do all I can — for 
 dear Lady Grace's sake.' 
 
 Then Beavis sighed. 
 
 ' It is as you will, Lucy. I am powerless to do more than 
 protest. When a great ship founders, it draws down all the 
 vessels round it into the abyss.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 REFLOUESCENCE. 
 
 Court Royal resumed its old appearance. Invitations were 
 sent round, and the whole of South Devon was thrilled with 
 expectation. There was to be a succession of dinner-parties 
 and a splendid liall, wliich would be attended by the ollicers 
 from Plymouth and Exeter, and })y all the young ladies of 
 position in the neighbourhood. For some years the Duke had 
 iriven no crreat entertainments. His healtli furnished the 
 excuse ; now, in spite of his health. Court Royal was to 
 become the scene of festivities on a large scale.
 
 REFLORESCENCE. 161 
 
 Not only were the gentry to be entertained, but the tenants 
 were to have a dance as well — the usual Christmas dance, 
 greatly magnified. So all classes were pleased, all looked 
 forward with eagerness to the arrival of the Marquess, which 
 was to be the signal for the commencement of the gaieties. 
 
 The secret was well kept. None knew of the engagement 
 except the Worthivales, and their lips were sealed. The Duke 
 and Lord Ronald confided nothing to their acquaintances, and 
 yet it was clear to all that something of importance had occa- 
 sioned this divergence from the routine of retirement. The 
 servants suspected it, and were eager to make Court Royal as 
 splendid and hospitable as it should be. They spared them- 
 selves no pains, and they invited all their friends and friends' 
 most distant acquaintances to partake of the profusion. 
 
 The Rigsbys would arrive a few days after the Mai-quess, 
 from Plymouth, where they had taken a house for the winter. 
 Mr. Rigsby thought Torquay too relaxing, yet the proximity 
 to the sea advisable for his daughter. 
 
 Lord and Lady Pomeroy and their daughter, the Earl of 
 Stratton and the Ladies Evelyn and Augusta Burrington, Lord 
 and Lady Dawlish, Sir Henry Hillersdon of Membland and 
 his party, were expected to stay in the Court over the ball. 
 The house was so large, it could contain a regiment. New 
 liveries were ordered for the servants. The paper-hangers, the 
 painters of Kingsbridge were occupied in redecorating several 
 of the rooms. Supplies of every sort were ordered from local 
 grocers, wine-merchants, butchers, fishmongers. The Duke 
 patronised local tradesmen. He disliked co-operative stores. 
 He would rather pay than break a tradition. The carriages 
 were re-lined, new carriages and additional horses purchased. 
 The only person who did not seem to share in the general 
 excitement was Lady Grace. She moved about the house 
 with her usual composure, looked after the flowers, saw that 
 everyone had a sweet and well-assorted bouquet in his room, 
 had a kind word for the servants whom she passed or came on 
 engaged on dusting and polishing, and was interested in the 
 work of the tradesmen, watched them and asked them ques- 
 tions. There was not a person who came within the circle of 
 her influence, and that was everyone to whom she spoke, who 
 would not have sprung into the tire had she desired it. 
 
 She was glad that at last her brother was engaged. She 
 had been his close companion for some years, and she felt an 
 ache in her heart that they were now to be parted, but she had 
 
 M
 
 162 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 never become her brother's confidant, and she knew that it was 
 well for him to find a sympathetic woman's soul to Avliich 
 he could open his inmost thoughts. Such a woman she trusted 
 Dulcina Rigsby would prove. She was ready to receive her 
 with love because she was Saltcombe's ideal, and his ideal 
 must be perfect. 
 
 Lucy was not as much with her as usual. Lucy was a 
 ready, intelligent, active manager ; she saw to everything. 
 Mrs. Probus was old and slow. At her father's request, Lucy 
 took on her own shoulders the care of preparing for the 
 visitors and the entertainments. She was pleased to be 
 occupied, she worked restlessly, she was not quiet for one 
 moment in the day. Lady Grace reproached her for doing 
 everything herself, without imposing any task on her. 
 
 ' Yours will come when the house is full, and you have to 
 entertain,' answered Lucy ; ' leave me to make preparations.' 
 
 Lucy was the inseparable companion of Lady Grace, her 
 right hand ; she loved her with an adoring devotion, received 
 all her thoughts, and devoted herself to ward olf all unplea- 
 santnesses from her friend. 
 
 Lady Grace was in the room prepared for 3Iiss Rigsby, 
 adjoining which was another for her aunt, jNIiss Stokes. She 
 was arranging the flowers on the dressing-table, some white 
 jessamine and pink geranium, and a spray of maidenhair fern. 
 She only touched them with the points of her taper fingers, 
 and they fell into place. 
 
 ' Do you know, dearest,' she said to Lucy, ' I believe that 
 this engagement will make me perfectly happy. It has been a 
 trouble to me that Saltcomlje has been hero so long without 
 pursuits, squandering his life and his brilliant talents. I ha^■e 
 never understood him, though he has stood nearer to me than 
 anyone else. He is melancholy, as though lamenting some- 
 thing, but he has nothing to regret ; or as longing for some- 
 thing, but he has made no effort to attain what he longs for. 
 Which is it 1 That has been a puzzle to me, and it lias 
 distressed me to be unable to unriddle it. Now he has found 
 some one aftnr his own heart, and now real life will open to 
 him. He will put forth his energies, he will wake out of 
 a dream, and we sliall find that he will make for himself a 
 place in the history of tlie present time. All our ancestors 
 have been men of note, though one or two noted only as spend- 
 thrifts ; yet all have taken some part in politics, or as patrons 
 of literature or art, and 1 cannot belicA'e my brother will be
 
 EEFLORESCENCE. 163 
 
 content to reckon as a cipher. He seems to me to be one who 
 has either been wrecked when first starting, or as one who has 
 never yet started on the great voyage of adveiature — which is 
 life. He cannot have undergone shipwreck — that is impos- 
 sible, or I should have heard of his disaster ; now he is about 
 to start. He has been waiting for the precious lading to fill 
 the empty hold of his heart. Now that is in, the anchor will 
 be weighed, the pennant run to mast-top, the white sails be 
 spread ; and with a cheer from all of us who stand on the 
 shore, the gallant vessel will start.' 
 
 ' I believe you are right, Grace,' said Lucy. 
 
 ' I do long so to see my future sister-in-law ; my heai't 
 yearns to love her. Do not be jealous, darling, nothing will 
 ever make me love another as I love you. No one can ever be 
 to me the sweet, strong, enduring friend — the sister that you 
 have been. Do you know, I have been teasing TJncle Ronald 
 about Dulcina. I don't like the name, do you 1 He has seen 
 her. When he heard they were at Plymouth, he went down to 
 call on them in Saltcombe's yacht. I have asked him a thousand 
 questions about her, but I cannot get much out of the General. 
 Men are so funny ; they have no descriptive faculty. All he 
 can say is that she is amiable. Well, amiable is one of those 
 unpleasant words which mean nothing — worse than nothing. 
 When you don't want to say an unkind thing about persons, 
 and you know no good of them, you describe them as amiable. 
 I am sure Uncle Ronald does not mean that. It is only his 
 clumsy man's way of describing a lady. She has aubui'n hair 
 and a pale face. I managed to extract that from him, and the 
 father is tall and burnt brown. Uncle Ronald can tell me 
 much more about Mr. Rigsby than he can about Dulcina.' 
 
 The Archdeacon and Lady Elizabeth arrived. The excel- 
 lent curate could be trusted to manage the parish, feed all the 
 fledglings on sop, and the adults on wind. Lord Edward 
 hastened at once to the Duke's room before he went to his own 
 apartments. The Duke was expecting him, excited, but dis- 
 guising his excitement. For the last hour he had been looking 
 at his watch every five minutes. The brothers greeted each 
 other with great cordiality. 
 
 ' Have I not managed well T asked the Archdeacon, 'Who 
 will deny that I am a man of business ? ' 
 
 ' I am much indebted to you, Edward. Without your help 
 we should never have got Saltcombe away from this place. I 
 hope she is a suitable person.' 
 
 m2
 
 164 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' SIio has plenty of money,' answered the Archdeacon, look- 
 inn do\vii abashed. 
 
 ' But, Edward ! money is a very small consideration. I 
 am sorry ho has not chosen one in his own position. Still — if 
 she is a lady, and one likely to make him liappy, I shall not 
 object. What atti-acted liiin to her 1 Is she very beautiful 1 
 Fair, I understand. I cannot get much out of Ronald ; he is 
 either unobservant or reticent.' 
 
 ' Fair, fair of course,' answered Lord Edward. ' I should 
 not call her exactly a beauty, but then men's tastes difler. I 
 really am no judge of women's faces, I have other things to 
 look at — the Fathers, and the Diocesan Charity accounts.' 
 
 ' But you can surely tell me something more than Ronald. 
 I should like particulars. Are her manners easy and polished ?' 
 
 ' I should not say exactly polished in the old acceptation of 
 the word. Easy they ai'e, I suppose. She makes herself at 
 home in your house at once, and is rather exacting. But then 
 her father spoils her. She turns him round her finger. It is 
 really a study to see how she manages him. That is good ; she 
 will exert herself to direct Saltcombe, and make something of 
 him.' 
 
 * I hope so,' said the Duke. 
 
 * I am sure of it. I am sanguine that the marriage will 1x5 
 a happy one.' 
 
 ' I have seen little of Saltcombe since he returned the day 
 before yesterday. He is shy, as you may understand, of speak- 
 ing on such a topic to me. He always was a reserved man, 
 and now his reserve is intensified.' 
 
 ' I will go and see him myself,' said Lord Edward. ' I 
 suppose the Rigsbys will be here to-day.' 
 
 ' I expect them by the next train. They will be here for 
 dinner. We have invited no one for to-day, but every other 
 day of their visit is provided for.' 
 
 The Archdeacon hurried to his nephew's apartments. He 
 was a man of business, and before he attended to himself he 
 was determined to have everyone else in order. He found 
 Lord Saltcombe by himself in his sitting-room, pretending to 
 read. He shook him warmly by the hand. ' Saltcombe,' he 
 said, ' remember what is expected of you. 1 have done all tliat 
 I can, so has Elizabeth. Upon my word I believe the girl is 
 in love with you, over head and ears. Now, for heaven's sake, 
 do not spoil everything by faintheartedness at the last. Keep 
 your spirits up. Show a good face betore your father. There
 
 REFLORESCEXCE. 165 
 
 is a great deal in the girl. It only wants drawing out. Her 
 father has spoiled her, and her natural excellence is a little 
 obscured, that is all. I like her, and think she will make a 
 first-rate wife.' Lord Edward saw everything in rosy light. 
 
 A couple of hours later the carriages arrived. Two had 
 been sent to Kin^sbridsre Road station. Mr. Ri^sbv, his 
 daughter, and Miss Stokes w^ere in the first, a fine new carriage 
 with splendid appointments ; Miss Rigsby's maid alone in the 
 second with the parcels, and the boxes on the roof. Mr. 
 Rigsby dispensed with a valet. 
 
 The evening was fine, the sun cast his last golden rays over 
 the house, and the park looked its best to greet its future 
 mistress. 
 
 Lady Grace and Lucy came to the entrance hall ; Lord 
 Edward and the Marquess were there as well, to receive the 
 guests. Dulcina looked about her with surprise and admira- 
 tion which lent vivacity to her face ; unfortunately the setting 
 sun sent its saflfron rays over her ; her complexion was naturally 
 pasty : in the sunlight she looked sallow. Lucy Worthivale 
 stood back, unnoticed, watching Dulcina attentively. Then 
 she hastened to Miss Stokes, and offered to relieve her of some 
 of her wraps. 
 
 Dulcina wore a tall hat, boat-shaped, Avith a great dancing 
 plume in it. She could not have chosen a head-dress less 
 suitable to her style. Colour came into Lady Grace's cheeks 
 for a moment when she met and saw her future sister-in-law 
 for the first time, but not a muscle of her features moved. 
 She greeted her with gentle cordiality that won Dulcina's con- 
 fidence immediately. The Marquess turned pale when he saw 
 the young lady in her hideous hat, standing in the yellow blaze, 
 looking plain, almost vulgar, but he speedily recovered himself 
 and behaved with courtesy and geniality. 
 
 'Upon my word ! ' exclaimed Mr. Rigsby, looking round, 
 ' what a place you have ! Why, you English nobles are princes 
 indeed.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby and his daughter were received by the Duke 
 in the drawing-room ; the audience was very short. Dulcina 
 was carried oft almost before the Duke could make out what 
 she was like, and conveyed by Lady Grace and Lucy to her 
 apartments. She looked about her eagerly ; on the stairs, in 
 the corridors ; she said little, she was oppressed by the stateli- 
 nesa and splendour about her, to which she was wholly un- 
 accustomed, brought up in a wooden bungalow in the coffee
 
 1G6 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 plantations of Ceylon, far from society and from settled 
 habitations. 
 
 ^\'llcn she had been taken to her rooms the IMarquess went 
 to his own. He was followed by Beavis, who had kept in the 
 background. He had observed JMiss Rigsby as attentively as 
 had his sister. He was unnoticed, and able to study her un- 
 restrainedly. From his love for Lord Saltcombe, and because 
 he had himself ur^ed him to this engac^cment, he was eager to 
 judge favourably of Dulcina ; but in spite of this prepossession 
 he Avas unfavourably impressed. It was not merely lier com- 
 plexion and tasteless dress which displeased his critical eye. 
 He thought he saw in her a selfish, querulous spirit, and a 
 lack of womanly tenderness. The geniality of her father, liis 
 eagerness to forestall her wishes, to screen her from all vexa- 
 tions, met with no recognition, were accepted as a right, and 
 awoke no gratitude. 
 
 When he came into Lord Saltcombe's room he found liis 
 friend in the arm-chair by the fire, his head resting in his 
 hand, seeming pale and dispirited. The Marquess looked up, 
 and with a faint smile said, ' Well, old fellow, come to con- 
 gratulate me 1 Satisfied with what you have done 1 Now, 
 tell me, on your honour, your opinion of ma fiancee.' 
 
 Beavis was confused. He felt some self-reproach. He 
 could not expect that his friend would find happiness at the 
 side of such a dry stick as Dulcina. 
 
 ' What do you think of her 1 ' asked Lord Saltcombe again. 
 
 ' I have liad only a glimpse. I have not as yet exchanged 
 a word with her.' 
 
 ' Tell me frankly, are you struck with her V 
 
 ' I will speak to you frankly. She is not bad looking 
 at all. We are so accustomed here to see lovely complex- 
 ions, that one spoilt by the sun of the south seems to us 
 strange. She has a profusion of wai'm-coloured hair and good 
 teeth.' 
 
 ' This is not fair, Beavis. You are cataloguing what I am 
 competent to catalogue myself. She has a nose, and eyes, and 
 lingers and feet. The latter small, the ankles good.' 
 
 ' What do you want 1 ' 
 
 ' What do you think of her character 1 ' 
 
 ' Kow you arc unreasonable with me, Saltcomlje. I have 
 seen her for a few moments only, and you demand what you 
 have no right to expect, and what would bo unfair to her. I 
 will tell you more after I have had a talk with her.'
 
 REFLORESCENCE. 167 
 
 'You are evading my question. I want your first impres- 
 sions.' 
 
 ' Then you shall have them. I think she has been spoiled. 
 "What has been spoiled it will be your place to restore. What 
 lies below the surface, what has been crippled and what stunted 
 by mismanagement, I cannot tell. I never will believe in any 
 woman being other than an angel.' 
 
 ' Is it possible to make good what is broken 1 ' 
 
 ' There are crippled hearts as well as crippled limbs. Miss 
 Rigsby is young : kindness and firmness may put the crippled 
 heart to rights ; it is only warped by having been allowed to 
 twist as it liked, unresti^ained.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Beavis. You set me a task. You are deter- 
 mined to make me work against my will. I am marrying 
 without love, without regard even, because it is a family 
 necessity. Perhaps the union will turn out well in spite of 
 its being loveless. The French system of mariagre de con- 
 venance is not so bad as novelists would have us suppose, and 
 the love matches these misleaders of youth extol are generally 
 disastrous. Young folks idealise each other, and their mar- 
 riage is a miserable disenchantment. Where two take each 
 other without any expectation of finding any treasure, every 
 discovery of a good quality, every peaceful pleasure in tnar- 
 riage, comes on them as a surprise, and they are delighted in 
 the end to find each other worth having.' 
 
 The Marquess laughed, but constrainedly. Beavis looked 
 at him sadly, sympathetically. He was afraid to speak. 
 He doubted what to say. 
 
 Mr. Rigsby gave his key to a manservant, who unpacked 
 his portmanteau for him. He had been accustomed to attend 
 on himself, and was impatient of having this taken from him. 
 He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking on. Then he 
 went to his daughter's room, tapped, and walked in. 
 
 ' Well, Dullie, what do you think of this 1 Is not the 
 house magnificent 1 Did you ever see such livery before, and 
 such a lot of it ? BufF and scarlet, red plush breeches — ' 
 
 'Really, James,' exclaimed Miss Stokes, 'would you — 
 would you be more constrained in tongue before ladies ? ' 
 
 ' Lord bless me ! ' exclaimed the old planter, ' what is 
 wrong ? If they wear 'em, mayn't one speak of them ? ' 
 
 ' Papa ! ' cried Dalcina, ' you must observe the decencies of 
 speech, if not before me, before the great folks here.' 
 
 ' Great folks,' said Mr. Rigsby ; ' I believe you, Dullie.
 
 1G8 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 They arc great folks indeed ! Tell me, now, is not c\orything 
 here raaguilioent 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh, all is very nice.' 
 
 * Nice ! Superb ! You do not employ proper expressions. 
 You never saw the like in your Avildest dreams, because the 
 like is not to be found out of old England.' 
 
 * 1 suppose there arc the courts of the native princes in 
 India ' 
 
 ' Native fiddlesticks ! ' exclaimed Mr. Rigsby. 
 
 * Really, really, James,' interposed Miss Stokes, ' would you 
 allow my niece to finish her sentences ? She cannot endure 
 interruptions : you bluike her nerves. Moreover, the cxpres- 
 tion is burlesque and improper.' 
 
 ' I was only about to remark,' said the abashed Rigsby, 
 * that Dulcina has seen no native princes. There are none in 
 Ceylon, and she has not been on a visit to Maharajas on the 
 continent.' 
 
 ' If she has not, she has road of their palaces and heard of 
 their state.' 
 
 ' They are nothing to the mansions of our nobility. And, 
 Dullie, my dear, the beauty is that you will one day be mis- 
 tress here. Listen ! Don't it sound well, Dulcina, Duchess 
 of Kingsbridge ? Upon my word, I will have you painted in 
 a ducal coronet and red velvet mantle turned up with ermine. 
 !My dear, look round here on everything as your own. The 
 old cock can't last long.' 
 
 ' What old cock, papa 1 ' 
 
 '1 moan the Duke.' 
 
 ' Really, James, really ! ' exclaimed Miss Stokes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CAUGHT NAPPING. 
 
 Never within man's memory had there boon such a succession 
 of gaieties at Court Royal as at this Christmas season. The 
 weather was favourable, bright and mild, as is so frequent in 
 these days, Avlien the seasons, as the world of men and manners, 
 are out of joint. The climate of the south coast of Devon, 
 especially of that favoured portion about the Kingsbridge estuary
 
 CAtGHT NAPPING. 169 
 
 and the mouths of the Erme, the Avon, and the Yeahn, is like 
 that of Penzance. Oranges, myrtles, geraniums grow in the 
 open air, and frosts do not fall sharply on the vegetation in 
 winter. 
 
 With an ebbing tide the Marquess took a party down the 
 creek in his yacht to Bolt Head. The sun was brilliant, and 
 under the rocks on the sands the air was so soft aiid summery 
 that luncheon was spread and taken out of doors. They 
 returned by moonlight. The yacht was illuminated with 
 coloured lanterns ; an awning was spread on deck to cut off 
 the falling dews ; a band played, and the party danced. The 
 villagers along the shore turned out to watch the glittering 
 vessel as she ran up with the flowing tide, and listen to the 
 strains of music wafted over the water. 
 
 Miss Rigsby caught cold on this expedition, and could not 
 appear for a few days. Lord Saltcombe inquired after her 
 health formally two or three times every day, and secretly felt 
 relieved that he was off duty for a while. 
 
 When Dulcina reappeared in public her nose was red and 
 glistening — red because it had been much rubbed, glistening 
 because glycerine had been applied to reduce the soreness of 
 the organ. Miss Rigsby 's temper had not been at its prime 
 whilst she was unwell, and Miss Stokes' patience and good 
 nature were tried. Dulcina was not even pleased with the 
 Marquess. The trip in the yacht had been planned by him. 
 ' Who ever heard of such nonsense,' she said, ' as a picnic and 
 a dance alfresco at Christmas ! Did the creature want to kill 
 me 1 Is he tired of me already 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh, dearest Dullie,' answered the aunt, ' forgive him. He 
 has become delirious with love. He cannot do enough to 
 please you. He is always inventing some excuse to be with 
 you. If he acted foolishly, forgive ; you have driven the wits 
 out of him. I never saw devotion so delicate, and at the same 
 time so passionate, in all my experience.' 
 
 ' That is not saying much,' snapped Dulcina. * You haven't 
 had much experience of love, aunt, I will be bound.' 
 
 Never was Mr. Rigsby in finer feather than at Court Royal. 
 At dinner he worked the conversation into the groove of coffee- 
 planting, in which he could run for hours. Then, when he had 
 got it on his subject, he poured forth his experience on coffee, 
 and absorbed the entire conversation till cofiee itself came in 
 on a silver tray and stopped his mouth. He talked also a 
 good deal on Indian affairs, and pretended intimacy with all
 
 170 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 the viceroys, lientenant-governors, chief commissioners, and 
 Bi'itish Residents and native jirinces for tlio last t[uarter of a 
 century. He knew the secret liistory of all that had been 
 done and neglected, lie had in his hands the clwo to all the 
 tangles, financial and political, of the empire, ^\'hat might 
 lie not expect, when father-in-law to a Marquess, with the 
 influence of a great Duke to back him 1 Surely, he might 
 aspire to the viccroyalty ! He would take nothing less. So 
 he talked long and loud, and made himself a general bore, in 
 the firm belief that he was stamping on the minds of the Duke, 
 the Earl of Sti-atton, Lord Dawlisli, Lord Pomeroy, and all 
 the distinguished guests at the table, that he, Rigsby, was the 
 man England wanted to do in Inrlia everything that ought to 
 be done, and to undo every muddle made by every preceding 
 governor. Mr. lligsby was not a vulgar man, but he was a 
 man without tact ; preoccupied with his own ideas, he regarded 
 no one else. This was the secret of his success in life. He had 
 gone forward with the one idea of making money, and he had 
 made it. Kow he had got hold of the notion that lie was about 
 to make himself a name in Eastern politics, and lie therefore 
 talked down and contradicted everyone who attempted to turn 
 the conversation or to dispute his views. 
 
 The Marquess played his part in the Comedy of Love with 
 resolution and patience. He was devoted in his attention to 
 ^liss Rigsby ; he did his utmost to draw out her better 
 qualities. These were few ; she had read little, observed 
 little, associated little with superior persons. She regarded 
 her father, though she tyrannised over him. She ruled as a 
 despot over her feeble aunt, a person of inferior culture, and 
 no mind. There was some kindness of heart in her, but most 
 of her thoughts were on herself. Her taste was detestable, un- 
 cultivated and originally defective. Here Lady Grace came to 
 the aid of her brother ; she ingratiated herself into the con- 
 fidence of Dulcina, and advised her how to dress ; she did so 
 with such delicate adroitness that ]\liss Rigsby had no idea she 
 was receiving and obeying advice. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale was radiant. The cloud that had hung 
 over the house was rolling away ; the golden age was return- 
 ing. His spirits bounded with the hopeful prospects. Not 
 within his memory could Beavis recall a time when he was so 
 extravagantly magnificent in his building of cloud-castles and 
 in throwing golden bridges over Sloughs of Despond. Court 
 Royal was itself again. The old splendour revived ; the old
 
 CAUGHT NAPPING. I7l 
 
 hospitality extended on all sides. Not for one moment did the 
 thought cross the steward's horizon and ti'ouble it, that this 
 revival was due to Lucy's fortune. Nor was his daughter 
 more concerned than he. Generous, self-sacrificing, devoted 
 heart and soul to the family, she was ready to give everything 
 without demanding a return, without grudging if it were lost. 
 
 It was other with Beavis. He knew exactly how matters 
 stood. He knew the extent of the peril. He knew whose 
 money paid for all these gaieties and stopped the mouths of the 
 clamorous ci'editors. For himself he did not care, but for his 
 sister he cared a great deal. A sense of uneasiness that he 
 could not shake off oppressed his spirits. He looked on at 
 the festivities ; he partook of them with perception of their 
 hollowness and without enjoying them. 
 
 On the evening of the ball he was present, standing in a 
 recessed window, half screened by the blue silk curtains, look- 
 ing on in a dreamy state — the cloud of apprehension hanging 
 over him — conscious at the moment, however, only of irritation 
 at the dance strains of Strauss, which seemed to his fastidious 
 ear as music full of unclean double-entendre unsuitable for 
 such a place and such company. 
 
 The ball-room, built by Frederick Augustus, Duke of 
 Kingsbridge, was a noble hall, lighted by two cut-gla.ss lustres 
 of great size. It was painted in panels with pastoral subjects, 
 divided by pilasters of white and gold. The ceiling was of 
 plaster flower-work containing paintings ; walls and ceiling 
 were the work of French artists, brought over for the purpose 
 by tlie art- and splendour-loving Frederick Augustus. 
 
 The Duke appeared for a short while, but his delicate con- 
 dition of health did not permit a long stay. He was surrounded 
 on his appearance by a cluster of ladies, eager for a word and 
 OHO of his charming speeches full of old-world courtesy and wit. 
 
 Beavis did not go to him. For a while, on his appearance, 
 the music ceased, then the doors were flung open, and two 
 Highland pipers entered, one an immense man with sandy 
 hair. They strode up the ball-room to the Duke's chair, stood 
 there a moment playing, then turned sharply and strode down 
 the room still playing, made a second circuit, and disappeared. 
 They were the pipers of a Highland regiment stationed at 
 Exeter. 
 
 After this diversion the Duke retired with an apology, and 
 the dancing recommenced with vigour. Then it was, whilst 
 teased by a waltz of Sti'auss, that Beavis was startled by a
 
 172 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 voice at his elbow — a soft, low voice, a voice not to be mis- 
 taken. He turned ami saw Lady Grace. 
 
 'Mr. Beavis,' she said, 'how liave I offended you? You 
 have not asked me to dance with you once to-niglit ; but see ' 
 — she held out lier tablet to him — ' I liave put you down, un- 
 solicited, for the next quadrille.' 
 
 His eye caught a single B on the place indicated. He 
 coloured with pleasure, and looked his gratitude without 
 speaking. 
 
 ' We have not had a confidential talk together for an age,' 
 she said in her gentle tones, so soft, yet quite distinct ; * and I 
 want it. Dear Lucy has been eiigaged night and day, and 
 could spare me none of her precious time. Besides, she is 
 reserved with me on the subject of all others that occupies my 
 thoughts. I have no one to speak to but yourself, and I can 
 only speak with you in the midst of a ball. You will be 
 candid with me, will you not ? You are a crystal moorstream, 
 and when I look in I see the spars and the sparkling mica, 
 even the grains of black hornblende. Now I want to look in 
 and find what is the gravel over which your clear thoughts run.' 
 
 She smiled. The look of her sweet eyes, the dimple on her 
 delicate cheek, the flutter of the throat, the intonation of the 
 voice, were full of pleading. 
 
 ' Dear Lady Grace,' answered Beavis, ' you know that I am 
 devoted to your service. I can deny you nothing.' 
 
 'Then, j\Ir. Beavis, be frank with me. I know how kind 
 and good you and all your family are. You are too kind, if I 
 may dare say that. I mean that to spare me a moment's pain 
 you Avould cover up from my eyes all the little black grains. 
 But, I pray you, let me have the very truth. Hide nothing ; 
 let me see all I ask to see. Will you not trust me ? Am I a 
 coward to turn pale and fly at the sight of a spider 1 I am 
 stronger than you think. I can bear more than you give me 
 credit for. That which tortures me most of all is uncertainty. 
 You will trust me — do, pray ! ' 
 
 She put her fingers to her fan beseechingly, and looked at 
 him. 
 
 ' What do you desire to know. Lady Grace 1 ' lie asked with 
 restraint. There were things he could not tell her, however 
 suppliantly and sweetly she might plead. 
 
 ' I cannot understand my brother's engagement. Does he 
 love lier 1 Does he admire her ? I have tried my best. I have 
 done all I can to find out what there is admirable in her, and I
 
 CAUGHT NAPPING. ' 173 
 
 cannot like her ; I can only endure her, and that only for a 
 little while. I thought that I knew Herbert so well ; what 
 he likes I like, and what I fancy he fancies ; in that we are 
 almost as tied as twins, but in this one matter I have no 
 sympathy with him. You do not know, jNIr. Beavis, how I 
 have striven to regard her as a sister. I cannot ; I cannot do 
 it ! But it is not that that troubles me. I would never let 
 her suppose I could not love her, but I am not sure that 
 Herbert loves her. I cannot think they will be happy 
 together. What is the attraction in her ? ' 
 
 She looked round to make sure that she was not over- 
 heard. 
 
 ' I had a battle with myself ; at last I plucked up sufficient 
 courage to approach the subject with him. You know that 
 she has had a bad cold, and has kept her room. During this 
 time I have been able to talk to my brother and walk with 
 him, with my hand through his arm, on the terrace, whilst he 
 smokes, just as before this — this affair. I have crept very 
 near to the question that perplexes me, but he will not allow 
 me to touch it. He glances aside and bids me keep at arm's 
 length. He turns the conversation to indifferent subjects, and 
 then my heart sinks. Only once did I wring anything like an 
 answer from him, and that was "Beavis approves." That was 
 referring me to you, was it not ? That is why I speak now. 
 
 prithee tell me the truth ! Why do you approve ? 
 
 Beavis looked down. What could he answer ? 
 
 ' I have not had much conversation with Saltcombe since 
 his engagement,' he answered in a low tone. He blushed as 
 he spoke, for it was an evasion, but he could not help himself. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Beavis ! ' she exclaimed, with pain and discourage- 
 ment in her expressive voice, 'you are playing with me. I 
 ask for the truth, and you throw up a soap-bubble ! ' 
 
 ' Lady Grace,' he said gravely, ' this is not the place, nor 
 have we now the time, for speaking on this matter. I must, 
 unworthy as I may seem, ask you to do that which I appear 
 unwilling to do to you. I must ask you to trust me. I do 
 approve of Saltcombe's engagement — I may add, I advised it. 
 This latter was a responsibility — a terrible one ; nevertheless, 
 
 1 took it upon me. I did advise this engagement.' 
 
 ' So did Uncle Edward, I know, and Aunt Elizabeth as 
 well,' said Lady Grace sadly. • I am treated like a child. I 
 am given no reasons. I can hardly bear it. I am no longer 
 a child ; I am growing into the old woman.'
 
 174 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 'Never, never, Lady Grace! witli a lieart as fresh and a 
 spirit as l>rii;ht as a May morning.' 
 
 She smiled very faintly, almost imperceptibly, slight dimples 
 forming at the corners of her mouth. The tears were very 
 near the surface. 
 
 ' I must trust you,' she said. Then, thinking she had 
 spoken grudgingly and ungenerously, she looked up and said, 
 * I trust you frankly, freely, from the bottom of my soul. 
 Excuse my petulance, my curiosity. From the days of Eve 
 woman has wanted to know what she had better not know ! ' 
 
 Beavis was uneasy. He felt that she was hurt by his want 
 of confidence — hurt and disappointed. He knew that this dis- 
 appointment would cost her tears when alone. He could not 
 do otherwise. He could not tell her that this man-iage was 
 de convenance, one for money, and money only. Her healthy, 
 pure mind would recoil from such a trutli. She would think 
 such a union unholy, dishonouring. But it was necessary. 
 She did not know the bankrupt condition of the family. If 
 told it, she would not realise it. If she did realise it, she 
 would refuse to sanction escape from it by such means. 
 Beavis knew this. He could see into that transparent soul 
 better far than she could look into his. 
 
 ' The quadrille is forming,' she said ; 'let us take our places.' 
 
 They dia so under one of the great chandeliers. 
 
 How beautiful was the scene : the background of old paint- 
 ings and white and gold, the l)rilliant light from above, the 
 brightly polished lloor of inlaid woods, the figures in gay 
 colours — the turquoise blue, the eschscholtzia yellow, the car- 
 nation pink, the lily white — fiickering in and out like pieces in 
 a kaleidoscope. The beautiful faces, bright eyes, the various 
 hairs — golden, chestnut brown, black — the flash of diamonds, 
 the flowers — how lovely was the scene ! Yet, lovely above 
 every person and every object there, incomparable in every 
 way, Beavis thought Lady Grace — not wrongly, not with any 
 exaggeration. Incomparable she was in white and the palest 
 blue satin, so pale as to be scarcely blue at all, with aqua- 
 marine parui-e, and a cross of the same hanging from licr 
 necklet and resting on her pure bosom. The delicate blue 
 veins in her temples and on her throat and bosom showed 
 through her transparent skin. Her eyes were of deep violet 
 blue — the only dark colour about her. In her cheeks was the 
 faintest tinge of rose. Lady Grace, as has been said before, 
 was not a young girl ; she was sliding out of youth. But age
 
 CAUGHT NAPPING. 175 
 
 as it drew on, added sweetness to her face ; it gave expression 
 where it withdrew bloom. 
 
 Miss Rigsby flared by in yellow and red ; the Misses Sheep - 
 wash were in the same quadrille, hot with dancing, their cheeks 
 aflame, and their fans working vigorously ; they were bouncing 
 girls. 
 
 Beavis turned his eyes away. He looked at his partner, 
 moving easily, without exertion, full of grace in every undula- 
 tion. It was a delight to the eye to rest on her. 
 
 She did not look at Bea\is durina," tlie dance. When he had 
 the chance he said, ' I have offended you — ' 
 
 ' No, you cannot do that ; only disappointed me.' 
 
 ' I cannot help myself. I am obliged to say, Trust me. I 
 can do no other. Rely on me that I advise nothing which is 
 not best for your brother and your family ; best attainable, I 
 mean, not ideally best.' 
 
 He had to lead her across in the dance. She slightly pressed 
 his hand. It was to say, ' I trust.' 
 
 When she returned to his side she said, ' Do me a favour. 
 Poor Miss Stokes is sitting yonder, the picture of woebegoned- 
 ness. Please me by dancing once with her. You do not know 
 how dreadful the world seems to a young lady who has been a 
 wallflower one whole night. A single round alters the aspect 
 of life.' 
 
 In the coiuitry there is generally a preponderance of ladies 
 at a ball. It was not so on this occasion at Court Royal. 
 Ofiicers had been invited from Plymouth and Exeter, so that 
 every young lady — except Miss Stokes, who was not young, but 
 refused to consider herself old — found a partner, and every 
 young lady said afterwards that this was the most perfect ball 
 she had ever attended. Even Miss Stokes said it was a nice 
 ball. She danced twice with Beavis. Beavis was not obliged 
 to dance. He preferred looking on. He watched ]\Iiss Rigsby, 
 and he saw that she was flattered with the attentions of the 
 Marquess, and that, so far as her cold nature could feel affec- 
 tion, she loved him. Her eyes followed him when he danced 
 with another, with an expression in them much like jealousy. 
 Lucy had been compulsorily relieved of her superintendentship 
 of preparations for, and conduct of the ball, by Lady Elizabeth 
 Eveleigh, -wdio on her arrival took everything xipon herself. 
 Lady Elizabeth was full of system, and Lucy was obliged to 
 admit that eveiything went more smoothly ; the servants be- 
 came more prompt under the rule of Lady Elizabeth than under
 
 176 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 herself. She would have kept in the backicround in the ball- 
 room Juvd slie been allowed, but slie who had thouglit of others 
 was tliought of by tliem. Tlie Martjuess insisted on lior dancini:; 
 witli him, then Lady Grace introduced officers to lun-. Lord 
 Ronald would not be refused her liand in the lancers. Lord 
 Edward, tlie Archdeacon, did not dance, but ho drew Lucy 
 into a window and talked with her for half-an-hour in an afFec- 
 tionate manner. Whenever Lady Grace passed her in valse, or 
 ([uadrille, or cotillon, she smiled, and if possible gave her a 
 kindly word. In spite of her efibrts to escape, for slie was not 
 in good spirits, Lucy was not allowed to retire. She danced as 
 often as any young girl in the room. Her partners liked her. 
 She was unaliected, full of good sense and modesty. About 
 three o'clock in the morning Beavis told his sister he was eroinjr 
 home. 
 
 ' Papa has the key,' said she. ' Our maid, Emily, is here 
 helping. She and that other, Joanna, could not both come to- 
 morrow, so they arranged between them that one should be here 
 to-night and the other be at the tenants' ball. Papa said she 
 was to go to bed, and that he and you would let yourselves in.' 
 
 'I'll get the key,' answered Beavis ; 'then I will sit and 
 smoke in the study till our father comes. I do not suppose he 
 will leave yet.' 
 
 ' Oh dear no ! not till the last moment ; he enjoys the ball 
 as much as a girl does her first coming out.' 
 
 Beavis got the key and walked home. 
 
 When he left the house, and was in the park, he turned and 
 looked back at the illuminated mansion ; the strains of music 
 came to him faintly through tlie trees. Then the sense of 
 oppression, which had hung over him all the evening in the 
 glitter of the ball-i'oom, descended heavily on his spirits. 
 
 Was it possible that the Marquess would continue in the 
 same resolution and marry Miss l{igsl)y 1 If he did not, then 
 the earthquake would follow, and engulf not only the Kings- 
 bridge family, but his own. As yet Lord Saltcomhe had shown 
 no token of wavering. He was too honourable a man to shrink 
 from an engagement when once he had passed his word. On 
 this Beavis assured himself that he could rely. As far as he 
 could see the marriage would certainly take place. That which 
 troul)led him was not the doubt of its accoin])lislim('nt, but the 
 proijable result aft(;rwards. Was there any prospect of happi- 
 ness to the Marquess in such an union 1 There was none — 
 none at all. The characters were incompatible. The marriage
 
 CAUGHT NAPPING. 177 
 
 must lead to mutual estrangement. It would end Saltcombe's 
 friendsliip for Beavis, whom he would always regard as the 
 evil adviser who had brought him into hateful bonds. Beavis 
 opened his house door noiselessly, and as noiselessly entered the 
 hall. He wore goloshss over his patent leather boots, and his 
 steps were soundless on tlie kamptulicon floorcloth. To his 
 surprise he saw that the office door was ajar, and that there 
 was a light witliin. 
 
 He walked down the passage and entered. 
 
 He saw the girl Joanna at his father's writing-desk, seated 
 on the stool asleep, her head reposing on her arm upon the 
 desk. A candle was burning beside her. The book-cupboard 
 or pi'ess, in which the ledgers were kept, was unlocked and 
 open. The bunch of his father's keys was there, hanging in 
 the lock. On the desk were some of the ledgers, open. 
 
 Beavis stepped up to the girl in great surprise, and saw 
 that under her hand was a small account-book, in which, as far 
 as he could see, without removing her hand, was a series of 
 extracts from the ledger ; of pai'ticulars of rents, payments, 
 incumbrances, neatly written, not in his father's hand. 
 
 ' Joanna ! ' he called, and laid his hand on her shoulder. 
 Instantly she sprang to her feet, looked at him in a bewildered 
 manner, gathering her senses Avith difficulty, put her hand 
 firmly on the account-book, and witli the other knocked the 
 candle over. It was instantly extinguished on the floor. 
 
 ' Wliat is the meaning of this ? ' asked Beavis, confronting 
 her in the dai'k. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, sir,' answered the girl ; ' I am sorry. I 
 fell asleep whilst sitting up to open when you came home. I 
 thought you might want some hot water and sugar and tlie 
 whisky. I'm sorry the light has gone out. If you'll please to 
 excuse me a moment, I will fetch a candle from the kitchen.' 
 
 She was fumbling with her hands whilst speaking. 
 
 ' What are you about 1 ' asked Beavis sharply. 
 
 * Please, sir, I can't find the candle where it has fallen.' 
 
 ' Never mind the candle. Go fetch another.' 
 
 She slipped away, but not at once, as bidden. Presently 
 she returned, holding a bedroom candle alight. She looked 
 sleepy, her eyes were dull, her hair tangled. 
 
 'Joanna,' said Beavis, looking at the desk, 'I must know 
 the meaning of this.' 
 
 ' I told you I was sitting up,' she answered. ' In the kitchen 
 I might not have heard, and I made so bold as to come in here, 
 
 N
 
 178 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ^vllcro I'd be sure, I thought, to licar when you -were at tho 
 front door. I'm sorry I was that bold to do so.' 
 
 ' What has become of tho note-book I saw on the desk a 
 mom out ago ? ' 
 
 ' Wliat note-book, sir 1 ' 
 
 ' One I saw bencatli your hand as you h\y asleep.' 
 
 Joanna shrugged licr shoulders. 'There are a power of 
 books of all sorts here,' she answered. * Which would you 
 please to want, sir 1 ' 
 
 * I insist on your producing the book.' 
 
 ' I have none to produce,' she answered, stupidly ordoggectly. 
 
 ' Joanna, how came the cabinet open, and the books about 1 ' 
 
 ' I suppose the master left them so.' 
 
 ' And the cabinet unlocked ? ' 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, then yawned. ' I beg pardon, 
 sir, but I am that sleepy I can neither think nor speak. Do 
 you want some hot water and tumblers, and the sugar, and the 
 whisky 1 ' 
 
 ' Go along — to bed at once,' said Bcavis. 'I'll inquire into 
 this to-morrow.' 
 
 ' And the wliisky, and the sugar, and the hot water 1 ' 
 
 'Go along,' said Beavis, stamping. 'I want nothing but 
 an explanation of your conduct, and that I will have from you 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' She looked at him. In that quick glance there 
 was neither stuj^idity nor sleep. 
 
 Before he could speak again she had stolen away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WITHOUT WARNING. 
 
 Beavis remained up, smoking and musing in the study till 
 Ids father returned. He did not speak to him about Joanna 
 that night, as the old man looked tired. He gave him his 
 candle, made a joke about a midday breakfast and lunch rolled 
 into one, at which they wf)uld meet, and retired to rest. 
 
 Neither Beavis nor his father came down till late next 
 morning, and then only, over their breakfast, was Joanna's 
 behaviour discussed.
 
 WITHOUT WARNING. 179 
 
 «I never take tea with meat. "What is it this morning? 
 Kidneys ? Kidneys above all. No tea, Beavis, coffee for me ; 
 less tannin in it. Can you conceive anything more calculated 
 to give dyspepsia than to immerse meat in a fluid charged with 
 tannin ? You convert it at one stroke into leather, and make 
 demands on the gastric juice which it is not qualified to per- 
 form. No, tea is poison ; give me coffee.' 
 
 ' Certainly, my dear father,' said Beavis with a smile. ' I 
 fear I have something to communicate which will disagree 
 with you more than tea.' 
 
 ' Then reserve it.' 
 
 ' I must not. We must act upon it at once.' 
 
 jMr. Worthivale sighed. ' I enjoyed myself so greatly last 
 night. Indeed, I do "not think I have spent such a happy 
 ten days as these last since I was a boy. Well, what is it 1 ' 
 
 Then Beavis told his father what he had seen that morning 
 early on his return from Court Royal. Mr. Worthivale was 
 annoyed. ' One cannot get along a week without unpleasant- 
 nesses,' he said peevishly. ' Really, at my time of life I ex- 
 pect relief from worries.' 
 
 ' Where did you leave your keys ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot say for certain. Yes, 1 can. I am positive : 
 that is, I think I locked everything up as usual, and put the 
 keys in my ti'ousers pocket. I generally — I may say always 
 — do so on principle. But yestei'day I was in such a hurry 
 about the ball. My time and thoughts were in such requisi- 
 tion that I may have committed the oversight of leaving them 
 in the bookcase. I was not at the office at all after half- 
 past three, and then I was there for an hour only. There 
 was no money in the di-awers.' 
 
 ' No, but there was information concerning the Duke's 
 affairs worth to some people a good deal of money.' 
 
 ' It would certainly be annoying if stupid gossip got about 
 concerning the family embarrassments.' 
 
 ' I do not allude to gossip.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what I will do, Beavis. I'll ring for the girl, 
 and then we will examine her together. I see no cause for 
 alarm. She caii neither read nor write.' 
 
 ' Who told you so ? ' 
 
 ' A Mrs. Delany, in whose service she was before she came 
 to us. Touch the bell, Beavis.' 
 
 In response to the summons Emily appeared. 
 
 • Look here,' said the steward ; ' send the other girl to me. 
 
 m2
 
 180 COURT ROYxVL. 
 
 I mean Joan or Joanna, wliichever she is called, I cannot re- 
 member. I want a word with lier.' 
 
 ' Please, sir,' answered Emily, ' she is gone.* 
 
 ' Gone ! ' exclaimed father and son in a breath. 
 
 'Yes, sir. She went by tlie first coach tliis moniinir, when 
 you were asleep. She said as how the young master had given 
 her notice to be off at once. She took her box out into the road 
 herself. She was in a pretty take on too, sir, because, as she 
 said — to use her very words — she was chiselled out of a dance. 
 She'd set her heart on going to the tenants' ball to-night. Her 
 and I had a regular breeze because we could not both go, and it 
 ended in the usual way. She got her way, aiid nuuhi me go 
 last night just to look on and help. She was crying with vexa- 
 tion because she could not be at the dance. When she went 
 away she said, "What would Lady Grace think, who had been 
 so kind to her, and Miss Lucy, wlio'd tauglit her to dance ! ' 
 
 ' I did not give her notice,' said Beavis in a low tone to his 
 father. 
 
 ' She has not had her wage,' said the steward aloud to 
 Beavis and Emily. 
 
 ' Well, now, that is queer,' began the maid, when the young 
 man cut her short with, 
 
 ' You may go.' 
 
 As soon as the girl was gone Beavis said, 'Tliis makes 
 matters more suspicious. I told Joanna tliat I would examine 
 her with you to-day, and rather than suliject herself to interro- 
 gation she takes herself off without warning.' 
 
 ' She forfeits her wages,' said Mr. Worthivale. ' But I 
 dare be bound she misunderstood you. Beavis, you speak 
 ratlier sharp with servants. I dare say Emily would have 
 talked on for half an hour if you had not cut her over the 
 knuckles so sharp.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt whatever she would.' 
 
 * She might have told us a good deal,' said liis father. * I 
 have no doubt in my mind that a misapprehension lies at 
 the Ijottom of tliis unfortunate aflhir. Of course, Joan had no 
 right to be in the olficc, but perhaps she was dusting and tidy- 
 ing. You know yourself how neat she keeps that room, which of 
 old was always in a litter. Once I never knew Avlicre to lay 
 my liand on anytliing. I shall miss lier ; she had her good 
 points. I dare say you snapped off her head when you came 
 in and found the poor creature dozing over her work. No 
 doubt she was tired. You are too hasty, Beavis, too liasty by
 
 WITHOUT WAENING. 181 
 
 far. No question she has left her address with Emily. I will 
 ring and inquire.' 
 
 Beavis stayed his father. ' I am sure she has not. This 
 is a more serious matter than you suppose. I never liked the 
 looks of the girl ; she was too clever.' 
 
 ' That comes of education ; the over-education of this nine- 
 teenth century.' 
 
 ' But she can neither read nor write.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I beg your pardon. I mean the reverse. She is 
 clever because not overtaxed by Board School masters straining 
 poor, underfed brains to reach standards that are far above 
 their level.' 
 
 ' Whence did she come 1 ' 
 
 ' From Plymouth, from Colonel Delany's — a very respecta- 
 ble family. He is connected by marriage with the Pomeroys. 
 I do not know who IMrs. Delany was, but of course she is a 
 lady, and she wrote in liighest commendation of the girl.' 
 
 ' Let me see the letter.' 
 
 ' It is somewhere in the office ; I think I can find it ; follow 
 me. But mind, Beavis,' said the steward, stopping at the door, 
 and holding up his finger ; remember what I have said about 
 drinking tea with meat. You deliberately tan your food, and 
 yet you expect to digest it. As well eat sole-leather.' 
 
 The old man fumbled in his drawers. 
 
 * I thought I had put it in this pigeon-hole, among sundries. 
 It seems to have made itself Avings and gone.' 
 
 ' I have little doubt Joanna has taken it.' 
 
 ' She could not read or write,' said Mr. Worthivale. 
 
 ' If she does not read, why did she pull out the ledgers ? If 
 she does not write, who made a precis of the debts and income 
 of the family in the little note-book I saw ? ' 
 
 ' It may have been in my handwriting. I often take odd 
 scraps of paper and figure on them the revenue of the Kings- 
 bridge estates, and the outgoings, and try to extract some com- 
 fort from them. I dare say you will find a score of such 
 balances in the wastepaper basket.' 
 
 ' They ought not to be there.' 
 
 *Who is the wiser ? I put initials to the debts.' 
 
 ' What I saw was not in your handwriting, and was done 
 very clearly and systematically. It was done by some one ex- 
 perienced in bookkeeping — that is the only pomt that shakes 
 mj conviction that the girl has bled your books.' 
 
 ' What was the back of the account-book like ? '
 
 182 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' I did not see it. Joanna knocked the candle over, as I 
 am convinced, deliberately, and in the dark secreted the notes 
 and put away the ledgers. I heard her do the latter, and 
 when she returned with the candle, evei'ything was in place, 
 and the account-book nowhere that I could see.' 
 
 'We will overhaul the cal)inet.' 
 
 ' I should like to overhaul her room.' 
 
 ' I will call Emily.' 
 
 The rnaid conducted Beavis upstairs. 
 
 He looked round. The bed had not been slept in. Some 
 scraps of paper lay scattered on the floor ; a saucer with 
 water in it stood in the window. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Emily, ' never was nobody so stuck up as 
 Joamia over nothing as she was over the pot of lily of the 
 valley her ladyship gave her. She went off on the top of the 
 coach, hugging it like a baby, and I seed her kiss her hand 
 and wave it, right away over the woods towards Court Royal ; 
 and she was crying. I reckon she was sorry to go. She was 
 so taken with Lady Grace, she nigh worshipped the ground 
 she trod on ; and the last thing I heard her say was, " Oh, 
 what will Lady Grace think ! " Why, sir, I reckon her lady- 
 ship won't cast a thought after her.' 
 
 Beavis shook his head. 
 
 ' Joanna has not left a pin that was her own. She looked 
 about the room a score of times to make sure she had every- 
 thing. She carried away her pink silk as she minded to have 
 worn at the tenants' ball, had it not been spoiled with mineral 
 water.' 
 
 ' Did she give you her address 1 ' 
 
 ' Xo, sir, her and me wasn't over-good friends. She was 
 one that would have all her own way, she was that over-bear- 
 ing. I did think it was not fair that she should go to the 
 dance to-night and not I, who am tlie longest in the place, 
 but she was that set on it, I reckon there was no withstand- 
 ing her. Lady Grace and Miss Lucy had taught her to dance 
 for the purpose — she brought this up on me, and what was I 
 to say 1 ' 
 
 ' That will do,' said Beavis. ' I asked a simple question 
 and required a simple answer.' 
 
 ' And after all, sir,' said the unabashed Emily, ' she won't 
 go to the ball neither. That's sweet comfort.' 
 
 The tenants' ball began at seven, and by tacit understand- 
 ing was to be over at two in the morning. The hours were
 
 WITHOUT WARNING. 183 
 
 very much earlier than at the grand ball of the evening before. 
 jMr. AYortlaivale and Beavis were there, as a matter of course, 
 and all the Ducal family appeared. His Grace remained in 
 the ball-room longer than on the former occasion, talking to 
 the young farmers' sons and daughters, showing that he knew 
 them all by name, took an interest in their welfax-e, and was 
 delighted to have tliem about him enjoying themselves. He 
 •was obstinate on this evening, he would not go when his 
 daughter thought advisable. 
 
 ' No, dear,' he said, ' it refreshes me to see all their happy 
 faces. How hearty they are ; how well they behave ; they 
 are so courteous and kindly ! I do like our English peasantry; 
 there is a gentility of feeling about them I meet with nowhere 
 else — good hearts and clear heads.' 
 
 The Duke knew nearly everyone. He had the happy 
 faculty of never forgetting a face, and of remembering the 
 circumstances of every family. He had the tact of enquiring 
 after absent members, by name, with such real or well-simu- 
 lated interest, as to gratify those he addressed, and convince 
 them of his sincerity and friendship. 
 
 ' What ! Mrs. Prowse ! You here ? This is an unex- 
 pected pleasure. How many years ago was it that you were 
 pretty Mary Eastlake, with whom I opened the ball ? The 
 belle of Aveton GifFord.' 
 
 'Well, your Grace, my daughter has come for her first 
 dance, and as I've no other children — you'll excuse me, your 
 Grace — I thought I'd come with her and see her safe home.'_ 
 
 ' Bring her to me. If she is like you in old days, she will 
 kill many hearts this evening.' 
 
 ' Well, Richard Palmer ! I hope you have brought your 
 voice and will favour us with a song, when the dancers give 
 over for a moment. How is poor Jane 1 Is she still suffering 
 from her spine 1 I was so grieved to hear of her accident — I 
 had counted on her presence this evening.' 
 
 'How are you, Mr. Newberry? Last time I saw you, 
 your wife was bent on the great ash being cut down in front 
 of the gate. It went to my heart to deny her, the tree was 
 so tine, but I learnt a lesson ; the gale of last October tore the 
 tree to pieces and pelted your roof with the boughs.' 
 ' Broke the roof through and through, your Grace.' 
 ' That is a lesson never to deny the ladies anything ; I 
 dare say your own experience teaches you the same.' 
 
 « How do you do, Mr. Nesbitt ? ' to a schoolmaster ; ' glad
 
 184 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 I secured your services for the new school at Wooley. I read 
 your account of your misadvcnturos — that you sent to JSUick- 
 xcood — with great ainuseinent. Kever lau^liod so much in -my 
 life. It was smartly written — very. You will do something 
 with your pen some day.' 
 
 ' Oil, Lucy, dear,' said Lady Grace, ' do go to papa and 
 persuade him to retire. He is so happy when he gets with 
 the young people that he will stay on here longer than is 
 judicious. He will suiTcr for it to-morrow, and I am sure 
 that they will dance with more ease when the restraint of his 
 presence is removed. Look ! there are only three circling 
 round tlic room now, to the strains of the whole marine band, 
 and they are blushing and disposed to give it up. Where is 
 Joanna ? What has become of that odd girl 1 I see her 
 nowhere,' 
 
 ' I do not know ; I will ask my father, or Beavis.' 
 
 ' Do, Lucy, go to the Duke. He will listen to you when 
 he will not obey me or Uncle Ronald — not even the Arch- 
 deacon. You have such a coaxing way, and yet you are so 
 resolute, he will not refuse to go. Dear old man ! it is always 
 " Where is Lucy ? " with him. Nothing goes right unless 
 under your hands.' 
 
 Then Lady Grace caught the eye of Beavis, and beckoned 
 him to her. ' Where is your maid Joanna 1 ' she asked. ' Do 
 see how shy the young folk are. These couples are only 
 dancing because I have set them spinning, and they do it out 
 of duty, not because they enjoy themselves. Joanna has no 
 shyness, I will get her a partner and set her off.' 
 
 'She is not here, Lady Grace.' 
 
 ' Not here ! But liow is this 1 Could you not spare her? 
 I am sorry ; Lucy and I have been teaching her to dance, and 
 she had so set her heart on this evening.' 
 
 ' She is a perplexing, queer girl.' 
 
 ' She is a girl worth studying, a girl from whom a great 
 deal may be learnt ; delightfully" fresh and yet terribly worn 
 out, if you can understand such a compound of opposites. 
 Is not that the sum of Hegel's philosophy, the conciliation of 
 antagonisms 1 Well, that is Joanna. I am so sorry she is 
 not here. I should have delighted to see how she profited by 
 iny teaching.' 
 
 ' Slie is gone. Lady Grace.' 
 
 * Gone ! ' 
 
 ♦ Yes, gone without warning.*
 
 ISO 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 UNSTABLE AS WATER. 
 
 Three days after the grand ball the lligsbys left. Miss 
 Rigsby had not appeared at the tenants' ball ; she was tired, 
 and did not feel well. The rumour of the projected marriage 
 had got about, and the tenants would have liked to have seen 
 their future Duchess, but she was ungracious ; she disliked 
 vulgar people and would not appear, to the disappointment of 
 the tenants and of the Duke, who thought that, in this 
 matter, she did not act with the consideration proper to her 
 position. 
 
 The Marquess and she had seen a good deal of each other, 
 and everything seemed favourable to a marriage. ]Mr. Rigsby 
 held long conferences with the Duke, and came away greatly 
 impressed with his urbanity, and still more impressed with the 
 conviction that he had made his own wisdom and importance 
 clear to the Duke. Miss Rigsby had convinced herself that 
 she was in love with the Marquess. Miss Stokes assured her of 
 the passion that consumed the bosom of her lover. Lord 
 Saltcombe did not in any way vary iia his behaviour ; always 
 courteous and considerate, ready to be with her on every 
 occasion, conversing on her reminiscences of Ceylon, and 
 attracting her attention to what was interesting in the coun- 
 try that was shortly to be her home. She had no apprecia- 
 tion of what was good in art, and he amused himself and her 
 in endeavouring to instil into her some of the first principles 
 of taste. 
 
 The day after the departure of the Rigsbys Beavis went to 
 his friend's rooms. He found the Marquess in his arm-chair 
 among a heap of papers that he had torn up and cast about 
 him on the floor. He was so deep in his thoughts, which 
 were of a painful nature, that he did not notice the entrance 
 of Beavis. At his first word he started and sprang up be- 
 wildered, unable at once to recognise the speaker. 
 
 ' You are, I hear, going to Plymouth, Saltcombe 1 ' 
 
 ' I — Plymouth ! — oh yes, I forgot. To be sure, yes, Beavis, 
 I am going there for a while. How hot it is in the room ! ' 
 
 The Marquess went to the window and threw it open, 
 drew a long breath, passed his red silk handkerchief over his 
 brow, and then returning to his chair, said, ' Oh, Beavis ! you
 
 180 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 have no conception of tlie strain on one's powers to keep up 
 the appearance of ])oiiig a lover.' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' exclaimed Beavis ; ' speak lower, or say 
 notliing on the matter.' 
 
 ' I must speak. I have no one but yourself to whom I can 
 give vent to my feelings. This is your doing ; you have put 
 me on the rack.' 
 
 ' I have advised for the best.' 
 
 ' I know you have,' answered the INIarquess with a bitter 
 laugh. ' I will go through witli it now, my honour is engaged, 
 so do not fear. Tout est pour le mieux dans le meilleur des 
 mondes. You must excuse me if, at times, my courage gives 
 way.' 
 
 Beavis had never before seen Lord Saltcombe so excited. 
 He was usually composed and cool. 
 
 ' The Dulce wants a word with you,' said Beavis. ' I have 
 come to tell you that he Avishes to speak to you in the rose 
 boudoir.' 
 
 The Marquess nodded. * One moment, Beavis, before I go.' 
 
 ' I am at your service.' 
 
 ' Tell me, how is it that we are spending money right and 
 left just now, and that there is not the ever- recurring worry of 
 a deficit ?, 
 
 Beavis hesitated. 
 
 * I insist on knowing,' said Lord Saltcombe. 
 
 * The necessary sums have been lent.' 
 
 * What ! a fresli loan to crush us ! At what rate of interest 
 now 1 Who is the lender 1 Another Jew 1 ' 
 
 ' No Jew,' answered Beavis. ' No interest is asked, as all 
 will be repaid as soon as your marriage takes place.' 
 
 'Who is the Good Samaritan tliat has flown to the rescue?' 
 
 'There is nothing of the Good Samaritan in this. It is 
 but a temporary accommodation.' 
 
 ' But who is this most accommodating party ? ' 
 
 ' My father.' 
 
 Tlie IMarquess stood still and looked at Beavis. He put 
 liis hand to his chin ; it shook. 'Good God!' he exclaimed. 
 'You — you dear good friends ! You again lielping us ! ' He 
 was greatly moved. He took Beavis' hand and held it tiglitly 
 in his whilst he looked out of the window. ' Oh, Beavis ! liow 
 kind, how noble you are ! I insist on the whole truth. What 
 is the sum advanced ? ' 
 
 ' Four thousand.*
 
 UNSTABLE AS WATER, 187 
 
 * Is tliat your father's money ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Whose is it then 1 ' 
 
 Beavis did not reply. He looked down. 
 
 ' I insist on being told.' 
 
 ' Lucy's.' 
 
 ' AVliat ! ' exclaimed the Marquess, colouring ; * indebted 
 to dear Lucy more deeply still. Oh, Beavis, never, never, can 
 we repay the debt we owe your house. So Lucy finds the 
 money to wreath the ox for the sacrifice.' He was silent, he 
 let go his friend's hand and stood before the fire, looking down 
 and kicking the hearth. ' It shall all be repaid,' he said at 
 last ; ' I mean the money. The good intent, the self-sacrifice, 
 that can only be treasured in our hearts, a priceless possession. 
 Beavis, do not fear. The marriage will take place, and that 
 speedily. I cannot bear to be indebted so deeply to you.' 
 
 ' Your father is awaiting you,' said Beavis, anxious to cut 
 short a scene painful to both. 
 
 The Marquess left the room, and sought his father. 
 
 The Duke led a very regular life, regulated to the smallest 
 details. He suffered from sleeplessness, and therefore did not 
 rise till late. He breakfasted at half- past ten, after which he 
 was visited by his son and daughter, and occasionally by Lord 
 Ronald. The General was up at half-past six, and took a 
 constitutional till eight, when he came in and had a cup of 
 cofiee. He breakfasted with the rest at nine. The Duke read 
 his letters whilst dressing, and arranged them in three piles ; 
 those he must himself reply to, those that might be answered 
 by his daughter or son, and those on business, "\\'hich he passed 
 over to the steward. Mr. Worthivale called daily — or almost 
 daily — at noon, and sat with him for an hour. The Duke 
 partook of a light luncheon at half-past one, and when the 
 weather permitted he took a drive ; if the weather was un- 
 favourable he walked in his conservatories. 
 
 He generally dined with the family, and sat with them for 
 a couple of hours after dinner. Then he retired for the night. 
 On Sundays he breakfasted half-an-hour earlier, in order that 
 he might attend church. 
 
 Sometimes after dinner he took a hand at whist, or played 
 chess with the Vicar, who was frequently invited to Court 
 Royal. In former years he had spent the season in town, but 
 his health no longer permitted his travelling by rail, and his 
 children had accommodated themselves to a country life.
 
 188 COUKT ROYAL. 
 
 Tlio Duke had pretended to pass over the caro of the 
 property to his son, and lie no longer enquired into the balance ; 
 that the Marquess was expected to see to ; but he amused 
 himself with details, the complaints of the farmers, their 
 demands for fresh liuildings, their applications for drainage 
 operations. These he took up, and it gave a zest to his drives 
 to inspect the farms and see the proposed improvements. This 
 was a little vexatious to the steward, who endeavoured to cut 
 down expenses. The tenants knew that they were sure of a 
 favourable answer from his Grace, and therefore applied direct 
 to hiin. 
 
 Tlie Duke had his private account at the bank ; a modest 
 sum of a thousand pounds was always paid in to this account, 
 on which he drew independently of the liouse. The cost of 
 keeping up Court Royal, the Avages, the housekeeping, the 
 gardens, belonged to a separate account, with which he did 
 not concern himself. That was under the control of Lucy and 
 her father ; subject, of course, to Lady Grace, if she chose to 
 supervise it, but this she never did. 
 
 The general accounts, the rent roll, the receipts, the outlay 
 on the estates, the charges on the property, the interest on the 
 mortgages and loans, these the INIarqucss was supposed to 
 examine every half-year ; but he did so in a careless, impatient 
 manner, and refused to take an interest in the property. Time 
 enough, ho thought, when forced to do so, on his succession to 
 the estates. 
 
 ' Sit down, Herbert,' said the Duke, when Lord Saltcombe 
 entered. ' We must have a little quiet conversation together. 
 You are going to Plymouth ; it is well, you must be with your 
 fiancde as much as you can to learn each other's characters and 
 habits. I confess to a little surprise. I had thought you 
 would have been guided in your choice less by caprice. Still 
 — you are the judge of what is best for yourself. In the 
 matter of fortune everything is satisfactory, and perhaps that 
 is not a point to be disregarded, as our fortunes are not exactly 
 what they were. The property was heavily burdened when it 
 came to me ; still, I have lived very quietly of late, and a 
 margin must be left to turn over and extinguish such debts as 
 were formerly contracted.' 
 
 The Marquess looked down. 
 
 ' You have been shut out from the world for some years, 
 Herbert. That has not met Avith my approval. Your place 
 was in London, and you ought to have been in Parliament.
 
 UNSTABLE AS WATER. 189 
 
 Now that you are about to be married I expect you will take 
 your projDer position in the social and political constellations. 
 I hope this union is one of genuine affection.' 
 
 ' I trust it meets with your approval.' 
 
 ' I have nothing against it. The young lady has been 
 properly educated, the family is respectable. The Rigsbys of 
 Lincolnshire are known ; they have been settled in that most 
 dismal of counties for several centuries. They have a Baronet 
 in the family — a late creation. AYell, in these days one must 
 not be too nice.' After a pause, the Duke went on : ' You 
 are quite right to go to Plymouth. I wish you there to take a 
 good suite of rooms in the Royal Hotel, and live up to your 
 station. Take some of your own servants with you ; your 
 valet, and your own riding and didving horses, and your groom. 
 I should advise a dog-cart and a drag. I am not one to 
 encourage extravagance, indeed I hate display, it is vulgar ; 
 but your position demands a certain amount of appearance. 
 You are the representative of the house, now that I am a poor 
 broken creature, and cannot show in public. An Eveleigh 
 must always maintam his dignity. I beg you to remember 
 this. Never let yourself down.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe, not knowing what answer to make, bowed. 
 His father accepted this movement as a sign of submission to 
 his will. 
 
 ' One thing more. I believe you have not as yet made 
 yovLY fiancee a present. This, of course, you must do. I have 
 looked through the family jewels, but see nothing that quite 
 answers the purpose. I should like you to spare no expense ; 
 run up to town and choose out a suitable present, a diamond 
 necklet or tiara. It is possible you may not have the sum 
 sufficient at your command. I have therefore drawn you a 
 blank cheque on my private account. Fill in the sum when 
 you know what you want.' 
 
 ' I cannot — my father.' 
 
 ' You must, Herbert. It is my desire. I shall ])e annoyed 
 if you give your betrothed a present unworthy of a future 
 Duchess of Kingsbridge.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe was too agitated to speak. 
 
 ' Herbert,' continued the old Duke, ' I give my full consent 
 to this union, and I ask the Almighty on my knees to shower 
 His richest blessing upon it. May you be happy as I was happy 
 with your dear, never-to-be-forgotten mother. You deserve 
 it. A blessing is attached to filial obedience, and you have
 
 190 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 always been a dutiful and lo\ing son ; you have never caused 
 me an houi-'s pain, never <;ivon me occasion to blush to think 
 that a son of mine has stained the hereditary honour.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe returned to his apartments in a condition 
 of confusion and distress that made him thaidvful Beavis -vvas 
 not there to sec him. lie threw himself in his chair, covered 
 his face with his hands, and a sob broke from his bosom and 
 relieved the immediate tension. 
 
 He sat thus thinking, hiding his face from no one, for he 
 was alone, for a quarter of an hour. Then, as though fired by 
 a sudden resolution, he took a key from his pocket and opened 
 liis cabinet. He drew fortli a drawer and took from it a bundle 
 of faded letters. He set his lips closely, and his brows were 
 contracted. 
 
 The fire was low. He took the tongs and raked it together, 
 and put on a billet of wood. Then, to brisk it up, cast on it 
 the scraps of paper from the floor. Now the fire flamed, and 
 the dry wood caught and crackled. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe leaned back in his chair, and untied the 
 bundle of letters. He drew the notes from their envelopes, 
 and looked at one, then another. His face relaxed ; an ex- 
 pression of pain of a difrerent sort settled on it. He made an 
 etlbrt to recover his firmness and to carry out his resolution. 
 He threw one, two, three envelopes on the flames, and sighed 
 as they flared. He knelt down, and placed the letters on the 
 hearth. Then he drew from the cabinet the little miniature 
 already described, and looked at it long, with face that twitched 
 with suftering. He put it towards his lips — as about to kiss it, 
 then recovered himself, and placed it on the little pyre of old 
 letters. 
 
 ' They must all go together now,' he said, and put his liand 
 to the billet of wood to bring it to the little pile. But the 
 wood -svas hot and burnt his lingers. Then he took the tongs, 
 and picked up a coal, and laid it on one of the papers. The 
 coal died out, and Lord Saltcombe took the paper, and brushed 
 away the charred fragments. He struck a vesta match, but 
 his hand trembled and he was unable to fire with it the old 
 letters. 
 
 Then he stood up, and leaning his elbow on the chimney- 
 piece, rested his head against his hand, and looked down on the 
 miniature on the hearth. How lovely that face was ! The 
 great dark eyes seemed to plead for pity. ' Why should 1 1 * 
 asked the Marquess. ' It must be done before I am married.
 
 UNSTABLE AS WATER. 191 
 
 Then I must utterly destroy all memories of the past— but not 
 yet ! surely not yet ! ' He stooped, picked up the miniature, 
 tied the letters together again, and replaced them and the 
 picture in their old drawer. 
 
 The resolution of Lord Saltcombe had led him to burn three 
 envelopes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 REVOLT. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus was engaged on his dinner. He sat on the chair 
 without a bottom, with a plate on his knees. In that plate 
 were three cold Jerusalem artichokes. He had a fourth on the 
 end of an iron fork, and he held it between his eye and the 
 window. ' It is deadly grey in flesh,' he said, ' and sits cold on 
 the stomick. I wish Joanna were back to warm my victuals. 
 It is not the quality I object to, it's the coldness. There is a 
 sort of damp chill about these cold artichokes, like grey 
 November fog solidified into vegetable pills. Joanna is a long 
 time about her business. I know what it is — the great dinners 
 she gets there, goose and sage stuffing, roast beef and Yorkshire 
 pudding, the beef with little white curls of horse-radish on it, 
 like the first locks on the head of an innocent babe, that a 
 mother loves to play with. One of the first things that ever I 
 can remember, when I turn my eyes lovingly back upon child- 
 hood, is tapioca pudding ; how delicious it was, golden on top 
 like cream, and browned here and there, made with good milk 
 and an egg. There is a deal of difference between the tapioca 
 now and what it was then. Now best Rio is eightpence-half 
 penny, Penang is fivepence ; then it cost me nothing. Those 
 childish days were lovely. I paid for nothing, I consumed 
 everything gratis. They will never return, never. I wish 
 Joanna were back ; I can't stomach these artichokes. I'd make 
 her eat them, it is a sin to waste them, and I'd get myself a 
 cheesecake.' The door was thrown open, and Joanna appeared, 
 thrusting her box before her with one hand and both knees, 
 whilst with the left hand she clasped a flower-pot. 
 
 ' There ! ' said she, ' I'm back, ]Mr. Lazarus. The man out- 
 side is waiting to be paid for carrying my box. He wants a
 
 192 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 sliilling, but he can be forced to be content Nvith nincpence if 
 you refuse to give more. I want some dinner.' 
 
 ' Here, take it,' said Lazarus, handing lier the plate ; ' do as 
 you always have done — tear tlio very food from my mouth. 
 You long-necked cormorant 1 You've done gi-owing and ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself.' 
 
 ' The porter is waiting to be paid,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' I suppose oiglitpence and a Fi-ench sou will do, if I slip it 
 among the iMiglish coppers. Take this ; you shall get no more. 
 With a little elibrt you might have carried the box yourself.' 
 
 An altercation was heard outside when the girl offered the 
 porter the eiglitpence and sou. Lazarus put his hands in his 
 pockets and listened with composure. To put liis hands in his 
 pockets he was forced to stand up ; then he sat down in the 
 bottomless chair, and clenclied them in the position where he 
 had thrust them. Not another halfpenny would he give, but 
 if the porter were inclined to deal, that was another matter. 
 
 Joanna returned triumphant. ' He went away cursing all 
 Jews,' she said. 
 
