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 THE 
 
 DECEASED WIFE'S SISTER, 
 
 AND 
 
 MY BEAUTIFUL NEIGHBOUR, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1874. 
 The Right of Translation is reserved.
 
 
 MY 
 
 BEAUTIFUL NEIGHBOUR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I FOUND Martelli to be more useful to 
 me than I could have expected. He had 
 called himself practical, and he was practical. 
 He was used to the punctilious regularity 
 of schools, to the difficult inattention of 
 pupils ; and the habits these experiences 
 had engendered well quaUfied him in one 
 sense for the post I had offered. In one 
 sense I say : by which I mean m.y need of 
 an influence to direct my studies and keep 
 
 VOL. III. B
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour 
 
 me to them. But in him I missed what I 
 had sought, and would have taken in pre- 
 ference, could I have found. Sympathies he 
 had in abundance, but they were common- 
 place. He shone indeed ; but rather with 
 the borrowed light of letters than the 
 luminous atmosphere of imagination. He 
 could not comprehend me, though he would 
 never appear puzzled. He would miss a 
 delicate implication. In taste he was a 
 sensualist, esteeming the full-blooded, florid, 
 and passionate conceptions of art above her 
 chaste aerial hints and tender moonlit 
 beauties. Yet he was a good and sound 
 scholar. His knowledge of Greek and 
 Latin was singularly exact. He was deeply 
 read in modern literature ; and his sur- 
 prising memory enabled him to display to 
 the utmost advantage the various and care- 
 fully stored treasures of his mind. But 
 though his erudition might have enabled 
 him to have edited with accuracy the most
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 obscure work in the whole range of ancient 
 literature, his imagination would not have 
 yielded him five lines of poetry. 
 
 When together in the library, he would 
 often extort a smile from me by the 
 recollection he excited of my school days. 
 Brisk in his movements, energetic in his 
 actions, pungent and austere in his resolute 
 directions, he recalled to me a French tutor, ' 
 whom, of all my early tutors, I most hated 
 for his severity. But the task conned, the 
 subject discussed, the book closed, his 
 manner would change ; he would be cere- 
 moniously courteous, with almost a hint of 
 obsequiousness in his behaviour, as though 
 he wished me to understand that his sturdy 
 discharge of his duty did not prevent him 
 from appreciating the difference of position 
 between us. 
 
 I should have benefited more from his 
 counsels had my thoughts been less pre- 
 
 B 2
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 occupied with the subject which was hardly 
 ever absent from my mind. 
 
 But I found it impossible wholly to 
 surrender my attention to my tasks. 
 Memory persistently reverted to the strange 
 and beautiful apparition that had startled 
 me in my midnight saunter. Every day, 
 nay, every hour, was increasing my desire 
 to know her. Yet I could hit upon no 
 means of introduction. To have hung 
 about her house, to have loitered near her 
 garden, even had the absence of my com- 
 panion rendered such a device practicable, 
 would have been unwise ; since, if now 
 from no apparent cause she shunned in- 
 trusion or inspection, greater would be her 
 efforts to maintain her privacy when she 
 discovered a stranger sought to violate it. 
 
 One thing I could not hide from myself — 
 I was in love with her. I am well aware 
 that under the circumstances the feeling was 
 most absurd ; but I could not help it. The
 
 M)j Tjeautlful Neiglibour. 5 
 
 memory of her beauty took shape before 
 me at all hours, in all moods. And my 
 love was illustrated and confirmed by my 
 wish to meet, to know, to speak with 
 her. 
 
 Martelli noticed my abstraction. More 
 than once I had remarked his dusky eyes 
 glowing on me with a gaze of interrogative 
 inspection. But he carefully repressed his 
 curiosity. No observation ever escaped 
 him to hint his perception of inattentive 
 moods. 
 
 Once, meeting his eyes, it occurred 
 to me to take him into my confi- 
 dence. 
 
 " The Italians," I mused, " are famous for 
 their handling of love matters. They at 
 least bear the reputation of being subtle and 
 secret in such adventures. They wind into the 
 most tortuous intrigues like a snake through 
 the intricacies of a forest. Why not tell 
 him my story.? A young man in love with
 
 6 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 a woman whom he has seen but once, is an 
 object neither remarkable nor unique. He 
 might aid me by procuring an introduction, 
 at all events ; and if he can do this, he has 
 my full consent to think what he likes of the 
 business." 
 
 It was evening. We were seated at a 
 table in the library, near the window, which 
 was wide open to admit the still and sultry 
 air. There was no moon ; but the stars, 
 large, full and liquid, lent a pale radiance to 
 the gloom. I rose, took a cigar from the 
 mantel-piece and lighted it. 
 
 "Let us close these books for to-night," 
 1 said. " The air is oppressive ; and 
 those sweet stars seem to chide us for pre- 
 ferring the inspiration of other things to 
 theirs." 
 
 He smiled, drew a meerschaum from his 
 pocket, and began to smoke. I pushed the 
 table aside that I might seat myself more 
 fully in the window.
 
 Mjj .Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " There is a line in one of Keats's poems — 
 ' Hyperion,' " I said. 
 
 " I know it," he interrupted. " A noble 
 poem." 
 
 " Noble, indeed. There is a line in that 
 poem which I do not think I ever 
 thoroughly understood until now. I refer 
 to the line in which he speaks 
 of 
 
 — ■* tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars.' 
 
 Look at those round, moony orbs, tremulous 
 like tears wept by the gods ; the trees yonder 
 seem spell-bound beneath them." 
 
 "Truly," he answered. 
 
 " Surely theirs is a magical repose : a 
 deeper calm than that of sleep. Oh, I can 
 forgive much to the superstition of astrology. 
 Those planets deserve to be influences if 
 they are not. The malignant heart would 
 of course make their shine sinister ; but a 
 generous nature must deem those clear rays
 
 8 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 benignant. I do. But it is the common 
 eiFect of Beauty on me. I warm, 1 dilate 
 in her presence. She is a glorious 
 spirit." 
 
 "Ay, to a man of taste." 
 
 " Beauty of course is a spirit inter- 
 penetrating all that delights and elevates. 
 But she is incarnate too, sometimes; falling, 
 I suppose, from the heavens like that meteor 
 there," I said, pointing to an exhalation 
 that rushed with yellow tresses streaming 
 through the dark ; " and taking the 
 shape of a woman when she touches the 
 earth." 
 
 " But is not innocence a condition of 
 beauty V he inquired, turning his dusky 
 gaze upon me. 
 
 " It should be." 
 
 " Then do not make your spirit take the 
 shape of woman." 
 
 I laughed. " What shape would you 
 have her .?"
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " I hardly 
 know," he answered : " unless you make 
 her a new-born babe." 
 
 " I ♦ fear you have the scholar's contempt 
 for the tendre -passion^' said I. " But 
 listen now to a strange story. Do you see 
 those trees yonder?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 " One night — it was clear with moonlight 
 — I strolled out to breathe the air. My 
 excursion extended to those fields you can 
 see from your bedroom window. There I 
 lingered. The village clock struck two. 
 Hardly had the silvery notes died, 
 when " 4 
 
 I paused. 
 
 " You returned home, Sir ?" 
 
 " No. But looking, I perceived the 
 Spirit of Beauty walking beneath the star- 
 light, draped in white, with eyes deep and 
 beautiful, in which the moon hid itself for 
 love, with a face of marble, passionless as
 
 10 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 the feature of the mother of Paphus ere 
 the sculptor's adoration made her rosy with 
 Hfe." 
 
 He showed his gleaming teeth in a smile 
 of which he thought the gloom would 
 hide the contempt. 
 
 " Sir," he said, -" you are talking the 
 language of the romancist." 
 
 "I am talking the language of truth." 
 
 " At two o'clock in the morning," he ex- 
 claimed, blowing a white cloud on the air, 
 " the female shapes one meets abroad are sel- 
 dom spiritual. How they may look in the 
 country, and by starlight, I do not know ; 
 but by gaslight their cadaverous complexion 
 is commonly cloaked with paint ; and if their 
 eyes are bright, it is rather with a spirituous 
 than a spiritual ray." 
 
 "Ah, Martelli, you are a cynic— by which 
 I mean, a practical, astute man, who makes 
 the root and not the flower of fact or fancy 
 his business. A commendable quality ! All
 
 Mij Beautiful Neiglibour. 11 
 
 the same, I would not part with my love of 
 illusion. This essential difFerence of cha- 
 racter will make us get on well together; 
 though, to be plain, before I knew you, my 
 opinion was that if I hoped to please or be 
 pleased, my comrade must be a man of sym- 
 pathies identical with my own." 
 
 " A common and generous error," he re- 
 plied ; " but time corrects those crudities." 
 
 "As a proof, I like you none the worse 
 for the misanthropic pleasure you take in 
 extinguishing the candle in the magic-lantern 
 of fancy — at the moment when the panoramic 
 reflections most delight me. But respecting 
 this apparition — here is no illusion ; for I 
 have found out who she is." 
 
 He smoked in silence. 
 
 " Her name is Mrs. Fraser. She is a widow. 
 She lives in that house yonder, where the 
 light shines through the trees. I have only 
 seen her once, and the circumstances of that 
 meeting may have served to exaggerate my
 
 12 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 impression of her. But the recollection I 
 carried away with me is that of a woman of 
 a beauty whose mysteriousness defies descrip- 
 tion." 
 
 "If you desire to be disenchanted, Mr. 
 Thorburn, you should get to know her." 
 
 " I should be happy to risk my idealism ; 
 but how am I to procure an introduction ^ 
 Her house is a cloister — she a nun, secret 
 and exclusive as the austerest of the flannelled 
 sisterhood." 
 
 " Were we in Italy, I should advise you 
 to serenade her. There love is studied as 
 a fine art. It is different here. Yet were I 
 in your straits — for, Mr. Thorburn, are 
 you not in love with this beautiful phantom 
 of yours ?" 
 
 " I confess it." 
 
 " If I were in your straits, I say, I should 
 do something hardy ; go to her home, 
 procure admittance at any sacrifice of polite- 
 ness, and leave the rest to chance."
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 13 
 
 "That would be practicable to a man 
 with a temperate pulse and trained nerves," I 
 replied ; " but I believe I could much more 
 easily jump off the cliff than place myself in 
 the position you suggest." 
 
 " But you say you met her, Sir. Did she 
 not see you?" 
 
 " No. She stood some yards from me 
 tranquil and statuesque, quite unconscious 
 of my presence — ihat I could swear." 
 
 "Surely she must have seen you — the 
 moon, you said, was bright." 
 
 " She did not see me. It is true I uttered 
 an exclamation of surprise when I found 
 her so close to me ; for I thought she had 
 vanished. She may have heard that 
 cry. 
 
 " But what should this lady be doing in 
 the fields at two o'clock in the morning ?" 
 he asked, with a light smile. 
 
 " That is precisely what I wish to 
 know."
 
 14 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 
 
 He slowly filled another pipe, with his 
 lips moving as though in the process of 
 rehearsal. 
 
 " Mr, Thorburn," said he, " I am sure 
 you will excuse my freedom. I really think 
 you should banish this subject from your 
 mind. You have settled here for the purpose 
 of prosecuting a good and lofty purpose, 
 and you should suffer nothing to seduce you 
 from devoting your whole energies to its 
 accomplishment. No man can serve two 
 mistresses. And knowledge. Sir, let me 
 assure you, is a mistress who, if she does 
 not receive your whole heart, will give you 
 little in return." 
 
 " Your candour requires no apology, 
 Martelli," I answered. " I am sure you 
 speak for my good, and I am grateful for 
 the interest you take in me. But I must 
 tell you that this woman has occupied my 
 thoughts so long, that it is become a positive 
 necessity to know her. Don't smile at what
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 15 
 
 I am about to say — I protest, for my part, 
 I was never more in earnest — I believe," I 
 said solemnly, " that this woman is to be an 
 influence on my life — though whether bane- 
 ful or benignant is still the secret of the 
 future. Why do you shrug your shoulders? 
 Don't you believe in presentiments — in the 
 power of the soul to foreshadow destiny ? 
 A few hours before I met her — this lady — 
 she presented herself to me in a dream. 
 Your sceptical mind would pronounce this 
 a coincidence — the very dream, you think, 
 might have generated the subsequent vision. 
 But it was no coincidence. It was the 
 operation of some mystic agency, to be 
 credited without questioning ; an agency as 
 definite, though inscrutable, as the soul 
 which informs our being with the knowledge 
 of its existence, but ridicules our efforts to 
 give that knowledge shape." 
 
 " Have you ever sought to meet her 
 
 again
 
 16 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " I have not dared." 
 "Not d^red!" 
 
 " You are surprised. But I had not Ham- 
 let's resolution : 
 
 " * Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damnM, 
 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell. 
 Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 
 Thou comest in such questionable shape, 
 I dare not speak to thee !' 
 
 Martelli, had I met her close again, as I 
 met her that night, I should have gone mad. 
 Her steady supernatural gaze, her rigid 
 mien, her shape, which united the two ex- 
 tremes of spectral beauty and human sweet- 
 ness, were shocking." 
 
 " Would you fear to meet her if you had 
 a companion." 
 
 "I hardly know. Pray applaud my can- 
 dour ; you see I confess myself a coward." 
 
 " It is no proof of cowardice. A brave 
 man might reasonably recoil from encounter- 
 ing such an airy horror as enlivened your
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighhour. 17 
 
 midnight ramble. As for me, I have no 
 fear of ghost or gobUn. A questionable 
 shape would make me curious, not timid. 
 Here, however, we should be dealing with 
 no shadow. . A phantom might, indeed, be 
 a widow, though, it is said, that owing to 
 the scarcity of priests, there are no marriages 
 in Heaven. But it would hardly bear the 
 name of ' Mrs. Fraser,' when it has a mag- 
 nificent mythology to choose from. At 
 what time did you say you met her ?" 
 "It was two o'clock in the morning." 
 "A rather inconvenient hour," he ex- 
 claimed with a laugh. " Would not ten or 
 eleven o'clock suit her as well.^ But it is 
 enough that she should be a woman to be 
 perverse. If you think that there is any 
 chance of our meeting her to-night, I should 
 be glad to accompany you. Two heads are 
 better than one in a business of this kind." 
 
 " I am willing to go. Yet there is no 
 reason why she should be there." 
 
 VOL. III. C
 
 18 Idy Beautiful Neighbour . 
 
 " We shall have the moon with us, at all 
 events," he said ; "for there she is, crawling 
 up yonder, though with a sinister disc." 
 
 He pointed to the trees, above which the 
 moon, large, red, and dim, like a cloud 
 shone on by the expiring sun, was slowly 
 sailing up. 
 
 " It is now half-past ten," I remarked. 
 "It may prove after all a fool's errand. 
 However we can sip our grog and stroll 
 out afterwards, if you like — go, at all events, 
 to the fields, and linger in the cool till you 
 shall think proper to return." 
 
 He consented, though assuring me it 
 would be no inconvenience to him to sit 
 through the night. He was anxious, he 
 added, that I should have my mind cleared 
 of the odd fancies that encumbered it ; and 
 very proud and happy would it make him 
 to believe that he had been instrumental in 
 solving any problem that perplexed, or 
 helping forward any desires that agitated me.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 19 
 
 I did not doubt, though he was cautious 
 not to suggest, that he thought me a very- 
 odd, fanciful, even half-crazy being. A 
 downright practical intrigue, a transparent 
 love-affair, he could very readily have under- 
 stood ; but a passion excited by meeting a 
 woman under circumstances so strange, a 
 love inflamed by superstition and yet made 
 imbecile by timidity, it was not in his 
 nature to comprehend. It was fortunate 
 perhaps that his polite incredulity curbed 
 my natural tendency to rhapsodise, or I 
 might have written myself down a greater 
 ass in his eyes than he was disposed to think 
 me. 
 
 We left the house at an hour considerably 
 past the appointed time. Sitting over our 
 brandy-and-water we had fallen into an argu- 
 ment, and had prosecuted it with an in- 
 dustry and enthusiasm that had made us 
 forgetful of the clock. ■ He was the first to 
 recall our scheme. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " See !" he exclaimed, " it is twenty 
 minutes to twelve ; close upon the hour 
 when churchyards yawn." 
 
 " Come, then," said I ; " but lest we en- 
 counter more than our nerves — my nerves at 
 all events — are prepared to meet, let us take 
 one glass more." 
 
 He refused with a smile. I brimmed a 
 tumbler. 
 
 " Ai mail extremi^ extremi remedi" said he, 
 laughing. 
 
 " You may need the remedy yourself yet," 
 I retorted, as I led the way into the 
 garden. 
 
 The air was so silent that, as we marched 
 with soundless tread upon the velvet lawn, 
 I could hear the rustle of an occasional leaf 
 falling from the branches. Among the 
 trees the moon threw level beams, that lay 
 like fallen marble columns. The shadows 
 were swart and stirless. 
 
 I was kept silent by my thoughts. He
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 21 
 
 was loquacious. We gained the end of the 
 grounds, passed through the gate, and 
 entered the fields. 
 
 " What an oppressive night !" he ex- 
 claimed, removing his hat and fanning him- 
 self with it. " The moon seems hardly able 
 to pierce her light through the sultry air. 
 I should have thought such a temperature 
 impossible in fifty-five degrees north." 
 
 " It must end in a storm. The stars look 
 white and sick with the heat. Perhaps they 
 are paling their ineffectual fires before the 
 brilliance of the lightning which they can 
 see but we cannot." 
 
 We had gained the summit of the hillock 
 whereon I had before stood. I seated my- 
 self. 
 
 " There is her house, or rather there is its 
 position," said I, pointing to the trees. " Do 
 you see that hedge? She was gliding along- 
 side it when I saw her. Martelli, picture 
 yourself alone here ; disposed by the drowsy
 
 22 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 moonlight and vague murmurs in the air to 
 unpleasant thoughts. Suddenly a white dim 
 shape flits upon the gloom, pauses, vanishes, 
 to reappear at your elbow — would you not 
 use your legs?" 
 
 His white teeth shone beneath his black 
 moustache. 
 
 " No. It would probably be the other 
 who would use its legs. I should seize it — 
 man or woman, angel or goblin !" 
 
 " Then your nerves must be of galvanised 
 wire, your muscles iron, your spirit some- 
 thing more surprising than the timid essence 
 that vitalises such a lower order of being 
 as I." 
 
 He smoked the cheroot I had given him, 
 without response. 
 
 I lay back with my head reposing on 
 my arm, my eyes fixed on the stars. 
 
 "Look!" he suddenly cried; "there is 
 your spirit !" 
 
 I started — rose to my feet at once. She
 
 Mij Beautiful NeAcjlibour. 23 
 
 stood, habited as I had before seen her, 
 at the gate of the garden, motionless. 
 
 Martelli advanced, paused, beckoned. I 
 went to him. 
 
 " Shall we so to her ?" he whisDered. 
 " If she sees us she will withdraw." 
 
 " She will not see us." 
 
 He laughed low. 
 
 " She must be blind if she doesn't. But 
 now is your opportunity to speak with her. 
 Come with me — be bold. Sir. This is a 
 rare chance. Should she not see us until 
 we are near, and then attempt to withdraw, 
 accost her bravely. Tell her you have met 
 her here before — acquaint her with your 
 alarm. The rest is easy." 
 
 He moved forward ; I followed. The 
 moon gave us sharp, short shadows. I 
 breathed quickly. He heard my pantings, 
 and took my arm. 
 
 She stood confronting us ; but she did 
 not stir. We drew near. I who knew her
 
 24 M]j Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 face, could shape from the countenance, 
 whose lineaments were yet too dim to dis- 
 cern, the sorrowful sovereign eyes and 
 immobile beauty. 
 
 Suddenly Martelli stopped short. I looked 
 at him. He was staring and trembling. 
 His breath seemed to die. His eyes were 
 round and lively with an expression that 
 seemed to me akin to horror. I heard 
 him gasp " Dio mio ! Dio mio /" several times. 
 
 Somehow the failure of his courage was 
 the renewal of mine. Much of her mystery 
 had at least fallen from this woman. I knew 
 who she was, at all events. But how 
 strange, how startling was it to see her 
 gazing steadfastly in our direction, and not 
 offering to move. 
 
 I whispered to Martelli : " Come, come ! 
 where are your nerves V He could not 
 answer me. There he stood, rooted to 
 the ground, with his face in the moonlight 
 blanched to the colour of a corpse.
 
 ][h/ Beautiful Neighbour. 25 
 
 At this moment the figure turned, made 
 a gesture with her right hand and with- 
 drew. 
 
 "I will follow you!" I said, setting my 
 teeth, for the undertaking was a mighty one 
 to me. Yes ! I was mastered now by a 
 resolution uncontrollable as superstition and 
 passion could make it, to speak to her. I 
 left Martelli and advanced to the gate. I 
 pushed it open, and passed up the garden 
 walk. Her white shape floated in front. 
 I trod on tiptoe, gained her side, and 
 whispered : 
 
 " I saw your summons. I am, indeed, 
 grateful to you for this privilege. I have 
 long wished for an interview, but respected 
 too much your obvious desire of soli- 
 tude " 
 
 But here I broke off; for though I spoke 
 in her ear she did not turn. Had she been 
 a statue, she could not have been more 
 heedless. I was abreast of her; a stride
 
 26 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 took me in advance. I looked into her 
 face. Her eyes were fixed. In their won- 
 derful depth the moon was mirrored; but 
 they were uninformed and expressionless. 
 They stared from beneath her brow of ivory, 
 soulless and blank. 
 
 I halted abruptly, as Martelli had done. 
 She swept forward, mounted the steps lead- 
 ing into the house, and vanished. I returned 
 to my friend. I found him leaning against 
 the gate. When he saw me he stood erect. 
 His face was still blanched ; but he had 
 mastered himself so far as to speak in a firm 
 voice and to smile. 
 
 " She is no ghost," he said briefly. 
 
 "I knew that," I replied. 
 
 " She was very ghostly though. I can 
 understand your alarm." 
 
 " I am glad you can. Your own be- 
 haviour justifies mine. But I thought you 
 were afraid of neither ghost nor goblin?" 
 
 " I thought she would move — I thought
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighhour. 27 
 
 she would move," he replied. " Her still- 
 ness was fearful — it was unexpected — I found 
 it terrible." 
 
 " But the mystery of her is at an 
 end." 
 
 " T know what you mean, Sir. Your 
 ghost is nothing more than a somnambulist. 
 I should have guessed it from the beginning 
 — guessed either that she was asleep or that 
 she was mad. Anyone in his senses would 
 have hit upon this." 
 
 " I didn't. But perhaps I am not in my 
 
 senses." 
 
 " Remember, Sir, you are in love !" he 
 exclaimed, with a hard laugh. 
 
 " Who could help being in love with 
 such a creature.^ Did you remark her 
 beauty ?" 
 
 " As well as I could by the light. She 
 did not strike me as possessing the charms 
 your enthusiasm would have suggested. To 
 be sure I saw her at a disadvantage. But I
 
 28 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 do not admire red-haired women ; or if they 
 be red-haired, let them have at least blue 
 eyes. Beauty should always be harmonious. 
 And then she walks in her sleep — a qualifi- 
 cation I for one could dispense with." 
 
 " Let us go in," I said. " The issue 
 of this adventure has satisfied me. To- 
 morrow I will introduce myself to her."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The resolution I had made over night 
 was stronger by the morning. When I 
 met MartelH I told him there would be no 
 use in sitting down to work. 
 
 " I foresaw this," he replied. " Perhaps 
 it will be better to defer your studies until 
 you are out of this mysterious complication," 
 smiling. 
 
 " It will hardly be optional," I said. 
 "My mind is too active in a very different 
 direction from books to make me profit 
 from reading. The labour would only be 
 mechanical." 
 
 " I wish, Sir, you would direct me to
 
 30 My Beautiful Neighhoiir. 
 
 employ the interval in some way useful to 
 yourself. I shall be eating the bread of 
 idleness — a food I have little relish 
 for." 
 
 " You will be doing nothing of the sort," 
 I answered ; " your society gives me plea- 
 sure, and besides, we may take a holiday 
 now and then, may we not? We have 
 done very well. In the time you have 
 been here, you have advanced me further 
 than I could have done alone in twelve 
 months." 
 
 He bowed, thanking me for my assurance, 
 and expressed his gratitude for the unfailing 
 politeness and liberal hospitality he had 
 enjoyed during his residence. 
 
 He had recovered from his surprise or 
 shock of the preceding night. Yet there 
 was upon his manners and in his expression 
 a shadow whose presence I could mark, 
 though whose meaning I could not read. 
 The subtle alteration would have been
 
 ill// Beautiful Neighbour. 31 
 
 inappreciable to one who had watched him 
 less closely than I, and who had been less 
 often in his company. There was a light 
 now in his eye which had not been there 
 before. His energy, the swift gesture, the 
 sharp vanishing smile, the quick contraction 
 of the brow, were moderated, sobered, by a 
 stealthy composure. I attributed the change, 
 vague and slight as it was, to the fright he 
 had received. "This hint of unfamiliar 
 repose," I said to myself, " may be the 
 effect of repressed 'irritability, excited by 
 his last night's involuntary confession of 
 weakness or cowardice." 
 
 I had a part to play, however, which 
 gave my thoughts full employment. 
 
 I left Martelli and strolled about the 
 grounds until lunch-time. I then returned, 
 despatched a light meal, took my hat, and 
 left the house. Elmore Cottage was not 
 above five minutes' walk from my house 
 by the road. I could have wished it ten
 
 32 My Beautiful Ndglibour. 
 
 times the distance. I approached it timor- 
 ously, and gazed bashfully under the con- 
 cealment of the hedge. It was an exquisitely 
 clean little place : the walls white, the 
 windows burnished and draped with snowy 
 muslin. The lower windows were veiled 
 with flowers. I hoped its mistress would 
 not see me enter. I rather prayed that 
 she might be in the garden. I pushed 
 open the gate with a quick hand and gained 
 the door. My thin and doubtful appeal 
 with the knocker was promptly answered 
 by a young woman, tidy, grave, and 
 comely. 
 
 I asked for Mrs. Fraser. I was answered 
 that she was out. 
 
 " She will not be out to me," said I, 
 " if you will say that I am come to speak 
 with her on a matter of great consequence 
 to herself." 
 
 The servant eyed me shrewdly, though
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 33 
 
 not disrespectfully. " But Mrs. Fraser is 
 out, Sir," said she. 
 
 " Mrs. Fraser is not out," I exclaimed 
 in a steady voice. "Come, allow me to 
 walk in. Must I repeat that I have come 
 to see Mrs. Fraser on very important 
 business.^" 
 
 She was too well-trained to keep me 
 on the doorstep or even in the passage, 
 though I daresay she would have preferred 
 that I remained in the road whilst she went 
 to hold a council with her mistress. She 
 slightly smiled as she said, " What name. 
 Sir.?" 
 
 " Never mind my name," I replied. 
 " Simply say a gentleman has called to 
 see her." 
 
 She left the room. The apartment into 
 which she had conducted me was close, 
 though the windows were open. The 
 furniture was old, but tasteful enough. A 
 piano stood in a corner, and on a chair was 
 
 VOL. III. D
 
 34 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 a pile of music. I thought of my bouquet 
 as my eye rested on some flowers in a vase 
 on the table. On either side the mirror, 
 over the chimney-piece, was a pencil drawing, 
 skilfully done, representing, the one on the 
 left, a calm at sea, an iceberg on the horizon, 
 an albatross suspended over the wreck of 
 a vessel, whose broken masts, trailing ropes 
 and vacant decks were full of the poetry 
 of desolation : the one on the right, a 
 woman seated at a table, with her face 
 buried in her hands, a crucifix before her. 
 I drew near, and read at the corner of 
 each drawing the word " Geraldine." 
 
 A longer interval than what I had antici- 
 pated elapsed before Mrs. Fraser presented 
 herself. I was eyeing a little gilt dial with 
 some degree of impatience, when I heard a 
 sound behind me. I turned rapidly. 
 
 Mrs. Fraser stood at the table, her black 
 eyes fixed on me with a look half of alarm, 
 half of embarrassment. Their startled beauty
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 35 
 
 was smiting. Her yellow hair was combed 
 high, but silken threads strayed over her 
 brow and behind her ears. Her lips were 
 compressed. 
 