 'Let him curse,' answered Lazarus ; * that relieves temper 
 and don't hurt. There are your victuals, Joanna. I liope 
 you've not been so pampered as to have your stomach spoiled. 
 I suppose geese have been thick as quails in Kibroth-hataavah. 
 I don't like goose, it is greasy food. INIutton, boiled, with 
 caper sauce, roast with currant jelly, — bah ! you are pufty about 
 tlie face, laying on fat in flakes. Tapioca, I suppose, every 
 day, gorging yourself on it, — guzzling greengage trifle, making 
 a beast of yoursflf on meringues. I had a meringue once, the 
 day I Avas married, tliat ended in gall and bitterness. I don't 
 mean the meringue, I mean the marriage. The meringue cost 
 me fourpence.' 
 
 Joanna took the plate of cold artichokes, turned thein con- 
 temptuously over, and ate them. 
 
 ' I'll tell you what it is, master,' she said ; • I've toiled and 
 lied for you, and done a deal of dirty work. I've done dirty 
 work here, mending old clothes, and patching and darning 
 carpets, but the dirtiest work you ever set me to do is what I 
 have done at Court Royal. What has come of it all ? I am 
 cheated out of two dances. You sent me there, just when I 
 was about to get a little amusement and learn dancing, and 
 when I got there, and did learn, you gave me work to do that 
 forced me to run away and miss the tenants' ball. It is not 
 fair.'
 
 REVOLT. 193 
 
 ' Run away ! ' echoed Lazarus. ' You haven't run away, 
 and not done what you was sent after ? You can't have been 
 so wicked 1 ' 
 
 ' I've done it,' said Joanna, ' and truly ashamed of myself I 
 am. I tell you what it is, Mr. Lazarus, unless I was pawned 
 to you and couldn't do otherwise, I'd strike. But you know 
 you've got me, and can drive me where you will. I give you 
 fair warning, I'll kill myself rather than do more of that sort 
 of dirty work ; then you may whistle for your half-a-sovereign, 
 and the interest — seven shillings. I reckon you'll be careful 
 not to drive me to extremities, lest you are left seventeen 
 shillings to the bad.' Joanna looked round the kitchen. ' What 
 a proper mess you've got everything into whilst I have been 
 away ! It is a piggery. No wonder Moses forbade you eating 
 swine's flesh, it would be sheer cannibalism. Everything was 
 bad before, but it is bad and rusty and dirty now. I will not 
 have it. Take yourself out of that seatless chair ; you're sinking 
 through it so low that in another minute you'll be sitting on 
 the floor. Get out ; I'll bring you down a sound chair from 
 upstairs.' 
 
 ' The chair is good, Joanna, it only wants the oven tray 
 across it.' 
 
 ' I will not have it here. I have been in kitchens that were 
 a pleasure to live in. There every bit of wood was white, and 
 every bit of metal shone. I could have been happy there, but 
 for what you'd set me at, and that took the pleasure out of 
 everything. Look at that window-pane, cracked where the 
 boys threw a stone eighteen months ago. A dab of putty 
 holds it together, and stops the hole where the stone went 
 through. It must be mended. I will not bear it left like 
 this.' 
 
 ' Go along, Joanna ; now you have glutted your appetite, 
 go and get on your old clothes. Those you have on are too 
 good for this shop.' 
 
 ' No — I will not put on such mean, miserable rags again. 
 I have worn what are neat and clean, and neat and clean I 
 shall dress henceforth. Unless I have my own way, I won't 
 light the fire and boil the kettle, I won't peel the potatoes, nor 
 turn uniforms, nor sell anything. I'll lie in bed, and you won't 
 get me out except with dynamite.' 
 
 ' You've been spoiled,' said the pawnbroker, ' Oh, the 
 •wickedness of the world ! I had you here, sheltered under my 
 wing from every harm, and Trhen I send you out a little way, 
 

 
 194 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 you become a prey to all kinds of vice and corruption of morals. 
 You're too grand now to do anytliing. Why wasn't you a 
 Jewess born, and then nothing you went through would have 
 taken the love of economy out of you ! I suppose you've seen 
 such grand things that nothing here seems good. Perhaps 
 you'd like plate glass in the kitchen window, and a silver stew- 
 pan for the potatoes, and an eider-down petticoat, and a dado 
 round the walls of the scullery ! ' 
 
 'lie who has seen the sea doesn't call every puddle a lake,' 
 said Joanna. ' I'd rather live in one of the Duke's cottages 
 with deal tables and clean plates than among your valuables, 
 allowed only to use what is worthless. No, master,' added 
 Joanna, looking round, ' it has done me good to go away. I've 
 seen a bit of a new world, and I'm wiser than I was. You 
 can't get a shirt off a naked man, nor feathers off a toad, so [ 
 do not expect of you to let me have everything new and bright, 
 but I will have things sound and clean.' 
 
 * Whither are you going now ? ' he asked, as she made a 
 movement towards the stairs. 
 
 * I am going after my flowers,' she answered ; * I want to 
 see how they are. I've thought of them and longed to see 
 them again, and they are about the only things here I have 
 cared to see once more. I'll tell you another thing. Get the 
 sack of shavings from under the counter, and empty it in the 
 cupboard under the stairs, where I keep my kindling. I'll 
 sleep in the shop no more. I'll have a proper bed and a room 
 to myself. I am eighteen ; in another year mother will redeem 
 me ; if not, I shall redeem myself, my own way.' Then she 
 ascended the stairs. 
 
 Lazarus struggled out of his chair. Having his hands in 
 his pockets, and sinking deeper through the place where the 
 seat had been, ho was nipped, and could not extricate himself 
 with ease. He shook his liead, and, when his hands were free, 
 withdrew them from his pockets, and rubbed his frowsy chin. 
 ' What democratic ideas are afloat ! ' he said. ' What will the 
 ■world come to ? ' 
 
 Then he seated himself on the flour-barrel. ' She'll be too 
 proud to occupy this place of honour,' said he, 'where she's 
 squatted time out of mind. I made a sad mistake plunging 
 lier in the whirlpool ; now, she'll never be to me what she was 
 — she'll be exacting in her food, for one thing. That reminds 
 mo, I have not liad my dimier. I'll go and get something at 
 tlie shop over the way.'
 
 REVOLT. 195 
 
 When Joanna came down, to hei' surprise she saw that the 
 Jew had put a beefsteak pie and a plate of cheesecakes on the 
 table, as well as a jug of porter. He had been across the 
 street, and procured these delicacies. After a struggle with 
 himself, he made the purchases, both because he was hungry 
 himself, and because he was afraid of losing Joanna's services 
 unless he ti'eated her better. The contrast between her life at 
 Court Royal Lodge and the Golden Balls, Barbican, was too 
 dreadful not to shock her ; he resolved to bridge the chasm 
 with beefsteak pie and cheesecakes. 
 
 ' There, there, my child,' he said ; ' you see how I love you, 
 and how glad I am to have you home. If you had given me 
 earlier notice I would have had better fare ready for you ; as it 
 is, I have run out and spared no expense to provide you with 
 dainties. Sit down, bring a chair from upstairs — two, one for 
 me, I can endure that bottomless affiiir no longer, and tell me 
 what of my business you have done at Court Royal.' 
 
 Joanna was mollitied by what she saw. ' I thank you,' she 
 said ; ' you have watered my plants whilst I have been away. 
 I thank you.' 
 
 'Don't mention it,' answered the Jew; 'the water cost 
 nothing. What have you ascertained ? ' 
 
 ' Here is the account,' said the girl, extending to him the 
 note-book Beavis had observed under her hand in the office. 
 ' I was caught taking my extracts, and I got away with 
 difficulty. I lost my dance by it.' 
 
 The Jew clutched the book eagerly. 
 
 ' To-night,' she said, ' is the tenants' ball, and I was to have 
 been there. Lady Grace and Miss Lucy taught me to dance, 
 and I should have been happy — but I was caught over the 
 accounts and had to make olF.' 
 
 The Jew was immersed in the accounts. He chuckled, and 
 rubbed his knees. 
 
 ' Past all recovery,' he said, and laughed. 
 
 ' I do not know that,' said Joanna, helping herself to some 
 pie. ' The Marquess is going to marry an heiress, tremendously 
 wealthy, and that will set the property afloat again.' 
 
 ' What — what is that 1 ' exclaimed the Jew, starting up 
 with almost a scream. 
 
 'There is a leathery coffee-planter come home from Ceylon 
 with a pale daughter. Their name is Rigsby. A match has 
 been made up between the Marquess of Saltcombe and Miss 
 Rigsby. I clon't suppose he cares much for her ; but she is 
 
 o2
 
 196 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 worth a vast sum of money, and the stewai-d, !Mr. Worthivale, 
 calculates to clear the property with hor fortune. If you've 
 got some of the mortgages, it is all right. You'll have the 
 money.' 
 
 ' I do not want the money. I will not be paid oflf ! ' cried 
 the Jew, dashing his hands against his forehead. 
 
 Joanna took some more beefsteak pie. ' That is the first 
 time I have heard you decline money,' she said dryly. ' What 
 do you want 1 Kot tlie property ! Not to be a great land- 
 lord 1 Not to pig in Court Koyal ? ' 
 
 ' I will refuse the money. I will keep my grip on them.' 
 Joanna poured herself out some stout. 
 
 ' If they choose to clear you off they can. I believe it is 
 Mr. Worthivale's intention to do so immediately after the 
 marriage has taken place,' she said. 
 
 * Who are these Rigsbys ? Where are they 1 ' 
 ' I have told you what Mr. Kigsby is. They have taken a 
 house in Plymouth or Stoke. They have taken a house there 
 for the winter.' 
 
 ' Do they know the state of affairs 1 ' 
 
 'I cannot tell. I have not talked with them. I have 
 found out a great deal. You cannot expect me to see into 
 people's heads as if they were water-bottles. It is only cheap- 
 jacks who expose all their contents to the public' 
 
 ' Is this Rigsby a fool to sink his fortune in redeeming land 
 which is daily depreciating in value ? ' 
 
 ' I do not think he is a fool. He does not look like it.' 
 ' Joanna I this spoils all my schemes. I have toiled and 
 spun to get my web round them ; and now are they to escape 
 me 1 I could knock my brains out against the wall to think 
 it.' 
 
 ' Why should you wish the family harm ? They are good 
 people, a long way above such goodness as you or I could aspire 
 to. They are loved and respected by all who know them. They 
 hurt no one, and bless many. I am glad that there is a chance 
 of their recovery.' 
 
 * I do not care for my money. I want to have them down, 
 down under my feet.' 
 
 'Then I will help you no more. What harm have they 
 done you 1 ' 
 
 * The worst, the deadliest harm of all.' 
 
 ' And you are moving against them out of personal revenge 1 
 I thouglit all you wanted was to be sure of your money.'
 
 REVOLT. 197 
 
 ' I will tell you all — then you may judge if I have cause to 
 love them ; if f desire to spare them.' 
 
 Joanna laid aside her knife and fork ; she was interested 
 now, and alarmed. She was afraid to thiiik that she had been, 
 working for the do^\^lfall of that dear Lady Grace whom she 
 regarded above every mortal being. 
 
 ' As you say, you are no longer a child. You are a woman, 
 so you can hear the whole story. I was married eight years 
 ago to Rachel ; she was seventeen, and beautiful. She was 
 very fond of theatrical performances ; her mother had been on 
 the stage, and it ran in the blood. Our people, leastways our 
 Jewish girls, take to the stage as ducks to water, and as Jewish 
 men to business. I married her on that day I spoke of, when 
 I ate a meringue that cost fourpence. At that time the Mar- 
 quess of Saltcombe was in the army, and with his regiment at 
 Plymouth. He and some other officers got up amateur theatri- 
 cals, for some charitable purpose nominally, really for their own 
 entertainment. There was difficulty about filling the ladies' 
 parts. They tried a professional, but she was not good-looking 
 enough, or a stick, I do not recollect which, and so my wife 
 was asked to assist. I objected, and we had a quarrel. She 
 was headstrong and took her own way. We did not run 
 smoothly together. It was with us broad and narrow gauge 
 running over the same line ; constant hitches, nothing to time, 
 an occasional smash, and then a block. I suppose the per- 
 formances went off to general satisfaction. I believe a hundred 
 pounds was cleared for the charitable institution, but that did 
 not concern me. What did concern me was the conduct of 
 my wife ; she got more estranged from me than before, and 
 the end was she left me and went abroad with the Marquess.' 
 
 ' Did you go after her 1 ' asked Joanna. 
 
 * Not I. They went to the Island of Sicily — to Palermo. 
 It would not have cost me a halfpenny less than fifty pounds 
 to have gone in pursuit. My business would have suffered. In 
 the time I would have been absent I might have turned over 
 three hundred pounds. Besides, what Avas the good ? I couldn't 
 take her back. Was not that a dreadful thing, Joanna 1 ' 
 
 ' I am not surprised at anyone running away from you. I 
 suppose you fed her on cold artichokes, and made her drink 
 Ems water,' 
 
 'I did not,' said Lazarus angrily. 'I treated her as I 
 ought. I know my duty. A queen is a queen ; a pawn is a 
 pawn.'
 
 198 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Go on witli your story,' said tho girl. * ^Vllat happened 
 after tliat?' 
 
 ' To me t ' 
 
 ' I know witliout your tolling; mo wliat liappened to you. 
 You settled deeper into dirt and drudgery.' 
 
 ' As for her and tho Marquess,' Lazarus continued, * they 
 •were soon separated. His uncle, the Lord Ronald Eveleigh, 
 ■went out after them as hard as he could. What took place 
 between them I do not know ; but I know the end was that 
 the Marquess returned to England, left the army, and settled at 
 Court Eoyal. What became of Rachel I never heard. She 
 took care not to communicate with me, and I did not trouble 
 myself to enquire after her. Whether she is on the stage or at 
 the bottom of the sea is one to me. We have not met since, 
 but I have a sort of idea she has taken to the theatre as her 
 profession. It suited her tastes ; she was fond of dress and 
 display, and excitement, and was vain of her beauty. The 
 Golden Balls did not agree with her ; the Barbican, and the 
 smell of Sutton Pool, and the life in a shop were all distaste- 
 ful ; besides, she never took keenly to me.' 
 
 ' Did you love her very much 1 ' 
 
 ' Of course I did. She was young and beautiful, and I had 
 never cared for any woman before. We might have been so 
 liappy,' sighed the Jew, ' and had a family to attend to tho 
 business ; a girl to mind the kitchen, another to turn the old 
 coats ; and a boy would have been mighty useful to me in tho 
 shop and at my office up in town.' 
 
 ' Do you love her still ? ' 
 
 ' I know this : I hate the Marquess mortally,' he said. ' Ho 
 has spoiled my life, he has taken from me my wife, has made a 
 home to be no home at all, and has robbed me of every hope in 
 the future.' 
 
 ' But why do you try to drag down those who liave 
 never offended you — the Duke, and Lady Grace, and Lord 
 Ronald V 
 
 ' I cannot touch him apart from them. They are all tied in 
 one bundle, and must go together. You can see that, I suppose, 
 by the light of reason.' 
 
 Joanna was silent. 
 
 Then the Jew looked round at the table and growled. ' A 
 precious big hole you've eaten in the beefsteak pie, and gobbled 
 up three-quarters of the cheesecakes. I hope you are satisfied 
 at last, eh ? '
 
 REVOLT. 199 
 
 * No, I am not.' 
 
 * What more do you want, next 1 ' he asked sneeringly. 
 
 ' I want to go to a dance, and till I have been at a ball I 
 ehall not be satisfied — there.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A PLAYBILL. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus left the house in the afternoon, and Joanna was 
 alone. She at once set to work to make the kitchen tidy. She 
 scoured the grease and rust from the pans, she washed the table, 
 she sandpapered the fire-irons, she carried all the broken 
 crockery to the ash-heap and smashed it up there, then re- 
 placed the pieces with sound articles from the stores above. 
 She knew where there was a glazier's diamond, with it she 
 cut a pane, she made her own putty, and reglazed the broken 
 window. 
 
 Then she went upstairs to an attic room, with a pail of 
 water, soap, and a scrubbing-brush, and Avashed the floor. She 
 took up, piece by piece, a small iron bed, and put it together 
 in the room ; she fitted it with mattress, blankets, sheets, and 
 coverlet. She dragged up a washhand-stand, and hung a look- 
 ing-glass against the wall. She carried up a chair and a towel- 
 horse, and then looked round with triumph. She had made for 
 herself a very decent bedroom. One article of furniture was 
 wanting — a chest of drawers. This she did not convey to her 
 room, partly because she had nothing of her own to put in the 
 drawers, and partly because it was too heavy for her to move 
 unassisted. In the window she set her precious pot of lilies of 
 the valley. 
 
 Then, tired with her journey and exertion, she seated her- 
 self on the bed, rested her head in both hands, and her elbows 
 on her knees, and gave way to tears. 
 
 The contrast between the cleanliness and comfort of the 
 Lodge and the dirt and disorder of the Golden Balls was too 
 great not to make itself felt. She had gone on in one weary 
 round of drudgery before because she knew of nothing difierent ; 
 now she had seen a better mode of life, and the old was insup- 
 poi-table ; a return to it, unaltered, impossible. This she let
 
 200 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Lazarus understand. Sho would work for liim as hard as 
 before, but she would insist on being treated properly. 
 
 But her own condition was not that whicli distur])ed Joanna ; 
 that which troubled her was the knowledge that she liad been 
 made use of by her master to work miscliief against a family 
 she had learned to respect. Of the Duke, indeed, she knew 
 little, except what she had heard, but that had impressed her 
 more than she acknowledged to herself. His greatness, the 
 deference with which all regarded him — the way in which he 
 was looked to as the source of all benefits, as the one who was 
 the mainstay of the social order, as the one to whom, in cases 
 of dispute, the ultimate appeal lay — this had formed an at- 
 mosphere of public opinion which she had inhaled, and which 
 had nourished in her respect. She had seen little of Lord 
 Ronald, but she had heard him spoken of as a man of strict 
 integrity and perfect guilelessness. She had seen and spoken 
 with the Marquess. Her box was unpacked. On the chimney- 
 piece stood the canary yellow Dresden cup and saucer he had 
 given her. Once he had come to his sister's room whilst she 
 was having a dancing lesson, had recognised and spoken kindly 
 to her. She could not feel towards him other than friendly 
 regard. 
 
 ' As for running away with Rachel,' she mused, ' I dare 
 swear Rachel wanted to be run away with. If I had been the 
 wife of Lazarus, I'd have doiie the same, have run with him to 
 Palermo or Hong Kong — anywhere to be rid of Lazarus and 
 the Barbican. To be married and to be pawned are two totally 
 different cases,' argued the girl. ' To be married one gives 
 consent, and if the situation don't suit, you leave it ; but 
 pawned is another matter — mother did that, and I can't run 
 away. She must come with the ticket and release me. One 
 would be wickedness, the other would not.' 
 
 Lady Grace she knew and loved as she loved no one else. 
 She was miserable at the thought that she had been acting to- 
 wards her with ingratitude, tiiat Lady Grace might be able 
 with justice one day to reproach her for having ill-repaid the 
 kindness shown her. What would Lady Grace think of her 
 now ! of the way in which she had left her situation 1 Would 
 she be told that she was detected at the account-books 1 
 Joanna's bosom heaved, her face was crimson, her cheeks 
 stained with tears. She could not, she would not, leave the 
 dear, good lady troubled with thoughts that she was ungi'ateful. 
 
 Joanna stood up, washed her face, and went downstairs.
 
 A PLAYBILL. 201 
 
 She entered the shop, and looked about for a little wooden 
 box. When she had found one to her mind, she lined it with 
 cotton-wool, and placed in it her necklace of Roman pearls. 
 Then she wrote a letter in what she knew was servant-maid 
 English, which she folded and fastened up in the box with the 
 pearls. This was the letter : 
 
 * For dear Lady Grace, — This is a present from her de- 
 voted, loving, faithful servant, Joanna. Joanna knows very 
 well that it is not worthy of her acceptance (it cost only 
 21. 18s. Qd. second-hand), but nevertheless she hopes Lady 
 Grace Eveleigh will condescend to accept it, as Joanna has 
 nothing in the world else except what she stands up in, and 
 the pink silk dress which is spoiled. Joanna takes this opportu- 
 nity of informing your ladyship that I didn't run away from 
 my place, nor misbehave myself any way, but was summoned 
 home on tirgent business. Joanna will never, never, never 
 forget and cease to love dear, sweet Lady Grace, and she begs 
 to inform her ladyship that I value my pot of lily of the 
 valley above every treasure the world contains.' 
 
 The girl's mind was relieved when she had written and 
 fastened up this letter in the box. Then she directed the 
 case, and as she had a few coppers still in her pocket, she was 
 able to post and register it. Whilst she ran to the post-office, 
 she left the shop locked. On her return she found a billsticker 
 at the door, trying to get in. 
 
 ' All right,' he said, ' I don't want to pawn nothing. Will 
 y' take a bill and place it in the winder, please 1 ' 
 
 He handed Joanna a bill, and went his way. 
 
 Lazarus was accommodating in the matter of bills of this 
 description. Notices of Missionary Meetings, Harvest Festi- 
 vals, a Circus, Services of Song, Ethiopian Serenaders, Prayer- 
 meetings, dramatic performances, all went into his window 
 promiscuously. He argued that folks might be attracted to 
 read the bills and then see and fancy an article lying adjacent 
 exposed for sale, a watch, a china figure, a church-service, a 
 pair of opera-glasses, Baxter's ' Saints' Rest,' a Methodist 
 hymnal, some old lace, a bicycle, or the portrait of an ancestor. 
 Accordingly Joanna accepted the bill, and, before placing it in 
 the window, spread it on the counter, and read it. 
 
 The bill was a theatrical notice. It announced that the 
 distinguished Polish actress. Mile. Palma Kaminski, of the 
 Court Theatre, Warsaw, who had created such enthusiasm in 
 London by her abilities, was about to favour Plymouth with
 
 202 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 lior prosencp, assisted by a corps of artists, all of eniinenco 
 only inferior to lior own. 
 
 Tlie first performance would be a revival of Shakespeare's 
 tragedy of * llonieo and Juliet,' to be performed the ensuing 
 week. 
 
 Joanna had never been to a play, but she was a greedy 
 devourer of playbills. To her imagination, nothing — hardly a 
 l)all — could surpass the delight of a dramatic performance. 
 8he had read plays that had como into the shop — old comedies, 
 tragedies, modern farces, and had formed an idea of what a 
 theatre was, but Lazarus had never allowed her the pleasure of 
 seeing a performance, even from the gallery. 
 
 Whilst she was studying the bill, suddenly Lazarus burst 
 into the shop with livid face. He saw what she was reading, 
 seized it, and crumpled it in his hands. 
 ' Why do you do that 1 ' asked Joanna. 
 ' I have seen her,' gasped the Jew. ' She is here— in Ply- 
 mouth.' 
 
 ' Seen whom — Lady Grace 1 ' 
 
 ' I have seen her — Rachel. She has dai-ed to come here ! ' 
 ' What has she come here for 1 Does she want to return to 
 you ? If so, she's a fool.' 
 
 ' This is she,' he said, opening out the bill he had crushed, 
 and with trembling finger he pointed to the name. ' She calls 
 herself Palma Kaminski, but she is Rachel Lazarus. A Pole ! 
 She is nothing of the sort ; she was born on Ratcliff Highway, 
 and bred in Princes Street, Leicester Square.' 
 
 ' Are you going to reclaim her, or kill yourself, like Romeo, 
 because she is lost to you 1 ' 
 
 * I do not know what I shall do. I am in a maze,' gasped 
 the Jew. ' I'd serve her bad if I knew how. I'd beat her 
 brains out if it weren't against the law. Where is the liberty 
 of the subject, I'd like to know, as is so boasted of in this 
 precious British empire ? Ah ! Joanna, I wish I could get her 
 here and put her to sleep in the press-bed, and shut it up 
 when she was sound. The coroner and jury avouUI be sure to 
 find " accidental death," and one could liave a raflle of half-a- 
 crown a share for the press-bed afterwards, and make a lot of 
 money. I've known five pounds got out of a rope a man 
 hanged himself witli. The English lower orders are passion 
 ately attached to crime ; they like to read about it, and talk 
 about it, and think about it, and relish it in every way. If 
 you come to consider, Joanna, what a dreary world this would
 
 A PLAYBILL. 203 
 
 be without crime to season it ! It would be like a dinner of 
 cold beef without pickles. There'd be no yellow novels on the 
 railway bookstalls, no sensational dramas on the boards ; 
 nothing but politics in the papers. I believe there wouldn't 
 be any pawnshops. I'd like to know where we should be, we 
 Jews, Joanna, in such a world as that. There would be no 
 place for us at all. "SYe must be thankful for things as we 
 find them. The world without wickedness in it, and one with 
 it, would be, to my taste, the difference between still hock and 
 sparkling Moselle.' 
 
 ' I reckon,' said Joanna, ' that in such a place as Kings- 
 bridge, where all is goodness and kindness, and thought of one 
 anotlaer, you'd be out of place like a rook on a frosty morning 
 when the worms are in their holes.' 
 
 ' They've hoodwinked you, like all those who come near 
 them,' said Lazarus. ' But I can't talk of them. I must 
 tliink of Rachel. Give me the paper.' He drew the bill 
 from Joanna, who had smoothed it out on the counter, 
 ' Kaminski ! What a name ! to change the beautiful Lazarus 
 for an outlandish name like that, and she was Moses before I 
 married her. To my mind, Joanna, our British aristocracy is 
 like a scene on a stage, very beautiful to look at, but there is 
 a lot hid away behind very shabby and very bad, of which 
 most folk see and know nothing. You've looked on the grand 
 Ivingsbridge House like a young playgoer ; all is beautiful, 
 and iiuiocence, and splendour. I know the other side. There 
 is the great burden of debt, fresh loans, that scandal of the 
 Marquess and Rachel, The world knows nothing of all this, 
 but there it is.' 
 
 ' I should like so much to go to a theatre,' said Joanna 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Lazarus considered a moment, then his face lightened ; he 
 passed his fingers through his hair, ruffling it on end, giving 
 him a wild look. ' You shall, Joanna ; I promise you.' 
 
 ' The gallery is only sixpence,' 
 
 ' You shan't go in the gallery.' 
 
 ' What ? Stand outside, where a place costs nothing ? ' 
 
 ' No, Joanna, you shall have the most expensive place in 
 the whole theatre, that will cost two or three pounds.' 
 
 The girl stared at him. Then he smoothed down his hair, 
 and elaborately and noisily blew his nose. He was excited. 
 
 ' Yes, you shall. I will go also.' 
 
 * When ? At doomsday 1 '
 
 204 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 'No, we will go together, and sit in the stage-box, and see 
 Roinoo and Juliet.' Joanna clapped her hands. 
 
 'You shall see Rachel — Kaminski indeed ! If she didn't 
 like Moses, why not condense it to Moss ; if she didn't like 
 Lazarus, why not pull it out into St. Lazare ? I've known 
 some of our names turned about till you can't recognise them. 
 Levi and Levison, for instance, who'd know them again as 
 Lewis and Lawson 1 Even Cohen I've known altered into 
 Colquhoon, and but for his nose you'd have thought the man a 
 Scotchman.' 
 
 ' You will really let me go ? ' 
 
 ' I will take you myself. We shall 1)0 right above her, 
 face her, and see if we do not spoil her play. Joanna, I'll 
 heap on you all the jewelry in the shop, and you shall blaze in 
 her eyes with diamonds and rubies and sapphires, and you 
 shall have the most splendid dress of silk or satin money can 
 buy ; an old second-hand atl'iiir won't do. The best — if I have 
 to send to "Worth at Paris for it.' 
 
 Joanna looked at him in amazement. Had he lost his 
 senses ? 
 
 ' Then she'll see you and me behind, and, sure as she is a 
 daughter of Israel, it will cut her to the heart to think she has 
 forfeited all that heap of jewelry.' 
 
 * But what will she think of mo 1 ' 
 
 ' I do not know, nor care ; she'll never suppose you are my 
 maid of all -svork, a pawned piece of goods.' 
 
 * I don't Ijelieve a proper lady would pile on jewelry that 
 way,' mused Joanna. ' I heard Lady Grace and Miss Lucy 
 say something about real ladies being known l>y their quiet 
 dressing. I can't imagine Lady Grace dressed like that, even 
 at a play.' 
 
 'But you are not Lady Grace,' argued the Jew. 'That 
 makes all the difference. She is at the top, and can afford to 
 dress quietly. You are at the bottom, and must dress extra- 
 vagantly, or you remain what you are — nothing.' 
 
 The girl considered ; then she said, ' Miss Rigsby will be 
 there, I am sure she will. She will bo all of a blaze. It will 
 be killing fun just to outblaze her. I'll put on everything I 
 can, and I wish I'd two necks like an Austrian eagle to be 
 able to put on more still.'
 
 205 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 TWO STAGE BOXES. 
 
 It is impossible in words to describe the tumult of excitement, 
 pride, admiration, in Joanna's bosom, as she took her place in 
 the left stage box at the Plymouth Theatre Royal. She had 
 never been in a theatre before. Her highest ambition had been 
 to battle for herself a way to the front in the gallery. She 
 occupied the most luxurious and expensive place in the theatre. 
 She was dressed so beautifully that her head was turned. The 
 pink silk was nothing to the dress she now wore, crimson 
 velvet and cream-coloured silk, the latter exquisitely hand- 
 embroidered. Her neck, her bosom, her head, were profusely 
 adorned with diamonds. It was a marvel to Joanna whence 
 the Jew had got them all. She wore rings on all her fingers ; 
 if the rings were too large, a little silk wound inside enabled 
 her to wear them. She looked with astonishment at the foot- 
 lights, at the orchestra where the players were tuning, at that 
 great mystery, the curtain. Then she turned to examine the 
 audience. The gallery and the pit were packed ; in the dress 
 circle were about twenty persons, and in the stalls perhaps a 
 dozen. A poor house, a house to take the heart out of an actor. 
 Joanna could not understand it. The rich have money, why 
 do they not come ? The poor do not grudge their shillings and 
 sixpences. 
 
 Joanna attracted the attention of the house. Opera-glasses 
 were directed towards her. She saw those in the stalls put 
 their heads together, and she knew they were asking each 
 other who she was. She was conscious that she was being 
 admired, and to enable the people to see her better she stood 
 
 Lazarus was in evening dress, sitting back, facing the stage, 
 so that he was invisible ; it was hardly likely he would have 
 been recognised. An evening suit had completely transformed 
 him. Besides, those who attended the theatre were not his 
 clients. He did not shrink from being seen ; he was indifferent. 
 
 ' Sit down, Joanna. How can you behave so strangely ? ' 
 he said. 
 
 ' No one could see my velvet bag with old Dutch silver 
 clasps and chain and belt unless I stood up,' she answered.
 
 206 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 'Perhaps you would like to stand up on the breasting of 
 the box, to lot folks s(>o your rod shoes 1 ' 
 
 ' I shouldn't mind,' said Joanna. 
 
 'But I do. Sit down and be quiet. The orchestra are 
 goinc; to begin. I did not bring you here to make a fool of 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' Very well, master. I'll fan myself, and then they can see 
 my bracelets.' 
 
 Joanna was like a child witli a l)0x of new toys. >She looked 
 at herself in the little strip of mirror in the box, she played 
 with and admired her jewelry, she took peeps at her feet shod 
 in crimson satin shoos, .she pressed back her chin to be able to 
 see the glitter of a diamond brooch on her bosom. One bitter 
 disappointment she had been forced to endure. She had 
 desired to appear in low dress, but on trying one on, it was 
 found that the contrast in colour between her face and one 
 lialf of her neck and her bosom, and the other half of her neck, 
 was too startling to allow of her thus appearing. 
 
 A tap at the door behind, and a gentleman entered the box. 
 Joanna utt(>rod a cry of delight, and took several stops to meet 
 lam. The gentleman was Charles Cheek. 
 
 ' Why, Joanna ! ' he exclaimed, ' you here, in the royal box, 
 as queen of beauty, wearing all the Crown jewels stolen by 
 Lazarus from the Tower ! ' 
 
 'I am glad to see you again,' .she said heartily. ' ITere is 
 a chair, sit down beside me and talk till the play begins, and 
 then be mum.' 
 
 ' I was in the stalls. I could hardly believe my eyes,' he 
 said, 'but I looked and looked through my glasses till I had 
 nearly satisfied myself you wore my little friend of the roof-tree, 
 when Lazarus's nose came round the corner, and a bit of a 
 cheok-bone, and then I was sure. — What has induced you, 
 Father Abraham, to come here dressed like a Cln-istian 1 Have 
 you brought the girl to show oil' a set of diamonds you want 
 toselir 
 
 ' I've brought hor hero,' answered the Jew, ' because I am a 
 generous and indulgi^nt master. She saved my house from 
 lire and from burglars, and has deserved a treat for other 
 services she has rendered me, so I have stepped out of my 
 usual course of life to indulge her.' 
 
 ' Do you often come to the play 1 ' asked Joanna. 
 
 * Very often. I would come always if I thought you would 
 be here,'
 
 TWO STAGE BOXES. 207 
 
 « Sit down, and don't throw foolish speeches at me which 
 you do not mean. I am so glad to see you again. Do you 
 know, I have learned to dance since I saw you last— Avaltz, 
 and cotillon, and lancers, and quadrille, — these last very im- 
 perfectly for want of enough to make up sets ; for want of 
 persons we danced with chairs.' 
 
 ' Where have you been 1 Who taught you 1 ' 
 
 ' Those are secrets which even you may not know.' 
 
 • Why are you not in the pink silk and pearls I gave you 1 ' 
 
 ' I am more splendid now ; do look at me well. What do 
 you tliink of this gown — puiied and slashed at the sleeves ? is 
 it not lovely, like a lady in an old painting ? Look down at 
 my shoes. They are sweet. Once, do you recollect, you 
 laughed at me because I was in my stocking-soles, and there 
 were holes in the stockings. Now there is not even a thread 
 wrong in my stockings, and the shoes are simply lovely.' 
 
 ' Have you worn out the pink silk 1 ' 
 
 ' No. Mr. Lazarus spilt salt water over it, and it is spoiled. 
 He was forced to give me this instead.' 
 
 ' I ! ' cried the Jew. ' I have not given you this. Do not 
 believe the girl, it is not true. The gown is hired for the night, 
 at one guinea.' 
 
 ' Hold your tongues, both of you ! ' said Joanna. ' The 
 overture has begun.' 
 
 The Jew was not particularly pleased at Charles Cheek 
 appearing in the box and remaining there, but he could not 
 tell him to leave. He drew back among the folds of the 
 coloured hangings, with his eyes on the curtain, and looked 
 sulky. Charles Cheek and Joanna entirely disregarded him. 
 
 ' I say,' whispered the girl during the overture, ' why are 
 there so few persons in the more expensive seats 1 ' 
 
 ' Because,' answered the young man, ' the better-class people 
 despise provincial theatres ; it is chic to do so. It means that 
 they have seen things so much better done in London that they 
 cannot endure what is inferior.' 
 
 ' But they lose great enjoyment by this nonsense.' 
 
 ' Of course they do, but ' He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' Hush ! Oh, do hush ! ' exclaimed Joanna. ' See ! see ! ' 
 
 The curtain rose. Then she had eyes and ears only for 
 the stage. In the third scene Juliet makes her first appear- 
 ance. Lazarus had been moving uneasily thx'ough the two 
 former. He bit his nails, wiped his brow, and became every 
 moment paler. Then he put his hand forward, touched Mr.
 
 208 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Cheek, and said somewhat roughly, ' Excuse me, I want the 
 front chair.' The young man started, looked surprised, and 
 at once surrendered the seat. ' I am short-sighted,' explained 
 the Jew. Mr. Cheek bowed, and withdrew to his place in the 
 stalls. 
 
 Joanna was annoyed, not so much at losing her companion 
 as at the disturbance, distracting her attention from the play. 
 She frowned, and tapped her fan impatiently on the cushion. 
 
 Lazarus sat beside her, his face turned towards the stage ; 
 she saw that it was cadaverous, and that his muscles twitched 
 with nervousness. 
 
 Next moment she had forgotten him to observe Juliet. At 
 the appearance of Mile. Palma Kaminski, the famous Polish 
 actress from the Imperial Theatre, Warsaw, the gallery burst 
 into applause. The pit took up the applause ; the clapping of 
 hands, thumping of heels and umbrella ferrules on the floor for 
 a minute brought the play to a standstill. The dress circle 
 languidly patted its hands, the stalls remained unmoved. 
 
 in recognition of this reception. Mile. Palma stepped for- 
 ward to the footlights and curtseyed ; as she did so, she raised 
 her eyes and looked at the boxes for a moment ; her eyes 
 remained fixed on the stage box on her right only for a moment, 
 and then she turned her liead away without a token of emotion. 
 Lazarus leaned back, his face quivering, his hands clenched. 
 Their eyes had met. 
 
 Joanna observed the famous actress with the closest atten- 
 tion. This was Rachel — the beautiful Rachel whom Lazarus 
 had loved, and who had wrecked his life. This was she who 
 had so bewitched the Marquess that he had forgotten honour 
 and right, and had run away with her to Sicily. Joanna was 
 sufficiently near to see the make-up in her face, the paint, the 
 powder, the antimony about the eyes, the rouge on the cheeks. 
 She saw that Rachel was lovely, had been very lovely, but- 
 fatal but — she was becoming stout. 
 
 Joanna laughed. The consciousness was borne in on her 
 that she was herself more beautiful tiian this woman who liad 
 made two men miserable — who li;ul broken two lives. The 
 applause had just ceased, and a sliort silence succeeded before 
 the performers resumed tlieir dialogue. On that short interval 
 of silence Joanna's laugh broke, and instantly the beautiful 
 actress looked at her. She looked intently, questioningly ; 
 then turned her eyes for a moment, only for a moment, ou 
 Ijazarus.
 
 TWO STAGE BOXES. 209 
 
 None observed this but Joanna, not even Lazarus, who had 
 drawn back and covered his eyes. There was something in 
 the look that startled Joanna. The colour mounted and 
 suffused her face and throat. Her pleasure in the play was 
 gone ; she wished she were away. She hid her arms lest the 
 bracelets should be seen ; she threw a kerchief round her neck 
 to hide the chains. With a look the actress had revenged the 
 laugh. 
 
 Joanna was not able to recover her interest in the play. 
 She looked on, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She was 
 glad that Lazarus had withdrawn and concealed himself in the 
 shadow, leaning against the side of the box. 
 
 When the first act was over, she signed with her fan to 
 Charles Cheek, and he came up from the stalls. 
 
 ' A poor company,' said he, taking the seat she indicated. 
 ' I hold that the educated are quite right in staying away ; in 
 the provinces the star system is reduced to absurdity. What 
 a stiff Lady Capulet ! and a nurse Avithout humour. Romeo 
 is a stick. We have not seen yet what La Palma is made of. 
 She is beautiful, but plump. A few years ago, may be, she 
 was irresistible. Hollo, some vis-a-vis, I see.' 
 
 The box-keeper was introducing a party of two gentlemen 
 and two ladies into the stage-box immediately opposite. 
 Joanna at once recognised the Marquess of Saltcombe, the 
 Rigsbys, and Miss Stokes. Lazarus, leaning back with his 
 face to the curtain, did not notice the arrivals ; Joanna glanced 
 over her shoulder at him, and saw that he was too preoccupied 
 with his own thoughts to look about him. 
 
 She fixed her eyes very attentively on the Marquess. He 
 was serene, polite to Miss Rigsby, contending with the aunt 
 which should hold the niece's scarf of woven blue and crimson 
 silk and gold fibre — an Indian manufacture. 
 
 The curtain rose ; Romeo proceeded to climb the wall into 
 Capulet's garden. The lights were turned down, and a ray 
 was cast, purporting to be that of the moon, on Juliet's window. 
 There was not sufficient light in the stage-box opposite for 
 Joanna to see the face of Lord Saltcombe. The moonbeam 
 was unsteady on Juliet's window, and badly focussed. But 
 when Juliet sighed ' Ah me ! ' she thouglit she saw him start. 
 Joanna watched the box opposite throughout the scene far more 
 closely than the stage. 
 
 The footlights were turned up for the next scene, that in 
 Friar Laurence's cell, and then Joanna was able to see the face 
 
 P
 
 210 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 of tlie Marquess. It was pale as deatli. Miss Rigsby leaned 
 back in lior chair and spoke to him as he was standinci; behind 
 her, and he stooped and replied. He handed her a playbill, 
 and pointed with his finger to something on it. Perhaps she 
 had asked him who was the Romeo making such hot love to 
 Juliet. Joanna saw that he maintained his composure out- 
 wardly. Only his deadly pallor showed how stirred he Avas 
 witliin. He liad come to the tlieatre with the Rigsbys, with 
 whom he had dined, in complete ignorance of the fact that the 
 Polish actress from Warsaw was Rachel Lazarus. Joanna 
 turned to her master ; she saw at a glance that he had recog- 
 nised his enemy. His face was convulsed ; he drew further 
 back into the shadows, that he might not be seen. 
 
 Joanna looked from one man to the other. Here were 
 two men, one at the head of the scale, the other at the foot — 
 both the victims of one beautiful woman. ' What power there 
 is in woman for good or bad ! ' thought Joanna. ' For my 
 part,' she added to herself, ' I would hurt no one — unless he 
 got in my way.' 
 
 It amused the girl to notice the slightly foreign intonation 
 in Juliet's voice as she spoke. Knowing what she did of 
 her origin, she was sure that this was put on to keep up the 
 part of Pole Rachel had assumed. 'She is clever,' thought 
 Joanna ; • * clever to control herself under the eyes of the two 
 men she has ruined. But perhaps she has not as yet re- 
 cognised the INIarquess.' The light was on her face, and he 
 was in darkness. ' I wonder what she Avill do when she does 
 Bee him 1 ' 
 
 ' Joanna,' said the Jew, in a whisper that was hoarse and 
 constrained, ' I want to go. Get ready.' 
 
 She answered, ' I am not going. I came for one play, and 
 I am in for two.' 
 
 ' I am not well.' 
 
 ' Then get better. I am not going.' 
 
 During the scene in Capulet's garden between Juliet and 
 the nurse, Joanna watched tlio actress, but was unable to 
 detect whether she had seen the Marquess or not. Once her 
 eyes travelled in the direction of the stage-box on her left, but 
 the glance was quick and passing, and no muscle of her face, 
 no failure of her voice, gave sign that she had perceived her 
 former lover. 
 
 The curtain fell on the second act ; as it fell, one of the 
 footlights flared and sna])ped the glass chimney that screened
 
 TWO STAGE BOXES. 211 
 
 it. No one paid particular attention to it ; the broken glass 
 •was not removed, a fresh chimney not added. 
 
 Charles Cheek brought Joanna an ice ; he offered one to 
 Lazarus, who refused with a shake of the head. 
 
 ' He is not well,' said Joanna. ' Leave him alone ; he 
 wants to go away, but I will not hear of it till the play is out. 
 Don't notice him. He will be better presently.' 
 
 ' I'll get you a drop of brandy, Mr. Lazarus.' 
 
 The Jew nodded, and the good-natured young man hurried 
 away to fetch a glass of spirits. 
 
 ' Do you know who those are opposite us 1 ' asked Mr. 
 Charles Cheek, on his return. ' I've heard one is the Marquess 
 of Saltcombe, son of the Duke of Kingsbridge, and the other 
 people are called Rigsbys. I don't know anything about them.' 
 
 ' The Marquess is engaged to Miss Rigsby — that pasty young 
 lady in magenta silk and pink roses in her hair. The person 
 at her side is her aunt, and the brown man is her father. 
 They are worth a great deal of money.' 
 
 ' How do you know all this 1 ' 
 
 ' In the way of business,' answered the girl, with an air of 
 indifference. 
 
 ' I have heard enquiries on all sides as to who you are. 
 People have been lost in wonder and admiration. What is 
 your name 1 I must satisfy those who ask. I have been un- 
 able to do so out of ignorance.' 
 
 ' I am Miss Rosevere, an heiress,' answered Joanna. 
 
 ' An heiress ! ' echoed Charles Cheek, with a laugh. 
 
 ' Yes, sole heiress, executrix, and residuary legatee to Mr. 
 Lazarus.' She turned round to her master with a mischievous 
 face. He was in no mood to answer. 
 
 ' How are you ? ' asked the young man. ' Better ? Has 
 the brandy revived you ? ' 
 
 Lazarus nodded. 
 
 ' So I may answer to enquiries that you are a Miss 
 Rosevere ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. That is my name, though I don't often have it men- 
 tioned. You may add — an orphan. Go back to your place in 
 the stalls, and tell those who ask who I am. You need not 
 add — slave to a Jew pawnbroker — pawned for ten shillings. 
 Don t say that, as you value my friendship.' So she dismissed 
 him, then leaned on the red velvet cushion, playing with her 
 fan, looking about her, and watching what went on in the stage 
 box opposite. Mr. Rigsby was in conversation with Lord 
 
 p2
 
 212 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Saltcombe ; liis voice was loud and liarsli, and Joanna could 
 almost catch what he said. He was talkin^j about an aniatour 
 dramatic performance got up by the officers at Coloml)0. 
 Some delay ensued before the curtain rose. The orchesti-a 
 performed a selection from ' II Trovatore.' A smell of oranges 
 pervaded the theatre. The gods were devouring them in great 
 quantities in the gallery, and throwing the peel over into the 
 pit. A bald-headed gentleman was the object they particu- 
 larly aimed at, and when an urchin succeeded in casting an 
 entire ingeniously removed peel so as to light in a ring on his 
 glossy skull, like a cap, the feat was uproariously applauded. 
 
 The noise only ceased when the cui'tain rose on a public 
 place, and attention was arrested by the fight between Mercutio 
 and Tybalt : those in the gallery were greatly disappointed 
 that the former died oft' the stage, and only reconciled when 
 Tybalt was killed by Romeo under their eyes. 
 
 The scene that followed gave less promise of amusement. 
 Juliet appeared in her room, invoking the approach of night : — 
 
 ' Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
 Towards Phcebus' lodging.' 
 
 As she spoke her passionate monologue she came forward, 
 and as she did so, the draught from her skirts made the jet of 
 the broken footlight flare up. 
 
 ' There should be a wire net about eighteen inches off the 
 lamps,' said INIr. Rigsby. ' I see none here, but in town it is 
 so, is it not, Saltcombe ? ' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe bowed, he could not speak. Rachel's eyes 
 had met his at the exclamation, 'Give nie my Romeo.' The 
 nurse entered, bringing the rope-ladder and the news of the 
 death of Tybalt, which she delivers so badly that Juliet for 
 the moment supposes she is told of the loss of her lover. This 
 is the first occasion on which an actress of any power can show 
 passion. Palma rose to it. With a piercing cry that rang 
 through the house she rushed forward, threw up her arms, and 
 was convulsed with agony. 
 
 ' break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at once 1 ' 
 
 Then dashing her hands over her eyes, — 
 
 ' To prison, eyes I ne'er look on liberty.' 
 
 Stooping, gathering up the dust, then throwing it down, as 
 into a grave at a funeral, —
 
 TWO STAGE BOXES. 213 
 
 • Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here : 
 And thou, and Romeo ' 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, the whole theatre rose with 
 a cry of horror. The flame from the exposed jet had caught 
 the white gauze of Juliet's dress and danced up her skirt. 
 
 The agitation was indescribable. Women shrieked, men 
 shouted. The curtain fell, and a smell of fire pervaded the 
 atmosphere lately impregnated with the odour of oranges. 
 
 Miss Pagsby looked round. 
 
 The Marquess had uttered a cry of agony, and had fallen 
 against the partition, with his hand to his brow. In another 
 moment he dashed from the box and ran behind the scenes. 
 
 ' For mercy's sake,' he cried, ' how is she 1 Where is she 1 ' 
 
 The stage-manager brushed past him. The roar of voices 
 mingled with cries beyond the curtain drowned his voice. 
 The actors were in agitation. The commotion in the house 
 ceased instantly when the manager appeared before the 
 curtain. 
 
 ' Ladies and gentlemen, a most unfortunate accident has 
 happened. I believe and trust there is no occasion for alarm.' 
 A burst of cheers. ' Mile. Palma Kaminska is not as 
 seriously hurt as might have been anticipated.' Renewed 
 cheers. ' I have to ask your kind indulgence ; the perform- 
 ance must cease.' He was himself so excited that he could 
 hardly speak. His face was white, and his voice shook. 
 
 ' Where is she ? ' asked the Marquess as the stage-manager 
 stepped back. 
 
 ' She has been conveyed to her lodgings.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 PALMA, 
 
 Palma was driven at once to the house in which she had 
 secured lodgings ; one of the ladies of the company attended 
 her. She was in great pain. A couple of surgeons were 
 promptly summoned. The rumour of what had occurred 
 spread, and people collected in the streets and about the door. 
 The medical men said the case was grave, and that a nurse 
 must be in constant attendance.
 
 214 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Lord bless me ! ' said the old woman whose lodgings were 
 taken by Pahna. ' Where am I to get a nurse 1 ' 
 ' Her relations must be tt'lcgraplied for.' 
 ' Blessings on me ! What do 1 know about her relations ? * 
 
 * We will see about a nurse. Perhaps one can be spared 
 from the hospital.' 
 
 A rap at the door, and ring of the boll. 
 The woman opened it and saw a girl standing outside in a 
 plain stuff gown, and a shawl over her head. 
 
 * Who are you 1 ' she asked. ' What do you please to want 1 ' 
 ' I'm come to offer to nurse her,' was the rejjly. ' I've been 
 
 sent ; that is, I've come from him who stands nighest and yet 
 furthest from her in the world.' 
 
 ' Who is that ? ' 
 
 ' Her liusliand.' 
 
 * If that be the case, come in. You are young. Can you 
 nurse ? ' 
 
 ' I can do what the doctor orders, and I hope I have my 
 wits about me.' 
 
 ' What is your name ? ' 
 
 ' Rosevere.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said the lodging-house keeper. ' I reckon 
 you'll do as well as another. — Phnxse, sir,' to the surgeon, ' give 
 the young woman orders what she is to do.' 
 
 When the accident had taken place Joanna liad turned 
 home and stripped ofi' her grand dress and donned a plain one ; 
 then .she came down into the kitchen, Avhere Lazarus was 
 crouching over the lire. 
 
 ' It is a judgment,' said the Jew. ' Heaven is just, and has 
 cast its thunderl)olt at her. I am glad of it. No one hurts 
 me without suft'ering for it.' 
 
 Joanna turned on him. ' I am going to her,' she said. ' I 
 shall nurse her if they will let me. Shall I say you sent me ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered the Jew ; ' don't mention my name.' He 
 had assumed a hardness which ill concealed his inward emotion. 
 In his breast was a tumult of mingled feeling — old lovo re- 
 vived, sorrow, revenge, hate, — so mi.\ed that he did not him- 
 self know what he desired. 
 
 ' You may go, Joanna,' he said. ' If she needs anything — 
 that is, in moderation — let me know, but I will not see her, I 
 will not see her, remember that.' 
 
 So Joanna went. The girl was greatly affected. Tears 
 came into her eyes, but she drove them back. She had made
 
 PALM A. 215 
 
 lip her mind to be with Palma. She went first to the theatre 
 to ascertain where the actress lived ; the house was not far 
 distant. She hastened thither. On her way down the street 
 she passed Lord Saltcombe. His face was raised, he was look- 
 ing at a window whence a yellow light shone through a drawn 
 blind. Shadows passed over the surface of the blind. A gas 
 lamp was near, and the face of Lord Saltcombe was illumined. 
 It was full of agony — it was the face of a man in despair. She 
 walked by, then turned and came back to him ; his suffering 
 face filled her with pity. She said in a low tone, ' Lord" 
 Saltcombe, I am going in to nurse her. Ask no questions at 
 the door. I will give you signs at the window : when I hold 
 up my hands, have hope ; when I hold them down, her case is 
 \evy bad ; when I hold them out, and you see against the 
 blind the black shadow of a cross — she is dead.' 
 
 He nodded. He did not recognise her, he did not look at 
 her. He did not wonder who she was that knew him by name. 
 He tried to thank her. He could not. 
 
 Then she went on. If she had been refused admission she 
 would have thrust herself in. Joanna was not one to take a 
 refusal. 
 
 She was conducted to the room where lay the poor woman. 
 Cotton-wool and oil covered her wounds. The face was un- 
 injured. She moaned and tossed her head from side to side on 
 the pillow. The paint was on the cheeks, the antimony 
 darkened the eyes, but tears had washed the white powder 
 away in long furrows. Beneath the paint the flame of fever 
 burnt in her cheeks. Joanna took a sponge and washed her 
 face. The cool water soothed the suffei-er for a moment, then 
 she began again to moan and turn her head with a mechanical 
 regularity from side to side. She seemed imperfectly conscious. 
 Her fellow-actress was at her side ; the honest sympathetic 
 tears had washed her face into a strange mottle. She had hold 
 of Palma's hand, and patted and kissed it, and spoke to her 
 cheering words of promise of health. 
 
 ' You'll be all right to-morrow. You know you are going 
 to take the world by storm with your Lady of Lyons. There ! 
 don't be down. It is only a trifle. You did Juliet regular 
 splendid — first-classto-night.' 
 
 ' You may go,' said Joanna. ' You are out of place here, 
 and do not understand the management of the sick. Leave 
 her to me. I am sent to her.' 
 
 ' Are you experienced, girl 1 ' asked the surgeon.
 
 216 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' I know what is what/ answered Joanna, looking him full 
 in the face. 
 
 ' You have plenty of natural cleverness, I can see,' said the 
 surgeon. ' Now attend to me. I will give you instructions 
 that must be closely followed.' 
 
 ' Hadn't that lady better go first ? slie bothers mo and 
 Ra I mean the sick woman.' 
 
 ' I agree with you.' The surgeon dismissed the actress. 
 
 * Now,' said Joanna, * say what you will, I will not go from 
 it a hair's-breadth.' 
 
 After receiving her instructions she said gravely, ' Tell me 
 frankly : is there hope V 
 
 ' Where there is life there is hope,' he answered. 
 
 She looked at him with her shrewd eyes, and standing 
 between the light and the window, held up 07ie arm. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe paced the street hour after hour through- 
 out the night. He could not leave it. Rest was impossible. 
 One by one the lights in the houses were extinguished, but the 
 window of Palma's room remained illumined. Within lay the 
 woman — the sole woman — he had ever loved, and he had loved 
 her with all the passion in liis nature. Carried away by that 
 passion he had committed a great wrong, a wrong which 
 rankled in his heart. His conscience never acquitted him ; it 
 judged and condemned him daily. If he had loved innocently 
 he might have shaken off his passion, or been spared by it to 
 make himself a name, to become great and good among his 
 fellow-men. But this guilty incident had morally maimed 
 him. He had not the energy, the courage, after that, to face 
 his fellow-men. There are some who rise after a fall, stronger 
 than they were before. Their fall has taught them caution, 
 has deepened their character, has inspired them with earnest- 
 ness. There are others who, when once tripped up, lie 
 prostrate the rest of their days. Such was Lord Saltcombe. 
 He had not the moral vigour to efiace the past by active well- 
 doing. 
 
 The clock of St. Andrew's Church chimed after the stroke 
 of three, and still the Marquess was in the street. He was 
 cold and tired. An icy perspiration covered his brow. He 
 had seen the sign at the window three or four hours before ; 
 it had not given him much liope. A gnawing pain was at 
 his heart. Was this the first manifestation in him of that dis- 
 ease which sapped the life and activity of his father 1 Had 
 his present great emotion provoked it to warn him of its 
 presence ?
 
 PALMA. 217 
 
 The chimes had scarce done playing * The Last Rose of 
 Summer ' when the blind was drawn aside, and Lord Saltcombe 
 saw the girl beckoning to him. In another moment the house 
 door was opened gently, and she appeared at it. She held her 
 finger to her lips, came outside, and said, * Rachel is conscious. 
 Come, and see her, but promise to go when I give the word.' 
 He nodded. ' Follow me softly, make no noise. Everyone 
 else in the house is asleep.' 
 
 He obeyed. He was in his patent-leather boots, in his 
 dress suit, with a light overcoat. He stepped softly after 
 Joanna. If anyone heard the steps, that person supposed it 
 was the footfall of the doctor, turned in bed, and slept again. 
 Joanna thrust open the chamber door and let the Marquess in. 
 She did not enter herself, she closed the door and stood on the 
 landing with her hands to her ears that she might not hear 
 what was said. As Lord Saltcombe passed her into the room 
 she looked in his face : it was older by many years, white, 
 lined, hollow about the eyes, and sunken at the cheeks. Her 
 heart came into her mouth, she put her hands to her white 
 apron, and raising it wiped her eyes, then shook her head 
 defiantly, and clasped her hands over her ears. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe stepped up to the bed, looking with his 
 whole soul into the burning face of the poor woman. Then 
 he sobbed, sank on his knees by her side, and hid his face in 
 the bedclothes. 
 
 * Herbert ! ' she said in a low tone, and put out her hand 
 for his, ' I wanted to see you — to say good-bye.' 
 
 ' Rachel ! ' He could utter no more. 
 
 ' It is now seven years since — since Sicily.' 
 
 'Rachel,' he said, 'God forgive me. If it were possible 
 in any way to undo the past, if it were within my power to 
 make compensation, to expiate the wrong done, I would do 
 my utmost. Rachel, I ruined your life, and I destroyed the 
 honour and happiness of another man's home.' 
 
 She shook her head. ' You do not know Lazarus.' 
 
 ' It matters nothing who or what he be ; I wronged him 
 past undoing, and the knowledge of this has lamed my life. 
 You — you above all ' 
 
 ' Do not speak of me,' she said. ' I forgive you — but you 
 were not in fault. I had set my heart on the stage, I ran 
 away for the love of art — not for love of you.' 
 
 ' Is that true 1 ' 
 
 She slightly moved her head. * The consciousness of power
 
 218 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 burned in me, and life witli Lazarus and his sordid belonfi^njL^s 
 was unendurable. I ran away ; you know I forced myself on 
 you, I asked you to free me. It was not that I cared for you 
 — forgive me that I say so ; if I pain you it is for your good 
 — I used you but as a means of escape. I hungered for art ; 
 I knew that the stage was my proper sphere ; and now — and 
 now — I am consumed in the element I elected.' Her head 
 began to turn from side to side uneasily. 
 
 He did not speak, he watched her in silent remorse and 
 agony. She had shut her eyes. He was not sure whether she 
 were conscious. He held her hand ; it was a hand of lire. 
 Presently she stayed the rocking of her head, and opened her 
 eyes. 'It was I,' she said — 'it was I who spoiled your life, 
 not you mine. I have nothing to forgive. I must ask pardon 
 of you.' 
 
 'Of me! Oh, Rachel!' 
 
 ' I used you but as a means to an end. Who were you 
 with in the stage-box to-night — yesterday — when was it 1 ' 
 
 He told her. 
 
 ' You are not married ? ' she asked, and looked at him. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' You must marry, and forget me,' she said. ' It was I — 
 it was I who was in the wrong.' Presently she added, 
 ' Beware of Lazarus ; he will never forget, never forgive.' 
 Then she shut her eyes, and began again to sway her head and 
 moan. 
 
 He watched her without speaking ; she let go his hand, 
 and held her fingers up as feeling for something in the air. 
 
 'What do you want, Rachel 1 ' 
 
 She turned her face and opened her eyes ; the light of 
 reason had gone from them. She put her arm out of the bed- 
 clothes, and waved it : — 
 
 ' Farewell I God knows when we shall meet a?ain, 
 I liavc a faint cold fear tlirills througli my veins, 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life. 
 Nurse I what should she do here ? 
 My dismal scene I needs must act alone.' 
 
 She thought herself on the stage. She tried to rise, and 
 moaned and fell back. 
 
 Joanna entered ; she did not raise her eyes to the face of 
 Lord Saltcombe. She signed to him to go ; he stood a moment 
 longer looking at the poor woman, now unconscious, and stole 
 away.
 
 PALMA. 219 
 
 Then Joanna seated herself by the bed, and watched the 
 sufferer. Her face, generally brimming with intelligence and 
 full of self-assurance, was now kindled with an expression of 
 tenderness and pity such as it had not borne before. She 
 knew the whole story of this dying woman. She had been 
 brought to look upon a heart — a man's heart — enduring 
 unutterable agony. She put out her finger and touched the 
 bedclothes where moistened ; she knew what had moistened 
 them — tears of contrition and humiliation wrung from the 
 heart of an honourable man. She bent her head to the ear of 
 Palma, and whispered, ' Will you send a message to Emmanuel 
 Lazarus 1 ' 
 
 The eyes opened and looked dimly at her, but no answer 
 came. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe lingered in the street. He would not 
 leave the neighbourhood of the house. The night was cold, 
 and the wind raw ; a fog blew up from the sea, and stole in 
 filmy coils along the street, drifting past the lamps and form- 
 ing halos about them. He walked faster, up and down, up 
 and down, turning his eyes ever at the lighted window. The 
 clock struck four — it struck five, and he was still there. 
 Before dawn the cold became keener, eating into the marrow. 
 Then the chimes of St. Andrew's played ' Home, sweet Home,' 
 and as they played, against the lighted window appeared the 
 shadow of a black cross. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe removed his hat, and stood with folded 
 hands looking at the cross ; then up, with dim eyes, through 
 the fog above. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 A SPOKE IN THE WHEEL. 
 
 Mr. Rigsby had taken a handsome house for the winter at 
 Stoke, above Devonport, or rather between Devonport and 
 Plymouth. The house commanded a view over the entire 
 harbour, with Maker Point and Mount Edgcumbe. A more 
 beautiful bay is not to be found the world over. The hills are 
 bold, some bare, others richly wooded; the creeks are numerous, 
 the beautiful Hamoaze opening into the bay is like a hand, 
 every finger of which is a lovely blue estuary, and this fair
 
 220 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 hand is full of vessels. Far away to the head of the water 
 rise the peaks of Dartmoor above rolling woods and hills, 
 studded with white houses and grey church towers. ISIr. 
 Rigsby was not easily satisfied; he was determined to have a 
 good house, and he got the best, with large gardens sloping 
 down the hill, lawns, tennis-ground enclosed within yew hedges, 
 and terraces with roses. 
 
 He had roughed it in Ceylon in old days ; the bungalow in 
 which Dulcina had been brought up was plain, and slenderly 
 furnished. In England Mr. liigsl)y was exacting. Dulcina 
 would be a duchess, and he must show the world that he had 
 a fortune that allowed him to live like a prince. He bought 
 carriages and horses, and engaged servants, put the men in the 
 Rigsby livery of bufT and blue, made liis coachman powder 
 his hair and sit on a hammer-cloth. He sent orders to town 
 for pictures, and had the house put into the hands of a deco- 
 rative adviser, 
 
 ' I know nothing about art furniture,' he said. ' So long 
 as I have a chair to sit on, it is all one to me what is the 
 shape, but — one must be in fashion, or risk being thought a 
 boor.' 
 
 He had his own rooms plainly furnished — a hard bed, and 
 no carpets on the floors. ' I like to spit,' he said, ' and carpets 
 get in the way of spitting.' He had his Cingalese man- 
 servant, who understood his wants, and none of the other men 
 were allowed near him. He lived very much to himself, 
 smoking and reading Indian papers in his snuggery, and it was 
 with difficulty that he could be drawn from it to entertain 
 guests in the drawing-room. 
 
 He was sitting in his room, with a fire in the grate, and 
 his feet against the marble jambs, when he was told that a 
 visitor was desirous of speaking to him on urgent business. 
 
 * Who is it ? a gentleman or a lady 1 A gentleman ! Show 
 him in here. Confound it all, can I not bo left an hour in 
 peace 1 In the drawing-room, is he 1 Has he not given you 
 his card ? No ! Deuce take it, I suppose I must go in to him. 
 Here, take off" my smoking jacket, and help me into my coat. 
 I can't go in my slippers. Give me my boots. What a life I 
 lead here 1 I wish I were liack in Ceylon ! ' 
 
 As soon as he was presentable Mr. Kigsby went to the 
 drawing-room. He saw there a stoutly built man with grey 
 black hair, and dark eyes like sloes. There was no mistaking 
 his nationality. Nose and eyes and cheek-bones proclaimed it.
 
 A SPOKE IN THE WHEEL. 221 
 
 He was well dressed. As Mr. Rigsby entered he rose and 
 bowed. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said Mr. Rigsby, with some stilfness, 
 ' I did not learn your name. Perhaps my man forgot it, per- 
 haps you did not give it. You said you had business with me.' 
 ' My name is of little importance,' said the stranger. ' It 
 is quite true that I have called on business. I have heai'd, 
 sir, that you are desirous of furnishing this most charming 
 residence with everything that taste and luxury demands. My 
 name, sir, is Lazarus — Emmanuel Lazarus, of the " Golden 
 Balls," Barbican. I happen to have, sir, a very choice collec- 
 tion of artistic odds and ends, which I offer at a ridiculously 
 low price. I am a collector of objects of art and antiquity, 
 and it is my pleasure to furnish gentlemen of taste and means 
 with the best ti-easures of the past. I have also some very 
 nice old Spanish lace, which your beautiful young lady might 
 like to see. I got the spoils of several churches at a bargain, 
 the lace is from the altars, and I shall be proud to think that 
 one whom I hear on all sides spoken of as an Oriental star 
 should wear it. Old china, sir ! no man can call himself a 
 gentleman, whatever his birth and fortune, or invite friends to 
 his house without a blusli, if he has not his cheffoniers and 
 side-table and walls covered with old china. Old silver also, 
 sir, is greatly in request. I happen to have some very choice 
 apostle spoons. No one can hold up his head in society 
 without at least a couple of apostle spoons in Dutch silver 
 sugar basins.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Mr. Rigsby ; ' I understand none of 
 these things. I have put myself into the hands of a deco- 
 rator.' 
 
 ' Would you mind telling me, sir, the style in which the 
 decorator is going to do you up ? Louis Quatorze, Queen 
 Anne, Chippendale, or Victorian 1 Are you going to be 
 painted over with cranes and sunflowers ? I've known a lady 
 dadoed round, with a skirting of Japanese rush mats, all gilt, 
 and very effective it Avas. If you'll allow me to suggest you 
 that, sir, you would find it neat and warm. I happen to have 
 a quantity of these rush mats all plaited in diffei'ent patterns. 
 Or are you going into Chippendale, and have your legs curved, 
 and turned tine, and fluted ? I don't hold to having your legs 
 made too spindly. There is a loss of strength. Still, fashion is 
 for it. I have some of the very finest Chippendale ever seen in 
 stock ; I can give you legs that- are in the first style, and yet
 
 222 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 are not spindly. Or — if I may make so bold as to ask — are 
 you j,'oiii^ to bo Rococo 1 ' 
 
 Mr. Kigsby stared. ' I do not understand ' 
 
 ' A combination of rock and shell. Are they going to 
 encrust you with rockwork and shellwork, and scoop out curves 
 in you and fill in with flowers, and not leave you a straight 
 line anywhere, and gild you from top to toe ? The eflect is 
 gorgeous rather than classic. The First Empire is a reaction 
 against that, severe, subdued — nude. Are you going in for 
 that ? If so, I have some choice little articles, clocks and side- 
 tables and mirrors.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby stood up. ' Sir, I am vei-y busy ; I leave all 
 this to the decorator. I am incompetent to judge for myself. 
 One thing you may be quite sure of : I will never go in for the 
 nude. The climate don't admit of it. It is different altogether 
 in Ceylon. I wish you good morning.' 
 
 ' Stay, stay ! ' exclaimed the Jew, alarmed at the prospect 
 of losing his opportunity in his over-eagerness to deal. ' Might 
 I ask one thing more, sir 1 I have matter of the utmost im- 
 portance to communicate. I cannot speak of the matter in 
 this room. I am afraid of being overheard. It is not about 
 Louis Quatorze, or Rococo, or First Empire.' 
 
 ' There is no one here. We are quite alone, but I cannot 
 imagine you can have anything to communicate that will 
 interest me. I have put myself into the hands of a decorator, 
 and given him carte hlanrhe.' 
 
 ' If you wish it. Will you hear me patiently for five 
 minutes 1 ' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby looked at the French clock. It had stopped. 
 He took out his watch. ' I can only spare you three. I am 
 most busy.' 
 
 ' I will crush all I have to say into three minutes. Only I 
 entreat you, my dear sir, to have patience with me, and allow 
 me fully to exj)lain the circumstances to you. In your pre- 
 sence, sir, in the presence, sir, of a man of your colossal 
 fortune, I feel myself so agitated, so unable to gather my 
 thoughts, that ' 
 
 ' I am ready to listen to you during three minutes. I 
 cannot allow more. My time is of exceeding value, I am 
 pressed with business which may not be postponed. I see by 
 my watch that only two minutes remain.' 
 
 ' I will make haste, sir, but the presence of a Goliath of 
 wealth ovei'awes me. I have heard, sir, of the immensity of
 
 A SPOKE IN THE WHEEL. 223 
 
 your fortune, and I. know that such a fortune could not be 
 accumulated without great genius.' 
 
 Mr. Eigsby spread his breast by putting his thumbs through 
 his waistcoat armholes. Peacocks, when vain, spread their 
 tails ; men, when proud, their bosoms. 
 
 ' I admit that I am not a fool, if that satisfies you,' said 
 Mr. Rigsby, ' but please proceed to business.' 
 
 'You will excuse me when I say that your fortune, 
 acquired by hard labour and racking of brain, must not be 
 thrown away blindly.' 
 
 ' Set your mind quite at ease, Mi\ Lazarus ; my property 
 is safe, and its security in no way concerns you.' 
 
 ' You must excuse me if I dispute this ; I see you on the 
 point of throwing everything away.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby assumed a stare of disgust and indignation. 
 
 'You are presuming. One minute more.' 
 
 ' I understand that you are about to see your most beautiful, 
 talented, and fascinating daughter married to the Marquess of 
 Saltcombe.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby rose. ' Really, Mr. Lazarus, I must decline to 
 have my private affairs discussed by you.' 
 
 ' I am not discussing them, sir ; I am here to warn you.' 
 
 ' To warn me of what 1 of sitting on spindle-legged Chip- 
 pendale ? Five seconds more.' 
 
 ' Of marrying your daughter to a bankrupt profligate ! ' 
 exclaimed Lazarus, rising. 
 
 'What do you mean 1 The words are insulting.' 
 
 ' The epithets describe him exactly. Bankrupt he and all 
 his family are ; and he is only seeking the hand of your 
 daughter to save himself and his whole house from utter, irre- 
 trievable ruin.' 
 
 ' Good God ! ' exclaimed the planter. ' What do you 
 mean 1 ' 
 
 ' I mean what I say. If you want proof, I have it. I have 
 it by me here.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby burst out laughing. ' Preposterous ! The 
 Duke has an enormous fortune, to which mine is a fleabite, I 
 have seen how he lives.' 
 
 ' The Duke is over head and ears in debt. He cannot pay 
 interest on his mortgages. He has borrowed money right and 
 left, and lives from hand to mouth. In a month, I — that is, 
 the creditors — will take steps to foreclose ; it is because the 
 Marquess and his family hope to stave off ruin with your money 
 that they stoop to accept your daughter into the family.'
 
 224 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Stoop ! stoop to Dulcina ! ' exclaimed Mr. Ripfsby. * Come 
 into ruy smoking-room. This matter must not be discussed 
 here. Miss lligshy, or IMiss Stokes, or one of the flunkeys 
 might be dropping in — visitors calling — Heaven knows what. 
 Follow me into my study. I have plenty of time at my dis- 
 posal. I have notliing to do, and will hoar you patiently. 
 Good Heavens ! Bankrupt ! Ruined ! Dulcina snapped at 
 for her money ! Thunder and blazes ! Follow rae.' 
 
 He led the way into his smoking-room, which he called his 
 study, though no books were in it. 
 
 ' Excuse me,' he said, ' I cannot think in this coat. My 
 ideas won't move in boots. Allow me to put on my smoking 
 jacket and slippers ; my time is at your disposal.' 
 
 ' I have here,' said the Jew, taking a chair by the table — 
 *I have in this little book a precis of the income and expendi- 
 ture and debts of the family. I have got more ; I have here a 
 packet of notes of hand, and a couple of mortgages, one on 
 Court Royal manor and estate, which will convince you that I 
 am not exaggerating wlien I say that the family is on the verge 
 of ruin. Please cast your eye over these accounts ; they were 
 extracted by a confidential agent from the books in the 
 steward's office, without his knowledge. In love and war and 
 business, everytliing is fair.' 
 
 ]\Ir. Rigsby sat down. His face became mottled, he could 
 not sit comfortably on his chair ; he turned it, tlion turned it 
 again. ' Good Heavens ! ' he said, ' who would have thought 
 it 1 It is impossible.' 
 
 'It is true, absolutely true.' 
 