 I rose and made her a bow. 
 
 " Pray be seated," she said in a low voice. 
 " My servant tells me you have called on a 
 matter of business." 
 
 "Not exactly business" I answered. 
 " But first, you must allow me to introduce 
 myself to you as Mr. Thorburn, your neigh- 
 bour." 
 
 She regarded me earnestly. I paused : 
 another moment's silence would have em- 
 barrassed me, so I said hardily : 
 
 " I shall wholly depend on your kindness 
 not to make me feel more painfully the 
 trying position in which I have placed 
 myself. The intrusion," continued I, ner- 
 vousness making my apology elaborate, 
 " will only seem all the more unwarrantable 
 when I tell you that I am fully aware of 
 
 D 2
 
 36 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 your love of solitude and your aversion to 
 intruders. But " 
 
 She interrupted me, turning her back to 
 the window, the better to see me, and not 
 to be seen : 
 
 " You sent me a bouquet the other 
 day ?" 
 
 " I ventured to take the liberty." 
 
 " You must have thought my rejection 
 rude. It was meant to be rude. How, Sir, 
 knowing my aversion to intruders, could 
 you have taken that liberty .? Did you 
 think it would lead to an introduction r' 
 
 Her language gave me confidence. Had 
 she sweetly thanked me for my attention or 
 apologised for her rudeness, she would, I 
 think, have confounded me too much for 
 my wits. But this tone of hers brought her 
 down to my level. I could meet her on 
 equal ground. 
 
 "I sent you that bouquet," I answered, 
 "because I judged by your love of garden-
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 37 
 
 ing that you were fond of flowers. The 
 action was not designed as a rudeness. It 
 
 was a mere neighbourly act " 
 
 She seemed too impatient to hear me 
 out. 
 
 " How can I beheve you } People never 
 act without design." 
 
 "I have explained my design," I said, 
 repressing a smile with difficulty. 
 
 Her eyes were incensed. Their beauty 
 made them almost unreal. 
 
 " You are still standing !" she exclaimed. 
 "I beg that you will be seated. Pray do 
 not mind me. I am of an excitable tempera- 
 ment, and when I converse it is difficult for 
 me to keep still." 
 
 She left the window, went to the 
 end of the room, and gazed at me 
 thence, like some beautiful savage, un- 
 tamed, startled, exquisitely unconventional. 
 
 I borrowed her tone ; she was free- 
 spoken ; she would like free- speaking.
 
 38 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 "My apology — if apology it were — does 
 not contain the whole truth. But your 
 goodness will not allow you to think me 
 so great a culprit as I appear. I had met 
 you once ; your appearance piqued me ; I 
 desired to make your acquaintance and have 
 tried an experiment which I beseech you not 
 to render ignominious," 
 
 "Piqued, Sir! How were you piqued?" 
 
 " Piqued is not the word. But I dare 
 not substitute the right expression. I will 
 not be so rude as to utilise the privilege your 
 own candour confers." 
 
 She came over and stood opposite me. 
 
 " You say, Mr. Thorburn, you have met 
 me. That is impossible." 
 
 " If I prevaricated before, I am truthful 
 now." 
 
 " I have not been out of this house for 
 a month. Oh ! I suppose you saw me from 
 your grounds."
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 39 
 
 " The thick hedge and the trees that divide 
 us would prevent that." 
 
 " You mav have found the means of look- 
 ing over ?" 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 " No, indeed. Great as my curiosity may 
 have been, my politeness, I am sure, is 
 vigorous enough to keep it well disciplined." 
 
 " Curiosity ! what should there be in me 
 to excite curiosity r' 
 
 " Curiosity is the daughter of admiration." 
 
 " I am a widow," she continued vehe- 
 mently. " I lead a sequestered life. I visit 
 nowhere. I receive no visits. Is it because 
 I am a Roman Catholic that you are curious .?" 
 
 " Do you take me for a missionary, Mrs. 
 Eraser ? I assure you I was ignorant of 
 your faith. Of your habits I know only 
 from the information of my housekeeper. 
 A fellow-feeling makes us kind. I, too, am 
 a recluse, loving solitude as well as your- 
 self."
 
 40 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 
 
 "Impossible !" she exclaimed impetuously, 
 " or you would not have called here." 
 
 I could have told her that I loved beauty 
 more than solitude. But I held my tongue. 
 
 "Where did you meet me?" she asked. 
 
 " I met you in the fields outside our re- 
 spective grounds." 
 
 "Never!" she cried. "Never have I 
 passed the gate that leads into those 
 fields." 
 
 There was something singular in her 
 vehemence. But it made her beauty more 
 remarkable by the life it imparted to it. 
 
 " But this has been told me befiDre," she 
 continued rapidly. " Yes, I remember. 
 Your housekeeper asked my servant if I 
 were not in the habit of taking midnight 
 rambles. Oh, how can you justify the rude- 
 ness of such questions V' 
 
 " They were asked unknown to myself. 
 Be sure, I should never have sanctioned 
 them, if I had questions to ask, I should
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 41 
 
 be bold, and interrogate you, not your 
 domestic." 
 
 " Questions to ask ! What are you to 
 me that you should question me ?" 
 
 "Nothing. I am to you no more than 
 your servant is to me. But you are some- 
 thing to me. Is it possible, do you think, 
 that I could look upon your face without 
 interest ?" 
 
 "How should I know — why should I 
 care?" she replied, her nostrils dilated, her 
 lips curved, her eyes radiant with the light 
 of anger qualified by surprise — of resentment 
 tempered by curiosity. " You say you met 
 me — you are long in telling your story." 
 
 "It was one moonlight night. I walked 
 to the fields, and had seated myself, when I 
 saw you pacing the walk by the hedge. 
 Twice you went the length of it — then dis- 
 appeared." 
 
 She seated herself in a chair facing mine, 
 leaned her chin upon her small white hand,
 
 42 Ml/ Beautiful Neiglihoiir. 
 
 and gazed at me with a look of earnestness 
 that was embarrassing in its intensity. The 
 pressure upon her chin made her speak 
 through her teeth as she said, 
 
 " You must have dreamed this ?" 
 
 " Indeed I did not. But I own I dreamt 
 of you before. I dreamt that you looked 
 upon me in a vision. I saw your eyes, 
 Thev were not more wonderful in that vision 
 than they are in life. Your face was paler 
 than it is now." 
 
 She did not alter her position. 
 
 *' A few hours after this dream I saw 
 you. The spirit I had seen in my sleep 
 stood before me in the flesh. This singular 
 realisation of my vision made a deep im- 
 pression. Its natural consequence was a 
 great eagerness to know you. But how 
 could I intrude ? under what pretext could 
 I force myself upon you ? Last night I 
 found an excuse — I met you again." 
 
 " How strange !" she muttered. She had
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 43 
 
 dropped her forehead upon her hand and 
 her deep eyes shone upon me through their 
 long lashes. 
 
 " When I met you last night," I continued, 
 " I was not alone. A companion was with 
 me. You appeared to us as you had 
 appeared to me. He saw you, and if you 
 doubt the truth of what I say, will bear 
 testimony. You stood at the gate ; your 
 eyes w§re fixed and your countenance turned 
 towards us." 
 
 A look of distress entered her face. 
 
 " 1 did not know that I still walked in my 
 sleep," she said. 
 
 " It is a dangerous habit, Mrs, Eraser." 
 
 " I will give directions to my servant. I 
 am grateful to you now for your visit. I 
 see you did not design to do me a rudeness. 
 I should have received you more courteously ; 
 but I am not always my own mistress." 
 
 " Indeed ?" I answered ; '^ your candour 
 is too charming to require excuses. You
 
 44 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 must believe that such ingenuousness is very 
 refreshing to one who, like myself, has 
 wasted the best part of his days amid sophisti- 
 cated and conventional society, where truth 
 is never possible because it must always be 
 offensive." 
 
 "Don't you find it dull at Elmore Court ?" 
 
 " No ; I spend the greater portion of my 
 time in reading. Besides, I have a com- 
 panion — a gentleman accomplished enough 
 to be of great use to me in my studies." 
 
 " You are a young man," she said, eyeing 
 me intently, " and it is unusual for young 
 men to banish themselves from life and its 
 pleasures, especially if they have money." 
 
 " I admire your incredulity," I answered, 
 laughing, " for it gives me an excuse to tell 
 you more of myself than I could otherwise 
 have done. I mean, that a voluntary con- 
 fession would have smacked rather egotistic." 
 
 She left her chair and began to pace up 
 and down the room. I was fascinated by
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 45 
 
 her form, the beautiful curve of her breast, 
 the proportioned waist, her erect stature, 
 and the unconscious grace of her movements. 
 When her face was towards me her eyes 
 were invariably on mine ; there was in them 
 an unsmiling sparkle, a grave glow, that 
 gave unreality to their gaze, a spectral beauty 
 to their depths. 
 
 " I took Elmore Court," I continued, 
 " not because I was tired of, but because I 
 wanted to enjoy, life." 
 
 "You thought that abstinence would 
 create appetite ?" 
 
 " I wished to learn the art of living ; 
 and this, I saw, was only to be accomplished 
 by study, by thought, and by awakening 
 aspirations which should be lofty enough to 
 make their achievement laborious." 
 
 " What do you hope to do V 
 
 " Much." 
 
 " You will do little. Ah ! you think I 
 mean that you have no talent? I have not
 
 46 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 said so. How should I know your gifts 
 and deficiencies ? But life itself is one huge 
 disappointment. The more laborious the 
 effort the more dreadful the failure. Pray 
 don't fancy I think only of books, or art, 
 or science. I know nothing of these things ; 
 and they make but a very small portion of 
 life. I have the passions in my mind — love, 
 hope, patience and the like — all these things 
 end in regret." 
 
 " Your logic is very dispiriting," said I, 
 watching her with increasing admiration. 
 " It would leave life nerveless, and make 
 death its only aspiration." 
 
 " Do you think life ends in death ?" 
 " The life of the flesh, certainly." 
 " The flesh has nothing to do with life. 
 It is the spirit that lives. My flesh might 
 have been dead last night when you saw 
 me : for I heard and felt nothing. No ! 
 it was all as blank to me as my sight when I 
 shut my eyes so ;" she closed her eyes like a
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 47 
 
 child would have done. " I might bave 
 been dead, and to myself was as dead 
 as ever I shall be when I am in the 
 grave." 
 
 I was about to speak, when she suddenly 
 said, " Mr. Thorburn, you are making a 
 long call." 
 
 " I must plead you as my excuse," I 
 answered, rising, hardly knowing whether to 
 look grave or smile, so bewildered was I 
 by her manners and conversation : her 
 brusquerie, of which her beauty qualified 
 the rudeness ; her severity, tempered by a 
 childishness which made all her moods but 
 new points of view of her charms. 
 
 I took my hat : she opened the door. 
 
 " I hope, Mrs. Fraser," said I, " that you 
 will not deny me the pleasure of meeting you 
 again ^'' 
 
 " I have not come to Cliffegate for society, 
 Mr. Thorburn." 
 
 " Nor I. But a single individual does not
 
 48 M>j Beautifitl Neighbour. 
 
 make society. Besides, would not my having 
 met you twice under circumstances so un- 
 common justify my claiming a privilege 
 to which no one else in this place could 
 pretend ?" 
 
 " What privilege ?" 
 
 " The privilege of knowing you and meet- 
 ing you. It was, at least, promised me in 
 a dream. You will not set aside a promise 
 so mysterious?" 
 
 "Are you a fatalist? I am. If you are 
 not, you will ridicule my weakness, as you 
 will call it. But much may be forgiven to 
 persons who lead such self-contained lives as 
 I. So, if we are to become friends, our 
 friendship is preordained, and my rebelling 
 against it would be foolish." 
 
 " If we are to be friends, I shall become 
 a fatalist. A creed made tempting by such 
 a reward is irresistible. I have your per- 
 mission to call again ?" 
 
 " You are your own master."
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 49 
 
 The reply was sufficient. I extended my 
 hand ; she gave me hers. I held it for a 
 moment, and we separated. 
 
 VOL. III. E
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Martelli was in the library when I 
 entered. He sat deep in an arm-chair, his 
 legs crossed, his face hid behind a folio. 
 
 " I have seen my apparition," said I 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " I guessed so by the time you were 
 absent," he answered, looking at the 
 clock. 
 
 " I hope my resolute behaviour vindicates 
 my courage, or at least excuses my former 
 fears." 
 
 " You have renewed the pretty ancient 
 legend, and have changed your shape of 
 marble into a breathing woman. It certainly
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 51 
 
 shows some hardihood and much tact to 
 have penetrated into her presence. She 
 seems, by your account, to have taken the 
 white veil of solitude, and is dead to all 
 the world." 
 
 " After an interview with a beautiful 
 woman," I cried effusively, looking round 
 upon the bookshelves, " how fiat, stale, 
 weary, and unprofitable appears everything 
 else ! The dead are all very well in their 
 way — nil nisi bonum — but there is something 
 in the large black eye of a woman — a 
 divinity, a power, an inspiration — that makes 
 poetry, philosophy and the fine arts very 
 second-rate, somehow." 
 
 " No, Sir ; the rate is not changed ; it 
 is a only temporary eclipse — a shadow dim- 
 ming a light." 
 
 " Well," said I, " for my part, I adore 
 black eyes ; I refer particularly to Mrs. 
 Fraser's. If I were called upon to name 
 the most harmonious contrast in the world.
 
 52 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I should say black eyes and yellow hair. 
 Oh ! she is the loveliest, the most fascinating, 
 the wildest, sweetest, strangest woman in 
 the wide world!" 
 
 " Your interview has been satisfactory, I 
 presume?" he remarked drily. "She must 
 have been prepared for your visit and met 
 you with the most polished and facile of her 
 arts. 
 
 " There was nothing polished or facile 
 about her. On the contrary, she was 
 rude." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes — what would be called rude were I 
 to write it down. But you know I am a 
 bit of a gourmand and relish pungent condi- 
 ments. Her manner is indeed the only 
 sauce piquante that would suit her beauty." 
 
 " ' We forgive in proportion as we love,' 
 says Rochefoucauld, a man of the world." 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive — but there 
 is much to love. There is a shrewd sweet-
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 5'3 
 
 ness about her that took me mightily. 
 Solitude has made her primitive. Had 
 Byron met her we should have had a poem 
 on the beautiful savage, with her coy and 
 mutinous manners, with the light of golden 
 sands upon her hair and the shine of torrid 
 suns upon her eyes. Hear me now, 
 Martelli, and marvel !" I continued, striking 
 a heroic attitude. " When she speaks she 
 looks like liberty incarnate ; there is freedom 
 in her royal gestures ; pliancy and power 
 in her step; her exquisite form undulates 
 to her thoughts like the shadow of a dryad 
 seen in a breezy pool !" 
 
 "This, Sir, is love. Your language has 
 about it the poetic ambiguity that no other 
 passion would dictate." 
 
 " It is love ! I avow it. I am in love with 
 this woman." 
 
 " I think I can understand you, Sir. You 
 have cultivated this emotion for the purpose 
 of utilising it. You are giving it full licence
 
 54 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 that you may properly observe its operation. 
 When fully developed, you will anatomise 
 it, study its conformation, and having en- 
 larged your knowledge of human nature 
 by the examination, bury the corpse of the 
 passion as the doctors bury the subjects they 
 have dissected." 
 
 " No, this is not my intention," I answered, 
 laughing heartily ; " emotion is too valu- 
 able to be wasted in the pursuit of know- 
 ledge." 
 
 " Pardon me, Sir, but — do you propose 
 to marry her .^" 
 
 " If she will have me." 
 
 "She is to be congratulated on her beauty. 
 It must be of a rare and powerful kind to 
 strike love at one blow into a heart which 
 I thought was surfeited with this sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " Her beauty is rare and powerful 
 
 >> 
 too. 
 
 " It must be, to achieve such a victory
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 55 
 
 over the experience that had driven you 
 into the cooi and calm dominion of intel- 
 lectual love." 
 
 " Can I not occupy both dominions ? 
 Must intellect be denied me because 1 
 f^ill in love ?" I asked, attributing the sar- 
 castic emphasis of his language to a fear 
 that my marriage would lose him his 
 situation. 
 
 " I think not," he answered. " My ex- 
 perience of knowledge is, that it is a jealous 
 god. Surely, Sir, your resolution is abrupt ! 
 You have declared your intention only to 
 excite my wonder !" 
 
 "On the contrary, I am quite sincere 
 when I tell you that I am head over heels 
 in love with this woman, and that I would 
 marry her to-morrow if I thought she would 
 accept me." 
 
 He rose, went to the window, stared out 
 for some moments, and then approached 
 me.
 
 56 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " If I understood you aright, Mr. Thor- 
 burn, your object in residing here was to 
 enable you to lay in such a stock of know- 
 ledge as would enable you to contest for 
 fame with a good promise of success?" 
 
 1 nodded. 
 
 " You even went, Sir, to the expense of 
 furnishing this house, that you might burden 
 yourself with obligations which should not 
 be got rid of without inconvenience and Joss." 
 
 " True." 
 
 " That you did, that your resolution, 
 should it grow impaired by fatigue or caprice, 
 would still be hampered with difficulties 
 enough to make its decay slow or even 
 impossible." 
 
 " Well V said I, wondering at his solemnity 
 and long preamble. 
 
 "Is it possible, Sir, I ask respectfully, 
 that you will abandon your large and digni- 
 fied enterprise for a lady of whom you know 
 nothing?"
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 57 
 
 " You only make me sensible of the 
 capriciousness of my character," I answered, 
 laughing ; " but you could not shake the love 
 this lady has inspired." 
 
 " Sir," he said courteously, " nothing 
 would justify the freedom of my language 
 but the knowledge that one of the duties 
 you desired me to discharge, was to stimulate 
 your energies when I found them flagging. 
 But as you have determined to alter your 
 views, I shall of course consider those duties 
 at an end." 
 
 " Why ?" I asked. " What avenues in 
 life would be closed to me as a married man 
 that are opened to me as a bachelor? A 
 man is not bound to be idle, is not pro- 
 hibited from meditating as ambitiously as 
 he chooses, because he gives his name to a 
 woman." 
 
 " I do not say. Sir, that you may not 
 recur hereafter to your schemes; but you 
 may reckon on being very indisposed for
 
 58 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 study for a good time now. This lady will 
 occupy your thoughts to the exclusion of 
 all things else, before marriage and for long 
 after. Love- making is an absorbing occupa- 
 tion. To a poor man it may be a stimulus, 
 for he may have to work in order to 
 wed ; but to a rich man it is usually a 
 soporific." 
 
 "My good friend," I exclaimed, "you 
 speak as though my marriage were a fixed 
 matter. Let us look at the truth. I am 
 in love with this lady, it is true — but she is 
 not in love with me. I may have to be im- 
 portunate to procure her consent — should 
 she ever vouchsafe her consent, which, 
 between you and me, I have no earthly 
 reason to suppose likely ; and importunities, 
 to be successful, must be often delayed and 
 never vehement. I should regret your 
 leaving me; and should regret it the more 
 if you resolve to go before my future takes 
 a more definite character. My wishes will
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 69 
 
 of course impel me to bring this love of 
 mine to an issue as speedily as she will let 
 me ; but I really like your company too 
 well to wish you to regulate your con- 
 duct by a contingency which, I fear, may 
 prove the reverse of inevitable," 
 
 He paced the room, eyeing me from 
 time to time with a gaze uncertain and 
 agitated. His brow was clouded. 
 
 " I am very grateful to you for your 
 kindness to me," he said, " and I will avail 
 myself of it to think a little before T decide. 
 I shall be selfish enough to hope that your 
 marriage will not happen. We have been 
 going on well — very well. It would be 
 a pity that this pleasant life should be dis- 
 turbed. I am much obliged to you for 
 your courtesy," he repeated, " and you are 
 very kind to have listened to my plain- 
 speaking so good-naturedly." 
 
 To this I made some reply, and the 
 subject dropped.
 
 60 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " Here," thought I, " is an illustration 
 of the genuine southern character : the warm 
 and sudden humours ; the irritable pets and 
 fumes ; the querulous misgivings ; the effu- 
 sive gratitude ; the morbid distrust. Here 
 too, is a living example of the penalty of 
 thought. The brain of this smart little man 
 has been playing so long and so remorselessly 
 on his nerves, that they have at last grown 
 unfit for use. Coffee and tobacco, too, 
 have done their part, and have converted 
 this sallow being into a bundle of shuddering 
 sensibilities. Because I talk of being in love, 
 because I dare to dream of marrying, he 
 believes that I wish him to be gone. He 
 transforms my hopes into hints ; and fearful, 
 perhaps, of a direct dismissal which would 
 convulse his dignity with mortification, and 
 leave his nerves flabby and toneless for ever, 
 he bids me understand that he considers 
 his duties at an end. But he'll get over 
 this pique. Those keen eyes, that pungent
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 61 
 
 tongue, are the harbingers of no silly spirit. 
 He will contrast this house with his attic 
 in Berners Street, this sweet air with the 
 yellow element of London, his meagre 
 meals with his present bountiful repasts, and 
 will discover no urgent necessity to depart. 
 For myself, I doubt if I could better him. 
 Use has fathered one or two angularities, 
 and I find him now not only agreeable, but 
 necessary." 
 
 But, to be candid, these thoughts did 
 not long trouble me. I had my beautiful 
 neighbour to muse on, and she was an 
 inspiration that fully filled my mind. 
 
 Three days passed before I saw her 
 again. 
 
 Martelli had gone to Cliffegate for a 
 walk : I amused myself in the garden. The 
 grounds were now in complete order. In 
 the front the fountain had been repaired and 
 redecorated, and now tossed its pearl-shower 
 in the sun, circling the cool and brimming
 
 62 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 basin with a rainbow. In the back, the 
 trees hung heavy with fruit. The beds were 
 draped with flowers. The lawn, shorn and 
 trimmed to velvet smoothness, offered a 
 pleasant relief to the eye. 
 
 I strolled to the end of the grounds and 
 inspected the brilliant coup d'{^il. My 
 thoughts went further than I : I wished I 
 could have followed them ! 
 
 "She who loves flowers so well, what 
 would she think of this brilliant show ? 
 Were I to ask her to come and see my 
 grounds, would she come?" 
 
 At that moment I heard her voice calling 
 to the servant from the garden. An idea 
 struck me. I pushed open the gate and 
 entered the fields. Through the gate of 
 her own garden I could see her. She was 
 raking a bed of geraniums. Her fair face 
 was shadowed by a hat, broad-brimmed and 
 high-crowned ; inelegant it would have 
 looked on many a woman ; but the most
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 63 
 
 fastidious taste would have been ravished 
 by its becoming elegance on her. The skirt 
 of her dress, pinned up, disclosed a foot 
 matchless in its turn and shape. What 
 grace was in the movement of her arms ! 
 how delicate the outline of her inclined 
 form ! A long curl of gold had slipped 
 from the blue ribbon that bound her hair 
 and reposed like a sunbeam on her back. I 
 stood watching her with all my soul in my 
 gaze. A lark rose shrilling from the fields, 
 and soared, pouring its throat in a strain 
 chastened by the nimble air. She drew 
 herself erect, and protecting her eyes, sought 
 the bird in the blue. Her full and shapely 
 form, her black and luminous eyes, shaded 
 by her hand of snow, her yellow hair, her 
 looped skirt, her firm small feet, made, as 
 she stood among the flowers, such a picture 
 of colour, beauty, and sunshine as I must 
 never hope to see again. 
 I drew to the gate.
 
 64 M)j Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mrs. Fraser," I said 
 gently. 
 
 She started, and seeing me, stared without 
 speaking. 
 
 " I hope I have not alarmed you," I said, 
 observing the startled expression of her eyes 
 to brighten with a sudden angry light : " I 
 was attracted by the sound of your voice, 
 and would not miss this chance of seeing 
 you." 
 
 She let fall the rake and came to the gate. 
 
 " How long have you been there .^" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Some minutes," I replied. 
 
 " Watching ! watching ! Mr. Thorburn, 
 I am sorry you ever took Elmore Court. 
 Before you came, my privacy here was as 
 sacred as though this garden had been 
 cloisters." 
 
 " Hav& I violated it .?" 
 
 " Of course you have. Have you not 
 been watching me .''"
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 65 
 
 "I must offer you no apology. If I desire 
 to win your approbation, I must not cloud or 
 varnish my meaning." 
 
 " It would not be worth while." 
 
 "So I will admit that I came here not 
 only with the intention of seeing, but of 
 speaking to you. Now is my crime very 
 grave V 
 
 "Are you beginning to feel dull.?" she 
 asked, eyeing me with embarrassing earnest- 
 ness. "Are you: beginning to grow weary 
 of books and thoughts, and to discover that 
 the most tiresome and indiscreet companion 
 a man can choose is himself.? If so, why 
 do you not return to London ? You must 
 have the means to purchase the distractions 
 which are called pleasures." 
 
 " Indeed"— I began. 
 
 " Or," she went on with odd imperturba- 
 bility, " if you can't conveniently leave 
 Elmore Court, there are, I believe, people 
 
 VOL. III. F
 
 Q6 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 here whom you might easily get to know. 
 Why me, Mr. Thorburn ? why me T' she 
 exclaimed, with a little stamp of her 
 foot. 
 
 *' Who are the people, Mrs. Fraser?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," she said wearily, 
 " I have never inquired. I have shunned 
 them always. Some of them called. I have 
 their cards by me somewhere. But I never 
 returned their visits." 
 
 " And I have some of their cards by me 
 too ; and I have never returned their calls. 
 Such society as they offer does not suit me. 
 Besides, I didn't come here for society." 
 
 " But you seek mine." 
 
 " I cannot help it," I said. 
 
 She left the gate. I thought she was 
 going away. She picked a flower — a white 
 rose, half budded — and brought it me. 
 
 " This is of my own planting," said she, 
 applying the pearly petals to her delicate
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 67 
 
 nostrils : " all the flowers that you see here 
 are of my own planting." 
 
 "That bud should symbolise your life, 
 Mrs. Fraser." 
 
 She opened wide her eyes. 
 
 "Why.?" she asked. 
 
 " It is unfolding its beauty and sweetness 
 to other eyes than its own. So should 
 you." 
 
 She flung it from her. Her under lip 
 pouted as though she were about to 
 cry. 
 
 " If I had thought that flower would 
 have provoked so silly a remark, I would 
 not have picked it," she said. 
 
 She retired a step. Fearful that I had 
 ofi^ended and that she would leave me, I 
 said boldly, " I wish you would allow me 
 to see your flowers. I may learn some hints 
 for my own garden from yours. I faithfully 
 promise not to be poetical again." 
 
 F 2
 
 68 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " You may come in," she answered, 
 curving her mouth into a childish smile ; 
 " Shall I open the gate ?" 
 
 " Thank you, I can open it." 
 
 I entered. 
 
 " Please don't notice anything from where 
 you stand," she exclaimed, picking up the 
 rake ; " come with me to those steps. My 
 flowers look best from there." 
 
 She stepped forward with a light bounding 
 gait. I could observe nothing but her ex- 
 quisite shape, her yellow hair and alabaster 
 neck. I think, had I held a pair of scissors, 
 that not thrice the number of sylphs and 
 gnomes which protected the perfumed locks 
 of the matchless Belinda could have pre- 
 vented me from ravishing the amber curl 
 that floated on her back. 
 
 She stood on the steps of the door. 
 
 " There," cried she, looking up at me 
 with the prettiest smile in the world, " now
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 69 
 
 you will see that all the tints are meant to 
 blend. The roses are not blown yet ; but 
 you can guess how pretty they will look 
 next to that bed of lilies. My garden will 
 be a rainbow of colours next month. All 
 the hues meet and melt into one another — 
 from that bed down there to the hedge." 
 
 " Beautiful !" I murmured, thinking of 
 her eyes. 
 
 " If it were not for my flowers," said she, 
 with a sudden gravity, which did not sur- 
 prise me, for I was prepared now for any 
 change of mood in this capricious, strange 
 and fascinating woman, " I think I should 
 go mad. You can't tell how I hate the 
 winter. I lie listening to the complaining 
 winds until they become human shapes 
 craving admittance and shelter from the 
 piercing cold. There is a winter's wind that 
 blows here with a strange cry ! . . . Do 
 you think the winds spirits? I do some-
 
 70 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 times, Mr. Thorburn ; nothing else, you 
 see, sobs and cries like they do. But who 
 would not scream to be pierced through 
 and through with hail, wrapped in the 
 burning lightning, and shattered by the 
 hateful thunder.?" 
 
 She paused, lifting her luminous eyes to 
 me. " You have read a good deal," said 
 she, " and will know more than I. Do, 
 please, tell me what spirits do in winter, 
 when the air is so frozen it cannot blow, 
 and when the stars have gone out under the 
 clouds." 
 
 "I assure you," I said, puzzling mvself 
 to reconcile her language with her eyes, 
 which seemed to me brilliant with intelli- 
 gence, " I have never studied these matters. 
 I know nothing of them. They are idle 
 speculations, and you should not indulge in 
 them. They will make your solitude very 
 oppressive."
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 71 
 
 " They make my solitude more than 
 oppressive at times. But if the winds are 
 tormented spirits, those flowers are good 
 angels. They give me as much pleasure 
 as the winds give me pain. All those 
 flowers have souls. I am quite sure of 
 that. But it is not pleasant to think, for 
 I fear one morning I shall find them all 
 dead through their souls having taken 
 wing." 
 
 She pushed some transparent hairs behind 
 her ear. 
 
 " I wish, Mrs. Fraser," I said, " you 
 would do me the favour to inspect my 
 garden. I employ two gardeners ; but the 
 three of us do not approach you in the deli- 
 cacy of your taste." 
 
 " When do you want me to come ? " 
 
 " Now, if you will." 
 
 " Not now. I must have time to consider. 
 I hardly ever leave my house, and then only
 
 72 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 for a short walk. And did not I tell you 
 that I visit no one?" 
 
 " But you will oblige me in this ?" 
 
 " I am not sure. You have no claims 
 on me that I should favour you more than 
 any one else. I will think over it, and tell 
 you to-morrow. Will you come to watch 
 me again at the gate .^" 
 
 "If I may.?" 
 
 " Oh, you may. The fields are not 
 mine ; and I have no right to forbid tres- 
 passers." 
 
 " I will come to the gate at the hour I 
 met you to-day." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " A.nd you will accompany me over my 
 grounds." 
 
 " I shall see. Now I must go in." 
 
 She held out her hand, I took and retained 
 it. 
 
 "Before I leave you, Mrs. Fraser, will
 
 Mt/ Beautiful Neighbour. 73 
 
 you tell me that my society is not distasteful 
 — that you no longer look upon me as an 
 intruder ?" 
 
 She did not offer to withdraw her hand. 
 It seemed to me, indeed, that she hardly 
 knew I held it. 
 
 " No. I am disposed to like you," she 
 replied. " You weren't frank at first ; but 
 you have become frank since, and that 
 makes you a pleasant companion. Oh ! 
 you will never know my abhorrence of the 
 cant which politeness makes men and women 
 talk. Thev treat each other like cats — 
 stroke, and stroke, until truth is lost in a 
 general purring. I like truthful people. 
 They need not be insulting : they can 
 always keep back unpleasant knowledge ; 
 but they need not He. Polite people must 
 lie." 
 
 I would not argue. It pleased me better 
 to watch the varying expressions of her
 
 74 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 beautiful face, -the soft curvings of her lips, 
 the graceful gestures of her hands, than to 
 contradict. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. 
 
 " Until to-morrow," I answered. 
 
 Near the gate I halted to pick up the 
 rose-bud she had thrown from her, and 
 pressed it to my lips. Peeping furtively 
 toward the house, I saw she watched me 
 from the window.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I SAID next day to Martelli, "You will 
 see Mrs. Fraser this afternoon, I hope. 
 She has half promised to come and look at 
 my flowers." 
 
 " What have I to do with Mrs. Fraser ?" 
 he exclaimed with a shrug. " My business 
 is with books, not women. I can under- 
 stand the one, but not the other." 
 
 " But I want to justify my love. Her 
 beauty will do this for me." 
 
 " Have I not seen her .?" he asked, 
 stretching out his arms. 
 
 " Yes, by moonlight — with blank eyes
 
 76 Mij Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 and expressionless face. Her beauty by noon 
 is somewhat different from her beauty by 
 night." 
 
 " Sir, yellow hair and black eyes make no 
 charm for me." 
 
 " You are a Goth." 
 
 " When I was a young man I fell in love 
 once a week. That proves a catholic taste, 
 at all events, for my Hebes must have 
 varied." 
 
 " But you will let me introduce you to 
 Mrs, Fraser ? You can know and like 
 without admiring her. You will be struck 
 with her conversation." 
 
 "Does she talk well?" 
 
 "She talks strangely — what Shakespeare 
 calls ^ matter and impertinency mixed.' 
 Her shrewd discursiveness pleases me." 
 
 " Ah, Sir, you are willing to be 
 pleased." 
 
 " I cannot help being pleased. Her
 
 M)j Beautiful Neighbour. 77 
 
 musical prattle is very different from the 
 sort of entertainment I am used to in other 
 women. Dull decorous reason I can get 
 anywhere. Her talk is rare as her 
 beauty." 
 
 "A kind of mad talk, Sir." 
 
 " Mad, indeed ! You shall hear her 
 yourself and judge." 
 
 " Pray excuse me. I will take my pipe, 
 and while you enjoy your tete-a-tete will 
 search for curious objects on the beach." 
 
 " Be it so, then," said I, somewhat 
 chagrined : for I wanted to witness this 
 chilly sceptic melting into admiration before 
 my beautiful neighbour's eyes. 
 
 There goes a disappointed man (thought 
 I, as I watched him enter the house). His 
 austerity cloaks some odd experience, I 
 dare swear. Could I but see into his 
 memory I might witness a strange drama 
 being played in that little theatre. Some
 
 78 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 unconscionable jilt has soured the ripe juices 
 of his nature ; and now he spits venom at 
 the whole sex. Yet he makes wry faces 
 over his cynicism. I don't think he relishes 
 it much. He argues, I suppose, that the 
 coming of a wife will prove the going of 
 his occupation. He has a rich young fellow 
 under his charge and has no wish to sur- 
 render him to the keeping of a woman. 
 So he directs his forked tongue at her in 
 the hope that I shall be influenced. My 
 little signor, you will be disappointed, if 
 you hope this ! 
 
 He left the house after lunch. 
 
 At the proper hour I stood at the gate 
 in the fields and peeped over. The garden 
 was empty. I looked at my watch. It was 
 past the time at which I had met her the 
 day before. Twenty minutes passed. I 
 walked to and fro, staring at the windows 
 in the hope of catching a glimpse of her
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 79 
 
 face. Believing she would disappoint me, 
 I grew irritable. " Her conduct," I thought, 
 *' is unladylike, to say the least. She pro- 
 mised to meet me, and should come. If 
 she is making a fool of me how will that 
 Martelli exult ! But it is my own fault. 
 Am I not an independent man ? If I want 
 to marry, have I not but to open my arms 
 to have them filled without the trouble of 
 wooing ? For how many women are there 
 who would not cheerfully do all the courting 
 for two thousand pounds a year ? Then 
 what do I here, in a hot field, tormented 
 by that accursed gnat" (and here I aimed a 
 prodigious but idle blow at the insect) 
 " worrying my mind with conjectures, a 
 spectacle for the pert eye of the widow's 
 maid, who probably sits watching me from 
 the ambush of a window-curtain?" And I 
 was positively in the act of walking away, 
 when suddenly, from amid a row of lilac
 
 80 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 trees close to the gate, stepped forth — Mrs. 
 Fraser. 
 
 " Shall I tell you your thoughts ?" she 
 exclaimed, approaching me, without re- 
 turning my salutation by smile or bow. 
 
 " If you please," I answered, my mood 
 clearing in her presence as the cloudy 
 heavens clear when the sun shines out. 
 
 " Stoop your ear then." 
 
 I inclined my head. She leaned across 
 
 the gate and whispered, " Mrs. Fraser 
 
 Oh !" she cried, springing back, and clap- 
 ping her hands, "there are some words that 
 are coarse and burning in the mouth as 
 radishes. This is one. But it's true — and 
 truth must be pungent." 
 
 " But before I can tell whether it is 
 true or not, let me know what you 
 think." 
 
 " Don't you think me — a humbug ?" 
 
 " No, no !" I exclaimed with a laugh.
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 81 
 
 " Why do you say no ?" with sudden 
 earnestness. 
 
 "But I may tell you I was annoyed," 
 I continued, " because I feared you would 
 not come." 
 
 " I expected you would be, and so I 
 determined to watch you. Tou watched 
 me yesterday. It was not fair. When one 
 is alone one indulges in all kinds of moods ; 
 and you might have seen me make myself 
 ugly and foolish by pouting, grimacing, 
 frowning, or smiling, just as the mood 
 obliged me. I don't like to be caught 
 unawares. I choose to smooth my face 
 down so," looking gravely, " when I am 
 watched. There is an expression I wear as 
 a vizor ; it's this." 
 
 As a three-year old child looks, who, 
 being told not to smile, frowns, that it 
 may appear grave, so looked she. Then, 
 breaking into a sudden smile : 
 
 VOL. III. G
 
 88 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " I watched you frown. You stared at 
 my poor little house as though you could 
 have burnt it up with your eyes. How 
 you flung your impatience at the tiny fly 
 that annoyed you ! * Oh this treacherous 
 woman !' you thought ; ' how glibly she 
 made the word of promise to the ear to 
 break it to the hope 1' Did you not think 
 all this and as much more as would take me 
 twenty minutes to tell } I watched you 
 just as steadily as you watched me yesterday. 
 I saw your weakness. Did you see mine .'' 
 No — my hat hid my face. You couldn't 
 see my eyes. And unless you see the eyes 
 you can't tell what is going on in the mind." 
 
 "No, nor when you see the eyes can 
 you always tell what is going on. It would 
 be a delightful privilege," said I, looking 
 steadily at her, " to be able to interpret 
 those fiery hieroglyphics in which the soul 
 writes her thoughts upon the eyes."
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 83 
 
 (C 
 
 I don't think so," she replied. " There 
 would be little pleasure in life if we could 
 read one another's thoughts." 
 
 "There would be no hypocrisyj at all 
 events ; we should have to speak the 
 truth." 
 
 "And would you like that.''" she asked. 
 " Would the plain heiress like to hear her 
 lover declare that his only motive in offering 
 her marriage was to get her money ? Would 
 the father like to hear that the reason of 
 his son's affection is that he may not be 
 forgotten in his will. Life is a great mirage. 
 Let it alone — pray, let it alone. Don't 
 pour the light of truth on it, or it will 
 vanish like a rainbow when the storm is 
 over." 
 
 " I thought, Mrs. Fraser, you were so 
 enamoured of truth ?" 
 
 " Yes, among my friends. It pleases me 
 to speak the truth, and I choose to hear the 
 
 G 2
 
 84 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 truth spoken. I hate compliments, and fine 
 language, and the gingerbread splendour of 
 politeness, as it is called. But it is not 
 because I love truth that I would rob the 
 world, which I hate, of the pleasure of tell- 
 ing lies." 
 
 C( 
 
 You spoke of my weakness just now. 
 What weakness did my face or behaviour 
 illustrate ?" 
 
 " Impatience." 
 
 "Nothing worse?" 
 
 " If I had remarked anything worse, I 
 should have let you go away." 
 
 "Allow me to open this gate. You will 
 come and see my flowers ?" 
 
 " It would not be fair in me to 
 refuse you after keeping you waiting so 
 long. 
 
 I held the gate open. She passed from 
 her garden into mine. 
 
 " These grounds present no such pretty
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 85 
 
 coup dceil as yours," I said. " I am new at 
 this sort of work, and for all I know my 
 taste may be a little cockneyfied." 
 
 " Oh, but the garden is in beautiful order ! 
 Pray do not speak to me of my poor little 
 slip of ground. That lawn is larger." We 
 paced through the walks. I could hardly 
 remove my eyes from her face. She had 
 replaced her hat of yesterday by one re- 
 sembling that worn by Peg Woffington in 
 Reynolds's picture. Her dress was black 
 silk, with a muslin body. A carved ivory 
 cross hung on her bosom by a chain of white 
 coral. 
 
 "Your presence here gives me great 
 happiness," I exclaimed ; " and it makes me 
 proud to think that I should have been the 
 first to cause you to break through your 
 rule of solitude." 
 
 "I have lived here a long time now, and 
 you are the only person I know," she 
 answered.
 
 86 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 "But you must have felt dull somcj 
 times?" 
 
 " Often. How should I help feeling dull? 
 I have no one to speak to." 
 
 " But this must be your own fault," I 
 said gently. " You might easily have made 
 acquaintances." 
 
 " Yes, but I would not risk it. I might 
 not like them, and in a small place like this 
 it is embarrassing to withdraw from society 
 after one has mingled in it. Besides, people 
 are apt to be impertinent when they have 
 nothing to do. A widow is always an object 
 of curiosity, especially to elderly spinsters — 
 and there are many here. Now I will let 
 any one discuss me to her heart's content — 
 on one condition : that we remain strangers. 
 Oh, what a glorious rose, Mr. Thor- 
 burn!" 
 
 I separated it from the tree and gave it 
 to her.
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbou7\ 87 
 
 "You should have offered it more 
 timidly," she exclaimed, looking at me over 
 the flower ; " how did you know I would 
 not reject it like I did your bouquet ?" 
 
 "I didn't think. But you recall my 
 wish to send you some flowers. Will you 
 let me order the gardener to make you a 
 bouquet ?" 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 I called to one of the men and gave 
 him the instructions. We got upon the 
 lawn. 
 
 " What a pretty house !" she said, look- 
 ing up. " It stands so cool and white from 
 the road. What made you take it ?" 
 
 "I got tired of London. I wanted to 
 study." 
 
 "Oh, I remember — you told me. Do 
 you study now ?" 
 
 "Not much, I fear." 
 
 " Where do you study ?"
 
 88 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 "In my library there," said I, pointing 
 to the window. 
 
 " You ought to be there now. I am 
 keeping you from your books," she ex- 
 claimed, with a certain grave archness. 
 
 " You would be keeping me from my 
 books, whether you were absent or present." 
 
 "Should I? How?" 
 
 "By making me think of you." 
 
 "And do you really think of me, Mr. 
 Thorburn V 
 
 " You have never been out of my mind 
 since the evening I dreamt of you." 
 
 " It was curious you should have dreamed 
 of me," she said, putting her hands behind 
 her and leaning against the back of a garden- 
 seat. 
 
 " It was mysterious," I answered gravely. 
 
 "And was my face in your dream exactly 
 like it is here ?" she asked, looking up that 
 I might see her fully.
 
 'Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 89 
 
 "It was more sad. You had a broken- 
 hearted look in your eyes. What I saw in 
 my dream was more like your face in your 
 sleep, when I met you afterwards." 
 
 " What made you dream of me ?" 
 
 "I cannot tell." 
 
 " Had you ever seen me .''" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Nor heard me described .'^" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How quickly the swallows fly !" she 
 exclaimed, pointing in the air. "What 
 would you give to be able to live all day 
 long in that pure blue? This is a beautiful 
 rose you have given me. How can the 
 thick, ugly, common earth yield such lovely 
 things ?" 
 
 " You were questioning me, Mrs. Fraser. 
 Do continue your examination." 
 
 " Questioning you .? What about ?" she 
 asked, looking at me with a little bewildered 
 air.
 
 90 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " About my dream. I have often wanted 
 to discuss it with you, that I may understand 
 it. You who inspired it should know what 
 it means." 
 
 " I cannot tell you, indeed. I did not 
 inspire it. I had never seen you nor heard 
 
 c " 
 
 or you. 
 
 " In the olden times it was the custom 
 to examine dreams, in the belief that they 
 were prophecies. I would like to revive 
 the custom, to see what my dream fore- 
 bodes." 
 
 " What should it forebode ? Sadness, 
 perhaps, since my eyes were so sad." 
 
 " Dreams go by contraries, they say." 
 
 " Then they are useless as prophe- 
 
 >> 
 cies. 
 
 " But I am by no means disposed to let 
 
 my dream slip by so easily. I choose to 
 
 think it significant in some sense which I 
 
 wish explained."
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 91 
 
 " It was a prophecy, perhaps, that you 
 should meet me : and you did." 
 
 "It was a prophecy perhaps, that our 
 Hves were to mingle, and they may." 
 
 " Nothing is impossible," she answered 
 quietly. 
 
 She did not say this consciously. It was 
 an answer obviously made without the 
 slightest reference to its implication. 
 
 " How beautiful these grounds of yours 
 look under the blue sky," she continued 
 gaily. " I wish you had not made me see 
 them. They will spoil me for my narrow 
 garden." 
 
 " Why will you not use them as your 
 own ? Those gates were made for com- 
 munication. You can always be alone by 
 naming the hours it may suit you to come. 
 I can dismiss the gardeners for that time, 
 and hide myself in my study." 
 
 " Your offer is very polite, but I will not
 
 92 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 accept it. I shouldn't care to wander about 
 a place that doesn't belong to me ; for there 
 is little real satisfaction in admiring the 
 possessions of others. Besides, my fingers 
 would itch to be at the flowers. I should 
 be picking the choicest. That is my 
 way." 
 
 " You would be welcome to pick them 
 all." 
 
 " Yet were I to come I would not wish 
 you to hide yourself. Your company does 
 me good. I have felt more cheerful since I 
 knew you." 
 
 " You give me great pleasure in saying 
 this, Mrs. Fraser." 
 
 " I mean it. I find you frank and easy 
 and kind. You are not in the least tire- 
 some. When you first spoke to me I saw 
 your face set out with compliments and 
 motSj like any other man's might have been. 
 But I swept this sugary French repast away
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 93 
 
 and made you substitute hearty nourishing 
 solids. This makes you agreeable." 
 
 Her grave innocent look forbade me to 
 smile ; yet it was not easy to preserve my 
 gravity. I felt like a big boy lectured by 
 some pretty little girl. 
 
 She stood looking pensively at her foot, 
 which she waved to and fro on the heel ; 
 then exclaimed, 
 
 " I am going now." 
 
 I had no wish to part with her. 
 
 " Pray don't go yet. We have not been 
 long together." 
 
 " No, not very long. But taste is refined 
 by abstinence." 
 
 " Yes, but this sort of refinement is 
 fretting. Your company is like that sweet 
 wine, mentioned by a Persian poet, of which 
 the more you drank the thirstier you became." 
 
 " Oh ! here comes the gardener with my 
 bouquet !" she cried.
 
 94 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 The man presented it to her, cap in 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," she exclaimed, 
 inclining her sweet face over the flowers. 
 And when the man had withdrawn, she drew 
 close to me, and pointing with a white finger 
 to the bouquet, said : 
 
 " Have you ever imagined what shapes 
 and expressions the spirits of flowers take ? 
 The spirit of the lily would be a languid 
 floating shape, with meek eyes and hands 
 crossed on her bosom : but of course very, 
 very small — smaller than the fairies. The 
 violet would be a little baby boy with round 
 blue eyes and a wee red mouth. The rose 
 would be a young girl with a rich com- 
 plexion. Her beautiful limbs would be 
 tinted with a delicate pink like the shadow 
 of the red rose in water. She would be 
 haughty, with a glowing eye ; and her 
 hair would be bound by a circle of gold."
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neiglibour. 95 
 
 "Arrd what flower," I asked, "should, 
 at its death, take the form of a woman 
 exquisitely modelled, with black eyes melt- 
 ing from one sweet expression into another, 
 sometimes startled, sometimes pleading, 
 always luminous with bright but tender alter- 
 nations of thought" 
 
 " I see," she interrupted gravely ; " you 
 agree with me; you believe in the resur- 
 rection of the flowers." 
 
 " I think you could make me believe in 
 anything." 
 
 She uttered a laugh ; its abruptness made 
 it discordant. 
 
 " Good-bye," she exclaimed, " I will 
 come and see your flowers again some 
 day." 
 
 " May I not show you over my 
 house ?" 
 
 "What is there to be seen.-*" 
 "Come and judge."
 
 96 Mf/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I held the door open ; she paused, entered, 
 and returned. 
 
 "I'll not look over your house to-day. 
 You have had enough of my company. 
 You may walk with me to the gate." 
 
 She moved away, I followed her. 
 
 "How long do you think my bouquet 
 will last, Mr. Thorburn ?" 
 
 "Some days." 
 
 "I wonder that people who like one 
 another should make presents of flowers. 
 When a young man presents a bouquet to 
 the girl he is in love with, do either of them 
 think that the gift exactly typifies their 
 passion — all human passion — which is bright 
 to-day and withered to-morrow?" 
 
 "They would hardly think this. I can 
 understand love seeking for expression in 
 the most lovely and fragrant symbols the 
 world has to ofi^er. But the real truth is, 
 the majority of lovers don't think at all.
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 97 
 
 They imitate. They give what others 
 give." 
 
 "Now that is the way I like to hear 
 people talk," she exclaimed with a merry 
 laugh ; " I am quite sure that the only way 
 to be truthful is to be cynical." 
 
 " I am afraid so." 
 
 "If I were a young and inexperienced 
 girl, the person on whose judgment I 
 should most depend would be the one who 
 most sincerely disbelieved in the existence of 
 virtue." 
 
 "No, no. Such an infidel would make a 
 bad guide." 
 
 " An infallible guide, you mean. How 
 could he err?" 
 
 " He would err by not being able to 
 grasp the full character of the world's 
 wickedness. He would underrate its de- 
 pravity by allowing it no virtue what- 
 
 ever." 
 
 VOL. III. H
 
 98 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " I don't understand. This is a paradox," 
 said she stopping, for we had reached the 
 gate. "Would you increase the world's 
 wickedness by making it virtuous.^" 
 
 " Yes, up to a certain point. I speak in 
 the sense of Dean Swift, who said we had 
 all of us Christianity enough to make us hate 
 one another. Virtue has a very fructifying 
 power, and vice springs richly from its soil. 
 A totally wicked world is an impossibility. 
 That dreadful place to which we are told 
 sinners will be consigned cannot be utterly 
 wicked, or it could not exist." 
 
 " I almost catch your meaning, but 
 you don't express yourself well, Mr. Thor- 
 burn." 
 
 '* You are quite right. I am given, I am 
 sorry to say, to walking round my thoughts 
 too much." I could have added that such 
 eyes as hers were not calculated to make a 
 man logical or even disputatious, save in a 
 love argument.
 
 Mj/ Beautiful Neighbowr. 99 
 
 " I am then to believe that there is enough 
 good in the world to make it more 
 wicked than it would be were there no 
 good ?" 
 
 " Why, having advanced my position, I 
 am bound to stick to it. You have said 
 indeed what I think, but what I would not 
 preach." 
 
 She stood lost in thought for some 
 moments. 
 
 " Mr. Thorburn," she presently said, " I 
 think the world very, very bad ; it is cold- 
 hearted, selfish, and dishonourable and mean 
 and pitiless. I see now that it could not 
 be all this if it had not what it calls virtue 
 and religion to prompt it ; for the virtue 
 of the world teaches us to hate those whom 
 
 it pronounces corrupt ; and its religion" 
 
 she stopped with a bewildered look ; " what 
 does its religion teach ^" 
 
 " History will answer that better than 
 
 H 2
 
 100 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I. But what have we to do with the 
 world, Mrs. Fraser ? Here, under that 
 tender sky, amid these flowers, fanned by 
 this soft air, we should not let thoughts 
 of its wrongs and treacheries trouble us." 
 
 " If one could throw memory upon the 
 air and bid the breeze bear its burden a 
 thousand miles away, then would it be well. 
 But the afternoon is passing. Good-bye, 
 Mr. Thorburn." 
 
 " When may I see you again ?" 
 
 "Oh, you will find a time," she answered 
 with a little demure laugh ; and so saying 
 she passed through the gate.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Her manners, her moods, her beauty 
 had fascinated me. My love for her was 
 become a passion. I determined before long 
 to declare it. But before doing so, I 
 resolved to see more of her. I wanted to 
 be sure that she loved me before I proposed. 
 I felt my happiness would be staked on the 
 issue of the offer, and dreaded the result of 
 hasty action. 
 
 You may believe I thought very hard 
 over the problem of her nature ; but I 
 could arrive at no solution that satisfied 
 me. She had affirmed that she liked my
 
 102 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 company ; but the assurance had been too 
 much qualified by the naivete of the declara- 
 tion to be pleasing. A better illustration, 
 at least a more satisfactory indication, lay in 
 her not avoiding me. 
 
 But what an odd character was hers ! 
 How inadequate is language to represent 
 her ! I can only give you the bare un- 
 coloured outline. It is beyond my power 
 to fill it up with the details which must 
 be accurately painted, before you can have 
 before you, as I knew her, my beautiful, 
 wayward, fantastical, child-like neighbour. 
 
 I suppose my love blinded me, or I 
 should have attached more importance to 
 the various little perplexing points of cha- 
 racter which stole out during our con- 
 versations. Her candour was made too 
 piquant by her eyes, her downright utter- 
 ances too musical by her voice, her rapid 
 divergence from one topic to another too
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 103 
 
 pretty by the infantine air that accompanied 
 it, to suffer me to note any other mean- 
 ing than that which met the eye and ear. 
 
 I laid aside my books and my ambitions 
 in my pursuit of her. Compared with 
 winning her, all other pleasures and hopes 
 were poor and small indeed. My love 
 engrossed my thoughts, held me absent ; 
 and made me altogether more foolish than my 
 sense of self-respect will suff'er me to recall. 
 
 She was right when she told me I should 
 find a time to meet her. I met her the 
 next day. I met her the day after; and 
 upon succeeding days again. Once I pre- 
 vailed upon her to accompany me in a walk 
 to the cliffs, by an unfrequented road leading 
 to a spot where we stood in little danger 
 of being intruded on. It was on this 
 occasion that I witnessed in her more con- 
 strained air, in her speech more suave than 
 usual, in her eyes which v/ere sometimes
 
 104 My Beautiful Neirjhhour 
 
 shyly averted, the presence of an emotion 
 I had waited for and sought to excite. 
 The breakers creamed at our feet; a west 
 wind cooled the air ; the white gulls swept 
 by on curved and steady wings; the sun 
 reared an unbroken silver pillar in the 
 sea. The scene, the sounds, the solitude 
 were propitious to love ; but I would not 
 speak my feelings yet. I felt that the 
 memory of this calm and tender hour we 
 were passing together would do more 
 for me than I could do for myself. 
 
 During the week Martelli and I had been 
 little together. My mind had been too 
 much employed with hopes and fears of 
 its own to suffer me to remark him 
 attentively; but I had noticed that he had 
 been to the full as abstracted as I. But his 
 abstraction was of a gloomy order. His 
 dark eyes, his contracted brow, his set 
 lips, proclaimed the sullenness of his 
 thoughts.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 105 
 
 I attributed his manner to my neglect 
 of him, and to his resentment at being 
 invited to a position which had been de- 
 spoiled of its duties. I must confess my 
 love may have impaired my politeness. I 
 was no longer the attentive host, solicitous 
 of his comfort, and on the qui vive to 
 remove any unpleasant thoughts which his 
 position would inspire, and which his lan- 
 guage, indeed, would sometimes hint. But 
 I could easily excuse my neglect, if neglect 
 it were. It was not to be supposed that 
 I could regard him altogether in the light 
 of a guest. Or granting that I chose to do 
 so, his long stay in my house would have 
 justified a mitigation of the severe politeness 
 which it would have been proper to extend 
 to a man whose sojourn was brief. 
 " Surely," I remember thinking, " under 
 the circumstances, he should have sense 
 enough at this time of day not to expect
 
 106 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 from me the anxious attention which I 
 readily practised at the beginning of our 
 acquaintance. I have fulfilled conditions 
 which he could not have anticipated. I 
 have suffered him to share my home as 
 though he were a joint proprietor ; and I 
 have tacitly conceded every privilege which 
 I could with justice to myself yield to him. 
 I cannot consider him ill-used because I 
 choose to absent myself in the company 
 of Mrs. Fraser, in preference to spending 
 my time with him. He no doubt frets and 
 fumes at my love as indiscreet — as menacing 
 his situation, and as illustrative of weakness 
 in a nature that had at the onset promised 
 a vigorous adherence to its original schemes. 
 But surely," I thought, "it will be time 
 enough for him to manifest anger when he 
 shall have been told that I have abandoned 
 my ambitious resolutions and no longer 
 require his counsels."
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 107 
 
 On reaching home after that walk I have 
 told you of with Mrs. Fraser, I found 
 Martelli seated on the lawn. I joined him. 
 He rose at my approach. His politeness 
 was punctilious in proportion to his temper. 
 