 IMr. Rigsby stood up and walked to the window, where he 
 stood for some minutes drumming on the glass with his fingers. 
 
 ' I was not told tliis,' he said. 
 
 'Of course you wei'e kept in the dark.' 
 
 ' I shall tie everything up to my daughter's sole use.' 
 
 ' Then they will not say " Thank you " for your daughter. 
 They only want her because they expect through her to get at 
 your purse.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby came back to the table, and took up the schedule 
 of debts, bills, and mortgages. 
 
 ' Some of these are for enormous sums, of old standing, 
 never redeemed.' 
 
 ' Never likely to be redeemed, unless you find the money.' 
 
 * But I cannot find the amount. I should sink everything.' 
 
 * This is the state of affliirs ; I have felt it my duty to in-
 
 A SPOKE IN THE WHEEL. 225 
 
 form you of it. If the young people love each other so dearly 
 that your daughter is ready to make the sacrifice, then I have 
 nothing to say against the marriage ; but I think it well that 
 both she and you should be made aware of the character of the 
 man to whom she is about to entrust the happiness of her life. 
 I have shown you that there is reason to believe that the 
 marriage is desired by the family for the sake of your money. 
 You are not perhaps aware why it is that the Marquess has not 
 been married already.' 
 ' No, I do not know.' 
 
 * I will tell you. Because of a scandal. He ran away with 
 a beautiful woman, the wife of a respectable man of business. 
 The woman is now an actress. You have seen her, Palma 
 Kaminska. 
 
 Mr. Rigsby looked at him with pale face and open mouth. 
 ' He fell in love with her a few years ago, and carried her 
 away with him to Sicily. After a while they parted, but 
 whether the scandal has stood in the way of a woman of 
 character accepting him as husband, or whether he has never 
 ceased to love her, I cannot say. She disappeared for a while ; 
 where she has been living, whether under his protection or not, 
 I do not know. You saw her yesterday. You noticed his 
 agitation when an accident happened to her.' 
 
 ' Merciful Heaven ! ' exclaimed Mr. Eigsby, putting his 
 hands to his brow, and leaning his elbows on the table. ' What 
 a wicked world this is ! I wish I were back in Ceylon ! ' 
 
 ' He visited the house where she lodged, after the accident. 
 Let us hope it was only to say good-bye for ever, before marry- 
 ing your daughter.' 
 
 ' If this be true he never shall marry my daughter. Oh 
 dear, oh dear ! What misery might have ensued had she be- 
 come his — and this not have come out till after ! Poor Dul- 
 cina ! But — ' he raised himself on one elbow — ' I cannot 
 understand your motive coming here and telling me this. What 
 is the happiness of Dulcina to you 1 What concern is it of 
 yours whether I lose my fortune among titled adventurers 1 ' 
 'None at all,' answered the Jew drily. 
 
 * I don't believe a word about the actress,' exclaimed the 
 planter desperately. * Why should I not use my money, if I 
 please, to extricate the estate 1 It will come to my daughter 
 in the end. I shall not lose my money. Whatever I do is for 
 my child. As for this scandalous story, I don't and I won't 
 believe it. I will ask Saltcombe the truth about it myself.'
 
 226 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Do so ; ho ■will not deny what occurred.' 
 
 ' I should like to know, sir, what your motive is in coming 
 here and troubling me with these stories. If you hold one or 
 two of the mortgages you ought not to regret the chance of 
 having them paid off. Why do you seek to set me against the 
 Marquess ? ' 
 
 ' The woman he ran away with was my wife.' When 
 Lazarus said this he rose. ' Now you understand why I put 
 a spoke in his wheel ! Is he to be happy, released from his 
 cares, and I to be miserable, weighed down with trouble 1 Is 
 he to have a wife and home, and children on his knees, and I 
 to have a cold and solitary hearth 1 ' Lazarus stood in the 
 door. ' I have said my say. Act as you think best for the 
 happiness of your child.' 
 
 He bowed and left the room. Mr. Rigsby laid his 
 brow on the table, groaned, and said, ' I wish I were back in 
 Ceylon ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 A DROP OP COMFORT. 
 
 Mr. Rigsby stai-ted from his seat, threw on his overcoat, 
 pulled on his boots, took his hat and stick, and sallied forth. 
 He had a vague hope of coming to some decision if ho walked. 
 He could come to none seated in his snuggery. At one moment 
 he flared up with anger and resentment, then he grew cold 
 with apprehension. How would his dear Dulcina bear to be 
 parted from the Marquess with whom she was so much in love ? 
 It would break her heart, which was as frail as her constitu- 
 tion. It would bring on an attack of jaundice. Strong 
 emotion, a great shock, congested the liver ; the breaking off 
 of her engagement would certainly congest her liver. Would 
 it be wise to prepare her for the news with calomel ? He would 
 consult a doctor. Podophylliu ! since he had come to England 
 he had been told that podophyllin touched the liver, and was 
 milder than calomel ! He did not believe in podophyllin. He 
 knew better ; as an old Indian he ought to know what the 
 liver is, and what touches it. Ko podophyllin for him ; no, 
 thank you. He had heard of a si)ectre who, when fired at,
 
 A DROP OF COMFORT. 227 
 
 opened his hand and showed the bullets that had been 
 innocuously discharged at him. His liver would, so to speak, 
 open its hand and seoffingly roll back the podophyllin pills 
 shot at it. But before calomel its powers would quail, it would 
 shake in its shoes and beat a retreat. Still podophyllin might 
 answer for Dulcina, whose liver was not as enlarged as his 
 own. He would consult a doctor. 
 
 So he swung his stick and marched into Plymouth. ' Good 
 Heavens ! ' he muttered. ' The rascal about to take my daugh- 
 ter for her money and then cast her aside, treat her with in- 
 difference and insult ! I won't have it.' 
 
 When he came to the bridge leading to Plymouth, and 
 halted to change a sovereign to pay the halfpenny toll, he was 
 confronted by a gentleman in a light grey suit, with a white 
 hat. 
 
 ' Bless my soul ! ' exclaimed the gentleman, ' Pigsby ! you 
 here 1 Let me lend you a halfpenny for old lang syne.' 
 
 Eigsby stared. ' What, Captain Ottley ! Never ! Very 
 glad to see you.' 
 
 ' A little louder, I am deaf of an ear, this confounded relax- 
 ing climate. The bands always find a difficulty with their 
 drums, the parchment becomes limp in the Devonshire damp ; 
 it is ditto with the drums of my ears. You must thump to be 
 heard.' 
 
 ' Come on the Hoe,' said Mr. Eigsby, ' It is a pleasure 
 to meet an old Indian. So well preserved, too ! You look as 
 young as ever.' 
 
 ' Spirits does it,' answered Captain Ottley. ' I mean 
 natural spirits. I have a cheerful disposition, which even the 
 vapour-bath atmosphere of Devon don't damp. Take my arm, 
 old boy. Lord bless me ! time flies ! It seems only the other 
 day we met, and it must be five years ago. Brown and tanned 
 you are with Oriental suns. Never mind, look at me. 
 Autumn roses come blooming in my cheeks. This Devonshire 
 climate is like a bath in Jordan. You go in sunburnt with all 
 the blazes of India, and your flesh comes out as the flesh of a 
 little child.' 
 
 ' What are you doing here ? ' asked Mr. Eigsby. 
 
 ' Doing ! doing nothing. Nobody ever does anything but 
 talk in this enervating Devonshire climate. It relaxes every- 
 thing, the moral stamina and the tongue. I eat lotus. I have 
 come like Ulysses to the land of the lotus-eaters, where, accord- 
 ing to the Laureate, it always seems afternoon. I lovinge about 
 
 O '2
 
 228 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 on the seats of the Hoe, looking out at the Breakwater ; it 
 always seems after dinner here.' 
 
 ' Do you know many people 1 * asked the planter. 
 
 ' Heaps — women mostly. They swarra here. Here in, 
 Plymouth there are veiy few others to know. You see their 
 husbands and brothers are away at sea, or in the army abroad, 
 and the place simply swarms with women.' 
 
 ' Are you married ? ' 
 
 * Oh, dear me, no ! I wouldn't be so well preserved if I 
 were. I can't afford it. Besides, the climate is against it. 
 You want more ozone in the air to stimulate the resolution to 
 proposing point.' 
 
 ' I should like to know your opinion upon podophyllin.' 
 
 * I beg your pardon.' 
 
 * Podophyllin,' shouted Rigsby ; he had lowered his voice to 
 a confidential tone, forgetful of his friend's infirmity. 
 
 Captain Ottley stood still, put the silver head of his cane to 
 his mouth, which he pursed, contracted his brows, and then 
 shook his head. *I don't think much of it,' he said. 'I've 
 tried it ; but I don't give my faith to it. Half-measures don't 
 suit us old Indians. Give me calomel.' 
 
 * Calomel — ah ! ' The sun came out on both their faces, 
 they laughed like children. ' Calomel, old l)oy ! ' 
 
 ' Blue pill, old fellow, shake hands.' In their mutual en- 
 thusiasm they clasped fists. 
 
 ' But it may do for women 1 ' suggested Rigsby. 
 
 ' Virginilnis jnierisq'UPy yes,' answered Captain Ottley. 
 ' Let us sit down here. One's limbs fail one in this damned 
 Devonshire air.' 
 
 ' Have you been long here 1 ' 
 
 ' Four or five years soaking in this steam, and expanding. 
 It suits us Indians. We come here dry and shrivelled, and 
 swell, taking in moisture at every pore.' 
 
 'Then you know about the country people, the nobility and 
 so on 1 ' 
 
 ' Of course I do. I know everything about everybody.' 
 
 ' Do you know the Kingsbridge family ? ' 
 
 ' I can't say I do. I know of them ; no one meets them. 
 I have a grievance. There was a superb ball at Court Royal 
 the other day, and a special train full of officers wpnt down. 
 I was not invited. A plague upon them, say I. Why Avaa 
 not I invited 1 I am on lialf pay, was that the reason ? I 
 hear it was a splendid aflair.'
 
 A DROP OF COMFORT. 229 
 
 'I -was there,' said Mr, Rigsby. 'So was my daughter, 
 Dulcina. Did you not see our names in the paper 1 ' 
 
 ' I may have done so, but did not notice them. Mine was 
 not there, and that stirred my bile. Talking of bile, what do 
 you drink, Rigsby ? ' 
 
 ' I have been so long out of England that I cannot satiate 
 myself on bottled ale.' 
 
 ' You must not do it. Beer is bilious ; fatal in this con- 
 founded climate, w^here the liver simply goes to sleep. You 
 have to goad it to do its work. It is like Pickwick's fat boy. 
 I don't approve of claret. Sherry is poison. Whisky and 
 water is what I recommend.' 
 
 'We must talk of something else,' said the planter. 
 
 ' Well, I suppose you are right, but somehow the liver is 
 common ground on which all old Indians meet for a cosy gossip ; 
 old asperities are rubbed off, old grudges forgotten. It is a 
 sort of bond, binding us into brotherhood. Tear us away to 
 other scenes and pastures new, sweep us along in the eddy of 
 politics, or any other eddy you like to mention, we always come 
 back to liver, touch ground there, and are thankful. We may 
 differ in politics, religion, in pursuits, we are one in liver.' 
 
 ' I should like a word with you in the strictest confidence.' 
 
 ' Certainly, no one is here to overhear us. Remember ; let 
 whisky and water be your drink — cold, and no sugar.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby looked about him ; no one was within earshot. 
 ' We must not sit longer here,' he said, ' it is chilly ; let us 
 stroll up and down, and I will speak to you about my affairs, 
 with the understanding that it goes no further.' 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! ' gasped Captain Ottley. ' Not money ! 
 Don't say you want to borrow money. My liver will not stand 
 it. Anything but that ! ' 
 
 ' I am abundantly well off,' said the planter. 'I am, I may 
 say, in affluent circumstances. It is precisely my wealth which 
 lias draAvn me into an affair from which I do not see my way 
 out. By some fatality I have been brought into rather inti- 
 mate relations with the Duke of Kingsbridge and his family.' 
 
 ' Does he want to borrow money 1 I have heard that his 
 head is under water.' 
 
 ' I knew his brother. Lord Edward Eveleigh, at college. 
 I happened to be in Somersetshire, at Glastonbury, and I called 
 on him. He and Lady Elizabeth were very kind, they invited 
 me and my daughter to their house, and there we met Lord 
 Saltcombe, the eldest — no, the only son of the Duke. He
 
 230 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 seemed to take a fancy to my cliilil, and slie, poor thin,2f, com- 
 pletely lost her heart to him. Of course I gave my consent. 
 I was proud to think that my Dulcina would be a marchioness, 
 and eventually a duchess. One loves title ; it is born in one, 
 I suppose ; it is a weakness, but it is a weakness common to 
 the whole human race.' 
 
 ' I congratulate you with all my heart. What can a father 
 
 desire for liis daughter better tliaii the eight strawberry leaves ?' 
 
 ' But— I consented in all simplicity, believing that a ducal 
 
 coronet was a rock on which sure prosperity could be built, and 
 
 now I find ' He sighed, took oil" his hat, brushed his brow, 
 
 and said, 'My dear Ottley, for God's sake tell me the truth 
 about the family. Give me your advice. I am so perplexed, 
 I do not know what to do.' 
 
 ' What am I to tell you ? I have not my Peerage with me. 
 I have it at home, and will lend it you, or we will put our heads 
 together over it. The Marquess is here, in Plymouth, at the 
 " iloyal." ' 
 
 ' I know that. I want to know nothing that the Peerage 
 can tell me. I have learned that by heart. I want to know 
 about their circumstances.' 
 
 ' Oh, they arc dipped, but so is'every respectable old family. 
 Have you ever been at Saint Jean de Luz 1 There the bathers 
 spend hours in the water, only their heads emerging, and take 
 ■ their meals and their naps bathing. I have seen the whole bay 
 full of heads, and heads only. It is so with all the landed gentry 
 — with most families of distinction— they are all under water, 
 only their heads out, but they do not drown.' 
 ' The Ivingsbridge family are utterly ruined.' 
 ' I do not believe that. It takes gigantic efforts to ruin a 
 duke. The great nobility stick in the social jaw in spite of 
 ache and decay ; they are fast by four or five fangs. As for 
 you or me, we are only one-fang people, out, and our places 
 taken by porcelain imitations, and no one cares. But your four 
 and five-fanged people are diilerent.' 
 
 ' You do not think the Duke ruined ? ' 
 
 ' I know nothing about him, more than that he lives quietly, 
 never goes to town, and does good on all sides.' 
 
 'You think that he is not in overwhelming difficulties ?' 
 ' I should not suppose so, but I cannot tell.' 
 ' There is one thing more. What do you know about the 
 Marquess of Saltcombe, Avho is engaged to my daughter 1 ' 
 ' Not much either ; of late nothing at all.'
 
 A DROP OF COMFORT. 231 
 
 ' Of late ? Did you hear much of him formerly 1 ' 
 ' I heard something.' 
 ' What was it ? I want to know.' 
 
 ' Young men will be young men,' said Captain Ottley. * It 
 is not till their livers have grown that they become sedate and 
 reliable. You may depend upon it, my dear old fellow, the 
 liver is the fly-wheel of the system.' 
 
 ' My daughter is engaged to the Marquess. I have heard 
 a story about him which has made me very uneasy.' 
 
 ' Fiddlesticks ! I tell you what it is, Rigsby : this cursed 
 depressing Devonshire climate has begun to act on your liver 
 and make it torpid. Why, bless my soul ! any man out of 
 Devonshire would be shrieking with delight at the prospect of 
 marrying his daughter to a marquess, and here you are looking 
 as blue over it as a calomel pill.' 
 
 ' My daughter's happiness is dearer to me than life. Unless 
 I am assured that she will be treated with kindness and 
 respect, be made much of and valued, I shall not consent to the 
 union. What I have heard affects the Marquess's moral 
 character.' 
 
 * I heard something about him when first I came to 
 Plymouth. He had been wild and extravagant, and had run 
 away with a Jewess.' 
 
 ' The wife of another.' 
 
 ' Yes, I remember that. But all that is past, and he has 
 been sober since ; not a scandal about him for many years. 
 Besides, consider the temptations which beset a young man 
 here, and that young man the heir to a dukedom. Unless he 
 had a very old head on young shoulders he would be certain to 
 get into a scrape. You must not make too much of this old 
 scandal. It is with the dead. I dare say there are incidents 
 in your past which you are thankful are buried.' 
 
 ' I do not know any,' said JNIr. Rigsby. ' I have always 
 been steady. You see I have made a fortune. That is the 
 seal of approval Heaven has set on my conduct. Always 
 respectable, always. That is why I have no sympathy with a 
 man who has sown his wild oats. I never sowed anything but 
 cofiee.' 
 
 ' How have you come to hear this now 1 ' 
 Mr. Rigsby told his friend of the visit of Lazarus. 
 ' Lazarus,' exclaimed Captain Ottley, and pulled a long 
 face. ' Confound the man, he has his fingers in every pie and 
 pocket. He has even dipped into mine.'
 
 232 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 •What is to be done 1 ' asked Mr. Rigsby, 
 
 ' Nothing,' answered Captain Ottley. ' Lot matters take 
 their course. ThiiiLjs are never as bhick as tliey are painted. 
 The Jew e.Kaggerated the iiuancial condition of the family. He 
 does not want to have the mortgage paid because tlie invest- 
 ment is too profitable for him to care to lose it. Do not e.\;cite 
 yourself about the Marquess, either. 1 have always heard that 
 he is a man of honour, and if lie did transgress once, it was 
 for the only and the last time.' 
 
 The Captain succeeded in calming Rigsl)y's agitation. The 
 planter began to hope that matters had been presented to liim 
 in a worse aspect than they really were. He was resolved to 
 question Lord Saltcombe on them, on both, and to hear the 
 truth from him. The Marquess was expected to dinner that 
 evening. Scarce a day passed without his visiting the house, 
 and driving or walking with liis betrothed. Tiiis day he did 
 not call, nor did he appear at dinner. Mr. Rigsby became 
 uneasy. He rose early from his wine, lit a cigar, and walked 
 into Plymouth to inquire after the Marquess. 
 
 He was told that Lord Saltcombe was at home, but not 
 ■well, and desired that he might not be disturbed. Mr. Rigsby 
 was dissatisfied with the answer. He sent up his name, and 
 asked if he might see the Marquess for a moment. Then only 
 was he shown to his room. He found him seated in his arm- 
 chair, without a light. 
 
 ' Shall I bring candles, my lord 1 ' asked the servant. 
 
 'Thank you. — Sit down, Mr. Rigsby. I am out of sorts.' 
 
 When the candles came in, Rigsby saw that his face was 
 deadly pale, his eyes sunken and bright. 
 
 'You desired to see me particularly 1 ' he asked. 
 
 ' Yes ; but you seem hardly well enough for what I wish 
 to discuss.' 
 
 ' I also wanted to see you. I must speak openly witli you,' 
 said the Marquess. 
 
 ' My dear Saltcombe,' said Mr. Rigsby, ' I am a blunt man, 
 and I ask questions in a blunt way. You must excuse me.' 
 
 The Marquess bowed. 
 
 'You must understand that what I live for is the happiness 
 of my daughter. I have toiled for her. My fortune is hers, 
 and I am desirous that it should be secured to lier, to be 
 inalienably hers. Again, I would not have her marry anyone, 
 however high his position in the social scale, unless I were 
 sure that he would love her.'
 
 A DROP OF COMFORT. 233 
 
 * Do not distress yourself,' said the Marquess, quietly. ' I 
 ^vill spare you the pain of asking questions. You are quite 
 right in desiring to secure the happiness of your daughter. I 
 obeyed the wishes of ray family, and proposed to Miss Rigsby, 
 satisfied in my mind that, having taken on me sacred respon- 
 sibilities, I should honourably fulfil tliem. Of this you may 
 be certain : if Miss Rigsby become my wife, never will I show 
 her the slightest want of courtesy and deference.' 
 
 ' She must have more than that. Do you love her 1 ' 
 'Mr. Rigsby,' said the Marquess, 'I do not press my 
 pretensions to your daughter's hand. I tell you that I am 
 resolved to do my duty ; there is no other living woman who 
 has any share in my aifections, always excepting my sister.' 
 
 The planter was uneasy. He did not know how to approach 
 the delicate questions he wanted to put. He fumbled with his 
 hat and grew dark red in the face. 
 
 * I beg your pardon, Saltcombe,' he said, * if I touch on 
 subjects that are tender. I am very much shocked — very, so 
 is Dulcina, by the dreadful incident at the theatre. I thought 
 at the time you seemed overcome. I was not then aware of 
 the — of the ' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe could hardly become paler than he was 
 before, but the shadows in his face became deeper. He rose 
 from his chair, and said with the greatest composure, 'Mr. 
 Rigsby, I will not require you to continue. If you doubt me, 
 we had better part. I am returning to Court Royal. Pray 
 excuse the abruptness of my departure to Miss Rigsby and 
 Miss Stokes. I offer them the humblest apologies.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby could hardly believe his ears. He was still 
 sitting. He got up without his hat, then stooped, picked it 
 up, let it fall, and picked it up again. Instead of taking his 
 future son-in-law to task, he was being shown the door with 
 cool politeness. The Marquess was proud and dignified ; he 
 shook Dulcina off as if she were not worth having. Mr. Rigsby 
 had not intended to quarrel with the Marquess, he had desired 
 the allaying of his own anxieties. A word of regret for past 
 follies, an assurance that the fortunes of the family were not 
 completely wrecked, would have sufficed. He believed that 
 Dulcina was so much in love with Lord Saltcombe that a 
 disappointment would half kill her. He was ready to meet 
 the Marquess halfway, to accept an assurance of repentance, 
 and to pay off one or two of the mortgages at once, and secure 
 the rest of his property to his daughter.
 
 234 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 But Lord Saltconilje would make no advance. lie took 
 umbrage at the implied suspicions. Father and daughter must 
 accept him on his own terms, or not at all. 
 
 ' Am I to understand/ said ]v\ ' that you refuse to give me 
 any explanations as to your conduct with regard to that actress, 
 and to relieve my mind with reference to the embarrassments 
 of the Duke 1 ' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe bowed. 
 
 ' Then I suppose your engagement to my daughter is at an 
 end ? ' 
 
 ' I allow no liberties to be taken with me,' said Lord 
 Saltcombe. ' I have rung for a cab.' 
 
 When I\Ir. Rigsby was out of the hotel, driving home to 
 Stoke, ' Lord bless me ! ' he exclaimed, ' how testy these 
 aristocrats are ! Impracticable people. Time the country 
 were rid of them. I wish I were back in Ceylon ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 BROKEN OFF. 
 
 On reaching home, Mr. Rigsby told his man to ask !Miss Stokes 
 to do him the civility of speaking witli him in the study. 
 
 Miss Stokes came .sailing in with great dignity, wondering 
 what IMr. Rigsby could want to say to her at that time of the 
 evening in private. Sisters-in-law cannot be kept for ever in 
 the cold, she argued with herself. 
 
 ' Would you mind shutting the door behind you ? ' asked 
 Mr. Rigsby, as Miss Stokes had left it modestly ajar, and stood 
 near it herself. 
 
 * Please come nearer. I have something I want very 
 particularly to say to you.' 
 
 ' I am at your service, James,' said ]\Iiss Stokes, shutting 
 the door and advancing one step. 
 
 ' I\Iy dear Eliza,' began the planter, standing on the hearth 
 with his back to the fire, ' the matter I wish to speak to you 
 upon is a delicate one ; between you and me, a very delicate 
 
 one.' 
 
 ' Indeed, James ! ' 
 
 * I have been a widower for some years.'
 
 BROKEN OFT. 235 
 
 • Oh, James, you have, you have ! ' 
 
 ' And I have had only my daughter to solace me in my 
 loneliness. And now that daughter ' 
 
 ' Is about to be translated to a loftier sphere.' 
 
 ' In matters of the heart, Eliza — in matters of the heart — 
 I mean — I am confused. I have had much to think of. I did 
 not intend to speak now, but I thought it best to do so to-night 
 instead of delaying longer.' Miss Stokes looked down. ' Won't 
 you take a chair, my dear Eliza ? ' She gracefully sank into 
 one near the table. ' You have been so good and devoted to 
 Dulcina, my dear Eliza^ that I have considered I could not do 
 better than take you — ahem ! — take you ' 
 
 ' Oh, James ! I never, never dreamed of the happiness.' 
 
 ' Take you into confidence before breaking the news to 
 Dulcina. How she will bear it I tremble to think.' 
 
 ' Do not tremble, dear James. She is cordially attached to 
 me, I may say she regards me — she has regarded me, though 
 our respective ages hardly admit it, as a second mother.' 
 
 ' Then I can trust you to break the painful news to her, can 
 I not 1 ' 
 
 ' Not painful — do not say painful, James.' 
 
 ' Indeed, I hope and trust it will not be painful, but I 
 greatly fear. Such deception, such heartlessness.' 
 
 ' What deception ? What heartlessness, James ? Not on 
 my side ; I have been all frankness — too much heart.' 
 
 ' I have been horribly deceived. It is all up with the en- 
 gagement.' 
 
 ' Up ! which engagement 1 ' 
 
 ' Which ? There has been only one. Dulcina must forget 
 Lord Saltcombe.' 
 
 ' What — what 1 ' exclaimed Miss Stokes, pushing her chair 
 back and looking blank. ' I thought, James — but never ipind 
 what I thought.' 
 
 ' If you thought anything else you thought wrong,' said he. 
 ' It is all up with the engagement. We have been grossly im- 
 posed upon. The Marquess was hunting Dulcina for her money ; 
 the family of the Duke are in desperate straits, and at any 
 moment the creditors may be down on them, turn them out of 
 Court Royal, and sell house and lands.' 
 
 Miss Stokes stared. 
 
 ' They were reckoning on paying their debts with my money 
 — a pack of coroneted beggars ! Lord Saltcombe does not care 
 a snap of the fingers for Dulcina — he wanted only her money,
 
 230 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 and tlieii when he had got that he would liave deserted her. 
 Bless my soul ! Did 1 plant coilee, and slave for all these 
 years away from my native land, sacrificing my life and dis- 
 organising my liver, to find money for a parcel of needy noble- 
 men ? ' Am I to send my dear Dulcina among wolves, who 
 will tear from her the ilcsh and leave only the bones ? ' 
 'This is not possible, James.' 
 
 * It not only is possible, but it is so. I charged Lord Salt- 
 combe Avith the beggarly trick to his face, and luj was unable 
 to answer me. He slunk from my presence like a whipped 
 dog. Now, Eliza, how do you think my darling will bear the 
 disappointment 1 ' 
 
 ' My dear James, you need not fear. That sweet Dulcina 
 possesses so sound a judgment and so cool a head that I am 
 sure, when all the circumstances have been placed before her, 
 she will bear the loss like a martyr.' 
 
 ' My poor dear ! like a martyr. O my child ! my child ! ' 
 ' Do not be uneasy, James. I exercise great influence over 
 Dulcina. I will break to her the news you have so graciously 
 favoured me with. Perhaps you will talk to her yourself about 
 it to-morrow, after breakfast.' 
 
 * I fear it will be a cruel disappointment.' 
 'Disappointments meet us poor women wherever we tread,' 
 
 said Miss Stokes, with a sigh. 
 
 Next day at breakfast Mr. Rigsby was uncomfortable. He 
 had not slept much, troubled with the thought of the distressing 
 duty awaiting execution. At breakfast he crumbled his toast, 
 upset his egg, and dawdled over his coffee. Dulcina looked 
 limp and lachrymose. 
 
 When breakfast was over Miss Stokes went into the con- 
 servatory, so as to be out of hearing, yet near at hand. The 
 time had arrived for the dreaded disclosure. How much had 
 Miss Stokes already told Dulcina 1 The father wished he 
 knew. 
 
 ' Come and sit by me on the sofa, darling child,' he said. 
 ' You are not looking well, I am sure you have been suflering. 
 And now I have to increase your trouble by speaking on a 
 most unsatisfactory subject.' He looked round at his daughter. 
 Her face expressed no emotion. ' I am not a father who 
 would stand in the way if his child desired something very 
 much ; the happiness of you, Dulcina, is paramount to every 
 consideration. I do not know to what extent your affections 
 have been engaged, whether your heart would break should
 
 BROKEN OFF. 237 
 
 Lord Saltcombe not — not — excuse the expression — come to the 
 scratch. I have favoured your acquaintance with him because 
 I have believed him an admirable match. But, my dear, all 
 is not gold that glitters. It is, as the Latin grammar tells us, 
 human to err. I have learned circumstances which have 
 altered my view of Lord Saltcombe's character, and made me 
 doubt whether the engagement is to your advantage. I am a 
 plain business man, and I look to the business side of every- 
 thing. I have made inquiries, and my inquiries have dis- 
 satisfied me. The connection with the Kingsbridge family, the 
 title, the position, that seemed so splendid that I was dazzled. 
 But there are spots in the sun, craters in the moon, blots on 
 ducal escutcheons.' 
 
 Miss Rigsby became uneasy ; she looked at her father, then 
 at the breakfast-table, then on the floor. 
 
 ' I have learned, to my surprise, that the Kingsbridge family 
 are bankrupt ; they are living on the very verge of ruin. Only 
 the hesitation of their creditors saves from a fall which will be 
 a scandal throughout England.' 
 
 ' Papa ! I cannot think it.' 
 
 ' I assure you, my darling, it is true. I have seen the list 
 of mortgages. I know precisely the condition of their affairs. 
 They are in the hands of the Jews. You saw the splendour in 
 which they live. That is all paid for out of other people's money. 
 They put on a glittering mask to cover ruin. The Marquess is 
 penniless. If you marry him he will look to you for his pocket- 
 money, for cigars, and tailor's bill — go to you whenever he 
 wants a new pair of boots or a handkerchief. It is true you 
 will receiv^e his title, but in return you will maintain him like 
 a poor relation.' 
 
 Mr. Rigsby kept his eyes fixed on his daughter whilst he 
 spoke. He was afraid of her fainting, and he was ready to 
 call Miss Stokes to his aid. But Dulcina listened to him with 
 composure ; she bit her lip and frowned, and ripped the binding 
 off a cushion on the sofa, but said nothing. 
 
 *A handsome sum which I was prepared to pay over on 
 your marriage would have gone at once to the Jews, to stop 
 their greedy jaws and stave off the fall of the house. The 
 Duke, the Marquess, Lord Ronald, and Lord Edward are calcu- 
 lating on my death, when they may use up the whole of my — . 
 that is, your fortune in washing clean the family estates. 
 What those estates ai-e likely to be worth in a few years, with 
 bad seasons, and American corn and frozen meat coming in on
 
 238 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 all sides, I cannot say. I suppose about two per cent. You 
 have now five or six on your capital. If your money goes 
 into the land you are likely to lose half your income.' 
 
 He was silent. Presently !Miss Rigsby said, ' Did they 
 tell you this 1 ' 
 
 ' Bless my soul, no ! The fine thing is that they are all 
 so cavalier in their aristocratic ideas, that they regard the 
 marriage of Saltcombe with you as a great condescension on 
 their part. They will pocket your money and tolerate you. 
 
 ' Then they wanted to swindle us '? ' said Dulcina. * 
 
 ' I wouldn't call it exactly a swindle. I believe they are 
 far too grand to go into accounts. I dare say they do not 
 know their desperate situation, Init have a vague idea that 
 they must have money to make them comfortable, and as you 
 have money they will take you for the sake of your gold.' 
 
 Dulcina's lips became pasty. She drew them together, and 
 her hard eyes glittered like steel beads in the sun. 
 
 ' Lord Saltcombe has never shown me much love. He 
 has been civil, that is all. But Aunt Eliza said that in high 
 society great people loved stiffly. It was against etiquette to 
 be ardent.' 
 
 ' Lord Saltcombe has not loved you. I asked him point 
 blank if he did, only last night, and ho could not say he did.' 
 
 ' Lord Saltcombe has not loved me ! ' exclaimed Dulcina, 
 with a vicious flash in her face. ' Do you mean to tell me he 
 has not cared for me — that he has not admired we — that he 
 lias not courted 7ne — that he has been peering into my pocket 
 instead of my face all this while, thinking of my money, not of 
 myself ? ' 
 
 ' It is so.' 
 
 * Then I will have nothing to do with him.' Instead of 
 Dulcina fainting the tears sprang to her eyes, tears of offended 
 vanity, not of pain. ' I'll have it out with Aunt Eliza, I will ; 
 she vowed he Avas frantic with love, and liardly knew how to 
 control his passion. Oh, what a liar she is 1 '
 
 239 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 INCURABLES. 
 
 At Court Royal everything had settled down to the ordinary 
 routine after the Rigsbys had gone. The Duke was glad that 
 the stir was over, he liked to be quiet. Lord Edward had re- 
 turned to his living in Somersetshire, to relieve the exemplary 
 curate in the labour of blowing bubbles, and insisting on the 
 via media as the way of salvation. Lord Ronald resumed his 
 early walks and his simple amusements. He had a turning 
 lathe at which he took exercise on rainy days, and turned out 
 hideous wooden candlesticks and boxes covered with spirals. 
 Of late he had taken to turning flower-pot stands for all his 
 friends, stands that started and split and had to be thrown 
 away after having been in use a week. His grandest achieve- 
 ment was hat-stands, frightful objects that stood six feet high, 
 and bristled with sticks ending in knobs. These hat-stands 
 were to be seen and were sold at all bazaars in the neighbour- 
 hood, and were bought by people out of consideration for the 
 General — it would hurt his feelings, it was thought, if his hat- 
 stands remained undisposed of. Every door leading to the 
 open air in Court Royal, every bedroom, was provided with 
 one of these erections. In the rooms they were serviceable, 
 he argued, for ladies to hang their gowns on, for gentlemen to 
 suspend their coats. 
 
 Lady Grace had one, of course, in her room, and used it 
 with great conscientiousness. ' It is not pi'etty,' she said to 
 Lucy, ' but it is well-mtentioned. It must be good — dear 
 Uncle Roland made it. Things get rather dusty on it 
 though.' 
 
 ' Do you not think, dear, that if chintz were hung round it 
 like a tent, the ugliness might be disguised, and the dust kept 
 off?' 
 
 Actuig on Lucy's suggestion the hat-stand was enclosed in 
 a structure desigiied and executed for it by the General him- 
 self, who turned the head and turned the foot, and tacked the 
 chintz on it himself. Then Lady Grace took his grey head 
 between her hands and kissed both his cheeks. 
 
 ' That,' said Lord Ronald, ' is over-payment.' 
 
 Lord Ronald was vigorously engaged at his lathe turning two
 
 240 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 such hat and cloak stands out of rosewood, as a present for 
 liis nei)hew on his marriage. Each I'oquired twelve knobs for 
 the bristles and four knobs for the feet, and a big knob for 
 the top, seventeen knobs in all ; two stands, tlierefore, de- 
 manded thirty-four knobs. Lord Ronald liad turned nineteen, 
 wliicli were ranged on the floor in strict oi-der like camion 
 balls ; lie was engaged on knob number twenty wlion lie licard 
 a tap at the door, and, before he could answer, in came Mr. 
 Worthivalo, hot and frightened looking. 
 
 * What is the matter, Worthivale ? Is Court Royal a-fire ? ' 
 ' Oh, my Lord, what is to be done ? We are in a worse 
 
 predicament than ever.' 
 
 ' It would be difficult to reach that.' 
 
 ' Really,' exclaimed the excited steward, ' I am driven 
 wild. Has any news come from the Marquess 1 Wlien will 
 the marriage take place ? ' 
 
 * I do not think the day is fixed.' 
 ' Has he written 1 ' 
 
 ' He wrote once after reaching Plymouth. I have not 
 seen the Duke this morning, so I cannot say whether his 
 Grace has received a letter to-day. It is all right, don't alarm 
 yourself. The wedding must not be pressed on too hastily. 
 My niece has had a note or two from Miss Rigsby, but they 
 contained no news.' 
 
 ' I wish the wedding were to take place at once. I do not 
 see how we are to hold on much longer without it.' 
 
 ' What is the matter now 1 ' 
 
 ' Tlie creditors and mortiragees are unreasonable. The 
 Court Royal and Kingsbridge mortgages held by Mr. Em- 
 manuel are called in. He will tile a bill against us. We 
 cannot possiljly meet the call. It is as much as we can do to 
 meet current expenses. Where are we to raise a penny ? ' 
 Ble.ss my heart,' said the steward, throwing himself into a 
 chair, ' here we were so hapjiy and content, with the prospect 
 before us of getting evcrytliing squared at our leisure, the 
 Marquess mairying, and the more pressing calls stilled, when 
 down on our heads comes this thunderbolt. File a bill against 
 us in Chancery ! Meixiful heavens ! What is the world 
 coming to, with Radicalism, and democracy, and socialism, and 
 American competition, cutiing the throats of our fanners, and 
 Fenian plots, and Nihilist desperadoes — and actually a request 
 from Farmer Thomas to build him a silo that will contain sixty 
 tons of ensilage. Why, my lord, it can't be done under three
 
 INCURABLES. 241 
 
 to four hundred pounds, even if we use galvanised iron for the 
 roof. Where are the four hundred pounds to come from at 
 the present moment, I should like to know ? I have said we 
 will think of it after the Marquess is married.' 
 
 ' Who has threatened a bill in Chancery ? ' 
 
 ' Grudge— Grudge, solicitor. He acts, apparently, for all 
 those holding our mortgages. It is a plot, a wicked plot as 
 desperate as any devised by Fenians.' 
 
 'Do not alarm yourself, Worthivale. The people have 
 heard that Saltcombe is going to be married, and they are 
 putting in their claims so as to be sure of their money.' 
 
 ' But we must pay. The time is limited — three months — ■ 
 six months. Before a certain day the money must be forth- 
 coming.' 
 
 ' Well, Saltcombe will be married before that, and then he 
 can easily get help from old Rigsby. There is no occasion for 
 alarm. For Heaven's sake don't rush in on the Duke in the 
 way you tumbled in upon me. Don't frighten him. He has 
 no idea of the state of affairs. He is under the impression 
 that a great deal of money has been saved by the quiet life we 
 have been leading here for the last seven or eight years.' 
 
 * No money whatever has been saved. Before that the 
 family was in a galloping consumption, now it is suffering 
 from slow paralysis. When the Duke went to town every 
 year the outlay was enormous, and debts accumulated annually 
 at a rate that makes my head spin. Now we live up to our 
 income — that is, to an income unburdened on every shoulder 
 and joint of the spine. There is nothing saved. You cannot 
 save on a deficit.' 
 
 ' Well, whatever you do, take care not to trouble his 
 Grace. He cannot bear it.' 
 
 * But, my lord, what am I to do ? ' 
 
 * Nothing ; wait, and keep your counsel. Let the marriage 
 take place, and all will be right. I'll manage matters with 
 Mr. Rigsby.' 
 
 'But,' said the steward — 'you will excuse the question — 
 does Mr. Rigsby know the state of affairs ? ' 
 
 ' I believe a word was said about some money being forth- 
 coming at the marriage. I can't say that he was told every- 
 thing. I did not have much talk with him. He saw a good 
 deal of the Duke, but then the Duke knows nothing about this 
 unfortunate matter. Leave the affair to arrange itself. If 
 you like I will write to Saltcombe to press on the marriage.'
 
 242 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Tho confidence of the General partly reassured Mr. 
 Worthivale. 
 
 ' You think, tlien, that we need not be anxious 1 ' 
 
 ' Not ill the least. I will manage matters with Rigsby. 
 The old fellow will be flattered and proud to let us have the 
 money. A\'liat are the mortgages called in V 
 
 ' All — all without e.\.ception. What can have taken tho 
 people I cannot conceive ; what can they all want their money 
 for simultaneously 1 It looks like a plot. If only two or 
 three had given notice I should not have minded, but all — and 
 all together ! I cannot get over it. And Grudge acting for 
 the lot — that is strange, is it not 1 ' 
 
 * Well, never mind,' answered the General ; ' we know tho 
 worst. It is best to swallow a pill whole, not to take it in 
 bits.' 
 
 ' But what is the sum to be paid over with Miss Rigsby 1 
 Will it suliice r 
 
 'No matter if it does not. It will stop a gap. I tell you 
 the old fellow will be pleased to be asked to let us have the 
 money we want. Those sort of people are flattered by having 
 favours asked of them. Besides, it will l>e for his own daughter. 
 He cannot refuse. I will make all right with him.' 
 
 ' If I may ofier a suggestion, my lord, I Avould propose 
 that you should see Mr. Iligsby at once. It is true we have 
 been remiss about the payment of interest on the mortgages, 
 and that may have frightened the holders. If we could pay 
 ofF one or two at once it might allay the alarm of the rest, and 
 they could be brought to withdraw their demands.' 
 
 ' There is three months' grace,' said Lord Ronald — ' plenty 
 of time. Put the matter in the hands of our solicitor, let him 
 write to tliis Grudge.' 
 
 ' No solicitor in the world can save us. We must have 
 money.' 
 
 ' It really is too bad ! ' exclaimed Lord Ronald, losing his 
 temper. ' It is your fault, Worthivale. You sliould not have 
 allowed things to come to tliis pass. You have had the manage- 
 incTit of the estates ; they are extensive. You should have 
 drawn the purse-strings tighter.' 
 
 ' My lord,' said the steward, hurt, ' I beg you to remember 
 that I liave preached retrencliment to deaf ears.' 
 
 ' We have retrenched. We no longer go to town.' 
 
 ' That was not enough.' 
 
 'Good Heaven! What would you have had us do, then ? '
 
 INCUKABLES. 243 
 
 * Could not his Grace have gone abroad and shut up the 
 Court ? ' 
 
 ' Gone abroad ! — to Boulogne, and herded with all the 
 clipped and pinched wretches who hover there, like the spirits 
 on the banks of Lethe, unable to come over because short of an 
 obolus. No, thank you. There are limits below which we 
 cannot descend.' 
 
 ' What is to be done ? Nothing can be done now. It is 
 too late. Some years ago — perhaps. Now all is hopeless.' 
 
 ' This is rank nonsense. Mr. Rigsby is rolling in money.' 
 
 ' But can we be sure of getting him to apply it to our 
 necessity 1 ' 
 
 ' Of course we can. I know we can.' 
 
 ' What is he worth ? We want a very large sum.' 
 
 ' I do not know his income. Be at ease. He has plenty.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale put his hands to his head. ' If it were not 
 wicked and cowardly,' he said, ' I would blow out my brains.' 
 
 ' If there is immediate pressure,' said the General, ' I will 
 write to Edward — to Lord Edward ; he is canon and arch- 
 deacon, and proctor in Convocation, and enjoys a fat rectory. 
 I have no doubt he will help.' 
 
 ' He has helped us already.' 
 
 'When? How?' 
 
 ' Over and over again, but he wished me not to mention it 
 to any of the family.' 
 
 ' Bless my soul ! ' exclaimed Lord Ronald, ' I had no idea 
 of that. Can I sell my interest in anything — my annuity ? ' 
 
 'If you sell your annuity, my lord, it must be paid, and now 
 it is not.' 
 
 ' I can sell my half- pay of General.' 
 
 ' A drop into a bottomless gulf.' 
 
 'Then we must wait in patience for the marriage-bells. 
 Now — not another word. I am going to the Duke.' 
 
 The steward sighed and withdrew. 
 
 ' Stay a moment,' called the General as he was passing 
 through the door. ' I hope, I trust, not a word of this has 
 reached the ears of Lady Grace. I do suppose that you have 
 not spoken of these painful matters to Lucy.' 
 
 ' She does know something,' said Mr. Worthivale. 
 
 ' Who ? Lucy or Grace ? ' 
 
 * Lucy has been told that no unnecessary expense must be 
 incurred. Remember she manages the housekeeping, and has 
 the accounts in her charge. But, as she says, it is impossible 
 
 r2
 
 244 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 to keep dou-n the enormous outlay. The servants think it 
 their duty to blaze abroad the splendour of the house by lavish 
 waste. The requirements of the establishment are very great.' 
 
 ' I do hope Lucy will not l)y hint even let Grace suppose 
 that there is trouble in the air.' 
 
 ' Rely on her.' 
 
 ' Then no one need know of this confounded worry except 
 myself and Saltcombe. There, there, be of good cheer, the 
 cloud is passing.' 
 
 Lord llonald went to the Dukes apartments. He found 
 his brother disturbed, his face was wanting in its wonted 
 serenity. 
 
 ' Ronald,' said the Duke, ' no letter again this morning from 
 that provoking boy. I cannot undei'stand it. In my day no 
 son would have dreamed of leaving his father without notice 
 of his proceedings. Can it be that love has turned his head ? 
 If so, the sooner he is married and brought to a sober mind 
 and sense of his obligations, the better.' 
 
 ' You see, brother,' said the General, * ladies are exacting. 
 No doubt Miss Dulciiia is not happy without Herbert about 
 her, and love-making is one of the labours of Hercules. When 
 he comes home he is fagged, and fain to throw liimself in a 
 chair and go to sleep. Take my word for it — that is it. ]\Iiss 
 Rigsby has only written twice to Gi-ace, once a line of thanks 
 for her reception here, the other a mere half-page of nothing, 
 that took her one minute by the clock to write.' 
 
 ' Nothing can excuse neglect of duty to a parent,' said the 
 Duke. ' When I was young I was taught to discharge duty 
 first, and take pleasure after. The spirit of this age is other ; 
 duties are blown away as feathered seeds, and oidy pleasure is 
 regarded. I thought better of Herbert.' 
 
 * My dear Duke, you must excuse him. Love-making de- 
 moralises a man. It is like an election, it upsets everything. 
 No doubt, now that Saltcombe has emerged from his chrysalis, 
 he is flying about.' 
 
 ' It would not take him ten minutes to write me a line. I 
 am not exacting. I do not rcijuire four sides crossed, but I 
 expect the recognition of what is due from a son to a father. 
 I am put out.' 
 
 Lord Ronald had nothing to .say to this. 
 
 ' Hitherto,' continued the Duke, ' I have had no reason to 
 complain of Herbert ; he has been a respectful, obedient son. 
 He was extravagant some years ago, and I have no doubt
 
 INCURABLES. 245 
 
 spent more money than was judicious, but it runs in the family. 
 I was extravagant at one time ; ' my father — as you may 
 remember, Ronald — never stopped to consider what a thing 
 cost if it took his fancy ; and my grandfather went to extremes 
 in munificence. I should have been pained to see a mean, 
 calculating spirit in Herbert. A gentleman must be open- 
 handed.' 
 
 ' He has lived too quietly for some years. I am glad to 
 see our comet run into sunlight again.' 
 
 ' Yes. Because I am too poorly to take my proper place in 
 society, that is no reason why Saltcombe should live as a 
 hermit. I shall insist, when he is married, on his being in 
 town for the season.' 
 
 ' His wife will take care of that.' 
 
 ' I trust she will. I have been considering that he must 
 have a residence of his own.' 
 
 ' Will he not live here 1 ' 
 
 ' Certainly not. I should like it, but it would hardly do. 
 The Marquess and Marchioness must have their own country 
 house, with no divided authority in it. I would not have 
 Grace the guest of my daughter-in-law, nor my daughter-in- 
 law the guest of Grace in Court Royal. No, Ronald, I have 
 been thinking of Fowelscombe. The house is out of repair, 
 but it is a fine place. The grounds are delightful, that 
 glorious drive down through an avenue of beeches for over a 
 mile, and then the charming old house below, nestling among 
 trees — what can be more suitable for the young couple 1 The 
 house has been uninhabited for so long, and the grounds so 
 neglected, that it will want a great deal doing to it. Still, 
 some ten thousand pounds spent judiciously would make it 
 comfortable.' 
 
 ' I am sure that Saltcombe would not wish it.' 
 
 ' Ronald,' said the Duke, with some indignation, ' unless 
 the poisonous spirit of the age has infected Saltcombe more 
 deeply than I anticipate, he will approve of whatever I ordain. 
 I have written to an architect to examine and report on the 
 condition of Fowelscombe, and I have requested a distinguished 
 landscape gardener to look over the grounds and suggest im- 
 provements.' 
 
 ' But — my dear Duke.' 
 
 ' There is no but in the case — that is, no but is admissible. 
 I wish it. That suffices.' 
 
 Lord Ronald looked down at his bootg.
 
 246 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 ' There is another thing,' continued the Duke, * I wished to 
 consult you about. I hear that the Kevelstoke estates of the 
 Stretchleighs are to be sold. Our great-grandmother was a 
 Stretchleigh, and it is unendurable to nie to think that some 
 brewer, or builder, or successful army tailor should come down 
 and buy the property, and iuliabit the house once the home of 
 gentlemen. I am thinking of buying it.' 
 
 ' Merciful powers ! ' exclaimed Lord Konald. 
 
 ' Why do you exclaim in this way 1 Is there anything ex • 
 aggerated in this .sentiment of respect for the home of our 
 ancestors on the female side 1 Surely, Ronald, you are not 
 touched with the utilitarian spirit of the age 1 ' 
 
 ' But — Avhere is the money to come from ? ' 
 
 ' iMoney can always be found for what is needful.* 
 
 ' But this is hardly a necessity, brother.' 
 
 ' Not a necessity, exactly, but almost a duty. All the 
 country is invaded by rich tradesmen, and engineers who have 
 been knighted for building Ijridges, and manufacturers out of 
 the North. Our old country gentry are becoming extinct, I 
 do my best to keep our neighbourhood select. There is no 
 knowing what mischief a new man might do coming into our 
 proximity. He would flood the country with nineteenth-cen- 
 tury ideas, and subvert our tenants.' 
 
 ' Have you spoken to Worthivale about this 1 ' 
 
 ' Not yet. I saw no need. He would combat it, of course. 
 He is a good man, but narrow ; pettifogging in his ideas, no 
 breadth of view, always after reduction of outlay ; never dis- 
 posed to deal liberally with the tenants.' 
 
 ' You have taken no step in the matter, I trust.' 
 
 ' I cannot say that I have taken no step, but I have not yet 
 bought the property. I have opened negotiations.' 
 
 ' Do nothing, I entreat you — do nothing till after the mar- 
 
 riage.' 
 
 ' It may then be too late. The property may have passed 
 into most objectionable hands.' 
 
 ' Consult Saltcombe. Consult Edward. For Heaven's sake 
 move no further without consideration.' 
 
 ' I have considered. You are very strange this morning, 
 Ronald. I do not understand your manner or your 
 mood.' 
 
 ' I am out of sorts. I am bewildered. Spend ten thousand 
 on Fowelscombe and buy Revelstoke. Lord bless me ! ' He 
 recovered his composure. ' Excuse me, Duke, you take me by
 
 INCURABLES. 247 
 
 surprise. Do nothing till I have had another talk with you 
 about it.' 
 
 ' My dear Ronald, what does it concern you whether I buy 
 Revelstoke or not 1 I am buying to suit my own notions, and, 
 though I value your opinions, I am not bound to submit to 
 them. Now I really must attack my letters. I will detain 
 you no longer. My conscience reproaches me for having taken 
 up so much of your precious time ; pray return to your turning 
 of knobs.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A CARD CASTLE. 
 
 Lord Ronald returned to his room and spent the rest of the 
 day in turning. The days were short, and he made the most 
 of the little light. His hand wanted its usual steadiness, or 
 his mind wandered to other matters ; for he spoiled several of 
 the knobs he worked at that afternoon. 
 
 He was engaged on the twenty-sixth in the gathering dusk 
 when he heard a step behind him, and looked round. ' Mercy 
 on me ! ' he exclaimed, and cut into and spoiled the twenty- 
 sixth knob. ' What is the meaning of this 1 ' 
 
 He saw the Marquess before him, worn, white, hollow-eyed. 
 * Good Heavens, Saltcombe ! How come you here ? What has 
 happened 1 What is the matter with you? Have you been 
 ill?' 
 
 ' Do not overwhelm me with questions, uncle,' answered 
 Lord Saltcombe. ' I can answer but one at a time.' 
 
 ' But this is amazing. Why have you not written ? What 
 do you mean by dropping on one from the sky without warning ? ' 
 
 ' There, uncle, leave the lathe. I want a word with you. I 
 have mattei's of importance to communicate. Come out of your 
 workshop into the other room.' 
 
 ' I am at your service. Merciful powers ! what a pack of 
 troubles and bewilderments come upon oiae all at once ! First, 
 Worthivale bursts in on me, then the Duke drops do^vn on me, 
 and now you spring on me like a ghost— my senses are stupefied 
 or scared away. No bad news, I hope ? Take that chair by 
 the fire. How pale, how ill you look ! Tell me the truth, 
 Herbert, have you been sick ? '
 
 248 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Lord Saltcoiube sliook his head. 
 
 ' Your father is put out at your not writing. I tliought that 
 sickness might account for the neglect.' 
 
 ' I have not been ill.' 
 
 ' Then why have you not written 1 I found tlie Duke this 
 morui]ig in a tantrum about it. He will call you sharply to 
 task. What have you been doing witli yourself ? ' 
 
 ' I am sorry if I have given my father pain. I would spare 
 him every annoyance. AVhat I have to communicate now is 
 likely to disturb him. INIiss Rigsby and I have not succeeded 
 in liking each other more, the more we have seen of each other.' 
 
 ' Wliat ? How 1 You don't mean to say you ! — you 
 
 surely are not going to tell me ' 
 
 'That the ene;a£rement is at an end.' 
 
 Lord Ronald started. ' At an end ! Herbert, you are out 
 of your senses, or I am dreaming.' 
 
 ' It is true. The engagement has been broken off. Mr. 
 Rigsby must have picked up exaggerated reports of the state 
 of our pecuniary affairs, and he began impertinently to catechise 
 me about them. I could do no other than refuse to answer his 
 questions.' 
 
 The General clasped his hands on his knees, wrung them, 
 and groaned. ' Saltcombe ! do you know that we have been 
 building on your marriage 1 Do you know that without it wo 
 are hopelessly lost ? Your marriage was the one cord to 
 •which we clung. That gone, we sink. There is no salvation 
 anywhere.' 
 
 ' I know it,' answered the Marquess, gloomily. ' I know 
 more than that. We drag others who have trusted us into ruin 
 along with us. But it cannot be helped. I have done my ut- 
 most. I am not to blame — not in this matter, at least. I did 
 what was required of me. I constrained myself to be civil and 
 play the lover to a girl I could not like, to one with whom 
 I could not associate with any pleasure. I proposed to her. I 
 never betrayed my feelings by a look, a gesture, or a word. I 
 was prepared to make her my wife, and when she was my wife 
 you may rely on me I would have failed in no duty towards 
 her. But I could not endure to be treated with impertinence 
 — not by such as Rigsl)y.' 
 
 * Rigsby treat you with impertinence ! It is inconceivable, 
 you lia\e misunderstood Iiim. I will go post-haste to Plymouth 
 and explain matters, and effect a reconciliation. You must 
 marry the girl, you must.'
 
 A CARD CASTLE. 249 
 
 ' I cannot do so. INIr. Rigsby does not wish it. He has 
 been frightened by gossip about our difficulties, and he thinks 
 we will involve him and throw away his daughter's fortune.' 
 
 ' But he ought to be proud, happy to contribute ' 
 
 * Perhaps he ought, but he is not. On the contrary, he de- 
 clines the honour.' 
 
 ' Heaven help us, we are lost ! Do you know, Saltcombe, 
 that some of the mortgages are called up, and unless we find 
 the money we shall be compelled to sell ? It is too dreadful ! ' 
 
 ' I have done what I could. To bear to be taken to task by 
 that Mr. Rigsby exceeded my endurance.' 
 
 ' Did you break with him, or he with you 1 ' 
 
 ' He came to me, as I believe, with the express purpose of 
 bringing about a rupture. He charged us with being ruined, 
 and wanting to stave otf ruin with his money.' 
 
 ' That is true.' 
 
 * It may be true, but it is impertinence to say it,' 
 ' So you flared up and upset the salt 1 ' 
 
 * I declined to be cross-questioned.' 
 
 ' What is to be done about conveying this news to the Duke ? 
 It must be done gently, lest it excite him and affect his heart.' 
 
 ' If you think best, uncle, that I should take all the blame 
 on myself, I will do so. Let my father suppose me capricious, 
 he will be annoyed, but it will pass. He did not look cordially 
 on this engagement. He did not care for the connection. If 
 he thinks that the planter broke it off his pride will be hurt, he 
 will feel it as an insult, and that will agitate him profoundly. 
 No ; best let me bear the blame.' 
 
 Lord Ronald put his hand to his head. He was too be- 
 wildered to think ; he looked at the Marquess, then at the fire, 
 almost stupidly. Both were silent for some time. 
 
 ' I came in quietly, without being observed,' said Lord Salt- 
 combe. ' I wished to have a word with you before I saw anyone 
 else. I had rather not meet Grace to-night.' 
 
 ' The Duke must be prepared for this. You have shaken 
 me, I cannot collect my thoughts. We must telegraph for 
 the Archdeacon, We shall want his advice. What a card 
 castle we have been erecting, Saltcombe ! and now with a puff 
 it is down in ruins.' 
 
 ' I will go and sleep at the lodge. Beavis will give me a 
 shakedown. I do not wdsh to meet Grace till I am more com- 
 posed, and I do not want the news of my return to be carried 
 to my father till you have prepared him,'
 
 250 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' "Wliat am I to say 1 "NVliat can I say ?' 
 ' Tfll liiin that you have heard unpleasant tidinp;s from 
 Plymouth, and that you expect me to be back to-morrow.' 
 
 * I will do so. Good Heavens, Saltcombe ! will you believe 
 it 1 the Duke, in sublime unconsciousness, is planning the out- 
 lay of ten thousand pounds on Fowelscombc and the purchase 
 of Revelstoke. The only possible good I see in your return is 
 that it will render the outlay on Fowelscombc unnecessary, 
 and you must dissuade him from buying au acre at Hevel- 
 stoke. There is no money — not one penny ; and the mort- 
 gages on Court Royal and Kingsbridge are called up. "What 
 are we to do 1 Now go quietly and get Beavis to telegraph to 
 the Archdeacon. My head is not clear enough in this whirl. 
 He is a business man, and always knows what should be done.' 
 
 He paced the room. ' There is the first bell,' he said ; 'I 
 must dress for dimier. I will do what I can to prepai'e the 
 Duke. Merciful powers ! how much is demanded of me ! I 
 Avould rather command in an engagement with Afghans.' 
 
 When Lord Saltcombe had gone he dressed hastily, but 
 was late when he came down. The second bell had rung. 
 The Duke disliked unpunctuality. The General had never 
 failed in this particular l^efore. 
 
 * Why, Ronald,' he said, ' is the weather going to change 1 
 Are the heavens about to fall, that you come lagging after the 
 time ? Will you give your arm to Grace 1 I take in my little 
 friend Lucy. What a small party we are ! How is it the 
 vicar and Mrs. Townlcy have not been invited, or Beavis, or 
 the Sheepwashes, or some one? I dislike an empty table. 
 Now Saltcombe is away the party is reduced so low that 
 conversation Hags. With the best intentions and the most 
 brilliant wits we must sulicr from exhaustion of topics. 
 Grace, have you heard from that tiresome brother of yours 
 who is too enamoured to write 1 ' 
 
 The brilliantly lighted dining-room, the fire of oak on the 
 hearth l)urning merrily, the glittering silver and glass on the 
 table, the llowers that adorned it, yellow alamandas and 
 niaiden-hair fern laid on the white cloth ; the bull" and scarlet 
 footmen — the general brightness, comfort, beauty, struck the 
 General as it had never struck him before, conscious as he was 
 of the desperate situation of afUiirs. He was out of sjiirits. 
 He had not dressed with his usual care, his tie was twisted, 
 one of his cuffs was minus a stud, and slipped over his hand. 
 The Duke observed his troubled looks, but said nothing. He
 
 A CARD CASTLE. 251 
 
 thought he had been too short with liis brother in the fore- 
 noon, and regretted it. This, no doubt, was distressing Lord 
 Ronald. Lady Grace was always quiet ; she could talk 
 pleasantly, but lacked the power of originating and keeping 
 up a conversation. Lucy threw herself into the gap ; she was 
 skilful to maintain a conversation, and give it a lillip when it 
 flagged. An invaluable person at table when spirits were low. 
 
 ' You good little maid,' said the Duke, ' you are to me an 
 unfailing source of admiration. Always lively, with your 
 dark eyes sparkling, and your fresh cheek blooming, and your 
 tongue never lacking a happy speech.' 
 
 ' It could not be otherwise, your Grace, when you are 
 always flattering,' said Lucy. 
 
 When Lady Grace and Miss "NVorthivale retired the Duke 
 passed the port to his brother. ' You never touch claret, I 
 think 1 ' Then, noticing that Lord Ronald's hand shook as he 
 tilled his glass, he asked, ' What ails you, Ronald, to-day 2 
 You look out of sorts.' 
 
 ' I have received unpleasant news from Plymouth.' 
 
 ' From Plymouth ! ' repeated the Duke. ' Not a letter 
 from Saltcombe, surely 1 ' 
 
 ' No, Saltcombe has not written to me, but I have heard 
 something aftecting him which I do not like.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? Is he ill 1 ' 
 
 ' No, not that.' 
 
 ' What is it, then ? ' 
 
 ' I don't fancy his love-making is proceeding smoothly.' 
 
 ' The course of true love never did run smooth,' said the 
 Duke. ' Lovers always fall out, and make up their quarrels 
 next day. That is a commonplace in Cupid's maxims.' 
 
 ' I don't mean that,' said the General. He was uneasy : 
 strict in his ideas of right and wrong, he was unskilled to act 
 a part and speak half the truth. He turned hot, then cold. 
 
 ' What is it, then ? ' 
 
 ' I believe Dulcina Rigsby dresses very badly.' 
 
 'I did not like her taste here, but that is a matter for 
 ladies to consider, not men. For my part, I think the modern 
 fashions detestable.' 
 
 ' I hear she makes herself ridiculous by her outrageous 
 style.' 
 
 The Duke frowned. 
 
 ' Of course Saltcombe does not like his future wife to be- 
 come the laughing-stock of Plymouth.'
 
 252 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 The Duke puslicd liis p^lass from liiin. < Ronald,' lie said, 
 ' this is intoloraljle. A future Marchiouess of Saltcombe tlie— 
 the laughing-stock — do you know what you are saying ? ' 
 
 The Goiicral crossed his logs, then uncrossed them, leaned 
 back in his chair, filled liis glass again, took some candied 
 angelica, and said, looking uncomfortable and nervous, ' Salt- 
 combe is sensitive. He cannot stand that sort of thing. I 
 hear he will lie home to-morrow,' 
 
 ' Saltcombe— here ! Do you mean to hint that tho engage- 
 ment is off ? ' 
 
 ' I know nothing definitely. I can't say absolutely off, past 
 all patching up. You can understand that if INIiss Dulcina 
 I^igsby gives herself airs unbecoming a lady, Saltcombe will 
 feel it. The old father, too, the coffee-planter, is a rough 
 stick, and perhaps does not know how far liberties are allowed 
 on the footing on which he stands.' 
 
 The Duke looked grave. He picked some grapes and ate 
 them. Then he said, ' Saltcombe knows what befits his posi- 
 tion. She who is to be Duchess of Kingsbridge when I am 
 gone must not be an object of ridicule. If she were a princess 
 of blood royal, and failed in tact, she would be unworthy to 
 wear our strawberries. Not for the world would I do what is 
 wrong, not for ten thousand worlds would I excite a jeer.' 
 He paused. 'You think Herbert will return. Very well. 
 He will do what is right. I shall be glad to see him. You 
 think the match is broken off. I am content. The house of 
 Kingsbridge does not want Rigsbys to prop it up. Let us re- 
 join the ladies.' 
 
 In the meantime Lady Grace and Lucy were sitting side by 
 Bide on the sofa in the drawing-room. Grace had her arm 
 round Lucy's Avaist, and Lucy held a screen to cut off the red 
 firelight from her friend's face. 
 
 ' How lively you are to-day, Lucy ! ' said Lady Grace. ' I 
 do not know what it was at dinner that put my father and 
 uncle out of spirits, and observing them I lost the desire to 
 talk ; but you flew to the rescue, and rattled on, and forced us 
 all to laugh ; and now I feel your heart ; you are quivering 
 with animation. What is it, Lucy ? I have not found you io 
 Buch buoyant humour for many a day.' 
 ' Shall I tell you a secret ? ' 
 ' If pleasant.' 
 
 ' It is excellent. I am sure it will rejoice you,* 
 ' Then do tell me.'
 
 A CARD CASTLE. 253 
 
 ' What will you pay me for it 1 ' 
 
 * I will give you a kiss.' 
 
 * I will pour out my whole heart's contents for that.' 
 ' Then do not tantalise me. "Wliat is it ? ' 
 
 * What do you wish best of all 1 ' 
 Lady Grace slightly coloured. 
 
 ' You do not like Miss Rigsby, do you 1 ' asked Lucy. 
 
 ' Oh, Lucy ! don't ask such a question.' 
 
 ' I do not. I detest her, a nasty, spoiled, conceited piece 
 of goods, without fresh feeling, without good taste, without 
 healthy brains.' 
 
 ' You must not say that,' said Lady Grace. 
 
 ' I must and I will. I could not do so before. I can now.' 
 Her eyes danced, the dimples came in her pretty rosy cheeks, 
 and her lips quivered. ' Only think ! Lord Saltcombe is 
 home. It is all off.' 
 
 ' Herbert home ! ' exclaimed Lady Grace. ' What is off 1 ' 
 
 ' The engagement. Broken oif, and a good thing too. I 
 am heartily glad, and could dance for joy. So could you. You 
 never liked her. You never thought her worthy of Lord 
 Saltcombe.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lucy ! ' Lady Grace stood up. She was nervous 
 with excitement. ' Oh, dear Lucy, is this so ? How do you 
 know it 1 ' 
 
 ' It is quite true. Are you not glad 1 ' 
 
 Lady Grace hesitated and looked into the fire. ' I do not 
 know what to say. I hope he has net behaved badly. I can- 
 not think that he has. Yet the breakin;? off of the enarage- 
 ment can hardly come from her. She seemed very fond of him.' 
 
 ' You may be quite sure Lord Saltcombe would not do what 
 is wrong. I know nothing about how it came about, I only 
 know that it is so. You never liked her, did you ? ' 
 
 ' No. I did my utmost to become attached to her, but I 
 could not. How did you hear of this ? ' 
 
 ' Through my father.' 
 
 ' Did Lord Saltcombe write to him ? Herbert has not 
 deigned to send me a hne since he left.' 
 
 ' Lord Saltcombe is at our house.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lucy ! ' 
 
 * He did not like to appear here till Lord Ronald had pre- 
 pared the Duke's mind.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lucy ! I wonder how he bears it. Do you think he 
 was fond of her ? '
 
 254 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' I cannot believe it.* 
 
 ' Lucy ! Nor do I. What is tlie meaning of this 1 I am 
 like a deaf person at a play, or as one who comes in at the 
 second act and sees much movement, but is unable to lay hold 
 of the threads of the plot. Uncle Edward, Aunt Elizabeth, 
 Uncle llonald, all seemed to me bent on this marriage. Beavis 
 advised it. What made it so desirable ? I asked Beavis at 
 the l)all, but he would tell me nothing. I am afraid this rup- 
 ture will disappoint them. Uncle Ronald's face and cull' at 
 dinner showed me he was disturbed. Why is he disturbed 1 
 What is there so attractive in Dulcina Rigsby 1 ' 
 
 Instead of answering these questions Lucy said, ' ^My fathisr 
 says that Lord Saltcombe is looking wretchedly ill, so white, 
 and hollow under the eyes.' 
 
 ' Lucy ! I must see him. Amuse the Duke whilst I run to 
 the lodge. I cannot bear that my brother should be there un- 
 happy and unwell, and I not see him and know the reason of 
 his distress and sickness. I shall not be gone long. Make 
 some excuse for my absence.' 
 
 In a very few minutes Lady Grace was in the park. She 
 was in pale blue silk evening dress ; she had thrown a cloak 
 over her shoulders, and a liglit knitted woollen shawl over her 
 head. The deer started as she passed, but when they heard 
 her voice they came after her, thrusting their noses against her 
 hand. Slie walked quickly, and when she reached the steward's 
 lodge a little colour was in her delicate cheeks. 
 
 ' Emily,' she said to the maid who opened the door, * is Lord 
 Saltcombe here ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, my lady, lie is in the study with Mr. Beavis.' 
 
 ' They will excuse my interrupting them,' she said, passed 
 down the passage, lightly tapped at the door, and in another 
 moment was in her brother's arms. Beavis withdrew, but not 
 before Lady Grace, who ne\er forgot what was due to every 
 one, had put her hand into his and thanked him with her eyes. 
 Her heart was too full to speak. The fine lips were quivering, 
 and tears were trembling in her eyes like dew in the calyx of 
 a flower. 
 
 She made her brother stand away from her at arm's length 
 and looked at him. 
 
 * Oh, Herbert!' she said, in a low plaintive voice, 'you 
 have suffered. Oh, my dear, dear brother, I must know all. 
 You cannot conceive the pain it is to me to be shut out from 
 all the mysteries that surround you. You have no one but
 
 A CARD CASTLE. 255 
 
 me, I none but you, who can perfectly understand and feel for 
 each other. Tell me everything. You have not been ill in 
 body. You have been ill in mind. Lucy will not be candid 
 with me, and she knows more than I. Beavis only bids me 
 trust him. My uncle Roland is unappi'oachable. I must come 
 to you. I cannot bear it. I cannot. Dear Herbert ! as you 
 love me, tell me everything.' 
 
 ' Sit down, Grace.' 
 
 ' No, I cannot ; I must not stay. I can rest neither here 
 nor anywhere, not on my bed, till the key is put in my hands. 
 I lie awake thinking and puzzling till I fear I shall go mad. 
 Anything is better than this uncertainty. Wliy are you un- 
 happy 1 Why have you all made such a point of this marriage ? 
 Why is Uncle Roland so upset because it is broken off 1 What 
 did Beavis see in her to urge you to make her your wife 1 ' 
 
 ' I cannot tell you, Grace.' 
 
 ' You must, Herbert. I will no longer be left in doubt.' 
 
 ' Even the Duke does not know.' 
 
 ' So I perceive. He alone has been indifferent.' 
 
 ' You must be spared what would give you pain.' 
 
 ' I do not ask to be spared. If you have a cross laid on 
 your shoulder which is weighing you down, shift one arm to my 
 shoulder and give me your hand, we will carry it together. I 
 am brave, Herbert. I can bear anything. Only one thing at 
 a time, Herbert : first tell me — did you love Dulcina 1 ' 
 
 ' I was determined to do so ; I did my best, but I could not. 
 Love will not be forced.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear you say that. Your conduct is made 
 doubly inexplicable now. Why did you propose to her ? ' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe hesitated. After a while, during which 
 she waited with patience, he said, looking down, ' Very well, 
 Grace, know all. We are ruined. The marriage was arranged 
 in the hopes of saving us from going to pieces. The Rigsbys 
 are very rich.' 
 
 ' Is that all 1 ' asked Lady Grace, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 ' All ! ' echoed Lord Saltcombe. ' Ruin — our ruin pro- 
 claimed by every newspaper throughout England, the loss of 
 our property, the sale of Court Royal.' 
 
 « It will kill papa.'
 
 256 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX VI. 
 
 TUE COUNCIL OP COURT ROYAL. 
 
 The first council of wliich we have given the acts was of a 
 private nature. It had no pretentions to oecumenicity. It 
 was a synod, not a council. It had been convoked in the in- 
 terests of the Kingsbridge House, but had been attended by 
 the Worthivale family only. 
 
 The aspect of aftairs was now so desperate that a council 
 was summoned to meet as soon as Lord Edward arrived from 
 Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 The steward had called his son to his aid, and Beavis had 
 gone carefully through the accounts — not an easy task, for his 
 father was unsystematic. 
 
 ' What we want,' said Mr. Worthivale, ' is to gain time. 
 Give us a little space in which to look about, and we will find 
 another wealthy heiress for Lord Saltcombe. There are as 
 good fish in the sea as they that come out of it.' He clung to 
 this forlorn hope. 
 
 Beavis spent several days over the accounts. He examined 
 all the mortgages, the notes of liand ; he investigated the ex- 
 penditure in its several branches, and brought all into form. 
 His time in a lawyer's oihce stood him in good stead. He 
 had acquired system, and a power of analysis lacking in his 
 father. 
 
 Lord EdAvard arrived. To her great regret, Lady Elizabeth 
 was unable to accompany him. Lent was approaching, and 
 she had to arrange the services and appoint the preachers. 
 Moreover, it was thought unadvisable for her to be away just 
 then. A faint and hectic tinge of opinion had manifested it- 
 self in the pellucid brain of the excellent curate. 
 
 Whilst Beavis was at work his father continually inter- 
 rupted him with explanations that were unnecessary, apologies 
 for his own conduct that were uncalled for, and proposals that 
 were inadmissible. 
 
 ' Lord Konald spoke rather sharply to me the other day,' 
 lie said. ' He almost laid the blame on me for having got tho 
 family into such a condition.' 
 
 ' You have no occasion for self-reproach,' said Beavis. * If 
 it had been possible to ellect anything, you would have done it.
 
 THE COUNCIL OF COURT ROYAL. 257 
 
 You have, indeed, done for them more than you should. Lucy's 
 money ' 
 
 ' Xow, no more on that point,' interrupted his father. ' We 
 shall have it again, certainly.' 
 
 ' The only thing that could have saved the family was a 
 plain and bald statement of its difficulties and desperate con- 
 dition, and that they would have refused to listen to. They 
 buoy themselves up on hopes that are fallacious, and trust to a 
 Providence to save them that expects every man to take the 
 first steps towards saving himself.' 
 
 ' Heaven knows I have preached retrenchment, but my 
 words have been unheeded. Xow take the books under your 
 arm and come with me. They will be assembled by this 
 time.' 
 
 Father and son walked through the park to Court Royal. 
 Neither spoke ; their thoughts depressed them. They entered 
 the General's private sitting-room, and saw there Lord Edward, 
 Lord Ronald, and the Marquess. At the door was Lady Grace. 
 She put up her hand to stay Beavis. ' Please let me in also. 
 Saltcombe has told me a little, I want now to know all.' 
 
 He hesitated, but without waiting for a refusal she 
 passed in. 
 
 ' Grace ! ' exclaimed Lord Ronald, ' this may not be. It is 
 rude to show a lady the door, but I cannot help myself when 
 business is in consideration.' 
 
 ' I know what the business is,' she answered, ' and I am 
 interested in it as well as you.' She ran to the Archdeacon, 
 and nestled on a stool at his side, took his right arm and put 
 it over her shoulder. ' Uncle Edward, speak a word for me.' 
 
 ' Let her stay,' said the Archdeacon. ' A woman's wit is 
 sometimes worth more than a man's wisdom.' 
 
 ' Thank you, uncle ! ' She pressed his hand. 
 
 The General occupied a hard chair with a straight back. 
 He had crossed his legs and folded his arms. His face Avas 
 grave and set. The Archdeacon sat in a lounging chair and 
 kept his arm round his niece, sometimes raising his wrinkled 
 hand to stroke her smooth hair. Lord Saltcombe stood in 
 the window looking out. The steward opened proceedings by 
 describing the condition of the finances. Two mortgages had 
 been already called up, and another he feared every day would 
 be so. Those already noted were on Court Royal and Kings- 
 bridge. Rumour had no doubt been busy with their name, 
 for bills had poured in from all quarters, tradesmen's bills
 
 258 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 pressing for immediate payment. Probably the bad times, 
 the fall in the value of land, and threatened legislation 
 menacing land, had alarmed the mortgagees. As he went on 
 he became confused, repeated himself, appealed to iigures and 
 read them wrong, and involved the case to such an extent that 
 M-hon he sat clown none who had heard him were wiser than 
 when lie stood up. 
 
 Beavis had his chair near his father. He was distressed at 
 the old man's inability to put clearly what he had to say, due 
 to his inability to think clearly. He listened with patience, 
 and when he had done he said, * I have gone most carefully 
 through all the accounts, have drawn up a table of debts, and 
 a list of the mortgages and bills. I know exactly what the 
 expenditure has been in every department during the last 
 three years, also what the assets have been. Everything is 
 liere, en precis, on the table, in so simple a form that a child 
 can understand it. The situation is one from which extri- 
 cation is only possible by having recourse to heroic methods. 
 If the family difficulties had been considered in time, salvation 
 might not have been so difficult as it is noAV.' 
 
 ' Come, come ! ' said the Archdeacon, sharply, ' don't exag- 
 gerate.' 
 
 * I am not exaggerating, my lord. May I pass these papers 
 to^ you ? You can convince yourself that I am speaking 
 Avithin the mark.' 
 
 'What is the amount absolutely necessary ?' asked Lady 
 Grace in a calm, low tone. 
 
 ' Oh, Lady Grace,' said Beavis, hastily, ' you ought not to 
 be here. You unnerve me.' 
 
 ' Let my presence rather brace you to declare the whole 
 truth. Deal plainly with us. The surgeon's hand must not 
 tremble when he touches the wound.' 
 
 ' I need not enumerate all the mortgages,' continued Beavis. 
 ' The heaviest is that of four hundred thousand on the 
 Loddiswell property, the annual interest on Avhich is sixteen 
 thousand. That is just six thousand above what we are now 
 drawing from the estates thus charged. This is in the hands 
 of an Insurance Company, and is not called in. Seventy thou- 
 sand was raised for the building of Court Royal. We liave a 
 little mortgage on Charlecombe. Neither of these is notified.' 
 
 'Of course not,' interrupted the steward. 
 
 'There is a smaller, nmch smaller mortgage on the manor 
 of Kingsbridge of four thousand five hundred. As you may
 
 THE COUNCIL OF COURT EOYAL. 259 
 
 know, though his Grace is Lord of the Manor of Kingsbridge, 
 he has very little property in the place itself. A higher mort- 
 gage could not be got on that. This is at four and three quar- 
 ters. So is that for forty-six thousand pounds on Court Royal 
 itself. These two are in the hands of a Mr. Emmanuel, and 
 he has given notice that they must be paid within three 
 months. There is another, on Alvington, which we fear will 
 also have to be met. It is not in the same hands, but in those 
 of another Jew.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Lord Ronald, ' fifty-five thousand pounds is 
 not so prodigious a sum. I suppose these two mortgages can 
 be transferx'ed.' 
 
 ' I do not think it. Remember that Court Royal is nearly 
 all park — park and pleasure-ground bring in no rents.' 
 
 ' Then some other mortgages must be imposed. If Court 
 Royal and Kingsbridge be I'elieved, what matter ? ' 
 
 ' We cannot afford to do that ; besides, investments of this 
 sort are looked shyly at now.' 
 
 ' What is the total of the annual charges on the property ? ' 
 asked the Archdeacon. 
 
 ' Twenty-four to twenty -five thousand.' 
 
 ' And the income ? ' 
 
 ' At present under thirty-five thousand.* 
 
 ' Then— living on ten thousand.' 
 
 ' No — dying on it, my lord.' 
 
 A dead silence ensued. Lady Grace's eyes were fixed on 
 Beavis. Lord Saltcombe looked through the glass into the 
 park, where the rooks were wheeling and dancing round their 
 nests, which they were repairing with twigs, and stopping with 
 tufts of pine shoots. 
 
 ' I have not deducted the aninual cost of the property, the 
 rates, taxes — nor the Duke's thousand.' 
 
 ' It is the deuce of a mischief that the marriage has fallen 
 through,' said the General. ' That would have set us on our 
 feet again.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe still said nothing. 
 
 ' If no one has a suggestion to make,' said Beavis, ' I will 
 venture to make one. ISTo one can doubt that I am heart and 
 soul devoted to the cause of your illustrious house. I beg you 
 to listen to me with patience if I am forced to say what is 
 unpleasant. I know the pride, the legitimate pride, of the 
 family. It is this pride which has allowed it to slip into such 
 straits. With a little more readiness to look at facts, and 
 
 s2
 
 2G0 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 accommotlate itself to circumstances, the financial position of 
 the family would have been convalescent, and wo should not 
 now be Avonderinii: whether life or death is heavier in the scale 
 of fate. Love of splendour, reckless improvidence, have made 
 the deficit grow in geometrical proportions. Firmness — excuse 
 my saying it — courage to grapple with the evil, have been 
 wanting, and the evil has grown to such a head that it is almost 
 past grai)pling with.' 
 
 ' Really, Mr. Beavis Worthivale,' said the General, testily, 
 ' you forget our grey hairs. You are a young man, and you 
 are lecturing men old enough to be your grandfathers.' 
 
 ' I think, ^\r. Beavis, you are too strong in your expressions,' 
 said the Archdeacon. 
 
 His father, shocked beyond power of speech, seized him by 
 the arms, and held up his hand in warning to be cautious. 
 
 ' He is right,' said Lady Grace. ' Uncle Ronald, do not 
 be angry. lie speaks the truth because he is too true a friend 
 to withhold it from us.' 
 
 Bea\is slightly bowed to her, and went on, ' Safety may 
 yet be had, but at a i)rice. The only possible way out of the 
 labyrinth of debt is for the Duke and the jNIarquess to resolve on 
 the sale of some of the estates. Unfortunately, a worse time 
 for the sale of land could not have befallen us. I believe that 
 good properties do not now fetch five-and-twenty years' pur- 
 chase, and some are put up to auction and find no buyers. 
 Still, let us liope for the best. Fowclscombe is worth two 
 thousand a year ; at thirty years' purchase that would be sixty 
 thousand ; add another ten thousand for the house and timber 
 and cxcc)>ti()niilly beautiful situation, that makes seventy thou- 
 sand. With that you can pay oil" Mr. Enuuanuel and one of 
 the other smaller mortgages. I should advise, sell also the 
 manorial rights in Kingsbridge. The town will buy those, and 
 give a good price for them.' 
 
 ' Really ! really ! ' exclaimed the General, * I cannot endure 
 this. Sell the manor from which the Duke takes his title ! 
 AVhat next?' 
 
 ' Expenses will have to be cut down at least a half, the 
 number of servants reduced, and the Marquess must make up 
 his mind to continue living in the country, and keeping Kings- 
 bridge House, Piccadilly, closed.' 
 
 ' Put a bill in the window, "To bis let furnished," and so 
 make a few guineas,' gasped the General. 
 
 Lady Grace got up from her stool and put her arm through
 
 THE COUNCIL OF COURT EOYAL. 261 
 
 that of Lord Ronald, and remained at his side, holding his hand. 
 Her touch soothed him and allayed his irritation. 
 
 ' The Duke will never consent to this,' said Lord Edward. 
 
 ' It will not do even to suggest it to him. So much of the 
 family property has been thrown away by our ancestors, that 
 he is particularly tenacious on this point. Nothing will induce 
 him to part with an acre.' 
 
 ' He is talking of buying Revelstoke, not of selling,' said 
 Lord Ronald. 
 
 ' Remember,' said Beavis, ' if he will not voluntarily part 
 with Fowelscombe, he will have Court Royal taken from under 
 his feet and over his head. There is a power of sale in all 
 mortgages.' 
 
 ' They will not dare to do it,' exclaimed the General : ' the 
 whole country would rise up and cry shame.' 
 
 * What do a parcel of Jew money-lenders care about the 
 feelings of the country ? ' said Beavis. ' Besides, you mistake. 
 The country would approve. It would cry shame on the house 
 of Eveleigh for not making a voluntary efibrt to pay its debts.' 
 
 Lord Ronald's fingers nipped the hand of Lady Grace con- 
 vulsively, and so sharply as to cause her pain. His face 
 quivered, and he prepared to say an angry word, when she 
 laid her other hand on his lips. 
 
 ' Mr, Beavis is quite right,' she said ; ' I feel that he is. 
 We should do everything in our power to pay our debts, and 
 not lie, curled up in our pride like hedgehogs, for the dogs to 
 worry.' 
 
 The General turned to his brother. ' Edward,' he said, 
 ' we look to you for advice. These hot-headed, rash young 
 folk would fire the stack to expel the mice. You are a man of 
 experience, with a business head. What do you propose ? ' 
 
 ' There is nothing like moderation,' said the Archdeacon. 
 ' I object to all extremes, doctrinal or practical. Let us be via 
 media in all we do and propose. I agree with you, Mr. Beavis, 
 that something must be done. I think with you, Ronald, that 
 his proposal is too drastic. My suggestion is quite other. Let 
 Mr. Worthivale write to the mortgagees or their agents — I 
 mean those who are pressing, and those likely to be trouble- 
 some — and ask for delay. It would not be wise to sell land 
 just now, Mr. Beavis said as much. The present depression 
 cannot last. The wheat-producing area in America is rapidly 
 being taken up, and the soil is becoming exhausted, at the same 
 time that the population of America is increasing, and there-
 
 2G2 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 fore the liome consumption is greater. "We want nothing but 
 delay. Invite the two or three disagreeable mortgagees to a 
 meeting at the lodge, and we shall see what will be the result. 
 I shall make a point of being there.' 
 
 Beavis gathered the papers together. His cheeks were 
 flushed. 
 
 ' Saltcombe has not spoken,' exclaimed Lord Roland, ' yet 
 he is the one most concerned.' 
 
 ' I bow to the superior wisdom of my uncles,' answered the 
 Marquess, ' though I agree with Beavis. I do not, however, see 
 any chance of persuading the Duke to a sale.' 
 
 ' I think with you, Herbert, in this as in all things,' said 
 Lady Grace. * Let us have amputation before mortitication 
 sets in.' 
 
 At that moment a tap at the door, and the Duke's A'alet 
 entered hastily, looking frightened. 
 
 ' My lords,' he said, ' his Grace is not well ! Something 
 has happened ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 A SISTER OF MEKCY. 
 
 The brothers of the Duke, his son and daughter, hurried to 
 liis apartment in alarm. The Worthivales, father and son, 
 remained where they were, anxious to know the cause of alarm, 
 but unwilling to intrude. 
 
 The Archdeacon turned faint ; he also suffered from the 
 heart, and the Marquess was obliged to lend him an arm. The 
 General and Lady Grace were the first to enter the Duke's 
 morning sitting-room. 
 
 We must explain the cause of the Duke's excitement. 
 
 He had been taking his breakfast when the valet informed 
 him that a lady — a Sister of Mercy — had called and desired 
 very particularly to see his Grace, if he would generously allow 
 lier an interview of five minutes. 
 
 * A Sister of JNIercy ! ' exclaimed the Duke. ' "What — 
 Thompson, in the hall. Kept her Avaiting 1 — Excellent people 
 — most certainly I will see her. Some subscription wanted to an 
 orphanage, or a refuge, or a laundry. Show her up at once — 
 of course, of course.'
 
 A SISTER OF MERCY, 263 
 
 A lady entered in black, closely veiled. 
 
 'Take a chair, my dear madam,' said the Duke, rising. 
 •Thompson, put a chair. That will do. Pray be seated, 
 madam.' 
 
 ' Thank your Grace,' said the Sister, waiting till the valet 
 had left the room ; ' I had rather stand. I will not detain 
 you five minutes.' 
 
 ' No detention at all, except as a pleased captive,' said the 
 Duke. ' It does an old worthless fellow like me, shelved from 
 all useful work, good to see one whose life is devoted to doing 
 deeds of charity, to care and toil for others. The Sister of 
 Mercy sums up in her little self the whole duty of man, as a 
 proverb condenses the experience of ages.' 
 
 ' Your Grace must excuse me. I do no deeds of charity. 
 I owe no duties to my felloAvs. I am not a Sister. I am a 
 nobody. I am only Joanna.' She threw back her veil. The 
 Duke looked at her with mingled surprise and admiration ; 
 surprise, because he did not understand her words, admiration 
 at her beauty. 
 
 ' You have not heard of me,' said Joanna. ' I do not 
 suppose you have ; but I know about you, and I know more 
 concerning your aflairs than do you yourself. I dressed in 
 this disguise to come here, because I did not wish the servants 
 to recognise and stop me, I determined to see your Grace. 
 I am only a small mouse, and you a great lion, but you are 
 fallen into a net, and I can bite the threads and free you.' 
 
 ' You must excuse me, Miss Joanna — but I really do not 
 see your drift, and understand to what I owe the honour of 
 this visit.' The Duke put his hand to liis head. 
 
 ' Your Grace is in the hands of Jews.' Joanna opened a 
 little handbag, and threw some deeds on the table. ' Look 
 there — the mortgages my master holds. I have taken them. 
 I bring them to you. Tear them up and burn them, and 
 Lazarus cannot touch you. I am with Lazarus. I would 
 have allowed myself to be hacked to pieces rather than hurt 
 him, but he dealt falsely by me. He sent me here to pry into 
 and discover for Mm your afiairs. Lord Saltcombe and Lady 
 Grace have been kind to me. I will not help to bring them 
 down. I will sliow them that I am grateful. I love — I 
 dearly love Lady Grace.' 
 
 ' My good Miss Joanna,' said the Duke, * I am perplexed 
 
 beyond measure. I cannot understand ' 
 
 ' Those deeds will explain all,' said Joanna, interrupting
 
 2G4 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 liim. ' I have not many minutes to spare, I have come here 
 from Plyniouth, and must return wliilst my master is absent. 
 All lies in a nutshell. There are your mortgages. Destroy 
 them.' 
 
 * I cannot touch them,' said the Duke. ' Do you mean to 
 tell me that you have al)stracted them from the holder 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, I took them from his sti'ong box.' 
 
 * You have acted very wrongly. You liave committed a 
 crime. You are liable to be tried for this and imprisoned. 
 'J'his is robbery.' 
 
 ' I do not care. I want to do something for Lady Grace. 
 I. am the Jew's heir, and if I steal the money I rob myself. 
 There is no harm in that. Besides, he used me unfairly in 
 sending me here, and I will pay him out for it.' 
 
 'You must go back at once and replace these documents 
 where you found them.' 
 
 ' You will not destroy them ? * 
 
 * Most certainly not.' 
 
 ' But I will tear them to shreds.' 
 
 ' That will not relieve me. I am morally bound by them. 
 I should meet my liabilities just the same whether the deeds 
 existed or were destroyed. I hold their counterparts, and 
 will act on them. There — child — take them back, and never, 
 never again act in so rash a manner. Your motives may be 
 good, but your conduct has been most reprehensible.' 
 
 ' Your Grace does not know all. The truth is kept from 
 you. Ask Lord Saltcombe, ask Lord Ronald, to tell you the 
 truth. Or tliere — look at this Society paper. There is a 
 paragraph in it about you. My master put it in, and was 
 paid for the information. No — do not look at it till I am 
 gone. I tell you that you are ruined, and the world knows 
 it now. Your last liope was in the marriage of Lord Salt- 
 combe, and that is taken from you. Will you have the 
 mortgages 1 ' 
 
 ' Certainly, certainly not,' said the Duke, uneasy, offended, 
 bewildered. He could not understand who Joanna was, why 
 she addressed him, w^hather interest in him was, and his pride 
 was hurt at her offer, at her daring to talk of his embarrass- 
 ments to his face. 
 
 'And really,' lie continued, after a pause, ' I am at a loss 
 to explain this visit ; though I feel flattered that my family, 
 or any members in it, should have inspired ' 
 
 Joanna again interrupted him. ' Your Grace, my time is
 
 A SISTER OF MERCY. 265 
 
 pi'ecious. I must be off. I have made you the offer, and you 
 have refused it. I can do no more. There is the paper. I 
 have marked the paragraph with blue pencil.' 
 
 She thrust the deeds back in her bag, and, before the Duke 
 had put his hand to the bell, left the room. 
 
 The Duke sat for some moments, rubbing his brow, trying 
 to gather his thoughts. The visit was so short, Joanna's 
 manner so extraordinary, her offer so outrageous, that the old 
 man was completely throAvn out of his usual train by it. He 
 shook his head and took up the Society paper. His eye was 
 caught at once by the paragraph Joanna had pencilled. It 
 was to the effect that the projected marriage between the 
 
 Marquess of S , heir to the most embarrassed Duke in the 
 
 three kingdoms, and the daughter of a wealthy planter from 
 the East Indies, was broken off owing to the ruinous condition 
 of the Duke's affairs, and to the fact that the father of the 
 lady declined to allow his hard-won savings to be thrown 
 away in washing the Duke's hands. The editor added that it 
 wa.s satisfactory to know that some birds were sufficiently old 
 not to be caught with Salt ! 
 
 The state of excitement into which reading this threw the 
 Duke alarmed Thompson, and he I'an to summon aid. Mrs. 
 Probus, on hearing that the Duke was ill, ordered one of the 
 grooms to ride for the doctor, a hot bath to be got ready, a 
 couple of bricks to be put into the kitchen fii-e for application 
 to his Grace's soles, and to direct that spirits and cordials 
 should be taken at once to the Duke's apartment. 
 
 When the General entered, followed by Lady Grace, he 
 found Lucy already by the chair of the old man, vainly en- 
 deavouring to pacify him. The Duke tried to speak, but 
 words failed him. He held the newspaper and waved it 
 impatiently, and pointed to it with the other hand. Lucy 
 had a glass of water, and entreated him to drink it, but he 
 shook his head angrily. 
 
 Then the Archdeacon came in, leaning on Lord Saltcombe's 
 arm. 
 
 ' What is it 1 What is the matter 1 Is it a fit ? ' he asked. 
 ' Bathe his temples with vinegar, give him sal volatile. The 
 action of the heart must be stimulated.' 
 
 The Duke was irritated at the attempts to doctor him 
 with cold water and compresses, with vinegar and cordials. 
 After a moment of struggle he gasped forth, ' Take this trash 
 away. I am not ill. I am insulted. Get along with you,
 
 266 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 Thompson. Turn tho servants out. I don't want all the 
 ■world liere. — Please leave my chair, Lucy. — Grace, I had 
 rather you were not in the room. What have you all come 
 tumblini:^ in on me for in this fashion 1 I am not dyini,'. Tho 
 room is not in llames. I pray you — leave me alone with my 
 brothers.' 
 
 ' Please let me stay by you, papa,' .said Lady Grace. 
 
 He made an impatient gesture with his head, but .she 
 would take no denial. She stepped back behind his chair, 
 and Lucy left the room. 
 
 When the Duke saw that he had only his son and brothers 
 before hiin, he recovered himself, and, holding out the paper, 
 exclaimed, * I have been insulted — gros.sly insulted. Look at 
 this ! ' 
 
 The Archdeacon took the paper from his hand, and 
 read it. 
 
 ' What is it, Edward ? ' asked the General. 
 
 * Hand him the paper, Edward, when you have done read- 
 ing the precious production. AVhat do you think it dares — 
 actually dares to say ? Upon my word, the temerity of the 
 press is inconceivable. It has the audacity to declare that Ave 
 are ruined ; that I — I, the Duke of Kingsbridge, am living on 
 the forbearance of my creditors. Bless my soul ! where are 
 the lightnings of heaven, that they do not Hash on heads that 
 dare think, and tongues and hands that dare speak and write, 
 such outrages 1 ' 
 
 The General turned white and looked down. The Arch- 
 deacon folded the paper with trembling hands, and laid it on 
 the table. 
 
 * I wish,' said Lord Ronald, 'that the old times were back, 
 when I might call the editor out and put a pistol-shot through 
 his head.' 
 
 ' That cannot be. It is impossible now. A gentleman 
 cannot redress a wrong,' said the Duke. ' If he takes a 
 horsewhip and touches a dog that has snai-led at him, he has 
 to endure the indignity of being summoned for assault. You 
 have not read the paragraph, Konald. You had better not. 
 It will fire your blood, and you will be committing some 
 indiscretion. It dares to insinuate that we sent the Marquess 
 hunting that girl for her money wherewith to buy off our 
 creditors and secure prolongation of days to ourselves.' 
 
 Lord llonald was too confused to speak, his temples became 
 spotted red. He took the paper and read it.
 
 A SISTER OF MERCY. 267 
 
 ' What has occasioned this 1 ' asked his Grace. ' Is it 
 possible that gossip is at work npon us — groundless gossip ? 
 Who has started it 1 How far has it gone ? I know well 
 enough that our fortunes are not as magnificent as they were 
 in the reigns of the first Georges, and that the property is 
 encumbered, but that is all. What is the meaning of this 
 calumny starting to life 1 ' 
 
 The Archdeacon looked at the Marquess, but as the General 
 and Lord Saltcombe looked at him — the mainstay of the family 
 — he answered, ' Do not put yourself out, Duke. There is no 
 accounting for the origin and progress of tittle-tattle. It 
 springs out of nothing, and swells to portentous size on nothing.' 
 
 ' But, Edward, it kills like the fluke in the sheep. That 
 also springs from an imperceptible nothing, but its effects are 
 felt, not by the sheep only, but by the farmer, the landowner, 
 and the parson. A germ of microscopic smallness disturbs the 
 social system ; no rents, no tithe, no trade.' 
 
 ' Of course there are mortgages and debts,' said the Arch- 
 deacon. 
 
 ' Of course there are,' exclaimed the Duke. ' There always 
 have been. What landed estate is unencumbered 1 But what 
 of that ? Every oak bears oak-apples as well as acorns.' 
 
 ' Put the paper in the fire,' said Lord Ronald, ' and its con- 
 tents out of your mind.' 
 
 'The one is done more easily than the other,' answered the 
 Duke. ' Indeed, the one is possible, the other is not ; a bullet 
 may be extracted, but the wound remains to ache and fester. 
 But are things in a bad state here — so bad, I mean ? ' He 
 turned to the Marquess. ' Saltcombe,' he said, ' since I have 
 been ill you have had the charge of everything. I hope you 
 have done your duty, and can answer to the point when I ask, 
 is there occasion for this impertinence 1 ' The Marquess hesi- 
 tated. He was afraid of alarming his father ; he could not 
 dissemble. Whilst he hesitated Lady Grace stepped forward, 
 knelt down at her father's feet, and leaning her hands on his 
 knees, whilst she looked up fearlessly into his eyes, said, ' Papa, 
 we are quite wrong in regarding you as too weak to bear bad 
 news. You are a rock, and can stand the storm as well as 
 the sunshine, is it not so ? Well, dearest papa, it is quite 
 true we are ruined. We do not know where to turn for 
 money. The mortgagees are calling in their mortgages. 
 There is nothing for it but to sell some of the property.' She 
 paused, then turned with a smile to her uncles. ' There,' she
 
 268 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 said, ' see liow brave the dear old man is ! Jiow erect tlie silver 
 liead is held ! He is no coward ; he is not afraid to liear the 
 truth, however dreadful the truth may be.' 
 
 The Duke was flattered. He bent forward and kissed liis 
 daughter on her brow. Then he leaned back in his chair, and 
 looked from one to another. ' She exaggerates, no doubt.' 
 
 ' It is too true, father,' said the jNIarquess, ' we have got into 
 almost inextricable confusion. Still — there is hope. Worthi- 
 valc is going to write to the troublesome mortgagees, and 
 arrange for a delay.' 
 
 ' Worthivale should never have allowed things to come to 
 this pass. But I see exactly how it is. Worthivale is an 
 alarmist, excellent fellow though he be. He is always crying 
 out that there is no money for anything, and it has become a 
 habit with him to hold uj) his hands and eyes in despair. He 
 has persuaded himself that we are ruined, and you have been 
 weak enough to listen to him and believe all he says. I know 
 why he is crying out now. He is scared at the idea of my 
 buying llevelstoke. You may tell him that I give it up ; 
 thereupon his sky will be set with a triple rainbow.' 
 
 'I agree with you,' said Lord Edward. 'Mr. Worthivale 
 has taken his son Bcavis into confidence, and the new broom 
 sweeps up a dust. In a little Avhile the dust will settle, and 
 all go on as before.' 
 
 ' Oh, Boavis ! ' exclaimed the Duke, ' this is Bea vis's cry of 
 wolf, is it ? ' 
 
 ' Papa,' said Lady Grace in urgent tones, * when the Avolf 
 did come the cry was disregarded.' 
 
 ' Do not you meddle in those matters, my pretty,' said the 
 Duke. ' It was cruel of them to disturb your mind with these 
 false alarms. You should live above all sordid money cares. 
 Go l)ack to your flowers.' Then turning to the others*. 
 'Worthivale is a good man of business, he will manage all.' 
 
 ' But, papa,' said Lady Grace, ' how came you to get this 
 wicked paper 1 Was it sent you by post 1 ' 
 
 ' No, dear. I received a call this morning from a lady, a 
 Sister of Mercy, and she left it.' 
 
 ' What ! a Sister of Mercy read a Society paper ! ' 
 
 ' Yes — I supyiose so — even a Sister of Mercy — that is — but, 
 upon my word, I am so bewildered ; I hardly know who sIiq 
 really was. I rather incline to think she wag a maniac,'
 
 269 
 CHAPTER XXXYIII. 
 
 REFORMATIOX. 
 
 SixcE Joanna's return from Court Royal Lodge a change for 
 the better had been effected in the house of the Golden Balls. 
 She had been firm with Lazarus, and he had yielded. She 
 kept everything in good order ; she refused peremptorily to 
 have the kitchen and what belonged to the housekeeping de- 
 partment untidy and broken. She got white lime, mixed it 
 herself, and with a pawned mason's brush whitewashed the 
 kitchen, the back kitchen, and her own attic bedroom. She 
 mixed yellow ochre with the wash and coloured the walls. 
 Where the slates in the floor were broken, she relaid them her- 
 self in cement of her own mixing. She .stitched some muslin 
 and made a blind for her window. She scrubbed the shelves 
 and table in the kitchen with pumice-stone and soda, till the 
 white deal shone like new. When work for the day was over, 
 she laid a rug before the kitchen fire, brought the tea-table 
 before it, threw over it a cloth, and put on it her lamp. She 
 seated herself beside the stove, with the door open, so that the 
 red light flickered over her knees and skirt, and white stock- 
 ings and neat shoes, whilst the lamp irradiated her face and 
 hands, intent and engaged on needlework. 
 
 Joanna had always been an energetic worker, never idle, 
 but her work hitherto had been unsystematic, undirected, de- 
 sultory ; it was like her conscience, unsystematic, undirected, 
 spasmodic in action. She had done what came to hand, and 
 done it as the light of nature taught her. At Court Royal 
 Lodge she had seen order, cleanliness, reduced to clockwork. 
 She had learned that comfort was inseparable from both. Her 
 feminine instinct for what is seemly and right was satisfied, 
 and she was resolved, with the whole strength of her strong 
 will, to reform the domestic arrangements at the Golden Balls. 
 
 She had several battles with Lazarus, but she was victo- 
 rious along the line. The meals were better. He had made 
 himself ill by the nastiness of the food he had eaten whilst she 
 was away, and he v>-as ready to yield a point in this particular, 
 on her return, for his own health's sake. She did not openly 
 oppose him w^hen she found she could caiTy her purpose by 
 quiet persistence.
 
 270 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Wlien in Plymoutli--at his private monoy-leiulintj offico, at 
 which lie was present for some liours in the day, an otHce with- 
 out name on the door or window, quite a private lodging, to 
 all appearance — he was well dressed, that is in respectable 
 clothes, without patches, without splits, not discoloured. On 
 his return he dived at once into his bedroom, and re-emerged, 
 the wretchedest of old ragmen. ' It is in eating, Joanna, 
 that clothes get spoiled. If we were angels, neither eating nor 
 drinking, our clothes would never wear out. With the utmost 
 care we cannot avoid speckling and splashing the cloth.' 
 
 ' Where are my house clothes 1' he asked one day, putting 
 his head — only his head — out at the door. ' I can't find them 
 anywhere, and I've been hunting for them high and low. I'll 
 catch my death of cold. Have you taken them to darn ? Tell 
 me. I am all of a shiver.' 
 
 ' I did take them,' said Joanna ; ' but they are not fit for 
 you to put on.' 
 
 ' Oh, for the matter of that, this is home, sweet home, and 
 anything will do there. Joanna, be a dearie, and walk back- 
 wards with them, and pass them in at the door whilst I hold 
 it ajar.' 
 
 ' I can't— I've sold them.' 
 
 ' Sold them ! ' cried the Jew. ' Sold the very skin off 
 my back ! Oh, Joanna, I hope you had a good ofl'er for 
 them.' 
 
 ' I sold them as old rags, three pounds for a penny. There 
 were not many pounds in them ; you had worn them thread- 
 bare.' 
 
 ' Oh, Joanna ! what am I to do 1 Where is the money ? ' 
 
 She came towards the door. 
 
 ' I have it in my hand.' 
 
 He uttered a little scream, and drew in his head and shut 
 the door. ' Pass it under. Brrr ! it is dreadfully raw ! 
 What am I to do for clothes ? ' 
 
 She .stood outside, and heard him counting the coppers. 
 
 ' Very little, wretchedly little,' he muttered. ' You might 
 almost as well have thrown the things away.' 
 
 ' That would have been against the principles on which I 
 liave ])een reared — never do anything for nothing.' 
 
 ' True doctrine,' said the Jew, ' I was speaking poetically. 
 I strew flowers sometimes. It is my mind — ornate.' 
 
 Presently he called very loud, ' Joanna ! I say, Joanna ! ' 
 
 ' Well,' she answered, ' what do you want ? '
 
 REFORMATION. 271 
 
 ' I'm quivering like gold-leaf,' he said plaintively through 
 the door ; ' I can't come out as I am.' 
 
 ' Put on again the suit you went out in.' 
 
 ' But I want my tea.' 
 
 ' What of that 1 ' 
 
 ' It may drip. And bread and butter,' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' The little bits with butter on them may fall on my knees 
 butter downwards, and stain me.' 
 
 ' I've made you a sort of blouse,' said Joanna through the 
 keyhole, ' in which you can be respectable. You can slip it 
 over your suit when you come in.' 
 
 ' But the seat, Joanna ; tlie wear and tear there is sick- 
 ening.' ^ 
 
 'I've cushioned your chair,' she replied through the key- 
 hole. 
 
 After a while lazarus appeared, respectably dressed. Then 
 the girl produced a smock she had made, and he drew it over 
 his head. 
 
 ' I look rustic in it,' he said ; ' but I see the idea — it will 
 save clothes. I approve.' 
 
 The kitchen looked cosy with the lamp and fire, the hearth- 
 rug, the tablecloth, and the tea-things, and with the curtain 
 di'awn. 
 
 ' It is beautiful, but expensive,' said Lazarus. ' Dear 
 heart alive ! you are burning the coals very fast.' 
 
 'I've reckoned up, and find it cheapest to have a good 
 fire,' answered Joanna, ' cheaper by sevenpence three farthings 
 per night.' 
 
 ' How do you make that out ? ' asked the Jew. ' I'd be 
 proud to know how spending can be converted into saving.' 
 
 ' I worked one night without fire,' said Joanna in reply. 
 ' I worked at the coat-turning, and my fingers were so cold I 
 could hardly hold the needle, and had to put them in my 
 mouth to bring the feeling into them. The next evening I 
 worked with fire, the same number of hours, at the same sort 
 of work, and did half as much again with warm fingers. Then 
 I ciphered it all up — so much done at so many hours, and 
 coals, by measure, at fourteen shillings per ton, and I reckon 
 I cleared sevenpence three farthings.' 
 
 ' Seven times eight makes fifty-six. Twelves in fifty-six, 
 four and eight over. Seven farthings, one and three over. 
 Penny three farthings from four-and-eight makes a total of
 
 -'- COURT ROYAL. 
 
 four-and-sixpence farthing. Say twelve weeks of firing, that 
 makes— twelve times four, forty-eight ; twelve times six, 
 six sliillings ; forty-eight and six make fifty-two. Why, 
 Joanna, that is the clearing of two pounds twelve and three- 
 pence per annum. At that rate you may burn coals and I 
 will not grumble.' 
 
 'Tliere is nothing like thrift, is there, master V 
 
 ' All,' said tlie Jew, ' talk of the beauties of nature ! 
 What I look to is the moral lessons it preaches. How many 
 of your holiday-takers, wlio run over the sea clill's, look at the 
 thrift that covers them, and lay the flower to heart ? I'm not 
 one wlio approves of hoarding. Hoarding is a low and savage 
 virtue, but Turning over is the cultured virtue. Turn your 
 eggs and tliey don't addle, but they won't set. It is better 
 with moneys. You can always restore the vital heat to them 
 in your pocket, turn Ihcm over, and hatch out of them a 
 pretty bi-ood.' 
 
 Lazarus spread his hands before the fire, and the light 
 played over his face. He smiled with satisfaction. 
 
 'The domestic circle,' said he to himself, or Joanna, or 
 both, ' is a very pleasant circle to him who is its centre. I 
 only passed tlirough it as the man in the circus goes througli 
 a hoop, and mine was on tire, and singed me. Nevertheless, 
 I won't say but ' 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, and Joanna did not trouble 
 herself to inquire what he intended to say. 
 
 ' I think a shave wouldn't do you harm,' she observed. 
 'There is a frowsy growth on your upper lip like a neglected 
 plantation.' 
 
 'I'm going to grow a moustache,' said tlie Jew. *I'm 
 about to mark an epoch with it.' 
 
 'You — you going to make yourself ridiculous 1 ' 
 
 ' Not at all ridiculous. I've come to that period of life 
 when a judicious growth of hair disguises the ravages of time.' 
 
 ' Pray, what is the epoch to be marked by a moustache 1 ' 
 asked the girl. 
 
 Instead of answ{>ring the question directly, he sighed, 
 stretched his legs and arms, and said, 'I'm a lone, lorn 
 widower.' 
 
 'That ought not to troul)le you much,' observed Joanna. 
 'You've been a grass widower long enough.' 
 
 'That is just it, Joanna,' said the Jew; 'I've ])een in 
 grass so long that I should like now to get into clover.'
 
 REFORMATION. 273 
 
 ♦ Do you think of retiring from business ? ' asked the girl. 
 
 ' Oh dear, no ! I couldn't live without it.' 
 
 ' Then you will allow me to spend more on housekeeping 1 ' 
 
 He shook his liead and hitched his shoulders uneasily. 
 ' I'm not inclined to launch out far yet,' he said, with an in- 
 tonation on the last word. ' The time will soon come when it 
 will be otherwise. I am going to foreclose on those Kings- 
 In-idge people. What is more, I've been about and seen seme 
 of the other mortgagees, and given them such a scare that 
 I've no doubt they will do the same. I've got it into the 
 Society papers, Joanna — published to the world that the great 
 ironclad Duke is foundering. The beauty of my position is 
 that I strike at the heart. I have my hold on Court Royal 
 itself. They will sell anything rather than that ; and if they 
 once begin to sell, it will go like a forest on fire — there will 
 be no stopping it.' 
 
 ' They will be beyond your reach when the marriage takes 
 place,' said Joanna. 
 
 'I have put a spoke in that wheel. The marriage is 
 broken off.' 
 
 Joanna was sincerely distressed. *I wish I had done 
 nothing for you. I wish — I wish I had not ! ' 
 
 'You have done everything for me,' said Lazarus. 
 * Through you I have ascertained who are the mortgagees, 
 and who hold the bills, and I have been able to see and scare 
 them all. Even the insurance company, that has the heaviest 
 mortgage of all, is made uneasy. You may depend upon it, I 
 have taken the pillars between my arms, and brought down 
 the house upon the Philistines.' 
 
 Joanna burst into tears. 
 
 ' There, there,' said the Jew, ' you have been dazzled and 
 bewitched by those aristocrats, like so many others. It is a 
 short enchantment that will soon pass. Joanna, we will have 
 a bloater for supper. Eh 1 soft roe ! eh ? ' 
 
 Joanna held down her head, and the tears dropped on the 
 work on which she was engaged. Lazarus looked at her with 
 a peculiar expression in his eyes. Then he began to whistle 
 plaintively to himself Azucena's song in ' Trovatore,' ' Home- 
 ward returning to our green mountain.' 
 
 Presently the girl looked up, saw him watching her, and 
 something in his expression offended her, for she coloured, and 
 said, ' I did not know you were musical.' 
 
 * I'm what you may call a many-sided man,' answered the 
 
 T
 
 274 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Jew, full of prismatic twinkle and colour. * You've only seen 
 nie under one aspect, and that the business one — appraising 
 goods, whacking little boys, and scolding you. But tliere is 
 more in me than you suppose. You've thought me hard, may 
 be, but I'm like a sirloin of beef — I have my tender undercut. 
 You've thought nie cold, because I'm not given to blaze and 
 crackle with emotion and sentiment, but I'm a slow combus- 
 tion stove, lined with firebrick, and when alight I give out a 
 lot of heat for my size. There are some men like the green- 
 gage — all sweetness Avithout, but the heart within is stony. 
 There are others like the walnut, rugged and hard as to their 
 exterior, but nutty and white and delicious when you get at 
 their insides. Such, Joanna, am I.' 
 
 * I've nfiver tasted the nuttiness yet,' said the girl. 
 
 'But it is there.' He shook his head. 'Wait till my 
 moustache is gi-own, and that Kingsbi'idge pack of cards is 
 tossed about, and you'll see wonders.' 
 
 ' I want to see no more of you than I am forced to,' she 
 muttered. 
 
 ' Oh, Joanna, don't say that ! I suppose now, taking all 
 in all, that you have got a certain amount of liking for me.' 
 
 'What do you mean by "taking all in all"? Do you 
 mean taking your heap of greasy, patched clothes, and your 
 frowsy face, and your long and dirty finger-nails, and your 
 stingy habits, and the way you smack your lips over food that 
 is palatable, and the way in which you arc ogling me now — 
 taking all this together I have a liking for you 1 No, nothing 
 of the kind.' 
 
 ' Why do you say these oflensive things, Joanna ? Wo 
 belong to each other like a pair of stockings ; one can't go on 
 without the other.' 
 
 ' I think I could shift without you,' said Joanna. ' There 
 is the bell ; some one is at the door.' 
 
 A moment after Charles Cheek's voice was heard in the 
 passage. 
 
 ' Is the boss in ? I want to see him. Not but what I 
 wanted to see you also, Joanna ; but that is a permanent 
 craving.' 
 
 ' Here is INlr. Lazarus,' said the girl, usliering the young 
 man into the kitchen. ' I've put him on a smock to keep him 
 respectable.' 
 
 ' What do you want with me 1 ' asked Lazarus, with lower- 
 ing brow and without a salutation.
 
 REFORMATIO^\ 275 
 
 * This is a civil reception, is it not ? ' exclaimed tlie young 
 man. ' What else can I want of you but money 1 I am 
 cleaned out, and desire accommodation till my father relaxes. 
 He is out of humour just now, and will send me no more than 
 my allowance. As if a young fellow of spirit could live 
 within his allowance ! ' 
 
 ' Why did you not come to my office at a proper time 1 ' 
 asked Lazarus, almost rudely. 
 
 ' Because money-lending and money-taking are proper to 
 you at all times.' 
 
 ' I can let you have no more. You have had abundance, 
 and I shall lose what I have lent already.' 
 
 ' How much is that 1 ' 
 
 ' I cannot tell till I have looked.' 
 
 ' Well, go and see.' 
 
 Lazarus rose reluctantly from his chair, and, taking a 
 candle, lit it at the fire and went to his room. When Joanna 
 saw that he was gone she drew near to Chai-les Cheek, and 
 looking up in his face with a grave expression said, ' Do not 
 come here after money. Lazarus will ruin you.' 
 
 ' But I must have money. If my father will not find it. I 
 must obtain it elsewhere.' 
 
 ' When did you see your father last ? ' 
 
 ' A century ago.' 
 
 ' Why do you see him so seldom 1 ' 
 
 ' Because I am not partial to lectures on extravagance.' 
 
 ' You deserve them. Go to your father ; tell him the 
 truth ; promise him to be more prudent.' 
 
 ' No use, Joamia. I cannot be prudent. It is not in me. 
 I must spend, just as the sun emits light and the musk 
 fragrance.' 
 
 "' IN either of these exhausts itself. You must not, you must 
 not, indeed, come to Lazarus. I know how this works. In 
 seven years I ought to know. It brings inevitably to ruin, 
 and I would not have you come to that.' 
 
 ' Why not, Joey 1 ' 
 
 ' Because I like you, Charlie.' 
 
 Both laughed. His impei-tinence had been met and cast 
 back in his face. 
 
 ' Upon my word, Joanna, I wish you could take me in 
 hand and manage me ; then something might be made out 
 of me.' 
 
 ' I cannot take that responsibility on me. I turn coats. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 not those who wear tliem. Eut I can advise you. I do 
 ontroat you to listen to me. I speak because you have been 
 kind to me, and I do not meet with so much kinchiess as to 
 be indifterent to those who sliow it me. I would like to see 
 you out of Lazarus's books. You can give him no security 
 — only your note of hand. Do you consider what interest 
 he takes on that ? There — go home, see your father, tell 
 him what you Avant ; make no promises if you are too weak 
 to keep them.' 
 
 ' I wish you would let me come here sometimes and ask you 
 what I am to do when in a hobble. You have brains.' 
 
 ' Do Avhat I ask you now, and you may. It is vain to 
 expect help if you will not follow advice.' 
 
 ' Upon my word,' said the young man, * I wish it were 
 possible for me to make you IMrs. Charlie Cheok, and then, 
 maybe, you would be able to make a man of me.' 
 
 ' Not possible,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' The material is not present out of which to make a man.' 
 
 Then both laughed, but Charles Cheek laughed con- 
 strainedly, and coloured. She had cut him to the quick, but 
 the cut did him good. He was a kindly, easy-disposed young 
 man, without guile, marred by bad bringing up. He had one 
 rare and excellent quality : he was humble and knew his own 
 shortcomings. Joanna was wrong. With that, the making 
 of a man was in him. Had he been conceited, it would not. 
 
 ' How much do you want ? ' asked Lazarus, entering. He 
 had heard them laugh, and supposed they had made a joke 
 about him. 
 
 ' Nothing,' answered the young man. ' I have changed my 
 mind. I'll try my father again before I come to you, Blood' 
 eucker I * 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 OVER A SNAIL. 
 
 ' Well, Joe, flourishing ? ' 
 
 'Middling, Charlie.' 
 
 Joanna was seated in the shop of the Golden Balls next 
 day behind the counter, engaged on lier needlework, wheij
 
 OVER A SNAIL. 277 
 
 Charles Cheek came in, and swung the door behind him, so 
 that it clashed and jarred the glass. 
 
 * You must not be violent,' said Joanna, ' or the breakages 
 will go down to your bill along with the silk gown and the 
 necklace. 'Why have you not gone to your father as you 
 promised ? ' 
 
 'I am ashamed to appear before him,' answered young 
 Clieek, ' If I tell him the truth he will kick me out of the 
 house, and not pay my return ticket.' 
 
 ' Do you want a large sum ? ' 
 
 * I lost my money in a way I daren't confess. My governor 
 is a man of a practical turn of mind, and will insist on par- 
 ticulars. I am bad at invention, and if I begin to tell lies he 
 will find me out, and be down on me like the steam-hammer at 
 the docks ! ' 
 
 ' Then tell him the truth. That always answers, for no one 
 believes it.' 
 
 ' I cannot. The case is too gross. This did it.' He drew 
 a snail-shell from his pocket, and set it on the counter. ' Will 
 you deal with me for this article ? It is a curiosity, and a 
 costly one. It cost me a hundred pounds.' 
 
 Joanna took up the snail-shell, and turned it about, then 
 put it down contemptuously. 'There is nothing particular 
 about this shell except its size.' 
 
 ' Yes, there is. She is a racer. I lost a hundred pounds 
 on her. I cannot tell my father that. I was proud of my 
 snail, too, and now she is either dead or sulky. She has not 
 put out her head since I lost my money on her.' 
 
 ' How did you manage that ? ' 
 
 ' By racing, I tell you.' Charles Cheek jumped on the 
 counter and seated himself on it, close to Joanna. 
 
 ' Will you take a chair 1 ' she asked. 
 
 ' No, thank you. This is my only chance of getting you to 
 look up to me. I am going to tell you about my snail.' He 
 thrust the shell before her. ' Do look at this beast. She has 
 lost me a hundred pounds.' 
 
 Joanna continued sewing, without looking olf her work. 
 
 * Joe,' he said, ' what do you think of that ? ' 
 ' I had rather be the snail than you.' 
 
 ' I will tell you how it was. Captain Finch and I have 
 played a good deal together of late at billiards, and we have 
 also raced our snails. His is a very good runner. His regi- 
 ment is under orders for India ; so we resolved to have a final
 
 278 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 trial l)otweeii our snails for (loul)lo or quits. Mine started 
 I'i^'lit enough, but became lazy, aiul I touched her. When I 
 (lid that, the snail, instead of running the faster, retreated 
 ■within her shell. I was frightened, and applied the lighted 
 end of my cigar to the shell. She ought to have rushed out, 
 but, instead, went into sulks. She has not put out her horns 
 since. Joe, you ought to sympathise with me and help me ; I 
 liad christened my racer after you.' 
 ' My name is not Joe.' 
 
 * My snail was called Joanna.' 
 
 * Why did you name a snail after me ? It was no com- 
 pliment.' 
 
 ' I called her after the jolliest girl "I knew. I had to give 
 her a name, and I could think only of you at the time. I can't 
 tell my governor the story of the snail, can I ? Invent me 
 something to take its place.' 
 
 Joanna shook her head. ' I cannot do that,' she said 
 gravely ; ' I never tell a lie to Lazarus. If ever I see my 
 mother again, I will be true to her in every word I utter. You 
 must be true to your father. Whom can we be true to except 
 our own parents ? As for the public ' — her lips cui'led with 
 scorn — ' there is no sin in lying to them. They love lies as 
 rats love aniseed. Put your snail in water, and she'll put out 
 her head.' 
 
 * I never thought of that. Give me a saucer and water, 
 and we will try. I dare say she is as dry as a sermon.' 
 
 Joanna complied witli his request. No customer came into 
 the shop just then ; had one come, he would have seen two 
 young heads bowed over a saucer with a little water in it, 
 watching a snail. The one head was fair, the other dark ; the 
 one face good-natured, feeble, the other full of character and 
 intelligence. Both pleasant in appearance ; the young man 
 good-looking, the girl beautiful ; ho with almost boyish sim- 
 plicity, she with womanly shrewdness. 
 
 ' She is stirring, by Jove ! ' exclaimed Charlie Check. 
 
 ' I said she would. I am never mistaken.' 
 
 ' It was a case of double or quits,' explained the young man ; 
 ' that is how I came to lose so much. There was a matter of 
 lifty pounds between us, so when Finch proposed double or 
 quits on a snail race, I said " Done ! " ' 
 
 'And done you are,' said Joanna. 'The snail was wiser 
 than you. When burnt, she retired from the contest, and you 
 persevered.'
 
 OVER A SNAIL. 279 
 
 ' There conies her head,' exclaimed Cheek. 
 
 ' Yours is to come,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' Don't be hard on me, Joe ; I shall get bad words enough 
 from my father. He is a rough man, and lets his tongue play, 
 and his tongue is a lash of iron. I confess to you — I would to 
 no one else — I am ashamed of myself ; I am too weak. I can't 
 say No to a fellow.' 
 
 'You are like the jelly-fish, carried ashore by the tide; 
 where the tide leaves them they lie, and dissolve away into 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' You are hard on me.' 
 
 ' Is it not so ? A man should have backbone or he is 
 nothing. I was cast up by the tide, but I am solid.' 
 
 ' It is easy for you to talk. Y'ou have a head. I only wish 
 you were my sister, to be always at my elbow.' 
 
 'Last night you lamented that I was not your wife. 
 Which do you mean 1 ' 
 
 The young man coloured and fidgeted. He drew his head 
 away ; it had been in close proximity to hers, over the saucer. 
 
 ' Of course I am joking,' he said. 
 
 ' What, now, or last night 1 ' She laughed, then said, ' See ! 
 I have frightened you by pretending to take your words as 
 earnest. Do not be alarmed. I do not desire responsibility 
 for a man, in either capacity, who is unable to care for him- 
 self.' 
 
 ' But — Joanna ! this shall be my last folly. I solemnly 
 Bwear it. You are the only person I know who has spoken 
 plainly to me — except my father, and he makes me mad, he 
 liurts me. If ever I am disposed to give way when I ought to 
 be firm, I'll remember the jelly-fish.' 
 
 He spoke in a tone of hurt pride and real distress. Joanna 
 put forth her hand and grasped his, whilst her face shone with 
 pleasure. ' That is right,' she said cheerily. ' It does my heart 
 good to hear you speak thus. If you want to give me the 
 greatest of pleasures, it will be to let me know that you have 
 kept your word, for, in spite of your weakness, I do like you. 
 Lloreover, to prove to you that I have confidence in you, I will 
 help you now. You shall have the hundred pounds in a week.' 
 
 ' How will you get it ? ' asked the young man. ' Not from 
 Lazarus, surely.' 
 
 ' No,' she replied, looking grave, ' I would not for the world 
 apply to him to lend it to me.' 
 
 ' Whence is it to come ? Not from your wages, saved i '
 
 280 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * I receive no wages, I am a pawn.* 
 
 ' A liundrod pounds ! You will obtain tliafc for mo ? ' 
 
 'You sluiU know about it to-morrow. To-moi'row you go 
 to your fatlier.' 
 
 'I will go, certainly. How will you find the hundred 
 pounds 'I ' 
 
 ' Never mind. It shall be done to restore the credit of my 
 name, as the snail bears it.' 
 
 ' I wish you would tell mo how it is to be got.' 
 
 * No, you will find out in time. I am not doing this for 
 you, but for the sake of the snail that bears my name.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Joanna ; you said something different when 
 you made the offer. I mvst pay Captain Finch before he sails ; 
 a debt of honour is binding and must be paid, a debt to a 
 tradesman may. If I had been unable to lind the money, I 
 think I should have destroyed myself.' 
 
 ' No,' said the girl, shaking her head. * To do that demands 
 a firmer character than you have got. How would you have 
 done it, pray ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I dare say I should have jumped into the 
 sea.' 
 
 ' That is bad,' said Joanna ; ' I have tried it.' 
 
 ' What is good ? ' 
 
 ' There must be some easy way of slipping out of life when 
 life becomes unonduraljle.' 
 
 ' Oh yes. The simplest of all is laudanum. That sends you 
 to sleep, and you sleep away into the never-ending slumber.' 
 
 ' Repeat the name.' 
 
 ' What on earth can you want with laudanuni 1 You are 
 not tired of existence, I su}»pose 1 ' 
 
 Joanna said nothing. 
 
 ' Oh, look at the snail ! ' exclaimed the young man. * She 
 is getting out of the saucer, slie is lively again. I might race 
 her again and win back my hundred pounds.' 
 
 ' No,' said Joanna, * you have done with these follies. Life 
 is serious, Mr. Cheek. It is a time for making money, not of 
 throwing it away. I wish you had some of the monokeratic 
 principle in you.' 
 
 The young man started from the counter, and coloured to 
 the roots of his hair. ' What do you know of that 1 ' he asked 
 sharply. * I hate the sound, and now it issues from your lips.' 
 
 ' Why should you hate it "i It has been the means of mak- 
 ing a fortune.'
 
 OVER A SNAIL. 281 
 
 'It is a trouble to me. I suppose the officers I associate 
 with know about my father, or I suspect they do, and every 
 allusion to a unicorn cuts into me as if the beast itself were 
 driving its horn between my ribs. There it is, plastered on 
 every hoarding, with the inscription " Try Cheek's Monokeratic 
 System." ' 
 
 ' I am sorry to have offended you. I do not see why you 
 should dislike to hear of that which has made you.' 
 
 ' Wait, Joanna, till you are near the top of the tree, and 
 then the words Golden Balls will drive you frantic' 
 
 ' Maybe,' said Joanna, ' though I do not see why it should. 
 But to return to what I was speaking about before you inter- 
 rupted me. To my thinking you are leading an altogether un- 
 worthy life. Life is a time for making money.' 
 
 ' Only for those born without it,' said the young man. 
 ' My father has amassed a large fortune. It will be mine some 
 day, no doubt. It is hard that I should be limited to a beg- 
 garly four hundred per annum. You would not have me make 
 more money. That would indeed be carrying coals to New- 
 castle.' 
 
 ' No, but life has other objects for which a man may strive. 
 There is position. Push for that. Your father is not a gentle- 
 man, but you can be one.' 
 
 ' Well, I am working in that direction,' said Charles. ' I 
 associate with officers, play billiards and cards, and ride and 
 smoke and eat with them.' 
 
 ' And lose money to them on snails.' 
 
 ' Yes, all conduces to good fellowship. I am friends with 
 those who would not meet my father. I have stepped from 
 the counter to one of the shelves.' 
 
 ' I am glad your life is not aimless,' said the girl. ' If you 
 are striving for position I can respect you ; an aimless life is 
 to me despicable.' 
 
 ' I cannot say that I have ever thought much about a pur- 
 pose,' said Charles Cheek, ' still — I like to be with those who 
 are my social superiors.' 
 
 ' And sometimes to have a chat with such as me — your 
 social inferior.' 
 
 ' No doubt about that, Joe.' 
 
 'Well, Mr. Cheek, form a purpose, and drive hard after 
 it.' 
 
 ' Joe ! ' The young man reseated himself on the counter, 
 in a graver, more meditative mood than was common with him.
 
 282 COUKT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Joe, I should like to have a photograph taken of you. Have 
 you ])ccn photogi-aphed at any time ? ' 
 
 She shook her head and laughed. 
 
 ' You are a girl to make a fellow think and try to do better. 
 I should like to ha^•e your picture.' 
 
 ' I have had neither the time nor the money to waste on, 
 one,' she answered. 
 
 ' The money is nothing. Will you shut up shop for half an 
 hour and come with me to the photographer f I will pay the 
 damage.' 
 
 ' I can close. It is now noon, and no business will be done 
 at dinner-time. But I will consent on one condition only.' 
 
 ' Any condition you like to make.' 
 
 * Let us three be taken in a group.' 
 
 ' What three ? You, Lazarus, and 1 1 ' 
 
 ' No, certainly not. You, I, and the snail.' 
 
 ' By all means. Immortalise my folly. I also will make a 
 stipulation : will you grant it 1 ' 
 
 ' What is it ? I am not like you. I do not offer blank 
 cheques.' 
 
 * Let us be taken holding hands. Just now, when I promised 
 to amend, you flashed out with such a smile, and took my hand 
 and said, " That is right ! " It sent a rush of blood to my 
 heart, and I felt as if I had conquered the world. Let us be 
 taken together, holding hands over the snail, and then I shall 
 be nerved to keep my resolution. If disposed to break it, I 
 shall look on the picture and blush.' 
 
 ' I consent. Promise me,' said Joanna, looking down and 
 speaking slowly, ' that you will not be angry with me whatever 
 you may hear to-morrow. If you are in trouble yourself, do 
 not doubt but that I also shall have to go through humiliation 
 before I can get the money.' 
 
 ' From wliom will you get it V * 
 
 'Never mind.' 
 
 ' But I do mind. You won't do anything wrong, Joe, even 
 for me ? ' 
 
 ' For the snail, you mean.' 
 
 * I should never forgive myself if you got into trouble. I do 
 respect you. There is not another girl in the world I think of 
 or care for as you.'
 
 283 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 CHEEK SENIOR. 
 
 Charles Cheek was on his way to town next day in an ex- 
 press second-class smoking carriage of the Great Western 
 Railway. He would have gone first, but his funds would not 
 allow the exti-avagance. At the Kingsbridge Road station the 
 door of the carriage was opened, and an elderly gentleman 
 dashed in, drawing after him his portmanteau, then signalling 
 through the window when the train was in motion that he had 
 forgotten his bundle of rugs and umbrella on the platform. A 
 porter picked them up, ran after the train, and thrust them 
 through the window, knocking the cigar out of Charles Cheek's 
 mouth and inflicting a dent on his hat. 
 
 ' Very sorry, upon my word,' said the owner of the articles. 
 ' When travelling one is liable to lose one's goods.' 
 
 ' Seeing that you have but your head, portmanteau, and 
 bundle of rugs, the exertion of recollecting them cannot be ex- 
 cessive.' 
 
 ' I never travel if I can help it,' said the other. ' I had just 
 time to throw a shilling to the porter, but as I was agitated I 
 don't know where it went and whether he saw it. Perhaps it 
 fell under the rails and is flattened. When I am hot and 
 flurried my sight fails me and my hand shakes. It does not 
 matter. I will give the man another shilling on my return. 
 Lord bless me ! I have got into a smoking carriage. Never 
 mind, I do smoke — for once in my life I am lucky. May this 
 be an omen that my journey will be prosperous ! Sometimes 
 I have got into a first class when I had a second-class ticket, and 
 ■^hen had to pay the diflierence. Sometimes I have tumbled into 
 a third class when I had paid fare by second, but the company 
 never refunded. Why, bless my heart ! Surely I know your 
 face ; you are the image of your sainted mother, and have the 
 Worthivale look about your eyes and mouth — more than has my 
 cross boy Beavis. Surely I am speaking to Mr. Charles Cheek ? ' 
 
 ' That is my name, sir, and have I the honour ' 
 
 ' Of meeting a relative. Your mother was my first cousin. 
 I hear you have been at Plymouth. It is really too bad that 
 you have never been near us. Only a pleasant cruise to Kings- 
 bridge from Plymouth.'
 
 284 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' You have not invited me, sir. Are you Mr. Wortliivale 1 
 
 ' The same. Steward to his Grace the Duke of Kingsbridge 
 We have a nice little place, Court Royal Lodge, and would 
 liave been proud to see you in it. I did not invite you 1 Bless 
 my soul ! how careless of me ! I have intended to do so, and 
 tied knots in my pocket-handkerchief several times to remind 
 me to write ; but when I came to find the knot I always 
 recollected some omissions in my duty to his Grace, and tliought 
 the knot was tied in reference to that. You must excuse my 
 neglect. I am so overwhelmed with l)usiness tliat I have no 
 time to think of private aiUiirs. You may be sure that you 
 would always be welcome at the Lodge.' 
 
 ' I dare say you have much to occupy you now,' said Charles 
 Cheek. ' There is much talk in Plymouth about the break-up 
 in the Duke's affliirs. I hear they are in a very ugly mess.' 
 
 * Mess ! ' exclaimed ISIr. Wortliivale, bridling ; ' mess is not 
 a word that is seemly in such connection. A duke's affairs 
 may become embroiled, an earl's involved, an ordinary squire's 
 may fall into confusion, but only a tradesman's can get into a 
 mess. There has been agricultural depression felt in the ]\[id- 
 lands and in the east of England, where much corn is grown, 
 and some of the great landowners have had to retrench, and the 
 smaller have been reduced to difficulties ; but liere it is not so. 
 A duke is something very diilbreut from a country squire.' 
 
 Not a trace of ablush appeared on the steward's face as he 
 told this lie. He was a man of scrupulous integrity, but to 
 save the honour of the liouse he served he was ready to say 
 anything— who can tell ?— even do anything. Mr. Worthivale, 
 who told this falsehood, was actually on his way to town to see 
 the father of Charles Cheek, tlie wealthy tradesman, and to try 
 to inveigle him into lending money to relieve the distress of the 
 family, lie had written to'Crudge, as agent for ISIr. Emmanuel, 
 requesting him to call at his house on a certain day. He had 
 written to the other mortgagees, who were anxious and trouble- 
 some, to pacify them with words if possible. And the words he 
 had used to them were not strictly true. He was not satisfied 
 that Emmanuel, and Emmanuel alone, would be satisfied with 
 only promises. He had tortured his brains for many nights 
 with schemes for raising money without a sale of property. 
 All at once a brilliant idea flashed into his mind. He recol- 
 lected INIr. Clicek, of the monokeratic system, wlio had married 
 his pretty and sweet cousin, a Wortliivale. He had not met 
 Cheek since the funeral of Mrs. Cheek, but he knew about him
 
 CHEEK SENIOE. 285 
 
 and his son from the correspondence of relatives. He had not 
 taken a liking to Mr. Cheek, who was a man of modern ideas, 
 without patience with Conservatives and Churchmen, and held 
 advanced ideas about the land laws and the extension of the 
 franchise, and cried out for Disestablishment and the abolition 
 of the House of Lords, Mr. Worthivale had heard also of 
 young Charles, a careless, extravagant dog, who gave his father 
 much trouble. Mr. Cheek had wished his son to enter the 
 business, and had forced him, when he left school, to occupy a 
 stool in the office, but Charles in an hour threw the accounts 
 into such confusion that it took his father days to unravel 
 them ; and although he was tried in various departments of 
 the establishment, he proved such a failure in all that his father 
 was fain to let him go his own way. Charles had desired to 
 enter the army, but Mr. Cheek would not hear of this, and 
 battled against his son's inclination till the young man was past 
 the age at which he could obtain a commission. Then only did 
 he admit to himself that he had made a mistake. In the army 
 Charles would have had a profession and something to occupy 
 him, and he seemed fit for no other profession, and to care for 
 no other occupation. The father proposed that he should read 
 for the Bar, but the disinclination of Charles for legal studies 
 soon manifested itself. For medicine he was too thoughtless, 
 and Mr. Cheek was forced to let him live as an idler. The 
 father had been so accustomed to work, and to associate work 
 with the first duty of man, even though that work was to 
 throw dust in the eyes of the public, that it was with the ut- 
 most reluctance that he consented to find Charles an income of 
 four hundred a year, and to let him live as he liked, associating 
 with officers, losing money to them, entertaining them, and 
 being laughed at by them behind his back. Charles had got 
 into troulDle several times, and his father had paid his debts, 
 each time with angry reproaches and threats of disinheritance. 
 
 Worthivale had heard that the elder Cheek had amassed a 
 large fortune, which his son's extravagance might impair but 
 could not exliaust. He had taken it into his head that 
 nothing would be easier for him than to persuade old Mr. 
 Cheek to lend the necessary thousands for the saving of the 
 Duke. This was the new web of fancy spun by his hopes, 
 attached to no probabilities, floating in his brain like the 
 gossamer of autumn ; and in this vain hope he was on his 
 way to town. 
 
 ' I am going to drop in on your father,' said Mr. Worthi-
 
 286 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Viilo. * I cannot think of going to town witliout looking him 
 up. It is many years since we met, and when we get old we 
 cling to old acquaintances. Are you going directly liome ? If 
 so, tell him I shall turn up.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! I shall put up at an hotel. I am not so keen 
 after the shelter of the paternal wing.' 
 
 ' I rather want to see your father this evening. I have so 
 much business to occupy my day that I can ill spare other 
 time. Am I likely to find him at home of an evening 1 ' 
 
 ' Sure to catch him. He never goes to the theatre or 
 concerts. You could not wring five words out of him during 
 business hours. I shall not drop in on him to-morrow till 
 after the Monokeros has drawn in his horn.' 
 
 ' If that be so,' said the steward, ' I will take a cab after I 
 have had my dinner and go to him. It is as well that we 
 should not be there together ; he and I will like to have a 
 chat o\Qv old times — times before you were born.' 
 
 Accordingly, on reaching town, Mr. Worthivale drove to 
 his inn, ordered a simple dinner, and when he had done, took a 
 hansom to his destination. 
 
 Mr. Cheek had just dined, and was lingering over his glass 
 of wine when the steward was announced. He told the servant 
 to show 'Mr. Worthivale in to him in the dining-room. This 
 was a large apartment with a red flock paper on the walls, and 
 a Turkey carpet on the floor. The furniture was of heavy 
 mahogany, polished, liis chairs covered with red leather. The 
 window-curtains were of red rep. Against the walls hung 
 some large engravings — Landseer's dog looking out of a kennel, 
 the Newfoundlander lying on a quay, Bolton Abbey in the 
 olden time — pictures every one has seen and knows as ho 
 knows the airs of ' Trovatore ' and the taste of peppermint. 
 
 Over the fireplace was a looking-glass ; on the table were 
 oranges, almonds, raisins, and mixed biscuits. Everything 
 was in the room that was to be expected ; nothing there that 
 was unexpected. Tottenham Court Road had furnished it. A 
 man's room reflects his mind. Everything there was solid, 
 sound, and commonplace. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale had no time to look round him. He ran 
 forward and effusively shook hands with ]Mr. Cheek, who rose 
 ceremoniously, and received his greeting without great cordi- 
 ality, but with civility. 
 
 * Take a chair, Worthivale ; glad to see you. Have port 
 or sherry ? If you prefer claret I will have some decanted.
 
 CHEEK SENIOR. 287 
 
 Don't drint it myself. Take an orange or — raisins. I will 
 ring and have some more almonds brouirlit in. I have eaten 
 most. Take some biscuits ; you will jS.nd a ratafia here and 
 there under the others. I have eaten those on the top. I hope 
 you are well. I have not seen you for twelve years and a half.' 
 
 ' So much as that 1 You do not say so ! ' 
 
 ' You haA"e not visited me since my wife's death.' 
 
 ' I may retort on you. I live in the country. You Londoners 
 need a holiday. Why have you not fled the fogs and smoke, 
 and come to me for sea air and the landscape of South Devon 1 ' 
 
 ' I never take a holiday. Can't afford it. Work always 
 goes on, and always needs my presence. When the Londoners 
 leave town, the country folk come up, and purchase for the 
 ensuing year.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek was a heavily built man, with a long head and 
 face, the latter flat, with a nose sticking out of it, much as 
 the Peak of Teneriffe pokes out of the sea — led up to by no 
 subsidiary elevations, abrupt, an afterthought. His eyebrows 
 were black, but his hair was grey, and disposed to retreat from 
 the temples, which were highly polished. He wore a grey 
 thick Newgate collar, a black frock coat, black trousers, black 
 waistcoat relieved by a heavy gold chain, a good deal of white 
 shirt front, turned-down collars, necessitated by the Newgate 
 fringe, and a black tie. He always smelt of black dye, for 
 his cloth clothes were always new and glossy and uncreased. 
 He had a trick of stretching his arms with a jerk forward at 
 intervals, exposing much cufl", acquired from wearing new coats 
 that were not easy under the arm. His eyes were dark and 
 penetrating, his lips firm. From his nostrils two very dark 
 creases descended to the corners of his mouth, like gashes in 
 which lay black blood. The old man seemed very lonely in 
 his dining-room, without a companion with whom to exchange 
 ideas, and only a choice between almonds and raisins, ratafias, 
 and macaroons, but he did not seem to feel it ; as he ate and 
 drank he schemed fresh plans for making money, and that was 
 his delight. A companion would have discussed less profitable 
 and interesting topics. 
 
 Woi'thivale spent an hour with old Cheek, telling him 
 about himself, his position at Court Royal, the splendour of 
 the Kingsbridge family, the virtues of the Duke, and Lord 
 Konald and the Marquess, and the unapproachable charms of 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 The steward went on to talk about the estates, the prospect
 
 288 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 of making a second Torquay out of Bigbury Bay, of tho 
 chance of converting tlie creek of Kingsbridge into a liarbour, 
 of tho building stone on the estatos, of the shalo from whicli 
 petroloum might be extracted, of tho slate quarries that only 
 needed opening out and connecting with the sea by a line to 
 supply and roof in the Avhole south coast of England. 
 
 Mr. Cheek had listened with indiH'erence to the enumera- 
 tion of the merits of the members of the noble house, but 
 when the steward touched on speculative ventures his interest 
 was excited. He ate all the almonds oft' tlie raisin dish as 
 fast as he could chew them, and then rang to liave the dish 
 replenished. 
 
 Mr. Worthivale liiuted that his Grace was in need of tem- 
 porary accommodation, owing to the extravagance of his 
 ancestors and the calling up of some of the mortgages, and he 
 suggested that a better and safer investment for floating capital 
 could not be found. 
 
 i\Ir. Cheek listened with close attention, but said nothing. 
 Such investments apparently possessed no attraction for him. 
 The steward, with all his eloquence, had made no way. 
 
 Nevertheless, Worthivale did not abandon hope. The 
 wealthy tradesman had not disputed the feasibility of his 
 schemes, had not said, in so many words, tliat he would have 
 nothing to do with the mortgages. 
 
 Then the conversation drifted to young Charles. Mr. 
 Worthivale said that he had come to town with him. 
 
 ' I know what he wants — money,' said the father, with im- 
 perturbable countenance. 'Never made a penny himself.' 
 
 ' I am afraid he gives you a good deal of trouble,' said the 
 steward . 
 
 ' Fine fellow,' answered old Cheek. ' Good looks. Ready 
 address. A figure. No Devonshire twang. Can't get the 
 R's and the TJ's right myself. Never shall. Grass is long 
 grass with me, never cropped grass.' 
 
 ' Charles is a very pleasant-looking fellow,' said Mi*. 
 Worthivale, * the image of his dear mother.' 
 
 ' Mentally, morally, physically,' acquiesced the trader ; 
 'can't expect every man to take to business.' 
 
 ' No,' said Mr. Worthivale ; ' it is born in some, not in 
 others, like an ear for music, a taste for sport, and a hand for 
 carvint; a goose.' 
 
 * Suppose so,' said Mr. Cheek. 
 
 ' It takes two generations to make a gentleman ' reasoned
 
 CHEEK SENIOR. 289 
 
 Mr. Wortbivale, * and even then — there always remains lurk- 
 ing in the system & je-ne-sais-quoi.' 
 
 ' A what ? ' exclaimed Mr. Cheek, looking frightened.- * Is 
 it in the skin ? ' 
 
 ' Only a French expression,' exclaimed the steward. 
 
 ' Never understood other than one foreign word, and that 
 — monokeratic, for which I paid five guineas,' said Mr. Cheek. 
 ' I wanted a suitable word, I went to an Oxford scholar, and 
 said, find me the word, and I'll find you a five-pound note and 
 five shillings. That's how I came by it.' 
 