 "Pray keep your seat," said I. "How 
 have you been passing the afternoon?" 
 
 " In reading," he answered with a shrug. 
 
 " You say that reproachfully. You think 
 I should be reading too ?" 
 
 " Are you not master of your own actions. 
 Sir.?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly. I shall resume my read- 
 ing by-and by." 
 
 " I hope so, for your own sake. You are 
 abandoning a fine future." 
 
 " Why do you say that? My future is 
 still mine. I have not abandoned it. I 
 have still my schemes and my hopes. I 
 shall try to realise them." 
 
 " You will never realise them, Sir, if you
 
 108 My Beaiifljul Neighhour. 
 
 allow your mind to be diverted by the 
 first small attraction that happens to 
 
 rise. 
 
 " Small attraction ! But I can forgive 
 you. You are a scholar, a student, a re- 
 cluse — what should you know of love .?" 
 
 His eyes shone. 
 
 " Nothing ! nothing ! I am ignorant of 
 the passion," he exclaimed, flourishing his 
 hand. 
 
 " Yet I should have taken you to be too 
 wise a man to have neglected cultivating 
 your sympathies in the direction where the 
 most provocation lies. Love is so human 
 a passion, its consequences are so manifold, 
 its influences so remarkable, that were you 
 anything of a philosopher you would have 
 made it a study. How can you hope to 
 understand men, when you are ignorant of 
 the great master-passion of humanity V 
 
 *' How do you know I am so ignorant as 
 you think me V
 
 Mij Beautiful Neiglibour. 109 
 
 " I judge so by the sneers you are disposed 
 to level at love, and by the light con- 
 temptuous manner with which you treat 
 it." 
 
 " May not that prove that I know too 
 much ?" 
 
 " I don't see how. Cynicism is of super- 
 ficial growth. Deep knowledge makes one 
 grave and compassionate. The painter knew 
 life who gave a smirk to the fool and sad- 
 ness to the sage." 
 
 " But it is to be expected of a man who 
 has sounded this passion to its bottom that 
 he should ridicule the belief in its depth, 
 when he knows it to be shallow." 
 
 " Give me leave to push your metaphor. 
 If you speak of yourself, you probably got 
 among the shoals, and inferred from your 
 soundings that the deep was everywhere 
 shallow." 
 
 He gave one of his shrugs and sat silent. 
 I took out my cigar-case and held it open
 
 110 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 to him. He declined with a wave of his 
 hand. I glanced at his face ; it was hard 
 and angry. 
 
 " Martelli," said I, " you are too sensitive. 
 What has vexed you?" 
 
 "How am I sensitive, Sir?" he asked, 
 growing a shade pale. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how you are sensitive," 
 I replied, stirred a little by the suppressed 
 irritation of his voice ; " but I think I can 
 guess the cause of your vexation." 
 
 " Pray tell me. Sir." 
 
 " You think I am neglecting you for Mrs. 
 Fraser ?" 
 
 He gave a fierce nod. 
 
 " And you are disposed to resent my 
 placing you in so anomalous a position as 
 that which you now occupy?" 
 
 " Sir, never mind that. I admit you have 
 disappointed me." 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot see how."
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. Ill 
 
 " How should you see ? You are blinded 
 by love." 
 
 " Signor Martelli, I must beg you to calm 
 yourself. I cannot suffer such language as 
 this." 
 
 " But, Sir, you provoke me !" he ex- 
 claimed, gesticulating and growing yet paler. 
 " You raise expectations to disappoint them. 
 When I came here, I secretly pledged myself 
 to carry you through any schemes you had 
 a mind to indulge. All my diligence, my 
 time, my knowledge, my patience, I meant 
 to give to you. I liked you. Sir. Your 
 manners pleased me. It was charming to 
 attend one so acute and so humble — so quick 
 to perceive and so eager to be taught. 
 And I too had my ambitions ! They are 
 gone." 
 
 " They are not gone, Martelli," I said, 
 softened. 
 
 " They are. Sir !" he cried, clenching
 
 112 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 both fists. " It is a blow. I am a poor 
 man. Had you let me do for you what I 
 could have done, you would have requited 
 me. Of that 1 am sure. Yes, Sir ; I am 
 not so ignorant of human nature as not to 
 tell generosity when I see it ; and yours is a 
 generous mind. It made me this promise: 
 it said, ' Martelli, serve me well, advance 
 my schemes, impart the knowledge and the 
 power your experience and learning can in- 
 spire, and when I have achieved the ends I 
 covet I will reward you.' That is what you 
 told me. Sir." 
 
 " But what did you expect .''" 
 
 " As much as it was in your power to 
 confer. You would not have forgotten the 
 man who gave you help when you needed it. 
 You might have made me your secretary — 
 your agent — your amanuensis. You would 
 have invented some post for me to fill — you 
 would, at least, have rescued me from a life
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 113 
 
 of drudgery. But now, I am forced back 
 again upon my pitiful calling — teaching at 
 schools, soliciting pupils, and starving as a 
 teacher !" 
 
 " I see no necessity. Have I dismissed 
 you: 
 
 "I dismiss myself!" he cried, standing up 
 and striking his chest with his fist. 
 
 I was impressed by his vehemence ; at 
 once pained and made curious by his man- 
 ner. 
 
 " At all events," I said, " if you go, you 
 go of your own accord." 
 
 Of course," he replied sarcastically. 
 But at the same time you will allow me 
 to say that I think you foolish for exhibiting 
 so much impatience." 
 
 " Impatience !" he exclaimed, with a sharp 
 laugh. " Oh, no ! I am not impatient. 
 But, Sir, it is not pleasant to be given to 
 drink of a wine that is dashed from your 
 
 VOL. III. I 
 
 cc 
 
 C(
 
 114 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 lips after you have tasted enough to hke 
 its sweetness." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, nobody has 
 dashed the wine away, that I can see." 
 
 " You have ! you have !" he cried, with 
 a grin of anger. 
 
 " I ? You are dreaming." 
 
 " Sacramento ! don't tell me I dream !" 
 
 " I shall have to tell you something 
 worse," said I, getting up ; " if you don't 
 moderate your temper, I shall have to tell 
 you that you are mad." 
 
 " That it should come to this !" he mut- 
 tered, looking up, as though he apostro- 
 phised the air. 
 
 " You speak English fluently," said I ; 
 " let me entreat you to express yourself in- 
 telligibly that I may understand your griev- 
 
 ance." 
 
 He left me ; walked to the edge of the
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 115 
 
 lawn, returned, approached close to me, and 
 said, 
 
 " It is your intention. Sir, to marry, is it 
 not ?" 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 " When, Sir, do you marry ?" 
 
 " I shall probably make the lady an offer 
 to-morrow," I answered, compressing my 
 lips to disguise a smile. 
 
 " Ah !" He nodded fiercely, walked once 
 more to the edge of the lawn, and returned. 
 " You are serious, Sir ? You really mean 
 to marry ?" 
 
 I could not help laughing out, as I an- 
 swered, " Yes." 
 
 " Then, Sir, pay me what you owe me, 
 and let me go." 
 
 " Do you wish to leave at once ?" 
 
 " At once !" he cried. 
 
 " Very well ; come with me to the library. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I will reckon what I am in your debt and 
 pay you." 
 
 He followed me into the house. I seated 
 myself at the writing-table. But hardly 
 believing it possible he could be in earnest, 
 or wishing at least to make one more effort 
 to conciliate him, I said, 
 
 " Will you not defer this matter until to- 
 morrow ? Take to-night to think over your 
 resolution. This kind of separation is very 
 ungracious and unpleasant. I really do not 
 wish you to go. I have told you before I 
 like your company, and have found you 
 most valuable. I repeat it now." 
 
 " But you are going to marry ?" 
 
 " What of that ? After my marriage we 
 will continue our reading." 
 
 " But you are going to marry .^" he re- 
 peated. 
 
 " Good heaven ! Do you think Mrs. 
 Fraser an ogress ^ Do you think she will
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 117 
 
 eat you ? When you know her you will 
 like her." He shook his head furiously, 
 and violently waved his hand before his 
 face. 
 
 " Pay me, Sir, pay me, and let me go !" 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 Disgusted by his irritable perversity, I 
 drew out my cheque-book. 
 
 " Can you not pay me in gold ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Certainly, if you prefer it. But first 
 let me see what I owe you." 
 
 I took a slip of paper and made my 
 calculations ; then went to an iron safe, 
 drew out a cash-box and gave him the 
 money. 
 
 " There," said I, " is the discharge of 
 your proper claims. But I owe you some- 
 thing for the interest you have taken in me 
 and the hearty industry you have employed 
 on my behalf. This will perhaps make my
 
 118 My Beav.tl/ul Neighhoitr. 
 
 gratitude more significant than were I to 
 express it in words only." 
 
 And I handed a bank note for twenty 
 pounds. 
 
 He took, folded, and put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " I am obliged to you, Sir," he said, 
 with a low bow, " but in taking it, it 
 
 is *my poverty, but not my will, con- 
 
 . > >> 
 sents. 
 
 " Shall my servant carry your port- 
 manteau .^" 
 
 " Thank you, no ; it is not heavy. I can 
 carry it myself." 
 
 " The phaeton is at your service, if you 
 wish to drive to Cornpool." 
 
 " I will walk. Sir." 
 
 I held out my hand, but pretending not 
 to notice the action he gave me another 
 low bow and left the room. In less 
 than twenty minutes I saw him walk.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 119 
 
 portmanteau in hand, down the front 
 garden. 
 
 Thus ended my connection with this 
 singular little man.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Had I had nothing else to do but to read 
 and muse I should have greatly missed Mar- 
 telli. As it was, I felt his absence on the 
 evening that followed his departure. I 
 missed his dark face, his glowing eye, his 
 rapid speech, his tart questions. His arm- 
 chair looked very empty without him. My 
 supper too was somewhat tasteless, wanting 
 the sharp condiment of his tongue and 
 gestures. But how should I feel his absence 
 very sensibly with Mrs. Fraser to comfort 
 me ? I only wonder I felt it at all. Our 
 parting had not been calculated to sharpen
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 121 
 
 regret. I had no notion he was such a 
 passionate man. There was no doubt he 
 had been insulting. But what in the world 
 could have provoked such an outbreak.'' 
 He would have had me believe it was my 
 resolution to marry Mrs. Fraser that angered 
 him. But what was Mrs. Fraser to him ^ 
 Was he a monomaniac — mad on the subject 
 of women ^ We know that there are people 
 born with antipathies which nothing can 
 shake. Lady Heneage would faint at the 
 sight of a rose ; the Marquis de la Roche- 
 jacquelin would turn white with fear before 
 a squirrel ; and I have read in some author 
 of a man whose antipathy to old women 
 was such, that once when his friends, by 
 way of joke, introduced an elderly female 
 into his presence, he fell in a fit and died. 
 I do not say that I quite believed this to 
 be Martelli's disease : but I was strongly 
 disposed to think that he had some eccentric
 
 122 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 aversion to living in a house where there 
 was a mistress. 
 
 I did not pass a quiet night. I had re- 
 solved to propose next day to my beautiful 
 neighbour, and my resolution rather agitated 
 me. A man may do in a moment of im- 
 pulse what he would fear to attempt in cold 
 blood. I was rather sorry I had not pro- 
 posed that afternoon. I had been sur- 
 rounded by conditions highly favourable to 
 a declaration. It would have been over now, 
 and I should have been able to sleep the 
 sleep of the accepted. 
 
 I had told her I would call in the morn- 
 ing. At another time she might have asked 
 me in her odd sweet way " Why .?" but her 
 silence was auspicious. She had lowered her 
 beautiful eyes, and the conscious curve of 
 her mouth gave me reason to believe she had 
 guessed my mission. 
 
 So at about eleven o'clock, when the sun
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 123 
 
 stood high and the land lay hot and still 
 beneath its fiery gaze, I took my hat and 
 stepped over to Elmore Cottage. There 
 was no need of ceremony now to gain admit- 
 tance. The girl knew I was a privileged 
 visitor and admitted me with a smile. 
 
 I entered the little drawing-room. It was 
 empty. The blinds were half drawn, and 
 the window stood wide open. Signs of her 
 recent presence were visible in the garden 
 hat upon the sofa, in some drawing materials 
 on the table, above all, in the soft peculiar 
 perfume which I associated with her. She 
 was such a strange woman that I thought 
 she might have hidden on hearing my 
 knock ; and I looked behind the sofa, and 
 the door, and in the corner protected by the 
 piano, for her. Then I drew to the table 
 to see what she was drawing. It was a 
 man's head, unfinished though complete 
 enough to offer a good likeness. The hair
 
 124 Mj/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 was dark, the nose straight, the mouth firm, 
 the eye sufficiently large. The slight line of 
 whisker was not shaded. This sketch dissi- 
 pated all my nervousness. I looked up 
 with a smile, and met her eyes peering at 
 me from the door. 
 
 " If I had known it was you I should 
 have hid that," said she, coming forward in 
 a somewhat defiant manner, but with a 
 delicate pink on her cheek. 
 
 "Did you not want me to see it?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why ? It is charmingly done — the very 
 image of me." 
 
 She came round to where I stood. 
 
 '^ Go and stand opposite," she said, " and 
 then I shall be able to tell." 
 
 I did as she bade me. 
 
 " Hold your face in profile." 
 
 I looked at the wall. She was silent for 
 some moments.
 
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour, 125 
 
 " Yes. It is not bad. My memory must 
 be good." 
 
 " Mrs. Fraser," said I, " what made you 
 take my face for a subject ?" 
 Are you annoyed ?" 
 No ; and you don't think me annoyed .^" 
 
 " Oh, I fancied you would think I had 
 not flattered you enough." 
 
 " But what made you take my face ?" 
 
 "Because it suited me." 
 
 I placed a chair for her and seated myself 
 at her side. 
 
 " Mrs. Fraser, I know your Christian 
 name — it is Geraldine. May I call you 
 Geraldine.^" 
 
 "How did you know that.^" she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 " I read it at the corner of those drawings 
 there." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " May I call you Geraldine ?"
 
 126 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " If you like. Do you think it a pretty 
 name ?" 
 
 "A sweet name. Now, Geraldine, will 
 you tell me what made you take my face 
 for a sketch?" 
 
 The utterance of her name pleased her. 
 She looked up at me with lighted eyes. 
 
 " Have I not told you .?" 
 
 " No. Your answer was evasive. I want 
 the truth." 
 
 " I wished to see if I could hit off its 
 expression with my pencil." 
 
 "And you have drawn a good likeness. 
 But I miss one thing." 
 
 "What is that.?" she asked, getting up 
 and looking at the drawing. 
 
 " Look at those eyes," I answered, bend- 
 ing over her and pointing. 
 
 " Well ; they are bold — do you mean 
 they are not large enough.'*" 
 
 " Oh, they are large enough. But they 
 do not tell the truth."
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighhour. 127 
 
 " What should they tell?" 
 
 " My love, Geraldine." 
 
 She did not answer. I passed my arm 
 round her waist. 
 
 "Do you see what I mean?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to my face. I searched 
 them ; they were calm, and pensive and 
 soft, but radiant too, with a light that was 
 ne\y to them. 
 
 " I understand," she whispered. 
 
 I led her to a chair and knelt by her that 
 I might see her face, holding her hand in 
 both mine. 
 
 " Geraldine, you knew that I loved you ?" 
 
 " No, I did not know it." 
 
 " But you suspected it." 
 
 " Yes, I could not help suspecting it." 
 
 " And do you love me, Geraldine?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well enough to be my wife?" 
 
 " Yes."
 
 128 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I kissed her forehead. " How am I to 
 thank you for your love?" 
 
 " By always, always, loving me." 
 
 " I will always love you, Geraldine." 
 
 " I am sure you will," she answered 
 fondly, smoothing my cheek ; " and your 
 name is Arthur. May I call you Arthur ?" 
 
 " Of course you may." 
 
 " Arthur," she said, looking earnestly 
 into my eyes, " what makes you want me to 
 be your wife ?" 
 
 " My love." 
 
 "And what makes you love me.'*" 
 
 " Your sweetness — your waywardness — 
 and all the little points and lights, the 
 colour and shadow, which make up your 
 character and your beauty." 
 
 " But would you like my character if I 
 were not pretty.''" 
 
 " Certainly I should." 
 
 " You would think me rude. My face is
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 129 
 
 like charity to my character — it hides my 
 multitude of sins." 
 
 "Your face is like music to poetry — it 
 turns your character to song." 
 
 " Arthur, you may compliment me now 
 if you like ; I shall love to hear your 
 praise." 
 
 " Dearest," I exclaimed, rising, " how 
 proud and happy your love makes me feel ! 
 Finding you here in this solitude and taking 
 you from it, makes me resemble one of 
 those knights of old who rescued beautiful 
 damsels from the guardianship of the 
 horrible dragons which then flourished. 
 Your dragon is more matter-of-fact than 
 the scaly brutes the poets sing of ; but let 
 me tell you it is quite as formidable. Ennui 
 is its name." 
 
 " Come into the garden," she exclaimed, 
 springing up ; "I prefer talking in the sun- 
 shine." 
 
 VOL. III. K
 
 130 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " Come into my garden," I answered ; 
 "there are trees there and we shall like the 
 cool shade." And she tied on her hat before 
 the looking-glass, regarding me with her 
 black eyes, though she seemed to regard 
 herself. I said, " Would you like to live at 
 Elmore Court when we are married .?" 
 
 " Oh, yes !" she answered, turning quickly 
 round, " I would not choose to live any- 
 where else." 
 
 " But will you not find it dull .?" 
 
 " Not with you," she replied. 
 
 I kissed her hand. " At all events," I 
 said, " we can live there until the term I 
 have taken it for is expired." 
 
 " We will live there always," she ex- 
 claimed earnestly. " But come into the 
 garden. You can tell how much I care for 
 the world by living here," she continued, as 
 we left the house ; " indeed I never wish to 
 see the world again. I will make you pro-
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 131 
 
 mise always to live at Elmore Court, for 
 there we shall be alone. I shall want you all 
 to myself, Arthur. Indeed you will find 
 me jealous, dear — would you like me to be 
 jealous?" 
 
 " It is the most genuine test of love. 
 You will find me jealous too." 
 
 "Shall I?" she cried, clapping her hands. 
 " And it will be very proper that you 
 should. But I doubt if you'll have occa- 
 
 sion." 
 
 We passed through the gate and entered 
 the grounds of Elmore Court. 
 
 " How could you think I should be dull 
 here ?" she asked, prettily folding her hands, 
 whilst she paused to look at the building 
 and the brilliant coup dceil of the garden. 
 " All day long I should be busy with my 
 flowers, and in the evening you should read 
 to me, and teach me all you know, that I 
 may become as wise as you." 
 
 K. 2
 
 132 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " I will show you over the house presently, 
 Geraldine. Meanwhile let us seat ourselves 
 under those trees. Dearest," I said, taking 
 her hand, " I have been so long looking 
 forward to this time, when I may call you 
 and think of you as my own, that now it is 
 come I cannot believe it here." 
 
 " You have not had to wait very long. 
 Did you expect to win me so easily .^" 
 
 " I don't know ; but I felt you would be- 
 come my wife." 
 
 " But I was not destined for you, or I 
 should have married you first. Is it here 
 we are to sit r' 
 
 " We are in the shade here." 
 
 She passed her hand through my arm and 
 pressed her shoulder against mine. 
 
 "Do you feel happy, Arthur?" 
 
 " Perfectly happy." 
 
 " Do you wish to ask me any questions 
 about my past, dearest .f^"
 
 Mij Beautiful Neiglibour. 133 
 
 "No. If there is anything I should 
 know you will tell me." 
 
 She sighed and pressed her cheek against 
 my shoulder. 
 
 "Arthur," she .whispered, "my marriage 
 was not a happy one." 
 
 " I should have thought that, Geraldine, 
 by your eyes." 
 
 " Are they so very mournful ?" 
 
 " Sometimes. But mournful does not so 
 well define their expression as pensive. 
 Your heart is sometimes troubled." 
 
 "With the past," she rejoined quickly 
 and eagerly. " My husband did not love 
 me. He left me. When I became a widow 
 I resolved to bury my sorrow and my life in 
 some quiet obscure corner like Cliffegate. 
 I have a little income, Arthur — why do 
 you not ask me about it.'^ Other men 
 would." 
 
 " I hope you will not find me altogether
 
 134 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 like other men ; though I hope I am no 
 Pharisee." 
 
 " I have two hundred a year. It was left 
 me by grandmamma. Her solicitor sends 
 me fifty pounds every quarter. You may 
 have it all, Arthur." 
 
 "Thanks, dear ; and in return you shall 
 have two thousand a year to spend with 
 
 me." 
 
 " Is that your fortune.^" she asked, open- 
 ing her eyes. 
 
 I nodded, with a smile. 
 
 " How rich you are ! But it is nice to 
 have plenty of money, and I shan't love 
 you the less for having it. No ; many 
 women would pretend that they would 
 much rather have found you poor, that they 
 might feel sure you knew you were loved 
 only for yourself. Now I am glad you are 
 rich ; not because I care for your money, 
 but because I know that such a fortune as
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 135 
 
 yours must have enabled you to see life, and 
 that your choice of me comes after an ex- 
 perience of the world. It will be a matured 
 choice, so that I shall not be likely to lose 
 you." 
 
 " Geraldine, you talk the language of 
 wisdom, as the Turks say. I have seen life, 
 and can promise you that my love is not the 
 caprice of a greenhorn." 
 
 "Now you shall show me over your 
 house," she said, jumping up. 
 
 I conducted her in by the balcony, and 
 when we were in the library I said, " This is 
 the room in which I first saw you." 
 
 « Here ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I fell asleep, and in that sleep I 
 saw your face." 
 
 Were you frightened, Arthur ?" 
 It was only a dream. But I was 
 frightened when I saw you afterwards." 
 
 " What a quantity of books you have !" 

 
 136 3Iy Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 she exclaimed, standing on tiptoe to read 
 the backs of the volumes on the upper 
 shelves. " Have you read them all ?" 
 
 " I wish I had. I should be a wiser 
 man." 
 
 "Too wise to marry me, perhaps?" 
 • "The wisdom that would prohibit that 
 would be very closely allied to insanity. I 
 have had little reason during my life to flatter 
 myself on my judgment ; but I think I may 
 boast of mv wisdom now." 
 
 " This room is very pretty, and those 
 grounds look lovely from the window ; yet 
 you must have felt dull here." 
 
 " I confess I did — in spite of the enter- 
 tainment provided for me by a sharp sinister 
 little foreigner named Martelli, whom I 
 hired to keep me company — a little man — 
 humorous, passionate, and I daresay venge- 
 ful." 
 
 " I dislike foreigners," she said, with a
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 137 
 
 shudder. "Why did you not employ an 
 Englishman?" 
 
 " The fact was, I wished to learn Italian." 
 
 " Was he an Italian ?" she asked quickly. 
 
 " Yes. Don't you like Italians?" 
 
 " I hate them !" she exclaimed, her face 
 flushing with sudden passion while her eyes 
 flashed irefully. 
 
 " Then it was fortunate he resolved to 
 leave me. You and he would hardly have 
 got on. Perhaps," I said, laughing, " his 
 subtle sagacity pierced the marble of your 
 face when he saw you, and discerned your 
 aversion to his compatriots." 
 
 " I thought you were alone ?" 
 
 " On the first night I was. On the 
 second night I hadn't positively spirit enough 
 to risk a second encounter. But, dearest, I 
 have come to show you over the house." 
 
 " I am ready," she exclaimed, her face 
 and manner changing in one of those
 
 138 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 abrupt alternations that made so curious a 
 feature of her character. 
 
 " But first," said I, touching the bell, 
 " there is an imposing ceremony to be gone 
 through. I must introduce you to Mrs. 
 Williams, my housekeeper ; a very worthy 
 woman, whom you will find a most useful 
 minister to help you in the government of 
 this little kingdom." 
 
 When Mrs. Williams entered I said, 
 " This is my housekeeper, Geraldine ;" and 
 then to the other, "Mrs. Williams, this 
 lady, I hope, will shortly come here to take 
 possession of Elmore Court as its mistress. 
 I wished her to become acquainted with you." 
 
 She curtseyed without any expression of 
 surprise. Geraldine took her hand. 
 
 " I am sure I shall like you, Mrs. 
 Williams. The appearance of this house, 
 so far as I have seen, tells me how valuable 
 you will be to me."
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 139 
 
 " I am grateful for your kind opinion, 
 ma'am," said Mrs. Williams. 
 
 " Are you not surprised to hear of Mr. 
 Thornburn's resolution to marry me,'*" asked 
 Geraldine, in her pretty downright way. 
 
 Mrs. Williams smiled quietly. 
 
 " I didn't think it would happen so soon," 
 she replied ; " but I guessed it would end in 
 his marrying you, ma'am." 
 
 " There, Geraldine," I said, " you see 
 Mrs. Williams knows how I have thought 
 of you." 
 
 " Did I want Mrs. Williams to tell me .?" 
 
 " At all events it is well to have a 
 witness." 
 
 She slipped her soft little hand into mine 
 as we left the room ; and so, conducted by 
 Mrs. Williams, we passed from one room 
 to another. My darling's delight was 
 genuine. Her child-like pleasure at all she 
 saw was delicious to me to watch. She was
 
 140 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 incessant in her praises of Mrs. Williams' 
 taste and orderliness ; and to do that good 
 woman justice, she deserved all the admira- 
 tion she received. She listened complacently 
 to Geraldine's prattle ; and when she found 
 that she was no longer required, slipped 
 quietly away. 
 
 We stood at the drawing-room window. 
 She had thrown aside her hat, and the sun- 
 light made gold of her beautiful hair. 
 
 " Do you like Elmore Court .^" I asked. 
 
 " It is a sweet home." 
 
 " And do you think you will be happy 
 here.?" 
 
 " Cannot you guess ? I feel perfectly 
 happy now, Arthur ; and that implies great 
 trust in you — if I did not think you loved 
 me with all your strength I could not be 
 happy. Yet there was a time when I 
 thought I could never be happy again — 
 never happy again," she repeated, with a
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 141 
 
 little sigh. " It was winter with me then, 
 but it is summer now. It is sweet to be 
 loved. There are women who say they 
 could live without love ; but I do not be- 
 lieve them. Women were born to be 
 loved." 
 
 " Some women were," I answered, toy- 
 ing with her hand. 
 
 " I have been very lonely, Arthur. Some- 
 times I thought I should go mad. It is bad 
 for the mind to feed upon itself. The 
 longer its abstinence the more painful grows 
 its craving ; and to satisfy itself at last, it 
 invents strange fancies and dreadful thoughts 
 — and that is how people become crazy. 
 Your face and voice are a new life to me. 
 I feel that I am not dead now. But there 
 have been times when I thought myself a 
 ghost. Did you ever have that feeling ? 
 It always brought a pain here ;" she touched 
 her forehead. " See there !" she suddenly
 
 142 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 exclaimed, " what a beautiful butterfly ! If 
 I were a little girl I should love to chase it. 
 But I would not now," she added, shaking 
 her head ; " those who have suffered much 
 are always merciful." 
 
 "Now, Geraldine, I want to speak to 
 you of our marriage." 
 
 " Yes." She looked up. 
 
 " Are you not a Roman Catholic ?" 
 
 " I am. Do you like Roman Catholics .^" 
 
 " Quite as well as Protestants, though I 
 am a stanch Protestant." 
 