 Neither spoke. The steward was peeling an orange. 
 Presently Mr. Cheek began to move uneasily in his chair, 
 to swell and puff. Then out came a confidence. ' Charles is a 
 trouble to me. I fill the barrel, and when I'm gone he'll turn 
 the tap and let it run. No fortune can stand a running tap. 
 I wish I knew how to cure him. This consciousness takes the 
 taste out of my profits. It is like eating bread from which 
 the salt is omitted in the making.' 
 
 ' Take my advice,' said Worthivale ; ' mix him in good 
 society. He hangs about a garrison town for the sake of the 
 officers, but he never associates with the better class of officers, 
 only with those who like his dinners, and bleed him at billiards. 
 He never sees the ladies, and it is ladies who humanise, civilise, 
 and refine.' 
 
 ' Can't do it. I'm not in society myself. Shop stands in 
 the way.' 
 
 'I Avish I could persuade him to come to Court Royal 
 Lodge, and pay me a long visit. I could introduce him to 
 people of the first quality, and show him something better 
 than gambling officers and fast ladies. You will never do 
 anything with him. Cheek, till you have put him in a situation 
 Avhere his better qualities may be drawn out, and he may learn 
 to blush at his weaknesses.' 
 
 ' If he were up here in town,' said the father, scratching 
 his nose meditatively with a stalk of raisins, ' it might be done 
 — by paying. Some quality people do come to my shop. They 
 don't put on their best bonnets and come in their own car- 
 riages when they do, but I know 'em. A long bill might be 
 forgiven some lady of rank and fashion if she would invite 
 Charles to dinner or a dance — such things are done— just to 
 give him the chance of putting his foot into high society. If 
 he were once in, Charlie could maintain himself there. Society 
 -jvould want him when it had seen him, I wouldn't mind
 
 290 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 payincf, but it can't Le clone. Charlie cares only for officers, 
 and is either at Poi'tsmouth or Plymouth, befooled by them 
 out of his — my money.' 
 
 ' Send him to me.' 
 
 ' I don't suppose he would care for the country. Nothing 
 to be done there.' 
 
 ' He can see the magnificent grounds. He can boat. He 
 can shoot.' 
 
 ' Grounds anywhere. Mount Edgcumbe open to public on 
 Wednesdays. Boating to be had at Plymouth. This is not 
 the time of year for sliooting.' 
 
 ' True. Let him come to me in the shooting season.' 
 
 ' Many months to that. Meantime he may have gone to 
 the bad.' 
 
 ' I invited him to-day to visit me, and he did not decline.' 
 
 ' Too much of a gent for that,' said the father. ' Mischief is 
 he can't say Nay. He will promise you a call, and never go. 
 I know him. He promises reform every time he comes for 
 money, but never reforms.' 
 
 ' He is entangled in a social stratum — a sort of Bohemianism, 
 that will not allow him to reform. Get him out of that, and 
 lie will be another man. My Beavis never gives me an hour's 
 concern, because he associates Avith the family at Court Royal. 
 The Marquess loves him as a brother. Beavis would do your 
 boy an infinity of good. Beavis is a fine, strong-willed, honour- 
 able fellow, with a tender heart and a true conscience.' 
 
 * Charlie, also, is a tine fellow,' said old Cheek, who could 
 not endure to have another young man contrasted favourably 
 with his own son. ' The mischief is, I was too busy all my 
 days, and could not see enough of him. Only wants his chance 
 
 now.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Worthivale, standing up, ' I must be oft" now. 
 Good-bye, Cheek. It is a real pleasure to me to meet you 
 
 again.' 
 
 ' Diiu; with me the. day after to-morrow. Seven punctually.' 
 
 ' .1 shall Ijc delighted.' 
 
 He left the old man sitting looking before him at the dish 
 of biscuits from which he had exterminated the ratafias. 
 Every now and then he turned over the biscuits with his 
 finger, but his mind was not on the ratafias. He shook his 
 long head at intervals, and said, ' If that were to haj)j)en — if 
 Charlie were to be so weak as that — and he can't say No — 
 least of all to a woman — he would be done £or irretrievably.'
 
 291 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 AN ENTANGLEMENT. 
 
 When Charles Cheek came next evening to see his father, he 
 found the old man in a condition of excitement such as made 
 his heart sink, and despair of extracting money from him. 
 He came at his father's dinner time, knowing the impossibility 
 of getting a conversation with him during business hours. 
 
 ' Are you unwell, father ? ' he asked, when he observed the 
 perturbed condition of the old man. 
 
 ' Unwell ? Cause to be so.' 
 
 ' What is the matter with you 1 ' 
 
 * Matter 1 Everything.' 
 
 ' Any amioyance lately ? ' 
 
 ' Annoyance ? Ugh ! ' 
 
 What was it that troubled the old man ? During dinner 
 he would hardly speak. His pasty face exuded a gloss. He 
 growled, and cast furtive glances at his son, which Charles 
 caught, and was unable to interpret. 
 
 ' Was Mr. Worthivale here yesterday, governor 1 ' 
 
 ' Worthivale 1 Yes. Has a son, never gave him an hour's 
 uneasiness. Came crowing and flapping here because he has 
 a good son.' 
 
 ' Do you mean, father, that — that ' 
 
 ' That— that ! Yes. Ugh ! ' 
 
 It was impossible to extract anything from the old man 
 during the meal. Charles put on a gay manner, and talked of 
 the weather, of politics, of the regiments ordered abroad, of 
 the depression, of the gossip of society, the improvements 
 effected in torpedoes, Devonshire cream, the Prince of Wales, 
 butterine, Nihilism, Robert Browning, anything, everything 
 that came into his head, but without provoking his father to 
 take part in the conversation. 
 
 As soon, however, as the dessert was on the table — the same 
 dessert as the day before — the father drew the dish of raisins 
 and almonds over to himself, waved the servants to withdraw, 
 and burst forth with, ' So— so — clapping the cross on top of 
 St. Paul's ! brought your folly to a climax at last. Ugh ! ' 
 
 ' What have I done ? ' asked Charles, as his spiint quaked at 
 his father's anger, and his consciousness of having deserved it. 
 
 u2
 
 292 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * ] know I am not as clever as you are, governor, but — you 
 have put matters more forcibly than pleasantly.' 
 * What liave you clone ? Look at tliis ! IJ/?h ! ' 
 The old man Hung a note across the table at him, then made 
 a grab at the almonds, filled his hand, and began to eat them 
 ravenously. 
 
 Charles took a letter out of the envelope, unfolded it 
 leisurely, and proceeded to read. He expected to find that 
 his tailor or "wine merchant had appealed to his father for 
 payment of a long-standing account. What he saw made the 
 colour rush to his face, and turn him scarlet to tlie roots of his 
 hair. He glanced up, and saw that his father had riveted his 
 (lark piercing eyes on him, whilst he ate savagely almond after 
 almond. The letter was as follows : — 
 
 ' Honoured and monokeratic Sir, — I take my pen in hand, 
 hoping that this finds you as it leaves me. Sir, I feel that I 
 can have no peace of mind till I make you acquainted with our 
 engagement, that is, the engagement of me and Charlie, and 
 ask your blessing on our approaching union. When Charlie 
 told me he wished I was his wife, you might have knocked me 
 do\\'n with a feather, I was that taken aback. I could do no 
 other than give consent, seeing he had behaved so handsome to 
 me, in giving me a necklace of pearls and a beautiful rose- 
 coloured silk gown (which, I am gri(n-ed to say, through no 
 fault of mine, has since been injured by Ems water). Charlie 
 and I have been cabineted together, holding hands as agreed 
 and acknowledged lovers, and we only await your blessing, 
 honoured and monokeratic sir, to become the happiest of couples. 
 Charlie has gone up to town to break the news to you, and 
 to solicit your approval. He will tell you of our long attach- 
 ment, and assure you of my best intentions to love and lionour 
 you as a daughter, the which (in prospective) I beg to sub- 
 scribe myself, ' Joanna Rosevere. 
 
 • C/o Mr. Lazarus, 
 
 ' The Golden Balls, 
 ' Barbican. 
 
 'P.S. — I will send you our united cabinet as soon as the 
 proof comes, which I trust will be to-morrow.' 
 
 Charles Cheek's first sensation was amazement ; then he 
 felt disposed to laugh. The letter was so droll, so impertinent, 
 and so inferior in style to what he expected from Joe, But 
 all inclination to laugh was taken from him by his father's
 
 AN ENTANGLEMENT. 293 
 
 countenance. The old man was simmering with anger and 
 apprehension. 
 
 ' Thought so ! ' burst forth Mr. Cheek as he stretched his 
 arms so suddenly and violently as to knock over one of the 
 wine-glasses. ' I always feared it would come to this. I 
 hoped against hope. I did trust you would be preserved by 
 Providence from plunging into such an abyss of imbecility.' 
 
 ' My dear father, you take this too seriously.' 
 
 ' Take it too seriously ! ' echoed the old man. ' What is 
 more serious than marriage ! ' 
 
 ' But, my dear governor ! ' 
 
 ' Don't governor me. I'm your father, I presume, though 
 God forgive me for begetting such an ass.' 
 
 The young man was hurt and incensed. His father loved 
 him, but he was rough with him, and had no self-restraint 
 when angered. He spoke coarsely, brutally, all the coarse and 
 brutal things that came off his heai^t, which is never done by 
 those who have been put through the mill of culture. 
 
 How much the old man loved him, how proud he was of 
 him in spite of his weakness, in spite of the disappointment 
 his pride had encountered, this Charles did not know. Mr. 
 Cheek made no show of affection ; or he showed it by licking 
 his cub with a very rough tongue, so rough as to flay him. 
 
 ' Well ! ' shouted the old man, ' well ! ' 
 
 ' The letter is preposterous,' said Charlie, sulkily. 
 
 ' Preposterous ! What I find preposterous is not the letter, 
 but the conduct that provoked the letter.' 
 
 ' It is not true — it is a hoax,' said the young man. 
 
 ' Not true ! ' repeated the old man. He had eaten all the 
 almonds ; now he took a bunch of raisins, put it in his mouth, 
 and passionately tore off the fruit with one nip of his teeth, 
 and put the spray on his plate. When he had gulped down 
 the raisins he said, ' Not true ! oh no. Cap imbecility with 
 falsehood. Now deny everything. I thought I had a son 
 who was a fool ; don't convince me that he is a liar and a 
 coward as well.' 
 
 The young man stood up. He turned pale. ' You are my 
 father,' he said, ' and have some privilege of language ; but 
 this exceeds what I will endure. I had rather break stones on 
 the road than submit to such insults.' 
 
 ' Rejoice to see you break stones — do any useful work. At 
 present breaking your father's heart.* 
 
 The old man's voice shook.
 
 294 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Cliarlcs was moved. ' My dear father,' he said, ' let me 
 explain.' 
 
 ' Explain ! What can you explain 1 ' 
 
 ' The letter is not serious.' 
 
 * Reads deuced like a serious letter.' Mr. Cheek had no 
 sense of humour. What touched his son as comical in the 
 epistle appeared to him sober earnestness. ' Answer me a few 
 plain questions, Charles ; set my mind at rest, or conlirm my 
 worst anticipations. Give me the letter.' 
 
 The old tradesman took the note and spread it before him, 
 then deliberately put on his spectacles and read the letter over 
 to himself, marking the points with his silver dessert knife. 
 
 ' Who is Joanna Rosevere ? ' 
 
 ' She is a girl I got to know sometliing about ; a nice 
 enough sort of a girl, with plenty of brains ' 
 
 ' That will do. I asked who was Joanna Rosevere. You 
 say a girl. Enough. Now I know she is not a widow. I 
 want none of your lover's raptures.' 
 
 ' I am not aware that there were any raptures.' 
 
 ' That will do. I require answers short and to the point. 
 Now, further, is it true that you gave her a pearl necklace and 
 a rose-coloured silk dress 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, I did ; the pearls were Roman, and the dress 
 
 ' That will do. You gave this girl a necklace of Roman 
 pearls and a rose-coloured silk gown. L)id you further have 
 yourself photographed — I beg pardon, cabineted — hand-in-hand 
 with her ? ' 
 
 'Yes, father. The fact is that— that ' Then the 
 
 recollection of the snail and the bet rushed on his miiid, he 
 blushed and did not finish his sentence. 
 
 ' Very well— or rather, very ill. You were photographed — 
 to be exact, cabineted with the girl, hand-in-hand ; I presume 
 I take her right, she don't swear you were closeted with 
 her.' 
 
 * Well, I was taken with her. I thought ' 
 
 ' Never mind what you thought. I want facts, not fancies. 
 Hand-in-hand, cabinet size. I want to know further, did you, 
 as she says, toll her you wished hm- to be your wife 1 ' 
 
 ' It came about like this. The other evening when I was 
 there ' 
 
 ' I am not asking the time of day, nor the circumstances. 
 I only ask, is this a fact 1 ' 
 
 ' I did say that I wished it were possible for me to make
 
 AN ENTANGLEMENT. 295 
 
 her Mrs. Charles Clieek, or words to that effect. I don't 
 recollect the exact expression.' 
 
 ' Yery well. You asked her to be Mrs. Charles Cheek, but 
 the exact words in which you couched your proposal you do 
 not recollect.' 
 
 ' It was not a proposal.' 
 
 ' Not a proposal ! ' repeated the father. ' Then what am 
 I to conclude from the present of the necklace of Roman pearls 
 and the rose-coloured silk dress, and the cabinet-sized photo- 
 graph of yourselves clasping each other's hands 1 Will you 
 illumine my mind, and tell me, do young gentlemen and young 
 women get carted, and closeted, and cabineted, hand-in-hand, 
 unless engaged 1 ' 
 
 ' There is no engagement,' protested Charles, bewildered 
 and angry. 
 
 ' No engagement ! You dare to say that. Don't repeat it, as 
 you desire to retain a particle of my regard. I ask, further, what 
 is this Joaniia 1 I know she is a girl. In what capacity is she 
 at the Golden Balls with Mr. Lazarus, whom I happen to know 1 ' 
 
 'She is maid of all work to the old Jew pawnbroker,' 
 answered the young man, driven to desperation, and regardless 
 what he admitted. 
 
 ' Maid of all work to a Jew pawnbroker,' repeated his 
 father. ' I ask besides, whence comes she ? Is she a Jewess ? ' 
 
 ' No, she is not.' 
 
 ' Whence comes she 1 ' 
 
 ' Picked out of the mud, and pawned for ten shillings,' ex- 
 claimed Charles Cheek in a paroxysm of exasperation. 
 
 ' Picked out of the mud. What mud 1 ' 
 
 ' The mud of Sutton Pool.' 
 
 ' Pawned for ten shillings. By whom ? ' 
 
 ' By her mother.' 
 
 ' And this is the creature you are going to take to you as 
 wife ! ' exclaimed the old man, with repressed anger, his face 
 livid and syrupy with emotion. ' With a creature such as this 
 you will squander my hard-earned wealth ! ' 
 
 ' I tell you, father, it is a hoax.' 
 
 ' Don't tell me that.' Mr. Cheek brought his gi'eat fist 
 down on the table with a crash that made the decanters leap 
 and the glasses spin. ' Now, sir, do you mean to marry her ? 
 If you do, I cast you off utterly and for ever.' 
 
 ' No, I don't want to do that. I tell you the letter is a 
 hoax. Read it — you can see by the style that it is.'
 
 296 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' I have read it. I can see as well as you. I am not to be 
 lioodwiuked, and to be told that red is green, and the moon is 
 cheese, and believe it. I have listened patiently to your ex- 
 planation. You have so compromised your.self with this girl, 
 on your own admission, that it' you fail, you render yourself 
 actionable for breach of promise.' 
 
 * There was no promise,' persisted the young man. 
 
 ' Is a jury likely to believe that, when they have heard of 
 the pearls and the rose silk, and seen the billing and cooing 
 doves in the cabinet ? I tell you they will assess the damages 
 at a thousand pounds.' 
 
 ' There was no agreement. It is a mistake. I can't think 
 what Joanna was at writing such a letter.' 
 
 ' Do you want to marry her ? ' asked his father. 
 
 ' No, of course not. I never did. I only said something 
 about making her Mrs. Charles Cheek in joke.' 
 
 ' The joke is likely to be expensive pleasantry. But it was 
 no joke. You neither of you regarded it as joke, or you would 
 not have been photographed together. Now you come to me 
 to get you out of this predicament. I won't have the scandal 
 of a case of breach of promise in the papers. It might affect 
 my business. We must come to an accommodation, How old 
 is the girl ? ' 
 
 ' Seventeen or eighteen.' 
 
 ' Has she relations to advise her V 
 
 ' Not one.' 
 
 ' There is, however, that fox, Lazarus.' 
 
 ' She will never consult him.' 
 
 * What will she take to let you off ? I dare say if I go down 
 with a hundred pounds in my pocket, and offer it her with one 
 hand, and a written renunciation of you in the other, before 
 she has had time to consider and ask advice, she will sign, and 
 set you free.' He looked questioningly at his son. 
 
 A change had come over Charles's face. A light had sprung 
 up before him. He leaned back in his chair, and burst into a 
 fit of laughter. 
 
 'It is no laughing matter,' said the elder Cheek, grimly. 
 ' This may cost us a thousand. Juries estimate damages by 
 the income of the father-in-law. Deuced lucky you will bo if 
 I can clear you for a hundred 1 You know the girl : will she 
 take a hundred ? ' 
 
 * I am sure she will. Give me the money, and let mo go 
 down to Plymouth and settle it with her.'
 
 AN ENTANGLEMENT. 297 
 
 ' No,' answered the father, ' you are too weak. The job 
 must be done by me at once. Let me see — to-morrow : im- 
 possible, engaged. Must make arrangements. Day after, yes ; 
 and, Charles, you go to Mr. Worthivale at Kingsbridge for a 
 month, or better, six weeks, to be out of the way. He comes 
 hereto dinner to-morrow, when I will settle with him. Go.' 
 
 When Chai'les Cheek got into the street he exploded into 
 laughter. ' The little rogue ! ' he exclaimed. ' Who ever would 
 have thought it 1 The hundred pounds she promised she gets out 
 of my father. She has cost me a bad quarter of an hour, though,' 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 NIBBLING. 
 
 Next evening, punctually at seven, Mr. Worthivale arrived. 
 To honour his presence, two additional dishes were added to 
 the dessert — one of dried figs, the other of preserved ginger. 
 Also a bottle of claret was decanted. Mr. Cheek had not 
 settled down into his usual composure ; his excitement made 
 him more talkative than usual, and induced him to fill out his 
 sentences, and not present them in a somewhat less truncated 
 shape. His talkativeness, however, did not manifest itself until 
 after the servants had withdrawn. Then his reserve gave way. 
 He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and threw it to his guest. 
 
 ' Look at that, Worthivale ! Got it this morning. Charles 
 has made a fool of himself. Got entangled with a wench 
 dredged from the social depths. Engaged ! Cost something 
 to set him free. However ' — he rattled his pocket — ' I'm not 
 like one of your dukes ; I've money in my own pocket when 
 there's need. I haven't to go cap in hand to others.' 
 
 The steward winced. Then he said, studying the photo- 
 graph, ' I am sure I know that face. It is familiar to me. 
 Where can I have seen it 1 ' 
 
 ' Of course. That is Charlie.' 
 
 * Yes ; but the other— the girl 1 She — it must be, yet I 
 can hardly believe it — it must be our servant, Joanna ! ' 
 
 ' Joanna is her name.' 
 
 ' The maid left us under somewhat unsatisfactory circum- 
 stances — altogether puzzling.' 
 
 ' That I can well believe.'
 
 298 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 'She liad been before with a Mrs. Dehiny.' 
 
 * She is now with a Jew pawnbroker, as maid of all work.' 
 
 'This must be broken oft",' said ]\Ir. Woi'thivalc. ' I never 
 quite made out the wliy and wherefore of lier leaving my house. 
 She ran away.' 
 
 ' I am going to buy her oft",' answered IMr. Cheek ; ' but 
 what comfort is tliat to mo, when my boy may be committing 
 a similar folly again to-morrow 1 ' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale was still considering the photograph. 
 
 'Her face is striking,' he said, ' and she has eyes tliat sparkle; 
 they are perfectly cftervcscing with intelligence. Beavis took 
 against her ; he suspected her from the outset, but I cannot say 
 why. This is a very odd story. Your son's acquaintance witli 
 her must be short. She left us at Christmas. She was clever, 
 but unable to read and write.' 
 
 ' She wrote me a letter. I have it in my pocket — here it 
 is. Almost asliamed, however, to let you see it.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale looked at the letter. ' I know about the 
 pink silk dress,' he said. ' She had it when she came to us. It 
 was spoiled, as she describes in this letter, by some mineral 
 water getting spilled over it. The Roman pearls also — yes. 
 She sent them to Lady Grace Eveleigh after her disappearance. 
 Lucy told me of it. They came with a letter, but I supposed 
 she had got some one to write it for her. The gii-1 is not lost to 
 good ; she showed great respect and attachment to her lady- 
 ship. Perhaps this letter was written for her ; and yet ' — he 
 mused — ' yet there were some odd circumstances about her 
 departure whicli made Beavis think her ignorance simulated.' 
 
 ' Did she steal anything from your house ? ' 
 
 ' No, I cannot say we missed money or plate ; in fact, 
 nothing. No, I cannot charge her with tliat.' 
 
 ' Sorry for that,' said old Cheek. ' It would have made my 
 course easier. Police case then.' 
 
 'Your son must in no case maiTy such a person,' said the 
 steward, gravely. ' It would be an ugly scandal.' 
 
 ' He shall not. I buy her oft*. Allow the boy to visit you 
 for a month or so till this affair is blown over.' 
 
 ' Certainly. I will bring him into good society. The com- 
 pany of Beavis will be profitable. I may lind means of iutro- 
 tlucing him to the INIarquess and Lord Ronald. There are nice 
 people in our ncighbourliood. There are the Sheepwashcs — 
 .some fine girls, much admired, and of good family. Who can 
 tell t Charles may form an attachment for one of them, and
 
 NIBBLING. 299 
 
 SO get his foot into society. They have not much of their own 
 except blood, and that is just what you require.' 
 
 ' Nothing would please me better.' 
 
 ' Yes, we must get Charles into good society, and then he 
 will lose the taste for low associations.' 
 
 ' The boy has his points,' said Mr. Cheek. ' Can't help 
 loving him. Admire his gentlemanly ways. Got them from 
 his mother. Your family have always been gentlefolks.' 
 
 ' Yes ; we were squires once, in Cornwall, but lost our 
 property in the usual way, and went down into business.' 
 
 Then ]\Ir. Worthivale turned the conversation to the Kino-s- 
 1 iridge estates, and the advantages of lending money on them. 
 He admitted that the Duke was in want of a few thousands, 
 but then the investment was so secure. Turkish Government, 
 Egyptian Khedives, Argentine Republics borrowed and could 
 not pay. They were broken reeds, but an English duke was a 
 pillar of strength. It would not be a bad excuse for intro- 
 ducing Charles to the family, if his father was inclined to 
 accommodate it. At this bold proposition Mr. Cheek grew 
 stiff, congealed, and frowned. The steward went on, now he 
 had begun, unabashed, to show the great securities the duke 
 could offer, the advantages from a pecuniary point of view that 
 would accrue to Mr. Cheek by thus investing his money, Mr. 
 Cheek listened, and said nothing in reply one way or the other. 
 
 ' There are a couj^le of mortgages that have been notified 
 which must be met, amounting to about fifty thousand,' he said. 
 ' If you would take these over, it would be a convenience to the 
 family, you would have a safe investment, and you would have 
 conferred on them an obligation which they would not forget.' 
 
 ' Fifty thousand ! ' said ]Mr. Cheek. I have more than 
 that to dispose of, thank goodness ; the Monokeratic Principle 
 continues to bring in a good profit annually, and I must invest 
 what I make someAvhere and somehow.' 
 
 ' Really,' said the steward, ' a hundred thousand would not 
 come amiss.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' exclaimed Cheek senior, ' go on, hundred and fifty 
 — two hundred — two hundred and fifty ' 
 
 ' You do not hear me out. A couple of mortgages must be 
 transferred or paid off. The Duke has not the ready money, 
 and he would therefore wish the transfer. The one is on the 
 manor of Ivingsbridge, the other on the Court Royal estate. 
 Why, the house itself cost seventy thousand — there is abso- 
 lutely no risk.'
 
 300 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' If I were to take these over, it would be merely because I 
 do not see my way at present to a better investment. AVhen 
 I do see one I shall call them up. I don't care for your four 
 and half and four and three quarters. If I were to take these 
 mortgages, your people would be put in the same box in a few 
 years' time when I wanted to release my capital.' 
 
 ' Oh, in two or three years that can be done without difficulty. 
 The Duke only requires accommodation for the moment.' 
 
 ' Whence will the money come ? ' 
 
 ' Don't troul )lo your head about that. !Money can always 
 be found with such estates. Why, they bring in forty thou- 
 sand per annum.' 
 
 ' Land can always be sold,' said Cheek. ' If the money be 
 not forthcoming when I want it, I will sell them up, or they 
 must drop a farm or two into the market.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what. Cheek. If it ever comes to that, try 
 and secure Bigbury. That is the site for a second Torquay, 
 climate warm as Penzance, and not as rainy ; looks south, 
 scenery lovely, Plymouth accessible. He who has capital, and 
 likes to spend it there, can realise in no time an enormous for- 
 tune. Come, what do you say to my proposal ? You have a 
 friend at court in me, who knows all the advantages.' 
 
 Mr.Cheek rubbed his nose with his fork, wherewith he had 
 been eating preserved ginger, and left a trickle of juice upon it. 
 
 ' I should like to see the place,' he said cautiously. 
 
 ' Come down, then.' 
 
 Suddenly Cheek jerked forwards his arms, and said, ' I will.' 
 
 ' And as I return to-morrow, I can take Charles with me, 
 and got him settled in. I expect to see the agent for the 
 mortgagee on the twenty-third at my place. Suppose you are 
 thereto meet him. Then nothing is more easy than a transfer.' 
 
 * I go down to Plymouth to-morrow to settle this unplea- 
 sant matter of the girl. We can travel together.' 
 
 ' Then return Ijy way of Ivingsbridge.' 
 
 ' Cannot. Must be in town by night express, but by 
 Wednesday I'll be with you.' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale was delighted ; the lish was nibbling and 
 nigh hooked. 
 
 Neither spoke for some minutes, as each was engaged with 
 his o>vn thoughts and with drinking port. 
 
 Presently !Mr. Cheek said, as he dipped his napkin in his 
 finger-glass and wiped the syrup ofi" his nose, 'I wish you 
 would tell me what was suspicious about that girl who has
 
 NIBBLING. 301 
 
 entangled Cliarles, If slie has done anything to make her 
 afraid of being found out, I might give her a scare, and bring 
 her to an humble frame of mind. A knowledge of particulars 
 will help me.' 
 
 The steward then related the circumstances. 
 
 ' Beavis caught her making an analysis of the accounts ! ' 
 exclaimed Mr. Cheek. ' Why, the thing is improbable on the 
 face of it. What could such a girl want with it 1 ' 
 
 ' Nothing, that I can see. I said so to Beavis, but Beavis 
 was very positive. She had the books out, she must have 
 searched my pockets to get the key, and she had her head 
 resting: on the extracts she had taken. When Beavis roused 
 her, she knocked over the lamp, and slipped her notebook 
 away in the dark.' 
 
 ' Did Beavis question her 1 ' 
 
 ' No ; she bolted.' 
 
 ' Bolted at once ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; she did not wait to be questioned.' 
 
 ' And she went ' 
 
 ' We did not trace her. We had no idea whither she had 
 betaken herself.' 
 
 ' Now you know. She is with a Jew. Probably went 
 straight to him. I know the man. He is a money-lender as 
 well as a pawnbroker. There was a time when he helped me. 
 Charles has been in his clutches before now. A dangerous 
 man, worth more than you would fancy. Has he any interest 
 in the affairs of the Duke 1 ' 
 
 ' None whatever.' 
 
 ' Who are the holders of the mortgages ? Have you their 
 names ? Are any Jews among them ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, several.' 
 
 'Bad,' said Cheek. 'The Jews play into each other's 
 hands, hook on to each other like the links of a fetter.' 
 
 ' You do not mean to connect the act of the girl with the 
 mortgagees ? ' 
 
 ' I should not be surprised. I find no other explanation. 
 Beavis thinks so, probably. She came to you pretending in- 
 ability to read and write ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 'The girl is no ordinary girl,' said Mr. Cheek, uneasily. 
 ' I doubt if she will let off Charles as cheap as a hundred 
 pounds. I must inquire into this matter. Must see Lazarus. 
 Haven't seen or smelt him for years.'
 
 302 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' I don't see what Lazarus lias to do with the matter. 
 The girl came to me from ]\Irs. Dclany. I suppose that after 
 leaving me, and having no character, she was forced to take 
 what situation she could.' 
 
 * Charles can tell us. I hear his voice in the hall. He 
 must have known her before she went to you if she had the 
 silk dress and beads in your house. — Charles,' he said as his 
 son entered, ' catechising continued.' 
 
 The young man had recovered his buoyancy. 
 ' By all means, father, but not in public' 
 
 * Want to know whether that person you were talking of 
 with me yesterday has been long in present situation.' 
 
 ' All her life,' answered Charles, promptly. ' That is, since 
 
 she was twelve years old.' 
 
 ' Was she ever in service with a INIrs. Delany ? ' 
 
 ' Wife of Colonel Delany,' explained Mr. Worthivale. 
 
 ' Not to my knowledge ; certainly aiot recently.' 
 
 ' Where was she before Christmas ? ' asked the steward. 
 
 ' That I cannot say. Possibly then she may have been at 
 
 the Colonel's, but I do not know.' 
 
 * Where was she Itefoj'o that 1 ' asked his father. 
 
 ' On November the fifth she was at the Barbican, where 
 she had been since childhood. She was away till Christmas, 
 and then returned, and has been there ever since.' 
 
 Cheek looked at Worthivale and shook his head. 
 
 * Sent,' he said. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 'shares ?' 
 
 Time was money to Mr. Check. He did not allow the grass 
 to grow under his feet. Consequently, on reaching Plymouth 
 he went at once to the Golden Balls. Mr. Cheek was a clear 
 as well as a hard-headed man ; he was a rapid thinker, and 
 prompt in forming and acting on his decisions. He was one 
 of those conquering men who conquer because dominated by 
 solf-assurance. He was headstrong and intolerant, because 
 ho was incapable of seeing from any other standpoint than his 
 own, and of allowing that any other view was admissible. 
 These are the heroes who have the world at their feet. What
 
 'SHARES? 303 
 
 he willed he had always been able to carry out, because he 
 cared for no one who opposed him. The public was the ass 
 on which he had ridden ever since he began business. He 
 knew perfectly its moods and maladies. He was indifferent 
 to its wants, save so far as they alfected him and helped 
 in his business. Humbug was with him a form of advertise- 
 ment—a means to an end. He was not himself a humbug, he 
 was even brutally straightforward, but the public demanded 
 cant of the man who posed before them as a politician, a 
 preacher, or a trader, and Mr. Cheek donned it. In his 
 domestic relations he was truthful, honest, and dir-ect ; in his 
 relations with the public he was perfectly unscrupulous. He 
 had a code of ethics for dealings within his home circle, but 
 that home circle was limited now, it was contained within his 
 waistband ; he had none at all for dealings outside. He was 
 a hard man, but he had a tender point — love for and pride in 
 his son, a love that met with little response because ill-ex- 
 pressed, and a pride that met with rude shocks. He was an 
 ambitious man. For long his ambition had been to make 
 money. Now he was ambitious to make Charles a gentleman. 
 But he did not know how to set about it. He had sent him, 
 as a boy, to private schools, and, despising the classics, had re- 
 fused to put him at an university. From dread of losing him 
 from under his eye, he had opposed his going into the army 5 
 now he was conscious that he had made a mistake, but too 
 proud to admit it. He was angry with society for not 
 taking up Charles into it. Why should it not 'I Every day 
 he heard of society letting down its net and drawing it up 
 into its heaven, like the sheet of St. Peter's vision, full of all 
 sorts of strange beasts. Why was not Charles accepted 1 If 
 society would not take up Charles, society must be cut down 
 to his level. 
 
 He entered the shop of the Golden Balls with firm tread, 
 and with his usual brusque and determined manner. Joanna 
 was there. Towards dusk more business was done than at 
 other times of the day. One gas jet was flaring near her 
 head, accentuating her features. Mr. Cheek did not care in 
 the least whether she was good-looking or the reverse. He 
 looked at her no more than to satisfy himself that this was 
 the same girl who had been photographed with his son. 
 ' Your name is Joanna Bosevere,' he said. 
 Joanna stood up at once, and turned the gas so as to 
 throw the light full on his face, and off" her own.
 
 304 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' And you,' she said quietly — ' you are Mr. Cheek of the 
 Monokeratic Principle.' 
 
 ' I received a letter from you on the 12th instant.' 
 
 * Which I posted on the 11th instant.' 
 
 ' You have not a leg to stand on,' said ^Mr. Cheek, roughly. 
 ' My son is a fool, but not such a fool as to propose to make 
 you his wife. He swears he never asked you.' 
 
 She made no reply, but stood opposite him with her hands 
 on the counter, her face in shadow, studying him. 
 
 'Now look here,' he said furtlier: 'in an amicable way I 
 don't mind squaring off. If you choose to fight, I'm your 
 man, with thousands at my disposal, and quite prepared to 
 chuck away thousands in law. AVhat do you say 1 ' 
 
 ' Nothing.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you suppose that law in England is made for the 
 purpose of redressing wrongs. No such thing. Law is made 
 for the maintenance of lawyers. Justice is sold in England, 
 and he with the longest purse wins ; he can appeal from court 
 to court, and ruin his adversary. You have nothing. What 
 lawyer will look at you ? Now — are you disposed for a com- 
 promise 1 ' 
 
 ' I will take a hundred pounds.' 
 
 * A hundred cocoa-nuts ! ' scolVcd Mr. Clieck. ' Say five- 
 and-twenty, and I will listen to you.' 
 
 ' I have named the sum,' answered Joanna, and reseated 
 herself, took up her sewing, and proceeded with it as if nothing 
 had interrupted her. Mr. Cheek watched her thread a needle. 
 Her hand did not shake. 
 
 ' You will get nothing if you refuse my ofler.' 
 
 She made no answer, but continued stitching. 
 
 ' Charles is ashamed of himself ali'eady for having even 
 spoken to you. What are you ? A gutter girl.' 
 
 ' Lower tlian that, sir,' exclaimed Joanna, without raising 
 her head. ' The guttei's empty into Sutton Pool, and I camo 
 out of the blackest mud in the bottom of the pool.' 
 
 ' Charles has not a penny of his own.' 
 
 ' He has less than a penny, sir. He is in debt.' 
 
 ' Will you give him up ? ' 
 
 'You know my terms.' 
 
 He stood watching her, puzzled at and admiring her self- 
 possession. 
 
 ' Very well,' he .said, thrusting a hundred-pound note 
 across the counter with one hand, and a paper with the othei*.
 
 < SHARES?' 305 
 
 ' Sign this, and you shall have the money.' 
 
 She stood up, dipped the desk pen in ink, and appended 
 her signature to the renunciation of her claims. Then she 
 reseated herself, having taken the bank note, with an involun- 
 tary sigh, folded it, and put it in her bosom. 
 
 ' So — you, who could not read nor write at Mr. Worthi- 
 vale's, can read what is penned here, and sign your name to it 
 in a bold hand — the same hand that wrote to me on the 11th 
 instant.' 
 
 Joanna looked up at him in surprise. 
 
 ' I know all about it. Mr. Worthivale is a sort of relation, 
 and has told me. What took you to him with forged testi- 
 monials, eh ? Both you and the lady who gave the character 
 have become actionable. Aware of that, eh 1 ' 
 
 Joamia made no reply. 
 
 ' What took you there ? ' 
 
 ' I was sent,' she answered. 
 
 ' I said so — sent by Lazarus.* 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 ' Why did you examine the books and make extracts from 
 them ? Was that what Lazarus sent you there for, eh 1 ' 
 
 She remained silent. 
 
 ' Never mind. Always make a cat squeak by pinching its 
 tail. Make you speak. Where is Lazarus 1 ' 
 
 ' He is not at home, sir. He will be here directly. Take 
 a chaii'.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek did so. Just then, in came a woman with a 
 Britannia metal teapot, milk jug, and sugar bowl, which she 
 wanted to dispose of. 
 
 Mr. Cheek listened to the disputation over its value, to 
 the remorseless way in wliich Joanna pointed out its defects, 
 the way in which she flouted the poor woman when she named 
 a reasonable sum as that which she demanded for them, the 
 battle fought over a few pence when the shillings were settled, 
 and the ignominious rout of the seller. As he listened Mr. 
 Cheek's interest was quickened. He looked more attentively 
 at the girl, and observed her keen face and brilliant eyes. 
 ' She is no fool,' he said to himself. ' I wish I had her in my 
 shop. She'd be worth pounds to me.' 
 
 Then in came Lazarus. Mr. Cheek gave him a nod. The 
 Jew recognised him, uttered a crow of admiration, and rushed 
 at him with both hands extended. Mr. Cheek at once put his 
 hands under his coat-tails, and repelled Lazarus with a look. 
 
 X
 
 30G COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' A word with you,' said he, ' in your den.' 
 
 Lazarus bowed and pointed the way. Cheek knew the 
 passage and the room well enough, though many years had 
 passed since he had soon them. 
 
 'Take a sedan, sir,' begged the Jew, bowing at every 
 comma. 'You will liud it easy, cuts off the draughts on all 
 sides, sir. I will sit on my bed, my dear Mr. Cheek. Lord ! 
 what pleasure to see an old customer again ! T hear affairs are 
 flourishing with you, IMr. Check. I liear golden tidings of you, 
 sir ; and to think I liad a hand in the making of you ! Well, 
 humble instruments, sir ! very humble.' 
 
 ' A hand in the undoing of my son, if in the making of 
 me,' said Mr. Cheek, grimly. ' Which latter proposition I 
 dispute.' 
 
 ' No sudden embarrassment 1 Want a helping hand over 
 a style ? ' inquired Lazarus, fawningly. 
 
 ' No such luck for you V answered Mr. Cheek. 
 
 ' Then how may I meet your wishes 1 ' 
 
 ' I am about,' said Mr. Cheek, pompously, ' to make large 
 investments in mortgages on the property of a great duke in 
 these parts, his Grace of Kingsbridge. I understand that he 
 is in immediate need of a considerable sum ; and as I have my 
 tens and hundreds of thousands at command, I am inclined to 
 lend him what he wants on the security of some of his estates. 
 Now ' — suddenly — ' what have you to do with the Duke's 
 allairs 1 You sent that clever girl outside to Court Royal to 
 pry into and find out how the Luke's books stood. What is 
 your stake ? ' 
 
 Lazarus was so startled that he could not speak. He sat 
 with open mouth and oyos, staring at his visitor. 
 
 ' Know all about itj' said Mr. Cheek, coolly. ' Steward is 
 my relation. He and your girl out there have told me all but 
 one thing. What is your intorost in the Kingsbridge estates?' 
 
 Lazarus pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face. 
 
 ' You — you are going to lend money to the Duke ! ' lie 
 exclaimed. ' I did not suppose you such a gull. Do you know 
 that his land is mortgaged to its full value in times like these 1 
 It is a bad business. Do not soil your lingers with it.' 
 
 ' Can take care of myself. Want no advice,' said Mr. 
 Cheek, unmoved. 
 
 ' You are bewildered and befooled by aristocratical hocus- 
 pocus. I've seen the sort of thing done on a platform with a 
 few passes, and a man loses his power of will. He does every-
 
 * SHARES ? ' 307 
 
 thing the electro-biologist orders. The Duke has made his 
 passes over you — be on your guard. The case is hopeless.' 
 
 ' What have you to do with the matter ? ' 
 
 ' I — 1 1 Oh yes ! I have lent money. I have taken up a 
 mortgage or two. I've burnt my fingers. Perhaps you would 
 like to see what the burdens on the estate are. You shall see.' 
 
 He went to his closet and extracted a memorandum-book, 
 and ofiered it to his visitor. 
 
 ' Is this what was extracted by your girl ? ' asked Cheek. 
 
 Lazarus winced. 
 
 ' I see your name nowhere here,' said the great trader. 
 
 ' No — no — but I am there. What do you think of that ? 
 Is it ugly or is it beautiful 1 ' 
 
 ' Yery ugly indeed, for the Duke. Nevertheless, I don't 
 see any great risk. I shall take over the two mortgages that 
 have been called in.' 
 
 ' Others are going to follow,' said the Jew. ' I have been 
 to several of the mortgagees, who are my friends, belong to my 
 race, and they are all stirring. Have you seen fowlers out 
 wild-duck shooting when the winds drive the birds near shore 1 
 The men make a ring of boats and row inwards, driving the 
 ducks and geese together till they start to fly, and then — 
 bang ! bang ! bang ! from all sides, and down they fall in 
 hundreds. We'll bring down our ducal ducks. Will you join 
 in the sport ? ' 
 
 Lazarus looked hard at his visitor, and Clieek measured 
 him with his eyes. 
 
 'You are not moving out of love for the Duke 1 ' said the 
 Jew^ derisively ; ' not out of desire to uphold so grand a 
 pillar of the Constitution ? ' 
 
 ' The Duke and the ducal family are nothing to me. I 
 want their land.' 
 
 ' Their land and residence ; Court Royal, with its park.' 
 
 Lazarus laughed maliciously. 
 
 Cheek looked hard at him. ' And you~you would do the 
 same 1 ' 
 
 ' Of course. I want their land. I want to smoke them out, 
 smoke 'em out like foxes.' 
 
 . ' Lion this,' said Cheek, ' smoked by fox. Joking apart, 
 what is your game 1 You want the land. You have an eye 
 on Bigbury Bay, to make of that a second Torquay. You 
 want to work the slate quarries and the petroleum shale. 
 Bah ! you have not the capital.' 
 
 2:2
 
 308 COUKT ROYAL. 
 
 * Look here,' said Lazarus; ' let us p;o shares. Your kinsman 
 Worthivale has been deluding you with assurances of solvency. 
 The family never can pay its debts. I will foreclose on Court 
 Royal. Do not help them against me. Others will follow. 
 They are all ready. It is like an avalanche ; pop ! and it 
 shoots down and buries all below. You lie by and buy the 
 land as wc or tlic Duke soil. Pick it up bit by bit.' 
 
 ' I shall go to Kingsbridge, and see the place.' 
 
 * Go, by all means. Then you will be a judge if fortunes 
 are to be made there. Bigbury Day — tliat a second Torquay ! 
 You must find the site first, and the shelter. Why, the fisher- 
 men stand on the clifis, and angle off them into deep water. 
 Will you dig out a city in the rocks, like Petra 1 Slate at 
 Kingsbridge ! We have slate more accessible to Plymouth 
 than that. Oil shale ! — it has been tried. Plenty of shale, 
 but no oil. Or do you want to oust the great family, and settle 
 into its nest 1 Lend them money, and you will be done. The 
 Marquess will marry an heiress, and wash his debts away. You 
 will get your money back, but you won't get into Court Royal.' 
 
 * You are eager to keep me off,' said Mr. Cheek. ' What 
 is your stake ? ' 
 
 ' Fifty thousand, mine. I lead the way ; I am Mr. Em- 
 manuel, with my thumb on Court Royal and Kingsbridge. 
 Others are coming on, till the family is crushed.' 
 
 ' Fifty thousand ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. Do not let us fight. Let us share the spoil together.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek made no reply. lie was considering. 
 
 ' You arc going to Kingsbridge, eh 1 ' said Lazarus. Be on 
 your guard against the great people there. They do not regard 
 you as belonging to the same order of creatures as themselves. 
 They hold themselves a long way aliead of tlie like of us.' 
 
 ' The like of us ! ' repeated Mr. Cheek, indignantly. ' Don't 
 class yourself with me.' 
 
 * They make use of us, squeeze us as lemons, and throw the 
 rind away. If they think they will get money or information 
 out of you they will be gi'acious enough. Your cousin Worthi- 
 vale will give tliem a hint to use you well. They will dazzle 
 you with tlioir magniiiccnce, condescend to you most graciously, 
 stupefy your mind with admiration of their polish and amia- 
 bility and urbanity, then, Avhen they have made what they 
 wanted out of you, they will slam the door in your face and 
 pass you unnoticed in tJic street. Be on your guard. I have 
 forewarned you. If you want them to remain amiable and 
 gracious, you must have their thumbs in a vice.'
 
 309 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 A STARTLING PROPOSAL. 
 
 The serenity of security was gone from Court Royal. Though 
 all went on there unaltered to the eye of the casual visitor, a 
 change had passed over the house, like the touch of the first 
 October frost on the park trees. And as the trees show their 
 sensibility of coming winter in various tints, the maple turning 
 crimson and the beech gold, the oak russet and the sycamore 
 brown, so did the threat of impending ruin affect the various 
 members of the household variously. Hitherto the house of 
 Kingsbridge had been regarded as unbreakable as the Bank of 
 England, as unassailable as the British Constitution. Now the 
 f lith had received a shock so rude that it could never recover 
 if-.s child-like simplicity. The windows of heaven were open, 
 the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and in the 
 deluge what would survive ? The ark had sprung a leak, and 
 all the household were aware of it and restless. On every face 
 a shadow had fallen. The membei'S of the family talked each 
 other into momentary encoui-agement, and then parted to fall 
 back into despondency. The Duke was the least affected. 
 After he had recovered the agitation into which he had been 
 thrown by the paragraph in the Society paper, he put the 
 whole matter from him. He had known all his life that the 
 estates were encumbered, he had known also all his life that 
 this had not precluded him from spending money. Hitherto, 
 when he needed it, money had been raised, it could be raised 
 again. There was always water in the well. The pump 
 worked badly. The fault lay in Worthivale ; he was old, and 
 creaky, and clumsy. 
 
 Lord Ronald, on the other hand, worried himself with 
 schemes for raising money. He came into his nephew's room 
 every day with a new suggestion as impracticable as the last, 
 and when Saltcombe threw cold water over it he visited the 
 Archdeacon, in hopes of gaining encouragement from him. 
 At table, before company and the servants, the General was 
 cheerful, told his old stories, abused the new army regulations, 
 wondered what the service was coming to, when the first neces- 
 sity for advancement was to gain the favour of the newspaper 
 reporters. He was less sanguine in his views than heretofore,
 
 310 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 that was the only evidence he gave in public tliat his mind was 
 troubled. 
 
 Lord Edward reiuainod at Court lloyal, in spite of peremp- 
 tory recalls from Lady Elizabeth, who insisted on his return to 
 Sleepy Hollow, where cracks had appeared in the walls, and 
 water was percolating through the roof, and the lamb-like 
 curate was beginning to kick like a calf. Lord Edward saw 
 that a crisis had arrived in the fate of the family, and he saw 
 that his duty — the paramount duty — called him to remain at 
 Court Royal. Where duties claslied ^he superior must be 
 obeyed, and his duty to the family stood above all others. 
 
 The ^Marquess was altered since his return from Plymouth. 
 The alteration was not in appearance only, it was also in 
 manner. He had been hitherto agreeable in society, ho Avas 
 now silent. Nothing roused him out of his depression. Before 
 he had been apathetic, now he was dispirited. He accepted the 
 impending ruin as inevitable, and made no efforts to arrest it. 
 
 Beavis noticed the change and regretted it. The change 
 was not for the better, but for the woi-se. 
 
 Only Lady Grace remained herself — cheerful, loving, trust- 
 ful. She devoted herself more than ever to her brother, and, 
 without appearing to observe his melancholy, combated it with 
 all the weapons of her woman's wit. She forced him out of 
 himself ; she called her uncles and Lucy to her aid. Only Avhen 
 she was alone did the tears come into her eyes, and her bright- 
 ness fade. Her brother was now hor first concern, thougli she 
 did not understand the occasion of his mood. She attril^uted 
 it to despair of saving the family, consequent on the failure of 
 his engagement to Dulcina Rigsby. Although she tliought 
 chiefly of him, she did not think exclusively of him. She did 
 not even know the main cause of trouble. She had resolved 
 that some of the property must be sold, and that the establish- 
 ment must be reduced. She dared to broach the subject to 
 her father, in liopes of persuading him to realise the gravity of 
 the occasion, but he refused to listen to her. ' My dear Grace,' 
 he said, ' talk of what you understand. If you want any more 
 gardenias - and the new sorts are very fine — order them. Tell 
 jNIessrs. Veitch to send you a Lapcujcria alba ; we have only 
 the rosea in the greenhouse. But, my dear, not another word 
 about matters concerning which you know nothing.' 
 
 Somehow — it is impossible to say how — the knowledge that 
 the existing order was menaced had reached the servants' hall, 
 and the greatest consternation prevailed. Mr. Blomfield and
 
 A STARTLING PROPOSAL. 311 
 
 Mrs. Probus, the senior footmen, the coachman, and the lady's 
 maid of Lady Grace put their heads together, and concluded 
 that the true remedy lay in a reduction of the establishment. 
 Lord Ronald must go. Lord Edward must not be there so 
 much, and he must not bring that ' drefful Lady Elizabeth, as 
 is so mean, and pokes her nose into everything.' 
 
 ' Far be it from me to suggest,' said Mr. Blomfield, ' that 
 Lady Grace is not heartily welcome to all we have, and to the 
 best of everything ; still, her ladyship can't be kept on nothing. 
 She really ought to be married and go. The Marquess is dif- 
 ferent. We must put up with him ; he is the heir, and will 
 be Dook some day.' 
 
 ' But if you send away Lady Grace, I must go too,' argued 
 the lady's-maid. 
 
 ' Under those circumstances,' said the butler, ' we will make 
 an effort, and keep her,' 
 
 Upstairs, at the same time. Lady Grace was with Lucy 
 going over the list of servants. 
 
 ' Dear Lucy, it is very painful. I can't bear to send one 
 away, they are all so nice, and good, and obliging. It is not 
 that I care for myself, but that I fear they will never get 
 another place where they will all be so happy and comfortable 
 together.' 
 
 Owing to the tension of spirits at the Court, Beavis and 
 Charles Cheek were there a great deal. Charles had been 
 introduced as the cousin of Beavis and Lucy, and as his 
 manners were gentlemanly, and his conversation pleasant, and 
 his spirits unflagging, he Avas a welcome guest. Neither he 
 nor Mr. Worthivale had thought it necessary to mention his 
 relations to the monokeratic system, of which possibly the 
 ducal family had never heard. Even if they had, Charles 
 would have been received with perfect readiness as the kinsman 
 of Lucy and her father. Lady Grace herself urged Beavis to 
 bring his cousin whenever he could, to cheer the Marquess, 
 and draw the minds of her uncles from the absorbing 
 care. 
 
 Charles Cheek was very amusing ; he was full of good 
 stories, and had the tact to be agreeable without forcing him- 
 self into prominence'. Indeed, he appeared at his best in this 
 society. He knew what good manners were, and no one who 
 saw him suspected the effort it was to him to maintain him- 
 self at ease among them. He was like a tight-rope dancer, 
 who seems to be composed and assured on his cord aloft, but
 
 312 COURT EOYAL. 
 
 wlio knows himself to be safest and happiest when ho is on 
 the solid ground. 
 
 He showed sufficient deference to the rank and ago of his 
 Grace, and the General and the Archdeacon, to conciliate 
 their favour. With the Marquess ho was freer, though always 
 respectful, and Loi-d Saltcombe said once or twice to Beavis 
 tliat he liked his cousin, and hoped to see a good deal of him. 
 He invited him to come in the shooting season, and placed 
 liis horses at his disposal for hunting. He was asked to take 
 frequent strolls with Lady Grace, and Lucy and the INIarquess, 
 when Lord Saltcombe naturally fell to Lucy, and Cliarles to 
 be companion to Lady Grace. These walks were delightful to 
 Lucy, as her sparkling eyes and glo\\ing cheeks testified. 
 Lady Grace enjoyed them, for Charles was always amusing, 
 sometimes interesting. He was a man with a good deal of 
 shrewd observation of men and manners, which he used to 
 good effect in conversation. Lady Grace had a sweet voice, 
 thoroughly schooled, and as Charles sang well, with a mellow 
 tenor, and knew his notes fairly, they practised duets together 
 partly to please themselves, chiefly to give pleasure to the Duke. 
 
 The young man was sensible of the charms of Lady Grace ; 
 he had never before been in the society of a perfect English 
 lady, and a perfect English lady is the noblest and most 
 admirable of the products of centuries of reiinement. The 
 culture of the English lady is a culture of the entire woman, 
 mind and soul, as well as of body, perfect rctinement and 
 exquisite delicacy in manner, in movement, in intonation, in 
 thought, and in expression. No man can escape the attrac- 
 tions of such a woman ; it seizes him, it raises him, it humbles 
 him. It raises liim by inspiring him with the desire to be 
 worthy to associate with such nobility ; it humbles him by 
 making him conscious of his own shortcomings. 
 
 Charles Cheek had been so little in the society of ladies of 
 any sort, and was so ignorant of the ladies of the best English 
 society, that this association with Lady Grace exercised over 
 hini. quite irresistible fascination. He was uneasy when a 
 day passed without his seeing her, and when out of her 
 presence the recollection of her words, and the pleasant way 
 in wliich she spoke tliem, formed his great delight. It can 
 liardly be said that he loved her, it was certain that he 
 worshipped lier. 
 
 'Grace dear,' said Lucy one day to her friend, 'take carQ 
 what you are about.'
 
 A STARTLING PROPOSAL. 313 
 
 * "What do you mean, Lucy 1 ' 
 
 ' You are throwing your imperceptible threads round that 
 simple young man, and binding him in bonds he will be 
 powerless to rive away.' 
 
 ' What young man ? ' 
 
 ' My cousin Charles.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Lucy ! ' said Lady Grace, colouring slightly 
 and looking vexed. 
 
 ' You cannot help youi'self. You bewitch every one, down 
 to old Jonathan the gardener, and Tom the stable boy. You 
 cannot help it. You have thrown your glamour over my 
 cousin. I can see it. When he leaves this place he will feel 
 like the Swiss exiled from the Alpine air and roses to be 
 pastrycook in Amsterdam. You remember that queer girl we 
 had at the Lodge, and who ran away. You did the same 
 with her, and she sent you a necklace in token of undyirg 
 devotion. Now you are playing tricks with Charles. Take 
 care that you do not encourage him to do something equally 
 absurd. As for my father and Beavis, you know very well 
 they would let themselves be cut to pieces in your service.' 
 
 On the twenty-second of the month, Mr. Cheek senior 
 arrived, and was invited to dine at the Court, along with his 
 son and the Worthivales. The old trader was highly gratified. 
 He was struck with the grand staircase, the well-lighted 
 magnificent rooms, rich with gilding, pictures, and silk 
 curtains, with the livery servants, and the general ease and 
 luxury. He was courteously received, somewhat ceremoniously, 
 and he had a few words with the Duke, who made himself 
 agreeable, as lie could when he chose, by touching on a subject 
 likelv to delight the old man. 
 
 ' What a very nice fellow your son is, Mr. Cheek ! He 
 has enlivened our rather dull society of late. I do not know 
 what we should have done without him. Beavis is our usual 
 jnece de resistance, but Beavis has been out of sorts lately. 
 We feel under a debt to you for having spared him so 
 long.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek held up his head. ' Your Grace is too compli- 
 mentary.' 
 
 ' Not at all. I always speak my mind.' 
 
 The General came up. ' I am glad to make your acquaint- 
 ance, sir,' said Lord Ronald ; ' though I owe you a grudge, 
 and I do not know that I shall ever be Christian enough to 
 forgive you. Your boy ought to have been in the army,'
 
 314 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' ]\ry fault, my lord. r>itterly regret it now — when too 
 late. A mistake.' 
 
 ' It was a mistake. He is a daring fellow. He was hunt- 
 ing the other day, and took the hedges splendidly. No end 
 of pluck in him. Sad pity he is not in the army.' 
 
 The delighted father watched his son all the evening. He 
 did not talk much himself, and Lord Edward and the General 
 found him difficult to get on with. The reason was that his 
 attention was taken up in contemplating his son with admira- 
 tion and wonder. He could not have been more astonished 
 had he assisted at a miracle. Charles was at ease in this 
 society. Charles could talk, and make the great people listen 
 to him. After dinner Charles played and sang a solo, talked 
 to Lucy Worthivale, and sent her into a fit of laughter, stood 
 in the window in familiar discussion with the Marquess, then 
 went to the Duke, conversed with liim, then at liis request 
 sang a duet Avith Lady Grace. After tliat Charles was on an 
 ottoman with the lady, talking to her in an animated way, 
 expressing himself with his hands like a Frenchman, whilst 
 her colour came and she smiled. She coloured because she 
 remembered the words of Lucy. 
 
 Mr. Cheek was struck with her ; her delicate beauty and 
 purity impressed him. He was not afraid of her, but he had 
 not the courage to get up from his place and walk across the 
 room to speak to hei\ Presently she came over to him, and 
 talked, and the old man felt as though a light shone round 
 him, and a sense of reverence and holy love came upon him. 
 He did not remember afterwards what she said, or what he 
 answered, but thought tliat he had been in a dream. After- 
 wards, wlien she was at tlie piano again, he watched her, and 
 shook his head, and smiled. Then he looked at Charles turn- 
 ing the pages of her music for her, and he said to himself, 
 ' Ciiarles is a genius ! It is not in me. The Duke and that 
 old soldier chap didn't pile it on too much. He is all they 
 said, and more. Worthivale was right. Tliis is the element 
 in which he must swim.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek and the steward walked liome together, Charles 
 and Beavis went on before. 
 
 * Are they not tharining people ? Is not the house quite 
 perfect 1 ' asked Mr. \\'orthivale. 
 
 ' This the style of daily life 1 ' asked Mr. Cheek. 
 
 ' Always the same — of course.' 
 
 ' And the income, the debts, the mortgages, the outs always
 
 A STARTLING PROPOSAL. 315 
 
 the same ? ' said Mr. Clieek. ' Nothing for it but a smash- 
 up. Seen the accounts. Balance bad. I — even I— with the 
 Monokeros on my back, couldn't afford it.' 
 
 ' You have never seen this sort of life before,' said the 
 steward, reproachfully, ' and so — it rather surprises you. 
 Splendid, is it not ? and so homely and genial too.' 
 
 ' Won't go on,' said the man of business. ' Can't do it on 
 the balance. Col-lapse.' 
 
 ' I hope not — I trust not.' 
 
 * I can help them. I can save them.' 
 
 ' I knew it, I was sure of it,' exclaimed the delighted 
 steward. 
 
 ' I see they like Charlie, and Charlie likes to be on this 
 shelf. I don't. I ain't suited to it. Set me on end on the 
 floor. Don't roll me up and chuck me aloft on a top shelf. 
 Charlie can take that place, and he shall. I like to see him 
 there.' 
 
 ' He conducts himself very well, but what has he to do 
 with the present emergency ? ' 
 
 ' Everything. Charlie shall make Lady Grace his missus. 
 Then he'll belong to the aristocracy, whatever I may be.' 
 
 ' What ! ' Mr. Worthivale sprang back, and his hat fell off. 
 
 ' Charlie shall make his proposals to Lady Grace, and I'll 
 find two hundred thousand pounds to clear off such of the 
 mortgages as are now troublesome. The Monokeros is still 
 alive, and bringing in money for Charlie and his deary. If 
 this ain't a handsome offer, show me one that is. If you don't 
 like my shop, go to another.' 
 
 ' Are you mad 1 You must be mad ! ' exclaimed the 
 steward, too amazed to be indignant. ' Yotir son and she ! 
 What are you thinking of 1 ' 
 
 ' What am I thinking of 1 Mutual accommodation. As you 
 said to me, I want blood and they want money. Is it a deal ? ' 
 
 Mi\ Worthivale stared at his guest, and remained rooted 
 to the spot. 
 
 ' Madman ! ' he gasped. ' Is nothing sacred with you 1 ' 
 
 *As you like,' said the trader, indifferently. 'Take my 
 offer or reject it. I can do without better than you.' 
 
 ' Not a word of this raving nonsense to a soul,' said Mr. 
 Worthivale, grasping his arm. ' Loixl ! I wouldn't have any 
 one hear of this for all I am worth.' 
 
 'As you like,' said Mr. Cheek, putting his hands in his 
 pockets. ' Those are my terms.'
 
 316 COURT ROi'AL. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 RKTRIBUTION. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Cheek was silent at breakfast. Charles 
 Avas not in liis usual lively mood. His fatlier had told him in 
 his room, the night before, of his plan, on their return from 
 the Court. He had told him also that Mr. Worthivale had 
 refused to entertain it. Charles was startled and gratified at 
 the prospect ; startled, because he had not dared to wish it, 
 startled also, because he was not sure that he did wish it ; 
 gratified, because he saw open to him the means of taking a 
 place in society that had been hitherto inaccessible. He was 
 silent because, thoughtless though he was, the conjuncture of 
 afTairs was one that forced him to think. 
 
 Worthivale was nervous and agitated at breakfast. Drops 
 stood on his brow, and he was unable to pour out the cofl'ee, 
 liis hand shook so, and he was forced to pass over the duty to 
 Beavis. Something had occurred, more than the proposal of 
 old Cheek, to unnerve him. 
 
 After breakfast Mr. Cheek drew the steward aside. 'Well, 
 now,' he said, ' with morning come cool counsels. Shall we deal?' 
 
 ' How can you speak in such terms 1 ' asked the steward. 
 ' Do you not perceive that it is impossible for the daughter of 
 
 such an illustrious house to accept Stuff ! as well propose 
 
 an alliance between an eagle and a crocodile ! Preposterous ! 
 simply preposterous ! ' 
 
 Mr. Cheek stretched his arms, then drew his finger over his 
 lips. 'There is nothing preposterous in it,' he said. 'Worse 
 matches have been made. One likes apples, t'other likes 
 onions. To my mind, I am the more respectable party of the 
 two. I have lifted myself out of nothing, by my industry, into 
 affluence. Thoy have degraded themselves, by wastefulness, 
 out of wealth into bankruptcy.' 
 
 'Will you not help the family, without conditions ? 
 
 ' Do you take me for a fool 1 What are they to mo ? 
 
 ' Surely — surely, to obtain their esteem, to deserve the 
 regard of the Duke, the respect of Lord Edward and Lord 
 Ronald, the gratitude of the Marquess — that is something.' 
 
 ' Not worth a farthing to me,' answered Mr. Cheek, roughly, 
 ' Put it up to auction 3 who will bid 1 '
 
 EETRIBUTION. 317 
 
 * Besides, you •would not be giving your money, only invest- 
 ing it most safely,' 
 
 ' I have made my proposals,' said the elder Cheek. ' To 
 them I stick as cobbler's wax.' 
 
 ' I cannot listen to you ! ' exclaimed the steward. ' You 
 might as well sue for the moon.' He paced the room, swinging 
 his arms ; he was hot with indignation. 
 
 ' I do not want the moon. I want that young woman ' — 
 Worthivale shivered — ' for my son. She'll make a tidy 
 daughter-in-law. As for those old codgers ' — Worthivale's 
 blood curdled (their lordships — codgers !) — ' they are like 
 turkey-cocks in a barn-yard, ruffling feathers and gobbling at 
 the little fowl. She's other. Wouldn't give herself high and 
 mighty airs.' 
 
 ' Por Heaven's sake ! ' cried the steward, putting his hands 
 to his ears, ' have done, or I will leave the room.' 
 
 ' Needn't go,' said Mr. Cheek. ' I'm off, next coach. Time 
 valuable. Can't afford to waste it like a parcel of gorgeous 
 good-f or-noughts. ' 
 
 ' Going ! ' exclaimed the steward, aghast, and standing still. 
 
 * You are not going to-day. To-day is the twenty- third : I in- 
 vited you to be here when we meet Crudge, the solicitor for 
 Mr. Emmanuel.' 
 
 ' Can't waste my time. Sheer waste. Made my proposal 
 — refused. Enough ; I go.' 
 
 ' But the investment is so good.' 
 
 ' Know of a score better.' 
 
 ' But — but you led me to expect—' 
 
 ' Nothing. Never committed myself. Too old a bird for 
 that. Said I would come and look about me. Have done so, 
 taken stock, and made a bid.' 
 
 ' Which I refuse.' 
 
 ' It has not been submitted to the proper parties.' 
 
 * If by proper parties you mean the Duke and Lady Grace, 
 I absolutely refuse to mention it to them. They — I mean the 
 Duke — would kick me out of the house. She — Lady Grace — 
 I would not dare to look her in the face again.' 
 
 ' As you like,' said Mr, Cheek, washing his hands in the air. 
 
 * Don't take amiss. When dry will brush off. I leave by next 
 coach. One thing, however, I do ask. Allow Charles to re- 
 main. Don't want him to be back in Plymouth yet. Under- 
 stand?' 
 
 ' Let him stay here, by all means.'
 
 318 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 * Ri,L,'ht. Hope you'll enjoy yourself with the mortgagees. 
 Cheerful company. Pleasant ways, eh 1 If in distress, and 
 you change your mind, wire. Let the young female give her 
 word of honour that she will take my Charlie, and I am ready 
 with my two hundred thousand. She's not one to go from lier 
 word. Now — portmantle.' 
 
 ' Was there ever such a fool — such a confounded fool ! ' cried 
 Mr. Worthivalo, whcTi Chock had left the room, as he ran 
 about, holding his head. ' That I should have lived to hear 
 him talk ! ' 
 
 Half an hour later, the great Cheek of the Monokeros was 
 gone, and the hope that had hung on him had fallen and lay 
 broken with many another shattered hope. 
 
 ' Well ! ' said the General, entering the dinmg-room about 
 the hour wlicn the meeting was to take place, ' what says your 
 kinsman to the mortgages 1 Will he take them ? ' 
 
 ' He is a fool, an abject, drivelling fool ! ' answered tlie 
 steward. Lord Ronald sighed. He had buoyed himself on the 
 expectation which Worthivale had confided to him, that relief 
 was certain from this quarter. 
 
 ' That is not the worst,' said Worthivale, in a low tone, and 
 he trembled and became white and moist. 
 
 ' What now ? ' 
 
 ' By this post,' gasped the steward, ' the — the Insurance 
 Company have given notice ' 
 
 ' My God ! not the Loddiswell mortgage for four hundred 
 thousand ? ' 
 
 Worthivale put his hand to his mouth to cover a 
 groan. 
 
 Then they heard a carriage drive up to the garden gate, 
 followed by a ring at the bell. A moment after, the maid 
 announced, ' Mr. Crudge, solicitor,' and the lawyer entered, 
 followed by Lazarus, dressed respectably. 
 
 ' Good afternoon, my lord. Good afternoon, Mr. Worthi- 
 vale,' said Crudge, with freshness and confidence. Allow me 
 to introduce ]Mr. Emmanuel.' He presented Lazarus ; the 
 General bowed stiffly, Worthivale shook hands. They seated 
 themselves, Lazarus with his back to the light, in the window, 
 beliind ]\Ir. Crudge. Presently the Marquess arrived, with 
 Lord Edward. They bowed to Crudge and Lazarus, and took 
 chairs by the fire, olfered them by the steward. With them 
 entered Beavis. 
 
 Conversation began on the weather. Crudge talked of the
 
 RETRIBUTION. 319 
 
 crops — as is correct, to those living in the country — and on 
 land. Lazarus said nothing. So passed ten minutes. 
 
 ' Let us proceed to business,' said the soliciter, looking at 
 his watch. ' By the way, I bear a note for you, sir, from 
 Messrs. Levi and Moses, who hold the seventeen thousand 
 pound mortgage on Alvington ; and also the second, on the 
 same estate, for twenty thousand. I am instructed to act for 
 them. Both must be met in three months from date.' 
 
 A silence ensued, bi-oken only by a little, quickly subdued 
 chuckle in the window. 
 
 Then Beavis opened proceedings, by stating that the sudden 
 calling up of mortgages at a time when rents had had to be 
 reduced twenty to twenty-five per cent, all round, and when 
 some rents were in arrear for two and three years, at a time, 
 moreover, when land was at an unprecedentedly low value, was 
 very inconvenient to the Duke, and that he desired the mort- 
 gagees to reconsider their demand, and allow time for the 
 recovery of the farmers, when, in the event of his not being 
 able to transfer the mortgages, or himself find the amount, land 
 would have to be sold. 
 
 The solicitor replied that he was acting both for Mr. 
 Emmanuel and for Messrs. Levi and Moses, and he could say 
 that his clients were not disposed to be harsh, but to accord 
 every reasonable indulgence. They, however, did not parti- 
 cipate in the sanguine view entertained by his Grace. They 
 believed that rents would fall still lower, that the golden day 
 of British agriculture was set, and the whole industry menaced 
 with extinction. Holding this, they were anxious with 
 promptitude to release their money, that they might invest it 
 elsewhere. 
 
 ' But, if you proceed to extremities, you will be selling land 
 when it hardly reaches twenty-five years' purchase.' 
 
 ' Better that than sell when it will not fetch twenty years' 
 purchase. I have heard of desirable properties in North Devon 
 in the market, and not a bid made for them at fifteen.' 
 
 ' But this is in South Devon.' 
 
 Mr. Grudge shrugged his shoulders, 
 
 ' What, then, do you propose, or demand 1 ' asked the 
 General. 
 
 ' We are ready to meet your convenience as far as possible. 
 I am instructed to yield so far as this — half the total at the 
 expiration of three months from date of notice, the rest in two 
 equal portions, at intervals of three months.'
 
 320 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Again a sound like a chuckle from the window. Tho 
 iMarquess looked sharply round, but Lazarus, who sat there, 
 was quiet, his face in shadow and illegible. 
 
 ' Small charities 1 ' said the General. * Better the sword 
 Misericorde which ends the torture witli a thrust.' 
 
 Silence ensued. Lord Edward and the General looked 
 down ; the eyes of the Marquess were on the lire.' 
 
 Lazarus watched them eagerly with malicious delight. 
 
 ' You will go no further ? ' asked Mr. Worthivale. 
 
 ' This is the limit imposed on me by my clients. You will 
 understand, I am but the intermediary ; I am obliged to act as 
 directed.' 
 
 Woi'thivale bowed. 
 
 Ten minutes of painful silence ensued. 
 
 ' I see no necessity for prolonging the meeting,' said the 
 Marquess, rising. 
 
 ' None at all, as far as I am concerned,' answered the 
 solicitor. 
 
 'Sorry the matter should be ventilated with such freedom 
 in the papers. There was something about it a little while 
 ago, and now the Society papers are still more explicit. There 
 is no mistaking the allusions. If worth while, prosecutions 
 might be begun. Hah ! ' said Grudge, ' I have them in my 
 pocket. Keally, these periodicals are ollensive and insulting.' 
 
 The colour rushed into the General's face. Lord Edward 
 turned pale, and held the jamb of the chimney-piece to prevent 
 himself from falling ; a mist formed before his eyes. Lord 
 Saltcombe compressed his lips and clenched his liands. As 
 Grudge oflered him the papers with coarse civility, he brushed 
 them aside. 
 
 'You want me no further ?' he said to Mr. Worthivale. 
 
 'No, my lord, there is nothing to be done.' 
 
 'Very well; I will consult my uncles at home. I wisli 
 you all a good afternoon.' 
 
 ' A very pleasant afternoon to you, my loi'd,' said Lazarus, 
 also rising, and bowing deeply. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe slightly bent his head, and left the room. 
 Almost immediately after, Lazarus followed ; Grudge was 
 detained but a few minutes. AVhcn he also was gone, Lord 
 lionald looked at his ])rotlier. 
 
 ' Hopelessly ruined — that is tlie plain English,' he said. 
 'And satyrs dance and scolf over our grave,' said Lord 
 Edward, i^ointing to the papers.
 
 RETRIBUTION. 321 
 
 The Marquess was walking slowly through the park to 
 Court Royal, when he heard rapid steps behind him. He did 
 not turn to see who followed ; then he heard a voice, 
 
 ' Heigh ! Loi'd Saltcombe ! Most noble Marquess, a word 
 with you.' 
 
 He arrested his walk, and waited patiently till he was 
 caught up, but without tuniing his head. 
 
 A moment after he saw at his side the man Emmanuel, 
 whom he had scarce noticed at the meeting. The man was 
 panting. He had run to catch him up. Lord Saltcombe 
 waited till he had gained breath to speak. He did not know 
 Lazarus. If he had seen him in past years, it had been but 
 briefly and rarely, and he did not recall his features ; besides, 
 Lazarus was oldened and altered since then. 
 