 " After all we are agreed upon the chief 
 points of religion .^" 
 
 " Very nearly. Toleration is the most 
 material point in which we differ. But 
 Christianity is the religion of love ; and love 
 is large and can find room for many sects. 
 But to revert to our wedding — we shall have 
 to be married in two churches." 
 
 " I know."
 
 cc 
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 143 
 
 "Is there a Roman Catholic church 
 here?" 
 
 " No. But there is one at Cornpool. I 
 know Father John ; he is my confessor." 
 How often do you confess ?" 
 I do not Uke to say," she replied, 
 timidly ; " it is not often enough." 
 
 " Once a year ?" 
 
 " Oh, Arthur, no ! Once a month." 
 
 "So often?" 
 
 " So often ! I should confess by right once 
 a week. Would you mind me going to 
 Father John ?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 Let me say this concession was only an 
 act of policy. I determined to try to con- 
 vert her. 
 
 " The want of a church," she continued, 
 " was a great drawback to ClifFegate. But 
 I knew there was one at Cornpool. Yet the 
 little cottage suited me so well, and the
 
 144 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 place was so secluded, I could not resist 
 taking it." 
 
 " Then, Geraldine, we shall have to be 
 married at Cornpool. And now, dearest, 
 when ?" 
 
 " When you wish, Arthur." 
 
 "I want to possess you, dearest. This 
 life is so full of uncertainty that, now you 
 have accepted me, I should not be happy 
 until we are married. Will the end of the 
 month be too soon ?" 
 
 " Impatient Arthur !" she said, pressing 
 my hand to her cheek.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 We were married at the end of the 
 month, and when I brought my beautiful 
 bride back to Elmore Court, I thought my- 
 self the happiest man in the world. I had 
 reason indeed to think so ; for I had 
 marked in Geraldine a depth and earnestness 
 of passion which I felt time would deepen 
 and make still more earnest. And yet what 
 was there about her that forced me into 
 light musings, of which I was hardly con- 
 scious of the tenor? Of course, I deemed 
 her love genuine, and I knew afterwards 
 that it was genuine. Yet there was about 
 
 VOL. III. L
 
 146 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 it a suggestion of oddness, a hint of some 
 sombre presence, which my instincts surely 
 felt, if my heart did not at first re- 
 cognise. 
 
 But her beauty was of the radiant type 
 that sheds a universal lustre on the character. 
 It transfigured her in my eyes. It threw a 
 veil of light over her nature, and hid from 
 my sight those features which a lesser grace 
 must have discovered. My love was apt to 
 give names of its own to the qualities it 
 detected. To me, there seemed no violation 
 of reason in calling her artless, wayward, 
 childlike. I found her capricious conversa- 
 tion fascinating, not perplexing. Her habit 
 of breaking off in her grave speech to chase 
 some irrelevant and simple fancy charmed 
 me. Her composite character suggested the 
 two extremes of womanly sense and childlike 
 innocence, and her beauty filled with light 
 the void that divided them. So that I took
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 147 
 
 no notice of the want of those connecting 
 links, those pauses and gradations of mind, 
 which in reality are as needful to the in- 
 tellectual character as the middle keys of an 
 instrument are essential to its capacity for 
 producing harmony. * 
 
 I had proposed that we should spend our 
 honeymoon abroad ; but she would not 
 listen to our leaving Elmore Court. She 
 said it was now in the fulness of its beauty, 
 and where should we find abroad so lovely 
 and quiet an abode ? " Did I not tell you, 
 naughty boy, that I would not leave this 
 house .^" she had said. "It is the very per- 
 fection of a home, in my eyes. We know 
 no one. We can have all the long days to 
 ourselves. I can work in the garden with- 
 out minding my dress. I should hate to 
 have to keep myself tidy to receive callers — 
 stupid people, who would come to envy 
 and go away to tell stories. Look at my 
 
 L 2
 
 148 Mij Beautiful Neiglihouv. 
 
 hair now — if I were anywhere else I should 
 have to keep it dressed." 
 
 And she pointed at her reflection in the 
 glass, which showed her yellow hair negli- 
 gently looped behind with a piece of blue 
 ribbon, with stray curls sunning over her 
 white forehead, and streaming down her 
 back. 
 
 She seemed, and she was, I am sure, per- 
 fectly happy. The gardeners took to her 
 at once ; and I would often see one or the 
 other of them following her about to listen 
 to her directions, touching his cap so often 
 as he received her wishes ; and yet, spite of 
 his respectful manner, hinting by his be- 
 haviour that he thought her rather more of 
 a child than a woman. 
 
 She had wanted to bring her own maid 
 Lucy along with her, but the two servants 
 and Mrs. Williams were enough for our 
 wants. So Lucy returned to the village
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighhour. 149 
 
 with the promise of filling the next vacancy 
 in Elmore Court. 
 
 I purchased a phaeton and a smart little 
 mare, and would drive Geraldine long ex- 
 cursions into the country. The memory of 
 those days is very fresh. She seems to be 
 at my side while I write, her large luminous 
 eyes fixed on my face, her small white hand 
 on my neck, interrupting me with the 
 musical lilt of her voice to tell me of a 
 bright-plumed bird that is drinking at the 
 fountain. 
 
 You do not ask me what had become of 
 the fine resolutions that had brought me to 
 Cliffegate. You know, for you have doubt- 
 less experienced, that love is too absorbing a 
 business to admit of any other occupation. 
 The living freshness of my wife's society 
 made my library a kind of mausoleum ; and 
 if I preferred basking in the luxury of her 
 beauty to handling the dusty skeletons which
 
 150 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 lined the shelves, you will not be surprised. 
 At the time of forming my resolutions I 
 had never contemplated marrying ; and now 
 that I had married, my wife, for the time 
 being at all events, fully satisfied the craving 
 for occupation, for something to live for, 
 which I had hoped ambition might have 
 appeased. Yet I did not despair of waking 
 one morning with a strong impulse to study. 
 The fact of my life being no longer com- 
 panionless would disarm the fears of ambi- 
 tion ; and I felt that, should I fail in the 
 attempt to distinguish myself hereafter, dis- 
 appointment would be qualified, if indeed 
 not obviated, by the knowledge that I had 
 always by my side some one to love and 
 who loved me, and whose happiness it 
 would be a joyous occupation to minister 
 to. 
 
 Her dislike of society had at first sur- 
 prised me ; but it made me love her the
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 151 
 
 more. It argued, I thought, her ignorance 
 of her fascination ; for I could not doubt, 
 had she known her powers of delighting, 
 that she would never have buried them m 
 so dead a retreat as Cliffegate. She was 
 twenty-seven, a period of a woman's life 
 when her love of pleasure and admiration 
 is strong ; though, it must be owned, that 
 this love very often strengthens in propor- 
 tion as time makes its gratification more 
 difficult. Marrying her as I had, without 
 a deep knowledge of her character, it would 
 not have surprised me had she expressed a 
 desire to change her solitude for a life of 
 pleasure. The dull time she had passed 
 would certainly have justified the wish. Her 
 eagerness therefore to remain hidden from 
 the world pleased me. It illustrated a 
 nature pure and unsophisticated ; a heart 
 innocent and sincere. And it made me 
 happy to believe I could always think of
 
 152 My Beautiful Keinhbour. 
 
 I I. i/ 
 
 her as my own, without having the calmness 
 of my devotion sullied by those breezes of 
 jealousy which society sometimes brings with 
 it, and which one's particular friends gener- 
 ally take care shall increase to gales. 
 
 We passed our time almost wholly to- 
 gether. She did not like that I should ever 
 be from her side. She would call me from 
 a book or a letter, to come and watch her 
 watering some favourite plants, or any other 
 work she might be at. And when such an 
 excuse would be wanting, she would sit by 
 me, take my hand, and so remain quiet, 
 rubbing her cheek against my shoulder, and 
 by her action and eloquent breathing 
 suggesting the grace and purring of a 
 kitten. 
 
 It was strange that I should have inspired 
 such a love. This narrative has, I fear, 
 given you but an imperfect conception of my 
 character ; yet you may infer enough from
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 153 
 
 the crude sketch to make you wonder that 
 any one so commonplace as I, should have 
 given such life and movement to the deepest 
 and most latent instincts of this beautiful 
 creature's nature. 
 
 She had well said she was born to be 
 loved. Her sensibilities were singularly 
 acute ; her nature warm and sudden ; her 
 sympathies too powerful ; for they agitated 
 her with more joy and grief than the occasion 
 that bred the emotion justified. Her spirit, 
 made tameless by solitude, desired the cor- 
 rective of love ; her fancies needed sobering ; 
 her longings wanted interpreting ; her whole 
 nature demanded the warmth of imparted 
 passion to give life to slumbering powers, 
 nourishment to sickly instincts, sap and 
 vigour to the drooping qualities which had 
 developed in loneliness and blossomed in 
 sorrow. 
 
 Such were the speculations on her cha-
 
 154 JiJij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 racter I ihen indulged in ; and from the 
 standpoint I occupied they were just. But 
 when some time had passed, and I got to 
 penetrate her character more deeply, the 
 undefinable feeling about her I have before 
 spoken of became more definite. 
 
 I remember well the pain and horror that 
 accompanied the suspicion when it first 
 flashed upon me. I endeavoured to reason 
 the conjecture away ; but the very arguments 
 I brought to bear against it turned traitor 
 and marshalled themselves on the other side. 
 I reviewed her conduct; I recalled her 
 actions, her language, her moods. They 
 increased my apprehension. 
 
 Now that love no longer consented to 
 blind me, now that I suffered myself to be 
 possessed with suspicion, I knew that the 
 truest confirmation of my fear was to be 
 sought and found in her eyes. The light 
 that sometimes leaped from their depths.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 155 
 
 the vacant dullness that sometimes made 
 them lustreless, were not always the sparkle 
 or the shadow of the mood then on 
 her, 
 
 I was alone when I first fell into this train 
 of thinking. She had not left me long ; 
 and T heard her singing in the drawing-room 
 as she sought in her portfolio for a sketch 
 which she announced her intention to finish. 
 I threw down the book I held and went to 
 the library. My mood was a strange one : 
 a curiosity and a despair — a feverish wish to 
 know the truth, with a terror of that truth. 
 I strode to and fro, dreading that my face 
 (which I could never force to mask my 
 feelings) would provoke her questioning, 
 and striving to master the miserable doubts 
 that had seized me. But she soon missed 
 me and came to the library, peeping in as 
 was her wont, and then, bounding forward 
 with a movement graceful as a child's.
 
 156 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " You shall not read," said she, taking 
 my hand and pulling me to the door. " I 
 want you to watch me finish my drawing of 
 our home." 
 
 " Leave me a little, Geraldine ; I will be 
 with you soon." 
 
 " Why not now ?" she asked, pouting 
 her under lip. And then, coming in front 
 of me, she looked right up in my face. 
 
 " Arthur," she whispered, " you look now 
 as you look when you are asleep." 
 
 "What kind of look is that, Geraldine.^" 
 I said, forcing a smile. 
 
 "Come with me and I will tell vou." 
 
 When we were in the parlour she took 
 a penknife and began to sharpen a pencil. 
 She frowned over her task and then laughed, 
 but so quietly that the sound died in a 
 breath. 
 
 " Now, tell me how I look in my sleep." 
 
 She laid knife and pencil on the table, and
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 157 
 
 knelt before me, resting her hands on my 
 knees. 
 
 " Did you ever know I watched you in 
 your sleep, Arthur ?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Not by moonhght — though the moon 
 shines bright sometimes ; but never bright 
 enough for me to see you. But when 
 you are sleeping soundly I steal out of bed, 
 and light the candle and watch you. But 
 first I listen to your breathing. If it is 
 calm then I watch ; but if it is disturbed I 
 go to sleep. Shall I tell you why r' 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Because I never know whether you are 
 dreaming of me or not. If you breathe 
 short and troubled, the expression of your 
 face might give me pain — it would be 
 troubled, too ; and if I were to think at 
 such a time that you were dreaming of me 
 it would make me wretched." She sighed.
 
 158 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " And when I breathe calmly ?" 
 
 " Then I love to look at you ; for you 
 may be dreaming of me. I watch you much 
 longer than you can tell ; but I do not look 
 at you too long at a time for fear my eyes 
 should awaken you." 
 
 "But what makes you do this ?" 
 
 " Do I not tell you ? Besides," and she 
 averted her face and gave me a sweet shy 
 look, " my watching might make you dream 
 of me." 
 
 " But could not I dream of you as well 
 when you are by my side.?" 
 
 She shook her head. " No. You can 
 make people dream of you by looking at 
 them in their sleep." 
 
 "Nonsense, Geraldine," I exclaimed, a 
 little warmly ; " this is some crazy old 
 woman's belief: you must not think such 
 things." 
 
 I saw her upturned eyes slowly cloud with
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 159 
 
 tears. Her beauty, too, suddenly took the 
 same intensely plaintive and piteous expres- 
 sion I had marked in her when I had seen 
 her walking in her sleep. 
 
 " You are angry with me, Arthur." 
 
 "No, dearest," I answered, kissing the 
 tears from her eyes, " I am not angry with 
 you. I only think you should not indulge 
 such foolish fancies." 
 
 She smiled. It was like an April sun- 
 beam shining after a shower. Springing 
 from her knees, " Now for my drawing !" 
 she exclaimed. She drew a chair to the 
 table and went to work at once. 
 
 Some time after this, in going upstairs I 
 met Mrs. Williams. She stepped aside to 
 let me pass, but I paused on the landing. 
 I had an idea that she was a much shrewder 
 woman than her calm, pleasant, but not 
 highly intelligent countenance would have 
 suggested. I called her to the window on
 
 160 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 the landing and pointed to the front garden. 
 Geraldine stood at the fountain making a 
 cup of her hands to receive one of the silver 
 threads of water which fell into the brim- 
 ming basin. 
 
 " She seems as happy as a child here, does 
 she not?" I said. 
 
 " She is like a child, Sir ; innocent and 
 gay as any httle girl of five." 
 
 " And yet she is very womanly too ; and 
 it is this combination of gravity and sim- 
 plicity that makes her so fascinating. Do 
 you often talk with her, Mrs. Williams .?" 
 
 " Sometimes, Sir" 
 
 " What do you talk about ?" 
 
 " Oh, of different things." 
 
 " I dare say she puzzles your plain under- 
 standing?" I said, with a laugh, whose 
 artificiality made it worse than my gravity. 
 " She has a way of breaking off in her 
 speech, of jumping from one idea to
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 161 
 
 another, that must make her sometimes 
 difficult for you to understand, eh ?" 
 
 She glanced at me and quickly averted 
 her eyes to the garden. 
 
 " Mistress," she said, " doesn't always talk 
 quite collectedly." 
 
 "You have hit it exactly. She is some- 
 times a little incoherent." 
 
 " She is. Sir ; but that comes, I am sure, 
 from too much good spirits. She's as bright 
 and brisk as a bird which the eye can't 
 always follow." 
 
 "Do you really think this way of hers 
 comes from her good spirits?" 
 
 " I beg you'll excuse me, Sir," she re- 
 marked, folding her hands, "but I should 
 like to know what you think." 
 
 "No, Mrs. Williams, I question you. 
 Pray be perfectly frank with me. You 
 must see I have a motive in asking you 
 these questions. I have faith in your judg- 
 
 VOL. III. M
 
 162 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 ment, and I am anxious to hear your 
 opinion of Mrs. Thorburn." 
 
 Her fingers worked nervously, and some- 
 thing like an expression of distress en- 
 tered her face. She remained silent. I 
 looked through the window ; Geraldine was 
 gone. 
 
 " Mrs. Williams, I am going to ask you 
 a question. The fact of my asking it will 
 convince you of the high opinion I have 
 of your character and how much I appre- 
 ciate your conduct since you have been in 
 my service. It will imply also the confi- 
 dence I possess in your truth and secrecy — 
 in your truth to give me an honest down- 
 right answer, and in your secrecy to conceal 
 whatever discovery you may make. Do 
 you think my wife sane ?" 
 
 The answer came reluctantly : " No, Sir." 
 " What makes you doubt her sanity.''" 
 "Her manners, Sir, and her behaviour,
 
 M)j Beautiful Neighbour. 163 
 
 and sometimes a look she has in her eyes ; 
 but her conversation, principally." 
 
 " Have you had any experience of mad 
 people ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir. Father once took charge of 
 a niece of his that was mad." 
 
 " What form did her madness take ?" 
 
 " She was very cunning. Her mind was 
 full of crazy thoughts ; but she seemed to 
 know that if she spoke them she would be 
 thought mad. But she couldn't always hide 
 them. And she was very artful. She would 
 steal things and hide them so that nobody 
 could find them. She was taken worse 
 after she had been with us a year, and we 
 had to send her to an asylum over at Barn- 
 stock, where she died raving." 
 
 " You would be more likely, after such 
 an experience, to know madness when you 
 saw it than I .''" 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 M 2
 
 164 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 "And do you seriously and truly think 
 Mrs. Thorburn mad?" 
 
 " You ask me, Sir — it's painful to say — 
 but I would swear there is madness in 
 her." 
 
 " When did you make the discovery ?" 
 
 " I didn't make it suddenly. I had my 
 suspicions after she had been in the house 
 two or three days. But I became sure 
 when, not long after she had been here, 
 she came to me and told me she had seen 
 a shadow in the air of a hand holding a 
 knife." 
 
 "She told you this.^" I exclaimed, with a 
 start. 
 
 " Yes, Sir. She spoke in a whisper, look- 
 ing around her, like one who tells a great 
 secret. Her eyes were all alight, but her 
 cheeks were pale. She told me not to tell 
 you." 
 
 " And you kept your promise ?" I said.
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 165 
 
 bitterly. " Why did you not tell me ?" 
 
 " I hadn't the heart, Sir. I saw how you 
 loved her — how you loved each other — and 
 I couldn't speak. Besides, I thought it 
 might be some wild notion she had brought 
 away with her from her home. She led a 
 dull life, and I guessed all sorts of strange 
 fancies might have taken her in her loneli- 
 ness. And to speak the truth, Sir, though 
 I feared that her mind was not right, I 
 thought your company would bring her 
 back to herself." 
 
 " And do you think she has improved ?" 
 
 " I am afraid not, Sir." 
 
 " What am I to do, Mrs. Williams ? how 
 do you advise me to act?" 
 
 Just then I heard my wife singing as she 
 mounted the stairs, and we broke off our 
 conversation. I put on a cheerful look ; 
 and when she saw me she came bounding 
 up, with lighted eyes and outstretched
 
 166 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 hands, her face brilliant with a smile. Mrs. 
 Williams had left the landing before Geral- 
 dine reached me ; and for my part, I appeared 
 in the act of descending. She caught my 
 hand and kissed it, a frequent action with 
 her, but she did it with an exquisite grace, 
 as one would do who had learnt her attitudes 
 from nature. 
 
 She had a little story to tell me ; how, 
 deep in the shadows of the orchard, she had 
 been watching a green and purple insect 
 crawl from a hole in a tree to a stone, under 
 which it vanished ; and when she turned 
 the stone over with a stick a thousand 
 strange things wriggled away. It taught me 
 something! it taught me something!" she 
 cried. 
 
 I asked her what. 
 
 " I said to myself," she answered gravely, 
 " that green and purple insect is a lie, and I 
 who follow it am the world ; for its colours
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 167 
 
 please me and I can't help pursuing it. And 
 the stone it has crept under is corruption, 
 where a thousand other falsehoods, some 
 pretty and some very ugly, lie hid ; and 
 when 1 turn it over, I am like a reformer, 
 who floods corruption with the blaze of 
 heaven, and all the foul things rush from 
 the light of truth. Is not that pretty, 
 Arthur?" 
 
 " Yes, dearest ; but do you know what 
 your little fable typifies .^" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The Reformation. You were Luther, 
 the stone was Rome, the wriggling insects 
 the priests." 
 
 " No, no ! There never was a Reforma- 
 tion ; there was a wicked schism." 
 
 "Well, don't let us argue," I said, with 
 a cheerless laugh. 
 
 She had descended the stairs with me, for- 
 getting the purpose for which she had
 
 168 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 mounted them. The harshness of my laugh 
 struck her. 
 
 " What is the matter, Arthur ?" 
 
 " Nothing, darling." 
 
 " You do not look as you used. You 
 look frightened." 
 
 " Of what should I be frightened ?" 
 
 " You are ; your eyes are scared. Now 
 am I not sharp, to read your face so quickly ? 
 Oh, but I know every line in it ! I can 
 see the slightest shadow pass over it. It 
 lies quite transparent. It is like the water 
 in the marble basin. I was watching the 
 water not long ago. I saw the tiniest bird, 
 mirrored deep, deep down. Do you know, 
 Arthur, I sometimes think 1 could fly ? I 
 feel so light — so light — I am sure I should 
 only have to put out my arms to rise." 
 
 " You would become an angel before your 
 time, Geraldine." 
 
 " But I would never fly away from you, 
 Arthur."
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 169 
 
 " I hope not, for I don't know how I 
 should be able to pursue you." 
 
 She laughed. I passed my arm through 
 hers, and we entered the garden.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Day after day I watched her closely. 
 Fear made observation keen. I had fondly 
 hoped that both Mrs. Williams and I had 
 been mistaken — that our commonplace minds 
 had confounded the brisk and illogical ex- 
 pression of an agile intellect with madness. 
 But conviction came at last : I could doubt 
 no longer; her strange speech, her wild 
 ways, her eyes sometimes startling me with 
 their brilliancy, sometimes paining me with 
 their sadness, admitted only of one interpre- 
 tation. 
 
 My pen is powerless to describe the
 
 My BeaiUlftil Neiglibour. 171 
 
 feeling of misery that took possession of 
 me. The stern necessity of self-control 
 made the suffering more sharp. I dared 
 not by word or look hint my suspicion, lest 
 the avowal, however vague, might precipitate 
 the fruition of her madness. My apprehen- 
 sions exaggerated the results of observation, 
 and gave to her actions and language a 
 greater importance than they probably 
 deserved. 
 
 And all the long days were filled for me 
 with a weird and tearful pathos. For her 
 love grew greater and greater, grew to a 
 wildness and depth that marked her de- 
 rangement more plainly than any other 
 illustration. She followed me from room 
 to room, into the garden, sometimes at a 
 distance, sometimes at my side. She would 
 throw herself at my feet, rest her cheek on 
 my knee and look up at me with her large 
 and wonderful eyes, of which the beauty
 
 172 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 became more startling as her insanity grew 
 more vigorous. 
 
 I once fancied that her past held some 
 sorrow which might contribute to mature, 
 if it did not actually feed her madness. I 
 had little faith in my power of winning con- 
 fession ; and her exquisite sensibilities and 
 my own clumsy judgment alike prohibited 
 the ordeal of examination. Yet I resolved 
 to question her, and did, at wide intervals, 
 and rather by implication than by direct 
 interrogation ; but won no more from her 
 than she had before told me. She said that 
 her married life had been miserable, but that 
 its misery now was forgotten in my love. 
 She never recurred to it. She dared not. 
 She felt that she had been destined for me, 
 and she thought there was something 
 menacing to her future in remembering that 
 another one occupied the position that 
 should have been always mine. The task
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 173 
 
 of questioning was sadly embarrassed by 
 her inconsequential language. Day by day 
 her speech grew more incoherent. Instinct, 
 so far as her passions were concerned, sup- 
 plied the place of memory ; her memory 
 grew visibly impaired. She could discuss 
 with pertinent consistency the first portion 
 of a topic ; but the rest slipped from her, 
 and she fell with strange abruptness into 
 another subject, without manifesting the 
 slightest uneasiness at the sharp departures 
 of her mind. 
 
 I took counsel of Mrs. Williams, who 
 implored me to conceal my fears from my 
 wife. 
 
 " She is young, Sir," she said, " and her 
 reason may get the upper hand yet. It is 
 not as if she was utterly wild. If there's 
 much strangeness there's likewise much 
 sense in what she says. This proves she's 
 capable of reasoning ; and there's no telling
 
 174 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 at her time of life what nature mayn't do 
 for her." 
 
 " My position is terrible," I said. " This 
 kind of existence is life in death. It is 
 hard — it is hard to see one I love so well, 
 who loves me with so pure and rare a love, 
 slowly succumbing to this most awful of 
 human diseases. Cannot I save her.'* Would 
 a change benefit her, do you think .^" 
 
 " I doubt it, Sir. It is not always thought 
 wise to change the residences of people so 
 afflicted. Their feelings will reason for them' 
 when they are surrounded with familiar 
 things. If you bring them among strangers 
 and into strange places their poor faculties 
 haven't the power to grasp what they hear 
 and see. It's like cutting the thread that 
 supports them." 
 
 " But it is impossible that I can sit quietly 
 by and see her decaying, as it were, before 
 me. I must do something."
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 175 
 
 " Would you like to have a doctor to see 
 her, Sir ?" 
 
 " I have thought of that. I have thought 
 of taking her to London. But what excuse 
 could I make — what would she think?" 
 
 " Wouldn't it be better to have a doctor 
 down here, Sir ?" 
 
 " To be sure it would," I replied, grasp- 
 ing the idea at once. " I could pretend he 
 was a friend." 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; and he wouldn't require to 
 stop longer than two or three days." 
 
 " Perhaps not. He would see her in 
 all her moods and come to a conclusion on 
 which he would base his advice." 
 
 I was turning from her when she said, 
 
 " I believe, Sir, Mr. Martelli is at Cliffe- 
 gate." 
 
 " Martelli ?" I exclaimed, stopping short. 
 
 " Why, Sir, so Sarah says," (Sarah was 
 the housemaid). " She was that way yester-
 
 176 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 day, and says she saw him sitting on the 
 beach." 
 
 " I can hardly beheve it. What should 
 Martelli do here? — unless, indeed, he has 
 taken a situation at a school — but you have 
 no schools here, have you V 
 
 " No, Sir. But it is quite likely Sarah 
 was mistaken. She was in a hurry, and the 
 gentleman she saw might well happen to be 
 a stranger. Yet she declares the person she 
 saw was Mr. Martelli." 
 
 " Perhaps he has returned to ClifFegate 
 wishing to return to me : but it is out of 
 the question that I could receive him 
 now." 
 
 I retreated to the library and wrote a 
 letter to an old medical gentleman who was 
 long my mother's adviser and mine. I set 
 my position before him with the bluntness 
 I knew he relished, and asked him if he 
 could oblige me with the name of any
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 177 
 
 medical man who he thought would have 
 leisure and skill enough to carry out my 
 stratagem. He sent me a long reply, saying 
 he had spoken to a friend who had made 
 the treatment of insanity his study, who 
 would be happy to carry out my wishes. 
 To obviate all chance of exciting my wife's 
 suspicions he advised me to come to London 
 and settle the programme ; " for," he con- 
 tinued, "madness is often subtle enough to 
 mislead the most practised observer, and it 
 would therefore be absolutely necessary that 
 
 Dr. F 's visit to your house should be 
 
 so contrived as to seem perfectly consistent 
 with the excuse for his visit which you will 
 contrive." 
 
 I saw the wisdom of this and determined 
 to go to London. 
 
 As some pretence for my absence was 
 needful, I pretended that I had received a 
 letter on a business matter of great urgency. 
 
 VOL. III. N
 
 178 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 A large sum, I said, was at stake, and my 
 presence in town was imperative. Geraldine 
 was very reluctant to let me go. Her large 
 eyes filled, and her beauty became mournful, 
 as though some great sorrow had entered her 
 heart. 
 
 " I shall be counting the hours, day and 
 night, until you return," she said. " But 
 how blank the time will be without you ! 
 I shall not care to eat or drink, or go into 
 the garden. Is it not you who make all 
 those flowers beautiful, and this home dear 
 and sweet to me as heaven .?" 
 
 " But I will not be long gone, Geraldine. 
 And do you not know that little separations 
 like these sweeten love, as the clouds in the 
 sky make the sunshine more brilliant when 
 their shadows pass?" 
 
 " Our love does not want brightening," 
 she answered, with a sob. " But since you 
 must go, I will pray to the Blessed Virgin
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 179 
 
 to watch over you and bring you safe back 
 to me ; for though you do not love her as 
 I do, she loves you and will never forsake 
 you." 
 
 I kissed her, and in a few hours after we 
 parted. 
 