 ' You do not know me, most noble sir ? ' said the Jew, in a 
 tone between deference and defiance. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe contented himself with a slight shake of 
 the head. 
 
 ' I suppose not. Oh, no ! of course not ! You do not 
 know who Emmanuel is, who holds his grip on your heart ? 
 No, I suppose not ! ' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe became impatient ; he turned to continue 
 his walk, without speaking. 
 
 * Do you know who holds two of your mortgages, and who 
 has worked and stirred up the other mortgagees against you ? 
 Who has your own — your own bills in his hands 1 ' 
 
 Lazarus walked beside the Marquess, peering into his face 
 with an expression full of vindictiveness. Lord Saltcombe 
 looked in front of him ; he made no reply, but the veins in his 
 temples swelled and darkened. 
 
 ' You do not know, I presume, that I, I hold you all in my 
 power — that you are at my mercy 1 Do you know who I am 1 ' 
 asked Lazarus starting forward and standing in his way. 
 
 * I know that you are an obstruction, and unless you move 
 yourself at once I shall lay my stick across you.' 
 
 * Oh, my Lord Cock-of-the-Walk ! ' exclaimed the Jew. 
 'What airs we give ourselves ! ' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe's eyes lightened. He raised his walking 
 stick, and would have brought it down on Lazarus had not the 
 Jew hastily added : ' I am Emmanuel Lazarus, of the Barbican, 
 Plymouth ! ' 
 
 Then the stick fell from Lord Saltcombe's hand. He stood 
 still, and looked keenly at the man before him. The pawn- 
 
 Y
 
 322 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 broker had stooped ; his attitude was cringing as he shrank 
 from the menaced blow. Ilis eyes glittered with h:\U\ 
 
 Lord Saltcombc drew down his hat and i'ulded his arms. 
 ' Well,' he said in a low tone, ' say what you Avill, I cannot 
 touch you.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' exclaimed Lazarus, * you may well stand still and 
 look down when you encounter me — me, the man Avhoso home 
 you broke up, whose honour you stained, whose happiness you 
 blighted. What was I ? Only a Jew usurer. What were you 1 
 A great noble. Now I am in the ascendant, and you grovel. 
 Now it is my turn to cast you down, and put my foot on your 
 proud neck. I will hold you there, writhe as yoii may to be 
 free. It was I who spoiled your line matrimonial schemes 
 with the coflee-planter's daughter. It was I who warned oft 
 old Check from coming to your assistance. It was I who put 
 your affairs into the Society papers, and made you the talk of 
 the town. It was I who stirred up the other mortgagees to 
 foreclose. I have waited long till I could find a way to hurt 
 you. Did I say just now you were at my mercy ? It was a 
 wrong word. I have no mercy in my heart for such as you, 
 only retribution.' 
 
 Then Lord Saltcombe looked him full in the face. He Avas 
 deadly pale, but he did not move a muscle, nor did his lips 
 quiver. He spoke with perfect calmness, the calmness of 
 perfect self-control. 
 
 'Mr. Lazarus,' he said, *I would have sought you out 
 years ago, had I thought the interview would lead to good. 
 But though I did not seek you, I have always desired to meet 
 you, that I might express to you my sorroAv, my deepest 
 sorrow for the wrong I did you. Perhaps it was weakness 
 and want of resolution which hindered my going direct to 
 you. Providence has now brought us face to face, and I 
 liasten to express my contrition. You can say to me nothing 
 that I have not said, and said dailj', almost hourly, to myself. 
 You speak of retribution. She — she — ' his voice vibrated for 
 a moment. ' She has been overtaken by the hand of God, and 
 has suffered where she sinned. I do not hope, I do not wish 
 to escape the chastisement of heaven. Why should I go free, 
 when slie has endured the penalty 1 If it has pleased the 
 Almighty to touch me in the place where most sensitive, in 
 my pride and love for my family — His Avill be done. My only 
 regret is that I must draw down with me other, and those 
 very dear heads.' He was silent for a moment, Avith liis eyes
 
 RETRIBUTION. 323 
 
 on the ground. For a moment he needed silence, to recover 
 that command over himself which he felt was slipping from 
 him. Lazarus said nothing. His face was perplexed with 
 contending emotions — hate, surprise, disappointment. 
 
 ' Mr. Lazarus, take up that stick. It is a sword-cane. I 
 pierced your heart once with the deadliest of thrusts. I will 
 stand here, or anywhere you like, and give you full and free 
 leave to run me through the heart with that needle blade. 
 No one will suspect you. ISTo one will suppose but that I fell 
 by my own hand, unable to endure the humiliation of witness- 
 ing the ruin of my house.' 
 
 The JeAV stooped, picked up the sword-cane, and drew the 
 weapon. It was fine, keen, and sharply pointed. He looked 
 furtively at Lord Saltcombe, who unfolded his arms, and stood 
 before him motionless, beside a tree. 
 
 The Jew's fingers tingled as he held the sword. He turned 
 it, and it flickered in the evening light. In the button-hole by 
 the heart of the Marquess was a red rose. The Jew's blood 
 bounded at the thought that with a thrust he could bring forth 
 somethinsr redder there than that rose. But he re-sheathed 
 the blade and shook his head. 
 
 ' That,' said he, ' would be insufl&cient. It would be too 
 quickly over. Take back your sword-cane. I have not done 
 with you yet.' 
 
 'You have refused me a favour, 'for which I would have 
 thanked you,' said the Marquess, coldly. 
 
 ' Because I knew it would be a favour,' answered Lazarus 
 venomously, ' therefore I refused it.' 
 
 CHAPTER XLVL 
 
 E TENEBRIS LUX. 
 
 In the evening the General came into Lord Saltcombe's room. 
 The old man was looking haggard. His grey moustache was not 
 smooth, as usual, but looked like ragged lichen. The spring 
 and strength seemed taken out of him. Lord Saltcombe was 
 pacing the room with arms folded. Lord Ronald put his hand 
 through his nephew's arm and paced the floor with him, with- 
 out speaking. After several minutes' silence, the General 
 said, ' Your uncle Edward leaves to-morrow. It is of no use 
 
 y 2
 
 324 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 his remaining. Even he can do nothing now. If it had been 
 possible, he would have managed it. We have been deceiving 
 ourselves. Disenchantment has come. Herbert, we have 
 been a happy and an united family. We will stand to our 
 arms, and go down in the old ship together, as men The 
 Duke must know all, and resolve to sell the greater part of 
 the estates. Court lloyal itself, if need be.' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered the Marquess, ' I have foreseen this. As you 
 had hopes, I did not press my view. Now you have come 
 round to my opinion. Loddiswell and Alvington must go. 
 Fowelscombe also. Probably Court Royal, We shall never 
 now be able to maintain the place. Better crawl into a smaller 
 house and there die.' 
 
 ' Perhaps Court Royal might be kept during the Duke's life.' 
 
 ' No,' answered Lord Saltcombe. ' Let us see the worst 
 over. If we live on here we shall be always tempted to keep 
 up the old state.' 
 
 ' But remember what Worthivale has said about the Big- 
 bury property. It is worth comparatively little now, but if a 
 company were formed, and a town begun there, it might rival 
 Torquay, and be a golden-egg-laying goose to us, and then the 
 family would flourish again.' 
 
 ' There is no time for forming a company and building a 
 town. If this had been tried three or four years ago we might 
 have been saved ; but now it is over. If a fortune is to be 
 found there, it will not be by us.' 
 
 'You are right,' sighed the General. 
 
 ' Beavis,' said the Marquess, ' calculated on saving a por- 
 tion of our lands. Let us keep Bigbury — it is possible that 
 some day it may " render," as the French say ; but more than 
 lialf our property must go.' 
 
 ' And dear old Court Royal,' said the General, with a 
 quivering voice. 
 
 ' Yes, Court Royal must go, or it will drain away what 
 remains in the vain attempt to live up to it. If we do not, 
 what wretchedness to be among abandoned conservatories, 
 neglected grounds, ruinous outhouses, empty stables!' 
 
 'Poor Grace ! ' sighed Lord Ronald. 
 
 * Grace has more courage than you, uncle, soldier though 
 you are. Grace will leave her flowers without a sigh, and the 
 pretty rooms that have been her nest without a tear. You 
 will see nothing but smiles on her face, and hear only words 
 of cheer from her lips.'
 
 E TENEBRIS LUX. 325 
 
 ' Yes — I suppose so,' said Lord Ronald. ' And yet — she 
 will feel the loss more than any of us.' 
 
 ' She will have Lucy.' 
 
 ' Of course, Lucy will never leave her, good, faithful girl.' 
 
 * Uncle Ronald, you may as well know everything. My 
 notes of hand have all been called up. You know how ex- 
 travagant I was some years ago, when in the army. Well, the 
 sum, compared with the mortgages, is nothing, but for all that, 
 in our present distress, whence is the money to come 1 ' 
 
 ' Pitiful powers,' cried the General, ' troubles are raining 
 on us as fire and brimstone out of heaven, and what have we 
 done to deserve it 1 ' He stood still, put his hand to his fore- 
 head, and thrust his fingers through his white hair. ' My 
 head spins. I cannot think.' 
 
 ' The first thing to be done,' said Lord Saltcombe, ' is for 
 us to collect our plate and finest pictures, and send them to 
 Christie's, and have them sold.' 
 
 The General withdrew his hand from his face, and stood 
 staring blankly at his nephew. Then two clear drops ran 
 down his furrowed cheeks. He hastily took out his handker- 
 chief and blew his nose, to disguise what he was ashamed to 
 have seen. 
 
 ' Yes, uncle — this must be.' 
 
 ' The Duke will never consent.' 
 
 ' Then it must be done without his consent.' 
 
 'Herbert ! not possible.' 
 
 The Marquess said no more ; he caught his uncle by the 
 arm, and made him continue with him the mechanical walk. 
 He did it to enable the old man to overcome or disguise his 
 emotion. 
 
 ' I never was sanguine,' said Lord Saltcombe. * I have felt 
 that a storm was gathering over our heads, and that no con- 
 ductors would divert the flashes into innocuous channels. You 
 and the Archdeacon were more hopeful, so was Worthivale, 
 who, of all others, had best reason to know how matters stood. 
 But when Beavis spoke out so plainly, and Uncle Edward and 
 you refused to accept his opinion, then I knew that the end 
 was near at hand. For myself, I care nothing. Life has little 
 of interest, and is void of ambitions for me. But if it were 
 possible to do anything to soften the blow to Grace and my 
 father, I would do it. There is, however, nothing — only the 
 sad duty of preparing them for the worst, and that I take 
 upon myself. With Grace it will be easy. With the Duke
 
 326 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 hard, and I may have to call on you to assist ine. The mort- 
 gagees have a power of sale, and they will exercise it. What 
 ■will remain to us out of the wreck, I suppose not even Beavia 
 can tell.' 
 
 Late in the evening, Worthivale arrived. He was in such 
 a condition of confused misery, that he could not collect liis 
 thoughts sufliciently to advise what should be done. He pi'O- 
 duced his books, but in his bewildered state of mind could make 
 nothing out of them. 
 
 ' The disgrace ! ' moaned the General. ' The humiliation to 
 our proud name.' 
 
 ' You arc a soldier,' said Lord Saltcombe. 
 
 ' There are some things past the endurance even of a soldier,' 
 answered Lord Ronald. 
 
 ' Where is the Archdeacon ? ' asked the steward. ' His 
 opinion Avould be invaluable now.' 
 
 ' He has gone to bed,' answered the General. * He is not 
 feeling well. He is much dispirited by the events of to-day. 
 To-morrow he must return to Sleepy Hollow.' 
 
 Then the steward and Lord Ronald began to spin cobwebs 
 — cobwebs that needed but the breath of common-sense to blow 
 them away. 
 
 Lord Norwich was the brother of the late Duchess. He was 
 getting old and infirm, and he had not been do^vn to visit the 
 Duke lately in Devon. Lord Ronald thought of him. He was 
 wealthy. Why should not lus come to the rescue ? The Mar- 
 quess and Grace were his sister's children. Lord Saltcombe 
 reminded them that his son, the Hon. Norfolk Broad, was not 
 likely to consent ; he had spent a great deal on the turf, and 
 would probably run through the property when his father 
 died. 
 
 Then Worthivale suggested the taking in hand of the oil- 
 shale works. Oil had not been extracted from them before in 
 sufficient quantities to be remunerative, because the wrong sort 
 of crushers had been employed. The Marquess replied that if 
 the crushers squeezed out gold, then it would be worth while 
 getting them, not otherwise. 
 
 ' Perhaps the Archdeacon will think of something ; he is an 
 eminently practical man,' said the General. ' I dare say he has 
 gone to bed early to consider the matter between the sheets, 
 and he will be ripe with a proposal to-morrow.' 
 
 Thus sat the three the greater part of the night ; the ]\Lar- 
 quess was the only one who kept his head clear. At three
 
 E TENEBRIS LUX. 327 
 
 o'clock the steward and Lord Ronald left, and then he flung 
 himself on the sofa, and fell asleep. 
 
 That same evening Lady Grace had been in conference with 
 Lucy in her own bedroom, as she prepared to go to rest. She 
 was in a pretty blue dressing-gown, her hair falling about her 
 shoulders loosely. The lady's maid had been dismissed, and 
 Lucy and she were alone together. 
 
 ' Tell me truly, Lucy, The meeting has led to no good 
 results ? ' 
 
 ' No, dear. I hear that half the amount of two of the 
 mortgages must be paid forthwith, and the rest in two instal- 
 ments within a twelvemonth. But that is not all. Two more 
 
 mortgages held by Jews are called in, and so Worst of all 
 
 is the terrible one on Loddiswell.' 
 
 ' And the money is nowhere forthcoming ? ' 
 
 Lucy shook her head. 
 
 ' Then what will be done ? ' 
 
 ' A great deal of the property will be sold.' 
 
 ' And Court Royal — must that go ? ' 
 
 ' Beavis thinks so. Land sells very badly now,* 
 
 * I shall not have to part with you, Lucy 1 ' 
 
 ' No ' — and Lucy nestled into her friend's side — ' never, 
 never. Oh, my darling ! ' 
 
 ' For myself I do not care. If I cannot have my green- 
 houses and gardens, no one can deprive me of the green lanes 
 and flowery coombs. I can be happy anywhere with you and 
 papa, and Uncle Ronald and my brother. But I do not know 
 how the others will bear it. Dear papa — I fear it will kill him. 
 Uncle Ronald and Saltcombe ai'e looking miserable. Did you 
 observe Uncle Edward last night ? I never saw his face so 
 drawn and colourless. He was very bent and feeble. I asked 
 him what ailed him. He smiled sadly and said, " Only a 
 general break-up." He takes this to heart, and he is not a 
 strong man like the General. I suppose the dreadful trutli 
 must be told papa shortly. I must manage to be present so as 
 to soothe him. He will be fearfully excited. If I can but 
 hold his hands I may be of some good in keeping him cool. 
 AVhat is to be done about Mrs. Probus ? Dear, good creatui'e, 
 she is bound up with us and cannot live away from us ; and I 
 do not think papa would be happy if he thought she were not 
 in the house ; she understands his little fancies. Then old Mr. 
 Rowley, the coachman, with his red face. Oh, Lucy ! he has 
 been so comfortable here with us, just driving papa out
 
 328 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 every afternoon. Wliat will become of him ? He is too ap;ed 
 to take another situation, and I hear that<:;entlemen are putting 
 clown their carriages everywhere. Then there is ]\Ir. MacCabe, 
 the head-gardener. He has been so civil. I have been afraid 
 of him sometimes. I feared he would scold when I swept the 
 houses of flowers. But he only smiled, though the loss of the 
 cherished blossoms went to his heart, I know. And Jonathan 
 — he has always shown himself so eager to oblige. Lucy ! what 
 trouble he took over that rock work for my Alpine garden, and 
 in piling it up he crushed one of his lingers and lost the nail. 
 And Jane, my maid ! I give her so much trouble ; I am untidy 
 with my things. There, there — I must cry — but it is not for 
 myself ; it is only because we shall have to part with all these 
 nice, kind servants, and because papa will be miserable any- 
 where else, and Uncle Ronald without plenty of room for his 
 lathe, and Saltcombe without his yacht, and his fishing and 
 shooting. He cares for nothing else, and these will be taken 
 from him. He will have Beavis.' 
 
 * Beavis, you may be sure, will cling to him to the last.* 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lady Grace, and she patted her friend's hand, 
 •which she held between her own, and looked thoughtfully 
 before her, ' and your father will always be with mine ! Oh, 
 what a blessing it is to have dear, faithful friends. Let every- 
 thing else go. These precious, golden hearts are above all that 
 the world can give.' After a silence she said reverently, ' And 
 they are God's gift, to comfort us.' Both were affected, and 
 said nothing for several minutes, but Lucy stooped and kissed 
 Lady Grace's hand. 
 
 ' Lucy,' said the latter after awhile, * I thought you told me 
 that Mr. Cheek was going to help us.' 
 
 ' We thought he would, but when it came to the point he 
 drew back, and made ridiculous conditions.' 
 
 ' Surely he had all but promised, had lie not ? ' 
 
 ' 1 cannot say that. My dear father was very sanguine 
 when he returned from town. He told us that he had managed 
 everything beautifully, and that we had no more occasion for 
 anxiety, as our relative, who was a millionaire, would come to 
 the rescue. Dear papa's ducks are all swans, and he is hopeful 
 on the smallest grounds. When !Mr. Cheek came here, he did 
 not even go over the estates, he simply came and went again. 
 He did not even attend the meeting.' 
 
 * But you say he made some sort of offer.' 
 Lucy coloured,
 
 E TENEBEIS LUX. 329 
 
 * I ought not to have said that. Papa mentioned it to me 
 as a secret. He had not told Beavis, as it would have made 
 Beavis furious — and he might not have been civil to Charles 
 any more.' 
 
 ' Of course if you are bound not to tell, I will not press you. 
 Otherwise, I would be glad to know the conditions.' 
 
 ' They were too outrageous to be mentioned,' said Lucy, partly 
 laughing, partly crying. ' It makes me very angry, and yet 
 disposed to laugh, whenever they recur to me.' 
 
 ' You very angry ! you, Lucy ! that would be a new ex- 
 perience to me to see my little friend in a passion ; and Beavis 
 furious — who looks so gentle and collected.' 
 
 ' Enough to make us. If you heard, you would be angry 
 also.' 
 
 ' Tell me, and prove me.' 
 
 ' I am ashamed. Promise me not to say a word to Lord 
 Saltcombe, or Lord Ronald, or the Duke — not to anyone.' 
 
 'No — I will not repeat what you tell me.' 
 
 ' Then you shall hear. That stupid old man, Mr. Cheek, 
 saw how agreeable his son made himself at dinner, and being 
 a blunderhead, he supposed that there was more in his atten- 
 tions to you than ordinary civility. Well ! the dull fellow 
 went home, and told papa he would give two hundred thousand 
 towards clearing the mortgages the day he heard that Charles 
 was accepted by you. Did you ever dream of such audacity ? 
 My father had to exercise great self-restraint to keep from 
 knocking the man down. Some minds are not properly 
 balanced.' 
 
 The blood rushed through Lady Grace's veins, crimsoning 
 her pure face and neck and bosom. Next moment she was as 
 white as a snowdrop. 
 
 ' I must not keep you up any later, Lucy,' she said. * It is 
 time for both of us to go to bed.' 
 
 Lucy looked at her friend with surprise. Not an allusion 
 to what had been said passed her lips. Lucy noticed her pale- 
 ness, and misinterpreted it. ' I have offended you, by telling 
 you of this piece of vulgar presumption. Let the remembrance 
 of it die. I am sorry that I allowed myself to blab the imperti- 
 nent secret.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' answered Lady Grace. ' I thank you for telling 
 me. Kiss me, and go to bed. I want to be alone.' 
 
 Next morning early. Lady Grace entered her brother's 
 room. He was still asleep on the sofa. The shutters were
 
 330 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 shut, and the curtains drawn. The servants had looked in, 
 but had not liked to disturb him. 
 
 His sister partially opened one of the shutters, so that a 
 ray of light entered. Then she drew a chair beside the sofa, 
 and sat down by her brother's head. 
 
 Presently he woke. Her gentle, pitiful, loving eyes, resting 
 on his worn face, had disturbed liini. He looked round and 
 sat up. 
 
 ' Grace ! ' he said, and brushed his hands over his brow to 
 collect his senses. 
 
 ' Yes, dear, I am here.' 
 
 * I thought I was visited by an angel.' 
 
 She was in a light print uiormng gown, her face was pale, 
 and in the dimness of the room might well have been thus 
 mistaken. 
 
 ' Uncle Ronald, Worthivale, and I have been keeping up 
 quite a revel,' he said. 
 
 She looked round ; there were no glasses on the table, but 
 plenty of papers scribbled over with calculations. 
 
 ' This looks sadly dissipated,' he said ; ' I am sorry you see 
 me and my room in such a condition, Grace.' 
 
 ' Oh, Herbert ! do not think to deceive me. I know well 
 what it means. All hope gone. Everything lost. Is it not 
 so?' 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 ' Yes, brother, I know the worst, and I am glad that I do. 
 I have not slept at all. I was sure you and the dear uncles 
 were restless through trouble. I have come to you thus early 
 to set your mind at ease. The house need not be sold, the 
 servants need not receive notice. All is not lost. E tenebris 
 lux.' 
 
 ' I see no light.' 
 
 ' It is coming.' 
 
 ' Who will bring it 1 ' 
 
 ' I daresay I shall.' 
 
 * You, dear sister 1 ' said Lord Saltcombe with a laugh. ' Do 
 you remember the little snipe that supposed it could stay up 
 the heavens with its feet, when the thunder rolled, and it 
 tliouglit they were falling 1 It said, " I, even I, will uphold 
 the skies." '
 
 331 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 LEIGH. 
 
 The Archdeacon left without giving advice. He had no 
 advice that he could give. He looked ill. When Micah had 
 his idols stolen by thievish men of Dan, he beat his breast, and 
 tore his beard, and cried, ' Ye have taken away my gods which 
 I made, and what have I more 1 ' The belief in his family 
 stability had been the deepest fibre in his soul, and now that 
 conviction was torn up, his mind was in collapse. He had re- 
 garded himself as able to assist in every emergency, if not 
 with money, yet with counsel, and now he found himself 
 powerless to avert the impending ruin either with money or 
 with counsel. 
 
 The General wrote letters all day, which he tore up and re- 
 wrote. He looked greyer and older than before, and was 
 silent at meals. Lord Saltcombe placed no reliance on his 
 sister's promise of relief. Whence could it come 1 He knew 
 of no quarter. She had given him no reason for encourage- 
 ment. He attributed her hopes to a natural disposition to 
 look for the best. He deferred breaking the news to the 
 Duke, from his habitual procrastination, of putting off doing 
 what was unpleasant. 
 
 Charles Cheek was still at the Lodge. He could not dis- 
 obey his father, who had insisted on his remaining there, but 
 he was getting mortally weary of the life. Lady Grace 
 exercised over him the same spell, but the countiy life, the 
 want of daily variety, the lack of genial companions of his 
 own age, made him wish himself back in Plymouth. He had 
 no resources in himself, and a man without such resources is 
 only happy in a crowd. 
 
 ' Beavis, old boy,' he said one day, ' I shall give a dinner at 
 the " Duke's Head," and break this frightful monotony. Young 
 Sheepwash and I play at billiai'ds when we do not hunt, and 
 there are one or two other fellows at the club, who are not bad, 
 but stupefied by living out of the world. I feel like a comet 
 getting further and further into outer space. This Kingsbridge 
 is one of life's backwaters where only sticks assemble. I shall 
 give a dinner. I'll ask the Vicar's son. He is a good fellow 
 enough. His father wants him to go into the Church, because 
 the Duke can dispose of some livings, but he wants to go oa
 
 332 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 the stage, which is absurd ; he has no looks and no memory. 
 Can I invite Saltcombe 1 ' 
 
 'You can call him. but will he come 1 I think not ; he is 
 much engaged over unpleasant business, which has put him out 
 of tune.' 
 
 ' Out of tune ! I should think so ; there is no tune in him 
 at all.' 
 
 ' You must excuse him. He has heavy anxieties.' 
 
 * I know that — about money. That is no excuse for moping. 
 I am always in trouble about money, but it never spoils my 
 pitch. Boavis ! you have not heard of my last escapade, and 
 how I got out of it. I lost a hundred pounds on a snail to 
 Captain Finch. I hadn't a hundred pence in my pocket, and 
 he was under orders for India. A girl got me out of my 
 hobble. Little monkey ! It tills me with laughter whenever 
 I think of her. Beavis ! His Grace the Duke of Kingsbridge 
 could not do better than cross the palm of that little witch 
 with silver. She'll help him, if liclp be possible.' 
 
 ' How did you — or she manage it 1 ' 
 
 ' She is a queer piece of goods, very respectable. Not a 
 word against her character. I have had many a joke with her 
 now and then. Well ! — will you believe me"? — she appealed to 
 my father, and threatened breach of promise.' 
 
 ' Had you given her occasion ? Did you like her 1 ' 
 
 ' Like her ! Couldn't help liking her. Such a rogue ! 
 Enough to make one laugh all day. Y''ou never knew where 
 to have her. Well, my father was in a tearing rage, and went 
 down to Plymouth to see her, and bought her off with a 
 hundred pounds.' 
 
 ' What has that to do with your debt ? ' 
 
 * Everything. She enclosed the note by next post, with my 
 compliments to Captain Finch, who was surprised and de- 
 lighted to get the money so expeditiously.' 
 
 ' She kept none of the money 1 ' 
 
 ' Not a farthing.' 
 
 'Is she well off?' 
 
 ' Has not a sixpence.' 
 
 ' Why did she do this ? ' 
 
 ' To help me. Because I christened my snail after her. I 
 wish I could go to Plymouth, and see her again to thank her. 
 It seems shabby not to do so, don't it ? ' 
 
 ' Your father was quite right in insisting that you should 
 stay here.'
 
 LEIGH. 333 
 
 'I carmnot stand it much longer, Beavis. The country 
 was not created for me. Glad I wasn't born in prehistoric 
 periods before towns were. Your father is most kind and 
 good to receive me, and the people at the Court are very 
 hospitable, but I get tired of the same faces, same scenes, 
 same subjects of conversation, day after day. I do not know 
 how I should live without the club and the billiard-table.' 
 
 'You enjoy your Avalks with the ladies.' 
 
 ' I get a certain distance with Lady Grace, but no further.' 
 
 ' Pray how much further do you want to go 1 Pretty well 
 for you to be received into such a house with courtesy.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't you know ? My father and I have settled that 
 she is to become Mrs. Charles — I mean, Lady Grace Cheek.' 
 
 'What an honour!' exclaimed Beavis, sarcastically. 'Pray 
 are the Duke and the lady informed of your intentions ? ' 
 
 ' No, 1 have not had sufficient encouragement.' 
 
 ' Then let me advise you to refrain from communicating 
 the flattering proposal to either, till you have received the re- 
 quisite encouragement.' 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' said the unabashed Charles. ' My 
 governor is set on it. I should like it well enough. When 
 I am with her, I am over head and ears ; when I am away, I 
 am not so sure that she will suit me.' 
 
 ' Have done ! ' exclaimed Beavis. ' This is intolerable.' 
 
 ' Did you ever hear the story of the North Country collier 
 and his son, who were breeding a dog for fighting ? The sou 
 went under the table and barked, and the dog flew at him 
 and bit his nose, and held on as a stoat to a rabbit. The lad 
 screamed to his father to call otf the dog ; but the old fellow 
 said, " Let him bite, lad, let him bite, it'll be the making o' 
 the pup." I think my governor is urging me on in this aflair 
 for the same reason. " It'll be the making of the pup," he says.' 
 
 Beavis's face flushed. He turned his back and walked 
 away. Charles Cheek ran after him. 'There, old fellow, 
 don't take amiss what I have said ; it is only a joke.' 
 
 ' Then joke on some other subject. Lady Grace Eveleigh 
 is sacred.' 
 
 ' By all means,' said young Cheek, ' we'll change the topic. 
 Are you going to the Plymouth ball ? ' 
 
 ' No, I think not.' 
 
 ' Nor Lord Saltcombe, nor her ladyship 1 ' 
 
 ' They never attend.' 
 
 • Well ! — I am off to the Court. We have planned a walk
 
 334 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 to-day to Leigh Priory, wliich they say is pretty ; and we 
 Bhall pick pi-iinroscs and wood anemones on the way. Will 
 you come ? ' 
 
 ' No, I have business.' 
 
 'Thou tliere will be only three of us — tricolor. Lady 
 Grace, Cousin Lucy, and myself. Saltcombe has something to 
 detain him.' 
 
 Beavis nodded. lie was rufiled by what Charles had said, 
 and the swell in his temper would not allay itself at once. 
 Charles walked through the park and joined the ladies. 
 
 Leigh is an old priory converted into a farmhouse ; it is 
 almost as left by the monks when expelled three hundred 
 years ago, with scarce an alteration save the destruction of 
 the church. It stands in a wooded valley, with rich green 
 meadows occupying the l)ottom. A sweet, sheltered nook, 
 basking in the sun — a place in which to dream life away. 
 
 The walk was pleasant, the air soft, the sun bright, the 
 buds of the honeysuckle had burst into leaf, an occasional 
 white butterfly flickered in the way. The woods were 
 speckled with starry wind-flowers, and the edges full of 
 yellow primroses. Here and there the blue periwinkle was 
 spread as a mat. It had escaped originally from the priory 
 garden, as had the snowdrops, and had become wild, like the 
 virtues — simple virtues — of the old monks, which lingered on 
 in the congenial soil of the simple rustic souls of that part of 
 Devon. 
 
 ' I wonder whether there is truth in Sir Henry Spelman's 
 doctrine that Church property carries with it a curse that 
 consumes the lay impropriators,' said Lady Grace, partly to 
 Lucy, partly to herself. ' Leigh has belonged to the Eve- 
 leighs since the dissolution.' 
 
 ' No, Lady Grace,' answered Charles ; ' the cause of decay 
 is generally to be found nearer at hand than in a theft of three 
 centuries.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered, with a sad smile, ' no doubt you are 
 right. We throw back the blame on our remote forefathers, 
 that we may shut our eyes to our own faults. We Eveleighs 
 have but our own improvidence to look to as the cause of our 
 fall. We have not taken warning in time. We let occasion 
 slip, till occasion came no more.' 
 
 * There is no immediate anxiety, I hope,' said the young man. 
 
 'Yes, before the year is out, our doom will be sealed, our 
 ruin published to the whole world.'
 
 LEIGH. 
 
 335 
 
 Lucy looked at her friend with surprise. Hitherto she had 
 not spoken on this subject to a stranger, and now she was 
 courting conversation thereon. 
 
 ' Let us hope for the best,' said Charles. 
 ' It is of no avail hoping. We have cast out the anchor, 
 and there is no bottom in which it will bite. A fig tree in our 
 garden has been failing for some years. Last autumn I pointed 
 it out to old Jonathan. " Please, my lady," he said, " the fig is 
 going home." This spring the wood is dead, and Jonathan is 
 stubbing up the roots. " He's gone home, as I said," was his 
 remark. Well ! the old tree of Eveleigh is also going home, 
 and next year we shall be stubbed up out of Court Royal, and 
 gone home altogether.' 
 
 Young Cheek did not relish a dismal subject. He tried to 
 brighten the conversation by changing the topic. 
 
 ' Do you ever go to the Plymouth balls 1 They are select 
 and good.' 
 
 ' I have not been for some years. At one time, but not 
 since Saltcombe has not cared to attend.' 
 
 ' Won't you come to the next, at Easter ? ' 
 Lady Grace paused, looked down, and said, 'If you 
 wish it.' 
 
 Lucy started, glanced at her timidly, and coloured. Even 
 Charles was surprised. He said quickly, ' Wish it ! It will 
 crown the ball with perfection. Oh ! Lady Grace, how de- 
 lightful ! Then Lucy also will come, and, no doubt. Lord 
 Saltcombe also. That will be charming indeed ! How pleased 
 the Plymouth people will be ! ' 
 
 Charles Cheek found a bank of blue borage and pink 
 crane's-bill, and. some golden celandine — the two former had 
 lingered through the mild winter, untouched by frost. He 
 made two little bouquets, and presented one to each of the 
 ladies. On their way home the conversation reverted to the 
 family troubles. Lucy was puzzled. She did not say much ; 
 she left the other two to talk. Her mind was engaged wonder- 
 ing at her friend's manner, which seemed changed. 
 
 ' I wish — oh ! how I wish,' said Lady Grace, ' that there 
 were some means by which our ruin might be averted. I would 
 do much — I would do anything that lay in my own power — to 
 save my dear father the sorrow, and to give my brother a 
 chance of beginning life again, uncrushed by the consciousness 
 of the impending Gotterdammerung. The knowledge of what 
 was coming has blighted his life, once so bright with promise.'
 
 336 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Charles looked intently in her face, 
 
 ' Do you really mean this, Lady Grace?' 
 
 ' What I say, I mean,' she answered, with a sliglit tremor 
 in her voice. 
 
 Lucy, frightened, looked at her, and saw two fiery spots in 
 her cheeks. 
 
 'I have no pride. If it lay with mc, I would sacrifice 
 myself, were my sacrifice worth anything to anyone.' 
 
 ' Lady Grace ! ' 
 
 No more was said. They Avere in the park. They saw 
 Lord Eonald walking towards thorn, without his hat, his white 
 hair raised by the Avind. He was looking excited. 
 
 ' I want you, Grace. There is a telegram — from Edward. 
 No, I do not mean that — about your Uncle Edward. A tele- 
 gram from Glastonbury, from Elizabeth ; come in. Saltcombe 
 and I must be off immediately. The carriage is being got 
 ready without delay. We must catch the 7.40 up train. 
 That, however, sticks at Exeter, and we shall have to waste 
 over an hour of precious time on the platform. It cannot be 
 helped, though the Duke urges our telegraphing for a special.' 
 
 ' What is it 1 — Oh, uncle ! ' exclaimed Lady Grace, with 
 fluttering. heart, 'toll me the worst — is he V 
 
 ' No, not that,' answered Lord Eonald hastily, but he 
 turned his head aside and wiped his eyes ; ' whilst there is life 
 there is hope. A seizure. How severe, the telegram, that is, 
 Elizabeth, does not say. Saltcombe and I are requested to 
 hurry to Sleepy Hollow. The wording is short. Elizabeth 
 might have been fuller. Wo have not told the Duke all ; 
 only that we are wanted, and that — that Edward is unwell. 
 That has made him uneasy. You must go to him, and pacify 
 him, and in an hour or so show him the telegram. I am 
 afraid, Grace, that this is a serious case. How blows do fall 
 one after another ! and Edward the one man of the family on 
 whom one leaned ! My God ! if we lose him, what shall — 
 what shall we do 1 ' 
 
 As Charles parted with them at the door, Lady Grace said 
 to him, in a sad, plaintive voice, ' I am sorry I cannot keep 
 my promise. You sec the reason. I cannot attend the ball.' 
 
 That evening, in her room, Lucy said to her, ' Oh, Grace ! 
 what am I to understand 1 You gave Mr. Cheek such 
 encouragement ! After that — he will be daring to ask for 
 your hand.' 
 
 ' If he docs I will give it him.'
 
 337 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 THE FALL OF A PILLAR. 
 
 Lord Ronald and the ISIarquess reached Bridgewater at mid- 
 night. There they engaged a fly, and drove across country 
 to Sleepy Hollow. The drive was long. There was no train 
 so late from Highbridge to Glastonbury, consequently they 
 had no choice. When they drew up at the rectory door the 
 hour was early in the morning, and the first streaks of dawn 
 appeared. A light was in an upper window. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth appeared. She had expected them, and 
 sat up ; she was calm and collected. Lord Edward was no 
 more. He had not recovered from his stroke. The arch- 
 deaconry of Wellington, a canonry in Glastonbury, and the 
 rectory of Sleepy Hollow, were open for eager applicants. 
 
 A bright fire was burning in the study, and the table was 
 laid near it. The cook was up, and a smell of mutton-chops 
 pervaded the house. 
 
 ' Will you have some hot wine and water, or stout 1 ' asked 
 Lady Elizabeth. ' Dear old man. He seemed to know me. 
 I held his hand, and he pressed it when I spoke to him. There 
 is Worcester sauce, if you like it. He seemed very unlike 
 himself when he returned from Court Royal. I am afraid he 
 over-exerted his brain. I know you all thought him very 
 clever. I always considered him very good. There is cold 
 rabbit pie, if you prefer it ; but I have no doubt you are 
 chilly, and would like what is hot. At this hour there is no 
 choice — chops and mashed potatoes, or cold meat. There was 
 a worry, moreover, about repairs. Nothing has been done to 
 the house for some time — in fact, we have not had the money 
 to execute necessary repairs. Now we . shall have a terrible 
 bill for dilapidations. ' Edward got a builder to go over the 
 roof with him, because the rain came in. I think he caught a 
 chill, and being below par he succumbed. He was a very 
 good man, and so dear to me ! ' Lady Elizabeth began to cry. 
 ' I know the chops are tender,' she said, after having wiped her 
 eyes. ' One of our own sheep — we killed on ISIonday. I do not 
 know why it is that when we buy mutton we give tenpence to 
 tenpence-halfpenny, and when we sell we get only sixpence. We 
 could not eat aW the sheep ourselves, so what we did not want
 
 338 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 was sold to our workmen and parishioners. Edward let thorn 
 have it at sixpence. He was so kind — so over-kind. He 
 was easily imposed upon. He did not sufficiently consider 
 himself.' Presently, after another suflusion of tears, ' You 
 must eat. There is ground rice in a shape, and straw beny jam. 
 I know you are unhappy. You loved Edward. So did I ; 
 but we are human, and must care for our bodies. Eat, eat, 
 Ronald. Finish that bottle ; you shall have another uncoi'ked 
 in a minute. That insufterable curate of ours has mounted 
 the blue ribbon. The last woi'd I heard him murmur was 
 "Ichabod;" that means "The glory is departed." I am 
 alluding to Edward, not the curate. I thouglit he wanted to 
 leave me a message. His lips moved, though his eyes were 
 closed, so I leaned over him and said, " Yes, Edward, dear, 
 what is it 1 " Then he sighed heavily, and pressed my hand, 
 and opened his eyes, and said, " Ichabod ! " I believe after 
 tliat he had not a conscious moment. Never mind, Ronald, 
 the gravy has not gone through.' This referred to a spill of 
 the juice from the chops on the tablecloth. The General's 
 hand liad trembled as he helped himself to the gravy. ' I 
 tliink you had better not see him to-night. Pie looks so sweet 
 and peaceful, as if he were tw(!nty years younger. Dear, dear 
 fellow ! What shall I do without him ? You had better lie 
 down ; do go to bed for a few houi'S. You shall not bo dis- 
 turbed ; you have had a long and harassing journey, and you, 
 Ronald, at your time of life, cannot bear these strains like the 
 young. Now, of course, notliing can be done. If he had 
 lived till your arrival it would have been different. Your 
 beds are aired, have no fear ; and there are fires in your 
 rooms.' 
 
 Lord Ronald and the Marquess remained till after the 
 funeral. The funeral was conducted Antli some state ; Lord 
 Edward was an Archdeacon, Canon of the Cathedral of Glas- 
 tonbury, and last, but not least, son of a Puko. All the prin- 
 cipal clergy and gentry of the neighbourhood attended, and 
 tlie parishioners showed and wept, the women especially. 
 "Would the next rector let them have his mutton at sixpence 1 
 
 Tlie Hon. Cadogan Square, l:»rotlier of Lady Elizabeth, was 
 there. The Squares were a great legal family, the head of 
 which had been created a peer. 
 
 When the Archdeacon's will was read, it was found that 
 he left all his personalty to his wife, five hundred pounds to 
 the Cathedral of Glastonbury, five hundred to the widows and
 
 THE FALL OF A PILLAR. 339 
 
 orphans of the diocese, four hundred to the County Hospital, 
 one hundred to the S.P.G., and one hundred to the C.M.S. 
 All the rest of his property was to go to his niece Grace. 
 But when his affairs were looked into, it was further dis- 
 covered that his real property had been got rid of, sunk in the 
 gi'eat Kingsbridge vortex in loan upon loan. Further, it 
 was discovered that dilapidations on the rectory, and the 
 chancel, and some cottages on the glebe, would amount to a 
 thousand pounds, which the widow would be called upon by 
 that horse-leech Queen Anne to pay. 
 
 It was further discovered that Lord Edward was several 
 hundred pounds in arrear to the Glastonbury Bank. Also, 
 that the butcher's bill (mutton never below tenpence) for the 
 last eighteen months was unpaid, and amounted to one hundred 
 and forty pounds four shillings and five pence thi'ee farthings. 
 The grocer's bill for the last two years had been a running 
 account, with running discharges of a few pounds at random ; 
 the wine merchant's had not been attempted to be paid except 
 by fresh orders. Lord Ronald was executor. It cost him fifty 
 pounds to prove a will which left nothing to anybody but 
 debts. The Madras Railway bonds had been sold a week 
 before the death of the Archdeacon, and what had become of 
 the money nobody knew. No money was found in the house, 
 except thirteen shillings and sixpence, the proceeds of the sale 
 of part of the sheep to parishioners, at sixpence per pound. 
 
 Lord Ronald was obliged to write to the Duke to entreat 
 him to send him some money to cover immediate expenses. This 
 the Duke was fortunately able to do out of the proceeds of the 
 JMadras Railway bonds, which had gone to him, and he had 
 given the Archdeacon a note of hand for the amount, which 
 somehow could not be found. 
 
 Most fortunately the club accounts, and the church accounts, 
 were in perfect order, as were those of the diocesan societies of 
 which the Archdeacon was treasurer. This was only so 
 because these were managed by Lady Elizabeth, who kept all 
 the money received in green baize bags, properly labelled, in a 
 locked cupboard, suspended to pegs, like Bluebeard's wives. 
 The cui'ate, however, had not received his salary for the last 
 half-year. The servants had all been paid recently. Lady 
 Elizabeth discharged their wages out of her private purse. 
 Unfortunately for the curate, she did not pay his. As soon as 
 he was able to get away. Lord Ronald returned to Court 
 Royal. He had been very warmly attached to his brother 
 
 z2
 
 340 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Edward, Avhora he had reverenced as a pillar of orthodoxy — a 
 pillar ho was, like that of Pompey, supporting Notliing — and 
 an ultimate appeal in all matters of difficulty relating to the 
 farms. Lord Ronald was a man with a very gentle, tender 
 heart, and Edward had been associated with his happy boyish 
 days. They had been at school together ; they had been com- 
 panions in the holidays together. In after life, Ronald had 
 always made of his brother Edward his closest friend and 
 confidant, and adviser. Consequently the death of the Arch- 
 deacon shook the old man profoundly. The troubles and 
 difficulties involved in his executorship bewildered and de- 
 pressed him. 
 
 The Duke was shocked to see how altered he was when he 
 returned to Court Royal. He lost his memory now and then, 
 and seemed dazed, and had to hold his hand to his head to 
 recollect himself. His face was more lined, his hair whiter, it 
 looked thinner ; he was less carefully dressed, and his hands 
 shook. His back was bent, and his tread had lost its firmness. 
 
 The Duke clasped his brother's hand. 'You have felt the 
 loss of Edward severely, Ronald. So have I. Dear, good, 
 loving soul, full of honour and charity ! And what a brain ! 
 clear, sound, well balanced. He ought to have been a bishop. 
 Well ! the world of this nineteenth century was not worthy of 
 him. There is one great and good man the less, the like of 
 whom will not be met with again.' 
 
 After a pause he continued : ' I do not know what we are 
 coming to. The spirit of the age has affected our excellent 
 Worthivale. He demurred to my putting all the servants in 
 mourning. He said the expense would be so great, as all the 
 men must have new black liveries, and the women each a pair 
 of black gowns and a bonnet apiece. I overrode his objections. 
 I have no patience with this peddling spirit of retrenchment, 
 whether in the affairs of the nation or of this house. It would 
 be a scandal not to go into mourning for Lord Edward. The 
 expense is unavoidable. I presume he has left a handsome 
 sum behind him. I think you told me in your letter that he 
 had left everything, except a few trifles in charity, to Grace. 
 As for Elizabeth, she is provided for by her marriage settle- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' I am afraid Grace's chance of getting anything is very 
 small,' said the General ; ' and we shall be hard put to, to find 
 money for the charities. I don't quite know what is to be 
 done about the debts — is Elizabeth to pay them ? They p,re
 
 THE FALL OF A PILLAR. 341 
 
 heavy. As for the charities, they amount to sixteen hundred 
 pounds, and this we must find; if we do not find it vohmtarily, 
 the Dean and Chapter, and the ofiicers of the Widows and 
 Orphans, and Propagation of Heathens, and Church Missionary 
 can force us. It would be a scandal ' 
 
 ' My dear Ronald, everything shall be paid at once. I shall 
 see Worthivale to-day.' 
 
 ' Let Saltcombe and me settle that,' said the General. Do 
 not concern yourself further in this matter. I do not know 
 whether Saltcombe has spoken to you about the mortgages on 
 Court Royal and Kingsbridge. They have to be met very 
 speedily. Indeed, time is flying, and the money must be raised. 
 I have been thinking — what do you say, Duke, to the sale of 
 Kingsbridge House ? It is of no manner of use to you 
 now ? ' 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! ' The Duke rose in his chair. * Do I hear 
 you aright ? The sale of Kingsbridge House ? Your wits are 
 leaving you, Ronald. How can we sell that ? We must have 
 a town house. Why, Saltcombe will be marrying — he may be 
 Duke shortly, and then he must spend the season in London. 
 No, not another word of that. The Duke without a town resi- 
 dence ! like a foreign yellow-backed book, published without a 
 cover ! ' 
 
 ' We cannot make bricks without straw,' murmured the 
 General. 
 
 ' How, bricks without straw ? ' asked the Duke, testily. 
 
 ' We are in a condition in which we do not know where to 
 look for money, and yet we have to pay Edward's bequests, 
 some at least of his debts, and the mortgages on the very heart 
 of the property. 
 
 ' Worthivale will manage it.' 
 
 ' Worthivale cannot work miracles. The Alvinston mort- 
 gages are also called in, and the Loddiswell threatened.' 
 
 ' Send Saltcombe to me. We will arrange for a fresh mort- 
 gage, or get these transferred. They have been transferred 
 already — at least some of them.' 
 
 'But more money must be found, and a transfer is not easy 
 in these unsettled times. The property is burdened beyond 
 what it can bear in prosperous times.' 
 
 The Duke bit his lips and frowned. ' We have managed 
 very well hitherto, and we shall manage in the future.' 
 
 ' We have managed in the way of the ostrich — the family 
 crest, and not an inappropriate one — by putting our heads into
 
 342 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 a bush, and thinking, because we see no danger, that none 
 menaces.' 
 
 ' Really, Ronald, your anxiety as executor to Edward's will 
 has ruffled your temper.' 
 
 * Not a bit. Something must be done, and I do not know 
 what to do, now Edward is gone. I expected Saltcombe to 
 have told you all — he undertook to do so. As he has failed, I 
 must. Emmanuel's mortgages must be paid at once — those of 
 Moses and Levi within three months — bills have been called 
 in, which we must meet. Here are our debts to Edward, which 
 must be cancelled within a twelvemonth, and the charitable 
 societies satisfied. It will never do for them to say that the 
 poor and the heathen have been cheated of a few pounds by 
 the noble house of Kingsbridge. Then there is the Loddiswell 
 mortgage — and others that are sure to come.' 
 
 ' These things right themselves,' said the Duke. ' " Tout 
 vient k celui qui sait attendre." Let Saltcombe take those 
 troubles off your mind.' 
 
 ' Saltcombe is prepared to sell.' 
 
 'To that I will never consent.' 
 
 * If you will not sell voluntarily, the mortgagees will sell 
 from under your feet.' 
 
 ' Nonsense. Worthivale will satisfy them all without their 
 coming to extremities ; besides, if it did come to that — well — 
 rather be robbed than voluntarily alienate the patrimony of our 
 ancestors.' 
 
 ' Look here, Duke. Let us sell those Rubens at Kingsbridgo 
 House. Some of them arc scarcely decent — fat nude females 
 and satyrs tumbling amid goats, and peaches, and grapes, and 
 cherubs, and red and blue drapery, which is everywhere except 
 where it ought to be. One of them, you know, is covered Avith 
 a curtain. Of what good to us are these pictures 1 Let them 
 be sold. They are worth a great deal of money, and we should 
 be thankful to be rid of such voluptuous nightmares.' 
 
 'They were presented to the Field -Marshal by the grateful 
 City of Antwerp. They are heirlooms. They have a history. 
 They have been engraved. We cannot part with them.' 
 
 * There is a quantity of old plate here — I should say tons 
 of it, which is never used. Why should not that be sold 1 ' 
 
 ' For the best possible reason, that each piece has a history. 
 Rome were presented for services rendered, others are works of 
 high art, some came to us through distinguished marriages. No, 
 the plate cannot be parted with.'
 
 THE FALL OF A PILLAR. 343 
 
 * Then the books. There are perches of volumes in the 
 library no one ever looks into, some, doubtless, valuable ; pos- 
 sibly some unique. Let us have down a London bookseller to 
 value them, and if need be, purchase them. Which of us cares 
 for old books now 1 ' 
 
 ' They are all bound and impressed with our arms on the 
 covers, or have our bookplates inside. I cannot endure the 
 thought of them finding their way into the libraries of common 
 Dicks and Harries. No — the books must not be sold.' 
 
 ' There is the family jewelry. There are magnificent sets 
 of diamonds and other stones, never worn. Let them be dis- 
 posed of.' 
 
 ' Not on any account. Saltcombe may marry, and his wife 
 will need our jewelry. You would not have a Duchess of 
 Kingsbridge without her diamonds ? ' 
 
 ' I give it up,' said the General, distractedly, with liis hand 
 to his head. 
 
 ' My dear Ronald,' said the Duke, ' if we are to go down, 
 which I will not for one moment admit, let us sink like Rienzi 
 and his sister in the last scene of the opera, amid falling pil- 
 lars of Church and State, of the moral and social order. I see on 
 all sides threatenings of the dissolution of the bases of society. 
 It may be that we, in England, will go through throes like 
 those of the Revolution in France. It looks like it. All that 
 we honour and hold sacred is menaced. There is no security 
 anywhere. In the general social upheaval and constitutional 
 overthrow, we may be crushed, but do not let us contribute to 
 our own fall.' 
 
 ' I want to avert it,' exclaimed the General. 
 
 ' Listen to me. I must trouble you not to interrupt me. 
 There is one thing of which, if we be true to ourselves, we can 
 never be despoiled — our dignity. Let us maintain that. Let 
 us combat the powers of evil — I mean the democracy ' 
 
 ' But this is not a case of democracy at all, but of debt,' 
 interrupted the General. 
 
 ' You are again snapping the thread of my argument,' 
 said the Duke, oflfended ; ' and now I don't know where I was, 
 it has shrunk out of reach like a ruptured tendon. Do not 
 let us cast away what is ours, as sops to Cerberus, to facilitate 
 an Avernan descent.' 
 
 ' What about the charitable bequests 1 The honour of the 
 family is at stake.' 
 
 ' Where the honour of the family is menaced, it must be
 
 344 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 maintained at all cost. " L'honneur avant la vie." But I can 
 see no dignity in the lizard, which when pursued slips joint 
 after joint of his tail, and is content if he lives, a maimed and 
 despicable trunk.' 
 
 Lord Ronald was trifling with a bronze lizard paper-weight 
 on the table as the Duke spoke, and his Grace's eyes were on 
 it. ' There is something to me unspeakably contemptible in 
 attempting to conciliate the masses by dropping privilege after 
 privilege, and selling estate after estate to satisfy Jewish 
 money-lenders — it is all the same.' lie paused, still looking at 
 the lizard. * I do not see how it is possible that Edward can 
 have left so little. He had a good income from several 
 quarters, and Elizabeth was not penniless.' 
 
 * He has left nothing but debts.' 
 
 * What sort of debts ? ' 
 
 ' Butcher's bill, grocer, shoemaker, clerical tailor, fruiterer 
 — I cannot tell you all. There is quite a commotion among 
 the shopkeepers of Glastonbury ; they think they will be done 
 out of their money.' 
 
 The Duke reddened. ' Done out of their money ! Non- 
 sense, Ronald ! With me to fall back on 'i Write to them at 
 once. I make myself solely responsible for all my brother's 
 debts. Every man shall be paid, and paid promptly.' 
 
 Lord Ronald still stood playing with the bronze lizard. 
 
 ' Well ! ' said the Duke, looking up, ' that settles every- 
 thing, I trust.' 
 
 ' But whence is the money to come 1 ' 
 
 ' My dear fellow, I cannot attend to such trifles. Worthi- 
 vale will manage that. Let him have the figures.' 
 
 ' And the charities 1 ' 
 
 ' All shall be paid — to the fraction of a penny.* 
 
 ' But how 1 ' 
 
 'That is not your affair. It can be done, of course. I 
 pledge myself to pay.' 
 
 The General sighed. ' Oh, Edward ! Edward ! ' he moaned, 
 as he walked away more dispirited than when he entered the 
 room. ' Only your genius could now disperse the cloud of 
 difhcultics ! And you are gone. One pillar is fallen, and the 
 whole building will go to pieces.'
 
 345 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 AN APRIL FOOL. 
 
 A GREAT change had come over Lazarus. Whether it dated 
 from the sprouting of the moustache, or from the conference 
 at Court Royal, and the final imposition of terms on the great 
 family, could not be determined by Joanna with nicety. She 
 thought that the change began with the moustache and 
 ripened after the latter event. Lazarus Avas elate. Old 
 Cheek had retired without interference, and now that his 
 heart was lifted up, he was more liberal than when he con- 
 sented to an occasional bloater. Indeed this liberal tendency 
 had swelled into large proportions. He had not shrunk from 
 saddle of mutton with onion sauce, nor from fillet of veal with 
 stuffing, nor from sirloin of beef and Yorkshire pudding — only 
 at pork he had drawn a line, for he was strict in his Hebraic 
 prejudices. 
 
 ' Have pig's puddings if you like, Joanna. Don't let my 
 inclinations bar your way — yet, perhaps, such is the delicacy of 
 your feelings, you don't like to eat and see me fast.' He spoke 
 thickly, making strange efforts Avith his mouth to get out the 
 words. 
 
 ' What is the matter with you, Mr. Lazarus ? Your speech 
 
 is queer, and your appearance changed ' Joanna stopped 
 
 short, and stared. Lazarus opened his mouth. He had pro- 
 vided himself with a double set of artificial teeth. 
 
 * I thought I'd electrify you,' he said. ' Yes — I've had my 
 jaw taken in hand by an artist — a dentist. Cost me a lot of 
 money, Joanna, the charge was outrageous — a fancy price as for 
 an object of vertu. But, so long as it pleases you, I don't care.' 
 
 ' I wish,' said Joanna, ' that you'd be more particular about 
 your hair, Mr. Lazarus. You make your pillow as black as if 
 you used your head for a flue brush.' 
 
 Lazarus looked down. 
 
 ' You used to have grey hair.' 
 
 'Not grey,' said the Jew ; 'just a speckle here and there — 
 like wood anemones in a grove.' 
 
 ' But now your hair is glossy black. Don't use your head 
 again on the chimney. If you object to a sweep I will use a 
 holly bush.'
 
 346 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' It is not that,' lie said, humbly. 
 
 * Tlien what is it T 
 
 ' Dye,' he replied, with deepened colour, — a coppery blush. 
 • Dye that cost me five shillings. I've gone through a course 
 of Zylobalsamum and Eau des Fees. There, Joanna, if I 
 blacken my ])illo\vcase I am sorry. Henceforth I'll tie a 
 black silk handkerchief round my head when I retire to bed.' 
 
 ' What was that concern I found on the chair in your 
 room, this morning ? ' 
 
 ' My stays,' whispered the Jew. 
 
 * Stays ! ' echoed Joanna. 
 
 ' Call it corset,' said Lazarus. * It sounds more aristocratic. 
 My figure wants it.' 
 
 ' \\' hat next ? ' asked Joanna contemptuously. ' Are you 
 coming out in knickerbockers and a Norfolk blouse ?' 
 
 ' I don't like irony,' said the Jew ; ' it hurts my feelings, 
 which are ticklish as the soles of my feet. Joanna ! what say 
 you to a picnic ? A jaunt to Prince's Town, on the moors in 
 this brilliant spring weather, and a look at the convicts — so as 
 to combine moral edification with pleasure ? ' 
 
 ' I should like it.' 
 
 ' You shall have it. Express a wish, and I fly to fulfil it. 
 I have even forestalled your wishes. I've invited the old lady 
 from the ham and sausage shop to join us as a sort of chaperon, 
 you understand.' 
 
 ' When is this to be ? ' 
 
 ' On Sunday, when no business is doing. A carriage and 
 pair, in style. It will cost a lot, too, but what of that, if it 
 give Joanna pleasure, and the mountain air bring roses to her 
 cheeks, and the sight of tlie prisoners inspire her heart with 
 virtue.' 
 
 ' Why have you invited iSlrs. Thresher ? ' 
 
 ' As a chaperon. But,' Avith a chuckle, ' if it would suit 
 you better, Joanna, to come alone with me, I'm — as I always 
 am and must be — agreeable. The weight will be less for the 
 horses. The ham and sausage woman weighs ten stone before 
 her dinner. Not that we shall be charged less for going without 
 her — but we shall have to feed her out of our pockets. There 
 is that to be considered. If I order a dinner at six shillings, 
 and there are only ourselves to eat it, we shall consume three- 
 shillings' worth each, whereas if Mrs. Thresher comes we shall 
 be limited to two. That has to be considered. However, it 
 is for you to decide. I'll regulate my appetite by your decision.'
 
 AN APRIL FOOL. 347 
 
 As Joanna said nothing, he added, ' There is another point 
 worth weighing. If the ham and sausage lady comes, I must 
 sit with my back to the horses ; that makes me biKous, and 
 spoils my relish of the victuals. Where you pay you expect 
 to relish. It wouldn't be etiquette to set a lady rearwards 
 to the horses, would it 1 But no — I'll manage. We'll have a 
 wagonette ! ' 
 
 ' There's one thing I should like above every other,' said 
 Joanna ; ' that is, to go to the ball.' 
 
 ' The ball ! But I can't be there.' 
 
 ' That M'ill not affect my pleasure. You have spoiled my 
 fun more than once. I was to have gone to a grand dance at 
 Court Royal, but could not, because of your affairs. Now the 
 spring ball is about to come off, and I should dearly love to be 
 there.' 
 
 Lazarus rubbed his head, and looked at the palm of his 
 hand, upon which the dye had come off. 
 
 ' Joanna,' he said, ' you don't consider. These balls are 
 very select ; only ladies of the county families, and the wives 
 and daughters of officers. No second-rate parties there ' 
 
 ' I don't want to go to any second-rate affair. The best, or 
 none at all.' 
 
 ' But I don't see my way to manage it. You'd want a 
 chaperon, and the old lady from the ham and sausage shop is 
 not quite, as the French put it, cream of the cream.' 
 
 ' I remember that you once told Mr. Charles Cheek that 
 you could send me to any ball you had a mind to, and no lady 
 dare refuse you.' 
 
 ' I was romancing,' said the Jew : ' I'm by nature an 
 Oriental, and prone to soar into poetry.' 
 
 ' I will go,' said Joanna decisively. 
 
 ' I can't find the way to do it,' answered Lazarus. 
 
 ' Yery well ; go to the moors with Mrs. Thresher, eat your 
 three-shillingsworth. I will remain behind.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no, Joanna ! I've set my heart on this excursion.* 
 
 ' And I have set mine on the ball.' 
 
 ' I'll see about it,' muttered the Jew. 
 
 ' I shall not give a thought to the moors. You need have 
 no di'ead of sitting with your back to the horses. You can 
 lounge in the back seat with INIrs. Thresher.' 
 
 ' Joanna ! I would not go without you. My body would 
 be on Dai'tmoor, but my soul would remain at the Barbican. 
 If you could see inside my heart,' he said in a pathetic tone,
 
 348 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' you'd behold your own self curled up there — like a maggot 
 ill a hazel-nut. But there, I'm launcliing into poetry again.' 
 
 Joanna vouchsafed no remark. He sat and watched her, 
 but she showed no symptoms of relenting. 
 
 ' I'm not now what I once was/ he went on, ' Then I had 
 an object before me for which I toiled and stinted. Now that 
 object is attained, and I need stint and toil no more. Hither- 
 to life has been to both of us a time of privation, now it shall 
 become a holiday. I will deny you nothing on which your 
 heart is set. I have money in abundance, and as you have 
 helped me to make it, you must help me to spend it. If you 
 want rings, take them from my drawer. Chains and bracelets 
 are at your disposal. Select what gowns you like, they are all 
 yours.' 
 
 ' Go to bed,' said Joanna ; ' the whisky has got into your 
 old head.' 
 
 After that she would not speak to him. He made many 
 attempts to draw her into conversation, but all failed. When 
 lie was about to retire to rest, he stood in the doorway, the 
 picture of distress, and sighed, and said in a soft tone, ' Good- 
 night, Joanna.' 
 
 She poked the kitchen fire savagely, and said nothing. 
 
 ' Won't you say "good-night " to me who've been bo kind 
 to you ? ' 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 ' I'll think about the ball, Joanna.* 
 
 Still obdurate. 
 
 ' You — you shall go to the ball, Joanna.* 
 
 ' Good-night, Mr. Lazarus.' 
 
 The change in the Jew's manner caused the girl uneasiness. 
 She was shrewd enough to see what it meant. He had fallen 
 in love with her after a peculiar fashion. For a long time he 
 liad used her as a drudge, as a mere slave, without compunction 
 what he laid upon her and how hard he treated her. By 
 degrees he came to realise the value of her services, and he 
 began to ask himself what would become of him were they 
 withdrawn. Where could he find a substitute ? She had 
 grown into his ways, to understand his requirements, almost to 
 think his thoughts. She had been educated in the business 
 and comprehended it thoroughly in all its parts and turns. 
 Then, when he had come to appreciate her worth to him, 
 Charles Cheek appeared on the stage, admiring her, hanging 
 about the house, and threatening, as the Jew feared, to carry
 
 AN APRIL FOOL. 349 
 
 her off. Alarmed at the prospect of losing her, his eyes opened 
 to the fact that she was grown to be a woman, and a beautiful 
 woman. He grew jealous of the visits of young Cheek, and 
 jealousy, bred in self-interest, awoke a sort of monkey-love in 
 the old man. His wife was dead and he was free. 
 
 Joanna did not, perhaps, read all that passed in his mind, 
 but she read enough to be uncomfortable in his presence, and to 
 repel his advances with decision. 
 
 She used his infatuation as far as served her purposes, but 
 she kept him well at bay. Several times when they were 
 together, she noticed that he was working himself up to a 
 declaration of his sentiments. The sure sign of this was his 
 helping himself repeatedly to the spirit-bottle. When he did 
 this the girl left the kitchen, and did not return till his courage 
 had evaporated. 
 
 Formerly the Jew had drunk nothing but water, only 
 occasionally mixed with whisky. Of late he had enlarged his 
 doses, not of water, but of whisky. He sometimes pressed her 
 to take hot spirits and water, to sip some from his glass, on the 
 pretext that she had taken a chill, but she steadily, even 
 rudely, refused. 
 
 Lazarus was disagreeable enough in his earlier bearish 
 mood, he Avas worse in his later loving mood ; and, in spite of 
 the increased comfort in the house, Joanna would gladly have 
 returned to the former state of affairs, to be freed from his un- 
 gainly and irksome amiabilities. 
 
 Joanna was not happy. She had not seen Charles Cheek 
 for some time, nor heard more of him than a report brought by 
 Lazarus, that he had been to his father and that the old man 
 had forbidden his return to Plymouth, the scene of so many 
 follies. 
 
 The day fixed for the excursion to Prince's Town broke 
 brilliantly. 
 
 Dartmoor is a high barren region, rising from two to three 
 thousand feet above the sea, towering into granite peaks, 
 broken by brawling torrents. In the heart of this desolate 
 region, and in the most desolate jDortion, in a boggy basin 
 devoid of picturesqueness, stands the convict prison of Prince's 
 Town, above the line where corn will ripen and deciduous 
 trees will grow ; often enveloped in vapoui', exposed to every 
 raging blast from the ocean. 
 
 To pass from the warm, steamy atmosphere of Plymouth to 
 the cqM and bracing air of Prince's Town, is almost a leap
 
 350 COURT KOYAL. 
 
 from tlio hot into the frozen zone. The drive vas dolishtful. 
 Joanna and ^Irs. Thrcslier sat facing tlie horses, and the latter 
 talked of the drop in the price of pork and the quality of 
 imported liacon, during the greater part of the journey. The 
 Jew occupied the position that disagreed with him. Joanna 
 entreated him to change seats with her, but his gallantry was 
 proof against her solicitations. He cast yellow, malevolent 
 glances at ]Mrs. Thresher, who made no such ofler, which, had 
 it been made, he would have accepted. He maintained his 
 place, sitting sideways, and his face became momentarily more 
 sallow. He wore a straw nautical hat, with a l)luo riband 
 about it with fluttci-ing ends, and in golden characters on the 
 front, an anchor and the name ' Nausicaa.' His black vest was 
 very open, exhibiting a starched white front set with coral 
 studs, and a black tie a la Byron slipped through a cornelian 
 ring. Over his waistcoat dangled a massive golden chain, and 
 his lingers were covered with rings. 
 
 As the unfortunate man became really unwell, the ladies 
 insisted on his mounting the bo.K. ' But then,' said he gal- 
 lantly, 'I am turning my back on the finest view,' and he 
 bowed to Joanna and raised his cap, exposing a very discoloured 
 lining. 
 
 Joanna enjoyed the drive, especially that part of it when 
 Lazarus was not opposite her, getting yellow in face and grey 
 in lip. 
 
 8he did not talk to I\Irs. Thresher ; she was not interested 
 in American bacon ; she was engaged in looking about her, at 
 the views, the hedges, the rocks, the rushing stream that 
 danced and feathered over the granite boulders. The hedges 
 were starred with primroses. Here and there they were white, 
 and here and there pink. The larks were singing and twinkling 
 high aloft, the busy rooks were cawing and Hashing in the sun- 
 light, looking sometimes white. From the beech-groves came 
 the liquid coo of the doves, and the gush of the throstle's song, 
 and the fluting of blackbirds. Nature teemed with music, 
 poetry, and the exuberance of life. Only one thing lacked, 
 thought the girl, to make the day perfect : Charles Cheek 
 should have been there with his joyous humour and lively 
 prattle. At length they reached Prince's Town, and ordered 
 dinner at the inn. Whilst the meal was in preparation, the 
 holiday makers wandered about the prison, and watched the 
 warders and the convicts. 
 
 'This is very improving,' said Lazarus. 'It screws up our
 
 AN APRIL FOOL. 351 
 
 morals like the tuning of fiddles. You see, Joanna, the 
 miserable end of men who allow themselves to be found out.' 
 
 After dinner, Joanna slipped away, to be alone in the wilder- 
 ness, and inhale with long draughts the sparkling air that pours 
 into the lungs like atmospheric champagne. She climbed a 
 height, and ensconced herself among the piles of granite, away 
 from the cold wind, in the glow of the glorious sun. To the 
 south lay Plymouth harbour and the glittering sea. Fold on 
 fold of blue hill stretching away for miles to the rugged peaks 
 of the Cornish moors lay to her right. 
 
 As she sat in her nook, believing herself alone, she was dis- 
 tui'bedby a head with asailor hat protruding itself from behind 
 a rock. In another moment, Lazarus was before her. He 
 thi"ew himself in the short grass at her feet, picked a rush, and 
 nibbled at the end. 
 
 ' Joanna,' he said, ' why did you run away 1 Why did you 
 leave me with old Tliresher ? What do I care for old Thresher 1 
 I brouglit Thresher to-day ^as gooseberry picker. In the upper 
 walks of life, to which we are going to belong, gooseberry pickers 
 are the thing. Young people must have them as incumbrances 
 when out junketing. I've left old Thresher examining some pigs 
 fed by the warders off the scraps left by the convicts. Did you 
 mark how the old lady ate 1 I did. It was a race between us ; 
 especially over the roly-poly pudding. She didn't want to have 
 the doughy end without the jam, and I was determined sheshould. 
 A roly-poly has but two ends, not three, so two must have ends, 
 and only one can enjoy the middle. I was resolved that you 
 should have the best part and that Thresher and I should have 
 the ends. I cared for your interests above my own, you'll 
 allow that, Joanna. I took one end, and Thresher pulled a 
 mow when I gave her the other. Did you see it 1 But you 
 had the middle, oozing out with whortleberry jam ; and that 
 shows, if demonstration were needed ' (he lowered his voice), 
 ' how I regard you. I wouldn't have done that in the old days, 
 would I ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir ! ' 
 
 ' And let me assure you of this, Joanna, the round globe 
 does not contain another woman for whom I would do it now.' 
 He took off his hat, and exposed his forehead scored with a 
 black ring. ' I hope you see, Joanna, what a change has taken 
 place in my feelings towards you. You may have noticed in 
 me the wakings of tendeimess of late. Ah, Joanna ! do me a- 
 favour ! You saved my house from fire, my property from
 
 352 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 burp^lars, my throat from their murderous knife. Save now 
 my lieartfrom despair. I ofTeryon my hand ; let us walk to- 
 gether down the flowery path of life, with the roses blushing 
 in our way and the doves cooing over our heads, and with 
 plenty to eat and drink on the journey. Spend, Joanna, what 
 money you like, cat what dainties you desire, dress in what 
 clothes you fancy, and pic-nic when and wliere you will. Oh, 
 Joanna, " 0, that we two were maying," as the song goes, to- 
 gether through life without a Thresher at our side as a sharer 
 of our pudding ! Cease to consider me as your master, and 
 accept me as your husband.' 
 
 Then Joanna bui'st into a ringing laugh. 
 
 ' Too late, Mr. Lazarus, too late ! — not permissible after 
 twelve o'clock.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' This is the first of April, and you arc trying to make of 
 me an April fool.' 
 
 ' I am serious. I protest, most serious.' 
 
 ' Then,' said she, * it is yourself that you have succeeded in 
 converting into a most egi-egious April fool.' 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 TO THE RESCUE, 
 
 Mr. Charles Cheek was supposed to know nothing of the 
 difficulties of the family, till Lady Grace spoke to him so 
 plainly on the subject. He had, however, heard something from 
 the steward, whose mouth could not keep silence, and his 
 father had told him plainly what he knew. Prom Mr. Worthi- 
 vale he heard of the fresh trouble caused by the death of the 
 Archdeacon. Nothing further had passed between him and 
 Lady Grace. She was friendly, and he remained fascinated. 
 There it stopped. 
 
 Lord Saltcombe had at last been roused to take a decided 
 step. The General told him of the Duke's objection to the sale 
 of anything, and of the necessity under which they lay of at 
 once finding money. The honour of the house was at stake, 
 and the ]Marqi.ess visited his father, and was closeted with hiift 
 tor an hour.
 
 TO THE RESCUE. 353 
 
 When he came out, he went at once to the General. 
 
 * The Duke will allow me to act independently ; but he 
 desires to be spared pai-ticulars. My hands are set free to 
 raise money, but he is not to be consulted how it is to be raised, 
 nor told how it was done when the money is raised. As we 
 want immediate cash, let us have the plate and jewelry over- 
 hauled, and get rid of what is not necessary. There is that 
 confounded set of diamonds I bought for Dulcina Rigsby. 
 They cost twelve hundred, and I daresay will fetch two-tliirds. 
 As for the family jewelry — I shall never marry, and so the 
 irace will expire with me. No Duchess of K.ingsbridge will 
 need them. My mother was the last. I have the key to the 
 safe where they are kept.' 
 
 ' Let us begin at once, and pack what is not in immediate 
 requisition,' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe rang the bell for the butler, and ordered 
 the plate chests to be taken into the state drawing-room, not 
 now likely to be used again ; also the cases brought there that 
 would be likely to serve for the packing of valuables. Mr. 
 Blomfield obeyed without a muscle of his face working, and 
 soon the grand room was filled with boxes and piles of silver 
 plate, old salvers engraved with arms, supporters, and coronet, 
 punch bowls, centre-pieces, goblets, christening and caudle 
 cups, urns, kettles, tea and coffee pots, ewers, candelabra, — a 
 mass of metal, much of beautiful workmanship. 
 
 ' That,' said the General, 'is the great silver salver presented 
 to the Field-Marshal by the City of Ghent, of wliich he was in 
 possession at the time. He was not Duke then ; you see the 
 fulsome inscription in Latin. This must be melted up. It 
 will never do to have it sold as it is, to proclaim the straits to 
 which the Eveleighs have been reduced.' 
 