 I reached London late at night, and next 
 morning drove to the house of my friend. 
 He received me very cordially. I learned 
 to my regret that Dr. F had been sud- 
 denly summoned to the death-bed of a near 
 relation, and was not likely to return for 
 three days. I thought more of Geraldine 
 than myself. But my friend consoled me by 
 saying that my absence might benefit her ; 
 anxiety for my return would give definite 
 occupation to her mind ; the longer indeed 
 my absence was protracted the better, for 
 fear and hope would steady by their weight 
 the vibrations of her reason, while expectancy 
 would serve as a leader to her thoughts, 
 
 N 2
 
 ISO J/y Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 marshal them and keep them in a kind of 
 logical order. 
 
 I wrote to her, saving; that my return was 
 unavoidably delayed, but promised I would 
 do my utmost to be with her on Wednesday. 
 I added that in all probability I should 
 return with a friend^ and desired her to tell 
 Mrs. Williams to get the spare room readv. 
 
 On the Tuesday afternoon I met Dr. 
 
 F by appointment at the house of my 
 
 friend. I found him reserved, but gentle- 
 manly. He asked me many questions about 
 my wife, to all which I replied as fully as 
 I could. He announced his willino-ness to 
 return with me and to give his opinion ; and 
 in reply to my inquiry named a fee which 
 I thought sufficiently moderate. 
 
 We left London next mornino- by an early 
 train and reached Cornpool at about three 
 in the afternoon. I had telegraphed for my 
 phaeton to be in waiting and a little after
 
 My Beautiful Neiglihouv. 181 
 
 four we halted at the gate of Elmore 
 Court. 
 
 Mrs. Williams received us. I asked an- 
 xiously after Geraldine. Dr. F drew 
 
 near to hear the reply. 
 
 " I cannot tell what has come over her, Sir. 
 Since yesterday she has been as changed as 
 though she had been suddenly taken with 
 illness. She fretted a little after you left, 
 but she cleared up before long, and got 
 talking with me on the pleasure it gave her 
 to think of your return. I couldn't help 
 taking notice that she talked much more 
 rationally than she used, and I thought that 
 the health of her mind might be coming 
 back to her. But yesterday morning, when 
 she came down to breakfast, I was shocked 
 by her looks. She was white as a sheet ; 
 her eyes rolled, and she talked so wildly and 
 quick I couldn't follow her. My fear was 
 that something had happened to you, Sir.
 
 182 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 But when I asked her if she had heard bad 
 news from master, she clutched me by the 
 arm and cried out piteously, * Is there bad 
 news ? is there bad news ?' I answered, 
 ' Not that I know of.' On which she left 
 me, and stood muttering to herself." 
 " But where is she now ?" I asked. 
 
 " She should be in the drawing-room, 
 
 S>> 
 ir. 
 
 I did not stop to ask if she had expected 
 me ; but directing Mrs. Williams to conduct 
 Dr. F to his bedroom ran to the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 I found her walking to and fro with her 
 hands behind her. Mrs. Williams was right. 
 An extraordinary change had come over her 
 since we parted. Her face was ashen pale ; 
 beneath her eyes the flesh had fallen and 
 turned dark ; her eyes flashed, but a look 
 of fear came into her face when she saw 
 me.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 183 
 
 "Geraldine — dear Geraldine !" I cried, 
 approaching her with outstretched arms. 
 
 She stood stock still, then all at once 
 bounded forward with a sharp cry. 
 
 "It is my darling boy!" she said, throw- 
 ing her arms around my neck. 
 
 I kissed her ; but I felt her tremble In my 
 embrace. I led her to a sofa. 
 
 " Did you not expect me, Geraldine ?" 
 
 "Yes, I knew you would come." 
 
 " And you would not receive me at the 
 door .^" 
 
 " Have you not come to me ?" 
 
 " Of course I have. But, dearest, you 
 look ill Has anything happened since we 
 parted .^" 
 
 " What should happen ?" she said, push- 
 ing my hair off my forehead. "But I am 
 sick — I am sick for wanting you." 
 
 " I could not come before, as I told you. 
 But now that you have me, will you
 
 184 Mij Beautiful NeigJihour, 
 
 brighten up ? I do not like your worn air. 
 Those white cheeks do not become you." 
 
 " You will give me health, Arthur." 
 
 "If God permits me!" I said fervently, 
 pained by the great pathos of her eyes and 
 the troubled frightened expression of her 
 face. " I have brought a friend with me, 
 Geraldine. Perhaps he will help me to 
 make you well." 
 
 "What friend.?" 
 
 "Did not I tell you of my intention to 
 bring a friend from London .?" 
 
 "Did you.'*" she asked, with a bewildered 
 look. Then feeling in her pocket she pro- 
 duced my letter. " How often have I 
 kissed it !" she said, as though to herself ; 
 " but I do not want it, now that I have him 
 with me." 
 
 " There," said I, opening the letter and 
 pointing to the passage in it : " do you not 
 remember reading those lines.''"
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighhour. 185 
 
 She knitted her brow like one in deep 
 reflection ; and looking up, with her face 
 softened with rather the shadow of a smile 
 than a smile, answered, " Yes — I ran with 
 it to Mrs. Williams and told her to get the 
 spare room ready." 
 
 Just then the door opened and a servant 
 ushered in Dr. F . I rose and in- 
 troduced him to Geraldine. He bowed with 
 polite reserve. She inclined her head and 
 sat watching him as a child might. 
 
 He appeared to take no notice of her. 
 He began a light conversation with me, 
 wandering from topic to topic, evidently 
 with the design of engaging her attention 
 and inducing her to speak. Now and then 
 I caught him looking at her. 
 
 She rose after a little, as if his presence 
 made her uneasy, and went to the window ; 
 but soon returned and resumed her seat by 
 my side. All at once she asked :
 
 186 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 "Are you an old friend of my hus- 
 band ?" 
 
 " We have known each other some time." 
 
 " How came you to meet ?" 
 
 " We met at the house of a common 
 friend." 
 
 " Were you very pleased to see him ?" 
 
 He answered with a smile, " It is always 
 pleasing to meet with one's friends." 
 
 " Arthur," she said, turning to me, " it 
 is not fair in you to call anyone * friend ' 
 but me. ^ Acquaintance ' is what you should 
 call everybody but Geraldine." 
 
 " I call you my wife, dearest ; and that 
 is a higher name than all." 
 
 " Mr. Fenton," she said, addressing him 
 by the name I had introduced him by, " do 
 you think Arthur has any friend who would 
 mourn if he left him for only a day ?" 
 
 " He is fortunate if he has, Mrs. Thor- 
 burn."
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 187 
 
 " I did, Mr. Fenton. And has he a 
 friend who, if he were lying ill, would wish 
 to be ill too? who, if he were dying would 
 wish to be dying? who, if he were dead, 
 would kill himself, if he could not die for 
 grief, that he might be by his side in the 
 grave?" Her eyes sparkled, her nostrils 
 dilated ; she added proudly : " He has only 
 one friend who would wish all this for his 
 dear sake, and she is his wife." 
 
 " I am sure he is very sensible of your 
 devotion," he answered, gravely. 
 
 She again left my side. So restless was 
 she that even when she was seated her form 
 swayed like one who is ever about to rise. 
 
 Dr. F and I exchanged looks. She 
 
 abruptly called from the window, " Mr. 
 Fenton, have you seen the garden ?" 
 
 "Not yet, Mrs. Thorburn," he an- 
 swered, approaching her. 
 
 " Come, Arthur," she called, " we will 
 show Mr. Fenton our flowers."
 
 188 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I wished them to be alone, so I answered 
 that I would change my coat and then join 
 them. Saying which I left the room. 
 
 But I was hardly in the hall before she 
 came running after me. She took my hand 
 and kissed it, saying, " Do you think I can 
 be away from you?" 
 
 "But you should not leave our guest 
 alone, Geraldine. I will join you in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 "What is our guest compared to you, 
 Arthur ? Have you not been away from 
 me ? It was cruel to bring that man here ; 
 he comes between us ; you are not all my 
 own now. He will require your attention, 
 and I shall hate him because you give it. I 
 will ask him to go away." 
 
 I detained her by the hand, fearing she 
 would actually carry out her threat. 
 
 " If you love me, darling," I said, " you 
 will be courteous to this gentleman. You 
 will not refuse me this favour."
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 189 
 
 " If you asked me to love him, I would 
 try to love him," she answered submissively, 
 her lips tremulous, her eyes downcast. 
 
 "That would make me jealous. I only 
 want you to be courteous. Return to him 
 now, show him over the grounds, and justify 
 my great love for you by letting him see 
 how sweet you can be." 
 
 She gave me a long look and returned to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 When afterwards I went downstairs I 
 stood at the window watching them before 
 I entered the grounds. They were travers- 
 ing a broad walk. She looked incessantly 
 towards the house ; but sometimes she would 
 loiter with an air of strange abandon^ or bend 
 to pick a flower and follow her companion 
 with a bound. 
 
 Alas ! I did not need Dr. F to con- 
 firm my fears. There was not a look, a 
 remark, even an attitude of hers, that did 
 not now insinuate derangement.
 
 190 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 How she loved me ! Those earnest glances 
 at the house were for me. Pitiful it was to 
 think on such a passion corrupted by mad- 
 ness. What a sorrowful pageant her beauty, 
 her devotion, her innocence made ! It was 
 the Dance of Death ; the graces marshalled 
 by a skeleton. Was I worthy of her love ? 
 Yes, for I loved her well, too. She must 
 have known it, to have been so fond of me. 
 Instinct in this stood her in the place of 
 reason. She loved me with her spirit ; she 
 recognised my love by the faculties of her 
 spirit. Had her brain interpreted her ex- 
 periences her devotion must have been less 
 deep.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 That night Dr. F and I sat in the 
 
 library. Geraldine had retired to rest. Up 
 to that moment we had found no oppor- 
 tunity for conversation, for she was always 
 near, always at my side. 
 
 I had marked his incessant study of her. 
 I had admired the skill with which he 
 directed her attention — as a steersman directs 
 his bark ; provoking her into speech, per- 
 plexing her views to ascertain the consistency 
 of her mind, then helping her thoughts, to 
 witness whether her incoherence were due 
 to normal weakness of intellect or to 
 disease.
 
 192 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 He had lighted a cigar and sat smoking 
 in silence — a silence I feared to question. 
 From time to time he looked at me, 
 with pity rather than embarrassment, and 
 at last he spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Thorburn, I should be in- 
 truding upon your hospitality were I to 
 remain over to-morrow." 
 
 " I understand. You have no doubt ?" 
 
 ''No doubt." 
 
 I mastered an emotion with a struggle. 
 
 " Will you give me your opinion ?" I 
 said. 
 
 " My opinion is that your wife is 
 insane. It is impossible that I should pro- 
 nounce upon the degree of her insanity 
 from the short time I have been with 
 her. The conditions with which she is 
 surrounded must necessarily retard the 
 growth of her madness. Her love for 
 you and your presence here exercise a
 
 M)j Beautiful Neighbour. 193 
 
 a restraining influence. Yet I am not 
 satisfied that her mind is free from 
 anxiety." 
 
 " What makes you think this ?" 
 
 "I judge more from her aspect than 
 her manners or language. Her physical 
 condition implies the presence of some active 
 mental pain, which is not due to insanity, 
 though it would aggravate it." 
 
 " But what could pain her ? She is 
 perfectly happy in my love. She will not 
 suffer me to remove her from this house. 
 Would society benefit her?" 
 
 "1 think not. If she objects to it she 
 has her reason, and it would distress 
 her." 
 
 " Would a change of air, would a change 
 of scene, be of use? I api rich, doctor; 
 do not scruple to prescribe. If my for- 
 tune would benefit her, it should be 
 spent." 
 
 VOL. III. o
 
 194 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 "I can prescribe only one thing — will 
 you surrender her to my care ?" 
 
 "No. I could not part with her." 
 
 " I am not surprised. Even if I took 
 charge of her, I could not guarantee her 
 recovery." 
 
 " I will take charge of her myself 
 She would never bear being separated 
 from me." 
 
 " In one sense," he replied, " you would 
 make a better guardian than I. But the 
 duty of watching the mad is very painful 
 — especially when the insane person is 
 one we love." 
 
 " But you do not think she requires watch- 
 ing yet ?" 
 
 "Not yet. I mean that there is no 
 need of vigilant scrutiny, though I should 
 advise you to keep her well in view. Her 
 madness has not yet emphatically pro- 
 nounced itself — but it may do so any day.
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 195 
 
 You must humour her. Her love gives 
 you an influence which no one else could 
 easily possess. I predict, that when her 
 insane moods are most vehement she 
 will prove docile to you." He added, 
 after a pause, "you should procure some 
 woman whom you can trust to watch her. 
 But not yet. Give her perfect freedom 
 now. But when you find it needful to 
 restrain her — and that time I fear will come 
 — appoint some keeper of whose humanity 
 and patience you can have proofs." 
 
 "Have you no hope that she will 
 recover .^" 
 
 "It is impossible for me to pronounce. 
 From the character of the disease in her, 
 I should say it would grow ; but its cul- 
 mination may not be intense. Neither good 
 health nor good spirits will much profit her. 
 Illness, indeed, is sometimes beneficial to mad- 
 ness. I once had a patient under my charge 
 
 o 2
 
 196 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 whom I considered incurable. He was 
 seized with scarlet fever, which was within 
 an ace of kiUing him. He escaped death 
 by a miracle, and when the delirium 
 passed, I found he had recovered his 
 mind." 
 
 " But in the case of my wife, should 
 you think her madness hereditary or ac- 
 quired.''" 
 
 "There again you puzzle me. It would 
 be necessary for me to hear Mrs. Thor- 
 burn's history before I could hazard a 
 conjecture." 
 
 " Her history is brief She married a 
 man who ill-treated her. Her sufferings 
 must have been great, for it has made her 
 detest the world and shun society like a 
 plague. But I can discern no madness in 
 this. It would be the natural attitude of 
 a young mind embittered by wrong. 
 
 "As you say, her attitude is no proof
 
 AT// Beautiful Neighbour. 197 
 
 of madness, but the cause that forced 
 her into that attitude may have induced 
 madness." 
 
 "You would attribute her derangement 
 to her first husband's ill-treatment ?" 
 
 " Her ill-treatment may have been one 
 cause. If there were a previous disposition 
 to madness a very painful experience would 
 hardly fail to excite it. In my own mind, 
 I have little doubt that she is oppressed 
 with some recollection, of which the re- 
 moval would benefit, if it did not cure 
 her." 
 
 " Surely, I should be able to ascertain 
 it.?" 
 
 " Better than any one else. But you 
 will have to be very cautious in your 
 approaches. Yet you will hardly need 
 tuition in such a matter. Your know- 
 ledge of her character will teach you 
 better how to act than any suggestions
 
 198 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 from a stranger. With respect to myself, 
 I do not see that I can be of any further 
 use to you. Indeed, I doubt if my stay 
 here would be advisable. My presence 
 irritates her ; and it must be your business 
 to keep her mind as composed and tranquil 
 as possible." 
 
 " I am perfectly in your hands, doctor ; 
 and however you may act, I am sure it will 
 be for the best." 
 
 We remained together until after twelve. 
 Our conversation was entirely restricted to 
 the one subject. He had had much ex- 
 perience of madness and illustrated the 
 information I gave him respecting my wife's 
 derangement by anecdotes of corresponding 
 peculiarities in other cases he had met with. 
 On separating, I conducted him to his room, 
 and then returned to see after the house 
 for the night, as was my custom. At 
 the bottom of the staircase I met Mrs.
 
 Ml/ Beautiful Neighhour. 199 
 
 Williams, candle in hand, going to bed. 
 
 " I am afraid we have kept you up rather 
 late," I said. 
 
 " Oh ! never mention that, Sir. I only 
 trust and pray that the doctor's visit here 
 may be of use." 
 
 " Of no use, I fear," I replied, " except to 
 confirm mv sorrow. He does not doubt 
 that she is insane." - 
 
 " I feared so, I feared so," she said, shak- 
 ing her head. 
 
 " He will leave to-morrow, for he can be 
 of no further service here ; and he thinks his 
 presence irritates her." 
 
 " He is right. Sir. Mistress came to me 
 this evening, and told me it was as much as 
 she could do to speak civilly to him. * What 
 does he want in this house V she said. 
 ' Mr. Thorburn can't be with me as he used 
 before this man came. And he vexes me so, 
 Mrs. Williams. He asks me questions it
 
 200 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 pains my head to answer ; and I don't like 
 his eyes ;' and here she began to cry." 
 
 " Well, he leaves us in the morning. He 
 IS keen-sighted and honourable, and sees 
 that his presence can do no good. I have 
 been troubling myself to guess what could 
 have worked such a change in Mrs. Thor- 
 burn during my absence. The alteration is 
 too sudden to be due to illness. Nor is she 
 ill." 
 
 " It all came at once. Sir. She was well 
 over night, and next morning, as I told you, 
 I met her looking downright changed." 
 
 " Did she not seem suffering at all the 
 night before ?" 
 
 " No, Sir, I went to bed at about half- 
 past ten, and left her in the library. I 
 thought she might be writing to you." 
 
 " Am I to believe," I said, " that a sudden 
 access of insanity would effect such a change.'' 
 It is possible. Some horror may have seized
 
 My Beautiful Neiglihour. 201 
 
 her in the night. God only knows what 
 dreadful fancies the diseased mind will 
 
 generate to craze the brain. Dr. F 
 
 has told me I must expect her madness to 
 increase, and that it will be necessary to 
 procure some one to watch her. Mrs. 
 Williams, would you undertake such a 
 duty r 
 
 m 
 
 "I would not object. Sir. I would do it 
 from pitv. She is so delicate and sweet with 
 all her strangeness, that I could not have 
 the heart to see her in anybody else's 
 charge." 
 
 " By doing this you would be bestowing 
 on me an obligation I could not repay. It 
 would almost mitigate my grief to think she 
 was tended by one so worthy and kind as 
 you. Rest assured I shall do my utmost 
 to recompense you for the trying position 
 you will be placed in." 
 
 She curtesied.
 
 202 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 " I only beg you will keep the secret. I 
 shall continue residing here until I see what 
 form her madness takes. Where else could 
 I secure such privacy — such perfect security 
 from intrusion ^ From my heart of hearts I 
 humbly pray God to avert from her and me 
 this most terrible calamity. But if it be His 
 will that her madness should strengthen, 
 then we will watch over her as we would 
 over some stricken infant. I may expect 
 tenderness and love for her from you, Mrs. 
 Williams. You will think of my devotion, 
 and will take my place when I am from her 
 side ; and cherish, and bear with her ; for 
 she deserves it — she deserves it! So young, 
 so beautiful, so fond — to be blighted like 
 this !" 
 
 I buried my face in my hands and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " I will do for her. Sir, as if she was my 
 own child," said Mrs. Williams in a tremu-
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 203 
 
 lous tone, moved by my grief. " She shall 
 never want for love while she is with 
 me. 
 
 I took and pressed the kind creature's 
 hand, and passed into the library. The 
 window stood open as I had left it, for the 
 night, though it was the autumn, was close. 
 I entered the balcony. The air was dark ; 
 there was no moon ; the stars were few 
 and faint. The wind stole through the 
 trees which towered above the house with 
 a hollow plaining. 
 
 The gloom and stillness were friendly to 
 thought and melancholy. Away down there 
 among those black shadows I had first met 
 her, walking with a queenly air, her face 
 made marble by sleep, her eyes made sight- 
 less by the slumbering of her soul. Into 
 what a life had her beauty led me ! The in- 
 telligence of my spirit had not deceived me. 
 Had it not inspired me with prophetic
 
 204 Mi/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 forebodings of some such commingling of 
 mine and this fair creature's destinies as was 
 now reaUsed ? Of what sin had I been 
 guilty to merit this dread expiation ? My 
 love was pure ; why was it made a 
 misery ? 
 
 I was in the act of leaving the balcony 
 when I heard a cry — a human cry, as of 
 some one in pain or distress. It smote my 
 ear — faint but defined ; but whence it had 
 come, whether from right or left of me, or 
 from the deep black shadows of the trees 
 beyond, 1 knew not. I stood straining my 
 hearing to catch the cry again, but it was 
 not repeated. 
 
 Was it a human voice ^ I might have 
 been mistaken. It might have been the dull 
 note of some wakeful bird, humanised by 
 my imagination. It might have been the 
 moan of some homeless dog. I waited won- 
 dering.
 
 My BeaiUifid Neighbour. 205 
 
 All at once my thoughts rushed to 
 Geraldine. The cry might have come from 
 her room ; its passage through the open 
 window making it sound as though uttered 
 in the garden. 
 
 I mounted the stairs gently and opened 
 the bedroom door. A. candle burnt on the 
 toilet-table. I glanced at the bed ; it was 
 empty, yet her form had pressed it, and the 
 clothes were disordered. 
 
 I hastened downstairs, possessed with a 
 strange belief; I entered the balcony, passed 
 down the steps, and gained the garden. 
 I walked forward cautiously, peering to 
 right and left, pausing at intervals to 
 listen, then advancing noiselessly as before. 
 Half-way down the grounds I stopped; 
 I heard the sound of footsteps. In a 
 few minutes a figure in white came 
 out of the gloom and flitted rapidly by 
 me.
 
 206 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 I called « Geraldine !" She halted. I 
 went up to her. 
 
 " My darling, what are you doing in the 
 garden at this hour ? The grass is wet, and 
 you are thinly clad." 
 
 "Who are you?" she asked in a hard 
 whisper. 
 
 " Your husband — Arthur." 
 
 " Let me feel you." 
 
 I took her hand and led her to the house. 
 She did not speak until we had gained 
 the library. By the light of the candle I 
 saw that her eyes were dilated, her face 
 quite bloodless, her lips thin, white and 
 rigid. 
 
 " Great God, Geraldine ! Speak I What 
 is the matter with you?" I cried. 
 
 " Let me get to bed — I am weary, weary," 
 she answered. 
 
 I closed the window and accompanied her 
 to our bedroom. She moaned like one
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 207 
 
 under the influence of a narcotic. Her face 
 was almost deformed by the harshness of 
 its expression. Her fingers worked in- 
 cessantly, like those of an infant in a sick 
 slumber. 
 
 " Were you walking in your sleep 
 Geraldine.''" I asked. 
 
 She answered with extraordinary quick- 
 ness, " Yes, I have been walking in my sleep." 
 
 " I heard a cry ; did you utter it?" 
 
 She laughed quietly, but without the least 
 change of expression. 
 
 "Who else? — who else?" she replied. 
 
 " But did you hurt yourself, that you 
 cried out ?" 
 
 A shrewd light shone in her eyes as she 
 answered : 
 
 " I stumbled ; the fall awoke me, and in 
 my fear I cried out." 
 
 She began to play with her hair, suddenly 
 desisted, and asked querulously.
 
 208 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 " What makes this room red ?" 
 
 " It is not red, dearest." 
 
 " I say it is !" she exclaimed, irritably. 
 " The flame of the candle is red — the walls 
 are red — your face is red !" 
 
 " Your nerves are excited. The shock of 
 awakening has been too great. Lie down, 
 dearest ; you will rise refreshed in the 
 morning." 
 
 She seated herself on the edge of the bed, 
 looking at her fingers and turning them 
 about. Presently she began to cry, but very 
 quietly. I went to her and kissed her, clasp- 
 ing her in my arms for she trembled as 
 though she were cold. And indeed she was ; 
 her hands and cheeks were like ice ; but her 
 forehead burned. After a little I succeeded 
 in coaxing her into bed, where she lay sigh- 
 ing as though her heart would break. I 
 watched by her for half an hour, when the 
 regular respiration told me she was asleep.
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 209 
 
 When she rose next morning she looked 
 very very ill. I was greatly distressed by 
 her appearance and entreated her to remain 
 in bed. But she declared she must get up ; 
 what could she do in bed ? She had some 
 work in the garden, and must go to it. I 
 could not help taking notice of her con- 
 strained manner, as though she addressed me 
 under compulsion. She appeared to have 
 difficulty in articulating her words; and her 
 eyes, which the sickness of her body seemed 
 to make more brilliant, were restless, startled, 
 and impatient. Before leaving the room she 
 said: 
 
 " I do not like your friend, Arthur ; when 
 will he go .f*" 
 
 " He is going to-day, love." 
 
 " Why did he come ?" 
 
 Bound to be consistent, I repeated mv 
 story of his being a friend whom I had asked 
 to spend a week at Elmore Court, but who 
 
 VOL. III. P
 
 210 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 now found he would have to return to 
 London that day. 
 
 " What time will he leave ?" 
 
 " In the early part of the afternoon, I 
 think." 
 
 " I do not mean to see him. I'll go into 
 the garden and hide myself. Do you know, 
 when he looks at me his eyes give me a pain 
 in the head ?" 
 
 " I am sure he does not wish to pain 
 you." 
 
 " But he does, or he would not look at 
 me like that. And he asks me questions 
 which trouble me to reply to. I won't meet 
 him." 
 
 " Very well," I answered, recollecting Dr. 
 F 's advice that she should be humoured. 
 
 " And do not bring him near me," she 
 continued, " and do not come and look for 
 me, for I shall hide myself until he is 
 gone."
 
 Mtj Beautiful Neighbour. 211 
 
 " But you are not strong enough to work 
 in the garden. Why will you not remain 
 indoors ? Let Mrs. Williams nurse you a 
 little. You need repose after what happened 
 last night." 
 
 "What happened last night.''" she cried, 
 looking sharply up. 
 
 If the memory of it had passed, I thought 
 it best not to recall it. So I answered : 
 
 " I am sure, dearest, you need a little 
 nursing. And should you fatigue yourself in 
 the garden " 
 
 "Tell me of last night," she whispered, 
 creeping close to me. 
 
 " Why," I replied, marking her resolution 
 to be answered, " do you not remember find- 
 ing yourself walking in your sleep ?" 
 
 She tossed her hands and laughed out. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember ! But go you 
 downstairs and detain your friend while I 
 
 P 2
 
 212 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 pass. I will breakfast in the housekeeper's 
 room. Tell him I am ill and cannot be seen." 
 
 " Very well," I answered, reluctantly. It 
 did not please me to leave her to herself. 
 Her face looked wax-like, so delicate and 
 transparent was the white of her skin, and 
 her eyes actually trembled with the light in 
 them, as though they reflected the rays of 
 some flickering flame. 
 
 I found Dr. F in the breakfast-room. 
 
 I gave him a brief account of what had 
 happened on the previous night, and of 
 her condition. I also acquainted him with 
 the aversion he had inspired her with. He 
 replied that her aversion was an illustration 
 of his influence over insane persons. The 
 first operation of this influence was hate and 
 distrust ; but fear soon followed. The motto 
 of the mad doctor, he added, was the ex- 
 pression of the Roman emperor — oderint dum 
 metuant.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 213 
 
 " She refuses to meet you," I said, " and 
 has gone to hide herself among the trees. 
 You will require no apology for this be- 
 haviour," I added, with a mournful smile. 
 
 " You do right to let her have her own 
 way. Yet you see how necessary her dislike 
 makes my departure.'^" 
 
 " Yes. It is not wholly impossible that 
 her cunning may have conjectured the truth, 
 and that she has guessed your mission." 
 
 " I should hardly think that; though you 
 are right in accrediting insanity with a power 
 of perception which is often far beyond the 
 reach of intellect. The decay of the brain 
 seems to bring the functions of the spirit into 
 activity. But this perception does not always 
 refer to material things. Its proper dominion 
 is the immaterial. Where reason sees order, 
 insanity witnesses disorder ; but, on the other 
 hand, insanity riots in the chaos that lies 
 without the limits of normal thought, and
 
 214 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 delights in constructing theories and forms 
 from the thrice-confounded abstractions it 
 seems to contemplate." 
 
 " This would account for many of its 
 delusions." 
 
 "After a fashion. But it is hard to reason 
 on the reasonless. The worst form of mad- 
 ness is the total subversion of the intellectual 
 faculties; when the mind represents every- 
 thing totally opposite to what it is. I 
 remember hearing of two lovers who went 
 mad through a cruel separation. When they 
 were brought together they recognised each 
 other, but each denied the other to be the 
 beloved one. A distinguished mathematician 
 went mad through mistaking the number 6 
 for an o in all his calculations." 
 
 " We can appreciate the horror of madness 
 when it is brought home to us. Much 
 surely may be done by tenderness and 
 sympathy ?"
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 215 
 
 " They are both severely taxed. I do not 
 utterly despair of your wife, though she will 
 have to be worse before she is better. My 
 parting advice, Mr. Thorburn, is to endeavour 
 to ascertain if she is at all troubled in her mind. 
 If a real sorrow lies there it should be uprooted ; 
 if an imaginary woe it must be reasoned 
 away. You must have patience ; watch her 
 narrowly ; sound her persistently, though 
 with delicacy, and keep her as cheerful as 
 opportunity will allow." 
 
 A reference to the time-tables showed a 
 train to be leaving Cornpool at twelve. 
 Having ordered the phaeton to be in readi- 
 ness, we went for a walk towards the sea. 
 It was his own wish to keep away from the 
 house. The walk was hardly agreeable ; my 
 mood was sombre and melancholy, and all 
 my thoughts were with Geraldine. On our 
 return we found the phaeton waiting, and 
 having pressed a cheque into . his hand, I 
 bade him farewell.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 When Dr. F was gone I went in 
 
 search of Geraldine. I met a servant and 
 asked for Mrs. Thorburn ; she answered 
 that her mistress had just come in from the 
 garden and had gone upstairs. I mounted 
 to the bedroom, and found the door locked. 
 I rapped and called to her to admit me. 
 The key was turned, the door opened, and 
 Geraldine stood before me, with the skirt of 
 her dress off, her arms bared to the elbows, 
 and her hair wild. " Come in," she said ; 
 and when I was in she locked the door 
 again.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 217 
 
 I noticed that her hands and arms were 
 covered with soil ; there were fragments of 
 dry leaves in her hair, and on the carpet, 
 from the door to the toilet-table, were marks 
 of her muddy boots. There was a keen 
 look of triumph on her white face ; and 
 sharp curves at the extremity of her lips 
 made the expression of her mouth male- 
 volent. 
 
 I pretended to take no notice of her ap- 
 pearance. She went to the washstand, brim- 
 med the basin and began to wash. 
 
 " My friend is gone," said I ; " you will 
 have me now all to yourself" 
 
 She looked over her shoulder and nodded. 
 
 " I rather fancy he guessed you did not 
 like him," I continued ; " for he expressed 
 no surprise at your absence, nor did he 
 desire to bid you good-bye." 
 
 " There was a Httle devil in each of his 
 eyes," she replied ; " mocking imps, that
 
 218 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 made mouths at me and frightened me." 
 
 " That is strange. It appeared to me that 
 he had a kind eye." 
 
 She splashed the water violently over her 
 arms, and sponged her face, repeating this 
 many times. I waited until her ablutions 
 were ended, and asked, " Where have you 
 been, Geraldine ?" 
 
 " In the garden, digging, until my arms 
 are tired ; and now my head aches." 
 
 " But what is there to dig, dear .? The 
 beds are in order." 
 
 " I wanted exercise, and so I took a spade 
 and dug. I was in a mood for digging. 
 It pleased me to drive the sharp spade into 
 the soft earth and fling it up all quivering. 
 I was in a passion ; and I dug a grave for 
 my passion." 
 
 " Have you been resting under the trees ? 
 There are fragments of leaves in your hair ?" 
 
 " I don't know how they came there.
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 219 
 
 Perhaps I dashed the leaves about with my 
 spade. Will you brush my hair out ?" 
 
 She seated herself before the toilet-glass. 
 How pallid and deadly was the reflection of 
 her face ! I loosened her yellow tresses ; 
 they flowed over my arm like silk. From 
 time to time I caught sight of her black and 
 glittering eyes watching me ; but their lashes 
 veiled them each time I met their gaze. 
 
 " I wish I could put a little colour into 
 your marble cheeks, Geraldine. It makes 
 me very sad to see you so pale." 
 
 "I would not make my boy sad for 
 much," she answered. 
 
 " You were well when I left you ; there 
 must be some reason for this change." 
 
 " No reason, no reason," she answered, 
 sighing. 
 
 " If there is any cause for your illness or 
 for this change, if your heart is oppressed 
 with any trouble or misgiving, if you are
 
 220 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 not perfectly happy in your mind — why will 
 you not take me into your confidence ? Is 
 it not my privilege to share your sorrows? 
 If you are sad and will not tell me the cause 
 of your sadness, must I not fear that you 
 do not think I love you well enough to 
 deserve your confidence?" 
 
 " Do I distrust your love ? I do not. I 
 am happy in your love." 
 
 " If you know how well I love you you 
 must be happy ; for no one was ever loved 
 more truly than you." 
 
 " Do not talk so, Arthur. Let me feel 
 your love, not hear it." 
 
 " Is there anything in the past that grieves 
 you to remember, Geraldine?" 
 
 " Hush !" she raised her hand solemnly. 
 " I have buried the past. It will grieve me 
 no more." 
 
 " But its ghost may walk," I said, hoping 
 to make myself more intelligible by adopting
 
 Ml/ Beautifid Neighbour. 221 
 
 her tone. " Tell me how I may find it, that 
 I may bid it depart and leave you in 
 peace." 
 
 " Should it come, it will not go for you," 
 she said, shaking her head. " Ghosts are 
 deaf, and heed no prayers. They are spirits 
 and have no fears. The air is full of them 
 sometimes. I hear their voices, and when 
 the room is dark I see their shapes. They 
 are more white than that face," pointing to 
 her reflection ; " and they have steady un- 
 winking eyes and long shadowy hands. Do 
 you never see them ? They often stand at 
 the foot of the bed and watch us." 
 
 " These are foolish fancies, Geraldine. 
 See, I have brushed your hair well. Will 
 you do it up ?" 
 
 She took the tresses in her hands mechani- 
 cally and bound them in the fashion she 
 wore them. 
 
 " You do not play the piano as you used,
 
 222 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 Geraldine. I have heard that ghosts hate 
 music as much as they hate sunshine or any- 
 thing else that is cheerful. When you have 
 got on your dress, come down-stairs and 
 play me something, and you shall hear me 
 sing. I had a voice once." 
 
 " I do not care to play," she answered 
 wearily. 
 
 " You have tired yourself with digging. 
 Lie down a little and I will fetch a book 
 and read you to sleep." 
 
 " I could not lie down. How strong the 
 light is ! Draw the curtains." 
 
 1 did as she bade me, and took a chair at 
 the window. 
 
 " Do not watch me so, Arthur," she said 
 peevishly. " You have learned that trick 
 from your friend. Your eyes seem as sharp 
 as his." 
 
 I averted my face, leaning my cheek on 
 my hand.
 
 M// Beautiful Neighbour. 223 
 
 " When you dig the earth how the hor- 
 rible worms crawl out ! I cut one nito four 
 pieces yesterday, and not one piece was dead 
 when I left. When I die, do not bury me 
 in the ground, but throw me as I am in the 
 sea. The ground is dark and rotting, but 
 the sea is fresh. I can shut my eyes so, and 
 feel myself there. There," pointing in the 
 air, " is a huge black shadow floating over 
 me like a cloud. Great eyes, each with a 
 hundred circles, stare at me through the 
 green water. There goes a great outline, 
 brilliant as a rainbow, white, yellow, black, 
 
 blue oh ! how horrible it is to die !" she 
 
 suddenly screamed, clasping her hands and 
 staring at me wildly. 
 
 I passed my arm round her neck, kissed 
 her cold cheek, and tried to soothe her. 
 She turned in her chair, burying her face 
 in my breast and trembling from hand to 
 foot. She disengaged herself presently,
 
 224 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 walked with uncertain steps to the bed, and 
 put on her skirt. 
 
 " Is there nothing you can do, my poor 
 wife, to clear your mind of these distressing 
 fancies?" I asked. "If you would try to 
 fix your mind upon something, however un- 
 important, it might create an interest and 
 give you food for thought." 
 
 "Are not other people haunted like I 
 am.^ 
 
 " Many, I dare say. We all should be, 
 if we did not resolve not to be. Why, were 
 I to encourage superstitious feelings, I could 
 make myself the most unhappy wretch in 
 the world in less than a week. Will was 
 given us expressly that we might control our 
 humours, and passions, and weaknesses. 
 You have the will ; you only want the reso- 
 lution to exercise it." 
 
 " What can my will do for me.^ If I were 
 to grind my teeth and clench my hands, and
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighhour. 225 
 
 declare I would not think, could I stop 
 thinking ? Oh ! it is enough to drive me 
 mad !" 
 
 She began to talk to herself and moved 
 about the room, prowling rather than walk- 
 ing ; looking uneasily above, then staring at 
 herself in the glass, shaking her head and 
 catching at the fingers of her left hand. 
 Suddenly she stopped, and called out. 
 " Why will you look at me, Arthur? You 
 are growing unkind. You used not to look 
 at me before like that." And she began to 
 sob. 
 
 "It is my love that makes me look at 
 you; but I will not look if it gives you 
 pain ;" and I turned to the window, and 
 stared out with as heavy a heart as ever a 
 man had. 
 
 She fell to singing to herself a little 
 melodious air with Italian words, of which 
 I caught only the first line ; 
 
 VOL. III. Q
 
 « 
 
 <c 
 
 226 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " Ben veggio che'l mio fin consent! e vuoi," 
 
 and breaking suddenly off, she stole up to 
 me, threw her arms around my neck, and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Will you be glad when I am dead ?" 
 I should wish to die too." 
 ■I wish," she continued, in a half- 
 chanting dreamy voice, " we could pass 
 into heaven as we are, without dying. I 
 would take your hand, and we would float 
 to the stars, up through the still air, and on 
 and on, until we came to the City of God. 
 There we should be met by the Angel of 
 Peace, who would lead us to the thrones of 
 the Blessed Virgin and her dear Son, and in 
 
 their holy presence look !" she cried, 
 
 pointing over my shoulder to the garden, 
 " there is a white form rising — do you see 
 it? I can see the trees through its body — 
 how steadily it soars ! yet it has no wings. 
 I follow it. Look, Arthur."
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 227 
 
 Hitherto I had not been looking at her 
 as she had desired. Now I turned. Her 
 eyes were wide open, with a fixed stare on 
 the sky ; her lips were parted, and she 
 breathed with deep respirations. Presently, 
 she bowed her head, made a gesture with 
 her hand, and crossing herself, muttered, 
 "It is gone." 
 
 "Come," said I, taking her hand, "let 
 us go downstairs." 
 
 That night, whilst I was pacing the 
 balcony, pondering my position, and less 
 lamenting it than deploring my powerlessness 
 to save my wife from the calamity whose 
 shadow was now on her, it entered my head 
 to search her boxes or trunks for any papers 
 or letters that might throw some light on her 
 past. 
 
 Under any other circumstances, I should 
 have dismissed such a resolution from my 
 mind. A wife may have secrets, and her 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 21 u Beautiful Neighhouv. 
 
 husband should respect them. But Dr. F 
 
 had intimated his fear that her madness was 
 being fed by some sorrow. To have dis- 
 covered, that I might remove, her sorrow, 
 I would have been guilty of any mean act. 
 I did not love myself so well as I loved 
 her. 
 
 I pretty well knew I had not been born 
 with the detective faculty, and apprehended 
 that my search would be defeated by clumsi- 
 ness. Still I resolved to attempt it. My 
 wife had several trunks ranged in my 
 dressing-room, and one of those large boxes 
 draped with chintz, called ottomans. 
 
 It was midnight before I retired to rest. 
 I had other things to think of besides this 
 search. The titles of my books, as they 
 looked down from the shelves, had preached 
 a solemn homily on the vanity of human 
 wishes : and my own experience capped the 
 moral by presenting me with a picture of
 
 M)/ Beautiful Neighhour. 229 
 
 the life I was leading, done in colours as 
 sombre as fancy and reality could supply. 
 When I got upstairs I found Geraldine 
 asleep. I bent over her, and studied her 
 features. The complexion was so white that 
 the outline of her cheek was hardly percep- 
 tible upon the pillow. Her beauty had a 
 pinched, worn air. All its calm and fresh- 
 ness were gone ; her brow was knitted, 
 her lip curled in a sneer ; she lay quite still, 
 breathing deeply. The general expression 
 of her face was wretchedness. It was pitiful 
 to witness such a look on lineaments so beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 I took the candle with me into the dress- 
 ing-room, and tried the lids of the boxes. 
 They were open. That of the ottoman only 
 was locked. I sought for her keys in the 
 pockets of some dresses hanging in the ward- 
 robe and found them in a green silk skirt. 
 I turned the ottoman inside out, but found
 
 230 J/// Beautiful Xeighhour. 
 
 nothing. I applied myself to the trunks, 
 but they were as barren of information as 
 the ottoman. I closed the lid of the last 
 trunk and was about passing from the room, 
 when I heard the sound of a door opened. 
 I listened, then pushed the dressing-room 
 door, and looked out. The bed was empty, 
 the door of the chamber open. I caught a 
 light sound of feet, and stealing to the 
 landing, perceived Geraldine descending the 
 stairs. 
 
 I followed her. She gained the hall ; I 
 drew near. A lamp that was kept burning 
 all night diffused a sufficient light. I looked 
 at her face, and by the expression saw that 
 she walked in her sleep. 
 
 I did not dare arouse her. I had read of 
 the danger of awakening persons from such 
 trances, and Dr. F had particularly cau- 
 tioned me against doing so with my wife. I 
 could do no more than follow her ; and this
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 231 
 
 I resolved to do to preserve her from harm. 
 She walked steadily to the door leading to the 
 back grounds, unbolted it, and passed out. 
 The night air blew chill, for autumn was 
 advanced and the approach of winter could 
 be tasted in the night winds. The moon lay- 
 over the trees, slowly brightening, but 
 shedding little light as yet. But the grounds 
 and shadows were defined. She seemed 
 sensible of the chill ; for she crossed her 
 hands upon her bosom and huddled her 
 shoulders. She was habited only in her 
 nightgown and her feet were naked. The 
 dew was heavy ; the gravelled walks sharp ; 
 yet I dared not wake her. 
 
 She passed down the lawn, got on to a 
 side walk, and marched with slow but steady 
 step towards the orchard. Soon she entered 
 it. The shadows were deep, but the moon- 
 light fell through the openings and faintly 
 illuminated the obscurity. The grass stood
 
 232 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 knee deep My feet crunched the dead 
 leaves and snapped the rotten twigs. It was 
 a portion of the grounds left untouched by 
 the gardeners at my own request. The 
 contrast between the trimmed gardens and 
 the wild luxuriant orchard pleased me. 
 
 Sometimes the shadows and the interven- 
 ing trunks of the trees made it difficult for 
 me to follow her. I wondered whither she 
 was leading me. How utterly still was the 
 place ! Her naked feet made no noise as 
 she advanced. Her form flitted and floated 
 before me in the gloom like a spectre. She 
 wound her way in and out among the trees 
 with precision, while I blundered forward, 
 sometimes stumbling with my shoulder 
 against a black trunk, sometimes kicking 
 and nearly falling over long iron - hard 
 roots. 
 
 Before long she gained the extremity of 
 the orchard. The hedge that intersected her
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 233 
 
 former house from the grounds rose thick 
 and black. She stood motionless awhile, 
 then knelt and began to scrape the earth 
 with her hands, throwing the dried leaves 
 furiously about her. Presently she desisted, 
 rose, and went through a pantomime, the 
 significance of which the gloom forbade me 
 to interpret ; but it appeared to me as though 
 she struggled with some invisible object. 
 She breathed heavily and chokingly, and 
 sometimes faint cries escaped her. Then 
 down she dropped on her knees again, and 
 fell to sweeping back the leaves in the same 
 violent way she had before scattered them. 
 This done, she left the place, passing me so 
 close that I had to shrink lest she should 
 touch me. 
 
 She went towards the house fleetly. I had 
 to walk quickly to keep up with her. At 
 times she almost ran. As I feared she would 
 shut the door upon me if I were behind, and
 
 234 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 so prevent me from entering, for the other 
 doors and the windows were bolted and 
 closed, I ran by her and stood in the passage 
 until she entered. It happened as I ex- 
 pected. She closed the door at once and 
 bolted it precisely as she had found it. I 
 followed her upstairs, saw her get into bed 
 and lie as motionless as when I had first bent 
 over her. 
 
 I seated myself and watched her. I found 
 nothing strange in her actions in the orchard. 
 The mere fact of walking in her sleep was 
 sufficient to render consistent any extraordin- 
 ary behaviour. But I dreaded the conse- 
 quence of her exposure to the night air. I 
 could not doubt the wonderful providence 
 that watched over the actions of the som- 
 nambulist ; but supernatural as might be the 
 regulation of her conduct, I knew that her 
 flesh would still be susceptible of ill, and 
 that there could be no provision made
 
 if// Beautiful Neighbour. 235 
 
 against the dangers of sickness and disease. 
 
 There was to be no sleep for me that 
 night. I felt so wide awake that I saw it 
 would be useless getting to bed. I was 
 agitated and superstitious. The house was 
 so still that I could hear the ticking of the 
 clock in the hall. The wind swept past the 
 windows at intervals and faintly rattled the 
 casements. 
 
 How calmly she slept ! I could not recon- 
 cile her profound slumber with the misery in 
 her face. Was there a sorrow there, or was 
 it her madness that made her face so plain- 
 tive.'* If a sorrow, why should it be un- 
 discoverable ^ I had searched her boxes ; 
 what else remained to be searched ? I went 
 to the wardrobe, noiselessly pulled out the 
 drawers and examined them. In the top 
 drawer was her jewel case. It was open. I 
 raised the tray ; there was nothing there 
 beyond a few articles of jewelry. I inspected
 
 236 Mij Beautiful Neighhonr. 
 
 the middle drawer. Here was her desk ; a 
 large old-fashioned rosewood box, at which 
 I had once or twice found her writing in the 
 dressing-room. It was locked. I took the 
 keys, fitted the right one, and opened the 
 desk. There were papers here, at all events ; 
 bundles of letters, some of them yellow and 
 faded, connected by bits of elastic. 
 
 Eager as I was to know the truth for her 
 sake, I found my curiosity strongly repelled 
 by my sense of delicacy and honour. Before 
 I could force myself to open the bundle I 
 held, I had to subdue my aversion to the 
 task by recalling the benefit she would derive 
 by my knowing her past. That the rustling 
 of the papers should not disturb her, I re- 
 treated with the desk to the dressing-room, 
 leaving the door ajar, that I might hear if she 
 moved. 1 then trimmed the light and ad- 
 dressed myself to my necessary but odious 
 task.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 237 
 
 The letters were numerous. I read them 
 all. Some of them were addressed to her 
 by her grandmother. Some were written in 
 a foreign hand and signed Luigi. They told 
 me only a portion of her story — that she had 
 married against her grandmother's will and 
 that her husband had been an Italian. The 
 first batch of her grandmother's letters com- 
 prised those which had been addressed to her 
 at school. They spoke of her holidays ; how 
 glad the writer would be to have her grand- 
 daughter with her again. These were full of 
 wise if rather trite counsels. The next batch 
 were those addressed to her at London. 
 These were full of reproaches and threats. 
 There were only five of these letters, and 
 some of them were smudged as with tears. 
 Luigi's letters were addressed to her at school, 
 to Miss Geraldine Dormer, Gore House 
 Academy. They were full of violent pro- 
 testations of endless love. Some of them
 
 238 Mjj Beautiful Neirjlihour. 
 
 began, Carissima mia ; others, Bella figlia 
 mia. One of them contained this passage : 
 " The south is yellow with sunlight, but 
 more splendid is the yellow of your hair. 
 The dark skies of my native land tremble 
 with gems ; but more beautiful is the gloom 
 of your eye, which gleams with the light of 
 your soul !" They were mostly written in 
 this strain, diversified here and there with 
 practical questions to which answers were 
 humbly supplicated. 
 
 I learnt nothing from them. I returned 
 them to the desk and went to look at 
 Geraldine. She lay perfectly still. I resumed 
 my seat and fell into thought. I wondered 
 whether it was the loss of her husband that 
 had made her crazy. Her marriage with him 
 had been a love match ; that was plain from 
 the grandmother's reproaches. Passion, I 
 thought, might easily work disastrous changes 
 in such a nature as hers. But she had told
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 239 
 
 me her husband had ill-treated her ; and her 
 secluded life, her consistent language on this 
 subject, confirmed the truth of her assurance. 
 In my reverie I stretched forth my hand to 
 toy with a ring that hung from the desk. 
 Accidentally jerking it, a drawer started out. 
 I bent forward, and I saw that this drawer con- 
 tained a flat long MS. volume, together with 
 a couple of rings, a Catholic medal, and a 
 silver crucifix. 
 
 I extracted the manuscript and opened it. 
 On the first page was inscribed the word 
 " Diary." The opening entry was dated 
 185—.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Diary opened thus : 
 
 " Here am I in London. I don't know 
 whether to be frightened or glad. Luigi is 
 very kind, but he did not tell me he would 
 bring me to such miserable lodgings as this. 
 Would it not have been better had we never 
 met ? I should have known that a teacher 
 cannot be rich. Yet I do think him hand- 
 some, and he makes love so meltingly that I 
 would rather live in a garret than not have 
 married him. No letter from grandmamma. 
 She is very unkind. Mamma would not 
 have treated me so had she been alive. But
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 241 
 
 what is an orphan to expect but unkind- 
 ness r 
 
 A few days later : " To-day I heard from 
 Miss Cowley " (this was the schoolmistress, 
 as I knew from reference in the grandmother's 
 letters). " She says I have acted wickedly and 
 have forfeited all happiness in this world by 
 marrying a beggarly Italian teacher. How 
 my eyes flashed when I read ' beggarly Italian 
 teacher !' The cold-hearted thing would 
 have cried with fear had she seen me. Luigi 
 is out all day and he comes in tired, and to- 
 night I thought he received my kiss coldly. 
 But it must be my fancy. Oh, what a fancy 
 I have ! I think I shall go mad some of 
 these days." 
 
 The chronicle continued much in this 
 strain through many entries. It recorded 
 from time to time a letter from her grand- 
 mother inclosing five pounds, but repeating 
 her assurance that she would have nothing 
 
 VOL. III. R
 
 242 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 more to do with her. Then the tone of the 
 diarist grew more querulous ; though her 
 love for her husband deepened^ so it seemed, 
 in proportion as his fell off. 
 
 "How can I help being jealous ?" she 
 wrote in one entry ; " he is all day long away 
 from me teaching other girls, any one of 
 whom he may admire far above me and 
 secretly love. When I told him this he 
 seemed to shrink away from my look; and 
 indeed it was passionate enough ; and he 
 cried out, half in Italian and half in English, 
 ' God of mine ! you will go mad if you do 
 not keep that devil of a spirit of yours 
 down !' t threw myself on his neck, and 
 asked him never, never to cease to love me. 
 His beautiful eye melted, and he fondled me 
 with his exquisite grace. So I go to bed 
 happy." 
 
 If her husband earned money she seemed 
 to benefit little from it ; for some of her
 
 My Beautiful Neiglibour. 243 
 
 records ran, that she had to sit in the dark 
 till he came home, for there was no candle 
 in the house, she had no money to buy one, 
 and the stingy landlady did not offer to lend 
 her a lamp. " To-day I dined on bread-and- 
 cheese and some of the potatoes left from 
 yesterday, fried. If grandmamma knew this 
 she would send me some money. But I'll 
 not write to her about it. No, she shall 
 think I am flourishing ; and if I were dying 
 with hunger I would just wish her to think I 
 had plenty to eat." 
 
 Up to a certain entry she continued writing 
 of her husband in warm terms. She avowed 
 her belief that she must be somewhat crazy 
 to find him so fascinating. " Sometimes I 
 think him more so than at other times," she 
 wrote ; but added, " if I am to regain my 
 reason at the sacrifice of my love I would 
 rather be mad." There was a good deal of 
 pungent writing in these entries. I could 
 
 R 2
 
 244 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 find nothing to illustrate the slightest mental 
 derangement. But her language was curiously 
 characteristic, and the exhibition of a nature 
 made up of warm and sudden passions, im- 
 pulsive and generous, but vengeful and 
 arbitrary too, was absolutely complete. 
 
 Before long her entries grew somewhat 
 incoherent. She is racked with jealousy. 
 She is certain that her husband has ceased to 
 love her. " I have been married now six 
 months," she says ; " how dare I humour such 
 misgivings ? But what is it that tells me of 
 Luigi's indifference ? Not my bodily eyes, 
 for his behaviour is not altered. The spirit 
 sees farther than the reason. If I loved him 
 with my mind I should not have these pre- 
 sentiments ; but I love him with my soul. It 
 is my soul that is jealous ; and the soul is 
 endowed with the vision of immortality and 
 can make the future present. 
 
 "To-day is my birthday. I am twenty-
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 245 
 
 two years old. It has rained steadily since 
 the morning. I watched the muddy water 
 in the gutter boiling round the grating near 
 the lamp-post until I fell asleep. A cheerful 
 birthday ! There was a little piece of boiled 
 beef for dinner, hard as my shoe, and the 
 potatoes were not cooked. Yet when Luigi 
 comes home, he never asks me if I am 
 hungry. Does he care ? He would if he 
 knew. But how should he know? I 
 I am always pale, so that he sees 
 nothing unusual in my white face. I some- 
 times think he is afraid of me. He said 
 last night, * Your eyes flash like a mad- 
 woman's.' I answered, ' It is with love !' " 
 There were no records of any hours of 
 pleasure. Sometimes she chronicled a short 
 walk. The place of her abode was not 
 named ; but I judged from some references to 
 the locality that they must have lodged in the 
 neighbourhood of Leicester Square. The
 
 246 My Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 landlady was a German, and the diarist com- 
 plained of the atmosphere of the house having 
 been made all day long nauseating and tepid 
 with the smell of cooking. 
 
 " I asked Luigi before he left for Hammer- 
 smith to take me away from this dirty house. 
 But he shrugged his shoulders and said he 
 was too poor to move. I told him that the bad 
 smell of the cooking made me sick, and that 
 the landlady entertained foreigners, who came 
 tramping in at all hours of the day, jabbering 
 and singing like savages, and poisoning the 
 place with the rank fumes of tobacco. * You 
 should write to your grandmother to send 
 you some money,' said he, ' and then we will 
 seek better apartments.' I told him I would 
 not write to grandmamma again after her 
 last letter, no, not if I were dying. ' Then 
 I am too poor to help you,' he said, stroking 
 his moustache and humming a tune, with an 
 air of such cruel indifference that my eyes filled
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 247 
 
 with tears, though my breast heaved with a 
 passion I could not keep down. * We have 
 been married a little more than six 
 months,' I said, * and you are already tired of 
 me.' ' And you of me,' said he. ' It is 
 false!' I cried, in a rage; ^but I suppose you 
 want an excuse for your increasing in- 
 difference, and would tell a lie rather than 
 not have one.' * You did not bring me any 
 money,' he replied, ' and yet you are always 
 grumbling at our poverty. Don't I work 
 like a slave for what I get ? 'Tis a pity you 
 are not more educated, for you might go out 
 as a governess, and together we could earn a 
 competence.' ' I did not marry to become a 
 governess,' I said, * and if you love me as 
 you once professed, you could not name such 
 a scheme.' He made a gesture of impatience, 
 and uttered something in Italian. * What do 
 say ?' I exclaimed. He gave a shrug and left 
 the room. And this is what my dream of love
 
 248 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 has come to ! O how could I moralise if I 
 were not the text ! Patience ? Yes, I could 
 be patient if I had something solid to hold. 
 But can I be patient holding sand, and 
 watching the grains slipping through my 
 fingers ? Oh ! my weariness of heart ! and 
 my head aches so I can hardly see this 
 paper." 
 
 Here there was a leaf torn out. The next 
 entry was dated exactly a year after. The 
 records now became rhapsodical. Strange 
 dreams were chronicled, and conversations 
 which she had held in her sleep. 
 
 The first entry spoke of her delight with 
 Elmore cottage. What followed was full of 
 brief references to the past, especially to the 
 events of the year she had omitted to record. 
 Yet brief as they were I could gather the 
 story. 
 