 The butler and the footman packed the plate in the green 
 cloth-lined cases. In former times it had been transported 
 with the Duke to town and back to the country. Consequently 
 the proper conveniences for the reception and removal were 
 ready. 
 
 ' Is not this beautiful ? ' said the General, pointing to a 
 silver teapot on a lampstand of exquisite workmanship. On 
 one side were represented Chinese picking tea leaves, on the 
 other Chinese ladies sipping the beverage made from them. 
 The groups were enclosed in the most delicate shell and flower 
 work. With it went a cream and a milk jug, and a silver 
 canister, all of equal beauty of workmanship. ' This set be- 
 
 A A
 
 354 COUKT ROYAL. 
 
 longed to George the Second,' said tlie General ; ' he gave it to 
 the Duchess Lavinia on her ni;irria"e.' 
 
 ' Here is my cliristeuing cup, out of which I used to drink 
 as a child, and there are the marks of my teeth on it,' said 
 Lord Saltcombe, with forced gaiety. 
 
 ' This cream bowl ought to be valuable,' remarked Lord 
 Ronald. ' I never saw anything like the delicacy of the work, 
 the festoons of roses and jessamine, with butterflies perched on 
 them. Fortunately the arms are not on it. I suspect it is 
 unique.' 
 
 Tray after tray was filled with silver forks and spoons, 
 soup-ladles, great gravy spoons, enough to furnish a Lord 
 Mayor's banquet. 
 
 When all the silver was packed that had to be sent away, 
 and the rest, that was to be kept, was laid on the floor, the 
 porcelain was collected. 
 
 ' Fetch everything from my room, Robert,' said the Mar- 
 quess ; then with a laugh, ' I have been disenchanted with 
 some of my prizes, and doubt the value of the rest. I dare 
 swear I have been egregiously taken in. ^Vnyhow, there can 
 be no questioning the value of these Sevres vases presented by 
 Charles X., and there is abundance of precious Oriental china 
 all over the house.' 
 
 The room was now filled with splendid bowls, great standing 
 vases for pot-pourri, old Dresden figures, Chelsea in abundance, 
 m;ijolica dislics, Capo di Monte white groups, superb specimens 
 of Palissy, services of Crown Dorliy, Swansea, and Wedgwood, 
 of the most choice and exquisite descriptions. Chimney-pieco, 
 plate chests, the floor, were encumbered Avith them. 
 
 The Marquess himself went to the jewel chest, and brought 
 in as much as he could carry. He laid on the table a ti-ay of 
 crimson velvet on which sparkled a tiara, necklace, stomacher, 
 and earrings of diamonds. 
 
 ' My mother wore these at the coronation of Her IMajesty,' 
 said Lord Saltcombe ; ' she lost one of the diamonds out of the 
 brooch, and never wore the set again. The place of the miss- 
 ing stone Avas never tilled up ; perhaps that was the first 
 symptom of difficulty in finding money.' 
 
 A beautiful chain of white pearls with pendants of black 
 pearls attracted his notice. 
 
 * How well this would have become Grace,' he said. Then 
 he brought iu more, a complete parure of amethysts. Then 
 rings — diamond, topaz, amethyst and diamoiid, ruby. These
 
 TO THE RESCUE. 355 
 
 splendid ornaments seemed in the cold daylight to have lost 
 their sparkle, and to be sensible of the general sorrow, decay, 
 and humiliation. 
 
 ' The pictures must come down,' said Lord Saltcombe. 
 * The Rubens at Kingsbridge House can be disposed of to 
 the National Gallery, which is short of examples of that 
 master.' 
 
 'Will the nation care to spend thousands on fleshy Dutch- 
 women ? I doubt it.' 
 
 ' Some of the paintings in this room are valuable,' said the 
 Marquess. ' Let us have them down, and they can be measured 
 for their cases. That Murillo was bought by the first Duke off 
 the easel of the painter. These Gerai'd Dows are more interest- 
 ing than beautiful. There is an Adoi-ation by Porbus, with 
 Philip II. and Alva as two of the Wise Men. Here is a 
 Turner purchased by my father, undescribed by Mr. Ruskin.' 
 
 ' The Reynolds' portraits — what of them ? ' 
 
 ' We will not part with family pictures if we can help it. 
 Let them remain suspended. There is a large Morland with 
 its clump of dark trees, and a pretty Gainsborough, a fine 
 example and worth a large sum. These must certainly come 
 down.' 
 
 Lord Saltcombe and the General were standing in the 
 middle of the room, which was strewn with treasures. Most 
 of the silver was packed, only that left out which was reserved 
 for use. The china was about, some being packed in hay ; the 
 jewels in their trays were spread out on the tables ; the pic- 
 tures were unhung — when — the door opened, and Lady Grace 
 entered with Mr. Charles Cheek and Lucy. 
 
 Lady Grace saw in a moment what was being done, and 
 coloured and stood still. Lucy also understood the situation, 
 and was seized with a fit of trembling. The occasion of their 
 entry was this — Charles had said, in the course of conversation, 
 that he had never seen the state rooms, whereupon Lady 
 Grace, unaware of what was taking place, had volunteered to 
 show him through them. 
 
 ' Packing for removal to town,' said the General. ' Rather 
 late in the season, but better late than never.' 
 
 Charles Cheek was not deceived. He drew back. He was 
 moved. It was sad to see the break-up of a noble family, to 
 stand, so to speak, beside its deathbed. He withdrew from 
 the room at once, and halted on the staircase outside the door^ 
 and with agitation in his voice and face and manner, he saidj 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ' Lady Grace ! "will you give me a right to fly to your assist- 
 ance, and prevent this humiliation.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered with cahiinoss, * I will.* 
 
 That night Charles Cheek hastened to town by express 
 that reached Paddington at 4 a.m. 
 
 He was at liis father's house before the old man was up, 
 and he awaited him in the breakfast-room. Charles was in a 
 condition of feverish excitement, in spite of his cold night- 
 journey. A servant had taken him to a room where he had 
 washed and changed his clothes. 
 
 The old man came in, spruce as ever, in his black cloth 
 frock coat, a white shirtfront, stretching his arms, and then 
 rubbing his hands. 
 
 ' Governor ! ' exclaimed Charles, ' I have been waiting to 
 see you these two hours and a half, burning Avith impatience. 
 I have something of importance to communicate.' 
 
 ' Ugh ! Want money ? ' 
 
 * No — that is — not for myself.' 
 
 * Ugh ! Still— want it.' 
 
 ' That is not my primary reason for coming here.* 
 
 The old man puffed himself out and stood by the fire, 
 winking and rubbing his hands, and glowering at his son. 
 
 ' I have just returned from Court Koyal. I have spoken to 
 Lady Grace, and she has consented ' 
 
 The father shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 ' It is a fact, governor, I give you my word. She gave me 
 the promise in the presence of Lucy Worthivale. Some time 
 before she all but promised, but yesterday she was explicit.' 
 
 The old man rubbed his hands vigorously, thrust his arms 
 forward, Hashing his cutis, then hiding them again. 
 
 * By Ginger ! ' he said, ' what a chap you are ! ' 
 
 * Do you mistrust me ? ' 
 
 'Mistrust? No. I didn't think you equal to it, though. 
 You are a fine fellow, that you are. The girl has sense. 
 Ginger ! she'll make a Lord Charlie of you.' 
 
 ' Hardly,' laughed Charles ; ' the wife does not ennoble the 
 husband.' 
 
 ' Don't she 1 She should. We'll change the law. Make it 
 a political question. Don't tell me she'll flatten down into 
 Mrs. Charles Cheek ! ' 
 
 ' Not quite that. But never mind. We have not got to 
 that point. I want you, father, to act promptly. I have come 
 by night express, and must return to-day.'
 
 TO THE RESCUE. 357 
 
 • What do you mean to do ? ' 
 
 ' You will remember what you undertook. The family are 
 in immediate want of money. If you are satisfied with what 
 I have done, give me leave to stop the sale of their valuables.' 
 
 ' What ! got to that pass ! A galloping consumption. When 
 I undertake a thing, I do it ; I'll take up the mortgages to the 
 tune I scored, but I won't tear them up till the marriage is 
 accomplished.' 
 
 Charles explained what the immediate need was. 
 
 ' Very well,' said the old man ; give me a bill of sale on 
 the furniture and plate and pictures, and I'll advance the 
 money. I'm not such a fool as to give without security.' 
 
 That was the utmost Charles could obtain from his father. 
 
 ' There is no knowing,' said the old man. ' The young 
 woman may mean right enough, but the aristocratical relations 
 may interfere, and blow themselves out with pride, and refuse 
 consent ; then — what about my money 1 As for the mortgages, 
 I'll see to them at once. Those of Emmanuel shall be taken 
 up immediately, and when the registers are signed, I'll tear 
 them to shreds. As for ready money, I'll advance something 
 on the stock-in-trade, but only if I have a bill on them to 
 enable me to seize in default of fulfilment of conditions.' 
 
 Charles was obliged to be content with this. He returned 
 the same day to Kingsbridge. 
 
 'You've had a long journey,' said Mr. Worthivale. * I was 
 amazed when told you had gone to town. Nothing the matter 
 with your father, I hope 1 ' 
 
 ' Nothing at all,' answered the young man. Then, after 
 looking inquiringly at the steward, 'I say, do you recall a 
 certain conversation you had with my father 1 ' 
 
 * Bless my soul ! he overflowed with conversation, and every 
 word was precious. To what do you particularly allude ? ' 
 
 Mr. Worthivale knew very well what was meant, but he 
 was reluctant to have this topic retouched. Lucy had told 
 him nothing. With his ideas, the suggestion of old Cheek had 
 seemed to him a sort of blasphemy. 
 
 ' Well,' said Charles Cheek, ' it has come about after all. 
 Lady Grace has passed her word to me.' 
 
 ' Stuff and nonsense.' 
 
 ' It is a fact. I went up to town last night to communicate 
 it to my father. If you are in immediate need of cash he will 
 advance it on the security of the contents of Court Hoyal and 
 Kingsbridge House.'
 
 358 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Mr. Wortliivalc coloured. 
 
 ' Lady Grace ! Impossible.' The steward was stupefied. 
 'Why, you are nothing, literally nothing, one of the people ; 
 and your father is in' — with a shudder — ' trade ! ' 
 
 ' I assure you it is so. Ask Lucy. She was present.' 
 
 ' You misunderstood her. It is impossible. Sheer impos- 
 sible. Your head has been turned. I ought never to have 
 introduced you.' 
 
 ' I repeat ; she has consented.' 
 
 ' But — the Duke — and the Marquess — and Lord Ronald, 
 what will they say 1 ' 
 
 ' They have not been asked.' 
 
 ' You had better not ask them. As you value your hap- 
 piness and my regard — don't. For Heaven's sake, don't.' 
 
 ' Mr. Worthivale, excuse me, but you seem to think that 
 the advantage is all on my side. Yesterday Lord Saltcombe 
 and Lord Ronald were packing the valuables to be sent to 
 London for sale. There is therefore desperate immediate need 
 of money. I come offering to relieve them from tlieir difficul- 
 ties — at least from those most urgent. The mortgages to the 
 amount of two hundred tliousand pounds will be taken up by 
 my father, and on our marriage he Avill give them over. The 
 pictures may be rehung, the plate unpacked, the jewels and 
 china replaced. I do not know what tlie sum is in immediate 
 requisition, but my father is ready to advance it — so long as it 
 is under ten thousand — on receipt of the consent of the Duke 
 and the Marquess to the contents of these two houses, of which 
 you will furnish a list, being the security for the sum.' 
 
 ' Not a word of this to them ! Lord Saltcombe will never 
 forgive me. My goodness ! "What presumption there is in the 
 rising generation ! To them notliing is sacred ! I suppose, 
 sir, you are a blazing Radical ! ' 
 
 'I have no political opinions, having nothing to gain or 
 lose.' 
 
 ' Leave this matter in my hands,' said the steward. ' I will 
 see the Duke. I will manage about the bill. I must rush off 
 now, and stop the packing of the pictures and the carriage of 
 the plate. I was to have gone to town witli all the things, and 
 done my best with them.' 
 
 ' You are welcome to arrange with the Duke about the bill, 
 but I cannot have you interfere between me and Lady Grace,' 
 ' I — I ! I would not dream of mentioning it. You have 
 been deluded.'
 
 TO THE EESCUE. 359 
 
 * By whom ? By Lady Grace ? ' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid. She is incapable of falsehood. By your 
 own inordinate vanity, which has deluded you into hearing 
 things that were never said and seeing things that were never 
 done. It is impossible. As soon make me believe the common 
 people here when they tell me they have seen the sun dance on 
 Easter morning.' 
 
 Worthivale said no more. He was convinced that the 
 young man had dreamed. It mattered little. The immediate 
 advantage of the dream was great. The precious collections of 
 Court Royal were saved for a time. Time was what he wanted. 
 In time the Marquess would marry and shake old Cheek and 
 all other Old Men of the Mountain off his shoulders who weighed 
 him down and plucked the golden fruit and left him starving. 
 In time Bigbury Bay would become a rival to Torquay, and 
 make the Eveleighs as Toi-quay had made the Palks. In time 
 the slate quarries would rout all other slates out of the market. 
 In time the shale would distil petroleum. What mattered it, 
 if for a while the young man were left dancing in darkness with 
 bandaged eyes. He would some day see his folly, and blush at 
 his temerity. 
 
 Meantime — Providence was interfering for the salvation of 
 the Eveleighs, 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE FLYING-FISH. 
 
 Joanna carried her point. She went to the ball. She had set 
 her heart upon it. No dissuasion would turn her from her 
 purpose, no difficulty discourage her. Go she would, and go 
 she did. 
 
 The Easter ball was qualified by selectness. If it was 
 nothing else, it was select. On this it prided itself. The most 
 rigid censorship was exercised over the admissions by the com- 
 mittee. No one without blood, or — this was a concession — 
 money was allowed. The committee sat at a table, and the 
 names were passed from one to another. It was like running 
 the gauntlet. Only those that came out unscathed between the 
 lines were allowed to appear. The nobility and the county 
 families patronised and attended it. The Earl and Countess of
 
 3G0 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Blount Batten, Lord and Lady Laira, Sir John and Lady St. 
 Austell, patronised the ball, and /,'ave it the stamp of selectness. 
 The generals and their ladies, the admirals and their parties, 
 all the J.P.s and the J,P. fowl attended, and added their insist- 
 ence to its selectness. The ball was so select that it hedged 
 itself round with the most exclusive and arbitrary restrictions. 
 It drew a line here, and a line there. It put its foot down at 
 this point, and at that, for no reason possible of explanation to 
 anyone without the bump of selection on his skull. The ball 
 •was so select that no lady with the soil of trade on her lingers 
 could hold them out for a ticket. It was so select that, of the 
 Church, only the wives and daughters of rectors miglit enter ; 
 the females whose orbit is in a Peel district and revolve about 
 vicars and curates, were shut out. It was so select that the 
 family of the wine-merchant were as rigidly excluded as the 
 family of the pastry-cook who united with the wine-merchant 
 to furnish the supper. 
 
 On the Cornish coast folk say, when the wind wails at the 
 windows, that the ghosts of drowned sailors are without, flatten- 
 ing their spiritual noses against the panes, dabbing their drip- 
 ping palms against the glass, weeping because excluded in wind 
 and rain from the warmth and light within. Outside the great 
 assembly-room, the spirits of unnumbered women wept and 
 wrung their hands. The ball was too select for them. Let 
 them dance on their own low levels, and not aspire to circle in 
 the system of the social planets. 
 
 This Easter ball was quite a diflferent affair from the Octo- 
 ber and the hunt balls, when the room was occupied by cliques, 
 and the cliques danced together, ignoring the cliques below 
 them, and went to supper and ate in cliques, and talked in 
 cliques, and flirted in cliques, and clacked in cliques. This 
 ball was emphatically a one-clique ball. 
 
 Yet, into this most select of balls Joanna thrust herself. 
 This was how it was done. 
 
 Mr. Lazarus had lent money to the Hon. Mrs. Yellowleaf, 
 and he sent her a note to say tliat unless tlie loan were repaid 
 by a certain date, he would County Court her. 
 
 Mrs. Yellowleaf came down to his private office in great 
 trepidation. She had not the money ; she was in daily expec- 
 tation of a remittance from an aunt. She entreated Mr. 
 Lazarus to delay. Mr. Lazarus was inexorable. Ho wanted 
 liis money. He had heavy bills to meet by a certain day.
 
 THE FLYING-FISH. 361 
 
 Mrs. Yellowleaf had promised repeatedly to repay the loan, 
 and had not done so. His patience was exhausted. He was 
 a poor man, he had put himself to great inconvenience to find 
 her the money ; if she could not or would not pay, he must 
 cast her into court, and if that failed, he would put in an exe- 
 cution. Mrs. Yellowleaf turned green at the threat, and 
 nearly fainted. 
 
 ' I cannot find the money,' she said — ' I simply cannot. 
 My husband, as you know, is with the China squadron. My 
 remittances have not arrived. My aunt is very kind, but she 
 is out of humour with me just now, and I dare not press for 
 more.' 
 
 When he had reduced her to a condition of abject despair, 
 then only did he offer relief. Relief could be bought — but on 
 hard terms. She must take under her protection to the ball a 
 young lady who particularly desired to attend. 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Yellowleaf was aghast. This was a sheer 
 impossibility. She could not, she ivould not run such a risk. 
 The tears came into her eyes. She knew nothing of the ' per- 
 son,' neither her name, nor character, nor antecedents. The 
 ball was most select. She miglit get into serious social trouble 
 by taking there an individual unqualified to associate with 
 good society. There were so many denied admission whose 
 claims were urgent. 
 
 ' Very well,' said Lazarus, rising. ' Then prepare to see 
 your name in the West of England papers. You shall have 
 your summons to-morrow.' 
 
 'Who is she?' asked Mrs. Yellowleaf, after a pause for 
 consideration. 
 
 Lazarus explained that she was a Miss Rosevere, an heiress, 
 an orphan, of irreproachable character. ' No relations in Ply- 
 mouth, none that I know of in Devon or Cornwall.' 
 
 ' What is she like ? ' asked Mrs. Yellowleaf, doubtfully. 
 
 * Like ! — there won't be one in the room will surpass her 
 in looks, I can assure you.' 
 
 'She is not — not an Israelite.' She thought 'Jewess' 
 might sound rude, so she said ' Israelite.' 
 
 ' You need not fear. Not a bit. Cornish — comes from 
 the dark lot down the coast by Veryan and Goran ; dark hair, 
 dark eyes, olive skin. She'll be the belle of the ball and the 
 richest girl there too.' 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Yellowleaf drew a sigh of relief.
 
 SG2 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * Very well, Mr. Lazarus, if you will not press for payment, 
 I will take the youn.i; lady. I trust she dresses well.' 
 
 ' Dress ! — she'll dress as well as the best, 1 promise you.' 
 
 So it was settled. INIrs. Yellowleaf was uneasy about her 
 undertaking, but unable to evade it. 
 
 On the evening of the ball Joanna was seen into a cab by 
 !Mr. Lazarus. ' Ah, lack-a-day ! ' said hd, as lie shut the door on 
 her, ' I can't go with you, but it ain't possible. The sight of 
 me in the assembly-room would be too much for the nerves of 
 some folk there.' 
 
 The lion. jNIrs. Yellowleaf's carriage led the way, followed 
 l)y Joanna's cab. The lady had just seen her in the hall. She 
 was sorry that she had no place in her own carriage to offer 
 i\Iiss Rosevere, as her daughters and son went with her ; if 
 jNIiss Rosevere would follow in her fly, she would await her in 
 the entrance or disrobing room. 
 
 Accordingly she saw Joanna when she put off her cloak 
 and shawl. She looked scrutinisingly at her, and was struck 
 by her beauty. She turned sharply round, with motherly ap- 
 prehension, and caught an admiring expression in her son's 
 face. ' I wonder Avhethcr she be really an heiress ! ' thought 
 jNIrs. Yellowlcaf . ' Possibly enough that, being a stranger, she 
 may not have known anyone to whom to apply.' 
 
 She thereupon softened towards the girl, and spoke to her 
 amiably. Joanna had much less dialect than one of her status 
 might be supposed to be infected with, for she had not associated 
 with other girls at the Barbican. She had grown up alone, 
 talking only to Lazarus, who had no provincial brogue. His 
 English was passable. Joanna's was also passable, though not 
 the language of perfect culture. INIrs. Yellowleaf knew, the 
 moment she opened her mouth, that she had not the bringing 
 up of a lady. A very few words sufficed. ' Ah ! ' she thought, 
 ' some mining captain's daughter, who made a fortune in tin, 
 and left it to her. She has money, but not breed. Still, she 
 has money. After all, nowadays, money is everything.' That 
 was to be her explanation, if asked about Joanna. ' My dear, 
 an acquaintance whom I could not refuse asked me to be civil 
 to the young lady. People ai-e very inconsiderate. They ask 
 you to carry parcels for them, and stand chaperon to all sorts 
 and conditions of girls. It ought not to be done. As for this 
 Miss Rosevere, I know nothing about her, except that ella est 
 u?ie bonne partie, worth, I am told, but I do not know, three 
 thousand a year.' That is what she would say. What she
 
 THE FLYING-FISH. 363 
 
 thought was, ' Three thousand "will oloscure bad intonation and 
 grammatical slips.' 
 
 As she went upstairs she wondered whether it would be 
 well to allow John-Conolly, her son, to take a fancy to the 
 girl. ' Not,' she considered, ' till I know exactly her value. 
 Her father's will can be seen in the Probate Court for a shilling.' 
 
 She touched one of her daughters. ' My dear Lettice,' she 
 whispered, ' if Mr. Charles Cheek should ask you to dance, be 
 civil. It is true that his antecedents leave much to be desired, 
 but he has, and will have, money.' 
 
 Mr. Cheek was there, much disappointed at not being able 
 to appear in company with Lady Grace and the Marquess. 
 Still, though debarred their companionship, Charles was 
 not disposed to forego the gratification. He was becoming 
 very tired of the uniformity of life in the country, and 
 depressed by the cloud of troubles which hung over Court 
 Royal, At first he did not observe Joanna. But on going up 
 to speak to the Hon. Mrs. Yellowleaf, and engage Miss Lettice 
 for a dance, his eye met that of Joanna. A look of incredulity, 
 then of blank amazement, then of amused delight, swept across 
 liis face. ' Halloo ! ' — he checked himself when ' Joe ' was on 
 his lips, and substituted ' JNIiss Eosevere.' 
 
 ' You know Miss Rosevere 1 ' asked INIrs. YelloAvleaf in 
 trepidation. She had noticed the change of expression in his 
 face. 
 
 ' Oh yes ! old acquaintances,' answered Charles, with his 
 eyes still on Joanna, full of wonder and question. 
 
 ' Where have you met ? ' asked Mrs. Yellowleaf. 
 
 'At — at — the Duke of Kingsbridge's — Court Royal,' 
 answered Charles, dashing at the first name that occurred to 
 him. 
 
 ' How is the Duke ? ' asked Joanna, with composure. ' And 
 dear old Lord Ronald 1 So grieved to see that the Archdeacon 
 is dead. The blow must have been severe to his Grace. The 
 brothers were so attached.' 
 
 ' Oh, well — that is, not very well. I am just come from 
 Court Roy ah' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said Joanna. ' And sweet Lady Grace, and Lucy 
 Worthivale 1 ' 
 
 ' They are well,' answered Charles, puzzled beyond descrip- 
 tion. How did the girl know anything about the Eveleighs 1 
 
 ' You were not at the Christmas ball,' said Joanna, ' when 
 the Rigsbys were staying at the Court, and everyone supposed
 
 364 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Dulcina would become JNIarchioness. Yonder she is — with her 
 colVee-colourcd father. How tastelessly she doos dress ! I 
 must go over and speak to her. Come with me, ]Mr. Cheek.' 
 'Joe ! ' he whispered, as he escorted her across the room, 
 
 * of all wonders this is the most wonderful ! ' 
 
 ' Am I out of my element — the flying-fish among gulls ? ' 
 
 * Not a bit.' 
 
 ' How do you do, ]\Iiss Rigsby ? ' said Joanna, extending her 
 hand. ' I am afraid you do not recollect me ; but we met at 
 Court Royal during the winter.' 
 
 Dulcina looked at her uncertainly. She could not remember 
 the face ; but was that wonderful 1 She had met so many stran- 
 gers at the Court. She was glad, however, to be recognised, and 
 to have someone to speak to, as she knew few ladies in Plymouth. 
 
 The Hon. ^Irs. Yellowleaf nudged her son. * John-Conolly,' 
 she said, * you see the plain-faced, gorgeously-dressed girl that 
 Miss Rosevere is speaking to. She is an undoubted heiress. 
 Go and secure her hand for as many dances as you can. Be 
 very civil to her, and boar in mind that you must either work 
 or marry money.' 
 
 ' Mother, I'd a thousand times rather dance with that 
 charming girl you brought here.' 
 
 ' Dance with both. Try to be struck with both, and let 
 them perceive it ; but be cautious with the Rosevere. Jl me 
 fatit prendre des renseignements.' 
 
 * Who is that very striking young lady yonder ? ' asked 
 Mrs. Fothergill, wife of a country squire. 
 
 ' That,' answered j\Irs. Yellowleaf, ' is a Cornish heiress. 
 Between me, you, and the post — money made in mines. How- 
 ever, the Kingsbridge family have taken her up, and put the 
 cachet on her. Lady Grace Eveleigh and the Marquess are 
 unable to be here, owing to the death of their uncle, the Arch- 
 deacon. As they could not come with a party, I was asked to 
 bring JNIiss Rosevere. Very rich and handsome, though some- 
 what wanting in polish.' 
 
 * Joey,' said Charles Cheek, when no one was by to hear, 
 
 * this is roaring fun. You are the most audacious little rogue 
 I ever came across. You thrust yourself in here — anywhere 
 that you have a mind. And then — you extort a hundred 
 pounds from my father ! Oh, Joe, I have never thanked you 
 for that. It was good of you. But conceive how staggered I 
 was when my father ran up alongside without showing signals, 
 and poured a broadside into me because I had got myself
 
 THE FLYING-FISH. 365 
 
 entangled with a little pawn. Put me down for a score of 
 dances, Joe. I had rather dance with you than with any other 
 girl, and talk of something different from the weather and the 
 primroses.' 
 
 But this might not be. Joanna had no lack of partners. 
 The rumour spread that she was a Cornish heiress — taken up 
 by the Kingsbridge family. There was no question as to her 
 beauty, or to her ease of manner and movement. Ease of 
 manner was given by complete self-assurance. Ease of move- 
 ment by the fact that she had lived all her life in slippers. 
 
 ' Cheek,' said an officer, ' surely that is the girl I saw in 
 the stage-box the night of that frightful accident. You went 
 up and talked to her. We asked you then who she was.' 
 
 * Yes, and I told you.' 
 
 ' You told us she was an heiress, and were disinclined to 
 introduce us. It is mean of a man like you, with such 
 prospects, to keep the heiresses to yourself.' 
 
 ' You are too dangerous a rival,' answered Charles, laugh- 
 ing. ' But it is not true ; I leave the field clear about Miss 
 Rigsby.' 
 
 ' What an uncommonly good-looking girl that is,' said one 
 mother, against the wall, to another standard medlar. ' Not 
 quite happy about her extraction, I understand.' 
 
 ' Rather odd in speech, I hear,' answered the latter. ' But 
 the Kingsbridge people have taken her up on account of her 
 money, and there is a rumour of the Marquess of Saltcombe 
 becoming engaged to her, now he is off with Miss Rigsby. 
 They could not come because they are in mourning, so they 
 asked Mrs. Yellowleaf to be responsible for her.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! I had no idea jNIrs. Yellowleaf was intimate 
 with the Eveleighs. I hear queer reports about the Kings- 
 bridge family — very shaky, I understand.' 
 
 'Ah, bah ! Every planet has its occultations, and comes 
 out of the shadow as bright as before. You never have known 
 what it is to be in financial eclipse, I suppose.' 
 
 Joanna was dancing with Charles Cheek. 
 
 ' You do not know how you are perplexing the old ladies,' 
 he said. ' As for the men, they are infatuated. Take care, 
 Joe, that you leave no joint in your armour open for an arrow 
 to enter. Some of the markswomen will be spanning their 
 bows at you before the night wears to day.' 
 
 ' What a pity you were not at the Christmas ball at Court 
 Royal,' said Joanna, without noticing his warning. ' I mean.
 
 366 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 of course, tho first liall : the second was only for the tenants 
 and servants. Tho room — the grand ball-room, you know it — 
 was superb witli its painted groups in panel, of the time of 
 Louis XIV. It belonged to the older house, and was incor- 
 porated in the new mansion built by the late Duke. And the 
 crystal lustres twinkling witli rainbow-tinted light ! And 
 the drawing-room — do you know the pictures there t The 
 Gainsborough, and the 3Iurillo ; the Sevres vases given by 
 Charles X.' 
 
 * Joe ! ' exclaimed Charles, ' you will drive me mad. Are you 
 a witch 1 Have you the gift of second sight 1 How come 
 you to know anything about the rooms and people at Court 
 Royal 1 ' 
 
 ' Never mind. I will not tell you.' 
 
 ' I am cross with you for one thing, Joe. You might have 
 been sure I would have been here to-night, and it would have 
 been graceful to wear the Roman pearls I gave you. They 
 were only Roman pearls, true, but the chain was pretty.' 
 
 * I could not. I had given it away.' 
 
 * Oh, Joe ! how could you do that 1 ' 
 
 * I gave it to the best of women.' 
 
 ' Who can that be ? I know one whom I tliink that.' 
 
 * It is the same. She has it — Lady Grace Eveleigh.' 
 Charles Cheek stood still in the midst of the dance. 
 
 ' You gave my necklace to her ! — Impossible.' 
 
 ' Ask her next time you meet. She will toll you it is true, 
 Kow tell me something. How come you to know Court 
 Royal ? ' 
 
 ' That is easily answered. INIr. Worthivale, the steward, 
 is my cousin. I have been staying with him, in exile — because 
 of you. ]\Iy father has sent mc there into banishment.' 
 
 ' That is why I have not seen you in Plymouth 1 ' 
 
 'Yes — and — , I will confide something more to you that 
 affects me greatly. You will hear it talked about shortly. I 
 am going to marry Lady Grace Eveleigh.' 
 
 Joanna stood still, and stared at him. ' Impossible ! ' she 
 said. 
 
 ' It is true — I assure you it is true.' 
 
 * I will dance no more,' said Joanna abruptly. * Take me 
 to a chair.' 
 
 ' Remember you owe me the next waltz.' 
 
 ' I will not dance with you again.' 
 
 She remained seated during several dances ; the gentlemen
 
 THE FLYING-FISH. 367 
 
 came round her, entreating lier to honour them, but she 
 refused all. She said she was tired. 
 
 At first Joanna was occupied with lier own thoughts, and 
 paid no attention to what passed about her, but she presently 
 woke to the sense that she had seated herself in a wasp's nest. 
 The ladies around her were faded beauties or mothers, and 
 resented the arrival of a stranger on their preserves who 
 carried off the beaux from themselves or from their daughters. 
 
 By slow degrees she was roused to give attention to the 
 conversation that went on about her, and to become aware 
 that words were flying around barbed and poisoned. 
 
 ' Who is that child in pink yonder 1 ' asked a handsome 
 lady on the verge of thirty, who must at one time have been a 
 queen of beauty. ' Can you tell me, Mrs. Delany ? It is 
 cruel to send children w^ho cannot be over seventeen, and 
 ought to be in bed and sleeping.' 
 
 The lady addressed sat on the other side of Joanna. Joanna 
 looked sharply round; she was curious to see ]\Irs. Delany, in 
 whose service she was supposed to have been so many years. 
 That lady shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, and, return- 
 ing Joanna's stare, answered the faded beauty. 
 
 ' ]My dear, how can I tell 1 The ball has ceased to be select. 
 What the committee can be about is moi'e than I can answer, 
 admitting persons of whom one knows nothing.' 
 
 ' Is that worse,' asked Joanna innocently, ' than giving 
 characters to servants you have never seen 1 There was much 
 talk of a lady having clone this when I Avas at Court Royal.' 
 
 Mrs. Delany turned crimson, and sat back. 
 
 ' I have known quite nameless, unknown persons give 
 themselves out as friends of people of rank,' said a lady on the 
 other side of Mvs. Delany, 'who turned out on inquiry to 
 have been governesses or companions in the family.' 
 
 ' I have heard,' said Joanna, ' of gentlemen so absolutely 
 nameless notliings that they have had to borrow their wives' 
 names and get knighted in them.' 
 
 The lady put up her fan instantly. 
 
 ' What bad form it is. Lady Hawkins,' said the ex-queen, 
 'in unmarried girls wearing jewelry !' and her eyes rested on a 
 necklet round Joanna's throat. 
 
 'I beg your pardon,' said Joanna. 'Is Mrs. Gathercole 
 addressing me 1 I ask because I see you wearing a brooch I 
 coveted the other day, but I was too late — it was sold to 
 Captain Gathercole.'
 
 368 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 She felt — she did not sec — a sliiver of suppressed laughter 
 about her. The fading beauty turned deadly white, rose and 
 left the place. 
 
 ' What a pity it is,* said the lady who took the vacated 
 chair, addressing Mrs. Delany across Joanna, ' that tlie posses- 
 sion of money should be deemed a suilicient qualification for 
 admission ! There are persons in this room who have no other 
 right to be here.' 
 
 ' But there are persons admitted who have not even money 
 qualifications,' said Joanna. ' Persons glad to get a guinea 
 from the Jews for a gown of old gold and black lace.' 
 
 The lady sprang up as if she had been stung, and Mrs. 
 Delany burst out laughing ; the old gold with black lace was 
 well known. 
 
 ' As for Cornish mines in which some people have their 
 money,' remarked another, who had not spoken before, ' I am 
 well assured that such property is as unsatisfactory ascas ties 
 in Spain.' 
 
 ' Or,' observed Joanna, speaking aloud but addressing no 
 one, 'or as husbands at sea, always at sea, but never seen, like 
 the Flying Dutchman.' 
 
 In the midst of tlie silence that ensued, Charles Cheek 
 came up and oOercd her his ann. She rose and took it. Her 
 colour was heightened and her eyes sparkled. 
 
 ' Good heavens, Joe ! "WJuit have you been doing ? You 
 have set all the women against you ! ' 
 
 'The flying-fish can snap as well as the gulls,' she replied. 
 
 CHAPTER LTI. 
 
 ON THE PIKR. 
 
 When jMrs. Yellowleaf was ready to leave, she intimated her 
 intention somewhat curtly to Joanna. Charles Chock at once 
 flew to assist her to her cab and muflle her in wraps. Mrs. 
 Yellowleaf's cai'riage was lii'st packed and driven olF. TJien 
 Charles said, ' Are you by yourself ? That must not be. Allow 
 me to accompany you to the Barbican, and see you safely home.' 
 Ho waited for no reply, but stepped into the carriage beside 
 Joanna. 
 
 ' Oh, Joe ! ' he said. ' you have made mortal enemies. Your
 
 ON THE PIER. 369 
 
 mots have been passed round the room, and those whom you 
 stabbed will never forgive you. How did you know anything 
 about Sir William Hawkins taking his wife's name, and being 
 knighted in it, because he was — well, without a name of his 
 own 1 And that affair of Captain Gathercole and Miss Fan- 
 shawe, and Mrs. Duncombe — whose husband never turns up — 
 and the rest 1 ' 
 
 ' I know everything about people in Plymouth — it is part of 
 the business.' 
 
 ' You will never, never be forgiven.' 
 
 ' I am not likely to meet these people again.' 
 
 ' Did you enjoy yourself 1 ' 
 
 ' For a while — and then I did not care for the ball any 
 more.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 The cab was dismissed at the Barbican, and Charles paid 
 the driver. 
 
 ' Joe,' said he, ' come on to the pier, and let us look at the 
 water rippling in the moon. It will be dawn directly.' 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and then said, ' Very well ; 1 want 
 to tell you something.' 
 
 He gave her his arm, ' You are not likely to catch cold, t 
 hope ! ' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' The more I see of you,' said he, * the more I wonder at 
 you. You are a person of infinite resource. Joe ! tell me you 
 are not cross with me for what I confided to you.' 
 
 ' Not a bit,' she answered. ' I told you to aim at position, 
 and you have followed my advice.' 
 
 ' It was my father's doing.' 
 
 ' Do you not love and admire her ? You must — you must 
 do that ! Why, I do ! I love her still.' 
 
 ' Of course I admire Lady Grace. Never can fail to do 
 that. I love her also — well — in about the same fashion as a 
 Catholic loves and adores the Virgin.' 
 
 ' Are you satisfied with what you have done 1 ' 
 
 ' I will empty my whole heart before you,' he said. ' I know 
 you are capable of advising me — of encouraging me.' He 
 sighed. ' I daren't say all I think ! ' 
 
 She laughed. ' In the same breath hot and cold. You will 
 and you won't. You can and you can't.' 
 
 ' Do not sneer at me. I am in a difficulty. I assure you I 
 
 B B
 
 370 COURT llOYAL. 
 
 liave licen mortally weary of the life at Court Royal Lodge. 
 Old Worthivale, the steward, is a sort of cousin of mine, and 
 infinitely tedious. Beavis, his son, is too occupied with the 
 family failure to give me much of his company, and he has not 
 that in him to afl'ord me entertainment. I have hunted twice 
 a week, but now the huntmg is over. Five days a week I am 
 consumed with ennui. I go to the club in Kingsbridge, and 
 try to find some fellows with whom to play billiards, but some- 
 times no one is there : the day is line, aiul they want to boat ; 
 or the day is wet, and they want to read novels at home over 
 the fire. Then they all talk shop — local shop. They seem to 
 me like a cage of animals l)rod in confinomfMit, who can only 
 think and feel interest and talk of the world within the bars of 
 their cage. If I had not passed my word to my father, I would 
 
 have run long ago 
 
 Is there no attraction, then ? ' 
 
 * I allow there is Lady Grace. She is beautiful, sweet as 
 an angel. She is kind to me, but never afiectionate, and I 
 cannot conceive it possible that we shall ever stand nearer to 
 each other than we do at present. Of course we can be married, 
 but that will not fuse my soul into liers and hers into mine, 
 because we have so little in common. AVe have different 
 specific gravities. "When we are together, and I see her gentle 
 face and hear her soft tones I am under a charm which holds 
 me — at a distance. The charm draws and repels at once. Can 
 you understand 1 I feel that I love her, but I feel also that 
 she is unapproachable by such as me. If wo do get married, 
 we shall be like a two-volumed book, of Avhich the volumes 
 belong to diflcrent editions, and are in difibrent type and of 
 difterent sizes. We shall belong to each other so far that we 
 shall bear the same label, but she will belong to an edition de 
 luxe, and I to the cheap and popular issue.' 
 
 ' Then why did you propose to Lady Grace ? Was it merely 
 to obtain position 1 ' 
 
 ' No, Joe. ]\Iy father wished it, urged it, badgered me 
 into it. I liked her, I cannot do other tlian like her. I pity 
 the family. And then — the Worthivales put me on my 
 metal.' 
 
 ' irow so 1 ' 
 
 * They scouted the possibility of my wiiming her. They 
 seemed to regard me as the dirt of the street aspiring to the 
 sun,' 
 
 ' Do you think you will not be happy with her ?'
 
 ON THE PIER. 371 
 
 'I shall go to chui'ch with her and never get out of it 
 again. We shall carry the church with its solemnity and 
 oppressiveness and mustiness into our married life. Our 
 tendencies are diverse as those of a balloon and a diving-bell. 
 We shall have as little intellectual sympathy as John Bright 
 and a " Blackwood," which he was cutting and trying to read. 
 I belong too much to Bohemia, with the city of Prague as my 
 Jerusalem.' 
 
 ' If that be so, you are in a false position, and must 
 leave it.' 
 
 ' I cannot,' answered Charles. ' I cannot do so without 
 cruelty. The family are in straits for money. My father has 
 undertaken to pay off the most pressing mortgages and debts. 
 If the marriage does not come otf they will be utterly ruined. 
 Do you know I stopped the sale of their pictures, plate, and 
 jewels ? All were being packed to send to London ; when I got 
 Lady Grace's promise, I galloped to town on the back of an 
 engine, and got my father to advance the necessary money to 
 stop the sale.' 
 
 ' Does Lady Grace marry you to save her family 1 ' 
 ' I do not know tlaat she is aware of the compact — but — I 
 suppose she must,' he added humbly. ' She never would take 
 me for myself. The brazen pot and the earthen pot are going 
 to float down the stream together, and we shall have to keep 
 our distance for fear of jars.' 
 
 Joanna stood on the pier looking out at the promontory of 
 Mount Batten that seemed to landlock the harbour. The moon 
 was behind the citadel, steeping the Barbican in night, but the 
 water beyond flashed like quicksilver. She folded her arms 
 under her wraps. Charles tried to read her face, but there was 
 no moonlight on it, and the pier-lantern was high above, cast- 
 ing a shadow over her. 
 
 * Well, Joe, what do you think ? ' 
 ' Give me time to consider.' 
 
 ' I am in this position. If I marry her I shall gain that 
 which you have bidden me aim for, and shall have pleased my 
 father, and saved a worthy family from utter destruction. On 
 the other hand, I shall have sacrificed my independence and 
 cut myself off from the rollicking life that suits me. I shall 
 live in a social strait-waistcoat, and I hate restraint. If I do 
 not go through with the matter I shall make the governor 
 furious ; he will never forgive me, and the Duke will go to 
 pieces. Is it honourable and fair for me to back out 1 ' 
 
 B B 2
 
 372 COURT ROYAL 
 
 *No, Mr. Cheek, it is not. Go on,' said Joanna, and 
 sighed. 
 
 ' I thought you would say so,' observed Charles, also with 
 a sigh, ' but I hoped that your advice would be contrary.' 
 
 Then neither spoke for some time. Far away, behind the 
 hills to the east, the sky was beginning to whiten, but the 
 moon shone so brightly that the tokens of coming day were 
 hardly perceptible. 
 
 * We are old friends, are we not ? ' said Charles sadly. 
 
 ' Yes — we have known each other since last iifth of 
 Kovember.' 
 
 ' What a time it seems since then ! So much has happened 
 that it is an age to me.' 
 
 ' Also to me. To me it has been the change from child- 
 hood to womanhood, from outward hardship to inward suffer- 
 ing. It cannot be other. Mr. Cheek, we must part. We shall 
 see each other no more.' 
 
 ' No more ! ' he echoed. ' Nonsense, I intend to see a great 
 deal of you when allowed to return from exile.' 
 
 She shook her head. ' It cannot be.' 
 
 ' Why not 1 The Golden Balls is here, and the door open. 
 If I choose to enter with a pair of silver spoons, who is to 
 thrust me out 1 And if there be no customers in the shop, I 
 suppose I may perch on the counter and enjoy a pleasant 
 chat ? ' 
 
 ' No,' she said, * never again. You told me yourself you 
 were going into social stays. You are changing your nation- 
 ality, and about to forget Uohemia.' 
 
 ' Not yet, — no — no ! I will enjoy my freedom for a while 
 longer.' 
 
 ' There is a further reason why I cannot allow it,' she said, 
 and looked before her into the dark water, and beyond it 
 to the glittering sheet of wavering silver. ' I am going to bo 
 married.' 
 
 ' Married ! you — Joanna ! ' 
 
 Both stood silent, so silent that nothing was audiblo but 
 the lapping of the water on the steps of the pier 
 
 * Joanna ! I will not believe it. To whom ? ' 
 
 * To Lazarus.' 
 
 ' Joanna ! ' There was mingled pain and Iiorror in his 
 tone. She said nothing more, but shivered, though wrapped 
 up well in shawls. 
 
 'Come hither,' said Charles, almost roughly. 'The first
 
 ON THE PIER. 373 
 
 time I saw you, I took you to the light to see your face ; and 
 the face I then saw has haunted me ever since. Come here, 
 and let me see your face again. I will see if this be cursed 
 earnest or cruel joke.' He drew her within the radiance of 
 the lamp, and turned the head up. She offered no resistance, 
 but looked firmly at him. 
 
 There was no mischief lurking in the dimples at the corners 
 of her mouth, no devilry in lier eyes. There were dark lines 
 in her face, gloom in her deep great irises, and set determi- 
 nation in her mouth. She felt that tlie liand that raised her 
 chin to expose her face was trembling and cold. She was glad 
 Avhen he withdrew it, and her face relapsed into shadow. 
 Perhaps she could not have maintained composure much 
 longer under the scrutiny of his eyes. 
 
 ' I cannot help myself,' she said in a low voice. * Judge 
 for yourself if I can. Lazarus has resolved that I shall be his 
 wife. I suppose he is afraid of losing me unless he ties me 
 fast. But what can I do ? I have no home, no father. I 
 must wait here till my mother returns. I am number 617. 
 I have been 617 in the shop for seven years. Everything else in 
 the shop has changed, but I have remained. Old goods have 
 gone, and new come in, and the same numbers have repre- 
 sented scores of new objects ; only 617 has not changed. Some 
 of the articles have been redeemed, but I have not. Some 
 have lapsed, and I am lapsing. Some have been sold, and I 
 am about to be sold. I remain uncancelled in the books, 617, 
 and nothing can cancel me but the return of my mother or 
 the expiration of my time. Here I must remain. I am not 
 free. I dare not go. AVhat would my mother say were I to 
 run away 1 She would be ashamed of her child. What if 
 she were to return, and I were gone — sliould we ever meet 
 again ? Lazarus would never tell her w^here I was if I had 
 left him — even if he knew, just out of spite to her and me. 
 But it is not that, not that,' she said sadly ; ' I daresay you 
 can't understand me, but I feel it here.' She touched her heart. 
 ' It would not be right. I cannot go. You have a Christian 
 conscience because you have been brought up as a Christian. 
 I have a pawnbroking conscience because I have been brought 
 up as a pawnbroker. There are different denominations and 
 different consciences belonging to them. What is right to one 
 is wrong to another. All that I know of right and wrong 
 Lazarus has taught me, or it has grown up unsown, like the 
 grass and weeds in my back yard, that shoot between the
 
 374 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 stones. Ifc sfcanrls written in fire on my lieart that I cannot 
 go witliout tlio duplicate, and that if Lazarus clioosos to make 
 me his wife I cannot liclp myself. Jf I go against that 
 writing, all light will go black before my eyes, and I shall bo 
 blind.' 
 
 ' Oh, Joe ! Joe ! it murst not be ! ' Charles spoke in pain. 
 
 ' How can I escape 1 ' 
 
 * The thought is too terrible ; that hateful, loathsome Jew 
 — and you — you ! ' He caught her arm, and drew it through 
 his and paced the pier. ' It maddens me ; I must work of I' 
 my fever. You do not mean it. You say it out of frolic to 
 tortui'e me, and wlicn you have driven me to desperation, you 
 will burst forth into one of your fresh laughs. Is it not so 1 ' 
 
 'No, it is true.' 
 
 ' But you cannot like him.' 
 
 ' I respect him as a master. I hate him as a lover.' 
 
 * Joe, it must not be. llun away, (io into service ; if 
 you want money, I will give you all I have ; sell the very 
 clothes off my back to support you. Trust me, try me; I will 
 work the flesh oil' my fingers to save you from so hateful a 
 fate. I am in earnest ; you will not believe mo. You have 
 known me only as an idler and a good-for-naught. I have 
 had no one to care for, nothing to work for. Promise mo, 
 
 promise me you will not ' His voice gave way. He could 
 
 not finish his sentence. 
 
 ' jNIy friend,' she said quietly, ' I cannot run away. I have 
 told you so already. It Avould be wrong according to my 
 pawnbi'oking conscience. I cannot receive your money, that 
 would be wrong according to my womanly conscience. I 
 cannot remain with Lazarus, except as his wife, now that he 
 has asked me to be that. Tiiat also, according to my womanly 
 conscience, would be wrong. If he had not asked me, I could 
 have remained, and I would have remained, as hitherto, work- 
 ing, starving, bargaining, begging, lying for him. As that 
 cannot be, there remains a single door of escape.' 
 
 ' Then escape by it,' said Charles. 
 
 ' You wish it ? ' she asked quietly, looking him full in the 
 face. 
 
 ' Certainly, anything rather than But what is it 1 ' 
 
 She shook her head and drew a long deep sigh. 
 
 ' Let me go ! ' she said ; for he was still holding her wrist. 
 
 « No, tell me.' 
 
 She suddenly extricated herself from his grasp.
 
 ON THE PIER. 375' 
 
 The white light was spreading in the eastern sky, and the 
 moon, struck witli paralysis, failed and became dim. 
 
 ' Joe ! ' he said, and covered his eyes. ' Now only, when 
 about to lose you, do I begin to realise what you are to me.' 
 
 He looked up, looked ai'ound, she was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Charles Cheek returned to Court Royal Lodge. He had lost 
 his brightness. He was troubled about himself and about 
 Joanna. He had become engaged to Lady Grace without being 
 really in love with her. He liked a free and easy life, and the 
 formalities of Court Royal were intolerable to him. He liked 
 variety, and one day at the Park was like another. He was 
 naturally of a joyous and careless spirit, and he was forced by 
 circumstances to think, and think seriously ; hating responsi- 
 bilities, he had entangled himself in a net of them, and saw no 
 way of escape out of them. 
 
 The Duke said one day to his daughter, that it was well to 
 encourage the young man to be at the Court, for he heard he 
 was very well oft', and it was high time for Lucy to get married. 
 
 ' He is gentlemanly and agreeable. He knows his place. 
 "We must not be selfish and keep Lucy to ourselves.' 
 
 Lady Grace turned her face aside. It did not occur to the 
 Duke as possible that young Cheek looked higher. 
 
 ' Should this come about, as I hope it will,' said the old man, 
 ' it will be our duty and pleasure to make a handsome pro- 
 vision for Lucy. She has been devoted to you and to our 
 whole house. We must not deal shabbily in the matter. I 
 will speak to Worthivale about it.' 
 
 ' Por pity's sake, papa, not a word,' entreated his daughter, 
 laying her delicate hands on his arm, whilst a little colour flut- 
 tered about her face, like the flush of the cloud when touched 
 by the setting sun. 
 
 ' As you will,' said the Duke ; ' I only suggested it ; but in 
 these delicate matters a stranger's hand must not meddle.' 
 
 Lucy watched her friend closely. She knew that Lady 
 Grace had no dislike to Charles ; she knew also that she did 
 not love him. Lucy was able to read her heart like an open
 
 b76 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 letter, and slie saw that Grace was sacrificing herself solely for 
 the sake of her fatlier and brother. Did slie realise the great- 
 ness of the sacrifice? Was the preservation of the estates 
 worth it 1 
 
 Lucy was glad of an opportunity to be with her brother one 
 day to talk to him on tlie subjoct. 
 
 Beavis was looking careworn and sad. He knew that Lady 
 Grace was engaged to Charles Cheek. The money advanced on 
 the security of the furniture and plat(^ had assured him of that. 
 He took Lucy's arm. They were walking in the garden under 
 a brick wall, against which oranges and limes were trained. 
 The scent of orange flowers was on the air. During a frost 
 mats were placed over these trees, otherwise they were exposed, 
 and flowered and fruited in the open air. Lucy plucked a twig 
 of orange blossom, and, holding it between her fingers lightly, 
 looked into the flower. ' Beavis,' she said, ' I shall l)e picking 
 these blossoms some time this year for the adornment of Grace. 
 I had as soon be putting them about her in her cofiln. You 
 also would be happier tliat it were so.' 
 
 Slie did not look at her brother. 
 
 Though they were comparatively seldom together, she and 
 her brother thought alike, felt alike, loved alike, as twins, each 
 with the same disinterested and transparent love. 
 
 ' No, Lucy,' answered Beavis, ' it is well as it is. The 
 family must be saved, and no salvation is possible without 
 sacrifice. The sacrifice the gods demand is always of the best 
 and purest. They refused that of Saltcombe ; it was great, but 
 not great enough. Iphigenia must sufTer that the wind may 
 swell the slack sails again.' 
 
 ' But the Duke will never consent.' 
 
 * He must consent. He will do so under protest to save the 
 family ; that is always the first consideration with him. He 
 would cheerfully sacrifice himself, if called to do so, in such a 
 cause.' 
 
 ' Would it not be best that the sacrifice should be made by 
 him — that the bulk of the property should be sold rather than 
 that dear Grace herself should be forced into this most unsuit- 
 able connection ? ' 
 
 ' I do not think she will be unhappy. Charles is amiable ; 
 he is not brilliant, and she will lead him.' 
 
 ' I am sure she docs not love him.' 
 
 ' I am not sure that he loves her. He is struck with her, 
 that is all. He cannot ask of her Avhat he does not give him- 
 self.
 
 ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT. 377 
 
 ' I hope,' said Lucy, warmly, ' with all my heart I do hope 
 that it will never come off.' 
 
 ' I see no other means of escape open. It must take place.' 
 
 Lucy was not happy. She took an opportunity of speaking 
 alone to Charles Cheek. 
 
 ' Mr. Cheek, you must excuse my temerity. I have been 
 brought up with Lady Grace from childhood, and I care for 
 her as my own soul. I do, do hope you love her.' 
 
 ' Of course I do. But now,' said the young man, gravely, 
 * now that I have you all to myself, Cousin Lucy, you must be 
 candid with me. I want particularly to know what are Lady 
 Grace's feelings towards me.' 
 
 ' She regards you very highly.' 
 
 ' If the property could be saved without the incumbrance 
 of Charles Cheek, I suppose she would be well content ? ' 
 
 ' That is not a fair question to ask, and I will not answer it.' 
 
 ' Cousin Lucy,' he said, ' I am like Jacob at the foot of the 
 ladder whose top reaches into heaven, and Lady Grace is an 
 angel standing on it, high, very high up. She beckons me to 
 ascend, and I want her to come down to me. Till one yields 
 there can be no rapprochement. Which is it to be ? ' 
 
 ' How can you ask ? For her to descend is inconceivable. 
 You must go up.' 
 
 He shook his head. * I do not care for such altitudes. The 
 air is too thin, the light too strong, and it is deadly cold. 
 I like the warmth of earth and its somewhat crass atmo- 
 sphere.' 
 
 ' You would drag her down ! ' 
 
 ' Am I sacrilegious ? I think her very perfect, quite an- 
 gelic, but insufficiently human.' 
 
 ' What do you mean by human — that which is gross 1 
 Lady Grace can never become that. Human she is in the 
 best sense. She shows you what human nature may become, 
 not what it usually is.' 
 
 ' Quite so — naticra, about-to-become. I like the present ; 
 there is unrest in a future participle. Cousin Lucy, to every 
 substance, humanity not excepted, there are three conditions 
 possible : the solid, the fluid, and the gaseous. I am in the 
 first, she is in the last. I am not even, and have no desire to 
 be, in the transition stage. She must condense and descend, 
 or I must evaporate, and that I won't do.' 
 
 ' Go higher, always higher ! ' said Lucy, eagerly. 
 
 ' The desire to do so is not in me. It is a strain to me to
 
 378 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 keep awing in this region of high culture. I am like Icarus. 
 My waxen pinions are melting, and I shall go down suddenly.* 
 
 ' Surely you do not objoct to culture.' 
 
 ' Not at all. I like culture as it aflects creature comforts. 
 I would not go back a hundred years and bo bereft of my bath, 
 my daily paper, lucifer-matches, and having my hair brushed 
 by machinery. Culture is excellent till it meddles with the 
 inner man. When it begins to scrape, and reduce, and polish 
 natural proclivities and robust individualities, why then, Lucy, 
 I fancy it not.' 
 
 ' You would like a luxurious savagery.' 
 
 'No, not that. Outer culture will relax and soften the 
 inner brute. You begin by stifling nature and then mummi- 
 fying it magnilicently. Your highly crystallised culture re- 
 sembles a Rupert's drop. Do you know it ? It is a frozen 
 tear of glass, so hard that you cannot break it with a hammer, 
 and yet so fragile that it will crumble into dust between your 
 lingers if you snip the hair-like end. Reline as you will, there 
 is always a vulnerable point in your civilisation, and when 
 that is touched the whole collapses. I like your culture well 
 enough ; a little of it is a wondrous thing ; a great deal is 
 overpowering. I have known a whole family suffocated by the 
 breaking of a jar of otto of roses. You are passing human 
 nature through retorts and sublimating it to an essence. 
 There will be a reaction. The reaction is begun. It was the 
 same in old Rome. Tlieir culture was carried to an extremity, 
 and the barbarian burst over it and trampled it out. Now 
 your high refinement of mind and manner and spirit has 
 reached its limit, and the great mass of barbarous, vulgar life 
 beneath is lifting itself up, to smite you down and destroy you,' 
 
 ' Tlie northern barbarians came down on Rome because tho 
 old Roman civilisation was selfish. The northern races were 
 full of heroic virtues, self-restraint, submission to authority, 
 and religion. Are these qualities to be found in the coming 
 barbarians 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh dear, no,' said Charles. ' What we are coming to is 
 the revolt against these very virtues which characterise your 
 Christian aristocratic culture. What is coming is the emanci- 
 pation of individualism, whiclv has been distorted and sup- 
 pressed by self-restraint, submission, and religion. You, brought 
 up under the old system, are parts of a whole, and think and 
 act and breathe and move as portions of the social machine. 
 You are bound with responsibilities, hedged about with duties.
 
 ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT. 379 
 
 You cannot do what you like, you have to consider everyone 
 else. You have obligations to every child in the school and 
 sick' woman on her bed. You have to dress according to your 
 station ; attend church to set an example. Where is the I 
 Myself in this 1 A poor bound lion in a net. The coming 
 change is the bursting of the lion out of the net, and the rend- 
 ing of every mesh that entangled him ; it is the rebellion of 
 the individual against obligations of every soi't, social, moral, 
 political, religious. Self will be free and follow its own will 
 wherever it leads — free to enjoy every luxury that civilisation 
 can give, without scruple from within or check from without.' 
 
 Lucy shuddered. 
 
 Charles laughed. 'This frightens you, and well it may, 
 brought up as you are in the old world. I do not say that 
 your old world is wrong, or that the new world which is be- 
 ginning to live is right. They are counter principles. I tell 
 you what is coming ; I need no prophetic instinct to see that. 
 The individual for the first time since the fall of old Rome 
 and heathenism is asserting itself. Hitherto the body corpo- 
 rate has been supreme.' 
 
 'That will be a terrible time. I dare not even think 
 of it.' 
 
 ' JSTot as bad as you suppose. In mechanics, when two forces 
 meet, running in different directions, they do not kill each 
 other, but they produce a resultant, that is, a force which goes 
 in quite a new direction. The old idea is not exhausted, and 
 when the new idea clashes against it, neither is neutralised so 
 as to cease to be, both are modified and altered into a result- 
 ant of some sort. What the resultant will be when the 
 counter forces in modern life meet, I cannot conjecture, but 
 we shall see a new social departure in a direction of which we 
 know nothing.' 
 
 ' To return to Lady Grace.' 
 
 ' You are right ; to return to her. You see, I do not want 
 to break away from the new current, to plunge myself in the 
 old, which is passing away.' 
 
 ' What prospect of happiness is there to either, with minds 
 and principles so dissimilar, so conflicting 1 ' 
 
 ' That,' said he, and sighed, ' that is what I continually ask 
 myself, and am as often frightened at the answer.' 
 
 ' Oh, Cousin Charles ! do not risk the ruin of her, of your 
 life, by persevermg.' 
 
 'Remember, Lucy, she encouraged me. She made the
 
 380 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 advance, not I. I would not have dared to speak unprovoked 
 by lier.' 
 
 ' Cousin Charles ! you must release her.' 
 
 ' What ! — and ruin the family 1 ' 
 
 Lucy put her hands over her eyes. ' I must not interfere,' 
 she said ; ' iny thoughts wei-e only for her.' 
 
 •This is how matters stand, Lucy,' said Charles Cheek. 
 ' I love and venerate Lady Grace above every woman in the 
 world, but she is not the woman I desire as my wife. I 
 suppose I am deficient in ambition. It may be that she 
 would insist on a liighcrlife, a life of more restraint than that 
 I now lead, and this I do not choose to adopt. I belong to 
 the new era, and declare for liberty. I like comfort, I like 
 enjoyment, and I detest obligation. If I marry Lady Grace I 
 throw myself into moral, social, and mental bondage. No 
 doubt it would do me good, make a high-principled, conscien- 
 tious English gentleman of me; but I refuse the schooling, and 
 the results are not to my taste. Lucy ! I will give her up. I 
 will go to my father and make the best terms I can for the 
 family. It is / who shrink from the engagement, not she, and 
 therefore we are bound to make some compensation.' 
 
 ' Will you see her lirst 1 ' 
 
 ' No, I will write.' 
 
 Lucy drew a sigh of relief. ' I am sure your decision is 
 right,' she said, * cost what it may to the family.* 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 A NEW LEAP. 
 
 Charles Cheek went up to town next day, reached Padding- 
 ton at six P.M., and in twenty minutes was at his father's 
 liouse. We regret the necessity, but it is unavoidable, for the 
 fourth time we must introduce the reader to the elder Cheek 
 at meals In fact the man was invisible at other times, ex- 
 cept about the business of the Monokeratic establishment. 
 This time, liowever, we see him not eating, but about to 
 eat. 
 
 Charles acted on the present occasion with want of tact ; 
 he began on the subject uppermost in his mind before hig 
 father had eaten, whilst he was hungry and cross. Charles
 
 A NEW LEAF. 381 
 
 had not dined, but he was young and independent of his 
 meals, whereas an old man is not. Mr. Cheek's business was 
 one thit occupied his mind actively all day, and his nervous 
 system became irritable towards evening. Jlr. Gladstone was 
 his ideal at 6 p.m., Sir Charles Dilke at 6.15, Chamberlain was 
 hardly rancorous enough at 6.30, and Labouchere was the 
 man for him at 6.45. At five minutes to seven he was 
 furious against the Constitution, the Chui'ch, the House of 
 Lords, his soap, hair-brushes, his cook, and the Royal Family. 
 The old man was in his drawing-room, a room as tasteless as 
 the dining-room. It reeked of Tottenham Court Road. 
 
 ' It is all up,' said Charles. 
 
 ' What is up 1 The glass or consols ? Be explicit.' 
 
 ' My engagement with Lady Grace Eveleigh.' 
 
 ' Indeed — your engagement. Ugh ! Thought they'd draw 
 a score across that account. Who did it 1 ' 
 
 ' I — I released her. They are not to blame, I have 
 written to say I will not hold her to her word.' 
 
 ' You have, you — you Colorado beetle ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, I have. I could endure the bondage no longer. I 
 must have my clothes made for my back, not my back shaped 
 to my clothes. I dare say the life of these aristocrats is very 
 fiise, and their ideas superfine, but I like a broad life and un- 
 chastened ideas. I have tried how I could get on among 
 them, and I am tired of the experiment.' 
 
 ' So that is settled 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, it is. The scheme was yours. I have done my best 
 to accommodate myself to it, but it is impi-acticable.' 
 
 ' Impracticable. Do you know what you liave done ? You 
 have danced about this young woman long enough to fool me 
 into believing you were in earnest, and I have bought up 
 several of their mortgages, which I would not have touched 
 but for you.' 
 
 ' Deal generously with the family, father,' said Charles. 
 ' It is not their fault that the engagement is broken off. It is 
 entirely my own doing.' 
 
 'That matters not,' said Mr. Cheek, roughly. 'I don't 
 care for them, but I do care for my own money. I shall fore- 
 close at once while the depression lasts. When land is up 
 again, sell. That's business. I have a bill of sale on the 
 contents of their houses. I'll release that pretty quick too.' 
 
 ' Dinner is on the table, sir,' said the servant, entering. 
 
 ' But, my dear father, I entreat you to consider that it is I
 
 382 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 who Avrong them, and that some reparation is due to them for 
 the disappointment.' 
 
 ' Do you heai' 1 ' roared the old man. ' Dinner is on the 
 table ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, but stay a moment, I entreat you.' 
 
 'What — let the fish get cold ! Not for a score of Kings- 
 bridges. Dinner is on the table. Go in ! ' 
 
 During dinner the old man scarcely spoke. He ate in a 
 vindictive manner, as it he were hurting his son's feelings by 
 each bite, and knew it, and delighted in doing it. When lie 
 cut the mutton he cut as though lie Avere stabbing the oflender ; 
 when lie helped himself to gravy it was as though spooning up 
 his blood ; when taking potatoes and rice he dabbed the spoon 
 into the vegetables as though stirring up and torturing his 
 Charles's brain. When he drank he glowered over the rim of 
 his glass at the young man. Dut he said nothing till the 
 dessert was on the table and the servants withdrawn. 
 
 Then it was Charles who began. 
 
 ' Father, I have a proposal to make Avhicli will surprise 
 you. It is seriously made. I want you to put me in the way 
 of earning my living.' 
 
 ' ]Mr. Cheek set down a macaroon he was eating, and which 
 was bitten in half, and stared at his son, then laughed in- 
 sultingly. 
 
 ' I am quite in earnest,' said the young man. 'Give me 
 an opportunity of working and earning as much as will 
 support me. I ask of you nothing further. I desire hence- 
 forth to be beholden to no one, not even to you. I Avish to be 
 responsible for my actions to no one, to cut away the right of 
 controlling and rebuking me which you have exercised so freely 
 and so offensively. Wlien I was living on an allowance from 
 you, you then had some right over me ; when I live on my 
 own earnings, you will have none. I will allow none. When 
 the money was given to me, I did not know its value ; when I 
 earn it by hard work, I shall know what it is worth. You 
 have been rough of tongue with me, and I have felt it, without 
 cai'ing to amend my ways and deserve better ; when I am free 
 from it, I may find a motive for reform.' 
 
 He spoke frankly ; his pleasant handsome face bore in it 
 an expression new to it, a look of dignity it had never worn 
 before. His hair was light, almost white in the gaslight, his 
 eyes were blue, and as he spoke moisture gathered in them. 
 His hand was on the table, playing with a raisin stalk, — a
 
 A NEW LEAF. 383 
 
 white hand, well formed, that twitched and broke the stalk 
 into many pieces, showing his nervous emotion. 
 
 Mr. Cheek said nothing, but stared open-eyed and open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 * You do not understond me,' continued Charles, ' I allow 
 that I have been a sorry fool. I am resolved to be so no longer. 
 I should be a fool if I continued my pretence to the hand of 
 Lady Grace, and mated out of my sort. I had an ambition 
 once to be a soldier, and that you contradicted. Afterwards 
 had none. You provided me with money, and I spent it. I 
 had no aim, no motive to do otherwise. You urged me to this 
 grand connection, and I went along the path you pointed out, 
 partly to please you, partly because myself dazzled. But my 
 eyes have been opened in time. I see that it is not a way I 
 can walk on. I will choose another, humbler ; I will work 
 for my livelihood, and then I can spend my life as my ambi- 
 tions spring up and direct.' 
 
 ' You are in earnest ? ' 
 
 ' So much in earnest that I refuse the four hundred pounds 
 you have allowed me hitherto.' 
 
 ' Refuse the allowance ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. I will not touch what I have not earned, and so 
 depinve you of the right to rebuke, and outrage me.' 
 
 ' Outrage you ! ' echoed the father. 
 
 ' Yes, outrage me,' said the young man. ' I have endured 
 a great deal from you. I have borne it because you are my 
 father ; but every offensive word from you I have felt more 
 keenly than you have supposed possible. It has not spun-ed 
 me to do better, it has diiven me to do worse. Now that is 
 over. I will be my own master henceforth, responsible to no 
 man, and enduring insult from none.' 
 
 ' INIr. Cheek was still too amazed to speak. A dim conscious- 
 ness that he had wronged his son awoke in his mind, but his 
 mind was too coarse in texture to understand fully his fault. He 
 was a rough man, who when out of humour used rough words. 
 He meant them at the time, but he did not mean them to inflict 
 mortal wounds. Education teaches man to measure his words, 
 and check them as they pass from his heart over his tongue. 
 Old Cheek had never had the education which imposes this 
 self-restraint on speech. Charles had inherited from his mother 
 a more sensitive nature than his father's ; from boyhood he 
 had been accustomed to hard words, and these had alienated 
 him from thp old man, who loved him whilst he abused him.
 
 384 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Charles was naturally -weak, and his father's roughness had 
 made him weaker. The old man had mortified his self-respect, 
 till self-respect was almost dead within him. Now, suddenly, 
 it had sprung to life and assorted itself. 
 
 Mv. Cheek stood up. He said nothing, and left the room. 
 Charles saw no more of him that evening. 
 
 Next day, at breakfast (the lifth meal at which we have 
 met him), he asked his son whether he still meant what he had 
 said the night before, and when Charles insisted that he had 
 spoken seriously, the father said, ' Charles, I recognise sorae- 
 tliiiig good in this. It gratifies me. Begin to work for your- 
 self. Learn the value of every sixpence. I will put you with 
 ^Messrs. Newcomen and Bowcher, ship-agents in Wapping. 
 They will take you to oblige me. I will see them and arrange 
 about salary.' 
 
 ' I ask nothinG; better.' 
 
 'And — accept from me fifty pounds to begin life upon. 
 You must live in lodgings. But we see no more of each other 
 till you have grown into this new condition of life. If you 
 go into lodgings you must have some money.' 
 
 ' I accept it, father,' said Charles, ' and,' he added with 
 faltering voice, ' pardon me if I spoke too plain, and wounded 
 you last night.' 
 
 ' Wounded me ! Not a bit. Words break no bones.' 
 
 CHAPTER LV 
 
 IN VAIN. 
 
 A MONTH had passed. Charles had not been seen by his father, 
 who had fulfilled his undertaking, and had placed him with 
 shi2)i)ing agents, in a subordinate place. The old man had 
 arranged with Messrs. Newcomen and Bowcher, who were 
 ready to oblige him. Charles was to have plenty of work, and 
 was to receive two pounds per week, of which, no doubt — 
 though he did not know it— his father found a portion. 
 
 After the lapse of the month, Mr. Cheek, senior, visited 
 the agents and inquired into the conduct of their new clerk. 
 Messrs. Newcomen and Bowcher were glad to testify that, as 
 far as they could judge, he was steady and attentive to his
 
 IX VAix. 385 
 
 work. He had been regular in liis attendance, careful, obliging, 
 and reliable. 
 
 Then Mr. Cheek made an excursion to Ebury Street, 
 Pimlico, where his son lived in a boarding-house, kept by a 
 Miss Jones. He chose a time for his visit when he knew his 
 son would be at the office. Ebury Street, Pimlico, is a long 
 way from Wapping, but Charles went to and fro by steamer 
 from Vauxhall Bridge, and the air did him good. 
 
 Mr. Cheek found the dingy lodging-house kept by Miss 
 Jones ; he rang the bell, and rapped sharply with the knocker, 
 and the door was opened by Miss Jones herself, a thin lady 
 with curls, a pasty face, and eyes so pale in theii- colour that 
 they must have been washed and rewashed with soda till all 
 the colour had been washed out of them. ]\Iiss Jones was full 
 of amiability when Mr. Cheek introduced himself, and hastened 
 to assure him of the respectabihty of her establishment, the 
 high social standing of her guests, and the comforts they en- 
 joyed. The house was admirably situated, away from the fogs ; 
 and the health of the boarders was robust, as she could testify 
 by their appetites. They breakfasted together, and she pre- 
 sided. She furnished them with coffee and tea, whichever 
 they preferred. Some gentlemen were averse to tea in the 
 morning, and they drank coffee. Others liked to change their 
 drink week and week about. Each had an egg and a rasher of 
 bacon, sometimes she substituted bloater for rasher. There was 
 always a rack of toast on the table, as a pleasant change to bread 
 and butter. When the gentlemen returned from their offices they 
 had tea, and in the evening supper off cold meat, bread, and chev\se, 
 ' best Amei'ican. I had Dutch cheese for some time, but I find 
 the American is preferred by the gentlemen, so I have that now.' 
 
 She went on to assure Mr. Cheek that her lodijers wei'e of 
 the most select description. For many years she had among 
 them an old Waterloo officer, but he was dead. The lady 
 lodging on the first floor ought, if everyone had his rights, to 
 be a baronet, but her aunt, from whom she had great expecta- 
 tions, had left everything to a female companion who had 
 exercised great influence over her at the last. It was a pity, 
 Miss Jones thought, that the lady had not gone to law and 
 upset the will, and recovei^ed the title and a real sealskin 
 jacket which had gone to the companion, worth forty pounds. 
 Another of lier lodgers was a gentleman of some literary 
 fame who at one time had earned five pounds by writing verses 
 for Christmas cai'ds. 
 
 c c
 
 386 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ]Miss Jones Aveut on to say tliat she chari^od for her lodg- 
 ings a pound per week, exclusive of ale and washing, inclusive 
 of a dinner on Sundays and Christmas Day. 
 