 Her husband had deserted her, possibly on 
 the very date of the last entry I have tran-
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 249 
 
 scribed. By her allusions to her feelings, the 
 shock of his leaving her must have driven 
 her almost mad. " I would thrust him deep, 
 deep into the hell he has lighted in my 
 heart against him ; but he comes before me 
 in the night when I am numbed by sleep and 
 am powerless to thrust him off. O what 
 a hate his face drives into me !" 
 
 " To-day I came across mamma's emerald 
 ring. It reminded me of that day of hunger 
 when I had to pledge it. I paid the odious 
 German her rent, and went across to the 
 little cook-shop at the corner and bought 
 some cold meat. Do I not remember how 
 delicious it tasted ! How did I live through 
 those days ? I do not know, I sometimes 
 look at my body and wonder how it could 
 have held together under the pressure of so 
 much utter, utter misery. It is bitter to 
 have trusted nobly and to be betrayed re- 
 morselessly. It is bitter to feel hunger and
 
 250 Ml/ Bpuutiful Neighbour. 
 
 poverty and the cruelties of the cold and 
 selfish world. But when these bitternesses 
 are combined, must not the heart be made of 
 steel not to crack and burst ?" 
 
 How long she remained in this state of 
 destitution I could not gather. But in one 
 entry she recorded her amazement on re- 
 ceiving a letter from her grandmother's 
 solicitor, saying that the old lady had died 
 suddenly, intestate, and that, as the next of 
 kin, she inherited the property. In the 
 same memorandum she referred to the 
 number of names she went over before she 
 hit on one to assume. It was her evident 
 fear that her husband would claim her, 
 should he hear of her whereabouts, now 
 that she had come into property. Under 
 the pseudonym of Mrs. Fraser, and hidden 
 in the obscurity of ClifFegate, she believed 
 herself perfectly secure against detection. 
 This at least is my inference, from one or
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 251 
 
 two passages in the diary ; it is probably 
 correct. Some entries before that which I 
 am about to transcribe, the following notice, 
 cut from a newspaper, was gummed : 
 
 " March 1 2, at Courtland Street, London, 
 Luigi Forli, aged 2S-> ^^ gastric fever." 
 
 And beneath it she had written : 
 
 " Sent me by Mr. Fells in the letter that 
 enclosed my quarter's money." 
 
 Up to a certain point, from this sentence 
 her diary was singularly rhapsodical. Then 
 a more connected narrative began : 
 
 " Why did he send me that bouquet ^ 
 * Mr. Thorburn's compliments !' He does 
 not know what sort of a woman he sends 
 his compliments to. How I hate compli- 
 ments ! That vile Italian could compliment. 
 Oh ! per Bacco ! his speech was flowery and 
 sugary as a wedding-cake. What came of 
 it.'* My eyes, my hair, my mouth, my 
 skin, soon surfeited him — though he ran-
 
 252 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 sacked heaven and earth for comparisons. 
 If I chose a male friend he should be blunt 
 and sharp — with a hard tongue that could 
 utter words as ringing in their tones as 
 sovereigns. Such a one would not send me 
 flowers. 
 
 " Mr. Thorburn called to-day. He must 
 have courage, for he knows my aversion to 
 society. If I walk in my sleep let him 
 thank me ; he dared not have come without 
 this excuse. I felt my blood tingling in my 
 forehead and fingers when I looked in and 
 saw that the gentleman, as he had announced 
 himself, was a stranger. But the time rots 
 so with me — oh ! that excellent word just 
 hits the decay of the hours ! they drip, drip 
 away, like sodden wood — I could not be 
 displeased at his intrusion. There is life in 
 a new face, and I am beginning to think 
 Lucy too ugly to keep ; now that is because 
 she is the only person I see, and her face
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 253 
 
 comes looking in on me through my ugly- 
 thoughts and takes their deformity. But he 
 is nice-looking. He is thoroughly English. 
 Oh what a charm there is in a true English 
 face ! It is so manly, so genial, so sterling 
 and courageous ! — the very opposite to those 
 yellow Italian visages with their red-black 
 eyes and lollipop smirks. I am not sure 
 that I couldn't like this man. He invites 
 confidence, somehow. And there is a big 
 and ponderous ghost called Solitude, that 
 drives me towards him. His eye meets 
 mine fearlessly. He thinks me beautiful. 
 If he were to see me in a passion, with my 
 hair loose and my eyes on fire, would he 
 shrink like my valiant Httle southerner ? 
 
 " I rated Mr. Thorburn to-day for watch- 
 ing me. I must like him, to have spoken 
 so smartly. If I could not help meeting a 
 man whom I disliked, I would serve him as 
 my husband served me, and would betray
 
 254 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 him with such sweetness as would make him 
 think me a witch. I have the power. I 
 think I must be mad at times. Such high 
 thoughts take me that my body will not 
 hold my spirit, and some day I shall see it 
 glide from me and vanish, with just such a 
 laugh as I give when I know I shall not be 
 heard, and when my mood is intoxicating. 
 Let me own here, all to myself, that Mr. 
 Thorburn pleases me. He reminds me of 
 the picture of papa in grandmamma's locket. 
 He must be greatly taken with me to pre- 
 sume as he does. He is too much of a 
 gentleman to force himself upon me as he 
 does if his courtesy did not fall before my 
 beauty. If he should fall in love with me — 
 let him. Am I a celestial intelligence, that I 
 can control a man's heart, and bid it not 
 love, if I choose it should not love ? His 
 dream gives him a claim. If I was asleep at 
 the time then must that vision have been
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 255 
 
 my soul which sHpped from my body and 
 shone upon him from a cloud. It was possi- 
 ble, and I would have told him this, but 
 his smile can be ironical ; and his nature is 
 not yet right for the reception of my be- 
 liefs. Why did he kiss the rose I flung 
 away ^ I can tell ; but I will not write it 
 down. 
 
 " He was more tender than he was yester- 
 day. His love deepens, and gilds his smile 
 and fires his eye. When I touched his arm 
 it trembled. He makes me no more com- 
 pliments. He relishes my bluntness, but 
 would he relish it if he knew the sorrow 
 whence it sprang ^ Sorrow is a rich soil ; 
 flowers grow in it sometimes ; but more 
 often grow roots that prick, weeds that sting, 
 blossoms whose perfume is poison. Shall I 
 encourage him .? If I do, I will not have 
 the heart to say him nay, for he has brought 
 a new light to my heart and a new hope to
 
 256 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 my life, and my gratitude should make me 
 generous. 
 
 " My husband came to me last night. 
 He stood at the foot of the bed. His face 
 was as pale as the dim moon that shone over 
 his shoulder through the window. I thought 
 he had come from the grave, his eyes were 
 so hollow and his hands and cheeks so dry. 
 I clapped my hands and cried, * Now I thank 
 thee, Oh God ! for he is dead, and his 
 shadow has passed from the world.' I 
 awoke. I could not believe it a dream, and 
 crept to the door to see if he stood outside, 
 and went to the window to see if his shadow 
 was on the flowers. All was bare and bleak 
 and white in the eye of that cruel moon, who 
 looks into my brain and chills it with her 
 frosty glare. Then to bed again I went, 
 and fell a dreaming of Mr. Thorburn. How 
 palpable are my dreams !" 
 
 The following entry was dated some days 
 later :
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 257 
 
 " He is making me love him. He has an 
 influence over me, and I find myself listening 
 to his words and cherishing them. He 
 makes me calm. Shall I forego the blessed 
 peace he transfuses through my being? I 
 could love him : but memory will not let me 
 go to him, and like a wrinkled hag casts her 
 long lean arms about me and holds me from 
 him. My heart is empty — there is room for 
 love. My spirit hungers ; shall I not satisfy 
 her cravings ? I weary of this solitude. 
 The air about me is peopled with spiritual 
 beings ; I toss my arms, but they will not 
 leave me. They make my loneliness hor- 
 rible. One in the night told me I should be 
 their queen if I would go with them. But 
 where would they take me ? I prayed to the 
 Blessed Virgin for help ; but they would not 
 go. Why should they haunt me ? I do not 
 invoke them. But if I fix my eyes on any 
 part of the room a shape comes out, and I 
 
 VOL. III. s
 
 258 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 have to dash my hand to my head and leap 
 like a child to frighten it off." 
 
 From this point there was a blank. When 
 she resumed her diary she was at Elmore 
 Court : 
 
 " How happy I am ! The days go by me 
 like a song. I am loved tenderly and truly; 
 and my love grows deeper and deeper, like 
 an onward-running river. But the pain in 
 my head increases, and now and then some 
 of my old horrors return. I stood watching 
 Arthur for an hour last night. He did not 
 stir. His face was calm and happy, and my 
 eyes took their fill of its peace. He does 
 not know I keep this record, and he shall 
 not know. O God i if he knew the past, 
 would not his love fall from him like a 
 garment ? But my memory grows weak ; 
 and it is well I preserve these jottings, for I 
 could not taste all the sweetness of the pre- 
 sent if I had not the past at hand to contrast 
 it with.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 259 
 
 " This afternoon I saw a hand that held a 
 knife in the air. I trembled and cowered. 
 It slowly faded and I went on raking. 
 When I met Mrs. Williams I told her what 
 I had seen. The way she looked at me 
 pained me. I saw she did not believe me, 
 though she pretended she did. I do not 
 wish her to think me a liar. I made her 
 promise not to tell Arthur. I would not 
 have him think me untruthful for all the 
 treasures the sea holds." 
 
 The character of many entries which fol- 
 lowed was akin to this. Some of them con- 
 tained passages which would appear absurd 
 and incredible in print. Then came this 
 record : 
 
 " The room swims and I feel sick — so 
 sick that I wish to die. Arthur went to 
 London this morning, and I cried more bit- 
 terly than he will ever know. He cannot 
 guess what agony our separation causes 
 
 S 2
 
 2^0 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 me. It must be a cruel necessity that takes 
 him away. After he was gone, the sun- 
 shine drew me into the garden, and I went 
 beyond into the fields, for my flowers give 
 me no pleasure when he is absent. Before 
 long a man came towards me, and I saw it 
 was Luigi Forli. I thought he was a vision, 
 and I tried to waive him away ; but he drew 
 near, and laid his hand on my arm, and 
 turned me into stone. The blood surged 
 up from my heart and made my ears echo 
 with thunder. He talked, but I did not 
 hear him. Then he warmed, and cried out 
 that though I was his wife, he would not 
 take me from Arthur. I said, ' You are 
 dead.' He answered. 'No. I announced 
 my death to get a living.' And he said I 
 must give him money ; he would keep my 
 secret and go away. He named a large sum. 
 He told me he knew I could not give it to 
 him all at once. I might pay it in portions.
 
 My Beautiful Neighhour. 2G1 
 
 He would remain at ClifFegate until it was 
 paid. What was it to him how I should get 
 this money ? I had married a rich man, 
 and must get the money under any pretext I 
 could invent. If I failed he would call on 
 Arthur. I turned and looked at him, and 
 he sprang a yard away from me." 
 
 A line of writing that followed this was 
 illegible ; it broke off suddenly. The pen 
 seemed to have fallen from her hand, for 
 there was a smudge across the sheet. A 
 single entry followed : 
 
 " He told me I was mad. I said, ' God 
 be praised, for it gives me courage.' I bade 
 him have no fear. He watched me with 
 glittering eyes ; his face was hard with 
 avarice and pale with misgiving. I put my 
 hand in my pocket and said, ' When you 
 receive this you should give me peace.' He 
 shrugged his shoulders, and said : ' I am 
 poor ; and since you are my wife and have
 
 262 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 money it is fair you should help me to live.' 
 I pointed to the moon, and whilst he raised 
 his eyes I stabbed him in the back. He gave 
 a leap in the air, and I jumped away, for I 
 thought he meant to spring on me. But he 
 suddenly fell on his breast with a cry. The 
 dew fell like blood. I turned him over and 
 saw he was dead. I took him by the arm 
 and pulled him under the hedge." 
 This ended the diary.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 I WENT to the bed-side to watch her. 
 Her arms lay upon the coverlet; her lips 
 were apart, and she breathed heavily. Her 
 cheeks were flushed, and lightly pressing my 
 hand to her forehead I found that it burned. 
 I marked now that she slumbered no longer 
 peacefully. At intervals her form twitched, her 
 fingers worked convulsively, and once her 
 breathing was so oppressive that she started, 
 still slumbering, from her pillow, fighting 
 for breath. 
 
 I could see that she was very ill — very 
 feverish ; and if these twitchings continued
 
 264 My Beautiful Neighbour, 
 
 must soon awake. As I expected, she sud- 
 denly opened her eyes and sat upright. She 
 looked wildly around the room, and then 
 stared at me, but without recognition. 
 
 " Give me some water," she said. 
 
 I filled a tumbler and she drank it eagerly, 
 sank back, and dropped into a restless sleep 
 again. But in a few minutes she once 
 more started up and asked for water, 
 adding : 
 
 " Give me air. The bed-clothes suffocate 
 me. 1 am burning." 
 
 The fever, indeed, was on her now, and 
 I knew that she must have taken it from her 
 exposure in the grounds. I hastily left the 
 room, ran upstairs, and knocked at Mrs. 
 Williams' door. She answered at once. I 
 told her that my wife was taken dangerously 
 ill, and desired her to come to her at once. 
 I then hastened back and found that Gerald- 
 ine had risen from her bed, had thrown the
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour, 265 
 
 window wide open, and stood leaning half 
 out of it. 
 
 I took her by the arm, and whilst I en- 
 treated her to return to bed endeavoured 
 gently to lead her away. She resisted me. 
 Fearful of the consequence of her exposure 
 to the air, I exerted more strength. She 
 struggled violently, and would not stir. At 
 times she turned her head and stared at me 
 with angry eyes, radiant with delirium, but 
 totally void of recognition. Mrs. Williams 
 had now joined me. She at once perceived 
 the danger my wife stood in ; also that she 
 was delirious. 
 
 " She must be got to bed. Sir, and kept 
 there," she whispered. " I will help you to 
 carry her." 
 
 I indeed needed her help. Frail and deli- 
 cate as poor Geraldine was, the fever made 
 her powerful as a strong man. She cried 
 and moaned piteously amid her struggles, and
 
 266 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 when we had laid her down it took our 
 united strength to keep her from breaking 
 from us and rushing again to the window. 
 
 She grew exhausted at last and lay still, 
 muttering wildly and clutching at the bed- 
 clothes. 
 
 " We must send for a doctor, Mrs. Wil- 
 liams," I said. "Is there one in Cliffegate?" 
 
 " There is only Mr. Jenkinson the apothe- 
 cary. Sir," she replied. " But 1 could rouse 
 up Hewett " (the lad who attended to the 
 phaeton), " and it wouldn't take him long 
 to fetch Dr. Sandwin from Cornpool." 
 
 " Do so ; and tell him to drive over as fast 
 as he can." 
 
 Geraldine lay back with her eyes wide 
 open, staring at the ceiling. Her lips 
 muttered continuously, but the exhaustion 
 consequent upon her violent struggles 
 seemed to have left her too weak to articu- 
 late.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 267 
 
 T left her side and paced the room in a 
 mood I must not attempt to define. What 
 was I to think of her diary ? That it was 
 an insane chronicle from beginning to end ? 
 or that it was true? If insane, how much 
 was she to be pitied ! For all that she had 
 recorded as having witnessed, endured and 
 done, must have been more definite and tor- 
 turing than ever the reality could have 
 proved. If true ... I dared not think it 
 true. Yet though we may barricade reason 
 with illusion, truth will somehow force an 
 entry. A terror that what she had written 
 was the truth, that her final record embodied 
 no imaginary tragedy, weighed upon me like 
 lead. I tried to shake it from my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Williams returned. Her presence 
 was grateful. It forced me, so to speak, to 
 break from my hateful thoughts and to aban- 
 don for the time being speculation for 
 reality.
 
 268 Mfj Beautiful Neighhour. 
 
 The two hours that followed passed slowly. 
 Mrs. Williams and I spoke across the bed in 
 whispers. Sometimes Geraldine would start 
 up and call for water ; sometimes would 
 make violent efforts to leave the bed — efforts 
 which it took all my strength to resist. As 
 the time went on she grew worse. She 
 talked incessantly, a mad wild talk, frag- 
 mentary as the mutterings of a dream — at 
 intervals raising her voice to a shriek then 
 lowering it to a breathless whisper. What 
 visions passed before those vacant eyes of 
 hers God only knows ! But terrible they 
 must have been ; terrible the scenes they 
 enacted ; for she plunged wildly, as seeking 
 to disperse them, then wailed entreaties to 
 them to vanish, whilst her body shook with 
 strong tremors and the hand which I held 
 grew wet as though dipped in water. 
 
 The morning paled upon the window- 
 blinds and made the candle-flame sickly.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 269 
 
 The birds twittered and distant cocks sang to 
 one another their early defiance. Presently 
 I heard the sound of wheels ; Mrs. Williams 
 left the room, and returned some minutes 
 after, ushering in Dr. Sandwin. 
 
 He was a short spare man, suave but reso- 
 lute. He found her calm, for she had worn 
 herself out with her ravings and convulsions. 
 He drew to the bedside, held her wrist, felt 
 her forehead. 
 
 " She is in a bad way, Sir," he said. " The 
 fever rages. I will write a prescription, and 
 perhaps you will allow one of your ser- 
 vants to run with it to the chemist at Cliffe- 
 gate." 
 
 Pen and ink were produced and the ser- 
 vant despatched. He looked at Gerald ine 
 curiously for some time and then came round 
 to me. 
 
 " There is an expression on the lady's 
 face. Sir, which must be habitual "
 
 270 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 " Her reason is impaired," I replied. 
 
 He bowed his head. 
 
 " The fever that is on her, Sir, arises, I 
 should say, from a severe chill. I judge 
 that her constitution cannot be strong, and 
 she should have been restrained from ex- 
 posing herself to the cold." 
 
 " She has a habit of walking in her sleep. 
 Last night she left her bed, and traversed 
 the whole length of the grounds on her bare 
 feet and habited only in her nightgown. I 
 feared this result, yet I did not dare awaken 
 her, having been cautioned against doing so. 
 I could only hope that the same Providence 
 that guided her steps would preserve her 
 from any ill effects." 
 
 He drew to the bed and examined her 
 face carefully. She lay so still that she 
 looked like a corpse. Her eyes were half 
 closed, and the whites showing through the 
 lids gave her the ghastly aspect of death.
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 271 
 
 " You look care-worn and anxious, Sir," 
 he said, turning to me ; " your vigil has 
 been a long and trying one. Can I induce 
 you to lie down for a little time ? Even an 
 hour's sleep would benefit you, and enable 
 you better to meet the demands which your 
 wife's illness may yet make on you." 
 
 "What is your opinion of her case.^" I 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 " I can form no opinion as yet. I shall 
 be better able to do so when she awakens 
 from this stupor. Meanwhile Mrs. Wil- 
 liams " (he evidently knew her) " and I can 
 keep watch." 
 
 " I really would try to get a little rest. 
 Sir," said Mrs. Williams. "You look to 
 need it very badly. It is well to keep up 
 your strength, Sir ; and I will promise to 
 call you if it should be necessary." 
 
 There was wisdom in their advice ; I did 
 indeed require sleep. It was not so much
 
 272 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 my body as my mind that was exhausted. 
 I said I would He down in the adjoining 
 room, and begged them to arouse me 
 should the slightest alteration appear in her 
 gymptoms. 
 
 I was chilly. The mornings were cold 
 now, and want of sleep had robbed me of 
 my natural warmth. I rolled myself in a 
 rug, laid myself on the bed, and in a few 
 minutes fell fast asleep. 
 
 I was awakened from a deep slumber by 
 some one pulling my arm. The sunshine 
 poured through the blindless windows and 
 filled the room with light. My eyes, 
 heavy with sleep, were dazzled by the 
 glare; afterwards I saw Mrs. Williams. I 
 jumped up at once. 
 
 The look of white horror on her face 
 gave me such a shock that I could hardly 
 speak. I heard a whispering going on out- 
 side the door. My belief was that Gerald-
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 27 o 
 
 ine was dead, and I pressed my hand to 
 my heart while I asked Mrs. WiUiams to 
 tell me what had happened. 
 
 " Oh, Sir," she began, " it is too awful ! 
 I — I" she stopped. 
 
 "In the name of God tell me — what is 
 it ?" I cried, leaping from the bed. 
 
 " The the 1 cannot speak it. Sir ; 
 
 the gardener is below will you go to 
 
 him r 
 
 "The gardener! Tell me of my wife; 
 is she dead.^" 
 
 " No, Sir. But she is raving wildly. She 
 has told the whole story — how she killed 
 him " she shook with horror. 
 
 Something told me what I had to expect. 
 I calmed myself by a supernatural effort. 
 
 "Where is the gardener?" 
 
 " He is in the hall. Sir." 
 
 I left the room. I passed the two servants 
 who stood whispering with pale faces near 
 
 VOL. III. T
 
 274 My Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 the door, and ran downstairs. Both 
 gardeners stood in the hall ; and both were 
 white as ghosts. 
 
 " Now," said I, " what have you to tell 
 me r 
 
 " Oh zur !" said the man called Farley, 
 " I went into t'orchard this morning to git 
 soom apples for cook, and — and I zeed 
 zigns anigh th' hedge of soom 'un having 
 been there i' th' night. The leaves they 
 was all tossed, and — and the ground fresh 
 dug. Zo I went for my spade, thinkin' 
 summut amiss, an' begun to dig to zee 
 what they moight ha' bin oop to. And zur, 
 in diggin' I strook summat zoft, and clearin' 
 away th' mould, coomed across a hand — a 
 man's hand, zur !" 
 
 "A man's hand?" 
 
 "Oh, zur! I wur too frighted to dig 
 vurther, but throws down my spade, and 
 coom runnin' to th' house to tell yer, zur, 
 of what I'd zeen."
 
 Mij Beautiful Neicjhhour. 275 
 
 " Come with me, both of you," I said. 
 
 " Oh, zur !" they began. 
 
 " If it be a dead man, of what should 
 you be afraid?" I cried fiercely. "Come." 
 
 I led the way out, and they followed me. 
 I did not want them to conduct me to the 
 spot ; I knew where it was — I knew where 
 she had led me last night. I entered the 
 orchard, the two men behind me. In a few 
 minutes I had reached the place. 
 
 The soil was broken. Around it the dry 
 leaves and grass lay in heaps, as though 
 scattered by a high wind. Amid the newly- 
 dug mould I saw the fingers of a human 
 hand. 
 
 " Take that spade and dig," I said. 
 
 One of the men took it up reluctantly 
 and began to clear away the mould. Bit by 
 bit, as he dug the moist earth out of the 
 grave, first the arm, and then the body of 
 a man completely dressed, appeared. The 
 
 T 2
 
 276 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 gardener stooped, took the arm by the' 
 sleeve, and raised the body. 
 
 In spite of the soil that obscured the face, 
 I knew it. The dead man was Martelli ! 
 
 I gazed upon this awful spectacle with 
 fascinated eyes ; then my senses forsook me 
 and I fell to the earth. 
 
 For three weeks I lay as one that is dead. 
 The raging fever that consumed me brought 
 me to the brink of the grave ; I was snatched 
 from the jaws of death by a miracle. 
 
 When I awoke from my delirium I was 
 at Elmore Court. The first object my eyes 
 opened on was Mrs. Williams. With con- 
 sciousness returned memory. I inquired for 
 my wife. The entrance of the doctor saved 
 her from replying. He forbade me to 
 speak, on pain of a relapse. Nature, utterly 
 weakened by illness, succumbed to sleep. 
 My slumber was protracted through twenty-
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 277 
 
 four hours ; and when I awoke I was con- 
 valescent. 
 
 It was then I learnt that my wife was 
 dead. Her death had occurred three days 
 after I was taken ill. 
 
 Towards the end the delirium had left her. 
 Reason had regained its power, as though 
 the soul, animated by the approach of death 
 and the promise of liberty, had shaken off 
 the foul hand of madness. She had asked 
 for me ; they told her I was ill. She would 
 not believe them ; she declared that I had 
 left her. They assured her that I was in 
 the next room ; but she remained incredulous. 
 A nurse had been summoned to watch her, 
 while Mrs. Williams tended me. On the 
 night of her death, the nurse having fallen 
 asleep, she crept from her bed, stole to my 
 room, and was found by Mrs. Williams on 
 her knees by my side, with her arm round 
 my neck, her cheek against mine, dead.
 
 278 Mij Beautiful Neiglibour. 
 
 It was remarked, that after consciousness 
 and reason had returned, she did not speak 
 of the crime she had committed, nor did 
 her conversation indicate the memory of it. 
 Whence it was concluded that she died not 
 knowing what, in her madness, she had 
 done. 
 
 When my health was restored, my evi- 
 dence was taken with respect to Martelli's 
 death. The inquiry was purely formal. 
 During my illness the police had vigilantly 
 investigated the affair, and from Geraldine's 
 diary and letters, coupled with the testimony 
 of Mrs. Williams and the inquiries they had 
 prosecuted into Martelli's career, had estab- 
 lished the necessary evidence. From those 
 inquiries I gathered the following par- 
 ticulars. 
 
 Martelli's real name was Forli. He had 
 been a teacher of Italian at Gore House 
 Academy, where he had met Geraldine,
 
 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 279 
 
 whom he eventually induced to elope with 
 him. Her account in her diary of the life 
 she had led with him was in every respect 
 accurate. But you will remember she had 
 omitted the events of a year, and that year 
 was now accounted for. Forli had left her, 
 to live with some abandoned woman, who, 
 after a few months' intimacy, avenged Ge- 
 raldine by plundering him of his savings and 
 leaving him. It was supposed that he had 
 heard of his wife having inherited her grand- 
 mother's property ; but his hatred of her, 
 which he never scrupled to confess, coupled 
 with his conviction that had he followed her 
 she would not have hesitated to commence 
 proceedings for divorce, which would have 
 professionally ruined him, effectually served 
 to keep him from her. 
 
 I could comprehend his hate, knowing his 
 character, and guessing Geraldine's power of 
 exciting hate in those she hated. When she
 
 280 Ml/ Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 had found his love decay, when her nature 
 had turned sour under the corrupting sense 
 of his violated vows and her betrayed con- 
 fidence, I could guess the kind of light his 
 presence would fire her eyes with, the kind 
 of language with which she would lash him 
 into madness. 
 
 When he applied again for work he found 
 that his conduct had excited a prejudice, and 
 that the schools in which he had always 
 found a welcome reception closed their doors 
 against him. He resolved to change his 
 name, not knowing how far this prejudice 
 might extend ; and the better to commence 
 his life afresh announced his death in the 
 newspapers. He found employment ; but 
 his means were narrow, his occupation very 
 limited, when my advertisement met his eye. 
 When he was once with me, it may be sup- 
 posed he was not very eager to go. He had 
 recognised his wife on meeting her in the
 
 My Beautiful Neighbour. 281 
 
 fields, but had kept his secret well. When he 
 found that I was resolved to marry her he 
 must have resolved upon that scheme, of 
 threatening her with exposure unless she 
 purchased his silence, which cost him his 
 life. 
 
 I suspect he had hardly resolution enough 
 to prosecute his plan at first. He had hung 
 about Cliffegate, so it was ascertained, after 
 he had left Elmore Court, living upon the 
 money I had paid him. 
 
 Some years have elapsed since those days. 
 I still occupy the house in London which I 
 took after getting rid of Elmore Court, and 
 Mrs. Williams continues to be my house- 
 keeper. My old dream of senatorial or 
 literary honour has never recurred. Like 
 Imlac, I am now contented to be driven 
 along the stream of life without directing my 
 course to any particular port. 
 
 The dead belong to the past, and I will
 
 282 Mij Beautiful Neighbour. 
 
 not ravish from the grave in which she Hes 
 that great sorrow of mine which lies buried 
 with her. No record of my grief shall plead 
 for her ; no memorial of my despair shall be 
 set down to moderate your judgment of her. 
 She is dead. Her beauty, her love, her 
 madness, are nothing now but a memory and 
 a pang. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 CD 
 
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