 Miss Jones did not provide the gentlemen with toilette 
 soap, for she found them more fastidious in this particular 
 than in their meat and drink. One liked glycerine, another 
 oatmeal, and a third would use nothing but carbolic soap. 
 
 i\Ir. Cheek listened to ]\liss Jones without interrupting her, 
 looking tlie faded woman tlu'Ough and through with his pierc- 
 ing eyes, taking stock of her. He was probably satisfied that, 
 with a good deal of affectation, she was a wortliy woman at 
 core, for he gave a grunt, stood up, interrupted her flow of 
 information, and begged to be conducted upstairs to his son's 
 bedroom. 
 
 ' Quite Alpine, I have been told,' said Miss Jones, as she 
 conducted him to the very top of the house. ' The air at this 
 altitiide is keen, salubrious, and invigorating. The gentlemen 
 all like the top storey, where they can see over the roofs. 
 But, between ourselves, your son is my favourite, and I have 
 accommodated him where he can have the finest view and the 
 purest air. Yonder, sir, you can catch Doulton's Pottery 
 Works ; the effect, with the morning's sun on them, is very 
 fine.' 
 
 !Mr. Cheek looked round the little bedroom. It was in the 
 roof, with a sloping ceiling. Tliere was a fireplace, but the 
 grate had not been used during Miss Jones's tenancy. The 
 walls were hung with the clieapest of papers in two dingy 
 coloui'S. The furniture consisted of one chair, a cliest of 
 drawers with the mahogany veneering scaling away, a Avash- 
 handstand of painted deal suffering from cutaneous disorder, 
 and a bed, above whicli hung a photograph in a frame. Mr. 
 Cheek knew the picture. A duplicate had been sent to him 
 some time ago. Through the ring of the frame, with its head 
 drooping over the picture, hung a withered lily of the valley. 
 
 Mr. Cheek came slowly down-stairs, holding the banisters 
 with one hand and rubbing his nose witli the other. 
 
 ' Will this last ? ' he said to himself. ' What can be the 
 meaning of it all ? As for his taking offence at any words I 
 may have said when annoyed, that's absurd — a mere excuse. 
 Words are wind, and wind blows away.' 
 
 When he reached the parlour again, he said to the landlady, 
 ' Look here, ma'am. I don't want you to tell my boy that I 
 have been here to day. Give him your best bedroom, not an
 
 IX VATX. 387 
 
 attic broom-ancl-pail cupboard. Turn out, if need be, the old 
 "woman who missed a baronetcy. I'll pay the difference. Give 
 the boarders kidneys for breakfast now and then, and fowls for 
 supper, or anything else they fancy. Cost, ma'am, is no object 
 to me. I can't feed Charles differently from the rest, so they 
 must all be well-fed together. No more of your American 
 cheese ; Stilton and Cheshire, and, if you will, Gorgonzola, 
 Not a word about me. Take all the credit to yourself.' 
 
 Charles was able to get away early on Whitsun-eve. Mon- 
 day would be a Bank holiday. He had been hard worked, and 
 worked till late at night for some weeks, and Messrs. New- 
 comen and Bowcher put up their shutters on Friday night, and 
 allowed their clerks holiday from the Saturday to the Tuesday 
 morning. Charles took an early ti-ain on Saturday to Ply- 
 mouth, and arrived at the Barbican the same afternoon. He 
 went to the Golden Balls immediately, without stopping to 
 have anything to eat. His heart was beating fast. His step 
 was light, his eyes full of glad expectation, and he held his 
 head up proudly. He was surprised to see that the house of 
 Lazarus had been repainted. The shop was open. A good 
 deal of business was done on a Saturday, double on the eve of 
 a Bank holiday. People would pawn necessaries to obtain 
 money for a day's pleasure. 
 
 He looked in at the window, and saw Joanna behind the 
 counter talking to a woman who was in the shop with some 
 article she wished to dispose of, 
 
 Charles waited till the woman came out, then he caught the 
 door before she closed it, and stepped in. 
 
 Joanna, not hearing the door re-opened, did not suppose 
 any one had entered. She did not see him, as she was engaged 
 examining the article — a brooch, which she had taken. 
 
 Charles had a few moments in which to observe her. She 
 was well, even handsomely dressed, but pale and worn. She 
 put away the brooch, and seated herself ; then she leaned her 
 elbow on the counter, and put her hand to her bi'ow, and drew 
 a deep sigh. 
 
 ' Joe ! ' 
 
 She sprang to her feet, and stepped back. He saw her 
 turn deadly pale, and then lean both her hands on the counter 
 to steady herself, as though afraid she would faint. She re- 
 covered herself, however, quickly, but her colour did not return 
 as rapidly as her composure. 
 
 * Mr. Charles ! You here J ' 
 
 c c 3
 
 388 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 'Yes, dear Joe, I cannot help myself. I could not do 
 otherwise than come. I liave not had the chance before, and I 
 have been hungering for the sight of your face, and for a word 
 of encouragement from your lips. I came straight away by 
 the morning train, and have just arrived. Why have you not 
 answered my letters 1 ' 
 
 ' I sent you something.' 
 
 'Yes, a lily of the valley, but not a word accompanied it.' 
 
 ' I sent you w-hat I most valued, the first flower from the 
 root Lady Grace gave me. I would not have parted with it 
 to anyone else. I would not have picked it for myself, but — 
 you have been kind to me, and — I tliought I might never more 
 have the chance of giving you anything.' 
 
 ' Why did you not send me a word ? ' 
 
 Joanna made no answer. She looked down, her pallor re- 
 mained, and she, who was usually so collected, stood trem])ling 
 before him. She tried to disguise her agitation by shuffling 
 her hands to and fro on the counter. 
 
 ' Oh, Joe ! you know that all is up between me and Lady 
 Orace. We did not suit each other. We belonged to distinct 
 worlds, she to the world that is passing away, I to the world 
 that is coming on — though, I admit, but a poor specimen of 
 that. Now that is all over, and I am free. I am changed from 
 what I was. You knew me as an idler and a spendthrift, 
 ^vithout aim and without energy. Now I am a clei-k in a 
 shipping office. I do not live on my father's bounty. I have 
 refused his allowance. I live on what I earn. I work now 
 for my daily bread.' 
 
 She looked up and smiled, but there was intense sadness in 
 her face that showed through her smile like a shower through 
 a rainbow. 
 
 ' I get a hundred pounds a year, and I have fifty pounds 
 per annum of my own, left me by my mother, independent of 
 my father. INIay I take a chair, Joe V 
 
 She nodded, and pointed to one. He drew it beside the 
 counter, and seated himself ; but she remained standing with 
 her elbow on the desk, and her hand over her eyes, shading 
 her face. 
 
 ' I am lodging with an old lady in Ebury Street,' he went 
 on, 'and pay her a pound a week. I do not dine there, but at 
 un eating-liouse, and that costs me about nine shillings a week, 
 add a shilling for extras, and that comes to twenty-six pounds 
 in the year. I think I can clothe myself on ten pounds, so
 
 IN VAIN-. 389 
 
 that leaves just sixty-six pounds clear. I am to have my 
 salary raised if I go on well. Now, Joe ! Take away your 
 hand, and let me see your face, let me look into your eyes. 
 Will you give me the hope that j'ou will come and be mine, 
 and let us begin the world anew together ? I will — I will 
 work, and you shall never reproach me with idleness again. If 
 I have you, I shall be happy ; I shall care for nothing else. I 
 shall do my work with a light heart, and sing over it, knowing 
 that I am going home to you. You have done me a great deal 
 of good already. You will make me do a great deal more here- 
 after, if you will consent to be with me always, to encourage me.' 
 
 He put up his hand to draw aside her arm from shading 
 her face. Then he saw how great was her agitation. She was 
 shaking like an aspen leaf, her face ash white, her eyes dim. 
 She clasped her hands, and they quivered. She unclosed them, 
 and put one to her brow, and put it down again, then laid her 
 hand on her breast, and seemed to gasp for breath. She could 
 not speak. 
 
 ' Joe ! ' he said, ' why do you not answer me ? It was for 
 you that I refused my father's help, that I might have the 
 right to choose whom I would, and I will have none but you. 
 You have had a wretched life here. I have led a wasted life. 
 You have taught me to break away from my past, and I would 
 release you, in return, from yours. We shall begin the world 
 together on very little, but love lightens every load and seasons 
 every dish.' 
 
 Then she put both her hands outspread before her, and 
 touched his breast, as he leaned forward, and thrust him away. 
 Her eyes were dark in their sockets, and gleamed. ' I cannot 
 — I cannot,' she said, quivering in voice, eyes, and lips, and 
 every muscle of her body. 
 
 He looked at her in surprise. ' Why not, Joe 1 You must, 
 indeed. If you take from me this hope, this ambition, I dare 
 not say what will become of me. It is only my love for you 
 which has lifted me to the threshold of a better life ; now that 
 you have led me to it, will you thrust me back into the folly 
 and emptiness from which I have struggled up 1 ' 
 
 ' I canDot,' she said, slowly recovei'ing herself. ' I signed 
 you away for a hundred pounds. That is why I never 
 
 answered your letters. That is why — now — now ' She 
 
 could not speak. Something rose in her throat and choked 
 her. 
 
 * Is that all ? ' exclaimer^ CI -"les. ' That was a joke.'
 
 39U COL'UT KJYAL. 
 
 'No,' she answered, 'it was no joke tome. Your father 
 was in earnest, so was I. And now it is too late — now ' 
 
 Then the door burst open, and Lazarus, in a black frock 
 coat, rushed out of the inner part of the house. 
 
 ' What ! You here again ? You dare to enter my premises. 
 You scoundrel, you wastrel ! Get out of my doors directly. 
 Is it not enough that your father has snatched the Marquess 
 from my grasp, but must you come here to cai'ry off my wife 
 also 1 ' 
 
 * Stand back,' said Charles, thrusting the Jew away. ' I 
 will not be touched by you. Wife ! Joanna never shall be 
 that if I can prevent it.' 
 
 ' She is ! Tell him, Joanna. Let him hear it from your 
 own lips — make the news the sweeter, perhaps.' 
 
 Charles stood looking from one to another, petrified. 
 
 ' Mr. Charles,' said the girl without looking at him, but 
 with face averted, and playing a tune with her fingers on the 
 counter to conceal her trembling, ' I told you it was to be so. 
 This morning we went together before the registrar, and after 
 sundown the cohen will be here to marry us by Jewish rites.' 
 
 ' You coward ! you vile Jewish coward ! ' cried Charles, 
 losing all control over himself, and seizing Lazarus by the collar 
 and shaking him. ' You have taken a despicable advantage 
 over this poor girl, to make her life ten thousand times more 
 wretched than it was before.' 
 
 As he shook the Jew his blood heated, then boiled ; and, 
 blind to Avhat he was about, stung by disappointed love, 
 jealousy, disgust, flaring into inconsiderate rage, he took up 
 one of the many sticks that were exposed in the shop for sale, 
 and, holding Lazax'us by the collar, swung him from side to side, 
 beating him fast and hard. Lazarus screamed for help. He 
 was not much hurt; he writhed so that the blows fell on his 
 new black frock coat, but now and then a cut caught him 
 across the legs. A woman — Mrs. Thresher — who had been in 
 the kitchen, hearing the shrieks, ran in, and then rushed forth 
 into the street crying ' IMurder ! ' 
 
 Charles was excited to madness at the tossings, and scream- 
 ing, and dodging of the Jew, at his want of success in hurting 
 him. 
 
 His arm relaxed at length ; he was exhausted, and he cast 
 the wretched man away. 
 
 ' There ! ' said he ; ' remember Charles Cheek in connection 
 with your wedding-day.'
 
 IN VAIN. 391 
 
 Next moment lie was in the hands of the police, summoned 
 by Mrs. Thresher. 
 
 ' I give him in charge ! ' shouted the Jew. ' He has half- 
 murdered me in my own house ! Take him otY to the 
 lock-up ! ' 
 
 So it came about that Charles Cheek spent his "\Yhitsun 
 holidays in confinement. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 PREPARATORY. 
 
 For some weeks Lazarus had been in a bad temper, not at 
 all in a lover's genial mood. His mortgages had been taken up 
 by Mr. Cheek and his bills met ; his power over the Ducal 
 family was ended. Disappointed revenge and frustrated am- 
 bition had combined to make him irritable. He was now in 
 possession of a very large sum of money — of the whole of his 
 savings through many years of privation and work, and he did 
 not know what to do with it. He did not, of course, keep the 
 money in the house ; it was lodged with his banker. The 
 question that recurred to him again and again was, How should 
 he invest it ? The ferment in his mind was a relief to J oanna. 
 It saved her from annoyance. He almost forgot he Avas a 
 lover in his anxiety about his money. 
 
 When they sat together over the kitchen fire, his talk was 
 of the condition of the money market, on promising invest- 
 ments, on the rise and fall of various stock which had attracted 
 his interest ; or he spoke fretfully of the selfishness of Cheek 
 senior in coming to the assistance of the Kingsbridge family. 
 At one time Cheek was an idiot, throwing away his money on 
 coroneted fools ; at another he was deep and selfish, robbing 
 him, Lazarus, of the fruits of his labours, just as they were 
 ripe for picking. 
 
 ' I know what he'll do,' grumbled Lazarus. He'll puff 
 Bigbury as he pufied his Monokeratic system, run up a hotel, 
 build a town and call it Cheekville. Then his son Charles will 
 marry well, become M.P., then Baronet, and so the unicorn 
 will poke its way into respectability. 
 
 But though Lazarus was not an ardent lover, he did not 
 lose sight of the proposed change iir his relation to Joanna.
 
 392 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * My dear, lie aiid, ' I've got a book of cticiuette written by 
 a lady of rai k among the lots here, and I've read it. I learn 
 from it that in good society it is not thought the chic for us to 
 be married from the same house. So I've spoken to INIrs. 
 Thresher— a very motherly body, though her line is ham and 
 sausage — and she will take you in ; she has a spare room on 
 the second floor, where you can reside till our nuptials. I hopo 
 you will lind notiiing to complain of in the marriage agreement 
 which I have instructed Grudge to draw up and bring Avith 
 liim the day before our wedding. I have made over everything 
 to you, 1 ecause I really do not tliink I have a relative near 
 enough ior me to know him. With us of the seed of Israel, 
 Joanna, maidens are always married on a Wednesday, and 
 widows on a Friday ; but, as you are not one of us it really 
 does not matter wliat day is chosen, so I have tixed on Whitsun- 
 eve as suitable, then the honeymoon can coincide with the 
 Bank holiday, when excursion trips are cheap. With us, the 
 marriage agreement is called the kynos, and is made on a Sun- 
 day, but, as you don't belong to the house of Israel, any day 
 will do for that ; and I've; told Grudge to be here on the 
 Friday. Then, on the Sabbath we'll walk over together to the 
 registrar, as you're a Ghristian ; and after sundown, when the 
 SabV)ath is over, and the Sunday begins, a cohen will come from 
 Bristol and will marry us by religious ceremonial, as is customary 
 among us. What a fortunate thing it is, Joanna, that I kept 
 the howdah all these years. At last it will come in service- 
 able ; for in our marriage ceremony the bridegroom and tho 
 bride stand under a canopy of silk or some precious stud", and 
 the cohen blesses them, and takes a ring from me and puts it 
 on your finger, whilst I say, " Verily thou art espoused unto 
 me, according to the rites of jNIoses and Israel." After that a 
 gobletful of red wine is handed to the cohen, and he blesses it, 
 just puts his lips to it, and passes it to us. We sliall have to 
 empty it between us, and then 1 dash the goblet on the ground 
 and ])reak it, by way of putting you in mind that you are l)ut 
 brittle wai'e.' Lazarus shook his head. ' Ah, Joanna ! what 
 are ceremonies without a moral meaning ? ' 
 
 ' Is that all 1 ' 
 
 * Yes, that is all. Now, although you must sleep and have 
 your meals at Mrs. Thresher's, I don't see that you need neglect 
 the shop. I shall be very much engaged, as the three rooms 
 upstiiirs have to be cleared, and a new range put in the kitchen. 
 Talking of ranges,' said Mr. Lazarus, rubbing his chin in his
 
 PREPARATORY. 393 
 
 palm, ' they are difficult things, Avhat with their dampers and 
 traps. They are like organs, only to be played upon by one 
 who understands the stops. And where will you lind a cook 
 who understands a range ? When she wants to bake she pulls 
 out both the dampers, one of which is designed to draw the 
 lire away from the oven to the boiler ; and when she wants to 
 boil, she pulls out both dampers, one of which is designed to 
 draw away ^he fire from the boiler. And when she wants 
 neither to bake nor to boil, she pulls out both dampers, and 
 carries the fire up the chimney, which is just the same as if an 
 organist pulled out stop diapason and hautboy when he wanted 
 pianissimo ; and tremolo and dulciano when he wanted forte ; 
 and diapason, hautboy, tremolo and dulciano when he wanted 
 nothing in particular. Come here, Joanna.' He made her 
 follow into his sanctum. ' We must have a clearance here. It 
 is a loss, but it cannot be helped. Do you see all those shelves 
 full of chemist's drugs ? I took the lot once for a bad debt, 
 but I've never been able to sell them. Ipecacuanha, cod-liver 
 and castor oils, extract of senna, mercurial ointment, tincture 
 of taraxacum, arnica, laudanum. There is enough there to 
 dose the Barbican.' 
 
 ' What, am I to throw them all away ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, unless you can dispose of them better. And you can 
 sell the bottles.' 
 
 ' I shall find a use for some,' said Joanna. 
 
 CHAPTER LYir. 
 
 RELEASE. 
 
 ' Mr. Lazarus,' said Joanna. 
 
 ' Call me Emmanuel, or, for short, Em.* 
 
 ' Mr. Lazarus,' said Joanna, disregarding the interruption, 
 ' you will not proceed against Mr. Cheek.' 
 
 ' Why not 1 Show me the reason. Didn't he shake me, and 
 slap me, and bang me, and beat me with a stick 1 Didn't he 
 burst the buttons off me, and nigh upon throttle me with my 
 cravat 1 And didn't he tumble my teeth out and break the 
 laces of my stays 1 Am I to sit down under all these provoca- 
 tions and bear them like a lamb 'i '
 
 394 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 * I entreat you to pass this over. Do not appear against 
 him.' 
 
 ' No, no, Joanna. Do not try this on too soon. We are 
 not wed yet, and when we are, you will have to learn that 
 wedlock does not make a missus of you over me. Mistress of 
 the house, of the pots and pans, and the servant if we have 
 one — though I dare say we can manage if Mrs. Thresher will 
 come in charing — mistress over Mrs. Thresher if you like, but 
 not over me. Do you know that every day I say the Berochos 
 shel shaclu'it, and bless Providence that I am not born a 
 Gentile, born a slave, and born a woman. Among you 
 Christians the order of the domestic world is inverted, and the 
 woman dominates over man and beast. It is not so with us. 
 The Parsces have a very good custom. Every morning the 
 wife falls down before her husband's feet and worships him. 
 Even we Jews have not attained to such a pitch of enlighten- 
 ment as that. In the Aishcr-Yotsar every day we thank 
 Providence for having made openings in us, eyes wherewith to 
 see, ears Avhercwith to hear, nostrils wherewith to smell, doors 
 these for the acquisition of information, and wepi'aythat they 
 may ever be kept open ; and now, through these same doors 
 to-day imbibe the lesson that, in this house, I remain master. 
 In whatsoever capacity you be, whether as maid-of-all-work, 
 or as pawn, or as wife, I remain above you, as the sun is above 
 the earth. Your orbit is about me, not mine round you.' 
 
 Preparations had been made in the house for the change 
 in the condition of the two usual inmates. Thi'ce upper rooms 
 had been completely cleared of their contents, and they had 
 been adapted for habitation. That commanding the street, 
 immediately over the shop, was to be the drawing-room, 
 another was furnished as the dining-room. In one way or 
 another Lazarus disposed of a great deal of rubbish. He 
 groaned over it, because he Avas losing money. ' This sofa,' 
 said he, ' must go for twelve and three, and the cabinet for 
 fifteen and nine. If I bided my time I might dispose of the 
 sofa for two guineas, and the cabinet for fifty shillings, but 
 let this loss of three pound four — say three guineas — be an 
 evidence to my Joanna of the love and self-sacrifice lodged in 
 this bosom. Love may well be described as a devouring flame ; 
 it consumes a lot of capital.' 
 
 The beds, the tables, chairs, Avardrobes, uniforms, crockery, 
 were disposed of, and space made for the painters and paperers 
 to get to work. The staircase was put to rights, the floors relaid.
 
 EELEASE. 395 
 
 'Thougli why the floors should be made pretty, when they 
 will be covered by carpets, is more than I can see.' 
 
 On Saturday morning the Jew and Joanna, with Mrs. 
 Thresher and her husband, appeared before the registrar the 
 two latter as witnesses. 
 
 'If I was to die intestate, and without a family,' said 
 Lazarus, ' half of all I'm possessed of would go to the widow, 
 and the other half to the next of kin, and it would take some- 
 thing to find a kinsman. But now I have made you to take 
 all, Joanna, by my marriage settlement, which Grudge brought 
 here yesterday for signature. Which is another proof— if 
 proof were wanting — how fond I am of you. Joanna, when I 
 come to consider all I've done for you, how I have lifted you 
 out of the dirt, so to speak, to make you my consort, and how I 
 have scattered the contents of the three upper rooms, and how 
 I have made liberal provision for you should you survive me — 
 I say that, considering all this, I think there should be no 
 bounds to your gratitude and devotion to me.' 
 
 The upper room, intended as dining-room, was prepared 
 for the occasion of the religious ceremonial. In the middle 
 hung a brass lamp of seven nozzles, the Sabbatical lamp, with 
 seven wicks, which were all ])urning. The howdah, raised on 
 four poles, a richly decorated canopy of red silk embroidered 
 ■with gold thread, rested against the wall ; on an ormolu 
 marble-topped side table stood a large crystal goblet filled 
 with purple wine. The day was not quite set, but the blinds 
 were drawn that the inquisitive people of the marine store 
 opposite, who were well awai-e what was about to take place, 
 and whose windows commanded the room, might be debarred 
 participation in the ceremony. Directly the sun set, and the 
 Sabbath was over, the Rabbi would arrive, together with some 
 Plymouth Jews and Jewesses, invited to be present. For the 
 occasion, Mrs. Thresher presided in the kitchen. 
 
 Lazarus was in high excitement. He had eaten nothing all 
 day, as a Jew is required to fast on his wedding day. He was 
 restless. He ran about the house to assure himself that all 
 was in readiness. As the Saturday before a Bank holiday 
 was one in which much business was done, he had sent Joanna 
 into the shop. The opportunity of making something was not 
 to be neglected. It took him some time to put himself to 
 rights after the thrashing he had received from Charles Cheek. 
 His shirt and his new cloth clothes, and his glossy dyed hair 
 were all rufiled, but his temper was more ruffled than they, less
 
 396 COUUT rOYAL. 
 
 easily smoothed. It AvasunreasonaMe of Joanna to ask liim to 
 forgive Charles. Who is disposed to forgive injuries on an 
 empty stomach? Lazarus was heated, fretted, fuming, his 
 cunning eyes sparkling with feverish light. 
 
 A small room on the ground floor had been cleared for 
 Joanna as a place in which she could sit instead of occupying 
 the kitchen. Hitherto it had been filled with goods. It was 
 rather bare of furniture, and was uncarpcted, but then, as 
 Lazarus said, why launch out into extravagance over a room 
 no one would be received into ? 
 
 The sun had set. Joanna was seated in this room. The 
 shutters had been put up in the shop. There was twilight at 
 this time of the year, and the girl sat in the window looking 
 out into the street, in the twilight. The guests were arriving; 
 the ladies in their richest dresses — handsome young Jewesses 
 with splendid eyes, and elderly Jewesses gross and coarse ; 
 Jews in evening suits under their overcoats, with white ties, 
 and white kid gloves, and waistcoats festooned with chains. 
 The cohcn had come, and had l^een received with respect. 
 
 Joanna would not appear till the last moment. She heard 
 the trampling of the feet in the passage, Mrs. Thresher's voice 
 as she divested the ladies of their wraps. She heard the feet 
 go up the steep stairs, and then the buzz of the voices over- 
 head. 
 
 Polly Thresher was there, the daughter of the ham shop, a 
 young lady who was barmaid at an inn, but who had come for 
 the occasion to help. Polly was not an old bird, she fed on 
 chaff ; she gave chaff also. She was thought to be pretty, and 
 assumed the airs of a beauty — a forward, fast young lady, 
 accustomed to the society of the gentlemen who hang about 
 a bar. She and a young Jewess were to be Joanna's brides- 
 maids, and lead her to the dining-room and the howdah, 
 when all were arrived and ready for the performance of the 
 ceremony. 
 
 Joanna sat by the window, looking Avistf ully into the street, 
 without looking at anything in particular. She had her hands 
 in her lap, folded. A hard despairing expression was on her 
 face. 
 
 Miss Thresher put her head in. * Oh my ! not got your 
 veil on, miss? The gents and ladies is nigh all asseml)led, also 
 the minister, with a long beard.' 
 
 ' Polly,' said Joanna, * do me a favour. Ask Mr, Lazarus 
 to come down.'
 
 RELEASE. 397 
 
 The good-natured girl nodded, and ran up-stairs. A moment 
 after the usurer entered the room. 
 
 'Heigh, Joanna,' he said ; 'looking beautiful in that dress; 
 wanting in colour i-ather. I wish I could pei'suade you to use 
 a little rouge de theatre. There is a make-up box in that 
 cupboard. One always reads of a " blushing bride," and you 
 look as though you had dusted your face over with blanc de 
 perle. Put on diamonds. Don't shrink. The ladies upstairs 
 have piled on all the jewelry they could borrow, and I don't 
 want you to fall short. I've not made as much show hitherto 
 as others, but I've made more money than any man in the 
 room up-stairs.' 
 
 ' Mr. Lazarus,' she said, ' I have sent for you once more to 
 entreat you not to appear against Mr. Charles Cheek. He has 
 just turned over a new leaf, has left his father and entered an 
 office — he is with shipping agents — and he lives on what he 
 earns. Let him go quietly back on Monday. Do not stand in 
 his way. I ask you this as a personal favour. I have not 
 asked you many favours. This shall be my last. Will you 
 grant it me ? 
 
 ' No, Joanna, most certainly not. It is of no use your 
 interceding with me for that scapegrace. It is a principle witli 
 me that no one shall touch me without suffering for it, and I 
 am sure you would not have me go against principle.' 
 
 ' I implore you, let him go ! I will ask you on my knees.' 
 
 ' No,' answered the Jew, ' I will not. Not now, and never.' 
 
 Then he left. 
 
 ' In five minutes we shall expect you,' he said, in the door. 
 ' Miss Phillips will come do^\^l for you.' 
 
 She 'remained seated. Her lips moved. She plucked a 
 little bunch of lily of the valley from her bosom, looked at it, 
 kissed it, and replaced it. Then she folded her hands again, 
 and remained motionless. 
 
 People passed in the street. Boys romped, women scolded. 
 A cart went by laden with fish, then a wheelbarrow with 
 whiting. Some sailors, half tipsy, drifted past, singing, squab- 
 bling. The lamplighter came to turn the gas and ignite it. 
 She watched him, bending forward to observe how often he 
 missed the tap. She put her hand to her brow; it was burning, 
 but her hands and feet were Uke ice. She was in white silk, 
 and beside her, over a chair, hung a rich lace veil. 
 
 Seven years ago, on that very day, her mother had brought 
 her to the Golden Balls. Every circumstance came back upon
 
 398 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 lier memory with vivid distinctness. Seven years of slavery, 
 leading now to what was worse a hundred times. 
 
 'Fool that I was,' she muttered, 'to climb out of the water. 
 Better have choked in that slime than have come to this. I 
 have lived in hope, and now hope is dead. My mother has 
 died, I know not when and I know not where, and I was not 
 by her to close her eyes and receive her last kiss. 
 
 Then she heard a tap at the door. 
 
 She stood up and threw the veil over her head. 
 
 ' Are you ready 1 ' asked Miss Polly Thresher and Miss 
 Phillips, standing in the doorway. ' Everyone is ready, and 
 expecting you.' 
 
 She turned once more with a face that darkened as though 
 a fold of the coming night had dropped over it, towards the 
 window, irresolute, unwilling to go. 
 
 At that moment she heard a voice, and her heart stood 
 still. The voice was in the street and the tones were familiar. 
 
 ' Here, lass ! Thou'lt find t' bairn right enough.' 
 
 Joanna uttered a piercing cry, and dashed through the 
 door, driving the two girls standing in it to right and left. 
 In another moment she was in the street, laughing, crying, 
 clasping a poor woman, whilst a burly skipper stood by, with 
 his hands in his pockets, and clmckled. 
 
 ' Mother ! mother ! ' she cried, ' I knew you would come. 
 I Avas sure you would not desert me. Only just at the last 
 my trust gave way. Now all is well ! Oh, so well ! mother ! 
 mother ! ' 
 
 The woman she clung to was indeed the same poor creature 
 whom Ave saw in tlie first chapter of tlie story tlirow herself 
 and the child into Sutton Pool. 
 
 She was thin, oldened, haggard, with grey in her hair, and 
 a wandering look in her eyes, but the face was the same. 
 Joanna knew her instantly. Her heart leaped towards her 
 with a spasm of mingled joy and pain. The poor woman 
 seemed quite as poor as when she tried to drown herself seven 
 years before. She did not seem to have gained much more 
 courage to battle with the hardships of life during these years. 
 
 Joanna drew her into the house, thrust the two young 
 women impatiently, angrily, away, brought her mother into 
 her own room, and then shut and locked and bolted the door 
 against intruders. 
 
 Hastily she placed hor mother in the chair she had re- 
 cently occupied, and held her, looked into her worn face, then
 
 RELEASE. 399 
 
 covered it with kisses and tears ; clasped the hands, rough, 
 soiled, wrinkled, and bathed them with tears, and dried them 
 with her burning lips. Then she held the hands to her beat- 
 ing heart as though their pressure would lull its tumult. 
 
 ' Oh, mother ! my own, my own, my deai-est mother ! ' 
 
 She could say no more, only repeat these words again and 
 again, and intercept them with fresh transports. Then she 
 cast lierseK on her knees and threw one arm about her 
 mother's Avaist and the other round her neck, and laid her 
 OAATi hot cheek and burning head against the bosom on which 
 they had rested so often, and where they had found comfort 
 in olden times. 
 
 ' Oh, mother ! my sweet mother ! ' she repeated, and 
 laughed, and wiped her tears away against the poor woman's 
 breast. ' Oh, my mother ! my mother ! God be praised ! 
 God be praised ! ' — and that was the first time Joanna had 
 ever raised her heart to one above. Her joy w^as so great that 
 it gave her soul wings for the moment, and carried her, un- 
 consciously, on high. 
 
 When she became a little calmer she slightly relaxed her 
 hold that she might look at her mother's face attentively, by 
 the light of the street lamp. 
 
 'Why, my child,' said the poor woman, 'what is this? 
 Why are you dressed in this fashion ? Are you going to be 
 married ? ' 
 
 At the same moment the girls outside tapped loudly, and 
 Polly Thresher called through the door — 
 
 ' They be all waiting, and Mr. Lazarus has sent down to 
 know why you are not come up. Please be quick, miss ! ' 
 
 ' jNIother ! ' exclaimed Joanna, ' help me.' 
 
 She threw off the veil, and tore off the white silk dress 
 and everything she had on wherewith she had been adorned 
 for the marriage, and eagerly, with hasty fingers, put on her 
 old stuff" dress, patched and darned, and her house slippers. 
 
 ' I am coming,' she said triumphantly to those without. 
 ' Tell them I am ready.' 
 
 Then she threw open the door, ran into the shop, took the 
 ledger from the desk, and catching her mother by the hand, 
 drew her with her up the stairs into the room, Avhere a gaily 
 dressed and glittering party were assembled — a room brilliantly 
 lighted — and, drawing her mother after her, pressed forward, 
 and threw the ledger on the table, 
 
 ' Lazarus ! ' she cried, with exultation in her voice. ' My
 
 400 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 mother has come, and brout^lit the money and the duplicate. 
 Score me out ! I am no longer Six-hundred-and seventeen. 
 I am free.' 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 TIIC LAST OF THE EMS WATEH. 
 
 JoAXXA was resolute. It was in vain that those present re- 
 presented to her that she had been witli Lazarus to the regis- 
 trar's oftice, so that in the eye of the law she was already 
 married. She refused peremptorily, absolutely, to go tlirougli 
 tlie religious ceremony. She was triumphant, defiant. Her 
 eyes were sparkling, her clieeks kindled. No necessity now 
 for the make-up box and rouge de theatre. 
 
 ' I wouldn't be drowned, I said, this day seven yeai's, and 
 I won't be wedded now,' she said. 
 
 Everyone spoke at once. The cohen addressed her 
 seriously ; Mrs. Thresher, who came up, overwhelmed her with 
 reproaches. Lazarus stormed and screamed with rage, and 
 insisted on her obedience to his wishes. But the time for 
 submission was past. As long as he was lier master she had 
 served him, in cold and liunger and rags. She had begged for 
 him, bargained for him, fought for him. She had nursed him 
 in sickness, she had guarded his goods like a watch-dog. She 
 jiever had defrauded liim of a pemiy. Now that she was free 
 she would not be his wife. 
 
 She paid no attention to those present ; their voices sounded 
 in her ears, but she did not hear their words ; she saw the 
 persons that surrounded her as ligures in a dream. One face 
 alone was distinct before her — her mother's, one voice alone 
 entered her ears and reached her brain — her mother's. Her 
 soul was like a long-clo.sed room, into which no light lias 
 entered ; suddenly the shutters are thrown back, and tiie win- 
 dow flung open, and the whole chamber is full of summer 
 sweetness and sunny splendour. Her step was elastic, flame 
 leaped tlirougli her pulses and flashed in lier eyes. She had 
 recovered her mother, the only person in tlie world to whom 
 .she belonged, who belonged to her, the mother on whose lap 
 she had lain, in wliose arms she had been rocked, against whose 
 licart she had cried liersolf to sleep, the suother who was the
 
 THE LAST OF THE EMS WATER. 401 
 
 truest, most unchangeable of friends, the best of refuges in 
 sorrow, the surest of counsellors,— she had everything now — 
 everything of which she had been deprived for seven years. 
 
 Heedless of every circumstance, deaf to every argument, 
 blind to every advantage, she drew her mother away. She 
 wanted to be alone with her again, to hear her story and to tell 
 her own, to sweep her away again in the flood of her overflow- 
 ing love. She held her hand so fast that not for a moment 
 could the poor woman disengage herself. Mrs. Rosevere was 
 bewildered. She understood notliing of what went on about 
 her, the lighted room, with the gentlemen in evening dresses, 
 the ladies glittering with jewelry, the crimson canopy, the seven- 
 flamed lamp, her daugliter's strange demeanour. She was a 
 timid woman with a mazed mind at the best of times ; and tliis 
 sudden episode completely distracted her. 
 
 Joanna brought her mother back into the room below, and 
 fastened the door, but Lazarus had followed and was kicking 
 and hammering at it with his fists, and swearing that he would 
 have her out. He would not be insulted thus before all his 
 guests. 
 
 Joanna remained quietly in her chair, clinging to her 
 mother. There was disturbance outside. Voices speaking in 
 the passage to Lazarus, he answering in shrill tones, in accents 
 of passion ; the trampling of feet and the slamming of the 
 house-door, and after awhile, stillness. The guests had_ with- 
 drawn to laugh with each otlier outside the house, on their way 
 home ; Polly was with her mother in the kitchen, uttering ex- 
 clamations of amazement and disgust. 
 
 When all was quiet, and the fear of being disturbed had 
 passed away, then Joanna said, ' And now, my darling mother, 
 tell me all that you have done and gone through duringthese seven 
 years — and tell me why you did not come to release me earlier.' 
 
 Then the poor faded woman narrated a long story of 
 troubles, beginning with her sickness on board Mr. Hull's boat, 
 and how she had been taken to a hospital, and got better, and 
 been discharged, and had gone into service and earned some 
 money, which had been dissipated by a return of sickness. 
 A story of recurrent toil and disappointment, of saving and 
 scattering, of hope and despair. Joanna sat by her, holding 
 her hands and pressing them, and when she heard how her 
 mother had toiled she kissed her hands, and when she heard 
 how she had been sick she flung her arms about her and 
 swayed her, and sobbed and fondled her. Mrs. Rosevere went 
 
 D D
 
 402 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 ou to tell how that at last she had been al)le to gather together 
 a little money, and how she had gone to Goole and had waited 
 there, taking odd jobs of work, till she could find a boat Avhich 
 was going with coals to Plymouth, for she could not afford the 
 railway journey ; and liow at last she had found ]\Ir. Hull 
 loading to go there — and how now, at length, she was back in 
 Plymouth. The story took a long time in telling, for the poor 
 woman was a rambling talker, who lost her thread and went 
 on -without it, and then picked it up at tlie wrong place and 
 genei-ally entangled it ; but Joanna was not critical, she made 
 out all she wanted to know, that tlio mother's lieart had 
 yearned through seven years for the child, as the child's heart 
 liad yearned seven yeai's for the mother. 
 
 A rough tap at the door, and INIrs. Thresher's voice. 
 
 Joanna wont to the door and unlocked. 
 
 ' We can't remain here all night, you know,' said the old 
 woman roughly, even rudely. ' We've got our own duties to 
 fulfil — and a mussy it is some folks are found in the world 
 who do their duties. Polly has to go back to the " Coach and 
 Horses," and I've got my swearing old Radical husband to 
 attend to. So we are off.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Joanna, 'you can go.' 
 
 ' And I hope somebody will be ashamed of herself, and of 
 giving people a lot o' trouble for nothing, and of her ingratitude 
 
 to the best of masters, and ' Joanna slammed the door in her 
 
 face. This did not interrupt or put a stop to Mrs. Thi'csher's 
 gruml)liiigs. She grumbled as she got into lier bonnet, grumbled 
 herself out of the house, and grumbled all the way along the 
 Barbican to her own home, where her grumbling was drowned 
 by the louder, more boisterous political grumbling of Mr. 
 Thresher. 
 
 Joanna sat stroking her mother's hair till ]\Irs. Thresher 
 was out of the house, and then she began to tell her mother 
 her own story. 
 
 She told the story with perfect frankness. She hid )iothing 
 from her. She told her about Charles Cheek, and the necklace, 
 and the pink silk dress ; she told her al)out Court Royal, and 
 described to her Lady Grace ; she told her of how she had 
 been caught, and was obliged to run away ; she told her of the 
 subscription ball, and then she told her how Charles had been 
 there that day, had beaten Lazarus, and was now in the lock- 
 up till Lazarus should appear against him. She told her mother 
 also how that she had been about to be married to Lazarus,
 
 THE LAST OF THE EMS WATER. 403 
 
 when, in the nick of time, she — her dear mother — had arrived 
 to release her. Then she was silent for a few moments, hold- 
 ing her mother's hand between both of hers, and hers twitched 
 with nervousness. ' Mother,' she said, then hesitated; ' mother 
 — hush ! does no one hear ? ' She listened. The house was 
 still. She did not hear the tread of Lazarus upstairs. Never- 
 theless she was not satisfied ; she went to the door, opened it, 
 looked along the passage, then returned, took her mother's 
 hand again between her own, and said, ' Mother — I had made 
 up my mind. I never could, I never would, be his. I would 
 not have lived.' 
 
 ' What do you mean, dear ? ' 
 
 ' I should have destroyed myself.' 
 
 ' Oh, Joanna ! Joanna ! ' The poor woman shrank back. 
 
 ' Mother, when you were in your deepest despair, and you 
 saw no light before you, you threw yourself into the water. I 
 was driven to the last point of endurance. I could not, I would 
 not, endui-e to be his wife. It would have destroyed all my 
 self-respect. I thought how I could escape, and I saw no other 
 way but this.' 
 
 The woman shuddered. 'I did wrong, my child, very 
 wrong ; the Lord forgive me, a poor sinner. I was as one mad 
 at the time.' 
 
 ' I was not mad,' said Joanna, ' but in my soberest sense. 
 I would never, never be his — I would die first ; that was the 
 only way of escape that I could think of. Mr. Lazarus is not 
 a bad man altogether, and I have a kind of regard for him, he 
 has his good points ; but I cannot, and 1 will not endure him 
 as a husband. Can you understand me, mother ? A horror and 
 loathing came on me — and, just as you came by, I was looking 
 out of the window to say good-bye to the daylight which I 
 thought I should never see again.' 
 
 ' It was very, very wrong,' whispered the mother. 
 
 ' I can't see that. I have two consciences, one pawnbroking, 
 the other womanly. The first had no opinion about it, the 
 the other was veiy positive it was what I ought to do.' 
 
 ' But how — oh, Joanna ! ' The poor woman shuddered. 
 
 ' I had made my plans. Lazarus had told me to clear away 
 a number of bottles of drugs and chemicals from his room. 
 Among them was a stoppered phial of laudanum, and Charles 
 had told me about that. It gives no pain when taken, but 
 sends you to sleep, and you sleep peacefully away into the 
 endless sleep.'
 
 404 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 Tlie mother, sliivcring and -svliito, held Joanna away from 
 her. 
 
 ' What else could I do? Whither could I c^ol I had no 
 one to whom I belonged and with wliom I could find a home. 
 I could not remain in this liouse with him any more as his 
 ser\;vnt after he had wanted to make me his wife, and his wife 
 I would not be.' 
 
 Her mother was trembling as with cold — as she trembled 
 on that same day seven years before when she stood in the 
 same house, though not in the same room, and when she was 
 drenched with sea water. 
 
 ' You may say — There was ]\[r. Charles Cheek. But, mother, 
 liis visit came too late. I had been already to the register 
 oftice with jNIr. Lazarus. It is true he had written to me two 
 or three times, to tell me what he was about, but he had not said 
 a word in those letters about wanting me to be his wife. And, 
 even if he had, I must have refused liim, because I gave him 
 up to his father for a hundi-ed pounds. Now, mother, would 
 it have been honourable in me to take that money, and after- 
 wards go from my agreement to which I had signed my name ? 
 No, I could not, much as I like Charles — and I do, I do like 
 liini. I could take him as little as I could Mr. Lazarus. I 
 liave a conscience. I have two — they may be queer to the 
 fancy of some folk, but they are plain and outspoken to me, 
 and what they say, that I do, and no haggling and bargaining 
 and beating down with them. So you see, mother, there 
 was no help for it. I thought, when I made my plan, that if 
 I took all the laudanum myself, master would find it out and 
 fetch a doctor, and they would bring me round, so I was resolved 
 to give him some of the laudanum also, enough to ' 
 
 ' Oh, Joanna ! ' in a tone of agony and horror ; ' not to 
 kill him also ? ' 
 
 ' Xo, mother, I had no thought of that. That would be 
 murder, and no provocatioii would bring me to that. No. I 
 thought if he should swallow enough to make him confused, 
 and unable to understand what had taken me, that lie Avould 
 be as one drunk, and sleep, and walce when I was past recovery.' 
 ]\[rs. Rosevere wrung her hands, uttered a faint cry, and 
 slipped out of the chair upon her knees, and, pressing her hands 
 to her bosom, said, ' INFy (Jod ! my God ! I thank Thee that 
 Thou didst bring me here in time to save the soul of my poor 
 child.' 
 
 Joanna waited till her mother had recovered herself some-
 
 THE LAST OF THE EMS WATER. 40.5 
 
 what before she proceeded with her narrative. She drew lier 
 back upon the seat, and took lier hand again between her own. 
 Her face was earnest and pale now ; it had lost its light and 
 colour. 
 
 ' Mother, the Jews have a ceremony afc their weddings of 
 filling a large glass with red ^^■ine, and the bridegroom sips 
 this, then passes it to the bride, who also sips it. Then he 
 finishes it, and when it is empty he dashes it to fragments on 
 the ground. I had to prepare everything upstairs, and I 
 poured the laudanum into the goblet, and mixed it well with 
 the wine. Then I purposed, when it came to me to sip, to 
 take a long deep di'aught, leaving only just enough for Lazarus 
 to suit my purpose. None would suspect what I had done. 
 I would go away to my little attic-room and lock the door, and 
 lay me down on the bed and never wake again, and that would 
 have been the end of my story, mother, had not you arrived at 
 the proper moment, and for a second time given me life.' 
 
 ' Joanna,' said Mrs. Rosevere, ' this is very terrible, and I 
 cannot bear to think of it. God forgive me that I ever showed 
 you a way out of misery. The Lord interfered then to save 
 me from myself ; and the Loixl has interfered now to save 
 you. Now, Joanna, to my thinking, there is no time to be 
 lost, we must go upstairs at once and throw away the poison. 
 It must not be left exposed another minute.' 
 
 ' Yes, mother,' said the girl, ' you are right. It is the last 
 duty I have to do in this house, and it shall be done forthwith. 
 After that we will go out and leave it, never to set foot over 
 its threshold again.' 
 
 They ascended the stairs together. The door was shut. 
 Joanna knocked. She received no answer. 
 
 'Perhaps ISiv. Lazarus has gone out,' whispered her mother. 
 ' If so, we must not leave the house till his return.' 
 
 J oanna opened the door into the newly furnished dining- 
 i-oom. The apartment would have been dark but for the 
 flicker of the seven-wicked Sabbatical lamp. Lazarus, governed 
 always by the idea of economy, had extinguished the candles. 
 The lamp-wicks burned badly, and the light was lurid. 
 
 Joanna and her mother stood in the doorway looking round. 
 All at once the womair uttered a piercing cry, and staggered 
 back. Joanna at the same moment started forward. 
 
 On the floor, under the red silk gold-embroidered canopy, 
 lay Lazarus, as one dead, holding the empty goblet in hia 
 hand.
 
 40G COURT ROYAL. 
 
 TIio cjirl raised him on Iior knee, tore oiT liis cravat, and 
 lifted his Jicad on her bosom. He was breatliing licavily. Mrs. 
 Rosevere dashed water in his face. 
 
 ' He must Ijc made to stand,' said tlie -woman. ' He must 
 be kept on his feet, walking all night. He must be forced to 
 keep awake.' 
 
 ' Oh, mother, he has been fasting since yesterday at sunset, 
 and he has taken this on an empty stomach. Hold him, 
 mother, hold him whilst I run. I know what to give him. 
 That was not sold— that will save him — the rest of the Ems 
 water.' 
 
 CHAPTER LTX. 
 
 WITHOUT A WATCII-DOG. 
 
 Mrs. TiosEVERE and her daughter had an anxious nijrht with 
 Lazarus. They were afraid to send for a doctor, lest he should 
 discover what had been done. They walked the Je>v about, 
 and forced him to drink Ems water, and did not venture to 
 leave him till morning, when they put him to bed in his old 
 room downstairs. 
 
 He was obliged to remain in bed next day, and Joanna 
 and her mother attended him. He was surly, and snarled at 
 them. He could not forgive Joanna. He received her atten- 
 tions with resentment. He was ignorant of the cause of his 
 illness. He supposed that he had had a fit. 
 
 As he got better he occupied himself in bed whittling a 
 stick. On Monday, after he had eaten a chop and drunk a 
 l)Owl of soup made for him by Joanna, and brought him by 
 ]Mrs. Rosevere, he suddenly leaped out of bed armed Avith his 
 stick, and chased the woman from his room, then rushed after 
 her into the kitchen, where he fell upon Joanna, full of malice 
 and fury, swore and cursed and threatened, and struck her 
 over the head with the stick. 'Get out of this place. Never 
 show your face in it again, you ungrateful minx. Eating me 
 out of house and home. Oh, yes ! Chops and soup ! You 
 can't stint yourselves when I am ill and unable to look after 
 you.' Then he drove them out of his house. 
 
 As soon as they were gone he bolted and barred the door. 
 He had refused to allow Joanna to take anything away which
 
 WITHOUT A WATCH-DOG. 407 
 
 the girl might claim as her own. She liad pleaded for nothing 
 but the pot of lily of the valley, and that he refused. 
 
 When Lazarus had thrust Joanna forth, he returned to 
 his room to dress. He trembled with anger, anger that had 
 been simmering in his mind since Sunday morning, but which 
 he had kept in control till he was strong enough to give it vent. 
 
 ' I am w^ell rid of her,' lie said, laying aside his stick. 
 ' Blighted be the day that I took her in. This is the gratitude 
 I receive for having nurtured her in my bosom, a viper that 
 turns and stings me. "What is the world coming to 1 Where 
 is morality left 1 Here is this girl that I have cared for, and 
 instructed, and fed, and given my society to, turns my head, 
 puts me to frightful expense, makes me sell off a lot of capital 
 furniture at half its value, and involves me in bills to trades- 
 men for painting and papering, and carpentering and plumb- 
 ing, turns the whole house upside down, and in the end — flouts 
 me in the face of my own people, makes me ridiculous. Well 
 said the Rabbi Nathan that Manoah was a fool, because it is 
 written in the Book of Judges, " He followed his wife." For 
 whoever runs after a woman takes leave of his senses.' 
 
 Lazarus wandered about his house looking at the changes 
 that had been made in it, and groaning. The bills of the 
 tradesmen had not come in. He would have to pay them. 
 He climbed the stairs to Joanna's attic-room, and found a 
 malicious pleasure in flinging her pots of flowers out of the 
 window on the stones of the quay or into the water, hoping 
 that she might be near to see and bewail the destruction of her 
 cherished possessions. He found the photograph of herself 
 and Charles Cheek. He had not seen it before. 
 
 ' That's the way my money went ! Oh, if I could but find 
 a case on which to prosecute her ! ' He tore the picture to 
 pieces and flung it ii^to the street. 
 
 There was nothing else in the room that Joanna could 
 have called her own, on wliich he might vent his spite. He 
 crept downstairs again. His legs were not flx'm under him, 
 the laudanum or the Ems water had weakened him, and they 
 shook. 
 
 ' I'll have Mrs. Thresher to look in on me every day, I 
 will. She is a sensible woman, and took Joanna's conduct to 
 heart. I'll get her to let Polly come and mind the shop. 
 She's a sharp gii'l, and if I promise to deal liandsomely by her, 
 perhaps she'll give up the bar and take to the counter. I'll 
 let that scorpion know that I can do without her.'
 
 40S COUUT ROYAL. 
 
 1\(^ wondoroil at liiinsclf, as lie stood in the carpeted and 
 funiislied rooms, for liaving been induced to clian^e liis old 
 mode of life. His object for many years had been to revenge 
 liinisolf on the IMarqucss. For that he had stinted himself ; 
 and when his opportunity was taken from him he had been un- 
 settled, without an object for which to work and deny him- 
 self. ]\Ian must have some aim ; when one is taken from liim 
 he hnds another. When revenj^e Avas disappointed, love occu- 
 pied the held. He had begun to dream of a liappy life, such 
 as he had dreamed of when he married his first wife. He 
 had been disappointed in his first dream, now the second was 
 dispelled. 
 
 ' I'll send for Grudge to-morrow,' he said. ' I'll see if I 
 can't have that confounded settlement altered. What a fool I 
 was to have any at all, but I was infatuated. I thought, after 
 all the marks of tenderness I showered on the girl, she must 
 love me. What wicked ingratitude after all I have done ! 
 Her keep must have cost five-and-twenty pounds per annum, 
 and she has been with me seven years, that is a hundred-and- 
 seventy-five pounds — then her clothing. Why ! I've spent on 
 the minx two hundred pounds at the lowest computation — and 
 now to desert mo ! What I have wasted on her would have 
 brought me in ten pound per annum at five per cent.' 
 
 He fussed about his shop, now closed. He routed in the 
 drawers, he poked about in the kitchen, in the vain hope of 
 discovering tliat he had been robl)ed of something by Joanna, 
 so as to be able to take out a summons against her. He could 
 not find that anything was gone. Darkness closed in. The 
 wind piped and sobbed under the doors and in at the keyholes, 
 and the rain drizzled against the window-panes. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Lazarus, shuddering, ' a south-west wind blow- 
 ing up Channel, charged with moisture. Twenty-four hours 
 of rain. I hope Joanna and her mother are out in it, without 
 shelter for their heads to-night.' He listened to the drip from 
 the Avindow-ledges, and the pour down the fall pipe. 'They 
 were wet w^lien first tliey came into this house, may they be as 
 wet and shivery now they leave it ! ' 
 
 He groped for sticks to light his fire. He was unsuccess- 
 ful. The art of making a lire is not in man, it is instinctive 
 in woman. He either lays it or lights it wrong. Lazarus 
 found out that he had to deal Avith a most intractable art. 
 Tlie sticks were too thick, or the paper too profuse, or the coals 
 sluggish in kindling. A whole newspaper went in a flare
 
 WITHOUT A WATCH-DOG. 409 
 
 without liditincf the wood, and when the wood was kindled 
 with the application of a candle, it refused to communicate 
 its fire to the coals. 
 
 So he sat in the cold and dark, growling and miserable. 
 Then he heard a scratching noise about him, like the uncurling 
 of crumbled paper. He struck a match, relit the candle which 
 had been extinguished whilst applied to the sticks in the grate, 
 and saw that the floor was alive with blackbeetles, which fled 
 in all directions when the match flared. 
 
 He left the candle lighted on the table, and relapsed into 
 his chair, and into brooding over his wrongs. 
 
 He was dissatisfied with the prospect before him. He would 
 never be able to replace Joamia. Mrs. Thresher was a vora- 
 cious eater, and would expect her meals at his house. He 
 would have to keep Polly as well, and he was doubtful 
 whether Polly would settle into the business after the more 
 lively experiences of the bar. He reasoned with himself that 
 life with Joanna would have been a daily struggle. Set a 
 beggar on horseback and he will ride to the devil ; give a 
 savage clothes, and a wardrobe will not suifice him. Trans- 
 lated from the kitchen to the parlour, from being in subjection 
 to sharing the rule, she would have indulged in extravagance, 
 have loved idleness, neglected business for pleasure. Then he 
 thought of Charles Cheek ; and he asked whether Joanna was 
 not really fond of him. How she had interceded for him ! 
 His picture taken hand-in-hand with her he had discovered in 
 her bedroom. If he had Joamia as his wife, might he not 
 expect a similar experience to that he had undergone with 
 Rachel 1 
 
 Then he felt again the sting of the blows Chai'les had 
 dealt him, the shaking, the humiliation before the eyes of 
 Joanna, and his blood rushed to his face. Charles had been in 
 confinement since Saturday afternoon. On Monday, being a 
 Bank holiday, no magistrate was sitting. Tuesday, at eleven, 
 he would go and take out a proper summons against him. 
 The police were not likely to act heartily in the matter. They 
 knew Charles Cheek, and had received many a tip from him. 
 
 How badly the candle burned ! What was that 1 He 
 had lighted a wax candle from upstairs instead of a kitchen 
 dip. That came of having strangers in the house ! Mrs. 
 Thresher could use nothing but the best for the kitchen. A 
 curl of wax was formed at the side of the candle, folding over 
 and over like a winding-sheet. No wonder the candle burnt
 
 410 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 badly, a thief was in it. Lazarus snuffed the wick with his 
 fingers, and snuffed out the light. 
 
 At once, from all sides, came the rustling of the black- 
 beetles emerging from their holes and spreading over the floor. 
 Lazarus fancied they were about his chair, scrambling up his 
 legs. lie stood up, shook himself, relit the candle, and ran 
 about, stamping on the retreating insects. 
 
 How lonely he felt in the house ! How still it was, like a 
 house that was dead ! A chill sense of solitude crept over him. 
 What if he had another fit in the night. What if he woke 
 up, feeling ill, wanting brandy, or to be bled, and no one was 
 in the house to come to his help ; and he was senseless or 
 weak in the morning, unable to open the door when Mrs. 
 Thresher came ? But — would Mrs. Thresher come ? Perhaps 
 she did not know that he had driven away Joanna and her 
 mother. Lazarus was alarmed. He went to the house door, 
 and unchained and unlocked it, opened, and stood in the 
 doorway, looking out into the doleful night. The rain came 
 down like a fine spray between him and the lamp. The illu- 
 minated windows of the houses were surrounded by fog bows 
 and magnified to stars of the first magnitude. Those persons 
 who went by were buried under umbrellas. A rill ran in the 
 gutter, spinning cabbage leaves, stray fish heads on its surface. 
 He would get very wet if he went along the Barbican quay to the 
 ham and sausage shop. Besides, he was ashamed to appear 
 there and confess that he was afraid to spend the night alone 
 in the house. jNIrs. Thresher knew nothing of his fit. That 
 insulting old Radical, Mr. Thresher, would twit him with the 
 events of Saturday evening. 
 
 As he stood in the door, doubtful what to do, something 
 rubbed against his shin and stole past him. He looked down, 
 l)ut could make nothing out in the dark. He re-shut and re- 
 barred the door, and went back to the kitchen. 
 
 * I will try again to light a fire,' he said ; ' then I sha'n't 
 feel so miserable and solitary. It is all Joanna's doing.' 
 
 He relaid the fire, and poured some paraffin over the coals. 
 He was successful this time. The ilames ascended to the 
 sticks, the sticks crackled, and then with a leap the fire was 
 on the top, the mineral oil was ablaze, and the coals emitted 
 puffs of flame, and began to glow. 
 
 Lazarus was so occupied with the fire that he did not 
 observe the presence of a black cat, watching him out of its 
 green eyes, seated on the table. Only when the Jew got up
 
 WITHOUT A WATCH-DOG. 411 
 
 from his knees and took the kettle to fill it did he notice the 
 creature. He stood still, staring at it in surprise, holding the 
 kettle in one hand. Lazarus had a great dislike to cats. As 
 he looked at the cat the cat looked at him. In the dark the 
 narrow slits of iris had expanded. The eyes shone like moon- 
 stones in the candlelight. 
 
 ' Cxet out,' said Lazarus ; ' I don't want cats here.' The 
 monition was unheeded. 
 
 ' Do you hear what I say 1 Get out with you.' 
 
 The cat rose and stretched itself, drivuig its claws into the 
 deal of the table top, and then reseated itself. 
 
 ' Is that done to insult me ? ' asked Lazarus. ' What have 
 you come hei'e for 1 Do you think to hunt mice among my 
 valuable china, and to kitten and rear a family among costly 
 garments 1 Wait a bit, Yowler ! 1 11 make you yowl ! ' 
 
 He took his light, and went into the shop to get a whip. 
 
 He laid hold of the stick that Charles had employed on his 
 own back, and brought it with him into the kitchen. When 
 he returned the cat was gone. 
 
 ' Where the devil is the creature 1 ' asked Lazarus, looking 
 about him, and switching about with the stick. 
 
 He laid the stick on the table, and reseated himself in his 
 chair. But he could now think of nothing but the cat. What 
 had become of the beast ? Was it in the larder, getting at the 
 bread and the butter, or the milk, or the mutton chops 1 He 
 listened, but heard no sound save the drip of the water. Was 
 it in the shop 1 Or had it got into his own little room, and 
 was prowling among some Capo di Monte, Dresden, and Chelsea 
 figures he had there 1 He took up the stick again. It was 
 weighted with lead in the handle. If he had the chance he would 
 bring that end down on the head of the cat and kill it. He held 
 the candle in one hand and the stick in the other. He thrust 
 the stick into every corner of the kitchen without dislodging 
 his visitor. He peered into the coal closet, he searched the 
 back kitchen, he examined the larder ; the cat was nowhere to 
 be found. Then he went down the passage to the shop. It 
 was hopeless to expect to discover the cat there if it had chosen 
 to conceal itself among the sundry objects piled and scattered 
 through it. He held his breath and listened. Was that the 
 cat purring 1 On tiptoe he crept near to the place whence the 
 noise came. It was in the window. He craned his ear, then 
 thrust forward the candle, and had it nearly bloAvn out. A 
 pane had been starred by a stone some time ago, and he had
 
 412 COURT ROYAL. 
 
 mended it with strips of adhesive paper from a sheet of postage 
 stamps. One stri]) -was loose, and tlie indriving draught 
 fluttered it and made a sound like tlie purring of a cat. Then 
 the Jew left tlie sliop and fastened tlie door behind him, and 
 explored his little sanctum. That door liad been left ajar, and 
 it was quite possible that the cat liad entered. He sought it 
 in every corner, under the presses, under the bed, behind the 
 sedans. He could see nothing of it. He listened ; he could 
 not hoar it. Yet the cat must be in the house somewhere, 
 and when he was quiet, and fallen asleep, he would be stai-tled 
 by the gleam of the moony eyes, and a crasli ; the cat had up- 
 set and broken some valuable porcelain. He shut his bedroom 
 door ; he shut the passage door, and was again in the kitclien, 
 and there, on the table in the same place as before, as though 
 it had remained there undisturbed, was the black cat, watching 
 him out of its lambent eyes. 
 
 ' I'll have a watch-dog. If I have to pay fifteen shillings 
 for one I will have one, if only to keep cats away.' 
 
 Lazarus was .sly. He put the stick behind his back, and 
 turned it in his hand so as to hold the slight end. Then he 
 came towards the table step by step ; he would not rouse the 
 suspicions of the creature. He put the candle on the lloor. 
 
 ' Pretty ! pretty ! ' said the Jew in a caressing tone. ' Will 
 I hurt my beauty 1 Oh no ! it is not in the heart of old 
 Lazarus to do you harm. Do you want milk 1 There is 
 some in tlie jug in the larder. What do you say to a herring's 
 head ? There are some in tlie sink. May I chuck you under 
 the chin 1 May I scratch your back, you beauty ? ' 
 
 But the ci'cature did not suli'er him to approach without 
 rising, setting up its back, and charging its tail and hair with 
 electricity so that they bristled like the hairs of a flue-brush. 
 The expression of its eyes was threatening. It half opened 
 its mouth and showed the long white teeth that armed the 
 gums. Lazarus was afraid the cat would leap at his face, and 
 he put up his arm to protect his eyes, thought better of his 
 attempt, and backed, still watching the cat, into the outer 
 kitchen. 
 
 ' The black imp ! ' he muttered. ' I must make a way for 
 it to escape.' Then he unbolted the back door into the yard, 
 und left it ajar. 
 
 Having done this hn returned to the kitclien. Tlie cat 
 •was no longer on the table, no longer visible, AVhither it had 
 gone he could not guess. He was afraid to search, lest it
 
 ^VITHOUT A WATCH-DOG. 413 
 
 should leap out upon him with extended claws, and flaming 
 eyes, and keen teeth to fasten in his flesh. 
 
 'I'll have a watch-dog. I must— I will. If it cost me 
 thirty shillings I'll have one to-morrow. As long as Joanna 
 was here none was needed. This is another expense she is 
 putting me to. Oh, I wish the cat would find her, and fly in 
 her face and tear her wicked eyes out.' 
 
 He fetched a bottle of brandy from the cupboard, took 
 the kettle from the fire, and mixed himself a strong glass. 
 Then he drew his chair close to the stove and drank his brandy- 
 and-water, listening for the cat, and cursing it, and then 
 Joanna, and thinking he heard a step, and found it was the 
 girl, with a cat's face, and flaming eyes, and a chain of Roman 
 pearls dangling round the neck, and then — somehow the pink 
 silk dress flickered before him, but the brush of the cat hung 
 below it and swept the floor ; and then the howdah upstairs 
 began to dance by itself, and the Sabbatical lamp to swing as 
 a flaming pendulum, all its seven jets alight as he watched it, 
 and wondered whether it would swing so high as to unhook 
 itself from the ceiling and come down Avith a crash and go out. 
 He poured out more brandy, but was dozing and waking inter- 
 mittently, and forgot to add the water, and the loaded stick 
 was on the table trying to lift itself on its ferule and dance, 
 but the head was heavy, and at each efibrt dowTi it came again 
 with a bang. 
 
 So he slept, with feverish dreams, sitting in his chair, wait- 
 ing for the cat to go out at the back-door, when he would lock 
 it and retire to his bed, and then for a while forgetting why he 
 sat up. The coals crackled and grew cold. The candle burnt 
 down to the socket and dissolved all the wax, and the flame 
 turned blue and danced over the molten wax. 
 
 Then — all at once Lazarus sprang up with a cry, and 
 caught at the stick. Before him stood two figures. He could 
 see their faces indistinctly by the flicker of the expiring candle 
 — one a coarse face marked with scars, and a heavy lower jaw. 
 He felt the stick wrenched from his trembling hand, and after 
 that he saw and felt no more. 
 
 On the following morning there was a stir at the Barbican 
 During the night the Golden Balls had been entered, robbed, 
 and Lazarus had been found lying dead in his kitchen with his 
 skull broken. A loaded stick lay at his side. On the table, 
 purring and complacent, beside an empty candlestick, sat an 
 ownerless black cat.
 
 414 COUKT KOYAL. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 TWO PICTUUKS. 
 
 Every window of Court Royal is lighted up, and the terrace 
 is hung with coloured hinips. Carriage after carriage drives 
 up and deposits members of every knowablc family for many 
 miles round Kingsbridge, for the Clieck-Roseveres are settled 
 in, and are giving their first soiree of dancing and music. 
 
 The footmen in scarlet and 1)uft' are in the hall and on the 
 grand staiixase — scarlet and bull'are the Cheek-Rosevere livery, 
 because no more showy livery could be thought of. That of 
 the Eveleighs was only buff" and scarlet. The house liad gone 
 through a reformation under the hands of an art adviser and 
 Oxford Street furniture dealers. Much of the old decoration 
 was preserved but renovated ; most of the good Chippendale 
 furniture, and Florentine inlaid cabinets, and Sevres and Dres- 
 den china, and the pictures of iNIorland, and Gainsborough, 
 and Gerard Dow were still there. But everything Avas fresh- 
 ened up, the gilding regilt and burnished, the colours bright- 
 ened, the polished wood re-polished. The curtains, the cover- 
 ings, were all of silk or satin, and were new. 
 
 The state drawing-room was lighted by electric burners, the 
 chandeliers had been banished from the ball-room. The old 
 motto of the Eveleighs, ' Quod antiquatur et sencscit prope 
 interitum est,' was everywhere eflfaced and supplanted by 'Nil 
 pra!stat buccie,' which may be interpreted 'Nothing like Cheek.* 
 In the dining-room, over the chimney-piece, the Ducal anns 
 had made way for the cognizance of the Cheeks, an unicorn, 
 l)eneath which was inscribed ' Plentie of Pushe ' as well as 
 ' Nil pra!stat buccie,' for the old scroll of the legend had been 
 utilised, and two mottoes were needed to fill the scroll from 
 which the lengthy inscription had been erased. Besides, as 
 the family name was double, and the arms were double, why 
 not duplicate the motto? 
 
 Some time has elapsed since the event described in the last 
 chapter, and in that time great changes have taken place. The 
 affairs of the Duke reached a climax ; Court Royal was lost, 
 and passed to Cheek of the Monokeratic system. But the 
 iVIonokeros was too pushing and prosperous a beast to Ijc 
 resigned, and the old man remained at the head of the
 
 TWO PICTURES. 415 
 
 establishment in town, gathering in money as fast as he could, 
 with both hands. 
 
 The old man's objections to his son's marriage with Joanna 
 gave way when he found she was entitled to the whole of the 
 Jew's fortune, amounting to seventy thousand pounds. 'A 
 clever girl — a girl of the pei'iod,' he said ; knows how to work 
 her way to the fore. She would have been invaluable to me 
 in my shop.' 
 
 Never had the state rooms of Court Royal looked so brilliant 
 and beautiful as this night. Charles Cheek stood in the draw- 
 ing-room receiving his guests. But we beg his pardon, he is 
 no longer Mr. C. Cheek, but Mr. Cheek-Rosevere — he has 
 assumed his wife's name in addition to his own. Every now 
 and then Charles looked round in expectation and uneasiness 
 for Joanna, who was not present. Prepossessing and handsome, 
 with his fair hair, light moustache, and pleasant blue eyes, he 
 had a cheerful greeting for everyone. ' But where is Joanna ? ' 
 he thought, and the guests looked round also, and wandered 
 through the rooms in quest of their hostess. ' How very odd ! 
 "Why is not Mrs. Cheek-Rosevere here to receive us ? ' 
 
 Presently, when all had arrived, a couple of scarlet and 
 buff footmen threw open a door to an inner room and boudoir, 
 and in loud voices announced 
 
 ' Mrs. Cheek-Rosevere ! ! ! ' 
 
 Whereupon Joanna appeared, charmingly dressed in the richest 
 pearl silk, and wearing abundance of diamonds, holding a 
 bouquet of hothouse flowers in each hand ; she sailed, smilingly, 
 looking very lovely, down the room, bowing to the right and 
 to the left, giving a hand to none — how could she, holding 
 flowers in each hand ? 
 
 ' My dear Joe ! ' said Charles to her after everyone was 
 gone, ' how could you behave as you did ? It was rude — it 
 was grossly impertinent, and we are such new comers.' 
 
 'My dear Charlie,' answered Joanna, with perfect self- 
 satisfaction, ' I know what I am about. Lady Grace could not 
 have done it, and would not ; she could afford to be con- 
 descending and sweet ; her position was unassailable. On the 
 other hand, we are nobodies, who have risen to the surface 
 through trade. "We cannot afford to be gracious, or folks will 
 say we are pleading to be received into society. We must be 
 
 insolent, and take our place by storm.' 
 
 ****** 1^
 
 41 G COURT ROYAL. 
 
 On the road from Tei^'iimouth to Dawlish, a little out of 
 the to-\vn, stand two houses in tlioir ijrounds. Tlie road is 
 somewliat stoop, ascending through red banks of sandstone. 
 Presently a little garden door is reached, whore there ia a fork 
 in the road, and over the Avail of red stone can be seen a 
 luxurious growth of arbutus, guelder rose, and acacia, and 
 above the flowering bushes the brown thatch of a cottage, Avith 
 bedroom windows peeping out through the thatch. By stand- 
 ing on tiptoe one can even look into the garden and see that 
 the cottage has a verandah covered with creeping roses, and 
 that French windows open into this verandah. 
 
 A little way higher up the hill is a more pretentious house in 
 what may be called the Italian villa style ; but the house is 
 more than a "valla, it is almost a mansion. The grounds are 
 fairly extensive, the pines are luxuriant and of choice kinds. 
 The insignis is grown there to a stately tree. There are glass 
 conserA-atories. At the door stands a footman in bull" and 
 scarlet. The windows are of plate glass. 
 
 Presently an old gentleman, with hair white as snow, and 
 an almost transparent, wax-like complexion, is wheeled into 
 the garden in a chair, attended by an old bent man, leaning on 
 a stick, and a lady, gentle and smiling. 
 
 We recognise our old friends, the Duke of Kingsbridge, 
 Lord Ronald, and Lady Grace. Shortly after the Marquess 
 comes forth, and the party descend the hill. 
 
 As they pass the little green door of the cottage, which sits, 
 as it were, at the feet of the other, it is opened, and from it 
 issue Mr. Worthivale and his daughter Lucy. 
 
 The united party proceeds to tlie Avalk along the sea-wall, 
 extending for a mile, above the sands at low water and the sea 
 when the tide is full. There they will be joined after a while 
 by Beavis, Avho is in a solicitor's office in the town, and likely 
 eventually to be taken into partnership. 
 
 Not all the estates of the Duke have been sold. Court 
 Royal — dear Court Royal — is lost for ever. The manor of 
 Kingsbridge is gone. Alvington, Loddiswell, Charlton, are all 
 gone, but Fowelscombe remains— ruinous, indeed, but not 
 lost — and Bigbury. 
 
 'You may depend upon it,' says Mr. "Worthivale, 'all wo 
 want is time. Penzance is used up. Torquay is done for. 
 The aspect of Paington is against it. The time must come 
 when Bigbury Bay Avill form a crescent of glittering white 
 liouses, tier on tier — when the express from town will fly past
 
 TWO PICTURES. 417 
 
 Torquay, leap the Dart on a tubular bridge at Dartmouth, and 
 rush past Kingsbridge to find a terminus at Bigbury, the 
 climatic resort of the future. Then, your Grace ' 
 
 ' My dear Worthivale, I shall not live to see the first stone 
 of the new town laid, nor the first sod of the new line turned.' 
 
 ' But, your Grace, what a comfort to think of the future, 
 the reflorescence of this splendid house ! I, also, may not see 
 it, but I live in faith. Your grandchildren 
 
 ' Dear Worthivale,' said the Marquess, ' I am sorry to dash 
 your dream, but I shall never marry.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' said Lady Graoe, in a low tone. 
 
 ' So the race will die with us. Quod antiquatur et senescit 
 — prope interitum est.' 
 
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